Title: Second law of thermodynamics Fandom: DCU (No Man's Land) Summary: The total entropy of any isolated thermodynamic system tends to increase over time, approaching a maximum value. Pairing: Dick/Tim Rating: Adult Notes: I showed this to Betty and she gave me good advice. For Jack and that other person, too. Written at MumbledyCon 2006. The bed is narrow and as cold as you'd expect it to be in a place that's currently physically incapable of having central heating. In a normal place, in a normal life, it wouldn't be big enough for two people. That just means that Tim's right leg is a quarter inch away from Dick's left, and that their hips are only just barely not touching. Comfort isn't as much of an issue as conservation of warmth. Comfort is a concern best left for other parts of the country, where there is electricity reliably and where you're technically in the country. Tim is dozing already when Dick gets to the bed after patrol. If you can still call it patrol, in No Man's Land. He'd rather be in Blüdhaven, except for the times when he wouldn't. Tim's breathing is in a pattern that's pretty much got to be sleep. It's been a long night, with a pretty good fight -- even though the gang involved was pretty marginal and is going to get taken over by bigger groups within a week, max. There were a few seconds there where Dick almost took hits that would hurt. If he was at home -- and it's home, too, now -- in the 'haven, he'd take a shower and pass out as fast as Tim has. But he's not there. He's here, and a quarter inch away from Tim isn't a good place to have an erection. The bathroom facilities leave a lot to be desired, or he'd sneak off there and deal with it. But that would be cold, and colder still getting back. Tim's asleep. Dick takes a deep breath and tucks his hand into his briefs. He used to have practice being quiet. Maybe he'll still know how. He thinks about the fight, about the way he'd worked with Bruce like they're still partners, like despite everything they can still move together the way they used to. About Bruce, glad to have him home and admitting it only in the tiniest ways. In the corners of his eyes, in the slight lessening of tension in his shoulders. About how much -- or how little -- effect it would have on anything, anymore, if Dick gave in and kissed him. It's the oldest thought. The dearest. For a long time, after Clark, it was a wish to fall to his knees, but this is No Man's Land, and the revision is just another layer of what makes Dick feel like he's a kid again. Except now Tim's lying next to him, still sleeping. Kory used to laugh at him if she caught him jerking off and say, "You can always ask me, Richard," even if they'd been up for forty-eight hours straight on one of those marathon missions. Sometimes all he wanted was the comfort of his own fantasies, the ones he'd managed to tell her about and the ones he didn't want to. Batgirl -- Babs -- He's going to have to start dealing with there being a new Batgirl, sometime. How many times has he pushed into his own fist, thinking of her smile, of the way she kissed him? Too many and not enough. Babs would laugh him right out of bed if she ever caught him jerking off. Not an issue, right now. All he has to do is not wake up Tim. They're sharing a bed for body heat, as much as because there's not enough decent bedding to go around. It makes him think of Clark, and how warm it would be if he was here. Clark would kiss him until he couldn't breathe from heat instead of exhaustion, and it would be better, so much better than the cold he can't shake off. If he wasn't so cold, he could find something to focus on. A way to come from more than friction. It's so lonely. Making it hurt a little just makes him think of Roy. And that's better. Roy could be here. Could be fighting with them, beating back the chaos. Roy's good at hating chaos. And his hands have calluses -- not like Kory's, not like Clark's, not like Donna's -- like Dick's do. Like Bruce's do. But Roy would laugh at him for this, and that's more real than Bruce, not smiling or frowning or anything at all. The last time they jerked each other off was so much like the first time it's like they haven't gotten any older, but they have. They just stay the same to each other. The same heat, the same quick desire. It's easier to miss Roy than want something he really can't have. He manages to not move the bed at all until he's close, so close, and he can't hold his hips still at all anymore. Tim moves and Dick chokes. "Are you okay?" Tim asks, his voice as crisp as ever. No sleep fog for this kid, no matter how little sleep he's gotten. "Sure, yeah." Dick forces his hand still. No reason to be any more obvious than he's got to be. "I'm fine." With any luck, Tim will take his hoarseness for sleepiness. "If you're sure." Tim turns onto his side, giving Dick another inch or so of clearance. Like he knows, and wants to stay out of the way. Or like he's just getting comfortable. Tim's breathing smoothes out again quickly and Dick goes back to thinking about kissing Roy, pushing him against a wall and jerking him off, rough and hard, and the way Roy always swears and punches him and makes him spar, or fake-spar, two or three hits before he shoves Dick against the wall in turn. He's almost there again, aching and almost, almost falling, when Tim gasps softly. He doesn't. Doesn't ask what Tim's doing. He works so hard to keep his own breathing even. Until Tim moans softly. And Dick gasps in answer, and bites his lip hard and comes as silently as he ever did in the Batcave shower. Tim gasps again, and the first crazy thought Dick has past the fading warmth of Roy's hands and mouth and hair is that Bruce is much more subtle about this than Tim is. He's never going to tell anyone he thought that. Not even Clark. He's not above teasing, either. It's going to be damn cold getting cleaned up. "You okay, Tim?" he asks, and he knows damn well his voice sounds like all the strained moans he wasn't making at all. "Yes," Tim says, tightly. "I am." "Well, good," Dick says, and it's not as polite as it might be to squeeze Tim's shoulder -- to feel him hold it still, all of a sudden, even though he hasn't been moving it at all since Dick asked him that question. It doesn't stop him. Neither does Tim's gasp at the touch. "Dick -- I --" Tim clears his throat. "I need to sleep." "Of course you do." Dick tousles his hair lightly. "We both do." Teasing him, keeping him awake isn't helping either of them. But -- It's like teasing Roy, when they were doing their best not to freeze on cold Titans missions. Like punching Jason in the shoulder, except that Tim isn't generally up for that sort of affection-denial. "Sometimes it's really hard to get to sleep after patrol, I know," Dick says, and gets up. He's already pretty damn sticky, and it's just going to get worse the longer he puts off getting up to deal with it. The bedclothes will be even warmer by the time Tim's done, anyway, and he'll probably want to wash up. It's only polite to hold down the fort. He will, when he gets back. Tim's shoulder is moving under the covers when he gets back from the bitterly cold bathing process. Dick pauses as soon as his eyes interpret the shadows correctly, but he's going to get irredeemably chilled if he stays out of bed in sleeping gear any longer, so he gets back into bed. And wraps his arm around Tim. "Need a hand?" he asks, over the choking noise Tim makes. "I'm sorry," Tim says, and Dick kisses him, stroking his belly. "It's fine, Tim. I mean, hell, I started it, right?" "I --" He can just barely see Tim blink in the darkness. "Not entirely." Dick chuckles and wraps his hand around Tim's, around Tim's dick. "It's okay, really." Another kiss, and Tim sighs against his mouth. "You do need to get to sleep." "That's not precisely restful," Tim says drily, but he moves their hands together over his dick. "Whatever you need to get there," Dick says, and if he hadn't just gotten off, he'd rock against Tim's hips and encourage him. It would hurt right now, though, so better not to. "I mean, I'd do this for you anytime." "Oh, god, Dick," Tim says, and he kisses Dick again, his mouth hot and hard. Tim doesn't kiss enough, isn't kissed enough. Isn't used to being kissed. Tim is moaning into his mouth, too loud, too obvious. Dick strokes him faster, trying to get him off before he makes too much noise and wakes someone else up. They all need their sleep, after all. "Shh, Tim," he says between kisses, running his thumb over the slick head of Tim's dick and squeezing, again, again. Tim chokes and says something that might be Dick's name or might not be a word at all and comes in his hand, shivering and kissing him desperately. "Oh, yeah," Dick says as softly as he can. "Yeah, like that, oh, Tim." Tim gasps for breath for fourteen seconds before he gets himself under control. "I need to wash -- myself." "You mostly got me," Dick says and nuzzles his neck. "Hang on a sec." He wipes Tim off with his dry hand -- he's a little damp still, but it won't be tragic in the morning -- and goes to wash his hands. When he gets back, Tim lifts the blanket for him and lies entirely on his side of the bed until Dick wraps an arm around him. "Hey," Dick says, "you okay?" "Yes." Tim shivers once. "Though you're rather cold." "Sorry about that." Dick buries his face in Tim's shoulder and breathes deliberately on his neck. "I'll warm up in a minute. You're really hot." "I --" He hears the undertones as soon as Tim reacts, and then they make him laugh. "Not entirely what I meant, but, yeah, that, too." He wraps his leg over Tim, too, for better insulation. "Sleep tight, little brother."
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