[email log] you've built your refuge turns you captive just the same

[cantstopmoving]

November 12. It's been a week since the break up. Three since I got here. Tim's finally remembering to breathe between plans, tasks, and training exercises. He even forgot he's not supposed to smile...really smile, not that thing he does when he knows he's expected to smile...for a few minutes this morning.

For a few minutes, before he remembered to put on his armor...before he forgot that he's not allowed to want me...before he remembered that I couldn't possibly want him...before he remembered he's Robin and forgot he's also Tim.

For that few minutes, he was the right person. My bed with him in it is never going to not be the right place. There's no one I trust more with everything that's kept me from being with Monet or Helen or Alcuin or Jack or even trying to start it up with Roy. The same everything that means I can't...just can't...lean on Babs or we'll fall into bed and destroy our friendship for another six months.

Not was the right person. Is the right person. And I'm the right person for him, too. I'm the safest place in the world for him to fall. This...my room...in his house...is the right place. Is there ever going to be a right time?

Maybe he shouldn't be thinking about Tim this way, but fresh out of the shower, good tired from a long day, waiting for him to come to bed, what else is he going to think? Morgan thought they were lovers. Tim's not just sharing his bed but taking comfort from being close and so is he. He hasn't had sex in over a month, which, as Tim points out is definitely approaching a record. He's gone longer, but usually only when he's trying not to die.

He rolls over onto his stomach, arms under his head, to watch the door. And wait for Tim.

Tim was on the roof, a full story above where Dick lay waiting. Barefoot, in long pajama pants and a thin, worn t-shirt, legs folded into a lotus as he weighed his options against each other. First, was the off-handed invitation this morning from Dick. Early to bed, no doubt because Dick didn't consider one night of sleep enough and wasn't going to risk Tim falling back into his pattern of the previous week. Tim appreciated the concern and privately admitted that it wasn't unwarranted. Going to Dick's room, sharing his bed again, was an attractive option. That was both a pro and the most grievous con. Tim knew just how much of his wish to take this path was based on the attraction that he'd always had for Dick Grayson. And how much was just that he'd become accustomed to not sleeping alone.

Which brought him to the second option. His room stood empty, untouched, home only to ghosts. The longer he left it that way, the harder that it would be to go back. He should face it now, before it was too strong for him to defeat. Dick had given him shelter for a week, protected him when he couldn't protect himself, constructed a safe space so that Tim could regain his strength, find his footing.

Tim rose, decision made. He wasn't sure that he was ready yet. One more night. That was fair. One more night that would keep him from nightmares and grief. It was the promise he made himself as he followed the stairs down two floors. He could have one more night and then he had to learn to stand again. "Sorry I'm late."
He'd fallen into a light doze, but the sound of Tim's footsteps or maybe just the feel of the air in the room with him there brought Dick fully awake. He smiles without lifting his head from his arms. Rolling over probably isn't the best idea right now, either. "Just means I'll make you sleep in an extra hour."

"You're hilarious." Tim crossed the floor and hesitated for a second before he got into bed, next to but not touching Dick. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I didn't realize that you'd be so tired." He felt like he was grasping for things to say, not at all sure how this was supposed to work. It felt like it should be easier.

"I am," Dick agrees, entirely ignoring the sarcasm. Tim does that when he's nervous and awkward and making an issue out of it's only going to make it worse. "It's fine. I was just relaxing." He lifts an eyebrow, then unfolds one arm to run his fingers through Tim's hair. "You should try it some time." This is going to be harder than last night. He wants Tim in his arms now, and not in the you'll sleep better way.
Tim leaned away from Dick's hand. Letting anyone touch his hair just seemed too intimate and he really didn't want to face his own reaction to it. It was better, he felt, if he didn't make a big deal out of it though so he shifted a little and made sure his voice was casual, "I do know how to relax, big brother. I've made a study of it and I'm confident I have a solid grasp on the theory."

It stings a little, Tim moving away from his touch. Especially after the way they woke up this morning. And, he can admit it, because he's thinking right person. One thing he's never going to do, though, beyond tease him a little, is put Tim in a position where he doesn't feel like he can say no. Not about that. Other things, sure. But sex...the entire idea twists his stomach. It's enough to calm his unruly cock, too. "Knowing how and doing it are two different things." He rolls face up and opens his arm in offer. "I'm good at it. I'd be happy to teach you."

"No more lessons tonight. You were sleeping. I should too." Tim knew well enough that if he refused Dick's touch again, Dick will take it personally and it wasn't, except in all the ways that it was. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around Dick's wrist as a compromise. "Thank you. For this. I was thinking about it and I think I'd started to go a little crazy before I slept."

If he hadn't actually been trying not to fist himself thinking about Tim, he'd probably have teased him about it. But when it came to love, sex, and Tim generally, Dick knew he couldn't lie well enough to pull that off. "Don't worry about it," he says instead, then tugs gently against his grip. "If you're being shy, don't. We're going to wake up in a tangle anyway." A soft smile, almost sweet with love and sleepiness curves his mouth. "I like it, so don't worry about it."

Dick's wrist slipped out of Tim's fingers when he tugged and he closed his grip on air. Tim had to look down, look away before his eyes could widen like they wanted to and the blush could show up on his face. He wasn't as pale as he'd been two years ago. But the tan he had now wasn't going to hide everything. "I'm sure it's inevitable."

"Since both of us are related to cephalopods..." Dick teases, reaching out again to rub Tim's shoulder. It's hard to tell in the dark, but Tim's blushing. Dick's seen him duck his head often enough to know. He wants this, just to hold him, even if he can't have anything else, it helps to have his arms around someone who loves him. He wants it, but he's not going to push. "C'mere?" Ask, but not push.

There was enough wistfulness in his voice that Tim didn't feel completely selfish, moving in a little more, giving himself the permission to slip his arm around Dick because it wasn't just about him. "Stop begging, N. You'll embarrass yourself." His voice is dry to offset the way his hands fisted so they wouldn't clutch.

"You know, Tim, I think once you wake up with someone's dick against your ass, it's kind of gauche to call them by their codename in bed." Dick's insouciant now that Tim's touching him. What he gets with Monet is hot, definitely, but it's not the same as being with someone you've known for most of your adult life. He curls his arm around Tim, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his t-shirt splaying at his lower back for the feel of warm skin. "Besides, I think me begging would embarrass you a lot more than it would me."

Tim's cheeks burned. "Shut up and go to sleep, Dick," he mumbled and very firmly closed his eyes.

If Tim had moved away, or tensed, Dick would've apologized. He didn't, so neither did Dick. Instead, he smoothed his fingers against Tim's lower back again and soaked up the feel of him. "Nice talk, Tim. You could still sleep on the couch, you know." But the way his fingers flex to pull Tim closer say he couldn't be less serious about it.

Or in my own room, Tim's brain filled in. The physical cues said that he didn't have to worry about that. He could stay here, letting himself unwind minute by minute and listen to Dick tease him in ways that meant everything was all right. Even with all the things that he's not thinking about, everything is okay. "No thanks. It's nice here. Flat, if somewhat noisy."

"You haven't heard--" Dick laughs slow and soft, cutting off the thought that Tim's never heard him noisy. "I guess you have, haven't you?" It's nice, more than nice, to tease Tim like this without him panicking or flinching away. Being himself, all of himself, with Tim is easier than it should be. Right person, right place...

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and sleep?" Tim responded. He was beginning to sound drowsy, words starting to slur into each other as his relaxation techniques kicked in, supplemented by the soothing touch of Dick's fingers on his back. "And I don't know what you're talking about. I usually had a telephoto lens. I spent most of my time across the street."

"Most," Dick answers, smugly satisfied, but quiet. Tim's starting to slide and he's just talking him to sleep now. If he stops talking, it's a state change, and that'll wake Tim up again. "Is not the same as all. Plus, you knew what I was talking about well enough to say you were across the street." His fingers don't stop moving either, but slow, soothing Tim and lulling them both into trance state. "I don't take orders from you anyway."

"You don't take orders from anyone but him," Tim yawned and moved in closer to the warmth, despite the fact that the night was muggy. "It's easy to know what you're talking about. I know you after all." His fingers crept along Dick's ribs, precise and perfectly spaced though he definitely wasn't awake enough to be concentrating on it.

His chest tightens with the acid wash of 'him' not being here, but it fades quickly in the slow, humid warmth of Tim's breathing against his shoulder. With the sweetness of a Tim too tired to remember they've been apart two years. Dick lifts his hand to cup the back of Tim's head. He rolls up enough to brush his lips over the top of Tim's head, mostly to stop the burning ache of needing to kiss him. "Yeah. You do. Sleep well, Tim."

"Tim, get home. Now." Oracle's voice is anything but human but that isn't the thing that freezes the blood in Tim's veins.

"What're you talking about? What's wrong?" But he knows. He knew from right first moment. All of it confirmed in the next breath by her next words.

"It's your dad."

They've turned around before the breath can choke in his throat. Speeding back home and he already knows.

"Barbara, patch me thr--" She's good. He doesn't even get to finish the sentence.

"Tim?"

"Dad? Dad, are you okay!?"

"I-I'm fine. I think he's in the hallway. I've got it, though...I'm fine." He's trying to sound brave. To sound like he's at least as brave as his 16 year old son who... oh God.

"Dad, this isn't some African safari! Get out of there!"

"He's definitely in the hall!"

Dimly, through the blood rushing through his ears, he can hear Bruce's voice, telling Barbara to call Wally and her reply. Taking away a little more hope and he doesn't want to hear it. "Already tried. He's not picking up."

Tim has to beg. It's his father. Bruce of all people will understand. "Bruce, please... Please help him..." He's never seen that expression on Bruce's face before. He's never going to be able to forget it. Bruce knows too. It's too late. He's always too late.

He's too late and his dad is breaking his heart. "He's at the door. Tim, if something happens," Nothing will. He'll stop it. They'll stop it. "Tim, I need you to focus. You listening, Tim? Good. Then understand one thing: if you don't get here, it's not your fault." And he can't protest anymore. The plea is stuck in his throat, "I need you to know this Tim--it's not your fault. Okay? You didn't do this." I did though. If he hadn't left. "I love you, Tim. I love you just like your mother loves you."

"Dad, please." It's all he has left.

"What you do... for all those people... it's worth it, Tim. Never question it. It's worth it."

"Dad, we're almost--"

"Tell Bruce to take care of you..."

"DAD!"

Tim woke, screaming.

The warmth of another body pressed close lulls Dick into an light, dreamless sleep. Time passes, but he's not aware, and then he is, of muscles tensing and twitching under his hand. His sleeping mind notes it as nothing unusual, a partner's dream. Nothing to worry about and he sleeps on.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he vibrates to full awakeness, pulse leaping with the sharp inhalation and racing as Tim screams. He freezes. Threat?

Tim.

He rolls. Runs his hand up Tim's back and pulls him in against his chest, throwing a leg across his hips. Instantly and instinctively. "You're okay. I've got you." Low, soothing, soft, even though both their hearts are slamming against Dick's ribcage and Tim's body's heaving in his arms. "It's okay. I'm right here."

Tim clutched at Dick instinctively, gasping for air in huge, gulping wheezes. Dick had no shirt for Tim to grab onto so his nails scraped skin instead, seeking purchase, proof that he was awake and it wasn't happening all over again. The scream hadn't been that loud, not really, though in his dream it echoed and echoed and never died away. It was always like this. Always this violent, always this abrupt. And he's never gotten used to it. Not in two years, two months and four days. It's never stopped being just this bad.

After the first hissing breath and instinctive arch of his body for Tim's nails in his skin, Dick ignores them. Clawing, gasping for breath, scrabbling for a handhold - Tim's mostly out of the dream and looking for something real, here and now to hold onto. Dick lifts him and puts him beneath him, just like he does with Roy or Roy with him, pinning him between Dick and the bed. "Tim, listen to my voice. Focus on it. Follow it back. You're here, with me, in my bed, in your Treehouse, on Tabula Rasa. You're not there, you're here, and I've got you."

His own heart's slowing, calm returning now that he knows the threat's one he can handle. One hand comes up to Tim's face, cupping it, stroking the cheekbone with his thumb and his voice softens, thickens, for him to promise again: "I've got you."

Slowly, far too slowly, Tim's breathing slowed, his hands went from claws to merely grasping. His heart still raced, but he could try now to focus, calm himself. "Dick," was the first thing he said, relief pouring into his voice, almost enough to combat the fear of it. He pulled in a breath and shuddered it out again immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm okay." Maybe he was just saying it for his own benefit but it was something, "I'm okay. I promise."

The caresses don't stop, not the hand on Tim's face, and not the other that's found its way under Tim's t-shirt to smooth just above his hip. He brushes his lips over Tim's forehead. "You're okay," he tells him, ignoring Tim's efforts to protest that he's fine. He will be fine. It was just a nightmare, but Tim's held onto all of this too long, so it's not really just anything. "Tell me if you can. It'll help. Promise." Promise, and it takes every ounce of his will not to seal it with a kiss.

Too late. Tim moaned, turned his face away, unable to face the flood of emotion. Dick holding him helped, the touches so much more than just comfort. But he couldn't talk about it. If he talked about it, he wasn't sure that he'd make it. Right now it was a nightmare. Talking brought it here, made it real all over again. "A nightmare. It was a nightmare." Their lives had been full of things that would mark them with nightmares.

It's been more than a month. And Tim's beneath him, throat on offer, moaning. His cock fills, burning a brand against his hip. If it were anyone else - right person, right place... If it were anyone else, he'd have their clothes off already. Wrong time wrong time wrong-- His lips graze Tim's throat, hand tightens against his hip - time, right time right time. "Tim." His voice sounds raw, hungry. Right person, right place...

It was impossible to miss or mistake, even as caught up in his own fears at Tim was, and he grabbed at the opportunity it presented. Stop the fear, stop the hurt, stop the loss. Just give in to the barely restrained want in Dick's voice, Dick's hand, Dick's body and let him replace everything else. Using him, his mind protested. His fingers drew up Dick's spine and found purchase in his hair. "What?"

A soft sound, hungry and hurt, rips from his throat. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. God, he shouldn't. Tim's scared, hurt...

And if it were Monet, or Roy, or anyone else looking up at him with those eyes. Holding his hair like that...

He shouldn't, but... right person, right place...and right time? He takes another open-mouthed kiss to Tim's jumping pulse. "I want... I can help, if..." He lifts his head to meet Tim's gaze, even though he's not sure he wants to see, in the dark, what's there. Tim's had a crush on him for years, but this... "I can help, if you want me to."

Tim watched him, his expression waiting to decide on what it needed to do. He would have to be a clueless idiot to miss what Dick was offering, miss the implications of it. Tim wasn't an idiot but he didn't know why Dick was offering. Because he'd been jolted awake by Tim's nightmare? Because caring for Tim was what he'd learned in those mysterious two years that Tim didn't have with him? Was there any part of this that was because Dick wanted it for more than an itch to scratch, breaking a month-long abstinence? "Talk to me, Dick." Ask me no questions, Tim wanted to amend but he was pretty sure that Dick would know that already.

Talk to me. Laughter rushes up like shaken champagne. Too much, too much. He shoves it back down. Props himself on one elbow to give them both a little space and runs a hand through his hair while he debates the wisdom of answering Tim with his mouth crashing down over the mouth that's been taunting him from under the mask for years. "And tell you what? That I've been waiting for the right person, right place, right time, and you're it?" Dick squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, groaning for his inability to keep his mouth shut. "There. Done." And how is that Tim, who has wanted him for so long he took telephoto pictures of him having sex with Kory is doing a good fake job at calm, minutes after a nightmare, and Dick's ready to crawl out of his skin? Focus, Grayson. "If you want me, I can help you stop hurting. But only if you want. It's up to you."

The fake calm was betrayed by the rapid flutter of his pulse, the knotting of his stomach. His first thought, probably understandably, was of Bart and he winced from the stab of guilt and twist of fear. Wasn't this exactly what he'd been avoiding by breaking up with Bart? They had determined that it wasn't working. That using each other to bandage wounds just got them both bloody and broken.

Dick wasn't Bart. Dick hadn't died. Dick hadn't changed almost beyond recognition and Dick didn't need to be held together with both hands lest he crumble to dust. Dick was strong, beautiful, willing. And family. He could be trusted. Tim lifted his chin a little, aware that it will present his mouth more prominently but not really thinking about that. Dick wanted him. Maybe only for right now, for tonight but it's something. "I'm not very good at asking for help. I don't know how to start?"
It's yes. Dick knows. He knows like he knows when to unwrap his arms in a twist. He just does. But he see it in the angle of Tim's chin, the offer of his mouth, the flutter of his pulse where Dick's lips have just been. Feels it in Tim's body still close to his, still receptive to his touch. The thing is (--Don't touch me, I'm filthy.--)... The thing is, he has to hear it. In words. It's not enough.

The hand on Tim's cheek sleeks back into his hair, a gesture that's as paternal and fraternal as it is also dominant and sensual. It's an offer of both comfort and sex, his heart and his body, without insisting on either. "I need you to say the words." If he sounds more insistent than usual, if there's a tiny tremor beneath that tone, he's not aware of it, except as part of his need never to hurt Tim. "I need to hear you say 'yes' to me or no matter how much I want to, I won't touch you." Your choice. Always your choice. I promise.

Tim looked away, from nerves, not rejection. "Back home, I'd gotten used to the idea that I could only look. Part of the audience. And I was okay with that, I liked working with you. Talking to you. I thought about it before. Hard not to." He wanted to explain. About preferring girls. About still being in love. He didn't know if they'd be reasons or excuses. Tim looked back. "Yes."

Dick waits, listens with everything he is. He hears Tim's uncertainty, but feels the 'yes' again before he says it. His heart squeezes down hard, then releases to beat staccato. Nervous. That makes him smile. "I can't remember the last time I wanted to be perfect for someone this much," he confesses quietly, still stroking Tim's hair. "I love you. As much as I've ever loved anyone. Always will." That's just true and he's wanted to say it since he got here. "You can say no, any time you change your mind. I promise that will be okay."

The 'I love you' battered inside Tim's skull and prevented entirely any other thoughts that might have occurred to him. He hardly even heard the rest of it, not that it mattered. It shouldn't matter that much to him. Dick loved easily, Tim knew that and didn't think any less of him for it. Confessions of love came easy. Acknowledgments of it. Acceptance. In so many ways, he was the opposite of Tim, who fought the emotion, hoarded it, hid from it. That which he loved, inevitably he lost and Tim didn't know how many more times he could take that.

Or rather he did. He knew exactly how many more times. Kon. Dana. Bart.

Tim closed his eyes. "You'll be perfect. You were from the moment I met you."

It's all right that Tim won't say he loves him. He's been hearing Bruce say it without saying it for fifteen years, too. Tim's been worshiping him for almost as long as he's been doing what they do, and to hear it said, in words, is more than enough. Especially when what he wants is to help Tim heal from the people he's loved and lost.

He turns his hand to dust his knuckles along Tim's cheekbone, learning the familiar plane in a new way. Inhales deeply, eyes closing, and lets go of everything but right now. Everything but Tim. His fingers uncurl to slip into thick hair, longer than he's ever known it, but perfect for this. When he does come down over him again, it's slow and quiet, his other hand moving Tim's arm out from between them and resting Tim's hand on his waist to give him permission to touch and hold. Then coming up to frame Tim's face before he lowers his head. Everything easy and quiet, even though he wants this, aches for it.

First kisses are special. Each one unique and personal. This one starts with gentleness. His mouth brushing against Tim's like their bodies have so many times before. His heart leaps with the spark of connection when he fits his mouth over Tim's and breathes against him, catching his lips, soft and lingering. Right person, right place, and yes yes yes right time.

Tim's breath caught in his lungs as he tilted his chin up, his head swimming with the rush of emotion that came with the tender, sweet touch of Dick's mouth to his. He wanted to cry, closed his eyes against a well of tears. He didn't know what he'd expected from their first kiss. Something urgent maybe. Fumbling and firm. Of the moment. But it turned out that what Tim knew about kissing in general had nothing to do with kissing Dick. His hands found Dick's back again, holding on so carefully as he returned the kiss.

God he's missed this. Kissing someone he loves this much. There's nothing like it, and nothing like kissing Tim. Tim who holds on like he's afraid to ask too much. To want too much, when Dick would give him anything he asked for. Everything.

Both his thumbs sweep Tim's cheekbones now, one dipping down to catch against his mouth when Dick pulls back to smile, bright and brilliant. "Hi."

Tim opened his eyes again, blue and shimmering wet. Stared up at Dick, at the smile that dazzled and charmed everything lucky enough to see it. His mouth moved softly against Dick's thumb, hardly a whisper of breath behind the wry, knowing tone, "Come here often?"

Bright blue eyes, just like his, filled with tears. With someone else, that would be code for stop. With Tim, it's what he needs. To be able to feel whatever he feels, safely. Nowhere safer than this, and those tears aren't fear. Not with the caress of his lips against Dick's thumb and the Robin-banter. "First time," Dick answers, confessional and warm, dipping down again, head tilted to press their mouths together for a breath and a heartbeat. "It's got a good feel, though. Definitely planning on going back."

Tim's exhale wasn't quite a moan but it wanted to be, soft and inviting. His hands skimmed down Dick's back, finding the scars that he knew so well, orienting himself on the map of time they represented. This one was before his time. This one after. This one they'd been together for. He licked his lips and managed a return smile that he knew was shy but had no idea was sweet. "Good to hear it."

Dick arches under Tim's hands, skin aching for the touch, breath catching in his throat. Mapping scars. They all do it. Usually after the first fuck, but Tim's Tim. Analyzing him like any other data. Sorting variables known and unknown. Dick grins for it, perverse, and takes Tim's mouth again, still tender, but demanding, opening his mouth with the sweep of his tongue and tasting. If Tim can be himself and collect, process, parse, Dick can be himself. Physical tease to shut down his brain and make him feel his body.

Tim offered no resistance, opening for Dick's tongue, moving to meet the kiss with his whole body. He was still thinking, it took more than a kiss to shut down his brain, but he definitely wasn't thinking about anything but Dick right now. He was more aware of Dick's weight on him than before, pressing him into the mattress, covering him. This time, he couldn't help the moan.

A wave of heat washes over him with Tim's moan. Another first. First show of need. Dick drinks it in, licking the taste of it from Tim's mouth. Shifting to nudge Tim's thighs apart and press one between them. Tim's strong enough to take his weight, so Dick lets him. Tangles one hand messily in his hair and skims the other down his side to tug at the hem of his shirt. God, he wants skin. Wants Tim under his hands, not cotton, even well-worn and faded. "Off," he urges, then nips at his mouth. "Want to feel you."

Tim made a protesting sound at that request. It meant taking his hands off Dick when all he wanted to do was press himself up again Dick's thigh, pull him down to make it better. It was only because he was used to following Dick's orders unquestioningly that Tim shifted. Caught his own shirt in his hands and pulled it up and off, cotton sliding away in a tease so skin could brush skin.

Now it's his turn to moan, a soft aching sound that's got nothing to do with a month of abstinence and everything to do with who he's breaking it for. "God, Tim," Dick breathes, hushed, and runs his flat palm over Tim's chest, before settling down over him again. His eyelids are heavy, kisses drugged slow and hungry along his jaw to his throat.

Tim shivered under his touch, hardly able to believe this was real. Maybe it was still a dream, a dreamed rescue from the nightmares that had plagued his nights for two years now. Maybe his subconscious mind had brought Dick to rescue him, to drive away the terror. Tim's head tilted back, exposing his throat, offering it without reservation. Not a dream. A dream couldn't feel this good.

That's the second time tonight Tim's offered his throat, the first he's really meant it. Pupils dilated so wide he can see it flutter, Dick skims his fingers along the carotid. A low groan rips from him, torn -- Tim's his. He's always been his. But not like this. His head drops, lips part over the soft sweet skin to bare his teeth. They scrape just hard enough sting, and he sucks just hard and long enough to raise a faint bruise that Tim will feel more than see. If they keep this up for awhile, he'll mark him, because he can already feel the protective possessiveness that wants it clear anyone who hurts him answers to Dick.

His body knows the difference and protests, cock flexing against Tim and urging him to take, claim, possess. But the rest of him just wants Tim to feel good, wants to feel good with him, then tumble back into sleep and wake up to do it again. Keep Tim sweat-sticky and well-fucked until he sleeps deep without dreaming.

For all that Tim knew Dick, he didn't recognize the possessiveness for what it was, just as something driving him crazy. He was so hard that he hurt, his hips rocking minutely against Dick's thigh, and every breath shuddered out with a needy sigh. Dick's skin is surprisingly soft over hard muscles underneath and Tim couldn't stop touching to save his life. "Dick..." he had no idea how he'd intended that to end.

His skin's so fevered, stretched so tight Tim's greedy hands have him shivering and grabbing breath in gasps, exhaling on rasping half-moans. God. Tim. That tone... and the feel of him... hard and pushing against Dick's thigh, little hungry rocks like he's hoping Dick won't notice. Like he could miss something he wants that much. He skims his hand down Tim's thigh, lifts it, urging it up around him. His mouth moves in graceful arcs over the claw marks in Tim's shoulder, kissing, licking, tugging, teasing out those shuddery breaths. After a minute, he turns his head, pressing his cheek to Tim's shoulder. "Anything, Tim... anything you want."

Give Tim permission to cling and that's what he'd do. His leg hooked around Dick's hip, arm curled up under Dick's arm to grip his shoulder. Dangerous to offer Tim anything he wanted when all he wanted was this--Dick close against him, covering him, protecting. Later he'd be hit with the guilt of this, of betraying Bart (which is what it feels like even if he isn't really), of failing to be strong and demanding too much. Right now, he let his heart control his mouth instead of his brain, even though that was dangerous too. "I want this," is what he said. What it meant was just love me. I don't want to hurt anymore.

This. Dick groans, forehead pressed to Tim's shoulder and hands running greedily over as much of Tim as he can reach. His hips rock, rutting slowly against Tim's thigh, and he wants, god he wants, to reach for the condoms and coconut oil in the box by his bed and bury himself in Tim so deep he's caressing his heart with every heated thrust. Wants it so much he's leaking into his boxers like he's sixteen with Roy again. He curls his fingers around Tim's ass, fingers teasing the cleft. Tim won't say 'no', is past the place where he can, which decides it. Not tonight. If Tim still wants him tomorrow or next week when he's done freaking out, Dick's going to fuck him to sleep and wake him up the same way. He lifts his head to cover Tim's mouth again, keep him kissed and kissing until he can get them both out of the sticky wet mess of fabric between them. He'll do it. He doesn't want Tim thinking of anything right now except how good it feels to be loved.

The kiss, deep and drugging and hot and open and everything that's right about this, kept Tim sufficiently pliable as Dick maneuvered their twined legs apart, stripped away Dick's boxers and Tim's pants. He wasn't thinking about tomorrow or next week or anything but right now. He moaned with the loss of touch then gasped when skin touched skin, his cock sliding slick and rock hard against Dick's stomach.

His breath catches then hisses out at the slide of wet, hard cock against his abs. He moans, long and low, for hot skin against hot skin and buries his face in Tim's throat. Pants, open-mouthed against his neck while he aligns their bodies, rubs the length of his cock along Tim's. "Tim." God. It's been way too long and there's no one he'd rather be with right now. No one else he trusts with the way he's coming apart at the seams. He struggles with it anyway, wanting to focus on Tim, love Tim, give to Tim and not take from him, but he needs so much. "Missed this..." he breathes, lips skating over Tim's jaw up to his mouth. "Need this with you."

"Oh god, Dick." Tim's hand buried itself into Dick's hair, gripping tight so he can kiss him, forestalling any more of that kind of talk until his heart stopped clutching so hard he ached with it. Dick wanted this. Needed this. Needed him. he couldn't even breathe. His skin was on fire, every nerve lighting up to scream with pleasure, the undulation of his body under Dick's unconscious and urgent. Dick's cock against his made him want to beg, stars exploding behind his eyes. "Please..."

Please. Dick huffs a raw, hoarse laugh into Tim's mouth that ends in a low choked sound almost a sob. Words on his lips - don't have to beg, anything you want, couldn't stop now if I tried, love you so much - all fade at the sight of Tim's eyes lust-dark and glazed. He catches Tim's face in both hands and takes his mouth, fucks it wide with his tongue, body thrumming-taut like freefalling in wait for his glider, hangs there suspended, locked up with the pleasure of it. Hand tight in his hair - god he loves that - Tim writhes beneath him...the head of his cock slips over Dick's, shocking him loose and shuddering with weeks' worth of pent-up need for someone else's touch.

Tim's hips thrust against Dick with the same desperate rhythm as the kiss, just as open, just as giving, just as hungry. Part of him wanted this to go on forever, his world constricted down to Dick's mouth, Dick's cock, Dick's hands and stomach and thighs and strength and love. The rest of him couldn't hold on anymore and he spilled between them, giving their movements more to glide in, more to feel and he sobbed his orgasm into Dick's mouth, holding him closer than ever.

Tim's release, the sudden scalding heat and sweet sob of it, sets Dick free. No more thinking, only feeling. Flying. His kisses slow, no less hungry but softer, the thrust of his hips settling into a glide - the long, slow screw he craves, shivering with pleasure and moaning wantonly for Tim. He's too keyed up to wait long, but he's flying for Tim, and deep-down he needs Tim to witness this, to share it with him.

Tim shuddered through his orgasm, then continued to tremble at the toogoodtoomuchtoosoon thrust and slide of Dick's cock against his. He had to make himself open his eyes, needed to see Dick and know that it was them, together. Everything they'd been through. All the time that he'd wanted. He had to know now that finally it wasn't his imagination, wasn't a fantasy, wasn't stolen moments through a camera lens. Dick's pleasure came from him.

Wide-open eyes, color-leached in the low light, but as blue as his watch him from too close to see. What Tim wants, he wants. For Tim to know it's him making Dick purr and moan this time. No one else. He's too close to urge Tim's hand down around him, so he lifts up, changes the angle of the thrust for more friction and pulls back enough to lock their gazes together through the last of it. Deprived of Tim's mouth, his teeth catch and tug on his bottom lip, hold it against the whimper of being seen. Then it's too much and he's soaring, spinning, twisting, tumbling. For you, is the only thought he can form but the words are trapped in the pulsing rush of release.

Dick was so beautiful that Tim's breath caught in his throat. His hands dragged down Dick's sides, reveling in Dick's release. For you. The sound of that moan, those words torn from Dick's throat almost involuntarily. Tim wanted to shout for joy and instead sat up just enough to find Dick's throat, suck on his pulse and claim this release.

Tim's mouth...god...Tim's mouth on his throat... He's blown open, nothing hidden, nothing held back... because there's no need. Tim knows him. He's home, and Tim's got him. He can let go completely and does, unspooling with throbbing pulses that radiate into his palms and soles and pound in his ears. His head falls forward on a whispered "love you" that's as true as anything he's ever said, then he settles down over him, tangling their legs and rolling them to their sides in a single short burst of strength. After that, he can't stop touching him, reverent fingertips learning the feel of Tim relaxed and sated.

The loss of Dick's weight made Tim whimper and curl into him, his mouth still soft against Dick's neck. Sanity returned slowly and Tim's first rational thought was that they needed to clean up or they'd be in for a horrible morning. His second was a rush of gratitude toward Dick, for all that he'd poured himself out to save Tim from his nightmare, from his grief. His third was worry again and his body tensed. What would Bart say?

Instinctively protective, Dick rouses from afterglow to curve his arm tighter around Tim and pull him in. His lips graze Tim's temple, fingertips sweep low to the base of his spine again and splay, keeping him close. "Might want to think louder. Pretty sure someone in Somalia didn't hear you worrying." He hooks a leg over Tim, too. "Relax. Stay here with me. It's good. I love this." Tease, order, soothe - exactly like normal.

Possessive and reassuring at the same time, Tim wanted to smirk at it but he couldn't deny that it worked, the slow, lazy, almost entitled drawl in Dick's voice demanding that Tim's muscles relax again and actually enjoy it. Dick didn't need to complain that Tim was too serious for the sound of his voice to echo in his thoughts anyway. All this needed was Dick ruffling his hair and calling him little brother and it could have been the end of patrol instead of the end of sex. Admittedly, they were usually less naked after patrol. And not in bed. Often sticky though, depending on what they'd encountered that night and how close they'd come to dying.

He was babbling in his own brain again. "I'm sorry. This was..." Words were so inadequate. How did he express all the ways Dick had saved him tonight? "I should have warned you about the nightmares. They're not usually that bad."

Eyes closed, Dick lets Tim's after-sex let-down babble wash over him. Familiar voice, familiar patterns, familiar fears - he's listening, really he is. Just not with his brain. He listens with his body, loose-limbed and warm around Tim...not as tense as usual...not as defensive as usual...more open...most important, not doing Tim's trademark don't touch me oh god never let me go clenched fist clutching. Uncertain, Dick decides. Worried. Also not going anywhere.

His sex-slowed brain glides and loops through possible responses, while his fingers glide and loop over the smooth and scarred skin of Tim's back. "We all have them. Mine are usually about failing." Twining his leg tighter around Tim, he inhales, smiling for the known scent of Tim's sweat mixed with the unfamiliar but welcome scent of his come. "It's not why I put you under me. Just a catalyst." He tilts his head down to catch Tim's mouth, teasing it open into a long, slow kiss for no reasons other than he loves Tim and he wants him to relax and sleep.

Noted, Tim thought as he surrendered to the loving, insistent plunder of Dick's mouth on his. At the back of his mind, all the old fears and excuses and reasons stirred and coiled, like a roil of snakes in a pit, but he gave himself permission to leave them for now. They weren't going anywhere and they couldn't be helped. Right now, Dick was kissing him. Right now, Tim didn't hurt.

Not right away, but eventually, Tim starts to drift, mouth slowing against Dick's until it's just open, accepting. His eyelids are heavy too, but he forces focus long enough to kiss Tim to sleep, then rolls carefully to his back, Tim's head on his shoulder and his hand in Tim's hair. I've got you, floats through his brain before he follows Tim down.

When he wakes a few hours later, they've shifted again. The scent of sex and warmth of skin...or just his natural octopus tendencies...curled him up and around Tim. He's hard, of course. Morning. Tim. Love of sex. Love of Tim. Love of sex with Tim. And that's just getting started. He's managed to slide his hand low on Tim's stomach, pull his ass back against him and insinuate his erection between the cheeks of an ass that - if he's honest with himself - he's been stealing glances at for at least a year now.

Tim's not awake. His breathing's still slow and regular, and Dick has a choice to make. Roll away and let Tim pretend until he can wrap his mind around what's happening between them. Or stay here, love him awake, and make sure he knows Dick doesn't regret it. It's not a difficult choice, but it is a choice. He stays, ducking his head to tuck his nose into Tim's throat. That part's for himself. Tim's still his right person, right place, right time and knowing Tim, it's going to be a little while before he can have this again.

No more nightmares tonight. Tim's breathing had remained undisturbed, his dreams fleeting sensations of warmth. Even now, when he started to stir awake, it was an easy process. Not abrupt and violent but slow, gradual. His body woke first, snuggling back the way that he never allowed himself when he was conscious, head shifting minutely. From that light doze, he blinked open his eyes then caught his breath on the inhale. From one heartbeat to the next, Tim went from sleeping to awake and assessing. He held himself still while his mind raced.

He was being held, his brain noted first off, cuddled possessively to be more accurate. The arm around his waist, the hand on his stomach, the leg holding down his. The hard cock in his cleft. Which pretty much eliminated any question of whether or not his memories were real or dreamed. Listening to the quiet breath behind him, he wasn't sure whether or not he was the only one awake. He should try to get up. Get cleaned up. Get back to his own room. Carefully, his hand moved to Dick's wrist, to move it off him.

Even if Dick had been asleep, Tim couldn't have got his hand on his wrist without waking him. Dick's been doing this years longer than Tim and nothing gets between Dick and his instincts. He's awake, though, so his hand flattens against Tim's stomach and smoothes upward, instead of being pulled away.

A kiss behind Tim's ear, another on his shoulder, another on his cheekbone, each soft and lingering, unmistakably dragged against bare skin so that Tim can't mistake them for brotherly affection. No point asking Tim to stay and play. He won't. But five minutes won't kill him and will help calm the inevitable Tim-style brain-running-in-circles what-did-he-mean-by-that-what-should-I-do-I-can't-have-this freakout that's coming. So he asks for ten, "you can stay ten minutes without being late," then presses another more heated kiss up under Tim's jaw.

Shutting down his excuses before he could even make them. Typical Dick. Tim resisted the urge to lift his chin, welcome the kisses and tried to remind himself that this had to be a one time thing. They'd both needed it and Tim could be pragmatic about that. But he was also going to have to be the one who was realistic about the limited nature of it. Dick was out of his comfort zone, in need of the familiar--which was Tim. Tim was hurting from his breakup and seeking some kind of balm. Nothing wrong with that but it was what it was.

Tim rolled forward instead, pressing against the hold Dick had on him. "Ten minutes from now we might not be the only ones awake and I don't think this is something that needs to be team knowledge."

Ignoring the protest, Dick rolls forward with Tim, trapping him beneath and more intimate than before. "Ten minutes from now," he says across Tim's ear. "We'll still be the only ones awake for another twenty minutes. If anyone is awake because they've suddenly been replaced by Bat versions of themselves, they won't be surprised to find you coming out of my room." The lube is within reach. All he'd have to do...No. Not like this. He can hold Tim until he surrenders, and then let him up. But sex waits until it's the right time again. "Everyone knows you're not sleeping in your room, or Bart's, but you are sleeping. That leaves here." The only way Roy doesn't know he had Tim last night is if he was out having someone else.

"Tim--" He softens, kissing that claw-scarred shoulder again. "Relax for a few minutes. You've got all day to come up with reasons why you can't have this."

Surrounded. Pushed into the mattress. Tim pressed his forehead to the pillow and forced himself to breathe through the sudden pulse of need. One of them needed to be sensible. "The day starts now, Dick. I need a shower. You do too."

"Eight minutes left," Dick answers and kisses the back of Tim's neck, open-mouthed and teeth scraping. He can keep Tim pinned here all eight of them, but he'll have to fight for it, which defeats the purpose of Tim starting the day feeling safe and loved. "Give me five, and we'll call it even."

Tim hadn't been aware that his neck was so sensitive and his hands fisted as he fought a whimper. This wasn't going well. "One more minute," he managed to say, voice tight. "Then you have to let me up."

His cock pulses for the whimper. He closes his eyes and forces his hips still. "Three minutes." He nuzzles Tim's neck. "You can shorten it to two by relaxing and rolling over," he urges, hoping Tim's going to give for it. "Then I will let you up. Promise." Tim knows. Dick will never break a promise to him.

Two minutes. They could have two more minutes. It wasn't the wisest course--especially given the fact that they were both hard and wanting--but it was a compromise that Tim could live with. The tension bled out of his shoulders and he nodded. "Okay. Let me." He sounded like he was steeling himself for it. But that couldn't be helped.

Dick relaxes fractionally, but Tim's a Bat. He's entirely capable of lying to get what he wants and making it sound like truth. But Tim won't break a promise to him either. "Promise me," he says, but his heart's in it, warming it. He wants these two minutes as much as Tim needs them.

That made Tim laugh, just once. He deserved that suspicion and earned it too, through years of work. Anyone else would have never believed he'd lie. Dick knew precisely how well Tim could. "I promise. Two minutes. You're wasting them."

"Two minutes." His chest shouldn't feel this tight, but it's Tim. Letting Dick love him. It doesn't matter that he had to negotiate for it. It only matters that Tim would never give in if he doesn't want these two minutes too. He lifts up enough to stroke Tim's back from shoulder to hip and rest his hand intimately above his ass. "Starting now."

Dick was deliberately making this hard to give up, Tim had known that he would. Tim shifted, rolling under Dick's hand until he was flat on his back again. But these were his two minutes too so once he'd rolled, he reached up, caught his hand in Dick's hair and pulled him down into a kiss, trying to catch the feeling of the night again, one last taste of it before they went back to their lives.