[fic] Meeting of the Minds (Bart/Dick, Batman & Robin, R)
Title: Meeting of the Minds
Characters/pairing: Bart, Batman, Robin, Dick, Bart/Dick
Setting/spoilers: OYL. Vague spoilers for FLASH v.3, current and future, and various JUSTICE LEAGUE runs, including the current #1.
Summary: Bart's a hot commodity these days. Hotter than you'd think.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, not at all.
Notes: Instacrackyfic, based on the spoilers for FLASH #9 in this interview with the new writer of the FLASH, for wickedprincess3 (who brought it to my attention), combined with my urge to write some Bart/Dick for jubilancy and oneangrykate.
Theirs was a meeting of the superpowers, a staredown of near-infinite proportions, a summit of enormous mental ability and even greater *will*.
Batman and Robin sat opposite each other, the sleek black table filling up the space between them. Their postures were nearly identical: arms folded loosely across their chests, spines ramrod-straight, chins lifted in defiance.
Bart buzzed in place at the head of the table.
Though he grew ever more agitated, neither Batman nor Robin spared him a glance. Their attention was mutual, intense, and not a little frightening.
Batman cleared his throat. "Perhaps, because he has already been a Titan -- *twice* -- he would welcome the opportunity to join a new team."
"Perhaps, on the contrary, he would relish a sense of continuity and stability," Robin replied evenly.
They had been at this for well over an hour now.
"Perhaps, because he's sitting *right here*, he would like to BE CONSULTED ON THIS!" Bart shouted, then clapped his hand over his mouth. A few bats, high in the recesses of the cave, shrieked at the disturbance. He backed away from the table, hand tight over his treacherous mouth; they continued to stare each other down.
*
Once he left the cave, Bart set to wandering around the manor. It *was* quite stately on the inside; from the outside, it had appeared to be a neo-Georgian pile curlicued with late-Victorian pseudo-Gothic gingerbread. The interior, however, was soothingly quiet and shadowy.
*
"I've kept an eye on him --" Batman swept his hand, indicating the still photographs and stacks of DVDs to his left.
Robin snorted softly. "Surveillance doesn't really count."
"Oh?" Batman poked the topmost folder on Robin's own pile. "And what is this?"
"Ahh." Robin shifted his weight. "*Supplemental* information."
*
In his sockfeet, Bart made his way down the south hall, peeking into each of the rooms. The hush in the air -- rich with lemon polish, heavy with disuse -- should, probably, have made him wary. At least guarded, but he'd never had much of a chance to explore before now.
Behind the last ornately-carved mahogany door on the right, he found a small library. It was nothing like the *large* library into which he'd been ushered when he'd first arrived, where he'd waited for Tim to come down. This library was snug as a ship's cabin. Rather than the leatherbound volumes of the other library, the tall bookcases here were packed with paperbacks and mass-market hardcovers.
He worked his way around the room at human speed, but read the titles at his usual megaspeed, grinning as he took in the names of children's classics (The Westing Game, the complete works of E. Nesbit) and mystery novels from Holmes and Wimsey through Grafton and Hillerman.
"So you found Bruce's secret shame," someone said from the doorway. "Good job, man."
There was laughter and familiarity in the voice, but all the same, Bart jumped halfway to the ceiling at the interruption.
"Sorry!" He shook his head and backed into the center of the room, tripping over an emerald-green club chair as he did.
"Easy there, Zippy," Dick said, offering a steadying hand. "Didn't mean to startle you."
He grinned at Bart as he shook his dark hair off his face. Bart grinned back, a little more bashfully.
Dick saw a handsome guy, his own height, with messy brown hair and heated golden eyes; Bart saw *Nightwing*, except dressed casually, like any other guy, white shirt open at the neck, smooth tan skin exposed in a V.
*
"Past experience tells us that he would do well in a familial, supportive structure --" Robin started to say.
Batman's upper lip curled slightly. "He is older now. An assembly of his peers would encourage both responsibility and learning."
"An assembly of peers...?" Behind his mask, Robin blinked rapidly as he composed himself. "What, exactly, do you think the Titans *are*?"
"The JLA can offer him the sort of *adult* atmosphere that he needs," Batman said, dodging the direct question. "After all, he's not only older now. He's taller, too."
Robin sighed gustily.
"Not that it is all that difficult to be taller than..." Batman let the jibe trail off.
Robin's cheek twitched.
*
Bart needed to let go of Dick's hand. He *knew* that, and, given the way Dick was looking at him with narrowed eyes and faint smile, Dick knew that, too. But --.
"Nice shirt," Dick said when Bart finally withdrew his hand, wiping his palm on his jeans.
The shirt didn't quite fit Bart; it was an old baseball jersey, the lettering faded nearly to illegibility, the thin fabric clinging to the rise of Bart's pelvis and spread of his shoulders.
Bart plucked at the ragged hem. "I -- Tim let me borrow it? There was --" He looked at Dick. "Oh, man, it's not yours, is it? God, I'm --"
Dick held up his hand. Intending to head off another round of apologies, he found himself instead cupping the smooth roll of Bart's shoulder. He'd long ago gotten used to the *warmth* emanating from speedsters, but this was -- he had to ignore the twist in his gut at the thought of Wally. This was different; Bart's skin wasn't simply warm, but *alive* with heat.
Dick coughed lightly. "Think it was Jay's, actually."
"I'm wearing a supervillain's shirt?" Bart blinked fast and vibrated a little. "*Cool*!"
Snorting, Dick shook his head. "He wasn't a villain *then*." He tipped his head and tried to keep his tone light through the gritty heat at the back of his throat. "Despite some of his best efforts, he was just a pain in the ass."
Bart tugged at the hem, trying to cover the stripe of exposed skin, but there just wasn't enough fabric to fit his new frame. "There was an accident," he told Dick. "With, um. Mr. Pennyworth. And treacle, and meringue. My shirt got --"
"It's okay," Dick said, and his hand slipped over the tense planes of muscle across the back of Bart's shoulders. When he dug in his fingers reflexively, Bart sighed. "Really okay."
Bart dropped his head to give Dick's hand more access. "Thanks."
Thumping his knuckles over the rise of Bart's spine, Dick chuckled. "So where's Tim anyway?"
"Bitching out Batman," Bart mumbled, pointing at the floor. "Getting bitched at by Batman. Six of one..."
"Ah," Dick said. He shifted a little and set to massaging Bart with both hands. The sigh he got in response made his hands and mouth tingle pleasantly. "*That's* why I came home. Happy domesticity."
*
"The Justice League is dedicated to --"
Robin held up his hand. "You don't have to instruct me. All I said was, *my* teammates would welcome him back with --"
"So would mine," Batman said and recrossed his arms. "Given some necessary, ah. Convincing."
Robin smiled tightly. "Whereas mine are already happy to have him. I hardly think you can say the same about Clark and Diana."
"They will come around."
"Eventually. Maybe." After a pause, Robin held out his cell phone. "Shall I call them and ask?"
"That won't be." Batman flicked his index finger at a flake of guano marring the table's surface. "Required, no."
*
"They're being --" Bart shook his head.
Dick patted his back consolingly before continuing the massage. "Weird?"
"That, too." Glancing over his shoulder, Bart grinned briefly. "I was going to say, absurdly autocratic and all *grim* and dictatorial --"
"They do that," Dick said.
"Guess so."
"It's their thing."
"Creepy."
"Yeah," Dick said. "It is."
*
"The needs of the global community outweigh any social nostalgia on your part," Batman intoned.
"Now you're just being *obscure*," Robin replied.
*
Bart windmilled his arms as he jogged in place. "Way better! Wow, thanks!"
Perched on the back of the club chair, Dick crossed his ankles and smiled. "My pleasure."
"You have *no* idea how weird this is!" Bart added, cantering around Dick. "I'm, like. In *your* house! *Batman's* house! Hanging out with *Nightwing*! Weird, so weird!"
"I've got a pretty good idea, actually." Feeling restless and slightly *edgy*, Dick bent backwards over the chair and slid downward until his fingertips found the rug and he kicked up into a handstand.
Defying gravity was his usual treatment for -- well. Everything, including edginess.
Bart was -- *tall* now, but that wasn't it. Bart was tall, and skinny, and looked nothing like Wally, even in the surveillance shots that Dick had...*borrowed* from Babs and Bruce. Bart was --.
Well, right now Bart was hanging like a monkey off the ladder that ran around the bookcases. Wearing a shirt that didn't fit him, whose threadbare weave showed off almost every cord of sinew and pore of hot skin, and jeans that fell way too low on his waist.
"Okay, that's *cool* --" Bart swung off the ladder and landed in a fairly respectable crouch next to Dick. Tim's training was as thorough, Dick suspected, as anything else the kid did. "Show me how to do that?"
*
"I might add that the -- that *a* Flash is, well --" Batman spread his fingers on the table and leaned slightly forward, suggesting (or threatening) an imminent loom. "Traditional for the Justice League roster."
Robin nodded, slowly, then tucked his fingers under his chin. "Yes, Wally performed splendidly under Maxwell Lord. Power Girl *still* can't say his name without cracking up."
"You know what I meant," Batman said darkly. "Jay Garrick in the JSA...Barry helped *found*, according to some accounts, the modern Justice League. And Wallace --"
"Didn't he let Starro eat J'onn's face?" Robin waved one hand, as if shooing an invisible fly.
"That was a different, not to say *difficult*, time..."
"Decking Guy Gardner was difficult?"
The corners of Batman's lips twitched and deepened. "That was just plain fun."
*
Bart learned fast, which Dick figured was par for the course. It was still a little unsettling, though, that all he had to do was perform a flip once for the kid (not a kid, your height, *stop it, Grayson*) in order for him to get it.
"Hungry?" Dick stood up and stretched. It seemed that Bart was still studying him; those weird golden eyes tracked up his torso with...intent. Shaking it off, Dick rubbed his stomach and asked again. "We could go pillage the kitchen..."
Bart hugged himself. "No way! Mr. Pennyworth was *really* mad at me about the treacle. That stuff is *sticky*!"
"It is, isn't it?" Dick slung his arm around Bart's shoulders and noogied the side of his head lightly, enjoying the squeaky yelp.
Bart's eyelashes blurred his eyes as he looked at Dick. "You don't need a sidekick, do you?"
"Heh --" Dick lifted his hands off Bart and tried not to jump away, out the window, out of the *state*. "Uh. No. I'm still working out the whole solo thing."
"Figured," Bart said dejectedly. "Bette'd probably kick my ass if I took her name, anyway."
"You do look good in red," Dick said and elbowed him. Bart sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Dick elbowed him harder until Bart squeaked again. "C'mon, I've got something to show you --"
*
"For all intents and purposes, it would seem that you're resolved to put Bart in the League out of..." Robin cocked his head and tapped his index finger against his bottom lip. "Tradition? Is that it?"
"In part," Batman said. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders to offset his admission. "In greater part, however, I believe that the League needs him just as much as he needs the League."
"Interesting."
Under the table, Batman drummed his fingers against his knee irritably. "And...?"
Robin leaned back in his chair, allowing it to creak with satisfaction. "Nothing. Simply that that's an interesting way to put it."
*
"Whoa." Bart didn't close his mouth as he took in the sight. "*Whoa*."
They stood on the second-floor landing of the southwest flight of stairs. Dick had his hands on his hips, head tipped back, enjoying the sight nearly as much as Bart.
"A *treehouse*?" Bart asked, touching the rope ladder. "Inside?"
"Uh-huh," Dick said, grabbing the rope and swinging himself up. He looked through the trapdoor, extending his hand to pull Bart inside. "Bruce's grandfather built it for his dad. After the Lindbergh baby got kidnapped, no one let their kids play outside."
Bart grasped Dick's upper arm and jumped. With his feet braced against the floor, Dick heaved him inside. Bart tumbled against him, laughing and breathing heavily.
"This is the coolest thing *ever*!" Bart's hands were planted on either side of Dick's head as he gazed around.
Inside, the pseudo-treehouse had a mural of tree branches painted on flats nailed to the walls. Decades' old graffiti from a succession of bored little boys was scratched into the paint.
"Alfred saved the mural," Dick said, pulling himself out from under Bart, letting his torso and thighs slide the length of Bart's body, then propping himself against the wall. "He's a lot more sentimental than you'd think."
He opened the various old wine-crates that had provided storage for tin soldiers and action figures and illicit paperbacks, but Jason's stash had vanished long before the quake hit.
Bart crouched in the corner, reading the graffiti. "D.G. That's you, right?"
Dick knelt next to him, hand on the small of Bart's back. The shirt was riding up again, and the skin across the hollow was warm and downy. "Oh, *God*, don't read that..."
"Who's B.T.W.?"
"Nobody," Dick said quickly.
"Dee Gee plus Bee Tee Double-Ew," Bart said. "By the way? Bonnie Tamara Winkler? Bartholomew Terrance Williams? Bee-Tee..."
"Bart."
"What?" Bart's lips were still moving as he read. "R.J.G. plus K.E. Who's that?"
"Bart," Dick said lowly. "*Bart*."
Bart's face swung around, his forehead knocking Dick's nose. "Oh! Sorry!"
Falling back on one hand, Dick threw his other arm around Bart's neck and pulled him down.
He kissed Bart, not entirely meaning to distract him, and grunted against the sun-hot *sweetness* of Bart's mouth.
*
Batman rolled one shoulder to adjust the hang of his cape. "He will be happy with us. I promise you that."
Robin's mouth gaped open, very briefly, before he shut it with a decisive click of his teeth. "You promise? What is this, *custody* proceedings?"
Batman's jaw tightened. "Something like that, don't you think?"
"No," Robin said, more loudly than he had meant to. He sucked his lips against his teeth, breathed twice through his nose, then added, more reasonably, "I *know* Bart. You don't. You -- you're looking at him like an *instrument*."
Batman fanned open Robin's biometric reports on speedster metabolisms. "And you're not?"
*
Bart kissed with all the eagerness of a kid and the strength of -- someone who really wasn't a kid any more. Dick gripped his arm, ran his palm up and down the sinewed heat, pushed his other hand through Bart's messy hair, and just -- gave in. Bart kissed him wetly, openly, grinding almost absent-mindedly against Dick's thigh, his hands on Dick's chest, cupping and squeezing.
"Oh!" Bart bit his lip as he drew back suddenly.
Dazed and bleary, Dick forced his eyes to flutter, then stay, open. His hand was on Bart's sharp little hip now, thumb circling avidly. "What?"
Bart looked blank for a moment, touching his chin and neck. There was a hickey starting to bloom just under his jaw; Dick vaguely remembered tasting the stubble there, but not *biting*.
"Bart?"
"Right." Bart shook himself. "Oh. I, um. Sorta have a girlfriend --"
Dick banged his head, twice, against the floor of the treehouse. "We should stop. Should we stop?"
Bart was touching Dick's face now, and his fingertips were hotter than any other part of his skin, skating over Dick's cheekbones, thumb tracing the rise of one eyebrow. "What? No. Just -- you kinda look like her. It's funny."
"Um," Dick said, "but --"
The rest of the (half-hearted) protest vanished when Bart kissed him again.
"She won't mind," Bart said later. "I'm pretty sure."
"Okay...?"
*
"It's gratifying," Robin said. "That you trust my reports and evaluations of his abilities. If you'd said *why* you wanted them, however --"
"Information is useless until it's as complete as possible."
"Yes, yes. Of course." Robin tugged closed his cape. Under the table, he flexed open and closed first the fingers of his left hand, then the right. "I feel badly done by, however."
"He's not *yours*," Batman said gruffly. "He's --"
"My friend!" Robin snapped his mouth shut. "I apologize. But the fact remains that I *know* him --"
Batman's right dimple winked in and out of existence as he thumbed a remote control. "Biblically, some would say."
On the monitors, Robin saw -- before he screwed shut his eyes -- the footage from Kon's party in the Fortress of Solitude. Bart had gotten into the energy drinks and Robin was loopy on Kryptonian punch and then Cissie, backed up by *Kon*, had dared them...
He pressed his lips together as he turned back to Batman. "Yes."
Batman bared his teeth. "I'm sure that, given the proper setting, I could succeed..."
"No." Robin's voice was as sharp as steel.
"Is that a challenge?"
"It's a plea from the depths of my soul not to pursue that line of argument," Robin said and shuddered.
"Ahh," Batman said. "But you believe that I could?"
Robin covered his face with both hands. "Yes."
"Good," Batman said, the smugness in his tone nearly palpable.
*
When Bart moaned, the sound was sweet and high, treacle and honey that pooled warmly in Dick's groin, then spread over him, enveloping him. When *Dick* moaned, the sound was more ragged, a lot more urgent, and it made Bart's eyes widen beautifully.
"You like that? Really?"
Dick thrust into Bart's tight, vibrating grip. "Unh. Yeah. Again --"
"*Cool*," Bart breathed and complied, sucking the kisses out of Dick's mouth with more focused attention than *anyone* would have thought possible from him.
Dick wriggled and stretched, hooking his leg around Bart's waist and pulling him closer. His hand was tingling as he reached and cupped, thumb working over Bart's balls, teeth in Bart's earlobe as they rocked and hummed together.
*
"Security, locate Bart Allen," Batman told the computer.
When the live feed flickered onto the central monitor, Robin groaned aloud and Batman broke a bo stick in one hand.
"Great," Robin said, swallowing the curses he would have liked to utter. "So he's on the Outsiders."
"It would appear so," Batman said, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Nightwing can be..."
Noisy when he came, as the feed demonstrated, but Robin found the remote and silenced it.
"Persuasive?" he suggested instead.
Batman nodded. "Very."
end.
Characters/pairing: Bart, Batman, Robin, Dick, Bart/Dick
Setting/spoilers: OYL. Vague spoilers for FLASH v.3, current and future, and various JUSTICE LEAGUE runs, including the current #1.
Summary: Bart's a hot commodity these days. Hotter than you'd think.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, not at all.
Notes: Instacrackyfic, based on the spoilers for FLASH #9 in this interview with the new writer of the FLASH, for wickedprincess3 (who brought it to my attention), combined with my urge to write some Bart/Dick for jubilancy and oneangrykate.
Theirs was a meeting of the superpowers, a staredown of near-infinite proportions, a summit of enormous mental ability and even greater *will*.
Batman and Robin sat opposite each other, the sleek black table filling up the space between them. Their postures were nearly identical: arms folded loosely across their chests, spines ramrod-straight, chins lifted in defiance.
Bart buzzed in place at the head of the table.
Though he grew ever more agitated, neither Batman nor Robin spared him a glance. Their attention was mutual, intense, and not a little frightening.
Batman cleared his throat. "Perhaps, because he has already been a Titan -- *twice* -- he would welcome the opportunity to join a new team."
"Perhaps, on the contrary, he would relish a sense of continuity and stability," Robin replied evenly.
They had been at this for well over an hour now.
"Perhaps, because he's sitting *right here*, he would like to BE CONSULTED ON THIS!" Bart shouted, then clapped his hand over his mouth. A few bats, high in the recesses of the cave, shrieked at the disturbance. He backed away from the table, hand tight over his treacherous mouth; they continued to stare each other down.
*
Once he left the cave, Bart set to wandering around the manor. It *was* quite stately on the inside; from the outside, it had appeared to be a neo-Georgian pile curlicued with late-Victorian pseudo-Gothic gingerbread. The interior, however, was soothingly quiet and shadowy.
*
"I've kept an eye on him --" Batman swept his hand, indicating the still photographs and stacks of DVDs to his left.
Robin snorted softly. "Surveillance doesn't really count."
"Oh?" Batman poked the topmost folder on Robin's own pile. "And what is this?"
"Ahh." Robin shifted his weight. "*Supplemental* information."
*
In his sockfeet, Bart made his way down the south hall, peeking into each of the rooms. The hush in the air -- rich with lemon polish, heavy with disuse -- should, probably, have made him wary. At least guarded, but he'd never had much of a chance to explore before now.
Behind the last ornately-carved mahogany door on the right, he found a small library. It was nothing like the *large* library into which he'd been ushered when he'd first arrived, where he'd waited for Tim to come down. This library was snug as a ship's cabin. Rather than the leatherbound volumes of the other library, the tall bookcases here were packed with paperbacks and mass-market hardcovers.
He worked his way around the room at human speed, but read the titles at his usual megaspeed, grinning as he took in the names of children's classics (The Westing Game, the complete works of E. Nesbit) and mystery novels from Holmes and Wimsey through Grafton and Hillerman.
"So you found Bruce's secret shame," someone said from the doorway. "Good job, man."
There was laughter and familiarity in the voice, but all the same, Bart jumped halfway to the ceiling at the interruption.
"Sorry!" He shook his head and backed into the center of the room, tripping over an emerald-green club chair as he did.
"Easy there, Zippy," Dick said, offering a steadying hand. "Didn't mean to startle you."
He grinned at Bart as he shook his dark hair off his face. Bart grinned back, a little more bashfully.
Dick saw a handsome guy, his own height, with messy brown hair and heated golden eyes; Bart saw *Nightwing*, except dressed casually, like any other guy, white shirt open at the neck, smooth tan skin exposed in a V.
*
"Past experience tells us that he would do well in a familial, supportive structure --" Robin started to say.
Batman's upper lip curled slightly. "He is older now. An assembly of his peers would encourage both responsibility and learning."
"An assembly of peers...?" Behind his mask, Robin blinked rapidly as he composed himself. "What, exactly, do you think the Titans *are*?"
"The JLA can offer him the sort of *adult* atmosphere that he needs," Batman said, dodging the direct question. "After all, he's not only older now. He's taller, too."
Robin sighed gustily.
"Not that it is all that difficult to be taller than..." Batman let the jibe trail off.
Robin's cheek twitched.
*
Bart needed to let go of Dick's hand. He *knew* that, and, given the way Dick was looking at him with narrowed eyes and faint smile, Dick knew that, too. But --.
"Nice shirt," Dick said when Bart finally withdrew his hand, wiping his palm on his jeans.
The shirt didn't quite fit Bart; it was an old baseball jersey, the lettering faded nearly to illegibility, the thin fabric clinging to the rise of Bart's pelvis and spread of his shoulders.
Bart plucked at the ragged hem. "I -- Tim let me borrow it? There was --" He looked at Dick. "Oh, man, it's not yours, is it? God, I'm --"
Dick held up his hand. Intending to head off another round of apologies, he found himself instead cupping the smooth roll of Bart's shoulder. He'd long ago gotten used to the *warmth* emanating from speedsters, but this was -- he had to ignore the twist in his gut at the thought of Wally. This was different; Bart's skin wasn't simply warm, but *alive* with heat.
Dick coughed lightly. "Think it was Jay's, actually."
"I'm wearing a supervillain's shirt?" Bart blinked fast and vibrated a little. "*Cool*!"
Snorting, Dick shook his head. "He wasn't a villain *then*." He tipped his head and tried to keep his tone light through the gritty heat at the back of his throat. "Despite some of his best efforts, he was just a pain in the ass."
Bart tugged at the hem, trying to cover the stripe of exposed skin, but there just wasn't enough fabric to fit his new frame. "There was an accident," he told Dick. "With, um. Mr. Pennyworth. And treacle, and meringue. My shirt got --"
"It's okay," Dick said, and his hand slipped over the tense planes of muscle across the back of Bart's shoulders. When he dug in his fingers reflexively, Bart sighed. "Really okay."
Bart dropped his head to give Dick's hand more access. "Thanks."
Thumping his knuckles over the rise of Bart's spine, Dick chuckled. "So where's Tim anyway?"
"Bitching out Batman," Bart mumbled, pointing at the floor. "Getting bitched at by Batman. Six of one..."
"Ah," Dick said. He shifted a little and set to massaging Bart with both hands. The sigh he got in response made his hands and mouth tingle pleasantly. "*That's* why I came home. Happy domesticity."
*
"The Justice League is dedicated to --"
Robin held up his hand. "You don't have to instruct me. All I said was, *my* teammates would welcome him back with --"
"So would mine," Batman said and recrossed his arms. "Given some necessary, ah. Convincing."
Robin smiled tightly. "Whereas mine are already happy to have him. I hardly think you can say the same about Clark and Diana."
"They will come around."
"Eventually. Maybe." After a pause, Robin held out his cell phone. "Shall I call them and ask?"
"That won't be." Batman flicked his index finger at a flake of guano marring the table's surface. "Required, no."
*
"They're being --" Bart shook his head.
Dick patted his back consolingly before continuing the massage. "Weird?"
"That, too." Glancing over his shoulder, Bart grinned briefly. "I was going to say, absurdly autocratic and all *grim* and dictatorial --"
"They do that," Dick said.
"Guess so."
"It's their thing."
"Creepy."
"Yeah," Dick said. "It is."
*
"The needs of the global community outweigh any social nostalgia on your part," Batman intoned.
"Now you're just being *obscure*," Robin replied.
*
Bart windmilled his arms as he jogged in place. "Way better! Wow, thanks!"
Perched on the back of the club chair, Dick crossed his ankles and smiled. "My pleasure."
"You have *no* idea how weird this is!" Bart added, cantering around Dick. "I'm, like. In *your* house! *Batman's* house! Hanging out with *Nightwing*! Weird, so weird!"
"I've got a pretty good idea, actually." Feeling restless and slightly *edgy*, Dick bent backwards over the chair and slid downward until his fingertips found the rug and he kicked up into a handstand.
Defying gravity was his usual treatment for -- well. Everything, including edginess.
Bart was -- *tall* now, but that wasn't it. Bart was tall, and skinny, and looked nothing like Wally, even in the surveillance shots that Dick had...*borrowed* from Babs and Bruce. Bart was --.
Well, right now Bart was hanging like a monkey off the ladder that ran around the bookcases. Wearing a shirt that didn't fit him, whose threadbare weave showed off almost every cord of sinew and pore of hot skin, and jeans that fell way too low on his waist.
"Okay, that's *cool* --" Bart swung off the ladder and landed in a fairly respectable crouch next to Dick. Tim's training was as thorough, Dick suspected, as anything else the kid did. "Show me how to do that?"
*
"I might add that the -- that *a* Flash is, well --" Batman spread his fingers on the table and leaned slightly forward, suggesting (or threatening) an imminent loom. "Traditional for the Justice League roster."
Robin nodded, slowly, then tucked his fingers under his chin. "Yes, Wally performed splendidly under Maxwell Lord. Power Girl *still* can't say his name without cracking up."
"You know what I meant," Batman said darkly. "Jay Garrick in the JSA...Barry helped *found*, according to some accounts, the modern Justice League. And Wallace --"
"Didn't he let Starro eat J'onn's face?" Robin waved one hand, as if shooing an invisible fly.
"That was a different, not to say *difficult*, time..."
"Decking Guy Gardner was difficult?"
The corners of Batman's lips twitched and deepened. "That was just plain fun."
*
Bart learned fast, which Dick figured was par for the course. It was still a little unsettling, though, that all he had to do was perform a flip once for the kid (not a kid, your height, *stop it, Grayson*) in order for him to get it.
"Hungry?" Dick stood up and stretched. It seemed that Bart was still studying him; those weird golden eyes tracked up his torso with...intent. Shaking it off, Dick rubbed his stomach and asked again. "We could go pillage the kitchen..."
Bart hugged himself. "No way! Mr. Pennyworth was *really* mad at me about the treacle. That stuff is *sticky*!"
"It is, isn't it?" Dick slung his arm around Bart's shoulders and noogied the side of his head lightly, enjoying the squeaky yelp.
Bart's eyelashes blurred his eyes as he looked at Dick. "You don't need a sidekick, do you?"
"Heh --" Dick lifted his hands off Bart and tried not to jump away, out the window, out of the *state*. "Uh. No. I'm still working out the whole solo thing."
"Figured," Bart said dejectedly. "Bette'd probably kick my ass if I took her name, anyway."
"You do look good in red," Dick said and elbowed him. Bart sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Dick elbowed him harder until Bart squeaked again. "C'mon, I've got something to show you --"
*
"For all intents and purposes, it would seem that you're resolved to put Bart in the League out of..." Robin cocked his head and tapped his index finger against his bottom lip. "Tradition? Is that it?"
"In part," Batman said. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders to offset his admission. "In greater part, however, I believe that the League needs him just as much as he needs the League."
"Interesting."
Under the table, Batman drummed his fingers against his knee irritably. "And...?"
Robin leaned back in his chair, allowing it to creak with satisfaction. "Nothing. Simply that that's an interesting way to put it."
*
"Whoa." Bart didn't close his mouth as he took in the sight. "*Whoa*."
They stood on the second-floor landing of the southwest flight of stairs. Dick had his hands on his hips, head tipped back, enjoying the sight nearly as much as Bart.
"A *treehouse*?" Bart asked, touching the rope ladder. "Inside?"
"Uh-huh," Dick said, grabbing the rope and swinging himself up. He looked through the trapdoor, extending his hand to pull Bart inside. "Bruce's grandfather built it for his dad. After the Lindbergh baby got kidnapped, no one let their kids play outside."
Bart grasped Dick's upper arm and jumped. With his feet braced against the floor, Dick heaved him inside. Bart tumbled against him, laughing and breathing heavily.
"This is the coolest thing *ever*!" Bart's hands were planted on either side of Dick's head as he gazed around.
Inside, the pseudo-treehouse had a mural of tree branches painted on flats nailed to the walls. Decades' old graffiti from a succession of bored little boys was scratched into the paint.
"Alfred saved the mural," Dick said, pulling himself out from under Bart, letting his torso and thighs slide the length of Bart's body, then propping himself against the wall. "He's a lot more sentimental than you'd think."
He opened the various old wine-crates that had provided storage for tin soldiers and action figures and illicit paperbacks, but Jason's stash had vanished long before the quake hit.
Bart crouched in the corner, reading the graffiti. "D.G. That's you, right?"
Dick knelt next to him, hand on the small of Bart's back. The shirt was riding up again, and the skin across the hollow was warm and downy. "Oh, *God*, don't read that..."
"Who's B.T.W.?"
"Nobody," Dick said quickly.
"Dee Gee plus Bee Tee Double-Ew," Bart said. "By the way? Bonnie Tamara Winkler? Bartholomew Terrance Williams? Bee-Tee..."
"Bart."
"What?" Bart's lips were still moving as he read. "R.J.G. plus K.E. Who's that?"
"Bart," Dick said lowly. "*Bart*."
Bart's face swung around, his forehead knocking Dick's nose. "Oh! Sorry!"
Falling back on one hand, Dick threw his other arm around Bart's neck and pulled him down.
He kissed Bart, not entirely meaning to distract him, and grunted against the sun-hot *sweetness* of Bart's mouth.
*
Batman rolled one shoulder to adjust the hang of his cape. "He will be happy with us. I promise you that."
Robin's mouth gaped open, very briefly, before he shut it with a decisive click of his teeth. "You promise? What is this, *custody* proceedings?"
Batman's jaw tightened. "Something like that, don't you think?"
"No," Robin said, more loudly than he had meant to. He sucked his lips against his teeth, breathed twice through his nose, then added, more reasonably, "I *know* Bart. You don't. You -- you're looking at him like an *instrument*."
Batman fanned open Robin's biometric reports on speedster metabolisms. "And you're not?"
*
Bart kissed with all the eagerness of a kid and the strength of -- someone who really wasn't a kid any more. Dick gripped his arm, ran his palm up and down the sinewed heat, pushed his other hand through Bart's messy hair, and just -- gave in. Bart kissed him wetly, openly, grinding almost absent-mindedly against Dick's thigh, his hands on Dick's chest, cupping and squeezing.
"Oh!" Bart bit his lip as he drew back suddenly.
Dazed and bleary, Dick forced his eyes to flutter, then stay, open. His hand was on Bart's sharp little hip now, thumb circling avidly. "What?"
Bart looked blank for a moment, touching his chin and neck. There was a hickey starting to bloom just under his jaw; Dick vaguely remembered tasting the stubble there, but not *biting*.
"Bart?"
"Right." Bart shook himself. "Oh. I, um. Sorta have a girlfriend --"
Dick banged his head, twice, against the floor of the treehouse. "We should stop. Should we stop?"
Bart was touching Dick's face now, and his fingertips were hotter than any other part of his skin, skating over Dick's cheekbones, thumb tracing the rise of one eyebrow. "What? No. Just -- you kinda look like her. It's funny."
"Um," Dick said, "but --"
The rest of the (half-hearted) protest vanished when Bart kissed him again.
"She won't mind," Bart said later. "I'm pretty sure."
"Okay...?"
*
"It's gratifying," Robin said. "That you trust my reports and evaluations of his abilities. If you'd said *why* you wanted them, however --"
"Information is useless until it's as complete as possible."
"Yes, yes. Of course." Robin tugged closed his cape. Under the table, he flexed open and closed first the fingers of his left hand, then the right. "I feel badly done by, however."
"He's not *yours*," Batman said gruffly. "He's --"
"My friend!" Robin snapped his mouth shut. "I apologize. But the fact remains that I *know* him --"
Batman's right dimple winked in and out of existence as he thumbed a remote control. "Biblically, some would say."
On the monitors, Robin saw -- before he screwed shut his eyes -- the footage from Kon's party in the Fortress of Solitude. Bart had gotten into the energy drinks and Robin was loopy on Kryptonian punch and then Cissie, backed up by *Kon*, had dared them...
He pressed his lips together as he turned back to Batman. "Yes."
Batman bared his teeth. "I'm sure that, given the proper setting, I could succeed..."
"No." Robin's voice was as sharp as steel.
"Is that a challenge?"
"It's a plea from the depths of my soul not to pursue that line of argument," Robin said and shuddered.
"Ahh," Batman said. "But you believe that I could?"
Robin covered his face with both hands. "Yes."
"Good," Batman said, the smugness in his tone nearly palpable.
*
When Bart moaned, the sound was sweet and high, treacle and honey that pooled warmly in Dick's groin, then spread over him, enveloping him. When *Dick* moaned, the sound was more ragged, a lot more urgent, and it made Bart's eyes widen beautifully.
"You like that? Really?"
Dick thrust into Bart's tight, vibrating grip. "Unh. Yeah. Again --"
"*Cool*," Bart breathed and complied, sucking the kisses out of Dick's mouth with more focused attention than *anyone* would have thought possible from him.
Dick wriggled and stretched, hooking his leg around Bart's waist and pulling him closer. His hand was tingling as he reached and cupped, thumb working over Bart's balls, teeth in Bart's earlobe as they rocked and hummed together.
*
"Security, locate Bart Allen," Batman told the computer.
When the live feed flickered onto the central monitor, Robin groaned aloud and Batman broke a bo stick in one hand.
"Great," Robin said, swallowing the curses he would have liked to utter. "So he's on the Outsiders."
"It would appear so," Batman said, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Nightwing can be..."
Noisy when he came, as the feed demonstrated, but Robin found the remote and silenced it.
"Persuasive?" he suggested instead.
Batman nodded. "Very."
end.