He was expecting the campus to be mostly deserted -- judging by his own experience of the way this sort of thing worked after major holidays -- and he was right.

The maintenance staff had been working to keep the paths clean and clear and there's no visible damage from any of the storms this area had had to deal with over the break, but the dormitory is quiet and deserted, filled with that vague sense of waiting such buildings tend to have.

They unload Bruce's few things first, and there's no sign of Dent. Bruce spends a fair amount of time holding the small bag Tim knows holds Dent's Christmas presents before tucking it in the drawer with his socks. The room itself is as neat as any -- average -- person would like, but Alfred finds things to straighten just the same... while Tim tries to get a handle on Dent by the things he'd left behind.

There are two posters -- both of which depict baseball players Tim guesses are reasonably famous. The style of the posters is more reminiscent of blown-up baseball cards than of any of the sports posters Tim is familiar with, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that he's in the past than with anything else.

Other than that... if anything, Dent is even neater than Bruce is, or... it's possible that he means more precise. The books on his shelves are arranged alphabetically and by size, creating a repeating stair effect. The books themselves include a biography of Brandeis and one of Oliver Wendell Holmes -- no fiction.

His desk is arranged for *work*, and while Bruce's is the same, there's a hint of something almost obsessive in the way... yes, that *is* something like an exact forty-five degree angle from the pencil holder to Dent's chair. And another one from the *pen* holder to the chair. And...

He has no reason whatsoever to open Dent's closet. Just -- none.

But wouldn't Tom be curious about Bruce's roommate? Bruce's *friend*. Tim makes a point of catching Bruce's eye and looking rueful and moves past Alfred adjusting the drapes to open the closet, and -- yes.

The shoes are all shined and arranged with almost viciously angular neatness. The uniform clothes -- he only has two sets -- have been cleaned and arranged together in just the right order for Dent to get into them in the mornings. The other clothes are arranged the same way, and even the jeans have been ironed.

There's no sign of any junk or contraband, and... Tim knows what he needs to.

When he closes the door and turns around, Bruce is watching him curiously and Alfred is doing the same -- for all that he's not facing Tim, at all.

"Ah... it's the same. In my world. Which is going to make this easier *and* harder, actually."

Bruce nods as if he's satisfied, and Alfred doesn't say a word.

Tim sits next to Bruce on the lower bunk and thinks about what the rest of their day will look like. A part of the dining hall will be open for students like them who are returning early, but Alfred will be leaving them enough food that it would be perfectly reasonable for them to have dinner together in -- Bruce's room.

Because his room is...

Well, he hasn't really been thinking about it too deeply since Alfred had informed him about it in an aside during their drive, and he doesn't want to think too deeply about it *now*, but --

Room 14, as Bruce had noted -- with not nearly enough horror, as far as Tim's concerned -- is Lex Luthor's room.

Alfred had hummed with disapproval upon hearing this, and Tom was entirely within character when he'd made his own disapproving noise.

Tim --

Tim is going to have to *deal*, and said dealing is due to start just as soon as Alfred decides Bruce's room is as good as it's going to get --

"Are you ready, Master Tom?"

"Ah -- no?" Tim stands up and pushes a hand through his hair. "Everything Bruce has said suggests that he's... significantly different from the Lex I know, but... but I'm no closer to dealing with it here. Let's go."

Alfred lets them help carry Tim's suitcases upstairs, and... this is a very classic design, much like the dormitories at Brentwood, architecturally. By the time Tim had gone there, changes had been made to the dorms so that they could accommodate students with disabilities. Whereas this place... the electric light fixtures had, for the most part, just replaced the ones designed for lamps and candles. Everything is old wood and the weight of a very particular sort of history. Even the fire exits aren't up to --

A code which may or may not exist in a form Tim would recognize.

And he can feel Bruce watching him from slightly behind him, feel him wondering... what? Is Tim examining things too closely? Tom had attended this school *with* Bruce, and there shouldn't be all that many differences. Maybe he should've told them that 'they' had gone to Brentwood in Tom's world -- no. Bruce Wayne is very much a *legacy* here, and there would have to be a very good reason for him not to have attended. Something Tim really couldn't have come up with on the fly.

There's no sign of Luthor when they get to the room -- strike that. There are *many* signs of Luthor. A very *particular* Luthor.

At first glance, the room is a cluttered mess -- the sort of thing only a student wielding money like a *club* could get away with at a school like this one. However.

There's no odor of unwashed teenaged male, suggesting that the clothes strewn on the floor are clean. The bookshelves are anything but neat -- but the titles are all visible and pointed in more or less the same direction. The posters are all of musicians -- David Bowie figures prominently -- and there's a stereo with record player, but all of the records are together, and -- Tim would bet -- organized.

Moreover, none of the clothes on the floor would require ironing even though they *are* bunched up. The shoes aren't together, but they're all in pairs.

The desk *looks* like a jumble, but the pens and pencils are in easy reach, and there *is* a clear work space, and --

So on. Luthor is clearly doing his level best to project an image, and he's doing an impressive job of it. It's possible that Tim would've missed it if he weren't very assiduously looking for trouble, considering the look of generalized distaste on Alfred's face and the blinking confusion on Bruce's own.

However, there's unpacking to be done.

Luthor had left the extra bureau in this room alone, and Alfred fills it efficiently. The same can't be said for the other closet -- there are clothes in there which wouldn't look out of place in a...

They really *are* called discos in this day and age.

Alfred takes them out and matter-of-factly lays them across the -- unmade -- lower bunk, replacing them with Tim's clothes and brushing away nanoscopic bits of dust. There just isn't much Alfred *can* do here without disturbing Luthor's things in ways Tim knows Alfred won't, and Tim can almost feel Alfred seething about that.

Bruce, for his part, is studying one of the posters of David Bowie like it has the answers to the universe. Bowie is wearing large amounts of makeup, very tight pants, platform-heeled boots, and large amounts of glitter. There's a sort of consciously menacing sexuality to his stance and expression, and Luthor had placed the poster in such a way that it would be instantly visible upon walking into the room.

A dare, and Tim wonders how it had flown with Luthor's father -- or if Luthor bothered to play that sort of game at home.

What *he* knows of Luthor's childhood is spotty, at best. A rather mysterious accident -- which will later be postulated as possibly having been related to Kal-El's arrival on the planet -- had left Luthor hairless. He's an avid student of biology and chemistry. His father had built Luthorcorp from the ground up -- on a larger scale than Jack Drake had with Drake Industries -- and they're very much new money.

There were some indications that Luthor's father had been authoritative to the point of being domineering, but there's very little *there* there, as Lionel Luthor had died mysteriously not long after *Lex* Luthor had turned eighteen. Whether Lex Luthor would've had -- *will* have -- time in the next year or two to plot and carry out his father's demise in between the demands of the Exeter curriculum and whatever it is he's hiding behind this charade of a slovenly party boy...

Tim doesn't know, and he might *continue* not knowing even after he meets his... roommate.

"I would suggest that you explain to young Mr. Luthor that half of this space is your own, Master Tom," Alfred says, sounding very much as though he would like to offer those explanations himself via the judicious use of a cane.

Tim rubs his upper lip with his finger and does not laugh. "I don't really need that much --"

"You have shown no difficulty at being assertive during our short acquaintance, young sir. It would be a very great shame for you to start now," Alfred says, and *yanks* down a scarf -- silk, Tim thinks -- which Luthor had tangled with the drapes. He puts it on the bed.

"Ah... noted."

"Would you ever wear clothes like that, Tom...?" And Bruce sounds both thoughtful and a little... dreamy.

Tim clears his throat --

Bruce blinks and gives Tim a sheepish look, and --

Alfred has gone back to ignoring them both. Fine.

"Well," Tim says, and moves to get a better view of the poster. "Those boots *would* make me significantly taller."

"I've always wondered why it's acceptable for women to artificially increase their heights but not men," Bruce says, and continues staring at the poster.

"I believe men are, among other things, supposed to be above such concerns, Bruce. It's a kind of vanity, after all."

"Isn't everyone vain, though? In one way or another, I mean. All sorts of men wear toupees, for example."

"Toupees," Alfred says, "are an abominable invention inflicted on the weak of mind by a soulless corporate culture."

Tim smiles. "The ancient Egyptians shaved their heads *just* so they could wear hairpieces, Alfred."  

"We are not," Alfred says, and sniffs, "in Egypt. Nor are we likely to find ourselves there in the near future." He turns to look over the room once more. The earlier distaste is, if anything, even stronger now. "I am quite frankly unsure what else *can* be done with this room."

"Hmm... fire?"

"Do *not* tempt me, Master Tom," Alfred says, and focuses on him. "Do you think you will be all right?"

The question is serious, and is backed with sincere worry for -- Tom Wayne. Abruptly, Tim misses his Alfred painfully, and it's enough to make him tighten his jaw as he nods.

Alfred's expression isn't quite soft, but there's a certain familiar affection to it which... this Alfred would never -- *could* never -- believe the truth, but if he could -- no, it's a pointless consideration. Alfred can't know anything about Tim but those things which would suit Tom, and Tom isn't an especially needy sort of boy.

Not in terms of *this*, anyway, and Bruce has torn his attention away from the poster -- "Is it time for you to leave us, Alfred?"

"I'm afraid so, Master Bruce. I trust you both to focus on your studies and comport yourselves as befits your name and station. I will be in touch and so, I further trust, will the two of you."

"Yes, Alfred," they say together, and then Bruce offers Alfred his hand for shaking. Tim wants to do the same thing, but... Tom *is* affectionate. He holds up a hand and gives Alfred a firm, brief hug. When he pulls back, Alfred's eyebrow is nearing his hairline.

Tim raises his own eyebrow --

And Bruce hugs Alfred like it's something he might get beaten for ever even considering.

Alfred pats Bruce's shoulder and hugs back, and Tim watches Bruce relax into it. It's good to see, for all that Tim's sure it won't change anything fundamental, at all. When Bruce pulls back, Alfred looks touched and rather determinedly formal, and it makes Tim want to hug Alfred again --

Though it's possible that that's just the Dick who lives inside his head.

Alfred stands straight and inclines his head to them both. They thank him, and Alfred leaves, presumably to make his way back to Gotham... and continue trying to get Tom Wayne a meeting with *some* member of the Justice Society.

A part of Tim nags for that. The truth is, he could've just done something like show up at Ted Grant's gym with his fantastic story and a list of JSA secret identities and vital statistics to back up his claims. He may not be *as* familiar with them as he is with the League, but he could've told a creditable story which would've *also* been the truth.

Instead, he had chosen to lie and *embed* himself within a family which would only truly become his own after several horrible things had happened over the course of years. And how much of that has to do with the fact that he'd taken one look at Bruce and...

And.

It's done *now*, and there's nothing Tim can do about it. When he has more free time -- in the very *much* future -- he'll put time and effort into analyzing his own needs and failings. At the moment...

Bruce has gone back to staring at Bowie.

"You're fascinated."

"I'm trying to understand the appeal for a heterosexual male. Or a female, for that matter, since he doesn't really seem to present as... traditionally available?"

"'Traditionally' is the operative term, Bruce," Tim says, and lets himself stand a little closer. "He's making a statement about... hm. The politics of sexuality."

"I don't think I can approve of anything that makes sex *more* complicated, Tom."

"Well --"

"Oh, I don't know, Bruce. Complication can be part of the fun," Lex Luthor says, and, when Tim looks --

That's really something of a sashay. Which, given the very tight bellbottoms and the loose, open-collared *blouse*...

Yes, Tim really is coping with this. He makes his eyebrow raise look as friendly as he can, while beside him --

"Welcome back, Lex. Did you have a good vacation?" Bruce is giving Lex tea party politesse, and...

Is *that* how he behaves with the other students? It would make sense, but it -- makes a *lot* of sense, really.

And Luthor looks amused, but tolerant. "Thank you, Bruce, I did. And yourself?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and it just sits there, flat and impossible to work around.

Luthor looks even more amused, and not at all surprised. He's *used* to this. All right --

"Ah, Lex...? I'm --"

"Tom Wayne, Bruce's cousin from somewhere in California," Lex says, and offers his hand -- no.

It would be far more accurate to say that he *presents* his hand, and though it's not *quite* in a position which would demand that Tim bend and kiss it, the suggestion is very much there. Tim takes it, turns it, and shakes it. "You're well-informed."

"And *you*... are my brand new roommate," and Lex doesn't let go of Tim's hand right away. "Good to meet you. If I'd known you were coming early, I would've straightened up the place." The smile on Lex's face doesn't even come *close* to reaching his eyes, and --

Yes, that's several different lies, at once. Tim raises his eyebrow a little higher. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Ooh. And are *you* just like our own dear Bruce, Tom? Polite to a fault...?"

Bruce... is watching them both while doing a *very* creditable job of pretending to study the poster again. And how is he going to play this? Make a decision *quickly* --

"Well," Tim says, and slides his hand away from Luthor's. Slowly. "I do try."

It would be tempting to describe Luthor's eyes as being heavy-lidded -- and his expression as languid -- but they're really just narrow. Calculating -- and he looks Tim over just as if he hadn't taken the opportunity to do just that while he was still in the hall.

It's important to remember that at least one person here can move as quietly -- as subtly -- as Bruce can, if not necessarily as much as *he* can. And when Luthor is done looking, he stands hipshot and -- yes, Tim is absolutely supposed to think of that expression as being openly admiring.

Tim raises his other eyebrow. "Lex...? Or should I call you Alex --"

"*Never* that," Luthor says. "We're going to be too close for that."

Oh, really. "Are we?"

"I certainly hope so... Tommy?"

"Tom," Tim says, and watches Luthor file that away --

"Well, then. *Has* Bruce shown you around yet, or is our fair campus still a mystery to you?"

"Oh. I could... would you like me to give you the tour, Tom?"

Tim *could* fake knowing which of the assorted old brick buildings were which -- but Bruce would want to know why they weren't taking the opportunity to slip into the woods for a little... contact --

"Oh, I don't think so, Bruce. You're *much* too slow," Luthor says, and bats his lashes at Bruce. "Besides, you've had Tom here all vacation. You simply must give the rest of us a chance."

Bruce frowns. "I --"

"I think I'd like that, Lex. Thank you," Tim says, and claps Bruce on the shoulder. "I'll see you for dinner, Bruce."

And the expression Bruce has on his face for that is none too subtle, but Tim can pretend he didn't see anything of the kind -- and Bruce blanks himself after only a moment.

Luthor, for his part, had spent the entirety of that moment studying Tim with a surprise which may or may *not* have been real. Tim's pretty sure it *was* -- Luthor is laying it on *thick* -- and... yes. This is some variety of perfect. It will certainly be *useful* to discover just how far Luthor plans to go with this... flirtation.

Tim squeezes Bruce's shoulder and lets go. "Now, Lex? Or did you want to... ah, straighten your things a little?"

"Straight," Lex says, with a keen sense of when to take advantage of a line, "is overrated. Let's go," and he turns to wink at Bruce. "Don't worry -- I'll bring him back in *good* shape."

Bruce blushes, but apparently Luthor is used to getting that sort of reaction from him, because he pays it no mind. And Bruce's hands flex at his sides, but he doesn't ball them into fists. "Then I'll wait. In my room."

"Sounds good, Bruce," Tim says, and gestures toward the door. "Lead the way, Lex."

He does so, snagging a jacket from the back of his desk chair. He's not *quite* swaying his hips as he walks, but the suggestion is there -- powerfully so. Lex Luthor is -- Tim thinks -- either seventeen years old or about to have his seventeenth birthday. He has chosen -- for reasons as yet unclear -- to present himself as ambiguously oriented and hypersexual.

He has *additionally* chosen to turn that on Tom Wayne, but... hmm. "So how quickly had you planned to get me to request a room change...?"

Luthor doesn't falter -- impressive in those boots, but there's nothing plummy or arch about the way he hums -- and zips up his jacket. "You're just lucky Bruce was there, Tom."

"Oh...? Were you planning to kiss me?"

Luthor pauses, whipping off his scarf -- and wrapping it around the back of Tim's neck.

Tim gives him the eyebrow again. "You do realize that I'm from the Bay area, yes?"

"And *you* realize that there's more to that area than Haight/Ashbury," Luthor says, and tugs Tim closer by the scarf. They're on one of the very public paths between the dorms and the other buildings, and anyone could be watching from one of the many windows.

Though Bruce wouldn't have a view of this from his room. "Yes, Lex...?"

"You're cute. You're also a lot more observant than the lion's share of our fellow students -- and the faculty which watches over us as we are molded into the titans of tomorrow. I find that interesting, Tom, and so I'll say only this: stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

Tim cocks his head to the side. "I'm going to have to know rather more about what defines your 'way.'"

Luthor's smile... glints. "Then be a good little detective and watch and learn, sweetheart." And Luthor whips the scarf away and tucks it back around his own neck.

Tom would... definitely take the time to get a closer look at his very, very intriguing -- and disturbing -- roommate. He's somewhat taller than average for their age -- even discounting the boots, but he's also much leaner than he would've expected, given the rangy body he's set to grow into. Almost willowy, really -- though there's the question of how he moves.

Steph had the naturally light step of someone who'd grown up with an abusive parent, Luthor seems to have taken that sort of thing farther -- if the suppositions which had been in Bruce's files were correct.

"Studying me, Tom?"

Oh, yes. But -- that was a hint of sharpness which doesn't quite fit with either the role Luthor had been playing or the more recent hints of honesty. Body conscious? "I'm watching and learning." When, exactly, did you learn judo, Luthor?

"You might consider trying to do it more subtly," Luthor says, and *very* consciously moves back into an arrogantly hipshot stance.

Tim raises his hands and offers -- something like -- a real smile. "My apologies. Shall we continue with the tour?"

Luthor is thorough about it, including points of interest like the statue where several seniors had been caught abusing a bottle of excellent single malt, the hedge where two amorous freshmen had been caught *being* amorous, the gate with the disintegrating lock where students are *regularly* caught trying to do all sorts of things -- hmm.

"I find myself wondering both about the quality of supervision and the quality of the adolescents with whom I'll be spending the next semester."

"As you should," Luthor says, and his smile glints again. "There *are* ways around the supervision, but there's a certain pleasure which can only be taken in watching one's 'peers' fail at that sort of thing spectacularly."

Tim hums. "As you say."

"You don't agree...?"

"Oh, I didn't say *that*," Tim says, and lets another of his real smiles out. "Attending this sort of school is rather less exciting than going to a *public* school --"

"Ooh. Dallying with the hoi polloi?"

Tim takes a moment to enjoy the image of Steph breaking Luthor's nose all over his face. "Why, Lex, I hadn't expected *you* to be the sort to knock something before you've tried it... thoroughly."

Luthor gives him a narrow-eyed smile. "Already paying attention. Good boy. But you were saying...?"

"Boys will be boys -- in as many idiotic and dangerous ways as possible. It's not that the addition of the fairer sex improves that sort of thing -- but it does tend to add a certain *depth* to the games which are played."

"'The fairer sex,' Tom? Really? Should I be lending you some of my eyeliner?"

"I much prefer the natural look, but I appreciate the offer," Tim says, and takes note of the athletic fields, and how they back directly onto a heavily wooded area. "That must make practice picturesque in the autumn."

"Mm, I wouldn't know. Sports are rather too *coarse* for my... taste."

And your skin? I bet you bruised like a nuclear sunset when you were learning how to defend yourself. "I agree... to a certain extent. There are things about the male of the species which can *only* be learned in a team setting."

"Then I'm sure you'll find phys. ed. to be illuminating, Tom. For myself, I plan to spend the lion's share of that time running punishment laps."

"Bruce mentioned something of the kind."

Another smile. "Do you ever find yourself musing on the future, Tom?"

"Oh... often."

Lex hums. "Money is a wonderful thing. When added to a certain degree of -- legal -- maturity, the end of the equation is power. Including the power to make the petty tyrants of one's youth... pay."

Meaning that the gym teacher is going to suffer in one way or another starting in a little more than a year. "You don't consider revenge to be petty in and of itself?"

"It certainly *can* be -- in the hands of the terminally unimaginative."

"Which you are most assuredly not."

"Imagination can be the only weapon a small, sickly, and freakish child has at his disposal --"

"You're *not* asking for pity."

"I've been telling all sorts of lies since we made our acquaintance, Tom, but believe me when I say that *pity* will get you nothing you'd care for."

And that... would make Tom Wayne: The Cousin nod in satisfaction. "I was afraid you were going to turn out to be boring, after all."

"Perish the thought," Luthor says, and leads them toward what the map Tim had gotten to glance at in those moments before Alfred had bundled them into the car had designated as the Science quad. "But I was talking about imagination."

"Yes. As a weapon. I confess that I'm intrigued."

"Because you *have* wanted the power to destroy someone with your mind at least once."

Tom laughs quietly. "I do *like* science fiction, Lex, but..."

"I'm speaking of *fact*, not fiction, Tom. Although I misspoke when I implied that imagination *alone* would do the trick."

Ah. "Willpower, Lex...?"

"Oh, yes," he says, and the smile on his face is broad and predatory. "We're in the fortunate position of being wealthy enough that our day to day needs are taken care of without requiring us to so much as think about them. In our free time, we can thus imagine things, and will ourselves toward them, toward the things which need to be done in order for our imaginings to become reality."

One day, Lex, you're going to lose a hand because of just that viewpoint. But Tom can't go there. "Some fantasies don't belong in the realm of the material."

"That's it? No equivocation at all? Rather *flat*, don't you think?"

"One person's dream is another's nightmare. I feel rather comfortable saying that I don't want to be responsible for making things worse for people," Tim says, and feels distinctly as though he'd walked into a *trap* --

Though that could be the smile on Luthor's face. Or --

"All right, no. There are people in the world who deserve to have their lives made at least a little bit worse --"

"Precisely."

"*But* -- judging who those people are requires wisdom and care. *Caution*. Who's to say how the 'petty tyrants' in our lives live when they're not being assholes? Maybe there are reasons why they do the things they do."

"There is *no* excuse for torturing the innocent," Luthor says, vehement and -- honest.

To the point where Tim has to put some thought into continuing to move as easily and casually as Tom Wayne would, because... Luthor? What?

And Luthor stops and turns to face him. "Are you honestly looking for a way to *disagree* with me, Wayne? Your family may have made their fortune on the backs of immigrants and the desperate, but I'd assumed that sort of thing had gone out of *fashion*," Luthor says, and he's searching Tim *hard*.

Tom stops and raises his hands. "I'm -- not arguing. I just didn't... expect you to say that."

And when Tim looks, he can see that Luthor does, in fact, have eyebrows. It's just that they're nearly colorless and quite fine, and a part of Tim is *only* wondering when he's going to start darkening them, and --

He's still being searched. Tim pushes a hand back through his hair and smiles ruefully. "Nothing you'd said up until that point had implied any care whatsoever for the *concept* of innocence -- much less for the people who could, perhaps, be defined that way."

Luthor nods, and the expression on his face turns wry. "I'm not... ah. Hm. What am I *not*, exactly?"

Tim raises an eyebrow again. "Tanned?"

"I burn like flash paper, as you may have already guessed. Soon Luthorcorp will be marketing a sunblock lotion of my own design. I don't expect it to sell all that well in a world full of people who honestly believe the sun can't hurt them, but time will prove me right," Luthor says, and he sounds young and serious. And *looks* shocked that he'd ever let himself sound anything of the kind.

Time for Tom Wayne to do his thing. "Well," Tim drawls, "time is something of vast commodity in our hands, Lex."

"Oh, yes. And I plan to take advantage of every *second* of it. How about you?"

Tim makes a point of looking around, taking in the campus in all of its faux-British glory. Do they still cane people here? "I... have my plans," Tim hedges --

"And what are they, exactly? You believe that some people aren't getting what they deserve -- positively *and* negatively. What are you planning to *do* about it? And how *did* you get kicked out of your old school?"

"Ah..." Tim gestures to Lex to lead them back the way they came.

"Stalling for time?"

"Perhaps. As to the first -- the Wayne family already has a charity in place. I've been talking to Bruce about expanding it and extending its reach."

"Very Carnegie. Noblesse oblige?"

"If we're supposed to be the best and the brightest, then we may as well act that way."

"Mm. Don't mind me -- we nouveau riche have generations before we're expected to do that sort of thing. And how you wound up *here* as opposed to sunny California?"

"It's rather foggy and grim this time of year, actually, but... that's a story I don't know you well enough to tell," Tim says, with finality.

Luthor's expression is a *moue*. "That's it? After I've bared my soul?"

Tim smiles. "Don't play the game if you don't know the rules."

"Touché. Tell me about Bruce. What's it like to actually share a *home* with that boy? I swear he was born with tarns instead of pupils."

Well... well. It really *wouldn't* pay to give Lex *fucking* Luthor a reason to be too deeply interested in a Bruce with as little armor as this one. "He's -- somewhat -- less formal with family."

"*Formal* isn't the problem and you know it, Tom. His GPA hasn't slipped lower than three-point-nine since he's been here, but he's incapable of having a conversation about *anything*. He's built like a tank -- and is reasonably agile in phys. ed. -- but he's not involved in any sports. He has some of the bluest blood *in* this place, but his only friend is a scholarship kid. There's something *there*, and I don't plan on stopping until I know what it is."

"Then I'd think you'd find questioning *me* about it to be rather unsatisfying, Lex."

"Oh, Tom. You have no *idea* what I find satisfying," he says, and there's the improbably teenaged roué again.

Tim can't decide if he'd missed him or not, but -- there are other concerns. "Fine. He watched his beloved parents get murdered in front of him when he was eight years old --"

"Yes, yes, everyone knows *that* --"

"Do they? Because I rather think it takes a special sort of person to understand just what that sort of thing can do to a person."

Lex grunts. "Spoken from experience...?"

Why didn't you let me see her before she died, Bruce? "There are all sorts of dangers in mixing with the lower classes, Lex. Including violence."

"There's a story there."

"Which, again, I don't know you well enough to tell," Tim says.

"Mm. Your point is made. Perhaps you Waynes just don't *deal* with grief the way we mere mortals do."

"Well. We *are* a cut above."

Lex laughs and bows and they make their way back to the dormitory in a silence Tim has to admit is companionable. There has to be some sort of special punishment for enjoying oneself with Lex Luthor, though it's possible that it would be set aside in favor of punishing the teen vigilante who can't keep it in his pants when faced with his comparably aged mentor.

And *that*...

He waves Lex on when they get to the dormitory and heads directly for Bruce's room --

And Bruce has laid out their dinner on his bed. It's sandwiches and salad -- and a bottle of wine that in Tim's time will sell for a bit over three thousand dollars. Which would explain why there was an additional cooler filled with ice.

Tim smiles. "It's a picnic."

"Do you think I should've laid everything out on the floor?"

Heh. Well... "Believe me when I say that I have no great desire to sit on anything hard until it's absolutely necessary, Bruce."

Bruce blinks. "I -- had forgotten. *That* aspect of things, I mean."

"Mm, I took your meaning," Tim says, and sits across from Bruce. "Hi."

"Oh... hello," and the smile on Bruce's face could easily be compared to a sunrise, if Tim were that sort of person.

As he's -- mostly -- not, Tim settles for thinking of it as beautiful and reaching across to stroke the corner of Bruce's mouth. "Were you waiting long?"

"Not longer than I expected," Bruce says, and kisses Tim's fingertips. "I love you. Did you learn what you wanted to about Lex?"

I don't want to leave you for anything -- "I... he's definitely not what I'd expected, but then, you'd prepared me for that."

Bruce nods. "He's -- unique."

"He made you blush."

Bruce smiles ruefully. "For a moment I was quite sure that he could see what I was thinking."

"Oh, yes...?"

"I think you'd look very sexy dressed like David Bowie. Though perhaps you'd use a little less makeup."

Tim snorts, and... is this where 'dress Robin up and send him out to fight crime in heels' comes from? That would be *disturbingly* hilarious, really. Tim shakes his head. "I'll... keep that in mind? Lex did offer me the use of his eyeliner."

"Oh... it would be very dramatic. You're not as pale as he is, but you have more beautiful eyes."

Tim raises an eyebrow -- somewhat self-consciously.

"Lex's eyes are like slate and they're almost always *hard*. Yours are more blue than that, and... I've gotten to see them softer. Warmer."

"That has more to do with emotion than any intrinsic beauty --"

"Sometimes I think your passion is the most beautiful thing about you," Bruce says, and bites his lip. And tears off a corner of one of the sandwiches. "Ah... may I?"

"You want to... feed me?"

Bruce frowns a little harder. "A moment's whim. I'm not sure *why* it seems like it would be such a wonderful thing to do. It's definitely more than just having my fingers close to your mouth. Perhaps... the intimacy? Doing something for you which you could obviously do for yourself... hmm. I don't think I want you to be *helpless*."

"I don't, either. Perhaps you're just thinking of... putting me on a pedestal?"

Bruce blinks... and smiles wryly. "I could look up your boxer shorts."

"I don't *wear* boxer shorts."

"You could start," Bruce says, and pops the bite of sandwich into his own mouth. "Though whenever I wear boxer shorts I feel as though I'm pretending to be our father."

Tim shakes his head. "Do you really want to rule out an entire category of clothing? I mean, are neckties next?"

"I really dislike neckties," Bruce says. "I always feel as though I'm asking someone to yank on it and choke me. Hmm. Do you like neckties?"

Tim laughs quietly. "They make me feel as though I'm constantly pointing at my penis. I always thought codpieces wouldn't be untoward when one is already wearing a necktie."

Bruce... looks exactly as though he's picturing it.

"Bruce..."

"Do you think... what color codpiece would you wear? Burgundy would be a good color for you."

Tim snorts. "I -- have never thought about it."

"No, I think you're on to something that could... hm. Revolutionize male fashion? We could also bring back elaborate Egyptian hairpieces."

"And eyeliner for all."

"That's the most important part of the look," Bruce says, as solemn as the grave.

"Oh -- Bruce."

"Yes, Tom?"

And Bruce looks innocent and *mild*, a quiet and serious boy -- if a little on the large side. "You -- I love you."

Bruce smiles again. "Then you *will* let me feed you."

"One bite."

"Two?"

"*One*," Tim says, firmly, and opens his mouth.

Bruce tears off another bite of sandwich and places it lightly on Tim's tongue. Tom would make a point of closing his lips around Bruce's fingers; Tim just does it.

"I don't suppose you found any... private places?"

Tim pulls back, chews, and swallows. "At the moment, I think our best bet will be to take our runs into the woods past the athletic fields when we're feeling... a need. But I'm not done searching by a long road."

Bruce nods and licks his own fingers. "I was thinking... sometimes I'm the only person in the library. I used to spend time there because Harvey would, but Harvey has been tutoring some of the other students to make extra money this year... well."

"You want to have sex in a *library*?"

Bruce blinks. "That's... shocking?"

"It's -- well, it's a *library*," Tim says, and tries not to think about the hours he'd spent in various branches of the Gotham Public Library, about the way he'd worked *not* to always go to the one where Barbara worked part time -- the fact is, it's a *good* idea. A way for them to be together without risking frostbite. But.

"Well, yes, Tom, but --"

"I -- let me think about it? Libraries are kind of... sacred. To me."

"You hardly spent any time at all in the libraries at home."

"Those are -- different," and Tim smiles ruefully. "I don't know. Maybe I'll agree with you when I --" Except that he's already *been* in the Exeter library. Tom has. "When I've thought about it."

"I'll keep thinking, as well. I --" Bruce laughs quietly. "I'll be thinking about it a great deal. I... um." Bruce shifts on the bed until he can reach into his pocket -- and pull out a tube of K-Y.

Which... Tim reaches into his own pocket and pulls out another.

Bruce coughs. "It's good to know that we've been thinking in the same direction. I -- when did you have *time* to get that out of my closet? I was *with* you --"

"Except when I stopped to 'go to the bathroom' right before we left," Tim says, and raises both eyebrows. "I think we should keep both tubes -- and the condoms I have in my other pocket -- here. I don't trust Lex not to search my things."

"He's not... or. Is he? And I'm reasonably sure that... um. Alfred always packs condoms for me."

Oh... of course he does. Happily -- on a number of levels -- Bruce had already given him a subject change. "I think I did a good job of playing your cousin. Unfortunately -- or not, it's too early to tell -- I also did a good job of making him find me... well, 'interesting' was the word he used."

"Do you think he'll try to learn our *other* secrets? I mean -- he can't, unless one of us tells him."

"Which isn't going to happen, no, but..." He's dangerous. In just a few years, he's going to start the process of becoming the single most dangerous man in the world -- if he hasn't already. Tim smiles ruefully. "I just have a feeling that it's not the best idea in the world to make him interested in you."

"But it's all right if he's interested in you?"

Right now, Bruce, I'm an infinitely better liar -- no. "Not that, either. I... I don't know, Bruce. He's very interesting, and we had a good conversation --"

"About what?"

"Ah... the future, what we want, what we believe... that sort of thing."

Bruce frowns slightly. "I always got the impression that it was difficult to get him to talk about things like that. As opposed to... shallow things. Or sexual things. Or both."

Well... Tim picks up one of the sandwiches and hands it to Bruce, and then retrieves the glasses so he can pour the entirely too wonderful wine. "I let him know that he was underestimating me. I'm not sure why I did it other than it seemed like a good idea at the time -- no, I do know. I wanted to get a read on him, and that was the best way to do it."

"So you... manipulated him?"

"With honesty, yes," Tim says and hands Bruce one of the glasses. "He seemed to find it refreshing."

"He's very... clever. He always seems to have something to say, whether or not it's the *right* thing."

"And often it's not very nice, yes, I can see that. And his eyes are hard because he's lying most of the time. Presenting an *image* rather than himself."

"But he does it all the *time*. Surely anyone would need a break from that?"

Careful, careful. Tim takes a sip of wine -- delicious, and not at all dry -- and spreads his hands. "Some people find that sort of thing easier than others. He's apparently decided that he doesn't *want* to be himself here, and I'd like to find out why."

"Well... I suppose it could be because of the way a lot of the other boys treat him. But then, the other boys treat him that way *because* of the way he... pretends to be."

"Hmm. And you honestly think they wouldn't if he was *just* hairless, pale, and new money, to boot?"

Bruce frowns and shakes his head. "There are a lot of reasons why I've never really seen the point of trying to have a lot of friends."

Tim covers Bruce's hand with his own. "I do see your point. Steph --" Tim laughs quietly. "There I go again."

"No, it's all right. But I think you were going to say that Steph was different? That the money and other things didn't matter to her?"

"I... I honestly think my being wealthy made her uncomfortable, sometimes, but in general you're right."

"I wonder if Alfred would send us to a public school for our senior year."

Tim shakes his head. "That *would* be newsworthy, Bruce. There'd be reporters following -- us." Not *us*. Not --

Bruce's expression is wry and a little bleak. "For a moment, you were thinking that you would stay with me."

There's no way and no reason to deny it. Tim nods.

Bruce squeezes Tim's hand. "Forgive me for finding that sort of thing... warming?"

Tim nods and turns his attention to actually eating the sandwiches Alfred had prepared for them. They eat silently, though don't quite slip into manor behavior. Bruce's eyes are too focused for that, too obviously hungry for all that Tim can *see* that he isn't hard.

It's a lot like Tim had been gone for a day as opposed to a little more than an hour, and it's... flattering. *Warming*, as Bruce had said -- and perhaps that's enough to explain why it makes Tim want to be naked, laid out on this -- terribly small, and yes, he *has* been spoiled -- bed like a different kind of meal entirely...

*He* isn't hard, but he could be -- quickly and easily -- and Bruce is making him want a *context* for the look in his eyes, something --

Something.

The doors lock, but every resident advisor has a master key and, more than that, locked doors breed the kind of suspicion they can't afford.

But. Tim finishes his sandwiches and pours them a second glass of wine. Bruce has *been* finished, and that adds to the level of focus, the --

"I'm making you uncomfortable."

"I --"

"I know I am," Bruce says, and sets his glass down on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure -- you should tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Wrong. Not -- "Well... why don't we start with you telling me what it is you've wanted to do. What I mean is -- what you wanted to accomplish?"

"Seeing you. The way you move, the way you eat. The way your expressions change as you become more tense."

Tim laughs. "Well, then you're not doing anything wrong, at all --"

"I... don't think I want you to be tense."

Think? And Tim has been avoiding Bruce's eyes for... a couple of minutes, now. He looks Bruce in the eye. "We've been eating together for over a week. I don't understand what's changed."

"We're *here*, now. And you're... different. Or more like the way you were when you first came. You're unsure, and, I think, holding yourself back to some extent."

Whoops. "A new environment which shouldn't be new at all, a sense of danger -- we can't be *free* here."

"No," Bruce says, and reaches to take Tim's hand again. "But we have this time."

"And you want to use it by -- studying me like a butterfly on a pin?"

Bruce frowns. "That's somewhat gruesome, Tom."

Tim laughs and shakes his head. "No one stares the way you do, Bruce. I... are you memorizing me?"

"Yes. Every moment. One of the books at home was all about increasing memory power. It's a book the Bat thought I should know by heart..." Bruce smiles. "I appreciated the circularity."

If it's the same book -- and Tim thinks it must be -- Tim had read it himself in those wild days after Jason had died, when he was trying to make himself into something useful and trying to tell himself that he wasn't doing anything of the kind. "I... my Bruce and I read the same book. We'll *have* our memories, Bruce. And -- wouldn't it be better if we were remembering something other than tension?"

"I want everything, Tom. Even... even those moments when you don't want *me*."

"I *do* --"

"Not the parts of me which are too obsessive. They *do* make you uncomfortable --"

"*Bruce*. Do you honestly think I'm *not* obsessive?"

Bruce smiles. "It blends seamlessly into your other qualities, so that even when you're dissecting me -- and I know you do -- it only seems like more conversation, or lovemaking, or just spending time together. You're *better* at it."

I had to hide it from my parents, because I couldn't ever let them see me as irritating -- no. "You could try just *talking* to me, Bruce."

"But then I wouldn't see the shadows take your eyes, or the armor falling over you like a second skin. I told you, Tom -- I want everything --"

Tim stands up and strips off his sweater and shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He lets them fall to the floor and -- compromises.

The door opens inward -- if he's backed against it, there'll at least be warning, and they'll be able to do *something*. He works on his fly --

"Tom --"

"If you're going to look at me like that -- I need for there to be a *reason*," Tim says, getting himself open and the briefs shoved down. He *is* more soft than not, but once he gets a hand on himself, once he tilts his head back and closes his eyes --

"Wait," Bruce says, and it's not quite an order, but it's still -- compelling.

"I won't wait for very long."

"I know," Bruce says, and he's moving -- opening a drawer?

Tim looks up, and Bruce is sitting down again -- with a sketchpad. "You -- really aren't kidding, are you?"

"I'm not very good," Bruce says, and he's already begun sketching. "But memory isn't -- it won't always be *enough*. And I'll be able to correct it, to change it as I grow more skilled --"

"Bruce, you can't -- you won't be able to *keep* that here --"

"Harvey never goes through my things, and no one ever comes to this room. I'm *creepy*," Bruce says, and the smile on his face is bright, brief, and *manic* --

"I --"

"Hard, Tom. Make yourself hard for me?"

Bruce, and everything he wants. Bruce and his hands, already so skilled, already with the ability to be both deft and brutal, gentle and harsh --

*Bruce*, and the way he'd felt inside him --

Tim bites back a moan and strokes himself hard and fast, and adolescence and good health is there for him. He's hard and he's *ready*, and his own hand could be good enough, something to ease the feel of Bruce *watching* --

"There. Wait," Bruce says, and there's the sound of a pencil scratching and moving across paper -- "Hands are so *difficult*, but I've practiced. Mostly with my memories of Harvey's hands as he takes notes, writes papers -- Tom, this will be... it's *already* --"

"Bruce. How -- how long?"

"I don't *know*," Bruce says, and laughs briefly. "If I'd known -- if I'd had any *inkling* that I'd find you, have you --"

"You would've brought the sketchpad home."

"I *love* Alfred, but I didn't particularly want to follow him around and ask him to pose for me. He would give me such a *look* --"

Tim snorts and squeezes the base of his penis. "He *likes* it when you show interest in normal hobbies."

"This -- this is normal? None of the other boys do it."

"That you know of. There's usually -- ah. One or *two* artistic souls being slowly stifled in places like this. God, Bruce, I -- you're still drawing my penis."

"And your scrotum. The shadows *hint* and *tease* -- I want that quality --"

"I want *you* --"

"When I'm done -- closer to done -- I'm going to come over there, kneel in front of you, and do my level best to suck you into my throat."

"It's -- oh, fuck. More of a swallowing. Motion. Bruce --"

"I love you. I love that you'll *let* me do this -- there. I. Do I want your eyes closed or open?"

Tim laughs. "I can't *answer* that question, Bruce --"

"Closed. The way you always close your eyes when you're close, and -- tilt your head back again -- there. That tension in your throat and shoulders... I don't think I'll be able to get the shoulders, but your *throat* --"

"Are you -- maybe you shouldn't draw in my scars, Bruce. Just in *case* --"

"You're a reckless teenaged boy who happens to know judo and karate -- I. Hmm. Tom, do you think Lex knows any martial arts?"

Oh, *Batman* -- "I'm reasonably sure he does, going by --"

"The way he moves, yes. All the more reason for you to keep training me, keep catching me *up*. If *Lex* can do it --"

"Never -- underestimate him."

Bruce pauses, and so does the scratch of the pencil. "You're really afraid of him."

"He could be listening at the door --"

"*You* would feel him," Bruce says, and taps the pencil against the page. "Is it *because* he's so much smarter than nearly everyone else here?"

"That and the fact that he knows how to *use* his intellect socially. I -- just don't underestimate him. And -- I really need to stroke."

Bruce makes a soft sound. "You're more flushed than you were a moment before. I -- I'm tempted to ask if it was thoughts of *Lex* --"

"*Bruce*. I -- focus? Please?"

Another laugh. "Impatient, hungry... sometimes I can't imagine how anyone could look at us and *not* know that we were twins."

Tim *squeezes* his eyes shut and -- doesn't stroke. He can wait, and he can live in this, a little. Bruce's *energy*, usually so banked under years of control both social -- Alfred -- and problematically psychological -- the Bat. He'd always known it was there, and there had even been times when he'd gotten to see it in *his* Bruce.

Times when they were working on the cars, or when he was quizzing Tim on the Arkhamites and Tim was getting every question correct, doing *perfectly* --

And once, during his training, Bruce's eyes had flared so bright he'd seemed inhuman. Tim had *surprised* him with a move during an otherwise brief and painful spar, and Bruce had looked at him like he was some variety of *correct*, like he *would've* chosen Tim if Tim had ever given him a chance --

There hadn't been touch then, either, and the familiar and unfamiliar are blending to make Tim lose it a little. Just -- that *feeling* of the ground slipping out from under him, of *Bruce*, so close and so *damned* far away --

"*Please*, Bruce --"

"The line of your jaw. The *bruise* on your throat -- I can't make it look like anything more than a shadow, and --" Bruce growls and *smacks* the sketchpad against the bed by the sound of it. "It's a ghost of you, a wisp -- it's as good as it's likely to get. I'm coming."

"So am I -- very, very -- oh, *fuck*, Bruce, your *mouth* --"

Hot and wet, *tight* because Bruce is sucking just that hard already, stroking Tim's hips restlessly before squeezing hard and *pulling* them away from the door, pulling Tim *deeper* --

"Oh, *yes* -- I mean. Easy. Go *easy*, because -- nnh. If you start choking you might have trouble *continuing*."

Bruce hums around him, and -- it's possible that he'd nodded. Tim doesn't know, because he was too busy crossing his *eyes* to look.

"Jesus, Bruce, I -- you *make* me believe in beneficent deities --"

Another *hum*, and now Bruce is cupping Tim's ass, squeezing and *spreading* him --

"Oh. Oh -- I can't --"

Bruce pulls *off* -- "I *know*. But the feel is amazing, your taste -- it feels like it's been too *long* --"

"*Please*, Bruce --"

"Never *enough*," and Bruce *growls*, squeezing Tim's ass hard and -- taking him in again, in *deep* --

"Easy, or -- God, do what you *want* --"

And this time the hum makes Tim's knees want to buckle, *makes* him shove his hands into Bruce's hair and pull, want --

"Want to see your sketch, want -- Bruce, I'll model for you whenever you want. I've just -- always wanted you to *see* -- *ah* --"

*Teeth*, just the barest scrape, and that flutter against the head of his penis is Bruce's throat working, Bruce *trying* to handle the feel of Tim --

"Swallow. You have to *swallow* --"

And Bruce pulls him in further -- Bruce *coughs* but doesn't shove Tim back. He *holds* Tim there and lets him feel the spasms of his throat, the somehow sharp puffs of air as Bruce breathes in through his nose and *immediately* coughs it out again --

"*Bruce*, I -- I'd say you didn't have to, but I *want* this, want you, everything I can get --"

And the sound Bruce makes sounds like *yes*, sounds triumphant and starved at once --

And then Tim is *in*, no warning and no *pause*, and Tim feels his eyes roll back in his head, feels himself shuddering and knows that he's making *some* noise. The feel suggests it's something strangled, possibly even a *gurgle*. *He's* not breathing, and --

God, somehow that's even better. They're choking themselves *together*, and one day they'll have to try that, even though Tim knows that it would drive him right out of his head, leave him vulnerable to danger and whatever else this place could throw at him.

Just -- he wants to be *with* Bruce, and that has to be all right, or at least comprehensible. Dick had built a large portion of his *personality* on being Bruce's partner, and wouldn't he be here *just* like this? Wouldn't he offer Bruce anything just to see the love in his eyes, to feel the *need* any Robin would crave?

Bruce is the best of everything, and a part of Tim will never grow out of the *worship* at the heart of himself. To *have* this, to --

*Out*, but not out of Bruce's mouth. Bruce is panting through his nose and licking Tim as hard as he can, sucking -- it's not rhythmic, but it always happens right after a pant, and Tim can predict it, can rock in a little deeper when he knows it's coming --

*In*, and Tim wants to bang on the door with his fists, wants to *fuck*, but there's no way that Bruce is *physically* ready for that. This is already so --

But. Could he be?

*Couldn't* he be? He's *Bruce*, and that means that no physical task is too great where his *will* is at all a factor -- and all of that is just an excuse for the way that Tim is already rocking his hips, already sliding the head back and forth in that impossibly tight channel --

Bruce --

God, *please*, and Bruce makes a sound deep in his chest and *yanks* Tim's briefs down around his thighs -- and starts teasing Tim's hole. The feel of him rubbing back and forth with his dry finger is amazing. *Circling* makes Tim gasp, finally, and make a low crooning sound --

Tim bites it *back*, releasing his grip on Bruce's hair with one hand so he can bring that hand to his mouth and *bite* --

No, he can't do that too hard. He -- he bites his wrist, instead, and that feels even better. Tim can almost imagine that his pulse is beating strongly enough that he can feel it through his *teeth* --

He knows it's Bruce's pulse, the flush and wave of blood moving through his body, and maybe Bruce is struggling toward Tim's rhythm on a cellular level, because Tim *knows* they're in time with each other, that Bruce is close, *too*, and Tim will *not* let him come in his pants again --

It's just that the best way to assure that that won't happen is by fucking Bruce's throat harder -- at least according to those parts of himself which are currently *ascendant*. Somehow he'd always thought that he'd be better at this, that he'd manage not to be greedy or rough save when it was desired --

God, would Steph have wanted this from him? He can't *picture* her like this, can't imagine her hair wound around his hand as he pulled --

And the fact that he'll never get a chance to know for sure only adds to this, stokes a solitary pain Bruce will never be able to touch and makes him feel *matched* to Bruce, gives him something like the *right* to know Bruce, to have him the way Tom wants, the way Tom *would*.

And Bruce is working his lips on Tim's shaft, against Tim's mound --

Bruce is swallowing constantly, flexing around Tim's penis as Tim thrusts -- he bites down harder, pulls harder on Bruce's hair --

The noise Tim is making around and against his wrist, the fact that he knows Bruce is hard, that he wants just *this* --

*Please*, Tim thinks, and gives himself up to it, drowns himself in the pound of his own heart, in the fact that Bruce is right where Tim needs him and won't leave, won't so much as turn *away* --

Never --

Orgasm steals his breath and leaves him shuddering and strangling on his own cries again. Just -- the feel of himself *pumping*, spurting down Bruce's throat --

*Lost*, and he knows that he's still in Bruce's mouth, but the tightness is gone, the --

Bruce *sucks* and it's right on the edge of terrible, dangerously close to making him whimper and *try* to beg --

And the weight of his body, of his *self* slams itself back to the fore and Tim's knees buckle, bump against Bruce --

Who is holding Tim up and holding Tim in his mouth. He isn't sucking or even mouthing him anymore, so there's no pain, but the *potential* is enough to make Tim shiver. Tim tries to say Bruce's name, but his wrist is in the way --

And Bruce makes a needy sound and squeezes Tim's ass again.

"You -- should pull off," Tim says, and works on catching his breath -- and *feels* Bruce looking up at him.

And when he looks down, there's a plea in Bruce's eyes, strong and *deep*, and it makes Tim want to bite his wrist again, maybe try to swallow his own tongue --

"It's all right, Bruce. It -- let's switch places?"

Bruce pulls off slowly, but not as gently as he could. It makes Tim have to *fight* back a moan which would've been much too loud, and --

"Or... what do *you* want, Bruce?"

"I..." Bruce rubs Tim's ass and spreads his cheeks, squeezes again. "I suppose this isn't... possible. At the moment?"

Tim would *really* like to say it is, but -- "Even the spreading is... ah. A little much."

Bruce nods and frowns, squeezing one more time before letting go. "You would... it's something you would allow if pain were the only consideration."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment. "Yes. Just thinking about how it had felt to have you inside me..." Tom wants to be closer. The other, more paranoid Tom wants to make *sure* there's no one listening at the door, even though there would be extremely limited options if there *were* someone there --

Tim lets himself slide down the door until he can straddle Bruce's thighs and wrap his arms around Bruce's neck. Bruce takes a shaky breath and buries his face against Tim's throat, breathing deep and cupping Tim's waist.

"Bruce..."

"I'm aroused to the point of pain, and yet I know that allowing you to pleasure me would mean that you were that much closer to leaving me here. You won't be next door. You'll... talk to Lex?"

"I -- probably. I also haven't spent that much time getting ready for the actual school work... ah. For all that it's anything but unfamiliar." A lot less Spanish, infinitely more Latin, French he'll have to pretend not to know as well as he does... other things which he'll be able to fake where he hasn't already learned them. Having attended several different high schools of varying qualities means that he's pretty well-rounded, as these things go --

"Harvey won't be here until tomorrow," Bruce says, and it's not -- quite -- a non sequitur.

"Isn't there one last bus from Gotham to Wyndham?"

"Yes, but the taxis have already stopped running," Bruce says, and kisses Tim's throat several times. "He likes to time his arrivals more precisely than that."

*Not* a shock. "You... want me to stay here."

"We could drink more wine and -- you could let me sketch you. You could tell me more... everything."

"We could invite Lex to share the wine with us so we don't get ourselves painfully drunk."

Bruce tenses -- and very deliberately relaxes himself all over. "You don't want to be alone with me, anymore."

Oh... Bruce. "It's *not* that," Tim says, and tugs Bruce's head back until they can see each other's eyes. "I just think we need to start dealing with the fact that we're *at school*. And your distant cousin Tom shouldn't be focused on you."

"There's *only* Lex to see in this dormitory, Tom. And he *wouldn't* be able to see what we mean to each other. We could say we were playing cards, or that I was helping you get ready for the semester -- or. It's *Lex*, Tom. Saying that we were sitting up getting drunk together would make perfect sense to him."

That... is a very good point, over and above the way the thought of it soothes something inside him, the place which will always belong to *this* Bruce, the Tom who only wants to *stay*.

It's a *dangerous* place within him, and not something very safe to encourage, but --

Tim nods. "One more night."

Bruce nods solemnly and shifts away from Tim, standing up and offering his hand. When Tim takes it, Bruce lifts him to his feet and pulls him easily into a hug, a single movement which seems so practiced and graceful that it's hard to remember all the times *his* Bruce had pulled Tim to his feet without adding in a fantasy of touch, intimacy --

One more night.

*

Bruce has ten new sketches in his book, all of Tom in various positions, with various expressions -- and various levels of quality. Tom had, of course, had a few suggestions on how to make them better, and that's what Bruce had spent his time doing after Tom had left to go back to his room.

Lex's room.

Bruce strongly suspects that he could become jealous of Lex solely because of the proximity he's allowed. Tom had never slept in Bruce's room -- not even in the manor -- and yet he'd done just that with *Lex*.

And he'd tucked the wine bottle in his jacket and carried it upstairs with him. He'd called it a gesture of goodwill, and it's not that Bruce can't understand the importance of having someone like Lex as an ally.

The other boys all talk about him in horrible ways, but it's *always* him they go to when they need something forbidden -- or. It's him they go to when they don't want to be *caught*. When he thinks about it -- and he has to admit that he hasn't done *enough* of that -- Lex is almost like a spider at the center of the Exeter web. If they're going to break the rules the way they want to -- and Bruce can't even think about the alternative -- then it would be *best* to have someone on their side.

Even if that someone never knows what it is they *will* be doing -- or.

Would Lex figure it out? What would he *think* about it? Bruce suspects he'd be amused. *Tom* would say that he'd appreciate having that information *on* them, and yes, Bruce can see that, too.

He doesn't want blackmail, or even some sort of Cold War built on secrets rather than missiles. He just wants to be able to make love to his brother whenever possible, and that doesn't seem like so much to *ask*. Not when his brother wants the same thing. And Tom *does*, even though Bruce had been able to feel him closing himself up and holding himself *back*.

He loves Tom -- in part -- *for* his caution, for the fact that a part of him is always thinking about the Mission and everything else, too. He --

Bruce would give a lot to be back home in the manor, or down in the cool and somehow *pure* depths of the Cave. To be *with* Tom in a place where the only concern was keeping it out of Alfred's *face* --

It's already been too long. When he'd gone down to breakfast this morning, Tom had already been *leaving* -- with Lex. He could go down to lunch early and just stay there until Tom showed up, but he's reasonably sure that Tom would think it was a bad idea.

It *would* be more subtle to just 'find' each other after classes, or to decide to study together for certain exams. And, of course, there'll be their runs -- which Tom *will* want to use for actual running --

Bruce knows he's being greedy *and* petulant, but there doesn't seem to be much he can do about that. He's gotten *used* to having Tom there for the lion's share of his days, and the lack of him --

It's exactly how he'd lived before, of course, and he'd done fine with that, but now he knows how good it *can* be, and --

The door. Bruce sits up and can't do anything about the smile on his face. Tom is here, and maybe he's found a place for them to be together --

But why is he struggling with the door? Is he carrying something? Bruce moves across the room and opens the door --

"Oh, great, you're here," Harvey says, grinning and shifting shopping bags and his familiarly battered suitcase. "Take something?"

Bruce takes the suitcase and backs out of Harvey's way, and --

There's a moment -- long enough to be a little frightening -- when Bruce isn't sure what he's feeling. There's a *blank* in him which has a lot to do with a surprise he shouldn't be feeling at all, but there's also disappointment -- attended by a very large part of him which insists that he *can't* be disappointed, because Harvey is here, and --

"Man, am I glad to see you, Bruce. Vacation was great, but there's no one to *talk* to in my neighborhood," and Harvey sets the shopping bags down by his desk -- and pulls out a package. "Happy Christmas, big guy," and he spins out his desk chair and sits down. "Only wait a second before opening it -- I need to *breathe* after that damned cab ride."

A present -- and. "I have something -- um. A moment," Bruce says, and wonders why he's blushing -- He knows why he's blushing. He'll *always* know why, thanks to Tom.

"Oh, hey, you didn't have to get me anything, Bruce --"

"Neither did you. And I know. And -- anyway," Bruce says, and opens his closet -- the sock drawer had seemed too obvious. It's tempting to leave the necklace and just take the Warren opinions, but -- maybe if Harvey hadn't gotten *him* something. He pulls out both and puts them on Harvey's desk in front of him --

"Two? Man alive. Already outdoing me and the semester hasn't even *started* yet," and Harvey's smiling even wider, and --

He's really incredibly handsome. 'Classic' features is how Bruce thinks someone else would describe them, but Bruce can only think of them as *essentially* Harvey. Though... "Is that a bruise?"

And Harvey's smile stiffens and almost freezes on his face. If anything, it makes the bruise -- yellowing and older -- stand out more on his cheek. With his features mobile and pleased, the discoloration faded into the faint gold Harvey's skin maintains even in the dead of winter --

Bruce is never supposed to ask about the bruises. "Um -- anyway. Tell me about the cab ride?"

Harvey searches him for a long moment, and Bruce wants to raise his hands in something like surrender, a call for *ease* -- he settles for pulling the chair from his desk closer and trying to look interested. It's not hard.

It's *never* hard --

"Heh, well. You'd think I'd *remember* those guys over in Wyndham are *insane*, but a couple of weeks back in the big city -- you get to thinking you *know* the worst of what a cabbie can do to you, you know?"

"I've -- I don't think I've ever *been* in a cab."

Harvey laughs, and it's *almost* entirely real. "You're missing out on one of the great adventures of the human condition, Bruce -- cab drivers are *universally* insane," he says, leaning back and crossing his long legs. "See, here's the thing -- they know *every* possible shortcut. Even the ones that aren't really possible at *all*, so you wind up seeing parts of the city you never dreamed existed."

"That sounds like a lot of fun, actually."

"*Sure* it does -- except that you're seeing 'em at *speed*, as the cabbie bobs and weaves through traffic to get you to where you're going as fast as possible. They get paid by the mile, not the minute -- unless there's traffic -- and so they want as many fares as possible, right?"

Bruce nods.

"So you're thinking -- how bad can it be out here in the boondocks? There just aren't that *many* roads they can take, right?"

"One would think --"

"And *one* -- would be very, very wrong. Because there are *dirt* roads. Hell, there are *trails* -- probably broken by Lewis and freakin' Clark -- and the cabbies up here know every last one of them. I swear, I thought we were going to be kidnapped by Ents."

Ents, Bruce knows, are fictional sentient trees. Those books had been very entertaining, but he hadn't thought they'd appeal to Harvey. Maybe he should've gotten a book more like the one Tom had gotten for him --

"Hey, that was pretty funny, I thought -- still with me?"

Bruce blinks and looks down. "Sorry, I was -- um. It's okay if you don't like your presents."

"Aw, Bruce." Harvey reaches across the space between them and rocks Bruce's knee back and forth. "I already like them. You got 'em for me. And? We're *teenagers*. We're not supposed to get each other perfect presents until we're at least in our twenties."

Bruce blinks again and looks *up* -- "Is that a rule?"

"Oh, it's absolutely a rule," Harvey says, and the light in his eyes says that he's laughing somewhere Bruce *could* touch if he could think of the right thing to say.

"I... suppose this rule isn't written down anywhere I could look it up."

Harvey's smile gets wider. "You mean you didn't get that book? It was issued to the rest of us when we were born."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "We couldn't *read* when we were born."

"Ah... yeah. I meant to tell you -- we all could. It was just you who was a little bit slow, big guy."

"It would certainly explain a lot."

"You see? This is why you should *always* listen to me," and Harvey bounces his foot against the floor a little. He's obviously restless and maybe -- nervous?

Because of the present?

"*Anyway* -- *now* you can open your present, and then I'll open mine, and then I start waiting seriously impatiently for lunch. The last thing I had was a bagel before I got on the train, and *that* was a little on the stale side."

"Are bagels usually... nicer? I mean, what's --"

"An introduction to the world of ethnic foods *later*," Harvey says, and pushes the package into Bruce's hands with an exaggerated grunt of effort.

Bruce can't help smiling as he opens it. The wrapping is plain gold, and he's perhaps a little more careful with it than he would've been if he'd never seen Tom opening a present --

"Oh, come *on*, Bruce. I swear the wrapping isn't important --"

Bruce tears it open, and -- it's a box. Slim and wooden with his initials carved in to the lower left hand corner of the top. The interior is divided into four compartments -- two square and two rectangular -- and covered in red felt. It will be perfect for his pens here, or -- "Oh, I could put my cufflinks and wristwatches in this."

"That's *just* what I was thinking, though you probably have way more cufflinks than I have *pencils*..."

Bruce blushes and runs his fingers over it. Soft and fuzzy inside, smooth and dark outside -- though the corners are a little sharp, and -- oh. "You *made* this." And when Bruce looks up, Harvey has one hand up to his mouth, rubbing at his upper lip. His eyebrows are up, and --

"Surprise?"

Bruce -- is holding the box much too tightly. "Harvey, this -- it's too good. I didn't -- you must have spent so much *time* --"

Harvey waves him off. "I used to carve all the time when I was little because it was relaxing. I still had all the tools in the back of my closet at home, and -- anyway. It's not like you're the easiest guy in the world to shop for."

He wants -- he wants to *hug* Harvey, the way Tom had hugged him when he'd opened Bruce's present. Only... Harvey is sitting down with his legs crossed, and it would be awkward. Bruce *probably* wouldn't trip over his own feet, but -- "Thank you," Bruce says, and runs his fingertips over the top of the box again. The time he must have spent smoothing it out --

"To be honest? I *didn't* have it finished before Christmas, so I lose points for that --"

"We weren't even home for a *week* before Christmas, Harvey --"

"Well, it's not like I had any galas to go to between decorating a manor and eating banquets, Bruce --"

"*Thank* you," Bruce says, again, and tries not to squeeze the box too hard. "I -- I'll use it."

And Harvey's eyes go soft and warm, and -- somehow Bruce had forgotten *how* warm Harvey's eyes could get. Part of it is the deep brown color, but the rest of it is just Harvey, and the fact that he'd somehow always liked Bruce, and -- he isn't thinking of hugging Harvey, anymore.

Not *just* hugging him, anyway, and -- "Um. You should open mine. They're not -- I didn't make them, but --"

"Bruce, I'll be honest -- if it turned out that you could *make* things, too, I'd have to give up entirely," he says, and picks up the book first. He opens it with one tear --

And then strokes the cover with his fingers.

And then smiles, bright and wide. "Bruce, you dog, I was going to get this for myself when I'd made a little extra cash!"

Oh. He'd saved Harvey *money* -- Bruce grins. "Yes? I thought it -- fit with your other books."

"It's the *masterpiece*. Just -- do you have any idea how much Warren *changed* this country?"

"I know that his decisions were historic --"

"This man -- he was almost more of an *activist* than a jurist, but his grasp of the law -- oh, Bruce. It's like he picked up America and *yanked* it to where we needed to be. You can't tell at a school like this, and not really in Gotham, either, but --" Harvey shakes his head and grins *wide*. "He used the law like a hammer, *forcing* some of the worst bigots in the country to deal with the fact that yes, *all* men were created equal. I -- it's beautiful, and I know the law doesn't really do it for you --"

"I've. I've always liked listening to you talk about it, Harvey."

"That's because you're incredibly *tolerant*, but that's okay. Warren... he proved that the law was a living thing, breathing and moving through time just like the rest of us. I used to go to the library and search for every article I could find about him, just so I could read the *quotes*. I..." And Harvey stands and moves to his shelves, pushing books aside so that the Warren collection sits in the center. "It's not quite right, but... now I have something to *read* when Exeter's freakin' *worship* of the Western Canon makes me feel a little too much like a peasant."

"Harvey. You're not --"

"Not to *you*, my friend, but you're the most innocent rich kid I know -- or maybe just the blindest," Harvey says, looking back over his shoulder with a smile to soften his words. "I always did wonder... your... uh. Valet? Pulled strings to get us a room together, didn't he?"

Alfred... had he? It would be something... "I... never asked him to."

Harvey crosses the distance between them and crouches at Bruce's feet. "*Not* what I asked, Bruce... but I guess it might as well have been. You talk about me a lot at home?"

Bruce blushes. "I -- you're my friend."

"And you're mine, but if I ever mentioned that my best buddy at this place was a *Wayne* -- heh, never mind. I'm *glad* we're together. I hated my roommates the first two years here, and as far as they were concerned, I was the dirt they'd tracked in on their two hundred dollar shoes."

"I..." Bruce frowns. "There's another --"

"Present, I know. I'm still riding high on the first one. I just want to know... I guess I just want to make sure you're okay, Bruce. We had that long vacation -- with you shut up in that giant mansion with just your valet for company -- and before that my head was stuck in finals-land. It's been a *while* since we've talked."

Harvey always -- always *cares*, and it makes Bruce want to be all right all the time, makes him want to be able to just smile and clap Harvey on the shoulder -- pull him *close* -- no. "I -- I wasn't alone. This time."

Harvey raises his eyebrows. "No? *Did* you go to any big parties?"

I have a brother, Harvey. A *twin* -- "I have a cousin. From -- California. I didn't even realize he existed, but -- he's here, now. He's actually rooming with Lex."

Harvey makes a face. "Poor bastard. But -- cousin? Really? I thought you didn't have any family at all?"

And the story falls into place the way Alfred had, perhaps, known it would when he'd laid it out for Bruce last week. "They're several times removed -- and apparently *wanted* to be that way because of some sort of feud involving great-great-grand-relatives," Bruce says, and smiles ruefully. "Tom is pretty great, though."

"Tom, eh? Like your Dad. So why is he *here*?"

("A hint of scandal should suffice to answer the questions of the curious.")

*Harvey* shouldn't be in the same category as everyone else, but... he can't tell the truth. Not for this.

"I... *think* something happened at his old school that wasn't very... well," Bruce says. "We haven't talked about it."

Harvey raises his eyebrows again. "But he's not just another rich jerk?"

I think you would've liked his girlfriend very much. "I don't think so. He doesn't seem to have much tolerance for the kind of people you find at schools like this one."

"Heh. I like him already. So the two of you hung out over break?"

The *weight* of the things he's not saying -- but. There are *some* truths he can tell. "He's pretty interested in physical fitness --"

"An athlete? What sport?"

"Um -- no sports, I don't think, but he insisted on making me go running with him and got Alfred to buy me some weights."

Harvey grins and grips Bruce's knee with his strong hand. Bruce had forgotten how strong -- "Well, all right. You were always too lazy for your own good, anyway. Maybe we can all hit the gym when the teams aren't using it."

Bruce smiles. "I'd like that."

"And -- we pretty much *have* to get him away from Lex as much as possible. I'm not sorry to see Lex losing that huge single of his, but I wouldn't actually have wished him on anyone."

Bruce nods, because it's always been better to just *let* Harvey say the things he needed to say about their fellow students, and -- Harvey and Lex have disliked each other from the very beginning.

"You're thinking something fair and open-minded, aren't you? You know I can *hear* you doing that, Bruce."

"Are all your senses that finely-tuned?"

Harvey grins and stands, fists on hips as he gazes into the distance like that one photograph of Green Lantern that had been just -- everywhere, for a while. "How do I look?"

Beautiful. "*Very* heroic," Bruce says, and can't keep himself from looking Harvey over. The old sweater he's wearing is thick enough to make it impossible to be sure what his body his like under it, but he has his memories. And Harvey's jeans are tight and just barely long enough. Bruce knows that has more to do with Harvey's money problems than with anything else, and so it's probably wrong for him to be appreciating his long, obviously strong legs and his -- posterior.

Bruce swallows and looks up just in time for Harvey to turn to face him again -- "Cape or no cape?"

Just -- something like what Dr. Fate wears, something that covers Harvey all over but is still form-fitting and shows off every one of the muscles Harvey had worked hard to earn. "Maybe... a short cape?"

"Yeah, I always wondered how those guys didn't choke themselves to death on those big, fluttery capes. A short one would be kind of useless, but at least it wouldn't get me *killed*," Harvey says, and picks up the small box, holding it next to his ear and shaking it gently. "Now what could this be. What would *you* buy for me..."

"It's --"

"Don't *tell* me, Bruce -- I have to guess."

Bruce smiles wryly. "Is that another rule?"

"Uh, huh. It's all in the book, really. If you eat all your brussels sprouts *and* run an extra mile with your cousin, I'll let you peek at mine when no one's around to see. Hmm. It sounds a little like a chain."

"You could just open it --"

"*You* are no fun at all, Bruce. Didn't you ever -- strike that last comment from the record, please, because I *know* you didn't," Harvey says, lowering the box and smiling at Bruce ruefully. "Sometimes I'm a real idiot."

"I missed you."

Warmth again, and -- so much of it. "I missed you, too, big guy. You know that. Good thing we're together *now*, hunh? Otherwise we might have started going a little *loopy*."

"You don't think you're... loopy, now?"

"Oh, I know I am -- but keep in mind the fact that I'm still coming down from the world's most terrifying cab ride. The branches on the trees were *scraping the windows*," Harvey says, sitting on Bruce's desk and hooking his foot around the support of Bruce's chair so he can pull it closer. "You know... of course you know."

He really doesn't. "Harvey...?"

"You -- should really call me 'Harv' more often," and all of his attention *seems* to be on the box, but Bruce knows that it isn't, that Harvey is thinking --

Something about him. *Something*, and Bruce would like to know what, would like to be able to correct it if it's wrong or apologize for it if it's right -- "I... really could've used a rule book when I was younger. I could use one *now*."

Harvey looks at him again, wry and fond. "You do all right. And you know I'm always happy to ah... fill in the blanks for you? Here's one for free -- you probably shouldn't give your guy friends jewelry."

Bruce blushes. "Oh. I thought -- maybe. I liked -- I can take it back."

"Oh, hey, no -- not -- I haven't even *seen* it yet, Bruce, and. Hell, I didn't mean it that way. I just -- *some* people would really take it the wrong way."

Or the right way. And how, exactly, *does* he want Harvey to take it? Bruce stares at his hands until he can make them stop gripping his knees.

"I -- hell. Let me just --" And Bruce hears the sound of tearing paper, and he waits, and he's not *breathing* --

Harvey can see that, or hear it -- he *forces* himself to breathe the way Tom had taught him --

"Oh. Oh, Bruce, I --" Harvey's laugh is breathy and a little stunned. "I take it back. I -- you can buy me jewelry whenever you *want*. You -- Jesus, I *remember* telling you about this symbol -- and *you* remembered. Bruce --" Harvey jumps down from the desk and grips Bruce by the chin, lifting his face --

"Harvey --"

"Listen to me for a minute. I -- I was being flip, but I was also trying to protect you. God, you look like you could *bench* press me, but sometimes I just have to --" Harvey shakes his head. "Some people -- you know how the guys here talk about gay people, right?"

"I've... always tried not to listen," Bruce says, and thinks about covering Harvey's hand, about pulling it closer to his mouth --

Harvey taps Bruce's chin with his thumb. "They can -- heh. They can make it pretty tough on the kids who are *actually* gay, but more than that -- they can just *ruin* things for a guy who they *say* is gay. Suddenly no one wants to talk to them, or have them on their team --"

"I don't care. What people say about me. They're *not* my friends."

"And you're also *the* Bruce Wayne -- whereas I'm just the token poor kid they admitted because they have to sometimes *try* to look like they care..." Harvey shakes his head. "This is what I'm saying: I'm going to wear this all the time, Bruce. Because you gave it to me, and because it's just that *important* to me."

"Oh -- Harvey, I'm glad --"

"But we can't tell anyone that it's from you. It's -- I'll say it's from some girl back in Gotham, and you won't tell anyone -- does your cousin know you got this for me? Do you think he can keep his mouth shut?"

So many *secrets*, and Bruce has been living with them since his parents had been murdered, but he's never liked that, never *wanted* to, because secrets are just another way to always be *alone* --

"I mean --" Harvey laughs again. "It's such a wonderful gift, Bruce. It's better than anything I could've made for you, and I don't know how to -- *God*," he says, letting go and grabbing for Bruce's hand, instead. "Come here," and Harvey pulls him up and into a hug.

Bruce tenses. He can't *stop* himself --

"I know, I know, and this is something else we shouldn't --"

Bruce wraps his arms around Harvey and squeezes *tight*, feeling him and smelling him, the scent that's always meant that things were all right, even though he was far from home and far from his *other* home, deep beneath the ground --

"God, Bruce, you -- don't get hugs all that often, do you? No, you don't have to answer that. *I* don't, either, and it's *different* when it's just a bunch of us after a game or something..." Harvey sighs and pats Bruce's back, and Bruce knows that it's a signal for him to let go.

But -- one more moment. He's never *had* this with Harvey, and he hadn't realized he wanted it -- and hadn't realized he wanted it along *with* everything else he wanted. "Harvey..."

"Right here, big guy. And -- thank you. Sometimes I think if I could just *make* things balance then... then something. And now I'll always have a *piece* of balance with me," he says, and slides one hand up to cup the back of Bruce's head. "And it's good to know we were thinking about each other. Maybe next break we'll actually get together and *do* something, hunh?"

Bruce pulls back as far as he can make himself. Their lower bodies are still pressed together, and if Bruce thinks about that on more than just the shallowest possible levels --

He's not going to think about it. He's *not*. He's just going to look at Harvey's beautiful face, into Harvey's warm and accepting eyes -- Harvey's waiting.

"I'd like that. Very much. Ah -- Tom asked me why I hadn't invited you over. I just... didn't think you'd want to. We see so much of each other during the year --"

"Hey, *sometimes* I'm busy -- working construction or whatever else I can get. But you... oh. You *don't* have my number, do you?"

Bruce -- "I never felt right... asking."

"Oh, Bruce." Harvey grins and shakes his head. "One day I'm going to *write* you that rule book."

"Please do --"

"For *now* -- do you have an address book?"

"Alfred made me bring one. I -- it's brand new," Bruce says, and it's easier to pull back now that he has something concrete to think about -- like always being able to have Harvey, as opposed to just living through school for these moments of contact, wonder, sweetness --

He'd *liked* Bruce's presents almost as much as Tom had, and is it so wrong to think about the *ways* Tom had shown his appreciation? To imagine Harvey doing the same, or even just *wanting* to do the same --

Bruce shivers internally and pulls the book out of his upper desk drawer. Harvey takes it from his hand immediately, flips to D, and takes one of Bruce's pens. "I feel like I'm signing a cast or something -- no, not that. But you *really* need to get a few more people in this thing, Bruce."

"I think Alfred would agree with you."

Harvey looks up and waggles the pen at him. "*Alfred* -- is a smart man. It really just kills me to think of you always either being alone or stuffed into a tux and forced to mingle with the 'best and brightest.'"

"It... um. It got easier after I convinced Alfred to stop making me have birthday parties."

Harvey's expression kind of *twists*, but -- "Okay, I can see that, but -- damn," he says and finishes the entry with a flourish. "There. Now you have no excuse not to call me."

"I -- do you want my number?"

"Do you *know* it?"

And Bruce wants to protest that *strongly*, but the fact of the matter is that it had caused a problem when he was much younger and another child had spilled paint all over him. Bruce feels himself blushing -- "I do. Now."

Harvey looks -- amused and fond and still happy, still *full* because of Bruce's present --

"I -- yes, you're the first person I'm giving it to," Bruce says, and thinks about pushing a hand back through his hair the way Tom does when he's uncomfortable, or shoving his hands in his pockets the way Alfred *hates*, or --

Fidgeting, just in general, really -- but he's glad he hadn't when Harvey reaches out and takes Bruce's hand in his own -- "It means a lot to me, Bruce. I won't abuse the privilege."

"I... can't help imagining the phone ringing some night when I'm having trouble sleeping, and getting to hear your voice... um. I'd like that."

"Yeah, I..." Harvey searches Bruce a little, and -- there's a little color in his cheeks. He's... blushing?

"Harvey...?"

And Harvey squeezes Bruce's hand. "Like I said, you should call me 'Harv' more often. It can't just be for the guys on the team. None of *them* got me... well, anything, I'm betting. C'mon, try it for me."

"Harv?"

"Yes, it *is* a ridiculous name, but it doesn't get any less ridiculous with the 'ey' on the end, and... it makes me feel a little more like we *are* friends, and know each other better than *other* people know us."

Bruce really wants to stroke Harvey's palm with his fingertips. Or -- maybe his wrist, so he can feel Harvey's pulse, and see if it's any faster for the way they're looking at each other, the *sense* Bruce has of this being a possibility --

Or maybe it was just a moment's flush and Harvey needs to take his sweater off --

Bruce would *like* for Harvey to take his sweater off, and then perhaps they can hug again, or do something else Harvey wouldn't recommend for two boys in their situation --

Harvey clears his throat and squeezes Bruce's hand again before tugging -- he wants Bruce to let go.

Somehow, it's easier than it was to step out of the hug, and Bruce thinks that it has *everything* to do with Harvey's blush, with the fact that Harvey may know and understand things the way Tom does, may *want* -- Bruce curls his hand into a loose fist and lets it fall to his side.

"So... how long until lunch?" And Harvey holds up a hand and lifts his wrist so he can answer his own question. The watch is old and has a crack on its face, and Harvey had told him it was a gift from his grandfather before the man had died. "We'll only be a *little* early if we leave now," he says, and everything about his expression seems to almost *beg* that Bruce allow the change of subject.

He's made Harvey uncomfortable, or -- encouraged discomfort? Either way, it's nothing Bruce wants. "Lunch would be good," he says, and smiles a little.

Harvey takes a deep breath and reaches to clap Bruce on the shoulder. "Gotta keep your strength up, big guy. And --" Harvey slips the chain over his head. "We'll roll past Lex's *boudoir* and grab your cousin?"

Bruce nods, and tries not to wonder what it would be like to *press* the small pendant against Harvey's skin, what it *will* be like to be close to *both* Harvey and Tom -- oh. "What if Lex wants to come?"

"Oh, there goes that fairness reflex of yours," Harvey says, shaking his head. "*I'll* be there, so I'm willing to lay *my* money that Lex won't want to have anything to do with us. He might just *skip* lunch, and hey, maybe we can get him to starve himself to death. He's already a skinny little bastard."

"Harvey --"

"*Harv*. You said it once, so I know you *can* do it."

"I -- Harv," Bruce says. "What... would you tell me what it *is* about Lex that bothers you so much? I've never... did I miss something that he did or said?"

And Harvey lets go of Bruce's shoulder and stares down at the floor between them, tension showing in his jaw and neck -- "I -- I don't think I can explain it to you, Bruce. Not -- not now, anyway," and Harvey's laugh doesn't have a lot of humor in it. "For now, let's leave it at the fact that he's a smug bastard who spends a whole *lot* of time looking down his nose at *everyone* -- whether or not they deserve it. I -- why? *Does* Tom like him or something?"

Secret or no? "I -- I think Tom thinks he's dangerous, but he couldn't really say why."

"Dangerous, hunh? Yeah, I can go with that. He's smart and he has the morals of a reptile -- no, I know, I know. Just... let's get out of here? If he somehow *does* want to come with? I promise to be on my best behavior," he says, and uses his long fingers to sketch an 'x' over his chest. His eyes are pleading again, and it makes Bruce want to find every possible act which would make that expression flare and deepen on Harvey's face, makes him want to *touch* --

Bruce nods, instead, and goes to the closet to grab his jacket.

When they get upstairs, Lex's door is open and he's playing his music very loudly. It seems to be just one more thing to make Harvey angry with him, and Bruce has to wince internally.

He wonders if Tom minds, and if he'd say anything if he did. They'd seemed -- well, they'd had breakfast *together* this morning, and Tom had been smiling before he'd seen Bruce -- and it wasn't one of those somehow effortless smiles that Bruce had seen Tom use with Alfred a couple of times.

*Lying* smiles, only -- he thinks that description probably goes too far, considering the fact that Tom never really *did* lie in any way Bruce could see, as opposed to not telling the whole truth about their relationship. He's not sure, and --

Harvey has stopped just before the turn which will take them to Lex's room. "Harv?"

"I -- I know. I feel like I'm coming to ask *permission* or something --" Harvey shakes his head and starts walking again, and Bruce follows --

And he's just in time to see Tom look almost startled by Harvey's... appearance? The fact that he's here? Tom has Moby Dick open on his desk and he slips a bookmark in to keep his place while Bruce watches --

He thinks Tom would say he's watching too closely, but all of *Harvey's* attention is on Lex, who is...

Well, Bruce thinks he'd have to call that 'lounging.' He's also painting his fingernails and that can't possibly be --

Lex shifts, and Bruce can see that it's clear polish. Oh. And --

"You mind turning that down a little, Lex?"

Bruce wonders if Harvey *knows* that that sounded more like an order than a request --

"Would I *mind*? No, I don't think I would. Harvey." And Lex points -- languidly -- toward his stereo.

It *is* closer to Harvey than it is to Lex, but Bruce doesn't need a non-existent rule book to know that Lex had just implied that Harvey was a *servant*. Bruce frowns and pushes past Harvey to turn the music down to a more livable volume --

And Tom stands and -- very deliberately, Bruce thinks -- moves *between* Harvey and Lex.

"Harvey? I'm Tom," he says, smiling and offering his hand. "Bruce has told me a lot about you."

And Harvey looks like he *wants* to stay angry, and maybe say something to start a fight -- and then he doesn't. He smiles and shakes Tom's hand. "Good to meet you, Tom. We haven't had much time, but Bruce seems to think you're pretty cool, and that means you're cool with me."

Tom's smile goes from polite to warm, but there's still something a little off about it. Maybe Bruce means aloof? "Bruce doesn't -- ah, seem to offer compliments lightly," Tom says, and turns his smile *on* Bruce for -- not long enough. "We'd better try to get along so Bruce doesn't have to rescind his favorable opinions."

Harvey grins. "I think I can manage that. Anyway, Bruce and I were about to head down and grab some chow. You up for that?"

"Absolutely," Tom says -- and then slips his hand from Harvey's and turns to look at Lex. "Lex...?"

"I think I'll refrain from indulging on starch and overcooked meat until dinner, Tom. One must do what one can to retain one's girlish figure," he says, and blows on his nails.

"I can grab you a piece of fruit, if you'd like?"

And -- it's a little strange. Lex tenses *noticeably*, clearly surprised by Tom's offer --

"I -- would appreciate that, Tom. Thank you," he says, and there was almost no trace of Lex's usual... *Lexness* to that. Bruce looks at Harvey to see if he'd caught that, but Harvey seems to be focusing on everything in the room *but* Lex.

He'll have to ask Tom about it.

And Tom nods and goes to the closet to get his jacket, and then the three of them are on their way.

The dining hall is much more full than it was this morning, and Bruce knows it will be even more full for dinner. Classes start tomorrow and most of the students will have arrived in a few hours. By dinner, the gossip will be about whichever students *haven't* yet arrived, and about whether or not they will.

The talk will be of broken rules and failed exams, and Bruce doesn't need Harvey *or* Tom to tell him that those students who are merely arriving late will have stories following them for much of the semester. He wants to ask Tom if Steph had ever said anything about the rumor mill at her own schools. He *could* ask Harvey, who'd attended public school until coming here as a freshman, but --

He thinks it couldn't possibly be the same. Public schools are full of people who go back to their *homes* after school, and have things to do other than study, play sports, and find ways to break the rules. They'd almost have to have other things to *talk* about.

Harvey leads them to an empty part of the table and swings around the other side to let Bruce and Tom sit next to each other. Tom's opinion of the food is clear from the moment he sits down, and Harvey grins at him.

"Bet this isn't like what you get from Alfred."

"Breakfast was entirely adequate. This... well, I'll look forward to running it off," Tom says, and starts eating.

Harvey laughs and points at Bruce with his fork. "You should be more like *him*. I don't even want to think about the things I've seen him eat. And clean his *plate*."

"Alfred and Tom took great pleasure in discussing my lack of culinary interest," Bruce says, and wonders what sorts of foods Harvey likes. He's mentioned things like bagels before, and chow mein, and something called manicotti...

"*Alfred*," Tom says, "is too good for you, Bruce. If you're not careful, I'll take him back to San Francisco with me."

"Is that where you're from? I've heard it's beautiful out there."

Tom looks like he's reminiscing. "It's... hmm. It's a lot like the city founders decided that the area was too beautiful *not* to have a city there, even though the area is anything but flat."

"All those hills -- heh. I've seen movies with car chases there. It's pretty incredible."

"The *truth* is that sometimes cars get stuck when they try to turn onto a street with a forty to forty-five degree angle."

*Has* Tom been there? Maybe for a vacation? He'll have to ask.

Harvey shakes his head. "Unbelievable. And you go running on streets like that?"

"When I can," Tom says. "I like the challenge -- but I have to admit that I've enjoyed running through the woods around Bruce's place. It's beautiful there and I bet it's even better in the spring and summer."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll get to see you there for Spring Break. *If* Bruce remembers to call me."

And Tom turns to smile at him. "The program of socialization is clearly working."

Bruce frowns. "It's not that I didn't *want* Harvey to visit --"

"It's just that you thought *I* wouldn't want to," and Harvey mock-jabs with his fork again. "Your brain doesn't *work* like other people's, big guy."

"'Big guy...?'" Tom raises an eyebrow.

Bruce blushes. "Harvey -- Harv has called me that since we met."

And Tom looks a *lot* like he's filing that information away -- "I can't fault the accuracy. My side of the family clearly got the... ah. Short end of the stick."

Harvey makes a face. "That's terrible. And you're not *that* short. *Do* you play any sports?"

"I like the occasional game of pick-up basketball, but I've never really put the time into learning anything like that. I'm not much for teams."

"Solitary, bookish, and maybe just a *little* on the weird side?"

"Why, Harvey. It's like we've been friends for years."

Harvey laughs. "Just figuring out what does and doesn't run in the family. So how *are* you getting along with Lex?"

"I..." Tom takes another bite of his food and then a sip of his juice. "He's an interesting conversationalist."

"Bruce said you thought he was dangerous. I'd go with that if I were you."

"Tell me more...?"

"Well, I don't know why you're not at your old school, anymore, and I'm not asking, but most of the contraband that comes into Exeter goes *through* Lex. I don't know who he's got dirt on in the administration, but I know for a fact that his room never gets searched and that he always comes out of the little scandals smelling like a rose. Now maybe that sounds like a good deal to you, but I've seen way too many *other* kids get themselves put on probation -- or expelled -- after *dealing* with Lex."

That -- "You've never mentioned that before," and Bruce searches Harvey, a little --

He looks tense and uncomfortable, but also *honestly* angry --

"You're... not much for adolescent corruption," Tom says, quietly.

"Hey, I'd never rat on a kid for having fun that didn't hurt anyone else. That's not the kind of guy I am. But -- heh. Some of us? Had to work our asses off to get into this place, and I think I'm allowed to seriously *dislike* the people who treat it like it's all a big joke."

Bruce nods, and -- Tom's nodding, too.

"I can see your point," he says. "My... my ex had similar feelings about some of the people at her school. It can be difficult to step outside one's background to see the world as other people do, but... she taught me quite a bit about how to do just that. I may find many of the traditions of this place and much of the student body to be anything *but* worth my time, but I'm fully aware of how lucky I am to have the option of attending."

And Harvey's smile is very -- sharp. "Ooh. I guess I *have* been playing the Angry Scholarship Student card a little heavily. Don't worry -- at heart I'm just another guy."

"And a student athlete. How does *that* work for you?"

"I -- did you really want a serious answer to that question? Because I could give you one, but I've kind of been leading this conversation pretty hard."

"I would like -- um. A serious answer," Bruce says, and tries to fight back the urge to blush when they both turn to look at him.

The interesting thing is that they have close to the same expression on their faces, a sort of fond amusement that always makes Bruce a bit conflicted. On the one hand, it *is* fond -- and it's the kind of warmth Bruce doesn't think he'll ever get tired of. On the other hand, he's definitely being *himself* in a way that makes the people he cares about at least a little exasperated --

"Or... not?"

"We're getting to know each other, here, Bruce," Tom says, and nods to Harvey. "I'd appreciate the serious answer."

"Okay. I'm a good ball-player. I can hit, I can field, and I never have trouble keeping my head in the game. That's enough to make me a 'good guy' for pretty much everyone on the team. It's shallow as hell, but it works for the practices and the games and the little parties the administration likes to wink at. But getting past the shallow... heh. I used to think that if I just kept it up there'd be at least a few people in this place who I could relax around -- be something like *myself*."

Tom nods. "But it didn't work that way."

"Not even a little. Oh, there are a few guys who like to ask me about what it's like living in the big city, and no one balks at talking about girls -- but it has to be the right *kind* of girls, because things get pretty damned silent and tense when I start talking about the girls from Seneca Day. Somehow -- I never had a problem figuring out why."

Tom frowns. "That's -- disgusting."

"*That* is the way it is, and I try not to think about it too much, try to focus on just getting through, doing my thing and pulling the grades that'll get me into Harvard or Yale, where there'll be just a few *more* kids in the same position I'm in. And who knows? Maybe they'll be the kind of people I can hang out with."

Bruce can't -- he reaches across the table to cover Harvey's hand with his own. "Harvey --"

"Bruce," he says, and it's a *warning*.

Bruce frowns and moves his hand. "I just wanted --"

"I know what you wanted, big guy, and I appreciate it, but -- ah. No new rumors for the school year, hunh? I still have to deal with the locker room bullshit, remember?"

Bruce winces -- and Tom raises his eyebrows. "Is it that difficult? I mean... ah. There *is* Lex."

"Who may be new money, but is still *money*. The construction at the south of campus you may or may not have seen, yet, is going to be the Luthor building. And... you can't tell me it was all that much easier where you were. You may be *from* the hippie capital of the world, but that's *not* where you went to school."

"Touché," Tom says. "Personally, having read up on the matter and thought about it -- extensively... I don't care what other people do in the privacy of their bedrooms and I'll thank the assorted authorities to stay out of mine. But... I'm a Wayne."

Harvey nods, but his expression is very... he's looking Tom *over* a little, obviously curious and *interested*, and. Yes, the way Tom had phrased his last comment had implied rather a lot. Is Tom going to tell people that he's bisexual?

Can Bruce do the same?

"Anyway," Tom says, "it was Lex who gave me the tour of this place. I find it interesting that he didn't point out the new building."

"I'd say he clearly has *some* shame, but that's -- heh. *Anything* but clear. You can have as many conversations with the guy as you want, but just be careful. *More* careful than you were at your old school."

"Oh, I plan on it. It's already abundantly clear to me that leaving Bruce alone just means that I'm leaving him *alone*."

"I --"

"*Not*," Harvey says, "while I'm around," and he nudges Bruce's foot in obvious apology for interrupting.

It *shouldn't* make Bruce want to stroke Harvey's leg with his toes, to see if he'd like it as much as Tom had --

Harvey moves his foot. "It's your turn to talk, new guy. What do you like? Music, books?"

"Ah -- science fiction. I'm trying to corrupt Bruce with it a little -- I got him a subscription to Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine for Christmas, and a Delany book I thought he'd enjoy. I like the possibility in science fiction, the way the best authors take what we know about the world and what we can do to change it to imagine worlds that are either impossibly strange or just a little different from what we have now."

"You like the idea of changing the world...?"

Tom smiles, slow and sharp and honest. "Oh, very much. Sometimes I think everyone has a skill of some sort, and that skill matches with their *purpose*. I'm not sure how I feel about religion, but I can go with the idea that it's a sin not to live up to your fullest potential -- whatever that potential may be."

"Oh, yeah?" Harvey leans in, elbows on the table and eyebrow raised. "What if the only thing you're good at is killing people?"

"The world always needs good butchers. And surgeons, for that matter. Soldiers for wars that *need* to be fought --"

"War and need. Those are two words that really shouldn't go together for a California boy."

"We all have our moments of iconoclasm, Harvey," Tom says, and slips an apple into his pocket without ever looking away. "And while I maintain that necessity is a very fraught question for the soldier on the ground, sometimes diplomacy fails. As a species, we're sometimes hideously bad at choosing the people who rule us."

"Then shouldn't we all -- regardless of our individual abilities -- be working for justice in all of its forms?"

"Justice -- is a very different animal in different parts of the world. Who are we to judge?"

"Then take it to... ah. Microcosm?"

Tom nods.

Harvey gestures, forming a sphere with his hands and then spreading them wide again. "If we're all -- in every nation or region -- working toward creating a fairer and more just world, shouldn't we eventually wind up looking rather a lot like each other? Shouldn't war be eliminated?"

"It's a nice thought -- but I tend to agree with those writers who suggest that the only way to eliminate war is to fundamentally change the human animal in some way, to change the way we go about *feeling*, so that emotions like hate and *fear* are eliminated --"

"You're talking about *lobotomizing* people, Tom --"

"Am I? I have to admit -- sometimes I look around and wonder if it wouldn't *help*. But then, there'd have to be someone to *decide* who got lobotomized --"

"And there's no way in *hell* I trust my fellow man to elect the right person for the job," Harvey says, and his eyes are bright and almost dancing --

So are Tom's. "The right person for the job is, of course -- me."

"Not me?"

"I don't know, Harvey. Do you *often* find yourself wanting to... pacify your fellow man?"

Harvey snorts. "Hey, it's your whacked-out fantasy, Tom."

Tom hums. "No, I think I'd have to vote against the mass lobotomies, no matter how tempting it would be. Human nature being what it is, the rich and the powerful would manage to avoid the -- ah, *spike*, whether or not they deserve to."

"*Now* you sound a little like a Commie."

"A *Commie*. I --" Tom laughs. "My ex used to call me that whenever she felt I was being too liberal."

Harvey raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Nice girl from one of the *right* families, was she?"

"*Wonderful* girl from a very, very wrong family -- by some definitions of the term. I... I think you would've probably liked her a lot."

"Yeah? You had to leave her back in California?"

"Ah... no," Tom says, and glances at Bruce with a rueful smile on his face, and there's no one to see Bruce resting his hand on Tom's knee for a moment.

*Only* for a moment, but Tom closes his eyes and nods his acknowledgment before turning back to Harvey.

"No. She -- she's dead, actually. She was killed -- gang violence in her neighborhood. I'm -- ah." Tom shakes his head. "It was several months ago, and I can't help thinking that the more I talk about her, the longer it will be before she... fades."

Harvey frowns and nods. "I'm sorry, Tom. That's -- I know you're not *from* Gotham, but the city..."

"It -- has a reputation."

"Hell, yes, it does. And sometimes I think there's nothing I want more than to be one of the people who *change* that reputation. To make it safer, *better*..."

"Ah... Bruce says you want to be a lawyer. You're thinking of becoming a prosecutor...?"

Harvey blushes a little, but he doesn't look down, and -- this is something Harvey has *only* spoken about with him. Harvey had told him that, but even if he hadn't, Bruce would know by the look on his face. "I think you'd be very good at it, Harv. I've always thought... a job like that *needs* someone who is both brilliant and passionate."

"I agree with Bruce," Tom says, and takes his napkin from his lap. "You *could* go corporate and spend your life chasing, taking, and all but *printing* money, but --"

"But I'd spend a lot of damned time wondering where I'd left my soul, yeah," Harvey says, leaning back and pushing a hand back through his hair.

It's thicker than Bruce's, with a slight wave to it, and Bruce thinks that he's always wanted to touch it, to feel it between his fingers and find out if Harvey has ever wanted someone to pull it -- no, he'd seen Harvey with a girl from Seneca Day whose name he'd never found out. She'd *had* her hands in his hair and was obviously pulling it even as she kissed Harvey deeply in the shadows of Seneca Day's small topiary garden.

It had been a rabbit they were under, but Bruce remembers thinking that it should've been a much more dangerous sort of animal, remembers wanting and telling himself that he was only lonely for Harvey's company amid the swirl and mass of young women he didn't know or *want* to know --

"Still with us, big guy?"

Bruce blinks and blushes. "Ah... just thinking. Again."

Harvey laughs quietly. "Sometimes I think I'd pay good money to know where Bruce *goes* in his head when he does that. How 'bout you, Tom?"

"I don't know," Tom says, and his smile is a little rueful -- rueful enough to make Bruce wonder if he *knows* where Bruce had gone in his mind -- "I think Bruce wouldn't *be* Bruce if he didn't have a few unknowable secrets."

Harvey hums. "Well, he wouldn't be the Bruce *I* know and love, that's for sure. You guys want to stay for dessert or are we done?"

Tom pushes back from the table. "I want to spend a little more time with Melville before class tomorrow -- I've already read it, but it's been a little while."

"I hear that. Bruce?"

"Oh, I'm done," he says, and tries very hard to keep himself from staring at Tom for a message, a hint as to when they'll be able to spend time together --

"Cool," Harvey says, and stands. "Should Bruce and I come grab you for dinner?"

"Oh, I think I'm going to continue my study of the wild Luthor for dinner. Believe me -- I've heard everything you said, Harvey, but I think I need to know more for myself."

"Heh. Maybe being fair and open-minded just kind of runs in the Wayne family," Harvey says. "Let's head back -- oh, hey, are you guys planning to take a run later?"

"Absolutely," Tom says, and stands. "Why, want to join us?"

"Sure -- oh, no, wait, there's a team meeting after dinner, and it's gonna be long. I don't suppose you guys want to wait until after nine? The moonlight up here is kind of amazing."

"I bet. And... yeah, why not? That okay with you, Bruce?"

Now is *not* the time to look as frustrated as he feels. Tom had *said* that people might want to run with them -- "Sure," he says, and tries to smile.

"Aw, don't look like that, big guy. Running is *great* once you do it enough," and Harvey puts his jacket on.

Tom hums and smiles. "That endorphin high?"

"The *best*."

And Tom and Harvey talk about runs they'd taken on the way back to the dormitory. It's *good* to watch them together -- it soothes something Bruce hadn't realized was tense to see how well they get along -- but the frustration is a kind of knot inside him, because he wants --

He wants *both* of them, and he'd known that, and Tom had said he'd understood, but it's so much more with both of them right *here*, moving and talking and generally being so much brighter and more *interesting* --

Would Tom want Harvey? Is that why he'd -- almost -- told the truth about being bisexual?

Would Tom want Harvey *more* than he wants Bruce?

And -- that *blush* of Harvey's, the way they'd touched --

They're both so beautiful in completely different ways, and Bruce wants to touch -- one of them. If he could touch just one of them tonight, then the knot inside him might loosen enough to let him breathe --

And Tom waves, casually and easily, before heading up the stairs.

Bruce follows Harvey into their room.

*

All right, so Harvey Dent is extremely charming, interesting, and -- an all around good guy. It *wasn't* just that Bruce was an extremely lonely adolescent and Dent never did or said anything cruel to him, it's that Dent is someone just about anyone *could* be friends with, and, more to the point, shows no signs of being a psychopathic killer just waiting to be let loose from the shackles of civility.

Though looking at that necklace of his -- oh.

Had Bruce *given* it to him? The size of that box had suggested some kind of jewelry, and --

Jesus.

"You look like someone just told you that you'd have to take the cooks home to be your personal chefs. There's that same quality of deep-seated *dread* to the hollows beneath your eyes," Lex says, and --

Yes, that would be the *other* entirely-too-exciting aspect of his matriculating here. Tim shakes his head and pulls the apple out of his pocket. "While I'm quite sure they could've discovered *some* way of making this fruit dull, bland, and generally soul-crushing, they appear to have restrained themselves," he says, and hands it to Lex before sitting down at his desk.

Lex eyes the fruit like it has the answers to the universe and has decided to keep them to itself. "Thank you. What *is* the matter? Did Dent bludgeon you with the crushing weight of his morality?"

And that... well. Tim gives Lex one of his real smiles --

"Oh," Lex says, and rolls on his side, resting his cheek against one loosely-curled -- and freshly manicured -- fist. "Do tell, Mr. Wayne."

"Well, Mr. Luthor -- I can't help but fantasize about forcing you and Harvey to share a small, enclosed space. Whichever one of you survives will be allowed to say nasty things about the other unchallenged for at least, oh... five years."

Lex -- and he should really spend some time thinking about the fact that he can't -- quite -- think of him as Luthor, anymore --

Another time.

The individual in question is humming a laugh and tracing patterns on his -- silk -- sheets with his free hand. "Yes, I imagine it *would* be like putting two cats in a sack."

"*Wet* cats."

"If you're asking me what the problem is...?"

Tim nods and crosses his legs. "I already have *his* side of it, after all."

"And he's your cousin's best friend in the world. Yes, I imagine that carries weight -- and I have no interest in defending myself."

"*Not* what I was asking for, Lex. I'd already picked up on the fact that you have a certain amount of control around here -- and a dedicated indifference towards both tradition and the rules.. That's not what interests me."

"Then what does...?"

"You spoke about innocence yesterday --"

"Did I...? I'd forgotten," Lex says, and rubs his manicure against his blouse.

Oh, really, Lex? How defensive *are* you feeling? "You know... it's going to be a little disconcerting to see you in the uniform tomorrow."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to cope with the shock."

"Mm. But you have so many -- interesting -- items of clothing. Do you change immediately after classes?"

And Lex -- looks at him. It's honest and it's searching, but mostly it has a lot to do with the kind of analysis most people couldn't manage without laboratory equipment.

It's terrifyingly reminiscent of home. A kind of home. The Cave, the Clocktower -- "Yes, Lex...?"

"Why, pray tell, should I trust you any further than I could throw you, Tom?"

Do you have your black belt, yet? "I'm hardly asking for trade secrets, Lex. We have to *live* together -- and I don't have a best friend in the world."

"And you expect me to believe that you're auditioning me for the part?"

Yes, that was the wrong tack. Tim spreads his hands. "I *expect* you to believe that there's nothing I've learned about you thus far that would make me think we *couldn't* relate to each other as reasonably civil... peers."

Lex holds Tim's gaze for a long moment, and there's something almost soft about the look, or -- perhaps the softness is in what the look *suggests* about Lex, and the kind of person who would deliberately craft a persona based around being a cruel and clever outsider. Not a rebel and not really an iconoclast, either. An *outsider*.

Because, perhaps, no one thought of inviting him *in* -- and that's a dangerous assumption to make *and* Tim doesn't exactly want to find himself in the position of *pitying* Lex Luthor -- "I want your conversation, Lex. I think we made a good start, yesterday."

"I mentioned something about staying out of each other's way."

"And the quickest way for me to find out exactly what that means... well."

"Are you ever a *bad* boy, Tom? Have you ever broken a rule for the sake of doing it? Fucked a girl? A boy? Smoked a joint? Gotten drunk?"

Tom smiles. "Yes, no, no, yes, no, and -- no. I've never seen the point of allowing myself to become vulnerable for the sake of 'having fun.'"

"Did you just 'come out' to me, Tom?"

"I'm already sick of the pretense, Lex. Who knows how many of the fresh-faced young -- ah, titans of tomorrow are sitting around terrified of having anyone learn that they want to suck someone off? I have better things to do."

"Like talk to *me*." Lex shakes his head. "It would be easier to deal with you if you just wanted a little strange."

A little... what? "I don't think I know that phrase... but now that I think about it, I think I can guess from context."

Lex raises an eyebrow. "Like it? I picked it up from a ravening racist who liked nothing better than fucking young Black boys."

Tim makes a face. "It did sound like something which could be used for that sort of purpose. Do you spend a lot of time with bigots, Lex?"

"And if so, where do I go about getting a new roommate? That *would* be a way to get my single back... but I have nothing but contempt for that sort of person. Willful ignorance is one of the worst sins someone can commit, as far as I'm concerned."

Much better. "And yet it's the kind of frailty we humans tend to reward, in one way or another..."

"Humanity," Lex says, and plays with the single -- open -- button on his blouse -- "is vastly overrated."

"The fascinating thing is that I was having a similar conversation with Harvey at lunch."

"*Really*. And what did he say about it?"

"I don't think he liked my thoughts about pacifying humanity very much -- which is fine, because I don't like them much, either."

"*Any* attempt to do something with humanity as a whole, to *move* it in any direction at all -- someone is going to get trampled. That's just how sheep *work*," Lex says, and he's jabbing at the bed with two fingers, *lecturing* a little.

"Do you ever find yourself thinking that humanity might be better off *without* the sheep, Lex...?"

"There's a *place* for everyone in this world, and while any number of people do everything in their power to *escape* their places --"

"A natural inclination. Something to fix through the judicious application of the most amoral science imaginable?"

"And 'you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,' Tom? If I believed that I'd get along better with my *father*."

And... Tim really isn't going to try to talk Lex into megalomania. That's definitely *outside* anything he wants to do. But... what exactly is *inside*? "Mm. And that sort of thing *can* be problematic. Is that why you didn't show me the future Luthor building?"

Lex looks away, and there's tension all through him, all of a sudden. It makes it clear that there's a lot of lean -- honed -- muscle under the outrageous outfit, and --

And. "Or should I leave that alone?"

Lex is silent for another few moments, but then he laughs quietly and sighs. "One day, Tom, I'm going to be in a position where my father can't dictate my life by throwing money around or by any other means. And *then* we'll see what can be done about humanity's more ovine qualities."

"Mm. Noted," Tim says, and leans enough in his chair that the solid *hardness* of the thing isn't torturing very much --

Lex is watching his body language, and definitely *thinking* about it -- and perhaps coming to some conclusions, given the expression on his face. "You like your sex rough."

Tim really wishes that was a more difficult statement to predict, but... Tom Wayne, distant cousin of Bruce with  semi-mysterious past... hmm. "That almost sounded like you want to be my friend, Lex."

"It occurs to me that neither of us are going to be quite... comfortable until we can place the other firmly in one category or another."

Tim smiles again and taps his ankle with his fingertips. "Did you have any suggestions toward that end?"

"I think... we're just going to have to live with being uncomfortable. For now," and Lex rolls onto his back again, crossing his legs at the ankle and making something of a show of relaxing -- 'relaxing' -- with his arms under his head.

Is his scalp sensitive? Would he ever consider hats or wigs? Or is being *decidedly* bald part of the image he wants to put across? He doesn't *quite* look like a cancer patient, but in a time when relatively long and flowing hair is the style for both men and women...

It's entirely possible that Lex doesn't look strange *enough* to Tim. Hm.

"How many classes do we have together?"

Lex's smile is distant and sharp. "Two. Did you want a study buddy, Tom...?"

Heh. "I don't know yet. I'm used to both relatively challenging coursework and the sort that's really a joke."

"Then you should feel quite at home here. The literature and language classes are top-notch, but the science classes are pathetic," and there's a hint of real bitterness there.

"And you prefer the sciences?"

"Exeter is in the process of making itself obsolete. Biochemistry, neurology, physics, computing -- *those* are the waves of the future. No one is going to care about your ability to navigate Latin declensions in ten years. No one cares *now*."

You... really aren't wrong. But. "How can you be sure?"

"Do you just *not* have a place at the Wayne Enterprises table, Tom? Luthorcorp got where it is today through its R and D division -- building better mousetraps for the farming corporations which own the middle of this country, and it's just going to get stronger and larger as it diversifies. Americans *crave* the new and convenient. The WE market share is impressive, but vulnerable. You haven't done anything exciting since the late fifties."

Oh, just wait. "I see your point, but... don't you think there's a place for the classical education?"

"Sure. If you're not planning to do anything with your life but impress the lower classes with it. What *will* you be doing when you get out of here?"

Well... "At the risk of your good opinion..."

Lex snorts. "You don't know, do you? You've been cruising through your high-priced education with no idea how you're going to use it when it's time for you to actually *contribute* to society," and really, he might as well have called Tim a dilettante. The sneer is *actually* showing up in his otherwise languidly bored expression.

To be *fair*, Lex, one day I'm going to be Batman, and that's going to take up a good deal of my spare time. "You have a point. I've given thought to medicine, to charity work through the Wayne Foundation, to politics -- behind the scenes, I mean. Nothing has really grabbed me by the throat and pulled."

"And *that's* the problem with you and everyone else at this school. You're so busy waiting for inspiration to shower down on you from on high that you don't do any grabbing and pulling of your *own*."

"Are you saying that you *aren't* truly passionate about business and research? That it's just something you think you *ought* to be doing?"

And Lex is silent for a long moment, folding his hands over his chest and staring at the upper bunk -- or perhaps into the distance.

Tim gives him the time he seems to want, taking a moment to look over the books he'll need tomorrow and mentally going over the reading list -- most of which he's already read for one school or another --

"You're really not bad at asking difficult questions, Tom."

Really. "I'm sorry? Thank you?"

Lex's smile is tight and small. "If I knew whether the passion came after the discovery of need... then I'd have an interesting weapon to use against myself whenever the need arose, now wouldn't I?"

And how many weapons *do* you need, Lex? "I thought the weapons were for *other* people."

"Is that what Dent thinks I'm doing? Slowly but surely culling the student body of those people I've chosen to dislike?"

"He didn't quite imply that."

"It would certainly be an entertaining use of my time -- but ultimately far too time-*consuming*," Lex says. "The people who've gotten themselves booted out on my watch have only themselves to blame. I *don't* tell people how to use the things they purchase from me -- or where, for that matter."

"And guns don't kill people --"

"People kill people, yes," and Lex turns to look at Tim again. "Are you seriously objecting to my hobbies because other people aren't mature enough to handle themselves around me and my toys?"

The image of Lex collecting lunch money from third-graders in return for drugs isn't really the correct one, but then there's Wesley, his old roommate at Brentwood with the serious alcohol addiction... Tim shakes his head. "If people want to pickle -- or smoke -- their brains to the point where they can't be used for other things, I have no objection. It's their life and their choice -- but there's a reason that there's an age minimum for... some of these things."

"Do *you* expect to be much wiser and more judicious at eighteen, Tom?"

Not really, *but* -- "There *is* such a thing as adolescent innocence. And stupidity."

"And I'm *not* peddling heroin, or cocaine, LSD, or even Quaaludes. All of the above *are* on offer here -- with varying degrees of availability -- but they're really not my thing."

"Alcohol. Marijuana."

"And that was lovely wine last night, Tom. I really did appreciate your sharing it with me."

"You... think I'm a hypocrite."

"Are you...?" Lex's smile is broad and lazy. "What *I* think... is that you either haven't spent nearly as much time living in the big city as you'd like people to believe... or that you really are kind of a *stick*. Which is it?"

"I've seen people get hurt -- badly -- due to drugs, Lex."

"The latter, then -- except that you're not protesting that assessment at all, so I can choose to believe that you're self-possessed enough to not mind that sort of insult...?"

Tim spreads his hands again. "I can't do anything about what you choose to believe about me."

"But..." Lex laughs and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

It's the most unconsciously *manly* body language Tim has seen from him to date, and he can't quite keep himself from raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, this...?" Lex gestures at himself. "Sometimes my testicles protest all the mincing. I trust you won't tell...?"

That -- Tim snorts and thinks of learning how to walk in heels, of *using* the not very committed tenor of his voice for undercover work... "Your secret is safe *enough* with me... but I've already told Bruce that I thought you were putting on something of a show."

"How *did* he take it?"

"It confused him," Tim says honestly. "Bruce is honest to a fault, and tends to view -- much of -- the world in straightforward ways. If there's something that doesn't make sense to him, he assumes it's because there's something he doesn't understand."

"You make him sound like an idiot savant, you realize."

Bruce has always been and will always be -- special. Tim lets a smile twist its way onto his face. "I like him a great deal. I *trust* him --"

"Are you attracted to him?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Are you?"

Lex snorts. "I think I'll take that as a yes. Well, it's not like he's your *first* cousin. But I have to admit that I'd be surprised if he swung your way -- or *any* way generally known to mankind."

It's tempting to defend Bruce, but -- the more Lex thinks of him as a harmless weirdo, the better. Tim shrugs loosely. "There are other fish in the sea."

"Like the delectable Mr. Dent...?"

"He really is quite attractive." At the moment. "Smart, passionate -- *he* knows what he's doing with his life."

"Let me guess -- it will involve making things difficult for other people according to the ironbound rules in his mind."

Tim shakes his head. "What, exactly, did he do to you...?"

"Not everything boils down to easily defined moments and memories, Tom."

"I wasn't aware I'd implied anything of the kind. Or did you want to talk about your memories?"

Lex's smile gets a little pained, but it looks like the most honest expression Tim has seen to date -- "All right. I'll tell you what's wrong between Harvey and me -- if you answer a direct question of my own."

"That sounds fair," Tim says, and wonders if he's about to tell a lie about himself that he'll have to live *up* to --

"What do your parents think about you going around fucking boys, Tom? And if they don't know, do you ever plan to tell them?"

An easy one -- sort of. "They don't know, but..." What *about* those California Waynes? What had they fought with Bruce's side of the family about? Tim smiles and shakes his head. "I'd like to believe they wouldn't care, but I suspect there will be some difficulties when it comes time for them to decide to marry me off."

"So you're *not* bisexual...?"

"Didn't you say something about *one* direct question? By my count, that's three --"

"Then I'll let you make me elaborate on my own answer," Lex says, and that was both a little quick and a lot promising.

Just how many queer teenagers does Lex get to associate with on a regular basis...? "Fine. I *think* I'm bisexual... but sometimes I strongly suspect that I was fooling myself in order to be able to spend more time with the beautiful young woman I'm not -- seeing anymore. And to answer that question, she was murdered not long after we had the sort of fight which generally ends a relationship."

Lex blinks and frowns. "That was... a lot more honest than I was expecting."

And now you're wondering what I'll ask in return. Well... "It's one of the defining points of my adolescence -- it would've come up sooner or later."

"*One* of the defining points? And -- I've yet to come up with a reasonable mode of approach when faced with the tragedies of strangers that doesn't involve at least some form of dissembling --"

"It's all right," Tim says and raises a hand. "You didn't know her and you don't know *me* all that well. I'd prefer you not twisting yourself up in an attempt to find something appropriate to say."

Lex opens his mouth -- and closes it again. And nods. "You were asking about Harvey."

Tim nods.

"Well, it would be easy to say that we took one look at each other and that was all it took to breed a lifetime of enmity, but I have to admit that it's a little simplistic. Harvey is class conscious enough for a stadium full of Barrington-Smythes and Gloucesters -- and *almost* enough for my father, who has spent my childhood destroying all trace evidence of his Suicide Slum past."

"Metropolis."

"*Metropolis*," Lex says, and smiles tightly, "is a beautiful, well-planned city with a zit on its ass. One day the city fathers will lance it and have done, but until then... well."

Tim nods. "Go on."

"So, he knows just enough about me to know that I'm *not* old money, and he makes... oh, call it an overture. Only *I'm* busy trying to build myself a reputation I can use, something to shut people *up* about my head, my skin -- that much you've already guessed."

"I... I'm not sure I'd be a very nice person if there were something about me which people always felt the need to comment on."

"Are you sure you're a very nice person now, Tom...?"

"Hardly," Tim says, and gestures. "Please."

"I blew him off -- in no uncertain terms, and in the most -- *mary* way I could manage. Fortunately or unfortunately, it also could've been scripted by our *own* Barrington-Smythe -- or rather his father, as the son has all the intellect of one of my boots."

"And as *smart* as those are..."

"Precisely. I *meant* to make nice later -- I truly did, as he looked like one of the *very* few interesting people *here* -- but the next time I saw him in a situation where conversation would've been possible, he was surrounded by those manly, manly young men who make up Exeter's athletic teams. And clearly pleased to be so. I called his name, he cut me dead."

Tim winces and thinks about Harvey's very reasonable fears about *appearance* -- "I... can see it."

"After that, it was a matter of competing for the best grades, to say the most clever things in class to devastate the other's arguments -- and never mind the fact that your *cousin* regularly wipes us both off the map in that respect... well. After *that*, Harvey's friends -- not Bruce -- and my own got it into their heads that we were something like opposing poles. There was an actual *fight* along those lines last year, but no one got caught, and there wasn't enough evidence to get either of *us* in trouble -- though it's my understanding that the headmaster called Harvey in to have a little talk about things."

"That sounds... ugly and a little pathetic."

"Perhaps more than a little. But I'm not *here* to make friends, and, in the end, neither is Harvey. Once we graduate, we'll probably never see each other again, especially since he'll be heading to Harvard or Yale and -- my father has decided that I'll be attending Princeton. Is that a sufficient answer?"

"I... have to confess that it makes me want to *try* to patch things up between you, if only because Harvey is important to Bruce --"

"And your odd, large, and handsome cousin is important to *you*," Lex says, and shakes his head again. "Go with that little triad of yours and leave me out of it. I appreciate the fact that you apparently find me intriguing enough to *want* us all to be best pals... but you still don't know me."

"And you have so many other things to do?"

"I --"

Someone is knocking on the door. Lex looks a question at Tim. Tim shrugs.

Lex sits up and crosses his legs at the knee. "*Do* come in."

It turns out to be a boy named Harrison -- Lex calls him 'Har' -- who takes a look at Tim and immediately starts bumbling and fumbling through a request for marijuana. Tim smirks to himself and goes back to Melville, and the transaction occurs with a minimum of fuss -- once Lex has thoroughly enjoyed Harrison's discomfort.

Harrison leaves and Tim can feel Lex's attention on him. He *could* pretend to be smitten -- or perhaps gobsmacked -- by the density of the prose. He could let the conversation die.

He -- doesn't want to. Tim puts the book down and raises an eyebrow. "And that sort of thing happens often?"

Lex waves a hand. "Mostly just before or after big games and right before midterms and finals, but dear Harrison has something of a habit -- for alcohol. He considers himself a medicinal user of marijuana."

Of course he does. Tim shakes his head. "You don't think you're getting into bad habits by selling that stuff?"

"Did you think I planned to branch out? Introduce newer, harder things to our little micro-economy? I rather *like* knowing who's doing what with whom, Tom -- and it makes me *necessary*."

Everyone -- likes to be necessary. But... "You could consider starting a judo club."

Lex raises an eyebrow. "You could tell that by watching me move."

"I wouldn't be able to... if I wasn't a black belt."

"And let me guess -- you're more than willing to go in with me for it, and to help me teach these people how best to go about neutralizing me should they ever feel the need to get physical."

Ouch. "I didn't think this was that sort of school."

"One *fight* that I mentioned, but there are other things. Hazing has a long and noble tradition here, and while my status as an upperclassman generally protects me from that sort of thing... you never really *do* know what young men will get up to when supervision is at a minimum and boredom is most assuredly not."

"I won't tolerate that sort of thing. I'd rather be a rat --"

"All *that* gets you is the resentment of the administrative staff -- many of whom attended this school and received middling grades, or attended other schools and *wish* they'd been able to come somewhere with such fine, old, masculine traditions."

That -- makes a little too much sense for Tim to deal with. "It *can't* be --"

"That bad? *Mostly* it isn't. But... watch your back."

Is he going to have to use some of the nasty tricks he'd learned over the years *here*? A part of him surges for that, for the possibility of doing more than teaching someone else -- and wouldn't the faceless boys in his imagination *deserve* a little punishment? He could *easily* use only the judo and karate he's supposed to know, and he could protect -- and possibly get himself kicked out and immediately sent to some other school without *Bruce* --

"Is *that* how you got yourself kicked out of... which school did you say it was?"

"I didn't," Tim says, reflexively -- and blushes. "I'm sorry, Lex. I really *can't* talk about that," and he puts a little teenaged drama into his tone --

And when he looks, Lex seems more thoughtful than interested, which is a very good thing, but...

Is he imagining it having something to do with Steph? He can't -- he can't *use* her that way. "I -- attended more modern schools. Less tradition, more experiment. Still Western canon, but... ah. Rather more hands-on and *involved* with the students. There were guidance counselors."

"'Guidance counselors?' That sounds... stifling."

"And rather inspired by hippies? You're not wrong," Tim says. "I think I took it for granted. You're making Exeter sound *primitive*."

"That's because it *is* -- and will be long after *we've* graduated. Assuming you don't pummel some walking trust fund into the dirt for picking on someone smaller and get yourself expelled, that is."

Tim makes an exaggerated face. "You make it sound as though I don't know how to be subtle, Lex."

"You've known me for just over twenty-four hours and you've already come *out*, Tom. I think I'm allowed to have a few doubts."

"Honestly, where I'm from that sort of thing just isn't -- as big a deal. At least not among the people our age."

Lex hums non-committally, and really... Tim can go with the idea that he'd just expressed a concept with very little Lex could honestly understand, given *when* he is. How long before San Francisco develops the reputation it has in *his* time, exactly...?

Tim sighs internally and goes back to the book, and Lex grabs one of his own. They study in silence for a time, Tim deliberately giving Lex his back, just to -- see.

There are several moments when he's absolutely sure Lex is watching him -- or possibly just thinking about him very, very vigorously -- but he doesn't say anything, and neither does Tim.

After a while, Tim switches to calculus -- pre-calculus, actually, because he's a *junior* again. It'll be a cakewalk, unless he has to spend any degree of time pretending to be ignorant of what he *does* know. Unless... would Tom Wayne have taken advanced courses out in San Francisco? It's entirely possible -- except that the same doesn't hold true for the Tom Wayne who'd grown up in Gotham with Bruce.

It would be *infinitely* better for the two Toms to have as little divergence as possible, and he has to remember that. Bruce *can't* be allowed to develop too many questions. He flips through the text and familiarizes himself with what he's *allowed* to know.

History will be a lot easier for that sort of thing, and so will Latin, French, and Chemistry. There's room to be an interested prodigy for that, and so he can simply -- and quietly -- do well.

How much time will have passed in his own time when he gets back? Will he have to repeat his senior year?

*That* would be several different varieties of annoying, though it would also let him keep failing to make a decision as to whether he'll actually attend any of the -- local -- colleges that had accepted him with rather unseemly haste -- considering his profound lack of *documented* extra-curricular activities.

The advantages of being a Wayne.

Bruce hadn't said a word when the acceptance letters had arrived, and Tim is reasonably sure that he'll continue to keep his own counsel -- that he *would* continue even if Tim actually asked for his opinion. They both know that he regrets the way things had gone with Dick on a number of levels, and over and above that is the fact that Bruce has been dedicated to Tim's independence since Tim wasn't just *pretending* to be sixteen.

Bruce... what would he *say* about this? Tim has tried assiduously to not think about it beyond the fact that Bruce would want him to lay low and *blend* until he could get back to his own time, but Tim could really use some *advice*.

He's fallen in love with the boy Bruce used to be, and he's in the unenviable position of trying to keep that boy on the track the world *needs* him to be on while also... also.

Bruce probably wouldn't be all that happy about Tim's investment in *also* making that boy a little happier, in making things a little *better* for him --

Tim can't. It falls *apart*, because he knows that the second he sees Bruce again he's going to want to touch and be touched, to *hold*, and it has so little to do with *Bruce's* happiness that he really ought to be ashamed of himself. He's been weak and he has every intention of staying *just* that weak, and so maybe *his* Bruce isn't the one he needs to speak to, at all.

Dick would support him. Dick would -- he'd laugh about it, and say something about how he always knew Tim *would* fall for Bruce eventually, and then there'd be teasing, bad movies, *touch* --

Sometimes he thinks he could *smell* Dick if he just concentrated hard enough, could feel him if he just tried *harder* --

And perhaps he'd taken having an older brother for granted, too.

Tim closes his eyes and breathes, muttering a fragment of meditative semi-nonsense in the privacy of his own mind --

It's just that he's *past* ready for his debriefing, for all of this to be *over* --

("You're the best dream I've ever had.")

For some of it to be over, and this -- being in school really is *good* for him, and maybe for both of them. A little *space* -- enforced by the fact that homosexual incest probably wouldn't sit well with the Exeter powers that be even if the last name in question *is* Wayne.

The idea of losing Bruce -- losing *this* -- is one that his mind skips past more than it actually dwells on, but it seems a lot more *possible* now that Bruce isn't with him nearly every moment of every day.

It would be just... moments like this one. Minutes and hours at a time when he isn't thinking of being kissed, of Bruce whispering things in his ear and *touching*, backed up admirably by the ability to be honest about who he is and what he does and doesn't know at least *some* of the time.

He misses that *freedom*, for all that his lie hasn't been the most difficult one imaginable.

Little by little, he'd grow accustomed to the loss -- so much less *awful* than some of the ones he could name -- and he'd have Dick and Barbara. Hell, he'd have *Cassandra*, and he thinks he might attempt to hug her when he does see her again.

If he does --

No, he *will*. He will --

"You seem... tense," and yes, that was another drawl -- albeit one with a great deal of attendant irony. Lex Luthor, Tom Wayne's fascinating new friend.

Tim smiles reflexively. "Just thinking about the fact that I have a whole semester of this stuff to look forward to."

"Somehow, I doubt that... but your secrets are safe from me for a little while. I don't think I can take the quid pro quo."

"Aw, Lex, sharing is *caring*," Tim says, and grins back over his shoulder.

Lex flips him off. "Dinner soon. I plan to be holding court at the west table."

"Noted. I'm sure Harvey and Bruce will keep me entertained in the middle."

"But you'll miss my performance of Wilde: The Twentieth Century. I'm hurt -- for your sake."

"Oh, I think I'll survive the lack somehow. I... I plan on hooking up with Bruce for a run sometime after dinner."

Lex makes a face. "I'll get more than enough exercise in gym, thank you very much. I'll see you at curfew... unless, of course, you find something terribly wrong to do with either Bruce or Harvey. Or both of them at once."

"Mm. One at a time is more my speed -- but if you'd like I'll let Bruce know that you're interested."

"Oh... God. I just had the most horrifying image of trying to explain to Bruce that those parts work just as well for other men as they do for women."

That -- Tim laughs a little helplessly. "You don't think you'd make a good teacher, Lex? Surely all that experience has to do *some* good."

And -- Lex blushes. It's not spectacular, considering what his complexion could probably manage, but it's very much *there*. Very, very interesting, and a question that would, perhaps, be worth asking -- though not right this moment. Lex looks *blackly* angry with himself, and Tim wouldn't put it past him to turn that sort of emotion on others. Time for distraction.

"In any event, Harvey seems like the type to get really *involved* in a good run, so I doubt anything too interesting will be happening."

"People who devote more than the barest necessary amount of interest to physical fitness should be taken out and shot."

"So you *won't* be crowding into the lounge to watch the Superbowl this year."

"Not even to take advantage of the close quarters to get some groping in," Lex says, slipping off the bed and stripping off his blouse.

He's exactly as leanly well-muscled as Tom had thought he was, and... it more than fits Tom's cover to look. He *could* be more muscular, and the breadth of his chest, Tim knows, will increase with time -- though not by much. There's something that looks like a bad knife scar in a diagonal slash across his left pectoral, and *that* is interesting.

"Do you mind if I ask about the scar?"

"Do *you* mind the quid pro quo?" And Lex moves to his closet to pull out... a blouse that is, if anything, more spectacular than the last.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle it," Tim says, and turns in his chair.

"How confident they become," Lex *intones*, and pulls on the blouse before turning to face Tim. He has one hand on his hip and the other hanging by his side while he taps his thigh with his fingers.

His hands are rather more blunt and square than they would *seem* to be given Lex's body language, just as he's actually a lot more *fit* than a part of Tim's mind insists he is. "Your program of misdirection is working -- though I'm sure you already know that."

Lex raises an eyebrow -- and bows deeply.

Tim knows, down deep, that Lex is entirely aware of the shine of lamplight on his bald head, whether or not he's thinking about it at the *moment*. Tim inclines his head when Lex looks up -- and traces a line over his own left pectoral. The scar *he* has there is nowhere near as neat --

"I scar easily and dramatically, for the most part -- though they fade reasonably enough over time. My legs are a patchwork... but my father insisted that I learn how to fence, and when I didn't improve fast enough, he took on my training himself. He was right -- I learned much faster."

Tim doesn't bother to hide his wince. While he has scars from Bruce, while they *were* teaching scars -- "Just to learn to *fence*? What possible reason --"

"It's something every gentleman should know," Lex says, and his smile is sharp and cruel enough to make Tim think of the man he'll grow into -- except that the smile is aimed at himself.

Class-conscious, right. "I actually enjoy fencing a great deal --"

"I *never* would've guessed," and Lex moves back to the bed to pull on socks.

"Another physical activity you have no interest in? I... can't help but feel that I *understand*."

"The assumption of understanding is a dangerous thing, Tom. I'd be careful if I were you."

"But you're *not* me... and what would you like to know?"

"*Why* did you learn judo? And... is there anything else?" Lex pulls on the white leather platformed boots. As there *is* white in the blouse, the shoes technically match.

Does Lex ever clash deliberately, or would that be going too far? And -- "There's *always* something else, but assuming you meant that the way I think you did --"

"And now he's making assumptions. You work yourself ever deeper into my web of deceit and debauchery, Tom."

"Then I'll just have to try *extra* hard to protect my virtue. And -- I have some knowledge of karate, as well. As to the reason why..." It's not at all hard to blush --

"Ooh. I'm *all* ears."

And several other things that Tim *isn't* thinking about, as well, though the entirely useful blush gets deeper for them. "Ah... superheroes. I've always been... a fan."

"Costumed freaks who take the law into their own hands? Are you *serious*?"

Now *there's* the Luthor he knows and -- knows. It's a bit like taking a bucket of cold water to the... face. But. Tim raises an eyebrow. "Your opinion or your father's?"

Lex rears back slightly, nostrils flaring and eyes wide -- and then he blanks his expression. "I told you that assumptions were dangerous."

"So you did. But you have to admit that there are people out there -- including some with fantastic powers -- that the world's police forces just can't handle on their own."

Lex crosses his arms and raises his own eyebrow. "The solution to *that* is to improve the police forces. Better armor, better weapons, better *training* --"

"And when a magic user comes around? A two-ton alien who can take a nuclear blast to the chest?"

"What *I* want to know is why these so-called heroes didn't offer their skills and abilities for the *use* of the government --"

Tim snorts. "Do you really want the *government* to have control of someone like the Green Lantern? *Neither* of us are even old enough to vote. *We* don't get a say about who's in power or what those people choose to do with the weapons *already* at their disposal, and even if we did -- *how* many Barrington-Smythes are out there, exactly...?"

"I never said it was a perfect system --"

"*Perfection* wouldn't be necessary, Lex. A history of actually knowing what to *do* with extraordinary power and not *always* winding up abusing it. Project MK-ULTRA -- dosing American citizens with LSD without their knowledge or consent just to see what *happened*, not to mention blasting pregnant women with radiation. Recruiting convicted Nazis with experience in brainwashing and torture. Or how about the Tuskegee syphilis experiments --"

"The fact that the United States government has made serious mistakes in the past --"

"*Not* all that far in the past. I would be *terrified* if the government got to control someone with powers like Green Lantern or -- God forbid -- Dr. Fate. I'm no libertarian, Lex. I *believe* that the government can and should use its powers to help citizens and to build a better tomorrow. I just *also* believe that there's room -- and need -- for the individual to make his or her own decisions about how best to use his or her skills to improve the situations of others."

Lex shakes his head. "That's just *asking* for mavericks of the worst kind. What happens when someone like Green Lantern decides that he doesn't *like* the way Gotham City is set up and starts moving buildings around? Moving *people* around and God knows what else? The way things are now, there's nothing to *stop* these people from telling the Constitution to go hang and setting up their own private fiefdoms."

"Except that over the *years* that the various superheroes have been active, they haven't done anything of the kind -- whereas the government has proven, time and again, that it can and will do *anything* to abuse the citizenry -- using every *possible* weapon at its disposal. If anything, Lex, history stands behind *me*."

"I'm a lot more concerned with the *future*, Tom. There are just going to be more and more of these people, and it already seems as though their powers are just going to become more and more limitless. For all of the flaws that I'll *stipulate*, it's important that there be some sort of regulation -- and registration -- in place. If these people truly only want to help, then they should be ready and willing to surrender their civilian identities -- assuming they have them -- both to the government and to the wider world. You don't trust the government to do the right thing with that kind of information -- fine. Let the *people* have it, and do with it as they will."

"Sure, Lex, and maybe we'll make them wear gold stars on their clothes just to make *sure* everyone knows who they are --"

"That's disgusting and not what I was talking about in the *slightest* --"

"No? I --" All right, maybe it's time for him to dial it back just a *little*, but -- God, his entire *life*, and it's *Luthor*, and the things he'll do in the future to endanger the world because of his -- his *prejudices* -- "All right," Tim says, sitting back and raising his hands. "I'm sorry. I know you're not a Nazi. It's just that you're proposing to stigmatize a segment of the population. You *say* you want to do it for everyone's good, but you have to admit that humanity has a *seriously* bad history with that sort of thing. You -- you're talking about making omelets."

"I *don't* want to break the eggs in question, Tom. That's not --" Lex takes a breath and raises his hand -- lowers it before he can stroke it over his scalp. He scowls, but it's brief, and when he looks up at Tim again, he seems both calm and determined. "I am *afraid* for the future, Tom. They call themselves the Justice Society of America, they own a piece of land in Gotham which is magically protected --"

"They *do* pay rent --"

"But there is nothing and no one who could say a word if they decided not to. I --" Lex laughs quietly. "You like science fiction, don't you? The two non-educational books you brought with you certainly seem to suggest just that. Ask yourself what *if*, Tom. What if just one of them -- the one they admired most, the one whose words carried weight -- wakes up one day with the thought that they'd be able to work more efficiently if *they* controlled the prisons which held the individuals they helped to bring to justice?

"It's such a *small* thought -- and it wouldn't be a very large *step*, at all, considering how many news photos there have been with one or another of these 'superheroes' dragging the miscreant in question *directly* to jail, with nothing resembling involvement from either the police or the judiciary --"

"There *are* always trials --"

"For *now*," Lex says, and slaps the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other. "Small thoughts. *Tiny* thoughts, and any -- heh -- *thoughtful* human would be susceptible to them --"

"Do you ever wonder what it says about you that it's so easy for *you* to think them?"

"*I* don't have a magic ring, or helmet, or anything else like that. *I* can't even get around my own father -- yet," Lex says, and starts to pace. He moves well in the boots, with just the right amount of hip-sway to make it *necessary* for observers to look down and see that he's wearing them.

He calls *attention* to himself, and it's not at all difficult to imagine him on the world stage. A little more polish, a little more *depth* to his most popularly attractive arguments --

President Luthor, and maybe Lex is *just* aware enough to not let anyone take pictures of him in *this* day and age. Maybe Tim should snap one or two while he can. Maybe it would *help* -- something.

Not that Tim would feel all that good about encouraging the media to use the most shallow and pointless sort of 'dirt' to tear down otherwise decent and reasonable politicians, but --

"I'm not -- I don't think I'm a megalomaniac," and Lex's voice is quiet and a little unsure. "I know I don't *want* to be, and I know I don't want anyone else to be, either. Power -- of any sort -- must be held in *check*, and only brought to bear when it's strictly necessary --"

"I *agree* --"

"The U.S. government doesn't always work the way it should -- you don't have to tell me that. But it's set *up* to provide the best possible answer to the question of *how* to go about wielding power in the twentieth century. We have something good with the possibility of being something *great*, even considering the foibles and mistakes of those individuals *in* power. But..." Lex pauses by the beds and rests his hand against one of the supports, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing hard enough that his knuckles show white. "We're *vulnerable* to these people, Tom, and I don't think it's so wrong that that frightens me."

"Even if none of them ever tries to take over?"

"Even then. Paranoia may be ugly, but it's *prudent*. And *that's* all I want. It would be so *easy* to just lie back and let these ridiculously powerful people do what they want. To admire them to the point of worship and *let* them make the hard decisions, to *give* them the right to choose what to do and when to do it..." Lex shakes his head, and Tim...

He can't *not* see how important this is to Lex, how much it means -- and, perhaps, how much it *has* to mean to someone with a true tyrant in his life. Someone who will *always* know just how easy it can be for whim to become fiat, and how something as small and arbitrary as money can become the sort of lever Archimedes would use to move the world. Tim stands up and moves close, reaching up a little to rest his hand on Lex's shoulder.

For a moment, Lex only looks at him, and there's something tired in his eyes, something almost *weary* which blends with the sharp curiosity. The question there, perhaps, is what 'Tom' will demand for this touch.

Tim squeezes Lex's shoulder and smiles as ruefully as he can. "There is such a thing as the genuinely good person."

Lex raises an eyebrow, and turns deliberately slowly to look at the hand Tim has on his shoulder.

Tim -- equally deliberately -- squeezes Lex's shoulder. "I have an easier time believing in the urge to use one's skills and abilities to protect than I do in the government's *ability* to protect -- as opposed to its ability and will to protect *itself*. And I think you agree with me on the latter, at least."

Lex laughs. "Yes, but when *I* rule the world, everything will be different."

Not very, ultimately. "I suppose I could ignore everything else and be your campaign manager."

"An openly gay man? I'm not trying to rule *Massachusetts*."

And who in Massachusetts is both queer and in office at the moment? It's probably all right that Tom doesn't know. Tim raises an eyebrow. "Throwing aside your principles already, Lex? My faith in politicians has been irrevocably shattered."

Lex smiles and turns to face Tim more directly. He's almost uncomfortably tall with the boots on, but Tim is used to that sort of height difference. If anything, it's soothing -- though *his* Bruce probably wouldn't appreciate having his image pasted over Lex's face for the sake of making Tim more comfortable. And --

"How ever will you heal my broken heart?"

Lex laughs and shakes his head, and Tim lets him brush his hand off his shoulder --

And then Lex wraps his arms around Tim's neck, and stands that much more hipshot. "Ah -- Lex?"

"How much are you aware of the fact that you flirt all the time, Tom?"

"I -- wouldn't say *all* the time --"

"Translation: not very," Lex says, and strokes the back of Tim's neck with his fingertips.

"I... we really should --"

"Don't worry. I don't plan to molest you. And... you must have been very, very popular in San Francisco. Open, curious... how *much* time did you spend in Gotham while you were staying with Bruce? Long enough to find yourself a *friend*, obviously..."

"What *do* you plan, exactly?"

"Are you attracted to me?"

Yes, and also *damn* it. "Rather more than I should be, I think, but that's not enough reason to... well," Tim says, reaching up to tug Lex's arms from around his neck and stepping back. "I'm sorry if I seemed to be... asking for something," and he pushes Lex's arms down until Lex drops them to his sides.

The calculation in Lex's eyes is both obvious and designed to *be* obvious. "So you're not especially *easy*... except when you want to be?"

Begging Bruce to fuck him harder, dropping to his knees to lick and suck -- "Heh. Something like that."

Lex nods. "Noted. I --"

A knock on the door, and Tim looks a question at Lex --

"Oh, I'm *quite* all right," Lex says, and looks Tim up and down.

"Come in --"

And it's Bruce and Harvey again. Harvey has the same tight frown on his face that he'd had when he'd come in for lunch. Bruce -- has his attention *entirely* on Tim and Lex, and, perhaps, on how close they're standing.

Tim smiles. "Dinner?"

"That's the plan," Harvey says, and Bruce nods.

There's a *question* in Bruce's eyes, but there's also a great deal of need. They're going to have to talk --

Bruce blanks his expression before Lex turns away from Harvey, thankfully, and -- yes, time to get out of here.

"Let me just grab my jacket," Tim says, and turns back to Lex -- who's resting his elbows on Tim's bunk and looking rather smug. You blushed first, Tim thinks, and possibly puts enough of that into his expression --

Lex narrows his eyes.

"See you at curfew, Lex."

Lex nods slowly.

Tim follows Bruce and Harvey out the door.

*

Neither Tom nor Harvey brought Lex up at dinner last night or at breakfast this morning, and Bruce has to admit that that's probably for the best. If they had, Bruce would've needed to ask about how Lex and Tom are getting along, and, more than that, he would've had to search Tom for answers he might not have given.

In all honesty, Bruce *knows* how they're getting along. Tom is casual around Lex in ways that Bruce had been thinking were only for him. Twice now he's walked into Lex and Tom's room and seen them *close* to each other, seen Lex looking at Tom with attraction and interest in eyes and seen Tom be... not uncomfortable with that regard.

Lex has been something of a mystery to Bruce from the very beginning, but Tom has *taught* him some of those mysteries, put words, images, and ideas Bruce couldn't help but understand to those mysteries until there's the kind of clarity --

He doesn't know.

Last night, after dinner, Tom had come to Bruce's and Harvey's room, and he'd stayed after Harvey had left for the team meeting. Tom hadn't been all that different -- he'd moved to Bruce's bed and lain himself out there, smiling and beckoning --

Welcoming.

There was -- it was *good*, and Tom had said he loved Bruce again, had held Bruce's head still for one kiss after another as they'd moved and thrust against each other, as Bruce had taken because he had to, because there was *something* Tom wasn't saying --

*That* much he knows, and possibly even knows exactly *what* Tom hadn't been saying. He wouldn't have thought it would be possible for Tom to be that open and willing while still holding himself back, still being the kind of careful Bruce knows he ought to appreciate. Tom is, perhaps, *supposed* to be careful, to always have a part of his mind focused on their Mission, and on all the things they have to do in order to get where they need to be.

It --

He'd told Tom he needed him, over and over, but somehow Bruce thinks that there's something about that which isn't sinking in, as if Tom is already back in his own universe. Bruce never thought he'd ever *resent* being in school. It had always been stressful to go in one way or another -- so *many* people assuming and trespassing and generally just being *there* while also being incomprehensibly strange -- but this...

It's taking Tom away from him, making him into the sort of person who --

Makes friends with Lex.

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, fighting down the jealousy and fear --

"Mr. Wayne. Since I appear to be boring you, perhaps you should go up the board and demonstrate the equation for us all."

He almost *never* gets called up for this sort of thing, which means the expression on his face must have had quite a lot in common with *pain*. " -- of course," Bruce says, standing up and moving to the board.

If anything, Professor Billings looks even more sour when Bruce solves the problem, but he's always been rather inordinately interested in showing students up and exposing ignorance. Bruce thinks Tom would have nothing but contempt for his teaching style, and -- he'd like to hear Tom say it, to know the exact words he would use --

Tom doesn't even look at Bruce as Bruce walks back to his desk, and Bruce strongly suspects there'll be nothing from him for the rest of class.

He's right -- and he doesn't really want --

When class is over, he pushes -- gently -- through the small crowd of students until he can get to Tom's side --

"What is it, Bruce?"

He doesn't wince. "There's something -- you're leaving before you're gone."

Tom doesn't stumble or pause, but there's *something*, again, and Bruce doesn't know whether he wants to hold onto it or not. Just --

"Please, Tom."

"We can't -- we *can't*, Bruce --"

"There's a line we can't cross, I agree. But you're backing off before we even *approach* the line," Bruce says, and when he looks --

Tom's mouth is tight and he looks almost *annoyed* --

"I *know* we have to be careful --"

"*This* isn't careful, at all."

Lex. Do you want him? Is he *better*? "I -- I'm begging."

Tom stops, and the other students flow and move around him. Around *them*, and it's a little like being a small island in a river... something. Tom still looks annoyed, but he also looks as though there's something hurting him. There's no *time* to discover why before they have to be in class again, and Bruce misses that, too --

"Tom --"

Tom looks up, and he looks perfect in his uniform. Neither too neat nor too rumpled, as if negotiating *this* sort of thing is just something else Tom knows how to do well -- "Bruce. I'm doing what's *necessary*. And -- it's not that it isn't hard for me. It's *not* that --"

"I want more of you. I know I can't have as *much* --"

And when Tom meets his eyes, it's impossible to continue. His eyes are wide and soft, and there's confusion in them, and other things --

"Please."

And -- he knows they're alone when Tom reaches out to take Bruce's hand in his own, when Tom strokes his thumb over Bruce's palm -- "We can't have this even -- even as often as we've *been* having it since we've been here."

"I *know* --"

"We *can't* get caught, Bruce, and we can't do *this* again, at all, and -- I love you, and I need you, and --" Tom laughs quietly and shakes his head. "These little losses, these moments of want which have no outlet --"

"I don't *like* them. I need -- you can't leave me *yet*."

"I can and I have to, Bruce, and *you* have to -- take it. That's the only way this works --"

"Then --" Tom winces, and Bruce knows that he's squeezing Tom's hand too hard. He relaxes his grip, *forces* himself to do it -- "Then when we *can* be together, when we can steal a few moments --"

"Be with you as much as I can --"

"Be with me with *all* of yourself. You can't -- I *know* how much you can be with me, Tom, and these little -- the way you pull back -- it's torture. It feels like you're *lying* to me. Worse -- like you're *tolerating* me."

And that makes Tom look at him again, makes him -- it's as though something thick and transparent had just been moved, and the real Tom is here, finally *here* --

"*Yes* --"

"We have to get to class," he says, frowning and -- squeezing Bruce's hand. "I know what you're saying. I -- I *know*. And I'm sorry. And -- I'll do better. It's not... tolerance is the least of what I feel for you."

And then he tugs his hand free and starts running for his next class. Bruce does the same, and --

And. He'd gotten through, somehow, he thinks, but it would be easier to believe in if he knew *how*. It was something about the world 'tolerate,' and -- maybe. Had Tom ever felt tolerated by his Bruce?

Bruce apologizes reflexively for being late and slips into his chair, opening his notebook and starting to write. It's a lecture instead of a lab today, and that means he doesn't have to work very hard to pick up on what's going on, at all -- especially since Professor Wilkinson never strays too far from the textbook except when he's telling the sort of chemistry-related jokes Bruce is reasonably sure he's been telling since he began teaching here. Just --

Tom, and it's hard to believe any Bruce would *neglect* him, but it's also hard to believe any Bruce wouldn't need to touch him, to be with him sexually and *take* -- and Tom had said this had never happened with his Bruce, and --

*Shouldn't* Tom be more desperate to be with him? He'd been focused on their training and not being obvious around Alfred when they were home, but he'd still been *with* Bruce, and had *enjoyed* that, and --

And his Bruce has Harvey in perhaps the same way *he* does. Harvey, who has been a little... not pushy. Not *that*, but Bruce has watched him watching *him* when Tom is with them, and Bruce knows, all through him, that that's one of the reasons why Tom has been so careful.

Harvey is *watching*, and maybe Tom knows that Bruce wants to tell Harvey all about it, that it would make things better for Bruce if Harvey knew and understood, and was happy for him --

Harvey is seated in the front row, the way he always is when teachers let them choose. He's taking notes diligently, hand flying a little across the page in neat, precise lines not unlike the way Tom takes notes. His own aren't much different, but somehow Tom's and Harvey's are much more important. They're both so organized and focused, as if neither of them is capable of *not* seeing school as something important.

With Harvey, Bruce can understand. Everything Harvey truly wants in the world is based on him doing well in school, and Bruce has to admit that sometimes he *uses* Harvey's focus and passion to help himself stay excited about things Bruce would much rather learn from books.

It's harder to understand with Tom, who sees just as far in the future as Harvey does, but wants things that ultimately have little to do with how well they do in *school*.

Tom wants --

(*You* want.)

Bruce winces and *focuses* until the only thing he can hear is the professor, until there's nothing but the man's voice and the sounds of pens moving across papers.

The Bat is right, but he doesn't think he wants that future as much as Tom does. He doesn't think he *could* ever want something that lonely, as opposed to thinking that it's the only right thing for him, the only *true* thing. *That* much he has accepted, but -- not like Tom, with all of his knowledge and skill and -- *verve*.

Tom never once had to believe that it would *be* lonely, but that's only part of it. It *defines* Tom in a way that Bruce doesn't think it defines him, as opposed to moves him along the path he needs to take in order to get to the place where the Bat is only a part of who he is...

He doesn't know, beyond being *entirely* sure about the difference between duty and pleasure. With Tom at his side, anything would be possible -- anything would be *pleasurable*. Without him --

Oh, he wants Tom to *stay*, to keep *wanting* to stay, and then he thinks he *would* be able to handle anything -- even Tom pulling back from him in favor of *Lex*.

As usual when they're in class together, Lex is focused on the professor. There's nothing about his body language which marks him as being any different from the rest of the students, save that he's as obvious about trying to pick up every nuance of information as Harvey. When class is over, Lex will smile and stand, stretch and *shift* until he becomes the person Tom thinks he really isn't.

The person --

The *persona*, and is *that* what Tom wants from him? That doesn't seem like Tom at all, though perhaps there's something about Lex's ability to *have* a persona...?

The future, and who they'll become... no, more than *that*, because hadn't Tom said that he and his Bruce had already developed personae in order to deal with attention from the media?

Bruce had *thought* of that as being just a necessary thing, more akin to never letting the grief and loss show as much as they're felt than with anything pleasant or soothing. But -- what if it isn't? With someone like Lex, Tom would *have* to always be on his toes, to always be both careful and clever.

Would that be pleasant for someone like Tom? Moving? Arousing?

He'd been so *close* to Lex, and Bruce could feel... something. The *weight* of something like comfort or conversation -- no, that much he'd been able to *hear*.

And -- it's *good* that Tom is getting along with Lex. They have to live together, and even Harvey had mentioned it as though it were a good thing when they were running.

Tom had only said, "I think we've found a measure of common ground that we both plan to stay on as much as possible," and it had made Harvey laugh, but Tom doesn't --

He wants, very badly, to know what 'common ground' means, and to wear at it, *tear* at it until he understands completely and can -- what?

Make it go away?

Make Tom understand that what *they* have is better?

Tom loves him, and Bruce *believes* it, but Tom has had and lost love before, and maybe that gives him a kind of immunity from it or a power *over* it. He knows what it will do to him, and so he can keep it from doing it *thoroughly*.

He would never sit here and watch Bruce the way -- oh.

He's watching Harvey, again. He's --

It's just that the way he's sitting -- his jacket is pulled a little to the side, and so more of his neck is showing than would normally be the case. He's so *golden*, and Bruce has always wondered about the exact details of Harvey's ethnic ancestry. He's much paler now than he gets in the summer -- he'd been almost *dark* when they'd returned to school in September...

*Harvey* doesn't like people who pretend to be things they're not. Bruce doesn't *need* to talk to Harvey in order to know that. It's in everything he does and everything he *is*. Harvey never holds himself back unless he feels he has to, and it has always been clear that he dislikes it.

Harvey *believes* in the kind of necessity Tom does, but he doesn't... navigate it as smoothly? As naturally?

Bruce isn't sure, but it's *something* like that. If there's anything about Harvey he *doesn't* know, it's only because it hasn't come up between them, yet --

(Observe.)

The professor, the sounds of writing --

The Bat *hates* it whenever Bruce is thinking about someone else, about being with anyone but *it*, and that's one of the reasons why a part of him has always been sure that the Bat is real. That kind of loneliness, of *jealousy* --

The Bat is *old*, and Bruce knows in his heart that he's the only one who has ever allowed the Bat to reach beyond the depths of the Cave. He takes it with him everywhere he goes, and --

He'd needed that when he was younger, when the house was huge and dim and silent in none of the ways Bruce had found comforting when he was younger still. The silence that meant his mother *wasn't* in the library with a book, that his father wouldn't ever be in the study with a cup of tea again. Then, the Bat had been a relief, something to hold to himself against the terrible quiet --

(Yes. I need you.)

And --

(You will never be alone again.)

And Bruce can't help but listen for it, can't help wondering if he'd *called* the Bat to himself out of memory and some kind of *wistfulness* --

Only the Bat will never leave him, and it wouldn't grate so much if it weren't true. Even if Tom never finds a way back to his home, he will die someday -- maybe in Gotham once they begin their true work. Even if nothing terrible happens to Harvey, he'll go to college and find more people like him, and he won't need Bruce to talk to, anymore.

Alfred -- Alfred is *older*, and maybe has something wrong with his blood sugar...

Maybe Tom has the right of it, and holding himself apart is the only way to truly live with -- all of that.

Maybe he should be as he was before, silent and strange deliberately as much as because it's who he is. Maybe he should cleave only to the people who never want all of him, who are lying or apart from the world for their own reasons, and who thus can never make Bruce warm, or anything but alone. Except --

There will always be beauty in the terrible things. There will be *others* for the war -- allies who will come to the Cave and know at least some of its secrets. There could *be* Tom, and --

And when the professor turns to the board, Harvey stretches and yawns silently -- and turns to wink and smile at Bruce.

Bruce feels himself blushing, feels the smile almost seem to *yank* itself onto his face --

Maybe.

Maybe he'll be better at this when he's older. Maybe he'll come to understand something deeper, or --

Harvey turns back to the board. Lex -- has an amused look on his face, and when *he* winks at Bruce it somehow seems to involve a lot more of his body *and* means something else, entirely. Or nothing at all -- and never mind the way some of the other students titter and snort --

The professor reaches back and slaps his pointer down onto the desk without looking, and everyone faces forward again, though Harvey is a little more tense than he had been. He almost certainly thinks he'd been too obvious or... something like that.

If Tom were here... Bruce would have someone else to stare at too obviously.

He focuses on his notes as much as he can.

It's difficult not to watch Tom in gym class, and he'd known that that *would* be true, but he hadn't realized what the reason would be. *Tom* puts on a persona for it, moving more slowly and less gracefully than Bruce knows he can. It's *almost* like how he'd moved when Alfred was there and watching, but it's also somewhat... louder?

The difference between being at home and being at school, surrounded by people who might try to recruit Tom for one of the sports teams. The only way to keep from staring at the *strangeness* of it all is to try to do things the same way. Missing a catch every several tries wouldn't work -- everyone already knows that he has good hand-eye coordination, but -- he could be a little slower, and clumsier in other ways.

He *had* gotten larger over the year, and perhaps he wouldn't have gotten used to his body in all ways, yet? Perhaps, and he knows it's working when Tom sends him a quick smile -- and Harvey shakes his head at him.

It's actually much harder to do it this way than it would be to use his normal skills, and so it turns out to be the first gym class he's ever found physically challenging, if not quite in a way he can find satisfying. A part of him needs Tom *only* so that he can learn more of the strikes and throws and kicks he'd been teaching Bruce, and perhaps he should be looking for a space for *that* --

Is Tom practicing with Lex? Have they talked about the fact that they both know judo?

It's -- very, very hard not to move fast enough that he can take the shower next to Tom -- he *knows* he's not supposed to look around nearly as much as he wants to *here* -- but.

Harvey waits and takes the shower next to him.

"You looked a little off out there, big guy. Anything wrong?"

Oh. Harvey *would* worry -- "Um. I think I might have been a little tired. Or... something."

Harvey bumps Bruce with his bare shoulder, skin sliding wet and warm against Bruce's own -- "Gotta be careful you don't get sick, Bruce. I'm pretty sure the nurse at the infirmary still believes in bloodletting."

That's... very silly. "She probably wants to make sure that our humors are all in alignment."

Harvey snickers. "True, true. And hey, maybe she'll take your horoscope and make sure you weren't born under a bad star."

"That would be... disastrous," Bruce says, and soaps himself thoroughly. He usually only takes one shower... hmm. They'd all showered last night after their run, and he'd been *between* Tom and Harvey, and, of course, neither Tom nor Harvey had acted as if that had been anything special.

And neither of them had commented on the fact that Bruce had been slightly hard, and --

He doesn't want to get hard again. Maybe he should turn on the cold water. Definitely he shouldn't think about the fact that Harvey has his head tilted back under the stream as he soaps his genitals --

He can't *see* Tom, but he knows that Tom is probably doing the same thing. Only his eyes wouldn't be closed, because Tom doesn't relax that way --

Bruce soaps his own genitals as lightly as he feels he can get away with and sluices off quickly.

He doesn't know if Tom will be able to come see him today, but he thinks that even if he does they won't be able to do anything. They'd only been able to be together yesterday because Harvey had had a team meeting, and the same isn't true today. His practices don't start until next *week*, and he probably won't have people asking him for tutoring help until it's nearly time for midterms.

He has to *control* himself, and that's all there is to it.

He thinks of the Cave, and the way the cold of it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the weather outside. He *had* worked up sweats down there, but only after heavy exertion. It's a *quiet* cold, and he needs to have it inside him, needs --

(Yes.)

That, yes. Bruce breathes deep and can almost smell old and broken stone, dust unmoved by wind --

"Hey, are you *sure* you're okay?" Harvey, and -- of course he could feel Bruce pulling away, and of course Bruce would feel warm that he'd object to it.

Relief is, perhaps, for some other time. Bruce turns to smile at Harvey. "Just... thinking a little."

Harvey narrows his eyes -- and turns to look in the direction of Tom.

"It's all right, Harv."

It makes Harvey turn back and clap him on the shoulder. "Then act like it, okay?"

Bruce nods, and it's not really a surprise that Harvey sticks close to him on their way to the dining hall. Tom is close but not really with them, obviously thinking about something else... he has his wet hair pushed back, and it makes Bruce think of Tom on his knees with a finger inside him, Tom's mouth and Tom's perfect hands --

"You could," Harvey says, leaning in and speaking in a stage whisper, "*ask* him what he's thinking."

Tom smirks and shakes his head. "That would be too easy, Harvey. Bruce likes a *challenge*."

"You were *both* acting challenged in gym class today. I know you guys can do better."

Bruce isn't quite sure what to say to that --

Tom shakes his head. "It's hard to *want* to do better for gym. We could -- and would -- keep ourselves in shape without being browbeaten into it, and I've yet to meet an out-of-shape kid who was at all inspired to be anything different *by* being browbeaten."

"Okay, true, but you've got to look at it this way -- it's the only real fun here you can get graded on."

"I'm personally looking forward to the lab work," Tom says. "Though Lex has implied that this school really isn't much for the sciences."

"*Lex*. God, you really talk to that guy? Have conversations and everything?"

Yes, he does. Bruce can see it in the way that Tom looks down and colors, a little. He talks and wants *more* --

Tom laughs and shakes his head. "He has... interesting opinions. I can't really keep myself from wanting to hear them -- especially since he clearly *wants* to talk."

Harvey snorts. "Of course he does. That guy *loves* hearing himself talk. Well, I guess if you're keeping him busy he can't pull any of the crap he usually does."

Tom hums non-committally.

"Uh, huh. You don't just talk to him, you kind of *like* the guy," and Harvey pokes Tom's shoulder lightly, and Bruce has to *work* not to stare, not to *know* Tom's answer to that and hold it like something sharp in his fist --

"I -- he reminds me, a little, of some of the people I knew back... in California. I'm a little homesick, to be honest."

Oh, but... *who*? He hadn't talked about anyone other than Steph, and while Bruce knows that there had to be more people in his life like that... or. Is it possible that the person *under* Lex's persona is like the Lex Tom knows? But -- he hadn't *liked* that Lex, hadn't wanted to spend time with him --

"Anyway, it's something of a relief to be *able* to get along with my roommate," and Tom laughs again. "I've had some very special ones over the years."

"Heh, *I* roomed with a guy my freshman year who -- I swear to God -- could *not* keep his hand out of his pants."

That would be Sylvester Wallingford, who'd left Exeter last year for reasons Bruce doesn't know. He'd *seemed* perfectly normal and average --

Tom is making a face. "I -- seriously?"

"Hand to God," Harvey says, raising his hand and leading them into the hall. "Morning, noon, and *night*. He took care of his laundry and kept things relatively neat, but I'm convinced that he still made all my clothes smell like his freakin' come."

"Oh, that's -- ew. I would've been dosing his food with saltpeter."

"I wanted to cut it *off* for him, or maybe just get some sculptor to do a cast of it so he could touch it whenever he wanted to and leave the air quality in peace."

"Suddenly I'm a lot less resentful of the roommate I had who stashed booze in every available part of the room."

"Now *that* would've driven me crazy. It's bad enough at home --" Harvey closes his mouth and shakes his head. "Did you turn him in?"

"No. He was a real jerk to me, but it was all about his addiction. When I pointed him to where he could get some help, things got much better. And -- now I'm trying to think about what I would've done about *your* roommate problem."

"Itching powder on his palms, maybe. Or something a little caustic," Harvey says, and he sounds a little dreamy.

"Well, I suppose I could've put wood alcohol in Wesley's mouthwash bottle, but I thought that might've been a little extreme."

Harvey grins. "Depends on how *much* of a jerk he was, I'd think."

And that makes Tom look at Harvey with an eyebrow raised --

Harvey raises his hands. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I know that stuff can make you blind on top of all the other nasty things it'll do to your system. Still, I can't help having a real *problem* with people who don't just abuse drugs -- and alcohol *is* a drug -- but who develop real personality problems when they do."

Which is reasonable, if maybe a little close to home? Bruce clears his throat --

"Yeah, big guy?"

"I was just... I don't think I understand what could make a person *want* to use a substance that made them a worse person."

Harvey's smile is sharp and a little -- tight. Tom shakes his head. "Bruce, if people *understood* what made people do that --"

"Then the problem would *still* be there," Harvey says. "Understanding only goes so far -- and can get you into trouble, besides. You spend enough time *understanding* the guy who's ruining your family or -- whatever. You spend too much time on that, then you're *not* spending time making things better for yourself," and he turns to Tom. "I really admire you working to get that roommate of yours help, Tom, but what would you have done if he hadn't gotten himself cleaned up?"

"Turned him in. In a heartbeat. Never mind how much of an ass he was to me, he was *poisoning* himself every spare minute of every day. I couldn't imagine letting him kill himself that way."

Bruce frowns. "Doesn't it take a long time for alcohol to hurt someone that way? Years?"

"Depends on the person," Harvey says. "Some people can just drink and drink for years. *Decades*. Some people..." Harvey shakes his head and leads them into the dining hall. "I had a cousin who was dead before he turned twenty. The rest of the family likes to say it was the Indian blood -- the Native blood -- in him, but the guy had been drinking bathtub gin since he was nine or ten years old. A case like that? The whys don't really matter."

"I didn't realize you were part American Indian, Harv."

Harvey raises a hand and pinches two fingers almost together. "Just enough that I tan real well in the summertime. I don't know the tribe or anything like that."

Tom sits down and puts his napkin in his lap. "Are you interested in your family history?"

"To be honest? Not so much. I tend to think that, unless you're one of those people with blood so blue you can only see it under a black light, bogging yourself down in family history is just another way to make excuses about why you're not getting anywhere. I -- don't want to hear about the various failures who make up the Dent family tree, and I don't want to know where we came from, and I don't plan on tracking down my cousins to let them all know when I graduate from this place, or when I get accepted to one school or another. I'm on my own two feet here, and that's the way it's going to stay," and Harvey starts cutting his meat --

"That sounds... well. A little lonely," Tom says, and looks at Bruce --

Bruce nods and tries to put every ounce of his agreement into his eyes, tries to make sure Tom knows that he has to stay, that family is *important* --

Tom looks away, but his blush tells Bruce that he'd succeeded to at least a certain extent. "I mean -- I don't know your family, at all, but --"

"That's right," Harvey says, "you *don't*. And hey, don't get me wrong -- if a cousin like you had shown up at one of the big, boozy get-togethers my family used to throw back when my mother was alive... well, that would be one thing. But I'm the *black* sheep. They all think I should go fuck myself for thinking that I'm better than they are, and I think they should all go fuck *them*selves for not being good enough."

And sometimes, you come back here with bruises, Bruce thinks. "It sounds -- I'm sorry, Harvey --"

"*Harv*, Bruce. You had it down for a minute there. And -- heh. I met this *real* pretty girl over break -- a ticket taker down at the Rialto. She let me take her out for a pie and we talked about life, the world, families... anyway, she told me that a part of growing up was *making* your own family, and it really stuck in my head. I mean, *no* one gets to choose who raises them, or who's in the bedroom next door, but we get all of these chances to *find* people who look like us on the *inside*, where it counts..." Harvey laughs and shakes his head. "What do *you* think about it, Tom?"

"I think -- I *believe* in the chosen family. I think it's one of the most important things we *can* do with our lives, and it's one of the reasons why I have a very difficult time not trying to make friends with people when I'm given the opportunity to do so. When -- when I have that freedom. Um." Tom looks down at his plate, and there's tension in his neck and shoulders --

Bruce reaches out and cups the back of Tom's neck, feels the warmth and hopes Tom can feel his own, and -- "We -- didn't grow up together, Tom, but I'd like to have you in my family for as long as I can."

Tom closes his eyes --

*Harvey* clears his throat, and -- yes, Bruce supposes that he is being... suspect. Acting like the homosexual that he *is*, but --

But. Bruce lets go and turns his attention back to his plate -- tries to. "I -- I really would. And *you*, Harv. We could be --"

"Brothers, big guy? I wouldn't mind that, at all," he says, and maybe his voice is soft because he's compensating for not touching Bruce, or maybe it's soft because he needs it to be.

And when Bruce looks up again, both Tom and Harvey are looking at him fondly -- and then they look at each other and laugh.

"I -- really like that the two of you get along."

"I'm pretty happy about that, myself. Tom?"

"You're everything Bruce said you were. I have no difficulty understanding why you're his closest friend."

"*Now* we just have to cure you of your Lex problem. Have you tried walking around him in old blue jeans and a work shirt, yet?"

Tom grins and takes a sip of juice. "I'm reasonably sure Alfred did something terrible with my best worn-out jeans, but I'll consider giving it a try."

"You *do* that. Or the next thing you know, you'll be wearing his heels."

Tom laughs. "I'm not sure my legs are long enough to pull that look off, Harvey. *You* could, though."

"Oh, don't you even *start* --"

"I think *you* started it --"

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll have to *finish* it," Harvey says, and makes a playful jab with his fork.

Tom returns the gesture, and they fence cheerfully for a couple of minutes, gaining the attention of some of the other people at their table... but not of any of the professors at the high table. Bruce realizes that this is something else he'd wanted, this ease and comfort between the two people he -- loves.

A damp lock of Harvey's hair has fallen over his forehead, and Bruce wants to feel it for a moment before pushing it back in place, wants to know its thickness and the cool of it on his warm fingers.

Tom's smile is sharp and steady, and not tight at all as he pretends to know less about fencing than he does. They haven't *talked* about it, but Bruce is getting better at seeing when Tom isn't giving -- quite -- all of himself. He seems to hold himself back physically almost instinctively, and it makes Bruce want to watch him for hours from some position where Tom couldn't see him.

Tom would still know he was *being* observed, but that would only make him even more careful, slower and less *adept* until Bruce would have to search him deeply in order to get even a glimpse of the real him -- there, a glint in his eyes and a slight twist of his wrist to keep Harvey from accidentally stabbing him.

Harvey -- Bruce *knows* -- had seen nothing, and that makes the fact that *he'd* seen it all the more... more. Something loosens itself inside Bruce and fills him with spreading warmth, and --

He can almost *see* Tom fencing with his Bruce, see him twisting and leaping and moving as his Bruce advanced on him, as he advanced on Bruce --

And then the fantasy falls apart, because he can't imagine anything like that happening *without* that Bruce needing to touch and *taste* the first opportunity he gets, and...

Is that Bruce *involved* with Harvey? Tom would've told him if that were the case. If he *knew* --

No, he would know, and... Tom has always *paused*, a little, when he's talked about his Bruce's relationship with Harvey. Is it possible that Tom *thinks* he knows that the two of them are involved but isn't sure?

How could any Bruce not have shared that with Tom?

Laughter from the northwest corner of the room -- Lex is smiling sharply at eight of his -- Harvey would call them 'hangers-on,' or something worse. He'd apparently just told a joke, and it would probably have been a mean one.

Professor Sharpe taps her spoon against her glass, and the laughing stops quickly -- and Tom and Harvey stop fencing and smile sheepishly at each other.

They settle into eating their lunches, and Bruce does, too, though he can't quite keep himself from looking over at Lex several times. Would Tom prefer eating with him? It would be an opportunity to watch him *act*, if not to talk to him the way Tom seems to like.

All of Lex's motions are showy when they're not showily languid, though he manages to finish his meal more or less at the same time as everyone else. It's an interesting trick, and Bruce wonders if he could manage something like it --

Tom bumps him with his shoulder, and when Bruce looks, both he and Harvey are looking at him with their eyebrows up.

Bruce blushes. "Did I miss... a question?"

"Not exactly, big guy," Harvey says, and steals a potato from Bruce's plate. "But you've been giving Lex the hairy eyeball for kind of a *while*."

"I'd like to know... what makes him interesting. Pleasant," Bruce says, and Harvey turns to look at Tom, who is smiling ruefully.

"*Not* what he does here. I'm not a party to that, and I can't see *being* a party to it. He has his reasons for putting on his little shows, and... I *think* I understand them, but it's not really for me."

That's good to know. Bruce doesn't think he *could* act like that, or in any way that would draw so much *attention*. Although... "I suppose there's something to be said for controlling the way people look at you."

Harvey's face twists. "In being a manipulative little *bastard*, you mean. I want people to take me as I am, for *who* I am --"

"But you don't stint at... ah, dialing back your own behavior when you think it would get a bad reaction," Tom says, and --

The twist on Harvey's face becomes a frown. "All right, yeah, but that's just *high* school. If you don't put on a nice, average face then you can get yourself bumped right out of the social circles you *need* to be in."

Tom's smile is small and a little distant. "You don't think Lex is maybe... approaching the problem from a different direction?"

"You're not seriously trying to make me think I've got something in common with that guy, Tom. You *can't* be."

Tom raises his hands and spreads them. "I'm just saying -- we're all putting on shows to one extent or another. You and I both prefer to make those shows as close to the real us as possible --"

"And *that's* what Lex should be shooting for. Or -- hell, maybe he *is*. The *point* is not to hurt anyone else with what you do and who you are, and Lex misses that by a long freaking road -- or you'd be over there yukking it up with him."

"And miss your company and Bruce's? Hardly. It's just that I've thought about this a fair amount for various reasons, Harvey. High school can be kind of *poisonous* to the identity if you *don't* keep your mind on all the little lies you tell -- out loud and with your body. I can't help but find a person who is *always* in touch with those lies... a little comforting," Tom says, and Bruce thinks there's a lesson in there for him. It's something about the *way* Tom had said it, and --

He thinks he understands. "You're saying that... that the lies *you* tell upset you enough that you'd rather not think about them, and so someone who clearly *does* think about them can be a good choice for a... friend?"

Tom frowns thoughtfully. "Friend? I'm not sure I'd go that far. Something more like a companion on the same road I'm traveling."

"Hey, you have *Bruce*," Harvey says, which is better than it would've been if Bruce had said it --

"And so do you. And we have -- to a certain growing extent -- each other. But I've always been a little greedy about people."

Harvey stands up and stretches -- and tucks his shirt back in when it slips out of his pants and exposes... another shirt. "Spoken like someone who spent *way* too much time alone as a kid...?"

"Ah... you could say that," Tom says, and it's very hard not to call him on the lie, but Bruce knows he has to let it stand.

Harvey nods. "You could take my family any day, Tom, my man. I'm headed to Latin early -- I need to talk to the prof about an extra credit project I've been thinking about. Catch you guys later."

"Later," Tom says, and --

"Bye, Harv."

Harvey grins at him before he goes, and that means that it's all right to watch him leave, the easy motions of his arms and legs, the way he hitches his backpack in just the right way to keep from rumpling his jacket --

"He's very handsome."

"Yes," Bruce says, and turns to finish his juice.

Tom laughs quietly and pushes the last few potatoes around his plate. "I -- really should've known that you would respond just that way to that statement, as if there was nothing at all wrong... there *is* nothing wrong. I like him a lot."

Bruce frowns. "Is he... not like your Harvey?"

"In my world, Harvey is *Bruce's* friend, and there's not really... room for me in that."

"*Is* your Bruce involved with Harvey?"

The distant look is back on Tom's face, and --

Bruce hates it. He *hates* it, and there's nothing -- "Please, Tom --"

"I think... there might have been something. I don't know what, or how far it went, or if they wanted it to *go* farther... I don't know," he says, and looks at Bruce apologetically. "I'm sorry I've been so... apart. It's the only way I know how to be, sometimes."

"I don't understand how... how that works."

"I know, Bruce, and I can't really explain it, yet. When I can -- when I know *how* -- I promise I will."

Bruce nods, and focuses for a moment on not touching Tom's face, on not grabbing him and pulling him close so he can smell the water in his hair.

He wants to ask about Lex, but he can't think of anything more than what Harvey had already asked, not without sounding as though he's whining, or... anything like that.

He can tell that Tom knows that there's something he isn't saying, but Tom only nudges him with his knee under the table, dragging it against Bruce's own while smiling down at his plate.

"It's okay, Bruce."

Then stop trying to leave me -- "All right," Bruce says, and takes one more moment to press the length of his calf against Tom's leg before they stand and leave the dining hall.

The rest of the day is quiet, and Tom comes down an hour before curfew so that they can take their run. Harvey comes with them, and insists on them sprinting at the beginning and end of the run. Tom handles it easily, laughing when Harvey threatens to tell the track coach about him. It's a little harder for Bruce, and he wishes he had a body more like Tom's, or at least had more of Harvey's rangy grace.

Both of them just seem far more suited to this than he could ever be, especially since Alfred says Bruce shows every sign of eventually being even larger than Thomas Wayne had been. It's hard to think about. His memories of his father involve legs long enough to run between, strong arms lifting him high and higher, the tickle of a mustache...

Bruce has to shave every day, now, even though Tom only has to every couple of days, and then only for a handful of straggly hairs. Bruce has a mustache to contend with, and --

Should he let it grow? Some of the seniors had neat mustaches they seemed very proud of since the dress code had been relaxed enough to allow it. He would look like his father, and maybe Tom and Harvey would find that attractive, want to feel the tickle of it against their mouths or -- other places.

Tom would tell him if he asked, but he has no idea how to frame the question for Harvey save in the most casual possible way -- which wouldn't give him the answer he *really* wants.

Not that he knows if Harvey likes men or not, but there's something about *how* he's careful about that sort of thing. Something almost self-protective and -- he doesn't know. He should study more psychology, since what he *has* studied seems to be out of date when it's not simply inaccurate. He should ask Tom for book suggestions -- some of them might even be at the library here.

Maybe it's instinct, or maybe it's just wishful thinking. He's seen other boys touch each other the way Harvey touches him, but it's both very rare and *not* something he's seen from the boys who eventually have rumors started about them, or who get caught... making love.

And just thinking about it that way...

He *hadn't* before. He hadn't really thought of words for it, at all, because he certainly didn't feel comfortable using the words the other boys used in his hearing. But -- those boys were making *love*. Touching each other because they needed to, because they needed each other's pleasure even though everything and everyone was telling them that it was wrong.

Those boys were like *him*, and --

Harvey and Tom are still chatting with each other. Harvey is telling Tom about some of his favorite places to eat in Gotham, places where Bruce would very much like to go *with* Harvey and Tom, even though he'd have to hide his feelings and it wouldn't be as much like a date as his and Tom's trip to the sushi restaurant had been.

Bruce's scalp prickles with the memory of wasabi, and his mouth waters at the memory of kisses which had tasted like tea. He could teach Harvey how to use chopsticks -- if he doesn't already know -- and show him so many of the things Tom had shown him.

He could --

He *wants* to, but what he thinks he wants more than anything else, right now, is a kind of romantic *direction*. He's in love with Tom, but what he feels for Harvey isn't so dissimilar. There are things he could probably never share with Harvey, who wants to live in Gotham's daylight world doing things the Bat would consider useless and wasted time, but there are *other* things, and Tom *wants* him to have those other things --

Tom will be going back to Lex's room tonight, to *his* room with Lex, and Bruce will be alone with Harvey.

Tom won't be there to make Harvey laugh, or to smooth over those moments of awkwardness that Bruce can't help but cause whenever there's a conversation about... anything.

The fact that that wasn't even an *issue* a few weeks ago seems entirely unreal. Tom is a part of his life, now, and maybe a part of himself -- even if the same isn't always true in reverse. Trying to think about what he'd do if Tom weren't there at all is pointless -- a part of him will *always* be thinking and wondering around Tom's existence now, and that's just the way it is.

The ending sprint leaves Bruce winded and a little shaky, but he manages to avoid bending over and gasping like an overworked horse. Harvey rewards him for that by throwing an arm over his shoulders and shaking Bruce a little --

"You see? You're getting there."

"'There' seems to just be the dormitory, Harv."

"Ah, you're missing the bigger picture, big guy. Tell him what the bigger picture is, Tom."

Tom grins and bounces on his toes. "Fitness. Health. The pound of blood in your veins as you... ah. Pant, mostly."

"But he *could* be shouting his incredibly healthy defiance to the skies themselves," Harvey says, and tugs them toward the door.

"Oh, he could be. He could even be shaking his fist, a little. Defiantly, that is."

"I like the cut of your jib, my boy," and Harvey's impression of the headmaster is dead-on and hilarious, though it only makes Tom raise an eyebrow in the warm and buttery light from the windows.

"That will be much funnier when you meet the headmaster, Tom," Bruce says, and wonders if it's someone else in Tom's world.

"I'll take your word for it," Tom says, and opens the door.

"Oh, you definitely should," Harvey says. "He *always* knows when I'm being funny, whether or not he actually *laughs*," and he shakes Bruce again.

Bruce frowns. "Um. Sometimes I'm laughing very much on the inside."

Harvey snorts.

"Oh, he is," Tom says. "And sometimes, if you're very quick and the lighting is right, you can *almost* see it."

"I'm not that bad --"

"Of *course* you're not, big guy. You're perfect just the way you are -- except for the sweat, which we're *going* to take care of momentarily."

"I should go grab my robe --"

"Eh, you can borrow mine, Tom -- it's warm enough in here that I don't mind parading around in my towel for a few feet."

Tom grins. "Thanks --"

"Though -- I gotta ask. What's with all those *scars*? I mean --" Harvey blinks and shakes his head. "On second thought, never mind --"

"No, it's okay -- I've studied judo and karate. And I was pretty horrible at it at first. *And* -- I mark up easily."

Tom makes lying and telling half-truths seem so easy -- there's hardly any tension visible in him, and that could have more to do with the fact that Tom isn't as clean as he likes to be than with anything else --

Harvey whistles. "Okay, I'm impressed. And I promise I'll be good -- you don't have to kick my ass anytime soon."

Tom grins and stops in the doorway of Bruce's and Harvey's room --

"And you can come *in*," Harvey says, easing his arm from around Bruce's shoulder and moving to his closet. "I want you to hang out here at least sometimes."

Tom's grin gets a little wider. "And not with Lex?"

"And *not* with *Lex*. He's bad for you. Like -- I don't know, saccharin."

Tom leans against the wall nearest the door and crosses his arms over his chest. "I wasn't aware he tasted -- sweet."

Harvey makes a choked noise and ducks back out of the closet to shake a finger at Tom. "Keep that up and I let *you* parade around in a towel."

"Well, if that's the way you *want* me..." And Tom raises his eyebrows -- and ducks not quite fast enough to avoid one of Harvey's sweaters. He twirls it in one hand and -- tosses it at the bed while he slips into one of the ready stances he'd shown Bruce.

"Oh, *really*?" And Harvey dances out of the closet like a boxer, arms up and head bobbing a little --

And Tom makes a come-on gesture with his fingers --

And then they're circling around the room, Harvey throwing what look like very *good* punches to miss, and Tom kicking the same way.

Bruce edges back against a wall and just -- watches.

There's sweat at Harvey's temples and on the back of his neck, and Tom is still flushed from the run, and they're not *really* fighting, but it looks very, very good.

He's going to be hard in the shower.

He's *already* hard, and that --

Movement in the hall -- and the signature double clap that means Mrs. Bourne, the dorm mother, is standing there glaring at... all of them. Tom and Harvey stand up straight immediately, Harvey blushing and Tom pushing a hand back through his hair.

They apologize to Mrs. Bourne almost in time with each other, and Bruce chimes in just a moment later.

"We do *not* tolerate fighting in the dorms like common street thugs, Harvey. You should know better."

"Yes, Mrs. Bourne --"

"And you -- Tom Wayne? You may be new here, but you've had *ample* time to read the rules and regulations."

"Ah -- yes, Mrs. Bourne. My apologies."

"Now then, Bruce, tell me what this was about."

Mrs. Bourne *always* asks him -- perhaps because he's never seen the point of not being honest. "Harvey and Tom were pretending to fight."

"Now, *Bruce* --"

"We all went running, and then we were joking around, and then Harvey and Tom decided to pretend to fight."

Mrs. Bourne crosses her arms over her chest and looks... the word 'thunderous' comes to mind, but there's really nothing for her to be upset about. Bruce looks at her the way he's looked at oddly frustrated authority figures for as long as he can remember --

She makes a huffing sound and turns to leave, pausing at the door to glare at all of them. "Remember the *rules*, boys, and we won't have any trouble we have to take to the headmaster."

"Yes, Mrs. Bourne," they all say together, and then she's gone.

"Hm. She walks quite lightly," Tom says, after a moment.

"She's like a *ninja*," Harvey says. "Hey, maybe we can get you to track her for us -- not that she usually has anything to say to *us*. *Or* Lex, for that matter, and if I knew what he had on her..."

"To be fair," and Tom looks back over his shoulder with a teasing grin on his face that makes Bruce want to be much closer, to *almost* touch -- "He might just have something on her boss."

"Oh, you're just a *bundle* of laughs, aren't you?"

"More fun than a barrel of monkeys, Harvey --"

"Hey, we just got called on the carpet together -- you can call me Harv," he says, and offers his hand.

Tom's smile kind of *quirks* on his face, but he doesn't hesitate before taking Harvey's hand. "Harv. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now take this robe and lets hit the showers before all the hot water is gone."

"Mmm. Nothing like a cold shower to make me feel every *inch* a man," Tom says.

"You mean a few inches *less* of a man," and Harvey leads them out into the hall. Everyone's doors are open, which is usually the case after Mrs. Bourne has been through, and several people call out to Harvey as he walks.

He's popular, though not in the ways he would like to be, and sometimes Bruce wonders if Harvey *could* ever be truly comfortable in a place like this for more than a few moments at a time.

Once practices start, Harvey, he knows, will feel obligated to spend more time with his team, and there will be hours every day when Bruce is alone in their room. That means he'll be able to have Tom, but --

But he's still looking for *direction* -- though at least being confused means he's a little bit softer when they all strip down in the anteroom, which is surprisingly empty for the time of day.

Bruce gives himself a moment to try to pick out which of Tom's scars are from judo and karate and which are from that plate glass window --

Had his Bruce been with him when he'd had that accident? He must have been terrified by all the blood, perhaps frozen with *fear*. The ways he wants to give Tom pain are all *safe* things, he thinks, things which can be easily controlled. For all that he wants to mark Tom in more ways than just the hickey on his throat --

Harvey touches it. "*That's* not from judo *or* karate."

Bruce blushes -- and so does Tom. One of them has to... Bruce looks away --

"I -- ah. Got to spend a *little* time in the big city over holiday break."

"Heh. What'd she look like?"

*She* --

"Ah... are you sure you want to ask that question, Harvey?" Tom sounds cautious. There's amusement there, but it's the sort of amusement Bruce could imagine being in Tom's voice if he were surrounded by people who wanted to *hurt* him --

"We should shower --"

"What do you mean by that, Tom? What, she was ugly? Hairy? Looked like Lex? What?"

And Tom crosses his arms over his chest and looks down. He's naked and utterly self-contained, and it's almost impossible to imagine breaking through to his *real* self, even though the walls surrounding him aren't as thick as they could be.

They're *thorough*, and Bruce hadn't meant to be looking at him for this, and Harvey looks -- less and less confused by the second --

"You're gay."

Tom looks up, and the amusement on his face is harder than it was even a moment ago -- "I wasn't planning to tell *everyone*, so..." And he mimes turning down the volume.

"Holy -- you knew this, Bruce?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and wonders if this is where he tells the truth, too, if he admits that he'd like to rub the tension out of Harvey's body -- no, not the *time*.

"Well... shit," Harvey says, and looks around in a way that seems almost panicked -- he stops. "Wait a minute. Is *that* why you like spending time around Lex? Because I don't think he really *is* --"

"I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't one of the reasons, but it's really quite far down the list," Tom says. "Look, I don't have to borrow your robe if you don't --"

"I'm not -- fuck. Fuck, Tom, you -- I'm not a damned *bigot*. I'm just -- I'm not, okay?"

Tom raises an eyebrow. "I'm not saying you are. It's just that you have rather more pressures on you to always *appear* straight than I do, and... I'm not very good at staying closeted."

"Closeted. I... wow, I didn't realize people actually said that," Harvey says, and his laugh sounds a little cracked.

"Some people do. Um -- anyway. To answer your original question: I met someone. I don't normally do... anything upon first meeting someone, but... I did. That time."

"That's -- really not *safe*, Tom."

Tom's smile is rueful and... fond. "No. It really isn't. And -- normally I keep that in mind," he says, and looks at Bruce, and the smile is still on his face but his eyes are serious and a little hard. "I left Bruce hanging, but Bruce covered for me. Alfred was upset with us both."

Bruce nods, and makes note of the story.

"So, you... wow. All right, fine, *is* Lex actually gay? We've *all* seen him with girls --"

"I think that's his secret to tell -- or not, as the case may be," Tom says, low and a little formal.

"And I'll just take that slap and like it?" Harvey laughs again and raises his hands. "Okay, okay. We *need* showers, we're all naked, so let's get to it."

And once they move to the actual showers, Tom deliberately leaves a space between him and Harvey -- but Harvey just moves to be next to him. And slaps Tom lightly on the back of the head.

"Um. Ow?"

"Don't be like that. *I* may have to watch my back almost all the damned time, but I don't have to do it around you. Right?"

"Certainly I didn't have any plans to... anything," Tom says, and, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harvey says, and turns the water on, reflexively tensing at the first blast of cold. Tom shivers rather than flinching, and --

He can't just watch them, no matter how much he wants to. The cold doesn't do anything to his burgeoning erection, which seems deeply unfair, but, once again, neither of them comment.

He knows, from a glimpse he'd gotten one night when he was studying late and Harvey had started masturbating, that Harvey's penis has a slight upward curve when it's erect --

Thinking about that isn't helping, at all.

"So... it must be a lot easier for you out in San Francisco."

"I haven't had any problems, but there are always people who respond to homosexuality... poorly. That's true everywhere."

"Is that why you decided to learn martial arts?"

Tom smiles. "It would certainly make sense, but... ah. I did it more because I'm a fan... of superheroes."

Harvey laughs. "Seriously? Is that what you want to do when you're an adult or something?"

"Well no, not really, but -- they're pretty inspiring for me. And Gotham has the Justice Society right *there*," Tom says and laughs quietly.

It echoes through the shower and makes Bruce feel touched, or -- there's an intimacy here, for all the space. Something about cool tile and warm water, steam --

"I really don't know how I feel about superheroes," Harvey says, and turns on more hot water. "I mean, they don't do anything wrong, and they're basically acting as concerned citizens and helping the police with problems they wouldn't be able to handle on their own..."

"Lex seems to think that it's dangerous to have them acting without... ah, regulation."

"You're just freaking *determined* to get me to agree with that guy, aren't you?"

And when Bruce looks past Harvey, Tom is smiling with his eyes closed. "Well, it would be just fine with me if you disagreed with him about that."

"Heh. Well, if I look at it like a judge or a prosecutor, then I have to think about things like the chain of evidence. How do I go to court and say that *this* was the gun X criminal used on Y victim when I wouldn't even have the gun if Z guy in a mask and tights hadn't handed it to me? I can't put *Z* on the stand to verify where he got the gun from, or to act as a witness, because the defense attorney is just going to get up and say, 'how can we trust what this witness says when we don't know his true identity?'"

"That *is* a problem, but... so far, the justice system has been handling it well enough, I think."

Harvey snorts. "Yeah, by playing fast and loose with the part of the constitution that allows for defendants to face down their accusers. Don't get me wrong -- some of the people the superheroes take down could have done -- and *did* do -- serious damage. For the people like that, you've got witnesses out the wazoo, and everything flows nice and smoothly. But the relative small-timers, the *human* criminals... I have this image of a big, *nasty* case hitting the Supreme Court. And then either the prison doors swing *wide* open... or America starts looking a little more like the USSR."

"Ouch," Tom says, and turns to let the water sluice down his back. "You don't think the justice system will be able to keep walking that fine line?"

"I believe in putting away the bad guys -- but I believe in doing it in a way as fair and transparent as humanly possible. What we have now is just a little too shady for my tastes, but, hell, who's to say how I'm gonna feel when Green Lantern flies past my office with a mob boss I've been dying to get my hands on trussed up in bright green cuffs?"

"I don't really like to think about that side of things, but I do know that you have a point. I suppose I have enough faith in the heroes to believe that they wouldn't just railroad an innocent person, and that they'd do everything in their power to make sure that the police and the DA get to have as much uncontaminated evidence as possible."

"That's a whole lotta faith there, Tom."

It is. "I think... I think everyone needs to believe in something," Bruce says. "Something brighter and more hopeful than what their lives have given them."

"And sometimes," Tom says, "the brightest things come from the darkest places."

And that... it makes Bruce think of the second skins he and Tom will wear one day, dark for the deepest shadows of Gotham --

Harvey grunts. "That's pretty damned profound and philosophical, Tom. Planning on taking up debate? Maybe the drama club?"

"I think I have just enough drama already, thank you very much," Tom says, and turns off the water and heads for the towels. "All I want *here* is to have the space and time to do what I want at roughly the time when I want to do it. All the rest is... just fine for other people."

He and Harvey turn off their water at about the same time and join Tom with the towels --

"You know, Tom, sometimes you talk like you know exactly what you want to do with your life and know how to get there. Other times..."

"I sound like a dilettante...?" Tom smiles and towels his hair. "I almost hate to say it, but you're agreeing with Lex again."

"Augh, God, *why*?"

*That* he knows -- somewhat. "I've read that sometimes we hate others as much for their similarities to us as for their differences."

"Bunk. Psycho freaking *babble*," Harvey says, and jabs Bruce's chest lightly. "Just because Lex sometimes speaks a little sense doesn't mean --"

"Sense? Why, *Harvey*. I didn't know you cared," Lex says, and walks into the anteroom followed by three other boys. They're sniggering, and none of them had greeted Harvey as they had walked to the showers. Lex's -- Harvey has used the word 'minions' in the past.

And Tom steps smoothly between Lex and Harvey, catching the attention of both of them. "Lex..."

"Tom," Lex says, and raises an eyebrow. He looks amused.

Tom ties on Harvey's robe. "I... wanted to talk to you about --"

"Something...?"

The other boys seem to be *preparing* to snigger again, and Harvey is tense --

Tom laughs -- "Definitely something -- but mostly about that project we were discussing earlier," and Tom makes an odd gesture -- chopping at one palm with his other hand.

Judo?

Lex frowns -- and turns it into a purse of his lips. "If you'd like. I'll be up in a little while."

"See you then," Tom says, and walks out. Harvey shakes his head, but follows, and Bruce follows him -- and Harvey grabs Tom's shoulder in the hall.

"You *don't* have to run interference."

"I know," Tom says, and spares a glance for Harvey's hand. "But sometimes I'm good at it -- and I didn't especially want to see a scene between the two of you."

Harvey squeezes Tom's shoulder. "Protective, aren't you?"

"When I can be, yes. Does it bother you?"

And Harvey squeezes Tom's shoulder again before letting go and standing up straight, shaking his head a little and generally looking as though he doesn't mind wearing only a towel even though they're in the hall and there are people walking by.

Maybe if *he* looked like Harvey he'd feel the same, but as it is Bruce feels a little ridiculous in his robe with his clothes in a bundle in his arms. *Tom* looks like *he* feels perfectly comfortable, too -- even though Harvey's robe is much too large for him, long and loose enough that anyone could just give a slight tug and he'd be naked --

And Bruce loses himself for a moment to the image of Harvey and Tom pretending to fight again, only this time they'd be naked, and Tom wouldn't be pretending to be less skilled than he is. They'd move close into a clinch, and Tom would throw Harvey down to the floor, pin him and hold him down until Harvey used his greater strength to -- somehow -- reverse the pin. And then --

"I know it *shouldn't* bother me," Harvey says, and pushes a hand through his damp hair, mussing it until it almost looks the way it does when Harvey first wakes up in the morning. "I guess I'm not used to people trying to protect *me*."

Bruce thinks Tom could protect almost anyone, but -- should *he* have been trying to ease things between Harvey and Lex? Distracting them from the way they feel about each other in some way? He thinks that would've involved him somehow *knowing* Lex, but... maybe this is the sort of thing friends do for each other. He should have tried *something*, if only because Harvey --

"It would be different if you were enough like Lex that you enjoyed those little... let's call them 'sparring matches.'"

"I guess you have to call them *something*," and Harvey shakes his head. "Look, I -- I appreciate the impulse? But I *also* don't want a rep for hiding behind the new kid. No offense."

Tom raises his eyebrow again. "None taken. But you have to understand that there's no percentage for any of us in you and Lex continuing your little war -- especially since I'm reasonably sure that *you'd* be the one taking heat for it...?"

Harvey frowns deeply and nods. "You have a point, as much as I hate it."

"We hate it, too," Tom says, and nods toward Bruce. "But it's the way things work at this place -- at the moment." Tom pauses and looks around before moving close enough to Harvey to whisper. "Don't think we didn't notice how Bourne was looking to single you out."

Harvey shakes his head. "She's just the dorm-mother --"

"Who brings tales to the people who can *actually* make life difficult for you. I'm -- I've become invested, Harv. Let me -- and Bruce -- do what we can."

"So I can hide behind the Waynes?"

"Some would call it 'networking,'" Tom says, and smiles. "Or enlightened self-interest."

Harvey raises his hands. "Okay, okay. I surrender. You guys can do what you want. And I'm getting the kind of draft I don't much care for, so... bring my robe back before breakfast?"

"Done," Tom says, and turns to look at Bruce. The smile on his face is bright and shallow. The one in his eyes is rueful and intimate.

"Good night," Bruce says, and knows that his own eyes are saying -- a lot.

"Yeah, sleep well in the lion's den, Tom," Harvey says, and starts walking backward.

"Good night to you both," Tom says, and turns and heads for the stairs.

Bruce watches Harvey's robe slip on his shoulders -- and Tom straightens it without a pause. He follows Harvey back to their room, and Harvey whips off the towel as soon as the door is closed, shivering a little and moving to the drawer where he keeps his pajamas.

Bruce doesn't watch Harvey's muscles shift and flex, but he's thinking about them, about the fact that Harvey is a little chilled and could be *made* warmer -- he gets his own pajamas, and feels rather ridiculous in them with the erection he's had for much too long.

Maybe he should just get into bed and reread the assignment for history tomorrow, or... he's done with all of his homework, and he *knows* Harvey is, too --

And Harvey's pajamas are a little too short for his legs and he's not shivering anymore. He has... an *odd* smile on his face and he's looking at Bruce.

"Harv...?"

"You let Tom do the talking out there."

"I... he's better at it. But he didn't say anything I didn't agree with. Not -- not all night."

Harvey nods, and there's a distant and thoughtful look on his face. "I don't think I've ever known anyone who was gay before. I mean -- who was *just* gay, and not an asshole."

There's *me* -- Bruce swallows and nods. "I -- I like Tom a lot."

"Yeah, I can tell," Harvey says, and smiles -- fondly, again. "You have this *special* way of getting silent and watchful when you like someone. Almost like you're studying them, or... I don't know, maybe memorizing?"

Bruce blushes. "I like... building good memories."

Harvey crosses the distance between them and cups Bruce's face with his warm, strong hand.

Bruce can feel Harvey's writing callus, and the calluses from baseball, and -- he *was* looking down at the floor --

"This okay, big guy?"

This? This *what*? Does Harvey want -- "I -- yes."

"I just... sometimes it's pretty damned hard not to hug you. Especially when you say things like *that*..." Harvey says, and strokes down from Bruce's face to the place where Bruce's shoulder meets his neck.

Just -- *warm*. "Harv, I want -- I don't." Bruce shakes his head.

"You should have all the good memories you can handle, and... I really like being able to help with that. And I bet Tom does, too."

"He's very loving."

Harvey raises an eyebrow. "Hugs? Contact? Because he seems a little *physically* distant... I guess that's maybe because he doesn't want other guys to get the wrong idea?"

"He's -- he can be. Private."

"Like me? God, I hate brushing you off when we're surrounded by the other guys, when I know you're just trying to reach out the same way I do when we're alone. I just -- I want you to know that I'm never *ashamed* of you, okay?"

Bruce nods, and tries not to lose himself in the warmth in Harvey's eyes, the warmth of his *touch* -- The pendant is slightly off-center on his chest, though, and Bruce reaches to fix it --

"Is it straight again?"

"It -- I think so. I like the way it looks on you, Harv. I like that --" It's touching you even when I'm not allowed to -- "Um."

"You... *do* you want a hug? I mean, I know you're not... upset. Or -- are you?"

Bruce shakes his head and wants to know if he can be honest, if it would be all *right* to tell Harvey that he's homosexual even if he'd also be saying that he *wanted* Harvey, wanted to touch and taste -- "I'm not -- I think a hug would feel... very good."

"Yeah? Then... ah." Harvey swallows and pulls Bruce in close, shifting his arms until they're under Bruce's own -- "God *damn*, you're hard."

"Sorry," Bruce says, wincing and starting to pull back --

"Hey, no, it's okay. It's just that most guys, when offered a hug while they're sporting that kind of wood -- uh. They'd be kind of *uncomfortable*."

Not if they wanted the touch. Not... Bruce nods and lets himself move close again, sighing at the feel of Harvey against him. There's tension in Harvey's body, but there isn't *much*, and maybe this can be all right. Maybe --

"I've known you weren't like most guys for *years* now. And -- heh. I like that about you," Harvey says, and squeezes Bruce a little more tightly.

"Harv, I... there's something --"

"*I'll* say. And... I don't know what *got* you hard, but we can... you know, jerk off?"

Bruce closes his eyes and strokes Harvey's back, feeling the grace of it, the warmth through the pajamas --

"Would you... like that? You know, together?"

"I -- very much. I always..." Bruce swallows and *forces* himself to step back. He doesn't bother trying to smile. It's enough to see the rueful and kind of *shy* smile on Harvey's face as he strokes down his own chest --

Strokes down and *squeezes* himself --

"Oh, Harv..."

"Yeah, I... it won't take me long. I think you're putting out some kind of sex *miasma*."

"I'm... sorry?"

Harvey shakes his head and squeezes himself again. "Just -- this sense that *some* kind of sex has to happen -- or. I mean, not that jerking off together *really* counts --"

"It doesn't?"

"Um." Harvey raises an eyebrow. "Mostly no? It won't get us kicked out for conduct unbecoming, that's for sure."

"Is that... the only reason?"

And Harvey's eyes go wide and almost panicked, and he's searching Bruce *hard*.

Bruce feels himself blushing again and shakes his head, because he can't -- because he *wants*, anything he can get -- "You could. Tell me about the girl you met. In Gotham."

Harvey blinks. "The ticket-taker, yeah. I -- let's get into bed."

And he wants so *badly* to follow Harvey up to his bunk that he winds up clutching the ladder for --

"Bruce? You -- are you sure you're okay?"

Much too long. Much -- Bruce bites the inside of his lower lip and nods, and starts moving into his own bunk before --

Before he can think about *Harvey's* mouth, and how -- it's nothing like Tom's, at all. It's softer, or -- it *looks* softer. His lips are wider and more generous, with deep smile lines to either side which make Bruce want to know him when he's older, when they both are, and maybe Bruce wouldn't be so *awkward* --

And that sound is Harvey opening his bottle of lotion. Bruce has *lubricant*, but --

"You want some of this, big guy?"

*Yes* -- "I -- yes," Bruce says, and reaches up. Harvey's fingers brush his palm so lightly it makes Bruce *ache* -- but then there's the lotion, which is cold and slick and smells faintly of cocoa butter. Bruce rubs his hands together and breathes deep, telling himself he's smelling Harvey's hand, Harvey's *penis* --

"So... yeah. She had this gorgeous red hair spilling halfway down her back. And -- her name was Pam. She was saving up to get into the botany program at Hudson."

"Was she... very smart?"

"Oh, yeah -- and *really* into plants, but that's not... heh. What we're thinking about. Right?"

Bruce licks his lips and pushes his pajama pants down. "You could... what did you like about her?"

"I noticed the hair first. It was -- mm. *Thick*. It had a little curl to it, too. And then it was my turn, and she turned to give me this little professional smile... usually kids our age don't know to *do* that, or don't care..."

"She... liked her job?"

"She wasn't all that into movies, actually, but she'd still seen everything playing because it was free for her. She warned me away from the movie I was planning to see and told me about this other one. A drama like I normally wouldn't see unless I was bringing a date, you know? Do you know?"

"I haven't... I've never gone on a date."

"Oh, Bruce..." Harvey laughs, and it turns into a hiss. "Shit, cold. Um -- you *always* ask the girl what she wants to see. It can tell you a lot about her *and* a lot about what she wants from you. If she picks a drama, she's going to want to talk to you about it at least a little bit. If she picks a horror movie, chances are she's hoping for at least a little snuggle. If she picks a comedy... maybe she just wants to be friends. Got it?"

"I -- think so," Bruce says, and sighs at the feel of the lotion against his penis -- and moans at the sound of Harvey's gasp --

"Did you just -- heh. Never mind, I can picture it. Of *course* the cold doesn't bother you --"

"It's not... I don't find it pleasant, per se." But it smells like you, and we're *together* --

"Okay. Just -- don't go so fast I don't get to the good parts."

"I want to know... well, tell me more about her?"

"Uh -- green is her favorite color, and she looks *amazing* in it. Brings out her eyes, which are the kind of green... I'd never seen it before *except* on plants."

"She sounds beautiful," Bruce says, and doesn't ask if Harvey's ever found a man beautiful, if he could ever *want* the way Bruce does -- he forces himself to think about Harvey's hand on -- a pale face. Soft, hairless cheek, and big green eyes looking up -- "Was her mouth... soft?"

"Nn. Incredibly so. Just -- like fruit or something. She wore a little lipstick, but you could tell that most of the color was just her. And what I liked... I liked her laugh, which made her sound older, like she was in her twenties or something. I liked that she always looked me in the eye, instead of doing that thing some girls do where they're always looking around to see who's watching them."

"I hate that. It always makes me feel like I'm on display --"

"*Exactly*," Harvey says. "Pam didn't do that. She made it clear that she was interested in me, and she was... no-nonsense about it. After the movie, I hung around until she got off work, and then we went to this pizza place I like. Lots of red, big cozy booths with dim lighting -- you should never take a girl to a place with dim lighting unless you want to hook up with her a little *and* you're sure she wants to do the same. Otherwise you just look like a horndog."

"I -- all right."

"I liked that she wanted to order a pie instead of just a slice. I liked that she *did* want to talk about the movie, and it led to us talking about all kinds of things until the place closed up. I knew my old man wouldn't be home that early, so I brought her back to my place -- and nnh. I was about to ask about what you did with Alfred when you wanted to bring... to bring a girl home. Oh man, sometimes I am *dim*."

"It's -- please keep talking, Harv..."

"I -- yeah. Sorry, I know I'm getting a little *afield* here --" Harvey laughs a little breathlessly. "You're too easy to *talk* to, Bruce."

"It's all right. I don't mind. I just... it's good. To hear you talk," Bruce says, and wonders if that's going too far, if he's being too obvious. Just -- they're *together*, and Bruce can hear the wet sound of Harvey stroking himself, and he knows Harvey can hear *him* --

"My... my voice, Bruce?" And Harvey's voice *cracks* a little --

"It's. We've done this before. My body -- it *knows*, Harvey --"

"I -- guess it does, at that." Another wet sound, and Bruce thinks Harvey has licked his lips --

Bruce moans before he can swallow the sound back --

"Easy, big guy. I -- okay, I took her to the couch in the living room, and we didn't pay any attention to the TV, at all. She just -- she kissed me almost right away. She did it *hard*, Bruce."

"Oh. Do you... did you like that?"

"I normally like things to go a little slower than that, but we'd had all that flirting, all that *good* conversation -- I started getting hard right away."

And Bruce can almost picture it. A couch, the light from a television, and Harvey hard in his pants. Or his jeans, which are much tighter -- "Were you wearing your jeans?"

"What? Ah, no. A pair of cords, which I was *glad* of, because when I started kissing her back, *she* started kind of petting my chest. It -- she was almost like a *guy* about it, actually."

This time, Bruce manages to bite back the moan, but he can't keep himself from arching into his fist. "Oh. Did you -- you liked that."

"Heh. Yeah, I did. I'm -- I can be pretty... um. Sensitive. Some places."

"Your nipples."

"Yeah, big guy, sometimes. You've -- probably seen me playing with my nipples when I was jerking off."

"Once," Bruce says, and knows that it sounds like he's complaining, but --

Harvey laughs a little more. "When you gotta do it, you gotta do it. And right *then* what I had to do? Was push one hand into her gorgeous hair and kind of *cup* the side of her breast with my other hand. Her breasts were... pretty full. And she was wearing a bra, but it was one of those soft ones, so you could really tell the *shape* of her breasts."

"Did you -- did she like that."

"She moaned right into my mouth and *pinched* my nipples --"

Moaning out *loud* again, and Bruce can't keep the image of the girl in his mind. It's too easy to imagine touching Harvey that way, leaning in to *bite* his nipples --

"Yeah, Bruce, I was -- I was making a little noise. Some girls *really* like that. It lets them know that they're really doing it for you, that you want them *badly* --"

"You wanted -- what else did you *want*, Harv?"

"Um -- you don't want to know what she *did*?"

Should he? No, if Harvey's asking that means he *definitely* should, but -- Harvey knows he's different, and that's *okay*. "Um... no. I want -- you were hard. And she was --"

"And she wasn't *quite* all over me, but she could've been. Um. She -- she had these tough little hands, I guess from gardening all the time. I wanted her to just -- grab me. Squeeze me a little, *work* me a little --"

"Oh, yes --"

"Yeah. And then I wanted her mouth, wanted her to leave a nice lipstick mark right on my cock --"

"More. Harvey --"

"You're never -- you're usually so *quiet*, Bruce --"

"I'm sorry. I'm -- please," Bruce says, and tries to control his strokes, to keep from just working himself the way Harvey wanted, to have something he *can* control --

"Okay. It's okay -- uh. I wanted to kiss her more, really take my time with it, because her mouth just got better every time I *did* go in for a kiss. Softer and a little swollen the way lips can get..."

Tom, and the way his smiles *changed* after they made love, became softer and somehow broader -- "Oh, that's -- she didn't let you kiss her enough?"

"Never enough. Well -- not with *her*, anyway. She let me play with her breasts, though, and I *really* wanted that. Big and soft, rosy pink-tipped. Round little nipples I had to suck on, make them as big and hard as they could get..."

Harvey touching his chest the way Tom had that time, as if there was nothing more he wanted in the *world* -- no, something more believable, more -- or. Something. He wants to feel Harvey's mouth on *his* nipples, even though they aren't all that sensitive, wants Harvey to want to do that to him --

"I went back and forth between them, really just went to *town*, and she was making these high-pitched noises, almost *crooning* a little, and I wanted to tell her to take it easy, that the walls weren't all that thick, and I wanted to make her yell the *house* down."

He'd make noise for Harvey. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. He's doing it already, but he's managing to stay quiet. He brings his other hand down to play with his scrotum the way Tom likes, squeezing and touching, *wanting* --

"After -- after a while I really. Fuck, that's good, so good --"

"What --"

"My thumb on the head. Just --"

Bruce groans as he does it, more from the knowledge of how it feels -- more from the fact that Harvey is doing it, *too*, and it's hard to stop, even just to let himself keep stroking --

"You're... doing it, too. God, Bruce --"

"Don't -- don't stop. Please --"

"You sound so --" Harvey pants and grunts, and the bed creaks --

Harvey slams back *down*, and that means he must have arched, must -- "Harv?"

"Jesus, I -- really didn't expect that fucking orgasm." Harvey laughs and groans. "God, I didn't have time to get a *tissue* -- well, at least I caught *most* of it on my hand. My poor sheets."

Oh. Oh -- Bruce moans and strokes himself faster --

"God, I can *hear* that. Feel -- feel like I should be telling you to go a little easy on your poor cock --"

"Don't -- I don't want --"

"You want to come. You *need* to come --"

"*Yes* -- Harvey --"

"The way you say my name. Uh, here," Harvey says, and drops one of his tissues.

Bruce grabs it out of the air -- "More. Please, Harv --"

"I wanted -- I wanted to touch her. You know, her pussy. I wanted to feel her wet all over my hand, to just *push* my hand down her pants and *take* a little --"

He can't *stop* moaning now, and he knows he's getting louder -- he bites his lip and moans through his teeth --

"That. That's it, Bruce, that's just -- you're doing fine?" Harvey laughs again. "Ah, what else? I wanted her mouth *badly*. Wanted to push right in, fill her mouth with my cock --"

Bruce hears himself -- it's almost a *sob*, and he can't --

"Maybe... maybe fuck. A little --"

Harvey's scent in his nose, Harvey deep in his *throat* --

"Bruce, you -- I wanted -- you have to come, Bruce. You just -- you *have* to --"

Bruce *growls*, and then everything is pleasure, sweetness and the sensation of losing himself, *spending* himself in the best way --

Harvey --

Wet heat on his hand *through* the tissue, and Bruce can feel the end of it and doesn't *want* to --

"Jesus, Bruce, the way you *sound* --"

And Harvey's quiet moan seems to almost *wrench* another spurt out of him, and Bruce is shaking and biting his lip, squeezing himself much too hard --

He lets go and pants, balling up the tissue and trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make him any more obvious than he already has been, because he doesn't think --

He doesn't *know* --

"Bruce...?"

"Yes," he says, and means *always* --

Harvey laughs again, and the bed creaks -- Harvey's leaning down over the side of the bed and grinning upside down at Bruce.

Bruce can't -- he reaches out and touches Harvey's cheek with his fingertips. "Thank you."

"Um. You're welcome? That sounded -- I mean it was -- ah. And you were okay with that? All of that?"

Bruce nods, and grins a little while he traces one of Harvey's smile lines.

"You look -- completely satisfied. It's a *good* look on you."

"That was... amazing, Harv." Almost as good as making love, but we could -- Bruce blushes and turns away --

"Hey, that's a *less* good look. I --" Harvey sits back up and them jumps down lightly. He sits on the side of Bruce's bed and rests a hand on Bruce's chest, and --

Bruce covers the hand with his own, and then thinks about the fact that he'd been touching his *scrotum* with that hand, and Harvey might not want -- he looks, and Harvey doesn't seem to be thinking about any of that.

"*Are* you okay, Bruce? I mean... that was more intense than our usual."

"I really liked it -- when you were telling me what you wanted. It made me feel... um."

"It made you harder," Harvey says, and taps Bruce's chest with his fingers. "It's... have you ever thought, maybe..." He shakes his head. "Never mind. Just -- what made you turn away?"

"I was. I was thinking about making love," Bruce says, and doesn't know if he wants Harvey to ask for specifics or *not* --

"Well, that's really... that's *natural*, Bruce. Especially right after jerking off like that, with me *talking* about it... you've never been with a woman that way."

Bruce shakes his head. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I'll ever... want to."

And Harvey stares at him, *searches* him again -- blinks and stops. "Oh, you will. You... should trust me on that. Some woman will catch your eye, and she'll be smart and funny and kind --"

"Like you? Or... or Tom," Bruce says, and squeezes Harvey's hand.

Harvey doesn't pull it away, but he does shift enough that the shadows make it hard to see his expression. "You... you should have a *good* girl. The *perfect* girl. And see, that's just -- the fact that you don't think you'll ever want... well, it just means that at least part of you *knows* that you can't handle just any debutante."

"I... Tom said something similar."

"Really? Well, there's two votes for it, anyway. Hey, did you... um. Do what we just did with Tom?"

He can't lie. Not about that. "Yes. It -- we sat side by side. On my bed."

Harvey swallows audibly. "You... really like. Doing that with guys."

Bruce sits up, holding Harvey's hand to his chest. "I like it a lot," he says, and now he can see Harvey's face again, see the way that he's blushing and blinking -- "What are you thinking?"

"Just... you know. Picturing it. I..." Harvey looks at their hands and splays his fingers. "Bruce. You... you should know that doing this, things like this... it doesn't have to *mean* anything --"

"It wouldn't be as good if it didn't."

Harvey sucks in a breath and *presses* against Bruce's chest for a moment --

"Harv --"

"I -- Pam. We... um. After she let me play with her breasts, she opened her jeans and kind of -- arched so she could push them down her thighs with her panties. Her hair down there was this deep, dark red, and she tugged my hand until I was touching her. Then she opened my pants and took me in hand. Just -- eased me out of the slit and started to stroke. And it took some *concentration*, but I touched her -- do you know how to find a girl's clitoris, Bruce?"

Bruce frowns. "I -- no, I don't. Though I've seen medical charts, and I think I could --"

"You just slide your thumb right down the center of her mound, putting a little pressure on, because a lot of girls like that even if they've never done it to themselves. You -- slide down and down, right between her big lips -- and it's right there waiting for you, swollen and wet and *tender*, so --" Harvey licks his lips and stares into Bruce's eyes. He looks almost *scared* --

"Harv, it's okay, you don't --"

"I *like* it, Bruce. I -- I mean I *liked* it, how wet she was for me, how *ready*, and the noises she made were all -- they were *high*, and *sweet*, and my thumb kept sliding off, and then she'd make *frustrated* noises --"

"Was she -- was her hand very good on your penis?"

"Damn. I -- yeah. She was -- she didn't squeeze very hard at first, but then I used my free hand to -- to guide her a little --"

"Would you show me --"

"*Bruce*," and Harvey is staring at him, *glaring* at him. "This isn't -- we *can't*."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and stops holding Harvey's hand. "I'm sorry --"

"You -- should be. Shouldn't be. There are two -- there are always *two* ways of doing things, the wrong way and the *right* way, and we're doing this the *wrong* way --"

"I won't -- I'm sorry," Bruce says again, and backs away until he can feel the wall --

"Oh -- God. Fuck. *Fuck*," Harvey says, standing up and starting to pace.

Bruce wants to *see*, wants to see the way he moves when he's upset, wants to know it with all of himself so he can have one more *piece* of Harvey, another chance to hold him --

"Okay -- okay, I'm -- God, look at you --"

Bruce opens his eyes, and Harvey looks scared again, looks tense and *hurt* -- "Harv -- Harvey --"

"*No*, don't -- don't correct yourself and don't -- you don't have to change. There's nothing *wrong* with you, and you can't let me make you think otherwise, Bruce. You *can't* --"

"I don't understand --"

"What you want -- oh God, Bruce, I can *feel* it --"

"I want you to. I want -- Harvey, you're so beautiful --"

"I'm *handsome*. I -- heh. All the *girls* say so, Bruce, and that's the way it should be. You can't -- it's *okay* for Tom, and maybe even also for you, even though you're supposed to carry on the Wayne *name* --"

"I don't *want* to, Harv --"

Harvey holds up a hand. "That's not -- it's not the *point*. I'm just -- you *know* I have to be perfect, have to keep myself *above* -- I'm not going to say all this again, and I'm not -- we're not doing this, Bruce. That's -- we can't and we *won't*."

"But you want to."

"That's not *enough* of a reason. It's -- hell, it's a bad reason, Bruce. And I don't even -- God, did you get this from Tom? Did you -- you were never *like* this before you met him --"

"It's *not* his fault, Harv, and you -- you know it. Tom made me *think* about what I wanted, and we talked about it, and --" And we made love, and would Tom be jealous of *this*?

He'd tried to keep them to *just* this, and were his reasons any better than Harvey's? Worse?

Bruce shakes his head. "It's not unnatural and it's not wrong --"

"But it's against the rules and -- God, probably still *illegal* in this state, Bruce. We *can't* --"

"You *want* to --"

"*Yes*. I've wanted -- I've wanted to for a while --"

"Oh, Harvey --"

"Don't get *up*, Bruce. Just -- stay there, because it's not happening. There's a *split* in my head, and it's -- some kind of fucking crossroads, and who I'm supposed to be is at the end of one road, and who I don't want to be is on the other. I can't *fail* at this, Bruce. *Please*, you have to *understand*."

He wants to tell Harvey that he would help him, that he would *always* help him. There's money, and influence he'd learn how to use to make sure Harvey always got the best of everything, everything he *deserved* -- and Harvey would hate that. He wants to do everything on his own, and Bruce *can* understand that, even though he doesn't want to.

But --

"This can't be... it's not *over*, Harv --"

"Bruce --"

"I love you," Bruce says, and realizes he means it, and wonders where Tom fits in -- he *can't* lose Tom and he can't lose Harvey and he wants --

He loves --

"I don't. I don't know how that *works*," and Bruce knows he sounds like he's pleading --

Harvey laughs. "You're not the only *one*. Bruce -- Jesus, I --" Harvey walks over again, crouching in front of Bruce and taking his hands. "We're friends. We're -- you're my *best* friend, and so it's okay that we love each other. We just have to do it without... without the other stuff."

"Do you love me, Harvey?"

"More -- more than anyone else in the *world*, Bruce, and. I'll always be there for you, whatever you need, whatever you want, but we can't -- you can't ask me for this. Not -- not now."

Not... now? Bruce turns his hands so he can grip Harvey's own. "There'll be a later?"

Harvey swallows, and his eyes are still so wide, but now they're hungry, too, deep and warm and so *beautiful* --

"Please --"

"Yes, Bruce. If you -- if you still want --"

"I will," Bruce promises. "May I kiss you?"

"We shouldn't. We -- should get to *sleep* --"

"Just a kiss. I --" Tom let us do that even before he let us have anything else, and -- "I'd like to know the feel of your mouth on mine."

Harvey's exhale is almost like a pant, and his palms are damp against Bruce's own. "I -- just like that. You -- you know you can't talk like that to me when we -- when we're not alone, right?"

"I know, Harvey. I -- I think, sometimes, that I would have an easier time speaking in general if I could just say all the things in my heart -- I love you so much. You've always been -- from the moment I saw you I wanted to be near --"

"Bruce --"

"Please. Let me?"

Harvey licks his lips and Bruce leans in helplessly -- "Okay. Okay, you can. You can tell me."

Bruce nods. "I remember -- you were standing near the center of the quad, and you had this bright, warm smile on your face, as if you couldn't be happier to be here, as if nothing else had ever *made* you that happy --"

"God, my first day -- sorry. I. I'll let you talk."

"It's all right. I caught myself walking toward you, and stopped because I didn't know what to say. But I watched you. I listened to what you said in class, and watched you introduce yourself to the other boys, and I waited. I wondered when it would be my turn, and I made up a dozen things to say when you did."

"You -- barely said anything at *all*, Bruce --"

"You were smiling, and your voice was so smooth and even, almost *practiced* --"

"I *did* practice. That whole summer after I was accepted -- I tried *hard* to get the Gotham out of my voice at least a *little* -- Jesus, Bruce," and Harvey squeezes Bruce's hands again. "You didn't *know* me --"

"But I wanted to, and I don't know why you decided to spend more time around me, but you did. It was as though you knew I was lonely, that I *wanted* to be around you."

"The first part. That's what -- I knew. And I knew what had happened to your parents..." Harvey shakes his head. "I was a *kid*, Bruce --"

"You were better than everyone else, smarter and kinder, and you gave me advice about things and never got angry or frustrated when I was still awkward and too quiet. I knew I needed you before I understood anything else, that you were -- that you had a *light*, and that I was warm when I was in it."

"I'm not -- God, Bruce, I'm just --"

"I *believe* in you, Harv. I think you can do whatever you set your mind to, that you're strong and brave and brilliant, that what you want is what's *right*. And I'll help you do what you need to do in any way you'll let me, I'll be *with* you in any way you let me --"

"But first, a kiss?" And Harvey looks wry and almost *bleak* --

"Oh, no, please, not that -- I *want* you but not -- I've said it all wrong, I'm sorry --"

"*No*, don't -- don't apologize. I know you don't think that way. I *knew* that you'd never think that way. It's just all a little screwed up in my head right now, and I --"

And the kiss is sudden, brief and hard, even with the softness of Harvey's mouth --

"God, I -- Bruce. I can't -- I don't think I can --"

"You *can*, Harvey, you can do whatever you want with me, I only want --"

And this kiss lasts longer, goes *deeper*, and Bruce wonders if this is how Pam had kissed him, so hard and so *strong*. There's no doubt in this kiss, and no hesitation, and it feels --

It feels nothing like kissing Tom, save in the way it makes him want more, want to hold on and touch, *feel*. He pulls his hands away from Harvey's --

He *tries* to, but Harvey twines their fingers together and holds on almost painfully tightly. This, then, and *just* this, though it hardly feels like compromise once Harvey slips his tongue between Bruce's lips.

Once he moans and squeezes even tighter --

And Bruce realizes that Harvey is trying to keep *himself* from touching at least as much as he's trying to stop Bruce, and that --

Oh, Harvey *wants* him. He'd said it and now he's proving it, and there's that feeling of power, of absolute internal *rightness*. *He* could do anything and it would be right, wonderful --

Bruce sucks Harvey's tongue and Harvey moans into his mouth, and now Bruce is wondering if Harvey will *hurt* their hands, but he can't stop himself from pushing closer, moving until he's kneeling on the floor with Harvey's thighs between his knees, Harvey right *there*, and Bruce wants to adjust the kiss, to tilt his head enough that he can make the kiss deeper, but he doesn't want to risk pulling *back*.

This can't end yet if it's the only thing they can have, if --

Oh, but he'd managed to convince *Tom*. He'd pushed and pleaded, kissed every way Tom had shown him --

And it feels strange and *sharp* to try kissing Harvey in one of the ways Tom has kissed him, but it makes Harvey moan again, shuffle closer on his knees until their bodies are pressed almost as closely as their hands -- Harvey pulls back --

"Bruce, that's -- say that's enough --"

"I -- I can't do that. I never want to lie to you --"

"Then -- don't. Don't ever. You can do anything but lie to me --" Harvey bites his lip and leans in again, *licks* Bruce's mouth -- "You -- I know what you taste like."

"Yes, and I know what you taste like, as well."

"It -- has to be enough," Harvey says, shuffling back even though he'd just moved *closer* --

And when he stands, he offers Bruce his hand. Bruce takes it and rises, and for a moment they're close enough to breathe each other's breath, to taste and to feel --

"You... are a really good kisser for someone with no experience."

Bruce blushes -- and maybe if he doesn't say anything at all to that it won't be a lie? He wants Harvey to know *everything*, if only to see if he still feels the same about Bruce when he has the whole picture. "I liked the way you kissed *me*."

Harvey licks his lips again -- and rears back when Bruce leans in again. "I had to. And now I have to stop."

Bruce nods and stands straight again, and lets go when Harvey tugs his hand free. "I... suppose we should sleep now."

Harvey smiles ruefully. "Yeah. Class tomorrow and -- somehow I have to figure out how to look at Tom without thinking about him jerking *off* with you."

"I -- can't help wondering if he'll do that with Lex."

"Yeah, well, a lot of roommates here wind up doing it -- *not* like we did. For most of them it doesn't mean anything, and also I don't want to think of Lex that way," Harvey says, and looks sour.

"I'm sorry. I think... I think I'm a little jealous of Tom's relationship with Lex," Bruce says, because he *needs* to be honest with Harvey, needs him to know as much as *possible* --

"That's why you were staring at Lex at dinner? You..." Harvey frowns. "You want your *cousin*?"

Bruce blushes but doesn't turn away. "I didn't -- I'm attracted to him. I -- love him."

Harvey's frown gets deeper. "Him, too? You just *met* the guy."

"We became close... very quickly. It -- it was a lot like we'd known each other in some other... world," Bruce says, and feels *ridiculous* --

"You sound like a romance novel, Bruce. I -- are you sure he's. Uh -- how does *he* say he feels?"

He loves me, Harvey, but he's trying to *leave*, and I don't know if I'll be able to handle it when he's gone, at all. Even if you're there -- "He -- doesn't want to do anything. To get caught. Even if it's you."

"Yeah, well, I --" Harvey crosses his arms and shakes his head. "I *don't* particularly want to watch you getting it on with your cousin. That's -- that *is* wrong."

He's my brother. "I know. I -- when I realized what I was feeling for him, I was ashamed. I thought no one would ever want to look at me or be my friend, again. I had a nightmare that you'd -- somehow -- caught me, that you knew I was thinking about Tom --"

"And I. Rejected you?"

"You said -- in the dream -- terrible things. *True* things, and you said you never wanted to see me again, that I'd have to get a new roommate..." Bruce bites his lip and forces himself to keep looking into Harvey's eyes. "Tom was the one who explained to me that there was nothing wrong with being a homosexual, and he --"

"You don't think that was a little self-serving?"

"Harvey --"

"Shit, no. I -- damn. I just -- I worry about you, a little. Tom's really damned *charming*, and... I don't know. He could *seduce* you."

Bruce feels his face twist. "I'm not *quite* a damsel in distress, Harv."

Harvey laughs and waves a hand. "Sorry, I'm -- I don't mean to make you sound that way. It's just that you've been lonely for a really long time, and you're not the most suspicious person in the world. You may not be *naive*, but you're pretty -- you're *open*, Bruce, and sometimes that's dangerous. I mean, wanting your very male *cousin*? Even being a Wayne won't protect you from the fallout from *that*."

"It will if it stays a secret," Bruce says, and he knows that he sounds almost petulant, but --

"I won't tell a soul. You're -- you *are* my best friend, and I'll never do anything to hurt you. That's *why* I'm kind of... I mean, what do you plan to *do* with Tom?"

Bruce curls his hands into fists and -- *doesn't* look down. "I've been trying to convince him to stay. To live in the manor with me and Alfred. He -- he says he has to go."

Harvey frowns again. "Well -- his *family* is out west --"

"Not. Not very much. And -- he's almost old enough to make his own decisions --"

"Okay. Okay, so you've got it bad for him -- and somehow also for *me* -- and you want Tom to *live* with you, and you want me -- you want me."

Bruce nods, and watches Harvey start to pace again.

"It's... we have to figure out something that *works* for you, big guy. I mean, you can't just go around --"

"Falling in love?"

Harvey turns with a sharp smile on his face. "Ever think maybe you're too young to *really* --"

"No. I haven't been too young for a very long time. Not when it comes to -- that sort of thing."

Harvey takes a sharp inhale. "I guess. I guess I'll have to take your word on that," he says, and starts to pace again. "You talk to him -- like that."

"When we're alone."

"So maybe a part of you is kind of dying for the season to start up so I won't be around so often?"

Bruce -- looks down.

"You don't have to answer that question. You want -- *have* you done anything with him? You -- you know what I mean."

"Harvey, I can't --"

"That's a yes, but you don't want to say anything to make me angry with Tom, or maybe he told you it had to be a secret?"

Bruce *clenches* his fists, but -- he can't lie. Not for this. Not after everything -- "I don't -- *I* knew it had to be a secret."

"From everything you've said about Alfred --" Harvey pauses and rests his hand on the door, and seems to be listening.

"Is there someone --"

"I thought maybe, but no. Let's keep speaking quietly, anyway. How the *hell* did you keep it from Alfred?"

I don't think we did. "We were very careful. He -- Alfred doesn't sleep upstairs."

"Because he's technically your *valet* on top of being your guardian, and no, it's not the time for me to go into how weird that is, and -- Tom taught you how to kiss."

Bruce nods, and then realizes that Harvey isn't really looking at him at the moment. "Yes."

"What -- God, half of me wants to know *everything* you did with that -- that *guy*, and the other half of me wants to run screaming," Harv says, covering his face with his hands --

"Harv, you shouldn't -- you *like* Tom."

He drops his hands and the look on his face is burning, wild -- "I liked him a whole *hell* of a lot better when I didn't know that he spent Christmas Break introducing you to gay *sex*, Bruce. Fuck, maybe he *does* belong with Lex."

No. Or -- not like that. Not -- it feels like breaking something to move from the spot where he's been standing, but the second step is easier, and the third brings him *close* to Harvey. And Harvey doesn't try to stop Bruce from putting a hand on his shoulder. "You like him --"

"I don't *know* him -- and neither do you."

"I know everything I need to, and -- are you upset with him because you're worried about me or are you upset because -- because you're *jealous*?"

"*Both*, Bruce, and the thing is? If this was almost any other person, I'd say, sure, yeah, maybe I'm being unreasonable. But this is a guy who just showed up in your life out of nowhere *and* he's your cousin *and* you're acting differently from how you've always acted before --"

"This was always inside me, Harvey. If it hadn't been, I wouldn't feel the way I feel about *you*. It -- the two of you have so much in *common*, and I've liked watching you get along, listening to you talk and laugh and joke --"

Harvey covers the hand Bruce has on his shoulder with one of his own. "What. What did you do with him, Bruce? How did he *touch* you?"

Bruce blushes *again*, but -- Harvey wants to know, and even though Tom hadn't started this, he hadn't done anything to make it not happen. Not really. It --

He doesn't blame Tom. He doesn't blame any of them, because this is all about *emotions*, and Bruce has known for a very long time that emotions can be confusing and nonsensical, the definition of irrational and just plain *odd*.

If anything, Harvey is reacting the way he should, and that means... he doesn't know what it means. "We've done... a lot, Harv. He showed me -- we've made love to each other with our mouths, and stroked each other, and rubbed ourselves against each other, and -- I've penetrated him with my penis. He penetrated me with his finger --"

"*Jesus* --"

"I liked it, Harv -- I *loved* all of it, and sometimes I think there's nothing I want more than to do it all again, and again --"

"You --"

"I want to be *with* him, Harv," Bruce says, and squeezes Harvey's shoulder. "I want to have him every way he'll allow. And. I want the same with you."

"The first time I was with a girl and we went all the way, I thought I wanted to spend my whole life with her. But I didn't know anything about her, and when we actually stopped screwing for long enough to talk, we had nothing in *common* --"

"It's not like that. It's not -- I don't think I've ever been infatuated with anyone, Harv. There's something -- I've thought, sometimes, that there was something missing in me, something I *lacked* because the small passions of day to day life were something I could never *understand*. Now... I feel like I'm understanding more every day. About myself, and what I want my life to become --"

"With two... lovers."

"If I can have you both."

Harvey shakes his head and tugs Bruce's hand off his shoulder. "What happens when one of us says that you have to choose? What happens if *both* of us say it?"

Bruce smiles ruefully down at his hand, and then at Harvey. "Then I spend a great deal of time wrestling with myself and trying to find a way to change your minds. I couldn't choose. Even when I was with Tom, I was thinking of you."

Harvey closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again there's something almost like a plea there. "And when -- when you were kissing me?"

"I was -- I thought about Tom."

Harvey nods and sighs -- and pulls Bruce into another hug. Bruce closes his eyes and breathes deep, tasting cocoa butter and sex in the air, and a faint hint of soap on Harvey's throat.

He wants to *lick*, but he knows that's not what Harvey wants, right now, and -- a part of him is only warm, satisfied by both what they had done together and this *talk*. He'd gotten to *kiss* Harvey, and tell him true things, and Harvey still wants to hold him, Harvey still -- loves.

"You're really... you're not confused, or scared, or even a little freaked out about all this. Are you?"

"No," Bruce says, and rubs his mouth against Harvey's throat --

Harvey shivers and clutches Bruce *tight* -- "I -- don't. I'm too sensitive there."

"I -- can't say that I'm sorry."

Harvey laughs. "He really woke you *up*, didn't he?"

"All over. All *through* me, Harv. And I don't ever want to be asleep again."

"Even if it turns out that you can't have either of us?"

"I have hope. I know you both care about me, that you desire similar things to what I desire -- and I know that you and Tom *will* be good friends, someday, because you're both too good not to be."

"I -- I *have* to talk to him about it. About the two of you. I know you don't think you need my protection for this, but *I* have to know what he's thinking, what's going through that head of his. And -- God, I guess *you'll* have to tell him that the two of us... what we did."

"I understand," Bruce says, and wonders if Tom will be very angry -- "I -- I'll talk to him first."

"I'll -- heh. Leave you guys our room for a while after classes. I should hook up with some of the guys on the team, anyway. I've been ignoring them," Harvey says, and pushes back. There's a rueful smile on his face. "Part of me hopes for your sake that he's cool with everything. The rest of me kind of hopes he *isn't*."

"Harv --"

"No, I know. That would be bad for *you*, and so it would be bad for me, too."

Oh... "I love you."

Harvey tilts his head to the side and smiles a little. "I guess I kind of had to be gone for you, a little. Let's hit the sack."

He still doesn't mean *together*, so there's some disappointment for that, but there's also warmth. There *is* companionship in the way they walk the few steps to the beds together, and in the way Harvey smiles at him before climbing the ladder.

"Goodnight, big guy."

"Sleep well, Harv."

*

It's good that he's alone in his and Lex's room for the next few minutes, if only so he can spend a little time failing to cope.

Bruce had been hard for a *while*, and hadn't tried to hide it even --

Well, there wouldn't have been any way for him *to* hide it without saying things which would be awkward even if it *wasn't* Bruce saying them. *With* Bruce... there's definitely a bit of a shudder for that.

As there is for the fact that Tim honestly has no idea *which* of them Bruce had been hard for. Really, it was anyone's guess after all that time together. He would've had to be blind, deaf, and significantly stupider to miss the way Bruce *looked* at Harvey, the ways he -- tried -- to touch him.

To miss the fact that they were essentially the *same* ways Bruce looked at and reached for *him*. It's -- obscene to the point of being ridiculous, or possibly the other way around. For all that Harvey seems like a perfectly normal -- if highly intelligent and *sincerely* charming -- teenaged boy, there's a schism in him that goes right down to the bone, and it's only a matter of time before it shows.

Before Harvey *breaks*.

While most of Gotham thinks that Two-Face wouldn't *be* Two-Face if it weren't for the burns, anyone with a mind and at least a rudimentary background in psychology knows that the *real* break had happened long before then. That Harvey had been --

That Harvey *will be* just holding on by the proverbial skin of his teeth for... how long? Months? Years?

Would Tim notice if the break had already happened? Harvey is a *determined* player on this particular stage -- though his style is rather different from Lex's. And from Tim's own, for that matter.

He's ambitious and he's -- driven. Is that part of it?

Is he leaving Bruce with a madman every night? And -- God, shouldn't he be urging Bruce *away* from him socially? It's *painfully* obvious that Harvey is one of the few things that has made Bruce's life *livable* for the past few years, but that just means the inevitable tragedy will hurt Bruce *more*.

Does the world need Bruce's pain?

And what *would* Tim's sixteenth birthday have looked like if it hadn't been for Harvey Dent's rather spectacular fall from grace? Bruce had taught him a *thorough* lesson about how absolute love should never be equivalent to absolute trust, that *everyone* in Tim's life was someone who could fall and take Gotham -- or the world, when people like Barbara and Dick were considered -- with them.

And -- oh, the love is absolute, all right. There's nothing he can do about that, even if he could handle the attempt to *try*. But planting a thought about Harvey's skill at lying here, the occasional barb about Harvey's *secrets* there...

And he'd be shooting himself in the foot -- if not somewhere rather more painful. Bruce would *feel* what he's doing in a heartbeat, and resent it to the point of -- probably -- feeling betrayed.

And it would -- absolutely, again -- make Bruce want to take a closer look at *him*.

He needs to get out of here. His work, such as it is, is done in terms of getting Bruce to listen to the Bat *enough*, and all he can do now is damage things further. God. He'd *agreed* to stop pulling back from Bruce, and he knows he's not capable of going back on that.

He needs --

He *needs*, and that's just one very *good* reason why he really wasn't the best choice for this particular mission.

Harvey's robe smells faintly of clean male and, curiously, of cocoa butter. It hangs on him ludicrously, and a part of Tim is still stuck on being touched by Harvey's casual generosity -- and by the way he'd just flat-out *accepted* Tim's homosexuality.

In this day and age, for someone with Harvey's background... it was asking rather a lot, and Tim can't help feeling guilty for attempting to use it to draw something out of Harvey that would make Bruce pull back --

("You are not a machine with limited programming, Tim. You will learn to use *every* weapon at your disposal, or you will be of no use to me.")

Tim gives up and sighs a little, stripping off the robe and hanging it before pulling on a pair of boxer shorts to sleep in. Along with everything else, Lex's room is also *warmer* than most of the others.

Lex sleeps in silk or in nothing at all -- according to a declaration he'd made to yet another customer today. So far he's chosen to stick with silk and no blanket.

He wonders, idly, what Lex *does* with the money he makes this way, given that he must receive a tidy allowance. It's possible he blows it all on boots and scarves, but Tim thinks there *might* be something else. Whether or not it will prove to be something worth digging into...

He doesn't know, and he doesn't know why it's so important to him that Lex and Harvey find common ground, given the fact that that sort of thing could *only* lead to vast and horrible problems for both Batman *and* Superman in the future. It *would* be important to Tom Wayne -- nice, open, friendly guy that he is -- but he doesn't have to be *good* at it.

Tim snorts to himself and sits at the desk. He gets about ten minutes worth of useful studying done -- the rest he's scheduled for his free period after lunch tomorrow -- and then Lex announces his imminent arrival with the sound of teenaged laughter and a --

"And now to bed... unless my roommate is being *very* interesting."

Riiight. Tom shoves the chair away from the desk, turns it to face the bed, and strikes a casual pose --

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like someone threw you into a meat grinder?" Lex's tone is casual and friendly with just a lingering hint of *arch*.

Tom smiles for Tim and gestures at Lex's bed.

"Ooh. So soon? Usually it takes a *little* longer for my many charms to be effective," Lex says, closing the door and slipping off his robe.

He's naked beneath it, of course, and... yes, there are more scars than just the ugly one on his chest, but they seem both minor and old -- faded to a pink just a little paler than the rest of his skin. If Tim's vision were a little worse, he wouldn't be able to see them, at all.

"You also have a very *loud* way of looking at a person."

"A failing," Tim says, and looks up so that he'll be able to meet Lex's eyes when he turns -- there. "I'd say I was working on it, but you and I both know that a stare -- wielded properly -- can yield many advantages."

"And pleasures...?" Lex hangs the robe on his open closet door and moves to his bureau.

"I've always been fond of viewing attractive men in little to no clothing."

Lex hums a laugh and pulls out -- lavender -- silk pajamas.

"I have no objection whatsoever to your sleeping naked -- if it is, in fact, something you prefer."

Lex turns to face him again, obviously amused and -- just a little aroused. His penis is a bit thicker than Tim's literalist brain would have imagined for someone so slim, but not *very* dark at the moment.

Tim looks up again -- slowly -- and smiles.

"I blushed for you once, Tom. The second taste is most assuredly *not* free."

"Ah -- noted," Tim says, and lets the Tom in him lean back a little more in the chair, highlighting the not entirely random fold of fabric which may or may not mean -- to an observer -- that he, too is aroused.

Lex snorts and pulls on the pajama pants, leaving the top and moving to his bunk. He sits rather than lying down, and his eyes are sharp and measuring. "You looked like a child in Harvey's robe. Très jailbait. Does that look work for you very often...?"

"Do you think it should...?"

"I think you want something very *specific*, or you wouldn't be pushing *quite* so hard, Tom."

Tim tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. "I might just be feeling... appreciative."

"Or frisky after a long, hard evening with Bruce and handsome, handsome Harv...? You have too much control over yourself for that -- it's one of the things I rather like about you."

What would that nice, friendly Tom guy *do*? Get to the *point*, probably, but Tim has to admit that this is... fun. "Control can get challenging when life gives you... goads."

"And did you breathe *very* deep when you were wearing that robe? What *is* that lotion Harvey likes so much, again...?"

"Cocoa butter. Cheap and... effective."

"Mm." Lex's eyes... glitter. "Were you thinking about what he was doing with it? Maybe *with* your cousin?"

"I hadn't been, but I must admit that your ideas intrigue." And *horrify*, because Bruce would... love it. No modifier required, no reduction possible.

"What *could* they be up to, all alone in that chilly little room of theirs? Harvey's pajamas are just as cheap as his lotion -- and worn thin from use. And Bruce is so, so innocent."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "And Harvey could teach...?"

"He's a *very* smart boy. And so good with his hands."

*On* Bruce, and would Bruce spare a moment to think of Tom before giving in entirely? Would thinking about Tom make it *better* for him? Dirtier, to be sure, and he would give Harvey one *hell* of a surprise... "I do like a man with clever hands."

"Like the man who gave you that fascinating little bruise? What was clever about him...?"

"Oh, everything," Tim says, and thinks -- balls to the wall. Why not? "He was about your height. Thick black hair and blue, blue eyes."

"Like yours...?"

"Oh, no. Deeper. Warmer. The kind of man you take one look at and know that he has a soft spot for lost puppies, warm cocoa, and damaged hearts," Tim says, and conjures a little in his mind --

"*That* doesn't sound like your type, at all."

"I can be rather catholic, Lex. But if you didn't want to know...?"

Lex narrows his eyes and curls his fingers against the mattress, squeezing once before loosening his grip. "Oh, don't stop now."

"Mm. Well. He could've grown a full beard, but he obviously tried to keep himself shaved. His stubble caught and scratched against my skin... but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Are you...?"

Tim smiles. "Oh, yes. As I said, he was about your height... maybe a little taller. His hands were rough and scarred -- hands that have done a great deal of work. His body was... perfection. Neither too lean nor too broad. Lithe. Flexible. He moved as though he'd always known his body would do what he told it to, as though he'd -- always -- rather be --" Flying. "Dancing."

"And where did you find this paragon?"

"Wandering outside the clubs, looking lost and lonely. He'd refused a dozen pick-ups if he'd refused one, and I could tell that what he wanted, more than anything else, was a friend."

("I love you, little brother. You know that, right...?")

Tim doesn't wince. "In any event, I invited him for coffee and pie, innocent and homely as I could possibly be --"

"Which isn't very --"

"Very *enough*," Tim says, and stretches his legs in front of himself, crossing them at the ankle. "I offered him a casual version of my history, he offered me... oh, a world. Circuses and rich men, bad men, odd men, dangerous men..."

Lex frowns. "He was a hustler?"

"Hustlers have, in general, a lot more armor. He was just... well, calling him a *lover* would probably be the most accurate way to put it. All kinds of love at all times -- and I would bet that he'd chased people away with it over the years."

"Clingy, then."

"Well. I didn't know him for long enough to be *sure*, but..." Tom spreads his hands. "I told him that I wasn't impressed with Gotham from an aesthetic standpoint. He took me to a rooftop, and showed me *another* world. The wind up there was amazing and a little alarming, and the view made me feel like the most powerful man in the world. Well, there are reasons why penthouses are so popular."

"Mm. And when did you kiss him?" Lex spreads his knees and reaches up with one hand to let his arm hang from the slats supporting the upper bunk.

"He'd gripped my shoulders to turn me so I could take in more of the view, and I covered his hands with my own. He -- mm. Squeezed me immediately. In the cold, he was the warmest thing in the world, and I backed up a step to feel more of his body against my own. He sighed -- and I spun and kissed him."

"Did he protest?"

"With a sound," Tim says, and he's getting much closer to one of his favorite fantasies. Perhaps... perhaps he's simply not that creative. "His eyes were wide with actual *surprise*, Lex. It was... I felt much, much older."

"I'm less than surprised that you take pleasure in... educating the innocent."

"There wasn't anything he didn't know by my measure, but I take your meaning just the same."

Lex inclines his head.

"Once I convinced him that kissing was a good idea, he threw himself into it as though it was the *only* thing he wanted, pressing close and moaning, stroking me with his hands and the inside of his knee, his thigh and calf... I suggested we go inside, where it was... safer."

"His apartment?"

"Cluttered. Warm on a number of levels. Rife with various mementoes, photographs and incomprehensible knick-knacks that were obviously all important to him in some way. We sat on his couch and kissed more, and more than that. I lay down for him, and he covered me and started to move before we could get ourselves naked."

"A boarding school rub, Tom? Isn't that a little too --"

"Don't knock it," Tim says, and smiles, "until you've tried it -- with someone *dedicated*."

And yes, Lex is laughing, but there's a little color in his cheeks. A bad move, trying to make it sound as if he'd done something he hadn't, but Tim thinks it's probable that he'd eased the slap. And --

("I know you wish you were bigger and taller, Tim, but you do so *much* with what you do have. I wouldn't change you for anything.")

"He -- liked my body. My -- relative lack of -- size seemed to work for him fairly well, and *he* was pretty strong for *his* size. He could move me around easily, put my arms and legs where he wanted them to be, which was wrapped around him as he *moved*. It wasn't long before I was making entirely too much noise."

Lex -- shifts. "Is that usual for you?"

Tim smiles a little wider and waves a hand. "I don't particularly *like* making a spectacle of myself --"

"It does take a certain sort of personality."

"As you say," Tim says, and lifts his hips a little -- mainly because he can. He's getting himself hard with this, and that's...

He'd never told anyone about his fantasies about Dick. He's reasonably sure Bruce and Barbara had known he'd had them, and it's even money that Steph had known, as well, but... this is very different.

This is a *charged* atmosphere, and the fact that he's turning *Lex* on, when he doesn't intend to do anything about it, and he thinks that feeling would be the same for almost anyone in Lex's position. He's not nearly as *jaded* about sex as this particular Tom Wayne is, and he never will be. "In any event, when you have someone *encouraging* the noise you make, when that person is swearing that you're turning them on even more, that you're making them *crazy*... I gave up on my pride."

"Entirely...?"

"Why not? I'm reasonably sure... that I'll never see him again. In my opinion, if you're going to *have* sex, you ought to make sure that you and your partner --"

"Or partners?" Lex raises an eyebrow.

Tim shakes his head. "I'm sure some people find that sort of thing eminently pleasurable, but... ah. I can't see doing it, myself. It should be *fun*, even if it turns out that it doesn't mean anything deeper, and... yes, it should drive you at least a little out of your head. Otherwise, you're just going through the motions, and I do that enough *here*."

Lex takes a deep breath and lets go of the support, bending enough to rest his elbows on his knees.

Honesty time. Tim raises his own eyebrow.

"I think you just told me a fantasy. I think... *some* of it was true, and I'm not going to pretend to know which of it was and which of it wasn't. But I *know* that's not how you got that hickey on your neck."

"Do you."

"*Was* it a girl, Tom?"

"I haven't been with a girl for... oh, a little over a year, Lex. I don't expect to meet someone else like Steph." And perhaps there was *enough* honesty in that particular statement --

Yes, some of the glitter fades out of Lex's eyes, leaving something searching and a little hollow. "All right. But you don't want to tell me who you let suck on your neck until you bruised --"

"There was biting, as well," Tim says, and lets his thoughts race to the *back* of his mind. Lex can't know, and that's all there is to it.

"I have my suspicions, but I'm willing to go with the idea that I'll never know for certain. We're not friends," Lex says, and there's something heavier there, something sharp and raw --

"Do you think we can be, Lex...?"

Lex raises both eyebrows. "You tell me. Tom."

And that... Tim laughs. "Tom *is* my name."

"Who is he?"

"One of the best men I've ever known," Tim says, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "He thinks of me as his little brother. I think of him... often."

Lex nods slowly. "Thank you. And... you had me until you started talking about what you actually did with him, you know. You lost some of your... oh, let's say 'internal conviction.'"

"Free advice, Lex...?"

"Perhaps I'm feeling... generous," Lex says, sitting up again and bringing his hands together -- in the same gesture Tim had made earlier.

Tim nods.

"You *did* want to speak more about that? It wasn't just something you brought up to protect poor, innocent Harvey...?"

"I haven't been to a dojo -- or anything like it -- in nearly two weeks. I'm starting to feel a little flabby and slow, Lex. How are *you* feeling?"

Lex smiles -- and looks Tim up and down. "Like I still don't want to teach any of our ignorant classmates how to *hurt* me, Tom."

"Then let's trash that idea entirely. I -- want to spar," Tim says, and realizes that he doesn't *just* mean it -- he *wants* it, the idea and the reality at once --

"Oh, you really, really do. Well. What should *I* do about that?"

Tim smiles. "Find us a place. A -- fine and private place?"

Lex snorts. "If you're *that* bad, then you won't be any good for me."

"Oh, I think I could be *very* good for you --"

"Stop," Lex says, low and serious. "I'm not in the mood for -- that."

Tim blinks, and -- sits up normally. "Noted."

"Just like that...?"

"If you'd like, we could think of this as a professional arrangement to our mutual benefit. I don't need you to... ah. Play with me."

Lex's expression... twists. "Believe it or not, I *do* get enough of that sort of... amusement on a day to day basis."

"You're comparing me to your... acquaintances, here, Lex? I thought I was being a little more entertaining than *that*."

"You're a lot more clever, it's true, but..." Lex swings his legs up onto the bed and lies down, resting an arm over his eyes and bending one knee up. "There's only so much fake flirting I can take before I start wondering if anyone in this place is capable of being honest for more than a few seconds at a time."

And -- what to say to that, exactly? I was enjoying myself? I think you're very attractive? I want to -- what does he want?

What *should* he want? Tom thinks... that Tim should be thinking, deeply, about what Bruce plans to do with that erection he'd been sporting for so *very* long. Tom has no *idea* what the hell he's doing with Lex.

Tom -- isn't in the room, at present, and maybe that's why Lex thinks he's coming off so dishonestly. Maybe he should be playing *himself*. Or -- should he? He *has* gone this long without explicit guidance in his various Robinly activities before, but there has at least been the *option* of asking someone for help --

"Cat got your tongue, Tom...?"

"I'm... considering what you said --"

Lex snorts again --

"And what I intend to do about it," Tim says, and -- that's just it. It's *him* saying it, and no one else. Just as it's been him handling... all of this. "I don't want to be just another... ah. Entertaining liar. I've never wanted that."

Lex yawns -- only somewhat ostentatiously. "What do you want."

"You're not a freak, Lex. I've seen things..." Tim laughs quietly. "I have no trouble seeing why other people would hang that particular name on you. I'm not naive --"

"Is it time for sincerity? Because I *am* getting tired, Tom --"

"I'm not sorry I lied to you -- I have my reasons for keeping that particular secret, and there are others which are equally important to me. But... God, I can be myself with you in ways I just *can't* with anyone else around here. Frankly, that scares the *shit* out of me, but... it's true."

And there's nothing in the way of a response for a while, and Tim thinks that might be a good thing, might be the *best* thing, because really, shouldn't he be stronger than this by now?

Bruce had *taught* him, in so *many* different ways, that sometimes there was no *room* for the person you were under all of the masks, that that's the way it *had* to be in order for you to get anything worthwhile *done*.

If Lex has decided that he's just another manipulative asshole... well, then, isn't he? Why *should* it feel this bad? He can be *enough* of himself with Bruce, and Harvey wants him around, too, and --

"Sex is a weapon," Lex says. "If you -- no. We both know that that's the way the world works. I play with it all day, every day, because I'm surrounded by boys who've been brought up 'right,' to whom women are a delicious mystery whether or *not* they have sisters or mothers who, for one reason or another, decided to be an actual presence in their lives. All of these people know that one day there'll be a woman with the right bloodlines for them to marry, and that there'll be more exciting women to keep around as mistresses and high-priced whores.

"And so a boy like me... well, that boy is exciting, different. A little whiff of the taboo for them to snigger about and call themselves worldly for, and, of course, so they can look at me and tell themselves that those dirty secret feelings for their roommates or teammates, that that occasional urge to touch or taste or *sniff*..." Lex laughs, softly. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I think so," Tim says. "You give them a reason to believe that there's nothing, ultimately, wrong with them -- because they aren't like *you*. Or rather, the person you pretend to be."

"Six of one --"

"*Seven* of the other. Or perhaps forty-three point eight, Lex. *I* don't need you to swan around the room and flutter your lashes for me. I've known I was gay since... heh. Puberty changed *nothing* about my interests."

Lex drags his arm off his face and turns to look at Tim. He's serious, and he's -- perhaps a little haunted?

"I'm listening."

"You don't think the roles we play become more real as time passes, Tom? Or... all right, I'm *not* going to sashay out of this place the way I did when I came in. There's a wider world out there, and one day it *will* be mine -- even if the *right* women never will be. I'll find *someone*, and she'll be brilliant and ambitious and *hungry*. We'll make a child who'll always know that the world is his -- or hers -- for the taking, and... something." Lex laughs again, and it's hollow but still... sincere.

"It's a beautiful thought."

"A beautiful dream, you mean?" And the smile on his face does nothing for the ghosts in his eyes.

The memories? "It's a *big* world, Lex. What would you *do* with all of it?"

"Make improvements. *Sweeping* ones. And -- oh, I know there's nothing to be done for the basic human condition, but if you lead a person to where they need to be, if you *show* them the right way of doing something, that they can get what they want *without* grinding others beneath them --"

"Then they'll still do exactly what they want, no more and no less, and *tell* themselves that it was necessary. We all make up stories, Lex -- some of us just have better reasons for doing it."

"Survival. The best reason of all. Would you still have come out if there wasn't a very particular Lex Luthor swanning -- great word, by the way -- around to take the heat?"

"Sooner or later," Tim says, honestly. "I don't do well when I have to keep too *many* things secret about myself --"

"And you're anything *but* afraid of the hulking football players and their Neanderthal friends."

Tim cracks his knuckles and smiles. "You laid down a useful narrative, Lex, but in the end -- I *will* be myself. As much as I can be."

"And that includes... playing with me."

"If I can. If it's something you'll allow. If -- it's good for both of us."

Lex shakes his head, but he's still smiling. "I think I *will* want you behind me on my -- heh -- big *push*. You're dangerous in *interesting* ways, you're smart, you know how to play the right games --"

"I look *very* good in boxer shorts --"

Lex snorts. "Yes, that too. You -- hm. You can be the public face of the new LexCorp, Tom. You'll smile for the cameras, innocuous and mild -- and oh, it would look *so* good for me. That Lex -- so open-minded! And, of course, no one would believe such a well-behaved homosexual would do anything remotely ruthless."

"You *know* what they say about People Like Us."

"Oh... yes. We can even get you a nice -- quiet -- boyfriend. Lover? Companion?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Significant other?"

Lex waves a hand. "We'll let the PR people pick one. And -- hmm. He'll be good-looking, blond -- a real all-American type. Shy and retiring, as well. He'll have a *charming* blush, and say things about how he's always considered himself something of a homebody, and maybe something about how all of that business stuff is a little beyond him --"

"You want to give me Donna Reed after her sex change?"

"You can *have* a -- master? Toyboy? What *is* your type?"

Tim grins. "Smart. Hungry. And -- dedicated."

"Dedicated," Lex says, making it sound like a disease. "I'll *buy* you a superhero. You can dress up in his tights and tell each other stories about adventure and derring-do. But if you get caught saving some little old lady's cat from a tree, you're *off* the payroll."

"What if I get caught in a clinch with some... oh, earnestly driven investigative reporter? Glasses and cheap suits would be a plus."

Lex makes a face. "They all *reek* of cigarettes --"

"I *saw* that pack of smokes in your bureau, Lex."

"Those are *cloves*, thank you very much. Imported from India. They smell --"

"Like Christmas ham?"

Lex flips him off casually. "All right, so they're part of the image, but they're an *important* part. The ladies -- such as they are -- tell me I taste *exotic*."

"Charming," Tim says, and crosses his legs. "I'd rather taste *good*."

"Please. These people are raised on *British* food -- as close to authentic as they can get. They don't know good food from stewed shoe leather."

Tim thinks of Alfred... his classmates' families would commit terrible *crimes* to have an Alfred, but... yes. "I introduced Bruce to Greek and Japanese food over break."

"No *wonder* he adores you. You must've looked like a miracle worker."

Tim laughs. "Well, Alfred -- his valet and general man about the house -- is actually a genius in the kitchen, but, yes, Bruce was rather... wondering. With a handful of exceptions, if it wasn't British or French, he hadn't eaten it."

"Mm. Sometimes I miss the meals I got to eat before my father decided it was time for us to learn to act like landed gentry. Metropolis is a broad and *growing* city, filled with immigrants from all over the world..." Lex sighs. "I *want* it, Tom. I want them all. I want to walk among them, eat their food and listen to their music and comment intelligently on their art. I want to help them become more American while guiding them to never lose that which makes them unique. I want a vast *tapestry* of international *life*. I want the Indians to grow our rice and the Egyptians to grow our corn. I want the *world*."

And a part of Tim honestly wants Lex to have it, just to see what he would do, what foundations he would shake and what small quirks he would raise to necessity -- except that he knows *exactly* what Lex would do as the leader of the free world, and it's nothing the world -- free or otherwise -- needs.

For now, though...

"You know what they say about power."

"Are you saying I'm not *already* corrupted, Tom...?" And Lex grins at him. "You trusting little boy."

"I *do* intend to grow a little more. And -- I'm not that trusting, at all."

"No? Then what *do* you know of real corruption, Tom? What have you seen that makes me look so innocent to you?"

Your eyes, Lex. But... what *could* he actually say to that? What would Tom know? "We've both seen the darker side of cities -- even though we've never been forced to live in them. There are people there who may have once been not so different from the two of us in terms of how they thought about the weak and the innocent and in terms of how they defined the word 'fair.' Something catches them, though. A little too much disappointment and frustration, a few too many incidents on the wrong side of the jackboot -- however metaphorical. They can't take care of themselves, much less their loved ones -- and never mind the larger world.

"And -- they get a little power. Just enough to stay comfortable -- as long as they keep others under their heels. Soon enough, the little tyrannies of their day to day existence don't bother them, anymore, and their lives become all about *keeping* that power and position. They forget that such a thing as innocence ever existed, and blame the pain of the people around them on *weakness*. I don't believe anyone is *born* a monster, but it just doesn't take all that much to build one.

"And if you start out in a position like ours, where weakness simply isn't an issue --"

"Isn't it?" Lex shakes his head. "I know what you're saying, Tom, but I'm *never* going to forget where I came from -- or who raised me. I'm not going to be just another human monster. I'm bigger than that -- *greater* than that. The *real* weakness is in *allowing* yourself to forget what you dreamed just because it's easier or more convenient to do so," Lex says, and the ghosts are in his eyes again. "I will never be weak."

"I hope not."

Lex smiles, distant and small. "We could do a lot together, Tom. We could... I don't know, but it's just a thin *veil* between myself and that knowledge. I know you well enough to know that *you* won't forget, either, that you'll hold on to every last one of your dreams, because *whatever* happened to you when *you* were small... no. Tell me what it was. I've given you all the information you need in order to build an accurate-enough portrait of my father. Return the favor."

An order and a plea, at once, and... "I was alone, Lex. No abuse, no -- physical -- neglect. Just... loneliness. And it isn't much compared to what I might have had to deal with, but it was enough to make me who I am."

("I know I haven't been there for you, son, but that can *change* now. I promise you.")

Tim laughs quietly. "To be fair, *I* wasn't there much once my... parents decided that they wanted me to be a part of their lives. I had my own interests and my own way of doing things, and I wasn't about to change it for *them*, but... well. I don't plan to have children, but if it somehow works out that I *do* have any... I know how I'm *not* going to raise them."

Lex strokes down his hairless chest and taps his fingers on his lower abdomen. "Do you ever think you might wind up... I don't know, *smothering* your children? Because you're trying so hard not to be your own parents?"

"There's a certain morbidly attractive irony to that particular sentiment, but no, I don't think so. I would make sure that they had other people in their lives. Other adults if they turned out to be as awkward and antisocial with other kids as I was. I'd make sure they got to have as many different *views* of the world as possible, and I think that would help keep me from being too large an influence," Tim says, and thinks of Robin, faceless and bright, rife with potential and power and hope...

Yes, he'd give Robin everyone who was still standing when it came time to have him or her be a part of things. Dick, yes, and Barbara. Kon and Bart and Cassie -- Bruce, if somehow he managed to retire before getting himself horribly killed.

"Anyway, Lex, that's all *far* in the future."

"Closer than you'd think, if our parents are any true measure of things. A lot can happen in a decade."

More than *you'd* think. "I suppose you're right... but I rather like my privileged youth."

Lex hums. "I'll find a place for us, Tom. And perhaps we can teach each other a few new tricks."

"Thank you, Lex."

"That..." Lex frowns at him. "You truly don't find me strange to look at."

And that -- was rather out of left field, but... Tim shrugs. "I've seen a lot of strange things here and there, Lex. The only thing different about you is that you have very little body hair, and that what you do have is quite pale. While I tend to prefer the men in my life to be a little hairy... I've rather enjoyed the opportunity to look at you."

And Lex doesn't blush again, but there's something about his expression which says that a part of him is doing it on the *inside*. And -- "I'm not... all that gay, Tom."

Tim smiles and raises an eyebrow. "I'd picked that up, though I could say something about how it only takes a *little*."

Lex laughs and pretends to throw his pillow at Tim.

Tim ducks and mimes being terrified --

"I'll find us a place," Lex says again, and it's a promise which has more to it than Tim knows what to do with.

He nods and holds Lex's gaze in lieu of saying anything else --

And Lex inclines his head. "Good night, Tom."

"Sleep well," Tim says, getting up and moving to the ladder.

He listens to Lex putting himself to sleep, noting that the breathing technique he uses isn't so different from some of the ones Tim has learned over the years. Once he *is* asleep, the room gains the sort of silent weight Tim learned from the nights he spent sleeping with Dick during No Man's Land.

Dick had always fallen asleep first those nights, because he'd worked himself just that hard. First, though, he would thoroughly and determinedly check Tim for injuries and muscle strains, rubbing and stitching and *touching* until Tim couldn't feel anything but warm and *important*.

Dick would make little sounds as he worked, hums and mostly wordless mutters of the sort that said more about how tired he was than about anything else, and, when he was done, he would always kiss Tim's forehead, letting his mouth linger against Tim's skin until Tim had to close his eyes and press against the touch.

It's that he takes with him on his way down into his own sleep, that illusory feel, that perfect and oh-so-brotherly love.

I miss you, he mouths to the darkness, but he doesn't know if he's speaking to the Dick in his mind or not.

When he dreams, Bruce is patiently and thoroughly tying him up. There's a rope for each ankle, and one for each wrist. There's rope for his chest, and one for his throat. He can't move or talk, but in the dream that isn't anything to worry about. He knows that he has to get free, but that first the tying must happen.

Bruce shifts in the dream between Batman and himself, between a smirking Matches with the eyes of teenaged Bruce and a laughing Brucie Wayne wearing the necklace he'd given Harvey --

And then Harvey is there, scarred and silent, flipping the coin over and over --

And Lex catches it out of the air and leans in, but Tim can't hear what he's whispering, and he can't tell Lex to repeat himself, because then all the Bruces will know, as well.

He wakes when Bruce starts bending him to tie the ropes to themselves, when he finds his forehead pressed to the very cool wall and one leg hanging over the side of the bed.

Tim promises his subconscious something juicy if it will just leave him alone *tonight* -- and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes for good, it's five minutes before Lex's alarm is set to go off, so he lies in bed and thinks about his day. Classes, mediocre food -- and a Harvey who wants to hang out with him.

A Harvey with no coin, and who has probably never in his life held a .22, much less shot one. He's the kind of teenager who would easily be voted class president in another sort of school. He'd have a long and blissfully easy-looking relationship with the head cheerleader, and they would be voted prom king and queen, because even the geeks and freaks wouldn't be able to dislike him.

The teachers and coaches would love him, and he'd be voted Most Likely To Succeed. It's all but written all over him, for all the perfectly reasonable anger and bitterness that tarnishes some of his gleam *here*.

But he'd come here by choice -- fought for it, probably, and had probably done that fighting all on his own.

There might have been a friendly eighth-grade teacher or two, but he's surely not getting any support from home, and he knows it. Knows it's a lack and knows that it's just one of the many things which marks him as *different* -- though he'd probably recognize aspects of his father in some of the parents of their classmates... if he was ever invited to their homes.

It's an *itch* in him, this sense that there's something more he could be doing, something greater than simply -- 'simply' -- edging Bruce along the path he surely would've taken anyway, if only to silence the terrible voice in his head.

It's -- he wants to be Harvey's friend. It's not just that he's always been fond of people *like* Harvey, and it isn't even just the fact that he wouldn't be who he is if he didn't want to at least *respect* everyone Bruce cared about. It's Harvey, and the fact that he's thoughtful and intelligent, caring and funny --

He's making *friends*, and apparently he's not capable of stopping himself.

What *is* he going to do when he gets back to the future and Harvey's sanity has taken another dip into the land of non-existence? He's been *quiet* for the last year or so, supporting himself with his brilliant legal papers and a job with a rather extremely open-minded local bail bondsman, but even Bruce hasn't let himself get close to the man again --

Does it hurt Harvey? Does he remember the days when he'd wrap an arm around Bruce's shoulders and ease him through the strange and confusing world of adolescence?

Tim closes his eyes and fights *hard* against the desire to seek the man out when he gets back to his own time. It would be a terrible idea on so *many* levels, and --

And Lex is stirring beneath him.

"Good morning?"

"God, I *hate* you," Lex says, and reaches out to slap the alarm clock before it can bleat at them. "You could've been watching me sleep and there's *nothing* I could've done about it," he says, very clearly pulling on just a little arch and glitter by main force.

"You have a very cute snore," Tim says, and slips out from under the sheets so he can lean over the edge of the bed and smile *very* brightly at Lex.

"I have *nothing* of the kind," Lex says, and covers his eyes with one arm. "People of my caliber sleep in a perfectly decorous silence, punctuated only by the whisper of our pajamas against our sheets."

"Mm, my mistake," Tim says. "Perhaps one of your posters was making that curious hooting sound."

"Hooting? Are you *serious*?" Lex moves his arm and looks horrified. "I *hoot*?"

"It... might've been the wind?"

The horror gets a little deeper -- and then Lex's face twists. "You, my tiny homosexual friend, are a lying bastard."

Tiny homosexual... yes, well. "So I've been told. But only by people who love me."

Lex flips him off and utterly fails to twist or flounce as he rolls himself out of bed. "I bet you prefer taking your showers in the morning. A blast of freezing water to start your day?"

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Lex," Tim says, and decides to just leap down from his bunk. "But in all honesty, I have no preference as to when I take my showers, so long as it's relatively soon after having gotten dirty."

Lex grunts and strips out of his pajama bottoms, and Tim doesn't think about commenting on his morning erection even a little bit, really. He really doesn't need to start his day with flirting.

More flirting. He shakes his head at himself and gives himself leave to obsess a little over which of the identical uniforms he'll be wearing today. There really is *no* difference whatsoever, but pretending there is makes him feel less like a poorly designed clone of the few people who actually look good in the horrid things.

Some bright, well-meaning sort had decided in the last couple of years to update the jackets and ties to match the general flow of American fashion -- but not to go *too* far. The end result is wide lapels and ties that make them all look like they were just too *cowardly* to be truly fashionable.

And really -- "I have no problem whatsoever understanding why you change out of these things as soon as dinner is over."

"Feeling a little stifled, Tom? I was planning to replace our standard handkerchiefs with one of these," he says, pulling a white lace *confection* out of one of his drawers.

"I -- lace? Really?"

Lex flutters it at him. "Some things are *eternal*, darling."

"I..." Tim makes a show of thinking about it.

Lex raises an eyebrow. "Too far?"

Too *eighties* -- though Tim isn't quite sure how to explain that to *himself*, much less to Lex. But... "It just doesn't seem to go with the rest of the *look*, such --"

"As it is, yes," Lex says, and holds the handkerchief up to the light from the window. It puts a curiously confessional-like pattern of shadows on his face, and reminds Tim helplessly of an adventure he'd had with Helena... a long time ago.

He'd spent much of that particular team-up hideously convinced that Helena would give up on her faith entirely and kill someone, but it had also been good with her the way it *always* was back then. That sense of having something like an older sister...

In Tim's time, she *has* given up her faith... but she's further away from crossing the line than she ever has been. And she's a Bird, and they haven't worked together for... years.

"And where did *you* just go?"

"The city -- San Francisco, I mean. There's a woman there -- a teacher -- who I haven't seen in too long."

"From one of your schools?"

Tim smiles and shakes his head. "Public school. I met her at... a play I attended by myself, and she did her level best to turn me into a healthy-minded teenager."

Lex snorts. "A dreamer, then. I think you may be right about the lace."

"Mm. One of your scarves, folded neatly?"

"I tried that last semester," Lex says, shaking his head. "One demerit and an essay on the importance of conformity in education."

Tim feels himself making a face. "I think I just overdosed on irony."

"Don't be *silly*, Tommy dear, there's *no* irony here."

"Eugh. If you call me 'Tommy' again I'll start calling you Alexander. Alex. *Lexie* --"

Lex raises an eyebrow. "No one calls me 'Lexie' unless they're planning to make out with me."

And -- Tim can hear it. He can see it and all but *smell* it. There's a dance coming up next weekend, and if he's still here, he *will* see it, because there's no way he'll be able to get out of going. Perhaps Bruce will show him some of his favorite hiding spot for getting out of range of the various Wayne-seeking debutante missiles --

"Now what, I wonder, could I have said to make you make *that* face?"

Tim smiles ruefully at Lex and picks uniform number three. "I started out by questioning your taste in women... and then I realized that I only have a week before I have to *deal* with those women."

"Surely you're used to it. You grew *up* with these sorts of people --"

"It's *different* in California. For one thing, everyone likes to tell themselves that they're infinitely cooler than their east coast counterparts, and so don't *have* to throw themselves at my name. Additionally... well, I'm from the -- ever so relatively -- poor side of the family. Mentioning dinners and vacations at the less fashionable spots was usually almost enough to be safe -- since just having a girlfriend wasn't nearly enough for that sort of thing."

Lex nods and very obviously files that away. "And your weeks with Bruce were enough to tell you that things would be different?"

"Oh, I already knew they would be," Tim says, and thinks about -- yes. "My mother was quite clear on the subject." He strips out of his sleep boxers and starts getting dressed, and Lex does the same.

Lex likes to get up a little earlier than most of the people on this floor, and so there's no sounds of movement from outside -- though it won't be long before the boys who *do* prefer showering in the morning start their half-asleep stagger through the halls, bumping the walls and groaning as they go.

He'll be dropping off the robe on his way to class, and perhaps taking a moment of Harvey's distraction to share a capital-L Look or two with Bruce, and a part of him -- let's call it 'Tom' -- honestly feels that the day won't have begun until he does.

What Tim honestly feels... is a bundle of raw, undifferentiated emotion not unlike having the spiked ball of a mace lodged in his esophagus. In there is the fact that a part of him will never recover from this -- any of it -- buried in the fact that the *timeline* might not recover.

There's the feel of Bruce's lips pressed against his mound and the sound of Harvey's laughter. There are the lies he's told -- piled on top of each other and swaying themselves to a crash somewhere near the top -- and the way it had felt to doze in Bruce's arms. Lex's eyes are in there, and the feel of Harvey casually slapping the back of his head.

Bruce's fingers against his lips --

Tom's desire to stay *right* here, to guide and help and *manipulate*, to laugh with his friends and maybe help build a better world -- one way or another.

He should've been prepared for *this*, too, somehow. He's surrounded by the sort of people he's always wanted to *be* surrounded by. Good people, brave people, strong and *dedicated* people -- whether or not Lex wants the term -- and all he wants --

All he *is* --

Lex rests his forearm on Tim's shoulder and leans in close -- to help Tim stare at Harvey's robe. Right. Tim bundles it and folds it over his arm, and thinks about what to say, how to *explain* --

"He *is* disgustingly attractive -- if not in the most WASPish way."

"He's part -- American Indian."

"I'd been thinking Italian or Eastern European, but that works, too," Lex says, and his eyebrow is raised in question.

"I'm almost positive Bruce... is nursing a crush on him."

"A crush? On a *human*? Lord in heaven, I think I might faint."

"Try to avoid hitting your head," Tim says, and twists away from Lex's arm to look at him. "I can't question his taste... as of yet."

Lex... smirks. "Don't expect me to help you. The worst I can say about Harvey is that he's arrogant and narrow-minded -- and I'm reasonably sure he saves that for... the persona I choose to display to the wider world."

Tim smiles ruefully. "That certainly seems to be the case," he says, and sighs. "All right, I'm off to return this and figure out if Harvey and Bruce have any plans for me today."

"Awfully passive, don't you think?"

"I like to go with the flow, Lex... so long as the flow is going in a direction I can approve of."

"And so if I need to find you for our little project you'll be in their room?"

"Almost certainly -- though I plan to get another run in tonight," Tim says, and moves for the door.

"Mm. If you wear yourself out *too* much, you won't be any good to me."

Tim grins back over his shoulder. "But I *like* being thrown to the ground and pinned."

Lex purses his lips and makes a show of looking scandalized. "Bad boy."

"Sometimes -- oh, and you should consider stealing one of the flowers from the centerpiece for your lapel."

Lex's eyes... flare. "Noted. See you later."

Tim sketches a brief salute and goes.

There are a few boys in robes in the hall, but none of them are awake enough to give Tim dirty looks for the fact that he's up and ready.

He knocks on Bruce's and Harvey's door --

"Come in," Harvey says, and Tim does so.

Unsurprisingly, both Bruce and Harvey both look ready to face the day, though Harvey's hair is still a little mussed. He's working on it with his comb, and Bruce --

Really is staring at him *just* that hard. And moving close. And -- reaching to close the door behind him.

Tim gives him the eyebrow as hard as he *can* --

Bruce shakes his head and smiles.

And when Tim glances over to see if Harvey has noticed how *obvious* Bruce is being -- Harvey is looking at them with an extremely wry smile on his face. And then he waves. Oh... crap. "So... you two have been... talking."

"Uh, huh," Harvey says, and finishes fixing his hair. "I'm frankly not sure how I feel about all of it, but you can stop pretending you guys haven't been screwing."

Tim blushes *hard* --

And Bruce cups his face with both hands. "I couldn't keep lying, Tom. Not to Harvey."

Crap. Hell. *Fuck* -- "Bruce --"

"Tom," Bruce says, and it sounds like 'I love you,' and 'I'm not sorry,' and 'It's okay,' and a lot of other things at once. And he's leaning *in*, pushing his nose against Tim's ear -- "You smell like sleep. I've missed that. That *warmth* --"

Harvey snorts. "Jesus, Bruce, the guy just woke *up* --"

"Yes," and Bruce kisses Tim's ear lightly and pulls back. "We have to talk."

"You *think* -- um. Sorry, I -- sorry," Tim says and shakes his head, reaching up to grip Bruce's hands and move them away from his face --

"*I'm* going to brush my teeth," Harvey -- announces. "I'll be heading to class straight from there, so you two can... uh. Yeah, I'm not thinking about it. Thanks for bringing back my robe, Tom."

"Harvey, I --"

Harvey throws up a hand -- and laughs again. "*We* have to talk, too -- the two of us, I mean. But I want some food in my stomach and a little more time to *think* first," he says, and smiles ruefully. "You're still supposed to call me Harv."

Tim blinks -- a lot. And then he nods.

And then Harvey is gone, closing the door behind him, and Bruce is staring at him like a meal he's *afraid* to eat. All right.

Okay. "What -- how. Um. Bruce?"

"Harvey and I talked," he says, and *stops* there, as if that were anything resembling a helpful answer... to the question he hadn't quite asked.

*Okay*. "I picked that up. But -- *why* did you tell him about us? You *know* that it can't get out --"

"I trust Harvey with my life, Tom. He -- he said we could have anything together if I just never lied to him, and I couldn't -- I couldn't, anymore."

"It's only been a few *days* --" Tim stops himself. That's *also* not helpful, but -- the world's *most* secretive man, and he can't keep himself from --

All right, so he's going to focus on breathing. He's -- just going to breathe, and not think about the fact that they'd just let someone with one of the world's most tabloid-friendly secrets walk out the door without so much as a blow to the *head*. Just -- what will this *do* to Bruce's reputation? To his ability to *be* Bruce Wayne?

Hell, to his ability to *adopt male children*? The political climate just won't *be* that different in thirteen years, and --

"You're angry with me."

Do *not* tear his head off. Do *not* tell him about his staggering ability to state the obvious. Just -- none of that. Keep breathing. Keep. Breathing.

"You're -- frightened?"

"*Yes*. Bruce, this could change *everything*. What happens when you and Harvey have a falling out? What happens when he gets drunk at a party and lets something *slip*?"

Bruce frowns. "He's more careful than that. And a lot more noble."

Noble. *Noble*. Harvey *fucking* Dent --

Bruce's best friend in the world.

Tom Wayne's... buddy. Tim closes his eyes. "I -- I know it won't really help anything, but could you just tell me *how it came up*?"

Bruce nods and blushes. "He saw that I was aroused and suggested that we masturbate together. It was incredible, better and worse than it had ever been before, because I knew what I wanted from him. His voice..."

Oh... well. Goodness. "I... see."

"He could tell that I didn't care to hear about the young woman he was talking about, that I only wanted to know more about *him*... and he tried to tell me that we couldn't be that way with each other, that it wasn't appropriate."

Go Harvey? Ish? "You... wouldn't take no for an answer. Because you want him that badly."

Bruce blushes harder and looks -- frightened.

"Bruce?"

"I love him, Tom. The way I love you," Bruce says, and --

And. A part of Tim wants to rage for that, wants to just -- they mean more than that. *He* means more than that, or he should, and doesn't Bruce understand that they're *brothers* --

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and -- doesn't cross his arms or hug himself. It's too early for this jacket to be rumpled. It's --

Of *course* he loves Harvey. He'll love Dick, and he'll love Jason with all of himself, and there'll be nothing left for him but the scraps. He'd known that, and he'd still let himself --

"Tom --"

"*No*. I mean -- it's all right, Bruce. I understand."

Bruce frowns *deeply*, shaking his head and reaching out --

"Don't -- not that. You don't have to --"

"Please, Tom, let me -- I love *both* of you. I don't want -- I *can't* lose you for this. Please don't -- I know I shouldn't be this way, but I am, and I thought. I thought that was all right," Bruce says, and his voice is so *small* --

"I *said* it was all right --"

"You lied," Bruce says, and his eyes are hurt and bleak, hungry --

Tim bites his lip. All right. "You think that you love me, Bruce, but you --"

"I *know* I love you," and there's a growl in his voice, but it's angry rather than cold, and Tim can deal with it, work *around* it. Hadn't he already set this up for himself? Maybe a part of him knew he would *need* it.

"It's just like. Just like *home*, Bruce. Where you and Harvey have each other and I -- don't. Maybe I just helped you figure out what you wanted. There's nothing wrong with that, and it doesn't ultimately matter how I *feel* about it," Tim says, and refuses to allow himself to breathe too hard or -- any of that. He holds Bruce's eyes, watching him think about it, watching him *understand*, and it hurts.

It -- fucking *hurts*, but it doesn't matter, because Bruce -- this Bruce -- will always be his friend, and maybe the world needed him to feel just like this, to love the people he couldn't keep for one reason or another --

And the voice inside him crying that Bruce could have *him* is delusional and slow, besides. If anything, this will help him stay on *point*. He'll be able to leave with no regrets and no nasty little slips of emotion, and Bruce will have Harvey until he doesn't. It will be --

Okay, only it's hard to figure which 'it' he's talking about when Bruce has him shoved against the door, when Bruce is *kissing* him, hard and demanding, and he's *not* tearing at Tim's clothes, but that's clearly only because it would get in the way of Tim being *touched*, felt and *grabbed*, and he really should've seen the move coming --

There's so *much* he should have seen *coming* --

He hears himself making a noise into Bruce's mouth and has to admit that it's a moaning whimper, too long and too *loud*, and Bruce only kisses him harder. Bruce grabs Tim's hips and *yanks* them against his body, pulls back for exactly long enough for Tim to gasp something like the *start* of Bruce's name, for Bruce to *crouch* enough that their hips are together --

And Tim feels the inside of his lip tear against his teeth when Bruce kisses him again --

And maybe it's the taste of his blood that makes Bruce moan, makes him --

Tim opens his eyes and Bruce is *glaring* at him, failing utterly to blink and not --

Not *stopping*, and shaking his head just makes opens the cut a little bit more, but maybe this should hurt, and taste this metallic and *corrupt*. It's not for *him*, no matter what Bruce *thinks*. Of course he would need to do this, to *try* this.

Of course he would need to prove to at least one of them that what he thinks he feels is real. Tim deliberately relaxes himself and waits it out. It shouldn't take much longer --

"*Tom*," and it's the wrong name but the right voice, the one from too many dreams and fantasies, nightmares of being exactly as *inadequate* as he always knew he was --

He can't keep himself from *seizing* --

"That voice. I know what it does to you. I wish I understood why, but that's not important. *Nothing* is as important as --" Bruce frowns and stands straight again, pulling Tim close --

Shoving them both against the door again --

"You know all of this. You know exactly the right words for me to say that would make you *understand*, and at any other time you would tell me, but I know you won't right now."

"Bruce --"

"A part of me *hates* you for that, Tom. You *know* I need you, you know how *much* I need you. You're the only thing that makes the Bat be *quiet* inside me, the only one who's ever understood all of me, who ever *could* understand all of me, so why can't you understand *this*?" And Bruce emphasizes his point by *shaking* Tim a little -- and lets go of Tim's hip to move his hand behind Tim's head before it can strike the door.

"Ah -- thank you."

Bruce nods, and he's still glaring, looking deep *into* Tim exactly as if Tim has all the answers to the universe and just isn't sharing them.

"Bruce. You --" You'll always have me. I'll never leave you. I need you so *badly* -- Tim groans and squeezes his eyes shut, and wishes Bruce's hand wasn't *there*. Banging his brain around in his skull, a nice contra-coup injury or two --

"I won't always have you. I -- I *know* that," Bruce says, and cups the back of Tim's had. "I won't have your scent or your taste -- the feel of you -- please, Tom, stay *with* me."

"You don't --" Need me. Tim bites his lip -- Tim *stops*, because he doesn't need to go to class looking as if he'd been in a *fight*. He relaxes himself again --

Bruce moans and presses his face against the side of Tim's face, nuzzles Tim's ear. "*Stay*. Just -- for as long as you can, Tom. Every moment, everything you can give me --"

Tim shudders --

Bruce *bites* his ear and holds *on* --

"Bruce, you. I can't. I won't be able to take it when you. Change your mind --"

"I *won't*, Tom. I -- I know that you're not everything I want, but that doesn't mean I don't want everything from *you*."

That -- Tim laughs helplessly. "You don't think that's a little *selfish*, Bruce?"

"I *know* it is, but --" And Bruce starts to kiss him again, starting at Tim's ear and moving over his cheek, his forehead, his chin --

He *licks* Tim's mouth, and that's when Tim knows that there's blood on the outside of his mouth, that he's going to get *stained* if he's not careful --

And isn't it *time* for him to be careful? *Past* time, if only because classes are going to start soon, and he has to --

*They* have to -- Tim shudders again and works his arms between them so he can push Bruce away. It takes nearly *all* of his strength to make him move back an *inch* --

But then Bruce steps back on his own, frowning and searching Tim -- there's blood on his chin.

Tim pulls his handkerchief and wipes it away, and then dabs at his own face. "We have to go to class, Bruce."

"I don't *care* about class, Tom --"

"I do," Tim lies -- laughs. "No, I don't, but *I* still care about appearances."

Bruce winces. "I need you."

You need someone to show you how to do *something* with all of that emotion. You need *control* -- and so does he. "What *did* Harvey say when you told him about all of this? Or did you --"

"I told him. I told him that I was thinking of him sometimes even when we were together. I told him that I was thinking of you when we kissed."

Kissed. He. "You kissed?" And Tim *hates* the sound of his own fucking *voice* --

Bruce nods. "He kissed me, I think to stop me from talking --"

Tim laughs and swallows it *back* --

"And when I kissed him back, I used some of the things you taught me, and I couldn't stop -- I want both of you so much, Tom. I need -- these feelings in me. I don't know what to *do* with them, but I know what I *need*."

Tim nods, feeling boneless and lost, *needy*. They'd kissed. They'd -- well, why *should* Harvey fucking Dent be able to control himself around Bruce when *Tim* can't?

"He -- he asked me what I would do if one of you didn't want to... share me. He didn't seem to think that you would want to let me go," Bruce says, and his voice is small again, so --

"It's not about what I *want* --"

"In my dream we were all together Tom. We were touching and laughing, and you didn't try to leave, or hold yourself back. You were yourself -- *all* of yourself, and Harvey could see how beautiful you were, and when you kissed I felt so warm and full --"

"You want. You want me and *Harvey* to have sex?"

"I'm honestly not sure why I didn't think of it *before*, Tom."

Well, what the *hell* is he supposed to do with *that*? His brain isn't offering anything more helpful than random noises and exclamation points -- oh, wait, now, there's the image of himself planting a big *wet* one on the Harvey *he* knows best. Would the scars feel hard? Colder than skin should be?

All right, no, he isn't *going* there. He just *isn't*, and it doesn't matter --

*None* of it matters, because it isn't going to happen. He'll be yanked back to his own time and place, and all of this will just be fodder for his more interesting nightmares. Tim starts to straighten his uniform --

"I know the idea must seem strange to you, Tom, and I know that it would take a lot to make it happen, especially since Harvey doesn't want to do anything with me while we're still in school --"

"Is *that* why you're pushing this so hard, Bruce? Because Harvey won't *put out*?"

"Tom. I've -- I think I want to *hit* you for that."

And that probably shouldn't make something hot and sharp *thrill* inside him. He's not *Dick* -- he and Bruce don't work *out* their issues with violence. They don't work them out at *all* --

"Take it back, Tom."

They don't -- why the fuck *should* he? Hell, would Bruce even be doing this --

"*Tom*."

Command-voice, and does he know he's doing it? "Are you trying to make me come to *heel*, Bruce?"

"I'm *trying* to make you *listen*."

Tim shoots his cuffs. "It's time for breakfast --"

Bruce grabs for his shoulder, and it's the easiest thing in the world to use his momentum to toss him against the door.

"I said: It's time for *breakfast*."

Bruce -- that's definitely a glare, and though it seems to be aimed at his own hands rather than at Tim. His own *fists*.

"Bruce --"

"You're hurt. That's -- perfectly comprehensible. I've cheated on you with my heart and my body, and. And you're used to a Bruce who doesn't understand what he *could* have with you. A Bruce who hurts you and neglects you..." Bruce squeezes his fists tighter and stands up. "You... maybe you need time," he says, and it sounds like he's speaking to himself, or maybe to the *room*.

"Tell yourself what you need to --"

"What I *need* is to have you in my arms again, Tom," he says, looking up again -- hunger. Anger. Something that looks like the *definition* of power --

Or perhaps just the only definition of power that's ever meant anything to *Tim*. He can -- he can *handle* it. "Move away from the door."

Bruce nods slowly, as if Tim had answered a *question*.

"Bruce, *dammit*. It will wind up hurting us both, but I will *move* you --"

"You *put* me here, and that's where I'm going to say."

"Fine," Tim says, and starts to shrug off his jacket. There's no reason to damage the thing --

"Brother," Bruce says, low and -- and *hungry* --

He doesn't *have* to listen --

"I told you I would give you your space when we fought. Apparently, I'm a liar as well. I won't *let* you leave me when we're like this --"

Tim slips into a ready position Bruce doesn't know -- except that he can *see* Bruce drinking it in, learning it with his mind, and how many tries will it take before he can do it perfectly? A dozen? *Three*? Tim shakes it *off* --

"I know that you love me. That you wouldn't be this angry if you didn't. Perhaps that's why I feel so warm inside, so -- hot and *alive*."

That thrill. That --

"Tom," Bruce says, and offers his hand. "I'll never leave *you*. There's nothing you could do or say that could make me *want* to leave you, or do anything other than hold you close to me. I'm -- I *belong* to you --"

"You *don't*, and that's -- the *fucking* point --"

"There are things Harvey can't know about us now, and maybe we'll never be able to tell him. I can -- I'm living with that, Tom, and I'll trust your judgment about it. We share a secret that's larger than both of us, and maybe it's more important than the ways we love each other. I don't know. I just know what I feel, and that I'll do anything to make you happy with me again," and Bruce is still reaching out, palm up and open, and --

Would this be easier if Bruce were a little less secure? Or -- perhaps he means to question how this would be working if *he* had been a little less obvious.

Bruce knows that Tim loves him, that *Tom* loves him, and so believes that he can stop Tim from walking away solely by using -- logic. He doesn't laugh -- it's too much for that.

It's --

*Bruce* is too much, and has always been so. When he's not right there, Tim can think of other things and people, can imagine himself in a world that doesn't necessarily include the kind of love that tears him, works him and lays him out so that there's nothing he can do about -- anything.

Certainly nothing he can do about Bruce, who's moving closer as slowly and carefully as... someone who knows perfectly well that they're approaching an emotionally unstable person in fucking turmoil --

"Brother," Bruce says, and cups Tim's shoulders with his big, warm hands. Just --

Yes. God, yes, and please, and I'm yours, and why can't this be forever? Why can't it be perfect and encapsulated, with just the two of us and an Alfred who has long since accepted that he's tied inextricably to crazy perverts? Why can't I *have* this?

"I've always thought Valentine's Day cards were insipid and a little disturbing. Be mine."

Tim closes his eyes and rests his head against Bruce's shoulder, dragging his face against the material of Bruce's jacket until he can nuzzle it open, smell Bruce through his shirt --

Bruce sighs and squeezes Tim's shoulders before stroking down Tim's arms. He wraps *his* arms around Tim and pulls him close -- "My brother."

"I -- really hope you didn't tell Harvey that part."

"No. But I wish I could."

"Of course you do. I..." Tim gives up entirely and cups Bruce's waist. He's no warmer through his clothes than he should be, but the warmth still seems profound, still seems like something more True than incidental.

"Tom."

"How. How many times did you kiss him?"

"Once. It was... a long kiss. He wouldn't allow more. I tried to nuzzle his throat later, but -- he said it was too sensitive there."

Meaning that it made his resolve weaken dramatically. Was there a split in his mind for it? A frisson of chance? The closer Bruce gets to Harvey, the closer he'll get to knowing about Harvey's *damage*, and the way it goes deeper than just a few bruises now and then. And then... what?

What would this Bruce *do* with a Harvey he discovered was essentially *broken*?

The answer is simple and not, because what does 'everything he could' translate to when it comes to Bruce? Bruce would study every available bit of psychiatric information, and Harvey would have the best doctors, the best drugs... and Bruce would be patient, and always there for him, and... what if it only made things worse?

What if Bruce decided to try to make Harvey feel less alone in his darkness? He *hasn't* told Harvey about the Bat or the Cave, but would there be anything which could stop him if Harvey broke?

At what point will the Mission trump everything else? Is there anything he can do to make that happen?

"Tom...?"

"I'm... I'm thinking about our future, Bruce."

"Is it -- are they good thoughts?"

Tim nuzzles Bruce's shoulder again and thinks -- sighs. "I want to tell you to be more careful, Bruce. That -- it could've been terrible for you to share what you did with Harvey, that it could've damaged *everything we plan* --"

"Harvey isn't like that," Bruce says, flat and utterly unapproachable. Or -- not that, it's just that there's no *give*.

Tim pulls back -- Bruce *lets* him pull back. "People change, Bruce. I -- I know that's an ugly way to think, and believe me when I say that I hope with *everything I am* that Harvey isn't one of those people, but --"

"You -- you think he could be," Bruce says, and he's frowning darkly, but obviously thinking about it -- "How can we trust *anyone* then, Tom? You spoke about *allies* --"

"And -- some of them we'd never fully trust. *Most* of them would never know the whole of our lives, or -- see the Cave."

"But -- if we treat everyone like... like potential *threats* --"

"Then we're alone -- much of the time. And I don't want that any more than you do. I -- part of me really *wants* Harvey. Er -- not the way you do --"

"He already cares about you, Tom. He tried to make himself say bad things about you --"

"Yes, I imagine so, but --"

"He couldn't. He *knows* you're good, the same way we *both* know Harvey is good."

And what *about* Lex...? No, not now. Not -- yet. Tim nods and lets Tom squeeze Bruce's waist, lets him sigh and doesn't try to make him pull back any further than he already has. "It -- it's going to take time and judgment, Bruce. We're *sixteen*, and while we care about and trust Harvey now... well, we won't always be in school with him. We *certainly* won't be there when he's in law school, or be able to see him change and grow -- and he *will*. All I'm saying is that we have to be careful. I think it will get easier to know who to trust when we get older, to know who we *have* to trust."

Bruce nods slowly. "But -- you think there will *be* people."

"Yes. I -- I *feel* it, and I know that's irrational and idealistic, but, well -- *look* at the Justice Society. A group of wildly disparate people who came together because they all had the same goals, the same basic drives. People like that are one in a million, but there are *billions* of people on this planet. And we'll find the right ones."

Bruce nods, but he's still frowning, still -- "Tom... are you sure you're not upset about Harvey *just* because you're jealous?"

*Yes*, but -- how could he be? Tom smiles ruefully, and Tim sucks it up. "No, Bruce, I'm not. But if it was someone you *didn't* love so passionately, then it wouldn't be an issue at all, would it?"

Bruce nods again and strokes up Tom's arms -- *grips*. "I don't want the distrust. I don't want to be alone, anymore, Tom. And you think... I think you *could* do this all by yourself, that the Bat just got -- confused or something when it came to me and not you --"

"Bruce, you can --"

"You think I can do anything, and sometimes -- sometimes I feel that you're right, on top of feeling proud and loved the way I've wanted for so *long*. But -- the fact that I'm *capable* of performing the mission by myself doesn't mean that it's right that I do so. Isn't that what you've been saying all along?"

*Yes*, Tom says, and Tom wants to *scream* it -- "I'm not -- it isn't *forever*, Bruce --"

"Every hour without you is an eternity, Tom, and I -- I will *be* without you for *many* hours, days -- years until. Until I can find you again," Bruce says, and he doesn't look away, but -- he wants to.

Tim can see it and feel it, and -- find him again. What -- "You... would search for me?"

"Across all of the universes. I would find you, just to see you -- no. I would find you and try to convince you to come back, or I would stay --"

"*Bruce* --"

"I *will* find you again, Tom. This -- this won't end, between us, if I have to do... I don't know what I would do, and that *frightens* me, but you have to *believe* --"

"I do." And that -- oh, *God*, that's a problem. Except -- he'd be looking for Tom Wayne, twin brother of Bruce. He could search the *multiverse* and never find Tim --

And Tom wants Tim to know that it's horrible, that it's wrong and cruel --

And Tim realizes that *this* is anything but 'scraps,' that it's -- it *could* be everything he's ever wanted. Laughter and touch, passion and *struggle* --

Barbara.

Dick.

*Kon* -- and Tom has nothing to say to any of that, but it doesn't mean that he's gone. Just -- quieter.

Tim swallows back the blood in his mouth -- there's a lot less of it now, and that can only be a good thing. "Did you like it, Bruce? The taste of blood in my mouth?"

"There should've been a better reason," Bruce says, and eases his grip on Tim's arms -- lets go and cups Tim's face again, instead. "You believe me, now."

Tim closes his eyes and nods.

"Harvey said -- he said he'd give us time to be alone today. After classes."

Tim *squeezes* his eyes shut against *all* of that. Just -- the depth of the *wrong* there. The --

Harvey must love Bruce so *much*, and -- does Bruce understand that? Could he? Is this what it means *when* Bruce understands? That he takes, and *keeps* taking.

That he *uses*, or... just lives in the emotion because he's not capable of doing anything else, perhaps --

"Tom --"

"I might. Have something else to do," Tim says, and opens his eyes --

Bruce blinks, hurt and *confused* -- "Would. Would you tell me what?"

And a part of Tim wants *badly* to say no, to keep just *one* thing for himself against the fucking *tidal* wave --

"I mean. It's all right if you. Don't want to."

I've loved you because hate wasn't an option, Bruce, because anything less would have broken me down to nothing, because --

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, and moves his hands --

Tim reaches up and holds them, squeezes hard before bringing them back to his face. "Lex... is going to find a place where the two of us -- and, hopefully, the two of *us* -- can practice our judo and karate. I'm not sure how long it will take for him to find a place, but --"

"You trusted him with *that*? How could you -- that *is* the Mission, Tom!" And Bruce is putting pressure on parts of Tim's face that really *don't* like it, at all --

"He thinks, like Harvey does, that I'm just a superhero fanboy with an interest in the martial arts. He *knows* that I'm small and gay in a world that appreciates neither of those things -- just as he's bald and strange. He thinks he understands my reasons -- *and* he knows that I'm interested enough to get my *cousin* interested. It's not perfect, but it's the best way to keep ourselves from getting deconditioned over the course of the semester," Tim says, and, "you're hurting me in a way *I* don't appreciate."

Bruce eases the pressure immediately and frowns -- "I'm jealous."

*I* haven't made out with one of the world's great killers -- "Bruce --"

"You care about him, Tom. He -- he takes your *time* --"

"Learn to *share*, Bruce -- all right, no, that was catty of me, but --"

"You'll be sparring with him, learning with him -- touching and *moving* with him --"

"*And* he admitted to me that he only really *plays* at being gay, Bruce. You don't have to *worry* --"

And Bruce kisses him again, an angry kiss with a lot of *fear* in it, and Tim doesn't have to see Bruce's eyes to know that they would be full, haunted and *hot* in all the wrong ways --

*This* time, however, Tim isn't just going to *take* it. He bites Bruce's lip *hard* -- though not hard enough to break the skin -- and sucks, licks and presses as close as he can, and damn their clothes --

Bruce groans immediately, pushing one hand into Tim's hair and stroking the other down Tim's back until he can cup Tim's ass and squeeze, *lift* --

God, yes, because Tom wants Tim to know that it's been too long, that there's nothing he wants more, that it's *Bruce*, who could have anyone if he just put a *little* effort into it, who could have *Harvey*, so tall and handsome and *kind*, but he wants Tom, needs Tom --

And Tim thought he had surrendered everything, but something still breaks and spills within him when he clenches his thighs around Bruce's, when he *thrusts* --

"*Yes*, Tom," and Bruce is licking his mouth again, sucking Tom's torn lip until it's swollen and -- possibly -- leaking once more.

Tim thinks of calling Bruce a vampire, but that *would* just lead to his getting his neck bitten, and the jig -- such as it is -- would be *up*.

Better to *just* kiss like this, to rock and ride and *writhe* for this as Bruce walks and pushes and *shoves* them back to the door, holding Tim there with his body and -- fuck, working on Tim's *pants* --

"Bruce --"

"Just this. Just your orgasm for me, Tom. I need your *pleasure*," and Bruce kisses him *again* --

And Tom knows that it's true, that he'd given Bruce too little of it, that he'd *made* Bruce crave it every day, every moment --

He'd *done* this, and now he has to live with it --

Or maybe live *for* it, because Bruce's hand is warm and *perfect* around Tim's penis, hot and sweet-sharp --

No, he can't groan with them against the door, can't cry out for it, for how wonderful, how *right* -- "Bruce, I love you," he whispers --

"I *know* --"

"I -- God, sometimes -- it's you, Bruce, and I'd do anything for you --"

"Don't say that until you *mean* it, Tom," and he squeezes Tim's penis hard enough to make Tim thrust helplessly, for Tim to want Tom to take over, if only for these moments.

Doesn't Tom deserve this? Hasn't he been good, been right --

Oh, he wants it to be *true*, for all of it to exist at once, if only in his own mind. *Everything* should be true, the way Bruce can have the love of the two people he wants most, the way *he* can make that *work* --

"Bruce, I -- I'm *sorry* --"

"Then show me, Tom. Show me *everything* --"

I'd show you my world, Bruce, the small and pathetic *truth* of me, because it's what *you* deserve -- "I never meant this, never meant to need you --"

"It's -- you've made it sound as though it was who you *are*, Tom --"

"It *is* --"

"Throw your head back for me. Give me. Give me your *throat* --"

Tim does, banging his head against the door -- too *loud* -- and then nothing is, because Bruce's other hand is *locked* around Tim's throat -- no. He's squeezing in the same rhythm as his *thrusts*, and Tim hears himself making noises that don't stop being terrible for how soft they are. Tiny strangled things, gurgling things --

"Like *this*?"

He can't nod and he can't *speak*, but he knows Bruce can see the answer written all over him, can *feel* it by the way Tim's fucking Bruce's *fist* --

"You're so beautiful when you lose *control*, Tom. It's -- it's *not* all I want," Bruce says, laughing. "Would you ever show this to Harvey? I want him to *see* you the way I do, want him to feel you, taste you -- *know* you --"

Oh, God -- please --

"We could be -- at home, in my bed. The three of us together, and maybe you'd penetrate me at last, maybe you'd *take* me, and Harvey could see that, too, and need it the way I do --

"B --" Another squeeze, and he can't say *anything* --

"It's. It's all right if it's strange to you, Tom. I know it must seem like too much, like -- I don't *know*, but it feels so right in my mind, so perfect, even if I couldn't touch *either* of you --"

No *air*, and he can see it, he can smell Harvey's cocoa butter and Bruce's semen --

"I need you to *love* each other, Tom."

He does. He -- Tim knows it, and Tom wants it for Bruce, wants everything for Bruce, including himself --

"Oh, you're so *close*. I want to draw you again, I want to see *this* expression on the page, in my dreams --"

No rhythm, no -- no fucking *mercy*, because Bruce is just squeezing him now, holding *on* to Tim's throat and squeezing Tim's penis, over and over, and he wants to *beg* --

"All day, today, I'll have your *scent*."

And Tim feels his eyes roll back in his head, feels himself *start* to shake --

The rest is white-out, a blast with no end save the one he *could* understand intellectually if he had that capacity. Bruce is saying *something*, but it's just sound added to the depth of his orgasm, just --

Tim's knees buckle and Bruce lets go of his throat to hold him up against the door --

Bruce kisses him *deeply*, *fucking* in with his tongue, and Tim feels a flare of want that isn't touched by the helpless spurt of his penis, the twitch and shudder --

"I *love* you, Tom --"

And the next squeeze is painful, and the one after that makes him need to swallow back a *scream* -- "Stop, please stop --"

"I don't *want* to --"

"*Please* --"

Another kiss, and Bruce's hand is slick, hot and so *hard*. It's relentless, and may or may not be more so than Bruce's tongue, than Bruce's *self*, because he wants everything and will *take* it if he's pushed just hard enough.

Is that something he'll keep in one form or another throughout his life? Had Tim just not pushed the *older* Bruce hard enough?

Was there something he could have done that would have let him have this?

He doesn't know, and he can't stop whimpering into Bruce's mouth. It *hurts*, and it doesn't really help to know that the signals his brain is getting are *conflicting* -- this could break him *or* just make him hard again, make him need even as the minutes tick by between them being ridiculously late for breakfast and them actually being late for *class*.

The former is generally overlooked -- unless the latter comes hard on its heels --

But the kiss feels so *good*, so passionate and perfect, and a part of him is honestly worried about Harvey *solely* because he'd been able to hold himself to one.

As Tim Drake, Normal-If-Wealthy Teenager and as Tim Drake, Boy Heir, he's watched Bruce kiss any number of women, seen him *look* absorbed in nothing more serious than the taking of a woman's mouth -- the *claiming* of it if there were cameras present.

The techniques are basically the same, but if Bruce had ever kissed one of that *parade* of women this way, he never would've been able to *shake* her, no matter how many flutes of champagne and tureens full of -- cold -- soup he dumped all over her --

And the image of Bruce desperately switching to hot soup or sterno is enough to give Tim a little *control*. He pulls back -- and gets followed.

He *pushes* -- and gets resisted.

"Bruce. *No*."

Bruce groans and pulls back -- and rests his head on Tim's shoulder. Tom thinks it would be a good idea to apologize with a blow job. Tim thinks that *both* of them being absent from breakfast when any number of people had seen him walk into this room and have the door closed behind him -- yes.

"Do you think you could be... quick?"

"I don't want to be. I didn't want to stop *kissing* you," Bruce says, and his voice is accusing, but when he looks -- his eyes say that the accusation is aimed at least mostly at himself.

Which... "I know you wanted to make this just about me and my pleasure, Bruce, but we can --"

"A part of me wants to just stay hard, Tom, to feel it and know that my erection comes from making love to you once more."

Tim smiles. "Romantic, but not especially practical. Let me..." And it would be too tempting to take his time if he dropped to his knees, especially since Bruce *isn't* as hard as he could be when Tim squeezes him through his clothes --

"Oh, Tom. Your hands. Both of them, please?"

Tim nods and opens Bruce's pants, examining the slit with his fingers as compared to Bruce's *girth* -- he pushes the boxers down and *still* doesn't drop to his knees even though his mouth is watering, even though his body is insisting that his center of gravity should be located distinctly *lower* --

It's good *enough* to have Bruce's penis in one hand and Bruce's sac in the other, to --

To *not* think about Harvey doing this, and all the tricks he must know from living in Gotham as an incredibly handsome bisexual teenager in the seventies --

No, he's making assumptions. For all he knows, he *is* the most experienced with this sort of thing among all of them -- certainly he'd had far more reading material. And so, perhaps, it's necessary to get a little fancy with his grip. His hand isn't quite large enough to make it *comfortable* to fold his palm this way, but --

"*Tom* --"

"Here, Bruce. I -- I won't tease you," he says, and Bruce nods and looks pained, looks like, perhaps, he'd feel better if he was tied up, tied down --

If there was nothing he *could* do other than take this --

God, Tim *can't*, and he's on his knees before the admission is complete in his mind, and it's a *kind* of compromise to keep his hand wrapped around the base and stroking while he sucks on the head --

"Brother, oh -- *Tom* --"

Will Harvey be this desperate if he ever gets a -- taste? Will he find himself weak in the knees every time Bruce smiles at him a certain way, or, fuck, *talks*? He has a distinct image of walking in on *just* this, for all that he knows that he would always knock.

Harvey can't possibly *last* now that he knows, and -- Tim doesn't know if it would be better for Bruce or *not*. He ought to be able to hold on to some *happy* memories of the man when it all goes bad --

Of course this would make it harder, too --

God, the *taste*. It just hasn't been all that *long*, but he's still salivating for it, spit running out of the corner of his mouth and, judging by the pain, maybe blood, as well.

He has *enough* control to let go of Bruce's sac and pull out his handkerchief, dabbing before there are any unsightly drips on his shirt --

Bruce laughs and *shoves* his hands into Tom's hair -- "You look so *proper*, Tom. I -- you almost always do when you have your control. It's incredible. It's *enraging*, but it's you, and I want -- I want this *always* --"

Tim looks up to meet Bruce's eyes, and Bruce nods, smiles at Tim as though he'd made Bruce indescribably *happy* --

It makes Tim's heart knock in his chest and his hands *want* to shake, it makes him suck harder and stroke *faster*, because the desperation and hunger is easier to take, easier to imagine *losing* -- leaving.

Tim closes his eyes --

"No, no -- please?"

He opens his eyes to another smile, but this one is shakier, better in ways that make Tom want to *howl* inside, make Tim feel strong enough to take everything, do *anything* --

Including what he must.

He starts squeezing Bruce's penis just off-rhythm to what he's doing with Bruce's sac, stabs at the slit with his tongue and lets himself moan for it.

For *all* of it, and Bruce isn't quite pulling his hair, yet, but he will be, and maybe that's the way to discourage Harvey. He's trained Bruce to be terribly *impolite* about this sort of thing --

And yes, he's allowed to be just that ridiculous in his mind if he has Bruce's penis in his mouth. It's something like a free pass from the universe, if one thinks about it in just the right way --

"Tom, oh -- I have to --" Bruce *thrusts* into Tim's fist and into his mouth, pushing hard enough to make Tim torture his mouth a little against his own fist --

He knows what would feel better, but Bruce had *asked* for his hands --

He looks a question up into Bruce's eyes, waits for them to focus through the haze of pleasure, *lust* --

"What...? Tom, I -- may I have your throat?"

Always, and it doesn't matter that it's exactly what he wanted to know -- his penis still wants him to know that it's *there*, that Bruce wants something so *perfect* from him... hell, maybe the only thing that *does* matter is that Bruce had known, somehow. That they're brothers --

Partners. In this and in as many other things as possible, *please*, and Tim moves his hand and swallows Bruce deep, wallowing in the feel and the sound of Bruce's groan -- and then in the feel, again, because Bruce starts thrusting immediately, regular and *deep*, tugging Tim's hair and whispering 'yes,' over and over --

Oh, Bruce, you --

Tim *has* to --

He focuses on swallowing and on following the motion as much as he can. Like this, there's not much he *can* do to make it better -- or to free himself without pain. To be trapped like this --

To be trapped *for* this is something he isn't surprised to find himself craving, but it still makes him blush that it's this good, that he can lose himself so *thoroughly* to it.

Bruce is *huge* in his throat and air is a precious commodity.

Bruce is heavy on his *tongue* and every time he says 'yes,' something falls inside Tim and *keeps* falling, down and down and he knows he'll never crawl back up again.

There's nothing to *hold* that would let him crawl back up, nothing he wants more, nothing he wants that's *better*, and every time Bruce pulls out of his throat, Tim moans, rhythmic and quiet.

And when he opens his eyes *this* time --

All he can see is the underside of Bruce's jaw, a minuscule hint of shadow where the beard is just thick enough to resist the razor, a patch that will slowly grow until Bruce always looks just a *little* rakish, even at his most formal --

And he's hit by a fantasy he'd set aside a *long* time ago. Just -- once he'd been in the manor while Alfred was shaving Bruce with straight razor, and that had been --

*God*, he wants to, and he wants to do it slowly and with great care, and Bruce --

The *older* Bruce would have no patience for that, but this Bruce might enjoy it a great deal. The intimacy and the slight frisson of danger when Tim would have to *will* his hands to stop shaking. He *wouldn't* cut Bruce -- he knows he has more than enough skill with even unfamiliar blades to avoid that -- but --

Naked skin, warm and freshly pink. *Bruce*, and if Tim had lube right now, if he had his *belt* --

He grabs Bruce's ass instead, pushing his fingers into Bruce's cleft and rubbing, teasing --

"*Yes* --"

And the thrusts get rougher, *harder* because he's taught Bruce to like this, too. Taught him to *want* it, and.

Even before he'd done this to himself on anything like a regular basis, he'd sometimes enjoyed -- a rougher touch. He pushes *in* with one finger, just to the first knuckle, and Bruce's knees buckle a little and bump against Tim's chest.

Bruce moans and *grips* Tim's hair, and now there's no rhythm to his thrusts. He's just *taking*, and it feels so wonderful --

He's always *wanted* --

"Tom. *Tom* --"

In, just a little deeper, and the grip Bruce has on Tim's hair could easily be described as *cruel*. It's making Tim's eyes water, making him want to tell Bruce to go a little easier -- and that just makes Tim *want* more because he can't.

He's moaning constantly now, getting choked off by ragged and arrhythmic thrusts --

And they just get *harder* when he starts fucking Bruce with his finger. The *feel* -- so much *heat*, and Bruce is tight enough that they might as well have not done this before, at all. And maybe, if the multiverse is kind, they'll always be doing this in *just* this way, filling and taking each other, fucking each other this side of *blind* --

Bruce pauses, tenses with his penis *lodged* in Tim's throat --

Tim bends his finger enough to rub and *push* at Bruce's prostate --

Bruce gasps and comes, shaking all over, *twitching* in Tim's throat, and Tom wants to pull back and taste, wants to stay right here and *take* -- and Tim doesn't know what he wants at all. There's too much to this, the need and the want, the love that's killing him, a little --

Or perhaps just doing something awful to his sense of self --

He's not thinking about that. He's *not*, because Bruce is easing his grip on Tim's hair, and that means this can't last much longer. Tim's heart is pounding from the lack of oxygen, and Bruce looks so *beautiful*, so --

He looks *hurt*, and Tim knows that it's not just sensitivity, that he has, perhaps, surprised himself again by how much he wants this in *exactly* the same way Tim has.

Brothers.

Tim pulls off and tries not to hear Bruce's whimper, pulls *out* and strokes Bruce's hips --

"Tom..."

"We have to *go*, Bruce," Tim says, standing up -- oh, hell, he'd left a streak of blood from his lip on Bruce's penis. That's --

"Damning. On a number of levels," Bruce says, and spreads the streak around with his thumb.

"Bruce --"

"You've marked me at last, Tom," and Bruce is smiling again. "And you look beautiful right now."

He *can* feel that his hair is a mess, and hopefully his mouth is only a *little* swollen -- and if Bruce looked like that, he'd be enthralled. He smiles ruefully. "The *good* thing about this is that there'll almost certainly be no one in the bathroom when we get there to clean up."

Bruce nods. "Will you keep the taste of me in your mouth?"

Mm, semen and mint toothpaste. A taste sensation whose time has finally come. But -- "Ah... probably. At least until lunch."

"Perhaps we could skip more meals together? *We* don't have to keep our energy up for anything in particular -- oh. Lex," Bruce says, and the smile fades from his face.

"The Mission may not be *all* right now, Bruce, but it's *some*. It's -- important."

"How did you train at school in your universe?"

*Good* question. Tim waves a hand. "In the woods, mostly. But there was also no band to speak of at -- my Exeter."

"The music room," Bruce says, and nods. "A very large and useful space."

"But not for us, here," Tim says, moving to retrieve his jacket and putting it back on. "We'll see."

When they're done making themselves look presentable -- Tim has *hope* that his mouth won't swell any more than it already has -- there's actually enough time for them to make a showing at the dining hall, but Tim has to point out to Bruce that they'd be even more obvious than they already have been if they walked in together.

They head to class early, and they take their usual seats. Tom Wayne normally ends up in the back somewhere due to his mid-term arrival, and that means he can stare at Bruce -- too much.

It's just that there's no tension at *all* visible in Bruce's back and shoulders, that he's *relaxed*, and ultimately...

Why shouldn't he be? Things are going pretty damned well with *both* of his lovers, and that perhaps means that all is right in his world.

Tim --

Tom makes the Bat *quiet* within him, and he doesn't need Bruce to explain how much that means. God, eight *years* with that horrible voice in his mind, warping and pushing and *working* Bruce until he starts on the road to the most functional madness Tim has ever witnessed. One of the world's greatest heroes, and he needs so *much*.

There's a vast temptation to just *live* in the fact that one of the things Bruce needs is him. It turns lust and weakness into something almost as great and powerful as duty. It makes him a little better in his own eyes -- though he's starting to wonder if, when he looks in the mirror, he's not really seeing a stranger.

He'll go *home*, and he'll be debriefed, and then he'll go to his *real* room in the manor and -- possibly have something like a nervous breakdown.

Hopefully, it won't last long enough to interrupt patrol. Tim smiles to himself and sketches out a schoolwork schedule in his notebook. There are a lot of empty spaces -- the professors really do seem to be ramping themselves up after break as much as the students are -- and he already knows in his *mind* what he's doing, but there's nothing like the appearance of profound anal retentiveness to mask the far more profound *real* anal retentiveness.

Laughter in the hall --

"And *that's* why we don't *do* that sort of thing anymore," Lex says, moving into the classroom followed by the mindless and blind. There's a flower in his lapel, and Lex pets it with one finger on the way past Tim's desk -- and leaves a small note on Tim's desk.

Tim waits until the other boys are seated -- all with their backs to him -- and opens the note:

"The theater, after classes."

Well. That was *fast* -- but all Lex would've had to do is talk to whichever faculty member is in his pocket. And that person *would* almost surely have been at breakfast.

He *could've* been figuring out that person's identity instead of having an entirely awful -- if necessary -- fight with Bruce followed by an entirely pleasurable interlude. Right.

There will be other chances -- even though it feels like slacking to even *entertain* the thought.

Class starts, and Tim settles into being the Tom Wayne who has far fewer complications in his life...

And the day proceeds mostly quietly, save for an ugly little moment in gym class. Lex had chosen to tuck the flower behind his ear, and the teacher cared for that exactly as much as Tim would've guessed, given what he's learned about the man.

Lex gets sent outside to run penalty laps, while the rest of them grunt and squeak -- trainers on laminated hardwood -- through calisthenics and two games of half-court basketball.

Tim misses four out of five shots. Bruce misses seven of ten. Harvey looks comfortably disgusted --

And Tim tries very hard not to stare at Lex when he comes back in, red in the face, shivering, and bristling with the kind of anger and tension which Tim has learned *usually* leads to violence.

The gym teacher doesn't let him play -- and Tim catches a glimpse of the flower crushed between Lex's palm and the floor while he does push-ups. Tim feels more than a little sick about it, and never mind that Lex had to know it would happen.

It makes him want to rip out the crotch of his regulation shorts and make it into a very ugly skirt.

It makes him want to change the world, at least a little bit.

And Bruce...

Bruce is Bruce, and is thus fully aware that Tim's attention is on a little more than just pretending to be far less athletic than he actually is. It's obvious on him -- all the tension that they'd chased away that morning is *right* back. To the point where Bruce starts forgetting himself and being *good* at basketball --

Which makes Harvey noticeably happier --

Which makes Bruce start blushing under his *flush* if Tim is any judge of involuntary reactions -- which he is.

This is starting to feel a lot like some of the complications Dick had mentioned as being de rigueur for the Titans, but which Tim has thus far avoided. Perhaps, he thinks, it was just his turn.

On the way to the showers, Lex's minions utterly fail to flank him, and -- yes, he's wearing a taint now, though he'd left his flower on the floor of the gym. This probably happens *every* time Lex goads the gym teacher into losing it a bit -- especially since Lex is clenching and unclenching his hands with a rhythmic, quiet *snap*. It really can't be helping anything.

He pats Bruce on the shoulder and jogs up to walk next to Lex, and... "I can see the future, you know."

Lex clenches his fists, unclenches them again -- turns. "Can you."

Tim mocks making a headline. "Five pages on the Manly Virtues, by Lex Luthor, junior."

Lex hums a laugh, and his eyes glitter just a bit. "I have to use 'Alexander' on all of my assignments, thanks to being just a little bit too clever with the bursar at a dinner."

"They won't let you have your *name*?"

A hand wave, just a little too sharp for the persona Lex is pulling back on by inches. "I've decided that I'm going to own this school one day. It will be a model of modern education, co-ed, and gym class will be entirely optional."

"Mm, what's that whirring sound...?"

"Hm?"

"Oh yes, I believe it's the alumni spinning in their graves. Good job."

Lex grins -- brief and obviously softer than what he wants, as he blanks his face immediately.

Still, his walk gains a little bit of a sway, and, after another moment --

"Darling, I *know* how you feel about me, but isn't living together enough?"

Laughter from the handful of minions who noticed their place being usurped and got nervous -- perfect. Tim smiles, small and a little tight on his face. "It's never enough when it's *you*, Lex," he says, and stops, letting the crowd move past him until his feels Bruce brush his hand with his own.

Harvey's giving him a look that manages to be both amused and skeptical. Tim decides to keep his own counsel.

His last class of the day is with Bruce, and, as they leave, he tells Bruce that he'll be meeting with Lex for at least a while --

"Harvey... he's giving us *time* today, Tom --"

"Lex may have found us a place, Bruce," he says, and gives up on his coping mechanism of distance and reduced eye contact, as it causes more problems than it solves. He smiles at Bruce. "And I'll be back as soon as we're done. Maybe you can pull out that sketchpad."

Bruce is silent for a moment as they walk to the fork in the path where they'll be splitting up, but -- "I thought it was a mistake that the Bat found me," he says quietly, "but you don't *need* it."

"I need a lot of things, Bruce. *One* of them is you -- and the same is true in reverse."

"Is this -- is it easier for you because of Harvey?"

Honesty. He can -- he can do it, here. "Yes, it is. But it's harder, too."

Bruce takes a deep breath and nods, frown lines clearing themselves away leaving Bruce looking impossibly beautiful and *male*. A statue no one has been lucky enough to carve, yet.

Tim brushes Bruce's hand with his own. "I'll see you."

"Yes," Bruce says, and Tim knows he's watching Tim go, but there's nothing he can do about that.

There's no one in the theater building when he arrives, but the fact that the door was open says rather a lot, considering his quick overview of the school's history had yielded the information that the building hasn't been used regularly since the early sixties brought the end -- probably celebrated in as many different ways as there were students -- of freshman boys being shoved into dresses to play the female roles in various plays.

Well, he supposes that some of them had enjoyed it a great deal... but it would hardly have been the sort of thing a student here *could* volunteer for without taking his life -- or, at the very least, his peaceful existence at Exeter -- into his hands.

The place smells pleasantly of old makeup and dust, and the stage is impressively large. It has been well-maintained in the intervening years, and the layer of dust on the stage isn't thick enough to be especially dangerous -- if Lex is as good as Tim thinks he is.

Tim strips off his jacket, tie, shoes, and socks, and leaves them in a pile on top of his backpack where they'll be free of the dust --

The lights come on, and Lex stalks out of the opposite wings -- stripped down in just the same way.

Tim smiles, brings his hands together, and bows.

"Wandering around in the dark? I've been here for ten minutes trying to puzzle out which lights we'd actually need."

"You move like a ghost when you want to."

"And so," Lex says, and returns the bow, "do you."

They cross the stage to move closer to each other, and it feels like breathing when they start to circle each other in time, like removing a gaff, like *being* -- and the smile on Lex's face says he feels the same. "Light throws or no throws at all...?"

"I'll trust you to keep them light if you'll trust me to do the same. We know how to fall."

Tim nods and lets himself be a little leisurely about noting Lex's stance, the way he moves -- there's *slight* fatigue showing, which suggests he'd taken every one of those penalty laps earlier. "You should consider running with us."

"Running," Lex says, and switches to circle in the other direction, "is a punishment. I'm no masochist."

"Mm. But you'll bruise so attractively in a moment."

"Perhaps you'll allow me to help you continue your program of illustrating your body."

"Perhaps we can do both," Tim says, and attacks while he's still speaking, leaping in --

And tucking into a roll when Lex sidesteps it easily. He makes a point of getting to his feet a little more slowly than what he can manage --

Yes, Lex moves in from the side, eschewing the more predictable back attack to risk Tim's peripheral vision. Tim blocks hard and chops for Lex's ankle --

Lex dances back, nodding and moving once more into a ready position.

Tim spins to his feet and into his own ready position. "I believe it's your turn to attack."

"You have far more experience than I do, Tom. I've decided that you're going to *teach* me."

"Am I...?"

"Oh, yes," Lex says, and moves smoothly into a more obviously defensive ready position. "You already are."

Mm. The trick to this is to restrain himself only to things which fall under karate and judo -- as opposed to the various other styles and disciplines he's learned over the years. It was a lot easier to do that when he was just teaching Bruce, and --

He'd known it would be this way when he asked for the spar. A part of him is running down something like a list in his mind, shearing off the strikes, kicks, and punches which don't fit and leaving him...

Well. It's a bit like being thirteen again -- only this time his opponent is in his weight class. As such, he can't keep the smile off his face as he leaps in once more, as Lex dodges and strikes --

As Tim *twists* and strikes --

As Lex drops and sweeps --

As Tim leaps and *strikes*, and after that it's motion, music, dance -- *something*, because Lex feels it, too, because -- or.

Maybe it's just the basic impatience in the man, the thing which will cause him to gloat before he should, to cut corners on experimental safety, to do all the things which will make Clark Kent learn *hate* --

For now, it's eye contact and blocks that are just as hard as Tim's own, if not quite as fast. It's a blow to the midsection Tim has to nearly wrench an old injury to avoid -- "That *wasn't* judo."

"Did I *ever* say that judo was the only thing I'd studied, Tom...?"

Tim moves back and shakes his head. "Tricky."

"We all have a sort of low, animal cunning available to us should we choose to use it," Lex says, and comes in kicking high --

Spins *almost* perfectly and kicks *low*, and Tim leaps back a little too easily and makes a show of finding his balance --

Lex gives him the come-on gesture, and moves into a perfect aikido ready position.

"Oh, really."

"Oh, yes," Lex says. "Come for me, Tom."

"Isn't that a little personal?"

Lex snorts, losing the cohesion of his ready stance just a bit --

Just enough to let Tim graze his shins -- and miss his ribs deliberately --

"*Don't* go easy on me. Yet."

Speed, then, and a healthy dose of the precision which Tim has often thought was the only thing about his body and knowledge which was truly his own.

Lex is still smiling, but there's a concentration line almost *carved* into his forehead, and now he's trying to keep an eye on Tim's limbs as much as he's trying to watch Tim's eyes.

"Mistake," Tim says, and punishes him for it with a flurry of punches Lex is just quick enough to manage to block.

There's pain in Lex's eyes as he quick-steps back out of range, but he just makes another come-on gesture -- and focuses hard on Tim's eyes.

Judo. Karate. And -- perhaps Tom's instincts are just that good? It's a difficult call to make, because there are limits to what Tim's body will let him do, will let him *take*, and the closest he can manage to get to not being as good as he actually is -- is to let Lex *almost* hit him.

Again.

Again -- and he's showing off his flexibility with that bend to avoid a strike to the face --

"Impressive," Lex says, and when Tim gets upright again, Lex's eyes are *hot* and more than a little hungry. Tim deliberately makes his breathing uneven and goes in for another attack, and a part of him is *stuck* on how well Lex moves. The speed he needs could be taught -- there's nothing Lex wouldn't learn if he thought it was necessary.

The rest -- his balance is perfect, his focus entirely admirable. It's the blocks that will take him out, whenever he *does* choose to end this, because he's blocking as though Tim were using his full power, and yes, his forearms are going to bruise dramatically.

"Lex --"

"*Don't* stop, Tom."

"I wasn't --" Tim dances back and chops *down* to try to make Lex pay for that kick --

He misses --

"I wasn't planning on it," he says, and starts to circle again. "You're blocking too hard --"

"For whom?"

"For me -- to be able to have this again tomorrow."

Lex raises an eyebrow... and nods.

After that, it's only touches and the occasional slap of skin on skin when Lex is too slow or Tim is too fast --

The spin and move --

The leap and *kick*, and Lex catches his leg, but Tim is strong enough to yank it free, fast enough to get *back* before Lex can throw him a flurry --

Lex growls and moves *in*, eyes focused on the possibility of *vulnerability*, and Tim dodges and blocks, keeping it as easy as he can until -- *there* --

Tim *throws* Lex and comes down for a pin, dust puffing up around them and Lex struggling *exactly* like someone who doesn't want to be on his back, but his *expression* changes to something dark, something *caught* --

Tim rolls off and gets to his feet, offering his hand --

Lex is sitting up and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut and shirt and pants *streaked* with dust. They're going to look *special* coming out of here.

"Lex...?"

"A moment. Please."

Tim stands down... and makes a point of looking away, taking in the black, skeletal frames of various equipment, the lights below they hadn't bothered with, the lights above that Lex had found the controls for in the dark, without having to test all the others.

He sees Lex rise to his feet and make a mostly futile attempt to dust himself off -- "When do you practice, Tom?"

"Whenever I can," Tim says honestly. "It's... a passion. An obsession."

"I haven't been pinned like that in... a rather long time."

Tim nods. "My teacher -- my *primary* sensei -- was somewhat ruthless," he says, and turns to look at Lex directly. "I've been studying since I was eleven. I met... the very, very good teacher when I was thirteen."

"Eleven," Lex says, and nods, mostly to himself. "You could've wiped the floor with me -- more than you already did."

Tim shakes his head. "Not what I was looking for."

Lex nods again. "And did you get it? What you were looking for?"

Tim smiles. "That depends."

"On...?"

"Whether or not we can do this again," Tim says, and moves into a *casual* ready stance, making the come-on gesture as slowly and obnoxiously as he can.

Lex's eyes flare again. "You love this. Is it the power? The dominance?"

"The motion. The chance to use my body in ways *gym* class doesn't touch. The... companionship."

Lex moves closer, raising an eyebrow before touching Tim's stiffened hand. Tim nods and he touches with his fingertips, stroking along Tim's wrist and arm --

Tim moves into a *better* ready position and lets Lex touch him, lets Lex *learn* him a little, and represses the shiver when those fingertips find his back, his thighs --

Lex stops and moves around in front of Tim again. "I can't give you much more today," and he sounds honestly regretful.

Tim nods and stands down again. "But... tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Lex says, and stares at his own hands -- opens his cuffs and rolls the sleeves back to reveal forearms that are reddened nearly right to the elbow.

"I -- maybe *not* tomorrow?"

"It looks a lot worse than it is, I assure you -- and the eventual bruises will be the same. You knew that about my skin."

"An educated guess, given your complexion. Um. *Are* you --"

"I'm fine," Lex says, sharply -- and then he smiles and shakes his head. "What did your sensei -- the very, very good one -- do when you were injured?"

"Ah... depends on the injury. I could... I know how to make bruises less dramatic and painful, if you'd let me...?"

Lex blinks at him. "This I have to see," he says, and holds out his arms.

Tim nods and takes the right. "This will hurt, but -- it's all about the way the blood pools. If you stimulate circulation a little, then you can avoid the worst contusions. Some of the worst, anyway."

"Ah... noted," Lex says, and lets Tim rub at the redness --

It really *is* very dramatic, and Tim realizes that Lex must always show every mark, that it would've made it impossible to shrug off schoolyard fights -- or avoid them once the bullies in question realized what they could do to him. What they could make him *look* like. Tim's honestly surprised that there are no visible scars on Lex's *face*, and is absolutely sure that that has more to do with chance than it does with design.

He hits a spot that makes Lex hiss --

"Sorry, I could leave that one --"

"Don't."

Tim nods and keeps going, thinking of Bruce's huge hands and his own pale skin... he's practically *ruddy* compared to Lex -- he shakes his head.

"What?"

"Ah... mostly thinking semi-perverse thoughts about your skin, actually."

Lex laughs, and it carries through the theater.

"Excellent acoustics in here," Tim says, *very* willing to change the subject --

"Then you'll just have to try not to make me *scream*, darling."

Tim snorts and finishes the right, moving to the left. "Did you want... my sensei had other things he liked to do when I was too beaten to offer more."

"*That* sounds interesting --"

"I wish," Tim says, just as fervently as he never had in his own time -- outside of his own mind, anyway. "The man was huge. Muscular nearly to the point of ridiculousness --"

"Hairy?"

"Oh, yes. And when he first took me on I was reasonably sure he could fit one of me in each *thigh*."

Lex laughs again. "That sounds... ah... intimidating?"

"I used to -- I *still* have dreams of that man looming over me in the dark, whispering things in his deep, dark voice before he... well."

"Well?"

Tim finishes with Lex's arm and looks up, grinning. "Let's just say that I spent a great *deal* of time... practicing. Just in case he ever showed an interest."

There's a light in Lex's eyes, and something sharper. "These wicked, wicked men of your acquaintance. Always failing to do anything about the small teenaged boy who yearned for them *ever* so much."

Tim clutches his hands together, rolls his eyes skyward, and minces to center stage. "Oh, woe, Lex. Why *must* I be a teenager in lust?"

Lex crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't even *think* about stealing my shtick."

Tim bats his lashes. "You don't think you've *been* stealing mine, Mr. Heterosexual Man...?"

"Oh, there's *no* need to be crude, Tommy dearest."

"But Lexie, I'm only stating the *facts* -- in the privacy of our own... theater," Tim says, and gazes out on the rows upon rows of empty seats. "*You* would've volunteered to be stuck in a dress way back when."

"I certainly would've *considered* it -- but I wasn't that polished as a freshman."

"Mm. We all need to practice. And -- that was what I was going to offer. My sensei always used the time while I was trying to figure out if I still had all of my teeth to tell me what I'd... done wrong."

"Please," Lex says. "Please do," and he sounds his own kind of fervent.

Tim nods. "Mostly? Impatience. You let your emotions get away from you. If this had been a real fight with someone trying to *hurt* you... well, then your emotions might have still gotten you in trouble -- at the very least in terms of how much they allowed you to hurt the attacker in question."

"Sometimes people *deserve* rage."

Tim raises his hands. "No argument. But sometimes people *also* deserve the reasoned and precise application of pain from someone dedicated."

Lex nods slowly and rolls down his sleeves once more, buttoning the cuffs. "I see your point. I became... frustrated."

"Well..." Tim smiles. "One of the few things my sensei ever complimented me on was my 'ruthless sense of self-preservation.' Of course, he then made me suffer -- *greatly* -- for not attacking more boldly, but, well. I always knew that I'd *never* be as good as he is."

"I think *I'd* like to study under him. The Bay Area...?"

Whoops. Tim nods. "He doesn't take new students all that often, but --"

"How did *you* get in?"

"Abject begging," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Perhaps a *little* stalking. Or a lot, as the case may be. I... had a lot of free time on my hands. And a lot of obsession, as well."

Lex starts dusting himself off more thoroughly. "And the other man you were telling me about? The puppy-lover?" The casualness in Lex's tone is *obviously* fake, and...

Yes, he really is expecting a lie. "Another student of the sensei's. An *incredible* student of his. He taught me rather a lot, as well -- mostly in terms of my flexibility."

"Which truly *is* impressive," Lex says, and frowns. "I don't suppose I could get you to dust off my back...? Unless, of course, you'd like to start a rumor about the two of us *fucking* in here."

Tim waggles his eyebrows. "We haven't, already...?"

"You're giving too much credit to the imaginations of our classmates. We *do* share a room. But if we come out of here with dust on your knees and dust all over my back... well, even the most troglodyte-ish of our peers will put two and two together --"

"And come up with five. Noted," Tim says, and moves around behind Lex. "It's not that *I* mind, Lex --"

"I know," Lex says, "that you don't actually plan to molest me. That -- moment, before... I wasn't thinking about sex."

Tim... doesn't squeeze Lex's shoulders. He knows that wouldn't help anything. "All right," Tim says, and tries to make it sound as casually accepting as possible --

Lex laughs, but there isn't much humor in it. "You're thinking of starting to treat me with kid gloves. There is *no* percentage in that, Tom."

"I'm mostly thinking of how to avoid future minefields, as I like my limbs in their current configuration."

"I'm not -- I didn't lash out."

Not very much, no. "Lex... I like that we can get along with each other. I like that we can *play* with each other, and that I get to be a little less... friendly than I am with other people --"

"You're quite friendly as you are, Tom. Perhaps too friendly for someone with as many secrets as you have."

"Perhaps," Tim says, and crouches to dust off Lex's pants, wondering if he should warn before touching Lex's ass -- he doesn't, and Lex only stiffens *slightly*. "I'm -- I'm attracted to you --"

"I've noticed."

But it took you just a little while to believe in it, and you probably can't see it as anything but something *I* would label as abusive. "None of this has to be about sex."

Lex turns and looks down at Tim, and the shadows turn his smile into something which belongs to a man Tim is duty-bound to *thwart* at every turn.

He can't hold back the shiver --

"Tom...?"

"Have you ever wondered why it's a *goose* walking over one's grave?"

"Not particularly," Lex says, and offers his hand. Tim takes it, and for a moment they're close, looking into each other's eyes and holding hands.

This is, perhaps, another one of those *charged* moments. Certainly it's a moment where Tim could ask for a more specific definition for what 'not that gay' actually means, but -- no. Not now. Tim steps back.

Lex nods as if he'd learned something else about him, something true and damaging -- or just damaging *because* it's true. "I still don't want -- or need -- your pity, Tom. No matter what form it takes."

"You're brilliant, wealthy, and *tall*, Lex. It would take a fair amount *for* me to pity you --"

"We're not joking with each other -- we're not *playing* right now," Lex says, and makes a quelling gesture.

Tim raises an eyebrow and nods -- yes, it really would be *this* important to him. "All right. I'll keep my more... tender feelings to myself."

Lex nods again. "I respect you a great deal, Tom. You're a liar who has nonetheless learned how to be the *majority* of himself more often than not. You're smart, you're skilled, and you know the difference between going after what you want and going after what you *need*. I can't help but appreciate that."

"Um... thanks?"

"Still being serious," Lex says, and drops into a crouch to dust off Tim's knees.

"Thank you --"

"Fair is fair. And it's another opportunity to touch you, which I must admit that a part of me has been looking for," and the smile on his face is tight and bladed.

Weapons to use on yourself. But. "Lex...?"

"I'm not going to molest *you*, either. I'm just going to use this opportunity to think deeply about what -- precisely -- I want from you. I respectfully suggest you do the same with regards to me."

"Are we flirting or negotiating?"

Lex stands up on his own and smiles down at Tim, but where the blade of it is aimed is really anyone's guess. "Yes. And now? We're going to dinner. Separately."

That -- they've been at this that long? Bruce really isn't going to be happy with him. *He* isn't happy with himself -- he's not allowed to lose time. Ever. "I -- all right."

"The emergency exit isn't in view of any of the dorms or class buildings. You can't get *in* that way, but it's the exit I'll be taking in approximately two minutes. Wait another three and follow me?"

"Done. Lex --"

"I -- you know, it's the strangest thing. I've never wanted to kiss a male of the species before."

What exactly had he gotten himself -- he's blinking too much. "Lex..."

"Think about it *seriously*, Tom, because I don't always play well with others. And I will, as well," Lex says, and starts walking for the wings. The shadows aren't quite deep enough that Tim can't see Lex putting on the rest of his uniform, but -- he doesn't stare.

He moves to his own clothes and he *thinks*, because it was a very good suggestion, and because he hasn't been doing nearly enough of it.

Bruce is one thing -- no, Bruce is now and will always *be* a lot more than just 'one thing.' But -- he could be forgiven for wanting Bruce, and even understood --

And Tim realizes that a part of him really *has* been thinking of confessing all to someone other than his own Bruce. Confessing to *Dick*, and he even has a first line for it: Remember all those times when you told me that if I'd known Bruce when he was younger that I'd 'understand?'" It's a *good* first line -- sets the tone on a number of levels *and* would guarantee that Dick would sit up and *listen*, whatever else he was actually doing.

And maybe Dick would be angry with him for getting involved with someone so inexperienced and *lonely*, but it's also possible that if he *described* the way Bruce looked at him --

If he shared some of the things Bruce had *said* --

There's a kind of *safety* there -- if no actual safety *net*. He's known for a very long time that Dick believes *everyone* should be at least a little in love with Bruce -- certainly everyone in their family. And he's known since the Fairchild business that *logic* doesn't enter into that belief at all, and that the application of logic could do nothing against it --

He doesn't like thinking of that, but wouldn't Dick get something of an 'I told you so' edge to his voice if he were talking to Tim about it?

It's *possible* -- the way it really isn't with Lex, at all. He's Lex *fucking* Luthor, and he really did just agree to... thinking about getting sexually involved with him.

Which means that Tom -- who is a *resourceful* young man -- can come up with any number of ways to *respectfully* decline. He'd honestly thought that the matter *wouldn't* come up, that he'd be able to push and play with Lex until he admitted that he really didn't swing that way, and... that would be that. They could go on in a nice -- or not *very* nice -- companionable way. They could spar and snipe and go to their separate beds and do it all again the next day.

Except, apparently, that that would be too *easy*, because Lex... wants him. Wants him enough that *negotiation* seemed like a necessary thing to enter into, and --

He wants Lex. Wants to *see*, and to see if he can touch the boy inside him, make him understand --

What?

That he really doesn't want to go evil in a few years? That would be one *hell* of a blowjob. Possibly the world's *best* blowjob, and it has to be at least a little okay if he's making himself laugh about it, right? He can't do *anything* to change Lex just by being his entirely amicable roommate, and being his... very good friend is just another drop in the bucket compared to an *ocean* of terrible influence and worse memory.

*Had* Lex been abused in more ways than just the ones he'd implied or flat-out stated? What kind of experience would he be adding his own to?

And why the *hell* isn't he using this time to think of good ways to say *no*?

He could just *go* with the idea that it was too soon for him, that he was still in --

He couldn't use Steph that way, even if it were true. That -- he has to *look* at himself in the mirror sometimes, so -- no.

Lex, I've been thinking about the way you said you didn't play well with others, and I think I need someone who does. Someone I can *relax* around, and play with, and who doesn't sometimes look at me like I'm about to rip the ground from beneath his feet -- no, not *Lex's* fault. Just -- not, especially since there are lies in there, as well.

Lex, I'm actually involved with someone else. I can't tell you who it is, but it would be wrong to cheat on him -- even though he's cheating on *me* right *now* with someone who will eventually bend over backwards trying to *kill* him -- all right, no.

Lex, I -- I really want you. I want to know what you taste like, and I want to know what your skin feels like against my own. I want to show you what I've learned about losing control, and I want to do it *repeatedly* with great vigor. I want to see your eyes when I touch your penis. I want to make you laugh when you're so hard you can't *think* -- less than helpful.

Definitely...

Lex, it's just that right now, you look a lot like my dreams and fantasies, and that scares the hell out of me. I'm not -- I think I could. I think the two of us could. I think --

He thinks it's time for him to go. He thinks it would be very, very good if, after he turns off *these* lights, and after he walks through *this* door --

It's not Steph's bedroom, or even one of the rooftops where they've eaten sandwiches and drank flavors of Zesti which don't actually exist at the moment.

There's no flood of blonde hair he can push his hands into, and there's no faint hint of lemon, or of shea butter when she's feeling as though the Gotham nightlife is doing a number on her skin.

There's no *Steph*, but... what would *she* say to all of this? *She* was always someone who knew how to go for what she needed *and* what she wanted, and she never let anything stop her. Even when 'anything' boiled down to *logic*, sometimes...

Tim doesn't let the sound he feels himself wanting to make out. He doesn't bury his face in his hands, and, when he thinks about hugging himself, he hitches his backpack unnecessarily, instead.

It's dark enough out that he can move in some of the ways he's been taught without garnering any attention whatsoever -- but he doesn't do that, either.

The *truth* is -- Lex could've just kissed him, and Tim could've let himself go with the moment, not thinking about anything save how to best make *use* of the stage, how to teach Lex to touch him, how to teach Lex to teach *Tim* how to touch.

They *could* have just fallen into this the way Tim has been falling into every other damned thing -- *starting* with the past in general -- and then that would be that. He could've been spending his time scrambling for damage control, and maybe rethinking the question of what he needs -- as opposed to what he wants. That would've been *easy*, really, and, in the end, Tim would've come up with a rationale -- a *story* -- self-serving enough that he could have *both* Lex and Bruce, because, at that point, it would've been a fait accompli. But --

Would he want Lex this way if he *was* a person who could let himself just trip and *fall* into a relationship with someone? The manipulation, the caution, the *thoughtfulness* --

And the scars. Every last one of them, including the ones which are too pale to see without very, very good light.

Lex, he thinks, I want your scars. I can't give you mine. I *won't* give you mine, and maybe that's something you ought to think about before you decide you want more than what we already have. Lex, I'm greedy and deceptive -- I show you that face easily, and I won't show you anything else. But I want you. And I can make it very good --

Tim walks into the dining hall and sits beside Bruce, stuffing everything down until he can smile at Bruce with only a question in his eyes for Harvey's empty chair.

"He's on his way," Bruce says, and frowns deeply at his plate -- right.

*And* he hadn't asked Lex if he would mind Tim taking Bruce there -- *right*. "I'm sorry, Bruce. It was a long spar."

"Are you hurt."

"I -- no. But Lex is going to have some awful-looking bruises on his arms. Are you... are you angry with me, Bruce?"

Bruce picks up his fork -- and puts it down again. "Do you want to make love to him."

"Bruce --"

And the look on his face when he turns --

It needs a cowl. It needs a *reason*, or at least for Tim to be a better person than he is -- "I do."

Bruce nods and turns back to his plate. "You've known this for some time, but you were still --" Bruce frowns again. "You wouldn't have told me if I hadn't asked."

Tim takes a sip of his juice and thinks... one of them should at least be *pretending* to eat, but -- honesty. There's always room for more honesty, at least according to the incredibly pissed-off Tom Wayne inside him. Possibly he should ask Harvey for a coin. "Only because I don't want to hurt you. And because -- I don't know if I'm going to do anything about it."

"You *do* know, Tom. You know that you will, and that you'll enjoy it, and that you'll do it *again*."

"No, Bruce. I *don't* know, because there's a little bit of a mess inside my head right now, and part of the mess is a distinct sense that I'm having another lover's quarrel *with my brother*."

Bruce clenches his fist on the table, hard enough that the knuckles show white for a moment. "I know I should be more fair. I know that my feelings for Harvey hurt you, and make you doubt, but that you still love *me*. But you'll be going back to that room tonight --"

"And you'll be going back to *your* room --"

"I *trust* Harvey, Tom. Do you trust Lex? Can you?"

On cue, there's a burst of laughter from Lex's table -- followed by the ever ominous tap of a spoon on a glass, followed by absolute silence for a count of one --

Two --

Three --

And normal dinner conversation starts up again, the ambient noise rising to the usual level as Lex tells lies, as Bruce begins to eat with numbed, plodding motions, and as Harvey walks in -- and waves to them both before joining his team at the other end of the table.

Ouch.

But Harvey has every reason to believe that Bruce and Tom have spent the past few hours fucking like animals, and he wouldn't particularly want to interrupt that vibe. Or have it shoved his face.

The quarreling isn't much better, and Tim thinks about eating -- no, Bruce had asked a question. "In some ways, I trust him as much --" And as little -- "as I trust Harvey. In other ways, I trust him more. In still *other* ways... I trust him less. I'm not thinking about spending the rest of my life with him, and I know that doesn't make it any better for you. I love you," Tim says, and starts to eat his own dinner quickly, just in case Bruce needs him to say more --

But for a while, they *just* eat, and it makes Tim miss the manor *badly*, miss the feel of sitting beside Bruce and eating *good* food, knowing that they'll be together on the beautiful grounds -- and below them -- and knowing that, after Alfred went to bed, that they would be *truly* together, with no one and nothing else but how they feel about each other, what they *mean* to each other.

Home -- or something close enough to it that sometimes he didn't even miss being in his own time. That sometimes he didn't want to leave, at all.

Bruce sets his fork down again, dabs at his mouth with a napkin, and drinks juice. "I want to hold your hand, but I know we can't do that right now," he says, and Tim can hear so much in his voice...

Too much, but it's quiet, and it's them. If Bruce can't trust him --

No one can trust him, but he isn't allowed to think that way.

"I love you," he says, again, because it's a *true* thing --

"I'd like to think that it wouldn't matter if it were some other boy, but Lex has always been so much *different* than everyone else. *You* said he was dangerous, Tom, and I can't forget that -- even though you've changed your mind."

"I haven't."

That -- predictably -- makes Bruce look at him, incredulous and *confused* --

"I think he's one of the most dangerous people I've ever met, Bruce. It's just that I have different *reasons* for it. He's --"

"Is it the danger that... attracts?"

No. Yes. "To a certain extent? He's..." Tim thinks about tapping his fork on the table, about dancing it over his fingers -- no. "In a lot of ways, he's like *us*, Harvey included. He knows what he wants to do when he's older. He knows he wants to change the *world* -- don't look at him, please. I *know* he's playing his little role again."

Bruce frowns again, but his eyes -- he's looking Tim *over*, and it's a lot like being touched. A whole *hand* as opposed to fingertips, and size isn't really the issue, at all.

"I don't know if you want me to explain why I feel about him the way I do --"

"I want to understand everything about you, Tom. You know that."

"Yes, well... sometimes I'd like to understand myself a little better, too. This -- makes more sense than I want it to. We... make each other laugh."

"At other people?"

"Sometimes," Tim says, and eats a little more -- prompting Bruce to do the same. Tim focuses on the room, making sure no one is paying any more attention than they should -- and hears Harvey laughing heartily and very, very falsely.

When he looks, Bruce is wincing at the sound, and perhaps wondering if he's the only person at Exeter who *doesn't* have a penchant for playing this sort of game.

"If I could, I would hold you," Tim says, and eats more.

"I like knowing that. I... I did some sketches, while I was waiting for you."

Tim's turn to wince. "I really didn't mean to spend that long with Lex, Bruce. Maybe if I -- I don't know. I'm sorry."

"You haven't been able to get the kind of exercise you're used to here. I can understand that," Bruce says, solid and fair to a *fault*, just as if there's an Alfred and a Leslie here to make sure Bruce never slips from perfect behavior --

"Don't do that. I -- it's better if you're honest with me."

"Then tell me -- will you make love to him tonight?"

"No. I -- we. In the *little* we talked about... it, we decided that we both had to think about it seriously before we did anything."

"His *control* attracts," and there's nothing like a question in Bruce's voice.

Tim nods, just the same.

"I could be more controlled, Tom. I know I haven't -- I know you have no reason to *believe* that --"

"But I know you, Bruce, and I know full well *just* how controlled and *apart* you can be. And I know that it hurts me, because. Ah --"

"Because we should never be apart."

Tim drops his head and closes his eyes.

"Partner," Bruce says, and shifts enough that his knee brushes Tim's own, and Tom wants --

Tom wants to find *something* to bribe Harvey with to get him to go to the library after dinner, or possibly take a run without them -- something. But Harvey wants the chance to talk to *him*, and so... no. "Brother," Tim says, and presses his knee against Bruce's.

"I will never... it will always make me jealous. And a part of me wonders if it's the price I have to pay for having Harvey, for needing him."

"It's not that simple."

Bruce nods. "I know that, too. Is it all right if I... if I *lean* on Harvey a little because of this? If I let him know -- more than I already have -- that I'm jealous of you and Lex?"

Harvey's opinion of Tom Wayne: Straight to the toilet, and his life just wouldn't *be* his life if that didn't matter to him nearly as much as everything else, but... Tim smiles ruefully. "I told Lex I thought you had a crush on Harvey."

"He must have found that... amusing."

"He has a very *odd* opinion of you, Bruce. I thought that he should keep it, since it would work very well for keeping our secrets... but if you'd prefer, we..." Tim swallows. "We could trash that idea."

"And replace it with what? One in which Lex knows exactly how you feel about me?"

"I've thought about... refusing him because I was in love with someone else. He'd almost certainly work very hard to find out who it was, and he'd almost certainly discover that it was you."

"It's said that the only well-kept secret is one that only one person knows."

Tim laughs quietly. "We've already screwed the pooch on that one, if you'll pardon my crudity --"

"I've always wondered *why* that phrase exists. I mean, it's rather excessively awful, don't you think?"

"Well, it does imply the right *level* of awful for this. We -- have our futures to think about."

Bruce nods, and takes a few moments to eat more of his food, finishing it off with no sign whatsoever of how he'd felt about the -- bland to the point of crushing ennui -- taste. He looks thoughtful, and beautiful, and like everything Tim should absolutely want this much.

Or Tom. Or -- someone.

"Your Bruce pretends to be much more dim than he is. Does that extend to his grades?"

"No. Though I'm not sure why Bruce thought it was best, beyond theorizing that he was hoping to be quietly ignored by professors as a quietly unimaginative student."

"Imagination is for things that matter. Like you," he says, and shakes his head. "Let Lex keep thinking of me as... odd. You think he's dangerous, and that's enough for me."

"All right."

"Please don't fall in love with him, Tom."

Given everything Bruce has said to him since he's been in this time, all of the passionate, wild, *hungry* things that have come out of his mouth... this one shouldn't be as affecting as it is. Should it? The tone was that of a quiet statement, not the plea that it was. It's -- "Bruce --"

"I know that you can't make a promise like that, and that I don't deserve one. I know that we can't ever be married, or even really be *like* our parents. I just don't want to lose you."

Tim closes his eyes again -- no. He opens them, and turns, and waits until Bruce is looking into his eyes before saying, "You won't. I -- I know I can't promise that, either, but -- some part of me is always going to be with you. And I know that that's not enough, but it's true."

Bruce doesn't say a word, but he nods, and -- his attention shifts, and that's how Tim knows that Harvey is up and moving -- and resting a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Take a walk with me when you're done?"

"I am," Tim says, and bumps his knee against Bruce's --

"Heh, I *caught* that," Harvey says quietly. "You guys are... yeah, well. *Anyway*," Harvey says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder before backing off.

Tim gets up --

"Meet you back at our room, big guy."

"Yes," Bruce says, and turns to watch them go.

As always, it's something Tim can *feel*, and --

"Those looks of his scare the hell outta me sometimes, Tom."

Harvey can feel it, too. Tim smiles and pushes out into the dark and cold, breathing deep. "I keep telling myself that, since he's been doing it this long without getting himself in trouble, I shouldn't worry."

Harvey shakes his head and stretches. "It's different now. You -- really wouldn't have any way to know it, but *I* do."

Tom *should* know -- no, he shouldn't. Hell. "Different...?"

"I knew from the jump that you'd done *something* -- with him. The way he looked at me -- hell, he didn't *know* what he wanted before."

"I... all right, yes, that seems to be the case. So you're saying that it *is* as obvious as I think it is?"

Harvey sighs and leads them onto the path to the athletic fields -- utterly deserted at the moment. "Maybe? I don't know. Most of the kids here are so high on their hormones they can't see stuff that's right in front of their *faces*."

"Ah, high school."

"Heh, the only one I know about, really -- though I'm pretty sure we all pay a lot more attention to each other than we would if there were girls here."

"Problematic, to be sure, but... Bruce already has a reputation for being -- and we were talking about this before -- a bit on the odd side. Won't people just assume that he's being his usual quietly intense self?"

"I hope so," Harvey says, and turns to look at Tim. The darkness takes much of his expression, but Tim can still see that it's troubled and a bit dark in its own right. "I really, *really* hope so. And hell, maybe it'll make things better that he's giving those looks to me, you, *and* Lex. If it were just one of us, then it would *really* be obvious, right?"

"It's a good theory. And -- most of the people here just aren't that thoughtful."

"Put a 'darling' at the end of that and you'd sound like Lex."

"I'm -- ah. I was paraphrasing him. Actually."

Harvey snorts. "Jesus, you and that guy... now that's a rumor the whole school could chew on for a good, long while. Lex has never *had* a roommate, and now you come along, getting between me and him, running up to comfort him after gym class..."

"I'm sure Lex wouldn't mind that rumor very much at all -- especially since it might get him his single back."

"And how would *you* feel about it?"

And how many different questions are you trying to squeeze into those seven words, Harv? "I'm against anything that would make my life at this school more difficult than it is, and I get the distinct feeling that being 'known' to have a lover -- and one as high-profile as Lex -- would be problematic."

"Lover," Harvey repeats, and shakes his head like a dog.

Tim smiles. "Still getting used to that gay thing, Harv?"

"Heh, I... guess Bruce did tell you about last night. And probably a lot more about it than I want to think about, considering what he told me about the two of *you*."

"Apparently, Bruce doesn't believe in keeping secrets from the people he cares about. I... it's possible that he'll grow out of that? But I'm not sure what would make him, and I don't know if I want to think about *that*," Tim says, picturing Harvey and, say, twenty-two hired goons kicking and shooting their way through the Cave... he gives his own headshake.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yeah," Harvey says, and he sounds both hurt and a little dreamy. "Can't really imagine life without him, even though I've done just fine all these years without a damned bosom buddy."

"He's... not exactly the most easy person to shake from one's affections."

Harvey looks at him again, and Tim can just make out that his eyebrow is up. "You've tried? You haven't *known* him all that long."

"And yet I feel like I've known him all my life. Like I understand everything about him and *need* it, and like he understands... enough about me. Too much. *Not* enough. I don't know. I don't think I'm good enough for him, to be honest."

"*You*? You're in his -- his fucking *class*. You're from his *world* --"

"And I *know* that you know that that's utterly meaningless when it comes to Bruce." Tim pushes a hand back through his hair. "He honestly doesn't *see* that, Harv. That's part of why he's been so *lonely*. He had no idea why everyone he met who wasn't Alfred or Leslie was so shallow and *useless*, and -- God, he must've spent so *much* time trying to figure out if he'd maybe understand how the world worked when he was older, or if he was just some kind of alien... I don't know."

"I *can't* know, but -- I can see it," Harvey says, and stops where the path ends. "We should've changed into our sneakers for this."

"Mm. But then we would've wanted to run, and we can't leave Bruce behind for that."

"You think he might start wondering about *us*? He's already pretty freaked about you and Lex."

"Ah... he's. Prescient."

"Wait a minute. Wait just a damned *minute* --"

"We haven't done anything," Tim says, and holds a hand up. "But we talked about it."

"About hooking up. With *that* fucking guy? That prissy *asshole*? When you have *Bruce*?" Harvey's voice had gotten increasingly louder as he talked, but -- still not enough to carry.

I hope you never lose that control, Harvey. Tim crosses his arms and sighs. "We've gotten closer. Significantly so." And Bruce *is* my cousin or maybe I mean brother or possibly partner and sometimes father. "I could try to explain it, but I don't think you have any interest in hearing it."

"And maybe you don't really *want* to be in love with a damned relative?"

Tim looks up at the stars, which seem colder and more distant than anything assorted poetry would suggest. "Certainly, it's nothing I would've asked for. But it's there -- and so is the Lex *thing*."

"You just said you *didn't* want your life here to be that kind of difficult, Tom -- but you're thinking you'll be able to keep it quiet."

"We *are* roommates. And somehow, I don't see Lex putting an end to his little shows just because we -- would be -- screwing."

Harvey shakes his head. "I thought you had better taste than that."

So did I. "Apparently, I don't. But we're not here to talk about *Lex*, Harv --"

"No, I think we are. He's a part of this fucked-up little thing we've got going on, even if neither I nor Bruce plan to jump in the guy's leather pants."

"It would be a difficult fit, to say the least."

Harvey snorts and shoves Tim. Playfully. Tim corrects his balance -- and Harvey is looking at him, studying him hard enough that Tim can *feel* it, even though all he can see of his eyes are two deeper shadows.

"I'm listening," Tim says, and Harvey nods --

"You see something in him, don't you? Something honestly good."

"He... hides a great deal from the world, Harv. I can't in good conscience say more than that."

"Even though it makes things harder with your friends? Your *other* friends."

"Even so," Tim says, and takes a deep breath. Always when he's been in rural areas, there's been a moment like this -- a small internal panic because he can't smell any of the things he's *supposed* to smell, can't see lights on the horizon, can't *hear* anything but... nature. And -- why not? "I really am a city boy."

Harvey laughs. "Getting the heebie jeebies? Should I go find a car horn to honk for you?"

"Can you make a tractor sound like a cab? That would be helpful."

"Hey, I'll even curse you out in another language, if you want. Yiddish or Spanish?"

Tim grins. "Better than French or Latin."

"Well, the Latin will be helpful for law school, but -- I hear what you're saying. *Believe* me. Sometimes when I get back home for a break, I feel like I'm in a whole different country. Gotham is *alive*, it changes and *moves*. This place..."

"I'm not really sure what I'm learning here will stand me in good stead for my adult life at all, to be honest," Tim says, and takes another glance at the stars. "Well, there are the little human dramas, but you can get that anywhere."

"*Not* with the future leaders of the world. It's easy for you -- all you have to do is throw a party and all of these people will show up wondering what they can do to make you notice them and their businesses and their daughters -- or sons, I guess?"

Tim shakes his head. "These people are never corrupt in the fun ways, but I see your point. You're making connections I was born with."

"Exactly. And -- I guess having someone like Lex think favorably about you can only be useful in that respect?"

"'To the manor born' means I don't really have to think that way, at all. And I haven't. Much."

"I heard that last little word. One day Lex is going to be making people dance to his tune, and at least a part of you wants to make sure it's the *right* tune."

Well... "Am I that transparent?"

"My pop... he likes to say that shit finds its own level -- and who am I to correct him? But the gist is right: we can all smell our own kind. You were right, you know. I wouldn't hate Lex half as much as I do, I think, if *some* part of me couldn't tell his brain worked a little like mine. Not that I'm all that happy to admit it, but at this point... fuck it. You're like me, and so is he. *Bruce* is the only real innocent in this little pile of ambition."

"You want to protect him."

"Fuck yeah, I do. The *question* is -- do I have to try to protect him from *you*?"

I'll only hurt him if it's for the Mission. I -- "I don't know."

"Tom --"

"I'll never take him for granted. I'll always try to give him as much of myself as I can. I never want to lose him. Whether or not that's enough... it would feel like tempting fate to say 'yes, I'm sure I'll always be good to him.'"

And Harvey is giving him another hard stare --

"Maybe we should've sent Bruce to take a walk while we hung out somewhere we could see each other's eyes."

Harvey doesn't say anything for a long moment, but -- "Heh. Maybe. You, my friend, are an unknown commodity. I don't know how you'll jump when things get tough. I don't know *you*."

"Only experience can give you that. Can give *us* that."

"Yeah, I know that."

Tim nods again. "Bruce -- he said that you didn't want to... do anything, with him, while you were here."

"Of course he did. I -- I'm not wrong about that, or -- hell. How jealous are *you*?"

"When Bruce told me this morning... I threw something of a fit. Not my finest hour."

"Hence the two of you not showing up for breakfast. You *really* can't pull that kind of thing too often."

"Believe me, I know," Tim says, and decides to let the cold make him shiver. It suits the moment.

"I think I was too freaked out *to* freak out when he told me about the two of you. Is this where we decide to be adult about the fact that Bruce wants us both, or is this where we make a solemn pact to undercut the other at every turn?"

You'll hurt him, Harvey. Worse than anyone other than the man who killed his parents. "I... would much prefer the former. I want him for as long as I can have him, and even if I were inclined to try backstabbing you, Bruce would see it for what it was and respect me a lot less than he does now. There's no good there."

"Yeah, that's..." Harvey sighs and crosses his own arms. "That's pretty much how I see it working. I'm not going to be around him too much, Tom. Not here. I -- I can't do that."

Tim frowns. "That *will* hurt him. And he'll call you on that pretty damned fast, going by experience."

"You tried to pull away from him?"

"I didn't come here to fall in love with my cousin, who happened to be a virgin in so many different ways I couldn't even *think* about it without losing important parts of my *mind* --"

"Whoa, whoa, okay, I'm hearing you. Uh. You weren't? A virgin, I mean."

Tim grins. "Oh, I was. But -- ah. I knew exactly what I wanted and how to go about... it. And sorry. I..." What would be a good question to ask a fellow queer in this time period? "How long have you known that you liked men?"

"Heh. I... didn't really think about it that way, as opposed to enjoying myself looking at construction workers, the occasional really *pretty* cop... along with all the *girls* I liked looking at. I just thought the world was a wonderful place, you know?"

Tim nods.

"Anyway, the hormones took over, and I started thinking about *kissing* guys, about being close to them in the same ways I wanted to be close to girls -- I tried *not* to think about it, because the world just isn't that wonderful at all."

"I hear you."

"Do you? You think maybe San Fran could use another lawyer?"

Tim raises an eyebrow -- and is reasonably sure Harvey can't see him doing it. "You would leave Gotham?"

"Yes. No. Maybe? Like I said, sometimes I feel like I'm heading to another planet when I leave here, but I know that my neighborhood is just *that* -- a neighborhood. Gotham's a big, big place. And what would I do in a city that wasn't full of crooks?"

Hold on, maybe. For a little longer. But -- Tim nods again. "I think... I'm thinking about staying. In Gotham, I mean."

"To be with Bruce? You'd leave everything behind like that?"

I've known for a very, very long time that the only real home I'd ever have -- "I can always say that our branches of the family are reconciling."

"Heh, I... yeah, I guess you could, at that. Um. You don't think you're maybe a little young for that? I mean, if it didn't work out for some reason you could always go back -- no, I'm lying to you. What I'm really trying to figure out is how I'm going to get to spend time with Bruce with you right there."

Tim smiles. "I take it Bruce hasn't mentioned that he wants *us* to be together, too...?"

Harvey -- chokes. And splutters. And his laugh is a little too loud *and* on the hysterical side.

"Yes, that sounds a fair amount like my reaction, which -- don't get me wrong, Harv, you're a very attractive guy --"

"*Stop* right there," Harvey says, and actually makes a little pushing motion with his hands. "I -- hell, I don't *know* you. And you don't know *me*. And Bruce *said* that? What, does he want some kind of... of orgy?"

"Technically, I think an orgy involves at least *four* people, but -- ah. As the idea of *us* making love seemed to make him almost euphoric --"

"*Euphoric*?"

"As fascinating to watch as a *cobra*, yes. Anyway, I wouldn't be surprised if the idea of a threesome occurred to him quickly and with much joy. And perhaps a sense of 'eureka.'"

"You turned him into a *pervert*, Tom."

"I did *not*. Believe me when I say that a suggestion went as far as a lecture with Bruce -- and I *never* suggested sharing lovers."

And Harvey goes quiet again, obviously thinking, equally obviously not especially happy about *what* he's thinking.

Tim considers pacing to fight back the cold which is currently treating his uniform like it's something made out of tissue paper and fantasies. It would probably send the wrong message. He jumps several times, instead, and shakes out his limbs a little --

"So how come you don't jump like that when we're playing basketball?"

Whoops. "Because I don't *like* playing basketball," he lies -- damn. "Well, all right, it's a perfectly entertaining game, but I don't *believe* in calling unnecessary attention to myself."

"But you'll train in the martial arts and you'd run all night if you thought you could get away with it," and Harvey sounds dangerously thoughtful.

"Mostly solitary activities for a mostly solitary person, Harv." No mystery here, move along, nothing to see...

"You're training Bruce," and -- that was *almost* a question.

"As much as I can, though mainly out of a selfish need to keep it up. And Bruce really needed *some* activity. Sitting around reading books to improve oneself is all well and good, but a body like that needs to be *worked*."

Harvey laughs softly. "I swear I think the football coach was drooling on himself the last time he did a walkthrough of the showers when Bruce was there."

"I *bet* --"

"*And* -- you've convinced him to make himself look less athletic. Like you. More secrets?"

"Ah... call it circumspection. It's all right for *you* to know the truth about us, but not the rest of the world."

"See -- why *is* that? Why is it so important that you stay in the shadows, Tom? In my experience, shadows don't hide all that many *good* things."

In my world, I'm a celebrity -- and I don't like it very much at all. Tim shakes his head and smiles ruefully, figuring on it helping to make his tone correct even if Harvey can't actually see it. "I really *don't* want people paying attention to us, Harv. It would be different if Bruce and I weren't sleeping together, but we are. It's far better for us to look forgettably average." Stop digging before I have to try to hypnotize you, please. I don't *want* to mess around in your head.

"All right, I can go with that. It's not so different from me playing the All-American boy. But -- where the hell did you pick *up* habits like that?"

"My sensei, actually. Well, the one who taught me the most. The man is a *weapon*, capable of breaking a strong, healthy man -- or woman -- in seconds. And yet he moved and spoke and acted like one of the most gentle people in the world. You would *never* know by looking at him that he was anything other than a sweet -- if rather large and muscular -- man who liked... botany," Tim says, and thinks of blue roses. And red ones. "He said that being a weapon is what *allowed* him to live the life he wanted to lead, to be the person he wanted to be. And I... I don't know, Harv. It started out as a thought exercise -- *could* I control how I looked to the world? And then it became something like an obsession *with* social control...

"I... it *works*, because the people who I want to deceive tend to be the people who simply don't spend enough time around me to see me slip."

Harvey nods. "I don't like you teaching Bruce to lie."

Yes, well, *someone* has to. "I... understand that --"

"Hell, *someone* had to, I guess. Those *looks*..."

Tim blinks, but -- "Yes."

Harvey sighs and gestures back the way they came.

Tim starts to walk --

"So what are we going to do, Tom? Did you have any suggestions?"

"The best we can, I think. I... I was the one who suggested that Bruce should invite you to the manor more often --"

"Than *never*. God, I can't believe he thought I wouldn't want to see him."

"Well, that's Bruce. He *never* seems to assume that *anyone* would want to spend time with him. Be with him."

"Yeah," Harvey says, and his sigh sends a cloud of condensation into the night.

"Anyway. I think -- I still think he should spend as much time with you as he can --" Before it's too late. "And that means I'd give you space. I -- hell, I need to learn Gotham for myself, right...?" And the casualness in his tone is probably right up there with the biggest lies he's told.

"I... I appreciate that," and Harvey's voice is a little husky. "Thank you."

"You're welcome --"

"I'll do the same. I think it's insane for the two of you to be screwing here, but, hell, I have practice starting up soon, anyway."

"Thank you --"

"And we'll *both* try to convince Bruce that what he wants instead of a threesome is... hell, I don't know. A bucket of ice cream. A Porsche. World peace. *Something*."

Tim laughs. "Indeed."

"*And* -- you'll *deal* with your Lex situation. Maybe you Waynes are all greedy bastards, but damn, Tom."

"Well, our ancestors were all pirates of one form or another. Well-bred savages to a man -- and woman."

"Yo-ho-ho and a cabin boy with a nice ass?"

"What ship is complete without one...?"

"Well, at least I get to picture Lex with a missing limb or two. Of course, he'd probably paint the peg *pink*..."

Tim laughs again and they take the rest of their walk in a companionable *enough* silence. Really, that was far easier than they had *any* right to, but there's Bruce's gravitational *force* to be considered. Any right-thinking person would *have* to want to follow Bruce's way, or at least let him do whatever it was that needed to be done. Or --

Not that. Not *quite* yet, but soon. He's too brilliant for the world to work any other way, too necessary to the *shape* of the world. The fact that he's *only* using his influence and passion to collect lovers does not mean that that influence and passion is any less.

He's *Bruce* -- and Tim is only the first one for whom that is an answer because of the vagaries of the space-time continuum. There'll *be* others, and they will all be absolutely correct.

*

The fact that Harvey and Tom are scheduling time to be alone with him makes Bruce feel rather a lot like an horrifically spoiled toddler -- especially given the fact that a part of him honestly does want to throw a tantrum about the fact that Harvey and Tom aren't spending more time with each other, and that they're almost never *all* together at once.

While he's fully aware that he's asking a lot of them both -- and begging for it nearly every time Tom gives him an excuse -- it doesn't change his feelings on the matter. Harvey and Tom are two of the most wonderful people he knows, and he knows they *like* each other, and they're both incredibly attractive -- if in different ways -- and --

They just *should* all be together. It doesn't feel childish in his head, or unrealistic. It feels sensible and right, if only because it would do something about the strain he sees in Harvey's eyes whenever he walks into their room after Tom has been here for a while, and...

Wouldn't it have to do something about all the time Tom is spending with Lex? He *knows* they're only sparring (learning) together -- he's sure Tom would tell him if there were anything more to it, and, whenever Tom brings *him* to the theater, there's never any sign in the dust patterns of anything but work --

No, it's *play* for Lex and Tom, but work for *him* and Tom. Tom is teaching him as quickly as Bruce can learn, but he can *feel* Tom's impatience, his drive to do more with their bodies more quickly. It never comes out in the way he teaches Bruce, and it's not like he doesn't laugh and smile while they work as much as he ever *has*, but.

It's in the way *he* looks at the patterns of disturbed dust on the stage, in the way he'll sometimes throw himself into katas while Bruce is stretching, faster and faster until it's impossible to imagine *anyone* ever being a match for him, and still when he stops the restlessness is palpable, as if there's something else he wants to be doing, that he feels he *should* be doing.

Bruce doesn't think *all* of that has to do with Lex, but he thinks he would have to be infinitely more naive than Tom and Harvey even *think* he is not to know that Tom is getting *more* of what he needs from Lex than he's getting from him.

("When we begin to travel, Bruce, to learn from every teacher we can find --")

Tom is *hungry* for this, his body tense so often and in so many ways Bruce *aches* for him --

("This is only the *beginning* --")

Tom is always alone in the theater when Bruce arrives, but sometimes the flush is still visible on his skin, sometimes his breathing is quick and sharp --

("There's so *much* for us, Bruce. The knowledge is -- it's a *fever* in me, sometimes, a sense that we could be doing so much *more* than this --")

There was a bruise on his shin the last time they'd made love, and Bruce hadn't been able to stop himself from returning to it again and again, to keep from marking its shape, knowing it for an injury *Lex* had given him --

("Come *here*, it's all right, it's just a bruise --")

But he hadn't been able to say that it meant nothing, because they both knew it wouldn't have been true. Lex had gotten past his *guard*, and the metaphor of it is something sharp, something thorned in his throat --

("I love you.")

Bruce -- takes a breath. In a little less than an hour, he and Harvey will be filing out with the rest of the dorm for the inaccurately named Spring Dance with Seneca Day. It would normally have been scheduled for later in the year, but Seneca Day will be hosting Briarwood Prep then -- a fact that Bruce has observed causing some measure of consternation and upset in the other students, many of whom are seeing the girls from Seneca socially.

As far as Bruce is concerned, getting this event over with as soon as possible is a *good* thing, but... he can't begrudge the other boys a chance to see people whom they care about.

He knows he's very lucky --

Even though he wishes Harvey wasn't quite so excited. He's been dressed in his best uniform for nearly forty-five minutes, and has combed and recombed his hair at least four times, frowning at their mirror and muttering to himself in the way he always does before a dance like this, and is worried about there being 'too much Gotham' in his voice.

He knows Harvey has perfectly reasonable and non-romantic reasons for wanting to sound like everyone else here, but Bruce still finds it a little upsetting. There are worse things that could happen than Harvey *becoming* more like everyone else, but at times like these it's difficult to be sure of what those things are.

And -- he doesn't have to sit here like a large and broody lump. "You'll be fine, Harv," he says, and looks up at him in the way that always seems to make Harvey *have* to look at him -- there.

His smile is dazzling and rueful. "Of course *you* think so, big guy, but the ladies might just disagree."

The ladies. Bruce frowns. "You... want to impress them."

"*Most* of them are going to grow up to be society wives who'll have no impact on my life whatsoever, but who knows? There's gotta be one or two of them who'll enter the family business, and maybe that business will have offshoots in Gotham, and *maybe* -- just maybe -- they'll remember that bright and well-spoken young man..." Harvey snorts. "Okay, so I'm mostly thinking about how, after this, the only chicks we'll see for *months* are the dorm mothers and Sharpe, and how that never stops being *real* damned -- let's go with 'frustrating,'" Harvey says, and his expression is the same as it used to be whenever he talked about wanting women, which would hurt if it wasn't for the plea in his eyes.

Bruce *knows* that plea, and knows that it's all about asking Bruce to tolerate this, to *accept* that Harvey will be with a girl tonight, that he'll touch her and kiss her and won't do anything of the kind with *him* -- it should hurt more, but it doesn't.

Harvey *likes* women, and that's normal, and -- he'd said they could be together *someday*. It makes sense -- no one would question Harvey coming to the manor, and once there...

Well.

"I think I'm a little scared of that look in your eyes, Bruce," Harvey says, laughing and serious at once.

"I'm only thinking about -- Spring Break," and Bruce counts the weeks until it will happen again. He thinks Harvey can see him doing it, because his expression gets a little dreamy, a little focused on something other than what he'll be doing tonight --

"You should... uh. The Brunner twins will probably be coming tonight, you know."

Bruce doesn't bother to hold back a scowl. At the Christmas Ball it had been all he could do to get *away* from them, as they flirted and implied and hinted and kept *touching*, and his only option had been to politely brush their hands away from him again and again. Emily Brunner had even gotten one of her hands into Bruce's *pocket* --

"Aw, come on, big guy. They've got that ice-blonde hair, big blue eyes, *great* big --"

"All they care about is my name and my money, Harvey. They make me feel like livestock at a market."

"And that means you can't have a little fun with them? *They'd* get status for it, and *you'd* maybe get left alone by the other vultures for a while."

Bruce knows the expression on his face is one of the ones which makes Leslie cluck her tongue and sigh *that* sigh -- he fixes it. "I can't... I don't want to be -- I don't want those people to *touch* me, Harv."

"Oh, Bruce..." *Harvey* sighs and crouches down beside Bruce's bunk. "I bet if you asked Tom about this he'd give you the same kind of advice. He's really -- he's *serious* about appearances."

Will Tom attach himself to one of the girls at the dance? Smile at her and pretend as he dances? Tom had had a girlfriend from the city -- the *real* city -- but he'd still gone to these dances and probably... probably acted normal, the way Harvey will.

The way even *Lex* will, though if experience says anything about it, Lex will be acting normal in rather flamboyant ways. Pretending, the way Harvey wants Bruce to.

"I... I'll dance. With several different girls."

"*That's* the spirit," Harvey says. "Dancing with girls is great --"

"If you find one who's actually a good person," Bruce says, and yes, he knows he sounds muley --

Harvey sighs again. "So... maybe you should go after some of the girls who *don't* swarm you as soon as you walk in?"

Swarm. He likes that -- it implies both a horrifying sameness and poison --

"Of course, that'll cut into *my* action, but..." Harvey grins, grabbing Bruce's shoulder and shaking a little. "I'm willing to make that sacrifice, big guy."

So -- none of the girls who look at Harvey. He'll let Harvey walk in first and just watch for a little while, moving through the ballroom to make sure he can't be cornered by any of the girls he *doesn't* want to see... Bruce nods to himself. It could work.

"Ooh, now you look like a man with a plan."

Bruce smiles ruefully. "I don't expect to have very much fun, but... I don't want you to worry about me. I -- I'll try."

"Good man," Harvey says, impersonating the headmaster again and standing up -- to head back to the mirror and the 'problem' of his hair, which is thick and lustrous and only ever mussed when Harvey first wakes up in the morning, or when he takes off his cap after a game. As near as Bruce can tell, the only thing wrong with it right now is that Harvey wants it to be *less* thick, and --

"I'd like to touch your hair."

"At this point, Bruce, anything you did to it would probably be an improvement."

He'd like to think so, but Harvey wouldn't be especially well-disposed to Bruce shoving his hands in the way he does with Tom, to Bruce tugging it and carding through it and using the moisture it left behind to stroke Harvey to hardness, so that when Bruce took Harvey into his mouth, the taste would be even more complex than he's imagined --

"On second thought, not so much. *Damn*, but you know how to give off sex in waves. Didn't you -- I mean, you were just *with* Tom after classes."

"He was mainly interested in teaching me more karate," Bruce says, and this time there had been a long, body-sized *streak* of cleanliness on the stage -- and the Tom in his mind had punished Lex for getting past his guard, throwing him and pinning him and -- not hurting. Tom wouldn't. But... showing Lex that he wasn't so easy to get around, that he wouldn't just *take* what Lex could give --

"You -- are a serious horndog. Sometimes I think I didn't really *know* you before, because if I would've ever guessed you'd be like this..."

Bruce blinks and focuses on Harvey's back, on the taper of it down to his slim waist and hips. "Yes?"

Harvey laughs. "I... have no idea. But something. You should make Tom take you to a disco or something, have him show you how the other half lives."

"Discos have always seemed... well, aren't they very loud?"

Harvey pulls the comb through his hair one more time, leaving something of a wave behind which makes him look very polished, older and somehow... smooth. "Well, that's part of the fun, Bruce. You go in there knowing that you *won't* be having any substantive conversation until you walk out again, that everything will boil down to body language. Not all that many people can lie with their bodies, and sometimes the truths you get to see are... heh. Pretty damned illuminating."

"*You* could take me, Harv."

"*I* -- would be going in a probably futile attempt to get you to hook up with a girl you've never met, and I don't think you'd like that all that much, especially since I couldn't really..." Harvey looks back over his shoulder, and his expression is serious and smacks of finality. "I wouldn't dance with you."

"But if we were surrounded by strangers, in a disco far from where you live --"

"Strangers sometimes have cameras, big guy. I... the more I think about it, the more I *want* a political career for myself. That means I'm officially too old to take risks."

"A disco for homosexual men would have lots of people who were trying to keep secrets," Bruce says, and hopes he sounds reasonable --

"I'd still have to get in and get out again," Harvey says, shaking his head. "It's a big, dangerous world out there, big guy. You'd be better off with Tom for something like that. I'm betting he could make you two look like *ghosts* --"

"Harv... when you run for office I'll be behind you. I'll advertise for you and throw fundraisers --"

"All the *more* reason for me to make sure you look just as squeaky clean as I do. Well, you can be a *little* less perfect, but still -- you won't always be able to bring Tom to things instead of a date."

That... "I suppose it was pretty obvious that that was what I'd planned to do."

Harvey looks fond and very, very touchable.

Bruce stands up and moves close enough that he can smell Harvey's cologne, ignoring the frown-lines on Harvey's face enough to take a deep breath, and another -- "Maybe I'll just be... eccentric."

"Not *too* eccentric, Bruce --"

"No, probably not, but..." Bruce raises his arms. "A hug? I'd like to feel you before you let all of those other people get close."

Harvey laughs a little breathlessly. "Aw, Bruce..." The hug is firm and warm -- more firm than Bruce expected since Harvey wants to stay neat, and so it's as close to perfect as possible.

Bruce turns his head to tuck his nose in against Harvey's collar.

"Just think, Bruce -- tonight's the first night of the rest of our lives. We should make it as good as we can," Harvey says, breath puffing against Bruce's ear...

Bruce can agree with that.

They aren't the first boys to the ballroom -- the dorm mothers tend to almost *herd* the younger boys -- but they're among the first upperclassmen. Most of the juniors and seniors who *are* there have already paired off with their girlfriends while the orchestra plays quietly, and --

"Here it comes," Harvey says, and nods at the Brunner twins, who are already moving towards them.

"I see. You should choose your first partner, Harv. I'm going to... move."

"Keep it steady, big guy," and Harvey grins, pretends he hasn't seen the Brunners -- who are doing the same with *him* -- and moves toward the largest group of girls. Bruce edges toward the band just a little more quickly than wouldn't be obvious, and watches the Brunners frown out of the corner of his eye.

Perhaps he should've nodded to them, but it's not like he wants to encourage their behavior. He keeps an eye on Harvey as he goes, and -- yes. He doesn't seem to have a type in terms of hair or eye-color, but he likes the taller girls, and the ones who are made up to look older than they are.

Bruce looks for shorter girls who look their age, and picks four easily.

The Brunners are talking to each other near the door, so it's safe to move in once Harvey picks his first girl of the night -- Madeleine Newhouse, who, he has to admit, looks very attractive in her semi-formal gown. Still, he can tell from here that her laugh isn't entirely real, and that her attention is as much on the other girls as on Harvey.

Does she think they'll think less of her for choosing to dance with Harvey? Or is he handsome enough to her that she wants to show off the fact that he'd chosen her first?

She *could* be nervous, but Bruce has only ever picked up that sort of feeling from the younger girls, and even when *he* was a freshman, the older girls were the ones who came to him.

Accosted him. Is he about to make some girl he doesn't know feel accosted? Should he try to smile like Harvey?

("Ah... Bruce? Perhaps we should practice the social smiles another time.")

The Tom who lives in his mind says no. Well, at the very least he doesn't have to frown --

The Brunners are moving again. He chooses his first target -- a girl with glasses who looks a little lost -- and moves in.

"Hello," he says, and offers his hand. "I'm --"

"Oh! Bruce Wayne," she says, and smiles shyly. "Sorry to interrupt you. I'm -- um. Betty Parsons," and her hand is a little damp with sweat, and she's blinking rather a lot...

Maybe she's a nice person. "Would you like to dance with me?"

She blinks even more before her eyes go wide behind her glasses. They're a shade of blue a little like Tom's, and --

"These parties make me nervous, too," he says quietly --

She blushes and squeezes his hand. "I'm not a very good dancer. Um. Maybe you'd like to ask someone else."

Was that a way for her to say that she doesn't want to dance with him? She's still holding his hand, but maybe...? He doesn't know, and she's blushing deeply. And he really doesn't want to get cornered by the Brunners. Bruce turns their hands until he can cover hers with his other hand and hold it. "I could show you the steps, if you'd like."

"You could -- um. I'd like that," she says, and takes a deep breath before smiling at him brilliantly.

Bruce smiles back -- carefully -- and this time she blinks perfectly normally, even though Bruce can feel any number of people looking at them. He leads her to a relatively open space on the floor and begins to dance much too slowly for the beat until she picks up the moves and nods.

After that, they dance easily together, though she squeezes his hand every time he leads her into a spin --

"You're a very good dancer, Bruce."

"Thank you. My valet insisted on it," Bruce says, and smiles ruefully.

"Your -- your valet taught you to dance? You didn't have an instructor? I thought..." She blushes again. "Never mind."

"It's all right. I imagine most of the people here hired instructors, or -- well, their parents did it for them. But my valet is very knowledgeable on a number of subjects."

"He -- they. Um -- they say he raised you?"

Bruce nods.

"I... suppose that was too personal. I'm really not good at this, at all, and I'm sorry."

Bruce frowns. "You're worried about... offending me? You haven't," and this time when he leads her into a spin, he squeezes her hand.

"Oh -- the girls. You know the girls talk about you. A lot," she says, and she's blushing again.

"I had gotten that impression. It makes me uncomfortable."

"I can't imagine being someone as famous as you are. Or -- well, some of the girls at school. *I'm* only at Seneca because I have a scholarship."

That would explain her dress not being as perfectly tailored as the other girls'. Bruce nods. "Did you *want* to go to Seneca Day?"

She laughs, and it's a quiet thing. Another similarity to Tom, and he likes it a great deal.

"That... didn't sound like a 'yes,' Betty."

"Well -- it's one of the most *famous* boarding schools, and it will look good on my application when it's time for me to go to college, but I really miss my friends back home."

"It can be very difficult to make new friends in a strange place."

"You're telling me! I -- um. Anyway, I've had *enough* experience to know that this -- dancing with you -- will make me both popular *and* unpopular for a little while, at least."

Bruce frowns again. "I'm sorry --"

"No! It's okay," she says, and pats Bruce's shoulder. "You *are* a very good dancer, after all, and now I know the steps. And..." She laughs again. "I'm sorry, but I think it's something of an experience to dance with the famous Bruce Wayne."

"I'm just another teenager."

"And now I can tell that to anyone who asks," and she pats him again. "So... what do people talk about when they're dancing? Is it okay to ask you if you're  having a good semester?"

"*I* think so -- but I couldn't really tell you what other people think would be good conversation during a dance." Other than the kind of flirting which had made Bruce wonder if a lifetime of celibacy wouldn't be a good idea. "And -- I am, yes. I'm rooming with my best friend Harvey -- he's the one dancing with Madeleine --"

"Yes, I know. I -- they really do talk a *lot* about you."

Bruce shakes his head. "My... cousin is far more familiar with that sort of thing."

"You have a cousin here? What's his name?"

"Tom," Bruce says. "He should be here soon. I'll introduce the two of you, if you'd like."

"Oh! Thank you," she says, and smiles at him again. "Is he very like you?"

"I think he's more... driven than I am. He's brilliant and funny, and never seems to have an awkward moment. He's always *thinking*, about things I never would've considered. I -- only just met him over break, but I care about him a great deal."

"He sounds wonderful! Do the two of you look alike?"

"Not really. He's... smaller than I am, and --" No, he shouldn't say how handsome he is. That could easily be... well, *not* misunderstood. "I think he looks more like -- his mother's side of the family."

Betty nods. "Do the two of you share interests?"

"Yes," Bruce says. "He introduced me to science fiction... among other things."

"Ooh! Who's your favorite author? Or... do you have one, yet?"

Bruce shakes his head. "It's still very new, but I think Samuel R. Delany is very good."

And that makes Betty talk about her favorite books by him, and she gets more and more animated as she does. It's clearly a passion of hers, and it makes her seem both younger and older, and --

He'd *meant* to dance with someone else when the song changed, but Betty doesn't notice it, at all, and there's no real *reason* to stop dancing, so... he doesn't.

He's having a good time, and he knows that will make *both* Tom and Harvey happy, though one or both of them might think he's dancing with the wrong girl. *He* doesn't think so, though, and Betty *is* a girl, and -- that has to be enough for now, especially since he's reasonably sure that none of the other girls will try to cut in.

Does that happen in discos? They would almost have to be more equal, wouldn't they?

"... talking your *ear* off, Bruce, I'm sorry --"

"I like to listen," he says and smiles. "If nothing else, you've given me a lot of new books to look for. When I'm alone, I like to read."

"Well, I -- I could *give* you a list --"

"Delany's Babel-17, The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula Le Guin, and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Phillip K. Dick. Those were your favorites?"

"You... I think. You were paying *attention* to all of that?"

Bruce smiles. "I have a good memory," he says, and -- movement at the door. "Oh, my cousin is here with his roommate Lex," he says, as casually as he can, because Tom is wearing eyeliner. Like Lex. They're both dressed in their uniforms, but they really are arriving *together*, and --

"Oh. There are a *lot* of stories about Lex Luthor."

Bruce has personally observed Lex kissing three different girls from Seneca Day, two of whom were on the same night. Bruce nods. "He's... somewhat notorious here, but Tom seems to like him."

Betty's shrewd look makes her seem much younger for a moment -- "You don't like him? Lex, I mean?"

"I don't know him very well, but sometimes he can be cruel," Bruce says, and discovers that he wants to *warn* Betty about him --

She makes a somewhat more sour face. "I've never really understood why some people choose to be cruel. If nothing else, it's a waste of valuable time."

Bruce smiles. "I agree wholeheartedly. Are you a junior, too? I don't remember seeing you before."

"Oh... um. I was probably hiding behind one of these nice plants," she says, and nods toward one of them.

"Does that work?"

She blinks at him again. "It depends on what you're trying to achieve, I think. Hiding definitely allowed me *to* hide."

Bruce nods. "Most of the time hiding doesn't work for me."

"It might have something to do with your... er. Size?"

"You're probably right," Bruce says, and when he looks, Tom is standing near the edge of the party with a cup of punch. He looks completely casual and relaxed at this distance, but Bruce suspects that he's taking in everything and planning his own attack. "Would you like to meet Tom, now? The song is almost over."

"Oh -- so it is," she says, blushing and looking down. "I *would* like that, thank you," she says, but she's not telling the truth.

"We don't have to," Bruce says. "We could go try the punch. Sometimes it's quite good, though I would like you to meet Tom."

That makes her look up again. "Oh. You're *not* -- um. Right. Let's pretend I'm not making an idiot of myself?"

Bruce knows he looks very confused, but he isn't sure what to do about that --

She laughs. "Lead the way, Bruce. I promise I won't say anything weird for at least another five minutes."

"I wish I could promise the same, but... I have it on good authority that nearly every time I open my mouth I say something weird," he says, and takes her arm to lead her to Tom.

"Well, then maybe we make a good pair."

Bruce smiles at her. "I'm already having a lot more fun than I thought I would, Betty."

"Oh -- I'm glad," she says, and blushes again, looking away and tugging at her dress despite the fact that nothing seems wrong with the fall of it. Hm.

"Is it uncomfortable? I've never been sure why you and the other girls from Seneca Day aren't allowed to wear your uniforms the way we are."

"I think the other girls would *riot* if that were the rule, Bruce. Some of them spend weeks and *months* looking for just the right dress, and there's always someone who grew a little too tall for the dress they picked out, or gained an extra five pounds... it can be very dramatic in the dorms before a dance."

Bruce thinks of Harvey working on his hair... "I suppose I can understand that. I still think we're much luckier. I *have* tuxedos, but I always feel a bit like I'm playing a role when I'm wearing them."

"James Bond?"

Bruce smiles again. "I think that would be much more fun. Perhaps I'll try it out next time," he says, and they're close enough to Tom, now, that he focuses on them and smiles. It's not one of his real smiles, but it's also not *very* fake.

This must be his social smile, and -- Bruce has to admit he's not thinking of Tom's smile, at all. This close, the eyeliner he's wearing is even more striking than Bruce had thought it would be. It's not that it's very thickly applied, it's that, when taken with Tom's bone structure, the effect is almost...

'Obscene' isn't the word he's looking for, exactly, but --

"Introduce me, Bruce?" And Tom's voice is amused enough that --

Right. "Betty, this is my cousin Tom Wayne, Tom, this is Betty Parsons. We've been talking about science fiction."

Tom raises an eyebrow, and it just makes his eyes seem deeper and more compelling. He offers Betty his hand and inclines his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Betty. It's *always* a good idea to talk to Bruce about books."

"Um -- the pleasure is mine, Tom," she says, and when Bruce looks -- she's trying very, very hard not to stare at the eyeliner, which Tom seems to find amusing --

"Ah -- in answer to the question both of you are failing to ask very *loudly* -- I lost a wager to Lex."

Betty blinks rapidly. "Oh, I -- Bruce said he was your roommate?"

Tom nods. "He's a very interesting guy, but sometimes his sense of humor is a little painful," Tom says, and smiles at Betty. "I like your dress. The color brings out your eyes."

The color in question is a pale bluish-grey, and it *is* very flattering on her. Should Bruce have mentioned it?

"I -- that's what my mother always says," Betty says, and smoothes the dress over her hip.

"Sometimes mothers really do know best, though I'm currently trying *very* hard not to think about what my mother would have to say about my... ensemble," Tom says, catching Bruce's eyes with a flare of shared humor, companionship...

"You don't think... your father would've had more to say, Tom?"

"Oh, I don't know, Bruce -- he might just chalk it up to a phase I'm going through and do his own studious not-thinking."

A phase. Their father had believed in childhood phases deeply, and had explained them all to Bruce one day when he'd asked what the term meant. Right now, they're both supposed to be feeling rebellious, should be 'feeling their oats' as a prelude to become independent.

As such... Bruce nods. "I think you may be right. Um... you do look rather striking, Tom."

Tom looks down, and his eyelashes seem much thicker, somehow. Bruce doesn't *think* Tom's wearing mascara, but he supposes that he could be.

"I think 'striking' is a very good word for it, Tom. It makes it very difficult to look away from your eyes."

Tom looks up and smiles at Betty again. Betty is only a little bit shorter than Tom, though her features are really much different in every way save for the color and shape of her eyes. "I could always ask Lex which brand of makeup he prefers for you."

It makes Betty blush and -- she doesn't quite reach up to touch her own face. And Tom's expression gets much, much softer.

"Of course," he says, "the style I'm wearing really won't go with your dress, at all," and Bruce knows he's trying to reassure her. He's done the same with *Bruce*, and --

Bruce clears his throat. "Yours seems more suited to very tight pants."

"A blouse, Bruce?"

"Maybe. Though I suppose you could go shirtless. You definitely need high-heeled boots, though."

Tom pushes up onto his toes and tosses his hair. He's playing, so Bruce probably shouldn't be thinking about his throat as much as he is --

Betty laughs, covering her mouth. "Oh -- sometimes we watch David Bowie perform. A lot of the girls like him *very* much."

"He certainly has... a certain something," Tom says, and eases down onto his feet again. "Which I most assuredly *lack* --"

"I don't know, Tom. If you just tried a little harder..." And Betty's eyes are shining with amusement.

"I suppose I could always be *Major* Tom," Tom says, and makes a show of looking thoughtful.

Bruce doesn't know the reference, but it makes Betty giggle more, and --

"No, that's too tragic! He gets left all alone!"

"The life of a space oddity is *very* difficult," and Tom tilts his head slightly to the side. "Are you a junior?"

"Um -- yes," she says. "I was telling Bruce that I've mostly hidden my way through these dances before. I was about to go find a plant when Bruce came to ask me to dance."

Tom takes a sip of punch and raises an eyebrow at Bruce, and... it's a question that deserves an answer:

"I wanted to try and have *fun* tonight, Tom. Which meant finding one of the girls who hasn't... um. Been especially aggressive."

Betty nods. "You never did look very happy when Emily and Anne were with you. But I don't think they make *anyone* happy. Just -- as a general rule."

Tom hums. "Are they... bullies?"

"Well, not with their *fists*. We don't really have that problem at Seneca. But... well. Some girls can be very mean," Betty says, blushing again.

Bruce frowns. "Have they been mean to you?"

Betty waves a hand and laughs falsely. "Oh, you know. Just the regular things. I'm... um. I'm sure they're quite nice when you get to know them."

"Not that I've seen," Bruce says, and looks -- Anne is looking directly at him with an annoyed expression on her face. Bruce nods because it's the polite thing to do and turns back to Betty and Tom. "I'm very sorry that your life at school has been difficult, Betty."

"It really could've been a lot worse -- but thank you, Bruce."

And Tom is smiling at both of them. "I suspect it's only a matter of time before various people realize just whose cousin I am and expect me to... oh, perform like a dancing bear."

Bruce frowns. "Betty, do you know any other friendly girls? Someone Tom could spend time with tonight?"

"Oh, I... well, there are some other girls --"

"It's all right, both of you," Tom says. "I have to get to know all of these people for myself, anyway, if I'm going to... stay."

Oh. It -- it takes effort not to reach for him, not to *clutch* -- "You've... thought more about that?"

Tom smiles ruefully. "I have, yes, Bruce. I -- it would be good to stay close."

And -- Betty is looking back and forth between them. Bruce smiles at her. "Tom is... from California, but I've been trying to get him to come live in Gotham with me."

"Oh, that sounds like it would be wonderful," she says. "I miss my family a lot while I'm out here -- most of my family is in and around Keystone."

Tom inclines his head. "I've heard a lot about that city. It's supposed to be very beautiful, and -- you have the Flash."

Betty smiles. "Oh, everyone loves the Flash where I'm from. It's -- well. Once I was shopping with my mother, and the Flash just *zoomed* by. It was embarrassing to wind up with my -- um, skirt around my waist, but also incredibly exhilarating."

"I bet," Tom says. "Part of me is hoping I'll get to see Green Lantern in action someday."

"Well, that would be *one* reason to move to Gotham," Betty says, and turns back to Bruce. "I... if you'd like, I could introduce you to some of the other girls now...?"

Bruce -- tries to channel Alfred a little bit. He bows his head and covers the hand she has on his arm with his own. "It would be one thing if Tom was interested, but I'd much rather spend more time with you."

"I think," Tom says, and crosses his arms with one hand up to hold his punch, "that the two of you should dance more."

And Bruce thinks about Tom telling him that he just hadn't met the *right* sort of girl, yet, about Harvey *hoping* that he meets a girl -- Bruce smiles, and keeps the ruefulness out of it. "You always do have excellent ideas, Tom, but are you sure you wouldn't rather...?"

Tom smiles again, tightly and more than a little dark. "Oh, very. This isn't the sort of thing one should start at the shallow end for, Bruce, and -- Emily and Anne are headed this way as we speak."

It makes Betty squeeze his arm, and that's more than enough reason to leave. "Then I'll see you later," Bruce says, sharing one last smile and leading Betty to where most of the dancing couples are.

On their first spin, he can see the Brunners *flanking* Tom, and he has to wonder --

"So... does Tom get along with people who aren't very... nice? Well?"

Bruce thinks of Lex... and nods. "Sometimes. I think he likes to keep an eye on people he considers to be dangerous in one way or another," he says, and strokes Betty's waist. "I think his response to my asking him why would be something along the lines of 'everyone needs a hobby.'"

Betty giggles. "He's very... hmm. Sharp? More like how I expected you to be."

"I believe I could learn a lot from him... if I could stand it. I've learned recently that I'd rather spend time with *likable* people than with anyone else, but I think Tom craves... stimulation. I think he would be terribly bored if he lived the way I do."

"And how is that?"

"Quietly," Bruce says, and smiles. "With a lot of books and a lot of... watching other people do things, and listening to their conversations... I find that sort of thing far more satisfying, most of the time, than actually being in the conversations."

Betty pats his shoulder and smiles. "I think you're doing just fine, Bruce."

"Even though I had to get... hmm. Something of a pep talk before I even left my room?"

"'Go, Brucie, go?'"

"Something like. Harvey loves these dances, but then he's much better with girls than I am," Bruce says. "I believe he's dancing with Ellen Barre now."  

"You must have an *incredible* memory for names, Bruce. I wasn't... I mean, I hadn't seen you talking to... um," she says, and blushes again.

"Oh. You were watching?"

"Ah... a little," and she's looking down at the space between them. "You're very handsome."

"My parents were very beautiful. Both of them. I think I'm a rather awkward cross between them, but I'm glad you think I'm attractive, Betty."

And when she looks up, there's something of a *quirk* to her features, as though he'd said something strange.

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- he really needs to *know* these things --

"Ah -- it's nothing," she says. "You -- trust me. Not *every* girl here is just thinking of your last name, Bruce."

And he wants to say that Harvey and Tom are the handsome ones, but -- no, that would still be strange. More strange. "All right, Betty. I'll trust you."

They keep dancing through the next several songs, and it's an interesting challenge to keep his attention both on Betty and on everyone else.

He watches the dorm mothers -- and chaperones -- shoo the boys who try to stay close to the walls further into the room.

He watches Tom steadily get more and more of an audience of girls, and take three of them onto the floor to dance, one after another.

He watches Harvey laugh -- and slip outside with Ellen.

He watches *for* Lex, but there's no sign of him, at all, and a part of him is only glad because he's clearly nowhere near Tom.

He thinks about getting punch for Betty, but he's a little terrified of what would happen if he separated from her for a moment. He brings her *with* him to the refreshment table, and that works well enough, especially since she still seems to want to spend time with him.

He does feel guilty for monopolizing her attention, but she doesn't seem to mind, and becomes more and more animated as the evening progresses.

When Harvey comes back inside, his tie is a little askew and his hair is mussed. Ellen looks perfect, but the expression on his face is the kind of smug -- he knew this would happen, and so he'll try not to be jealous. Harvey needs to be with women, too, and that's...

He can understand that, if he tries.

He thinks about inviting Betty outside, about touching her hair and looking deep into her eyes --

He'd be looking for the wrong person, for all that Betty seems like a very good person, and is perfectly attractive. He'd like to draw her, especially the way her expressions become deep and ambiguous when the light hits the lenses of her glasses just right.

Still, she has been looking at the door every now and again, and maybe -- "Would you like to get some air, Betty?"

*This* blush is deeply impressive, and she's blinking almost as though she has something in her eye --

And that was probably the way the other boys suggest going outside to make out. "Um -- I meant. We really don't have to. I'm enjoying the dancing," Bruce says, and suspects he sounds a little panicked --

Which could very well be what makes Betty look at him again. Certainly she looks much more *determined* than she had a moment ago -- "No, I think it would be nice to go outside, Bruce. For -- for a little while."

Bruce nods. "It would be better if it *were* actually Spring, but we don't get to pick the schedule."

Betty smiles. "You should *hear* some of the girls talk about the fact that we're having two dances this semester with two different schools. It's something of a cheerful scandal."

Bruce nods. "Some of the boys have been very upset about your school having a dance with Briarwood, though I used to find it strange that people could develop actual relationships at dances and parties like this one."

"Used to...?"

Bruce takes her arm and starts leading her toward the door again, noting the way the dorm mothers are all facing away from it. They always do this, as though all the making out -- against the rules as it is -- is really just expected, so long as no one seems to go very far. And -- Betty is waiting for an answer. "I was wondering if I could write to you sometime? You could tell me more about the books you like."

"Oh. *Oh* -- um. Well, yes, Bruce, of course. And you can tell me about *your* books, or -- whatever you'd like."

Bruce smiles. "I'd like that. I've never had a female friend."

And Betty is studying him very deeply, searching... is he sending mixed messages?

He thinks he probably *is*, but once they're outside, Betty starts naming stars, and talking about the ones which are closer than the others. They speak a little about space travel, and whether it will ever be possible for humanity, and that leads to talk about governments around the world, and whether they could ever band together for something greater than wars -- or the prevention of wars.

It *would* be wonderful if the United States and the U.S.S.R. could come together and spend all of those billions of dollars on something other than weapons, could sit down and really *study* nuclear power, and make it something safe for the whole world, and --

Bruce realizes that he's led them into the shadows when Betty shivers and edges slightly closer. "Would you like to go back inside?"

"Um. Would *you* like... would you like to kiss me?"

"I... I'm in love with someone." Two someones, Bruce *doesn't* say. He -- "She's very important to me."

"I -- oh. That's. All right," Betty says, and looks down. "I should've realized -- I'm sorry."

"It's all right," and Bruce pets her arm. "I haven't talked about... about her, at all. There's no way you could've known."

"Still, I -- I'm not exactly your type, I don't think."

"You're smart and kind and funny. That *is* my type," Bruce says. "I... if I weren't with someone else. Um." But Tom had *taught* him what this sort of love entailed, what it meant and what it *could* mean.

Would he have even talked to Betty if he hadn't known Tom? If knowing Tom hadn't led to him being able to be so close to Harvey?

He can't know for *sure*, but he doesn't think so, and suddenly that seems more than a little wrong, or at least unfair. "I... Betty."

"Yes?" And she had edged away again, even though she *must* still be cold --

She's embarrassed, and Bruce doesn't *want* that. "I've never --" Kissed a woman, before, only he can't *say* that. "I'd like to... with you. I'd like to try."

She looks at him as though he's insane.

"We don't have to, of course. I only meant --"

"What -- what does 'try' mean, Bruce? I mean -- um. Exactly?"

"We've had such a good time tonight. I... I was wondering what it would be *like* to kiss you," he says, and wonders if that sounds all right.

Betty is frowning, and her eyes are distant, and Bruce knows that she's thinking about it, that she's trying to make it fit within herself, perhaps. Or...

"Do *you*... are you seeing someone? Back in Keystone?"

Betty laughs quietly. "If I was, I wouldn't be out here with *you*, Bruce."

"Oh... right. That's... I see. I think --"

And then her arms are around his neck, cool against his skin, and she's up on her toes --

And her mouth is soft and tastes sweet, like the punch and like the lipstick she's wearing. It's not a very hard kiss, and she doesn't slip her tongue any further than just between his lips, and --

Bruce *presses* it between his lips and hums, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close --

She makes a soft sound and pulls back -- "Oh. Um. Like that," she says, and blinks at him. "That's what it would. Be like."

Bruce smiles. "Thank you."

She blinks a little more -- stops and shakes her head a little bit. "That's..." She settles back down on her feet and brushes her hands over Bruce's jacket, perhaps smoothing away dust Bruce hadn't been aware of. "I think I should probably --"

Movement from the shadows, and Bruce tightens his grip on Betty reflexively --

"*Bruce*. You naughty, *naughty* boy," Lex says, and he's holding hands with Racquel Kensington, but none of his attention is on her.

"Lex."

Lex laughs quietly and turns to Betty. "Hello, there. I'm Lex Luthor. And you are...?"

Betty is blushing *deeply*, but she turns enough in Bruce's grip to offer her hand. "Betty Parsons. I -- know who you are."

"Then you have the advantage," he says, and bends low, kissing the back of Betty's hand before she can tug it away.

Racquel laughs -- and sways on her feet. Her dress is askew and her eyes suggest that she's drunk.

Lex turns to face her. "Easy, darling, you have a *crowd* to perform for in just another minute or two."

She laughs again. "Betty *Spaghetti*."

"That -- is a terrible nickname," Lex says, and turns back, "and I'm reasonably sure that you loathe it beyond the capacity of language to express. Rest assured; I will never, ever use it." He turns to Bruce. "Having a good night?"

He *was* -- "Yes," Bruce says, and relaxes his grip on Betty, who moves to his side. "Are you?"

"Better by the moment, Bruce," he says, and his eyes are sharp and amused. "I don't suppose you've seen my roommate...?"

"He's inside," Bruce says, wanting to tell him that he'd gone back to the dorm, or maybe to the *moon* --

"*Noted*," Lex says, and the spare and buttery light from inside the building works with the eyeliner he's wearing to make him look wild and almost febrile.

Or -- Bruce supposes it could just be whatever it is that had made Racquel drunk.

"I... well. Betty, I hope you won't judge me too harshly by the company I'm keeping -- I believe Racquel has had a *little* too much... punch," Lex says --

And Racquel giggles just as if he hadn't insulted her --

"Lex," Bruce says, and tries to make his voice as forbidding as possible -- he can see that Betty isn't looking at any of them --

"Yes, yes, I *see*, Bruce, but you have to understand -- this is *news* --"

"This," Bruce says, "is my *life*," and it's possible that that was a *growl* --

Lex rears back, slightly, standing straight in a way he normally doesn't and looking -- serious. "I've offended," he says, and bows. "Forgive me -- that wasn't my intent in the slightest."

"It's just silly old *Betty*," Racquel says. "And Bruce, who I think might be *gay*," and her whisper -- really isn't much of one.

"And what, my dear, would be the problem with that? Or wasn't that you trying to remove my eyeliner with your tongue?"

"I think I need to -- go inside now," Betty says, tugging against Bruce's hand --

"I'll accompany you," Bruce says. "Goodnight, Lex. Racquel."

And Betty allows him to keep holding her hand as they walk --

"I'm sorry," Lex says quietly --

Racquel giggles again, sharp and high.

Bruce keeps walking.

*

There are differences between this dance and the various society parties Tim has attended over the years. For one thing, there appear to be actual rules about where the assorted drunken hookups take place. The shadowy corners of the ballroom are free of bodies, and the only drug in use *appears* to be alcohol, though it's possible he just hasn't stumbled across anyone using something stronger.

He's spent the evening being cooed and flirted at by girls pretending to be older than they are. In later years, they'll be pretending to be younger, and perhaps married off to some of the boys they'd ignored tonight in favor of him. The hairstyles are a little frightening, and there's enough blue eye shadow in this room to blind a lab full of rabbits.

The dancing is just the same as it's been at some of the more formal parties in his own time -- complete with the assorted girls who do everything short of climbing him in order to get as close as possible.

He allows it, and wonders what it would take to make Bruce learn to do the same. Too many sharp questions about his body and persona, perhaps, or just a loss of something like innocence. A part of him had been tempted to try to steer Bruce away from Betty, to throw him into the deep end Tim's currently swimming through, but...

He deserves to have at least a few *good* memories of nights like this, and Tim offers as many maddening answers as he can think of on the questions he fields *about* Bruce and Betty.

Let them wonder -- though it might make things harder on Betty, herself, once she gets back to school. Perhaps he'll advise her on how to develop a useful armor of mystery, or... would Bruce think of it? Bruce may be innocent in a number of terrifying ways, but he's anything but stupid or callous. He'd liked Betty enough to want to introduce her to him, and that's the kind of thing that goes a long way...

At least since they're far and *far* from the days -- and the *world* -- where a Bruce pretending to be inebriated will introduce him to various women as 'Tommy.'

It's *tiring* to do this, to play this game on top of a game, but it also feels like the kind of training he's missed these past few weeks. Missed *badly*.

And now he knows that *this* classmate of his is impotent or gay, that *that* classmate smokes enough weed that he sometimes smells of it, that this other one isn't as wealthy as he pretends to be...

He has a number of potentially useful dossiers in his mind, now -- building on the ones he'd been developing slowly and carefully on his own.

He knows the taste of the rumors now, and... does Harvey know that he's being, essentially, passed *around* by a particular clique of girls?

The word 'stud' had been offered, just once, and not in the more positive way he'd come to know it. *Harvey's* not naive, but still, that's cold-blooded even for this particular group of people...

He'll lay it out for him the next time they can speak privately, and he can choose to do with that information what he wishes. Though he won't be able to tell Harvey about the various subtle and unsubtle ways 'Brucie' will get back at women like that, starting with champagne down their dresses but *not* ending -- oh, never, ever ending -- with deserting them in the face of various supervillains and masked gunmen.

Perhaps he even does it *for* Harvey, in his way.

For now...

For now, Lex is back from his -- extended -- absence, and moving for Tim in a way that manages to be both flamboyant and direct. He's briefly surrounded by two of his minions and the girls they've been hitting on all night, but --

Yes. He makes a point of meeting Tim's eyes with something like command in his own.

Tom is tempted to find (Bruce) something to do which will, at the very least, make Lex have to *wait* -- Tom is less than thrilled about the eyeliner, and about how the only reason why Tim is wearing it is because Harvey had cut Lex dead again in the showers --

Tom is restless and *annoyed*, but Tim knows that that has more to do with the fact that Bruce had gone outside with Betty than with anything else. Assuming Bruce *does* know what people tend to *do* when they 'disappear' from these parties --

No, he knows. And had, perhaps, decided to experiment with heterosexuality. It's *good* for him, really -- he should at least be *ready* for how he'll feel when he meets Selina Kyle -- but it's still a bit... much.

For Tom.

Tim shakes his head at himself and considers wandering up to one of the four classmates he *knows* had smuggled alcohol into the dance for a top-up to his punch -- but Lex just happens to be one of them.

And Tim smiles wryly at him when he walks up. "You ought to be more careful, Lex. There's actual *color* in your cheeks."

Lex waves a hand. "Most of the people here assume it's rouge. Walk with me for a moment?"

"Lead the way," Tim says, and gestures with his cup.

As it happens, they wind up walking to one of those shadowy corners which had thus far been empty -- staircase. Interesting. Tim follows Lex up the stairs and into the art gallery he remembers, now, reading about in one of the brochures. The lights are dim, but not off, and the selection...

Portraiture for the most part. Assorted White men who'd once been teenagers at this very school, and who have gifted their alma mater with their likenesses.

There's also some sculpture -- very conservative, on the whole -- which had likely been donated by the same men. The star of the collection is a Bierstadt, a landscape which looks nothing at all like New England, and sticks out of the rest like a sore thumb.

Lex leads him right to it, pulls out his flask, pours a shot of vodka into Tim's cup, and gestures for him to drink.

Tim eyes the cup wryly. "Alcohol *really* isn't my thing, Lex."

"It will be when you hear about what I saw outside," Lex says, raising an eyebrow, and leaning against the wall beneath the painting.

Bruce. Tim takes a sip and bids farewell to a few brain cells in the interest of appearing to be a -- relatively -- normal teenager. "Do tell."

"Your cousin appears to have acquired a female -- of *our* species."

Tim snorts. "He introduced me to her while you were off with Racquel, Lex. It's hardly news --"

"Not even when I mention the kiss she laid on him? You can't be *that* jaded."

A kiss. A -- kiss. Tim takes another drink.

"I knew you weren't entirely immune. There *might* have been more to it, but Racquel shoved me before I could observe further."

"You... walked in on their kiss?"

"*Just* after it. He had his hands on her waist, she had her arms around his neck..." Lex shakes his head. "For a moment, he almost seemed like a *real* boy."

You'll never be like him, Lex. You'll never -- "*Just* for a moment?"

"Well, I did my level best to be charming, but Bruce shut me down like a television," and Lex mimes turning a dial -- oh, yes, right.

"No one enjoys being interrupted at intimate moments, Lex."

"Yes, Professor Wayne, tell me *more*," and Lex snorts. "*I* could've used an interruption with Racquel. She drank half my vodka and proceeded to lick my *head*."

Images -- Tim shakes his head. "It *is* quite round and gleaming."

"Yes, and if you *ever* try that with me, I will... hmm. Hamstring you, I think."

"Don't you think that's a little too vicious? You could always get back at me in kind. Maybe braid my hair?"

Lex smiles sharply. "If you know there's going to be a knife fight? You damned well bring a gun."

"Ooh, tell me more, *Lionel*."

Lex flips him off. "Be nice or I'll have it all around the school that your cousin was *fucking* the delightfully retiring Miss Parsons in... hmm. The chemistry building? I was being *friendly*, Tom. You get to choose how I handle the information I've been given."

That... "And to what do I owe this largesse?"

"Call it... hmm. The terrible -- and inevitable -- realization that I would've had rather more fun tonight if I'd spent my time chasing off the larval socialites with *you*."

Well. Tim smiles a little helplessly. "I have to admit, I've missed speaking to people with actual minds, tonight."

"No Bruce, no *Harvey*... how *does* he like servicing the upper classes?"

Tim makes a face. "That has to be the ugliest thing I heard all night."

Lex raises an eyebrow again. "This can't be *all* new to you, Tom. You've been to a hundred parties like this if you've been to one."

"Mm, true, and usually there are no dorm mothers making sure all the hormonal hijinks takes place in the *bracing* cold. It's still disgusting," Tim says, and crosses his arms.

Lex's smile is thoughtful and a little old. "If you drink enough, you can tell yourself that *this* one really likes you, finds you charming, can look past your failings... well. At least there's pussy at the end of it."

And the crudity is as measured and deliberate as the actual sadness in Lex's voice had not been. So... which to respond to? "I think I'll pass," Tom says, and moves a little closer --

Lex looks him up and down and the sharpness is back in his smile, just that fast. "I don't know, Tom. There has to be *some* amusement value in auditioning future wives."

"Spare me -- seriously. I have no intention of getting married. And if I didn't know that would just make some of these people more determined, I'd advertise."

"Tom, Tom, Tom. What about the *name*? There has to be a new generation of Waynes, if only to give these people something to talk about."

"You don't suppose boredom would drive them to learn to read?"

Lex snorts and takes a swallow of vodka. Tim does the same to be companionable, and wonders how much should reasonably make him drunk. Bruce had been training him *to* drink for situations similar to this one, and... it's decent vodka.

For the seventies.

"I'd like," Lex says, and licks his lips, "to pin you against this wall and kiss you until the only things I can taste are you and this fine beverage."

Oh... "That -- was somewhat random?"

"Was it? I will admit to being a *trifle* inebriated, and perhaps that's why I'm telling you that the only thing I could think about when Racquel wrapped her legs around my waist was wondering what it would take to make you do the same," Lex says, and takes another drink.

Oh and also *fuck*. Just -- that shouldn't be making him hard. There should be *more* than that, or --

"Do you like being fucked, Tom? I know a lot of gay men don't, but... I think I'd like to fuck you *hard*, until we're both sweating and cursing, until we're no better than animals on the ground."

"Or gallery floor, as the case may be."

"As the case may be and as it were, yes," Lex says, standing straight and closing the distance between them.

Tim can smell alcohol and Lex's -- lovely and sweet -- cologne.

"Take another drink?"

"I thought," Tim says, and tries very hard not to watch Lex's mouth, not to reach between Lex's legs and *cup* -- "I thought we were trying to be reasonable about this."

"A week, Tom. You've had a lot of time to think of a way to say no to me, and you haven't offered anything of the kind. You *want* me."

"I do. But -- you're drunk, Lex --"

"Not as much as I could be. I could tell you -- very hazy -- stories, but that sort of thing is rarely as entertaining as we think it is."

"Very true. Lex --"

"Kiss me, Tom," and Lex's voice is low and commanding, insinuating and *rough*. "Let me feel you. Let me *know* what I've been missing on the other side of the sheets."

*Bruce*, and everything he'd say, everything he'd *feel* because of this -- had he noticed Tom walking off with Lex? Do birds fly?

"No one *ever* comes up here. I don't know why -- it's a perfect place for assignations of various stripes. I suspect it has something to do with taboo, but really, haven't we all fucked up in front of our fathers? These are only *pictures* -- and the artistic merit of them is hardly inspiring," and Lex cups Tim's face, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb -- "You like that."

"It's a good feeling. Lex, let's talk about this --"

"If this goes bad, we *still* have to live with each other, yes, but... I think we're old enough to be civil even if we can't be warm, anymore."

"Is this... warm?"

"*You* are. You... from practically the first moment. Were you as kind to the Seneca girls, Tom? Did you make them feel as though they were in the presence of an actual person?"

"I -- tried to avoid that, actually," Tim says, and he could back up. He -- he *does* --

Lex follows, and never takes his hand from Tim's cheek. "Don't run. Please," Lex says, and Tim *knows* he doesn't want to look into Lex's eyes, that he doesn't want to see --

Wildness. Hunger. The kind of sincerity that should cause lightning to come down and burn them both to a messy grease spot on the *floor*. "Lex... I. Why now?"

"Because we *can*, Tom. Because tonight, I think, you're as lonely as I am --"

"Don't -- don't tell me those things. I'm not --"

"You're not what? Telling the truth about yourself? I *know* that, Tom, and I know this won't make you any more honest. You have your secrets, and I..." Lex smiles, showing his teeth and narrowing his eyes to something *almost* possible to look at without falling *in*. "I still have a *few* of my own, Tom. Your skin is so warm. Smooth. You're not *much* hairier than I am."

"Much -- ah. To my chagrin --"

"I'll invent a testosterone pill for you. Or -- hmm, maybe a patch? You could become one of those terrifying body-builders, all bulging veins and oil."

"Ew?"

Lex laughs and shifts his hand until he's petting Tim's mouth with his thumb. "Maybe not...? Your mouth isn't very... hmm. Generous. Mine looks rather more like the traditional cocksucker's. Do you suck cock, Tom? Do you like the taste? The feel of something big and hard sliding right down your throat?"

"*Jesus*, Lex --" And perhaps it's all right that he doesn't know how he was going to finish that thought, because Lex is *pressing* his thumb against Tim's mouth, and --

His eyes aren't narrow so much as they're heavy-lidded, focused and -- drugged on more than just alcohol.

Tim closes his eyes --

Lex moans, soft and low. "Say yes, Tom. Say we can --" Lex's laugh is breathless. "We can *negotiate*."

Tim brings his hand up and wraps it around Lex's wrist, feeling his pulse -- strong and *heavy* -- and dragging his wrist down until Tim's mouth is free. He opens his eyes, and he says --

He was going to say something. Definitely --

There was something *to* say, but Lex looks so *hungry*, and Tim can't help feeling it, the *weight* of it, and the way he has to struggle against it in order to keep something like his *control*. "Lex. You -- you've thought about this. You know that I'm involved with someone else --"

"I *don't* want to marry you, or even escort you to the graduation ceremonies this year, Tom. I want to fuck you --"

"And you want to do it hard. I -- yes, I picked up on that," Tim says, and taking a deep breath just means breathing in Lex again, alcohol and cologne and -- he catches himself *trying* to pick up on Lex's arousal, catches himself leaning in --

But not quick enough, because Lex's mouth on his own is only soft because of his lips. The *force* is hard, and --

It's nothing like kissing Bruce. There's no sense of being overwhelmed by what he's doing, and the *feel* is completely different. Lex's mouth is too generous, too *overtly* sensual, and Lex's personality --

Lex's *want*, and maybe that's what Tim should be thinking about right now. Lex -- knows how to kiss, and he's *using* that knowledge to great effect, painstakingly and thoroughly testing every possible configuration of lips and teeth and tongue --

Until Tim moans, and maybe that has more to do with the absolute *care* than with the fact that Lex's hand is in his hair while he's biting Tim's lower lip, but Lex bites *harder*, sucks and shifts --

He'd tucked the flask away, and Tim knows that by the fact that Lex is stroking Tim's waist, petting and tugging on Tim's shirt -- Tim pulls back. "*Lex*."

Lex exhales sharply, but doesn't meet Tim's eyes. His *hands* are still again, and that should be enough --

They're still so *close*. Incriminatingly so, and anyone could walk up those stairs --

Tim knows he would *hear* them, that you have to make a turn past a rather large wall if you want to see them -- this painting --

God, *think*. "You -- you don't want to do this."

"*Don't* tell me --" Lex gasps a laugh. "Lesson number one, Tom -- never assume you know what drives me, even if you think I've given you all the clues you need. For example: Did you know that I was just thinking about the lies you tell?"

"I --"

"It's fascinating, really," Lex says, and when he meets Tim's eyes, his are bright and almost *dancing* with something that looks both like humor and *mania*. "You'll tell me that the girl you loved is dead, but not why you got kicked out of school. You'll show me that you're a *very* creditable martial artist, but not which boy -- man? -- took your virginity. There are other things, but I think those may be the most important things, somehow..." And Lex searches him for a long moment -- "No, you still won't tell me. And that's all right. But I wonder that you don't ever seem to get tired of it, of the *weight* of all that deception --"

"I do, Lex. It's -- it's fucking *difficult* not to be --"

"Not to be known. Not to be taken for *exactly* who you are... well, look at it this way, Tom. I want to take you for the natural born *liar* that you are, the manipulative little fucker who secretly likes all the games, who can't help using himself to get all the information, all the sleazy little points of *data* that he can."

"Then --" Tim licks his lips and wishes he hadn't when Lex *focuses* on Tim's mouth and --

This kiss is quick and hard, *wet* because Lex is teasing Tim's tongue with his own, licking and sliding -- *moaning*, but then he pulls back again. "You were saying?"

Tim laughs despite himself. "I -- was about to question your *taste*, Lex. You should find someone who can be honest with you. Or -- at least as honest as *you* feel you've been."

"As I *feel* I've been, yes, there's that. But how to perform that particular calculus, hm? Because I think," Lex says, and squeezes Tim's waist before stroking down to his *hip*, "that I've done the math quite well enough for my tastes."

"I -- didn't realize you were that casual, Lex."

And -- it's a *kind* of answer when Lex tightens his grip on Tim's hair and pulls, when his lips part and his eyes *darken* with something that almost looks like anger --

"Fuck, Lex, I -- really don't want to want you," he says, and wonders if there are any points given out for that kind of honesty --

"The feeling is entirely mutual. You have -- your chest is flat, your hips are slim to the point of *skinniness* --"

"I *have* a functioning penis --"

Lex's laugh is a little wild. "Let me touch you there, Tom. Let me -- squeeze you hard. *Jerk* you hard --"

If there *were* any points in his name, he wipes them out utterly with this kiss, with the way he's pressing close enough that Lex *has* to feel the heat and *stiffness* of him through their pants --

Lex makes a *high* sound and kisses Tim back, rocking his hips against Tim's abdomen and *tugging* Tim's hair, and --

Perhaps this will be a battle for control. Perhaps it *has* to be that, because Lex is a little too straight and a lot too fucked-*up* for it to be anything else, and --

Maybe --

Tim reaches around and grabs Lex's ass, squeezing hard and *spreading* a little --

Lex rears back, panting. "Tom."

"I'm *not* going to turn into a woman just because you push me around a little, Lex. It doesn't *work* that way," Tim says, and shifts one hand until he's just barely teasing Lex's cleft through his pants --

"I don't. I don't want you to be a woman, Tom."

"I think that was a lie," Tim says, raising an eyebrow and teasing again --

Again --

"Would you like to try again?"

And -- Lex's smile is savage and *hard*. "I'd like you to be *my* woman, Tom. You --" Lex laughs again, quiet and sharp. "You'd be perfect for me, and I -- would show you how perfect *I* could be --"

"I don't plan on taking any trips to... Sweden." Not Thailand, not yet. "If you want me, then you're going to have to do something about --"

"Your *cock*, yes, I know," Lex says, and shoves a hand between them, *cups* Tim --

Squeezes and Tim grunts helplessly --

"Would my hand be enough? Or. Do you want my mouth, Tom? Have you fantasized about it? Women seem to like it a *great* deal," he says, and he's squeezing *rhythmically*, and --

Dammit, this was supposed to *work*, supposed to let him do -- something. "Lex," he starts, but his voice is rough, too undeniably hungry --

"I want to make you *come*, Tom. I want to see it -- I want to *have* it for myself, have you *know* that it's mine, that you are --"

"Too -- too *greedy* --"

"Am I? It seems to be -- you're more aroused by the second, and I think I can *smell* you now --"

"My fault for not -- nnh. Taking you up on that offer of cologne --"

"I'm glad you didn't," Lex says, leaning in fast and licking the space behind Tim's ear --

"*Fuck* --"

"So you are sensitive there. Good. In the interest of fairness -- no part of my scalp or head -- other than my mouth -- is sexually sensitive. Please keep that in mind."

Tim snorts and -- "Fine. All right. But not *here*," he says, and -- it's a *shock* when Lex stops squeezing him, when he takes his hand away -- Tim shivers and forces himself to stand straight, to let go of Lex's incredibly tempting *ass* --

And somehow they're looking at each other across too short a distance, both of them panting -- they're *staring* at each other, and isn't this what Tim had wanted? An excuse to just *fall* into bed with Lex, to do what he wanted, *take* what he wanted...

"We -- have a room."

Lex nods slowly -- and brings his hand up to his face, breathing deeply --

"Jesus, Lex --"

"There's no question that the scent is male, if faint. Perhaps it will become a new definition of sex, for me," he says, and drops his hand again. "Come back to the dorm with me. I'll leave first, then you... and no one else will be back there for at least another hour."

"I. I have to ask --"

"I'm sure, Tom. And we... maybe it will turn out to be just once. I'm learning myself as we go," and his smile is wry. "But somehow I doubt that you'll be heartbroken if I can't do it again."

Perhaps not *heart*broken, no... Tim shakes his head. "All right. I -- go."

Lex nods again and does it, leaving Tim time to straighten his clothes, to attempt to *will* his erection down to something manageable... well, he won't be the only boy here tonight with seriously raging hormones, and --

Maybe that's why the dorm mothers are so lenient. Maybe that's why the administrative staff *leaves* these things up to the dorm mothers. It would almost have to help put a damper on all the casual -- and not so casual -- homosexual activities, wouldn't it?

Or *not* as the case may be, but the rulebooks weren't written with Lex Luthor in mind. Or Bruce Wayne, for that matter. Tim gives another one-twenty count and moves down the stairs. Even more people are dancing, now, and the dancing has gotten to be closer and more serious.

The time of night when declarations are made, perhaps. Bruce catches his eye, but he's still dancing with Betty, who doesn't look at all the worse for wear even after a run-in with Lex...

A kiss.

Tim shakes his head and keeps walking, half-idly looking for Harvey and finding him in a crush of girls. Some of them might even know what they have in him, might even *appreciate* --

It's a thought for another time, especially since he can't help but remember the file on Gilda Dent, ex-wife in his time and current single woman with a stack of anti-depressant prescriptions. Had Bruce ever gone to her? Batman might not have been welcome, but Bruce, perhaps, would have been.

Someone to tell her that none of it was her fault, to assure her that Harvey was getting the best care available...

Tim shakes his head again and pauses by the refreshment table, topping off his drink with more punch and watching Harvey wind up in the middle of a playful tug of war. He is, by far, the most objectively attractive boy at the dance -- assuming you didn't have a thing for blonds. Even then, he's tall, obviously athletic, graceful...

His teeth are perfect, his hair is artfully mussed, his eyes are warm and inviting...

Was Bruce thinking of Harvey when he kissed Betty? Of *him*? And yes, he *knows* Bruce is watching him every time the dance allows it. It's a feeling he can't shake, that *sense* of him always being there --

That sense he'd come to *crave*, because the alternative was fear he wouldn't have been able to do anything *with*. Bruce might not know *exactly* what he'd been doing with Lex, but he'd absolutely be able to tell that Tim's aroused, and that Lex had been aroused, as well.

The only question is how he *feels* about the answer he'd gotten when he'd put two and two together --

No, Tim knows that, too. And... he owes something, however little he can give.

He waits until the song is over and nods at Bruce, then walks to a quieter corner, and -- yes, he's very clearly telling Betty that he needs to talk to Tim alone, which isn't as suspicious as it could be, given that he's been dancing with her all night.

Betty waves at him, and Tim smiles and waves back -- and Bruce is there.

"You were with Lex," he says, without anything resembling preamble.

"Yes," Tim says, and takes another sip --

"That's *alcohol*, Tom --"

"Yes, it is. I -- decided to try to fit in, a little," he says, mostly honestly --

And Bruce is searching him hard for a moment -- he relaxes. "You're not drunk. But -- what did you do with Lex, Tom?"

"We talked -- about you -- and then kissed."

"He was very --" Bruce frowns. "He was like *himself* when we met outside."

Tim nods. "Bruce --"

"He left. I saw... were you going to go with him, Tom?"

And there's a plea in his voice, and Tim would be a much stupider person if he didn't know what it was for. "I -- I am. I want to."

Bruce steps closer -- too close, but Tim allows it, and -- "We could go back to *my* room, Tom. I -- you know there's nothing I wouldn't do with you."

Tim closes his eyes -- for just a moment. "I know."

"But you want *Lex*. I -- I think I might be angry."

"I understand, Bruce. I -- I think I'd be angry, too, if our positions were reversed --"

"Then *why*, Tom? What -- was it something I said, or did? Betty and I -- we kissed tonight --"

"Lex told me --"

"She kissed *me*. But -- I wanted her to," Bruce says, and frowns again. "It wasn't -- I didn't feel the way I feel when it's you --"

"Or Harvey," Tim says, and lets it be flat, lets it *sit* there --

"Or Harvey," Bruce says. "Why can't you want *him*? He's so wonderful. He's -- he's *good*, and we can trust him --"

"I -- can't explain it, Bruce. I want him, and I -- I can have him. But I wanted to talk to you first --"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," Tim says, and holds up a hand. "Don't make this a test, Bruce. Don't make me choose, if only because you know I'd never do the same to you."

And Bruce looks -- yes. Angry and sad, hurt and hungry, loving and *wanting* -- "Do you love *him*?"

"I -- don't know," Tim says. "Though I think that if I didn't care about him this wouldn't be an issue."

Bruce nods. "No, it wouldn't be," he says, and he sounds perfectly sure.

"I... should go now."

"He's waiting for you."

"Yes," Tim says, and eyes the adulterated punch in his cup. One day, Bruce, you'll make me drink things like this until I throw up, until I say a dozen too-honest things and you praise me for never once telling the truths you know I'm hiding.

You'll *know* I love you, that I want you and need you, and you'll be *happy* with me because I won't say anything of the kind.

You'll love my control, at least a little bit, and that will keep me warm. Warm enough --

"Is he the reason why you want to stay here, Tom?"

That -- "Not. Not the only reason, and not a major reason, Bruce. It's you, and the chance to be with you, to be who you want, at least in part..." Tim laughs quietly. "It's always you."

"Look at me."

Tim does, and thinks about kissing Bruce, about the kind of behavior that will honestly only be cause for titters and giggles by the champagne fountain when people Tim's age or a little older get up to it. "I love you. But -- I think I need Lex."

Bruce nods. "I'll think about it. I won't be able to stop. I haven't been able to stop --"

"I know. And I'll think about you and Harvey, and how long he'll be able to stand knowing that you're with me without needing to show you, to love you --"

"Don't. Please, Tom."

Tim bites his lip, and doesn't beg Bruce to call him Tim, to know him and need him *as* Tim -- he nods. "I'm sorry."

"It's not enough," Bruce says, and rests his hand on Tim's shoulder. He squeezes and -- "I wish it were enough."

"I know."

"Do you think... what should I tell Betty about how to deal with the girls at her school, Tom? She's very worried."

Tim -- blinks.

"That... was a subject change I should've warned for, I think," Bruce says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder again.

Bruce. And why, exactly, couldn't he love someone who *didn't* make his head hurt all the time? It seems like a serious *design* flaw -- Tim laughs and shakes his head. "I'm all right. You should tell her that if she chooses to be mysterious, that might make some of the other girls more vicious and inclined to... pranks. If she chooses to tell all -- or almost all -- then she might find that she has several new 'friends' who will almost certainly try to stab her in the back when it comes to you --"

"That's terrible --"

"That's *Wayne*," Tim says, and takes another sip. "And you need to know everything that means before it bites you or someone else you care about."

Bruce frowns and nods. "What else? Is there anything that could make things okay for her? I -- I like her a great deal, Tom."

"Then I think I'd like her more than I already do, as well," and Tim smiles ruefully. "I... I think she'd be better off being perfectly honest, and keeping a nice line of distance between herself and the girls she probably already knows are no good. Tell her to cleave to her real friends, and to trust her instincts. Tell her... that high school only lasts forever for the kind of people she doesn't want in her life, anyway."

Bruce nods. "Thank you. I... I was going to suggest that she keep her own counsel, because that's what has worked for me."

Tim smiles. "It won't always, Bruce. But... we have a little more time than women tend to."

"How do you know so *much*? Is it... is it because of Steph?"

You taught me how to *observe* -- only. Tom wouldn't have gone to any co-ed schools. "Mostly because of her, yes. We... we talked about a lot of things when we were together."

Bruce nods and takes his hand off Tim's shoulder. "I don't want you to go."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bruce. We have that study date with Harvey. Nothing... nothing much has to *change*."

"I think I have my doubts about that, Tom. But... you know Lex better than I ever will."

"I love you, Bruce."

"And I love you. And... one day Lex won't be around, at all," he says, and his smile is sharp and more than a little *evil* --

Tim raises an eyebrow. "And neither will Harvey."

"Ouch. All right, I deserved that. I... I can't think of anything else good to say."

Tim nods toward Betty, who is -- judging by her blush -- the subject of far too much attention from the small crowd of girls gathered *just* within earshot. "Rescue her. She'll appreciate it."

"You make me want to send her back to Seneca Day with a *bodyguard*. Or at least Alfred."

*Everyone* could use an Alfred. "She'll be all right. Especially since you fully intend to keep in touch...?"

Bruce blushes. "I -- yes."

Tim nods. "I thought so. Socialization is good for everyone, Bruce. And -- good night."

"Good night," he says, and only sounds a *little* like he doesn't mean it.

Tim watches him go, watches him smile at Betty and lead her back to the dancing --

And watches the loathing aimed their way. Really, Betty would've been better off if Bruce had chosen to dance with at least two or three of the other girls at least once or *twice*... but the part of him which *only* belongs to Bruce --

*Tom* is only focused on Bruce's happiness, and on the fact that Betty had *made* this night for him in a way that Tom wouldn't have been able to do. As such, he feels both fond toward Betty and utterly uncaring about her fate.

It's good to know that he's a better person than Tom in at least some ways, and --

Lex is waiting.

He works his way through the room, nodding and smiling at the girls he'd met tonight, waving at Harvey -- currently dancing with one of them -- and moving until he's outside in the dark. The stars cast no shadows, but the deeper black is waiting for him, and he can move the way he wants to -- quick and silent and perhaps a little bit deadly.

It's *not* like being on patrol -- and he misses that feeling so much he can feel an ache in his fingers and feet -- but it is a little bit like being himself.

And -- he can pretend that where he's going is actually a suburb of Gotham, that what's waiting for him is a room still plastered with posters and photographs of superheroes, that the music might have a little country mixed in, but not enough to make Tim protest.

He can feel the tension loosening in his back and shoulders, feel himself smiling --

No, not that, because there's no Steph at the end of this path. He's going to be *himself*, but not by that much.

There's no one who can give him that, but Lex comes *close*, against all odds and reason, and he thinks he'd probably be close to a nervous breakdown if he hadn't *had* Steph to prove that that was possible with someone who *wasn't* born to be a supervillain --

And never mind her father, because he doesn't especially want to get punched in the *face* --

Except for how he really, really does. A *good* one -- with or without attendant brick -- which loosens his teeth and leaves his face looking like a sunset for the next couple of weeks --

And he's in front of his door -- closed, and there's no sound from within. He walks in. "No mood music, Lex?"

Only -- Lex is standing in the center of the room, arms crossed and hand near his mouth. He's tense and still, and it makes him look like the kind of living weapon Tim has grown up -- needing.

"Lex...?"

Lex laughs and turns to face him, expression casually rueful and eyes anything but. "You were delayed?"

"Bruce wanted... advice," he says. "About Betty."

Lex raises an eyebrow. "Really. Did puberty just run up and smack him in the face?"

Tim shakes his head. "She was worried about what she'd have to deal with at school after spending just about all night in Bruce Wayne's arms."

Lex purses his lips and turns more to face Tim, relaxing by steady increments. "There is *that*. I don't suppose she can up and decide to be a Scarlet Woman."

"Hardly," Tim says, and thinks seriously about locking the door... no, it won't be all *that* long before the dorm mothers start going through and checking to make sure all the boys are in the right beds. Chances are, people here have learned to save their masturbatory adventures until *after* they've been checked on, despite the night's temptations. He moves further into the room, and --

And he can *feel* that look of Lex's, feel it taking him in entirely, and -- yes, the arousal is right back where it had been, before. He can *smell* Lex all around here, and very little of himself.

It's all cologne and the moisturizer Lex needs in order for his skin not to betray him any more than it already has. Sweetness and masculinity, and Tim takes a deep breath --

"Tom."

"Yes."

"I thought... no, never mind --"

"You thought I was going to blow you off, or maybe use your reputation against you," Tim says, because it's the truth, and -- perhaps Lex needs to know that Tom knows him just that well --

"The perils of -- being me," Lex says, and smiles ruefully. "But you came."

"Yes," Tim says, and reaches up to wrap his arms around Lex's neck. He's not quite as tall as Bruce, but there's still --

It still feels --

The kiss is slow and very, very --

The kiss is slow and *wet*, and exactly what Tim likes -- though he suspects that right now 'what he likes' is a very broad category, indeed. I hurt Bruce for you, Lex. I want you *that* badly --

Only it would mean nothing right now, or at least several wrong things. *If* it meant the right thing, there would just be trouble of assorted kinds he doesn't need to *deal* with --

And Lex is thrusting into his mouth with slow, thorough care, cupping Tim's waist and tugging him closer until they're pressed against each other, until it's an *effort* not to cup Lex's head and pull him in, feel him --

There are many, many other smooth parts of his body, and Tim pushes back just enough to get his hands between them, get his hands on the buttons of Lex's shirt --

Lex hums and shrugs out of his jacket, sucking Tim's lip again and pushing both hands into Tim's hair --

He can be moved for this. It's -- it --

He *likes* it, and he's not going to deny that, not now that he's completely failing to deny himself everything *else*. He lets Lex tilt his head back and make the kiss *deeper*, and perhaps it's all right for Tom to be this deft with Lex's buttons even though he's being kissed to within an inch of his life --

No, it's Tim, it's *him*, and that's --

God, he wants it so *much*, and moaning for it makes Lex tighten his grip on Tim's hair, makes him *rock* against Tim's abdomen -- and move his hands. And not *put* them anywhere else.

Tim pulls back. "Lex...?"

Lex laughs quietly. "When you put your hands on my ass before you were trying to prove a *point*, but..."

Tim nods. "You -- I'll tell you if you're touching me in a way I don't want. I won't say it's just like being with a woman, but, ah... relax?"

Lex closes his eyes -- and touches his chest, which Tim has done a *very* good job of baring if he does say so himself. "Perhaps you should think of this as a reasonably good time to press your *attack*, Tom."

"I don't really like to think of sex that way --"

"I note the lack of surety in that statement," and when Lex opens his eyes, they're hot and *sharp*.

Tim licks his lips -- and laughs. "Fine. I'd rather not treat this as a spar. Not -- the first time."

"The first time... heh. Still. Touch me the way you want. Please," Lex says, spreading his arms and letting his shirt fall...

Tim untucks it the rest of the way and then just *looks*. That scar on his pec, and all the smaller, lighter scars that -- he realizes he *knows* exactly where all of them are, already, just from living with Lex and -- looking.

Wanting. Well --

Now he *has* Lex, and that means it's absolutely the right thing to do to splay his hands on Lex's lean chest, to stroke and press and *learn* the sleekness of this skin, the way it's *not* just like touching his own hairless chest, and couldn't be, because Lex is always going to feel *just* like this.

"The joys of radiation, Tom...?"

"Is that what happened? I'm sorry if I seem distracted, but -- you feel very, very good."

Lex's laugh is a little *tight*, but it's still a laugh. "I'd call you a pervert, but... I know you like them older, as well."

"Mm. I might just be equal opportunity in my tastes, but... you're no child," Tim says, and lets his fingers find Lex's nipples, brush and squeeze --

The breath Lex takes is shaky. "I -- I'm sensitive. And that's obvious."

Tim nods. "In the good way," he says, and leans in --

"Wait," Lex says, and backs against the door. "For some reason... this is more comfortable."

"I understand," Tim says, and touches again, strokes until Lex is pressing against his hands, until he closes his eyes -- "Lex," and he has nothing to go after that except for his mouth on one of Lex's nipples. His lips and tongue --

"Tom..."

His teeth, just in a scrape -- and Lex has one hand back in his hair, tugging and... not trying to pull Tim away. Tim sucks until Lex's nipple is hard, *stiff*, and it's necessary to pinch Lex's other nipple, but not to --

He strokes *down*, cupping Lex through his pants -- hard. *Very* hard, and the shape of him is obvious through his pants, the *heat* of him --

"Racquel really wasn't *any* good," Lex says, and there's a touch of the persona in his voice, but *that* Lex has never sounded this hungry, this --

Tim wants to promise to take care of Lex, promise to make this good, satisfying --

Tim wants to make Lex want *more*, and maybe that means that he should squeeze, should stroke as he sucks --

It would be so *easy* to drop to his knees, but he doesn't want that -- yet. Quite. Tim pulls away from Lex's nipple and licks his lips. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"Just a kiss?"

"Not if we do it right," Tim says, and strokes Lex through his pants, watches Lex's expression turn almost angry, tense and -- something. Something that makes Tim feel heavy in his pants, makes Tim start to *sweat* a little --

"Then what. Are you waiting for?"

"Permission," and Tim smiles and reaches for the kiss with what feels like a significant portion of his *identity* --

And Lex is waiting for it, waiting *through* it, and very obviously testing to see what *sort* of kiss Tim wants to give -- or take. Tim makes it -- he *can't* make it slow, at this point, but he can make it stay a little soft and... appreciative.

Lex really is *just* that attractive, and there's just enough damage showing on the surface that Tim wants to erase it, smooth it over, *replace* it. He wants to tell Lex that not everything has to be a competition, much less a battle, that there's room in the world -- in *their* world -- for softer things, *better* things --

Lex shudders and groans, pushing into Tim's hand --

Tim squeezes and keeps kissing, and now Lex is giving it back to him, showing him -- is this the perfection he was talking about, or is this just what *willing* looks like? Tim feels as though he ought to be able to tell, to be *sure*, but all he knows right now is that it feels very, very good.

Lex's mouth is *soft*, wet from all the kissing and mobile against Tim's own. When Tim bites, Lex bites back with the same degree of pressure, moving away from the door and pushing, leading them both to the beds --

Lex's bed, and Tim's allowed to be a little graceful for this, a little *experienced* --

And Lex pushes Tim down against his bed -- silk, still, and the scent of him here is even stronger, even more necessary, and it has to be all right to want to *rub* against the sheets, make them smell a little like himself --

*Remember me*, Tim doesn't say, because the kiss is too good to give up, and because he's still a little too sane for that.

Lex is crouched over Tim and licking his mouth, his cheek and forehead --

"Really, Lex?"

"I had to see what all the fuss was about. Forgive me," he says, and kisses Tim again, grabbing Tim's shoulders and pressing them down against the bed -- not hard. Tim can still move his arms, and he does, cupping Lex's hips and dragging them closer, urging Lex to thrust --

Lex groans into his mouth and takes over the motion handily, moving against Tim's abdomen -- Lex breaks the kiss and pants. "Naked. You should be naked right now."

"That will take some moving --"

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," and Lex kisses Tim one more time, *bites* him one more time and pulls back, standing next to the bed --

And at some point, Tim had opened Lex's fly. He's not sure whether he wants to congratulate himself for thinking ahead or send himself to the entirely innocent Arkham which exists at this time.

"Nervous?"

"Distracted," Tim says honestly, and takes one more moment to stare at his hands before sitting up. He ditches his shoes and socks, his jacket --

"Tom..."

He pauses, and raises an eyebrow at Lex, who is currently pushing a hand into his own pants -- "That... is a very inspiring sight."

Lex blushes but he doesn't stop, and Tim can see the outline of Lex's hand, the way it's moving --

He licks his lips again. "Was there a reason you wanted me to stop, Lex? Do you need to... ah. Something?"

Lex grins and shakes his head. "I'm just having something of a... moment," he says. "What do *you* do when you find yourself in the middle of doing something you never intended?"

Tim closes his eyes -- and smiles.

"Oh. I see. But... surely this isn't all *that* strange for you?"

"The individual acts? No. The person I'm with... rather more so. And that has nothing to do with who you are -- or what you look like -- and everything to do with how I felt I should be negotiating my time here at Exeter."

"You were... going to be a good boy?"

"In every way I could manage. Now I think..." Tim stands up and unbuttons the shirt just enough to be able to pull it over his head, ignoring Alfred's stare in his mind. "I think I'll settle for being *very* good, Lex --"

And Lex's fingers are on his nipple, pinching and *pulling*.

"Oh -- yes. I'm not as sensitive as you are, but I can't say I don't enjoy that..."

Lex nods. "Noted. Let me see... hm. I'm wondering if we shouldn't be in our pajamas, in case of dorm mother interruption."

"You have a point, but we have another forty minutes before the dance is over. Time enough to enjoy ourselves... to some extent."

"Then -- nudity. Please. I'd like to... get used to you, a little bit," he says, and it's obvious that the honesty is *hurting* him --

"An entirely rational desire," Tim says, and finishes stripping quickly, then stands. "I always feel a little ridiculous when I'm naked and hard."

"You look..." Lex smiles. "Like a teenaged boy. A deeply athletic teenaged boy with a fascinating number of scars," and he reaches out to trace the one along Tim's right side. "I don't suppose you want to give me stories for any of them? They don't have to be true."

"Karate," he says honestly -- because that's what he'd mostly been using when Shrike had used that blade. "Judo," he says, and traces one of the scars on his right thigh, another on his arm. "Plate glass," and he traces the one on his throat and thinks of Jason, of knives and identity and Robin, always, always Robin. "This could take a while. It took me rather a long time to learn grace."

"This one..." He touches the scar. "The collars mostly hide it, but you're never going to be able to spend much time pretending to be less... active than you are."

"And how much do I love communal showers?" Tim shakes his head and smiles. "It's a good thing that I like to stay covered up as much as I do, I know."

Lex nods thoughtfully. "With time, the scar on my chest will fade to look like the others -- for some reason it's difficult to mark me *permanently* -- but... I'd like to have scars like yours, I think. Scars I've *chosen*."

"It certainly makes them easier to bear. I... Lex. You do know that --"

"We don't have to do anything. Yes, I'm not a victim, Tom."

"I didn't say that you were," Tim says and raises his hands. "It's just that you seem to be... psyching yourself up for this, and that's less arousing than some of the other things we've done tonight."

Lex shakes his head. "It's not that. It's just that I've seen any number of male bodies to date *without* being this aroused -- to the point where I've learned to fake it reasonably well -- and I'm trying to discern what's different about yours... other than the fact that you're *in* it."

"You could tell yourself that it's the scars, Lex."

"I could. But it wouldn't be true," he says, and steps out of his shoes, and finishes stripping himself. Thicker than he would've guessed, yes, and dark with blood -- and slick at the tip.

Tim makes a point of looking *up* --

"No, look at me the way you want to. Please," and Tim wonders if every time Lex says that word he'll get harder --

"Do you mind if I... ah. Look with my hands?"

Lex laughs again. "Just your eyes, for now. Be -- rude."

"All right," Tim says and... takes Lex in. He suspects he's not being rude so much as obvious, but that works, as well. He moves around Lex, taking in the lines of his back and the small scars here and there. Lex is lithe, sleek, and a part of Tim is *looking* for the hair he know won't be there, *can't* be there. He moves around in front of Lex again, and watches a bead of pre-come forming, watches Lex start to sweat and breathes in --

"You look like you're... I don't know, fitting me for something. A uniform I'd have to wear to go take on the Commies, perhaps?"

Tim laughs reflexively and takes a good look at the back of his mind, finding -- no, no, and -- no. Lex will never see the Cave, will never be one of *them*, and perhaps it's only natural for Tim to look at a lover in this way, but it's not something to be *encouraged*. "I'm sorry --"

"Don't be," Lex says, and reaches out to cup Tim's face. "I still don't understand this entirely."

"And now you're too sober to ignore that fact."

"Yes," Lex says, and pulls Tim into another kiss, moaning when his penis brushes against Tim's skin, when Tim's penis brushes against his own --

So *smooth*, and there *is* some measure of guilt for finding that so compelling, this thing that Lex never asked for and which he can do nothing about --

It's *Lex*, and maybe it's necessary, just as it's necessary to stroke his sides and his back, down to his ass where he can squeeze -- and make Lex *fuck* Tim's mouth with his tongue, hard and not very fast --

*Serious* and extremely addictive, and this time Lex does a creditable sweep with his legs to bring Tim down to the bed -- "I could say something about your instincts --"

"I could say something about the fact that you let that happen. Wrap your legs around me for a moment?"

Tim nods and does it -- and groans because Lex starts thrusting immediately, slowly at first --

*Faster* when he gets them lined up, and Tim can't keep himself from *clutching* Lex's hips, urging --

No *hair* to tickle or scratch him, and all the smooth is *getting* to him, making him --

Lex catches Tim's next moan in his mouth and starts to grind, and it's getting slick between them, messy and a kind of perfect Tim can't imagine denying. Lex *wants* this, and it couldn't be more obvious without the kinds of bruises Bruce would find to be -- too much.

He can't -- he won't let Lex mark him, but -- he breaks the kiss. "My throat, Lex. I don't want a hickey --"

"Understood," Lex says -- pants, and when Tim tilts his head back, Lex cups Tim's chin and pushes it back farther before leaning in and starting to lick, nibble with his teeth and suck --

"Oh -- yes, I --"

"I think -- I think you'd make a *beautiful* woman, Tom --"

Tim laughs and *bucks*. "It's not going to *happen*, Lex. Make *do* -- ohn --"

Another bite, and another, and Lex is licking his way across Tim's throat, still grinding rhythmically and taking Tim a little higher each time, making this --

God, he wants *more*, and he shifts his hands until he can cup Lex's ass again, until he can reach between and cup Lex's sac, feel it smooth and *tight* against his palm --

Lex moans and bites again, rears up -- "I want more. And I'm not sure what that would entail -- exactly."

"Then we're on the same wavelength. I -- how would you feel about me fingering you while I sucked you off?"

Lex moans again and shakes his head. "Conflicted? Could we -- ah. Eschew the fingering?"

Tim takes a moment to imagine shoving an anthropomorphized disappointment against a wall and punching it repeatedly. "We could, yes."

And Lex's smile is almost *soft* -- "But you don't want to."

"It's -- the first time. We don't have to do everything."

"I think I like seeing you a little hungry," Lex says, and shifts until he's braced on one arm. He traces Tim's features with his other hand. "And under me."

"You're going to make some woman... extraordinarily tense."

"Yes, but she *won't* be sexually frustrated," Lex says, rolling off until he's wedged between Tim and the wall. "I want a larger bed."

"I want an extremely powerful car --"

"You have *nothing* to compensate for... except, perhaps, your height."

Tim grins and flips Lex off --

"Not -- yet, I think. Suck me. I -- am fully aware that I'm making that a request in an attempt to have... oh, something like sexual agency."

"I think I'd like to know what books you've been reading --"

"One day, I'll convince you to visit me in Metropolis, and, after my father has horrified you, I'll let you decompress in my library."

"It's a date," Tim says -- and realizes that he hadn't even given an answer that positive to *Clark* --

"Ooh. You just realized what you said. If you're worried about *my* reaction -- don't. I have no expectations other than the continuation of our good time, tonight."

Tim smiles ruefully. "I do *like* to travel," he says, turning over onto his side and scooting down the bed.

"And I like -- oh, *fuck*, Tom --"

There really was no reason to *wait* --

"You... aren't shy. You're -- nnh," and Lex pushes a hand into Tim's hair. "I thought you'd wait until I was on my *back*."

No reason to do so, if he isn't going to be introducing Lex to the pleasures of his own ass --

"You... God, it's been too *long* --"

Tim looks up as much as Lex will allow and raises an eyebrow.

"Monica Overstreet. Trying -- very hard -- to be a relatively good girl," Lex says, and arches into Tim's mouth, tries to get deeper --

Tim allows *that* and gets another groan, another gasp --

"I've decided. You're going to do this to me every *day*."

Tim hums and pulls back until just the head is in his mouth, until he can try to coax out more pre-come with his tongue --

"You like this. You -- part of me is honestly *surprised* -- oh. Oh, Tom --"

Deeper again, and the taste -- is the taste of a strange male, clean and heavy, thick as the *feel*, and a part of *his* mind is only writing this onto itself. This feel is Lex, this taste is *sex* with Lex, this is what it means to give in to his baser urges and *take* --

"I think -- I thought I'd feel more powerful. Like. Those other times -- nnh. Make me stop *talking*."

Just when it's getting interesting? He doesn't *want* to --

"*Tom* --"

Except that he does, and that -- he pulls off, ignoring the feel of Lex trying to hold him in, because he doesn't try that hard. And --

Lex is panting, eyes squeezed shut and face pulled into a *snarl* --

"On your back."

"Tom --"

"Please," Tim says, grabbing himself and squeezing --

And Lex opens his eyes in time to see the end of it. His eyes go wide and he opens his mouth --

And he turns onto his back, spreading his legs in a way that just makes Tim feel needier, *hungrier* -- but he's allowed to touch. Allowed to *feel*, to stroke up Lex's thighs to his mound and press, kiss, *inhale* --

"Did you want me to beg? More, I mean." Lex's voice is breathy, low and the kind of wonderful Tim can't ignore --

"You could consider it," he says, and licks Lex's penis from the base to the tip --

"Oh, I am. Your mouth is... incredible."

"And you've never had a good blowjob, because it's not like I've done this all *that* often," and he licks again, nibbles along the shaft, drags his cheek against it and licks *again* --

Lex grunts and arches again -- "You've -- clearly put some *thought* into it."

"All I would have to do is think about what I wanted in order to do this fairly well, Lex."

"Are you trying to *convert* me?"

Tim grins and nuzzles the base. "It's an excellent way to encourage ZPG..."

"Mm. But people... people like us *should* breed. It's good for the world."

And one day, you'll combine your DNA with Superman's and make a truly wonderful child... "Perhaps you have a point. But I don't plan to have my sperm get anywhere near an egg... unless we're talking about in-vitro fertilization and a very, very special woman, indeed."

"Special enough to tolerate your... proclivities?"

"That would help," and Tim licks Lex again, sucks the head --

"Jesus, I -- thought I was ready for that --"

Sucks *hard* --

"Tom, I -- I believe you could talk me into anything if you kept doing that --"

Tim signs 'do you know ASL' at him --

"Though not if you try to use sign language. I -- you really don't *stop* being fascinating, do you?"

Tim pulls off. "I try not to," and Lex's groan goes right through him, touches him everywhere he *needs* it, and it's *important* to reward things like that, so Tim wraps his hand around the base of Lex's penis and goes down until he's kissing it, mouthing it and teasing himself with the feel of the head against the back of his throat, the press and *push* of it --

"This -- you're going to make returning the favor... ah. Incredibly *intimidating* --"

Tim starts to *work* his head a little, and -- thinks about it. Lex with his mouth on him. *That* mouth and this *boy*, and he'd have to gnaw on his own fingers to keep from stroking or grabbing Lex's head --

"No moan of anticipation? I'm -- insulted. Fuck, Tom, please don't stop again --"

Tim hums and speeds up a little, squeezing the base --

"Can't -- I want to thrust. I want -- can you take it?"

Tim nods -- stops and waves a hand --

"Just a little then. I'll -- try to control myself. Fuck, your *mouth*," and Lex pushes, slow and somewhat hesitant --

Tim makes a come-on gesture, and Lex groans and does it, pushing in with the rhythm Tim's using to work himself, groaning again and then making a soft sound for every thrust. It makes Tim salivate for it, makes him want to go faster, take *more* --

But he knows his limits, and there's only so much he can do without Lex being in his throat --

He wants Lex in his throat. He --

Tim's so *hard*, and the sheets are a cool and almost slick *torture* against him, and he still can't stop himself from humping a little, from grinding against what feels like nothing at all --

"Words. Cannot express. How happy I am -- that this is turning you on," Lex says, and tugs Tim's hair a little -- "Faster -- *please* --"

And that -- Tim moves his hand, instead, waits the moment it takes --

"*Tom*, you -- are you sure?"

Tim *hums*, swallows back spit --

And swallows Lex *down*, feeling himself twitch for it, *leak* for it, because he's not quite as big as Bruce, but his throat doesn't seem to know that or *care*.

Just --

"So -- so *tight* --"

Yes, *that*, and he can't breathe, and he can barely fucking *think* at this point, and Lex feels -- he *tastes* --

"*Tom*," and Lex sounds desperate and *helpless*, and his thrusts aren't long enough to take him out of Tim's throat, at all. It's more like a *grind*, and there's no hair to scratch Tim's lips, nothing to tickle him or make him want to sneeze. Just skin, sleek and damp with sweat.

Tim does his best to nuzzle a little, keeps swallowing and thinks about *holding* Lex, keeping him just like this --

"Can't. I can't -- Tom, *please* --"

And -- does he know what he's begging for? Does he care, at this point? Tim cups his hips again and squeezes, tries to pull Lex *deeper* --

Lex's moan is much too loud -- muffled. With a pillow, by the sound, and Tim looks up --

Yes, Lex is holding a pillow to his face while he grinds and thrusts, and Tim wants to see his *face*, but he can't fault Lex's reflexes. Especially since he can still *hear* the moans and almost feel them, almost --

Lex pulls out and *twitches* in his mouth once before he pushes back in, making Tim feel the urge to gag or cough as something deep within himself, a drive he's denying to make this better, hotter --

And the longer thrusts are doing just that, working *both* of them, and Tim scratches at Lex's hips, squeezes them and works his hands under Lex's ass. He squeezes *that*, and the moans turn into rhythmic and *needy* things, and --

This is just that *good* for Lex, to the point where Tim is reasonably sure he *wouldn't* mind if Tim pushed a finger up his ass, but -- no, he can't do that. He *won't*, because he's not that sort of person -- even if the person he's currently having sex with *is*.

Just -- what *will* it be like to leave himself in Lex's hands? What would that urge to dominate bring out in him?

Or would the shyness and lack of surety be too strong for him to... let loose? He doesn't know, but the thought of it makes Tim shiver, makes him want and salivate more.

His chin is wet, and one day they're going to have to do this in a way that would allow that hairless sac to *slap* against Tim's chin --

Yes, he really is thinking about doing this again.

And -- the moans are still muffled, but they're getting louder -- probably without anything even *resembling* Lex's permission. He's close, and that means it's important for Tim to gasp in a fraction of a breath every time Lex pulls out --

And Lex *grips* Tim's hair and shoves in --

Again --

Again --

And then he's twitching and coming halfway into Tim's throat, and Tim can't hold back the cough, but he can damned well start swallowing again as soon as it's over, and ignore the saliva and come spilling out of his mouth.

Lex jerks at the feel of it hitting his mound and groans again, shuddering all over --

He moves the pillow and starts panting, starts trying to say -- "Tom, I -- pull off. Please --"

Tim does, licking his lips and wiping his chin with the back of his hand --

"Jesus, I -- feel as though I shouldn't find that as ridiculously *hot* as I do."

Tim smiles. "A lot of people seem to find the inherent messiness of sex a turn on. I have to admit that I've come to enjoy it... to a certain extent."

"God, how can you *talk* after that?"

"I *am* a little hoarse --"

"Not *enough*," Lex says, sitting up and gripping Tim's upper arms. "Come *here* --"

Tim laughs his way into a kiss, straddling Lex's waist and letting Lex taste himself in his mouth. Lex is *fervent* about it, serious and thorough until *Tim* can barely taste his semen and they're just kissing -- and Lex is stroking him everywhere he can reach, feeling Tim and --

It's a little like being with Bruce. That sense of wonder and *absolute* pleasure, tinged with a gratitude Tim frankly doesn't know what to *do* with, but -- he can enjoy it, and kiss back, and suck Lex's tongue until he moans again --

And does a creditable flip that ends with Tim on his back and *mostly* on the bed --

Lex growls and *hauls* Tim fully onto the bed before kissing him again, stroking Tim's chest and shoulders, pressing Tim *down* and biting Tim's lip --

Moving down and biting Tim's *throat*, licking and sucking there, kissing Tim's scar and holding Tim's head up and out of the way -- "Lex, I -- what do you want?"

"That -- should be *my* question. Unless you *do* want me to suck you off, inexpert as it will be?" And Lex tilts Tim's head back down so they can meet each other's eyes and, presumably, be honest with each other.

"I do want your mouth -- but I wouldn't be put out if you wanted to just use your hand."

Lex nods and searches Tim's face, and his expression -- manic. Eager and *young* --

"You look incredible, just as an aside."

Lex raises an eyebrow. "Mind-blowing orgasm suits me?"

Tim grins. "I'd say so, yes."

"You... *really* enjoyed that. And -- I know I'm stating the obvious, but it really has always seemed like something someone does for a man either because they have to or because they care just that much."

Tim shrugs and sets his hands on Lex's shoulders. "I wasn't breastfed. The oral fixation needs to go *somewhere*."

"Somehow, I think it's more than that. A particular pleasure you take in the act, or in parts of the act?"

"Choking on someone's penis has always been a fantasy of mine. I've spent a great deal of time thinking about it. But for you, Lex... I really got off on giving you pleasure."

"Because I needed it?"

"Yes, but mostly because you *wanted* it. I -- don't do very well with resisting want aimed at me. I like being... useful."

Lex nods and searches Tim again -- and this time the kiss is slow and gentle, something that feels like 'thank you' and also like 'let's keep going' -- different from 'more.' It's more polite, to be sure, but it's also more... companionable. It's the sort of kiss he can imagine lasting long past the time when the sex has ended, and as such it's a little frustrating. Or --

*Should* he have this much control? Experience can only account for so much in a teenaged male. Tim arches up enough that the head of his penis drags against Lex's strong, smooth thigh -- and Lex breaks the kiss.

"Sorry," he says, smiling ruefully. "I -- I think I like kissing you rather a lot, Tom."

"Perhaps next time you can give me some of your lipstick."

"Nothing I have is your color, really, but..." and Lex starts kissing his way down Tim's body, pausing to suck both nipples in turn, to *bite* them --

"Ah -- but?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it was to put that eyeliner on you without kissing you?"

He'd been sitting at his desk, and Lex's cologne was high in the air, sweet and inviting -- "You only looked -- focused."

"Focused on yelling at my cock and promising myself the first piece of tail that looked remotely likely," Lex says, and dips his tongue into Tim's navel --

Tim grunts and arches again, and Lex grabs Tim's hips and presses them to the bed.

"Can you control how much you thrust?"

"Yes," Tim says. "And I'll warn you when I can't, anymore -- do you often just have sex with people you barely know or like?"

"I feel as though I -- as the almost heterosexual in this room -- ought to be asking that question," Lex says, and kisses the head of Tim's penis.

"Mm -- I. While many gay men *are* promiscuous, I personally prefer only fucking people I actually like."

That makes Lex look at him seriously again and nod. "I -- can understand that particular lifestyle choice. After tonight, it seems almost desirable."

Tim smiles again. "Almost...?"

"If I waited until I found a girl I actually *liked* who wanted me... I'd be waiting a rather long time, I think."

Tim reaches out and strokes a line down the bridge of Lex's nose. "Teenagers are stupid. I... can't wait much longer in anything like comfort, Lex."

"Then..." Lex wraps a hand around the base of Tim's penis and Tim fights against the urge to shove himself into it -- Lex laughs. "There's still rather a lot left."

Tim laughs, too. "Thank you? You don't -- have to take it *all*."

"No, I know that. But, after that... I feel as though I should devote some time to the study of how to do this properly."

"The drive toward -- ah, self-improvement is the sign of a truly civilized mind."

"Tom... forgive me ahead of time for not doing this well?"

"Lex -- done. Please -- oh. Oh, God, your lips --"

Lex hums with them still against the head, still *pressed* there --

"Soft. Wonderful. Ah -- more?"

Lex nods and kisses Tim harder, more -- well, not more *deeply*, but it's very much a *serious* kiss, with a lot of tongue for the slit and Lex using his lips exactly as though he *had* given it some thought in the last several minutes.

Tim doesn't think he could come from it, but it feels -- warm. Almost *sweet*, though that could be his body rebelling against the acid tang of need in his mouth, the lingering hints of Lex's semen -- "*Fuck* --"

Just the head, and Lex is trying to keep working his lips, Lex is licking it all *over* --

And watching Tim's reactions closely. Tim lets the smile be as drugged-looking as it wants to be and watches Lex close his eyes, and it's a warning, or maybe --

God, Lex sucking *hard*, and Tim hears himself grunt and -- doesn't thrust. Bruce would be expecting it right then, would *want* it, but this is Lex's first time with a male of the species, and Tim is honestly hoping it *won't* be his last.

Just -- the feel, suction and heat, and, yes, knowing that it *isn't* Bruce, isn't anyone he was ever supposed to want, and absolutely is someone he can *have* --

"In the interest of honesty -- I'd really like to grab your head. Perhaps -- ah. Your ears," Tim says, and Lex *smiles* around him --

And shakes his head.

"All right. Noted. I -- you really could. Just keep doing that."

Lex nods and pulls off --

"Or *not*. Was it something I said?"

"I find your taste disturbingly palatable," Lex says, and starts licking Tim, sucking on the shaft --

He really had done just this to Lex, and now he's *paying* for it. "I suppose I could wash less often."

Lex snorts and sucks *hard* on the base -- and then starts licking and kissing Tim's sac --

"Oh, Lex. I -- I like that --"

"Then let me..." Lex takes it into his mouth. Just -- partially, and the warmth, the wetness --

"Suck me, do it hard --"

Lex hums and does it, and Tim feels himself clawing at the silk a little bit, *wanting* to arch and not doing it. The fact that it wouldn't make things uncomfortable for Lex at the moment is no reason to allow himself to develop bad *habits*.

"Good. It's -- ah. You could bite a little --"

"Do I get to ask how many of your scars have to do with your sex life?"

All of them, when taken a certain way. "None. I don't -- I haven't played that way."

"That sounds like it needs a 'yet,'" Lex says, and scrapes his teeth on Tim's sac, sucks again and licks, *bites* --

"M-maybe? Possibly if I met the right person?" It's possible that Jason will stop hating his very existence one day, after all --

Lex pulls off with a wet pop. "I'm not sure if 'right person' is the *right* term for that, Tom."

"I believe in going with what feels *good* for. For sex, Lex. I'm not going to limit myself just because something sounds odd or painful. I already -- heh. I know I find pain arousing -- oh, *yes* --"

That bite, and the way it lasts and lasts -- *stops*, and Lex bites Tim's inner thigh even harder, holds it and *growls*, and Tim thinks about Bruce throwing him around like a rag doll, about Dick massaging all the kinks and strains out of him, ruthless and unapologetic, *unstoppable* --

"*Lex* --"

"Your teacher. The -- big one," and Lex licks Tim's penis again, bends it toward himself and drags the head over his lips --

Tim groans and closes his eyes -- no. He *really* wants to see. "What -- did you want to know?"

"Would you have let him fuck you?"

Warm breath on him and Lex's *eyes*, burning and curious, and -- there had been an actual question. "In a heartbeat. I -- anything he wanted. Any *way* he wanted it --"

"What would it take to make you want that from me?"

And the idea of it -- Lex inside him. *Lex* inside him, and no one else, because he knows that he wouldn't be *able* to think of anyone else when he was that full, that taken --

And Bruce would be jealous beyond *words*, and that's a *problem*, but --

"I'm not sure," Tim says, and sits up on his elbows -- and groans again because Lex is sucking the shaft, deep kisses to the head where he sucks again --

And for a moment it's clear that he's concentrating only on what he's doing. That -- he's *concentrating*, and the line on his forehead is deep, familiar --

And Tim realizes that he's thinking about Kon doing this, about Kon's touch and Kon's *warmth* -- "Oh, God --"

Lex looks at him again, and it's not enough to dispel the moment's fantasy. Kon *has* Lex's eyes, or Lex has Kon's, and Tim squeezes his eyes shut and *focuses*, if only because Lex deserves a better answer than that, a *reason* why Tim's arousal isn't enough to make him beg for it right *now*.

"Lex, I -- I don't. I don't think I want to be *dominated* -- oh, please don't --" Pull off, but Lex is panting on him, and it's making Tim twitch and *shudder* --

"You don't think I could fuck you without trying to control you? That's -- not an unreasonable thought," Lex says, and laughs softly, kisses Tim's mound, and the feel of his cheek against Tim's shaft --

"You feel -- entirely too good --"

"Excellent, because I'm not going to be able to deep-throat you. *How* did you do that?"

"Swallowing. And willpower. Lex --"

"I think you must be incredible when you have someone inside you, Tom. I think you must be something to *see*."

"And hear, really -- please? Please. Lex, I need to come --"

"I -- I know I didn't let you --"

"Finger me," Tim says, and is actually surprised that he hadn't said 'fuck,' instead. It doesn't matter, because he knows where Lex keeps his lotion, and it's exactly as well within reach as it should be --

"I haven't even *used* that since you've been here --"

"Men are *predictable* creatures, Lex," and Tim hands the bottle over and spreads his legs wider --

"I. I'll convince you. I'll *show* you," Lex says, and slicks his hand in an extremely intimidating manner --

"Just this. For -- please, Lex --"

Lex nods and nudges at Tim's hole with his finger, and Tim fights against the urge to clench, gasp at the chill --

"Cold. Don't stop --"

And Lex pushes in *much* too hard, but that just means that Tim is too shocked to do more than gasp again, gurgle and try to make *words* --

*Fail* --

"Oh, you feel..." Lex shakes his head. "Tom. I -- guide me to your prostate?"

"You. You're in far enough. Press *up* and kind of drag -- *nnh*, *Lex* --"

"*Tom*. I -- I'll take that as a 'you found it, Lex, now do it again --'"

"*Please* --"

"*Yes*," Lex says, and starts to thrust, and Bruce hasn't done more than tease at his hole since they've been here. There never seemed to be enough time for more, enough of a *space*, and he should feel guilty for allowing this --

But perhaps no more guilty than he feels for allowing *any* of this, because it feels too good, slick and cool and *perfect*, and the knot at the base of Tim's spine is perfect, too, wonderful, and he knows he can come from this and part of him *wants* to.

It can be something else for Lex, something to make him want more, *need* more, and Tim can't stop himself from thrusting back against Lex's hand and -- no, he doesn't want that, either. He just wants *more*, and more than that when he opens his eyes and sees Lex *staring* at him, into him --

"Stroke me, Lex. Or -- something. I need -- oh. Oh, *please* --"

That hand wrapped around him again, more callused than Bruce's, right now, and Tim can pretend --

No, not that. Just Lex, and the way he's very obviously learning the rhythm of Tim's thrusts, counting *off* before --

God, fuck, the head in Lex's mouth again, heat and the need to clench, to clench again when Lex grunts and sucks, and Tim can't hold himself *still*, but he can keep from thrusting into Lex's mouth. Just -- for now, for how *good* this is in the face of everything resembling *sanity*.

It's just that he never would've *guessed* this, that the things that make Lex who he is in Tim's time could be the same things that make him *this* *now* --

He should have guessed. He should have *prepared* himself, found a way to stand firm -- except that Lex is giving him another finger, and he can't even *see* the reality where this wasn't happening, where somehow this couldn't happen --

Too good, too *much*, and Lex is humming constantly, adding a vibration to everything else --

"Lex, *please*, I -- don't stop. Don't -- I'm close. I'm going to -- you should pull *off* --"

And Lex does so -- and starts to stroke. And Tim could say something about that being exactly the right thing to do, but words seem difficult again, like something that belongs to another Tim entirely, or perhaps to that Tom person --

Tim nods and moans, bites his lip and urges Lex to go faster with his fingers --

Lex gives him faster and *harder*, and Tim is clutching the sheets, struggling and fighting for more against the need to come, the thing driving him higher until it seems like he should bump against the slats of the bed --

"Come, Tom."

Tim gasps and *stares* at Lex, and he thinks he must look confused and possibly a little betrayed --

Lex smiles. "Come, before I start begging you to let me fuck you," he says, and adds a twist to his thrusts, a grind Tim can imagine from Lex's hips --

"I -- Lex, I --"

"*Come*, Tom. You look -- far too good like this. And you feel even better. I never thought..." Lex shakes his head. "You want to. You're *close* --"

"And you need -- a little more. Agency. I -- harder, Lex. Make it *hurt* --"

Lex growls and pulls out, but the emptiness only lasts a second before he's back in with *three*, and Tim has to bring his wrist to his mouth, has to bite down and try not to shout, not to beg --

It *does* hurt, and he knows exactly how much Bruce would enjoy doing this to him, what he'd look like and what he'd *sound* like, but the only thing he can see is Lex, the only thing he can *feel* --

"You knew it would be this good between us --"

"*Yes* --"

"You still tried to say *no* --"

"I'm -- fuck, ow, Lex, don't *stop* --"

"I won't until you come, Tom. I -- I need you."

And that was a questioning sound, but he doesn't expect an answer to it, doesn't -- *can't* --

"You knew that, too. I *know* you did," and Lex strokes him faster, and the rhythms of his hands are completely different --

Tim knows he's shaking his head --

"*Come* --"

Tim doesn't shout and he doesn't *scream*, but he's biting his wrist hard enough that it's just another pain, and he --

"*Please*, Tom --"

Orgasm is flood, rush and heat and everything getting lost under the pleasure of losing it. There's a particular relief to not being able to focus enough to see Lex seeing this --

There's white-out and the knowledge that if he bites any harder, he *will* bleed --

There's *pleasure*, and Tim knows he could never live in this, never be the kind of person who --

Something, and he's back in his body enough to hear himself panting --

"Tom."

He feels the groan before he can hear it, compressing him from the inside like he'd swallowed a gravity well --

"I think I feel a little better about my... performance."

Lex. Tim opens his eyes and pulls his wrist from his mouth, noting the angry red welts his teeth have left behind and gingerly working to sit up, think, *be*...

And Lex is looking at him. His fingers are still inside, but are blissfully *still*.

"Ah... you should pull out."

"Tell me, first, how long you've been fucking yourself that you *could* take three."

"Since I was thirteen," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Since I met the two men I've told you about."

Lex nods. "Slowly?"

"Definitely more slowly than you pushed in."

Lex frowns and winces slightly. "I'm sorry -- though I have to admit that I'm wondering how much I *should* apologize when the fault in question is causing you pain."

Tim waves a hand. "I'll take the apology as read -- though I do appreciate a more gentle touch *sometimes*."

And the Bruce in his mind only wants to know *when*, and when it will be his turn again --

And the Lex *right* here nods, and starts to pull out -- slowly and carefully. Tim breathes through it, and settles into accepting the fact that Lex will watch every moment. Looking for pain, looking for pleasure -- and, perhaps, looking for everything that makes Tim who he is. The shadows aren't deep enough to take his eyes, and Tim wonders if Lex would prefer it otherwise.

It's tempting to go with 'yes, of course,' but... there's something different about Lex at the moment, something a little frightening in its normality... because Tim is abruptly, devastatingly positive that this is the first time Lex has had sex with... a friend.

Tim sighs when Lex is all the way out and rolls his head on his neck to avoid eye contact for just a little bit longer. 'Kid gloves' is the least of what he expects is in his eyes. Still, when Lex rests his -- clean -- hand on Tim's thigh, there are no easy options. He meets Lex's eyes... and finds a wry amusement.

"It's tempting to say something sappy and at least a little dishonest. I can't recall having that feeling since the first time."

"Ah... thank you? I'm sure at some point you'll give me another unambiguous compliment, Lex, but --"

"You're a fantastic lay."

Tim smiles. "All right, that works."

"I think if I hadn't fucked Racquel earlier I'd be ready for more. No, I *know* I would be. Which makes Racquel that much more regrettable," Lex says, and strokes Tim's thigh.

"We all make mistakes -- and we really should clean up while the dorm is empty."

Lex nods. "The dorm mothers will be storming the castle soon enough. Still..." And Lex moves in almost hesitantly, and Tim can't let that --

He leans in and kisses Lex, rubbing his face against Lex's palm when Lex cups his cheek. Lex makes a soft sound and deepens the kiss, and it's another one of those slow, gentle ones. This time, he's entirely capable of appreciating it.

Especially once Lex starts stroking his hair, though it does make a part of him want to reiterate the part about him not being a woman. It still *feels* good, and maybe this is what Lex knows about post-coital affection. Perhaps he'd offered something of the kind to Racquel in the interest of not being known as callous, or... Tim doesn't know.

There's something of a pull inside him when Lex breaks the kiss, and more of one when they're looking into each other's eyes again, and it's only the knowledge that this can't go anywhere in particular that lets him keep something of his cool. Tim smiles. "To the bathroom?"

"After you, Alphonse."

Tim makes a face and heads for his robe. "*Rather* too much like Alfred, Lex."

"Ah, yes. That pinch-faced individual you Waynes call a valet."

"He's a consummate gentleman's gentleman, and I wouldn't put it past him to poison my food -- from a distance -- if I ever behaved improperly enough to stain the Wayne legacy."

Lex gets his own robe. "I would think you'd want someone like my Evan. Lithe, pretty, close-mouthed..."

"Upstairs downstairs relationships? The idea makes me a little queasy, Lex. I'd never know if it was *just* because my name was on the man's paycheck."

Lex shakes his head and sighs gustily. "Never fucking people you don't like, never fucking your employees... it's a wonder you get laid at *all*, darling."

Tim smirks. "I get by. Somehow."

Lex looks back over his shoulder, and his expression -- has a great deal of entirely wonderful heat. "Yes, you do."

There are a few boys in the bathroom by the time he and Lex finish showering, but no one Tim especially wants to talk to. Lex waves -- gaily -- to one of his minions, and Tim wonders how it would all work if everyone *didn't* know that Lex got laid at every last one of the dances.

It has to make things more comfortable for them, even as they laugh and joke about the girls in question for choosing someone like Lex to hook up with.

High school is now and will always be a marvel of abnormal psychology. Perhaps he means 'hotbed.'

They strip off their robes and get into their pajamas, and Lex eyes his bed critically. Hm.

"I could help you change the sheets, if you'd like."

Lex shakes his head. "We really were remarkably neat about things. I'll be fine, gay cooties and all."

Tim laughs. "Noted," he says, and climbs up to his bed, resisting the urge, once more, to flip up from midway up the ladder. Once he's under the covers, Lex walks over and rests his arms on the bed.

"Conclusions, Tom?"

"Pleasurable enough to give it a second try, I think," Tim says, rolling onto his side and resting his head on his hand. "I don't think there's much room for improvement."

Lex nods, looking thoughtful and, perhaps, analyzing every nuance of Tim's statements. It's really never stops being interesting to watch on another person, but...

"Your thoughts?"

"The same, I think -- though I don't want it to cut in on our sparring time."

"Neither do I. All the better that we share a room."

Lex smiles, wide and slow. "And that the Master of Students has a pregnant teenaged lover in town."

A-ha. "How did you...?"

"It was on one of the outings. She made a point of waiting for him in the alley next to the diner where some of us were eating, I was out smoking one of my cloves, he said something to piss her off... and she laid into him *very* dramatically. The dorm mothers *do* check my room after a dance, but that's really it."

Tim smiles. "Useful."

"Very. I... good night, Tom."

"Sleep well."

*

Bruce watches Betty walk to the bus that had brought her and the other girls from Seneca Day, and notes that she's one of the few who had brought a coat reasonable for the weather, as opposed to one that had merely gone with her dress. Or was fashionable, he supposes.

She hadn't been happy about Tom's advice, but when he'd offered to try to think of something else, she'd determinedly started talking about one of the libraries in Keystone. It sounded like a wonderful place, and he'd gotten the point. One of the dorm mothers had had a pad and a pen, and so they have each other's mailing addresses. He'll ask Tom what books he ought to read in order to have something interesting to say -- Tom.

Right now, he's making love to Lex, and there's nothing he can do about it. Lex is touching him, maybe biting his throat --

Would he let Lex choke him? Penetrate him? The way Tom had spoken implied nothing about limits, and --

Harvey wraps an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Cheer up, big guy -- I'm willing to bet that she'll come running if you say you want to see her again."

He's frowning. He should stop -- "I was thinking about Tom."

Harvey raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? You two didn't fight or anything, did you?"

"No. Not -- I think a fight would've been better," he says, and wonders a little at the urge to tell Harvey everything, to share this, too -- but only a little. "He's with Lex."

"And by 'with' you mean..."

"Yes," Bruce says, and knows he probably looks terrible. "He told me. What he was going to do."

"Uh... in detail?"

Bruce shakes his head.

Harvey blows out a breath. "Good to know, because I think that would've hurt me. In my soul. Uh... so. You guys really *do* talk about everything --"

"He wouldn't discuss it. He wouldn't... he didn't let me ask him to choose."

Harvey squeezes him a little. "Hey, it's -- he *told* you. It's not like he broke up with you, right?"

"Would you prefer it if he had?"

"Oh, go ahead and ask the tough questions, why don't you? Come on, let's get back to the dorm before the mothers whip out the cattle prods."

Bruce nods and lets Harvey lead them, and they're surrounded by other boys, so they don't say anything. Well, he doesn't. Harvey takes what seems to be good-natured ribbing about the girls he had danced with from a couple of his teammates and returns it in kind.

He wonders if the girls are doing the same thing on the bus. Or... is Betty already fielding questions about him? Does she regret letting Bruce monopolize her time? He hopes not, but --

Alfred would, he thinks, refer to Bruce's current mood as a brown study. When he was younger, he'd always thought that referred to somehow managing to be both in *their* study -- which has many brown things -- and wherever else Alfred had found him. A part of him still believes that the term refers to the problematic nature of being two places at once, that one should always strive to be where one is, and nowhere else.

Right now, a part of him is in Lex's and Tom's room, in Lex's bed -- it would *be* Lex's bed, because it's more convenient and maybe because Tom wants to feel silk sheets against his naked skin --

He could *get* Alfred to send him silk sheets, and he'd keep them on his bed no matter how often they made him feel as if he was going to slide right off.

He could... what? Shave off all of his hair? Lose weight? Start being cruel in that clever way?

He's only making himself feel worse, and he doesn't need the slight shake Harvey gives him when they get back to the dorm to know that. The halls are too loud to hear anything from upstairs, even if he'd *ever* been able to hear things from up there.

There's no reason for him to walk up the stairs, and Tom would be very, very angry if Bruce barged in and demanded that he stop what he was doing, tell him that he *had* to choose, because Bruce couldn't take it, knowing that Tom would be alone with Lex every night --

Why couldn't Lex want some other boy? He *has* enough boys here who would want to be with him, who would let him do whatever he *wanted*. And he knows that Lex has no idea *who* he's making Tom cheat on, but he can't stop feeling -- injured. Betrayed.

By both of them, even though he'd known that it would happen like this, had *guessed* that Tom would find something in this Lex -- who is anything but his own.

Maybe *his* Lex has hair.

But.

What could Tom possibly see in someone who lies so much that he's a whole different *person* when he's alone? Bruce thinks he'd gotten a glimpse of that other person -- that apology hadn't been standard Lex, at *all* -- but...

How could that be *attractive*? Why isn't Tom worried that Lex is just lying *more*?

Oh, but a part of Bruce *wants* Lex's attraction -- and whatever else he's convinced Tom he feels -- *to* be a lie, for it all to be some elaborate Luthor game designed to *hurt* Tom, so that Bruce could, perhaps, use some of the things Tom has taught him to hurt Lex in turn.

He isn't sure that he's ever felt more motivated to learn --

(That is not the Mission.)

Bruce winces and shakes his head --

"That looked bad. Worse than the last couple of minutes you've just been standing there staring, big guy. Thinking about Lex give you a headache?"

Harvey -- is sitting on Bruce's bed with his elbows on his knees. His primary expression is curiosity, but the worry isn't far beneath it. "I'm sorry," Bruce says, and curls his hands into tight fists for a moment before opening them. "May I sit down?"

"It's your bed," Harvey says, and shifts to the side.

Bruce sits next to him and mimics his position. It makes him feel, briefly, like someone anyone could talk to. "I liked Betty a lot."

"That's the chick with the glasses you were with all night?" Harvey bumps Bruce's shoulder. "What's she like?"

"Friendly. Bookish. Somewhat shy."

"Sounds right up your alley. She's pretty cute, if a little on the short side."

"I was looking for a shorter girl, since I know you prefer taller ones."

"Aww, Jeez. You didn't have to do that, Bruce -- there were plenty of girls at that dance."

"Still," Bruce says. "I picked her out first, and she was so nice that I stayed. She was nice enough to *let* me stay."

Harvey laughs. "Well, you *are* Bruce Wayne. And pretty damned good-looking, to boot."

Bruce frowns again. "I'd like to think she found me interesting."

"Hey, I didn't mean -- look, if she had a brain in her head? She liked you for you. And that little piece of paper you slipped in your pocket -- her address?"

Bruce nods. "I'm going to write to her."

"So... am I hearing that you have a girlfriend now?"

Bruce blinks. Harvey had sounded mild and curious, but there was a lot more than that in his voice. "I -- no. She's just a friend, Harv. But she did kiss me."

"And... nothing there? At all?"

"It was a nice kiss."

Harvey laughs. "And *that* is what we call damning with seriously faint praise. Poor girl's gonna get the hot light and rubber hoses treatment from the other girls and she only has a mediocre kiss to show for it. Sometimes, you are *too* cruel, big guy -- and yes, I know you didn't mean it. It's not your fault you're who you are. *All* of who you are."

Bruce takes that as it stands and nods, resisting the urge to move closer to Harvey... and after a moment, Harvey puts his arm around Bruce and lets it hang over his shoulder. Bruce strokes it with his fingertips, and -- "Harv... that question I asked earlier --"

"I only want him to dump you if it's what you both want. If you break up, then hey, I don't have to think about all the things you two are doing that *we* aren't --"

"You... think about it?" Bruce turns to look at Harvey --

And Harvey gives him a wry smile. "What do you think? Yeah, I think about it, and it drives me a little crazy, and I've started jerking off in the showers after all the other guys are *gone*, because I know if you say one thing to me --"

"I wouldn't. I wouldn't interrupt --"

"And *that* would fuck me up even worse. Thinking of you awake, in the dark, maybe listening --"

"I'd definitely -- I would listen. Closely."

Harvey laughs. "Yeah, I... I'm fine, okay? And... Tom loves you, and you love Tom, and right now you're really pissed because he's screwing Lex, but... no, I don't actually have a nice pat reason for it, and I bet he doesn't, either. Maybe it's just an itch, you know? Something he had to get out of his system before he could think clearly."

"Do you think Lex is attractive? Physically, I mean."

"Well... he's got a fair amount of muscle for someone who doesn't play a sport and treats gym class like his personal Hell, I guess. And there's nothing wrong with his features, and I'm used to the bald thing... I guess? Maybe? Not *my* type, but he's not hideous or anything."

Bruce nods. "I used to think -- I thought he was attractive. Sexually. I just didn't realize it until Tom started spending time with him. Wanting to spend time with him."

Harvey slides his hand back until he can squeeze Bruce's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with that, you know. It's just -- hormones."

"I wish -- I want to stop turning it over in my mind, Harv. I want -- I think I'd like to stop thinking altogether." Or at least stop edging close to thing which make the Bat *move* in me --

And a part of Bruce wants to share that, too, to explain to Harvey that he thinks he might be dangerously insane, but that if he isn't, he has a special Mission, something that may take him all over the world so that he can learn to be a weapon.

And then he'd tell him that Tom has that Mission, too, that it's what first brought them together, what made curiosity become hunger, possibility become *necessity* --

A part of him thinks it would serve Tom right if it *all* came out and came crashing down, as well --

(Only I --)

Bruce screams in his mind, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his face. He's aware that Harvey is shaking him a little, that he's saying something --

He stops screaming for a moment, and his mind's eye there's that nightmarish face, that *thing* that found him when he was broken, that he'd called a Bat because he had no other words for it when he was eight, and because it *lived* with bats. Blank eyes and sharp ears, and a black pit where the mouth should be, spiraling down and down into --

Into something he'd never woken up from, really. Bruce opens his eyes and moves his hands, taking in the room and Harvey, Harvey's incredibly worried face --

"Just -- a headache. A bad one. I think --"

"That was more than just a *headache*. What's wrong?"

Everything -- no. No. He's overreacting. "I... I was picturing. And -- remembering the last time I didn't want to do any thinking."

Harvey winces. "Okay, yeah, subject change. Um... there's this place I want to take you in Grant Park. You know it, right?"

Bruce nods. "Tom took me there over break."

"Heh, getting you out of the manor. I approve. But he doesn't know *this* place. It's out past where people get married every summer. You follow this tiny little creek -- or the mud where the creek would be in a dry season -- up to these rocks. Then you climb a little -- you have to be careful not to fall and brain yourself -- and there's this... I guess you'd call it a plateau, only that word always makes me think of barren rocks in a desert somewhere. This is green with moss and there are little wildflowers the right time of year. You bring a bottle of soda -- or your drink of choice -- and a couple of sandwiches, and the park just breathes, all around you. You get the best sun, the best view of all the bikini-wearing ladies wandering around below you, an invitation to every wedding you ever wanted to see... it's *great*. And? There just happens to be room for two."

Bruce smiles. "It sounds wonderful. And somewhat more cheerful than the part of the park Tom showed me."

"Yeah? Well, he *is* kind of a weird little guy. What was it like?"

"There was fog waist high, and it was so quiet I thought I could hear the snow fall. There was a crumbling gazebo with -- with a poem carved into one of the supports."

"Good poem?"

"Artistically? I think so. It was by someone named Carl Sandburg, and it made me feel even more like I'd walked into the world of some terrible horror movie. Or... maybe not horror," Bruce says, and thinks about it. He'd felt strange, yes, and a little frightened, but... "It was like Tom had found another world in the park, and it seemed as though we might never find our way back again. Kissing him there was almost like a spell, or living *in* a spell... I don't know. It was a wonderful and frustrating day."

"This was before you guys had done more than just kiss?"

Bruce nods.

"I... this is a bad idea."

Bruce frowns and turns to face Harvey again. "Talking about the park?"

Harvey laughs, and he's not looking at Bruce -- and then he is, and it seems like every emotion that could ever exist is in his eyes, making them seem hotter and harder, full to the point that Bruce wonders if it hurts -- "This, Bruce. This is a bad idea," he says, and kisses Bruce, closing his eyes just before their lips touch.

Bruce is too surprised to make a noise, and then he's too busy *feeling* it, tasting sweetness in Harvey's mouth and feeling the noise Harvey makes as vibration, tension --

And this time his hands are free, and he can cup Harvey's face and tell him that it's all right, that it's perfect to kiss him, and could only be better if Tom were there, too --

He shakes that off internally and focuses on licking his way into Harvey's mouth, on teasing and hopefully arousing him with his tongue, his teeth on Harvey's lip, his tongue again, and it's *Harvey*, beautiful Harvey, smart and loving and passionate Harvey, and he wants that passion for himself, wants everything with him, including the chance to do this on a sunlit plateau overlooking the larger city.

For now, he has this bed, which Harvey probably hadn't sat on thinking of doing this, but *maybe* he had. Maybe he's wanted --

He'd *said* he thought about this --

Bruce moans into Harvey's mouth --

Harvey pulls back. "Bad idea. Bad -- idea. Just -- we shouldn't, and I know I started it, but -- I was all wound up from the dance, making out with Ellen -- fuck, Bruce, I'm sorry --"

"I'm *not*," Bruce says, and strokes Harvey's cheekbones with his thumbs. "You're so beautiful --"

"And *you* -- you're all messed up over Tom and this Lex thing --"

"You *know* I wanted you before -- before I ever knew Tom --"

"*Bruce*," Harvey says, and his eyes are wide and almost frightened, and he doesn't seem to have words to follow Bruce's name.

"I'm listening, Harv."

Harvey closes his eyes and pants once, twice -- "It's just. I know what I want. When I don't want to think."

Bruce opens his mouth and tries to *taste* Harvey on the air, thinks about pushing Harvey down, laying him out for Bruce's mouth, his teeth and his tongue -- he knows where Harvey's scent would be the strongest.

"Sometimes, I... go to other parts of the park. And I just... walk around. I don't let anyone pick me up, but I know it's there, and what I could have -- touch in the dark with a stranger, with someone who doesn't know me and doesn't care *to* know me. I know what I could *have*, but I don't do it, because it's dangerous on so many levels I can't even think -- Bruce. Nothing has *changed*. My reasons are still --"

"Let me touch you. I... just my hand. We're *not* strangers, and it's better, I promise it's *better* --"

"I *know* it would be, Bruce. It's -- God, it's *you* --"

And Mrs. Bourne walks in with a look on her face that strongly suggests that it's possible to hear through the door -- which it isn't.

Harvey blanks his face and turns to face her.

Bruce does the same --

"*What* were the two of you up to?"

"We were speaking about the dance, Mrs. Bourne," Bruce says. "I met someone very nice."

"*Really*, Bruce?"

Bruce pulls the scrap of paper he'd gotten from Miss Wilkes out of his pocket. "We're going to write to each other."

She makes a hmph sound and turns to Harvey. "And you, Harvey? Were you drinking alcohol tonight? *Some* names have already been taken down for discipline."

"No, Mrs. Bourne," Harvey says, and his tone is smooth and cool, though Bruce can see that he's gripping the bed a little too hard.

Bruce shifts his knee enough to throw Harvey's hand in shadow.

"I see. Rest assured that if you're lying to me, the truth *will* come out. Now get ready for bed. You both have plenty of studying to do tomorrow."

"Yes, Mrs. Bourne," they say together, and she stalks out of the room in the hope, perhaps, of giving some other student a heart attack. It's possible that she'd settle for a stroke. Bruce frowns. "I don't think I like her very much."

Harvey laughs, breathless and a little hysterical. "You see what I mean, don't you? That's just -- it's *textbook*. What if we had still been *kissing*?"

Then there would've been *trouble*, but... what kind? Everyone is always telling him that his name opens doors that would be closed for other people. He probably *wouldn't* be expelled, as opposed to... what? Tom, he thinks, would say something about the school extorting money to keep things hushed and keep Bruce enrolled. Harvey wouldn't have that option... unless, perhaps, Bruce demanded it.

"I -- Bruce, I was right the first time. You *have* to see that. We... there'll be other *times* --"

"You don't want to wait," Bruce says, and turns to face Harvey again. "You want me *now* --"

"Of course I do! There's no one I want more, and yes, it *does* hurt to wait, but it's a necessary pain. Nothing will *happen* to you if you get caught with Tom except for a little embarrassment and maybe a little reeducation --" Harvey growls and stands, starting to pace and grinding the heels of his palms against his eyes --

"Harv, don't --"

"Have to. *Have* to. There's -- it's a whole plan, Bruce, and it's a good one, and you know it --"

"I *do*, but it's no good at all if it hurts you --"

"I can *take* the pain," Harvey says, and keeps pacing, pausing by each of their desks to straighten the chairs even though they're already straight, pausing by the bureau to rearrange his toiletries --

"You don't have to. That's -- that's all, Harv. I'm here, and I want you, want to be *with* you --"

"And then there's that, yeah," and Harvey stares up at the ceiling as if he's thinking about dusting it, or -- Bruce doesn't know. "See, she probably won't come *back*, since we managed to look pretty casual... I saw what you did about my hand. Very smooth," Harvey says, and there's something different about his voice, something a little rougher --

"Oh. Harv, yes --"

"But that just starts *bad* habits. I've known all along that Bourne had it out for me," and the roughness is gone, but -- "She's one of those people who grew up poor and didn't just *want* to be rich, she wanted to be *like* the rich. I'm -- heh. I'm an *affront*, and she'd love to have something on me." Harvey is pacing again, moving to lay his palm flat against the door, against both closet doors --

"I'd *protect* you," Bruce says, and thinks about standing up, about stopping Harvey, and seeing if the warmth of his hands could maybe loosen the tension in Harvey's shoulders. Tom had rubbed the strain out of one of Bruce's muscles expertly the other day, and he thinks he can remember the motions --

"There's *that*, yeah, I can see it," and maybe it isn't roughness so much as Gotham? "You're loyal as *all* hell, and I know there's no way you'd let me fall. You could buy and sell this school in a New York minute, and they'd all dance to your tune if you decided to play."

"I... I don't like to think about it that way, but yes, I think it's true --"

"Except that I don't *want* to be your charity case, Bruce, big guy -- I." Harvey stops and covers his face again, just for a moment, and when he stops, his smile is soft and a little pleading. "Like this, we can maybe... I know we can never be *equals*, Bruce, but --"

"We *are* equals, Harv. If anything, you're better than me, more knowledgeable, *stronger* --"

"And, oh, do I *ever* wanna show you how strong I can be. Just because I've never done it with a guy before... fucking A, Bruce, I think I could rock your little world, no matter *what* you've done with Tom. I'd make it so good you couldn't *see* straight, and then I'd do it *again* --"

"*Harv*, yes, I'd let you, you could do *anything* --"
 
"It..." Harvey blinks and shakes his head. "It can *wait*, Bruce. What we feel for each other isn't going anywhere, and maybe... it can only get stronger, more true, more real. That's what they always say, I know, but it wouldn't keep being said if it wasn't at least a little true. I -- I love you --"

"I love *you*," Bruce says, and he has to stand, has to *go* to Harvey, just -- of course he could argue both sides. He's going to be such a good lawyer one day --

"Love is just something that gets a guy in trouble when he's trying to live his life, and *this* is trouble -- but it's the kind I *like*," Harvey says, looking up at Bruce and grinning, raising his chin in something that looks like invitation and *dare* at once -- "That's right --"

And Bruce kisses him because he has to, because Harvey is *there*, and wants this so much, so *clearly* despite all of his doubts --

And Harvey cups Bruce's face in both hands and tilts Bruce's head back. They're of a height, but Harvey still *looms*, somehow, still --

He doesn't know if this feeling *has* a name, this sense that he can be moved, controlled and *taken*. It's a little like the way Tom looks at him sometimes after they've made love, there's that same fondly hungry *possession* --

And Harvey walks them back against the door, thrusting his tongue into Bruce's mouth over and over and --

It feels like he won't take no for an answer, like there truly *are* no other options but to have this, *take* it with the sweetness in Harvey's mouth, the callused roughness of his hands and the *other* roughness in his groan, his touch and his *person*. It's what Bruce has *wanted*, for Harvey to give up all of his control and care and *be* with him with all of himself, and so it only makes Bruce moan when Harvey lets go of his face and grabs his wrists, lifting them above Bruce's head and pinning them against the door.

It's so *good*, and the next kiss is even better, deeper and more wet, more *sweet*, because it's slower and almost careful --

And Harvey's hands are shaking on Bruce's wrists almost as though he's *afraid*, but he just tightens his grip and keeps kissing, licking -- tasting Bruce, and Bruce hopes he tastes good to Harvey, that he *feels* good --

"You're so... I can't -- it's just that it's *everything* in me, Bruce," Harvey whispers against Bruce's mouth. "I can't make it fit on one side or the other, can't make *you* fit --"

"Harv, please don't stop --"

And Harvey moans and presses close, pushing Bruce against the door with his body -- he's hard, and so is Bruce, and Bruce can't stop himself from rubbing against him --

Harvey *thrusts* and groans into Bruce's mouth, pants and -- "Please, Bruce. Oh -- please --"

"Anything, Harv, anything at all --"

"Just -- let me," and Harvey starts to thrust *rhythmically* against Bruce, and they're still dressed, but Bruce can feel the shape of Harvey through his pants, and he wonders if any of the girls Harvey had danced with had felt that, if he'd wanted them that way -- "You turn me on so *much* --"

"*Good*," Bruce says, and -- "Don't stop, Harv, don't -- I'll beg --"

"No, no, you don't have to -- God, please don't beg anymore," and Harvey kisses him again and never stops *thrusting*.

Bruce feels himself getting harder, *needing* more, and Harvey might not want him to beg, but if he stops again, if he decides he can't do this --

He puts as much of that into his kiss as he can, watching the way Harvey's eyes track behind the lids, the way he periodically *squeezes* his eyes shut as if this is something he can't take --

Bruce doesn't want to blink and miss a *moment* of this, because Harvey has them lined up perfectly against each other. This would be better if they were naked, if they could slide and glance against each other skin to skin, but as it is -- Tom had made him ejaculate in his clothes once, and he does and doesn't want to repeat it. Just -- a part of him wants this to go *quickly*, quickly enough that it won't matter if Harvey needs to stop --

No, it would matter. It would *hurt* Bruce, and he needs Harvey to understand that, that his need is Bruce's own, that they're friends and can be so much more. Lovers, and -- he'd give Harvey the world if he wanted it, travel with him and Tom so they could show him everything there is to see, teach him *how* to see it.

It's only *money*, and he knows that when you don't have enough it's important, but what else should he do with it? What else *matters*?

And Bruce hears himself whimper when Harvey pulls back, but he only rests his forehead against Bruce's own and thrusts harder, faster --

"Harv --"

"Yeah. Yeah, you -- you're all mine right now, Bruce, and that's everything, that's the *only* thing. Everything else can go take a flying fucking *leap* --"

"*Yes* --"

"Do you feel me, big guy? Feel how hard I am for you?"

"Oh, yes, Harv, I want to *touch* --"

"That's how hard I am for you all the *time*, how much I want to just *take* you, let you take *me*, show me how much you want --"

And perhaps Tom would say he uses too much of his strength to break Harvey's hold so he can grab his hips --

"*Fuck*, yes --"

But Tom isn't *here*, and doesn't want to be, and Harvey *is*, and now he can guide his thrusts a little, make him *slam* against him until it hurts a little -- but not as much as it's pleasurable, *sweet* --

"Yeah, Bruce, *do* me --"

"I *want* to, I want everything --"

And Harvey pushes a hand into Bruce's hair and kisses him again, loves him again, and this time they both keep their eyes open. Harvey's are so deep and dark, so warm and they seem to get warmer with every moment, with every flick of Harvey's tongue against Bruce's own, every brush of their erections against each other --

Harvey pulls back and tugs hard on Bruce's hair, panting and licking his lips. "More. There has to be more, for this -- God, just right *now* --"

"Anything --"

"Stop *saying* that -- only I never want you to, always want you to want me this *much* --"

"Then tell me, Harv, tell me what you want me to *do*."

And Harvey smiles, bright and wide. "Just stay *right* there, big guy. I -- I've got you."

Bruce shivers and nods, and tries not to whimper again when Harvey pushes his hands from his hips --

And then Harvey drops to his knees and pushes his face against Bruce's groin, breathing deep and stroking Bruce's thighs, his hips -- "What I want -- God, you get it all the *time*. I *know* Tom can't resist giving this to you, taking this from you --"

"Please, Harv, it's not -- it's *different* --"

"I'm just a guy, Bruce. I want it to be *better*," he says, and opens Bruce's fly, pulling down the zipper with slow care and then *yanking* the pants down around Bruce's thighs --

"Good, oh -- *strip* me --"

"My friend, my best friend --" Harvey shakes his head and takes care again with Bruce's boxers, easing them down over Bruce's erection until he can push them down with Bruce's pants. "*Look* at you. Hard for me, perfect..." And he wraps his hand around the base of Bruce's penis and groans, perhaps for the feel --

"I want. I want your mouth so badly --"

"You can *have* it," and Harvey takes the head in immediately, sucking and groaning again until it feels like every one of Bruce's muscles are taut, tensed and singing with the vibration.

Bruce closes his eyes and tries to do one of the breathing exercises Tom had taught him, tries to make this *last*, but -- he wants to see. He wants --

He looks down, and Harvey is looking up at him, cheeks hollowed with the force of his suction and expression as hungry as if he *didn't* have Bruce in his mouth, as if Bruce had been denying him all this time --

Never, no, *never*, and Bruce pushes his hands into Harvey's hair, feeling it thick and curling against his fingers, a little damp with sweat from all the dancing, all the *pressure* he's under -- "I only want this to be good for you, Harvey, for you to -- to want this again and again --"

Harvey nods and *hums*, and Bruce tenses again, *tries* --

"More, Harv, *please* --"

And Harvey squeezes Bruce's hip before reaching to cup Bruce's scrotum, lifting it and squeezing, *holding* --

"*Harvey* --" And he doesn't need Harvey's head-shake to know that was too loud, too *much* -- "I'm sorry, please, please don't stop --" The rest of that is a groan, because Harvey takes more, sliding down and down until Bruce can feel the back of his throat, the faint spring and of it, the heat and the *wet*.

Harvey's tongue is endlessly mobile, working against Bruce's shaft, pressing --

And he wonders why it doesn't feel *more* like Tom. He'd wanted to do this against the door, too, wanted the extra moment of warning against sudden entry. And he'd *been* this hungry, this eager for *this* act, as if there was nothing Bruce could do that would be better than simply submitting to this --

But Harvey --

Harvey is more aggressive, he thinks, more determined to *show* Bruce something as opposed to taking this for himself. He's *working* Bruce's scrotum in his hand, and the force of his suction never lets up for even a moment. It's hard, deep, *dark* somehow, and a part of Bruce is only wondering about that plateau in the park, that sunlit place -- no.

There's only the two of them here, only *this* and Harvey's moans steadily becoming more rhythmic as he sucks in *pulses*, as he strokes Bruce's penis hard enough that his fist bumps against his mouth --

Is it uncomfortable? Would he want to stop? In Harvey's position --

Oh, he wants to *be* in Harvey's position, wants a chance to taste the way Harvey is, to know that no matter what happens they'll always *have* this --

"Harv," he says, because he has to, has to let Harvey know that it's good, that he wants nothing and everything else at *once* --

Harvey's hair is so *thick* against his fingers, Harvey's noises even thicker somehow, pressing in against Bruce from seeming all sides and removing the *air* from the room --

No, he's gasping and he can't stop, can't *catch* his breath. Harvey is --

Is --

"Oh, *please*," and that's too loud again, but Harvey has started working his head back and forth, started --

Bruce *thrusts* and Harvey squeezes his scrotum *hard*, and Bruce feels himself shaking helplessly, *wanting* at the damning, wonderful sight of a bulge in Harvey's cheek, the knowledge that he's responsible for that change, that break in symmetry --

"Harv," and he says it again, and again, and it seems to make Harvey go faster, try to take *more* even though he's not experienced --

He doesn't *want* Harvey to have experience with anyone but him and Tom, doesn't want him to know the touch of strangers or -- anyone he doesn't truly *want*.

Harvey should have the best of everything, should feel *loved*, and Bruce isn't sure how to do that, but he can stop pulling Harvey's hair and stroke his face, *pet* his hair and also his cheek --

And get lost in the feel of his own penis *through* Harvey's cheek, the pressure that hits him, *works* him from his fingertips and from the head --

And Harvey is looking at him again and his eyes are *pleading*, wide and desperate --

"I love you, I love you so much, Harv, I -- I know you don't. Want me to say it, but --"

Harvey moans and squeezes Bruce's penis, rolls Bruce's scrotum in his palm and Bruce feels fresh sweat forming all over his skin, Bruce can *smell* himself and all the sex, but there's not enough of *Harvey* --

"Need you, need you *please* --"

And Harvey nods and -- oh, Bruce can feel him swallow, feel --

Bruce's *knees* buckle, but Harvey lets go of his scrotum and catches him, holds him up and pushes until Bruce is *leaning* against the door. Harvey should always be right there, right *here*, with him and no one else --

Only he's greedy, and he *knows* that, because a part of him is only thinking of Harvey doing this to Tom, Harvey holding *him* up and taking him deep --

Deeper when Harvey moves one of his fingers. Just -- a fraction of an *inch*, but now Bruce can feel every swallow, almost *taste* the birth of every groan --

And Harvey is sweating, too, beads of it on his forehead, and -- is he still hard? Harder than he was before?

"I can't wait -- I want to *touch* you -- *oh* --"

Harvey's hand between his legs again, but this time he pushes farther, pushes into Bruce's cleft and rubs at the hole with his fingers, and there's a *question* in his eyes --

"*Yes*, Harv --"

And then there's only burn, pressure and friction, *hurt* because there's no lubricant, because Harvey's finger is so much bigger than Tom's --

And Harvey shudders and groans again, and it seems like he's trying to speak, trying to tell Bruce something --

He wants to *know*, but he wants more of this, the feel when he pushes back against Harvey's hand, when he thrusts into Harvey's fist and mouth --

Another groan and Harvey pulls almost all the way out, and it's all Bruce can do not to *drive* into Harvey's mouth, not to demand, but -- "I want -- I want this, *too* --"

And Harvey pulls back and sucks just on the head as he works his finger fast, *hard*, and it feels like Bruce has no control over his own body, no way to find the rhythm or do anything but *feel* --

"*Please*," he says again, and Tom would be biting his wrist, now, but Bruce wants Harvey to hear, needs --

So much heat, so much pleasure, and he hates and loves being this tight, because Tom would enjoy this, but he'd also need *more* --

And suddenly he's with Tom again, inside him and thrusting hard, knowing that it's too hard and not being able to stop, to do anything but bury himself in that tight heat, that perfect *sweetness*. And he *knows* Harvey would do the same with him, would *lose* himself --

And Bruce would be able to *hear* him, everything he said, every curse and plea --

He wants --

Anything, *please* --

And then Harvey *shoves* in with his finger, takes Bruce *deep* and holds there, just --

Sucking and *spearing* him, and Bruce can keep his knees from buckling again, but the shaking is beyond him, the sounds he's making are helpless things --

And when Harvey groans again something breaks, tightens and *snaps*, and the only thing left is motion and heat, slickness and pleasure as Bruce's vision goes white --

Endless --

Perfection as he feels himself spilling into Harvey's mouth, as he *feels* Harvey's cough work his throat against his penis, and he only wants this feeling to *last* --

But he's back in his body in a heartbeat, gasping at the *incredible* burn -- he's clenching, and he can't make himself stop, not yet, God, not *yet* --

Harvey pulls off and pulls out, gasping deeply and then coughing again, covering his mouth and almost *swaying* on his knees.

Bruce drops to the floor to join him, to pet and try to soothe --

Harvey nods and pats Bruce's shoulder, trying to reassure *him* even as he coughs, and it makes something in Bruce's chest swell and spill, makes something behind his eyes *ache*, and Bruce pulls Harvey into his arms and holds on.

After a long moment, the coughs get fewer and farther between, and Harvey presses his face against Bruce's neck. Bruce tilts his head to make it easier for Harvey and strokes his back. They stay that way for some time, and then Harvey laughs.

"We -- really need to get up off the floor."

"You need -- I need to make you come, Harvey. You have to let me."

Harvey's breath hitches -- he moans. "God, Bruce --"

"That was wonderful, Harvey. You were so..." Bruce pulls back and shakes his head. "A part of me had begun wondering if we could ever have that."

"Hey, I -- I said I'd come see you, right? And -- Tom and I talked about that. Before. I thought he'd tell you."

Bruce blinks. "Tell me what?"

"That -- he said he would give us our space. That he wouldn't -- um. Okay, I *know* you want all three of us together --"

"I can be... patient," Bruce says, and smiles ruefully. "But not about all things," and shifts until he can stroke down Harvey's chest --

"Bruce..."

Until he can stroke Harvey through his pants, which must be very uncomfortable, right now. "Would you let me taste you, Harv? I've wanted... you know that I've wanted."

"I -- I know. But." Harvey shivers. "I'm just a little... things are kind of messed up in my head, right now, and I don't think I could take that."

Bruce frowns. "I... what can I do to help?"

Harvey smiles. "You're doing it. You always -- sometimes I think nothing makes sense in the world, at all, that it's all just games with rules that change all the time so that nobody worth anything ever wins..." He shakes his head. "But then there's you, and balance. You push when I pull, you're steady when I'm running around like a damned chicken with its head cut off, you're dark when I'm light..." Harvey blushes. "Uh, anyway. I'll be okay. Just -- that was a little over the top. Not the sex, per se, but... I don't think I can explain it."

Bruce nods. "But... if not my mouth..."

"Your hand? Oh, God, Bruce, I think I'd love your hand. I *know* I would. Let's..." Harvey stands up and reaches down to help Bruce up, holding Bruce's hand tightly and leaning in for a kiss that starts slow and gets faster, *heavier* when Harvey moans and shivers again.

His arousal is something Bruce can *almost* taste, even under his cologne and the scent of his own arousal. And -- he tastes like Bruce's semen. That's enough to make Bruce want the kiss to go on forever, for at least as long as Harvey will *tolerate* being tasted and known this way --

Harvey pulls back and smiles. "Can't believe I *did* that. I -- I'm really glad I did. You liked it --"

"I *loved* it --"

"And I loved doing it. Heh, you see how hard I am for you. Those *sounds* you were making --"

"I love you," Bruce says, and smiles because it's always wonderful to say it, especially when it makes Harvey's smile quirk to something fond and soft.

"Let's sit down on your bed?"

Bruce nods and they go, facing each other, and Harvey blushes again as he starts opening his pants. "Harv?"

"It's not like I haven't been naked in front of you a thousand damned times. I've even been *hard* in front of you --"

"Yes."

"And... do I wanna know? What you draw when you're bent over that sketchpad and concentrating so hard it looks like smoke should be coming out of your ears?"

Bruce blushes, too. "Your hands, sometimes. And... I've tried to capture your smiles."

Harvey grins and spreads his fly, and the outline of his penis in his boxer shorts is thick, obscene and beautiful with a large damp spot near the head. "And Tom?"

"And Tom. I -- he said I was allowed to draw him naked. I have several times, but I don't think they're very good. I'm still practicing."

"And he gives you a *lot* to work with," Harvey says, and reaches for Bruce's hand, bringing it to his bulge and sighing. "God, that's already so good --"

"Yes. I... may I take you out?"

Harvey nods, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tense. "Just -- don't wait. Do what you want."

"Oh, Harv..." Bruce eases Harvey's penis out of the slit and wraps his hand around it. It makes him feel powerful, larger than himself somehow, more *important* --

"Bruce. Just -- the sweat on your palm --"

"I could. I could wipe it --"

"No, don't. It's good. *Warm*," Harvey says, and pants when Bruce squeezes, takes a deep breath and moans. His shirt tails lie mostly flat to either side of his penis, and Bruce thinks about letting go of Harvey's penis to grab them and *tear* until Harvey's chest is bare, as well --

That wouldn't be practical, and Harvey wouldn't appreciate it in the slightest. He settles for using his free hand to push up under and *touch* Harvey's abdomen, feel the thick hair beneath his navel, feel the skin and muscle hitch and jump as Bruce strokes --

"Ohh. Bruce, God, I -- not slow. Please don't go slow right now --"

"Yes," and Bruce strokes faster, and watches Harvey tilt his head back, studies the perfect column of his throat -- leans in and licks Harvey there --

"*Fuck*, I -- no, it's all right, it's -- please, Bruce --"

"Yes, it's all right. And -- the taste of your skin. There's a little salt from your sweat -- Harv."

"Don't stop --"

"Not until you come for me," Bruce says, and the sound of his voice is low and grating, the sound that always makes Tom almost *snap* to attention, as if Bruce could order him to do anything, *take* anything --

It makes Harvey moan and shake his head, and Bruce licks him more forcefully, stroking steadily and learning Harvey with his palm and his tongue and -- not everything else. Not *yet*, but this --

"When you come..."

"Hn -- yeah, big guy?"

"Please. Don't make me stop touching you right away."

Harvey groans and reaches out for Bruce, cupping and squeezing Bruce's shoulder. "You can -- I can't stop you, anymore. I can't -- nothing makes *sense* --"

"*All* of it makes sense," Bruce says, and kisses Harvey's pulse point hard, harder when it makes Harvey moan and *shake*. He's sensitive there, likes to be touched in maybe some of the same ways Tom does, and the twitch of his penis in Bruce's hand just makes Bruce want more. He takes his hand from underneath Harvey's shirt and uses it to cup the back of Harvey's neck --

Harvey shivers and *pushes* into Bruce's fist once, again --

"Oh, Harv --"

"Can't -- fuck, Bruce, it's torture, it's -- I want so much *more* -- no. Not yet, not while I'm still --" Harvey looks up and blinks at Bruce, lips parted and swollen and eyes wide. And then he smiles. "A little too much?"

Bruce nods and keeps stroking and squeezing, licking his lips for more of Harvey's taste --

"Oh -- kiss me --"

Bruce does, and at first he thinks it might be too hard and fast, but Harvey squeezes his shoulder hard and gives it back to him, licking Bruce's tongue into his own mouth and sucking, whimpering and moaning --

Thrusting into Bruce's *fist* --

Bruce nods and tries to promise everything Harvey doesn't want to hear into his mouth, tries --

He wants to know everything that makes Harvey rise and harden with desire, even if he can't *be* everything that does. He wants to find Harvey the tallest, most beautiful women in the world. He wants to lay Harvey out on his bed in the manor and show Tom everything that makes Harvey groan and shake, so that Tom could do it, help Bruce until Harvey was wordless and almost mad with only pleasure --

And maybe he shouldn't be pushing like this, but Harvey doesn't resist and then he's *under* Bruce, penis pointing toward their faces, leaking and twitching seemingly with every stroke -- Harvey turns his head from the kiss and grits his *teeth*.

"Harv...?"

"Close. I'm -- fuck, no, kiss me again --"

This time, Bruce starts from the line of Harvey's jaw, licking and kissing until he has the taste of salt again, until he can nuzzle against Harvey's soft, swollen mouth with his own --

"*Please* --"

Bruce kisses, and strokes Harvey faster, and now Harvey's whimpering into Bruce's mouth almost like he's in *pain*. Bruce wants to soothe, but he knows slowing down would only hurt more right now, and -- oh.

He could --

He moves his hand from under Harvey's neck to his mouth, pushing two fingers in and moving down to the floor, opening his mouth --

Harvey makes a questioning sound and starts to sit up, and their eyes meet, and Bruce can see that Harvey knows what he wants by the way he looks anguished, *desperate* --

"Please," Bruce says, and his voice is still rough --

And Harvey's eyes roll back in his head as he sucks Bruce's fingers --

After that, it's only a few moments before Harvey stiffens all over, goes silent, and ejaculates into Bruce's mouth, painting Bruce's tongue and spattering the back of his throat.

Bruce loosens his grip when Harvey is finished, but he doesn't let go. He just --

He takes a moment to *taste* Harvey, to wallow in the thick feel of his semen, the salt and hint of bitterness that makes Bruce salivate too much for him not to swallow, and swallow again --

"Bruce..."

"Yes," he says, and moves back onto the bed, pushing Harvey's shirt up as far as it will go and licking lazy patterns on his abdomen while Harvey pants and tries to catch his breath.

Everything he can taste is Harvey, everything he can feel is *sex*, the love they've made between them at *last* --

And Harvey shivers when Bruce dips his tongue into his navel. "I need -- I don't. Bruce, come here --"

Bruce does, and Harvey pulls them into a hug, their legs mostly hanging over the side of the bed. Bruce shifts until he can cover one of Harvey's legs with his own, and Harvey sighs in a kind of relief Bruce thinks he can almost smell along with all the other good things.

"That was..." Harvey laughs and shakes his head. "I don't know why I thought that'd be *less* mind-blowing than you sucking me off."

Bruce smiles. "I've learned that sex should always be a little... shattering."

"Yeah, but somehow you just pick yourself up after and keep *going*. You -- you do that with Tom?"

"Sometimes he only wants my hands, yes."

"I meant -- uh. The come-catching."

"Oh... no. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Did you... not like it?"

Harvey laughs again and pats Bruce's back. "Seriously, big guy, you *saw* what just looking at you *waiting* for it did to me. I think if I'd actually watched you doing it something important would've shorted out in my brain."

"That would be unfortunate."

"You're telling me," Harvey says, and sighs again. "We should go clean up a little, you know."

"Yes," Bruce says, and thinks of Harvey's hand, his wonderful finger -- "I'd like for you to penetrate me... as often as possible."

"Tom... doesn't do it much?"

Bruce shakes his head. "We always seem to be distracted by other things... though I think, also, that Tom is worried about the time it takes to do it properly with lubricant."

Harvey winces. "Uh -- sorry --"

"No," Bruce says firmly. "The pain acted as counterpoint to the other sensations. I think I'll suggest to Tom that he try it without lubricant the next time we make love."

"You're a greedy, greedy guy, and I think if I was your only... uh. Boyfriend?"

"Lover."

Harvey laughs. "That word makes me feel like one of us should be growing a pussy, but fine. If I *were* your only one, then I'd probably go a little crazy, so yeah, I'm glad you have Tom. Who is completely and totally *right* to insist on lube, no matter how nuts I got for you when I was on my knees."

"You didn't hurt me --"

"But I could have. I -- I know that much. And that would've screwed me up something awful," Harvey says, and strokes Bruce's back with long, even touches. "Anyway. Are you sure you want me there for the study session tomorrow --"

"Yes --"

"Strike that. Do you have any *non*-perverted reasons to want me to hang out with you and Tom tomorrow?"

Bruce frowns. "I don't think it's *perverted* --"

Harvey pats him again. "Work with me, here, big guy. You know what I mean."

And -- he does, yes. "I think it would be a bad idea for us to get in the habit of *not* spending time together. It would make me feel as though I was hurting our friendship."

"Yeah, okay, I can see that. All right, how about this -- I give you guys a little time to talk about the Lex thing, work through things without me in the way, and then I'll come back and we can talk about our history papers and whatever else. Okay?"

He had, honestly, stopped thinking about Lex. Bruce nods --

"Damn, I'm sorry I brought that up. Look, they're probably passed out by now -- in their separate beds -- and all of that other stuff is over."

"I... I know," Bruce says, and squeezes Harvey because it's allowed --

Harvey squeezes him back. "It'll be okay."

If you say so. "All right," Bruce says, and settles in to take another few moments of being *close* to Harvey. He knows there are limits to how much of this he can have, and right now he doesn't want to push them. He --

He can still *taste* Harvey, and that feeling will stay with him long after he brushes his teeth. He rests his hand on Harvey's chest so he can feel his heartbeat, measure his breathing --

Feel.

And, after a moment, Harvey smiles with his eyes closed. "You're not like anyone else. I know I've said that a dozen different ways if I've said it once..."

"Perhaps it bears repeating," Bruce says, and strokes briefly up to Harvey's face, his jaw... there's a little stubble there, but it wasn't enough to be irritating while they were kissing, and Tom doesn't ever grow much hair, at all. Perhaps he and Harvey can try kissing in the morning, sometime --

"Yeah, like you'd ever forget that you're the odd man out. Sometimes *I* do, though, and I'm not sure how that works. Maybe it *is* just normal to want to have sex with your best friend and then spend time cuddling --"

"I think so. It really does make a lot of sense if you think about it --"

"In *just* the right way, while also not thinking about everything else. All of those external *pressures* --"

"The point is that they *are* external," Bruce says, and presses against Harvey's chest again. "If we're careful, they don't have to have anything to do with *us*."

"No, I... I guess not," Harvey says, sighing and sitting up. He covers Bruce's hand with his own -- he squeezes Bruce's hand and closes his eyes again for another moment. "We really have to figure out the definition of careful."

"I was thinking... the dorm mothers never come in after midnight. I've always found that to be somewhat strange, since they seem to *want* to catch us all unawares --"

"Everyone needs sleep. I just don't put it past Bourne to *start* showing up at two in the damned morning, *just* so she could catch me out -- and yeah, I know that's pretty paranoid."

Bruce nods and sits up, as well. "Still... the odds would be in our favor if we waited until later in the evening."

"Odds. Look at you, talking like a damned gambler. Remind me to *never* introduce you to my father," and Harvey stands and stretches -- and starts to take off his clothes.

Bruce doesn't -- he wants to say something about how he's sorry, about how he'd noticed the bruises and the pain in Harvey's eyes, the *trouble* --

He says nothing, because he knows it's not his place. It's enough to watch Harvey's muscles flex and shift as he strips himself down, as he exposes more and more of his beauty. Any woman would want him, and many, many men would, as well.

He could have almost anyone, and he deserves to have as many people as he wants. The fact that he wants *Bruce*... it's something to treasure, to keep for himself against all the world's chill and strangeness.

He is very, very lucky to have two people like that, and he will do everything in his power to keep them both as happy as they can possibly be. He will *learn* what it takes to satisfy them, to make them smile in the dark --

"You *still* can't look at me like that in public, big guy," Harvey says, naked and not looking at Bruce, at all.

"I know, Harv," Bruce says, and watches Harvey's nearly fluid movements as he walks to the closet to get his robe. He's not as a consciously graceful as Tom, but he *lives* in his body more, Bruce thinks. Bruce makes an image in his mind of Harvey climbing the rock he had talked about and smiles.

Harvey laughs softly. "I think I won't be able to *sleep* tonight if you keep that up."

Bruce blinks. "Sorry."

Harvey smiles back over his shoulder. "You're forgiven, if only because I can't imagine you being any other way. C'mon, strip off. We need to shower so we *can* get some sleep."

Bruce nods and stands, getting himself naked as quickly and efficiently as possible --

Harvey comes over and strokes Bruce's chest.

"Harv...?"

"The number of times I've wanted to do just this... I can't decide if it's better or worse than it was in my mind because you made me come *just* that hard," he says, and scratches a little with his blunt nails. And then he sighs and stops. "You okay, Bruce?"

"A lot better than that," he says, and doesn't try to push closer again.

Harvey nods and hands Bruce his robe. "Then we're okay."

And Bruce can't help looking for Tom -- and Lex -- when they get to the showers, but they aren't there, and that means... he really doesn't know what that means, at all, and he has to live with that. He will *find* a way to separate them, to convince Tom that everything he needs is with him and Harvey --

He will, and even though he knows Harvey doesn't mean it that way, the quick, bright smile Harvey gives him while they're showering *feels* like a confirmation of that, a sense that Harvey is with him as far as they can go. Maybe farther.

Once they're back in their room, Harvey kisses him briefly and softly before climbing up to his bunk. It reminds Bruce a little of his mother, and he's reasonably sure he should keep that to himself. Bruce slips into his own bed and stares up at the slats --

"You're doing it again."

Bruce blushes. "I might have been thinking about putting up a poster. A lot of boys do."

Harvey laughs. "I think I'm kind of terrified by the idea of what *kind* of poster you'd put up."

"Probably not David Bowie," Bruce says, and exaggerates his bad-natured mutter a little bit --

Harvey laughs again, a little louder this time, shifting on the bed until he can look down over the side.

"Hello."

"Hi there," Harvey says. "Close your eyes and go to sleep, hunh?"

Bruce reaches up to trace Harvey's features with his fingertips -- Harvey bites them and growls before letting go.

"Eyes *closed*."

Bruce closes his eyes.

"Thank you. Good night, big guy."

"Good night," he says, and listens to Harvey shifting again, listens to him breathe, slowly and steadily.

When Harvey sleeps, so does he.

And --

Tom isn't due to come by until lunch, so he and Harvey spend the morning together going over their other classwork. Harvey has extra credit projects for both Latin and literature, and asks Bruce's advice on how to make them, as he says, 'spectacular.' It honestly makes Bruce wonder if *he* should be as serious about school as Harvey is, if he should be doing more than simply working ahead whenever possible and doing his best to pay attention to the professors, no matter how repetitive they can be.

Will he be going to college? He's always assumed he would be, and that it would be one of the Ivy League institutions his family has attended -- and donated to -- over the generations. Tom speaks of traveling the world, though, of devoting their time to learning methods of detection, martial arts, basic medical care -- all the things they'll need for their future as... who they will become.

That certainly seems a lot more useful, overall, than getting a degree in something he'll hardly ever use. It's just that when he thinks about how Alfred and Leslie will react to that argument, it makes him cringe inside --

("We'll be eighteen, Bruce. Our lives will be ours to use as we see fit.")

(I wait.)

Bruce nods to himself and focuses on Harvey's needs, and a little on the small fantasy he has of following Harvey wherever he goes to school, of convincing Tom that they could put *off* their travels for a little longer in order to experience life on a college campus.

They could *all* be together, eventually sharing a house or an apartment in a city none of them have ever seen, a city they could learn, together --

Something.

It's *just* a fantasy, though. He has the Bat, and his own need. The way his body sometimes feels unfinished, his mind untested, his city in *need*. How many people are suffering, now, because he's still in school?

How many other *children* are suffering because he's not ready, and won't *be* ready for years to come?

Bruce watches Harvey take notes in his somewhat odd but highly effective shorthand, hand speeding over the page and expression blankly thoughtful. He has tried drawing that easily a dozen times, but the results are always bland and flat. He has --

Harvey has hinted, more than once, that his father has involved himself in illegal activities. He would be, perhaps, someone the person he'll become could visit, could intimidate into treating Harvey better...

Or just break several of the small bones in the man's hands.

Bruce smiles to himself and keeps working.

Tom joins them for lunch, and there are no marks on him that Bruce can see, and he isn't moving or sitting strangely. He looks at Bruce and Harvey, though, a long and studying look --

And when he looks away and nods to himself, Bruce knows that *he* knows -- and the blush on his face says Harvey does, too. The talk is desultory at first, but Tom seems determined, and, after a while, he gets Harvey to talk at length about some of the cars he'd like to have, or at least drive.

It's a subject Tom seems to know a fair amount about, speaking about things like torque and engine power, as well as about how long certain cars will last without needing serious repair.

At several points, Bruce catches Harvey looking at Tom speculatively, as if knowing this sort of thing changes him in Harvey's eyes in a positive way. Bruce isn't sure why that would be so, but he can't help but find it intensely pleasurable.

And more than that for the way that Lex sometimes glances over for a moment *without* catching Tom's eye. It's not that he thinks Tom isn't aware of Lex's attention -- it's better that he *is*, and is choosing to ignore it for reasons of his own.

Or -- he *had* been choosing to do so. When they leave, Tom sends a fairly *long* look in Lex's direction and nods.

And that -- "Would you tell me... what that was about?"

"Easy, *easy*, big guy, I haven't even left you guys for the library, yet. You'll *have* time alone."

Tom smiles, small and sharp. "Yes, Bruce. *Let's* wait just a few more minutes, please?"

Bruce frowns and nods, and forces himself to only glance at Harvey when he *does* break from them to take the path to the library. Then he focuses on walking just a little faster than usual --

"Impatience is unsubtle, Bruce," Tom says, and he's not hurrying in any sort of obvious way, but he's still at Bruce's side.

"Sometimes -- I don't think subtle is the best way to be."

Tom looks at him, and his expression is both amused and annoyed. "And how much of *that* is because you're angry with me right now?"

"I'm not --" Bruce cuts himself off. He never wants to lie to Tom. Not -- not ever. He slows down and they walk in silence the rest of the way, and when Tom closes the door behind him --

"Say -- say what you need to say, Bruce. Please."

Bruce hangs up his coat and reaches to take Tom's own, and -- he's thinking about it, trying to put it into good words, the *right* words, but mostly he's just stalling. A part of him wants to make Tom wait the way Bruce had waited for him to come back to the dance, to say that he'd changed his mind, that he was wrong --

He hangs up Tom's coat on the rack by the door -- Alfred had insisted they have one -- and brushes at the small and sparkling flecks of melting snow. They make his fingers damp and a little cool -- and Tom takes them in his hand, and brings it to his own face. "It's all right, Bruce. Whatever it is."

Like this -- it's impossible not to *cup* Tom's face, to feel all the angles and slight -- subtle -- curves of it. "Why did you ignore Lex until the end of lunch?"

"He was being too obvious. We're supposed to be essentially indifferent to each other for the most part. *Not* because I'm in any way upset with him."

"And so, at the end, you were... acknowledging him?"

"Yes. He was... unsure, this morning."

Bruce nods and takes that in with everything else he knows about the two of them, everything he *fears* -- "Will you... make love with him again?"

"Yes, I think so."

Bruce tightens his grip on Tom's face -- relaxes it again. "He was. It was good. With him."

"Yes. I -- thought of you a couple of times," Tom says, and his eyes are honest and a little dark. *Deep* --

"Why aren't I enough for you?"

Tom closes his eyes, but only for a moment. "I don't know. If I did know, I would tell you, Bruce. There's nothing I don't want to tell you."

Bruce nods again. "You... you know that Harv and I made love."

"Yes. And I know that you enjoyed it a great deal, and that he did, as well. I -- do you still want me?"

Bruce frowns and tightens his grip again --

"Ow. I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Tom says, and reaches up to cover Bruce's hand until he loosens his grip. Then Tom strokes the back of his hand, and Bruce's wrist and arm before dropping his hand to his side again.

"I want to know what you did with Lex, but I'm afraid that I won't be able to stop picturing it."

"Both feelings are entirely understandable. I -- if you do decide you want to know, I'll tell you."

Was he as hungry for you as you deserve? Did he love you with his body or just touch? Was he greedy? Was he rough? Did you like it? Bruce hears himself make a noise and looks down between them. They're both in their uniforms, but Bruce wants to be naked. They almost *should* be naked for this conversation, touching everywhere they can be, pressed *close* -- "Brother," Bruce says, and his voice sounds rough to his own ears, and far too desperate.

"Brother," and Tom's voice is quiet and calm, accepting --

Perhaps the way *he* should be accepting. "I'm very jealous."

Tom nods -- and then drags his cheek against Bruce's hand. "So am I."

"Doesn't that mean we shouldn't see anyone but each other?"

Tom smiles, and it's wide and a little distant. "It means... it means that we're human, Bruce, and subject to the entire range of the human experience. I... I don't know. We're sixteen and in love with each other, but can't stop caring for -- and wanting -- other people. As such, I think we're doing fairly well. Perhaps if we just keep trying not to hurt each other, keep trying to be honest..." The smile stiffens on Tom's face and he looks down.

"Tom...?"
 

*

Now... well, now you get to choose. I hope you decide to read
both endings in the order I've presented them, but, obviously,
you don't have to. So what will it be?

Door #1

Door #2


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