Disclaimers: See all those people over there who aren't
me? Yeah. They include the people who actually own
these guys.

Spoilers: Pretty much none. Assume this happens
sometime before Nightwing #89 and yet after Teen
Titans #6. I make my own time.

Summary: Dick's a brat. This doesn't bother Tim as
much as it probably should. Go figure.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Sequel to Lateral Stresses. Title from
Da Vinci: "The function of muscle is to pull and not to
push, except in the case of the genitals and the
tongue."

He probably didn't mean it that way.

Acknowledgments: To Livia, Jack, the Spike, and
Weirdness Magnet for audiencing, various helpful
suggestions, and general coolness.

To Sandy Justine, because it... um. *Was* her
birthday. Relatively recently, even.

Feedback: Yes, please. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

Dick is being pretty much himself tonight, which means
he's moving pretty evenly between silently and perfectly
professional -- and Tim has long since come to terms
with his envy over the guy's *moves* -- and loud and
annoying and... bratty.

They've been staking out a warehouse for an hour and
a half now, with no sign of movement beyond the
sleep-slow twitches of the (probably paid-off) security
guard, so it's just about time --

He doesn't duck fast enough to avoid the head-slap.

Tim glares, but Dick is playing innocent, crouched on
his portion of the ledge and staring through his
binoculars.

Tim rolls his eyes and goes back to his own watch.
Waits for it. Another smack? Poke with a stick? Cape
tug? His peripheral vision is about as good as it *can*
be with a mask, but the only warning he gets is the
feeling of Dick shifting beside him before a handful of
pebbles hits him in the side of the head.

He'd used his far hand. Nice.

"You're secretly twelve, aren't you?"

"Young at heart." Dick's not smirking *at* him so
much as just smirking.

"Uh, huh. You know, if you're bored, there's a
playground about four blocks *that* way."

"I'd say you were no fun, but we already *knew*
that."

"Did you have too much sugar with your dinner,
again? We are, actually, on patrol here."

"Worrying about not being up to the challenge of a
handful of DVD bootleggers? We really need to work
on your self-confidence, kid."

Self-confidence. *Dick* is poking him about
self-confidence. Right. "You haven't gotten laid
recently, have you?"

"You offering?"

Tim blinks, and has just enough time to be happy for
the mask until he remembers that Dick knows exactly
how to read expressions *despite* it. Dammit.

And Dick's smirking even more.

Really, Tim had been thinking 'one-time thing.' Dick
had felt like proving a point, and Tim's body had been
available for him to prove it *on*. Stickily. And then
Tim had gone back to Gotham and Dick had stayed in
Bludhaven and life had gone on.

Except that Tim was maybe the only one of them
actually doing the smart thing and *repressing*.

Or... was he? Dick isn't *doing* anything, and it would
be *like* him to just needle Tim about it until they
were both old and grey and probably dead, too,
but...

Sometimes, Tim's pretty sure he hates his entire 'family.'

"Saved by the crook. Let's roll."

He manages to bite back the 'hunh?' Which is something
to be thankful for, since Dick is already jumping off the
roof like gravity is maybe optional for him. Tim shoots
off his grapple and gets a pretty good idea of the
situation on the way down. Three thugs, obviously
armed, but equally obviously carrying large crates.

It takes less than two minutes to take them all out. The
security guard doesn't even have time to wake up
before Dick knocks him unconscious again.

Tim himself manages exactly two kicks and a punch.

"Well, this was pointless."

"Tell you what, Nightwing. Just for you, I'll engineer a
mass breakout from Arkham."

Dick snorts. "Even *you* have to admit that this wasn't
exactly a challenge."

"It's not *about* --" No. He isn't going to get into this
argument. One, because he's had it with *other*
people about nine hundred times. Two, because Dick's
pretty much just fucking with him.

Which fact is made perfectly clear by the fact that the
man's still smirking his head off, even as he zip-strips
the bad guys.

"Well, since you're on top of this..."

And for a while, he's sure he's gotten away. Away and
kind of away *with* something, because hey, it's not
like he was supposed to be joined to Dick by the hip
tonight or anything, and there's no actual *reason*
why he can't sneak back into his bedroom *before*
dawn.

The route is one *he* planned, too. He's only used it
twice, and he's particularly proud of the switchbacks
and unauthorized use of the power lines over Tenth.

Right up until he swings around an apartment building
and Nightwing *waves* at him from where he's
perched on a freaking flagpole.

Dammit.

He tumbles to a stop on the rooftop of an apartment
building, not quite skinning his palms on some broken
glass that hadn't been there the last time.

Nightwing decides to be courteous -- or maybe just
smug -- and makes noise as he lands behind him.

"What." He isn't going to turn around.

Dick claps his hands on Tim's shoulders just a *little*
too hard and gives him a shake before leaning in to
whisper in his ear. "You never answered my
question."

If the world was fair, Tim wouldn't be remembering
those hands on his thighs. Or thinking about the way
Dick's lips feel against his ear versus the way they'd
felt wrapped around -- fuck. "Just to be clear, am I
actually *allowed* to be uncomfortable about this?"

He can feel Dick tense, and it's tempting, really
*incredibly* tempting to just go with it. He could say
something about how he's struggling with his
sexuality, or having trouble sleeping. Or something
*really* good, like how he's just not sure he can trust
Dick anymore.

Oh yeah. That would be...

The best possible thing he could do to break Dick's tiny
little mind.

He sighs and slumps, a little, brushing Dick's hands off
and turning around.

"Uh..."

"I know, you're just playing, and I'm not actually
freaking out about this."

Dick looks like a weirdly hesitant Frankenstein monster,
arms still held out in front of him where Tim's
shoulders used to be. And it *is* nice that it's maybe,
possibly *finally* occurring to Dick that this... *thing*
between them is fucked up beyond all human
comprehension, but the timing could be better.

"Fuck this."

It takes three hard kisses before Dick's hands are sliding
under his cape, and by that time it's not really necessary
to pull the man into it. Tim still doesn't let go. It feels
*good* to hold Dick's head in just the right position, to
lick his way into his mouth and get his tongue sucked
and --

"You know, um. We could talk about this if you --"

"Christ, shut *up*."

"I know you're *young* and *inexperienced* --"

"I *hate* you." Tim shoves, but Dick doesn't bother to
try to keep his balance -- just grabs Tim's arm and
makes sure they hit the roof together. He's expecting
the roll, so he has enough time to put his own force
into it so that he's only actually on his back for a
moment.

Dick looks *much* better on his back.

Even with that smirk.

"Here?"

He can't say he hasn't thought about it. A rooftop, the
quickest way to get just *enough* out of their
uniforms. Yeah. *Just* as fucked up as the rest of
them. Tim does his best not to think about it, grinding
down and biting his lip when Dick gets his hands back
on Tim's ass and squeezes.

"Mm. Is that door locked?"

Fuck. Like a bucket of ice water from on high.

"Tim, Tim, Tim. Haven't we taught you *anything*
about planning?"

He remembers the days when he almost never ground
his teeth. His childhood had been pretty happy, all
things considered. Dick snickers at him as he stands
up, running the inside of one booted foot up the
outside of Tim's tights as he tries to brush the worst of
the grit off his knees.

He wonders if he's going to be one of those sad
people who are doomed to find any flex of incredibly
well-toned muscle attractive -- he grinds his teeth a
little more.

"Where?"

"My bike's not parked too far from here. Traffic
shouldn't be terrible." The foot creeps up higher
and... moves.

"I have to get *home* tonight." He hopes that wasn't
a whine. He really, really hopes that wasn't a whine.
Dick shouldn't be able to make a steel-toed boot
nudging at his crotch feel like such a good idea.

He wonders if he's becoming a pervert. How long does
it take? How much of *this*?

"Dick --"

"Mm. Hmm. We *could* just block off the door."

If Tim pressed his thighs together, Dick's foot would
be pretty much trapped right... there. "Yeah..."

"I want you in a bed."

"Wha...?"

"Beds are nice. Flat, soft. Lots of... space."

And Tim's aware that he's pretty much staring, but he
thinks that *has* to be understandable. Dick is still
flat on his back, even with his foot up between Tim's
legs. And he's got one hand behind his head and the
other hand...

Just his thumb, brushing over and over the erection
that's getting more and more obvious.

"Home," he says, and prays it makes some kind of
sense. More sense than any of *this*, and *that*
shouldn't be too difficult, right?

"I'll take you home." And Dick's promising... absolutely
nothing that has anything to do with Tim waking up
in his own bed in the morning.

He forces himself to step back, and Dick just rolls to
his feet.

"Yeah, follow me."

A running jump off the roof, and he's proud of himself
for the fact that he doesn't *immediately* follow. His
brain is, actually, where it *should* be. But then he's
just irritated, because he can't *find* Dick right away.

And of course not. Of *course* he shouldn't have
expected the man to make it *easy* on him or
anything. Just because he *wanted* to get laid, or
anything. No reason *whatsoever* for him to stop
fucking with the new-Robin's-for-life head.

He finds Dick in the fifth alley he swings past, holding
out the extra helmet. Tim has already decided if he
says *anything* like 'what took you' he's getting a
blow to the kidneys, but... he doesn't.

"You need to hold on tighter than that." His voice is
tinny over the helmet radio, but still really ridiculously
intimate.

"Could you *be* more sleazy?"

"You think I'm kidding?" And the bike takes off like a
motorcycle-shaped rocket.

"*Fuck*."

"Heh."

Tim decides he needs to come up with some viable
plans for sabotaging well-trained fighters on
motorcycles. He needs to spend time and *effort* on
that, because right now he can't come up with
anything that won't turn *him* into road pizza, too.
It probably doesn't help that they're this close. Dick
bent over the bike and Tim bent over Dick and... no,
definitely not helping.

He turns his head to the side, but that just gives him
a better view of Dick weaving in and out of traffic
exactly like the brain-fried maniac he totally *is*.

"Your hand is *almost* in an interesting place, Tim."

"You want me to grope you while you're *driving*?"

"Think of it as a concentration exercise."

"See, here's the thing: I want to live long enough
to --" And he's totally not finishing that sentence.
Man, he can *hear* Dick smirking.

It has its own silent little hum.

It's possible he's not thinking straight.

"Long enough to what?"

"*Drive*, asshole."

And Dick actually *moves*, rearing up *just* enough
to rub his ass against Tim's crotch, making the bike
swerve just enough for Tim to find himself looking into
the rightfully terrified eyes of some poor bastard going
home after a late shift.

"Are you *insane*?"

Dick responds by weaving around *every* car, and
Tim's starting to worry about the way his cape is just
sort of *flapping* out behind them and --

"Okay! I'll *tell* you. Just stop with the near-death
experiences, will you?"

"Sure thing, Boy Wonder."

"I hate you so much."

"Mm-hmm. How much? What do you want to do to
me, kid?"

At least the helmet will hide his blush. "Suck you.
Like... you did."

"Oh, *yeah*. What else?"

"I don't know," he lies.

"We can fix that."

Yeah, he just *bets*.

They park in an alley a few blocks down from Dick's
apartment building and do some swinging and
climbing until they can sneak in through his window.
There are only three alarms they need to disable
along the way, which is both completely wrong and
so in character it makes Tim's teeth itch.

He's not thinking about it.

He gets the cape, the gloves, and the boots off and is
working on the tunic when he notices Dick just...
staring. And it's a *nice* stare, all heat and frank
admiration, but it's also annoyingly amused. "What."

"Your uniform is *way* more complicated to get off
than mine used to be."

And Tim thinks about pointing out that *Bruce* had
done the original design for his uniform, but a) that's
more than he wants to bring up here and *now*, and
b) he's not *immune* to a straight line. "*Unlike*
you, Dick, I don't suffer unduly if I'm not, at all times,
ready, willing, and able to drop trou for my partners
and teammates."

Dick just crosses his arms and smirks. "No? And about
that 'teammate' of yours. The one you absolutely
*had* to talk to before you were willing to get out
from under the League vs. the Titans. *What* was his
name again...?"

"Don't start."

And maybe it's something in his voice, but Dick
actually... stops. Sort of. "You know, I've thought about
it. What you'll do when you're done with Robin."

"Jesus, Dick --"

"I've even got some uniforms in mind."

"I don't want to know."

"But really, I think the best part -- the stroke of
*genius*, you might say --"

"Can't we shut up and have sex?"

And it's fascinating, really. Dick's horniness vs. Dick's
need to tell a stupid joke. Two Dicks enter, way too
many dick jokes leave. Or something.

Tim sighs and works the hidden catches on the tunic.
"Fine. What's the best part?"

Dick slides one hand under the opened tunic, yanking
on the t-shirt and smiling into Tim's eyes.

He's really disgustingly attractive. "*What*?"

Dick strokes a path up Tim's chest, thumb sliding over
his nipple again and again until he isn't sure if he
wants to slap Dick's hand away or tell him to twist it
or something. And he leans in, but the kiss is dry and
close-mouthed and doesn't last long before Dick's
nudging Tim's head aside to lick his ear. Impossible
to concentrate. Impossible to remember that he's
not *supposed* to concentrate, and he can feel his
body fighting to tense *and* fighting to just... give
up.

He can feel Dick's hair brushing against his cheek, and
feel the scratch of stubble against his ear. Unfamiliar
and hot. Tim's fully on-board with the fact that part of
the reason *why* he's doing this is so none of it will
ever be unfamiliar again, so that he'll have some
recourse, some *expectation* for what his body will
try to do to him just because he's being touched.

It's so unfair he wants to beat his head against a wall.

Later.

"Tim..." Smoky-voiced. Something else to watch out
for.

"Yeah."

He can feel Dick's smile against his ear, toothy and
wet and probably dangerous. "So your new name..."

Warning bells are going off about a hundred miles
away from Dick's voice, Dick's thumb, and the thigh
nudging between his own, inviting him to ride.
"Mm-hmm..."

"I was thinking..."

"Tell me."

Dick's thigh is *flexing* now, and it's terrifying how
good it is. And then it's *just* good. "You're a
history-minded kid. You pay attention to your roots,
and Robin's, too."

"Mm..."

"So it should be something that takes it all into account.
The bird thing, your... mentors. And, of course, your
own personality."

The tongue in his ear isn't helping the thought process.
Tim's maybe two minutes from random, embarrassing
noises. He bites his lip. Does it harder when Dick's
hands settle on his hips and start *moving* him. He
still can't hold in a groan.

"I'm thinking... 'Chastewing.'"

"Yeah. I mean... *what*?"

Dick *snickers*, and man, that's *it*. Tim shoves him
hard, just enough to knock him off balance, and
tackles him harder. They hit the bed, and there's no
way Dick isn't able to fight him off, but the bastard is
laughing too hard to try. *Right*.

Tim yanks a zip-strip off his belt and ties Dick's
wrists --

"I *knew* all that repression would just make you
kinky."

And slips a cord through the binding to attach him to
the headboard. He can't decide if it's more or less
satisfying that Dick's helping him.

"Feet, too?"

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying, thoroughness is a virtue."

And when Tim starts yanking on his tights, Dick plants
his feet and lifts his hips, and Tim really can't help
getting distracted. Long thighs, sparse hair. Muscle
and hot *skin*, and the expression on his face is
*more* than enough for Tim to know Dick's
remembering all the thigh-fondling *he'd* done. Tim's
not in the least tempted to get out the solvent and
take off Dick's mask.

He doesn't think he could keep himself from killing
the man if he actually had to look into his eyes.

Dick's briefs have a built-in jock, and he just means to
get a feel for them, the way they may or may not be
different from his own, but Dick actually *stops*
laughing for a moment. Which is... gratifying, on top
of making perfect sense: A tease for a tease. Tim rests
his hands on either side of the bulge and strokes with
his thumbs, watching Dick's face and the way his
breathing goes ragged.

He's not doing anything with his legs -- yet. Tim keeps
his guard up.

"You're... mmph. Taking detailed mental notes, aren't
you?"

"What if I am?" He keeps stroking.

"Nothing at all, Tim. I *like* perfectionists."

"State the obvious, much?"

He can see Dick raising an eyebrow, or trying to
despite the mask. Tim didn't actually mean to go there.
And he's not sure how to apologize without dragging
them deeper. Not with them half-naked and in the
middle of having sex, anyway.

"It's easier to change the subject when there's a roof
to jump off," he tries.

Dick nods, forearms flexing in what's probably a reflexive
test of how well he's tied. Probably.

"Repress and deny?"

Huffed laugh. "Yeah, kid. We've got better things to do."

And there's a lot there, and one day Tim *does* want to
talk about it -- as opposed to it being on the list of things
to talk about with various members of his 'family' before
disaster strikes -- but... yeah.

Dick rolls his hips, and it's a suggestion well worth
taking. Tim drags tights and jockeys down to Dick's
knees, thinks about leaving them there, and then gets
rid of the boots and the rest. Pushes Dick's top up to
bunch under his arms. He still can't really think about it.
Can't take it all *in* beyond flashes of skin. The flat,
hard muscle of Dick's stomach, his small nipples, and
the weirdly vulnerable caps of his knees.

"I can't believe you ran around in panties for a freaking
decade."

"You'd be amazed how easy it is to take out a thug
who's staring bemusedly at your crotch."

"Like I am?"

"I wouldn't call that *bemused*..."

Tim smiles at that. And keeps smiling. And waits for it.

"Are you *actually* going to touch me?"

"Dunno." Dick's thighs twitch. "Are you going to keep
messing with my head?"

"Let's see: So far, that tactic has gotten your dick in
my mouth -- which you seemed to enjoy -- some truly
inspiring groping, some kissing, *and* gotten me tied
to the bed. Call me crazy, but I like to go with what
works. Chastewing."

Tim doesn't *want* to grin at that, but wanting
anything *Dick* doesn't want seems pretty pointless.
Especially since he's kneeling between Dick's naked legs.

"C'mon. Teach me a lesson."

"If I wanted to do that, I'd leave."

"You don't honestly expect me to believe you don't
want to punish me a little."

"I'm not a vindictive person, Dick." Tim gives him his
best soulful look. "It hurts that you'd think that about
me."

Dick *chokes* with laughter, breath hitching and hips
moving in needy little circles. "Come *on*."

"What if I want you to beg?"

And Tim thinks he was wrong the first time around. He
*wants* to see Dick's eyes for this, to see what shows
when he stills like that.

"I *told* you I had a wide and varied fantasy life, Dick."

"And I'm just making it wider, hunh? I can go with
that."

"Can you?"

"Please." Breathless and low. And it comes out too
easily for Dick *not* to be acting, but it's still.

Really hot. "Say it again."

"Please, Tim. Touch me. Suck me off."

His heart is pounding in his throat, a thick and painful
feeling he can't swallow around.

"I want you..."

"You're too good at this."

"Practice." Dick's smile is lazy and catches the glare of
moonlight. "But I *do* want you." And he brings his
right leg up slowly, making sure Tim can see *every*
move, before settling it over Tim's shoulder and
bending. Pulling him in. "I want you right... here."

Tim doesn't resist until he's bent over far enough that
he needs to brace himself on one hand. He can smell
him. Sex and sweat and generalized *male*. Tim takes
a deep breath and watches his dick twitch. "You want
my mouth on you?"

"I want to *fuck* your mouth." He flexes his leg for
emphasis. "But... I'm easy."

"Slutwing."

"Yeah --"

He can *feel* Dick's gasp. Or maybe he'd gasped. It's
hard to be sure. He's *had* his hand on Dick's dick --
and he really *does* hate Dick for willfully going by
that name, sometimes -- before, but this is different.
Maybe it's the nudity. Maybe it's the bed. He's hard
and *hot* in Tim's hand. Alive.

It makes him think about the things he's heard Bruce
say about Dick over the years. How Dick had made
*him* feel.

"Tim, please..."

And that's nothing but honest, and he can't wait
anymore. Luckily, he's done extensive reading over
the past week, so the concepts aren't beyond him.
Open up, watch the teeth, use the tongue... and drool
copiously, because Dick tastes...

"*Tim* --"

Sex just keeps getting more dangerous, more *intense*
in exactly the way to make Tim think he was right about
avoiding -- all the while making it impossible to step
*back*.

He pulls off to swallow back spit and Dick *is* actually
struggling now. Not in any useful way, but this... it's
even better. The flex of muscle and the flush spilling
out from under his bunched-up uniform over his
chest.

Tim squeezes his dick and gets another gasp, goes
back down and sucks and... starts to pump.

"Oh fuck --"

Barely two words, and Dick isn't thrusting, but it's
also really clear that he's making an effort. There's a
sporadic shudder, and Dick's rubbing his heel over
Tim's back.

"You should be naked."

Tim makes a non-committal noise around Dick and
gets a groan that makes it really hard to keep
ignoring the fact that his own jock has long since
become uncomfortable. He shifts and Dick moves his
*other* leg over his shoulder. It's nothing like an
effective pin, but it... changes things.

Makes the wet sounds louder, deeper. Something.
Dick *wants* this, and he's so hard Tim has to *do*
something.

Suck harder.

"Tim... take more. Please --"

And Dick is bumping against the back of his throat,
now, writhing under him and moaning constantly.

Tim wants to know if his eyes are closed, if he's still
wrenching at the cord. If he wants to push his head
down or if it's better that it's still kind of a tease.
He pulls off to lick his palm and Dick makes a hurt
noise, a *tortured* noise that he can't help but echo
even as he sucks him back in.

He's lifting his hips, now. Still not quite thrusting,
but... it's even better to get his free hand under
Dick's ass, to cup and stroke and squeeze --

"Oh *yeah*, come on come on --"

Tim slips a finger in Dick's cleft and plays around his
hole.

"Oh, *fuck*, Tim."

Dick's moving too much for him to get a decent
rhythm going, but Tim is willing to go with the idea
that it *might* not matter. Especially when Dick
*rocks* back hard enough for Tim's finger to slide
in to the first knuckle, and now all the noises are
open-mouthed and loud.

Easy, honest, *wild* sounds that aren't loud enough
to cover his own desperate whine, and he has just
enough time to wonder if Dick's going to come in
his mouth and what he's going to *do* about that
before he does, *digging* his heels in and
shuddering.

Tim manages to swallow twice before he has to pull
off or choke, and catches another shot on his cheek.

"*Jesus*, Tim."

He lets go and pulls out, unfolding Dick's legs from
around himself and catching his breath. His jaw is a
little sore. His lips are numb. He's got Dick's come
on his *face*.

"Come here..."

He blinks and obeys, getting one hot, messy kiss
before Dick nuzzles and nudges his head to the side
and... licks his face. "Oh, man."

"You know you have to fuck me, right?" Lick. "C'mon.
You've got me right where you want me..."

"I... uh."

"Lube in the bedside table. You are *so* going to
love this."

Not even remotely the issue. Unfortunately, he's too
hard to remember what the issue *is*. Or maybe
fortunately. He shakes his head and reaches for the
table -- and loses all trace of his balance when Dick
starts sucking on his neck. It doesn't stop the man,
though. One muffled 'oof' and he goes back to licking
and... biting.

"Mm. You like that?"

"Dick..."

Loud, sucking kiss and Dick wraps his legs around
Tim's waist.

"Dick, *focus*."

"Tim, *multitask*."

At which point he decides to show Tim how its done,
apparently, because Tim didn't know you *could* lick
someone and laugh at the same time.

Maybe he should take *actual* notes when he gets
home.

Maybe he should just rock against Dick until he comes
in his pants.

Maybe --

"Top drawer."

Right. Tim wriggles halfway free and gets the drawer
open on a pathetically drunken-looking angle. Dick
rewards him by sliding his knees up higher, petting
him with his feet and just generally giving Tim more
ideas than he has any idea what to do with.

Lube. Lube.

Lube turns out to be a battered, mostly-empty tube
that Tim is *not* going to ask about. Mostly because
Dick would tell him. In detail. He grabs an equally
denuded box of condoms and braces himself on one
hand and gets back up on his knees, and Dick
responds by spreading.

A lot.

Like, feet over the edges of the bed. Tim's eyebrows
try to climb into his hairline and his dick *throbs*.
More notes necessary. More research. He's so
fucking *doomed*. "*Jesus*, Dick."

Dick shifts his left leg back and strokes down Tim's
chest with his foot, nudging the half-opened tunic
up and doing a really *good* job of curling his toes
into the waistband of the tights.

"You're... concentrating. Much too well."

"Your fault for getting me off, Boy Wonder."

His foot slips in an absolutely wonderful way.

"Take these *off*."

Reminding Dick that he's the one tied to the bed would
probably be the most unproductive thing he could
possibly do. He pushes down his tights and jockeys --

"Mmm."

And the air is cold enough to feel like the world's best
slap. Or he's hot enough. Fuck, *leaking*, and Dick's
foot is aiming for him again. "Don't."

"Gonna come?"

He grabs his balls and *yanks*, *wanting* to glare at
Dick but knowing that he's much, much better off
keeping his eyes closed and reminding himself how
to breathe. If he thought Dick would let him, he'd try
to meditate. Because, really... he's *not* going to
last.

He opens his eyes again just enough to *see* the
condoms and lube and... okay, he's never actually done
this before --

"If my hands were free I'd roll it on for you. Or I could
use --"

"Shut up." His mouth. He was going to say his *mouth*
and Tim's breathing is ragged again, just that fast. He
gets the condom on and pops open the tube --

"Yeah. Two fingers."

"Fuck, *Dick* --"

"Hold on. You can do it."

There was a time when he'd get Dick's voice in his
head saying things like that all the *time*. He can
honestly say he'd never expected it in *this* context.
Which is also for the best, because he's supposed to
be the sane one.

He bites his lip and nudges at Dick's hole again. Two
fingers, and he doesn't slide in *easy*, but he slides
in *good*. Slick and hot and he feels himself shoot
more pre-come at the sight. His fingers, Dick's ass,
muscles clenching around him --

Tim stares up, instead, just in time to see Dick arch
and *roll* back onto his fingers, taking him in.

"God, *fuck* me."

Which... yeah, okay, absolutely. He wishes he had
bigger hands. Has a fleeting moment to wonder if
lesbians ever have that thought. Realizes he's
completely losing his mind and slides his free hand
under Dick's thigh just so he can push it up. Hold
him open. *See* it, because it's the sexiest thing
ever.

His body isn't listening to him anymore. His brain is
just functional enough for him to move closer, slip
his fingers out and give his dick a casual swipe
before he's shoving *in*. Not all the way, and there's
no time to be surprised or turned on or even scared
before he's *fucking* his way in --

"*Tim* --"

And Dick's hard again. He hadn't even registered that
in the midst of everything else, but Dick's *hard*.
Hard enough for the head of his dick to brush against
Tim's tunic with every thrust, and he *needs* that.

Yanks up his tunic and shirt and *flexes* at the feel
of Dick's -- dammit -- dick dragging wetly over his
stomach. Dick gasps rhythmically and wraps his legs
around Tim again, holding on for leverage and
*driving* himself back against him.

It's getting hard to see and it's *impossible* to think,
much less slow down. He feels ragged and clumsy
and *desperate* and every breath tastes like sex.
And then Dick starts to *squeeze* around him and
it's too much. Tim can feel himself shouting more
than he can hear it, and the force of his orgasm
makes his eyes go wide and something small and
important in his brain just completely short out.

He catches himself more by reflex than anything else,
whimpering at the feel of Dick around him. Under
him. Reaches up and releases the zip-strip by touch.

Dick's hands are a little shaky, but he still moves Tim
easily, holding on tight with his thighs and rolling
them over without letting them disengage.

And then he starts jerking off.

Tim holds on to Dick's thighs and stares.

"We're doing this again. You understand that, right?"

Tim manages a vowel sound.

"I've got *ideas* for you, kid..."

The hell of it is that it's entirely possible Dick has just
as many ideas as *he* does. Possibly more.

"I've got -- mm -- plans."

"Schemes?"

"Detailed... brilliant... schemes."

He can't look away from Dick's hand, his arm and the
completely casual flex of muscle. He doesn't bother
to try, just digs in a little with his thumbs.
"Diagrams?"

"I keep 'em on the computer. E-mail them to Garth
for suggestions."

"Jesus, you *would*, wouldn't you?"

Dick laughs and gasps and laughs and comes, aiming
at Tim's dick and splattering his thighs. He supposes
he should be grateful Dick didn't aim at the tunic,
but it seems like far too complex a thought to have.

He settles on "fuck."

And watches Dick wipe his sticky hand on his stomach
and stretch, rolling his neck on his shoulders. "Mm."

He doesn't move until Tim starts to feel himself soften,
and they share a groan as Dick settles himself mostly
on top of Tim.

"I still have to go home."

"You have to *shower*." Dick licks his neck.

"I can *do* that at home. There's running water in
Gotham and everything."

"Shut up and cuddle."

"I could steal your bike."

"I could tie *you* to the bed. We'll tell your Dad you
got lost on your way home from school. I'll be the
kindly stranger who took you into his home."

"And demanded I fuck you in return for shelter."

"Mm-hmm. It's always a little sad when a good kid
starts peddling his ass, but it pretty much had to
happen." He rolls easily away from Tim's punch, and
then rolls right back.

"I'm not actually going to be your boy-whore,
Dick."

"Chastewing."

"Nightslut."

"Boy Virgin."

"That's not even *accurate* anymore!"

Dick snickers and pinches his nipple until Tim smacks
his hand away. Twice.

"Dick --"

"Relax, it's not even four."

Tim sighs and shifts and relaxes, scowling at the feel
of Dick's grin against his throat.

He's *so* ordering that paddle he saw online.

And possibly the riding crop.

end.