Good Bits 8.2: Remonstrations
by Te
December 5, 2011

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Vague and AU-ized references to older storylines. Tim and Steph are Robin, and pushing seventeen.

Summary: "I feel -- entirely safe tonight," Tim says, and spreads his hands.

Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content which dovetails neatly with the content some readers may find to be disturbing.

Author's Note: Vampires, man. Can't live with 'em, can't stop writing about 'em. *Do* read Little Mister Frowny Pants and Answered Questions first.

Length: ~11,000 words.

*

"Is it seriously *your* turn tonight?"

Tim smiles. For any number of reasons, really, starting with the fact that Steph's look of pure, unadulterated disgust is one of the -- many -- joys of his existence --

And so is the way she tends to put her back into it when she slaps the back of his head --

"Sorry --"

"I *hate* that smile."

Tim pulls on an expression of wounded contrition, making his eyes wide enough --

There. Steph is giggling.

Tim smiles again --

Steph lifts her slapping hand --

"You know, Steph, you could be more accepting."

"Not when you're gearing up to be a *bitch*, I can't."

Tim opens his mouth --

Considers it --

He really was. Tim smiles *ruefully*. "Sorry. Does it help that I was going to be a bitch about Bruce and Jason?"

Steph *blinks* --

Very obviously remembers *that* portion of Batfamily history --

Blushes *intriguingly* -- hm.

"Steph...?"

She slaps him again. "Shut up."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Not likely --"

"It's not my fault that Jason is *hot*!"

"In the lollipop helmet?"

"No, not in the freaking *lollipop helmet*."

"If you're sure."

She gives him an *exceedingly* mean look, and, really, Tim is only human. That expression combined with a Robin suit tends to make certain things *happen* inside Tim, and --

She smirks --

Tim kisses her, careful of her perfectly-applied Robin-red lipstick right up until she bites his lip --

At which point they make it a real kiss, complete with gauntlets ruining hairstyles, Kevlar-Nomex blends rubbing and whispering against each other --

Tim bites *back* --

Steph *shoves* him, then kisses him harder --

Tim growls a warning --

Steph bites him *harder* --

And Tim spins her away and back against the car he'll be joining Bruce in tonight. He spares a thought for how lucky they are that Bruce had chosen modular design as much as possible -- Bruce can actually *get* his wings inside the car now that they've removed a few things, and can even drive comfortably --

He brushes the thought away and shoves his knee between Steph's thighs --

Steph grunts and *squeezes* Tim with her thighs --

They pant into each other's mouths --

Steph grins at him in an *exceedingly* warm manner -- hm.

"*How* hot is he?"

Steph raises her eyebrows.

"I have to keep a weather eye on the competition... Robin."

Her smile turns sharp, avid, covetous of *precisely* what she *has* --

Tim growls and moves in for another kiss --

Steph throws him against one of the cars they *won't* be using tonight --

Uses her -- slightly -- greater hand strength to cup and squeeze Tim's wrists --

Pin them against the door --

"Yes, Robin?"

"How hot are you for Batula?"

Tim coughs and *snorts* -- "Steph --"

"Serious question, boyfriend," and Steph raises her eyebrows *higher*.

Tim hums. "Do you plan to answer mine?"

"We'll see after he stops beheading people," she says, and *shoves* his wrists against the door. "*Talk*."

Well... Tim licks his lips.

"Aw, *seriously*?"

"I'm a product of *this* culture --"

"You are *not*!"

"Steph --"

"You are *so* totally not a product of this culture, as opposed to of whatever culture freaky-stalker-geek-ultraviolent-psychos come from."

"Psycho -- ah. A case could be made --"

Steph *looks* at him.

Tim hums. "It'll be your turn tomorrow."

"I *know*. I bought a whole box of pre-peeled garlic to rub all over my skin pre-patrol."

"I. I don't think --"

Steph *glares* at him.

"It's just that I'm not sure it will *help*, Steph."

"He's *sensitive* to strong scents now! Dick said so!"

Tim licks his teeth. "Ah... he also said --"

"*Implied* --"

"*Strongly* implied that vigilantes doing vigilante things counts as strong scents."

Steph looks somewhat stricken --

Looks somewhat stricken toward the console --

"He can hear us, can't he."

Tim stands up straight and twists his wrists free. "I believe he can hear us anywhere in the Cave."

"Tiiim."

"Yes?"

"Tiiiiiim...."

"I believe --"

"I don't *want* to be an unholy minion of the beast!"

Tim pats her hip. "I'm reasonably sure that will be avoidable."

Steph bites her lip and nods, frowning --

Blinks --

And glares at him again.

"Steph?"

"You want him."

"I --"

"You don't just think he's hot; you *want* him!"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "We could consider giving him a *chance* to ignore this conversation, Steph."

Steph moves to slap him --

Tim catches her wrist --

Steph hip-checks him --

Tim goes for the side-kick to her -- armored -- back --

Steph dances back --

Tim lets go of her wrist --

And they size each other up between the cars. They --

"The hip-check was very good."

"Your speed is freaking awesome."

They bow to each other -- and Steph giggles and shakes her hair out the way she does when there's an itch on her scalp that she doesn't feel like taking off her gauntlet for.

She looks wild, and bright, and happy, and --

"I don't want to leave you alone with Bruce," Tim blurts.

"Uh. What?"

"You're -- well, you were *always* his type --"

"I was *not*!"

"You really were. I mean -- infinitely more than I am --"

"No *way* --"

"I feel -- entirely safe tonight," Tim says, and spreads his hands.

"But you don't think *I'll* be safe tomorrow night? Tim -- *gah* --"

What -- oh. Bruce is absolutely *right* there, suited-up save for the cowl and looking back and forth between them with that *mournful* expression that's never far from his face these days --

Tim gestures 'stand down' before he can think about it --

And Bruce smiles *painfully* -- "It's all right. I wanted you both to know that you need never work with me --"

"Psh. Yeah, *right*. Like we're gonna let you fly around by *yourself*?"

"I --"

"*Clark* said that *you* said you were worried about your control with the criminals. That's what we're *here* for," Steph says, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and glaring.

For a long moment, Bruce only stares at her. There's no noticeable expression on his *face*, but his wings are starting to spread --

("Watch the wings, little brother. *Especially* when they look like they're doing things he wouldn't want them to do.")

Tim cups Steph's shoulder --

"*What* -- oh. *Seriously*?"

Bruce winces and flies back several feet --

Steph growls and knocks Tim's hand away from her before advancing on Bruce. "Freaking *deal*!"

"I --"

"Right now!"

Bruce lands again and lifts his gauntleted hands. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't *do* anything -- were you about to?"

"I -- yes."

Steph shivers. "*What* were you -- I -- do I wanna know?"

Bruce smiles ruefully. "I doubt it."

Steph swallows and nods, turning to look at Tim the way she never did when she was Spoiler.

*Spoiler* never needed answers from Robin. Robin IV is a little different. Tim nods and turns back to Bruce. "Tell her -- us -- anyway."

Bruce looks to Steph with an obvious question in his eyes --

And Steph nods again.

"It was. I thought about... holding you. Just for a moment."

Hm.

Steph blinks. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"*Seriously*?"

"I... fed on Clark earlier. That, combined with the blood I took from several criminals the night before last --"

"How hungry do you *get*?"

Bruce's smile is rueful -- and for both of them. "One liter of healthy human blood every three days seems to be sufficient. More is needed if the blood isn't human --"

"Or isn't healthy," Tim says, and frowns thoughtfully. "When you say 'sufficient,' what precisely do you mean?"

Bruce grimaces -- and clears his expression. "It is... the minimum."

"And you've been taking more than that."

"Yes, Tim."

"But you're *still* hungry?" And Steph seems less incredulously pissed than curious, but Tim has learned to allow room for the impressions she wishes to give.

Bruce --

Bruce is studying her exactly like he could *smell* her curiosity. Her -- interest.

Tim doesn't grip her shoulder again. He doesn't --

She can protect herself, and, if she can't, Bruce had given all of them miniature sunlamps to carry along with the extra firebombs --

And Bruce is studying *him* --

Tim raises an eyebrow --

Judging by Bruce's soft laugh, it was a rather belligerent eyebrow --

"Answer my *question*," Steph says, moving in for a jab --

Bruce evades it easily --

"You're supposed to let those *land* when you're being bad!"

"Bad -- I -- I'm sorry. I couldn't risk you injuring your knuckles."

"I -- oh. Answer my question *anyway*!"

"I am... always hungry."

Steph winces. "Always?"

Bruce closes his eyes and nods, obviously *ashamed*, but --

Tim hums. "You believe that this is why Malloy had so many victims."

Bruce grits his teeth. It sounds precisely like several things which are inhumanly hard and strong rubbing and grinding against several *more* things of that sort.

"Eugh, don't *do* that!"

Bruce takes in a *sharp* breath, nods, and stops. "You have my apologies. I am... I believe I will always feel some degree of anger and self-disgust when I hear that name."

Unsurprising, considering how much effort Tim had to put in to *find* it. It had taken less effort to find out that Bruce had *murdered* the man --

The creature?

How *does* Bruce think of Malloy? The records were less than clear. Tim shakes his head. "Answer *my* question, please."

Bruce nods again. "I believe that... Malloy, or whatever name he chose to use for... himself within the privacy of his own mind felt no care for his hunger. As opposed to for his hunger for pleasure."

Steph frowns. "It feels that good?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and -- he doesn't look at her.

His wings are still, as well, but that stillness seems at least a little artificial.

Steph looks at *him*, but he can't give her any answers beyond the ones he already has.

She bites her lip, nods, and raises her hands. "I'm out. You know how to reach me if I'm needed."

Tim nods, and Bruce does the same --

And they both watch her straddling her bike and riding out into the night. It --

"I don't blame you," Tim says, and *then* looks at Bruce --

He doesn't know what to *do* with the fact that Bruce was staring at *him* -- no. He stands straight, and he looks Bruce in the eye --

"I don't."

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. Which --

Well. "I absolutely *would* blame you -- and do other presumably painful things -- if you chose to feed on her without her permission."

"I wouldn't."

"Do you want to?"

Bruce closes his eyes and turns away.

It's an answer, but not a complete one. "Bruce. Have you..." No, he can say it. He -- at this point, it's Robin's *job*. "Is there a desire to do it even if she says *no* --"

"*No*," and Bruce is glaring at him --

His wings are *flexing* -- and. "Your glares used to be infinitely more intimidating."

"Because they implied a loss of powerful control."

"Yes. Your control is... rather more human now," Tim says, and raises an eyebrow.

"'Human'. Is that truly how you wish to put it?"

Tim crosses his own arms over his chest. "Considering the conversations I've had with Dick and Clark...? Yes."

"You will never..." Bruce shakes his head and turns away again. "I must finish familiarizing myself with your reports on gangland activity in northeast Gotham."

There's an urge to just tell him to go do that --

Bruce's body won't *let* him stay up all day anymore, as opposed to for sixty to ninety minutes after dawn and before sunset --

It's just that there are other urges. Other -- "I need to know more about you."

Bruce's wings shiver. That --

Tim nods. "We can talk while you read."

"As you say," Bruce says, and Tim is abruptly in the *air* --

The speed is --

Bruce sets him down next to the now-backless chair before sitting down himself. He --

"That was a fraction of your potential speed."

"Yes."

"Have you --"

"Clark is still faster than I am -- significantly so when not weakened. Beyond that, I can't yet be sure."

Tim files that under 'immeasurable' and moves on. "Strength?"

"Again, I can only measure it against Clark's. He... need not restrain himself with me, anymore."

Tim raises an eyebrow -- no. The information that Bruce and Clark have been lovers for years was a surprise to his thirteen-year-old self, but it's been nearly four years since he'd opened the clock to find Clark kissing Bruce in mid-air -- and Bruce kissing back.

He is not allowed to be shocked.

His other feelings --

Well, they are what they are. "Senses?"

"My vision is acute, but no more so than the average housecat. I can hear everything in the Cave and manor, but outside the manor the sounds are too... confused to parse." Bruce hums. "The .44s have become this weak?"

"The Kings struck in multiple places yesterday with surgical precision. As near as I can tell, only one of their hit squads failed --"

"The one assigned to Jalil Marcus."

"Precisely. He appears to have murdered two of the three attackers. The third escaped with the driver. He may or may not have serious wounds."

Bruce grimaces. "I take it that there's next to nothing we can give to the MCU."

Tim spreads his hands. "As you'll see, I've given them the identities of the hitters I believe they trucked in from New York and New Haven. I've also given them the names of the two .44 capos I've found most suspiciously prosperous."

Bruce holds up a hand and continues to read --

Even *faster* than he already could --

"Yes, I see. You haven't chosen a favorite?"

"Not as of yet," Tim says, and smiles. "I thought we could make the interrogations a date."

Bruce stiffens --

Hell -- "I didn't -- I didn't mean --"

"I know you would never --" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "My sense of smell is far more acute than it used to be, but only seems superhuman in terms of what I am able to... discern."

Tim -- breathes. "You can... analyze the scents you take in?"

"Clark has been a great help in terms of helping me understand what I was smelling at any given time. I'm not sure if I'm analyzing scents as much as I've added scent to my... analytical toolbox. As it were."

"Meaning that it's become one with expression, verbal tics, physical tics --"

"And so on."

Tim nods. "And?"

"Sensation..." Bruce opens the next file and begins to read.

Tim waits --

"I could feel it on my cheek when your kick caused Stephanie to cough out a breath."

Tim blinks and *stares* --

And Bruce's smile has no humor in it whatsoever. "I've taught myself how to... filter that. I've been trying to filter everything, but I've had the most success with sensation."

"When you choose to do it."

"Just so," Bruce says, and pulls up the adjusted gang territory maps Tim had worked on today instead of returning his father's phone call.

It's not that the man is being unreasonable or even offensive anymore -- divorcing his parents and moving into two converted warehouses he'd purchased with money he'd 'earned' doing 'consulting work' with 'Barbara Gordon' had had a wonderfully salutary effect on Jack Drake's assorted attitude problems --

He just doesn't have time for him.

He just --

He's always wanted a *real* father --

Bruce takes another sharp breath and turns to stare at him.

*Damn* it -- "It's nothing."

"Tim..."

Tim holds up a hand. And raises an eyebrow.

Bruce's frown seems almost *wounded* -- but he nods. "Taste has become... indescribable. Even tainted blood has several different powerful flavors, all of which provide a certain amount of pleasure..."

"Yes?"

Bruce shakes his head. "I'd like. I'd like to know you."

Tim blinks. "I... what do you mean?"

"I'd like to... understand..." Bruce grimaces again and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'll be ready to leave --"

"What. What don't you understand?" And Tim feels like he's setting himself up for a fall --

Down a rocky hillside --

Into a pool of *acid* --

No, no, he can save the drama for Bruce. *Really*. "I'm sorry -- oh."

Bruce's wings are *fully* extended, shivering and somehow *straining* --

"Is that -- are you... uncomfortable?"

Bruce is gripping the *console* --

Tim can't stop himself from waiting for the *crack* --

But Bruce has had time to learn how to control himself. *Most* of himself. He's staring at the keyboard as if it will rear up and *stab* him, but -- he has control.

"What.... what in *particular* do your wings want to do?"

"You can't guess...?"

Tim frowns. "I haven't spent very much time in your *company* just lately --"

"What..." Bruce hums and looks at him, and his eyes are bright and dark at once --

There's a *light* in them --

Something --

No, it *isn't* hypnotic -- beyond the power of Bruce's amusement. Tim doesn't *see* that very often -- "Tell me -- ask."

"What do you think I would want to do in this moment -- *this* moment -- were you Dick? Or Stephanie. Or --"

"I'm not -- I'm not any of those people --"

"Tim. This is... this is very dangerous," Bruce says, laughing and shaking his head --

"*What* is dangerous -- ah."

Bruce's hand is on his face. Bruce's --

Bruce is *looming* over him, and his wings are curling inward --

And that, more than anything else, is what tells Tim that Bruce's feet are still on the ground. He seems --

He seems even larger than he usually does. He seems --

Tim swallows --

And Bruce takes a deep breath, and another, and *another* --

"Are you -- oh, God. Ah. You should feel free to ignore --"

"What I can smell, Tim? What I can *taste*?"

Tim steps *back*. "I believe -- I believe you can guess what I'm going to say about the relative necessity of working with *me*?"

"But you haven't. Said it."

"I --"

"The danger..." Bruce shakes his head again and licks his lips --

His canines are so much *longer* than they were a moment ago -- "Bruce --"

"I can tell myself that I am... doing a good thing. I can tell myself that I am correcting a *mistake* you've made."

"A -- mistake?"

Bruce growls and it makes Tim want to *jump* --

But he doesn't. He --

It's *obvious* when he thinks about it --

When he thinks about it with *less* of his heart than he normally uses --

But he still has to blush. He -- "*Why* do you want to -- correct me?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, and --

Really, Tim already *understood* why doing that tends to make people want to slap him, but -- "It's a serious question, Bruce. I would think that allowing me to continue to believe that you didn't... want me --"

"Would be helpful? It was, in some ways. It allowed you to feel entirely comfortable about choosing to work with me. To that end... to that end, I know a great deal of regret in this moment," Bruce says, and smiles ruefully. "But not enough."

"Not enough for *what*?"

"I can hypnotize you with far greater ease than I could before. A *small* bite, and the transfer of some of the poison within my saliva... hnn. It would put you into a highly suggestible state which I could then... use."

Tim -- swallows again. "But you won't do that."

Bruce *starts* to shake his head -- "Do you want me to?" And *that* seems to be a serious question --

Which means he has to do more than just *look* at Bruce. "No. I -- I don't."

Bruce nods and stares into him --

Breathes *deeply* --

He's doing it much too *quickly*, and it almost sounds as if he's hyperventilating --

But Tim knows he isn't. "I... imagine you find these scents... pleasant."

"Yes."

Tim nods and tries to deal with that --

To place it in a workable *context* --

"*How* pleasant -- I. I didn't mean to actually ask that question," Tim says, laughing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

And then Bruce's hand just *is* wrapped around Tim's wrist --

He didn't see *any* of the motions -- "Bruce --"

"Your heart is beating faster. The scent of your arousal is both sharp and somehow heavy. Piercing. Just the same.... you don't yet smell uncomfortable. This tells me that you are less erect than it seems you must be -- "

"Oh, God --"

"-- judging by your scent alone."

"Bruce --"

"With Dick..." Bruce swallows and inhales again --

Again --

He *growls* --

"Jesus, Bruce -- *nnh* -- that. Ah. Well. That *isn't* too hard a grip in terms of discomfort, but --"

"It arouses you more," Bruce says, and *looks* at him.

"You would know? Ah -- Bruce."

And Bruce takes the last step closer and curls his wings around --

No, there's still space, but it's a space filled with his own scent, and the hints of Bruce Wayne's cologne Bruce had worn -- wait. "How -- you spoke to Lucius today."

"He was very understanding when I explained to him why Bruce Wayne would have to be more of a recluse."

"Did you want to bite *him*?"

"I want to bite absolutely everyone I care about now --"

"Oh -- God --"

"There seems --" Bruce shakes his head. "There don't seem to be any lines within my heart for that, any *boundaries*. My body and heart insist that the bite will bring the person close to me, as close to me as I've ever wanted --"

"And you've wanted... greater intimacy."

Bruce nods and lifts Tim's hand --

Tim's *wrist* --

"There is sweat beneath your gauntlet," Bruce says, and *nuzzles* the gauntlet in question --

"Is -- you like that."

"Very much. Will you let me --"

"Yes. I -- yes."

"Dick thought you would say no to this, at least at first. He thought --"

"He thinks I have a lot more self-control with regards to you than I do. He -- I've allowed him to think that," Tim says, and tugs against Bruce's grip until he lets go.

And then he takes off his gauntlet and offers his wrist to Bruce again --

And Bruce's canines extend *visibly* --

"Beautiful boy."

"I -- Bruce..."

"Would you deny that?"

"I'm not -- I'm not denying anything. Not -- I'm certainly not denying you."

"Discomfort. You are... significantly more erect."

Tim -- pants. "Yes."

"Will you --"

"Yes. Please. Just -- please -- *oh* --"

And Bruce is nuzzling Tim's bare wrist, sniffing and licking like --

Like an *animal*, really, and feeling that while still being able to smell the light and flowery scent of a truly frivolous cologne --

Being able to *have* this --

"Bruce. I need you to tell me -- something --"

"I will," Bruce says, and meets Tim's eyes as he *touches* Tim's wrist with his -- fangs. They're fangs, nothing but fangs, nothing --

And Bruce grips his arm --

And Bruce breathes *cool* on Tim's wrist -- "Tim..."

"Oh -- *please* --"

And Bruce cups the back of Tim's head with his other hand. "I've loved you --" He cuts himself off with a growl --

Tim can't hold back a *gasp* --

And then something warm and dark *slams* into him, knocking him --

Over --

He can't see, he can't feel his *knees* --

Presumably, this is *why* Bruce wanted to hold him so tightly, because Tim can't possibly hold himself up, can't --

Bruce is --

It feels like --

He's so *warm*, and that can't possibly be right. He --

Could it be like hypothermia? The human body is *easily* --

Confused --

So --

He can't *see*, but somehow that doesn't matter, somehow it's all *right* to be lost in the black like this, held and --

And he can feel his own heartbeat --

No, he can *hear* it, hear the *thunder* of it --

The way it shakes --

So --

No, Bruce is growling --

It's warmer than the *pearl* --

Bruce is --

Sucking. Sucking him *down*, and Tim doesn't even have many *fantasies* of that, he can't --

Somewhere (outside) Bruce's mouth is pressed to his skin the way it never has been --

Tim wants to *feel* that, but everything is the pound and rush of blood, of --

Please --

Oh, please, *more* --

But the growl gets both louder and *less* important --

And Bruce is *licking* him --

There's an itch and a *burn* -- healing, Tim's being *healed*, and that means the bite is over --

("But I didn't want it to be, little brother...")

And Tim wants to tell Dick that he understands, that it's too much, that he was right about *everything* --

But mostly he wants to figure out how to stand *up* again before --

Bruce lifts Tim into his arms and flies them to the *gurneys* before laying Tim down --

"I'm all right --"

"I wanted --" Bruce laughs and rests one hand over Tim's heart while he curls the other around Tim's bitten wrist. "I wanted this."

"You... have a medical kink?"

"I have often found myself quite sure that I have more kinks than... cars. Bikes. Trophies --"

"Ah -- I believe I get the point?" Tim sits up on his elbows and tries to just -- check in with himself. He no longer feels as though he's about to fall down -- or as though he's in the *process* of falling down -- but that could be due to the fact that he's on the gurney. Hm. "I need to stand --"

"So soon?"

Tim blinks and looks at Bruce. The amusement is still there, and so is the self-disgust, but --

There is a great deal of hunger. Of -- lust.

And Tim realizes that his heart had never actually stopped pounding, and that he's *hard*, *incredibly* hard --

Tim winces --

"Tim..."

"I. I think I'm... catching up to myself?" Tim smiles ruefully. "At the very least, I'm catching up to my desire to be out of this jock --"

And his belt is gone --

And his tights and shorts are down around his *knees* --

And Bruce is cupping Tim through his jock. Just --

"Why did you *stop*?"

Bruce's wince is *pained*. "I. I need to know. There is so much I've been *unsure* of with you, Tim. So much -- you hide so *well* --"

"I can't hide *anything* from you --"

"Your *desires* --"

"Your *bugs* --"

"But do I choose to believe that your desire for me is great enough to combat even all the ways I have failed you over the years? Or do I choose to believe that you are capable -- endlessly capable -- of indulging yourself in fantasy for a moment's *pleasure*? Fantasy need never become *real*, Tim."

"I *know* that -- I. I want this."

"With me --"

"*Yes*, with you!"

Bruce growls and shows his *teeth*. "With me as I *am*?"

And --  Tim laughs somewhat breathlessly. "I will stipulate that that is incredibly intimidating, and that not *all* of that intimidation is *erotic* -- but."

"Please --"

"Strip me."

There's enough time to hear Bruce *pant* --

But then Tim is naked and his uniform is neatly placed over *there* and Bruce is --

Sniffing him.

Specifically, his groin.

More specifically, his incredibly *tumescent* groin which is just getting more tumescent with every passing *moment* --

"Bruce..."

Bruce nuzzles Tim's penis and growls --

Tim feels -- and watches -- himself *twitch*. "I -- have thought about your stubble. As an aside --"

"Is it?"

"Ah?"

"An aside," and Bruce kisses Tim's *scrotum* --

Hums and does it again --

*Again* --

"Your mouth is so *hard* --"

"Does Clark soften *his* mouth?"

"I -- ask him not to. But, now that I consider the matter, he must," Tim says, and frowns. "I'm going to have to --"

"Remonstrate with him, Tim?"

Remonstrate -- Tim raises his eyebrow again. "The thought had occurred?"

Bruce hums and *sucks* a kiss to Tim's scrotum --

"Oh --"

"You like that."

"I'm -- ah. Human. Hm. No offense --"

"None taken," Bruce says, and *grips* Tim's penis --

"*Fuck* -- are you sure?"

"Yes. Your humanity is intensely attractive to me," and Bruce stares at the head of Tim's penis *exactly* like he's waiting for something to happen --

He stares --

Tim *shudders* -- and feels himself leak for approximately *half* a heartbeat before Bruce is sucking him --

Sucking *hard* --

"God, *please*!"

Bruce hums and nods, taking more of Tim *in* --

So --

Deep --

But Bruce is presumably used to *Clark*. There can't be any challenge to *this* --

And Tim thinks of the *greedy* way Steph does this, the sense Tim always has that he might not retain the entirety of his anatomy after she's done with him --

("Did you just make a vagina dentata reference, boyfriend?"

"Technically... ah. Your mouth is... already -- *nnh* --")

And she had sucked hard and *worked* herself on him --

She had barely *blinked* --

She was Robin, so much of Robin, so much *more* of Robin, and Tim hadn't known what *he* was, at all.

Beyond extremely happy to be alive. This --

Well, he's *still* happy to be alive -- but his reasoning is somewhat different. Somewhat --

Tim licks his lips and tries to *focus* around the *strength* of Bruce's sucks, the --

The force like nothing Clark would use without being *teased* --

And Tim's heart is still pounding, and his *brain* is still --

He doesn't know what -- no. "Please," he says --

And Bruce opens his eyes and stares *into* him, *looking* for answers --

Tim wants to give Bruce *all* of them, every one he can *think* of -- "I just -- I wanted to see your eyes," and he's blushing --

*Grunting* when Bruce starts to suck in pulses --

It's somehow really *obvious* that Bruce isn't blinking -- "God -- you." Tim shakes his head --

Bruce raises an eyebrow --

"I want more -- different --" Tim shakes his head again and moans *while* he's sitting up --

Bruce pulls off --

Tim arches and *whines* -- "*God*, I hate making that *noise* --"

"It's exceedingly arousing."

"To hear me sound like a whipped *dog*?"

Bruce hums. He --

"*What*?"

"I've always thought..." And Bruce cups Tim's chin, lifts it enough that Tim really *feels* how exposed his throat is --

He shivers again -- "Tell me."

"I've always thought you sounded rather more feline in your pleasure."

Tim narrows his eyes.

Bruce smiles *sharply* -- literally.

Tim shivers *again* -- "Bruce. I -- you're just going to make the inevitable moment when you bite Catwoman that much more jealousy-inducing."

Bruce blinks. Once. And then he frowns. "You are... jealous of my relationship with her?"

Tim looks at him.

*Bruce* shivers. "Then I must -- I won't --"

"No! Don't -- finish that sentence. Ah."

"Tim --"

"You're allowed to have relationships with people I dislike. That's -- I'd rather not have you feel *obligated* --"

"*Tim* --"

"Look, I understand. You'd be happier if I gave you rules to follow, if I -- if I *demanded* things --"

"You've asked me for *nothing* --"

"And -- all right, now that I can put myself into the category of 'people you -- want --'"

"*Love* --"

Tim holds up a hand. "Now that I can do that? I understand. Your entire psych profile practically *demands* that I, in this moment, accept that you want to *prove* yourself to me --"

"*Yes*, Tim --"

"There are -- ways you can do that," Tim says, and blushes. "Ways that don't involve you doing *anything* to stop yourself from making love with Selina Kyle."

Bruce stares at Tim's *cheeks* --

"Ah... did you catch that --"

"Yes," Bruce says, and presses his hard, cool mouth against Tim's cheek. "Tell me more."

"I -- don't want to -- and I know that must be --"

"Maddening, in this moment. Please tell me."

Tim takes a deep breath -- "Oh, God --"

"Tim --"

"I can smell my *penis* on your breath."

Bruce laughs. "I'm rather happy about that," he says, and *nuzzles* Tim's cheek. "It could be worse."

"I -- well, it's not that I can't smell my blood, *too* --"

"Hm. Damn. Let me suck you again. Let me bring you to orgasm with my mouth --"

"*Nnh* --"

"Tim."

"You could. There are certain things you could *say* --"

Bruce takes a shuddering breath. "You... want my voice?" And his hand is on Tim's *thigh* --

Tim growls and drags that hand to his groin --

"Tim..."

"You -- oh, that squeeze --"

"This."

"*Please* -- *hnh* --"

"Tell me. Tell me what I should say."

Tim moans and squeezes his eyes shut, strokes Bruce's hand until his own hand seems too soft, too sweaty and hot and *soft* --

Bruce growls --

Tim jerks -- and pumps into Bruce's fist --

"Tim."

"I -- it's more than just -- just *kink* --"

"So... it wouldn't be... dirty talk?"

Tim blinks. And looks at Bruce.

Bruce laughs softly. "Yes, I'm quite terrible at it, despite Jason's tireless efforts."

Tim -- twitches in Bruce's hand --

Bruce raises an eyebrow. Again.

"I... never said that I didn't find him attractive."

Bruce parts his *lips* -- "How attractive."

"I --" Tim frowns. "*Frustratingly* so, considering certain salient facts."

Bruce winces and nods --

"Oh -- I'm sorry --"

"No. No, Tim," Bruce says, and cups Tim's face with his other hand. "You will not apologize for being clear-headed."

("Have you considered... ah..."

"Yes, Clark?"

"Surrendering?"

"No, Clark."

"Hm.")

Tim does his own wincing. "I -- could pick better times -- *nnh* -- oh. That squeeze is. Ah. Rather vicious --"

"You squeeze yourself this way."

"You... estimated the pounds of pressure I used based on... something?"

"The paleness of your knuckles. The strain in your forearm. The concentration in your eyes --"

"Oh -- God, I wish I wasn't as attracted to that --"

"I'm rather glad you are --"

"Bruce, I -- I've wanted..." Tim licks his lips and feels the blush *take* his face. He can't do anything about it --

Bruce *growls* --

"Fuck --"

"*Tell* me. Let me. Let me give you your *fantasy*."

"It's more than just a *fantasy* -- I -- no, I'm sorry, let's just make *love* --"

And Bruce kisses him hard enough that Tim thinks he's gotten through, kisses him *deeply*, *heavily* --

It's hard not to lay back down --

And then he just *is* resting on his elbows again and Bruce is still kissing him, *fucking* Tim's mouth --

The combination of flavors is metallic and familiar. The sheer number of times when Tim has tasted himself while he's had a split lip, or a cut on the inside of his cheek...

Tim shudders and moans, trying to make the kiss deeper, harder --

He reaches to push a hand into Bruce's hair --

But Bruce isn't there. Bruce is hovering above the gurney between Tim's legs --

The flap of his wings is steady and just a little *frightening* --

"Tell me, Tim."

"I -- Bruce, please --"

"Tell me... and I'll give it to you. I want to give you everything. I want --" Bruce swallows and shakes his head --

*Grips* Tim's hips --

"You have been... so sure. So brave. So brilliant and strong, so wise and *needful* --"

"Bruce --"

"You have -- you don't know what I've *wanted* --"

"Oh -- tell *me*!"

And Bruce looks pained, looks *hungry* --

Lifts Tim's hips as he lifts *himself* -- and lowers himself again but *not* Tim's hips. He -- "Bruce --"

"I. I wanted you to stay with me."

Tim frowns. "When?"

*Bruce* frowns and looks away, and Tim is abruptly sure that he's blushing *emotionally*, if not physically. He --

"Bruce, please --"

"You -- of course you had to go home to your father," he says, and his hands *flex* on Tim's hips --

Tim *grunts*, but he's only aware of that as a side note to the way his heart is pounding. There's a part of him -- large and *vocal* -- which is telling him to beg right now, to beg for anything *but* the truth of what he wants --

Bruce wouldn't *resist* if Tim told him another fantasy --

Tim has so *many* -- but. But. Tim licks his lips. "You... you didn't want me to move out of the manor."

Another flex -- "No."

"You wanted." There's another part of him, and it's large, too, and it's getting larger than that, and --

It's Bruce, it's *Bruce*, and Tim is the third, and he was never --

Never fucking *chosen* for this, but -- "Bruce..."

"Your. Your body temperature is rising."

"Yes --"

"Your arousal -- does it pain you?"

"God, yes --"

"Will you *let* me --"

"I wanted. I wanted --" Tim growls at himself and shakes his head --

"*Anything*."

"*Fuck* -- all right. All right. It wouldn't be -- any number of people have... played with the conceptions of --"

"I would make you *my* son, Tim --"

"Oh. Oh. Bruce --"

"Is it enough? May I *trust* my deductive reasoning for even something like *this*?" And Bruce is staring into him, *needing* him --

Needing him to *think* -- no. To own himself, to *be* himself -- "Yes," Tim says, and feels himself flush --

Bruce growls and *pounces* on him, pins Tim easily and inhales over and over again --

Pants and *gulps* air --

"*Son*."

"Only -- only if you *want* --"

"Anyone would. Anyone remotely *worthy* --"

Tim snorts helplessly. Just --

"Tim --"

"Does this mean your self-esteem is improving?"

Bruce *glares* at him for a long moment -- but then he smiles, and it's bright and broad and *manic* -- "My son."

Tim *shivers* -- "Bruce --"

"Say it."

*Fuck* --

"*Now*."

"Dad. Fuck. *Fuck* --"

"Nothing else? Nothing more... no. You would not be attached to juvenilia --"

"I *could* be --"

"Could you?"

Tim pants and stares, feeling -- "This is -- a lot like Kal."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Is he your --"

"No! No. It's just --" Tim swallows and *breathes*. "The speed. The sense of -- being overwhelmed."

"Is it too much --"

"No."

"Are you *sure*?"

"Dad. Dad, I --" Tim licks his lips --

"Keep talking. Please -- please don't stop," Bruce says, spreading Tim's legs and *kneeling* on the gurney between them --

Tim lets his legs drop to either side of the gurney --

But then his ankles are on Bruce's *shoulders* --

"Bruce --"

"More. Please. Tell me -- tell me *everything* --"

"I want -- finger me."

And this breeze is stronger than when Clark leaves and returns at speed --

Bruce's wings are *shivering* --

And the lubricant is... surprisingly warm. Warmer than Bruce's *fingers* --

"I've taken to keeping it near a lamp," Bruce says, and shows his teeth. "Just in case."

"Oh -- good --"

"More." And Bruce *pushes* -- 

"I -- oh, God, *deep* -- I." Tim swallows and *pants* more -- "'Dad' is what goes -- deep. 'Daddy' is the kink. The -- something I could call... any number of your personae -- wait, what will you *do* without Matches?"

Bruce looks at him.

"It's an important *question*!"

Bruce looks at Tim's *penis* --

Tim looks at it, too --

Looks at Bruce's free hand which *could* be around it faster than Tim can *perceive* --

Licks his lips -- but. "Still."

"I love you."

"Oh --"

"And I believe Alvin and Gary will have a lot more to do in the future. As will the decidedly independent socialite Timmy Drake."

Tim takes a breath. "And... Robbie Malone?"

Bruce *crooks* his fingers --

"Oh, God --"

"Would you enjoy playing with him?"

"It -- for the Mission --"

"Not for any other reason...?"

"Bruce --"

Another crook and Tim *bucks*, winces because it's *good* --

"Please. Please --"

"Dick enjoys those games... less."

"Than -- than you do?"

"And you," Bruce says, and starts a *rocking* thrust that drags his fingers against Tim's prostate every --

Every time --

"Would you ever play with me?"

"I -- yes --"

"A hesitation?"

"Just -- I -- not because of reluctance -- oh, please," Tim says, and bends his knees over Bruce's shoulders --

Holds himself *up* on Bruce's shoulders --

"Oh, God, you're *in* me --"

"Would you ever --"

"*Yes* --"

"Say it again, then. Give me. Give me that --"

"Dad. Please, Dad, please *fuck* me," Tim says, and if he doesn't think about how much he's blushing --

How much a part of him is freaking *out* --

"*Please* --"

"Your fear -- you must tell me, son --"

"*Hnh* -- oh -- every time you *say* that --"

"You tempt me to say it every time I open my mouth -- tell me of your *fear*," Bruce says, and grips Tim's *hip* with his free hand --

Lifts Tim *higher* --

"*Now*."

"I can't -- I'm showing too much --"

"To me?"

"To *anyone* --"

"But especially to me?"

Tim groans and tosses his *head* -- no, he can keep *something* like control --

Except that Bruce is thrusting *harder*, opening him the way Clark does --

"God -- *God* --"

"Answer me."

"I *want* you --"

"I know," Bruce says, and smiles. "I'll always know that now."

Tim moans and *stares* --

"Answer."

"You -- I have to -- I need my *control* --"

"Do you want it?"

"*Yes*!"

But Bruce *stops* thrusting --

And Tim blushes harder. He -- "Please, Dad. Please --"

"Do you want your *control*."

"God -- not right *now* --"

"Not with me?"

Tim whimpers -- "Bruce, *please* --"

"Call me --"

"*Dad*! I'll -- I'll -- surrender," Tim says, and stares at Bruce, tries to *see* --

And the light in Bruce's eyes is hard and *wild* all of a sudden, it --

"You look like *Dick* --"

"Will you give *him* this?"

"Oh -- *Dad* --"

"I must *know* you!"

Tim growls -- "I want him, of course I want him, I -- Clark has *threatened* to tell him how much --"

"But you've threatened him in turn --"

"*Yes* --"

"You've threatened to... hold yourself away from him?"

"*Please*, Bruce -- *nnh* -- oh -- oh, *yes*," and Tim has to throw his head back for this thrust, has to moan and whimper and *take* --

"Beautiful. So -- you'll tell Dick."

"Please --"

"You'll *obey* me, Tim."

The sound Tim makes --

He can't --

It's too loud and too high *and* too desperate --

"*Son*," but there's a *question* in Bruce's eyes, there's -- a way around --

All he has to do is deny that he wants this --

Deny that he *needs* this --

Fuck --

*Fuck* --

"Every time I obeyed an order, I --"

Bruce growls. "*This*, Tim? You thought of *this*?"

"Dreamed of it. Wanted -- *felt* -- " Tim growls and shakes his head. "I'll obey -- *hnh* *hnh* -- *oh* --"

"You like this."

"*Please* --"

"*Son*."

"*Yes*, Dad --"

"You enjoy..." And Bruce pants, gulps more air --

Shoves Tim's right leg back against Tim's *chest* -- "*Dad* --"

"You've never *shown* me how you make love with Clark --"

"I'm *sorry* --"

"You don't know how much I've *needed* --" And *Bruce* growls. "*This* is how he seduced me away from my self-loathing and enforced solitude."

"W-what? I don't --"

"He *tempted* me, Tim. With the pleasures of *knowing* how you felt, what you wanted, what you wanted to *give*," and now Bruce's thrusts are *fast* --

So hard and *fast* --

"I can't -- I must *have* this --"

Fuck -- "*Yours* -- oh --"

Empty, he's empty --

And Bruce's wings are *flexing*, protecting Tim from the glare of the fluorescents --

And Bruce is -- gripping himself. And looking at Tim. And *waiting* --

"Should I beg?"

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and shudders all *over* --

Yes.

Yes --

"Please. Please fuck me. Please -- God, open me with your *penis* --"

"I am -- not warm --"

"I don't *care* --"

"Please *brace* yourself, son."

"Oh --" Tim nods and tries to do something about his expression --

His eyes feel as wide as a cartoon character's --

But Bruce is staring into him, studying him just a little too fast for Tim to be sure of --

"You're taking me in."

"Every moment, son. But this --"

"Especially this -- ah -- *ahn* --"

"Don't -- don't *clench* --"

"Yes, Dad, *please*, please hurry --"

"*Take* me," Bruce grits, and the push is so --

There's so *much* of him, and Tim has only ever made love with *one* man --

And Clark always uses the *muscle-relaxant* lubricant --

And he's being opened so *steadily*, so --

Bruce isn't *breathing* anymore, but Tim has to, *needs* to, because Bruce isn't hot, isn't warm, isn't anything but himself, and Tim has to take him, has to be able to --

"I *need* you, Dad!"

Bruce growls again and curls his wings around them, shoving their leading edges under Tim's shoulders --

"*Oh* --"

*Lifts* Tim --

"*Please* -- not --" Tim shakes his head --

"*Tell* me --"

"I need -- I need both legs back on your shoulders -- I think --" And the urge to whimper for the loss of Bruce's wings may or may *not* be beneath him, but the whimper for the feel of Bruce holding his ankles in the air --

Both in one *hand* --

"God, *Dad* --"

"Is this *sufficient*?"

He's holding himself only halfway *in* --

He's *shaking* --

His teeth are denting his lower *lip* --

And all Tim can do is nod while he grips the pillow with one hand and his penis with the other --

"*Yes*, Tim --"

"In me, please, *please* -- *HNH* --"

But that wasn't all of him --

There's still --

"Oh, God, *Bruce* --"

"*Son*." And Bruce has Tim's hip in his other hand --

Bruce *pulls* --

*Black* --

And Tim is screaming for it, *needing* as he beats at the pillow with his fist, as he squeezes his penis harder than he *ever* has --

He needs the pain --

He needs the *control* -- but he doesn't. Bruce doesn't want him to have it. Bruce needs him *not* to have --

Bruce *needs* him, and that's reason enough to scream again as he jerks himself off, to close his eyes and buck and *buck* until Bruce growls and starts to thrust --

So *fast* --

He's still holding Tim's *ankles* --

He's still *lifting* Tim by the ankles, and every thrust makes Tim choke a little, need to scream more --

God, so much *more*, because it's a *lot* like taking his biggest toy --

Except for the hair --

The lack of ability to control the motions --

The constant *growling* --

It's nothing like the toy, at all, because Bruce is in him, Bruce *has* him, Bruce is so --

"*Dad* --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and lifts Tim *higher* --

*Buffets* Tim with his wings again and *again* --

"You are -- I smell your *pleasure*," and it sounds like hunger and triumph at *once* --

"Yours, it's yours --"

"Do you -- so *abandoned* --"

"You're *fucking* me," Tim says, and he can't hold back a laugh for that --

And Bruce smiles at him so *happily* --

He's making Bruce happy --

He's always *wanted* --

And somehow this is enough to do it, somehow *he's* enough -

And he's twitching in his own hand --

He's so *full*, and his body is telling him that it's too much, that it's the kind of too much that *used* to frighten him -- before he learned to fear other sorts of things entirely. Bruce *has* enough control not to injure him, and he *won't*.

But he's still going to *hurt* Tim, still --

Just a few more thrusts like this --

A few more moments to be held in *place* --

"*This*," Bruce says, and floats down *slightly* --

And now he's *shoving* his penis against Tim's prostate with every thrust --

And Tim can't scream --

Can't breathe --

*Nothing* is cold anymore, nothing is too hard or too *much* --

He feels hot enough to *melt* Bruce, but he never wants to do anything of the kind. He wants to feel just like this --

He wants to be *held* just like this --

He wants to scream and sob and shake so much he *can't* stroke himself effectively --

Just like *this* --

And when he opens his eyes Bruce is staring at him with *wonder* --

*Pleasure* --

Tim reaches up to touch Bruce's face --

His hard mouth --

His -- fang --

But he doesn't have time to cry out again before Bruce is sucking his finger and Tim is being rocked seemingly out of his own body. No --

No, he's himself, but it's dark --

So --

He's shaking and sweating --

It's just a *little* cut --

Bruce pulls back --

"No --"

"Son. *Come*."

And suddenly his body --

Suddenly everything he *is* --

He's screaming and --

So hot so -- so sweet and -- "*Dad* --"

"*Yes*."

And Tim feels himself *jack-knife* with the force of his orgasm --

Bruce shoves him back *down* --

And it just makes him ejaculate more, toss his head and gasp for just enough air to *scream* more --

"*Please* -- *nnk* --"

And the hand around his throat is perfect, so perfect his body tries to ejaculate *again* -- nothing, but perhaps that's for the best. Bruce is still wearing *most* of his uniform, and *this* version of it holds stains rather more assiduously than the ones of leather and armor. But mostly --

Mostly Tim is staring, and letting his tongue protrude just so --

And staring and staring --

Bruce has stopped *blinking* again, he --

'Daddy,' Tim mouths, and smiles --

And the next thing he knows he's on his hands and knees --

His *face* and knees -- "Oh, *fuck* --"

"Will you be Daddy's good boy?"

Tim clenches on *nothing* -- "Bruce --"

And the first spank is --

There's no way to think of it as anything *but* a spank, especially since it comes with another --

Another and another --

His penis feels *confused*, but that's only because it's still somewhat shocky. The *rest* of him  is pointing out that Bruce really is a *good* detective -- "*Daddy*!"

"Yes...?" And Bruce doesn't stop *spanking* --

"Oh -- fuck -- *ahn* --"

"*Language*," and he still doesn't *stop*, and is this --

Son gets to curse but Boy doesn't? Really?

Tim hears himself *giggling*, which is ridiculously embarrassing right up until Bruce grunts and something no warmer than the air spatters Tim's *ass* --

Well.

Well --

"I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"Are you."

"Yes! Yes, *please*!"

"What are you begging for, little boy?"

Oh -- my. "Your -- penis. *Inside* me again --"

"Did you want me to *fill* you, little boy?"

Tim pants and *claws* at the gurney --

The spanking gets faster and *harder* --

"*Yes*! Please, yes, Daddy!"

And the spanking stops --

And Bruce stops *breathing* --

Tim can feel him *staring*, and it's making the back of Tim's neck feel as hot and hypersensitized as his *ass* -- "*Please* -- *nuh* -- *oh*..." And the syllable goes on and on as Bruce pushes in --

So slick and long and *hard* --

So *thick* --

And Tim is back to thinking he can melt Bruce, that *Tim* is too much, because Bruce is shuddering and touching him all over the way Clark does, touching everywhere he can reach even while he thrusts so perfectly, so --

God that *curve*, and it's making it hard to see again, hard to *think*, hard to do anything but *take* --

"B-boy..."

Oh... "*Your* boy --"

"Hnh -- so. So *beautiful*..."

And not being high on impending orgasm is enough to make the epithet seem difficult, difficult to *take* --

"Do not -- don't *deny* me, boy!"

Tim cries out and *clenches* --

Bruce *growls* --

And the fuck is *relentless* now, heavy and dark as Bruce's voice, so sweet, so *sweet*, and it won't take long for Tim to need more --

And it won't take long after than for Tim to *beg* -- but he can beg now. He can *give* Bruce -- "Please, Daddy!"

"*Tim*."

"Please *come*, please -- God, I need to *feel* you -- *unh* --"

*Both* hands on Tim's hips, and this time Bruce is *moving* him into the thrusts, pushing and pulling until Tim feels like a piece of well-oiled machinery, slick and sharp and ready, so *ready* --

"*Daddy* --"

"Beautiful boy, I *need* you. I have always --" Bruce growls and moves Tim faster --

Thrusts *harder* --

"*Always* --"

"Daddy -- *Daddy* --"

"If I could *have* -- only a *moment* --"

"Not *enough*, Daddy --"

Another growl and Bruce's rhythm is much shakier, rough and random and *thrilling*.

Tim scrubs his face against the gurney and rides it, tries to beg with his body as much as he's begging with his mouth, his throat -- "I want to *suck* you, Daddy --"

"*Tim* --"

"I want -- I want you to fuck my *throat* --"

"I need. I *need*."

Tim smiles, just a little like Timmy Drake. "You need *me*, Daddy --"

"*Yes* --"

"I'm right here," Tim says, dragging his face on the sheets more, catching a fold of the sheet between his teeth and growling --

And that was more of a *roar* than anything else, but it's *enough* warning for the *brutal* fuck Bruce is giving him, the rough and *hungry* shoves --

Bruce is holding Tim *still* again --

Tim opens his mouth to let Timmy say something else -- but nothing comes out but *pained* whimpers --

Oh --

Bruce isn't in him anymore --

Tim is on his *back* --

And Bruce is glaring at him *hungrily* as he *strips* his penis at a speed Tim can't even *begin* to follow. It's so --

"It was too much?"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and the muscles are flexing in his working arm --

"I appreciate your care with my fragile mortal body, Daddy, but we're going to have to work on this --"

"Again. *Again* --"

"Yes, again. And again after that. And --" Tim licks his lips. "Straddle me, Daddy. Come in my --" But the rest of that is *obscured* by Bruce's roar as he ejaculates blood-streaked plasma all over Tim's *chest*. Which --

They can work on this. 

They can definitely --  mm. Tim swipes his fingers through --

He *means* to do that, but Bruce gathers some of it on his fingers faster than Tim can, and -- mm.

"I've wanted to suck your fingers, too, Daddy," and Tim opens his mouth and lets his eyelids slip most of the way closed --

Bruce shivers and pushes *deep* --

And Tim hums and shudders for the taste, hums again and sucks, *licks* --

There's a thickness to the fluid that's -- not even close to being familiar enough. There's a *hunger* in him that sparks and *flares* whenever the taste seems more metallic than generically bloody. Tim sucks, more and more, and tries to concentrate on the *flavors* --

He hears himself *mewl* when Bruce takes his fingers away --

But they're back again just that quickly, just that *perfectly*, and maybe Tim is *gripping* Bruce's hand with both of his own --

"Tim..."

Tim hums and *nods*, because this --

There's something --

He can hear his heart beating, of course, but there's another rhythm, too, there --

Something slower. Something *darker*. Something he needs to *reach* for, and he knows he'll have it he can just get more of Bruce's ejaculate --

And then there *is* more --

And more than that --

And he never realized the Cave had so *many* drafts --

And the bats' heartbeats are all so fast, so *tender* somehow --

And Bruce's heartbeat is a tide of *restful* day, something of heat and *calm* desire --

And Tim needs to be closer, but he needs more of this, and more --

Bruce smells so good, tastes so --

Tim bites and *growls*, bites *more* --

"Oh -- *Tim* --"

He can't get through Bruce's skin, but that's not right, Bruce is his *father*, Bruce has to *feed* him --

"*Tim*," and Bruce tugs his fingers away --

And Tim *pounces* --

And somehow that was quick enough to *surprise* Bruce into clutching him too hard -- "Bruce. Bruce, what..."

Bruce shakes his head *dumbly*, and the scent of him -- so good, so rich, so *right* --

*Father* --

But he's *frightened*. He's --

Why? What -- oh. Oh, no. Tim rears back, pushes everything down, away --

The bats --

His *heart* --

Tim reaches to touch his teeth, but he can't tell if they're any sharper or *not* --

"They -- they have not lengthened --"

"Is there a *yet* at the end of that sentence?"

Bruce winces. "I don't know. I -- the creature --"

"*Malloy*!"

"Tim, he spoke of a need to *drain* a human who was to be turned. And an attendant need to then *fill* them with the tainted blood," Bruce says, and reaches out hesitantly. He --

Tim can't let that happen. He reaches out and brings Bruce's hand to his face, *holds* it to his face and kisses the palm --

Nuzzles the fingers for the hints and residue of plasma --

"Tim..."

"Dad. I need you... I need you to tell me if we've made a very bad mistake." He can't stop nuzzling --

Maybe just a little bite --

But Bruce holds Tim's head back with his other hand. He -- "*Bruce*."

"Your scent has not changed. You are human."

And that feeling is... relief.

But there are other feelings, as well. There -- no, he's *not* actually surprised by that --

"Tim...?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and winces, laughs somewhat painfully --

"Tim, please tell me."

"You --" Tim looks up and smiles into Bruce's eyes. "Is it really a surprise that I've wanted to be your son by blood?"

Bruce grunts --

And then Tim is being held close --

Kissed and nuzzled and *inhaled* --

"Bruce --"

And this kiss is for his mouth, and it's -- gentle. Relatively so. Tim *could* turn out of it if he wanted, to --

Bruce's hands are *shaking* as they move over and over his body --

And Tim realizes -- *understands* -- that this is as much *too* much for Bruce as it is for him.

Too much in exactly the right ways --

Tim growls into the kiss and tugs at Bruce's uniform, *needs* --

"Tim..."

"*Please*!"

And then Bruce is fully naked and touching him, holding Tim so *close* --

He's not *warm* --

But he feels just the way he should. Hairy, rough, hard, *scarred*. Tim isn't *particularly* aroused right now, but it's still necessary to rub himself against Bruce, kiss and nuzzle --

Bite --

"Tim. You must tell me how you feel --"

Tim growls and bites *harder* -- but. "The desire to drink your blood has faded to a certain extent, as has the... excitement of my senses."

Bruce's breath is relieved --

And Tim laughs softly. "I'll have to use a condom when I suck you."

"It -- is there a brand you find palatable?"

Somehow --

Somehow *that* makes Tim blush --

He'd expected Bruce to *demur* --

But Bruce is touching Tim's cheek with something that looks and feels a lot like wonder. It...

Tim licks his lips and leans in to rub his cheeks against Bruce's mouth --

Bruce growls -- and twitches.

Twice.

"Again, Bruce?"

"I -- no. I must. I must watch you tonight, Tim."

"Patrol --"

"No. Not for you," Bruce says, and smiles ruefully. "Or for me. We'll have to inform Oracle --"

"Consider me informed," Oracle says -- she's using the scrambler -- in Tim's ear.

The studs Tim is wearing are incredibly plain and generic-looking, but Tim has yet to come up with a more exciting design to send to Ted. Well, a more exciting design which isn't *too* exciting. Tim reaches up to touch -- not tap, the channel is already open -- his equally plain necklace. "Are you sure we won't be needed?"

"*No* one can be sure of that, Boy Wonder. Which is an excellent reason for you -- both of you; I *know* B can hear me -- to be a lot more *careful*."

Bruce and Tim wince *together* --

And Bruce takes a deep breath. "There is no excuse --"

"I'm not your confessor, B. You're welcome to talk to Prime about it, though --"

"Oh," Clark says over the channel, and his smile is *palpable*. "I'm always willing. Though I don't think I'd be a very good confessor, either."

Oracle snorts. The sound of it through the scrambler is more than worth another wince. "*Do* let me know, Prime. I have just the outfit for you if you change your mind."

"Oh... mm. I do enjoy perusing your... closets, Oracle."

Another snort -- "B. R-three. I'm informing the rest of the family as we speak, but I'm *not* telling them any of the things you really need to tell them yourselves. Am I making myself clear?"

Tim winces *again* -- "Yes."

"Yes," Bruce says, but he's studying Tim's expression again --

Stroking Tim's *face* --

And that's when Tim realizes that Bruce had left Tim's mask on, settling for flipping the lenses --

What, exactly, does it say about Tim that he hadn't even *noticed*?

Tim shakes his head and reaches up to stroke the mask and Bruce's fingers --

"Hnn. Oracle out."

Tim jumps for that internally -- and blushes and laughs at himself. "I... I have no idea what brand of condom I'll come to favor. I use the lubricated Spartans with Steph because she prefers the feel of those, but I've never *tasted* them."

Bruce nods and stares into him as if he needs Tim to say something -- else.

Oh. Tim leans in, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck --

Pushing his hands into Bruce's short hair --

"Tim..."

"Dad. I. I love you. I have for a very long time --"

The kiss is hard, but not vicious or even particularly dark. It's warm beyond conceptions of temperature, it's hungry, and it's very, very *needy*.

Tim has no problem whatsoever with neediness, so long as it isn't his *own* --

Except that Bruce almost certainly would like to see -- and experience -- at least the vast majority of Tim's neediness --

Bruce *needs* --

And maybe, in this moment, it's all right to disregard Batman.

Tim shivers and pulls back from the kiss enough to bite Bruce's lips, one after the other and then again --

"My love."

Tim shivers again. "I love you. I want you... to a ridiculous degree. The need feels even more ridiculous --"

"Not to me," Bruce says, and pulls Tim even closer, wrapping his wings around him and darkening the world --

And Clark sighs over the comm. Happily. "I *told* you so, Batman --"

"Prime."

"Oh, fine. Prime out. Unless...?"

Tim hums and -- nips Bruce's earlobe. Not bites. "I'm quite all right for the moment, Prime. But thank you for asking."

"Oh... you're really *always* welcome. Out," Clark says, and *actually* closes the connection --

Which is something Barbara most assuredly did *not* do.

This... it's something that he's accustomed to, at this point, so Tim really isn't sure why he's feeling *shy* --

Oh, that's a lie. Tim laughs and buries his blush against Bruce's throat.

Bruce sighs --

Tim... gnaws. Just a little.

end.




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