Dedication: For anyone who can use a little escapism when faced with violence one cannot personally combat or alleviate, particularly the events of July 7th, 2005 in London. Title: The secret of durable pigments Series: The only immortality Pairing: Bruce/Dick (primary characterization reference: Year One: Scarecrow) Summary: There are rules about this in Bruce's head, just as there are rules for everything. Rating: Adult. Content some readers may find disturbing Notes: The blame primarily goes to Keri, Betty, Mael, and Jamjar with thanks to anyone who put up with me while I was attempting to conquer the lingering vestiges of my shame. Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me by any stretch of the imagination, and this is written as a nonprofit exercise in pornography. Title borrowed, with good reason, from Nabokov. Dick doesn't belong in Bruce's bedroom, but he's there, naked, wide-eyed, and freshly-showered, after a patrol. "Hi." Bruce wraps his robe more tightly. "What are you doing here?" "Well -- I -- you know you were saying the other day about sex and relaxation, and it's not like I can just do stuff with some girl from school because I'm with you every night, and besides I have, you know, those scars from -- well, all those times, but especially Two-Face, and they'd think you were beating me, and you can't say you're straight because -- well -- I saw your files on Two-Face." Dick crosses his arms over his narrow chest. "So. Please?" Bruce frowns at him. Dick is strong and charming, with a smile that gets him almost anything he wants in those rare situations when he can't use his considerable wits. He's handsome, possessed of an incisive mind, quick and lithe. He's fifteen. And -- and there's no better way to express all of the ways in which this is wrong. "You're fifteen." Dick laughs. "Yeah, and every night I follow you into gunfire and fight people who want me to be a dead fifteen year old. Are you gonna tell me that's worse than having sex with me? Because, man, your priorities, Bruce." He could mention all the ways in which it's not actually the same, but the arguments sound weak. And it's not like he'd done anything to lead the boy into thinking this is required; far from it. "And you're sure you want this? I don't expect this." Dick pushes the blankets away and reaches toward him. "That means you want it, though, because you'd say you didn't." Bruce wonders exactly how black his soul is going to get before he's done. "You don't have to do this to be my partner." "No kidding, or you'd have said something. I know you're not going to make me." Dick gets out of bed -- he's still so short -- and hugs him, stretching up to kiss him. "But I want this." Bruce shudders. "Dick --" Dick wraps his arms around Bruce's shoulders, and Bruce tries not to think of how young he is. He's small for his age, that's all. And he's a good enough soldier to fight at anyone's side, even if this would be far more Athenian than Spartan. "I really do." "You can change your mind," Bruce says, not sure whether he's lying to Dick or to both of them, and kisses him -- not the adolescent fumbling kisses Dick just gave him, but a deeper, longer exploration of the way he tastes and feels that makes Dick shiver in his arms. There's nothing to him. He's just a boy -- no, not just a boy. Robin. But that has nothing to do with the way he's shaking, now, bending his head back for the kiss and hard against Bruce's thigh. Still -- there's nothing saying this has to hurt him. As long as he knows it's not something he has to do, Bruce can give him this. It may help him focus more effectively, after all. Adolescents are so easily distracted by their own hormones. Bruce wraps a hand around his erection and Dick whimpers against his mouth, then again, louder, when he starts to stroke. "God, Bruce," he says, gasping for breath, "that's -- please --" Bruce kisses him again, focusing on not doing anything more. Just a kiss, and this -- anyone his own age would do the same, and it can't hurt him. It's only sexual release, after all. "It's all right," he says, and Dick laughs, shuddering, and unties Bruce's robe. "It's way better than that," he says, grinning that irresistible, damningly beautiful smile, and reaches for Bruce. Bruce pushes his hands away. "No." Anything else and this will go farther than Dick's request and become something that's more for Bruce than for him. If Bruce starts to let go of his control, it's entirely probable that he won't get it back. "I want to." Dick reaches for another kiss. "It's -- god -- it's not fair otherwise." "It's fair." Bruce puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back until he can sit on the bed. Dick's nipples are tight and hard under his fingers, and he whimpers when Bruce touches them. Bruce jacks him faster, kissing him until Dick clings to his shoulders and moans, his voice breaking -- god, he's so young -- and he comes all over Bruce's chest and robe. "Oh," Dick says, and hugs Bruce hard. "God -- that was so much better than when I do it." Bruce kisses his cheek -- it won't leave a mark; no one needs to know. "I'm glad to hear that. You should get to bed." Dick leans back and stares at him. "What about you?" "Dick --" He reaches for Bruce again, and Bruce pushes his hands away, but Dick breaks the hold and gets a hand on his thigh. "Why not?" "No." Any more than that and the boy will hear the tremor in his voice. "But I want to." Bruce gives him his most intimidating Batman glower. "I said, no." Dick sulks. And god, he really is fifteen, even if he's mature for his age, even if he's saved how many lives in Gotham in the last week alone. It strengthens Bruce's resolve and makes it easier to smooth out his voice. "Go to bed, Dick." Dick looks up at him with an expression of abandonment that Bruce hasn't seen in his eyes in years -- though really, it must have been there. "Why won't you let me?" Bruce winces. "You should spend more time with people your own age." "That's not an answer." Dick crosses his arms. "Come on. If I'm old enough that you'll have sex with me, how come you're going to make yourself all tense?" The first, easiest answer, is that that wasn't exactly sex, but Bruce is sticky enough with Dick's semen to know how much of a lie that is. The second answer is because he's too young, but Dick has already shouted that one down. "I -- don't want to hurt you." Dick rolls his eyes. It's getting easier to see him as too young for this, every minute. "You mean like you don't want to give me bruises, because you did that while we were training earlier. Or you mean like you don't want to make me love you?" He touches Bruce's shoulder. "'cause I already do, and it's not about whether you have sex with me or not." Bruce kisses his forehead. "Go to bed, Dick." He sighs. "Fine. Okay. You want to be all hot and bothered, be all hot and bothered. See you for breakfast." "Of course," Bruce says. Dick slams the bedroom door. "Goodnight," he says to the empty room. When he masturbates in the shower, he tries not to think about the way Dick felt, pressed against him and shivering, for all of five seconds before he gives in and lets himself remember every tiny detail. * * * * * It's two nights -- difficult patrols, long hours spent staking out gang headquarters and getting nowhere -- before Dick's back again, uninvited but hardly unwanted. This time, at least, Bruce has pajama pants on; they're not the best armor, but they're better than nothing. "Please?" Dick says, and at least this time he doesn't try to touch Bruce -- not more than kissing him -- and Bruce has enough forethought to grab some tissues. It's all very efficient, maybe five minutes from when Bruce gets into bed until Dick cries out against his mouth and orgasms. Dick grins at him after and hugs him. If they were in a movie theatre, he'd be faking a yawn and a stretch. "You sure you're not going to let me?" "Absolutely." "Ever?" Dick wriggles against him and Bruce is immensely glad he knows how to not gasp aloud, no matter how much he wants to. Reaching for that control makes him reach for the command voice, too. "Go to bed, Dick." "I don't get it," Dick says, but he gets out of bed, at least. This time he brought his robe. "But -- g'night, Bruce." "Goodnight." The door clicks shut behind him. The bed smells like sex, and the tissues are right there. It won't hurt him; it won't touch him; he doesn't have to know. Bruce doesn't so much as whisper his name when he comes. * * * * * It goes on like this for some time -- Dick sneaks in, Bruce gives him what he asks for, Dick offers, Bruce refuses, Dick leaves. They tangle with the Riddler one night, and Dick gets hurt. A cut on his leg; nothing major, but Robin won't be out tomorrow. It doesn't stop him from ending up in Bruce's bed, but after he comes, he moves a little and winces. "Do I have to leave?" Bruce can hear his blood pounding in his ears. "I need to take a shower." "But you just did," Dick protests. "Go to sleep," Bruce says. "You don't have to leave." He gets out of bed, trusting Dick not to follow when he's injured. It helps him remember to be silent when he thrusts into his own fist, though he wonders vaguely about the long-term effects of eroticizing the smell of blood. When he gets back to bed, Dick is curled up in a little ball, snoring softly. The bed is more than big enough for both of them to sleep there without touching at all. He wakes up with Dick's head on his shoulder, which makes it slightly awkward to get out of bed without waking him, but Dick doesn't protest his rapid dressing. They have breakfast together, just as they always do. Alfred makes them pancakes. In the unforgiving light of day, Bruce is grateful that what happens between them in bed leaves no visible marks on Dick. He is as cheerful as ever, and shows no signs that anything is wrong. Maybe that means nothing is wrong. * * * * * "So Bruce," Dick asks, when nothing in particular has changed in a few months. "When are you going to fuck me?" Bruce lets him go and moves away from him. "Go to bed." "God. Why?" Dick reaches for him, and Bruce pushes his hand away. "No." "I've been reading about it," Dick says, "and it's not that big a deal, really. And it's supposed to be fun for both people, and --" "Go to bed," Bruce says again, and rolls over to make the point clearer. Dick pats his shoulder. "I'm gonna keep asking, you know. But -- good night." He doesn't think about the way it would feel, or how Dick might react to it, or how easily he could have it. Not until he can't push the ideas away any more, and he has to bury his face in the pillow because he can't choke the sound back. * * * * * A few weeks later, Killer Croc is in town -- not difficult to figure out, but exhausting to fight. Dick is half-asleep by the time Bruce gets back to his room, but he wakes up as soon as Bruce sits on the edge of the bed. "Hi." Bruce lets himself brush Dick's bangs away from his forehead. "Hello." "I -- um --" He pulls his hand away immediately. "You know you can always say no to me." That comes out entirely Batman; Bruce isn't sure he means it, anymore, but he has to say it. Dick laughs at him and sits up to kiss him. "I know, but that's not what I meant. I -- well you know how I have all those fake IDs, and some of them are over twenty-one for bars and stuff, well -- I --" He pushes the covers aside and pulls out a bright blue dildo. "I got this from a catalogue and don't be mad I just wanted to see what it was like and it's really weird and I want you to show me how to use it okay it can't be worse for me than, like, batarangs, can it, so please?" Bruce closes his eyes briefly and hopes against all hope -- he thought he'd broken that habit -- that the problem will not be there when he opens them, and Dick won't be holding a marital aid. As usual, the hope is entirely futile. "Dick --" "Besides," Dick says, clearly starting the second part of his speech, "if you use this instead of actually doing it yourself it won't really feel as good for you, right, so you won't have to feel guilty and you won't be doing anything I didn't ask you to do and please, I -- I really want this." "Dick --" Bruce sighs. "Did you take a shower already?" "Yes." Dick fidgets. "Are you gonna, or not?" "Not tonight." Bruce takes the thing and puts it in the drawer of the nightstand. "But --" Dick frowns. "I mean, I tried, but it was -- um -- really big and it kinda hurt so I stopped because that was what the books said. But I want to try it." "Eventually," Bruce says, and it's the first time he's admitted out loud that this is going to keep happening. Dick grins at him. "Okay, that's okay then." Bruce kisses him gently, debating the next step with himself. When he breaks the kiss, Dick sighs. "What did I do wrong?" "Nothing." Bruce sits up for a moment, making himself face just how young Dick still is -- fifteen and a half is not so much older than fifteen that he should be feeling like he's made sacrifices. He's strong, wiry, and still small. Still not an adult. And he shouldn't be in Bruce's bed, at all, even though he wants to be. It doesn't make him any less demanding, or the smell of him any less familiar and attractive. "Then what's wrong?" Dick asks, reaching up for another hug. Bruce strokes him once, twice, and he relaxes. "There's nothing wrong." It's not strictly true, and Bruce should push him out of bed right now, instead of kissing his stomach and then his dick. "Oh god." Dick pushes himself up on his elbows. "What -- oh, god. You mean it?" Bruce meets his eyes for a moment, and Dick doesn't flinch. It must mean nothing shows, really, in his expression, because surely if he could see Bruce's emotions, he'd leave. "Have I ever done anything I didn't mean?" "Bruce --" Dick says, choking on the last sounds when Bruce licks him. There are rules about this in Bruce's head, just as there are rules for everything. He's not allowed to linger over it, or listen too hard to the soft, hungry noises Dick makes. It's not for him; it's for Dick, to help him relax, just as it would be if he was using his hands. This is as easy as he expected of -- and the number reminds him, chides him -- a boy of fifteen; Dick is making a wide array of noises that he tries not to hear, and his hips buck. He tangles his fingers in Bruce's hair and says, "Oh god, Bruce --" just before he comes. It's against the rules for Bruce to let himself savor Dick's lassitude, or the complicated flavor of him, but he breaks the rules again, a little. When he kisses Dick's cheek and says, "You should go to bed," though, Dick looks hurt. "Please?" One more rule to be bent for the night. "-- tomorrow, you'll have to go." Dick smiles a sleepy smile and waits for Bruce to turn off the light and lie down before he hugs him. "G'night." Bruce thinks longingly of a shower, but it will have to wait until Dick is in REM. The sense memories won't fade by then, at least; Dick's breathing is already shifting toward sleep. "Sleep well." * * * * * Nothing goes right the next day. There's a board meeting that falls apart into bickering. Alfred greets him over dinner with the information that the open house at Dick's school is that night, and would he like to attend, which he wouldn't, though he'll gladly write a check to make up for it. Patrol is ominously quiet. Something is wrong, but nothing is showing yet except for the strange silence in the streets. There's nothing to be done until the storm hits. Dick has clearly been fidgeting for some time before Bruce gets to bed; the covers are in serious disarray. "Hi," he says, as usual. "Good evening," Bruce says. "Actually, I think it's morning by now." Dick reaches for him, asking for a hug. "True." Bruce takes his hand and kisses his fingertips lightly until Dick moans. He stops and says, "Turn over?" Dick laughs. "What? Really?" "Yes." And Dick does, scrambling for it. It's not as though Bruce is unfamiliar with the shape of his buttocks; his costume is entirely too revealing for that to be possible. But it's different with them there, muscular, pale, and bare, in his bed. "I thought you were gonna make me wait for ever," Dick says, and he's still wiggling. "This isn't about your -- ah -- accessory," Bruce says, and Dick holds still. "Um. Then -- um -- what?" "Get on your hands and knees," Bruce says, using the command voice to stop his voice from wobbling. Dick does it, though he turns his head to look at Bruce. "What are you going to do, anyway?" "Nothing that should hurt." Dick's thighs are sinew over bone and little more, and his hips -- the boy should eat more. There's not an extra ounce on him, and Bruce feels somewhat guilty. Though not as guilty as he feels when he spreads Dick's buttocks with his hands and licks him. "Oh fuck," Dick says, and nearly falls forward. But his balance is, as ever, imperturbable, and he recovers immediately, enough to push back onto his tongue. "Oh -- oh god, Bruce. That's -- god --" He's just a boy, and his voice is cracking. Bruce has guidelines set about how much he's going to listen to Dick, who's cursing like a sailor, and how long, exactly, he's going to let himself do this. It may or may not be sufficient, after all, and if it's not other steps will need to be taken. Or not. His muscles tense sharply and Bruce moves a hand to stroke him, once, twice. Dick -- who is usually quite contained, quiet -- wails and comes, his whole body shaking. Bruce tugs him backward to sit down and lean against Bruce, though it's a little odd to be facing the headboard. "Wow," Dick manages after about a minute. "Um. Wow." "How tired are you?" Bruce asks him. "I can't feel my toes," Dick says, and grins up at him. "That was -- that was pretty cool." "You didn't answer my question." Dick stretches up and kisses him. "Usually when you make me go away, I -- um -- well, I think of you, but --" Bruce shakes his head. "All right. Get on your knees again." Dick blinks at him for a moment before he starts to move. "Are you gonna do that again? 'cause that was -- that was fun. I could deal with that." "Not right now, no." The temptation is there -- to see how much he can take, how long it would be before his voice gave out and he was reduced to gasps, how many times he would come before he asked Bruce to stop. But instead, he reaches for the drawer. Dick says, "Oh, cool. Man, I should have tried that ages ago," but when Bruce only takes out a tube of lubricant, he blinks. "Um." Bruce sits behind him again and runs a hand down his back, noting every scar. Most of those are indirectly his fault, some of them are directly -- and some of them are older than that. Nothing he did. "I told you from the beginning -- I'm not going to do anything that would hurt you." "I know you won't." Dick reaches one hand up and takes his. "Really." Bruce squeezes his hand before he lets go. "The only way to be sure nothing goes wrong," he says, in his lecturing voice, "is to plan everything with plenty of time and be extremely careful." He slicks his fingers. "You've spent a lot of time," Dick says, and wriggles again. "And you've been really careful." Bruce runs one slick finger between his buttocks. "It wasn't focused time, or focused care." "Oh god." Dick lets his head drop and hang. "That feels really good, too." "I'll be careful," Bruce assures him, working his finger in by tiny increments. Dick whimpers. "That's -- god, yes." "It'll be all right." "'course it will. God, don't stop." Dick shivers. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Keep going." "Don't rush." Bruce rubs his lower back. Dick laughs and reaches back to take his hand again. "It feels weird, but it feels good-weird, okay? Just --" He shakes his head. "Don't worry so much." "I'm not hesitating because I'm worried, Dick." Bruce lets himself push in a little farther. "You don't have to be so careful." Dick squirms a little, trying to force the issue. "I wish you'd just do it already." The image is all too clear in Bruce's mind. It would be heartbreakingly simple to push Dick's knees apart more and take him as fast as he's begging for. There have been too many nights when Bruce couldn't get the image out of his head -- Dick clinging to the headboard, begging for Bruce to fuck him, as he would, as he is, and as he shouldn't. It would be impossible to refuse him, and even more impossible to remember the rest of the world. It would be all too easy to get lost. Gotham needs them fighting crime, not tangled up in bed. He could stop this, of course, by sending Dick away, slick and achingly hard. But then he'd be awake enough, doubtless, to want more, and he doesn't know his own boundaries in this. "Come on, Bruce," he says again. "Please." Bruce hasn't paid enough attention to know what Dick has under his bed that he hasn't seen fit to parade around, yet. It would be much easier to simply exhaust him than to worry about him. "It's all right," Bruce says again, even though it doesn't even begin to sound true. "It's great," Dick says, writhing. "Just --" Bruce has to close his eyes to get a little control back. He's physically capable of not doing anything rash; he is, after all, the grown-up here. "This is enough for tonight." "What?" Dick turns to look at him, staring. "No -- keep going. It's fine. It's really fine, it's great, I want you to." "Not tonight." Bruce reaches for his dick and strokes him firmly. He knows the boy's responses almost as well as his own, now. "But --" Dick protests. "That's not --" Begging, of all things. "Do you want me to stop?" "No. Please -- please don't stop." Bruce gives in to the worst temptation that seems reasonably safe and fucks him harder with his finger. It makes Dick moan and thrust into his hand. "Wish you'd really do it," he says, gasping. "Want you so bad --" If Bruce has to listen to much more in this vein, they'll both be in trouble. He strokes Dick faster, using the amount of pressure that usually makes him groan softly. Now, it evokes a wail, and Dick comes. "Jesus, Bruce. I mean it. I really do. Why won't you?" Dick sits back on his heels, ending up in Bruce's lap. He is extremely warm and distracting. It would be too easy to spread him again and take him until he begged for less instead of more. It might not be possible to stop. "Go to bed," Batman says, at his most ominous. Dick gives him a resentful look and gets up, reaching for his robe. "I don't get it. Do you really not want me?" "I told you you couldn't sleep here." Bruce wipes his hand on a few tissues. "But we could do it, and then I'd go." Dick ties his robe, then reaches for Bruce. "No. Go to bed." "I don't understand." Dick crosses his arms. "I'm good enough to work with you, and you'll jerk me off, and you'll do that, but you won't admit that you're so hard it's got to hurt. I want you, and I can tell you want me. Why can't we?" Bruce clenches one hand into a fist. It's not a nervous habit he can afford to indulge often, but it's better than grinding his teeth. "I'm not going to hurt you." Dick laughs, shrugging. "You wouldn't." "Tonight --" Bruce opens his palm and shows Dick the angry red crescents he's left on himself. "Tonight, I would." "Tomorrow, then." Dick takes his hand and kisses it. Perhaps he doesn't mean the soft touch to be lascivious, but everything he does makes Bruce's control weaker. "At least let me touch you." "We'll discuss this tomorrow," Bruce says, and turns off the light. Dick hops a little on the way to the door; Bruce can hear the stuttering of his normally smooth gait. "I'll be looking forward to it." It's worse now that he knows exactly how tight Dick is, how he would sound, how he would move underneath Bruce. The images are vivid and irrepressible. The only thing that keeps him from going to Dick's room is the equally lurid image of Dick tied to his own headboard with zip-strips, whimpering as Bruce takes him, and the way Gordon would look when the police finally arrived and found the ultimate proof of Bruce Wayne's insanity. He can keep the images of disgust and retribution at bay because he hasn't done anything that wrong, yet -- hasn't invaded Dick's privacy, hasn't hurt him, hasn't forced him. He won't, no matter how much he wants to, or how much Dick says he wants it. Not at all. It's easier this way, with Dick in his bed, doubtless asleep, and Bruce alone, dealing with his own demons and desires until he climaxes. * * * * * They have a short patrol the next night, not through any plans of Bruce's, but because they find Crazy Quilt at eleven seventeen and that's about as good as the night's going to get. Alfred greets them with surprise when they get home and says, "At least you'll be well-rested tomorrow, sirs." Bruce half expects to find Dick draped across his bed, rummaging in the drawer, or worse, already spent, his toy deep inside himself. The thoughts are as compelling as they are disturbing; it would make things easier if Dick were to take the initiative to that degree. In any case, it would be easier to turn him away afterward. Instead, he's lying quietly in bed, following the pattern and the rules to that extent, at least. Bruce considers just using his hands, as brief and superficial as sex can possibly be, but Dick's smile makes that plan fade even before he gets to the bed. "I've been looking forward to this all day," Dick says, and sits up to kiss him. "Longer than that, really, but really really looking forward to it all day." Bruce flashes on the vast, sordid possibilities, everything he could have if only he abandoned every shred of morality and caring about Dick he's ever had. "Dick --" Dick hugs him. "I just want to see you, you know? It's not fair you get to play with me all the time and I never get to touch you. But now --" "Not tonight," Batman says, firmly. Dick lets him go. "What? Why not?" "I promised that none of this would hurt you," Bruce says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going to rush this, even if you think you want it." He frowns. "I don't think I want it, Bruce. I know. I really do." The earnestness of adolescence makes Bruce shiver. "I'm still not going to risk hurting you." Dick shakes his head. "I don't know what you're so afraid of." It's hard to say aloud, but after all these months, he deserves an answer. "Myself." Dick stares at him, then grins. "Well, I trust you." "That doesn't reassure me." "Then what are you gonna do?" Dick frowns up at him. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just -- you. And I trust you, and I want this from you, and I'm really tired of waiting for you to stop being scared." It would be so very easy to believe him. Bruce kisses his forehead. "I'll be careful." Dick is still frowning at him. "Yeah, but what does that mean?" "It means working up to things gradually." "Gradually!" Dick says. "Like over months and months where you won't even let me touch you?" Bruce avoids answering this by pulling out a box from under the bed. "I won't hurt you." Dick throws the pillow at him. "I know that, already. What are you waiting for?" Bruce opens the box. "Here." Dick peers into it. "Um -- I already have one of those, you know." He takes out the narrowest toy in the box, a pale green dildo hardly larger than three fingers pressed close together, with a flanged base. It really looks nothing at all like a penis. "I didn't know they made them so small." "Occasionally, it's what people want." Bruce shrugs. "Huh." Dick squints at it for a moment, then sets it back and takes out the largest one. Interesting that he didn't take the medium-sized one, nor the buttplug; perhaps he doesn't know what the latter is for. "But why would you want something that small if you could use this? And why would you want to use any of them if you've got a real one?" "Some muscles don't stretch very well," Bruce begins, and Dick stares at him. "Uh-huh. I know. I did the research, okay? That's why you're supposed to use fingers and stuff." Bruce reaches the point where he's either going to throw Dick out or kiss him to shut him up. The boy's still fondling a dildo and looking at him with amusement. It's easier to kiss him than to argue, and from there, easier to get him settled sitting on Bruce's lap than toss him off the bed. He's still light, all bones and muscle. "I won't hurt you," Bruce says again. Dick rolls his eyes. "I freaking know already." "Do you still want this?" Bruce asks. "Yes. Yes, yes, fuck yes, please, yes." Dick puts his hands on Bruce's shoulders. "Do you want me to write it down and sign it? I'll write it down and sign it. I want this, from you, and I am not gonna change my mind. Could you just stop being so worried?" "Then -- all right, but only as fast as is safe." "Really? You promise?" Dick kisses him before Bruce has a chance to answer. "Thank god." "At my speed, Dick," Bruce says firmly. "Right, like everything." Dick grins. "But I -- okay. I can -- what's your speed like, anyway?" "It depends partially on what you need." Bruce kisses his cheek. His lips are too distracting by half. "Are we talking another six months, here?" Bruce winces. It would be best to extend this as long as possible and put off anything that may mean he loses control of himself around Dick, but -- "Nothing like that, no." Dick hugs him. "Good. Good good. Okay. I'm patient now." "Hm. Prove it to me." Bruce takes the red toy from him and puts it back in the box. "Why'd you get them out if you're not going to use them?" "I can hardly use them all at once, now, can I?" Bruce kisses him properly this time; anything to get Dick to shift his focus a little, even if it makes him wriggle on Bruce's lap. "Sure, if you really tried." Dick sighs against his ear. "An experiment for another time." Bruce takes the tube of lubricant out of the box with the toys and slicks his fingers. "Are you comfortable?" Dick smiles at him rather hazily and says, "Sure," before kissing him again. It's less sordid -- though no more moral -- to ease his finger inside Dick while he can see the boy's eyes widen at the feeling. "Does that hurt?" "No." He rocks his hips a little. "It's fine." Dick kisses him again. "Um." "What?" "I --" Dick shrugs. "I tried -- no, do that again -- um." He blinks a few times as Bruce pushes his finger back in. "I tried to find my prostate, but I -- I don't know." "Oh." Bruce kisses him again and Dick sighs. "This will be easier if --" he reaches for the lube again. Dick raises his eyebrows. "Mm. Getting daring, huh?" Bruce glares at him. "You'll tell me if it doesn't feel good." "Of course." Dick leans in and nuzzles his chest. "Always. Just --" Bruce hesitates a moment longer, then pushes two fingers into him. "That -- god. That is going to feel so good when it's not just your hand." "You need to keep breathing evenly," Bruce says, and works them deeper. "Oh -- oh. Oh. God." Dick shivers and focuses on his breathing again. "That -- that -- oh --" "There, yes," Bruce says, focusing on his face instead of the way he feels, on the sounds he makes instead of the nearly overpowering desire to stop being cautious and take him. Dick's already spread across his lap and writhing for him -- but -- it will pay, in the end, to be careful. It always does. "That's really -- really nice." Dick rocks his hips again, moving closer to Bruce until his erection rubs against Bruce's chest. "Keep -- keep doing that?" Bruce kisses him hard, muffling his moans. Dick clings to his shoulders for balance. Bruce strokes his cock in time to the small thrusts against his prostate. Dick works himself backward onto Bruce's fingers, whimpering, and comes. They're both a mess. "When do we get to really do it?" Dick asks, grinning at him. Part of Bruce is screaming at him to give in immediately, but his conscience insists that the answer is, "Not now." He moves his hands to Dick's hips. "Aw." Dick kisses him again. "Can I at least get you off?" Anything more than this is going to push Bruce over the edge and end up with Dick on his back in as short a timeframe as possible. The boy is relaxed and quite literally begging for it. "No." "I don't get it." Dick shakes his head. "And now you want me to go away again." "You need to sleep." Dick slides off his lap and gets up. "Don't you ever want anything?" Bruce takes a deep breath. He hasn't been doing the right things, overall, but he has, at least, tried. But it's so hard to keep trying. "I'm fine, Dick." "I wouldn't hurt you, either, you know." Dick wrinkles his nose and turns away. "Man, I need a shower." "There are extra towels in the bathroom here." He smiles. "Cool. Hey -- you want to shower with me?" Bruce tenses with the urge to accept. "Go on." "I didn't hear a no." "Dick -- go. Just go to bed." He ought to be too old to pout, for heaven's sake. "I don't know what you're getting out of this." Bruce says dryly, "The joy of your company. Go to bed." "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" "Go." Dick sighs gustily and goes, grabbing his robe on the way. Even so, it's hard for Bruce to wait until he's out the door. This is far more torturous than the earlier pattern, and as it gathers momentum, it is harder and harder to resist. He doesn't even make it as far as the shower. * * * * * The next night, the Joker breaks out of Arkham. For the next few nights, they are on the streets questioning everyone who might know anything until four-thirty in the morning, and Dick falls asleep on the way back to the Manor. They find the Joker in a toy store on the fifth night around four in the morning and take him in. When Bruce gets into his room after asking Alfred to call them both in sick, Dick is sound asleep. Rather than carry him to bed, Bruce more or less collapses next to him. When he wakes, eventually, Dick isn't there. Bruce finds him in the library, catching up on his homework, and helps him with a trigonometry problem. Thanks to the Joker's arrest and plenty of sleep, patrol goes smoothly. The streets are afraid of the Bat, tonight, which means that after he's put in an appearance, he can go home. This time, Dick really is posing in bed, one knee drawn up, his other leg out at a wide angle. He grins at Bruce. "Hi." Bruce's first -- no, his second inclination is to turn around and leave again. The first inclination is to take him up on his invitation as it's offered. Fortunately, he has plans that override both of these. He takes the box out from under the bed again, opens it, and sets it by the pillow. "Perhaps you need to work on subtlety, Dick." He laughs. "It isn't getting me anywhere, so I'm trying a different tactic." He props himself up on his elbows to see what Bruce is doing. "Are you actually gonna use one of those tonight?" "Possibly." Dick tucks his hands behind his head. If he were a few years older and rather broader in the shoulder, he'd be a convincing pin-up. "Cool." Bruce runs a hand over his chest. "We'll see." "Or you could just skip it." Dick catches his hand and kisses his palm, then the tip of his thumb. It would be too easy to -- no. "Don't do that," Bruce says, and pulls his hand away. "I don't get it." Dick raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you ever gonna let me?" "When it's safe." "Dammit." Dick punches the pillow. "All right. Fine. Make it safe, then." Bruce kneels between his legs and tucks his hands under Dick's hips. "It takes time." It's tempting to suck him, tempting to fuck him. Everything about him begs to be used, from his soft lips to his close-shaven thighs. It takes a vast amount of willpower to only -- only! -- tip his hips enough to lick the tight ring of muscle. Dick tangles his fingers in Bruce's hair and gasps, pushing up against his mouth. "That -- god, that feels so good." Bruce pauses and says, as sternly as he can manage, "It serves a practical purpose, Dick." "Sure," Dick says, grinning fondly at him. "It makes my brain turn into jello." "It helps you relax." Bruce kisses his thigh. "What?" Dick laughs. "I'm not relaxed, Bruce. You're driving me crazy. Maybe you should try something else." "You're not trying hard enough. Focus." Dick tugs on his hair a little, irritably. "I'm doing the best I -- oh, do that again -- yes -- " He can feel Dick's muscles shift under his hands, and the boy shudders. "That's -- yes. Please." Bruce hums against him, one low note, and Dick moans, wrapping his legs over Bruce's shoulders. "Remember," he says, over Dick's sigh, "everything is a means to an end." "I know, I know, but -- what are you waiting for?" Bruce backs up enough for Dick to move his legs to the sides and sits up so that he can take the lube out of the box and slick his fingers. "For you to relax." He adds more lubricant, easing his finger into Dick, and licks the head of his cock. "Jesus, Bruce, you're going to kill me." Dick writhes, caught between wanting to thrust up and wanting to push back. The dilemma makes him fist his hands at his sides. "Everything feels so good." His gasping praise eases something in Bruce; at least he has not hurt the boy, yet, though he has not indulged himself, either. Dick is trembling, and it would be simple to make him come like this, but Bruce lets go and says, "Not yet." He shivers hard. "I -- I -- god. Okay. I -- okay." "Relax," Bruce says, and licks him again. "Anyone ever tell you you're a pain -- oh, god -- in the ass? -- metaphorically." Dick pushes back against his finger. "Just -- do it already." "Relax." Bruce presses another finger inside him and sucks the head of his cock gently. "God." Dick braces his feet against the mattress and lifts his hips. "Just -- just --" Bruce lets him go and moves his hand away. "What?" Dick wails and sits up, reaching for him. "No, don't stop." "Get onto your knees." Dick glares at him. "Why are you teasing me so much?" Bruce hugs him for a moment to feel him tremble. "I have my reasons." Dick pokes him in the chest. "I'm sure. What are they?" "I want you to enjoy this," Bruce says, kissing his neck. "Don't you want to enjoy it?" Dick runs his hands down Bruce's sides. "I do." They've done this dance enough times that it's easy to catch his hands before they get anywhere. "I guess, but you could enjoy it more." Bruce squeezes his wrists lightly. "Soon enough." Dick pulls his hands away. "If you say so." "Kneel up and spread your legs again." "At least you don't expect me to be that patient." Dick grins at him and follows his instructions. He looks -- not delicate. Not fragile, Dick isn't fragile. Beautiful and needy, though, with every inch of his body. "No." Bruce kisses him. He means to do it lightly, but Dick hugs him in the middle of it, and it becomes much more involved. "Just a little patient." He reaches for the box he left by the pillow and takes out the smallest toy. Dick raises his eyebrows. "You mean it this time?" "If you're comfortable with it." Bruce slicks his fingers and the toy until he's on the verge of dropping it. "Probably," Dick says, watching him. There's a glint of mischief in his eye, as if he's getting away with something. When Bruce slides a finger inside him again, he sighs. "God. Why can't you just do it?" "Caution is a virtue," Bruce says, and Dick laughs, gasping when he adds another finger. "Are you all right?" "Yes." He wriggles. "God yes. Just stop teasing me already. Please." "Tell me if it's uncomfortable." Dick punches him in the shoulder, not at all gently. "I will." "Good." He kisses Dick again until the boy sighs, then starts to push the toy into him, as slowly as he can manage. "Oh, god --" Dick stares at him, eyes wide, face as open and naked as the rest of his body. "Keep going." He leans back slightly, onto it, and his eyelids flutter. "I -- I want you so bad, Bruce --" Bruce nips his ear to distract him from this frighteningly appealing thought. "Not now." "Not fair." Dick thrusts himself backward again and whimpers. "It feels so damn good, but -- please, please don't stop -- you'd feel better." "Dick --" Kissing him won't be enough to distract him. With the entire length of the toy inside him, his thighs are trembling, and his pupils are blown. Bruce puts a hand on his hip and bends down to suck him again. Dick groans, running his fingers through Bruce's hair. "Jesus, Bruce, fuck me." There's no caution left in him; his hips are moving too rapidly, too sharply for anything to be gentle. Every movement forward into Bruce's mouth is harsh, every move backward is a jerk of the hips that makes him whimper. "Please, please don't tease me anymore. I can't take it. I just -- just -- please --" It would be better if he would move more smoothly, with less desperation, but when Bruce tries to slow the pace, Dick tightens his fingers and throws himself into it all the more. It's nothing like taking him would be -- will be, he can't deny that it will happen. It's nothing like having the boy inside him, really, though that will happen soon enough. It makes Bruce's head swim, and not only with the difficulty of breathing. Dick's hungry little noises at every self-inflicted thrust make him shiver with wanting to cause them himself, but -- not now. Not yet. Not now particularly because Dick is coming. "God, Bruce." He breathes deeply, and Bruce recognizes the pattern used to combat dizziness. "That was -- god." Bruce sits up, meaning to pull him into a hug, but by the time he reaches out Dick is already embracing him. "You're all right, then?" "More than." Dick squeezes him and holds on for a while. After a few deep breaths, he lies down, tugging Bruce down next to him. Bruce wants to tell him to leave, but he feels too good to hold. There is something surreal and perverse about having Dick in his arms, calm and relaxed, with a dildo deep inside him. Reality snaps back into focus when Dick touches his thigh. "Let me get you off." Rolling onto his back shouldn't feel like showing his belly. "Dick --" "Please." "That's not what this is about." "No?" Dick pokes him gently and moves to straddle his stomach, then gives him the narrow-eyed look he generally reserves for interrogations. "Okay, so what is this about?" Bruce frowns up at him. "Do you want to leave?" Dick crosses his arms. "No. I want you to tell me what this is about. 'cause it's not about you -- I guess -- because you won't even admit you like it. And if that means it's just about me it doesn't make sense that you wouldn't give me what I ask for, even if what I want is to for god's sake be allowed to touch you, maybe, once in a while." Bruce prays, quietly and to no particular deity, for patience and serenity. The boy is still, underneath the sweat and muscle, fifteen. "You choose to be here." "Well, obviously." "I have never asked anything of you." Dick sighs. "That's the point, Bruce. You're supposed to." Bruce laughs, once. It's a harsh sound. "I don't think 'supposed to' is a good thing to bring up. You're supposed to be asleep in your own bed." "And you're not supposed to fight crime, but it doesn't stop you." "Dick --" Bruce shakes his head. "This isn't right." Dick leans forward and hugs him tightly. "I don't care. I want this, and I love you." Bruce rubs his shoulders gently. For all his skills, he's only a boy. "I don't want to hurt you." "Dammit." Dick sits up again and glares at him. "Do you want this, or not?" It's incredibly hard to meet his eyes without flinching or trying to distract him, and even then, words won't come. The only right answer is no, but that's not true. "Like oxygen." "Jesus, Bruce." Dick kisses him hard. "Can we please have sex now, both of us, not just you playing with me?" He should say no and send Dick away. He should have said no from the beginning. This whole situation is wrong. It's always been wrong, but at least it wasn't explicitly for his benefit, which made it somewhat easier to justify. Molesting one's ward is bad enough at said ward's encouragement; at least Bruce hasn't taken anything from him, yet, but what he's offered entirely of his own free will. He should turn this down, too, however freely offered. Let the boy go to his room, safe, while Bruce rubs himself until the ability to act goes away, if not the burning, raging desire. If he were a better man, he would have been lying about how much he needs this. It's a stupid question, and he knows the answer. All he needs is the sop to his conscience. "Are you sure you want to?" Dick stares at him. "Yes. I'm absolutely, totally, one-hundred percent positive." "All right." "-- what?" He looks flabbergasted. "Are you sure?" Bruce smiles. "Absolutely, totally --" Dick interrupts him with a kiss, then breaks it abruptly. "You promise you won't send me away and then jerk off in the shower?" "I promise, yes." "Thank god." Dick kisses him again, and he's trembling a little. He can't be hard again already, but -- well, he is fifteen. "Whenever you're ready," Bruce says. Dick laughs and rocks teasingly against him. "I've been ready." "Well -- not quite." Bruce finds the lubricant again. "You'll need more of this." "Got it, boss." Dick kisses him and reaches back to pull the toy out of himself, wincing a little. Bruce frowns. If anything's wrong -- "Are you --" Dick glowers at him. "I'm fine. It's just weird, that's all." "You're sure." There are, as always, visions of how many ways this can go horribly wrong. "Yes, I'm sure." Dick holds out his hand. "Can I have that?" Bruce hands it to him. "Use twice as much as you think you'll need." "A precision job, huh?" Dick puts some on his fingers, eyes the amount, and carefully doubles it. "For want of a nail --" Bruce says, but he loses the rest of the sentence. It's entirely too distracting to watch Dick finger himself. He could lose entire days to this, studying the way Dick's arm moves and exactly the reactions he provokes in his legs and thighs, let alone the play of expressions across his face from trepidation to curiosity to satisfaction. "I think -- I think I want you so bad I can't think." He grins at Bruce. "A little more lubricant, first," Bruce says. "Right." Dick gives him a smile he hardly ever uses when he's not wearing a mask and runs his slick hand over Bruce's cock. "Like that?" He's known for months how that would feel, and the reality nearly undoes him. Dick's callused, narrow fingers make his eyes roll back in his head. "Yes." "You think that's enough?" "I --" Bruce takes a deep breath, trying not to come in his hand. Not yet, not yet. "Yes. It's enough." "Should I move?" Dick asks, still grinning at him. "Like this," Bruce says, and squeezes his hip. "Easier to stop." For both of them, but especially for Dick. This is as safe as it can be; he could, theoretically, hold the boy there, but it would be much more difficult than most other positions. "Okay." Dick leans forward again and kisses him. "You know I love you, right?" The urge to hug him tightly and promise to protect him from everything wars with the urge to roll them both over and fuck him senseless. Bruce has to close his eyes for a moment in order to do neither. "Yes. I know." "Just checking." Dick kneels up again and settles back onto Bruce's cock, agonizingly slowly, in shallow little strokes. He's breathing smoothly -- the pattern must be conscious -- until he says, "Oh." Bruce opens his eyes, though everything in his mind is screaming about how tight and warm and perfect he feels. "Are you --" Dick pets his chest. "I'm fine. You feel --" He shifts side to side, just a little, and Bruce groans. "You feel wonderful." It's an effort not to stammer. "So do you." "It's so --" Dick shivers and bears down a little faster. "I -- I can't think." Bruce rubs his thigh. "It's all right." "But I want to." Dick rocks up, then down again, harder and farther. "Oh god. I want to remember this." "Just relax," Bruce says. "It's not the only time. Unless you want it to be." He laughs. "You're crazy. Why -- I -- I -- you feel great." Dick grins at him and wriggles a little. "We should -- oh -- do this all the time." Bruce has to close his eyes again. "Might make it hard to fight crime." "Sure," Dick says, "but we'd have so much fun." His voice has gone breathy, and he's moving faster now. It's all Bruce can do not to thrust. "Why didn't you -- god, yes -- do this the first time?" Bruce shakes his head, remembers Dick may have his eyes closed, too, and says, "I didn't want to hurt you." "Hurt me -- you haven't done anything to hurt me." Dick writhes, and Bruce can't not move up, push into him a little faster. It makes him moan softly. "Do that again." He can't deny that request, and if he's going to give in enough to move, he can watch. Dick is painfully beautiful like this, legs wide, his head thrown back in a whimper and his chest heaving with his shuddering breaths. Bruce strokes his cock in rhythm to his thrusts, and he speeds up. "Jesus," Dick says, and opens his eyes with an obvious force of will. "That's -- you're --" He moans, losing words again. "It's all right," Bruce says, and Dick laughs again, every chuckle made sharper by his labored breathing. "It is." "God, you made me want this so long," Dick says, shivering. "And it's -- you're -- every time I look at you -- I'm gonna think of this. Of you -- inside me -- like this." Bruce shudders and strokes him faster, finding the insistent rhythm that always works best when they're both out of patience. He doesn't have the breath to tell Dick that it's true for both of them, that it's been true since the first night Dick came to him, or how devastatingly wonderful it is that he's finally given in. All he can do before he falls apart entirely is make Dick come for him. "Bruce --" Dick says, and whimpers, his muscles clenching and his chest flushing red as he orgasms. He gasps for breath and says, "Not fair," and fucks himself on Bruce's cock, harder, faster, until Bruce comes, losing every last remaining shred of self-control to the inevitable rush of pleasure, with Dick grinning at him all the while. "You are such a jerk," Dick says when Bruce opens his eyes again. A cold sweat goes down his back. After all this time -- "Did I hurt you?" "No, of course you didn't." He pokes Bruce in the chest, wrinkling his nose. "I meant not letting me see you like that. That was --" He shakes his head. "It was great. Intense. And we're going to do this again. A lot." "Mm," Bruce says, stroking his thigh and looking for a sufficiently enthusiastic but noncommittal answer. "I owe you a couple hundred orgasms," Dick says, grinning at him. The idea of sneaking into Dick's room every night for the next six months makes Bruce wince. "I wasn't keeping score." "I was. And I still don't know how you taste." Dick's smile goes wicked. Bruce shivers at the thought. He can still hurt Dick in so many ways. "No." "No, what? You mean you don't want me to?" He stretches his shoulders and says, "Man, I need a shower." Something occurs to him and he grins. "And then I can find out how you taste." "Not tonight." Bruce sits up a little and Dick winces, then kneels up, making a face. "You're sure you're all right." "Yes. I'll be sore tomorrow, but it doesn't hurt." Dick hugs him. "Come on, Bruce. Relax a little. It's gonna be okay." Bruce strokes his hair. "If you're all right." "I'm fine." Dick kisses him. "Will you just relax?" "I'll do my best." Prophetic sonnets
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