Title: Prophetic sonnets Fandom: DCU Series: The only immortality Pairing: Bruce/Dick Summary: This is an excellent way to convince someone to lie to you. Rating: Adult. Content some readers may find disturbing. Notes: Thanks to Jack for beta, and the usual suspects for encouraging me to write it in the first place. Disclaimer: They still belong to DC Comics, who sue people who ask for money for this kind of thing. But I'm not asking for money. There should be marks all over Dick's neck, showing above his schoolboy collar, but of course there aren't. There ought to be hickeys up and down Robin's thighs, proclaiming to anyone who gets close enough to look exactly what he's been doing, but those, too, are missing. Months of keeping him at arm's length left no visible change in him; one night of indulgence should, but didn't, show in any way. Occasionally, Bruce regrets his own caution. Dick is, of course, in his bed at the end of the night, and -- now he is not the boy he seemed three nights ago, because his grin -- while as bright as ever -- is off, a little. "Dick," Bruce says, "are you all right?" "Fine. Absolutely fine. Come to bed." He's been fidgeting again; he so rarely has the ability to lie still. When Bruce gets into bed and reaches out to put an arm around him, the extent and direction of the changes wrought by the previous night become clear. He hadn't reckoned on the boy bringing handcuffs to bed -- so soon, especially -- but there's one around his wrist already. "What are you trying to accomplish?" Dick runs his hand over the cuff and up Bruce's arm. "I want to play with you." "You can ask, you know." "Can I?" He narrows his eyes. "Because the thing is that I've been asking, and asking, and all you've said except yesterday is no, and I'm really tired of no. Especially because I know you want it really." Bruce shakes his head. "I thought you were familiar with the concept of acquaintance rape." "Oh, please." Dick pokes him in the chest. "You gave me these cuffs. You could pop them hanging upside down blindfolded if you had to. That's not what this is. I just want to see you, that's all." Bruce puts his hands over his head. "All right." Dick kisses him. "Is that a 'please tie me to the bed' thing?" It is, after all, entirely true that he can get free in a manner of seconds. "If it's what you want." The wicked smile on Dick's face probably ought to make him worry, even as the boy loops the cuffs through part of the headboard and fastens them. "Great." Bruce tests them a little, but, of course, Dick knows what he's doing. "Mm. What did you have planned?" "Well, I should just jerk you off a lot," Dick says in a faux-offhand tone, looking him over in what is apparently supposed to be a casual way, "but that wouldn't be a lot of fun, really. So maybe -- hmm." He rests his chin on his hand. "I don't really know that much yet," he says, lying through his teeth -- Bruce has seen those computer records. "Maybe you should tell me." "I've given you several practical demonstrations of various techniques." Bruce watches the corner of Dick's mouth twitch with a suppressed grin. "Whatever you'd like to experiment with is all right." Dick licks his fingertips and plays with one of Bruce's nipples pensively, making a show of his consideration. "Hmm. Well -- it doesn't have to be all at once, right? We have to be, you know, cautious, and stuff." "Cautious" is beginning to be one of Bruce's least favorite words in bed, even though it's entirely his fault that Dick is using it. "It doesn't have to be all at once," he says. Dick kisses him, pulling away the moment he tries to deepen it. "Can I -- no, may I come back tomorrow?" "Yes." There used to be a rule about that, but it's too late now. Dick spreads the fingers of his hand wide over Bruce's stomach. "Are you going to stop letting me touch you?" He should say yes. He should slip the cuffs now and send the boy away, but it would be like trying to glue a shattered vase back together. The rules will never hold against Dick's smile. "No." Dick kisses his hip, right where there is the tracery of an old scar. "You love me, right?" Bruce shivers. "Dick --" "Don't you?" "Coercing a confession is rarely useful." Dick laughs against his thigh. "Right, which is why you never do it. Come on, Bruce, say it." Bruce bites his lip. There have to be rules. Some things are just beyond the pale. "That's not the same." "Isn't it?" Dick presses one light, closed-lipped kiss to the head of his dick. Bruce suppresses -- everything. "I know it's true, but -- I just want to hear it from you." "This is an excellent way to convince someone to lie to you." It's Batman's voice. It's the only voice he has left. "You wouldn't lie to me." Dick nuzzles him gently -- too gently. "Not if I could avoid it." That makes Dick look up, alarmed. "Why would you need to do that?" Bruce takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "To protect you. To give you what you need. For your own good." Dick shakes his head. "Those are bullshit reasons." He is so young. "Dick --" "Stop it." Dick sits up and glowers at him. "If you're going to say you want me to go away, I'm not gonna believe you. Or if you say you don't actually love me, because -- because I know you do. Or if you say you don't want this, because I'm not stupid, dammit." Bruce manages to unclench one of his fists. "Then why did you ask?" "'cause." Dick strokes his thigh. "It would be good to hear every once in a while." "You're working from good theories." Dick shakes his head. "Are you always this much of a pain? Do you do this to all those girls, too?" "They don't ask me those questions." "But you think my theories are sound?" He can't help using the Batman voice. "Based on all of the information presently available -- yes." Dick narrows his eyes. "All the information available to me, or to you, or what?" Bruce shrugs a little and considers freeing his hands. "I've shared everything relevant with you." "And I'm right?" Telling him he's wrong would be an outright lie, and whatever the morality involved in this is, it would be entirely counterproductive to base it on a false representation. "Yes." Dick nuzzles his thigh. It tickles enough that his muscles twitch. "Good to know." Bruce feels a certain temptation to encourage him in this experimentation, along with a sense that doing much more than sighing and waiting for him to decide what he wants in his own time is inappropriate pressure, however relatively passive. Fortunately, it doesn't take more than a minute for Dick to get tired of mouthing his thigh, though the next step up is apparently more light kisses, soft and dry. Every few moments, Dick looks up at him, curiously, then more mischievously. As stimulation goes, it's insufficient, but the boy is enjoying his little revenge. "Are you having fun?" Dick asks after too long of not enough. Bruce shifts a little. "Yes." Dick raises his eyebrows. "Really?" "I have a little more experience in patience than you do." "I guess so -- but --" Dick wrinkles his nose. "It's not really sex." It might be worth getting out of the cuffs for the ability to push his hair back from his face. "No?" "Well, maybe. But not good sex." "A subjective term if there ever was one." Bruce can't suppress a smile. "What is 'good sex'?" Dick gives him an incredulous look. "Well -- a lot, I don't know, dirtier than this. Stickier." Bruce shrugs. "Whatever you enjoy is, by definition, good." "No way." Dick pokes him in the stomach. "If I enjoyed a lot of things that freaked you out, you wouldn't say that. And you enjoy driving yourself crazy and not letting me touch you, and that can't be good either. But now I can -- I really can --" he interrupts himself by licking a long stripe up the underside of Bruce's erection. It takes a moment before his eyes can focus on Dick's grin. "Of course you can." "Was that better?" "More to the point." "I thought so." Dick nods and does it again, experimenting with length of strokes and directions until Bruce sighs. "You okay?" "Entirely." "But it's still not -- sex." "I disagree." Bruce shrugs slightly. Dick shakes his head again. "It's not." "There's more to this than just an orgasm." Dick laughs. "Yeah, I found that out, like, yesterday." "Dick --" "I'm kidding. Really. I just -- well, it's not -- dirty." Bruce takes a deep breath. "Whatever you're comfortable with." "Uh-huh." Dick pets him gently. "You didn't say that when I was training." "There was much more at stake." "More than you apparently being in love with me and not going to say anything?" Bruce bites his lip. This is such an adolescent discussion. "You're not going to convince me to say anything in the throes of passion I wouldn't say otherwise." Where did the boy learn to smile like that? Though if he still looked innocent, kneeling between Bruce's legs, that would be at least as much of a problem as his wicked grin. "Really? That sounds like a dare." "Not at all." "Hm." Dick licks him again, teasing -- experimenting. Learning. "I bet there's a lot of stuff you'd like to say that you just won't." If he keeps his sentences short, he may be able to hide the hitches in his breathing. "Possibly." "Even though you already said my theories were sound." Dick opens his mouth -- so red, so wide -- and sucks him delicately. "Hmm." It is impossible to watch and impossible to look away from. "What else --" don't stammer, damn it "-- do you need to know?" "Everything." Dick licks his palm and looks up. He's not entirely smiling, now. "I want to know what you like, and what you want, and what you won't do. I guess you're not going to say how you feel and -- and I guess that's okay, because I'm pretty sure I know. But I don't know what feels good to you." Bruce has to take a deep breath to answer. "That does." Dick raises an eyebrow and strokes him. "That's no big deal." "It's pleasant." "Yeah, but it's kind of boring, isn't it?" Dick nuzzles him, and -- someday the boy really will have to shave regularly, but not yet. "I mean, okay, it feels good, but I should do something else, right?" He's glad that the cuffs are there, even though the restraint is still as voluntary -- and ultimately arbitrary -- as his own self-control. "It's up to you," he says, and it is, because he can't move his hands. Whether or not he would, if he could, is a question best left academic. "Hm." Dick raises an eyebrow at him and then opens his mouth wide --  he looks so focused -- and sucks him again, a little harder. Experimenting. Testing. He could, with a little work, grab the boy's head and push him down, fuck his mouth until he choked and whimpered. It's entirely possible that Dick would accept it, as he accepts a new training regimen, or a stretching exercise that pushes even his limits. It's equally possible that it wouldn't terrify him, and that tomorrow he'd be back again, as willing as he is now. That would be worse than if he was honestly frightened off. The temptation is there. Dick squeezes his thigh -- uses his fingernails. "Dick --" He looks up, and that grin -- his lips are a little swollen, but he looks mischievous. A young word. "You want a safeword?" "'Stop' should be sufficient." Dick bites his thigh hard enough to hurt. "If you're sure." "Yes." Dick hums against his thigh. "You don't want to make sure it's something you wouldn't say?" The temptation to pet his hair is stronger than the urge to take him, but it's not strong enough to get his hands free. "That's something I wouldn't say unless I meant it." "Hm. Okay." Dick nuzzles him again. "So what do you like?" Bruce has to clear his throat for a moment to think. There are too many immediate, obvious answers. "There's time for that later. You should --" Dick's mouth is on him again, and it's not possible to talk for the space of a long breath; warmth and heat and desire drown his conscious thoughts. "I should what?" Dick asks, a little breathlessly. It takes a moment before he can speak, and his voice is off -- too breathy. "Learn what you like." Dick laughs softly. "That's a good noise. I like it when you sound like that." He tries a little suction this time, and makes a soft sound in his throat. The combination makes Bruce tighten his hands into fists to not push, to not thrust, to just feel this and let it be what it is. Dick starts to move, and -- there's no rationalization possible; Bruce should have enough control not to move in response, but he doesn't. Dick makes a surprised sound and puts a hand on his hip. It's enough of a warning that he gets some control back, though the desire -- not a need, never a need -- to push into his mouth is strong. It gets worse when Dick uses his fingernails, lightly, and when it begins to be pain -- Bruce shudders, and Dick chokes. It's too much. "Not like that," Bruce says. He sounds entirely too engaged in this. "I'm fine," Dick says, and does it again, not choking, this time -- opening. The scratch of his fingernails -- the flick of his tongue -- the soft, no, muffled noises he makes -- There's no way to say 'stop.' Dick takes a deep breath and -- moans around him, not just a hum, but -- Dick is enjoying this. It's the sort of revelation that shouldn't be a revelation at all, but it's comforting to know. "That's good," is all Bruce can manage to say. As if it were a training exercise, as if Dick were wearing a mask -- and at that thought he has to close his eyes. He shouldn't picture it -- Robin is there, it's inescapable, kneeling and sucking him, and the scratch of fingernails could be the texture of the gauntlet, the brush of fabric on his calf might be a cape, the hungry moans are there, and this is what he's wanted. If he could just get his hands free -- "St -- stop," and he doesn't mean to stutter, and he opens his eyes and it's just Dick, staring at him. His mouth looks red, wet -- used. Fucked. "What's wrong?" Dick narrows his eyes. There's no way to explain. "Bruce -- let me. Please. It's fine, everything's fine. I want this -- please." He tries to say -- something. Anything that will explain this. But all he manages to say is, "Dick." Dick is petting his thigh. "Do you really want me to stop?" He's done too much already, and he hasn't got any defenses, any control left. If Dick had only taken him at his word. "No." Dick laughs and swats his thigh. "God, you're obstinate." And licks him, as if it's the best treat in the world to be allowed to do this, and sucks him, warm, hungry, welcoming -- "You should --" It's hard to speak. "You should let -- let go." But he doesn't; he's fearless. As always. Even with something as simple -- painless -- monumentally wrong as Bruce coming in his mouth, losing the last shreds of his control to Dick's insistent attention -- affection -- adoration, shedding every bit of his ability to deny himself, until the last reserve, the wordless groan that still says everything he's been trying not to say. Dick coughs, choking a little, and his lips are sticky when he looks up, but he's still grinning. It's obscene, and it makes Bruce want to hold him and promise him everything in the world, if only he'll do that again, and look like that again. It wouldn't be fair, or moral, but it would be beautiful. Dick grins and says, "Finally." Bruce takes a deep breath, and lets it out again. "I didn't realize you were so impatient." "No, I mean you finally let me do something for you. Really and truly, and -- that was okay, wasn't it?" "Commendable for a first effort," Bruce says, and tugs at the cuffs. "Did that qualify as 'good sex' by your definition?" He licks his lips -- when did he start knowing how to present himself so sensually? "Yeah. Yeah, it did." Bruce considers and rejects several compliments, all crude. "Good." Dick moves up the bed -- he's flushed, and hard, but it only takes a moment for him to get the cuffs open. "And now I know how you taste." Bruce gives in to the desire to embrace him. He feels a little feverish, and he smells like sex. He'll need a toothbrush in Bruce's bathroom. "So you do." Dick kisses him, sloppily -- or maybe it's just that his mouth is still wet. It's messy and tastes inescapably of semen. Perfect. "I think you should let me play with you more often," Dick says, running his hand down Bruce's side. "We'll see," Bruce says, and nibbles his ear. Dick wriggles -- no, writhes. "I -- god, Bruce." He shudders hard. "Maybe not right now, though." "No?" "No." Dick pushes against his thigh, and really, there's only so much patience one can expect from someone his age. "But maybe later I'll get you to admit you love me." "Maybe," Bruce says, and kisses him until he shivers, and moans, and sighs. Aurochs and angels
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