Fic: Not Teasing
Title: Not Teasing
Character: Dick, Tim
Summery: There are some things to be considered.
Rating: R
Warnings: Self-betaed
Author’s Notes: Well, it was SUPPOSED to be a drabble, but it kind of got away from me :P
He doesn’t spend nearly as much time in Gotham as he’d like to these days. Or maybe he spends too much. Sure he’s worked out a lot of shit with Bruce, and Gotham is home as much as any one place can be, but it’s also alien these days. There’s nothing he can put his finger on of course; it’s just like it was back in the days of the evil green short pants.
It’s not my town, he thinks to himself. It’s not his city to protect. Batman rules here and does a damn fine job when he’s not having head game issues. Then there is the members of the extended batfamily that help keep things on an even keel. Really, when he comes to town, patrolling with Bruce and Tim is more of…a what? He’s not even sure. Not a chore, definitely not that. Not exactly a pleasure either, since he can’t quite shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in. Just the same, it’s nice to spend a little time with the people that matter most in his life.
The night isn’t eventful, all things considered, but it was constant and ran long. So when he pulls his bike into the cave the first thing he does is head for the mats and begins stretching. Bruce is at the computer, cowl pulled back but otherwise still suited up. He can’t see Tim anywhere. Huh. Well it is a school night. Maybe he’s already upstairs.
Legs spread wide, he slips into the splits and leans forward so that his torso rests on the spongy surface below. He shifts his shoulders minutely, pulling this way and that to work out the kinks in his lower back and hips.
“You might want to have kids some day, you know.” The cool words come from behind him. Tim. And where were you hiding, little brother?
He can’t help but chuckle. Putting his palms flat on the mats he shifts his weight and pulls his legs together over his torso, pushing up into a hand stand which he holds for a moment before flipping up onto his feet. With his customary grin, he turns to face Robin. “You’re just jealous.” The grin widens at the snorted response.
There is a companionable silence as the kid offers his still gauntleted hands so that they can do some of the partnered stretches together. There is a nice, satisfying pop from Dick’s left shoulder, which doesn’t quite make his young friend wince.
Standing up, he glances to the computer, and yes, Bruce is still working. Well, fine by him. “I’m stealing, Tim,” he announces to the cave at large and begins propelling the boy towards the showers. It’s always better when someone else is around to wash your back.
The sound of Bruce’s wordless acknowledgement is lost under the little huff of mock affront from Robin, who is actually leaning into his hands. It’s an old game that makes him smile. The boy has been very good for Bruce and himself, throwing light into their lives. Dick will freely admit that he adores playing with his little brother; it doesn’t matter if train surfing as their vigilante selves or terrorizing the staff in the Wayne Enterprise building while waiting for Bruce to finish up. Just being around the kid is a treat.
Tim swatted his hands away when Dick helpfully tried to undress him. His brother is ever so predictable. They of course have shared many showers before, it comes with the territory. However in light of some of the glances he’s seen cast his way since his latest visit began…well he’s starting to pay a little more attention to Tim’s behaviour and the subtext contained therein. Still, this is Timmy, with all kinds of unspoken rules about what kind of physical contact he’ll accept at what time.
He turns just enough that he’s not looking at the teen while he strips, taking off the Nightwing uniform and tossing it gracefully into the laundry hamper. Walking over he turns all eight shower heads to full blast, deliberately steaming up the tiled area, turning it into a makeshift sauna. Glancing over his shoulder he can see the now naked Tim scowling at his actions. “Oh come on, it’s not like he can’t afford it,” the acrobat crows easily. Hell the amount it costs just heat the Cave is more then the gross nation product of some small countries.
Tim just looks down and shakes his head. Dick is willing to bet there is a smile on his lips. His lips. He thinks about them as he lets himself under the nearest spray of water and adjust the temperature to his liking. They are very nice lips. Actually everything about his little brother is very nice, but he’s been careful not to let himself think that way. At least it had seemed prudent not to go there in the past.
Now. Huh, well he really wasn’t sure. It could be infatuation, a continuation of the hero worship that had been so very obvious when he first found the former Robin and begged him to take up the costume once more. It could even just be good old teenage hormones; not even stoic, analytical Tim is immune to that one. Or it could be something else, something with the potential to be more.
Potential is an important consideration, of course, but meaningless if not seized and acted upon. So can anyone blame him for moving up behind Timmy under his own shower head? He has no illusions of being unnoticed, certainly not when he reaches around the boy to gather a few pumps of liquid soap into his hands before they move to wash the boy’s lean back, carefully avoiding the latest raft of bruises, but putting pressure on tense shoulder muscles.
There’s an appreciative sigh and the kid is looking over his shoulder at Dick. No words are exchanged but there is honest gratitude in those dark blue eyes and perhaps something else. Then Tim turns his head back around, lifting his face up into the water spray, doing his best to relax under Dick’s talented hands. It’s not really the time of the place for an effective message, so he doesn’t feel bad about letting his hands wander from the still tense shoulders. It doesn’t escape his notice that Tim stiffens a little and holds himself still rather then shifting from foot to foot as he obviously wants too.
Large, calloused hands ghost lower, carefully not tickling, until they come to rest on that wonderful expanse of skin where hips flow into thighs. Now the young frame is perfectly still, all the good of the previous message is effectively undone. The pounding of the water covers the hitch of Tim’s breath but the slight stiffening of his shoulders is evident. When the words come they are calm and commanding: Robin.
“Dick, don’t tease. I’m to tired for a tickle war.”
The elder of the two smiles, appreciating the out his little brother had offered him, the plausible deniability for both of them. Not that such is at all acceptable. Oh no. His hands move around the boy’s abdomen, touching the sparse line of fine, downy hair which heads lower to something that is best left for later.
“I’m not teasing, Timmy,” he says, leaning in so that he can whisper over the sound of the water. “I’m offering.”
(End)
Character: Dick, Tim
Summery: There are some things to be considered.
Rating: R
Warnings: Self-betaed
Author’s Notes: Well, it was SUPPOSED to be a drabble, but it kind of got away from me :P
He doesn’t spend nearly as much time in Gotham as he’d like to these days. Or maybe he spends too much. Sure he’s worked out a lot of shit with Bruce, and Gotham is home as much as any one place can be, but it’s also alien these days. There’s nothing he can put his finger on of course; it’s just like it was back in the days of the evil green short pants.
It’s not my town, he thinks to himself. It’s not his city to protect. Batman rules here and does a damn fine job when he’s not having head game issues. Then there is the members of the extended batfamily that help keep things on an even keel. Really, when he comes to town, patrolling with Bruce and Tim is more of…a what? He’s not even sure. Not a chore, definitely not that. Not exactly a pleasure either, since he can’t quite shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in. Just the same, it’s nice to spend a little time with the people that matter most in his life.
The night isn’t eventful, all things considered, but it was constant and ran long. So when he pulls his bike into the cave the first thing he does is head for the mats and begins stretching. Bruce is at the computer, cowl pulled back but otherwise still suited up. He can’t see Tim anywhere. Huh. Well it is a school night. Maybe he’s already upstairs.
Legs spread wide, he slips into the splits and leans forward so that his torso rests on the spongy surface below. He shifts his shoulders minutely, pulling this way and that to work out the kinks in his lower back and hips.
“You might want to have kids some day, you know.” The cool words come from behind him. Tim. And where were you hiding, little brother?
He can’t help but chuckle. Putting his palms flat on the mats he shifts his weight and pulls his legs together over his torso, pushing up into a hand stand which he holds for a moment before flipping up onto his feet. With his customary grin, he turns to face Robin. “You’re just jealous.” The grin widens at the snorted response.
There is a companionable silence as the kid offers his still gauntleted hands so that they can do some of the partnered stretches together. There is a nice, satisfying pop from Dick’s left shoulder, which doesn’t quite make his young friend wince.
Standing up, he glances to the computer, and yes, Bruce is still working. Well, fine by him. “I’m stealing, Tim,” he announces to the cave at large and begins propelling the boy towards the showers. It’s always better when someone else is around to wash your back.
The sound of Bruce’s wordless acknowledgement is lost under the little huff of mock affront from Robin, who is actually leaning into his hands. It’s an old game that makes him smile. The boy has been very good for Bruce and himself, throwing light into their lives. Dick will freely admit that he adores playing with his little brother; it doesn’t matter if train surfing as their vigilante selves or terrorizing the staff in the Wayne Enterprise building while waiting for Bruce to finish up. Just being around the kid is a treat.
Tim swatted his hands away when Dick helpfully tried to undress him. His brother is ever so predictable. They of course have shared many showers before, it comes with the territory. However in light of some of the glances he’s seen cast his way since his latest visit began…well he’s starting to pay a little more attention to Tim’s behaviour and the subtext contained therein. Still, this is Timmy, with all kinds of unspoken rules about what kind of physical contact he’ll accept at what time.
He turns just enough that he’s not looking at the teen while he strips, taking off the Nightwing uniform and tossing it gracefully into the laundry hamper. Walking over he turns all eight shower heads to full blast, deliberately steaming up the tiled area, turning it into a makeshift sauna. Glancing over his shoulder he can see the now naked Tim scowling at his actions. “Oh come on, it’s not like he can’t afford it,” the acrobat crows easily. Hell the amount it costs just heat the Cave is more then the gross nation product of some small countries.
Tim just looks down and shakes his head. Dick is willing to bet there is a smile on his lips. His lips. He thinks about them as he lets himself under the nearest spray of water and adjust the temperature to his liking. They are very nice lips. Actually everything about his little brother is very nice, but he’s been careful not to let himself think that way. At least it had seemed prudent not to go there in the past.
Now. Huh, well he really wasn’t sure. It could be infatuation, a continuation of the hero worship that had been so very obvious when he first found the former Robin and begged him to take up the costume once more. It could even just be good old teenage hormones; not even stoic, analytical Tim is immune to that one. Or it could be something else, something with the potential to be more.
Potential is an important consideration, of course, but meaningless if not seized and acted upon. So can anyone blame him for moving up behind Timmy under his own shower head? He has no illusions of being unnoticed, certainly not when he reaches around the boy to gather a few pumps of liquid soap into his hands before they move to wash the boy’s lean back, carefully avoiding the latest raft of bruises, but putting pressure on tense shoulder muscles.
There’s an appreciative sigh and the kid is looking over his shoulder at Dick. No words are exchanged but there is honest gratitude in those dark blue eyes and perhaps something else. Then Tim turns his head back around, lifting his face up into the water spray, doing his best to relax under Dick’s talented hands. It’s not really the time of the place for an effective message, so he doesn’t feel bad about letting his hands wander from the still tense shoulders. It doesn’t escape his notice that Tim stiffens a little and holds himself still rather then shifting from foot to foot as he obviously wants too.
Large, calloused hands ghost lower, carefully not tickling, until they come to rest on that wonderful expanse of skin where hips flow into thighs. Now the young frame is perfectly still, all the good of the previous message is effectively undone. The pounding of the water covers the hitch of Tim’s breath but the slight stiffening of his shoulders is evident. When the words come they are calm and commanding: Robin.
“Dick, don’t tease. I’m to tired for a tickle war.”
The elder of the two smiles, appreciating the out his little brother had offered him, the plausible deniability for both of them. Not that such is at all acceptable. Oh no. His hands move around the boy’s abdomen, touching the sparse line of fine, downy hair which heads lower to something that is best left for later.
“I’m not teasing, Timmy,” he says, leaning in so that he can whisper over the sound of the water. “I’m offering.”
(End)