The Pause That Refreshes
by Te
January 22, 2009

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Various vague spoilers for -- mostly -- older storylines. Takes place in a nebulous 'now.'

Summary: In which Bruce is mostly cheerful, Tim is mostly cranky, Clark is mostly helpfully unhelpful, and Dick shows up to be himself. Mostly.

Alternate Summary: Celibacy Cat hates Teland.

Ratings Note/Warnings/Author's Note: Sexual content. I needed something light after "Built the same," and so ruthlessly wrote, rewrote, and rewrote some more until I could get it. I don't think I've worked this hard to get the characters in the general vicinity of where I wanted them to be since... ever. For some of you, that just might be an additional warning.

Acknowledgments: With much love and affection for Pixie, Mildred, and Jack, all of whom helped immensely to get this story where it needed to be. Pixie, especially, bore the brunt of my rages and neurosis as I attempted to horsewhip fictives into behaving. Jack found me the title -- which is a Coke ad slogan from 1929. :D


"I'd like to speak to you about our relationship," Bruce says, then takes a sip of coffee as if that statement made any sense whatsoever. Which...

It's Bruce, and so it's probable that there *was* sense in the statement -- just of the sort which must be teased out from the individual words and weighed against everything that had come before.

Where 'everything' was considered to be a matter of every conversation -- spoken and not -- they've had for the past four years.

Tim starts small, going over the past ten minutes of breakfast. They'd discussed the fourth car and its problems with fluid intake which the two of them will be working on later this week.

They'd thanked Alfred for his excellent work on the crepes.

They'd bid each other good morning, so... no. There's absolutely nothing there which could provide a context for the statement.

Tim moves back in his mind --


"A moment, please," Tim says, and goes over last night's patrol. They'd spent much of it together so that Bruce could work with him on his intimidation techniques --

Tim takes a moment to pray for an entirely improbable late growth spurt --

Tim thinks, but there had truly been nothing untoward, no moments of mistrust or poor timing --

Bruce hums.

Tim holds up a finger --

"It was, in fact, a non sequitur."

Tim gives Bruce a somewhat narrow look.

Bruce laughs, aloud for a moment and silently behind his eyes for rather longer than that. "It was... mostly a non-sequitur. We haven't had this conversation even... silently."

And --

All right, it's *not* a surprise that Bruce would know that Tim would search for things just like that.

But. Tim raises an eyebrow.

"You might consider allowing me to explain myself."

Tim narrows his eyes -- slightly -- more.

Bruce dabs at his mouth with his napkin before setting it in his lap once more. "It could very well be a brief conversation."

Tim looks at his plate. He has one quarter of a crepe remaining. The sweetened ricotta has the texture of thickened cream, and the raspberries used in the syrup were fresh. All the same, his appetite is in the process of fleeing for the hills.

There is no sound, and Tim can't see Bruce's face at the moment.

Tim knows he's still laughing.


Tim sighs internally and pushes his plate away. "Do go on."

"Mm. We're sexually attracted to each other."

Tim doesn't -- quite -- have a headache. It's more of a question of potential.

"I would like, very much, for the two of us to act on that attraction."

A brief throb in his left frontal lobe. Nothing too serious. "I see."

The light behind Bruce's eyes is horrifyingly merry. "I believe I require a rather more committal statement, Tim."



Tim nods once. "Then... no. Thank you."

Bruce takes another sip of coffee. There is no smacking of lips and nothing resembling a sigh, but the air of *relish* is, nevertheless, unmistakable. "I thought you might respond in that way, and so I've prepared a number of thoughts which could -- I hope -- change your mind."

Tim narrows his eyes once more. "Have you."

Bruce... smiles.

While this is something which occurs from time to time, there's a quality to this smile which is making Tim's mind *want* to throb. There's something *about* the crinkles at the corners of Bruce's eyes, the sunny narrowing, the sense that Bruce could lean in at *any* moment -- Tim pushes his chair back and stands. "I'm going for a run on the grounds --"


"Bruce. The answer is no."

"You won't give me the chance to present my case?"

One throb.


Not quite a third. "Look at it from my perspective, Bruce --"

"I have," and Bruce's tone... promises.

Enough that Tim can feel his cheeks and the back of his neck heating. Still -- "There is nothing you can say which could be anything but traumatic, given the relationship we have built between us to date."

Bruce leans back in his chair and crosses his -- long and powerful -- legs. "You don't always eschew the traumatic."

"In terms of my romantic life --"

"Romance," Bruce says, and tugs the leg of his shorts out straight, "need not play very much of a role."

Tim -- blinks. Rapidly.


And then he takes a deep, cleansing breath. "You're not serious."

Bruce smiles again. "Not even remotely... my love."

Tim considers and rejects squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn't want to let Bruce out of his sight for even a moment. He grits his teeth, instead. Briefly. "While I do appreciate nearly any and all efforts you make to develop a functional sense of humor --"

"You're welcome."

"You." Tim blinks and shakes his head sharply. Once. "Bruce."


Tim opens his mouth.

He closes it.

He opens it again. "Bruce," he says, and congratulates himself for the firmness of his tone, "I find myself distinctly unsure about whether or not you've considered the consequences --"

"I have."

"-- of this *conversation*."

Another smile. "At the very least, you'll be considering the matter deeply. While I desire far more than that..." Bruce looks him *over* --

"*Bruce* --"

"I am more than willing to settle for being in your thoughts for the time being."

The image in Tim's mind is of *that* toy. The black one he'd purchased because it had a certain familiar curve to it --

"For instance," Bruce says, and rests one large hand on his knee. "In this moment, you are considering *something* sexual -- that much is clear by the shuttered relative darkness of your eyes -- and I can't help but be sure that I am *near* the center of those thoughts."

Tim grits his teeth -- stops. "Be that as it may --"

"I'd like to know," and Bruce's voice is low and *insinuating*. "I'd like to know very much." He looks down --

And that's when Tim realizes that he's tapping the fingers of his left hand on his thigh.

*Bruce* narrows his eyes. "Tim."

"Excuse me," Tim says, and walks *briskly* out of the dining room. He picks up speed until he's sprinting his way out into the day.


By the time he gets back to the Cave, he's sweaty and prepared for just about anything.

If Bruce tries to pick up *those* particular conversational threads, Tim will simply throw himself into his training. If he tries anything else --

Of *course* he wouldn't try anything else --

And he doesn't.

Bruce works on the weights while Tim practices a pommel-horse routine he'd picked up the last time Dick had visited, then shadow-fights on the beam, then works his katas.

When it's time for patrol, Tim suits up in relief -- he'd made himself clear, and Bruce isn't unreasonable.

He's definitely not disappointed --

And he definitely doesn't trip and fall on his face when Bruce gives him a *burning* look in the seconds before he pulls the cowl down over his face.

The blush is itself.

The twitch behind his *jock* is itself --

They leave for patrol.



He takes out the toy when he gets home.

He showers extensively, splashing water on the one camera he knows about.

He disables the cameras in his bedroom and hefts the toy in his hand, losing himself to sense memory and anticipation. The toy --

The toy always leaves him feeling *distinctly* reamed, and, really, that's what it's *for*.

He holds it until his face and neck seem to burn as much as that *look* --

That --

That *look* --

He puts the toy away and enables the cameras once more.

Sleep comes surprisingly quickly, and Tim's last coherent thoughts are grateful.


Breakfast, today, consists of omelets prepared with spinach and imported ham, and Tim is incapable of focusing on how they taste..

There are *moments* of savory pleasure here, distinctly tangy happiness *there* --

Throughout, Tim is waiting for his meal to be interrupted, and he doesn't dare look at Bruce until he's finished save for his own coffee.

He looks.

Bruce is staring at his throat.

Tim resists the urge to swallow for as long as he *can* --

Tim swallows, and Bruce takes a slow, deep breath before meeting his eyes. "When I'm fully erect --"

"Oh -- *God* --"

"-- the curve of my penis is more pronounced than that of your... toy," Bruce says, and his tone is matter-of-fact and calm.

Tim stops his hand from shaking by sheer force of will, and *then* puts his mug down. "That was -- entirely inappropriate, and --"

"It seems terribly strange that you've had no reason to know that, as if it's a fact no more notable than the length of the scars on the left side of my abdomen, or the sharpness of your chin," and Bruce reaches to take Tim's hand in his own --

Tim snatches it *back* --

Bruce nods once, closing his eyes for a moment --

And when he opens them, the burn is back, the *heat* --

"Tim. While I've watched you pleasure yourself in the past, I promise not to do so again unless and until you tell me I may. There's no need to compromise security."

The urge to *claw* at his cheeks -- passes. "I -- noted. Bruce, this -- you shouldn't do this."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Love you?"

"That's not -- all right. You feel the need to attempt to seduce me. Let's work out *why* --"

"Because I long for your touch."

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, but *why*?"

Bruce smiles and sips from his own mug. "Is it truly so strange? Do you take that much satisfaction from your... accessories?"

"I take -- enough," Tim says, and stands. "Just as I take enough satisfaction from our relationship as it stands --"

"We could have more."

"*Less*. Less, because --" Tim stops and breathes, thinks -- "We would constantly be second-guessing each other, wondering if the choices we made were for the good of the Mission or if they were out of jealousy, resentment, *lust* --"

"Leaving our attraction unspoken will not make it cease to exist, Tim."

Meaning that. That -- "You've already begun making questionable decisions. That's what you're telling me."

Bruce spreads his hands --

"That's one of *Matches'* gestures -- I."

"Matches never tries to repress his sexuality."

Tim feels his expression *curdle*. "You're saying that Matches' sexuality is your own."

"To a certain extent... baby boy."

Tim holds up his hands and pushes. "All right. Fine. Moving on --"

"Were you thinking of Dick the first night you penetrated yourself with your fingers? Your flexibility had not been quite enough to manage it before."

Tim -- stares at Bruce. Licking his lips in panic would send a *problematic* message, as would, perhaps, simply letting his jaw drop. "You're bringing *Dick* into this?"

Bruce smiles and rests his hand close to Tim's plate. "A part of me doubts that you would refuse him this..."

Tim feels himself blushing *harder* --

"But there is the rest. You've raised functional celibacy to an art form over the years, Tim. I believe that you *would* refuse him -- at least at first -- and so I am forced to imagine what *he* might do to convince you to let him taste you."

Taste. He wants to -- Tim shakes his head. "No one is forcing you to do anything, Bruce --"

"Tim. I *ache*."

Tim -- doesn't quite manage to keep himself from jerking for that, and that's. Too much. He stands, pushes his chair in, and leaves the room.

He doesn't actually know where he's *going* --



He isn't due for another run until *tomorrow* --

Tim turns around and heads to the study, and from there to the Cave.

Bruce is at the console when Tim gets downstairs --

The weights. He's due for the weights.

That's what he does.


On patrol, an incredibly inebriated woman attempts to brain Tim with her duffel-sized purse, and then attempts to kiss him.

Later, three different prostitutes offer him 'freebies.'

Later than that, two drug dealers offer highly sexualized threats in return for their obligatory beatings.

None of these things are especially strange for a Gotham patrol, but having them all happen in one night leaves Tim feeling... anxious.

Possibly 'jumpy' would be a better word.

He patrols until he feels something like secure in his own skin.

And then for another hour after that.


In his bedside table, there is a new toy next to the black one. This one is grey, and far.

Far more curved.

It would stimulate his prostate with hardly any effort at all.

It would make him feel taken.


Bruce said he wouldn't be *watching*, and he needs --

He wants --

Tim replaces the toys in the drawer, closes it, and takes a second shower, masturbating furiously and nearly falling when the orgasm makes his whole body spasm.

He'd had no time to firm a fantasy within his mind, and for that he is grateful.


Bruce is wearing a suit this morning. It's not precisely casual, but the color -- an indigo so deep it nearly reaches purple -- is anything but formal.

Tim doesn't ask.

He eats --

He eats something, and drinks some sort of juice --

Coffee. He drinks coffee, and he doesn't ask, and he doesn't ask, and he doesn't --

"I wouldn't mind company this morning."

Tim clutches his fork -- relaxes. He wasn't really about to stab Bruce's hand. "Mm."

Bruce hums. "Brucie is going to be doing his level best to make the children of the major stockholders significantly less intelligent at the Natural History Museum."

Good... Lord. "You're leading a tour. Excuse me, *Brucie* is leading a tour."

"I heard they have some new *exhibits*, tiger. I sure hope there's one with a caveman riding a dinosaur, ha, ha, ha."

It's always a fascinating feeling to cringe *while* perking up inside. He has accepted the fact that Brucie can be... uniquely entertaining at times. Fascinating, even.

And it's not like Brucie's Brucie-ness will be aimed directly at *him*.

This time. Tim takes another sip of coffee and looks up. "I presume that I would be playing the heir apparent...?"

Bruce nods once, eyes focused and --

Very focused.

On *Tim's* eyes, but --

There is a part of him which only wants to point out -- strenuously -- that they could be focused... elsewhere. But they *aren't* right now, and that's the most important thing. "I suppose I could... tag along."

The light behind Bruce's eyes *flares*, and that's --

Well, frankly, that's a *warning* sign, but --

All Bruce does is nod once more. All right.

All right.

Tim isn't going to trust this to be a normalization of relations or anything like that, but a Bruce who is thinking about things other than (tasting) him is a Bruce Tim can work with.

And some of those children are going to be important to both Tim's future and the future of WE -- wait. Is he making excuses? Is that really what he's doing?

Tim frowns at his -- empty -- plate and thinks --


He *tries* to think, forcing the images in his mind to flicker past the new, grey toy again --

Over and *over* again --



"Is this just your latest attempt to seduce me?"

Bruce touches Tim's chin lightly, gently --

"I -- *Bruce* --"

And Bruce turns Tim's head until they're facing each other again. "Yes, it is."

Right. All right. "Then you should count me out --"

"Please. I mean only to entertain you."

Bruce wants to *taste* him -- Tim represses the shiver and raises an eyebrow. "There are many ways you can do that *without* seduction."

Bruce shows his teeth -- no, it's another smile, just wider and more intense than anything Bruce should ever show while he *isn't* wearing a cowl. Just --

"Oh -- what *now*?"

"It was all seduction."

"I -- what."

"It was all... seduction."

"Bruce. I. No."

"Every attempt to make you laugh. Every attempt to make you lose focus on whatever respectable, Mission-related task had your attention. Every one."

And that would be the parietal lobe... no. "I refuse."


"I refuse to believe that you've been attempting to seduce me for years. It's -- it's really very simple."

"Do you doubt my focus?"

Tim -- stops himself from grinding his teeth. "I'm not going to the museum with you."

"Tim --"

"No. Just -- no."



At the museum --

Well --

Tim Drake hasn't had the opportunity to air himself out in quite some time, and Alfred had already laid out clothes for him, and --

At the museum, Tim plays his part.

He mingles with the other adolescents and children. He works up small, shallow dossiers on the ones who choose to be social, and he quietly interrogates the ones who don't.

He flags the ones who seem to be building dossiers of their own, including a ten-year-old named Nyesha who asks him pointedly about the damage which will be done to the WE bottom line by their picking up the scraps of DI.

For Nyesha, he plays the role of the wide-eyed and *faintly* politically ignorant teenager and doesn't stray from it even a little while he has her laser-focused attention. He makes a note to tell Lucius about getting her into one of the Young Businessperson programs as early as humanly possible before LexCorp snaps her up. As for Bruce...

Brucie doesn't quite manage to knock the megatherium skeleton over, but he trips on it twice -- the second time while managing to evade the increasingly panicked security guard.

He also tells them all about 'Panjelly,' and how it broke apart due to the unbelievably thunderous flatulence of wooly mammoths.

Right now, he's nowhere to be seen -- another security guard has been dispatched to retrieve him from wherever he's wandered off to, and --

Tim has to admit that he's been having a good time.

He likes wearing the clothes of a fashionably unfashionable teenager.

He likes making his hair interesting and somewhat sharp.

He likes watching happy, normal, average people do happy, normal, average things -- like staring in poleaxed horror at Brucie Wayne.

He likes --

All right, he *doesn't* like being yanked into shadowy corners by the back of the neck, but it's entirely possible that Bruce has discovered some dastardly deed in the process of being committed --

"Let me kiss you."

Or not. "Bruce, you learned the word 'no' before you were a toddler --"

"At right around the same time, actually, but... you were smiling."

"I *was* having a good time," Tim says, straightening the collar of his shirt and working up a good glare --

"You're beautiful."

"You're certifiable."

"Almost certainly," Bruce says, turning Tim to face him fully and pressing the palm of his right hand flat to Tim's abdomen, fingers pointed down. "This."

"This. This *what*?"

Bruce strokes *down* --

"Oh, God --"

"Shh," and Bruce actually brings a finger to his mouth and *winks*. "Careful, tiger. Wouldn't want to gather an *audience*. Ha, ha, ha."

"Yes, well, we're in a public -- *place*, oh. Let go."

"Tim. You feel... mm."

"Let *go* --"

"There's a particular pain to this arousal, this desire --"

"I'll *give* you a particular pain. Let --"

Bruce lets go.

"All right. All right. I'll just --"

Bruce brings his hand to his mouth and inhales *deeply*.

"*Christ*, Bruce --"

"*Language*, Tommy. There are *children* present," and Brucie spins Tim around to face Nyesha.

Whose eyes are narrowed suspiciously. Right.

Tim Drake smiles ruefully. "Sorry, Nyesha."

"Mm-*hm*," she says, and turns on her heel before walking away. 

"I rather like her," Bruce says quietly.

"Yes, well, you *would* --"

"Tim. I'll take the memory of your scent to bed with me tonight."

"I. That. That's... nice? What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

The interesting thing is that, when Bruce hums this time, Tim can *hear* him smiling.

If by 'interesting,' one means 'horrible.'

"You," Bruce says, and strokes down Tim's spine with his thumb, "could consider taking my own."

That grey, curved --

Tim walks away from Bruce, pulling on Tim Drake by main force until he can join the rest of the crowd with a smile.


There are options. Not all of them are *good* options -- he doesn't have the foggiest clue how this particular conversation with Dick would end and he doesn't *want* to -- but there are still options.

So, after breaking the wrists of two -- formerly -- armed robbers and convincing the liquor store owner not to beat them to death with his wildly illegal sawed-off shotgun --

And refusing his offer of scotch older than he may ever *be* --

Tim takes to the rooftops. Specifically, those rooftops which *aren't* designated rendezvous points. This limits things a great deal -- he doesn't *want* a rooftop which doesn't have any handy shadows -- but it only takes him twenty minutes to find a decent one.

They wouldn't really be able to hide more than two people in the shadow of this old water tank, but it works well enough. Tim takes a deep breath.

"Superman -- no. Clark, if you have a chance --"

"A personal call, Tim? To what do I owe the honor?"

Tim smiles ruefully and adjusts his wake-shifted cape. There's rarely any such thing as a 'long-distance call' where Clark is concerned. "A rather *exceedingly* personal call, I'm afraid. I -- if you don't have the time --"

"Tim," Clark says, and manages to smile *sternly*. "You know I always have time for you."

And that was... warm. Of course, Clark is always warm, but could that have been warmer than usual?

How paranoid is he likely to become before everything is said and done?

Tim sighs and pushes a hand back through his hair. "It's about Bruce. I... has he seemed... all right?"

Clark frowns mildly. "Has he been behaving strangely, Tim? I can honestly say that I've seen no differences in his behavior toward the rest of the League -- no. He smiled at Wally the other day. It took Kyle five solid minutes to calm him down."

Tim snorts quietly. "See, this is exactly -- well, *almost* exactly what I mean. He's been... ah. Effusive."

Clark nods slowly. "That *is* rather strange -- though, to be fair, he has been known to smile at either Kyle or Wally *solely* to frighten them in the past. Would you tell me what he's been doing with you?"

*Sniffing* me -- no. Tim closes his eyes for a moment. "It's embarrassing, actually."

Another frown. "I assure you, Tim, I will keep every confidence you choose to share."

Well. He *does* want Clark to take him seriously... all right. "He's hitting on me."

Clark blinks.

There's nothing Tim can do about the blush but let it happen. "He's stated -- explicitly -- that he wants us to act on our... mutual attraction."

Clark licks his lips. Rather. Rather slowly.

"He. Ah. Well. He gave me a new... toy."

"Toy? What -- oh. Oh, my."


"My... goodness."

"Yes. So you see, I really do need some help with --"

"Did you already have... other toys?"

"Ah. Um?"

Clark touches his tongue to his upper lip and steps closer. "Of course, I understand that that's private, but the way you said that he gave you a *new* toy..."

"I have. I already had two, but that's not really --"

"And you... used them."

"Ah... Clark?"

Clark shakes his head and rests his hands on Tim's shoulders. "What would you like me to do, Tim?"

With Clark this close, Tim can feel the heat of his body on his face, though he can't feel the heat of his hands through the armor.

It's just.

That's just something his mind seems to want him to *know*, right now --

"I will, of course, do whatever I can to... help."

"Ah. Forgive me, Clark, but when you say it like that, I find that I have... doubts."

Clark squeezes Tim's shoulders. "Would you like for me to speak with him?"

"Well, yes, please. I just. I can't seem to make him understand that it would be a bad idea for the two of us --"

"Why. Why would it be a bad idea?"

Well, fine, he's blushing *and* blinking. Wonderful, really, but he's not sure who precisely could *blame* him -- "Clark. We're *partners* --"

"Yes, and that... so much closer than other people, even other heroes..." Clark shakes his head again and manages to get even *closer*. "He loves you deeply, Tim."

"And I love *him*, but we're finally -- finally working well together, and I don't want to jeopardize that for a moment's... release."

"Release. I..." Clark strokes Tim's shoulders --

*Massages* them --

Presses his thumbs to the sides of Tim's *neck* --

"*Clark* --"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I. Hm. Are you... involved with someone else, perhaps?"

"Well, no, but --"

"Then... you're in love? With someone else?"



"Well. I mean, I've always... ah." And Tim doesn't actually need Clark's fingertips brushing over his cheek to let him know that he's blushing harder, but they're *there* --

"'Always,' Tim...?"

"Look, I just don't see how this... this line of questioning is in any way *useful*, Clark."

Clark breathes deeply and nods. "You're right, of course."

"Thank you --"

"Would you tell me..." Clark licks his lips again. "You're aroused right now..."

"I. Ah. I've been aroused. I mean. I'm not especially. I *am* a teenaged boy --"

"A beautiful one."

"Excuse me?"

Clark smiles ruefully. "A part of me only wishes you would give me more detail about what Bruce has done."

"I. Yes?"

"It would be... useful to know what sort of behavior *doesn't* work on you, Tim."

He --

It's not that his eyes have never been this wide before. It's definitely not that. It's just that having them be this wide behind the mask is distinctly *uncomfortable*, and --

Clark strokes Tim's cheek again. "I promise not to prepare any... new toys for you."

"Well. That's. Good."

"Unless, of course --"

"No! Ah. No. If you could just speak to Bruce --"

"And -- somehow -- convince him that it would be better for him to turn his attentions elsewhere?"

*Yes* -- well. It would be --

There would certainly be a *moment* of disappointment once Bruce began a relationship with, say, Diana --

Or if he would only *deepen* his relationship with *Clark* --


Tim doesn't growl. He searches for a smile, finds one that isn't *too* weak --

What is *wrong* with him?

"Ah -- don't mind me, Clark. That's *exactly* what I need you to do. If you can."

But Clark is frowning mildly again, *searching* him --

What are Tim's eyes showing right now?

Does he really want to know?

"Clark --"

"Tim. You love *and* desire Bruce --"

"I'm *human*," Tim says, stepping back and raising his hands. "I would just rather not *encourage* my weaknesses."

Clark winces.

"I -- that probably came out wrong --"

"Did it? Tim, if you're trying to live without love --"

"That -- that's not it. I have no problem with love whatsoever. I'm -- I'm *fond* of love, and I appreciate all it can do to... to smooth out life's rough spots --"

"*Rough* spots? Tim --"

"Clark, look. I'm just -- I'm not ready for this. I don't think I will *be* ready for this --"

"But your fantasies tell you otherwise."

Tim opens his mouth to reply, realizes that he has no idea how he would even *begin*, and closes his mouth once more.

But Clark nods as if that *was* an answer, which is just --

"There are vast and *important* differences between reality and fantasy, Clark."

Clark nods again, and this times he actually looks sad. *Hurt* --

"I. Clark?"

Clark shakes his head and smiles ruefully, doing a better job of it than Tim thinks he ever has. "It's all right, Tim. You... we are not all designed for lives rife with sexuality."

Well. That's. That's *true*, and -- also important. Tim nods. "So... you'll talk to him?"

Clark takes Tim's hands in his own. "Yes, of course," he says, and strokes Tim's knuckles through the gauntlets.

The heat is only a *suggestion*, but --

Clark is going to make Bruce *stop*, and -- and maybe he won't invite Tim back to Metropolis anymore. And --

They'll be professional. They'll *all* be professional, and that's a wonderful thing. That's the *best* thing -- all that they could *hope* for, and that's why he's squeezing Clark's big, bare hands, and that's also why he's --

Moving. Just a little, because Clark has to understand that Tim's *grateful* for this, yes, grateful --

All right, that's *ridiculous*, because gratitude has nothing to do with.


Except that that's not *true*, because Clark's smile is incredibly grateful, warm --

Of course, Clark is always *warm* --

And his mouth.

His mouth is *hot*, wet and slick, and there's one hand on Tim's face --

Clark's other arm is wrapped around his *waist* --

And Tim's feet aren't on the roof, anymore. He's being flown up and *up*, and the difference in air quality is immediately apparent, thrilling and dangerous --

Clark slips his tongue between Tim's lips and moans. He --

He *moans*, and Tim knows that he should be doing more than just gripping Clark's shoulders and --

Pressing close. He can be --

He could be closer right now. They don't have to be wearing *clothes* --

And the toy, right now, would make him come screaming into Clark's mouth, make him shout and struggle and jerk --

Clark pulls back --

"Oh, God. Oh, God, I didn't really mean -- ah."

Clark smiles at him, curl shifting in the light breeze, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, body so *warm* --

Tim pants --

Tim *realizes* that he's panting and shakes his head, tries to *stop* --

And stares, helplessly, as Clark lets his eyes slip most of the way closed and leans in once more --

"Wait! Wait, I -- ah."


"I didn't mean to kiss you. I mean, some part of me obviously -- and you're very accommodating, and I assure you that a part of me appreciates that a great deal --"

"Shall I talk to Bruce about this, Tim?"

"Oh -- *God*. Um."

Clark leans in further, breathing hot and damp against Tim's mouth -- "I wouldn't mind in the slightest..."

"It's just -- this is a fantasy, and I."

Clark licks *Tim's* lips --

"*Clark* --"

"Tell me more?" And Clark pushes his hand into Tim's hair --

Clark's hand is on Tim's *ass* --

"Please," Clark says, and kisses Tim lightly, *softly* --

"Fantasies! Fantasies aren't supposed to come true --"

"I disagree. Perhaps I should show you one of *my* fantasies?"

Tim shivers and clutches at Clark's shoulders --

Clark squeezes Tim's ass and licks his way to Tim's *ear* -- "Should he have kissed you, Tim?"

"*No* -- I mean -- that wouldn't have been helpful, at all --"

Clark laughs quietly --

It *tickles* --

"Whose definition of 'helpful' are we speaking about...?"

Tim growls --

Tim *means* to growl, but he's going to blame the fact that it came out a groan on the way Clark is using his finger to press against the back seam of Tim's trunks and rub --

Up and *down* --

"I didn't know you had toys, but I fantasized you with them. A red one, because I am, at base, deeply juvenile."

"Ah -- Clark --"

"You've always been so *distant*, Tim. So... professional."

"And that's -- that's what we should all *strive* for --"

"Of course a boy like you would appreciate something so anonymous and *indirect*."

"All right, that's really just -- that sort of value judgment -- *fuck* --"

"Here, Tim? I have to be careful. While the material of your trunks and tights is quite strong, I still don't wish to tear it -- even for the pleasure of *your* pleasure."

"You. It's just. Clark, you should put me down --"

"Are you sure?"

Tim blinks and stares at Clark, hoping for incredulity and -- probably -- managing only something like dim shock.

"Oh... beautiful," and Clark kisses him once, again --

Again --

"I would like it very much if you kissed me back again, Tim."

Tim groans and -- pushing. He can do that. He pushes at Clark's shoulders --

Clark frowns, but allows Tim the few inches of distance that would be safe --

("There is no safety in this life.")

Tim bites back the whimper and *breathes*. "Put me down, Clark. Please."

Clark flies them down just slowly enough to avoid *hurting* Tim and sets Tim on his feet. "I'm sorry. I pushed too hard."

"Yes. Yes, that was. Ah." Tim shakes his head. "It was wrong for me to... to call you just to deal with my own problems --"

"Oh, no, *never* --"

Tim holds up a hand. "*I* will talk to Bruce. And. Ah. I'll talk to Bruce."

"Tim, I'd like for us to be friends. More than that --"

"I -- duly noted," Tim says, and straightens his uniform unnecessarily. He can do nothing about the way the jock is *torturing* his dick other than think horrible, sewer-related thoughts --

All right, not that horrible. He needs to finish his *patrol* --

There. He's... decreasing. Somewhat. Enough that he feels capable of looking up at Clark --

At the architecture of that perfect jaw --

The faintly golden skin -- more golden than Kon's own --

Eyes a blue that just doesn't *occur* in Gotham --

And a troubled frown. He -- he doesn't *want* Clark to be upset --

Tim shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm -- I didn't mean to... lead you on, or anything like that --"

"I know that, Tim. I..." <<There could be much between us, Tim Drake.>>

Tim blinks and -- doesn't quite rear back.

Clark smiles sadly and -- touches Tim's cheek. He doesn't stroke again, and so there's no reason to pull back, no reason to even -- even mention it --
Tim swallows --

"No fear. Please."

"I. I think it's reasonable for me to be *intimidated*, Clark. Kal?"

<<Only as you desire.>> Clark sighs. "And the way you flinched for that tells me everything I need to know about what you do -- and do not -- understand."

"I." He doesn't know what to say to that. He just -- doesn't.

Clark nods again and floats up three feet. "Tim... if you'd ever like for the two of us to speak -- about anything at all -- I would be grateful if you called to me."

Tim bites his lip -- stops. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

And Clark seems even *more* sad --

"I meant it. That. I."

Clark smiles ruefully. "All right," he says, and flies.


Tim stares at his bedside table for a full thirty count before he can bring himself to pull open the drawer, but there's nothing new. The blue toy, the black one -- which a part of him will forever consider *wrong*, now -- and the grey one.

Tim doesn't stroke the grey one.

He doesn't --

He doesn't touch any of them. He'd left his dirty uniform in the Cave hamper, and come up here in a robe, and.

Bruce had been in the Cave showers.

Tim hadn't.

He hadn't *looked* or anything --

He doesn't want to speak to Bruce about tonight, and while it would be reasonable to fear such a conversation just because of all the things Bruce might say to continue his attempts to seduce him, that's not the reason why, at all.

It would be cowardly to pretend otherwise.

Of course, that's rather an amusing thought -- one wouldn't want to be cowardly about *being* cowardly -- but.


What *exactly* will he do if Bruce is jealous of the kiss he'd shared with Clark?

(It was more than just a kiss.)

There are other ways to be cowardly. He could, as an example, avoid talking about the kiss altogether. He could make his case -- again -- simply about the facts of his relationship with *Bruce* --

Who wants to taste him. And --

Other things?

That was all he had mentioned, and so surely that's the primary desire --

Or -- no. He doesn't actually have enough information to make a judgment call like that one. Bruce's hand had been so *firm* around him, so *sure* --

The kind of surety which only comes from knowing *exactly* what you want -- or.

No, that, too, is possibly going too far. Bruce is *entirely* capable of *pretending* he knows what he's doing when he really doesn't have a single, solitary *clue*. And isn't that at the heart of Tim's argument? Bruce doesn't know -- *can't* know -- what a sexual relationship would do to their partnership.

Never mind Tim's own sex-addled reactions; Bruce has a singularly *awful* track record when it comes to this sort of thing, which is an excellent reason to believe that he simply doesn't know his own mind.

That -- yes. If he goes with something like that, then maybe he can make it work.

And if it *doesn't* work --

Well, Bruce may be the single most determined man on earth, but he'd hardly be able to miss the message of Tim walking out on him for good and all.

New York could use another good vigilante, and -- there are other cities. Other *things*. He could finally devote more of himself than just the few shreds Batman leaves him to the Titans, and that would be...

Robins *should* fly in daylight at least some of the time, shouldn't they?

Wouldn't Jason's life have been less insane if he'd gone that route? That shouldn't even be a *question*. It's a known fact -- *throughout* the community -- that Dick would have probably gone several different varieties of the *bad* kind of crazy without the escape hatch of the Titans, and...

Well, Dick had always tried to get Tim to be more involved with his teams, and if *anyone* would know --

He really needs to stop stroking the blue toy. Just... immediately.

He stops.

He strips off his robe and goes to shower, bracing himself for the flood of images once he turns on the water and takes hold of himself --

And he learns, quickly, that there's no actual way to brace oneself for the thought-image-sense-memory of Clark pressing on one's hole and whispering exciting things in Kryptonian.

Just --

He hadn't even *felt* Clark's heat there. There's no *reason* for his body to come up with that vivid a guess of what it would be like. Just -- that pressure, *just* the pressure --

And maybe the promise of it, the sense that if Tim asked, Clark *would* --

He would. He *would*, and he should've brought at least one of his toys with him to the shower, because he feels too *empty* --

A red toy.

A --

He could *get* a red toy, and surrender to the fantasy --

Fantasies are *for* surrendering --

Tim groans and bangs his head back against the tile, because --

Oh, to be on his hands and *knees*. And maybe Clark would stroke him, tell him he's beautiful, tell him he *wants* --

And Tim could beg the way he never wants to, never *should* --

Robin doesn't *beg*, not even Batman. Not --

And he can't *not* see the curve of Bruce's penis, not in grey, but in the dark flushed tones of flesh --

And maybe Clark would -- would hold Tim's head still, keep his jaw hinged *open* --

And Bruce would say his name --

Bruce would push his hand into Tim's hair --

Bruce would --

Oh, he could make it an *order*, make it something so --

So *good* --

Tim cries out and comes, jerking himself too fast, too *rough* in the water --

Oh, God --

His knees won't *hold* him --

Tim braces himself with one hand on the tile and pants, letting the shower sluice off sweat and trying not to make another noise. Not one. Not --

Tim whimpers and shakes.

And washes himself clean.


Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and Tim is dutifully consuming it. One spoon after another.

Spoon. That means he's eating some sort of cereal.

It's warm and --

No, Tim can't really figure out any more than that, right now.

His dreams had been...

Full things.

*Populated* things.

Tim had grown used to the dreams of endless black and cold solitude -- they'd gotten to be *restful* -- but last night's dream were bright, *hot* things --

Tim winces and puts his spoon down.


"Yes, Bruce."

Silence. *Heavy* silence, which means that he's being dissected --

Tim looks up, and Bruce's expression is dark and worried. About him, which is really damned amusing if one were to look at it in just the right way. Tim raises an eyebrow.

Bruce's expression turns rueful. "I never meant to cause you distress."

Tim blinks.

"It was. It was my hope that the two of us could find pleasure in each other..." Bruce trails off and shakes his head. "I apologize."

He's going to stop. This. This *has* to mean that he's going to *stop*, and that means that Tim's heart can stop pounding painfully at *any* time. Or. Is it excitement? Happiness?

"Tim. You're... confused?"

Tim laughs --

Tim *means* to laugh again, but it comes out as a jaw-cracking yawn. That --

"I'm sorry, Bruce --"

"No, not that. If you... if you could be amused by my attentions --"

"You want me to be *amused*?"

"It's one of the things I want, yes."

"How masochistic *are* you?"

Bruce raises his own eyebrow, and it... is a pointed comment.

Very pointed. "Noted," Tim says, and frowns at his bowl. It's full of oatmeal, which is something he'd found actively vile until he'd tried Alfred's. Tim strokes the curve of it. "Amusement. I suppose I can see what you're saying -- what you're explicitly asking for -- but..."


Tim shakes his head and looks up again. "I don't know, Bruce. It seems... cruel."

"You don't wish to be cruel to me?"

"Do you *want* me to be -- no, strike that question from the record --"

"I want everything of you."

"I *said* --" Tim sighs and pushes a hand back through his hair. "All right. You... let me put it this way: I don't think I'd like myself very much if I spent any significant amount of time taunting you for. For your feelings."

Bruce nods slowly. "Even though I wouldn't mind."

"Wouldn't mind or would *enjoy*?"

"It makes a difference?"

"Of *course* it makes a difference. I -- I care about you --"

"You told Clark that you loved me."

Tim winces, but manages to keep himself from squeezing his eyes shut. "I -- yes."

"You find the words difficult to say directly."

"Not --" Steph. "Not all the time. Not with everyone."


Tim catches himself rubbing restlessly at the tablecloth and stops. "I've told him. Twice. Both occasions were... memorable."

Bruce cocks his head to the side -- slightly. "Because he said the words first?"

"He always -- ah. No. It's just. It felt like diving off a roof -- no. It felt like the first time I dove off a roof without a safety line."

Bruce nods again. "Because you were afraid he'd hear more of the truth than you were willing to share."

Tim smiles ruefully. "I don't especially want to burden my *brother* with my wildly inappropriate thoughts, Bruce."

Bruce -- winces.

And Tim gets it. He -- "Oh -- I. No, Bruce, you're not -- you haven't --"

"Tim. I have."

"*No* --"

"You're sleeping poorly. You're not eating anything which isn't placed directly in front of you --"

"I'm a little stressed *out* --"

"Because of me," Bruce says, and pushes back from the table. "I will not -- I won't trouble you anymore, Tim. I'm -- I'm sorry," Bruce says, standing and moving --

*Leaving* --

"*Wait*," Tim says, standing and going to him, moving -- not too close.


He reaches out and rests a hand on Bruce's bare arm. Workout clothes. They should be training --

"Tim, let go," and Bruce is using the *Voice* -- 

Tim pulls back immediately --

Bruce nods and turns away --

"*No*, damn it, don't -- you can't just mash my triggers if you expect us to be anything -- anything like --" Tim cuts himself off with a growl.

Bruce tenses for a moment -- and slumps.

"Oh. God, Bruce --"

"You can't say the word. You..." Bruce shakes his head. Without turning *around* --

"Bruce, please look at me."

Bruce clenches his hands into fists at his sides -- but he turns around.

But that's *meaningless*, because even Batman's never this *blank* -- "Bruce. Bruce, I can't do this if you're not -- if you don't --"

"There's nothing else to say --"

"God *damn* you, Bruce, you -- God, all right, I'll be just juvenile enough to sink to your level: You *started* it."

Bruce blinks, cheek twitching. That --

"Are you. Are you laughing?"

"Not... aloud."

"Bruce, you have no *idea* how often I wish I weren't too self-conscious to throw a roundhouse at you and expect it to connect."

"Well," Bruce says, and opens his stance. "You'd be surprised by how often that sort of thing works against me."

"When it's a Robin -- or former Robin -- doing the punching, yes, I picked that up. Still, it's cheap."

"You have many other ways to hurt me, Tim."

Tim feels himself stiffen --

And Bruce nods, reaching out and stroking a line over Tim's lower lip. "You enjoyed that kiss."

"Out of curiosity..."


"Were you monitoring, or did you just have a horrifically illuminating conversation with Clark sometime when I probably shouldn't have been dreaming about you giving me a rubdown?"

Bruce raises both eyebrows -- and then just the one. "I didn't choose to limit myself," he says, and moves his hand.

Tim watches it move back to Bruce's side --

It isn't, actually, a separate entity. He looks back up -- and Bruce is... studying him.

In a very specific way. A very *warm* way --

"Tim. Do you desire me?"

Tim frowns. "You -- already know that I do. It's just that it's not. I mean, we have to be very careful. We -- our relationship hasn't always been the best --"

"You don't trust me."

"I don't trust *us* --"

"I trust you implicitly to always do what is necessary for the Mission. I... I don't know if I have any right not to trust you to do what is best for your heart."

"You. I. I don't know what to say to that."

"Clark could be... a wonderful friend to you, Tim. He will never lie to you, or even dissemble. He will wrap you in himself when you need him to, and he will fly to the other side of the world when you need him to do that. He will love you with all of himself --"

"You're trying to get me to start dating *Clark*?"

Bruce's smile manages to be soft and sharp at once, a *heated* blade of a thing -- "It would also bring you closer to Dick."

Tim steps back, shaking his head. "Don't."

"Tim --"

"Just -- you can't. You can't -- *bombard* me with your feelings, *then* pull back utterly, *then* try to throw *Clark* at me."

Bruce's smile fades. "I want. I want your happiness."

"You can't -- you can have it --"


Well. Well, that's an excellent question, actually. Tim laughs quietly and pushes *both* hands back through his hair --

"Will you continue growing it out?"

Tim pauses with a lock of hair between his fingers. "Every time I pick up a knife or pair of scissors I consider hacking it all off. It won't be long. Bruce --"

"If you'd. I'd like to trim it for you."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Not Alfred? I mean... is that a kink?"

"A rather less intense one than shaving you would be."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut for a *moment* -- "You're not talking about my woefully patchy beard. Are you."

"I could be."

"But you're not." Tim rubs at the back of his neck --

"You shouldn't... be nervous."

"I... suppose I am showing *all* of my tells," Tim says, and smiles ruefully.

"When you smile that way..." Bruce frowns and shakes his head.

What he *should* do is leave it there. It's -- it's what he wanted.

Isn't it?

"Tell me," and Tim knows that was almost *breathless* --

"I want to kiss you. Harder than Clark."

*Not* the time to lick his lips -- but he's already done it --


He --

He's not going to lean *in*, and he's just --

"I need. Time to think."

Bruce nods slowly.

"I. That's all right? I don't --" Tim shakes his head. "I don't want to tease you --"

"I'd like for you to be merciless."

Tim -- doesn't pant. "Let's... train."

"As you say."


Tim makes a command decision not to think about *either* Bruce or Clark during his patrol, and, judging by the lack of propositions from strangers, it seems to work.

It's a reasonably quiet night, and so Tim calls in and breaks off patrol early, promising himself *rest*.

He needs it badly -- he really can't *ever* afford sleep-deprivation, whether or *not* it's for good, Mission-related reasons. So.

When he gets back, he showers -- alone -- while still in the Cave, and makes a point of eating a full third of the vegetables Alfred had set aside for him and Bruce.

Bruce gets back just as Tim is trying to decide whether he can reasonably eat more of the dip without feeling logy from the fat tomorrow --

Bruce strips down in front of him, and it's nothing Tim hasn't seen before -- *countless* times -- but.

Tim still can't look away.

Muscle and bone, scars and *hair*. The shape of the body like heroic art, the surfaces of it inviting, human, no more fragile or strong than anything human *could* be --

And when Tim looks up, Bruce is looking at him with a smile in his eyes. *Invitation*.

It's not actually a good idea to reach down and give himself a vicious squeeze, and so he manages to avoid doing it --

And Bruce moves to join him by the conference table. "You should eat more."

"I... I ate a fair amount. My share."

"Far less than that of the cauliflower."

"It's your favorite, Bruce --"

Bruce smiles. "Yours, as well. At times."

It's very good cauliflower. Fresh and crisp. Faintly peppery.

"Eat with me?"

Tim's gaze is beyond his control for a moment, moving over and over Bruce's upper body -- he hauls it back to Bruce's face by main force --

"I'd be happy to put on a robe."

"Only. Only if you're uncomfortable."

"I am beautiful in your eyes, Tim. I'm not sure it would be possible for me to be uncomfortable."

Tim lets his smile be as wry as it wants to be. "You're tempting me toward experimentation with locked rooms and extreme temperatures."

"I always knew you'd find new things to teach me about sexuality."

Tim reflexively turns his laugh into a cough -- and regrets it when he sees Bruce studying him closely. Happily. Well. Tim gestures to the table and they sit down beside each other.

"If you're worried about the dip, I've asked Alfred to experiment with less-fatty base ingredients."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "You don't think that would defeat Alfred's purpose?"

"Alfred's purpose," Bruce says, picking up a bit of cauliflower and dipping it generously before offering it to Tim, "is to get you to remember that you enjoy eating."

Tim takes the cauliflower, dealing with the brush of their bare fingers. "I haven't forgotten."

"We've both noticed you beginning to treat Alfred's food as fuel, Tim. Alfred has informed me that if I teach you those habits with any degree of success he will remove all caffeinated coffee from the manor."

Tim shudders. "Noted," he says, and eats --

It really is delicious. Whatever sort of base the dip is made from, it compliments the vegetables beautifully, and --

Bruce is holding out another piece of cauliflower for him.

"I expect you to eat some yourself, Bruce."

"After this. Please."

And this -- cauliflower shouldn't have anything whatsoever to do with seduction. It just --

It shouldn't.

It *doesn't*.

It's not like Bruce is placing it directly on Tim's *tongue* or anything --

Bruce wants to taste him.

Tim takes the cauliflower.


There are times, like tonight, when he uses the toys in different ways.

As an example:

If one places the toy so that the mild suction it exerts causes it to stick to the front of the nightstand, then one can stroke it slowly and (lovingly) needfully while one is stroking oneself.

The toy warms slowly, but it *does* warm, and --

Oh, sometimes Tim can't *help* but squeeze, can't do anything but hold on --

He wants to hold *on* --

He wants --

Tim drops to his knees beside the bed and takes the toy *in*, sucking and moaning and sucking harder, mourning for the taste of plastic and dreaming of heat, salt --

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and jerks himself harder and faster until he *has* to fuck his mouth, has to go *down* --

The curve of the thing seems so *extreme* in this way, so *challenging* --

The sounds Tim hears himself making are shameless things, even muffled as they are. They're wet things, *hungry* things --

He's so *hungry* --

And Bruce would be holding his head, but not holding it still. Bruce would *let* him take himself this way, let him use Bruce's dick to drive himself *insane* --

Bruce would say his *name*, and Tim would know he was beautiful in Bruce's eyes, Tim would never be able to *forget* --

Oh --

Oh, *please* --

Tim comes with a jerk, breaking the toy's suction and holding it *tight* in his mouth, in his throat --

Tim spatters the night table and his own hand --

Tim tugs the toy out of his mouth and holds it against his chest. It's not that he thinks it's real, or... or anything *like* that --

He just has to hold on.


Breakfast is pancakes and fresh preserves -- a treat which always feels faintly sinful when consumed in the summer months, as if he's denying winter's basic truths.

Tim means to make a point of eating more than his usual, but winds up simply doing it. Because...

There's something about the obvious pleasure Bruce took in watching him eat, something more than even Alfred's hum of approval when Tim had asked for seconds.

Tim also eschews the second mug of coffee in favor of shamelessly milky and sweetened tea, and -- yes.

He feels distinctly *fizzy* -- in that way which only hits him when he's consumed more than small amounts of sugar. A smile for no actual reason bobs and weaves behind his face as he sips, and there's an urge to run and... laugh?


He *will* run today, and when he gets to the Cave he'll help Bruce with the fourth car --

It's shaping up to be a *good* day, and while he'd made an agreement with himself to treasure those as they happen -- they'd seemed as though they would be thin on the ground after the events of last year --

So much *death* -- and *apparent* death -- and it had seemed he'd be alone forever -- no. Not today. Tim turns to Bruce --

And Bruce is smiling behind his eyes *while* looking fascinated.

Tim blushes.

Bruce's breath hitches --

"Oh. I. Um."

Bruce sighs quietly. "Have you had any further thoughts about the car?"

Well... "Little fuzzy bats on the rearview mirror?"

"Dick acquired just that for me once."

Tim smiles. "Somehow, I'm not surprised that I've never seen them."

"Well," Bruce says, and folds his hands in front of him. "They weren't the correct shade of black."

Tim nods solemnly. "Yes, we wouldn't want to clash in front of the criminal element."

"They tend to be deeply unforgiving of such things. Why, just last night Tyrell 'Hot Top' Morrison commented unfavorably on the shine of my boots."

"Oh, Bruce. You *know* you're supposed to use your mandatory rest period to buff them."

Bruce lets a magnificent parody of shame take his features. "I'm afraid I became distracted by the blandishments of my gauntlets."

"Well. They are quite flirtatious."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Have you often heard them speaking to you...?"

Tim snorts and covers his face. Just --

Bruce hums and reaches out to cover Tim's other hand. "It's all right, Tim. You can tell me."

"You, of course, understand only too well what interesting conversationalists your empty uniforms can be."

"Oh," Bruce says, and his smile is somewhat devastatingly self-aware. "There have been times when I've lost hours to such things."

All of which have been caught on *camera*, because Bruce may be insane, but he never stops being *thorough*. Tim smiles at Bruce from under his lashes --

"I believe I'll ask Alfred to prepare pancakes at least once a week."

"It's not -- it's not the pancakes."

"Did you dream last night?"

Warm, touch-filled things again, but Tim had been expecting just that. It wasn't unrestful. Tim nods and bends one finger up so that he can stroke Bruce's palm with his knuckle.

"Will you tell me?"

"Ah... no rubdowns this time. Just. A rather large number of... hugs."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "From Dick?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Yes, at first. And then he passed me to Clark, who passed me to *you*, who passed me back to Clark, who passed me to *Dick*... et cetera."

"Was that... pleasant?"

"In several frustrating ways," Tim says, pushing his plate aside and crossing his legs. "In the dream, I wanted... more."

Bruce's lips part and he breathes... calmly. But also heavily.

"I'm. I'm arousing you?"

"You do so effortlessly. I don't consider this to be a tease."

Well. "That's... good to know. I mean -- I like this. Unequivocally."

"It's yours."

Tim smiles, knowing it's a little too shy and not being able to do anything about it. "Yours, as well."

"Bruce Wayne has a lunch date with Lucius today. Lucius will be called away unexpectedly."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"I assure you, I have only a small hand in the emergency. The head of HR will discover that her stash of oxycontin has been given to the chief of security within the next four to five hours. I strongly suspect that she'll then cause a scene."

"And you're handling this publicly because...? No, it's almost time for Bruce Wayne to make his yearly speech about WE's drug policy. *Are* there changes?"

"A new rehabilitation center is under contract, as the old one has a history of patient abuse."

Tim snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose.


"By this time next year, we'll discover that the new rehab place has... I don't know. An embezzling director. Ties to LexCorp. A minotaur in the basement."

Bruce hums and turns Tim's hand over, stroking Tim's palm with his thumb. "It's entirely possible that they will simply continue to be part of an industry which thrives on human suffering."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"But not probable, no. Will you come with me?"

Tim feels himself blushing again, because --

Well, it *would* be a date. A date between versions of themselves which aren't entirely real --

A date where they would be father and *son* -- "Yes," Tim says. *Blurts*, really --

Bruce smiles behind his eyes and presses at the center of Tim's palm with his thumb.

Tim likes that, too.


Lucius actually made it to the restaurant -- Ergo, down near the rapidly gentrifying Ironbound -- before all hell broke loose at WE, but not to a seated position. There was enough time for Tim to shake his hand and share greetings -- and for Bruce to wave cheerily -- but that was basically it.

The waiter eyes Lucius' empty place setting like it's an affront to God and man, takes their orders, and leaves.

"I'm *terribly* sorry Lucius wasn't able to stay, tiger. I know how much you've been looking forward to seeing him again."

Tim smiles and takes a sip of his spring water. "It's my own fault for not visiting WE more often."

"*Has* it been that long? I simply hadn't *noticed*."

Tim bites the tip of his tongue and aims his expression at his plate --

"Oh, don't *be* like that, pal. You know there's no need to be shy with *me*."

Tim looks up at Bruce from under his lashes. "So."


"What exactly did Lucius do to annoy you?"

"Annoy me? I'm *never* annoyed, tiger. *You* know that."

Tim hums and thinks about it. "I'm going to guess... that he's made a few too many comments lately about how you don't press the proverbial flesh enough. Judging by that briefcase positively bulging with employee files."

Bruce's blinks are a miracle of dim affability. "Is *that* what he was carrying? You know, he keeps *trying* to get me to carry those things, but I can never keep *track* of them."

"You realize that you owe Lucius' hairline at least fifteen years of apologies, right?"

"You want me to talk to *hair*, tiger? I suppose Lucius' *is* very smart. All of those adorable little *curls*."

Tim chokes on an ice cube before chewing it down to fast-melting shards. "I love you, Dad."

The flare in Bruce's eyes is very, very telling --

"Yes, it *is* easier to say at times like these."

"Easy, hard... they're all just *words*, Tommy."

Tim hums again and toys with the napkin in his lap. "Of course."


It's another -- relatively -- quiet night, and Tim can't quite stop thinking of the sadness in Clark's eyes.

Or the heat in Bruce's.

Or the growing familiarity of certain *curves* --

A six-foot-five drag queen with shoulders like a vast, mountainous shelf had insisted on waltzing down three blocks of Giddings Avenue with him, but, other than that --

And the homeless man who had insisted on telling Tim a lengthy story about the Greek sailor who'd broken his heart --

And the large-breasted and long-bearded bouncer at Into The Pink who had winked at him with a salaciousness heretofore unknown outside of the kind of novels Steph had favored (does she still?) when she felt she'd been developing too much personal shame --

A quiet night, and there are many rooftops where Tim can take his mid-patrol break, but he decides to go with his favorite. The Schumer building's architect had died twenty years ago without telling anyone why he'd insisted on crenellations and arrow slits for the roof, and, for Tim, it's a delicious mystery.

From which he can plan doomed last stands and siege warfare.

Though he isn't sure what he'd boil the oil in.

Maybe a water tank?

Tim eats his energy bar, drinks some Cherry Berry Zesti-Ade, and deals with the fact that there are times when the world at large *will* know the shape of his sexuality better than he does.

He chooses to believe that he'll be better at it once he *does* take a lover. For now --

For now, he has something to prove.

Tim crouches in the shadow of a particularly aggressive bit of architecture and -- "Clark. If you're not busy, I'd like to have another conversation --"

"Of course," Clark says, crouching beside Tim and letting the wind make his cape blur Tim's outline against the sky. "It's wonderful to see you."

Tim smiles. "You always make it sound as if it's been months."

"It usually has been," and Clark raises his eyebrows.

Which is... true. Tim inclines his head. "I'm sorry. You deserve a far better friend."

"There remains the question of what sort of friend I *desire*, Tim."

And there's more than one way to take that, but... Tim smiles. "I suppose I should consider the Fortress of Solitude more deeply than I normally do."

"Oh... you're welcome to consider it up close."

Tim smiles a little more widely. "Clark. If you ever gave me access to your AI, I wouldn't be likely to come up for air anytime soon."

Clark hums and pats Tim's knee. "I look forward to finding ways to coax you from its artificially warm embrace."

That -- Tim laughs. "Is it normally very... physical?"

"Oh, definitely with humans. It lacks a complete understanding of how your species *works*, you see."


"You remain, and I quote, 'a most perturbing mystery.' In some respects. While it has something of a workup for baseline standard human males and females, it has yet to find reasonable ways to adjust humanity to more Kryptonian standards without causing mass extinctions."

Tim blinks. "I... suppose I'll just be grateful that it chooses to perform its experiments virtually."

Clark's smile is somewhat *distantly* sharp. "It took some convincing on my part -- it really is quite distressed by the vulnerability of humanity to certain bacterial and viral infections -- but yes."

"It wants to save humanity from disease?"

"I believe it would be more accurate to say that it has its own bacterial and viral infections in mind."

Tim laughs. "All right, yes, I suppose that's more in character to the reports Bruce has allowed me to access."

"To be fair, it finds Bruce to be a terrible example of your species. Far too proud."

"Too --" Tim snorts and covers his face --

And Clark tugs Tim's hand away and holds it in his own. "You're feeling better. I'm glad."

"Yes, well. You've been a help."

"I'd thought I'd made things worse...?"

"Well..." Tim smiles. "Better *and* worse. I've decided that I'm going to go ahead and think about myself as a sexual being, at least in terms of those people I'm closest to."

"Oh... you might consider broadening your focus more than that."

Tim coughs a laugh --

"Certainly, both of your predecessors took a great deal of pleasure in doing just that."

"My 'focus,' such as it is, will remain rather shallow for the time being."

"If you're quite sure."

Tim laughs *again* --

And Clark smiles at him. "You don't do that nearly often enough."

"Well, that touches very close to the heart of the *issue*, Clark. I'm quite frankly mystified by the idea that I've somehow already *been* sexually attractive."

Clark stares at him.

"I -- all right. Between my family's efforts and my own, my body has become rather well-formed, and I'm certainly not wildly unattractive in terms of my facial features, but --" Tim shakes his head. "I'm quiet, generally unassuming, deeply geeky, and the only person who's never told me my sense of humor is painful is *Bruce*."

"Some of us find those traits *very* sexually appealing, Tim."

"Some of you have a *type*."

Clark -- beams. "Oh, yes. Though Lois' body type is far more suited to the Robin suits your predecessors wore."

"I. I think I just repressed a *splutter*, Clark. I. Seriously?" Not the first Nightwing suit -- no, not that.

"Sexualized role-play can add a great deal of spice to any loving relationship," Clark says, prim and *stern*.

Tim bites his lip.

Clark -- Clark continues to stern *at* him --

And Tim gives up and laughs openly, rocking on his heels and trying not to *tear*. That feels *awful* under a mask, and he doesn't really want to have to take it off and glue it back down again, and --

Clark is beaming again.

"It's just -- you're making me wonder what the hell you get up to with *Bruce*."

"Well, Bruce is a terrible pervert," and Clark's tone is gentle, *confiding* --

Tim gives up *further* and presses his mask to his face in an entirely futile effort to get the thing to wick up moisture. "I think I could hate you."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"*You'd* rather I just -- I. What sort of thing do you want to role-play with *me*?"

Clark hums and takes *both* of Tim's hands in his own. "I don't suppose you have any interest in being a harem girl?"

"*Clark* --"

"A beleaguered secretary with a cruel, cruel employer?"


"Perhaps an embittered vigilante, wearied from his endless mission to protect a city with but little care for him and his efforts, lonely and misunderstood...?" Clark raises his eyebrows again.

Tim hums. "I... I wouldn't say *embittered*, per se --"

"Cynical, then."

"I just choose to save optimism for people who are *better* at it --"

"You said something -- I couldn't help overhearing -- about... hugs?"

"Oh. I... well. It was just a dream --"

"It doesn't have to be," and Clark lets go of Tim's hands and opens his arms.

"It's. Well, a hug from a crouch isn't really --"

And then they simply *are* in the sky, high above the rooftops --

"Clark --"

<<Fine one, I would hold you in this way for long and long.>>

Tim takes a breath --

Another because the air quality is --

Because *he* is --

Because --

<<There are other ways to hold me, Kal-El.>>

Clark's lips part --

Kal's lips?

And then Clark's thigh is hot and *broad* between his own, Clark's right hand is on his ass and his left is in Tim's hair --

<<Tim Drake. Could this be what you had in mind?>>

Tim opens his mouth, meaning to say *something* -- but all he does is moan.

<<Your beauty is a goad, but I need not be driven, fine one.>>

"I --" <<I find myself unsure about... the nature to-be-driven -->>

<<Driving,>> and Clark's voice is slow, clear --

Tim nods once, feeling himself blush, feeling himself want to *move* on Clark's thigh --

<<I am also unsure... are you Clark?>>

A tightened grip with *both* hands -- <<As you desire.>>

Tim *pants* -- <<I am unsure what I desire.>>

Clark -- and it *is* Clark once his expression softens -- nods slowly and licks his lips. "I want to kiss your mouth once more."

"That -- all right --"

And Clark's kiss is slow and hard at once, his mouth a solid, implacable *fact* --

His tongue so sleek and *thick*, somehow --

Tim sucks on it and hears himself moan again, wonders what that *feels* like --

And if it could be why Clark is *nudging* him with his thigh --

So close and so *warm* --

Clark pulls back and licks his lips. "I want to kiss your throat."

"Oh, I."

A nod. "It seems too far. It seems... as though you would truly be giving me permission for much more?"

"I -- I told Bruce I didn't want to tease him. The same goes for you."

Clark stares at Tim's throat for --

A very long moment. Very --

He looks up. "I enjoy being teased far less than Bruce does, and so I appreciate your concerns."

Tim nods, and realizes that he's *also* staring --

"I *am* capable of patience, Tim. Even when every breath brings more of your arousal *into* me."

"Oh, God. I. How do I stop my *scent* from being a tease?"

Clark smiles and strokes through Tim's hair. "You don't... if you choose to be kind."

Tim frowns. "But you just said --"

"You smell wonderful, Tim. Young. Hungry. *Alive*. I want to strip you naked and taste every inch of you, until I am absolutely sure which parts of you must be tasted in order for you to *moan*."

"Oh, God. Um. Clark --"

"And I am still... capable of patience. Should I fly you back down?"

*Yes* -- but. "Perhaps... a more conventional hug?"

Clark *grins* -- and they're hugging. They're definitely hugging, and that thigh isn't nudging *anything*, and Clark's hands aren't in any interesting places, and Clark smells like a summer storm -- if such a thing could be inescapably male and.

And hungry.

Tim turns his head against Clark's chest and gives himself leave to marvel at the pound of the most powerful heart on the planet, the *life* of the most powerful *being* on the planet --

Clark sighs and lifts Tim higher, nuzzling Tim's cheek and *lightly* kissing his ear -- "Tell me, Tim. Was it Bruce's penis in your throat last night? Could it ever be mine?"

Tim *grunts*. "Yes. And. And yes," he says, and the interesting thing about being high in the air for declarations like that is that it doesn't actually matter when the metaphorical ground disappears beneath one's feet.

Clark sighs and shifts Tim enough that they can meet each other's eyes -- and Clark smiles ruefully. "Apparently, I'm less patient than I thought."

"I don't mind... sharing information."

"You don't feel it was more than that?"

Well... Tim offers his own rueful smile. "It was... the kind of more I can live with."

"I'm glad."

"So... so am I."

"You should know... if you ever want to share your thoughts, your dreams, your fantasies --"

"I. I enjoy speaking with you."

Clark smiles again. "Then we are finally friends. I've wanted that for... a very long time."

Tim's own heart has been pounding for -- a somewhat smaller period of time. "I'm sorry I made you -- us -- wait."

And when Clark hugs him again, the wind shifts enough that his cape briefly enfolds Tim almost entirely.

Tim breathes deep and holds on.


He gets home before Bruce again, and this time makes it all the way through his shower and the two small domiati cheese and sprouts sandwiches Alfred had left for him with no sign of the man.

Tim checks the tracers -- he's on his way back.

He doesn't have to wait for Bruce.

He --

He types up a wholly unnecessary report on precisely what the cross-dressing prostitutes are doing in their areas of the city, including potentially useful information about feuding and pimps that Bruce undoubtedly already knows, and --

By the time he's done, Bruce is stripped down to just a robe with his hand on the back of the chair. He *is* reading, but Tim knows just by the *feel* of him that he's also deeply curious. Right.

Just --

Tim saves the report one more time, closes the program, rests his elbows on the console, and braces his head in his hands.

After a moment, Bruce rests one hand on Tim's shoulder. "What can I do?"

"You're -- no. You're not already doing it, and I'm not -- I'm not going to lie to you."

Bruce squeezes gently. "Tell me, please."

"It's just. I'm. I'm getting far too accustomed to having company. I always wind up getting somewhat greedy after a while."

Bruce breathes deeply. "Greed isn't always a problem, Tim."

"There's -- there's really no reason for me to have waited around for you --"

"You wanted to be with me. That is... I want that. This."

"It's just -- this *does* seem to be working. I. Right?"

Bruce lets go and turns the chair, dropping into a crouch at Tim's feet.

"If I could be a *fraction* as mobile as you are when I reach your age -- *if* I reach your age --"

"You will be."

Tim makes a rather sour face.

"Tim. You ignore physical pain with at least as much ease as any of us."

"You. You're in pain?"

A shift of the shoulders -- it isn't quite a shrug. "The bullet scar on my right quadriceps has been complaining."

"Could I. How well does the ointment help with your muscle pain?"

"Well enough. Are you looking for an excuse to continue being in my company?"

"I -- yes."

"You need none."

"It wasn't that *long* ago when you --"

"Pretended -- to the best of my ability -- that I wanted to be alone. I did it as a matter of course, and I did it very well, indeed. Because of my fear of my own greed, and how it would be interpreted by those I loved."

Tim rubs his palms on his thighs -- stops.

Bruce frowns. "That's not an action I'm familiar with."

"You rarely took my hands in your own in the past. It didn't matter if my palms were sweaty."

Bruce nods -- and takes Tim's hands in his own, rubbing at the palms with his thumbs. "I don't want you to feel you need to make excuses to be with me. I *want* you to want to be with me."

"I do. I do."

Bruce kisses Tim's palms lightly, softly -- "Let me shower. And then, please, give me a rubdown."

"Oh -- wait. Are you sure --"

Bruce smiles. "Your emotional discomfort... and my physical discomfort. Why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"*This* bird rather likes being alive, Bruce."

"Perhaps a little death...?"

Tim snorts and takes his hands back. "Shower. I'll wait."

"Thank you."

Tim watches Bruce walk toward the showers, and while he can't help but note that there is neither any particular pain nor exhaustion in his tread, he can own the fact that *he* wants rubdowns far more often than he doesn't. So.

He moves to the gurney, turning on the space heater and checking to make sure the sheets are both soft and clean, and then eyes the oils.

After some thought, he chooses the one infused with the moderate amounts of glucosamine and chondroitin, and places the bottle not *too* near to the heater.

Bruce's shower lasts for a leisurely ten minutes, and he dries himself without putting on a robe. He's partially erect.


He's *been* that erect near Tim before, and so it's not really --

It's *not* --

"Tim. We don't have to --"

"I want to," Tim says, looking up and -- no. He doesn't bother trying to drag on a smile. "Please."

"Are you sure."

Tim laughs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Everything is meaningful now. More meaningful. Whether or not it should be."

"I've found that denying meaning in one's life can lead to... difficulties."

Tim nods and drops his hand back to his side. "Yes, you're absolutely right. Come here, lie down, and let me touch your beautiful, perfect body absolutely everywhere. Mostly everywhere."

Bruce hums and drops the towel in the hamper. "As you say."

Bruce lies down on his stomach and rests his head on his arms --

"Oh. Should I have attached the massage pillow?"

"I have no pain in my neck or shoulders, Tim. It's all right."

"I'll remember for next time, just the same," Tim says, and pours a measure of the heated oil directly onto Bruce's back before beginning to work. "I've never asked about most of these scars."

"Are you asking now?"

"Only if the answer wouldn't make you tense."

Bruce hums again. "Selina, while excellent with many weapons, has always favored the bullwhip."

"I. And *that* doesn't make you tense? It looks like you were tied in place and whipped *repeatedly*."

"You have, as ever, a wonderful eye. She was drugged by Isley and *set* on me. I was young and overly confident. She managed to restrain me for a time."

"And the Batsuit gained better armor."

"That was the first redesign. I will undoubtedly continue to adjust it until the day I die."

"I'd rather you retired first."

Another hum. "So would I... but I have my doubts that it will happen."

So does Tim. Once the oil has started to be absorbed, Tim pauses to look for points of particular tension, finding surprisingly few. "You're more relaxed than I thought you would be."

"You just told me that you want to spend more time in my presence... and that you're willing to make excuses in order to make that happen."

"True, but I've made myself clear about that at other times --"

"Back then, you didn't know that our attraction was mutual. It was a secret I meant to keep."

Tim raises an eyebrow and begins working his way down Bruce's spine. "What changed your mind."

"Nothing. Your deductive capabilities simply outstripped my will toward secrecy."

Tim blushes. "I see."

"Do you?"

"I... when did you *become* attracted to me?"

"I can't say. I *noticed* my attraction to you the second time I caught you... communing with the Case."

Selina and now *Jason* -- "Perhaps. Perhaps I should stop asking questions."

"I want your curiosity as well, Tim."

"I -- still. I'd rather not raise difficult memories."


"I -- was that a *scold*?"

Bruce laughs aloud, a few notes and a few breaths. "You are yourself, and I am myself, Tim. You're perfectly capable of raising difficult memories in me solely by staring silently just over my right shoulder."

"The left one is, of course, for happy memories."

"Just so," Bruce says, and the edge of his smile is visible, bright and sharp and beautiful --

"Bruce, I. I kissed Clark again --"

"Just before he came to you, he opened a radio channel between us. I heard everything."

"That -- I. What?"

"I cannot honestly say that I know, for certain, whether Clark is more invested in beginning a sexual relationship with you or in fostering the beginning of a sexual relationship between the two of us."

Well, he's blushing *harder*, and that is... what it is. "I see. Ah. Is this where I apologize?"

"For desiring a miracle made flesh? Or for allowing him to seduce you with humor?"

Miracle made -- well, that's accurate. Tim rests his hands flat on Bruce's lower back, warming him --

Wanting him --

"This is. This is all new to me. I don't -- somehow it's... easier. With him."

"He works very hard to make it so."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment. "Bruce... does it hurt you that I want him?"


"Then --"

"Wait, please," Bruce says, reaching back to cover one of Tim's hands with his own. "It hurts because I know you will never desire me the same way you desire him. It hurts because I know that your happiness with him isn't a bladed thing, that with him there are no weapons which you would ever turn on yourself. Other than that... I am pleased, and amused, and greatly aroused by your burgeoning relationship with the man who has been my friend -- and lover -- for longer than anyone else. Do you understand?"

"I." Tim starts to dig his fingers in against Bruce's back -- he stops, and grips Bruce's hand. "I want. I feel as though I should -- ah."

"Kiss me, Tim?" Bruce smiles somewhat wider. "I'd rather you not do it out of a sense of fairness."

"That -- you're laughing, and of course you're making sense --"

"But it doesn't feel that way. I love you... son."

That was more of *hiccup* than any other halfway respectable sound. "Ah -- touché."

Bruce shifts minutely --

"Oh, yes, I *was* in the middle of something," Tim says and -- lightning doesn't strike when he begins massaging Bruce's glutes.

Possibly because he's thinking of them as 'glutes.'

"Actually... I was considering the fact that I've yet to teach you more than the basics of fencing."

"Bruce, to be honest, I'm not actually capable of fencing with you without coming all over myself. I mean, you had to have noticed how aroused I was when you *did* teach me the basics."

"I find it endlessly amusing that you assumed my interest *wasn't* prurient, Tim."

Well. Tim laughs quietly. "Call it force of habit?"

"All right," Bruce says, agreeably.

Tim works silently on Bruce's legs and tries to think --

Not to think --

What *would* Bruce's thigh feel like as it nudged Tim's own thighs apart?

And -- both thighs.

Bruce would *spread* Tim's thighs and press close --

Tim watches his hands making *love* to Bruce's calves and can't do a thing to stop them.

Especially not when Bruce sighs.

"You -- you've always managed to do this... clinically."

"I've had a certain amount of practice -- though I must admit that I rarely made it through an entire rubdown with Jason without becoming... distracted."

"I. He's beautiful."

"And troubled," Bruce says, frowning. "So very... I want to apologize for all the ways he's hurt you --"

"You *can't*, Bruce --"

"I can -- because both of us know that he wouldn't be as troubled as he is now if I had been better with him. Stronger, perhaps."

"He doesn't want you to be *strong*."

Bruce closes his eyes. "He wants me... he wants me to be a kind of strong I've never been able to manage."

"Nor should you have been. Murder is never the answer."

"You say that so easily. I..." Bruce opens his eyes again. "Is the answer always so plain?"

"I never want to feel again the way I felt when I stopped Shiva's heart. Just -- never."

"And how did you feel," and Bruce's voice is quiet, needing --

"Monstrous. Dangerous. Out. Out of control," and Tim moves to work on Bruce's arms.

"The ultimate sin... for you."

Tim frowns. "I wouldn't say... there are other sins."

Bruce's smile this time is small and more than a little old. "It was the sin which first brought you to me -- no. To Dick."

"I was *afraid* of you. I... well. You can't second-guess yourself for Jason, Bruce. Not -- not about the *Mission*."

"Perhaps you can see why I trust you so much?"

Tim meets Bruce's eyes. "I'm not always thinking about the Mission when I'm thinking about you. I mean... I have a great deal of faith in your ability to make me forget the Mission altogether if you were to... ah. Any number of things."

Bruce winces --

"Oh, did I --" Tim looks at Bruce's hand. He doesn't think he's hurting any pressure points, but -- "Direct me --"

"You're doing perfectly, Tim. I... am simply more aroused than I was."

"Oh. I." Should I stop -- he can't actually voice that question.

"You need not continue."

"I'd like to. And -- it's perfectly reasonable for you to be aroused when thinking of Jason."

"Whom you find to be... beautiful."

"Rather staggeringly so, considering that I still noticed it while he was in the process of beating the crap out of me."

Bruce laughs softly. "You'll be prepared for him if he ever tries to do the same again."

"Oh, very much so. Bruce... I don't ever want to hurt him."

"Because of who he is? Or because of who he *was* to me?"

Tim smiles and slips his fingers between Bruce's own. "I'd rather not limit myself."

"Hm. Noted." Bruce sighs. "Tim... everything you say and do... it is not Jason I'm imagining in my arms right now."

Tim squeezes Bruce's hand because it's necessary -- "Ah -- noted."

When Bruce rolls over onto his back, his penis rises -- in a curve --

Bruce leaves his eyes closed for long enough for Tim to wince for his own rising arousal.

And then Tim sets to work. More oil for Bruce's chest, and the hair glistens and gleams.

Bruce's nipples harden when Tim massages his pectorals, and Tim has to swallow back saliva.

Every slow breath shifts the muscles of Bruce's abdomen, and Tim *wants* --

And this massage has left clinical behind entirely, for all that Tim knows he's hitting every mark correctly. He wants to tell Bruce his fantasies.

He wants to hear Bruce's own.

He wants Bruce to catch him, haul him up, roll them both over until Tim is pinned under slick heat --

Tim's breathing is just -- terrible.

He works on it as best he can. He --

He fails, because when he misjudges the amount of oil on Bruce's thigh and his hand slips enough that he touches Bruce's pubic hair -- he gasps.

"Tim. You. Perhaps you should stop."

"I don't. I still don't want to."

"Tim... look at me."

And knowing Bruce doesn't *mean* that Tim should look at his dick -- it does nothing. Tim stares, and pre-come beads at the tip.

Bruce sighs -- and grips himself hard.

"Oh, God."

Bruce squeezes himself and *grunts*. "My control right now is... limited. And the way you're touching me --"

"I'm sorry. I haven't been able to." Tim licks his lips and shakes his head --

And Bruce sits up, hand still around his dick --

His big, *thick* --

Tim groans and clenches his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"This... this self-denial, Tim --"

"I have. I still have good *reasons* --"

"Yes, you do. I. I respect them, even as I want to tear them *away*."

"You." You *can*, Bruce, you can -- you can just -- "You should let me at least finish your thighs. That was -- that was the whole point --"

"Was it?"

Tim groans -- stops. "Please, Bruce."

"Don't. Don't beg -- you must never beg me."

Tim looks up --  and Bruce looks almost angry, almost *hurt* --

And Tim knows -- he can't *not* know -- that it's arousal. Hunger for *him*, his touch, his body --

Bruce wants to *taste* him, to have him in his arms --

"Let me. Let me, Bruce --"

Bruce squeezes his dick again -- and lets go. "Do it."

"You. Should lie back down."

Bruce does it, and grunts when pre-come drips on his abdomen. "Don't -- wait."

Tim pours more oil on his hands and works on Bruce's thigh. He's *trying* to do it quickly, but it's important to take the whole of the musculature into consideration, to be careful, *thorough* --

Bruce is panting --

*Tim* is panting -- "One of us should be *relaxed*."

"Let me know," Bruce says, "when you've deduced which one of us it should be."

Tim's laugh sounds crazed to his own ears --

Bruce's thighs are so *broad*. Just -- Tim could fit *both* of his thighs in one of Bruce's --

"There. There, Tim."

He'd forgotten to search for trouble spots -- but he knows now, and he takes special care to be both gentle and firm, a different sort of implacable --

And then it's time for Bruce's other thigh, only --

Only that's not where his hand is going, that's --

Bruce groans and *grips* the gurney when Tim takes his dick in hand --


Warm and *slick*, only there hasn't been time for that much pre-come to slip out, and so it's really the slickness of Tim's hand --

He doesn't *care* about reality --


"I have to. I --" Tim rests his other hand on Bruce's abdomen, more out of a ridiculous urge to comfort than out of any pathetic attempt to keep Bruce still. "Tell me. Tell me I *can* --"

"Anything, Tim, anything you *wish* --"

Tim moans and starts to stroke, slow and hard just as he's done with his toys countless times before. Only Bruce is so much *warmer*, and --

Tim moves closer, breathes deep --

Oil and male arousal. *Bruce's* arousal, and Tim's skin prickles with fresh sweat --

"Tim -- your. Your wonderful hand --"

"You made it strong, gave me. Gave me these calluses --"

"All of your hard work, all of your *desire* for this life --"

"Only. It's the only life I've ever *wanted*," Tim says, stroking faster and wanting to lean in, to bend and *swallow* --

Bruce sits up suddenly, never taking his hands off the sides of the gurney. His knuckles are showing *white* --"Harder. Please."

"Yes. Yes, I --" Tim swallows, licks his lips --

Tim strokes harder and tries not to think about what a desire for a more brutal touch would mean if Bruce were fucking him. His mouth, his ass --

Tim clenches and moans again --

"Your thoughts, Tim --"

"I -- they're so --"

"For this *moment*, my love, this -- I promise I will not try to --" Bruce cuts himself off with a breathless laugh. "*Tell* me."

"I was thinking about you fucking me --"

"*Tim* --"

"In *this* rhythm, this -- God, I want it --"

"You can *have* it --"

Tim groans again and bends, taking the head in his mouth and sucking *hard* --

"*Hnh* --" And that's Bruce's hand in his hair, Bruce's big *hand* --

He's stroking and gripping, petting and *tugging* --

And somehow it's important not to take Bruce too deep, not to --

He *knows* he's being ridiculous, that the line hasn't been crossed so much as it's been *obliterated* --

Tim keeps jerking Bruce off, trying to keep himself from just *pulling* his dick into his mouth --

"So beautiful, so -- your perfect *mouth* --"

Tim moans around Bruce --

Bruce *shouts*, cupping the back of Tim's head and holding it still as he --

Oh, as he *thrusts*, lifting himself up from the gurney and grunting every time he pushes in --

In --

Tim is *drooling* --

"Tim, pull off if you don't -- if you don't *want* --"

Tim shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, stroking faster and sucking harder, as hard as he *can* --

And Bruce shouts and comes, semen spattering the back of Tim's throat again and again --

Tim can't --

He can't remember *how* to cough --

Until Bruce pulls him off, and then he can't *stop*. Just -- he'd *thought* he'd prepared himself for the feeling, but --

Oh, God, he'd sucked Bruce *off*. He'd --

Bruce slips down off the gurney and *grips* Tim, pulling him straight and stroking his throat --

The taste. The *taste* --

"It's all right, Tim. It's --"

Tim shudders and holds up a hand, blinking and *breathing* until he can do both in something other than a panic.

He had -- he'd touched Bruce, and sucked him --

It felt so *good* --

He'd made Bruce *come* --

Tim forces himself to look up into Bruce's eyes, which are wild and *bright*. "I don't. Know what to say."

"Will you come to bed with me?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- no. He opens them. "I don't -- I still don't feel -- oh, God, I shouldn't have *done* that --"

"You felt wonderful --"

"Bruce --"

"It was what I wanted, *one* of the things I wanted --" Bruce shakes his head and grips Tim's shoulders. "You're aroused. Painfully so?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and nods. The material of the robe is perfectly soft, and right now it feels like it's *scoring* him --

"Let me ease you, Tim."

Tim moans and *starts* to shake his head --

Bruce squeezes Tim's throat lightly --

Tim's *knees* buckle --

And Bruce wraps one arm around Tim's back and holds him up, stroking Tim's throat and upper chest --

He wants Bruce to pinch his nipples, to --

So many other *things* --

"I promise I will not *assume* --"

"Do it -- please. Before -- before I change --"

Bruce lifts Tim into a kiss, and his arms might as well be as powerful as Clark's --

His mouth as *hard* --

Bruce slips his tongue in and groans --

He's tasting *himself*, and that's --

Oh, it's so *dirty*, dirty and simple at *once* --

Tim wraps his legs around Bruce's waist and cups Bruce's face, giving him the kiss he's wanted to for so *long*. It's deep and hard and demanding, it's everything he doesn't *show* --

And Bruce supports him with one hand and pets him with the other. He --

Tim opens his eyes and Bruce is *staring* at him, studying for every reaction --

Tim groans and can't stop himself from thrusting against Bruce once --

More than once. A *lot* more than *once* --

Bruce breaks the kiss --

Tim cries out and tenses but *can't* still --

"*Yes*, Tim," and Bruce rips Tim's robe away --

They're naked and *straining* together, and Bruce's abdomen is slick and hard, so *warm*, *textured* with hair --

Tim can't stop *thrusting* --

"*Take* your pleasure of me, Tim --"

Tim cries out again --

*Again* --

More. He wants -- "*More* -- oh, *fuck* --"

Bruce's finger in his cleft, moving and pressing --

Pressing against Tim's *hole* --

Rubbing hard, oil-slick *circles* --

Tim bites his tongue to keep from begging Bruce to push *in* --

He doesn't know *why* --

And the tight pressure at the base of Tim's spine seems to convulse, to make *him* convulse --

Bruce calls his name and *kisses* him again --

And Tim screams into Bruce's mouth and comes, driving against Bruce until it feels like he's wrung himself dry, until it feels like he'll get hard again in an *instant* --

Tim yanks himself back and twists free, landing on his toes and one hand --

"*Tim* --"

Oh, God. Oh, *God* --

"Please, Tim --"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry --" Tim stands and shoves a towel in Bruce's hand before picking up his robe and staggering into a run toward the stairs --

"You don't have to *leave* --"


Bruce's beautiful body --

The taste of him in his *mouth* --

Tim turns back to face Bruce once he's on the stairs --

And Bruce is staring at him, expression worried even as he strokes through the semen streaked on his abdomen and chest --

Tim whimpers and shakes his head before jogging up the rest of the stairs.


Tim manages to avoid taking any of the toys out of the drawer, but he can't close the thing. He --

He falls asleep with his hand hanging in the drawer.


He isn't *deliberately* late for breakfast so much as he's a Tim-shaped mass of delay and fear. He'd only made it downstairs after spending three full minutes standing and staring at his bedroom door.

There had been other delays.

There --

Tim is grateful for the heated trays on the sideboard -- more grateful than he can manage to *express* to Alfred in more than just a heartfelt nod and a mumbled apology --

And Bruce is waiting at the head of the table, silent and questioning, worried --

Tim avoids his eyes and eats his food, noting that there is sweetness, a certain delicacy --

Crepes again, this time stuffed entirely with fruit.

Tim congratulates himself on managing to identify it before he's finished. He --

He needs to take another run today, and he plans on making it a long one. A *thorough* one. Something which will tire him enough that he won't be *able* to think of the taste that had been in his mouth until he'd brushed his teeth --

He'd made Bruce *shout* --


"I think." Well, that's interesting. *Words* had come out of his mouth --

Bruce had *enjoyed* his mouth --

Tim drops his fork with a clatter, picks it up again, and puts it down the right way. He looks up and meets Bruce's eyes. "I seem to be having some measure of... difficulty."

Bruce frowns and nods. "I -- should I have stopped you last night?"

"*When* -- no. No, I know what you mean. I. In case I wasn't clear... I enjoyed myself with you."

Bruce nods, managing to make it one of the world's most noncommittal gestures.

Tim laughs quietly and shakes his head. "It's never -- you know I've never."


"And. You felt so." He can't manage to finish that thought. "I did manage to rest last night."

Another nod.

Tim stares at his plate -- stops and looks up again. "This is pretty much what I was talking about. This... difficulty."

Bruce frowns -- and nods again.

"I think. I think I must not be built for... this sort of thing. I feel entirely *scrambled*, and I can't stop thinking about what we did. What *I* did --"

"No, Tim. What *we* did."

"You. The way you thrust --"

"I didn't -- I didn't want to lose control that way," Bruce says, and reaches to cover Tim's hand with his own. "I wanted to be gentle."



Would he have been able to *take*...? Tim licks his lips. "I enjoyed it. When you. It felt like you were. Taking."

Bruce lets his lips part. "I want to soothe you."

"Yes. Yes, well. I'm not entirely sure how that would *work*, Bruce. I mean. I don't think -- I've effectively proven that I'm not capable of spending time close to you without losing *my* control."

Bruce closes his eyes -- only for a moment. "And it's not enough that that loss is dearly desired?"

"I -- I *used* you --"

"You took your pleasure of me --"

"I couldn't -- I couldn't *stop* --"

"Tim. It was... perfection," and Bruce's tone is so low, so *fervent* --

Tim shakes his head. "I shoved a towel in your hands and ran *away* --"

"I wanted to hold you. To keep you close."

"I only would've. Oh -- you felt so good --"

"Tim. I will deny you nothing. You must only -- no," Bruce says, smiling and shaking his head. "You need not ask, at all."

What would it have felt like if Bruce had pushed in with his finger last night? No lubricant but the oil Tim had left on his hand, so --

There would've been a *burn* --

"I'm. Going to take my run."

Bruce nods and squeezes Tim's hand. "I had your taste last night."

Tim -- breathes. "Did you. Did you like it."

Bruce nods, and he's not actually *blinking* --

"I liked. I couldn't think. With your taste in my mouth."

Bruce narrows his eyes slightly and brushes his thumb over Tim's knuckles. "Do you want the weights or the acrobatics equipment when you get back?"

That was a question. A question with an answer he needs to *give*, but Bruce is looking at him, and touching him, and being entirely *present*, and --

It's too much.

This is what he'd been *worried* about --

"I. You know, Bruce, I think I've left you more than enough time to tell me something along the lines of how giving in to this entirely would allow me to think more clearly."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"It's something. That I'd like to believe."

Bruce nods once more and turns Tim's hand over, pressing circles into the palm. "I can't give you that answer with any degree of confidence, Tim."

Well -- "Damn. All right. I'll take the weights."

Bruce presses his thumb firmly against the center of Tim's palm -- and then lets go.

As dismissals go, it's ambiguous --

So much of this is.


Tim manages to bench another ten pounds than had become his usual, and congratulates himself with a celebratory shadow-fight on the beam. He has an entirely uncomplicated appreciation for his continued improvements in balance and grace. While he'll never really even *approach* Dick in that respect, he *is* approaching Bruce.

Score one for obsessive control of one's body.

After that, he moves back to the weights, being careful to only reach the point where he'll be tired enough for an afternoon nap. He isn't feeling particularly in *need* of the extra rest, but, quite frankly, that has *come* to mean that he'll get *quiet* sleep, with relatively quiet dreams.

He cherishes those, and --

He's not especially surprised to find himself spinning sexualized -- if not quite sexual -- fantasies while he works the leg press. He has often worked to influence his dreams this way, and sometimes it even works the right way.

*Most* of the time it works oddly -- like all the times when he'd filled his mind with fantasies of Dick before sleeping and wound up dreaming of Barbara or Starfire --

Or, memorably, *both* of them --

Tim laughs to himself --

And becomes aware that Bruce is watching him. Hm.

Tim looks -- and Bruce is moving to spot him. Tim had managed to sense him from a full fifteen feet away, which is worth either another celebration or a nod to his increasingly sexualized paranoia. Tim smiles ruefully at Bruce. "I'm not sure I'm good for much more weight today."

"It's worth a try," Bruce says, and adjusts the machine. "I've been thinking about increasing your protein intake."

Tim hums and tests himself -- yes, this is reasonably doable. "Have you sensed that I'm due for another growth sputter?"


"I'm never actually going to manage a spurt, Bruce."

Bruce hums and strokes a line along the side of Tim's leg. "Your form is perfect... and so is your form."

"I believe you might be somewhat biased."

Bruce smiles like a particularly pleased shark. "Anything is possible. Ten more reps, then a two minute rest."

"All right." And Tim works in slow, methodical silence, listening carefully to his muscles as they question him silently about the increase in weight and whether or not they should be rebelling against it --

Bruce leans against the machine, showing his confidence in Tim with his casual pose... hm.

"Do you intend to be this clear in your communications with me from now on?"

"I've considered it, and... I've decided to try."

"Try... meaning that you doubt you'll always succeed?"

Bruce inclines his head.

Tim finishes the fifteenth rep and checks himself. His breathing, his pain levels, his relative fatigue... "I think I shouldn't do more than one more set at this weight."

"As you say," and Bruce looks him over with pleasure and... pride. A very particular *sort* of pride --

The kind of pride that doesn't quite *fit* --  but.


"I haven't asked you about the filial... thing. I'm wondering if I should."

"I will answer any question you ask," and that sounds like a warning because it is.

Tim nods. "Then I'll leave it for now."

Bruce rests his hand on Tim's ankle. "Tim. It need only ever be something you toy with for your amusement and pleasure."

'It.' Right. "I did say I was going to leave it."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"... and you know exactly how successful at that I wouldn't have been. All right. Dad."

Bruce shows his teeth for this smile. "Son."

Tim laughs and starts his second set. "It probably says far too much about me that *it* has nothing whatsoever to do with my reservations."

A noncommittal sound.

"Mm-*hm*, as Nyesha would say. Is her father that frightening?"

"Sadly, no. Though I've heard fascinating stories about her grandparents from Lucius."

"He's close to the family?"

Bruce's smile becomes significantly softer and more fond. "He once told me -- with two scotches in his system -- that African-Americans of a certain social class only become annoyed by the assumption that they know every *other* African-American of that class because they do."

"It does sound like the sort of conversation best lubricated with strong liquor."

"By the end of it, I was catching myself eyeing the bar with naked longing."

Tim laughs. "You deserve every bit of torture he puts you through. You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. As to your earlier question, your late mother's purchase records show that she acquired a new wardrobe when she was your age --"

Tim coughs --

"-- and I have my hopes."

"You could always build a rack for me."

"Do you think you'd enjoy that?"

Tim finishes his set and hums, stretching where he sits. "I'd probably only enjoy it if there were noticeable results. I don't suppose you know of any low-gravity worlds in need of a Robin?"

"I'm afraid not. Though I'll keep an eye out from the Tower."

"Will you?"

"Not even remotely."

This laugh is closer to a giggle than anything else, but at least he was straining enough for a stretch not to let all of it out. "You're pretty much determined to raise my self-esteem to heights heretofore unknown by any Bat, aren't you."

"The thought had occurred. How are your knees?"

"As close to perfect as they get. Let me guess -- you want me to work my quads more."

"For some strange reason, I find myself focused on your thighs today."

"How's *your* thigh?"

Bruce smiles at him as he moves to the next station on the weight machine. "It hurts abominably. I'm going to need rubdowns every night for the next... three months."

Tim laughs. "I never did make it to the other thigh. And yes, I *am* sorry for that."

"I, surprisingly enough, am not. More weight."

"If we keep this up I'll have to cut my patrol again," Tim says, bending in to set the weight to the next level.

"I have faith in your ability to... push through."

Tim smiles wryly and begins. "For some things, anyway."

"You should not think..." Bruce shakes his head. "I am humbled by the care you bring to your relationships."

That -- "It's not like you're being careless --"

"Are you sure?"

Tim opens his mouth -- closes it.

Bruce nods.

"But that just brings me back to wondering... I. What *did* change your mind?"

"You'll be turning eighteen soon."

"That. That's it? Seriously?"

Bruce laughs aloud. "No."

Tim takes a breath.

"I have other things planned for your eighteenth birthday."

Tim manages to keep his flinch for that *internal*, but -- "Bruce."

Another laugh. "After you made it clear that you knew of my attraction for you, I waited for you to say something. Anything. Anything at *all*."

"You thought that would *work*?"

"With hindsight, I recognized my foolishness. And so began my attempts to seduce you."

"I really want --" For you to fuck me absolutely, catastrophically blind.

"Yes, Tim?"

"Ah -- not a thought that needed to be voiced."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "I have my doubts about that."

"I..." Tim pauses after his first set and looks at his knees, bony and scarred. His thighs --

His thighs that would look so *good* in Bruce's hands --

Clark's hands -- "You didn't just want me to learn Kryptonian for the sake of the Mission. Did you?"

Bruce crouches beside him. "It always surprised me that Dick didn't want to learn."

"Well. He does seem to be invested in viewing Clark as *Clark*."

"And you're not?"

"I... am rather exquisitely intimidated by the prospect of Kal. By which I mean I want extensive time with the AI's cultural modules before I even begin to... try."

"But you do mean *to* begin."

Tim smiles ruefully. "He seems to get a certain... look. When he's being Kal with me."

Bruce shows his teeth again. "I feel confident in assuring you that this is something which he would allow you to play with, as opposed to needing you to throw yourself into it wholeheartedly."

"Meaning *you've* played."


The images for that... are certainly images. "I want both of you. Badly."

"I'd like for you to take what you want. And I'd like to watch you with him."

Tim swallows. "I... do you mean you'd want to be... there?"

Bruce rests his hand on Tim's knee. "Wherever 'there' would happen to be."

*That* -- "You have reason to believe that he wants the same thing."

"I have reason to believe that he'd be happy to tell you just that right now... were you to call him."

Tim's dick twitches behind his jock enough that Tim has to *shift* --


Tim closes his eyes and takes a breath. "I'd like to believe that I could have this level of -- of intimacy with you even without the attendant sexuality --"

"You can --"

"Bruce. You don't know that."

Bruce tightens his grip on Tim's knee. "I never want to be without you."

Tim *works* on his breathing -- "I should. It's time for my nap."

"Let me come with you."

Tim *blinks*. "I -- Bruce --"

"Only to sleep. Only..." Bruce sighs. "We slept together once."

No Man's Land, two blankets, a balky generator, and a space heater with a tendency to smoke alarmingly when allowed to run for more than two hours at a time. "You. You made me warm."

"You did the same."

"You slept in your *jock* --"

"You," Bruce says, and strokes a short distance up Tim's thigh, "did not."

"I wanted -- I didn't know if I wanted to feel more of you or *not*."

"I spent much of the night longing to thrust against you, to nestle myself between your buttocks and warm myself *that* way --"

"Oh -- God. I would've. I would've begged, Bruce."

"For me to take you."

"For you -- to fuck me so hard I screamed."

Bruce exhales sharply. "Come to bed with me. We know each other's desires now --"

"Some of them --"

"*Enough* of them. Let us find rest together."

Tim doesn't realize he's nodding until Bruce smiles, and by then it's too late --

It was, perhaps, too late a long time ago --

That's a thought he doesn't have to keep.


Tim chooses his own bedroom with the thought that he'll have a better chance of holding on to his convictions if he *isn't* surrounded by Bruce's scent --

It's an egregiously stupid thought. With Bruce stripped down to his boxer-briefs -- he'd left the jock in the *Cave* --

They're *both* stripped down to their boxer-briefs, and they're both half-hard, and Bruce slips into the right side of the bed just like he knows Tim always chooses the left --

Of course he knows.

Tim takes a breath and climbs in, turning most of the way onto his stomach with his head turned away --

And Bruce strokes his back. "Space was an option we didn't have then."

And Tim knows he wishes the same limitations applied now.

Tim does, too, and --

Tim shifts closer, flushing all over for the feel of Bruce's heat --

"Thank you," Bruce says, and his voice is low and *full*.

Tim closes his eyes. "If you. You could touch me. More."

Bruce sighs and massages Tim's back with one hand quickly, almost *brusquely* --


"I must confess, the protocol for this is an unfamiliar one."

Tim blinks. "Ah. When *is* the last time you successfully shared a bed with a... lover? Or -- any reasonably flat surface."

"Were you my lover then, Tim?"

Tim licks his lips. "I wanted to be."

"Then... a moment," Bruce says, wrapping his arm around Tim's waist and pulling him closer still until Tim's ass is against Bruce's abdomen. "Like this?"

"Not. Not quite," and Tim scoots down, pushing the sheet with him, and -- "Oh, God, I."


"You feel." Tim swallows and pushes back with his ass --

"Tim." Bruce strokes down to Tim's hip and squeezes *hard* --

"*Oh* --"

"When. Whenever you wish."

Tim nods somewhat frantically and tries to ignore the part of him which wants to find some wordless way to urge Bruce to thrust --

The part of him which is *pretending* it believes that that wouldn't be a tease --

The kind of tease one could *bleed* on --

"You should... relax."

Well, yes, he *is* incredibly tense --

It's just not every *day* when he discovers that he can have everything he's always *wanted* --

Except that it's *been* every day for most of the past *week*. Tim closes his eyes and regulates his breathing, forcing it down and down into the sleep rhythm until his body relaxes in self-defense.

Bruce's breathing isn't quite in time with his own -- Bruce has nearly *twice* the lung capacity Tim does --

But listening to it isn't the terrible distraction he'd thought it would be. It's... companionable.

Tim closes his eyes and covers Bruce's hand with his own.

He sleeps --


He knows it's a dream by the way the walls keep rolling back and back, by the way the bed flattens and splays itself, by the way he's laughing as he slicks the toy --

The *grey* toy, and somehow it's as warm as Bruce's dick --

No, *Clark's* --

And they're both there, hovering at the foot of the vast *plain* of the bed as Tim lies back and bends his knees up, as he arches and slips the toy in --

In --

Inch by inch by *inch* --

And Bruce is holding his thighs apart --

And Clark is kissing him so deeply, so --


If he could just --

He needs to *fuck*, to *be* fucked --

"Tim, *please* --"

Bruce never *begs* in his dreams, and he has to keep this one, *remember* this one --

And the kiss is much hotter, much *darker* --

The kiss is shadows and heat, *weight* --

The kiss is *awkward* -- aimed over Tim's shoulder, and --

Oh, it's Bruce, it's *Bruce*, and the question of why Bruce is waking him with a kiss is answered by the fact that he's moving his hips --

*Pumping* his hips, and Bruce is clutching him but not trying to stop him --

Bruce is kissing his cheek and holding himself *still* --

Tim grunts and forces himself to stop, to --

Tim pants and moans -- "Sorry. I'm sorry, Bruce --"

"*No*. You --" Bruce groans and kisses Tim's shoulder hard. "Tell me. Tell me what you dreamed."

"I --" It's what he *owes*. The *least* of what he owes. "It -- we were here. With Clark --"


"I was. Using the toy on myself. The one you gave me -- *ah* --"

And Bruce eases the bite to Tim's shoulder, but doesn't let go.

"Clark was kissing me. You were. You were holding me *spread* --"

Bruce *licks* his shoulder. "Do you want that."

"I want. I want *you* --"

"That toy. I made a cast --"

"I *know* --"

"Have you *used* it?"

He knows -- but Clark hadn't spoken explicitly of what he'd seen Tim do. Tim swallows. "I -- attached it to the bedside table. I stroked it... the way I stroked you."

Bruce squeezes Tim's hip harder. "Did you do... anything else?"

"I sucked it. Pushed it. Pushed it into my throat --"

And Bruce pulls back for a moment -- for long enough to push Tim onto his back and kneel between Tim's thighs --

Tim groans helplessly --

"Tim... just this?"

"Just. I -- you're between my thighs," Tim says, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut --

Bruce narrows his eyes and cups Tim's thighs, spreading them wider --

"*Fuck*, hold -- hold me that way --"

"For how long."

"I don't *know*. I --" Tim tries to bring his thighs back together and *can't*, and his penis twitches *twice* --

"You want to be... held down."

"*Yes* -- sometimes. I don't know --"

"You do."

"*Bruce* --"

"You have your dreams, your fantasies... I desire all of them, Tim," and Bruce begins to massage Tim's thighs, edging closer and closer to Tim's groin --

Tim can't see *Bruce's* groin in this position, and so he sits *up* --

And Bruce pushes him back down. And raises an eyebrow in question.

Tim licks his lips. "I. Yes, that is... extremely arousing. But I wanted to see you. To see how. How hard you are."

Bruce narrows his eyes and stands on Tim's bed, pushing down his boxer-briefs and revealing himself *fully* erect --

"Oh -- God, you're so beautiful --"

"I'm yours," Bruce says, matter-of-fact and *sure* as he kneels once more. "When you began moving against me, my dream of darkness became warm. *Full*. You were bent for me --"

"Is that what you want?"

"That is *one* of the things I want. You cried out for my touch --"

"I -- oh, God, I *would* --"

"I woke to your soft, *frustrated* moans, to the feel of you *moving* -- Tim. Let me pleasure you."

"I." The thing is --

The very *important* thing is that any and all protests would probably have an easier time coming out of his mouth if he weren't in the process of stroking down his own chest --

If Bruce weren't watching Tim's hand *covetously* --

"You want to touch me this way. That was supposed to be a question --"

"I do."

"I want -- I want --" Tim groans and moves his hand to the side, clutches at the sheets -- "Do it, Bruce. Touch me --"

And Bruce moans while he does it, moans again when he tucks his fingers beneath the waistband of Tim's boxer-briefs. It seems to *make* Tim's hips rise, and once the boxer-briefs are gone, Bruce strokes and seems almost to *chart* Tim's curves and angles and planes --

"Are you. Are you making a plan of *attack*?"

"I've been told," Bruce says, and presses his thumbs to Tim's nipples, "that I treat making love in much the same way that I treat every other aspect of my existence."

Tim laughs helplessly. "I'm not your enemy --"

"Lover. You are my lover at last," Bruce says, and pinches Tim's nipples carefully, lightly --

"Please. Please, harder --"

"Yes," Bruce says, and increases the pressure until Tim starts to gasp --

To moan and arch --

"Beautiful boy. I want you to beg, and I want nothing of the kind."

That -- "I understand. I understand that -- please, Bruce, I don't think I can wait --"

"This is a tease."

Tim laughs and arches again -- "Right now it is. I *felt* you --"

"You want to feel me again..." Bruce nods and cups Tim's face. "Have you ever considered letting me thrust between your thighs?"

Tim surprises himself with a growl -- "Ah. Apparently, that's a tease, too. You -- you said you wanted to taste me -- oh, *fuck* --"

He'd *known* Bruce could move this fast, this *perfectly* --

Tim is *enveloped* --

Tight, wet *heat* --

"*Bruce* --"

But it's just the head, and he knows that by the way the vibration of Bruce's hum *ends* --

And begins again --

*Again* --

A message, and Tim manages to stop clawing at the sheets for long enough to sit up on his elbows --

To see the question in Bruce's eyes be overcome with *lust* --

Tim wants to say something, to make it true, *real* --

All he's doing is cursing and groaning, clutching at the sheets and staring like an *idiot* --

Bruce blinks *once* -- and swallows him.

Just --

Tim can't even make himself *breathe* --

Until he gasps and *shouts* for the feel of Bruce sucking harder, gripping Tim's hips --

Just -- he's thrusting, he's -- he's fucking Bruce's *mouth*, lifting up again and again --

"Bruce -- *Bruce* --"

There have to be words which come after that, he has to be able to make himself *clear* --

"I want -- I need --"

Bruce hums *loudly* and it feels like being gently electrocuted -- no, he's *felt* that and it wasn't like this, wasn't so *warm* --

"Bruce, don't -- oh, I'll come, I'll *come* --"

Bruce nods slowly and *firmly*, and that --

There's *amusement* in his eyes -- no. Something softer than that, something --

"Oh, you're *happy*, I -- Bruce, I love -- I *want* you to be. Happy --" Tim groans and feels himself tossing his head, denying everything but what he's *getting*.

He doesn't want to feel anything else, doesn't want to *think* --

Oh --

Bruce is --

He's working his finger along Tim's cleft --

"*Fuck* --" And that's all Tim has before he's coming, jerking and losing his *grip* on the sheets --

Falling back and *arching* --

"*Bruce* --"

Sucking harder, sucking in pulses as Tim *writhes* --

He's beating at the bed with his fist --

And Bruce pulls off in a slow, *promising* motion. "Thank you."

The sound Tim makes only *wants* to be a word.

Bruce hums and kisses his way up over Tim's abdomen, his chest --

Bruce cups Tim's wrists and lifts them over his head --

Bruce *covers* Tim, giving him his weight -- "Like this?"

Tim groans and feels himself spasm and *twitch*. A part of him only wants to go somewhere dark and quiet and shake himself back to something like sanity, but --

That part is busy being swallowed -- *buried* -- by the part of him which only wants to shake while being attached to *Bruce*.

Tim tugs at Bruce's grip on his wrists --

"Is that a request for me to let go?"

"What? I... hm. Maybe?" Tim laughs --

And Bruce kisses him, *shares* with him --

Tim tastes himself in Bruce's mouth and shudders, feeling something shift and open inside his self, feeling something warm seem almost to coat him from the inside out --

There almost seem to be parts of his self he hadn't *known* about before, spaces and possibilities --

But when Bruce starts fucking Tim's mouth with his tongue, all of those possibilities narrow *dramatically*. Just --

Tim pushes Bruce off --

"Tim, please --"

"Fuck me. You -- God, do you *want* to?"

"*Yes* --"

"Then *do* it --"

And the kiss is -- anything but perfunctory. It's a kiss of *intent*, of desire to continue --

Bruce catches Tim's wrists again and *presses* them to the bed --

And Tim's dick weighs in with hot, *sticky* opinions, *aching* opinions --

And Tim knows that ache very, very well. It's the ache of being unfinished, being *hungry*. Usually, that tends to mean that he hadn't gotten through enough -- and 'enough' can be an *idiotic* word -- of the fantasy before coming, but now --

Now, the fantasy is right here --

*Here*, because Bruce is rolling them over, stroking Tim's sides, his back -- his ass, and Tim has to clutch Bruce for that, just --

At least a little --

Enough to make Bruce growl into his *mouth*, and Tim would dearly love a growth sputter, a protein infusion, a -- something which would let him have *this* kiss while also being able to feel Bruce's dick --

It's right *there* --

Out of reach, and he can't --

Tim breaks the kiss and moves back, reaches --

Bruce grunts, eyes seeming to *flare* as Tim takes him in hand and squeezes, strokes --

Learns *this* quality of slickness, the kind that means Tim has been teasing and offering and begging all at once -- "I want you inside me --"

"I want you to have -- everything you want."

"I --"

"*Everything*, Tim," and Bruce sits up on his own elbows. His hair is mussed, sticking up in places --

Even the hair on his *chest* is mussed --

Tim doesn't remember *doing* that, but.

The way Bruce is looking at him -- the ravenously *solid* happiness in his eyes -- "You... enjoy being an object of lust."

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- not mussed, and perhaps Tim will be more completist next time -- and lowers it again. "You're still not entirely sure that you enjoy such things."


Bruce grunts --

Did Tim really squeeze Bruce's dick for *comfort*?

The light in Bruce's eyes suggests he has the same question. Well.

"Ah... it's rather distracting, Bruce."


"It -- gets in the way --"

"Of some things."

"It --it practically *demands* a loss of control --"


"Bruce -- do you have some objection to fucking me until I can no longer form words?"

Bruce narrows his eyes.

Tim narrows his own.

Bruce's dick *twitches* in Tim's hand --

"Bruce --"

"Call. Clark."

It feels like -- like Tim's eyes want to *escape* from his head -- "You -- I --"

"*Everything* you want, Tim."

Clark could --

*While* Bruce was --

And then Clark could also --

Tim licks his lips. "I'm intimidated."

"By Clark? Understandable --"

"No. Ah. By the images in my mind. And there are -- many."

Bruce narrows his eyes again. "I want to take you, Tim. And I want to watch Clark doing the same."

"Oh... God. In -- that order?"

"If you'd like."

"And if... I want other things from Clark?"

"I feel quite sure that he's eager to learn all of them. As thoroughly as possible," Bruce says, sitting up the rest of the way and removing Tim's hand from his dick --

"Oh -- please --"

"A moment," Bruce says, and *licks* Tim's hand. Just -- his palm and his fingers, *between* his fingers --

Tim groans and shudders -- "Bruce --"

"Call. Take what you want."

Put that way...

Well, it *would* be a proactive way of handling this -- this sort of *thing* --

A... he shouldn't ever be *passive*, and --

Bruce bites the tips of Tim's fingers and stares into him, seems to almost be *willing* him to --

To --

All right, he's making excuses, and even though he's doing it in the privacy of his own head, it's still *problematic*. If he *wants* them --

And he *does* --

If he wants, then he should *take*, and never mind all the hard-earned caution and --

No, not *that*, but --

Bruce pulls Tim's fingers out of his mouth. "I promise you, Tim -- I will always listen to you on matters relating to the Mission. And I will always try to help you guide our thoughts to that which is necessary, as opposed to that which is pleasurable."

"We -- technically we should be getting ready for patrol *now* --"

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. "We slept for less than an hour."

"This -- this will probably take... a significant amount of time --"

"Clark," Bruce says, and looks Tim over like a *meal* -- "Clark can be as precipitous as a boy."

"Oh -- my God, that's dirty."

Bruce smiles.

"And -- and tempting. If I'm going to be honest."

"Shall I mourn my age?"

"*No* -- I just. I meant --"

Bruce laughs quietly. "I've seen the way you look at my grey hairs, Tim. I'm not... self-conscious."

Tim blushes and tugs his hand away from Bruce's. And catches himself in the *moments* before he would've gripped Bruce's dick again --  and then he does it, anyway.

"Shall I fashion a leash for it?"

The images for *that*... are more than a little ridiculous. "It would probably be more than enough to just make sure I can always get to it."

Bruce hums. "You've wanted to hold me this way for quite some time."

Tim swallows. "God, yes. I. You feel... wonderful in my hand."

"I want to feel wonderful for you... in other places."

"You were --" Tim swallows again. "I wanted to take you into my throat."

Bruce narrows his eyes *again*. "I want that, as well. Though... less than other things."

Tim blinks. "I -- are you sure about that?"

Bruce shows his *teeth* -- "Quite. Your sounds are incredible. Call Clark."

"You. *You* could call him --"

"He knows perfectly well that I desire him -- and that I desire him in this moment."

"And... he doesn't know the same about me. Somehow. Even though he *should* --"

"Tim --"

"Clark," Tim says, and gives in to the need to stroke Bruce, to warm his palm, to give it a *reason* -- "Clark, please... come. Here. That is. Ah."

Bruce raises an eyebrow when Clark fails to materialize after five seconds. "Now would be a terrible time to give in to doubt, Tim."

"Is. Is that what I'm doing?"

"You stopped stroking."

"I might have simply been -- doing... something." Tim laughs and shakes his head. "He could very well be doing something *important*."

"This isn't important...?"

Tim frowns. "It's really not fair to ask questions like that when I'm holding your dick."

"Perhaps if you moved your hand to my scrotum...?"

Tim flips Bruce off. Not for the first time -- just for the first time when they've been looking directly at each other.

Bruce shows his teeth again. "Certainly... we could give that a try."

"I assure you," Clark says, and sits beside Tim on the bed, "that it is a highly enjoyable activity."

Tim jumps on the *inside* --

And Clark strokes Tim's back with his incredibly large, warm, and *smooth* hand. "I'm terribly sorry it took me so long. I decided to come to the front door, and I couldn't exactly *ignore* Alfred --"

"The *front* door, Clark...?"

Clark gives Bruce a narrow look. "*Someone* always calls me from the *Cave*."

Oh, that -- "If you're not comfortable, Clark --"

"Oh, no, this is wonderful, Tim. Intimate. *Warm*. Distinctly lacking in the decidedly unromantic scent of decades of guano."

Tim laughs quietly. "You shouldn't really... ah. Some of us *discovered* our sexualities with the backdrop of that particular scent."

Clark kisses Tim's shoulder. "We *could* make Bruce apologize for that."

That *we* -- "Ah... how?"

"Well, when he's terribly disagreeable, I tend to keep him from having an orgasm for extended periods of time."

"Clark," Bruce says, and lies back on his elbows, "can be unspeakably cruel."

Tim licks his lips and imagines --

*Tries* to imagine --

Kal? Tim turns to look at Clark directly --

And Clark's smile is sunny, bright, and hopeful. So much so that it's almost difficult to *credit* the lust. But --

"How... long have you been listening?"


"Yes, Clark. *Do* tell," Bruce says -- and *grunts* when Clark makes Tim squeeze... very hard.

"To be honest -- which is something I *will* not need help with, Bruce --"

Bruce hums.

Clark turns back to Tim. "You were making... wonderful sounds in your sleep. They seemed almost... needy. For all that they were quiet."

Tim blinks, but -- really. A part of him had already known the answer to that question. It's the part of him which can play with Bruce, *tease* Bruce --

It's the part of him which doesn't give the proverbial flying fuck at a rolling doughnut for all of Tim's perfectly reasonable concerns, and --

It's the part that belongs here, in this incredibly warm and *blatantly* sexual moment.

It's the part which knows what it *wants*, and that's enough of a reason to let his eyes slip most of the way closed and lean in, lean close --

"Oh -- beautiful," Clark says, kissing him hard, *hotly* --

"*Don't* take him from this bed, Clark."

Clark's hum manages to be both pleased and *irritated*, and that's really quite *impressive* --

But perhaps not as impressive as the tongue which almost seems to be taking *over* Tim's mouth, to --

Clark pushes a hand into Tim's hair and tilts Tim's head back --

"You probably shouldn't take *yourself* from this bed, either, Clark," Bruce says, laughter *threaded* through his voice, and --

Is Clark floating? Hovering? Tim opens his eyes -- and immediately gets lost in Clark's *thoughtfully* hungry expression, his --

He almost seems to be *examining* Tim's reaction to this kiss --

No, to *this* kiss, because now Clark is holding him still and sucking Tim's lower lip almost hard enough to be painful --

Now Clark is *fucking* Tim's mouth with his tongue --

Clark is narrowing his eyes --

And Tim realizes that he's moaning, clawing at Clark's shoulders for a *grip* on his uniform -- wait. Tim pulls back until Clark *lets* him --


"Naked. Ah -- please?"

There isn't even a *blur* -- not one *Tim* is capable of seeing -- and Clark is naked.

*Nude* --

Clark is --

Well, of course he's big all over --

Of course his skin is golden and sleek, *smooth* everywhere save for the thick, dark hair at his groin and the thinner hair under his arms --

No scars. Nothing to -- to break the *effect* of him. Nothing to allow *thought* --

Which is probably why Tim's body had given up on waiting for his mind, why he's stroking and petting and scratching at Clark's chest, Clark's arms --

Clark has *supported* him on one of those arms --

"Oh, Tim..." And Clark's voice is rich with wonder, happiness --

"It's impossible not to feel beautiful when he's touching you," Bruce says, and reaches down to grip himself. "Tim... give in to everything you feel."

"I -- I *am* --"

"You're still holding back --"

"If I -- if I don't --" Tim shakes his head and lets himself gasp for the feel of his fingertips on Clark's nipples --

"You're safe, Tim," Clark says, and covers -- and *doesn't* hold -- Tim's hands with his own. "I promise."

"But -- this --"

"What you desire, Tim. *Everything* you desire."

Tim groans and leans in fast, sucking Clark's right nipple into his mouth --

Clark gasps and cups the back of Tim's head --

Tim can see Bruce moving out of the corner of his eye --

And that's the sound of Bruce *kissing* Clark, the feel of Bruce roughly massaging Tim's back with one hand --

Tim has to *see*. He pulls back --

And Clark groans into Bruce's mouth --

Bruce almost seems to be *feeding* on Clark --

He's pulling Clark's *hair* --

And Tim has just enough time to *think* about pulling back before Bruce is breaking the kiss and moving, gripping Tim and *lifting* --

And then Tim just *is* pressed back against Clark's chest --

Bruce spreads Tim's thighs over Clark's own, and the sight of that --

The *feel* --

"Ah -- just a moment," Clark says, shifting behind and beneath --

And Tim grunts for the feel of Clark slipping his dick between Tim's cheeks --

"Oh. Oh, yes, *that* -- I must confess I've wanted to have *just* this sensation for quite some time, Tim," and Clark kisses a *fast* line from Tim's shoulder to his cheek --

"It tends to grant a remarkable... focus. Though I suspect this will, as well," Bruce says, and raises an eyebrow.

"Ah... 'this?'"

Bruce wraps his hand around Tim's *throat* --

"*Fuck*, Bruce. I -- have no idea what to say."

Bruce touches the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. "Perhaps you feel as though you shouldn't enjoy this touch as much as you do?"

"It's -- reckless. Ah --"

Bruce shows his teeth and *squeezes* -- "Not," he says, and manages to looks *triumphant* -- "With me."

"Or me," and Clark slips his tongue in Tim's *ear* -- for just a moment. "That particular bitterness --"

"Those particular oils --"

"Rather reminiscent of other things, yes," and Clark bites Tim's throat --

Trying and failing to cry out makes Tim *blush* --

"You're entirely safe," Clark says. "You are... in good hands?"

Bruce hums. "I thought Lois told you that you weren't allowed to watch television."

"She told me I wasn't allowed to watch Angela *Chen*, Bruce, and I have not."

Bruce hums and loosens his grip. "Again, I miss your sounds."

"They're not going to be especially *coherent* for very much longer --"

"You could consider making it a training exercise --"

Clark squeezes Tim's shoulders lightly. "Bruce, do *not* make me slap your penis."

Bruce *laughs* -- and licks his lips. "As I was saying, Tim --"


"You could consider attempting to see how long you can... hold out."

"Excuse me for just a moment, Tim," Clark says, pulling Tim back against him and --

The move is too fast to be *sure* of --

But Bruce's pained, *thrilled* groan is impossible to mistake.

Tim swallows.

Bruce pants twice and smiles at him.

Clark sighs -- and strokes up over Tim's pectorals before gripping. "I'm terribly sorry about that, Tim, but Bruce *really* needs to learn how to *behave*."

Tim suspects that sensation is his eyes trying to cross. "Ah..."

Bruce cups Tim's chin and raises an eyebrow. "Too much...?"

For the moment. For the *moment*?


Clark kisses Tim's cheek twice --

A dozen times --

Bruce strokes Tim's mouth with his thumb -- "Tim...?"

Kissing Bruce's thumb isn't actually an *answer* --

But it makes Bruce take a sharp breath and *press* his thumb to Tim's mouth. "Beautiful boy... tell us a fantasy. Please," and he moves his hand --

And Clark pinches Tim's nipples *exactly* as hard as Bruce had before --

"Oh, God -- ah. A fantasy?"

Bruce nods --

"It need not be about us. Either of us," Clark says, and *licks* Tim's cheek -- "Mm. You've almost begun to sweat again."

"Yes, well. These things happen?" Tim laughs somewhat *crazily* --

Clark is still pinching his nipples --

"You could tell us," Bruce says, and begins to stroke Clark's hands, "about Dick."

Tim swallows --

Clark moans softly. "Your heart is beating so *quickly*, Tim..."

"*Again*, these things *happen* -- I. I fail to see the appeal of talking about. Anyone else?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- but then he nods. "Clark, tell Tim how often you've watched *closely* while people -- various people -- have tried and failed to seduce him."

"Oh --" Clark sighs. "I almost certainly owe Kon-El an apology. That *is* how you think of him most often, isn't it?"

Tim blinks rather a *lot* --

"I've wondered if he might have better luck if you ever thought of him as Conner..."

"Clark," and Bruce's voice is *chiding*. "Tim has none of my prejudices."

"Oh, very true. Very... mmm. A moment --"

And Tim's moans sound *desperate* to his own ears, but Clark is *moving* him, rubbing Tim against his dick --

It's so *hot* --

"Here, you've already begun to sweat. To... ease the way?"

Tim nods without thinking -- "Or. I mean. It's rather -- there's no choice --"

"Do you like that?" And Bruce stops stroking Clark's hands and moves his own to Tim's -- spread -- thighs.

"Ah -- certainly there's been. Fantasy --"

Clark --

"Was that a purr?"

"I -- I don't *think* so, Tim, but you're welcome to interpret it that way --"

"It was a purr, Clark."

"I -- I am not the one in this bed with an unhealthy fascination with cats, Bruce."

Tim snorts --

"And Tim agrees with me. Don't you?"

Tim smiles helplessly. "I've yet to see you while Catwoman was near, Clark. I can't exactly be sure."

"You *can*."

"Really, Clark?"

"She -- she's not very nice, at all."

Tim coughs.

Bruce hums, tilting Tim's head back and kissing Tim's throat --

"Oh -- Bruce --"

Bruce *bites* -- and pulls back. "Lois is, of course, the embodiment of sweetness and light at *all* times."

"*Lois* has never attacked me with a *whip*, Bruce."

"At the moment... ah."

"Yes, Tim?" Clark *pauses* with his hands on Tim's hips --

Bruce is laughing behind his eyes again --

Right. "It just seems -- at the moment -- that Lois' lack of whip-intensive activities might be a source of *sadness* for you, Clark."

And Bruce cocks his head to look at Clark *very* loudly --

Clark nips Tim's ear. "*Lois* would be nice about it."

"'It' being the whipping."

"I -- yes."

"Noted," Tim says, and reaches for Bruce --

Who takes his hand and sucks on Tim's inner *wrist* --

"Oh -- that -- I. I frankly never considered that as a sexual *thing* --"

"Really, Tim? You've *bitten* your own wrist so many times when you've been pleasuring yourself -- ah. Hm."

Bruce is *shaking* with laughter -- while continuing to suck. And really --


"Yes, Tim?"

"I'm beginning to wonder how you've *missed* me using my toys."

"It does seem terribly unfair."


"Well -- yes," Clark says, tilting Tim's head back and to the side so that they can look at each other. "How often *do* you use them? Percentage-wise, I mean."

Tim blinks -- and thinks about it. "No more than forty percent, I would think."

"Forty-one point seven," Bruce says, and *licks* Tim's wrists. "Clark has mostly listened to your pleasure, Tim."

"I -- ah. I suppose that makes sense -- Bruce."

"Yes, Tim."

"How much analysis have you *done* of my masturbatory habits?"

Clark turns Tim's head so he can look at Bruce --

Who is smiling *warmly*.

Tim laughs. "Noted. I suppose I would've done the same had I access to that much footage."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"And the will to *use* that access for such irresponsible *reasons*."

"Irresponsible, Tim?"

"Ah, if I may, Bruce?"

"Please, Clark."

Clark turns Tim's head again -- "Oh, beautiful --"

The kiss is hard and hungry and is attended by Clark seeming almost to *thicken* in Tim's cleft --

Tim groans --

Clark pulls back. "I believe, in some ways, it would be irresponsible for Bruce *not* to analyze such things."

Tim licks his lips and tries to think about something other --

Clark is so hot, so *close* --

No, he was going to *think*. "Um. What?" There. That was *almost* like thought.

Clark beams at him. "Perhaps we could make something of a date for just the two of us sometime...?"

"Clark." And Bruce is chiding again.

"Oh, don't start, Bruce. You get to *live* with him."

Bruce strokes Tim's thighs. "He is *my* partner."

"And your *son* --"

"Clark," Bruce says, and the chide is back in his voice. "Tim and I have decided not to talk about that."

Clark blinks and turns to Tim. "Oh, yes?"

Tim swallows back -- it probably would've been some sort of terribly embarrassing noise. "It seemed as though it would be for the best."

"If you're sure," Clark says, and kisses Tim's -- nose.


"It's just so very -- well. As I was saying --"

"Do go on," Bruce says, and the *laughter* is back --

Clark frowns, but only mildly. "As I was saying, it would be terribly irresponsible for Bruce not to monitor your masturbatory habits, because... well. You could've been hurting yourself in some way. *Damaging* yourself."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I'm not that depressive."

"No, no, but you already understand how dangerous autoerotic asphyxiation can be."

"I -- yes --"

"I assure you both that I would've... stepped in. Had there ever been a need."

Tim can't quite hold back a gurgle.

Clark sighs. "I may never entirely forgive you for making me find that sound so attractive, Tim."

"Well. I. About Dick..."

Bruce turns Tim to face him --

Bruce kisses him *hard*, driving Tim back against Clark and gripping Tim's wrists --

He pulls Tim's arms over his head and holds his wrists in *one* hand --

He wraps his free hand around Tim's *dick*, and the calluses make him feel like he's in the *process* of being used hard --

Tim groans and kisses Bruce back, not in the least surprised by the way he's moving his hips, trying for *more* --

"Oh -- really, Bruce, I think it would be only *fair* if you were to allow Tim some... some *freedom* --"

Bruce hums and shakes his head -- and doesn't break the kiss.

Clark makes a huffing noise. "Well, if you're going to be like *that* --"

Bruce breaks the kiss and shoves three fingers into Clark's mouth. "We should really let Tim decide."

Clark's indignantly muffled speech seems to suggest that that was what he was doing --

"*Without* our influence, Clark."

Clark huffs again -- through his nose this time -- and then sucks Bruce's fingers hard enough to make Bruce grunt --

"Oh... Clark." Bruce grins -- and then turns it on Tim. "You were saying?"

"I -- really don't have to say anything, at all --"

"I beg to differ."

Clark mumbles and slurs something *fervent* --

Right. "Ah. Well. The blue toy --"

"Excuse me," Clark says --

And then the toy in question is beside them on the bed and Clark is nibbling Bruce's fingers.

"The size and shape are really impressively accurate," and Clark drags Bruce's wet fingers in a *suggestive* arc across Tim's throat.

Tim shivers and -- "I. Well. The toy was originally a rather horrific orange, but I... um."

"You've always been quite deft with synthetic materials," Bruce says, and strokes the toy with his free hand. "You decided against a stripe?"

Tim blushes and licks his lips. "I had to assume the toys could be *found*, Bruce."

Bruce hums. "The compromises one must make to retain plausible deniability... well. You're always rough with yourself when you use this one --"

Clark moans. "Oh... how rough?"

"Um. Very. He's -- well, he's very passionate..."

"Oh, but --" Clark turns Tim to face him again. "He *can* be very gentle. Sweet."

"I will never forget the night he sat by my bedside and stroked my hair until I could convince him I was asleep," Bruce says, and *grips* the toy. "You've had that with him, Tim."

"Yes, well, I've also had countless *erections* with him, and -- I'm allowed my kinks."

Bruce turns Tim enough that Tim can see him nod and -- it's not a glare. It *burns* like one, but -- "You want him to take you."

"I. I've always --" Tim swallows and shakes his head as much as he can with *both* Bruce and Clark holding on. "Well. He's not *brotherly* in the fantasies."

Bruce makes a soft noise. "There are many ways to *be* brotherly. As an example, I've always believed that brothers should give each other what they need."

Clark licks Tim's temple. "Everything they need."

Tim shivers and tests Bruce's grip on his wrists --

Bruce narrows his eyes. "What do you need in this moment, Tim?"

"I was going to. I wanted to touch the toy."

"I believe," Clark says, and begins to thrust again --

"Oh -- oh, Clark --"

"I believe you want to touch *Dick*."

"I -- *always*. He's so --"

"Beautiful," Bruce says, and strokes a line down the center of Tim's chest *with* the toy. "You're welcome to the footage I have of him making love."

Tim groans -- "I *can't* --"

"He understands his family's need for... surveillance."

And --

Tim *knows* Dick, and knows that he's never comfortable in a new home until all the cameras are placed --

He'd *told* Tim that that was how he knew how to arrange his *furniture* the right way --

And Bruce touches the head of the toy to the head of Tim's dick. "This."

"I -- ah. This?"

"You've held this against yourself as you masturbated. An act you wish to perform?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- and immediately falls into a cascade of images. Dick kissing his forehead. Dick *hauling* him close. Dick rubbing him down and whispering love, comfort, safety -- "He. He always wants me close. Closer."

"He's a very intelligent man, Tim," and Clark reaches up to begin stroking Tim's arms. "He can *sense* that there are things you aren't telling him."

"I always -- it's important not to --"

"'Burden him,' you said," and Bruce begins to *tap* the head of Tim's dick lightly and rapidly. "But would he truly feel burdened?"

Tim pants and tries to think. This -- it feels like a *test* --

He's *good* at tests --

Though not necessarily the ones involving his dick. Tim laughs a little breathlessly and tries working his own hips more purposefully, more --

Bruce never misses a *mark* despite not looking away from Tim's eyes --

Right. "Dick doesn't *do* well with lust he doesn't know how to return. There's no -- no reason to trouble him --"

"Tim, you --" Clark grips Tim's biceps. "You truly *never* intended to tell him?"

"No, not -- I mean. Not for a while longer. The feelings I have for him -- um. They've already changed. Become less intense."

Bruce raises an eyebrow --

"I said *less* intense, Bruce. They're still -- intense enough." Tim tenses his arms and pulls against Bruce's and Clark's holds on him *steadily* --

They let go almost as one.

"Thank you. I..." Tim shakes out his arms. "I'll tell him. On my own time, and in my own way."

Bruce frowns -- and Tim doesn't need to look to know that Clark is upset by that answer, as well.

He's stopped *thrusting* --

Tim *works* his ass back against Clark hard and fast --

Clark groans and clutches Tim's hips, *stills* them --

"*Clark* --"

"Be easy, Tim," Bruce says, and strokes Tim's cheek with his fingertips. "It's only that the two of us have... hoped."

That makes no sense whatsoever -- until it does. "Oh, God, you -- both of you wanted to get *off* on me and Dick?"

"Ah... there's also a purely *emotional* component to the desire, Tim," and Clark turns Tim to face him --

He looks chagrinned and *worried* --

"Oh -- Clark. I never. I don't want to make you upset --"

"It's your life, Tim," Bruce says, and moves to Tim's side, setting the toy aside with deliberate care. "I will not interfere."

"No, I -- neither will I. But... for Dick's sake, don't wait so long that you can't allow him to *try* to give you what you need. He loves you deeply, and we've discussed you much."

That -- Tim frowns. "I'll... keep that in mind."

"Thank you," Clark says, and -- "A moment..."

Lifted again, moved --

And the feel of Bruce's hair against his back --

The feel of Bruce's erection *eased* between Tim's cheeks --

Clark cups Tim's face. "You shouldn't think we aren't grateful for every moment of this."

"Clark is..." Bruce sighs and begins to stroke Tim's chest and abdomen with rough possessiveness. "Clark is entirely correct. This is a gift."



"*Pleasure*," Clark says, licking Tim's mouth open --

*Forcing* Tim's lips to part with his tongue --

Clark moans and kisses Tim deeply, *wetly* --

"He wants to kiss you that way in other... places."

Tim feels his eyes widen *sharply* --

"Yes, Tim. He desires -- *we* desire -- every part of you. Everything you'll allow," Bruce says, and rakes his nails up over Tim's pectorals -- "More than that --"

Tim groans into Clark's mouth -- and into the air when Clark pulls back --

"Here," Clark says, and takes Tim sac in hand, squeezing firmly and *rhythmically* --

"Ah -- *ah* --"

"Oh -- so beautiful. Bruce, I don't -- I don't think I can wait much longer to pleasure him. For *you* to pleasure him."

Bruce grunts and strokes up to Tim's throat, squeezing in the same rhythm Clark is using --

Tim *wants* to curse, to *plead*, but the sounds keep getting cut off, chopped into meaningless *noise* --

And Clark is flushed and panting, leaking steadily almost as if *he* were the one in the middle -- "Your *pleasure*, Tim."

Tim nods jerkily, nods as much as he *can* --

"You asked me to... take you," Bruce says, breathing hot and rough against Tim's ear. "Do you still --"

Tim nods *frantically* --

And Bruce squeezes so hard it feels like Tim's tongue is too thick for his mouth, like the pressure in his head is *different* from the pressure in his body --

"Shall I be rough with you?"

Clark moans long and *loudly* -- and then he simply is stroking himself, slicking himself all over with pre-come until his dick is shining in the light from the window --

"Perhaps," and Bruce bites Tim's earlobe *sharply* --

Tim grunts and *shakes* --

"Perhaps... we should make him stop that," and Bruce eases his grip on Tim's throat just enough to let Tim gasp and talk --

"I -- I -- he's so. He's very."

"Beautiful. Unabashedly open and *male*... and yet he blushes when I speak of him this way, even after all these years."

Clark squeezes his eyes shut and strokes himself *faster* --

"He'll stop if you tell him to, Tim. He'll stop faster if you beg."

Tim groans and catches himself *reaching* for Clark --  and spasms all over when Bruce chokes him again --

"We want your sounds, Tim. We want your every word as we find pleasure together..." Bruce hums and bites him again. "Now. Do you want Clark to stop?"

*Release* -- and it feels like his entire body is breathing, blood rushing to the surface --


"I -- I -- always assumed he could -- that Clark didn't have... the typical limitations of a male his age."

Bruce hums. "He doesn't. But there is pleasure in watching him strain... and in feeling him lose increments of his control."

Tim moans because there's no other *choice* --

"Now, Tim."

"Fuck -- I. Yes. Stop, Clark, please -- please stop --"

Clark rips his hand away from himself --

His dick twitches once, again --

*Again* --

And Clark's eyes flare *red* -- "Tim... you wish me to lose my control with you?"

Tim winces, feels himself *throb* -- "I've always wanted -- it's what. It seems that sex should be --" Tim shakes his head --

And Clark knocks Bruce's hand aside and replaces it with his own. <<You would have us lose ourselves to the rut?>>

Tim spasms again --

He hadn't realized that word could be *used* for sentient creatures --

Bruce growls *happily*. <<You *would* have me be rough with you.>>

Tim catches himself searching everything in his field of view --

He's looking for an *escape* route, except that he's absolutely sure that his *dick* wouldn't want to follow --

<<Tim Drake. *Answer*.>>

And this time the release makes him slump --

Bruce's hair is a *goad* --

Bruce bites him *again* -- <<*Now*.>>

Tim cries out -- <<Yes -- *yes*, I beg, I *beg* -->>

Flashes of movement --

And Tim catches himself on his hands and knees --

"I won't take your mouth this time," Clark says, pushing a hand into Tim's hair and *yanking* his head up -- "I'll have your sounds."

<<Yes -->> "*Yes* --"

"And so will I," Bruce says, rubbing at Tim's hole with rough fingers --

Tim shouts for the feel of himself twitching again and again --

"Every time you've been touched here --"

"Every time we've so much as *hinted* --" Clark shakes his head. "You must never let need go *unanswered*, Tim --"

"Never. Never *here*," Bruce says, pushing his thumb in --

No *lube*, and Tim can't even cry out, can't do more than gasp and *need* --

"Never anywhere," Clark says, studying Tim's eyes -- "Never anywhere I can *be*."

"*Hn*. And Clark... can fit many, many places. He's versatile that way."

Not -- not *everywhere* --

Clark laughs, smiling *widely*. "I believe he's thinking about the Tower, Bruce."

"Really, Tim? Would you leave us so soon?"

"I -- oh, *fuck*, oh, *please*, Bruce --"

"How you *beg* --" And Bruce growls and twists his thumb *again* --

Tim groans and clenches --

Relaxes *reflexively* --

"My love --"

"So *beautiful*," and Clark grips Tim's hair harder. "Would you be sweet for us?"

"I -- please don't stop, please -- *ah* --"

Bruce's thrusts, Bruce --

It's just his thumb, but it feels like so much more --

The burn makes it feel like the *first* time --

"Keep your eyes *open*, Tim Drake."

Tim gasps --

"Yes. Yes, like that. Show us every *moment*."

"I can't -- shouldn't --"

"You *must*," Bruce says, spilling lubricant along Tim's cleft, what must be over and around his own thumb. "There is -- hn. No choice."

Tim grunts and shudders --

Tim claws at the *sheets* --

And every thrust is slicking him, every thrust is making him ready, *open* --

Clark sighs, eyes red and *staying* that way -- "Will you beg for us again?"

"Yes -- yes, I --"

"Then do it."

Tim whimpers and shakes his head --

"Beautiful boy... do it now."

"*Please*, please fuck me, please *fuck* me -- *ahn* --"

Bruce has Tim's *sac* in his other hand --

Bruce --

Bruce *pulls*, and Tim screams for it, for the feel of himself losing arousal, gaining control he doesn't *want* --

And Clark caresses Tim's face with his free hand. "You'll take both of us, Tim. You... mm. You *won't* come for Bruce."

"Oh -- oh, God --"

"There will, of course, be *other* times," Bruce says, pulling his thumb out and pushing in with two fingers --

Long fingers, broad fingers, *slick* fingers --

"*Please* --"

"It's all right, Tim," Clark says, and pushes his thumb into Tim's mouth. "Suck."

Tim grunts and does it, trying to remember not to bite, not to let himself get too close again --

He's not *built* for that kind of self-denial --

Tim looks up into Clark's bright, frightening eyes --

"Not too directly, Tim. I would not wish to damage you."

Tim nods and looks away --

And cries out around Clark's thumb when Bruce crooks his fingers --

When Bruce starts *working* Tim's prostate --

He has to beg him to stop, he has to --

Tim shakes his head and tries to pull away --

Bruce growls and *clutches* Tim's hip -- "What's *wrong*."

Clark pulls his thumb out --

"Too much. Too much -- I -- please don't make me need to come --"

Bruce grunts and stills his fingers --

Tim cries *out* -- "No -- no, please don't *stop* --"

"Shh, shh, it's all right, Tim," and Clark pushes his thumb back *in*. "Bruce is merely planning a new attack."

"How well you know me," Bruce says, and the smile in his voice is fond and *threatening* --

"You have *always* made such things rewarding, Bruce," and Clark squeezes his eyes shut -- when he opens them they're more purple than red. "Look at me, Tim."

Tim whimpers and does it --

"One day, I will use my fingers to bring you to orgasm until you lose consciousness. And then, after a time, I will wake you with my penis."

Tim's jaw drops --


Tim groans and does it, feeling his jaw shake, his *body* shake --

And Bruce starts thrusting again, *not* as hard as he could --

As Tim knows he *will* --

He's being prepared, and it won't last much longer. He *has* to get used to this, to this feeling of being simultaneous burnt and stretched, slicked and *taken* --

"Tim Drake. I did not tell you to bite," Clark says, pulling his thumb out --

"Oh, God, oh -- I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry --"

"You want my thumb back?"

"Yes --"

"Will you *behave*?"

Tim groans and feels his eyes rolling back in his head, feels himself almost *floating* --


And feels himself slammed back into his body, into the pleasure and pressure and *heat* --

It will be even *hotter* with Clark --

Clark won't have to stretch him, at all --

Clark sighs. "Bruce, I think he may need to be punished," he says, tone low and *sad* --

"Ohn -- *please* --"

"*Take*," Bruce says, moving his hand to Tim's sac and squeezing *hard* --

Tim shouts and tosses his head, shakes --

Bruce squeezes him *again* --

"*Please*, Bruce, I --" And Tim thinks that there *had* been more words coming, but Bruce slips out and pushes in with *three* fingers --

Pushes in *relentlessly* --

Tim pants --

Tim *screams*, dropping to his elbows --

But Clark is *exactly* fast enough to loosen his grip on Tim's hair before he would've pulled too hard -- and that means a great deal.

It means that this is all in some way a *plan*.

It means that Clark and Bruce are *that* much in sync --

It means that they *won't* hurt him too badly, that this --

This is *safe* --

And Tim thinks that, more than anything else, is why he can't *stop* screaming. Never mind the stretch. Never mind the pressure on his sac. Never mind the way Clark's eyes are starting to burn again *already* --

"Beautiful boy. *Up*."

Tim's scream cuts off with a grunt and he's moving, pushing himself up --

"Will you *behave*?"

"*Yes*, Clark, oh -- oh, please, let me *suck* --"

"If you bite again... Bruce will take you over his lap and spank you."

"*Hnh*. And I'll do it... very, very hard."

Tim nods and opens his mouth, *reaches* --

And Clark pushes two of his *fingers* into Tim's mouth, pushes them so *deep* --

Tim hums and sucks, squeezes his eyes shut and *licks* --

"*Open* --"

Tim nods frantically and tries to remember *how* --


And the *crack* of his palm meeting Tim's ass is just --

The sound is so --

Tim opens his eyes and tries to *plead* with them, to do something other than simply look dazed and *needy* --

Clark pants and licks his lips. "When I take you, I'm going to hold you down flat to the bed. You *won't* be able to move. Do you understand?"

Tim sucks harder and nods --

"When I take you," Bruce says, "I'm going to bend you in half and *hurt* you."

Tim cries out around Clark's fingers and nods *more* --

"*Suck*, Tim --"

"*Mmph* --"

"Would you beg us more, Tim Drake?"

Tim starts to nod -- shakes his head and tries to suck as hard as he can --

And Clark smiles, wide and wet and *predatory*. "Begging is... very sweet."

"Often," Bruce says, and starts to thrust hard and *fast* -- "Often, it is the sweetest thing of all."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut again without *thinking* --

"Bruce," and Clark's voice is a *purr* --

And Tim doesn't manage to get his eyes open before Bruce spanks him *twice*, once on either cheek --

"Oh, I think more than that --"

No, *no* -- Tim shakes his head and tries to plead, tries --

Bruce thrusts *deep* -- and stops. "Let him talk."

Clark raises an eyebrow -- and pulls his fingers out. "Do it now, Tim."

"Too -- I. I'll *come*. I -- the spanking --"

Clark's eyes widen and flare *redder* --

"Hn. Tim. You're tempting me toward that which we agreed was not to be spoken of."

Tim shudders once all over and pants, tries to not just fall *in* to the feeling rolling through him, to the tight *knot* at the base of his spine -- "Please. Please help."

Bruce clutches Tim's hip -- "You. You want to follow orders."

"Always. I always. I *have* to --"

"Not truly," Clark says, catching Tim's chin and lifting his head. His eyes are still more red than purple, but --

"Pleasure, Tim. *Your* pleasure."

"And yours. And Clark's. Oh -- fuck, just don't -- please, bring me *down* --"

Bruce grunts and *yanks* on Tim's sac --

Clark shifts and reaches -- "Breathe, Tim."

"I -- I --"

"*Now*," Bruce says, and Tim gasps --

And cries out for the feel of Clark pinching the base of his dick *hard* --

Just --

"Oh, God, yes, *more* --"

"More... sounds like a wonderful idea," Bruce says and pulls *out* --

"*Fuck* --"

And suddenly Tim is on his back, knees bent to his own chest --

Bruce is *gripping* Tim's shins --

And Tim has no idea what expression is on his face, but it makes Bruce smile like -- "Batman..."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Clark. I have no intention of letting Tim go right now, so, please, *guide* me."

And Clark is pressed to Bruce's back --

Clark is sucking a hard kiss to the base of Bruce's throat --

And Tim can't *see*, but the *feel* of Bruce's dick against his hole --

He hadn't realized he was *clenching* so much --

"*Breathe*," Bruce says, and Tim gasps, reaches up and back to clutch at a pillow --

He doesn't want a *pillow* --

"Tim..." And Bruce slides in slowly, *carefully* --

"Please -- *please* --"

Bruce *slams* in, and Tim scrabbles for purchase on the sheets, for something like --

Like *sense* --

"So -- so *big* --"

"You've taken this size."

"Not -- warm --" Tim shakes his head and *grips* the sheets -- "Please fuck me. Please -- God, please *hurt* me --"

"*Yes*," and Bruce narrows his eyes and slips most of the way out --

The lubricant feels *meaningless* --

That *curve* --

And Tim can't close his mouth, can't think --

*In* and Bruce grunts, gripping Tim's shins harder --

"*Bruce* --"

"It doesn't hurt, yet."

"N-no. Oh -- oh God, that *drag* --"

"Perhaps you should have... practiced."

Clark slips his hands under Bruce's arms and starts to pet Bruce's chest. "I'm not so sure about that, Bruce."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "No...?" He doesn't look *away* from Tim --

"There's something to be said for... immediacy."

"Yes -- yes, *that*, I -- *hnh* --"

Bruce is gripping the backs of Tim's knees --

Bruce isn't *blinking* -- "Breathe as deeply as you can, Tim."

"Yes. Yes, I --" Tim inhales --

And immediately loses half of his air when Bruce bends his knees back *farther* --

"*God* --"

"Now," Bruce says, and begins to thrust in earnest, one *hard* shove after another --

"Hnh -- hnh -- *hnh* --"

Bruce *smiles*. "Don't forget to breathe... as much as you can."

"Don't -- I don't want to --"

And Bruce narrows his eyes and *growls*, thrusting hard --

*Brutally* hard --

And crying out loses him *all* of his air, but once he starts, there's no --

He can't --

He can't *stop*, and he can't look away --

And Clark is watching *avidly* over Bruce's shoulder --

And it feels like Bruce is --

Bruce *is* reaming him, and Tim's body is convinced that it couldn't feel more complete even if it *was* Bruce's fist. Just -- so *thick* in him, and so --

It's taking everything he *has* not to grip his dick, to bring all of himself *onboard* for this --

But there's no air and Bruce is right there, right here --

It's been so long, but he's right *here* --

And Tim gasps when Bruce blinks, cries out when he *grinds* in and starts to pump, to rock Tim and *move* him --

"Bruce, *please* --"

"Like this, my love?"

"I -- I don't --"

"Or like *this*," and Bruce lifts Tim's legs over the shoulder Clark isn't using, Bruce grips Tim's hips and holds him *still* --

And the scream doesn't last -- there's not enough *air* -- but he means it, *wants* it --


"Using me. You're *using* me --"

"*Tim* --"

"He *wants* to be used, Bruce. He... mm. Look at him."

"I can't -- I must not --"

"Please don't *stop* --"

"Tim -- Clark --"

"*Give* him this, Bruce, my love, my brother --" And Clark groans and pinches Bruce's nipples, twists them *hard* --

Bruce's rhythm hitches --

Shifts --

And Bruce almost seems to *roar* as he finds his rhythm again, as he obliterates it with something even faster, even --

"Ow -- ow, oh, *fuck* --"

"Tim -- Tim, you must --"

Tim throws his head back and arches --

And screams in *gratitude* when Clark pinches his dick again. Just -- it gives reason to the way he's clenching and crying out, *safety* to the way he's shuddering and needing, *taking* this --

God, he's *taking* this --

"*Look* at me, Tim --"

Tim chokes on a shout and tries --

Tries to *focus* --

"*Robin*, so -- no, not now, not this -- Tim, tell me -- tell me this is what you *need* --"

"*Yes*, Bruce --"

And Bruce throws *his* head back --

Bruce shudders all over --

Bruce drops Tim's legs from his shoulder and hauls Tim *up* -- before *slamming* Tim down the last inch --

"*Bruce* --"

"*Yes*," he says, and his stillness is *baffling* for a moment, before the heat and slickness --

Bruce is *coming* in him --

And Tim can't stop himself from wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck and kissing him. Just -- his mouth, his cheek, his ear, his cheek again --

Bruce's groan is pained, hungry, *lonely* somehow --

Clark wraps his arms around both of them and *squeezes* --

And Tim feels himself coming back simultaneously to sanity and to *need*. He's aching for more and *just* aching, and he can't stop shaking, can't --

Bruce grips Tim by the hair and kisses him hard, eyes open and *focused* --

And Tim is losing *cohesion* for that look, shaking harder and needing to move, to *take* more --

Bruce still feels hard *enough* --

He grunts when Tim clenches --

He *keeps* grunting, because Tim --

Oh, he feels so good, and Tim *needs* --

Bruce bites Tim's lip *gently* and pulls back --

"Bruce -- Bruce, *please* --"

"What do you want, Tim?"

"I -- I have to *come*, I need to, I need --"

"*Who* do you need?"

Tim cries out -- and remembers. And when he looks --

Clark is staring at him *hungrily* -- and patiently, as well.

Clark is --

"He's. He's pressed against you. His -- dick."

Bruce narrows his eyes again -- perhaps for the mild *colloquialism* -- "Yes. He's made the base of my spine very... slick."

Tim swallows and thinks about loss, about missed chances and regrets --

He can't keep himself from clutching Bruce more tightly --

"My love, it's all right. *Anything* you desire," Bruce says, stroking Tim's back with broad gestures, *warm* gestures --

And Clark starts to pull *back* --

"*Wait* -- I. I just. Need another moment," Tim says, licking his lips and gripping Bruce's shoulders --

They've always *been* there for support, even when neither of them could figure out how to make that *work* --

And Bruce dips his head and kisses Tim's collarbone. It *feels* like affirmation, acceptance --

It feels like *fear*, because this could become so complicated so *easily* --

Tim shivers --

And Bruce *and* Clark tighten their holds on him, which --

Tim laughs. "I. I've always wanted the opportunity to be *with* you both on a mission. Just... to have the chance to watch you *work* together..."

And they look up at him at once, Bruce's expression curious and Clark's thoughtful --

Tim laughs more. "The privilege of this is... staggering. Frightening. Rather mind-blowing. And infinitely stickier than I ever thought it could be."

Bruce hums. "I've never known your imagination to fail, Tim."

"Yes, you've always seemed to be so... ah. Imaginative. Hm. I'm afraid I'm running out of synonyms."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Might that have something to do with the massive erection currently waiting for my ass?"

Bruce hums --

And Clark's smile becomes *avid*. "Oh. It might. Certainly, some degree of experimentation to that... ah... *end* might be entirely toward."

Tim licks his teeth and clenches *deliberately* --

"*Hnh* -- Tim --"

"I think Clark is trying too hard, Bruce."

Bruce pants and licks his *lips*. "We can't have that."

"Oh, I..." Clark kisses a *fast* line along Bruce's shoulder and neck. "I've always felt that... ah... many endeavors are worth... something?"

Tim narrows his eyes -- and shows his teeth.

"Oh, Tim Drake. Ah. Would you say that this endeavor is worth pleading?"

"It *might* be," Tim says, and clenches *again* --

Bruce groans -- "*Tim* --"

"Shh, Bruce. I'm thinking," and Tim clenches again --

Bruce clutches Tim and *shudders* -- "Your perfect body, so -- so *small* --"

Clark swallows. "Tim, please. Please, let me have you."

*Yes*, but -- "More."

And Bruce is stroking him again, stroking more --

Clark's hands are *shaking* -- "Tim. Let me ease myself in your beautiful body. Let me fill you. Let me *take* you, and I promise I will not stop until you find your *pleasure*."

Tim -- takes a breath. "That was *almost* Kryptonian. But not quite."

<<Is it what you wish? I would slake myself in your *fire* -->>

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip. <<Would you give me pain, Clark?>>

<<I would -- I must -- this one does *beg*.>>

Bruce grunts and grips Tim's hips --

And Tim fights through the blush and nods. "Lift me off, but don't *move* me, Bruce. I want to stay *right* here."

"As you wish --"

And Tim catches Bruce's jaw as Bruce lifts him, holds him *still* -- "Watch *every* moment."

"Yes --"

"And don't -- *don't* stop touching me --"

"I *won't* --"

"*Now*, Clark -- *oh* --"


Clark's *tongue* in his cleft --

*Moving* in his cleft --

"*Clark* --"

"Your taste mingled with Bruce's own. Your body --" Clark groans and shoves his tongue *in* --

And the first thought in Tim's mind is that he *should* be too loose to enjoy this, too --

Tim clenches and *winces* for the twinges of pain, for the hot, slick *feel* --

He's so *wet* --

Do women feel this way? Why would they ever *stop*?

Clark starts to *fuck* him that way, and Tim has to --

He clutches Bruce's shoulders --

Bruce grips Tim's hips and yanks him *close* --

And Clark doesn't miss a *beat*, Clark --

"*Bruce* --"

"Does it warm you?"

"I -- fuck -- *yes* --"

"Would you let me --"

"*Yes* --"

Bruce groans and wraps his hand around Tim's dick, squeezing and stroking --

God, it shouldn't be *possible* for it to be Clark's rhythm --

"You -- oh. *Both* of you --"

"*Here*, Tim. With *you*," Bruce says, and when Tim manages to focus, Bruce's eyes are wide and full, focused and still so *hungry* even though he's softening --

"Oh -- *ohn* --"

And Clark is licking his way up Tim's spine --

Clark is sucking Tim's *throat* --

"Don't -- oh -- don't *mark* me --"

Clark shudders and spreads Tim *wide* --

"*Clark* --"

"*Here*. With *you*," and he *bites* Tim's throat --

And Tim knows, with *all* of himself, that it's not hard enough to mark. Safety, this is *safety*, and he's going to have to take some time to figure out everything that *means* --

But not while Clark is guiding himself *in* --

Not --

"Oh -- *hot* --"

"For *you*, Tim, for -- oh, beautiful boy, you feel so *sweet* --" But Clark stops halfway in --

"*Clark*, don't make me *wait* --"

"I -- *forgive* me," Clark says, and *shoves* in --

Tim arches and *shouts* --

And Clark is *coming*, just --

Oh, *filling* him --

Tim pants and scratches at Bruce's shoulders --

Clark groans like something *dying* and --

He's still *coming* --

And Bruce licks Tim's throat, his cheek, his ear -- "This happens from time to time. *Don't* worry."

And Tim doesn't have *time* to ask the question before Clark is thrusting hard and *fast* --

*Too* fast for anything human to have this kind of control --

"Oh, God, Clark -- oh -- oh, *fuck* --"

"You wanted *this*. My -- my *loss* of control --"

"*Yes*, but -- fuck, *ignore* me --"

Bruce hums and holds Tim *still* for it -- "Unlikely."

"I -- oh -- so *dangerous* --"

"*Not* with Clark, Tim. Be... easy."

Tim laughs and it turns into noisy gasps, *rough* gasps --

His dick is *screaming* for more contact, more --

"Bruce -- Bruce, stroke me *harder* --"


"*Please* --"

And Clark is saying *something*, but it's too fast, sound blurring into low and *starving* noise --

Tim can't even be sure what *language* he's speaking --

And the thrusts are so fast that it almost doesn't feel like Clark is pulling out, at all --

Just --

*Endless* fullness, friction without knowable *reason* --

And the dirty, wet *noise* of it, the pain that tells him he won't be sitting down with anything like sanguinity for *days* --

Clark --

"*Clark* --"

More blurred speech, speedbabble so *different* from Bart's --

And the image that gives him, the possibility he's always *denied* in himself --

Bart in *this* moment --

But Bruce *yanks* him into a kiss, knowing, perhaps, that this is too *much* for Tim to stay wholly present --

Bruce is fucking his mouth --

Clark is fucking his ass, and he can't get tired, he --

He could come again and keep *going* --

Tim cries out into Bruce's mouth --

Tim pulls back and rests his head on Bruce's shoulder, shouting again and again and feeling obvious, embarrassed, *needy* --

He *can't* shout on rhythm if he doesn't know what the rhythm *is* --

"Give *in*, my love --"

"I -- oh, God, Bruce, it's so *much* --"

"What you desire --"

"Yes, oh -- oh, God, it's *Clark* --"

Bruce squeezes Tim's dick *hard* --

"*Bruce* --"

"Do you feel how we want you?"

"Oh -- oh, *yes* --"

"Do you. Do you wish to be on your hands and knees --"

Tim groans and clutches Bruce *harder*, claws -- "Don't let me go -- please don't let me *go* --"

Bruce groans and -- it feels like he's *stripping* Tim, like he's taking every bit of slickness and *ease* away from his stroke, leaving only the harsh and elemental fact of an activity which hasn't been this profound since Tim was *eleven* --

"Bruce --- *Clark* --"

Clark shouts and thrusts *hard* --

Tim screams --

And Clark comes *again*, gripping Tim's throat and *spasming* inside him --

Tim tries to breathe --

Tries to *comprehend* how much he's *leaking* --

And Clark *doesn't* stop, but his rhythm is jerkier, more *harsh* --

He releases Tim's throat --

"Oh, *please*, Clark --"

But there's only more speedbabble, more --

He's kissing the top of Tim's head over and over --

No, he's holding Tim against him, *baking* Tim with his heat and --

Oh, *using* --

Used by *both* of them, and somehow he's good enough, beautiful enough --

"Tim," Bruce says, and his voice is low and heavy --

"Bruce -- Bruce, I -- make me *come* --"

And somehow *both* of their hands are on his throat, completely enveloping it and squeezing it in *rough* pulses --

So -- so in *tune* with each other --

He can't --

He can't seem to *remember* to breathe in time --

All he can do --

He's *wailing*, the sound spiraling higher after every squeeze --

And Bruce is squeezing Tim's *dick* in the exact opposite rhythm --

Tim can't *see* anymore --

Oh, he's not supposed to close his eyes --

He has to --

Oh --

Oh, *please* --

Absolute white-out, heat and *screaming* pleasure --

Cut *off* --

Cut --

Both ways --

And release just means that he's spilling all of himself, that he's screaming and *crying* as he spurts again and *again* --

Black --

"*Yes*, Tim --"

Black --

Clark's *humming* roar --



The first thing he's aware of is that his ass isn't speaking to him.

This being a distinctly odd thought to have, Tim uses every last iota of consciousness available to him to parse the thing.

When he's done, he's left with the conclusion that his ass isn't speaking to him.

More consciousness needed.

Tim opens his eyes and finds himself focused on what could only be described as the golden flank of a god --

Oh, yes, he'd just had a great deal of sex with *Clark* --

And Bruce.

Oh, dear.

Tim turns his head to the right --

Yes, that would be the dark-furred abdomen of the other god in his life, rising and falling in a calm rhythm.

Tim decides to try to stare at nothing but the bed --

No, that makes his nose deeply unhappy. Tim sighs and kneels, sitting on his heels --

All right, that was a *terrible* noise. Tim grits his teeth and decides to... lounge. On his hip. Yes, that's --

Dear *God*, his thighs are scaly. "How long did you let me *sleep*?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.

Clark raises both of his own. "Not very long at all, Tim --"

"As these things go," Bruce says, and smiles at him. "Feeling better?"

"Than *what*? I -- wait, no, I don't think I want to be cranky right now. I'm --"

"Oh, yes, Tim. It would be terrible if you were in a bad mood."

Bruce smiles wider. "Which is not to say I'm not fond of your frown lines."

Tim narrows his eyes at Bruce.

"Oh, very true. They give your face a certain *implacable* maturity, Tim."

Bruce hums. "Yes, I believe you've hit the nail on the head, Clark. They give one the sense that he will stop at absolutely *nothing*... to get what he wants."

Hm. Well. Tim moves -- carefully -- off the bed.

Clark frowns mildly. "Tim?"

"Right now," Tim says, and pushes a hand back through his *nest* of hair, "I will stop at nothing to get a shower. Excuse me --"

"You needn't be alone for that," Bruce... suggests.

That was far, far more than a statement.

Tim taps an arrhythmic tattoo on his thigh and contemplates the carpet.

And his ass.

And his entirely un-sore mouth.

And the irritatingly personable gods on his bed --

He's going to have to find a way to get Alfred to let him do the laundry -- 

Clark opens his mouth --

Tim glares at him --

And Clark's frown is now far less mild than *stricken*.

Tim winces and gestures stand-down. "I'm sorry. That was... ah. Reflexive. I'm not actually upset with you."

Clark's nod is... skeptical. Right.

"I..." Tim sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. "My ass hurts *ridiculously*, I'm covered in dried come, and I've overslept by..." Tim focuses. "Forty-five minutes. I've just done something I *had* promised myself that I *wouldn't* ever do -- with *either* of you, albeit for different reasons --"

"You... had objections to being with me other than that you didn't want to become sexually involved with anyone?"

"My best friend is your *clone*, Clark. You know, the boy you couldn't help notice trying and *failing* to seduce me?"

Clark winces.

Tim nods and taps on his biceps with his fingers. "I'm not upset. Not truly."

"You are, perhaps, working to place this afternoon within a context you can understand?" Bruce's eyebrow is up again.

Tim thinks about it -- and nods again.

Clark still looks somewhat worried when he raises his hand --

"Clark. Perhaps you should save that for when Tim *agrees* to train us the way he sees fit."

Clark *blushes* --

Tim blinks and thinks about *that* -- and shakes it off as best he can. "You were saying, Clark?"

"It's only... if you wish to keep this a secret --"

"No. I can't -- I won't do that," Tim says, and taps his biceps more forcefully -- he stops. "I -- no. I think it would be a horrifically bad idea for us to try to pretend we haven't -- that we aren't -- ah."

Bruce's smile is rueful and more than a little sad. "The word is still a difficult one?"

Is Tim really feeling *guilty* about that?

Is that --

He is. He is. Tim rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Lovers."

"Please," Clark says, low and fervent.

Bruce -- Bruce doesn't need to say anything, at all.

Tim nods once and looks up. "We are -- all of us -- lovers, now."

"We need not be, Tim."

"*Bruce* --"

"Clark. We must -- we must allow Tim room to be comfortable with himself and his decisions."

And that -- "I'm not -- you don't need to treat me with kid gloves."

Bruce smiles... perversely.

That's really the only way to *describe* it --

"Bruce --"

"There's something to be said for the *texture* of such things, Tim."

Tim scowls -- stops. "Are you *trying* to make me cranky?"

Bruce spreads his hands. "There's also something to be said for how you express that particular blend of emotions."

Tim lets his lip curl --

"That, for example, has always made me long to kiss you until you have -- temporarily, of course -- forgotten how to make that expression entirely.

Tim glares --

Bruce *smiles* -- with acceptance and a great deal of -- affection.



He --

Tim turns to Clark, who is managing to look both hopeful and confused despite the fact that he almost certainly has a better idea of the emotions currently marinating this room than *either* Tim or Bruce does.

*Deceptive* lovers.

*Reflexively* deceptive lovers, and, even though it shouldn't, it makes Tim feel entirely too comfortable. Which is more than enough to make him cranky.

Which is, quite possibly, insane enough to make Tim fit entirely too well in this *room* --

Which is enough to make him crankier --

Tim laughs and covers his face. "All right. I surrender."

Bruce hums. "Do you."

Tim flips Bruce off, considers ways to make the gesture more offensive, and rejects them all as things which would only encourage the man. He lowers his hand, uncovers his face, and smiles ruefully. "I really don't know what I'm going to say to... anyone. About this. And, as Bruce knows, Clark, that sort of thing tends to leave me feeling out of sorts even when I probably should be feeling... happy."

Clark nods slowly and sympathetically. "I... I want you to know that it makes me very happy that you don't want to keep me -- or Bruce -- a secret, Tim."

Tim can't help but smile for that. "Do your lovers really tend to do that as a matter of course? Aside from Bruce, I mean."

Clark offers his own rueful smile. "There are any number of people who seem to consider sex with me as something only to... experience."

And then, presumably, they move on -- or back -- to less... challenging lovers. Tim winces and nods. "You deserve far more than that."

"Oh... I'm very glad you feel that way, Tim."

Tim hums and shifts experimentally on his feet -- and frowns. "I may actually need some sort of mild painkiller."

"A topical analgesic -- and a shortened patrol -- may be the way to go," Bruce says, and moves off the bed to join Tim, lifting Tim's chin. "My love, every moment with you was exquisite."

"I... ah. Agreed --"

"Tell me we may have this again."

Tim blushes and imagines --

Very, very many things.

"I -- yes."

Bruce leans in and kisses Tim's forehead, which --

Bruce already knows how well *Dick* has trained him to handle such things --

To *have* such things --

Tim shivers and presses into the touch. "I would like to state for the record that any and all activities which interfere with the Mission should be kept to an absolute minimum." No matter how much -- "No matter how much I beg for them."

Bruce kisses Tim's forehead again and then pulls back to smile down at him. "Are you attempting to appeal to my sense of responsibility, Tim...?"

Tim hums. "I refuse to believe that you don't have one."

Bruce *smiles* -- "Was that a dare?"

Oh --  really. Tim reaches up and jabs Bruce's pectoral. "That was an *order*."

Bruce... rumbles. Dramatically and pleasurably and --

Clark is behind Tim and stroking his hips in a way which seems far too gentle until Tim realizes that he's *bruised* -- "Orders can be a *wonderful* thing, Tim."

And that... was both a suggestion and a *request*.


Tim presses back against Clark's body and lets his hand splay on Bruce's chest. "*Shower*," he says, making his voice as firm and low as he can manage --

Clark hums happily --

And Bruce smiles again. "As you say."


The analgesic does the job on the street for the first couple of hours, which is to say that his ass makes certain twists and kicks far more exciting than excruciating.

Perhaps *too* exciting -- no.

He's Robin, and Robin is allowed to enjoy himself so long as the near-constant undertones of sexual arousal don't actually *addle* him.

Judging by the number of people who smile at him on the street --

Including the dealers who -- erroneously and briefly -- believe that Robin's palpable good mood is enough to keep him from being very, very *mean* --

Yes, he's broadcasting his overall satisfaction.

There are worse things.


A shortened patrol means that there's really no reason *whatsoever* to wait up for Bruce, so -- he doesn't.

He does, however, use the Cave showers for the first time in what feels like far too long, and allows himself the pleasure of countless companionable memories.

It was even -- he has to admit this now -- pleasant to use the showers with Cassandra the few times they had. He just has to edit out all of those moments of stark terror when she could see him thinking about showering -- in highly inefficient ways -- with Bruce and/or Dick. He knows now -- and he *knew* then, in his own narrow, short-sighted, and fear-based ways -- that she would never hold that against him, and -- yes.

He'll call her. Or --

He could visit.

It would probably be intensely awkward for some length of time, but Tim could bring his uniform...

They could *patrol* together, and say everything they needed to say that way, and he could, perhaps, convince her to visit. He knows Bruce misses her -- in *his* own narrow, short-sighted, and fear-based ways...

Tim smiles to himself and runs his thumb over the edge of the ever-so-intriguingly-high soap dish, realizing midway through that it's something of a goodbye to the thing. He has other options now.

Tim turns his head up to wink at the nearest shower-cam and finishes up.

He's going to sleep for a few hours -- with his door open just in case Bruce doesn't check the shower *feed* -- and then... other things.

And he's so focused *on* those other things that he's most of the way out of his robe upstairs before he notices that his bed has gained a visitor.

A distinctly Dick-shaped visitor --


Who is *sleeping* in Tim's *bed* --

Dick mumbles something incoherent and opens his eyes, blinking and smiling. "There you are. Come *here*."

"Ah -- Dick --"

"I've missed my naked, damp little brother time and --" A jaw-cracking yawn. "Okay, also I've missed some sleep," Dick says, wriggling around on the bed until he can turn the covers back further. He pats the bed and looks... winsome.


*Beautiful* --

And not especially awake. "Dick --"

"Would it help if I took my clothes off, too? Because I can --"

"Help *what*?"

"*Cuddle*," and Dick pats the bed more firmly. "It's been --" Another wide yawn -- "Way too long. Days. Weeks. *Years*."

Two months, actually, and -- all right. Tim crawls into bed --

"Hallelujah," and Dick shimmies out of his jeans --

Somehow uses just his *toes* to pull off his socks --

He's wearing a t-shirt and boxer briefs, and he's wriggling and bending and *twisting* in several impossible and inefficient-looking ways --

He's under the covers and most of the way *around* Tim --

"God, you feel good, little brother. I -- forgive me."


"*Clark* had to remind me that I hadn't oppressed you with my shamelessly primate nature for a while. You -- your room smells like you," and Dick kisses Tim's shoulder.

"It. Yes. And -- what? Clark?"

"Mm-hmm. I've just been so busy, and --" Dick yawns again. "Sleep with me?"

Tim is somewhat... rigid. He deliberately relaxes himself --

"Oh -- God, yes," Dick says, and kisses Tim's shoulder three times. "You can't *let* me go this long without molesting you, little brother."

Tim tries to think of that sentence in G-rated ways --

"I mean -- all right, you're not really the molesting type, but... thing?"

This... is not actually the time to protest that. "Ah... thing? And what did Clark tell you?"

"He told me -- thing is definitely the *dildos* in your *drawer*, little brother --"

"Oh, God --"

"You didn't *have* those the last time I searched your --" Dick yawns again and shakes himself like a dog, somehow managing to move closer while he does it. "Okay, Clark said that you two had been talking -- and I *like* that -- and that you've been having a lot of stress? Yes?"

"Ah -- some. Dick --"

"You. I can't actually make fun of you for your sex toys while I'm technically asleep, Tim."

"I have to admit that that was my hope --"

Dick mutters and snores.

Tim pets Dick's hair and takes a moment to meditate on the nature of Dick-related bemusement instead of on all the ways Clark might choose to be *helpful* to a lover

"And I... there are no penguins in your belly button, Tim."

"... no. No, there aren't."

Dick snores again *and* hugs Tim more tightly --

"Good night, Dick."

"Love..." The rest of that was an incomprehensible mutter.

Tim decides that putting himself to sleep is the better part of valor.



Tim opens his eyes.

"That was weird."

"The part where we were sleeping or some other part?"

Dick pokes the tip of Tim's nose.

Tim's eyes cross without his permission.

Dick -- coos.

"Dick --"

Dick pokes Tim's nose several more times.

Amidst the eye-crossing, Tim realizes that he's on his back, which is --

"That's just so -- "

Tim catches Dick's wrist --

The ensuing wrestling match is not as brief as it once would've been, but still ends with Tim on his stomach with one arm bent most of the way up behind his back.

Dick takes a deep breath. "Now what do we say?"

"Ah... uncle?"

"No, what do we say about the *dildos in your drawer*?"

"Oh, those."

"Yes, *those*, little brother!"

"Just to be clear -- was that the odd thing?"

"Hunh? Oh, no," Dick says, and settles himself more comfortably over Tim's waist.

If he sits any further back, there *will* be noises, so -- so. "What *was* the odd thing?"

"Bruce popped his head in, smiled at us, and then popped back out again."

Was he naked? No... no. "Ah. Well. That's something we should discuss -- ow."

"Whoops. You're actually sore?" Dick taps Tim's upper back with Tim's own fist.

"Somewhat. Mainly I feel a bit... worn."

Dick moves Tim's hands up above Tim's head and begins massaging him with quick and expert care.

Tim is only thinking about Bruce's thighs a little bit --

"Dildos, Tim. Work with me, here."

"Well --"

"Is the blue one for me?"

"Ah. Er."

Dick snickers and never stops massaging. "It *is* my favorite color, little brother. I kinda *had* to ask."

"Understandable. Ah -- Dick. There's something you should know --"

"Yes, there *is*. When the hell did you *start* fucking yourself?"


"I mean -- that *is* what you use them for, right? Or. I guess you could like... sucking... Tim, are you gay?"

"Well... yes. Mostly. I'm bisexual. Kind of --"

"Why didn't you *tell* me?"

"Do you think we could have this conversation while I'm not pinned?"

"Are you going to try to get away?"

Yes. "No."


"All right, no, I won't try to get away. Much. You'll almost certainly be able to catch me and pin me again."

Dick hums and goes back to massaging him. When the hum is over, there isn't much of anything else.

Or -- anything. At all.

Just -- nothing.

"Dick --"

"Wait a sec, little brother, I need to file all this information *away*."

"Ah -- noted."

"I mean -- it's not like -- did you not feel *comfortable* telling me for some reason?"

*Yes* -- "Dick, I've never actually 'come out' to anyone except for Steph. It just -- there was no reason to bring it *up*."

"No reason --" Dick whacks the back of Tim's head. Lightly.


"I gave you all those chances!"

"You're referring to those times when you've ignored every protest I made in order to share your... adventures?"

"*Educational* adventures -- all right, no, not that, I haven't actually turned into Roy while I wasn't paying attention."

"You're sure about that."

"Oh, little brother," Dick says, and the *warning* in his voice is --

Very much a warning. "Dick --"

"If I *had* turned into Roy, I'd be asking about what the delightful young Superboy was doing when he left those bruises on your hips."

Oh -- dear. "Ah, it wasn't --"

"Anything I'd like to hear? Think *again*," Dick says, moving out of his straddle and lifting Tim into his arms --

And kissing his forehead --

And hugging him *hard*. "My little brother finally got some. I think... honestly, Roy *said* you would before Connor did, but I honestly thought we'd have to lock the two of you in a room *together*. With lubricant and sex toys, of course."

Tim coughs --

Dick strokes his back --

"Dick. You -- are making assumptions."

Dick pushes him back. "About what? Or -- who? It *was* Superboy, wasn't it? I mean, he's wanted in your tights for *years*, and I really can't blame him -- you do that stern and serious thing so *well*, and who doesn't have a kink for *that*?"

"*Dick* --"

"And you still haven't told me what you use the dildos *for*. And how you use them. And *when* you use them. And -- you use them *here*? This room has more bugs than my *apartment* --"

"I -- it really doesn't."

Dick sighs and rubs Tim's shoulders. "No, you're right, it doesn't. Are you going to answer questions now?"

"Are you going to *let* me?"

Dick touches his tongue to his upper lip and cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"You --" Really are ridiculously attractive. No. No, and also no.


"Nothing. About the things you want to know -- all right, you're poking my nose again. Is there something wrong with it? Am I getting a pimple?"

"You haven't really had one of those in a while, have you? You *deserve* one, if only for how many *I* had to deal with."

"You had pimples?"

"On my *back*, little brother. And other places," Dick says, and makes a face. "Your skin has no extraneous oil whatsoever, and I could kick you for that."

"I suppose you could always just rub yourself all over me -- ah. Hm."

Dick blinks at him.

"Can we pretend I didn't say that?"

Dick rocks on his knees a little -- "No. No, we *can't*. Okay, c'mon, *what* assumptions was I making? Who's doing you *other* than Superboy?"

Tim closes his eyes for a *moment* --

"*Tim* --"

"It's just -- ah."

"Tim, I will *tickle* you --"

"I'm not -- Kon and I aren't -- I'm not attracted to Kon. That way."

Dick's expression practically *bleeds* skepticism, which -- right.

"All right, look, I will admit -- happily -- to having had any number of sexual fantasies about Kon wherein the two of us did any number of *things* --"


"I don't want a romantic relationship with him, and I don't... I don't think I'm capable of having sex without -- without romance. At least some degree of it. And, before you ask -- I wasn't really ready for *anything* resembling romance for -- anyway. I'm not sure I'm ready *now*, considering. Considering who I've been having sex with."

Dick frowns and rubs Tim's shoulders, cups Tim's face, neatens Tim's hair, *musses* Tim's hair -- "Okay? Then -- I mean, those were *big* hands on your hips, little brother. I just don't know... who?"

"Ah... Clark. And --"

"*That's* why he sent me to you? That -- oh, little *brother*," Dick says, beaming and pulling Tim in for a hug again. "I'd say you have no idea how long he's wanted a taste, but he's *Clark*. He *told* you."

"Yes. Yes, he really did. And --"

"How did you *like* it?"

"Exceedingly, and --"

"I guess if you've been playing with that *black* toy --"

"Yes, and --"

"That weirdly familiar *grey* one --"


Dick blinks at him. "What is it? You *know* I have a million questions. I mean, you *have* to know that. Especially because -- well, Clark is *married*. I'm not sure how much more *serious* romance he can manage --"

"Dick, I also had sex with Bruce."

"-- which isn't to say he wouldn't *try*. I mean, he's always been so warm and you just said something I don't think I heard. Uh. You. What?"

Tim swallows. "I -- had sex with Bruce. And then I had sex with him *and* Clark."

Dick blinks at him. Rapidly and -- a lot.

Tim reaches up to cover Dick's hands on his face. Just to -- cover.

*Dick* swallows, and his expression goes distant, *thoughtful* --

Tim pets Dick's hands, and up over his arms. He waits.

He waits.

He *waits* --

"You -- and Bruce? And -- threesome *with* Bruce as one of the three?"

"Ah -- yes."

Dick licks over his teeth. "Weren't you a virgin... real damned recently?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "A part of me always hoped the toys... counted. For something."

"You didn't *have* those --"

"Ah -- I hid them better when I lived with my parents."

Dick blinks at him again. "You're saying I missed one of your hiding spots."

"To be fair, Dick, you may have missed several."

Dick raises his eyebrows, nods, and pulls Tim in for a hug *slowly*. Carefully.

Hesitantly? "Dick, if you don't want to --"

"I wanna talk. About this. A *lot*."

"Okay. I -- okay. I just -- I was wondering if you still wanted to *touch* me while we were -- doing the talking."

Dick pushes him back and gives Tim an *incredulous* look.

"Ah. It's just -- Dick, when we *have* argued, it's been *about* Bruce."

"And you not *trusting* him to -- care?" Dick bites his lip and searches Tim with his gaze -- and his hands. It's a rapid, non-invasive pat-down -- considering the fact that Tim *is* naked -- but it's still a pat-down.


"I just -- I have to --" Dick squeezes Tim's hips --

Tim winces and *shifts* --

Dick narrows his eyes and *moans*.

"Ah. Dick?"

Dick laughs softly and a little wildly. "Just -- a whole lot of images for that facial expression, little brother -- Tim -- stepdad?"

Tim *chokes* --

Dick snickers, letting go with one hand to cover the lower half of his face and sitting back on his heels. "Of course, *you're* his son, too, now --"

"We -- ah. We've mostly agreed not to... discuss. That."

Dick *snorts*. "Oh, *really*? Are you sure that's a good idea, Tim? I mean, romantic relationships thrive on *communication* --"


"For the record," *Bruce* says, from the *doorway*, "I'm more than willing *to* discuss the matter --"

Dick coughs and flaps a hand at Bruce. "Ohhh, no. Just no. Get out for a while, boss. Tim and I need to *talk*."

Bruce raises an eyebrow, and then turns to Tim.

"Ah... yes, Bruce. Just -- we'll. Catch up."

"Is *that* what the not-quite-underaged-anymore vigilantes are calling it these days?"

Tim takes a moment to watch Bruce go --

Another moment to think about all the places in the hall Bruce could stand where he could remain unseen and still hear *everything* --

Another to remember that he does the maintenance on the bugs in this room *himself* -- right. Tim smiles ruefully at Dick.

Dick raises his eyebrows *archly*, which --

"I just realized that you picked up that expression from Beast Boy."

Dick's beam is a quiet one, but it's present -- the way it always is whenever Tim so much as implies that he's getting closer to the Titans.

"I -- I love you, Dick."

The beam gets a lot louder -- "Is *that* what it takes to get you to open up -- oh, wow. I didn't even *mean* that pun."

Tim raises his own eyebrow.

"Oh... fine. I always mean them at least a *little*, but still -- you're happy."

"I --"

"You're *happy*. I *promise* that's what that fizzy feeling is."

"Fizzy -- I thought that was the sugar."

"Ah, but when have you had time to consume sugar in the past eight hours? No, grasshopper, I believe you'll find that you're actually pretty thrilled about this turn of events," Dick says, and -- frowns.


"Just a sec --" And Dick throws Tim down onto his side --

"*Dick* --"

And he lies down so that they're facing each other. "Better. *Much* better. I... tell me how it happened?"

"Ah... well, as near as I've been able to piece it together --"

"Piece together? You were *there*, little brother!"

"We're talking about *Bruce*, Dick. So, yes, as near as I've been able to piece it together, he noticed that *I* had noticed that he was attracted to me --"

"What -- *how*?"

"Ah... little things. A hand on my shoulder more often than was strictly necessary. A few overly long moments of eye contact --"

"Compared to *what*?"

"Compared to our *baseline*, Dick."

Dick makes a face at him. "You had charts, didn't you. Entire, graph-y, red-ink-filled charts."

"I -- yes. In my head, but --"

Dick sighs. "Okay. He wore the *red* necktie once too often while staring grimly into the middle distance, and by that you broke the code."

"Well, if you're going to be facetious --"

"That, little brother, will *always* be my job. As is pointing out that *no one else in the history of ever* broke that code."


"Catwoman assumes *everyone* wants her. And -- well, she's *right*, but still."

Tim opens his mouth -- he closes it.

"Oh -- you were totally just playing along with me every time we talked about hot female operatives, weren't you."

"I --"

"So *that's* a yes," Dick says, and glares at him.

"I appreciated them *aesthetically*. I mean, Catwoman's form and grace are nearly --" As good as yours. "Ah."

Dick frowns. "Are you about to 'nothing' at me again?"

"Well --"

Dick pinches Tim's nose and *yanks*.

"*Ow* --"

"It was that or a spanking, little brother, and I'm frankly not sure I can deal with the sounds you would make for that right now."

Tim blushes, and -- fine. "All right. That's the whole point of the 'nothing,' Dick."

"*What's* the whole point?"

"The blue toy *is* for you, all right? In that way where I use it when I'm thinking of you. I've been attracted to you for years."

Dick stares at him. Just -- stares.

Tim rubs his nose. "And no, I'm not about to -- to jump you or anything like that --"

"You're attracted to me."

"Yes, but --"

"You didn't *say* anything!"

"Dick --"

"I --" Dick looks Tim over *exactly* like he wants to find just the right place to *hit* him.

"*Dick*! We're *brothers*! *Why* would I ever bring that up?"

"You're Bruce's *son* --"

"*Not* as much as I'm your brother, okay? You -- you were my brother long before I was ever entirely comfortable thinking of myself as Bruce's *partner*. I *wanted* to be your brother long before I was even *pubescent*."

Dick frowns more *deeply*.

"I -- please, Dick --"

"What -- what are you begging for, Tim? Exactly."

Well, that's... an excellent question. For now... Tim reaches to take Dick's hand in his own. He does it slowly and carefully, making sure Dick knows that he can yank it back at any time --

Dick squeezes his hand. "Tell me. Please."

All right, he's blushing, but -- "I want. I want it to be okay that you know how I feel about you, Dick --"

"It *is* --"

"And I don't. I don't want our relationship to change."

"Even though sometimes when you're fucking yourself -- you're thinking of me."

"Um. I suppose that doesn't make much sense --"

"No, it doesn't," Dick says, but he smiles ruefully. "Or it *wouldn't* -- if I hadn't heard the same damned thing from Babs about six million times before -- and after -- we were actually dating. And... and if I hadn't finally figured out that that was the *gist* of what Bruce was telling me on that incredibly depressing day I had when I was about two years younger than you are, now."

"I -- oh." Tim squeezes Dick's hand back --

"Yeah. *So* -- so. There's something about me that's really *damned* attractive to the people I love the most in this world, but, in the end, it's not enough for them to put up with the rest of me --"

"Dick, no --"

"Easy, little brother. I'm not actually..." Dick shakes his head and smiles a little more widely. "I'm *okay*, all right? Now let's go back to figuring out the ins and outs of *you* being okay -- okay, wow, no, that's not what I meant even a *little* --"

Tim laughs helplessly --

"All right, it totally was, but -- *but* -- we've long since established that I'm a pervert. Yes?"

"Ah... yes. Dick... Dick. I wanted to be your Robin. More -- more than anything else."

Dick blinks and frowns again. "Tim --"

"When you -- when you took over for Bruce after Bane..." Tim shakes his head. "Even though I scared out of my wits for Bruce, even though I had to deal with -- God, with my father freaking out over my *bruises* -- it was still... ah. They were some of the happiest weeks of my life."

Dick shakes his head and looks almost *frightened*, and Tim thinks he *must* have gone too far --

But Dick pulls him close for a hug that squeezes most of the breath out of Tim's body, burying his face against Tim's throat and holding *on*.

Tim closes his eyes and hugs him back -- and tries not to shiver too much when Dick starts *kissing* his throat --

Just --

He's *naked* --

It's *Dick* --

And Dick pulls back. His eyes are wet and *full* -- "Little brother. I -- that's the most beautiful thing..."

"I. Um --"

"All right, it's also a *fucked*-up thing, considering how crazy I was back then --"

"You -- it didn't show --"

"You're usually a better liar," Dick says, wiping his eyes and smiling again. "I would've fucked you blind if you had so much as given me a *hint*."

Tim *grunts* --

"And then, when Bruce came back, I would've taken you *with* me -- or tried to."

"Ah --"

"And then I would've tried to marry you."


Dick snickers and wipes his eyes again. "So -- possibly you had the right idea. Is what I'm saying."

Tim -- blinks. A fair amount.

Dick snickers more.

"I. Have no idea what to say."

Dick is actually turning *colors* from all the snickering.

"I suppose I'll just wait."

"You -- *heh heh*. You do that," Dick says, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm.

As has become normal at times like these, Tim takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Dick's abdomen -- his t-shirt has ridden up -- and the way it's moving for the laughter --

"Oh, God, I *know* that feeling."

"Ah... feeling?"

"You're looking me *over*, little brother."

"Maybe... maybe a little."

"Only when *you* do it, it always feels like you're -- I don't know, checking me for new *injuries*," and Dick moves his arm and stares at Tim, managing to glare *while* looking fond. "You lying little bastard."

"I'm... sorry? Ish?"

"Bruce --" Dick sighs and reaches out to ruffle Tim's hair again. "Bruce pretty much has to love that."

"That... he's implied that, yes."

"And... romance?"

Tim bites his lip and nods.

Dick brushes his thumb over Tim's mouth until he frees his lip again. "And... wait, I have to know -- which one of you made the first *move*?"

"Ah -- he did. After, apparently, waiting a rather long time for *me* to do it."

Dick's expression strongly implies that the next bout of laughter could be injuriously intense.

"Dick --"

"You waited him out."

"That was hardly my intention --"

"You waited *Batman* out."

"I --"

"You did. You -- really, really did," Dick says, and bangs his head against the pillow three times. "Wow. I..." Dick sighs and folds his hands over his chest. "See, he probably could've kept it in the Bat-jock if you *had* made the first move. You know this, right?"

Tim hums and reaches out to rest his hand on Dick's own. "Certainly, the idea had occurred. It seemed pointless *to* make a move... during those occasions when I thought a romantic relationship with him might not be catastrophic."

"And, because you're *you* -- those occasions were few."


"Uh, huh. So... were you planning to make a move on *anyone*? *Ever*?"


"And that's a no --"

"No, it isn't. Quite. I mean... I've often thought that it would be entirely pleasant to have a relationship with Connor."

Dick stares at him.

"*What*? He's beautiful, brilliant, friendly, and *sane*."

"He's *also* the only person in the *entire* community with a tighter chastity belt than *yours*... used to be. Heh. I mean, I'm pretty sure Mary Marvel at least plans to get *married* someday."

"*You're* the one who was considering fixing me *up* with the man --"

"Out of *mutual desperation* with *Roy*. You -- I. Okay, the two of you *are* actually friends."

"I came very near to hitting on him once."

Dick blinks. "Really? With... words? That were spoken aloud?"

Tim smiles. "I invited him to stay in Gotham."

Dick frowns at him -- "No, all right, for you that's practically a hand on his ass."

"Which is very nice."

"And his mouth..."

"Ah... yes."

Dick shakes himself like a dog. "So what does this new, improved Tim look like? *Are* you going to be a little open? I mean, you're still young, Tim --"

"Frankly, Dick, I think I'm going to stay quiet for at least a little while. I mean, I have no idea how I'm going to tell Kon I'm sleeping with his progenitor, and once the community at large finds out about me and Bruce..."

Dick opens his mouth -- then closes it and winces. "I was going to say that people mostly took it easy with the rumors and jokes when it was Jay, but I have to admit that most of that was probably due to people not wanting to break my mind any worse than it was already broken."

Tim nods and squeezes Dick's hand. "I feel no great need to be a source of gossip more than strictly necessary."

Dick twines their fingers together. "And that's enough for you? What happens if and when you *do* want to... experiment?"

"I -- my heart isn't a lab, Dick. I'm just..." Tim shakes his head. "I will stipulate that something could happen which would make me strongly desire a relationship with someone else... but I hope it doesn't until such time as Bruce and Clark are tired of me."

Dick winces. "You -- do you really think that will *happen*?"

Steph had -- Tim smiles ruefully. "Nothing lasts forever? I don't know, Dick. I mean, this is part of why I wanted to stay away from the whole thing. There's too much *pain* in this life for me to willfully invite more."

"And the loneliness?"

"I -- my dreams are very warm now. Very... I'm afraid of how I'll feel when it's gone."

"Oh... little brother. You know I'm always going to be here for you, don't you?"

And that -- "Dick... Dick, promise me something."

"Anything, you know that --"

"Please don't ever let me use you. Or -- anything like that."

Dick squeezes Tim's hand hard. "I don't think you're capable of that, little brother --"

"Dick --"

"But I promise. All right? It's not like I don't understand wanting to save sex for when it *really* means something."

"Yes. I -- yes."

"But... heh. You already know it can mean a whole hell of a lot with more than *one* person."

"I --"

"And Tim? You didn't stop being someone I'd love to *make* love with when you stopped being my Robin. Just... keep that in mind."

Tim swallows and nods. Jerkily.

Dick's grin is lazy and sharp. "C'mere. Big brother says you need more sleepytime cuddles."

"I really should --"

Dick yanks on Tim's hand hard enough that it's easier to roll over onto his stomach than to do anything else.



" -- going to stand right there and *yearn* at Tim until he wakes up, aren't you."

"The thought had occurred," Bruce says, from... yes, that would be the doorway.

Tim blinks himself the rest of the way awake and rolls over onto his -- hip. The twinges in his ass are more muted than they were this time yesterday, which is irritatingly disappointing --

And Dick pins him and kisses his forehead. "He brought *food* with him, little brother. You don't have to make him suffer. Much."

Tim's stomach growls on cue.

"Heh. Teenager."

Tim glares at Dick.

Dick sticks his tongue out at him.

Bruce hums. "May I...? If not, I have to insist on leaving the tray -- Alfred has promised dire consequences if Tim doesn't have a meal soon."

Dick frowns. "Has he not been eating?" Dick pokes him. "Have you not been eating?"

Tim smiles wryly. "Bruce's earliest efforts at seduction left something -- let's call it 'sanity' -- to be desired."

Dick's expression is both stunned and thoughtful as he rolls back onto his elbows. "Boss. Did you hurt my little brother's mind?"

"To be fair, Dick, I have reason to believe that there are very few ways I might've pressed my case without causing Tim some measure of distress," Bruce says, and brings the tray to the bed, setting it down between Tim and Dick.

Tim hums and pulls the cover off the tray -- melon, cured meats, dishes of lemon juice for dipping, and several cheeses. Mm. "You might've considered not pressing it at *all*, Bruce."

"Somehow, that particular idea escaped me entirely."

Tim looks up at Bruce from under his lashes --

And Bruce... burns at him. Well.

Dick's laugh is somewhat breathless. "Oookay. All right, you two, let me eat and *leave* before you start with that."

Tim blinks. "Oh -- I'm sorry --"

Dick smiles at him fondly. "Nothing to apologize for, little brother. C'mon, start eating. You, too, Bruce," Dick says, and uses his foot to pat at a spot at the foot of the bed.

"Thank you," Bruce says, and sits lotus. He's wearing shorts and a t-shirt, which makes Tim think about the training he's missed in the interest of *cuddle* --

Dick grips the back of Tim's neck and shakes. "Look at it this way, Tim -- the longer you take to eat, the *more* training you'll miss."

"Indeed," Bruce says, and holds one of the small dishes of lemon juice in his palm.

Tim thinks about holding on to guilt --

Maybe working up some decent crankiness --

Tim pushes up onto his knees and sits carefully on his heels, choosing a piece of aged provolone to dip.

Bruce smiles. "I was thinking you'd choose the cheddar first. You usually do."

Tim chews leisurely, enjoying the sour tang, the musk -- mm. "I'm naked with two beautiful men who know altogether too much about my sexual fantasies about them --"

Dick holds up a hand. "*I* know practically *nothing* about those fantasies."

"'Practically' being the operative word. I've decided to live dangerously."

Dick grins at him after taking a bite of the pastrami -- served warm, as always -- "*How* dangerously?"

"I think..."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Tim?"

"I think I may consume a hot dog purchased from a street vendor. Someday."

Dick shoves him lightly.

Bruce hums.

"It's entirely possible that I'll take a shower at a local Y without flip-flops."

"*Don't* make me bench you for recklessness."

Tim shows his teeth. "It was my understanding that you *approved* of recklessness, Bruce. From time to time, anyway."

Bruce raises his eyebrow *higher* --

"Oh, *do* tell, boss. Let's get *all* the dirty little secrets out."

Bruce looks down, but not far enough to shadow the genuinely happy smile on his face.

It turns Dick's expression *avid*, and -- yes.

"Well, Bruce?"

"Hmm. There are many, many activities one can enjoy on a... bench."

Dick snorts. "Oh... God. You know, I used to have *nightmares* about you fucking Jay blind day and night. And every last one of them were true, yeah?"

Bruce starts to frown --

And Dick waggles his finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah, boss, none of that. You *were* listening to my chat with your new lover, weren't you?"

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment and reaches -- slowly -- to take Dick's hand in his own.

Dick smiles fondly. "Back to the porn."

"Dick, we -- I don't have to --"

"Yeah, it *is* good to know that you were aware of how much I hurt back then --"

"I never wanted --"

"*To* hurt me. I knew it then and I know it *better* now. You just took one look at Jay -- who probably only *started* to learn how to fight that brutally because he *was* that pretty -- and lost your mind. Yeah?"

Bruce takes a breath. "He -- yes."

"I wanted to be beautiful for you."

"You *were* --"

"I wanted to be so beautiful you lost *all* of your control --"

"Dick, please --"

"And now? I want the porn. C'mon, remind us both what it was like to *love* that little punk."

Bruce starts to shake his head -- stops and looks something like a *plea* at Tim.

Tim raises his eyebrow in question -- no. He nods.

"I... I urged Tim to. To share his fantasies of you."

Dick blinks and turns to Tim. "Little brother. Is he saying that *he* knows more about what you want from me than *I* do?"

Tim eats some melon, knowing that it's a general weakness of his family: none of them are entirely capable of interrupting him while he's eating.

Dick narrows his eyes at him.

Bruce eats steadily and methodically while gazing at both of them --

Tim swallows. "Ah -- I thought it was time for Bruce porn."

Dick makes a show of thinking about it, and Tim uses the time to eat more of the cheese --

A little of the roast beef -- which goes excellently with the lemon --

"I -- no, I need to know about your porn first, little brother. Call me narcissistic."

Tim gives himself a moment to imagine Dick making love with, say, a clone of himself --

All right, it's more than a moment --

Bruce hums.

"All right, boss, if *you* know what that look is about, *spill* it."

"I believe -- and I could very well be wrong -- that Tim is imagining the possibilities inherent to your being narcissistic."

Tim smiles and reaches somewhat blindly for more food --

"I -- what. Oh --" Dick snorts and shakes Tim by the shoulder. "Only if he wasn't an *evil* twin. I've thus far managed to avoid screwing anyone's evil doubles -- including my own -- and I want to keep that record *up*."

Tim nods solemnly and turns a slice of prosciutto over and over in the light. "He'd be entirely... ah. Good. You could patrol together. Get... sweaty."

Bruce hums again. "Perhaps one could strain a muscle. Mildly, of course."

Oh... my. "There... there might not be *time* for them to go all the way back to their base. They... a bit of... triage. On a rooftop."

Bruce smiles at him with his eyes. "A shadowy one, of course."

Tim licks his lips. "Maybe. Maybe one of them could have torn his -- terribly tight -- uniform."


And Dick... is looking back and forth between them with *shocked* laughter in his eyes.

Tim hums and eats more, and so do Bruce and Dick.

There's companionable silence for a time, broken occasionally by Dick's small sounds of enjoyment -- *he* hasn't had Alfred-quality food in weeks. And --

Well, *usually* he wouldn't do this in company, but Tim has to admit that he takes a great deal of pleasure in making himself little food packages by wrapping the chunks of cheese in the meat and dabbing just a bit of lemon juice on this corner, or that edge --

And yes, Bruce *is* watching him with open curiosity, but it's a pleased sort of thing. Tim can accept that Bruce enjoys watching Tim have fun, especially if it's the sort of fun Tim can have while Bruce is right there --

"How's that fizzy feeling, little brother?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Bubbling along quite nicely. Though if this keeps up, I'm going to need to release some of the pressure."

"*About* those releases..."

Tim raises an eyebrow at Dick --

And Dick dips his finger in one of the dishes of lemon juice and runs it along Tim's lips.

"I --"

"You got Alfred to add this, didn't you?"

"Well -- you have to admit that it goes well with this sort of antipasto, Dick --"

"Lick your lips for me?"

"I... Dick..."

"Please?" And Dick's eyes are... full. Still avid, but many other things, as well.

Tim licks his lips --

Dick leans *in* -- smiles, and stops.

Which is when Tim notices that *he'd* started leaning in -- right. "I'm sorry, Dick --"

"Are you apologizing for playing along? Or for stopping?"

"Ah -- 'playing' along? Is that really --"

"No," Dick says, cupping Tim's face and stroking Tim's cheekbone with his thumb. "I already know you don't really *like* to play, little brother."

Well -- no. He doesn't. Except that that makes him sound like -- "I can play. I can enjoy playing, I mean. Sometimes."

"Not with this."

"This? I mean, I already know --"

And he doesn't actually know what he would've said if Dick hadn't kissed him -- that last fragment was made up entirely of verbal *filler* --

He's kissing Dick.

He's kissing Dick in front of *Bruce* --

Dick moans into Tim's mouth and shoves his hand into his hair, carding and tugging and gripping and *pulling* until he -- apparently -- has Tim's head precisely where he wants it --

And he *does* want it, because this kiss couldn't say anything else, couldn't *be* anything else --

He'd wanted Tim back then, wanted Tim when he was still barely *trained* --

"Excuse me," Bruce says, moving -- off the bed.

Tim pulls back and blushes -- "Bruce --"

"Tim," and Bruce strokes Tim's cheek -- "I was supposed to return for the tray with our beverages."

Tim attempts to parse that --

Dick had *kissed* him --

Dick smiles lazily. "Meaning you're coming back, boss...?"

Bruce brings his fingertips to Tim's mouth and *presses* on Tim's upper lip. "I wouldn't want either of you to become... dehydrated."

"That *would* be terrible," Dick says, and moves the mostly denuded tray from the bed to the floor. "Reckless, even."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Dick... I need to know --"

"I want you to come back, Bruce. I want it... pretty damned badly."

Bruce takes a breath -- and turns to Tim with nothing but question in his eyes.

Questions Tim can know with all of himself, questions he can only *guess* at --

They really should be training. *All* of them should be, and there's a part of Tim which is only congratulating him for having the thought... in much the same way one would pat the head of a child who was in the process of being summarily *dismissed* -- "Come back." He can't actually stop himself from making that an order --

Just as, perhaps, Bruce can't stop himself from leaning in to kiss Tim hard and deeply, *seriously* --

Gratefully? No, that's not a question. Or -- it shouldn't be. Bruce has wanted this -- or something like it -- for some unknown and undoubtedly frightening length of time --

Bruce --

Bruce moans into Tim's mouth, and for a moment Tim is only wondering why --

But then Dick pushes his hand back into Tim's hair and urges him to kiss Bruce *more* deeply --

And Tim knows that he's doing the same thing to Bruce, that --

Dick tugs *hard*, forcing Tim to break the kiss with a gasp and *several* blinks -- "By all means, boss -- *get* us something to drink. And give me a few minutes to talk to my little brother."

Bruce looks both of them over with a rapid *rake* of his gaze -- "As you say," and then he turns and leaves --

"You look at him differently now, you know."

"I -- he's told me that he sees himself beautiful in my eyes."

"Is that what I have to look forward to? Now that I know what you've been thinking about me?"

"I --" Tim turns to look at Dick, who is --

Well, he's exactly as close as he should be, considering what he was doing --

"I don't have to... look at you that way."

"And if I want you to?"

"Dick -- we've *discussed* how uncomfortable you become --"

"When someone is lusting after me and I can't do anything about it, yeah. But..." Dick rests his thumb on Tim's *lower* lip. "I can do something about this. Can't I?"

Right. That's -- that's exactly what he's been implying, saying, *declaring* --

Wasn't there something else he was *supposed* to be saying? Something *rational* --

*Reasonable* --

"I'm not gonna marry you, little brother. Not even a little."

There's a part of him which *hurts* for that, but that part is never going to make it far past fourteen or so, and --

And Dick narrows his eyes. "Tim. I'm also --" Dick licks his lips. "We can play. And we can be serious. And we can have something that straddles that line."

"That sounds... uncomfortable."

Dick grins. "Not if you do the straddling the *right* way. The -- God, I wanna grab your dick and *stroke*."

Tim's dick *twitches* --

And they look at it together. And -- there are good, important questions which could and perhaps *should* be asked. The nature of their -- wildly -- differing relationships with Bruce, just as an example --

"We can just have fun, Tim, and I -- I'm always going to be your brother," Dick says, cupping Tim's shoulders and squeezing. "I want you -- do you know that? Do you understand?"

"It's -- difficult to credit on a number of levels --"

"I've spent so *much* time shoving my dirty thoughts about you *away*. You've been so incredibly *celibate*, and only bad people try to seduce monks."

Tim blinks. "And that's... a rule?"

Dick massages Tim's shoulders, the back of Tim's neck -- "It's one of the few rules Roy tries to live by... since Connor explained how stressful it was to deal with Roy's -- and he actually used this word -- advances."

"I. For the record, I've used that word myself in the past."

Dick nods solemnly. "I forgive you. Put out for me."

Tim snorts --

"Or just -- you can do that as often as you want, little brother. You haven't been *happy* enough, but you are now, and I have to -- uh. Take advantage?"

Tim cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. I -- yes, I definitely have to take advantage," Dick says, and his touches become somewhat hectic things, lost amidst tickling, stroking, and massaging-while-seducing.

"Dick --"

"And -- you're making *him* happy. You -- he likes it. Whatever you're doing. *Everything* you're doing, more likely -- I want your secrets and I want to *taste* it," Dick says, yanking his hands back and covering his face with them.

Tim winces --

And Dick pulls his hands away -- "Don't do that."

"I -- what?"

"I could *feel* you tensing up just because I -- just because I started freaking out a little. Don't --" Dick licks his lips and laughs, reaching out to ruffle Tim's hair -- and turning the ruffle to a stroking grip. "You should only be empathetic when I'm feeling *good*, little brother."

"I'm sorry?"

Dick smiles. "I *used* to want you to find a way to fix every problem with Bruce until we could *all* deal with him, until *I* could deal with him --"

"I --"

"I don't want that anymore, little brother. I want -- well, a lot of things. Which isn't so different from how it's always been, except for how *now* I know how to *deal* with the fact that Bruce is never more approachable than when he's boning a Robin."

Tim chokes --

"There, there, you can take it. And you *know* I'm right. Bruce once *told* me that you used to have some pretty seriously up-close-and-personal shots of him and Jay."

That -- Tim smiles ruefully. "I was careful to destroy all of the *very* personal shots before handing the rest of them over. Still, he was..." Tim shakes his head. "If we're going to define approachability *that* way --"

Dick holds up a hand. "We aren't. Not really. I was just... talking out of my ass, mostly," and *he* smiles ruefully.

"You... don't usually make admissions like that."

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, and it makes his smile seem quieter and older, though not in any terrible way. "No, I don't. I'm making it now, though. Can you guess why?"

Tim reaches out and takes one of Dick's hands in his own. "You want us to be on the same page --"

"More than that. I want us to be reading the same *book*," Dick says, and squeezes Tim's hand. "I want -- you know what I want."

"Dick... I have no objection to you making love with Bruce. And -- obviously Clark loved you before he knew I existed --"

Dick shakes his head. "You're not getting it, little brother. You have to be there. You have to -- I need you to roll *with* me."

"I -- all right, that was the sense I was getting, and certainly a part of me wants to just nod and smile and will Bruce to get back here faster --"

"Go with that part. Please."

"Dick -- I'm not a part of what's between you and Bruce."

Dick raises his eyebrows. "Aren't you? You talked about me when you were making love to him. He -- what did he say?"

"That -- you were beautiful. That he had footage of you making love --"

"That he wanted you to see?"

"Dick -- ah."

"Meaning you *haven't* made Babs happy enough to share hers," and Dick's smile is sharp and more than a little hard. "Or maybe... no," and Dick's smile gets wider. "You're too good for it. Too well-*behaved*. You would never look unless you knew you had *my* permission."

"It's not -- it's not just *permission* --"

Dick lifts his chin -- and nods. "I have to want it. I have to want *you* to see me that way. Right?"

Tim licks his lips. "It would -- help."

Dick sighs and tugs Tim closer by their linked hands. "You have my permission, little brother."

"Dick --"

"You have my *want*. Because I've been starring in your fantasies for a good, long while... and a part of me has wanted *that* so badly that it's already used to it. Look at me. *Want* me."

"I *do*. I've always --"

"Wanted me. I know. I --" Dick laughs quietly and grips Tim's other hand before bringing it to his face. "It all fits. You know what kills me?"

"Tell me."

"*Bruce* knew all along that I could have you. Right?"

"He... ah. He used to tease me, a little, about how much I enjoyed spending time with you. He often made it a reward for doing some unpleasant task. I could always tell..." Tim smiles ruefully. "It's one of the reasons why there never seemed to be any point to my coming out. That and the rather large number of bisexuals in the community."

"Yeah, it is kind of weird when you think about it --"

"And also not, at all. When you think about it."

When Dick grins this time, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes show. "You're thinking of the first Nightwing uniform."

"Dick, I hit puberty while you were wearing that. It's fair to say that a part of me is *always* thinking about it."

Dick snorts and bites Tim's fingers, growling and shaking them a little before letting go. "I can't decide whether to apologize or just crawl into your bedroom while wearing it every few months."

"That would be a *kind* of apology. I -- you. I think we need to communicate better, and I realize that I'm the exact wrong person to bring that up --"

"Perhaps not the *exact* wrong person," Bruce says, and hands them both bottles of water before moving -- back to the doorway.

Tim frowns at him.

Bruce uses his own water bottle to gesture to Dick --

Who is eyeing Tim skeptically. Right.

"Dick, there have only ever been *two* secrets that I've kept from you in all the years we've actually known each other outside of my fevered dreams --"

"They were pretty *big* secrets, Tim --"

"Yes, but --" Tim shakes his head. "You have to admit that, when it comes right down to it, I've shared *everything* else. Even. Even the things you didn't want to hear."

Dick winces -- and nods. "I was -- I needed to believe in him right then, Tim. In pretty much the same ways that *you* needed to be skeptical. It kept me *feeling* sane -- even though I wasn't anything of the kind."

Tim opens his mouth -- and nods. "I didn't think of it that way before."

"But it's incredibly easy *for* you to think of it that way *now*.... because you're happy? Because you love me? Because you're -- no, you're not too hard to object. Damn it."

Tim laughs. "You have no idea how many times I've deliberately put on heavier, baggier clothes when I've known I was going to be spending time with you."

Dick raises his eyebrows. "All of them? Except, of course, for those times when you were wearing a jock."

"I -- well, yes, actually," and Tim brings his still-damp fingers to his own mouth and licks them, one at a time.

"Oh, little *brother* --"


"I can wait. I'm waiting. I could probably wait more easily if you were to stick one of your hands into my boxer-briefs."

Tim laughs again. "Dick... I'm still not sure my being here for this is the best plan. Or even a *good* plan --"

"It's *your* bedroom --"

"And you know that's not what I mean."

Dick sighs and twines his fingers with Tim's own. "What do I say? What do I *do*? It's no good without you. Not -- ah. The first time?" Dick laughs quietly and blushes far more loudly than that. And --

"Oh. Oh, I see. Ah." Tim licks his lips. "You need me to ease the way --"

"Jesus, *no*, Tim -- I. All right, yes, that's part of it, but it's not even *close* to most of it. Just -- this can be for us. *All* of us. And I think it can be... incredible," and Dick's breathing hitches --

And that's enough to make Tim get that much *harder* --

"Oh. God, yes, little brother. You don't know how hard it is not to *strangle* you for keeping this *away* from us for so long --"

Bruce shifts in the doorway --

And Dick frowns. "What? No, Bruce, you know I'd never hurt him --"

"It's... not that, Dick," Bruce says, and nods to Tim.

Great, now *he's* blushing again --


"Ah -- it's a kink. I like to be choked. I've -- well, it's not that I *always* did, but I've loved it since the first time I held my breath while I was... ah. Yes."

Dick's eyes are *wide*, and he's searching Tim hard -- "You. Did you ever want me to --"

"God, yes, but --"

"While I was *fucking* you, little brother?"

Tim grunts -- "Dick --"

Dick nods slowly and licks his lips. "I want that. I -- and you've thought about it. How I *would* fuck you --"

"Hard. Always --"

Dick growls and shakes his head once --

"Of course, it's not something we have to --"

"You're too sore."

"Ah. Yes --"

"Say yes again. *Give* me this, and I --" Dick cuts himself off with a sharp exhale and shakes his head more slowly. "Okay. Okay. One, I'm always going to love you. Two, I'm always going to be your brother. Three --" Dick holds up three fingers and waggles them back and forth. "I promise to drive you absolutely *crazy*, and if that's not good incentive yet, then Bruce and Clark have been kidnapped and replaced with incredibly muscular pod people."

Tim snorts. "*Dick* --"

"There *are* still Batsuits in my size somewhere in the Cave... Robin."

Tim feels himself *seize* --

And Dick smiles and shifts just enough that his upper face is in shadow --

"Oh -- don't do that --"

"Do *what*, Robin."

Tim feels himself flush all *over* -- "Jesus, that's not even remotely close to fair --"

"Hn. There's no such thing as *fair*, Robin."

"Dick. I will -- kick you in an unfriendly place --"

Dick yanks Tim close, nearly earning himself a *knee* in an unfriendly place -- but then, he's Dick. He knew exactly how much control Tim was capable of --

And there are a lot of meanings for that sentence. Just -- many.

Very many.

Including the ones which have to do with being *this* close to Dick, to the single most perfect body on the planet, to the body gods *lose* themselves for --

"You were *almost* talking like a *real* teenager for a minute, little brother."

"Oh -- bite me."

And Dick does just that, aiming it for the part of Tim's throat just over Tim's pulse, making it wet, making it *hard* --

Tim groans and just --

At least there's a coherent moment to feel himself giving up, a chance to recognize within himself all the questions that haven't been answered -- that may never *be* answered --

Dick sucks and twists his hands free of Tim's own, using one to tilt Tim's head back as far as it will go and the other to pinch and pull on Tim's nipples. Dick.

*Dick* --

Tim groans again and reaches out toward the doorway, blind and hopeful, blind and *needing* --

"My love," Bruce says, and he's there, *right* there, crawling onto the bed behind Tim and catching Tim's wrists in his hands --

Spreading them *wide* --

Dick moans and moves to the other side of Tim's throat, licking and kissing --

*Biting* again and Tim pants, lets himself shudder --

Bruce kisses his ear. "Tell me what I must do. Please."

*That's* worth another shudder -- or maybe it's for the feel of Bruce hard against Tim's back --

Civilian clothes are always so *thin* --

Dick pulls back and licks his wet lips --

They're already a little swollen --

"Trusting Robin to have the plan, boss?"

Bruce hums and licks the curve of Tim's ear. "I was taught, long ago, of the wisdom of such actions."

Dick smiles, licks the edges of his teeth, and nods. "I guess we did raise you right, at that. I promised I'd make my little brother crazy."

"So you did."

"What are the odds, do you think, that I'll manage to make him *stop* thinking?"

Bruce nuzzles Tim's cheek -- he *kisses* Tim's cheek and pulls back. "I believe I may have witnessed -- briefly -- the phenomenon you're discussing."

"Heh. And, presumably, the lead-up to it."

"I must admit that I was somewhat... distracted. At the time."

"Distracted, hunh? That doesn't sound very careful, boss," and Dick wraps one hand around Tim's dick and -- strokes.


Strokes *again* --

"Dick --"

"Shh, little brother. I'm having a very important conversation with *Dad*."

"Oh -- God. All right. I'll just... continue being a piece of meat."

"Lean, sexy meat -- all right, no, that's awful," Dick says, and his laugh is a little wild and cracked. "Uh. Yeah." He licks his lips again. "Bruce... what do you want to *see*?"

"Everything --"

"No way, boss. Specifics *needed*."

Bruce sighs and pushes his groin against Tim's back. And that --

Tim kneels up enough to shove his *ass* against Bruce --

Bruce grunts and squeezes Tim's wrists hard. "Tim."

"I'm... really not going to just lie back and take this. In case that seemed to be a workable possibility."

Dick cups Tim's face, fingers splaying onto pressure points in a pattern that *has* to be taken as a warning -- whether Dick is doing it consciously or not.

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Did you lie back for Bruce and Clark?"

"Yes... for a while."

Dick narrows his eyes -- and loosens his grip. "I don't have to seduce you, do I. Not more than I already have."

Tim smiles. "Do you want me, Dick?"

"Oh... even more than I did ninety seconds ago. Which, you should trust, is impressive."

"Then..." Tim twists his wrists hard in Bruce's grip --

Bruce lets go --

And Tim shoves his hands into Dick's hair and pulls him in for a kiss. A *better* kiss, because it's one he'd never considered before Steph taught him how, because it's the one he'd worked into his other fantasies immediately and guiltily --

And because it makes Dick shove his tongue into Tim's mouth and start *playing* with Tim's tongue, coaxing it and sliding, dancing with it and teasing --

Bruce starts to pull back --

Tim reaches back and digs his fingers in against Bruce's shoulder *hard*.

"As you say," and Bruce's hands are careful *and* firm on Tim's hips, Bruce's body is right *there* --

And Dick's kiss is every question Tim's ever *wanted* to say yes to, for, *against* --

Tim laughs into Dick's mouth and reminds them both of where Dick's hands are by thrusting into them --

Back against *Bruce* --

Dick grunts and starts working him with a fast, expert stroke-and-squeeze combination that feels -- hm.

Tim pulls back --

"Yeah, little brother?"

"Is that the Titans First-Time Special?"

Dick blinks, laughs -- "You could call it that --"

"I like it harder."

"How *much* harder?"

"I'll let you know if you should -- *fuck*, yes --"

"Ooh, little brother. You should be *nicer* to your little friend."

"I -- hnh. I don't want to *encourage* it, Dick --"

"But you *should*. It's -- mm. Look how messy you're getting my hands," and Dick looks down with his eyebrows up --

Tim looks, too, and Dick is squeezing Tim *powerfully* with one hand while rubbing the palm of the other against the head. He --

Yes, very sticky, but --

"Who. Who was this for *first*?"

Dick purses his lips. "It's -- almost -- what I give to Roy. Specifically, it's what I give to Roy when both of us are too impatient to get fancy the *first* time. Of course... Roy has accessories that make this *exact* touch a little... challenging."

Accessories -- oh. Oh... my.

Dick grins and *spanks* the head of Tim's dick lightly with his fingertips --

"*Fuck*, yes --"

"Do me a favor, little brother..."

"Ah... yes?"

"No jewelry until I get used to the jewels you were born with," Dick says, twisting and bending --

Taking Tim *in* --

Tim growls and shoves his hands in Dick's hair --

Dick moans and sucks *hard* --

"Boys. I --" Bruce cuts himself off with a low grunt and pulls *away* again --

"*Bruce* --"

"A moment only, Tim. I... hn. I find myself overdressed."

Oh -- that. And *that* -- where that is considered a function of --

Of the *look* in Dick's eyes as he studies Tim for this, as he works to *learn* what kind of blowjob Tim likes best. Which --

Tim grins. "You're -- ah. You're tempting me to make this somewhat difficult for you."

Eyebrows *up* --

"I could always... do this," Tim says, and gives Dick Robin, who may occasionally flush and sweat, but never so much as *implies* that either of those things have emotional components.

Dick looks *incredulous* -- and then he looks mean.

Oh --

And Tim is growling again, but, really, anyone would growl for *teeth* --

Or narrow their eyes for a suck to the head that comes in pulses, that sends out feelings in *waves* --

"Dick," Tim says, and he hadn't even *meant* to make his voice grit like that --

But Dick's expression seems to *flare* -- and he swallows Tim in one smooth --

Achingly incredible --

"*Dick* --"

And Bruce is behind him again, pushing between Tim's *thighs*, and Tim has to --

Tim *locks* his thighs together --

And Bruce pants and cups Tim's pectorals, squeezes and --

"You are beautiful together. You -- I must," and Bruce strokes down Tim's chest with one hand until he can split his fingers with Tim's dick --

Until Dick is *kissing* Bruce's fingers --

And Tim doesn't realize that he's all but *yanking* on Dick's hair until Dick smiles up at him *triumphantly* -- right.

"I'd tell you to eat me, Dick, but -- ah. You're doing a wonderful job at that."

Dick gestures a showman's flourish --

Tim *snorts* --

And Dick pulls off. "Is it my turn yet, oh meanest of mean little brothers?"

Tim licks his lips. "It might be Bruce's turn."

"Oh... yeah. The boss-man. The dirty, *dirty* Daddy..."

Bruce thrusts *hard* between Tim's thighs --

"You never told us what you wanted to *see*, Bruce," and Dick reaches between Tim's legs and does -- something.

Something that makes Bruce groan and -- "Please. Dick --"


Bruce drops his head to Tim's shoulder, nuzzling and biting, sucking at skin held between his teeth --

"Yeah. *About* that, Bruce..."

"Beautiful. You were always so --"

"Did you want me, Dad?"

"*Yes* --"

Dick shakes his head and does something *else* --

Bruce groans. "Dick. Do you want my pain?"

Dick's smile... glitters. "I want every last thing I can *get*, Bruce -- including a way for you to go back and apologize for all the times you taught me I *couldn't* trust my instincts, because of *course* I was wrong about the vibe I got off you..." Dick sighs and shakes his head, tugging his hand back --

And shoving his slick-sticky fingers in Tim's mouth.

Just --

*Bruce* --

Dick moans softly and bites his lip -- stops. "Little brother loves the taste of you... but I'm not ready for it yet."

"Please, Dick. Tell me. Tell me what I must *do*."

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, and that --

There's a part of Tim's mind which is honestly stuck on telling the rest several different versions of 'I *told* you so,' but that's less than helpful. Tim reaches out to cup Dick's hip --

Dick shivers and opens his eyes, and for a moment they seem wild and almost *sightless* -- "Oh, God. I --" Dick laughs, and it's crazy, sharp --

Dick tugs his fingers out of Tim's mouth and sucks them into his own -- but only for a moment. "I want -- I want you *both* to know that there's really nothing Bruce *can* do. He can answer for a lot of the need I felt -- and he *will*, because I'm never *not* going to know how much he wants me --

"Not when he looks at me like that while still clutching *you*, little brother --"

Tim squeezes Dick's hip hard. "Dick. Give us an answer we can *work* with."

Dick blinks at him for a moment -- and then smiles ruefully, cupping Tim's face and leaning in to kiss Tim's forehead once and again --

Again --

*Again* --

"Dick --"

"I love you so much, little brother. Not least because you're one fuck of a lot smarter than I am about what I can and can't do."

Tim pulls back and covers Dick's hands with his own. "Tell *me* what you need."

Dick closes his eyes again and smiles *broadly* -- "I'm going to have nightmares about you being my Robin for *years*. And I'm going to wake up rock hard from each and every one of them," Dick says, opening his eyes and letting his own smile get wilder, *febrile* --


"Of course, that makes it sound like I *haven't* had those dreams before... but sometimes I woke up feeling *guilty* for being so hard. Bruce. If you fuck this up? I'm going to do my damnedest to take him from you. And *neither* of you have seen just how good I can be."

Well -- *hell* --

"Noted," Bruce says, quiet and *solemn* -- and patient.

Dick nods and turns back to Tim, licking his lips -- "I still want this."

"We can have it, Dick, but --"

"I have to cope. I know. I -- this is me, letting it go. At least until I can get back to New York and the team I don't actually deserve to decompress --"

Tim uses *all* of his hand strength on Dick's hip. "If you'd like, we could start working out our problems with the family *in* the family."

Dick frowns and looks to Bruce --

And Tim can feel him nod.

"He's been... open, Dick. Rather more than I could take... at first."

Dick licks his lips. "So if I were to, say, make a date to have a *long* talk with you about all of this...?"

"I am at your disposal, Dick."

Dick takes a breath and nods. "I want Jay from you, Bruce. And Tim should have him, too."

Bruce nods again. "You'll both have him. As much -- everything I have to give," Bruce says, and strokes down to Tim's hips. "Everything."

Dick nods again, and --

There isn't so much as a blink before Dick is *leering* at Tim, looking him over with hunger, appreciation, *raw* lust --

"I -- wow. I think I want to know who you learned that expression *from*, Dick."

"Oh, little brother. You may be good enough to feel Bruce coming more often than not, but you're nowhere *near* good enough to notice when people are aiming this look at you."

"I --"

"And no, Superboy *doesn't* count, because he's genetically incapable of turning the volume down on his lust. *Clark* only learned subtlety because he had to grow up lying to everyone. Superboy? Not so much," Dick says, and taps Tim's lower lip. "You've sucked Bruce off."

"Not -- well --"

"I disagree. Vehemently."

Dick raises his eyebrows. "What *didn't* you do, Tim?"

"I only -- I barely took more than the head."

"Ooh. Which is your way of saying that you *can* take a lot more than that."

"Toys are... useful."

Dick nods slowly and stands on the bed, stripping off his t-shirt -- "Take my boxer-briefs down?"

Mm. Well... Tim kneels up, shivering for the feel of Bruce's dick dragging along his thighs --

For the feel of Dick's long, horrifically scarred, beautiful legs --

Tim leans in to kiss the *latest* bullet scar and continues stroking up until he can slip his fingers beneath Dick's waistband --

Tim nuzzles and licks --

And Dick's breathing is... more than a little *intriguingly* harsh. Hm.

Tim deliberately looks up from under his lashes as he tugs --

And Dick's smile is rueful and *hot*. "Little brother... is this how you make love?"

Tim kisses his way up Dick's inner thigh before pulling back to get the boxer-briefs *down* -- "It's one of the ways."


"Tim gave me a rubdown the other night. His hands spoke only of love and desire. Care."

"I... yeah. That," Dick says, stepping out of his boxer-briefs and kicking them off the bed. "Touch me all you want, little brother. Show me."

Tim closes his eyes and pushes on Dick's thighs until he spreads them wider, wide enough that Tim can lick and nuzzle his way up *both* of his inner thighs --

"Oh... God, little brother..."

Just wait, he doesn't say -- mainly because he may never actually *be* that cocky --

At least not with someone who's been having sex with Superman -- and Clark Kent, and *Clark* -- for nearly half his *life* --


There's no pleasure quite like having the *right* to kiss and nuzzle Dick's sac, to kiss more and suck --

Dick moans and reaches down to cup the back of Tim's head. "Oh, that's... mm. Suck me harder?"

Tim *cups* Dick's sac and sucks not *quite* as hard as he can, licking at the soft-fuzzed skin for a few moments before going back to nuzzling --

And Dick sighs and starts petting his hair. "That's... you should see the way Bruce is looking at us, little brother. Like he *doesn't* know what he wants."

"I -- I don't."

"But you maybe -- mm, oh, Tim -- you maybe have a few thoughts?"

"I... I could watch him touch you for many hours. Happily."

Tim uses his other hand to stroke Dick's ass, and a part of him is wishing for the uniform, for the sound it would make against his palm --

But there wouldn't be Dick's heat, the feel of the fine, colorless hairs --

It's *Dick*, and so it's necessary to open wide and take the whole of his sac in *carefully* --

Dick moans again, voice high and somehow *soft*. He pushes *both* hands into Tim's hair -- "God, you've got me --oh. That's so good, Tim --"

Tim hums and *sucks* --

"Oh -- *fuck*, I -- Bruce, if you say one *word* about my language --"

"I will say nothing to interrupt this moment."

"No, you -- oh. Oh, *Tim* --"

Tim hums again and scratches Dick's inner thighs lightly --

"*God*, you -- Bruce, you *have* to talk. I can't -- you can't just *watch*."

"I would. I'd like to. To touch."

"I don't think I can *let* you distract Tim right now -- oh, *Jesus*, little brother, you -- oh, your *teeth* --"

Bruce grunts --

This time, the craziness of Dick's laugh is a *light* sound -- and a pull Tim knows from every moment he's found himself following Dick everywhere, anywhere --

Onto the top of a *train* --

And Dick grips Tim's ears. *Carefully*, but still -- "Oh -- oh, yeah. I'm about to *drip* on you, little brother. I'm -- you want that?"

Tim nods slowly --

Dick moans and pets him, strokes him -- "You've just always been so *pretty*. So small and -- serious and --" Dick moans again -- "Bruce, you. Did you fuck his mouth at all?"

"Yes. Yes, Dick --"

"Did you *like* it?"

"He -- it took all of my power to quiet myself enough to hear *his* sounds."

"I -- you. You get loud, Bruce?"

"At times, yes."

"That -- well, that makes about nine million fantasies a lot *better*," Dick says, laughing again and starting to rock --

Tim lets Dick slip from his mouth with a long scrape of his teeth --

Dick shudders and grips his dick in one hand. "Suck me. Suck me, Tim, and I --" Another laugh. "I don't *know* --"

"Make Bruce keep talking," Tim says, and licks his way up the underside of Dick's dick, detouring to pay attention to Dick's fingers --

Long fingers, scarred fingers --

*Hard* fingers on his face --

Tim bites the webbing between Dick's thumb and forefinger --

"You -- *Tim* --"


Dick laughs *again* -- and reaches down to grip Tim's throat.

Tim closes his eyes and feels himself *relax* -- only it's more like a full-body loosening, a sense that he *could* be soft enough to be used --

And Dick's not laughing anymore.

Tim licks his lips slowly --

And Dick nods and lets go, gripping his own dick again and *presenting* it. "Suck me."

"How much should I take?"

"*All* of me, little brother -- but not yet."

Tim leans in -- and stops. "Make Bruce talk. Big brother."

"Don't make me *wait* -- *hnh* -- oh, Jesus, Tim, your *mouth* --"

Yours, and Tim tries to say it with the pressure of his lips on the head, the stab of his tongue at the slit --

Dick's taste is somehow *thicker* than Bruce's own, heavier or maybe louder, more *insistent* --

Dick eats *pizza* on a regular basis --

And laughing right now would make Dick -- possibly -- try to *interrupt* Tim, and so he's not going to do it. Just --

Dick is in his *mouth*.

Dick had *asked* for this -- and then ordered it.

Dick --

Tim cups Dick's hips and goes down, just enough to make himself salivate and *harden* a little more --

"Bruce. Bruce."

"I'm here."

"You --" Dick pushes his hands back into Tim's hair and pants -- "Tell me a *story*."

"I --"

"You *know* what I want, Bruce --"

"I've watched. I've watched you pleasure yourself in the moments after Tim leaves you --"

"Fuck, I -- sometimes -- something I just had to open a *valve*," Dick says, laughing again and thrusting once, twice -- "Are you *listening*, little brother?"

Tim looks up and tries to *will* Dick to see it all, to *feel* all of the missed chances --

Dick groans -- "Take *more*."

Tim does --

"More for -- for making me think -- you *know* what I thought --"

Bruce moans. "In those moments -- I would watch and dream of *this*, Dick, of Tim on his knees to you because he had to soothe, to --" Bruce pants and his hands are on Tim's shoulders -- "I would lick my lips when you began to thrust into your own fist --"

Dick whimpers -- stops. "Bruce, you -- what did *you* want?"

"To kiss you. To push you against a wall. To hold you *still* --"

"Nnh -- hate being still. You know I hate --"

"But you would do it for Tim if he needed you to --"

"He -- he *doesn't*," and Dick is either bound and determined to prove his point by *grinding* into Tim's mouth -- or it's something he just needs to do.

"Oh -- so wet and *hot* --" Dick yanks Tim's hair, pulls his head back -- "*Swallow* me, little brother --"

And Tim *starts* swallowing before Dick finishes speaking, starts --

Dick is *wincing* for it, perhaps for the knowledge that he *will* be inside Tim --

*Brother* --

Tim clutches Dick's hips and *pulls*, fighting against Dick's strength, and the bed's unstable surface is his ally. Dick *won't* lock his knees for this -- or for anything short of gravest necessity --

There. Just --

Dick groans and throws his head back, briefly swallowing in rhythm with Tim before he gasps --

Cries out --

"*More*, Bruce --"

"I've wanted -- what Tim has. The taste of you --"

"Tell me. Tell me *when* --"

"I've wanted to be on my knees for you, to. To open your clothes and bare you for my touch, my stare --"

"*Bruce* --"

"You were so *young*, and your pain was -- all too comprehensible. A moment of your gaze became years of memory, Dick, and I. I wanted to take the pain *away*."

And Tim -- well, he'd *told* Dick to make Bruce keep talking, and that --


Tim represses the urge to laugh -- shocked and *not* to be taken by such a thing in *this* moment --

And Dick's laugh is a series of gasps --

But then it's high, pained, *sharp* -- "Bruce, you *pervert* --"

"*Yes*, Dick, I --"

"*More*," Dick says, shifting his grip on Tim's hair until Tim has *slightly* more freedom --

Enough to start working his own head *while* Dick thrusts --

"Oh -- fuck, *fuck*, little brother, how much porn have you been *watching*?"

Tim gestures 'enough' --

And Dick is gasping again, groaning and slowing *down* --

Forcing *Tim* to slow down --

"Not *yet*," Dick says, continuing to slow them until they *stop*, which --

Tim does his best to make an *indignant* noise with a dick in his mouth -- and partially into his throat. The result is good enough that Dick snickers and sways on his feet --

And then Dick yanks Tim off and drops to his knees, starting to wrestle with Tim again, grabbing and pushing and pulling --

*Using* how much he'd sweated to make himself more difficult to hold --

Tim does the *same* --

And Bruce watches every moment of it. Tim had only seen a *moment* of his expression while working to free himself from Dick's pin, but that had been more than enough. Avidity, passion, loneliness, hope, lust --

*Bruce*, and perhaps Dick knows that well enough by the way he's slowing the *wrestling* down, too, shifting it to something of long, body-to-body strokes and the kinds of moans which only occur when one is reminding oneself to *fight* a
pin --


"Not -- not *quite*, Bruce --"

"Always to me. Perhaps... for me?"

Tim grunts and flips Dick off of him, using the reduced speed to his benefit and trying for a leg-lock --

Dick twists free and grabs Tim's *throat* again, which definitely --

Definitely. Tim raises an eyebrow.

Dick grins at him *sunnily*. "Okay, first of all, Bruce -- how the *hell* did you let him out on the street with a trigger like *that* one?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Dick snickers and uses his grip on Tim's throat to move Tim's head back and forth --

Tim raises his eyebrow *higher* --

"Second -- don't *be* like that, little brother. If you're mean, I *won't* squeeze harder."

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip --

"Ooh. Ah. You're right. I might still choke you with my *dick*, and -- Bruce. Three -- three, Bruce --"

"I'm listening --"

"And watching, and *hoping* -- mm, wait," Dick says, hauling Tim up over him by main force -- "*Kiss* me, you deluded fool."


"Yes, *deluded*. I mean -- you were going to try to keep this -- *us* -- *platonic*."

"I still might try, Dick --"

"*I* still might -- let Roy whip you. I couldn't actually do it."

Tim shows his teeth and leans in -- and stops.

"Ooh, *bitchy* little --"

"If you can't do it, maybe it shouldn't be done."

"I -- that would be a *very* egotistical position to take, little brother. I mean, really, if you think about it..."


"It's the last step before skull-shaped islands, psychotic henchmen, and supervillainy."

"Very alliterative. I think Bruce's erection just grew three sizes."

"You are both," Bruce says, and the smile in his voice is so *bright* -- "welcome to check."

Dick's eyes widen in a shock Tim knows in his *bones* -- and it's most assuredly time to be helpful.

Tim leans in and licks a long, slow stripe up over Dick's cheek --

Dick *jerks* beneath him --

And Tim lets his smile be as wet as it wants to before turning Dick's head toward Bruce and licking Dick's ear. There *is* something about the bitterness --

But thinking about rimming Dick makes important parts of his mind -- wonder why he isn't doing it right *now*. And *that* --


"Uh. Yeah, little brother?"

"How would you feel about me using my experiences with Bruce -- which are limited, but still extant -- to... ah... put you in the middle?"

"Um. And by putting me in the middle..."

"Yes, Dick?"

"Would that involve breaking my mind into several sharp, dangerous pieces for the sake of filial stickiness?"

"That was my thought, yes."

"Uh. Hunh."

Tim kisses Dick's ear once, twice --


"It just -- it occurs to me that I'm somewhat less shocky than you are. Experience -- though, again, limited -- suggests that that means you -- and, by extension, Bruce and I -- would do well in a situation like that one."

Dick turns to face Tim more fully and narrows his eyes.

"Yes, Dick?"

"One condition."

"I'm listening --"

"I want a fantasy. If not from Bruce, then from *you*. I want something -- something you never thought you'd ever do. And I want it to be something which made that thought *hurt*."

Tim licks his lips and thinks about -- so many things. "Yes."

"And I want --" Dick smiles and shakes his head. "I did say *one* condition."

Tim raises an eyebrow and shifts enough -- there. Tim rocks his hips against Dick's own --

Dick moans and *arches* --

"I'm open to negotiation, Dick --"

"I'm open to you. God, just -- kiss me --"

"Wait," Tim says, pressing on Dick's mouth with his fingers and turning to Bruce --

"Yes, Tim."

"You -- *do* you have any idea how much I've wanted to watch you making love with Dick?"

Bruce parts his lips --

Dick *licks* Tim's fingers --

"Tell me," Bruce says, and clutches at his own knees.

Tim licks his lips again -- "When I saw you with Jason -- when I saw the way you *looked* at Jason --"

"I was often. Dangerously obvious."

"I wanted to know -- I *needed* to know -- that Dick had felt that, as well. That *focus*."

Bruce turns to Dick. "I think. I think he did."

Dick closes his eyes and nods.

"I tried -- to deceive --"

Tim cuts Bruce off with a gesture. "We're going to learn -- together -- how to be very, very bad at doing stupid things," and Tim kisses his way down Dick's body --

"As you say."

And Dick groans for Tim licking him --

Clutches at the sheets for Tim nibbling the shaft --

"*Tim* --"

That, perhaps, for the feel of Tim breathing hot and damp on the head. Hm. "This isn't for me," Tim says, and licks again --

"It -- little brother, it *can* be --"

"Not right now. Not yet," and Tim pulls back. "Hands and knees, Dick. *Facing* Bruce."

"Tim --"

"Do it now, Dick," Tim says, and massages roughly down Dick's thigh. "It's all right -- and most of you already knows that."

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, nods --

He moves, rolling onto his stomach and then shifting up onto his hands and knees before crawling close to Bruce --

Who is back on *his* knees -- and looking to Tim for direction.

Tim smiles and cups Dick's hips, making a point of splaying his fingers as wide as he can before *gripping* --

Dick cries out -- "*Bruce* -- *fuck*, I -- Tim --"

"I'm reasonably sure I have the same reflex, Dick. Or... well, of course it would be easier to deal with if it *were* just a reflex..." Tim digs in a little with his short nails. "Bruce. Do what you want."

Bruce strokes Dick's cheeks with shaking hands -- he clenches his hands into fists and pulls back.


"Tim. I -- I am not sure my desires match your own."

Tim nods and thinks about it -- "That's fair. But Dick isn't *really* going to be satisfied unless we prove -- you prove -- how much you need him. I'll follow your lead."

"You -- God, little brother, follow your *own* --"

Tim smiles and *yanks* Dick's hips back against his groin --

Dick groans and *bucks* --

"I have to admit to a secret, Dick."

"Uh -- I'm listening?" And Dick's laugh is harsh and wild again --

"When I'm following Bruce's lead... I *am* usually following my own, as well."

The look Bruce gives him *burns* --

"My next confession: I'm wondering what Clark is doing."

Dick laughs again. "Hopefully not losing *all* faith in -- in me -- oh --"

Bruce cups Dick's face, tilting his head up -- "Dick. You -- you must not doubt yourself --"

"With *you*, boss?"

Bruce frowns --

"God, I -- no. No, not --" Dick shakes his head and pushes his cheek against Bruce's palm, his ass back against Tim's groin -- "Please. Both of you, just -- *consider* gagging me --"

Tim squeezes Dick's sac --

"*Ah* -- oh, *Tim* --"

"Does Roy gag you?"

"*Yes* -- sometimes --" Dick shakes his head again. "He always pulls it *off* --"

"Bruce. Give Dick your thumb."

"Tim. Tim, I want --"

"Trust me," Tim says, and leans in over Dick, kissing and scraping his teeth down Dick's spine --

And the noises are low things, muffled --

Bruce grunts --

"Did he bite you?"

"He -- yes. And now he is. Sucking," Bruce says, frowning and obviously wanting more... less?

"Fuck him with it, Bruce. Get him... ready for other things."

"Tim --"

"My fantasy first -- then both of ours."

And Bruce meets his eyes with hunger, question, *trust* --

Tim shivers and breaks the look to bite just below Dick's kidney --

Dick grunts and shifts -- and, when Bruce sighs, Tim knows that Dick is gripping his wrist.

Just --

"This is a fantasy, Dick. This -- call it one too many times watching you bend, watching you twist, hearing you moan *shamelessly* for some pleasure I'd only feel comfortable *smiling* for..." Tim laughs quietly and shakes his head. "You're the first," he says, spreading Dick wide and bending in to *kiss* --

Dick's shout is *slurred* --

Bruce groans --

And Tim feels resolve and care cracking *immediately* under hunger. Just --

It *immediately* becomes clear that the shape of Dick's ass and his own face won't allow for the depth he wants without difficulty, strain --

Dick doesn't taste anything like *anything* else he's ever --

Dick is *clenching* around Tim's *tongue* --

"I." Bruce exhales sharply. "I'm stroking Dick's hair, Tim. I've always wanted... his hair is so *thick* --"

Tim hums --

Dick *bucks* --

"Easy, Dick, you must. You must allow Tim to. To learn this touch, this pleasure --"

Dick groans and the wet sounds suggest that he's *slurping* at Bruce's thumb, losing *himself* --

"You *used* to sleep on your stomach, Dick, and I... I have watched and *hungered*..."

God, Tim can almost *smell* it, taste more and *different* musk than what's making him want to shout --

Dick's noises are rhythmic --

Because Tim is *thrusting* that way, *fucking* him that way --

So *many* images and fantasies --

So much *possibility* --

"Tim. Tim, I -- we should. We should let Dick *speak*."

And suddenly -- *breathtakingly* -- it hurts that he never has -- and almost certainly never *will* -- heard the sounds Jason makes when he's having sex. Making love?

Is that what he was doing with Bruce?

Is it possible to do anything *else*?

"Tim, please --"

Tim gestures Bruce to take point and licks his way up Dick's cleft to his spine --

The salt from Dick's sweat *stings* after the musk, the oils --

Tim *starts* to grab himself -- he needs to feel *something* --

But Bruce hauls Dick upright and Dick reaches back and *yanks* Tim against him --

"Little *brother* --"

"Nn -- right here," Tim says, brushing Dick's hand aside and stroking his hips, the perfect bone-poetry of his *hips* --

"You -- what *else* happens in that fantasy?"

"I suck you. Though I can never decide what positions I want us to be in," and Tim bites Dick's shoulder --

Dick reaches back and cups the back of Tim's head -- "Don't. Don't brush me away, Tim. You've gotta let me hold on to you..."

Tim nods and sucks at Dick's trapezius for a *moment* before pulling back slightly. "Your turn, Bruce."

Bruce cups Dick's face -- and hesitates, searching Dick --

Searching *Tim* --

And Dick laughs softly. "It's okay, boss --"

"No," Tim says, and strokes his way down to Dick's groin, cupping his sac and gripping his dick. "Bruce, tell him why you're hesitating."

Bruce winces and nods. "I'm -- I'm unsure whether this touch is allowed. After all this time."

Tim doesn't have to *see* Dick's frown to know that he's doing it --

"Bruce, you -- it's *allowed* --"

"Dick, there is -- I hurt you so badly --"

"I'll always love you," Dick says, laughing under his voice and shaking his head. "You -- you're always allowed."

"It shouldn't be that way --"

"It is," Dick says, and -- "please, Bruce. Kiss me --"

Bruce groans and does it, *shoving* his hands into Dick's hair and making it the sort of kiss --

The sort of kiss that demands, explains, *commands* --

And Dick moans and pulls back enough to make it *slightly* easier -- though almost certainly not enough to ease the pain of it.

Robin always wants at least a *little* pain.

Robin doesn't know who he *is* without a little pain --

And the part of Tim which will always belong to Steph wonders, *has* to wonder, and try not to hope --

She's one of them *and* apart --

As separate as Batgirl needs to be, perhaps --

He doesn't know, but watching this kiss is like stroking his inner child in friendly and hideously disturbing ways. Watching this kiss is satisfaction and *panic*, because what if -- no.

He can't go there and he *won't*, because -- there's too much riding on this. And *that* makes him feel small inside, selfish --

No, he won't go there, *either*, because these are two of the people he loves most in the world and they need him to function, to be something other than a  mass of needs and fears --

And Bruce and Dick are so beautiful together, so --

History and *romance* -- with and without the capital R, because the part of Tim which will always be nine years old and stunned breathless, nine years old and too *excited* to know whether it's happy or thrilled --

Oh, the way it had felt to *know* -- at *last* -- that Bruce wasn't really ignoring Dick in favor of this socialite or that barely-legal debutante, that it was all part of the cover, that Dick was that important to someone other than him --

*Robin* --

And maybe Robin should always be kissing Batman, just as Robin should never be entirely *complete* -- without every last other Robin.

Steph isn't here, *Jason* isn't here, but *he* is, and Dick is lingering *sex* in his mouth and beauty under his hands -- hands which have been moving without his permission for some unknown length of time --

Bruce grunts and Tim knows where *Dick's* other hand is --

And it only takes a moment to build hot, damp confusion there with his own hands, to twist and move and pet and -- *hold*, there, until Bruce's dick is pressed to Dick's own, until he's thrusting against Dick's back --

Until Dick is tearing himself out of the kiss to thrust and pant, writhe and mutter, whisper --

"Dick," Bruce says, and Tim knows he means it to be a plea --

And knows that Dick takes it as an order by the way he goes rigid and pushes himself upright -- "Bruce -- Bruce -- God, I *feel* you --"

"Tim -- he. He would masturbate this way --"

"What? Oh -- with his *toys* --" And Dick's laugh is breathless -- "It's better *this* way, little brother, and -- heh. I know *exactly* how to show you."

"Is it a fantasy?"

"It is *now*," Dick says, twisting free easily -- "Push back against Bruce. Get him -- mm. Between your *thighs* again."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

Tim *starts* to raise an eyebrow, but the manically happy light is back in Dick's eyes, just as if something had been *refreshed* within him -- if perhaps never quite eased...

Tim moves, and Bruce wraps his arms around him immediately, guiding himself until his dick is nudging Tim's sac --

And then Dick is *on* them, shoving and pushing until Bruce leans and pulls Tim with him --

"Now I *know* you've been watching me work, boss --"

"*Always*," Bruce says, cupping Tim's throat with one hand and *reaching* with the other --

"Pull my *hair*," and Dick starts to thrust against them, wild and then wilder, shoving their dicks together until Tim can't tell which of them is leaking the most, until --

"Oh, *fuck*, Bruce --"

Bruce is *holding* them all together and --

Dick moans -- "I -- damn, I can't -- not so *hard*, Bruce --"

"I'm sorry --"

"*No*," and Dick laughs and starts to thrust again, gripping Tim's shoulder with one hand and Bruce's with the other -- "And you still have to pull my *hair* --"

Bruce growls and pulls Dick off *balance* and into a kiss that's wet, messy, *noisy* and suggestive enough that Tim can't keep himself from thrusting into Bruce's grip --

Bruce squeezes *hard* --

Dick yelps and -- God, that was a *giggle* --

And Tim is being crushed between them, heated up and stroked all over, squeezed --

He wants --

He reaches up and grabs the hank of hair Bruce isn't currently holding and pulls Dick into a kiss of his own --

Dick mumbles and slurs something that sounds like brother, like love --

And then Dick twists free and arches back and starts working his hips so hard --

So fast and *graceful* --

Bruce shouts and thrusts hard enough to move *all* of them --

"Oh -- God, *yes*," and Dick is tossing his hair and *clawing* at Tim's shoulder --  "More, I need --"

And it's a reflex Tim will have to interrogate at *some* point, but for now all he *can* do is push two fingers into Dick's cleft --

"*Tim* --"

Find Dick's hole and press, work, *use* his calluses --

Dick shudders and loses his rhythm --

Bruce pulls Dick in for another kiss --

And being crushed like this --

Being allowed this *touch* --

Bruce *spasms* and Tim accidentally pushes in --

He wonders how much of an accident it really could've *been* --

Wetness between them, slick heat, and Tim would've thought Dick would make more noise --

But then Bruce groans and releases their dicks --

"Oh, *Bruce* --" Dick pulls back and swipes Bruce's come off his abdomen -- and slicks *Tim* with it --

"*Dick* --"

"I *like* chocolate in my peanut butter, little brother."

"I -- what?"

"Although -- considering what you were doing just recently with your dirty, *dirty* mouth --"

"Consider," Bruce says, and cups Tim's shoulders, "doing something with your own."

Dick licks his teeth. "Are you eyebrowing at me for sex, boss? After coming all over me? Is that what you're doing?"

And then Dick snickers, reaching back to grab Tim by the wrist and pull him *out*  --

"He's raising *both* eyebrows now, by the way, and you... mm." Dick waggles Tim's hand in the air. "Save that thought for later. Right now... you look good enough to eat. You always *do*, but --"

And Dick swallows him without another word --

Dick hums and sucks and licks and --

Dick pulls off -- "Oh, *Christ*, I have Bruce's *come* in my mouth --"

"I'll wash it *out* for you, Dick, *please* --"

Dick blinks --

*Hoots* --

And swallows Tim again, groaning deep in his chest --

"This is a fantasy," Bruce says, stroking Tim's hair and kissing his temple --

Dick pulls back enough to *hum* something that's either 'tell me more' or an invitation for Tim to lose his *mind* --

Bruce rumbles a laugh. "It often seemed as though Tim would never lose control for anything save the most *direct* sorts of touches."

Dick hums *again* --

"And, of course... you had learned so much from your friends, Dick. From your -- other -- family."

Dick looks up and glitters at both of them --

And then he sucks --

So *hard* --

"*Ahn* -- *Dick* --"

Another multi-part hum --

And Dick pushes his fingers behind Tim's sac and *presses* --

So --

White-out and Tim is shouting, strangling on his own cries as he shoots --

Again --

*Again* --

Dick pulls off and jerks Tim fast and *hard* --

And the last spurt lands on Dick's abdomen, mingling with Bruce's come and just --

Tim slumps against Bruce and *pants* --

"Not yet, my love," and Bruce pushes Tim down into a stretch over his legs -- Dick is still hard. Oh, yes.

Tim wriggles and shifts into a *moderately* less uncomfortable position --

Bruce moves up *beside* him --

Tim takes Dick's sac in his mouth. Bruce --

"Oh -- Jesus fucking -- this isn't a fantasy --"

"*Make* it one," Bruce says, and Tim --

Is reasonably sure they begin sucking at the same time.


Dick had offered to patrol with Tim, but hadn't fought very hard when Tim pointed out that Bruce's part of the city *always* needed extra help.

To be fair, Bruce's part of the city often needs the National Guard, but the federal government had effectively proven that Gotham's needs were not even remotely paramount in the minds of those in power, and probably never would be.

Well enough. At times like these, Tim feels protective of Gotham and more than a little miserly.

At times like these -- when he's put off working with the Titans for an extended period of time for one reason or another --

When the pull of the wider world is something to both thrill for and *resent* --

Gotham is his, and always will be.

He's moistened her streets with blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids.

He's dreamed the cries of her fleshy, strange machinery.

He has *lived* here, and he never wants that to *change* --

And maybe that's what the night people see when he flies and punishes and flies again. Maybe that's why the people he save nod at him *before* running away, and maybe that's why the people he beats are mostly silent as they take their punishment.

His city.

His *life* --

And he hasn't thought about sex for nearly three whole minutes.

Tim smiles to himself and swings over to the Schumer building for his mid-patrol break, planning a lengthy campaign in his mind for the West .44s, who will attempt to use their longbow and harquebusier technology to battle their way through the defenses of the Shin Den Tong.

Tim makes his own fun, and this, he believes, is the sign of a well-trained mind.

He finds his second-favorite shadow and pulls out an energy bar, considering the dispositions of the troops as he chews --

And he's not remotely surprised that he's mentally undressing various known criminals while he does it. Just, really.

He won't have Bruce, Clark, *or* Dick for the entire time he's with the Titans -- if they *do* show up, it will be for some testicle-shriveling disaster -- *and* he's going to have to come up with a way to tell -- at the very least -- Kon and Bart that he's... involved.

Seriously involved.

He has *lovers* --

Who really enjoy loving him.

Tim hums to himself --

"Oh... share the joke?" And that was Clark speaking to him through the *comm*. Well.

"Sure. If you'll come *here*."

"I thought you'd never ask," Clark says, crowding Tim's shadow, crouching, and taking Tim's hands in his own. "How have you been?"

"Only a *little* bit pissy because of all of that manipulation, Mr. I-Won't-Interfere."

"Well, Tim, if you think about it --"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Clark makes his expression very, very earnest.

Tim narrows his eyes.

Clark dips his head and smiles. "I did have your best interests at heart --"

"And other places?"

"Well... yes."

Tim hums. "I suppose it *is* better -- from time to time -- to seek forgiveness rather than permission. However --"

"You'll punish me if I do it very often...?"

"With malice aforethought, Clark," Tim says, and breaks off a piece of energy bar.

"Oh, thank you," Clark says, and they chew companionably for a time.

Tim swallows --

"About the joke?"

"I was thinking about the predicament I've found myself in. Abruptly, I have not one, not two, but *three* exceedingly attractive lovers."

"And this amuses you?"

Tim spreads his hands. "It seems to me that amusement is the best possible choice, since the other ones all involve me running around in circles and screaming."



"Well..." Clark pushes a lock of hair back from Tim's forehead. "I've always pictured you as more of a 'huddle in a corner and rock silently' sort of person."

Tim smiles -- because he has to.

<<I would have you in my home, fine one.>>

"Perhaps you could pick me up and bring me to the Tower tomorrow. Along a leisurely route."

Clark beams --

"And, for the record, I have always allowed myself room to be somewhat flamboyant about my sexuality, if not in especially fashionable ways, or in typical *moments*."

A judicious nod. "In that case, I will both picture you running in circles and screaming *and* be happy that you're doing nothing of the kind."

Tim strokes a circle on Clark's knee, wishing idly for an excuse to remove his gauntlet. "How often may I call you?"

"I was hoping you'd call to me this afternoon --"

"Consider that lack a rightfully-deserved punishment... for all that I wouldn't have minded *terribly* had Bruce or Dick called you."

Clark sighs and takes Tim's hands in his own again, kissing the knuckles of each before bringing them back down to knee-level. "I am a greedy man, Tim. I would have you call to me every day, for all that it would be, at best, impractical."

Tim nods --

"Though the idea that I'd somehow grow tired of you --"

"Clark," Tim says, letting his voice be curt and sharp. "People change. Including you."

Clark frowns. "I'd rather not have you *armor* yourself against a day which may never come, Tim. For all you know, we may change and grow together -- as I have with Bruce."

"Very true, but --"

"Tim, please don't --"

"I care for you deeply, Clark," Tim says, squeezing Clark's hands and holding his gaze as firmly as possible. "You make me laugh, you make me sigh, you make me... significantly warmer inside than I ever thought possible. To be quite frank, I can feel myself beginning to fall for you to at least a certain extent, and, well... perhaps you will trust me when I tell you that my armor is merely decorative."

Clark blinks --

Beams --

And then they're high in the air and Tim is forcing himself not to gasp for air.

It's easier to do once Clark pulls him into a warm, solid hug of the kind which had probably kept Dick -- relatively -- sane throughout his adolescence.

It makes Tim wonder what kind of person he could've been if he'd allowed himself this when *he* was younger --

It makes him breathe deep instead gasping, and listen to the beat of Clark's heart rather than talking anymore. There's nothing left to say --

<<Tim Drake, every moment is a gift.>>

There's *mostly* nothing left to say --

"I promise that I will call you on your comm as soon as I can if I ever cannot come to meet you, and I promise that you will always know *precisely* why I can't. All of this is yours as my lover, and there is much, much more besides. Will you accept?"

Tim pulls back enough to smile into Clark's eyes, allowing a part of himself to turn the statement over and over for signs and symbols, for mysteries and moments of deeper understanding --

He *allows* himself, and perhaps that's enough reason to make his smile wider as he nods.

He can be cranky later.