The function of muscle
February 4, 2004
Disclaimers: See all those people over there who aren't me? Yeah. They include the people who actually own these guys.
Spoilers: Pretty much none. Assume this happens sometime before Nightwing #89 and yet after Teen Titans #6. I make my own time.
Summary: Dick's a brat. This doesn't bother Tim as much as it probably should. Go figure.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: Sequel to Lateral Stresses. Title from Da Vinci: "The function of muscle is to pull and not to push, except in the case of the genitals and the tongue."
He probably didn't mean it that way.
Acknowledgments: To Livia, Jack, the Spike, and Weirdness Magnet for audiencing, various helpful suggestions, and general coolness.
To Sandy Justine, because it... um. Was her birthday. Relatively recently, even.
Feedback: Yes, please. email@example.com
Dick is being pretty much himself tonight, which means he's moving pretty evenly between silently and perfectly professional -- and Tim has long since come to terms with his envy over the guy's moves -- and loud and annoying and... bratty.
They've been staking out a warehouse for an hour and a half now, with no sign of movement beyond the sleep-slow twitches of the (probably paid-off) security guard, so it's just about time --
He doesn't duck fast enough to avoid the head-slap.
Tim glares, but Dick is playing innocent, crouched on his portion of the ledge and staring through his binoculars.
Tim rolls his eyes and goes back to his own watch. Waits for it. Another smack? Poke with a stick? Cape tug? His peripheral vision is about as good as it can be with a mask, but the only warning he gets is the feeling of Dick shifting beside him before a handful of pebbles hits him in the side of the head.
He'd used his far hand. Nice.
"You're secretly twelve, aren't you?"
"Young at heart." Dick's not smirking at him so much as just smirking.
"Uh, huh. You know, if you're bored, there's a playground about four blocks that way."
"I'd say you were no fun, but we already knew that."
"Did you have too much sugar with your dinner, again? We are, actually, on patrol here."
"Worrying about not being up to the challenge of a handful of DVD bootleggers? We really need to work on your self-confidence, kid."
Self-confidence. Dick is poking him about self-confidence. Right. "You haven't gotten laid recently, have you?"
Tim blinks, and has just enough time to be happy for the mask until he remembers that Dick knows exactly how to read expressions despite it. Dammit.
And Dick's smirking even more.
Really, Tim had been thinking 'one-time thing.' Dick had felt like proving a point, and Tim's body had been available for him to prove it on. Stickily. And then Tim had gone back to Gotham and Dick had stayed in Bludhaven and life had gone on.
Except that Tim was maybe the only one of them actually doing the smart thing and repressing.
Or... was he? Dick isn't doing anything, and it would be like him to just needle Tim about it until they were both old and grey and probably dead, too, but...
Sometimes, Tim's pretty sure he hates his entire 'family.'
"Saved by the crook. Let's roll."
He manages to bite back the 'hunh?' Which is something to be thankful for, since Dick is already jumping off the roof like gravity is maybe optional for him. Tim shoots off his grapple and gets a pretty good idea of the situation on the way down. Three thugs, obviously armed, but equally obviously carrying large crates.
It takes less than two minutes to take them all out. The security guard doesn't even have time to wake up before Dick knocks him unconscious again.
Tim himself manages exactly two kicks and a punch.
"Well, this was pointless."
"Tell you what, Nightwing. Just for you, I'll engineer a mass breakout from Arkham."
Dick snorts. "Even you have to admit that this wasn't exactly a challenge."
"It's not about --" No. He isn't going to get into this argument. One, because he's had it with other people about nine hundred times. Two, because Dick's pretty much just fucking with him.
Which fact is made perfectly clear by the fact that the man's still smirking his head off, even as he zip-strips the bad guys.
"Well, since you're on top of this..."
And for a while, he's sure he's gotten away. Away and kind of away with something, because hey, it's not like he was supposed to be joined to Dick by the hip tonight or anything, and there's no actual reason why he can't sneak back into his bedroom before dawn.
The route is one he planned, too. He's only used it twice, and he's particularly proud of the switchbacks and unauthorized use of the power lines over Tenth.
Right up until he swings around an apartment building and Nightwing waves at him from where he's perched on a freaking flagpole.
He tumbles to a stop on the rooftop of an apartment building, not quite skinning his palms on some broken glass that hadn't been there the last time.
Nightwing decides to be courteous -- or maybe just smug -- and makes noise as he lands behind him.
"What." He isn't going to turn around.
Dick claps his hands on Tim's shoulders just a little too hard and gives him a shake before leaning in to whisper in his ear. "You never answered my question."
If the world was fair, Tim wouldn't be remembering those hands on his thighs. Or thinking about the way Dick's lips feel against his ear versus the way they'd felt wrapped around -- fuck. "Just to be clear, am I actually allowed to be uncomfortable about this?"
He can feel Dick tense, and it's tempting, really incredibly tempting to just go with it. He could say something about how he's struggling with his sexuality, or having trouble sleeping. Or something really good, like how he's just not sure he can trust Dick anymore.
Oh yeah. That would be...
The best possible thing he could do to break Dick's tiny little mind.
He sighs and slumps, a little, brushing Dick's hands off and turning around.
"I know, you're just playing, and I'm not actually freaking out about this."
Dick looks like a weirdly hesitant Frankenstein monster, arms still held out in front of him where Tim's shoulders used to be. And it is nice that it's maybe, possibly finally occurring to Dick that this... thing between them is fucked up beyond all human comprehension, but the timing could be better.
It takes three hard kisses before Dick's hands are sliding under his cape, and by that time it's not really necessary to pull the man into it. Tim still doesn't let go. It feels good to hold Dick's head in just the right position, to lick his way into his mouth and get his tongue sucked and --
"You know, um. We could talk about this if you --"
"Christ, shut up."
"I know you're young and inexperienced --"
"I hate you." Tim shoves, but Dick doesn't bother to try to keep his balance -- just grabs Tim's arm and makes sure they hit the roof together. He's expecting the roll, so he has enough time to put his own force into it so that he's only actually on his back for a moment.
Dick looks much better on his back.
Even with that smirk.
He can't say he hasn't thought about it. A rooftop, the quickest way to get just enough out of their uniforms. Yeah. Just as fucked up as the rest of them. Tim does his best not to think about it, grinding down and biting his lip when Dick gets his hands back on Tim's ass and squeezes.
"Mm. Is that door locked?"
Fuck. Like a bucket of ice water from on high.
"Tim, Tim, Tim. Haven't we taught you anything about planning?"
He remembers the days when he almost never ground his teeth. His childhood had been pretty happy, all things considered. Dick snickers at him as he stands up, running the inside of one booted foot up the outside of Tim's tights as he tries to brush the worst of the grit off his knees.
He wonders if he's going to be one of those sad people who are doomed to find any flex of incredibly well-toned muscle attractive -- he grinds his teeth a little more.
"My bike's not parked too far from here. Traffic shouldn't be terrible." The foot creeps up higher and... moves.
"I have to get home tonight." He hopes that wasn't a whine. He really, really hopes that wasn't a whine. Dick shouldn't be able to make a steel-toed boot nudging at his crotch feel like such a good idea.
He wonders if he's becoming a pervert. How long does it take? How much of this?
"Mm. Hmm. We could just block off the door."
If Tim pressed his thighs together, Dick's foot would be pretty much trapped right... there. "Yeah..."
"I want you in a bed."
"Beds are nice. Flat, soft. Lots of... space."
And Tim's aware that he's pretty much staring, but he thinks that has to be understandable. Dick is still flat on his back, even with his foot up between Tim's legs. And he's got one hand behind his head and the other hand...
Just his thumb, brushing over and over the erection that's getting more and more obvious.
"Home," he says, and prays it makes some kind of sense. More sense than any of this, and that shouldn't be too difficult, right?
"I'll take you home." And Dick's promising... absolutely nothing that has anything to do with Tim waking up in his own bed in the morning.
He forces himself to step back, and Dick just rolls to his feet.
"Yeah, follow me."
A running jump off the roof, and he's proud of himself for the fact that he doesn't immediately follow. His brain is, actually, where it should be. But then he's just irritated, because he can't find Dick right away.
And of course not. Of course he shouldn't have expected the man to make it easy on him or anything. Just because he wanted to get laid, or anything. No reason whatsoever for him to stop fucking with the new-Robin's-for-life head.
He finds Dick in the fifth alley he swings past, holding out the extra helmet. Tim has already decided if he says anything like 'what took you' he's getting a blow to the kidneys, but... he doesn't.
"You need to hold on tighter than that." His voice is tinny over the helmet radio, but still really ridiculously intimate.
"Could you be more sleazy?"
"You think I'm kidding?" And the bike takes off like a motorcycle-shaped rocket.
Tim decides he needs to come up with some viable plans for sabotaging well-trained fighters on motorcycles. He needs to spend time and effort on that, because right now he can't come up with anything that won't turn him into road pizza, too. It probably doesn't help that they're this close. Dick bent over the bike and Tim bent over Dick and... no, definitely not helping.
He turns his head to the side, but that just gives him a better view of Dick weaving in and out of traffic exactly like the brain-fried maniac he totally is.
"Your hand is almost in an interesting place, Tim."
"You want me to grope you while you're driving?"
"Think of it as a concentration exercise."
"See, here's the thing: I want to live long enough to --" And he's totally not finishing that sentence. Man, he can hear Dick smirking.
It has its own silent little hum.
It's possible he's not thinking straight.
"Long enough to what?"
And Dick actually moves, rearing up just enough to rub his ass against Tim's crotch, making the bike swerve just enough for Tim to find himself looking into the rightfully terrified eyes of some poor bastard going home after a late shift.
"Are you insane?"
Dick responds by weaving around every car, and Tim's starting to worry about the way his cape is just sort of flapping out behind them and --
"Okay! I'll tell you. Just stop with the near-death experiences, will you?"
"Sure thing, Boy Wonder."
"I hate you so much."
"Mm-hmm. How much? What do you want to do to me, kid?"
At least the helmet will hide his blush. "Suck you. Like... you did."
"Oh, yeah. What else?"
"I don't know," he lies.
"We can fix that."
Yeah, he just bets.
They park in an alley a few blocks down from Dick's apartment building and do some swinging and climbing until they can sneak in through his window. There are only three alarms they need to disable along the way, which is both completely wrong and so in character it makes Tim's teeth itch.
He's not thinking about it.
He gets the cape, the gloves, and the boots off and is working on the tunic when he notices Dick just... staring. And it's a nice stare, all heat and frank admiration, but it's also annoyingly amused. "What."
"Your uniform is way more complicated to get off than mine used to be."
And Tim thinks about pointing out that Bruce had done the original design for his uniform, but a) that's more than he wants to bring up here and now, and b) he's not immune to a straight line. "Unlike you, Dick, I don't suffer unduly if I'm not, at all times, ready, willing, and able to drop trou for my partners and teammates."
Dick just crosses his arms and smirks. "No? And about that 'teammate' of yours. The one you absolutely had to talk to before you were willing to get out from under the League vs. the Titans. What was his name again...?"
And maybe it's something in his voice, but Dick actually... stops. Sort of. "You know, I've thought about it. What you'll do when you're done with Robin."
"Jesus, Dick --"
"I've even got some uniforms in mind."
"I don't want to know."
"But really, I think the best part -- the stroke of genius, you might say --"
"Can't we shut up and have sex?"
And it's fascinating, really. Dick's horniness vs. Dick's need to tell a stupid joke. Two Dicks enter, way too many dick jokes leave. Or something.
Tim sighs and works the hidden catches on the tunic. "Fine. What's the best part?"
Dick slides one hand under the opened tunic, yanking on the t-shirt and smiling into Tim's eyes.
He's really disgustingly attractive. "What?"
Dick strokes a path up Tim's chest, thumb sliding over his nipple again and again until he isn't sure if he wants to slap Dick's hand away or tell him to twist it or something. And he leans in, but the kiss is dry and close-mouthed and doesn't last long before Dick's nudging Tim's head aside to lick his ear. Impossible to concentrate. Impossible to remember that he's not supposed to concentrate, and he can feel his body fighting to tense and fighting to just... give up.
He can feel Dick's hair brushing against his cheek, and feel the scratch of stubble against his ear. Unfamiliar and hot. Tim's fully on-board with the fact that part of the reason why he's doing this is so none of it will ever be unfamiliar again, so that he'll have some recourse, some expectation for what his body will try to do to him just because he's being touched.
It's so unfair he wants to beat his head against a wall.
"Tim..." Smoky-voiced. Something else to watch out for.
He can feel Dick's smile against his ear, toothy and wet and probably dangerous. "So your new name..."
Warning bells are going off about a hundred miles away from Dick's voice, Dick's thumb, and the thigh nudging between his own, inviting him to ride. "Mm-hmm..."
"I was thinking..."
Dick's thigh is flexing now, and it's terrifying how good it is. And then it's just good. "You're a history-minded kid. You pay attention to your roots, and Robin's, too."
"So it should be something that takes it all into account. The bird thing, your... mentors. And, of course, your own personality."
The tongue in his ear isn't helping the thought process. Tim's maybe two minutes from random, embarrassing noises. He bites his lip. Does it harder when Dick's hands settle on his hips and start moving him. He still can't hold in a groan.
"I'm thinking... 'Chastewing.'"
"Yeah. I mean... what?"
Dick snickers, and man, that's it. Tim shoves him hard, just enough to knock him off balance, and tackles him harder. They hit the bed, and there's no way Dick isn't able to fight him off, but the bastard is laughing too hard to try. Right.
Tim yanks a zip-strip off his belt and ties Dick's wrists --
"I knew all that repression would just make you kinky."
And slips a cord through the binding to attach him to the headboard. He can't decide if it's more or less satisfying that Dick's helping him.
"I'm just saying, thoroughness is a virtue."
And when Tim starts yanking on his tights, Dick plants his feet and lifts his hips, and Tim really can't help getting distracted. Long thighs, sparse hair. Muscle and hot skin, and the expression on his face is more than enough for Tim to know Dick's remembering all the thigh-fondling he'd done. Tim's not in the least tempted to get out the solvent and take off Dick's mask.
He doesn't think he could keep himself from killing the man if he actually had to look into his eyes.
Dick's briefs have a built-in jock, and he just means to get a feel for them, the way they may or may not be different from his own, but Dick actually stops laughing for a moment. Which is... gratifying, on top of making perfect sense: A tease for a tease. Tim rests his hands on either side of the bulge and strokes with his thumbs, watching Dick's face and the way his breathing goes ragged.
He's not doing anything with his legs -- yet. Tim keeps his guard up.
"You're... mmph. Taking detailed mental notes, aren't you?"
"What if I am?" He keeps stroking.
"Nothing at all, Tim. I like perfectionists."
"State the obvious, much?"
He can see Dick raising an eyebrow, or trying to despite the mask. Tim didn't actually mean to go there. And he's not sure how to apologize without dragging them deeper. Not with them half-naked and in the middle of having sex, anyway.
"It's easier to change the subject when there's a roof to jump off," he tries.
Dick nods, forearms flexing in what's probably a reflexive test of how well he's tied. Probably.
"Repress and deny?"
Huffed laugh. "Yeah, kid. We've got better things to do."
And there's a lot there, and one day Tim does want to talk about it -- as opposed to it being on the list of things to talk about with various members of his 'family' before disaster strikes -- but... yeah.
Dick rolls his hips, and it's a suggestion well worth taking. Tim drags tights and jockeys down to Dick's knees, thinks about leaving them there, and then gets rid of the boots and the rest. Pushes Dick's top up to bunch under his arms. He still can't really think about it. Can't take it all in beyond flashes of skin. The flat, hard muscle of Dick's stomach, his small nipples, and the weirdly vulnerable caps of his knees.
"I can't believe you ran around in panties for a freaking decade."
"You'd be amazed how easy it is to take out a thug who's staring bemusedly at your crotch."
"Like I am?"
"I wouldn't call that bemused..."
Tim smiles at that. And keeps smiling. And waits for it.
"Are you actually going to touch me?"
"Dunno." Dick's thighs twitch. "Are you going to keep messing with my head?"
"Let's see: So far, that tactic has gotten your dick in my mouth -- which you seemed to enjoy -- some truly inspiring groping, some kissing, and gotten me tied to the bed. Call me crazy, but I like to go with what works. Chastewing."
Tim doesn't want to grin at that, but wanting anything Dick doesn't want seems pretty pointless. Especially since he's kneeling between Dick's naked legs.
"C'mon. Teach me a lesson."
"If I wanted to do that, I'd leave."
"You don't honestly expect me to believe you don't want to punish me a little."
"I'm not a vindictive person, Dick." Tim gives him his best soulful look. "It hurts that you'd think that about me."
Dick chokes with laughter, breath hitching and hips moving in needy little circles. "Come on."
"What if I want you to beg?"
And Tim thinks he was wrong the first time around. He wants to see Dick's eyes for this, to see what shows when he stills like that.
"I told you I had a wide and varied fantasy life, Dick."
"And I'm just making it wider, hunh? I can go with that."
"Please." Breathless and low. And it comes out too easily for Dick not to be acting, but it's still.
Really hot. "Say it again."
"Please, Tim. Touch me. Suck me off."
His heart is pounding in his throat, a thick and painful feeling he can't swallow around.
"I want you..."
"You're too good at this."
"Practice." Dick's smile is lazy and catches the glare of moonlight. "But I do want you." And he brings his right leg up slowly, making sure Tim can see every move, before settling it over Tim's shoulder and bending. Pulling him in. "I want you right... here."
Tim doesn't resist until he's bent over far enough that he needs to brace himself on one hand. He can smell him. Sex and sweat and generalized male. Tim takes a deep breath and watches his dick twitch. "You want my mouth on you?"
"I want to fuck your mouth." He flexes his leg for emphasis. "But... I'm easy."
He can feel Dick's gasp. Or maybe he'd gasped. It's hard to be sure. He's had his hand on Dick's dick -- and he really does hate Dick for willfully going by that name, sometimes -- before, but this is different. Maybe it's the nudity. Maybe it's the bed. He's hard and hot in Tim's hand. Alive.
It makes him think about the things he's heard Bruce say about Dick over the years. How Dick had made him feel.
And that's nothing but honest, and he can't wait anymore. Luckily, he's done extensive reading over the past week, so the concepts aren't beyond him. Open up, watch the teeth, use the tongue... and drool copiously, because Dick tastes...
Sex just keeps getting more dangerous, more intense in exactly the way to make Tim think he was right about avoiding -- all the while making it impossible to step back.
He pulls off to swallow back spit and Dick is actually struggling now. Not in any useful way, but this... it's even better. The flex of muscle and the flush spilling out from under his bunched-up uniform over his chest.
Tim squeezes his dick and gets another gasp, goes back down and sucks and... starts to pump.
"Oh fuck --"
Barely two words, and Dick isn't thrusting, but it's also really clear that he's making an effort. There's a sporadic shudder, and Dick's rubbing his heel over Tim's back.
"You should be naked."
Tim makes a non-committal noise around Dick and gets a groan that makes it really hard to keep ignoring the fact that his own jock has long since become uncomfortable. He shifts and Dick moves his other leg over his shoulder. It's nothing like an effective pin, but it... changes things.
Makes the wet sounds louder, deeper. Something. Dick wants this, and he's so hard Tim has to do something.
"Tim... take more. Please --"
And Dick is bumping against the back of his throat, now, writhing under him and moaning constantly.
Tim wants to know if his eyes are closed, if he's still wrenching at the cord. If he wants to push his head down or if it's better that it's still kind of a tease. He pulls off to lick his palm and Dick makes a hurt noise, a tortured noise that he can't help but echo even as he sucks him back in.
He's lifting his hips, now. Still not quite thrusting, but... it's even better to get his free hand under Dick's ass, to cup and stroke and squeeze --
"Oh yeah, come on come on --"
Tim slips a finger in Dick's cleft and plays around his hole.
"Oh, fuck, Tim."
Dick's moving too much for him to get a decent rhythm going, but Tim is willing to go with the idea that it might not matter. Especially when Dick rocks back hard enough for Tim's finger to slide in to the first knuckle, and now all the noises are open-mouthed and loud.
Easy, honest, wild sounds that aren't loud enough to cover his own desperate whine, and he has just enough time to wonder if Dick's going to come in his mouth and what he's going to do about that before he does, digging his heels in and shuddering.
Tim manages to swallow twice before he has to pull off or choke, and catches another shot on his cheek.
He lets go and pulls out, unfolding Dick's legs from around himself and catching his breath. His jaw is a little sore. His lips are numb. He's got Dick's come on his face.
He blinks and obeys, getting one hot, messy kiss before Dick nuzzles and nudges his head to the side and... licks his face. "Oh, man."
"You know you have to fuck me, right?" Lick. "C'mon. You've got me right where you want me..."
"Lube in the bedside table. You are so going to love this."
Not even remotely the issue. Unfortunately, he's too hard to remember what the issue is. Or maybe fortunately. He shakes his head and reaches for the table -- and loses all trace of his balance when Dick starts sucking on his neck. It doesn't stop the man, though. One muffled 'oof' and he goes back to licking and... biting.
"Mm. You like that?"
Loud, sucking kiss and Dick wraps his legs around Tim's waist.
At which point he decides to show Tim how its done, apparently, because Tim didn't know you could lick someone and laugh at the same time.
Maybe he should take actual notes when he gets home.
Maybe he should just rock against Dick until he comes in his pants.
Right. Tim wriggles halfway free and gets the drawer open on a pathetically drunken-looking angle. Dick rewards him by sliding his knees up higher, petting him with his feet and just generally giving Tim more ideas than he has any idea what to do with.
Lube turns out to be a battered, mostly-empty tube that Tim is not going to ask about. Mostly because Dick would tell him. In detail. He grabs an equally denuded box of condoms and braces himself on one hand and gets back up on his knees, and Dick responds by spreading.
Like, feet over the edges of the bed. Tim's eyebrows try to climb into his hairline and his dick throbs. More notes necessary. More research. He's so fucking doomed. "Jesus, Dick."
Dick shifts his left leg back and strokes down Tim's chest with his foot, nudging the half-opened tunic up and doing a really good job of curling his toes into the waistband of the tights.
"You're... concentrating. Much too well."
"Your fault for getting me off, Boy Wonder."
His foot slips in an absolutely wonderful way.
"Take these off."
Reminding Dick that he's the one tied to the bed would probably be the most unproductive thing he could possibly do. He pushes down his tights and jockeys --
And the air is cold enough to feel like the world's best slap. Or he's hot enough. Fuck, leaking, and Dick's foot is aiming for him again. "Don't."
He grabs his balls and yanks, wanting to glare at Dick but knowing that he's much, much better off keeping his eyes closed and reminding himself how to breathe. If he thought Dick would let him, he'd try to meditate. Because, really... he's not going to last.
He opens his eyes again just enough to see the condoms and lube and... okay, he's never actually done this before --
"If my hands were free I'd roll it on for you. Or I could use --"
"Shut up." His mouth. He was going to say his mouth and Tim's breathing is ragged again, just that fast. He gets the condom on and pops open the tube --
"Yeah. Two fingers."
"Fuck, Dick --"
"Hold on. You can do it."
There was a time when he'd get Dick's voice in his head saying things like that all the time. He can honestly say he'd never expected it in this context. Which is also for the best, because he's supposed to be the sane one.
He bites his lip and nudges at Dick's hole again. Two fingers, and he doesn't slide in easy, but he slides in good. Slick and hot and he feels himself shoot more pre-come at the sight. His fingers, Dick's ass, muscles clenching around him --
Tim stares up, instead, just in time to see Dick arch and roll back onto his fingers, taking him in.
"God, fuck me."
Which... yeah, okay, absolutely. He wishes he had bigger hands. Has a fleeting moment to wonder if lesbians ever have that thought. Realizes he's completely losing his mind and slides his free hand under Dick's thigh just so he can push it up. Hold him open. See it, because it's the sexiest thing ever.
His body isn't listening to him anymore. His brain is just functional enough for him to move closer, slip his fingers out and give his dick a casual swipe before he's shoving in. Not all the way, and there's no time to be surprised or turned on or even scared before he's fucking his way in --
And Dick's hard again. He hadn't even registered that in the midst of everything else, but Dick's hard. Hard enough for the head of his dick to brush against Tim's tunic with every thrust, and he needs that.
Yanks up his tunic and shirt and flexes at the feel of Dick's -- dammit -- dick dragging wetly over his stomach. Dick gasps rhythmically and wraps his legs around Tim again, holding on for leverage and driving himself back against him.
It's getting hard to see and it's impossible to think, much less slow down. He feels ragged and clumsy and desperate and every breath tastes like sex. And then Dick starts to squeeze around him and it's too much. Tim can feel himself shouting more than he can hear it, and the force of his orgasm makes his eyes go wide and something small and important in his brain just completely short out.
He catches himself more by reflex than anything else, whimpering at the feel of Dick around him. Under him. Reaches up and releases the zip-strip by touch.
Dick's hands are a little shaky, but he still moves Tim easily, holding on tight with his thighs and rolling them over without letting them disengage.
And then he starts jerking off.
Tim holds on to Dick's thighs and stares.
"We're doing this again. You understand that, right?"
Tim manages a vowel sound.
"I've got ideas for you, kid..."
The hell of it is that it's entirely possible Dick has just as many ideas as he does. Possibly more.
"I've got -- mm -- plans."
"Detailed... brilliant... schemes."
He can't look away from Dick's hand, his arm and the completely casual flex of muscle. He doesn't bother to try, just digs in a little with his thumbs. "Diagrams?"
"I keep 'em on the computer. E-mail them to Garth for suggestions."
"Jesus, you would, wouldn't you?"
Dick laughs and gasps and laughs and comes, aiming at Tim's dick and splattering his thighs. He supposes he should be grateful Dick didn't aim at the tunic, but it seems like far too complex a thought to have.
He settles on "fuck."
And watches Dick wipe his sticky hand on his stomach and stretch, rolling his neck on his shoulders. "Mm."
He doesn't move until Tim starts to feel himself soften, and they share a groan as Dick settles himself mostly on top of Tim.
"I still have to go home."
"You have to shower." Dick licks his neck.
"I can do that at home. There's running water in Gotham and everything."
"Shut up and cuddle."
"I could steal your bike."
"I could tie you to the bed. We'll tell your Dad you got lost on your way home from school. I'll be the kindly stranger who took you into his home."
"And demanded I fuck you in return for shelter."
"Mm-hmm. It's always a little sad when a good kid starts peddling his ass, but it pretty much had to happen." He rolls easily away from Tim's punch, and then rolls right back.
"I'm not actually going to be your boy-whore, Dick."
"That's not even accurate anymore!"
Dick snickers and pinches his nipple until Tim smacks his hand away. Twice.
"Relax, it's not even four."
Tim sighs and shifts and relaxes, scowling at the feel of Dick's grin against his throat.
He's so ordering that paddle he saw online.
And possibly the riding crop.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Te
|Home/QuickSearch + Random + Upload + Search + Contact + GO List|