Title: In loco parentis Fandom: DCU (Nightwing: Year One) Summary: The problem is that Dick hasn't got anyone else to be. Yet. Pairing: Clark/Dick Rating: Adult Notes: For Te, heavily inspired by Chuck Dixon. This page in particular brought this story on. Thanks to Kate for audiencing. Warning: This wasn't going to be a particularly emo story, but Te started saying how spare my style was. As an avid hater of Ernest Hemingway, I felt obligated to prove her wrong. Having Dick in the Fortress makes the name seem less strange. It's still a place to be alone, but his presence validates that. He is invited, accepted. Clark doesn't have to say, "Make yourself at home." Not to Robin. Every time he thinks that name, he's grateful that superspeed means Dick doesn't have to see him wince and remember. Dick relaxes as readily in Clark's space as he did in Clark's arms on the flight south. Perhaps he knows it's safe to be Dick, here, instead of Robin. In this place, Clark Kent would be overwhelmed, and Superman would be overkill. The problem is that Dick hasn't got anyone else to be. Yet. There are few trophies here, no pennies, no dinosaurs, but some of the artifacts come from villains they had fought together. Dick walks past them as if they are invisible and asks, "Who made this one?" about a safely neutral ray-gun. To say Bruce's name would bring him into this space and break the solitude it's supposed to contain. Clark says, "It was originally designed to be a weather-control device. It ended up shooting microwaves that cooked its victims." "Nasty." Dick grimaces at it. "Is it broken now?" "I had to melt its microchips to disable it, yes." The next room is the one he had in mind when he brought Dick here -- the history files. Easier to talk about this, things that don't touch on Robin, on Batman, on pettiness. The story of Nightwing makes Dick relax a little more. For all his jokes about the "Super-Cave," this is not as cluttered -- storied -- a place as the grotto he's used to, and though the starkness makes Clark -- and those parts of him that are more Kal than Clark -- feel at home, it may be a bit sterile for Dick. Dick, who is doubtless feeling homeless. "Thanks for letting me come and visit," Dick says when he's done with his tea. "I -- I know what you mean about solitude, but I'm really not that good at being alone." The image of Superman working with a smiling, dangerous boy following him is nothing new, even if it is still wholly impractical. Even more impractical now because Dick isn't -- entirely -- that boy anymore. He has his own team, and -- no. Superman really shouldn't have a partner. It's entirely possible that Dick shouldn't now, either. Kal smiles at him. "Sometimes we all need company. You're welcome to visit when you need to." Dick looks away from him. "Thanks." Kal touches his shoulder and Dick looks at him -- surprised in that moment (short to him, clearly visible to Kal) between seeing him and remembering that Bruce isn't there. "I mean it. Whenever you need me, call me." He can listen more closely than he has been, pay more attention -- if he had been listening, would he have been able to stop the tragedy from striking? It has nothing to do with him; it is Dick's tragedy, and Bruce's. If he is ever able to make Bruce do something other than what he wants -- Perhaps he'll be able to make Dick smile. Dick's smile should never look forced. "Yeah, me and how many other billion people?" Another wince too fast for him to see, and Kal frowns, feeling like Ma. "No, Dick. You are a great deal more important --" Dick laughs, sharp and sounding all too much like Bruce. "No, you've got it backward. What happens to me is less important than what happens to the people I'm supposed to help." If it's Pa's gesture to put both his hands on Dick's shoulders and look him squarely in the face, so be it. Dick needs reassurance, and Kal needs to give it. "That's never been true." Dick shrugs. "It is for you." Kal doesn't hide this wince, though it makes Dick frown to see it. "I can bear a great deal more." "You know I'm not weak," Dick says. He sighs. "I'm just --" Lost. Alone. Cut off in the essential tragedy of humanity. It's wrong for him -- for Robin, the boy who always smiles, for Dick, whose heart is big enough to reach out to Bruce of all people -- to feel so hurt and look so pained. Kal kisses him because he is too beautiful to permit anything else. It's impossible not to focus on him, to use every sense to its fullest. The way Dick trembles in surprise hurts -- however unsurprising it should be. They've known each other for years, fought beside each other, and this is new -- there is no reason Dick should accept this, however it's meant. Dick gasps -- it hasn't been half a second yet -- and in gasping, he opens his mouth a little. So soft -- so human. Kal groans in relief when Dick kisses him back, tasting of tea and bergamot, but underneath those sharp flavors, the sweetness of wanting, of adolescence. The particular tang of youth is one that he hasn't tasted for some time -- and even here it is not as strong as his heart expects. Robin is not a boy anymore, and his passions -- though no weaker -- have a different tinge. Robin has always been so loving, so easy to love. Dick is not Robin anymore. It hurts Kal to remember it, and he can only imagine how much each successive remembering must pain Dick. It's not necessary to remind him, or to let him think of it, now. There's no remedy, but perhaps distraction will suffice. Dick is embracing him, and he feels more fragile than he should, more fragile than Robin would. Without his armor, without his mask, without -- and with all his experience, besides. The fragility is an illusion on a human level. Dick breaks off the third kiss with a sound like another gasp. "I wasn't expecting --" His heart is pounding loud and insistent as the taste of hormones. To lose Dick's friendship and Robin's trust would be unbearable. "Is it unwelcome?" That frown makes Kal worry for too many subjective moments -- of course, there is Starfire to consider. A formidable person in her own right. Dick shakes it off, shakes her off perhaps -- another continent, another time. When he stops frowning, it is hard to remember he was ever unhappy, and impossible not to smile at him. It would be better if there were no discomfort. Kal does not know enough about Tamaranian mores. Perhaps they can have this, and it will comfort Dick. Dick's smile implies that it will be all right, one way or another. "What's a leave of absence for?" He kisses Kal again, hesitation gone, sighing and relaxing from his chest to his shoulders. His trust is addictive, and if Kal had not already done so, he would promise to do everything in his power to make sure he deserves it. "Time to think," Kal says against his ear, and Dick is laughing. Dick should always laugh so easily. It makes Kal's chest lighter to hear it. It must do the same for Bruce -- or it must have done. How anyone could stop wanting to hear Dick laugh -- That is not something Kal can imagine. "I don't want to think right now," he says, and he kisses Kal again, warm and demanding. Every long instant of the kiss is too short, and each is more important than the last until Kal lifts him again and flies them out of the kitchen area into the sleeping quarters. It's the space between one breath and the next for Dick, and he moans when Kal sets him on the bed. "Is this better?" The shadows in Dick's smile are fading into hunger. It would be better if they were gone entirely, but that he is willing to let himself relax at all with Kal is wonderful. "Yes. Yes. Kiss me again." "You're so beautiful," Kal says. Kissing isn't enough; he has to push his hands under Dick's sweatshirt and feel his delicate, scarred skin. All of his years as Robin are mapped on his body; he will never lose them. Touching his scars makes Dick gasp again and arch up, reaching to unfasten his clothes. "Oh, yes, Clark --" It's not wrong -- not from Dick, at least. He's never sounded like this (except in moments that weren't for Kal at all), but he is as familiar and perfect, lifting his hips to pull his jeans down, as he always is. As he always has been, and these hopes -- desires -- have been there too long. "So strong," Kal says, and Dick laughs until Kal licks at the wet, salty head of his dick. To be allowed this is a minor miracle. It makes Dick moan and buck, whimpering, "Oh Clark," again. "I can't --" He runs his fingers through Kal's hair, hard enough that it might -- no, would hurt a human. The strength in his hands makes this sweeter; the unconscious trust and awareness that he can't hurt Kal is perfect. Dick can have everything he needs, anything he can ask for and whatever Kal can provide. Everything in the world, beginning with the warmth of Kal's mouth until it makes him shiver and curse. "Oh fuck -- oh Clark, you feel amazing, that's --" Kal sucks him, keeping the suction light -- so light, and yet it makes Dick's breath come rough and fast. "Please -- please --" There are instants where he forgets that it's not Robin, pushing into his mouth -- his voice is so familiar --  but not a moment when he forgets it is Dick. Dick's hips snap up and he tightens his hands. It's been too long since a human has been this rough, and Kal groans at the feeling. This is more than trust; it is abandon, and he can have Dick this way, lost in his own pleasure and drowning in wanting -- "Clark, god --" Dick clutches at him harder and wail, wordless, as he comes and shakes. There is too much there to see at once, too much pleasure, but Kal can remember it all for later. Dick lets Kal go with a shudder and reaches for his shoulder. He is damp with his own sweat, naked, and desperately strong in his own way. Kal hugs him, careful not to pin him down -- until Dick hauls at his shoulder and pulls Kal on top of himself. It is strange to feel him, not as small as Robin would be, as half of Kal's mind insists he should be. He's not accustomed to Dick, yet. "Whatever you need," he says. Dick laughs. "I want you to feel good. Or at least take your clothes off." He pokes Kal's chest, and the S. Perhaps it's strange to wear the seal for this, but it is a matter of honor and love. "It's not like I mind the colors, but it's a little --" "The cape would probably get in the way," Kal agrees -- keeping his reluctance aside -- and he takes off the top half of the suit. "Oh, man," Dick says, his eyes a little wide, "I knew you didn't get scars but -- oh --" he touches Kal's chest, and flicks at his nipple lightly. The experimentation in his face makes him seem -- no, not like Robin. More like himself. Like he's daring himself -- and Dick has always been daring. "Can you even feel that?" "Maybe not the same way you would, but yes." Kal licks his fingers and touches Dick's nipples lightly to watch him feel it and shiver, the expression slow as sunrise and fast as nerves fire. Dick shivers. "I should --" "Dick," Kal says, and kisses him, tasting him again. "This is for you." Dick snorts. "If it's for me, let me touch you." He runs his hand down Kal's back and pulls him close. It's strangely familiar -- like hugging Robin, except that this is Dick, and he has never had this luxury. "I don't want to owe you one." Kal breathes in the complex human scent of him. It is quickly becoming an addiction; to think otherwise requires him to accept that he has wanted this -- too long. "You don't owe me anything." "Sure I do." Dick slides his hands into Kal's tights, pulling them down, and bites his lip. A boyish gesture, from a young man. "You're so warm." "Really, you owe me nothing." He has wanted this for years, and it seems as though he shouldn't have it, even now, even with Dick naked in his arms. "Don't." Dick kisses him, then scoots down the bed. His fearlessness -- when he loses everything that made him Robin, he will stop being Dick. This hunger -- Kal wants to know how long it has been there. It will take some thought. Dick says, "I want this, too, Clark." There is no time to think -- not now. Clark is, if anything, more unselfish than Kal. Kal wants Dick again, now, rapturous and perfectly in this moment. But to demand it might break the rhythm and lose everything -- no, not everything. He can't lose Dick's friendship. But -- "Dick --" "God, you're so perfect." Dick's mouth is hot, wet -- human, so much an expression of everything that makes him who he is that it is difficult to savor. Kal focuses on the passage of time, on not letting himself move at all. Strength and fearlessness can only carry Dick so far. His tongue holds still -- no, not still, but the movements are torturously slow, dangerously intense. Everything he does is quick and precise, in his own timescale. He looks up at Kal and the trust in his eyes is enough to move mountains, if there were any in his way. There is nothing that could prevent Kal from protecting him, from loving him. He deserves to be loved as wholly and intensely as he loves, after all. Kal's thighs are trembling already with the effort of holding still and letting Dick tease him, whether or not it is meant as a tease. The soft noises he makes are delicious -- that Dick wants this, truly wants it, is an ever-expanding revelation. Dick wets his hand and strokes Kal faster, and the difficulty of allowing it to be what it is becomes worse. Kal knows -- trusts, believes absolutely -- that he can bear this as long as it goes on. When Dick puts a hand on his hip and pulls him in with all the trust he has ever had in Clark -- no, in Superman -- it is breathtakingly difficult not to betray that trust. Kal can only manage it by holding his breath, letting one form of control stand in for another. To love Dick -- whose resilience and flexibility are so clear -- means being careful of him, if only in this respect. Though when he recognizes the control -- at least, that Kal is holding his breath -- he stops. Lets go. It would be impossible not to look at the wetness of his lips, not to catalogue the swelling -- and Dick says, "You okay?" Kal touches his mouth -- so red, all the blood close to the surface -- and takes a breath. "Yes. I don't need to breathe." Dick licks his fingers and Kal remembers every movement of his tongue. That Dick could be hungry for this -- he should stop being surprised. "I know," Dick says around Kal's thumb. "I was just checking." "I'm fine," Kal says, to make Dick smile. He is still -- not Robin. He is still Dick, and the joy in his smile is as infectious as ever, or would be if there were any part of Kal not joyful already. He licks his lips with a devastating slowness -- no, it's so fast it may be unconscious. "Great." He looks down again and smiles wider. He is so beautiful. "I didn't really want to stop." It takes an act of will to stroke his cheek and not push his head down -- he is leaning in, but he needs to go faster, faster. The beats of Dick's heart are still quicker than resting, his hormones still higher, but subjectively he is all too calm. Kal can't stop wanting him to be maddened with this. "It's all right," Kal says, and he moves his hand to Dick's shoulder -- to be safe. "You don't need to be gentle." Dick looks up again for a long -- moment, just a moment, and says, "Neither do you." Dick pushes himself to be perfect -- for Kal, for Clark, for Superman. That he knows how to open his throat like that -- that he can bear the feeling -- it's impossible that anyone could feel it and not push into his mouth -- his welcoming, perfect mouth. Kal moans, and it's only when he has to breathe -- has to -- that he hears Dick groan. It's not a pained sound, it's hungry. He focuses again, seeing, feeling every clench of the muscles in his mouth and throat. It's dizzying; it's perfect. Dick's hand tightens on his hip and he remembers -- again -- that he has every right to this. Every invitation he could ever need to let his hips snap roughly, to cry out in a language Dick doesn't know, to lose himself in the heat, the perfection of Dick's mouth, Dick's desire for him and love for him. It's safe; it's always been safe to love Robin. The bright colors behind his eyes when he comes belong to Dick, and only Dick. "Oh, Clark," Dick says -- and he is hoarse, too far away. It is a subjective moment before Kal moves them both into an embrace, sweaty and perfect. Another instant to scan him, to check for any damage. "I didn't hurt you." It doesn't have to be a question; small blessings. Dick laughs -- still hoarse, but he will be fine by the next day. "No. God, you're amazing." Kal kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his so-red lips. "Not as much as you are." "No way." Dick nuzzles him. "I mean, you're Superman. I'm just R --" He winces. "You're not 'just' anyone." Kal gives him a little squeeze -- as Ma might, if she could comfort him. "You're Dick, and you never cease to amaze me." He's blushing, and that's not quite what Kal wanted. "I'm not used to being Dick all the time, I guess." He takes Kal's hand and kisses the palm. "I'm going to have to find someone else to be, too. Tell me about that Nightwing guy again."
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