Dick knows he isn’t from here.
He isn’t really sure which dimension, timeline or even universe Miguel is from exactly, however. But he knows.
There had been no need to listen for what was about to come out of his mouth, the very fabric of his existence contradicts the world around them. Dick’s world. It’s not something a passerby on the street would notice of course, but he has a bird’s eye view in more ways than one.
He could find the exact one easily enough, whether by tapping into Bruce’s extensive research over the decades—his own never got that far—or maybe, just by asking. But intuitively, with the painful touch of empathy all Robins live with, he can tell it isn’t something up for discussion.
Miguel visits him to forget.
*
“Nightwing.”
He startles, standing up from his favourite perch in Blüdhaven, grinning from around his bite of hotdog. “Hey Mister.”
Okay, maybe he had lied a little, he sort of has an idea about his origins. That suit’s iconography isn’t the most subtle, and he doesn’t need access to the Batcomputer’s archives to know about all the adventures he went on with one specific, spider-esque fellow. The rest of the similarities end there though, he’s seen enough footage of the Spider-Man from B’s encounter to know both fabric and… inhabitant of said fabric in front of him are leagues different in appearance.
Not to mention personality.
Regardless, his age-old fear of leaking an identity where anyone could hear him has stayed the same, and he isn’t about to get over it now.
Thus; Spider-Man. He’s staring at him with a frown almost visible through his mask, patchy shadows fluttering all over as he steps out of the darkness beneath the water tower. “Have you finished for the night?”
The wrapper crinkles as Nightwing notices his stare shift towards it and draws it closer to his chest. “I’m not sharing,” he grumbles “and yes, I’m off the clock, but you already knew that.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re only waiting for me to disable my place’s alarms.”
“Of course.”
Nightwing sighs and finishes off the last of his bread, then turns to set a foot on the ledge, bending over slightly as he slides the remaining paper between his suit and calf gauntlet to dispose of later. With a flick of his hair he grins back at the man behind him and tilts his head towards his building in the foggy distance. “Well? Aren’t you coming then?”
“You will be.” He manages, with the sound of gritting teeth.
Nightwing can’t hide his laugh as they lurch into a mutual swing, cable and webs alike.
*
Dick’s domino sticks to the mirror with a loud splat when he peels it off and tosses it almost-uncaringly. He’s already fumbling to shove the solvent applicator back into its small bottle with both hands in the dim light as his dexterity starts to wane for the night, dawn close to breaking. It’s only seconds later when Miguel shoves his way into the small bathroom, drenching him in a large shadow, unrecognisable cursing following him as he knocks into the towel rails.
He hasn’t even turned the light switch on, but Miguel’s been here enough times now it seems as he flips it without a second glance back.
“Too slow.” He says, and out of the corner of Dick’s eye through the mirror, he can see him gesture towards his costume. Miguel’s already naked somehow. Fucking tech-suits.
Large hands drag him back as he quickly abandons his task to leave it resting propped-up by the curve of the sink bowl. He’s already panting from exertion and adrenaline, from the chase, as the hands slide down and push off the rest of his bodysuit past his hips with ease. “Mi-Miguel, Miguel, get me ready now,” he chants, bracing against the faux-marble counter.
The hands move back up again and pat around him in a less than foreplay-ish way. “What are you doing?” Dick mind groggily tries to remember if he still has something on.
Miguel shushes him. “Just checking if there’s an injury you haven’t told me about.”
“There’s none, I would’ve told you,” Dick whines.
“You clearly didn’t that second time."”
“That was such a long time ago,” Dick huffs and tries not to kick back in frustration, his suit is still around his ankles and even if he lifts them both up with his arms—which he can do—there’s no guarantee Miguel won’t knock him over into face planting. “C’mon, c’mon.”
Wet fingers breach him suddenly and Dick jolts, gasping. His legs are too close together for him to fully relax and struggles again with his ankles, but the tight stretch of fabric won’t budge on its own, and the increasingly tangled bundle is not helping. All he can do is rock against the fingers in him, eyes locked on Miguel’s hungry expression through the mirror.
Eventually, Miguel must have enough of his squirming and stomps a foot down between his own, effectively pinning his binds to the floor so Dick can wriggle out of them.
“Hurry up,” Dick groans, turning to look at him in mock-anger and in the next moment the number of fingers increases to three and begin to move on their own as Miguel shoves his way between his rapidly spreading thighs.
“Don’t be a brat,” Miguel grumbles as his free hand grasps Dick’s chin and forces it back to facing the mirror. “Look at me.”
He eyes him with a red, piercing stare, leaning over him in the cramped space. His lips curl back and he breathes hotly over the side of his bare neck until Dick freezes in place, then leans in further, gently scraping his fangs over his sweating skin.
“Can we- later?” Dick shudders once Miguel finally shifts away, whimpering half out of need and half in frustration of knowing they can’t skip to it too soon, at least not tonight with no full-on scenes planned.
“Of course, little one.” The man croons into his ear, then suddenly the fingers are leaving him and Dick’s eyes widen, but before he can think to make a noise of complaint, Miguel scoops him up—Dick hadn’t realised he’d collapsed so close to the tap—and carries him over the short distance through the second-door attached to his bedroom.
Bouncing when he falls to the mattress, only a second after Miguel shoves the duvet to the side, Dick feels his face glow brighter at the feeling of the silicone lube slipping out of him. And Miguel most definitely notices with the smirk and flash of teeth he sends his way as he looms over him. It’s only then, that Dick notices his own… dick’s predicament. It’s blushing as much as he seems to be and almost as wet as he feels the sheets must be getting below him. “Can I—” He’s already reaching for himself before Miguel lightly slaps his hand away and descends upon him, pinning the guilty wrist to the bed.
“Not yet.”
Dick nods in easy acceptance, as his body finally forces his mind into heading for the quickest route to their reward, overriding his previous urge to battering his fists into Miguel’s brawn—as if that would ever work.
His eyes dart down to Miguel’s own cock, curiously, and his breath hitches when he finally sees the heavy, curving weight of it, almost dipping close enough to touch the divot in his hip. He needs Miguel closer. “Kiss?” He tries, eyes darting back to see Miguel rolling his eyes at the ploy.
Nonetheless, he relents. “Try not to move.” He says softly before finally, finally lowering his body down further, one forearm beside his head, to catch his lips in a kiss.
Dick smiles into it, tongue muffling his laugh. He feels Miguel rub up against him, his cock steadily dripping against his skin and sliding down the valleys of his arched bones and muscles. He wants to ask if he can suck him off tonight, tries to mumble it into their kiss but Miguel just shushes him, and lets go of his wrist, holding his head still with a grip on his hair so he can tease his mouth further without the risk of biting into his lips or tongue with the wrong tooth.
Seconds later—years later—when he finally gives him space to breathe, Dick finally chokes out his question again only for Miguel to shake his head in response.
“I heard you the first time, super-hearing, remember?” Miguel bumps his forehead against the side of Dick’s chin, nosing down his body. “Tonight’s all about you, kid.”
“But what if what I want is that?”
“Hm.” Miguel licks past one of his nipples before gently blowing on it and switching to the other as Dick’s knee jerks. “That’s too bad then, ’guess tonights all about me.”
“Migu—” He chokes and thrashes out a foot, unable to move his hips from the sudden, solid pin as Miguel’s wet mouth sinks almost all the way down to the base of his dick. He looks down frantically and whimpers at the sight of two upper fangs framing his delicate skin, and Miguel’s red eyes looking straight at him in delight. Dick’s lungs and heart contract in dueting succession, and it’s only then that he’s truly thankful that Miguel isn’t actually a vampire or anything, and that his blood won’t have any effect on his self-control.
His other bodily fluids however…
His dick twitches when Miguel swallows around him, slowly sliding back up, and he feels his ears getting even redder under his dark stare. He knows that look, and so he reaches up to clutch at the pillow with his hands, securing them there. Miguel licks around him rewardingly, careful not to nudge him anywhere too near to the direction of his fangs.
It goes on like that for a few minutes, Miguel pulling off every so often to suck at his neglected balls, hands never straying from their hold against his hips. Eventually, once Dick has descended into a moaning, shaking, perfect mess, he finally replaces them with a singular forearm, mouthing only at the tip of his dick and whispering platitudes while licking along the rest as his fingers sink back into him.
“Ah—yes please.”
And oh how Dick loves silicone. He’s still almost as slick as he was earlier, with just a tad missing from his repeated clenching dripping some of it onto the sheets. Oh right they forgot to put a protector down.
A larger knuckle passes through him, interrupting his thoughts, and Dick grunts, there’s no pain, but it’s been a hot second. With another kiss to his leaking tip, Miguel crawls up towards him again, nudging at his prostate until the discomfort passes and Dick reminds himself to relax.
“You okay?” Miguel hums, kissing him when Dick catches his eye and stays decidedly still. “We can stick to just fingers tonight if you’d prefer, you know I don’t care either way.”
He considers it, for a moment, then lifts a hand from the pillow and waves it in gesture. “No I’m fine, but could we keep it till after- uh—” His eyes flicker down to Miguel’s lips. “The end bit…?"
Miguel smirks knowingly, but still gently, then thrust his fingers sharply into him, watching as his hips freely buck into the air. “That I can do. But I want you to come like this first.” He grinds against him. “I love watching you like this, the way you twitch. Like a little fly in my web.” Dick can feel how much more wet his cock has become over the course of the blowjob, and he shudders at the tangible sign of his praise.
“Not a fly,” Dick slurs out. “Flying Grayson.”
“I know.” Miguel is watching him, eyes almost glowing through the layers of tears slowly welling up over his eyes.
He’s so close, and Miguel must know because in the next second, his fingers are pressing up into him firmly and his other hand closes around him and strokes.
*
Dick’s ears are still ringing when he comes back. He’s on his front, that’s the first change he notices, and the second…
He’s laying atop Miguel, who is stroking his hair and murmuring to him, or maybe he isn’t—maybe he’s just talking—but Dick can’t tell until the volume slider in his skull figures itself out.
No matter, Dick smiles as figures out where Miguel’s other hand is; slowly stroking down the curve on his back and—
Oh the duvet’s pulled up over them too.
With his senses finally in a more stable place, he can hear himself whining. It’s then that Dick remembers what he’s waiting for and taps out a signal against Miguel’s bicep.
Miguel makes another inquisitive noise—double checking—and when Dick impatiently taps at him again turning his head, he hears a low laugh.
And then fangs sliding into his neck.
Dick sinks into bliss as he feels his limbs relax into complete stillness, one by one, and as he feels Miguel sinking into his own bliss, in him.
He’s happy.
Richard “Dick” Grayson is sunshine incarnate.
Miguel almost doesn’t believe him when he finds out the symbol across his chest doesn’t represent the wings of icarus. The kid is still dancing, weightless, night upon night across his city’s skyline every single time Miguel steps foot into his universe, never slowing down. He’s checked the time dilations a dozen times over to be sure it’s all not just a bad case of groundhog’s day.
At first, Grayson had been a good escape—a good fuck—a way to get everything out of his system, and then some. Ignoring the rest of the world, and every world, for a few hours with an armful of someone who should have been unreachable.
Sunshine isn’t all he is, of course.
The dark shadow of history beneath him is enough to ward off Miguel’s fear of ruining anything he touches, it curls around him like the black on his suit, blending in with the night, unnoticeable to those so blinded by the blue paint and white lenses. Sometimes he’s glad it’s already too late to save him, he doesn’t know whether or not he would if given the choice. But in the end it doesn’t matter, Grayson’s resolve is far stronger than his ever was, Miguel’s smear across the earth, no matter his logic behind it, is hundred times worse than Grayson’s ever could be.
But like this?
In the morning light, Miguel forgets all of it.
Grayson’s hair is coiffed miserably over his forehead, frozen sweat pinning it like he’d just come home from the barber drunk with gel on his scalp. They forgot to close the curtains the night before—or early morning he should say—and so; the late afternoon sun is now dappling slowly across his face.
His drool glistens slightly, and Miguel huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Mffgulr?”
Miguel blinks solidly as Grayson startles to semi-awakeness, human heartbeat picking up, and he lifts a hand to hide his eyes from light, shushing him back to sleep all the while.
Heroes and their hypervigilance.
Eventually, just as he starts to feel a twinge in his arm, leftover strain from the night before, Grayson rolls over, conclusively smothering himself in between their two pillows and hiding himself the light all on his own. Miguel smiles softly then withdraws his arm, extracting himself carefully from the crooked mattress and scrambled sheets. The bathroom is as damp and downtrodden as always—somehow, despite having two doors with enough of a gap beneath both that there should be at least some airflow—but he makes do with a lot less crashing and bumping than earlier. A lot less meaning none, of course. He’s not going to wake the poor kid up if he doesn’t have to.
After cleaning up their conjoined mess, he wanders off to the small half-kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open just a crack so the air is free to swirl through the apartment, because at least it has more hope than that bathroom.
He can hear sirens below, and doesn’t bother to open up any of the windows. Grayson won’t need any superpowers to hear the ringing of the city once he’s awake of course—but it doesn’t hurt to not exacerbate the volume.
The easy-make pancake mix he left here a week ago is still sitting at the top shelf of the pantry. Miguel rolls his eyes knowingly. As much as Grayson likes to understate his own height in bed—mostly due to being folded in half—there’s nothing in this whole place that isn’t within his line of eyesight. Lazy idiot.
Their first morning after had been an embarrassing ordeal, for him at least. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept together obviously, but he’d just been so worn out they’d both passed out afterwards, only to wake up frantic and panicking, with Grayson trying to behave as a good host should and Miguel himself trying to figure out how to salvage his reputation as his favourite fuck buddy in the aftermath of a nightmare.
Today though, it’s the eighth time, and Miguel hasn’t a care in the world. Any of them. He sets up the frying pan and starts on Grayson’s coffee while it heats up.
*
It’s not long before Grayson shuffles through the floor, following his nose, and Miguel waves. “Afternoon.”
“You almost sound like Alfred,” Grayson grumbles, clutching at the ruined bed sheet draped around his shoulders, low enough to expose the crusting bites littering the front of his neck and back over his trapezius.
“Never met him,” Miguel says in return.
And that’s that, for now. They break their fast in silence, an equal spread of extra calories to make up for Grayson’s patrol last night along with Miguel’s… general need for extra to even reach maintenance levels at all.
It’s between the quiet clacking of their utensils when Grayson suddenly looks up in a rush, catching his eye. “You should meet him.”
“What?”
“Alfred. You- you should meet him.”
Miguel slowly puts down his napkin. “You want me to meet your grandfather.”
Grayson flushes a pretty red, almost dropping his spoon. “He’s not, well—wait. How did you even know that? Nevermind. Do you want to or not?”
He watches for a moment as the kid stands into a hunch and starts stacking his plates together, hair falling over his eyes. “Dick,” he says gently as he tries to catch his eyes from below. “Just explain to me what brought this up, you’ve never wanted me around any of your family before.”
Grayson bites his lip—there’s still dry bits of drool across his chin, Miguel notices—and exhales through his nose.
“I want you to meet them, or some of them at least.” He shuffles on his feet, balancing his plates. “I know I kept you away from them before, but that was more-so do to your whole probably-from-another-dimension-thing and also that I thought…” He sighs. “I didn’t know how long this would last, but it’s—it’s been months, Miguel. And you’re not just leaving every time anymore, there has to be something here right?” Grayson trails off for a second. “Right?”
There’s a tenseness to his shoulders and when Miguel sees his lip tremble—ah alright fuck it.
“Yes.” He can have some good in his life, can’t he?
“Mig—wait, what?”
“Yes. As in, yes I’ll meet him. I’ll look forward to it. Is next week good or do you want to go now? Gotham, right?” Miguel snorts at the spasming expressions flickering past Dick’s face as his mouth slowly drops open in exacerbation.
“Dude!”
“Now who sounds like the old man?”
Dick scrunches his nose and waves him off walking with a slight limp away from their table, elbows squeezing their sheet tightly. “Yeah, speaking of—did you even take a second to think about that? I know you’re not from here, in the most absolute literal way one can ever put it.”
Miguel shrugs. “We’re not exactly celebrities pulling a publicity stunt are we, kid? Do we really need to plan out an entire relationship from start to finish? It’s better to go with the flow.” He ignores the fact that the kid kind of is a celebrity in this world.
“Even if the flow is the… entire time stream?”
“Of course, and you’re smart, sunshine, if I can’t find my way back to you, I know you’ll come looking for me, right?”
Dick smiles and laughs at the name, and Miguel resolves then in that moment to figure out as many suitable ones as possible for however long this lasts.
“You really were right.”
"Hm?"
“With what you said last night, I will be coming. Just, y’know, eventually.” Dick shrugs and drops his plates and mug into their sink. “I should start small though, maybe you can show me where your place is so I can start popping in on the regular.”
Miguel hums and gets up to help with washing up, taking his own along with him. “It’s a long trip.”
“We can make it,” Dick says, and pecks his cheek. “...Also we need to do an actual trip right after, there’s lube and blood all over our bed still.”
Miguel just grins, face full of teeth.
And when his sunshine bumps shoulders with him, he doesn’t think he would have it any other way.