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Due Process

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No matter how you slice it, this looks bad.

From Dick’s position on the floor of some nameless tugboat, he can see around half a dozen of Black Mask’s men surrounding the boss himself. All of them are armed, and the bump on his head and bruises on his ribs will attest to the fact that none are very friendly. His own gun had been taken and tossed shortly after they tied him up, but Dick couldn’t see where to from his comfy position inside a burlap sack at the time. The fresh sea air is a welcome relief compared to that stuffy old place, but the company? Not great.

He wishes he could tell them that to their faces (well, their masks), but they’ve shut him up by gagging him with a thick strip of fabric. Now, all he can do is glare while two of them haul the ship’s anchor over to him.

Crap. Dick knows where this is going. He needs to think of a way out of the situation before they wrap him up in those chains and chuck him overboard to sleep with the fishes. It’d be easier if they’d gone after Nightwing, but he’s just Officer Grayson right now. Poor, stupid Officer Grayson, who went poking his nose around where it didn’t belong, overconfident that he could gather evidence of Black Mask’s crimes in Blüdhaven and bolt without being caught. His plan would’ve gone off without a hitch had he caught word of the gang’s secret, small-scale meeting sooner. He’d practically offered himself up on a platter by snooping around while they were all inside.

But there’s no changing that now. You live, you learn. He just hopes he does enough of the former to appreciate the latter. Eyes locked on the men moving the anchor, he makes a mental list of all the things that aren’t in his favor:

  • He’s in his cop uniform, without any of his usual gadgets.
  • He left his comm link in his apartment.
  • He’s unarmed, and only able to fight as well as a police officer conceivably could. No fancy tricks allowed.
  • His wrists are tied with rope, not cuffs, so he can’t even lockpick himself free.
  • He’s in the middle of the harbor, not far enough out that he couldn’t swim to shore if need be, but far enough that he’ll have no cover from gunfire if he makes a break for it.

So, yeah. The odds are a little against him. Dick squirms, testing the strength of his bonds, and resolves to improvise. After all, it’s what he does best.

While the thugs manhandle him to wrap the chain around his body, Black Mask himself steps up. He keeps his gun trained on Dick like he doesn’t trust anyone else to know when to shoot.

“Shame to have to feed you to the sharks,” he says. “Pretty little thing like you.”

Dick bares his teeth around the gag and snarls something that could either be “Fuck you” or “Nice shoes.” Black Mask, ever the pessimist, chooses to hear the former.

“That’s a hell of a way to talk to the guy that’s got a gun pointed at your head. Don’t have a lot going on in the brains department, do you, princess?” He sighs. “Good thing you’ve got your looks. Not that they’ll help you much now.”

“Dunno, boss,” one of Black Mask’s lackeys says. “Maybe he’d like a last meal, eh?”

He shows off what he means by grabbing his own crotch, and he and the guys around him erupt into laughter. Dick hopes his wrinkled nose and arched eyebrow can properly convey the “Not on your life or mine” look he’s trying for.

Black Mask studies him for an impossibly long time. Then he shrugs.

“You know,” he says, “that’s not a bad idea.”

Dick’s heart drops into his stomach. Oh, no. When he prayed for an out, this is not what he meant. He scoots back as much as he can when Black Mask steps forward, but between his awkward position and the chains weighing him down, he doesn’t get far before a foot comes down to pin him by the hips.

“Calm down, sweet cheeks,” Black Mask says, undoing his pants with his free hand. “I’m sure this won’t be anything you’re not used to. You clearly didn’t study your way through the police academy.”

Around him, Black Mask’s thugs cheer him on. Dick’s heard it all before — the catcalls, the R-rated remarks about his body — but never in a situation like this. One part of himself tells him to play it cool, use the distraction as an opportunity to flee. The other is stuck between “it won’t work” and “even if it does, do you really want Black Mask using you as his own personal premortem fleshlight?” That’s to say nothing of the situation if the others decide they want a turn…

A shiver rolls down his spine as Black Mask yanks him up by the hair. He brings one hand — the one with the gun — down, hooking a thumb between Dick’s cheek and the gag to tug it out of his mouth.

“Don’t bite, baby,” he says, “or I’ll get mad.”

“Wait, don’t,” Dick says, but it’s too late; Black Mask shoves his half-hard cock into his mouth while it’s open.

Okay. This is happening. Notorious crime lord and noted sick fuck Black Mask’s dick is resting on his tongue. He wants nothing more than to bite it off, but, while “mad” is manageable, “mad and holding a loaded gun to his head” is somewhat less so. Dick tries to keep the dawning horror off of his face, but his wide eyes betray how he feels without his permission.

“Well?” Black Mask says after a moment of inaction. He rocks his hips and grinds his gun hard into Dick’s temple. “I hope I don’t need to tell you you’re not in much of a position to negotiate.”

No, he sure isn’t. Dick shifts on his knees to ease some of the strain from where the chains bite into his legs. Reluctantly, feeling like he’s trying to wade through molasses, he starts to move his head back and forth. The makeshift crowd lights up with encouragement in the form of hoots and jeers. God, their presence makes everything so much worse. Sucking off Black Mask would be bad enough on its own; now he has to deal with the fact that a whole audience is watching him humiliate himself.

Languidly, Black Mask’s cock starts to grow in his mouth. It isn’t long before it becomes too much for Dick to comfortably take at once. Of course, that doesn’t stop Black Mask from trying to force it down anyway. With a hand braced on the back of Dick’s head, he starts to rock his hips, the tip of his cock getting closer to his throat each time. Dick mastered his gag reflex at the age of twelve for completely unrelated reasons, so it’s not as big an issue as it could be — that is, until everyone realizes he can take the entirety of Black Mask’s cock without flinching.

“Holy shit, look at ‘im go,” one man says.

“Them pretty boys are all cocksuckers,” says another.

Even Black Mask himself says “Christ, ” trailing the barrel of the gun down Dick’s face almost lovingly. “You do this often, Officer? Hey. Look up at me with those pretty eyes when I’m talking to you.”

Dick fights back the urge to glare. Appearing vulnerable might be the best route here, so when he complies, he makes sure to wear his best doe-eyed look. He feels Black Mask twitch against his tongue.

“Bet you sound real good when you scream,” he says. “Pity we don’t have more time together.”

Clearly, Black Mask likes to have people at his mercy. He’s well-known for taking his time with his victims. Dick never thought he’d think of that as a good thing, and he still doesn’t, but it is an opportune thing. The longer he can get Black Mask to focus on him, the more time he has with his head above water to focus on an escape route. That in mind, he whimpers, trying to speak around the length of Black Mask’s cock.

It works. Black Mask pulls him off, stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers in a show of faux tenderness. “What, honey?”

“P… Please don’t,” Dick says, trying his best to sound like a terrified, in-over-his-head rookie. “I’ll— I’ll show you a good time, okay? I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t kill mmmf—

Black Mask shoves his way back inside and continues fucking Dick’s throat. He dips in and out with shallow, lazy thrusts, thumb wiping away the fake tear Dick managed to summon to the corner of his eye. Everyone laughs.

“Ain’t it funny, boys,” he calls, “how everyone’s a porn star once they’re staring down the barrel of a glock?”

An appreciative rumble sweeps over the crowd, and Dick hears a few of them mutter to each other.

“Remember that chick from the Hustlerz Club?” one asks, needling the guy next to him with an elbow. “Rode my dick for an hour straight before I popped her off.”

His companion chuckles. Dick feels sick to his stomach.

Black Mask disregards them. “Alright, alright. You want a shot?” he asks. “Go. Impress me. Keep sitting there like a dead fish, I’ll make you into one.”

Then he lets go of Dick’s head, and Dick knows what he has to do. Jesus. It’s disgusting, complying with Black Mask’s orders while everyone around them watches, but it isn’t like he has much of a choice. Eyes locked on Black Mask’s face, he draws back, sucking on his shaft the whole way. When he reaches the tip, he swirls his tongue around it, trying to pretend like he’s with someone who actually deserves his best.

Black Mask seems to like his “pretty eyes,” so he keeps looking up while he licks a long line down his cock. Down, up, and back again, sucking at the base, leaning up to lap at the sensitive spot just under the head — a low growl and a hand caressing his face tells him he’s on the right track.

In earnest this time, he sinks down on Black Mask’s cock, not stopping until his nose presses up against dense curls of hair. He swallows a few times around the length in his throat, then begins to bob his head. The wet, messy noises he makes while he sucks aren’t loud enough to drown out his audience; unlike Black Mask, they don’t stay silent.

“Oh yeah, pretty-boy definitely done this before.”

“That how you get straight A’s, piggy?”

“Jesus, boss, do we get a turn ‘fore we off this slut?”

Dick’s heart hammers so fast he nearly swoons, but Black Mask keeps him upright with a hand cupped behind his head.

“Maybe later,” he says. “Lemme see if his ass is worth overlooking his intrusion earlier.”

He pulls Dick off his cock by the hair, and Dick struggles, vision swimming. “Wait, wait—”

“What,” Black Mask says, “does ‘anything’ not include anal nowadays? Thought you were gonna show me a good time.”

This is escalating faster than Dick wanted. He looks around, hoping an out will have presented itself by now, but all he sees are the same masked faces, the same open water. Then Black Mask throws him onto his back, and his spine connects hard with the chains underneath him, whiting out his vision with pain.

“You wanna live,” his captor says, “you’ll spread those nice, long legs of yours.”

Dick didn’t even close them in the first place, stunned as he is. Again, he thinks, this is really happening. How many times has he thought about this situation before? Not necessarily with Black Mask and his men, but with countless other foes he’s faced. They aren’t the first ones to express interest in wanting to do more than just kill him; he remembers the phantom feeling of hands on his ass during battle, eyes raking down his battered body, tongues peeking out through teeth while people salivate over the mere thought of having him at their mercy. It’s hard not to imagine it, when so many people make sure he knows it’s on their minds.

But this is the first time anyone’s actually succeeded in getting him on his back like this. Black Mask carelessly works open his pants and tugs them down, and Dick just… freezes. He stops working at his bonds, stops thinking of escape plans. It’s as if he can’t even remember how to be a superhero, undercover or not.

“Look at this,” Black Mask says — almost coos — as he cups Dick’s ass in his hands. He gives it a rough squeeze, then spreads his cheeks with his thumbs. Dick feels a strange mixture of cold and hot all at once. “Jesus. An ass like this belongs on a showgirl, not a cop. Might be worth keeping you around for the sight alone. What do you boys think?”

Then he’s being turned, flipped over, so that his front weighs down on the chains and his bottom half rests over Black Mask’s lap. With his legs pressed together now, Black Mask can more easily show off Dick’s ass, cupping underneath it to show it to his men.

The whistles and appreciative groans make Dick’s face flush red. He feels himself start to breathe faster, and a stirring in his gut makes him panic.

“Please.” He presses his forehead against the cool deck, willing himself to settle down. “P-please, wait, I—”

“What?” Black Mask asks, tone harsher this time. “You want to die, huh? We can throw you over right now.”

“No, I just—”

“Then shut. The. Fuck . Up,” he says, punctuating each word with a slap to Dick’s ass. “And stop spitting in my face after I’ve been so generous to you. Understand?”

The whole crew laughs. Dick’s ears are ringing. He realizes with cold, clammy horror that he’s hard. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out are a few wordless “uhh, uh ” sounds.

“Not so talkative now, huh?” Black Mask drawls, dragging a thumb over the outside of Dick’s asshole. “Not like you were back on shore. Nice and quiet now, like a good bitch should be. I like that. Gets you some points.”

Dick hears the sick sound of Black Mask spitting, then, a second later, feels slimy fingers press against his hole. He squirms, but Black Mask keeps one hand firm on his lower back while the other works in a digit.

“Oh, yeah.” He twists it around and curves it up, and Dick yelps, jumping in his lap. “Good and tight.”

He starts thrusting in and out, and Dick makes a noise he’s never heard himself make, some sort of an exhale mixed with a whine. This isn’t happening. This can’t be fucking happening. There’s no way he’s here, practically in public, half-naked with Black fucking Mask fingering him open, making it feel fucking good. Dick focuses on that like it’ll make all of this okay — if he tells himself often enough that it isn’t real, then maybe, eventually, he’ll be right.

Black Mask uses two fingers, then three, and, though his eyes are screwed shut, Dick can still hear everything perfectly. The spectators hoot and whistle and goad their boss on. “Fuck that cunt, boss,” and “Make that li’l piggy squeal,” and “Moaning like a bitch in heat, listen to ‘im!” and a million and one other things that shouldn’t make Dick’s cock throb so hard.

It doesn’t escape Black Mask’s notice. With his free hand — no gun anymore, though Dick hardly registers that fact — he wrenches Dick up by the hair, forcing his back into a painful arch. He bears down with his fingers, and Dick positively howls.

“Little slut is hard,” Black Mask tells his men. “This what you wanted all along, huh? That why you came to find us all alone?”

Dick wants to speak, to say anything to defend himself, but Black Mask’s fingers stroke his prostate so roughly that he almost comes then and there. He chokes out a sob, and all he can manage is, “Yes, yes, yes…!

Black Mask pulls his fingers out with a wet squelching noise. Dick’s muscles clamp up around the empty space, throbbing in want of something to squeeze down on. A second later, Black Mask throws him on his back, mercifully away from the chains this time.

“Lift those hips up— Yeah, like that,” he says, yanking Dick up by the thighs. With his pants still half-on, he can’t spread his legs properly, but Black Mask doesn’t seem to mind. He presses his chest to the backs of Dick’s thighs, rubbing his cock against his hole.

“Watch and learn, boys,” he says. “This is how you stick a pig.”

Another glob of spit splashes down. Half of it lands on Black Mask’s cock, while the rest drips between Dick’s asscheeks. He shivers at the feeling. Black Mask rubs his length over the mess, then starts to press inside, and Dick’s mouth drops open in a silent scream.

He doesn’t expect Black Mask to wait, but the resulting deep thrust is still hard to take. He’s a lot bigger than his fingers, and, despite what everyone seems to think, Dick doesn’t do this sort of thing on a regular basis. The spit hardly works as proper lube, leading to a stretch that makes Dick’s erection flag. Black Mask doesn’t seem to care; he rocks back and forth so hard that Dick’s head knocks against the deck with every thrust.

It takes him a second to realize that the shaky, stuttering moans he hears are coming from his own mouth. It’s hard to focus on himself when Black Mask’s crew is so loud. Head lolling to the side, he watches them watch him. A few of them palm or adjust themselves until the bulge in their pants is less noticeable, but one man in particular has his hand down his slacks, the pink tip of his cock poking up and out.

Dick’s mouth waters.

Black Mask snaps his fingers near Dick’s face, catching his attention. He looks up, but not fast enough, because that hand catches him by the chin and turns his head so hard it strains something in his neck.

“Hey, little slut,” he says. “Not so bad, huh? Whaddya say? Think you wanna be a hole for my boys and me full-time?”

It would be so much easier to think if Black Mask would stop moving and give him a second, but of course he isn’t that kind. Dick’s nails scrape at the deck underneath him, clawing at it as if he’ll be able to yank a good plan out of the boards. Maybe, he thinks, this is the best plan. Play along long enough to get off this damn boat, then regroup once he’s on shore somewhere… He has to. What other choice does he have?

Yes, ” he says, for that reason and that reason only. “Pl- please, I’ll do it, I’ll— Oh! Oh my god…”

Black Mask isn’t considerate enough to hit his prostate on purpose, but he manages by accident a few times anyway, sending Dick’s rational mind spiraling down the drain. It’s so rough that it almost hurts, but Dick’s always been a little bit of a masochist. It’s practically a requirement when you spend your nights fighting half the criminals in the city. He trails off into an embarrassing sequence of gasps and moans, and this time, it’s Black Mask who laughs. Like everything else about him, the sound is dark and dangerous.

“Whaddya say, boys?” he asks. “Should we let the poor kid live? Bring him ‘round when we need to take the edge off?”

The reaction is a lot more mixed than Dick hoped it would be. The men treat his fate like a game, with half of them cheering and the other half booing. Some of them flash big thumbs-down gestures, while others needle their companions for being spoilsports.

“He ain’t that pretty—”

“—’least let me fuck that mouth ‘fore ya off ‘im—”

“—always wanted a pet pig. Check out that fat ass—”

“Why don’tcha chop off his legs ‘n’ watch him squirm?”

That suggestion in particular gets quite a few appreciative whistles. Dick has to take a more active role in this if he’s going to have any hope of turning their opinions in his favor. He gets the feeling that playing up the “scared, crying victim” part will only encourage them toward harsher sadism, so maybe...

At just the right moment, Black Mask slams into his prostate again, forcing a long moan out of Dick’s throat. He arches his back and launches without a net into the only plan he’s got.

“Please,” he groans, “please, yeah, I want it, I— Please fuck me, hurt me, mmn…!”

A wave of surprise descends over the boat, followed by interested whispers. Black Mask himself whistles, long and low.

“We got a real masochist on our hands, don’t we?” he asks, moving his hand from Dick’s chin to his hair. He gives it a yank, bearing down harder with his hips at the same time.

The noise Dick makes is a little too pleased to be entirely fake. He starts moving his hips to meet every one of Black Mask’s thrusts.

“Don’t give a— shh- shit about being a cop, just want— wanna be… your little bitch…!” he says over the heavy sounds of his ass being fucked. “Ohhh my god. Always wanted this. God, harder—

He cuts himself off with a strangled cry when a particularly harsh thrust jabs against his insides. Black Mask silences him further with a hand around his throat, leaning down to growl close to his face.

“Let’s get one thing straight, honey,” he says. His thrusts slow down, each one pointed and brutal, as his palm presses into Dick’s windpipe. “Never give me orders. You ask, and maybe, if I’m feeling particularly charitable, maybe I’ll give you what you want. Tell me what to do again, I’ll snap your neck. Capiche?”

For a second, Dick worries he might pass out. Black Mask’s grip remains hard and unrelenting the entire time he talks, and stars start to dance in Dick’s eyes. By the time he’s finally released, he can hear little more than his own blood rushing in his ears, and he has to cough before he can speak.

“Ye-yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Black Mask gives him a couple pats on the cheek — just shy of slaps, really. Still, the finger-shaped bruises forming on Dick’s neck are thankful for whatever leniency he can get. “Now tell me some more about why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your skull once I’m done with you. And keep it up with the ‘Sir’ business; I like that.”

He starts thrusting faster again, and Dick does all he can to keep his head in the game despite how good it feels. He can’t let the pleasure distract him too much. This is an act, at the end of the day. A traitorous hard-on and an act to go with it.

“Oh, fuck, I— I never even wanted to be a cop, god, I— Stupid old man cut me off unless I did it, I figured I’d — mmn! — c-c’mere to Blüdhaven t’do it, get in on that bribe money like everyone else— Jesus, please, Sir, please, feels so good…!”

The lies spill out with a practiced ease. He can play Bruce Wayne’s spoiled brat if he needs to. It’s a pretty good plan, he thinks — until Black Mask starts poking holes in it.

“That right?” he asks, clicking his tongue. “Then why were you skulking around our office like a nosy bitch?”

Dick’s mind works overtime to come up with an explanation while Black Mask pounds away at his ass. Hopefully, his hesitation will be chalked up to delirious pleasure (though the way he chokes out whining moans isn’t exactly an act).

“H-heard voices,” he gasps. “Some o’ the gangs around here, they load us up when we come around, keep our mouths shut. Weed, coke— Whatever. I didn’t know it was — fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck — mm, that it was you…!”

It’s not a total lie. Blüdhaven cops are, as a general rule, so corrupt that they’re more likely to toke up with some crooks than arrest them. And, in Dick’s defense, Black Mask’s men did strike first, as soon as they saw him. As far as they know, he’d just been acting in self-defense when he fought back.

Black Mask chuckles. “You really must be new. Looking for handouts from the Black Mask… God, it makes me sick.”

“I’ll never do it again,” Dick says, panting, eyes squeezed shut to force a few fake tears out. “Please, please, just rape me like a little bitch, Sir, teach me a lesson, I’m so so so so sorry—

“You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?” Black Mask asks, amused. He wraps a hand around Dick’s throbbing cock. “Sweetie, it’s not rape when you’re this hard. This your fetish or something?”

Something about that makes Dick’s heart hammer in his throat. He tells himself again that he’s just playing a role, that it’s only Officer Grayson the character that likes this, not Dick Grayson the person. He’s just a really good actor, that’s why he’s leaking precum all over Black Mask’s glove. Voiceless, he nods his head.

“Christ, that’s hot,” one of the onlookers says.

Another asks, “Can we rape ‘im, boss? Since he wants it so bad an’ all.”

Dick turns to look, salivating as the man grabs himself through his pants. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want it. It’s fake, it’s acting, it’s—

Black Mask forces him by the chin to look up at him again. “Whaddya think? You willing to take all my boys’ cocks to save your sorry skin?”

Dick still can’t speak. He nods again, a few more tears spilling down his cheeks.

Black Mask presses a thumb to his lower lip. “I asked you a question, you filthy fucking cumrag.”

“Yes, Sir!” Dick cries out. He tries to toss his head back so he won’t have to see the look on Black Mask’s ugly mug, but he’s being held too tight. His gut twists in a wonderfully wrong sort of way. “Please, please, do whatever you want with me, just don’t kill me, Sir…!”

Black Mask glances off to the side. “Boys?”

This time, the reaction is much more unanimous. Everyone cheers. Dick almost comes then and there, but Black Mask pulls out abruptly. Dick actually sobs.

“Alright, slut,” Black Mask says, pulling him up by the hair. Dick rises to his feet, shaking all over, pants caught around his ankles. He follows along with unsteady, shuffling footsteps as Black Mask tugs him toward the cabin door. “Let’s take a couple minutes alone. Hash some things out.”

Some of the men chime in with disappointed groans. Black Mask assures them they’ll be quick, tells two of them to guard the door, and drags Dick inside.

The door clicks shut behind them, blocking out the ambient sounds of waves splashing and seagulls cawing. The resulting silence is almost oppressive. Black Mask leads him down a small flight of stairs to a lounge room below deck, which has its own door to open and shut. Two doors, and from the looks of it, no windows in the little room. Only one way out, back the way they came — that’s the fire, Dick thinks, and this is the frying pan.

“Nothing to see, so stop looking,” Black Mask says from beside him.

“I— I wasn’t—”

“Save it. You don’t think I’m that stupid, do you?” he asks. Dick pales. When he doesn’t speak, Black Mask continues. “Good story. But I’m not all the way convinced. You’ll be a good bitch and keep those hands to yourself if I cut this rope, won’t you?”

Dick musters up a smile. “Unless you want otherwise.”

“Shut up.”

Black Mask pulls something from an inside pocket. Dick can’t see what it is, but he hears the telltale sound of a pocket knife being opened, and seconds later, the rope at his wrists comes loose. He doesn’t treat it as a victory; Black Mask wouldn’t have freed his hands if he was at all worried about Dick using them.

Dick doesn’t even have time to flex the feeling back into his fingers before Black Mask tugs him over to the stout little bed against one wall. He watches him toe his shoes off, then Black Mask sits on the bed, headboard at his back. He pulls Dick down between his spread legs.

One hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, Black Mask says, “Suck.”

Dick doesn’t know what to make of this. Why the change of scenery? Black Mask sure doesn’t seem like the type to get gun-shy around a crowd. Is he one of those people who needs to be in a certain position to come? What gives?

Not that he has time to dilly around making theories. Hesitantly at first, then with false bravado, Dick ducks down and takes Black Mask’s cock back into his mouth.

It tastes like a combination of Black Mask’s spit and his own ass, which, by all rights, should be much less appealing than it actually is. There’s something about it being so dirty, so crass, that lights Dick’s senses on fire. The smell, the taste, the feeling of it thick and throbbing against his tongue; all of it combines in a perfect storm, and Dick swears he can’t remember the last time he was this turned on.

—God, no, wait, that’s just the method acting talking. It’s disgusting. He hates this, hates bobbing his head and hearing soft, pleased little sighs from the crime lord he’s sucking off. He’s not really like this, not a whore, not someone who gets off on the thought of being gangraped. He’s not.

A bit of movement from above catches Dick’s attention. When he first glances up, he expects to see that the black, shiny object in Black Mask’s hand is a gun, waiting for him to try something. But, no, it’s small and flat and rectangular…

A phone. Dick jerks up and off of Black Mask’s cock in alarm. “Wait—!”

Black Mask stops fiddling, ungloved, with the screen to push him back down. Dick keeps his mouth closed, lips pressed up against Black Mask’s cock.

“I told you,” Black Mask says, “I’m not stupid. You suck and fuck your way out of here, promise you’ll be a good boy, then go run with your tail between your legs and tell everyone you’re being coerced by the big, bad Black Mask… Yeah, no. You really think I’d let you out of here without collateral?”

Dick stares up at him with wide eyes. Shit. He can’t have a video like that floating around. If it got out, he’d never be able to get a job with any police force again, respectable or not. And if Bruce finds out—

“What are you waiting for?” Black Mask asks, snapping him out of his visions of worst-case scenarios. He lifts a hand and taps on the phone again. “Smile big for the camera. You slip up and make it look like you don’t wanna be here, we reshoot the whole thing from the top.”

He doesn’t have a choice. If he refuses, he’ll be killed for sure. His best bet is to just go along with it, then let Nightwing circle back and destroy the footage later. There’ll be no later, he reminds himself, if you’re dead.

With a shaky breath, he grins. “Sure. Er— Got it, Sir.”

Then he leans down and takes Black Mask back into his mouth.

He can’t stomach looking up at the phone while he works, so he lets his eyes flutter shut. He keeps one hand wrapped around the base of Black Mask’s cock, working it up and down in time with his mouth. If he tunes everything out, tries to pretend like he’s sucking off someone else, then everything will be fine. No ugly skull face leering down at him, no masked goons waiting to use him like a fucktoy, no ache in his ass from being used so roughly…

After a few moments of hollowing out his cheeks and slurping on the head and grinding his hips down against the mattress, Dick realizes he hasn’t been thinking about anyone else at all. Fuck. Despite himself, he moans, earning a little squirt of precum in his mouth for his trouble.

“Alright, sweetie, alright,” Black Mask says, pushing him up by the shoulder. Dick sits up, trying not to look surprised by the camera.

Just an act. You’re a performer. Big smile. Dazzle ‘em.

He manages a coquettish grin, continuing to pump Black Mask’s cock. Black Mask reaches for him with his free hand, tugging the buttons of his uniform open.

“Lemme see you,” he says. “Yeah, that’s it…”

Dick leans further back and sits up on his knees, showing off his body: uniform shirt half-undone, thin white undershirt underneath it; pants and underwear down, exposing sculpted legs; his cock, thick and hard, flushed pink from being rubbed against the mattress. When Black Mask tilts the phone down to capture the whole view, he feels a strange sense of excitement.

“Like what you see?” he asks. His voice comes out equal parts amused and sultry. He pretends to himself he did that on purpose.

Behind the phone, Black Mask’s eyes darken. Dick thinks the right word is “predatory.” He reaches forward to tuck a strand of Dick’s hair behind his ear, then pulls him back down.

“Don’t tease me, doll,” he says, and Dick takes him back into his mouth.

This time, he looks up into the camera. He holds that gaze, unblinking, while he sucks hard on the tip of Black Mask’s cock until it pops out of his mouth with an audible noise. The little groan he gets in return could well be a fake for the sake of the “show,” but it spurs Dick on anyway.

He can work much better with his hands free. He thinks he’ll teach Black Mask that lesson now. He swirls the palm of one hand over the tip of his cock, while the other wraps around the base; still looking up, he drags his tongue from bottom to top, then licks the sensitive spot beneath the head. At the same time, he tugs lightly at Black Mask’s balls, then licks back down to suck one into his mouth. He rolls it over his tongue, pumping his cock, then repeats the motion with the other, until he can practically feel the lust radiating off of Black Mask.

When he licks back up to the tip, Dick realizes he’s been staring at the camera this whole time. Why doesn’t that turn him off? He tries to look away, but for whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to do it. Even when he wraps both hands around Black Mask’s cock and starts to pump his head up and down, he doesn’t stop. He wonders how he looks, mouth stretched out, drool everywhere, bare ass sticking up behind him. If Black Mask’s intense gaze is enough to go by, he’d say he’s still a knockout in the looks department, even in such a messy state.

What finally gets him to look away is Black Mask’s hand on the back of his head, firm and insistent, urging him down. One by one, he uncurls his fingers, taking Black Mask deeper and deeper as his path is freed up. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the base, cockhead nestled deep in his throat. Just to show off, he swallows around it a few times, and doesn’t gag once.

“Jesus.

Black Mask’s rough, hitched voice shouldn’t sound as sexy as it does. His fingers comb through Dick’s bangs, pushing them back. “Look at me,” he says.

Dick does. This time, their eyes meet. Black Mask’s expression sends a shiver down Dick’s spine. And it’s stupid, because the bastard hardly has the ability to make any faces beyond his standard sneer, but something about those narrowed red eyes makes Dick’s cock throb hard.

“Up,” Black Mask says. Dick sits up straight, a long string of spit snapping between his mouth and Black Mask’s cock. He uses the extra lubricant to pump his length even faster, making nasty little wet noises with every jerk of his wrist.

“Good boy.”

Dick’s face colors at the praise. Black Mask slaps his thigh once, almost affectionately, before reaching down to pull out a little drawer built into the bottom of the bed. Dick glances inside in time to see him pull a bottle out. He hands it off to Dick. Lube. Actual, like, sex lube, which raises a lot of questions that Dick doesn’t want to think about right now.

“Get daddy nice and slippery, baby,” Black Mask says, and Dick’s eyes flutter, mouth dropping open with the shock of just how hot it is to hear that. “I want you to ride me.”

Of course that’s how they’re gonna do it. Pretty hard to deny it’s consensual when Dick’s the one calling the shots — at least, that’s how it’ll look in the context of the video. It would be so much easier to just let Black Mask hold him down and fuck him, to pretend like he really doesn’t have a say in any of this, but it’s not like he can argue now. They’d have to do it all over again, that’s what Black Mask said.

With a deep breath, Dick uncaps the bottle.

He forces another smile back onto his face for the sake of the camera. Holding the bottle a few inches above Black Mask’s dick, he squeezes the lube out. Black Mask hisses through his teeth at the cold, which Dick counts as a small victory.

“Sorry, daddy, ” he says, smirking.

He puts the bottle off to the side and starts working the lube into Black Mask’s skin, pumping up and down with both hands. The obscene, wet noises are even louder now, and his asshole throbs with the anticipation that it’ll soon be full. Riding the Black Mask… It’s totally absurd. It’s— it’s gross, and he’s not looking forward to it. Not at all.

“Uh, baby,” Black Mask says, reaching down to lay a hand over one of Dick’s own. “I think we’re good.”

It’s then that Dick realizes he’s been stalling, spaced out in his own world. He looks down, squeezing both hands up Black Mask’s cock one final time. Excess lube bubbles up around his hands and drips down the backs of them; it’s a strangely erotic sight.

Okay. Now or never.

On a whim, he leans down and pecks a kiss to the tip of Black Mask’s cock. Then he shimmies the rest of the way out of his shoes and pants. He goes to take off his shirt and jacket, but Black Mask stops him. Figures. Of course he wouldn’t want their theoretical audience to forget that he’s a cop.

Dick straddles Black Mask, holding onto his cock. He presses the tip of it to his hole and shudders. Slowly, he starts to sit down on it.

Fuck, it’s wet. Much wetter than before. The slide is much easier, and as a result, it doesn’t take Dick long to take the whole thing inside of him. It’s still more of a stretch than he’s used to, especially from this new position, but it doesn’t quite hurt. It’s a pleasant burn, soothed almost immediately by the lube when he starts to move.

“Ooh, fuck.” Black Mask sets his free hand on Dick’s thigh. He traces little circles into his inner thigh with his thumb, a tiny motion that sets Dick’s nerves alight somehow even more than the cock up his ass. “That’s it, pretty boy. Up and down, just like that.”

God, can’t he just be quiet? It’d be much easier that way. If there wasn’t a constant reminder of who he’s with, whose lap he’s bouncing in like it’s his fucking job. Dick accidentally lets out a moan, too soft, too pleased, and lifts a wrist to bite into. Much to his frustration, Black Mask pulls his arm down and holds it tight, rubbing more of those infuriating circles into his wrist.

“Don’t be shy,” he says. “I wanna hear you.”

Shit. ” Dick tosses his head back, showing off the vulnerable expanse of his neck. He rocks his hips just right, bumping Black Mask’s cockhead into his prostate, and clenches his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ohhhh my god, you fff-fucking—”

“What?” Black Mask asks. “I’m what?”

He thrusts his hips up to meet Dick’s, fast and rough. Dick wonders how much of the wet slap-slap-slap sound from their bodies slamming together gets picked up on the recording. He wonders if he looks good like this, like a porn star, all sweaty and flushed and exposed. He tries to imagine what Black Mask’s cock looks like from that angle, slamming up into his ass.

He doesn’t even remember what he was going to say. He just moans, long and loud, and, shit, the other men must have heard that from upstairs. Are they hot for him? Is that one guy still fisting his cock? He remembers he has to sleep with all of them once this is over and shivers, precum cutting a hot trail down the underside of his cock.

“That’s what I thought,” Black Mask mutters. Then, louder, “Look at me, cunt. Look at me while I’m fucking you.”

Dick whimpers, but complies. It’s almost too much seeing Black Mask lying there, camera out, suit disheveled, looking him over like a prime piece of meat. Black Mask, the fucking king of crime in Gotham, ruler of the underworld, sadistic fucking prick, with his big hard cock and his intoxicating dirty talk and god, Dick’s close.

Ooh, Roman—”

Black Mask releases his wrist to reach around and slap his ass. “Is that what you call me?”

“Sir!” Dick nearly sobs, fisting both hands in Black Mask’s suit, riding him as fast as he can manage. Black Mask meets his movements in kind, rocking his body so hard his words stutter. “Si-r! Pl-ease Sir, ple-ease, fuh-fuck me, oh, mmn, ah— G-gonna come, I’m, I’m, oh Christ—

Black Mask holds his hip in an iron grip, pulling their bodies together. He thrusts up so hard that the resulting slap s have gotta be audible from above the boat, and his cock jabs Dick hard enough to hurt, but it hurts so good, and then everything is even wetter inside, and god Black Mask came inside him, wet and filthy, rough and painful and fuck fuck fuck—

Dick practically howls with his orgasm. His whole body shakes and jerks, and it’s an uncontrollable thing, so intense it nearly frightens him. His cum splatters all over Black Mask’s suit, which is ruined anyway, since Dick is pretty sure he’s tugged a few of the buttons loose by now, but all he can concentrate on is how god damn good it feels.

“Good baby,” Black Mask says, moving the camera close to Dick’s heaving chest, his cum-leaking cockhead. “You did real good.”

Then he shuts it off.