[nsfw] it's gonna be a scorcher

[cantstopmoving]

Heat wave. Way too hot for kids and pets to be outside. Compound's air conditioned...too many bodies might overtax the system. No telling how long it will last. I'll leave it until I need it

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[cantstopmoving]

Mostly has devolved into not at all. He said goodbye, back in the caves, with Tim to witness. But part of him knows Bruce will always come for him...and it doesn't make sense, at all, that they're carbon copies of themselves and no one knows they're missing. Their worlds have to be different, it doesn't take much...an antelope sneeze or however that goes.

The Bats of at least three different worlds are looking for them. It's a soothing lie he tells himself, just like the other one he tells himself: Alcuin had Anafiel; he can have Bruce.

He can have Bruce...strong and silent, gauntleted hand resting on Dick's head... familiar scent of sweat, musk, blood, cloaking the rank smell of the alley where he's dropped to his knees... thighs like steel under his hands while he holds himself steady...

The sound of running feet pulls his eyes open, stills his hand over his cock. But there's no one there. It's far enough away not to be a threat. He's wet-slick over his palm...breath already quick, hips already flexing in short bursts...

His eyes slide closed again. There's pavement beneath his knees...

[one__song]

Jesus Christ, this guy knew what he was doing. Well, clearly he knew what he was doing - it's not hard to please yourself - but he was jerking off on a fucking beach and he was just... going for it. Like, really going for it. Elbow deep, no shame, and for a few long moments, Roger envied him, weird as it fucking was. When was the last time Roger felt so comfortable with himself that he has just damned the situation and gone for it? It couldn't have been anytime in the last 3 years beacause the public service announcement he had to give before any sexual encounter took most of the spontaneity out of it, so it was probably before that. Fuck, it was probably when Roger was hopped up on smack and confused and too fucking high to know he wasn't in private...

The weight on his back was beginning to grate on him, like he could feel the strain of the muscles contacting and somehow making the temperature at his core rise (right, because that's what it is, Roger tormented himself), and he pulled at the tie of the twine. The weight was immediately releieved of his shoulders, but that was the good news. The bad news was that it struck a rock and made a sickeningly loud clanging noise. The sorce of the noise could also have been attributed to the dive his stomach took, hitting every notch of pride and decency on the way down.

Roger froze. What else could he do? There he was, a deer in the headlights of a steamed up car, feet shoulder-width apart and shirtless, gaping at a handsome stranger jerkin' it out on a public beach. It was like a movie, like a sit-com.

Zoom in on Roger's embarassment.

[cantstopmoving]

There's brick under his hands and cheek... He's been hauled unceremoniously to his feet...pushed up against the wall... possessive, demanding gauntled hands on his hips...

Once my Robin, always my Robin. Bruce's voice, gravelly through the cowl. Mine.

He's leaking, hips pushed back and begging for it. Bruce drags down his uniform pants and--

Clunk-clatter.

Dick sits bolt upright, staring in the direction of the sound. He locates a guy who looks about one-twenty soaking wet and eyes so wide he might embarrass himself to death. Familiar. Guitar player. Roger Davis, Tim said at the masque. Roger Davis...

RENT.

Laughing, Dick rolls back to his back, leaning up on one arm. "Tell me your name and I'll make sure to dedicate this one to you." He's not as close as he was a few seconds ago, but it won't take long to get back there.

[one__song]

And that was it, the spell was broken. He realized just how fucking bizarre the whole thing was, how obscene and obtuse and ridiculous. He laughed, not the rich tenor that seemed to light up the people around him with delight and the sheer contagiousness of it, but the other patented gem: the one that said 'so what, I'm a fucking rockstar'. The laugh had other implications now, though, though Roger didn't know it. The laugh also had the mark of another, something only 2 people would likely see; the part of it that had the mark of Brian Kinney all over it.

"With lines like that, it's a wonder you're alone over there," Roger quipped dryly as he bent to pick up the weight. The irony was entirely lost on him, though if Mark or Michael were to overhear, they'd likely snicker themselves into a coma.

Didn't mean the sight wasn't pretty, but take porn for instance: how many perfectly good teacher-student scenes were ruined by the over-the-top, orgasm-fake declaration of 'ohhhhh, you get an A for sure!' Lame.

[cantstopmoving]

In point of pretty obvious fact, he'd been enjoying his alone time. Obvious enough that pointing it out would just make Roger awkward. He could pick up where he left off any time or find a playmate later. Now he has company and unlike Wicked which he hadn't seen, RENT's an old favorite. He doesn't recognize the guy - and he would, rough edges fluffy hair and all, he's hot enough that Dick would've remembered. He must have seen it with a different performer.

He rolls over to give himself a little relief while he's coming back down and lifts an eyebrow over a bright grin. "Mea culpa. I wasn't exactly at the top of my quipping game." Dick for brains. Heh. "Sometimes a guy just needs a little quality time with the flip-file." He's never met a guy who didn't have one. Even Tim spanked it once in a while.

Tilting his head, he gives Roger a once-over as obvious as his hard-on. "I up for company now though." The lightness in his tone says it's intentionally awful. "Dick Grayson, by the way." He pauses a beat. "Yes. Really."

Whether that's for the 'Dick' or the 'Dick Grayson' depends on whether Roger's the dick joke type or a comic book geek. He's betting on the former.