... because, if he thinks about it too much, he's going to get a headache.

Tim really *doesn't* have the background in quantum mechanics and
theoretical physics that this sort of thing...

That this kind of situation...

He can't deal with it. He needs to just admit that a part of his mind is going to
be quivering in a metaphysical dark corner until this is over with, because he
smells like fish -- he'd had to take his gauntlets off entirely, because the
material tended to hold odors far too well -- because he needs to get back to
the Cave, and because Dick is in the passenger seat of his car.

Because *Robin* is. The first Robin, and the one...

He'd done the math pretty much immediately. Dick is thirteen, which pretty
much means that only a year ago in *his* time, his parents had died, and
before that they'd all taken a picture together -- Tim still *has* that picture --
and, somewhere, in the time Dick's *supposed* to be in, Tim's four year old
self is...

What?

Taking a nap? Watching *his* parents leave on a --

His parents are alive in Dick's time. His mother is --

"Hey, what's wrong? You look really upset all of a sudden." Dick's hand is on
his shoulder.

It's not something he's *unaccustomed* to, per se. It's just that the hand he
knows -- and the one he *remembers* -- was always so much bigger.

He's *taller* than Dick right now, though they're probably about the same
weight. And what is Bruce going to *say* about this when they get back
to the Cave? What is he going to --

What *can* he do?

"Tim...?"

Tim blinks. "Sorry. Time-travel lag. I'm..." He frowns to himself. "Sorry," he says
again, and makes a mental note to get used to feeling completely lame. It can
only be helpful.

"Hey, it's okay," Dick says, and shakes his shoulder a little.

Tim can *feel* him smiling at him.

"I bet if you showed up in *my* time I'd be a little weirded out, too. Or... hm."

Tim looks away from the road for long enough to catch Dick's expression.
Thoughtful, and...

It's funny. He's still wearing the mask -- his own domino -- but it's.

It's really *not* the same. At all. Dick looks...

Even in his memories, and his dreams, he hadn't been so *real*. Not like this.
Not for a long time, now.

The thoughtful look fades off Dick's face, shifts into a nose-crinkling grin. "So I
guess your car has a pretty nice autopilot, Tim."

"What --" Oh, he's not watching the *road*. Jeez. "As a matter of fact, it does
have a good autopilot. Thankfully."

Dick laughs and pulls his feet up onto the seat. He knows for a fact that Jason's
boots actually had steel in the toe -- he's looked at that Case every day for
over a year now -- but it only takes a second to confirm that Dick's *don't*.

He isn't sure how it makes him feel -- entirely, anyway -- to see Dick curling and
uncurling his toes and -- he shakes it off. "What... you were going to say
something? Before, I mean."

"What? Oh, yeah! I was just thinking about... well, all of *this*. And how it would
be kind of like being out on patrol one day and... I don't know. Finding a Bruce
who *isn't* Batman. Or..." Dick frowns.

It's... if he *isn't* thinking about a Bruce who was, say, seven years old and...
Tim frowns, too. "Probably better not to think about it."

Dick nods, and grins again. "We're pretty lucky, I think. I mean... okay, it's *weird*
to be in a place where I'm not Robin, but you're pretty cool."

"I... thank you."

"Though you have really *weird* hair. Do a lot of people do..." And Dick's hand is
*on* his hair. "What *did* you do to your hair? I mean, I've used gel and stuff
for disguises, and I know Bruce does, but..."

If it was anyone else, Tim would almost certainly be ducking, or at least --

"I mean, you got *dunked*. Shouldn't your hair be... not doing that?"

The thing is, Dick is pretty much the only one who *does* touch his hair. His... his
Dick, the one from now, and he only does it to *muss* it, usually. Dick is pretty
much *examining* his hair, and --

And crawling half out of the Redbird restraints. "No, seriously, Tim, how much gel
did you *use*?"

"No more than usual -- Dick, you should really --"

"Usual? This is *usual*?" Dick laughs again. "Well, it's still a little wet. I wonder if I
can get it into any new shapes before it stiffens up again," he says, and crawls
the rest of the way out of the restraints.

Tim thinks about all the things Bruce has taught him about escape artistry, and
wonders how much Dick could *still* teach him. Assuming he was that flexible.

"Hey, you don't mind me --"

"No," he says, too quickly, and bites his lip, but --

"Cool! Bruce usually winds up picking me up and *moving* me, but, heh. *You*
have to drive."

That he does. They won't be back in the Cave for at least another ten minutes.
Possibly more, if he --

"So... do you have brothers?"

Just you. "I... no."

"But you have... parents," Dick says, and his hands pause in Tim's hair. "My
parents used to talk about having more kids. Before, you know."

"Did you want them to?" He knows the answer. It's in every hair-ruffle *his* Dick
gives him, and --

"Well, *yeah*. Hey, I bet *you're* like my brother."

"I... I hope I am."

Again, he can feel Dick smiling at him, and he needs to watch the road, and he
needs to get them back to the *Cave*. It's just that...

It's just that he barely gets to see *his* Dick at all, what with his work with the
Titans, and how he lives in New York, and his own training, and *this* Dick...

Is still playing with his hair, crouching over the center console -- and, knowing
Dick, not in *any* danger of hitting anything important --

It's just so easy to *understand*, now. What had seemed so amazing before, so
rare and special. A boy he'd never seen before in his life, pulling Tim into his lap
and smiling, just because. Just...

"I wish I could remember meeting you. You know, *then*," Dick says.

Tim can feel him frown, too. And can feel himself taking one of the access roads
that don't, precisely, lead to the Cave... he swallows. "It was... there were a lot of
other things to remember. And forget."

"But you didn't."

Tim parks the car, and breathes, and doesn't give himself time to hate himself for
it. "Obviously," he says, and smiles at Dick. And.

It actually feels a little weird on his face. A little... he isn't sure. Smiling at Dick like
this, eye to eye and...

Dick's mask doesn't look much different from his own, and Dick is *close*. He
smells like... like *himself*, and --

"You're blushing," Dick says, and brushes Tim's cheek with his fingers.

"I... probably." Definitely.

Dick frowns, a little, and it seems like he's trying to work something out. Possibly
something Tim had worked out for *himself*... a while ago.

He could distract him. He probably *should* distract him. The timeline issues
*alone*, and why had he told Dick so much? What happens if Dick goes back to
his own time and... and --

"You're older than me," Dick says, thoughtfully. "Not *much*, but..."

Tim nods, and does his best not to shiver at the feel of Dick's fingers dragging
along his cheek.

"Do you... I mean. Do you have a girlfriend?"

Has he even *met* Barbara yet? He... he *hasn't*. And that was an actual
question. And... Ariana. "Sort of. There's this girl... I mean. She doesn't know. She
can't. Um."

Dick nods. "Sometimes I... you know. Think about it."

It. "Yes," Tim says, and Dick's other hand is still playing with his hair.

"I can't imagine... I just. Well. You don't know how *lonely* Bruce was before he
took me in."

Tim can imagine. "Batman needs a Robin," he says, and considers and rejects
the idea of laughing hysterically.

Dick snorts. "*A* Robin. Wow. It sounds like there should be armies of us."

It's startlingly easy to imagine. Hundreds of dark-haired boys in brightly-colored
clothes. Some of them mind-boggling athletic, some of them really, really tough,
some of them just sort of heavily armed. "Well, there's room in the manor..."

Dick laughs and crawls a little closer. At this point, if he loses his balance the car
would probably self-destruct. Or he could just wind up straddling Tim's lap.

Or -- he's not going to lose his balance. He's *Dick*.

"I'm just trying to imagine Alfred *cooking* for all of us."

Us. Tim swallows. "Alfred's pretty resourceful..."

Dick nods. "Anyone who could take care of *Bruce* for so long
single-handedly..."

Tim nods back, and doesn't quite manage not to shiver.

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Tim?"

"No. I... well... no. I --"

"Yeah, I'm... wow. I'd forgotten what it was like to really *be* with someone
my own age. I mean, there's school -- you go to school, right?"

Tim nods, a little helplessly. "It's... not the same."

"*Nothing* is the same," Dick says, and then he moves the last few inches
and shifts, and he's between Tim and the steering wheel.

If anyone had asked, Tim wouldn't have thought that was possible. But...
"Dick --"

"You *don't* mind, right? I mean... you're kind of my brother, and it's not
that I don't *like* spending time with Superman and the rest of the League,
but..."

He doesn't even have the Titans. Not yet. "But...?"

This smile is different. This smile is...

Tim has honestly never seen this smile before. He bets Barbara has. And
Starfire, certainly, but --

"*Do* you mind?" Dick is...

He also hadn't thought it was possible for him to *get* closer, but his breath
on Tim's lips is so ticklish that he has to lick them.

"Tim --"

It feels like jumping off of a building to kiss Dick. Only he does that all the time,
and it isn't quite...

It's more like the way it feels to watch *Dick* do it, to watch him fly, and move,
and do all the things he'd promised Tim he would ("Just for you, okay?") before
Dick's parents had been killed. Promises, yes. That's... that's the word, and Tim
doesn't bite Dick's mouth (soft, so --), but he does suck on his lips, and, kiss him
again, and again, and he can't see Dick's *eyes*, but he can *feel* Dick.

All over.

Why wasn't he -- *how* hadn't he been feeling him before? Warm and close
and so *perfect* that it makes perfect sense for him to be dressed that way, for
Tim to be able to feel every muscle move through Dick's uniform and his own. He
moans into Dick's mouth, and jerks at how loud it is, how *obvious*, and breaks
the kiss.

"Wow," Dick says, and reaches between them to touch his own mouth. "I guess
you *don't* mind."

"I... no. Dick. I think... I think we should --"

"You *parked*. You... we're *close* to the Manor, right?"

Tim nods, and swallows. "I just. I wanted..."

"You like me. Right?" There's an edge on Dick's voice. It isn't really a tremor, or
anything like that.

It's more...

"That's why you're so..." Dick frowns again.

Incredibly obvious? It would probably be better to answer him, or deflect him,
or at least --

"Do you want to kiss me again?"

"Yes."

And Dick kisses him, cupping his face and pushing closer, straddling Tim's thighs
with his own, and it's easy -- *too* easy -- to touch them. Muscle and...
stubble.

Tim blinks, and makes a noise into the kiss he couldn't begin to classify, and Dick
pulls back and grins.

"Yeah, I have to shave again. I guess you don't, hunh?"

And... he'd *known* this. He had. All of those pictures, and not one showing
Dick with any leg hair whatsoever. Or arm hair, for that matter, in the pictures
where more than a glimpse of elbow was showing. "I. I..."

"What does it feel like? To you."

Tim shakes his head, glad for the mask. He has no *idea* what he'd look like
right now, and he doesn't really want to.

"I mean..." Dick shifts, and pushes one of his hands back into Tim's hair -- mussing
and cracking the bits that had dried and frowning more. "Do you like it? Does it
feel weird? My Dad wore long tights when he was performing, and so did my
Mom -- it just *looked* like her legs were bare."

"I remember. Um --"

"Sometimes I think I would've gotten long tights of my *own*, you know,
eventually. That sooner or later the suit I wore to fly in would be just another thing
in the box of souvenirs my mom kept. No, I *know* it would've. But I just..." Dick
smiles, ruefully, and shifts to balance on one knee while lifting the other.

No, not lifting so much as *rubbing* his thigh against Tim's palm. "Dick..."

"Have you ever done anything you knew was probably stupid *before* you did
it? Have you ever *had* to?"

Tim hears himself groan and squeezes Dick's thigh, *strokes* it --

"Oh, Tim..."

"Dick. Dick, I just. I've always --" He bites his lip, but it's too late.

Dick is staring at him, *into* him, and the expression on his face is hard, and
scary, and, when Tim bucks his hips, Dick just locks his knees and holds *on*.

"Oh..."

"It's just us, right? We're... there's no one else like us."

There's no one like *Dick*.

"And Bruce... he's not... he doesn't..." Dick's hand tightens in Tim's hair, and
that's the only warning he gets before Dick kisses him so hard Tim's head
bounces a little when it hits the head-rest.

And Dick just goes with it. Riding it and riding *him*, and trying to let *go* of
Dick's thigh just leads to *stroking* the thigh, and losing the gauntlets was
the best idea he'd ever had, even if he hadn't --

He *had*. He'd wanted to, and Dick is making soft sounds into his mouth and
kissing him over and over, running his hands over Tim's scalp and clutching --
*pulling* --

Pulling away. "What --"

"Sorry, Tim --"

"It's okay -- I mean. I..."

Dick is panting, and *his* hair is a little mussed, and he's smiling. Brilliantly and --
"Really okay?"

Tim tries to remember how to breathe, and nods, and tries to keep from
stroking higher up Dick's thigh, and fails utterly.

It's worse when Dick leans back -- bending at the waist -- to look between them,
because Tim has to look, too. There's barely any stubble at all this high, and his
hand seems... seems...

"Dick..."

Dick covers Tim's hands with his own, and squeezes. "Bruce says it's the first
part of the body to age. To *show* it. All the work we do."

Tim nods, dumbly. "I hadn't really... considered it."

Dick nods, too. "Neither had I. But... he's right." And Dick pulls Tim's hand
higher. "I like it. Your hand..."

"I like touching you. I've always." Always wanted. Always --

But Dick doesn't *let* him bite his lip again, and Dick pulls his hand...

Tim remembers this. The way the shorts stopped *looking* so strange when
you felt the layers of plating, the *armoring* that made them reasonably
effective *protection*. They feel the same as Jason's had when he'd worn
them to help Batman and Nightwing against Two-Face, only...

Only Dick's *in* them, and it shouldn't be so strange and amazing, except
for how it absolutely should with Dick sucking on his lower lip and looking at
him -- Tim can *feel* it -- and rocking into his hand.

He isn't sure *how* he's doing it, beyond the blatant physical realities. He
*hurts* behind his jock, and he can feel -- with his other hand -- the way
the material is cutting into Dick's skin, a little, and he wants... he closes his
eyes behind the mask and tries not to think, not to *want* more than this,
more than --

It's already so *much* more than anything he ever thought he could *have*,
especially when he leans back and Dick *follows* him, licking his mouth,
sucking his *tongue* -- pulling his *hair* again --

"Tim, I... I..." And Dick moans into his mouth and leans away again, ducking
his head and kneeling up and pushing his shorts *down*. "Oh. Oh God --"

Touching Dick isn't something he has to tell himself to do, or think about at
*all*. It's just -- he *has* to. And Dick is hard in his hand, *pushing* into
his fist --

"Oh, Tim, *please* --"

He feels himself surging, inside and out, and squeezes before he can think
about it, and Dick's hands spasm in his hair and *yank* --

"Oh -- *oh* --"

And then Dick moves them and grips his shoulders instead, and just keeps
*moving*, rocking up and thrusting and moaning -- "Dick -- *God* --"

Knowing he was *close* has absolutely nothing to do with the feel, the
*reality* of coming in his tights. Tim feels himself flushing all over, feels himself
breaking out all over in a new layer of sweat, and opens his eyes in time to
watch Dick's mouth falling open and Dick's body *arching* --

"Oh, Dick..."

"*Tim* --"

Dick comes in Tim's fist and whispers something that sounds like a curse in
another language (Romany, it's --), slumping back and only barely catching
himself on the dashboard with one hand.

It takes a minute before Tim can move *his* hand. Before he can *make*
himself move his hand, and then Dick is moving again, catching his hand --
so *wet* -- in his own and bringing it to his mouth.

"Dick...?" The sound his fingers make coming out of Dick's mouth makes
him jerk.

"Do you ever... I mean, when you..." And Dick looks down, between them.
There isn't a wet spot showing -- the material of Tim's tights and shorts is
much too thick for that -- but Dick knows.

Tim *knows* Dick knows. And Dick is too flushed for Tim to be sure whether
or not Dick is blushing.

"Do you ever taste it? After?"

And Tim groans, and leans forward, and Dick pushes Tim's hand toward
Tim's mouth and --

Disappears.

Just like that. Just like all the other... *others* who have been showing up,
and Tim doesn't bang his head on the steering wheel.

Tim bangs his head on the steering wheel, and breathes.

All right. All right, he... he still has to go back to the Cave. He has to...

He bites his lip. He'd fully planned to bring Dick back, and explain to Bruce
what had happened, and then they could... go from there, somehow, except
that Tim no longer has any idea how to *do* that. If he mentions that a
Dick from the past had shown up, Bruce would demand a full report.

If he doesn't, and Bruce finds out anyway...

He doesn't know what he'll do if Bruce ever has reason not to trust him. He's
going to have to tell him. And maybe just... maybe just say that they'd
talked, for a while, after bringing in Grimes, and... well, they *had*.

Talked.

Never in his life would he have ever imagined just how *much* he has to
omit things, when he isn't flat-out lying. He doesn't think it should be like that,
but he has no idea what to *do* about it.

And none of this is getting the Redbird back to the Cave.

Tim sits up, wincing at the *mess* in his jock, and starts the car.

And nearly runs over Dick. The *adult* version.

Being reasonably sure that he's too young and healthy to have a heart attack
does absolutely nothing to stop his heart from seizing in his chest. Luckily,
training kicks in and he manages to brake and turn without stomping and
sending the Redbird into a spin.

Breathing. He'd figured it out again just a few minutes ago, so the memories
should be *right* there...

Dick knocks on the passenger side window.

Tim shudders and breathes and smells *sex* and winces. And unlocks the
door.

Dick slides in, reaching down between his legs to push the seat back as far as
it will go. His knees still bump the dash, a little, and he has... a really *odd*
smile on his face.

"Um... hi?"

Dick turns the odd smile on him. "Tim."

Tim swallows, and wonders if it would look strange to roll the window down.

"You know, I've spent a long time arguing with myself about how *clearly* I
remembered the feel of your hands on my skin, more since you've been
Robin." Dick reaches out and runs a fingers over Tim's knuckles on the
steering wheel. "I'd forgotten until just this second that you took off the
gauntlets pretty much immediately after we got back in the car."

Rolling the window down wouldn't make a difference. It -- "I -- Dick. You..."

"Remember?" The odd smile twists into something a lot sharper. "You were
my first."

"Oh God --"

"And I was yours, too, right? About ten minutes ago."

Tim blinks and shudders and tightens his hands on the steering wheel so
much his knuckles crack.

Dick frowns at his hands for a moment, and then shifts, turning in the passenger
seat until he's leaning half against the door. "The Redbird looks a lot bigger when
you're thirteen."

He can't think. He can't *breathe*. And Dick is -- Dick had just --

Dick is smirking. "Did you ever wonder why I just sort of dumped you on Bruce
and disappeared?"

I made you uncomfortable. You had other things to do. You don't, really, know
what to do with me. You *hate* me, and you have *reason* -- "I. I didn't...
think. Dick, I'm --"

He moves so fast. He's a *natural*, only Tim had never considered that the
abilities could be applied to a hand over his mouth. "Shh," Dick says. "Take it
easy. Let me say this, okay?"

Tim nods. He can't do anything else... beyond feeling the way his lips drag on
Dick's fingers. Bigger, harder now. He swallows again.

Dick smirks a little more. "The details were hazy, of course. One minute I was
about to watch you suck my come off your fingers, and the next minute I
was back in the Cave. Where I should've been, given the time of night..." Dick
looks far away for a minute. "Bruce pulled in five minutes after that, and
lectured me for -- heh -- disappearing. I tried to tell him what had happened,
but..." The smirk turns sour for a second. "That went badly."

"Dick --"

"Quiet."

Tim hears his teeth click together and stares down at the center console.

"*Anyway*. I let Bruce convince himself that he had convinced *me* that it was
just a hallucination brought on by stress and not enough sleep, let him bench
me for a night..." Dick brings his hand back to his mouth and chews, a little, on
the knuckle of his thumb.

Tim isn't at all sure when he'd started doing that. It's a Nightwing thing. It hadn't
been -- apparently -- a Robin thing, at all.

"But I would dream about it. *Think* about it. I found this road -- this *spot* --
when I was sixteen or so, and told myself to remember it for... for whenever. It
*wasn't* real. Not entirely -- not *all* the time. Even though I never forgot the
way your hand shook on my thigh."

Tim closes his eyes behind the mask.

"When Bruce fired me, it started being real a lot more often. You can guess
why."

"Another Robin."

"Mm-hm." The smile on his face is... it's a mirror of the one he'd had before Tim
had kissed him. It's sharp and knowing and *intense*.

And Tim isn't sure how he'd gone this long without *realizing* Dick was in civvies.
Jeans and a t-shirt and no *mask*, and his eyes are so blue and so *focused*.

"But it wasn't you. Not yet. That messed me up a little, as you might imagine."
Dick's laugh doesn't have very much humor in it at all, and Tim...

He thinks about Jason, and he thinks about what it must've been like to... the
fact that he's too shocky to put the pieces together *now* is no indication of
how he'll be later. He knows this about himself.

"It wasn't *you* at all, and more than that, Bruce... it doesn't matter,
anymore."

That's a lie.

"The important thing about that... *time* period is that I finally had all the proof
I never wanted that I wouldn't be Robin forever, and that there would be
*others*... but it wasn't you. And I think..." Another sharp look. "Tell me
something."

"Yes."

"You had started to tell me, hadn't you? That you weren't the second. That
you came after *Jason*."

Tim bites his lip. "At the time... I was worried about the timestream. That I'd
already... I didn't know if you were the same Dick that I had..." And you were so
*young*.

But Dick just nods, and looks away again. "See, after the -- heh -- *shock*
faded, I remembered that little half-sentence of yours, but I couldn't be sure.
Even those times when it seemed like you were right *there*, when I could
*smell* you again... it was just too plausible that I was kidding myself.
Dreaming something you didn't say."

As far as he knows, Dick hadn't spent very much time at all with Jason, and...
and now he knows, and he doesn't want to --

"When Jason died... there were so many other things to think about, and I
just. I spent a lot of time at his grave, wondering whether he *knew* he
wasn't the new Robin I was looking for. Waiting for."

"Dick --"

"Always. That's what you said. Twice."

More, in his mind.

"When you showed up... you didn't look like yourself. Did you know that?"

Tim shakes his head.

"I remembered the *hair*, and..." This laugh is better. "You didn't start
whipping out the product for a while."

It had seemed like a good idea to separate 'Tim' from 'Robin.' And then it had
gotten to be a habit, and --

"And the suit... the suit makes a difference, of course..." Dick smiles at him,
and reaches out again, stroking the 'R' on Tim's chest. "It always makes a
difference."

"Dick --"

"Just -- just a little more," Dick says, and touches his mouth again. Strokes it.

"I... okay --"

"For you it was only a few minutes ago. I was about to... I wanted to see it. I
wanted to see you suck my come off your fingers --"

"Dick, *please* --"

When Dick shivers, Tim can feel it on his mouth, and it's all he can do not to
just --

He wants to. He *wants* to --

"The Redbird still smells like us. You have to be... I was your first, too, and this
has to be driving you *crazy*, Tim..."

Crazy sounds right. It --

"But I think I'm just starting to *get* how much you've twisted up my
*life*."

Tim shudders and tenses and *moves* -- but there's nowhere to go in the
Redbird, and Dick's hands are on his shoulders. "Dick, please, I didn't
know --"

"Just tell me. Tell me I was right the first time you said 'always.' That this is
something you wanted. Something you *needed* from me --"

"I couldn't... you were so --"

"*Say* it," and Dick squeezes his shoulder hard enough to hurt... if he didn't
have the armor on.

Tim's breath hitches in his chest, and... "Yes, I... always. I..."

"God, you were... you had the car, and the toys, and this *mind*. You were
like Bruce, only *Robin*, and you have no idea how much I *needed* that."

He really does.

"Or..." Dick laughs again, and it's cracked and a little strange. "No, that's the
point, isn't it? I show up in your life, and you... you did exactly what I
would've done. What I would've *had* to do... Robin."

"I'm --"

"Don't. Don't, Tim, just..." Dick shifts, and turns, laughing a little more about
the size of the car and shifting more until he can crouch half-over the center
console. It's awkward, and wouldn't work if Dick...

If Dick wasn't Dick.

The hand on his face is warm and a little rough, and Dick's fingertips brush
his ear. "Don't apologize to me, Tim. Not unless you're trying to tell me you
wouldn't do it *again*."

"I --"

"Not differently. Not *better*. There *is* no better, and you *have* to
understand that now..."

He does.

"Just tell me you wouldn't kiss me so hard my lips tingled if it happened all
over again. If I crawled in your lap and touched you, and --"

"I can't. I just... you --"

The kiss pushes him back against the window, and then Dick's hand slips into
his hair and tightens *hard*, and Dick pulls him close, as close as he *can*,
and --

Tim had never taken the seatbelt off.

Dick does it for him, but it's still awkward. Still... Dick doesn't taste like chewing
gum anymore. He tastes like coffee, and his tongue feels impossible in Tim's
mouth, feels... it doesn't feel like *just* a kiss.

It feels like Dick is fucking his *mouth*, and Tim moans and whimpers, and
holds on. Tighter when Dick stops kissing him and pants against his mouth.

"Tim..."

"Yes."

Another laugh, and Dick's hair is falling in his eyes and tickling Tim's own
forehead. "The car really *did* seem bigger. Let's get out of it."

And then Dick shoves him, gently, and folds himself out on the passenger
side, and by the time Tim remembers that he knows how to move, and
walk, and open doors, Dick is already around the car and pulling him out.

And using Tim's body to close the door again.

The air is clear and a little cold with the coming dawn, and Dick's mouth is
big and *hot* on his own. Consuming, *taking*, and Tim pushes up on
his toes and lets Dick move him, *touch* him --

"I had to get *away* from you. I -- I knew it wasn't time, and I didn't want...
I hated you and I was *scared* of you and I couldn't do anything that
would stop you from doing this tonight --"

Dick kisses him again, and again, and --

"The *timestream*. Jesus. Jesus, Tim --"

Dick's hands on his shorts, tugging and pulling, and Tim *wants* to help,
but Dick's hair is longer now, and maybe a little thicker, and it's cool and
silky and incredible on his palms, and he can't do anything but groan and
try not to buck too much.

"Knew you'd come in your tights. I... do you know what I was going to
do?"

"Dick, I, I didn't -- oh *God* --" Touching him, stroking him, getting him
*stickier* --

"Were you going to dream about this when you got home? About my
mouth on you?"

"*Yes*."

Dick *stops*, panting, and Tim can't hold back a whimper, or another
when Dick bites the line of his jaw. "Tim."

"Please... please..."

Dick squeezes him and, "Shh. Just. I've been waiting for this. I've been
waiting for this just as long as you have, little brother."

"Oh *fuck* --"

And Dick laughs in his ear and drops to his knees and Tim doesn't realize
that he *hadn't* come again until Dick licks him, slow and *long*, and
then fast.

All over him, all over -- "*Please* --"

He can't do anything about the first scream, or the second, but the
road is deserted and *eventually* he gets one hand out of Dick's hair
and into his mouth. He's chewing on his own fingers, he's --

He's tasting Dick as much as Dick is tasting *him*, and he can't stop
thrusting his hips, and opening his eyes just means staring down into
*Dick's*.

Until Dick closes his eyes and moans around him.

He doesn't think he'd managed to muffle that last scream at all, and it
doesn't matter.

Because the sound Dick makes when he pulls back is the same one
he'd made when he'd pulled Tim's fingers out of his mouth, and Tim
can't decide if the vertigo is rational or not.

He doesn't care. "Dick..." His voice is hoarse.

"Yeah..." So is Dick's.

And there's a moderately hysterical symmetry to sinking to his own knees
as Dick stands, to the feel of the road beneath his knees, small rocks digging
against his bunched-up tights, and Dick's fingers working the fly open on his
jeans.

Tim licks his lips, and opens his mouth, and groans.

"Oh, *Tim*..."

There's a lot which won't be in his report tonight....

*