An unpretending time
by LC
3/04Title is from Emily Dickinson, poem at the end.
Thanks to Te, Livia, Jack, and Ang for audiencing, encouragement, and sucking me into the fandom. Te also supplied a few key lines.
The only thing Dick's sure of is, you couldn't call it dating.
He knows how to date. He's really pretty good at dates, at least for the first half-dozen or so. He knows what he's doing when he's dating, and this--with Tim--that's not what he's doing. Patrolling Bludhaven together, as much fun as it is, does not count as a romantic outing, and Tim's not going to--take him to his prom, or anything.
Although that might actually be fun. Maybe he could be the bad-ass older boyfriend who shows up on a motorcycle. But then Tim would have to be Molly Ringwald, and he can't really pull off curls.
Does Tim even go to high school dances? He must, it'd be part of his image--the Tim Drake, Successful Preppy Kid he so meticulously cultivates. Dick wonders if Tim has ever thought about making the image a little lower-maintenance. Tim Drake, Slacker Boy.
Knowing Tim, it would probably take a lot more effort for him to appear zoned-out. Dick wonders, not for the first time, what the kid would be like if he got him high. Tim's never taken anything before. He knows that, just as he knows that Tim's been carefully acclimating himself to alcohol in case he ever has to drink undercover.
Dick is fairly sure Tim doesn't think of his regular, daylight social life as undercover.
But on his own Tim doesn't drink, do drugs, eat junk food--he's explained it to Dick as a simple cost-benefit analysis, measuring pleasure gained against the possible damage to health.
"You can train yourself not to like sugar, Dick."
It was the most tragic thing Dick had ever heard. Sometimes he just wants to force-feed Tim a Ho-Ho. And wash it down with Coke. And...get his ass really, really kicked.
Not that Tim can take him, yet--though in a few years Dick can see they'll be evenly matched--but Dick would let him, because. Good things happen when Tim pins him. Even though they're not--to come satisfyingly full circle--dating. Or anything. Besides having completely confusing sex every few weeks, mostly in Dick's apartment though there had been a couple rooftop incidents. Dick gets the feeling Tim tries to avoid doing anything incriminating in public places, which only makes the rooftop memories that much hotter in retrospect.
The sex is confusing because--the only word Dick can come up with for the situation is 'fuckbuddies,' and okay, it's a very Tim concept--taking care of business in a friendly, practical, mutually satisfying fashion. And Tim doesn't seem to have any problem so far keeping the whole thing in perspective and not getting all mushy.
Dick...can't actually picture Tim getting mushy. His mind helpfully offers up an intensely spine-creeping vision of Tim with a ukelele underneath Dick's window. Singing.
No, it's just friends having sex because when you got right down to it there were maybe, in their various circles, a whole dozen people who were around more than once a year and who understood--the disappearing and the injuries and the vast blacked-out sectors of their lives. And most of those dozen were taken, wrongly oriented, severely disturbed, or any combination of the above.
Dick's life is an ancient Chinese curse come true.
So it makes perfect sense that they'd sleep with each other occasionally, and Tim's coping fine, and Dick's...failing. Increasingly. And thinking about prom dates, and--great. Picturing Tim in a slinky black prom dress. They're supposed to be working here.
Tim would probably make him wear the dress, anyway.
He actually stumbles on his next jump, and he can feel Tim sizing him up from the street below. Dick concentrates very hard on patrol for the next ten minutes or so, because Tim has been known to withhold sex for what he sees as insufficient effort. He's never come to Bludhaven without doing a night run with Dick, even when he's only visiting to talk. Dick can't actually remember the last heart-to-heart he had with Tim where neither of them were dodging blows between sentences.
Not that there's much to dodge tonight. It's a pretty quiet night by 'Haven standards, meaning they only stop a handful of muggings and deals, and it's small stuff, too. One of the muggings Dick doesn't even bother to swing down to the street for, just perches on a fire escape and watches Tim fight for the whole half a minute it takes to knock the guy down. He likes watching Tim fight. He's got his own style, much more like Bruce than Dick but really more like himself than anything. Lots of short sharp moves, economical with all his motions. He always looks like he's planned everything, even on the rare occasions that he takes a hit.
Dick takes probably way too much pleasure in noticing when Tim pulls a move that he's obviously learned from Dick. It's nice to know the sparring sessions are actually useful, and not just Tim trying to make Dick feel needed. He's always done that, since way before they started this...thing. Since the beginning, actually, back when Dick could actually tell, sometimes, that Tim wasn't sure if he could live up to the suit. Up to Dick. He couldn't tell often--even at thirteen Tim had a terrifyingly good game face, and it's only gotten better--but every now and then Dick would see him drop his eyes or pull at the cape, and he'd have to bite back the words that just wouldn't help at all, the I-know-how-you-feel and the reassurances that would sound empty, even though they weren't.
They really weren't, because Tim got good fast. And he kept trying to take care of Dick in his own weird, and weirdly accurate, way. He'd show up a few days after some case where a kid got shot by stray fire and he wouldn't say anything, or --god forbid--try to make Dick talk. He'd just let Dick show him around the 'Haven, take him out for a burger and call him 'kid' and mess with his hair, which usually earned Dick an elbow to the ribs in Gotham.
And patrol, of course. So Tim could--justify the time spent soothing Dick's psyche? Keep everything as impersonal as he needed it to be? Dick has no idea, really. Tim's absurdly opaque when he wants to be. Which is always. Letting him install the lenses in his mask was probably a bad idea, all things considered. If there was ever a guy who could use a few less opportunities to hide...
It would probably break his little head. Dick snickers to himself, which means he doesn't hear Tim until he's right behind him.
"Funny?"
"Nothing." Except your massive issues, but that would definitely lead to not getting any tonight and Dick wants it. He's been humming for it all night, watching Tim hit things.
Tim is possibly not the only one with issues.
Dick snickers again and gets only a Look this time. A freakishly expressive Look, even with the mask. Or maybe he's just used to reading people off the lower half of their faces, which is an important if slightly disturbing skill to have in his life.
"Right, not asking. It's just about two, we should head back."
Dick nods. "You want to stay over?"
Tim snorts, and, okay, stupid question, but he feels kind of creepy just assuming. He doesn't want to--he wants to make sure there's an out. Not that Tim is the kind of guy who'd have sex with someone he didn't want to out of social awkwardness, but--Dick tries not to think about how young Tim is, but that doesn't actually make it stop being true and occasionally surprising him with guilt intense enough to make him consider Catholicism. It seems to work for Helena, after all. Sort of.
"Yeah I'm staying over," Tim says, and punches him on the arm. Tim's never really figured out that you're supposed to do that gently. "I already called home. Idiot."
"Hey, I'm a gentleman, what can I say." It shouldn't matter, anyway. Tim's been an adult in every way that's important for as long as Dick's known him.
He swings down the grapple line to the sound of Tim snickering. After a few blocks he lets his attention drift a little, taking his eyes mostly off the street and focusing on the drops and the air whistling past his face. Tim will be keeping an eye out for anything that needs their attention, so he can just--he never gets to do this, the flying just for the joy of it. He throws his grapples to make the drops as sharp as he can, plans his route around fire escapes and things he can flip from. Every few blocks he looks back to check on Tim, and he's always one rooftop behind, watching.
There's an abandoned apartment six blocks from his place where he leaves his street clothes every night. It'd be a good place to hide someone, too, if he ever needs to--only one window and the surrounding neighborhood is run down but quiet. He's been making monthly payments, relayed through multiple dummy accounts, to keep the place empty and the lights on, just in case.
Tim slides through the window a half-minute after him, just as he's pulling his sweater on over the suit. Tim's cape, despite being seventeen kinds of armored, folds into a freakishly tiny square that Tim tucks into his jeans. Dick shakes his head. "You and that suit...the military would kill for half the gear you've built in there."
Tim smirks. "Probably literally," he says, muffled as he tugs the sweater down over his hair, somehow with mussing it at all.
"Sure, Robin versus the Green Berets. You could even keep one of their hats after you kick their asses, for a souvenir."
"You just want my outfit to be even stupider than yours was." Tim peels his mask off, rolls it down to about the size of a cigarette, and tucks in under the collar of his tunic, pushing it securely in. Dick's is folded in the back pocket of his jeans. Another way that Tim's followed Bruce, paranoia and all.
"It's a lost cause, you know," Tim continues. "I'm never putting on the little booties, and the booties were really what made the look happen."
"See, you just have no respect for the long and honorable costuming traditions of the superhero community."
"I guess I wasn't raised in it the same way. The short-shorts still look wrong to me."
Dick shakes his head sadly. "You're out of touch with your culture, Tim."
"Yeah, well, there's cultural awareness, and then there's Batman looking at your ass for ten years."
Dick freezes with his hand on the doorknob. Just for a second, but he knows Tim saw. And is smirking. He can feel the smirk from--he turns around. Not that far away, actually. Tim's moved forward, and definitely with the smirking, although it's not that often he manages to leave Dick speechless, so he supposes the kid deserves to gloat a little.
Just a little. "Jealous, are you?"
And score, because now Tim's looking at him like--if he were in a cartoon, his jaw would be scraping the floor. "Of you and--is there something I should know?"
So very much an actual question, which is just…Dick laughs and can't stop. "Oh man, you are too--too--" He breaks off in giggles.
Tim rolls his eyes and pushes Dick aside to open the door.
"Your face!" Dick calls, running after him and snickering.
They're two blocks from Dick's place when the guys and the guns step in front of them, and he's been watching Tim way too closely, is his excuse for not seeing them. But then Tim didn't see them either, and Dick would love to know what's so distracting that's on his mind, but--later. Soon. After they get rid of these guys.
There's two of them, both armed, though the taller one holds his piece too tightly, probably can't aim. "Money--" he gets out, before Tim moves. The gun hits the sidewalk and the guy squawks in pain. The shorter one turns his gun on Tim. Dick's got to work on presenting more of a threat.
Not that he should complain, really, since it leaves him open to leap and it's been at least an hour since his last flying kick. Far too long. Dick hits him in the center of his chest and he goes down with a grunt. Behind him, Tim does something that makes his guy squeal and fall to the ground. Dick grins.
"Is it my walk?" he says to Tim. "It is, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Nobody points guns at me."
"And you're bitching about this, why?" Tim goes for the cuffs, then pauses. Dick knows why--civilian faces. Not supposed to be wandering around with police-issue handcuffs ready to be applied to the first muggers who happen along.
Of course, they could always claim to have them for personal use. The look Tim would give him…
He hears the guy moving, but not in time to get out of the way before his legs are knocked out from under him. He slams hard into the ground, landing on his side, and maybe Tim has a point about Dick paying less attention to his ass while they're on patrol. Even though they technically aren't, at the moment. It's just two assholes who can't leave well enough alone and aren't smart enough to mug young women walking alone but instead just have to go for the two off-duty superheroes on their way to have some very nice sex, and wow, he's pissed off.
Dick really just doesn't like being knocked down.
The guy's reaching for his gun. Dick narrows his eyes and kicks him in the stomach with both feet. He shouldn't take so much pleasure in the strangled 'oof' that results, but…he is, on occasion, a bad person.
He ties the rope around the guy's wrists tighter than he needs to. Tim's eyes are heavy on his back like lead weights. "You want to call it in?"
"Just about to," Tim says, taking out his phone. Dick does the guy's ankles while Tim leaves the anonymous tip. He empties the guns onto the pavement. The bullets clatter to the ground and roll out of sight.
***
There's never--with Tim--there's never that awkward moment between the hanging out and the sex, when you both know what you're there for but nobody wants to come right out and say, so how about we start getting naked now. No matter what he's doing Tim always has a clearly defined sense of purpose. Every part of him, every line is always planning and preparing for something, and as they go up the stairs, Dick taking them two by two and three by three, he can see Tim planning and preparing for him.
Nothing really obvious, just--the loose swing of his shoulders, the set of his eyes. He's thinking thoughts. Dick can tell. It makes his skin prickle and go warm all over. He grabs the banister for one last vault. The paint-chipped metal slides under his palms, cool and alive.
Tim leans against the rail while Dick lets them in--he can feel him at his back--and then they get inside and Tim shuts the door and pins Dick against it and licks his neck, a slow firm seam from collarbone to jaw.
No awkward moment whatsoever.
Dick stiffens and laughs, a choked shocked noise. "Down, boy--"
Tim doesn't look up, just talks against his skin. "You were showing off. Out there."
And he wasn't, actually, but he definitely will be next time because, whoa. "If I'd known you liked double backflips so much, I'd--wait, I don't actually have a clever punchline for that."
"You never have a clever punchline, Dick. We thought you knew."
Which probably deserves a thwap to the head but Dick can forgive him since he's pushed his hands up under the sweater and he's scratching lightly up and down Dick's sides, over the costume, making him squirm. And he's still licking and-- "Ohh, you--"
Tim bites him again, catching the skin between his teeth and tugging. Dick grabs the back of his head and pulls him up, onto his toes, to kiss him. Tim tightens his grip, sliding it down to Dick's hips and holding on, and his mouth just opens for Dick, lets him push in and in. Dick moans into his mouth and Tim takes that too.
"You were watching me," Dick says. Tim makes a quiet hard sound against his jaw. His jeans open easy even though Dick's fingers aren't as steady as they should be. "Felt it. Your eyes. I like it--" I like you watching me. I like you. He knows Tim doesn't want him to talk but he can never help it. No more than he can help digging his fingers into Tim's hips, hard enough that it would probably hurt if the suit weren't reinforced with whatever new alloy Tim's fenced from NASA this month. Digging in and pulling in, working the loose jeans down with his heel to puddle around Tim's shoes.
Tim makes another broken-off sound and pushes his face hard into Dick's shoulder, muffling it. Even through the armor and his own suit and jeans Dick can feel he's hard, enough that it's got to hurt, and was he like this while they patrolled, while he was watching Dick? He was, he so was. Dick probably could've jumped him an hour ago, right out on some rooftop and Tim would've let him, would've just--ground his hips like that. Dick moans. "God, take your suit off."
And then Tim's moving away, which is wrong on orders of magnitude that don't even exist yet, and putting a hand on Dick's arm and pulling him--towards the bedroom. Okay. That's a good plan. He can work with a bed. They stumble through the apartment because Dick can't let go of Tim completely, just keeps petting him and stroking the edge of his collar where it makes Tim breathe a tiny bit faster. Not so you'd notice unless you knew to look, and Dick...knows.
He walks Tim into the bed and pushes, grinning, until Tim sits down. Dick straddles his lap and kisses him again because it's been, what, three minutes? Almost? Way too long. He's really too tall and it makes the back of his neck ache but Tim tilts his face up for him, reaches for him with his body and yeah. Worth it. God, he just adores the way Tim kisses, like he's going to die if he can't crawl inside Dick's mouth-- Wet and slick and Tim's tongue pushing behind his lips, his teeth, sliding hot and strange. He pets Tim frantically, stroking his back up and down and really needing a lot more skin than is currently available.
"Come on," Dick says--whines--says. "Strip already." I want to see you. Can't say that either.
"I'm not the one still wearing layers," Tim says, and licks his cheek.
Dick gets a mental image of deer at a salt lick and snickers helplessly for a second. Then leans back, knees planted on either side of Tim, and shucks his sweater off, tossing it over his shoulder. The top of the suit goes the same way. Dick is getting very good at undressing at speed. Not actually for pornographic purposes--a secret identity can be a pain in the ass sometimes--but it does come in handy.
Okay, your turn, he starts to say, and then just stops because Tim is looking at him like. Like he's hungry.
"You're so--" Tim says, quietly, and breaks off like he's searching for a word but then he's just silent, hands ghosting over Dick's chest. He sighs and they settle onto Dick's hips and pull as Tim scoots himself back. "Get me a--yeah," he says, as Dick helpfully tucks a pillow under his head with a ridiculously steady hand. "Thanks."
"Hey, I live to serve--oh--" Tim goes to unzip his jeans and gets...distracted, apparently, because he's just cupping Dick and curling his fingers under and back and forth and looking at Dick's crotch with a concentration that would be hilarious except just no. Dick whimpers and thrusts into his hand and tries to look desperate, which is about the easiest thing in the world right now. "Tim, god, Tim c'mon," he whines--no use denying it now.
And Tim at least unzips him--Dick immediately shoves the jeans down around his knees and the costume pants with them, but Tim so completely doesn't take the hint and just...holds him again. Stroking and petting but not actually jerking him off, just studying him, the shape of him and the weight and Tim's hand is a lot warmer through just his briefs.
Dick tries to let him have his semi-autistic playtime, he really does, but his hips start moving without him even meaning to. "God, Tim, god, you have to do something," he says, his voice strained, but he can see that Tim is, he's staring at his own hand and Dick can see him feeling the rough slide of the cotton and the heat and just cataloguing everything.
Tim's grip tightens a little and Dick breathes in hard. "I want..."
"Me too."
Tim smiles and tugs his briefs down and pulls him forward. Dick feels his breath before Tim takes him in, a hot wet tease, and then he's there and Tim closes his eyes and pulls him in deep.
"Tim oh god oh Tim," Dick chants. He can barely hear his own voice over the roaring in his head but there's not even a question of keeping quiet now, not with Tim's mouth sliding over him and stretching to take him in as deep as he can.
Even with his eyes closed Tim's face is set in firm lines of concentration. The hands on Dick's hips slide back to cup his ass and squeeze. Dick tries to force his hips still because he's sort of shocked that Tim's taking him this much and he doesn't want to hurt him ever but his dick is screaming hot! wet! tight! at him and he needs to move, he needs to, he just--
Tim pulls back and sucks on the head hard enough to hollow out his cheeks. His eyes flicker open for a second, barely long enough for Dick to catch it before his head snaps back and he moans and gives up. He thrusts and Tim's hands tighten on his ass and Tim's mouth just opens and opens, lets Dick fuck him, in him. Dick manages to brush one shaky hand against Tim's cheek and he can feel himself inside and Tim's eyes squeeze shut as Dick comes with a shout.
His wrists shake as he leans hard against the mattress. He lets out a low groan when Tim swallows around him, once, then pulls back and lets Dick come on his mouth, streaking his flushed face. Dick digs his nails into the sheets and tries really hard to at least breathe in.
When he can move without involuntary spasms, he slides down and kisses Tim's open mouth, licking his lips and his chin and his teeth until he feels Tim grinning.
"Feeling a little orally fixated tonight?"
"You taste good." Dick kisses him again, shivering as Tim's tongue strokes against his.
"Strictly speaking, that's not me you're tasting."
"You--heh." Dick nips his throat, right below his jaw. "Dirty little boy. And you do taste good. You just taste better when someone's come on you."
Tim stiffens, letting out a strangled laugh. "Jesus, you--you don't hold back, do you."
"Mmm. Not a lot, no." He rubs his face in the sweaty hollow of Tim's neck. "After all, sharing is caring. And I care."
Tim makes another choked-off noise, less like laughter and more like-- Dick grins and reaches between them and rubs the heel of his hand firmly over Tim's dick, which is hot and hard through the uniform and the cup and, really, that has to be painful. Not that the noises Tim's making sound anything like pain. Dick smirks and strokes him again. "How about you slip into something more comfortable?"
Tim gasps and lifts up into his hand. "--don't say it--"
"Like, say...me?" And the groan he gets is equal parts sex and bad joke, which as far as Dick is concerned is an excellent mix. Enjoying bad jokes during sex is pretty much required when you have a name like his.
He sits back to let Tim squirm out of the shirt, watching him unsnap and unzip and he's pretty sure he saw Tim punch in a combination code somewhere. "You know, you're the only superhero whose costume regularly baffles me? I mean, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out how to undo these things..."
"Maybe other superheroes are just sluttier." The shirt flies over Dick's head. Tim arches his hips up and Dick pulls the tights off. Carefully.
"Maybe I just need more practice."
It really shouldn't be so absurdly hot to watch Tim wiggle his toes when the tights slide free. And yet. Dick presses his palm to Tim's chest and watches him squirm. Flat on his back on Dick's bed, naked and flushed all over and hard and Dick deserves some kind of prize for not leaning down and sucking him in, he really does. The noises he'd make--
But self-restraint has its own rewards, and Dick's been waiting for Tim to fuck him since the first mugger of the night and that was hours ago. He scratches lightly over Tim's nipples and grins at Tim's soft little "oh"s, then sits back. "Okay. Your turn." He crawls over Tim and flops onto his back.
He's really, really glad that Tim doesn't have laser vision. Because, ow, glare. "C'mon, you know where it is."
Tim stumbles over to the bedside table, glaring all the way. "I'm going to hurt you so much."
"Promises, promises, little boy. I'm not seeing any--" He breaks off. Blinks. Winces.
He'd meant to put it back in the bottom dresser drawer, he really had. Tucked under the winter clothes and far enough away that he couldn't just reach out and grab it every time he jerked off because, well, he would. And it's not his fault that he can't manage to stick a dildo up his ass without thinking of Batman, but it's still something he should probably save for special occasions. Like rainy days. And Thursdays. And...
He's still working the kinks out of the bottom-drawer plan.
And really, if Dick has some unresolved issues regarding his mentor and/or father figure then that's between him and his...sex toy. Except, not anymore, because. Tim slowly takes the dildo out, absently grabbing the lube with the other hand. His eyebrows creep up as he turns to Dick. "Huh."
"Uh. Yeah. I--"
"It's pretty big," Tim says, in a tone that could only be called...appraising.
"Yeah. Uh." Dick feels as though he's wandered onto the set of a porn shoot. "It's not. I don't...use it all that often."
Tim hefts the thing from one hand to the other, frowning at it. "It's not too big?"
"No, I just have to. Um. Work up to it." And despite the total bizarre surreality of the whole scene, Dick finds himself getting hard again. He blames it on sense memory, because now he's thinking about the night before yesterday when he last used it. He'd come fingering himself before he even started fucking himself and then it was just. Really good. The kind of good that gets him hard remembering it two days later.
He looks at Tim, and...oh yeah. They're going there. Tim's eyes are sharp, just how they get when he's about to deliver a knockout punch.
Tim crawls onto the bed between Dick's legs. Dick spreads them a little wider, just to be helpful. "Are you actually embarrassed about this? I didn't think anything could embarrass you once you were naked."
"I'm not," Dick says, and actually, now that they're about to have sex again and not just sit around discussing the surprise dildo, he's really over it. "I was just surprised."
Tim slicks up his fingers and smirks. "Uh huh. Surprised." With his other hand he pushes Dick's leg up and holds it, his hand tight on Dick's thigh, while he pushes one long finger inside, until his knuckles are pressed against Dick's ass.
Dick jerks and gasps, shoving his head back. "Yeah..."
Tim makes a quiet little "mmmm" sound that kills half of Dick's braincells in one fell swoop. He's really glad he can't see Tim's face right now, because he needs the other half.
And then Tim starts fucking him with two fingers and oh, there they go.
Dick's pretty. He'll manage.
"Fuck, Tim, yes," he says, working his hips back, trying to get more. He's getting dizzy but he can't stop rolling his head against the pillow, back and forth with his eyes squeezed shut and his whole body a pointless appendage to Tim's fingers inside him, curling and crooking and fucking.
"Dick--" Tim's voice is strained. "I can't--"
With some effort Dick lifts his head up. Tim's staring at him, his eyes wide and shocky, and the hand that's not fucking Dick is wrapped around his cock, squeezing. He's pink and sweating and desperate and Dick just wants to lick him all over.
"Oh yeah, c'mon, do it--" Dick tightens around his fingers and Tim moans, squeezing himself tighter. "Come on, you're good for at least two, I know this for a fact." He grins. "Don't hold back on me."
The laugh Tim makes sounds like dry wood snapping. "Fuck. You--fuck." He starts stroking himself hard, his fingers still deep in Dick's ass and twitching with his motions. Dick's neck is aching but there's no way he's not watching this. Tim's eyes meet his for a second, then shut tight.
"You're so hot," Dick says. Tim makes a helpless keening sound and rocks back on his knees, his hand moving faster. It's a warning--Dick can see that--but he can't stop now. "You're so hot, you're so beautiful, I've been looking at you all night--"
"No--"
"Waiting for you to fuck me. Waiting so I could see you like this--"
"No--god--" Tim rubs his thumb hard over the head once, twice and comes all over Dick's stomach. Wet and hot and hits him like a punch, makes him gasp--Tim's shaking his head and panting.
"Jesus Tim you need to fuck me right now." He works his hips down on Tim's hand, needing more. "Come on come on come on--god that was so hot--you need to do that all the time now, okay?"
"I--" Tim's still shaking. Fuck. He should've kept his mouth shut.
Dick reaches out and touches Tim's arm. "Hey." And keeps his hand there until Tim looks up, eyes wide. "C'mon. You find the embarrassing sex toy, you use the embarrassing sex toy." He grins and pets the soft skin of Tim's wrist, and waits.
It's only a few seconds before Tim looks back down, then up again with a shaky smile. Dick can see him pulling himself together, clearing his eyes of that shocked spark. He wants to--he wants to reach out and stop it, force Tim to unpack himself again and let him look, but he'd run and Dick...can't.
"Is your hand cramping yet?"
"Hmm..." Tim spreads his fingers inside him and starts fucking Dick with them. "No, not yet."
Dick gasps and grins as the warm glow spreads out, from his ass to his dick and then it's just a happy fun time for his whole body. He's just never going to get tired of this, Tim's hands on him, in him, making him move. "Okay. Just checking. You can keep doing that."
So Tim does, for minutes or possibly hours before working another finger inside him, knuckle by knuckle, while Dick whimpers and tries to shove his head back through the mattress. Tim is just as thorough and intent on this as on everything he does, and Dick can feel the concentration in each short, sharp thrust. He can feel Tim thinking about him.
"You can--god--okay, now," he manages finally. His voice seems to stick in his throat like syrup and when he does get it out it sounds thick and strange. Tim...pretty much ignores him. And keeps finger-fucking him, working him hard because he knows how Dick likes it. "Now," Dick says again, urgently, "Tim--"
"Hold on a second," Tim says. Dick makes a sound that's supposed to be a laugh but sounds more like someone strangling a cat.
"Tim. I need--oh god--" He feels another finger push inside, feels himself stretching and it hurts but oh oh oh.
"I know what you need," Tim says quietly.
His voice is weird, but everything is sounding weird and echoey and kind of melted like butter right now. "I need you to fuck me."
And just like that Tim's hand slips out of him. Leaving him so empty it hurts and makes him squirm against the blankets and moan small sounds that can't quite make it out of his throat. But Tim's there again, hand back behind his knee, cupping his thigh with peculiar gentleness. He pushes the dildo in slow but steady without stopping once.
Dick breathes out and out in a long low "oh--" Blue heat prickles over his skin and Tim keeps pushing deeper and deeper, like maybe they've gotten trapped in the world's most perverted time loop and Dick will be pinned to this bed being stretched and filled for all eternity, and there's got to be something wrong with that scenario, but right now he just can't imagine what.
Finally he feels Tim's fingertips brushing against him and that's just. Jesus. "You don't hold back, do you?" he gasps. Getting enough breath to talk is becoming an issue. It's Dick's new issue. He likes it a lot.
Tim doesn't say anything, just fucks him with slow, deep strokes, all the time petting Dick's thigh where he's holding it, which is actually kind of distracting but Dick's not about to say 'stop' to Tim right now. He might do it. Instead he just squirms and digs his fingernails deeper into the bedspread and moans, like Tim's forcing the sound out of him with each stroke, squeezing cries from his open mouth like a pornographic bellows and Dick needs to stop thinking during sex because it leads nowhere good.
God, he thought this was good when he did it to himself, he had no idea. He could never get the angle this deep, this real, could never make himself believe that it was really Bruce on the other end, but Tim--is here.
Dick has the feeling masturbation will be distinctly insufficient for the next few days. Maybe he can convince Tim to stay.
Okay, maybe he can tie Tim to the bed.
He squeezes his eyes shut against the explosion of images in his head. Which is totally useless since they're in his head, but at least he's making an effort. And Tim would make him go first anyway and they're so doing that next time.
"Dick," Tim says, in that same weird quiet voice. Dick opens his eyes but Tim shakes his head and presses his palm over them until Dick shuts them again. "You can pretend," Tim says. "I like it."
It feels like Tim's punched him in the stomach and how did he know? Dick shakes his head hard, but he doesn't open his eyes.
"It's okay." Tim pets his throat, his chest, with light touches. "I can tell. It's okay. You can--"
"Tim," Dick says desperately, because this is...he kept that thing in the bottom drawer for a reason. "I wasn't--"
"Please." Tim's voice--cracks? And this is just wrong, he can't do this, he has to stop this but--Tim presses his open palm down on his stomach, not hard but firm, and Dick's never heard Tim beg for anything before but he thinks he might start soon.
"Okay," Dick whispers. He hears Tim exhale hard, feels the breath brush over his raised knee. Behind his eyes--not Tim. He can do this. He did this two days ago, for the love of--
Tim starts to fuck him again, harder.
Not Tim. What had it been--nice hot little fantasy with him and Batman hot from a fight, on a rooftop or in an alley--probably rooftop, no reason to stretch plausibility too far--and Dick would be hurt, just a little. Maybe a head wound, something that looked bad so Bruce could touch him and get that look in his eyes like he wanted to kill something. Dick probably shouldn't get so hot off that look, but--years of positive reinforcement. Totally not his fault.
Tim's slowed--it's slowed down a little, less of a fuck and more of a tease. It makes him itch all over, but he can think; Tim knows what he's doing. Bruce.
Bruce touches his face and brings away blood on his fingers and it would be a hot night. Dick would move first but Bruce would open his mouth because he wants him there, and big hands on his back, on his ass, touching and squeezing and feeling him. Bruce lays him down so gently on the gravel and bends over him. Kissing his throat and murmuring words too soft to hear but that's okay, because Dick knows.
Hot wet air all around them like a wall. Bruce pushes his legs open and Dick groans and arches his back.
He hears a shuddery gasp--from Tim--and feels something...Tim's forehead pressed against his knee. He's got to stop, opens his mouth to say so and Tim goes totally still. Stops fucking him, stops shaking his head, stops breathing--
Dick is going to hate himself forever. "Bruce--yes--"
A little murmur from Tim as he starts moving again, sharper thrusts now that make Dick jerk his hips despite wanting to kill himself. It shouldn't be this easy to get back into it but--he's had a lot of practice with this fantasy. It's the oldest one he has, with minor costume revisions, and he's pretty much trained himself to react to it, and also, possibly, he's just sick. Bruce would tug his pants off as carefully as he could but it would be rough anyway because he's desperate, seeing Dick makes him. And Dick is too, he's hard and looking at Bruce looking at his cock with dark hungry eyes and touching him and seeing him--
Gravel against his back, he doesn't care, Bruce works his fingers between Dick's cheeks and up and inside so good. They're kissing, Bruce sucking on his tongue and fucking him with his fingers and then pushing inside, he's big and Dick stares into his open eyes and watches and moans as he starts to really move.
Hard and fast and all the way in each time, Bruce fucks him and strokes his face and his mouth and it's so good, it's everything he wants. It's everything there is.
He grabs his dick, sticky with precome, and jerks hard, so it hurts just like it should and then he's coming, and Tim groans, "Dick oh god you--"
His eyes fly open. Tim's staring at him, jerking off and fucking him and looking like someone's just stabbed him in the gut. Like he's about to die and Dick's stupid fucking body is still having an orgasm. Tim meets his eyes and falls silent, a second before he comes all over Dick. It's not nearly as much fun the second time.
Tim looks away. He pulls the dildo out way too fast, making Dick wince. He's got about eight seconds to say something to make this better before Tim is gone.
"I'm sorry," he blurts. Not exactly what he meant to say, and Tim flinches, but he doesn't get up, at least, so Dick plunges ahead and prepares to grab Tim if he has to. He's not going to let him leave this time, not after-- "I don't know what that was," he says, "but it's okay."
"What. What makes you think I know?"
"You know everything."
And now Tim looks at him, face drawn in lines so tight they must hurt, and his voice is trembling. "It's not okay. It. It's really not." He reaches toward Dick for a second, then jerks his hand back and slams it into the bed. "I know that."
"Tim--"
"I should have gone home tonight." He stands up, eyes jumping around the room. "I saw you fall and I just. I wasn't thinking straight. I'm sorry." And he actually turns to leave, and no. This is not going down this way. Dick shoves himself upright and his legs only shake a little when he stands up.
"Tim," he says--yells, but Tim stops and shudders but doesn't turn around. "I know I'm not supposed to--want you this much. I know that." Dick looks at him carefully, but Tim's standing still and maybe-- He walks up to him slowly and puts a hand on his shoulder. It's hot and damp with sweat but it still feels like touching a stone. "But I do. I'm sorry you're--scared but I'm not sorry for wanting you because--god, Tim--"
"Shut up." Tim whirls around. "Shut up, please Dick--"
Dick shakes his head. "Not this time."
"Stop it," Tim moans, and then he's pressed against Dick's chest and shaking so hard Dick can feel it in his bones.
"Sshhh," he says, and strokes Tim's back, trying to keep his hands steady. "Ssshhh, I've got you."
Getting back to the bed without letting Tim out of his arms is tricky, but Tim doesn't make any move to get away so Dick just takes it slow. Tim's not even hugging him, quite--just letting himself be held, his palms flat against Dick like he might push away at any moment. But he doesn't, not even when Dick shoves the mess of the covers out of the way and lies down, pulling Tim up next to him and petting his shoulders, his hair as softly as he can. "Just...sleep, okay?"
He can feel the strangled little laugh in his own chest. Tim's that close. When he lifts his head, Dick sees that his eyes are dry, which is...Has Tim ever cried? Dick can't remember.
"Sleep?"
"Yeah. Sleep." He pushes a sweaty strand of hair out of Tim's eyes. "I don't know about you, but I just did a three hour patrol and followed it with vigorous sex. I'm tired. And..." He hesitates. "So are you."
Tim looks at him. Drops his head back onto Dick's chest.
Sleeps.
***
Dick wakes up...sticky, and sore, and staring at Tim's open eyes, two inches from his own.
"Hey."
"Hey," Tim says. He's still here, which was almost more than Dick was expecting, so the morning is officially off to a good start.
"How long have you been awake?"
When Tim shrugs, Dick's left arm...moves. He frowns. His arm...is slung over Tim's side. That's okay, then. "I don't know. Not more than an hour."
"Not--" Sure. Okay. And were you staring at me all that time? Dick doesn't ask. He doesn't need to.
He can see it--Tim watching him, with that steady face that fools everyone, and underneath he's thinking about Dick, thinking about Dick lying asleep next to him with his arm wrapped around Tim as if they did this all the time. For an hour--
"You're such a freak," he says. Tim lowers his eyes and smiles.
"I've been told."
"I think maybe I'm kind of in love with you."
Tim freezes, and if anyone could do that literally--
"But without all the qualifiers," Dick adds, and tightens his grip on Tim. Just a little. Just in case.
But Tim doesn't try to get away, or even...move at all. Which is unsettling in its own way, but at least doesn't involve giving chase. "Without..."
"...the qualifiers. It's a weak use of language, like putting something in passive voice, you know? Diluting what you really mean to say--"
"You're talking about grammar?"
"--which is that I'm in love with you, and I actually don't know if I can get myself to say that a third time in one minute, so I hope you were listening."
"You. I." Tim squeezes his eyes shut. "You don't mean that."
Which--actually stings. Dick frowns. "Tim--"
"You think you do, but--" Tim touches his face, rubbing a careful thumb over his eyebrows and around down under his eyes, tracing the bone. "It's not me."
"It is."
Tim shakes his head and keeps stroking Dick's face, making little circles with his thumb. "When you--I know who you're seeing. When you look at me. And I don't mind, you don't have to--"
Dick grabs his hand. Tim breaks off, eyes wide. "Don't say that. How can you think that? How can you think I'd do that?" He shakes the hand in his grip, frustrated and shocked at his own anger. Tim just looks up at him with his wide, white eyes and--Dick's holding him too hard, hurting him. He winces and drops Tim's hand. "Sorry."
"It's okay."
"It's not. You can't--you can't let me do this to you."
"I told you," Tim says quietly, "I don't mind." He lowers his head and rests it against Dick's chest. Heavy and solid and warm, like he expects Dick to just lay down and go back to sleep and live with this.
"How--how could you not mind something like that?"
Tim says without looking back up, "It's what you need. And I can do it. And--"
Dick seizes on the pause. "And?"
It's so long before Tim answers, Dick starts to wonder if he's going to at all. He combs his fingers through Tim's hair and waits, and finally Tim speaks. "And I like doing it."
Dick still wants to throw himself under a truck, but it's something. "I didn't want to do that, last night. To--pretend. I didn't want to think about Bruce."
At that, Tim looks up, frowning. "But you--you want him, Dick, I know you do--"
Dick smiles in spite of himself, because--Tim's so certain. "You're...not wrong."
"Then why--"
"I wanted to think about you." Dick slides his hand down Tim's back, stroking him. Watching his face. "I was thinking about you."
"Dick..." Tim closes his eyes, presses his mouth closed. He's arching slightly into Dick's hand on his back, maybe without even realizing. Dick is suddenly, terribly aware of how naked they are. And how hard he can feel Tim getting, pressed up against him.
"I was, all night," he says, "I told you--"
Tim is shaking his head, but he's moving into Dick's touch. Which is...lengthening, and firming, and turning into more of a rub and, jesus, he's not doing this now. He is not doing this now. He's not...doing this with Tim's eyes still closed.
Dick brushes Tim's eyelids with his fingertips. Tim jerks away, but only for a second, then settles back down over Dick and lets him--touch. His face, eyes and mouth closed and so bare without even a frown to tighten it. Tim's just waiting, just being touched--the thin skin on his eyelids, under his eyes is so soft. Dick pets him there for a minute before making himself stop. "Open your eyes?"
The line of Tim's mouth presses even tighter. Dick rubs little circles in the small of his back. "Come on," he says, trying to keep his voice light, "there's only so much dysfunction I can cope with before breakfast, you know?"
For a long moment he thinks Tim won't do it, and then Dick will have to--he'll have to stop. Because there are mistakes, and then there are colossal unfixable mistakes that are just plain wrong, and this would be. This would be so bad.
Finally Tim looks at him. It's not as much of a relief as it should be. His eyes are...dark. Like screened windows--Dick kisses his hand and presses it to Tim's mouth until he opens that too. Then finally pulls him in and kisses him, soft and sweet like he couldn't be last night. Like he's wanted to be for months. Tim's making hurt noises in his throat and trying to deepen the kiss but Dick won't let him.
Maybe Tim's refusing to talk this out, but Dick has other ways. And no one said he couldn't talk--
"You're so soft," he says, his lips moving against Tim's cheek. "Your mouth, I like it," dropping kisses over his face. Tim makes another choked little sound. His dick is digging into Dick's thigh and his fists are bunched tight around the sheets, but Dick keeps kissing him, watching his eyes, sure that Tim's going to close them again or even just pull off and leave, but he doesn't do either. Just lies there on top of Dick, frustrated and waiting and letting him.
But it's not like Dick is superhuman or anything and really it's not very long at all before he has to kiss Tim wet and deep, feel Tim press against him with a strangled moan that pours into Dick's mouth. Tim is so hot all over, everywhere their skin touches which is everywhere. Tim's skin is burning and feverish and covering him.
"Hot, so hot--" Dick pulls Tim tight against him and they both gasp together and Tim's eyes are still open. Because Tim can take orders--will take orders. From Dick. "God, you feel so good."
Tim kisses him again, hard, and messy when he pulls away, licking Dick's mouth and face and rubbing his face against Dick's like a cat. And all the while his hips moving--thrusting, short little jabs, his dick sliding up and down Dick's thigh. Each time he moves he rubs against Dick and this is supposed to be slow. This is supposed to be--nice.
Dick grabs Tim's hips, forcing them still. Tim whines, his mouth pressed against Dick's ear.
Trying very hard not to knock either of them off the double bed, Dick rolls them over and plants his knees on either side of Tim. "Hold still."
Tim narrows his eyes. "What are you--"
"If you don't want to talk about your feelings," Dick says, "then you're just going to have to put up with the gentle healing sex. Those are the rules. Now hold still."
Tim--snickers, okay. That's good. "You do remember you're not actually a woman?"
"What, I have to own breasts to have a sexual relationship that doesn't lead to suicide and crying?" Dick works one hand into Tim's hair and kisses his neck. He can feel Tim's little humming noises in his lips--in his tongue. He circles his thumb over Tim's nipple and gets more humming, plus a little squeak when he pinches. Nice. He does it again, then to the other one, and Tim arches up a little, pushing his chest into Dick's hand.
"Oh--it helps--"
"Tsk, tsk. You've got a low opinion of your gender." His hand is tightening in Tim's hair, pulling. He tries to loosen it but--
"No, don't--" Tim presses his head up, nudging Dick's fingers. "'s'okay."
Dick looks at him. "Okay, I like it, or okay, don't be nice to me, I can't cope and will probably start dissociating?"
Tim opens his mouth. Closes it. "The first."
And, well. It's not like Dick doesn't like doing it, and there's nothing inherently fucked-up about a little hair-pulling and...it's possible he's overthinking this. He bends down again and bites Tim's collarbone. "Okay."
Gets a little "nnnnn" sound in return and Tim squirms against him, rubbing--oh Jesus rubbing their dicks together and he. Is going. To take. This. Slow.
Even if it kills him. Which is seeming increasingly likely as each bite and kiss and pinch makes Tim move against him. His stomach is sticky with Tim's precome and his hand is a fist around Tim's hair and Tim really does seem to like it--every time Dick gasps and tugs, Tim's hips buck under him, and they really need to spend more time making out. It's hot. It's--
--not enough. Dick kisses Tim again, deep and open, then reaches between them. Tim moans long and low just watching him go for it, and then Dick wraps his hand around their dicks and starts stroking, and Tim--his mouth stays open and he just breathes out soft helpless needy sounds that make Dick's skin prickle and heat all over.
His hand is so full and Tim's thrusting up, sliding against him and staring at him. Dick gasps and moves his hand faster. When he rubs his thumb over them, Tim jerks his head back against the bed and wails and comes all over Dick's hand--all over his dick, suddenly slick and wet and Tim is shaking against him, oh god--
He lets go of Tim, wrapping his fingers tighter around himself and trying not to tighten his grip on Tim's hair but his hands keep spasming and he just can't-- "Tim," he moans, "Tim, oh oh Tim oh--"
He can't look away from Tim's face. He stares into his eyes when he comes and watches Tim mouth words that Dick doesn't need to hear to understand. He knows lip-reading is as much as he could hope for.
More than he had hoped for.
He rests his face on Tim's chest and breathes for a while. Listens to Tim try and do the same.
"I'm going to keep saying it," Dick says, not looking up.
"I know."
"Until you believe me."
Tim's hand hovers above his neck, then settles, warm and careful.
"You can try," Tim says.
Myself was formed - a Carpenter -
An unpretending time
My Plane - and I, together wrought
Before a Builder came -
To measure our attainments -
Had we the Art of Boards
Sufficiently developed - He'd hire us
At Halves -
My Tools took Human - Faces -
The Bench, where we had toiled -
Against the Man - persuaded -
We - Temples build - I said ---Emily Dickinson