Good Bits 6.1: As good a name
by Te
March 18, 2007
Disclaimers: Not mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: Early on in Tim's tenure as Robin.
Summary: Dick has a good little brother.
Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content.
Author's Note: Something of a sequel to "One is silver."
You should probably read that one first.
Acknowledgments: The usual suspects enable so very
well.
*
It's a little disorienting to just walk up to this house -- in
civilian clothes, in broad daylight -- and ring the bell just as
if there weren't a thousand ways he could break in --
including from the *Cave*, and what had --
A *tunnel*?
In any event, it takes a bit of extra fortitude to just stand
here and wait without checking to make *sure* he doesn't
have a mask on --
Even though he isn't even wearing the Nightwing suit under
his clothes, and *that* hasn't been the case --
The door opens, and there's a perfectly friendly-looking
older man standing there, looking both expectant and a little
confused. Dick doesn't really remember too many of the
society parties Bruce used to drag him to -- he has worked,
very hard thank you very much, to *forget* -- but he's
willing to bet he's met Jack Drake at least once.
He smiles, and offers his hand, "Mr. Drake? Hi, I'm Dick
Grayson."
"Bruce Wayne's -- ah, ward, yes? Hello, there." The
recognition in the man's eyes is fascinating, over and above
the faint hint of something which is either weakness or
pain.
Still in PT, right. And…
Well, Dick has to give the man credit for still being friendly,
given everything he *does* know about the ways Bruce is
connected to the worst time in his life.
"What can I do for you?" And Drake steps back from the
door with a gesture of welcome.
Dick can't decide if he should or *shouldn't* feel like the
deceptively normal-looking monster in the movie of the
week. "Actually, I was wondering if Tim was around?" (He
is, upstairs.) "I haven't gotten to see him in a while, and,
well…"
"Ah, of course, you… you got to know him while he was
staying with Bruce?"
Not well enough by *half*, considering -- no. "A little, I… I
have a little confession to make, actually," Dick says, and it's
the wrong kind of interesting to feel like a liar when he's
telling the truth.
"Oh…? And Tim is just upstairs."
"Great! I -- well, the thing is… it was always pretty
interesting growing up with Bruce, but… not really much in
terms of --"
"Family? I -- I'm sorry, that didn't really come out right, at
all."
Oh, yes it did, and it does feel a little better to be here once
he has an *excuse* -- maybe even a reason -- to put a
mock-sly look on his face and look at Drake from under his
lashes. It's not always just the tabloids which like to make
comments about the way Bruce Wayne lives. "Well, put it this
way -- I never did get that baby brother I asked for at
Christmas," Dick says, and then it's absolutely time to put the
sly away -- no matter how much Jason would've been laughing --
because a:
"You know, I bet Tim would love to spend some time with
you," Drake says, and his smile is right out of a Hallmark
card. And b:
Tim is right up there, casting a shadow his *father* can't
see, but Dick can. "I hope so. Otherwise, I'll have to kidnap
him, and since I was hoping we could hang out in New York
for a few hours -- well, the FBI frowns on that whole
crossing state lines thing."
Drake claps him on the shoulder, laughs, and, "Tim! You
have a visitor."
Now, when *Dick* was Tim's age, it was all about giving up
on all pretense of having *not* been waiting right there,
but Tim actually sinks a little further back for a moment --
Dick can't see his shadow anymore.
Six more weeks of little-brother-related confusion, or Robin's
impeccable timing? Jason really hadn't been *anyone's* little
brother -- Dick needs the *practice* --
"Dad…? Oh, I -- hi, Dick."
Absolutely impossible to tell. More data needed. Dick waves,
and smiles. "Been a while. I was tempted to send out a
search party."
Drake laughs and looks up at his son -- and that's
interesting, too. No suspicion or anything hitting Dick's
aggression triggers, but also way too much *apprehension*.
Way more than he would've suspected, anyway.
"Dick's here to take you out for a day up in New York, Tim. I
thought that sounded like it might be fun."
There isn't quite a question at the end of there, but it *feels*
like one. And Tim… well, Tim's looking at him.
And *then* Tim's smiling, broad and sudden -- and not quite
the smile Dick's almost-sorta-kinda gotten used to, either.
This one is --
"Really, Dad? You don't mind?"
This one is at least a little fake, but it makes Drake relax so
obviously it's almost painful to watch. "Well, son," he says,
and almost-casually reaches to support himself on the
banister, "I don't see as I have a choice, being as how Dick's
threatened to -- heh -- kidnap you."
Oh, crap.
He doesn't have to say it, either, given the *look* Tim
shoots at him. Oh, crap. "Oh, I -- I really didn't --"
Drake's laugh is a sudden as a hit from Bruce, even though
it's just as easy and open as all of them are *supposed* to
be. "I was wondering if you'd pick up on that little slip,
Dick," he says, and claps Dick on the shoulder again.
Little slip. If he looks green now, he absolutely should.
Tim looks like he's taken a great big swallow of some bad
water -- oh God. Dick gives up and smacks himself in the
face, a little, with his palm.
Drake laughs harder, and, finally -- thank *God* -- Dick can
hear the sound of Tim coming down the stairs, quick and
deliberately --
Well, not loud. But not silent, either.
"Thanks, Dad," he says. "I really -- thanks."
Drake ruffles his hair. "Well, I imagine you two have a lot to
do -- perhaps starting with helping your friend with that foot
in his mouth, son?"
"I'll bring a cr -- wrench," Tim says, and the amazing thing
is that the smile on his face only looks as fake as it should.
"I'll -- ah. There's a great pizza place right by my apartment.
Would you like me to bring back a pie, Mr. Drake?"
"Jack's fine, Dick," he says. "And I was actually thinking of
heading out… ah. Well."
"Dinner with Miss Winters?" And Tim's version of fake-sly, is
actually a little diabolical.
"There's a Miss Winters, Timbo? You didn't mention a Miss
Winters to *me*," Dick says, and raises both of his eyebrows
at Drake.
Who, abruptly, looks like he wishes he had a tie on to
straighten. "Well, ah -- it's nothing formal, or anything of the
sort, of course -- and don't you two have a -- was that
*your* motorcycle I heard, Dick?"
"As a matter of fact," Dick says, "I just happened to bring a
spare helmet along."
"Well, then, that's settled," Drake says, and barely gives Tim
time to grab his pack before shooing them out the door.
Without, Dick notices once they're nearly at the end of the
walk, so much as giving Tim a time when he should be back
home. Hm. "Hey, do you have a curfew I should know about
before I go making plans for the day?"
"I -- it's entirely likely that he won't be home until well after
eleven."
It's a little after noon, and… "So… how often, exactly, does
he just assume you're studying or out with friends before
bedtime, then sleeping very, very silently, and then just in
school?"
"I try to make an appearance every day," Tim says, and Dick
thinks he's allowed to noogie the kid if he avoids another
question. Whether or not that fits in with the plans he
actually and completely has.
For now, it's enough to take the opportunity afforded by this
being (of course) a rich enough neighborhood that the bike
is parked out of any sightlines not Batman's to just *stare*.
"Dick…?"
"I -- I really needed to talk to you," he says, and a lot of that
involves staring. It's like talking, with your eyes. "You know,
I can't tell how much of the uniform you have on under
there."
"More than you do," Tim says, and smiles, small and *really*
sly -- at the bike.
("He really is quite -- you made him sound like a small and
mildly poisonous human porcupine, Dick, but I think you'll
find that it's not the case.")
And really -- what the hell? Might as well start figuring this
out *before* they spend an hour and a half on his bike.
Two fingers under Tim's chin makes muscles tense up
everywhere remotely visible, and Dick's *all* set to tell Clark
to get his internal X-ray specs checked, but --
Then Tim looks up.
And it's not the hero-worship smile and it's not that blank
little don't-look-this-way expression. It's not really the
*Robin* he's gotten used to seeing, either, but.
"Hey," Dick says. Nice to meet you.
"Hi. I…"
"So you can tell all that by looking?"
"You do -- well, it's not that I've had all that many chances
to watch you move without the Nightwing suit on --"
"Recently."
He doesn't bite his lip, but he looks as though he really,
really wants to. "… yes. Well, you -- I'm not at all used to
seeing you move as though you're not… sure of yourself."
Well, that's a lot of things he doesn't want to touch. And Tim
is watching him almost *warily*. Dick crosses his arms over
his chest. "How do you manage to deal with Bruce *and*
Clark and somehow I'm the one who gets the freaked-out
looks?"
"I -- you know, even my father is likely to become
suspicious if he doesn't hear the sound of a motorcycle
engine soon."
"I'm giving you basic bike safety tips, little brother, so spill."
("Oh, you didn't know that? I -- I'd assumed you --")
Oops. "Or… I could maybe save the interrogation for when
we get someplace darker, scarier, and more private than a
Bristol street."
"Your apartment?"
"Exactly, little brother, I -- hey." And *here's* a thought:
"*Are* you okay with this? I know I didn't… call, or.
Anything at all, really."
"I haven't gotten a chance to… it's a very nice bike," Tim
says, and runs a finger over the seat.
Technically, that's another avoided question, but Dick thinks
he can live with it, especially since it is, indeed, a very nice
bike.
And it's turning out to be a very nice ride, too. There's
nothing -- there hasn't really been anything like this in Dick's
life. The chance to be *this* close to someone who he's
absolutely sure is attracted to him, someone who knows
him, or at least knows more about him than even most of
the Titans.
Someone --
Well, that's it right there, really. At this point in his life, the
only person who knows more about him than Tim "Little
Brother" Drake is Bruce. Now that Babs is working again
(*being* again), that's probably going to change. Certainly
he hopes it will -- but.
He doesn't have to hope for this. It's right here, wrapped at
precisely the right degree of tightness around him, hands at
just the right places -- no more, no less, and nothing
inappropriate *or* overly shy. Even when Dick takes the
curves kind of meanly and --
He could really quit fucking with the kid at *any* time,
couldn't he?
"Okay back there?"
"Yes, thank you," Tim says. "I -- I probably haven't been
very good company. I'm sorry."
"Well, it's not like I've been offering you topics for
conversation. Or, come to think of it, explaining my
completely random visit -- you know, I should probably be
less weirded-out by the fact that I weird you out, shouldn't
I?"
"I wouldn't say... weirded."
This -- can't possibly be what he's attracted to. "What would
you say?"
The comm radios are good enough to pick up the sound of
Tim's breath, but it's hard to tell if the next sound is a
swallow or something else.
"You *do* know I'm not grading you, and -- don't you test
well, anyway?"
"Bruce seems to think so."
"Yeah, I... you're a freshman now, but by the time you're a
junior you're going to have to put some time and effort into
faking being stressed by things like math, college... do you
plan to go to college?"
"I'm honestly unsure. I think it depends... on how much I'll
be needed. At the time."
By Batman, still...? Was Dick's the only voice Clark had used
with him? "Well, it's one thing you can relax about. It wasn't
college that was making my life difficult when I still went,
you know?"
"Yes, I -- now."
Yeah, now. And there's just too much he needs to ask with
Tim on his territory, alone, with the lights on, possibly a few
light restraints...
He's gotta be used to that kind of thing by now.
Still, it *is* a really great pizza place -- good enough that
there's no reason not to let Tim get ham as a topping, even
though that's wrong and -- wrong. And, for that matter --
"Not broccoli and mushrooms? Green peppers? Eggplant?"
Tim slips his hands in his pockets and looks at him from the
corner of his eye. "Expecting Clark?"
Heh. "*Hoping* for Clark?"
*That* gets him... yeah, that's a brand new and wonderful
expression right there -- Tim's blushing *and* looking at
him.
His eyes have somehow managed to make it from alert and
watchful to just a little dazed in zero point no seconds.
"Ooh, wait 'til I get you home."
"I -- um."
Heh and also *heh*. Dick slaps Tim's hand lightly when he
reaches for his wallet, and pizza is achieved.
A few minutes later, *apartment* is achieved, and Dick
makes a point of locking up securely, closing the windows,
balancing the pie on the fingertips of one hand, and using
the other to push Tim by the chest until he hits the couch
with the backs of his legs and sits down.
"Are the cuffs under the cushions?"
"Only if I haven't cleaned enough. Feel free to root
around -- I trust you not to escape."
"Dick, I... okay."
"Okay? Just okay? Pizza, swinging bachelor pad, my fine
self -- naked under my clothes, I might add -- and just
okay?" Dick flips the pizza box to his other hand and
waggles his eyebrows.
"Clark... he talked to you about... how I feel. Right?"
"Yeah, I, but first," Dick says, putting the pizza down and
settling himself on the couch in several-different-kinds-of-
touching-distance from Tim, "tell me if I'm being too much
of an ass for you to deal with?"
Tim shakes his head, silent and solemn and very much
*looking* at him.
"I -- I want to play with you. I'm fully aware that sounds
imbecilic, but -- I wanna play, and I wanna know how
*you* play."
"There was a D&D phase, but it cut into my stalking time,
I -- Dick --"
"Also --" It's absolutely true, cupping Tim's face is both
possible and fun. "Also, I want you to know that it only
came up because Clark hadn't realized that I -- hadn't
realized. Clark's not big on breaking confidences."
"Oh. I... I was wondering," Tim says, and doesn't look away,
or down, or --
"I've gotta know -- how long --"
"Most of my life."
Most of -- oh. Oh. Really -- oh. Dick thinks the stroke of his
thumb over Tim's cheekbone probably feels more panicked
than soothing, but there really isn't anything he can do
about that at the moment. "Ah. I was -- I was just going to
ask how long it took before Clark kissed you. But that's -- a
good answer, too."
"Oh."
"This is what I said. In my head -- wow," and Tim is
blushing *really* hard and kind of beaming 'want to look
down' out at Dick in waves, but it's an intensity Dick --
he kind of *needs* it. "It can't have taken long."
"I was certainly -- it took me by surprise. There was -- we
were eating, and all of a sudden... kiss."
Well, he'd had vegetarian food right *there* for Clark. "So...
just to put it out there, it's getting -- rapidly -- very, very
easy to see why Clark -- okay, so maybe I ordered him to
put the moves on you."
It's funny -- Dick could've sworn people only made that face
after being hit by cartoon mallets.
"Which is -- was -- pointless. Irrelevant. He was *going* to
anyway, and oh, if you heard the way he talked about
you --"
"I -- how?"
"What he wanted to do to you, the way you made him
feel -- but none of that's what I wanted to say."
"O -- okay."
"You're blushing so hard -- God, I can *feel* it. Even where
my fingers are all callused over. I was going to say
something."
"I... I'm almost sure you were, too. Dick, maybe I should
move... slightly further away. From you. Right now."
Because he's attracted. And Dick is... yeah. "I -- I think it
had something to do with that. That being the fact that I'm
getting you hard."
"*Dick* --"
"Wow, you're like -- alcohol. Fun illegal drugs. With how
much you... I can *feel* you wanting me."
"Sorry --"
"Uh-uh, no, wait -- I was going to say that we don't have to
do anything, that saying 'no' is always a valid choice, and
that if you ever need me to stop touching you -- do you
understand these rights as I've sped right over them on the
way to kissing you?"
"Jesus, Dick -- I -- yes?"
"Good enough," and possibly he shouldn't have gone *right*
for Tim's thigh with his free hand, but also possibly he
makes up for that by not shoving his tongue down Tim's
throat.
Except that Tim opens his mouth against Dick's, and closes
his eyes like this makes perfect sense, and maybe they can
compromise with Dick's tongue teasing Tim's. His palate,
his teeth -- sharp little teeth --
"You have an *overbite*, you know."
"I -- do you find braces sexually attractive?"
"Let me get back to you on that," Dick says, and pulls and
lifts and manipulates -- maybe there's some spindling. In
the end, Tim is on his lap, straddling his lap, and Dick's
paying just enough attention to things other than Tim's
not-wet-enough little mouth to see Tim's hands twitch.
Mm. "Wanna touch me?"
"I -- I'm not sure where to -- start?"
Dick nods and -- he's probably grinning like an idiot. Is this
what it feels like when Robin wants *you*?
"I could..." Tim's smile is cautious, true, but it's also very,
very sly. "I'm willing to take suggestions?"
"Well, your options are... pretty wide open," Dick says, and
emphasizes his point with a roll of his hips. "As you may
have guessed."
"I -- I'd think I'd like to know *exactly* what Clark said
about me."
Dick taps Tim on the nose. "This is what you get for not
having my apartment bugged, yet."
"You... you make me feel --"
"Like a natural Robin?"
Tim's laugh is soundless, which is disappointing, but being
as how it also moves Tim's body in a way which feels pretty
wonderful, at the moment, Dick's willing to go with it.
"Clark -- loved the way you looked when he used my voice.
Little brother."
"I --"
"Yeah. Yeah, I bet that's one of those looks. He said you
begged."
"Did you want... did you want me to beg?"
Dick tilts his head to one side, and then to the other. He's
not actually thinking anything coherent, but appearances
are important.
"I think I could manage to be -- at least -- somewhat
convincing," Tim says, and his hands twitch *again*.
"Does this mean I have plus-five charisma working for me?
Because --"
This is something worth making note of: Jokes make Tim
hot. *Geeky* jokes -- Dick's never even *played* -- make
Tim lunge them both into a kiss which could give them
*both* a profound need for long-term dental care. Luckily,
Dick has experience with this sort of thing, and more than
enough flexibility to lie back and let Tim kind of kiss and
climb him *into* the couch.
And -- he's *small*. Probably this is something Clark doesn't
really get, being as how, by all reports, when he was Tim's
(Robin's) age he was the size of a small *barn*, but there's
something --
It's what made 'little brother' lodge in his throat until he was
finally ready to spit it out.
Tim *feels* like a sense-memory, even though, a week ago,
Dick couldn't really --
He never would've imagined this. At least --
No, never. You don't have sex with people who just see the
*hero* in you. You just -- don't. Which is a reminder. A
couple of them. Dick pushes Tim away -- gently.
"Oh, I --"
Dick stops him with fingers on his redder, wetter, better
mouth. "Two things -- one, you have to remind me that I
did have an actual reason for wanting you here that didn't
involve sex with *me*."
"I -- okay?"
"Two -- you gotta hope Clark is watching this. You know? I
mean, at the very least he deserves a *show*."
"Mm. I... um."
"Three -- I know I said two, shush -- I really want to know
what you started thinking of when I said 'show.'"
For just a tiny, wonderful little moment, the expression on
Tim's face *looks* like one of Clark's, like maybe Dick
should pick up some red-rimmed contact lenses, and then
that shy thing is back. That -- thing which feels like sense-
memory, but really isn't.
What if *he'd* had a pervy Nightwing when he was Tim's
age?
"Tell me or I'll tell Clark you *didn't* mean it when you said
you wanted to suck him off."
"That would be -- I want to say he's much too talented at
distracting people, but I suppose he's had a significant
amount of practice?"
"Don't worry, Timbo. So long as you keep me happy, I will
continue ordering Clark around when it comes to -- heh."
Skin and bones where he isn't muscle. Just -- sharp little
*knife* of a Robin. That shuriken of his is a weapon *and*
a statement.
"Ordering Clark around...?"
"Mm, yeah, being pushy, kind of mean -- absolutely
inappropriate, too, and put your hands back on my
shoulders like that. I -- yeah. Lean back?"
If Tim were taller, he'd be leaning out over the space
between the couch and the coffee table. It would look more
like... well, like a show. As it is, it looks like Tim following
orders and waiting and -- *waiting*.
"I'm really easily distracted, it's true, but you..." Dick slips
his hands under Tim's loose t-shirt. "Okay?"
Tim nods, and he's -- barely blinking. *Permission* to watch
him way too closely, right.
"Anyway, yeah. I have no problem whatsoever doing
everything in my power to *goad* Clark into giving you
what you want from him -- no reason for you to wait like
*I* had to -- so long as you keep me *happy*."
"I -- I was picturing... um."
"When I said show," Dick says, and gives a little nod of 'go
on,' since he has no intention of moving his hands off Tim's
skin. Not enough *scars*. He has to keep looking for them,
keep finding them and learning them --
"When I asked him -- when I told him I wanted him to come
on me --"
"Which, by the way, the god of all Robins is totally giving
you points for --"
"I couldn't -- I barely knew *what* I was saying from
minute to minute, he -- everything --"
"He felt good," Dick says --
"*Yes*, I --"
"Like you do," and Clark didn't say anything about the
sensitivity of Tim's nipples, and really, this isn't a very a
scientific experiment, being as how Tim has all but tattooed
'Dick should touch me' on his forehead -- how had he not
*noticed*?
It's as good as sex ever is, as good as it can *be* to watch
Tim's eyes start to slip shut and to *feel* his hands start to
shake as Dick rubs Tim's nipples with his thumbs.
"So you told him that you needed to be a dirty, dirty
Robin --"
"Dick --"
"*And*...?"
"I -- his *other* suggestion was that he masturbate. On
me."
Clark is -- wow. "Ohh, God, you're -- *he's* --"
"Yeah. Y-yes -- Dick --"
"Feels good?"
"I -- *please* --"
"Oh, no, no, don't start begging yet. You're already making
me lose it thinking about Clark jerking off on your face -- "
"Sorry --"
Tim's blushing -- *flushing* -- so hard for him. How many
times did Clark have to tell him he was beautiful for him to
start believing it? "Shh, shh, just -- harder okay?"
"I --" And Tim nods, and bites his lip, and that's *his* job --
he still hasn't gotten bitten, yet, either, come to think about
it -- Harder makes Tim's mouth fall right open.
"He wanted to. He wanted -- there was *nothing* he didn't
want to do to you, you got him so hard."
"Oh... oh, I --"
"Like," Dick says, and lifts his knees up and jerks them a
little so that their hips are pressed together more. Better.
"Like me."
"Oh -- *fuck* --"
"Yeah, that's -- curse for me, show me what Bruce never
gets to see. Show me what *Clark* sees," he says, and
pinches Tim's nipples *hard*.
The yell cracks in Tim's throat and Dick can feel himself
sweating, *wanting* --
"God, you'd let me do *anything* to you, wouldn't you?"
"Dick please -- I -- sorry -- *please* --"
Letting go is problematic as *hell*, but it means he can help
Tim out of his shirt and drag him in for a kiss. Another, and
"bite my lip?"
Tim moans and *holds* Dick's lip between his teeth for --
oh, God, it's an *exact* three-count.
"You," Dick says, and scrapes his fingernails down Tim's
back --
"*Oh* --"
"You're not far gone enough for me, yet," Dick says, and
catches Tim's moan in another kiss. "But that won't last,
right?"
"N - no, Dick, I..." And Tim puts his hands back on Dick's
shoulders and starts to *grind*.
It probably says something about him that the first coherent
thought in his head after shoving his fingers down the back
of Tim's pants and finding armored fabric is 'there you are,'
but it *is* satisfying to have the question of where Tim's
hiding *official* Robin answered. The rest of him must be
in the backpack -- okay, that's gruesome. Satisfaction. He
was --
It's not satisfying *enough* to grind against -- *at* -- Tim
through their clothes.
"How would you feel about getting naked in company?"
Tim's answer to that is to lean in and bite Dick's lip again,
which is just -- the kid's a natural. *His* little brother, and
never mind blood. It's deeper than that, *better* than
that -- the way Jason used to *smirk* -- even though it feels
like torture to push Tim off his lap --
Because Tim is a wonderful, focused, *driven* kind of
boy -- Dick has *known* that -- and, even though his hands
are shaking on his own fly, sometimes the thought really
counts.
"Please," Dick says, "*let* me give you a hand with that --"
And, see, if he were *Clark*, he would've been able to stop
Tim from hitting the floor quite that hard when --
"Oh. I just made you come in your jock, didn't I?"
Tim's answer to *that* is a shaky groan --
"God, you're hot. And sticky. Again," Dick says, and helps
Tim up from the floor, "let me *help* with that."
"Dick, I -- please, I --"
Oh, just -- "now *you* look drugged. Gorgeous. Your mouth
is all -- here, get your shoes off," Dick says, and holds Tim
by the hips while he does it.
Dick's little and often happy friend wants him to know that
it's taking way too long to get Robin *naked*, but he's
doing his best. The chinos come easily, the tights, shorts,
and jock --
"I bet you're seeing the value in the short-shorts *now*."
"I -- I'm willing to bet they got just as sticky," Tim says, and
he's absolutely trying to help, but his hands are much too
distracting, even with how clumsy they're looking right
now.
Maybe because they look so clumsy. Lady freaking *Shiva's*
had at those hands, and they look like it, obvious and
dangerous even as they fumble with his jock. And really --
"How did you manage to get *that* hard in this thing
without moaning in *pain*?"
"I -- I had help, Dick, please --"
"Shh, shh, I've got you," and he really, really does. Enough
so that it's just more torture to let Tim straddle him again
*slowly*, even though it's done even before Dick's mind
can come up with more things to say. "Hairy little thighs.
If Clark didn't love them so much I'd be tempted to shave
you."
"You -- ah, you really would have to drug me first."
"You've never even *tried* it -- have you?"
"I -- well, I wanted to *see* -- *mm* --"
He'll just -- Dick would just *bet* he'd wanted to see. Just --
"Did you think about touching me when you felt them, little
brother? Jason?"
"I -- I -- yes, I --"
So *open* for him, like an obscene magic trick in his arms,
even though it's way too easy to imagine Clark finding Tim
*before* he was Robin, maybe tracing him by the sound
of lightly callused fingers sliding over shaved skin, the
sound of a young voice calling out 'Robin...'
Pulled close like this, he's all angles and smooth skin and
trained muscle, trained *grace*, for all that he'd just come
so hard he fell *down*.
"You want me. You -- want me how badly?"
"I -- the first time I touched -- myself --"
He can't *hear* that, even though he already has, even
though he'd asked for it, even though he *knows* now. It's
just more knowing with each second, more *truth* in his
arms, and the good, good way Tim looks a question at him
before going for Dick's fly.
Yes, and absolutely yes. The Superboxers make Tim snicker
and kind of *hum*, and it's possible some part of Dick's
lizard brain really *had* been thinking this far ahead.
"You'd think he wouldn't have been so surprised by the fact
that I own... Supersheets. Considering."
Of course he owns Supersheets. What a great kid. "Well,"
he says, and helpfully gaps open the slit, "these are new.
Still all crisp. A little hard -- maybe more than a little," and
Tim's *laser* focused on Dick's face, which is good.
Somebody has to have a little focus here, and Dick's has
been hijacked -- maybe even kidnapped -- by the feel of
Tim *feeling* him.
Hard little *hands*. Just -- of course Bruce would focus on
all the skills which didn't require either power or flexibility,
but Tim's hands are -- "You feel *just* as good as Clark
said you did, you know."
"Good -- good to -- I --"
The squeeze makes Dick's eyes start to roll back in his
head --
"Oh, *Dick* --"
"Yeah, yes, and yes -- oh, come on, jerk me -- really --"
"Did you want to -- catch up?"
"Catch *you*," Dick says, probably incoherently, and has to
reach up and just kind of... *frame* Tim's face with his
hands, take a little mind-picture or maybe a dozen.
A hundred, when Tim slides his tongue out too slow *not*
to be a tease and bites the tip --
And starts *working* the head of Dick's increasingly ecstatic
little friend with his thumb. "This is -- *exactly* how you do
it. Yeah?"
Tim nods, blushes, flushes, *bites* his lip --
"More, come on, tell me," and Dick licks the sweat off his
hands, one after the other, and puts them right back on
Tim's face.
"I -- makes it. Better. Last longer. Slightly. Sometimes."
Really. "Think it'd work that way if I did it?"
"Absolutely not," Tim says, and looks at Dick like he's
insane.
Of course not, right, right. Have to be something more
challenging to make it last. More -- hm. "You know I was
seeing Kory -- Starfire -- for quite some time."
Tim nods and squeezes him again, slow and -- strong little
*hands* --
"Jesus, I'm keeping you," Dick says, and, as it happens, the
big, bright smile that doesn't even look like it *belongs* on
Tim's face does have sexual uses. Connotations. Something.
"You were... saying. You feel. I think I'd -- I'd really like to
suck you. Too."
"Yes, really -- absolutely yes, and we could do it -- you could
be on your knees if you wanted -- mm --"
He's going to start wanting to *marry* those little lunge-
kisses, those -- maybe not marry. Live with. Cohabitate.
Come have-a-kiss, mm, something, especially because Tim's
driving him just a *little* bit higher with every squeeze,
every little swirl of his thumb --
And Tim cries *out* when Dick bites, even though he wasn't
even *that* back in the game -- oh, he is now. "I was
saying -- I have lube everywhere in this place. Just --
everywhere. If you wanted -- *ow*, no, that's great, just a
surprise, here," Dick says, and bites Tim right back.
His lips, his jaw, his neck --
"I vant to suck your -- lots of things, actually," Dick says,
and bites hard and hums against the hot-tight skin, and --
Happy, wonderful instincts -- Tim's got both of them in his
hand, in his hands -- "Ah -- ah -- Dick, I --"
Yes, Dick thinks, and hopefully-not-too-belatedly remembers
not to give Tim a hickey -- 'I took your son to a brothel,'
good excuse? Yes? Maybe? Probably not, he thinks, and
goes back to the lighter kisses. "Let -- let go for just a
minute --"
"I -- help? I don't think --"
"I understand," Dick says, and kisses the little twist of sex-
stupid on Tim's forehead, and reaches down to extricate
Tim's hands from the tangle of tackle. "I absolutely -- I'm a
terrible person for making you let go, but -- I have an idea.
I think it's a pretty good idea," he says, and brings Tim's
hands up to licking distance.
"Nuh -- ah -- Dick, I trust you, but I -- coherence. *Dick*."
"Can I finger you? Fuck you just a little -- or you could give
me a jerky little lap dance, I like those, *too*," Dick says,
and transfers Tim's wrists to one hand so he can use the
other to hold Tim steady.
By the -- tight little ass.
One good grind --
One good grind makes Tim throw his head back and *shake*.
"Wait, no, back to -- you can say no, we don't have to. I just
really, really want to feel you --"
"Dick I'm -- is it okay if I -- if I --"
"Yes, it really is," Dick says, and there's sweat on Tim's
collarbone that needs to be licked. Dick takes care of it.
"Just -- I'm not going to say no. To anything. Can we -- go
with that?"
"I feel like I should have some -- issues? Maybe? -- with
that."
"But you don't," Tim says, and raises an eyebrow at him.
"Right?"
Little brother. Mm. The eyebrow is too far away to lick. "I
really don't. See that drawer right there? Open it up, leave
the condoms there because I'll lose my mind if you *don't*,
ignore the underwear -- there you go," Dick says, and just.
Tim's not *quite* looking at the little bottle like it's a holy
artifact, but there's kind of that edge to it. Angels singing in
his spiky little-brother brain. Dick absolutely should've had
a very, very pervy older brother.
"I really wish I had a picture. I could --"
"Be arrested?" And Tim's smile is absolutely -- yes. Perfect
for everything.
"I'd escape," Dick says. "Run away to join the... Titans," he
says, and Tim *grins* when he winks --
And opens the bottle.
"Ohh... yes. Put it on me? And don't look down at my dick
like that, that's mean. That's really mean -- I swear, I
promise, if this goes well I'll fuck you *later*. Next weekend
if we get distracted --"
"Dick, I -- okay," Tim says, and the blush is making heat
pour off him, it's almost like --
It's not like Clark, really, but it's good that it kinda-sorta
feels like it could be, if they squinted. Tim's lube-applying
techniques are really kind of unrealistic -- some would even
say intimidating -- given that Dick's slick to the *wrist*, but
he really, really can't fault the enthusiasm.
"Should I bend over? Something?"
Dick should really have some gymnastics equipment in here.
It's New York, he could always tell people they were for sex
and no one would *care*. As it is, it's probably not good
that some part of him is already making plans for the next
time they're in the *Cave* together -- no, no, not good.
"Dick...?"
"I want you right... mm. Spread your knees just a little?
Yeah. Now get your hands back on my shoulders."
"Oh. I. Like this?"
"Like *this*... I can still see your face," Dick says, and uses
some of the excess slick to get Tim's dick nice and shiny
and exclamatory. "Mm. Scoot just a little closer?"
"Dick... oh, you should maybe. Take off your shirt?"
"This is what laundry detergent is *for*, little brother," Dick
says, and Tim's balls aren't as tight as they could be, but
this is *also* what excess slick is for.
Especially because it makes Tim squeeze his shoulders and
make a lot of little grunting noises, makes him jerk his
hips --
Dick can certainly *lift* his shirt --
"Oh -- Jesus, *Dick*, your -- your skin -- oh -- oh -- this --"
Why did he want to do this with his arm in the *way*,
again? "Have you? Even a little?" If he were Clark, he could
undoubtedly tell by the feel -- which makes it all the more
inexcusable that he made Dick wait so long -- but all Dick
can be sure of is heat and the way Tim kind of *slumps*
against his chest.
"D-Dick..."
All he's doing is circling around a little, teasing a little... "You
can tell me. You *should* tell me, little brother -- mm." Just
a little bite to his pec, and Dick already knows that it doesn't
mean *stop*.
It might've been hard to get the tip of his finger in *before*
Tim came for him, but now -- he doesn't slide in *far*, but
it's far enough to start teasing all the sensitive flesh right
*there*.
"Just wait until you make Clark lose control enough to
*tongue* you here. God, I -- he always makes me *lose* it
a little when he does it, Timmy..."
"Oh. Dick, I --"
"Yeah, it's okay, it's okay, you don't know how hot you are
like this --"
"I.. I can't --"
"It's okay," and Dick uses his other arm to hold Tim tight
against him, "*you* don't have to."
For a second, Tim just *pants* against him, rapid and a
little frightening, but then Tim *pushes* back --
"Oh, wait, I change my mind --"
"*Dick* --"
"You absolutely have to. I -- wow, look at you --"
"Oh -- Dick -- I --"
Working his *hips*, and it's slow, but it comes with a
groaning *cry* every time he pushes back, and it's tight,
but -- "Jesus, Clark, you *better* be watching --"
"Oh -- oh fuck, oh -- *fuck* --"
God, barely enough room to even *wiggle* his finger, but
Tim starts *shaking*, grabbing at Dick's bunched up shirt
and rubbing his face back and forth --
Gasping and sobbing a little --
"I've got you, I've -- oh, I'm going to come on you really a
*lot* -- you're barely even touching me --"
"Sorry -- s-sorry --"
"Hey -- oh, *Jesus*, Tim --"
And now every push, every hard-working little *grind* has
Tim's abdomen dragging along the head of Dick's dick, Tim's
dick dragging on Dick's abdomen and *wrist* -- and that's a
little painful for his working arm, more than a little awkward,
but --
The first real thrust gets nothing but *air* out of Tim, but
every one after that --
"Dick -- *Dick* --"
"Yeah, that's -- so good, so perfect, don't stop --"
"*Please* --"
And maybe he could've picked a slightly less awkward
position, something that would let him rub off *and* fuck
Tim, and kiss him, and bite him, and --
And Tim is *yanking* on Dick's shirt, shaking and moaning
and -- licking him a little, loving it, loving him --
Dick can't let go of him. Even to jerk himself off. Even -- no.
He's -- it's too much, it's perfect just to hold him like this,
hold him tight and fuck him -- just a *little*, but still --
"Can't -- can't wait to be *inside* you --"
And the sound Tim makes is almost painful to *hear*. He
sounds lost, gone, perfect --
"You -- you gotta come for me. *On* me --"
"*Dick* -- *fuck* --"
Dick didn't really *mean* that to be an order, but he's okay
with the fact that Tim took him that way. Hero-worship.
Filial -- such a good little *Robin*, and Dick slips out --
"Oh -- *no*."
"Shh," because he can just -- come right back *from* the
back, and now there's no reason not to haul Tim closer,
push the breath right out of him with his body and kind
of --
Kind of *vibrate* his finger until Tim starts jerking against
him, rubbing him off --
He's close enough to kiss now, to taste and bite and
*have* --
Tim's all his, even though he really isn't, and possibly
shouldn't be --
All his --
So much *love* --
And Tim gasps and shakes *again* when Dick comes on
him, but it really doesn't matter.
It's not like Dick's going to let him *fall*.
It's... mm. Just -- mm.
Though he's not *spectacularly* shocked when Tim starts
to wriggle uncomfortably.
His *hair* is still perfect... and they're kind of a mess. And
this couch is technically new. Okay. "Deep breath," Dick
says, and he's not going to let the sound Tim makes
inspire him until *after* they're in the shower. With the
water on, even.
The water isn't exactly *hot* by the time that Dick's on his
knees, but it's getting there, and the good thing about not
giving Tim enough time to entirely deal is that it means he's
not at *all* polite about grabbing Dick's hair.
This --
This is what the hair is *for*, when you get right -- heh --
down to it.
All in all, it's wonderful enough that Dick doesn't want to say
a *word* to interrupt the sweet little smile on Tim's face
while he eats cold pizza --
But there are the packages he'd had waiting here for them
to consider.
He drops them on the coffee table.
"Mm?"
"Clark would be *very* disappointed in you," Dick says, and
steals a piece of ham off the pizza. Mm, salty.
"I'm hoping he has," Tim says, and swallows. And dabs his
mouth with a napkin. "A lot of ideas on how to raise my
consciousness."
Dick takes advantage of the shower-soft hair -- and watches
Tim's eyes narrow like a cat's when he scritches. "If you
don't behave, I'll tell him that you wanted to hear -- in
detail -- about what it's like to watch auras wink out by the
dozens over slaughterhouses."
Tim winces and puts the pizza down.
Heh heh. "The trick is to just let the knowledge just kind of
flow *over* your brain."
"And out of my ears, yes," Tim says, and prods suspiciously
at the packages. "What counts as good behavior, now...?"
Well. Well. "Well," Dick says, and peeks inside the first one.
Perfect. "Well."
"Yes?"
"Would you agree that we owe Clark?"
"Absolutely," Tim says, looking very adorably suspicious.
"And that you -- and no one else in our small and rarefied
circle -- remind Clark of certain people?"
"Do two people count as a circle? And -- Dick, what are
you -- oh God."
Dick thinks Tim looks a lot better with clothing arranged
near him than on him.
"It's -- a skirt," Tim says.
"A *schoolgirl* skirt."
"A -- the rest is blazers and a blouse. Yes?"
Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels.
"Mm-hm. And shoes. And a gaff. Some socks. I
approximated."
"Because -- because Lois Lane attended private school," Tim
says, removing the skirt from where it's laying on his thigh
and flipping it out with a crisp little noise.
"When she was your age. And -- also your coloring."
Tim frowns and taps on one of the other boxes. "No wig?"
"I thought we could use the rest of the day to shop. Perfect
the look, you know. Older brothers need to be helpful," Dick
says, and smiles in a way he suspects is infuriating. Tim's
ever-deepening frown lines would suggest he's correct.
"Hm," Tim says.
"Yes?"
"Should I be finding the lack of falsies disturbing in terms of
what it portends for the completed look...?"
Dick bites his lip.
"She's -- she's not that petite."
"No, no, she totally is. It's just that she *seems* bigger.
Also, we're talking about when she was *your* age. We can
work on that."
"Together," Tim says, and raises an eyebrow. "Like
brothers."
Dick smiles.
Tim... Tim looks like his eyes *want* to cross.
Dick smiles wider. "Clark is a *good* friend. Who should,"
Dick says, "absolutely pretend to be surprised when the time
comes."
Tim switches eyebrows. "I was assuming that we were
hoping the final effect would counteract the lack of
surprise."
"That's the spirit!"
Tim's smile, this time, is a little wry. Not too dark, not too --
just a little older. Maybe less approachable? More.
Hi, there. Again.
"So, Dick... should I dress for... shopping?"
Definitely more. "I think you should put the skirt on."
"I... really."
"Uh, huh."
"Well," Tim says, and closes the pizza box. "I suppose we
should be sure about the... size."
Such a good Robin. So --
Good.
end.