It isn't the smile on Dick's face with the helmet's visor up -- Tim's
never seen him *not* look hungry to at least some degree.
It isn't the semi-casual sparring they've been doing all afternoon --
always careful to look at least reasonably innocent when other
people are around to watch. Though that's closer.
On 'no' and 'maybe' days, there are breaks between bouts of
random physical contact.
Today it's been constant.
A casual hand in his hair that tugs or musses or both before
letting go, an arm around Tim's shoulders in the elevator, a
tight hug from the back while they're both doing their level
best to make Fiona blush and Sasha roll her eyes.
Bruce ignores them for the most part. A few firm pats on
the back, a Bruce-Wayne-special beam... emotional clutter.
Irrelevant. Distracting. When they're at Wayne Enterprises,
Bruce isn't the one to watch, short of emergency. Sasha
won't *let* any more emergencies happen on her watch,
None of them *do* have a relationship with Bruce Wayne,
whether or not they're supposed to. It's an interesting
question. It would doubtless be useful in terms of the
Secret for Dick Grayson and Young Tim Drake to have
something like a... *something* with Bruce Wayne.
Another layer of armor between them and the world.
He hasn't even considered broaching the subject with Dick.
Dick has a hard enough time juggling *two* identities. And
Tim can't say *he* really needs another wedge to drive
into the cracks of his own splintered identity.
"Tag," Dick says, and comes out of nowhere to smack him
on the back of the head before dashing for the stairs.
They play tag, and it's another sign. Dick isn't trying hard
enough to get away. Dick's hands curl just *so* around
the banisters before he flips down and away, and Tim
He still doesn't have it down to an exact science. He hadn't
expected it to be *here*, but his back hits the wall hard
enough to make him gasp and then Dick's tongue is in his
"Cameras," he mumbles into the kiss, working his hands
up between them.
Dick presses closer and *sucks* his tongue and Tim has
"Look around, Boy Wonder," Dick whispers, lips curled
into a smirk that makes Tim hard in his normal-boy jeans.
Harder. He looks. The camera on this landing has a little
'out of order' sign hung over its eye, dated and initialed
by some efficient WE employee. "Still," he says, and
that's *all* he says in terms of actual speech, because
Dick is cupping him through his jeans and squeezing.
"Don't worry. This *won't* take long."
There's no time to blush -- and even less to come up
with a suitable response -- because Dick kisses him
again. Rough, hungry kisses that make Tim's mouth
feel bruised and make his hips pump.
"Yeah," Dick says, and drops to his knees.
Tim bites his lip to keep from cursing and tries to
remember what he's supposed to be doing that
*doesn't* involve helping Dick open his jeans and
wanting. He's almost sure there was something.
Probably something *intelligent* that would explain
why the sound of a door slamming three or four
floors down makes his heart seize and his dick
Or why the way the echoing scuff of Dick's knees
on the floor is a *bad* thing on top of being
ridiculously sexy, and then Dick gets him out,
gets him in *hand* and he just can't.
"You wanted this."
Always. Fucking *always*.
Dick grins at him and gives him a slow, teasing
stroke. "How bad, Tim?"
He hears himself make a noise and *feels* it bounce
off all the cement and metal and this is a *bad* idea.
Whether or not anyone *else* decides to check to
see where Bruce's boys have wound up this time,
there's no telling whether or when Bruce himself will
decide it's time to stop pretending and be the kind
of man who can and *would* randomly show up --
"Bad. I want -- Dick -- oh *fuck* --"
"Shh," Dick says, and the next lick is slower, gentler,
"Come on, please..."
Not wrong, just wrong for *here*. Random public
sex in a stairwell is *not* the time to make him --
"Oh *God* --"
Groan like that, because he always *forgets* how
good this feels, how soft Dick's lips are when they're
wrapped around the head of his dick, when Dick's
eyes are wide and avid and catching every fucking
nuance of everything he doesn't *know* how to
hide from --
Dick hums around him and *grins* around him and
grins even wider when Tim thrusts *in*.
Yeah, Dick says in Tim's head, and Tim feels his eyes
rolling back and gives up, fucking his way in to all
that heat, all that wet, and none of that means
*anything*, because it's Dick, and Dick's *mouth*,
and Dick's hands on his hips pushing at Tim's jeans
just enough to make them drop around his knees,
and Dick's throat flexing and squeezing around him,
pulling him in, making him beg, making him *need*
Tim shoves his hands into Dick's thick hair and Dick
makes a *pleased* sound around him and Tim groans
as quietly as he can and comes thrusting.
And bites his lip to keep from groaning again when
Dick slides off, slow and wet.
"Told you," Dick says, and pulls Tim's shorts and jeans
back up, dressing him neatly while Tim concentrates
on breathing and remembering how to see.
And then on licking the taste of himself out of Dick's
mouth and pulling his hair. A little.
Tim opens his eyes to see Dick just *looking* at him.
"Are we... did you..." Plan on fucking me here.
Dick smirks at him. "I figured we'd wait to get creative
until after dinner."
"Creative. Right. Dick --"
"You know, I can always tell when you want a quickie."
Tim blinks. Dick grins even wider.
"You stop *dodging*."
He stops... yeah. Okay. Fine. Whatever. Tim shoves
Dick away a little bit, and Dick holds onto Tim's shoulders
and uses his momentum to pull Tim away from the wall.
"Let's go run around Fiona's desk."
Tim snorts. "Are you *five*?"
"Mm. That would make *you* a dangerous pervert,
Boy Wonder," Dick says, and spins Tim around in front
of him. And slaps his ass. "Gotta watch that."
And then Dick walks them back up the stairs and within
range of functional cameras, hands lightly settled on
Tim fails to dodge.