Title: To be thy father's pride (Reference) Fandom: DCU (Silver Age) Summary: Dick is much too old to sit on Bruce's lap and feel comfortable there. Pairing: Bruce/Dick Rating: Adult Warning: Content some readers may find disturbing. Notes: For Te, who dared me. Thanks to Reshelved for making sure it made sense. Dick is much too old to sit on Bruce's lap and feel comfortable there. He's gangling, and he's never entirely sure how long his legs are going to be when he wakes up in the morning. He's tall enough now that when they share a chair in the study, his toes touch the floor But Bruce still lets him, still kisses him on the forehead and hugs him and says, "It's time for bed." "I'm not tired," Dick says, and he's old enough that he knows how stupid it used to sound. Tall enough that when he turns around, he ends up kneeling on Bruce's thighs and feeling silly. Old enough, too, to know that when he puts his hands on Bruce's face and kisses him, it's not a game. It's dangerous, and it means Bruce has to deal with him, the fact of where he is and what he's doing. The fact that Dick is old enough to kiss people now, and that he has an erection. "Dick," Bruce says when Dick lets him go enough, "this is --" Dick is definitely not the only person in this chair who has an erection. "You can't tell me it's adrenaline. You --" He puts his hand on Bruce's erection. Bruce entirely lets Dick put his hand on Bruce's erection. And then he says, "This is inappropriate, Robin." He has plenty of time to push Dick's hand away, and he doesn't do it. Not in time to stop Dick from squeezing him through his pants before he gasps. Not before he -- pushes into Dick's hand. "Are you going to tell me to stop?" Dick asks. Bruce tangles his fingers in Dick's hair so fast it hurts and pulls him in to kiss him again. It feels like all the kisses he's ever dreamed of getting from Bruce, too hard and warm to be anyone else. There's something about the way Bruce's teeth feel on his lower lip that makes something in the world make a kind of sense that it never quite has before. Bruce lets his breath out when he lets Dick go, not sighing, but -- he sounds angry. "This is --" Dick squeezes him and Bruce grabs his wrist, but doesn't stop him. "Why?" Dick pets him, strokes him harder -- looking for the point where Bruce stops him -- but Bruce just closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and takes it. "I want to," and that sounds even stupider than "I'm not tired." "I want you," Dick adds. "I want this -- and everything you'll give me -- and -- Bruce, I --" he shakes his head. "Please." Bruce takes a shuddering breath and holds himself still. "Dick --" "And you want it." Dick squeezes him again, knowing exactly how hard he'll hit the floor from this height if he's wrong. Bruce groans. "Oh, god, yes." Dick kisses him again, thinks of all of the little things he's done -- do guys, does Bruce like it as much as girls do when you bite their, his ear? -- and shivers hard. It's hard to be this brave in just a shirt and slacks. He's so hard it's starting to hurt, and he's rubbing himself against Bruce's leg before he really knows that's what feels so good. "Not like this," Bruce says, and now, now he pushes Dick's hands away. Dick frowns. "Why not?" and oh, that was the wrong octave. He wills his voice to be low, grown up. "Like how, then?" "Get up." Even Dick's lowest -- face it, tenor -- is nothing compared to Batman's command voice. It doesn't stop Dick's knees from wobbling, but he does it. His erection feels too obvious this way, and he can't quite keep his hand away. Squeezing -- doesn't help. "What should I do?" he asks. "Do that again," and he can't not. His thighs are shaking. "Bruce --" Dick bites his lip, trying to stop himself, and manages only by stuffing his hands in his back pockets. Which makes the fit of his pants even worse, but at least he's not -- "I wanted to do this for you, not for me. I --" Bruce is staring at him -- Batman is, like he's trying some new move and he keeps saying, "I've got it" and he's just falling on his face, every single time. "You know the rules." Dick crosses his arms. "I know -- I know, but --" "If you want this --" and Dick is laughing, incredulous, almost so much he doesn't hear "-- open your pants and touch yourself." "I --" He's doing it, and his hands are shaking. "Please let me do this for you." Bruce's smile makes him feel like the dumbest guy in the room, the last one out when Batman comes crashing in and everybody else runs for it. "You are." He's pinned there, in the middle of the floor, and he doesn't want to touch himself -- not again, it's been enough times -- but he doesn't want Bruce to stop watching him, stop wanting him. So he does it, and he squeezes himself hard, fast -- just the memory of kissing Bruce, of the way he'd felt under Dick's hand -- "Slow down." "I can't," Dick says, but even when he says it, he knows he can, and he is. "Oh, god, Bruce -- I can't do it for long, I --" "Don't come yet." Bruce's voice -- He's followed that voice into burning buildings and gunfire. Would follow it anywhere. He can feel Bruce's eyes on him, hot and just as crazy -- oh maybe, just maybe -- as Dick is right now. Dick bites his lip hard. "When -- I -- I -- please, I --" If he just knows how long, maybe he can hold on long enough, however long enough is. He's shaking and he feels like he's going to fall over before he even manages to have an orgasm, but he's better than that. He's always been better than that, even with nothing to lean on. He makes himself balance, makes himself not speed up. "Better," Bruce says, and it is if he says it is. "Oh god." Dick shivers. "Can I go faster? Just -- nn -- just a little, I need --" Bruce says, "May I," and Dick can't take grammar, not now. "Dammit," he says, and -- "Watch your language." It's like a blow. Like he's not masturbating, right now, for Bruce who is staring at his erection and his hand and who looks like no one Dick has ever, ever met. "I'm sorry. I just --" Dick groans, tightens his free hand into a fist hard enough that his nails bite into his palm, but it doesn't clear his head. "Please, may I -- may I go faster." He can't even get the question to sound like a question. It's too hard when he's also moaning, when squeezing himself feels like the only thing he knows how to do. "You may," Bruce says, and Dick can't stop himself from shouting when he does it. He's never so much as groaned before -- never dared -- but the permission makes it all that much more real. It's like torturing himself except that it doesn't hurt. Everything feels better, every stroke -- "I'm -- I can't do this, I can't keep going, I'm going to --" Of all the things in the world that don't hurt, only Bruce -- only Batman saying, "Wait," could possibly be enough to get Dick to pay attention. Bruce is staring at him still, red in the face and hands clenched so tight on the arms of the chair his knuckles are white. "For what?" Dick asks, trying to hold on -- it's what Bruce wants, and if he does something wrong Bruce won't -- kiss him, love him, let this happen again. "Permission," and it's petty, and whatever Bruce is waiting for -- Dick has to trust he has some reason for this, that there's more to it than wanting to see him take a stumbling step and rebalance. He squeezes himself so hard it hurts, but not enough to stop him from wanting. "Please," he says. "Please --" And Bruce says, "Come," and Dick does, like a kick in the spine, knocking him to almost his knees and making him stagger again, catch himself on Bruce's shoulders. His shirt will never be the same again, and Bruce's isn't any better off. His pants are around his ankles, his hands are sticky with his own semen, and he can't stop himself from smiling. "Let me do that for you, not just --" Bruce kisses him, quick and hard like a punishment. Like he didn't just do everything Bruce said. "Please," Dick says, because it worked last time. He doesn't expect Bruce to grab him by the shoulder, to push him down and lift his hips -- and he's been here, before, more times than he'd like to remember, across Bruce's lap with his butt in the air, but he hasn't done anything wrong. And he is far too old for this. "Don't," Dick says, and tries to get up, but Bruce is stronger than he is -- bigger than he is -- and he can't do it without doing something that would really hurt. He tries laughing at this. "You can't spank me, Bruce, I'm --" Dead wrong, among other things, because that slap is nothing else. "Don't push me,"  Bruce says. Batman -- Batman says. "I'm not, I --" Dick winces. "I didn't push you at all." "You kissed me." It doesn't hurt, not compared to a hundred other things Dick has felt, but it stings, and it's making his skin feel warm. And Bruce isn't stopping. "You kissed me back," Dick says, and the next slap is harder. "Ow, I --" "You pushed too hard." Batman's voice is getting lower, and his hips -- He still has an erection, and he's thrusting it against Dick's stomach like he's not even aware of it. "Just let me touch you," Dick says, and tries to roll away, off. "Hold still." So fast, so sharp, but not Batman -- Dick says, "Yes, Dad," before he even thinks. And then he wants to get away enough to find and really use one of those pressure points in Bruce's leg. "Let me go, I'm sorry -- I won't do it again." Bruce lets him, finally, though Dick is still so afraid of the words that came out his mouth that he can't land right, and Bruce is on the floor with him by the time he's sure which direction is up. It's not fair for him to kiss Dick, for him to even want to anymore, not when Dick can say things he doesn't mean. Things that out of place. "Dick," Bruce says, and he's not being Batman, now. Not being so harsh. Dick closes his eyes, because at least he knows what Batman can do. "It's all right." "I thought you wanted me," Dick says, though the memories of all of the instant-too-long glances and the second-too-long touches seem like he's making them up, even more now that he's sitting on the rug and his butt hurts. He still smells like sex, and it makes everything that much worse. Bruce kisses him, fierce and hard, undeniable. "I do." "Then what was that for?" Dick frowns at him. "I just wanted to touch you, and you treated me like a kid." "I'm not going to change how I treat you just because we happen to be making love," Bruce says, and -- Dick shivers. "Okay, but we're not -- we're not making love, that wasn't --" Bruce puts his arm around Dick's waist and pulls him close again, squeezing his already stinging buttock. "It was." "But you didn't even let me --" Dick reaches for the waistband of his pants. "You're still dressed." "You ask a great deal," Bruce says, but he lets Dick unbutton his pants, lets him pull down his boxers and squeeze him. Dick laughs to cover his nervousness -- that Bruce will bring up the thing he didn't mean to say if he stops being distracting. "You're all slick." From Bruce's expression, he's not doing a good enough job being interesting. "It's perfectly normal." "I know, I --" Dick lets himself babble, tries to cover his embarrassment. "I just don't usually, um, play with myself that long, so -- it kind of doesn't get that bad, but --" he pumps his hand. "I know you've been waiting a while. I -- I wanted to do this for you first, I'm sorry, I just --" "Shh." Bruce thrusts into his hand. "Don't -- push." Dick whimpers and hates the high, lonely noise. "I'm sorry. What should I do, I --" He's half afraid that he's going to slip somehow and call Bruce "Dad" again before this is over, and half afraid that Bruce will make him stop too soon. "A little slower." Bruce covers Dick's hand with his own and shows him just the right speed, just where to let his thumb rub. "Like -- that." He moans. "Okay, good, I --" Dick smiles at him and wishes Bruce had his eyes open so he might, maybe, smile back. "I just -- I love you and I wanted -- this, I want --" Bruce's hips jerk and it's hard to keep the rhythm steady. "Yes," he says, and he sounds -- lost. Less angry, more like himself, but less like himself too -- because his voice is gentler, but it's more hoarse, too. "God, Dick --" and he shivers. He looks vulnerable, and angry about that vulnerability, until Dick kisses him again. "I just -- god, please --" It doesn't help to bite his lip, but another squeeze and Bruce grimaces and shudders, shakes and comes all over Dick's hand and his shirt. "Ah," Bruce says, and he pats Dick's cheek. "You're very demanding." Dick can feel himself blushing. "I'm sorry." Bruce gets up, wiping at the fluid on his shirt. It's a terrible mess, as is Dick's entire set of clothes. "Get to bed. We'll even the score tomorrow," he says, and Dick tries to think of anything to say, any question he can form -- What, exactly does that mean? doesn't seem like one Bruce will answer. Not now. Dick pushed him too far without even knowing he was doing it. While he's busy berating himself for it, Bruce leaves him there, kneeling sticky and half-dressed on the study floor. Whatever tomorrow's score is, Dick promises himself, it'll at least end up somewhere more comfortable.
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