Title: Cortado a su medida (Reference en español) (6616 words) Fandom: DCU (Post-Robin: Year One) Series: Hábito del alma / Habit of the soul (Story #1) Summary: Everything Dick has ever done with Bruce has made him better in some way or another. Warning: Adult. Content some readers may find disturbing, with good cause. Notes: Devin Grayson's Inheritance and LC share the blame. Betty beta-read it and told me I was being silly. Dick knows the other guys in his gym class are taller than him -- that's pretty obvious -- and that they've mostly got more body hair than he does. He doesn't let it bug him. He's heard Alfred talking with Bruce about delayed development and how it sometimes happens with lack of sleep and physical exertion. He knows what that means, too -- if he's got to look younger than he is to be Robin, then he'll do it. He doesn't push himself any less than he needs to, even when some of the guys start calling him "Little Dickie." If he was allowed -- which he's totally not -- he could kick their butts in a heartbeat. He doesn't talk about it with Bruce, either. There's no point. Bruce probably went through his share of putting up with stupid people who didn't know or understand about what it's like to have a mission, a purpose. When the guys start talking about girls, he feels kinda uncomfortable, though, because he likes girls -- Donna and all -- but they're just not as important as all of the stuff he has to get done every night. "And then Linda let me put my hand in her bra," one of the guys says, and the other ones laugh. "She's such a slut." Dick wants to yell at him not to talk about her that way -- Linda's a nice girl -- but it would just make things worse. Plus, the guy is a foot taller than he is, and he'd have to pretend to get beat up. He walks away instead, trying to find a middle ground between being smarter than they are but not as smart as he really is. When he's at home, he tries thinking about girls' breasts, but they're not particularly captivating. He's seen them all over the place -- on the prostitutes they protect sometimes, through windows when they're staking out somebody showering or having sex, and even on dead, naked bodies, though he tries to not think about that last category. None of the thoughts make him hard, even though that's been happening a lot more often lately. He's had a couple of dreams that made him wake up sticky, but Alfred hasn't said anything about it. He just changed the sheets. But Dick doesn't need to put him to the extra trouble right now, so he gives up on it and does his science homework instead. After patrol, while he's taking a shower, the thoughts come back again, with the extra added bonus that it was Catwoman they were chasing. Her breasts are a lot better to look at than girls like Linda's because she knows how to really move her body, not to show them off, but to fight. Dick thinks about what Catwoman looks like, fighting Batman, and he's hard all of a sudden, biting his lip with the way it feels. He's usually supposed to take a really fast shower and talk to Batman about the patrol, in case there was anything he should've noticed that he didn't, or, increasingly, stuff he saw that Batman didn't. Every time he can add to the report, he feels really proud of himself. But he can't make himself stop being hard right now by just thinking about it, so he wraps his hand around himself and thinks about Catwoman some more, and when that's not enough, he thinks about the way she trades blows with Batman, quick and dangerous -- and before he realizes it, he's coming and moaning. "Dick?" Bruce asks, coming into the shower. "Did you hurt yourself?" Dick moves his hand, but he knows Bruce is nowhere near dumb enough to miss what he was doing. To make it worse, he's blushing. He turns to face the spray and tries to hide it. "I'm okay." Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. "There are better ways to deal with that," he says, and his voice is low enough that he sounds like Batman. Dick turns and looks up at him. He's naked, too, and sweaty from all the work they did. "I'm sorry." Bruce shakes his head and moves his hand to Dick's cheek, petting him lightly. "You need to be careful to conserve your energy, that's all." Dick nods and bites his lip. "I -- I don't -- much." "Yet," Bruce says, pressing his lips together and not entirely hiding a smile. The other guys in gym class sure talk about it all the time. "I guess," Dick says. "Sorry." "Don't worry about it, yet," Bruce says, patting his cheek again and letting him go. "If it starts being an issue, though -- anything that affects your training, or your work --" Dick says, "I promise," and ducks his head. "I'll tell you." Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "Excellent. Go and change, now." Dick grabs a towel on the way out, then pulls on a set of sweats. In another three minutes, they're going over the day's report as if nothing happened, and Dick can meet Bruce's eyes again. <center>~^..^~</center> In another couple of months, it is a problem. Dick keeps getting hard in the middle of patrol and it's distracting him from paying attention to the stuff that's important. He can be just sitting on a rooftop, watching henchmen wander around, and he thinks of breasts or naked thighs or Bruce or his math teacher or anything and bam, he's hard and losing track of which of the guys over there is Bert and which one is Frank. He tries to put together a bunch of nasty mental images to fight it off, but it doesn't work as well as it should. Eventually, he ends up jerking off right before patrol and right after. Bruce gives him enough space that he doesn't feel rushed, but he always feels a little like he's wasting time, especially because it doesn't make the inconvenient erections any less frequent. He doesn't have any idea what Bruce's solution will be when he he finally gets up the nerve to say, after patrol and after a shower, "You know -- um -- how you said that, um, sometimes bodily functions get in the way of doing your job?" Bruce looks up from his notes on the day's work -- Man Bat, back in custody -- and raises an eyebrow. "Yes." Dick can't look at his face and say it. "Well -- it kind of is." "Kind of?" Bruce asks. "Kind of a lot." "I see." There's a pause, and Dick wonders if he should offer to take his clothes off or what. "Is it bothering you now?" It shouldn't be, because he just got off in the shower, but it is, and it makes Dick mad that he doesn't have enough self control. "Yeah," he admits, looking at the floor. Bruce turns his chair around and says, "Come here." He's not using a full on command voice, but he really doesn't need to. Dick still can't look at him. "I'm sorry," he says. "Don't be," Bruce says, putting a hand on his hip and pulling Dick onto his lap. Dick hasn't actually sat on his lap since he was a lot smaller than he is now, and he feels gangly and weird there. He puts his arm around Bruce's shoulders for balance and glances up at him. Bruce is smiling just a little. "It's all right, Dick." "If you're sure," Dick says, and he makes himself relax a little. Everything he's ever done with Bruce has made him better in some way or another. He's sure that this will help, too. Bruce kisses his forehead the way he used to when Dick was having trouble sleeping. "Entirely." He puts his hand in Dick's lap and rubs him a little through the sweatpants. His palms are huge and strong and even more calloused than Dick's. It makes Dick glad he just finished jerking off because otherwise he'd be coming in his pants. "Oh," he says, and he can feel his face flush again. "That's --" "Effective?" Bruce asks. This close, leaning against him, Dick can feel his chest vibrate when he talks. Dick bites his lip and nods. "Yes." It's too effective, really -- he's shivering and his hips jerk. "Sorry." "Don't apologize," Bruce says, letting him go for a second -- Dick takes a hissing breath -- to tuck his fingers under Dick's waistband. "Lift your hips." He's doing it before he has to think about it, responding to training and the fuzz of want in his head. Bruce pulls his sweats down around his thigh and he shivers again and the cold, then again when Bruce touches him for real. "This may be more to the point," Bruce says, his voice level and detached. Dick tries not to say anything because he knows if he does, he'll be hoarse and breathy. It would be too embarrassing to sound that way. So when Bruce runs his thumb over the head of Dick's dick, he puts his hand over his mouth and bites his knuckle. It's just too much to take silently. Bruce kisses his temple again and says, "If you try to hold it back, the release won't be as efficacious." "Efficacious!" Dick laughs and groans, hearing his own voice echo in the cave. "Oh god -- Bruce -- you should've talked to the health class, because --" he buries his face in Bruce's shoulder to stop another moan from being deafening in his own ears. "It -- oh, please --" He can't stop his hips from jerking again, and every time Bruce squeezes him he's whimpering now. "Relax," Bruce says, speeding up his hand a little. Dick arches off his lap, holding on with his knees and his arm, and comes hard. "Oh --" he says, not entirely meaning to say anything, and then he feels himself blush again. "Sorry." Bruce blinks at him with the least comprehension Dick has seen in his expression in a long time. "Whatever for?" Dick waves a hand and sits up. "I shouldn't have needed that. You don't." "Not often," Bruce says, reaching for tissues from the console box, "but occasionally." Dick looks at him again, trying to figure out what Bruce needing sex looks like. "Now?" Bruce shakes his head. "No, I'm fine." He wipes them both off. "Let's get that report finished," he says, tossing the tissues toward the garbage. Dick slides off his lap and pulls up his pants. "Sure." <center>~^..^~</center> His head stays clear longer than it usually would, all the way to the next day after dinner. It's time to go out, and time to get into his uniform, but he can't get his mind off sex. Usually when this happens, it's a muddle of a bunch of different things. Tonight, it's that same muddle, plus the way Bruce felt holding him. He hates to bring it up when it's possible that Bruce holding him will be just as provoking as the thought, but he can't get calm enough to get dressed. By the time he gives up on himself, Bruce is already in the Batman suit and waiting. "What's the trouble?" Batman asks. Dick puts his head in his hands. "I know grown-ups don't go around ruled by their genitals all the time." Batman laughs and takes one of his hands, pulling him to his feet. "Many of them do." "Not like this," Dick says. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "I just can't think about anything important." "That can be a problem," Batman says. "And I already --" Dick waves his hand. "I mean, really, I should be fine, and I'm just --" he shrugs. Batman raises an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps there's something wrong with your technique." Dick stares at him. "What?" Batman looks totally serious. "There are different elaborations on the basic theme." "Yeah, but it's not like it doesn't work," Dick says. "It's just -- jerking off. You know." "That might be the problem," Batman says. Dick stares at him. "What -- I don't get it." Batman sits in the console chair and says, "There are a lot more things that contribute to pleasure than just -- simple stimulation of the sort you've probably been using." Dick rocks on his toes a little. "Okay. Um." He looks at the floor. "Well, I -- I've been -- not experimenting. Much." Batman says, "Come here," quietly. It's all the invitation Dick needs to sit on his lap and lean against him. He smells different in the uniform than he does in civvies: more real, more solid, and more dangerous. "I'm not sure what I should do instead," Dick says. Bruce puts the cowl back and gives him a measuring look. "Well -- start simple. Show me what you usually do." Dick hates the way he keeps blushing but he's not sure how to stop. "It's not that fancy." "Then we'll work on elaborations," Bruce says, and kisses his forehead. "I'm not sure it's worth watching," Dick says, and wriggles a little. He's kind of okay with the idea that this isn't just what people do by themselves, but it's still way out there to think about having someone right there staring at him. Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "Let me be the judge of that." It's not the most convenient place to tug his pants down, but if the point is to show Bruce what he's doing, it's probably the easiest spot to be. Also, and more to the point, he can brace himself on Bruce's thighs while he's moving and it's a lot more exciting than just being in bed. He closes his eyes after a couple of seconds and falls into the normal rhythm, leaning against Bruce's chest. A particularly quick stroke makes him whimper. Bruce asks, "What are you thinking about?" Dick opens his eyes and stops for a second so he can breathe and put words together. It hadn't really been anything until Bruce asked, but now he's got an answer. "Kissing you." Bruce strokes his hair. "Ah." He's right there, close enough -- and not moving, and not pushing Dick away -- so Dick goes for it, even without an invitation, and puts an arm around Bruce's neck to pull him down into a kiss. He keeps his lips closed because he's heard about French kissing, but it sounds gross and he's not sure he could do it right first try. "Dick," Bruce says against his lips. Dick lets him go and ducks his head. "Sorry. Sorry." "Don't be," Bruce says quietly, stroking Dick's cheek with his fingers, then tipping his chin up to kiss him again. It's wet and soft and tingly, and Dick has a moment where he wants to say, "Oh, so that's what the whole tongue thing is about," but he's afraid it would make him sound like an idiot, so he doesn't. "Oh," he says when Bruce lets him go. "That was --" He puts his arm around Bruce's neck again and kisses him more. "Dick," Bruce says again, "we need to patrol." Dick shivers and leans against him. "Right now?" Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "The sooner, the better." Dick shivers. "Well, I can -- just -- give me a minute --" Bruce chuckles and puts his hand over Dick's. "Perhaps it would be more to the point if I helped." Dick bites his lip to stop himself from moaning, then remembers Bruce telling him not to bottle stuff up, yesterday. "Okay," he says, and it sounds shaky. He's afraid he's going to sound freaked out the whole way through. But he doesn't have to worry the next second because Bruce kisses him and strokes him at the same time, and even though Dick knows he's groaning he can hardly hear himself. He wants to enjoy it for a long time, but he can't catch his breath while Bruce is kissing him. He has to give in to it and to the heat that rushes through him, too soon and too fast. Bruce doesn't seem mad about it. "Better?" he asks. Dick grins at him, then kisses him again. It feels more daring when it's not for a purpose, but Bruce lets him. "I think I'll be okay now. Thanks." Bruce nods. "Go get dressed, Robin." Before he does it, he kisses Bruce again. It makes Bruce smile and squeeze his shoulder. During patrol, they end up chasing a bunch of muggers down and smashing up a bar, which is always exciting but means Dick has to be extra careful about showering to make sure he doesn't go to school smelling like beer. Spending more time in the shower gives him more time to think about stuff he shouldn't think about right then, and he ends up covering his mouth to shut himself up while he thinks about kissing Bruce again. It's not enough of an issue to talk to him about, and even though Dick would kind of like to kiss him goodnight, he's too tall to reach to surprise that way when he's standing up. Also, he looks tired, and Dick's not going to push it. If Bruce is going to bed, it means he already wrote the notes up, even though right now he's organizing stuff for their belts. He says, "'night," quietly. "Sleep well," Bruce says. <center>~^..^~</center> The next evening, he can pretend it's just like a normal day, and that he's okay by himself while Bruce is off at some fancy dinner. He's not alone, anyway. Even though Alfred is really particular about never eating with him, he'll stick around and talk sometimes when Bruce is busy. "And everybody's trying out for baseball, now," Dick says, poking at the remains of his chicken. "A dull sport, to be sure." Dick makes a face. "Yeah, but it's hard when everybody's talking about it." Alfred does that little twitch that would be laughing on anybody else. "Perhaps you could tell them you've taken up cricket." "Ugh," Dick says, but it makes him smile. "No, I -- I guess I'll just tell them I can't hit a fast ball." "Indubitably false," Alfred says. "Would you care for more juice?" "No thanks," Dick says. "I wish I could tell them I was doing track, instead. I'm not that fast -- not really," he says, while Alfred arches an eyebrow. "It would be good practice. But I guess the throwing and jumping stuff wouldn't be fair." Alfred shakes his head a little. "Indeed not." Dick picks up his plate and silverware and ignores Alfred's glare. He's used to taking care of his own dishes, and it would be too weird to ask Alfred to do it when he's not even eating right now. "Or maybe I should put an Ace bandage on my knee or something, so I can tell people I got hurt doing something, and then they wouldn't bug me to try out." Alfred says, "God willing, it will only be a pretend injury, young sir." He doesn't actually body block Dick from taking his plate to the kitchen. Dick grins to himself and wonders if he's actually wearing Alfred down about dishes. Bruce gets back from the fancy dinner smelling like his date's perfume, and he winks at Dick when he gets in. "Elizabeth Harrison will never, ever speak to me again," he says. "What happened?" Dick asks, following him through the clock and down to the cave. "I accidentally spilled ketchup on her hand-tailored Parisian dress," Bruce says, "and then I told her the truth -- that seltzer water helps with stains -- and I tripped with that, too." Dick laughs. "Jeez, no wonder. Someday you're going to run out of girls to take to this stuff if you're always this clumsy." Bruce tousles his hair. "There is no end to the segment of society that is desperate to spend time with rich people," he says, and he looks kind of irritated. Then he smiles a Batman smile. "Fortunately for me, I suppose. Shall we go out on the town, then?" Dick grins at him. "Oh, yeah." <center>~^..^~</center> There's a bank robbery and they get in just in time for Dick to kick the gun up so the guy holding it shoots the ceiling instead of the security guard. "Thanks, Robin!" says the guard, and Dick gives him a big smile before he heads back for the roofs. "Good job down there," Batman says, and that's even better than the guard saying it. "I did my best," Dick says, trying to sound more humble than he actually feels. Batman nods. "You did." There's something else he's not quite saying, Dick can tell, but he also knows asking isn't going to get him anywhere. It just means there's something about Bruce's expression he can't read. He's antsy from that point until when they get back to the cave, but he knows better than to say something about it on patrol. Self-control may not be something he's good at, but he knows when to shut up about his shortcomings. When Bruce gets the top half of his uniform off, though, Dick hugs him and reaches up for a kiss. "I -- um." Bruce kisses him lightly and tousles his hair. "Again?" Dick blushes. "I'm sorry. I should be getting better about it." He lets Bruce go and runs his hand through his hair to straighten it while he tries to figure out how to seem like less of a dork. "Um -- do you need, you know, help?" "No," Bruce says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine, Dick." "You always are," Dick says, staring at him. "That doesn't make any sense. I mean, okay, you know what you need, but -- you don't ever want -- that?" Bruce shrugs and says, "Not often." He kisses Dick again, sweeter and longer this time. "It's not a pressing issue." "Really? I --" He backs away a step and bites his lip. "I guess I'm okay, too." Bruce frowns at him. "That is patently false, Dick." He'd hoped he wasn't quite that obvious. He looks at the floor. "I can cope." "It's not necessary," Bruce says, pulling him into another kiss. Dick holds onto him for balance. "Then it's not necessary for you, either," Dick says when he can talk again. Bruce shakes his head. "Dick --" Dick makes himself not shiver. "I'll go take a cold shower. And do a bunch of pushups. I'll be fine." He's pretty sure he's not telling the truth. For a second, he's sure the discussion is over, that Bruce will let him deal on his own. Then Bruce kisses him, putting his hand on Dick's shoulder. He can't stop the shiver this time, and when Bruce lets him go, he's gasping. "If you're sure," Bruce says. He feels like his whole body's flushed and he bites his lip hard. "Let me do something for you." "Eventually," Bruce says. He tangles his fingers in Dick's hair and kisses him again until he can't stop himself from whimpering. "For now -- this is what you need." Bruce always knows best, but that doesn't stop Dick from wondering. "Are you sure?" Bruce smiles at him. "Yes." "I don't get it," Dick says, but he puts his arms around Bruce's neck and stops worrying about it for now. If Bruce wants to kiss him until he can't breathe, then he's not going to complain. They end up back in that same chair, and Dick has a very clear thought that developing a pattern is a bad practice, but at the same time, he's pushing his shorts down and kicking them off. "Much better," Bruce says, stroking him gently. Dick makes some kind of incoherent sound and bites his lip. He's not even sure whether that was a gasp or what. "I could've done that," he says, even though it feels a lot better when Bruce does. "True." Bruce slows down and pulls him into another kiss. "But not that." Dick can feel how dopey his smile is. "No, you're right." Bruce opens one of the compartments on his belt and gets something out of it. Dick knows he should know which one it is, and what the stuff is, but Bruce is still teasing him and he can't put it together. "Up for something else you might not have done?" He's not all that sure what guys do together, not really -- he's heard people talk about butts, but that seems painful and improbable. But Bruce wouldn't ask him to do something uncomfortable unless it was for a good reason, like stretching after an injury to make sure everything heals right. "I guess so." Bruce kisses him again. "Spread your legs a little more." He does it -- still not far enough to actually feel like a stretch -- and bites his lip. "What're you going to do?" Bruce holds his fingers up. There's something shiny -- probably slick -- on them. "A different sort of stimulation," he says. "Oh," Dick says, "I tried using lubricant, and it was -- well, nice." He bites his lip. "Usually I guess I'm in too much of a hurry." "That's another useful alternative," Bruce says, "though not precisely what I had in mind." "No?" Dick catches his breath, trying not to whimper, as Bruce strokes him -- not his dick, but his ass. It's slippery as hell -- and it should be, with all that stuff on his fingers -- and it feels bizarre. It also makes him wriggle to get more of the sensation. Bruce asks, "Is that comfortable?" and it makes Dick force his eyes open to look at him properly. If Bruce can't tell, then this is even farther out there than Dick figured. "Yes," he says, "it's -- it's fine." Another wriggle, and it makes him shiver. Whatever those nerve endings are supposed to do, this is a good use of them. "I -- wow, I wouldn't have tried this." "I didn't think you would," Bruce says, and kisses him again. Dick's almost getting used to the way his tongue feels, not bored with it, but he doesn't focus on it so much as he did the first time he realized exactly what it was. Especially not when other parts of his body are saying stuff about fingers, and -- the way Bruce is moving them, against him and -- and into him, not a lot, not hard, just -- He has to break the kiss to say, "That's --" and then he can't finish the sentence until Bruce stops. "Don't stop." "Ah," Bruce says, and he starts again. "Pardon me if I err on the side of caution." Dick can feel himself shaking. Not just shivering -- this is worse than that, less controllable, and has to do with the way he's trying to move. He can't quite find the right angle. It makes him moan with irritation. "I -- it's okay, I -- I want you to -- do -- more of that," he says, embarrassed at how incoherent he is. More makes him even worse. He spreads his legs farther until he's not sure how he's not falling onto the floor, but another writhe makes him realize Bruce's arm is around his shoulders. Bruce would never let him fall. He thrusts his hips harder and Bruce clears his throat. "Do you need more stimulation than that?" If he stops and thinks about how he looks, he's going to have to shower right now to hide. "Yes," he says, letting himself just feel, just move and choke on a groan. He was expecting Bruce to touch his dick, something familiar, something he knows how to respond to -- but more of the same stimulation, two fingers probably, he can't tell, and he's throwing his head back and trying like hell to keep breathing. "Oh," Bruce says, and he sounds surprised. "You're lovely." It's not a word he's ever thought Bruce would call him, but he can't argue, can't say anything but "Oh god, oh, Bruce," and he's coming, arching back and pushing back as hard as he can. Bruce kisses him as soon as Dick's taken two deep breaths and started being able to think again. The first thought is 'I can't believe I came just from having fingers up my butt,' but he's not really going to say that out loud. The second thought he gets into a functional sentence. "I'm not your date, Bruce. Don't I get to be handsome?" Bruce blinks twice and Dick realizes he's a little flushed. "You're also handsome," he says, smiling. "But at that moment -- you were lovely." Dick blushes and wriggles a little. Bruce pulls his hand away -- out, and away, and it feels even stranger now. "I guess that's a compliment." "It was, yes." "Um," Dick says, because he's asked the question that's on his mind before and he's not sure if asking it a different way will help. "Do you like that, too?" "Sometimes." "Maybe tonight?" Dick says, smiling hopefully. Bruce shakes his head. "No, thank you." Dick gets up and realizes that lubricant is really not something he wants in any body crevice for any longer than necessary. It's itchy and it makes him feel squishy. "Why not?" "It's not necessary," Bruce says, but Dick remembers the way his cheeks were pink only a minute ago. "Would it be fun?" Sometimes Bruce lets him get away with things that are just plain fun, like doing extra somersaults while he's using a grapple even though it slows him down a little and isn't as safe as leaving them off. Bruce tries very hard to not have any expression at all, and if he wasn't doing it at Dick, at very close range and with his mask off, he'd be totally impossible to read. Dick knows him well enough to know he's trying like hell not to smile. "It would be," he admits after twenty-eight seconds, or it might be a full thirty -- Dick's still working on perfecting his time sense. Dick hugs him and gives him a big kiss, trying all the tricks Bruce has shown him so far, and Bruce hugs him back and lets him. Dick says, "I love you," in his next breath, and by then it's too late to think about whether saying that is a good idea. Bruce pets his hair and hugs him tighter, and he doesn't say anything this time for maybe a minute, just squeezes him and nuzzles his neck. "I'm not sure I've earned that," he says, quietly. The best answer isn't to get back into his lap by straddling his knees, but it's the most convenient answer. "A hundred thousand ways," Dick says, frowning at him. "You're -- you're -- Bruce, I --" Bruce puts his hand over Dick's mouth. "You should get to bed." Dick pushes his hand away, feeling choked. "I'll still love you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that." Something in Bruce's expression softens. "Then perhaps you should stay in bed for three days." "You know what I meant," Dick says. The choking feeling is going away. "Yes," Bruce says. He strokes Dick's cheek. "And you should let me touch you." Dick knows where the emergency releases on Bruce's uniform are, but if he tries to push the issue any more -- "Not tonight," Bruce says. "Then when?" This answer takes even longer, but at least this time Bruce is looking at him while he thinks. "When I have the same courage you have." Dick blinks at him. "What? You're much braver than I am." Bruce touches his lips and he shuts up. "No. I can't quite say -- what you said to me, a moment ago." "I know you love me," Dick says, and tries to kiss him, but Bruce shakes his head. "Three simple words -- when I've mastered them -- then perhaps I'll deserve what you want to give me." Dick splutters. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say." Bruce frowns. "Do you think I didn't mean it?" "No, I --" Dick hugs him again. "I know you don't say things you don't mean, but you don't have to tell me you love me. You show me all the time." "I'm not going to change my mind." Dick laughs and leans back to grin at him, even though Bruce is glowering. "I know that, too, but it's silly. Maybe we should practice." "Dick --" "Repeat after me," he says, "'I l--'" but Bruce grabs him by the ankles somehow and gets up in one fluid movement, holding him far enough above the floor that he doesn't hit his head and far enough away that he can't grab Bruce to trip him. "You need to practice your kicks until you don't have the breath to make stupid remarks," he says in his Batman voice. Dick gets ready to tuck when he sees the mats coming and rolls to his feet as soon as Bruce lets him go, dropping into a proper ready stance. "If I have to." He throws one, deliberately slowly, and makes a face. "It's bad enough with the lubricant, but -- do I get to wear my shorts?" Bruce raises an eyebrow at him and takes his undershirt off. "No." Dick groans. "Aw, man." "Try the spinning hook," Bruce suggests. When Dick lands, he glances at Bruce again, and finds him standing on the mats, naked. "Um -- are we sparring?" he asks. "Yes. Take off your armor." Dick raises his eyebrows. "Pulling blows?" "Absolutely." It's too cold to be naked and holding still in the cave, but as soon as Bruce is close enough to almost hit, there's no such thing as standing still. It's hard just to touch, not to follow through -- so much of the training they've done involved power because Dick didn't have it, or didn't know how to apply it. This is about speed. He has that, though it's distracting to be naked. Every touch that lands -- on his calves and arms, mostly -- is more distracting than it would be otherwise. When he throws a kick, he misses his shorts sincerely. "God, Bruce --" "If you're talking, you're not going hard enough," Bruce says, and aims a combination of punches and kicks at him that land in feather-light brushes on his side, too fast to block. "But --" Dick protests, and Bruce trips him. He has to use a flip to get back to his feet, and that leaves him vulnerable way too long to the kicks Bruce doesn't quite land. "Careless," Bruce says, and Dick grimaces and does the best he can to get under Bruce's guard. A series of kicks, a punch to draw his guard away, and Dick gets him right in the stomach, soft as a kiss. "There!" Bruce knocks him over a split second later and pins him to the mat. "You weren't paying enough attention." Dick gets his leg locked around Bruce's so that if he has to, he can flip them -- and realizes again that they're both naked. "Sorry," he says, and tries to catch his breath. "That's not sufficient," Bruce says, and grabs his wrists. Dick shakes his head. "If it were real, you'd have my back." "Not necessarily," Bruce says. "If something had happened to me --" Dick snorts and rocks his hips against Bruce. He gets Bruce to close his eyes for a second. "I probably wouldn't be naked." Bruce twists his leg free of Dick's and gets up, giving him a very stern look that does nothing to distract Dick. Even though Bruce keeps saying he's not interested in sex, he's hard now. "If you did that in the field, you'd get yourself in worse trouble." Dick gets to his feet smoothly and moves closer to him, not sure whether they're still sparring, or whether this is going to be a lecture. "I was making my defense particular to my opponent," he says, echoing one of Bruce's other speeches. "Go take a shower," Bruce says, turning away. "Come on, Bruce," Dick protests. "That's not fair." Bruce gives him another irritated look. "No? What would constitute fairness, then?" "I was using what worked best," Dick says. He's expecting a lecture. Bruce trips him instead and pins him, holding his hands on his hips, flat against the mat before he can get anywhere at all. "And it got you out of the pin, didn't it?" Bruce says. "Get out of this one." He's not sure where to start, which way he can roll without Bruce stopping him. But he doesn't get a chance to try before Bruce licks him -- licks him a lot -- and he's heard guys talking about this but it never really seemed like it would happen to him. Or that it could feel as good as it does to have somebody's mouth on him, moving fast and wet. "Ohh," is what he ends up saying, and when he rocks his hips it's not to try to get away. If Bruce was still worried about training, he'd stop and say 'That's not effective,' or something sharp like that. He doesn't let Dick go long enough to say anything at all, even when Dick manages to arch off the mat against the weight of the pin. "God, that's --" he can't manage any words at all for slick and perfect and something he never wants to stop. When Bruce lets his hand go, he can't keep from tangling it in Bruce's sweaty hair and hanging on. A nudge on the inside of his thighs and he's practically doing a split, anything to keep Bruce from stopping making him feel like's going to die of joy. "Please," he whimpers, and it echoes in the cave. "Please don't stop." Bruce makes a soft rumbling sound and presses a finger into him again. It burns a little, but he's still pretty slick. "Oh fuck," Dick says, and he's sure he's never said that word around Bruce before, and that he's going to get told off, right now -- but not right now, because Bruce isn't stopping. "God," Dick says, trying not to swear again, trying to remember how to curse in Estonian like the tiger handler used to so maybe, maybe it'll be a language Bruce doesn't know. "Please -- please --" if he tries to say anything else, it'll be the f-word again, and then maybe Bruce really would stop moving his tongue like that and pressing his finger into Dick. He wants to cover his mouth because he knows he's making a lot of noise, but that would mean letting Bruce go and he can't figure out how to do that. "Oh fuck yes," falls out of his mouth and he braces his feet on the mat and rocks, trying to find the perfect feeling, the best speed -- and when he does, he knows he's cursing again but he doesn't know what he's saying, and then for a little while he doesn't know anything. When he opens his eyes again, Bruce is lying next to him, leaning on him a little and petting his cheek, and everywhere Dick isn't touching Bruce he's freezing cold. "I -- I need a shower," Dick says, and it feels pathetic. He should be offering to do something like that for Bruce -- not that he's sure how to do it, but he definitely owes him something that feels that good. Bruce pats his shoulder and offers him a hand to balance on when he gets up. "You didn't get out of the pin," he says. Dick crosses his arms over his chest and shivers, then makes himself smile. "Sure I did. I'm up now, aren't I?" He can hear Bruce chuckle behind him and he wants to kiss him, but he wants to be able to feel his toes again first. By the time he's warm again, he's also completely aware of how exhausted he is. He's half asleep before he gets up the stairs and entirely unconscious the second his head hits the pillow. Escrito está en su alma
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