The Spooning
Title: The Spooning
Pairing: Bruce/Tim
Summary: After impulsively spending the night together, Tim and Bruce ponder some questions of bedroom compatibility.
Genre: Mindless fluff
Warnings: Mildly sexual, but there's no actual nookie 'cause I suck.
Words: 2,218
Notes: Something dumb I came up with because I like how it's canon that both Bruce and Tim never sleep. Also, I have now officially slashed Bruce with each of the Boy Wonders. I feel as if that's a milestone! (PS: It's my headcanon that Tim's favorite sex position is 69 AND I DON'T KNOW WHY.)
It goes on for about 78 minutes before Tim decides he should probably say something.
"Um, hey." He awkwardly turns in the older man's big arms to look at him. "So, I know what you're trying to do, and … you don't … you don't have to do that, it's not going to work."
Bruce stops absent-mindedly running his fingers over Tim's naked stomach. "What am I trying to do," he inquires. His words come out slurred, drowsy, cozy, but his timbre suggests that he hasn't been that absent-minded doing it. And that's exactly what -
Tim disentangles himself from his embrace and sits up in bed.
"Well, you … "
He flinches a little, and his eyes dart away when Bruce raises his head to observe him. It's so weird to look at him, now that Tim's seen his orgasm face, which has been a mildly terrifying, but also very thrilling experience. It's hard to forget. He's kinda seeing it now, superimposed over Bruce's quiet, inquiring expression, and it makes it hard to concentrate.
He takes a deep breath and shoots the older man a covert, curious look. "You - okay, I'm new at this, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you're trying to … cradle me to sleep…?"
Bruce props himself up on one arm and mutters, "Hrm."
Tim blushes. The Dark Knight makes quite a stern, indignant face at him for a second, as if he tries to deflect, but then it kinda … falters, and Tim knows he has him figured out.
"And really, it's really nice," he hurries to say. Because it is, and he doesn't exactly want to discourage it for the, uh, vaguely defined future. "The spooning. I … like the spooning. But - "
A wave of heat rolls across his face. It's better to look down at the sheets in his lap. They're pristine white silk, but they're also still damp, smelling like sex and exertion, reminding him that 90 minutes ago, he'd been moaning in them (and … on top of them, and underneath them), reminding him that this is, in fact, not a surreal, impossible dream he's having.
He bites his lip. "But, in case you're quietly waiting for me to fall asleep in your arms, so you can get up and go back to work -" He shoots him a weak, sheepish smile. "It's okay if you stop now. Because -"
"While I was doing that," Bruce nods along with him, "You've been waiting for me to fall asleep, so you can get up and go back to work. Got it."
They gaze at each other.
It's 4 in the morning.
Tim has never experienced it, but he imagines that gently dozing off together after sex is probably very nice. However, it's kinda hard to pull off with two people who are both on a 2.5 hour per night sleeping schedule.
Bruce clears his throat. "Well, I'm glad you said something, Tim," he admits. "I could sense you weren't growing tired in the slightest, and it was getting a little …"
"… weird." He awkwardly tugs a rebellious strand of black hair away behind his ear. "Yeah. I know."
A feint smile plays around Bruce's lips, and then he touches Tim's face, and it makes the younger man draw a deep breath and remember how it felt to have his hands ghost all over his body, exploring it so expertly and patiently for the first time. Making it come alive. Making it co -
"You really should get some rest, Tim," Bruce says, applying some of that Batman authority to it, but Tim can tell that he genuinely cares.
He scrunches up his face and weights his options. He really doesn't want to lower his chances of this happening again by being cocky, but on the other hand, he really can't let that slide.
"Hate to break it to you," he replies, "But you are in no position to say that to anyone, B-Bruce…"
His voice slips on the name because the last time he's said it (or whimpered it), it had been when the older man was on top of him, playing him like an instrument. And that in turn reminds him that Bruce has seen his orgasm face too, and all the cockiness is out the window.
Bruce takes that in for a moment, and then he smiles, and then he laughs, weighing his head in a way that infers that, yes, Tim is right. He's never before seen him be this … soft. He likes it.
He wants to see it again.
Tim had come to the Batcave tonight because he'd wanted to borrow Batman's lab for a couple hours, nothing more, nothing less. (Anything else he might or might not have wanted from the man had been neatly tugged away in the subfolders of his mind, where it belonged.) And yes, he'd been looking forward to work silently side-by-side with him, because those nights always were very atmospheric, however, he had not counted on how atmospheric things were going to get.
He wasn't sure what it had been, maybe the sexy mood-lighting in the Batcave, maybe the sleep deprivation, maybe the fact that it seemed like they were the only two people awake in the city, or the fact that they were both men who got really excited about their work. Or maybe it was that Tim was a grown man now, returning to his former mentor with the scales way more balanced than they used to be … in any case, the exchanging of work implements had somehow lead to some serious hand-touching, which had lead to some hidden glances, and then to some pretty panicky flirting (on his part), then to a confused, tasty kiss, followed by an insane make-out rampage across the entire Manor. And Bruce had cupped his face like he did now, and asked Tim at least six times if he was sure he wanted this (while his trembling and his body heat level made it very clear that he wanted this). And Tim had kinda gone back and forth on that, and every time he'd said he wasn't sure, Bruce had stopped, and they'd stared at each other catching their breath until Tim had mumbled "No, wait, no, I want this!", and attacked Bruce's face again. And when he'd confessed that he'd never done this before, Bruce had looked scared for a moment, and Tim had been the one doing the convincing with his lips and teeth. They'd stumbled up to the bedroom, where Tim had almost sunk the whole thing (he assumed) when he nervously blurted out, "I don't think I want anal," to which Bruce had assured him that anal sex wasn't something you simply sprung on people and that he needn't be worried, and that they'd do whatever Tim wanted. And then he'd spread him out on his bed, and done whatever Tim wanted.
Which … all in all, had probably been pretty tame. Tim wondered when Bruce had last been with a partner who got off on heavy petting and one awkward attempt at 69. But with his level of experience and half-a-lifetime of fruitless pining, he hadn't been able to hold out for more. He wondered if the seasoned playboy was maybe disappointed, but he hadn't really looked that bored nibbling the sensitive flesh on Tim's inner thigh, so maybe he'd gotten something out of it, too.
He wants to do better next time. … if there is a next time. He isn't sure, and he currently feels too shy to ask.
"So…" Bruce says. He must feel mildly clueless, as well, because the Dark Knight very rarely starts his sentences with "So…"
"What do you usually do around this time?" He wonders, looking at Tim with earnest interest.
His broad, naked, hairy chest looks delicious, and Tim very nearly replies I masturbate because his brain tries to troll him, but he clears his dry throat, and sticks with the truth. "I have some case files I want to take notes on," he mumbles unsexily.
"Ah. Does that mean you have to go?" Bruce asks him. He … he sounds disappointed, almost, which makes Tim's nerve ends tingle.
"Oh, uh - no!" He perks up. "I have them all on … on my …" The older man's eyes seem endlessly blue, and he gets lost for a moment. "…storage device," he mutters dreamily.
"Mmm." Bruce leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, and their lips brush against each other when he croons, "Then get it."
"Wha…?"
"Your storage device." Bruce smirks, and then he leans back on his pillow, produces a tablet from seemingly out of nowhere, and flips it on. "This is ideal, actually, I have some files to get through, too. Bring one of the laptops from the Cave. And then," he gives him one last, deep look before he dives into his work, "Come back to bed."
Tim stares at him. And it probably makes him the dorkiest of dorks, but somehow, the idea of working naked in bed with Bruce, it's … it's the coolest.
"All right!" He hops out of bed, ears burning with enthusiasm, and flits to the door. "Be back in a sex … in a sec."
"Tim?"
"Yes!"
"Put some clothes on."
"Yes! Great idea!"
He does, and then he collects his things downstairs. When he returns, Bruce is moving his nimble fingers across his tablet, brow furrowed in concentration. Tim lingers in the doorframe, taking in the sight for a moment. He's always found him most handsome when he was wearing his work face, for some reason, and the fact that he doesn't have clothes on kinda adds to that.
Bruce notices him instantly, doesn't even look up, pats the spot next to him in bed and grunts an invitation, which is more than enough.
He climbs back into bed, and they work. They don't talk, don't exchange looks, but their bodies are warm resting next to each other. At one point, Bruce wordlessly hands him one half on an energy bar, and he takes it without looking.
And it's … it's really cozy, actually. Not that awkward. Not that weird.
"I'm sorry," Tim softly says after a fashion, while he's running a program or twelve on his laptop. "About … about the spooning."
"Don't be." Bruce's fingers keep moving, but there's the faint hint of a smile on his face. "You knew it wouldn't work, but you let me do it for 78 minutes, anyway. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Yeah…" Tim stops looking at the numbers on his screen and looks down at his fingers instead. (His fingers have been in Bruce's mouth.) "But … I keep thinking. If I was someone else, they would've probably appreciated it more -"
"Tim." Bruce abruptly stops typing. The look he gives him is firm. "I wouldn't want you to be someone else," he says quietly.
"I-" Tim wants to say something, but something has gotten stuck in his throat; could be his heart. He pushes down his laptop and gets to his knees, leaning over to look at the man next to him, and blurts out what he's been sitting on for the past few hours.
"I really want to do this again," he says, an anxious pitch in his voice.
Yeah, they'd be weird together, that was for sure, weird and inappropriate, and probably dysfunctional, and when would they even see each other, and how would Alfred ever get over it, and Damian, and their height difference looks crazy and -
Bruce drops his tablet, shoots up, and grabs him by the neck so quick he barely has time to gasp. "I was hoping you'd say that," he breathes, and now he sounds kinda desperate, before he puts his mouth on Tim's mouth again.
It's a silent, exquisite moment. Tim shudders into the kiss, sucking on Bruce's lips, when his eyes are drawn downward.
"So, how long have you been working with that tent down there?" He wonders, mumbling past Bruce's wet, hot mouth.
"A while," the older man growls. And then his hand is sneaking past the sheets, and Tim groans when he squeezes him. "You?"
"I … it's been hard …"
"Obviously."
The older man gently nibbles on his cheekbone before he proceeds to kiss his way down. "To be honest," he mumbles darkly against Tim's flushed, shivering skin, "I could never fall asleep while spooning. It's too distracting." His head dips down, and Tim's head lulls back when he licks a wet trail down his throat, whispering against the sticky skin. "… limbs everywhere …"
"Me nhn-neither," he mumbles, entangling his fingers in the other man's thick dark hair. Not that he was an expert. But Bruce was right, they were way too many parts involved to properly fall asleep.
Bruce's hair tickles his skin when he turns his head to glance at his open laptop. "Those programs. Do those run on standby?"
"Hn?" Tim closes his eyes while his hips start rolling, squirming, and it becomes clear that neither of them is going to get their 2.5 hour fill of sleep tonight. "Oh. Yes, they do."
"Good."
And he reaches over, and shuts it with a click.
Pairing: Bruce/Tim
Summary: After impulsively spending the night together, Tim and Bruce ponder some questions of bedroom compatibility.
Genre: Mindless fluff
Warnings: Mildly sexual, but there's no actual nookie 'cause I suck.
Words: 2,218
Notes: Something dumb I came up with because I like how it's canon that both Bruce and Tim never sleep. Also, I have now officially slashed Bruce with each of the Boy Wonders. I feel as if that's a milestone! (PS: It's my headcanon that Tim's favorite sex position is 69 AND I DON'T KNOW WHY.)
It goes on for about 78 minutes before Tim decides he should probably say something.
"Um, hey." He awkwardly turns in the older man's big arms to look at him. "So, I know what you're trying to do, and … you don't … you don't have to do that, it's not going to work."
Bruce stops absent-mindedly running his fingers over Tim's naked stomach. "What am I trying to do," he inquires. His words come out slurred, drowsy, cozy, but his timbre suggests that he hasn't been that absent-minded doing it. And that's exactly what -
Tim disentangles himself from his embrace and sits up in bed.
"Well, you … "
He flinches a little, and his eyes dart away when Bruce raises his head to observe him. It's so weird to look at him, now that Tim's seen his orgasm face, which has been a mildly terrifying, but also very thrilling experience. It's hard to forget. He's kinda seeing it now, superimposed over Bruce's quiet, inquiring expression, and it makes it hard to concentrate.
He takes a deep breath and shoots the older man a covert, curious look. "You - okay, I'm new at this, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you're trying to … cradle me to sleep…?"
Bruce props himself up on one arm and mutters, "Hrm."
Tim blushes. The Dark Knight makes quite a stern, indignant face at him for a second, as if he tries to deflect, but then it kinda … falters, and Tim knows he has him figured out.
"And really, it's really nice," he hurries to say. Because it is, and he doesn't exactly want to discourage it for the, uh, vaguely defined future. "The spooning. I … like the spooning. But - "
A wave of heat rolls across his face. It's better to look down at the sheets in his lap. They're pristine white silk, but they're also still damp, smelling like sex and exertion, reminding him that 90 minutes ago, he'd been moaning in them (and … on top of them, and underneath them), reminding him that this is, in fact, not a surreal, impossible dream he's having.
He bites his lip. "But, in case you're quietly waiting for me to fall asleep in your arms, so you can get up and go back to work -" He shoots him a weak, sheepish smile. "It's okay if you stop now. Because -"
"While I was doing that," Bruce nods along with him, "You've been waiting for me to fall asleep, so you can get up and go back to work. Got it."
They gaze at each other.
It's 4 in the morning.
Tim has never experienced it, but he imagines that gently dozing off together after sex is probably very nice. However, it's kinda hard to pull off with two people who are both on a 2.5 hour per night sleeping schedule.
Bruce clears his throat. "Well, I'm glad you said something, Tim," he admits. "I could sense you weren't growing tired in the slightest, and it was getting a little …"
"… weird." He awkwardly tugs a rebellious strand of black hair away behind his ear. "Yeah. I know."
A feint smile plays around Bruce's lips, and then he touches Tim's face, and it makes the younger man draw a deep breath and remember how it felt to have his hands ghost all over his body, exploring it so expertly and patiently for the first time. Making it come alive. Making it co -
"You really should get some rest, Tim," Bruce says, applying some of that Batman authority to it, but Tim can tell that he genuinely cares.
He scrunches up his face and weights his options. He really doesn't want to lower his chances of this happening again by being cocky, but on the other hand, he really can't let that slide.
"Hate to break it to you," he replies, "But you are in no position to say that to anyone, B-Bruce…"
His voice slips on the name because the last time he's said it (or whimpered it), it had been when the older man was on top of him, playing him like an instrument. And that in turn reminds him that Bruce has seen his orgasm face too, and all the cockiness is out the window.
Bruce takes that in for a moment, and then he smiles, and then he laughs, weighing his head in a way that infers that, yes, Tim is right. He's never before seen him be this … soft. He likes it.
He wants to see it again.
Tim had come to the Batcave tonight because he'd wanted to borrow Batman's lab for a couple hours, nothing more, nothing less. (Anything else he might or might not have wanted from the man had been neatly tugged away in the subfolders of his mind, where it belonged.) And yes, he'd been looking forward to work silently side-by-side with him, because those nights always were very atmospheric, however, he had not counted on how atmospheric things were going to get.
He wasn't sure what it had been, maybe the sexy mood-lighting in the Batcave, maybe the sleep deprivation, maybe the fact that it seemed like they were the only two people awake in the city, or the fact that they were both men who got really excited about their work. Or maybe it was that Tim was a grown man now, returning to his former mentor with the scales way more balanced than they used to be … in any case, the exchanging of work implements had somehow lead to some serious hand-touching, which had lead to some hidden glances, and then to some pretty panicky flirting (on his part), then to a confused, tasty kiss, followed by an insane make-out rampage across the entire Manor. And Bruce had cupped his face like he did now, and asked Tim at least six times if he was sure he wanted this (while his trembling and his body heat level made it very clear that he wanted this). And Tim had kinda gone back and forth on that, and every time he'd said he wasn't sure, Bruce had stopped, and they'd stared at each other catching their breath until Tim had mumbled "No, wait, no, I want this!", and attacked Bruce's face again. And when he'd confessed that he'd never done this before, Bruce had looked scared for a moment, and Tim had been the one doing the convincing with his lips and teeth. They'd stumbled up to the bedroom, where Tim had almost sunk the whole thing (he assumed) when he nervously blurted out, "I don't think I want anal," to which Bruce had assured him that anal sex wasn't something you simply sprung on people and that he needn't be worried, and that they'd do whatever Tim wanted. And then he'd spread him out on his bed, and done whatever Tim wanted.
Which … all in all, had probably been pretty tame. Tim wondered when Bruce had last been with a partner who got off on heavy petting and one awkward attempt at 69. But with his level of experience and half-a-lifetime of fruitless pining, he hadn't been able to hold out for more. He wondered if the seasoned playboy was maybe disappointed, but he hadn't really looked that bored nibbling the sensitive flesh on Tim's inner thigh, so maybe he'd gotten something out of it, too.
He wants to do better next time. … if there is a next time. He isn't sure, and he currently feels too shy to ask.
"So…" Bruce says. He must feel mildly clueless, as well, because the Dark Knight very rarely starts his sentences with "So…"
"What do you usually do around this time?" He wonders, looking at Tim with earnest interest.
His broad, naked, hairy chest looks delicious, and Tim very nearly replies I masturbate because his brain tries to troll him, but he clears his dry throat, and sticks with the truth. "I have some case files I want to take notes on," he mumbles unsexily.
"Ah. Does that mean you have to go?" Bruce asks him. He … he sounds disappointed, almost, which makes Tim's nerve ends tingle.
"Oh, uh - no!" He perks up. "I have them all on … on my …" The older man's eyes seem endlessly blue, and he gets lost for a moment. "…storage device," he mutters dreamily.
"Mmm." Bruce leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, and their lips brush against each other when he croons, "Then get it."
"Wha…?"
"Your storage device." Bruce smirks, and then he leans back on his pillow, produces a tablet from seemingly out of nowhere, and flips it on. "This is ideal, actually, I have some files to get through, too. Bring one of the laptops from the Cave. And then," he gives him one last, deep look before he dives into his work, "Come back to bed."
Tim stares at him. And it probably makes him the dorkiest of dorks, but somehow, the idea of working naked in bed with Bruce, it's … it's the coolest.
"All right!" He hops out of bed, ears burning with enthusiasm, and flits to the door. "Be back in a sex … in a sec."
"Tim?"
"Yes!"
"Put some clothes on."
"Yes! Great idea!"
He does, and then he collects his things downstairs. When he returns, Bruce is moving his nimble fingers across his tablet, brow furrowed in concentration. Tim lingers in the doorframe, taking in the sight for a moment. He's always found him most handsome when he was wearing his work face, for some reason, and the fact that he doesn't have clothes on kinda adds to that.
Bruce notices him instantly, doesn't even look up, pats the spot next to him in bed and grunts an invitation, which is more than enough.
He climbs back into bed, and they work. They don't talk, don't exchange looks, but their bodies are warm resting next to each other. At one point, Bruce wordlessly hands him one half on an energy bar, and he takes it without looking.
And it's … it's really cozy, actually. Not that awkward. Not that weird.
"I'm sorry," Tim softly says after a fashion, while he's running a program or twelve on his laptop. "About … about the spooning."
"Don't be." Bruce's fingers keep moving, but there's the faint hint of a smile on his face. "You knew it wouldn't work, but you let me do it for 78 minutes, anyway. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Yeah…" Tim stops looking at the numbers on his screen and looks down at his fingers instead. (His fingers have been in Bruce's mouth.) "But … I keep thinking. If I was someone else, they would've probably appreciated it more -"
"Tim." Bruce abruptly stops typing. The look he gives him is firm. "I wouldn't want you to be someone else," he says quietly.
"I-" Tim wants to say something, but something has gotten stuck in his throat; could be his heart. He pushes down his laptop and gets to his knees, leaning over to look at the man next to him, and blurts out what he's been sitting on for the past few hours.
"I really want to do this again," he says, an anxious pitch in his voice.
Yeah, they'd be weird together, that was for sure, weird and inappropriate, and probably dysfunctional, and when would they even see each other, and how would Alfred ever get over it, and Damian, and their height difference looks crazy and -
Bruce drops his tablet, shoots up, and grabs him by the neck so quick he barely has time to gasp. "I was hoping you'd say that," he breathes, and now he sounds kinda desperate, before he puts his mouth on Tim's mouth again.
It's a silent, exquisite moment. Tim shudders into the kiss, sucking on Bruce's lips, when his eyes are drawn downward.
"So, how long have you been working with that tent down there?" He wonders, mumbling past Bruce's wet, hot mouth.
"A while," the older man growls. And then his hand is sneaking past the sheets, and Tim groans when he squeezes him. "You?"
"I … it's been hard …"
"Obviously."
The older man gently nibbles on his cheekbone before he proceeds to kiss his way down. "To be honest," he mumbles darkly against Tim's flushed, shivering skin, "I could never fall asleep while spooning. It's too distracting." His head dips down, and Tim's head lulls back when he licks a wet trail down his throat, whispering against the sticky skin. "… limbs everywhere …"
"Me nhn-neither," he mumbles, entangling his fingers in the other man's thick dark hair. Not that he was an expert. But Bruce was right, they were way too many parts involved to properly fall asleep.
Bruce's hair tickles his skin when he turns his head to glance at his open laptop. "Those programs. Do those run on standby?"
"Hn?" Tim closes his eyes while his hips start rolling, squirming, and it becomes clear that neither of them is going to get their 2.5 hour fill of sleep tonight. "Oh. Yes, they do."
"Good."
And he reaches over, and shuts it with a click.