Title: Can't just watch forever Fandom: DCU (Batverse) Pairing: Robins Rating: NC-17 Summary: Brotherly love of the best and most understanding sort involves knowing when someone needs a good push in the right direction. Notes: This is probably set during the Bruce Wayne: Fugitive and/or Murderer arc. I read too much meta about Jason guiding Tim, and then someone wanted Dick/Tim with ghost voyeur Jason. They melded a little. For: Zee. Disclaimer: I do not own these boys, and I don't make any money from them. Tim hears himself say, "Hey, Dick, you look lonely. Let's have sex," and thinks seriously about breaking his own jaw. If he's going to develop Tourette's in such a heavily monitored setting as the Batcave, it may be his only salvation from complete embarrassment. He thanks whatever powers that be that at least Bruce isn't around to hear this, and that Oracle surely has better things to do than monitor these cameras. Dick says, "What?" Even with the Nightwing mask, even with the white lenses down, he looks completely nonplussed. Tim feels himself grin more widely than he ever really does. "Come on," he says, even though he's thinking about closing his mouth tightly. "I've only been thinking about you every time I jerked off my whole fucking life." Tim puts his hand over his own mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but he adds, "Kiss me already." "Are you okay?" Dick asks. Tim shakes his head, and hears himself saying, "Jesus." He launches himself at Dick, using his knowledge of Dick's trained defenses, and kisses him. He tastes just like Tim's always suspected he would, sharp and toothpaste commercial perfect. Even though he makes a little protesting noise, he runs a hand through Tim's gel-stiff hair and shivers. "God," Dick says. "Just like that," Tim says, though what he wants to say is, "I'm so sorry." "I want you so bad." Badly, thinks Tim. If I'm going to seduce Dick, I'd like to do it correctly. "Did you get dosed with anything?" Dick asks, and Tim laughs. "Yes," he tries to say, and "No," he says. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just tired of waiting for you to notice me waiting for you." And Dick's off guard, still, enough that Tim can give him a little push backward, away from the console, and kiss him again. This time Dick has decided he means it, because it's not a scared kiss. This is the Dick who can sleep with Batgirl without feeling outclassed, and Huntress without getting bones broken, and Starfire without being too boring for her. He's been studying the schematics on the latest model Robin-suit, clearly, because he manages to get the utility belt off as fast as Tim would. Tim's too busy learning the way Dick's hair feels in his fingers and trying to figure out how to get his suit off -- this is such a bad idea -- to help. Dick starts kissing his neck and Tim reaches up to take the cape off so he can have better access. It makes Dick's breath catch. He pushes Tim backward another three feet until he runs into something too flat and smooth to be the wall. Tim knows he's going to die as soon as Batman gets back and sees this footage. Dick kisses his neck again, sucking hard, leaving marks, and Tim wants more than anything to keep his hair off the glass of the case, or Alfred will kill him before Batman sees anything. But Dick growls a little in his throat, and Tim feels his head thunk against the case. "Yes," Dick says, and unfastens Tim's jock, reaching inside to stroke him, and tugging his green leggings down. Maybe Tim can die before anyone else finds out. It would be a lot easier than having all of this on film. He tries to say, "I was kidding," even though none of it was a joke, or at least, not a joke he meant to make. Instead he moans, "Don't tease me. Just fuck me," and puts a leg around Dick's waist in a way he wasn't sure he was flexible enough to do. The move makes him wonder where it's all coming from, and he starts making a list of the various crazies who've made aphrodisiacs and inhibition looseners in the past. Who could have dosed him? "God, Tim," and now Dick, dexterous, nimble, unerring Dick, is fumbling to get his own skintight clothes out of the way. As soon as he has his leggings down, Tim grinds against him, feeling the hard heat of his body, and Dick groans. "Hang on." Dick's been following Bruce's procedures enough that he has skin-safe lubricant in one of those almost invisible compartments in his suit. He tugs off his glove with his teeth and slicks his fingers before he runs them down the spread cleft of Tim's ass. Tim can see the suit in the case reflected in the lenses of Dick's mask, the bright Robin colors that are puddled on the cave floor now, except for his tunic. Dick presses a finger inside him and he has to close his eyes against the burn. "Dick," he says, and it's what he means to say, which reassures him a little. Dick's kiss makes him shudder, the wet, hungry slide of his tongue mirroring the movements of his finger. He wants to think of Dick's face, even with his eyes squeezed shut and his breath coming short, but all he can see is the blank, empty mask behind him. "Tim." The rough need in Dick's voice makes him open his eyes. For a second, he can see a face in Dick's lenses, fleshing out the suit. It's Dick, it's not Dick, it's Jason, it has to be Jason. Dick rocks against him and pushes another finger into him. It's too much to think about. He hears himself whimper, "God, I need you." "Oh, Tim." Dick kisses him so hard it hurts, biting at his lip until it's raw. "God." Tim wants to savor the kiss and the full feeling of Dick's fingers inside him. This crazy moment may be the only one he gets, once whatever the drugs are stop affecting him. He wants to talk Dick into bed or the mats or anything more comfortable than the drafty cave and the cold, cold glass, but he can't find the words in between kisses. He braces himself against the case and wraps his other leg around Dick's waist. "Fuck me. Please, fuck me." He has a moment to editorialize in his head, "I would never say that," before Dick lifts him a little and adjusts. The burn is worse than before, but his skin is on fire everywhere, and he can hardly tell that there's anything wrong about any of it. Dick buries his face in Tim's neck and bites again. Tim arches against him and down, begging for it without knowing the words. Tim turns his head and presses his cheek against the lit case, bleeding the heat out of his head a little and trying to think. It's so wrong, but it's Dick, and that's right, in its way. If it were okay for anyone to tear his clothes off and fuck him against this memorial, it would be okay for Dick to do it. Tim isn't sure whether this is the aphrodisiac, whatever it is, or his inclination to believe Dick knows what he's doing. He does know, at least on a moment by moment level. Tim can't hold his logic together enough to make any deductions; every time he begins a premise, Dick groans in his ear, "Oh, fuck, Tim," and he shivers again. He clings to Dick's shoulders for balance, wanting to dig his fingernails in but perfectly aware, in some detached corner of his brain, that he can't make an impact on the Nightwing suit without some modification to his gauntlets. "Kiss me," Tim says, and Dick takes his mouth as thoroughly and hungrily as he's fucking Tim. It's enough for Dick, who grimaces in that peculiar mix of pain and pleasure, and Tim knows somewhere he has a picture of Dick like that, in the Robin domino instead of the Nightwing. Now he has another memory and Dick's bare hand on him, stroking and tugging until he can't think or breathe or do anything but come. Dick is grinning at him when he opens his eyes again. The Nightwing uniform is thoroughly splattered, and Tim's first reaction is, "Ew," and his second is to blush from collar to hairline. "Oh, man." "This is a heck of a way to work on your flexibility," Dick says, back to his normal, teasing voice, and pulls out slowly. Tim gasps at the feeling and rests his weight on Dick's shoulders for long enough to get his feet back under him. He winces at the feeling. Dick takes a step back. "You okay?" Tim raises an eyebrow at his damp shirt. "What, can't you tell whether it was as good for me as it was for you?" Dick laughs and squeezes his shoulder. "That's not what I meant. This sort of stuff can get weird, and you were acting kind of strange." "Mm," says Tim noncommittally, still trying to work out exactly which chemicals would produce such an effect. He moves away from the case and looks back at it. To call it "smudged" would be to miss a perfectly good chance to use the word "impasto." Behind the streaks of gel, sweat, lube, and come, the suit looks as pristine as ever. "I think we need some Bat-Windex." "I'm sure Alfred leaves some down here for the monitors." Dick touches his cheek, which is uncommon enough to make Tim narrow his eyes and peer at him. "But first you have to tell me if you're okay." "I'm fine." Whatever the effects were are definitely fading. Tim can feel his body much more securely than before the -- incident -- and he's not having any trouble saying what he means. Dick gives him a lopsided smile. "If you say so, little brother." The words send a shiver down Tim's spine, following the track of a great deal of sweat. "I really need a shower." And before that, he doesn't say, he's going to take a blood sample before the drugs get all the way out of his system. It's normal enough that Dick goes to find the glass cleaner. "I'll meet you there as soon as this is cleaned up." "Okay." On his way out of the Cave, Tim glances back at the case guiltily. It must be the smudge, or maybe the aftereffects of the drug, that makes the empty mask seem to wink at him.
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