About you day by day
by Te
July 26, 2007

Disclaimers: Not mine.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Sometimes Tim doesn't think he was real, before.

Ratings/Warnings: Sexual content which may be disturbing to some readers.

Author's Note: A sequel to "One bright day in the middle of the night." Takes place a couple of months after the end of that story. Written because of *this*. Which may also count as a warning.

Acknowledgments: Much love to Pixie and the Jack.

He's getting used to the puppies. They're not really -- Tim thinks he might (have become) be a cat person, but his other (brother) mostly keeps them occupied and disinclined to demand Tim's attention.

If he's honest with himself, he's really not sure at *all* how Ace -- his Ace -- ever came to the decision that he *was* Tim's, but he did. These days, his Ace tends to follow him everywhere. The other Ace follows the other Tim, but it's more... messy, somehow. Tim can't really count the number of times the other's Ace has tripped him into a tumble and pounced, knocked him into a wall and *then* pounced -- there's a lot of that. The pouncing.

*His* Ace is more inclined to shadowing him, and quietly settling the bulk of himself somewhere within *reach* of a good pounce. Right now, he's doing that thing where he pretends to doze -- Tim's not sure he's ever seen his Ace *sleep* -- just outside the bathroom, where Tim is...

Well, he's not doing anything with his hair, really. It's just sitting there, waiting to be spiked up for the night, for Robin -- it's too early for that, but sometimes (now), Tim thinks he wants to do *something* with it, something different. Maybe he wants to --

Ace shifts, sighing, and so Tim's not really surprised when --

"Something wrong?"

Bruce has stepped over Ace -- Ace isn't big enough to make that difficult *yet* -- and is currently -- lurking. It should be too bright in here to make that work -- but Bruce is Bruce. Tim frowns at him a little in the mirror. "I'm not sure. My hair..."

Bruce hums under his breath and cards a hand through it, holding locks of it between his fingers. "It isn't... exciting enough for you, anymore?"

His hand is warm and -- everything about him is giving off that sense of want-to-stay, want-to-touch, maybe a little bit of 'mine.' Tim rolls his eyes a little. "It just feels... I don't know. Like it's not really... me."

Tim doesn't blush, but he can practically *feel* his other --

("Did you seriously get *gayer* on me? Like, since yesterday?")

"You have more reason than most to have concerns of that sort," Bruce says, and slips his hand out of Tim's hair, strokes down over his scalp, down to the back of his neck -- the hand pauses, and Bruce's eyebrows lift. Slightly.

An invitation to discussion. Tim's other talks to Bruce about this -- this *stuff*, all the time.

("If *anyone* is gonna get it...")

His other -- "I think... the other, my other -- he feels more like my *brother*, sometimes, than he... or -- it's not like I've ever had a brother," Tim says, and looks himself over again. His hair isn't styled, now, so much as it's making Tim look like he just got out of bed. Tim pats it down, pushes it forward.... hm. "I think I want to cut it."

"Your... other seems inclined to let his grow," Bruce says, and -- it's not really --

These days, Bruce tends to say a lot more things which don't, necessarily, require any sort of a response. But. "That's not really -- practical."

"No," Bruce says, and slides his hand up until his thumb and forefinger are resting -- lightly -- on the pressure points behind Tim's earlobes. Tim lets his eyes narrow...

And Ace shifts and sort of... rumbles. It's a question, rather than a statement. Tim gestures, and the rumble becomes a sigh.

"They've become quite protective of the two of you," and Bruce, when Tim checks, is laughing behind his eyes.

Heh. Well. "You should've seen them when Clark came to visit."

"I think I can sympathize," Bruce says, and lifts and turns Tim until he's sitting on the sink. He twines his fingers with Tim's own, making Tim feel that small and very important stretch, and then sets Tim's hands down to either side. "With all of them, of course."

Tim drums his fingers on the marble and rolls his head on his neck. To the left, to the right. "We do kind of -- owe Clark. Still."

Bruce puts two fingers under Tim's chin and makes him look up. His eyes are still laughing, but it's -- different.

Kind of --

"Sexuality and the barter system are not one and the same, Tim."

-- softer. Or -- maybe the sort of harder that makes Tim a little twitchy, to be honest. Tim raises an eyebrow and kicks Bruce lightly on the shin. "I'm still not going to a Knights game with you."

"Hm. Perhaps I could convince you to accompany me to the office again, today, instead."

Bruce *is* in a suit. He'd come, primarily, to *fetch* Tim. Whatever his other reasoning. Tim smiles and turns his head until Bruce cups his cheek and hides the smile from himself. Tim rubs and -- nuzzles. A little. "Perhaps."

"There's a board meeting," Bruce says, and slides his thumb over Tim's mouth slowly and *lightly*.

Tim licks his lips --

"Your new suits have arrived from the tailor."

Tim kisses Bruce's thumb and sucks it into his mouth. His other gets bored at WE unless they're playing together, which is probably most of why people like Sarah and Lucius assume that Tim was the 'long lost twin.' His other also isn't much inclined toward suits, unless it's time for them to wreak some degree of havoc at one of the parties.

Bruce -- sometimes it feels --

"You're... grooming me," Tim says, and licks the salt from the webbing between Bruce's thumb and forefinger.

"Am I...?" The smile in his eyes is -- mobile. Roving. "I don't recall ordering Lucius to take you on a tour through Marketing."

And R&D. "It's easier with Lucius. People still try -- they're inclined to *impress* him, but they don't assume he can *be* impressed with shiny things and buzzwords."

"He was quite impressed with you, if I recall correctly," Bruce says and catches the hem of Tim's t-shirt. And lifts.

Tim raises his arms, and then his shirt is next to Ace, who sniffs it, then shifts enough to rest his head on it.

"You haven't changed your everyday mode of dress," Bruce says, and pinches Tim's nipples. Pulls --

His other tends to use his teeth. Babs usually ignores them. Tim -- lets his mouth fall open on a moan. Again. "I don't really want to get too formal." His other *likes* it, but tends to frown more, too.

"There are other options which would allow you to be... neater," and now Bruce is kind of rolling his nipples back and forth. It would be -- easier if all of his fingers were slick with Tim's saliva, but it wouldn't really be better.

"I -- more like *you*." Dad.

"If you'd like," and the kiss is hot and wet, deep. Bruce is kissing him like Tim's other does when it's just the two of them and the cameras, when Tim's either been too different for his other to really deal with, or enough the same that they're both relieved, that it's good, that --

"More," Tim says, and whimpers when the twisting gets harder, reaches up for Bruce, opens his mouth and pants, squirms a little on the sink. "And -- you don't have to... I'm still figuring out what I like, *too*."

"Mm. I wasn't invested *enough* in discovering that sort of thing... before."

Batman takes what he wants, when he wants it. Before *that*... "I don't -- really remember what sex was like when there was only one of me. Us." Tim shakes his head and holds on tighter to Bruce's neck. "I mean, I remember *doing* it, but -- it's vague."

"Your other..." Bruce releases Tim's nipples and strokes his chest, his obliques, pushes into Tim's navel, rakes short nails *up* his back --

"I -- please."

"Your other is more inclined to curse. He also suggested that everything the two of you did when you were one... no longer 'counts.' It wasn't -- either of you."

Tim shivers and closes his eyes, tries to -- they'd done so much with Babs, and now it hardly even... "I don't want to think about that. I --"

"All right," Bruce says, lifting Tim again and carrying him over to the wall next to Tim's bath. Neither of them really get, right now, what had made it so important to have a Mighty Mutants shower curtain, but neither of them are ready to admit to anyone but themselves that they don't want it anymore. Bruce sets Tim down on his feet and turns him to face the wall.

"I take it I should brace myself."

"It wouldn't be especially convenient for you to fall down before I finish with you," Bruce says, and reaches around to work on the fly of Tim's chinos.

Convenient. "Hn," Tim says, and -- bites his lip. His other doesn't particularly like that laugh.

It makes Bruce grab him by the hips and squeeze. And --

It's not a hug, or anything that could be called a hug by any rational person, but Tim's still glad he can't see Bruce's eyes. He can't -- he can't *take* that from Bruce. It's too much, it's not -- it's not *right*, and it shouldn't feel as good as it does. As -- warm. "Please -- please, Bruce."

"There are..." Bruce pushes his thumb into Tim's mouth again, fucks Tim's mouth with it. "Lick -- and. There are no limits here," he says, and his voice is so low, so strained, so --

Hungry. Tim doesn't have to ask, and the blush on his face just feels *redundant*. He already knows the other doesn't give Bruce this. That he *won't*, unless -- he doesn't know the unless. It's just --

("I think maybe I just have more good memories of Dad than you do. But do you... what do you remember of *Mom*? Because... because.")

It's more than just what Bruce wants of him, and it always has been. And just because 'always' now boils down to just a few *months* doesn't mean it isn't still always. "Sometimes... sometimes I think I just wasn't *real* before, I -- oh --"

"You were," Bruce says, and *twists* his thumb inside, pushes in to the knuckle, burns and *skewers* --

"F -- fuck, no *lube* --"

"You were real, and I -- I miss you," Bruce says.

"I -- oh, God -- oh, God -- I didn't want to -- I never would've --"

"I *know*," and Bruce's other hand is iron on his hip, warm and a little too soft from all the stupid moisturizer, perfect and not-perfect. "It doesn't mean I don't need you, Tim. You... tell me you know that," he says, and it's not the Batman voice.

It's not really *any* of the voices, or it's all of them at once, and Tim can't --

"*Tell* me," and Bruce shoves in, and Tim's body can't decide whether it wants him up on his toes or on the floor --

And he can *feel* Ace staring, waiting for Tim to make just the right gesture which will lead to a kind of serious *tragedy* -- "Bruce, I -- please, Bruce, I can't --"

"Give this to me, Tim. Give -- give me --"

"Bruce -- Dad --"

The hand around his dick is a surprise, like some part of Tim had just forgotten that it was an option, that it could feel like this, be this *good*, even with Bruce just holding him, barely stroking --

Tim's knees are shaking and the floor feels like something that belongs to the Tim who doesn't exist anymore. The wall does, too, the body -- his body is still real, and Bruce won't let him forget it. The burn and the stroke, the depth and the *squeeze*. He's begging now, and he knows that Bruce will let him forget the words.

It's just that he also knows that Bruce *won't* forget. He'll remember everything, swallow it up and hold it inside himself so Tim will have to see it every time he meets Bruce's eyes.

"Dad," he says again, and thinks about the way he's home and -- needed. Loved, for this and everything else. Everything that makes Bruce *find* him, examine him, learn him --

All over again? Differently?

"I --" He has nothing to say, and he's not sure it would come out right if he tried. Bruce is *working* him, using him the way he almost never does when they're in uniform. That's for the other, or -- maybe for neither of them, anymore. He hasn't asked.

And --

He doesn't know how he's still standing, and trying to hold onto the tile is just punishing his nails. His hand slips -- squeaks in its own sweat -- "Please," he says, and does it again when it makes Bruce stroke faster, fuck *harder* --

"Don't hold back, Tim. Not -- from me."

Never. Never -- ever, Tim says, and works his own hips until the burn makes him start growling. He can't open his eyes to see how Ace is reacting to it, but when it gets like this -- he doesn't really want to know.

Coming is like the first second after the water comes on ice cold, like listening to his other laugh at him in the seconds before he pulls Tim close, like -- like being nothing stranger or scarier than *real*. It chokes Tim a little until the moan is more like a cough, but Bruce has more than enough time to catch him before he shakes himself down to the floor.

There's always a moment after coming like this when Tim has to just -- feel himself. Maybe get to know himself all over again. Right now, that means living in the feel of his chinos and briefs down around his ankles, knowing that warmer spot on the tile is from where Tim was trying and failing to hold on, and watching the spots clear from in front of his vision. Blinking, a little.

"You always squeeze your eyes shut... hm. Very tightly," Bruce says, and, "breathe."

He hadn't -- he was hoping, somewhat, that Bruce would stay in longer, this time. He doesn't want to think about why, though, so he breathes through Bruce pulling out, holds himself together through the shiver, and tries to think. Bruce can absolutely get away with a thorough hand-washing -- he's doing it now.

Tim -- well, he doesn't need a shower, really -- that was too quick for him to sweat a lot, and Bruce had caught most of the come in his hand -- but Tim still wants more than just a quick wash-up. He toes off his shoes and steps out of his pants, and lets himself lean against the wall to take off his socks.

He takes Bruce's eyebrow raise in the mirror as his due, and remembers an image of himself -- hazy and *diffuse* -- flipping Bruce his middle finger. For -- something. It's easier to just raise his own eyebrows in return, and then cut a glance to Bruce's soapy hands.

"Hm. Ten minutes?"

"I -- fifteen," Tim says, and steps into the bath. He needs to pick which suit he'll wear, and comb his hair out to something both neat and unsatisfying. And check with his other.

They're still not very good at leaving each other to any greater degree than inhabiting separate areas of the manor, and they don't particularly want to be. If that changes... Tim doesn't know.

Bruce leans into the shower far enough to kiss the shoulder which isn't being hit by the water. It's light, but not very brief. There's a promise of teeth behind it. Other things.

He knows Bruce has left the bathroom entirely when Ace's collar rattles against the floor next to the shower. He does something like the same thing whenever Bruce leaves his and the other's bedroom. He --

"Good dog," Tim says, and lifts his face into the spray.