Love, like a visible god [Title reference]
by Te
June 22, 2007
Disclaimers: Not one little bit of this is mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: No spoilers. Takes place early in Tim's
career as Robin.
Summary: "I've got *toys*," Dick says. "Kids like toys."
Ratings Note: Sexual content some readers may find to
be disturbing.
Author's Note: Another sequel to One is Silver. Why I'm
writing sequels to Good Bits is a question I choose
not to examine too closely.
Acknowledgments: Mildred, Petra, Katarik, naughtypixie,
and Jack have all seen bits of this and offered their
assistance. Go team them!
*
"I think my father likes you," Tim says, apropos of absolutely
none of the things currently running -- on a jagged,
shuffling, beautiful, inspiring --
There's a loop in Dick's brain, and so long as he can keep it
from getting them killed on -- or, more probably, under/near/
in pieces around -- this bike, things'll be fine. Dick brings
their speed down to seventy and focuses. "Suitable big
brother material?"
"Well, you're respectful, charming --"
"Ooh. Talk *clean* to me, little brother --"
"And you're willing to poke fun at Bruce in his hearing," Tim
says, and Dick can't really call that sound a sigh, but it's
close. "It's possible I've said too many nice things about
him."
And that's -- well. "I've had *years* of practice dealing with
people who only know what Bruce wants them to know
about him. The trick is to make it clear you've already heard
*all* the jokes." Including the ones which are way more
accurate about *Robin* on Robin -- or ward on ward-or-is-it-
adopted-son -- action, but there you go.
Tim makes a noncommittal sound. "It's just that I'm having...
I think I could call it 'irony lag,'" he says.
Which is... hm. Reason to shut off the loop? Maybe put it on
mute? Maybe just the parts which involve Tim screaming his
name between strangled moans? Oh, but he really *likes*
those parts --
"I mean -- my father trusts me, of course, and it's not that I
want him to stop, but -- you are planning to have a fair
amount of sex with me, right?"
Definitely not cutting those off, nope. "I've got *toys*," Dick
says. "Kids like toys."
Tim snorts. "I -- all right, now I'm intimidated."
"Intrigued...? I like intrigued a lot..."
"Dick --" Tim's laugh is soft and quiet and *old*.
Hm. It's a hardship -- it's kind of *tragic*, what with all the
good the engine is doing for his some-might-even-say-
*burgeoning* little friend, but he can focus. He really can.
"Tim...?"
"I -- it's *weird*, Dick. The man who's taught me and
trained me and helped me become something better than I
ever *could* be is off-limits, but the man who plans to stick
things up my rectum is *fine* --"
Very fine, if he does say so himself. Why, just look at what
he gets to bring *home* with him -- anytime he wants.
Better than thinking about Tim being in love with Bruce --
no, no, no. It's just hero worship and also -- no. "I... hm.
I'm not sure what to say, Tim. I mean -- it's not like *Bruce*
is allowed to look remotely parent-friendly."
"I know, I know, I really -- of course he likes Superman, too."
Mm, Superman. "Most good and right-thinking people tend
to --"
"It's just... well, it's irony-lag," Tim says, and increases the
pressure of his grip on Dick -- was that a *hug*?
Spontaneous and everything?
Dick cranks it up to eighty, and -- no, he can still focus. "You
are a lucky, lucky vigilante -- and I know you know it -- to
still get to have civilians in your life in any way, and the best
advice I can give you is to not think about the lies you have
to keep telling, and to... um. Use them? Enjoy them?
Remember they're there but try not to let them beat you
down?"
"Let you stick things up my rectum?"
Yes, *things*. "Absolutely, yes, little brother, and don't think
you can turn me away with icky word-choices, either,
because --"
"You go by 'Dick' by choice," Tim says, and the smile in his
voice...
"You are going to look so *good* over the side of my bed."
*
And he does. Oh, he really does. Just --
"I think I could just stay here and *watch* you like this for
*hours*," Dick says, because Tim is clearly a little anxious,
but he keeps *making* himself relax -- there. His shoulders
are loose again, but his hands are bunching the covers --
"I -- I'm hoping you don't. This --"
"How would you feel about being blindfolded?"
"Um?"
"Just a thought," Dick says, and goes over to check the
pillow under Tim's knees -- he *is* going to patrol tonight --
and maybe also the tension in his thighs, his back, maybe
lick those clenched fists --
"God, *Dick* --"
"Uh, huh," he says, and -- okay, so it's not that he has a
point to make, but it still feels timely -- on a number of
levels -- to cover Tim's fists with his own and just *push*
his body against Tim's own -- score:
A whole new sound for the loop, breathy and high.
"I -- I wanna make you *shake*," Dick says, and rolls his
hips a little. "Do you wanna let me?"
"I -- *yes* --"
"I love this. I love having you here, I love *having* you --"
"That's -- that's convenient," Tim says.
"I'm not sure about the positioning, though," and Dick
squeezes Tim's fists, stands up, and moves around to the
other side of the bed.
Tim's got an eyebrow up for him, and it's very pointed,
very *arch* and little-brotherly -- for very specific definitions
of the term which are all about Tim being some variety of
naked, even if it's just under his clothes --
Which reminds him. "You've got a uniform here, now," he
says.
"I -- you -- from Bruce?"
Dick smiles and only rocks on his heels a *little*. "My secret
superhero base is *your* secret superhero base."
"He -- did he ask *why*... I mean. You... did you..."
"I should state for the record that you've really given me
*no* reason why I shouldn't make you blush like that. I
mean -- none. At all."
As it happens, Tim does have a frown Dick likes a lot,
though it's really more of a *pinch*, a little moment of
frustrated Dick-*what* that, if Tim ever used it for someone
else, would make Dick at least a *little* jealous. If it gets just
a little deeper, his eyebrows will start to 'v' a little, and --
That is so cute. So -- "He didn't ask. He didn't let *me* get
the whole question out. Which, of course, means that he
knows at least a *little* about why I wanted it -- and why I
wanted to keep you here long enough that I'd *need* to
have a uniform for you, and," Dick says, jumping on the
bed, spinning, and planting his feet to either side of Tim's
body --
"Dick -- *mmph* --"
Which of them likes for Dick's thumb to be in Tim's mouth
more? Impossible to say. "Try not to think about it too
much?"
"Mmph."
"Perfect. So -- among many other things, good things,
wonderful things -- I was thinking about you and *Clark*.
No, don't just raise your eyebrow -- make that little muffled --
oh, I love that sound," Dick says, and --
He loves *this* muffled sound, too, because it's very
obviously a question -- Tim may not be capable of leaving
his eyebrows out of conversations, which makes him fit just
perfectly with everyone in Dick's *life* --
And also because Tim is going *down* on his thumb. Up,
down, lick. Up, down --
"Absolutely *yes*," Dick says, and -- why isn't *he* naked?
Fixing the problem involves taking his thumb out of Tim's
mouth, and even involves not watching every second of Tim
shifting until he's sitting on his heels, until he's looking *up*
at Dick, hair spikes pointing back toward the window --
"Yes," Dick says again, and sits back down, and smiles at
Tim.
Tim -- looks a little dazed, but *game*. And a lot more than
that --
When Dick points at his not-quite-fully-burgeoned-but-
*hopeful* friend?
"You -- want."
"I really do," Dick says, "and I'm going to *ruin* your hair."
The moan is good enough -- long and *heartfelt* enough --
that Dick wonders if he's been *premature* about the
muffling thing, but his hands are having none of the waffling.
His *hands* are cracking spikes and pushing in against Tim's
scalp and *pulling*, and Dick's little friend isn't in anything
like the right position, but --
Well, Tim's going to be *his* partner, too, sometimes, and
the fact that *he* gets Dick's little friend into position bodes
well for the future.
Especially the immediate one. "Oh -- yeah. I'm gonna want
to get as deep as you can manage, okay?"
"Dick -- ah --"
It *sounds* like Tim had something else to say, maybe even
actual words, but it's possible that Dick's hands and Tim's
mouth are more sympatico than any other parts, fragments,
or interesting ideas in this room.
Which is --
"Oh, little brother, that's --"
Tight and hot --
"So tight and *wet*, just -- hum if you --"
Tim hums, and Dick's hips *jerk*, and Tim kind of whimpers
around him -- Tim's already drooling a little, and there was
an idea in there, something he could or should say, ease
little brother into things, ease himself right *in* to little
brother -- slow.
Slow, he can do it slow, painfully, killingly -- Tim's so
*small*, and it's nowhere near far enough, but he's got one
of those great little hands right around the base, and when
Dick tugs -- just a little --
Tim starts bobbing his head, starts --
Tim's gagging himself *rhythmically* on Dick, forcing himself
down, and the back of his throat is --
Hard. Springy. Soft and wet, soft for him -- Jesus, he doesn't
want to *hurt* Tim, but he's moaning, too, constant little --
"Oh -- fuck, you've gotta -- you gotta breathe -- *fuck*,
that's good, I mean, you need to -- you should only try
swallowing if you *want* to --"
He wants to. Tim *always* wants to, wants him, wants him
all the way inside, and his throat is -- flexing-clutching,
*working* against the head of Dick's dick, making it better,
hotter --
"Oh, Jesus, little brother, I wanna fuck your throat so
*bad* --"
*Faster* now, and the sounds Tim's making around him are
frustrated, wonderful --
The coughs are these hot little *flutters* -- no, he has to
pull back, pull out of that wonderful -- soft and *small* --
If he could just make himself --
Tim's eyes are squeezed shut and he's trying so *hard*,
working himself so *good*, he's so perfect, he's so -- no,
he's pulling out.
He's --
Sliding his hips back -- it's just more sensation, it's Tim's
whimper getting a little air, a little resonance, and --
And he has to *pull* Tim's head back --
"Dick, I --" He's coughing, he's red, his *mouth* --
"*Breathe*," he says, and he sounds like he's ordering a
criminal around, he sounds like -- but Tim's eyes are wide
and perfect -- "Breathe and *stroke* me," and it doesn't
come out any better, but Tim's hands are wonderful, hard --
"Y-yes, Dick --"
"Faster, and -- oh, I wanna fuck you, *do* you --"
"*Please* --"
"Lick me -- just -- just a little," and he wants to be a better
person than this, he wants to have *more* than the fact
that he's going to feel guilty *after* he comes.
He -- he wants to give *Tim* more, everything, and he's
not sure why he's standing, but Tim looks even better
reaching *up* to stroke him, watching Dick's eyes like a
good little Robin, even though Dick has no idea what they're
telling him.
Maybe --
Maybe he telegraphed pulling Tim back in, maybe that's why
Tim kneels up *fast* to lick the head, rub his mouth on it --
"Dick -- in? Again?"
He's shaking his head and he's fucking *growling*, and that
must sound *just* like yes, because Tim is fucking his own
face again, not *deep* enough, not -- oh, just fast and
*sweet*.
Sweet and *hard* little sucks on the head, and Tim gets so
many, many points for enthusiasm Dick can barely --
No, he can stand this just fine. He can *have* it, especially
those *frustrated* whimpers which are just winding him up
so tight and hot --
So --
Right *here*, enough to pull Tim off again and force Tim's
hand to stroke him faster --
"You -- come on me --"
"That is -- absolutely the plan," he says, even though it
wasn't even a *second* ago, and Tim's using his free hand
to stroke Dick's thigh, rub at it -- and then he slides it
around and grabs Dick's *ass* -- "So *good*, *fuck* --"
He gets Tim on the chest, the face -- the fucking *ear*, and
Tim's eyes are closed and his mouth is open, panting and --
practically *gasping*, and the fact that it would be easier to
do something about *all* of it means nothing against the
way it feels to haul Tim to his feet and just -- hug him. Hard.
"I --"
Harder, enough to muffle Tim, or maybe push all the shaky
*into* him, make him take that, *too*. His hair smells
weird when Dick pushes off enough to bend in -- too much
*product* -- but his *face* smells like sweat and come --
"You know, Clark would just be able to pick you *up* to do
this."
"It -- seems like -- mm," Tim says, around Dick's tongue, and
Dick agrees wholeheartedly, especially because it only takes
a moment to get Tim to walk backwards, while kissing, to
the bed.
He has a sort of *thoughtful* grace, quiet and -- not easy. A
part of Tim is focused on the physics of what they're doing,
Dick can *feel* it, even though they're just laying down,
touching, making themselves messier -- tension. "Hmm?"
"I -- I'm sorry I couldn't get -- I just couldn't seem to. Maybe
it was the timing?"
Dick shakes his head and licks Tim's cheek, the corner of his
eye, and yes, his *ear* --
"Oh, that's -- oh."
"Got you... a *little* messy," Dick says, and it's kind of
difficult to not just press Tim to the bed with his body, but
it's doable, especially because he doesn't want to encourage
Tim to just rub off against him. For... for some reason. He's
hard and dark against Dick's hand --
"I -- ah. I like that. A lot. Also I'm -- very close."
"Mm-hmm, and that's -- oh, now I remember --"
"Toys?"
"Yes, *those*, and I wanted you close for that, yeah, I --"
"So I wouldn't -- think too much?"
There's amusement in Tim's voice, but not quite enough of
it. Dick searches Tim's expression a little -- nervousness, yes,
but also a little... hm. "Also, remind me not to try to teach
you how to deep-throat when I'm already too hard to think
properly, please?"
Tim blinks at him. "I -- I'll try? You really seemed to -- it
didn't seem the time to interrupt."
Now that he's coming down a little -- now that Tim's not on
his *knees* -- he can remember. Short black hairs on his
palm, brushed off on the sheets. Jesus. "How rough am I
being on you?"
"I..." Tim's hands are at his sides, and the tension is shifting
and moving, ebbing and flowing down his body, up again.
"My mouth is a little sore, but it's not --"
"Not what I mean," Dick says, and pushes his hands
between Tim's legs to squeeze his sac, cup it, feel it get a
little tighter. "You know what I mean."
"It's... it's not what I expected."
For today? From Dick? "What did you expect?"
"I -- I don't think I really *had* expectations, as opposed to
assumptions. You -- you're not gentle."
Well -- no. Really... "Am I supposed to be?"
"I..." And there's that little Dick-*what* face again. Oh --
hm.
Whoops. "I'm supposed to be asking that question of myself,
right?" Dick laughs and tickles Tim's sac. "God, I love it when
you kind of -- there, that little *shimmy*."
"I don't think -- that was a shimmy?"
Little brother looks like he's in danger -- terrible, terrible
danger -- of sitting up on his elbows and making it harder
to feel him up. He may even stop shimmying. This -- and
maybe a few other things -- are why Dick has to let go of
Tim's sac in favor of pressing him to the bed by the
shoulders.
"Oh, I... suppose I shouldn't move?"
Dick bites his lip and thinks about it. "I think it's more that
you should only move in certain ways," he says. That
sounds right.
"Like -- just as an example -- I'm still allowed to 'shimmy.'"
"Uh, huh. And -- to tell me to stop, or slow down... I know I
can get a little. Crazy," he says.
"You... correct me if I'm wrong," and Tim -- slowly -- pulls
his knees up until his feet are flat on the bed.
"Will do, and you're -- mm. You're doing fine," Dick says, and
breaks the shoulder-pin after one last squeeze to start
working Tim's balls again.
"Nn -- I. Uh..."
Tim looks a little -- well, he is pretty close. Pretty... pretty.
Heh. "Hold that thought," Dick says. "Well, not whatever
you were about to say -- hold the one where you're about to
come for me."
"Dick -- okay -- I -- oh God, don't stop --"
"Shh," Dick says, and leans in and down to mouth at the thin
skin of Tim's sac. Just a little friendly. "I'll be right back," he
says, breathy as he can.
"Okay -- just -- you -- you know how I feel."
More with each passing moment -- especially because the
lube and toys in here are *just* close enough that Dick can
keep touching Tim with his knees, the inside of one calf --
not enough. It's possible that he's kind of making a clacking,
plastic-full mess in his need to get back, get on, grind
*down* --
"Dick, I -- oh God, don't, not yet --"
Right, yes, not yet -- "You're wonderful," Dick says, and
kisses Tim, breaks a few more spikes -- messy, *messy*
hair -- "you're wonderful, and I can't look at you without
wanting to make you look just like this."
"Because -- because you know?"
Dick licks -- he was just going to lick his lips, but he'd
missed a spot right between Tim's nose and his eye. He
tastes sweat and his own come, he tastes the wide open
*wet* of Tim's mouth -- there was a question in there. Dick
pulls back, and --
And Tim is flushed and sweaty and he doesn't look very
questioning, really. He looks...
Well, okay. He can test this, at least. Dick grabs the first
dildo that comes to hand --
"Um."
"Okay, wait, that's probably for later, I..." He checks it with
his hand, wraps his fingers around it -- definitely later.
"How much... later?"
"Like you *haven't* been thinking about having Clark inside
you," Dick says, and bites the little frown on Tim's mouth.
"You were thinking fingers, and that's... oh, that's a whole
lot of fun from both sides, but *these*... will speed up the
process a little bit."
Tim nods and -- stops. He reaches for Dick's shoulders and
squeezes them --
His hands aren't *shaking* or anything, but still -- that's a
'pause,' if not a 'stop.' "I know -- sometimes it feels like
Clark *gave* you to me, just by telling me what I should've
figured out. And you..." Dick smiles and shakes his head.
"Tell me. We can do anything you want."
So long as it's everything. Wait -- no, that's not quite what
he's supposed to be thinking. It's just --
He *knows* it has to be incredibly hard for Tim to think of
some of these things, especially because Tim just thinks
*more* in general than Dick did at that age -- those frown
lines -- "I -- I won't hurt you. You have to make sure you
don't *let* me hurt you, but -- I know what I'm doing?"
The laugh is brief, but it chases every hint of frown off Tim's
face. He's wide open again, *for* Dick, and that's... the best
kind of everything. The best *of* everything.
"I love how open you are for me, how easy it is to *make*
you -- well. As it were and so to *speak*," he says, and
forces himself to look away for long enough to get the
smallest toy. It's bright blue and a little sparkly. Dick waves
it between them. "Yes? No? Maybe later?"
"It's -- it's always yes. For you," Tim says, and --
And there was something else, too, something that came
after that, and he's going to have to remember to get Tim to
say it again, but -- Dick wants him to say *that* again, too,
and the best way for Tim to do it, as far as he's concerned,
is into his mouth, against his skin --
Skin to skin and that moaning whimper doesn't mean
*stop*, except that it does, right now.
Out of the kiss, onto his side, and Tim's chest is rising and
falling in rapid little pants -- until Dick puts a hand there
and pushes, just a little --
"Oh, God --"
"You. You are making me crazy in every possible good way,
little brother, and I really kind of *need* to return the favor."
"O -- okay -- *oh* --"
*This* time, squeezing Tim's balls -- *lightly* -- makes him
arch right up off the bed --
("Oh, Dick, I love the way you *fly*...")
Just -- this -- this is what, this is who Clark *gave* him, who
Clark thinks Dick *deserves*. Tim is muscular and tight,
strong, everything Bruce could make him, because Bruce's
superpower is taking boys and making them more, making
them -- not even 'Robin' covers it, not really. Though -- "Not
that I want you to put anything on right now, but -- you're
gonna have to jerk me off with those gauntlets on one day."
"They're -- uh -- very rough?"
Mm -- but. True. "Maybe... maybe through a sheet or
something. In the meantime, let me get one of your hands
slick so I can watch you jerk this dildo off, okay?"
It's not that Tim's pupils weren't already pretty blown, but
now there's hardly any blue at *all* there, and -- yes,
absolutely, and yes --
"Also, do me a favor and come *really* fast once this is
inside you, so I can go back to molesting you with a *will*."
That isn't a word so much as a *noise*, but it's the perfect
response, as far as Dick is concerned. And Tim... oh, Tim
tests well, learns fast, gets every gold star in the book --
He's *watching* Dick as he gives the toy a handjob which is
making Dick simultaneously glad he'd already come and a
little regretful that he hadn't come just *slightly* longer
ago. Long enough to make the needy twitch of himself a
little less -- well, *rough*.
Sandpaper on the *nerve* endings --
"I did mention wanting to fuck you, right?"
"You -- it could probably count as... getting me ready. For
Clark," Tim says, and there's not even a hint of humor in it.
He's dead serious and he's spreading himself *wider*,
and --
It's *plastic*. The thing's slick *enough*, and possibly he
can do a little better than just yanking it away from Tim --
he doesn't want it to go skittering across the room -- but
it's very much a theoretical thing until Tim lets go and Dick
can breathe again.
"I -- my hand. Can I -- I'd really like to. Touch myself."
Pervy older brothers do a lot of things, but those things do
*not* include just shoving a dildo in their little brothers to
see if they scream. Just -- control, control -- "Ah -- wait.
After I get this in, okay?"
Tim nods, slow and serious, maybe a little wary --
There's nothing Dick can do about the way he looks right
this minute *except* for making it worth it. He bites his own
lip and tries to -- he can look away from Tim's eyes, a little,
from the way they're searching him, but still so --
He already knew he could do anything. It's -- it's why he
went out and *bought* these things. It's why he went over
to Tim's house to steal him again, without calling --
"You -- you'll let me do anything," he says, and "shh,"
because he can't hear it, the confirmation -- he already
*knows*, but if he gets any more sure, if *it*, this *thing*,
gets any more clear -- "Tim," he says, and nudges at Tim's
hole with the head --
Watches Tim jump, flex --
"*Breathe*," he says, much too loudly, much too *harsh* --
"God, I should've -- I should've let Clark do this to you, for
you, for *me* --"
"*Please*, Dick --"
*In*, and he almost can't hear Tim's whimper over his own
groan, just -- it's not even him, it's no part of him, he -- he
couldn't *do* this. He'd barely been able to manage --
He's not sure *how* he'd managed --
"Tell me. When I can thrust."
And Tim nods, fast and a little jerky, he -- he's flexing
*around* the toy, now, and they're in a bed. It would be so
*easy* to pull it out, replace it with something hotter,
better --
"I want to be inside you, I want to hear you scream, I --
please, Tim --"
"Do it --"
"Shh, no, don't let me --"
"*Please* --"
It's easy, so *easy* to just hold the toy still and *haul* Tim
up by one leg, get his ass on Dick's lap, push his legs back
a little --
"Oh -- oh God --"
"See, this is -- this is the smallest, and I'm trusting you, little
brother, you -- you'll make me stop -- if I -- if you need me
to -- "
He won't. Dick *knows* he won't. He's -- he's *trying* to tell
Dick that. He's *been* trying, and he doesn't know if Dick
had heard him -- Dick doesn't know that he has, or that he
ever will.
Tim's just... spilling off his lap like something inhuman,
perfectly sexual. There's no *context* to the sight of the toy
pushing in, to the sight of himself thrusting, thrusting --
"Touch yourself, come on --"
"Please -- oh *please* --"
"*Do* it, Tim, come for me. *Show* me --"
Clark would be so much more gentle. Clark would be able to
keep himself from *stopping* just because Tim isn't moving
fast enough --
"Come *on*, little brother, don't make me wait --"
Clark would be able to resist the need to pull the toy most
of the way out just as soon as Tim wraps his hands around
himself, just -- that whimper, and the way Dick can
*almost* hear his own name --
He shoves it in, and it has to be too hard, even though
there's enough slick, even though he never wants to hurt,
or -- Tim's all his, now, and maybe he always has been, and
he just -- "I need you -- I need you and I need you to
understand," Dick says, and starts the longer thrusts in
earnest.
"I'm trying -- oh, please, I --"
"You're all *mine* --"
"*Yes* -- wait --"
It's a good 'wait,' it's okay, it's just -- "I have to, I have to
touch you --"
And Tim *fans* out his far leg, plants it and arches up
again, and he -- he's scrambling for more lube and Tim's
straining for more touch, Tim --
He's stopped stroking himself again, squeezing himself
tight -- "You're so good, you're so -- I've got you --"
And his hand isn't slick as much as it's a *mess*, but that's
good enough, that's -- well, it's exactly how Tim had slicked
his hand before. Tim *wants* Dick inside him, all through
him --
Tim seizes up tight and *tense* for Dick's thumb, but relaxes
so fast it's hard to --
It's impossible not to take him that way, for a while -- "Not --
don't start stroking again, yet, don't --"
"I won't -- oh, I won't --"
"You're so *good*," and it feels like it's all he has to say, but
at least he still has his body, his hand -- he doesn't manage
to replace his thumb with two fingers fast enough to keep
Tim from whimpering, and he feels --
He knows he's frowning, that he probably looks angry --
Tim's biting his lip and rocking his *hips*, even as he's
squeezing so tight he can't actually thrust into his own
hand --
"Do it. Do it, and let me -- let me just --"
Just watch Tim come all *over* himself, just that fast,
but --
Dick doesn't have to stop. He can --
Tim's still sprawled over his lap, head whipping back and
forth against the duvet, far leg spread, knee bent -- his hips
are barely touching Dick because he's arching so much,
arching *again* --
And Dick has *enough* of himself to remember that lifting
Tim up to *sit* in his lap would make this harder, and that
*not* doing it comes with a reward. Dick slides his free
hand through the mess on Tim's chest, gets it worse, gets
it better --
It's not like Tim has *hair* there to mat, and he can pet
Tim, tell himself he's being soothing, helpful.
He can slow his thrusts down --
He can make them *harder*, until the quiet, desperate kind
of keen Tim's putting out becomes sharp, rhythmic, grunting
moans, over and over, one for every --
"You -- it's like you're pacing me, helping me -- oh, Tim --"
"I was -- I was going to say 'don't stop,' I -- Dick, please,
make it -- make me..."
More ready? Even more open? Dick wants to crawl inside
and stretch, flex, *be* there for every moment it gets better
for Tim, every time -- "Will you let me be there? When Clark
makes love to you again?"
Tim's eyes are wide and his mouth is open, and -- it seems
like he *wants* to say something else, but -- he shakes his
head.
"Tim --"
And nods. "I -- I -- I can't, Dick, your *fingers* --"
Inside him, making things difficult -- *he's* making things
difficult, and the idea of stopping is just impossible.
*Wrong*, like easing up on the pressure he's putting on
Tim's chest would be wrong. He's -- he's holding Tim down,
a little, but when Tim's hands find Dick's own, all Tim does
is hold *on*.
Tim's staring at the ceiling, or -- he's not really looking at
anything. Tim's gone, his pupils are blown, and even his
hands -- he's *not* holding on to Dick, so much as just
holding on in general.
"You still with me, little brother?"
Tim's dick twitches for that, new pre-come beading at the
tip --
"Talk to me."
"I can't. I don't. Please."
He should. He just -- he's already asking for so *much*,
but -- "I need you to --"
"Dick, I --"
"I *need* it, I need your voice, tell me -- moan for me or
scream or -- *something* --"
"I --" And Tim chokes a little -- no.
That was almost a *sob*. "Tim...?"
Tim *clenches* around his fingers, sobs again --
"Tim, are you --"
"Dick, please, I love you so much, I can't -- please don't
*stop* --"
It's -- he -- everyone in his life, Dick knows --
*Everyone* seems to be waiting for him to catch up to
himself, to understand everything he asks for, everything
he demands -- he *knows* he pushes too much, and wants
too much -- he's waiting for himself, *too*.
And his body is waiting for him to catch up with the fact that
he's pulled out, that he's pushed Tim off his lap, that Tim is
shaking, trying to curl in on himself --
"No, no, it's okay, I --"
And Dick knows that he's shaking his head by the way his
hair is getting in the way of his ability to see, and his hands
tell him that Tim's shoulders are bony, tense things, that
Tim's struggling against Dick's hold on him, eyes squeezed
shut, and his face -- Dick can't let him *look* like that.
Kissing him -- Tim's not kissing him *back*, and it's no good
to growl at that (not for someone who loves him, needs
him) -- he can't make himself stop, and he's holding on too
tightly, and all he can smell is sweat and lube and sex --
Rolling them over until Tim's on top of him is no good,
*either*. Tim's still fighting this, fighting *him* --
"Please, Timmy, don't make me stop, it's okay, I promise it's
okay, little brother --"
And Tim's eyes are so -- they almost look like *Bruce's*.
Just -- so bleak, and so --
There's a part of him which wants to pull back, pull away
from that -- he's not supposed to -- he's never been
supposed to --
He doesn't have to listen to that part. Just -- this is Tim, and
Clark may not have spontaneously *created* Tim for him,
but he'd left Tim so open, so available, so -- he can fix this.
He can fix this *for* Tim, for both of them, and the part of
him which knows *that* is just... larger and larger.
Maybe too big for the rest of him, too sweet and good.
"Trust me," Dick says, and Tim freezes, blinks -- the tension
in him isn't gone, but it's noticeably different. It's -- so much
*control* --
"I -- I do trust you. I just. Of course, I trust you, Dick, it's
just --"
"You love me. Everything I do, everything I want --"
Dick can love Tim, too. He can -- he can show him, show
him everything the way Tim's been showing *him*
everything. He's naked, but he's not naked *enough*,
somehow. Kissing Tim isn't enough, holding him --
Holding Tim too tight makes Tim make a *good* noise, but
he can control *himself*, at least a little. Dick loosens his
grip and lays them back down -- "Let me show you, and
you just -- you don't have to do -- let me?"
He's not -- he's kind of forced himself to come to grips with
the fact that he'll never be gentle the way Clark is, not with
this, not with *Tim*, but getting his fingers back inside Tim
leads to having Tim's arms around his neck, tight and --
yes, *trusting*, if not fearless.
"It's okay if you're freaked out."
"Okay -- I."
"Just trust me, and -- feel this. Feel *me*," Dick says,
twisting his fingers --
"You -- okay, okay I --"
"Don't bite your lip, though. Let me hear you, let me take
*care* of you, I -- you know what I need, don't you?"
And Tim nods for him, lets out more noise, more -- *good*
with every twisting thrust, and every --
The good thing about having dumped lube all over his hand
is that, even after everything, he *doesn't* need more. It's
*tight* to push in a third finger, and he can't get anything
*like* the depth, but -- Tim takes him at his word, lets him
hear the whimpering and feel the *shaking* --
His eyes are closed again, but Dick can deal with that.
"I know this hurts a little, but you... oh, I'll make you feel so
good. You're never going to -- we can use the toys *later*,"
Dick says, and Tim nods for him, tries to spread wider for
him.
Dick uses his free hand to *help* with that and hears himself
moan when Tim arches for it, for him -- he's so *hard*
again, and he hasn't sucked Tim enough.
He hasn't done *anything* enough, it's hard to feel
comfortable when there's so much --
The kiss isn't to soothe anyone but himself, but if he shifts,
he can put pressure on the hand he's *working* inside Tim
with his thigh, he can grind and thrust and just --
"God, the *feel* of you --"
Tim moans into his mouth and flexes and clenches around
him -- yeah, *that* --
"Do that again -- oh, yes, so strong and tight -- keep... keep
doing it, little brother. Help me stretch you, make you so
ready --"
And maybe that noise is a question he can answer,
something about the intersection of physics and psychology,
something Tim can *appreciate* -- yes.
"Think -- think about all those biofeedback exercises, and
maybe -- maybe a little *less* about how much you want
this, as opposed to --"
"Getting -- what I want, or -- control --"
"Exactly. I know how much you like being in control --"
"Not -- Dick, not all the time -- I --"
Heh. "I know how *good* you are at control when you're
not just letting yourself be..." His fingers aren't -- he can
barely feel his hand as something separate from himself.
He feels like he's just making a path for himself, making a
way, opening Tim -- "Jesus, little brother, you're all mine,"
he says, and he knows he sounds like he's complaining,
but that has to be better than the *shock* he's just barely
keeping out of his voice. He'd already *known* that, he's
repeating himself, he can't even...
Did he mention that he was slow? He should probably make
sure Tim understands that about him sooner rather than
later.
"Tim --"
"I -- I can. We don't have to talk about. I mean."
"You're a fun, fun toy," Dick says, and watches Tim blink at
him, and forces himself to slow his hand down, no, that's
just torture, he has to *stop*.
"Dick...?"
"I want -- everything else, too, though. I want..."
"Robin."
Tim -- isn't slow at all. Probably sped out of the birth canal
at Mach five. He keeps his hair that way because of the
aerodynamics. He -- "Yeah."
For a second, it seems like he's the asshole who turns the
ice cold firehose water on everyone's jocks, because Tim is
just staring at him. The important word, however, is
"seems," because -- there's that eyebrow, daring Dick to
pay more attention to all the sweat and come and the
pound of Tim's heart than he does to those eyes.
"Ooh," Dick says, just to see that eyebrow arch a little bit
higher, and -- "hi."
"It's -- it's easier to believe in the mask if I also believe -- if
what's behind it --"
"Matches?" Well, not *Matches*, not -- well maybe -- no,
none of that belongs here, precisely, at least not until
they've had enough orgasms (or hard liquor) to make it all
forgettable --
"Yes," Tim says, and maybe it's Tim who takes a moment
to plant his feet again, whose mouth curls into a smile Dick
has never seen up close, has barely seen though a scope --
The shudder goes through Tim's body too fast to be sure
about, or maybe it's just that the body's too small for it to
last as long as it should --
A clench around his fingers, hard enough to be a little
painful --
All of the above, and Tim's expression still doesn't change
one little bit when Dick cups Tim's face with his other hand,
when he shifts them until Tim's a little more on the bed
than on him, framed by the mattress, beautiful, hard --
"Robin."
"If that's... the way you want to play it."
Play it. *Really*. "Maybe. It certainly bears... looking *into*,
little brother."
"That's -- really not Nightwing."
"Are you complaining?"
"Hardly," Tim says, Robin --
Dick's finding Robin in the details, he thinks. The tightness
at the corner of his mouth that's holding the smile and
holding it back. The tension in his forehead. The illusion of
calm that really is -- slowing things down, a little. "Your
breathing's evening out."
"I'd be disappointed if it wasn't," Tim says, and the strange
thing is...
Dick -- he isn't quite sure. There's something strange there,
something off in the midst of all this *on*, but... Dick flexes
his fingers a little.
"Ah," Tim says, and he can't really hide that swallow when
he's this naked, but it would've been hard to see if that
fancy new cape was anywhere nearby.
"'Ah...?'"
"It's not really pain so much as a sort of... mounting
discomfort. A sense of wrong which is, almost certainly, part
and parcel with the loss of control. The surrender of a part
of myself which has, until now, been entirely... private."
"I see," Dick says, and his body understands before his
mind does -- it always does, and sometimes it even explains:
there's a lie in here and it feels like it's coating every little
word that comes out of Tim's mouth. Even the ones which
are absolutely truth.
The lie, of course, is the calm.
"Are you going to make it hard for me to make you scream,
little brother?"
"It seems," Robin says, and curls his toes rather deliberately
against the bed sheet, "the thing to do."
And after that --
After that, it feels more like a battle of wills than sex, or like
the battle of wills is more important to the definition of sex
than anything Dick could do with his fingers. Despite the
fact that every thrust makes Tim's eyelids lower a little,
makes him show his teeth, makes the transparent armor
he's wearing shiver into something more translucent.
"I wonder what Clark would do with *you*," Dick says, fully
aware that it's as much an order as it is a question -- even
though he doesn't quite know exactly what he's demanding.
"Isn't that -- why you bought the schoolgirl uniform...
Gotham?"
Gotham. Smallville. Heh. "Nuh-uh, little brother. Can't define
*me* by a place. You ought to know that about me -- you
know everything else."
"You really -- you really think so...?"
A casual question, carefully light -- or a careful question,
casually light. Absolutely designed to make him question
himself. Even now, even here. He was wrong before --
*this* is what it feels like when Robin wants you.
When *this* Robin does, anyway.
"Why don't you spread a little wider for me...?" Why don't
you open up and show me everything you've been
*hiding*...
The only acknowledgment is the act itself, not especially
slow, but as careful, as *deliberate* as everything else.
He's the one out of control. He's the one doing what he'd
expressly promised the universe he wouldn't. Possibly
he'd also promised himself, but that never counts.
Robin is just... being accommodating. Almost certainly for
his own ends. Brr. "Tell me what you want."
"To make this as... addicting as humanly possible."
To make Dick *need* it, as if he didn't already. It's not that
he doesn't think he couldn't have walked away from this if
Tim insisted. It's just that he wouldn't *want* to. Fun toys,
little brothers.
And, apparently, he'd already gotten used to the way Tim's
moments of honesty left him feeling like some kind of sex
monster, feeling that way from the *inside*, like a voyeur
to his own abruptly uncontrollable desires. *This* moment
of honesty was more like an attack. "I sense a hint of 'you
asked for it.' Robin."
Tim's response is a harsh exhale, then another, and
another -- the rhythm is easy to catch -- and easier than
that when Dick realizes that he's changed the grind into
grinding *thrusts*.
He's still not getting very deep at *all*, but he's getting
deeper. Tim's going to be *sore* -- "R -- Tim --"
"Didn't you? Ask for it?"
"I think the operative question," Dick says, flexing his fingers
at their new depth --
"Oh -- fuck," and there are those teeth, that *tension* --
"Do you know what *you're* asking for?"
"You've already divulged your -- desires, Dick -- *fuck* --"
He likes the cursing, and he *likes* holding Tim down by
one shoulder. He likes -- "Pull your knees back to your
chest."
He likes giving orders without worrying about the tone
(Bruce) of his voice, and he likes the sweat he can see
breaking out all over Tim's body. He likes --
("Fucking -- fucking give it to me, Big Bird --")
Apparently, he likes not really having clue one about what
he's doing, and never mind the whys and the
what-happens-nexts. There's something almost cool about
the kiss he steals -- and it feels like a theft: One hand in
the cookie jar - extra proverbial this time around, thank
you very much -- and lips pressed against something far
too hard and parsimonious to be a mouth.
No tongue, no give, no sense of anything but tolerance, or
maybe amused tolerance -- but. Biting makes a smile
spread itself across the demilitarized zone of contact, makes
Tim flex around his fingers --
"Dick," Tim says, and it doesn't feel like a lie, anymore.
"I'm making this more real by the second, aren't I?"
The only answer he gets is the slow slip of Tim's tongue
tracing Dick's mouth, flicking teasingly at his teeth --
"I'm making -- you match."
"I never considered the possibilities inherent to -- Robin
having sex. Before."
"What kind of Robin *are* you?" But he's not -- really not --
going to give Tim even a second to *try* to answer that
question --
It's better to pull out again, lick the frown on Tim's forehead,
and there's still enough lube -- everywhere -- for the pink
toy, for the toy to make Tim start to say (moan) something
and have it crack in his throat until it's just a breath. Tim's
toes are curling and he's pressing the side of his face
against the pillow. A mask would hide enough of that
expression -- no.
A mask would hide too *much* of that expression, and
that's an answer Dick can work with. He knows -- he knows
what he wants, it's just that there's a part of him which
doesn't get -- which will *never* get -- why 'everything, all
at once' isn't an acceptable answer.
The proper response to that knowledge is to take every little
thing he can get right -- now.
"You're going to be nice and -- loose, heh, after this, and
we're going to work on your stretches..."
"Oh -- all right --"
"Because I want to see you fucking yourself -- Jesus --"
And the thing is, Dick had *meant* he wanted to see Tim
fingering himself, but there's just everything right in the
world about Tim knocking Dick's fingers off the toy, slipping
and sliding until he's got a grip on the fake plastic balls and
then --
Jesus. Every little noise, squeaking and breathy, screaming
and working his hips, he --
He's using both hands and biting his lip, shaking his head
back and forth on the sweaty pillow --
"Open. Fuck, open your *eyes*, Tim -- *Robin* --"
And there's no possible deniability to that tone in his voice.
In his -- it's *not* his voice, not really, and there's
something dark and cold and huge behind Tim's eyes that
just --
Says it all.
"Me too, little brother. You knew that already. You -- no,
don't stop. Don't even -- don't slow *down*."
Eyelash flutter, deeper flush all over Tim's face, spilling
down his chest, and when Dick strokes Tim's forearms
there's nothing like give. Nothing... so much *tension*.
"You -- it's all you, Robin. You can do it --"
"Yes --"
"You -- you're in control," he says, and it doesn't start being
a shock that he's kept a straight face until he really focuses
on Tim's face and gets smacked back a little by the wall of
raw *irony*.
Which -- it's possible that he's blinking a little, slower than
he expected, a bit off the script --
"Tim --"
"I -- oh, God, I don't want to laugh, Dick --"
The part of him which is fully aware that now is not the time
to try tickling is just a little too small --
"I -- *bastard* --"
"I'm shocked. I'm hurt. I'm appalled --"
"Kiss me, please just -- *kiss* me, Dick --"
Yes, and he's good enough not to lose the thread entirely at
the feel of Tim's hands working between them, sharp little
knuckles, hard -- Tim didn't specify where he wanted to be
kissed, and the loop in Dick's head is getting imprinted
with curses now, growls and the angriest-sounding
whimpers he's ever heard --
"Dick, *please* --"
And Tim's mouth is still hard, but it's hungry, demanding --
the kisses aren't that different, now that Dick thinks about it,
and there's no reason not to grind, not to make things a
little harder for the Boy Wonder, better for *him*...
And better than that when he pulls back enough to grab
Tim's ankles and *watch*. Slick, reddened skin and hands
that don't need to be taught *anything*, not anymore.
Small, good hands that don't seem to have anything to do
with the strangled sounds, the --
"God, God, I need --"
"What do you need?"
"Make -- make me -- make me come --"
*Dick's* hands want to tease, want to see how much angrier
Tim can get, want to see all that control just *shatter*, but
it has to be better that his mouth wins this round, because
the feel of Tim on his tongue is slick and hot and beautiful,
almost anonymous.
Enough that Dick can feel his face heating at the act, at the
exposure --
("And here I thought *I* had the cocksucker's mouth...")
With Tim, this is only one more way to *have* him. With
Robin... it's something else. Something warmer, better,
something --
He's laughing as he pulls off, licking spit and pre-come away
and leaving more behind, and even the fire behind Tim's
eyes right now is ice cold and perfect. "I think I'm in love
with what Bruce did to you -- little brother."
"Then show me, Dick, just -- don't --"
It's another answer that Tim's not coming *just* from
fucking himself, another line between Robin and Dick and
Tim, another way this just can't be as easy as it feels --
It's something to hold on to as he goes down again,
something he should *keep* holding on to, no matter how
good Tim tastes, and no matter how good it feels when
those noises lose their sharp edges and get liquid and high
again, soft and sweet and loud -- his.
Dick barely manages to cup Tim's hips before Tim's coming
for him again, knuckles twitching against Dick's throat, he
can feel Tim's hands shaking. It's a reason -- as if he
actually needed one -- to give Tim's hips a goodbye
squeeze, pull back, push Tim's hands away -- And cup the
toy so it can't slip out before laying down beside.
Tim's eyes are closed, his mouth is red, and there's just the
slightest hint of a tremor in his legs. "You're gorgeous,"
Dick says, and gets to watch the eyebrow lift without even a
twitch in the lid. His little friend is -- well, his little friend has
been impressed by a lot of things, and is polite enough to
wait his turn.
He's trained it well.
"I'll -- take your word for it."
"Mm. How was that?"
"I -- did you want an actual description? Because I have to
say I think that's asking just a little much."
Dick isn't surprised to find a smile in the way of his kiss, and
isn't surprised when it isn't his own. He knows himself well
enough to know that it *will* be by the time it's done, and
he doesn't give himself any shocks.
He's holding a dildo in a fourteen-year-old's ass, he's going
on patrol in a couple of hours with the aforementioned
teenager, and the entire room smells like sweat and come.
He's too relaxed for shocks.
"I'll settle," Dick says, "for a 'yes' or 'no.' As in, 'yes, let's do
that again,' or --"
"'No, let's avoid --'"
"'No, let's not wait before doing that again,'" Dick says, and
licks the scrunched corner of Tim's eye.
"I really... I wanted --"
"Nuh-uh, kiddo. You already told me that it's -- what was
that? 'Always yes?' I intend to take you... at your word."
"Hm. Noted. But I was just going to say -- I really wanted to
kiss Clark there. The -- the corner of his eye."
Noted? Just -- 'noted?' Hmph. More than enough reason to
give the toy a little -- push.
"Oh, I -- more?"
"Need a break?" Go ahead, kid, *ask* for quarter.
Tim shifts beside him, stretching and... it looks and feels
like he's testing himself. Getting all the muscle and joint
soldiers to report back in. Something that, for Tim, requires
enough thought to take him out of the bed, *away*.
"Hey --"
"Honestly, I -- I don't think I really have the context for
knowing how much more of this I can take without paying
for it heavily tomorrow. Or, well. Tonight."
True. Damnably true. Dammit. "Breathe, then," Dick says,
and makes himself wait, and makes himself pull out slowly --
just not slowly enough for the tease he *wants* to give.
But -- there's a difference between being responsible and
being professional. One can go hang, the other... not so
much. Still, though...
"You said something about stretches...?"
He's hardly out of options. "I believe I *also* said
something," Dick says, and rolls over *on* Tim, pushing
him down, holding him down, feeling him with as much of
his skin as he can -- "Certainly I implied something. About
being *done*, first."
"Ah," Tim says. "I must've misunderstood you."
The light behind Tim's eyes is that variety of hectic which
Dick is still pretty sure has more to do with actual panic
than with anything else, but nothing is stopping those arms
from wrapping around Dick's neck, and Tim's doing pretty
well with his legs, too.
Catches on quick, that little brother. This might be the right
moment to try that deep-throating thing again. And --
They have time.
end.