DCU: Fetish (Bruce/Dick) Adult
Title: Fetish
Author: technosage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson
Rating: Adult
Warnings: R.I.P. is not my reality.
Summary: So...Dick has a few fetishes. Is anyone really surprised?
A/N: Responds to my own prompt Bruce/Dick, skin for an impromptu porn-paragraph-a-thon. Quick fic, just for fun.
Dick flips to the roof and drops behind him. Before his feet hit, Dick knows. Bruce took a beating tonight. There's nothing overt. Nothing to see. He knows the same way he knows down in a quad. He just does.
"Yeah, N, but you should see the other guy," Dick quips, not quite as insouciant as his pixie-boot days, but A for effort.
Bruce doesn't turn. Doesn't look. "Nice of you to drop in."
It's worse than he thought.
"Got a little tied up." Literally.
"Hn." Bruce shoots a line and leapfrogs. Two buildings ahead and four stories taller.
Dick follows. Of course.
Bruce's cape swirls, revealing a shocking swath of golden pale amidst the midnight black. Dick's heart smacks against the wall of his ribs like it misjudged the distance. "Stop."
Small, controlled head-tilt left; Bruce listens. Dick doesn't need to see the slow blink behind the mask. Between one breath and the next, Bruce goes from powerful motion to even more powerful stillness. Fifteen years later, Dick still doesn't know how he does it. Or what he heard in Dick's voice that made him.
He drops to his knees behind Bruce, already sweeping the cape aside. Already ungloved and touching through the tear in his suit.
Already hard.
Of all of his obssessive compulsive conditioned responses to Bruce, this one's the most inappropriate. That's so far from preventing the slow glide of his fingers across Bruce's lower back Dick would laugh if he could breathe.
He probes beneath the ripped Nomex-Kevlar, feeling for welts, abrasions, blood. Chokes on a moan when he finds nothing but skin.
Immobile, toneless: "Dick."
Imagining lifted eyebrow and thinned lips, Dick bows his head, tension pulling between his shoulders. "Bruce."
No question what he hears this time. The liquid-velvet of Dick's passive-aggressive libido.
The muscle beneath vulnerable, ridiculously soft skin tenses. Dick sucks in an aching breath, eyes closing. Before he can drag his fingers away, Bruce relaxes.
Bruce.
Fingertips free over warm, unbroken skin, Dick looses the breath with a soft grunt that might (however implausibly) be mistaken for a whimper. The pitch rises when he works open his suit to get a hand inside. Damp silk drags, flirting, then callous slips over slick. Circuit closed, a spark leaps from Bruce to him, stunning a moan from deep in Dick's chest.
His fist hardly moves. His entire self concentrates down to the pads of his fingers chafing Bruce's skin. Then he's falling forward into Bruce, head tilting, twisting, to spot a perfect landing.
Dick's lips arc at the taste of salt, clean musk, and no trace of copper. His hips jerk, body tightening with the willing warmth under his tongue. He latches on, for once letting himself lick as thoroughly as he wants to.
Soft grunt, tiny flex; Bruce feels this. Dick shivers, shudders -
Spills, coating his fist and making a sticky mess of his reinforced jock. Panting, he rests his forehead in the hollow of Bruce's spine. Relearns how to breathe.
Bruce is patient. He waits. Eventually, Dick exhales and scrapes his hand on cinder block. He brushes a reverent kiss over skin still unbroken but reddened and bruising from his mouth, then pulls on his gloves and stands.
Arms loose at his sides, not quite fighting stance but almost as defensive. Now it's his turn to wait.
After a minute, Bruce turns. Looks. "Uniform fetish?"
Robin-red kisses Dick's cheeks. He just knows. "Obviously. But not tonight."
Bruce's lips quirk with the humor no one else ever seems to see. "Skin fetish." It's not actually a question.
Dick answers anyway. "Tell him what he's won, Alex."
"I should have predicted that and taken appropriate counter-measures." He sounds vaguely disgruntled.
Stepping up until their chests brush, Bat to raptor, Dick smiles. "You fetish."
"Inevitable."
"Yeah, but you should see the other guy," Dick quips, smirking. Before the scowl can shape Bruce's mouth, Dick tilts his head and kisses the hn out of him.
Bruce draws his cape around them both and lets him.
Author: technosage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson
Rating: Adult
Warnings: R.I.P. is not my reality.
Summary: So...Dick has a few fetishes. Is anyone really surprised?
A/N: Responds to my own prompt Bruce/Dick, skin for an impromptu porn-paragraph-a-thon. Quick fic, just for fun.
Dick flips to the roof and drops behind him. Before his feet hit, Dick knows. Bruce took a beating tonight. There's nothing overt. Nothing to see. He knows the same way he knows down in a quad. He just does.
"Yeah, N, but you should see the other guy," Dick quips, not quite as insouciant as his pixie-boot days, but A for effort.
Bruce doesn't turn. Doesn't look. "Nice of you to drop in."
It's worse than he thought.
"Got a little tied up." Literally.
"Hn." Bruce shoots a line and leapfrogs. Two buildings ahead and four stories taller.
Dick follows. Of course.
Bruce's cape swirls, revealing a shocking swath of golden pale amidst the midnight black. Dick's heart smacks against the wall of his ribs like it misjudged the distance. "Stop."
Small, controlled head-tilt left; Bruce listens. Dick doesn't need to see the slow blink behind the mask. Between one breath and the next, Bruce goes from powerful motion to even more powerful stillness. Fifteen years later, Dick still doesn't know how he does it. Or what he heard in Dick's voice that made him.
He drops to his knees behind Bruce, already sweeping the cape aside. Already ungloved and touching through the tear in his suit.
Already hard.
Of all of his obssessive compulsive conditioned responses to Bruce, this one's the most inappropriate. That's so far from preventing the slow glide of his fingers across Bruce's lower back Dick would laugh if he could breathe.
He probes beneath the ripped Nomex-Kevlar, feeling for welts, abrasions, blood. Chokes on a moan when he finds nothing but skin.
Immobile, toneless: "Dick."
Imagining lifted eyebrow and thinned lips, Dick bows his head, tension pulling between his shoulders. "Bruce."
No question what he hears this time. The liquid-velvet of Dick's passive-aggressive libido.
The muscle beneath vulnerable, ridiculously soft skin tenses. Dick sucks in an aching breath, eyes closing. Before he can drag his fingers away, Bruce relaxes.
Bruce.
Fingertips free over warm, unbroken skin, Dick looses the breath with a soft grunt that might (however implausibly) be mistaken for a whimper. The pitch rises when he works open his suit to get a hand inside. Damp silk drags, flirting, then callous slips over slick. Circuit closed, a spark leaps from Bruce to him, stunning a moan from deep in Dick's chest.
His fist hardly moves. His entire self concentrates down to the pads of his fingers chafing Bruce's skin. Then he's falling forward into Bruce, head tilting, twisting, to spot a perfect landing.
Dick's lips arc at the taste of salt, clean musk, and no trace of copper. His hips jerk, body tightening with the willing warmth under his tongue. He latches on, for once letting himself lick as thoroughly as he wants to.
Soft grunt, tiny flex; Bruce feels this. Dick shivers, shudders -
Spills, coating his fist and making a sticky mess of his reinforced jock. Panting, he rests his forehead in the hollow of Bruce's spine. Relearns how to breathe.
Bruce is patient. He waits. Eventually, Dick exhales and scrapes his hand on cinder block. He brushes a reverent kiss over skin still unbroken but reddened and bruising from his mouth, then pulls on his gloves and stands.
Arms loose at his sides, not quite fighting stance but almost as defensive. Now it's his turn to wait.
After a minute, Bruce turns. Looks. "Uniform fetish?"
Robin-red kisses Dick's cheeks. He just knows. "Obviously. But not tonight."
Bruce's lips quirk with the humor no one else ever seems to see. "Skin fetish." It's not actually a question.
Dick answers anyway. "Tell him what he's won, Alex."
"I should have predicted that and taken appropriate counter-measures." He sounds vaguely disgruntled.
Stepping up until their chests brush, Bat to raptor, Dick smiles. "You fetish."
"Inevitable."
"Yeah, but you should see the other guy," Dick quips, smirking. Before the scowl can shape Bruce's mouth, Dick tilts his head and kisses the hn out of him.
Bruce draws his cape around them both and lets him.