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Tempt Me, Tease Me, Thrill Me	By : AnansiScribe Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 21517 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Batman and all associated characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Brothers. I make no money whatsoever from this story, and I do not claim to own Batman or any characters associated with that particular franchise.

Chapter List
- 1-Tempt Me, Tease Me, Thrill Me
- 1
“Tempt Me, Tease Me, Thrill Me”
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here belong to DC Comics, not me. I only own this somewhat perverse story.
Author’s note: In the universe of Kingdom Come and its continuations, now known to us as Earth-22, Dick Grayson’s daughter embarked on a romantic relationship with Bruce Wayne’s son. In the mainstream DCU, known to us as simply “New Earth,” Bruce Wayne’s son is now canon, albeit going under the name Damian Wayne instead of Ibn al Xu’ffasch. However, Dick’s daughter is still not canon, solely because he is no longer involved with the woman that would have been her mother, Starfire. However, I am not exactly letting that stop me from writing an ero-fic pairing the two; it’s just too fun an idea to turn down.
Timeline: 10-12 years from present canon, so Damian’s 19 and Mar’i is 17. Either age is old enough, as far as most states within the United States or most developed countries are concerned.
The showerhead liberally rained cleansing water down on Damian Wayne’s head and body. It had been a rough night, considering that the Jokerz and the Two-Faces had apparently teamed up to kill the Black Masks. When he had interceded, all three gangs had turned their attentions on him, deciding to forgo each other’s annihilation until they had collectively rent him. Of course, they couldn’t even agree on that, with each gang wanting the “glory” of killing the infamous Chevalier and going over each other to get said glory. In the end, it had been all Damian could do to both shut down the three gangs and keep himself alive.
What did he have to show for it now? His body was a tapestry of wounds, bruises, scrapes, cuts, and even holes from stray bullets. The pain was actually quite negligible, at least as far as he was concerned; it was his pride that was more wounded than anything else. To think that a bunch of untrained, unskilled thugs could actually wound him at all . . . galled him deeply. He spat out a dislodged tooth, said tooth taking some blood with it. The crimson fluid mingled with the water pooling on the floor of the shower, bringing to the young man’s mind the unwanted memory of his father’s blood.
He really should have seen her coming, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure whether it was his own distraction, or if she was just that good, but when he turned to reach for the soap, his hand was intercepted by a graceful, unnaturally bronzed gold hand. He turned to look at the intruder and found a naked Mar’i Grayson, her long black hair obscuring her breasts but not the slow, sly smile on her face or the wicked light in her pupil-less green eyes.
“Hi, Damian,” she greeted.
“What are you doing here?” Damian asked lowly.
“Just leave everything to me,” Mar’i purred. “You’ll be feeling much better soon.”
She took the bar of soap and rotated it in her hands, working up a fine lather. She stepped behind Damian and applied the lather to his back, her hands massaging the knotted muscles even as they were soaping his skin. Her skillful hands worked the tension out of his back muscles, although Damian was loath to actually express his relief, in words or in any other manner. If Mar’i noticed this, she didn’t seem to mind, not with the way her hands deftly moved to his front and soaped him there as well.
Much to Damian’s chagrin, though, part of him was expressing his relief in the most obvious non-vocal way possible. He felt the damned organ rise to life, jutting out like a soldier standing at attention. He bit back a growl of self-contempt, internally cursing his weakness. Even worse, he was certain Mar’i had noticed his arousal, but it didn’t seem to stop her from soaping his hips and even beneath his sac. If that wasn’t enough to add to his arousal, her ample breasts pressed against his back, making the young man even more aware of her proximity to him.
As if he hadn’t suffered enough embarrassment, he heard a low, sultry chortle from Mar’i. “Is there something funny?” Damian growled.
“No,” Mar’i replied matter-of-factly. “I just happened to notice you’ve got a hard-on. Want me to take care of that for you?”
“No,” Damian answered with a grim scowl.
“Too bad,” Mar’i retorted. “You have to clean that, too, or else you’ll get testicular cancer. You don’t want your balls to fall off, now do you?”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be making you feel better and make you feel better is what I’m going to do.” The lightness in her tone masked her determination and Damian could tell that this was a fight he was actually going to lose. The checkmate came when he felt Mar’i’s fingers soaping his sac and using the soap as lubricant to pump his member. Damian bit back a pleasured groan, not wanting to give any evidence that he was enjoying this at all. Just then, he heard her voice in his ear. “You can let it out . . . or you can tell me to stop. I don’t like silence; it makes me feel unappreciated.”
“Too bad,” Damian answered curtly.
Mar’i’s response was to tighten her grip on his member, pumping him even more insistently if not necessarily faster. Damian’s mouth opened in a silent gasp of pleasure, even as he cursed himself for being so weak. He still wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of actually vocalizing his pleasure, but that only seemed to make her pump him ever more slowly and yet ever more insistently.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” she whispered in his ear. “Just let it out.”
Damian bit his lip to avoid making a single noise, for all the good that that did; he simply ended up tasting blood. He focused on the taste of his own blood, using it to numb his arousal. It might have worked, if not for the sheer physical presence of Mar’i and her ever-insistent hand on his sex. The only evidence of his resultant climax was the shuddering of his body as his seed splattered all over the wall he was facing and dripped down to the floor of the shower. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath and recover from his orgasm while, behind him, Mar’i licked the fruit of her labors off her hand.
When the young man turned to face her, she was already gone, leaving him quite . . . irked. Yes, “irked” was the right word for it, as far as he was concerned. He was not thinking that Mar’i Grayson’s hand on him was the best sensation he had ever experienced. He was not thinking that it should have lasted longer than it did. He was definitely not thinking that he would have liked it if Mar’i had stayed in the shower with him. No, he was not thinking any of those things whatsoever.
The next night, Damian was in the Batcave again, preparing to go out into the unforgiving Gotham night once more. The black-and-silver armor lay dormant in its closet, waiting for Damian to don it. He began to reach out for it when a very familiar voice intruded upon him. “Damian, Damian, Damian. Are you going to try to work yourself to death again?”
“I don’t care if I die,” Damian retorted, not bothering to turn and look at the speaker. “What do you want, Mar’i?”
“Too bad for you, Damian, that I care if you die,” Mar’i responded. “Now, you know you’re not the only one who can protect Gotham. Dad’s still around. Uncle Tim is still around. Aunt Cass is still around. Miki is certainly around. Gotham is not going to fall apart without you.”
“And what would you prefer I do with my time? Play the lackadaisical whelp a child of wealth is supposed to be? No thanks.”
“You know, if we’re going to hold a conversation, the least you could do is face me.”
Damian turned to look at Mar’i, only to do a double-take when he saw her. She was garbed in a pinstriped black leather corset that was undone at the top and the bottom for presumably greater comfort and black leather chaps with a pair of obscenely short blue jean shorts underneath. The young man blinked several times, not quite sure of what he was seeing and not sure he was supposed to like it. When he finally found his voice, his tone was rather acidic.
“Where are you going? A BDSM rodeo performance?”
Mar’i chuckled. “And what would you know about BDSM?”
“Are you actually going to step outside in that?” Damian asked.
“Yes,” Mar’i confirmed. “And you’re going to come with me.”
“Come with you? Where and why?”
“You need to learn how to have fun.” Mar’i smirked. Continuing on in a childish singsong voice, “All work and no play make Damian a very unpleasant boy.”
“That’s the why, not that I particularly give a damn. What’s the where?”
“Nyx Hemera. Lian’s going to meet us there.”
Damian grunted. “Now I know I don’t want to go.”
“Will you just relax and try to live a little?” Mar’i pouted.
The young man felt his will beginning to crumble. Steeling himself for Mar’i’s reaction, he looked her dead in her unnatural green eyes and said, “No.”
Mar’i pouted, but the pout quickly turned into a smirk. “That’s fine. We don’t need to go out. We can have our own party right here.”
“I have to work,” Damian insisted.
Mar’i slinked over to the computer and typed on the tactile keyboard. Immediately, music began to play, a slow, ethereal tune to which Mar’i began to sway. She stretched her arms above her head slowly as her full hips rocked to the rhythm of the music. “Come now, Damian. Won’t you dance with me?”
Damian would be a liar if he didn’t admit he was tempted. Then again, he was damned good at lying, at least to himself. He was good at tricking himself into believing that he hated the men whom his father saw more as his sons than the very fruit of his loins. He was good at making himself think that he had no liking at all for the trivial life he pretended to live during the day. He was good at pretending that he felt no stirrings of desire or deeper emotion for the girl – no, woman – before him. Yes, Damian was very good at falsifying his feelings . . . or so he believed.
Of course, the true test of his capacity for emotional fakery came when Mar’i sashayed toward him, like a lioness closing in on a vulnerable gazelle. The look in her eyes certainly befitted that little simile, as though the odd curvature of her lips didn’t demonstrate it enough. When she was close enough, she pulled his unwilling frame into her dance and twirled so that her back was facing him.
“What do you want from me?” Damian asked.
“For you to dance with me,” Mar’i replied. “So dance with me.”
She put one arm back to wrap around the back of his neck, holding him close with just that one hand. With her other hand, she took one of his arms and wrapped it around her waist, placing his hand over her exposed, firm stomach. She swayed to the pulse of the music, her lush backside grinding against his crotch, the friction encouraging the hardness forming beneath it.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Mar’i,” Damian hissed lowly in her ear.
“Really? I think I know what I’m doing. Thank you for the concern, though.”
Damian bit back a chuckle at the audacity of the woman in his arms. Then again, if he were willing to admit the truth to himself, it was that very fire, that very spark of life that drew him to her . . . irresistibly, inexorably . . . a moth into the fires of perdition. He was already damned, though, so why not make it official? Why not give in, and commit this most indelible of sins, claim the last shreds of innocence Grayson’s precious girl possessed and utterly cast aside his own?
“Just remember . . .” and his voice dropped by several decibels. “I warned you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mar’i asked, turning in his arms to face him.
“This,” he hissed, and claimed her lips in the hardest kiss his all-too-human mouth could give her. It was more likely that his own lips would bruise, especially when she began kissing him back with the same ferocity, but he didn’t care. He was tired of lying to himself, tired of denying himself what he wanted out of some foolish spark of pride and ego. He was going to make her his, or she would make him hers; the phraseology didn’t matter, just the fact that they would be bound to each other forever.
Mar’i’s tongue forced its way into Damian’s mouth, the rough, sandpaper-textured appendage practically ravishing it. Damian pulled Mar’i closer to him, his own tongue moving to duel hers. She moaned into his kiss, effectively molding her body to his, while one of his hands purposely slid down her side to grip one generous hip. The kiss did heat up, though, when Mar’i whirled and, in a sudden burst of strength, pushed Damian against the computer console. The young man didn’t even have the chance to react before she was on him again, kissing him deeply while caressing the hardness barely sheathed in his pants.
Damian broke the kiss briefly, just long enough to gasp her name before she claimed his lips again. As they kissed, she unbuttoned and unzipped his black jeans, reaching inside to grasp his hardness. Damian let out a low pleasured groan, no longer interested in holding back his feelings, not now, anyway. Mar’i pulled his member out from his unzipped jeans and stroked it, slowly yet insistently . . . just like back in the shower the night before.
With her other hand, she reached underneath his shirt and explored the smooth skin of his chest. Aside from the numerous scars acquired from a childhood of abusive training and an adolescence of brutal vigilantism, his skin was practically untarnished. While under his shirt, her hand found one of his nipples and tweaked it, causing him to unconsciously thrust into the hand that was stroking his sex. She heard her name escape his lips, a ragged, almost pleading demand.
While Mar’i was tempted to unzip her shorts and take him inside her immediately, that would end the game all too soon. The goal here was to addict him to her, and if she just gave it up that quickly . . . well, that wouldn’t work. He might want to claim her, but she had to claim him as well, and the way to do that was to make his want for her a desperate need.
She broke the kiss and began nibbling on his neck, her teeth grazing his all-too-vulnerable flesh and sending electric thrills of pain up his spine. She paused only to remove his shirt, Damian obliging her by lifting his arms, and toss it aside, smiling lecherously at his bare chest. When he saw that smile, he began to feel as though he had some modicum of control again, evinced by the slow smirk that formed on his face.
“Like what you see?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mar’i replied.
“Don’t you think it’s time I saw something, too?” he challenged.
“You will see when you are ready to see,” she answered, firmly yet sensually. “No sooner.”
She returned to kissing his neck, one of her hands roaming his bared chest while the other pumped his member. Damian could do little more than try to find something to hold onto for dear life, his arousal rising to a fever pitch. Maybe it was serendipity, but his hands turned to Mar’i’s luscious body as a life preserver of sorts, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip. “Mar’i . . .” he groaned again, his tone an insistent, demanding supplication.
Idly, the young man noticed that the music had changed, to a harder, more metallic but no less sensuous tune and rhythm, supported by a chillingly seductive phantomlike voice. He noted that the music suited his feelings at this particular moment quite well, as did the lyrics. He felt like he was drowning, drowning in a blackened sea of ecstasy, with the woman on top of him pulling him deeper and deeper. When his full attention returned to Mar’i, he found that she was kneeling before him with her lips wrapped around his hardness.
Damian tried, tried with everything he had not to come at that moment, but Mar’i’s mouth and tongue were simply too good, and he was too aroused, for him to do anything else except come. With a cry of Mar’i’s name that echoed throughout the entire cave, he poured his seed into her mouth and down her throat. To his astonishment, she didn’t spill a single drop of his essence, swallowing it all down with utter aplomb. The glint in her eyes as she looked at him belied that self-possession, though; it was one of pure, untamed triumph.
The young man shuddered as Mar’i pulled her mouth off his sex and rose up until she was looking him in the eyes. She spared herself a brief smirk before kissing him passionately, allowing him to taste himself on her lips. To his surprise, his sex immediately returned to half-mast and only rose more as they kissed, sharing the taste of his seed. Mar’i took his hand and placed it on what he almost immediately recognized as her bared breast, round and heavy to the touch.
When the kiss ended, Damian smiled wickedly, letting his thumb brush her ruddy nipple. Unlike him, she was immediately responsive, letting out a soft coo of pleasure and leaning into his touch. As he caressed her breast, she pulled the other side of her half-undone corset away, letting him see both of her breasts. With a wicked smile to match his, Mar’i pulled his head down – easily done since she was two inches taller than him – and tilted her chest up, placing his mouth on the nipple of her other breast. Damian immediately began to suck, gently, almost reverently at first, but harder when she began teasing his sex with her leather-clad knee, his teeth grazing the soft skin of her breast.
“Damian . . .” Mar’i moaned softly.
As Damian sucked one of Mar’i’s breasts and caressed the other, he began to detect something trickling into his mouth. He almost mistook it for his own drool, but . . . it did not have the tastelessness or texture of saliva. It was warm, thick, and oddly delicious. Damian sucked harder, wanting more of this strange liquid that was slowly flowing into his mouth. As he sucked, Mar’i let out a louder moan and entwined her fingers within his dark locks.
Pausing for breath, Damian pulled his mouth off Mar’i’s breast and tweaked the nipple of her other breast. Off-white liquid seeped out of the nipple, leaking onto his fingers. With a slow, soft smile, Damian removed his hand and licked it clean. “Since when did you lactate?” he wondered.
“It’s something that happens with Tamaranean women when they are at their most fertile,” Mar’i replied. “Essentially, I’m having my period.”
“Does that mean . . . ?” Damian wondered.
“That’s the week before,” Mar’i clarified. “One week of bleeding and cramps, one week of lactating and general horniness.”
“That explains your behavior toward me yesterday,” Damian mused. “You were hoping to entice me to scratch your itch.”
“That . . . and I’m in love with you.”
Damian looked away. “Why? Why love me? I’m a bastard, in all the ways that word is defined.”
“Bastard you are, yes, but half the time that’s more for show than anything else. I grew up with you, Damian. I’ve learned to tell the difference between you meaning to be an asshole and you being an asshole because you think it’s safer to act the way everyone thinks you are. And I can see . . . beyond that, you are someone worth loving.”
There was a long pause, one that seemingly stretched for eternity, and when it ended, Damian spoke. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”
“Someone had to.” Mar’i smiled at him, warm and loving.
Damian undid the remaining buttons on her corset and tossed it aside, then held her close, his bare chest against hers as they kissed. Unlike the lustful kisses earlier, this one was slow and gentle, with Mar’i and Damian caressing each other’s bared upper bodies with a deliberateness and care that belied their tempestuous hearts. Soon enough, Damian broke the kiss, only to move his lips to the hollow of her throat and lay butterfly kisses there. He kissed a trail down her chest, down to her breasts, which he alternately sucked and caressed, much to Mar’i’s delight, vocalized as deep, husky moans and sighs.
After having his fill of her breast milk, Damian kissed his way down her flat, hard stomach, admiring the definition of her muscles with his mouth and tongue. Following his peppering the area surrounding her belly button with kisses and literal tongue lashes, Damian reached the waistband of her jean shorts. “Let’s get these things off,” he murmured, undoing the waistband of her chaps and unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts. He looked up at Mar’i and smiled. “Would you like to keep the chaps on or should I take them off, too?”
“Keep them on,” Mar’i replied. “I get the feeling you like the feel of leather against your skin.”
“If you say so,” Damian acceded, removing the shorts and redoing the waistband of the chaps. Now that the center of Mar’i’s body was bare before him, Damian took a moment to admire the way she had trimmed her pubic hair; it had taken the shape of the bat-like design of his mask’s visor. He looked lower and saw the ruddy lips of her sex, slightly open and glistening with her wetness. With hardly any hesitation, he placed his face very close to her sex and extended his tongue to scoop up her wetness.
Mar’i let out the loudest moan she had made all night, arching against Damian, who garnered from that reaction that he’d done something good. He licked more, plunging his tongue as deep into her sex as he could. He moved his tongue around, sliding it over her inner walls to collect the evidence of her arousal, which actually tasted . . . good. As he licked her, Mar’i bucked her hips against his face, trying to get his tongue even deeper inside her. At that point, Damian gripped her hips tightly, although he knew that he did not have the strength to really hold her down.
He did have an idea up his proverbial sleeve, though. He pulled his tongue out of Mar’i, much to her dismay, only to slide a finger inside her. Her inner muscles clenched around his finger, so tightly that he almost worried his finger would be broken off inside her. Unlike most people who made that claim, he could at least say that his nascent worries were somewhat legitimate, due to her super-strength. Despite that, he added a second finger, pumping them both inside her. As he did that, he took notice of a certain little hard nub at the upper corner of her lower lips and curiously leaned forward to lick it.
The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Mar’i let out a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a scream; too high to really be a moan, and not loud enough to be a scream. Additionally, more of her juices began to flow from her center. Damian took the mysterious little nub into his mouth, sucking it like he would one of her nipples, much to Mar’i’s very vocal delight. While he did that, he removed his fingers from inside her and he slid one of them, coated in her juices, slowly up her “other” nether orifice. Mar’i’s moans became deeper, more guttural, as though she were struggling to reconcile the new sensation of Damian’s finger inside there with the more familiar sensation of his mouth around her clit.
Soon enough, the two sensations blended together into one near-ecstatic thrill. “More . . .” she moaned.
More you’ll have, Damian thought, and pushed his second finger inside her other entrance. Mar’i’s moans grew deeper in pitch and yet louder as he continued to lick and suck her clit.
“Ahhh . . . Damian . . . I’m . . .” Mar’i groaned, and then it happened. She came, with a guttural roar of ecstasy and her orgasmic nectar spilling forth from her sex. Damian drank it down eagerly, even when it overflowed from his mouth. When he had drunk all he could, he pulled his fingers out of her rosebud and moved up to kiss her with lips stained in her orgasmic juices. Mar’i kissed him back, sliding her tongue into his mouth to get a better taste of herself.
When the kiss broke, Damian smiled at Mar’i, the expression containing none of the usual savagery or malice. Instead, it was a relaxed, almost beatific gesture of affection, complemented by his hand gently stroking her face. Mar’i hooked one leather-clad leg around his waist, pulling him in closer. At that moment, Damian became conscious of his member poking her thigh and his want, his need surged once more.
“You do have a condom, don’t you, Mr. ‘I’m Prepared for the Apocalypse’?” Mar’i gently ribbed him.
“Yes,” Damian replied, reaching into his pants pocket – the damned things were still on, albeit unbuttoned and unzipped – and removing a condom wrapper. He ripped it open and was about to roll it onto his member when Mar’i gently took it from him and put it on for him. That simple gesture – or maybe not so simple, with the focus she put on it – was enough to make him even harder, if such a thing was possible. Now that he was ready, Mar’i smiled at him and reached between them to grasp his sheathed member, gently guiding it inside her.
Possessed by his passion, Damian pushed the rest of the way into her, prompting a cry from Mar’i. Damian’s eyes widened as his senses returned to him; on the one hand, the feeling of Mar’i’s sex clenching his like a particularly tight, warm glove was nearly enough to make him come. On the other, he had pushed in so quickly, so forcefully . . . had he hurt her? Had his recklessness caused pain to the last person he ever wanted to harm?
“Mar’i . . .” he whispered. “Are you . . . did I hurt you?”
“No . . .” Mar’i answered breathlessly. “It’s just that I’ve never had anything in there but my own fingers before. It’ll take a little getting used to.”
“I can wait.”
Mar’i pushed her hips up into his. “I’ve waited long enough. Now, Damian. Now.”
“If that is what you want.” Damian pulled out partway and then thrust back inside with enough force to make Mar’i let out a low, purring moan. He repeated the movement, eliciting a similar response from Mar’i as the last time. When he performed the movement a third time, he found his hips met halfway by Mar’i’s, the combined thrusts sending a thrill of pleasure up Damian’s spine. A wicked smile crossed Mar’i’s face, her eyes glowing with unearthly delight.
At first, the pace had been slow and gentle, but as their passions got the better of them, the tempo of their lovemaking became faster and harder. It was then that Damian found that sex with Mar’i was more dangerous for him, considering the force with which Mar’i’s hips were slamming into his. He momentarily feared that he would break something, but it was probably more likely that he would simply be bruised and sore for a while. Of course . . . living dangerously could be fun, and Damian was determined to give as good as he was getting.
Mar’i had wrapped her legs around Damian, holding him close as he thrust into her. His hands were gripping her backside as she pushed up into his thrusts, their hips slamming together with a force that might have at least cracked a lesser man’s pelvis. Damian buried his face in the voluminous black waves that were his lover’s hair, inhaling her scent as he made love to her.
“I . . .” he murmured into her ear.
“Don’t say anything,” Mar’i whispered huskily, in between soft, ragged pants. “Not right now.”
He chose not to speak further, muffling his subsequent orgasmic cries with Mar’i’s mouth. Despite the fact that he was climaxing, he retained enough energy to continue thrusting inside her, which ultimately prompted her own climax, her inner muscles clenching him tightly. Her own rapturous cries were muffled by Damian’s mouth on hers, something that she was almost grateful for; despite the fact that they were in a satellite Batcave, who knew when her father, Tim, Cass, or Miki were going to just walk in?
In the wake of their respective climaxes, Damian had found his way to the nearby chair despite being sheathed inside Mar’i. He promptly collapsed into it, Mar’i resting on his lap. He slowly removed himself from her, taking off the condom as well and throwing it into a nearby wastebasket. To his wonder, Mar’i acrobatically maneuvered herself so that she was headfirst in his lap while her legs were on either side of his head, effectively placing them in a quasi-upright 69.
Understanding what she intended, Damian began to lick her clean while she did the same for him. As they attended to each other, Damian wondered just how his “brothers” would react when they found out about the changed nature of his relationship with Mar’i. Then he answered to himself that it didn’t matter what they thought and if they had anything to say about it, they could hang. In spite of that, a dark, morbid part of him wanted to rub it in their faces that he, the bastard, he, the unwanted, could win the love of Mar’i Grayson.
Of course, all such thoughts were subsequently chased from his mind by Mar’i’s skilled mouth. He’d have to ask her how she got so good at that, and then decide for himself if there was anybody he needed to quietly “dispose of.” But he could worry about that later; it just felt too good to think of anything else right then.
End Notes: There you go, my first full Mar’i Grayson/Damian Wayne smut fic. I’ve played with the pairing before in more general contexts, but this is my first time writing them in a smutty context. If you’re wondering who “Miki” is, she’s Stephanie Brown’s baby from the post-No Man’s Land Robin comics – whom Steph gave up for adoption – mostly grown up. “Lian” is Lian Harper, the daughter of former Speedy Roy Harper and the assassin Cheshire. Other than that, there is no set continuity for this story, so there aren’t very many confusing elements to worry about, although I bet you were too busy reading the smut to worry about that. Drop a note to let me know how I did, if you’re in the mood, and thanks for reading.
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Tempt Me, Tease Me, Thrill Me