He Would Never, Ch. 2

[kleine_aster]

Fandom: Batman
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake
Genre: Humor, angst, slash
Warnings: Awkward sex, angst, mental scarring and wrongness? XD
A/N: In which Dick Grayson opens the floodgates. Bruce Wayne, ruiner of things, clearly has some issues. The massive hangover after the light-hearted first part. This chapter turned out darker and weirder than the first. HOLY MOOD WHIPLASH, BATMAN.


"Are you infatuated with me?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dick stared at him like a burglar did an approaching bat. His first instinct was to bolt, run to his room, lock the door, block the door, throw himself on to his bed, hide his face in his pillow and don't come out until Alfred told him it was time for him to study abroad. Perhaps burn that picture he loved so much, in shame.

He'd been caught at things before. Caught stashing cookies in his room during salad week. Caught snooping through Batman's classified criminal files. Caught sneaking out with that pretty girl he'd thought he had a crush on, which turned out to be false alarm when they eventually played seven minutes in heaven.

He'd never felt as utterly, thoroughly caught as he did when Bruce asked him that.

Later, Dick Grayson pondered that things would have been very different if he'd just given Bruce a friendly punch, exclaimed "Ha! Good one!", done a somersault off the desk or something, then waited for an appropriate moment to excuse himself and go hide under his blanket.

But he wasn't capable of that. All that came out of him, in a meek, tiny voice unfit for a Robin, was: "Please don't talk about it."

Bruce made a strange sound at that, a small, pained hiss as if someone had driven a dagger into his chest. "So it's true."

"Please don't talk about it."

His mentor and friend seemed almost relieved. “That’s…fine. I won’t, then.”

Dick almost never cried. He'd cried when he lost his parents, of course, and sometimes he still cried about that, in secret. But he hadn't cried when the Penguin had kidnapped him. Or when The Riddler had kidnapped him. Or when Two-Face...had kidnapped him, or any of the others. He felt like crying now.

Usually sometimes, when Dick was feeling sad, Bruce would still let him rest his head against his chest, putting his strong arms around him. But what could they do when his sadness was directly connected to his desire to lean on Bruce's chest? He looked down at his boots, feeling crushed. Robin, Dick Grayson, was a friendly, helpful, sincere boy, which meant shame was a queasy and unfamiliar feeling for him. And he'd never been this ashamed in his life.

His torment must have been plastered all over his face, because after some hesitation, Bruce talked about it, anyway.

"You don't have to be ashamed," he said, as if he'd read Dick’s mind. He did his best to sound composed, but he seemed tense and uneasy, which was devastating. His broad shoulders looked as if they were hard as rocks now. Dick had felt them when they were hard as rocks.
They were spectacular.

"What you feel is not bad," Bruce told him, sounding oddly disconnected as he said it. "It's understandable. From a psychological standpoint, it's probably...all I’m saying is, you don't have to be ashamed."

Dick couldn't even look at him. A dry heave escaped him.

Bruce did that thing again where it almost looked as if he'd touch his cheek and then didn't. They were very close, him sitting on the desk, and Bruce standing in front of it.

"It's my fault," the Caped Crusader suddenly uttered, with that tinge of guilt that followed him around like a shadow.

This finally made Dick look up at him. His eyes felt like they were burning. "If it's not bad, why does it have to be someone's fault?" He wondered.

Bruce dodged the question. "It's probably fleeting," he said smoothly, avoiding Dick's gaze. "A fleeting notion brought upon by idolization and familiarity. You'll soon graduate, go to a good college, see more of the world than a dark manor and a dusty cave. And it'll pass. It'll...it'll pass." He didn't sound as smooth anymore as he finished. He still seemed awfully tense.

"And if you do prefer the company of men - "

Dick winced.

"Then there is nothing wrong with that, either. Things are different now than they were when I was - I can hardly imagine you'd ever have trouble finding...companions." He turned his head and intently looked at a spy glass on his desk. "You’re. You’re very handsome."

Dick's face was flushing. He blinked. Once. Twice. "Thank...thank you…?"

There was no reply from Bruce, only another muffled sound. And the rustling of papers as Dick changed his position again, edging closer to him. He was full-on sitting on those files now; not that either of them paid attention.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked. "Do you want me to go and uh, see more of the world?"

"I do." Bruce let out a rare chuckle. "I won’t lie, part of me wants to keep you around forever, of course. You’re an important asset to me. But you're not a boy anymore. You're becoming a man - "

"I'm not becoming one, I am one!" The boy in the hotpants and pixie boots protested.

"You are." Bruce's voice had become raspy. His expression was hard to make out behind the cowl, but something about it looked pained. "And that makes you - "

He was muttering even worse than usual when discussing delicate things. Despite his embarrassment, Dick leaned in closer because he wanted to get every bit of this, it seemed important. “Yes?”

Bruce’s frosty eyes looked narrow, as if he himself wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. The last word was a whisper, more for himself than Dick. “Dangerous - ”

"...what?"

Bruce seemed to recoil, from him, and from what he’d said. He withdrew into his cowl again. "Nothing. It’s late and I’m talking nonsense. Go upstairs."

Dick had been trained to connect dots and read verbal and nonverbal cues all his life. In hindsight, it seemed odd that he didn't realize it sooner. But all he remembered later was that twisted mixture of excitement and anxiety that washed over him as he did.

He almost smiled, despite the deep shiver than ran down his spine. "You..."

"I said go upstairs."

Another thing Dick had always been was cocky, and daring. Caution was important, but he'd never survived as long as Robin as he had if he hadn’t known when to take a risk.

He didn’t go upstairs. Instead, he decided to peel off his gloves. If Bruce couldn't bring himself to touch him, he sure could. The cave was cold, as it always was, but Bruce's face was warm as he put one hand on it, then the other.

A small jolt went through Bruce's entire, massive frame, and Dick knew with certainty that his suspicion was true. His fingertips as they brushed his cheeks were trembling. And underneath them, Batman was trembling, too.

He resisted when Dick tried to pull him closer, stood hard and firm as a rock, hissing “Don’t.”, in a dark, shaky voice.

What he didn’t do was shove him away, or brush off his hands or…throw him across the room, as Dick very well knew he could have. Trying something, he ran his thumb over the other man's lips. Bruce had a charming smile, actually, but Batman’s mouth was severe, almost never smiling, smirking at most. His lips were softer than he’d expected. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him so much; lips were supposed to be soft. Even his.

He felt shuddering breath graze his skin. "Stop it - "

His heart skipped in his chest. "N-no."

It hadn’t been a 'Stop it' as in 'Stop this silliness, Dick, you're being silly'. It was a low, raw growl, coming from deep inside Bruce’s chest. Almost like a warning, like he would address one of his villains.

And it was exciting. And Dick had no idea what he was doing. He felt light-headed; his body was burning up. It was as if he was running a fever. He was suddenly oddly aware of how bare his legs were. Not even the girls in the rock clubs showed as much leg as he did right now. He wanted Bruce to put his hands on them. He wanted to know how it felt. Since Bruce was not moving, he used his hands to pull himself closer, bringing his face up to his, until he could feel that hot, fragrant breath on his lips.

No matter what would happen after that, he would forever know that Robin had kissed Batman at least once.

And then, that moment never materialized.

Once prompted, Batman moved too fast even for Robin.

Instead of putting his lips on him, Dick yelped as Bruce suddenly grabbed his shoulders and slammed him down on the desk.

The impact would have knocked out a lesser teen. As it was, Dick gasped for air as he found himself pinned on his back, with six feet and two hundred pounds of Bruce on top of him, shaking with barely contained something.

For a few split seconds, he became convinced that Bruce would murder him, when his gloved hand found his throat. Dick stared into those eyes glaring down at him from behind the cowl, and he could see the anger burn in them. But then, the touch turned into something like a half-hearted, unsure caress, ghosting over his throat and then on to his half-exposed chest, making him squirm.

And he understood that all that anger was not directed at him.

"This can't happen." Bruce's voice was choked, coated with self-loathing and doubt.

Dick struggled for breath. Even through the glove, Bruce had to feel his heart hammering against his fingers. "I know…"

From behind the cowl, Bruce looked at him as he would the open hood of the Batmobile when it acted up. That was, grimly determined and vaguely irritated. Only with an added layer of intensity.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He confessed through his teeth, sounding frustrated. “It’s different when it’s the women. Bruce…I. I know how to court them. How to please them. When to leave them. But you?”

Dick let out a gasp and quivered as the Bat descended on him, proceeding to whisper into his ear, lips brushing against exposed skin.

“You know what I really am.”

“But I…” Dick licked his lips. It wasn’t easy to form words, because he had to focus on not prematurely making a mess in his pants and further embarrass himself. He’d already gotten hard at the idea of them kissing. Bruce had to feel it, he had to, it was right there, hard against his stomach. Dick honestly wasn’t sure how much of Bruce hoarsely whispering intimate things to him he’d be able to take.

His hand found its way to the masked face, stroking it clumsily. “I like what you are,” he managed to croak.

That made Bruce groan against his neck, tormented. It had either been a really sexy thing to say, or it served to make him hate himself even more. Dick wasn’t sure which one. But it was hot. Almost reflexively, he brought up his legs and wrapped Bruce in them, which did absolutely nothing to cool either of them down. Seconds later, he gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of feeling another man’s arousal press into his thigh.

Bruce’s voice was hot like molten lava by then, as he breathed another desperate warning that sounded like a threat and an obscene, twisted promise at the same time. “I will hurt you.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Dick whispered back.

Much, much later, thinking back on it, Dick Grayson concluded that that had been a really dumb line.

His lips parted, still thirsty for a kiss that hadn’t happened, and he let his hand slide down between Bruce’s legs, giving him a curious squeeze, which earned him another tortured moan, coming from deep inside his throat. Dick slowly moved his hand up and down, feeling the heat underneath his fingers, the strain against the fabric. A soft whimper escaped him. He wanted to touch it. Kiss it. Do all kinds of things to it.

His hand was brushed away, and for a moment, he feared he’d gone too far. But then, Bruce muttered, “Let me…”, and for the first time, he seemed more flustered than saddened or enraged as he let go of Dick long enough to get out of his costume. The top part went first, then the utility belt, and then…then the rest went, too.

Dick sat up and watched with rapt attention. Bruce looked even more handsome like this than he did in that photo, now that he could see every muscle flex in his body. But when Dick tried to move in, and tugged at the cowl covering his face, Bruce took his hand again.

“No.”

Dick blinked, but all Bruce did was place his hand against his warm, bare chest, allowing it to go from there wherever he wanted it to, as long as it wasn’t the cowl.

“It can never happen up there,” he told him, nodding towards the cave’s exit. “Only here.”

“Only here,” Dick agreed breathlessly. He would’ve agreed to anything right now. He was so painfully aroused that he could have wept, and his really short shorts were not helping. He’d have to get out of those.

Batman growled with grim approval at his answer.

Then, he grabbed Robin’s red and green vest, and ripped it open right down to his navel in one swift move, sending buttons flying all over the place.

“…oh!”

Dick looked down at his suddenly exposed flesh, then up at Bruce, who stood over him, looking terribly beautiful and very intimidating.

“You…ruined my costume,” he mumbled, sounding equal parts shocked and thrilled.

“Well,” Bruce replied, sounding equal parts mournful and very hungry, “That’s me. I ruin things.”

And with that, he took him by the shoulders, and finally, finally pushed their mouths together.

It was a wet, hot, open-mouthed, urgent kiss. This wasn’t how gentlemen gallantly kissed their socialites at all. This was how the wicked politicians they sometimes observed kissed their forbidden lovers. Greedy, sloppy, breathless, slippery tongue going everywhere, so filthy. And so good.

“This is a disaster,” Bruce moaned into his mouth.

“Mmmyeah,” Dick agreed, desperately rocking against him, “This is bad.”

Still sucking and licking and nibbling at his mouth, he threw his arms around the taller man, lifting himself up and practically forcing Bruce to cup his ass with both hands for support. That was the moment Bruce seemed to fully realize that Dick had that ass. His complete impatience as he eventually started clawing at his pants to peel them off was beautiful. It was a wild, clumsy affair, and Dick howled in agony and lust as Bruce repeatedly crashed him into the desk again.

Then all he could do was fall back with a defeated “Uhn!” and bite the back of his hand, as Bruce kissed his way down his body, then proceeded to determinedly remove his pants with his teeth. He arched his back, biting down hard. It felt crazy.

Bruce didn’t seem to mind Dick squeezing his head with his thighs, like he sometimes would an attacking opponent’s, only with a lot more moaning, writhing around and throwing his head back this time. Bruce’s lush black hair was tickling him. He kept himself busy down there, using his mouth and his tongue, lapping at him, sending little shivering shocks through Dick’s entire body until his purposeful grinding dissolved into a series of uncoordinated twitches. Somehow, he’d kicked off his boots, and now his heels were digging into the toned muscles on Bruce’s back. He could feel Bruce’s nails enter his flesh as he struggled to keep his madly jutting hips in place. He tasted his own blood on his hand, which he was still biting, but he couldn’t let up. The Batcave was soundproof, he knew that, but he felt like the series of raw, needy wails he was currently holding back would’ve brought down the entire mansion. This was dirty, very dirty, and very very tender, too. He wasn’t sure how long -

The second Bruce actually, really put his mouth on him, it was over.

His bloodied hand flew out from between his teeth and a hoarse cry died in his throat as he was pulled into a sudden, deep, shuddering climax.

He had absolutely no memory of those few seconds after, but they had probably not been horribly important. The point was, the world hadn’t ended.

“You…do know how to do it,” he woozily told Bruce as he came into sight again, leaning down on the desk next to the trembling mess of disorganized limbs that Dick had become.

Despite the cowl, he did look more like Bruce than like Batman now. As in, he looked slightly mischievous and reluctantly pleased with himself. Not to mention wonderfully flushed and out of breath, like when they were playing tennis together, only better.

“I had…theories,” he admitted with a broken smile. His lips were swollen and raw. There was a lot of wetness. It was simultaneously queasy and pretty to look at. Even if he also never really stopped looking vaguely sad.

“You hurt your hand.”

“It’s nothin’.”

Bruce plucked a dark lock of hair out of Dick’s face. He seemed hesitant to kiss him on the lips, now, but pulled him close nevertheless, and placed a firm kiss on his sticky forehead.

“Robin,” he whispered, an abyss of affection opening up underneath that single word.

He didn’t say ‘Dick’.

Dick tensed a little at that. “B - ”

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to say ‘Bruce’, or ‘Batman’, or what. So he said nothing, put his arms around him and nuzzled his face against his neck, squeezing him as hard as he could. And Bruce squeezed him back, shaking to the core, even though he wasn’t cold. Dick could feel the heat emanating from him, as well as his arousal still pulsing, brushing against his hip. Bruce didn’t seem to expect anything from him, but even though he lay perfectly still, his breathing was ragged and it hitched as Dick’s fingers danced across his stomach, then further down. He smirked lazily against Bruce’s neck. This was almost like torturing him, but much cooler than when the Joker did it.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut. “You don’t. Have to - ”

“Oh, stop it.”

It was his turn to get on top now. Bruce’s eyes flew open again, and he looked at the Boy Wonder straddling him with some scepticism.

“What are you doing.”

“Dunno,” Dick admitted, grinding against him. The movement made all the blood rush back into his tortured loins again. “I thought that maybe you’d like…maybe you’d want to…”

“…very much,” Bruce told him huskily, while his hips were involuntarily jerking up to meet him. “But that’s not a good idea - ”

“Probably…not,” Dick replied, lowering himself down on him anyway. He bit his lip at the strange sensation of something - someone - entering him. Slowly, slowly. Oh. Ow. This was…unfamiliar. He took Bruce’s hands and placed them on his hips. “Help me…”

A few inches into it, however, he realized this really hadn’t been the best idea.

“Wait. Stop. N-no more,” he whispered, shaking. He would’ve collapsed on top of Bruce if his hands hadn’t been there, holding him tight.

“Are you sure…?” Bruce asked him, longingly, though he did stop.

Dick let his head sink against his chest. “Yes. N-no more. I c- …I can’t.”

“It’s all right.” Bruce seemed to compose himself, drawing deep, deep breaths. And then, he started to move against him, cautiously, slowly, and with great restraint.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Oh…this is…oh.”

It was an odd game of closeness and distance, pleasure and pain, caution and passion. Dick let out a series of little cries, nails clawing at Bruce’s chest as the taller man reached down and started stroking him. Their bodies swayed against each other, rhythmically, rocking the entire desk. They were never far from toppling onto the floor. Dick’s knees were getting bruised; but that happened a lot, anyway.

It didn’t take long until Bruce’s movements became more erratic, more frantic, even though he was obviously still holding back. “Yes,” he hissed, shakily, and Dick had never heard him say yes to anyone or anything with so much fire or conviction, “Oh. Yes - ”

His head fell back, his whole body became incredibly hard and tense, and then he trembled all over as he reached his peak with a strained, exhausted sigh, taking a twisting, groaning Dick with him.

He collapsed on top of him, panting and sore and heavy as a rock, but Bruce didn’t seem to mind. His arms were heavy, too, when he put them around him, but they were very welcome. Dick listened to Bruce’s heartbeat; it was racing in there.

A while later, they were lying on the floor underneath the desk, where Dick had his head nestled against Bruce’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything. Very soon they’d have to pack up their things, get dressed, and go upstairs again. Upstairs, where time didn’t stand still. At that moment, Dick understood why Bruce had said it could only be here, and why he hadn’t called him by his name. Down here was where they could do whatever they wanted; up there was reality. He sighed.

Eventually, he heard Bruce clear his throat. “I’m…profoundly sorry about the situation with your costume,” he said awkwardly, voice still raw from all that moaning and sighing. “We’ll get a new one right away. Maybe a more resilient one this time.”

“Yes. Or,” Dick snuggled up to him, looking up at him intently. “We get a dozen tearaway ones. What d’you think?”

“We’re not getting you a Robin stripper costume. No.”

“Aw.”

Bruce didn’t reply, only stroking his cheek for a while. Then he tore his gaze off Dick’s face with some effort, and looked around with a defeated sigh. “Well. I’ll have to clean this place up now,” he growled. “This has turned into a DNA nightmare.”

“Kiss me,” was all that Dick had to say to that.

Bruce pondered that. Then, he reached out and grabbed his cape, draping it over both of them. Dick immediately felt…warm, protected; his eyelids were getting heavy.

Underneath the cape, Bruce leaned down, held his face, and kissed him on the lips again, very sweetly this time.

That was the moment where they could have realized that they were in full-blown catastrophic love with each other, and that neither of them was prepared for it.

But instead, Dick simply felt as if he was walking on air. He gave in to that gentle, lasting kiss, and for that incredible moment in time, he was completely, a hundred percent convinced that this thing was totally going to work.

*****

Tim had completely downed his water by the time Dick had ended.

It had taken him about 8 minutes to tell the entire story; because he’d left out pretty much everything. Despite what he was thinking, there were a lot of details that Tim Drake simply didn’t have to know.

Dick was glad that they hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in the living room. He was shaking a little bit. He’d never told this to anyone before; it was a strange, naked feeling, and underneath that, a mile of sadness that he could’ve done without, and underneath that…gratitude.

“Feeling better now?” He asked Tim softly. At least one of them had to.

“Not in the slightest.” Tim mumbled, fumbling with the empty bottle in his hands. Then he grimaced. “I worked at that desk, you know that, right?”

Dick shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

Tim studied the label on the water bottle, even though it was way too dark to read the print. But then, he sighed. “But I’m…relieved, I suppose. It could have been worse.” He winced. “Not much worse, admittedly, but…well, I can deal with it. Though I’m really glad I didn’t inherit your costume. I mean, I was always glad about that, but now I’m especially so.”

He looked up at Dick, abruptly. “Was that why you really quit, though?”, he asked shyly. “Because things got complicated? Was that why you didn’t want to be Robin anymore?”

“No.” Dick frowned. Tim still didn’t understand. Perhaps the abridged version really didn’t cut it. “I quit because I wanted to be my own man. Because it was time for me to go out and make it on my own, like he had. And because I wanted to be Nightwing. But that thing with me and Bruce, I…”

He lowered his head. “I would’ve carried on with that forever.”

“Oh,” Tim said, uncomfortably.

Dick raised his head and stared at him. Wasn’t it obvious by now? He had said, on many occasions, that he would give his life for Bruce, for Batman. Was it such a stretch that he’d given him his mind, his body and his soul as well?

He didn’t want to say these things, but maybe he had to, at least once. “It wasn’t complicated, not for me, at first. After it happened, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I wanted to project it into the sky, like the Bat signal, only more romantic and lame. I was…” he paused to chuckle grimly at himself, “Well, in my stupid teenage brain, I thought we’d be boyfriend and boyfriend, you know? Something like that. But it couldn’t work.” He huffed. “Never sneak up to Batman wearing only a kimono and two champagne flutes. That doesn’t end well.”

Tim glared at him. “Thanks for the heads-up, Dick, as I was definitely going to try that,” he said dryly. But he seemed to immediately feel bad. “I mean … I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dick gave him a weak smile. “Anyway, for him, it was different. Difficult. With every time it happened, he hated himself a little more, I think. Because in his mind, it was wrong, and Batman didn’t do wrong. I mean, the sex was - ”

He stopped himself mid-sentence. Tim really didn’t need to know, though the sex had been great, getting greater every time. But a few weeks in, they’d started whispering I love you to each other while they were making it, and it became obvious that they were getting themselves into something that Bruce wasn’t able, or willing, to do.

Well, at least he could say that he was one of the few - perhaps the only one - who’d ever been done by Batman on the hood of the Batmobile. Repeatedly. Another thing that he wouldn’t bring up, even though it had been amazing.

“I think he felt that he couldn’t think clearly anymore, when it came to me,” he said instead. “And that what we were doing somehow made Batman and Robin more vulnerable, which might have been true. So he … let me go.”

And that had been the end of it. Sure, when Dick went to college and discovered beer, there had been certain weepy late-night phone calls that he was still embarrassed about, with him stammering while Bruce repeated “Can’t talk now. I’m in the Batmobile.” over and over. But he’d learned the hard way that when Bruce Wayne was shutting a door, he was really shutting it.

Though once, when they’d found themselves alone together on the balcony during a Wayne fundraiser, Bruce had given him a sad smile and had actually dared to say that see, it would’ve been selfish of him to keep Dick all for himself. That was the first and only time Dick Grayson had ever thrown a Fresca in the Dark Knight’s face and walked off.

They were friends now. Friends now. How that stung.

Tim processed all that, then he tilted his head, looking at him with something other than massive discomfort for a change. “You’re a complex man, Nightwing,” he concluded.

“Despite my best efforts, yes,” Dick crumpled his own water bottle and tossed it into the trash in a perfect curve.

They sat in silence, in the dark. Dick wondered if he should call up Bruce tomorrow. Maybe they could do that thing with the long silences and the awkwardly re-telling the events of the week to each other. That’d be neat.

He was distracted by Tim poking him in the knee from across the table.

“Hey, Nightwing.”

“What?”

For a horrible second, he thought that Tim would try to say the right thing, or comfort him, or prod him even more, resulting in another avalanche of spilled guts and hurt feelings. But he’d underestimated his little brother, it seemed.

“After all this … d’you feel like doing something normal now? I’ve heard that the Killer Clown Collective is trying to smuggle genetically enhanced Chupacabras into the country down at the docks. We could take a look. Face-kick a bunch of crooks. I could really go for that. How about it?”

Dick Grayson fluttered his eyelids, grinning. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said.