Chapter 1: The Scent of Rain
The rain hadn’t let up for days. It sheeted down the penthouse windows, turning the city lights into bleeding smears of color against the black. Inside, the air was thick with the aftermath of patrol—damp Kevlar, spiced leather, and beneath it all, the low, electric hum of (Y/N)’s wild energy, even in human form. A single lamp cast a pool of gold over the living room, illuminating two empty whiskey glasses and Dick’s discarded blue domino mask on the coffee table.
(Y/N) stood under the blistering hot spray of the shower, shoulders slumping as the day’s grit swirled down the drain. The fight had been messy, close-quarters in a dripping warehouse, and the adrenaline was only now leaching from their muscles, leaving a hollow, restless ache. They could still smell the coppery tang of a thug’s split lip, the chemical sting of fear, and underneath it, always, the unique, grounding scent of Dick—ocean air, fresh sweat, and something uniquely, inherently good.
Stepping out, (Y/N) toweled their hair roughly and knotted another towel around their waist. The penthouse was quiet, save for the rhythmic drum of the storm. They padded, barefoot, across the cool hardwood towards the open door of the master bedroom.
The sight stopped them in the doorway.
Dick was in bed, but not asleep. He was curled on his side, facing away, the sheets tangled around his waist. His broad shoulders were tense, the defined muscles of his back coiled tight. His breathing was all wrong—sharp, ragged inhales followed by shaky, controlled exhales. He was trying to be quiet. Trying to hide it.
A week. They’d officially shared this space, this life, for seven days. In that time, (Y/N) had caught the flickers—the lingering touches, the way Dick’s heartbeat would stutter for no reason, the scent of his want spiking and then being violently, hastily suppressed. It was a bitter, frustrating aroma, all desire and shame tangled together. Dick was holding back. Trying to be polite. Trying not to seem desperate. It was driving (Y/N)’s wolf half insane.
“Dick.”
The name was a low rumble. Dick flinched, a full-body jolt, and then went perfectly still. “Hey. Thought you were still showering,” he said, voice strained.
(Y/N) didn’t answer. They crossed the room, the scent of Dick’s distress and arousal blooming stronger with every step, a potent, intoxicating cloud. They sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. They could see the damp sheen at the nape of his neck, the frantic pulse in his throat.
“Look at me.” It wasn’t a request.
Slowly, Dick turned. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, his lips parted. He was flushed, from his chest up to his cheekbones. He looked wrecked, and beautiful, and so damn needy it made (Y/N)’s teeth ache.
“I can smell it,” (Y/N) said quietly, their own voice thickening. “You’re burning up. You have been for days. Why are you fighting it?”
Dick’s gaze dropped, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. “Didn’t… didn’t want to assume. Or crowd you. It’s your space, too, I didn’t want to be—”
“Forget what you think you should be,” (Y/N) cut him off, a growl threading through the words. They reached out, calloused fingers brushing the hot skin of Dick’s shoulder. He shuddered violently at the contact. “Do you want me to take care of you?”
A broken sound escaped Dick’s throat. He nodded, once, a sharp, jerky motion. “Yes. Fuck, yes, please.”
That single word shattered the last of (Y/N)’s restraint. They shifted closer, their body curving around Dick’s, their bare chest pressing against his back. One arm slid around his waist, holding him firm. The other hand trailed down, over the taut plane of his stomach, beneath the waistband of his soft sleep pants.
Dick gasped, hips bucking as (Y/N)’s fingers found him. He was painfully hard, hot and silken in their grasp, already leaking. A low, approving rumble vibrated in (Y/N)’s chest, pressed against Dick’s spine.
“Feel that?” (Y/N) murmured into the shell of his ear, their thumb sweeping over the slick head. “This is what you’ve been hiding from me. This need. Let it go. Just feel it.”
Dick’s head fell back against (Y/N)’s shoulder, a moan tumbling from his lips as their hand began to move, a slow, firm stroke. He melted into the hold, every muscle going lax, surrendering. He scooted back, pressing his entire length into (Y/N)’s fist and his ass against the growing bulge trapped in the damp towel. He was trembling, little aborted jerks of his hips, soft curses and (Y/N)’s name falling from his mouth like a prayer.
The scent of him, the feel of him coming apart, was too much. (Y/N)’s own arousal surged, a tight, hot coil in their gut. The growls deepened, becoming a continuous, primal noise of want as they rocked their hips, the rough fabric of the towel grinding their erection against the cleft of Dick’s ass.
It wasn’t enough. Nothing about this was gentle anymore.
With a frantic yank, Dick tore the towel from (Y/N)’s waist. At the same moment, (Y/N) shoved Dick’s pants down past his thighs. Skin met skin, a shock of heat. (Y/N) grasped both of them, their thick, hard cock sliding against Dick’s, and the friction was so brutally good they saw stars.
“Fuck, look at that,” (Y/N) snarled, their voice gravel. They were both leaking, pre-cum mixing, making the slide wet and filthy. Dick’s eyes were locked on where they were joined, watching, mesmerized, as the heads rubbed together, flushed and urgent.
Then (Y/N) adjusted their grip. They used their foreskin, pulling it forward over the head of Dick’s cock, enveloping him in a tight, slick sleeve of their own flesh. It was searingly intimate, a joining more vulnerable than anything they’d done. Dick cried out, a raw, shattered sound.
(Y/N) began to stroke, their foreskin gliding up and down Dick’s shaft, their own cock trapped beneath, rubbing insistently against his. The combined sensations were overwhelming—the tight, hot friction around Dick, the silken slide of his own skin, the brutal pressure of his own need. Their hips pistoned, thrusting into the tight channel of their fist and against each other in a ragged, frantic rhythm.
“Gonna come,” (Y/N) warned, the words guttural and strained. “Gonna mark you with it.”
The climax ripped through them without mercy. Their strokes turned erratic, brutal, as their cock pulsed, thick stripes of cum painting Dick’s stomach, his own cock, mixing with the fluid already there. The warm, wet spill was the final trigger.
(Y/N) didn’t stop. They used their own cum as slick, stroking faster, harder, Dick’s cock still snug in their foreskin. The wet, squelching sounds were obscene. Dick was babbling, begging, his body bowing off the bed.
“Now, Dick. Come for me.”
Dick screamed. It was a raw, unfiltered shout of release as he bucked violently, his orgasm tearing through him. His cock kicked, spilling hot over (Y/N)’s still-working hand, adding to the mess between them. His hips jerked through the pulses, mindless, frantic, until he collapsed, spent and shuddering.
The room settled into a heavy silence, broken only by the rain and their ragged, synced breathing. The air reeked of sex and sweat and completion. (Y/N) slowly released their hold, their softened flesh slipping away from Dick’s. They didn’t let go of him, though. Their arm, sticky and damp, remained locked around his waist, holding him close as the aftershocks faded.
Dick turned his head, his lips finding (Y/N)’s shoulder in a blind, damp kiss. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The frantic, suppressed need was gone, replaced by a deep, sated warmth that smelled like home.