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One Night in Berlin

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The world pulses to the beat of deafening bass pumped out into the crowd, a distorted nightmare of industrial music mixed in with acid green laser patterns and swirling strobes of multi-colored light, playing among writhing bodies on an impressively large dancefloor veiled in smoke which only makes the open area feel claustrophobic. Dangerous.

Midnighter is in heaven.

Honestly, he doesn’t know why his contact has chosen this place as their rendezvous point, a seedy club in Berlin, a converted factory that according his research had been host at one point to a Soviet munitions depot. Back in the day, the owners had intended for the place to be the breeding ground for the youth of former East Germany to let loose after dealing with the anger of their contemporaries and having to share space with their western counterparts that were more hostile to them than what they’d hoped to find after the wall had fallen.

Of course, that was more than twenty years ago, and while the spirit of this place remained, the clientele and ownership changed a few times, and the lowlifes and degenerates of the time were replaced with another kind. Leather and spikes ceased being a statement and came full circle into being nothing more than semi-ironic fetish. Pain was still freely given and taken here, but it was usually by request and less often because of altercation.

Not that it mattered so much. Even though the denizens of this bar were less unruly than their punk and industrial predecessor, that blood and attitude ran strong, and his fight computer had already calculated over a dozen different ways to make this place riot if he so wished.

If Matt came here, he’d be politely intrigued, would possibly even try and get Midnighter in one of the back hallways to sample whatever lay within the poorly-constructed maze places like this held. And really, that would only happen if Matt was in a good mood and Midnighter hadn’t done something to piss him off. It’s a wonder that the guy hasn’t left yet, what with how fucked up his life is. But maybe that’s the attraction for him, an aphrodisiac that is so easy to come across when your boyfriend is in the line of work he is.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, and one he thankfully doesn’t have to think on for long because about then his contact arrives, parting the crowd as if he were an otherworldly creature. His gait, his clothing, everything about him would have fooled him if it weren’t for the fight computer registering the presence of Hypnos tech and identifying who was using it. Damn, Dick Grayson was a sight to behold. He expected Dick to be even less comfortable in a place like this, but there he was, moving toward him like he owned the goddamn place and him by proxy. And if that wasn’t a thought best put to later use…

He cleared his head of the distraction, and when he was sure Dick saw him, he motioned him over; shoving some pushy kid who’d decided to latch onto him despite Midnighter’s making it clear he wasn’t here for that kind of attention aside. He smirks when he sees the frown that elicits from Grayson and motions for him to come over.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Grayson nearly shouts over the bass of the club as he finally settles into where the other man had just been. All Midnighter does is shrug.

“He’ll be alright. He’s a tough kid. Give him a minute to get over the rejection and I’m sure that some other rough type’ll be all over him.” Grayson shakes his head at that. Midnighter claps a hand on his shoulder, mildly placating, though he can tell by the set of his posture that he doesn’t care that much. “What’s got your panties in a bunch, anyway? I would have bet on the end of the world before I imagine you setting foot in a place like this. Or is this where Spyral’s relocated since last we talked?”

It’s meant to be a joke, really, but the kid just sort of deflates at that. Midnighter’s about to say something else, maybe even apologize, but Dick beats him to the punch. “Maybe I just need to get the hell away from them all.” He looks at Midnighter with a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. “Like you said, the last place anyone who knows me would look, right?”

Midnighter frowns. “And what is it you want from me, exactly, Grayson?”

“Nothing, really,” he finally admits, and the hard and slightly defensive look he’s had since he showed up drops only a little bit, but enough so that it makes Midnighter feel better about the situation, whatever it may be. “I’m just working a job right now. It’s been more stressful, coming back to Spyral than I thought it was. Too many people willing to stab each other in the back.”

“You’re working the intelligence field,” Midnighter scoffs. “You’re really surprised?”

Grayson puts his own hands up in reconciliation. “Point, but it used to be that I had allies before now. Or at least it was less obvious that they weren’t my allies. Pick one.”

“So why go back at all? You’re a good enough operative that you don’t need the shitheads at Spyral. And I’m sure your other friends who have a thing for leather would love to have you back.” Really, with that in mind, he’s surprised that Grayson would reach out for him first, at least in the capacity of friendship.

“I would. In a heartbeat, but Spyral knows something and…” Midnighter leans in a bit, letting a hand drag across Grayson’s shoulder to pull him closer in an intimate gesture to anyone who was looking. In reality, it was a ploy to let Dick say what he needed to say without shouting it across the club. Not that anyone can really hear in this mess, but who knows what precautions a group like Spyral takes? The brush of Dick’s lips against his ear’s enough to make his skin tingle. He doesn’t fight the small shudder that accompanies it. Let Dick decipher it as he will. “I can’t trust them. I can’t let my family get involved, so for now, this is what I’m working with.”

You can’t trust me, either. He doesn’t need to say that, though. He knows Dick doesn’t trust him. It’s why he isn’t asking for Midnighter’s help. But there’s something here, obviously, if Dick’s venting on him, someone who’s in this game as much as that Matron or Grayson himself is without actually being an agent for Spyral. “Not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do about any of that,” he finally says in response. Dick only shrugs.

“Me neither. I just want to forget about it all for a few hours,” he says, turning so that he’s fully in Midnighter’s hold, not fighting it. “Let’s just…dance.”

Midnighter almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

Grayson smiles, biting his lower lip slightly before looking him dead in the eyes, and Midnighter only barely suppresses the groan that causes. “Let’s dance. It’s not like either of us have any better ideas.” Before Midnighter can even respond, he’s being pulled into the writhing mass that is the dance floor. Immediately his fight computer goes into overdrive as he’s knocked and rocked to and fro in the sea of bodies. Usually it amuses him, but tonight is so far off the damn script that it’s almost a hindrance.

They aren’t too far from the bar when Grayson decides he’s found a good spot, and next thing he knows, he’s practically smashed up against his smaller compatriot. It isn’t unpleasant at all, and as he realizes Grayson’s doing it intentionally, the flirtatious quip he had in store changes instead into a mischievous grin. He starts moving back, hands on Grayson’s shoulders again while his land on Midnighter’s hips, guiding him into the beat of the music.

Crowds make him twitchy, especially when he himself has to be a part of one, but it isn’t so bad right now, going with the flow about them. Grayson seems to be enjoying it, himself. The tension bleeds off of him in droves, and eventually the smiles that have been playing across his face the whole night aren’t guarded. Midnighter feels like he’s won the fucking lottery.

As time goes on, the younger man seems to get more into the whole thing, and the space between them draws closer until the only damn thing between them is a few strips of fabric. Midnighter isn’t one to say stupid shit, like being lost in someone. Even if that cliché was true, he doubts he could ever experience it. But damn, do some things grab his attention. Matt’s laughter. Apollo’s everything. And now, it seems, the fluid way Dick moves just about anywhere is a nice addition to the list. He’s getting hard, and- hell, he should pull away right now. Especially if Dick considers him a friend. But he never made a secret of his attraction. Should Grayson become aware of it, then he can fucking deal with it then.

It doesn’t take long for him to notice. For a split second Midnighter freezes up as he gauges the sudden pause in the way they’ve been moving, only for Grayson to look up at him slyly. The smirk on his face would be more at home on Midnighter. Before he can shrug it off, make some sort of half-hearted attempt at a joke, they’re moving again, and Midnighter swears the cadence has changed so that there’s more friction. He presses forward with a groan and- there it is, Grayson’s own dick grinding against Midnighter’s leg and he’s just as hard as Midnighter is.

Well, Fortuna, thy name is Midnighter.

His own actions become more forward, his hands roaming across the body he’s been careful not to get too handsy with in the past. If Grayson doesn’t like it, his actions sure as fuck don’t say so, because the hands on Midnighter’s hips travel to his ass and clench, showing a strength that Midnighter can only attest to via combat, both with Grayson and against him. This is happening. This ain’t a dream, and fuck the consequences. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?

Matt would probably find the whole tale hot later on, anyway.

Midnighter buries a hand tightly into Grayson’s hair and yanks so that the man is looking at him dead on. A puff of breath escapes Dick in a gasp and hits Midnighter’s face moments before his mouth is on his. There’s nothing gentle about it, and still Dick doesn’t fight it, actually responds in kind, nothing but teeth and tongue and wild abandon, and Midnighter damn near comes from the idea of being wanted without one or both of them being wasted to grease the wheels a bit.

They’ve lost the rhythm of the music by now and set their own, kissing deep, groping right there in the middle of the dance floor where everyone can see them. He’d figure Grayson would be shyer about it but he gives as good as he gets, grinding with wicked force against Midnighter’s leg, rock hard and angling himself so that Midnighter can get something out of it, too.

The computer tells him this whole process has only been around two minutes or so at best, but his body feels like it’s longer before they come apart, panting heatedly against one another. He looks down and Grayson looks absolutely fucking wrecked. He doubts he fairs much better. He can feel his blunt Mohawk skewed across his head. His lips are already starting to swell from the repeated pressure applied there. It’s almost like a badge of honor.

“Let’s get out of here,” Grayson murmurs into his ear when he’s caught his breath. Midnighter considers. It could take anywhere from ten minutes to several hours to find some decent place to hole up and renegotiate their working relationship. Right now, Midnighter doesn’t have that kind of fucking restraint. He shakes his head instead and guides Grayson through the crowd, past the bar and random rest areas strewn across the club.

He stops just outside a dark velvet curtain obscuring a hallway entrance with a warning to please consider safe sex. Next to that is a pedestal with condoms and single-use packets of lube. How considerate. Midnighter looks at his companion with a questioning look. “We can find someplace in here,” he informs the other, speaking next to his ear so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

Grayson looks uneasy for a moment, but he can still feel the thrumming pulse beneath his own palm, the mildly labored breathing despite the fact that he’s had time to cool down from dancing. The fight computer takes note of perspiration, pupil dilation ten percent higher for what conditions inside the club would allow for.

This could end in several different ways, but the most favorable outcome is also the one most common. Midnighter grins a predatory sort of thing when Grayson looks away from him at last and goes in headlong, grabbing a condom and lube as he disappears behind the curtain.

The music comes out in a muffled and consistent boom in the hallways, and it takes a moment for him to relocate Grayson, though he hasn’t gone far. The maze is packed tonight, though. Men of all shapes and sizes cruise the area surreptitiously, occasionally stopping to watch someone else along the walls fucking without thought or care who sees, or moving along in hopes of finding their own catch. A few men leave lingering looks on Midnighter, and in other circumstances, he’d be all over the opportunities here.

He doesn’t let much time waste, though, and he moves up to Grayson, who’s still looking around. Probably surprised about what’s going on with the men behind the curtain, and Midnighter finds it cute. He wraps him up in a tight embrace and chuckles lowly into his ear. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grayson shudders at the voice and presses back against him. “Just not what I- you know.”

“Not romantic enough for you?” he says softly as he guides him against a wall, quick enough that all Grayson can do in response is catch himself before he’s smack up against the wall. “Didn’t think that’s what this was about.”

“It’s not,” Grayson responds in a strained voice as Midnighter’s hands begin the exploration they started at the dance floor. “It’s just…kind of public, don’t you think? Who knows who’s watching?” All that does is make Midnighter rumble with quiet laughter.

“That’s kind of the point, Dick.” His hands trail lower, tracing the abs beneath the dark shirt Grayson had chosen for the evening. “And this club? Your whole damn request to meet here, of all places? Don’t think I’m stupid, I know exactly what you’re doing. You knew what was on the menu tonight.” He licks a stripe up the side of Dick’s neck and bites, hard. Dick moans loudly and shifts more, giving Midnighter more space to work with. “If you wanted help, all you needed to do was ask.”

“Christ, M, you talk too much,” Grayson growls, arching so that Midnighter’s hands go lower, faster.

“That’s a laugh, coming from a guy who used to crack jokes in Christmas-colored tights.” But Midnighter’s past the point of foreplay, himself. He works quickly, undoing Grayson’s belt and trousers, pulling down his underwear alongside them, and grinds hard against his bare ass appreciatively. “Even better without clothes hiding it,” he notes with a frustrated grunt from its owner.

He leans forward then kissing roughly along the length of Grayson’s spine, following the trail to the end, with Midnighter on his knees and Grayson’s entrance right there. Not one to waste time, Midnighter dives in, spreading Grayson and lapping his tongue across his asshole, slowly at first.

Grayson jumps at the sensation and looks back, trying to see exactly what’s happening. “What are-“ the rest of his sentence ends in a low moan as Midnighter continues, flicking across his hole with his tongue rapidly, pressing against it with practiced ease. “Fuck! M, that- God, don’t stop.” He digs deep, drawn in by the encouragement of his companion, moving back and forth, biting, licking from top to taint, practically worshipping it. It actually is heaven, and Midnighter can’t get enough of it. Dick starts trembling, and from the way he moves, Midnighter knows he’s started jerking himself off. He grins and stops, eliciting a noise of protest from Dick.

“Did I say you could jack off?” Midnighter asks as he returns to his considerable height, pressing Dick fully against the wall with his own weight.

Dick looks back at him, confused. “Wha-“

“I said,” he enunciates slowly, his voice growling dangerously low into Dick’s ear as he uses a hand to press the side of his head against the crappy plywood of the maze wall in a gamble, “did I say you could. Jerk. Off?”

It pays off, because Grayson goes pliant in his grip with a shudder. “No, Sir.”

Midnighter grins wider. Maybe he underestimated him. “What was that?”

“No, Sir!”

“Good,” Midnighter lets a hand trail down to Grayson’s now-neglected cock, circling the head of it for a moment to gather some stray precome before bringing it up to Grayson’s mouth, letting him lap it up eagerly. “Don’t let it happen again. There won’t be a warning next time.”

“It won’t happen again, Sir.” God, whoever taught him did a great job.

“Lube, Dick,” he mutters against his ear, and the other turns one of the hands bracing him, revealing the condom and lube he’d grabbed earlier.

“Please fuck me, Sir,” Grayson begs quietly as Midnighter takes the items from his hand, pulling back only so far that he can peel his own leathers from his body low enough that his dick finally springs out, free from the prison of his clothing. He leans forward, dragging the head along the crack of Grayson’s ass tantalizingly.

“You want this?” Midnighter asks, pushing against Grayson’s hole but not penetrating, enjoying the sucked breath as Grayson feels him there.

”Yes,” he hisses, trying to push back though Midnighter won’t let him just yet.

“Yes, what?” he teases, and Dick groans his frustration out.

“Yes, Sir!” Grayson practically shouts, and Midnighter grins possessively, looking around for a moment. People are definitely watching now, though Grayson seems to have lost any sort of awareness or, at least, shame.

“Sorry, Dick, kind of forgot what it was you wanted.”

It’s a bit unfair, but he still seems into it, because Grayson replies with a raised voice, “Please, Sir, fuck me! God, just make me feel good.” Midnighter loses it there, and he reminds himself he needs to ask Grayson about his past, because damn.

He makes short work of the condom, haphazardly coating his cock with lube before lining himself up. Without warning, he slams home, and while it’s tight, blessed heat, it’s obvious this isn’t Grayson’s first time taking it, not the way he seems to just shudder around him to the point that Midnighter can feel it around his cock, or the way he forces his hips back so that Midnighter settles in deeper, or how it only takes a minute before he’s nodding for Midnighter to continue.

“Fuck, you’re a goddamn miracle, kid,” Midnighter groans against Dick’s ear and starts thrusting, Grayson backing up and meeting the force of his thrusts with his own. His hands roam violently, groping and scratching wherever they travel and Dick’s still oh so responsive, encouraging him, fucking Midnighter just as skillfully as Midnighter is fucking him.

If it were another day, another circumstance, another partner, Midnighter would probably last longer. That isn’t in his plan, though. It isn’t in Grayson’s, either, because one of his hands moves and guides Midnighter’s own to his cock and forces a rhythm to match their own. He groans softly, and it isn’t much longer at all that he feels the tell-tale tightening of his own pelvic muscles, and moments later he’s coming, pulsing with electric enthusiasm into Grayson’s ass. The wetness on his hand tells him Dick finishes about the same time, and the strength leaves both of them slumped against a dirty wall in some seedy club in the shittiest part of the city.

Slowly they come down from the high their orgasms provide, and gently, Midnighter pulls out of Grayson, planting him one last kiss before he starts pulling his own pants up, heedless of the slowly-drying come on his hand. “Thanks for the fuck, kid. Now let’s get out of here and talk about why you really wanted to see me.”