(DCU) Taxing
Title: Taxing
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Dick/Tim
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1459
Notes: This fic exists because contrary_izybel is evil and challenged me to make taxes sexy.
Summary: Tim thinks he's there to do Dick's taxes. Dick has other ideas.
“You could ask Oracle to do this, you know,” Tim grouses, ballpoint pen spinning agitatedly across his fingers.
He can hear Dick shuffling around the apartment behind him, bare feet padding across the floor, drawers opening and closing. “Nah, Babs is too busy to be worrying about stuff like this,” Dick answers.
“Oh yeah, because my life is just an endless stream of free time and slacking off,” Tim mutters, stabbing the pen down to scratch out one of Dick’s more erroneous calculations. Suggesting Dick take care of his own taxes is apparently a joke, considering the total mess he’s made of his returns.
Dick starts whistling nonchalantly. Tim’s grip on the pen tightens until it creaks. “What about hiring an accountant?”
“Urgh, only grown-ups have accountants,” Dick replies, and Tim can practically hear him grinning.
Tim vigorously scribbles through yet another set of numbers that Dick apparently pulled out of thin air. He knows Dick’s perfectly capable of legible handwriting, so there’s no excusing the confusing chicken-scratch scrawl. He reaches over to the mug full of stationary perched on the edge of the desk, grabbing a mechanical pencil. The mug has a Bat-symbol painted on it in pink and purple - Tim keeps meaning to ask where Dick got it.
“Besides,” Dick says from right behind him, his tone one of singsong cheer, “this gives us an excuse to hang out.”
Tim snorts under his breath. “Me doing your taxes counts as ‘hanging out’ now?”
He feels Dick’s hands settle on the back of his chair, and then Dick’s leaning forward, his presence suddenly right there, looming behind Tim’s left shoulder. “Yeah, it does,” he murmurs, breath scorching against Tim’s ear. “Mmm, seeing you frowning in concentration, all hunched over and chewing on the tip of your pen, getting it all wet…”
Tim swallows thickly and tries to push his chair back, but Dick’s boxing him in. “Chewing on my pen? You’re seriously getting hot for me chewing on my pen?!” His voice is trying for exasperation, but somehow it comes out a little too soft, a little too breathy.
“Always hot for you,” Dick purrs, lips brushing over Tim’s earlobe. His hand moves up to squeeze Tim’s shoulder, fingers curling slightly under the neckline of Tim’s t-shirt. “Always.”
Tim closes his eyes, tongue swiping restlessly over his bottom lip. “I really need to fini-”
He’s cut off by Dick’s other hand tangling in his hair, yanking his head back harshly enough that his back arches out of the chair. Dick’s mouth is at his neck, kissing the column of his throat, and Tim can’t help the groan that escapes when Dick’s teeth scrape along his skin.
The hand at his shoulder slides down his chest, fingernails scratching him roughly through his t-shirt, and then Dick’s got a fistful of the material and is using it to hoist Tim out of his seat.
Tim barely has time to register the world blurring around him before he’s spun around and tipped back over Dick’s desk.
“W-wait, Dick,” he gasps, voice catching as Dick’s hands make short work of his belt buckle. “I thought you wanted -”
“Oh, this is all I want from you right now, Boy Wonder,” Dick leers, finger trailing over the clothed curve of Tim’s hard-on. Tim almost wants to laugh at how damn cheesy that sounded, but then Dick’s cupping him roughly through his jeans and the laughter dies in Tim’s throat.
He squirms fitfully as Dick flicks open the button and eases down the fly, before lifting his hips so Dick can pull denim and his boxers down his legs. Tim kicks them off when they reach his ankles, and Dick’s thumbs press into the meat of Tim’s thighs, just above the inside of his knees. “Spread for me, little brother,” Dick whispers, and one day Tim will maybe remember to object to Dick calling him that when they’re doing this but he can’t quite manage it right now, too busy panting for air as he fans out his thighs.
Dick stands between Tim’s legs, staring down at the hard curve of Tim’s cock with eyes that are dark and hungry, and Tim feels his hips buck up against his will at the sight.
“Been waiting for this since the moment you got here,” Dick breathes, and then he’s leaning down, mouth sliding over Tim’s cock in one long movement that makes Tim shout and knock his head back against the desk. Heat, all over, pressing down on him and so damn wet, and Tim can hear himself making these hurt little noises as he tries to rock up against the hold Dick has on his hips.
Dick pushes down again, then lifts his head achingly slowly, the head of Tim’s cock sliding over the ridges at the roof of Dick’s mouth. Tim’s hands scrabble uselessly over the desk, paper rustling beneath his fingers as he knocks at a stack of folders. The mug tips over, pens and fat markers clattering across the surface.
Dick’s fingers flex against his hips, and then there’s suction, hard and insistent. Dick’s told him the walls of his apartment are soundproofed, but Tim’s pretty damn sure that everyone in the building heard the way he just cried out.
One of Dick’s hands slides down his thigh, before gripping his knee and pushing it up. Tim groans, head rubbing back against the desk, as Dick’s palm curves around his calf and lifts until it’s resting on Dick’s shoulder. Spread out and on display and Tim can never really get used to what that does to him, the way he feels like he could just shake apart.
Dick’s head is bobbing between his legs in this almost cruel rhythm, sharp and steady, too much, too fast. It makes Tim feel like the entire universe is centred on Dick’s mouth moving over him, so it takes him a moment to register the tickle at the back of his raised thigh.
The tickle becomes a firmer touch. It’s about as thick as Dick’s finger but it’s too cool against his skin, too solid. Tim manages to raise his head slightly before Dick’s tongue presses against the head of his cock and his head thumps back down, but he catches a glimpse of a marker pen in Dick’s grasp.
Dick trails the bottom of the pen up along the back of Tim’s thigh, painfully slow compared to the way he’s working his mouth on Tim’s cock. The slightly hysterical part of Tim’s mind is thankful that it’s the bottom of the pen and not the nib, because he’s pretty sure that’s permanent marker.
The pen reaches the crease between Tim’s thigh and ass, caressing the skin there lightly. But it’s only a brief pause, and then it keeps moving, sliding down beneath Tim’s balls, teasing along his cleft.
Tim’s eyes snap open. “You can’t be serious?!” he yelps, only it comes out all strangled and high-pitched and he feels Dick’s lips stretch around him in a wicked smile.
The blunt end of the pen feels impossibly solid as it brushes over the puckered edges of Tim’s entrance. “Wait, I -” Tim babbles uselessly, and then it’s pressing up, pressing inside, and Tim gasps and whimpers for the feeling of being opened, the friction of it.
Dick’s pace doesn’t change, mouth still bobbing over him with these obscene slurping noises, but Tim can feel the pen, feel it moving, sliding further in. Whining as Dick changes the angle, and then it’s pressing up against the harder nub of his prostate, and Tim’s fists are beating down on the desk because Dick is keeping it there, holding it against the sensitive ball of nerves. Insistent pressure and it’s just too much, and Tim feels something like a scream tear its way out of his throat. Pushing up into the heat of Dick’s mouth as he spills his release, ears ringing and heart thudding and everything flashing cold then hot.
He knows he’s making these soft little noises on every breath, and Dick’s nuzzling at him as he softens, and Tim shivers as Dick slides the pen free.
Feels Dick step back, and it takes a long moment to find the strength to push up on to his elbows. Dick’s smirking at him, one hand lazily palming his crotch, the denim of his jeans tented over his own arousal.
“By the way, I should probably let you know,” Dick shrugs, and the smirk grows a little more pronounced. “I actually do have an accountant.”
Tim’s mouth opens and closes a few times, before he growls and whips the pink and purple Bat-mug at Dick’s head.
Dick catches it easily, but it still makes Tim feel better.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Dick/Tim
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1459
Notes: This fic exists because contrary_izybel is evil and challenged me to make taxes sexy.
Summary: Tim thinks he's there to do Dick's taxes. Dick has other ideas.
“You could ask Oracle to do this, you know,” Tim grouses, ballpoint pen spinning agitatedly across his fingers.
He can hear Dick shuffling around the apartment behind him, bare feet padding across the floor, drawers opening and closing. “Nah, Babs is too busy to be worrying about stuff like this,” Dick answers.
“Oh yeah, because my life is just an endless stream of free time and slacking off,” Tim mutters, stabbing the pen down to scratch out one of Dick’s more erroneous calculations. Suggesting Dick take care of his own taxes is apparently a joke, considering the total mess he’s made of his returns.
Dick starts whistling nonchalantly. Tim’s grip on the pen tightens until it creaks. “What about hiring an accountant?”
“Urgh, only grown-ups have accountants,” Dick replies, and Tim can practically hear him grinning.
Tim vigorously scribbles through yet another set of numbers that Dick apparently pulled out of thin air. He knows Dick’s perfectly capable of legible handwriting, so there’s no excusing the confusing chicken-scratch scrawl. He reaches over to the mug full of stationary perched on the edge of the desk, grabbing a mechanical pencil. The mug has a Bat-symbol painted on it in pink and purple - Tim keeps meaning to ask where Dick got it.
“Besides,” Dick says from right behind him, his tone one of singsong cheer, “this gives us an excuse to hang out.”
Tim snorts under his breath. “Me doing your taxes counts as ‘hanging out’ now?”
He feels Dick’s hands settle on the back of his chair, and then Dick’s leaning forward, his presence suddenly right there, looming behind Tim’s left shoulder. “Yeah, it does,” he murmurs, breath scorching against Tim’s ear. “Mmm, seeing you frowning in concentration, all hunched over and chewing on the tip of your pen, getting it all wet…”
Tim swallows thickly and tries to push his chair back, but Dick’s boxing him in. “Chewing on my pen? You’re seriously getting hot for me chewing on my pen?!” His voice is trying for exasperation, but somehow it comes out a little too soft, a little too breathy.
“Always hot for you,” Dick purrs, lips brushing over Tim’s earlobe. His hand moves up to squeeze Tim’s shoulder, fingers curling slightly under the neckline of Tim’s t-shirt. “Always.”
Tim closes his eyes, tongue swiping restlessly over his bottom lip. “I really need to fini-”
He’s cut off by Dick’s other hand tangling in his hair, yanking his head back harshly enough that his back arches out of the chair. Dick’s mouth is at his neck, kissing the column of his throat, and Tim can’t help the groan that escapes when Dick’s teeth scrape along his skin.
The hand at his shoulder slides down his chest, fingernails scratching him roughly through his t-shirt, and then Dick’s got a fistful of the material and is using it to hoist Tim out of his seat.
Tim barely has time to register the world blurring around him before he’s spun around and tipped back over Dick’s desk.
“W-wait, Dick,” he gasps, voice catching as Dick’s hands make short work of his belt buckle. “I thought you wanted -”
“Oh, this is all I want from you right now, Boy Wonder,” Dick leers, finger trailing over the clothed curve of Tim’s hard-on. Tim almost wants to laugh at how damn cheesy that sounded, but then Dick’s cupping him roughly through his jeans and the laughter dies in Tim’s throat.
He squirms fitfully as Dick flicks open the button and eases down the fly, before lifting his hips so Dick can pull denim and his boxers down his legs. Tim kicks them off when they reach his ankles, and Dick’s thumbs press into the meat of Tim’s thighs, just above the inside of his knees. “Spread for me, little brother,” Dick whispers, and one day Tim will maybe remember to object to Dick calling him that when they’re doing this but he can’t quite manage it right now, too busy panting for air as he fans out his thighs.
Dick stands between Tim’s legs, staring down at the hard curve of Tim’s cock with eyes that are dark and hungry, and Tim feels his hips buck up against his will at the sight.
“Been waiting for this since the moment you got here,” Dick breathes, and then he’s leaning down, mouth sliding over Tim’s cock in one long movement that makes Tim shout and knock his head back against the desk. Heat, all over, pressing down on him and so damn wet, and Tim can hear himself making these hurt little noises as he tries to rock up against the hold Dick has on his hips.
Dick pushes down again, then lifts his head achingly slowly, the head of Tim’s cock sliding over the ridges at the roof of Dick’s mouth. Tim’s hands scrabble uselessly over the desk, paper rustling beneath his fingers as he knocks at a stack of folders. The mug tips over, pens and fat markers clattering across the surface.
Dick’s fingers flex against his hips, and then there’s suction, hard and insistent. Dick’s told him the walls of his apartment are soundproofed, but Tim’s pretty damn sure that everyone in the building heard the way he just cried out.
One of Dick’s hands slides down his thigh, before gripping his knee and pushing it up. Tim groans, head rubbing back against the desk, as Dick’s palm curves around his calf and lifts until it’s resting on Dick’s shoulder. Spread out and on display and Tim can never really get used to what that does to him, the way he feels like he could just shake apart.
Dick’s head is bobbing between his legs in this almost cruel rhythm, sharp and steady, too much, too fast. It makes Tim feel like the entire universe is centred on Dick’s mouth moving over him, so it takes him a moment to register the tickle at the back of his raised thigh.
The tickle becomes a firmer touch. It’s about as thick as Dick’s finger but it’s too cool against his skin, too solid. Tim manages to raise his head slightly before Dick’s tongue presses against the head of his cock and his head thumps back down, but he catches a glimpse of a marker pen in Dick’s grasp.
Dick trails the bottom of the pen up along the back of Tim’s thigh, painfully slow compared to the way he’s working his mouth on Tim’s cock. The slightly hysterical part of Tim’s mind is thankful that it’s the bottom of the pen and not the nib, because he’s pretty sure that’s permanent marker.
The pen reaches the crease between Tim’s thigh and ass, caressing the skin there lightly. But it’s only a brief pause, and then it keeps moving, sliding down beneath Tim’s balls, teasing along his cleft.
Tim’s eyes snap open. “You can’t be serious?!” he yelps, only it comes out all strangled and high-pitched and he feels Dick’s lips stretch around him in a wicked smile.
The blunt end of the pen feels impossibly solid as it brushes over the puckered edges of Tim’s entrance. “Wait, I -” Tim babbles uselessly, and then it’s pressing up, pressing inside, and Tim gasps and whimpers for the feeling of being opened, the friction of it.
Dick’s pace doesn’t change, mouth still bobbing over him with these obscene slurping noises, but Tim can feel the pen, feel it moving, sliding further in. Whining as Dick changes the angle, and then it’s pressing up against the harder nub of his prostate, and Tim’s fists are beating down on the desk because Dick is keeping it there, holding it against the sensitive ball of nerves. Insistent pressure and it’s just too much, and Tim feels something like a scream tear its way out of his throat. Pushing up into the heat of Dick’s mouth as he spills his release, ears ringing and heart thudding and everything flashing cold then hot.
He knows he’s making these soft little noises on every breath, and Dick’s nuzzling at him as he softens, and Tim shivers as Dick slides the pen free.
Feels Dick step back, and it takes a long moment to find the strength to push up on to his elbows. Dick’s smirking at him, one hand lazily palming his crotch, the denim of his jeans tented over his own arousal.
“By the way, I should probably let you know,” Dick shrugs, and the smirk grows a little more pronounced. “I actually do have an accountant.”
Tim’s mouth opens and closes a few times, before he growls and whips the pink and purple Bat-mug at Dick’s head.
Dick catches it easily, but it still makes Tim feel better.