Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/987848.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Dick_Grayson/Bruce_Wayne
  Character:
      Bruce_Wayne, Dick_Grayson
  Additional Tags:
      Male_Slash, Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-02 Words: 517
****** Trouble Maker. (514) ******
by thesurgeon
He pretends that it's a matter of life and death, that he not make a sound. 
It's an old game he'd used to play, from when he was a kid, and he'd get
scared: in the dark of his bedroom, trying out a new move that he was sure he'd
fail (no matter how convincing the look in his father's eyes when he told him
to, jump, Dick!, or the fact that he was always, always there to catch him), or
even on the first day at one of the many new schools he went to before the
circus had hired a private tutor for the kids who performed.
He'd pretend that he was a knight or a soldier, out on some epic journey, just
strollin' along, minding his own business... and, here it was, thething, the
test, the battle that every hero worth his salt came up against, he had to
prove himself, and come on, Dickie, you can do this.. would go rolling around
in his head, wrapping around his body, like worn-smooth rosary beads. The
rising chant would tremble to a furious roar, and eventually he'd have lost
himself so deep in the illusion, he'd take the first step into the room, off
the scaffolding, out of the car, and the dragon would be slain, the princess
rescued, and the imaginary game will have saved his bacon once more. He'd be
safe.
Of course, the game doesn't work so well because it isn't just Dickie's own
childhood demons he's fighting, now, but Bruce's gloved finger that his body's
resisting. The older man'd stuck the tip of it in his mouth to get it wet,
yeah, but it made little fucking difference for how it hurt when it was gliding
in now, past the first knuckle, into the quivering bowstring of his body; spine
pulled back taut, ready to give a sound at the first release, the first blow.
But, it was important that they not make a sound; Dick knew that. Anyone could
hear it if they did, what with the way the cavernous walls liked to bounce back
every twinkling splash of water from the spring below their feet back up for
the whole world to hear. A shuddering moan, gasp, or any of Dick's whispered
pleadings to Bruce, the way he begged him when they were upstairs, and the jig
would be up.
So, he bit into the fleshiest part of his forearm, clamping his eyes shut, and
imagined the dragon's teeth doing the damage instead. Imagined the weight of
its enormous body--so much larger than his, always, always so much larger--
 crushing him, as he was pushed into the wall. He ground his teeth into kevlar
and Nomex, jerking his body back against the feel of its breath against his
skin, curling the straight hairs at the nape of his neck, the slivering hot
dampness of tongue and teeth, its lips ready to pull back and breath fire
straight into his mouth, filling his belly and gut with flames if he failed,
and somehow, somehow, managed to stay quiet. 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!