And Then...

by Aya

Author: Sarina Argus aka Aya (ayajj@aol.com)

Rating: NC17

Summary: An author's meeting

Disclaimer: Nightwing ain't mine :( but the story is, No money made, done out of love~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And then...


She took her navy silk scarf and tied her black hair up in a loose knot. Adjusting her robe, she felt ready to write. She sat in her dimly lit room, typing lightly on the computer keyboard. Her eyes would scan the screen occasionally, but mostly rested their gaze on the keyboard. The ideas for her latest fanfic seemed to come easily tonight, and she got them down and into the computer without too much trouble.

He swung through the night on his jump line, not really knowing where he was headed. His gut told him this was where he wanted to be, and he rarely if ever went against his gut feeling. It was a different part of town, not one he frequented. In fact he wasn't really sure where he was. Landing on a nearby roof, he accessed the GPS on his palmtop computer in an attempt to find himself.

She heard a faint noise on her roof. "Probably the Bananacat," she mumbled. No sooner were the words out of her mouth when Bananacat, her Snowshoe-Siamese sauntered into the room, curling up on the freshly folded laundry stacked in the corner. She immediately stopped typing and watched the cat get comfortable. The cat eyed her once, then settled down for a quiet nap. She heard the noise again, and looked up at the ceiling then settled back down to type...

The GPS wasn't functioning at all, much to his chagrin. He made a mental note to have it checked when he returned home. He stood up, surveying the area. Not too many lights on in this neck of the woods. He figured people had more on their minds than B & E or assault. Thank God, he thought. This place was nothing like Bludhaven, no graffiti on the walls, sidewalks were clean; there were even some kids bikes lying on the lawn in front of the building. Jeez, no one's stolen those bikes? He ran his hand through his hair in disbelief. Where the hell am I and when can I move here? He heard glass breaking and headed off in the direction of the noise.

She knocked over her oversized blue teacup, which crashed into the hardwood floor. She cursed, shaking her head over the pieces of what used to be her favorite cup. Not wanting to warp the floorboard with hot tea and risk losing her security deposit, she went to the bathroom for a towel.

He lowered himself onto a sturdy balcony and looked in the window. A broken cup lay on the floor in a pool of an unknown substance. A small desk lamp and a computer illuminated the room. No one else in sight. He debated whether or not to go in when he heard a short scream and thud. He jimmied the window open and cautiously entered the room.

She sat up and gingerly rubbed her arm. Funny bone my ass, she thought. She stood up slowly and grabbed a towel from the nearby rack. After checking her arm once more in the mirror, she went out to clean the mess.The noise and liquid obviously came from the broken teacup by the desk. Cream, he mused. Someone other than Alfred likes cream in their tea. He stood up slowly and found himself face to face with

A scream came involuntarily from her throat. He covered her mouth quickly and steadied her."Oh God, I'm sorry Miss, I ..."

"Oh my God you're..."

"It's just that I heard something break and you scream..."

"Richard Grayson..."

He froze mid-sentence. "Who?"

"How did you get here?"

"What did you call me?" he asked.

"You're Dick Grayson, Nightwing," she whispered.

Panic threatened to overtake him. "What makes you say that?"

It was as if he hadn't spoken. "But that's impossible..."

"Damn right that's impossible!" he said firmly. That caught her attention.

"How did you get in here?" she asked.

He looked at her confused. "Lady, I don't even know where here is."

Her eyes widened. "Your GPS isn't working."

"How did you know that?" he asked.

"You heard me scream and jimmied the window," she whispered. She quickly moved to the computer screen and read off what she'd typed. "How can this be happening?"

Nightwing was no closer to an answer than when he first came in. Deciding a strategic retreat might be best, he slowly moved to the sliding door...

Just as she typed them in. But she didn't want him to go yet. "Please wait," she said, and typed...

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. Just leave, Grayson, he thought. Then he realized she knew his name. He had to know how she knew.

She turned at the same time and answered, "No, I'm not a mind reader. I don't know why or how, but you just did everything I wrote in my story."

He didn't know what to think anymore. He walked over to the computer screen and scanned the page. Damn, it was all here, right down to Alfred and tea with cream. "This is impossible. Who are you?"

She stammered, "My name is Sarina, I'm a writer, well not a real one, I mean I-I don't make money off this, really I'm a police dispatcher. Writing is my hobby." A deep blush colored her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, back to the keyboard.

Dick studied her, reading her reactions. Her fingers moved awkwardly across the keys. "What kinds of stories?" he asked, trying to put her at ease.

Her typing became more erratic. "Just some fan... I mean fiction, fantasy type stuff. Mostly for the web."

He scanned what she typed, but couldn't make sense of it. She changed fonts to something he'd never seen before. Knowing that she already knew his identity, and hoping to get a better view of the screen, he removed his mask...

Just as she typed he would. Her eyes widened in recognition. Just as she'd always imagined him. Strong jaw, big blue eyes. Her throat went dry as he reached over and moved the mouse to change the text back into something he knew. His jaw dropped.

"What are you doing? Who are you?" he said half-angry, half scared.

"I don't know," she answered, bewildered. "I was just thinking about my next story, what it could be about." She looked at him, and said sincerely, "You've always been my favorite. More so than Bruce or Clark." She clicked the mouse on the save icon. "I... like to write about you." She turned back to him, "I'm sorry if it offends you, I can stop if you want," knowing full well that she wouldn't, or couldn't.

"May I read some of your work?" he asked, intrigued.

Her face colored darker, and her hands began to shake. She tried to type again, but her fingers wouldn't cooperate. She looked back into his handsome face, smiling at her, and whispered, "Sure."

Slowly she handed him an old beat up orange binder. He opened it carefully, his eyes not leaving hers. Settling on the floor, he began to read. Not knowing what else to do, she began to type...

She must be a pre-cog, he thought. Something like that. It's the only way to explain it. How could she know my thought, my moves, everything so perfectly. I just don't get it. He skimmed the pages quickly, feeling a warmth flush his face and body. He glanced up at her...

Typing rapidly on the displayed text. She squirmed in her chair; her face was flushed again. He set the binder down and got to his knees, his chin resting lightly on her arm.

The stories aroused him. She understood him, understood his loneliness, as if it was her own. He felt grateful that she shared his feelings, it made him a little less lonely. A little less afraid.

"Afraid," he said, "would that me you or me."

She stopped typing, dropping her hands into her lap. "Me, I think."

Dick gently moved her to the side and typed one-handed

He kissed her then...

She started to shake and turned to him. "Why..." her question was halted by his lips. Soft, she thought, so soft. He placed butterfly kisses on her mouth, her face, her neck. He turned her chair to face him and lifted her hand to his lips, caressing them. The last of her restraint broke and she touched his cheek. Her arms went around his neck then and soon they were moving softly to the floor. He undid the sash on her purple robe and carefully bared her body to his. She, on the other hand, had no idea how to remove his tunic. Her hands ran up and down the length of him, wanting to stroke his bare skin. He lifted her swiftly and carried her to the black futon that took up the far corner of the room. Laying her nude body on the mattress, he quickly shed his own clothes and lay next to her.

They spent an eternity just touching each other, tasting each other's skin. She took his shaft into her mouth slowly, causing him to grip the mattress fiercely. Reveling in the power she had at this moment, she swirled her tongue around the head, eliciting moans and deep sighs that excited her beyond words. She could feel his pulse with her lips and hummed softly, bringing him closer to orgasm. She knew just where he liked to be touched, how he liked it, speeding up to take him to the edge, then stopping quickly to let him gain a bit of control. He knew he couldn't take much more, he whispered, "Sarina, please."

She came back up to kiss him, he rolled her onto her back and returned the favor. He slowly pressed wet kisses on her skin, starting at her lips to the curve of her jaw, along her neck, lightly nipping her throbbing pulse point. He then took a dusky nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, flicking it with his tongue. Light love bites drew sighs and whispers from her lips. Her voice urged him on, and he transferred his attention to her other breast. Her hands tangled in his hair. She whispered his name in reverent tones. As his mouth traveled down her body, she arched up against his mouth, overwhelmed.

If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up. She cried out his name as he tasted her. He moved his tongue lightly over her spot, sending shivers through her body, His fingers lightly caressed her legs, tickling the backs of her knees while his tongue dipped deeply into her. She was slowly losing her mind. "Please," she breathed, "I need to feel you in me."

He slowly worked his way backup her body, and caught her mouth with his. His shaft was throbbing with his need. He raised himself up, searching her eyes. She smiled at him in wonder.

"Please," she said again.

He entered her slowly, moaning softly against her ear. She reached around his body, cupping his buttocks, helping to set the rhythm for them. He moved with her, slowly at first, then quicker with her demands. She was so hot and wet, tightly massaging his cock within her walls. Her nails scratched his skin lightly, inflaming his senses. He ran his fingers through her hair, tilting her face to his, and kissed her with all the built up passion he felt. She returned his kiss eagerly, wanting to devour him. They moved together, quickening the pace...

Their climax shook them both beyond either of them imagined. They clung to each other as waves of sensation overtook them. He raised his tired, happy gaze to hers and kissed her again before resting his head between her soft breasts.

They curled in each other's arms and slept peacefully for several hours, waking twice to make love. In the dim rays of the morning sun, he lay with one arm cradling her to his side, listening to her breathing, feeling her heartbeat. The scarf that held her hair up had come loose during the night. He played with the scarf, inhaling the scent of roses and berries from it. He checked his watch. 5 a.m. Damn, he thought. I don't want to go.She shifted in his embrace and propped herself on his chest, gazing into his blue eyes. "I know. I don't want you to go either."

He kissed her again then sat up slowly, reluctantly. She helped him dress, learning how the uniform catches worked, handing him his mask. He donned it and slowly went to the balcony. She followed him out, holding her scarf. Tying the silk securely to his wrist, she kissed him again, then watched him go out into the night. She stood there a while, not knowing exactly what to think. Brushing the hair from her face, she went back inside and sat at the computer saving the text. The story seemed to have finished itself.

* He entered his own apartment, not knowing what to make of tonight. He asked Oracle to scan the database, but no police department within the state had a dispatcher named Sarina. He checked the fiction sites, and found a small stash of 'fan-fic' written about heroes, him included. There was one especially prolific writer, who seemed to enjoy writing about him. He tried to access the pages, but the server was down, the address was no good. One site did have a mailing list. He thought about subscribing...*

After a long hot bath, she sat at the computer and began to type.

* Remy Le Beau had often woken up naked in strange bedrooms before. He had gotten himself tied up a few times too. Being blindfolded was also no big thing. However, it had been a while since he'd had found himself in all three situations at the same time. He called out sweetly, "Mon chere?" *

She heard a voice behind her and then...

*-*-*

end


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