Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4968070.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Nightwing_(Comics), Batman_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Dick_Grayson/Bruce_Wayne, Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson
  Character:
      Dick_Grayson, Bruce_Wayne, Tim_Drake, Alfred_Pennyworth
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Darkness, Pining, Unrequited_Love, Underage_Sex, Frottage,
      Tenderness, Pseudo-Incest, Fluff, Acceptance
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-10 Words: 6523
****** Always... Never ******
by cadkitten
Summary
     This... this was why he left. Bruce pulled out the stoppers on his
     emotions, filled him with everything he longed for and it only came
     out as anger now. Once upon a time, in a world where he'd held onto
     hope, it hadn't been like this. His affection, his- no... had helped
     him become better, stronger, more like a bat than a bird. But now,
     like this... he was weak. Open, barren... a disgrace.
Notes
     I really can't help myself anymore. At all. It's a sickness...
     Beta_Readers: sakura_ame
     Song[s]: "Always" by Saliva & "Through the Ghost" by Shinedown
It's a sickness, tearing at me, ripping at my insides. Everything I could have
done... everything I haven't. Nothing in this ruin of a world could have
prepared me for what this is, what it could be. And not a single thing could
have stopped me from walking out your door. You won't see it, you never could.
You won't see how much it kills me, it's just not how you are. But the solitude
is murdering me, one day at a time. There's blood on my hands and all I can
hear are the words of failure upon your lips. All I can see is the pain written
all over your face that has nothing to do with me... and everything to do with
you. It's your dream that you're forcing me to live and while I can't deny how
I feel, I can't breathe under the press of your shadow. You've taught me
darkness and into darkness I will go. But even as I walk out this door, I can't
help but look back, just once more. Always... always... always... And some
things will never change.
Crouched low on the rooftop, Dick waited, watching, as he barely breathed. The
reek of trash from the street below met his nostrils and he tried hard not to
react to it at all. The days in Gotham had grown muggy, enough of a rough patch
to turn garbage sour before pickup. And the nights... the nights had been even
more rainy than usual. Sometimes he could have sworn Gotham had a tendency to
adopt all of the shitty weather while Metropolis got the better end of the deal
there... sunny days and cloudless skies. Things he nearly forgot during entire
stretches of the year. Things some part of him yearned for, no matter how much
he knew he'd never really get... not here and not in Blüdhaven.
He shifted minutely, just enough to peer over the edge of the building, to see
just a bit clearer. Just enough to view the fight going on down below. Batman
and Robin were kicking ass and taking names, the pair of them moving in a fluid
grace that Dick remembered like it was yesterday. His eyes tracked the
movements, watching how Robin moved, how he took up on his training from both
Bruce and Dick to make his own sort of dance of the whole thing. A fond smile
slid across his lips. Brother. Because that's how he'd come to think of him
lately. A family line... a whole string of Robins to work under the Bat. A
whole string of tragedy. Pushing the thought aside, he let his eyes stray to
Batman.
This was what always brought him out here, if he was being truthful. Why he'd
leave Blüdhaven and make his way through Gotham after his own rounds were well
done and over with. Why he'd planned his rounds differently. He watched as
Robin struck out with his staff, the jerkoff getting cracked in the back of his
shoulders and stumbling toward Batman. A solid backwards fist into the nose, a
crunch of bone, and one more strike from Robin, a few ribs going out for sure
with the angle of the blow and the guy crumpled. Dick couldn't see it from his
perch, but he knew there would be a disapproving look on Bruce's face. He'd
have his jaw set and his lips drawn into a thin line. Too much violence, Robin,
dial it back. He could hear the voice that wasn't spoken, clear as day; his own
past dangling in front of him in perfect clarity for a few seconds.
Wetting his lips, he drew back from the edge and pressed himself against the
chimney behind him, sliding into the shadows of Gotham. The sweep of feet over
concrete and the sound of Robin's feet on the dumpster lid, tipping him off
that they were coming. Sometimes he could have sworn the kid knew... that he
knew it was Dick hiding away in the shadows at times like these... and that he
warned him on purpose. Because when he wasn't dumb enough to stay around, he
never heard Robin make a sound when he scaled a building. He was, perhaps,
better than Dick himself.
Dick slid around the chimney and darted across the building, smoothly making
the leap to the next and rushing to the side, swinging down onto the fire
escape without making a sound. To keep running would be a mistake and he knew
that intimately. He knew it like he knew how to draw air into his lungs. He
pressed back into the shadows and turned his head away from the other rooftop,
though he wanted to look. His lenses would give him away and he knew it. This
way he was all dark hair and blue and black clothing. A figment of the night.
Bruce had once told him to earn the shadows. That he'd made him bright so that
he wouldn't use the night as a crutch. Let the enemy see him and fight them
head-on. And it had helped make Dick everything he was now. Better. Stronger.
Something he couldn't have ever hoped to have been if he'd not taken that path.
Batman's low growl of a voice slid across the rooftops to him, though he
couldn't hear the conversation. A shiver worked its way down his spine and he
forced himself to barely breathe. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to block
it out... to not let his mind float to whatever dark corner it was that it
always wanted to slip into. The one he didn't let it go anywhere near. Not
anymore.
He heard nothing for a minute and then the clang of staff upon fence. His head
jerked around and he stared at the street below. Batman was already sweeping
away toward where they'd left the Batmobile and the flashing of police lights
were coming from the distance to pick up the filth they'd left behind. But
Robin... Robin stood nearly directly below him, just standing there, busy doing
something Dick couldn't quite see. A few more seconds and then something white
fluttered to the ground at Robin's feet and he was off like a shot, silent as
ever.
Dick gave it a good twenty count before grabbing the bar in front of himself,
swinging down and leaping from one balcony to another with barely a sound. One
bar creaked, an inevitability, and then he was on the ground, scooping up the
white thing - a paper - without a second thought. Two blocks and record time
and he swung his leg over his bike, pausing to stuff the paper safely into the
top of one of his gloves. And then he was gone, a streak of blue and black into
the night, the whisper of his engine left in his wake.
Twenty minutes found him back in Blüdhaven, his nest - it was really more of a
cave, but Robins... birds... they had nests, not caves, so he refused to think
of it as anything else - door sliding open as he approached, letting him glide
his bike inside. The door sealed behind him, the gentle voice of his security
system - indistinct of gender or identity - telling him that all was well. He
kicked off the engine and slid from the bike. Three stairs and he stopped next
to the wall unit he kept his suit in. First the mask and then one glove... and
then the paper. He tossed the other glove in with some amount of carelessness
he normally didn't display and carefully opened the scrap of paper. Notebook
paper. Tim's distinct handwriting scratched its way across the front, words
that would have been meaningless to anyone else.
The darkness is your friend now. But it is you I see when I see no one at all.
I know... but I don't think he knows. Dinner's at nine.
Dick stared down at the paper, his heart pounding and blood rushing in his
ears. This wasn't how he'd meant it to be. This wasn't... it wasn't. He sighed,
placing the paper aside and stripping off the rest of his costume and locating
his phone. He had about twenty five minutes before he'd be late. It wasn't a
choice, there was no decision to be made. He'd been invited and he'd go,
regardless of what it did or didn't reveal. He'd play it casual and stroll in
like he'd never left. But could he? He pulled on his clothing with fingers that
felt numb... numb from emotion, but not for any of the usual reasons.
He slipped away through the connecting tunnel and came up on the other side of
the street, into the building beside his own apartment. He exited the back
doors and crossed the alleyway. Using the shadows, he made his way to the
doorway and then stepped out into the street, making his way down the block to
where his car was parked in a community lot.
Once behind the wheel, he let himself slide the car gently past the speed
limit. He hit Gotham city limits and gunned it, knowing the cops here had
bigger fish to fry than a little navy blue sports car going twenty over; a car
they had no hope of ever catching even if they did take any interest in it.
Bruce and Dick had designed it years ago, though he wondered if Bruce even
still remembered those nights when he'd just been a boy. Nights spent laboring
over the perfect traction, the perfect fuel... rebuilding the engine block over
and over. And then, finally, scrapping the whole thing and starting over for
conservation and speed. Conservation of energy, begetting energy conservation.
It was beautiful. A singular, self-sufficient and thriving entity. And Dick had
made it his goal to bring it into existence once he'd left Wayne Manor.
Even as he hit the gravel of the main driveway and eased off the speed, he
wondered... would Bruce see it for what it was? Or would he write it off as
Dick's propensity for fast little things. Wasteful. He pulled the car near the
doors and parked it, feeling a certain thrill in not doing what he damn well
knew he should... and not parking it. And he'd not let anyone have the keys,
thus negating Alfred ending up parking it when Bruce inevitably sent him off on
the task of it. Let Bruce try.
Sliding out of the car, he stretched, his back aching in places he wasn't sure
he wanted to remember how he'd hurt. It gave a half-hearted pop as he padded up
the steps. He didn't even get to knock before the door was opened, Tim on the
other side of it. Their eyes met and the smallest hint of a smile graced Tim's
lips. Warmth filled Dick's chest as he stepped inside, listening to the door
close and lock behind him. Not another sound, not even the gentle tap of shoes
on the floor, and Tim was back in front of him. Once again, they simply
regarded one another, eyes locked and barely breathing. Finally, Tim turned
away, a million unspoken words ringing loudly in Dick's head. His steps were
normal against the floor now, intentionally usual. The kid had a way, that was
for damn sure. Dick followed him, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he
trailed along like a lost puppy. And maybe... maybe he was.
The dining room smelled like lasagna and garlic bread. Though, as usual, the
rest of the house did not. That had never been Bruce's doing, but Alfred's own,
and Dick had always regarded it to mean exactly what it did. Their butler was
smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Or anyone but Dick, anyway.
He took his old usual seat and then stood halfway back up, looking up at Tim, a
question in his eyes. But Tim settled himself in the chair across from him,
placing his elbows on the table and steepling his hands, regarding Dick across
the top of them, still deadly silent. Sitting back into the seat, Dick moved
his chair in and quietly retrieved his napkin, putting it in his lap and his
hands over it.
This time when his and Tim's eyes met, there was something else brewing in the
depths of those miniature pieces of the dark. He couldn't quite convince
himself that it wasn't wholly disturbing... and yet he couldn't look away. The
look was knowing and yet angry. But it was a cool angry, the sort that helped
with combat and training, not the sort that got in the way. No. Tim would never
harbor something like that, something that threw him off his game. Too proud...
too Bat. It was the sort of thing that Dick didn't have anymore. The reason he
left. He let his emotions get in the way, cloud things up... chew him up and
spit him out.
He could hear Alfred coming from the kitchen, the gentle clink of ice in a
glass, though nothing more than that. Still, he held Tim's gaze, frozen within
it. It was like time could stand still inside this bubble that they shared, as
if the world stopped turning and nothing else mattered. Brother.... He tore his
gaze away at the last possible second, watching as Alfred stepped into the
room, took one hesitating step, and then continued forward as if nothing were
wrong at all. Four glasses on the tray. Something he couldn't explain. Tim
hadn't told anyone, hadn't relied on it... he wouldn't do something so brazen,
it just wasn't in him to be like that.
Alfred settled the glasses on the table and then placed the large tray of bread
and the covered platter surely containing this delightful smell of lasagna down
behind them. And not for the first time, Dick found himself looking around the
room, trying to find the way Alfred piped the smell of his food from the
kitchen into the dining room without a single place between ever being touched
by it. It wasn't in the ventilation; he'd checked that as a young boy. No... it
wasn't in the floors either, something else he'd checked on several restless
nights.
His attention drifted to the slightest changes in the air, the things he'd come
to associate with Bruce's presence. Bruce wasn't quite out of his own head...
not quite rid of Batman just yet. But were they ever free of their masks? He
didn't watch the door, but he waited... restless and pent up with desire to see
that first flicker of recognition if Bruce didn't already know he was here. But
he also knew he couldn't take it if he did see it and he wasn't foolish enough
to give himself away like that. All the effort of leaving had to be for
something.
The floorboards creaked and Dick knew Bruce was back. No more lingering in the
world between the shadows. Bruce took his place at the head of the table and
Alfred moved to serve. Dick let him do it, despite the urge to do it himself
and give the man a night off for once. Three plates and then four... and Alfred
was seated. Only then did Dick dare to look up at Bruce.
His mentor... his father figure... the man he- no. Bruce sat there, quietly
cutting into his lasagna, pointedly looking down at what he was doing. He had
to feel Dick staring now, there was no way he couldn't with the way Dick knew
it should have felt. The prickle of someone's gaze, the skittering tingle of
nerves that warned you if you only paid enough attention to understand the
signals. He let himself study Bruce's face. To find the new lines and the old,
to find the differences as well as the things he'd probably seen far too often,
in far too much detail. Memories resurfaced and he found himself only going
through the motions of eating while he stared openly at Bruce, in a manner that
should have been rude, should have earned him a reprimand or a stern growl to
knock it off. But it didn't.
Only when he'd finished his plate did he look away... and only then did he
realize Tim had been watching him in much the same way the entire time. Their
eyes met again and what he found there nearly took his breath away. The mirror
of his own emotions, his own turmoil... and Dick could feel his heart breaking,
shattering into a million pieces for the boy in front of him. This wasn't how
it was supposed to be. And... and he had to be imagining it.
Bruce stood from the table, his napkin drifting down beside his plate, unused.
There was hesitation in his body language and an opening written in the way
that he paused. Dick took it without thinking. "We need to talk." Bruce only
nodded, turning away and heading down the hall.
Dick stood, his gaze falling back on Tim. Sweet deadly Tim. This time there was
no eye contact, no reading of one another, and it was as if a door he'd found
open had been slammed shut. And he knew that stifling feeling far too well.
Dick's napkin joined Bruce's on the table. "Tim?" There... there it was. That
glimmer of hope and then the firmness with which it was tamped down upon. There
was no way it wasn't exactly what Dick thought it was. "Stay up, will you? I'd
like to... catch up." Or maybe he'd like to be everything for Tim that Bruce
had never been for him. Maybe... maybe a million things. He wasn't sure.
Taking a breath, he looked to Alfred, offering a genuine smile... or as genuine
as it got these days. "Delicious as always." The compliment was accepted with
the same graces in which it had eternally been and Dick left the room, the
knowledge that Tim hadn't promised him a damn thing fresh upon his mind.
He found Bruce in the library. He slipped in the doors and avoided looking at
the far end of the room. The end of the room that had meant the end of his
ability to deal with being here, trapped within the walls of Wayne Manor. He
took the chair opposite the only man who'd ever owned his- no. Their eyes met
for a burning, singular second, and then parted company to find the objects
within the room that they'd seen a thousand times before. Ignore it and it will
go away. But it hadn't... wouldn't... refused to. Not for Dick and evidently
not for Bruce.
"You taught him a lot of things."
Dick bit back the immediate desire to wince. Yes... he had, hadn't he? More
than he'd intended... more than he'd wanted to. That look in Tim's eyes had
told him that much from the second he'd figured out what it was he was seeing
reflected there. When those eyes had borne the mirror image of his own turmoil.
"Wasn't intentional."
"It wouldn't have been." Bruce's voice sounded resigned, perhaps... exhausted.
They lapsed into uneasy silence then. Where with Tim things just seemed to be
whatever they were and remain that way, with Bruce it was always on the edge of
discomfort. Not for the first time, Dick wondered if a part of it wasn't Bruce
himself, his own inner chaos that projected outward.
Dick took up watching the same place in the room he'd watched a hundred times
as he'd gown up here. The same globe, never altered, meticulously cleaned and
moved back to the exact same position once it had been. His eyes found
everything he needed to, the points he'd come to think of as assurance points
upon the map. Find them all and ban the thoughts he shouldn't have. Simple. But
not nearly as effective as he wanted it to be.
"He lured you here." Bruce's statement was finite, no room for discussion or
argument, just a fact laid out on the table in a way that Dick never really got
used to. A piece of the Bat.
Dick let his eyes meet Bruce's for a moment, burning with everything he felt
for once. No masks, no denial. He didn't have to live here with his actions
anymore. "He knows." Another statement, this one equally as strong, the way he
delivered it learned from the man in front of him. Bruce already knew too many
of Tim's secrets... already knew too many of Dick's. But he wouldn't free the
words from his lips anymore than he would have thrown any of his fellow Robins
in front of a literal train.
Bruce kept his gaze for longer than Dick would have thought he'd allow. For an
instant, he could have sworn he saw something there, something tiny and
possible... and then it was gone. Blown away with the softest hint of his very
next breath. Deniable. His own mind playing tricks on him.... perhaps. "You
need to stop following us if you're not going to help. It's distracting to him
and you'll get him killed."
Anger welled up, hot, fast... boiling over into rage in a split second.
Because... because he knew. It was true. There was nothing he could do except
accept it and move on. Pursing his lips, he found the spot on the carpet. He
thought - at times - that Alfred left it there for him to contemplate it when
he was angry. That, perhaps, the butler knew him better than he knew himself.
It was just the smallest spot, just under the edge of Bruce's chair, a little
dark brown stain on the deep rich chocolate of the carpet. A shade darker...
just like his anger.
This... this was why he left. Bruce pulled out the stoppers on his emotions,
filled him with everything he longed for and it only came out as anger now.
Once upon a time, in a world where he'd held onto hope, it hadn't been like
this. His affection, his- no... had helped him become better, stronger, more
like a bat than a bird. But now, like this... he was weak. Open, barren... a
disgrace.
Dick stood then, taking two steps forward and pausing. He... he could. It would
be so easy, so amazingly easy. Bruce knew him intimately, but he didn't know
the depths of it. The secrets, the lies, the parts he wouldn't let himself
think of lest he give it all away. Bruce couldn't know what he didn't even
allow himself to deal with. He thought he wanted him, thought he had an
infatuation. He couldn't know he- no-
Two more steps and he leaned over Bruce's chair, one hand on each armrest,
fully aware of how much restraint it took for Bruce to remain there, unmoving,
his gaze unwavering on his own favorite spot. A patch on the arm of the chair,
slightly more worked by fingers... Dick's own fingers. Did he know? Maybe so.
Dick lifted one hand and brought his fingertips in contact with Bruce's jaw...
stroking, feeling the stubble under the pads of his fingers. Down his neck to
the quick flight of his pulse, pressing, counting. Dick's breath hitched and he
gave in. Once... just once. His hand found Bruce's chin and in one smooth
motion, tilted Bruce's head up and leaned in, pressing his lips firm over his
mentor's own.
He could feel the way Bruce tensed beneath his touch, the way the leather
creaked as he tightened his hold with the one hand that lay upon the armrest.
For that one instant, Dick allowed himself every fantasy in the world. Bruce
returned his affections. Bruce wanted him as he wanted Bruce... He was only
holding back for the sake of the way that it'd look.
Three... five... and ten. Dick pulled away. He slicked his fingertips over
Bruce's lips, wiping away his own saliva. Their eyes met and he found Bruce's
gaze more closed off than he ever had before. And somehow... it didn't hurt
anymore than anything else ever had. Expected. Stepping back, Dick regarded
Bruce, his own emotional turmoil calming down for his own actions, his
breathing easier than it had been in a hell of a long time.
Straightening the hem of his shirt, he eased back into a stance he knew was
disarming. Practiced. And when he opened his mouth, words poured out that
surprised even him. "I love you... I suspect I always will. I have for a long
time, longer than you'd want to know."
He gave it a second, letting it sink in to both Bruce and himself that he'd
said it and then shook his head, gazing toward the window on the far side of
the room, the curtains parted just enough to show his car, still safely in the
drive. "I left because I couldn't deal with how you looked at me anymore. I
couldn't take the disappointment when I violated a rule... your rule, Bruce.
Because, sometimes it's pointless to keep running back to the same fight, again
and again. And sometimes... you have to know when to quit." The last words were
spoken with a quiet finality, a certain understanding within them.
He turned away then, steps taking him to the door, his hand upon the frame as
he turned back to see how Bruce had half crumbled in upon himself. It wasn't on
the outside, but he could sense it as if he'd found the man rocking back and
forth in his chair, tears streaking down his face. So many years... He shivered
and then turned back to face the hall. "So I quit, Bruce. I quit you... to save
us both."
The final pieces of his own restraints left him, shedding from him as if they
were ropes that had been binding his very movements. Acceptance. His eyes found
the board by the door, the one where the nail had gone in slightly crooked. The
one he always found when he delivered something that needed to be said...
something that hurt. There had been tears here as a boy... and now, as a man -
no, as a piece of the darkness - there was only quiet acceptance.
One step and then two... and his feet carried him away, quiet as night down the
hall. But he knew Bruce would never follow him, would never say a word about
what they'd just talked about. Their own little secret, but a burden he no
longer that had to hold on his own. Freedom. Every breath was like new life,
new vitality, clean air for a long-polluted heart.
Stopping in front of Tim's door, he placed a hand upon the wood, his head
bowing and he allowed himself to get a grasp of the situation with Tim. If it
was as he thought it was, then he needed a plan, a way to deal with this. A way
to deal with Tim that wasn't how Bruce dealt with him. Learn from the mistakes
of others. Advice Bruce probably needed to heed rather than simply give.
His fingers curled into a fist and he knocked lightly, listening as the bed
protested weight leaving it and then the quiet tread of footsteps across the
hardwood of the floor. A light clicked on and the door opened. He hadn't
thought he'd spent that long with Bruce, but a quick glance at the clock behind
Tim revealed he'd sat in silence far longer than he wanted to recall. Long
enough... to have given Tim little hope that he'd come.
Even sleep-fogged, Tim was alert enough to have his carefully crafted mask in
place in front of his eyes. The one he'd laid down tonight, in the spaces
between, in the moments he'd taken to find the truth. Dick stepped into the
room without invitation, taking the door from Tim's grasp and pushing it
closed. And then he did something Bruce had only done twice in all of Dick's
life, something he'd yearned for a hundred times... something that probably had
a hell of a lot to do with the array of fucked up reasons he felt the way he
did about Bruce - and he reached for Tim. Pulling him into his arms, he slid
one hand to the back of his head, pressing his cheek against the softness of
his own shirt, the other arm holding him tight as he pressed his lips against
Tim's hair.
The way Tim held onto him in return told everything he wasn't sure he'd ever
get him to say. A tightness that spoke of desperation. The slight tremble of
his body that spoke of fear. Fear of what? No... no he'd not be going away,
that was the fear, wasn't it? That one day he'd leave for good. "I'm right
here..."
Tim's face pushed against his shoulder, his breath faster than it should have
been. The careful tension in Tim's body... the deliberate way he held himself
pressed against in some ways and away in others. It was everything....
everything Dick needed to know. "Show me. Whatever it is you need me to do."
And he could feel it, the instant rigidity, the way Tim's breath caught and his
jaw clenched. Already so many barriers. He moved then, reaching to tilt Tim's
head up, to study his face so carefully. Pain... anger... and there it was,
desire. He didn't consider it any further, just reacted the way he'd have
wanted Bruce to react at this age. The way that had eaten him up inside when
Bruce hadn't.
Their lips met, tender and uncertain at first and then steadily growing into
something more. Tim's hands clutched at the fabric of Dick's shirt, his hand
fisted tight in the material as they both gave in. Dick could feel the walls
crumbling away, the barriers breaking down in the way Tim responded to him. His
fingers stroked Tim's cheek, ghosting down his neck in much the same way he'd
done to Bruce only minutes before. The pulse he found fluttered madly under the
pads of his fingers, flightier and higher... afraid. And that was an emotion he
could deal with far easier than anger.
It took a few tries to actually part their kiss, Tim forcing the issue,
desperate and obviously scared to let it stop. Afraid he'd never get more. Dick
let his lips press against his jaw, slowly easing down to his neck, his tongue
wetting the flesh of his Adam's apple, gentle and purposeful. His hand fisted
in Tim's hair, holding him still as he explored his neck and then across his
collarbone. A gentle scrape of his teeth and he relented, letting Tim go,
watching the way he instantly came back to cling to him. And he knew that
feeling, too. Feeling so desperate and alone, so afraid of the solitude that
came with this life... the solitude that Bruce forced upon them all.
Dick could feel the shiver that worked its way up Tim's spine, could feel he
way he slowly gave in, allowing his body to meet with Dick's own. Reaching
down, he slid his hands along Tim's hips and then to his thighs, carefully
grasping and then lifting, holding him close as he moved them to Tim's bed.
He was careful as he settled him on the covers, following him, kicking off his
shoes in a movement that didn't pause his momentum. They eased back onto the
bed, Dick pressing between Tim's legs, pushing him onto his back, and sliding
down over his body. The contact was welcome in many ways, the press of another
person so tight against him. Pressing his cheek to Tim's, he closed his eyes
and breathed. Control.
Tim's hands were tentative on his sides and he could feel the translation of
hesitation in them. The uncertainty, still, if he was allowed to do this or not
and Dick knew... knew he had to give him the opportunity to say everything Dick
had ever kept lodged up inside. One more time... one more opening to let him
know it was okay to talk to him. "Tell me everything, Tim." His name because he
knew Tim needed to know that he wasn't imagining Bruce.
The careful hitch of breath, the slow curl of fingers against his sides... all
of it told Dick a story he was all too familiar with. He dipped his head,
running his cheek over the pale expanse of flesh that was Tim's neck. Brother.
Unbidden... unallowed... but maybe more of the truth than he wanted it to be.
Sorting the thought aside, he dipped his tongue out, tasting Tim's skin, the
gentle salt of it... the little charge in the taste that was unique to each
person. Tim. That was better, less... prohibitive.
"Just... tonight. Even if you leave tomorrow." Tim's voice came out far quieter
than Dick had expected. Not like mine. It gave him pause, the chance to examine
what was happening and realize while it was so like his own situation, it
wasn't. Tim was his own person, molded by his own life, not by Dick's choices.
He laid his head against Tim's shoulder.
"I have to..." I can't stay here with him. Unspoken. He rubbed his hand over
Tim's side, sliding it up under his shirt and stroking the smooth skin beneath.
"But... you could come... to be with me at times, too." The offer was out of
his mouth before he could properly register what he was offering. But once it
was, he could find no regret in it. Maybe... probably, he needed Tim as much as
Tim needed him.
They were quiet for a long time, Tim silent and still beneath him in a way that
Dick knew meant he was thinking everything through. Let Tim get the pieces
together, make his decision, and then they'd see where it led them.
"Weekdays... with you. Weekends here. I'll be out of your hair a lot with
school and... and you can have a life." That doesn't revolve around me. Words
unspoken that Dick could feel within the ones that were.
"Will you patrol with me?" Dick wasn't sure why it mattered so much... but it
did. A gentle nod was his reply and Dick felt himself smile against Tim's neck
as he took a deep breath, drawing in Tim's scent deep within him. I could get
used to this. "I'll... We'll tell Bruce in the morning."
"He won't like it."
"He doesn't have much of a choice." Dick moved then, urgency flooding his veins
in a way he didn't even think to question. Possessive. He spread Tim's thighs
even more, kneeling between his legs, his hands finding Tim's wrists, holding
them onto the bed as he stared down at him. This... this was everything he had
been wanting. His head dipped and he captured Tim's lips, kissing him hard and
rough. Nothing gentle left in the touch now, as he left lust to boil over
within his actions. Don't think about it.
Dick could feel Tim moving under him and he waited until slim legs slid up
around his hips, ankles locking behind him and hips lifting from the bed to
meet his own. Just... barely touching. Hesitation. His tongue speared into
Tim's mouth, exploring, tasting. Nothing... nothing was going to stop him from
giving Tim anything his precious Robin wanted right here tonight. His own hips
tilted, pushing, arching, and then the jerk of Tim's body as they finally met
so intimately.
Tim was hard, so achingly hard. The press of his flesh was warm and insistent,
his hips already rocking, unable to stop. Dick's breath hitched and then he
moaned, letting the sound swallow itself up in Tim's mouth. Just like this.
Just however Tim needed it. Dick moved then, sinking into the contact, letting
Tim have better leverage off the bed as he surged forward to meet every rock of
his hips, every urgent little cant that only went halfway through. His mouth
swallowed every whimper and every cry, hungry to earn more from him. Precious
Robin.
Delirium. His head swam as he moved faster, lust surging higher and higher. It
wasn't enough... but it would never be enough. Even as Tim began to strain
under him, his muscles trembling with effort, his hips bucking hard, his cock
leaking into his sleep pants he was so pent up, and so ready, Dick knew he'd
never let Tim go. One obsession for another. The thought shoved aside as he
raced for the finish line, the pace between them breakneck. And just like every
sparing match they'd ever had... flat-out and never resting.
Tim pulled away from the kiss, his hands grabbing Dick's shoulders, blunt nails
digging in as he arched hard up off of the bed. A thin wine started in his
throat, his hips bucking once... twice... ah, there it was. Dick watched as
Tim's breath caught and his eyes rolled back. He held him as he trembled in his
arms, as the fabric of his pants rapidly dampened and his orgasm washed over
him the most earth-shattering of ways.
Easing Tim back against the bed, Dick spread his legs even more, reaching down
and quickly freeing himself of his own pants, tugging Tim's down to see the
mess he'd left behind. His cock throbbed at the sight, his heart beating a
frantic tattoo of desire. Caution thrown to the wind, he slid down, pressing
himself alongside Tim's still-hard length and braced himself on the bed.
Watching. He moved quick, desperate, determined to find his end just as Tim
had. Tim's beautiful cock pressed alongside his own. It proved to be his
undoing. The coil tightened in his stomach, the burn increasing as Tim strained
under him, arching and flexing, and... oh God. Dick let out a harsh moan, his
hips jerking as he started to cum, watching it spill onto Tim's pale skin. Skin
kissed by the night.
His hips worked until he couldn't stand the sensations anymore and only then
did he settle, panting as he slowly lifted his gaze to Tim's own. Restrained
fear. Heedless of the mess they'd created, Dick rolled over onto his back,
bringing Tim with him, letting him settle against his chest, hands stroking
over his back. "I'm not going anywhere." The release of tension was immediate,
Tim's body easing over his own, his head coming to rest against his shoulder,
his hand... over Dick's heart.
Dick turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of Tim's head, lips lingering
against his hair. "I love you... I always have." And there was a finality to
the words, one he knew he'd learn the depth of later. A certain acquiescence to
the situation. Tim didn't respond, didn't need to. Every word left unspoken
rang clear in the silence of the night. He needed no discussion, no admission.
Not from Tim. No... his precious Robin didn't owe him a word. He never would.
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