Title: Safe and Sane (6300 words) Fandom: DCU (Nightwing #100) Summary: It's for perverts and people who don't actually have enough danger in their lives already. Pairing: Bruce/Dick Rating: Adult Warning: Lord King Bad Fic, meaning that it is shamelessly emo and meant sincerely, but also that it has been beta read and every effort was made to provide correct grammar and reasonable characterization. Notes: LC encouraged me in my moment of weakness to work with a thought I've had at various intervals. Betty and Gloss cheered. Chevauchee beta read. "This is for the best," Bruce says. Dick stares at the collar in his hand and backs away across the mats. Even with the injury, he's not going to stumble on something in the cave, but if he ever fell down, this would be a time when he just might. "You're getting a dog." "There is a great deal of -- literature -- suggesting that such a relationship allays feelings of insecurity." "Jesus Christ, Bruce, what --" Dick stares at him instead. "Are you crazy?" "You've overcome your feelings of attraction for me?" Bruce asks. Almost asks. It's not really a question. "My --" Dick shakes his head. "Am I in some kind of parallel universe?" "Not to my knowledge." Bruce takes his hand firmly. "Dick -- if you need to feel as though you are doing the right thing -- and you don't know that you are yet -- then -- this can help." After ten seconds, Dick closes his mouth. "You're not joking." "No." Dick pulls his hand free and puts his head in his hands. If it weren't for his still-healing leg injury, he would be pacing. He was stretching before Bruce went patently insane, but now -- "That's not -- Bruce -- we can't just --" "You don't want this, then." "I didn't say that," Dick says quickly. "But we can't. We really -- really can't." Bruce gives him a steady look. "Tell me why not." "Because it's stupid. It's for -- I don't know, perverts and -- people who don't actually have enough danger in their lives already, and --" Dick laughs and sounds half as though he's choking. "And you're not offering this to me, not really, I'm dreaming. Jesus fucking Christ, Bruce, I spend every night in skin-tight stuff standing next to you for practically my whole life and now Gotham's going to hell and you offer me this? We fucking can't." "You can't keep going like this," Bruce says, and he sets down the completely insane piece of leather and starts to rub Dick's shoulders. It's too normal to defend against, and Dick has to lean into the touch. "You're going to lose all your strength, and without that strength --" Dick shudders. "Fine. Okay. Batman needs a Robin, yeah, I've heard it before." Bruce kisses his ear and says, "That's not who I was talking about at all." His voice makes Dick shiver and what he's actually saying is ten times worse. There must be someone somewhere who could say no to this, but Dick's not that person. He sits down -- he can't stand that long, not with his leg hurting -- and grabs the stupid collar in his stupid shaking hand and says, "Then -- then fine," and doesn't let himself stammer. "If it makes you happy." Bruce rubs his neck for him, firm and careful, and takes the ridiculous thing and shows it to him, closer -- And there isn't a bat on it. There should be a bat on it, there are places in Gotham where you can get any kind of tchotchke in the world with a bat on it -- But this just has a B. It would be easier -- so much easier -- if it had a bat. Dick lets his head fall forward a little and feels his hair fall into his face. It hasn't been anywhere near this long since he was Batman for a while -- not that it's that long yet, but it hasn't been this floppy. It's hiding his face and maybe his blush -- or it would be from someone who isn't Bruce and doesn't know him this well. He says, "Please," and his voice doesn't shake. The leather is cold against his neck, the same temperature as the cave. He says, "Oh god, Bruce." Bruce makes him sit up with just a little goddamn crazy pressure on the stupid, awful, insane collar and he has to look at Bruce and know that he's wearing it, and that he asked for it. "Why did you ask for this?" Bruce asks. Dick throws up his hands and tries to find the fastening. "Fuck, Bruce, it was your idea, I --" Bruce is frowning -- just with his eyes, but it's more than enough to stop him. "Why, Dick?" "I don't know. I -- don't." Bruce touches his shoulder, lightly enough to be casual, but it's Bruce -- and it's not, nothing is ever casual between them. "Think." He leans into the touch and takes Bruce's hand. He doesn't need to think, he needs to move, but he's hurt and there's nowhere to go so he talks and lets that be some of the motion, not everything he needs, but -- "Because I need you. Because I hated you so much when you fired me, but that was because I couldn't imagine being anything else but your partner. There were times -- Jesus, you know -- you have to know -- when I couldn't breathe because I thought maybe I wouldn't be -- with you. Working with you. Loving you." "What about this reassures you?" Dick laughs and he sounds hysterical in his own ears. "You -- you're -- you want me. You want this. Or you're fucking with me, I don't know, I don't -- you haven't ever even kissed me and you want me to wear your goddamn collar. And I know what it means, I remember learning because of all of those vice missions and -- I know, I -- Bruce, it's not fair." It's weak, he's going more than tenor and he sounds like he's going to cry. "I don't believe you yet. I don't believe this, and it -- it's not reassuring." Bruce kneels and strokes his hair, tightens his fingers and tips Dick's head back just enough to kiss him. It starts soft like teasing, like a kiss to the ear or the hair, until Dick believes it enough to open his lips, and then it's Bruce kissing him, knowing the way he tastes, and getting to kiss Bruce back just a little, enough to make him ache for more before Bruce stops again. "And now?" "Damn." Dick tries to control his breathing, to not gasp so much. "Yes -- I -- please, yes. What do you want me to do?" Bruce takes a sharp breath and rubs his shoulders again. "Believe in yourself." Anything else -- anything in the world, and he would say yes in a heartbeat and do it as much as he can. But he's done too many things wrong -- Catalina, Blockbuster -- Babs -- "I can't." He hasn't been allowed to say that to himself in too long. It makes him wince to say it where Bruce can hear it. Bruce hasn't stopped rubbing his shoulders. "Why not?" "Please," Dick says, "I -- there's -- I let a man die, Bruce, and he wasn't a good man but I could have done something, and -- and you would've done something, I know, I --" He clenches his hands into fists. "I can't be here like this with you. I'm not good enough." "How many men die every night in this city?" Bruce asks. He can't think of the numbers from this year or the year before. The only one he can remember is from the year he was training to be Robin, and that's too old to be accurate. "Too many." "If I were a little faster. A little stronger. A little wiser. I could prevent one of them, two of them from dying every night." Bruce kisses his neck right above the collar, just below his ear. "But I can't." Dick shudders and fights the urge to push him away and the urge to cling to him. "I stood by -- I let it happen, I -- I should have found another way." Bruce hooks his finger through one of the rings on the collar and pulls his head out of his hands again. "You owe me a promise." "But you think the oath is kid stuff," Dick protests. "A new promise." Bruce lets him go and raises his right hand. Dick mirrors him, not sure what else he's allowed to do. "I solemnly swear," Bruce begins, and waits for him. His voice sounds weak, but he can say it. "To protect the innocent to the best of my abilities. To use all of my skills to prevent harm from coming to others. To learn and grow, using all the resources available to me, until I am as good as I can be, and then I will strive to be better." Dick can make himself say it and believe it. None of it is new. Bruce says, "I will learn from my mistakes how to prevent them, should a similar situation ever arise." "But it won't," Dick says. "I can't -- it won't ever be that --" He's not going to cry in front of Bruce, even if it means putting his head in his hands again and pretending it's not happening. He doesn't get a chance. For half a minute, he'd forgotten the stupid collar, but Bruce hasn't, and he makes Dick look at him again. "It won't ever be that what?" he asks. "The only things he didn't take from me were you and Tim," Dick says, trying not to pull away -- this is what Bruce wants, what he needs, and if --  "And you shouldn't -- I shouldn't be -- please fire me. I killed him." Bruce pushes Dick's hair out of his face. "And if he had killed Tim?" Dick shivers. "It wouldn't have changed anything. I -- it wouldn't." He knows the question that's coming next and his heart pounds so hard he doesn't hear Bruce say it, but he knows he's saying it somewhere outside the horrible noise in Dick's head. "I wanted him dead," Dick says. "I wanted him dead for Haly's and Yoska and all of my friends. But -- if --" he can't say it. He clears his throat and forces the words out. "If he had killed you, I would have wanted to shoot him myself." Now he can hear again, and he hears Bruce saying one of the first rules he learned as a detective. "Motive isn't enough." "No." He bites his lip hard. "I know. I know revenge -- wouldn't -- I couldn't kill him, not even for you." He hears his own words again and ducks his head -- Bruce lets him, a tiny mercy -- and laughs. It hurts to breathe, let alone laugh, but he has to. "How could I kill anyone for you, Bruce? Never." "Why do you doubt yourself?" Bruce asks. It's softer than his other questions, but no less insistent for that. Dick reaches for him. Bruce lets Dick hug him. "I should want to. Even if it's only in my head, even though it's not real, I should want more revenge. Because if it ever is real, if you --" He shakes his head. "If someone kills you." He buries his face in Bruce's chest. "Then I should want him dead because I love you." He can feel himself shivering. Bruce hugs him. "You know what would disappoint me most." Failure. Shots ringing out, right in front of him. "If I killed him. If I let him die -- whoever the bastard is who might take you out, Bruce -- I'm sorry." Bruce kisses him again like he's said something right, in the best and worst and truest sort of positive feedback. "You haven't forgotten." Dick shakes his head. "Never. I -- I should have stopped her. I didn't want to." He knows as well as anyone that more death never helps, and he's shaking thinking about it again. "You did everything that you could," Bruce says. "I heard -- Oracle's reports. Captain Rohrbach's. Tarantula's." At each name, Dick winces. "Babs -- Jesus, Bruce -- I --" "Everyone has limits," Bruce says, as softly and gently as he used to wish Dick goodnight when he thought Dick had already fallen asleep. "Even you," Dick says. It feels like the worst betrayal of all. "Even you," Bruce says back to him, like it's not a betrayal. Only true. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't --" Dick bites his lip. "I don't know what you need. How to be what you need. I --" He closes his eyes. "I'm not good enough for this." Bruce asks, "Then why are you here?" Dick stares at him, but it's too hard to tell what he's thinking. "Because I have to try. Because you might need me." For a moment, Bruce doesn't say anything. When he asks, "I might need you?" it's more of an echo than a question. Dick has to look away from him. "I know you've got -- had -- Tim and Cass and Babs and -- Onyx, and Orpheus, and Stephanie -- and fucking Azrael -- and you -- why would you?" "None of them could replace you," Bruce says. Dick chokes and hugs him hard. "Even though I can't -- I didn't -- what I did was wrong --" Bruce kisses him until he's gasping for breath, then says, "Don't leave." There are too many empty places in Gotham right now. Too many people have left. Too many voices are off the airwaves -- Babs, god -- and Dick clings to Bruce. "Can I really stay?" They had all made mistakes, one way or the other. Different kinds of mistakes than Dick's, but mistakes. "Yes," Bruce says. Any second now the spell will break and Bruce will tell him not to ask questions he should know the answer to, not to talk about this at all. Not to touch him. Dick buries his face in Bruce's shoulder and feels like a kid with a scraped knee, trying to get a hug to make it feel better. Trying to hold on to something that makes sense. Until Bruce hugs him back and his fingers brush the collar, and Dick chokes a little, not because it moves and makes him, but because he managed to forget it again. "What do you want?" Dick asks. His voice is muffled, but it's Bruce. He could be halfway across the city and Bruce would still know what he was saying. "I told you," and that's a little more normal. He's not sure whether it's better, but it's familiar. Dick shakes his head. "I'll try." "Dick --" He knows that lecture well enough to cut Bruce off. "I'll do my best." Another kiss -- and is this what it's going to be, every time he does something right? Patrol would be too distracting this way, but it would be entirely worth it. Bruce has never been one to say, "Good job," over little things, but this -- he could work with this. Bruce runs his hands through Dick's hair again and unfastens the crazy thing around his neck without breaking the kiss. Dick has to, though. "What -- I don't --" Bruce kisses his ear and makes him sigh. "Do you honestly think you need it?" "Need -- Bruce -- it's a collar, it's not like an oxygen tank." "I suppose it's been somewhat useful," Bruce says in that tone that means he's not saying it to himself at all, but he's willing to pretend he is for the sake of argument. Dick laughs and leans on him. "I hear it's good for breaking down inhibitions. Or something. God, because it's just that hard to get me to talk --" but he's been avoiding it. Avoiding talking even to Alfred, and that's why it came up. Part of why. "So you're not going to kiss me anymore?" he asks, and he can say it lightly enough that it could be a joke. If it wasn't Bruce listening. Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "If you would rather I didn't." Dick kisses him and Bruce makes a soft sound against his mouth, laughing or smiling or just being pleased. It doesn't matter what.  Large portions of Dick's brain -- well, large portions of it are busy right now. Small portions of it can't believe that he's getting away with this, that it's allowed. Bruce sighs and actually hugs him again. Dick kisses his cheek. "We could do that for, um -- when do you have to patrol, again?" "Two hours." "Then for maybe an hour forty-five. Give you time to eat first." Dick grins at him. "Or --" "There are more productive alternatives." Dick tries to figure out whether kissing him or talking will get them farther. "Or you could tell me what the hell the whole collar thing was about." "You needed something to give you permission to answer me." Bruce touches his neck gently. "It worked." "Yeah. Yeah, it did, but --" he tips his head to one side to give Bruce better access. "Why stop there?" With most people, no answer for ten seconds means no answer. With Bruce, it's an answer. "Negotiation is critical. If you wanted that sort of --" Dick shakes his head. "You didn't negotiate with me. You just offered and -- and god, Bruce, I already trust you with my life." "I doubt this would entail significant physical danger." Dick can't help it -- he has to tangle his fingers in Bruce's hair and kiss him for that. "And I love you. More than -- more than anybody I know thinks can possibly be goddamn healthy. And I would do anything for you except kill somebody. Are we negotiated yet?" Bruce takes a breath. "Are you sure --" "Yes," before it's even entirely a question. "I want --" Dick shrugs. "I want to do whatever I can to make you happy. It's not exactly new, here." Another pause. Not a long one. "It's not necessary for -- this aspect of our relationship -- to involve a power differential." Dick laughs and can't quite stop. "Why mess with success?" Bruce's smile is rueful. "Then you would rather --" he holds up the stupid collar again. "Really." "It would be --" Dick shrugs. "More honest, I guess." He can feel Bruce's hands shake as Bruce puts it back on him. "And yet you wanted to skip the negotiation." Dick takes his hand and kisses the back with its healed skin and half-healed knuckles. "It makes me feel pretty?" Bruce strokes his cheek. "Should I take your first Nightwing suit out of storage?" He splutters and leans into the touch. "It would show this off a lot better than the one I've got now." "Indeed." Bruce runs his hand over Dick's chest, then pulls his shirt up and touches his stomach. It makes him feel like he should have some kind of injury, like this is just like every other time Bruce has touched him, until Bruce kisses him again. "It would be entirely obvious." Dick takes his shirt off so he can lean against Bruce. Just having Bruce's hands on him, not groping him, just touching him, makes him warm in ways that are going to be addictive in the next five seconds. "God, don't stop." Bruce bites his ear and he whimpers. "I believe that's what's known as 'topping from the bottom,' Dick." "Sorry." Dick arches into the simple touch, feeling like Superman in the sunshine. "Guess I need more practice." "Apparently." Bruce kisses him again and rubs his nipples, lightly enough that he squirms and pushes toward the touch. No matter how he moves, though, Bruce doesn't touch him any more firmly. Dick shakes his head. "You're a tease." Bruce goes back to touching his shoulders, his back, tracing his scars. "I'm aware of that." Dick catches his breath a little and laughs. "I -- do you want me to beg? Or strip? I can --" Bruce kisses him before he can do either. "Everything," he says, while Dick's trying to remember his own name again. "Although," more gently, "perhaps not all at once." "Then -- what first?" Dick reaches for him. "Take your shirt off --" he stops himself and shakes his head. "Right, sorry." "Dick," Bruce says, and there's a smile there that's not showing on his face. "That's one of the things I love best about you." "That I'm desperately horny?" Dick asks, trying to soften it with another smile even though it's just the truth. "How quickly you learn," Bruce says, and he rubs Dick through his pants. There's no way to hold still or not moan, even though moving hurts his leg a little. "Fuck, I -- sorry -- I -- god, Bruce --" "Don't apologize for that." Bruce stops his next curse with another kiss. He unfastens Dick's pants with all the dexterity he normally uses in the field. "Don't apologize to me." Dick shakes his head. "I don't know what to say -- if I can't apologize, and I can't ask for things --" Bruce pushes his briefs down and strokes him skin-to-skin and his eyes roll back in his head. "Oh god, please -- you feel --" He hugs Bruce one-armed, leaning into him to stop himself from writhing quite so freaking obviously. "I can feel all your calluses," he says, and it sounds stupid outside his head, but they make Bruce's hands feel like Batman's. Bruce takes his free hand and sucks his thumb, his actual thumb and he's not tracking very well and they've only just started. Penetrative sex just might kill him. "You may ask, but you can't hurry me," Bruce says. "I'm not in a --" Dick shudders at the next stroke. "Please let me take your shirt off, I -- I just want to touch you, I know it's -- I -- please --" He keeps losing his sentences like he doesn't know how to talk at all. "You're -- I can't believe you're this calm. God, I want you so bad I can't see." Bruce sighs -- not a disappointed sigh, he can't see but he can hear that much -- and says, "This is going to require practice." Somehow his babbling brain didn't put together that 'Bruce getting undressed' means 'Bruce stops touching him for a second,' but if the babbling's going to work, it's not like can make himself stop anyway. But what it does mean on the plus side is that when Dick shimmies out of his pants -- and his leg can stop hurting any day now -- and leans against Bruce, he's got all of this truly excellent skin to touch. He can't keep his hands to himself, this time, but Bruce isn't stopping him and he goes as fast as he can without being too greedy -- all the scars on Bruce's chest, on his shoulders and upper back -- everything that makes him who he is. All of the hits that really should've killed him, but didn't. "I love you so much," Dick says, and he's off and babbling again, straight from the dick to the spine to the mouth with no stop in the brainpan. "You feel fucking amazing -- Bruce, I can't --" And he knows that clinging to his shoulders and kissing him isn't necessarily part of the plan, but it's not like he can actually stop himself. Bruce lets him go with it for twenty seconds -- Dick isn't counting in his head, but he learned how to have that kind of time sense a long time ago. Then he pulls away and pushes Dick down onto his back so he's lying on the mat where he was stretching -- a long time ago, now. "You're making this very difficult," he says, frowning at Dick. Dick grins at him. The touching part isn't the hard part -- Bruce is leaning against him a little and he's so warm and hard -- it's got to be the game, the thing they're not playing straight. "Should I say, 'Yes, Master?'" He gets Bruce to lose the frown for a second, and that's how he knows it isn't the game at all. That they're doing a really bad job of it, because Dick is about as good at just shutting up and doing as he's told as he ever was. And Bruce loves him. Enough to put a collar on him and interrogate him, and enough to lie half on top of him to kiss him until he really literally can't breathe. "Oh fuck, Bruce, please --" "Wait," Bruce says, and he means -- wait to move, wait to talk -- and he's pressing against Dick's throat, over -- through the collar -- wait to breathe. And Bruce kisses him again, and lets him have just -- a little air, enough that he can wait, longer, now he knows he has to. He practiced how long he could go without breathing right over there, where he could see if Bruce wasn't on top of him, if he could move -- if -- There was a tub of water and he held his own face in it for as long as he could and timed it. When he reached the limit of what he could do by himself, Bruce kept a light pressure on the back of his neck until he tapped the side of the tub. Three times. He taps the mat twice and kisses Bruce back harder, feeling the panic, but there's no need to panic at all. Bruce lets him take another shallow breath and kisses him again. He holds on longer this time, counting the seconds and his pounding pulse in his ears. Dick clings to his shoulders and tries not to moan -- he needs the breath, he knows how many seconds he has, now -- he taps -- twice -- and gets another quarter breath. Another kiss and it's hard not to fight, but he knows Bruce is counting as carefully as he is, even with the kiss. Even with his hand on Dick, stroking him again until he's arching, gasping in the instant he's allowed -- Bruce knows exactly how much he can take. The thought makes Dick groan and Bruce lets him breathe in, all the way this time, and he's gasping now because it makes him cling to Bruce, not because he has to. He knows -- Bruce taught him -- how to calm his breathing. It doesn't stop him from shaking. "Oh my god," he says, when he can say anything. "That was --" Bruce gives him a quick look -- checking his eyes, he knows that focus, that drill -- and lets him go. Kneels next to him and, "Fuck, I should be the one --" he gasps, clenches his hands into fists, as Bruce licks his dick, "on my knees, I -- Jesus, Bruce -- you've got it all backward --" Bruce takes his hand and squeezes lightly. "Not at all," he says, dropping light kisses on Dick's thighs. He can't stop himself from shaking. "Then why the collar, if I --" He can't talk and watch Bruce suck him at the same time. He loses the words in a wail. And then Bruce says, "Wait," again, and Dick groans. "How can I?" Bruce pets his thigh. "Are you playing this game, or aren't you?" Dick bites his lip. "Yes, I --" "Then -- you'll need permission, won't you?" The only thing he's never had to ask permission for, ever, and -- "God, Bruce --" it's harder to keep himself together, thinking that, than it was before Bruce said it, though he's not sucking harder -- yet -- or faster -- yet -- than he was before. Bruce makes a soft sound and Dick stares at him for a second before he can't look anymore, before even if Bruce was moaning he couldn't hear anything over his own completely embarrassingly loud whimpering. He shouldn't be making this noise, but it's not like Bruce is stopping him. "Fuck, I -- you're going to kill me --" Another soft noise -- he can feel that one -- and Bruce just -- throats aren't really supposed to do that but -- "Oh fuck, god, I can't --  I can't --" Dick beats his fist on the mat, tapping out hard, but it doesn't make Bruce stop. It's fair warning for the way Dick has to arch off the mat, has to wail. "Please, please, please -- I can't --" Bruce wraps his hand around Dick's dick and stops, somehow, impossibly, long enough to say, "You may," and it shouldn't make him -- He's screaming, and he knows it as much because his throat hurts as because he can hear himself. He arches off the mat again, as hard as he's screaming. Permission was all he needed and now he's coming, and he knows he's saying something and maybe it's "Bruce" but it could be "God," for all he knows. His brain is definitely not on and his spine is melting away -- just one more thrust -- and he collapses onto the mat again and can't feel a thing. The next thing he's aware of is Bruce stroking his cheek gently. From there, he can track the touch down his throat, over the collar that doesn't seem nearly that stupid anymore, and down his chest. Dick turns toward him a little and touches his arm without looking, then pulls him into a hug. Bruce lets him, which he doesn't expect. "I thought --" Dick nuzzles his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against a few scars. "I thought I was supposed to do that kind of thing for you. Get you off, you know. With the whole -- collar -- thing." Bruce runs his fingers through Dick's hair and rubbing his scalp. It shouldn't feel as good as it does. "You're supposed to do what I want you to do." "Mmm," Dick says, turning his head into the touch. "I -- I can go with that." "You've been doing quite well so far, yes." Dick chuckles and wriggles against him lazily. "What should I do next?" Bruce kisses him again. "This is acceptable." "You sure?" Dick rocks his hips against Bruce's. Just because he still feels like his bones are on vacation -- well, he can still move a little. "Dick." Bruce's tone is a warning. So is the grab at his collar, of all the ridiculous, embarrassing, impossibly hot things. He holds still and Bruce touches his mouth too lightly, tracing his lips. "I begin to understand the appeal of spanking." Dick licks his finger and laughs. "It wouldn't hurt." "No," Bruce agrees. "Only your pride." "I don't have any," Dick says, grinning at him. "But -- " Bruce touches his lips again and Dick nibbles his finger. "Maybe later." Bruce closes his eyes. "Patrol," he says, but he doesn't sound like his heart's in it. Dick laces their fingers together and says, "I should --" "No." Bruce pins his hand to the mat and kneels up enough to glare down at him. "You're staying here." Dick frowns. "But you don't have any backup." "You're staying here if I have to tie you down to make you do it." "That sounds like a challenge." Dick pulls his hand free and reaches for Bruce again. "No. If you want to be my partner, stay here." Dick shivers. There are about twelve too many resonances to that word right now, but Bruce didn't put any ironic weight on it. "If you get in trouble --" Bruce shakes his head. "Stop." "I'm sorry." This time, Bruce doesn't tell him not to apologize. "I -- dammit, I shouldn't have started talking." Dick kisses him, another apology. "It's all right." Dick shakes his head and nuzzles Bruce's neck. "I broke the mood." "Dick --" Bruce hugs him. "It's fine." "Says you." Dick kisses his cheek, then finally gets Bruce to kiss him back. "I didn't get to get you off yet." "There will be other times," Bruce says, but he doesn't sound all the way convinced of that. "How do you know?" Dick pulls him down. "You go out there with no backup, no Robin or Oracle or anybody, and you get shot -- what if there's a fire in Seoul right then? You might not come back. Carpe that diem." "Noctem," Bruce says, and kisses him. "Although --" Dick puts his hands on Bruce's hips and rocks against him. "Although nothing. Although if you stop hesitating and just --" Bruce nips at his neck and he can't talk over that. There's no way. "You keep forgetting." "You keep not doing anything." He knows he's pushing and it's impossible not to grin when he feels Bruce grab the collar again. "Stop," Bruce says. "But --" Dick gets in one last thrust before Bruce pins him hard enough that he can't. "Don't do that." Bruce's voice is too choked to be anything like unenthusiastic, but he's heavy enough and putting his weight in the right places that it's a redundant command. Dick raises his eyebrows. "You want me to hold still? Really?" "We've established --" and Bruce takes a breath, in the middle of a sentence, where no one would take a breath. Dick hasn't got a single reason not to smile. "-- that you're incapable of that." "Well, yeah. But I'd try." Bruce laughs against his throat. "Easier to ask you be quiet." "I can do that." Dick wriggles a little before Bruce glares at him and he remembers he's not supposed to. "I -- really." "I know." Bruce sucks his ear for a second and he sighs. "But it seems a waste." "So is holding still." "Yes." Bruce moves off of him enough that he can move, by the rules of the game, and runs his hands down Dick's chest in long, firm strokes. "It is." Dick arches into it because he's got permission and it feels wonderful. "Don't you want to get off yet?" "Yes," Bruce says, and usually an emotion should have fewer letters than what it's describing, but Bruce shouldn't damn well be able to say that with equanimity. He still is. Dick edges down the mats a little under cover of pretending he's just being petted and smiles when Bruce doesn't call him on it. "Then you should tell me what to do for you." Bruce takes a deep breath. "I told you before." Dick groans. "Fine, I believe in myself. Do you want me to clap my hands? I --" Bruce covers his mouth firmly. "I wasn't joking." Dick kisses his palm and when he lets go, says, "Me neither. Please, just -- let me do something for you. I don't care what, I --" he shrugs, abruptly sober, but if that's what Bruce wants, well. "Relax," Bruce says -- a command, really -- and Dick makes himself shut up and listen. "I should go -- seized days or no seized days." Dick takes his hand again. "I thought you said we had another hour and a piece left." "That's not long enough," Bruce says, smiling. He looks ravenous. Dick sits up and hugs him without thinking about it. "Maybe not to do everything, but -- please, I --" He squeezes Bruce's thigh. "It's not fair yet." "I thought you said you were going to beg," Bruce says, but his voice is tight, not as casual as it should be if he was kidding. "Oh god." Dick takes his hand and kisses the back. "Please, let me at least suck you off. I want to -- I want to make this perfect for you, and -- I want you." He sucks Bruce's thumb lightly for a demonstration. Bruce takes a quick breath. "I'm convinced," and underneath his voice he's laughing, but not at Dick -- he's lying back, letting Dick kiss his chest and nipples and the scars on his stomach. He's laughing at himself, at the stupid collar, the crazy game and how far they've had to go with it to get here. Dick has had all kinds of dreams about this -- daydreams, wet dreams, even the occasional nightmare where Bruce sent him away, fired him, refused to talk to him in disgust. None of them felt as good as Bruce does in his mouth, slick and hard and so present it makes 'real' seem redundant. He's moaning more than Bruce is, but that's normal, too -- he's the guy in the collar, isn't he, getting off on making Bruce shudder just a little, over what would be a thrust from anybody else. Bruce strokes his hair and he takes it as the push it isn't, going down farther and letting himself choke just a little before he backs off and does it again, pushing his own boundaries. "Dick --" Bruce says, and he's not going to stop at that, and really not ever once Bruce starts actually moving for him, one hand on the collar at the back of Dick's neck, making sure he doesn't forget it's there. He's not going to forget it after this, even when it's not there. He can feel it in every push into his throat, the burn of the way it feels and the answering growl in Bruce's breathing. It's the least of what's between them, but it makes everything else fall into place. With a groan, Bruce comes, holding him there where he wants to be, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing himself. "God." Bruce gasps for breath and Dick can't help grinning as he sits up. "Thanks," Dick says, and his throat feels a little rough, but it was so much more than worth it. "I needed that." Bruce laughs and pulls him into a hug. "You weren't the only one," he says against Dick's forehead. "I know. I -- I know." Now that he's not focusing on something, his leg hurts a little, but he has to hug Bruce for as long as he gets the chance. "Thanks anyway." "You're making this very difficult," Bruce says. "Yeah?" Bruce kisses him. "It's going to take effort not to give in to your requests." Dick laughs and hugs him tightly. "And that's a problem how?" Bruce unfastens the collar, takes it off, and puts it aside. "It's not. Not at all."
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