Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/29453.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Dick_Grayson, Barbara_Gordon
  Additional Tags:
      Crossdressing
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-12-15 Words: 9165
****** I Have Been Blind ******
by Merelymine
Summary
     He hasn't seen Tim in four months, only knows that he's not dead
     because Oracle has been keeping her all-knowing and diligent eyes on
     him.
Notes
     Takes place sometime in the near future, canon wise. Also, I have no
     idea what the Bat books are doing right now, but it doesn't seem like
     there's a general consensus as to where they are living. So for the
     purposes of this story they're living in the manor and working out of
     the cave, because that's just easier.
See the end of the work for more notes
The ballroom shines under the chandeliers, just enough sparkle to brighten up
the polished wood floor and trace the shape of the gilded fixtures. It catches
the edges of the champagne flutes that are floating around the room, balanced
on trays that might as well be held up by magic, for all that the wait staff is
as unobtrusive as good money can buy. It's not enough light to pick up the
corners of the expansive room, or the small tables crowded with important men.
Important men who were undoubtedly making important, and more importantly,dirty
deals.
It’s nothing that Dick hasn’t seen a million times. He grabs a sparkling glass
off of a tray as it passes him, more to give himself something to do than
because he wants a drink, and plasters a vapid, pleasant smile on his face.
He’s there to meet a contact, not to enjoy himself.
Not that he ever does at these sorts of things. He can remember telling Tim
once, back when they were traveling around Europe together, waiting for Bruce
to find what he was looking for in that cave and learning how to be brothers
again, that money was sometimes a necessary evil.
Tim had accepted it as he accepted all lessons, with a serious solemnity that
meant he was filing the information away for later use. Dick had ruffled his
hair in an effort to wash some of the seriousness off of his face and Tim had
ducked away, smiling a little. Like he knew it was what Dick needed.
But that was then. He hasn’t seen Tim in four months, only knows that he’s not
dead because Oracle has been keeping her all-knowing and diligent eyes on him.
He doesn’t want to spy. He wants to be able to let Tim go—he pushed him out of
the nest because he wanted him to grow, to become his own man and step out of
Bruce's shadow. He was ready to let him go, had expected some sort of rebellion
because Tim has never dealt with change well, never been able to accept death,
but it’s terrifying, the not knowing. Dick wasn’t exactly ready for it himself,
and thinks he might understand a little better how Bruce felt, the ache of
pushing someone away in a blindly stupid effort to keep them close.
He only managed to drive him away, halfway around the world at the last news
from Oracle, and Dick's been beating himself up for it every moment since he
left.
He doesn't need to dwell on it. Not when he has a job to do.
He scans the crowd again, looking for some sign of the person he’s supposed to
be meeting. Barbara had not been very forthcoming with the details of the
exchange, simply saying, “You’ll recognize her when you see her,” and sending
him off. There had been a stifled sort of glee in her tone, and Dick could only
wonder what that meant.
It probably meant that she’d been spending way too much time with Black Canary,
now that Dinah was a single woman again.
He doesn’t, despite Barbara’s cryptic assurances, know what he’s looking for
and it’s making him cranky. He takes a sip of his drink, frowning at the way
the bubbles tickle his nose and the back of his throat, and the sensation makes
him think of Tim again. The way his nose had crinkled up in distaste at his
stolen sip of champagne at that very same party where Dick had tried to teach
him something about the benefits of being a Wayne, how he’d set the glass back
on a passing tray when he thought no one was looking.
He’s so lost in thought about Tim that for a moment he thinks he sees him,
across the room and laughing, but then he focuses and realizes he’s looking at
a young woman.
Her hair is long and dark, curling at the ends where it rests against her
exposed back. She’s wearing a long red dress, the scooped back of it plunging
so low as to almost be indecent, and there’s a long slit hidden in the unevenly
layered skirt that shows a whole lot of leg every time she shifts a certain
way. She’s gorgeous in that thin and muscled way that he knows most women have
to fight to be, and Dick can’t help but watch her as she flirts her way through
a crowd of men, laughing and coy.
She steps away from the group of people, and for a moment she's alone,
illuminated by a patch of brighter light. Face turned up, and she seems to find
him unerringly, eyes catching his own and winking.
It takes his brain a moment to catch up. That is Tim, dressed up so well that
he would've never guessed it was him had he not been caught staring. Of course
Tim probably knew right where he was, knew who he was here to meet, and Dick's
really going to have to have a talk with Barbara about the little games she
likes to play and how they're not funny. At all.
He feels like he should give Alfred an award of some kind, because he knows
this is his handiwork, and it's done so well that if it wasn't Tim-- hell, if
he hadn't just been thinking about Tim, then he would've never guessed.
Of course, now that he knows that it's Tim that he’s watching, he can discern a
pattern to the movements and the way he's circling around, moving in a spiral
and obviously looking for a mark.
He’s still watching a few minutes later when Tim finds it. He watches him
laugh, his hand on an older man’s arm. Tim's head is thrown back, and Dick
feels himself heat up all over. He's never seen him so confident in any sort of
social situation before. Never seen him so at ease in his own skin. Even when
he’s fighting he’s still clearly thinking, three steps ahead and holding
himself tense and ready, his body a weapon to be used.
Maybe this is the same, Tim using his sexuality as a weapon, honed and sharp
and dangerous.
He downs the last of his drink in one long swallow and grabs another glass off
of a nearby tray.
And waits.

*

An hour later Tim excuses himself from the man’s company and heads for the
bathrooms. Less than a minute later he comes back out, taking a circuitous
route around the ballroom that leads him right past Dick.
 Who catches Tim’s arm as he walks by, pulls him in close and puts on his best
charming smile. “Hey gorgeous, dance with me?”
Tim looks him up and down, making it obvious that he’s checking Dick out, eyes
lingering on his mouth before he shrugs off Dick’s hand and then catches it in
his own. He presses even closer as someone pushes past him from behind, looks
up at Dick and licks his lips and all Dick can think is red red red.
“Maybe later, handsome.” Tim is grinning, his voice not far off from the way
Dick remembers it, low and sweet and maybe forced just a bit higher. “I’m a
busy girl after all.” And then he’s gone, weaving his way through the crowd,
long hair swinging across his back.
It takes Dick a full thirty seconds to realize Tim has left a crumpled bit of
paper in his hand. He stands there dumbly, a frozen island in the crowd, stuck
on the way Tim’s eyes had seemed bright and clear in a way that Dick once
thought he might never see again, the way his smile looked genuinely happy and
amused.
So far removed from the last memory Dick has of him, hurt and angry and
grieving, that Dick almost can’t believe it. His hands clench, crushing the
note even more, the rough crumple of paper against his palms reminding him that
he has a job to do.
Thankfully he has the presence of mind to find somewhere more secluded than the
ballroom proper before he opens up the note, ducking out onto one of the
balconies. No one in their right mind would be coming out here; the air is
frigidly cold and Dick’s breath puffs out in a cloud as he exhales. He unfolds
the paper to find a single name written in Tim’s familiar and precisely neat
block print.
In eyeliner, and Dick almost laughs, breathing it out at the last second and
leaning back against the cold stone wall.
“Oracle,” he whispers.
“Yes, handsome?” Barbara answers in his ear, using her own voice instead of
Oracle’s distorted electronic monotone, probably so he’ll be able to hear just
how deeply amused she is.
Dick groans and rolls his eyes.
“Did you like my surprise? I’ve got to say, I haven’t seen you that flustered
in a long time.”
Dick knocks his head back against the wall, once. “How do you even have cameras
here?”
“Mmm… that’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Heh. Well, as thrilled as I am to be sharing yet another embarrassing and
awkward moment in my life with you, the teasing will have to wait. I’ve got a
lead for you.”
“Teasing later. Got it, boss.”
He wants to tell her to stop calling him ‘boss’, but he figures that there’s no
point in it, considering that it didn’t work the first hundred or so times he
tried. She’s intent on doing it, no matter how weird it makes him feel.
He gives her the name, and he can hear her typing furiously on her end of the
line. Hopefully this will lead them another step closer to taking down one of
the many little gangs that have popped up in the last couple of months.
"Good work," she says, voice clipped and distracted. "I've got someone on
recon, so why don't you head home? I'm sure Tim would love to get out of those
clothes."
"But shouldn't I..."
"I've got it covered. Go meet Tim in the lobby, he's waiting for you."
"But..."
"And if I catch you, hell,either of you, out tonight, I swear to God I will
make your lives hell for a month. Think of it as a vacation."

But I'm Batman, Dick thinks but doesn't say, because there's really no use
arguing. Besides, it would sound a little silly, wouldn't it? Batman is not
petulant, and he does not whine.
Dick pushes off of the wall and heads back inside. Apparently it's time to get
out of here, hopefully before Tim has more phone numbers than he knows what to
do with.

*

The smile Tim gives him when he finally makes it to the lobby is one of his
sheepish little brother smiles, the one that says 'I know you're going to tease
me about this forever and ever so can we just get it over with?' and it looks
so incongruous against the make-up and the long, dark hair.
 The fact that Tim's smiling at all almost makes him stop short, heart arrested
mid-beat. There was a part of him, the part of him that leads him to sulking on
rooftops and trying to drown out misery with his fists, that was convinced that
Tim would never smile at him again. He doesn't miss a step, though, and only
stops when they're close enough to touch.
Dick raises an eyebrow and Tim rolls his eyes. Tugs on the sleeve of Dick's
ridiculously well-tailored suit and says, "Well, come on. Let's go then."
Dick's never sure what makes him say stupid things. He knows he just doesn't
think sometimes before he speaks, and that's certainly what makes him say "Are
you that eager to go home with me?" without realizing how it sounds.
Considering. And now Barbara is laughing at him through the earpiece, but it's
sort of worth it for the blush that breaks out across Tim's cheeks.
Except that there are people around, and he doesn't know if Tim intends to keep
this alias or not; doesn't know if her reputation is at stake in any way. He's
about to apologize, stutter out something awkward and contrite, when Tim tugs
on his arm again, hard enough to pull him closer. Looks up at him with heavy-
lidded eyes and that blush and says, "I don’t know, how badly do you want me to
come?"
Barbara's laughter turns absolutely delighted at the same time as Dick's mouth
goes dry, dry, dry, a million arid deserts unfolding on his tongue, heat
breaking out over his own face.
He clears his throat. "Well, then. Let's go."
Dick isn't in the mood to wait on the valet service, so he snags his keys when
the guy's back is turned and heads down to the VIP parking area with Tim, his
hand resting at the small of his back as they push through the crowd. Both
because he can and because there are so many people around and he should--
He can look a little possessive, right now.
He's a little desperate for the touch, confirmation under his fingertips that
Tim is actually here, in Gotham. He feels entitled to it in a way that he's not
exactly comfortable with. The skin at the small of Tim's back shouldn't feel
like it belongs to him. It shouldn't feel so right, warm and alive and making
the pads of his fingers feel terribly sensitive.
The crowd thins once they reach the underground parking lot, and he really has
no reason to keep touching Tim so he drops his hand. Curls it into a loose fist
at his side.
They're almost to the car when Dick hears footsteps behind them.
Oracle says, "You're not alone, kids," as Dick turns, not a split second before
Tim pushes him up against the car and kisses him, so he's not as surprised as
he could be to find himself with his hands on Tim's back and Tim's tongue in
his mouth.
Tim's hands are strong in his hair, like he's afraid that Dick's not going to
get it. Like he has to hold him there, but Dick just closes his eyes and leans
into it, opens his mouth against Tim's and kisses back.
"Oh my," Barbara says, and Dick can feel himself blushing again.
He cracks one eye open and he can see, peripherally, the older man Tim was
laughing with before, the one who he probably got most of his information from,
paused and watching them jealously.
Dick closes his eyes and pulls Tim closer, one hand at the small of his back
and the other moving up to cup his shoulder blade, bare skin against his palms.
He can feel Tim breaking out in goose bumps all over, moaning into his mouth
and shivering under his hands.
Dick can't help it. He wants to be better than this, but he just feels so
greedy. He kisses Tim harder, and he doesn't give a second thought to the wig
or the heels or the dress, the imaginary girl under his hands, because that's
not what he cares about. What he wants. He wants Tim, his little brother and
his friend, and he can't believe that he's never even considered this before.
Tim's hands, strong and gentle in his hair, and his mouth, open and soft under
his own.

"Jesus, Grayson," Barbara breathes in his ear, and then: "Hmmm. Do you think
you can turn to your left a little, this camera can't... No, never mind, I
found a better one."
And now this is being recorded for posterity, or possibly just Dinah. He can't
bring himself to care at the moment, because there's the sound of footsteps
moving away and that means this is going to stop.
He doesn't want to stop.
Tim starts to pull back, and Dick can't help this either-- he nips Tim's lower
lip gently, just for that shudder, another shiver of Tim's back under his hands
before he lets go.
Tim stumbles back a step. His cheeks are stained red and he's looking down,
completely failing to meet Dick's eyes, and it makes him want to reach out.
Pull his chin up and make him look. Anything to make this okay.
He steps forward and Tim takes a deep, shuddering, breath.
He wants--
"You are absolutelycoveredin red lipstick," Barbara says, snickering in his
ear.
When he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand it comes back red, and all it
takes is that moment of distraction for Tim to move. Circle around the car and
slide in the passenger side, and there's nothing Dick can do but open the door
and get in too.
As soon as they're on the road and heading out of the city Tim gingerly pulls
off the wig, hissing as it catches his hair. It gets tossed carelessly into the
back seat as Tim leans back, carefully stretching out his legs.
Dick really doesn't know how he didn't notice the shoes before. Sharp stiletto
heels that are the same red as the dress, with thick, crisscrossed laces that
go all the way up to his knees. They're the kind of shoes that could make a
priest develop a foot fetish.
He expects Tim to take them off, but he doesn't. Instead he just flexes each
foot and rotates each ankle in turn, and Dick has to remind himself to keep his
eyes on his driving.
He watches the road, the light of the city striping shadows and patterns over
his hands where they rest on the steering wheel as he tries to think of
something to say. He's feeling his usual need to make some sort of bad joke,
some kind of pun or quip to make this better, but he can't think of anything.
He should be able to think of something. This is Tim, for God's sake, his
little brother in all but blood, and he shouldn't still be stuck on the way his
skin felt so right under his hands and his own stupid jealousy. The need to
have and possess. To take.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Tries to say something, anything-
- closes his mouth and tries again--
"So you know he's in love with you, right?" Barbara asks, voice mild and
conversational. It takes a moment for him to understand what she's saying, who
he is and what she means, but there's really no one else she could be talking
about, and then it takes all of his focus not to drive them clean off of the
road.
"He's never said anything, of course, but it's obvious," she continues.
Obvious. That's just--
"Well, obvious to anyone who isn't, you know, you."
--ridiculous. Okay, so maybe not.
"So listen to me, boy oblivious. I'm feeling charitable at the moment."
He can hear the steady click of her fingers on the keyboard, and of course
she'd be multi-tasking. No need to concentrate solely on making Dick's brain
explode, is there? He feels like his whole body is a screaming question mark.
He sees Tim shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye, and tries to figure
out how to think this through without giving anything away.
Barbara's certainly not making it easy. It seems she's really warmed up to her
subject.
"It's one of those always sort of things, I think. Haven't you ever had
anything like that, Dick? Someone that you'll love forever no matter what else,
orwhoelse, happens in your life? Someone who's always in your heart even if you
can't be with them? Even when you can'tstandthem anymore?
"Tell me you don't and I'll call you a liar."
She knows the answer, of course. Knows that for the longest time it was her,
that she was the answer to that question. That in a lot of ways she always will
be, because that's what always means.
"Hmm. So you can imagine how much it hurt him when you shoved him away."
His teeth clench. That's not-- He hadn't meant--
He'd needed a partner, an equal.He didn't need Damian as much as Damian had
needed him, a case of Robin needing a Batman, but Dick had needed Tim, and only
managed to push him away.
"Oh, I know that's not what it was, but you boys are so damn bad at
communicating. That had to be what it felt like to him."
He's at a loss as to what to do with all this new information. If he's been
that person for Tim, that always... well.
He can't just let that go, can he?
Should he?
His immediate thought is that Tim is seventeen; he can't possibly know what he
wants, no seventeen-year-old does. His second thought is that this is Tim. Of
course he knows what he wants, he's probably the most self-aware teenager that
Dick's ever known.
His unasked questions will have to go unanswered; Barbara has fallen silent.
Except for how she totally hasn't. Tim shifts awkwardly in his seat and blows
out a low, steady breath, and Dick has no idea what she's saying to him, but
she's definitely saying something. He's not sure he wants to know what it is.
He takes his earpiece out and holds his hand out to Tim, who hurriedly pulls
out his own and drops it into Dick's palm.
Dick tosses them both into the backseat, where they land on top of the wig. Tim
finally looks at him for the first time since they kissed, smiling quiet and
shy.
The rest of the drive is blissfully quiet. However the hum of the road and
Tim's even breathing do nothing to still the turmoil in Dick's head.
He takes the car into the cave out of habit, even though it's not a Batmobile.
They are returning from a mission, and Tim, at least, will need to write up a
report for Barbara.
Dick shrugs off his jacket and takes off the tie as soon as he gets out of the
car, slinging them carelessly over the back of a chair near his workstation.
There are a few things he can work on, little projects to complete and notes to
type up, but he doesn't really feel like it at the moment. Instead he pokes
around the cave a little, looking to see if there's anything that requires his
attention. At one of the tables there’s a new type of liquid immersed Kevlar
that looks like it’s both stronger and more flexible than what he’s using now,
something that Alfred had tried to show him last week, if he remembers
correctly. He hadn't had the chance to examine it, then, and he kept getting
distracted--
Movement from the bank of computers catches Dick's attention. Tim is
stretching, hands clasped over his head as he arches back against the chair.
Dick moves towards him, eyes fixed on the smooth curve of his upturned throat,
before he can give it a second thought.
Or a first one.
It's the sort of thing that always gets him in trouble, and he knows it. Acting
without thinking, and that only ever works out for him when he's fighting, when
he can rely on his body to know what it's doing.
He doesn't know what he's doing now.
Tim turns and smiles at him when he gets close. "I really need a shower," he
says as he stands. "You wouldn't believe the amount of make-up it took to cover
everything."
Dick can imagine. Every scar that's new and pink. The older ones as well, white
and spider-webbed across his skin, and Dick wants to see it. Wants to wash it
off himself, watch as the water and soap reveal everything, every mark and
every fresh bruise. All the evidence that Tim belongs to this family, to this
life. That he belongs to Dick.
Tim seems to have noticed him... wanting. He tilts his head to the side,
suddenly so much more intent. Focused. "What is it?"
Dick wants, very badly, just to hug him. Hold him close and tight and tell him
how sorry he is, how much he fucked up and how much he wants him home. He
doesn't. Tim's always been a little skittish, and while he may have always
allowed Dick a little more leeway with that sort of thing than he he did anyone
else, Dick doesn't want to make him freeze up.
Of course, he doesn't really trust himself with that kind of contact right now,
considering how much he also wants to pull him close and kiss him.
Tim is watching him curiously, waiting for a reply.
"Nothing," Dick says. He shakes his head and smiles. "It's nothing." He could
absolutely let this go, forget all about it and write it off as some sort of
hormonal freak out, and he probably should but--

So you know he's in love with you, right?
"I never got that dance," Dick says instead. Sometimes doing what you should do
is really overrated.
"Oh. I-- I don't--" Tim looks almost shocked, blushing again and ducking his
head, and that splash of color across his cheeks is just going to kill Dick. "I
left the wig in the car," he says plaintively.
So flustered, and that's just too damn cute.
Dick grins. "I didn't want to dance with her, anyway. I wanted to dance with
you."
He takes a step forward. Tim stays where he is, obviously uncertain and
surprised, but he's still smiling a little and he lets Dick take his hand and
pull him close.
"This is ridiculous," he says, but the smile betrays his words.
"Humor me." Dick tugs him closer.
The heels make Tim only the barest bit shorter than he is, so that when he
wraps his arms around Dick's neck and leans into him it brings them almost
cheek to cheek. He's still blushing a little, and Dick can feel the heat of it
radiating out of his skin.
"There's no music," Tim says, his voice low.
"Then pretend," Dick says. "I'm not expecting anything fancy." I just wanted to
hold you again, he doesn't say. It's not something he knows how to say, not to
Tim.
"Ah. Is that what we're doing?" Tim tenses a little under his hands.
"Pretending?"
And that’s the base of it, the heart of all the questions Dick’s had for
himself tonight. It’s not the dress. It’s nothing but Tim, and how much he has
missed him, and how much he wants him home.
"No," he says, and Tim relaxes, leaning into him again.
They're so close, too close to really be dancing at all, just turning in slow
circles.
"I was watching you all night," Dick says, half out of need to break the
silence and half because he wants Tim to understand. There's a watchfulness to
him that reminds Dick of a small animal, waiting to run at the first sign of
danger. "Even before I realized it was you, I was watching. And that was my
part tonight, to keep watch, but once I realized... it was fascinating, you
know, how different you were.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure." You don't have to askhangs in the air, left unsaid except for the
surprise in his voice.
"What was it? The dress, the disguise? Or something else?"
"I'm not sure I follow," Tim says, forehead creased in a familiar expression
that means he's sincerely baffled. Dick would lay money that he's going to have
a permanent line between his eyebrows before he's thirty.
"It's just-- I've never seen you so comfortable with your body. Moving with
such purpose, you seemed, I don't know..."
Tim's expression turns thoughtful. "Hmm. I know what you mean, I guess. I
think-- what is it?"
Dick's staring again. Staring at Tim's mouth and he doesn't even realize it
until Tim catches him.
"I really want to kiss you again," Dick whispers before he can talk himself out
of it. "I keep thinking. I--"
"You can," Tim says quickly, pink flash of tongue as he licks his lips. "You-
- you should."
As Dick leans in everything narrows down, his awareness focused solely on Tim,
the space between their bodies and all of the places they are and aren't
touching.
Dick watches Tim's eyes fall closed in a sort of slow motion, his eyelashes
fluttering into a perfect smudge of black against his cheek. The moment
stretches out; the brush of Tim's fingers at his neck and every single
millimeter of space that falls away between them.
Tim's mouth opening under his own, sweet and yielding.
There are no distractions this time. No one to show off to, nothing to do but
to kiss Tim the way he wants to.
Slowly, tracing the curve of his lip with his tongue until Tim's mouth opens
more, letting him in.
Letting Dick taste him, the faint waxy remnants of his lipstick and underneath
that just Tim, sweet and alive.
Warm mouth, strangely familiar already. He's already accustomed to the way Tim
kisses, careful and slow and thorough, and it makes Dick wonder what it would
take for him to lose it. How far gone he would have to be before he lets go of
all that control.
Before he can do more than think about it, Tim pulls away and steps away, out
of Dick's arms. He's biting his lower lip, eyes calm and studying Dick's face.
"I still really need that shower," he says quietly.
"Oh." It takes Dick a moment to understand. "I'm sure Alfred's already put your
things in your room."
Tim nods his head. He looks surprised, like he assumed his room would be taken
away as soon as he was gone, and Dick wants to tell him that this is home. It
will always be home, but Tim's already moving away, turning and heading for the
stairs, and Dick can't do anything but watch him go. Rooted to the spot, hands
flexing uselessly at his sides. He doesn't know if he should follow. Doesn't
know if he can.
Tim stops at the foot of the stairs. Turns around and raises his eyebrows.
"Well, are you coming?"

Oh. Maybe. Definitely maybe, and his brain may be a dirty, filthy place, but
one step forward is all it takes to get him that smile again. The new one,
sharp and affectionate all at once, and Tim doesn't wait for him, heading up
the stairs.
Dick lets him lead the way, telling himself it's so he can watch him walk up
all those steps in those shoes, when he really knows he's taking the time to
let himself catch up, a little.
The manor is dark. It's after midnight, and Alfred is undoubtedly catching up
on what little sleep he can during this break that Barbara has forced on them.
Damian is once again being patched up by his mother and her people, and while
Dick isn't happy that he'd been reckless enough to get himself terribly
injured, he's grateful to be without the distraction.
He takes his time following Tim upstairs, letting the house and all of it's
familiar shadows soothe some of the nervousness out of him, the path to his old
room one he's walked so many times he could probably do it blindfolded.
Blindfolded and on his hands.
For a moment he's tempted to try it, to let the activity burn away a little of
the ragged energy running under his skin. He doesn't, though, and soon enough
he's standing in the doorway of his old bedroom.
Dick steps into the room just as Tim turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the
room in a dim and golden light. He shuts the door and stands there, watching
Tim drag his fingers along the polished wood of the table, an obviously
nostalgic gesture that makes Dick ache to touch him.
He doesn't move, watching as Tim turns to look at himself critically in the
mirror against the wall.
The tension in the room is incredible, and for once tonight Dick knows exactly
what it is. Knows exactly what is happening. It's that moment. The in-between
moment, when you've decided you're going to have sex with someone, but before
you actually get there. He wasn't sure it was really going to happen until now,
until he stepped into the room and shut the door. He swallows against the
sudden tightness in his throat and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling
his shoes and socks off.
"I think it's the shoes," Tim says, as though they were still in the middle of
a conversation.
"What you were asking me earlier," Tim clarifies. He doesn't look at Dick.
"It's not really the dress." He smoothes his hand down the front of it
thoughtfully, making the fabric pull and shift against him.
"Tim."
Tim ignores him. "Shoes are powerful, especially heels." He moves his hand to
his hip, cocks it out a little, and that's just... a really inspiring pose.
"They make you stand differently. Make you hold yourself differently."
"Tim," Dick says again.
Tim's reflection in the mirror frowns a little, but he turns around.
"What do you want? Can you show me?" He feels rooted to the spot, his hands
clenching the edge of the mattress.
Tim totally has his 'game face' on. He looks like Robin before a fight he's not
sure he can win, and Dick knows that means he's uncertain, worried and a little
scared, and he hates it. Hates that he's the reason that look's on Tim's face,
and normally he'd do anything to erase it, but he can't. He can't move. Not
until Tim does.
Dick needs Tim to show him, he needs this to be real, to make sense--
"Please, little brother."

Thatmakes Tim move, unzipping a tiny zipper at the back of his dress and
shrugging it off. It pools around his feet in a sea of delicate red and Tim
steps out of it, steps forward, and Dick doesn't even have a chance to think
about the fact that Tim is wearing red lacy underwear, because Tim is actually
moving.
Placing his hands on Dick's shoulders, planting a knee next to his thigh and
crawling into his lap to kiss him, and Dick knows this is exactly how Tim's
always imagined doing it, nice and slow. Determined to show him, even as his
back trembles under Dick's hands.
This kiss is different. Different from the kiss in the parking lot, which was
Tim being aggressive, showing off to a certain audience, and different from the
kiss in the cave, where Tim had surrendered under his mouth. This is how Tim
wants to kiss him, hands shaking in Dick's hair, and Dick knows it now. It's
more of a realization than Barbara telling him, it's in the tremor and flex of
muscle under his palms and the way it feels like Tim is trying to memorize
this.
Tim loves him.
Timloves him. He doesn't know how he never noticed it before. Doesn't know how
he never needed it before, but there it is, quiet and bright and real. Just
like Tim.
This is not something he has to think about. Doesn't have to analyze it because
it's true, factual and honest, and there's nothing in him that will allow him
to do anything but respond in kind.
Because of course he loves Tim. Little brother, family love, but it would be
so, so easy to let himself fall. To give in and let the force of Tim's feelings
drag him down too, and it's just, really, nothing he has to think about. He
made his decision already, made it when he followed Tim up the stairs or maybe
even before that, when Barbara was busy telling someone else's secrets in his
ear.
He's not good at casual relationships. That's never stopped him from trying,
even though every one night stand he's ever had has ended in one sort of
disaster or another, and he can't do that this time. Can't make that same
mistake.
He needs to pay attention to this kiss. Tim's small mouth opening against his,
breath and heat and damp as Tim exhales through kisses that are still open-
mouthed and sweet.
He kisses back, but doesn't change the kiss, no matter how much he wants to,
doesn't deepen it or take control of it.
"Tim." Whispered into the kiss, against Tim's mouth.
Tim's hands clench in his hair, just a little, and he makes a small, frustrated
sound in the back of his throat that Dick can feel more than hear.
Dick tries again, lips brushing against Tim's own as he speaks. "God, I've
missed you."
That gets him teeth, sharp along the edge of his mouth, and there's enough
force that the kiss would've shoved him down onto the bed had he not been
paying attention. Instead it just presses them closer, presses Tim up and onto
his knees, his hands in Dick's hair pulling his head back for a deeper kiss,
hot and a little angry before he eases up.
Tim never likes to be pushed. Never likes to feel anything more than what he
wants to feel, and that's just too bad.
Dick doesn't want him thinking that much. He wants to hold him down to the bed
and drive him out of his mind.
Tim settles back in his lap, slides his hands out of Dick's hair, down and
between them until he can feel Tim's fingers as they tug and pull at his shirt,
unbuttoning it and pulling it out of his pants.
As soon as the last button is open Dick shrugs it off, takes his hands off of
Tim's skin just long enough to pull the sleeves off too. Tim's hands press flat
against his stomach, cool enough to make him shiver. His own hand slides down
Tim's smooth thigh, all the way until he reaches the bony curve of his kneecap,
and then he curves in, sliding underneath. His fingers brush the thick ribbon
laces of the shoes and he moans. Into the kiss and into Tim's mouth, and now,
he finally feels like he can move. Like he can act.
He pulls Tim's knee in closer, until it's braced against his side, and then
pushes up. Flips them around until Tim's under him and he can kiss him all the
way down onto the bed. Nip at his chin and throat--
"Oh." A startled, sucked in breath.
Place a quick, sucking kiss on one little brown nipple, and that gets him a
full body writhe and--
"Oh, god."
A moan, and that's completely worth exploring, but it'll have to wait. He's got
another destination in mind so he keeps on, kissing his way down Tim's smooth
stomach until he's on his own knees on the floor, pushing Tim's thighs apart
and...
Smooth belly. Smooth legs. He tucks his fingers under the top of the still
mind-boggling pair of red underwear, and that, too, is smooth.
That's--
"Smooth..." Dick bites a kiss onto Tim's thigh. "Everywhere, or...?"
Tim is watching him, propped up on his elbows. He's blushing again, dim in the
light of the lamp, and that's never going to stop being wonderful. "I shaved my
legs, and it-- it just looked silly, I--"
"You. You know you're not getting that shower any time soon, right?" Dick says,
tugging at Tim's underwear. Pulling carefully as Tim arches his hips up, he
peels it off, stretching it around his shoes and then dropping it to the floor.
Tim's hard. Hard and wet and there's no way that didn't hurt, at least a
little.
Dick sits back on his heels and doesn't touch him, just looks, pale skin
touched with gold from the bedside lamp, flushed and hard and staring right
back at him.
"Dick," he says, and then, "please." He reaches out with his foot, dragging it
up Dick's thigh, the heel of the shoe running a sharp line up the middle. Dick
catches his foot, hand feeling impossibly large around his ankle, and uses it
to pull himself back up onto his knees.
Pushes his legs apart again, bending to press a kiss to the inside of his knee.
Tim is spread out above him, watchful and far too quiet. Dick can't meet his
eyes without feeling like something inside him is getting ready to shatter,
fragment into a million pieces and fly apart, so he keeps his eyes on Tim's
legs. Runs his fingers over the straps of the shoes and follows his hands with
his mouth, tracing the difference in texture between the cool, silky ribbon and
Tim's warmer, smooth skin.
He feels absurdly solemn. A worshiper at an alter of flesh, whispering prayers
into Tim's skin with lips and tongue.
By the time Dick reaches his thighs, Tim is trembling under his hands,
straining up against him. Dick feels a little cruel at the amount of time he's
spending exploring his legs, his knees, and the thick, ribbon straps at the top
of his calves in comparison to the amount of time he's spent simply ignoring
everything else. He can't seem to help himself. He needs to mark all of Tim,
until he knows every inch of his skin and all the sounds he can make.
"F--fuck."
And everything he can do to make him swear like that. He looks up, soothing the
bite mark on the inside of Tim's thigh with his tongue. Tim has his head thrown
back, hands balled up in the bedsheets and the flush from his face spilling
down his chest, and Dick can add 'likes being bitten' to the list of things he
never knew about his little brother before, but if he thinks about that too
much he's not going to get very much further.
He's been hard. It becomes more obvious, more important, as he moves all the
way up onto his knees in order to reach more of Tim's skin, and his pants pull
tight around him. Moaning a little into the skin under his mouth, he moves his
hands to hold Tim's legs open as he continues his slow quest upwards,
fingerprints adding to the litany of marks on his skin.
Tim is shaking by the time Dick reaches the top of his legs. He's still pushed
up, though, propped on his elbows and watching Dick through heavy-lidded eyes.
There's still far too much control written in every line of taut muscle, in
every breath that he purposefully evens out.
Dick wants him incoherent.
He catches Tim's leg under his knee and pulls it up, hooks it over his shoulder
so he can pull Tim closer. So he can watch his eyes go wide as Dick's mouth
skims up his leg, across the sensitive skin of his sac. Just a brush of his
lips, but it pulls a low sound out of Tim, making Dick pause. The heel of Tim's
shoe is digging into his back, and Tim's breathing is ragged now, every
inhalation a gasp.
Dick smiles and drags his mouth back the other way, barely open against the
sensitive skin. Tim was very thorough when he shaved, there's not a single hair
anywhere as far as he can tell. He breathes out, deliberately slow, opening his
mouth as he moves up this time so that he can lick the smooth skin of his balls
all the way up to the base of his dick. Tim collapses above him, his arms
finally giving out.
"Oh god, oh fuck."
Dick doesn't want to give him a chance to take any of that control back, so he
mouths the base of Tim's erection, kisses his way up the shaft as Tim curses
under him. The leg slung across his back is pressing hard against him, and Dick
can feel every line and edge of the shoe. Every patch of velvet-plush skin
between the straps. When Tim tries to use the leverage to thrust Dick has to
catch Tim's slim hips in his hands and hold him down.
"Nngh... I-- Dick, please--"
Lick the head, wet and sticky with pre-come, and Tim thrashes, his hands
grabbing at Dick's hair.
"Please. Please," Tim pants, and Dick relents.
He grabs one of the hands in his hair and brings it to Tim's dick, making him
catch himself in a loose fist. He looks up, sees Tim's sex-blown eyes, and
grins. "Show me," he says.
Tim's hand isn't shaking, but Dick can tell it's only his willpower keeping it
that way. He pushes up on his elbow again and meets Dick's gaze, biting down on
his bottom lip. His eyes are dark and almost wild in the low light, and Dick
can feel himself twitch, feels himself spilling pre-come in his pants.
Tim pulls him in by the leg wrapped around his back, bringing the head of his
dick up to Dick's lips. Every breath in and out of Tim's body is a sound now,
rhythmic and low and wonderful, and Dick hears it stutter and shake as he
paints Dick's lips shiny and slick.
His heart is pounding, a ridiculously loud sound in his ears. He wants this as
much as Tim does, he thinks, and as soon as Tim seriously presses the head
against his mouth Dick moves, opening up and taking him down. He can feel Tim's
leg clamp down on his back in an immediate response, the rough edges of the
shoe digging into his bare skin.
Tim moans. Moans for him, and he's so hard that Dick feels momentarily guilty
for making him wait so long.
But not too guilty, because all of the waiting, all of the teasing, has left
Tim completely unrestrained for this, lets him thrust into Dick's mouth
roughly, perfectly. Dick swallows once around him and Tim cries out, sharp and
beautiful, before he falls back against the bed again, sliding almost all the
way out of his mouth before his hips arch up hard and he comes.
Right in his mouth, and Dick barely gets a taste of him before he crashes back
down, slipping all the way out and catching him on the lips, the cheek.
Dick gets to his feet as soon as he can make himself move, crawling onto the
bed, straddling one of Tim's thighs and unzipping his own pants. He has them
open, his hands in and pushing them down before he registers that Tim is
watching him intently. He raises his eyebrows.
Tim smiles, wide and lazy, and this time Dick doesn't have to ask. "I want to
watch you." His voice is low and almost sleepy. "I want you to come on me,
Dick, please. "
Dick moans, shoving his pants and boxers down until they're around his thighs
as far as they'll go. The fact that Dick catches Tim's other leg, pressing it
up to his chest, hooking two fingers under the straps of the shoes and holding
him down, is more of an afterthought than anything necessary. Tim is a languid,
loose-limbed sprawl underneath him, and the only thing that's remotely familiar
about him is the way his eyes go sharp and avid when Dick takes himself in hand
and starts to stroke.
He's so far gone that his own hand feels amazingly good, and he knows it's not
going to last. He leans forward as far as he can, lets go of Tim's leg and
braces his hand next to Tim's head, and now he can get close enough to kiss.
Can get close enough to--
Have his face licked, rough swipe of tongue against his cheek and a thoughtful
little "Hmm" as Tim tastes himself. He licks down to Dick's mouth and in,
kissing him slow and lazy at first, until Dick moans into his mouth and shoves
his tongue in, a rough parody of how he's thrusting into his own hand.
Tim responds eagerly, crushing their mouths together and sucking on his tongue.
Dick moans into his mouth, hears it shockingly loud once Tim breaks the kiss,
pushing Dick back until he has to shift his knees a little to keep his balance.
"Don't stop," Tim says.
Dick groans, moving his hips, thrusting into his own hand again, and it's not
the touch forcing the sound out of his mouth, it's the way Tim's looking at
him, bright and considering.
Predatory.
He's thinking.
And that. That's everything. Says everything about Tim. Now that he knows the
situation, now that he's comfortable, he can take control. Dick feels like
laughing but he can't, caught between his own hand and Tim's eyes, and it's
taking everything he has not to come from that alone.
"I want to touch you," he finally says, pushing Dick back again until he's
sitting on his heels, just far enough away so that Tim can sit up, knock Dick's
hand away and wrap his own around him.
"Oh. Oh yes."
Tim is practically in his lap, his hand perfect and tight around him, and Dick
wonders if this is how he touches himself, knows that it is.
"You're so beautiful," Tim says, his voice thick and low and right in Dick's
ear. Dick grunts, thrusting his hips, pushing himself into Tim's hand.
Tim hums, approval and pleasure, and keeps whispering. "Yeah," and "just like
that" and Dick's wound so high and tight that all it takes is a twist of Tim's
grip, another low and throaty "beautiful" and Dick's coming.
Hard enough to see stars, so good that he all but falls forward. Tim catches
him, keeps him braced upright with his own body.
Dick pants, humid against the bare skin of Tim's shoulder, and lets the energy
bleed out of him until he can breathe again. He doesn't look up until he hears
a strange sound, wet and close to his ear.
Tim has his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean, his eyes closed. Dick
can't take it so he tackles Tim down to the bed, his fingers dancing over his
sensitive ribs. "You're going to be the death of me," he says as he kicks his
pants the rest of the way off, mouth moving against the sweet curve of Tim's
throat as he laughs, head thrown back and gasping, every pleased and honest
sound warming Dick up inside.
Dick kisses him once he stops laughing. He means it to be quick, a punctuation
to Tim's smile, but he can't help but get lost in it.
When he pulls away Tim is looking at him, his expression mild, mouth quirked in
a half smile. "Is this the part where we 'talk'?"
“I don’t know, are you coming home?” Dick asks.
"Only for a few days, Dick. I have an appointment to keep on Wednesday, halfway
across the world."
"Tim--" This is what he'd been avoiding, what they'd both been blithely
refusing to talk about until now.
“I don’t want an argument,” Tim says mildly, “and I’m not looking for a
discussion, either. I just want you to trust me.”
“Tim—“
“He’s alive, Dick,” Tim says, and there’s so much conviction in his voice that
Dick feels dangerously close to believing him. “I can’t explain it, but all the
things I’ve seen, all the clues that I know he’s left for me…”
Dick shakes his head. He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t against
the crushing weight of disappointment. He was wrong. About Tim, thinking he’d
gotten better—
Tim pushes at him, pushes back until they’re sitting up, Tim’s palms flat
against his chest.
“Dick, look at me. Do I look crazy?”
He looks the same as Dick remembers him, from happier times or maybe just less
complicated ones, and he doesn’t look like he did when he left. He doesn’t, but
that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
“You were always such a good liar,” Dick says, and then immediately regrets it.
Tim’s smile is quirked and sharp, his eyebrow raised in a way that looks
unfamiliar without the cover of a domino mask. “I’ll take that as a compliment,
I think,” Tim replies, without an ounce of ill will. In fact he sounds almost
cheerful. Dick smiles, and Tim’s own smile softens.
“I just want you to believe me,” Tim says.
Dick wants to. He really, reallywants to, but he can’t. “I can’t,” he says, and
Tim stops smiling. Dick reaches up and covers Tim’s right hand, the one over
his heart, with his own. “I can’t because I want to, so damn much. And if I
did, then there would be nothing stopping me from coming with you, and I can't
do that. I can't leave this damn city."
“Yeah, okay,” Tim says softly.
“But I trust you, you know that, right? I let you go once because you asked me
to trust you, and I still do,” Dick swallows, and closes his eyes. “I
just—don’t fall of the face of the Earth again, okay? Let me be the person you
check in with. Let me know how you are, because that was the worst part, you
have no idea—“
Tim cuts him off with a kiss, insistent and needy enough to trip Dick up
inside, to make him grab with reckless hands and pull him as close as possible.
When Tim pulls away his eyes stay closed, his mouth parted. That one tiny frown
line visible in the center of his brow.
"Okay."
"Promise me?"
His eyes open, brilliant, icy blue, and a lopsided smile tugs at his mouth. "I
promise."
"Good," Dick says, and kisses him again. When they come up for air Tim is
smiling, a little wry, a little rueful.
“So no talk about this, then?” he asks, waving a hand between them.
They probably should. It would be the healthy, well adjusted thing to do, but
Dick wants, just this once, to let himself be happy. To live in this one moment
and not worry about the future, about all the promises they can and cannot
make.
It’s a good thing that neither of them are well adjusted.
“Nope,” Dick agrees, standing up and pulling Tim with him. “Instead we’re going
to take a shower, I’m going to wash all that makeup off of you, and then we’re
going to do this again.” He watches Tim untie his shoes, kicking them off.
“Yeah?”
“Yep.”
“Thank God,” Tim says, obviously relieved.
Dick swats him on the ass as he hurries to the bathroom, still anxious to get
that shower.
“Just so you know, I am going to buy you so many pairs of amazing boots,” Dick
says, following the sound of Tim’s laughter as the shower turns on.
End Notes
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