Sounds like fun.

http://elynross.livejournal.com/252935.html

I fail at links, so just copypaste it into your browser window. Hard work, I know. Bruce/Dick, with crazy biting, possessive!Bruce, and tattoo kink.

Can we get some dick/roy up in hurr?

>>3003
I understand that artists want to protect their work, but I really, really hate huge watermarks. It's just dickey. How can I enjoy your art, if your name is smeared all across it?

>>3037

When you see it...

>>3061
...what? Lensflare? Missing arm? Bulge? Or the hands that are fucking obvious.

>>3071
Oh anon, your wit slays me.

Bleh- I hate this artist. But the subject is relevant.

Third page? Blasphemy!

>>3693
Yeah, I can't stand her either. She makes Joker look like Desire from the Sandman.

And I also have a girl-boner for Nightwing, so I want MOAR.

Can I make a Dick/Roy request?

Fourth page? WTF?

Some Roy/Dick love

>>7749
D'awwwwwwwwwww

This pairing needs to happen more often.

>>7771

Here's all I got. This pairing is hard to find these days.

shmoop with no porn but content is content



Dick lies still.

He is barely moving. If Roy had a stopwatch, he could count the breaths in terms of minutes rather than seconds.

The dark-clad vigilante is lying on a cold concrete slab. This is where he was found, the fine lace sheets draped over him like a corpse laid out for its funeral. His hands are folded on his breast. His escrima sticks are resting one in each hand, a little like the rod and staff of a pharaoh, more like the sword of a knight.

The air barely moves. Moonlight is falling in tangible, silvery beams.

It is with hesitance that Roy brushes aside the lace from Dick’s hand. He feels like he’s defiling something holy. He peels the gauntlet back, black and blue against the deep red of his own glove. Pulls his glove off with his teeth to rest his fingertips on the tender skin of Dick’s wrist.

The pulse is so slow that it takes Roy long moments to find it.

Slow, steady, the blood moves through Dick’s veins. Far too slow.

Tim’s voice is soft, reverent. “About ten beats a minute.”

The boy is perched up in the rafters of the ruined church. His cape is a slow, elegant sweep of light. The colors of his uniform are muted in the moonlight.

“I’m here.” Roy’s words gust out of him on a sigh.

“I’m glad.” Tim doesn’t raise his voice above a whisper. “Everyone tried. Barbara. Kory. I did.” There is a sadness in him then, a regret, that’s held for a moment. Roy is allowed to perceive it. Then it is hidden away again. “Even Bruce.”

“Fate’s unavailable? Zatanna can’t help?”

Far above, Tim shakes his head, every movement gentle. “He can’t be found. Zatanna is sure that it was his spell that went wrong, but she can’t undo it. It has to be broken.”

He nods in silent understanding.

When he lifts the lace from Dick’s face, the movement is tender and careful.

He closes his eyes in deliberation.

The brush of his lips against Dick’s is like kissing a statue.

When he sits back, there is no change.

Tim bows his head, hiding his face.

No.

No, this won’t do.

Roy leans forward again, kissing Dick’s frozen mouth a second time.

Somewhere above, a gasp falls into the air.

This has always been between them, hanging on the air. Roy has always wanted this. Has always seen the warmth in Dick’s eyes, the welcome in his arms, the promise behind his lips.

He has never reached out for it before.

He isn’t worthy. He knows this, deeply. He’s never deserved Dick. Even accepting his friendship has felt like taking something he hasn’t earned.

Even feeling the thread of longing, of belonging, between them… he never thought he could actually have this.

Roy sits back, licking his lips.

And watches blue eyes open.

>>8079

And then...and then there was more? Yes?

>>7749
I loves this pairing. To pieces.

Catman is just angry because his ass isn't as nice as Nightwing's. Also Dick apparently "always takes it".

>>8253
My reaction the first time I read that page.

Bump for content?
I mean, for a guy who's been raped at least three times and started off in a uniform with no pants, this is pretty meager.
Don't disappoint me, Anon!

>>9377

Wow, wait, three times? I remember spiderchick on the roof, but I missed the other two.

Details!

Well, one time Mirage - a superchick, worked with the Teen Titans blah blah blah - disguised herself as Starfire, slept with Dick, and then gloated about it the next morning while Dick was looking very, very alarmed and one of the other superchicks, erm, I forget her name, called Dick a slut.
Dick got called a slut in canon. WIN.
And the other time, these demon things of the seven deadly sins turned up, and Dick got hit by Sloth and Starfire by Lust, so she sort of... jumped him while he couldn't move.
Because, as OP said, he gets /everyone/ hot and bothered.

(Also, his original Robin costume? Totally had only short shorts. No pants. Aurgh, Batman is creepy.)

>Batman is creepy

Which would explain why he jumped on every dark haired blue eyed orphan he could find, but was resistant to Tim. (Also the first Robin to insist on pants. See? Having parents makes them harder to groom!)

>>9381
... >he jumped on every dark haired blue eyed orphan he could find,

He has some serious incest issues going, since he's, you know, dark haired and blue eyed himself.

BACK ON TOPIC. WE NEED SOME NIGHTWING SEX PLEASE. POOOOOOOOORN!
Don't make me start sketching.

>>9377
The shocking lack of porn for our boy is what prompted OP in the first place.

>>9377

I think this calls for rapefic.

>>9394
Seconded

>>9380
It just hit me that he must have told Alfred to sew a costume and gave the specific order to make it with short shorts.

I'd love some more innocent male slut.

Writefag here. PROMPT ME. Who should rape him?
And having said that sentence, I am mildly nauseous. Oh well, I'll just have him pretty willing by the end of it. Ha.
SO WHO?

Anyone has some good Dick/Tim?

>>9496

ROY! ROYROYROYROYROY! doooo eeeeet
(it doesn't even have to be rapey rape...there's always sex pollen. Oh DCU, how I love you...)

Plz?

>>9496
...Deathstrike? (It's practically canon)

>>9450

UNFUNF tell me more, anon. Fuel this sickness.

>>9522
Who? The only Deathstrike I know is in Marvel and it's a female.

>>9585

I think they mean Deathstroke.

How is this on the second page with what is going in in the DCU right now?

I'd do anything for fic revolving around the new issue of Batman where Dick chooses Damian to be Robin instead of Tim, and Tim is pissed off and feels betrayed... so Dick tries to explain that they are equals now, and sex ensues.

>>9868
I thought that Damian is the Robin? and I don't understand why they did it.

>>9880
Yeah, he is. I think that Dick sees Damian as an inexperienced, overconfident, and now fatherless kid who needs guidance. So Damian gets to help continue his father's legacy. Tim is pretty good-to-go, crimefighting-skills-wise... except everyone close to him has died within the last year or so. So not being able to take back his costume and be a part of the Bat family as Robin pushes him over the edge. NOW HE'S CRAZY AND RUNNING AROUND EUROPE IN THE RED ROBIN COSTUME LOOKING FOR BRUUUCE! Poor guy. Even though it's not that important plot-wise to the arc, I think Red Robin is going to end up being my favorite part of this whole fiasco.

So I just read the Red Robin issue.

>Prague, Czechoslovakia

Are they serious? McCain did it already.

By Bessa B.

If there was ever one thing that existed on God’s green earth Roy Harper thought would be worthy of being worshipped, it would have to be Nightwing’s ass, all firm and beautiful beneath his Kevlar costume. The way Dick always seems to *sway* his hips only accentuates the aphrodisiacal behind that Roy can’t stop groveling over. Even during meetings, when Nightwing is chastising the Outsiders for some foolish mistake or just debriefing, he can’t stop *staring*. He is so glad that Dick took him up on the team leader offer.

The rest of the team is busy bitching as usual, fighting among themselves as Dick twitches all the way down his spine and he rubs his temples. “If you all are not going to be *mature* about the situation, then the meeting’s over.” Roy’s mildly impressed Dick didn’t pop a gasket and start yelling, the man just stands there and watches the other members of the Outsiders shuffle out of the conference room, ready to head home.

Roy just swings his chair halfway, back and forth keeping his eyes on the prized posterior. He runs a finger over his lip and watches Dick move his bottom again, almost eliciting a sigh of pleasure from the archer.

“Roy, if you don’t stop looking at my ass, I’m going to punch you very hard in the face.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Nightwing turns so instead Roy only gets a look at his front, which isn’t bad at all either. “Roy!”

“What?” The redhead looks up innocently and gives a little smirk at the edge of his lips, Dick looks on, annoyed.

“Now you’re looking at my groin.”

“It’s such a *fine* groin.”

“*Roy*…,” Dick holds out the syllable, says it with a tone of warning in his voice.

“You know I can’t help myself, Dick. Maybe if you didn’t wear such a *tight* costume.” The man raises one eye behind the domino mask. “Okay yeah, call me what you want--”

“Pervert.”

Arsenal sighs but continues, “But if you didn’t wear that costume like a second skin, I wouldn’t be looking so much.” He gives a little shrug and leans back in the chair.

“The others don’t look.”

A laugh emits from the man’s throat, “*Seriously*, Dick…who doesn’t look?”

“You’re saying--,” there’s an expression of almost worry across the night vigilante’s face as his long time friend shrugs again.

“You could get whatever you want with an ass like that.”

“I really…*really* don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“How ’bout you come ov--”

Nightwing gives Roy once of the biggest death glares he’s ever seen before the acrobat walks out of the room, swaying bottom and all. Roy just sighs and watches his wet dream walk away.

~&

When Roy walks into the rec room early the next morning, he’s surprised to find Nightwing working diligently at one of the monitors. It’s everyone’s off day, but the acrobat works like a bat should, shuffling through files at amazing speed. Nightwing doesn’t pay any attention as the archer walks up beside him and plops down on the console, Starbucks coffee in hand.

“You mad at me or something?” He raises one red eyebrow; Dick merely glances at him before turning back to his work. “You *are*. You’re pissed about my butt spying, I know you are.” He points an inquisitive finger into the man’s face who swats it away in the next instance. “*Dick*.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.” Roy calmly takes a sip of his coffee as Dick tenses in the chair.

“I’m not.”

“Dick, we can fight about this all day, and not get anywhere, or you can just tell me that you’re p.o.’ed.” He sets the steaming cup down and gives his full attention to his childhood friend. Dick really is tense, shoulders rigid with energy that’s just waiting to get out.

Nightwing sighs and pulls his hands away from the keyboard. “Okay…I kinda am.”

“Ah hah!” Roy smiles and leans forward into the brunette’s space. “Knew it.”

“*But*…only that you did it in front of the team.”

“What?” His eyes widen under Dick inquisitive gaze, a slight blush starting underneath the sharp angles of the domino mask.

“You know I don’t mind you’re…flirtations…but it’s different now.”

“How?”

“Like you said, this is a team of strangers, and I don’t want them getting the wrong idea. I don’t need them to know about our past.”

Head perched in his hand, Roy watches Dick’s body carefully; there’s almost a nervous twitch underneath the Kevlar, and if he could see the man’s eyes underneath the mask, he’d know for certain that they’re looking away from Roy, past him.

“You want them to see you as a leader and that’s all. Someone they can look up to.”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean I can’t look when they’re *not* around?”

“No, you horny bastard,” Dick smiles and looks directly at the man, quietly lifts the white out lenses and reveals the bright blue of his eyes. He grins and leans forward to grab Roy by the shoulders of his jacket and pulls him into a kiss.

Dick’s tongue is as skillful and athletic as the rest of him, licking the man’s teeth before he plays circles around Roy’s own tongue. He sucks hard at the archer’s lips and presses further, Roy pushes back and almost tumbles into the chair and onto Dick’s lap but saves at the last moment by pulling the brunette up until he’s resting blue and black hands on Roy’s thighs.

Those sneaky hands start working, moving inward and stroking the inside of the archer’s legs. Roy leans back a bit, but Dick catches his lower lip between his teeth and pulls him into another breathtaking kiss. Roy can feel Dick’s saliva on his lips and around his mouth, the acrobat never ceases in his further onslaught of the archer’s mouth, pushing forward. Arsenal takes one shuddering breath through his nose and grabs hold of the rear he loves so much.

Dick is squirming in a good way, a wonderful way, pushing himself further into Roy until his protected crotch his rubbing against the redhead’s. Roy gives a good long squeeze, thinking about how much he missed having the awe-inspiring rump in his palms.

Nightwing grins out of the kiss, lips reddened and wet from both of their spit. “I almost forgot how much you love my ass.”

Roy squeezes again, pulling and rubbing each cheek, getting a wonderful loss of breath out of the owner. “*Mmm*, I missed you so much. So beautiful, Dickie bird!” The archer’s lost in insatiable lust, pawing the fine keister as much as he can, “Such a work of art!”

The molested acrobat lets out a chuckle as Roy pushes him in as close as he can get and begins to run his thumbs through crack as best he can. The man sighs and halfway frowns at Dick with bright green eyes, “Too much clothing.”

“I thought you said I wear this costume like a second skin?”

“But it’s not as good as bare skin,” he kisses the man quickly before pushing him away enough to get off the console. “Put your hands down and stick your ass out.” Dick complies happily, backing away just enough from the console to make the other man blissful.

“Perfect. Are your suit defenses deactivated?”

“Yeah, I figured we would get to this and that you wouldn’t want to be fried.”

“Mmm, wonderful, let’s just get your suit off.” Roy quickly takes care of the catches at the back of the suit and helps Nightwing slip it down and off, discarding gauntlets and boots along the way. “You’re clean?”

“Of course, Roy, you *were* the last person to fuck me.”

“You don’t know how happy that makes me.” Somewhere along the line of Dick getting naked, Arsenal had discarded his jacket and gloves, leaving cool, calloused hands to touch at the warmth of the acrobat’s buttocks. “God, I love you,” he crouches down and rubs his thumbs against the perfect skin, getting another nervous twitch out of the owner.

“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

Roy kisses one cheek innocently, lovingly, before knocking Dick’s legs wide and spreading the curves of his behind. “It’s been a while since we’ve done it, and I love the way it makes you squirm.” He kisses the pucker of Dick’s anus gently, lays another few short pecks before he licks it once.

A tremble travels through Dick’s body, a gasp emitting from his throat; he can feel his cock awakening at the wonderful contact of Roy’s tongue. *God, So--so good* is all Dick can think, complete and intelligent thought seems to be beyond him by the time Roy wiggles his slick tongue *in*.

It feels odd and so wet and wonderful at the same time. Roy’s hands are still squeezing the plush of Nightwing’s ass, making wet slurping sounds where the acrobat can’t see. He fists his hands on the console and pushes back onto Roy’s mouth, gets an appreciative groan from the man.

“*Fuck*--!” Dick’s back arches beautifully and he wants to much more then this and just this for as long as can be allowed. He can feel the tongue moving inside him, licking him open and Roy’s thumbs spreading him just the same.

He’s already dripping pre-come by the time Roy decides to take a break and rest his head against the acrobat’s thigh. “Damn, Dick…you’re good at this.”

“Huh?” Dick really doesn’t want to ask or answer questions right now, he wants to come more then anything.

Roy lets out one breathy laugh, “Turning me on, bastard. Those sounds…fuck.” He leaves a kiss at the inside of the opposite thigh before he gives the reddened, wet sphincter another lick.

“*Mmm*!”

“Hope this isn’t too much torture.”

“Just…come on.” Dick backs up against the man’s closed lips, feels the scratch of Roy’s facial hair along his buttocks. The man dives back into reducing Nightwing to shakes and whimpers with a shove in. And it’s perfect again; Roy is sucking, moving his tongue in and out until Dick’s muscles are contracting around the wet invader. Arsenal keeps going, licking faster and faster until the brunette screams and releases against the console keyboard. His muscles shake all the way down to his ass and Roy lets him go, until his orgasm fades.

“So fucking *talented*, Roy.” Dick slouches against the computer, thoroughly spent, grinning like a little kid on Christmas day.

“You got my keyboard dirty,” he stands up, kissing a long line up the acrobat’s spine.

“Your fault for being so…convincing.”

“Mmm, I’ve always been quite charismatic.” He wraps an arm around Dick’s sweaty, naked chest and pulls him into an open mouth kiss, “Now it’s my turn.”

Dick can hear him unzip his pants, feels Roy run his other down until it’s curling around one ass cheek. Pushing in, the brunette whimpers, takes it, muscles tightening and relaxing until the head of his penis is in. Roy moves in slow, little by little, watching Dick writhe against the messy console, hands fisting and un-fisting.

When he gets in as far as he can, Dick is panting heavy. He looks at Roy over his shoulder and gives a little nod for the man to continue. The friction isn’t as bad as it could be, Dick’s had it worst and Roy’s keeping the rhythm to a slower pace until he’s sure the acrobat’s okay with it.

The stretch is amazing, Roy finally moving in the speed Dick loves, hard and fast. He can hear the sound of the man’s testicles slapping against his ass. He pushes back harder and wins a loud groan from Roy, his grip tightening on the one buttock.

He wraps himself tighter around Nightwing and pushes until he’s coming hot deep inside of the acrobat. Roy moans and almost collapses against the brunette, removes his hand from Dick’s chest at the last second to save himself. His grip’s so tight on Nightwing’s rear, he’s pretty sure there’s going to be an odd bruise there for a few days.

Dick lets out a small laugh as Roy regains himself post-fuckingamazing-orgasm. “God, Roy, you can let go now.”

He removes his hand from Nightwing’s bottom only to put it around the man so they fall back into the chair together. Dick finds a comfortable position on Roy’s lap and rests his head against the man’s shoulder. “Have you had that in mind for a while?”

“Very long time.” Roy shifts a bit to wrap his hand around Dick’s waist and pull him in close. “Ever since I saw you again after--”

Dick quickly lays a kiss on the man’s reddened lips, succeeding in making him breathless again. The acrobat gives a fulfilled little sigh before breaking apart and wrapping himself up in Roy. He feels Arsenal’s jacket laid over his naked body before he’s falling half asleep in the man’s arms.

Roy seems to notice and runs a finger through the curling hair cemented by sweat to Dick’s forehead. “You can nap if you want, nobody will come in. We’ll talk when you wake up.” He gets a nod out of the brunette before he’s falling asleep and snuggling closer.

LOOK WHAT I FOUND

see last frame

have some beef cake

It's so Dick and Deathstroke time.

Favorite picture ever

>>16395

OH FUCK YEAH XD

>>16398
>>16437

....Do continue.

>>13963

DO NOT CONTINUE
WTF

>>16397
>>16398
>>16437
I dislike the TT version of Dick. He doesn't wear shortpants and he acts like Tim.

I'd do anything for fic revolving around the new issue of Batman

Close enough? http://glitterandlube.dreamwidth.org/46380.html#cutid1

I HAVE BROUGHT MATERIAL!

1/22

2/22

3/22

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6/22

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10/22

11/22

12/22

13/22

14/22

15/22

16/22

17/22

18/22

19/22

20/22

21/22

22/22

Let's keep this thread a live. Need moar Arsenal/Nightwing

>>21418
YES AND YES

OH GOD, DICK/ROY DOUJIN

DICK CALLING ROY DADDY. Is it Christmas?

>>21418

OH. GOD. Thank you, sweet Anon.

>>20972

brought to you by http://dpscanlations.deathsvertigo.com/

>>21418

>>21527

Fff misfire. I meant to say THANK YOU YOU LOVELY ANON FAPPING FOREVER

>>21409
Suga daddy Roy.

>>3037
>>8253

Good christ, Nightwing's gloves are hot

>>21588
Indeed.

/co/ has gifts for us, tonight.

>>21664

>>22025

I would post a DAT ASS pic

But it's Nightwing

So I guess it'd be redundant

>>21664
DAT BONDAGE

>>22025
DAT ASS

ffff

What is that, cheeto dust?

>>21664
>>22025

No fic? /coq/, I am disappointed.

Some Dick and Roy, maybe?

with bonus stalker!Tim

Anyone have a megaupload or something of the Kuchibashi ni cherry comic?

>>33364
http://www.sendspace.com/file/0qj1xb

what are you doing on the 6th page thread, you don't belong there

Can't believe *this* haven't been posted yet.

>>2980
I've fapped to this over 9000 times.

>>43533
Dick and Roy need to be together all the time everywhere.

>>43553
Especially now.

http://remielle.livejournal.com/314668.html

Here's a great Roy/Dick story. Abuse, drugs, angst, all the good stuff.

>>43533
Dear God, I'd kill a baby seal for pic of Dick wearing policeman uniform.

>>44022
Do you mean in fanart, or just generally? Because There are quite a few canon shots of him in uniform.

>>44264
I'd prefer fanart, but canon is always welcome.

>>44283

K, but I apologise in advance for breasts.

I love how after this she comes on to him and he's all "No, I mustn't..." and then she sees a picture of him and Babs on the wall.

But because it's Dick, they are both in hilariously dated swimwear.

>>44363
>>44362
>>44361

Man, he has great hair. Among other things of course.

Seems like a perfect time to post dirty, dirty porn. Tim and officer!Grayson.

It hasn't been Tim's night. He'd had *plans,* damn it. He was *supposed* to be on Dick's couch right now scarfing cheese-steak fajitas or maybe making out, some crappy old movie playing in the background. Instead, he'd waited at Dick's apartment for more than an hour before Dick had called him and told him he wouldn't be getting off shift until after Tim was due home for the night. Tim had been pissed, of course, but less at Dick (who doubtless had a good *reason* for the extra hours, probably having to with helping people), and more at himself for being so disappointed.

Anyway, Tim had been angry when he left Dick's apartment, headed back toward the bridge and Gotham. And when Tim was driving while angry, he had a tendency to... Well. The Redbird went very, very fast.

Fast enough that he really *could* outrun the squad car flashing its lights behind him, but it would be hard to lose the car before he got to the bridge. There weren't a lot of places he could pull off to shake pursuit, and it would be dangerous to try and take the bridge at top speed (not so much for Tim as for the cop and any bystanders). Better to pull over, be as polite as possible, and call Oracle as soon as the ticket was written.

Even if Tim really *could* use the adrenaline rush of a good high-speed chase. It wouldn't quite make up for not getting laid tonight, but it would be a start.

Cursing under his breath, Tim pulled over to the shoulder of the dark highway and cut the ignition. He slumped back against the seat and tapped his thighs impatiently as he watched the car pull over just ahead of him and come to a stop.

The cop took a few minutes to get out of the car (a tactic used to make the driver nervous, more often than not. Tim knew his plates were clean, so there was no real reason for the delay), and when he did finally open the door to the squad car, he turned a flashlight on Tim's windshield almost immediately. Tim raised one hand against the glare and cursed again. He was one of *those* cops. There was a good chance he'd taken one look at the flashy body of Tim's car and made up his mind about the kind of person driving it. He almost certainly thought Tim was rich, young, privileged and reckless, possibly well-connected enough to expect to get out of a ticket. Which...wouldn't be entirely inaccurate. Okay. Tim was going to stop now.

The man (the cop *was* a man, fairly tall and kind of broad-shouldered and that was about all Tim could make out with the light in his face) knocked on Tim's window, and Tim plastered on his best good-boy face and hit the button to roll it down. "Is there a problem, officer?"

"I'll say," the cop said, and Tim had to fight to keep his face even, because that voice sounded really familiar somehow. "Do you know how fast you were going?"

About a hundred and twenty, judging by how the Redbird had been handling - really coming into her stride. Tim hadn't actually been looking at the speedometer. "Was I speeding, sir?"

"'Was I speeding?'" the officer repeated, his voice high and mocking. "Get out of the car, son."

Tim blinked against the brightness of the flashlight. Get out? That wasn't exactly regular procedure - but, a police officer *did* have the right to request he leave the vehicle, so Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to grab the door-handle.

That was when the sudden *wrongness* of the situation hit him. He felt his shoulders tense, and a part of him ached for the bo collapsed under his seat. Why was the cop still shining the light *directly* in Tim's face? "Can I, uh, see your badge?" he asked, trying to sound intimidated. The cop - if he was a cop - shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but didn't move the light or reach for his identification. "It's just..." he said, fishing around in his brain. "My aunt's a lawyer, and she told me I should always ask for identification if I -"

"Kid," the guy said. He sighed, and flashed his badge at Tim too fast for Tim to read it before putting it away again, all without moving the flashlight an inch. "Get out. Of the car."

Tim set his jaw. He was even more suspicious now than he had been a minute ago, but if he didn't play along, and this guy really was on the up and up (and just a colossal *asshole*) he was just going to make things worse for himself. On the other hand, if this was some kind of scam... Tim could probably take care of himself. He opened the door and climbed out, careful to keep the door between himself and the cop. If the guy tried anything, Tim could slam it into his knees and immobilize the hand holding the flashlight with a strike to the wrist. After that, his vision would be clearer, and he'd be on better footing - hopefully in time to prevent the man going for a gun.

"Step away from the vehicle."

Or not. Tim's hands tightened into fists without his conscious control. He took three steps back, away from the police officer, who shut the door. An eighteen-wheeler rumbled by, throwing up dust and fast-food wrappers in its wake and leaving the foul smell of diesel exhaust to linger where Tim stood. Tim didn't flinch, and neither did the officer, who -

Tim squinted against the light. Not quite six feet. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Then he took two steps toward Tim, and everything clicked into place. He rolled his eyes up at the smoggy night sky, smiling a little despite himself, because he should have *known*. Even if Dick *was* pretty good at disguising his voice, he'd never managed to hide the way he *moved.* Not from Tim, anway. "Dick-"

Dick closed the distance between them and shoved him against the side of the car, his club across Tim's neck. "What did you call me?"

The move surprised Tim into a quick bark of laughter. "Oh come on, Dick-"

The club pressed against Tim's throat hard enough to rob him of his voice. "Call me that again and you're gonna have worse problems than a little speeding ticket."

Despite the pressure, Tim's body was quaking with silent laughter. He gasped and choked a little, trying to get a good verbal sting out, but Dick just tightened his hold. After almost a minute of this, Tim decided Dick wasn't planning to move *himself* and lashed out with a pair of quick strikes under Dick's raised arms - which didn't connect properly, because Dick started moving him the instant Tim raised his hands, spinning him and slamming him face first against the back of the car. He pinned Tim there with his body weight, which wasn't exactly a new experience, between years of sparring and a healthy sex life. It wasn't until he felt the cold metal of the cuffs around his wrists, heard the clink they made as they were ratcheted into place, that Tim stopped laughing. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, still panting slightly.

"You think you can get away with attacking a police officer?" Dick's voice was hard and still not quite his own.

"Are you *mind controlled?*" Tim said with a little breath of a laugh. "Had a run in with the Hatter?" Dick caught him by the back of the neck and forced his head down against the polished surface of the car, but Tim couldn't stop laughing. The motion pressed Dick's body tighter against Tim's back. Was that Dick's gun, or - no, Dick was wearing a shoulder holster. "Okay," Tim said, pressing his ass back against him out of reflex. "Not Hatter. Has *Ivy* been loose on this side of the river?"

"If you don't shut your mouth," Dick said in his ear, and the humor in his voice made him sound more like himself. "I'm gonna give you something to put in it."

Tim turned his face against the metal, his shoulders shaking as he snickered. "Oh, *please* Officer!" he said, making his voice go high and thready. "Anything to get out of this ticket -"

Dick's weight disappeared from Tim's back so suddenly that Tim started sliding down off the side of the car before he could get his legs braced. Dick grabbed him by the cuffs and the shoulder and spun him around before he could hit the ground, shoving him down to his knees. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," Tim breathed, looking up at Dick in his uniform. He tried to school his expression into something appropriate for his character, but didn't think he was succeeding.

Dick was certainly having trouble keeping a straight face. His eyes were twinkling in the dim glow of Tim's taillights and the flashlight that now lay on the ground not far from Tim's knees. The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he unfastened his belt. "You were going sixty over," he said as he lowered his zipper. Tim licked his lips. "Not to mention the charge for assaulting an officer. You better make this *good*."

“You sure you want to-” Tim's mouth had started watering, and he broke off to swallow as Dick pulled his cock out of his pants, already mostly hard. Dick was obviously enjoying this little game. “To do this on the side of the road? Where anyone could see?”

“Not a lot of traffic, this time of night,” Dick – no, Officer Grayson – said. He took his cock in hand and stroked Tim's face with the head, first his cheek, his lips, and then his chin. Tim breathed in the smell of him, thick even over the stink of exhaust.

Another vehicle whizzed by, sending Tim's hair blowing into disarray. “If somebody saw this, you could lose your job.”

Officer Grayson laughed. “In this town? Open your mouth, kid.” This time when the head of his cock bumped Tim's bottom lip, Tim let his mouth fall open and relaxed his mouth for a sucking kiss to the tip. He caressed the head with his tongue, soft and wet as he could make it, and hummed at the familiar taste and the feel of it firming under his tongue. He opened his mouth a little wider, covering his teeth with his lips-

And got his mouth filled, rather abruptly. He made a sound of surprise and adjusted the angle of his neck. It was going to be like that, then? Tim sucked and swallowed, stroking with the flat if his tongue, and drew back to get a good breath. This was harder when he couldn't use his hands – usually he'd have his fist around the base of Dick's erection, guiding and limiting his thrusts. But Tim was, if anything, adaptable. When he felt Dick's finger slide into his hair, he took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and let himself be guided down until he felt the pressure give in the back of his throat.

Oh, yeah.” Officer Grayson groaned, his voice deep and gusty. “You've done this before, huh? You're a – uh,” he grunted as Tim sucked and swallowed, “an *expert* cocksucker, aren't you?”

Dick should really know by now not to try and make Tim laugh while he was deep-throating. He choked a little and pulled back as far as Dick's hands would let him – just far enough, it turned out – sucked a breath in through his nose, and swallowed as his head was pulled back down again.

“Yeah,” Grayson breathed, as he thrust, slowly and deliberately, into Tim's throat. “Pretty mouth like that, I bet you get lots of practice.”

Tim hummed his agreement.

“Sweet little – ah. Little mouth- fuck, your tongue-”

He withdrew enough for Tim to really *work* the head, pressing and stroking, sucking, tightening his lips as Dick thrust back in, harder this time, his hand cupping Tim's jaw, holding his mouth open. Tim took the dare and scraped the shaft lightly with his teeth on the next thrust, earning himself a sharp *yank* to the hair as Dick withdrew abruptly and jerked his head back.

“You little fucker,” he snapped, and pulled Tim's hair until he scrambled to his feet, nearly pitching forward as he fought for his balance. “You think this is a game?”

“Oh, no sir,” Tim said, slightly hoarse but as wide-eyed and earnest as he could manage. “I swear I don't want any trouble-”

He was spun, roughly, and slammed against the trunk of the car. Dick – Officer Grayson – kicked his legs out until he was spread and shoved his upper body against the car with a hand between his shoulders. With his other hand, he pulled Tim's hips back against him and reached around to cup Tim's rather predictable erection through his jeans. “You like that. Sucking some guy off on the side of the road – got you all hard.”

Tim gasped and thrust against his grasping hand. “Yes, sir,” he panted, even though it hadn't really been a question.

“Liked my cock in your mouth? Down your throat?”

Tim moaned and pressed his cheek to the cool metal. “Oh,” gasped as Dick's grip tightened. “Yes. Yes *sir*.”

“Bet you'd love it in your ass.”

Tim twisted and bucked his hips, trying to turn pressure into friction. “Yes,” he breathed, “you - *yes,* Dick. God, fuck me-”

“I'm gonna,” Dick threatened - *promised*, and fumbled Tim's jeans open one-handed. “Don't move a muscle.” He stepped back, letting Tim go for an instant to grab his pants and pull, yanking jeans and briefs down to his knees. He rucked up Tim's shirt and pushed him forward again, and *damn*, the car was *cold.* *Hard.* He thrust against it anyway.

He could hear Dick moving behind him as his hands withdrew. Cloth noises – clothing noises, the familiar click of a plastic bottle cap. Oh, good, he'd come prepared. Tim tried to laugh, but it turned into a hiss and a moan as cold liquid hit his ass just at the base of his spine and warm fingers followed, stroking down. Tim spread his legs as far as his pants would let him and lifted up onto his toes as Dick started to massage the skin around his hole, circling, pressing in on every pass.

“Jesus,” Tim gasped, “fuck, hurry up. If somebody sees us-”

“I'm doing a very thorough search for hidden narcotics,” Dick said, sounding almost entirely like himself. He thrust into Tim with two twisting fingers, fucking and bending them as Tim writhed helplessly on top of the car. “Kids these days, you never know what they're gonna try.”

“I'm *trying* not to-” come all over his car, but that got lost in a moan as Dick pulled his fingers out and grabbed Tim's hip with one sticky hand. Tim could feel Dick's cock sliding, slick, up his cleft, nudging his hole over and over in a tease. “You fucking-”

“Love it,” Dick growled. “You love it.”

“Oh, God,” Tim panted. “If you don't-” Dick *pressed*, pushing just the head past the tight ring of muscle. “Ohh,” Tim moaned. “You – “ He lingered there, not thrusting, not going any deeper, his hips barely moving at all. “Goddamnit, Dick, fuck me already!”

The hand on his hip pulled him back, slowly, until the head of his cock was just brushing the side of the Redbird, leaving damp streaks across the bright finish. Dick's other hand forced his head down so that he couldn't see any more, pressing his cheek to the trunk, and then Dick braced himself with one hand beside Tim's head and *yanked* with other at the same time he drove his hips forward, pulling Tim back onto his cock, spreading him open, pressing deep in one long thrust. He pulled back, pushing Tim's hips forward until the head of his cock slapped against the car just shy of painfully, making Tim gasp and jerk back to meet the return thrust, driving into him, slow at first and then harder- faster -

“Oh god,” Tim gasped. He let out a whimper as his cock struck the car again, a moan as Dick thrust deep. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Tight.” Dick panted into his ear. “Sweet. You like that. Like it rough-”

“*Fuck*” Tim hissed. He was going to – no. Dick pulled back a little, changed the angle of his thrusts, pulling Tim back from the edge. “Damn it, you-”

Hard again, stroking over his prostate, driving him against the car, pinning his erection between his stomach and the cool metal. The car was warming quickly under his body. He was going to come all over it. He was- he was going to need a car-wash before he could bring her back to the cave, if -

Dick's thrusts became uneven, and Tim bucked, trying to catch the rhythm again. It was no use though - Dick was thrusting shallowly now, too slow and not nearly deep enough – not as deep as Tim *needed.* It was a *tease* was what it was, and Tim squirmed and fought his hold, trying to get more contact, more friction, more - *more*.

“You want it?” Dick asked, speeding his thrusts up just a little.

“Dick-”

“Want to get fucked?”

“Goddamn it, Dick, do it harder, you-” Tim was rocked up onto his toes again with the force of the next thrust. He was driven forward, banging his chin on the trunk and his hips against the side of the car, pinned there by Dick's weight and unable move an inch. Dick's thrusts were fast and deep, now, *hard*, but the angle was all wrong, and Tim still couldn't – he was almost -

Dick cursed quietly and his rhythm stuttered. He drove into Tim hard a few more times, lingering on the down-stroke, the thrusts suddenly easier, slicker as he came inside him. Oh, fuck. Fuck, no. Tim wasn't done. He wasn't – Dick was pulling out, leaving him empty, clenching at nothing, leaving him *hanging*. Tim cursed and sobbed, stuck on the edge. He could feel the heat of Dick's come inside him, wetness sliding down his thigh-

“I hate you,” Tim sobbed. When Dick just laughed and ran his thumb up the cleft of Tim's ass, Tim banged his forehead against the trunk of the car. “I mean it. You're cruel and evil and I *hate you*” Dick chuckled. Tim started trying to slip the cuffs so that he could throttle him, but Dick's hand covered both of his, stilling his struggles. “You bastard, let me go. Let me *come*-"

"You're in no position to be making demands, son," Dick said, in that deeper, gruffer voice. Officer Grayson again, then. "You know what they do to pretty boys like you in jail?" He speared Tim with his thumb to illustrate his point, and Tim whimpered and twisted his hips, pushing back for more friction. "You might like that, though. Find you an older man, a big strong type to take you under his-" he twisted his thumb, *screwing* it into Tim on the next thrust "-wing?"

"You are such an asshole," Tim panted, but he couldn't stop his hips from twitching, his thighs from shaking. He felt Dick's mouth at the nape of his neck in a quick, sucking kiss, felt the hot gusts of his laughter. Dick ran his hands up Tim's arms to his shoulders and squeezed, gently, then stroked down his back to grip his hips and - oh. Tim might be willing to forgive him, after all, because he heard Dick's knees scuff against the asphalt and felt a hot breath against his thigh, followed by a hotter tongue.

"Tell you what," Grayson growled. "Since you're so damned pretty, not only am I going to let that slide, I'm going to do you a little favor."

Tim swallowed and spread his legs as far as he could with his pants around his knees, bracing himself on the hood and lifting up onto his toes. The movement made Dick laugh, and then Tim felt teeth scrape at the juncture of his thigh and his ass, dangerously, thrillingly close to his sack. The scrape became a press, and Tim whimpered brokenly. Dick let go of him, and then one big, warm hand cupped the top of his thigh, thumb stroking up the cleft of his ass to clutch and spread him wide.

Something cool and smooth touched the back of his knee, and Tim twitched. That wasn't Dick's hand, or his tongue. Tim turned his head, craning his neck, but he couldn't actually see what was touching him. It traced up the inside of his thigh, following the damp trail left by Dick's tongue. Tim was so focused on identifying the sensation that the heat of Dick's tongue on his asshole took him completely by surprise. He shouted hoarsely and pressed back, urging Dick to stop teasing and do it *properly* - and there was that cool, hard touch again, tapping his balls and rubbing along the length of Tim's erection. Whatever it was, it was long and hard and -

Tim's eyes widened and he pulled his body up off the car, twisting and trying to see - Dick pushed him roughly back down. "You said you wanted to get fucked."

"Is that your *nightstick?*" Tim demanded, craning his neck. The only answer he got was a hot huff of laughter and the nudge of something round and blunt against his hole.

"You know what you look like from here?" Dick punctuated his question with a another nudge, this time pressing just inside in a shallow thrust. "Hot little hole - *hungry* little hole, clenching-" He thrust again, quick and shallow, just spreading his hole but not going any deeper. Tim forgot his outrage and shifted his hips back against the touch, which immediately disappeared, along with Dick's restraining hand. He heard the click of the bottle cap, and then before he could decide whether he ought to make a break for it, Dick's hand was back, spreading him again as the thick stick slid slowly, smoothly into him. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply.

The club wasn't that much thicker than Dick's cock, but it was stiff and straight and very smooth. He used toys sometimes, and at least one of them was *much* bigger than this, but the feel of it was just so strange - completely unyielding where he was used to the feel of more forgiving flesh or silicone. Then there was the idea of it - somehow, this felt a lot dirtier than using a purpose-built sex toy.

Possibly because Tim was handcuffed and spread across the back of his car on a public road.

The *stroke* of it felt - there was no curve to it, none at all, and he could feel the press of the tip of it so clearly, moving inside him. Dick slid it out and in again, a little faster but still carefully, smoothly, with a little twist - Tim stopped analyzing and groaned.

"Knew you'd like that," Dick whispered, and Tim couldn't tell which voice he was using. He was pretty sure it didn't matter anymore. "Knew you'd-" his voice caught as Tim moaned again and pressed back, and then Tim felt Dick's hot mouth tracing kisses over his ass, Dick's tongue in the cleft, licking where Tim's thin skin was stretched so tight. "Tell me-"

Tim couldn't actually get any words out, so he just groaned, shifting his hips to adjust the angle. God, it felt *good*. *Strange*, yes, but *good*. He sucked in a breath and bent his knees, and Dick took the hint, shifting his grip and changing the pressure, until the tip of the club pressed down instead of up, stroking him inside and - Tim hissed. "There."

"Yeah?" Dick's voice. Dick-

"*God*," Tim sobbed, feeling utterly broken. The tip was right there, nudging his prostate - and with his confirmation, Dick slid his hand up to Tim's hip, holding him tight against the body of the car, unable to move, and started fucking him with sharp, fast little thrusts, stabbing into him, sending jolts through his body with every press. His knees trembled and he leaned forward, letting the car take most of his weight, half afraid to move because each thrust was just a millimeter shy of painful, delivered with such accuracy that Tim was really a little in *awe*. He shuddered all over, rubbing his face against the hood of the car, feeling flushed and half-sick with sensation. He wasn't going to need more than this. If Dick just kept it up - just -

The grip on his hip changed and Dick pulled him back, away from the car. "Stand up," he whispered.

Tim pressed his cheek to the hood. "God, Dick, I can't-"

"I've got you. Stand up, so I can-"

Tim struggled a little but he felt too weak and shocky to lift his upper body from the car. He slid backward a little, and Dick moved with him, keeping the jabbing little thrusts from becoming too rough. He felt a kiss to the base of his spine, and then Dick stopped thrusting long enough to grab the chain of the handcuffs, pulling him up and back until he was standing, leaning back against Dick's shoulder. Dick caught him and and wrapped an arm around to grab Tim's cock, squeezing just gently and barely stroking, just *holding* as he grabbed the stick again and resumed those fast, hard little thrusts that made Tim - he slumped back and let Dick take his weight, felt Dicks' face press to the small of his back. Dick *squeezed* -

It was like his orgasm was being driven up and out of him. Dick stopped thrusting and just *pressed*, massaging his prostate with the tip of the club, and it was so good it *hurt*. Tim sobbed and gasped, riding it, his hips punching the air, driving into Dick's slick fist. And then his knees gave out and he sank to his knees, sliding down Dick's body to land a little too hard. It was really only Dick's arms around him that kept him from toppling all the way. The club was still inside him, sending little jolts of sensation through him as he moved, and Tim faintly recognized the mewling sound he was hearing as coming from his own mouth. "Jesus," he whispered, unable to find his voice.

"Mmm. You okay?"

"*God*," Tim answered. He tipped forward. Dick caught him by the hair just an inch before he would have hit the side of the car and yanked his head back. He nudged Tim's neck with his mouth.

"You made a mess," he growled in Tim's ear, Officer Grayson again. "All over that hot little ride of yours."

Tim shuddered all over and bent his head under the urging of Dick's hand, down to the level of the car. He pressed his tongue to a droplet and licked up the long white streak running down toward the fender, the taste of semen and road dust thick on his tongue. Dick's fingers in his hair guided him until every last smear and splatter was gone and the shiny red finish was clean again.

"There," that voice said in his ear, low and rough. "Isn't that better?"

A truck rumbled by, stirring Tim's hair and blowing a half-crushed coffee cup against his knee.

"Well," Officer Grayson said, brightly, pulling back to smack Tim on the ass, making him gasp as he clenched around the club in surprise. "I imagine you've learned your lesson, son."

Tim let his hot face fall against the side of the car and didn't say anything. Eventually his brain would start working again, he was pretty sure.

"Won't be speeding in this town again, will you?" He tapped the stick a few times, sending little jolts through Tim's body. "Or if you do, at least you know what you'll get."

"Yes, sir," Tim murmured, letting his eyes drift shut. He should probably sit in the car for a while to regain his senses before he drove home. Oh, god. He was going to have to sit in one position all the way back to Gotham. Tim felt his mouth pull into an involuntary grimace of distaste.

Dick shifted behind him, letting him go, and then there was the scuff of movement against the pavement - knees, then shoes. Tim couldn't really straighten up with the stick still inside of him, but he turned his head as best he could and watched him dust his hands off on his slacks. "Since you liked that stick so much, I think I'm gonna let you keep it. See ya around, kid," he said, and started back toward his squad car.

Tim froze. "What?"

Dick didn't answer - just threw an absent wave back over his shoulder as he climbed into his car. A moment later, he started the engine and signaled to get back onto the road

Tim cursed and tried to sit up - then quickly changed his mind. He bent his wrists to scrabble at the cuffs instead, watching as Dick slowly pulled back onto the highway, escaping his reach. "I'm going to get you back!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

Dick's window was down, and he waved cheerily as he drove away. "I'm looking forward to it!"



Author's livejournal: http://iesika.livejournal.com/

>>44400
I'll be in my bunk.

>>44400

No way I'm going to be able to read the rest of the Nightwing ongoing where he's a cop without imagining this. I know Tim is fairly young in it, but...

unf

GOOD SIR I WILL BE IN MY BUNK.
Ffff.

>>44400
MOAR DIRTY PORN

what a queen <3

>>45210
Huh. Once I've read a fic where Dick dressed as woman.
The concept didn't appeal to me at first, but now
after looking at dem legz...
Hmmm.

>>45210
why do I see a cosplaying Azula

>>45910
Goddammit. Cannot unsee.

Apart from obvious porn - dat tattoo.

This fic is obscenely hot, but warning: Dick is underaged.


The door of Bruce's study opens with a loud creek in the dim afternoon light of the manor. The call of his name several times is louder, more pronounced as the teen of the house runs up to his desk, waving a sheet of gold-yellow paper in one small hand. Dick jumps up happily into Bruce's lap when the man scoots away from the desk just enough for the boy to wiggle in.

"Guess what, Bruce?" Dick smiles wide, adjusts his legs a little and brings the piece of paper up close to his chest with one loud, excessive breath.

"What is it?"

"I got...all A's!" The teen lifts the paper quickly, almost shoving it into the man’s face, so Bruce can look at it. Dick's grade sheet for the last semester, full of the highest grade imaginable and a few notes from teachers commenting on the teen's wonderful ability to learn and actually pay attention in class.

Dick is smiling as Bruce takes the grade report, looks closely and scans the notes. There’s a grin at the edges of the man’s mouth; pulling Dick in closer by the hips, he sets the paper on his desk and looks the bird in the eyes.

“Wonderful work, Dick. Alfred will be proud.”

“And you?”

“It makes me very happy.”

“Oh, Bruce,” a flick of his long eyelashes and Dick is kissing the man, leaning forward into his solid body and enjoying the feeling of closeness. He smirks a bit, leaves a few small, chaste kisses along Bruce’s lips. “You said I’d get a reward if I got all A’s.” The bird looks down a bit at the man’s lap as he fists his hands in Bruce’s shirt and breathes in deep again. He leans back and gives his best set of puppy dog eyes, as if he ever had to beg; Bruce just laughs and runs a finger over Dick’s voluptuous lips.

“Indeed. And a reward you shall receive, my smart little Robin.”

Smiling wide, showing the whites of his teeth, Dick leans in again and moans against the skin of his mentor’s neck. Bruce is weaving his hands along the teen’s thighs, moving in closer and closer to his groin along the khaki of Dick’s pants. It’s a feeling he’ll never be able to get used to: Bruce touching him and making him so hot even though his fingers have barely touched Dick’s skin.

“You did so very well…pretty bird.” The man runs a hand up Dick’s stomach rolling the teen’s polo shirt up and tucking it under his armpits. A thumb presses up against one pink nipple and a moan hitches in Dick’s throat. Bruce’s mouth locks around the other nub of skin in the next moment, sucking, then biting and pulling.

The teen whines and grabs hold of the man’s shoulders, crumpling the expensive white dress shirt in his tiny, calloused hands. Bruce licks the abused nipple and moves to the other one, feeling the next moan shake out of the bird’s body. ‘Lovely little thing’, he thinks sucking against the pink nub, pulling the bird up and in.

“*Bruce*,” he whines until the man moves a hand down and unbuttons Dick’s pants, slowly undoing the zipper next. The teen whimpers and runs a hand through Bruce’s hair, mussing it when his pants and underwear are worked down around his thighs. The mahogany of Bruce’s desk is warming against his buttocks and the man lets go of the reddened nipple and smiles, leaning up to kiss Dick again.

The boy’s tongue flitters up against Bruce’s lips, slipping eagerly into the man’s mouth. Wet and hot, Bruce pushes his tongue into Dick’s mouth, tastes coffee blend with the tang of the teen’s after school snack. He wraps a hand around his half young lover’s half-flaccid penis and strokes once, causing Dick to pull away and release an airy pant. “Oh…*oh*--Bruce!”

The man gives a little squeeze then jerks him faster. “What do you want?”

“Your--your mouth…I think.”

Dick opens one bright blue eye and Bruce smiles at his nervousness. His hand stills and for a moment, the teen doesn’t know what to expect, then the man’s mouth is hot around his erection. He moans and grabs a chunk of coal colored hair, pulls a little as Bruce sucks fervently. It’s hard not to buck when it all feels so perfect, makes his mind want to melt into goo. Dick clenches and fists his slacks hard, trying to keep his body under control.

The man raises his head a bit and smirks. “You can thrust in, Dick. You can do whatever you want.” He dives back in, relaxing his throat and taking Dick in all the way. The teen cries, turns into a whimper and tries to push himself up further into the man’s mouth. It seems impossible at the point when Dick can feel Bruce’s breathing against his stomach. All he can do is grab hold of the man’s now-mussed hair and feel just *this*.

Bruce sucks and drools, comes off and goes back down. Dick *chokes* out his next whine and holds on tighter to the short strands of black hair. His fingernails are a bit too long, cutting into the skin of the man’s scalp as Bruce sucks hard and runs his tongue around the shaft.

The noises coming from Dick’s throat are elated little sounds that only make Bruce fuck his mouth faster on the teen. Dick switches to *pulling* the man’s hair, gripping tightly and thrusting up just as Bruce takes his mouth around the head.

*Greedy* little thing.

Dick moans the man’s name and he in turn hollows his cheeks and sucks just right until the teen screams, head thrown back. His thrusts in become ragged, sensuous…long, fast movements and all Bruce can do is salivate and take it because it’s too good to see, *feel* his bird lost in pleasure.

“*Bruce*BruceBruce--,”one after the other until Dick’s voice trembles. His hips begin to slow as his whole body tightens up, teetering on the edge of release till he‘s falling over into pleasure. Dick squeaks out a high moan, his hips being held down by one of Bruce’s large hands. The man backs up enough to catch the load of semen on his tongue, hold it there and not swallow.

Dick whimpers, empty, letting his hands fall from Bruce’s hair. His face is red-pink, his lips wet as the man rises to kiss him. The bird doesn’t twitch when *his* semen begins to fill the hot cavern of his mouth, right alongside Bruce’s tongue. He moans between the two of them and tastes himself, swallows and lets Bruce kiss him harder.

He hit’s the desk, Bruce’s paperwork under his back, everything that still needs to be signed and looked over Bruce doesn’t seem to care much, he rubs a thumb against Dick’s entrance, *pets* it and smiles. Dick would be lying if he said the sound of Bruce unzipping didn’t excite him. The man swiftly pulls open a top drawer of his desk and slick fingers enter the teen slowly in the next moment.

Dick wraps his hands around Bruce’s neck and pulls him down into another enthusiastic kiss. He can still taste a hint of himself between the two of them; his breath hitches suddenly and the man thrusts his fingers in faster. He can feel Bruce swallow and say his name on the palms of his hands. A quick little smile appears on the teen’s face that turns into a moan with the next push in.

“*Bruce*!” Dick whines and pulls the man in close again. “I-I’m--,” his hands tremble on the man’s skin until Bruce is removing his fingers and sliding the teen’s pants and briefs off, letting them fall to the floor. He teases Dick’s new erection with a few fingers and watches the teen writhe and beg wordlessly for more.

“Beautiful bird.”

“Bruce--hurry…I want--”

“I know, but I’m rather enjoying myself...enjoying you.” He smirks and slicks up his throbbing erection, watching his ward’s face turn a brighter shade of red. Still blushing after all this time. He pushes in leisurely and hears Dick scream, feels him tighten up around the hard member sliding inside his hot body. Bruce puts a hand on the teen’s face and strokes his cheek. “Dick…,” not in the command voice but it makes the bird relax and *take*.

“I love you,” is the next thing to come from Dick’s lips, Bruce buried deep inside of him. His blue eyes widen, his breath heavy and he pulls the man into another kiss. ‘IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou’ is the only thing playing in the teen’s head as the man begins to thrust into him, quick and shallow. He whimpers into Bruce’s mouth and holds tighter to the man’s solid body.

There’s a moment where Bruce slows down and takes time to feel Dick shake against him, feel the teen leave small, butterfly kisses against his neck and jaw. A comforting emotion, the bird wrapped around him, breathing heavy, getting lighter. He backs his head up and watches Bruce, blue eyes wide…passionate, even though he’s only fifteen.

The next slow slide in makes Dick whimper, but not beg; he accepts and kisses the man. If only-- “Bruce…*Bruce*…”

“What, Dick?” he doesn’t stop even though the boy writhes against the solid wood desk. “What do you need?”

“Mmm, *you*…ummm…your shirt…”

The man smiles and unbuttons his dress shirt, letting it fall back onto the chair. Dick’s hands immediately begin to roam over Bruce’s scarred chest, through the thick, almost straight body hair, across a nipple and up to the man’s lips. Bruce bites the finger playfully and Dick giggles cutely.

“Such a pretty bird.”

The boy smiles and clenches, moves his hips in a slow rhythm. Bruce kisses him again, feels him writhe and wrap his hands along the man’s back, feeling the muscles work.

“You like to feel, pretty bird…?”

Dick nods, digging his short nails into the scarred skin, mewling lightly. He wraps his legs tight around Bruce’s waist, drawing the man in. There’s a tiny, *dirty* smirk on Dick’s face as he does it and grinds his hips hard against Bruce. He bites his bottom lip, holding back another moan.

Bruce watches Dick, letting off a growl at the expressions of pleasure passing over his ward’s face. His hips begin to move faster, pushing whimper after moan after whimper from Dick’s small frame. The teen wraps his arms taut around Bruce’s neck, burying his head against the man’s shoulder and screaming as Bruce changes the angle and hits his prostate.

In moments, Dick is throwing his head back and letting off a loud, little growl that makes his mentor smile. Bruce fucks him faster, harder, causing Dick to tremble and rake his nails down the skin of the man’s back. It’s an enjoyable little tickle, an itch in Bruce’s mind. He enjoys his bird’s nails marking his skin with his pleasure.

The acrobat bites his plump bottom lip and shakes as he orgasms for the second time that day. His small forehead is sweaty, black strands pasted to the pale skin as he continues to writhe against Bruce’s large body, spreading his semen between them.

Bruce leans in to growl in his lover’s ear, causing the boy to pant and clench harder around the erection. It isn’t long, not with Dick’s beautiful stimulation, until the man is pressing his hips tight against the bird’s and cumming with a rumble deep in his chest. He presses his head to Dick’s neck, taking in the smell of the bird and their sex, enjoying the mingling of scents in the large study.

Dick whimpers and pets Bruce’s back as he calls the man’s name cutely. He grins when his mentor leans back and looks down at him with those clear blue eyes that are always watching, making him feel safe. “That was fun…”

Bruce laughs low in his throat, kissing Dick chastely before slowly pulling out of the teen, watching the process carefully. The man tucks himself away in his slacks and pulls his bird up, not paying attention to Dick’s words that he would leak against the paperwork. He kisses Dick deeply, opening his mouth with a thumb before his tongue delves in and tastes.

The acrobat collapses into Bruce, groaning into the slick, hot exchange as his hands slide up his lover’s bare chest. He feels Bruce’s muscles tense for just a second as he pulls away and breathes deep, looking over Dick’s sex-strained body, still red with exertion and wet with cum and lube.

He smirks and pets Dick’s cheek, then slips his dress shirt back up and buttoning it. “Go wash before dinner. We can’t have you running around being a mess.”

“But I would like to…I mean--” He sees Bruce still for just a moment before the man is sighing and sitting back in his large, leather chair. Bruce pats one of Dick’s knees and the teen knows exactly what that action means: ‘not right now’.

Dick smiles and slips off the desk before his hands work to right his shirt, covering his chest; he picks up his pants and briefs, stepping into both articles. The acrobat gasps as Bruce helps him pull the clothing up his lean legs and secures everything. The man pets Dick’s stomach and kisses him for a moment before ushering the bird out of the way so he could get back to his work and the running of his company.

Bruce hears his young lover make a happy little sound over the rustle of paperwork as he heads out of the door, offering a quick ‘I love you, Bruce’. The man smiles and shakes his head, knowing next semester the same game would be played.

http://jokers-daughter.livejournal.com/

There is this other dj "The Outsiders - Between Bathroom and Bedroom"

Downloadlink anyone?

Beneath
by Te
Summary: It's a little like domesticity.
Ratings Note: R.

Robin took off his mask and settled down to the business of becoming Dick again.
There was a process to it -- one he'd developed over the years. He thought he'd gotten rather good at it, considering. The Kevlar didn't even have to come off before he was thinking like himself again. Homework, phone calls of apology that had to be made for appointments broken off, food.
He never thought about food when he was being Robin. (Your needs are not your own. Your body is irrelevant save in its capacity to be both weapon and warning)
And really, he thought there was probably something pretty fucked about having Bruce in his head, having Batman in his head, but...
He still had something to measure himself against.
Bruce was standing at the bank of computers, running his hand over the main keyboard with a kind of banked, gentle anger that told Dick all he needed to know. The cowl might be off, the cape thrown over a chair, but Batman was still in residence.
That was the thing, really. The Batman was always in residence, and he knew there'd come a day when he wouldn't remember it otherwise.
Dick shook his head. "I'm gonna see if Alfred left us any sandwiches or something. Want anything?"
Bruce looked at him blankly for a long moment, blue eyes far away and more than a little lost. And then he came back online, flaring and shifting and alive, like the world's fastest-booting computer, and he nodded. "Something light. I think I won't be awake for much longer."
Dick nodded and headed for the stairs. It was... it was more than a little disturbing, in more ways than he could handle thinking about most of the time, but... it was what it was.
Bruce was... not his father.
And it wasn't as though he hadn't figured that out years ago -- God, for a long time he'd rejected everything remotely father-like from the man, but the thing was, he'd stopped trying.
Dick had put on the uniform and become something other than just the child ostensibly in Bruce's care, and that was that.
Sometimes Dick thought there must have been some moment when he could've figured this out without... without the kind of drama he'd much prefer to avoid. Some moment when Bruce had looked at him with those Batman eyes and maybe nodded to himself, and muttered about training.
Staves, kicks, the amount of punishment a growing body would take before it just kind of gave up on that growing thing...
Dick stared at himself and smirked. Bruce had maybe missed that mark by just a little.
There was a plate of sandwiches -- crusts cut off, of course -- on the kitchen table, covered with plastic with a post-it note attached:
"Do try to get some rest."
Dick nodded absently and took the plate downstairs with him. Bruce had given up on fondling the keyboard menacingly and was... not hunched. Bruce would never hunch (sit and walk as you intend to live). It was just a particular brand of straight-backed focus. The key-taps echoed through the cave.
He still had his gloves on, which was something Dick used to find impressive -- it was hard to type in gloves. He used to try to emulate it, figuring that there'd come a day when he'd have to use someone else's computer and he wouldn't want to leave evidence behind, but in the end it'd all felt too much like being someone he didn't want to be.
"Bruce. Food."
"Mm."
You really couldn't get more non-committal than that. Dick decided to take it as a half-spoken yes and jumped up to sit on the console. Held a sandwich directly in front of Bruce's face until his face crumpled in a kind of irritable distaste.
"I said --"
"You said 'mm.' That doesn't count as 'leave me alone' in English, which happens to be the language we both share."
There was a smile somewhere beneath the skin of his face. "You speak Spanish. And Romany. And --"
"Eat."
Something a bit too long to be a blink, and Bruce took the sandwich out of his hands and spun around. Took a bite and chewed what Dick thought was probably the absolute minimum number of times. Swallowed. "Is there a reason you don't want me to work tonight, or should I just count this as one of those teenaged whims?" A quirked eyebrow.
Dick gave it back and decided not to answer with more than the sound of his own chewing. Mastication. Heh. He wondered when that would stop being funny. He swung his legs a little, then forced himself to stop. He wasn't a kid, and Bruce knew he wasn't a kid -- counted on it, he thought -- but it was never good to give messages that weren't intentional. (Be as you want to be perceived.)
Dick swallowed and stared at his bare feet. There were socks in the denuded pile of clothes Alfred had left for him, but it hadn't seemed worth the effort. Curled his toes.
A long moment, another, and Bruce was dusting crumbs off his hands and off the uniform and turning back to the console.
"Do you even know what kind of sandwich that was?"
"Good."
"That wasn't what I asked --"
"And again, I'm forced to wonder if you want the jewelthieves to get away."
"Bruce."
No answer but the click of the keys, but there was tension in his shoulders. Something the cape would cover. He would take what he could get.
"We have to talk about this."
Bruce stopped typing with an absent but utterly obvious... gesture of anger? Frustration? Hard to say. He spun around to face Dick again. "All right. It shouldn't have happened." He moved to turn back to the computer but Dick caught his shoulder before he could complete the motion.
Hard, muscular, but no heat escaped through the uniform. "I think... I think there needs to be a little more than that."
A twitch of the mouth, just enough to show a hint of teeth. "Dick --"
Dick took a shuddering breath and watched it impact on Bruce like a particularly well-aimed blow. "I've thought about it, you know."
A look somewhere between bleak and blank.
"A lot. At night, at school. In my dreams. I'm pretty sure the only time I haven't been thinking about it is when we're out. Patrolling. Working."
"All the more reason to get back to this."
"We can't wear the uniforms... not all the time."
"Dick, you have to know --"
"No. No. There's one thing I have to know, and I don't think you have any idea what that is --"
"You were Dick to me. And Robin. You always are."
And Dick wanted to question that, wanted to batter at it, or maybe at some handy member of the criminal element, but there was nothing but the truth there. And Bruce looked almost pleading, like there was something breaking apart beyond whatever he wanted to show the world at that moment. And... it was what he needed to know. More or less.
He shook his head and let Bruce go.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought Bruce would be the one to keep this... this damned stupid necessary conversation going, but he only stared. "You were Bruce to me," he said. "Only him."
"I... we can't do this again."
There was a bundle of raw feeling packaged ill and hard somewhere in his chest. He didn't want to deal with it, look at it... he thought, if he was careful (trust your instincts. trust mine if you can't trust yours.), he would just forget it existed after a while. Instead, he leaned down and in and smelled the uniform and smelled the cologne Dashing Socialite Bruce Wayne had decided needed to be worn, or that Batman decided Bruce needed to wear, and smelled the roast beef from the sandwich and tasted... everything.
Bruce's mouth was still beneath his own, but open, and Bruce's tongue moved like it was a real kiss, like they were really kissing, and then there was a broad, hard hand on his shoulder pushing him away. "Don't."
Dick squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and jumped off the console. Walked over to where he'd stripped and pulled the mask back on. He could feel Bruce's eyes on him, pulling him back and... what? Pushing him away? Urging him on? Show it to me, he didn't say. Show me what you want.
The work of a moment to crawl into the chair with him, straddle his legs and rub the edge of the mask up over a stubbled cheek and slack mouth.
And then it wasn't slack at all and Bruce's hands were holding him close and holding him still and Bruce's tongue was fucking his mouth. Dick tasted acid and need and something a lot like hate and pulled back just long enough to pant, "it's still me under here."
Bruce bit the edge of his jaw, not hard but oddly desperate. "I know."
And that was... good enough.
End.

>>48483
*unf*

>>48476
http://www.doujintoshokan.com/read/The-Outsiders-dj-Between-Bathroom-and-Bedroom/0/1/29

Are there more dj with western content?

i liked this better when i thought the bubble said "oh u"

>>48540

There's another one that DP translated by the same circle. It's called 'Kuchibashi ni Cherry'. Roy/Dick. Check out their downloads page for links.

>>48849
A simple shop can change that!

I need more Jason.

DO. WANT.

Dick/Bruce fic, featuring daddy issues and hot as hell Robin's mask scene.



Dick catches the bank robber's wrist, clutching, spinning and twisting until he can feel the shudder of a dislocated shoulder vibrating through their point of contact.

Shoves the man away with a blow to the back of the head before the inevitable scream is fully choked-off, and turns to the next.

Catches a punch to the jaw and curses to himself -- he really should've ducked that one, and, dammit, he would have. He always does.

In Bludhaven.

But right now he's in Gotham, better judgment be damned, and Batman -- Bruce -- is a moving, deadly presence at his back, doubtlessly cataloguing every fucking move all of them are making, and so, of course, he had to catch a punch with his face. Inevitable, really.

Dick doesn't bother to hold back a snarl as he drops back to catch himself on one hand and kicks out hard.

The thug hits the high-for-Gotham barrier around the edge of the roof and bounces neatly back into Dick's own punch.

When he turns, there are two unconscious men sprawled almost artistically to the left and the right, and Batman is choking the last to weak and listless stillness.

He hasn't said a word to Batman yet, not since the old, familiar shared look of let's do this when they'd wound up on the same rooftop watching the robbers start to argue about the division of spoils on the other rooftop.

He doesn't say anything now -- just helps Batman package the thugs up and lower them to the alley below.

Tosses the bags of stolen goods down next to them, and yeah, now is about the time when he could say something -- when he probably should, just to retain his rep as the mostly-sane one, but...

It's Bruce.

And it's not like they have nothing to say to each other, it's just that he really should've gone ahead and gotten that doctorate in psychology, because fuck if he knows how to talk to the man. He closes his eyes for a moment. Funny how the Babs in his head talks to him more than the real one, these days.

Still, he can at least make himself available.

He sits on a handy gargoyle -- and yeah, there are reasons to appreciate Gotham -- and gives Bruce as open a look as he can manage.

And Bruce is... looking at him.

Fuck. "It wasn't a hard punch."

"That wasn't --"

And Bruce actually bites his lip, and starts to turn away, and. "Don't."

It's easy, nearly reflexive to reach out, to pull the man in and the first kiss to his bruising cheek is such a physical shock that he almost can't feel it.

Almost.

A moment to readjust sensation and -- yes. Heat through the suits. Both of them. And Bruce's hand in his hair, not mussing it so much as feeling it, learning the length of it, and Dick feels every brush as another night that he hasn't been in Gotham, another fucking month.

And then the kissing gets harder, and Bruce's mouth is the same as his hands, as the obsessively toughened balls of his feet -- bruising and necessary. Everywhere but Dick's lips. He groans at the empty air in his mouth and Bruce tugs hard on his ponytail, kissing and biting his jaw, making it harder to escape.

If he even wanted to.

"Fuck. Oh fuck this is so sick -- "

And Bruce pulls away.

"I will KILL you if you stop."

This time. But that part doesn't have to be said.

Body-memory he can feel, double exposure, another night, another fucking Gotham-special gargoyle, and himself, fifteen years old and leaning on the thing, bracing himself on trembling hands.

Another alley below, seven jewel thieves thoroughly beaten and carefully tied, but not before they'd landed some really good punches and kicks, leaving him sore all over and stoned on adrenaline, feeling the bruises come up on his skin beneath the Robin suit like localized sunrises.

It had been time, past time, for Dick to turn around and paste a smile on his face for Batman, looming somewhere behind him, waiting, but his arms didn't remember how to work.

He'd managed to force a smile anyway, just as Bruce was resting a hand on his shoulder.

And the suit had been slick -- all the suits are -- and that hand had slid right down his back, over more than one of the bruises and it's hard to stay in the present.

Because Bruce is right on him now, yeah, but then...

Then he'd been hissing and arching, because Bruce's hand was even warmer than his own skin.

Even through the gauntlet.

And then the hand had been on his ass, and the part of him that could've moved, could've called a halt to things, had been gone before he could blink.

Because Bruce's hand had... shifted.

Squeezed.

And he knows exactly what's on his face right now, and Bruce is never more there than when they're sharing a memory neither of them can put into perspective, but.

There's a vicious and annoying part of his own mind that's insistent: remember this. All of it.

The scent of winter-coming in the air and the way he'd been sore and exhausted in one moment and rock-hard in the next, pushing back and wanting, because fuck, sometimes it seemed like he'd been waiting forever (even then), sometimes it had seemed like the fucking Robin suit would strangle him.

That he'd like that, because it'd almost be like being touched by --

"Bruce," he'd moaned, and his voice hadn't cracked, but it had been a near thing. Adolescence had nothing on that want.

Bruce.

Bruce, who had frozen so hard and fast that Dick could feel it where he wasn't being touched, all the blood in his body trapped and pounding in his dick like it was going to kill him. He'd had no idea what to do or say.

And when he had turned around, half-falling on the damned gargoyle, Bruce was already several feet away, one hand balled into a fist and his face even more closed than that.

"Batman --"

"Go home. Let Alfred take care. Of the bruises."

And he was gone, still faster than Dick could follow, still smoother, even though he'd known all the moves back then.

Almost all.

Dick swallows around the spiked mace of feeling crawling up the back of his throat and shakes it off as best he can.

Bruce is there above him, showing nothing but pure Batman face. Silent, and silent, and still managing to tell him that this is a case closed a decade ago.

But he's not going to let it go. He's not fifteen anymore, going home alone to pine and yearn and jerk off until he can sleep is no longer age-appropriate. He still remembers the articles and police reports and the medical examiner's photos of the escaped-con thug who'd crossed Batman's path later that night, and damned if they're going to deal with this that way, either.

"There's no excuse for running this time."

The narrowing of the eye-slits says different.

Dick just continues, "Unless you're going to tell me you don't want this," and he slides his free hand up to cup the codpiece of the Batsuit, where he can tell, even if maybe nobody else could, the difference between the world's best groin guard and the even harder flesh behind it. He doesn't need to add, unless you're going to lie.

Batman takes a shallow breath, visibly trying to think his way out of this like it's one of Crane's or Nygma's traps, and Dick can almost laugh.

"Barbara --" the deep voice begins, stuck somewhere between Batman at his most stoic and Bruce at his most lost.

"--Knows," Dick says, and then cuts that thought off before it can go anywhere.

Silence.

And God, he can feel him. So fucking close, and everything he'd never wanted to want.

"Dick. Please."

And it's honest, and it's open, and it's so Bruce that his face hurts with wanting to wince, but -- "No. Not this time." And he squeezes, exactly as much as it takes to make Bruce feel it.

"You said --" And Bruce can't seem to repeat it, can't force the word "sick" through his clenched teeth.

A flash of something a lot like hate, even if Dick doesn't know who it's for. He feels himself smile. "Oh, it's sick that it's taken us being back in this position to bring us back here --" and he squeezes, again, and earns an actual gasp for a second before it's choked off "-- and there's a whole long discussion or thirty we're going to have about this later, in however many years it takes you to be ready to talk, but right now?" He lets go, shifts his hand up to wrap around the back of the cowl. "Just come back down here."

For a long moment he's sure Bruce won't, that this is going to end the same way it did last time, only without him winding up back at Wayne Manor with Alfred to minister to his bruises, physical and otherwise.

Then Batman's full weight is on him, pressing him into the gargoyle like it's not spiked, horned stone. And it's like it's Dick's first kiss, instead of just their first kiss, and it's like they've been doing this forever, so hot and wet and perfect it doesn't register at first that they are kissing. His legs twine around Batman's waist, feet shifting the cape that's fallen over them both. The hand still wrapped in his ponytail is pulling again, pulling him back in an even crazier arch over the gargoyle.

Batman's other hand finds its way back to his ass, and he mirrors it with his own, running gauntleted fingers along where he knows the Batsuit goes from full to merely excellent protection, squeezing hard enough to be felt through the different thicknesses of armor.

Batman groans and breaks the kiss, attacking his throat with sucking bites and kisses. It's quiet, but more noise than an opponent has forced out of him in years.

So good. Beyond all the heat and the wet and the pain, and Dick's trying to be quiet, too, if only because he doesn't want to miss a single sound Bruce makes. He uses his leg-hold and his hands on cowl and trunks and the still-yanking grip in his hair, flexes further back over the gargoyle's spread wings to press his pounding erection flush to Bruce's.

There's so many layers of protection between them they shouldn't be able to feel a thing; but they do. They both do.

And Bruce gasps, once, mouth closing on Dick's chin and hands tightening in his hair, on his ass.

Teeth on his collarbone, hot breath insinuating into the tiny space between the top of his suit and his bare skin underneath. He wants to be naked, but a part of him doesn't know if that will -- if it could -- make it better.

Dick finds the almost imperceptible curve of Bruce's ear under the cowl, locks his own teeth around it. He's rewarded with another groan.

Bruce's hips are moving in counterpoint to his, finding his rhythm effortlessly and rocking him back against unyielding stone again. Dick's bent back over the gargoyle in a way normal people couldn't without bones being broken. He might come just like this, in his pants like a teenager, necking and dry-humping.

He's not a teenager anymore, though. The fact that this is actually happening is the surest proof of that.

He knows the fastenings on the Batsuit, better than anyone except Harold and Batman himself; he's worn it. Conditioning your body to privation only goes so far, and so there's a well-hidden and well-protected fly that doesn't require time-consuming or compromising undressing. Dick has it open faster than he can pick a lock, and feels the full-body wince when he shifts his own hips back to move the restricting cup out of the way.

But Bruce doesn't try to stop him.

Just plunges back in his mouth tongue-first, hungry but in no hurry. There's no reason why Bruce should know the fastenings on the latest iteration of the Nightwing suit, but he does, or he's just learning as he goes, gloved and blind.

No one has instincts like Bruce.

The flexible panel that allows Nightwing freedom of movement Batman can only aspire to springs aside, and a hard hand under his bared ass pulls him up to meet Bruce's thrust. Hot skin on skin, and Dick's too close to the edge of orgasm with the first glancing slide of Bruce's erection along his own. He wraps one gauntleted hand around them both.

"Stop."

And Bruce... shakes. Once, but all over, and Dick knows he has about three seconds to put the train back on the rails before Bruce is gone, dick flapping in the breeze and all.

Bites back a laugh, because it really isn't all that funny, considering. "I want more. Than this." And he doesn't just mean that he wants a coupling more intimate and less like a high-school back-seat grope, but that much he could have said with just his body.

There's no pause for thought before the hand unwinds from his ponytail, cups the side of his face. Then it seems like he waits forever for the slight, curt nod, though it's probably only seconds. It's an answer, maybe more of one than Bruce realizes he's giving.

Dick rolls out from under the weight, the touch, the heat and the cape. He re-fastens his suit, not shivering against the cold and not-- He forces himself to look at Bruce.

Batman.

And maybe there's a little bit of Bruce around the eyes, and in the not-quite-loose set of his mouth, but.

That just makes it easier to leave.

He has his line-launcher aimed when Bruce says, "Dick. Wait." It's Bruce's voice; a request, not an order. He turns back.

Bruce is standing in front of the gargoyle, arms crossed, cape furled around him.

Dick holsters the line-launcher and takes up his own defensive posture, hands on his hips. Their best communication has always been nonverbal, and he doesn't object to that, he's just tired of settling for it.

They're meters apart on the rooftop, and further, until Bruce starts walking towards him, long strides swallowing the distance between them. Three meters; two; one. He can see Bruce steeling himself to speak, jaw working.

"I want that, too."

The cowl's still on, but the real mask, the one that's all in the muscles of his face, is gone, so Dick can live with the fact that the words aren't much.

"Okay," he says, and lets it be a question. An invitation.

The last few feet separating them fall behind the cape. Bruce reaches out, takes Dick's hands in his own, and leans in. It's his own question and invitation, Dick thinks, meeting the offered kiss open-mouthed. It's sweet but fleeting, and when their lips part Bruce whispers, "Come home with me."

And some part of Dick saw that coming, but not enough. Not enough to prepare. He feels himself stiffen all over.

Forces himself to relax.

"I. All right. For now."

Bruce half-turns, looks in the direction of where Dick knows the Batmobile is parked several streets away. There's no fucking way-- "I'll. Meet you there," he says.

Slaloming the motorcycle through Gotham's labyrinthine streets takes just enough concentration to keep him from having to think too much about what he's doing. What they're doing.

He uses the console to let Oracle know to reroute anything routine to Batgirl -- Tim's in for the night at Brentwood, studying -- the comlink would be easier, especially while he's driving, but then he'd have to actually talk to her.

He knows better than to think Batman is ever not on call.

The Batmobile's already parked when he decelerates through the end of the tunnel. Maybe he overcompensated just a little trying not to drive recklessly fast over here. The thought would be worth a smile if he wasn't so...

Bruce emerges from the driver's side door as Dick's swinging his leg over the bike, cowl already pushed back, leaving his face bare. The look in his eyes is hungry, and still open, and Dick wants to be fucked on the hood of the Batmobile, bent over and watching Bruce's reflection in the tinted windshield.

It's a thought he's had before, familiar as a nemesis, and that just makes it seem stranger to think it again, now. When everything's about to be different, or more the same than ever.

He pulls his hand away from the car's finish, and looks up to find Bruce watching him. And it isn't that the hunger is in any way lessened by the humor of a shared joke, it's just... leavened.

No one's basic humanity could ever be more surprising than Bruce's.

"Your bedroom," Dick says, and Bruce leads the way.

They leave their costumes in the Cave, some boundaries still being inviolable. It's newly weird to strip down together now, something they acknowledge with matched smirks of wry self-consciousness. There's a wardrobe stocked with workout clothes and robes. Alfred's away at Brentwood, there's no one upstairs, but they were both raised in this house; there's no question of their going naked through the halls of Wayne Manor.

Bruce has dozens of identical silk robes, black on grey brocade. Several are always kept down here. He pulls one on, and so does Dick.

The walk to the master suite is silent and almost comfortable. There's an equally direct route that leads past Dick's old room on the way there, but neither of them so much as blink turning the other way.

Sense memory hits him again the moment the door opens: this space that smells purely of Bruce, not the faintest hint of guano or high-octane or old blood, where once a boy snuck in to bury his face in pristine white sheets and yank frantically at his too-long-neglected erection until he'd stained them.

He won't find a flicker of shared amusement in Bruce's eyes for that. Alfred has a proper respect for confidences.

Bruce.

Who lets the robe slip from his shoulders as soon as the door closes. The brief strangeness from downstairs is back in full force, because they've seen each other naked hundreds, thousands of times, but never like this. Bruce is all broad shoulders and purposeful musculature, and just hard enough to point at Dick.

Dick's licking his lips before he realizes it, and yeah, he does want a taste, come to think. Bruce moves in first, though, sliding his hands into Dick's robe, sliding it open and off. And looking's a good thing, but it's got nothing on the smooth heat of skin-to-skin contact. He reaches up, tilts Bruce's head down for a kiss.

And this is.

It's nothing he expected.

Because the noise Bruce is making isn't so much loud as constant, moaning softly into his mouth, and it's the subtlest form of aggression.

Dick can't not swallow every sound, can't stop himself from reaching out and stroking his way over every muscle, every livid scar, just to get more.

"God, Bruce --"

Hands on his ass, pulling him in, and it's not that he doesn't want exactly that, it's just.

Maybe this is what it's always like when you finally get what you wanted?

This same disconnect of things expected and wanted and things completely surprising.

Because even knowing Bruce wanted him is nothing to having Bruce taking him.

And every kiss is a declaration, of both intent and belief, and Dick can't breathe and can't remember why he wants to.

Stumble-walks them back to the bed, and it's almost better that there's no grace in this, that neither of them seem to have any left, but then Bruce rolls beneath him like a wave of heat and muscle, and that good, good angle is gone, but, fuck.

He never wants to stop sliding all over Bruce, feeling him as a series of mind-burning points of contact -- friction and slickness and heat.

"Dick --"

It's the first sound Bruce has tried to cut off, and Dick thinks it has more to do with it being recognizable language than anything else. "Tell me."

And for a moment Bruce closes his eyes, and it's queerly -- young. A child's denial of an ugly, visual truth. But when he opens his eyes again, they blaze.

"Oh --"

"I want you."

And it should be obvious, or even silly, but. It's nothing but the truth, and a half-dozen indifferently terrifying things besides. It's Bruce, and the way hunger's pouring off him in a wash Dick can almost taste.

His belly seizes on it, twists, and it's something like being sick, but mostly it's just the pound of his own cock, naked and ready in a way he doesn't think his mind will ever be.

He doesn't have words.

He straddles Bruce, instead, rocking them together, and he thinks that if they can just lose themselves in this, then...

He feels like a coward.

It's everything he asked for, if not what he wanted, and now he's going to punk out?

He growls to himself and bites his way down Bruce's chest, less because it's something he's always wanted to do -- it is -- than because he wants to force himself into this.

This moment.

This taste of sweat and skin and the perverse caress of smooth scar tissue against his tongue.

Bruce's hands are in his hair, finally just pulling out the damned tie, and Dick takes a moment to shake it all loose, liking the way it fans out over Bruce's abdomen.

Liking it more when the muscles jump and twitch and flex while he watches.

"God, Bruce..."

And he has no idea what he wanted to say, but for once, for fucking once it's not important. Or at least not as important as --

"Dick --"

Bruce in his mouth, in his mouth, and he's drooling like a virgin, because, fuck, this is right. This is exactly what he wanted, taste of him both uniquely Bruce and simply male, weight and thickness and he knows he's groaning, knows this is probably the technical nadir of all blowjobs.

Knows he's not going to stop.

And the first thrust makes it even better.

And the second thrust makes him jet pre-come all over the sheets, because, fuck, deep.

He swallows in something between reflex and panic and Bruce doesn't pause, maybe can't.

Bruce fucks his way into his throat like it's exactly what he's been wanting to do for years, like he knows...

Dick looks up and Bruce is watching him, knife-blue eyes wide and vulnerable and still so hungry.

And he wants to ask what he can do, what else he can do, but he knows that hunger is always going to be there, no matter what.

And, fuck, he wants.

Pulls off just as slow as he wants to, and then forgets that plan because teasing the head of Bruce's cock is the best game in the world.

Salty and slick and just soft enough that he has to make his kisses hard, and he can't even look at Bruce anymore, it's too intense, but the image of him squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back against the pillow is burned into his mind, anyway.

Bruce groans loud enough to make him shiver.

I love you, he doesn't say.

Bruce's hands, carded through his hair.

Always, always --

And Bruce pulls him the rest of the way off and snakes his free hand down to yank on his balls. "More. I want --"

"Yeah."

Because fuck, that's awful, and yeah, he could've just said "no, I don't want to come yet," and Dick could've said "hey, it's not like this is the only time."

But. He doesn't really believe that. Even now.

And the kiss leads into a roll, leads into being pressed down to the mattress with Bruce, God, all over him.

Still almost enough broader, taller, bigger than Dick to fucking surround him, and that's wonderful, but.

Naked, skin, has to get his legs up and --

"Bruce --"

And whatever he was going to say is swallowed in the next kiss, and the next. Bruce's hands hard on his shoulders and Bruce's eyes wide open.

Drinking him in.

"Fuck me," he says, and he can't decide if it's better or worse that it doesn't come out as desperate and lost as it did in all the fantasies, but it makes Bruce flare like there's a sun under his skin.

Makes his hand tremble on Dick's chest, holding him down, holding him there like he thinks Dick will try to move.

Classy little bottle of lubricant that's all about Bruce and nothing to do with Batman, and the first slow finger makes him flex and arch, but yes, yes, they can talk with their bodies, because Bruce doesn't even ask.

Two fingers without a pause, up and thick and hard and in, and it's not that he needs any help keeping his leg up, but it's so good to have Bruce's free hand cupping the back of his thigh that he has to push back, writhe all over the sheets, and he doesn't have to look because he can feel Bruce watching.

Wanting him.

Hard, deep thrust and his body doesn't know whether or not it's pain, but -- "More, Bruce, God don't stop --"

"So beautiful..."

And Dick's eyes fly open and Bruce is there, right there, like Dick has fallen into a three-dimensional world for the first time, and he has to touch.

Reach up and just... not pull him down, not move him at all, just pet his mouth into a snarl, a smile --

Bruce sucks his fingers in and his eyes are still open, unblinking with silent demand. Know this. See this. And for a moment Dick can almost believe that he can say everything he hasn't, that he can do it with more than just his desperate body.

And he has to turn his head, and that makes Bruce stop, one hand working with steady practicality inside him and the other sliding out from under his thigh to catch him by the chin.

Bruce forces his face back up.

Doesn't say anything -- can't say anything with Dick's fingers in his mouth.

And then he pushes his fingers into Dick's mouth.

Bracing himself on his knees and fucking him with both hands, and Dick throws his leg up, pushing down on Bruce's shoulder with his foot, and God, the stretch. Bruce bites his fingers and just holds them between his teeth, still staring.

Still moving, and Dick wants to swallow his fingers, flexes around the fingers in his ass and moans and shakes and wants.

Briefly harder bite and Bruce lets his fingers go, licking at the tips for a moment that makes Dick bite, makes him reach back for the headboard and hold on, because this is going to shake him apart.

"Now."

Not a question, and Dick's eyes roll back in his head even as his body arches itself off the bed.

Slow slide out and Dick bites hard enough to taste blood, chokes at the first hot, blunt push.

And Bruce tugs on the fingers in Dick's mouth, and letting them go is just another excuse to cry out, to yell, especially with spit-slick fingers sliding up and down the outside of his leg.

Especially with Bruce screwing his way in, fucking his way in, and --

"Fucking blink, man," and Dick laughs at himself.

Laughs harder when Bruce does, once, with obvious deliberation, and then it's just another groan.

Wiry curls against his ass and endless scarred muscle everywhere he can reach, everywhere he can see, and he gets a better grip on the headboard just so he can slam himself back the instant Bruce is almost all the way out.

Savage little growl and Bruce is tightening his hold, rocking in fast and hard, and Dick isn't even close to being able to hold in the sounds, even if he wanted to.

Right now...

Right now he wants to shout the whole fucking manor down around them, wants Bruce to force every scream, every needy little wail right out of his body, just like --

That. Can't even call it speech. Just something between an exhale and a groan and --

"Fuck me --"

And Dick loses all desire to climb Bruce like a lust-addled monkey -- gymnast is far, far too much to ask for right now -- because, fuck, hard.

So deep that all that comes out is air, and the barest edge of a whimper. He can't feel anything but Bruce's cock in his ass and Bruce's gaze on him like weights on his chest.

Or. Maybe he can feel it, but it's all about Bruce right now.

The brush of Bruce's palm on his thigh, the sharp bite of teeth on his ankle, and Bruce, Bruce moving. Hips snapping and rolling and grinding and there's a brief, absurd image of taking the man to one of Dick's favorite clubs, utterly burnt away by the slick-sticky hand on his throat.

"Bruce, I need you, fuck, I need you --"

And Dick bites his lip hard, but he won't look away. Not from this. Not now.

This is... this is everything, and right now the only thing he wants more than to be pretzeled up and fucked senseless is to do it again.

And Bruce clutches his thigh hard with one hand and his hip with the other and just... lets go.

Every thrust harder, faster than the last, and Dick feels like he should be on display, that someone should see this, if only because he can't quite believe it, fantasies flashing through his mind on endless loop.

Bruce, hip deep in him while he scrabbled for purchase on a gargoyle.

Bruce, swallowing him down in grim, implacable silence while Dick tried not to beg.

Bruce in him, just like --

Now, barely pulling out at all before driving back in again. And again, and his mouth is open now, more of those killing little groans escaping with every thrust, more pressure, and, fuck, sweat pattering onto Dick's chest from Bruce's own.

"Come, Bruce. Come in me..."

And Bruce gasps like Dick's punched him, forces Dick's other leg up from where he'd had it braced on the bed, up around his waist, and the rhythm is staggered, rough. Something that should be pathetic, but just feels incredible, ratcheting him up and bringing him down, and he reaches for his own cock just in time for Bruce to drop the leg from his shoulder and smack Dick's hand aside.

No explanation, no words left for either of them, even when Bruce pulls out.

Even when he pushes Dick over onto his belly and yanks him up on his knees by the hips.

Burning slide in and Dick's almost sobbing now, pressing his face to the pillow and begging, needing, and Bruce doesn't stop.

Grabs a handful of his hair and pulls, and Dick screams to the headboard and grabs two fistfuls of the sheets and.

Gives up.

Everything he had left, maybe everything he is, because Bruce has him.

And Bruce isn't letting go.

"You don't. You don't know how badly --" Cut off by a helpless, hurt-sounding moan and Bruce yanks on his hair and squeezes his hip hard enough to leave fingerprints and slams back in.

One last time.

Coming hard, and shaking his way through it, silent except for a series of gasps that drive Dick higher, get him so close --

And then Bruce collapses, bracing himself on his own quick hands and managing to only actually remove a scant handful of the hair on Dick's head.

It would be funny if his cock wasn't so hard he can't see.

"Bruce. Fuck, you have to touch me."

And Bruce is on him, sliding down for a better position and tugging Dick's knees down flat to the bed.

And licking his way up like something out of the world's best anatomy lesson. Quads, fuck, glutes, up and up to the obliques, and Dick can't stop humping the mattress. He feels so young and he feels like the most beautiful creature on the planet, something made for sex, something that's supposed to feel just like this --

Staked out on the rack of his own need.

"Bruce..." And it's less a word than a sound forced beyond his thick tongue and bitten lips.

Bruce brushes the hair off the back of his neck and kisses him there, slow and maddening and purposeful. Slides his hands up to twine with Dick's own.

Bites his way to Dick's ear. "I want. I want you in me, Dick."

Dick manages not to lose it right then, barely, by forcing himself not to think of what comes next. There's no way he's not going to give Bruce what he wants. What he asked for, and that has him needing to squeeze himself, hard, clench every muscle he has to hold on to what's left of his control.

And there's no amount of control that could have made him pull out from under Bruce's perfect, blanketing weight, as good as he always knew it would be, but he rides the inevitability of it, untangling their limbs.

Pushes Bruce down to the mattress with a hand on his back, leaning into it until the breath groans out of the man. Crawls backwards down the bed.

Grips him by the backs of his knees and spreads him. And it's all there, his softened but still twitching cock, his heavy swinging balls, the red pucker of his ass standing out against pale skin and dark hair like something out of Dick's best nightmares, his flexing back marked with scars that still haven't known his tongue.

Laid out like a feast of his fantasies.

He licks one long line from the underslung curve of Bruce's sac up through his cleft. Maps textures -- suede-soft, crisp-haired, yielding-tender, oil-smooth -- and then he veers away from the arch of Bruce's spine to bite at scars on either side.

"Dick."

He moans against a mouthful of muscle, because Bruce sounds almost broken.

"Fuck me."

And Bruce is on the verge of begging, he can hear it in his voice, and Dick doesn't want to hear that, ever.

"Lube," he grates out, his own voice strained and strange.

Bruce reaches back blind, pours the right amount unerringly over Dick's hand, rises up on his knees.

Fuck, Bruce is tight. Dick's fingers slide in slickly and he's so hard it feels like he'll break and he's not going to be able to do this right.

"Bruce --"

"Just. Do it." It's a growl, hungry and low and Bruce and he rubs his lube-wet hand once down his cock and pushes in.

And Bruce is too tight but he's pushing back hard, and Dick just fucks his way in, short, hard, hard strokes, and Bruce is shaking. So hot and still so tight Dick almost can't move, and this wouldn't work at all without all his strength and Bruce's working in counterpoint.

He can feel Bruce trying to relax around him, but he can't stop shoving in, angling for Bruce's prostate and hitting it, making him tighten even more. He's still thrusting back into every stroke.

Dick feels his orgasm coming again, and is still surprised when it slams into him, stealing his breath and drawing his clenching hands down from Bruce's shoulders to his ass, clawing red crisscrosses through the raised white scars.

Bruce tightens around him again. Again.

There's no post-orgasmic drain, not even the muscle-deep tiredness of a good workout; Dick is wired, thrumming with energy.

He's still hard. He eases out of Bruce's ass, slow enough that they're both hissing, hands holding Bruce's hips like he might try to move.

Slides one around and Bruce is. Hard. Again.

Pulls him over onto his back, and feels like he'll fall into the dilated black of Bruce's eyes and never find his way out again.

Looking up at him like he wants to say something he's too breathless to get out, but Dick doesn't need the words. They're in every line of Bruce's body now, and maybe in his own, too, he thinks:

I want more.

Like it's always going to be there now. Like it hasn't always been there before tonight.

Like their best communication is always going to be nonverbal, and changing everything isn't going to change anything at all.

So when he puts his shoulders to the backs of Bruce's calves and pushes into him again, it's bruising, brutal, even though Bruce is finally relaxed enough that Dick slides in almost easily.

He can almost get lost in the pure physicality of it. Almost.

Wraps his hands around Bruce's biceps, fingertips pressed to ridges of sinew, loving that he can barely span the breadth of the man's arms. That the muscle is so unyielding he might as well be gripping stone.

Clamps his teeth onto a nipple, rides out the rise of Bruce's chest into the bite, working it into his rhythm.

And it's not like having Bruce under him like this isn't something he's fantasized about for what sometimes seems like his whole life, almost as much as he's always wanted Bruce to take him, but somehow he never pictured them being able to do this as equals.

So this isn't actually like he'd imagined; it's too mutual, it's too intense and there's too much control. But the truth at the base of every fantasy is still there:

They want this. And maybe it won't wreck everything, after all.

Bruce's fingers thread back into his hair, stroking sweat-damp strands away from where they'd stuck to his face, cupping his skull.

He looks up through the swinging veil of hair that's escaped Bruce's ministrations, watching Bruce's eyes watch him, watching his tongue wet his lips, watching his throat work as he swallows.

Stretches forward on a down-stroke, knowing he can't quite reach past Bruce's collarbone in this position, and Bruce curls up, abs flexing, to meet him for a messy, toothy kiss.

It's long and hungry, and Dick's undulating to hold it without slackening the roll of his hips. It's eventually going to do serious damage to his spine, but he needs this, needs the way they're both straining for it as much as the kiss itself.

But he can't hold it, and ducking his head to rub his cheek along Bruce's, to refasten his mouth to the thickly-corded neck, is almost as good.

Sucks just lightly enough not to leave a mark. Stops sucking and digs in with his teeth when Bruce growls.

And now he feels his erection starting to subside; but he's not ready for this to be over. He brings one of Bruce's hands to his mouth, sucking his fingers and licking them wet. "In me."

Bruce's fingers are so big, broad and callused and entirely too good at this, sliding back into him, and he's still loose and slick enough that they'd have gone in easily if Bruce hadn't started with two, pushing him open.

He moans into Bruce's shoulder, bites it, shifts his weight so he can brace himself on one knee and hook the other leg over Bruce's arm. And feeling smug that he can do that is probably at least as good as what it gets him: Bruce's fingers in deep.

Dick shoves back against them and bites down hard when Bruce comes back with three. Muffles a shout in that broad shoulder when they jab into just the right spot.

He's hard now, oh yeah.

Rocks up to meet the next thrust from Bruce's hand and slams back into him, putting as much into it as his leg will let him, which is close enough to enough that it doesn't matter.

And the sound Bruce makes is all vowels and growl. So Dick does it again.

Keeping his leg raised is too much of a distraction, so he tucks his foot behind Bruce's flexing arm, loving the stretch, loving how he can feel Bruce's muscles work against his Achilles tendon like a violinist's bow.

Teamwork. This is what they've always been best at.

Which thought is a laugh waiting to happen, or at least a smirk, but it's too good to hold on to the humor, all perfect rhythm like some kind of flesh machinery, and he has nothing like control over the sounds he's making.

It's a little like when he's gunning a motorcycle down a long straightaway, going so fast and smooth he feels like he'll just take off and fly, and he just keeps the revving the engine.

It's the moment when he first lets go of the trapeze, swinging free into empty space in a move that only makes sense when you think about it -- and Dick never does.

It's Bruce, right here, in him and around him and his.

And Dick just keeps licking and nipping Bruce's arm and shoulder and neck, and just keeps snapping his hips between Bruce's ass and Bruce's hand.

The rhythm's perfect, so perfect. Almost too perfect, and he tries shifting out of it, tries to ramp it down just a little, or speed out of it, because right now it's so good it's scary.

Bruce won't let him.

Forces Dick to stay in tempo with the obdurate motions of his own hips and hand.

And that's so Bruce that Dick swallows a laugh and just goes with it, throws himself into the rhythm Bruce is holding so insistently until he's outdoing him in vigor at least.

Impaling himself on Bruce's fingers. Stabbing into Bruce so hard the mattress creaks under his ass before Dick pulls back to do it all again.

He lifts his face away from Bruce's shoulder, his head away from Bruce's fingers in his hair, back arching, and his breath catches at the expression on Bruce's face. Somewhere between a smile and a snarl, between satiation and hunger.

Bruce's eyes bore into his like he's reflecting that same primal look back; and maybe he is. But there's more there, too.

Bruce's hands tighten on his shoulders: come here.

He goes.

He stretches forward to tease Bruce's mouth open, licking at his lips until they're kissing, sweet and sensuous this time, and it doesn't clash with their rhythm at all. Wraps his arms around the back of Bruce's neck and just...

Savors it. He can't imagine any comfortable, companionable cuddle after this ends, so he's going to take as much of it as he can now, while it's still possible.

Strokes the damp curls at Bruce's nape with just the most sensitive part of his fingertips, learning the feel of him.

Tries to slow the kiss down even more, and Bruce's free hand slides back into his hair, combing through the strands, caressing at the roots. The other is still working wonderfully in his ass; Dick flexes his ankle against Bruce's triceps in appreciation.

And he does his best to catalogue the tastes and textures of Bruce's mouth, working his way methodically from one side to the other, but he keeps getting distracted by Bruce's tongue playing with his own.

Bruce, playful. He can go with that. Smiles into the kiss.

And it's not like they're not still fucking, or that the rhythm is losing any of its intensity, but it's nothing he feels a need to escape, any more. Instead it's so comfortable he can almost relax into it.

So good he never wants this to end.

Bruce's hand disentangles from his hair, drifts down over his temple, traces the curve of his eyelid inward, curves down alongside his nose, and Dick turns into the touch, breaking their kiss briefly. Opens his eyes and has no idea when he'd closed them, because he never wants to forget the way Bruce looks right now.

Staring up at him, lips parted, face flushed, eyes intent and faraway all at once.

Stroking Dick's cheekbones, his eyebrows, fingers framing his --

And suddenly Dick knows exactly what Bruce is doing, what he's seeing. The mask he left down in the Cave, or. It's hard to tell, Bruce's hands are shaking just slightly and slipping in sweat, but it feels like he's sketching a smaller mask. Robin's mask.

And it's maybe the sickest thing possible that that should be what finally pushes him groaning over the edge again, but it does.

He's still moaning through the aftershocks when Bruce's hand freezes on his face, squeezes just enough that Dick starts to worry about bruises, and he's pulsing against Dick's belly, adding a thicker wetness to the sweat-soaked skin.

Bruce's other hand slips out of his ass.

Dick eases his leg down and back, moves his own hands to the bed and some of his weight to them. Lets his head hang down, his hair falling into something like a screen between them.

Stares at Bruce's chest, following sweat droplets with his eyes as they inch through the forest of dark hairs, watching a tiny muscle tic above one nipple shift the landscape of skin around it.

He knows what's coming. This can't happen again, Bruce will say.

And Dick has no energy left to argue.

He shuts his eyes so tight he sees stars.

Bruce's hand is still on his face, still stroking him, and it's not soothing at all. Or.

It probably should be soothing, and maybe even would be if they weren't exactly who they are, or. God, he really can't think.

And when Bruce finally does move his hand, it's almost instinct to pull away, just like it is to freeze when Bruce catches him by the wrist.

No longer hungry, but still hard, demanding in its own Bruce way.

Dick blinks once, again. Pulls on something like his game face. Looks up through his hair, not quite up to tossing it over his shoulder. Not here.

And Bruce... fuck. He's working for it, Dick can see him working for it, for the control and his own game face. The old, familiar bitterness is a pathetic lump in his belly. Tired, yeah. "It's okay."

"No."

Vehement enough to make him jump and blink a little more. "Okay..." This is exactly where that body communication could do them some good.

He really should ask Tim what grunts and signals he's worked out for all those times when he actually wants to talk to Bruce about feelings. Fuck knows he never figured it out.

Twists his hand free and kneels up, sitting on his heels and smiling ruefully. "Maybe if we tried this in another language."

"Te amo."

Not even a hesitation, but he's just a little too wrung out to be, precisely, surprised. "I know. What are you going to do about it."

"Ya ne znayu." The barest hint of a smile.

Russian. Jesus. "That's fair." Dick scrubs his hands back through his hair, half-searching for the tie. Bruce tosses it to him without looking away from his eyes. It's damp with sweat and for a gut-roiling moment he wants to lick it. Something like a silent whimper from his balls.

"That, too."

Dick raises an eyebrow.

"I could say it in Romany."

Trapped between sick and sweet, but he remembers the first morning he'd woken up for school to find Bruce already dressed and in the study, laboriously teaching himself the language. "Don't."

"Dick --"

"You know, I'm suddenly really getting this, Bruce. The... the fucking difficulty. I used to think... I don't know what I used to think."

"That I didn't want this. That I didn't think about it the same way you did. That --"

Dick puts a hand up. "Yeah, okay. That." Shakes his head. "I think I get it now."

"I wish you didn't."

"I get that, too."

"I want you to stay. I want you here, in Gotham."

And for a moment he can picture it. Alfred magically making all of his favorite foods appear, like it was just an extended holiday visit. The Gotham criminal element not knowing what hit them, because Batman, Robin, Oracle, and Nightwing? They could make it work. They had made it work, professionally and even (mostly) personally, for years. And suddenly it's not so painful to think about. Or not...

It was always easier when Barbara was the disembodied voice of Oracle, or his friend Babs, but no more than that.

And he could have Bruce, every dawn, in this bed. Dick swallows hard. "I don't think I can. Do that."

And Bruce actually laughs. "I think you'd wind up killing me."

And what does it say about him that the smile on Bruce's face hurts to look at?

Bruce sits up and reaches out, fingers gentle on his face and not gentle at all on his chest and belly, tracing patterns in sweat and come that probably aren't random in the least. "What do you want to do?"

Dick catches his hand and holds it against his stomach, squeezes hard. "Try this conversation again after about eight years of therapy?"

"The doctors probably wouldn't have anything good to say about the mask. I've given it some thought."

And Dick laughs so hard he chokes on it. "Fuck, don't. Don't do that."

Another rueful little smile. "I don't think I have any idea how to... how to be Bruce here. With you."

"I don't think I know how to handle you trying. Fuck, that sounds --"

"True." And Bruce shifts his hand under Dick's just enough to squeeze his fingers. "I haven't exactly given you the chance to get used to it."

"You could always try to ease me into things. Glare at me at least one hour a day. Disappear at random intervals."

"Refuse to have sex with you?"

Tempting to push Bruce's hand down, sore or not. "No."

The smile this time is easier to take. Narrower, more intent. "All right..."

And for a long stretch of seconds they just stare at each other, and somehow, somehow that makes it easier. Dick nods, and Bruce nods back, and he can move. Drop Bruce's hand and jump down off the bed, wincing at the jolt of it and effortlessly, reflexively cataloguing the flash in Bruce's eyes.

It's not a victory anymore so much as just... one more bit of truth.

Between them and binding them.

He can live with that.

Dick grabs a robe off the floor and walks out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

end.

http://buggery.livejournal.com

>>48849
More Jason please.

>>52014

No love for DickBats?
/coq/, am disappoint.

>>52592
Whoops, wrong pic.

>>52594
I love dickbats and kindly ask for more.

Nickname "Dickbats" makes me giggle.
Am immature.

Na na na na na na na na DICKBAAAATS

>>53282
That's Bruce. Just saying.

>>52594
what's this from?

>>53385
Red Robin #14

I'll just leave this here

>>52594
Batman: now with FEELINGS!

>>53461
Ah, one of the first slash pics to give those special tingly feelings...

Thank you Jo Chen. Thank you.

Last night I asked /co/ who should play Nightwing in a movie (if there ver will be an opportunity that is).
Some people said Matt Bomer and I liked it.

Thoughts?

>>54825
How are we supposed to tell? That's not a picture of his ass.

>>54828

BETTER?

>>54828

EXHIBIT B

>>54837

Inadequate. :[

Bump.