April 5, 2004
Disclaimers: Not mine. Dammit.
Spoilers: Nothing specific. Spec on near-future events within Robin.
Summary: Yet another story I could have called "It's A Robin Thing."
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: Jack wanted porn. This was the first thing that occurred to me.
Acknowledgments: To Jack, Livia, and Weirdness Magnet for audiencing.
It's different now.
Well, in truth, a number of things are different now, and it isn't as though Tim isn't used to change. If there's one lesson life has taught him -- thoroughly -- it's that nothing lasts forever, and that nothing and no one will stay around long enough to let him believe in them. Parents, homes, cities, friends... afterschool jobs.
None of it is permanent.
Which is for the best, really.
He isn't permanent, either, after all.
Somewhere in the back of Tim's mind, Dick is smirking. Tim has quite a large variety of Dick smirks to call upon, and this is one of the more smug ones. The ones that tend to infuriate most people. Not him.
Life has also taught him to treat the small annoyances as precisely that.
And Dick is wrong, anyway.
Tim isn't going to do this forever.
"R-point four, Robin?"
"Yes, Robin," he says, and lets Spoiler -- Robin -- take point.
He isn't going to do this forever, but he wasn't ready to quit yet. It's his choice. All of this has been his choice, from the day he made the librarian teach him about microfiche so he could look up information on the late, lamented Flying Graysons, to the day he put on the suit.
He'll take it off when he's ready, and not one moment before.
Well. In a figurative sense, anyway.
R-point four is a (moderately) quake-damaged warehouse that's going to stay condemned right up until Batman no longer has any use for it. The windows are long gone, and the support beams won't stand up to too much abuse.
Robin pulls her punches, a little.
Tim pulls his, too. A little.
It isn't a fight, not really. He never would with Stephanie, anyway. Not like this -- and not any other way, if he could possibly help it. That sort of imbroglio really isn't to his taste. If he'd ever thought about it consciously, he would've told himself that this isn't, either.
His life is filled with violence. It wouldn't be at all prudent to develop a fetish.
Still, he thinks, as he dodges two black-booted kicks (she's getting better, more flexible), and three green-gauntleted punches (she's never needed improvement there), as he catches a third kick with his ribs, as he dives and rolls and catches her pounce and licks and bites and tastes Robin's red, red lipstick...
There's certainly something to this.
Robin growls into his mouth and bites his tongue and bucks, and Tim catches her by the hair to stay on, Tim grinds down, armor to armor, Tim hears himself make an indiscreet sound and watches Robin lick her bitten mouth.
The eyeshadow she's wearing behind her mask is gold.
He knows this, the way he knows that Robin is pissed-off at the way green nail polish -- gauntlets or no gauntlets -- would just be a little too... too. He feels Robin's frustration.
He feels other things.
Her skirt is red and armored and tight -- too tight for convenience, and far too tight for practicality... if it wasn't so short.
He shoves it up to her waist and she punches him in the jaw. When he gets his head back around, Robin's grin is wide and shiny. White teeth, red lips.
"Pay attention, Boy Wonder."
It isn't a punch. He just shoves his knuckles against the crotch of her tights. Nice and hard.
Her smile turns into a snarl, and her eyes widen enough that he can tell, even through the mask.
"I am paying attention, Girl Wonder. I know exactly how much you like this."
She spreads her thighs and lifts, wrapping her legs around his waist and squeezing hard. Her lower body strength is better than his. She knows it. If she twists, just a little -- and if he doesn't fight -- she can make this painful.
It's probably not a good sign that he wants her to.
He thinks about telling her he loves her when she does.
"Robin," he says, instead, and her mouth twists into something a lot more like talking than screwing, but he still has his hand in place, and he knows how to use it.
Bruce was right -- training never really ends.
Tim isn't sure he wants to believe this training will prove useful in other situations or not. It isn't that he's thinking about anyone else, or that he doesn't see the potential... potential in being as good at sex as he is in several other physical disciplines.
It's just that being good at this, at making Robin push her hips up and up until he can feel her heat through her tights and his gauntlet, being good at this on top of wanting this...
He doesn't think he's doing this right. This 'boyfriend' thing.
He's almost certain that it shouldn't be easier now than it ever was before, with Steph's pretty blue eyes hidden behind the white-out lenses and Steph's voice low and clipped and Robin, even when he stops using the
armored knuckles of the gauntlets on her and curls his fingers under the waistband of her tights and yanks.
"Robin," she says, and Tim's dick flexes behind his jock.
Her panties are cotton and almost precisely the same shade as her lipstick. He makes a note to buy her more. Better.
She likes it when he does things like that. She likes it when he's hard for her, when she can tell with more than the obvious way his hands fumble at his own shorts and tights. It makes perfect sense. He's done an excellent job at being the sort of boyfriend from whom tangible reassurance is necessary, and everything he does now makes her happier, calmer, more... his.
Six months ago he never would've considered anything of the kind.
"I like looking at you," he says, and it's the absolute truth -- the wetness on her panties darkens the red to the precisely correct shade. It's also an excellent way to make her growl again, make her grab him with her legs again and dig in with her knees.
"You can touch, too," she says. "You should touch."
Over her bare thighs -- he didn't pull the tights down too far -- and through the panties. He can smell her.
The scent of her arousal is no different than it ever was, when all he'd been able to think was that the material of the Spoiler costume was much too thin, when he used to wonder how she was able to walk around like that, outside, where anyone with decently trained senses would know precisely how much --
"Robin," she says, and this time it sounds like she'd rather be saying his name. Irritable, impatient, and turned on.
"Yes, Robin?" And he smiles at her just to see the shock, the moment of realization.
"You pick the weirdest freaking times to -- oh. Oh --"
Play, she didn't say, because she knows him -- enough -- to know that he is. He rubs her hard, maybe too, and her mouth twists into another one of the snarls he loves to see. It's the same one she uses when some skel or another gets in a good enough shot to piss her off.
When she's about to start using the more vicious moves Batgirl's been teaching her, the moves that make Bruce make that face, the memory face, and Jason's ghost flies around them all and laughs.
Tim wonders if Jason would've liked Steph.
If he'd been Robin for long enough to need it just like this, to have to yank those red panties down with the green tights and push his face into her yellow, yellow hair. Maybe he would've wanted to do it anyway.
The insides of her thighs are smooth against his cheeks, and she's so wet he has to suck her a little before she starts making the especially pleased noises. The ones that start low and spiral higher, higher into something almost animal.
He'd never really thought he'd enjoy doing this, and he still isn't sure how he feels about the taste, but it feels right, especially when she starts bucking hard and arrythmically, when Tim has to be careful to avoid getting hurt by her pubic bone.
She likes it when he cups her ass and digs his thumbs into her broad, round hips and holds on.
He likes it when she shoves her gauntleted hands into his hair and holds on.
"Oh -- oh fuck, oh fuck Robin --"
"Robin," he says against her hard little clit.
"You -- oh Christ --" And she says something else, but it's hard to tell what. She's growling again, yanking at his hair in a less than purposeful way. Pushing him. He knows what she wants. He pulls back, kneeling up and -- finally, some needy part of his mind insists -- shoving down the jock while she pushes the skirt down enough to get to her belt, where she keeps the condoms.
It's practical -- she still isn't trained with all the accessories he carries, and so isn't allowed to carry them. She has room he doesn't. Eventually, they'll have to figure out another solution.
For now, he loves the way it looks when she slips a condom out of the belt pocket that should hold shuriken or extra tranquilizer darts, when one side of her mouth pulls up in that wicked little smirk that says 'I know what you're thinking, and I like it.'
This makes sense, as well. She's tired of sweet, shy Tim Drake, and she's long past ready for the boy she's probably always thought Robin should be. She has a point. Dick would've had sex with her the first time she asked.
And he's heard enough about Jason to suggest that he wouldn't have made her wait much longer than that. And possibly wouldn't have made her ask.
'I'm doing this for the legacy,' he thinks, and feels another part of his mind splinter off to laugh hysterically while they do a clumsy, awkward, wonderful, hot -- fuck, gauntlets -- job of getting the condom on him.
She squeezes him hard and looks at him with blank eyes and a ready mouth.
"One day we'll do this naked," she says, and it isn't a question and it has absolutely nothing to do with what clothes they're still wearing.
Except for the fact that it does. He makes an effort. "It's not... not just the suit."
"Yeah. You don't have a fetish at all, Robin," she says and lies back down, rubbing her breasts through the tunic.
It can't possibly feel as good as it looks. The tunic is armored. He takes himself in hand and pushes in, and one of the nice things about having practice at this is that he doesn't have to look away. Gauntlets, tunic, and Robin looking like she can't decide whether to laugh or groan.
She does both, and then she just groans, because he's in, right to the hilt, and she likes it when he touches her with the gauntlets. He has to be careful, but she likes it when he isn't, too.
She likes -- she feels so good. Tight and hot and slick around him, and she'd feel even better if he stopped rubbing her and just braced himself on the floor, but he still has a little --
She flexes around him.
Control. He has to -- he... "Oh God, Robin --"
"That's me," she says, and flexes even harder. "Come on, Boy Wonder..."
Tim groans and pinches her once, twice, and listens to her growl and gives up and leans over her, one hand on the floor and the other on and in her hair, and she whines high in her throat and rolls under him like she's struggling not to buck, and she must be squeezing her eyes shut, because the mask holes narrow and she's so beautiful it hurts --
"T -- Robin --"
And he doesn't know why he's fucking her harder and he's kind of afraid to ask himself that question. He just knows that this is why he's doing this, having sex, right here. Because his dick couldn't be happier, and he can't fucking breathe, and Robin's all around him, all over him and through him and one day maybe in him, because he wants her to fuck him, too.
He leans in closer, close enough to get his mouth next to her ear, to taste her sweat on his tongue.
"Steph," he whispers, and suddenly it doesn't matter at all that he's ruined the angle, because he can feel her coming around him, one rapid, vicious flex after another --
"Oh God --"
And maybe it's like this for her, too. Maybe she feels it the way he does, the way suddenly, for the first time since he was a child, there's something that really does roll all through him, that spreads over every aspect of his life -- his mind -- and just insists on being.
Steph for his parents, and the people who think they're his friends.
Robin wrapped tight around him and rolling them over and pushing his shoulders down against the cold, cement floor and taking Tim deep and riding him.
Grinning down at him, flushed and red.
He shoves up hard into her and squeezes her hip with one hand and grabs one of her hands with the other.
"Oh fuck, I love it when you bite my fingers --" And she shoves them in deep, and her gauntlet tastes like dust and someone else's blood (red), and Tim comes groaning, eyes rolling up in his head behind the mask.
She gives him a goodbye squeeze before pulling her fingers out of his mouth and standing up.
Tim lets himself watch her get her uniform back together for a moment before he pulls off the condom, knots it off, bags it, and tucks it into his -- heh -- evidence pocket.
Robin shakes her head at him, and makes no bones about watching him get his uniform back together.
"I still think you're going to mess up one day and hand one of those over to Batman with the night's take."
One of the things he isn't going to say is "'Take' makes it sound like we're criminals.'" The other thing he isn't going to say is "What makes you think he doesn't already know?" He raises an eyebrow at her, instead.
"Nothing, really. But... you have plans for tonight?" He's also not going to say "just once?"
"Batgirl says there might be a new operation moving in on the docks." She shrugs. "I thought we could, like, do some recon or something."
Robin narrows her eyes at him. "What? Like I can't want to do the extra cred -- wait. It's totally turning you on that I want to do more patrol, isn't it?"
Absolutely yes. "Maybe you're just sexy."
She giggles and straightens her hair. "You should tell Batman that you think we should train together more."
Her headband is a little crooked. He fixes it. "Should I?"
He's pretty sure she's rolling her eyes. "Like you don't wanna do it in the Cave, Kink Wonder."
Tim blinks. Again. Robin looks at him with Steph's softness around her mouth, and he isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to see.
He just knows it's beautiful.
And then she shakes her head and shoots her grapple up through one of the larger holes in the roof, taking off with a grace she didn't have even a month ago.
Tim follows, and does his best not to look up her skirt.
It's different. It's... good, even though he should probably be a little less... or maybe a little more... something.
He isn't sure.
But right now it's his.
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Author: Te [email] [website]
Details: Standalone | NC-17 | het | 14k | 04/05/04
Characters: Tim, Steph
Summary: It's a Robin Thing.
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