Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/49957.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      Multi, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      DC_Comics
  Relationship:
      Nightwing/Robin_III/Robin_IV, Dick_Grayson/Stephanie_Brown/Tim_Drake
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Dick_Grayson, Stephanie_Brown, Robin
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome, Mentor-Student, Threesome_-_F/M/M, Nonmonogamy
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-01-12 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 9431
****** Play For Mortal Stakes ******
by Rubynye
Summary
     Robin, Nightwing, and Robin have an adventure between the city lights
     and the sky.
Notes
     Also includes two separate Dick/Tim/Steph ficlets.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Title: Play For Mortal Stakes
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: NC-17
Segment: Part 1 of 2
Pairing: Nightwing/Robin III/Robin IV (Dick/Steph/Tim)
Robin lands in a crouch, taking the impact with her knees. The carpet's thin
over the concrete underneath; you'd think an art dealer's would have enough
money for thick carpet, and there's Thug Three, coming up on the right with a
semi pistol in his hand. Robin springs sideways, the shots behind her
shattering a couple of display cases, flying glass bouncing off her cape as she
swipes a pot. It's round and flat, glossy black, two handles, nice heft; she
jiggles it in her hand, getting its feel, and watches Three lope nearer, his
pointy nose up, his grin stretching like he thinks he's got her pinned. There's
a groan and a crash around the corner, Nightwing beating the stuffing out of
Thugs One, Two, and Four-- no, there's Thug One, minus his nice jacket and one
shoe; Three glances back at his reinforcement, and Robin hoists the pot to
pitch it at his head--
Nightwing bounds into sight. "Robin!" He's yelling at her? The hell? He frowns,
glaring at her hand, and she obediently drops the pot before she thinks about
it. Damn command voice. Thug One's grabbing up a chunk of concrete, Three's
leveling his gun at her, and Robin fervently thinks shit and spins out of the
way. What the hell's up with Nightwing? She dives behind another pedestal just
as its display case explodes in a tinkling shower; tucking, she grabs out a
Batarang as she rolls ass over noggin, and aims upside-down to throw it
weighted-edge out. Bullseye between Three's werewolf eyebrows, bullets pocking
up the wall into the ceiling as he whuffs and falls. She runs forward, kicking
his gun backwards out of his hand, and if she breaks a couple of his fingers
with the stomp, maybe that'll teach him not to shoot at nice people in spandex.
Thug One's still coming, but not for long. He's only got concrete, and he does
her the favor of throwing it; it skims her cape as she flips forward, and then
his hands are flailing and empty and all he's got is a mouthful of her boot.
One's down, Three's down, and Nightwing has his hands on his hips like she did
something wrong. "What?" Robin asks as she pulls out a handful of zip-strips.
Might as well get it over with.
At least he's smiling again. "That kylix is priceless, you know."
Robin yanks Three's strip tight. She didn't actually break his fingers. Too
bad. "The Kiy-what?" Nightwing doesn't look like he took any cracks to his head
that could've actually hurt him, and she knows just how hard that head really
is under the ruffled up black hair and the pretty smile.
"What are they teaching you kids--" She throws a chunk of plaster; he catches
it. "--in schools these days?" He snickers as she flips him off, obnoxiously
smirking and really hot; after a successful fight the world always looks
better, everything's brighter and more vivid, but he's so graceful and gorgeous
it's ridiculous. And she's thinking like a crushed-out kid, so before she can
blush she rolls her eyes and bends to shove One on his side, the heavy asshole,
and zip-strip him.
Stepping over him, Nightwing pats her shoulder, and Steph grins like an idiot.
She ducks her head even though she knows there's no point, but... she really
does like being Robin with Nightwing. It's way different from being Batman's
sidekick. Nightwing's usually pretty cheerful, tells awesomely corny jokes,
flirts with everyone he's not beating up, and gets why it's completely
necessary to jump off things just for the helluvit. Even though whatever crap
went down in Bludhaven with that dead crime boss was bad enough to make him
switch towns with Tim, she's only caught him brooding a couple times. She can
see why Tim got so much out of teaming up with him, and ever since everything
with his dad... these days, especially, it'd probably be good for them to hang
out more.
Nightwing picks up the pot she grabbed earlier, holding it like it's a soap
bubble even though it's all glued together. "A kylix. An Ancient Greek wine
cup, thousands of years old." He tilts it forward, showing her the inside
center, a picture in black paint on red clay of a guy in a cloak leaning on a
twisty stick. Robin looks at it, and shrugs, and Nightwing looks down into the
cup like it's full of something precious. "OK, it's not quite priceless," he
says thoughtfully, turning it lightly in his fingers, "but even the Waynes or
the Kanes would count their change before shopping for one."
"Really old and really pricey. Ooh." Robin looks around, at the similar glossy
black pots and other bits of amazingly old art in their cases. "The owners of
this place must be loaded, then. Why would they bother with illegal stuff?" If
they figure that out maybe they can find the contraband four thugs couldn't.
Nightwing gives her one of those proud-teacher smiles, and she half wants to
roll her eyes and half wants to grin back. "That, o fledgling, is the
question."
Robin sticks her chin out. "Whatever, Flapman." At her feet, Three groans, and
she generously doesn't kick him. "So, is the history lesson over yet, or are we
waiting for these guys to wake up?"
Nightwing smirks sideways, setting the pot --kylix-- down lightly on its
pedestal. "I've seen yogurt with more culture--" When she drowns him out with a
loud juicy raspberry, he starts laughing, head tipped back, and just like that
he's not Nightwing, he's Dick, and she still can't freaking believe that's his
name. He gives her a big bright grin, her tummy does a stupid little-girl
lurch, and she's smiling before she can stop herself. "C'mon, Robin. Let's put
'em to bed."
Or at least around the center pillar, tied to each other in a cozy little ring.
They're just about done when both their communicators beep in Tim's three-two-
three pattern. "Nightwing, Robin." Over the comm his voice is extra-flat, dry
as paper. Steph rolls her eyes.
"Robin!" Nightwing ties off the last knot. "How goes?"
"No immediate situations. Batgirl says hi from Sicily. You?"
She picks it up. "Not bad, Robin. Nightwing's been teaching me about fine art."
Tim doesn't even smile; she knows she'd hear it in his voice. "There is one
issue. I could use your advice, both of you." Yeah, okay, that makes her smile,
as she follows Nightwing out the window. The sky's clearing, wispy clouds
pulling back to show a couple stars. "The super-guns. Penguin's looking for
buyers again."
Robin frowns. She's not the detective department, but she knows what that
means. "He's got a new way to ship them." It'd better not involve kids this
time, or it's gonna take Nightwing and Robin to keep her from punching his ugly
face till it caves in.
"Exactly. Meet me--?"
"Kane Building?" Nightwing's already half onto the roof, and she hears him
mostly through the comm. Robin runs as she rappels to catch up. "We're five
minutes out."
"I'm eight. See you there." The Grim Wonder signs off, and Nightwing glances
over his shoulder at her, completely and obviously worried; sometimes she
really doesn't know why he bothers with a little pointy mask. If she had her
Spoiler mask she could make the face she feels like, but she doesn't, she's
Robin. So she shrugs one shoulder and smiles, and Nightwing gives her just as
lopsided of a grin. Tim'll be okay. He has to be.
                                     _^*^_
Tim will be okay. "Oh, my God." He has to be. "Oh my God." Steph can't even see
him. "Oh my fucking God."
"Don't swear in uniform, Robin." Nightwing -- Dick, and she can totally fucking
believe that's his name -- is leaning back in shadow against the steel antenna
shaft, ankles crossed, completely goddamn relaxed, and anyway she's out of
curses. She leans as far as she can over the edge, till she's teetering, and
she can't see anything, not even the yellow flutter of Tim's inner cape, just
the neon and black of the city way below.
"He's gone," falls out of her mouth, little and scared and stupid, and she
bites her lip. He has to be okay. He's Robin. And Nightwing just threw him off
the roof. Maybe Dick's mind-controlled, or some evil double, or... Steph spins
to face him, folding her arms around herself, backing up out of reach as the
breeze wraps her cape around her and nothing backs her up but a whole helluva
lot of air.
His grin glints sharp in the darkness, all about how long she spent with her
back wide open to him. "He'll be fine. It'll probably cheer him up."
"What? What the hell?" Cheer him up? Yeah, Tim was being extra crispy grim
tonight, grousing about how loud they were even though they were up on the
little balcony of the Kane's radio-antenna; who was gonna hear them, Man-Bat?
She could agree with Dick about that, and have a great time teaming up to tease
Tim, but Steph's got the feeling he likes it when Tim's all Batman-ey anyway.
And then, no warning, no nothing, Dick dumped Tim off the balcony. She can't
take him, she's not sure she can get down from this high by herself, and if
he's mind-controlled and she lets him escape Batman's gonna kill her.
And Dick dropped Tim off the balcony, and she's vibrating with adrenaline, and
why is she noticing right now how cute his big wide "trust-me" smile is? Steph
balls her fists tighter, trying to swallow down her shakes; Dick gives her an
eyebrow, and then, at least, he starts to look a little concerned. "You're not
really worried, are you? Because--"
"You," Tim says behind her, pushing himself up with both hands, and Steph
doesn't care what else he's gonna say, because he's smiling and windblown and
okay; she wraps her arms around him and tosses herself backwards to haul him
onto the balcony as she kisses him. He splutters, Dick laughs above them as
they hit and slide till her hair flops over the edge into thin air, and Steph
kisses him till he sits them up and sucks in a shaky breath and kisses her
back. "Uh--" Steph feels the adrenaline rush racing in his pulse and kisses him
again, holding his face with both hands, suits squeaking as she slides down him
onto her knees. "Robin." Tim's hands are on her ribs, his smile's wide, and his
cheeks are red all the way up to his ears. "I'm okay. I'm fine. It was fun."
"Fun?" Steph echoes like a dummy, as Dick laughs so hard it'd serve him right
if he fell right off. "You-- argh!" She jumps to her feet. She can't hit Tim,
it's not a spar, and she can't hit Dick, he'll see it coming. She lunges, right
at Dick's smile, gets her arms around his neck and kisses him.
She doesn't have any idea why, but she goes with the hunch; his mouth is softer
than Tim's, and he actually gasps and kisses her back much faster, his hands
flattening on her back and pulling her up. And they're still kissing, that's
his tongue and he's good and Tim's laugh is warm and quiet, and Dick kisses
Steph till she moans and her brain steams up and she can't think. Whoa. She
rips her mouth away, staggering back, and bounces off Tim; Dick looks like he's
been walloped, fingers to his red (wet, shiny, Jesus) mouth. Which would be a
win if she didn't completely feel like she'd taken a head-hit herself. A half
dozen hits.
Tim touches her over her ribs again, fingertips light and hesitating, and then
spreads his hand out and slides his arm around her. She puts her hand on his as
she looks back and he's smiling, for real, up at Dick. "You are. Such a."
Dick's still touching his bottom lip, lightly as Tim touched her, but he smiles
back big enough for a photo. "Yeah, I am." His eyes are so wide Steph could
probably see it even if she didn't know him. "And... " He looks at her now, she
can see the shift through the mask, and he's totally being charming, but he's
totally being sincere. "You OK?"
What, because of a kiss? Like she's some little girl. Steph opens her mouth,
and her lips are still tingling. All her skin's tingling, electric little
crackles all over, and only Tim's hand is keeping her still. She should say
something, but, what? She glances at Tim, and his smile is little and shy and
would be Christmas-morning eager on anyone else; he looks at her and he's still
smiling, and waiting. Leaving it up to her.
And what's to say? It's all over their faces. "Never better, Wonder Guy, but
can we get down from here? Together?"
Dick nods, hand out. "A break and a snack, my place?" With his expression all
hopeful and wide-open like that, he doesn't look any older than they are. Like
they'll all just talk, with Tim as shivery-full of adrenaline as she is, and
only he would deal with the rush by going as still as a gargoyle. She waits for
Tim's nod, chin skimming her hair, and the adorably obvious relief in Dick's
smile, before she grins and reaches out.
Nightwing's held her hand umpteen times before, to catch her or pull her up or
brace for a move, but this time's different, like she's got x-ray fingers that
can feel his warm hand through his glove. Tim lets her go but she reaches back
to grab his hand as Dick wraps his arm round her waist, and her heart's beating
triple-time as the three of them jump, together. As they dive into the rush of
air Tim squeezes and lets go, still right beside them, and honestly, Steph's
really not sure they'll even make it to Dick's place.
                                     _^*^_
"Oh god, Tim, make him stop!" They completely failed to make it to Dick's
place. Steph's laughing and breathless on her back, bare thighs flexing around
Dick's head, fingers tangled in his hair; every time his elbows squeak against
her cape he thinks of his bed, of a ceiling instead of the sky, and lets his
laugh buzz through his lips to make Steph wiggle against his face and thump his
shoulderblade with her heel. By now he's got a great bruise coming even with
his armor, and he can't and wouldn't want to taste anything but her, salty-
musky-sweet and gorgeous. "Oh migod fucking dammit!" He shapes his lips around
her hard little clit, sucking gently, and she curses up into a shriek, bucking
so hard his hold reflexively tightens. Really, she won't fall off the roof.
They've got five feet of flat roof and even a railing, and besides, she's a
Robin. On the other hand, she has a great ass to hold onto, round and full and
firm as he digs his fingers in.
Tim's laughing, or groaning, six of one, half a dozen. It's a little hard to
hear either way with Steph's thighs squeezing his head, her pulse fluttering
against his tongue as she comes, and Dick hasn't been so happy to be out of air
since, well, in awhile. Steph comes down whimpering, and Dick gives himself
another point and lets her grab a breath before he licks down along the inner
curve, and she's shaking harder even before she's laughing. "Really, really."
She drags on his hair, a long slow tug that mostly just warms his scalp to
match his face. "I've come, like, ten--." Dick sucks a fold into his mouth,
smooth and hot between his lips, and she stops talking with an incredulous
moan. He knows he can pull another out of her, and she tastes wonderful. She
feels wonderful, laughing and groaning, shuddering when he licks her clit
again. Her hand tightens sharply in Dick's hair, and Tim makes a short sound as
she grips his hand just as hard.
Her skin's soft and hot against Dick's cheeks, over muscles that tense like
steel as she groans, her bunched-up tights brushing the back of his head like
fingers. He should give her a couple fingers again, but that would mean letting
go of that lovely ass, and now the tension in her thighs and the tone of her
gasps is fading from 'mmm, yes,' to 'okay, really, stop now', so he eases off.
With a couple kisses to the soft smoothness of her inner thigh, and one or two
to her tummy under her hiked-up skirt, brushing his lips over the long scar.
And maybe one more to the curve of her hip, because, before he lets her go.
They're a block over from Grand Avenue, so the glow of streetlights is bright
enough to see the Robins by, the light from below making them look like they're
floating, and Dick's pretty much never about to get over there being two. His
having two, little siblings, successors, Robins. Steph's fingers slide free of
Dick's hair as he sits back on his heels, and she drops her hand over her eyes,
breathing hard and exhaling giggles, golden-pink in the sodium light. Tim's
still nicely flushed, since sex is even better than free-fall, but his smile's
not quite wide enough yet to suit the red lipstick smudges across his mouth;
one gauntleted hand is tangled with Steph's, the other stealthily pressed
against his crotch like they're not all friends here. It's got to hurt, and
Dick does not think about how achingly hard he is himself, throbbing with
Steph's pulse, not least because he'd rather think about making Tim as relaxed
and smiling as he should be before duty calls them off this rooftop. The breeze
is cool on Dick's wet face, and he swipes his hand across it and licks his
palm, tasting her one more time on his skin. Because.
Steph pushes up on her elbows, looking nothing like worn out, damp and
incandescent with wisps of hair plastered down along her hairline. Her grin's
bright and perfect, the city lights wink through her fluffed-up hair like
they're caught in it, and Dick thinks briefly of fire-bright hair, of sweet
smiling ferocity... one day Steph's joining the Titans, Dick promises himself
again, as he grins back and holds still a moment longer.
Just until she takes a last deep breath, just until she kicks him in the hip
hard enough to throb sweetly. "Were you trying to kill me? You so were."
"You're welcome, Robin." Steph's growl is sharp and thrilling, and so is her
lunge and her kiss. Dick kisses her back, her lip plush between his teeth and
her waist pliant in the curve of his arm, but he glances up through the bright
cloud of her hair at Tim, whose observer/participant balance is still a bit out
of whack. His lenses aren't even down.
Steph's thinking the same thing; she pulls back with a hot lick to his cheek
and a grin that's full of plans. For her the eyebrow waggle's pretty
restrained, but it'd be a tell for Tim if he weren't distracted. Fortunately,
distraction's what they're going for. "Hey, sweetie," she says with a little
hair-toss, and Tim inclines his head towards her.
Dick pounces, getting Tim's arms above the elbow, smiling against his cheek
when he sets his mouth in such a hard little line he must actually be
surprised. "C'mon, you can't just sit way over there." Dick hangs on as Tim
grunts and plants his feet; if he really wanted to get away he could, but he's
just pulling hard enough to feel Dick's hold on his biceps.
"It's an ideal observation point." Tim sounds like he's protesting, but he lets
Dick haul him onto his lap. Steph's up on one knee, pulling up her tights,
which is sensible but kind of a pity, and Dick wonders one last time if Tim
helped her find panties that perfect shade of red. Her eyes shine out of her
mask like after the best fights, and her laugh is softly gleeful when Dick
tucks his face into Tim's soft straight hair and unsnaps his cape. "Ooof. Are
you done dragging me across the roof? You could've let me come quietly."
"It'll be better if you're noisy," Dick murmurs against the warm shell of Tim's
ear, pulling the cape free and sliding an arm around him, and Tim's exhale is
nicely shaky. Dick tosses Tim's cape on the pile and toggles his lenses, and
Tim's twist pushes his cheek into Dick's palm.
His eyes are a little skeptical, though, as he reaches back. "Seriously,
Nightwing." Tim's low voice makes Dick shiver; he should be 'Dick' for this, he
can see in Tim's eyes that he is, but... "Don't you want--" But Dick can go
with it, as the look in Tim's eyes simmers his blood, as Tim trails his fingers
across the hemline of Dick's top. If Dick let him he could disarm the suit
upside-down and backwards; Dick's skin prickles against the material under
Tim's fingertips, and he has to swallow hard and remind himself he and Robin
have a plan, think about the way Tim's gonna feel shuddering between them,
think of the way he'll smile after they make him come.
"I want you to enjoy yourself." Dick kisses Tim's ear just as Steph leans in to
kiss his cheek and swing a leg across his lap. Perfect timing; they shock a
gasp out of him, and Dick sees her cheek move as she grins, same time as he
does. "Did you have fun watching? Robin's gorgeous, isn't she?"
Over Tim's shoulder, Robin blushes red, sticking out her tongue. Her cheek's
pressed against Tim's, and when Tim shivers again Dick watches her glance at
him, her mouth softening and rounding. Tim's so contained. It has to surprise
her sometimes, how explosively he lets go. It keeps surprising Dick.
In the good way. Tim's mouth is still set, his eyebrows crinkling his mask, and
they draw down more when Dick runs his tongue along the curved boundary between
warm fine skin and smooth thick polymer. "Yes, she is. You--" a hitch, as Dick
licks down Tim's hairline to his ear "--you both are. When you're not--
" Another hitch, and the way Steph's jaw moves she just bit him at the edge of
what his collar covers. "Treating me like a chew toy--"
Dick's lips are pleasantly sore already, and the spiky-soft hairs on Tim's nape
make them buzz. A nice side benefit is hearing Tim choke on a gasp; Dick sucks
a slow kiss to the smooth pale skin just below, feeling Tim's hand tighten on
his thigh till the gauntlet squeaks as he licks the invisible line of the
collar. Steph's hair brushes Dick's cheek as she kisses Tim's, reaching up to
grip Dick's shoulder while Tim shakes hard.
Settling back against the lip of the roof, steel plating cool behind him,
Gotham glittering below him, and two Robins on his lap, Dick spares a moment to
grin before he keeps on kissing the back of Tim's neck as Steph kisses his
mouth. Pressed so tight their suits stick and stutter as they breathe, Dick can
feel Tim's moan building before he can even hear it, a low thrum through his
lips; he sucks a little harder as Tim shakes a little harder, not letting up
until they drag it out of Tim, low and sweet. Steph moans with him, hums a
laugh and pulls back. "C'mon, Boy Wonder." Her hand's around his wrist, his
presses the full curve of her thigh. "You know you love it."
Dick grins at her past Tim's ear, and her smile's clear up to her eyes before
she shuts them. When she kisses Tim again one of them shifts, or both, and the
squirm across his trapped cock sends a shivery, painfully gorgeous twitch up
Dick's spine, but he can wait, and he will, when he wants to watch Tim enjoy
himself first. This is all too dangerous, too important not to make it fun, and
there's no way Dick can say that after how Tim lost his dad, but he can hold
him, and kiss beneath his ear, and feel it when he writhes, just once. So far.
Steph pushes Tim back against Dick, and Dick breathes in the feel of him for a
moment, all hard little muscles under his armor and the press of his shoulder
over Dick's heart, as he trails kisses up to Tim's pulse pounding in his
temple. Time to raid the belt, and Tim's reorganized it a little, but... there.
Dick runs his hand up Tim's chest, brushing the back over Steph's armored
breasts to make her giggle, and thinks of how hard his nipples must be against
his undershirt, how soft and sweet and hot she'll feel out of her suit. Hand on
her shoulder, Dick pulls them in a little tighter, and Tim breathes a little
sound of anticipation and reaches up and back to push his hand into Dick's
hair.
Tim still has his gauntlets on, and Dick wants to tease him about fingerprints,
but Steph's chin's on Tim's shoulder and her lips are soft and ripe, her mouth
hot and fierce. She tastes like laughter and lipstick and Tim; when they deepen
the kiss, making it wet and noisy, Tim's hand tightens in Dick's hair as he
listens, breathing hard, gasping a little. But not moaning. Yet.
Dick strokes Tim's abs on the way, pressing hard enough to be felt through the
tunic; when he reaches Tim's tights he meets Steph's hand there, gauntlet and
all, and has to stop sucking on her tongue long enough to laugh, because his
kinky little brother does like it like that. She laughs in reply, biting his
lip, and when they each grab a side and tug Tim breathes almost as loud as a
moan and lifts his hips for them. Steph pulls away with a sweet little gasp,
and Dick presses his nose to Tim's damp neck, breathing in his scent and
Steph's on him till the mix makes his head spin; as he licks up along Tim's
jaw, Dick and Steph unsnap his jock like their hands belong to one person. Mmm,
teamwork.
They grin at each other as Tim's head tips back onto Dick's shoulder; Dick
trades a kiss for a bite and rummages out a packet of lube. He mashes it open
and completely douses Steph's gauntlet, but it's a little hard to do precision
work with Tim's teeth pressed into his bottom lip, the bright-hot pain
crackling down his nerves. His own cock really wants to be out, thank you, and
all the more when Tim finally moans into his mouth, when Steph strokes him.
Tim's pulling that handful of Dick's hair now, holding Dick's head and not
letting him up from the kiss. It's... intense, Tim's mouth familiarly hot and
desperately open, and Dick tries to match the rhythm of his lips to the rhythm
he can feel in Steph's forearm above her gauntlet, hear in the lovely wet
squelch of her moving hand. She laughs, wild and happy like when she's
swinging, tightening her thighs around theirs, and Dick strokes up over her
shoulder to her neck, cupping the contrast of cool hard armor and warm living
skin, her pulse against the heel of his hand.
"Mmm." Steph wiggles, pressing Tim against Dick, and even muffled by his tongue
that was a shout to make his heart bang against his ribs. Tim's doing this
little tight writhe, jiggling his hips back and forth between Steph's hand and
Dick's lap, and Dick tries hard to concentrate against how that bouncy ride
feels and kiss Tim as best he can, tries to remember what he's doing as Tim's
hard-wrung moans shake his brain apart. Steph tosses her head, pulling away
from Dick's touch, and his hand falls back against Tim's cheek, fingertips
skimming the angle of his cheekbone. Tim's shuddering like underground
earthquakes, Dick's pulse is pounding in his ears so loud he almost misses the
little thinky-sound Steph makes, and she speeds her hand up with a little twist
and nuzzles Dick under his jaw. And bites perfectly hard, so it pulses hot and
sweet.
Dick didn't expect that; he should've, she's Robin. She shocks a high-pitched
noise out of him that seems to echo through Tim, who shakes like he'll come
apart, groans like nothing like pain and comes in long tight spasms, and Dick
can't help but moan in sympathy as he feels Tim's orgasm vibrate through his
own body. Steph giggles quietly and kisses the bite, her mouth hot and soft;
her hair flutters over Dick's face as she kisses Tim's chin and cheek, as he
slowly lets go of his tight clutch on Dick's hair. When Dick can move without
losing hair he lifts his head to see Tim's face, and lightly kisses Tim's
parted lips and flushed cheeks as he watches him relax, rare and gorgeous, his
crinkled eyelids smoothing, till there's the smile. And then a blush, darker
than the flush, red enough to match his suit.
Steph laughs out loud and kisses him, and Tim tips his face up to hers, his
shoulders easy as he wraps both arm around her; she puts him back together as
they sit on Dick's lap, kissing so beautifully they make him want to watch them
fight back to back. Dick thinks about kisses and rescues and fights, about the
bright-haired beautiful women he's kissed on rooftops and how neither of them
is his anymore.
Then they look up. Tim's smiling, Steph is beaming, Gotham glows below them,
and Dick can't see anything but what he does have. He smiles, one hand on each
of their shoulders, and the Robins smile back. Just before those smiles sharpen
and they knock him down.
Dick's bruised shoulder throbs against the dimple-textured steel roofing. Tim
goes down with him, lying on his chest, but Steph sits back on his thighs,
reaching to strip off her gauntlet; Dick reaches up faster, watching both sets
of green-masked eyes flare when he catches her wrist and pulls her hand to his
mouth. There's the weird chemical-polymer taste of the gauntlets, and the
strange sweetness of lube, but there's also the taste of life in general and
Tim in specific, the texture of the gauntlet rasping Dick's tingling lips and
the way Steph giggles and Tim blinks when he runs his tongue between her
fingers. "Jesus," she murmurs, watching him, wiggling her fingers a little,
completely not pulling away.
"You look remarkably self-satisfied," Tim says, still smiling. Feeling
victorious and trying to look as innocent as possible under the circumstances,
Dick pauses with Steph's middle finger in his mouth, and she laughs so hard he
can feel her vibrate. A gust of breeze whips up her hair, and Tim looks up at
her with soft eyes and a grin. An actual grin. Score.
Then Tim turns back to Dick with narrow eyes, looking almost stern enough to be
scary. Almost, in the fun way, and Dick shivers. "Considering I still owe you
for my unexpected flight."
"Yeah," Steph agrees, grin bright and wicked. "I mean, my nerves!" She pitches
her voice oddly, imitating someone.
Letting Steph's fingers sllp out of his mouth, Dick widens his eyes. "Oh, I'm
in for it, then." She giggles, and Tim snickers. "You wouldn't throw me off the
roof like this, would you?" He's not completely joking, considering just how
badly he wants to come, his entire body centered on the heavy throb behind his
balls.
"Fortunately for you, I have other ideas." Tim stretches like their suits
aren't in the way, and Dick wants to wrap both arms around him and feel that
writhe again. But Tim's got a plan, and Dick can't wait to find out what it is.
"His hands, Robin."
"Sure thing, Robin." Steph shimmies up to kneel over Dick's head and pin his
wrists down. That puts her breasts in his face; when he licks up the curve of
one he can't taste her, just armor and smoke and air, but the breathy giggle is
reason enough and more to do it anyway. Tim smiles loud enough for a laugh and
kisses Dick, hard mouth and flexing tongue, pressing his head down and peeling
down his tights; when he pulls away and squirms down Dick's body, Steph leans
in grinning for a kiss as well, and Dick stretches out happily on the glowing
ache of his bruise, beneath a pile of Robins under the plum-clear Gotham sky.
***** Play For Mortal Stakes *****
Title: Play For Mortal Stakes
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: NC-17
Segment: Part 2 of 2
Pairing: Nightwing/Robin III/Robin IV (Dick/Steph/Tim)
 
This is for his benefit.
They haven't said that, of course. They wouldn't. But Tim can't help but think
it, as he lies under the Gotham sky in a heap of Robins and former-Robins,
making all in all three. He's tucked between Dick's side and the lip of the
roof, Steph facing him across Dick's chest and the Randall's roof slanting off
into the sky above them. Steph and Dick have their arms around his waist, as if
he might roll away, and Dick's other arm is around Steph. Her hand's beneath
his top, petting his chest, and they've all been lying there for at least five
minutes; Tim could easily stay till morning with his head on Dick's shoulder,
watching Steph's quiet face as she strokes Dick contemplatively. If he lets
them, Dick and Steph might just cuddle him all night.
"Hmm," Steph muses. "You've got more hair than I'd've thought." The motion of
her hand shows that she's threading her fingers through it.
"Really?" Dick sounds a little drowsy.
"Yeah. I mean, I saw pics and vids of your Robin days, and your legs were
pretty sleek."
"Oh." Dick chuckles, breath stirring Tim's hair. "I used to shave them. It was
a real pain."
"You think that's a bitch?" Steph's teeth shine. "Try waxing your pits."
"And here I was, trying to enjoy the afterglow." Tim rolls away and sits up,
and they snicker almost in unison. He's hungry and sticky and smells like
precisely as much exertion as he's had tonight, and when Dick and Steph look up
at him all he really wants is to lie back down. "I didn't--" Tim's voice has
softened in all their warmth, but he still has to say it. "This isn't why I
came here."
Steph's smile fades a little, which isn't what he wanted, but Dick's widens. "I
know, little brother." He folds himself upright. "But it's good for you." He
pushes his hand into Tim's hair, the ruffle sliding down into a caress.
"Did you just call him 'little brother'?" Steph sits up too, lotus-style, on
the verge of a laugh.
"Of course I did, Fliedermiss." Dick dodges her punch but not her kick, and
they have a brief seated sort of spar, all flying limbs. Tim thinks of a
cartoon drawing of a dust cloud with hands and feet sticking out, as he watches
Steph duck and lunge upwards, knocking Dick onto his back again. He catches her
wrists and pushes her up, she squeezes him with her knees around his waist, and
they laugh, nothing but happy. They really do look good together. Dick pushes
as Steph leans back, and she lands right in Tim's lap, and he hides his smile
in the sweat and balsam scent of her hair.
Kissing Tim's cheek, she wiggles off to sit beside him. "Besides, little
brother." Dick sits up by pushing himself up and swinging his feet beneath
himself, which is overly elaborate and really fun to watch. "It's so cute when
you get all businesslike." He sprawls back against the sloped roof in a
pornographic parody of relaxation that makes Tim feel warm despite, or maybe
because of, everything tonight. "So, tell me and Robin why you came to town."
Steph breathes around her suppressed giggle, and if Tim looks over at her, or
at Dick's particular blend of smirk and grin, he's going to laugh. With his
lenses retracted and his cape off he feels stuck halfway between states, but he
did have a reason for coming to Gotham. Besides them. "Penguin's guns are here
somewhere. I called after listening to my latest surveillance recordings."
"You bugged the Beak!" Steph sounds impressed enough to make Tim square his
shoulders. Dick looks impressed enough to make him blush.
With a small headshake, Tim does both. "Just his office, the real one. Several
times, but this is the first one his sweepers haven't found. It doesn't pick up
the southwest corner well, but it's been useful."
"Still, good job, Robin." Dick emphasizes the words with a shoulder pat,
leaving his hand in place. "I saw your plans of the place, with his
alterations. It must've been tricky."
Tim looks at his hands. "It's what I'm there to do."
Dick squeezes Tim's shoulder. "You're allowed to be proud of yourself on
occasion, Boy Humble." He squeezes again, sliding his hand inward towards Tim's
neck.
Tim's face is absolutely burning. "When I've done something as major as
cleaning up a whole city's police department, I will be."
Dick startles right out to the ends of his fingers, and Tim looks up without
lifting his head to see Dick's expression go almost shy. "I... I had help. Lots
of it. You could say I helped them, really."
Steph looks from one of them to the other, throws her head back, and laughs
till it rings off the roof slanting above them. "You two are unbelievable," she
says warmly. "So, where're the guns?"
"That I don't know." Tim doesn't tremble when Dick slides the hand down his
arm, to rest on the skin above his gauntlet. Well, not much. "But from the
keywords the computer picked up and what I listened to myself, I think it has
to do with an art dealership. He's been working with several to replace the
pieces damaged and ruined in the burglary he staged on the Bludhaven Art
Museum."
"We were at an art dealership when you called." As Dick speaks, Steph snorts
quietly and checks her belt pockets. "We spotted a thug disabling the security
system, and found his three partners searching for something and talking about
back pay."
"Penguin's recently had some staff turnover; a few even survived." Before Tim
asks, Steph puts her camera in his hand. "You took pictures?"
"To figure out what they were looking for. They weren't much help." Steph
shrugs apologetically; Tim imagines her knocking them all out, and really
rather wants to kiss her again. He makes himself give her a grateful smile
instead and turns to the camera.
Ancient art, smashed pedestals, the usual detritus, till one of the thugs, bald
with heavy eyebrows and a kicked-in mouth, jogs Tim's memory. He stares at the
picture for another moment, absently noting that the size and shape of the
bruising across the mouth and jaw indicates that Steph's boot probably
inflicted the damage, and places the man. Kelly. "Amstrad Kelly. Gunman and
organizer, fired after Batgirl busted three of his crews in one week."
"That's our B.G." Steph grins proudly.
"And our case." Dick leans over Tim's shoulder to look at the picture, and
coincidentally breathe warm on his ear. "Ten to one it's that gallery."
"What's the address?" They have to return, tonight, before Penguin's contacts
discover their gallery's been hit.
"Wait, before we go back." Steph holds out her hand. "When the owners get in
and see the place they'll move the guns asap, right?" She still pronounces the
acronym like a word. Tim nods and doesn't let himself smile. "So, why should we
go tear the place apart? All we have to do is wait till morning and catch them
with their hands full."
Tim smiles, and at the edge of his vision, Dick reaches out across his shoulder
to squeeze hers. "Good thought, Robin. That's the plan."
"Thanks, Nightwing!" Steph grins and tosses her hair, her headband tilting a
further several degrees. "Unlike some people, I can take a compliment."
Tim thinks about that. Then he leans over and kisses her, compensating for her
most likely dodge, and she "mmph!"s against his mouth, punches him in the
shoulder, and kisses him back. It's not really protocol. It's just much better.
When Tim sits back Dick's smile is unexpectedly sad, worrisomely so. "We should
call this in to Oracle."
That explains it. Steph looks surprised. "She wasn't listening?"
"She switched the channel off when we hit this roof." Dick smiles wider and
looks sadder. "I told her you two were with me, and..."
"Oh," Tim says, unnecessarily. He hadn't -- he'd been kissing Steph, just
before Dick kissed her. He'd been distracted.
Steph scoots over beneath Dick's free arm, so Tim follows her lead and sits
closer. "Sure, I'll call it in." She smiles up at Dick, conspicuously not
teasing him; he wraps his arm around her shoulders and tilts his head to rest
his cheek against Tim's hair.
They sit like that as Steph says, "channel three, Oracle," and gives her
report. Tim listens more absently than he should, Steph's quiet voice washing
over his ears, and finds himself mostly paying attention to the way it feels as
Dick breathes. When the flat computerized voice says, "Got it, Robin. Tell the
boys hi," he can hear crisp amusement, but something else beneath. Several
other things.
Still. Dick sits up, reaches over to snag Steph's cape, and fluffs up her hair
as he fastens it for her. "Your headband's falling out."
"Yeah, my hair's gotta be a mess." She reaches up with both hands. "Hey, watch
that thing, it's--"
"Sharp?" Dick pulls it out and juggles it from hand to hand while Steph pats
down her hair; when he starts tossing it over her head she rolls her eyes and
snatches it out of the air between his hands.
Dick fluffs up her hair again, his shrug away from her swat hardly even a
dodge. "Stop messing up my hair!"
"But it's such great hair. Very alive." Dick twitches a few locks one more time
before bending back into a handstand, and Tim contemplatively watches him flip
onto his feet. He can see how Steph might remind Dick of Kory. Rather how he
could see, even before Cass said anything, how she'd remind Bruce of Jason.
As she watches Dick, Steph makes a little huffing noise of annoyed admiration,
and is no one but herself. Not to be outdone, she cartwheels to her feet; Tim
reaches up, and she pulls him up too. "Ooof. O said there wasn't much up out
there, and right now I just don't mind."
"Full night?" The smirk feels good.
"Jerk." Her punch feels better, and the kiss best of all. Steph puts her hand
on Tim's cheek as she kisses him, looking up into his eyes as she toggles his
lenses. Once they're up, Tim closes his eyes until she pulls away. "C'mon, our
bikes are at Fifth and Simonson. Did you ride in?"
"No, I took the train." Tim thinks of his bikes, both in severe need of
repairs, with a guilty twinge. "I should catch the 2:12 back."
Steph makes a face, and Dick laughs close behind them, fingers curving lightly
around Tim's neck as he snaps Tim's cape. "Go back to the Cave. Alfred would
love to see you."
It would be mutual, and Tim shouldn't, and he smiles. Either side of him, Dick
and Steph smile back, as Dick sets his hands on both their shoulders. "Catch
some 'z's, Robins. Up at 6:30, OK?"
When Dick steps back Steph steps with him. "Where are you going?"
He shrugs, spreading his hands. "To play gargoyle for a bit. I'll catch up, I
promise." Hands on her hips, Steph looks at him, and he looks back, steady and
open, till she smiles. They're Robin and Nightwing, and Tim knew she'd be great
at this, knew they'd develop a rapport. Dick smiles dazzlingly back and sets a
hand on her cheek, and Tim watches them and breathes, or tries to; he can feel
his chest hitch when Dick identically cups his face. And murmurs, "Robins."
Dick's voice is so warm Tim thinks inescapably of being kissed in hidden
places, of soft lips on the back of his neck. He shivers, and smiles, and folds
his hand around Steph's. "See you then, Nightwing." She threads her fingers
between his and squeezes, and they don't let go as they grab the railing and
jump together; Steph beside him as they plunge off the roof, Tim can feel Dick
behind them, watching with a smile.
                                     _^*^_
Dick sends Tim and Steph to take the gallery staff, grinning with older-brother
pride as he watches them jump from the ledge overlooking the back door. Tim
tries not to enjoy fighting excessively, but part of him's a little
disappointed when the gallery staff all look extremely unlikely to provide any
chances to show off and earn that expansive smile.
Still, unlikely isn't impossible, Tim reminds himself in midair, listening to
the flutter of Steph's cape. The owner's a tall, academic-looking man, and one
of his assistants strongly resembles him, perhaps his daughter; they stop in
shock when the Robins land in front of them, not even noticing Nightwing
overhead. The other assistant jumps pretty high considering his pudginess, and
the box he was holding lands with a sad ceramic crash. The owner's daughter
turns, and she's fast, but Steph's faster, shutting the door with a kick and
taking her down with a sweep. Tim catches the box flying from her hands as
Steph plants a foot between her shoulderblades just hard enough to hold her,
and extending his staff horizontally stops the other two short.
"What've you got, Robin?" Steph asks, gleefully theatrical. He opens the box
slowly, careful of booby traps, and finds a wide red-figure pot with a narrow
neck.
When he was younger, Tim read about Ancient Greek pottery in his father's trade
journals. This morning, while he ate five muffins, drank Alfred's wonderful
coffee, and listened to Steph sleep, he gave himself a refresher course, with
his father's bemused smile in a corner of his memory. The pot he's looking at
now doesn't conform to any of the types he remembers, and the gallery staff
look far more worried about themselves than it, even when he lifts it from the
box and jiggles it. It doesn't clank, but it's oddly weighted, and the horses
on each side are outlined in paint that's not quite glossy enough. It's a
strange sort of comfort, thinking of his father being proud of him for learning
enough about Greek pottery to apply it to a case.
Tim takes a deeper breath, and checks out the slip. "Greco-Asian, huh?" Heh.
The first piece of literature he read for classes at Brentwood was the Iliad.
"It looks pretty Attic to me." The gallery owner is sweating in the breezy cool
morning, and the assistant is ashen. The woman under Steph's foot groans
despairingly. "What's its provenance?"
"Uh, uh. Uh," is all the answer Tim gets from the owner, so he steps back,
lifts the pot, and smashes it.
"Robin!" Steph pretends to be shocked, and is totally delighted. "Is that any
way to treat an antique?"
"Don't worry, Robin, it's a fake." Tim toes aside the shards, plastic struts
and packing peanuts, to reveal the super-gun in all its ugliness. "Zip-strips?"
"Oh, yeah." As Steph secures her hands the woman looks pleadingly up at the
owner; Tim pretends to be busy prying open the other box while he waits for the
man to finish looking back and forth between him, the half-fainting assistant,
and Steph. When he finally lunges, Tim takes him out at the knees and points
his staff at the assistant, who sits down heavily and holds his hands up.
Steph laughs, and Tim can't blame her.
Dick laughs, too, as he comes through the back door, a newspaper in one hand,
and zip-strips the assistant. "Nice work, Robins. The call's in; let's go."
Leaving three secured suspects, two guns, and a pile of smashed crockery
behind, they swing up off the ground.
They settle in on the roof of a nearby building, where they can observe till
the police arrive. Steph crouches on the edge and looks at Tim expectantly.
"So, what was so funny? About the pots being-- Attic?"
"Actually, being, well, being labeled as..." Tim's explaining it backwards; he
takes a breath and starts over. "You've heard of the ancient city of Troy?"
Steph nods. "Like the movie, right?" And glares. "Which we never went to see?"
Before Tim has to figure out a quick escape, Dick bursts out in manaical
laughter, brandishing the newspaper at them. "Uh, oh," he gasps out. "I think-
- I think--" When Dick gives up speaking to concentrate on laughing, Tim grabs
the paper and looks at the front page.
In bolded type the first column to the lower right reads, "Superman's Flight
Mishap." It's below the fold, but it's still the front page. Steph's gasp is
very loud in Tim's ear, and several theories collide with each other inside his
head, but first he needs more information. Concentrating against the noise,
because Dick is still laughing, Tim reads.
"Man of Steel hits Metropolis tower. At 12:48 AM Superman collided with the
seventy-eighth and seventy ninth floors of the Frost Tower in Metropolis, a
holding of Lexcorp Industries. No one was injured, but the top ten floors of
the building were sheared off, and are in place now because Superman caught and
replaced them. Witnesses report that the Man of Steel's expression was
'distracted' or 'smiling'. "
At 12:48 last night Tim was-- they were--
"Oh, fuck," Steph whispers, fingers pressed to her mouth, cheeks bright red.
Tim can feel his face burning just as fiercely. Dick drops himself beside them,
breathing a little roughly between occasional giggles, and Tim looks up at him
with a distinct sensation of doom.
Dick's recovered enough to smirk. "Told you it's better if you're noisy." That
starts him off again; he's still laughing when Tim and Steph look at each
other, grab his shoulders, and shove him off the roof.
Steph holds up her hand, and Tim dutifully high-fives her. "I can't believe he
heard us. I--" She's blushing, and shaking her head, and beautiful. "Man. Being
Robin is something else, isn't it?"
"Being Robin with you is something else," Tim says, and watches her blush
harder, Robin-red, as she smiles.
***** The First Lesson *****
Chapter Summary
     Dic the Fair takes his new students under his wing.
Rating: NC-17, soft focus
Based on: "Beneath_the_Banner_of_the_Bat", a cracky unfinished fic
Disclaimer: This Elseworld may be mine, but by it I establish no claim on the
more familiar forms of these characters.
 
Even now, Dic might have seen the Bruce any hour of any day, rather than
awaiting the next time of audience. But he did not abuse his privilege, for he
had use to make of the wait. He gave Stepha and Timanthy rooms adjacent, but he
led them to his chamber with his own hand and gave instructions for them to be
settled in his wide bed; then he left for a bath, curious to see what he'd
return to.
He returned to find them huddled together, bedsheet-wreathed and wide-eyed, the
room still echoing with their whispers. When he kissed them Timanthy stiffened
and then melted in his arms, but Stepha kissed bruisingly, her jaw stiff
beneath soft skin, her eyes glinting as she thought them betrayed. Dic watched
those eyes, hard like sea-stones, watched that glint fading from his third
kiss, the one he set above her heart; her breath quickened from mutters to
gasps, her skin was custardy over his cheeks. Timanthy watching wide-eyed all
the while, Dic kissed down over her soft belly, glancing up between to see her
eyes melting wide and luminous till he tucked his face between her strong
thighs.
Stepha dug her fingers into his hair, bucked and shouted, and peaked with the
force of a storm; she gasped over his mouth when he rose to kiss hers, her back
gone pliant in his arms. She laughed when Dic set her to holding Timanthy's
shoulders while Dic kissed his cheeks and collar and the arches of his ribs,
and finally took him in his mouth. Timanthy gasped as if holding back his
cries, watching with unblinking eyes, but Dic set himself to his pleasure till
he began to twist lithely between Dic's hands, till Stepha's breath came
heavier in counter-rhythm to the noises wrenched from Timanthy, cries edged
with amazement. When at the last Dic licked Timanthy and lifted his head to see
how they fared, Timanthy lay with cheek pressed to Stepha's strong thigh, while
she leaned forward unbidden to kiss Dic with a forward tongue and asked saucily
which of them he'd rather take for his own pleasure.
And Dic's blood was up, he did desire indeed to pull Stepha atop him, his hands
framing her rounded hips, or fold Timanthy up beneath him and open him to
pleasure. But there would be time and more, to teach them these things, and to
find their own joy in them. And Timanthy lay stunned with it, eyes wide and
deep as the night sky, but not so much that when Dic kissed him he did not
smile, nor when Dic stroked his sword-roughened thumb across that narrow smile
it did not widen. Timanthy sat up and tugged Stepha over, inciting her to kiss
Dic while he set himself to the task, all determination and grace and will. Dic
held to Stepha's strong shoulders and sank his hands in her springy hair as
Timanthy sucked him hotly and fervently up to a shattering peak.
Dic pulled Timanthy up to his shoulder and kissed him till he moaned, and again
to hear it once more. Stepha giggling drowsily, and Timanthy lying bonelessly
against him, Dic wrapped his arms round them, feeling Timanthy's whipcord and
fine bones, Stepha's sleek rounded sturdiness. As they settled to sleep, warmly
slumped to his sides, he smiled wide and easy, drowsy himself and well content.
Their first lesson was well learned and taught; he'd seen how they moved at his
bidding and in tandem, and they'd learned to lay themselves in his hands and
trust him.
***** "Little Star" *****
Chapter Summary
     Dick feels honor-bound to find a nickname for Steph.
Dick feels honor-bound to find a nickname for Steph. She's a wonderful girl in
her own right, and she's Robin, and he always finds nicknames for his siblings.
He called Jason "little wing," and Tim's his little brother, but Steph... she's
shorter than he is, and younger, but he just can't call her little. It'd be a
diminishment, somehow, when she's come so far with so much work.
Besides, Tim might kick his ass for it. It's really nice to see the way she
opens up Tim's smile when she grins at him, the way his expression softens when
he watches her. And it's a whole other kind of joy to watch them fighting back
to back, to share an appreciative look with Tim as Steph flings herself in
headfirst, all ferocity and swinging blonde hair; when the fight's over she
plants her boot on the biggest mook's head and grins proudly, her lenses down
and her blue-green eyes nearly glowing.
Later, when he's got them both in his bed, Dick thinks about the Robin affinity
for puns and tries out "Fliedermiss," and the way Steph laughs and punches him
before kissing him again, Tim's muffled little chuckle that he feels more than
he hears, are just perfect. It's not till they're both asleep under Dick's arm,
Steph a curl of curves tucked to Tim's side and Tim leaning back against Dick,
that Dick watches the dawn slowly brighten the room and thinks of the real
nickname that he'll never call her aloud: little Star.
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