Skin Time
by Te
January 15, 2009

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Exceedingly vague references to older storylines. Takes place in a nebulous 'now.'

Summary: In which manipulation is a generally positive sort of thing.

Ratings Note/Warning: Sexual content.

Author's Note: Ah, kink. Sometimes you're the best excuse of all. Which is to say: look elsewhere for profundity.

Acknowledgments: Much love to Jack, Pixie, and Mildred for audiencing and encouragement.

It's not the easiest thing in the world to get the new suit off Robin. It's harder than that to get *Robin* off Tim, but Dick has a lifetime of challenges to call on. He hasn't always answered those challenges successfully --

He hasn't always answered them *well* --

He hasn't always --

The *point* -- and it's a good one -- is that he knows how to pull his game face on. The weapons have been deployed: pizza, Monty Python, the backrubs he's quite rightfully famous for.

The high ground has been chosen: the target has been working *his* turf for the better part of six hours, and this Robin hates flying by day the way he *should* hate having to be reminded to be a real boy every few months.

The coup de grace, such as it is, is set to be applied in three --

Two --

"I miss you, little brother," Dick says, letting his hair fall over his face just a little as he puts *that* degree of tension in his shoulders, as he makes *this* breath just a little shaky --

Tim's eyes go wide behind the mask.

Tim's better at hiding that sort of thing than just about everyone Dick knows who *isn't* also Batman, but -- Tim's also *his* little brother. A rueful smile, then: "Please?"

"I -- okay, now you're pushing it."

Heh. Good little detective right there, but -- *all* is fair. Tim isn't quite fast enough to avoid Dick's hand on his jaw, Dick's thumb on his cheek, Dick's breath on his lips --

"Just what did you want to *do* at your place?"

... yes, all right, he's going a little too far. Dick pecks Tim on the mouth and backs off. Slightly. "*Relax*. In company, even. You know I'm all alone --"

"Dick --"

"Please," Dick says, being as straight as he can when everything in him is telling him to *keep* pushing -- Tim is *blushing* -- but --

But --

"I'll... be your best big brother?"

The sound Tim makes is soft and a little odd, actually. Something like the unhappy love child of a snicker and a blown kiss. Possibly his bestest little brother is just working on strangling his laughs the way Bruce does --

It really shouldn't make him want to kiss the kid again, but that's just one of the things that makes their relationship *interesting* --

"All right. I -- all right. I take it you already have a set of civvies for me?"

Dick raises an eyebrow.

Tim blows out a breath. "Fine. But I'm stealing one of your bikes to get home --"

"*Tomorrow*," Dick says, and shoves Tim off the side of the roof closest to Dick's apartment.

They fly --

And Dick is magnanimous in his victory and focuses on stripping down while Tim is Robin-ing all over his apartment, picking up clues from the take-out cartons in his trash, the angle of his toothbrush in the bathroom, the precise dust pattern on his bookshelves --

Everything else. Tim is Tim, and always needs a little transition time. The fact that Dick can *remember* the days when that time was less than five minutes...


It takes ten for Tim to get his boots off and his ass on the couch. Dick tosses him the phone and a stack of menus --

And then just has to smile a little, because, yes, Tim *is* organizing them alphabetically and by style of food, frown line *moderately* deep on his forehead and fingers moving deft and skilled in gauntlets that would've hurt Dick's *brain* if Bruce had expected him to wear them --

But this is the suit Tim had chosen, and he has to remember that. Just a little Battier than any Robin *should* be, and...


Better or worse that Dick's pretty sure this suit *works* better for Tim than the other? Whenever he tries to picture Tim in the *first* Robin suit, he gets smacked in the head with an image of the tiny, scrawny boy Tim used to be, and that's anything *but* fair, but --

"Dick, you're going to set my hair on fire if you keep staring like that," Tim says, then hums and picks the menu with the most folds and incidental stains --

"They make their own marinara -- and you don't wear enough product anymore to be a fire hazard," Dick says, and catches himself tugging at the waistband of his boxer briefs --

At the very least he should ditch his jock --

Does he *want* to be naked in this kind of company? Maybe they should shower together -- "Also, you need to strip."

"Yes, I *know* -- I." Tim looks up at him from under his lashes -- he has, in fact, deigned to flip his lenses up. "Dick, I'm really not -- this doesn't have to be... therapy."

Really, little brother? Are you sure? But Dick can still smile and shake his head. "I just want some brother-time -- as much as I can *have* -- and... Robin is nobody's brother."

The smile on *Tim's* face is rueful, but still a lot more private than anything Dick wants --

Dick crouches in front of Tim, yanks his legs apart, and moves closer. "What can I give you for some *skin* time?"

"Ah -- what?"

Dick cups Tim's cheeks -- no, that's not quite what he wants. He flips his hands so he can stroke Tim's face with the backs of them, feeling just a little stubble --

Tim's eyes are narrow and questioning, and --

And. He has a right to question. They haven't really --

But they *could* --

"Sometimes, back when I was a Titan, we'd all strip down to our skivvies and just... pile on. Donna started it -- she used to be *incredibly* fascinated by flat chests and bony hips -- and after that... it just got to be a little tradition. A tough mission, a bad night for one of us..." Dick raises his eyebrows.

"Skin time. I... I see," Tim says, and there's a little flash of pink as he touches his tongue to his upper lip.

Dick smiles a little wider. "Call it advanced cuddling -- *not* for the faint of heart."

And the look on Tim's face makes Dick wonder if he's thinking about No Man's Land, if he is, maybe, wondering about all those times they wound up sharing a ragged and too-thin blanket, pretending a cold cement floor was a nice, soft bed --

"Do you ever think about my breath on the back of your neck?" Okay, wait, no, that came out --

"Yes," Tim says, blinking rapidly -- stopping. "Yes, I do. That was... nice. When we... well. That's what you want?"

*Yes*, but -- "Not if you don't want it."

Another private smile, and -- "Dick..."

"I'm listening." And maybe, just maybe stroking your thighs, which are long and lean -- "I still can't picture you in the panties, you know."

"Um? I'm... glad?"

Dick shakes his head. "It just seems like I *should* be able to picture it. I mean, I've *seen* you in them, and those things *meant* Robin for a -- very long time --"

"And now they *don't*, which I rather think is for the best --"

"Oh, you're getting proper on me. *Why* are you getting proper on me?"

"Because Alfred gives me regular canings, I -- Dick. What do you *really* want?"

Ooh, now isn't that a good question. *Why* is that always such a good question? Babs, Roy, Donna, *Bruce* -- Tim. "Uniform off, pizza ordered, and you, in my arms, where I can pet you and ask about your scars --"


"*Advanced* cuddle, little brother -- but again, not if it's going to mess with your head," Dick says, and he's aware that his hair is in his face again, that he is, in fact, clutching Tim's thighs a little, that Tim --

Is staring. Mm. All right. Dick rolls onto his knees and presses closer --

Dick grabs Tim's hips and yanks until Tim is sitting on the edge of the couch, until Dick's shoulders are being warmed by the insides of Tim's thighs -- "It's even better with... skin."

And Tim is searching him hard. Hard enough that he may or may *not* be aware of the fact that he's riffling through the menus, that his lips are pressed together so tightly that they almost *need* a tongue pushing and stroking and licking until they -- open. "We should order before it gets too late. I. The usual?"

There's something warm for that, something... he has a 'usual' with Roy, and a different 'usual' with Wally, and, yes, he has a 'usual' with Tim. Dick doesn't bother trying to do anything about his smile --

Tim tenses -- relaxes. And nods. And orders.

And *then* pushes gently on Dick's shoulders until Dick backs up -- he's stripping. And he hadn't said yes, or really much of anything at *all*. And he *has* to get out of the uniform for the delivery guy.

Still, though -- *marked* improvement, especially once Tim is down to an undershirt and boxer briefs -- heh. "When *did* you switch from briefs?"

Another smile, but this one is a lot less private. "Every time I looked at you or Bruce during No Man's Land, I was *stricken* with envy for those few extra inches of fabric on your thighs."

*Trust* Tim to have a practical reason. Dick plucks at the material in question, feeling warmth, sweat -- "How long did they say we had?"

"Ah -- forty-five."

"Which means fifty-five to an hour. Great food, popular place. Shower with me?"

"Ah --"

"We can pretend we're in the Cave, only with fewer random screeches and less chance of Bruce giving us that *look*."

"Hm. The look which always implies that long showers are for hedonists and potential drug addicts?"

Dick rolls to his feet and sets his hands on Tim's hips. "*That* one. Though I always thought he was implying that I had dangerously loose morals."

Another hum of a laugh. "You do have a large *enough* shower. But, Dick, we could always just --"

"Shower separately? Waste *water*? Where are *your* morals, little brother?" And Dick shakes Tim by the hips a little.

And Tim... tilts his head to the side. There's a different sort of searching in his eyes, and it's a little --

Well, it's *different*. As in, not the same. Not a 'usual.' Not at *all*, especially since it comes with the sort of smile --

Dick catches himself touching it, tracing the shape of it with his fingertips and wishing for fewer calluses, more *sensation* --

Tim narrows his eyes and twists away from him neatly. "Shower," he says, and starts heading for the bathroom, stripping off his t-shirt as he goes. There's a flash of *something* --

Dick really isn't sure, and also -- shower. Dick skins off his shorts and jock, and the water is already on by the time he gets into the shower. "Not too far to the hot side -- yeah, like that," he says, and Tim shifts over to block his view of the controls again.

His shoulders are broader than they were *yesterday* -- only it wasn't really yesterday, at all. It's strange enough that Dick *has* to start rubbing those shoulders a little, has to feel them, know them --

Tim sighs and braces his hands on the tile, letting his head hang --

He *had* promised a backrub, and --

*But*. Part of him wants that scrawny little boy back. Part of him... really needs to deal with the fact that it's a *good* thing that Tim is actually growing between those times when they can actually hang out with each other --

Yes, coping, and that means pressing a kiss to the little knob at the top of Tim's spine, apologizing for thoughts he's not going to bother to share --

Tim laughs softly.


"Nothing, Dick. Just -- you feel good," he says, and the shower makes his voice a little richer than it usually is, a little more *full*.

"You're damned right I feel good, and -- I did promise."

"Mm. So you did," and Tim shifts on his feet -- he's stretching a little, because he's an *efficient* little bastard.

Now is *not* the time to kick his legs wide and -- and. Something. Definitely something --

"Why don't you tell me... how *did* 'skin time' usually end?"

"Well -- er."

Roy swallowing him whole.

Donna riding him while Wally drove himself crazy with her breasts, those breasts that seemed to grow both much too slowly *and* much too fast --

The taste of Garth's come and the smell of the sea --


"Ah -- heh. Well --"

Wally kissing him and kissing him, and Dick telling himself not to touch, not to push, not to do *anything*, and then losing all sense of himself because Wally was hard, *too* hard, so damned *hard* --

"That is to say..." Dick squeezes Tim's obliques.

Tim looks back over his shoulder. His hair is plastered to his scalp, and his eyes are somehow *hot* --

They've never *been* hot --

Not where Dick could see.

Not. "Tim...?"

Tim smiles and shakes his head. "I think you've answered the question... adequately."


The thing is --

Dick is not the one who's supposed to be blushing here. He's just. Really. *Not*. There are *rhythms* to this sort of thing, and when they accidentally (on purpose?) trip over Dick's sexual history, Tim's eyes should be wide and a little dazed, his downy (not stubbled) cheeks should be flushed, and --

At the very least -- there should be stammering. Which is what he's going with as a reason --


He's really not giving Tim's lower back the attention it deserves. Except, of course, for *that* spot at the base of Tim's spine --

Tim moans -- hums.

Dick gives just a little more pressure and pushes a leg between Tim's own, making their ankles and calves brush a little --

Tim pushes up onto his toes, flexing and tensing -- moaning again.

That's still not -- hmm. "You okay there, little brother?"

"Better," Tim says, "by the moment."

Oh -- really. Dick leaves off Tim's back to stroke his hips, to dip his fingers in the hollows and stroke --

"This *does* count as 'skin time,' yes...?"

Dick catches himself in the *moment* just before biting the join of Tim's shoulder and neck and breathes there, instead. "To a certain extent."

Tim rolls his head on his neck. "What's... missing?"

To his credit -- maybe, possibly, and also oh, *dear* -- there are alarms going off. Serious ones. *Loud* ones. It's just that Tim feels very, very good, and he could feel -- even better. "Reciprocation," Dick says, and *has* to wince, because his voice was definitely --

"I see."

*Definitely*. "Tim --"

Tim brushes Dick's hands from his hips and turns around, and --

The thing is, that is an *extremely* interesting smile on Tim's face. It's speculative, it's amused, it's *game*. It's just that also *nipple rings*.

Two of them.

Right there.

On his little brother's *nipples* -- technically through the aureole because Tim's nipples are so *small* -- "Jesus fucking --"

"So you *didn't* notice them before. I was about eighty-five percent sure you hadn't, but -- well," Tim says, and gives them a casual -- *casual* -- tug before dropping his hands to his sides again.

"Tim. *What* --"

"I did them myself, before you ask. I just didn't feel especially comfortable with the idea of a stranger with sharp objects prodding at me. And, all right, yes, I wanted to make sure they were even."

They are definitely -- definitely -- even, and even if he couldn't *see* them -- well, he's feeling them, at the moment. Not tugging, not -- just --

"I thought to myself -- I want something," and Tim's voice is still a little too full. A little too --

"I -- little brother."

"Right here. I outgrew the product, earrings are just asking for pain and less deniable scars, tattoos can be identified if they're as unique as I'd want one to be --"

The sound that comes out of his mouth isn't a very good sound, at all. It's too high, and it's too much like a moan, and also his little brother has *rings* through his *nipples* --

"Is it too soon to ask if you like them?" And -- that's a *laugh* in Tim's voice, and he can't really --

All right, so it's possibly problematic that he's spinning them in the tub, that he's pushing Tim back against the tile --

Tim's hips jerk --

Tim is --

Isn't --

He's not as hard as he *could* be, and it seems like something Dick should know about his little brother, his so-much-better-than-just-a-friend, his family --

What *does* he look like when he's hard like --


"I really was quite safe, Dick --"

"We're not -- talking about safety. Tim." Dick shakes his head, shakes like a *dog*, *focuses* --

No, he's kissing, and that means it's time for everything in his mind to shut up, because this is a kiss he's never had before, this is warmth, family, hunger --

This is Tim's tongue, and the way it only takes *one* focused lick to get it into Dick's mouth where he can suck it, taste it, suck *hard* --

Tim moans and his foot slips, and that's the best possible reason to get his hands back on Tim's hips, to *hold* him against that wall, press hard, *lift* just enough that Tim's on his toes again and Dick can make the kiss *worthwhile*.

Make Tim feel it --

Feel *him* --

Feel that *metal*, pierced --

There was *blood*, and the image in Dick's mind, the one that's getting clearer, deeper, better:

Tim holding the needle the way he'd hold any tool. Not too tightly, not too loosely. Tim pushing the needle through, slowly and carefully, so *carefully* --

Tim closing his eyes, a gasp, teeth digging into his lip --

And the image falls apart, shivers apart to the flicker of candlelight Tim definitely wouldn't have used. Had he done this at the *manor*? In the Cave with all the safety equipment --

Dick pulls out of the kiss --

Tim grunts --

"What the hell did Bruce *say*?"

Tim blinks -- licks his lips, pants. "Nothing."


Tim's smile is rueful and a little dazed --

Dick has enough of himself together that the dazed part is really *working* for him, oh, little *brother* -- *but* --

"He made a point of leaving the disinfectant ointment he wanted me to use where I would see it. I personally don't think it's any better than the brand I chose, but I decided not to rock the boat," Tim says, and licks his lips again. "Dick. We really should get *clean*."

"But -- we're going to get dirty again." Aren't we? Say yes. Say yes. Say --

Tim raises an eyebrow and tilts his head back just -- fractionally.

"God, I want you *hard* --"

Tim's hips pump once, twice -- but Dick is still holding them. *Why* is he holding them? It's a very big tub. It's a *nice* tub --

And it's even nicer once they're down *in* it, once Tim has one leg over the side --

"*Dick* --"

This time, the kiss is a little too hard for what he wants to do, what he wants to *say*, which mostly boils down to something along the lines of 'we're kissing, and I really need you to be okay with that -- in a way that doesn't make you feel pressured --'

Pressing *down* --

Tim groans and bites Dick's lip, does it again, switches to the upper lip --

Sharp little *teeth*, and Dick can't actually *feel* the overbite, but it's something he wants to study, learn -- also. He pulls back -- "You."

"Ah. Yes?"

"*You* like them," Dick says, and he means it to be a question, but --

"I wouldn't still have them if I didn't, Dick. I wore clip-ons for a couple of weeks before I did the piercing -- they're actually far more uncomfortable -- mm?"

All right, so he's covering Tim's mouth, and -- clip-ons. Under the suit, under the civvies -- "Did you. Did you work out shirtless? Ever?"

Tim raises an eyebrow and drags the leg that isn't over the side of the tub *up*, and Dick has to deal with the fact that it feels very, very good --

Wet skin against his own wet skin, muscle and bone --


Still covering Tim's mouth. Still -- Dick laughs a little helplessly. "I'm not sure -- I might be a little bit *afraid* of your answer, little brother." And --

Somehow, that soft look Tim gets sometimes when it's just the two of them --

Somehow it's even softer right now, and -- damn.

Only *not* damn, or not the bad kind of damn, because --

Oh, Tim's *mouth*. Hot mouth, *wet* mouth, *sweet* mouth working against his own, kissing Dick back *hard* even though Dick's dragging Tim's face out of true a little --

Better to cup the back of Tim's head and make the kiss as deep as he can, to do his best to crawl right *into* Tim, see what makes him tick these days, remember the *feel* of the needle going in --

Grinding now, thrusting now --

And pulling back just means that Tim's moan echoes all through the bathroom, makes his gasp feel like something that sucks the air out of the room, until the only things Dick is breathing are Tim and *water* --

*Rings* -- "Tim --"

"I -- work out shirtless, yes. Dick, don't --"

"Oh, *please*, Tim --"

"I was just -- don't stop, please don't stop, yet --"

Dick groans and kisses Tim again, kisses them down, around the tiny space of the tub, have to make sure they don't brain themselves, break a damned bone --

Jason --

"It's just that I always thought *Jason* would be the one to go for body art --"

"He might have --"

"God, don't *think* like -- Jesus, you -- let me play with --"

"*Yes*, Dick --"

"Just yes? Just --" Dick groans again and thrusts faster, grinds *harder*, and he's bruised people this way in the past, bruised *himself* because it's always that good, that *right*, skin to *skin* --

And Tim is staring up at him like he's memorizing this, everything Dick's showing, everything he can't *help* showing --

"You *like* this --"

Tim's laugh is high and sharp -- "*Yes*, again, and really -- I -- God, Dick, you're going to make me come --"

Come. *Come* -- "Come on me, for me, let me *feel*, little brother--"

And Tim closes his eyes, tilts his head back --

Jason's scar is livid, *bright* --

Dick curls himself in enough that he can bite it, suck on it, think about his *other* little brother, and would it have made a difference if he'd ever used the *word*? But -- he's not here, and Tim is, and Tim --

So good, so much *noise* for him, and he'd always thought that he'd have to work for that, that Tim would try to --

He'd *never* thought, and rarely dreamed --

But --

"Dick, *please* --"

Dick hears himself make a whining noise, hears himself growl and he has to bite, lick, pull himself up and press himself *down*, cover Tim and tuck his face in close to Tim's ear -- "Tell me, Tim, tell me what you need --"

"I don't --" Tim laughs again and grips Dick's shoulders, squeezing *hard* -- "God, I -- not sure, but. More. More would --"

"I can *feel* those rings --"

"Touch them, play with them --"

"Then --"

And it's the work of too *many* moments to get them up on their knees, to get his hand wrapped around both of their dicks and squeeze --

"Oh, you feel so *good*, little brother, so right, so -- tell me you *feel* --"

"I do. I do --" Tim opens his eyes, licks his lips --

And smiles at him so brightly, so *sharply* -- Dick thrusts into his own fist, thrusts against Tim's dick --

Tim's *eyes* roll back, and Dick still has a hand free, still --

Slipping his pinky into the ring and tugging, watching the skin go from puckered to *taut* --

Tim groans and *pumps*, thrusts and *fucks* --

"Like that, you like that -- oh, Jesus, Tim, why didn't you *tell* me?"

This time the laugh is breathless enough that it might as well be a series of gasps --

Dick kisses Tim again because he *has* to, squeezes them both hard, too hard --

Only Tim whimpers into his mouth and starts licking him feverishly, sweetly --

"Let you taste me all over, little brother, let you -- do what you *want* --"

And Tim's eyes fly open, focus *hard* for a moment --

Another --

And then he's throwing his head back and coming hard, sweet little pulses that slick up Dick's hand and his abdomen, his chest --

The doorbell rings. The --

"Pizza," Tim says, sucking in a breath and *prying* -- and he really has to pry -- Dick's fingers from around him --

"Tim, *what* -- "

"Yes, I know, but -- but," and he grabs Dick's robe and leaves. Leaves. He.

"We're going to *talk* about etiquette," Dick says, loud enough to carry -- he's covered in Tim's come, the shower's still running -- right. He stands up and sluices off -- save for his hand, which he makes a point of licking thoroughly as he walks into the living room --

Once he hears the door close again.

Tim drops the pizza on the coffee table, looks up -- and narrows his eyes. "Perhaps I should put this in the oven to keep warm."

Dick pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop. "Perhaps you should get tied to my bed and *spanked*."

"*You're* the one who wanted pizza --"

"I want *you* --"

"I -- all right, wow, I was actually about to argue for a moment there..." Tim shakes his head, picks up the pizza, and heads into the kitchen.

Dick follows and goes back to the licking, maybe a little sucking, maybe a little squeeze for his poor dick, which knows *exactly* what Tim's skin feels like, and -- there he is, bending over to slide the pizza in when he could be --

Something. Definitely --

Dick pulls his fingers out again. "Tell me what you want."

"And that was really an *order*, wasn't it," Tim says, and closes the oven, reflexively double-checking the temperature, the seal of the oven --

"*Christ*, Tim --"

"Sorry," he says, and holds up his hands. And then looks at Dick the way --

("Bring that over *here*, 'mano --")

("Here. Right in front of my chair.")

("Oh -- beautiful boy. If I may?")

Dick feels his eyes narrowing, and it's definitely a tease to stroke himself like this, but he's not exactly sure who the tease is *for* --

"I don't suppose you'd let me -- I --" Tim drops to his knees on the kitchen tile and reaches out -- tentatively.

Which is the *only* reason why Dick isn't in reach, yet, but -- "Here? Or -- you're not sure about. Something?"

"Quite a few things, actually," Tim says, and flashes him another one of those smiles that could cut diamond, but are possibly powerless against the tension in the room --

"Jesus, you're on your *knees* --"

"*That* much -- I'm sure of. Dick." And Tim drops his hands to his thighs, stroking them --

The robe slips off his shoulder --

Ring. And --

He'd done that on purpose. He'd -- "You." Dick shakes his head and closes the distance, watching the focus deepen, *sharpen* in Tim's eyes until those hands, hard little hands, are on Dick's hips, thumbs pressing, breath --

Breath so damp and *hot* -- "I've always loved your scent, Dick. Just -- I thought, perhaps, it would be a good time to mention that," Tim says, and takes about -- half.

About --

Thought should happen. Mind should work. *Thing* --

*Hot* --

Hand around the base of him and he wants it gone, wants to bury his hands --

Sleek wet hair --

Moan that shivers right into him and *distracts* from the feel of that first *suck* --

*Fuck* --

There were things he was going to *say*, important things, what -- "I love you," Dick says, and Tim sucks *hard*, hard enough that Dick has to brace himself on his feet, tug Tim's hair and -- not thrust. Not --

Oh, just -- cup the back of that head and *pull*, because he needs a little more, just a little more --

And the moan tells him that it's right, that he can have, they can *have* -- "God, little brother, I think -- I *can't* think --"

Tim squeezes his hip and strokes it, pets him, tries to soothe him like maybe, somehow --

"I'm *not* pulling out," Dick says, some *part* of Dick says, because the rest of him is just a little -- maybe a lot -- "Oh, hell, tongue --"


Asking -- for specifics. Oh fuck. Oh -- "I should. Make you talk to *Roy* --"

Tim laughs around him, and it's breath and sweetness, liquid -- *tongue* --

"On second thought, you could just -- please suck me, little brother, please take what you *want*." Because I have no idea what *I* want other than *more*, and that would maybe be a helpful thought to *share* --

Except that Tim *grips* him and starts -- oh --

Working his head, working his mouth, sucking and going *down*, and it *is* like Roy when he's trying to drive Dick out of his head as fast as *possible*. The fact that he'd never used or thought the word 'efficient' for it before -- "Slow. Slow down a little --"

Tim hums and Dick hears himself gasping, *feels* himself losing touch with all the parts of his body which aren't in or *on* Tim right now --

And it's absolutely necessary to push his foot up between Tim's legs, to *feel* him, still damp from the shower, soft but not the kind of soft that speaks of being *done* -- "You're so young --"

That was a *growl* --

"In a *good* way. In -- God, Tim, you feel so *good* --"

Tongue on the head, licking and thrusting, swiping and *stabbing* --

"Want you, always -- think I must've -- please don't *leave* after this --"

Tim squeezes Dick's hip *and* his dick, nods and strokes, starts working again --

Oh, again --

And everyone who has done this for him has always seemed to be taking something for themselves more than anything else, as if the pleasure Dick gets from it is less *important* somehow --

No, not that, not --

The satisfaction in Babs' eyes as she pulls up and off --

The *hunger* in Roy's eyes --

The happiness in Clark's --

Donna, with that *quirk* of an expression that's all about the fact that, once again, males are failing to taste quite the way they should --

Please, *please*, and Dick isn't sure if that was out loud or not, but Tim is speeding up again, stroking him as he goes, as he takes, as he *gives* --

"Love you. Just -- you have to -- God, you have to *know* that," and when Dick looks down, Tim is looking *up*, staring into him while he --

God, that's *brutally* fast, but it feels so good, so --

"Too good. Too. Tim, do you -- I need you --"

Tim closes his eyes and pauses to just suck on the head *hard* --

"*Oh* -- fuck, who *taught* you --"

Tim shakes his head and licks him over and over, taking all the pre-come Dick is leaking and moaning again --

*Again* --

So --

"Come. I'm going to -- oh, please, Timmy --" Dick grunts and cuts himself *off*. Timmy isn't here. Timmy has never *been* here, except in those moments when Tim has been so sweet and shy that Dick couldn't have molested him even if he *had* been this hard --

Couldn't have had *this* --

"*Tim*," he says, and Tim nods for him, starts going down again, starts fucking his *face* on him, and he can't --

He *cups* Tim's face --

"You don't. You don't have to move your hand. Just --"

And the thrust feels like everything he's wanted, like everything he *needs* --

Tim groans and shifts, letting go of Dick's hip and bringing his hand down --

Rings. Fuck, *rings*, and Dick can't *see* that well enough, can't --

Does he play with them when he's not thinking? That *casual* tug -- has *Bruce* seen him doing that? Has he wanted --

He can't *think* about that, and -- God, his eyes are squeezed shut, and that doesn't do *either* of them any good, doesn't --

Oh, but he can't stop thrusting now, can't keep himself from *taking*, one shove after another into heat, the *pressure* of that suck as Tim's cheeks hollow, swell with the push of his dick --

Dick growls -- "Get *hard* for this, little brother, get yourself --"

*Loud* hum, vibrating *into* him --

"Get -- get *ready* --"

Another nod, faster and shakier --

"Want -- want you to move. Your *hand* -- wait, *don't* --"

Only it's gone, and Dick's hips aren't *listening* to him, aren't --

Oh --

In --

*In* --

But it doesn't last before Tim is coughing, *gagging*, rearing back and off --

And there's something about the way he turns his head to gasp and cough more, about the way that even now he covers his *mouth* --

Tim --

And Dick catches himself *yanking* at Tim's hair, and there's so much he wants to say, that he doesn't have to take much, that it can be gentle, that --

They're all *lies*, and knowing that is going to kill him, but not until after he takes this sweetness again, this perfect little mouth wrapped around him even as Tim sucks air through his nose, even as he shakes --

*Pressure* --

And there's nothing he can see or feel that isn't Tim --

And then there's *nothing*, because the orgasm is making him buck and shudder, making him *yell* because it's his little brother, because he's being taken and swallowed --

Oh --

Yes --

The best he can say for himself is that he manages to let *go* of Tim's hair before staggering back, before -- all right, catching himself on the kitchen table, good deal, good --

Tim's coughing again, but he's standing, moving, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and coming for him so sure and steady that they might as well be *sparring* --

And maybe that's why he's throwing Tim *onto* the table, spreading his legs and bending over, leaning in -- "You smell like my *come* --"

"I -- probably taste like it, too. Just as an aside," Tim says, *laughing* --

"Jesus, this -- is *serious*. You, little brother --"

"Me. Big brother. Ah -- kiss me?"

Yes, that he can do, and he can do it with as much of his body as possible -- and possible is one of those words that always means a lot more than the average person *thinks*. Dick gets his legs into it, his hands, his arms, his torso --

*Rings*, cool and *hard* against his chest, and Dick can't *focus* on the taste of himself in Tim's mouth, Timmy's mouth, oh, smile for me, live for me, *be* for me --

Dick yanks himself back and gives *in*, sucking nipple and ring into his mouth, slipping his tongue into the ring and trying to pull as hard as he can --


Is that a yes? A no? It would help if he could stop to *ask* --

He *should* stop to ask --

Except that it's better in ways Dick can't bring himself to *think* about to just keep tugging, keep *sucking*, scrape his teeth and *grip* that ring, taste stainless steel and *grunt* --

No, that's Tim, and those are his hands in Dick's hair, that sound is gasping, whining -- wait.

Dick pulls back -- "Were you this sensitive before?"

"N-no. Not -- please, Dick --"

*Please*, and Tim is kind of curled up on himself, legs dangling over the table --

They're doing this on the *table* --

"What do you *like*?"

"*That*. I --" Tim's laugh is breathy, brief -- "Suck. Again, please --"

And it probably shouldn't feel like permission for *everything*, but it does, it --

Dick bites again, catching the tip of the nipple -- is it permanently hard? *Just* the tip, and this time he tries to take more in and -- gently -- grind the flesh against the metal --

And the sound Tim makes is high and sharp, *young* enough to make Dick's dick twitch, and when he reaches, when he *cups* --

Tim is hard for him, just *right*. Dick moves to the other nipple and sucks, sharp little pulses like he'd give Babs when he wanted her to scratch at his scalp and growl --

And Tim is petting his face, his shoulders, the back of his head and then back to his cheeks. Restless hands, damp with sweat but still so *hard* --

Thumping noise, and when he looks, Tim is banging his head against the table, and honestly, it seems like an excellent *idea*. *He* can't trust the things that pop up in his mind to be sane --

Safe? Consensual? Dick pulls off, meaning to say something else, *ask* something else, but Tim is petting Dick's *mouth*, touching and pressing --

Dick sucks two of Tim's fingers *deep*, and Tim's dick twitches against his abdomen --

Oh, *yes* --

("Fuck, 'mano, don't -- don't *tease* me --")

Please --

"*Dick* --"

("You. You can call me that. I. I never had a. Brother. Um --")

Dick groans and kisses his way down Tim's chest --

("Well, I don't know, Big Bird. What *do* you wanna do to me?")

Watch you look at my little brother and *try* not to do this, you pervert -- God, I hope you're still a pervert on the *inside* --

And the first taste is everything, so *sweet*, so clean and right --

"*Please*, Dick, I -- oh, God, harder, *harder* --" Tim *yells* for him, beats at the table with his fists, *kicks* -- just once, but *still*, and that means he should keep doing this, keep sucking his little brother's dick, keep tasting him and fucking his own mouth on it, *show* him --

And shudder for Tim's scream when Dick swallows him *deep*, but --

He reaches up, *strokes* up -- and finds Tim's hands already working his nipples, working the *rings*, and he *wants* to growl --

He does, and Tim *bucks* up into his mouth, fucks Dick's throat a little, and possibly that should be enough of a distraction, but it *isn't*. He pulls off --

"Oh, no -- *fuck* --"

"*Let* me, little brother --"

Tim pants, stares --

"*Please*, I -- I have to touch. I have to feel you, feel your -- your *rings* --"

And Tim's hands are flat on the table just like that, splayed and *forced* down by the look of the tension in his arms --

"Oh..." Dick smiles and pushes his index fingers into the rings -- "Tell me to pull. Tell me --"

"Play with them, pull. Twist. *Pull*," Tim says, and he's almost *glaring* --

"God, I want more *hands* --"

"Dick, *do* it --"

"You --" Oh. Oh -- fucking *hell*, he can't say -- he has to -- "One day, little brother, you're going to tell me to *fuck* you in just that tone of voice, and I --" Dick shakes his head --

"Fuck me."

"What -- no, not --"

Tim gives him that *other* smile, the speculative one. "You weren't serious."

"I *was*. I mean -- my *dick* was. My *brain* is still functioning -- to a certain extent -- is it wrong that I want the *footage* of you piercing yourself?" And he really should focus on one thing, just one --

Tim laughs, low and breathy and *sexual* --

Dick *pulls*, because he can't not, because that was too steady --

Tim throws his head back --

Tim scoots himself back on the table until he can plant his feet and arch, curl his toes around the edge --

Dick is pulling so *hard* --

Tim is panting-laughing-*moaning* --

"Jesus, *you* --" Dick lets go and pushes Tim's legs further apart and thinks -- tries to think -- "*Look* at you --"

"Not -- at the moment. Ah -- Dick --"

Dick watches his little brother's *hole* clench, and that *is* his dick twitching, and the question is --

What is he going to do about it?

("You have a tongue like my *brother* --")

And Kory had laughed for the sound Dick had made, laughed and *writhed* all over the bed, rucking up the rough towels she'd liked more than sheets --


"Do you --"

"Go with 'yes,'" Tim says, and when Dick manages to look up there's a hectic, flashing light in Tim's eyes that matches that rock-hard dick *well* --

Dick moans, and he doesn't know if it's for the light or for the *feel*. Just -- his thumb pressed against Tim's *hole*, flesh puckered in a completely different way from those nipples --

Dick moans *again*, *going* for Tim's nipple -- the ring clacks against his teeth --

Tim's hands are buried in his hair, petting and stroking and pulling --

He's pulling with his teeth and *pushing* with his thumb -- *in* --

Tim cries *out*, shoves himself back against Dick's hand, and Dick bites, sucks, *fucks* --

*Twists* --

"Oh -- oh, *God*, Dick --"

"*Yes*," he says, and pulling off feels like pain, feels like denial and *loss* -- "Tell me you *want* this --"

And Tim's moan takes too much time, goes on and *on* until Dick is *forced* to wonder what he'll do if Tim says *no*, if he wants Dick to pull out --

"I'll make it good for you, little brother. I'll --"

"I *know*, I -- please, just -- do what you want," Tim says, arching up and starting to rock, to *fuck* himself on Dick's thumb --

"*Hell*, Tim -- tell me more, tell me your -- do you have fantasies --"

"*Yes*, Dick, I --" Tim shakes his head, closes his eyes --

"Tell me, tell me while I'm fucking you, let me *hear* --"

"You -- I -- it's you, Dick, and we're in the Cave. I --" The flush on Tim's face gets deeper -- it's a blush, and there's probably something wrong with the impulse to *twist* his thumb for that, to fuck Tim faster --

"*More* --"

"Sparring. Sparring, and you pin me, lick my jaw, bite my. My throat -- oh, *fuck*, Dick --"

*Curse* for me, little brother, only he'd have to stop biting Tim to get that out, and that's not going to *happen* --

Cold, *slick* metal against his chest and salt on his tongue. Tim was already sweating for him, maybe started while he was sucking Dick *off* --

Dick pulls back and bites the other side of Tim's throat, presses down as much as he can while still working his thumb -- lube.

Lube means *more* --

"Don't *move*," Dick says, pushing up to his feet and pulling out as carefully as he can manage --

Tim grunts and *shakes* --

Dick gives his dick a squeeze, a stroke that turns into three, seven --

Tim -- the sound is almost a *wail* --

"Oh, little brother -- don't *move*," and -- kitchen, not bedroom. *Kitchen*, and Dick loses a few seconds being stuck on the sight of Tim on his table, the way he's *clawing* at the finish --

Bedroom. Bedroom?

*Cabinet*, and it's possible that he's laughing a little hysterically when he dumps olive oil all over his hand, but when Tim opens his eyes again --

So dazed and *unfocused* --

"I've got you," Dick says, and thinks about Babs growling at him, Roy punching the bed over and *over* --

Kory's eyes *glowing* --

And now it's Tim, silent save for the gasps, still and *tense* for the push of Dick's fingers, but two go in easily, and who?

*Who*, and is it the same person those rings are *for*? Who does he have to -- not kill. Not that. Just --

"Is it --"

"Good. So -- oh, Dick, please fuck me, please *fuck* me --"

Soap and sweat and the faintly fruity smell of the only olive oil Alfred will let him *use*, and the man had actually taken the inferior brands *away*, but using it for *this* -- "Don't -- don't tell *Alfred* --"

Tim *snorts* -- and then curls up on himself and shouts --

"Like this, like --"

"*Please* -- "

"God, you're *beautiful* like this, little brother, so *good*, and I -- there's nothing I don't want to do with you. You -- you know that, right? You can *feel* it --"

"Feel *you*, always wanted --" Tim shakes his head and slams himself back down to the table -- and lifts one leg onto Dick's *shoulder*, which.

Oh, yes. Oh -- yes. "*You* -- are exactly what I needed," Dick says, laughing a little and crooking his fingers again --

"*Dick* --"

"I didn't *know* it, but -- god *damn*, little brother, I. I have to admit that I'm not thinking very deeply right now --"

Another laugh -- "*Don't*. Focus. On -- ah. Body-language. Body *memory* --"

"My body *doesn't* remember you, in case you'd *forgotten*," and Dick gives it to Tim just a little *faster* --

"Ah -- ah -- oh *please*, please don't stop, Dick, I --"

"Do what I want, yeah, so long as it's more? That's the way it's working right now?"

Tim slams his head against the table again, bites his lip --

That. That is so -- Dick bites his own lip and tries not to *notice* that he's opening Tim right up, that Tim can *take* --

*He* can take, and a part of his mind -- a part of his *self* -- is already buried *in* his little brother, little Timmy --

"Tell me -- tell me *again* --"

"*Fuck* me --"

"Yes. Yeah. I -- anything you want, anything *I* want -- God, right *here*, and you -- oh, you've been holding *out* on me, Tim. You can't *do* that --"

"Sorry -- I'm. Please, Dick, I want -- let me come with you inside me, let me --"

Dick groans and *grabs* himself with his free hand, because he *can't* stop fucking yet, can't pull his fingers out of that hot little hole. Pain, and -- he's biting his own lip too hard, but so is *Tim*, and.

*Fuck* --

He groans again and slicks himself, *knowing* that the next time he eats pasta he's going to be thinking about --

Wanting --

*Needing*, and Tim is panting now, trying to even out his breathing for him, trying --

"Try *harder*, Tim -- I. Breathe, I mean --"

Tim nods and closes his eyes *very* deliberately -- Dick would probably have to do the same damned *thing*, because Tim is flushed, sweating --

Shiny-slick all around his hole, up and down his cleft --

And there's no reason at *all* not to tease him with the head of his dick, tease them *both* --

"You feel *so* good, Tim, you're making me crazy, making me --" Dick laughs and moans. "I feel *your* age, *younger* --"

"*Please*," and Tim brings his other leg up, and --

"God, *yes* --" And he thinks he might be shorting out a little, might --

So hot so *tight* --

How long has it been? He --

Should he have been thinking about that before? Maybe -- some *control*, something that would let him *not* just shove the rest of the way in when Tim makes that sound, that crooning *yell* --

"*Tim* --"

"I'm. All right. I -- Dick, it's all right --"

And he's nodding like -- like a *bobblehead*, and his hands are slipping and sliding on Tim's slim little hips --

Little *brother*, and he has to think, has to catch *up* with himself --

Has to --

"Deep. Dick. Do -- do it, please do it, please don't make me *wait* --"

Little brother *begging* for it, from *him*, and that's probably. He. He moves Tim's legs to *one* shoulder so he can stroke, feel, *watch* --

Wide eyes and red mouth, swollen *mouth* --

"God, I'm *using* you --"

Tim gasps out a laugh and wraps a hand around his dick, squeezes -- "Then. You should -- thoroughly. Vigorously. Oh my *God*, you --"

"Those *rings* --"

"So you *do* like them --"

Dick thrusts, just once --

Tim shouts --

Dick can't *stop*, and it was supposed to be slow and careful, wasn't it? Supposed to be --

What would Bruce *say* if he saw this? If he saw Dick taking. Taking his *Robin* --

"Tim, you can't -- what you're doing to me --"

One shout after another, and Tim crosses his *ankles*, strokes himself in the same rhythm Dick's using -- no, faster, he --

He shouldn't be going *faster*, but he is, and the feel -- so perfect around his dick, always so --

Somehow he always *forgets* anal, too caught up in sense-memories of pussy, wet and slick and soft --

There's nothing soft about this, never anything *soft* -- except --

"*Dick* --"

"*Yes*, Tim, God yes, I won't -- won't stop. I *can't* stop --"

Banging his head on the table *again*, clutching at the sides, lean muscle standing out in stark relief, body perfect --

*Rings*, and he can --

Wordless shout, noise, *good* noise for every tug on Tim's rings, every --

Dick wants to see Tim doing this to *himself*, but he doesn't think he can let go, *let* Tim --

"Stroke yourself *faster* --"

Tim nods and whimpers, squeezes himself hard and loses the rhythm -- but Dick can give it to him, *has* to give it to him, because anything else would be --

"Little *brother*, I -- I've got you, I love you, so good, so *good* --"

Tim makes a strangled noise and shudders once, all over --

"Don't come yet, don't -- I need *more* --"

More nods, and Tim lets go of himself and squeezes his *sac*, tugging on it a little and moaning long and low, loud and *beautiful*, yes, that --

"Beautiful, so beautiful, anyone would -- I can't, I don't know -- I'm sorry, Tim, I'm so sorry --"

"For -- for *what*?"

"Not giving you this, giving *us* this -- oh, yeah, *squeeze* me, make me -- make me *work* for it --"

"Burns -- Dick, I -- please, just like that --"

"Not *this*?" And the angle shift -- he knows it in his bones, from *every* time he's done this --

Tim wails and beats at the table with his palms, switches to his fists --

"Like. Like *Roy* --"

"I can -- shoot? Something? Dick, *please* --"

"Yeah, yes, just you, just -- oh God, this should be *illegal*," and Dick starts twisting the rings in opposite directions, back and forth --

And now Tim is coughing out little grunts, short and breathy and suggestive, seductive, sanity-deflating -- one of those or possibly all of them. He's *fucking* those noises out of Tim, who has to go back home to the manor in not very many hours at all, has to sit down with Bruce and look him in the eye --

And Dick wants to cover Tim in bruises and bite marks, wants to make it *worth* all the pain and trouble and shame -- would.

"I -- Tim. Shame?"

"Nngh -- ah. For *this*?"

"Maybe, maybe not, just checking, oh God, I want to do this all *night*," and Dick can't keep himself from throwing his head back, can't keep himself from giving it to Tim *harder* --

"Dick, *yes* -- oh fuck, ah -- don't *remove* my nipples. Please --"

"God, sorry --"

Tim laughs, gasps, laughs again and *shouts* for him, or possibly for what Dick is doing with his fingers, which can't possibly *be* soothing --

There are *rings* in there --

How did Tim think he could *come* here with those and not have --

This --

Oh, like this, like --

Tim is groaning through his teeth, clenching up tight everywhere until it feels like Dick is *forcing* his way in, fucking his way past every reasonable defense, every rational pause --

Flushed so dark, darker for his dick, slick and leaking steadily, twitching in that hard little hand --

Tim --

*Tim* --

And Dick feels *himself* twitch when Tim comes, spattering his own throat, his chin --

"Gorgeous, little -- little brother. Oh, God, I. Tell me you can *take* it --"

And that was nothing but *noise*, but -- Tim is nodding, reaching to *spread* himself and pulling his knees back to his chest --

"Oh, Jesus -- yes. That. I --"

Dick lets go of Tim's nipples and gets a hold on Tim's legs instead, forcing them down to Tim's chest with his own weight, his own *push* --

"Love you, little -- Tim --"

"Love -- love. I -- Dick, *come* --"

Dick groans and shudders, groans and *fucks*, and who could have done this before? Who could've gotten past all of Robin's walls to *have* this? Superboy? Kid Flash?

Who would've done this that Tim *wouldn't* tell him? It -- it's taking him *out* of this a little, and he can feel himself frowning, needing more than he's *getting* --

And the only way to deal with that, the only way to shut his mind *up* --

"You, want --" Dick shakes his head and folds Tim up on himself, *takes* the kiss and the sharp little noises for himself, hot little noises --

Pained little noises? He --

He *tries* to dial himself back a little, tries to --

"*No*, Dick --"

"Sorry, God, little brother, sorry, need you so much --"

And Dick kisses him again, makes it hard, *fucks* that mouth and feels himself starting to lose it a little --

A *lot* --

He can't keep the rhythm and he can't make himself *care* because Tim's *sucking* his tongue, cupping Dick's face with his sticky hand --

Dick pulls away and sucks those fingers *in*, humming and shuddering again --

He can't stop --

Tim can't stop *shouting*, and maybe Dick should care about his neighbors, maybe *he* should feel shame or --

No, just love, just this perfect love holding him, gripping him with those thighs, tugging Dick's hair --

Love should always sound just like --

Feel --

He's yelling, he's coming --

He's thrusting like it's the only thing his body knows how to do, pumping over and over and biting those fingers, sucking and groaning --

Everything's so *bright* --

And Tim is -- trying to pull him down, trying --

Dick pulls Tim's fingers out of his mouth and makes this kiss a little better, messy and wet as Tim must feel inside --

He just came inside his little *brother* --

*Again*, and --

Tim is clutching at him a little, which is both incredibly gratifying and a little *worrying* -- make the kiss a little less, or. More gentle, a little slower, give Tim time to get himself under control --

Tim shudders and moans right into his mouth --

Dick *twitches* and gets another moan, the seriously mournful sensation of himself starting to slip out -- no, he's not a teenager anymore. He's going to need at least a few minutes and maybe also --

No, he's got all the motivation he *needs*, and so when he *does* slip out all the way, he stands and hauls Tim to his feet, holding on when their legs start demanding to know what they're *doing* --

"We shouldn't let the pizza dry out," Tim says, quiet and serious as the *grave*.

"Hey, what -- where's the happy? There was happy --"

"And you want to know where it is. I --" Tim smiles ruefully and shakes his head. "Give me -- I think I might be a little on the shocky side, Dick."

Dick frowns and pets Tim's hair into place a little, cups his face and kisses him once, twice --

Kisses him *deeply*, because Tim *flicks* his tongue against Dick's lip, and also maybe he's wanted to --

Dick pulls back, because -- "I've wanted to know how you kissed since the first time I saw Steph with a swollen mouth."

"Um. I... hope I've given a good showing?" And Tim's expression is *quirked*, which --

Is actually the best Dick could *hope* for, because *damn*. "I -- sorry. I'm sorry --"

"No, don't," Tim says, and his smile is a quiet one, and -- there's a pause, distinct enough that Dick can feel the pound of his own heart, smell olive oil and baking mozzarella cheese --

Tim kisses him softly, sucking Dick's lower lip and not *quite* closing his eyes --

They narrow in another smile when Dick returns the favor, the kiss, the suck --

"I *like* the way you kiss, little brother. I --" Dick pulls back, turns off the oven, and starts walking Tim backwards until they're in Dick's bedroom and Dick can push -- not shove --

Tim settles in on Dick's bed just like they'd fucked like animals *and* he's ready for cuddle, quiet smile back maybe for the long haul -- "Dick. That was..." Tim shakes his head.

"You *had* to know what those rings would do to my mind. Just -- you had to."

Tim raises an eyebrow and blows out a breath. "I had... hopes."

"Hopes? Not -- look, you've *seen* Roy --"

"*Not* naked. He's... pierced?"

"A *lot*," Dick says, and crawls onto the bed and keeps crawling until he's crushing Tim a little --


"'Hmm?' What's that hmm? Is it a good hmm?"

"It's -- I never really expected to make you think of *Roy*. I'm not sure who I *did* expect you to think of, but -- ah, they're a little sore now, Dick --"

"Sorry," Dick says, and settles for stroking Tim's nipple, instead, and --

All right, maybe a little licking. He -- he has to get used to the *taste*, the unique combination of flavors that makes up his little brother and his little brother's *metal* --

And Tim starts petting the back of Dick's head, which is almost exactly right. Tim should have *skin*, so Dick reaches up and back and moves Tim's hand lower --

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry," and there's a laugh in Tim's voice.

"I really -- really love you. And I'm glad we made love. And I want to do it again."

"I'm -- on board with all of the above, Dick --"

"Who. Who was it? I mean, you don't have to tell me --" Dick shifts up onto his knees and *grips* Tim's shoulders, holding them down against the bed --

"Um. Who? Who what?"

"You *don't* have to tell me, though it worries me that you think you can't, or -- whatever you're thinking. I just want to know, *badly*, who got to play with you *first* --"

"Oh. Ah. Oh," Tim says, and his eyes are hooded, distant --

"Please don't do that. I mean, you have to know I wouldn't judge you, or -- anything like that. Don't you?"

"There's nothing -- er. No one. You know how that olive oil you used was *extra* virgin...?"

"You. You what -- you --"

"Dick, ow, your hands --"

Squeezing too hard. After *fucking* too hard, because Tim is -- was -- "*Timmy* --"

"Still *no*, Dick --"

"You gave me -- I took --"

"We had sex, Dick. And that's -- I'm pretty sure that's okay," Tim says, frowning a little and stroking Dick's forearms. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But you didn't -- I just thought --"

"That the rings implied a certain amount of sexual experience. I -- to be honest, I suspected as much. I just wanted a chance to make my body look different on my own *terms*. The sexual benefits were... something of a surprise," and Tim squeezes Dick's arms and drops his hands. "Skin time?"

"But --"

"Please, I -- don't... freak out. That would be uncomfortable. Deeply."

Well, *yes*, but -- there are *other* uncomfortable things that are related to depth --

God, on the kitchen *table* --

But if he loses it right now... right after Tim's first *time* --

Dick hears himself making a noise that's kind of terrible, but something about letting it out *also* lets him drop back down to the bed and hold on, hold on *tight* -- "My little brother, my -- you're always so good, and maybe a little *too* good, and also *manipulative* --"

"Pot and *kettle* -- all right, I'm not arguing --"

"*Good*, I --" Dick kisses Tim's temple, his cheek and his ear -- "I'm only freaking out because I love you, and because if I'd known you wanted --"

"It wouldn't have been like that. Yes?"

"*Yes* --"

"Then no, you're still not allowed to freak out," Tim says, shifting and wriggling and struggling -- oh, he's only trying to *hold* him, and that's --

"God, Tim, *yes* --"

"I'm glad -- I'm glad," and Tim wraps his arms around Dick and squeezes. And pets. "Skin time."

"Yes, and -- especially with your dick kind of pressed to my thigh like that. You feel so soft and vulnerable --"

Tim snorts. "You probably shouldn't make me want to try to get Viagra for myself, Dick."

"I -- *you're* not the old man in this bed --"

"I'm barely Robin-aged, anymore. Soon I'll have to have enough sex with Clark that he gives me a new name."

Dick *chokes* --

Tim smiles at him. "That's better, I think...?"

Dick knocks his forehead against Tim's own a few times. "Yes. Yes, it's better. But he really is *fantastic* --"

"You also shouldn't be making me feel inadequate. Big brother."

That -- all right, fine. Dick shifts enough to scrape his teeth over Tim's cheek. "Spoon?"

"We can spoon, yes."

"Quickie in the morning?"

Tim smiles. "Or... not quite so quick?"

The yawn blindsides him and makes him need to shake himself all over -- and against the incredibly sexy little brother who is currently showing his *teeth* --

Real boy. *Excellent* deal, if he does say so himself.

"Pizza for breakfast," Dick says, and folds and moves and presses and pushes and pulls until Tim's in *just* the right position for Dick to breathe against the back of his neck --

"Like this...?"

-- and Dick can feel those rings with his fingertips. "*Just* like this. Sleep."

"I -- I really do. Love you," Tim says, and it sounds like a lot more than just usual...

It sounds like a new and kind of *special* usual, actually. Dick smiles, making sure Tim can feel it against the back of his neck --

Tim shivers --

"I love you, too," Dick says, and resists the urge to hook a finger through the nearest ring.