Almost certainly, one of the days when Tim is 'over at Steph's doing homework,' his father or Dana will call looking for him. This is why Steph owns one of the very few phones with a button that can connect the caller to the Cave . Steph has never used it -- it's possible but not *probable* that Bruce would call it misusing --

Bruce is the *reason* --

For a lot of different things at once.

Tim smiles to himself somewhat wryly and changes into workout clothes. Technically, Bruce isn't teaching him anything new today.

Technically, Tim doesn't need to be here.

Technically... Bruce could have made himself scarce. The fact that he hasn't -- he's working on the computer -- means...

Well, it doesn't *have* to mean anything. There's *always* more work to do for Batman, if only because there are always people being paroled or released, new officers being hired or promoted, gangs swapping territory in the most violent possible *ways* --

Tim doesn't have to talk to Bruce now. He --

It's not like Roy gave him a *timetable* or anything like that. It's possible that Bruce hasn't even *watched* the footage from last night -- yet.

It --

Tim rests a hand on the back of Bruce's chair.

Bruce doesn't turn, or blink, or --

Bruce could've suited up. If he had, then Tim would've had an excellent excuse not to do... this.

Bruce isn't saying anything.

Bruce --

"Bruce --"

"Don't, Tim."

Tim -- takes a deep breath. And then he takes another, and another after that --

"Dick. Dick taught you several new kicks when last you trained together. You could practice --"

"I have, Bruce. I've integrated all but two of them into my street routine," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "You know that."

Bruce closes his eyes for a long moment, and that --

"You. You could teach me --"

"Not. Today," Bruce says, standing smoothly and moving --

There *almost* isn't any hesitation before he cups Tim's shoulders and squeezes.

Almost.

"Bruce... I want you."

Bruce squeezes harder. "Tim, we spoke about this. As much as you wish to please Roy --"

"This isn't wholly about that," Tim says, and forces himself to keep meeting Bruce's eyes. "You know that, too."

Bruce clenches his jaw -- stops. "I can't give you. What you want."

Tim nods slowly. "I didn't think you could. Not really."

"Then --"

"There are other things I want," Tim says, straining against Bruce's hold until he relaxes it enough that Tim can move closer and just --

Tim makes a point of entering into the hug as slowly and carefully as possible, ignoring the stimuli -- Bruce's scent, his heat, his strength, his *body* --

Tim hugs Bruce, turning his face so that he can rest his ear against Bruce's chest. He holds on.

"Tim..."

"Hold me. Just -- I want. You haven't since my mother was killed, Bruce."

Bruce's breath hitches. "I know. I'm sorry --"

"Do it. Please --"

This time, Bruce's hold is almost convulsive, and it turns the hug into something fraught, heavy, nearly *painful* --

"Bruce --"

"Don't. Let me --"

"Yes, but --"

Bruce sighs and *gradually* reduces the force of the hug until it's something almost --

Well, no, it's still nothing like a hug from Dana. It has more than a few things in common with hugs from *Dick*, which --

That makes perfect, reasonable sense.

Tim sighs and rubs his face against Bruce's chest --

"Tim."

"Is it terrible, Bruce?"

"No."

"Then --"

"I want. More," Bruce says, and steps back. "I've never..." Bruce smiles ruefully. "Dick has always been brilliant in his capacity to offer many different sorts of touch freely, openly... and cleanly."

Tim nods slowly. "That, for you, was... dirty."

Bruce flexes his hands, lifts them, stares at them -- "I am, right now, cataloguing what I've learned about your body from that... hug. I am wondering what I might've learned if I had stroked your back, or clutched you in ways that you didn't find... uncomfortable."

"And so, in this case, 'strength' becomes avoidance."

Bruce laughs softly. "You have never been one for euphemism. I should have remembered."

"Perhaps, yes. Bruce... I don't want to avoid anything. I don't -- I have an image of the two of us, three to six months from now, finding ourselves in a sexually-charged situation and not knowing what to *do* with ourselves --"

"Control --"

"Only goes so far. I understand self-denial --"

"You're not --" Bruce looks down, and Tim can see his jaw *working*. "You're only doing this because --"

"Look at me, Bruce --"

"Tim --"

"Please," Tim says, reaching out and taking one of Bruce's hands in his own. It's -- "God, you really do feel. I'm not sure if I ever *have* touched you this way --"

"You have. Twice before," Bruce says, twisting his hand until his fingers are twined with Tim's own. "You tend to be very affectionate when you're sedated."

Tim snorts. "I... think I'm going to go back to not knowing that, Bruce."

Bruce looks up again, then, and his eyes are warm. There's a light moving behind them -- if not *quite* dancing -- and it's almost like.

It's almost like they're friends. Friends who could be much *more* than that -- "Wait, how affectionate are we talking about?"

"Once, you kissed my cheek."

"I -- *what*?"

"That time, you were quite ill. You were thanking me for not dumping you in an ice bath... I believe you were under the delusion that you were more feverish than you were."

No Man's Land, then. And yes, he has a vague memory of being terrified of winding up in an ice bath. "Was that the most... ah... extreme?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "By whose metric?"

"Ah... your own?"

"I was testing your resistance to D-3 --"

"Oh. Oh, dear."

"Yes. Before you started making those interesting noises --"

"*Hooting*, Bruce --"

"I always thought of it as being more of a croon. However, before you started making those noises, you climbed onto my lap and went to sleep."

That... Tim uses the fingers of his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I seem to be quite good at blocking this sort of thing out."

"Perhaps your subconscious was protecting you."

"From my need to fling myself at *you* --" Tim laughs and squeezes Bruce's hand. "How long did I sleep?"

"Seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Approximately."

Tim blinks. "You. You enjoyed that."

Bruce inclines his head. "I have... fantasized about dosing you again. Multiple times."

"You could just *hug* me, Bruce."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"All right, fine, that *would* have freaked me out to a certain extent, but -- you've never stinted at beating problematic emotional reactions out of me."

"And you wouldn't find it problematic to -- abruptly -- enjoy my company with neither irony nor inebriation?"

"Bruce... tell me what you want --"

"You."

Bald, flat -- no, not that. Nothing in that voice could ever be *flat*. "How do you want me?"

Bruce starts to tug his hand away --

Tim squeezes *hard* --

"I *can't* -- give you what you want. Roy is very... he is, in many ways, quite perfect for you. Your desires -- your needs -- mesh well together, and I believe the two of you will find more and more happiness --"

"*Bruce* --"

"I will not *hurt* -- you --" Bruce growls and seems --

It feels like he's staring *into* Tim, holding Tim *pinned* with his gaze -- "Tell me. Tell me how you would. Make love to me."

"That isn't. It's not a good idea, Tim. It would be better to. Perhaps you'd let me hold you again."

Tim lets go of Bruce's hand --

Bruce sighs and steps back once more, stands *straight* -- when had he begun leaning in? A question for another time. Tim pulls off his shirt and lets it fall to the stone.

"Bruce. Tell me."

Bruce *starts* to shake his head -- stops. "Not this, Tim. Please."

Tim blushes and ignores it -- no. Tim lets himself think about Bruce's hands. The size of them, the strength --

They're larger than Roy's, though they may *not* be much more powerful. They're callused in different ways...

The same way Tim's *own* hands are callused ---

*Incestuous* --

"Tim..."

"I *want* you, Bruce," and Tim makes a point of holding Bruce's gaze while he toes off his trainers, while he does his best impression of a stork to get his socks off --

He'd just put these clothes *on* --

And wanting to laugh puts an expression on Tim's face that makes Bruce... narrow his eyes. He makes a soft sound, something between a grunt and a sigh --

Yes.

*Yes* -- "I want you to take... the rest of my clothes off, Bruce. I want you to touch me that way, and -- maybe we could pretend that I'm sick or drugged --"

"No --"

"If it would *help* --"

"*No*," Bruce says, clenching his hands into fists and stepping closer --

*Closer* --

"It's not --" Bruce shakes his head and *smiles*, hard and strained and honest. "It's not a... a *kink*, Tim."

"Are you sure about that?"

Bruce's laugh is shocked, almost *scandalized*. "Tim."

"*Are* you sure about that?"

Bruce takes a deep breath and shudders -- and his smile is still honest. "No."

"Then --"

"*If* it is... I have no intention of encouraging it. I want you. I want you to be yourself with me, and to still, somehow, accept what I give. What I *take*."

Tim moans -- stops.

"Oh. Tim."

"Kiss me."

"We have to stop, Tim. We -- we *must* think of our partnership, and --"

"Please."

"Tim --"

"*Touch* me, Bruce. I -- I'm *hard* --"

The interesting thing --

One of the many interesting things about this kiss -- this *moment* -- is that Bruce had let him see all of the motions that had led to Tim being lifted up in the air, to Tim's legs being wrapped around Bruce's waist, to this *kiss* --

It's a hard kiss, but not a brutal one. It's --

Steph would call it an *aggressive* kiss, and, perhaps, a moderately loud one. Bruce is moaning into his mouth, staring into Tim's *eyes* --

Bruce has one hand pressed to Tim's sternum and the other cupping Tim's *ass* --

*Bruce* --

Tim closes his eyes and tries to coax Bruce's tongue deeper into his mouth, tries to have *more* --

Bruce moans again and gives it to him, holding Tim up, holding Tim -- not *quite* apart, but --

Closer. He wants *closer*, and Tim pushes against the hand on his chest, cups Bruce's face --

*Bruce*, and a part of Tim is only thinking about everything Bruce has taught him, everything he's been given, everything that has made him who he *is*. Tim whimpers and tries to get *closer* --

Bruce pulls back and pants against Tim's cheek --

"*More* --"

"Tim. Please. We've had. We've had more than we should've allowed ourselves. We know so much about each other, we --"

"Bruce, don't -- don't fucking *tease* me -- *oh* --"

A *lick*, up over Tim's cheek to his ear --

Warm, panted *breath* against his ear --

"Tim. Let it be this, or."

"Or *what* --"

"Or give me everything. Let me. I won't. Be able to stop," Bruce says, and the *force* of his push against Tim's sternum --

Tim is *straining* -- "Strip me --"

"I *want* you --"

"Then *have* me --"

Bruce growls and kisses Tim again, shifting his hold until he has one hand on Tim's hip and the other *squeezing* his ass --

Tim presses *closer*, and it feels like he could strangle on this kiss, like it's something much deeper than anything else *could* be --

Roy --

*Roy* -- is, perhaps, laughing uproariously right now, whether or not he knows *why*. Really, he *should* have a copy of this footage, should be able to see, to know -- "*Oh* --"

Teeth scraping behind Tim's ear, hands *moving* on him --

The way Tim is clinging with his thighs makes that *possible* and -- God. "My throat, Bruce --"

"Would you. May I mark you."

That's not a *question* -- but, perhaps, it's the closest thing to a question that Bruce can manage right now --

"Please."

"Yes," Tim says, tilting his head back --

A kiss, not a bite. A *hot* kiss, wet and hard --

Soft --

Hard *again*, and knowing that he's sensitive there, knowing that it's Bruce, that it's finally *Bruce* --

Tim groans and shudders helplessly, just -- oh. He's thrusting against Bruce, grinding and *moving* --

The pain is the *jock* --

But then it's Bruce's mouth, because the force of his suck, the feel of that on his skin --

"Bruce..."

Bruce grunts and sucks *harder* --

"Ohn -- oh, God, Bruce, I want -- more --"

"Tell me --"

"Tell *me*," Tim says, and forces himself to lean back, to *look* at Bruce's eyes --

Which are wild and just a little --

Tim moans and licks his lips. "Tell me. Please."

"If I. Every word I say about this... I don't want to desire more than I can have, Tim. Please."

Oh. That... "The mats --"

Bruce moves them immediately, laying Tim down on his back and -- his hand is on Tim's sternum again.

"Is that. That touch --"

"I want. To hold you down," Bruce says, and his voice is a growl, *half* of a moan --

"Do it --"

"I can't -- dominate you."

"Can you stop if I ask you to?"

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them again. "Yes."

Tim pants -- "Take your clothes off. Take *my* clothes off --"

And it's not a surprise that Bruce starts with Tim's shorts. He is... gentle about it, and it somehow feels *thorough*, and -- he doesn't know. Bruce's hands almost feel *professional* as he takes off Tim's jock -- there isn't so much as one unnecessary *brush* of his fingers --

Which are shaking when Bruce turns his attention to Tim's boxer-briefs. Just --

"You are beautiful," Bruce says, shaking his head. "These. You have welts."

"They... ah. They sting. When they brush against fabric."

Bruce nods slowly and finishes tugging Tim's boxer briefs down off Tim's ankles before resting his hands on Tim's thighs.

Tim flexes and starts to spread them -- and Bruce uses just enough force to make the motion a challenge. *Not* impossible.

He really did watch everything. Every *moment*, and so it's only sensible that Tim's blushing when Bruce looks at him again, when he smiles so *gently* -- "You are beautiful," he says, again, and squeezes Tim's thighs. "Do you want me to be naked?"

"I -- God, yes --"

"Then... yes," Bruce says, and starts stripping quickly and efficiently. There's a moment -- a long one -- when Tim reminds himself not to stare --

There's a moment when Tim reminds himself not to be an *idiot* --

And Bruce pauses when he's down to his boxer briefs and jock. "Tim."

"One moment, please," Tim says, and *gives* himself a full minute to look Bruce over the way he simply *hasn't* outside of his fantasies. Dark nipples and darker chest hair. Scars alternately livid and pale. Thighs like --

*Hands* like --

And it is, perhaps, the meaning of this moment that he can let himself breathe as roughly as he wants to, that he can *linger* over his perusal, lick his lips, arch for the way the shadows shift ever so slightly when Bruce takes a deep breath --

"Tim..."

Tim looks up and meets Bruce's eyes. "Naked, Bruce. Please."

Bruce nods and stands, removing the rest of his clothes and just --

"You're so. Hard, I --"

Bruce drops to his knees beside Tim and cups his face. "For you."

Tim raises his eyebrow. "Not for Robin?"

"You are always Robin. You are not always *this*."

"Not with you."

"No," Bruce says, and strokes Tim's mouth with his thumb. "Not with me -- Tim."

Tim licks Bruce's thumb again, again --

Slower to get more of the taste, the faint sting of salt --

And taking Bruce's thumb into his mouth makes him shiver, moan *quietly* --

"You. Do you like that."

Tim nods and cups Bruce's hand, tugging until he has Bruce's thumb in to the knuckle --

Bruce splays his other fingers against Tim's face, and that --

His hands are so *big* --

"No," Bruce says, and pulls his thumb out, his hand *away* --

"Bruce --"

"I must. I need. To see you."

"Oh. I..." Tim laughs quietly. "I'm tempted to pose for you."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Would you."

That -- "Ah. I was kidding. I'm not really -- or. You'd like that."

"Yes."

"Then..." Tim swallows and strokes down his abdomen to his groin, wrapping his hand around his penis and squeezing. "Sorry, I just. The thought of you... ah. Enjoying that..." Tim shakes his head. "How. How would you want me to pose?"

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip. "Would you. Just... kneel. And not. Keep your hand around yourself."

Tim nods and pants, kneeling -- he sits on his heels, and rests his free hand on his thigh -- "Like. Like this?"

Bruce nods and takes another deep breath. "Sometimes. Sometimes I sketch you."

"And. We're not talking about the sketches of uniform changes and the like. Right?"

Bruce closes his eyes --

"Don't -- I. Please. Please keep looking at me," Tim says, and the blush feels *terminal*, but --

Bruce's expression is --

God, it feels like all the heat in the *world* -- at the very least all the heat in the *Cave* --

"You are. Beautiful."

"I want. You have to show me, Bruce. All of the sketches --"

"Yes," Bruce says, reaching out -- not touching. He seems to be stroking the air *around* Tim, and it makes all the hairs on Tim's body want to stand up, makes him want to --

"Bruce --"

"May I. Would you hold yourself in just that way for me?"

"Yes --"

"I would like to fellate you --"

"God, I -- yes. But -- I'm going to want more than that."

Bruce nods *solemnly*. "You will have it," he says, and rests a hand on Tim's shoulder --

Squeezes Tim's shoulder --

"I would like to kiss you --"

"God, *do* it --"

And the kiss, this time, is just --

Deep. Wet. *Deep*, and it feels like Bruce is shoving Tim back with the force of it, feels -- no, Tim is straining against it, shaking --

It's *Bruce*, and Tim wants Bruce to understand that, to understand everything that means -- if only so he can finally explain it to *him*. Bruce is supposed to *make* things make sense, even when he makes no sense, himself. Bruce is supposed to --

Tim groans into Bruce's mouth, but really, Bruce's hand is covering his own, Bruce is pushing his fingers between Tim's, Bruce is touching his *penis* --

Squeeze and Tim shouts, rears back, tries to *stroke* --

"Wait. Wait, please," Bruce says, and eases the force of the squeeze --

Tim suspects that was a *whimper* --

"Beautiful boy, I --"

And this kiss is much rougher, almost *darker* -- or maybe that's just a function of being loomed over, a symptom of making out with *Batman* --

No. Not with Batman. Not --

Tim sucks Bruce's tongue as firmly as he can, humming and trying to make himself understood --

*Shaking* when Bruce starts to *thrust* with his tongue, suction or no --

"*Please*," Tim says, pulling back and panting, pushing into their twined hands --

"Yes," Bruce says, and *drops* onto his stomach, bending Tim's penis down --

And even seeing the lick coming isn't enough to keep Tim from shouting for it, for Bruce, for *Bruce* --

"Beautiful, I -- I will not tease," and then he just *is* kissing their fists, mouthing and sucking in sharp pulses, *sweet* --

"Oh, Bruce -- Bruce --"

Bruce *growls*, and that didn't mean it was time to thrust, but Tim can't --

"Sorry, I --"

*Another* growl, and Bruce moves their hands, Bruce breathes sharply in through his nose, Bruce *swallows* him --

"Oh my *God*, you -- I want to know who else -- you -- no, wait --"

"Jason. And Kal."

Tim can do nothing about this moan. It's low, it's heartfelt, it's loud, it goes on for approximately *forever* --

"Perhaps. Perhaps you will save your questions for another..." Bruce licks his lips. "Please. Ejaculate in my mouth."

Tim nods somewhat *frantically* --

And Bruce is on him again, *around* him, and the suction, the heat --

So *tight* --

Roy. Roy likes this slow. Roy wouldn't suck quite so hard right away. Roy --

Roy *wants* him to do this, and so it's okay, it's all right --

"*Bruce*, don't -- don't *stop*," and it takes a moment after that to even be sure what he's begging *for*, but -- oh, oh, yes, Bruce's *tongue* and the way it's sliding and pushing against the underside of Tim's penis, the way it's almost *forcing* Tim's penis up against Bruce's palate --

Bruce groans and grabs Tim's *hips* --

"*Yes* -- yes, *please* --"

Another groan, a *squeeze* --

And Tim realizes that he *has* been pumping his hips, that he still *is* pumping them, that Bruce isn't stopping him -- "You -- I'm fucking your *mouth* --"

Bruce nods and opens his eyes --

Looks *into* Tim --

"Oh, *Bruce*, you -- it won't. Not long -- *nnh* --"

Bruce cupping his ass, Bruce --

Bruce's *teeth* against one of the welts --

The pain is so *bright* --

And Tim feels himself coming *before* he realizes that he's calling Bruce's name, that he's shaking and tossing his head, squeezing his *eyes* shut --

And Bruce is sucking in *pulses*, taking him --

Tim shouts and feels himself shoot one more time, feels himself *flex* --

"Nngh -- *please* --"

Bruce pulls off and just the feel of him *panting* against Tim's penis is so --

Tim is *swaying* --

And the next thing Tim knows he's being laid down, stroked, petted, *soothed* --

Tim -- tries to focus. Think -- no, he focuses on breathing, *feeling* --

Bruce's *hands* --- on Tim's throat.

"Oh -- oh, yes -- *ah* --"

*Gentle* squeeze, and that --

"More, Bruce, more -- ah. On me?"

"Yes," Bruce says, covering him easily, carefully --

Spreading Tim's legs with his own -- "Oh, *fuck*, that feels -- you. You *have* me --"

"Do I."

Tim laughs helplessly and blinks until he can focus. The smile is all in Bruce's eyes, but it's a deep one, a *happy* one... "You made me come."

"Yes."

"You -- we're having *sex* --"

"Yes."

"I -- no. Making love. I'm making love with you, and that's --" Tim laughs again and wraps his arms around Bruce's neck. "Kiss me?"

"Your happiness. You. You must not let me *break* it --"

"I won't --"

"Promise me --"

"I *won't*," Tim says, and lets his smile be as sharp as it wants to be. "You can't take this away from us. I won't *let* you. And -- oh, God, you have to let me make you *come* --"

"Anything. You can have -- you can do anything you wish, Tim, and I --"

"*Kiss* me, and -- and let me feel how hard you are. Let me --" And Tim isn't sure whether that sound is a groan or a growl, but that absolutely doesn't matter, because Bruce is *thrusting* against him, rocking that *intimidating* penis against Tim's hip, slicking Tim's skin with pre-come -- "Bruce, *please* --"

Bruce groans and kisses him and keeps *groaning*, opening his mouth for Tim's tongue --

Letting Tim *taste* himself, and Tim shivers and grunts, arches as much as he can --

It's not *enough*, not -- he wants to rub against Bruce, slide and *fuck* against Bruce, and right now the best he can do is writhe and buck *abortively* --

And then Bruce moans and presses Tim down *harder* against the mats -- and Tim realizes that all future Bruce-pins are going to be at least somewhat problematic, somewhat --

He never thought he'd *laugh* into a kiss from Bruce --

Bruce grunts and thrusts harder, *faster* -- oh --

Tim turns out of the kiss --

"*Tim* --"

"Pin. Pin my wrists, Bruce --"

"I won't -- I can't --"

"It's not. It's not *domination*, I promise, it's different, I -- please," Tim says, and turns back to face Bruce...

... who looks very wry.

Tim snorts. "It *isn't*. It's just. I've wanted to feel you this way... and you want to hold me down."

Bruce shudders and narrows his eyes --

"God, *yes*," Tim says, dropping his hands to his sides --

And Bruce moves Tim's left hand until it's over Tim's head, strokes the underside of Tim's arm with his fingertips --

Tim shivers --

"I want. I want to spend hours touching you."

"Ah -- not today?"

Bruce laughs softly -- and it turns into a moan. "Your -- other hand --"

"Yes, I -- yes --"

And Bruce brings Tim's wrists together, braces himself on them -- and starts stroking Tim's face. "So beautiful..."

"Between you and Roy --"

"Would you like that?"

"Oh. I. Ah -- would you?"

"Very much," Bruce says, and cups Tim's throat with his free hand --

"I'm -- very, very happy you don't see this as domination --"

"It might have something to do with how many times I've watched you simply hold your breath... I can tell myself that I'm merely pleasuring you," Bruce says, squeezing and releasing once --

Twice --

*Again* -- "I can tell myself... many things," and he begins to thrust again, doing it *slowly* --

"You -- it's pleasure when I'm being dominated --"

"Of course. A different sort. I... I can't help but see it as being more. More selfish."

Tim blinks. "Even though *you've* made love with Kal?"

Bruce's smile is sharp and fond at once. "A somewhat different Kal than the one who is Roy's... father. I would tell you -- I will answer *every* question --"

"How do you want me to make you come?"

Bruce groans -- "Tim. I -- you can't --"

"I *can* -- or. Ah. Hm. I have to admit that my rectum is out of play at the moment."

Another sharp smile -- "So I do encourage you toward even more formalized speech. Tell me -- how sensitive is your penis at the moment? Would you care to have it manipulated?"

Tim snorts. "Perhaps I simply don't have the courage of my linguistic convictions."

"Jason," Bruce says, and *squeezes* Tim's wrists, "would have taught you much."

"I -- is *this* what it takes to get you to talk to me about him?"

The smile becomes significantly more rueful, and Bruce slows to a stop again. "It has been... a long time since I've felt something like this... freedom."

Oh. "I -- I'm sorry I was... flip. Glib --"

"He hated my tendency to brood. He *loathed* it when it reared up while we were making love... Tim. You must understand why I've spoken so rarely about him with you."

"If you're saying -- no. I do understand, I think. It brought too many things too close to your... surfaces?"

"Far too much," Bruce says, and squeezes Tim's throat again. "This... he would've never allowed this."

Tim lets himself fall into the touch, the feel --

Bruce still isn't thrusting again, but his weight is -- impossible to get around, to think around --

The feel of his *body*, years of work to the point of insanity, years of self-denial for the sake of personal improvement --

"I don't. I don't have to speak of him --"

"Yes. Yes, you do," Tim says, smiling without opening his eyes. "And -- did you talk to him much about Dick?"

"Dick and I have never -- you know --"

"Not what I asked, Bruce. I -- mm. Oh, your thumb --"

"Here," Bruce says, pressing the pad of his thumb in against Tim's suprasternal notch --

Tim groans and tries to writhe, to show his *appreciation* -- no. "Tell me. Tell me more..."

"I don't. I don't believe he would've enjoyed more than the trappings of BDSM," Bruce says, grinding down, grinding Tim down into the mats --

"He -- you held him down."

"While he cursed. Shouted. Struggled --"

"That -- ah." Tim opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. "He liked that?"

Bruce smiles fondly and sharply at once. "Jason... Jay loved a 'good fight.' He was never more likely to interrupt training -- to *demand* that training be interrupted -- than when I had thrown him. Pinned him," Bruce says, and *presses* on Tim's wrists --

Tim moans. "Oh -- I can understand that. I can -- I always appreciated the absorbent padding in the jocks."

"Yes. You..." Bruce sighs and begins to thrust again. "Your body... so lean and strong... you controlled yourself so well..."

"It's -- it's what you wanted --"

"Needed. I. There were so many times, early on, when I might have lost myself in you --"

"Oh -- Bruce --"

"I never. Never wanted to call the wrong *name*."

Tim blushes and -- "I can't. I can't help but imagine that."

"You -- I would have hurt you --"

"I would have welcomed it --"

"Not. Not just the physical pain, Tim --"

"I know," Tim says, and looks into Bruce's eyes. "If you ever called me Jason then, I would have... I would have felt that I'd done *correctly*."

Bruce winces. "No, Tim. Not -- it's wrong --"

"I still would've come for you, Bruce. I would have -- nn. Kept myself silent so as not to --"

"*No* --" Bruce growls. "You. I must be with *you* --"

"All of us. And. I think Jason would've understood if you'd ever called him Dick --"

"He was. So much of his confidence fled him when Dick was near. He feared. He feared being *replaced* --"

"We all did. Do -- *mmph* --"

The kiss *isn't* designed to punish him, or even solely to quiet him. The kiss feels hard and *needy*, grateful and pleading --

Tim coaxes Bruce's tongue into his mouth and sucks --

Bruce grunts and kisses Tim harder, *working* against Tim's thigh until Tim feels slick with Bruce's pre-come, marked --

Tim's throat isn't sore where Bruce had sucked, but the skin there feels more sensitive than other places --

Bruce squeezes Tim's throat *hard*, perfectly timed so that Tim's air is cut off *just* before he would've taken another breath --

And it *does* feel like something to struggle for -- if not to struggle *against*. Something to *move* for, reach for the way Tim is reaching for the kiss, trying to make it deeper, more difficult to *survive* --

All right, no, Bruce's kisses aren't deadly -- at least not in that respect -- but they should be, they --

Every kiss is another broken taboo, another demand to look at his past in a new light, to harangue himself for every time he'd gone to sleep lonely instead of trying --

God, *trying* --

Bruce moans and pulls *back* -- and that's when Tim realizes that he's been without adequate oxygen for long enough that it's difficult to focus, to see Bruce in more than flashes and *moments*:

A flash of teeth.

A *sharp* breath.

Wide, *crazy* eyes --

Tim laughs and it gets nowhere, smiles and feels it almost rigid on his face, almost necessary -- as opposed to merely being an expression of what he feels in this *moment* --

Bruce loosens his grip -- "Tell me. Please --"

Tim gasps and nods, gasps again -- "If I'd seen you look at me this way *before* that little chat we had, I would've darted you."

Bruce -- that's almost a *grin* --

"God, I -- come all over me, Bruce. Let me *feel* that --"

"Would you prefer that I masturbate?"

Tim groans -- and has to work *quickly* to get a leg around Bruce's to encourage him to stay *put* --

"Tim --"

"Just -- not this time?" Tim laughs and strokes the back of Bruce's leg with his foot. "Stay right where you are, Bruce. This is... hn. I get to have your body this way."

"The way you looked at me when I was taking my... my clothes off..."

"*Lust*," Tim says, smiling and curling his toes in enough that he can scratch lightly at Bruce. "It was difficult to work against the careful habits of a lifetime --"

"Showed me. You... I want you to show me everything," Bruce says, kneeling up -- and lifting Tim *with* him.

Tim does his part by settling over Bruce's thighs --

Bruce's *thighs* --

All right, he's groaning and getting hard again, working his hips --

Getting stopped by Bruce's hand *on* his hip --

"Bruce --"

"Wait. A moment," and Bruce squeezes Tim's hip before releasing it, reaching --

And slipping his penis between Tim's thighs. Just -- "I. Somehow it's really very *profound* to be able to feel you with my *scrotum*, Bruce --"

"Again, so formal, I... mm. I find myself driven in several conflicting directions at once --"

"I want you to fuck me -- *oh* --"

Bruce is squeezing Tim's wrists hard, his other hand is on Tim's ass, squeezing there and digging *in* with his fingers. His eyes are... closed.

"Let me see you --"

"No."

"*Bruce* --"

"I don't. Sometimes I would frighten. Jay."

Tim shivers -- focuses. "Did it make him want to stop?"

"It seemed to drive him, to... he would always work himself so hard --"

"Oh. Bruce... I know. I shouldn't have said that --"

"You desire me --"

"I really. You should. Put your penis in my... cleft."

Bruce pants, eyes tracking fast behind the lids -- "Tim..."

"Is that... too much?"

"You want. To feel..."

"You, yes. I --" Tim shakes his head and leans in to kiss Bruce, to suck on his lower lip and hum, *try* to express himself --

God, it's *Bruce* --

Tim moans and *bites* Bruce's lip --

And jumps at the feel of Bruce's penis twitching between his legs. Just --

"If I weren't sore --"

"Don't," Bruce says, opening his eyes and smiling ruefully. "Please."

"I could -- your fingers --"

*Down*, then, and for a moment Tim can only arch, try, *want* --

And then he's on his hands and knees and Bruce is stroking him everywhere, stroking restlessly, *firmly* --

"I'm sorry. I'm -- please, is this all *right* --"

"*Yes*, I -- you just *moved* me --"

"I need you," Bruce says, and suddenly his voice is almost conversational, almost --

So low and *calm* --

"You are beautiful, and I..." Bruce spreads him --

Tim winces at the *pull*, tenses --

"I'm sorry. I --" Bruce eases the pull, massages the muscles of Tim's ass -- "This," he says, and slips his penis in between --

Tim groans and shoves himself *back* --

"*Tim* --"

"Do it, Bruce, do it -- tease me --"

"This -- a tease. I --" Bruce growls and *grips* Tim's hips, starts to *thrust* --

And the swelling around Tim's hole wants Tim to know that this is good, that this is what he'd *needed*. It's almost like scratching an *itch*, only nothing like that had ever come with something that feels like a thrum deep inside him, or a sense that if he could just be rubbed this way --

This hard --

This *fast* --

"Oh, Bruce, is it -- is it *good* --"

"*Yes*," and Bruce thrusts faster, grinds, works his hips --

And now every thrust *jabs* the head of Bruce's penis against Tim's hole, pokes and presses, *teases* --

Tim moans and lets his head hang, tries to convince himself to stay still, to stay right here and just *let* Bruce --

It doesn't work. At first he's only scratching at the mats with his fingernails, but then he's doing it rhythmically, doing it --

He needs to *move* for that, and for a moment there's only shock -- he *can* rock back and forth. Bruce *isn't* holding him tightly enough to prevent it --

Bruce doesn't want to dominate him. Bruce would never want to restrain him so much that he couldn't move, at all. It --

Tim has to admit that Bruce's ways make *sense*... for someone who would, perhaps, *require* more proof of his partners' affections, needs --

"*Tim*. Please..."

Oh, he'd -- slowed down. Nearly *stopped* just because he was thinking --

Thinking has so little *place* in the current configuration of his life. Tim smiles --

"Harder, Bruce."

"Tim --"

"You can... nnh. You can control yourself -- if not, entirely, me. Though you should hold my hips more tightly --"

"I -- if I bruise you --"

"I'll touch them, Bruce. Every. Every mark. I'll touch them while I masturbate, press *hard* -- *ah* --"

That -- was enough. Enough for *Bruce*, anyway, because he's thrusting hard and *fast*, now, chafing Tim with his *penis* --

Grunting and gripping him --

Holding tighter and *tighter*, and Tim can't quite hear his pelvis creaking, but there's certainly a hint of that, a suggestion --

"I want your *cock*, Bruce --"

"*Don't* --"

"You..." Tim grins at the images in his mind. "I'll forgive you if you call me Jay. I'll always forgive you --"

"You *shouldn't* --"

"No, you're right, I -- I'll do it anyway, do *you* anyway --"

"*Tim* --"

"*Come* on me -- *hnh* --"

Down on his *stomach*, spread and -- not quite fucked. Not *quite*, but it *feels* that way with the way Bruce is moving and the way Tim *can't*. Bruce has his hands on Tim's shoulders and he's almost *shoving* them down against the mats. Bruce is thrusting with the kind of force --

"You could make me *scream* --"

"I *want* that, I want -- all of your sounds, your words, your *need* --"

"Don't *stop*, Bruce --"

"I must. I *must* -- my beautiful boy, my partner --"

"*Batman* --"

Bruce cries out and *drives* against him, turning friction to heat, tease to pleasure --

"Good, so *good* --"

"*Tim* --" And Bruce shouts, squeezes Tim's shoulders hard enough to make *Tim* cry out --

And the first splash of come is so *warm*, so wet and damning at once, heat, so much *heat* --

Spatters on Tim's back --

Slick down to Tim's scrotum --

Bruce grunts for every *twitch*, and it feels like a waste, a tease --

Tim can't keep himself from clenching around *nothing* -- but he's swollen and raw enough that the emptiness seems more illusory than real, so --

"God, *Bruce* --"

And Bruce's hands are off his shoulders, Bruce is bracing himself above Tim and panting -- shaking?

Tim pushes up on his hands enough that he can press himself against Bruce's body, and the shift of Bruce's penis in his cleft is enough to make *Tim* shudder --

Though it could, possibly, be a matter of how *hard* he is right now. There's something...

Tim laughs quietly. "I feel... very used."

"Please, Tim --"

"*Not* in a bad way. Just... mm. You came on me."

"Yes --"

"You took your *pleasure* with my body --"

"More. Tim. Please, give me more."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Already?"

"Your pleasure. You..." Bruce sighs and, yes, shudders. "I've managed to arouse you again. Let me --"

Tim spreads his legs as far as he can --

Bruce moans and kneels between Tim's legs, starts to massage him, and that --

Tim moans and gives himself permission to *just* live in this moment. He is neither tensed nor relaxed, he is hard and getting harder, he is... being touched. "I... have to admit that I'm beginning to consider the prospect of you doing simply this for hours with some degree of pleasurable anticipation."

Bruce hums and begins to work on the back of Tim's neck --

"Tell me. Tell me a fantasy...?"

"This. Only... you would be on the gurney. You would tell me about your patrol in somewhat less dry language than what you use for your reports. You would show me... your whimsy."

"Whimsy? Really?"

"*That*... is most assuredly a kink," Bruce says, *gripping* the back of Tim's neck with one hand and stroking down Tim's cleft with the other.

"*Oh* --"

"In the fantasy, the lubrication is provided by scented massage oils. I change my mind about which scent it should be... often."

"How. How does the fantasy end?"

"With you sleeping in my arms. With you... warm. Trusting."

"Ah... two thirds of that is probably manageable --"

"You would give me that?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, feels himself blush... "Yes." I hate -- "I hate sleeping alone. I always have... but especially so since No Man's Land."

Bruce squeezes the back of Tim's neck *almost* painfully hard --

"That. That's wonderful, Bruce --"

"Let me taste you --"

"*Yes* -- "

Hands on his hips, and Tim *prepares* to be flipped over --

It doesn't happen. It --

Bruce *spreads* him --

"Oh, God, you -- oh --"

"Roy. Roy has not taken this, yet. May I have it." Bruce's voice --

Tim knows, now, that that is the voice of a Bruce with something like a *singular* focus, something --

A voice of *lust* --

"You -- tell me you *want* --"

"I want this. I want. I've dreamed a dozen of your reactions to this moment, but never once did I *ask* --" Bruce growls and -- his hands are shaking.

Not quite enough to make things more interesting than they already are, but --

How much can Tim really ask for? Bruce, he knows now, would put no limit on the matter. Tim himself...

He has to live with himself, and meet his eyes in the mirror, and meet the eyes of his *family* -- all of his family. *All* of them.

"Tell me. Tell me how Jason responded to... this."

"He cursed. He laughed. He told crude jokes -- all to hide the way the act made him shake. Tremble. With time -- if he allowed me time -- he would begin to beat at whatever surface was nearby. To. To beg."

"Do you want me to beg, Bruce?"

Silence -- but a harder shake in his hands. An answer. That --

That's an answer. "Please."

"Tim --"

"Please fuck me with your tongue, Bruce --"

"That's not -- I want to make *love* --"

"*Take* me, Bruce, make me -- show me what it would be *like* to be yours --"

"Tim, *please*."

And it is, perhaps, one of the more peculiar facts of his existence that Bruce's begging sounds more honest, more *true* than Tim's own at this point... he's not going to laugh. "Yes, Bruce. Please. Please *make* me helpless for you. Please give me what *I* want --"

"Always -- I want --"

"*Please*, Bruce, because -- because this kind of begging -- and I can feel your *come* on me, in me --"

"My *love* --" And Bruce cuts himself off with a growl, cuts his growl off with a *moan* -- and a kiss to the base of Tim's spine that makes Tim jerk.

"Bruce --"

"So sensitive here. I wish..." Bruce kisses his way around the area, licks, *presses* with his tongue --

"You... that. Don't make me hump the *mats* --"

"Up," Bruce says, and doesn't bother to wait for Tim to move before lifting Tim up onto his knees --

Spreading Tim again --

Scraping his teeth down and *down* --

"God, *Bruce* --"

"Now," Bruce says, and there's nothing tentative about the first touch of Bruce's tongue, nothing hesitant or even gentle --

That *lick* --

Bruce hums and *presses* his face against Tim, *nuzzles* --

"Oh. My -- *Bruce* --"

"*Yes*," and it's slurred, heavy, thick as his tongue, his moving *tongue* --

"I -- maybe. Tickles?"

A laugh -- but it doesn't actually make Bruce *pause*. He's licking Tim clean, licking his own come --

Tim moans and *considers* beating his fist against the mats -- no, not yet. He wants to *mean* it --

He wants --

"Perfection, Bruce. You've always *demanded* --"

"*This* is perfect," Bruce says, or --

Tim can't be *sure* what he'd said, because it was directly into -- *in* --

*Tongue* --

"God -- *fuck* --"

"Swollen. *Hot*," Bruce says, and licks *around* Tim's hole --

Stabs in twice --

"You must let me teach you other pleasures, Tim --"

"You can. I can -- Ah. Bruce, you. You're making me *rush* you --"

Another laugh, and this one --

Oh, another *lick*, and this time Bruce is using the flat of his tongue, spreading Tim wide enough that the skin feels taut and superheated --

Too *cold* when the air currents shift --

"My love. Will you shake for me?"

"Nrgh -- you -- probably? Bruce, you -- I feel like I should tell you to stop -- ah -- *ah* -- *ah* --"

It shouldn't be *possible* for Bruce to laugh while he's doing that --

While he's *fucking* Tim with his tongue, shoving and pushing and --

Oh, God, Tim can't keep himself from *clenching*, and every clench just lets him know -- *better* -- how *slick* Bruce's tongue is, how long it can't possibly be, how much --

"Crazy. You -- *me* --"

Bruce growls into him and Tim's penis twitches *hard* --

"*Bruce* --"

"Tell me I may have... more."

That -- that wasn't a word, and it missed being a sentence by even more, and -- Tim tries again --

Not a *word* --

Tim pants and tries to settle into himself, focus, get *calm* --

"Tim..."

"*Please* --"

Bruce moans, and there's no --

No *pause*. No --

This is the kind of being fucked that Roy hadn't given him, yet. This is --

This is making him moan and gasp, *sob* and gasp --

God, if he cries for this --

If it turns out that he *can* cry for this --

And Bruce sounds so hungry, so *shameless* as he does this, takes this, takes *him*, and Tim is clawing at the mats, rocking --

God, he's *shoving* his ass at Bruce's face, and how can that --

That *can't* be comfortable -- much less palatable -- and he has to stop, somehow, has to have something like --

Like control --

Tim groans and shakes his head, shakes all over --

Bruce *wiggles* his tongue, and nothing that ridiculous should be able to make him whimper, make him ready --

"*Fuck* me --"

Bruce growls and pulls back --

"*No* -- oh, God, *please*, Bruce --"

"Only this. Only -- you're much too swollen --"

"*Please* --"

"If. If I used my fingers --"

"*Yes*. I -- compromise. Compromise is a wonderful *thing*," Tim says, and he really is *laughing* while he says it, *while* he shakes and rocks for more --

"I want to see you --"

Tim turns over onto his back and spreads his legs. He has no idea what he *looks* like --

But Bruce's penis twitches. Bruce --

"So big. So --" Tim groans and shakes his head, *stares*, licks his lips -- and starts to stroke himself. Just --

The *sight* of Bruce, and the way --

Oh, he's *lifting* his penis, almost -- almost *presenting* it --

"*Bruce*, you -- you're making me salivate --"

Bruce hums and *grips* himself. "Perhaps I should pose for you?"

Tim bites his lip and *forces* himself to look up, meet Bruce's eyes --

Hot eyes, *amused* eyes, *full* -- so full --

"You. Roy looks at me that way --"

"Yes. He does. Wait here."

"Wait, don't --"

"Lubricant, Tim. Only that."

Oh. Well. Tim laughs helplessly and squeezes himself in a promise, a compromise -- "Go. *Quickly* --"

Bruce smiles and stands -- and goes. Just. Tim can keep himself from stroking. He can --

It would *mean* more if he were doing it while Bruce watched, while he *could* watch, and of course the cameras are everywhere, but still --

Tim squeezes himself harder, closes his eyes --

And gets *rocked* by the image of Bruce doing this to Roy --

*For* Roy --

Bruce's hand around Roy's penis, Bruce's fingertips playing with Roy's piercings --

Bruce's *mouth* on Roy, and the sounds he might make, the noises he might cause *Bruce* to make --

Bruce wants that.

Roy... isn't averse.

Tim could watch. Tim... could do a lot more than simply *watch*, and what would it feel like to be between them? Or --

Roy could tie him again, and Bruce could *watch* Roy whipping him, touching, *fucking* --

It would be like -- not posing. *Performing*, and --

Touched --

"*Nnh* -- Bruce --"

"Please. Not yet," Bruce says, twining his fingers with Tim's own around Tim's penis --

Tim opens his eyes --

And Bruce is... studying him. Searching him... hm.

"You could ask."

"Would you answer?"

Tim smiles and squeezes himself *viciously* hard -- and watches Bruce's eyes narrow.

"Tim."

"Try me."

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip. "What were you thinking? What... what made you need to stroke?"

Tim tilts his head back and takes a deep breath -- and a moment to *live* in the feel of Bruce watching him, Bruce seeing him, Bruce *knowing* him -- and then he realizes that the only thing stopping him from stroking himself more is Bruce's *hand*. That -- is worth the moan that slips out of him, falls out --

"Beautiful -- please."

"You... and Roy," Tim says, and meets Bruce's eyes again. "I can't help but wonder how you would... treat his body art."

Bruce takes his own deep breath. "It would depend on how sensitive he -- I wouldn't want to cause pain."

"Not even if pain were deeply desired?"

"That... I lose my control enough, Tim --"

"I want you to hurt me."

Bruce *winces*. "Tim --"

Tim shakes his head. "I want you to lose control. I want you to need me so badly that you can't *help* but hurt me. Because I'm so much smaller than you are. Because I'm so very sensitive -- in certain places. Because I'm so much weaker --"

"Not -- not *weak* --"

"Your strength is... incredible, Bruce. Staggering. I want to *be* staggered. I want -- you have to know that a part of me has longed to be on my knees for you for *years* --"

"I will not --"

"Dominate me. Yes, I know. But... compromise. I vastly enjoy pain from a controlled dom... but I *want* the pain of an equal who is anything *but* controlled."

Bruce flares his nostrils --

Tim lifts his hips --

"Spread. Your legs."

They're already spread, but -- wider is, in fact, better. Tim lets go of himself and drops back onto his elbows. "Open me."

Bruce nods slowly, but the look in his eyes...

The *way* he's looking Tim over with thorough *care* -- "When you look at me like that, I can feel every flaw --"

"No. You are..." Bruce rests a hand on Tim's sternum, and that --

"When you do that... are you searching for the feel of my heartbeat?"

"I'm honestly unsure. It feels... necessary. I often did the same with Jason."

"Jason's body..."

"Stronger by the day. Seemingly by the *hour*, I..."

"He would have, perhaps, grown to look somewhat like you...?"

Bruce's expression cracks somewhat --

No, no -- "Bruce --"

"I don't know. I -- don't know. I don't think he would've been quite as tall..." Bruce splays his fingers on Tim's chest and strokes, presses, scratches --

Tim arches -- "Yes, Bruce --"

"Every touch..." Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip again. "When you were younger -- no. When you lived here. Did you fantasize about being hurt?"

Tim closes his eyes -- for a moment. "Sometimes. I would say... half the time. I was more than capable of achieving orgasm simply by imagining being... touched. Filled."

"Taken."

"Yes."

Bruce shivers and pulls back -- *slightly*. When he opens the fist of his other hand, the lubricant is there. He'd warmed it. He'd --

"Bruce, *yes* --"

"Soon," Bruce says, nodding slowly again, seemingly in response to something Tim can't *hear* --

"Stay *with* me, Bruce."

Bruce blinks... and actually *colors*.

Tim doesn't think he's capable of calling that a blush, but. "Bruce... where were you?"

Bruce's smile is rueful and almost *tired* -- "My memories. Dick once told me that I had built the Case to *imprison* Jay... and he wasn't entirely wrong."

"I'm freeing him."

"Yes. Yes. He would have... he would have given you everything you desired. You would never have had to beg for the pain --"

"*Nnh* -- I. I. Ah?"

"I knew you loved him. Love him. Everyone... everyone *should*," Bruce says, opening the tube and slicking his fingers. "With him, the very concept of my control was... laughable. Worse than that. Jay himself would have only sneered at that particular joke."

"I know. I know I can't make you feel the way he did --"

"No. But you are yourself, and I love you."

Tim sucks in a breath --

Bruce's smile is narrow, hot, *and* wry. "And I can still shock you. Perhaps you will trust me when I say that the feeling is bittersweet."

"Roy. I --"

"Roy considers you his lover, and you feel the same... though you forced him to make you say it. Will you make him wait for your spontaneity?"

"Will you make me wait, Bruce?"

"No," Bruce says, cupping Tim's thigh with his dry hand and pushing in --

*In* --

Bruce's fingers are long, and -- that's two, not three. That's --

"You -- you know my *fantasies* --"

"Not all of them," Bruce says, and that's -- an invitation.

An invitation he can *accept*, but right now it's better to accept *this*, to feel himself being opened -- not stretched. Not *quite*. His body wants him to know that he *had* been closed, tight with swelling --

Bruce isn't hurting him, but he could be. *Easily*. It would just take a slightly different angle, a bit less *care* --

Tim bites his lip and arches, working his hips --

"Should I tell you to still yourself?"

Tim smiles -- and realizes that his eyes are closed. He opens them, and Bruce looks amused, *pleased*... "We both know that wouldn't go... far enough."

"Not for you."

"And, so, not for *you*," Tim says, and works his hips a little faster. "I don't think Roy wants to hear about my feelings yet. I don't... oh, you just --"

"I spread my fingers. Please, tell me more."

Tim nods, trying to figure out a way to move that would make him *truly* feel Bruce's spreading -- he can clench. He can -- "Oh, Bruce --"

"Beautiful. How. Did that hurt?"

Tim shakes his head -- stops. "It was. It was just a more intense version of the pain I've been ignoring all day. It no longer *feels* like pain, and I -- please, keep spreading -- *nnh* --"

"A more intense touch... yes, I see," Bruce says, and uses his free hand to stroke up Tim's thigh to his hip, squeezes -- "Do you worry that the intensity of your true feelings will dissuade him?"

"Yes. I -- he knows exactly how. How young I am --"

"And I don't?"

Tim smiles and clenches because he *can*, moans -- "You never know -- or. You never care --"

"Not that. Not... none of you have ever seemed to be your age," and Bruce lifts Tim, pushes *deeper* --

Tim groans and shakes his head, tries to *focus* -- "Dick --"

"Dick was the closest. I. I wanted to protect him from myself, my needs --"

"Not Jason?"

"I could never protect Jay. I -- you protected yourself. Always --"

"Not -- not in the *beginning* -- oh. Oh, your *hand* --"

Bruce hums. "I suspect that that means I'm squeezing hard enough to cause pain -- *don't* tell me --"

Tim laughs and twists in Bruce's grip, tries to fuck himself on Bruce's hand --

"You must -- of course you don't *want* to be careful --"

"Not with *you* --"

"Tim... three years ago you were coming away from a lifetime spent trying to be *unobtrusive* -- in various ways and for various reasons. You held yourself *apart* --"

"Not -- not *inside*, and you *knew* --"

"It was very, very easy to tell myself I knew nothing of the kind. I. I'm not *blaming* you --"

"Feels -- *nn* -- oh, Bruce, *fuck* me --"

"Yes. Yes, my love," and Bruce's hand is on Tim's sternum again, pushing --

Tim lies back and tries to spread his legs more, tries to get something like Dick's extension --

What better reason for flexibility *is* there?

And laughing for this moment is a matter of breathlessness and broken moans, arching and *trying* -- as Bruce crawls close enough to *loom* as he presses down on Tim's chest, as he --

"*Bruce* --"

"You tempt me to focus on stimulating your prostate --"

"Do -- oh, do what you *want* --"

"So long as what I want is you, Tim?"

Tim growls and considers banging his head against the mats, kicking out -- "*Please* --"

"All. All of your pleas should sound so much like commands --"

Tim growls *again*, reaching down between his legs to grip Bruce's wrist and try to *make* him thrust, fuck, *take* --

"*Yes*, Tim --"

"We'll -- we'll talk about *your* need to submit *later*," Tim says, bending his left leg back enough that he can rest a foot on Bruce's shoulder --

If by 'rest on' he means 'kick *at*' and also growl more, *need* more --

And the weight on his sternum starts out irritating -- but then it's just wonderful, *hot*, because --

Oh, that *thrust*, that --

Abruptly, it's incredibly easy to tell exactly where he's raw, if not quite where Roy's P.A. had brushed him, *stimulated* him --

It should never feel this *good* to growl --

But it should feel *exactly* this good to hold Bruce's arm, to test and stroke working muscle, *flexing* muscle --

No, he doesn't want to be bent up even a little. He moves his hands to Bruce's other arm, the mostly still one that leads to the hand on his chest --

God, so much hair, so many *scars*, and those old uniforms seem thinner than paper compared to what they wear now, seem as weak as those remnants of Tim's resistance that are still extant --

He had destroyed much of it himself, done it *willfully* --

And the only truly coherent thoughts in Tim's mind are all about the length of Bruce's fingers, about the strength in them and the relentlessness --

Bruce knows what he *wants* --

Bruce is, at the moment, inclined to *give* it to him --

*Crook* and Tim's hands spasm on Bruce's forearm, Tim *clenches* --

And Bruce pants and stares at him, Bruce --

"This rhythm."

"Yes -- yes, Bruce --"

"This... force?"

"*Harder* --" Only. That was reflexive. He can't actually decide if he wants more than what he's getting --

And Bruce's expression asks that question eloquently, perhaps because Tim is wincing or showing the discomfort in some other way --

Tim laughs and shakes his head, letting himself close his eyes --

Bruce presses *hard* on Tim's sternum, making Tim want to gasp, struggle --

"Bruce..."

"You should. Answer the question --"

"Just don't stop. Just -- make me come," Tim says, rubbing at Bruce's shoulder with his foot, arching, *moving* for this --

"Let me see you --"

"*More*?" Tim laughs and *deliberately* tilts his head back, baring his throat and hiding his features --

And Bruce's crook chokes the laughter down to nothing, turns his writhe into a shuddering spasm --

"I understand -- temptation --"

"You *are* temptation, Tim --"

That's worth another laugh --

Which is, apparently, worth another *crook*, just --

"Jesus, Bruce, I --"

"Come for me --"

"I *will*, but --"

"*Look* at me," Bruce says, curling his fingers in against Tim's chest and scratching *down* --

Tim groans and clenches, tries to *hold* Bruce --

"*Please* --"

"You -- the temptation is to *make* you beg -- oh, *fuck*, Bruce, your *mouth* --"

Bruce hums around him and *twists* his fingers --

Tim bucks and reaches for Bruce, tries and fails to get a grip on Bruce's *hair* --

Bruce's hum is *pointed* --

Because Tim's eyes are still closed. He opens them --

And Bruce swallows him *immediately* --

"Bruce -- my fucking *God* -- I don't -- I don't actually *curse* this much --"

That -- is absolutely a laugh in Bruce's eyes. A *happy* laugh, and Tim wants to *punch* it -- no. He wants to join it, or -- something, something --

"Wait, you stopped *fucking* me --"

Bruce pulls off. "My apologies --"

"*Gah* -- fuck me *and* suck me --"

"If you're sure."

Tim wraps his leg around the back of Bruce's neck and *pulls* --

Bruce hums again --

"Smug. Bastard. I --"

"Beautiful," Bruce says, crooking his fingers --

And Tim bucks *right* into Bruce's mouth, where it's warm, wet --

Tight -- so tight, so *good* --

So much *better* when Bruce starts fucking him again, starts --

Oh, God, rolls them onto their *sides*, and Tim can't actually keep from curling in on himself, *clawing* at Bruce's scalp --

Bruce is fucking him so *hard*, and it doesn't matter that Tim is sure that it isn't any harder than it was before. There was a *pause*, and that was enough --

Feels --

Feels like something is *stopping* Bruce, like -- Tim doesn't know if he wants to be more open or *not*. The feel of Bruce stretching his hole is terrible and perfect, painful and *goading* --

He's making so much *noise*, but he can -- "Bruce -- don't. I *want* you --"

Bruce *growls* around him -- and cuts himself off by swallowing Tim again --

"Nnh -- *nnh* -- make me, make me come --" And the rest of that is just *noise*, because Bruce is doing something with his finger, something --

Tim can't actually --

It's just that it's fast and somehow *brutal*, something --

Tim can feel it *in* his penis, and that shouldn't be possible without the kind of tools that Roy probably travels with -- or just carries on his work belt --

Roy --

Oh, God, he wants Roy *here*, wants Roy to be holding him down, ordering him still, ordering him to come -- or not to --

But Bruce works his fingers *faster*, and that --

"*Bruce*, oh -- *ohn* --"

Bruce sucks so -- so hard --

It pushes him over the edge --

*Yanks* him over --
And the knowledge that he's *slamming* his penis into Bruce's mouth is something that will cause him to make some sort of decision *after* this, some -- something *later* --

Tim cries out, pumping and *shuddering*, working himself --

Working *Bruce* --

Filling Bruce, taking --

Tim cries out again and tries to *bury* himself in Bruce, tries --

All right, his ass *and* his penis both have things to say to that, and Tim will even listen. In a moment. Just --

Tim moans... extravagantly. And excuses himself with the fact that Bruce had pulled off, which is a terrible thing to do on a number of levels -- God, is he in a fetal position?

The proper answer to that is 'not anymore,' because Bruce rolls Tim onto his back -- *without* pulling out -- and starts kissing Tim's chest precisely like he's marking out territory for future conquest.

Conquest is a wonderful word.

Tim smiles helplessly. "Endorphins are... very, very dangerous things."

"Tell me more."

"Well. I'm tempted to push into your arms --"

Bruce pulls out gently and *lifts* him, settling him into a straddle of his thighs and -- yes, that is a hug. He raises an eyebrow.

Tim smiles. "I have an image of me sitting on your lap -- *don't* get up -- while we work on the computers together."

Bruce... rumbles something very much like a laugh. "I doubt my ability to concentrate... though I *don't* doubt your own."

Tim lets his smile get somewhat wider and wraps his arms around Bruce's neck. "That sounds like a dare."

"Tim... you are... happy?"

Tim cocks his head to the side. "I'm still quite angry with you."

"Your birthday. I... it was necessary --"

Tim *presses* his fingers against Bruce's mouth. "I agree with you. Still... it was the act of neither a mentor nor a friend," he says, and slides his fingers down to Bruce's chin.

"I need our relationship to be... something other than either of those."

"I know. It's going to sit between us, Bruce."

"You... are an adaptable young man --"

"Exceedingly so. But I refuse *that* adaptability. I refuse to live my life as though my loved ones are always one step away from losing the *thread*."

Bruce raises his eyebrow again. "You don't think that's what you're doing now?"

Tim... shows his teeth. "If I were, I wouldn't be planning to have *more* sex with *you*, Bruce."

"Touché. Dick... will do his best to let things stand between you as you wish them to stand --"

"And, almost certainly, his best will involve some measure of... slippage. I know. For *him*... I can be strong."

"At what point does strength become avoidance in that particular paradigm, Tim?"

Tim laughs and gives himself a moment to... yes. He's going to enjoy Bruce's ridiculously manly jawline. He kisses Bruce there, bites, and kisses his way to Bruce's ear. "When I say it does."

Bruce shivers. "He loves you --"

"Very, very much, yes. I'm not thirteen, anymore. And I'm certainly not nine -- no offense meant to present company, of course," Tim says, and pulls back enough to meet Bruce's eyes.

Bruce's *rueful* eyes.

"You've thought about Dick and me making love before."

"Yes," Bruce says, and cups Tim's waist, squeezes. "He loves you."

"And I love him. And -- did you just somehow fail to read between the lines of the manifesto I wrote for him, Bruce?"

"You would join him."

"In a heartbeat. A *moment*. If I ever believed he needed *me*..." Tim shakes his head. "'An end to circuses.' I believe he could make it beautiful."

"And many other things, as well," and Bruce leans in to kiss Tim softly. "I need you."

"I know that --"

"Not Batman. *I* need you."

Tim narrows his eyes. "You do *not* --"

"Tim. I need you. I need your insights, your humor, your cold reason --"

"Don't -- you manipulative *asshole* --"

"I need your heart. Your capacity to love, to forgive, to hold *within* --"

"That should be a stupid dirty *joke* --"

"I need your *fire*, your hope, your need for romance and beauty in this world --"

Tim pushes back from Bruce and stands, abruptly more aware of his own nudity than he has been for -- too long? "If you're going to insist on trying to *bind* me to you --"

"I will never try to prevent you from being with those you love, Tim," Bruce says, and stands as well. "I think... I've proven that?"

Tim snarls. "You have, yes. That doesn't make you any less -- you're not supposed to fucking *program* me --"

"I could say something about merely using the software you allowed to exist within yourself --"

"But you're trying to *prove* to me that you're not *useless*. That was a hint, by the way."

Bruce's smile is almost *holy* --

"Stop actively trying to make me *hate* you --"

"My love. I will always be myself. Whether that's a promise or a threat --"

Tim doesn't actually kick Bruce. He stops his heel before it can impact with Bruce's jaw and -- stands there. Holding the stretch, holding himself --

Bruce kisses Tim's heel. "I want you to be happy with me --"

"I *was* --"

"I am... deathly afraid of losing you --"

"Then stop playing with my *mind* --"

"I need you. I need your strength... but I was wrong to believe that I knew precisely what I needed it *for*."

Tim -- doesn't roll his eyes. He stands down, instead, and scrubs at his face with his hands. He has to think reasonably. Bruce is really only trying --

There has never been anything about Bruce which could be modified with the word 'only.' So.

Bruce wants him. Bruce believes that a good way to have him -- and keep him -- is to be honest in the most infuriating possible way. Tim had, perhaps, invited something like this with his teasing -- no.

Bruce... is Bruce.

What *Tim* had invited was sexuality and, yes, romance. Cuddling, even. The kind that only works *when* both parties are being at least somewhat open and honest.

Tim looks at Bruce.

Bruce stares at him, hands *half*-fisted at his sides.

"You're convincing yourself not to just grab me."

"Yes."

"Keep that up."

"Noted," Bruce says, and the light is back in his eyes just that quickly.

"I'm not -- I don't want the mind games."

"You're the only one --"

"Bruce."

"You are the *only* one who has ever expressed an interest in them. I..." Bruce reaches out with his right hand.

Tim takes it with something he can't really call a reflex, but wants to.

"Do you believe that you will never enjoy them again?"

"Of course I don't. I just -- there's a time and *place*, Bruce. Was *Jason* in the mood to be emotionally skewered after sex?"

"There were times when his sense of humor would turn... cheerfully cruel."

Not that Tim knows *anything* about that -- but. "Let me relax, Bruce. Give me... give me the chance to grow accustomed to being able to have you, and happiness, and -- all of those other things. Not everything has to be life and death. Not -- not all the *time*."

Bruce nods slowly. "I'm sorry."

It sounds more like 'I need you' than anything else, so -- "I know," Tim says, and squeezes Bruce's hand --

And steps close enough that Bruce can cup Tim's hip.

"This touch, Bruce."

"And no other?"

Tim smiles and shakes his head.

"Perhaps I should pour myself into the appreciation of your pelvis --"

"*Not* the whole thing, Bruce."

"Then the fraction of it I've been allowed. I... the subtlety of this curve, for instance," and Bruce strokes with *just* the pad of his thumb.

"Do you -- hm. How *much* do you like it?"

Bruce's smile is a narrowing of eyes, the crinkle of skin, the sense of age and *pleasure* --

"God, don't give me any new kinks. Please."

Bruce *blinks* --

"Never mind."

"Tim --"

"Never. Mind."

"Hm. I don't suppose you'll let me appreciate your lips?"

Well. "One at a time only."

"And what happens if I... misbehave?"

Oh... really. "I put my clothes back on... sooner than I'd planned to do it, anyway."

Another narrow-eyed look, but this one... is much, much hotter than the last. Bruce leans in and sucks Tim's upper lip, then the lower, then bites the upper, then sucks the lower again --

The realization that Bruce is capable of doing this somewhat indefinitely...

Tim snorts and kisses Bruce in some definition of properly, pressing close, holding on -- wait. "This footage goes to Roy immediately."

"Do you think he'll doubt that you completed your assignment?"

"Oh... Bruce. I think it's fair to say that Roy and I trust each other more than *we* do. In other words, no, but fair is fair. At least it is sometimes."

Bruce nods. "May I lift you?"

"Where are you planning to carry me?"

"I was hoping to negotiate that once your feet had left the ground," Bruce says, and smiles... winningly, really.

"Hm. You use that one too much for Brucie. All positive effects are thus neutralized."

"Leaving the negative ones alone, I suppose...?"

Tim grunts... committally.

"You're going to be a wonderful Batman --"

"Yes, I know. Carry me to the *shower*."

"As you say," Bruce says, lifting him and pulling him close --

Yes. One more kiss.

For now.

*

It's always difficult to leave the manor without allowing Alfred to feed him even a little --

It is, in fact, a difficulty that doesn't lessen with time and repetition --

He manages it again, though, and there's even a sense that it's worth it -- this is only a *small* lie -- because Dana had prepared her signature meal of seared salmon with wild rice pilaf and sautéed asparagus.

Dana occasionally tries to feed him too much, but even that has become rare since Tim suggested that smaller portions for him would help his father deal with his own rigidly regulated portions.

Dana spends the dinner speaking about her plans for the five patients she's seeing tomorrow, and Tim plays his usual small, fun game with himself of trying to figure out which illnesses and disabilities the patients actually need treatment *for*.

He'll hack the rehab center's database sometime tomorrow to check his work. At the moment, he has an eighty-two percent correct rate. His goal for the year is to get it up to eighty-nine.

After dinner, he helps Dana with the dishes while they watch reruns of the Stimpsons and his father obsesses over his -- burgeoning, once more -- stock portfolio. They will almost certainly never be as wealthy as they were when Tim's mother was alive, but every increase in their savings drags his father that much further away from his depressive tendencies.

The goal, there -- as passive as it is -- is to get the man to stop hoarding Janet Drake memorabilia in the bedroom he shares with Dana. For all that Dana has been patient and calm...

Well, some things really shouldn't be simply accepted. To that end, he spends an hour quietly and carefully guiding his father toward the -- conservative, yet brilliant -- investments he knows Lucius Fox has chosen for the WE retirement funds by asking -- again, carefully -- pointed questions and expressing interest here and there.

The trick, there, is to make sure he doesn't make himself sound *too* astute or interested, as opposed to just enough to make his father feel good about the job he'd done raising Tim. Every session like this one which ends with his father only making *joking* comments about dragging Tim into the office is a victorious one, and --

Homework. Or, rather 'homework,' and the fact that he has a private phone line -- which is less 'private' than *protected* -- hm.

Tim boots up the computer and pops in his comm. A trip into the world's most potentially dangerous 'chat room' and --

A moment to wait. There's no one *there*, but *his* presence would absolutely register --

"And what can I do for you, Boy Wonder...?"

Ooh. "No synthesizer...? I'm flattered."

"Hn. You should be. Or, perhaps, you should think about the fact that I have a *very* good friend who likes giving me nice presents."

"Would this be the good friend who *is* jealous of your relationship with Dick...?"

"Care to think about that descriptor...? Given what you know about my *other* good friend."

Tim winces --

Barbara laughs. "Oh, I don't think he's *jealous*, really. Possibly -- *probably* -- just far, far too interested."

"And invested."

"And all of those other words. Ted's new synthesizer promises to be at least twelve times creepier than the old one... if I can get it to work properly."

"So I'm timely."

"Or time*less*... or *was* that one of the things Bruce said about you when you got him good and --"

"Interested?"

"Hnn. Again -- what can I do for you?"

"I don't suppose I can get away with saying that I was just hoping to shoot the breeze...?"

Another *actual* laugh -- and Tim's monitor switches to a view of Barbara. She's wearing a welding mask, has her hair tied back in a ponytail, and --

"Is that a lead apron? What is the synthesizer *made* from?"

"*That* would be telling," she says, and pushes the visor up, wrinkling her nose. "Remind me not to wear that thing unless I've brushed my teeth with all the mint in the *world*."

"Noted --"

"And the last time you *just* shot the breeze with someone, you were... four, I think."

"I might have been seven."

"Oh, Tim. We both know you were too focused at seven for any of that. Now, the question is -- do I let you keep procrastinating, or do I point out that your chair is booby-trapped?"

"I -- you. No, it isn't."

Barbara smiles and lifts a small silver box with a big, red button. She strokes the button with one of her short fingernails. "Care to test me?"

"I've seen you brandish that button at other *people*, Barbara. While I remain sure that it will do something horrible to *someone*, I'd say that the odds are with me."

Barbara tosses the box over her shoulder. "Spoilsport."

"Ah --"

"Oh, don't worry. Dick isn't even *in* that car right now. What *is* it?"

"I -- advice."

"About your love life."

"Can I pull the big sister card? I mean, I know I haven't --"

"Used anything remotely like it in the past, and *also* went along with Bruce to hide your *identity* from me --"

"I was young and impressionable --"

"You were *foolish*," Barbara says, and shakes a finger at him. "But cute. How freaked-out are you?"

"I'm tempted to say 'not enough,'" Tim says, crossing his legs and settling himself into a position that --

"Ooh, now *that's* an interesting expression. *Did* you bite off more than you could chew?"

"Rectum dentatum notwithstanding... maybe."

"Hn. That sort of thing tends to happen when sex is fresh and new and *available*. You'll grow out of it."

"That sounds... regrettable."

"Spoken like someone who... will probably never get a yeast infection, now that I think about it -- ooh, that's an even better face. I think I'll use a screenshot for my Christmas cards."

"So long as you photoshop in my domino --"

"I was thinking of finding a picture of some other nubile young man -- one a bit more exhibitionistic -- and photoshopping in some nipple rings. Just to give Roy something to look at while he picks out your jewelry."

"Why, Barbara. I thought I'd use some of *your* jewelry," Tim says, and steeples his fingers.

"Just for that, I'll give Roy the kind that can electrocute you."

"You're a kinky woman, and I love you for it."

Barbara blinks at him.

Tim laughs. "Yes, I *thought* that declaration of Bruce's was weird and wrong. Thanks for confirming it for me."

Barbara's expression turns wry. "Dick would be proud of you for the *first* part of that -- especially the bit where you neglected to immediately sign off after saying it -- but --"

"He'd immediately smack me for implying it was just an experiment. It really wasn't, Barbara. I do love you --"

"You were just *also* testing a theory, I know." Barbara sighs. "You could consider being happy that Bruce is being honest with you... and that expression isn't going anywhere near the Christmas cards. Valentine's Day, now..."

"Barbara, I can *see* my reflection in the monitor. I look like I've sucked in *alum*."

"Remember, Boy-Lover -- okay, no, that's horrible --" Barbara snorts.

"Insert comment about Bruce's kinks... here."

That gets a *better* snort, and --

Yes, Tim can smile for it. "So you were saying that you hate Valentine's Day."

"The initials are VD. That says it all."

"*I* wouldn't mind being your valentine --"

"But your dance card is -- hopefully -- full," Barbara says, and rests her chin on her fists. "You're doing fine, you know."

"Do... you really think so?"

"Mm-hm. You've shown great taste in picking Mr. Harper --"

"Letting him pick *me* --"

"Same difference, really, when you think about it. Roy is *used* to being the aggressor. Having it *work* means you're choosing him. At least, that's how I would think about it."

"Hm. I'm not sure he does. I mean... he has doubts about me."

"Which you're about to ease as soon as you stop talking to me, so..." Barbara raises her eyebrows.

Tim nods slowly. "And Bruce?"

"Well, I always found it useful to keep him at arm's length save for the occasionally fraught visit wherein he either stayed suited up... or I spoke about nothing save your predecessor."

"Which is just another way to keep things at arm's length, as I've found."

Barbara waves a hand back and forth. "I'd say he did fairly well at that with you."

"Did... did he talk to *anyone* after Jason died?"

"I always got the impression that Clark helped a great deal, but, at the same time..."

"Bruce is Bruce, yes." Tim pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. "I can't keep him at arm's length."

"Can't or *won't*?"

"Either. Both. I -- love him."

"You're Robin," she says, and it sounds like the same thing. Which...

"Are you suggesting that I'll grow out of it? And what *about* Dick?"

"No, and -- leave the divine Dickie to me, please. You know he's already stinging from what you told him."

"I *told* him that I was too obsessed with him to be a good lover --"

"And we both know what he actually *heard*, yes...?"

Tim winces again -- and nods. "I'll just... ah... something?"

"Invite him for a night out with you and your *girl*friend sometime next week. That'll keep him on his best behavior. Theoretically."

Tim inclines his head. "Noted. *Is* there something you would do about my situation? Something I *should* be doing?"

Barbara hums and looks thoughtful.

Tim waits --

"Be prepared for Roy's doubts and issues to pop up in odd and unexpected ways. Going from what *Dick* says, Roy can seem perfectly fine for a good long while -- long enough for people to forget how deep those issues *go* -- and then..."

"And then what? Does he explode, or...?"

"Again, this is second-hand, but -- it sounds more like *im*ploding. It also hasn't happened more than *slightly* since Lian was born, so there's that."

Tim nods. "And Bruce?"

"Get him distracted. Demand he train Steph -- *when* she comes back. Encourage him to play well with others -- make it payment for your cuddle-time."

"All right --"

"Keep making him talk, or just encouraging him to talk. You're going to have to deal with some backlash for how you shut him down today, but deal *quickly*. Too much silence..." Barbara shakes his head. "Silence breeds silence. I never would've guessed it would *work* with someone like Jay, but it did. By the end, he was bottled up tight as Bruce at his worst."

"Is that... do you think that's what made him seek out his mother?"

"Tim... it had to have almost seemed like his last chance. It had to..." Barbara sighs again. "He needed a friend. He had Bruce and *only* Bruce. You do the math."

Tim nods again -- stops. And *looks* at Barbara --

"Tim?"

"This... this is very slightly edited version of a speech you planned to give Dick. Isn't it?"

Barbara smiles ruefully. "I thought it would only be a matter of time after Bruce adopted Dick before the two of them would... well. I didn't count on Roy pulling a hat-trick."

Roy... had wanted to be Jason's friend.

It's just that, at the time, he'd wanted heroin more.

Tim closes his eyes. "All right. Thank you, Barbara."

Barbara touches the camera. "You're welcome. And I love you, too."

Tim grins. "Maybe we can make this a meme."

"There've been worse. Now go call your man. If you make it *extra* entertaining... I'll finagle things so that Dana has to stay late at the rehab center tomorrow."

Tim snorts. "*Noted*."

"Mm-hmm. Be good," and Barbara cuts the connection.

Tim pulls the comm out.

He looks at the phone.

He looks at his partially open door --

He doesn't get up and close it. On the practical side, he's more likely to hear his father or Dana coming up the stairs with it open. On the manipulative side, having it open means that neither of them will be suspicious about what he's doing, as teenagers with open doors are either innocent or stupid.

They know he isn't stupid, so...

So.

He wishes they knew he was gay. He --

All right, not his father. Not *yet*, anyway -- but Dana always cuts his father off when he's tempted to make a joke, or comment negatively about a gay person on television, and --

Dana would, frankly, love the chance to be The Understanding Stepmother. She would invite any boyfriend Tim brought home for dinner --

Though not the ones who were in fifth grade before Tim was born --

Or the ones who were already Batman.

Tim strokes the phone.

He turns his chair enough that he can face the door, and --

It would be a simple matter to start calling Roy 'Steph' if one of them did come up the stairs. He'll just have to leave his clothes on for this conversation -- and make sure that Roy knows he's doing it.

And -- perhaps it's a little insane that he's planning on being more careful in his own home than he was on the *street* --

Home is what you make of it, and where you're honest.

Home...

Home can *be* the manor, now. For the first time. For --

Tim swallows and gives himself a moment to remember Bruce lathering him in the shower, kissing Tim softly everywhere in the immediate path of the soap, doing it lightly enough that Tim had managed to convince his penis that nothing sexual was happening --

God, *Bruce* --

Needs him.

Tim picks up the phone and dials. One ring --

Two --

"Hi hi!"

Tim smiles. "Hello, Lian. It's Tim."

"You're Daddy's *new* friend?"

"Yes, but I hope to be one of his old friends, someday."

"I don't do maff."

"No?"

"It's for *big* girls, and I know that old friends are all *old*, and I don't know if you're old."

Tim bites back *some* of the laugh. "I'm older than *you*."

"I know that! I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, I know that. I've seen pictures of you, Lian, and it's *obvious* that you're not stupid."

"Daddy says you can't tell *anything* about a person just by looking at them," she says, and sounds suspicious.

Well, there's that -- "I think it depends on how you look at them, though. Sometimes people can't see very much at all, no matter how much they *do* look."

"You can't look and not *see*. They're the same!" 

Voice in the background, low and cheerful, at once --

"Daddy, *I'm* on the foam!"

More of Roy's voice --

"-- *my* turn, pumpkin," Roy says, and the exaggerated heaving noise is almost certainly Roy lifting Lian --

"Oookay."

A kiss-noise -- and then a *blown* kiss. "Can you hold for a minute, little 'mano? It's time to put Kleinfeld on."

Tim smiles again. "Of course."

He really should've checked the time against the television schedules --

He'll do it next time. For now, Tim pulls up a few homework-looking tabs, opens one of the ten essay outlines he'd prepared at the beginning of the semester when they were given the American Literature syllabus -- as it happens, he *will* need to use one of them sometime next week -- and works on looking studious.

And innocent.

And not at all wildly *impatient* --

"Still with me?"

It definitely says *something* that his entire body relaxes for that. "Ah... always?"

"Oh, really."

"Well... hopefully," Tim says, and rubs his palm on his jeans. "Roy --"

"I watched -- most of -- that footage you had Bruce send me while Lian was out for park-and-ice-cream time with the nanny. It's not right to make me need to tuck for the better part of an hour to keep from scaring the help into shooting me."

"Oh... I'd hoped you'd have a reaction like that."

"Two of the hottest people in my world doing very, very hot things? What did you *think* would happen?"

"Roy, I... did you watch the part where he said he'd want to be with both of us?"

"Which just *happened* to be *one* of the parts where *you* didn't talk all that much. Yeah, I saw. Tell me what's going on in your head for that."

"Mostly... mostly there are moans. A few images. Many hopes."

Roy purrs -- quietly. "*When* do you want it, baby?"

"I'm -- honestly not sure. I think. I think it's something we should think about. Talk about. Ah."

"You know, that stammer is damned cute --"

"I'm glad you approve --"

"There," Roy says, and sighs happily. "That's what I want. The *sharp* you bring when you're feeling good and confident -- like you were with Bruce."

Confident? Really? "I think I would call that a mixture of abject need and exasperation, Roy."

Roy laughs. "Yeah, he teased you pretty good. He teased you... mm. Kinda made me wonder about his kinks, actually."

Well. "Are you sure you want to go there?"

"If we're gonna have a threesome or two? Hell, yeah."

Tim closes his eyes -- briefly. "You... you would want to do it more than once?"

Another sigh. "Once, after a *long* mission, Garth and I snuggled up a little in the tank. I stayed in until I was good and pruney -- even though Garth liked his water pretty damned cold -- because we were having a *good* conversation. About Bruce... and his compatriots."

"Oh... my. I. Fantasies?"

"And lots of them. By the time we got to talking about Bruce himself... well, let's just say that it was more than just a *conversation*."

That is very... very... "Garth. Ah... he's a very attractive man."

"And he was a very attractive *kid*, too -- hair notwithstanding --"

"We all make mistakes in our teen years."

Roy snickers. "Do you ever miss those three pounds of gel you used to use every day?"

Tim has to blush a little for that. "It made me feel very... aerodynamic."

Another snicker. "Dick told me that he learned the hard way only to ruffle your hair when he was wearing gloves."

"To be fair -- at the time I was very invested in not having my hair ruffled."

"Heh. Okay, there's a point in favor of the stiff-and-sticky look. Anyway -- yeah. If it *works*, then I'll want to do it repeatedly. How does *that* look in your mind?"

Movement -- downstairs. "I'm honestly... I mean. Right now, it feels like I have three different relationships, and I'm mostly okay with them being separate things. I'm not the same person with any of you -- oh. That's... rather unhealthy. Hm."

"Oh, little 'mano... anyone who took a good look at you would know that you compartmentalize like a motherfucker."

Tim snorts. "That... is one way to put it, yes. I suppose I'm worried about crossing the streams."

"And maybe about how you'd feel if Bruce were right *there* when you were giving it up for me?"

Twitch. A small one, but still there. "I... with regards to that... ah. I don't actually have a problem with that. I don't think I do, anyway."

Roy hums. "So you've thought about that. That's... heh. That's a *good* thing, baby, because I have, too."

"I've wanted. I spent a long time both convinced that Bruce didn't see me, at all, and hopeful that I was wrong about that."

"Voyeurism and exhibitionism *are* two sides of the same coin... by which I mean, one day you're gonna put on a little show for me."

Tim moans -- stops. "Just... for you?"

"For me and all the cameras in whatever room we're in, yeah. I don't *want* to share you *too* much just yet."

"But -- you said that you wanted me with Kal --"

"I've changed my mind -- somewhat. I'm just not ready for you to give it all up for anyone but me just yet."

Tim frowns. "That would seem to make the Bruce... thing a problem, Roy."

"Yes and no?" Roy laughs quietly. "Part of me *wants* you to keep compartmentalizing. You are... the way you *are* for me --"

"I love it. I love --"

"Shh, baby, shh. Don't get me *too* excited. Put it this way -- I'm willing to share you if it means that we can share *Bruce*. But it'll hurt some."

Tim closes his eyes -- *briefly*, damn it -- "Roy. Roy, sometimes I think that I would do anything for you."

"Sometimes I think I want just that. Now think about my hand on the back of your neck."

"Oh. Yes --"

"Think about me squeezing you. Holding you that way."

It's not a surprise that Tim is having trouble making himself move his head -- Tim grunts and reaches back to hold onto himself --

"Oh, yeah...?"

"I... am attempting to duplicate."

Another quiet purr. "I want you, little 'mano."

"You have me."

"I want you *now* --"

"I -- can't do... this. Not to the extent that I would like to," Tim says, and doesn't squeeze his eyes shut. "Dana and my father could come up at any time."

"And they don't give you private time to spank it?"

"Ah -- what?"

"You heard me. You're a teenaged boy *with* a hot girlfriend -- I *trust* her when she says this --"

Tim chokes a *little* --

"Stay with me, now. They're not stupid people. They have to know that you *need* that alone-time, Tim."

"I tend to leave my door *open*, Roy. Just -- I can't risk them ever becoming suspicious about what I'm doing, or what I have on my computer, or what I might have under my bed --"

"Or in the hidden compartments that probably aren't under your bed, yeah, I can see that," Roy says, and his sigh sounds troubled. "Still -- they have to give you time to get *off*. I mean, they probably think it's suspicious that they never *have* caught you with your pants down --"

"Oh, God."

Roy snorts. "Seriously -- Ollie was damned *problematic* as a guardian, but at least I never had to pretend that my right hand and I hadn't found true love."

"I... really want to masturbate with your voice in my ear --"

"Do it."

"I'm afraid. I -- I have so much to lose --"

"Yeah, you do, but it's time for you to act like you actually *live* in that pretty little townhouse."

"Fuck."

"Yeah?"

"*Fuck*," Tim says, standing up and closing the door before opening his jeans and letting them fall. He steps out of them --

"I *think* I can hear fabric leaving you --"

"My jeans --"

"Boxer-briefs, too. You can get under the covers."

"You're too good at *convincing* me --"

"Nuh-uh, little 'mano. You were *already* convinced. You just needed a *push*."

"I -- love the way you push me."

"I love the way you go *where* I push," Roy says, and -- *this* sigh isn't like the others, at all.

"Roy?"

"Lian is snoring -- she really has the cutest snore in *creation* -- and *my* jeans are open. Now, what would you do if you were here?"

"Kneel between your legs," and Tim slips into his bed. It always feels strange to do it naked -- or to do it in day-clothes -- and so now he has the best of *both* faintly wrong worlds. But he can focus. "I would. Sniff you."

"Get in close?"

"Yes, God -- I would nuzzle you. Through your underwear."

"Yeah?"

"I would look for your shape, try to... to map it with my face," and Tim licks his lip, strokes up under his shirt -- "You're so beautiful."

"Mm. That's what Bruce said to you a couple-few times. How did it feel?"

"Strange. Unreal. Almost -- laughable."

"It isn't. You look..." Roy takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I look at you and I wanna let Dick make you up, dress you up just for me..."

"Ah. A hand under my skirt?"

Roy growls. "I think I could make you love it, pretty baby."

Tim moans. "God, I -- anything. You could. I know how to make myself up."

"Course you do. R-- boys like you are always prepared for *any* eventuality."

Tim smiles and blushes at once. "I try. I. All of the supplies are at Bruce's --"

"Buy some for my place."

"*Fuck* -- yes. Yes, I will --"

"Good boy. Good... mm. I'm stroking myself a little."

"Oh. Oh -- through your underwear?"

"Uh, huh. Thinking about your pretty mouth."

Tim swallows. "May I. May I suck you?"

"Even your questions are perfect. You... baby, kiss my cock."

Tim moans again -- "Yes. Yes, please --"

"Lemme hear you do it," Roy says. "You know what to do."

He *doesn't* -- except. There really is only one way --

Tim brings his hand to his mouth and folds it into a strike position -- which is about as phallic as it could ever *get* -- and begins to kiss it softly. Slowly --

Roy's breathing is *sharp* -- "You love it."

"Yes --"

"You *want* it."

"*Please* --"

"Keep. Keep kissing."

Tim moans his way into the next kiss, the next --

There's a part of him which is fully aware that he's lying in bed making love to his own *hand*, but it's not a very important part. Not with Roy's rough breathing in his ear, not with the hints of his own taste, his own salty *tang* --

The knowledge of what he *could* be tasting -- "Roy," Tim says -- *slurs* --

Roy moans. "You're so *good* -- lick your palm. Get it nice and wet for me."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Are your lights on?"

"Yes --"

"Are you in view of at least *some* of the cameras?"

"Yes, Roy --"

"Get out from under those covers."

Tim whimpers -- stops. "I don't -- I can't get *caught* --"

"You're not gonna do anything too freaky, I promise. Just your hand and your pretty, pretty cock. And this needs to be *seen*."

"You. I want *you* to see --"

"Oh, I will. I already made a deal with O for *all* footage pertinent to my interests. Which -- heh. Did you dictate that message Bruce sent?"

Tim blinks and stops licking. "He -- he sent a *message* with the footage? I was getting changed when he was working on compressing it."

Roy laughs quietly, sighs again -- "He said, and I quote, 'A, R and I have agreed that you may find the following relevant to your current interests. Please let me know if this is the case. B.'"

"I -- all right, I'm blinking. A lot. He -- he was *playing* with you."

"Uh, huh."

"He was... I can *see* the smile that must've been on his face."

"Indeed."

"I. Um?"

Another laugh. "He *used* to joke like that sometimes. Not about *sex*, but with that same tone. Dickie wasn't completely crazy to fall in love with him."

"And I am?"

Roy -- isn't breathing.

"I. I'm sorry --"

"No, little 'mano, it's okay, it's okay... uh. It's like that?" And Roy's voice... it's not that there's a tremble in it, or that there's anything *particularly* wrong with him sounding calm and conversational instead of *aroused* --

There is. There *is*. "Roy, I -- I love you, too."

Roy grunts and it sounds *pained* --

"Please, Roy --"

"I wasn't. I wasn't gonna let you *say* that -- yet."

"Then tell me when, because. Because I want to say it. I mean it, and I want to say it."

Silence, and Tim doesn't know --

"I need. I want to see you. I really. I think that would help --"

His computer makes a whooshing noise he's never actually heard before. And -- the message alarm is flashing.

"Um. Just a moment," Tim says, moving back to his desk and turning on the monitor --

And he's looking at a partial side view of Roy staring at *his* computer... where there's an image of Tim naked and bent over his desk.

"I -- well."

"So what we've established here is that O *really* likes you," Roy says, and turns toward the camera with the best view of his couch.

"Ah... she's fond of you, as well," and Tim moves back to the bed and turns toward the camera with the best view of *that* part of his room. 

Roy waggles his head back and forth. "I suppose I didn't have to get a view -- or the knowledge of just how vulnerable my systems are --"

"There *are* no systems which *aren't* vulnerable to O," Tim says, and -- yes. "She did mention a desire for our conversation to be entertaining."

Roy snorts and scrubs a hand over his face. "Forget the Mission. Lay down with Bats, get up *surveilled*."

"Ah. If it bothers you --"

Roy waves a hand. "You think you love me."

Tim turns to see Roy's face -- on the surface, his expression is hard, but his eyes... his eyes are very wide. "I know it's too soon on a lot of levels --"

"*Go* with that --"

"I fell in love with Dick in the time it took for him to pull me into his lap and for someone to snap a picture. It was shallow, of course, and built more on wonder and the desire for something meaningful and true -- no," Tim says, shaking his head and turning back to the camera. "We aren't strangers to each other. Our families make that impossible."

"I'm back to thinking I'm taking advantage of you."

"So long as you keep *doing* it --"

"Tim --"

"*Roy*. I -- I don't have to say it. I can understand why that makes you uncomfortable. I. I love saying it to Steph --"

"I still didn't hear that --"

"Oh, fuck that. Honestly. I want you to meet her. I want -- obviously, you don't have to out yourself, but if you did --"

"What do you *want*, Tim?"

Tim smiles for the camera, for Roy... "What I have. And more. I want. Do you ever want to introduce me to --"

"Yes. Yeah, I really do, and I -- I talked to Connor about you. He complimented me on my taste and informed me in no uncertain terms that you were very serious-minded and that I should be careful. Which is Connor-speak for 'don't dog him, Roy,' and -- I won't. I never will, okay?"

"That -- almost sounds like a *plea*, Roy --"

"That's because it was. We're *doing* this, and it scares the hell out of me when I'm *not* thinking with my cock -- look at my face."

Tim does, and Roy looks rueful, sad, hopeful, hungry -- "Oh. Roy..."

"Maybe. Maybe it is love --"

"Please --"

"Easy, baby, because -- because I wanna *keep* you, and you're telling me that I *can*, and that's -- heh. *Real* fucking new for me, okay?"

Tim bites his lip -- and turns back to the camera. "We don't have to -- if it makes you uncomfortable for me to be with Bruce --"

"Stop. Right there. Because we don't have to give up what we do on the side, and we can make this -- all of this -- work. We can. And I'm not doing a damned thing to keep you from love, just like you'd never do that to me."

Tim nods. "I wouldn't."

"I know. So. Go to your desk so we can see *and* talk. It looked like that camera by your desk could be adjusted, right?

"It -- it's going to be a lot harder to pretend to be innocently talking to my girlfriend --"

"Lock your door."

"Roy --"

"You're a manipulative, lying *bastard* to your parents, little 'mano. Tell 'em the truth if they ask -- you needed privacy."

Tim blinks. "I... didn't think of it that way."

Roy's smile is crookedly sharp. "I know. That's why you *need* perfectly sane and innocent people like me in your life."

That -- Tim snorts and moves to lock his door --

"God, your ass should never be in the shadows. Turn your speakers on so you can ditch the phone --"

"And turn on my stereo, yes. Do you have any preferences for the music?"

"Got anything bluesy? Maybe a little folk?"

"Folk with something of a country twang?"

Roy raises his eyebrows. "You like that? And that's fine."

Tim waves a hand and finishes setting up before putting in the Mary Chapin Carpenter CD. "Steph's efforts to broaden my musical palate. Mostly, I like it when I can watch her listening to it."

"I won't say there's no such thing as *bad* music -- I've *heard* my band play -- but there's no such thing as a bad *category* of music."

"Industrial?"

"Passionate and raw."

"Polka?"

"Kitschy and shameless."

Tim laughs and sits down in his chair, lifting one foot to the desk --

"Aw, *Jesus*, little 'mano --"

"Kitschy and shameless are good things?"

"When you're in the mood for it, they are. Polka -- that's music that just makes you feel good, because you know the musicians are in a damned good mood. It's infectious."

"Hm. Wouldn't that make things like blues and grunge problematic?"

"Not even a little -- scoot forward in your chair... yeah. Mm. I can *see* how swollen you are."

Tim blushes --

"Pretty *baby*, I -- wait, I was talking about music."

"I'd like -- I love to listen to you talk."

Roy grins at him and lies back, tugging his penis out of his boxer briefs. "I think you can *see* how much I like talking to you."

Tim licks his lips --

And Roy narrows his eyes and strokes. "The blues, grunge, emo, punk... all that good stuff. The human condition is wild, wide, and *varied*, little 'mano. Music should express -- and reflect -- all of it. Otherwise, it's just pretty noise."

"You... ah. You don't think there's a place for pretty noise?"

Roy grins. "Everything is music to *someone*, baby. Like you."

"Well, you do tend to... ah. Play me like an instrument."

Roy squeezes himself with one hand and drags the fingers of his other hand over the head, one at a time.

"I want. I want to suck those."

"Lemme see you suck *yours*, baby."

"Yes --"

"Wait. Work up a little pre-come, first."

Tim laughs. "That really shouldn't take long. Um." Tim's hand is actually shaking a little, though, and --

Really?

He's balking at jerking *off*? "Um --"

"You can close your eyes, it's okay."

"I really don't *want* to --"

"Close. Your. Eyes."

"*Hnh* -- right, okay, I --" Tim closes his eyes -- and his hand stops shaking. Gradually, but still.

"Lick your palm. Get it wet again."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Make it *drip* a little."

That is -- filthy. And a bit gross. But mostly filthy. Tim smiles to himself and starts licking, working up saliva in his mouth until, yes, he can feel a drop of it slide down his wrist --

Roy makes a noise so appreciative that Tim's penis twitches -- "Do it."

Tim does, stroking *efficiently* and working his scrotum with his other hand --

"Squeeze your sac harder, lemme see your knuckles pale a little bit --"

Tim grunts for it -- and it really won't take long for him to start shaking for this. To -- "I -- I want to open my eyes again --"

"Hmm, lemme think on that for a minute. Keep 'em closed for now."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Oh, look at you beading up for me... mm. Don't lose any of that."

Tim stops squeezing his scrotum and strokes his fingertips over the head, wanting to know --

He wants to know a lot of things, starting with *why* he's attractive to Roy. He can understand -- to a certain extent -- why his *personality* works for Roy, and he certainly can't help but notice that Roy thinks he's perfectly sexy, but --

This is a man who'd had Dick *and* Jason -- not to mention a potentially frightening number of the various wildly attractive people in the community. Tim would very much like to know *what* makes him attractive --

And he wants to be able to play those things up. Immensely, even.

Of course, it could be the matter of his own receptiveness to everything Roy wants -- including a deeper, more serious relationship in general -- hm. How would that --

"Now *where* did you just get to, baby?"

Oh -- hell. "Ah -- narcissism."

"Should I give you a mirror?"

"No -- I want you --"

"Tell me about this 'narcissism,' then. How much are you loving yourself right now?"

"Um. Some? It's mainly -- obsessiveness. And aborted fishing."

"What *exactly* does that mean."

Tim winces. "It's -- embarrassing."

"Talk. Now."

Tim clenches around nothing, *wants* -- "I wanted -- I was wondering what about my -- my physical attributes was attractive to you. And -- how I could emphasize those things."

Roy sighs. "God, you're so fucking *young*."

Tim winces. "I'm sorry. It's not important --"

"It is. It *really* is, because this is -- God, I'm your *first*. I thought I had dealt with that, but apparently I really hadn't -- open your eyes."

Tim does --

"Suck your fingers... yeah. Keep those in your mouth while I'm talking."

Somehow... somehow the taste of his own pre-come is a lot more important than it's been since the first few times his body had managed to *produce* the stuff --

Roy is watching, and that would *be* enough without the fact that he's doing precisely what Roy wants him to do. Again.

Tim shivers --

"It can't be that you don't think you're hot, because you've picked up on the fact that people *want* you, want to be with you... and you're not, actually, confident enough to believe that it's *just* your personality."

Tim blushes again --

"Oh, really...? Well, then, go with it. Go with the fact that sometimes there's nothing showing in your eyes but severely prissy bitchery --"

Tim chokes *slightly* --

"And that that would make *any* sane, right-thinking man want to shove a cock through those pursed lips --"

Well, that's more of a moan --

"Those *pretty* lips, all pouty up top like maybe it would be a good idea to paint it with my *own* pre-come before gettin' down to *business* --"

"*Mm* --"

"Yeah, that was my name, I know. Keep sucking. Now, the *business* end of things... heh. Where to start? There are those hands of yours, showing every slash and puncture and burn, every little *moment* when you've been in this life, been one of my *tribe* -- keep those eyes open."

Tim nods and hums -- and starts to fuck his own mouth.

"Oh, *good* boy. You... heh. You deserve a *treat*," Roy says, and strokes himself hard and fast for a long moment, tilting his head back and biting his lip --

Tim groans and *gnaws* on his own fingers --

Roy stops, pants -- and takes out his P.A. He smiles at the camera and sucks it clean before setting it down on the end table and... pulling a small case out of his pocket.

And taking a larger, *thicker* ring out of it. And --

And Tim can only stare and groan, again and again, because the only sign of discomfort on Roy's face is the line which seems *carved* into his forehead as he almost seems to *force* the ring in --

He sighs when the other end is through, screwing the bulb on --

God -- *God* --

He's not even getting any *softer* --

Roy moans and *flicks* at the ring, smiling and *jerking* each time --

Tim wishes it was even *remotely* a good idea to try to *swallow* his fingers, because that --

"I wonder, sometimes. I wonder how you're gonna feel about the first *unpierced* cock you let in that pretty little mouth, that *tight* little ass... and yeah, I love your ass. It's not as big or round as Dick's, but you know how to work it. How to *give* it. It fits just right in my hands, it turns all rosy when I spank you... mmph. Get up, turn around, and bend over."

Tim does --

"A little to the left... yeah. Grab your ankles... those slim and *graceful* ankles... did you see how Bruce stared when you put your foot up on that broad shoulder?"

"I -- no --"

"He wanted to bite you there, maybe to *suck*. Me, I just want to tie them to things, tie *you* to things... maybe tie your wrists *to* your ankles sometime. Of course, *that* look kinda needs a gag of some kind, but... no, I'm always gonna want your sounds. Those sounds... mm. Those sounds drive me crazy, pretty baby. Back in the chair."

Tim moves --

"*Both* feet on the desk... yeah, spread *wider*."

"God, Roy, you -- you don't have to --"

"Oh, I know. But -- you wanna know how to be pretty for me, don't you?"

Tim moans and nods -- "Yes --"

"Little pink hole, clenching and flexing... your ass *begs* to be fucked, baby. You know that, don't you?"

"*Yes* --"

"And my cock knows exactly how it feels in there. All that heat, all that animal *power* as you clench around me... fucking *milk* me..."

"Please. Please, I need. I need to touch myself."

Roy grins and raises his eyebrows. "What about my needs, pretty baby?"

Tim moans -- "Anything. Please --"

"What if I need to suck that cock of yours? Swallow you into my throat and make you fuck me *just* like you fucked Bruce..."

Tim pants and -- cups his knees. Squeezes them to keep himself from reaching *down* --

"You *took* him, Tim. You made him swallow *all* you had to give. And in return he fucked your sweet ass, moaned for you, *begged* for you..."

Tim feels himself *sweating* --

"I think *he'd* do anything for you. Anything to have that again and *again*..." Roy licks his lips and flicks the ring again --

Arches --

Groans and settles down against the couch again. "Do you wanna suck him?"

"*Yes* --"

"Do you want him to fuck you?"

"I -- I told you --"

"No. No, you really didn't. Because the man who fucked you in those fantasies *wasn't* the man who slipped his fingers into your ass today. You know that."

He does. He does, and -- "I... I don't know. It. It seems like so much, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what he wants, what he *would* want, what he would make me *feel* --"

"Even though you love him? Or *especially* because you love him."

"I have to give him what he *needs*. I always -- oh, Roy, it's who I *am* --"

"B... needs an R. And I caught that bit near the end about that other B needing a *T*... you balked."

"It's not who we *are*. It -- it shouldn't be."

"Even though you begged for it?"

"I'm not supposed to get what I *want*! I -- oh. Oh." Tim blinks, shakes his head, looks down --

"No. Look at me."

Tim gasps -- he does it -- "I'm sorry --"

"Stop," Roy says, sitting up on one elbow. "Nothing wrong in what you *did*, just in what you *think*."

Tim covers his face with his hands and thinks about freaking out. Just -- it would be somewhat timely, and, if he started soon, he could maybe get it over with before bed --

Tim moves his hands and smiles ruefully. "I hope you don't mind me tripping over my issues like that."

Roy offers his own rue. "Pretty baby... remember what I keep saying about soul-saving?"

"Yes, but --"

"No buts. Because one of the things I *like* about you is that you don't actually hide from yourself all that often. You're sixteen -- you're allowed to take the occasional trip over your own issues. What you're *not* allowed to do is pretend those issues aren't there, or to try to bury them deep. You've gotta give me everything. *Everything*."

Tim strokes his own thighs. "You make it easy."

"You make it gorgeous. You're allowed to get what you want."

"Roy --"

"Say it."

"I'm allowed... to get what I want. Even if I'm terrified by the prospect."

Roy grins. "You are... who you are. If you *weren't* afraid of what you wanted, I'd have to dart you and drag you back to B's place for a thorough workup. And then *keep* you tranqed for at least the next three days just to be *sure*."

"I... noted. But."

"What is it, baby?"

How to say it? How to even *think* it? "I... want you to know that I'm not actually this much of a mess --"

"I know you aren't."

"*How*?"

"Because of what you do, how you do it, how you *feel* when you do it... and just how you *are*, little 'mano. You don't let brain-trash hold you back. In fact, you do such a good *job* of outrunning it most of the time that, when it *does* catch up..."

"I trip over it."

"And then get up and start running again just that fast -- after kicking the issue in the sac a few times. It's -- heh -- attractive."

"I deserve to get what I want."

"Nothing you could want could ever be too good for you," Roy says, and his voice is low, heavy...

"When. When you sound like that, it's hard to breathe."

"When you *make* me sound like this, I'm already havin' trouble breathing."

"I -- I'm not going to say it."

Roy narrows his eyes in something that looks like hunger and anger at once -- "Say it."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you --"

"Jerk off for me. Nice and slow for now."

Tim moans -- and he's stroking before he realizes that his eyes are open, that he's seeing Roy *react* to what he was doing --

Roy is licking his *lips* --

"Roy... I wish I were there --"

"So do I... though I'm too hard to get fancy. Maybe -- *maybe* -- I'd be able to spank you again."

"God, your. I'm thinking. About your calluses."

"Think about Bruce's."

"*Ohn* --"

"Yeah. Think about him jerking you off. Think about him pressed up behind you, one arm around your chest..."

"Holding me still. He. He's so strong --"

"And big. Just -- huge all over. I want that big, fat cock in you, baby."

Tim pants and squeezes himself because he has to, because -- "After. After you."

Roy smiles. "You want him to have my sloppy seconds? You wanna be slick with my come?"

"Please. Please let me stroke faster --"

"Do it like *this*," Roy says, taking himself in hand and starting a jerking, stuttering rhythm --

Tim hasn't been doing it for thirty seconds before he's starting to writhe and blush --

He's grunting like an *animal*, and he can't -- he *has* to keep watching Roy, because this rhythm is a little too complicated for him to duplicate completely on his own --

That's not the only reason he has to keep watching Roy. That --

"That's it, baby. That's -- mm. That's so fucking pretty I can't stand it."

"Roy -- *Roy* --"

"Lick the fingers of your free hand, reach down, and kinda *play* with your hole --"

Tim grunts *again* --

"Yeah, we *both* like that idea. How'd it feel to have Bruce givin' it to you?"

"Good. So -- I kept. I kept slipping in my mind, losing it -- "

"Bruce's fingers inside you. No one else's."

"Yes -- but. Yours, Roy, I want --"

"Those are my fingers right there, baby. That's *me* touching your hole. Testing at the swelling a little --"

"*Ah* --"

"*Pushing* on the swelling. Coming real damned close to pushing *in*... yeah, just like that..."

"Please. Please, Roy, I need --"

"You *need* to heal, little 'mano. Trust me, because the faster you *do* heal, the more likely it is that I'll be able to fuck you tomorrow."

Tim moans --

"That I'll be able to do it as hard as we *both* like --"

"*Roy* --"

Roy pants -- stops. "Shh, now. Just -- go easy --"

"Sorry, I --"

"You're feelin' it right now. That's okay -- that's *good*. You know I am, too," Roy says, and changes his stroke to something slow again, slow and *hard* --

Quiet. He has to be at least relatively quiet -- "*Please* --"

"*Do* it, Tim."

Tim groans and slows down, regulates --

*Tries* to regulate his breathing, and that's -- really not happening. At all. All he can do is pant and shudder, over and over --

But he's using Roy's rhythm, and that --

It's possible that he *shouldn't* have such a powerful sense of *accomplishment*, *success* --

The vagaries of headspace. All right --

"And what's that smile for, baby?"

"How -- easy I am for you. How far down that easiness goes."

"Easy, hunh? Mm, that's... heh." Roy grins and flicks at his ring --

Pumps his *hips* -- Tim moans --

"That's one way to *put* it, baby, but I prefer to think of how *good* you are. You... *mm*. Good boy. *Best* boy --"

"Yours. Your boy --"

Roy growls and squeezes himself *viciously* --

Tim does the same -- and has to bite his lip hard to keep from crying out. Just -- he's too close for that, too --

It's too much like trying to hold the pleasure back, to choke it *off* --

"Roy. Please. Let us come, let *me* come --"

"You. Do you deserve it?"

"If you say I do --"

"No," Roy says, sitting up on his elbow again and *glaring*. "Do you *deserve* it."

There's a moment when Tim has to work to think of the right answer, the answer Roy wants, the *right* answer --

He deserves -- to get what he wants. He --

"*Yes*, Roy. I *deserve* it --"

Roy groans, stops himself. "I believe you. Fuck, I *believe* you -- do it. Fast and hard. Let me see every *second*."

Tim pants and *shakes* -- but his hand had only needed permission to do this, to *have* this --

He can't imagine this being *entertaining*. He must look like he's frantic --

He *is* frantic --

But Roy is staring, gaze moving between Tim's face and Tim's groin even as he strokes himself faster and *faster*. That --

"That sound. That *sound* --"

"You -- you hear me, baby --"

"God, *yes* -- I -- Roy, Roy, I want you to come *in* me --"

Roy groans -- and squeezes his eyes shut. He shakes his head --

"Please, Roy, please --"

"Here. Here, baby -- *hnh* --"

And at the last moment, Roy points his penis at himself, coming all over his chest --

He hits his *chin* --

He wants to know how that *feels* -- "Oh, *God*, Roy --" But that's all he can get out before the world's largest, friendliest *fist* closes around his spine and *yanks* --

Heat --

So *good* --

And the old, familiar sensation of come hitting the palm of his other hand --

"Oh, no, baby, you -- you gotta let me *see* --"

Tim *jerks* his penis up -- and the last spurt makes him *squeeze* his eyes shut, makes him groan and shudder *more* --

Roy sighs -- and hums.

Tim slumps in his chair and tries to think of something other than how *good* he feels -- wait, why the hell would he do *that*?

Just -- he's allowed to have a *moment* --

But Tim still opens his eyes, still catches himself searching... a scatter of spatters on his desk.

And the keyboard. Tim winces --

"Aw, what's that for, baby?"

"Ah -- mess," Tim says, and looks up to meet Roy's gaze with his own rueful one.

Roy snorts. "You make me wanna go mud-wrestling with you."

"Oh, God --"

"Jiggl-O? Corn oil?"

Tim takes the tissues out of his desk drawer and begins to clean up. "Have you ever actually done that?"

Roy grins, gets up, and heads toward what seems to be his kitchen. "Not even a little. All it took was *one* fuck on a beach to convince me that bedrooms were, generally, a great invention."

Tim hears the water come on and waits. It only takes a minute before Roy comes back out, clean and -- "You... really do manage to look sexy every minute of every day. It's a little frightening, actually."

Roy snickers and zips up his jeans. "*One* day you're gonna see me first thing in the morning. You'll feel a lot better."

Tim smiles. "Noted. Ah... with regards to my ass..."

"Mm-hm...?"

"I really have no idea if this is the normal amount of swelling and sensitivity or not."

"You had some trouble sitting down today?"

Tim waves a hand. "Trouble in terms of it being far too exciting. Not painful."

"Baby, you have no *idea* how happy I am that you spent so much time stretching yourself."

"The feeling is entirely mutual. I... what *is* your favorite sexual act?"

Roy lies back on the couch with his arms folded behind his head. "Depends on who I'm with. I could -- and have -- spent hours with my face in Dinah's pussy. Rubbing off on Dick -- I could probably write a book about it at this point. At least a nice pamphlet."

Tim laughs. "One hopes for illustrative pictures."

"Heh. O *likes* you. You could probably make a bargain for some."

He *could* -- but. Tim shakes his head. "I'm trying not to... encourage myself with regards to Dick."

Roy raises his eyebrows. "You can throw the l-word around right and left, but Dick really throws you?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Thirteen years of my short, short life, Roy. I -- you saw that conversation with Bruce."

"I did. And I don't think I got all of it. What *exactly* did he make you do for your birthday? Where did the manifestos come in? Because it *sounded* like he made you sit down and figure out what would make your family --"

"And the Birds."

"*And* the Birds go nuts. That -- seriously?"

Tim sighs and gives himself a moment to stretch, lifting one leg at a time --

"Jesus *fuck* that's pretty."

"You *have* to be used to it --"

"There is *no* such thing as getting used to *that*, little 'mano. Unless maybe you're in the Cirque du Lune or something. Now give."

Tim nods and lets himself sigh again. "I was going to see Dick to talk about it. Bruce -- he set up a situation where I would *have* to believe that someone in my family -- or O's -- had gone evil and totalitarian in the near future after Bruce's death, and had basically turned Gotham inside-out in the process. The special effects work was top-notch. So, full of terror -- ball-crawling terror, as a matter of fact -- I set about working to discover which *one* of my closest allies was most likely to be responsible. This involved a great deal of stalking, but mostly it involved taking everything I'd learned about them, everything I *loved* about them..."

"You had to twist it. And yourself in the process."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Pretty much, yes. In the end, everyone looked like a potential suspect. When I discovered -- after several nights with no sleep whatsoever -- that it was all a lie -- a *test* -- I lost it pretty spectacularly. I stripped down on a rooftop and threw my uniform in Bruce's face. I cursed him out. I left him there."

"That... sounds perfectly reasonable, actually. What made you decide to forgive him?"

"He is who he is. I am who I am. It wasn't just his right to do that to me; it was his duty --"

"Bullshit."

"Roy --"

"*Bullshit*," Roy says, sitting up again and pointing at the camera -- at Tim. "One, he wouldn't have even tried that with you if he didn't know you *could* look at your allies -- your *family* -- that way already. Two... you're a lover. Anyone who makes you put up walls *you* don't want between you and your loved ones better have a damned good reason --"

"He *did* --"

"Tim. Own this. You forgave him for a different reason."

Tim opens his mouth -- and closes it again. He stops. He thinks -- "He had to know I could be ruthless. Not just... thoughtful."

"You think he didn't already know that?"

Tim frowns. Roy... has a point. A very, very good point. But -- "*Why* would he do it, then? I don't -- I'd been going with the idea that I could've predicted that he'd do something like that to me, and I could even tell myself that I knew why... ah. Help?"

Roy shrugs. "I don't think I *can* help with that. You have to skewer him a little. And... okay, I have a theory or two."

"I'm listening."

Roy nods. "Okay. He *does* have to know that you'll be able to do all the things he does -- and more. And maybe there was a time way back in the day when *he* trusted someone blindly --"

"There was. Ah -- there really was."

Another nod. "Okay, then, there's that. But there's also the fact that it's *him* and *you*. Not the people you wear when you're on the street, but the people you are down deep."

"You. You think it was *personal*?"

Roy's expression is... rather pained. "Dick told me that you and Bruce had some pretty serious problems not all that long ago. That you made it *abundantly* clear that you didn't trust him as far as you could throw him."

"I *do* trust him. To do -- to do what's necessary *when* it's necessary. I just don't trust him to be this perfect, infallible *being*. He's a man, not a god."

"Hey, no argument. But you have to admit that you're kind of the *first* person to live that close in and feel that way."

"Jason --"

"*Jason* couldn't keep his pants on around him. And Dick is... well, he's *Dick*, and nobody who knows *him* doesn't know that Bruce is the be-all and end-all. Now, then, and forever. So then *you* come along. And you not only don't trust him -- bear with me now, baby, because you *have* to admit that Bruce is used to a *much* higher degree of trust than *you* give him, okay?"

"I --" Even the *League* -- "All right, yes."

"So. You not only don't trust him, but you seem to be doing perfectly fine with not *wanting* him. Hell, not *needing* him."

"Do you -- you honestly think he was *punishing* me?"

Roy spreads his hands -- "No, not like that. I -- hell. I *don't* think he was doing it on purpose. Not even a little. But it's possible -- *just* possible -- that something in him which *doesn't* wear pointy ears needed you to know exactly what *his* world looks like. What it looks like all the *time*."

"A play for sympathy."

"Tarted up with an *entirely* sincere need for you to take it to the next level."

"That -- those are the words he used. Roughly. I..." Tim brings his feet down to the floor --

"Now that's a *damned* shame, little 'mano."

Tim snorts and focuses on just rubbing his temples a little. Just -- for a minute. One little minute --

All right, less than that. "Roy... I don't know if I've forgiven him as much as I've decided to set the anger -- the rage -- aside for now, because there's no place for it."

"And you really think there'll *be* a place for it in the future? Let me tell you something, Tim -- I got *nothing* out of yelling at Ollie's tombstone back when *he* was dead."

Tim winces. "All right, yes, I -- I hear you. I'll talk to him about it again. And -- I went back because I needed him. Not the Mission, not the people who surround him -- him. The man I barely got to see at all when I was training -- and never got to *feel*. The man I honestly believe is crazy in several *bad* ways. The man I don't trust with. With my heart."

Roy sighs. "You people really don't *do* half-measures."

"Well. We *are* the best of the best," Tim says, blowing on his nails and buffing them on his shirt.

"Uh, huh. Why don't you go ahead and put some clothes on again? We've been at this for... heh. A while."

"Oh... hell. One day -- I'm making a request, Roy. One day, we get to spend several hours just talking and being at least relatively naked," Tim says, and retrieves his clothes.

Roy laughs. "The naked thing actually does it for you? I think I'm surprised."

"Yes, well, don't tell Dick. I had to tell him the exact opposite --"

"By which you mean, a bald-faced *lie* --"

"-- in order to continue my efforts to hide my tumescence."

Roy snorts. "God, you're the *reason* why so many people in this community are repressed."

"No, I'm the reason *I'm* repressed," Tim says, pulling on his jeans and raising his eyebrow at the camera.

"No, no, see," Roy says, and makes an erasing motion. "What you gotta understand is that people -- otherwise *sane* people -- look at you and think, 'well, this guy doesn't ever have to listen to his cock,' and fucking 'I've gotta be crazy to be this horny just because that guy over there did something amazing while wearing basically no clothes, because *Tim's* not even breaking a sweat,' not to mention shit like 'if I just pin my cock back and snort this saltpeter --'"

"Nobody *does* that, Roy --"

"You don't think so? I'm tellin' you, baby -- you're a *role* model. Connor *told* me you inspired him, and all I had to do was *look* at your former team to know which one of you called the shots -- no matter what was on the roster *officially*."

"I -- hm." Tim sits back down. And puts one foot back on the desk --

"God, I -- yeah. 'Hm,' what?"

Love me? He's not going to ask. He's just -- not. "Ah -- I was thinking that was a good reason to... keep my nose clean, as it were."

"Oh, it is," Roy says, and crosses his legs at the ankle. "It absolutely is. You just have to put some thought into *defining* what 'keeping your nose clean' *means*. Because lemme tell you something, pretty baby -- nobody but *nobody* needs you to be perfect."

"I'm going to have to disagree with -- oh. Ah. Hm."

"Yeah, think about that for a minute. Nobody needs you to be perfect, but a whole lot of people need you to be *human*."

That -- is worth a slow nod.

"You... could fight me more, you know."

Tim raises an eyebrow again. "Would you like me to? When you're speaking reasonably and sensibly?"

Roy narrows his eyes. "Sometimes I think you *are* a little too perfect. A little too..." Roy shakes his head. "Is it me, baby?"

"If you're asking me if I'd be this... agreeable with anyone who took my virginity... ah. I'm not sure what to tell you. I've always been somewhat... impressionable."

"What does *that* mean?"

Tim spreads his hands. "I live most of my life surrounded by brilliant, dedicated people who devote their lives to improving the world we live in. Of course I want to be more like them."

"And when it comes to me?"

"Roy, you're... well, you're *wise*. You don't just know how to live a useful, happy life, you *live* what you know. Becoming more like you seems like an exceedingly good idea."

"And that year you spent in training with *Bruce*..."

"And those years I spent following Dick, yes. I... you're in good company? I think? I... ah. I suspect I'm somewhat creepy. When you get right down to it."

Roy snorts and scratches at his stubble. "Little 'mano. You have to be *yourself*. You know that, right?"

"I *am* myself. I just -- part of being myself is being... adaptable. Protean? All right, not quite that --"

"Are you sure?"

"Are you worried?"

"A little, yeah. I like seeing you happy. I like seeing you relaxed. I *love* being able to push you to open up. I don't want a slave."

"You won't ever have one."

"Tim --"

"You *won't* ever have one, Roy. I..." Tim smiles and shakes his head. "You made yourself abundantly clear about that. And... I'm not as impressionable as I used to be. I'm always going to be prissy -- and at least somewhat bitchy. I'm always going to be ruthless -- as necessary. I'm always going to be cautious, romantic, geeky --"

"How geeky?"

"If there's anything you want to know about Monty Python or the Kids in the Hall -- or, for that matter, Gotham's crime statistics -- I'm your man. The same is the case for any number of obscure bands with at least a moderately atonal sound. And crime photography. And personality disorders. Other things."

Roy's smile is -- bright. Sunny, again. "Okay, what else. Who are you?"

"Obsessive. Neurotic. Inclined toward throwing myself -- to at least some extent -- at people who are neither of those things."

"Like me and your girl."

"Exactly. One of the things that obsesses me is the nature of the chosen family, and everything it can mean, everything it can *include*... I have Daddy issues. And Mommy issues. I wouldn't call myself either Oedipal or Electral, but then, who really would?"

"Bruce is your real Daddy."

Tim smiles and knows it isn't very sunny, at all. "Sometimes. When it's very late, very dark, and very everything else enough that the guilt doesn't outweigh the exhaustion -- or the need. I suspect that won't last forever, though. He doesn't really want me to be his son, I don't think."

Roy sighs. "Yeah, neither do I. Still, though -- he could surprise both of us."

"Very true."

"Do you want him to?"

Tim lifts a hand and waves it back and forth. "Ask me again once I'm actually accustomed to making love with him. And, well, conversing with him about things other than the Mission, chess, and the few literary interests we share."

"When does he have time to *read*?"

Tim smiles. "He told me, once, that he'll often speed-read a chapter of a book, memorizing as much as is possible, and save the *actual* reading for when he's, say, lifting weights. He made it sound like a cow chewing its cud."

Roy snorts. "God, I -- and he wants his life for you."

"I want it, too. I -- I think I need it."

"That isn't all you need."

Tim smiles a little more widely. "I have no intention of making his mistakes, Roy."

"So long as you realize they *were* mistakes --"

"I'm not. I don't ever intend to let you go. Not -- without a fight."

Roy's lips part for a moment -- he nods.

"It's just -- sometimes I think that at least half the battles Bruce has fought over the years were the wrong ones. Fighting to keep himself apart from Dick -- and before that Harvey Dent -- fighting to keep his involvement with... his compatriots casual, fighting to teach Dick how to be more apart from everything that made him who he was... I could go on. There has to be room for humanity. And -- that's why I'm not fighting you, Roy."

"Because I'm making you more human?"

"Because I can see that you haven't fought the wrong battles, and that, when you have, you've *stopped*. A part of me wants to grow up to be Bruce's alter ego, and that's a part of me which I need to survive -- on the street. It doesn't do a damned thing for the rest of my life and I... I know that. Steph taught me the lessons about love not even Dick could have given me. My team taught me other lessons. And you... you're teaching me still more.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to worry about me... single-white-male-ing you, or anything like that. You're not the first teacher I've ever had, and you *won't* be the last."

Roy nods... and smiles ruefully. "And now the contrary bastard in me is just wondering what it would take to *make* myself the last... but you don't have to worry about that."

"Hm. I think, perhaps, I'll use that thought to keep me warm at night. In my cold, lonely bed."

Roy groans. "Don't even start about that, little 'mano. At least *your* bed doesn't have quite so *many* acres of empty space to mock you."

"Is it very cruel?"

"Oh, it's terrible. Just last night it was talkin' shit about my sexual prowess."

"I hope you punished it appropriately."

"Hell, yeah. If by 'appropriately' you mean I came all over it."

Tim laughs helplessly.

"Yeah, look at you. I'll be waiting for you tomorrow."

"And I... will get absolutely nothing done in school tomorrow morning."

"Aw, don't be like *that*, little 'mano. If you're not -- heh -- perfect, *someone* might get suspicious. Can't have that."

Tim smiles at Roy. "Goodnight."

"Back at you. Tell your girl I said hey -- and see you soon."

So much *warmth* -- Tim shivers. "Will do."

Roy frowns. "Uh... hunh. How *do* I cut this connection? It's not like this is the Titans computer. Or the Outsiders one, for that matter."

Heh. "You could let O do it for you."

That... is a beautifully realized look of consternation. "You know, O, if you *want* me on your leash, you could just say so."

"Haven't I." And the synthesized voice is, in fact, creepier than it used to be -- even though Tim is *only* hearing it from Roy's place.

Whether or not it's twelve times as creepy is a calculus that is, at the moment, beyond him. It's enough that Roy is wincing *and* laughing --

"Okay, *okay*. I'm your bitch, O. Please prove it to me in some terrifying --"

'Way' is what Roy was probably going to say. The connection is cut, though... so.

Tim looks directly into the camera. "Thank you, Oracle. I'll be out as soon as Dana and my father are snoring."

The monitor flickers -- and shows the mask. Smoking a cigarette.

Tim snorts and blows a *kiss* to the camera.

And then does his homework at speed.

*

First period study hall has to be one of the stupider inventions of the modern education world. While it gives a certain fraction of the student body just enough time to do a terrible job on the homework they didn't do the night before, it *mostly* gives students just enough time to go back to sleep -- and thus be even less wakeful and ready to face the day than they would've been if the day had started with an actual class.

It does, however, have one very important benefit. And that benefit has dyed white-blonde streaks into her already blonde hair for reasons which will hopefully become clear once the benefit --

Well, Steph is working on a note to pass him. This is always a good thing, if only for the perennial joy inherent to attempting to connect Steph's personality to her shamelessly girly handwriting. There are *loops*.

No hearts, but the overall impression is one of hearts being *possible*.

Maybe -- just maybe -- smiley faces.

Tim hums to himself and settles in to think of compliments to shower Steph with once it comes to be time for him to respond. They've yet to be *caught* passing notes, but Tim would very much like to make any such event spectacular. It's not that the small, humid world of their high school isn't entirely aware that he and Steph are seeing each other. It's...

It is, perhaps, another way to be an exhibitionist. Let the world know that Steph's curves could inspire sculptors, that her fingernails are perfectly curved and strong, that her hands could crush nuts --

All right, maybe not that one.

The note arrives --

Since you *asked*, boyfriend -- and yes, you *do* get mega-points for noticing right away -- it's a mother-daughter thing. Mom was *going* to just deal with her hair turning grey by going all conservative and boring, but I talked her out of it.

*She's* currently a knockout of a redhead, and I... am just as trashy as I wanna be. Don't worry -- no tramp-stamps in my future or anything like that --

Well, maybe a temporary one. With, like, your name in two-inch tall Gothic letters. Or maybe 'thug life.' You don't know! The world is so totally my blonde-on-blonde oyster right now. Meanwhile --

'Hey?' He said 'hey?' I rate a 'hey?' How much *do* you talk about me with him? Do I need to tell you what people are supposed to *do* when they're out with someone on a... uh...

Anyway. Explain to me this thing where you're not eating lunch with me today. Do it now or I'll tattoo your *boss's* name on my ass.

Well. Tim starts:

I love you.

Tim thinks --

In the sunlight, your hair is a corona -- in the sense of it being nearly crown-like. You seem like royalty, distant and not entirely real.

Yes, he likes that. And --

Your sweater is pink today -- a bold choice considering your complexion, which truly is peaches and cream, but less in terms of stereotypes of paleness mixed with rosiness, and more in terms of the quality of richness, depth...

I love you.

The sweater goes marvelously with those jeans -- which are, in fact, my favorite. They hug your curves with willful affection, and make me long to be nearer to you than will be possible for all too long.

Tim looks it over... yes, that works.

With regards to your questions... well, the individual in question and I speak a great deal about the people we care for, and about the nature of care -- love -- in general. As such, it's only natural for you to come up often, since you've taught me much of what I know about love.

I said as much to him last night. While I can't be sure that that was what inspired him to send his regards... well. One of the things we spoke about was my desire that the two of you meet, and that the three of us -- four of us? -- spend time together. Perhaps we could arrange a dinner?

As for lunch today... well, we've arranged something of an engagement. This is rather embarrassing for me, but exciting as well.

... very exciting.

I look forward to discussing this and other things with you at length this evening.

I love you.

The trick to having one's notes make it to their destinations quickly is to not pay any attention to the circuitous routes they must take. While Tim is fully aware that this is more of a superstition -- a rank one, even -- than anything else, he can't help being absolutely sure that it's true just the same.

He focuses on looking over his calculus problem set for errors and poor penmanship. The teacher -- Mrs. Fleem -- has the handwriting of a cocaine-addled physician, and Tim is hoping to encourage her to improve by example.

He knows this won't work even a little, but, sometimes, principles are important.

He really is in a *very* good mood --

Steph... coughs. In that very particular way that means that she's actually snorting.

Score.

*Another* cough --

A fake *sneeze* --

Tim smiles and flips to the part of his notebook he's reserved for his -- sad, pathetic, and occasionally frightening -- efforts at sketching. The one of Steph is recognizable, but makes her look rather like she's moments from leaping out of the page and wreaking bloody mayhem.

Tim adds the small beauty mark she has on her cheek, and darkens parts of her hair to imply streaks...

The word 'mange' comes to mind. He flips to another page.

The sketch of Dana and his father works much better -- mainly because they're barely more than stylized figures in a fairly well-realized living room. Tim looks it over... then pulls out his multi-ink pen and colors Dana's sports bra blue. She likes that color quite a lot.

He continues through his sketches, adding and changing things as he goes, until he notices that a note has made it to the student just behind him and to the right. It has picked up a number of doodles from what Tim can see, and it's entirely possible that at least some of those doodles will be better, artistically, than what he can manage.

Some things can't be taught. Well.

Some things can't be taught to *him*.

Tim waits until the teacher -- Miss Lyle, today, and it wouldn't be remotely surprising if at least some of the sketches were of her --

Or parts of her --

She looks down at her netbook. Tim reaches back, snags the note, and unfolds it within his history text -- taking time to note the doodle of what look to be orchids growing improbably out of a grassy meadow --

You're unwell.

This is almost certainly true. But --

I love you *best*.

Tim hums.

I'll think about dinner. I promise. And -- yeah, make it for four. But don't invite him *yet*! I have to *think* about this, boyfriend!

Of course.

How... um. You keep shifting in your chair. *Subtly*, but still. Which -- how big *is* he? Seriously, you're just... advertising.

To me! Just to me.

I think.

Oh... dear. Well, he definitely can't share the Bruce aspects of his romantic life in *note* form --

We've got time to get one more note across the room. Get to writin'!

Indeed. Tim tucks Steph's note in the binder he has set aside for that purpose -- and that purpose alone -- and pulls out a clean sheet.

It's less a matter of size than of... accessories. And I *will* tell you more as soon as we can speak freely with each other -- a moment I long for desperately.

You are the most beautiful woman in the world.

Tim sends the note on its route around the room, and slips halfway into the meditative state which allows him to be aware of his surroundings without being -- quite -- touched by them.

After about five minutes, he can feel attention on him coming from his right, but not especially close. He looks --

And Steph raises her eyebrows, tapping the note against her palm.

Tim nods in acknowledgment --

And isn't the least bit surprised when, three and a half hours later, Steph is waiting for him at the bus stop closest to the school. Tim has a pass for the day; Steph is, at the moment, cutting American History. Tim frowns and sits beside her --

"Don't start, boyfriend. You *had* to know that I'd need to get the goods."

"I did know, but -- I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Like *you*?"

"Ah -- I set this up ahead of time actually," Tim says, and holds up his pass.

Steph stares at it. Steph stares at him. Steph *glares* at him --

"Steph --"

"You -- are totally rearranging your *life* for this guy! Tim! What are you *thinking*?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "That -- I want as much of him as I can have."

"You love him."

"I -- yes."

"*Tim* --"

"I know, I know, it's much too soon. He feels the same way. I really think I freak him out at least a little --"

"You're freaking *me* out," Steph says, and smacks the back of Tim's head.

"Um. Ow?"

She smacks him again.

"Steph --"

She smacks him *again* --

"Steph, eventually I'm going to have to *stop* you before we get *arrested* --"

"You -- you can't *do* this, boyfriend! You just --" Steph growls and shakes her head --

"Your hair really does look wonderful --"

"Yes, it *does*, and you thinking so marks you as a Jersey boy to the bone, but that's okay because I *love* you that way, and --" Steph growls again. She sighs. She bangs her palm against her forehead a few times --

"Please don't do that, Steph --"

"Shut *up*. I -- okay. Okay. First and foremost --" She pulls a pack of gum out of her purse. Tim takes one, she takes her usual two, seeming to visibly relax as the fake watermelon flavor fills her mouth.

It tastes like kisses.

"Okay, you... got him to call in for you or something?"

"Yes. Though I wouldn't be surprised if O did it for him."

"Jesus. You've got *her* in on this?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "She seems to approve, yes. I've -- asked her for advice."

Steph frowns. "Does she. She likes him better than she likes me. Doesn't she?"

"Steph --"

"She's the one who said that the Birds wouldn't train me, anymore, and -- God, of course she'd want you with a *good* vigilante --"

"Steph, she told me to order Bruce to train you. Ah. When you -- ah. *If* you decide to come back."

"What -- what does that even *mean*?"

Tim rests a hand on Steph's knee. "It means, I think, that she felt you weren't right for the Birds, but that you *could* be right for us. And -- she doesn't have anything against you. At all."

"But she's setting you *up* with -- him."

"I really wish you knew his name."

"You want us all to hang *out*. I -- look, boyfriend, I'm glad you care about me that much --"

"Love you. I love you. And -- you're not my sister, and you'll never be -- we'll never be *physical* lovers, but I want that with you in every other way," Tim says, and squeezes her knee.

"You kind of *info*-dump, Tim. I mean -- you need to give a girl a chance to let her *brain* work."

Tim winces. "I know, I'm sorry. This is all -- moving very quickly."

Steph sighs and leans back on the bench. After a moment, she pulls Tim close --

Tim rests his head on Steph's broad, curved shoulder and breathes in the scent of her shampoo and fabric softener. Two warm scents designed to make him happy, make him *relax* --

"I love you best."

"Thank you."

"You -- you can't just rearrange your entire life for -- your man. No matter *what* freaky BDSM shit you're up to."

"I don't plan on it. But -- I am enjoying taking advantage of various opportunities to --"

"Rebel? Seriously? And -- what *does* your boss say about all of this? I know he had to have said *something*."

Tim blushes -- focuses. "I don't see it as rebellion. Not really. Not unless I'm rebelling against myself, if that makes any sense."

Steph strokes the back of Tim's neck. "It does, actually. You *are* your own personal authority figure. Or... well. You *were*."

"I'm not going to let this interrupt either my life or my mission, Steph. I *am* going to let it *color* my life and my mission."

Steph sighs. "Sometimes I still wish I could've been enough color for you."

Tim winces --

Steph *grips* the back of his neck. "Stop that."

"Um. Ah. Um?"

Steph snickers. "Yeah, I'll just *bet* he does that to you. You've got so *many* Robin-spots."

"I hardly feel very Robinly when I'm *touched* in those spots, Steph."

"Hush. You have to let me make my jokes. It's not like there's anyone I can *talk* to about the fact that most of the rumors about Robin are true."

That won't always be the case, Steph. "I love you."

"I know."

"There's something else."

"Oh, boy. Am I gonna need a third piece of gum for this?"

Maybe if the gum is *vodka*-flavored... focus. Tim sits up and takes Steph's hands in his own --

"Oh, God. You're not pregnant, are you?"

Tim chokes on his gum --

Steph beams. "There, there, boyfriend. You're fine."

Tim coughs the gum back out of his throat, breathes, focuses -- "I'm sleeping with Batman, too."

"You're boning Bruce *Wayne*!? Are you fucking *sick*?"

Tim -- doesn't blink. "Ah -- Steph, I just said --"

"I *know* what you just said, you ass. You *lived* with him. Or did you think I *wouldn't* google you as soon as I had your name?"

Tim swallows. "Really, he's. He was a friend of the family --"

"Who your Dad wouldn't piss on if he was on *fire* --"

"-- who took an interest in me after the amount of... of press coverage... ah."

Steph is staring at him. She's really --

Well, it's not really a glare. It's a patient stare that may very well unman him, and --

And, in the face of the power of Steph, there is only ever one thing to do. "All right, yes, I'm having sex with Bruce. And -- I can't tell you whether I'm sick or not. Though I probably am, considering --"

"Considering that you wouldn't *be* boning Arsenal if you hadn't been so fucked up over what he *did* to you that you had to leave the damned *city* --" Steph growls at him. "Boyfriend. *Talk*."

"Yes. I. I have a better understanding of what he wants from me --"

"And it turns you *on*?"

"Not -- not that, in particular. I --" Tim sighs and squeezes Steph's hands. "I've always wanted him. Sleeping with Roy -- hell --"

"Roy, hunh? It's kind of a stupid cowboy name, but I guess it could be worse. Like Wilbur. Or *Bruce Wayne* -- wait, let me hit you again --"

"Ah -- no? Please?"

Steph narrows her eyes at him. "You talkie or I hittie."

"Right, yes, all right. Sleeping with -- with *Roy* kind of... well, first and foremost, I should say that Roy and I wound up having sex in the base of operations of one of Bruce's aliases --"

"Oh, that's just *wrong* -- keep going."

"Yes. That -- ah. Bruce paid attention. And when I talked to him about it... he confessed that he wanted me. And I just --"

"Gave it *up*?"

"Not right then. He tried to -- he told me that he wanted us to 'be strong' and ignore the attraction we felt. Which made me want to -- to beat him with a two-by-four, actually --"

"But instead you used your damned *dick*." Steph flares her nostrils. "I'd call an intervention on your ass if I wasn't the only one who would show *up*."

Tim smiles ruefully and squeezes her hands again. "If it helps, I'm reasonably sure that Nightwing --"

"Richard *Grayson* --"

"Right. He prefers 'Dick,' by the way --"

"No way!"

"Yes. It's -- his sense of humor is kind of... vigorously abysmal --"

Steph yanks her hands away, slaps him -- moderately hard -- and crosses her arms over her chest. "He agrees with me. Your *idol* agrees with me about what you're doing with Roy and Bruce --"

"I..." Tim winces. "I don't think he knows about Bruce. Yet."

"You're keeping secrets from your idol? Your *brother*?"

"I'm keeping *everything* away from him for the moment, Steph, because the last time we spoke --"

"When he got on your case about *Roy* --"

"I confessed that I'd been in love with him -- obsessed with him -- for a very long time, and I... he kissed me. Kind of. It was one hell of a kiss, actually --"

"And I really *do* wanna beat him for that," *Roy* says, and sits down on the bench next to Tim, "but my reasons are all fucked-up. Since he's already outed me to you -- and you to me --"

"Tim!"

"It slipped out! I'm sorry, I'm really very -- ah --"

And Roy has one hand on Tim's shoulder and he's reaching past Tim with the other one. "I'm Roy. Can I call you Steph?"

Steph narrows her eyes -- but she shakes Roy's hand. She --

Well, she's actually using a fair amount of her *prodigious* hand-strength, which is really not very polite with an Arrow --

But Roy winces and smiles. "Yeah, you're pissed at me, and I think you probably should be. I'm a terrible influence."

"The fact that you *know* that doesn't make it any less *true*," Steph says, taking her hand back. "Seriously, you look younger in the mask. You're way too old for Tim."

Tim opens his mouth --

"Shut *up*, boyfriend."

Tim closes his mouth --

"So you *do* have a type," Roy says, and claps him on the shoulder. "That's cool." He turns back to Steph. "I love your hair. And I love your boyfriend."

Tim blushes a *lot* --

Steph narrows her eyes at him again -- and then she blinks. "That's the first time you've said it. Isn't it."

Roy squeezes Tim's shoulder and slips off the bench, moving until he can crouch at the point of a roughly equilateral triangle -- and look at both of them at once. "It's the first time. I couldn't -- I couldn't, before."

Steph crosses her legs and kicks out repeatedly -- just barely missing Roy's jaw. "You made him say it first."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"You made *him* say it --"

"Steph --"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"You did, yes, but really -- I wanted to say it," Tim says, and cups Steph's knee again. "It felt good to say it. The way it feels with you."

Steph looks down and... well, the only word for it is 'fumes.'

Roy reaches out and strokes down the top of Tim's foot through his trainer, slow and firm. A comforting touch --

"I *saw* that, *Roy*."

"I'm not gonna hide from you. I'm used to being something of a dirty little secret, Stephanie, and the fact that Tim *doesn't* want that from me... well, to be frank, I'm kinda wallowing in it. And I wanna know you."

Steph squeezes her eyes shut -- opens them. "You're fucking with his life."

"Yeah, I am --"

"It's *my* life," Tim says, and *then* remembers to control his voice -- damn. And Steph and Roy are looking at him. Right. "It's my life," Tim says again, quietly, "and the only thing that's really worrying me, Steph, is the thought that you... might not want to be a part of it."

Steph looks incredibly *sad* -- and then she blanks her features. "It's not that. It's. You're *changing*, Tim."

It's not really a surprise that Roy has a somewhat *frightened* look on his face, and -- he can cope.

"I know I am. But I'm still -- I'm still me. All of this was already in me, and I think -- you *know* that, Steph. You knew that, because I stopped trying to hide anything about me from you when Bruce outed me. And I've never regretted a moment of that. I love you."

"I need. I need to know what that means now, Tim. I mean, you've told me in a lot of damned ways, but -- lay it all out for me. Now, please."

Tim nods. "I want to be with you whenever we can. I want to share my life with you -- everything you want to hear, and at least some of the things you don't. I want -- one day, I'd like to... to live with you --"

Roy clears his throat --

Tim winces --

Steph frowns. "What was *that*."

"I. Um. It's just that -- ah."

"He wants to marry you, Stephanie. He -- really, really does."

Steph... crosses her eyes. "How does that even work in your *head*?"

"It... features an apartment. With three bedrooms. One for you, one for me, and one... one for us to share. When we're not with other people. Your clothes and other belongings are scattered all over, and you constantly play country music, and -- there's a lot of light. Especially in the kitchen, where I use everything Alfred's taught me to cook things for you," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "I -- it's a fantasy that lets me sleep at night, Steph. Very. Very well."

Steph blinks rather a lot, and then gets the expression on her face which usually means that Tim is about to forcibly hugged, and --

And then she turns to Roy. "What do *you* want outta my boyfriend?"

Roy's smile is crooked and wry. "Absolutely everything. I want his thoughts, his dreams, his fantasies, his body, his heart... I want to watch him playing with my daughter. I want him to join my team. I want to bring him back to Star City for Thanksgiving dinner, and I want to buy him incredibly obscene -- and hopefully useful -- things for Christmas. I want to give him a birthday present that *won't* traumatize him --"

Steph snorts --

"Yeah, exactly. I got off the computer with him last night and spilled my guts to my brother Connor -- you met him once, he said --"

"Green Arrow junior. Yeah. Um -- go on," Steph says, shifting and covering the hand Tim has on her knee with her own.

"Well..." Roy smiles up at Tim. "I'd already told him a little. When I shared the parts about how I was feeling -- *all* of how I'm feeling, from the fear to the happiness so sweet it fucking *hurts*... yeah, he pointed out that I already knew the name for what was going on in my heart."

Tim smiles at Roy because he *has* to --

"Of course, then I had to be kind of an ass about it and point out how much experience with this kind of thing Connor *doesn't* have..."

Tim winces --

"Yeah, pretty much. He laughed at me. And then he laughed some more. And then he laughed so hard I thought he was gonna yark all over the damned phone --"

Steph doesn't quite harrumph, but it's close. "He *should've* flown out here to beat the shit out of you."

"That's what I told *him*, but, you know, he's still rockin' that Buddhist-everywhere-but-the-street thing, and it's not like I can judge him for that. Anyway, he pointed out that what I described was everything he felt for me, minus the sexuality..."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Yeah, little 'mano, you better fucking *believe* that that's a punch in the cock -- I'd been *hoping* --"

"You wanted to have sex with your *brother*?"

Roy laughs quietly. "Could you say that a little louder next time, Stephanie? Just kinda *belt* it out there?"

Steph doesn't even come close to blushing. She does, however, go back to *nearly* kicking Roy in the jaw every five seconds.

Tim squeezes her knee. "They're not related by blood, and they weren't raised together --"

"And also Connor's really pretty? I -- well, no, he actually is really pretty."

"Yeah he is."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment, yes, Steph --"

"He's -- well, he's prettier than you, boyfriend."

"It can't be an insult if it's true," Tim says, and pats her knee.

"I mean -- he's got that mouth."

Roy sighs. "You should see him eating strawberries."

"Ooh -- um." Steph shifts, frowns, seems to be *trying* to bring back her own sense of rage --

"I've always been far more fascinated by his physique, what with its blend of the heavy muscle of an archer and the lean sharpness of an expert martial artist," Tim says, because sometimes manipulative distraction is the better part of valor. "I'm not sure if you noticed his legs, Steph, but --"

"Mm. Yeah. They -- uh. They really." Steph gets a distinctly dreamy look on her face. "I mean, they're not all that *thick*, but --"

"Sleek. *Long*," Roy says, and sketches their shape in the air --

"And then there's his *ass*."

Tim hums. "Quite... quite round. Inspiring."

Steph hums -- Tim can almost *feel* her thinking about where to place the Green Arrow II poster she *will* acquire -- and then she sighs and stops almost-kicking Roy. "Tim's sixteen."

"And I'll be twenty-seven soon. You -- you wanna protect him. I can get behind that."

"You can 'get behind' a *lot* of things when it comes to Tim," Steph says, raising her eyebrows and *just* turning her foot in circles.

Roy raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No lies, no denials. And it's not just Tim. I'm always gonna be involved with my first team. I'm *gonna* be involved with my current team. And then there are all the other people, the shallow relationships and the deep ones. I don't particularly *like* being called a dog, but I have to admit that I *am* one at least some of the time."

Steph nods slowly and turns to Tim -- "I don't have to ask you if you can live with that. I know you can."

Tim smiles ruefully. "I've always... well. You know that if there's anyone you want to be... involved with -- "

"You got jealous of -- BG."

"I also got better," Tim says, twining his fingers with Steph's own. "I love you."

"I *know* --"

"And I know you love me. That this conversation wouldn't be happening -- or happening this *way* -- if you didn't. It makes me." Tim smiles again. "You always make me warm, Steph."

*Flash* --

"Sorry about that, guys, I just really needed a picture of you two lookin' like that," Roy says, waggling his camera phone in the air before tucking it away.

Steph rubs her eyes. "Who do you plan to *show* it to?"

"Me, mostly. I've got a lot of happy pictures," Roy says, and winks at Tim. "I never cared about things like that when I was your age, but I *should* have, you know? Plus -- Lian is addicted to people who look like they love each other. I don't really *want* her watching soap operas, but I have to admit that it's better than all the time I used to spend running between the legs of women wearing skirts and hoping."

Tim chokes --

"Oh, you did *not*! How *old* were you?"

Roy shrugs. "I don't actually remember when I *started*, so... I'd say pretty young. In my defense, the only women running around in skirts on the rez were rich idiots gawking at the Natives. I like to think I got a little of my own back."

Steph blinks, and Tim knows she's thinking about how to frame the question --

"Easy, Stephanie, just ask. I was raised on a Navajo reservation, not in a concentration camp. There was a lot of fucked-up shit there -- most of which could be boiled down to 'poverty and lots of it' -- but it's not actually something you have to be sensitive with me about. I swear."

Steph blushes -- and smiles ruefully. "It's nothing. I just feel guilty for thinking your arm tattoo is douche-y now."

Roy snorts. "Yeah, okay, I hear that. I kinda hate to think that I'm encouraging people to get tattoos which have nothing whatsoever to do with their *lives*, but there ya go."

Steph squeezes Tim's hand. "I... I'm gonna leave you guys now and get to the end of class. I'll use the messy period excuse if the teacher asks."

Tim smiles. "Be sure to mention the menstrual clotting if he doesn't want to listen."

Roy snorts --

"You know it, boyfriend," Steph says, and kisses him softly and -- not briefly.

It's a sweet kiss, lingering and soft --

And Steph hooks the gum out of Tim's mouth with her tongue. "Mmm. You *never* chew all the sugar out of your gum. I *love* you."

"And I love the power and fortitude of your jaw," Tim says, and squeezes her hand one more time.

Steph blows a bubble half the size of her *head* -- and sucks the gum back in with noisily obvious pleasure and hums. "We can do dinner sometime," she says, and turns to Roy. "And you'll show me *all* your pictures of... Lily?"

Roy grins. "Lian. And you know it. Just tell me when."

"Uh, huh." Steph stands, brushes off the back of her jeans, and strokes two fingers down Tim's cheek. "Keep... keep being my boyfriend."

"Always."

Steph's smile is as soft as her kiss was --

And then she jogs back to the campus without another word. Her form is still perfect --

And for a moment, she's the eggplant girl who may or may not be hiding a brick in her cape somewhere, the girl who follows *him* --

And Roy rests a hand on Tim's knee.

"I -- sorry --"

"Keep her *forever*, little 'mano."

"God, yes --"

"I mean it. She's gonna need you to *be* the person she fell in love with, and you need to give that to her *while* giving her time to get used to the new you."

Tim closes his eyes -- opens them and smiles ruefully at Roy. "A part of me... a part of me is always going to be the fourteen-year-old prodding carefully at a bruise like a sunset and wondering if it counted as being in an abusive relationship."

Roy grins. "It *never* counts when they're that hot."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"I'm just sayin', little 'mano. You gotta make *sacrifices* for the good ones."

Tim hums. "And what should I sacrifice for you...?"

Roy... shows his teeth. "Everything. Every last little bit of you. *Right* now."

"Kiss me. Please."

Roy raises his own eyebrows. "Right here on the street?"

Tim blinks. "That's... problematic?"

"God, you kids today -- c'mere," Roy says standing and tugging Tim up to join him --

And *this* kiss is sweet, too. Sweet and slow, deep and *gently* wet as Tim wraps his arms around Roy's neck, as Roy cups the back of Tim's head with one hand and Tim's hip with the other --

Roy hums into Tim's mouth and teases Tim's tongue, seemingly searching for the taste of sugar and fake watermelon --

Roy's eyes are closed, but it feels like everything else is open. Feels --

Roy loves him.

He loves *Roy* --

They love each other, and Steph doesn't want to kill Roy, and Bruce --

Well, Bruce is *Bruce*, but right now that seems all right, too, and even better than that --

He has to admit that *most* things seem a lot better than all right just now --

Roy pulls back, *licks* Tim's mouth -- "I'm parked *right* around the corner."

Tim smiles. "Then please, Mr. Harper, take me home."

Roy grins -- and sticks his hand in the back pocket of Tim's jeans.

"Oh -- ah. Wow. Steph hasn't done that since I accidentally stabbed her with shrapnel I was working with for the explosive pellets."

"You were keeping it in your back *pocket*?"

"They were very thick jeans. And really, it was the kind of material that could only do serious damage when it's sent flying at a criminal's face at high speed."

Roy snorts and *pulls* Tim along. "I think I'll just enjoy this while I can, then."

"Mm. Please do."

The motorcycle seems to be the same one Roy uses for Arsenal, which makes the lack of a stenciled 'A' on the thing seem like a far more intelligent choice than it had before, but...

But.

"Aren't you worried about people stealing it when you park it... ah... at night?"

Roy's smile is sharp and a little distant. "My baby might not have as many tricks and traps as yours does, but it does have a few," he says, and pulls out helmets for both of them. "Also? In Star City, at least, a stencil isn't enough to keep people with sticky fingers away."

Tim nods. It's true that they have the second-highest vehicle theft rate -- a function of there being so many drag-worthy roads just beyond the city limits -- in the country. *But* -- "There's something to be said for brand recognition, Roy."

Roy shakes his head. "Bruce really does hunt down *everyone* who fucks with those cars, doesn't he?"

"With great pleasure. Honestly, it's one of the first things I bonded with him about."

"You *know* how Jay got a ticket into this life, right?"

Tim grins. "It's one of the finest and warmest pleasures of my life that Bruce never caught *me* when I appropriated something from one of his vehicles."

Roy blinks. "Okay, what -- no, wait, helmets on. You'll tell me over the radio."

"Mm. As you say."

Once they're on the bike and positioned well -- and yes, there *is* a part of him which will always enjoy riding pillion on a good bike behind a good man *almost* as much as he enjoys taking a bike out himself -- Roy starts it up and takes them out on the road. "We're talking *before* B knew you existed, yeah?"

"Oh, yes. I could never get any good *pictures* of the cars -- they blended with the shadows far too well, and it's not like I could always, or even often, risk using the flash -- so, one night... I unscrewed the stylized bat from the grill. I stabbed myself with it multiple times before I got it home, but it was the star of my collection for quite a long time."

"Uh, huh. So you took his bat. And his gauntlet. What else? Anything from Dick?"

"To be fair, the gauntlet was going to be discarded because of damage --"

"Answer the *question*."

Tim -- well, that might have actually been a purr.

"Ooh. I think I *like* that noise."

"You're a very educational man, Roy. And, in answer to the question, I came *very* close to stealing one of Dick's escrima bastons in a moment of pure, unadulterated, mindless lust --"

"Those things are *way* too slim for your needs, pretty baby."

"Mm. All right, now I'm thinking that the next time someone rims me, whatever sounds they make will *echo* -- "

Roy snickers. "*You* stretched your own ass. Live with the consequences."

Tim hums just slightly non-committally --

"Heh. Be good, now. What stopped you from stealing it?"

"The same thing that stopped me from telling Steph that I still had the brick she hit me with by way of introduction -- a conversation I'd had with her in which she informed me that she found most forms of memorabilia collection both creepy and 'stalkerish.' I decided to... well. Be good."

"But you'd already *had* the bat --"

"I got rid of it when Bruce agreed to take me on. I really couldn't have handled it if he'd confiscated it the way he'd confiscated all of my photos and files."

"Aw, that's a shame."

"Well. I still have the scars it left on me before I figured out how to safely hold the thing."

Another snicker -- "Hunh. Wait, didn't Stephanie stalk *you*?"

She really *hadn't* given Roy permission to call her Steph... yet. Tim sighs. "According to the light of my life --"

"Her hair really is fantastic."

"God, yes. But, according to her, she was stalking *Robin*, which is different from stalking a 'real person.'"

Roy hums again and takes the bike up to fifty, weaving it easily through traffic -- "By *that* logic, you could've told yourself you were taking *N's* escrima stick."

Tim grins. "There have been many times when I've wished I could lie to myself *effectively*."

"Heh. Noted, little 'mano. I'm not gonna encourage you to do even a little of that now."

"Thank you."

"You -- really don't have to thank me for that --"

"Don't I? Honestly, Roy, everyone wants me to lie to at least a certain extent. Well, not Steph. Steph wishes some things were true that aren't, but she never wants the lie... anyway. My father and stepmother want me to lie to myself about where my real home is, who my real *parents* are, and -- all of that --"

"Yeah, but they don't even *know* there's a truth out there they *could* know --"

"And they wouldn't be happy if they *did* know that. And then there's Dick, who wants me to lie to myself and say that I could honestly love him the way we both want me to, love him without ripping myself into numerous tiny -- but attractive, I guarantee it -- pieces --"

"He *won't* want that once he thinks about it. You know that."

"Hm. Do I?"

"Tim."

Tim sighs. "All right, yes, you're right, but there's still -- sometimes Dick takes his *time* about thinking about things -- as opposed to *feeling* about them --"

"He needs you to love him."

"I never. I never should have let him know --"

"No, little 'mano, leave it. One -- you should never regret being honest, being *real*. Because lying always hurts more in the long run. Two -- there's nothing you can do about it now but *live* with it. Dwelling on should'ves and could'ves and all that shit will just bog you down in the *past*. You can't live if you're too busy surviving on the scraps of your own pain."

"I --" Tim snorts. "Have you ever considered writing a self-help book?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what I'm gonna retire on. 'Seven Habits of Reasonably Successful -- Sometimes -- Vigilantes.' The chapter on beating on dealers *just* to take their stash is gonna be Pulitzer material."

Tim squeezes Roy hard --

"Hey, no, you don't have to --"

"That wasn't a hug, Roy. That was a placeholder for a *slap* that would be much too difficult to deliver while we're traveling at this speed."

*Roy* snorts. "And what would *that* be for?"

"You're a lot more than *your* past. And -- you actually *do* know that. You live that way and you *work* that way. You don't get to dispense wisdom and then deny that you *have* it."

"I -- heh. You sure about that? I mean, there's something to be said for *modesty*, Tim."

"I -- really do love the ways you say my name --"

"Noted. But?"

"*But* -- there's modesty, and it can even be becoming. Nobody really wants Superman to fly around bragging about what he does every day to save the world. However there's also *false* modesty, which can be just as offensive as braggadocio -- if not more so."

"And that's what you think I was bringing?"

"No. Because on the other side of the spectrum there's *stupidity*, specifically the stupidity of refusing to acknowledge that we are, in fact, older and *wiser* than we once were. You -- you've lived so *much*, Roy. And *most* of the time you know that. I -- I want you to know it all the time."

Roy sighs, and the sound needs warmth, the faint dampness of breath against Tim's ear --

Tim squeezes Roy again --

"Was that another slap?"

"Ah -- no. I just -- no."

"No, stay with me, little 'mano. Keep *pushing* me."

Well... Tim splays his fingers on Roy's abdomen and scratches in short, firm strokes --

"Okay, if you keep pushing me *that* way, we might just have an accident," Roy says, laughing a little and *pressing* back against Tim, which --

"Mixed messages much?"

"Yeah, sometimes. C'mon, give it to me more. Explain how I'm stupid."

"You're not -- you were just *acting* stupid, or. You were *letting* yourself act stupid in the interest of... well, I'm actually not sure. You *have* to know that you're more intelligent -- and sane -- about interpersonal relationships and life in general than the average vigilante, and therefore you *should* know that you actually *could* write a self-help book, or -- God, just hold *seminars*."

"Sometimes..." Roy shakes his head. "No, keep going."

"No, tell me. Please."

"*Sometimes* I'm grateful for the time I spent at the bottom of the barrel. For the time I spent too busy fiending to *think*, or, hell, *bathe*."

*Why* -- but. No. "Because it allows you to fully appreciate everything you have now?"

"Yes and no," Roy says, turning into the alley which *will* lead to them getting to Tim's parents' place faster -- hm.

"O gave you directions?"

"O gave me three *sets* of directions, just in case there was some construction, a water main break -- you really never know."

Tim sighs because -- because. "I really have to find something appropriate to give to her."

"Other than footage of your hot, naked ass being pounded six ways from Sunday? Because... uh. I'm thinking she's enjoying that."

Tim blushes. "Well -- all right, first, I wasn't really thinking of it that way --"

"Because you compartmentalize and that's *okay*. And?"

"Ah, secondly... she has access to the best porn this world can *offer*. I mean, never mind the bugs I -- and the Birds -- have planted for her all over the world. She's friends with *Superman*."

"And his porn is just --" Roy blows out an appreciative breath. "Yeah, you're right. We have to come up with something else. And somehow manage to keep it a secret from her --"

"Oh, that's pointless."

"You're not even gonna *try*?"

"Why give her more work to do, Roy? Accept her omnipresence and move on."

Roy snorts very *expressively* --

Tim smiles. "You were saying?"

"Yeah, okay. I was *saying* that yeah, I appreciate my life a hell of a lot more than I would've if I hadn't been that far down, but also... there's no such thing as appreciating something good *enough*. In the end, if you *could* appreciate something enough then you wouldn't *mourn* quite so much when you lost it -- and we're always gonna mourn when we lose good things. Make no mistake."

"Nothing -- no, go on," Tim says --

"Nothing lasts forever. I know, I hear you. I *feel* you. And I think I live by *that* more than I live by anything else. Lian isn't always going to mispronounce words, or want to wear felt flowerpots on her head. I'm not always gonna be able to go *out* at night. One day I'll blow out a knee or my hip -- or, hell, maybe I'll just get shot with armor-piercing rounds and the whole thing will be up. Maybe that'll happen to Dick. Maybe to Wally, maybe to Garth --

"We already lost Donna, and that's something... hell, she had *Wonder Woman's* powers. We all thought she was the *safe* one, you know?"

Tim squeezes Roy again. "I never really started feeling honest *fear* for Kon until Troia died."

"I -- hunh. Even with that Doomsday thing?"

"By the time Kon was my friend, we'd found out that Clark was, essentially, hibernating. I had... faith."

"And then you lost it again. Okay, I hear you. Faith is *important*, but you have to have it in the right things. Like -- like love."

"Even though nothing lasts forever."

"Even then, because if you go around thinking... thinking that it's better to close yourself off just because you *might* lose the love someday..."

"You wind up like Bruce?"

"God, yeah. He -- the way he would *look* at Jay... fuck, even with the cowl *on*, you could feel it. Practically feel it wrapped around your *cock*."

Tim shivers. "I wish. I wish I'd known him."

"I wish he'd *had* you. Just -- you could've run interference sometimes, because I knew from the *jump* -- just from looking at *Jay* -- that Jay wasn't ready for anything *like* Bruce... and we're drifting a little."

"I don't mind."

"I know you don't. But you were teaching me a *lesson*, little 'mano. And that's -- that's gold."

"I don't really feel qualified -- all right, I was about to make the same mistake you did," Tim says, laughing and pushing just a little closer.

"Heh. You *see* how fucking easy it is..." Roy sighs again. "I do know what you're saying. You wanna keep me from mistaking modesty for stupidity, because the stupidity in question is *all* about pushing me back into the kind of headspace that's no fun for anyone --"

"It's not -- it's not about *fun*. I always want to talk to you, share with you --"

"I know -- and I was doing it again, if you didn't catch that. I was, in fact, edging real damned close to self-pity about my lingering adolescent angst. Apparently, this stuff is challenging."

"You handle it well."

"You do it better. Now tell me *how* you manage it? Because you've got a whole lot of adolescent angst of your own -- *most* of it almost certainly telling you that you don't deserve love and companionship, that you're *creepy*, that you're only here because you forced your way in --"

"Ah -- Roy?"

"Oh -- I'm hitting some buttons, aren't I?"

Tim laughs. "*Yes* -- but also... I don't think I can give you any actual wisdom about this. You said it yourself -- I compartmentalize."

"And right now, you've got a compartment chock full of doubts and self-hate?"

"Shoved to the back, dusty, hidden behind all sorts of other things -- I don't have *time* for it. I suppose I *could* give myself time for it -- and sometimes those doubts pop up no matter what I do --"

"When?"

"Roy?"

"When do they pop up? What are you *doing* when they do?"

"I -- hm." Tim thinks about it...

And thinks more, because that's not really --

Roy wants an answer. "Ah -- sometimes they pop up when I think about calling a member of my family."

"*Dick*?"

"At first -- but Dick is really good at making a person feel guilty for *not* calling, to the point that it's something of a relief *to* call him now. Like -- doing my duty. But -- O... B... The fact that I get the chance to talk to them nearly every night anyway... well, again, no time for the doubts --"

"But there's *something*. Tell me."

Tim closes his eyes -- opens them. "There's also -- I mean, I never would've been able to tell Dick how I felt about him without also being able to tell him that I didn't *want* him --"

"Yeah, that's just fucked-up enough for you. Go on."

Tim smiles ruefully. "With that in *place*... well, all of my fear, all of the -- the *voices* in my head about how wanting Dick wasn't right, how I didn't deserve him, how I had no *right*, how Dick would have to be *disgusted* with me for twisting every touch he'd given me, perverting every hug, making it all *dirty* --"

"I -- *Jesus*, little 'mano, that's --"

"That is what it is. And no, that hasn't been erased or... anything like that. It was just irrelevant in that moment for the very first time --"

"You deserve to get what you *want* --"

"And I know that now. A part of me does. A large and *growing* part of me does, because. Because you're rewriting me. God, you're practically *reprogramming* me --"

"I *love* you."

Tim shivers --

"I'm gonna. I wanna touch you --"

"Please --"

"I want -- you have to *understand*, Tim --"

"*Make* me understand --"

"Then tell me the rest. Tell me what you were *avoiding*," Roy says, and Tim can feel how his eyes must be narrow with heat and *demand* --

"Roy. You're making me very -- very hard --"

"I know I am. *Give*."

"When I'm about to die. When everything I've tried fails and I've been captured, tied up, or -- or there's just a very large gun pointed at my head. That's when it comes. The need to apologize for not being good enough. The need to beg Bruce for *forgiveness* for ever letting him believe that I could *be* good enough..." Tim laughs quietly. "There's always a moment of... oh, call it perfect loss. Perfect *emptiness*."

"And then you pull out the stops and get yourself clear."

Tim hums and thinks of... Freeway. And the reason why he'll never regret replacing his fingernail, no matter how much it hurts in cold weather. "There's almost no thought to it. There's almost... it's almost pure *instinct*, or -- maybe the closest thing someone like me can *come* to pure instinct. I have to get clear. I have to -- to get *right*, to show Bruce that it's all right, that I *won't* leave him alone, that no matter how close I'll never *get* to being what he needs, I still won't *fail* him --"

"*Tim* --"

"I know it's fucked-up and -- perfectly horrible. But those doubts and fears... the places they *take* me --"

"You can get there other *ways*. I -- hell, this parking space was designed for a fucking Vespa, but I'm gonna *make* it work," Roy says, and proceeds to work the bike into the space.

Tim can't help wondering how he plans to get it *out* again without walking it into traffic or onto the sidewalk, but --

Roy has been driving since before Tim could consistently read multisyllabic words. There is, in fact, such a thing as trust. Tim steps off -- only barely managing not to bump into the SUV doing its level best to take up two spaces --

Roy smacks it with his helmet, setting off a truly painful car alarm and smiling like he's hoping the driver will come out and try to start a fight, which...

"I can think of other things you could be doing with your time, Roy," Tim says, and raises an eyebrow.

Roy looks at him.

Roy looks him *over* --

"Inside. Now."

Tim turns and heads inside. The elevator operator sneers at them both --

Until Roy smiles at him. And keeps smiling at him for the length of the ride up to Tim's floor until the man has wedged himself into the corner of the car.

The door opens --

"You're not gonna talk about this, are you, Cole?" And Roy leans in very, very close.

Tim had frankly stopped caring about the fact that the man *had* a name --

Oracle always gives the most complete dossiers.

Cole shakes his head vigorously. His eyes are impressively wide.

Tim throws out a hand to keep the doors from closing --

And Roy nods slowly, smiling even more widely for a moment before walking out.

Tim turns to Cole. "He has a temper, at times, but he's really quite friendly."

Cole's lip twitches in an *abortive* sneer --

He'll be fine. Once inside the apartment, Roy tilts his head back and smells the air, and that --

"Are you looking for signs of human life?"

Roy smiles sharply. "Nothin' like an empty house, little 'mano. You know what I mean."

He does. "For me, it's less a scent than a sound. Or... a distinct non-sound, similar to what happens when a television has been left on mute in an otherwise empty room."

Roy nods. "Strip."

"I thought you'd never -- order."

Roy runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth. "Do it slow."

Tim does, starting with his trainers and socks --

Roy crouches in front of him and strokes the tops of Tim's feet, taps at a few of Tim's toenails, pushes his hands under the hems of Tim's jeans and grabs Tim's *ankles* --

"Roy..."

"I didn't bring all that many toys with me today... but we won't need much," Roy says, standing again. "Shirts."

"Yes, Roy," Tim says, unbuttoning his overshirt with slow care and ignoring the way his hands want to shake. Just -- "You always... get me. Very, very quickly."

"That's 'cause you were made for me, pretty baby. Push that back over your shoulders... slower than that. Yeah."

In the end, Tim is almost rolling it off his shoulders, and he can't help but be aware of all the ways that's pulling his t-shirt tight over his chest --

Roy steps behind Tim and loops the overshirt around both of Tim's wrists, holding them together -- "Hang your head."

Tim does, and the back of his neck immediately feels naked, cool, *vulnerable* --

"Ever thought about getting a tatt?"

"Too -- identifiable. I have to remain anonymous."

"But piercings are okay...? Yeah, I guess I can see it. After all... I can do your piercings myself."

"Please."

"You asking, baby?"

And his heart *pounds* -- "I'm -- expressing desire. A plea."

Roy leans and laughs against the back of Tim's neck, puffs of air tickling, heating, *cooling* -- "Yeah, begging's still allowed. I *could* do you today..."

Tim shivers and *moans* --

"Your girl needs more time with the old you first. I'm not gonna freak her out -- and neither should you."

"Yes, Roy."

Roy steps back, pulling the overshirt off and tossing it -- somewhere. Tim can't track the entire flight with just his peripheral vision. "Head up and shoulders back, baby."

Tim fixes his posture, staring straight ahead.

"He would've chosen you if you'd given him a chance to do it."

Tim -- flinches --

"The only thing that would've stopped him is grief, and, well -- he needed you. It wasn't *just* you who knew that."

"He needed -- he needed *someone* --"

"And you were it, baby," Roy says, and starts massaging the tension out of Tim's shoulders. "Just you. No one else."

"It could've been --"

"It wasn't. And it couldn't have been. He needed someone young enough and idealistic enough to force him back to being... something like himself through the sheer force of *faith*. And he needed someone ruthless enough to understand that that was exactly what he was doing, to understand and do it *anyway*. He needed someone who loved Batman... and there just aren't too many people who could manage *that*."

Tim frowns. "That's -- too easy."

"Is it? 'cause I'm thinking that if it *was*... you'd be a lot less tense right now."

"No, you -- you know what I mean. As much as we would like to believe otherwise, the world doesn't run on -- on *love* --"

"But it does run on Batman?"

Tim doesn't bother opening his mouth before *pressing* it more tightly closed. That really is --

Well, it *isn't* what he'd implied, but it's exactly what he was thinking, on some level, and they both know it.

Roy sighs and kisses the top of Tim's head. "It's okay. You don't have to learn *all* of the lessons right away."

"I want to."

"Yeah, hunh? Well, I can't say I don't know how you *do* when you want things..." Roy steps back. "T-shirt. Remember, nice and slow."

Tim tugs the shirt out of his jeans, gripping the hem of it and working it off, remembering a certain *kind* of pornography --

He cocks his hip slightly, knowing that it will cause the muscles of his torso to flex in ways which may be pleasing --

"Ooh. Good boy, keep going..."

Tim does, slowing down even more once his arms are above his head and his face is outlined by the shirt --

Roy snickers. "Yeah, no, not into the gimp mask thing."

"Just checking," Tim says, and slips his head out through the hole, bundling the t-shirt at his wrists --

"Stop *right* there, pretty," Roy says, leaning in to lick the insides of Tim's elbows and humming. "Love the way you *taste*..."

"The feeling is entirely mutual -- *oh* --"

Roy is pinching Tim's nipples. Not hard, but somehow *seriously*, somehow --

No, it's a question of potential, of --

He *could* be twisting, or pulling, or using his fingernails, or --

Roy lets go, smiles, and pulls nipple clamps out of his back pocket. They're the 'padded' sort, with black rubber tips...

"Oh. Roy..." Tim licks his lips and looks back up into Roy's eyes. "Please."

"Now the question is... do I take off the padding?"

Tim starts to lick his lips again -- stops. "I'm not. Sure. Perhaps if one were padded and the other wasn't, it would be... ah. Educational."

Roy smiles. "Pretty boys are wonderful. Pretty boys who like to *learn*..." Roy pats Tim's cheek. "Priceless."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, it'd be damned hard for me *not* to approve of *you*," Roy says -- and snaps the clamps on --

"*Hnh* -- oh --"

"Yeah, both padded for now. I don't want to risk desensitizing you too fast."

"That. I didn't know that happened," Tim says, and resists the urge to curl in on himself, to *lift* the clamps to keep them from pulling so much --

He keeps his arms *up* --

He shakes his head. "It seems. Counterintuitive." He's panting --

Roy cups Tim's throat and squeezes with one hand, reaching into the same pocket and pulling out a chain.

"Oh, God," Tim *mouths* --

"It's okay, baby. This one's not too heavy. See how slim it is?" Roy holds his fingers up by Tim's eyes and lets the chain uncoil itself.

Intellectually, the thing is practically gossamer. Emotionally, it seems like something which would be better attached to *shackles*. But -- "Yes, Roy," Tim mouths, closing his eyes --

Roy loosens his grip. "Lemme hear that again."

Tim opens his eyes, licks his lips *helplessly* -- "Yes, Roy. Anything -- Everything you want."

Roy opens his mouth and breathes deeply and sharply at once. "Who do you belong to?"

"You --"

"Who am I?"

"My master --"

"Who *else*?"

"My *lover* --" And the end of that is a quite-literally-choked noise, ending in a breathy moan as Roy leans in to kiss him deeply and more deeply than that. It feels like his tongue is forcing room for itself in Tim's mouth, and a part of Tim *only* wants to have Roy's penis again, to be able to *suck* --

*Swallow* --

Roy pulls back and bites Tim's upper lip --

And hooks the chain to the nipple clamps. The pull is immediate, terrifying --

Too *shocking* to be pain --

Tim whines anyway, shaking --

"Fix your posture."

God, he was curling in on himself again. It's just -- it's hardly any weight, at *all* -- Tim stands up straight and starts a breathing exercise, starting slow and easy and staying that way as best he can, the *most* he can --

And Roy is looking him over again, moving around and around him and occasionally touching. A two-fingered stroke for Tim's right shoulder blade. A tap for Tim's abdominal muscles. A *thrust* for Tim's navel --

And a *squeeze* for Tim's penis through his jeans. Impossible not to thrust, to *buck* --

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna take these off for you. Don't move until it's time to lift your feet for me."

"Y-yes, Roy --" But he has to moan and shiver for the feel of Roy *teasing* Tim's jeans open --

He has never hated button-flies this *much* --

He's never *loved* them so much, *either* -- "I would like to thrust, Roy."

"Mmm... not yet."

"Yes, Roy -- oh --"

Roy raises his eyebrows and grins at him, and --

"All right, yes, it is somewhat ridiculous to make noise *just* for my pants falling down around my ankles, but... ah. Any number of things feel rather profound when you're within range."

Roy's grin gets wider. "In range of *what*, baby?"

"Ah... a money shot comes to mind."

Roy purses his lips. "So soon...? I don't *think* so," and he yanks down Tim's boxer briefs --

Tim steps out of his clothes --

And then there's something *cool* around his penis and the cinch of his scrotum -- cock ring.

Cock ring snapping *closed*, and the tightness is ominous, almost *oppressive* --

"Mm. I *think* that expression means that you're realizing what that ring will let you do... and not do."

Tim swallows. "I -- ah. I've done the reading."

"Practical knowledge always beats theoretical by a mile, though -- and you're figuring that out."

"Yes, Roy."

Roy smiles. "Take that shirt the rest of the way off, gather up your clothes, and head upstairs."

"Yes, Roy."

And the way Roy is watching him do it -- well. He hadn't said to do it *quickly*. Tim makes a point of bending and stretching as much as possible, showing off his body as well as he can until he has everything in hand.

He doesn't pause or look at Roy before heading upstairs.

He doesn't pause even when he can feel Roy *following* him. But -- slowly.

He can manage slowly, and gracefully --

He can be... pretty. *Bruce* would say beautiful.

Bruce would *mean* beautiful, no matter how difficult that would be to credit -- except that it isn't, not really. No one could spend any significant amount of time with Bruce and *not* realize that the man's capacity for beauty --

His *need* for it --

To Bruce, *Gotham* has always been beautiful. The fact that Tim agrees with the man about that doesn't mean that he doesn't also think he's crazy.

Tim smiles and *saunters* into his bedroom -- and stops *dead*, because Bruce is right. Fucking. There. Half-leaning and half-sitting on Tim's desk with his eyes *fixed* on the floor.

He *isn't* suited up, but he's being the precise variety of still --

A part of Tim's mind is *still* insisting that the apartment is *empty* --

Tim doesn't growl. He does, however, place the clothes on top of his bureau and cross his arms over his chest -- and *hiss* for the pull of the clamps.

Bruce looks up, eyes narrowing with *worry* --

"I'm all right," Tim says, and holds up a hand --

"You're a *lot* better than all right, baby -- uh. Whoa. I *had* just been thinking about the fact that I hadn't seen you out of uniform since I was a damned teenager, but -- uh. Now?"

Bruce winces. "I'm sorry. I'm. I won't stay."

Roy rests his hands on Tim's shoulders, squeezes -- "Do you need to speak to Tim privately?"

There's a rueful smile in Bruce's eyes and exactly nowhere else. "I have... many needs. But that is not one of them. I thought, perhaps... perhaps I could be close to you. Both of you."

Roy squeezes Tim's shoulders *hard*. "See... that's doable. But you just said you *weren't* staying."

*Bruce* squeezes the desk -- and the wood creaks. That --

Tim can't actually blame his penis for twitching, nor can he blame himself for moaning at the way the ring seems to *choke* the sensation. It doesn't take the pleasure *away*, but there's definitely a sense of something... missing? Different? He can't be sure --

And Bruce is staring at Tim's groin.

"Bruce --"

"Shh, baby," Roy says, and lifts Tim's penis on his fingertips, angling him even more toward Bruce than he had been. "Is this what you want, Bruce?"

Bruce narrows his eyes again -- he stands and moves toward the door --

Roy lets go and *blocks* the door -- "I asked a question."

Bruce blinks... but then he lifts his chin and raises his eyebrow. "Roy."

Roy's smile is very, very hard. "Bruce. I *asked* a *question*."

Bruce shows his teeth briefly, seeming to almost *pull* Batman out of the air, seeming to get larger, darker --

It's all a matter of personal presence and *energy*. Not quite smoke and mirrors, but still not entirely *real* in the sense of tangibility to the less than sensitive --

But Roy is very, very sensitive and he's not buying it. At all.

"Answer. The question."

"Arsenal --"

"My name is *Roy*, Bruce. Answer the question."

And Bruce... wavers. Slightly enough that Tim isn't entirely sure if it was a matter of looseness in the jaw, an eyelid flicker, or something *else*... but he wavers.

"Yeah, that's right, Bruce. You know how this goes. And you *know* what you want."

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip -- and turns to look at Tim. His eyes are wide and *full*, speaking of fear, hunger, caution... and a kind of happiness Tim isn't sure how to touch.

A happiness that *flares* when Roy cups Bruce's jaw and turns Bruce back to face him. "You're trying my patience, Bruce. You *don't* want to do that."

"I want to fellate Tim again. I want -- I believe the ring will allow me to do so for an extended period of time. This is something I've imagined... in detail."

Roy raises his eyebrows. "What else do you want."

"Your touch. Your... regard."

"My *attentions*?"

Bruce breathes sharply through his mouth. "Yes, Roy."

Roy *strokes* Bruce's mouth, pressing hard on Bruce's lower lip with two fingers, dragging it *down* --

Bruce shivers.

Tim... reflects, for a moment, on the nature of kink. Of desire. Of *Batman* -- and everything Batman must be to *everyone*.

Bruce isn't Batman. Bruce isn't --

And there's a part of Tim which is honestly, openly, and *shamelessly* jealous. For Bruce to show this to Roy --

For Roy to be able to bring this out of Bruce with practically no effort *whatsoever* --

The part of Tim which will always belong to *Dick* is practically *seething* right now. He *knows* what Dick would've given to be shown this kind of desire from Bruce -- except. Except that Dick wouldn't have wanted *this* kind of desire. Would he?

From *Bruce*?

Jealousy crumbles under logic. *Tim* won't be able to give *this* to Bruce... not for some time. Not until *he's* ready to be the Batman, to be the-man-who-*must* --

Tim steps closer to Bruce. Just a step --

And Roy holds up the hand he isn't touching Bruce with, stopping Tim effectively. Then Roy strokes down Bruce's chest -- *encased* in a henley -- to his abdomen and splays his fingers there.

Bruce stares into Roy's eyes.

Roy scratches Bruce's abdomen. "Tell me a fantasy you've had about this. All three of us."

Bruce inclines his head. "I am... tied. To a wall, a chair -- something. You force me to watch you pleasure Tim --"

"How?"

Bruce swallows. "You are... rough with him. You give him the pain he craves until he's crying out. Begging. Begging for more of you. You take him... brutally hard. I wish to turn away. You. You threaten to hurt him more if I do."

Roy shows his teeth -- briefly. "How aroused are you in this fantasy?"

"Deeply. I. I long for relief. Release. I long to slake myself in Tim's body while you slake yourself in my own --"

"Is it a fantasy? Or a desire?"

Bruce closes his eyes --

"*Open*."

Bruce grunts and does it, panting. "I don't know. I don't know if I can stand to --" Bruce swallows again. "I am." <<I have need.>>

Roy stiffens and *grips* Bruce through his pants --

Bruce groans and shudders hard, arching and bucking once, twice --

"*Stop*."

"Yes, Roy. I apologize."

Roy nods slowly. "Strip. Fold your clothes and place them next to Tim's on the bureau, then sit at the desk."

The ache in Tim --

This *moment* --

Tim realizes that he's stroking his own hips restlessly, realizes that he's doing it to *keep* from stroking his penis --

Bruce is so *hungry*, and he can help, Bruce *needs* him to help -- and Roy, as well.

Bruce *needs* --

Tim swallows back -- most of a moan --

And Roy turns to face him. "Your wrists. Now."

Tim offers them --

And Roy pulls a coiled length of cord from his front pocket. There's already a noose at one end, and Roy slips Tim's wrists through it before tightening it. "Your safeword is 'pineapple,' Tim."

Tim blinks --

"I know. But don't worry -- you only have to use it if you feel yourself losing sensation in your hands."

Tim breathes deeply. "Yes, Roy."

"We... heh. We really need to get you up to New York. You know that, right?"

Tim feels himself blushing -- "I'm sorry. I wish I were more... ah. Convenient."

Roy grins and strokes Tim's cheek. "When sex is too convenient, a guy can start losing *appreciation* for it. Trust me."

That -- "I find myself wondering about Kal... and convenience."

"Heh. Kal is *never* *convenient*, little 'mano," Roy says, and raises his eyebrows. "Isn't that right, Bruce?"

Tim -- doesn't turn to look at Bruce, even though he can't even see him out of the corner of his eye --

"Yes, Roy. He finds... he finds many, many ways to make the question of convenience moot -- and even more ways to make it laughable."

Roy nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's about right. Be ready, baby," Roy says, and flings the cord neatly over one of the exposed beams before yanking it tight --

Yanking Tim up onto his *toes* --

And Roy knots the cord -- well within reach of Tim's fingers. "Safety first, baby," and he winks.

Tim licks his lips and clenches his hands into fists. This is -- too tempting. It wouldn't be *easy* to free himself from this, but it also wouldn't be especially challenging --

Roy is watching him with a hotly *pleased* smile on his face --

Roy knows exactly what he's *thinking*, because he may not have been in *sexual* bondage situations with Dick, but they *have* been tied up together in the past --

Tim smiles ruefully. "I take it that the challenge to my Robinly nature is part of the appeal."

"Got it in one, pretty... mm. I should've bought a pair of heels for you, but you look good *enough* up on your toes... yeah, it'll do."

Bruce moves back into view, slipping silently behind Roy to sit at his desk. His nudity is absolute on more levels than Tim can count.

He seems much, much larger than himself, and also seems caught between ridiculousness and *menace* on Tim's perfectly average-sized chair. It seems like the thing should be creaking, *protesting* --

And all of that is taking Tim away from the sight of Bruce's erection, and the way it already seems to be trying to reach Bruce's abdomen. His hair is dark, straight right down to the upper part of his groin, where it begins to curl *slightly*.

It's thicker there, as well --

And, as Tim watches, a bead of pre-come forms at the tip of Bruce's penis and sits there, shining and *tempting* --

"I think that's for *you*, pretty baby, but... there's no reason why we can't know for sure," Roy says, moving around behind Tim and cupping Tim's hips. "Right, Bruce?"

Bruce -- doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He moves them from his thighs to his sides and back to his thighs again --

"Leave 'em *right* there, B --"

Bruce grunts and *claws* at his own thighs -- "Jay. Jay called me that. No one else."

Roy *grips* Tim's hips -- and forcibly relaxes himself. "Noted. We'll leave that one -- alone. Now tell me what *had* you getting all hot over there?"

"I wonder. Tim has extra de-cel lines hidden --"

"*Ahn* --" Tim hadn't even felt the slap to his penis *coming* --

"*Roy* --"

"Every time you break a rule -- including not answering a question as soon I ask it -- Tim gets hurt. Do you understand?"

Bruce looks *stricken*, and then he turns to focus on Tim --

"Nnh -- *Roy* --"

"Two slaps for your second transgression. Do you *understand*?"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, digging in against his thighs with his nails. "I -- before. Tim so rarely looks at me with naked *appreciation*. I found myself beautiful in his eyes. I. Please tie me, Roy --"

"No," Roy says, stroking Tim's shaft with his fingertips --

Making Tim *shiver* --

"I." Bruce licks his lips. "Roy, I can't --"

"You can and you *will*, Bruce. Or I'll hurt Tim even after you leave."

"No -- please --"

Roy sighs somewhat *mournfully* --

Tim tries to brace himself --

But it quickly becomes obvious that there would've been no way to adequately brace for the simultaneous feelings of relief and *agony* as Roy lifts the chain between the nipple clamps and *pulls*. Just --

At first, Tim can't even *gasp*. Then he can, but he can't make any other sounds, can't --

He's trying to push up further onto his toes, but he *can't* --

Tim cries out and does it again, *again* --

"*Please*, Roy," Bruce says, and he's shuddering in his chair, gripping his own knees hard enough that his knuckles show white --

"Apologize," and Roy's voice is calm and *cool* even as Tim keeps crying out --

"I *apologize*, Roy. Please. Please allow me to take the pain --"

"*You* haven't earned it, papi," and Roy drops the chain unceremoniously --

The renewed weight makes Tim grunt and *buck*, twist as he tries to keep himself on his toes enough not to *strangle* his wrists --

"Tim, on the other hand, is a good boy. The best boy in the world, as far as I'm concerned --"

"Yes," Bruce says, and starts to visibly attempt to relax himself. "Yes, he. He has always been so brave. So strong and brilliant at once --"

"Bruce," Roy says, and Tim can *hear* the smile in his voice, "you're also not supposed to *interrupt* me."

This time, Tim's chair *does* creak -- but Bruce settles himself, squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them immediately. He looks an obvious apology to Tim --

Which is why Tim is smiling when Roy starts slapping his penis vigorously, over and over until the flesh is even redder than it would normally be, even more -- *more*, somehow, and Tim can't keep himself moaning and doesn't think he would try if he could.

Tim watches himself spatter pre-come all over the carpet, watches from somewhere *beyond* himself as he writhes and tries to get away, tries to get more, tries to scream *without* screaming --

No, Roy likes it when he's loud, and Bruce wants to see, *needs* to see --

Tim gasps in a breath and screams as loudly as he can, and something about the *sound* of it makes him twitch and flex, *clench* --

His ass is only a *little* sore at the moment --

Roy stops, *grips* Tim's penis -- "Talk to me, baby."

"Yes. Yes, Roy --"

"How are your *hands*?"

Hands. He has hands. He -- Tim forces himself to focus enough to flex them, to work his wrists as much as the noose allows -- "No tingling."

"Good. Stay on your toes."

"Yes, Roy."

Roy shivers and steps between Tim and Bruce, pressing close -- "Mm. You're right at kissing height. I like that."

Tim licks his lips and tries to look open, ready, *willing* --

"Oh, now -- stay *just* like that, baby," Roy says, stepping aside --

And Bruce is searching him, leaning forward --

There's a thread of pre-come stretching down nearly to Bruce's *shins* --

"Tell us what you want, papi. Be specific."

"I want to begin by soothing Tim's penis with my mouth. I would hold it there as gently as possible, breathing until the different areas of Tim's shaft once again had the same temperature --"

"*Oh* --" Tim blinks and blushes --

Roy pats Tim's ass. "Hush now, baby."

"Yes, Roy --"

"What *else*, Bruce?"

"I wish to see..." Bruce turns to meet Roy's eyes. "I wish to see if I may distract you from this course of action with my mouth. If there is anything I may do, any way I may pleasure you, which would lead to you being more gentle with Tim. I want to taste you. I want to hear you cry out, and curse. I wish for you to be brutal with *me* --"

"Stop," Roy says, and lifts Tim's penis on his fingertips again. "Will you be able to stop if I allow you to suck Tim for a while?"

Tim shivers and *groans* -- stops --

"I'll give you a minute to think about that," Roy says, and kisses Tim, shoving his free hand into Tim's hair and gripping, pulling, *moving* Tim's head into the right position --

Tim moans and catches himself stroking the cord, working his *thumbs* -- Tim whimpers and *stops* --

And then Tim is *gurgling*, because Roy is choking him hard, fucking Tim's *mouth* --

For a moment Tim doesn't think his penis will *stop* twitching --

Bruce moans, pants -- and then his breathing becomes quiet enough to make something old and *familiar* in Tim seize and stop, *want* --

Roy hums in pleasure and pulls back, pausing to lick stripes on both of Tim's cheeks -- "What do *you* want?"

"I want to leave enough time that I can be fucked, Roy --"

"By both of us?"

Tim moans and his knees *shake* -- "Please, I. I don't know if I can take it, but I want to *try*."

Roy cocks his head to the side and starts *flicking* the nipple clamps, back and forth and back again -- "You're not afraid of failure in this?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "The only thing that can go wrong -- I. I might cry. Again. You seemed to find that arousing."

"Like nothin' else, pretty baby. What about you, Bruce? What do *you* do if Tim cries?"

"I would wish to pull him into my arms. I would... stroke him and hold him close. I would encourage him to let as much out as possible, and count myself base for the desire to lick the tears from his cheeks, to taste his salt even as I worked to arouse him once more," Bruce says, and stares directly into Tim's eyes. "I would have there be a moment when cries of pleasure were indistinguishable from cries of distress."

Oh... that. "I want. I want to be able to spread my legs. More."

Bruce grunts -- "I wish. I wish to speak directly to Tim --"

"No," Roy says, and presents Tim's penis again. "This, though... can you control yourself? If it helps, you can remind yourself that nothing you can do will make him come until *I* want him to come."

Bruce licks his lips. "That... helps. Perhaps if you also ordered me to keep my hands behind my back --"

"Done. Get over here."

Bruce practically *flows* out of the chair, power and grace nude and *obvious* in this moment. He reaches for Tim's penis -- and stops himself, panting --

"Hands behind your back and mouth *open*, papi."

Bruce's nod seems more like a *salute* than anything else --

And when Roy *holds* him and starts to guide, Tim remembers that this was something else he was supposed to brace --

For --

"*Mouth* -- I -- So *tight* --"

"*Too* tight, baby?"

"No -- yes --" Tim groans for it, and again for the feel of Bruce *reducing* the level of suction -- "I don't -- he feels so *good*, Roy --"

Bruce moans and swallows him --

"*Ahn* --"

Roy taps Tim's chin. "Open your eyes."

"Yes, Roy --"

"*Look* at Bruce."

Tim moans and does it, letting himself pant and *trying* to keep himself from drooling -- oh. Bruce is looking up at him, almost -- almost *pleading* with him -- "I want to ask him what he needs --"

"You can't. Live with it," Roy says, cupping the back of Tim's neck and *holding* Tim's head in position.

"Yes, Roy. He. He looks."

"Tell me." Roy squeezes gently. "You can do it."

Yes. He *can* -- "He looks like he needs me. Like... he looks like he *has* needed me and I haven't *been* there..."

"More."

"He looks -- he wants me so badly. He *needs* me, but -- the want almost seems more important --"

"Not just easier to live with?"

Tim blinks and tries to work that into a context he can understand, into something that will make sense even with his penis stinging from Roy's slaps and *aching* from Bruce's suction --

*Bruce* blinks and Tim cries out --

"It's okay, baby. He won't let you down."

"Nnh -- mm. No. He won't. He'll give me --" Tim swallows. "I believe, right now, that he could. Give me everything. Almost everything --"

Bruce closes his eyes and leaves them closed --

Bruce --

Bruce *blushes* and begins to work himself on Tim's dick, fucking himself on it, and --

It's not the act. It's not that he's doing this -- he's done this *before*. It *might* be that Bruce has an *audience*, but --

Roy sighs and lets go of the back of Tim's neck. "Let's see; Tim didn't answer a question... and Bruce closed his eyes."

Tim gasps --

Bruce opens his eyes and pleads to *Roy* --

Roy smiles and shakes his head. "Back on the chair, papi."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut --

And Tim is screaming before he can think about it, before he's even sure what's happening -- Roy is tugging on the chain. Not *pulling*, just tugging --

His nipples don't *care* --

Tim is shaking and trying to go en *pointe* --

And the wonderful heat around his penis is gone --

"*Please*," Bruce says, and Tim doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Bruce must be only barely on the chair, must be *straining* to get up again, take, stop, *heal* --

"Apologize to Tim."

"I'm *sorry*. I only wanted -- a moment more. To take your taste for my own --"

"That's *not* why you closed your eyes," Roy says, and he's tugging rhythmically on the chain --

Tim bites his lip and groans through his teeth, growls and writhes on his toes --

"Please -- I thought. For a moment, I thought Tim would see my love for him, my fear that I would lose him, my need to keep him close -- he's never been *close* --"

Roy lets the chain drop --

Tim grunts and shudders for the feel of sweat running down the hollow of his spine --

"*You* know whose fault that is, Bruce."

"My own. I told myself, for much too long, that Tim shouldn't have *let* me push him away, that he followed those orders too well..."

"So what you're *basically* saying -- open your eyes, baby --"

Tim does, panting and staring at nothing until he can blink himself back to a *kind* of focus. For a moment, the stinging here and there and the real *pain* -- not to mention the *arousal* -- are enough to make the room spin, but eventually he can see again. Roy's smile.

Bruce's -- everything. Including the impossible-seeming tension in his shoulders --

Roy flicks the left nipple clamp --

"*Roy* --"

"What was that frustrated look for?"

"I wanted to massage Bruce. To. To *help* --"

"Such a sweet baby," Roy says, wrapping his fist around Tim's penis and stroking once --

Twice --

Tim groans and throws his head back --

"Look at *Bruce*."

"Yes, Roy --"

And Bruce is staring at Roy's working hand, at the pre-come beading and dripping from the tip of Tim's penis --

Roy purrs. "So much *hunger* in this room. I..." Roy breathes deep and smiles broadly, *happily* --

Tim can't help smiling in return --

Roy purses his lips --

And then Tim just *is* being kissed, being --

Having his mouth made *love* to --

Roy cups Tim's cheeks and licks his way into Tim's mouth over and over --

Roy presses so *close*, and his jeans are torture on Tim's penis, his t-shirt *hints* at pleasure, roughness, the *caress* Tim's nipples want --

Roy hums into his mouth and Tim moans for it, begs without *words* --

And Bruce moans, as well. Long and low, loud and, yes, *hungry* --

Roy smiles into the kiss -- and bites Tim's lip --

Tim *bucks* --

Roy pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks his hand with a smile. "Good boy. But -- what did we just learn from Bruce a couple of minutes ago?"

Tim frowns -- *thinks* -- "I -- he blames me. He *used* to blame me for the state of our... ah... relationship. I'm not sure that he's stopped --"

Bruce grunts again -- "*No*, Tim --"

Roy's backhand is quite light as these things go. There's no real pain -- for all that it knocks Tim's head to the side -- and by the time Tim faces forward again, Bruce is *gripping* Roy's wrist. His expression is a blend of anger and helplessness, worry and -- lust.

Tim starts to open his mouth --

"Nuh-uh, pretty baby."

Tim nods and waits.

Roy rolls his head on his neck, breathes deeply, and grips Bruce's chin with his free hand. For a moment, it seems as though Roy is only holding him there --

But then Tim blinks and notices the strain showing in Roy's arm. Bruce is resisting as pretty much *only* Bruce can. And Tim -- isn't allowed to say anything.

But.

Tim glares at Bruce as balefully as he can manage --

Bruce grunts and allows Roy to turn his face.

"Do you need to leave, Bruce?"

"I need -- you must not *disrespect* Tim --"

"Do you. Need. To leave."

Bruce's nostrils flare and he squeezes Roy's wrist more tightly --

And Roy doesn't bother to hide his wince. He shows it to both of them, and then -- "Answer the question, Bruce."

"I have to *protect* --"

"You can't protect him. Not here, and not anywhere else. You know that."

Bruce swallows and releases Roy's wrist. "You didn't. That isn't the way you treated him. Before." He looks down.

Roy nods and flexes his wrist multiple times before shaking it out. "You're wrong, you know. I treated him *exactly* this way before."

Bruce looks up slowly -- and gives them both the confusion on his face and the deeper confusion within.

Roy sighs again and cups Bruce's face, stroking Bruce's cheekbone with his thumb. "You... are a damned good-looking man. And you even know that -- sometimes. But we'll leave that for now. The important thing right now is that you realize that there are and *aren't* limits to this. Tim and I don't know each other well-enough for scarring -- or even more than just a little incidental blood-letting. But that slap -- that slap was only *just* hard enough to rock Tim a little. The rest of the force is emotional. I'm not beating him, Bruce. I'm loving him -- and you -- and punishing you for your constant little crimes. Do you understand?"

"It has always been..." Bruce shakes his head. "I must not allow him to come to harm --"

"Look at me, big guy --"

Bruce's smile is sharply pleased. "Harvey Dent used to call me that when we were in school together. Often just before -- or after -- we made love."

Well, there's an answer to a question he'd *never* planned on asking --

*Roy* looks confused -- and then he doesn't, at all. "Two-Face. Uh." Roy shakes himself like a dog. "All right, we'll be leaving that one... way over there."

Bruce's smile gets wider. "Perhaps for the best. Roy... often the only thing I've been capable of giving Tim is my respect --"

"That's because -- and Tim, we were going to hit this point pretty soon -- you can be an *ass*. I know *everything* you told Dick when you fired him, and all I needed to hear from Tim was one damned fantasy before I could tell exactly how you treated him. You poured it on for Jay. You gave up every damned thing -- including everything even *resembling* self-control --"

"Yes --"

"And you *weren't wrong*. He loved you. He *needed* you. Yeah, sometimes he needed to get the hell *away* from you, but that's just how it works when you're fifteen years old and married to a crazy asshole in his late thirties -- and that's not quite where we need to be right now," Roy says, and points to the chair.

"Roy --"

"This is what you need, Bruce. We both know that."

Bruce closes his eyes, breathes deep -- and goes to sit.

"And don't think I haven't noticed that all it takes to make you behave is to berate you some. You're a *fucked*-up sonofabitch, and if you didn't make it so damned pretty you'd never get laid, at all."

Tim snorts -- and bites back the rest of the laugh at speed.

Roy grins at him. "Liked that, did you? There's nothing quite like being one of Dick's closest friends in terms of psychological *access*."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, pretty baby? What you got for me?"

"I would think that the Dick-tinted glasses might... alter perception."

"Heh. Only for someone who *hadn't* known him for five years *before* Bruce's little meltdown. Time may not heal all wounds, but it does a damned good job of getting a guy *used* to bleeding all over the place... and to slipping and sliding in the blood of his *friends*."

Tim inclines his head. "Yes, Roy."

"Mm, yeah, I can't actually ignore something that sweet," Roy says, and moves in front of Tim, gripping Tim's hips. "I lift, you jump, you get your legs around my hips."

"God, yes --"

"*Now*."

And the feel of denim against his scrotum is enough to make Tim want to howl -- or possibly *yowl* -- in every possible attractive way. Assuming there are any --

Assuming he can keep himself from rubbing *against* Roy --

"Easy, little 'mano, pretty baby..." Roy licks his lips and looks back and forth between Tim's nipples, strokes Tim's back and sides -- "How are your hands?"

"No -- no tingling --"

"Good boy. Bruce -- explain to him how you don't blame him for being himself."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Tim... heh. Feel *everything*," Roy says, and his mouth is so hot, so *wet* on Tim's nipple --

"Oh, *God* --"

So much softer, so much --

Roy is *soothing* the pain and making it worse, better -

Tim can't make himself stop shaking, and he's *clutching* Roy with his thighs --

Bruce moans -- stops. "I never wished you were someone other than yourself, Tim. Not -- not even when I tried to do so to ease my fantasies, to *excuse* them..."

Roy hums in approval and Tim has to cry *out* --

"I longed for you to *need* me, Tim, for you to -- to *show* me that need the way Dick had, the way Jason had..."

Roy is using his tongue to almost *jiggle* the clamp and --

"Nnh -- *nnh* --"

"It was. It was a *shock* the first time I heard you cry my name when you were masturbating. I found myself stuck, frozen in my own mind. I had meant to turn away from the feed. I had meant to only -- only give myself one *moment* of your pleasure..."

Roy licks his way to Tim's other nipple and sucks *hard* --

"*Please* --"

"The second time. The second time I was unable to stop myself from entering your home. I stood over your bed until I could *smell* you, Tim. Until I could tell myself that *this* was your scent when you were satisfied and at rest. I couldn't keep *blaming* you..."

Roy strokes down to Tim's hips again and starts to *move* Tim, *makes* Tim grind until Tim starts doing it himself --

Until Tim finds the right *rhythm* --

"I wanted to keep blaming you. I wanted. I knew that I would have to begin any sexual encounter between us. I knew that I wouldn't be *able* to force you to demand love, romantic *love*..."

Roy bites down --

Tim screams and loses the rhythm -- "*Fuck* -- sorry --"

Roy squeezes Tim's hips hard and *slurps* his way off. "It's okay, baby. I *want* you to lose control for me. Now find the rhythm again."

"Yes, Roy," and Tim concentrates, breathes --

And once he has the rhythm again, Roy starts sucking, licking --

"So *good* --"

Bruce groans -- stops. "I have. I have been allowed to be passive in my personal relationships, and even... submissive."

Roy grunts -- and gestures Bruce to keep going --

"I first realized with Jay that emotional submission gave a kind of freedom, a *unique* sort of freedom..." Bruce shudders, and that's when Tim realizes that he's staring at him, that he's somehow focusing --

Even though every flick of Roy's tongue is like a liquid whip coiling around the base of Tim's *penis* --

Even though he's leaking all over Roy's *shirt* --

"Kal. Kal tried to offer this to me, in much the same way he offered it to Roy. I was too... lost. I wandered the labyrinth of my own mind, a place of dust and screaming -- I could not submit to Kal. I..."

Roy slurps off *again* and licks his lips, grinning up at Tim. "So, basically, he got pissy because you didn't jump right in and start pushing him around and demanding to be loved and touched and all that other good stuff -- even though you *knew* that Batman needed a Robin... and that expression really is priceless, little 'mano. I promise, I'll let you smack Bruce some other time."

That -- Tim snickers helplessly --

Tim groans for how the laughter seems to *move* things, move *him* --

"I wish." Bruce swallows audibly. "I have failed you repeatedly, Tim, and for that I have only regret."

Tim *starts* to reply... but then he remembers, and he turns to Roy.

Roy hums. "You never stopped that hot little grind, baby. That... you are so, so special to me."

Tim blushes and *blinks* -- and now he's focused on what he's doing, how he's moving, how he could *slip* --

"Easy now, you're doin' fine. Bruce, now..." Roy sighs and kisses Tim's sternum softly, slowly, *wetly* --

Tim shivers and keeps moving, knowing that he's flushed, that the smell of his sweat must be impossible to *avoid* for Roy --

Roy doesn't *want* to avoid it --

Bruce. Bruce probably wishes he could *have* it --

And Bruce moans softly. "Please. I wish to know how. How I can be better."

Roy licks Tim's left pec --

His right --

"Tell him, Tim."

"I -- ah. Um?"

Roy strokes back and squeezes Tim's ass --

Tim moans --

"Go on. You can do it. I'll even forgive you if you lose your rhythm a little," Roy says, and --

"You smile *precisely* like a former Titan, Roy. Just in case you weren't sure about that."

"Oh, I was. And I can't *wait* until you learn that smile for yourself," and Roy *smacks* Tim's ass with both hands at once --

"*Unh* --"

"*Talk*."

"Yes, Roy. Ah -- Bruce," Tim says, and focuses again --

Bruce is leaning forward and just -- *abusing* his knees with his hands. His lips are parted, *his* face is flushed --

There's sweat beading at his *temples* --

And he is --

"Bruce, you've always been... so beautiful. I didn't fall in love with you until you began training me, but it didn't take very long after that. I thought to myself... if I can just be what you need. If I can just be *right*. If I can just keep from *failing* you...

"Well. Every. Last. Time. I came remotely close to initiating physical contact with you -- and I will grant that those times were few and far between -- you..." Tim shakes his head. "You turned *away*. But *first*? You would blanch just a little. You're already pale, so it wasn't especially dramatic... but I was looking for just that, you see.

"And... I knew it wasn't that you were disgusted by me. I had *enough* self-esteem to at the very least go with the idea that you wouldn't be training me to be your partner if you couldn't stand the sight of me. And, of course, the Case was right there to remind me of who I needed to become... and of who I absolutely, positively, *desperately* needed *not* to become. I *knew* you were grieving, and I -- *ohn* --"

"No, don't stop, baby," Roy says, and works Tim's hips for him, over and over -- "You just got into more of a thrusting motion than that grinding motion I like so much," and Roy smiles up at him --

Sunnily. Again.

And Tim *knows* that laughing will make him moan again, but he has to, and it feels *good* to, and --

It makes Roy smile more, wink at him, *bounce* him until Tim is laughing and *crooning* --

His nipples hurt so *much*, and that's just one more amazing *part* of it, a pain he never knew he could *take* --

And when Roy squeezes Tim's hips *briefly* -- Tim knows he's found the right rhythm again. Tim looks to Bruce --

Bruce is still straining, still pressing himself *forward* -- but the expression on his face is almost soft, wanting as opposed to hungry, wistful as opposed to *bleak* --

"You want this, too -- no, don't answer until Roy says you can. I -- I thought you needed me not to be Jason, and not to be Dick. It was a *relief*, because I knew I could never really be either of them, anyway. Not without altering something... something I think I needed --"

"You still *do* need it, and that's a *good* thing, baby," Roy says, and kisses Tim's sternum again. "Keep going."

"Yes. I -- mm. I -- I want to grind. Faster --"

"No. Keep going."

"Yes, Roy," Tim says, shaking it off as best he can. "All of that is moot, except... except that I know, now, that these are things you *didn't* already know -- despite the fact that you made it seem as though you knew absolutely *everything* --"

Bruce closes his eyes --

"Don't *do* that -- I. I mean. I don't think Roy would appreciate that --"

Roy snickers. "Oh, no, baby. I *told* you to tell him how it goes." Roy pats his ass again. "Keep it up."

"Right. All right," Tim says, and stares at Bruce as hard as he wants, as hotly as he wants -- "I thought I would make myself something new, and hard, and cold, and perfect. Or -- well. I knew I'd never be *perfect*, but I thought I could make myself get *close* to it. And you even... hell, you rewarded me for it. You joined me when I watched appropriate programs. You smiled at me when I showed interests in appropriate things -- like the cars. You would touch me -- with the gauntlets on -- when I had appropriate *angst*. You -- don't you *see*?"

Bruce frowns and nods, slowly and -- bleakly. Again.

"I'm not *blaming* you. You -- I -- *hnh* -- Roy --"

"See, I *knew* you'd lose the thread a little for a finger between your cheeks. The *question* is how long it'll take for you to get it *back*."

Tim's eyelids feel heavy and that sound --

He's crooning again, *moving* -- moving the wrong way. Roy doesn't want him to push back into the touch save for when the grind demands it, the --

If he can move the right *way* --

Tim licks his lips and just feels it for a moment, lets himself give in to it, and it's exactly like being rubbed -- *caressed* -- in a very sensitive place while his *other* sensitive places are also being stimulated. It's *sex*.

It may be at least one variety of *perfect* sex, because --

Because exhibitionism is the other side of the voyeurism coin.

Because this is what *Tim* needs.

Because there's more love in this room than he'd normally be able to sit *still* for --

Steph is *different* --

Roy moans softly -- "Oh, baby, that's just right, that's -- nnh. How long was that, papi?"

"Approximately forty-two seconds --"

"*Christ*, little 'mano. Now -- go back to what you were saying. You can keep your eyes closed if you... mm. If you want to."

He doesn't *need* to -- and he does need to see Bruce, to look him in the eye and just --

Take. Have. *Show*.

"I'm not blaming you. I'm not -- you were such a *mess* after Jason was murdered. It was blindingly, terrifyingly obvious on the street and I had to -- I had to *help* you, *somehow*. I was grateful to *be* remade, and I still am. I always *will* be, because I love you. And I think -- I think you'd rather have my trust than my love, but that's..." Tim doesn't let himself laugh again, but he *does* smile. "That's something we'll have to *work* on, Bruce. And so... how you can be better...

"You're doing it right now. You're being patient and open and honest, and while it's entirely probable that that would -- God, scare the *hell* out of me if we were alone...

"It would also keep turning me on. Keep making me *need*. Not the way Roy makes me need, but -- I don't think I wanted to make love to you yesterday as much as I want to now --"

Bruce gasps --

Tim smiles and flips his sweaty hair back off his forehead, *moves* -- and thinks of *everything* he's learned. "Regret is -- is *useless*. You use it until you apologize, until you can figure *out* how to do better, and then you have to let *go* --"

"Pretty *baby*," Roy says, and sucks Tim's nipple *hard* --

Tim cries out and keeps *moving* --

"Almost there, baby, almost -- you can *do* this."

"Yes... yes, Roy," Tim says, and gives himself a moment to look Bruce *over* --

Bruce's hands twitch --

Tim's *penis* twitches -- Tim grunts and nods. "Love, Bruce. Not just me. Not just *Roy* -- and yes, it *was* an ass move to make sure *I* knew that you thought Oliver treated him badly but not tell him yourself --"

Roy snorts and presses *hard* on Tim's hole --

"*Mmm* -- I -- you need to love, and keep -- keep faith in the fact --" Tim pants and blinks, tries to *focus* again --

"*Tim*."

"*Yes*, Roy -- nothing lasts *forever*. You know that. You *know* that, and we have to take what we can, and we can't -- we can't lose ourselves to thoughts of what we do and don't deserve when we could be *giving*. And, God, *taking*. I *know* this won't sink in, Bruce, not right away, but I want to *show* you -- *oh* --"

And Roy pulls Tim into a kiss that manages to be rough and rhythmic at once. Roy thrusts his tongue into Tim's mouth *every* time Tim presses his hips against Roy, slipping it out for the turn --

The kiss makes it *easier*, and the part of him which misses the challenge --

That part of him is the Robin *he* made, and so he has to laugh and moan, suck and grind *harder* -- *not* faster --

Roy smiles into the kiss, licks -- pulls back. "Down."

Tim drops down onto his toes --

"What are you gonna do for me, pretty baby?"

"*Everything*."

Roy presses two fingers to Tim's lower lip, and it's -- a reminder. A touchstone. A *moment* --

Tim feels like he's *high*, like -- like he could dance more, move more --

Tim pulls himself into openness, readiness --

And Roy nods slowly. "Bruce."

"Yes, Roy."

"He said he wanted to make love to you even more right now. What do you think -- no. What do you *want* that to mean?"

Bruce pants -- "I want to please him, to finally -- he said he wanted to be taken --"

"*Fucked* -- no, wait, strike that. I don't actually think I can deal with you cursing," Roy says, and winks at Tim.

Tim hums --

"Go on, papi."

"I want to take him, to open him with my penis, to fill him until he cries my name --"

"How *often* did you do that with Jay?"

"Every day for a week, and then not for several days, and then every day again --"

"You only took breaks to let him heal, yeah?"

"Yes," and Bruce sounds *shamed* --

"*Stop*," Roy says, and slips around behind Tim again. "Tell him how often you wanna get fucked, baby."

Tim smiles and raises an eyebrow at Bruce's penis, and then slowly looks up. And licks his lips. "Every. Day. Possible. And I sincerely doubt that Jason felt differently... I have, after all, seen the way he looked at you."

Bruce pants again -- and shakes his head --

"Look at it this way, papi -- now you know how it feels for Robin when you *do* have self-control. Not that you shouldn't have already figured that *out*."

Bruce winces. "I wish. I wish to speak of this to Dick. And other things, as well."

Roy wraps his hand around Tim's throat -- and that's the sound of his zipper going down --

"Oh, *Roy* --"

"Shh, baby," and Roy squeezes. "You're not my slave, Bruce, and you're not going to *be* my slave. What you do outside this room -- this *time* -- is all on you."

Bruce smiles gently. "Perhaps you will be moved to forgive me if I find such things worthy of a measure of wist."

Roy snorts. "You *Bats*. Be more like Tim, papi. It'd be good for the *world*."

Bruce meets Tim's eyes with a *glitter* in his own -- "A tempting prospect on a number of levels."

"Squeeze your cock, Bruce. Nice and hard."

Bruce licks his lips, leans back in the chair -- and *sighs* when he squeezes. More pre-come beads at the tip --

"You sure you don't want that cock in your throat, baby?"

"Not in the *slightest*, Roy. I mean -- ah. I'm only human."

Roy's laugh is breathy -- and against Tim's ear as he pushes his penis between Tim's cheeks and starts to *rub* --

Tim moans and tries to hold himself still *while* spreading his legs as far apart as he can --

"No, relax a little. Be still, not tense."

Tim licks his lips and complies. His calves have begun to feel somewhat fatigued from this position, but it's nothing he won't be able to run his way out of -- no, he's not thinking about what happens after this. That would be...

Counterproductive.

Tim smiles --

Roy nips Tim's earlobe and *nestles* his penis between Tim's cheeks. "Stop squeezing, Bruce."

"Yes, Roy."

"What's that smile for, pretty?"

Tim tilts his head back enough that he can rest it on Roy's shoulder --

"Ooh, I do like that," Roy says, and slaps Tim's penis once --

"*Unh* --"

"Answer the question."

"I was -- mm. I was considering the benefits of staying in sub-space emotionally, and how they could be lessened if I spent any time planning my day after the collar comes off."

"In other words, you were enjoying the freedom a little...?"

"God, yes," Tim says, and rolls his head on Roy's shoulder, keeping the rest of his body as still as possible.

"I *like* you affectionate, pretty baby. Reminds me that I have a *Robin* of my own."

Tim laughs. "I never was very good at that part."

"Because you didn't let yourself learn how. That's different now," Roy says, cupping Tim's hips and starting to *thrust* --

"Yes -- yes, it's -- everything is different --"

"No, not that. Not your girl."

"She. Steph is *apart* --"

"But you're gonna compartmentalize a little *less* from now on. Nothing severe right off the bat," Roy says, sighing and moaning softly -- "Sweet little *ass*. You're gonna take nice, slow, easy baby steps. Look at Bruce."

"Yes, Roy." Tim tilts his head forward and -- oh.

Bruce is sitting with his legs apart, left hand wrapped around his penis and gaze *focused* on him and Roy. He's neither squeezing nor stroking, but he *could* be, and --

"I wish you'd brought a ring for Bruce," Tim says because he *has* to --

Roy laughs again, strokes Tim's hips. "This is why nobody picked me for the *planning* parts of the plans."

"I am. You're doing a wonderful job building your team," Bruce says, and it sounds more like 'fuck me' than anything else --

Which is, perhaps, why Roy's laugh is even more breathless now. "*Thank* you, papi. Be honest -- how much stim can you take before you're coming all over yourself?"

Bruce's narrowed eyes are a smile --

-- that makes Tim very happy that he *has* a penis close to his hole.

"A fairly significant amount. I am... at your disposal."

Roy presses *his* smile against Tim's ear --

*Bites* Tim's ear --

"That's *good* to know," he says, and cuts Tim *free* --

"*Oh* --"

"Suck him. *Now*," Roy says, stepping back and giving Tim a push.

Tim moves as quickly and gracefully as he can, dropping to his knees between Bruce's legs --

And Bruce grunts before Tim even touches him, eyes going wide and wild at once --

"Let *him* have your cock, Bruce."

"Yes. I --" Bruce shakes his head and drops his hands to his sides.

For a moment, Tim wonders if he should finish working his hands free of the noose, but... no. There's a certain *impurely* aesthetic *something* to the sight of his bound wrists as he reaches for Bruce's penis, as he guides that penis down to where he can comfortably *suck* --

"*Just* the head for now, baby."

Tim hums in assent --

Bruce grunts again and shudders, and that --

That simply isn't as distracting, as *motivating* as the taste of Bruce on his tongue. Salt and maleness, the thick *feel* of the head on Tim's tongue --

No ring to catch, no ring to tug --

No ring to make it even remotely difficult to work his tongue into the slit --

Bruce moans and lifts his hands -- drops them again --

"*Look* at him, baby."

Another hum --

Bruce pants so -- it almost sounds like *distress* --

And it looks that way, too. The wildness in Bruce's eyes has only gotten (better) worse, his jaw is clenched, his shoulders look liked they'd *feel* like boulders...

Tim *wants* to make a questioning sound, but Roy would almost certainly make him *stop* sucking --

"Tell him why this is so -- heh. Hard on you, papi."

"He. He showed --"

"Talk to *him*," Roy says, moving close enough to shift the shadows, to make them warmer -- and Roy cups the back of Tim's head.

Tim moans and *tries* to quiet himself --

"No, baby. Now is the *right* time for all your pretty sounds."

Tim hums again -- and finds himself licking frantically at the slit for the pre-come Bruce is putting out --

"Oh... beautiful. So beautiful, Tim, and I -- you showed no hesitation for that. For Roy's order, and you. Your pleasure in this act is --" Bruce groans and throws his head back --

"No, papi, *look* at him."

"*Yes*, Roy, I -- such hunger, he. He reminds me of Jay, and -- I am lost. I never thought anyone else could -- could...."

"Enjoy you so much?"

Bruce groans and nods, squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them again. "I apologize. I. I cannot take this. For as long as I thought."

Roy *grips* Tim's hair -- "How long?"

Bruce breathes sharply, *raggedly* --

Tim tries not to do anything -- no, he's humming for the taste again, for the stretch of having Bruce in his *mouth* --"

"Thirty seconds -- *no*. Twenty," Bruce says, and he's gripping his own thighs again, giving Tim more *shadows* --

"Take him deep, baby."

Bruce cries out and breathes even more raggedly, sharp and desperate at once as Tim gulps air --

And then gulps *Bruce*, faltering a moment when the head reaches the back of his throat --

He can *do* this --

It takes three swallows and, perhaps, the sound of his own whine before he can do it --

Roy holds him *down* --

And every groan gets stuck on the *other* side of his throat --

"Please. Please. *Please*," Bruce says, shuddering constantly and very clearly trying to hold himself back, to control himself in the face of --

The pleasure Tim is giving... and taking for himself. Tim feels himself blush and realizes that he's stroking Bruce's scrotum with his bound hands, learning it with his fingers, taking that, *too* --

Roy *yanks* him back --

Bruce growls and *claws* his own thighs --

And Tim is panting and licking his lips. He hadn't been oxygen-deprived enough to *need* to sway on his knees, but the desire to do it --

To have that, *too* --

"My turn, baby..."

"Roy, *yes*," Tim says, turning around -- *trying* to turn --

Roy laughs and strokes Tim's hair. "*Not* your mouth right now. My baby has needs..."

"Yes... oh, yes, Roy, please, tell me where --"

Roy tugs Tim *up* by the hair --

Bruce's eyes are glittering with a hunger so dark it almost looks like *rage* --

"Hands and knees on the bed," Roy says, releasing Tim's hair and slapping Tim's *ass* -- "And why don't you get right up next to him, papi?"

Bruce groans --

His penis *spasms* --

And Tim forces himself to focus on the bed, moving --

He's lost a significant amount of his grace --

His penis feels ridiculously heavy and *caught* --

His *chest* feels heavy --

And none of that matters as much as how *right* he feels once he's on his hands and knees, once he can brace and make himself *ready*. Tim hangs his head and waits, not looking up even when he feels Bruce arranging himself beside him --

Though Bruce's warmth along Tim's side is another right thing, something else he can have because of Roy --

"I love you so much, baby..."

Tim moans. "I love you, too. I need you."

Roy strokes Tim's back, splaying his hand at the base of Tim's spine. "It won't take long before you'll start going crazy from not being able to come."

"Yes, Roy."

"You..." Roy sighs and moves his hand -- and then he strokes the head of his penis along the backs of Tim's thighs.

Tim moans --

"God, the way you *sound* for me... you always drive me a little crazy. Sometimes a lot more than a little."

Tim takes as deep a breath as he can. "I'm glad. I -- I want to."

"And Bruce... heh. This view ought to be illegal. What did Jay say the first time you showed him this?"

"His reaction... was somewhat unprintable."

Roy laughs softly --

Bruce grunts *hard* -- "Roy..."

"Now, *that* was the sound of me squeezing Bruce's pretty, hairy sac, baby. You want that?"

"Yes. Please --"

"I saw you playing with it. Couldn't really help yourself, could you?"

Tim moans -- *stops*. "No. I. I wish to be punished."

Roy's breathing hitches -- "Yeah. Yeah, you do. All right: you don't get to make Bruce come in your mouth until I say you can."

Tim whimpers --

Bruce *groans* --

"Yes. Yes, Roy. I promise to do better. In the future."

"I know you will, pretty baby. What do you think I should do to papi for getting himself too hot for me to *play* with...?"

The duvet moves beneath Tim's hands -- and Tim realizes that Bruce is clawing at it. He swallows. "I don't think you should fuck Bruce today... but I'm frankly not sure if the part of my brain offering that hasn't been... corrupted by my own hunger for you."

Roy's laugh is low and breathy, breath*less* -- "Tim, I... I'm never gonna let you go."

*Oh* -- "Roy..."

"Yeah. A little piece of you is *always* gonna be all mine... and I won't forget. And I won't let go. Do you understand?"

The promise and the *threat* -- "Yes, Roy. I feel the same."

"I know you do. That's just one of the things that makes you so beautiful to me -- because sometimes I'm a *little* narcissistic."

Tim laughs and moans, laughs more and tries to spread his legs wider --

"No, stay *right* there. Both of you," Roy says --

And Tim jumps for the *crack* of flesh on flesh --

"*Hnh* --"

Bruce. That was *Bruce* --

"How much of *this* can you take, papi?"

"Roy, I..." Bruce shifts on his hands and knees --

"*Ahn* -- *ahn* --"

"Too slow, two slaps for Tim. Answer the question, Bruce."

"I'm afraid. I'm too close to... ecstasy. I may be overcome at. At any time," Bruce says, and Tim can hear his sweat pattering against the duvet.

Roy sighs. "Yeah, we need a ring for you. We don't *have* one... so we'll make do. Sit up and get a good view of us, baby."

Tim whimpers before he can stop himself --

And when Tim does manage to move into a seated position, Roy is grinning at him. "Yeah, baby, I know. Take a *good* look at my cock and ask yourself if I'm not whimpering inside, too."

Tim blushes again --

But Roy's penis is standing high and *straight*, and the bulbs of the P.A. are dripping with pre-come --

"I wish to be punished," Bruce says, and he's back to sounding anguished --

"You're still on probation, papi. You don't get to ask --"

Bruce winces and groans --

And Roy's slap is hard enough to sting in the moments before he *strokes* Tim's cheek.

"It does get easier, Bruce," Tim says, and licks his lips.

Bruce's laugh is almost unrecognizable as such... for a lot of reasons. Though the fact that he sounds like he's being *tortured* with his own arousal is one of them. Which... Tim honestly would've thought that control over that sort of thing was an *automatic* gift of age.

*Tim* is stoned on his own need to be touched -- to be *fucked* -- but he's sixteen years old and his erogenous zones are *adorned*. Bruce --

Roy lifts Tim's chin on his fingers... and raises his eyebrows.

Tim blushes again and kneels up --

"No, keep sitting on your heels. It makes your thighs look even longer and sleeker."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Now what about Bruce has you burning up with thoughts?"

"I -- his arousal. The wildness of it."

Bruce tenses *more* --

Tim winces --

And Roy strokes the expression off Tim's face. "Think of it this way. Imagine if something you wanted for pretty much your entire adult life was *right* there at your fingertips at last. Sure, it's been in that position before, but *you* couldn't accept it right then. Now you can."

Tim blinks. "I -- all right, yes, he did imply that he has appreciated the ability to submit to his partners... oh. I. Hm. I wish to address Bruce directly."

Roy strokes Tim's upper lip. "*I* wish to come on your face... but that can wait for another time. Go ahead."

Tim feels himself heating up all over, *needing* -- "Bruce. Give in. Give in to all of it. Accept the fact that there's nothing you can do but what Roy wants, that to do otherwise invites *loss*. And... ah. Accept the fact that there's nothing wrong with wanting this. I mean, we've both studied the same things -- you *gave* me those books to study -- but I think you're not taking them to heart as much as you could. You are. I need this. And I need you to *have* it, too... at least sometimes. I need your happiness."

Bruce's eyes are wide -- he doesn't *turn*, but Tim can tell -- and then he closes them for a moment and nods... and hangs his head, relaxing all over.

Roy makes a soft sound --

But by the time Tim looks, the only sign of anything but cheerful, confident *lust* is that Roy is loosening his hands out of fists, which...

Yes, that is impressive on top of everything else. Tim thinks that he *could* dominate Bruce, but not without Bruce being chained, blindfolded, and gagged. And even then, he wouldn't be able to manage it for very *long* -- no, this isn't for him.

This isn't for him... and that's all right. Tim smiles to himself and shifts slightly on his heels, solely to feel them digging in a little against the few small bruises Roy had left on his ass --

"Chin up, baby."

Tim does so --

And Roy kisses him *hard*, forcing Tim's head back, forcing Tim's mouth *open* --

And Tim's penis wants him to know that it would be a wonderful idea to be on his hands and knees again. Tim's throat wants him to know that it's empty. Tim's ass --

He's clenching and moaning, sinking *in* to the kiss, sucking Roy's tongue whenever he gets the *chance* --

Roy moves back and pats Tim's cheek again. "Watch."

"Yes, Roy --"

"Spread your legs a little wider, papi... yeah. Now brace yourself on one hand, reach back, and spread your ass for me."

Bruce's motions are smooth, his body so obviously strong, so --

The way the afternoon sunlight gleams on Bruce's scars is the most obscene thing *about* this --

But Tim has to change his mind about that once he can *see* Bruce's flexing hole, which has to be the smallest, most vulnerable-looking --

Tim licks his lips --

And Roy sighs and grips Bruce's other cheek, spreading him *wider* --

Bruce moans *softly*, shaking --

"Who's been in here. Who had that privilege?" And Roy's voice is low, appreciative --

Bruce moans again -- "Harvey. Jay. And... Clark."

"Not Kal... yeah, I can see it," Roy says, letting go... and pulling a bottle of lubricant out of the same pocket he'd had the cock ring in.

Tim is not at all surprised by the fact that he'd like, very much, to do Roy's laundry sometime. It would be a *learning* experience --

"You're not getting my cock today," and Roy slicks his fingers --

"Yes, Roy," Bruce says, shuddering again --

"How bad do you *want* it, papi?"

Bruce smiles with his eyes closed. "I am resisting the urge to beg. I know. I know that I have transgressed beyond the point of deserving that touch. That... benediction."

Roy uses his clean hand to spread Bruce once more... and begins to stroke up and down Bruce's cleft.

Tim clenches and can't keep himself silent -- he's not supposed to --

And Bruce sighs, splaying his hands against the duvet.

"Is this what calm looks like on you, Bruce?"

"Perhaps... acceptance."

Roy's hand *flexes* on Bruce's ass -- "It was always that good for you. That... right."

"Painful. The pain of perfection in a moment. The first time Harvey made love to me this way... I wept. It frightened him badly --"

"And that's when you started to hide, yeah?"

"I. It's when I began to hide from people I loved."

Roy sighs and pushes *in* with his thumb --

"*Roy* --"

"Wanna beg me?"

"*Yes* --"

"I'm not any of your lovers, papi --"

"I wish you were -- oh, no --"

"Look at Tim, papi. Tim, kneel up... and pinch the head of your cock."

Tim does -- and at first the feeling makes him *blank* with something like cold --

Something like *bright* --

And there's no moment between that and the pain that makes him *wail*, toss his head, gasp and wail *again*. He's aware that Bruce is panting and groaning, that he's staring --

Tim can *feel* Bruce staring --

"Down, baby... let go."

"Hnh -- oh. Oh, God, I -- never *like* that before --"

"You've never been *this* aroused for so long, I'm thinking," Roy says, and smiles at him with pride and pleasure.

Tim shivers and arches, offers his body --

"Soon, baby. Real soon now. Tell Bruce what you need."

"Yes, Roy. Bruce... keep giving in. Keep *accepting*. It's..." Tim smiles and shivers, shivers and laughs. "It's all right if you make mistakes. I can take it -- and I want to."

Bruce's eyes are wide again, and he swallows audibly -- and then he turns and hangs his head again -- "*Roy* --"

"Clark's fucked you more than once if you can take two fingers this easily."

"Yes. Yes. I. Six times."

Roy purses his lips and strokes Bruce's back. "Do you make him beg for it?"

"I believe he would see it that way. I only --"

"Say yes, papi."

"Yes. Yes, Roy --"

"You're afraid of losing yourself to him."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and *shakes* -- "So much."

"There's an art to losing. You know that, right?"

"Please -- yes. I wish to be *taught*."

Roy *scratches* Bruce's back and does something with his fingers --

Bruce cries out and *arches* --

"I should call Kal here and make you beg him to teach you."

"I can't. I -- too much -- please, Roy --"

"I could make Tim the reward, papi. You know he belongs to me now," Roy says, and his voice is no more cruel than his *words* --

Tim isn't sure if he should be getting more aroused or *not* -- and the question of 'should' is a phenomenally stupid one. Tim starts to hug himself for the touch --

He needs to be *touched* --

And the pull of the clamps makes him shout, *buck* --

"Pretty, pretty... calm yourself down, baby."

"Yes --" Tim moans and shudders, focusing --

He focuses on Bruce and watches *him* relaxing himself. It's the same goad as it ever was, the same *need*... and Roy could take this away from him. There's no question of whether he'd obey -- he *would*. And let himself hope for a reprieve --

Roy laughs quietly. "You fucking *Bats*. All that theoretical knowledge and none of the practical," he says, and pats Bruce's hip. "You don't *make* a sub give it up for a dom he doesn't *want*. That's *rape*, in case it hadn't occurred to you."

Bruce pants.

Tim... that...Tim does his own quiet laughing. "There is such a thing as being very, *very* deep in sub-space... Daddy."

Roy snorts --

Pinches the bridge of his nose --

"I wish to be punished, Roy --"

"No, you don't get that when you remind your dom to take his head out of his ass. Sit back down on your heels and remind me... mm. Remind me what *exactly* I'll be doing in just a little while."

Tim smiles and spreads his knees, narrowing his eyes for the swing of his scrotum.

"Sweet *boy* -- mm." Roy turns back to Bruce. "Brass tacks, papi. Do you want *me*?"

"Yes, Roy. I -- in any way I may have you. Though I would not be able to dominate you."

"I wouldn't ever ask," Roy says, and his voice is soft, low... "Oh, Bruce. You could've fucked me over worse than Ollie. You know that, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Roy nods slowly and starts to thrust. "That's why you didn't come pluck me off the street yourself... or step in once I was in recovery."

Bruce moans -- "There were. Many reasons. Foremost were my doubts about my motives. You have always been. You have given so *much* --"

"And taken more... more or less," Roy says, smiling and reaching between Bruce's legs --

"*Hnh* --"

"A tug for your sac, and... this," and Roy wraps his hand around Bruce's penis and squeezes hard.

"Oh -- *yes*, Roy. Please. Please take me," Bruce says, tilting his head back and smiling with *satisfaction* --

Roy groans -- stops. "You're gonna let me get *exactly* this deep with you, aren't you?"

"And deeper still... one hopes," and this time Bruce's smile shows *teeth*.

The desire to stroke himself is one he can understand, for all that the act would be far, far worse than useless with the ring on --

And Roy is laughing again as he starts to thrust faster, *harder* --

Bruce groans and begins to rock back into the thrusts --

"Original recipe Leaguers really *don't* get to make sexual innuendo, papi."

"I'll -- mm -- do my best to keep that in mind, but... oh, hn. I seem to be edging close to another --"

"You're edging close to losing the *thread*," and Roy pauses, *obviously* crooks his fingers --

Bruce shouts and clenches his hands into fists again --

"Anyone would wanna fuck you -- God, you *Bats*," and Roy crooks again, again --

Tim rocks his hips in rhythm, pumps at nothing and *wants* --

"*Please*, Roy --"

"Please *what*, papi...?"

"I need. I need to be taken --"

"You *can't* have my cock, Bruce," and Roy's smile seems almost *savagely* hot --

"Then. More. I would like to have more --"

"Do you want the *pain*?"

"*Yes* -- *hn* --"

Three. Three fingers --

"*Don't* come," Roy says, and it's --

God, he's almost *reaming* Bruce, and Tim is jealous and in need, hungry enough that he's salivating --

Bruce cries out --

And then he *keeps* crying out, one deep-voiced shout for every thrust until he's shaking constantly, leaking enough pre-come to connect his penis to the bed. His eyes are open, but he's staring at nothing --

His knuckles are *white* as he grips the duvet --

"I want --" Roy growls. "You'll give me this *again*."

Another wordless shout --

"You'll *beg* for it."

A whine -- and Tim realizes that *he's* doing it, that he's still pumping his *hips* --

"You --" Roy pants, tosses his head -- "You'll *show* me how much you need me..."

Bruce nods, bites his lip, beats at the bed with his *fist* -- "*Roy* -- please, I can feel myself -- so *close* -- *Roy* --"

Roy stops, panting and spasming, spattering Bruce's thigh with pre-come --

He pulls out --

And Bruce slumps down to his elbows and pants, penis twitching --

Roy takes a deep breath and shivers, grips himself with his slick fingers -- he doesn't stroke. He steps back and gestures Tim closer with the fingers of his dry hand --

Tim moves off the bed --

"Strip me. Waist down."

Tim smiles and drops into a crouch. "Your command is my wish."

Roy's laugh is breathless again -- and yes, Tim *can* do this quickly and efficiently, and never mind all the scars he wants to lick, all the scents he'd like to bury himself in --

"Oh. *Roy*..."

"Yes, it *is* a sac-jewelry day, baby. You ready to feel those rings on yours?"

There are so *many* of them. They're thin, and were almost certainly less painful than the P.A. or the frenum ladder, but --

The time needed to put them all *in* today --

Tim licks his lips and leans close --

"Back on the bed, hands and knees."

Tim whimpers and *then* remembers that this is what he wants, and so he's blushing when he turns --

And Roy is smiling at him, stroking Tim's back, squeezing Tim's ass *right* over a bruise -- "Sit up and pay attention to this, papi. I'm gonna show you exactly how to fuck my boy."

Tim -- doesn't trip. It helps immensely that the bed is right *there* --

Roy *pushes* him into the right position -- "Deep breaths now, baby."

"Yes, Roy. I -- I'm frightened."

Roy taps the base of Tim's spine with two fingers. "Tell me why."

There's a temptation to say that everything *about* Roy's statement was frightening -- and that would even be a true for a part of him. But. That part is getting smaller. "Mostly... because I'm not sure I want Bruce to fuck me the same way you do. It seems... it would make one of you a liar."

"Ohh... baby. There's a fallacy in there. Perhaps even a failure of imagination. Can you guess what it is?"

Tim blinks --

*Tries* to access his capacity for critical thought --

"Ah... um?"

Roy laughs and smacks Tim's ass --

"*Unh* -- sorry --"

"Oh, no, that one was just for fun. An ass like yours *needs* to be appreciated... and that's just what I'm gonna do, pretty baby -- in a way I *haven't* yet."

Oh -- that -- Tim groans and tries to convince his body that it's already in the best position --

"Reach back and help me spread you."

"Yes, Roy --"

And Roy pushes in with two immediately --

"God, that *stretch* -- I -- Roy, I *want* you --"

"You have me, baby... mm. So hot and *tight* inside... tighter than Bruce. It's gonna hurt when he fucks you."

"Yes -- yes --"

"But not so much when I do. Not... yet," Roy says, slicking Tim all around inside before pulling out and pouring on more lubricant. It's warm from his body, and that --

It *feels* like a dirty thing, a perfect thing --

Tim breathes and relaxes himself, hangs his head --

And Roy is preparing him *carefully* this time, making Tim more slick than he had been either of the times they'd done this before, opening him *slowly* --

"Now, the *best* way to do this when you've got a pretty, pretty boy in a cock ring is to drive him right up the wall with stimulation until he's begging to come *before* it comes time to use his ass, but...?"

Bruce takes a breath. "I... distracted you."

"You're a very distracting *man*, papi. But mostly you made it necessary to do other things. *Have* other things," Roy says, and slips in a third finger.

Tim shivers and bites his lip --

"Let go of your ass and start stroking yourself. Use *my* rhythm."

Tim stops biting his lip and moans when he tries to say yes, moans again once he has his hand around himself, once he can feel himself *pulse* for the feel of the ring around him, the fact of it and everything it means --

He *belongs* to Roy now --

"Don't make me wait, now..."

"Yes, Roy, sorry I --" Tim fumbles, grunts -- strokes, and at first the rhythm demands a long and *slow* stroke, but --

Roy is *filling* Tim with his fingers, stretching --

Tim starts squeezing for every time Roy spreads his fingers --

*Bruce* moans --

"Yeah. Yeah, like *this*," Roy says, and starts giving it to Tim faster, *harder* --

And right now Tim's body is heating up again, right now --

The sweat on his chest is *stinging* his nipples --

It feels like his penis is *throbbing*, and stroking it is making it worse, teasing --

His penis is stupid enough to believe that matters will improve if Tim just keeps doing this, but *he* knows better -- but Roy doesn't want him to stop. Roy wants him to be *exactly* this crazy and -- more than that.

*Much* more, judging by the way every thrust *drags* against his prostate, making Tim arch and try to stretch, try to encourage --

Discourage --

Bruce rumbles a groan --

"Say it, papi."

"His hunger... goads. I believe that I could *please* him --"

"*That's* not all you want right now," Roy says, and Tim can *hear* the viciousness of the smile in his voice --

Bruce laughs softly. "No. I wish to see if I could make him... a little bit my own. A part of me is foolish enough -- hn. Foolish enough to believe that Tim would give himself over for *only* pleasure."

"An easy lie to believe at times like these," and Roy scratches down Tim's back with his free hand --

Tim arches *more* -- and realizes that he's straining to hear Bruce and Roy, that there's some sort of -- of *distortion* --

And that mystery is solved when he runs out of air and has to acknowledge the fact that Roy had once again driven him to mindless, constant noise, whimpers and whispers --

The sort of thing you have to *hope* is wordless --

Tim laughs and tries to urge Roy faster, rocking back onto his hand just a little bit off-rhythm --

"Mmm. Bad boy? Eager boy? Both...?"

"*Please*, Roy --"

"Pinch your nipples. One at a time."

Tim groans and does it, moving back and forth between them and just -- giving himself over to it. The pain is what it is, it does what it *does* -- mainly shooting itself down to the base of Tim's penis and making him feel even more constrained, more *bound* --

And so it's ultimately necessary to shake like this, to sweat so much that every sensitive place on his body stings, ever abrasion this life has given him -- not complaining. Complaints don't make him *harder* --

"Now, baby. Brace your hands..."

The voice cuts through everything, but it still takes a moment to understand, to --

Do it, just do everything the voice says, and it will be --

Tim recognizes that he's more than this, that there's more than this moment --

And then he doesn't, because everything important about him is held, touched as he braces himself carefully and well, as he moans for the perfect pain -- is it emotional? Intellectual? -- of Roy pulling his fingers out --

Master --

Lover --

*This* moment, then, and the need to focus on his own emptiness, on the impossibility of pleasure without touch, without *Roy* --

"*Just* like this, Bruce," and Roy pushes in so slowly, so perfectly --

No hesitation, no *doubt*, and the lack of speed makes it seem as though the act of being filled will last forever, that this pressure and breach will take over everything he is until there's nothing --

There's *already* nothing but this, he --

He couldn't focus on anything else if he *tried*, and that's another wonderful thing -- Roy doesn't want him to try. Roy doesn't want him to be anywhere but here. Roy wants Tim's *use* --

Air. He needs -- oh, he was crying out again, letting himself just *wail* --

"Oh, baby, sweet *baby*..."

Words. He'd like to have words for this --

"Feel me, baby, feel -- mm. Feel *all* of me..."

Yes -- oh, yes --

Roy groans and starts to thrust -- only 'thrust' doesn't seem like the right word for something that feels this smooth, this slow and careful, carefully *filling* --

The shift in shadows means that Bruce is moving closer, and that must be all right, it --

Roy is *cupping* Tim's hips, and he never slips very far out, and a part of Tim believes that he's pushing deeper each time, that there's *more* to Roy's penis than what he's seen, felt, *tasted* --

"Hold. Hold his head in your lap, papi..."

"*Nnh* -- yes, Roy," Bruce says, and now he's in front of Tim, now he's lifting Tim's head and placing it *gently* on his thigh --

So much *warmth*, and Tim is aware that he's making more noise, that he's -- God, practically *babbling* --

"Sweet *baby*, I -- I need you so bad..."

*Roy* --

"This. This is how I wanted to make love to you the first time. Knew. Knew I could teach you to love it..."

Tim nods, dragging his cheek against Bruce's thigh, breathing deep and smelling sex, sweat -- "Roy..."

"You bring this *out* of me, you -- you *asked* me to... to dominate --" Roy groans and thrusts *hard* --

"Oh, *God*, yes --"

"*Wait*, Tim, baby, just --" And Roy resettles his hands on Tim's hips, tightens his grip and loosens it, tightens it again and starts to *rock*.

Impossible not to *immediately* give in to that rhythm, to move for it, *live* in it, and he's aware that he's nuzzling Bruce's penis in the same rhythm but it must be all right, it --

Roy will *tell* him if it isn't, and that's all he needs to know --

Roy's breathing is so *rough* now, and that means this is right, this is what he wants --

*He's* what Roy wants, and --

Oh, he doesn't *want* to babble and moan like this, he doesn't want to not be able to *hear* Roy --

And Bruce --

Bruce is cupping Tim's head and stroking at the pressure points. Not pressing, not --

So much *love*, and not accepting it for his own would be the only truly wrong thing, something so far beyond Roy's displeasure, beyond the failure to fulfill Bruce's needs --

"For. For as long as you *can*, papi..."

"Yes, Roy. I see. I -- I believe it would be better if you were to --"

"Give in to my *own* needs, Bruce?" Roy's laugh is breathless, sweet -- "I *am*. Ah, God, your *ass*, baby -- *unh* --"

Clenching for that, but he has to, he --

He doesn't want to let *go* --

And no air means that he can hear Roy groaning, hear Bruce panting, all but *taste* Roy shuddering --

So close, so *close* --

"Kneel *up*, Tim --"

Practically instinct to move for that voice now, to get himself into *position* --

And Roy *yanks* Tim down onto his penis, hooking his arms under Tim's own and gripping his shoulders -- "Not too hard, not too --*hnh* -- make me come *fast*, baby..."

Tim nods and starts working himself --

And he has to throw his head back onto Roy's shoulder --

Roy kisses his *cheek* -- "Love you, baby, so much, so *much* --" And then Roy is groaning as he thrusts, almost *lifting* Tim with his thrusts --

So strong --

So *hard* --

And Tim can *clench* --

Roy says something fervent in -- Navajo? Dine? -- "*Bruce*. C'mere, c'mere and *kiss* this boy --"

And Bruce just *is* pressed against him, cupping Tim's face --

And the kiss is deep and hard, seemingly both fast and *impossible* --

And all Tim can do is moan into Bruce's mouth, beg with everything he is for more against the pain, the need --

*With* the pain, and there's fear for this, a sense that he could be lost and on his knees for the rest of his life -- but --

Oh, it's what he *wants* --

Roy is almost *chanting* his name as he thrusts, pushing *against* the way Tim is clenching, breaking his -- his *mantra* to curse, buck, *growl* --

More, then, more --

He has to make Roy --

"Tim, *fuck* --"

And Roy *slams* in, shuddering and groaning, spasming *deep* --

Filling him.

*Filling* him --

Oh, he'd done this *right*, and Tim's own penis is twitching constantly, Tim is panting into Bruce's mouth, Tim is *whimpering* --

He needs more. He needs *more*, and that --

He should have had *enough*. Roy is satisfied, Roy --

Roy is stroking him *almost* everywhere he can reach. He's avoiding Tim's nipples and the chain but nowhere else. He --

He's trying to comfort Tim, and that -- it's too *much* somehow, but he has to take this, too --

*Love* --

Tim tries and fails to calm his breathing.

Tim tries and fails to stop whimpering.

Tim shakes and clutches at Bruce -- who groans and kisses him harder, presses *closer* --

"No, papi, not quite that. You -- pull back."

Bruce shudders -- and does it. "Roy. He is -- distressed --"

"He needs more. Don't you, baby?"

"I -- I *shouldn't* -- *ahn* --"

Just *one* tug on the chain -- "Not what I asked."

"Yes. Yes, I need more --"

"You're *always* gonna need more. That's just what I'm *purposefully* bringing out of you. You... mm. You never have to be ashamed. You never have to doubt. Understand?"

"Not... quite. Ah. Perhaps." Tim breathes deep and shakes himself like a dog. "Perhaps I will later. I trust you."

Roy kisses Tim's forehead. "Look at Bruce."

Tim does, and he -- *that* looks like distress. Certainly, it's enough to help him focus, shake himself *somewhat* free --

He doesn't *want* to be free -- yet.

"I would like to make Bruce come, Roy."

"*I* would like... to let you. Heh. Baby, you are so -- no, you're not everything I want. But when I'm with you, it *feels* that way."

Tim shivers and presses back against Roy a little more. "The feeling is mutual."

Roy strokes Tim's abdomen, scratches, reaches down to cup Tim's scrotum -- "You ready for the collar to come off?"

That -- is worth another shiver. "Not yet. Please."

Roy presses his smile against Tim's cheek. "You made me feel good, baby. You... mm. I'm not ready to let you go."

"Then... please don't."

"Oh, I won't. But... there are different levels to letting go. You know that."

"Yes... yes, Roy."

"Look at Bruce again. And this time don't look away until you're *really* seeing him."

"It won't. Take long. Um --" Tim looks, and lets himself stare directly into Bruce's eyes, lets himself fall into that need, that *particular* sense of self that goes beyond Robin --

Tim had wanted Robin to encompass *all* of this, he'd -- God, he'd *begged* for it some nights, knowing deep inside that Bruce would never look, never --

See.

Tim swallows and *looks*, and lets himself be open both to himself and to Bruce, lets himself be flooded with the same arousal which feels like it's been crippling him for hours, *days* --

He has no idea how long it's *been*, and that -- God, how soon will Dana and his father be home?

Bruce frowns --

And Roy pats his thigh. "Come back, baby. What's got you twisted?"

"Ah -- I don't have a sense of what time it is."

"Mm, now there's a point. Bruce?"

"It's approximately two-fifteen," Bruce says, and rubs restlessly at his thighs with his palms, and --

"Oh. That. We have *hours*," Tim says, and suspects that he sounds like a beatific eight-year-old --

Roy laughs and kisses the back of Tim's neck. "Your nipples only *think* I've been torturing 'em for a week," and he strokes Tim's sides, his thighs, his throat --

He cups Tim's scrotum again --

He *strokes* the cock ring -- "Now you were going to look at Bruce. You know what I need you to do, right, baby?"

Tim pants -- swallows. "You want me to let him fuck me."

"Just like your fantasy. Just like mine. Only thing is, you have to be ready for that cock."

"I -- I am --"

"You have to be ready to lose *my* touch."

"Oh. Oh. I -- I don't want -- um." Tim laughs quietly. "I'm really *not* thinking well."

Roy kisses his way across the backs of Tim's shoulders. "You're doin' fine. Only thing -- you were almost there. You were seeing him. Needing him."

"I need you, too, Roy --"

"I know you do, and that drives me *wild*, pretty baby. That -- mm. That's the best thing in this *room*. Look at him."

Tim shivers and -- and gives, again, and it feels like he's emptying himself and it feels like he's offering himself --

And Bruce's breathing hasn't been even for a very long time.

And Bruce's hands haven't been *still* for --

And he's hard, so hard, so *hungry* -- and hungrier than that when Tim meets his eyes again. Bruce's eyes are a demand and a plea, and the fact that Tim has seen them that way before --

"I used to think, when you looked at me that way, that I was... that I wasn't good enough."

Bruce closes his eyes -- opens them. "You would often see this... I wore the cowl."

"Yes. And you..." Tim licks his lips. "I would feel it. I -- Roy, I need him --"

"Yeah, you do. And I'm gonna watch every moment. I promise. I *won't* look away."

And Tim wants to ask why Roy can't just hold Tim's head in *his* lap -- but he knows the answer. This --

Roy has *built* something for Tim, and for Bruce. Roy has *created* something for them, and this is --

They have to prove that they can make it work. They have to give themselves to each other without Roy's interference, and the fact that Tim had thought they *had* --

It wasn't this. It couldn't have *been* this, because Tim knows himself well enough to know that he never would've asked for this degree of honesty from Bruce -- or from himself, for that matter. The love they'd made had been wonderful, but this is --

This will *be* --

Tim smiles. "I'm ready, Roy."

Roy sighs with pleasure -- <<Lover, I am moved.>>

Tim shivers --

"Kneel up."

"Yes, Roy --" And the rest of that is a grunt, because the combination of lubricant and semen is... itself.

And all over Tim's *thighs* --

"Pretty as a picture," Roy says, and slaps Tim's ass *lightly*. "Tell him what you need, Bruce. Both of you, talk *freely*," and Roy slips off the bed altogether.

Tim closes his eyes and breathes, wants -- and realizes that he's stroking himself. His chest, his sides, his thighs, his *penis* --

"Tim. You are beautiful. You are -- your skin is flushed, the flesh of your penis is almost *dark* --"

"Yes. Yes, Bruce, I --" Tim opens his eyes. "I need to be touched."

"Then. Please, come closer to me. I don't -- I'm afraid to touch you too roughly --"

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

And Bruce is lifting him easily, *hauling* Tim close -- "May I kiss you --"

"*Please* --"

Bruce groans and rolls Tim down onto his back, dragging Tim until Tim's head is on the pillow --

And the kiss is hungry --

The kiss is almost like being *mauled* --

No, those are Bruce's *hands* moving all over him, gripping and stroking and *taking* --

"Beautiful boy, beautiful *love* --"

"*Bruce* --"

"So open for this, for -- for me?"

Tim moans and tries to arch under Bruce, tries to rub himself against him, that size, that heat --

So much *hair* --

"*Please*, Tim, I *need* you --"

"Bruce, *take* --"

Another kiss then, and Bruce licks his way into Tim's mouth --

Bruce moves up onto his knees --

Bruce *grips* Tim's penis and starts to stroke, starts --

Tim cries out into Bruce's mouth and tosses his head -- he can't --

He's been hard for so *long* --

"Tell me, Tim. Tell me -- no. I'm to tell you what I need. I -- look at me."

Tim opens his eyes and pants --

"I could satisfy my body's needs with you in many ways, but I long to be inside you, I ache to know *that* pleasure --"

"*Yes*, Bruce --"

"Tim --"

"I've wanted you, you *know* I've wanted you, *loved* you --"

"Love -- love me *still* --"

"*Yes*," Tim says, reaching up to cup Bruce's face and *pull* him into another kiss, coaxes Bruce's tongue into his mouth so that he can suck, mouth, *take* --

Bruce groans and *squeezes* Tim's penis --

Tim cries out -- and does it again, *again* --

"Tell me *when*, Tim --"

"*Now*," Tim says, pulling his knees back and spreading, arching --

"Pain -- you must *stop* me if the pain is too great --"

"I *won't*," Tim says, and he suspects that the smile on his face looks closer to psychotic than happy, but -- "You know what I can *take*, Bruce --"

"Everything. You have always been so *strong*, I --"

And Bruce rears back, holding Tim down with a hand on his throat while he takes himself in hand --

While he strokes the pre-come all around --

So *big* --

And the push at his hole makes Tim gasp --

Bruce *pauses* -- and presses *down* on Tim's throat. That --

Tim bucks and curses silently, begs silently, wants *silently* as Bruce lines himself up again and pushes -- oh. Oh.

It's *exactly* the way Roy had entered him. It's the same *speed*, and a part of him is back on his hands and knees --

A part of him is crying Roy's name and shaking --

Shaking so *much* --

"*Tim*."

Bruce's voice. Bruce --

Bruce needs his attention in this moment, but Roy had entered him just like *this* --

His body *knows* this feeling --

"I'm right here, baby," Roy says from -- he's *close* -- "It's Bruce's turn with you. You know what to do. You know who to *be*."

Tim groans -- and *shouts* at the realization that Bruce had loosened his grip on Tim's throat. "Bruce, *no*, don't -- don't let *go* --"

Bruce growls and squeezes *hard*, and the power in that hand could crush Tim's windpipe, punch *through* Tim's vocal cords -- but Bruce is only holding him, choking off his air and -- keeping him.

Tim opens his eyes and smiles at Bruce, trying and failing to nod against the rawly profound *size* of that hand --

Bruce pants and shudders again, narrowing his eyes against --

But what does he *feel* like to Bruce? Does he still seem tight? Is the wetness anything like being with a woman? Tim wants to know everything even if he can't *be* everything. Tim wants to be tied for this and he wants Bruce to be tied. He wants --

"Just -- a little more, my love, my partner --"

Tim nods again, letting his swollen-feeling tongue slip out to wet his lips --

"I would fill you every *day* -- *hnh* --"

Tim could do nothing about that clench, and he *can* do nothing about the next, or the next --

"*Please*, Tim --"

"*Need* you," Tim mouths, lifting his hands to try signing it -- and then he remembers that he can *touch* Bruce, and that --

His face, his shoulders, his chest --

And when Tim feels Bruce's scrotum against his ass, it occurs to him that he hadn't fully appreciated the feel of *Roy's* scrotum --

Those *rings* --

He'd been making too much noise to *hear* them, and that --

Bruce pulls his hand from Tim's throat, and -- he's breathing like a *bellows*, holding himself still everywhere --

He's not *looking* at Tim --

"Bruce, please --"

"You're not. You don't -- this *want* --"

"For *you* -- I. I thought. I was thinking of Roy's jewelry... ah."

Roy laughs softly -- stops. "Bruce. Keep telling him what you need."

Bruce shudders, pants more -- and when he turns back to Tim, his eyes are back to being bleak even as sweat runs down from his temples. The *strain* --

And Tim realizes that he'd started holding himself back again, holding himself apart from physical pain and emotional -- things. He's wasting Roy's *gift*, and that can't last. "Touch me. Please."

The way Bruce strokes Tim's face seems almost clumsy, rough and --

His hands are shaking and that -- "I -- I promised myself once that if you ever needed me this way, ever even *seemed* to need me this way --"

"You. Are not so lonely, anymore."

Tim smiles and turns to kiss Bruce's fingers. "No. But I'm still in love."

"Tim --"

"Show me. *Make* me feel you --"

"I --"

"*Do* it, Bruce," Roy says, growling and almost shouting --

And this shudder is so hard that it moves Tim, and --

"*Ahn* --" That for the spasm of Bruce's penis, for the feel of *exactly* how full he is --

There *is* a part of Tim which is frankly shocked that he had been *able* to hold himself apart, but that part is lagging behind all the rest, it doesn't belong to anyone, it hasn't been hard so long that it's all but *stoned* --

It's barely *him*. But this is, this moment of Bruce cupping Tim's face and pushing at his mouth with his thumb --

Tim sucks it in --

Bruce *flexes* inside him, shows his *teeth* --

Tim lets his eyes slip *most* of the way closed and sucks in pulses, trying to remember the *exact* rhythm Roy had used, trying to remind *Bruce* --

"Yes. Yes, my love," Bruce says, starting to pull out -- not far. Not --

Oh, that slow *slide*, that --

Exactly the same, exactly -- but bigger. Not hotter, not --

Tim groans around Bruce's finger and thinks about whining --

Tim whines around Bruce's finger and shakes and doesn't think, at all. It's *necessary* to wrap his legs around Bruce's waist, to hold on --

To cry out for the change in angle, for Bruce's *nod*, silent and full of *learning* --

"Bruce --"

"How long."

"Please --"

"How long will you accept this? I... hn. I cannot help wondering how Roy *knew* the rhythm I preferred..."

Tim grunts and *clutches* with his thighs --

Bruce *smiles* -- "Perhaps I mean that I cannot help *knowing* how Roy knew. And... beautiful love. Please, always... always blame me for shaping you to find such *shameless* acts of surveillance arousing --"

"Bruce, *please* --"

Bruce pushes *two* fingers into Tim's mouth, and every millimeter makes Tim's eyes grow wider, makes him *need* more -- "Perhaps. Perhaps I need only distract you," Bruce says, not speeding himself *or* going harder. Just --

Filling Tim, opening him the way he'd said he *wanted* --

So slow and *easy* -- no. There's nothing easy about this --

Tim feels himself shuddering, and knows that he's groaning incoherently and continuing to clutch at Bruce with his thighs, pet and test at Bruce with his hands --

"How *long*, Tim," and Bruce loosens his grip --

"I don't know. I -- the cock ring changes. Everything. Please don't stop --"

"Tell me. Tell me how I can make this more pleasurable --"

"You *want* this --"

"Yes. I want to -- go slowly. I want you to grow *accustomed* to my penis --"

Tim groans and shakes his head, strokes Bruce with his inner thighs --

"It's not enough."

"*Bruce* --"

"You are not." Bruce licks his lips and pulls out further before thrusting in *fast* --

"*Ahn* -- oh, God, *Bruce* --"

"Yes. *This*," Bruce says, and the light behind his eyes seems almost manic, *driven* -- "You desire pain --"

"You -- oh, Bruce, make *love* to me --"

"Your home. Your room. Your *bed* --"

Tim cries out and beats at Bruce's shoulders with his fists, feels his hands folding into strike positions --

Bruce thrusts *deep* --

And Tim flings his arms back until he can grip the bedposts. He has to -- he can't --

Bruce moans and shoves his thumb into Tim's mouth -- "*Suck*."

Tim whines and does it, tosses his head and wants more, always *more*, because Bruce's thrusts are getting faster and longer and faster than *that* --

"Culmination in a moment. Sweetness -- your flesh welcomes --"

Yes -- *yes* --

Bruce pulls his thumb out and reaches to grip Tim's forearm instead, thumb sliding slick, hand so broad and *warm* --

"Want -- please *want* --"

"*This*, my love, this -- so much perfection --"

"Bruce --"

"You've taken so *much*..."

"He can handle more," Roy says, and the smile in his voice is sharp and so *proud*. "He can handle *you*, papi."

Bruce nods slowly, lips parted and forehead lined with concentration, focus, *control* --

"Tell him what you need, baby..."

"More -- *more* --"

Roy hums. "Give him that first rhythm fast and *hard*..."

Important to remember that Roy is a *percussionist* -- 

Bruce grunts and shortens his thrusts at once, beginning the simple slide again --before turning it into a powerful, shuddering *work* that makes Tim cry out with loud, rhythmic *need*.

Bruce is staring into him deeply, noting every moment, *learning* him --

Bruce was never supposed to know this part of him, never supposed to *care* --

"*Beautiful*," Bruce says, shoving Tim's arm down against the bed --

Sweat patters from Bruce's face to the pillow, to *Tim's* face, his mouth --

Tim licks his lips --

"Take *all* of me, Tim --"

"*Yes* --"

"I will -- I will *fill* you --"

"Cock ring off. *Now*," Roy says, and Tim feels his eyes widen --

Bruce's smile is *frightening* --

But not as much as the feeling of freedom once Bruce unsnaps the ring.

Tim's penis is twitching *constantly*, spattering them both and --

"Pretty baby... come for us."

Tim hears himself make a questioning noise, a helpless noise of fear and need --

He's not supposed to *ask* --

"*Please*," Bruce says, *yanking* Tim's arm away from the bed post and kissing Tim's fingers, licking Tim's palm, staring into Tim's *eyes* --

And then there's a rough, hard-worked hand on his face --

"Pretty baby. Let *go*."

Tim has enough of himself left to know that he's screaming before any greater feeling comes, and to know that he can't do anything *else* --

Enough to feel Bruce begin to *drive* into him, one thrust after another after --

*Oh* --

And the white flare starts at the base of his spine, *slams* through his penis -- and takes the world with it, takes everything but the feel of himself jerking and spasming with pleasure, the sense of losing himself, *giving* himself --

Arching and screaming more, *more* --

And falling back into himself with a gasp and a clench, another *twitch* --

Bruce is still *staring* at him, but now his expression is more wondering than anything else, more --

"Tim..."

There is nothing in him that's ready for Bruce to say his name that way -- that's a lie. And it's one he doesn't have to tell anymore. Tim smiles and spreads his legs wide, gasping for the shifts and changes, for the feel of his penis trying to soften and harden at once --

Bruce speeds *up* --

And shouts when Tim works both of his legs over Bruce's right shoulder, bracing himself on his left hand and *clutching* Tim's legs in place with the other.

"I love you, Bruce --"

Wordless noise as Bruce works himself, works Tim's *ass* --

"Keep *looking* at me --"

"*Yes* --"

And Roy cups the back of Tim's head. He's crouched next to the bed and watching avidly, noting *everything* --

And Tim knows that Roy had needed to see just this. He'd had to make Tim's relationship with Bruce as healthy and tempting as possible -- to be sure that nothing would take Tim entirely away from him. Necessary, then, to rub the back of his head against Roy's palm even as he smiles for Bruce, winces for Bruce --

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut --

"No, papi."

Bruce shouts again and opens his eyes, showing want, desperation, *fear* --

Tim gasps and reaches up to cup Bruce's face, knowing anything he says about things being all right will mean much less than this touch, but -- "Give it to me."

"*Tim* --"

"Hn. Let *go*, Bruce -- *nnh* --" Hand around his throat again --

Penis *twitching* again --

And a part of Tim is absolutely terrified by the prospect of becoming erect again. The rest of Tim *should* be --

"What do you *need*, papi?"

Bruce shudders, *moving* Tim with it -- "A *promise* --"

"Tell him, baby..."

"*Again*," Tim mouths --

"Roy. Roy, please --"

Roy takes a sharp breath, curling his fingers in against Tim's scalp -- "Again, Bruce. But you're damned well still on probation."

Bruce laughs, smiles with every ounce of terrifying joy he can bring to bear --

Hopefully --

And there could be stranger things than laughing *with* Bruce through an orgasm, but Tim isn't sure he wants to be exposed to them without a large supply of tranquilizer darts and a prior evening spent with David Lynch's oeuvre. As it is, Bruce has given up on blinking for the afternoon, and neither he nor Roy seem to see anything untoward about Tim continuing to be bent in half.

In truth, neither does he.

In *truth*...

Roy shoulders his way between them and kisses Tim deeply, wetly --

It's a friendly kiss, and Tim discovers that at least one part of him had missed those. Tim hums and gives it back, letting himself live in it for long enough --

*Roy* hums and starts to stroke him everywhere --

*Including* Tim's nipples --

And every twingeing *scream* from his nipples makes Tim's penis *want* to twitch. It actually manages it some of the time, but --

Roy pulls back. "Yeah, these have to come off."

"I must admit," Bruce says, and spreads and lowers Tim's legs to either side of his thighs, "that I was going to suggest that very thing... soon."

Roy sighs. "They *are* damned pretty on him. Pretty babies should *have* pretty things."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"And some pretty baby is rapidly getting to be light-years away from sub-space."

Tim blinks -- it's true. He smiles ruefully. "I -- sorry. I seem to be... losing cohesion to a certain extent."

Roy strokes down the bridge of Tim's nose. "There are all different kinds of cohesion... do you want *that* one back?"

Tim takes a moment just to enjoy the sight of Roy's hand. Scars and calluses and *more* scars --

Snapped strings and broken arrows --

Tim licks his lips. "I started slipping while Bruce was fucking me, I think --"

"Before that, too, a little. There's nothing wrong with that -- you got down pretty damned far for a newbie," Roy says, and paints invisible stripes on Tim's cheeks.

Tim closes his eyes -- opens them. "Wait. I'm not going to be able to make any sort of reasonably well-thought-out decisions while Bruce is still inside me."

Roy snorts --

Bruce hums. "You might consider... practice."

Tim raises his eyebrow *higher* -- and raises his foot to land a *gentle* kick to Bruce's shoulder. "Out."

Roy sighs -- but he only shakes his head when Tim looks, and, after that, Tim is much more concerned with the way he's leaking and crossing his eyes than with anything else --

"You'll get used to it, baby," and Roy pats Tim's shoulders.

"I -- ergh. Jesus, that's -- this duvet is going to be a dead *loss* -- ah -- yes, please, I want to take the collar off."

Roy wraps his hand around Tim's throat and squeezes --

"Ohn --"

And then releases him. "Collar off."

Tim shudders and sighs --

"Breathe, baby," Roy says, and *carefully* takes hold of the clamps.

"Oh... dear. All right." Tim takes a deep breath and sinks a little, flows a little --

"Meditation, hunh? Yeah, that might help. Here's the deal -- it's gonna hurt when I take these off. And then? It's gonna hurt a *lot*. You'll feel a lot better if you scream for it."

"Noted," Tim says, and keeps breathing --

Keeps breathing even though his nipples feel like they'd rather leave his body and spend their time running around and *screaming* --

Breathes --

*Breathes* --

"Oh, *fuck* --"

"Let it out, little 'mano."

"I -- I -- that's. That's *ridiculous* -- *hngh* -- "

"Tim. I believe you should listen to Roy," Bruce says, and his voice is low, concerned --

The pain just keeps getting *worse* --

"Baby --"

Tim opens his mouth and screams. And then he does that more. And more --

It *has* to stop getting worse *eventually* --

He can't even tell if his *eyes* are open -- there. The pain has reached a plateau, and he can -- just stay here.

And throb.

And -- Tim screams one last time because he *can*, and then he focuses on breathing until his eyes stop leaking tears. He wipes his face. "I um. I think I'm going to go shower --"

"Why not make it a party...?"

Tim blinks at Roy... and smiles. "I think I can approve of that sort of party... though I'm wondering how we'll all *fit*."

Bruce hums again --

And Roy smirks at Bruce. "Lemme guess -- you wanna tell us *all* about the bathrooms in the Cave. And the manor."

Bruce narrows his eyes in a *pleased* smile. "I might've been thinking of the Wayne Tower penthouse."

"But you *weren't*," Tim says, slipping out of bed and heading towards his bathroom. "That particular hum happens to require four-posters, which the penthouse lacks."

"You've come to know me so well," Bruce says, laughing and sincere at once.

Tim pauses at the doorway and looks back over his shoulder. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I've come to trust... a rather different set of instincts."

Bruce raises his eyebrow - "Whose."

It really is his *turn* for narrowed eyes. "The boy you touched bare-handed, Bruce. The boy you held in front of the Case. The boy who never had to shout your name more than once --"

"Before I came."

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip... and makes his way into the bathroom.

In the end, Bruce leans naked against the sink while Roy joins him in the shower. He seems to greatly enjoy watching Tim wash Roy's body thoroughly, and vice versa.

He seems to enjoy the sight of Roy dropping into a crouch and *rimming* Tim thoroughly even more -- though Tim has to admit that he isn't paying very much attention to anything save the messages from his incredibly well-used ass. Just --

Impossible not to reach back and try and fail to get a grip on Roy's hair, to brace himself against the tile and *take* --

It feels like the cock ring had left one continuous *welt* on his penis, and it feels --

God, it almost feels like the blood is making an *effort* to engorge him, as opposed to being able to do so naturally. The fact that that's an illusion -- meaningless. Utterly --

"I had always hoped you would enjoy that touch," Bruce says, voice echoing slightly --

The acoustics are in a *conspiracy* with the man, and --

"Ah -- ah?"

"I feared your natural fastidiousness would make you balk."

Yes. Well -- "*Nnh* -- *Roy* --"

Tongue slipping deep, *deeper* --

"I -- I'm *clean* --"

"You were not yesterday," Bruce says, as implacable as an avalanche --

"I'm -- sorry?"

"Please. Don't be," and the smile in his voice is purely *appreciative* -- "Clark and I have discussed your scent in the past."

Roy laughs *into* Tim's ass --

That really shouldn't feel that *good* --

"You -- *what*?"

"To be fair," Bruce says, and crosses his legs at the ankle --

The way his muscles flex is just --

Roy *hums* into him --

"Oh, *Roy* --"

"Mm-hmm..."

"To be fair, Clark often enjoys... teasing me with his sexuality. With his freedom and liberalism."

Roy hums again, kissing Tim deeply and *lovingly* -- and pulling back. Standing *up* --

"Roy, I need --"

"A kiss, I think," Roy says, smiling and spinning Tim around and into it. Tim can *deal* with his own musk -- there isn't all that much of it -- but he really needs more than this, needs --

Roy bites Tim's lip and smiles *meanly* --

"I -- could beg?"

"Wouldn't do you any good, little 'mano. I find myself in need of some more Batman-on-Robin action."

Tim groans -- stops himself. "I -- Roy, I need to know... do you only want the two of us to make love when the collar is on?"

Roy licks his lips. "You know how hard it would be for most new subs to get a question like that out?"

"Ah?"

Roy cups Tim's cheek and kisses his forehead. "You're incredible. Go with that. And -- no, not every time. *This* time I want it too bad, though."

"Oh. Roy, I could --" Wind up with Roy's fingers on his mouth. Tim raises an eyebrow *again* --

"That, right there, is why we're not going there, baby -- little 'mano. You're in *no* way ready for it, and it's not good if you try to force it."

Tim licks Roy's fingers --

Roy shudders. "God, you -- yeah. I'm backing out."

"Not... too far?"

Roy's smile is rueful. "Just give me a few minutes to keep remembering how *not* to be your dom."

"My lover."

"Oh... I'm your lover *all* the time, Tim. Remember that."

Tim smiles, and suspects that it looks rather bladed. He doesn't think he's capable of forgetting anything that had been so *thoroughly* written into him --

Roy steps out of the tub.

Bruce steps *in* -- and it's exactly as luxuriously decadent as it should be to devote himself to washing the man. Chest and arms.

Back and glutes.

Abs and penis --

The backs of his thighs --

"Are you planning on doing this in the least efficient way possible?"

Tim *bites* his smile into one of Bruce's shoulder blades. "Are you complaining?"

"Not in the slightest, Tim --"

"Then no. I have to work myself up to all acts of inefficiency, Bruce. You should know that."

Roy laughs -- and starts to stroke himself. Most of Tim is absolutely sure that that means it's *necessary* to stroke Bruce in the exact same rhythm...

"Tim."

"Too much?"

"Hn." Bruce reaches down and twines his fingers with Tim's own, but doesn't do anything to change the stroke. "Clark compares your natural scent to having a scarf dragged over his mouth."

"That -- makes absolutely no sense."

"Nah, little 'mano, you gotta think like Clark to get it. He can smell *everything* -- way better than any sane person would want to -- so if he's describing your scent -- he *did* say *silk* scarf, didn't he, papi?"

"Have I mentioned that I'm quite fond of that appellation? And yes, he did indeed say silk. I was hoping to work Tim up to that."

Tim snorts --

And Roy smiles and speeds up his strokes --

Bruce grunts when Tim does the same --

"You can't tease my boy too hard... papi. I might get mean."

"Perish. The thought."

Roy licks his teeth -- and flips the toilet lid down so he can rest one foot on it. Doing so exposes his scrotum --

His beautiful *rings* --

"*Anyway*," Roy says, lifting his scrotum with his free hand and starting to fondle it *carefully*, "what he's really saying is that Tim's scents are subtle even for him. That's probably because Tim showers more often than other people...?"

"I -- hm. I appreciate being clean. After No Man's Land, I frankly *never* feel clean enough. At the same time, I can't bring myself to take excessively long showers -- this is already stressing me out to a certain degree --"

"You can take it, little 'mano. Take a long, hard look at that long, hard incentive."

Well, yes, he can *do* that --

And squeeze that --

And stroke that *faster* --

"Would you..." Bruce sighs and shivers. "Would you press closer to me?"

Tim smiles and does it, kissing Bruce's triceps and stroking Bruce's calf with his foot. "It's almost like cuddle."

"We could have -- more. If you wish."

"What time --"

"Approximately three twenty-five," Bruce says, and guides Tim into another, harder squeeze. "Clark told me that he believes you clean yourself so often to tease him."

Tim *chokes* --

"Heh. He was *joking*, little 'mano. Mostly. You've pretty much never been sweaty around him, have you?"

"I wasn't aware it was *required*. And -- it's not like he can't just show up while I'm working *out*."

"Hn. I suppose I *could* invite him the next time you choose to do that in the Cave. Certainly, the number of times he's mentioned -- obliquely -- a desire for me to do just that is... sizeable."

"*Speaking* of sizeable..." Roy grips his penis with one hand and tugs on his P.A. with the other --

"God, *Roy* --"

"Not yet, baby -- fuck, I want you on your *knees*."

"Ah, just in case it isn't clear, my knees are being very vocal about how easy that would be, Roy --"

"Wrong -- wrong *headspace*. But -- you could do something for me --"

"Anything --"

"Shh, shh, just --" Roy lets his head fall back and bites his lip -- "No. Do what you want. Do *everything* you want -- to Bruce."

Tim moans -- "Roy, you're *making* me --"

"You can't *hear* yourself, Tim. You don't know --" Roy shakes his head. "When you're more experienced, you'll know your own tells better. You *can't* be my baby right now."

Tim frowns --

"Roy..." Bruce forces Tim to stroke faster. "Perhaps you should call... Kal."

Roy laughs. "*You* just want to put the responsibility for that on someone else, papi."

Bruce hums. "In your eyes, I am... rather refreshingly adolescent."

Tim *kicks* Bruce -- lightly -- with his heel. "You're *eight*."

"Well, *golly*, tiger, that doesn't say much for the two of *you*."

"*Augh* -- *Christ*, papi --"

"And why are you always calling me *poppy*, Ginger? I thought you were staying *away* from that sort of thing --"

Tim *bites* Bruce's triceps with as much force as he can --

And listens to Roy laughing so hard he's *wheezing* --

"*Easy*, tiger. You kids today play so *rough* with your toys."

"God, I think I wanna *pee* on you, papi --"

"Kinky, *kinky*! Well, we *are* in the *shower*, ha, ha, ha..."

That -- too much. Really officially --

And the fact that Brucie is extant means that it's easy to spin Bruce and slam him back against the tile --

"Tommy, you *beast*!"

Tim resists the urge to snort and drops to his knees, taking Bruce in one gulp --

Two --

*Three*, and choking on Bruce is much, much better than choking because of *Brucie* --

"Ooh, *Tommy*, your mouth is so *mouthy*!"

There is, in fact, some temptation to the question of how long Bruce could keep this up in the face of what Tim is certainly hoping will prove to be an excellent blowjob -- but.

One, Bruce is *Bruce*, and two, Bruce had already come once. Tim looks up, instead, into the vague and trivia-blasted eyes of one of his *odder* nightmares --

Tim lets himself look pleading --

Bruce narrows his eyes, making the heat in them seem sharper, more *pressured* --

Tim swallows around Bruce repeatedly, stroking up Bruce's thigh to his hip with one hand and cupping Bruce's scrotum with the other --

"I suppose... that this is something of a message," Bruce says, thankfully in his *own* voice --

"Mm, is he -- is he glaring at you, papi?"

Bruce's lips part and he pants *slowly* -- "Rather the opposite."

Roy laughs. "Don't *encourage* the man, little 'mano."

Tim hums assent --

Bruce's hand just *is* in Tim's hair --

"Remember -- nnh. Remember, Bruce isn't allowed to *come* in your mouth, Tim."

Tim nods and tries sucking in the rhythm Roy had set to fuck him, the rhythm Bruce had *followed* --

Bruce moans and gives Tim another one of those horrifyingly pleased smiles, and --

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Bruce raises his own. "My expression...?"

Tim nods and squeezes Bruce's scrotum, pressing hard with his thumb --

Bruce *arches* into Tim's mouth, licks his lips -- and smiles again.

Tim shakes his *head* --

"Sweetie, honey, *Brussels sprout*, don't *be* like that -- *hnh* --"

All right, using one's fingernail on one's mentor's scrotum --

God, Bruce can fuck with his mind too *easily* --

Tim shakes his head again and closes his eyes --

Bruce moans and strokes Tim's hair, cups the back of Tim's head and holds *on* -- "Please. Please, Tim --"

Ooh. Honesty? Tim opens his eyes and raises his eyebrow once again --

That *smile* -- "I promise to behave, my love. I cannot promise to do so without frightening you."

Roy snorts again, gasps --

It's not that Tim was *frightened*, but -- all right, yes, he was frightened. If there's a way to look rueful with a very large penis in one's mouth, then Tim is quite sure that he's managing it.

"So beautiful. The way your mouth is stretched around me should... should be obscene, but --"

"No, go with it, papi -- it *is* obscene."

Bruce closes his eyes --

"Keep them *open*, Bruce --"

"You will dominate me, but not your love?"

Roy hisses a breath. "I -- think of it as *fervent* pleading? God -- God *damn*, I need --"

"Let me. Let *us*," Bruce says, loosening his grip on the back of Tim's head -- "See... mm. See how much he *desires*."

"God -- *fuck* --" And that's *Roy's* hand on the back of Tim's head, rough fingers brushing the shell of Tim's ear -- "You need a bigger *shower*, little 'mano..."

Tim hums his agreement and makes a point of pushing back against Roy's hand as much as possible. This necessitates working his head on Bruce's penis *faster* -- though not harder.

Bruce sighs long and deeply -- "Would you kiss me, Roy?"

"Oh, papi..."

And Roy comes in from the side, adjusting his grip on the back of Tim's head, stepping *half* into the shower -- and the view isn't the best. It *can't* be, but still --

It's not enough to hear Bruce moan for it, to hear the *wet* sounds and know that Roy kisses just that well, just that *passionately* --

Even their *first* kiss --

Even with how slow and *careful* it was --

Tim groans and feels it stopped at the back of his throat -- he can't. Tim pulls back enough to let the groan out, to let it sound like as much of a plea as it *is* --

And Bruce's hand is on his head, too, and Tim can *feel* him and Roy teasing themselves *with* Tim --

Too good. Too --

Tim reaches down and grips himself hard, stroking and pumping as he works his head on Bruce again, as he moans *quietly* -- he wants to hear every *sound* --

It sounds like *many* kisses --

"Bruce..."

"Roy. Your mouth is... hnn. Again?"

"You shouldn't be able to *talk* with what Tim's doin' to you --"

"I have... a limited amount of time before what Tim is doing to me makes me lose all vestiges of control. I wish to use them with you. Both of you."

Tim scratches Bruce's hip --

"Oh... lovely, so..." Bruce twines his fingers with Roy's own --

"Careful. We have to. Let him breathe."

"Must we, Roy?"

Roy groans *with* Tim --

And then Bruce and Roy are kissing again and *pulling* Tim onto Bruce's penis, *holding* him there --

Tim's hands are shaking --

Roy gasps -- "Bruce, you -- you've always been so --"

"Myself. Not *enough* myself, and you are -- how I've *envied* you --"

"Because of Dick?"

"*Yes* -- but mostly because -- *nnh* -- because of *yourself* --"

Roy laughs breathlessly -- stops and *pants* -- "Bruce. Bruce, your *hand* --"

"Around you. So hard in my hand, so... mm. Thick and perfect, *aroused* --"

"Fuck, *stroke* me -- *oh* --"

"Like. Like this --"

"*Harder* --"

Another kiss then, and Tim can't breathe, can't do anything but shake and suck and *jerk* himself --

He's going to be *raw* --

Bruce moans and *keeps* moaning --

One or both of them pulls Tim down onto Bruce's penis even harder, pressing Tim's face against Bruce's groin --

*Their* hands are shaking --

"*Roy*. Will you. I want you to come --"

"For you."

"*Please* --"

Roy laughs again. "Maybe I'll. Maybe I'll just *fuck* your fist --"

Bruce grunts and starts to fuck Tim's *mouth* --

"*Easy*, papi. Don't come."

"I. I will not --"

"*Squeeze* me -- *ah* --"

"Roy... you demand even as you. Surrender."

"Only. Only *way*, Bruce --"

"Yes. Yes, I see --"

The black is blooming at the edges of Tim's vision --

It's so warm and *soft*, so --

It feels like something to bury himself in, something to surrender *to* -- not yet. Not --

Tim ignores the twinges in his jaw and tries to suck *harder*. It only works when Bruce is pulling out, but it's enough to make Tim throb all over, make him leak and twitch in his own working hand --

Black --

"-- you *need*, papi --"

"I need *everything* --"

Another laugh, and listening to Roy gasp makes Tim's *chest* ache --

No, that's the lack of air --

Or the way his nipples seem to be in *shock* when they're not simply aching --

"You -- it's *good* that you can -- *mm* -- that you can *admit* it, papi --"

"I will *show* you everything --"

Tim whines and just -- he starts working his nipples with his free hand, starts --

Even the feel of the water running past his *knees* is driving him --

"The way you *threaten* -- ah, God, papi -- gonna fuck you *so* hard one day --"

"*Please* --"

"Tim *first* --"

Oh --

"*Yes* --"

Oh, *fuck* --

*Black* --

And Tim comes back to himself for a *heartbeat* before he's whining and shuddering and coming, stroking himself as hard and fast as he can and spattering Bruce's *shin* --

Cries stuck in his throat --

Bruce and Roy holding him so *tightly* --

Black --

The feel of his body spasming, something --

He's coughing and Roy's grip on his hair is hard enough to make Tim's eyes water -- he'd pulled Tim *off* Bruce's penis, which is slick and *twitching*, dark and so *tempting* --

But not quite as tempting as the sight of Roy holding himself all but *rigid* as he throws his head back and shouts again and again for the motion of Bruce's fist --

Tim moans and edges closer, pressing himself against Roy's leg and just --

He hadn't gotten to *feel* those rings --

He doesn't even know what the body-mod community would *call* this configuration --

And the rings are cooler than the P.A., which makes perfect sense but still manages to seem so dangerous, so dark and *strange* --

"Fuck, papi, don't *stop* --"

"I *won't* --"

And Tim doesn't have to do anything but what he *wants*, which --

All right, it's a *bit* awkward to work his way enough between Bruce and Roy that he *can* get his mouth on Roy's scrotum, but the feel --

The way the rings seem to almost *want* to get caught on his teeth --

"Fucking *fuck*, baby, *do* me --"

Tim blushes and *sucks* --

And Roy starts stroking Tim's head restlessly as he pumps, starts groaning and whimpering --

The rings are clicking against Tim's *teeth* --

"Nuh -- " Roy cries out and comes, digging his fingers in against Tim's scalp and staggering --

Tim and Bruce catch him *together* --

"Ohh... God. *Not* to die in an embarrassing bathroom accident, right."

Tim sucks one more time --

Roy grunts and *tugs* Tim's hair. "We *don't* have time for that, little 'mano."

Tim hums and pulls off. "Dick told me more than once that you tend to take pleasure in nearly *causing* those embarrassing bathroom accidents."

"That's what communal showers are *for* -- I. Okay, papi. You ready for *my* hand?"

Bruce shudders once, all over --

Tim stands --

And Bruce pulls *both* him and Roy close in a hug which only seems painfully *spastic* because it is. Roy laughs gently. Tim licks a drop of water from Bruce's shoulder --

"Both of you. If I could... if I could have both of you..."

"Oh, yeah, papi? What if I order you to bring *yourself* off?"

Bruce's smile is both rueful and pained with lust. "You have your own tells, Roy. You are not so... in need of submission at this time."

Roy smiles sharply. "Very, very true. Nothing like an orgasm to clear the mind. Or two, as the case may be."

That -- "Do you consider your mind to be muddied when you're in... dom-space?"

"Not even a little, little 'mano," and Roy rolls his shoulders until Bruce loosens his grip on them both. He sighs, takes Tim's hand, and brings it to Bruce's penis.

Warmth and *solidity* --

Bruce moans --

"When I'm not *quite* in dom-space, when I don't *have* a sub to make dom-space *right*..."

"I wish --"

"No, it's okay, little 'mano. You *can't* be in sub-space all the time, and the better we get to know each other, the more time we'll spend riding each other's wavelengths. The transitions will be much, much smoother," Roy says, splitting Tim's fingers with his own and making them start to stroke --

Bruce reaches back and clutches at the wall --

"I want that. Badly," Tim says, and makes them squeeze --

"You'll have it. *We'll* have it. Talk to us, papi."

"Yes. I -- what do you wish to know?"

Roy's smile for Bruce is lazily fond. "Everything. Start with... oh, the first time Jay did this for you."

Bruce's penis twitches *hard* as he squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them and smiles. "It was... hnh. After the first time I fellated him. The first time I lost myself to his beauty and *touched* --"

"Took," Roy says, calm and matter-of-fact as he circles the head of Bruce's penis with his thumb.

"*Yes* -- he. I could see that he felt... stunned. He shivered every several heartbeats, and I don't think." Bruce licks his lips. "I don't think he was aware of that. He asked me what I wanted from him. He -- I could see a hint of fear in his eyes...

"He was so *young*, and I -- in that moment I could see it, and it frightened me, as well -- please. Please squeeze again."

Tim bites his lip and does it as hard as he can, Roy joining him for it --

Bruce groans and shakes his head, tilts his head back and moans -- "I couldn't speak. My mind was full of images, fantasies..." Another groan. "I had not masturbated that often since... since I had been Jay's age myself..."

Roy licks his lips. "Go on."

Bruce looks at Tim, and his eyes are wide and almost dazed. "Do you. Do you desire this knowledge, as well?"

Tim -- shivers. And smiles ruefully. "There's nothing about Jason I don't want to know. Just -- nothing. I used to believe... ah. It used to seem as though he could be *in* me if I just tried hard enough to be right. To be *Robin*."

A sigh and Bruce closes his eyes again --

"Papi."

Bright *slash* of a smile -- and it only gets deadlier when Bruce opens his eyes. "I took his hand in my own. His left hand, because that was the hand he seemed to use most often when he masturbated..."

Tim bites his lip --

Roy shakes his head and makes them stroke Bruce faster. "Did you watch him *every* time? Film it all?"

"If you did, Bruce, I want --"

"I destroyed most of those files. I -- I couldn't. It felt as though I was... cheapening his memory."

Tim winces and thinks about staring at the bottom of the tub, the toilet, the sink --

Bruce cups Tim's cheek and lifts Tim's chin. "I was wrong to destroy them. You are not wrong to desire them."

"I --"

"Sex is the *opposite* of death, little 'mano. Remind me to play that song for you sometime."

Tim takes a deep breath and nods, pressing closer because it's possible, available -- and because sucking Bruce's nipple is an excellent way to ensure that he won't say anything else callous -- whether or not Roy or Bruce would *consider* it to be callous. He lets his blush say it all for him, and --

"C'mon, papi. Answer the question."

Bruce shudders out a breath and cups the back of Tim's head again, making a warm space, a *safe* space --

He *must* be getting sex-addled --

"There are more cameras in the Cave and manor than there were when Jay was alive, but... Tim, if you would. If you would bite --"

Tim does, and --

Bruce starts to pump with a kind of fast *precision* -- "There are not. Not *many* more. Every moment of him I could catch. Every half-conscious *touch* --"

"You must not have finished watching all of it before he was gone."

"No. I -- I destroyed much unseen --" Bruce groans and begins stroking Tim's hair restlessly, firm and clumsy at once -- "Beautiful, so beautiful --"

"You had his left hand in yours," Roy says, prompting even as he makes them give Bruce a shorter, rougher stroke --

"I kissed it. I licked his fingers. I gazed into his eyes and sucked his fingers into my mouth, and I felt myself flex -- I felt. A moment's loss when he moaned for me, cursed --"

"I curse like him."

"Some. Sometimes. I am programmed," Bruce says, a breathy laugh in his voice as he shudders -- "I am programmed to obey, even with no order given --"

"He moaned for you."

"His penis... his small and lovely penis --"

"*Small*? I -- you started when he was young."

A pained groan -- and another laugh. "The most beautiful child. And the brother of my... my heart --"

Roy grunts and turns the stroke they're giving Bruce into something *brutal* --

Tim can't bring himself to keep biting, just -- he licks, and he sucks, he --

He makes love, because it's Bruce, and because he remembers the first time he had truly looked at a picture of the new Robin, of Jason Todd --

He remembers, and he remembers realizing that the boy on the street *wasn't* the same as the boy in the pictures the tabloid had printed, that *this* boy was alive, and strong --

*Robin* --

Tim makes love, and promises himself to Bruce in any way he wants, any way --

At least *once* --

Roy growls and shakes his head. "God, *Jay*... he was beautiful, all right. Had that dirty angel thing working for him *all* the time... mm. His cock. It twitched for you?"

"Yes. Yes, Roy --"

"You wanted to suck him again."

"*Ached*. And ached for. His touch. I brought his hand down to my own groin --"

"Still dressed?"

"My shorts and jock were down around my thighs. He --" Bruce shudders again and *clutches* at the back of Tim's head. "I had pushed them down... I don't remember when --"

"How..." And Tim knows that wet sound is Roy licking his lips -- "How did he touch you?"

"Please, I --"

"You have to tell us --"

"Everything, I promise --" <<I do vow -->> "He clutched me and gasped. He marked out the shape of me and licked his lips, his. His *bitten* lips --"

"You bit them?"

"I don't *know*. So much. So much lost to beauty, perfection... hnh. *Hnh* --"

"Keep going, papi. Give it *all*.”

"He *freed* me and I -- I lost sound, lost everything to the sight of his widened eyes, his reddened cheeks --"

"The *touch* --"

"Slow. *Hesitant* -- and then nothing of the kind. Nothing -- I couldn't keep myself from *growling* --"

"And he. What did he *say*, papi --"

"He said that -- that --"

"It's all right, Bruce. It's -- we've *got* you --"

Bruce grunts, knees buckling as he comes. The flush spills down from his face to his chest --

Tim couldn't move if he *tried* --

And Tim wants to taste. *Badly*. It would feel like having this moment and the one from the past --

*Jason* --

Bruce straightens, moving his hand to Tim's shoulder and -- not pushing. Tim isn't sure if he means the kiss he plants on Bruce's pec to be a reward or *not*, and --

"You knew," Bruce says, and his voice is both wondering and -- a little -- shamed.

"I did, yeah," and Roy lifts his sticky hand -- to Tim's mouth.

"I -- honestly feel guilty for not focusing as well as I might, but --" Tim sucks three of Roy's fingers into his mouth --

Bruce hums --

"I needed to know how *you* would talk about it, papi. He told me that he'd *thought* you needed the comfort -- but that he also felt *crazy* for thinking that."

Bruce strokes Tim's hair. "He often comforted me solely by existing -- no, that's not true. He could always see to the heart of me. I could never lie to him, or even dissemble or omit *aspects* of the truth. He never *allowed* me, and I grew addicted to the feeling very quickly. The only lie he ever allowed me to tell him was about my attraction to him, my need for him…"

"And that was a lie you weren't capable of keeping up, I hear you," Roy says, and pulls his fingers from Tim's mouth. "How you doin', little 'mano?"

More than a little blown by the fact that he's tasting Bruce's *come* --

That he's *still* pressed close --

That Bruce is *holding* him --

Tim smiles ruefully and, yes, licks his lips. "Somewhat off the grid, thought-wise. I'll be better in a moment," and he deliberately steps away from Bruce --

"Hm. I suppose that had to happen eventually," Bruce says, and strokes Tim's cheek with two fingers. The smile on his face doesn't -- quite -- match everything showing in his eyes.

And now Tim knows what he can do about that. He wraps his hand around Bruce's fingers and brings them to his mouth, kissing once and then just breathing on them for a moment -- "You're less than conducive to critical mentation, Bruce."

"I have often hoped to be just that with you."

Tim -- still blushes. Well, he has it on good authority that it's attractive. "All you needed to do was -- no, I was about to lie. You needed to do a great deal to make that work... and you did all of it."

"All, Tim...?"

"Well... the process will need to be repeated. Ad --"

"Infinitum?"

Roy snorts. "All right, when the Latin comes out? It's time to get the hell out of the shower," and he takes Tim's hand and shoves it under the spray with his own --

He'd forgotten to lick his *own* hand --

Roy grins at him. "*Next* time, little 'mano. *If* he behaves."

Tim suspects that he looks less than pleased, but *that's* only because he *is* --

Roy *yanks* Tim out of the shower, making it necessary to clutch at him to keep from --

All right, clutching at him just seemed like the thing to *do* --

"Do you think I'm ready for this afternoon to end, baby?"

Baby -- Tim shivers. "You're coping far better than I am."

"Nah." Roy cups Tim's face with both hands, leaning in and resting his forehead against Tim's own. "If I had been *coping*, I would've been able to jerk Bruce off *without* making him relive painful memories --"

"No, Roy. The memories aren't painful. The pain comes from the fact that they are, at this point, *only* memories," and Bruce turns off the water and steps out. "And you needed to know."

"I *did*, yeah, but --"

"Roy," and Bruce's voice has that firm *authority* back -- "I needed to share those memories. I -- I still do. I have been alone with them for far too long."

Roy's smile is crooked and wry. "You didn't need to share them with *me*. Papi."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps not. But I find I look forward to the opportunity to share more... sir."

Roy snorts -- "No, just -- no. Didn't you *hear* that conversation?"

"I didn't want to assume that what was proper for Tim was proper for myself," and Bruce's voice manages to be *prim* --

"Yeah, okay, so you really *want* the whipping. I hear you," Roy says, patting Bruce's shoulder and turning back to Tim... with a leer on his face.

"I... am going to have a difficult time not spending the majority of my evening thinking about that expression," Tim says, and touches his tongue to his upper lip.

"Just the evening...?"

"Well, I plan to spend the night sublimating with violence."

Roy narrows his eyes. "You look damned good when you do that, you know."

"I don't suppose we can work together again... soon?"

"I believe," Bruce says, and reaches for the towels, "that Oracle is working on an assignment for you which will require a certain amount of... travel."

Oh. Well... "I've often thought that travel was... broadening."

Roy shows his teeth and reaches to take a towel from Bruce without looking away from Tim. He doesn't dry Tim slowly, but he does do it thoroughly. *Firmly*. When he's done, Tim has more than one reason to be... pink.

And Roy looks him over just as thoroughly before nodding. "You ever do that, Bruce?"

"Twice," Bruce says, and finishes drying himself off. "He was unconscious both times, and I forced myself to remain... focused."

Roy nods and takes the last towel for himself. "*Probably* for the best, papi."

"I thought so. Although..." Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.

Tim snorts. "Yes, it was for the best, Bruce. It wouldn't have been any easier to get used to you if we'd started making love while I was technically on another plane of existence."

"And yet you enjoy being touched while you're sleeping. Held."

The first thought -- is more an image than a thought. No, it's a sense memory of being cold and none too clean and pressed up against Bruce's warmth, Bruce's *aura* of maleness and power -- "You. You held me very tightly that night."

"What? Oh -- God, that No Man's Land fuck-up. I know you've heard this about nine *million* times by now, B --"

"I was not alone, Roy. I --"

"You had your family, yeah. But you people nearly died more times than *any* of the rest of us like to think about, and what the hell would the rest of the world have done then?"

Bruce frowns --

And Tim rests a hand on his arm. "If I had been older and more confident in myself -- and less stoned on the prospect of responsibility -- I would've called in the rest of the League, the JSA, and the Titans myself, Bruce. And I almost certainly would've told you to go fuck yourself if you objected."

Bruce lifts his chin -- and nods. "I will remember."

That easily? Really?

Bruce smiles and strokes Tim's cheek again before tapping twice on Tim's chin.

Tim doesn't say, aloud, that he wants Bruce's scrotum there. He's reasonably sure he's found other ways to make that point.

"You are, among many other things, my partner. At this late date, I have the choice of either listening to you or of somehow finding a way to take back all of the responsibilities I've given you -- the responsibilities I *need* you to take."

"Including being your *heir*," Roy says, and his laugh is mostly humorless as he leads them back to Tim's bedroom. "Don't get me wrong -- the whole damned community is gonna be thrilled that Dick's off the hook for that one, and most of them didn't even *see* him in the weeks after that little magical mystery tour -- but you really need to pick your timing, papi."

Tim -- focuses on getting dressed, remembering to use the clothes he was wearing when he left this morning just in *case* Dana was paying attention --

His father wouldn't have been -- Tim's been too good for too *long* --

And. He also doesn't particularly want to interrupt this train of thought. Yet. He's absolutely positive that that's obvious, though, and he really *is* going to have to spend some time systematically breaking his own tells.

After he spends the next thirty minutes or so pulling on the skin of someone who probably never has sex, but, if he does, only does it with his perfectly charming and acceptable and *discreet* girlfriend --

"You believe I should have waited to make myself clear, Roy? Forgive me, but that seems to go against every *other* lesson I've been taught by you... and by my partners."

Roy sighs and slips the rings out of his scrotum, one by one by one. "No, you had to tell him. But you *didn't* have to tell him with a birthday present that broke his head. Dick told me you told *him* that your personal Bat-revelation hit you at damned near the worst moment of your life... but Tim wasn't going to need to repeat that experience in order to devote himself to it full-force. You know that. Or you *should*."

Bruce nods slowly. "I hadn't thought I was seeking to... anneal Tim in the same fires I flailed and stumbled through --"

"No, papi, you didn't. *You* just thought you were being efficient. Neat, even."

Bruce winces.

*Tim* sighs. "I forgive you, Bruce. I'm not quite done being pissed at you, but I forgive you."

"You never quite finished taking me to task that night."

Really. "And you really, *really* want the whipping, Bruce?"

Bruce doesn't narrow his eyes. His expression would be easier to *take* if he did that. Instead, Tim feels *blasted* by the heat there, and -- well --

Roy laughs. "I'm not even *looking* and I can see that," he says, and removes the last two rings. The flesh of his scrotum seems... bereft.

Or possibly he'll need more than just half an hour to get himself back to something like normal.

"Seriously, papi. Be good and see what happens. Think of it... uh. Like Christmas?"

Bruce turns a very *sharp* smile on Roy. "Will it only come once a year?"

"Heh. I've got a lot worse than coal for you if you don't act right."

"It is... decidedly curious to feel both dread and anticipation. Not unlike the first time I looked at my cowl once I had finished fashioning it."

Roy blinks -- "Okay, that was... serious. I can do serious."

"I trust you, Roy."

Roy takes a deep breath and hums. "Noted." He turns to smile at Tim. "I'm calling you tomorrow, not tonight. Do your thing and get a lot of rest. And when you spank it? Be as gentle with yourself as you can manage. Your cock's gonna take some punishment the next time I see you."

"I -- yes, Roy."

"Mm. Pretty baby... right. Clothes."

Roy kisses him goodbye outside the elevator, gripping Tim's hips and pressing hard against Tim's abdomen -- and generally taking his time to such an extent that Tim is quite happy about not having pressed the button --

At which point a *need* to be out smacks him soundly --

At which point Roy *bites* Tim's lip.

"Ow. Um -- oh, my tells."

Roy growls softly and shakes his head back and forth --while holding on to Tim's lip. He lets go *eventually* -- "What was it?"

"Wanting to be out. Wanting there to be a way for me *to* come out that doesn't cause more problems than it solves. I mean, my father and my stepmother *might* not jump to the conclusion that I'm using a good fraction of my 'dates' with Steph to do other, more dangerous things --"

"But you would, and so you have to think about it. It's okay, little 'mano. I've got your back no matter what you decide... especially because it's not like you could admit to *me* for a couple of years."

Tim smiles ruefully. "And I'll be able to admit to Bruce... never," he says, and turns --

Surprisingly, Bruce *hadn't* taken the opportunity to disappear. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a wry smile on his face --

"You... are just going to insist on being attractive at me from now on, aren't you."

Bruce raises an eyebrow... and tosses his hair.

Roy snorts.

Tim fights back a *choke* -- "This is *why* our love is forever forbidden, Bruce."

"I, of course, know nothing of the pleasures inherent to taboo... tiger."

Tim bites the inside of his cheek and squeezes Roy's shoulders. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

Tim nods and steps back... and then moves into Bruce's space. "Bruce."

"Beautiful love."

"Did you call Jason that?"

"Only," Bruce says, and straightens, "when I wanted him to do his level best to break my jaw. Or my nose. Or my shoulder. Or -- memorably -- my pelvis."

"And I seem much more forgiving?"

"Yes... and no. May I hold you for a moment?"

"I believe I'd like a kiss, as well."

Bruce smiles. "You're not sure...?"

"You're not touching me, yet."

Bruce pulls Tim close, leaning in to -- nuzzle Tim's wet scalp.

Hell, maybe he *should've* changed into different clothes --

Bruce hums.

"I'm not -- terminally distracted. Logistics are currently difficult and -- let's make it worse," Tim says, pushing up on his toes and kissing Bruce... firmly. Somewhat promisingly. Far too fondly -- at least, that's what a part of him which is starting to wake *up* is insisting. Tim does it, anyway --

And it's distracting enough when Bruce licks his palate that he has to *force* himself to step back --

And then Roy just *is* driving Bruce back against the wall -- "Crouch."

Bruce's smile gains a wildness that is really much too inspiring for the moment -- he crouches.

The kiss Roy is giving him looks brutal, looks *painful* --

Bruce hums and takes it, lifting his arms above his head and pretty much daring Tim's neighbors to pick now to come check the hallway.

Still, the kiss doesn't last *very* long --

It ends with Roy squeezing Bruce's scrotum through his pants --

Maybe he'll just tell his parents that he's too tired for dinner. He shouldn't really risk exposing them to himself when he's like... this.

Roy strokes Bruce's wet and reddened mouth with his thumb, *licks* his thumb, and --

The walk he uses to get from Bruce back to Tim is something caught -- attractively -- between a strut and a stalk.

Tim frankly isn't sure *what* expression is on his face -- he feels rather *twitched* --

"Go inside, little 'mano."

"I was -- really hoping to see you off --"

"No," Roy says, and stares *into* him -- "Bruce just reminded my cock how good it feels to have someone pretty and obedient... and we both need time to get our heads on straight," and Roy leans back, pats Tim's cheek, and points to Tim's door.

Right. There is, in fact, a part of him which has decided to pick now to be resentful about Roy having so much control over his life --

Tim ignores it until he's inside, and lets it yell and bitch and insult him while he changes into one of his 'armor' outfits. The litany of *useless* self-loathing is, actually, rather helpful with this.

In these clothes -- jeans just baggy enough to be impractical, t-shirt for a band so popular Tim keeps forgetting their name, *entirely* impractical Chick Baylors --

In the clothes of a teenager Tim has never actually been, he can be Tim Drake. He can sit in front of his computer and do his homework -- window open to let the sex funk *out* --

He's not thinking about the sex. He's thinking about how *useless* he is --

No, he's making the bed.

The duvet cover goes to the bottom of the hamper --

The hamper he keeps in the closet *just* in case Dana ever gets tempted to help out and thus needs to have an extra layer of thwart placed between her and her goals --

He replaces the duvet cover.

He realizes that he can't actually make himself change the sheets -- because or despite the fact that they weren't even touched.

He sits on the bed and laughs quietly for two minutes, checking himself for strain, the desire to scream, the --

He sits, and he listens for Dana, for his father -- nothing yet.

He is... muddled. He *was* clean inside -- he was practically *simple* -- but now...

Now, a voice which sounds like Roy's begins, you can start dealing with the fact that you belong to me.

He belongs to -- his family?

Batman?

The *Mission*?

The latter has the best claim, but -- God, not *yet*. Not yet. And this had all began mostly out of Tim's desire to get the hell *away* from the Mission, or to at least get some sympathy for not being able to get away, at all --

Tim beats at his forehead with the heels of his palms. Just a few times --

Feedback whine. *Excruciating* feedback whine -- from his computer speakers.

Tim goes to the desk --

And Barbara's face pops up on his monitor. She has what appears to be a gummy worm shoved in an old-fashioned cigarette holder.

The gummy worm is neon fuchsia and chartreuse. The cigarette holder is indigo. The look on Barbara's face is both stern and impatient.

"I'm coping, Barbara, I swear."

"Do you need playback, Boy Wonder?"

Tim winces. "All right, I was in the *middle* of coping. Of -- not-coping my way to coping-land. It's a thing. I do it --"

"I know you do. But you're wearing *those* clothes. You're practically undercover."

"I --" Had to put on something. "Right. You're -- right." Tim sighs and pushes a hand back through his hair. "I'm scattered, Barbara. I think -- I think I needed to have the events of this afternoon spread out over, say --"

"A decade?"

"I would have settled for a *week* -- I. God, I don't mean to whine. Everything's fine -- *better* than fine --"

"Tim."

"I -- am listening."

"Stop me if I'm interfering too much --"

"God, no -- ah. By which I mean: you're *you*, Barbara. If you're not interfering -- or at least *monitoring* -- I'm *worried*."

Barbara tilts her head to the side and smiles *softly*. "You could call me Babs, sometimes, you know."

Tim smiles and knows it's crooked and more than a little goofy on his face. "I have a confession to make."

"Go on."

"I sometimes have fantasies about calling you 'ma'am.'"

Barbara snorts, gummy worm flapping. "And Bruce 'sir?'"

"Oh -- really not. I don't want to encourage him."

Eyebrow raise.

"All right, I did for a while, but I was thirteen years old and high on Cave fumes."

"Ah, yes, the delicate bouquet of male blood, sweat, tears, desperation, and obsession."

"Don't forget the semen."

Barbara wrinkles her nose.

Tim raises his *own* eyebrow.

Barbara smiles like a *shark* --

Gives Tim *enough* time to think about panicking --

"The come-shots --as impressive as they are -- do *nothing* for me --"

"Nn -- *gah* --"

"-- but you should make sure Bruce faces the cameras more often while you're... enjoying him. Those expressions are *priceless*."

Tim drags his hand down over his face. "All right. You win."

"I always do."

"You were saying... ah. Before?"

Barbara takes a deep breath, tosses the cigarette holder aside, and folds her hands in front of her on the table. "Tim. Everything is fine."

"I know that --"

"No. Everything is fine. Say it with me."

"Everything is fine."

"You're in love with Roy."

"I'm in love with Roy."

"You're in love with Bruce."

"Oh -- God --"

"*Say* it. Or I make you look at your own expressions when you were gazing so deeply into his eyes."

"Nrgh. I'm in love with Bruce," Tim says, sighing and pushing a hand back through his hair. "That's not fine."

"Tim --"

"It's not. It's -- *really* not. I can't actually *trust* him --"

"Can't you?"

Tim growls -- stops. "*You* know how this whole thing began."

"Oh... Tim. I didn't ask you if you *should* trust him."

Tim blinks -- thinks -- "I. All right, that's fair, but if you think I shouldn't --"

Barbara shrugs. "'Should' rarely -- if ever -- has anything to do with love. If it did, I wouldn't be letting Dick into my tower in just under ten minutes."

Well... well. "It's not just the Bruce... thing."

"No?"

"I seem to be having some... backlash. With regards to my attitudes toward submission."

Barbara tilts her chin up... and nods. "I did think you'd manage without all of *that* business."

"Would *you*?"

Barbara smiles. "Not even remotely... but *submission* isn't my kink in the slightest. Still... I won't say I've never looked at myself funny after putting a pretty man through his paces for me."

That -- oh. Well, he's blushing --

Barbara shakes her head and smiles more broadly. "Oh, Tim. You were *made* for this. And? You know that Roy doesn't *always* want you on your knees."

"I --"

"Wait, please. Stop and think about the fact that you'd congratulate anyone else finding himself in your situation."

The urge to object to that -- passes quickly. "All right, yes, someone who found themselves loved, desired, appreciated, respected... hm."

"That's where you're getting tripped up, I see." Barbara sighs and pushes her glasses up into her hair --

"You have incredibly beautiful eyes."

"Oh... Boy Wonder. I *want* to say that it's a shame you're not bisexual, but I can't help but think you'd make most women incredibly tense."

Tim winces. "The compliments? I can't really -- I can stop."

"No, it's not the compliments," Barbara says, slashing a negative with her hand. "It's the fact that you wouldn't actually be you if you weren't so *very* gay. Or... hmm. You could probably make it work with Cass, actually --"

Tim doesn't choke *much*.

"-- *because* you're terrified of her, while she is absolutely fascinated."

"Ah. She is?"

"Heh. She asks about you... often. Usually in terms of wanting video of you relaxed. She stares at the images like she's thinking of punching through the screen and chewing on the monitor components until they give up their secrets."

"Er --"

"It's extremely adorable. I think she'll feel a lot better once I get the chance to show her the *new* video --"

"Oh, God. I -- uh -- Barbara --"

"Yes, yes, you're worried that she'll climb into your window some lovely Gotham dawn and demand that you bend over for her."

"I am *now* --"

"It's not really her style. I don't think it is, anyway, and -- I'm always right," Barbara says, and taps her short index nail on the table. "What would you say to someone in your position?"

"I --"

"*Think*... little brother."

Tim smiles and jerks at the same *time* --

"We'll work on that, too, I promise. Think."

"I -- all right. I would probably try to find some way to tell them that they were being ridiculous, that people like Roy and Bruce just don't *get* involved -- or seriously involved -- with people they don't respect, that every sensibly liberal psychiatric authority would say that it takes great strength to trust and submit like that, that worrying about the issue just proves the presence of deep-*seated* issues which should probably be dealt with sooner rather than later --"

"No, it's perfectly normal to worry about this sort of thing," Barbara says, showing her teeth. "Average, even."

"That -- that's terribly cruel."

Barbara *licks* her teeth.

"I mean. That -- not that there's anything wrong with being average --"

"Mm-hm."

"Average is -- average. And I can't be average. At all."

"Well, you can get hard the average number of times per day for boys your age. I think your lovers would like that fine."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Noted. Still... I've grown accustomed to being respected for my *control* --"

"No. You've grown accustomed to *thinking* that people respected you for your control."

"One word, Barbara: Batman."

"To which I respond: Bruce. I strongly suspect that something in Bruce would die a little if he had to make love to you with the cowl on."

"I -- all right, my primary objection to that statement involves kink."

"Oh, Tim. Part of having healthy, adult relationships is accepting the fact that your beloved kink just might drive the other person -- or people, as the case may be -- out of their minds in the *bad* way."

Tim frowns. "I do know that. I. A part of me wonders how much I'd be freaking out if, somehow, I could've spent more time... cuddling."

"Which makes it worse."

"Yes."

"It... heh. Shouldn't."

Tim laughs quietly. "That night Bruce held me... I passed out berating myself."

"For enjoying it too much?"

"And in the wrong ways. An entirely different part of me is convinced that the reason why Bruce made sure that we never shared blankets again after that night was *because* I was so needy."

Barbara quirks an eyebrow at him and rests her chin on her fists. "I don't have footage of that, you know."

"Yes."

"You know what I'm going to suggest."

"I -- he might have had his own reasons for. Well. Yes. He's always been very professional."

"Too professional."

"God, yes," Tim says, crossing his legs and biting back the noise that wants to come out --

"You need to work on that. Your brow furrowed a little too much."

"Noted, Barbara, thank you."

Barbara inclines her head slightly. "Bruce would love to hold you like that again."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Yes, I actually do -- know that. I'm just worried that he'll want to do it because he thinks I'll... freak out without it."

Barbara's expression is sour.

"Please don't play the feedback whine again, Barbara, I *do* realize that I'm being ridiculous. I just don't know what to do about it."

"Cope."

"Yes. Definitely. Ah -- how?"

"Go back to the litany of appreciation for Bruce's -- and Roy's -- taste."

"Yes. Yes, I'm -- very special --"

"In so very many ways, yes," Barbara says, and touches the tip of her short nail to the camera.

"I'm listening."

"You never came to me when you were lonely," she says, and she sounds both knowing and sad.

"I. It wasn't personal --"

"That makes it worse, you know, kiddo."

"I... ah. I liked the 'little brother.'"

Barbara puts her fist back under her chin and smiles. "All right. Little brother, it makes it worse. Because that just means that I *could've* given you something, *offered* something --"

"I could say something about your own -- loneliness."

Barbara narrows her eyes in a smile. "I had Dinah. Even when I didn't think I wanted her."

"I had Steph."

"Eventually."

Tim sighs and nods. "Yes. I -- spent a lot of time lonely. And. I know that tends to warp a person. And I own the fact that I was, in fact, an exceedingly warp-able person. Who was warped."

"It gets easier."

Tim cocks his head to the side --

"I promise it does. With every moment of not being alone, at all."

"There's a difference --"

"Between being alone and being lonely, yes, I know," Barbara says, and looks thoughtful for a moment. "The trick, I think, is to feed on the people who love us, to *take* from them until not being alone *becomes* not being lonely."

"That sounds... somewhat parasitical?"

Barbara shrugs. "There are people in this world who feed on being fed on. Dick's one of them. Roy seems to be one of them. Bruce would probably expire from joy if he ever received proof that what he had to give wasn't poisonous. And you... well."

Tim smiles ruefully again. "I always want to... give. It feels. It never stops feeling good."

"Now imagine if someone you cared about refused to *let* you give, Tim. What *that* would feel like."

That -- Tim winces. "I'd feel like a parasite in truth. And that's only one of the ways it would hurt to be around them. And... that's exactly what I've been forcing other people to feel. I -- damn."

Barbara raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. Yes, I'm beginning to see, I think. There's a certain degree of, well, give and take in any given relationship, and it never stops being extant. In order to truly please someone who cares for you, you must be ready, willing, and able to... to lean on them, and take from them, and live in what they can give. You also must be ready, willing, and able to take things from them which don't particularly mesh with ideas of dignity and control... hm."

"Mm?"

"I'd figured this *out* with Steph --"

"And then some, really," Barbara says, and pulls what looks to be a chocolate truffle from something off-screen. Perhaps the decidedly angular bowl Helena had made from partially-melted floppy disks. "Which raises the question of why you're having such a hard time with it now."

"It can't be the orgasms. I mean, that would be -- I think I'd actually have to use the word *retarded* for that --"

"You could paint the short bus red."

"If I'm *that* moronic I'd probably paint over the *windshield*. I --" Tim growls softly and covers his face with his hands --

"You *do* get something of a pass because of all the warping."

Tim drops his hands. "I can't help but wonder if there's something... if I haven't given *Steph* everything I might have --"

"You probably shouldn't suggest trying out the sex thing, little brother. I -- trust me."

"I wasn't -- oh. Hm. I. I mean, I never *have* tried --"

"Some things," Barbara says, with an air of *finality*, "do *not* need thorough study. Unless you've decided you want more of her with more than just your big, thick, dripping heart?"

Tim chokes -- and raises his hands in surrender. "All *right*, Barbara. But you can't blame me for this. I mean, you *gave* me the unexpurgated file on Dinah --"

"I allowed you to *access* it --"

"And we both know that's the same thing. I -- I *am* capable of reading between the lines. It's a sore point with you that you haven't been able to return *all* of her affections."

"The *difference*, Tim, is that I'm old enough to be able to think the prospect through *far* enough to realize exactly how hurt she would be if -- *when* -- she discovered that I was just making love to her because *she* wanted it."

Tim opens his mouth -- closes it, winces, and nods. "I want -- I need to give more."

"Sometimes that can be the most selfish need of all."

"*Must* all of this be so determinedly counterintuitive?"

Barbara smiles broadly. "For you? Yes. But that's what family is for. Well, that's what the family you're *not* fucking is for."

A choked noise, and Barbara turns --

"Who are you *talking* to," Dick says, and seems to almost pour himself over Barbara's shoulder -- "Timmy? What. I. *Family*? What does that -- *yeow* --"

Dick flings himself off and -- hits the floor.

Tim blinks --

"You *know* better than to climb over the back of my chair, Dick."

Dick whimpers. "How. How many. Volts?"

"You'll be fine eventually," Barbara says, and turns back to Tim. "All right?"

Tim salutes.

Barbara smiles gently. "*I'll* be doing the talking. Now go do your homework -- I've got some work for you to do tonight."

"Yes --"

"And yes, you *may* call me 'ma'am' from time to time, but don't push it."

Dick groans --

Tim smiles helplessly. "As you say... big sister."

Barbara blows him a kiss and closes the connection.

Tim changes into more reasonable clothes and settles in to cope.

*

The next day starts with a large chunk of his first period study hall being spent in the vice principal's office because the woman wants to make sure that everything is all right at home. This only seems excessive until Tim does the math and realizes that, before yesterday, Tim's parents had been far more theoretical than real.

There had been that briefly stressful stretch of time when Tim's facial bruises had caused the guidance counselor to call his father at home, but the in-school meeting for that had been postponed multiple times for his father's physical therapy, and then, predictably, forgotten altogether.

Tim is much, much better at avoiding hits to the face these days, and --

He talks his way through it, smiling and offering no substantive information whatsoever about the grandmother one Google search would prove has been dead for eight years. Nothing to encourage the asking of questions should his father or stepmother actually manage to make it to one of the open houses despite Tim's best efforts -- and they are *quite* good at this point -- to the contrary.

Still, it means that there's no time for him to do more than walk past Steph's desk and smile at her as warmly as he can before he has to take his own seat.

The note that makes it to *his* desk just before bell simply says "LUNCH" in large, boldly purple letters. Tim nods solemnly to her and tucks the note away after properly dating it.

Classes after that are the same bland and tiresome blend of information he'd already learned in preparation for being able to meditate through the school day, facts he'd learned solely because he knew he'd be tested on them, and the usual spark and flare of adolescent social dynamics.

Yelena Simpson has broken up with Michael Naismith two weeks earlier than he'd predicted, mostly due to the surprisingly subtle machinations of Emily Torn, who, Tim believes, will be coming out not long before the Junior Prom. Meanwhile, Emily's older brother Edgar appears to be giving up on Goth sensibilities in favor of stoner ones -- judging by the relative lack of eyeliner and the relative expanse of his fragrant aura of cannabis sativa. The girl who *wants* to be the head cheerleader has announced a party that will be in direct competition with the party of the *actual* head cheerleader. The yearbook committee has not been seen outside their offices for the better part of a week. No members of the chess club have been beaten up since the video Tim had shot -- ever so discreetly -- of the worst offenders shooting themselves up with steroids in the locker room had made it onto the teachers' server.

A Robin's work is never done.

*This* Robin... likes that just fine.

He gets to the cafeteria just in time to see Ives' eyes widen dramatically as he raises his hands and steps away from Steph, who is, at the moment, playing the role of Moderately Ditzy Girlfriend -- judging by the wattage of her smile and the sway of her hips.

Tim gets close enough to be able to read Ives saying 'I'll catch him later,' and then Ives is making his escape. He never actually notices Tim --

And Steph spins around and *pins* him with her gaze well before she should've been able to hear his tread. She stalks him, grabs him by the collar, and leads them to the table furthest from the windows. No one actually wants to eat here -- the air is redolent of school lunches past, dust, and adolescence -- and it's an excellent place to eke out a measure of privacy in the midst of tumult.

"You're getting better at sensing me --"

"*You're* putting out these -- these damned *freshets* of joy, boyfriend. You've been doing it all *day*."

"I'm... sorry? And 'freshets?'"

"Yes, *freshets*," she says, and points him to the seat closest to the cobwebbed corner. He'd have to get past her in order to escape --

He sits down.

Steph takes the most tactically useful seat across from him, folds her arms on the table, leans in, and glares.

"I could be less joyful? Also, we should actually eat --"

"Because you need to keep your strength up?"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Steph glares at him harder -- and then blinks, blushes, and coughs. "All right, yeah, strength, up-keeping," she says, and pulls her lunch out of her backpack.

Tim does the same, and Steph allows him to get most of the way through his mid-day fuel -- he just can't bring himself to make his lunches exciting, and this may be the main reason why Steph torments him with diner food when she can -- before clearing her throat. "I'm listening."

"Where are the bruises?"

"Um?"

Steph kicks him under the table.

"Well, there'll *be* one right there --"

"He had you all *day*, boyfriend! And you didn't even *call* me!"

Tim winces. "I -- yes. I was doing homework -- actual homework -- and then there was family-time --"

"And then patrol, I know," Steph says, scowling and sighing at once. And then blushing -- "I'm not actually going to be the needy girlfriend here."

"It's okay --"

"No, it's totally not. I just -- you laid a *lot* on me yesterday."

Tim winces and nods. "I... got to see how that felt from the other side... over the course of the afternoon."

Steph kicks him much more gently. "What did you *do*? What *do* you do? *Are* there bruises?"

"Ah." Where to *start*? "There are... several small bruises. My hips and... ah. Other. Places."

Another scowl -- and then Steph's eyes are almost *comically* wide. "Your *dirty* places?!"

"My -- Steph."

Steph bites her lip.

Tim blinks at her.

Steph snorts *heartily*, then wheezes her way into a cackle which, thankfully, isn't *very* hysterical.

Tim drinks more of his Zesti-Ade and works on patience.

"Okay, okay, so I just wanted to use that phrase. Cass was quoting this almost-rapist she pummeled the other night and trying to get me to explain what the hell the freak was *talking* about."

Tim nods. That makes perfect sense. Still -- "I really would tell you anything you wanted to know --"

Steph holds up a hand. "I know. You just weren't sure that I *did* want to know, and that's fine, because I'm not sure either," she says, and smiles at him fondly for a moment before becoming more serious again. "I love you."

Tim smiles. "I love you, too."

"I especially love *that* smile. Like you're somehow still surprised that I'm saying it to you even though you say it to *me* all the time."

"Mostly, I'm surprised and grateful that you mean it."

Steph sighs somewhat dreamily, takes a massive spoonful of chocolate pudding, and proceeds to play a game with herself. If she can manage to lick all the pudding from the spoon without any dripping back into the container, then she can take another huge bite. If she can't, she has to be -- as she says -- 'ladylike' about it. This, as far as Tim is concerned, is always a tragedy.

"Steph... there's nothing. I want to give you everything. I want to be *able* to do that."

"Mm-hm, I know," she says. Or so Tim assumes -- she has a great deal of pudding in her mouth.

Tim waits, and considers the early nectarine he'd brought with him. The thing is hard enough to brain someone with, and Tim is tempted to skip eating it in favor of keeping it as a concealed weapon.

You never really know --

Steph hums and licks away her pudding mustache.

"You have some at the corners of your mouth --"

"Oop," and Steph dabs at herself with one of the pile of napkins she'd brought with her. She never, ever brings fruit. Not since she's been retired, and --

"I miss you," Tim blurts --

Steph looks *deeply* confused --

"I -- never mind. I was just going to say something about --"

"Big, fat lies? You *totally* miss me. *How* do you miss me -- oh. Oh, damn. *Tim*! We weren't talking about this!"

"I know, I'm sorry --"

"I mean, we're totally not talking about it *now*."

"And that's fine, really, you should forget I ever said --"

"You." Steph bites her lip again and looks at him like --

Most of the time -- when she's not playing a role for the teachers or the occasional student stupid enough to get within range of her terrible, ditzy wrath -- Steph's expressions are much, much older than they have any right to be -- no. They have *every* right to be that old, because Steph's childhood looked a lot like Jason *Todd's* and --

Yes.

Sometimes, however, Steph's expressions are much too *young*, much too *unsure* --

Steph should always be *sure* --

Tim reaches across the table and slips his hand beneath Steph's own, urging her gently to squeeze it, to bring herself *back* --

"You miss me."

"It's not important --"

"You're *lying*."

"I -- yes," Tim says, and nudges her again. "But the fact that it's important to *me* has nothing to do with whether or not it should be important to *you*."

Steph bites her lip *harder* -- stops. Sighs. "Boyfriend... I'm not -- I can't. I know too much about all the things I *don't* know, you know?"

Not immediately, but -- Tim nods. "I can get you the training. I can *give* you the training --"

"You never *have* --"

"I was an *idiot* who spent too much time trusting Bruce to be Batman as opposed to trusting him to be the man who -- who lost someone who looked a lot like you. As these things go."

Steph frowns.

"I -- long story short: You remind him of Jason. You remind *everybody* of him, and Bruce was madly in love with him --"

"He *adopted* him!"

Tim mimes turning the volume down --

"Right, right, okay, what kind of weirdo *is* he? And this still doesn't explain the Birds kicking my ass to the curb, and -- we're not doing this."

"We don't have to do this. We definitely don't have to --"

"We're totally doing this. You -- do you *just* miss me, or do you actually think I could do *good* out there?"

"The latter," Tim says, and -- there.

Steph squeezes his hand just as hard as she can, and God, it feels so *good* -- in that rather deeply painful way. She stops --

She growls --

She moves her hand and bangs on the table with her fist. "It's no good."

"Tell me?"

"It was supposed to be *easy* to quit. I did -- I hid behind the uniform to do something fucked-up for a real damned *obsessive* reason --"

"The truth about your father."

"*Yes*, damn it," she says, managing to scowl and look morose at the same time. The tip of her nose is just a little bit red, as are points on her cheeks, which tends to mean that she'd rather be beating on something. "You never told on me."

"No."

"You never -- you never even made me talk about it with *you*."

Tim winces and moves his hand back under her own --

"Oh -- you -- damn," she says, and squeezes him again.

"I should've talked to you about the Riddler thing. I know -- I know that now."

Steph sighs and picks Tim's hand up, and leans in close enough to nibble on his fingers --

"I love you --"

"I *know* that -- never stop saying it, though."

"I won't."

"Okay, then. Okay," she says, biting his ring finger hard enough to leave a welt, and -- hm.

"I could get used to that nervous habit."

Steph smiles at him *around* Tim's finger. And growls.

"I could get... um? Um."

Steph snickers and stops biting, going back to just holding Tim's hand in both of her own. "You're so damned prissy."

"Roy seems to like it..."

"You are *totally* offering to change the subject," and Steph lets her hair fall over her face -- half of her face.

"Very Veronica Lake."

"You're not supposed to know who that is."

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong, Steph -- I have L.A. Confidential on my side."

Steph frowns thoughtfully and waggles her head back and forth -- "It's a little old, but Russell Crowe's still *somewhat* popular, so... okay, you can get away with it. *Barely*."

Tim inclines his head.

Steph sighs, lets go with one hand, and pokes at the rest of her pudding. "I need control, and I just don't... I always get so *angry* out there."

"Yes."

"How am I supposed to learn how to have something I just -- I'm practically genetically predisposed to *not* having any damned control --"

"Biological determinism is -- well, you know how I feel about it. More to the point, you know how *you* feel about it, Steph."

Steph shows her teeth. "And *that* was snippy."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I *did* deserve it as a matter of fact," Steph says, picking up the pudding and doing her level best to chug it down.

"Is that actually *possible*, Steph?"

Steph gurgles at him. Very convincingly.

When she's done, she slams the container down like a shot glass, licks her lips thoroughly, and blazes at him like she'd just been drinking whiskey as opposed to chocolate-flavored glop.

"Yes?"

"If I come back, I get taught *everything*. None of this 'all in good time' bullshit. If I want to know something, then I damned well get *taught*. I'm not thirteen. I won't use something on the street that I couldn't back up."

Tim nods. "You probably -- no. You *wouldn't* be allowed on the street until the training reached a workable endpoint."

Steph narrows her eyes for a long moment -- then nods. "No secrets."

"No secrets."

"No -- not even 'for the good of the Mission' secrets --"

"If it can be helped."

"*Tim* --"

"Steph," and Tim holds up a hand. "Not very long ago, Bruce had to hypnotize himself into believing he was *only* Brucie Wayne, Professional Nimrod. He did it to get out of a sticky situation involving Strange -- who *knows* the secret -- that would've otherwise gotten all of us exposed and then messily killed. He did *not* have time to inform me or Dick ahead of time. He didn't even have enough time to tell us how to bring him *out* of it. Sometimes... sometimes there *will* be secrets, and there's no getting around that."

Steph frowns. "Are you sure you want to get involved with someone like that? *More* involved?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "No, but... my heart isn't giving me much of a choice."

Steph sighs and shakes her head. "You always *did* have way too much love backing up in your pipes."

"My... pipes?"

"Mm-hmm. You get all stopped-up sometimes and start going all Mr. Roboto --"

"You're too young for that reference."

"*Not* if I'm using it ironically," Steph says, and jabs at Tim's knuckle with her fingernail. "No interruptions."

"As you say."

"Anyway, you turn all android-y sometimes because you forget how to love *anyone* after spending too much time turning around and around and failing to be able to love at *anyone*. You -- well, you're better now. A *lot* better than you *were*, but still. There's the other side of that."

Tim nods. "The side where I wind up... obsessing."

"Well, no, honey, you're going to obsess anyway. It's what you *do*," Steph says, picking Tim's hand up again and squeezing. "But. I kinda have to wonder how much affection Roy's getting *because* he's the first guy you managed to love *that* way."

Tim winces. "I've... considered the question. I can't seem to parse the various elements of it. I've wanted him for years -- if *mostly* casually. I started needing him frighteningly quickly. I'm not sure I'm *built* in a way which would allow me to need someone I don't also love."

Steph raises her eyebrows. "You needed me before you loved me?"

"I needed you before I *met* you -- as Barbara pointed out just last night."

"You talked to her and not *me*?"

Tim raises his free hand. "She called me. She -- ah. Well, she used her considerable expertise --"

"To all but hack her way into your bedroom. So you got all of your girl-talk in and didn't --"

"I always need you," Tim says, quick and *firm*.

"I... need you to act like it more. I know we *can't* actually go out together all that much, and you *do* call all the time, and I --" Steph growls and crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't *want* to be the needy girlfriend."

"I enjoy being needed," and Tim gets up and moves to the chair on Steph's right, pulling it close and leaning in. "I've learned... I've learned that it can feel good to be needed, and that I've been keeping that from my loved ones --"

"You *don't* really keep that from me --"

"I do. Sometimes. And it's not -- I don't lie to you anymore, Steph, but I do omit things, and... well. That all ends now."

"*What* do you omit?"

"Things that disturbed me on patrol, things that disturbed me about Bruce, or Dick, or Barbara, or Cass --"

"Boyfriend, I..." Steph frowns again, but she uncrosses her arms, turning her chair to face him and resting her hands on Tim's shoulders. "Do you want me in the family or out?"

Tim blinks. "I. Steph?"

"You know what I mean, Tim. Either you want me to be a part of your fucking *nutjob* family, or you want to keep having me on the outside of things so you can use me to blow off steam."

"I don't. I don't want to *use* you --"

"But you do and I like it and you know that now, anyway. Answer the question."

Roy -- not Roy. Steph.

He really, really has a type.

He also has excellent taste. Tim smiles ruefully. "I want both. I want... you're never going to be as crazy as all of them are, Steph, so I think I can *have* both. If I'm lucky. If *you* want it."

Steph's smile is crooked and soft. "I used to want it more than anything," she says, and strokes down Tim's arms with a sort of casual possession until she reaches Tim's hands. She scoots close enough that their knees are touching. "I love you. Do you really think... I mean, I didn't make anything *like* good impressions --"

"You've been in the *Cave*, Steph. That -- that's probably the definition of 'good impression.'"

"Plus there's you *and* Cass..." Steph giggles, sighs, and shivers.

Tim raises an eyebrow *carefully* --

"No, just -- you're saying my childhood dream is right the hell in *front* of me, and -- hell, *you* know how this feels."

"Like your heart is trying to leave your chest and your knees don't exist?"

Another sigh. "Yeah. I -- hell, we only have ten more minutes --"

"Eight."

"-- and you're a freak and we still haven't talked about your *sex* life."

"Anything."

Steph nods slowly and looks away, clearly deep in thought --

Tim waits.

"I... I don't like the idea of you getting hurt to get somebody off."

Well... "Not even when it... ah... gets me off, too?"

Steph frowns and turns Tim's hands over, letting go of the left to push Tim's sleeve up over his wrist. The ligature mark is very faint, but Steph has always had good eyes. "I think I need to know *why* it gets you off, boyfriend," and she starts rubbing at the mark with her thumb, which --

The pain is enough, when combined with her callus -- Tim shivers and grips her hand. "Ah... not that."

Steph blinks, eyes widening -- "Really? That? I -- *seriously*?"

Tim blushes and smiles ruefully. "I... um. I've always." Tim takes a deep breath and runs a hand back through his hair. "It started before all of this, when scraped palms meant that I'd managed to climb up onto *that* rooftop and take *that* picture, and pulled muscles and incidental bruises meant the same. I was part of the *real* night, and that meant I was that much closer to my idols. And then when Bruce accepted me...

"Well, again, all that pain meant *good* things. I was learning, I was growing, I was *becoming*. Add that to Bruce giving me regular rubdowns --

"Bruce taking his *gauntlets* off for just long enough to make my strained muscles behave again..." Tim laughs quietly. "Those are all excuses. I mean, the kink was already there. I don't know why, but it was. And my... lifestyle has only made the kink stronger."

Steph nods and gives her own rueful smile. "Maybe if more of *my* bruises and cuts had meant good things... or, well, no. *Most* of them meant that some bad guy was hurting, and that *is* a good thing. Or... is that not what you meant?"

Tim waves his hand back and forth. "Yes and no? I mean... it's more personal than that. Except when it isn't?" Tim laughs again, gives up, and tucks the stray lock of Steph's hair behind her ear.

She smiles at him *exactly* like she's uncomfortable and impatient and tolerant, which --

Yes, he *can* suck it up. "All right. Of course, we've both found ourselves aroused after a night of beating up the richly deserving."

Steph nods encouragingly --

"And... it's the same thing, because all of those rough feelings, those... those *brutal* feelings go to the same places in my mind. However, it's *not* the same thing, because there's something deeper to all of it. The fact that I take a great deal of *complex* pleasure out of causing pain to criminals doesn't mean that I'd take the same pleasure out of causing pain to a loved one. And -- I'm not sure it's the same thing even with the... ah... more dominant types."

Steph frowns, but gestures him to go on --

"Right. Also... also I don't really... well, sometimes there's a kind of *sick* arousal inherent to taking a punch out there, but I'm using the word 'sick' judiciously. The pain and the arousal and the nausea -- and the fear and the loathing and all of those other terrible things -- all come at once, and I've never found myself wanting to have *sex* when I feel that way."

That gets him a sigh of relief. "Okay. Okay, so -- it's just playing? A way to get the arousal without everything else?"

"Kind of? It doesn't really *feel* like play when I'm telling Roy I belong to him --"

"You belong to *me* -- um. Hell. Carry on --"

"Steph --"

"Carry *on* --"

"I. All right. It doesn't --"

"No, damn it, you belong to *me*. You're *my* boyfriend and you want to be *my* -- my *husband* -- "

"Yes. Yes, I really --"

"You. God, you're such a damned *ho*, Tim!"

Tim winces. "That -- ah. That does seem to be the case. Yes."

Steph -- huffs. And glares. And huffs again --

"You. Tell me what to say, please."

"You *always* know what to say!"

"Only." Tim licks his lips and shakes his head. "Only when I'm lying. I never -- I'm never going to lie to you again."

Steph looks both pained and warm, both angry and worried -- "God, boyfriend, you... he wants to... keep you?"

"He... he said just that. He also doesn't want to have anything to do with interfering in our relationship --"

"Yeah, I picked *that* up. I guess... one of the reasons why I always wanted to be a hero -- to be *one* of the heroes -- was that all the petty shit just wasn't *there*. That -- it always seemed like the jealousy and backbiting and sniping just didn't *happen* in your world."

"Steph, we're all still *people* --"

"*No*, boyfriend, this is where you do your *damnedest* to convince me that Roy isn't just playing the Cool, Understanding Boyfriend so that he can -- can fucking *undermine* me at every turn. Except for how you *can't*, because you haven't *known* him for that long --"

"But Dick has. And so has Bruce. And I... there are a lot of things I don't trust either of them to know best about, but the goodness of the people *they* trust isn't one of them."

Steph flips her hair forward again and chews on her thumbnail -- stops. "Oh my God, I totally just did that because I've seen N-- Dick doing that."

"Um? It isn't... it isn't a kink for me?"

Steph snickers and rubs her thumbnail across Tim's lower lip, and --

Tim licks the small amount of saliva away and tastes chocolate. "I love you."

"I love you, too. And... and Roy isn't giving up all the other people he has on the side. He doesn't have *time* to have you twenty-four-seven," and it sounds like she's reassuring herself, and --

"He really is invested in garnering your good opinion, Steph. He -- well, he *is* also attracted to you."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't count as 'I love you' if you say it with a damned whip."

Tim smiles ruefully again. "I disagree."

Steph looks like she wants to chew on her thumbnail again -- and then she sighs and nods. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. And -- the feeling is mutual."

"Did *Babs* bring up the whole thing where you were pretty much primed to -- to, hell, *hoard* love?"

"She didn't quite get there, but I wouldn't be surprised if she was thinking it. I... well, I know I'm warped."

"You *are*. Just -- *seriously*, boyfriend!"

Tim brings Steph's hands to his mouth and kisses them one at a time. "I never. I don't what I would do if I were ever too warped for you."

A dreamy sigh, a *pleading* look -- "What happens when you fall in love with someone else?"

"I -- what?"

"Me. Roy. *Bruce*. And the next one who comes along. If it was gonna be either Babs or Dick it would've happened already and you'd be *different* about them. But there's always Superboy, Impulse, Wonder Girl, Arrowette --"

"She's retired -- and. I. Steph --"

Steph holds up a hand and nods. "*You* already knew you could fall for them. You knew because you fell for all of them a little *already*. Do they all get to have pieces of you? And no, I'm not talking about the Mission, so don't even go there."

"I -- know what you mean," Tim says, frowning and squeezing Steph's hands. "A part of me is probably always going to respond whenever there's a chance to love and be loved, especially now that I get to make my own decisions about who I lie to about what --"

"That's what I'm *afraid* of --"

Tim squeezes harder. "Perhaps, when I'm dead, I'll feel comfortable letting you down. But I doubt it."

Steph blinks at him --

Steph *snorts* --

Steph yanks her hands away and flaps them at him --

"I. I was being serious --"

"I *know*, you -- well, I already called you a freak, but -- I'm reiterating? Uh." Steph wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands. She misses one tear clinging to an eyelash --

She blinks it away --

She hums at him. "You're pretty much the best boyfriend ever. If *only* because you have a *gift* for saying freaky, ridiculous shit that's somehow more sincere than, like, a *tornado*."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Oh, now you're getting prissy at me. Tornados are *very* sincere about tearing shit up, Tim. Just like how you're sincere about..." Steph sighs. "You realize that *any* American within our age group would *immediately* picture crying at your grave and getting clutched by a rotting, up-thrust hand, right?"

Tim... makes a face.

Steph coos at him.

"Slasher movies --"

"Are totally making a comeback," Steph says, and pats his cheek. "I love you. And if you come back as an undead hellbeast I'm chopping you into tiny, tiny pieces."

Well. That... covers all the bases. Every last one of them. Tim spreads his hands between them.

Steph sighs happily, pulls Tim's hands into odd positions -- no, not odd. It's clapping game time. Right here, in the cafeteria, surrounded by people who really *will* spread rumors about just about anything --

"You're my religion, Steph."

"Mm-hmm."

*

Tomorrow is his standard date-night with Steph -- or 'with Steph' as the case and the Mission might be -- but there's nothing whatsoever stopping him from being late for dinner in order to walk Steph through setting up the webcam he'd purchased for her...

It really does feel like breaking a taboo to see *Steph's* face on his monitor instead of Barbara's -- or Oracle's -- and that adds a pleasant frisson to the entire conversation. Enough of one that Tim feels somewhat high on it when Steph pulls her hair into short, exuberant pigtails and starts telling him stories about the adventures she'd go on when she was four years old and Superman.

At some point, he'll have to tell her about Kal, but, as far as Tim's concerned, avoiding that conversation is an excellent reason to avoid the man.

Roy can get his boy-sharing kinks fulfilled elsewhere --

Roy doesn't want to share him all that *much*, anymore --

Tim would like to know what that *means* --

Tim focuses -- first on the quiet sounds from downstairs which are all about his father and Dana settling in to eat, and then on Steph again, who is telling him all about the time Superman saved Princess Melba and beat up that fruity Chain guy.

"Fruity?"

Steph wrinkles her nose. "He was *blond*."

Tim opens his mouth --

Steph *looks* at him.

"Of course," Tim says, and clears his throat. "Will Cassandra be visiting you tonight?"

"See, that was *almost* smooth, boyfriend -- but you managed to call her Cass at lunch today."

"I might have simply been distracted by the fluorescents' shine on your hair, which was as dazzling as the sun on winter wheat."

"I --" Steph glares at him. "Stop that."

"Your wish is --"

"I will *send* Superman to kick your ass. Though he'd probably have to quit when you started enjoying it too much."

*About* that -- no.

Steph narrows her eyes. "You just got that shifty look. What is it?"

"I -- I have a shifty look?"

"*Yes*, boyfriend. And I'm not gonna tell you what it is, either, because you'd just fix it."

"I *need* to fix it --"

"Not today, you don't. *Spill*," she says, pigtails bobbing --

Well, no, just one pigtail. The elastic in that scrunchie has clearly snapped, and -- he's wandering to avoid pitfalls that can't be avoided. Tim sighs. "Roy is also involved with... ah... him."

Steph blinks. "No *way*!"

"Ah... way. They've apparently been close since Roy was a teenager. Er -- an older teenager."

"I was gonna *say*!"

"Well -- there's also his -- not Roy's -- relationship with Dick. Which started... ah. Younger."

Steph's expression wouldn't be much different if Tim had just punched a puppy.

"I don't -- I mean. There are different *aspects* to everyone, and -- ah." Tim sighs. "Okay, Steph, we're all horrible perverts in one way or another, to the point where my relative conservatism was often remarked upon. I was born to be the freaky one in any given community, apparently. Though, yes, I'd have to say that the fact that I've embarked upon a relationship with Roy must be making me seem infinitely more... normal. Knowable."

"But -- do you think *he's* all whips and chains-y, *too*?"

"Well -- he is. But only sometimes. I mean, I don't think *I'm* going to need it to be the entirety of my sex life, and I've been fantasizing about being dominated by good, strong men since before I actually entered *puberty*."

"*Not* just the pain."

"Really... really not."

Steph wrinkles her nose, and --

Hm. "Did you pick that expression up from Cass?"

"Hunh? Oh -- probably. And yes, she's coming over tonight. She actually made one of those promises like *you* do, all solemn vow and scary-like."

Tim smiles. "You have a type."

"I do *not* -- or. Hm. Okay, yeah, I can see it. She's not actually human, either."

"I -- what --"

"And she's got more love to give than she knows what to *do* with -- you *make* Bruce stop making her stay all alone in that other -- place."

"You -- you can do it. *She* can do it --"

"You're not *still* afraid of her, are you?"

"I... does she ever... ask about me?"

Steph narrows her eyes again. "Yeah, she does. Little things, mostly. Why?"

"Barbara said she was... fascinated with me."

"She wants to be your *friend*, dumbass. *Cope*."

"I can do that --"

"You *will* do that. Or I'll keep asking uncomfortable questions about your sex life."

Tim frowns.

"I -- okay, fine, I was going to do that, anyway. *Still*. You and her are supposed to have a thing anyway."

"We're really not --"

"*You* know what I'm talking about, boyfriend," Steph says, and jabs the camera --

Tim gets a view of Steph's walls --

A corner with a spider Steph may try to take out with a bazooka if he doesn't warn her about it in a timely fashion --

And the dusty bottom of a shelf.

Steph growls and fumbles around --

There's a *bit* of static --

And when the camera is in place again, Tim can see that her left pigtail has fallen entirely. He wants to put it back in place.

He wants to watch Steph scowl at him even more. "All right?"

"*Yes*, damn it. I -- you have to cope."

"Okay."

"We have to *all* be friends if this is gonna work even a little."

Tim inclines his head. "You're right."

"And -- we could do dinner tomorrow night. We'll tell your parents that Roy is Cass' bf."

"Hm."

"What 'hm?'"

"She doesn't look much older than I do."

"Yeah, but when she dresses up, she can totally rock that China-doll look."

"Or Korea-doll as the case may be."

Steph tries and fails to blow her hair out of her face -- "Are you calling me a racist? I know where you live, you know."

Tim raises his hands in surrender --

"I was just *saying* -- your parents totally won't be any better at telling how old she is than I am."

"Yes, probably."

"And -- we can just tell her to lie."

"Agreed --"

Steph moans and covers her face with her hands. "I'm *totally* racist."

"Most studies suggest that pretty much everyone is, at least a little. I mean, let's face it, we were both raised by *television*, Steph. We have a lot to unlearn."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaahhh."

"Which is not to say that I don't concur. It's wah-worthy."

"It totally *is*. I -- I'll confess to her when she comes over," Steph says, scrubbing her face and sitting up again. "That works, right?"

"I used to confess all my racial sins to Hudson before he moved away. He brought it up in our last face-to-face conversation, and... ah."

"What? What did he say?"

Tim smiles ruefully and scrubs a hand back through his hair. "He reminded me -- quite gently, really -- that he was not a licensed priest for the Church of Negro, and that he was thus not qualified to absolve me of wrongdoing -- or wrong-thinking, for that matter."

Steph winces. "Um. Ouch?"

"Very, very much so. I think... I think we're just supposed to admit it when we do commit these kinds of sins and then just... deal? Go forth and sin no more? To be honest, I've been afraid to ask the question of any other people of color."

Steph pulls out her other pigtail and ties the entirety of her hair into a ponytail. "Right. Okay. Still... I can at least *talk* to her and see how *she* feels about race issues, yeah?"

How would that even *work* with someone like Cass?

"Oh, stop looking so weirded *out*, boyfriend. You guys should get together and write a book on how the rest of us are supposed to *deal* with you people."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'you people,' you insensitive human jerk?"

Steph's laugh seems to explode its way out of her, and --

Yes, Tim is going to count that as a success. "Really, Steph, if anyone should be writing the book, it's *you*. Your success rate is phenomenal."

Steph calms down -- gradually and with many whoops and hoots and just a bit of hand-flapping. "Okay, okay, I'm good. And I'm also awesome."

"Agreed."

"Go eat your dinner before it gets completely cold. My girlfriend well is all full again."

"I wouldn't mind spending more time just like this --"

"Yeah, but I'm not actually supposed to *encourage* you to get your human contact over the computer."

"Steph, I'm hardly shut up in here every night -- not that there's anything wrong with that --ah."

Steph's smile is -- very, very mean. "You should make *her* go outside and play."

"But I like the way she plays *inside*. I like playing *with* her inside --"

"And if she's monitoring your heart rate right now she's probably in the middle of laughing herself *unconscious*," Steph says, leaning back and smiling even more widely. "See, boyfriend, you *need* Cass. And a black chick, too. You need, like, the full *range* of terrifying women in your life."

"I -- you're acknowledging that you're terrifying?"

"Oh, hells, yeah, boyfriend. I'm so terrifying that one day? I'm gonna *tell* you what I do with Cass."

Tim attempts to keep his expression neutral, nice and neutral, definitely neutral --

Steph -- and this is the only word for it -- *brays* laughter, cheeks pinkening and ponytail waving.

Tim sighs. "I love you."

"You so totally do." Steph's sigh is a happy one. "You're not gonna talk to Bruce for me, you know."

"I -- I'm not?"

"Nuh-uh. He can talk to you about it if he wants to, but *I'm* gonna do the serious chatting. I think I'll go to the manor's *front* door to do it, too."

Tim smiles and just -- he knows that this smile is a little --

"Oh, honey, *look* at you. If you were here I'd plant a big wet one on you."

"Mostly to get me to stop smiling like a lunatic?"

"Yeah, mostly. But also because I love you. I'm never letting you go. Not for anything. *Ever*."

Oh -- "Does that mean --"

"I'm only marrying you if you go to college, though, so keep *that* in mind."

Tim winces --

"Nope, don't say a word. Go eat your dinner."

"I -- yes, Steph."

Steph blows him a kiss and closes the connection.

Tim is never going to tell her that Barbara had done that first, and -- yes.

Dinner.

He e-mails her about the spider.

*

He spends the first part of his patrol causing pain in a mostly-straight path between his parents' townhouse and the Clocktower, as he'd received no further instructions from either Bruce or Barbara, and it's been a while since he's taken this route.

In general, there's a roughly circular quarter mile around the Clocktower with one of the lowest crime rates in Gotham, but there are *always* new people who don't yet know the rules.

He informs them all with great pleasure -- and with a focus that feels like stretching, like *being*...

One day, he won't be Robin anymore. Even if he survives his teen years, even if there somehow *isn't* another teenager who needs *this* discipline --

Bruce... Bruce might actually get to retire one day. By rights, Tim should be working as hard as he can to get to a point which would *let* Bruce retire before Gotham kills him --

For now, for *tonight*, he is allowed to be grateful for and to the colors he wears. He is allowed to appreciate the derision of the ignorant and soon-to-be-pained as well as the almost universally *bemused* cheers of the people he saves.

He is allowed to *be* Robin, and he wouldn't be himself if he didn't love that, if he wasn't *in* love with that --

It's good to smile when he's in flight.

It's even better to smile while he's carefully dislocating kneecaps, breaking hands, and giving recidivists the kind of nose-breaks which will make them extremely easy to identify in the future. He doesn't smile for those punches and strikes, though -- it wouldn't do to get other people's blood in his mouth.

Finally -- nearly exactly three point five minutes after he finishes zip-stripping the pimp he'd been looking for on the far side of his territory for the better part of a week -- he's on the roof of the Clocktower, breaking in as gently and carefully as he's able --

"Careful, birdboy," offers the synthesized voice, "I've changed up the pressure-mines."

Kind of her to mention it, really. Tim switches to nightvision -- nothing.

Infrared, however, shows that anyone who tries breaking in this way will step into napalm. And --

"What kind of acid is that?"

"Plain old sulfuric -- and lots of it."

"Noted," Tim says, and steps carefully. Swinging through this hall would trip the very specific motion detectors -- and, thus, the lasers. Tim had helped install those, and knows precisely how mean-spirited they are.

He's still smiling when he makes it to the inner sanctum, and --

Barbara wheels away from her computers and opens her arms at him.

Tim blinks.

Barbara raises her eyebrow.

Right, then. Tim leans in, giving and taking a hug that -- "One day, perhaps, you'll let me do this in different clothes."

Barbara hums and knocks on his chest armor before pulling back. "And what if I like the harsh chafe of Kevlar and Nomex against my pale, delicate cheek?"

"Then you have... exactly the right kinks for someone in this lifestyle, I think," and Tim finds a worktable to perch on --

"You're a *lovely* accessory, Boy Wonder, but I'm not keeping you long."

Tim flips his lenses up. "I have to admit, I was hoping for an update on the Dick... issue."

"Which *one*?"

"Ah... well, actually, I was hoping you'd tell me there *were* no issues."

"Liar. *You* never hope for impossible things."

Tim sighs and draws a heart on the table between his feet. "He's... okay, isn't he?"

"He is, yes. I had to threaten not to let him back in if he went to go 'talk' to Bruce in the state he was in after I first told him, but it worked well enough, and he *listened* well enough... well. I knew what I was doing when I started dating him."

Tim keeps himself from wincing with an effort. "I know he loves you."

"Oh, Tim." Barbara smiles at him and rolls back to her primary workstation. "If I *didn't* know that, I'd be a lot less happy with my life than I am. It's nothing for you to worry about --"

"And if I want to?"

"Well. Then I guess I just have to let you, now don't I?" And Barbara's smile has the precise degree of arch that it *should* have... considering the fact that they both know that a part of him was hoping for her to be just a *little* hypocritical about things.

Tim smiles ruefully and deals with the fact that he's blushing. "I'm good at worrying about people. I'm a lot less good at being the focus of worrying. I am, in fact, working on it."

Barbara inclines her head, turns, and types briefly --

And the main monitors are filled with architectural floor-plans for... the Pardan building, judging by the jagged 'w' shape to the lower floors, which -- "Usually you send me for penthouse work."

"Mm. Usually, the targets aren't acrophobic."

"Very true. And the targets are?"

Two of the secondary monitors come to life, each showing the same -- no. Twins. The one on the left has a scar beneath his right eye that the other lacks, and -- yes. "Bryce and Brad Heiber."

"You *do* keep up on the society pages."

Well... "I once spent the better part of an evening watching my mother flirt with their father."

Barbara hisses between her teeth --

"No, it's all right. She didn't mean anything by it -- it was at the end of a week she'd spent fighting with my father. *He* spent the evening drinking scotch and laughing it up with the sort of men who believed -- strongly -- in the merits of marrying younger as you aged."

"Still not the sort of ugly a child should be exposed to -- whether or not the child in question had his stalking targets to focus on that evening."

Tim smiles and gives himself a moment to discern whether or not Bryce is wearing concealer on his scar -- he is. "*You* were my target that night, Barbara."

"A PAL charity gala?" Barbara snorts. "Please. Bruce and Dick *always* attended those."

"Bruce and *Dick* were easy to follow on the street. *You* were a lot more paranoid," Tim says, and smiles at her.

He gets a blink --

And he's going to treasure it forever. "Seriously, Babs, you nearly caught me *twice*."

"You're saying I'm more paranoid than *Bruce*. Also -- good use of 'Babs.'"

"Thank you. And -- well. Look at the timing. Bruce hadn't even *met* Jason -- much less lost him. And it was working well enough between Bruce and Dick that they were still working *together* more nights than not. A happy Bruce is really *bad* at being paranoid."

Barbara's expression is rather... quirked.

Heh. "Are you saying you *haven't* accessed the files of my pictures of Bruce and Jason? I only managed to get closer to him when he was *actively* insane with grief."

"But you could never get all that close to me. I..." Barbara laughs softly. "I really had gone with the idea that you just didn't *want* pictures of me, Tim."

"Barbara. You were *Batgirl*."

"I note how little time you spend with *Cass*, Boy Wonder. You *are* supposed to have a 'thing' with her, you know."

"I... am rebellious? Unconstrained by your rules? Man?"

Barbara snickers. "You really don't get to keep that up for too much longer, Tim," she says, tossing him a baggie full of... listening devices.

Tim tucks them in the belt pouch he has set aside for such things. "I do know that. And -- well. I'll try tomorrow night."

One of the tertiary monitors is now showing... a menu. Tim starts to get up -- and Barbara uses the robotics to bring the monitor closer to his position. "Thank you. I've never eaten here before."

"Genelli's is an excellent mid-priced family establishment -- and if Steph doesn't love the fettuccine alfredo I'll be shocked. Possibly even appalled."

"God, Babs, that's pure *fat* --"

"And you *like* her curves. Aesthetically, anyway," she says, and turns to smile at him. "Or are you worried that she'll make you eat some?"

"She *always* does --"

"Tim. She -- like all good, right-thinking members of this family -- is frankly worried about what will happen the next time you're on stakeout during a snowstorm."

"I'm not going to die of *exposure*, Barbara --"

"Ooh, points lost just that quickly. She'll love it. They bake their own bread. And? Tiramisu."

"Oh... God. Fine. *Where* is this place?"

"I've already sent the information to Roy's GPS. He just happens to own a very practical minivan."

Tim blinks -- recovers. "All right. I hope it's red."

"Oh, it absolutely is. And -- you know this wouldn't be so much of a problem if you occasionally let her see you eat *bad* things."

"My body is -- well, it's not a *temple*, per se --"

"It's an *altar* to the *Bat*, and don't get me wrong, Tim, it's a very nice altar..."

"Ah... thank you?"

"But I entirely agree with Steph about the matter. Honestly, little brother, I've *seen* you eat candy. And Helena swears you once ate potato chips in front of her."

"I was... well. I was trying to put her at ease, to be frank."

Barbara blinks at him.

"It *worked*."

"And me?"

"I... I do like candy. I buy it for myself with my allowance, and I... ah. Well, I hide it, I guess you could say --"

Barbara narrows her eyes. "Are you saying that you have a secret compartment just for your Happy Rangers?"

"It's just --" Tim sighs and tries a pleading look.

Barbara shakes her head *slowly*.

"All right, fine, my parents hired this nanny when I was four who would yell at me every time she saw me eating something sweet. She -- well, she would take me out -- ostensibly for a trip to the park -- and just berate me the whole way about how only weak people needed sugar, and how I would be ugly enough to be -- to be in a *sideshow* when I lost all of my teeth to cavities --"

"You. *What*?"

"It's my rebellion, Babs. And it's a silly one, but it's also a harmless one, and, yes, I absolutely get a tiny thrill of pleasure whenever I eat a piece of candy that's intense enough... well... it's *embarrassing*."

Barbara frowns. "Tim..."

"Yes?"

And then there's a truffle flying at his head. He catches it -- letting it hit the wall behind him would be rude -- but -- "I don't. I don't need candy therapy."

"You really do."

"I -- it's not like I can brush my teeth while I'm planting bugs --"

"I'll give you chewing gum."

"I'll *choke* --"

"You'll *cope*. Eat the candy."

"Barbara --"

"Eat. The. Candy."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I've thus far managed to get through life without having candy-related erections --"

"First time for everything... little brother."

"Ner -- you're not supposed to say it in *that* voice --"

Barbara shows her teeth. "Then do what I want. Slowly."

Tim -- blushes. "This -- you don't care even a little about the fact that this feels like I'm masturbating in front of you, do you?"

"On the contrary -- it makes it better. Also, if you think about it, every time you masturbate in the Cave, or your bedroom, or your shower --"

"Oh -- *God*, Babs, you --" Tim growls and opens the truffle. The scent of dark chocolate -- Barbara's favorite -- hits him in an immediate, powerful wave. This --

Well, it won't be *very* sweet.

There'll even be some degree of -- of bitterness, and --

Yes, slowly. He places his tongue against the opening of the truffle, where the chocolate shell is thin and slightly cracked --

He really likes chocolate.

He really, really --

And there are hints of nuttiness to it, which suggests that Barbara is still ordering her chocolates from the site Tim had found for her, and that's --

Well, that's a warm feeling, and he can damned well eat the truffle. He pops it into his mouth as it starts to melt --

He makes a *quiet* sound --

And another for the brief and it-shouldn't-even-*be*-shocking flood of -- milk chocolate. Oh, that's --

Well, it's *very* sweet --

*Barbara* makes a noise --

Tim swallows, deals with his blush, and pulls out one of his wipes to take care of the chocolate residue on his fingers --

"Look at me, Tim."

Tim sighs. "Let me finish my moment, please --"

"*Share* it," she says, and there really is honest plea in her voice, and amusement, and other things --

Tim looks up, and she's smiling ruefully at him and --

Shaking her head. A lock of hair tries and fails to fall over her forehead. "Four years old."

"Until I was nearly six. I -- she was perfectly adequate in other respects, Babs --"

"How was it?"

The urge to *rub* at his blush -- well, it's just an urge. He can live with it. "Wonderful, actually. I'm not at all surprised that your taste in candy is as excellent as your taste in everything else."

"I can understand your not wanting to do that in front of Steph, actually," Barbara says, wheeling her chair around to face him more easily. "She'd probably have a hard time not jumping you."

Tim laughs and rolls his head on his neck. "Is it wrong that I miss her attempts to seduce me?"

"Yes and no. Mostly yes."

"Yes, I figured as much. Still... I don't think I'm ever going to get over the joy of being... desired."

"And yet you haven't so much as checked in with Bruce tonight."

"I -- well, he's *working*."

"Two steps forward, one step back. The Pardan building is on the way to Bruce's turf. Meet him there."

"It's not like I want to encourage inappropriate behavior on the -- right, yes, I'll do it," Tim says, and blushes his way through another blush.

"Good boy."

"Am I... are you sure this way of life should feel so *good*?"

Barbara's expression is a fascinating blend of soft and sharp as the light from the monitors glances and dances off her glasses. "Yes. And you'll always have Bruce when you need to be... hm. Proactive. Dick, too, eventually. Dick, especially, will *welcome* you... fighting him. You know that."

He does. "All right, what did the Heibers do that we're trying to prove?"

"They have a gambling habit and -- I believe -- a very, very hefty debt to Penguin."

Tim nods. That sort of thing can become very, very sticky. "Any sign of them using their resources for criminal enterprise?"

Barbara waves a hand. "GPD Vice got a tip on an illegal gambling den in an apartment building owned by -- minus about a dozen cut-outs -- Beryl Heiber."

"Their mother. Got it. Is there anywhere in particular I should focus my attentions?"

"Use your best judgment -- but *pepper* the legal department."

Tim jumps off the table. "Then I'm on my way. I..." Tim moves close and kisses Barbara's cheek the way he had when he'd finally managed to get into Gotham after the earthquake. "Thank you. And -- please do let me know if there's anything I can do for you --"

"Oh... you're going to eat candy for me *every* time you visit. And you'll visit often."

Tim pulls back and raises an eyebrow. "Or else?"

"Mm-hmm. Shoo. Cass just called in a question and, if you're not out of here in 60 seconds... I'll tell her where she can find you tonight."

Tim goes.

There's no real challenge to breaking into the Pardan building -- though he has to give their security firm credit for using the WayneTech system -- and after that it only takes half an hour to plant the bugs and plant them well. Out of curiosity, he does a sweep -- and, yes, someone else had done a much less professional job of it ahead of him. He alerts Oracle, and she tells him that he should consider that mystery a job for the Birds until further notice.

He doesn't remember that she's supposed to have a New York job for him until he's well into his eighth dealer-beating of the night --

She'll let him know.

He works his way into Bruce's territory and keeps himself open, ready --

Bruce had, of course, given himself the part of the city with the worst and most entrenched crime problem and, as such, it never ceases to be exciting in some of the most stressful ways.

One armed robbery --

Two muggings --

One *barely*-aborted drive-by shooting, followed by the necessity of keeping the would-be shooters alive while the intended targets try to take immediate revenge --

And *that* doesn't end before his cape is perforated in *five* different places and his gauntlets and tabi are spattered with blood. In the end, there are eight people zip-stripped on the ground -- in *carefully* separated groups of five and three -- two people on their way to the hospital, one half-depleted g-pack, *twelve* guns, and four illegal knives.

The protocol for this sort of thing is that he stick around for the police just in *case*, and Tim decides to do that from within the shadows of a nearby alley --

An alley that turns out to be full of Bruce -- a fact that is apparent by the *quality* of the impenetrable blackness. Tim smiles and walks closer --

"To what," Bruce says, and his voice has the low rumble of an *amused* Batman, "do I owe the pleasure?"

An honest question with even more honest sentiment behind it. Mm. "O reminded me that I'm allowed to... visit."

Bruce shifts -- and the cape is between Tim and the mouth of the alley.

*He* can still see, but -- absolutely no one would be able to see him. "B...?"

"And this is... a visit."

"Yes. I thought we might --"

"Spend time together...?"

Bruce is always -- *always* -- a little too quick and sharp for comfort when he's wearing Batman... but, at the moment, he's still Bruce. Tim rests his hand on the bat on Bruce's chest. "How are you?"

"Deeply pleased at the moment. Hoping... hoping."

"Tell me."

"Come with me."

"We should --"

"Listen."

Right. What he *hadn't* been doing -- sirens, coming very, very close. Still -- "The protocol --"

"Then we will wait. Here," Bruce says, and pulls Tim against him firmly enough that Tim's cheek just *is* against Bruce's armor, but not so firmly that it scrapes.

Tim sighs, letting it be audible --

"My love."

"I had pictures like this. I wish I hadn't -- well."

"You never uploaded them. Did *you* wonder if you were cheapening his memory?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Nothing so laudable. I was afraid you might think I was blackmailing you."

Bruce's own sigh catches on a soft noise. "I was lost enough then that I might have. I still wish you had kept them."

"So do I. I wonder... I wonder if, between us, we erased *him*."

"Nothing ever could."

Tim closes his eyes behind the mask and nods, pressing closer.

"My love. A will call on our channel tonight, I believe?"

"That was... the implication."

"Will you allow him to pleasure you?"

Engines shutting down, the distinctly crisp and cynical tones of Gotham police officers, footsteps. Questions from the police and curses from the criminals. A cleared throat --

"Gee. I wonder if there's someone around who can tell us what happened tonight. That would sure be pleasant. Lord knows I like talking to people. Don't you, Mulroney?"

"Oh, yeah, Sarge, I love it. I mean, I'm a real friendly guy."

Tim smiles --

And Bruce lowers his cape.

Tim walks out of the alley and explains the situation to the police. Sergeant Button is familiar to Tim from the nights when he had paired with Bruce as a matter of course --

From the nights when Bruce was nearly always *only* Batman to him --

Tim hadn't seen him in a while. Button remarks on Tim's growth, Tim thanks him for noticing, and uses the uniforms he'd brought with him to sketch out the original positions of the dealers when the shooters had pulled up, then gives his rough estimations of who had shot at whom when.

When he's done, he raises his eyebrow behind the mask, waits for the nod, and flies --

"R-point twelve B," Bruce says in his ear, and Tim tries hard not to think about the fact that that rooftop gathers shadows like cult leaders do followers. Just --

He gets there --

He walks into the black --

And there are bare hands cupping his cheeks in the moments before Bruce kisses him softly and deeply. The shadows are their friends, even if they could never be excuses. The shadows hide everything, even though they probably shouldn't.

Tim hums into Bruce's mouth and coaxes Bruce's tongue deeper, deep enough that he can taste coffee and something Tim *wants* to call need. It could very well be his own --

And when Bruce starts thrusting into Tim's mouth it's necessary to moan, to try to get closer, feel *more* --

The edges of the cowl bite in against Tim's cheeks --

His gauntlets whisper and scratch against Bruce's armor --

*Bruce's* hands are bare. Tim pulls back and pants, shaking his head and failing to clear it --

"Robin --"

"Oh -- not that. B."

Bruce's grunt is soft, *soft* --

Tim takes off his gauntlets and twines his fingers with Bruce's own, reveling in the sweat, the smooth skin, the *calluses* --

"My love."

"You're never..." Tim shakes his head again and brings one of Bruce's hands to his mouth, close enough that he can bite down on Bruce's middle finger --

"Tell me," Bruce says, and it's a plea rather than an order, for all that it doesn't strictly *sound* that way --

"You're not Batman --"

"No."

"Not only right now. Every -- every time we're together like this --"

"Should I be."

"Don't -- I -- no. Not that," Tim says, and *licks* Bruce's fingers, shivering when his clumsy tongue brushes against his own finger --

"Then what?"

"B. I -- I find myself stymied. And -- surprised, that's all. I thought I knew my own kinks --"

"May I lay you down?"

Tim -- moans. Out loud, unmuffled, unbroken by anything -- including shame. Well. "We shouldn't... strip."

"Touch. Only..." Bruce sighs and squeezes Tim's hands --

Tim can't see Bruce's *eyes*, and that should be enough to make him stop, think --

Something even *remotely* sane --

"Down. Let's --"

Not at all surprising to *be* down -- with Bruce cradling his head -- but absolutely surprising to have been able to parse all the moves that led to this moment: roof grit on his elbows and one of Bruce's big, big hands cupping him through his shorts.

"B -- I don't. I don't want to call you anything he did --"

"Even though you sound nothing alike?"

Tim winces. "I can imagine it in his voice, but --"

"You did not hear him enough, I know. There is -- there is no 'enough,'" Bruce says, and curls his fingers under the waistband of Tim's shorts *questioningly*, somehow --

Tim laughs. "Do it -- and tell me."

"To have a letter become my name..." Bruce sighs, and his teeth gleam in a stray bit of moonlight. "He said it casually, genuinely, openly..."

Tim lifts his hips, and Bruce pulls down shorts and tights at once. The air is cool on his thighs --

"You say it as if it hurts you to do so... when it's not simply more of our usual code. When he said it in front of others, I was naked. Your scent... I've missed --" Bruce growls and pulls Tim's jock and briefs out of the way --

And Tim's penis bobs up immediately, reaching --

"My beautiful love --"

"Touch -- please, Bruce --"

Bruce sighs and wraps his fist around him -- "Were there pictures of this?"

"One -- only one. You were on the Dornier building, taking off his cape in the moments before pulling him into shadow --"

"I needed his throat. He had allowed a young woman from his school to give him... to give him a suck-mark --"

"God, B --"

"My love. May I stroke?"

"Please. Please -- *oh* --"

"I could never quiet him fully at these times. Shall I try with you?"

The noise Tim hears himself make is animal and low -- "I -- you. Don't try to dominate me --"

"No, never that --"

"*B* --" Tim growls and pumps into Bruce's fist --

"So soon... I had forgotten --"

Tim cries out -- stops. Breathes. *Pants* -- "Your hand. Your --" Tim groans and tilts his head back -- "You feel so good --"

"Your pleasure makes me *ache*, my love --"

Tim groans again and shakes his head, *tries* to go somewhere in his mind other than how it had felt when Bruce was pushing in, when Bruce was *opening* Tim with his penis -- "Want -- want you --"

"*Take*," Bruce says, opening Tim's cape with his free hand and cupping Tim's throat --

"Yes -- oh, yes --"

"You did well tonight --"

Tim chokes on -- more than just the laugh --

Another flash of teeth --

"Will you stay with me for the rest of your patrol?"

"Yes, I -- but. Arsenal --"

"I would vastly enjoy watching you react to the things he says to you --"

"Please, *harder* --"

"Are you sure?"

For a moment, the question makes no sense at all. Just -- Bruce *knows* him. But then he remembers Roy's orders, Roy needing him to be *gentle* with himself -- "N-no. Faster, then, *give* me this --"

"Always, and at any time," and Bruce *squeezes* Tim's throat --

Bruce begins stroking him with a fast, steady rhythm that should *hurt* more, shouldn't drive him so *crazy* --

But it's Bruce's hand, and maybe that's enough of a reason for all of this. It's Bruce's *hands*, plural, and there's no way not to give in for that, give *up* --

Never *surrender* --

But that's Batman's rule and not Bruce's. Bruce wants him just like *this* -- writhing on the ground and pumping, twisting, gasping and getting *nothing* --

Bruce moans and strokes him faster still, leaning in *slowly* --

The creak of the armor is everything ominous and *hot* --

"A kiss," Bruce says, and his mouth is impossibly soft, his stubble is rough --

Every time he's watched Bruce shave himself, every time he's watched some -- some *debutante* rub at her face after a sloppily possessive *smack* of a kiss from Brucie --

And Bruce is *fucking* him with his tongue, shoving in and in as Tim starts to shake, as the rhythm of all the breathing he isn't doing starts to boom and *rush* in his ears --

He's close --

So *close* --

But when Bruce loosens his grip, Tim has to cry out again before he can breathe, gasp, try to urge Bruce to squeeze again, *harder* --

"My love, you are beautiful in extremis, as you *approach* extremis -- I want this *always*."

"*Please*, I want -- oh, God, I want to be *fucked* --"

"*Hnh* -- Robin --"

"*Don't* --"

"*He* knew it was only expedience, only what I called him when there was nothing else --"

"I *can't*, B --"

And this kiss is brutal, demanding, *rough* --

This kiss is all but *grinding* the back of his head against the roof --

*Break* and Bruce is panting against Tim's mouth, staring into him --

Tim isn't even sure *why* his own eyes are open --

"You *know* what I would call you --"

"Yes -- yes. I can't -- I'll *learn* --"

"Stay *with* me, love, lover --" <<I am breathless in your power -->>

Tim groans and *bucks*, wonders how *much* of this can happen before Clark --

Before *Kal* has to take notice --

And there's a part of him which only wants to be exposed like this, to be shown in the moments where he's loved, appreciated, *needed* --

When he *must* be something worth seeing, worth having and *knowing* --

And every part of him knows that Roy will make sure Kal gives him just that someday -- when Tim's ready.

For now...

"*Yes*, my love, *more*."

And more means that he can curl up on himself, that he can dig his fingernails in against Bruce's hands and demand a harder touch, a *better* touch --

And the *simultaneous* squeezes make him buck and writhe again, open his mouth for a scream with no *breath* --

"Tim..." Barely a whisper --

Bruce, oh Bruce, oh please --

"*Please*."

A moment to jerk and *arch* --

Another to live in being needed just this *much* --

And the orgasm makes his eyes roll back in his head, makes him cry out when Bruce loosens his grip at the best-worst time, makes him bite his *tongue* --

"My *love* --"

Shaking then, because he has to, because this is the *second* rooftop he's --

Well, no, not 'defiled.' Not that.

Tim laughs breathlessly and *quietly*, letting himself *just* feel the way Bruce is stroking his hips and upper thighs --

Bruce is *enjoying* Tim's nudity -- quite possibly because he knows, full well, that it *won't* be lasting very long.

Tim sits up and kisses Bruce, cupping his face and turning in against him. It's not a surprise to find himself buried within the blank, black *vastness* of the cape, but... "Batman?"

"In part," and the hand between them smells *powerfully* of Tim's come in this small space.

"Robin would give you a wipe."

"Then don't become him... yet."

Tim nods once and they suck and lick Bruce's hand clean between them -- but Bruce doesn't actually *play* with Tim's mouth. Business is... imminent. Tim gives himself a moment to suck the tip of Bruce's index finger before pulling back. "Up?"

"Yes," Batman says, and they stand together.

The cape remains around them both until Tim is finished dressing, and then Bruce whips it away with a flourish. Still -- "I won't always allow a lack of reciprocation."

Batman's smile is pleased and *proud* -- "Noted."

Really -- "You *can't* tell me he let you get away with that. I won't *believe* you."

Bruce's lips firm themselves together in a hard line -- and a very particular smile. "Never. Not once."

Tim hums. "But I am -- on occasion -- more forgiving. Yes, I see," Tim says, and pats the bat on Bruce's chest. "Shall we?"

"Take point."

Tim does -- and it turns out that Bruce had meant for him to take point for the rest of the night. It's --

Bruce isn't even really *testing* him anymore, as opposed to following his lead for every act of vigilantism they commit for the next two hours. Tim has to *ask* for comments and suggestions when they're either taking breaks or in flight, and the only things Bruce has to say are about fighting moves Tim hasn't learned *yet* -- and fighting moves Tim would never be able to use effectively in the first place. And really --

"You're aware that you're being terrifying, right, B?"

"The thought had occurred. You really should be used to it, however," Batman says through the comm, cold and even and sure...

Tim lets himself -- and Robin -- sigh. "Being used to it isn't the same thing as *welcoming* it --"

"You were ready for this before you so much as learned how to breathe," and that --

Bruce and Batman at *once* -- "Ah. Noted. R-point twenty-two A."

"Noted."

It takes another three minutes to fly there -- it's almost time for them to circle back around to get their respective vehicles -- and by then... by then Tim has something like a hold on himself. Something like a grasp on what he needs, and on what he needs to say.

He lands, tucks his grapple away, stretches -- Bruce lands in front of him and does the perimeter scanning Tim had done while he was in flight. Protocol, protocol, and *more* protocol --

And Tim can damned well suck it up. "Batman. You don't have to keep reminding me of what we're doing and of what we will become in the future."

Batman -- gives him Bruce's smile. "It's entirely possible that I'm reminding myself."

Tim -- blinks. Stops. "It's -- you're not used to this, yourself."

The smile gets wider. "Not in the slightest."

That -- hm. "Then we need to discuss this as we go."

The cowl shows nothing. Tim knows that Bruce is raising an eyebrow.

"Everything. Every moment. Even -- especially -- the doubts."

"Hm. And if I were to tell you that the doubts have nothing whatsoever to do with you?"

Tim lets Robin smile. "Then I'd tell you that you were lying."

"Robin --"

Tim holds up a hand. "If nothing else, you doubt... hn. You doubt that you should be *doing* this to me."

"It's an *irrelevant* doubt --"

"Yes, it is. And no, it isn't," Tim says, and steps close enough that he has to crane his neck to hold Bruce's eyes. "We must do this for the sake of the Mission. However, if we continue to hold ourselves back from all of the ramifications..." Tim shakes his head. "There *will* come a day when I have to do this without you. When that day comes, I'd like to be as calm about it as possible."

"And that will not happen unless we take this time to be together as much as possible," Bruce says, and nods slowly. "I understand. There are... other thoughts."

"Share them."

"We can't do this to the extent which would be most ultimately efficient if we are only together on the street."

Tim offers one of his own smiles. "You're giving me rather interestingly frightening ideas about pillow talk... but I know what you mean. The 'vocational training program' I'll be starting soon will allow a certain amount of room."

"Not if you take full advantage of it. The new Titans will need you -- and you will need them."

"Not as much as I'll need their mentors when the time comes. Robin will be strictly part-time... while still more a part of the team than he was with Young Justice. Agreed?"

Bruce takes a deep breath -- and nods.

"And we *will* discuss all of your objections to that at a better moment than this. Including the ones which have nothing to do with either the Mission or *my* happiness."

Bruce's smile is sharp, cold -- proud. And really --

"You have every right to look at me that way."

"I disagree --"

"Tough," Tim says, and crosses his arms under his much-abused cape. "I wouldn't be the boy you love if you hadn't played a very large role in shaping me -- body, mind, and soul."

"You accept my love."

"I accept you."

"You -- you should not set aside your anger so quickly --"

"Perhaps the person I will be in just a few hours shouldn't, but *Robin* needs things to move far more quickly --"

"You are not Robin in this moment."

Tim *wants* to protest that, but -- he sighs, instead. "No, I'm not, and yes, I know exactly what that means when it comes to my own emotional health. We have very few choices in this life... Batman."

Bruce reaches out and doesn't *quite* stroke Tim's cheek with his gauntleted hand --

"Please don't make me miss *that* sort of touch. It would be exceedingly unkind of you," Tim says, and offers a smile he will never show his father or Dana. A smile Steph would find some way to smack off his face --

A smile that brings an entirely different sort of response from Bruce -- "Perhaps you'll allow us to watch Sherlock Holmes films together again someday."

Tim snorts. "It was *special* of you to do *that* with me while suited-up."

Bruce laughs softly. "I've learned -- I believe I have learned much since then. Please don't ever leave."

Tim -- is blinking again. *And* blushing --

"I promise, I will teach you how to control those. Perhaps you will forgive me for not having done so before now."

Hm. "Pervert."

"Oh, yes. We'll have the weekends, then -- some of them. Your nights off are for your time with Arsenal --"

"And yours?"

"Only if you both wish it so. I have... a large amount of guilt for not being able to bring myself to leave you --"

"No. We wanted you there."

"Not at first --"

"Desires change," Tim says, and strikes a very particular -- and belligerent -- pose. "Don't ya think, B?"

Bruce takes a breath. "Beautifully cruel. Your point is made."

"I -- sorry --"

"No," Bruce says, and this time he does touch Tim's cheek. "We will share him between us. *Among* us. We will speak his name until the power of it is only bright."

"You'll tell me about *those* nightmares?"

"Oh, yes. He... he never obeyed the edict to stay away from my bed when I was in the grips of a nightmare. I hurt him... many times."

"I wish --"

"No," and Bruce *taps* Tim's cheek with his fingers. "I had lost him by then, after all. If I had hurt you, as well... I might not have been able to continue having you in my home, much less training you."

Tim winces. "Noted. I --"

"Now where," Roy says through the comm, "is my pretty bird flying?"

Bruce hums --

"Does that little sound mean we're gonna have an audience?"

"Perhaps," Bruce says, and very deliberately steps away from Tim -- and then off the edge of the roof.

"'Perhaps?' What's this 'perhaps?'"

"It's the loss of a more... ah... *direct* audience," Tim says, and steps into the shadows.

"The two of you were together? Thought that didn't happen all that often..." And there's a little... something in Roy's voice.

"It didn't... but it will now. There's a little too much riding on our being simpatico now."

"Very, very true, pretty baby. But I wanna know what's riding *you*."

Tim smiles. "The wind, the night, my imagination, my thoughts of the future... well. B did say he wanted to stay for this conversation tonight, but I'm ultimately unsurprised that he didn't."

Roy sighs. "He's invested, and I'm *gonna* remember that... even when I'm missing you." Roy's voice is low... and has a quality of huskiness that does and doesn't speak of sexuality.

"I -- don't know when I'm coming up there, yet. I very much hope it's soon."

"Even though... heh. Was he gentle with you?"

Tim closes his eyes, licks his lips -- "Yes."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes --"

"You ever want *me* to be gentle?"

"I --" Tim swallows. "I want you to do everything you want, in every way you want."

Roy sighs again. "Baby... need you bad."

Tim pants -- stops. "Please. Please tell me."

"I'm hard for you... and B."

Tim twitches for that, and -- "I would like to know what I should do."

"Are you deep in a shadow, baby?"

"Yes --"

"*Don't* take anything off."

Tim moans, and -- "I -- all right --"

"You played without me tonight..."

"I --" Was he not supposed to? A part of him is cringing aside just that fast, just that powerfully -- "I wish to be punished."

"You did nothing wrong, really. I didn't *tell* you that you couldn't play, after all."

"You -- that's true, and yet --"

"You can *always* play with papi... unless I specifically say different."

"Yes. Yes, all right --"

"What did you do."

Tim licks his lips and -- drops into a crouch. If he's going to sway, he's going to be a *small* target. "We -- kissed. He laid me down on a roof and took down my uniform --"

"Exposed you."

Tim pants again, tries to think -- "Yes. Yes, I -- it didn't feel that way at the time."

"Mm. It just felt right."

"And -- necessary --"

"You were hard for him."

"Yes, Arsenal --"

"Just like you're hard for *me*."

"I -- please --"

"Gauntlets on or off?"

"Ah -- off. His hands were. Damp with sweat."

Roy takes a deep breath -- "I'm out in the air. Wanna suck it?"

"God, yes --"

"Want me to fuck your mouth?"

"*Always*," Tim says, and tries to figure out if he's blushing more or just flushed, just -- "You make me. Shameless."

"Not quite. Shameless isn't as hot as the right *kinds* of shame, after all."

Tim moans and rocks on his heels. "In the past, I dreamed of being... used."

"I know you did."

*That* is definitely a blush. "Oh. Oh, I -- suppose that was obvious."

"Let's just say... mm. Let's just say that it's kind of a *common* experience for people like us. Did he suck you?"

"No. Just -- stroked. And choked me."

Roy grunts -- "Those big fucking hands... did you cry out for him?"

"Yes. I couldn't make myself stop. I couldn't figure out *how* to make myself stop --"

"Good. Good boy. C'mon, tell me how you want me to use you."

"If. I want to be tied. On my stomach --"

"Where?"

"Your bed. Please. Please, I --"

"Keep *going*," Roy says, and it's almost a growl -- Roy is jerking off. Right now.

Tim groans. "I -- you -- beat me. Whip me --"

"The flail?"

"Yes -- or. I. I've wondered about. Riding crops."

Roy grunts *again* -- "Canes?"

"I don't - know. I don't know --"

"Simple question -- do you wanna bleed for me sometime?"

"Oh -- God. Yes. Yes, I do --"

"Then one day you'll get caned. Tell me where I beat you."

"My back. My ass. The back of my neck --"

"Dirty baby, pretty baby, *good* baby --"

"My legs. The bottoms of my feet --"

"And you're all spread out for me, aren't you, baby?"

"*Please* -- I mean yes," Tim says, and resists the urge to take his gauntlet off and suck on his own fingers --

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see it. I've got your cock bent back so I can watch you leak for me --"

Tim moans and shakes his head in nothing like no, *rocks* --

"I get you right there, too. I *hurt* you and you can't stop me."

Tim sobs on a breath --

"I hurt you until I'm hurting myself, baby. Until I can feel you -- mm. All stretched out on a fucking *rack* of pain."

"I scream for you. I keep -- I don't stop."

"What *else*."

"You -- you make me beg for more. You -- you don't doubt for a second that I will. You never *doubt* --"

"Nobody could with a pretty baby like you. A *needy* baby."

Tim -- whimpers --

Roy *growls* -- "*More*."

"Oh, God -- you move me. Move my body until I'm -- I don't know what your bedroom *looks* like --"

"You -- hnh. You will. How do I position you?"

"I -- spreader bar between my ankles. You cuff my wrists to it --"

That sound is a growl *and* a purr -- "*More* --"

"You tell me. You tell me I'll be punished if I. Fall over. And then you fuck me that way. You -- you don't hold *on* --"

"*Fuck* --" And then Roy is grunting over and over, panting --

"You do it -- so hard. Right from the beginning. You -- I think you had a plug in me to get me open --"

"Tight little --" Roy cries out, sharp and -- and *sweet*, somehow --

Tim knows that he's coming, coming from the things *he* had said -- he closes his eyes and shivers. And waits.

Roy's breaths are panted and end with little whoops for nearly a full minute --

Tim *wants* --

"Tell me who was the original star of that fantasy, baby."

"I --"

"No, don't hesitate. *Ever*."

"I'm sorry, Arsenal. It was... not Batman. I knew so little... a part of me hoped and feared --"

"And the spreader bar?"

"Ah... new. Very new. In the original fantasy I just grabbed my ankles."

Roy laughs softly. "Oh... baby. Yeah, as a matter of fact, toys *do* make things better. Now. B. Did he get *you* off?"

Silence --

"Don't make me wait now, papi."

"No. I. I didn't allow time for that," Bruce says, voice caught in a limbo that doesn't *quite* belong to Batman.

"Don't you wish you did?"

"Increasingly," and the *humor* in Bruce's voice is just --

Tim shivers again --

And Roy's laugh is low, amused, appreciative... "New rule: You don't *do* that to yourself. Or to my boy."

Bruce hums. "Noted. I... have work that must be completed tonight."

"Oh, you're free to go, papi. We'll catch up... later."

"Thank you, Arsenal," *Batman* says -- "B out."

The click tells Tim that Bruce is back on passive receive... yes, well. Tim waits --

Roy's grunt, this time, speaks more of the issues inherent to tight clothing than to anything else -- "You have a fantastic imagination, baby."

Tim smiles ruefully. "What I *have*... are fantastically inspiring lovers."

"Mm, that, too, but trust me on this, pretty -- *nobody* can make this work without seriously vivid imaginations. Think about it for a minute."

"Well -- all right, I can see it. So much of this is in the mind and heart and -- soul."

"You're getting better at that."

Tim lets his smile become a grin. "I have a good teacher."

"I --" Roy laughs, sharp and rueful.

"Yes?"

"I just had a *powerful* fantasy of teaching you the bow."

Tim grins *more* -- "Arrowette... taught me a fair amount."

"And how did *she* avoid jumping down your tights?"

And Tim remembers her smiles, tight and secretive and still so *warm* -- "I think she enjoyed my... ah... control. To at least a certain extent."

"You miss her."

"Very much," Tim says, and breathes around the arousal which will apparently *always* be extant when he's near Roy.

"I never -- I always meant to seek her out."

"Yes?"

"*Especially* after Ollie died -- I. What do you think, Rob? How *would* she feel about someone like me showing up in her dorm someday? *With* GA II, natch."

Tim hums... and considers. Roy isn't quite - "Take my collar off, please."

"I -- fuck. Are you sure?"

"I'm all right. And... we're still learning each other's wavelengths --"

"So we are. And this -- I need the whole night with you sometime, Rob."

Tim closes his eyes. "I need that, too. But --"

"Yeah. Squeeze that jock against yourself --"

Tim does it and grunts, letting it be loud --

"Collar off."

"Thank you," and Tim sighs and rolls his head on his neck. "As to your question -- I've considered that very thing. In depth --"

"Of course you have," and Roy sounds amused and *pleased* -- "Conclusions?"

"Were she still in the life, I would've asked you and GA II both to go to her rather a long time ago."

"You wouldn't have *had* to."

Tim smiles. "Gratifying."

"I think we *both* know how valuable and rare family can be, Rob."

"Indeed. And... I don't know. At this point, from the things WG has said to me about the things the former Arrowette has said to her... I don't know. It could very well be an intrusion. It can be hard for someone who has left the life --"

"To deal with people who haven't -- and who never will." Roy sighs. "I know how that goes. Still -- we're not John Q. Vigilante, here."

"Also true. I'll ask WG for more detail the next time we speak... which will be soon."

"Heh. Vocational training?"

"And a fair amount of it, at that," Tim says, and smiles. "Though... not enough to take away the time I need with B."

"I -- hm."

"Hn. I know what you're thinking. He won't --"

"Act the way he did with your predecessors?"

"No. He's already protested the idea of me giving up that time with the Titans."

"Protested --" Roy blows out a breath. "All right, I guess he is growing up, at that."

Tim stretches somewhat extravagantly in his shadow. "I believe he feels he has incentive."

"Mm. There's not a whole lot I wouldn't do to keep you, pretty baby."

Tim blushes. "Ah -- I --"

"I know what you meant. And *you* know what I mean."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment. "I suppose I do."

"You sound... happy."

Tim opens his eyes again. "I am. You -- well. *You* know what you've done for me."

Roy laughs softly. "I do. Most of the time it doesn't even feel like taking advantage."

"*Arsenal* --"

"When you're in my arms, when you're lookin' up at me with those big, pretty eyes... it feels nothing but right."

"I -- good. And somewhat manipulative."

"Heh. I thought you *wanted* to spend more time with me, Robbie."

Tim makes a face. "I *do* --"

"It's so unfair that I'm missing that prissiness."

Tim makes the face... louder.

"God, I can *feel* that --"

"*Good* --"

"I love you."

Tim -- gasps a little. "Somehow, I didn't see that coming."

"One day you will. And on that day I won't be able to let you go for *anything*."

"Oh -- Roy."

"I still will, though. Just as soon as you need me to."

Tim blushes *again* -- "It's -- I wish you could be present for all my blushes --"

"So do *I*."

"They're really rather annoying without you. Though B promised to help me find a way to reduce their frequency."

"Aaand now I have to kill him."

Tim snorts. "Arsenal."

"The community's on *my* side for this one, Rob. Trust me."

"I do," Tim says, and shifts enough to chafe his nipples with his thick t-shirt. He sighs for it, arches --

"Oh -- ooh. I know that sigh."

"So you do."

"I -- wait."

"I'm waiting... for now."

"Oh -- baby. No, serious for a minute, okay?"

Tim stands straight in his shadow. "I'm listening."

"O told me things got rough on you for a little while after we left."

"I -- ze helped. Immensely."

"You -- I won't say you have to let me help all the time."

"I'm not your slave."

"Exactly. You're no one's property but your own, and that works for you just fine more often than it doesn't. A *lot* more often."

And -- that was a question. Which -- Roy has a right to it. "Yes, A."

"Okay. All right." Roy blows out a breath. "You're so good. You're so fucking *perfect* that I forget how new this all is to you, and how crazy I felt -- in a *lot* of different ways -- when it was new to *me*. It *is* normal to start feeling like maybe you 'should' be doing other things and crap like that, but you can't let it fuck you up, baby."

And there *is* a part of him which only wants to point out that that's a self-serving viewpoint for Roy --

But that part listened to Nanny Helga a little too much --

And never *wants* to let the rest of him eat candy --

And is absolutely positive that Bruce *hates* him for intruding on his grief --

And never, ever, *ever* thinks it deserves... anything.

"Rob...?"

"I -- I deserve to get what I want."

Roy... breathes. "Everything, baby. *Everything*."

Tim smiles, and it feels painful on his face --

It feels painful all *through* him --

And that's... perfectly wonderful. "Arsenal..."

"Yeah?"

"Put my collar back on."

Roy grunts in his ear -- and then growls, long and loud.

Tim smiles a little wider. "Please."

end.








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