Fanfic - Masquerade [Bat-verse: Bruce/Dick]
Fandom: Bat-verse
Pairing: Bruce/Dick.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Me having fun with the boys. So maybe slight OOC? Hey, how would you react in that situation?
ladybugkay gave me this prompt: This one is an idea I've had bouncing around for a while, but I can't seem to write it, so maybe you can. Bruce and Dick are at some kind of costume ball for a charity or fundraiser, and Dick dresses up as the original Robin. (You know, with the cape and the green panties, and the pixie boots. LOL)
It gave me as much trouble as it seems to have given her. And spawned too many ideas. Here are a few. <3
Masquerade V.1
“Um.”
Dick grinned at Bruce, whose fingers had frozen while adjusting his cape. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound quite so intelligent, Bruce,” he quipped as he entered the room. Tim took one look at him and doubled over laughing.
“A most flattering costume, Master Dick,” Alfred observed. Dick stifled laughter of his own. He should’ve known that nothing would ruffle Alfred - even the sight of a decidedly adult Dick Grayson wearing a copy of his old Robin outfit. It was for obvious reasons larger than his original outfit had been, but otherwise had been recreated with faithful accuracy, baring a positively indecent amount of toned leg.
Dick hoped that that was the reason why Bruce’s mind still hadn’t kicked back into gear.
“Do I really dare ask?” Tim asked, grinning far too widely. Dick stuck his tongue out at him.
“Let’s say I lost a bet and leave it at that,” he replied. “I don’t think anyone would expect Robin to show up in his old costume - plus people don’t associate Robin with guys my age - so the secret’s as safe as it ever is. And what are you supposed to be, Frankenstein’s monster?”
“A-yep!” Tim agreed. “And he’s supposed to be some sort of vampire,” he added, pointing at Bruce, who was still staring at Dick with something approaching disbelief on his face. “Except I think you broke him.”
“Broke something anyway,” Dick agreed cheerfully.
“If I may,” Alfred broke in blithely. “Perhaps I should go get the car ready. Master Tim?”
“Huh?” Tim asked, then saw Alfred’s pointed look. “Oh. Oh! Right. I’ll just - er, go help Alfred then. See you later, Dick!”
Dick waited till he couldn’t hear either of them before approaching Bruce. “Hey,” he said, waving a hand in front of Bruce’s face. He wasn’t expecting that hand to be snatched out of the air and used to pull him closer.
He wasn’t expecting the kiss either, but it was a pleasant surprise.
“Um,” he said intelligently when they finally broke apart.
Bruce breathed what might have been suppressed amusement into his neck. It was a while (and a broken set of false vampire teeth) before they finally got down to the car, where they were greeted by knowing looks.
At the charity costume ball, Dick’s outfit got plenty of exclamations and more than a few speculative looks. Bruce stayed close to him for the whole ball, scowling at people who got too close to Dick. “Your inner Batman is showing,” Dick whispered to him at one point, and Bruce tried to lighten up a little.
He failed.
“I thought you were going to break that guy’s hand,” Dick commented later as he lay in Bruce’s bed, sliding a bare leg along Bruce’s ankle. He listened for and was gratified to hear the older man’s breath hitch.
“He.” Bruce paused as Dick moved up his body sinuously. “He. Er.”
Dick licked his earlobe.
“He was trying to grope you,” Bruce finally got out half an hour later. “He deserved it.”
Dick hid his smile in the smooth, hard curve of Bruce’s shoulder.
“What was the bet anyway?” Bruce asked, wrapping his hand around Dick’s waist with a certain firmness that suggested he wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.
“Hm?” Dick asked eloquently.
“The bet. That you lost. That resulted in the Robin costume,” Bruce reminded him, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, that bet,” Dick nodded. “I made it up. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then -
“Ack! Bruce, gerroff!”
~fin
Or, you know, maybe it was like this, which isn't really that much different but is me just indulging my fondness for almost-all-dialogue fics:
Masquerade V.2
“Um.”
A smile. “Very eloquent, Bruce.”
Laughter. “Should I even ask?”
“Probably not, Timmy boy.”
“A most flattering costume, Master Dick.”
“Thank you, Alfred. I did try to remain faithful to the original. With the shorts pants and all, do you suppose the first Robin ever got cold in this?”
“No doubt he used the Batman’s cape as a blanket when necessary, Master Dick.”*
More laughter. “Heh, Bat-blanket?”
“Yep. Nice and cosy, I’m sure.”
“Why, Bruce darling! You look fabulous. And you must be - my, that’s a wonderful costume. Robin?”
“Dick Grayson, miss. I doubt the real Robin would be thrilled with my appropriation of his costume, let alone his name.”
“But I don’t suppose he fills it out as well as you do!”
“I apologise, Lady Frances, but if you’ll excuse us, there are a few things I need to discuss with Dick here.”
“Oh, no trouble at all, Bruce. I’ll see you later then!”
In a whisper. “Busted, Dick!”
“Don’t you wish.”
“… Yeah, really don’t need to know.”
There are sounds from the party downstairs wafting in through the chinks around the door, Dick knows, but all he can hear is the rush of his blood in his ears and Bruce’s breath hot on his neck and the slip and slide and scrape and scuff of cloth and flesh and nothing has ever been so perfect.
~fin
*unashamedly appropriated from this gorgeous fanart because it begged to be done. ♥
Or maybe this was what happened. Angst warning, though it does have a happyish ending:
Masquerade V.3
The door slammed shut with enough force that Dick wondered if the people downstairs at the party could hear it. Probably not, but he didn’t particularly care, seeing as he had a glowering Bruce to deal with.
Moody-Bruce was unpredictable and a snarky bastard. He was easily handled with a few jokes (just shy of inappropriate) and a casual disregard for personal space. Sad-Bruce was harder to deal with, but disregard for personal space (read: latching on like a leech and refusing to let go) generally worked there too. Guarded-Bruce usually only made an appearance around other people and so Dick granted him some dignity and wouldn’t actually hug him. That could wait until they were alone, and in the meantime, he settled for little smirks that told Bruce he wasn’t fooling Dick with the aloof routine.
Furious-Bruce was another matter altogether. Dick had barely ever seen this side of Bruce, and he really could have done without seeing it again.
“What were you thinking?”
Dick refused to step back, even as Bruce approached him, lips compressing into a thin, unhappy line. “Look,” he tried placating, “No one associates Robin with someone my age. People barely remember the old costume anyway. No one would expect the real Robin to show up at a ball in his costume. And there’re like five other Batmans and Robins down there! The secret’s still safe.”
It didn’t work, not that Dick had expected it to. Bruce’s brow was doing that peculiar little twitching thing that happened every time he struggled between scowling and raising his eyebrows incredulously. The scowl won out.
“This was beyond irresponsible! Robin’s identity is not yours to compromise, and neither is mine. All it takes is one person to connect the dots, and you’ve provided plenty of those with this little stunt!” Despite his obvious anger and the fact that they were pretty far from the party, Bruce was still keeping his voice low, unwilling to take the risk that anyone might overhear them. Dick felt a flare of uncharitable anger building up in him.
“Robin’s identity was never yours to take from me,” he hissed. Bruce froze and Dick pushed on, ignoring the way Bruce’s face lost colour with every word out of his mouth. “Robin was something my mum gave me, and you had no right to demand I leave it behind!" Bruce was the one stepping back now, slow, tentative, unsure. "And you have no right now to tell me I’m endangering you or Tim when you know there’s no danger and the only reason you’re reacting like this is because you’re bloody terrified!”
Bruce fled.
“Damn,” Dick said after a long time, and sank to the floor. “That didn’t go too well.”
“I would have to agree, Master Dick,” came Alfred’s voice from the door.
Dick didn’t have to look up to sense the warm presence in the doorway. There was a long moment of hesitation, and then a figure walked into the room. Dick didn’t look up as Alfred came into the room, closing the door softly and flicking the lights on. He didn’t even bother listening as Alfred walked over, shutting his ears and eyes and wishing he could shut his brain down. Then came the tentative hand on his shoulder and he nearly snapped under the weight of Alfred’s quiet support.
“Robin was mine,” he explained helplessly to his knees. “Mama gave me the name and Bruce made me leave it behind but I didn’t mind because it felt like I was leaving part of myself with him. For him to remember me by. And then he gave the name to someone else and it was like I didn’t matter, just the idea.”
Alfred’s hand on his shoulder tightened. It was bigger and heavier than it should have been, but Dick ignored the oddity and pushed on doggedly. “And after - when Tim took on the name it was a little better because he’d tried to give it back to me and I told him to look after Bruce for me because Bruce doesn’t need me. Maybe Bruce just can’t take me seriously as Robin. Not that he can as Nightwing. And I miss Mama. And I miss Bruce. And I wish he loved me.”
“I do,” Bruce replied huskily, and Dick jerked upright, eyes wide. This was not happening. He had not just poured his heart out - all the vitriol and hurt that had been festering for so long - to the one person who wasn’t supposed to hear any of it. Bruce must have been with Alfred, must have sent him away. And everything had gone wrong and now Bruce hated him.
Though that didn’t explain the strong arms around him, or the black head buried against his shoulder, or the faint trembling of Bruce’s body against his. Dick tentatively raised his arms and slipped them around Bruce’s waist, amazed at the solidity and warmth of the bigger man. When Bruce didn’t move - when Bruce tightened his grip - Dick took a deep breath and let it out again slowly.
They stayed there on the carpeted floor for a while. Dick lost track of the time, busy memorising the feel of Bruce’s muscles through the thin material of his shirt. His hands never moved more than an inch from their initial position. They didn’t have to. He committed to memory everything about the particular way in which Bruce’s muscles flexed with every minute movement.
Bruce finally stirred against his shoulder, then pulled away slowly. Dick tactfully didn’t bring up Bruce’s bout of not-crying.
“I wanted you with me,” Bruce finally whispered, and if his voice was a little throatier than usual, neither mentioned it. “Tried finding someone else to be you which obviously didn’t work. I - needed you so badly with me. Never worked with anyone so well. Never had anyone understand me like you. Tried keeping you and drove you away instead.” He fell silent and started to move away. Dick recognised the tell-tale signs of Sad-Bruce surfacing and promptly surged up into his arms.
“See, no one else would ever do that,” Bruce said with a half-smile that wasn’t anything like a smile should be. “Wouldn’t want them to, either.”
Dick smiled up at him, tried to find something to say, realised that he couldn’t speak through the sheer relief. The knowledge that he was wanted. More than that, was loved. He barely understood the emotions coursing through him. He didn’t know how to put them into words, and so settled for the next best thing.
Bruce ran his hands over Dick’s body, thoughtfully studying through them the old Robin outfit that Dick had worn to the Wayne Industries charity costume party. Such an innocuous thing, and it had sparked off something entirely unexpected to both of them. He traced a finger down Dick’s side, firmly holding him down when Dick twitched and laughed against his mouth. Over the belt, which had been emptied of the usual paraphernalia that Batman had taught Robin to use, down the scant amount of remaining green material and on to skin. All muscle, but the flesh still yielded, was still warm. Still alive and free and beautiful. And his.
Bruce deepened the kiss and relaxed in contentment.
~fin
Okay, I'm done. <3 Concrit please?
Pairing: Bruce/Dick.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Me having fun with the boys. So maybe slight OOC? Hey, how would you react in that situation?
ladybugkay gave me this prompt: This one is an idea I've had bouncing around for a while, but I can't seem to write it, so maybe you can. Bruce and Dick are at some kind of costume ball for a charity or fundraiser, and Dick dresses up as the original Robin. (You know, with the cape and the green panties, and the pixie boots. LOL)
It gave me as much trouble as it seems to have given her. And spawned too many ideas. Here are a few. <3
Masquerade V.1
“Um.”
Dick grinned at Bruce, whose fingers had frozen while adjusting his cape. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound quite so intelligent, Bruce,” he quipped as he entered the room. Tim took one look at him and doubled over laughing.
“A most flattering costume, Master Dick,” Alfred observed. Dick stifled laughter of his own. He should’ve known that nothing would ruffle Alfred - even the sight of a decidedly adult Dick Grayson wearing a copy of his old Robin outfit. It was for obvious reasons larger than his original outfit had been, but otherwise had been recreated with faithful accuracy, baring a positively indecent amount of toned leg.
Dick hoped that that was the reason why Bruce’s mind still hadn’t kicked back into gear.
“Do I really dare ask?” Tim asked, grinning far too widely. Dick stuck his tongue out at him.
“Let’s say I lost a bet and leave it at that,” he replied. “I don’t think anyone would expect Robin to show up in his old costume - plus people don’t associate Robin with guys my age - so the secret’s as safe as it ever is. And what are you supposed to be, Frankenstein’s monster?”
“A-yep!” Tim agreed. “And he’s supposed to be some sort of vampire,” he added, pointing at Bruce, who was still staring at Dick with something approaching disbelief on his face. “Except I think you broke him.”
“Broke something anyway,” Dick agreed cheerfully.
“If I may,” Alfred broke in blithely. “Perhaps I should go get the car ready. Master Tim?”
“Huh?” Tim asked, then saw Alfred’s pointed look. “Oh. Oh! Right. I’ll just - er, go help Alfred then. See you later, Dick!”
Dick waited till he couldn’t hear either of them before approaching Bruce. “Hey,” he said, waving a hand in front of Bruce’s face. He wasn’t expecting that hand to be snatched out of the air and used to pull him closer.
He wasn’t expecting the kiss either, but it was a pleasant surprise.
“Um,” he said intelligently when they finally broke apart.
Bruce breathed what might have been suppressed amusement into his neck. It was a while (and a broken set of false vampire teeth) before they finally got down to the car, where they were greeted by knowing looks.
At the charity costume ball, Dick’s outfit got plenty of exclamations and more than a few speculative looks. Bruce stayed close to him for the whole ball, scowling at people who got too close to Dick. “Your inner Batman is showing,” Dick whispered to him at one point, and Bruce tried to lighten up a little.
He failed.
“I thought you were going to break that guy’s hand,” Dick commented later as he lay in Bruce’s bed, sliding a bare leg along Bruce’s ankle. He listened for and was gratified to hear the older man’s breath hitch.
“He.” Bruce paused as Dick moved up his body sinuously. “He. Er.”
Dick licked his earlobe.
“He was trying to grope you,” Bruce finally got out half an hour later. “He deserved it.”
Dick hid his smile in the smooth, hard curve of Bruce’s shoulder.
“What was the bet anyway?” Bruce asked, wrapping his hand around Dick’s waist with a certain firmness that suggested he wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.
“Hm?” Dick asked eloquently.
“The bet. That you lost. That resulted in the Robin costume,” Bruce reminded him, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, that bet,” Dick nodded. “I made it up. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then -
“Ack! Bruce, gerroff!”
~fin
Or, you know, maybe it was like this, which isn't really that much different but is me just indulging my fondness for almost-all-dialogue fics:
Masquerade V.2
“Um.”
A smile. “Very eloquent, Bruce.”
Laughter. “Should I even ask?”
“Probably not, Timmy boy.”
“A most flattering costume, Master Dick.”
“Thank you, Alfred. I did try to remain faithful to the original. With the shorts pants and all, do you suppose the first Robin ever got cold in this?”
“No doubt he used the Batman’s cape as a blanket when necessary, Master Dick.”*
More laughter. “Heh, Bat-blanket?”
“Yep. Nice and cosy, I’m sure.”
“Why, Bruce darling! You look fabulous. And you must be - my, that’s a wonderful costume. Robin?”
“Dick Grayson, miss. I doubt the real Robin would be thrilled with my appropriation of his costume, let alone his name.”
“But I don’t suppose he fills it out as well as you do!”
“I apologise, Lady Frances, but if you’ll excuse us, there are a few things I need to discuss with Dick here.”
“Oh, no trouble at all, Bruce. I’ll see you later then!”
In a whisper. “Busted, Dick!”
“Don’t you wish.”
“… Yeah, really don’t need to know.”
There are sounds from the party downstairs wafting in through the chinks around the door, Dick knows, but all he can hear is the rush of his blood in his ears and Bruce’s breath hot on his neck and the slip and slide and scrape and scuff of cloth and flesh and nothing has ever been so perfect.
~fin
*unashamedly appropriated from this gorgeous fanart because it begged to be done. ♥
Or maybe this was what happened. Angst warning, though it does have a happyish ending:
Masquerade V.3
The door slammed shut with enough force that Dick wondered if the people downstairs at the party could hear it. Probably not, but he didn’t particularly care, seeing as he had a glowering Bruce to deal with.
Moody-Bruce was unpredictable and a snarky bastard. He was easily handled with a few jokes (just shy of inappropriate) and a casual disregard for personal space. Sad-Bruce was harder to deal with, but disregard for personal space (read: latching on like a leech and refusing to let go) generally worked there too. Guarded-Bruce usually only made an appearance around other people and so Dick granted him some dignity and wouldn’t actually hug him. That could wait until they were alone, and in the meantime, he settled for little smirks that told Bruce he wasn’t fooling Dick with the aloof routine.
Furious-Bruce was another matter altogether. Dick had barely ever seen this side of Bruce, and he really could have done without seeing it again.
“What were you thinking?”
Dick refused to step back, even as Bruce approached him, lips compressing into a thin, unhappy line. “Look,” he tried placating, “No one associates Robin with someone my age. People barely remember the old costume anyway. No one would expect the real Robin to show up at a ball in his costume. And there’re like five other Batmans and Robins down there! The secret’s still safe.”
It didn’t work, not that Dick had expected it to. Bruce’s brow was doing that peculiar little twitching thing that happened every time he struggled between scowling and raising his eyebrows incredulously. The scowl won out.
“This was beyond irresponsible! Robin’s identity is not yours to compromise, and neither is mine. All it takes is one person to connect the dots, and you’ve provided plenty of those with this little stunt!” Despite his obvious anger and the fact that they were pretty far from the party, Bruce was still keeping his voice low, unwilling to take the risk that anyone might overhear them. Dick felt a flare of uncharitable anger building up in him.
“Robin’s identity was never yours to take from me,” he hissed. Bruce froze and Dick pushed on, ignoring the way Bruce’s face lost colour with every word out of his mouth. “Robin was something my mum gave me, and you had no right to demand I leave it behind!" Bruce was the one stepping back now, slow, tentative, unsure. "And you have no right now to tell me I’m endangering you or Tim when you know there’s no danger and the only reason you’re reacting like this is because you’re bloody terrified!”
Bruce fled.
“Damn,” Dick said after a long time, and sank to the floor. “That didn’t go too well.”
“I would have to agree, Master Dick,” came Alfred’s voice from the door.
Dick didn’t have to look up to sense the warm presence in the doorway. There was a long moment of hesitation, and then a figure walked into the room. Dick didn’t look up as Alfred came into the room, closing the door softly and flicking the lights on. He didn’t even bother listening as Alfred walked over, shutting his ears and eyes and wishing he could shut his brain down. Then came the tentative hand on his shoulder and he nearly snapped under the weight of Alfred’s quiet support.
“Robin was mine,” he explained helplessly to his knees. “Mama gave me the name and Bruce made me leave it behind but I didn’t mind because it felt like I was leaving part of myself with him. For him to remember me by. And then he gave the name to someone else and it was like I didn’t matter, just the idea.”
Alfred’s hand on his shoulder tightened. It was bigger and heavier than it should have been, but Dick ignored the oddity and pushed on doggedly. “And after - when Tim took on the name it was a little better because he’d tried to give it back to me and I told him to look after Bruce for me because Bruce doesn’t need me. Maybe Bruce just can’t take me seriously as Robin. Not that he can as Nightwing. And I miss Mama. And I miss Bruce. And I wish he loved me.”
“I do,” Bruce replied huskily, and Dick jerked upright, eyes wide. This was not happening. He had not just poured his heart out - all the vitriol and hurt that had been festering for so long - to the one person who wasn’t supposed to hear any of it. Bruce must have been with Alfred, must have sent him away. And everything had gone wrong and now Bruce hated him.
Though that didn’t explain the strong arms around him, or the black head buried against his shoulder, or the faint trembling of Bruce’s body against his. Dick tentatively raised his arms and slipped them around Bruce’s waist, amazed at the solidity and warmth of the bigger man. When Bruce didn’t move - when Bruce tightened his grip - Dick took a deep breath and let it out again slowly.
They stayed there on the carpeted floor for a while. Dick lost track of the time, busy memorising the feel of Bruce’s muscles through the thin material of his shirt. His hands never moved more than an inch from their initial position. They didn’t have to. He committed to memory everything about the particular way in which Bruce’s muscles flexed with every minute movement.
Bruce finally stirred against his shoulder, then pulled away slowly. Dick tactfully didn’t bring up Bruce’s bout of not-crying.
“I wanted you with me,” Bruce finally whispered, and if his voice was a little throatier than usual, neither mentioned it. “Tried finding someone else to be you which obviously didn’t work. I - needed you so badly with me. Never worked with anyone so well. Never had anyone understand me like you. Tried keeping you and drove you away instead.” He fell silent and started to move away. Dick recognised the tell-tale signs of Sad-Bruce surfacing and promptly surged up into his arms.
“See, no one else would ever do that,” Bruce said with a half-smile that wasn’t anything like a smile should be. “Wouldn’t want them to, either.”
Dick smiled up at him, tried to find something to say, realised that he couldn’t speak through the sheer relief. The knowledge that he was wanted. More than that, was loved. He barely understood the emotions coursing through him. He didn’t know how to put them into words, and so settled for the next best thing.
Bruce ran his hands over Dick’s body, thoughtfully studying through them the old Robin outfit that Dick had worn to the Wayne Industries charity costume party. Such an innocuous thing, and it had sparked off something entirely unexpected to both of them. He traced a finger down Dick’s side, firmly holding him down when Dick twitched and laughed against his mouth. Over the belt, which had been emptied of the usual paraphernalia that Batman had taught Robin to use, down the scant amount of remaining green material and on to skin. All muscle, but the flesh still yielded, was still warm. Still alive and free and beautiful. And his.
Bruce deepened the kiss and relaxed in contentment.
~fin
Okay, I'm done. <3 Concrit please?