Pushing Boundaries (MMF): Chapter 1
The bar was loud, obnoxious, and a complete bust. Dick Grayson leaned against the sticky counter, swirling the dregs of his beer. Beside him, Roy Harper let out a low, frustrated sigh, his usual arsenal of charming quips and easy smiles having failed spectacularly for the last hour.
“I’m telling you, it’s the haircuts,” Roy muttered, running a hand through his own short-cropped red hair. “Too clean. We look like off-duty choirboys.”
“Or maybe we’re just out of practice,” Dick countered, though he felt the same disconnect. The usual rhythm of a night out—the casual banter, the effortless connections—wasn’t syncing. Every woman they’d approached had offered polite, distant smiles before turning away. It was… unnerving.
That’s when she appeared.
She didn’t walk so much as flow through the crowd, a path clearing for her as if by command. Her dress was a simple, sleeveless black sheath that clung to every curve, ending mid-thigh. Dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes, a startling shade of hazel, were fixed on them with an unnerving directness.
She stopped right at their elbows, the scent of jasmine and something spicier cutting through the stale beer smell. “You two look miserable,” she said, her voice a low, smoky alto that vibrated right down Dick’s spine.
Roy recovered first, flashing a grin that was more genuine than any he’d offered all night. “Just a slow night for appreciating fine art.”
Her lips curved. “Is that what you are?” Her gaze traveled slowly from Dick’s face down his torso, then did the same to Roy. The appraisal was so blatant, so physical, it felt like a touch. “You’re trying too hard. All that… performance. It’s transparent.”
Dick felt a flush creep up his neck. She saw right through them. “And what should we be doing instead?” he asked, his own voice lower than he intended.
“Being,” she said simply. She leaned in, the neckline of her dress dipping slightly. “I have a loft. Ten minutes from here. It’s quiet. And I have a proposition.”
Roy’s eyebrow shot up. “A proposition?”
“A night,” she said, her eyes flicking between them. “No games. No performances. Just… pleasure. With both of you.”
The air left Dick’s lungs. The directness was a physical blow, a shock that short-circuited his usual analytical mind. He glanced at Roy, whose usual bravado had melted into something raw and hungry. This wasn’t in the playbook. This wasn’t part of any plan.
“Why us?” Roy breathed.
She smiled, a real one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Because you’re beautiful. And tense. And I want to watch that tension break.” She straightened up. “My name is Simone. Decide now. I’m leaving.”
She turned, the movement final. Dick’s eyes met Roy’s. A silent, frantic conversation passed between them in a split second—a decade of partnership, of trust, of unspoken understanding. There was curiosity, a spark of challenge, and beneath it, a thrum of something darker, hotter, that neither had ever dared to acknowledge.
Fuck it.
They moved as one, falling into step behind her without a word.
Her loft was exactly as she described: spacious, minimalist, dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city’s glittering skyline. The only light came from a few low lamps, casting long, dramatic shadows. The door clicked shut behind them, and the silence was profound, heavy with anticipation.
Simone kicked off her heels and turned to face them, leaning back against a wide, low sofa. “Drinks are there if you want them,” she said, nodding to a bar cart. “But I don’t think you do.”
She was right. Dick’s mouth was dry, but not for alcohol. His entire body was humming, hyper-aware of Roy standing beside him, of Simone’s predatory gaze.
“So,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts, which pushed them up against the fabric of her dress. “How does this work? Do you two… know each other?”
Roy let out a shaky laugh. “You could say that.”
“Then this shouldn’t be awkward,” she purred. “Come here.”
They obeyed, drawn forward like magnets. They stopped a few feet from her, a triangle of charged space between them. Simone looked from one to the other, her expression one of deep satisfaction.
“I think,” she said slowly, “you need to break the ice. With each other.”
Dick’s heart hammered against his ribs. “What do you mean?”
She uncrossed her arms and reached out, placing a cool hand on Dick’s cheek, then mirroring the gesture on Roy’s. Her touch was electric. “All that bottled-up… camaraderie. It’s in the way you look at each other when you think no one’s watching. All that trust. All that heat.” She guided their faces a fraction closer. “I want to see it. Kiss him.”
The command hung in the air. Roy’s eyes, wide and blown with desire, locked onto Dick’s. This was the line, the one they’d danced around for years in gyms, on rooftops, in the quiet moments after a hard fight. The line that separated brotherhood from something else entirely.
Simone’s thumbs stroked their cheekbones. “Do it.”
Roy moved first. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. Dick closed the distance.
The first brush of lips was tentative, a question. Chapped, from Roy biting them in concentration. Soft, surprisingly so. It was just pressure, warmth. Then Roy made a sound, a low groan in the back of his throat, and his mouth opened.
The kiss ignited.
It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, a decade of suppressed something exploding to the surface. Dick’s hands came up to fist in Roy’s shirt, pulling him closer as their tongues met. The taste was familiar—spearmint gum, cheap beer—but the context made it alien and intoxicating. Roy’s hands were on his hips, gripping hard, pulling their bodies flush.
The world narrowed to sensation: the slick, hot slide of Roy’s tongue against his, the scratch of stubble, the frantic beat of Roy’s heart where their chests pressed together. It was a fight and a surrender all at once, a claiming. Dick forgot about Simone, forgot about the city outside the windows. There was only this shocking, perfect friction, the rightness of Roy’s mouth on his.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, a string of saliva connected them for a second before snapping. They stared at each other, chests heaving. Roy’s lips were swollen, his eyes dazed.
“Fuck,” Roy whispered, the word ragged.
From her perch on the sofa, Simone let out a soft, approving sigh. “Yes. Just like that. Now… touch him.”
The permission, the voyeuristic encouragement, shattered the last of Dick’s inhibitions. His gaze dropped to Roy’s mouth, then lower, to the prominent bulge straining against the front of his jeans. Roy was staring at Dick’s with the same fierce hunger.
Dick’s hand moved first, sliding down Roy’s taut stomach. He palmed him through the denim, feeling the hard, thick length, the heat that seared through the fabric. Roy hissed, his hips jerking forward into the touch.
“Dick…”
Hearing his name like that, raw with need, was a thrill Dick had never imagined. Roy’s own hand fumbled for Dick’s belt, then cupped him through his trousers. The direct pressure made Dick see stars. He groaned, pushing into Roy’s hand, his own grip tightening, rubbing in a slow, firm circle.
They stood there, foreheads nearly touching, breathing each other’s air, hands working each other through their clothes. It was frantic, clumsy, desperate. The rough drag of denim and wool, the muffled shapes of their cocks, the wet spots of pre-come already blooming—it was more obscene, more intimate, than being fully naked.
Roy’s thumb found the head of Dick’s cock through the fabric, pressing right on the sensitive spot. Dick bucked, a sharp cry escaping him. He retaliated by squeezing the base of Roy’s shaft, earning a choked-off gasp.
“Look at you,” Simone murmured, her voice thick with her own arousal. She had shifted, one hand trailing up her own thigh. “All that power, all that control… melted away. You’re just animals now. It’s beautiful.”
Her words fueled them. The groping became rougher, more rhythmic. They were rutting against each other’s hands, their kisses turning sloppy and intermittent, broken by pants and groans. Dick could feel the precise moment Roy was nearing the edge—the tightening of his stomach, the frantic pulse under his palm.
Simone stood up suddenly. The movement broke their rhythm. They looked at her, disoriented, aching.
“Enough teasing,” she said, her own breath coming faster. Her eyes were dark pools of want. “Undress each other. Slowly. I want to see every inch.”
She took a step back, sinking into an armchair, watching them like a queen awaiting a performance.
Dick’s hands, which had been clutching Roy, went to the hem of his tight black t-shirt. Roy’s fingers, trembling slightly, went to the buttons of Dick’s dark shirt.
Their eyes locked again.
The kiss had broken the dam.
Now, they would flood the world.
