Little Black Dress (DC)
Title: Little Black Dress
Pairing or Characters: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson
Rating: Teen
Contains: a developing relationship between an adult and a teenager, crossdressing for justice, non-explicit sexual content
Summary: Bruce has rules and boundaries in place for their time together. After a mission that leaves those boundaries shaky, Dick finds himself determined to see how far he can bend Bruce’s rules without breaking them.
Notes: This is a commission quality story written for tumblr user eliandr who was one of three winners in my giveaway on my fiction blog on tumblr. The prompt was for Dick initiating things, cross-dressing, and one more thing that did not actually make it into the story
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Bruce is in the master bathroom unbecoming Matches Malone.
There’s a trail of clothes leading from the door of the master suite to the big bathroom, one gaudily colored polyester piece of clothing after another left on the floor for someone else to clean up.
Dick supposes that the job falls to him. He should be scurrying after Bruce and picking up the various bits of clothes on the floor before stripping out of his own costume for the night. Instead, Dick finds himself sitting on the edge of Bruce’s bed and staring at himself in the massive mirror hanging on the wall across from him.
“I look so... ugh,” Dick doesn’t have the words to express how he feels about the image reflected back at him. Bruce gets to be Matches and wear pants (no matter how ugly said pants are), but Dick gets a gaff and a dress tight enough to make walking difficult. And there’s no way for Dick to get over the injustice involved in Bruce buckling him into a pair of four-inch high black heels.
The gaff and shoes are long gone, taken off and dropped in the backseat of Matches’ beat up sedan on the way back home, but the black dress and wig remain.
Dick brushes his fingers over the hem of his dress, feeling scratchy lace catch on his calluses. He makes a face in the mirror, wrinkling his nose and then sticking his tongue out at his reflection. Dick almost doesn’t recognize himself at first. There’s too much about him that’s too different: the made-up face in the mirror, the curling strands of long black hair falling into his face, and the way the padding in the dress just barely gives him a bit of a curvy shape.
The person in the mirror barely looks like Dick Grayson.
The person staring at Dick with gaudy red and black makeup smeared over their lips, cheeks, and heavy-lidded eyes looks like someone that Matches wouldn’t think twice about loving and leaving in a bar. The thought (and the memory of exactly what had caused Dick's lipstick to smear) makes Dick frown. It makes him shift on the edge of Bruce’s bed and sigh down at his lap as he kicks his legs back and forth.
The bathroom door opens with a whisper of wood on carpet and creaking hinges and then Bruce walks out with a huge bath towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one slung around his broad shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Bruce says, dripping water all over the carpet and Matches’ ugly clothes. “Didn’t you want to get out of that dress?”
“Not really,” Dick says, shrugging as though the idea never occurred to him. “It’s comfortable enough, and besides--” Dick trails off, feeling heat warm his cheeks. “I wanted to stay with you.” Dick’s not sure what’s more embarrassing: the realization that he doesn’t actually mind the lacy black number hanging down around his thighs or the admission that he wants to spend the night with Bruce.
Bruce blinks twice, seemingly caught off guard by Dick’s candid response. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
Dick shakes his head and kicks his legs against the side of Bruce’s bed. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” he says in a low voice, “If you don’t want me to stay because of what happened...You can just say it. I’m a big boy, Bruce. I can handle a little rejection.”
“That’s not-- I don’t--”
Bruce sighs and then looks away from Dick’s face. “Let me get dressed,” he says, fingers going to the knot in his towel. “I don’t think I should have this conversation while wet and naked.” With that, Bruce turns away from Dick and quickly crosses the floor to his dresser. “Why don’t you go get changed? I can come to your room--”
“I’m good here,” Dick says, bouncing on the edge of Bruce’s big bed as he watches the older man go through his drawers looking for clothes to wear to bed. “Now that the shoes are off, I feel a lot more comfortable. Besides, I think I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress.” Curling his toes against the inside of his soft thigh-high stockings, Dick makes a show of getting comfortable on the bed as Bruce gets dressed on the other side of the room.
Dick... doesn’t look.
Even though it takes every ounce of willpower in Dick’s body, he makes himself tilt his head backwards so that his eyes can focus on the patterns on the deep blue canopy above the bed. He closes his eyes after a second of hearing the rustle of cloth and fists his fingers in the fabric of Bruce’s bedspread. Of course, Dick has seen Bruce naked before. They’ve been taking showers together in the cave since Dick was first Robin and there’s nothing like the complex that manages to develop when faced with Bruce’s big body for most of his formative years.
So, Dick makes a point of counting patterns in his head so that he doesn’t have to look at Bruce to feed his fantasies. He regulates his breathing for what feels like an eternity, telling himself that it would be rude to stare at Bruce.
Dick is so busy forcing himself to count little splotches of dark blue in the canopy overhead that he almost misses it when the far side of the bed dips down. “Can I look now or are you still naked,” Dick says, taking care to keep his voice light and his tone devoid of all of the conflicted emotion he's currently trying --and failing-- to deal with.
“I'm wearing pants,” Bruce says in a dry-sounding tone. “You really should go change, Dick.”
Silence stretches between them and then Bruce clears his throat. “I should... apologize,” Bruce mutters, voice so low that it almost feels as though he hadn't spoken at all. “I shouldn't have done what I did while we were undercover. Not without talking to you first.”
Dick really wants to shrug.
He settles instead for rolling over onto his side facing Bruce, managing to quell the blush that threatens to streak over his cheeks when the hem of his dress inches up even higher over his thighs. “You needed to keep me safe, I get it,” Dick says as he looks at Bruce's big arms and the lingering droplets of water on his pale skin. “No one would mess with Matches' girl, so you had to treat me like Matches' girl. Besides, it's not like it's the first time that you've kissed me for the sake of the mission.”
(That honor goes the first costume party that he and Bruce crashed as Batman and Robin. Dick still holds hope that the next time that they have to go undercover at one of those parties, that he’ll be able to be something a little less... frilly than Marie Antoinette or whatever historical figure that’s on Bruce’s to-do list that week.)
Bruce flinches as though struck and his gaze becomes shuttered. “I should have found another way to establish my dominance over those criminals,” he says in the bitterest of voices, “I shouldn’t have kissed you or touched you like that, Dick. You’re my partner.”
“I wasn’t complaining then and I’m not complaining now,” Dick says with more than a touch of annoyance in his voice, “I trust you, but come on, big guy... You’re gonna have to start trusting yourself more.” Dick sits up and then reaches out so that he can close his fingers around Bruce’s bicep. There’s polish on his nails still and the bright red looks out of place on his fingertips while looking just right against Bruce’s arm. “You’re acting like you hurt me, but Bruce, I-- I really don’t mind the kissing.”
“Dick, you’re sixteen,” Bruce says with a weary note in his voice. “Just because you don’t mind something, that doesn’t mean that it’s right.”
Dick rolls his eyes and makes sure that Bruce can see it. “I’ll be seventeen in four months, so there goes that part of your argument,” he says, “If I’m old enough to go and fight crime with you, why can’t I be old enough to kiss you?” Before Bruce can come at him with some kind of dismissal, Dick surges forward and throws himself into Bruce’s lap.
Bruce’s dark eyes widen and he all but shouts, “Dick! Your dress,” when the article of clothing in question winds up hiked up somewhere near the vicinity of his upper thighs. Aside from that outburst, Bruce remains still even when Dick moves to hold his face in both of his hands.
“Please, Bruce,” Dick says from almost right on top of the older man’s mouth, “You don’t know how much I want you. We don’t have to do anything, but I--” Dick’s face warms with a flush and he can’t stop touching Bruce’s facial hair, can’t stop stroking his thumbs over the scratchy stubble that darkens his cheeks. “I don’t want to go back to my room tonight.”
Bruce looks away rather than meet Dick’s eyes. “Just for tonight,” he says, “But Dick, you have to take off that damn dress and shower. If you must, you can sleep in my clothes.”
A flash of red on Bruce’s high cheekbones remains the only real sign of his arousal and Dick doesn’t miss it for a second. Dick squirms with a deliberate movement of his hips and leans in until he has Bruce’s cheek pressed against the side of his face.
“I’m going to need your help,” Dick reminds Bruce, speaking in that same light tone that he feels as though he’s been using all night. “Both the dress and the bra do up in the back.” Dick sits back in Bruce’s lap, inching backwards until he can straddle the older man’s strong thighs. He reaches for Bruce’s hands and then urges Bruce to put them on his back until long fingers rest on either side of the zipper running down the back of the slinky black dress. “Take it off for me?”
Bruce eyes narrow and the touch of his fingertips to Dick’s spine firms for a moment before it returns to being light and almost whisper soft. “You’re trying my patience, Dick,” Bruce growls out in a register that sounds similar to the growling tones he affects for the Batman.
Rather than turn Dick off, the growl seems to have the opposite effect.
Dick laughs and darts in to brush a quick kiss over the very tip of Bruce’s nose. “Obviously, you’re not paying much attention,” he retorts with a twitch of his head that sends the dark curls of his wig tumbling down towards his manufactured cleavage. “I’m trying to try something else of yours.”
“Get off the bed,” Bruce grumbles without any heat in his voice. “I can’t help you if you’re sitting on my lap.”
“Well actually...” Dick snickers at the dirty look Bruce aims his way and then pushes off Bruce’s lap. The urge to make it fancy comes and goes. Dick doesn’t know how he’d survive the embarrassment of getting Bruce to admit to at least thinking about wanting him only to wind up hurting himself while showing off.
It’s Bruce’s turn to roll his eyes and he goes for gold once he’s standing on his feet and towering over Dick. “I hope you understand how much of a pain you are.”
Dick smiles up at Bruce and rocks up on the tips of his toes, ignoring the little twinges of pain left behind from a night spent trotting around in high heels. “Yeah,” Dick says, “But I bet you still think I’m cute.” Dick steps forward until he’s almost standing on Bruce’s toes. “Undress me?”
“You’re going to have to turn around so I can get at the zip,” Bruce says, already making to turn Dick around.
“You can do it like this,” Dick says, planting his feet in the carpet. He rests his hands on Bruce’s broad shoulders and then leans forward until Bruce gets the hint and reaches around to un-do the zip from behind. Dick shudders and presses the side of his face against Bruce’s bare chest and his body hair, trying his best not to embarrass himself by moaning before he’s even been touched properly.
Bruce takes his time undoing the zipper on Dick’s little black dress. Holding the curls of Dick’s long black wig out of the way, Bruce eases the zipper down one tooth at a time until he has the dress open and his fingers rest on skin instead of cheap fabric. After that, there’s only a matter of undoing the clasp of buttons that hold the dress together at the nape of Dick’s neck and Bruce manages that in no time at all even though he can’t stop the lingering brush of fingertips on Dick’s skin.
Dick’s breath hitches and he digs his nails into Bruce’s skin for a second before he comes to his senses and steps backwards in the direction of the bed. “Thanks,” Dick says as he pushes the dress down past his hips until gravity can do its job. Standing in front of Bruce in underwear alone, Dick feels himself flush and he has to work to keep his cool. “Do you want to do the bra next?”
“Dick, I--” Bruce’s hands shake against his sides and when he looks at Dick --really looks at him-- his eyes are full of hunger.
Pretending at ignorance, Dick smiles and then presses his palms to the material of the waist cincher holding him in an hourglass shape. “I could keep the bra on if that’s what you want.”
Bruce takes a step forward towards Dick and then seems to think better of it. “Dick, do you... Do you really want this?”
Gritting his teeth at Bruce’s inability to understand what Dick really wants (even after it’s been spelled out for him), Dick stalks toward Bruce on stocking feet. He only stops when he and Bruce are chest to chest (or chest to face since Bruce has several inches on Dick).
Everything happens so fast after that.
Dick wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and pulls Bruce down into a kiss that sears the senses. He opens his mouth for Bruce and moans with feeling, squirming as he feels the tentative touch of Bruce’s hands on his hips.
Just as Dick’s panties hide nothing at this point, Bruce’s pajama pants only highlight the erection tenting it outward. Dick wriggles with anticipation as Bruce holds him close and kisses him back, trying his best not to go too fast too soon.
Reluctantly, Dick ends the kiss. He pats Bruce’s cheek and then smiles at the way Bruce’s big hands flex against his skin. “Is that a good enough answer for you,” Dick asks, “Or do you need me to kiss you again?”
Pairing or Characters: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson
Rating: Teen
Contains: a developing relationship between an adult and a teenager, crossdressing for justice, non-explicit sexual content
Summary: Bruce has rules and boundaries in place for their time together. After a mission that leaves those boundaries shaky, Dick finds himself determined to see how far he can bend Bruce’s rules without breaking them.
Notes: This is a commission quality story written for tumblr user eliandr who was one of three winners in my giveaway on my fiction blog on tumblr. The prompt was for Dick initiating things, cross-dressing, and one more thing that did not actually make it into the story
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Bruce is in the master bathroom unbecoming Matches Malone.
There’s a trail of clothes leading from the door of the master suite to the big bathroom, one gaudily colored polyester piece of clothing after another left on the floor for someone else to clean up.
Dick supposes that the job falls to him. He should be scurrying after Bruce and picking up the various bits of clothes on the floor before stripping out of his own costume for the night. Instead, Dick finds himself sitting on the edge of Bruce’s bed and staring at himself in the massive mirror hanging on the wall across from him.
“I look so... ugh,” Dick doesn’t have the words to express how he feels about the image reflected back at him. Bruce gets to be Matches and wear pants (no matter how ugly said pants are), but Dick gets a gaff and a dress tight enough to make walking difficult. And there’s no way for Dick to get over the injustice involved in Bruce buckling him into a pair of four-inch high black heels.
The gaff and shoes are long gone, taken off and dropped in the backseat of Matches’ beat up sedan on the way back home, but the black dress and wig remain.
Dick brushes his fingers over the hem of his dress, feeling scratchy lace catch on his calluses. He makes a face in the mirror, wrinkling his nose and then sticking his tongue out at his reflection. Dick almost doesn’t recognize himself at first. There’s too much about him that’s too different: the made-up face in the mirror, the curling strands of long black hair falling into his face, and the way the padding in the dress just barely gives him a bit of a curvy shape.
The person in the mirror barely looks like Dick Grayson.
The person staring at Dick with gaudy red and black makeup smeared over their lips, cheeks, and heavy-lidded eyes looks like someone that Matches wouldn’t think twice about loving and leaving in a bar. The thought (and the memory of exactly what had caused Dick's lipstick to smear) makes Dick frown. It makes him shift on the edge of Bruce’s bed and sigh down at his lap as he kicks his legs back and forth.
The bathroom door opens with a whisper of wood on carpet and creaking hinges and then Bruce walks out with a huge bath towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one slung around his broad shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Bruce says, dripping water all over the carpet and Matches’ ugly clothes. “Didn’t you want to get out of that dress?”
“Not really,” Dick says, shrugging as though the idea never occurred to him. “It’s comfortable enough, and besides--” Dick trails off, feeling heat warm his cheeks. “I wanted to stay with you.” Dick’s not sure what’s more embarrassing: the realization that he doesn’t actually mind the lacy black number hanging down around his thighs or the admission that he wants to spend the night with Bruce.
Bruce blinks twice, seemingly caught off guard by Dick’s candid response. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
Dick shakes his head and kicks his legs against the side of Bruce’s bed. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” he says in a low voice, “If you don’t want me to stay because of what happened...You can just say it. I’m a big boy, Bruce. I can handle a little rejection.”
“That’s not-- I don’t--”
Bruce sighs and then looks away from Dick’s face. “Let me get dressed,” he says, fingers going to the knot in his towel. “I don’t think I should have this conversation while wet and naked.” With that, Bruce turns away from Dick and quickly crosses the floor to his dresser. “Why don’t you go get changed? I can come to your room--”
“I’m good here,” Dick says, bouncing on the edge of Bruce’s big bed as he watches the older man go through his drawers looking for clothes to wear to bed. “Now that the shoes are off, I feel a lot more comfortable. Besides, I think I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress.” Curling his toes against the inside of his soft thigh-high stockings, Dick makes a show of getting comfortable on the bed as Bruce gets dressed on the other side of the room.
Dick... doesn’t look.
Even though it takes every ounce of willpower in Dick’s body, he makes himself tilt his head backwards so that his eyes can focus on the patterns on the deep blue canopy above the bed. He closes his eyes after a second of hearing the rustle of cloth and fists his fingers in the fabric of Bruce’s bedspread. Of course, Dick has seen Bruce naked before. They’ve been taking showers together in the cave since Dick was first Robin and there’s nothing like the complex that manages to develop when faced with Bruce’s big body for most of his formative years.
So, Dick makes a point of counting patterns in his head so that he doesn’t have to look at Bruce to feed his fantasies. He regulates his breathing for what feels like an eternity, telling himself that it would be rude to stare at Bruce.
Dick is so busy forcing himself to count little splotches of dark blue in the canopy overhead that he almost misses it when the far side of the bed dips down. “Can I look now or are you still naked,” Dick says, taking care to keep his voice light and his tone devoid of all of the conflicted emotion he's currently trying --and failing-- to deal with.
“I'm wearing pants,” Bruce says in a dry-sounding tone. “You really should go change, Dick.”
Silence stretches between them and then Bruce clears his throat. “I should... apologize,” Bruce mutters, voice so low that it almost feels as though he hadn't spoken at all. “I shouldn't have done what I did while we were undercover. Not without talking to you first.”
Dick really wants to shrug.
He settles instead for rolling over onto his side facing Bruce, managing to quell the blush that threatens to streak over his cheeks when the hem of his dress inches up even higher over his thighs. “You needed to keep me safe, I get it,” Dick says as he looks at Bruce's big arms and the lingering droplets of water on his pale skin. “No one would mess with Matches' girl, so you had to treat me like Matches' girl. Besides, it's not like it's the first time that you've kissed me for the sake of the mission.”
(That honor goes the first costume party that he and Bruce crashed as Batman and Robin. Dick still holds hope that the next time that they have to go undercover at one of those parties, that he’ll be able to be something a little less... frilly than Marie Antoinette or whatever historical figure that’s on Bruce’s to-do list that week.)
Bruce flinches as though struck and his gaze becomes shuttered. “I should have found another way to establish my dominance over those criminals,” he says in the bitterest of voices, “I shouldn’t have kissed you or touched you like that, Dick. You’re my partner.”
“I wasn’t complaining then and I’m not complaining now,” Dick says with more than a touch of annoyance in his voice, “I trust you, but come on, big guy... You’re gonna have to start trusting yourself more.” Dick sits up and then reaches out so that he can close his fingers around Bruce’s bicep. There’s polish on his nails still and the bright red looks out of place on his fingertips while looking just right against Bruce’s arm. “You’re acting like you hurt me, but Bruce, I-- I really don’t mind the kissing.”
“Dick, you’re sixteen,” Bruce says with a weary note in his voice. “Just because you don’t mind something, that doesn’t mean that it’s right.”
Dick rolls his eyes and makes sure that Bruce can see it. “I’ll be seventeen in four months, so there goes that part of your argument,” he says, “If I’m old enough to go and fight crime with you, why can’t I be old enough to kiss you?” Before Bruce can come at him with some kind of dismissal, Dick surges forward and throws himself into Bruce’s lap.
Bruce’s dark eyes widen and he all but shouts, “Dick! Your dress,” when the article of clothing in question winds up hiked up somewhere near the vicinity of his upper thighs. Aside from that outburst, Bruce remains still even when Dick moves to hold his face in both of his hands.
“Please, Bruce,” Dick says from almost right on top of the older man’s mouth, “You don’t know how much I want you. We don’t have to do anything, but I--” Dick’s face warms with a flush and he can’t stop touching Bruce’s facial hair, can’t stop stroking his thumbs over the scratchy stubble that darkens his cheeks. “I don’t want to go back to my room tonight.”
Bruce looks away rather than meet Dick’s eyes. “Just for tonight,” he says, “But Dick, you have to take off that damn dress and shower. If you must, you can sleep in my clothes.”
A flash of red on Bruce’s high cheekbones remains the only real sign of his arousal and Dick doesn’t miss it for a second. Dick squirms with a deliberate movement of his hips and leans in until he has Bruce’s cheek pressed against the side of his face.
“I’m going to need your help,” Dick reminds Bruce, speaking in that same light tone that he feels as though he’s been using all night. “Both the dress and the bra do up in the back.” Dick sits back in Bruce’s lap, inching backwards until he can straddle the older man’s strong thighs. He reaches for Bruce’s hands and then urges Bruce to put them on his back until long fingers rest on either side of the zipper running down the back of the slinky black dress. “Take it off for me?”
Bruce eyes narrow and the touch of his fingertips to Dick’s spine firms for a moment before it returns to being light and almost whisper soft. “You’re trying my patience, Dick,” Bruce growls out in a register that sounds similar to the growling tones he affects for the Batman.
Rather than turn Dick off, the growl seems to have the opposite effect.
Dick laughs and darts in to brush a quick kiss over the very tip of Bruce’s nose. “Obviously, you’re not paying much attention,” he retorts with a twitch of his head that sends the dark curls of his wig tumbling down towards his manufactured cleavage. “I’m trying to try something else of yours.”
“Get off the bed,” Bruce grumbles without any heat in his voice. “I can’t help you if you’re sitting on my lap.”
“Well actually...” Dick snickers at the dirty look Bruce aims his way and then pushes off Bruce’s lap. The urge to make it fancy comes and goes. Dick doesn’t know how he’d survive the embarrassment of getting Bruce to admit to at least thinking about wanting him only to wind up hurting himself while showing off.
It’s Bruce’s turn to roll his eyes and he goes for gold once he’s standing on his feet and towering over Dick. “I hope you understand how much of a pain you are.”
Dick smiles up at Bruce and rocks up on the tips of his toes, ignoring the little twinges of pain left behind from a night spent trotting around in high heels. “Yeah,” Dick says, “But I bet you still think I’m cute.” Dick steps forward until he’s almost standing on Bruce’s toes. “Undress me?”
“You’re going to have to turn around so I can get at the zip,” Bruce says, already making to turn Dick around.
“You can do it like this,” Dick says, planting his feet in the carpet. He rests his hands on Bruce’s broad shoulders and then leans forward until Bruce gets the hint and reaches around to un-do the zip from behind. Dick shudders and presses the side of his face against Bruce’s bare chest and his body hair, trying his best not to embarrass himself by moaning before he’s even been touched properly.
Bruce takes his time undoing the zipper on Dick’s little black dress. Holding the curls of Dick’s long black wig out of the way, Bruce eases the zipper down one tooth at a time until he has the dress open and his fingers rest on skin instead of cheap fabric. After that, there’s only a matter of undoing the clasp of buttons that hold the dress together at the nape of Dick’s neck and Bruce manages that in no time at all even though he can’t stop the lingering brush of fingertips on Dick’s skin.
Dick’s breath hitches and he digs his nails into Bruce’s skin for a second before he comes to his senses and steps backwards in the direction of the bed. “Thanks,” Dick says as he pushes the dress down past his hips until gravity can do its job. Standing in front of Bruce in underwear alone, Dick feels himself flush and he has to work to keep his cool. “Do you want to do the bra next?”
“Dick, I--” Bruce’s hands shake against his sides and when he looks at Dick --really looks at him-- his eyes are full of hunger.
Pretending at ignorance, Dick smiles and then presses his palms to the material of the waist cincher holding him in an hourglass shape. “I could keep the bra on if that’s what you want.”
Bruce takes a step forward towards Dick and then seems to think better of it. “Dick, do you... Do you really want this?”
Gritting his teeth at Bruce’s inability to understand what Dick really wants (even after it’s been spelled out for him), Dick stalks toward Bruce on stocking feet. He only stops when he and Bruce are chest to chest (or chest to face since Bruce has several inches on Dick).
Everything happens so fast after that.
Dick wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and pulls Bruce down into a kiss that sears the senses. He opens his mouth for Bruce and moans with feeling, squirming as he feels the tentative touch of Bruce’s hands on his hips.
Just as Dick’s panties hide nothing at this point, Bruce’s pajama pants only highlight the erection tenting it outward. Dick wriggles with anticipation as Bruce holds him close and kisses him back, trying his best not to go too fast too soon.
Reluctantly, Dick ends the kiss. He pats Bruce’s cheek and then smiles at the way Bruce’s big hands flex against his skin. “Is that a good enough answer for you,” Dick asks, “Or do you need me to kiss you again?”