Chapter Text
You are a visage adorned in jewel green satin.
It had been a gift, because Damian has always been one to lovingly shower you with beautiful and opulent gifts—and he was one to want to do so often with little regard for costs. Money could always be made, but the vision of you in everything and nothing was without material cost.
The dress is held up by delicate gold straps that crest over the curves of your bare shoulders like thin vines; disappearing into the satin at the front while artfully draping in a natural crescent shape down your back whereas another gold chain sat straighter across your shoulder blades; the cool metal brushing against your warmed skin in tickling kisses.
The fabric winches tightly at your waist, leaving very little of your silhouette to the imagination, and the sight makes the Wayne heir want to fit his warm hands over the captivating bend of your waist and hips. There they would settle against your shape like sediment: heavy. His hands are a hot brand, slowly searing you through the thin material and claiming you as his by touch alone.
“Are you showing me off?” You had gently teased your lover when he had first presented you with the custom made dress. It was entirely backless, and flowed over the topography of your body like water; gentle cascades that kiss your skin with every subtle shift.
The slit on one side of the dress climbs high, almost kissing the gentle curve of your hip in a way that has Damian fixating on that show of soft, intimate skin.
Then, little to your surprise, he presents you with another gift: a long but thin box of dark velvet. The box feels expensive, and you know it to be more jewelry. Damian watches you like a patient predator as you carefully open it.
“Will you help me put it on, habibi?” Your question is soft, delicate like the gold chain nestled within the box.
“It would be my honor and pleasure, ya hayati.”
Damian kneels then, reverent before you as he accepts the box from your giving hands. There is devotion there when he gazes up at you with yearning green eyes. Yet his touch is gentle and adoring as he implores you to lift your bare foot enough for him to slip the first loop up your calf and beyond. It settles around the meatiest past of your bare thigh, and he secures the second loop around your waist where it hangs just a little bit loose. The clasp is so thin it seems almost seamless.
His ringed fingers settle on the outsides of your thighs; all gold with rich red carnelians, vibrant turquoise, passionate rubies, and verdant emeralds. Some with beautiful geometric shapes he likes to trace onto your bare skin late at night when he has carved out time for tantric love-making and the kind of rest that has him feeling revitalized in the morning. His hands slide up then, over the gentle curve of your hips before settling on the appealing dips of your waist. Damian leans in, and presses his warm lips to your thigh as high up as the dress allows.
“Now,” you say softly as something more simmers in the layers of your voice. A waver—and a low simmering heat of earnest want. Your beloved is a vision kneeling before you. Supplicant in a way only unique to you. You lift a manicured hand to thread through the short hair at his temple, and he turns to your touch with a quiet hunger.
”Will you help me take it all off?”