Thanks to Jam for audiencing.
"It really isn't going to stop being strange seeing you -- someone
like you -- in that uniform."
Tim resists the urge to stiffen and gives in entirely to the urge to
turn his head. He'd been looking out over this Gotham which isn't
at all his own. He'd been searching. He'd been... found. He smiles.
"It seemed the best way to avoid... potential confusion."
Dick snorts and crouches beside him. He doesn't touch Tim's back,
or his shoulder. He doesn't touch... gratuitously.
Not this one.
"Batgirl gave me the heads-up, actually, but thanks."
"You're welcome. I --"
"What are you doing here?"
The abruptness stops him, inside, but then again... it had been
meant to. "I like this world," he says, entirely truthfully.
"You know, kiddo, it's even stranger when you sound like... him."
His other self. Interesting. "I think his tone would've been --"
"It's not about the tone. It's about the *tease*."
Of course it is. "It wasn't meant as... that sort of tease."
He can feel Dick looking at him. The motion was too fast to fully register,
but not the sound of his ponytail sweeping over the back of his uniform.
Tim shivers, inside his cape.
"You told Batman you were here to say 'goodbye.'"
"I lied," he says, giving up and looking at Dick. "Is it honestly a surprise?"
For a long moment, Dick's stare is as cold as his uniform would feel
Tim's fingers were bare. If he touched.
The kiss, when it comes, is bruising and harsh. If it were anyone else,
would be somewhat unpleasant.
But it isn't.
Tim lets Dick guide -- and shove -- him down to the surface of the roof,
grateful for the armor which won't let him feel the gravel beneath him
and hating it for making Dick into only pressure and weight.
Still... there's nothing stopping him from removing the gauntlets, and
the kiss becomes something different entirely once Tim's bare hands are
in Dick's hair. A more purposeful sort of bruising.
"You're *not* my little brother."
Tim's hips jerk, and, while he could quibble on the timing, he can't
the result. Dick is grinding them together hard enough that Tim has a
choice of spreading for it or bruising in rather more uncomfortable
It's not a choice.
"You don't -- have --" A little brother, is how he intended to finish
statement, but it comes out a moan. He doesn't mind.
"Dammit -- why -- why are you *here*, kid?"
"For you," he says, honest once again.
The look on Dick's face is a fascinating mix of irritation, consternation,
and something like fear.
There could very well be benefits to being the needy one.