[fic post] The Convenience of Hands-Free Communication
Title: The Convenience of Hands-Free Communication
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/Humor
Pairings or Characters: Barbara "Oracle" Gordon/Dick "Nightwing" Grayson
Warnings: headset-radio sex/masturbation
Word Count: 1,451
Summary: For once, Gotham is quiet, and Oracle decides to have some fun.
Author Notes: Set indiscriminately at some point before Batman RIP and after The Killing Joke. So basically, unrelated to the current canon. Filling of a prompt from het_idcrack: "25. DCU Comics - Barbara/Dick -- Barbara voice-dominates Dick. He'll do whatever she tells him to." First foray into batfic (which is, unsurprisingly, porn), so be gentle!
The Convenience of Hands-Free Communication
"Hey, Dick?" Oracle's voice crackles in his ear.
"Nightwing," he corrects, "I'm on patrol."
"Mm, but nothing's happening."
"... Still."
"So, anyway Dick--"
"Nightwing," he insists, frowning even though she can't see him. She always knows the face he makes anyway. It's actually a little creepy sometimes.
"Right, sure. Where are you?"
"Fourth and Bradley." He squints down at an alley, his eyes catching movement, but it's just a hobo rummaging through a dumpster.
"On a roof?"
He doesn't know what that has to do with anything, but answers, "Uh, yeah."
"Anyone with you?"
"Um, no, I'm alone."
"Can anyone see you?"
Her questions are starting to get really weird now, and he coughs, a little uncomfortable. "I'm well hidden, Oracle. Why?"
"Just making sure," she literally purrs, and now he feels very uncomfortable. Then she asks, "What are you wearing right now?"
He chokes on startled air and has a brief coughing fit before hissing into his headset, "What the hell, Barbara?"
"Tell me what you're wearing," she says, ignoring him.
"What I always wear!" he answers, exasperated.
"Ooh, nice. Your ass looks fantastic in that Nightwing outfit," she hums, and he wonders if she's drunk. "Do you wanna know what I'm wearing?"
"NO," he very nearly shouts in desperation. The night may be quiet so far, but he has to stay alert, and imagining Barbara is rather counter-productive to that end. But now that she's said it, he's imagining her anyway, and he swears under his breath.
"You're a bad liar, Dick," she tells him, and he can hear the smirk in her voice. He's too confused to correct her this time, and she continues, "So I'll ask again, and this time, be honest. Wanna know what I'm wearing?"
Dick gapes into the night air, baffled by what is currently happening to him, but finding it incredibly difficult to resist. Barbara is quiet on her end, waiting for his answer, and he can't manage anything but a defeated, "Yes."
"Nothing."
And there she is, stark naked in his head, and now he can't see anything else. Not even the hobo currently chewing on someone's discarded sneakers in the alley below. His suit is suddenly too tight, and he knows he's hard, which is incredibly inappropriate for his current situation, but there's not a whole lot he can do about it.
"Are you hard now?" she whispers, and it makes him both more turned on and paranoid that she has cameras following him or something, because how the hell did she know that already?
"... Yes," he answers miserably, and she has the gall to giggle.
"Do you want to touch yourself, Dick? Do you want to grab your cock and jerk off, right now, right where you are, while thinking of me?"
He wants to ask her why she's talking to him like this, scold her for doing this to him while he's out and on the job, but instead, he barely manages a meek affirmative mumble into his radio.
"You can't yet," she says, suddenly stern, and he lets out a frustrated grunt. He has to kneel, unable to keep standing with the insistent nagging of his erection for attention, which he now can't give.
"... Why not?" he asks, his fingers digging into the fabric on his knees to keep from answering the rising plea coming from his crotch.
"You haven't earned the privilege," she answers, sounding pleased with herself. Normally he'd call her on it, but right now he's feeling a bit too desperate to risk being denied the right to touch himself. Which is really fucking weird, but also insanely hot. "Do you want to know what you have to do?"
He winces as she talks to him over the radio, her teasing voice making his dick jerk and swell with practically every word.
"T-Tell me," he whispers. By now, he's hunched over, forehead resting on his knee as his breathing turns heavy.
"Lie down."
"Lie down? Right here?"
"Don't question it, just do it, Dick," she scolds, and he shuts up and does it. The roof is rough and cold on his back, but he doesn't complain and just asks her what's next.
"Take your hands and bring them up to your chest," she instructs, "and then I want you to thumb your nipples, hard and slow."
He scoffs, like that's the most ridiculous thing she could've asked him to do, but he obeys and feels his knees jerk involuntarily at the feeling. He's still breathing hard, and now he's close to moaning.
"I knew you'd like that."
"Babs..."
"Not yet. Do it again."
He does, and this time he has to muffle his voice by biting down on his lip as hard as he can.
"Again," she repeats, and she's starting to sound breathy in his ear, which only makes it harder to keep himself from reaching down and taking himself in his hand.
"Babs," he whines, and he hears a chuckle.
"Are you willing to beg, Dick? Beg me for permission to touch yourself."
"God, yes, please, I need--"
"Mm? What's that?" she asks, like she hadn't heard him.
"Please. L-Let me..."
His hands are still on his chest, but the insistent need from his neglected erection is starting to turn into pain, and he's not sure how much longer he can wait.
"Let you what?" she purrs, and he can practically see her smirking face on the back of his eyelids.
"Let m-me jerk off. Let me come," he grunts, pleads, desperate and horny but still at her mercy.
"Okay," she says after a pause, and immediately he reaches down and kneads his palm against his straining cock through his spandex, moaning loudly as his other hand frantically undoes his zipper. It takes him a frustrating few seconds to finally tug his erection free of his tights and his boxers, but when he finally gets a gloved hand around it, the pain of need quickly fades into rising pleasure.
Barbara is still whispering in his ear, telling him to, "Think of me. Think of me as you tug on your cock. Think of me touching you, riding you," as the speed of his fist steadily increases.
He's breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, and he can't hear anything but Barbara's voice and the noises he makes the closer he gets to release. His knees are pulling up towards his chest and his back is lifting off of the roof, and he's almost there, he's right there, but--
"Babs, I need-- I can't--" he somehow manages to spit out, curled in on himself, jerking his hand along his cock as fast as he can.
"Oh," she gasps exaggeratedly, "How careless of me to forget! You need permission before you can come, don't you?"
He grunts between gasps and pants, but that's as articulate as he can get at this point.
"Okay, Dick," she sighs, though he can tell from her tone that she's smiling, "I want you to come. Right now, for me."
And with that, he's lost. Every muscle in his body spasms and tightens as he's rocked by release, riding too high to notice that he's soiling his uniform. He shudders as his gloved hand continues stroking his softening cock, though much slower now, still sensitive to even the faintest touch. He drops his back onto the rough surface of the roof once again as his knees finally unlock and he can stretch his legs out again. Staring up at the night sky, the sounds of the city start to reach his ears as his pulse slows. He also hears heavy breathing that isn't his own and pauses before asking into his headset, "... Babs?"
"Get your ass over here already," she laughs, sounding all kinds of unsatisfied and horny, and he is very willing to do what she asks. But finally, the responsible part of his brain kicks in and he remembers that he was actually supposed on patrol tonight.
"Oh, shit, Babs, I can't-- I have to-- Damnit, it's everywhere--" he panics disjointedly, shoving his dick back into his tights and zipping up. He pushes himself back onto his wobbly legs, grimacing as he realizes his chest and gloves are sticky and likely to be stained if he doesn't toss them in a wash soon.
"Dick, calm down," she interrupts, "I called Tim and he's been out the whole time."
"Wait, you did what?"
"C'mon, Grayson, I'm not about to leave the city to fend for itself while I have my way with you."
"... You sneaky--"
"Now are you coming or what?" she asks, sounding impatient.
"Oh, I'll be right there," he grins.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/Humor
Pairings or Characters: Barbara "Oracle" Gordon/Dick "Nightwing" Grayson
Warnings: headset-radio sex/masturbation
Word Count: 1,451
Summary: For once, Gotham is quiet, and Oracle decides to have some fun.
Author Notes: Set indiscriminately at some point before Batman RIP and after The Killing Joke. So basically, unrelated to the current canon. Filling of a prompt from het_idcrack: "25. DCU Comics - Barbara/Dick -- Barbara voice-dominates Dick. He'll do whatever she tells him to." First foray into batfic (which is, unsurprisingly, porn), so be gentle!
The Convenience of Hands-Free Communication
"Hey, Dick?" Oracle's voice crackles in his ear.
"Nightwing," he corrects, "I'm on patrol."
"Mm, but nothing's happening."
"... Still."
"So, anyway Dick--"
"Nightwing," he insists, frowning even though she can't see him. She always knows the face he makes anyway. It's actually a little creepy sometimes.
"Right, sure. Where are you?"
"Fourth and Bradley." He squints down at an alley, his eyes catching movement, but it's just a hobo rummaging through a dumpster.
"On a roof?"
He doesn't know what that has to do with anything, but answers, "Uh, yeah."
"Anyone with you?"
"Um, no, I'm alone."
"Can anyone see you?"
Her questions are starting to get really weird now, and he coughs, a little uncomfortable. "I'm well hidden, Oracle. Why?"
"Just making sure," she literally purrs, and now he feels very uncomfortable. Then she asks, "What are you wearing right now?"
He chokes on startled air and has a brief coughing fit before hissing into his headset, "What the hell, Barbara?"
"Tell me what you're wearing," she says, ignoring him.
"What I always wear!" he answers, exasperated.
"Ooh, nice. Your ass looks fantastic in that Nightwing outfit," she hums, and he wonders if she's drunk. "Do you wanna know what I'm wearing?"
"NO," he very nearly shouts in desperation. The night may be quiet so far, but he has to stay alert, and imagining Barbara is rather counter-productive to that end. But now that she's said it, he's imagining her anyway, and he swears under his breath.
"You're a bad liar, Dick," she tells him, and he can hear the smirk in her voice. He's too confused to correct her this time, and she continues, "So I'll ask again, and this time, be honest. Wanna know what I'm wearing?"
Dick gapes into the night air, baffled by what is currently happening to him, but finding it incredibly difficult to resist. Barbara is quiet on her end, waiting for his answer, and he can't manage anything but a defeated, "Yes."
"Nothing."
And there she is, stark naked in his head, and now he can't see anything else. Not even the hobo currently chewing on someone's discarded sneakers in the alley below. His suit is suddenly too tight, and he knows he's hard, which is incredibly inappropriate for his current situation, but there's not a whole lot he can do about it.
"Are you hard now?" she whispers, and it makes him both more turned on and paranoid that she has cameras following him or something, because how the hell did she know that already?
"... Yes," he answers miserably, and she has the gall to giggle.
"Do you want to touch yourself, Dick? Do you want to grab your cock and jerk off, right now, right where you are, while thinking of me?"
He wants to ask her why she's talking to him like this, scold her for doing this to him while he's out and on the job, but instead, he barely manages a meek affirmative mumble into his radio.
"You can't yet," she says, suddenly stern, and he lets out a frustrated grunt. He has to kneel, unable to keep standing with the insistent nagging of his erection for attention, which he now can't give.
"... Why not?" he asks, his fingers digging into the fabric on his knees to keep from answering the rising plea coming from his crotch.
"You haven't earned the privilege," she answers, sounding pleased with herself. Normally he'd call her on it, but right now he's feeling a bit too desperate to risk being denied the right to touch himself. Which is really fucking weird, but also insanely hot. "Do you want to know what you have to do?"
He winces as she talks to him over the radio, her teasing voice making his dick jerk and swell with practically every word.
"T-Tell me," he whispers. By now, he's hunched over, forehead resting on his knee as his breathing turns heavy.
"Lie down."
"Lie down? Right here?"
"Don't question it, just do it, Dick," she scolds, and he shuts up and does it. The roof is rough and cold on his back, but he doesn't complain and just asks her what's next.
"Take your hands and bring them up to your chest," she instructs, "and then I want you to thumb your nipples, hard and slow."
He scoffs, like that's the most ridiculous thing she could've asked him to do, but he obeys and feels his knees jerk involuntarily at the feeling. He's still breathing hard, and now he's close to moaning.
"I knew you'd like that."
"Babs..."
"Not yet. Do it again."
He does, and this time he has to muffle his voice by biting down on his lip as hard as he can.
"Again," she repeats, and she's starting to sound breathy in his ear, which only makes it harder to keep himself from reaching down and taking himself in his hand.
"Babs," he whines, and he hears a chuckle.
"Are you willing to beg, Dick? Beg me for permission to touch yourself."
"God, yes, please, I need--"
"Mm? What's that?" she asks, like she hadn't heard him.
"Please. L-Let me..."
His hands are still on his chest, but the insistent need from his neglected erection is starting to turn into pain, and he's not sure how much longer he can wait.
"Let you what?" she purrs, and he can practically see her smirking face on the back of his eyelids.
"Let m-me jerk off. Let me come," he grunts, pleads, desperate and horny but still at her mercy.
"Okay," she says after a pause, and immediately he reaches down and kneads his palm against his straining cock through his spandex, moaning loudly as his other hand frantically undoes his zipper. It takes him a frustrating few seconds to finally tug his erection free of his tights and his boxers, but when he finally gets a gloved hand around it, the pain of need quickly fades into rising pleasure.
Barbara is still whispering in his ear, telling him to, "Think of me. Think of me as you tug on your cock. Think of me touching you, riding you," as the speed of his fist steadily increases.
He's breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, and he can't hear anything but Barbara's voice and the noises he makes the closer he gets to release. His knees are pulling up towards his chest and his back is lifting off of the roof, and he's almost there, he's right there, but--
"Babs, I need-- I can't--" he somehow manages to spit out, curled in on himself, jerking his hand along his cock as fast as he can.
"Oh," she gasps exaggeratedly, "How careless of me to forget! You need permission before you can come, don't you?"
He grunts between gasps and pants, but that's as articulate as he can get at this point.
"Okay, Dick," she sighs, though he can tell from her tone that she's smiling, "I want you to come. Right now, for me."
And with that, he's lost. Every muscle in his body spasms and tightens as he's rocked by release, riding too high to notice that he's soiling his uniform. He shudders as his gloved hand continues stroking his softening cock, though much slower now, still sensitive to even the faintest touch. He drops his back onto the rough surface of the roof once again as his knees finally unlock and he can stretch his legs out again. Staring up at the night sky, the sounds of the city start to reach his ears as his pulse slows. He also hears heavy breathing that isn't his own and pauses before asking into his headset, "... Babs?"
"Get your ass over here already," she laughs, sounding all kinds of unsatisfied and horny, and he is very willing to do what she asks. But finally, the responsible part of his brain kicks in and he remembers that he was actually supposed on patrol tonight.
"Oh, shit, Babs, I can't-- I have to-- Damnit, it's everywhere--" he panics disjointedly, shoving his dick back into his tights and zipping up. He pushes himself back onto his wobbly legs, grimacing as he realizes his chest and gloves are sticky and likely to be stained if he doesn't toss them in a wash soon.
"Dick, calm down," she interrupts, "I called Tim and he's been out the whole time."
"Wait, you did what?"
"C'mon, Grayson, I'm not about to leave the city to fend for itself while I have my way with you."
"... You sneaky--"
"Now are you coming or what?" she asks, sounding impatient.
"Oh, I'll be right there," he grins.