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Dick thinks, somewhere vague and sticky in the back of his mind, that it's probably too early for this. The sun filters in through your open window, spots dancing behind his closed eyes as the first rays of the morning begin to spill in.
He hasn't even been home that long, he thinks. It was only a couple hours ago that he peeled off his mask and crawled under the covers next to you.
Still, though, he finds it hard to deny you when you're like this.
"I love you," you murmur, hushed and gentle, like you're not sure if he's really awake. Your lips start by his collarbone, mapping out his skin by pressing endless kisses wherever you can reach.
"Love you too, honey," he mumbles, sleep tying his tongue as you smile against his skin. It's endearing enough that you change direction and move back up to his face, kisses then pressed against the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks.
"Go back to sleep," you whisper, your voice a soothing, lulling sort of thing as your palm smooths over his abdomen. With the blankets kicked down to his waist, his skin is warm against yours, and your lips leave his face in favour of trailing back down across his abs.
"Is this supposed to put me to sleep?" he counters lazily, his eyes still closed as he feels your lips skim across his lower stomach, pausing to kiss along a particularly gouging scar.
"It could," you say easily. "If you want. You do need more sleep, babe."
"Well, what do you want?" he asks - a little coy, a little pointed as he blinks his eyes open slowly. You move to rest your cheek against his stomach, tracing the shapes of his abs idly as you look up at him.
He waits, just a moment, for your hand to dip lower - for it to sneak under the blanket, or for your lips to go further down until…
But nothing happens. You just lay there, your touch rhythmic and soothing and kind.
"I don't want anything," you murmur, lifting your head to press a kiss to his skin again before settling back with your cheek against his abdomen. He's sure you can feel, then, the stutter of his breath as it all leaves him.
"Not anything?" he murmurs, his hand winding through your hair and giving it a gentle, barely there sort of tug. It's the kind of thing that you love, he knows - but even as your lips twitch into a bit of a smile, you shake your head.
"Just this," you murmur. "Unless you want something more."
"We can, baby," he say immediately, and you smile at him kindly.
"Yes we can. Do you want to?" you ask. It's not often that Dick finds himself out of his depth - floundering and stumbling over his own feet. But now, as he loosens his grip to smooth a hand over your hair, instead, he's not so sure where to go.
"Why do you touch me like that?" He asks quietly before he can think better of it, and he wonders sort of lurchingly when he started being so honest.
But then you smile up at him like you love him, and he thinks he understands.
"Because you're pretty," you say sweetly. "And you're all mine. And because I love you."
"Oh yea?" he murmurs, off kilter and reeling, just a bit. You stop smoothing your fingers across his abs, moving, instead, to press your palm firmly to his sternum. A solid weight, a safe place to land.
"Yea," you respond easily. "Didn't you know?"
"I know, baby," he says softly, and you move up his body easily when he starts tugging at you, pulling you closer until you can tuck your face into the crook of his neck.
"Do you want to tell me what you're thinking?" you ask him softly, your breath against his skin as he wraps his arms around your tighter, anchoring you against him.
"Just that I love you," Dick says weakly, and you hum.
"Good thought to have," you agree solemnly, and he reaches down to pinch your thigh a bit.
You let him, notably - you laugh against his neck and pull him closer, and something sort of cracks in his heart at it all.
"C'mere," is all the warning you have from him before he's rolling on top of you, then, kissing you hard enough that you forget, for just a moment, how to breathe.
"Do you know what you want now?" you ask him, airy and muffled between kisses as he cups your cheek in his hand and chases your lips with his own.
"Yea," he says distractedly, and you smile against his lips.
"Do you want to share?" you prompt, and Dick moves just enough to trail his own kisses across your cheeks and down your neck, just as you had.
"Just this," he murmurs against your skin, and you look at him so fondly that he thinks it might be enough to make him crumble.
"I like this," you agree softly, and maybe it's relief that rolls off of him. Maybe it's love.
"Yea?" He makes his way back up to your mouth, teeth nipping against your bottom lip before he soothes it with another kiss.
"Yea," you murmur, and as you lift your head from the pillow slightly to chase his lips, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. His hand on your cheek keeps you steady as he leans down again, always coming to you before you can go to him - always taking care of you before you can lift a finger.
"Yea," you continue distractedly. "But you know what else I like?"
"What?"
"When you're well rested," you say sweetly, and Dick's head falls to the crook of your neck with a stifled laugh.
"I must disappoint you very often, then," he sighs as he rolls off of you and into his back, his arm stretched out towards you.
"Oh, never," you say easily, an honesty settling in your words that makes him pull you closer. You curl yourself against him with your cheek pressed against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat.
"Never?" he murmurs.
"Not once," you respond softly, and he squeezes your shoulders affectionately where his arm anchors you to him.
"You gonna stay here while I sleep?" he asks, and you bring his free hand up so that you can trail kisses across his palm.
"If you're ok with it," you say, and he scoffs.
"As if I wouldn't be, honey," Dick says chastisingly, and you smile against his hand. "I always want you here."
"Even when this is all we do?" you ask kindly - a tricky sort of question that you know will trip him up.
But he just drops a kiss to the crown of your head and settles back, his chest carved open for you, his heart in your hands.
"Yea, babe," he murmurs, something heavy there - something true. "Maybe… especially then."
You probably answer him, then - you probably say something earnest and loving, and if he was awake enough, he'd kick himself for ignoring it. But sleep weighs him down and you encourage it with gentle hands and soothing words, and he wonders, in an unhurried sort of way, when touch turned into something so good.