Title: Hand-me-down Fandom: DCU (Dixon's Robin) Summary: I'm not a judge. And you're not innocent. Rating: Adult Pairing: Bruce/Tim Warning: Content some readers may find disturbing, though not D. H. Lawrence this time. Notes: Thanks to Chevauchee for audiencing and Betty for tempering my usual style with an astute beta. Disclaimer: Not mine. DC Comics'. I make no money from this. "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world," says the kid in the red hooded sweatshirt, and the guys at his table set down their poker cards, abandoning a decent-sized pot. They're all backing away as fast as they can go while attempting to look like they're not moving. "We ain't done nothin' wrong," one of them says, staring at the sparkling pieces of glass all over the bar and the tables. "We ain't been gambling," says another, holding his hands up. A third pulls his hand away from his knife. "Honest, Batman." "We don't even let Alvin here drink," says the first, filling the silence when there is no accusation forthcoming. "Alvin who?" asks the Batman, in his deepest, most threatening voice. All the poker players turn to stare at their fourth, but he's not there now. The first one to speak says, "Oh shit." "We're real sorry, Batman," says the second, but by the time he looks back, Batman's gone. Alvin's running down the alleyway behind the bar when Batman catches him by the scruff of the neck. "Shit," he says, and "I ain't got it." It's taken him lots of practice to learn to use 'ain't,' and even now he has to concentrate. Batman could easily sling him against the wall, so he knows how damn lucky he is when he gets set down and patted down. "You still have something of mine," Batman says coldly. Alvin shakes his head, his eyes wide with awe. Maybe a little too wide, but it never hurts to look afraid. "No way. I got my stuff and that's it." Batman tugs at the hood of his sweatshirt and peers at a sewn-in tag, ignoring the way he chokes Alvin to do it. "So you're claiming your name is Jason Todd." He goes as red as the shirt, he can feel it in his cheeks. As he should. "Got it from my brother," he stammers. "He --" And now Batman shoves him against a wall as hard as Alvin's been fearing, right over a piece of graffiti that says "T'kilah&John 4eva." "Theft is only the beginning," Batman says, low and harsh in his ear. "If you let yourself begin here, you'll be in worse straits before long." "I didn't steal it," Alvin protests, but the last word gets choked off because Batman's flying with him, straight up like Superman, not bats fly and he's staring out over the different rooftops of Gotham because now they're swinging and he doesn't want to be here with Batman's arm around his waist, but it's here or dead. Alvin's heard Batman doesn't kill, but there's a first time for everything. "Lying isn't going to help your case." Batman sets him down on the roof of some building, god knows what and Alvin sure doesn't, and backs him against one of those roof sculpture things. Gargoyles, that's the word. "What else of mine do you have?" Alvin holds his hands up. "Nothing. I swear." Batman kicks his legs apart and frisks him again, lingering like a vice cop, making him brace his hands on the gargoyle and petting his pockets like he's somehow gotten something in there in the last couple minutes. In midair. Even Alvin's not that good. "You know how the legal system works?" Batman asks. He has a rap sheet, somewhere. Not in the police department files, but there is one. "Like, what, lawyers and --" Alvin chokes as Batman unzips his jeans. "And innocent 'til proven guilty and that?" "I'm not a judge." Batman bites the back of his neck. "And you're not innocent." Alvin gasps and lets his head fall. He could yell for help, but who the hell's going to hear him up here except Batman? Not like Robin would come swooping in to rescue a street punk from the big bad Bat. "How do you know?" "You're a thief." "No --" Alvin makes an awful, high-pitched sound when Batman shoves his shorts down. "Jesus, I'm not." "Then your name is Jason Todd," cold, dark, impenetrable. Except for the ways in which it's all too inevitable. "Not that either." Alvin braces himself against the concrete shape in front of him and groans as Batman pushes a finger inside him. "Why are you doing this?" "You should know by now, 'Jason.'" He's never heard anyone so monotone and sarcastic at the same time. Anyone else, at least. "I didn't do anything wrong." "Stop lying." The first thrust pushes Alvin up on his toes and makes him tense and shudder. "God, please --" Batman covers his mouth with one hand. "You're not paying attention." The next thrust makes Alvin almost glad of the hand over his mouth. He groans against it, trying to relax, to let this insanity just be what it is. His sentence for whatever the fuck the Bat thinks he did, his punishment for getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, spreading him open and pushing into him. Batman lets him go and grabs his hip, pumping harder, and Alvin says, "Oh fuck, fuck that's -- Jesus, Batman, you're gonna kill me." "Liar," Batman accuses him, digging harsh-gloved fingers into his skin. He's going to have bruises for weeks. Long after he can sit down -- which sure as shit won't be tomorrow, no matter how he tries to brace himself, to relax into it. "You bastard --" he chokes on the words, forced breathless by Batman's weight on his back. "Oh, fuck you, that's so --" hand on his mouth again, just as forceful, gloved fingers in his mouth, silencing him. He could bite, but Batman could throw him off the building, and it's a long way down. Batman growls against his neck and pushes him forward against the gargoyle, pins him there for six harsh thrusts until he shudders hard and pins Alvin with what feels like dead weight, letting his mouth go. "Hell of a game of cops and robbers you've got here," Alvin says, all too aware he's hard and getting colder, and that Batman's done. The words make Batman shiver again and pull out, pull away, let him go. "This isn't a game." Alvin shakes his head, mouth half-open in disbelief, hoping that the open shock will work. "Yeah, right." It gets him grabbed again, turned, pushed back until he's lying on the damn gargoyle, arched back over it and freezing his ass. "Don't you ever learn, Jason?" No sarcasm this time from Batman, who's bending over him, leaning in. "Alvin," he says, desperately. "It's Alvin." "The hell it is." Batman's mouth is on him. It's the craziest thing yet in this crazy half-hour, so hot and desperate it could make a sane guy scream. Alvin's curling up around himself, completely fucking lost even though none of this makes any damn sense. He's whimpering until his throat hurts, and Batman's throat's got to hurt worse. Who knew the guy could deepthroat? It makes Alvin bang his head on the gargoyle and scream as he loses it, completely and totally. Batman gives him a hand up. It's the only thing that stops him from sliding off the edge into the darkness. "Don't wear that again," he says, and maybe his voice is a little hoarser now. "Why the fuck not?" Batman tangles his fingers in Alvin's hair, all the texturing on his glove catching and wrenching. "There will be consequences." Alvin makes himself laugh. "Sure, Bats, whatever. Hey, where the hell's your sidekick?" Batman tugs his hair, but he manages to keep grinning. "Aren't you supposed to fuck him, not me?" Batman lets him go. "I expect Robin to meet me at R-23 in ten minutes," meaningless to Alvin. "Right, sure, whatever." He looks down to zip up, keep himself warm, and when he looks up, Batman's gone, abandoning him on the roof. Time to change clothes.
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