Title: And lo, it is day (Reference) Series: Three red words - Story #6 Fandom: DCU (AU from Nightwing #93 and mid-Robin: Unmasked, spoilers in an AU way for Identity Crisis and Under the Hood) Summary: He considers redesigning her uniform to erase some of the similarities with Tim's. Pairing: Bruce/Steph Rating: Adult Notes: Te agreed that it had to fall out this way back when we sketched the universe. Betty poked at parts helpfully for your comprehension pleasure. A low whistle greets Batman when he returns to the cave. "You -- man, I thought you knew they're bad news." It's a bit much to be told off by a teenage girl, even Robin. "People change." "Uh-huh, B, I got that." Stephanie rolls her eyes at him. "Really, I did. Are you clear on it yet?" It would have been something of a relief if Dick had hit him. Then, at least, he would have bruises to finger to bring the pain back. Repeating the brush-off -- so cold, so unlike Dick -- is not acceptable. "In certain respects." "Which means what, exactly?" She's crossing her arms under her breasts and giving him an impatient look. It's a beautifully adolescent posture. There is no way she can tell how heartsick it makes him for the people she is not. Most of all, in some respects, Barbara. "I know they've changed." Bruce shakes his head. "It's entirely possible that they'll change back." "But not freakin' likely." Stephanie frowns. "They still fear you and love you and all that, but they're not going to just run home because they have a bad night." "No more than you would," Bruce says, and she winces slightly. It's not fair to strike back at her. He adds, "I'm not closing the door against them." "The door had damn well better be closed," Stephanie says, "'cause man, if they show up, I don't care that they can all three kick my ass, I'll take them on." She doesn't shift into a ready position, but she puts her hands on her hips. "Leave a window open if you have to, but -- no doors. No easy ways in." The image of any of them coming to a closed window evokes obsolete green boots and a tunic of leaves, a figure of hope and loss and childhood that does not suit any of them anymore. "No. No loopholes." Bruce starts for the console and Stephanie stops him. She puts one hand on his chest, her green-gloved fingers on the symbol. "And you're not going there alone anymore." He's tempted to evade the declaration, but it would be unfair to her. "I won't." Stephanie's smile is bright and perfectly Robin. She's close enough that he can smell the fresh coat of lipstick. "We can always use your help, anyway." He means to kiss her on the cheek, a light gesture that he might make as Bruce Wayne, grateful and noncommittal. She's having none of it; she turns her head to catch him and he can taste her lipstick, now, waxy and strange on Robin's mouth. She sighs and puts her hand on the back of his head, holds him for a long moment -- his lips will be smeared red by the time she frees him -- and the softness of it makes him nostalgic. He had been convinced he'd had enough nostalgia for the night, but this goes deeper than the stolen moments with Dick. That was nostalgia for what had never been, what could not have been. Kissing Stephanie brings back different memories, a satisfied sort of yearning -- he has kissed girls like her before, though rarely with as much trust as she gives him, and almost never with the sort of trust he invests in her. That mutual trust is what he has been missing so intensely, and it makes him shiver when he recognizes it. This was not what he intended, and yet it is nothing he can resist. Stephanie lets him go and laughs. Her cheeks are flushed. "Didn't think you'd ever ask." "Never," Bruce says in the instant before she kisses him again. The armor of her tunic is strange to his memory and perfect in his sense of the present. She braces herself with a hand on his shoulder and wraps a leg around his waist in her protective tights. Not for the first time, he considers redesigning her uniform to erase some of the similarities with Tim's. The thought of Stephanie with her legs bare is enough to make him hold her more tightly, however ludicrously dangerous it would prove to be. "You're sure of this?" he asks her. "Hell yes." She disarms the cowl with just the right touches and peels it back, though she's still wearing her own mask. It hides nothing in any case, not on a face as mobile and open as hers. "Even if you are kind of on the rebound." She's teasing, but in some respects, it's true. "That has nothing to do with you." Stephanie laughs. "'course it does. It's the whole Robin thing -- and okay, so I'm not them." She stretches up to kiss his forehead. "I'm not gonna leave you. And if you ever try to adopt me, I will kick your ass." "It hadn't occurred to me," he says, with perfect truth, and she runs her fingers through his hair. "That's something, anyhow. God --" She kisses him again, and the warmth spreads. "It's gonna be okay, you know." "Robin --" She gives him an incredulous laugh, then touches her own face, finding the edges of the mask. "Oh, no. No way. Hang on." It takes her ten seconds to take it off smoothly and the scent of the solvent is already fading when she kisses him again. "I mean -- okay, so it's a little weird out there, but Batman, Robin, and Batgirl, with Oracle on bass -- what more do we need?" It surprises him that he can joke, but her smile dares him to it. "I doubt that any of them would accept the title of Fifth Beatle." He can see her eyes widen and she punches him in the shoulder, making the blow glance enough that it doesn't break her fingers. "God, B, you're even scarier when you make jokes." She leans on him and tugs him down for another kiss, deeper. "Stephanie --" Her laughter echoes strangely in the cave. Beautifully, if he lets himself admit it, with notes of hope. "You want me to back off?" she asks, and her lips are bright red. He pulls her back into his arms. She does not feel at all like any of the others, does not sound or taste or smell like them with the sweet scent of her hairspray light over the particular tang of feminine sweat. She's not a replacement, not a stand-in, not temporary or auxiliary or second-rate in any way. She's Robin, shivering against him and wrapping her thighs around one of his legs. Stephanie's cheeks are flushed a very particular shade of red. "Okay, so --" she rocks her hips and he spreads his fingers over the skirt of her uniform, over her curves. "-- no backing off here. Nope." Another rock, and she sighs, laughs, kisses him. "Why would we, anyway." This has every potential for being self-destructive, and if he does not acknowledge that -- "Self-preservation." She bites at his lower lip. "You're Batman." "Granted." Her hips are solidly muscled, firm and lovely. "Common sense --" "Did you --" She throws her head back, moaning, and squeezes his leg tightly with her thighs. She bites her lip hard. "Did you see what I'm fucking wearing, B?" He says, "Yes," against her throat and unfastens her cape, kisses and licks the taste of her sweat from her neck. "Robin." "You got it. Me. Jesus, yes --" She whimpers in her throat and shuts her eyes, her hands tightening on his shoulders. "Oh god, I -- yes --" The shiver that wracks Stephanie as she climaxes makes Bruce stop breathing in order to hear it better. The soft noises she makes in her throat sound hungry, and she is entirely focused on her own pleasure until the rush passes and she throws her arms around his neck. "Man, not what I was expecting," she says, and nips at his ear. Her abandon leaves him torn between the urge to match it and the knowledge that any such display would be inherently false. He lets himself sigh. "No?" "You keep making me be what you need. But --" She shakes her head and her smile softens. If she believes she is falling in love with him, that will complicate matters. But she says, "You just -- let me have that, and --" She shrugs. "Not like I'm gonna stop there, but -- thanks." "You don't need to continue." Stephanie puts her hand over his mouth despite her indubitable knowledge of the ineffectual nature of the gesture. "Don't give me that crap." She looks at his belt. "You haven't changed this thing since I learned the pattern, right?" "I would have informed you," he says, and she nods. She murmurs to herself while she unfastens the various pieces, reciting the idiosyncratic order of the failsafes and protective mechanisms. It's a protocol she'll have to practice until she can do it silently. Though not, the pounding of his heart reminds him, right now. She's still wearing her gauntlets when she tugs his tights down, and then she looks at them and realizes it. "Oh -- damn --" She tugs one off with her teeth and tosses it aside before he catches her wrist. "It's all right." She looks up at him with wide blue eyes that should not be familiar. Robin -- she's not like them at all. "You sure?" "For now." Bruce shrugs slightly and she straightens up. "Then --" she kisses him and strokes him with her gloved hand. "You'd better know it's me, B." She still tastes of lipstick and feels entirely unlike anyone else. "You're unmistakable." The pressure of her thumb, squeezing below the head of his penis, is enough to make him shiver. "Stephanie." She laughs and bites his lip, then his ear. "God, you're not my mom. Steph, B. It's Steph." At some point very soon, he wants to touch her breasts and watch her responses. She is so open, so present -- and he cannot help but be here, thrusting into her fist and breathing faster as she teases him. "If you -- prove you know my name --" Stephanie's voice is as close to a growl as a mezzosoprano can come. She's as fully informed as he can make her, and she avoids using his name for any purpose. It's better with motivation. "Bruce, dammit --" "Mm." He kisses her and shakes, losing control. "Steph --" "Oh yeah." She speeds up, squeezing harder, and it's the right addition of friction to bring him to the brink of orgasm. Stephanie's grin gets sharper when he gasps. "Like that?" One last squeeze and he's not leaning on her, doesn't need to, doesn't need the balance -- but he's shaking and she's helping him balance even as he comes with a sound he does his best to suppress. It's better to say no names than the wrong one -- even when the choice is only out of three. If he calls her 'Stephanie' at the wrong moment, she may never kiss him again. She nuzzles his cheek and lets him go. "You do that with gloves on much?" Bruce shakes his head. "Not often." "Huh." Stephanie holds up her damp glove and surveys the damage -- her uniform is much worse off. "It always seemed kinda rough to me." "Generally, yes." Bruce raises an eyebrow at her. "No more than, say, someone's thigh, though." "Look -- that's totally different." She grins back. "Different angle, different friction. Kinda obviously, B." Bruce nods. "Granted." "So --" She grimaces at the semen on her uniform. "I should go change." He takes off one glove and touches her cheek, tipping her chin up to kiss her. "After you do, come upstairs." Stephanie blinks at him. "I -- you sure?" If he can't be honest with Robin, there will be recurring problems. "It's been a long night." "I can't stay too long." Bruce kisses her again. "A few more hours?" She hugs him tightly. "Oh, man. Yeah, that's -- that I can do." * She falls asleep smiling, more than slightly sticky and her arm around his waist. He disentangles himself enough to push strands of her hair away from his nose and strokes it into a radial sort of order on his chest and her shoulder. She is warm and her thigh, reaching across his, is muscled and strong. Her breasts are soft -- the only softness left in her -- and when she shifts a little, they move against him. He forgoes the idea of kissing her cheek. It's better to let her sleep for the hour and a half before she needs to leave for her mother's house. Bruce has no intention of wasting the time by sleeping.
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