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Dick knew he shouldn’t be here.
In a dream reality, no one would ever enter Roman’s club, with its dark walls, and silky couches, and bottle girls with shiny skirts so short it was almost obscene. It’s a place that lured people in, made people consider who they were and what they wanted to be. He had a friend once who called it a den of sin, a place where only the worst of a person was brought out.
Roman’s had it ever since he got disowned, liked to say that he’s built it up all himself. Called himself a self-made man with a sharp, arrogant grin.
But it’s mob money, plain as day, and anyone stupid enough to walk through the doors knew what price they would pay before they walked out.
Dick’s the one who’s stupid enough. He’d been here before, a few times, usually on the arms of someone else, playing his part as the vapid Wayne heir as well as he can.
He met Roman Sionis the very first time he went. It wasn’t a coincidence. Back then, he was a young college student, surrounded by a group of friends, rich kids with more money than they knew what to do with, laughing and drinking. Roman killed the energy of their fun with his presence. Introduced himself as the owner to a quiet table with shocked wide eyes, kissed the back of the hands of all the girls and also Dick , and then ignored everyone else.
Dick’s blood ran cold at having Roman’s attention on him. His eyes were full of intense energy, and Dick had smiled at him even as he didn’t want to. It ended up damning him, laced him into small talk about where Dick was in school or something about Bruce. He asked Dick if he liked to smoke and then asked him to follow him into the back.
Dick tried to say no. He doesn’t like the way the smoke feels in his lungs, needs all the oxygen he can get in his line of business. But no one ever said no to Mr. Sionis. So Roman led him to the back, Dick’s protests dying in the back of his throat.
This was one of the most important men in Gotham, and he got anything he wanted, and that night, it was Dick.
He put Dick on his knees as he smoked his cigar. The ashes falling across Dick’s hair, burning before the man brushed them away.
“You’ve done this before?” He asked, And Dick wasn’t stupid enough to shake his head. He sucked dick before, at parties, or after dates, but never like this, with someone who was essentially a stranger, who he’d seen once, maybe twice before at a gala or dinner, in the dark shadowed private room of Gotham’s most premier club.
To be honest, Dick didn’t even like clubbing all that much. Typically left all the fun to Roy, who knew how to throw a damn party. He didn’t belong here, on his knees in front of Roman Sionis, of all people. But there was no easy way out, not without pissing off Roman, and the man would be a dangerous enemy to have. He wouldn’t forget how Dick blew him off.
“You don’t mind, right?” Roman asked, and he’s talking about the cigar, not the hand with multiple large chunky rings undoing his belt as he got himself out. He’s not all that long, but he’s thick, hairy. “I told my assistant that I was trying to quit, but I just keep getting pulled in.” Combined with his dark, intense eyes and sharp smirk, Dick knew he was talking more about fucking him than he was quitting his smoking.
“You want a taste?” And there’s amusement there, lurking in his eyes as he’s offered the cigar in his hand as his cock sat between them, like an obvious sign. Dick opened his mouth to speak, and the man placed the cigar between his lips. “You might want to inhale, doll,” He said.
Dick had to. He coughed hard as the hot, nasty heat enters his throat. It burned, lurked in his chest, long after he stopped coughing. There were tears at the edge of his eyes. He needed something to get the taste of nicotine out of his mouth, got Roman’s hand in his hair, pushing his face down to meet the man’s cock. He’s still half-soft, and Roman dragged him by his hair up against the shaft as he hardened beneath him.
“Come on, pretty boy, would have thought you would be better at this,” Dick grit his teeth, braced his hands on Roman’s pants. They’re white, silk, and wrinkled beneath his fingers. Then he opened his mouth so he could drag his tongue against him. The sting of the cigar was still there, even as he took the head of Roman’s cock into his mouth.
He could feel his mouth stretching around the man as he took him deeper into his throat, closed his eyes as he tried to take the man all the way down. Roman was definitely one of those men that liked someone who knew how to deepthroat.
When his mouth met the bottom of the shaft, Roman’s grip on Dick’s hair tightened, and then he thrust into Dick’s mouth, hard enough that Dick could feel himself almost gag. “Knew you had a mouth on you,” He muttered, and then he set a quick pace, fucked deep into Dick’s throat.
This was what facefucking really was. Roman holding him down, forcing him to take each roll of his hips. He couldn’t breathe. The man’s grip was so tight he felt like he was pulling out Dick’s hair. It’s terrifying, having to trust the club owner to let him up to breathe, hard to just surrender to the movement of his face against his will.
The squelching of his throat and the drool dripping out of his mouth onto Roman made him shudder. It’s so much and he tried to focus on just making sure he could breathe out of his nose. He couldn’t let himself drift. Everything was so visceral, all the sounds, Roman’s grunts, the way the lights of the room hit them, all out in the open in this club room. His hands gripped Roman’s pants so tight that he thought he might ruin them. In the middle of all this, he could feel his own cock getting hard. It felt like a betrayal.
When Roman pulled out, gave him a chance to breathe, he took it. His throat burned, and it wasn’t from the cigar anymore. His breaths were shuddering, water dripped down his face, sweat, maybe tears.
Roman tilted his head up so Dick could see the hard smirk on his face and so he could see just how ruined Dick looked. He knew his lips had to be so red, his cheeks probably matched. He grunted and then jacked himself off, aiming the tip of his cock for Dick’s cheeks and nose, and Dick closed his eyes just in time for the first drop of hot, salty liquid to land on him.
Roman painted his face, his cum dripping off of Dick’s eyelashes. The only saving grace was that it didn’t seem to be in his hair.
“Look at you,” Roman said. “You’re a fucking mess, boy.” He opens his eyes just in time to catch the flash of Roman’s camera, and it sent a curling circle of anxiety crashing through him. Roman must have seen it, because he softened his grip on Dick’s head, “Don’t worry, baby, that’s just for us,” He said and Dick blinked his eyes up at Roman, tried to find the mocking in the man’s tone and couldn’t find it. “Daddy’s going to take care of you.”
It was weird then, for Roman to not be lying to him. To take his time cleaning him up in his private bathroom so Dick could stumble out of the club after him, so they could go to his penthouse, where the man fucked him so hard that he came more times than he could count.
He didn’t get how Roman got him to come back after that night. Maybe the Black Mask Club was just one of the best clubs in Gotham, and putting up with the sleazy owner who wanted to fuck him was worth it if it meant free drinks for him and his friends.
Or maybe Dick liked that feeling of being with Roman, the terror and the arousal that swirled within him until it all crashed out in earth-shattering orgasms every time.
Or maybe he was just as addicted to Roman as Roman was to cigars.