Title: Theory into practice Pairing: Dick Grayson/Tim Drake Rating: NC-17 Summary: One can learn many things by sidekicking for the right person. Notes: Set mid-Prodigal, in which Bruce is training with Lady Shiva somewhere that isn't Gotham, and Dick takes on the Batman role. This may hit some people in the 'too young for smut' reflex. For Jack and Livia. Dick stretches out in his old bed, enjoying the feeling of sheets fresh from the dryer. He tucks his hands behind his head and looks around at the carefully preserved accoutrements of his life as Bruce Wayne's ward. They're all lit at odd angles from the bedside lamp, but they're comforting in a way: they have nothing to do with this time as Batman, or what Bruce is or isn't doing. Dick sighs and tries to settle his thoughts into a more relaxed pattern so he can sleep. A quick inventory of the room shows him that Alfred hasn't changed anything, and that all the stuff has held up in his absence. Only the best kinds of things pass through the door of the Manor. Even without the legal bonds that made Bruce sort of but not really his surrogate father, Dick has never wanted for anything. And with Batman out of the country and Bruce Wayne wherever it is that he's said he'd be, Dick's back in what passes for the old homestead. It would be better if Alfred were there, or if the rooms weren't all preserved with drop-cloths and locked away for the long haul, but it's still a good place to stay. Tim may laugh at him for wanting to clean up, but then, Tim doesn't have childhood memories chasing him from room to room. It's supposed to be quiet and mostly empty, but it was never supposed to be this abandoned. When Dick gets the first few rooms liveable again, it's a weight off his chest. The Bat's heavy enough without crushing his inner child, too. He didn't see the place when he was young and innocent, but he has enough good memories that it hurt to see it in mothballs. He thinks Tim is downstairs showering and getting ready to leave until he hears the door of his room open. Tim's so quiet he must be either wearing Robin boots or going barefoot. A quick glance confirms that it's the latter. That would drive Alfred crazy. "Hi," Dick says, sitting up and making sure the blankets stay at his waist. Tim shuts the door and stays there for a few seconds, lingering in the shadows. He's wearing civvies; they make him look much smaller than Dick's mental picture of him. He puts this down to the cape he's not wearing, the shadows, and Tim's careful separation of his identities, but the difference is still there when Tim comes into the well-lit area by the bed. "I thought you'd be home by now," Dick says lightly, trying to figure out his expression. It looks like a full-on case of teenage melodrama coming through the reticence Tim usually tries to project. "What's on your mind?" Tim pets his hair, which is lying in wet locks, still damp from the shower. Dick blinks at him, confused. The reticence is completely out to lunch, replaced by extreme inscrutability. "Tim?" Tim kisses him, soft and timid and unbearably adolescent. Surely Bruce didn't invite him here to take advantage of Robin, who is how old, these days? But Dick didn't ask, and Tim didn't have to offer. Dick puts a hand on his shoulder, lightly, and Tim sighs and runs his fingers through Dick's hair. Dick breaks the kiss and says, "Hey. Tim." Tim looks away from him. "Do you want company?" "If you want it." Dick moves to the side of the bed away from the light, giving Tim space to either run away or join him. "You don't have to." Tim snorts. "I know I can't take you, but I could at least stop you from doing that." "Good." Dick grins at him. "You're not running around in hotpants, but you still need to know how to defend yourself." "I do." Tim sits on the edge of the bed, on top of the covers. "You know that." "Yeah, I do." Dick tousles his hair, and Tim splutters and catches his hand. "Did you want to talk?" "Not as such." Tim swings his legs onto the bed and turns to face Dick. He still has baby fat in his cheeks. That's not the most promising attribute of someone Dick's on the verge of kissing. He's not sure where there's an out without having to pretend he doesn't want this, so he says, "What about the girl you're seeing?" Tim gives him a good, solid glare of death. Batman has taught him well. "She's not a part of this." "No?" If Tim gets mad, that will -- make him roll onto Dick and pin his hands, and kiss him with all the hunger that goes with being fourteen, apparently. Tim tastes like granola and honey, overpoweringly normal and wholesome, and smells like the shampoo downstairs. Like he belongs in the Manor as much as Dick does, and it's exactly right for him to straddle Dick's hips and rock against him. "This is between you and me," Tim says, his voice hoarse and breathless. "Batman." The name makes Dick shiver. He's not wearing the Bat, but he can feel it pressing on his chest just the same. "Oh?" He wants his voice to be light, but it's not. "You did this to Jean-Paul, too?" Tim buries his face in Dick's neck, biting a line from his collarbone to his ear before murmuring, "What do you think?" It takes a second before Dick can get it together to say, "I don't know." The suave, detached, mature tone is completely failing to make it from Dick's brain out through his larynx. He sounds strangled and way too turned on; Tim's still dressed, still outside the covers. His timing is off. Tim nibbles his ear methodically, wetly, running his tongue along the grooves until Dick wants nothing more than to turn over and spread his legs and beg. He could do it. Tim's not that heavy. But Tim bites his earlobe and says, "Good thing you weren't the one who had to figure out who Robin was," in this smug little voice that makes Dick's toes curl. "I couldn't have done it," Dick admits. Tim sits back on Dick's thighs, letting his left hand go to concentrate on the right. Dick's about to elaborate when Tim starts sucking his fingers, and "... at least, not at your age," turns into a groan, along with the last coherent thought that maybe Tim's too young to do this. "Oh, God." "What's the matter, Batman?" Tim asks around his thumb. "Jesus, Tim." Dick sits up and kisses him, tugging his shirt up. "You're fully dressed and you're driving me crazy." Tim takes off his shirt, and he may be small, but he's certainly well-muscled. Dick runs a hand over his chest appreciatively, and Tim shivers as he tosses his shirt onto the floor. "Is that better?" "Yes." Dick kisses him again and unbuttons his pants for him. "If you're going to sneak into my room in the middle of the night, you'd better be prepared to take your clothes off." "I'll keep that in mind." Tim kneels up and pushes his pants down, then twists sideways to take them all the way off. Dick runs a hand down his back and over the highly muscular curve of his ass. "You look good." Tim's eyes narrow, and Dick adds, "Robin." He can feel Tim shiver, which makes him wonder exactly how many people call the kid Robin in bed, and then hope that he doesn't have to find out. "I've worked for it," Tim says. His voice is too even, still, so Dick takes an unsubtle hint from his earlier behavior and pushes him down onto his back, pinning his hands by his sides. "Doesn't look like you've worked hard enough." He mouths Tim's hipbone, pretending to ignore his cock,. "Come on, Tim. Years of training and all you've got is this?"  He licks the head of Tim's cock and Tim's hips buck. "That's not good enough, Robin." Tim whimpers, twists his hands free, to tangle his fingers in Dick's hair and push his head down. "Please, Dick." Dick puts a hand on Tim's hip, cupping its curve, and lets Tim take his mouth. He's already wet and salty, and he tastes like stolen, sweaty moments, and also like the same soap Dick used downstairs. It's definitely Tim, and definitely Robin. It's the best taste Dick can imagine right now, so he takes hold of Tim's wrists in his hands and licks Tim's cock instead of letting Tim fuck his mouth. "Self-control, Robin," Dick says in his Batman voice. Tim opens his eyes for a second; his pupils are wide with lust. It's the most vulnerable look Dick has seen on him in a year. He takes the opportunity to explore the veining on Tim's cock with his tongue. Tim tries to watch, but his head falls back on the pillow as soon as Dick gets his lips around the head of his cock again. Tim's hands tighten into fists and he rocks his hips. "Oh, God, Dick." Dick chuckles and lets him go. "What's the matter, little brother?" "Jesus --" Tim tangles his fingers in Dick's hair. "Don't tease me anymore." Dick wraps his hand around the base of Tim's cock, and he groans, "Please." Dick resists the pressure this time and flicks the head of Tim's cock with his tongue, grinning at his moan. "Please," Tim says again, his voice getting perilously close to a whine, and Dick strokes him hard, letting Tim arch into his mouth until he comes, gasping for breath. Dick sits back and wipes his mouth on his hand, watching Tim's breathing slow. He gets himself under control faster than most people would, even with the sheen of sweat on his stomach. "Not bad," Dick says, slipping back into the Batman voice, "though you could use more practice." Tim blushes and sits up. "I don't get that many chances to try, with my nightly commitment." "I'll be here for a while," Dick says, and enjoys the little catch in Tim's breathing. Sure, he's a kid, and it doesn't take much to turn him on, but it's still flattering. "We can practice." "We could." Tim touches his cheek, then hugs Dick, who pats him on the back. Tim's shaking a little. "At least, when I have time." "You know where to find me when I have time," Dick says in his ear. Tim pulls away and looks at him. He's gone back to inscrutable. The kid might as well be wearing a mask; maybe a mask would even make him easier to read. "What?" Tim shrugs a little, in the way teenagers do when they want to be treated like teenagers. "I didn't come up here for that kind of practice." "Aren't you a little tired to spar?" Dick asks. "Jesus, Dick." Tim kisses him again, reaching for his cock. Dick puts an arm around him. "Are you always this difficult to seduce?" "No, but Batman is." He meant it flippantly, but it makes Tim arch an eyebrow at him. "Oh?" "I would think you'd know, Robin. If you do this very often." Tim shakes his head slightly, smirking. He's such an adolescent at the strangest times, though that's part of Robin as much as it is Tim. "You're doing a really bad impression of the world's greatest detective, here." "I'm not trying very hard." Dick kisses him again, enjoying the flicker of Tim's tongue against his. When they come up for air, Tim prods him in the chest: not a nervestrike, just a suggestion. "Lie down already." Dick shrugs. "Make me." He sees the glint in Tim's eye right before they engage. Wrestling has been one of those activities that required thinking about anything but sex, ever since Dick can remember. Now, the whole bedroom smells like sex, and Tim's trying to throw him with all his weight and his sweaty self pressed against Dick. It's impossible to disassociate this, even if he wanted to, especially when Tim switches tactics and starts stroking him instead of struggling. "You win," he says, and Tim laughs. "Lie down, then." It takes a little reorienting for Dick to find the pillow, and when he manages to get parallel to the bed again, Tim's sitting on his heels and blushing. "Are you okay?" Tim nods. "Fine. I'm just -- I don't have as much practice as you do." Dick shakes his head. "I don't have a lot of practice." Although he does have some, and the incidents come back to remind him as he denies their existence. Tim smirks. "You can't fool me. I have notes on you going back years, remember?" "On that kind of thing?" Dick wonders exactly how many incidents there were to record, and hopes Tim doesn't have complete notes. "On everything that might be important." Tim strokes his thigh. "Anyway, my point is, I don't have a lot of practice." Dick messes up his hair even more than it already is. "It's okay. I'm not going to take off style points." "Okay." "I might give you a few pointers next time we, ah, practice, but that's about all." Dick shrugs. "The most important thing is enthusiasm. Which if you haven't got it, we're going to stop right now." Tim's face is flushed. "Okay. I've never done this before." Dick almost gives him a rundown of pointers, but then he remembers who he's talking to. Tim probably has the <u>Joy of Gay Sex</U> memorized cover to cover, and at least one other guide and probably several books of gay studies. "That's okay, too." He props himself up on an elbow and looks at Tim, seeing not only Robin the hyper-prepared, but Tim the kid who's still young, and who still likes him. "Give me a hug." Tim edges up the bed and hugs him tightly for a second, then says, "Thanks," and lets him go. "For what?" "Letting me practice with you." Dick spreads his hands, grinning. "No problem. I'm at your disposal." "So --" Tim kisses leans over and kisses his stomach lightly. "Okay, I can do this." He starts by stroking Dick with one hand, finding a rhythm that's either what he likes best or what seven different sex-experts recommend as the most stimulating. It works for Dick, whichever it is, and the addition of light, closed-mouthed kisses makes it even better; it's not so intense he has to close his eyes, yet, so he gets to watch Tim's ability to focus absolutely centered on his own cock. The thought is at least as hot as the touches themselves, and it makes him shift his hips before he entirely remembers that it might not be a good idea. "Sorry," he says, and his voice has gone hoarse again. "It's okay." Tim licks him from base to tip, just once, and Dick's eyes roll back in his head. "Oh, shit." He shakes his head and tries to focus again. Tim's watching him, and Dick makes as much eye contact as he can. When Tim starts to suck the head of his cock and switches from one expert-approved rhythm to another with his hand, there's no such thing as eye contact. Dick's too busy trying like hell not to thrust and scare him to be able to keep his eyes open. "That's great," he says, between labored breaths, "if you just -- a little harder --" Tim takes instructions well, definitely. Dick's breathing is going ragged and it's torture not to be able to move more than an inch at a time when the wet heat of Tim's mouth is right there, but control counts, control is important, and Tim is important and wonderful and doing everything right and "Jesus, Tim, I'm gonna come," is all he manages to say. Plenty of warning, except Tim doesn't stop because he's Robin, of course, and he chokes a little and Dick groans. He reaches for Tim blindly. "Hug me." "In a second." Tim gets out of bed and goes into the hallway -- just as well Alfred's wherever Alfred is. Dick can hear him rinse his mouth out in the bathroom and come back in. "Sorry about that. C'mere." He offers Tim another hug. Wonder of wonders, Tim gets back into bed with him and hugs him. It's at least as unexpected as the sex. "You don't have to be sorry." Tim shrugs. "I knew what I was doing. That part, anyway." Dick kisses his forehead, then his lips. Tim squirms a little and kisses him back. "Okay, then I'm not very sorry." "I should go home," Tim says, and yawns. Dick glances at the clock. "Yeah, you should. Will Robin be available tomorrow?" "I think so. If my plans change, I'll tell you." Tim disentangles himself and gets out of bed, reaching for his clothes. "Hey, Tim," Dick says when he's ready to leave. "Do you want to practice tomorrow?" Tim raises an eyebrow at him from the shadows by the door. "What do you think, Batman?" And he leaves, padding down the hallway barefoot.
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