Batfic: Regrouping (Bruce)
Batfic: Regrouping (Bruce)
Characters/Pairing: Bruce, Tim
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst and sexy thoughts
Disclaimer: Don’t own then, not making any money.
Summery: Tim and Bruce need to talk, but will they?
Eleven times. Eleven orgasms, each on more incredible, more excruciating then the last as my body is pressed painfully beyond it’s limits by the toxin. Finally, finally I can think again. Everything becomes agonizingly clear to me. From the laboured breathing of the boy I held pinned against the shower stall, to feel of the water spray just starting to cool. What had I done?
Tim is beyond exhausted, his gaze is vague and glazed. He’s trying to look and me, and there is even weak smile on his lips before eyes roll up into the back of his head and he passes into oblivion. I try to tell myself it’s for the best.
Carefully supporting him, I wash the languid form clean. Desperately I strive for the detachment everyone seems to think I’m so good at, so that I can look at him without feeling anything. It’s a futile effort. My body stirs even as I feel another wash of self-loathing descend upon me.
I failed. More importantly, I failed the trust Tim has put in me. Yes, he’s a crime fighter in his own right; a more then competent one at that. Yet it’s my job to protect him from the mechanisms of those we face. He should have been able to rely on me. I’m the one with the training, the experience. I’m the adult. I should have…I should have never returned to the cave.
My hands work diligently as I cleanse the youthful body, carefully removing all traces of what has transpired. I try not to remember what else my hands did to the skin I’m touching. I try to convince myself that those memories aren’t making me hard. With gritted teeth, I force myself to focus solely on reaching up to turn off the shower spray. I can think now, my mind is my own, but my body isn’t finished. It wants more.
It’s not going to get more.
I’m practised in the art of self-denial. And knowing what is to come of this, how I’ve damaged things irreparably, only cements my resolve.
Getting us out in the changing area, I use a fluffy towel to pat Tim’s sleeping self dry. He is beautiful, I can admit that much in the privacy of my own mind. It’s because of his beauty that I’ve worked so hard to keep things professional. Even the intimacies of being a father to him are dangerous. So I’m cold, detached. It hurts him I know. Much as it hurt Dick years ago. There is no other recourse, save banishing him from my life and I’m not so strong as that.
When he’s dry, I take him to the adjacent infirmary module. I need to know how bad the damage is, if it’s something that can be treated here or if I need to get him to a professional. If I could have shut my eyes, I would have. I don’t want to see to evidence of it all spread out before me. No, he had been able to bear it, the least I can do now is try to mitigate his suffering.
Thankfully, while there is an abundance of bruises, there is precious little tearing. It seems wrong that all he needs is some salve to sooth his battered flesh. Then I realize that the damage to his body is nothing compared to what I’ve done to his spirit, to the depth of my betrayal.
My hands are trembling ever so slightly as I dress him in the pair of flannel pyjamas Alfred has stored down here. I have to stop myself from stroking his abdomen as I button the shirt. This is all so very wrong.
I don’t remember putting on the dressing robe, or making my way up to the Manor. My mind seems stalled on the fact that I’m clutching the small form in an obviously possessive fashion as I slowly trudge towards his room. I can’t let myself think about how he’s curled himself against me, hands lightly resting on my chest, his breath having evened out into actual sleep. The room is to close, I want to hold onto him just a little longer, but I’m standing beside his bed. It takes everything I have to make my body function as it is. Gently I lay him down, keeping my eyes on his sleeping face. As I tuck the blankets around him, I feel a horrible, sickening tightness in my stomach.
More then anything I want to run from that room, from him. I force myself to walk slowly, soundlessly, lest I wake him. He deserves his rest. Closing the door behind me, I head to my own room. It doesn’t really register that I lock the door behind me.
Looking around the lavishly appointed master bedroom, I begin to shudder. This isn’t my sanctuary, my haven. This is a part of my public life, of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire play boy. Up here I feel exposed and vulnerable in so many ways.
I crossed a line tonight. No, I crossed many lines. I’m Robin’s partner, his mentor. I’m also Tim’s father. All of those are positions of trust and I betrayed them in the most heinous way possible. Yet somehow that’s not the worst of it. No, the worst is knowing I have now become that which I loathe and hate, that which I rage against each and every night.
Tim is only 17. Not legal.
And that makes me…
I think about throwing the lamp from the night table, about tearing the antique mirror from the wall, about raging and destroying this façade with which I’ve surrounded myself. It’s an impulse that I quash ruthlessly. Tim needs his sleep.
Instead, I move to the back of the walk-in closet and active the catch hidden among the wood panelling. The small secret door slides aside, allowing me admittance into the dark passage beyond. I don’t bother with a light, I know the way well. After all, I designed it.
When we rebuilt the manor I had a number of such passages put into the construction. The contractors wrote it off as the eccentricities of the rich. There are six ways into the cave from the house. One of the passages leads from Tim’s room. He knows about it, the same way he knows about the cameras in his room. Security is everything in our lives. We work so hard to make the city safe for strangers, it’s even more imperative that I can do the same for my family.
Dick is aware of most of the cameras I put in his Manhattan tower, but like Tim, he’s been accepting of the precaution. Which is just as well, I’m not about to change my methods any time soon. The cameras allow me to watch them without venturing dangerously close. Moving to the computer I bring up the screen that shows Tim’s room, allowing myself the luxury of watching him sleep. He’s so peaceful and I give a word of thanks that he’s not having one of his nightmares. This isn’t the first time I’ve watched him, or even the thousandth. It’s the closest I’ve allowed myself to get to him, until…now. Until the situation had been forced on me, on him.
No, I won’t lie to myself. I could have gone elsewhere. I chose to come here, because it’s where I knew he’d be, where I had stationed him.
I lean my elbows on the console and hold my head in my hands, a rare show of the weakness that is my bane. I can smell him here, pungent and alluring. The memories are sharp, demanding. I stifle a gasp, feeling myself harden yet again. No. I will not do this.
Mechanically I get up and go to where Alfred stores the cleaning supplies, then I begin the task of scouring the work station, especially the chair. I’m meticulous. I can’t let his scent linger, it’ll drive me mad.
I lose track of how long I franticly work. I look up and see Tim’s empty bed on the screen. Where is he?
The rag is tossed in a random direction as I tap out commands, jumping from one camera to the next throughout the house. Oh. He’s outside my room. Standing close the to door, the angle of the view is all wrong and I can’t see his face. I can’t tell if he talking or crying. No, I don’t think it would be tears, my Robin is to self possessed for that.
I need to get more cameras in the hall, and some sound equipment. A part of my mind is already working out the details even as I watch the boy. The flannel pyjamas are the right size for his slight frame, emphasising how truly young, how vulnerable he is. The horror of my actions renews it’s self in my mind.
Young, determined, giving. He came to me not long after Jason died. He told me that Batman needed a Robin and though I tried, he wouldn’t be dissuaded. The boy’s tenacity impressed me. Time and again he refused to give up, no matter how hard I pushed him in the name of training.
And again he kissed me, presented himself to me.
No! I took him by force, I stole a piece of innocence he will never get back. I…I raped him. I raped Robin. Tim. The one person who should be able to depend on me as no other.
Once more my thoughts begin to spiral out of control. I let it happen, I have to. But I’m good at compartmentalizing. The rest of me continues to watch the monitor as I see Alfred come onto the scene. They are talking, my old friend is inquiring if we had a fight. There, now I can see Tim’s face and I wish I could not. He’s put on a little smile, his game face, the one he’d perfected for his dad and step-mother so long ago. I can see under it, my detective’s mind searching for the things he wants desperately to hide.
He’s hurt, I can see that in the little shifts of movement, bruises peeking from beneath the collar of the shirt and the slight reddened swelling of his mouth. I hurt him. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, all things considered, how could I not have? So young, so small. He uses that every night to make Gothams’ rogues underestimate him. But it’s true all the same.
And I hurt him.
I’d never gone looking for them. The children have always found their way to me, to Batman. Even so, I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to protect them. I’ve failed so many times. This time, I’ve failed in the most obscene way possible.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” I whisper to the Cave’s cool air. I want to hold my head in my hands again, to give myself the luxury of blocking his image from my mind, but I don’t deserve it. Instead I force myself to continue watching the boy on the screen. I change the camera feeds to follow his movements through the house until he comes to the old grandfather clock in the study. There is no need of sound to know that he’s screaming his anger. I locked him and everyone else out. It is a simple perception on my part, not an effort at slighting him. I don’t know if the pollen has cleared my system.
There’s no excuse for my not knowing. I should have taken a blood sample as soon as I came down. Instead I’ve been wallowing. That will change now.
Resolutely tearing my gaze from the monitor, I head to the infirmary alcove and set about drawing the sample. Pull the elastic tight, clench my fist. I don’t flinch at the sting of the needle, doing so would be pointless, but I let the minor pinch ground me in the here and now. Focus on it. I can’t allow myself to get lost in my regrets again.
Whatever comes now, I’ll have to deal with it. At some point. I can’t change the past, I only hope that my actions haven’t broken something vital in the boy. If he could gain access to the cave, I expect that he’ll inform me that he’s quitting as Robin. It’s only sensible after all. How could I possibly expect him to work with me after…..what happened?
How will I be able to focus on my cases if he is around?
Squeezing my eyes shut tight I dig the needle around in my arm. The resulting bruise will no doubt be impressive. Focus. There is no time now. I know the boy, I trained him. He’s not going to give up trying to say his piece just because I locked him out. Dick would have stormed off in a huff not to return for some time, but Tim is different.
Pulling the needle out, I tape a cotton ball over the seeping puncture. I don’t even think about what comes next, I just operate on auto pilot. Get the computer analysing my blood, and while it works clean up the medical unit. Keep busy, that’s for the best. I look at the weight machines and try to control my reaction. No, I won’t think about it. I refuse to remember.
Turning my gaze to the Batmobile, I frown. The engine needs tuning, but not now. Not when I… Just, no.
The gymnastic equipment then. The rings are safe enough, being only what they are rather then--props. And working them will take all of my concentration since it’s not my strongest skill set. Perfect.
Changing into a pair of track shorts I savour the cool air of the cave. The work out does what I want for the most part. I did not notice how much time I’d spent on them, an hour at least or maybe two, swinging, holding, making my muscles strain and shake. Physical sensation, preferably unpleasant types, has long been a way of distracting myself from contemplating of a great many things. However, when the computer beeps an alarm, I snap back into myself.
It’s not telling me that the sample is finished, it has some time yet before the task is completed. No, that sound means that someone is attempting to breach one of the Cave’s entrances.
I pull my muscles taunt, and give one last flip before landing on the mats in a perfectly functional and efficient fashion. The stone is cold against my bare feet as I stride to the computer. Focus, look at what’s on the display. Nothing else matters, most certainly not my traitorous memories.
Zone 7. That’s the one in the forest ad the eastern edge of the property. I don’t need the cameras to tell me who it is. Tim. He’s of course dressed for the damp fall weather and wearing a back pack that no doubt holds the supplies he’s been able to find in the house. It’s not much, but the boy has a habit of stashing all kinds of things in various hidden places. I wonder if he started doing that after Jean-Paul locked him out of the cave all those years ago. Prudent, whatever the reason.
My resourceful little Robin.
I’m proud of him, of the direction he’s gone with his training, but I can’t have him in here. Not now. Not when I haven’t been able to scour the effects of the pollen from my system. Not when my body is obviously desiring a repeat of our previous encounter.
However, unless I’m willing to administer a couple thousand volts and render him unconscious, there isn’t anything I can do beyond let the computer’s defences deal with his efforts. It will only buy me ten minutes at most.
My talented little Robin.
I’m going to have to be elsewhere when he gets in. I can have the test results sent out to the satellite caves and use the supplies in one of the locations to put together an anti-toxin. Even if he follows, it won’t matter. I can just keep moving until it’s handled.
Heading for the Batmobile, I don’t even bother to change into anything more substantial. I make the windows opaque and head out to the sound of the engine’s roar.
Just keep moving.
END
This Way To Brothers Part One
Characters/Pairing: Bruce, Tim
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst and sexy thoughts
Disclaimer: Don’t own then, not making any money.
Summery: Tim and Bruce need to talk, but will they?
Eleven times. Eleven orgasms, each on more incredible, more excruciating then the last as my body is pressed painfully beyond it’s limits by the toxin. Finally, finally I can think again. Everything becomes agonizingly clear to me. From the laboured breathing of the boy I held pinned against the shower stall, to feel of the water spray just starting to cool. What had I done?
Tim is beyond exhausted, his gaze is vague and glazed. He’s trying to look and me, and there is even weak smile on his lips before eyes roll up into the back of his head and he passes into oblivion. I try to tell myself it’s for the best.
Carefully supporting him, I wash the languid form clean. Desperately I strive for the detachment everyone seems to think I’m so good at, so that I can look at him without feeling anything. It’s a futile effort. My body stirs even as I feel another wash of self-loathing descend upon me.
I failed. More importantly, I failed the trust Tim has put in me. Yes, he’s a crime fighter in his own right; a more then competent one at that. Yet it’s my job to protect him from the mechanisms of those we face. He should have been able to rely on me. I’m the one with the training, the experience. I’m the adult. I should have…I should have never returned to the cave.
My hands work diligently as I cleanse the youthful body, carefully removing all traces of what has transpired. I try not to remember what else my hands did to the skin I’m touching. I try to convince myself that those memories aren’t making me hard. With gritted teeth, I force myself to focus solely on reaching up to turn off the shower spray. I can think now, my mind is my own, but my body isn’t finished. It wants more.
It’s not going to get more.
I’m practised in the art of self-denial. And knowing what is to come of this, how I’ve damaged things irreparably, only cements my resolve.
Getting us out in the changing area, I use a fluffy towel to pat Tim’s sleeping self dry. He is beautiful, I can admit that much in the privacy of my own mind. It’s because of his beauty that I’ve worked so hard to keep things professional. Even the intimacies of being a father to him are dangerous. So I’m cold, detached. It hurts him I know. Much as it hurt Dick years ago. There is no other recourse, save banishing him from my life and I’m not so strong as that.
When he’s dry, I take him to the adjacent infirmary module. I need to know how bad the damage is, if it’s something that can be treated here or if I need to get him to a professional. If I could have shut my eyes, I would have. I don’t want to see to evidence of it all spread out before me. No, he had been able to bear it, the least I can do now is try to mitigate his suffering.
Thankfully, while there is an abundance of bruises, there is precious little tearing. It seems wrong that all he needs is some salve to sooth his battered flesh. Then I realize that the damage to his body is nothing compared to what I’ve done to his spirit, to the depth of my betrayal.
My hands are trembling ever so slightly as I dress him in the pair of flannel pyjamas Alfred has stored down here. I have to stop myself from stroking his abdomen as I button the shirt. This is all so very wrong.
I don’t remember putting on the dressing robe, or making my way up to the Manor. My mind seems stalled on the fact that I’m clutching the small form in an obviously possessive fashion as I slowly trudge towards his room. I can’t let myself think about how he’s curled himself against me, hands lightly resting on my chest, his breath having evened out into actual sleep. The room is to close, I want to hold onto him just a little longer, but I’m standing beside his bed. It takes everything I have to make my body function as it is. Gently I lay him down, keeping my eyes on his sleeping face. As I tuck the blankets around him, I feel a horrible, sickening tightness in my stomach.
More then anything I want to run from that room, from him. I force myself to walk slowly, soundlessly, lest I wake him. He deserves his rest. Closing the door behind me, I head to my own room. It doesn’t really register that I lock the door behind me.
Looking around the lavishly appointed master bedroom, I begin to shudder. This isn’t my sanctuary, my haven. This is a part of my public life, of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire play boy. Up here I feel exposed and vulnerable in so many ways.
I crossed a line tonight. No, I crossed many lines. I’m Robin’s partner, his mentor. I’m also Tim’s father. All of those are positions of trust and I betrayed them in the most heinous way possible. Yet somehow that’s not the worst of it. No, the worst is knowing I have now become that which I loathe and hate, that which I rage against each and every night.
Tim is only 17. Not legal.
And that makes me…
I think about throwing the lamp from the night table, about tearing the antique mirror from the wall, about raging and destroying this façade with which I’ve surrounded myself. It’s an impulse that I quash ruthlessly. Tim needs his sleep.
Instead, I move to the back of the walk-in closet and active the catch hidden among the wood panelling. The small secret door slides aside, allowing me admittance into the dark passage beyond. I don’t bother with a light, I know the way well. After all, I designed it.
When we rebuilt the manor I had a number of such passages put into the construction. The contractors wrote it off as the eccentricities of the rich. There are six ways into the cave from the house. One of the passages leads from Tim’s room. He knows about it, the same way he knows about the cameras in his room. Security is everything in our lives. We work so hard to make the city safe for strangers, it’s even more imperative that I can do the same for my family.
Dick is aware of most of the cameras I put in his Manhattan tower, but like Tim, he’s been accepting of the precaution. Which is just as well, I’m not about to change my methods any time soon. The cameras allow me to watch them without venturing dangerously close. Moving to the computer I bring up the screen that shows Tim’s room, allowing myself the luxury of watching him sleep. He’s so peaceful and I give a word of thanks that he’s not having one of his nightmares. This isn’t the first time I’ve watched him, or even the thousandth. It’s the closest I’ve allowed myself to get to him, until…now. Until the situation had been forced on me, on him.
No, I won’t lie to myself. I could have gone elsewhere. I chose to come here, because it’s where I knew he’d be, where I had stationed him.
I lean my elbows on the console and hold my head in my hands, a rare show of the weakness that is my bane. I can smell him here, pungent and alluring. The memories are sharp, demanding. I stifle a gasp, feeling myself harden yet again. No. I will not do this.
Mechanically I get up and go to where Alfred stores the cleaning supplies, then I begin the task of scouring the work station, especially the chair. I’m meticulous. I can’t let his scent linger, it’ll drive me mad.
I lose track of how long I franticly work. I look up and see Tim’s empty bed on the screen. Where is he?
The rag is tossed in a random direction as I tap out commands, jumping from one camera to the next throughout the house. Oh. He’s outside my room. Standing close the to door, the angle of the view is all wrong and I can’t see his face. I can’t tell if he talking or crying. No, I don’t think it would be tears, my Robin is to self possessed for that.
I need to get more cameras in the hall, and some sound equipment. A part of my mind is already working out the details even as I watch the boy. The flannel pyjamas are the right size for his slight frame, emphasising how truly young, how vulnerable he is. The horror of my actions renews it’s self in my mind.
Young, determined, giving. He came to me not long after Jason died. He told me that Batman needed a Robin and though I tried, he wouldn’t be dissuaded. The boy’s tenacity impressed me. Time and again he refused to give up, no matter how hard I pushed him in the name of training.
And again he kissed me, presented himself to me.
No! I took him by force, I stole a piece of innocence he will never get back. I…I raped him. I raped Robin. Tim. The one person who should be able to depend on me as no other.
Once more my thoughts begin to spiral out of control. I let it happen, I have to. But I’m good at compartmentalizing. The rest of me continues to watch the monitor as I see Alfred come onto the scene. They are talking, my old friend is inquiring if we had a fight. There, now I can see Tim’s face and I wish I could not. He’s put on a little smile, his game face, the one he’d perfected for his dad and step-mother so long ago. I can see under it, my detective’s mind searching for the things he wants desperately to hide.
He’s hurt, I can see that in the little shifts of movement, bruises peeking from beneath the collar of the shirt and the slight reddened swelling of his mouth. I hurt him. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, all things considered, how could I not have? So young, so small. He uses that every night to make Gothams’ rogues underestimate him. But it’s true all the same.
And I hurt him.
I’d never gone looking for them. The children have always found their way to me, to Batman. Even so, I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to protect them. I’ve failed so many times. This time, I’ve failed in the most obscene way possible.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” I whisper to the Cave’s cool air. I want to hold my head in my hands again, to give myself the luxury of blocking his image from my mind, but I don’t deserve it. Instead I force myself to continue watching the boy on the screen. I change the camera feeds to follow his movements through the house until he comes to the old grandfather clock in the study. There is no need of sound to know that he’s screaming his anger. I locked him and everyone else out. It is a simple perception on my part, not an effort at slighting him. I don’t know if the pollen has cleared my system.
There’s no excuse for my not knowing. I should have taken a blood sample as soon as I came down. Instead I’ve been wallowing. That will change now.
Resolutely tearing my gaze from the monitor, I head to the infirmary alcove and set about drawing the sample. Pull the elastic tight, clench my fist. I don’t flinch at the sting of the needle, doing so would be pointless, but I let the minor pinch ground me in the here and now. Focus on it. I can’t allow myself to get lost in my regrets again.
Whatever comes now, I’ll have to deal with it. At some point. I can’t change the past, I only hope that my actions haven’t broken something vital in the boy. If he could gain access to the cave, I expect that he’ll inform me that he’s quitting as Robin. It’s only sensible after all. How could I possibly expect him to work with me after…..what happened?
How will I be able to focus on my cases if he is around?
Squeezing my eyes shut tight I dig the needle around in my arm. The resulting bruise will no doubt be impressive. Focus. There is no time now. I know the boy, I trained him. He’s not going to give up trying to say his piece just because I locked him out. Dick would have stormed off in a huff not to return for some time, but Tim is different.
Pulling the needle out, I tape a cotton ball over the seeping puncture. I don’t even think about what comes next, I just operate on auto pilot. Get the computer analysing my blood, and while it works clean up the medical unit. Keep busy, that’s for the best. I look at the weight machines and try to control my reaction. No, I won’t think about it. I refuse to remember.
Turning my gaze to the Batmobile, I frown. The engine needs tuning, but not now. Not when I… Just, no.
The gymnastic equipment then. The rings are safe enough, being only what they are rather then--props. And working them will take all of my concentration since it’s not my strongest skill set. Perfect.
Changing into a pair of track shorts I savour the cool air of the cave. The work out does what I want for the most part. I did not notice how much time I’d spent on them, an hour at least or maybe two, swinging, holding, making my muscles strain and shake. Physical sensation, preferably unpleasant types, has long been a way of distracting myself from contemplating of a great many things. However, when the computer beeps an alarm, I snap back into myself.
It’s not telling me that the sample is finished, it has some time yet before the task is completed. No, that sound means that someone is attempting to breach one of the Cave’s entrances.
I pull my muscles taunt, and give one last flip before landing on the mats in a perfectly functional and efficient fashion. The stone is cold against my bare feet as I stride to the computer. Focus, look at what’s on the display. Nothing else matters, most certainly not my traitorous memories.
Zone 7. That’s the one in the forest ad the eastern edge of the property. I don’t need the cameras to tell me who it is. Tim. He’s of course dressed for the damp fall weather and wearing a back pack that no doubt holds the supplies he’s been able to find in the house. It’s not much, but the boy has a habit of stashing all kinds of things in various hidden places. I wonder if he started doing that after Jean-Paul locked him out of the cave all those years ago. Prudent, whatever the reason.
My resourceful little Robin.
I’m proud of him, of the direction he’s gone with his training, but I can’t have him in here. Not now. Not when I haven’t been able to scour the effects of the pollen from my system. Not when my body is obviously desiring a repeat of our previous encounter.
However, unless I’m willing to administer a couple thousand volts and render him unconscious, there isn’t anything I can do beyond let the computer’s defences deal with his efforts. It will only buy me ten minutes at most.
My talented little Robin.
I’m going to have to be elsewhere when he gets in. I can have the test results sent out to the satellite caves and use the supplies in one of the locations to put together an anti-toxin. Even if he follows, it won’t matter. I can just keep moving until it’s handled.
Heading for the Batmobile, I don’t even bother to change into anything more substantial. I make the windows opaque and head out to the sound of the engine’s roar.
Just keep moving.
END
This Way To Brothers Part One