Title: Ensheathed invulnerable with me (D. H. Lawrence) Fandom: DCU (mid-Robin #131) Summary: The boy is trembling, angry and afraid, but Bruce won't let him leave yet. Pairing: Bruce/Tim Rating: Adult For Te. Thanks to Betty for requesting clarifications. Tim doesn't say, "Bruce?" There is no need. He turns toward the second kiss and lets Bruce embrace him. The boy is trembling, angry and afraid, but Bruce won't let him leave yet. Tim tastes like Robin -- young and not-young -- and he digs his fingernails into Bruce's shoulders, sharp and hard, until they both gasp. He has always learned quickly. In the third kiss, Tim relaxes, still silently. There is no surrender. Once there might have been, and he might have stayed Robin, but there is something to be said for the appropriate present. Bruce will never have Tim's full trust in the way that he had Jason's -- who must have expected Batman there, at the last. In the way he still has Dick's. He has never sent Tim away alone; Tim is going. Tim's fingers shake when he kisses the tips. Tim fists a hand in his jacket and looks up at him, still furious. As long as he is angry, he is alive. The boy's silence is at once disconcerting and comforting. It makes him real and it makes him perfect. As a partner, an equal, there could be no one better. There were ways in which he was never meant to be either. Tim's breath hitches when Bruce kneels and unfastens his pants. It's almost a word, and Bruce looks up at him, waiting. The guiltiest shadow in Bruce's memory knows that he should be training hard, now, and that he should never be able to give this to this boy. There should be a different Robin, here, now, with wider hips and softer hands, one who had too much to learn. One who could not, would not stand silent. He would never have touched her, just as he did not touch the others. The skin of Tim's hand is rough where it brushes his ear. Tim does not even have the courtesy to let his breath go ragged. He knows too much of control. His hand is shaking for a moment -- perhaps it is the friction, perhaps the suction -- and he stops it. Breathes. He is perfect. If he cries out, he will have to stay another night, another year, until he has learned. He has seen the worst in all of them and he did not make a sound. The heat of Bruce's mouth cannot be anything after that; there is nothing here to force him. His legs are not shaking, and his balance is impeccable. How many times has he pushed himself to be physically flawless, past all expectations? The silence of his breathing -- faster, now -- is the product of years of practice. This is his reward. His hand tenses, oh so slightly, and he comes. He is learning to surprise Bruce. Bruce stands and touches his shoulder. "Well done." Tim raises an eyebrow. "I should have stopped you." "Why?" Tim fastens his pants and looks away, finding the shadows that cloak his face. "I would owe you one less favor." "That wasn't a favor." Tim looks at him. "No. It wasn't." Bruce turns toward the console, but not before he sees the flash of victory in Tim's eyes. "What do you need to take with you?"
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