by MEL

Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: NC-17
Archive: With permission only, please.
Feedback: Is always welcome.
Disclaimer: I don't own the DC Comic characters and am not making any money off them.
Notes: This one is for ‘rith, because she asked so nicely. - xoxo MEL

* * * * * * * * * *

He emerged from the water, dripping and furtive. At this hour of the night there was little chance of being seen by anyone except drunks, but Garth was still cautious as he climbed onto the docks. Before him, Bludhaven rose, a city of sin and darkness, a perfect example of everything wrong with the world.

Water trailing from his wetsuit, Garth put thoughts of the city aside. He crept forward, into the shadows, quiet as a minnow, more dangerous than a shark. It was after midnight in Bludhaven, and Tempest had an appointment to keep.

He found the warehouse easily enough. The directions he had received had been explicit. It sat back among the other warehouses, part of a colossal maze used mostly as a meeting place by smugglers and a flophouse for whores.

The door was locked, but a key had come with the instructions. Garth slipped it into the lock and turned. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, without a sound.

Beyond the door, stygian darkness. Even eyes adapted to the darkness of the ocean depths needed time to adjust to this degree of blackness. Garth stepped into the cavernous warehouse, blinking, peering into the shadows.

A spotlight hit him in the eyes, blinding him. He cried out in surprise, bringing his hands up to shield his eyes from the light.


The voice emerged from beyond the light, from the darkness. A familiar voice that sent little thrills up and down Garth's spine.

Fumbling, Garth found the seams of his wetsuit and pulled them open, exposing damp skin to cool air. He undressed slowly, exposing chest and belly, before bending over to release his legs. In the cool air, his cock was a furnace, slapping against his belly. When he was nude, he stood up, peering into the gloom just beyond the light.

He thought he caught a glimpse of a man's figure, slim and dark, seated on a stool. As he stood there, naked and waiting, he definitely felt someone's eyes on him.

"Lift your hands." The voice erupted from the dark, to his left.

Garth obeyed immediately. He raised his hands above his head, his fingertips brushing something cool and hard. Manacles, Garth realized.

The spotlight went out, plunging the warehouse back into blackness. Garth blinked and nearly jumped out of his skin when unseen hands clamped the irons around his wrists. There was the soft whir of motors in the darkness and Garth was being lifted up. He realized the manacles were attached to a slim cable, attached to a wench. It lifted him up until his toes barely touched the concrete floor.

Strong hands settled on his waist, holding him steady. A voice whispered in his ear, the breath tickling his neck.

"Tonight, you are not Prince Garth of Atlantis."

The hands moved up, stroking his flanks. Hands encased in leather, Garth realized.

"Tonight, you are not Tempest."

Fingertips grazed Garth's armpits, sliding up the sinews of his arms.

"Tonight, you aren't even Garth of Shayeris," the voice whispered from behind him. "Tonight, you're not even a slave."

A blindfold was slipped over his head, across his eyes. It was cinched tight.

"Tonight, you're just meat. My meat."

Those devilish hands moved to Garth's hair, stroking the tight black curls. Warm lips pressed against the back of his neck.

"To do with as I please."

Garth swallowed. "Yes," he said. "Please."

A sharp smack across his naked buttocks sent him rocking. Garth gasped, the muscles of his arms aching with the motion.

"I did not ask your permission," said his master, his owner. "You don't ask a chair if you can sit on it. You just do it."

Hands on his hips again, from the front this time, holding him in place. Leather gloves slid over his hipbones, fingers tangling in his close-cropped pubic hair. Barely touching the hard cock jutting upward from that dark nest.

A mouth suddenly enveloped him, devouring him. Garth gasped and arched his body, a pale white bow of flesh and bone in the dark.

While that warm mouth devoured Garth, his owner spoke. "Tonight, something different."

Another startled gasp from Garth as teeth descended on his left nipple. Between his thighs, the mouth was still sucking him.

Gods! Garth thought. How many were there?

He had no idea and he soon gave up trying to keep track. Mouths descended upon his flesh at random, leather-gloved fingers moved across his body with bold abandon. He groaned in the darkness, his nipples savaged by unseen mouths. Teeth scraped sensitive flesh, a tongue slithered across his belly. Hands slid over his taut buttocks, smooth fingers gliding down the cleft of his ass. Fingers were pressed into his mouth and Garth licked, tasting semen and sweat on the tips. Abruptly, the head of a cock was pressed against his anus.

Garth grunted as it pressed into him, dry and hard. His buttocks were pried apart and he felt a tongue lathing his flesh and the meaty rod impaling him. Garth squirmed as inch by inch, he was penetrated.

Then, suddenly, there was nothing else but the feel of hot flesh inside him. The mouths and hands of the others were gone. There was just Garth and the mystery man behind him. Was it his owner? He did not know. Were the others still there? Were they watching him? The thought excited Garth. He wanted to put on a show for these strange men.

Behind him, his mystery lover began to move. Slowly at first, giving Garth time to adjust to his size, then he sped up. Garth moaned, pushing aside propriety and modesty, embracing the part of him that was wanton. He squeezed his ass around the cock inside him as it plunged forward, hitting his prostate with each thrust.

"Harder . . . please! Harder!" Garth gasped and begged. "Fuck me! Fuck me!" The words clawing their way out of him as he gave in to his darker impulses.

Behind him, the mystery man ignored him. He thrust into Garth rhythmically. The only sounds Garth heard were his own ragged breathing and the slap-slap of flesh against flesh. Gloved hands were gripping his hips, pulling him back harder and harder onto the rod sunk deep inside him. Garth's own cock was bouncing with each thrust, slapping, rigid and painful, against his belly.

"Lower him," his owner commanded. Where had the voice come from? Garth wondered. Behind him? In front of him? He couldn't tell.

The winch whirred and Garth found himself being lowered, his feet suddenly flat against the earth, the cock behind him buried inside him to the balls. Garth shuddered and lowered his arms, they were numb and useless from being held up for so long.

"On your knees."

Garth obeyed, easing to his knees, the man behind him following him down. For a moment, Garth was pressed against him, chest to back. The mystery man's hands gripped his hips as he paused for a moment, before suddenly doubling his thrusts.

Abruptly, the man pulled out of Garth with a wet pop. Garth cried out at the loss, then moaned as he was suddenly filled anew. Filled, he suddenly realized, by a different cock. It was thicker, the owner's rhythm markedly different from the previous man's.

A dozen thrusts and suddenly that cock was gone, replaced by the first. Garth shuddered and lay there, arms folded under him, as the two men behind him took turns humping him.

A third cock was pressed against Garth's lips. Wordlessly, Garth opened his mouth, expecting rigid flesh. Instead, a flood of bittersweet semen filled his mouth. The first shot hit the back of his throat. Garth coughed, then began to swallow. Only then was the cock fed to him.

It was immense. Garth's mouth was stretched wide as he struggled to accommodate the monster organ. Belatedly, Garth realized why the owner had shot his wad before letting Garth suck him. The semen was acting as a lubricant, allowing the Atlantian to take the immense cock slowly being shoved between his lips.

He lay there on his belly, his cock pressed painfully against cool concrete, being methodically fucked by the three unseen men, loving every minute of it. He lost all track of time, lost in the sensation of flesh and friction.

One by one, the men came. They filled his mouth and ass, erupted across his back and onto his eager upturned face. As suddenly, as silently, as they had appeared, the men vanished. At the end, Garth lay face down on the cold concrete floor, naked except for the blindfold and manacles, wet and messy.

Hands rolled him over onto his back. Garth's erection, bruised and defiant, jutted toward the ceiling. A mouth descended upon the flesh, a tongue lazily moving across the tender head. Garth shuddered and came, shouting, his cries echoing weirdly through the empty warehouse.

The manacles were unlocked, and the blindfold was removed. Nightwing smiled, leaned over, and kissed him gently.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Garth."

Garth grinned back at him, a little sore, but completely satisfied. If this was Dick's idea of a Valentine's Day present, Garth couldn't wait to see what he cooked up for his birthday.



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