This Alone (Bruce/Tim, NC-17, post-OYL)
Title: This Alone
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Bruce/Tim
Rating: NC-17; content some readers may find disturbing.
Disclaimer: DC wouldn't do this to them.
Notes: Set directly after Tim's adoption by Bruce, post-OYL. I blame Pixie, you should too.
Feedback: Appreciated.
Word Count: 1000
He awoke screaming his fifth night at the manor, biting into his thumb to muffle the noise. He tasted blood, but couldn’t stop digging his teeth in, curling himself into his arms.
There was sweat dripping into his eyes, and his breathing had yet to slow to anything resembling reasonable.
He licked the blood from his thumb, jabbing his tongue purposefully into the bruising marks, and ignored everything even when his senses picked up Bruce’s feet in front of his door.
These were… Tim’s own demons.
He did not want to be seen as a frightened child, even if the law now placed him as one. Tim knew everything that happened to the boys placed under Bruce’s care.
It didn’t make him any more inclined to lock his door at night, and even though Batman could pick any lock Tim came up with, the message would be clear to *Bruce*.
He began to pull his thumb from his mouth, to open his eyes and explain this was nothing but a nightmare, and to take whatever was passed off as comfort so he could return to… his previous activities.
Bruce’s hand caught his as soon as it began to move.
“Don’t,” he said, low enough to be considered Batman outside of the cave. He pushed Tim’s thumb back into his mouth, pressing it into his tongue.
He held himself perfectly still, eyes still shut and preventing him from roughly shoving his tongue against the pressure.
“This has been going on since you arrived here, Tim.” It was almost ‘Robin’, but warm enough to remind him of who they were, and *where* they were.
He swallowed around his own thumb, Bruce’s hand still holding it in place.
It must be the trained part of himself that wanted to speak, because inside his head Tim wanted nothing less.
He wanted… something completely different.
“You know what you want,” Bruce said, and Tim’s breath caught. He would blame that later on not catching his breath from the nightmare before Bruce entered the room.
Currently -- he swallowed again, all blood this time, and it made his stomach churn.
Bruce pressed Tim’s thumb farther into his mouth, and removed his hand. Tim didn’t move, which was an answer, and presumably the one Bruce was looking for.
“Lay down on your back. Do not move your hand, or open your eyes.”
He wasn’t aware they were closed until Bruce spoke, but as soon as he did, the weight of his eyelashes, and the urge to lift them increased ten fold.
Tim did not want to think about all the scenarios that made Bruce so adept at giving these kinds of orders, but he complied within seconds, stretching out on his back with his eyes closed, and still working his tongue against the bruising cuts marring his thumb.
His bed sheets had long since become a tangle at the bottom of his feet, and as soon as he was in the position Bruce wanted they were slid away all together.
He thought perhaps a minute passed where Tim could hear nothing except their breathing, and his heart sped up in his chest thinking of Bruce’s eyes analyzing him in this position. If he had time to prepare… If he had known…
Bruce’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, and slowly pulled them down off his hips, and then off completely.
His breath stilled. He was naked, and Bruce was staring at him, and even if he couldn’t see he could feel Bruce’s eyes on him.
It was another kind of openness, one that made his tongue work faster in his mouth.
“Spread your legs,” Bruce said, from his right side, now.
He did so, using his training, remembering those same words spoken so differently. He was sure he was blushing by now.
His face was too warm to be anything but.
Tim wondered if Bruce was hard, if looking at him like this was enough to make him that way, or if it was just the act of having his orders followed without question.
Times had long passed since it had been that way as Robin. Too many things had happened for him to trust Bruce unconditionally in the way Dick did.
Bruce was moving, sliding a hand over Tim’s mattress so he could track the movement until he was right at the base of the bed. “I want you to touch yourself, as you would if I wasn’t here.”
He almost spoke.
His mouth opened before it was stopped by the presence of his thumb in his mouth, and more so by Bruce’s presence at the foot of his bed.
He reached for his penis, grasping and stroking himself. He was already half-hard, and as his fingers smoothed over his head he bit down hard, whimpers muffled.
It was different than any other time he jacked off, knowing Bruce was watching, his breathing getting heavier as spots of color rose in Tim’s cheeks, and his toes curled with the effort of keeping his legs spread and his body still.
He’s legs shook as he reached close to climax, hand stilling, not knowing whether he should --
“You may come in your hand.”
His thumb wasn’t enough to muffle his cries.
His breathing was harsh, and he worked on regulating it, not focused on what Bruce might be doing until he felt Bruce’s hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock and licking the come from his fingers.
He moaned again, legs shaking, and arm going limp in Bruce’s hand and against his mouth.
There were bright colored spots behind his eyes, and he wanted to open them and see. The desire doubling when Bruce laid his hand back at his side and moved to lick the rest of Tim’s come from his belly.
Bruce moved from him then, and gathered him into his arms. He brushed Tim’s hair away from his eyes, willing him not to notice Bruce’s erection pressed against him, and focus on the familial quality of the position.
His head sunk against Bruce’s shoulder, and his body shook with a repressed sob when Bruce whispered, “You did very well,” against the shell of his ear.
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Bruce/Tim
Rating: NC-17; content some readers may find disturbing.
Disclaimer: DC wouldn't do this to them.
Notes: Set directly after Tim's adoption by Bruce, post-OYL. I blame Pixie, you should too.
Feedback: Appreciated.
Word Count: 1000
He awoke screaming his fifth night at the manor, biting into his thumb to muffle the noise. He tasted blood, but couldn’t stop digging his teeth in, curling himself into his arms.
There was sweat dripping into his eyes, and his breathing had yet to slow to anything resembling reasonable.
He licked the blood from his thumb, jabbing his tongue purposefully into the bruising marks, and ignored everything even when his senses picked up Bruce’s feet in front of his door.
These were… Tim’s own demons.
He did not want to be seen as a frightened child, even if the law now placed him as one. Tim knew everything that happened to the boys placed under Bruce’s care.
It didn’t make him any more inclined to lock his door at night, and even though Batman could pick any lock Tim came up with, the message would be clear to *Bruce*.
He began to pull his thumb from his mouth, to open his eyes and explain this was nothing but a nightmare, and to take whatever was passed off as comfort so he could return to… his previous activities.
Bruce’s hand caught his as soon as it began to move.
“Don’t,” he said, low enough to be considered Batman outside of the cave. He pushed Tim’s thumb back into his mouth, pressing it into his tongue.
He held himself perfectly still, eyes still shut and preventing him from roughly shoving his tongue against the pressure.
“This has been going on since you arrived here, Tim.” It was almost ‘Robin’, but warm enough to remind him of who they were, and *where* they were.
He swallowed around his own thumb, Bruce’s hand still holding it in place.
It must be the trained part of himself that wanted to speak, because inside his head Tim wanted nothing less.
He wanted… something completely different.
“You know what you want,” Bruce said, and Tim’s breath caught. He would blame that later on not catching his breath from the nightmare before Bruce entered the room.
Currently -- he swallowed again, all blood this time, and it made his stomach churn.
Bruce pressed Tim’s thumb farther into his mouth, and removed his hand. Tim didn’t move, which was an answer, and presumably the one Bruce was looking for.
“Lay down on your back. Do not move your hand, or open your eyes.”
He wasn’t aware they were closed until Bruce spoke, but as soon as he did, the weight of his eyelashes, and the urge to lift them increased ten fold.
Tim did not want to think about all the scenarios that made Bruce so adept at giving these kinds of orders, but he complied within seconds, stretching out on his back with his eyes closed, and still working his tongue against the bruising cuts marring his thumb.
His bed sheets had long since become a tangle at the bottom of his feet, and as soon as he was in the position Bruce wanted they were slid away all together.
He thought perhaps a minute passed where Tim could hear nothing except their breathing, and his heart sped up in his chest thinking of Bruce’s eyes analyzing him in this position. If he had time to prepare… If he had known…
Bruce’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, and slowly pulled them down off his hips, and then off completely.
His breath stilled. He was naked, and Bruce was staring at him, and even if he couldn’t see he could feel Bruce’s eyes on him.
It was another kind of openness, one that made his tongue work faster in his mouth.
“Spread your legs,” Bruce said, from his right side, now.
He did so, using his training, remembering those same words spoken so differently. He was sure he was blushing by now.
His face was too warm to be anything but.
Tim wondered if Bruce was hard, if looking at him like this was enough to make him that way, or if it was just the act of having his orders followed without question.
Times had long passed since it had been that way as Robin. Too many things had happened for him to trust Bruce unconditionally in the way Dick did.
Bruce was moving, sliding a hand over Tim’s mattress so he could track the movement until he was right at the base of the bed. “I want you to touch yourself, as you would if I wasn’t here.”
He almost spoke.
His mouth opened before it was stopped by the presence of his thumb in his mouth, and more so by Bruce’s presence at the foot of his bed.
He reached for his penis, grasping and stroking himself. He was already half-hard, and as his fingers smoothed over his head he bit down hard, whimpers muffled.
It was different than any other time he jacked off, knowing Bruce was watching, his breathing getting heavier as spots of color rose in Tim’s cheeks, and his toes curled with the effort of keeping his legs spread and his body still.
He’s legs shook as he reached close to climax, hand stilling, not knowing whether he should --
“You may come in your hand.”
His thumb wasn’t enough to muffle his cries.
His breathing was harsh, and he worked on regulating it, not focused on what Bruce might be doing until he felt Bruce’s hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock and licking the come from his fingers.
He moaned again, legs shaking, and arm going limp in Bruce’s hand and against his mouth.
There were bright colored spots behind his eyes, and he wanted to open them and see. The desire doubling when Bruce laid his hand back at his side and moved to lick the rest of Tim’s come from his belly.
Bruce moved from him then, and gathered him into his arms. He brushed Tim’s hair away from his eyes, willing him not to notice Bruce’s erection pressed against him, and focus on the familial quality of the position.
His head sunk against Bruce’s shoulder, and his body shook with a repressed sob when Bruce whispered, “You did very well,” against the shell of his ear.