Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/50650.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DC_Comics
  Relationship:
      Nightwing/Robin_III, Dick_Grayson/Tim_Drake
  Character:
      Dick_Grayson, Tim_Drake
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Loss_of_Virginity
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-01-13 Words: 4240
****** Inkblots ******
by Rubynye
Summary
     Making up is hard to do.
Notes
     : Long ago,
     [[info]]
thete1 posted scans from this issue. I still can't believe I haven't found any
stories based on it. So here's my unworthy effort.
Beta Reader of Wonderfulness: [[info]]petronelle
Dedication: [[info]]_audrey, for this lovely Nightwing icon, and in honor of
her birthday.
Title: Inkblots
Rating: NC-17.
Fandom: Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Robin III (Dick/Tim)
Summary: Making up is hard to do.
Warnings: "Content some readers may find disturbing." as they say.
Spoilers For/Based On: the Bruce Wayne: Murderer? story arc in general, Gotham
Knights #26 in specific.
 
Sometimes, Tim sees patterns at the edges of his vision; occasionally faces,
especially when he's tired. Well, to be precise, what he sees are vague
suggestions of images, impressions of patterns in shadow, faces wavering out of
smoke. Meeting Secret was eerily familiar, because she's a lot like a permanent
one of these.
It probably means something, the way the pictures people finds in inkblots
provide clues to their psychology; it's been happening more often since Tim
became Robin, and not just because of the sleep deprivation. He knows what it
means that the face he currently sees under overhangs and in shadows is Dick's,
glaring.
"I cannot believe that Batman is guilty of murder... and I can't stand with
anyone who does," Dick had said, right before walking away.
"The two of you need to really talk," Barbara had said, arms folded. "Without
beating thugs up, or any other distractions, this time."
Tim sighs, the cloud of his breath glinting yellow in the sodium light; he
ducks through a hole in a battered chainlink fence and crouches, thin frost
crunching underfoot as he shifts a bit. This is on Dick's most likely route,
but it might be a long wait, and a longer chase before Dick lets Tim catch him.
It was going to be a long night anyway.
Actually, it doesn't take much time at all until Dick swings by at rooftop
level, flipping across low red clouds. Tim shoots and swings up, watching
Dick's silhouette against the city lights. The air pours like chill water
across his face, and his nerve-knotted stomach isn't letting him enjoy flying
as much as he usually does, but watching Dick in motion is always an envy-laced
pleasure, and keeping up with him is always a good sort of challenge. When Dick
notices Tim following him he actually slows rather than speeding up, which is
more than one kind of relief; he lands pretty soon, on a mid-height building
with a recessed top floor and a badly lit roof, and tucks himself into a patch
of darkness.
Tim can lurk, too. "Hey, Nightwing," he says from another shadow, switching off
his mask camera. Dick's lenses flash dimly as he turns his head, probably doing
the same thing. "I was thinking about what you said before."
Dick breathes in, long and a little shaky. "Yeah, that. Robin, I--"
This part has to go carefully. Tim puts a smirk on his face to help get one
into his voice. "I'm sorry, but deductively it just doesn't add up."
"What?" It's one thing to know how fast Dick can move. It's another to be
pinned between a brownstone wall and a steaming-mad Nightwing, but at least
this time Dick moved towards Tim, not away.
"His innocence, I mean." Facing the dim blue 'v' on Dick's chest, Tim folds his
arms a bit differently than usual, making the cape fall open outside them, as
he holds the smirk in place. Dick has mentioned, a time or two, the way Jason
smirked when he was really trying to be obnoxious. "Part of my job is to keep
an eye on Batman, right? Between his recent instability and---"
Most of a perfectly well-constructed sentence goes to waste as Tim dodges,
because it's all he can do not to gasp aloud when Dick's fist whacks the wall
beside his head. Despite knowing the punch was coming, even being able to tell
from the thud it was half-pulled, it was close enough that Tim could feel it
whoosh past his ear; because of having caused it, the wide-eyed distress on
Dick's face, absolutely obvious despite his mask, makes Tim's stomach twist and
his chest hurt.
Dick's mouth falls open so miserably it takes him several beats before he can
say, "Tim," and Tim reflexively scans the roof for company even though he's
listening to Dick with all his attention. "Tim, I'm sorry, I--"
There's the opening, and Dick's apology will unfortunately also have to go to
waste. Closing his eyes, Tim reaches up for a thick handful of Dick's hair and
kisses him; he keeps kissing through the little "mmph", waiting out the
surprised stiffness till Dick's warm hard mouth softens, even if it isn't quite
moving yet. Another few moments and Tim will make himself let go, smile
bashfully and apologize; Dick will laugh and punch him on the shoulder and at
least this tiny part of this whole mess will be okay, regardless of Bruce's
innocence and the doubts Tim has no choice but to have about it.
Except that Dick's mouth melts into movement, and then he really moves, rocking
Tim's head back as he returns the kiss, and Tim finds his plans going up in the
wisps of steam that must be coming out of his ears. His other hand curls around
Dick's wrist, feeling the flex and the pulse; Tim didn't plan to do that, and
he definitely didn't plan on Dick growling into his mouth as he twists his hand
out of Tim's grip, grabbing Tim's wrist and pulling it above his head to pin
his hand against the wall. Tim's gauntlet isn't thin, but he can feel each of
Dick's fingers tighten around his wrist; their suits stutter-slide against each
other as Dick presses him to the wall, till he has no room left to tilt his
head back, till he has to rise on his toes to hold a kiss that's turned wet and
slick and hot.
This isn't part of the plan, but improvising looks better and better,
especially when Dick tucks his other hand behind Tim's shoulder and slides it
down, and Tim can feel it even through the armor; he can definitely feel it
when Dick grabs him, digging fingers in and pulling him so close there's no
room for air. Dick wedges his knee between Tim's legs; unable to rise any
further on his toes, Tim wobbles, and Dick's thigh slides between his. Tim
shakes and Dick pushes harder, pushing his tongue against Tim's and his thigh
against Tim's crotch, and Tim loses his breath and his balance in the same
moment.
"Ride it," he remembers Dick advising him about the sideways rocking of a
train, and he might laugh if he weren't gasping, his heart thudding against his
ribs, Dick's heartbeat thumping through both their suits. Dick can keep them
both balanced, and he cups Tim's ass and pulls up, so Tim lifts his legs and
winds one round Dick's waist and the other round his thigh, grasping Dick's
shoulder with the hand not flexing against the wall. Dick hums approvingly, his
hand sliding up Tim's lower back to press their bodies impossibly closer still
as he braces his knee against the wall.
Tim's shaking, his breathing fighting his control. Dick's tongue is winding
around his, his lips are burning wet against Dick's and he's riding Dick's
thigh, a column of muscle between his legs. They're still kissing, they're
making out, on a windy wintry rooftop, and Tim has never been so hot in his
life. Dick kisses Tim like he tastes wonderful, like he wants to swallow him;
Tim thinks of how Dick could swallow him, and feels Dick pressing him to the
wall hard enough to hold him up, and shudders.
When the shudder passes Tim finds himself still shaking. From the sizzling tofu
of his brain he drags the realization that Dick is trembling, hard enough to
shake them both, and moaning what sound like crushed words. Maybe Tim should do
something about that, but his mouth and his dick and his body all veto any
course of action that involves breaking the kiss. He curls his clinging hand
around the back of Dick's neck, and Dick… ripples, arching into the touch
before he pulls back a little to bite gently at Tim's lower lip. I've got you,
Tim thinks as he rubs Dick's neck with his thumb, short hair bristly-soft
beneath his hand; he remembers Dick saying that in a hundred different
situations, none of them anything like this.
Dick pulls out of the kiss, and Tim makes himself completely let go of Dick's
neck because his hand wants to clamp down and pull him back in. Stray
beginnings of beard hairs prickle Tim's cheek as Dick drags his face along it,
as Tim belatedly remembers his plan. Now he has to get the stunned look off his
face and smile, so Dick can grin and let go of him, and everything will be so
awkward for a moment it'll snap back into true. Tim steels himself to let go,
and forces his eyes open.
Dick is looking at Tim's hand and his own holding it against the wall, and his
breathing is as ragged and noisy as Tim's, steaming away on the wind. Tim needs
to calm down, should look over Dick's shoulder to make sure they're still
alone... Dick's hand is sliding up Tim's back, and any moment he'll back away
and let Tim down onto his feet, and Tim will need to be able to stand on legs
that currently want to stay right where they are wrapped around Dick.
Dick tilts his head down again, and he looks exactly as if his eyes are wide
behind his mask; his mouth shines a little even in their patch of shadow, and
Tim is really struggling towards that smile.
He never makes it, because Dick's hand slides over his shoulder, up the back of
his neck, and Dick's fingers curl into his collar and unfasten his cape, snap
by snap. The wind is cold on Tim's neck for about half a second before Dick
presses his mouth to one side, hot and wet and sucking hard. That was a really
loud gasp, and Tim bites his lower lip before he lets loose another one, but at
that moment Dick bites his neck and squeezes his wrist till Tim moans
helplessly. He'd be mortified if he made this much noise in a fight. Dick sucks
on the side of Tim's neck, biting hard enough to hurt and feel really good, and
his fingers stroke the other side, and this time the shaking is definitely Tim.
No, it's both of them. Dick mumbles against Tim's throat, the hum of his voice
a buzz in the throbbing bite; he pulls off, his nose and lips brushing Tim's
skin, his breath curls of heat amid the cold tendrils of wind. For several
mindless moments all Tim can do is feel, Dick holding him and against him and
around him; then he hears what Dick is saying, and the words make his face burn
in the chill air, make him so hard his jock goes from merely really
uncomfortable to sheer torture.
"Robin. Little brother," Dick murmurs over Tim's pulse, and sucks a quick hard
kiss there. "Won't lose you, not ever, not again." He bites Tim again, on his
Adam's apple, not as roughly but still hard enough to hurt really well, and his
words echoing in Tim's ears hurt more and feel even better. "Got you," Dick
mutters, his voice little more than hot breath as he kisses and sucks marks all
around Tim's neck, his gauntleted fingers sliding up over Tim's cheek and
curving around the back of his head. Dick's mouth follows his hand, searing-hot
and nimble on Tim's jaw and cheek, and every nerve in Tim's skin has linked up
with his cock, and he has got to get this jock off or calm down or something.
Dick kisses Tim again, stroking Tim's face and wrist with firm pushes of his
thumbs, and calming down slides right down the list of options and falls off
the bottom. Tim's bitten lip throbs against Dick's pressing mouth, his pulse
pounds against Dick's thumb on his wrist, he can feel his heartbeat over his
whole body, he's thrusting his hips against Dick's thigh. He's entirely out of
control, a bundle of mindless nerve endings under Dick's hands and mouth and
body, and it should feel irrational, it should be terrifying, but it just feels
right... is sex always like this? The cold wind on Tim neck makes the bites
burn more. He's going to need a turtleneck. He needs...
Dick eases his hand out from behind Tim's head and drags his mouth from Tim's
long enough to bite down on his fingertips and pull the gauntlet off with his
teeth. Watching, Tim doesn't realize he's moaned till Dick smiles and tilts his
head a little. But the smile's already gone before Dick kisses Tim again, and
when Dick pushes his bare hand between them Tim can feel his fingers curl under
the belt, searching for the ways in.
For a moment, Tim's sweat prickles cold, and he can feel the rough stone behind
his head and arm, feel his fingers starting to go numb. It's not quite where
and when he might have imagined this. But this is Dick, the one he knows he
imagined; his other hand clutches the material over a warm broad shoulder, and
the sound of their kissing is already drowning out the voice in his head.
They're Robin and Nightwing; where else would they do this?
Dick gets the suit open and slips his hand in, and Tim's heart stutters; he
wraps his hand around Tim's dick and tugs him free of the jock, and between
relief and sensation Tim's whole body jerks. Dick chuckles into his mouth and
squeezes him, and that moan was so loud Tim's sure he would've heard an echo if
he could hear anything but Dick's breathing and the roar of blood in his ears.
Dick's hand is hot and rough and a little damp; it feels far more different
from Tim's than the different angle or even the larger, squarer shape should
account for, and Tim would be trying to figure out why but his brain has turned
into electrified jello that crackles with every stroke.
When Dick hitches Tim up closer to him, the cape falls; without it the stone is
cool even through the armor, and Tim's arm over his head is seriously chilled
and uncomfortable, and none of it matters because Dick is jacking him and
kissing him with the same steady quick tempo. Tim loses his grip on Dick's
shoulder, his eyes clamping shut so tightly he sees red streaks flare, and he
comes shaking and groaning, his hands flexing and his toes curling in midair.
Dick's rhythm breaks and fades, and he moans into Tim's mouth; he not-quite-
falls to his knees, releasing Tim's wrist to shield Tim's head from the stone
as they slide down to land on the cape. Tim, for his part, is stunned and
useless, coming to rest with his legs interthreaded with Dick's, his forehead
pressed to Dick's chest; he's so sweaty the glue on his mask is tacky, his
nipples ache against his T-shirt, his ears are tingling.
"Hey," Dick whispers. Tim lets himself rub his forehead once over Dick's racing
heart before he tips his head back to look up, but before he can Dick pulls his
hand off slowly, rubbing his thumb over the oversensitive head of Tim's cock;
the jolt goes through Tim like one last lightning strike, and he has to press
his eyes shut and shake.
Dick hums thoughtfully, and when Tim can see again Dick catches Tim's gaze as
he licks his thumb, looking at him with eyes so dilated and dark there's barely
any blue. "Mmm. Hey, Robin."
At this rate, Tim's brain is never going to return to functional. "Your
lenses," he gasps stupidly, and winces, and Dick's smile is almost wide enough
to cover everything beneath. "Yeah, I put them down," Dick says, stroking the
side of Tim's face as he toggles Tim's lenses as well. "There. Now I can see
your eyes."
That's just a little too much; Tim has to look down again, look away, and when
he does he notices, obvious even in the low light, that Dick is spattered on
one side from hip to ribcage. "I came all over you. I..." Tim is still Boy
Idiot. Dick's breathing hitches before he laughs. "Yeah," he agrees, reaching
back to a compartment on one boot, and even with a half-limp Tim sprawled
across him he moves smoothly.
Dick must be... his heart is still racing, his voice is kind of reedy, and Tim
knows how to get into the Nightwing suit, too. The hand Dick held against the
wall is clumsy with pins and needles, so Tim leans on it and lifts his
functional hand to his mouth, pulling his gauntlet off with his teeth the way
Dick had. It tastes like Dick's suit, like Dick's sweat, and Tim wants to suck
on it, but the way Dick freezes and gasps makes him want a free hand more, so
he lets it drop. "Tim," Dick moans as Tim curls a hand into his tights to tug
him free of his jock, and Tim can do this one-handed without fumbling, he can
ignore the twinges in the hand he's leaning on.
In fact... he thinks a bit and lets go, and Dick's entire body slumps a bit,
only to tense again when Tim tugs his tights down. Just a little, it's still
chilly out here, but now Tim can wrap his hand around Dick again, feeling his
brain skip like a scratched CD, and scoot back, lean down and use his mouth.
He gets a full-body jerk for that, and Dick's bare hand in his hair. "God. T-
Robin. God. I---" Tim sucks as hard as he can, and Dick's next moan is muffled;
Tim thinks of Dick biting his gauntleted fingers, and tastes Dick heavy and hot
on his tongue, and he's doing this for Dick but he's already getting turned on
again. It's a little ridiculous.
Tim bobs his head, and Dick's fingers sink into his hair but don't grab it. His
lower lip is throbbing again, that pleasure-pain feeling more towards pain as
he bumps his lips against his hand. The taste and feel... he's jerked off, of
course, but the way a cock felt in his hand is a lot more different than he
would have expected from how it feels in his mouth, velvet-skinned and hot with
blood, salt and musk and Dick, at once infinitely fascinating and incredibly
distracting.
Dick's fingers curl through Tim's hair, stroking his scalp. Tim briefly
considers if it might be better if he let go and used only his mouth, but
gagging isn't going to improve anyone's night. Instead he shifts, getting his
knees beneath him, and ow he's hard again and the wind is cold but it can't
chill away his arousal, not with the noises Dick is making, moaning on the
exhale and his inhale shaky... Tim was going to tuck himself away but finds his
gauntleted hand wrapped round his dick, cool and textured and really unlike
Dick's hand, but it'll do, because Dick's hand trembles as if he's really
struggling not to grab and push down. Tim bobs faster, sucking harder, licking
as rhythmically as he can, and spit is running down his fingers, wetting them,
so he tries moving his hand as well as his head.
Dick groans above him and twitches in Tim's hand and yanks his hand out of
Tim's hair, and Tim has half a heartbeat to think he's messed up before Dick
grabs his arm right over a bruise. Tim makes himself not wince, and then it
doesn't even hurt because Dick is groaning words. "Fuck, Tim, God, you're so
good, get up here and kiss me..." Dick curls both hands round Tim's arms, and
Tim pulls off with a wet pop and looks up, and Dick's eyes are closed but when
he opens them---
Dick drags Tim up and kisses him even harder this time, making his throbbing
lip flare; Tim somehow keeps his hand on Dick moving and then Dick grabs him
with a gauntlet that's thinner and warmer than his own. Tim falls against Dick,
clutching Dick's arm with his free hand, and he's going to be sore and when he
feels Dick come over his hand, shaking against him, he very nearly comes again
just from that.
Dick sucks in two, maybe three, breaths, lips still brushing Tim's, and
squeezes Tim's arm as he jerks him just a few more times, and Tim does come.
So-called 'shooting stars' look more like miniature comets.
"Oh," Dick puffs into Tim's hair, sounding winded. Maybe even stunned. Because
of Tim? "My God. Holy fuck, Robin." Dick shakes his head a little and kisses
the top of Tim's head. "Tim." Resting his lips on Tim's forehead, Dick pries
his fingers off Tim's arm and slides that hand down to the small of Tim's back.
"Dick," Tim whispers, once. He feels like he just sprinted across half of
Gotham, breathless and a little dizzy, but it's exhilarating, like flying. He
could get used to this. If he can have it again. Which he shouldn't.
He can't think about that now. He's warm and damp inside his suit, and his
mouth is still full of the way Dick tastes, and Dick's arm is tight around him.
Dick reaches across to pull off his glove, then presses both hands into Tim's
back hard enough to feel through the suit, one low and one higher. Tim goes to
return the hug, but realizes how sticky his hand is; at least now they're
probably even in how messy they've made each other.
Dick feels his hesitation, figures out the reason, and laughs so quietly that
Tim feels it on his face more than he hears it. "You might as well just go for
it," Dick murmurs. "We can wash our suits at my place. I've got Woolite for
Costumes."
Tim snorts, and laughs, and hugs Dick; the weather could be a lot more bitter,
it could be a blizzard, and he wouldn't feel cold. Dick hugs him tighter,
smiling against his ear, and Tim hazily wonders if this fits within the
parameters of talking without any distractions. Probably not, but it seems to
have worked, at least as long as he eventually gets off this roof before he
falls asleep, and doesn't miss school.
Then Dick goes rigid, and pushes Tim back by his shoulders, and his eyes are
wide and worried and blue. "Tell me you've done this before," he says urgently,
adding when Tim prepares to split hairs, "with someone else."
OK, was it that obvious? The point, back when it all had a point, had not been
to give Dick something new to break his brain against. But Tim's lenses are
down, and if he were capable of lying to Dick there never would have been a
problem in the first place. He nearly pulls away, but, just, no, this is Dick;
if they might lose Bruce Dick's going to need a Robin again. And Tim needs...
He doesn't finish that thought. But he does lean forward, pushing his face
against Dick's neck. Dick holds his shoulders in hard hands for a moment, then
sighs and slumps and wraps his arms around Tim again. "Jesus," Dick mumbles;
Tim just presses his face more tightly into spandex and muscle and Dick, so he
doesn't have to reply. It's different now, cooler; the rest of the world is
filtering back in, distant traffic and a whiff of rot and the sound of the
wind.
"We should put ourselves back together," Dick murmurs, though he doesn't make
any immediate move to let go of Tim again. Tim nods and hangs on for another
moment before he disentangles himself, letting himself look as reluctant as he
actually feels.
They straighten their suits, and Dick pulls out the wipe he'd been reaching for
earlier. After they've scrubbed their hands and gloves and wiped down their
suits, Dick's mouth twitches as he folds and stows it, but he doesn't crack a
joke; instead he just pulls Tim's cape up and snaps it around his throat. The
steel-lined collar is searingly cold against the bites Dick left; it's going to
be weird to feel them tomorrow as Tim sits in class, a reminder of Robin in the
middle of being Tim Drake. Of Robin, of Dick, of this.
Tim looks up at Dick, who appears calm, at least, if kind of somber. "Hey," he
says, and Dick smiles. "So. Um. Is everything good?"
"Everything's good." Dick's grin shines as he ruffles Tim's hair, but the
ruffle turns into stroking, which turns into another hug. "I can't believe he'd
commit murder," Dick says into Tim's hair, a deflated echo of his words in the
alley. "Robin. I just can't."
"I know." Tim doesn't exactly want to believe it either. But all he can think
of right now, whether he wants to or not, is Vesper Fairchild's silhouette and
bloodstain, darker on dark like an inkblot. "I know," he says again, wrapping
his arms a little tighter around Dick, and holds on as he lets Dick hold him.
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