by Weirdness Magnet
May 23, 2005

Pairing: Bruce/Dick (Robin I)
Ratings/Warnings: Mature audiences only. Bordering on non-con and other things that may squick the faint-hearted.
Summary: Bruce can too be gentle.
Title: From Juvenal (55 AD-127 AD), suggested by cosmicastaway
Acknowledgements: To brown_betty and cosmicastawayfor betas. Also to vassilissa and ever_faithful for audiencing.


***

Bruce knows that Dick isn’t serious about women.

At least, he knows Dick isn’t serious about any of the women -- girls, really -- that he’s been seeing. There have been quite a few, none serious and none lasting very long.

There was Kelly. A blonde, Bruce recalls, though the rooftop he watched them from was too far away to tell if it was dyed. Then there was Sarah. Kate, Susanna, Violet, and Denise followed. Evelyn lasted the longest, nearly a month. Bruce recalls the night of their breakup, remembers watching her scowl through the binoculars, her arms wrapped around herself against the chilly night, Dick's hands making appeasing gestures. A typical lovers' quarrel to anyone who might have been watching.

Bruce has seen Dick have a lot of those, lately.

He thinks he should be more worried about that. Alfred had said that it’s normal high school behavior, and all young men do it. Bruce reminded him that *he* hadn’t. Alfred didn't say anything, but quirked his eyebrow in that way that speaks volumes.

Dick is careful about when he goes out and how often. A few weeks ago he returned late for patrol, huffing apologies and excuses. It only took one glare, and Robin hadn't been late since.

But for that one night, Bruce could feel every foot of night between them, and the flash of red and yellow in his peripheral vision wasn't comforting. Nothing made the separation less: not breaking a gun-runner's arm, not the feel of a would-be rapist's teeth collapsing under Bruce's knuckles, not the smell of blood and fear mingled with the night air.

The distance between them is less now, but tangible. Like all unfinished business, it gnaws at a corner of Bruce's thoughts. He knows he'll have to address it, eventually.

Tonight, Bruce smells Dick’s cologne before he sees him. As usual, Dick wears too much of it, and his tidy hair and crisp dark trousers indicate he has yet another date.

Bruce doesn’t have to glance at the clock to know it’s hours before patrol. He gives Dick a casual up-down glance, notes the French cuffs and the untied necktie hanging loosely. "Going anywhere special?"

"Just dinner. I’ll only be out a couple of hours." Dick fumbles a cufflink into place.

Bruce grunts noncommittally and pretends to read the paper. "You’ve been on a lot of dates recently."

Dick snorts. Bruce can *feel* the smirk without looking up. "A ‘lot’ is a relative term," Dick says, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "You haven’t been on a date in... ever? Unless Catwoman counts."

Bruce ignores that. "Don't string them along. Life is difficult enough without adding drama."

Dick rolls his eyes painfully. "It's just a date."

Bruce puts down his paper. "Dating is inherently dramatic."

"Gosh, Socrates, that was profound. You don't have to worry."

"This isn’t about me."

"Never is," Dick mumbles in a tone that he thinks is too low for Bruce to hear. Dick uses the gilded mirror to wrestle his necktie into shape. "Don’t you ever want to do one thing like other people? You know, something normal?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He moves behind Dick, looking at their reflections in the mirror.

"Normal is relative," Bruce tells him. "Here." He reaches around Dick and undoes the tangle of necktie. He smoothes the fabric and adjusts the lengths hanging around Dick’s neck. Dick is terrible with neckties. Alfred gave up trying to teach him.

"I would like -- " Dick blushes *hard* but keeps talking. "I just want physical contact that doesn’t require stitches afterwards. I want something that’s... I don’t know."

Tender, Bruce hears him not say.

Bruce flips one end of the tie across the other. "You use protection?"

"It isn’t about sex, Bruce."

"Do you?"

Dick sighs. "Yeah, when it gets that far."

Bruce finishes a perfect Windsor knot. "These women," Bruce says lightly. "Is this some sort of passive-aggressive way of saying I didn’t hug you enough as a child?"

"It's not about you." Dick turns around, his blue eyes hard. "I *know* that I can’t be Robin and have a girlfriend. So my 'relationships' are dinner and a movie and... whatever else. You don’t need anything like that, and that’s fine. But I do. It doesn’t get in the way of my duties and you’ll tell me if my performance is off. So just... leave it alone, okay? "

Bruce feels his mouth thin. He wants to say something reassuring that Dick won't misread as an insult. He's been touchier than usual, lately.

He can’t think of anything, except, "I always wanted more for you, Dick."

"I don’t think it’s about what a person *wants*, Bruce." He grabs the keys from the table. "I'll be back early."

Bruce watches Dick close the door. He decides he needs a plan.

**

As far as plans go, the Bat is unimpressed. Bruce tries to ignore that part of his mind and focus on his partner.

Because, he reasons, this is really about partnership. Dick is dissatisfied, and eventually that will affect his performance as Robin. That will hinder the Mission, which is unacceptable. As his partner, Bruce would be remiss if he didn't attempt to fix the problem.

The women in Dick's life are a liability. Tactically, one of them will eventually get caught in the crossfire, and Dick would never forgive himself. On a more personal level, there is no one outside their little 'family' who can truly understand them. The glossy women that Bruce Wayne takes to society parties are for maintaining his cover as a billionaire playboy and useless otherwise. Using them for sex, even casually, isn't worth the complication. One day, Dick will realize this, too.

Despite what Dick believes, there are times when he would like his encounters with other people to not involve the smell of fear or blood. Even his occasional tryst with Catwoman is about force and who's using more.

He *can* be gentle. He'd like to be. But to be gentle, he needs Dick to not fight him.

Bruce stands in his bedroom by the fireplace. He hears Dick padding damply down the hall from the shower. He never dries off all the way. Alfred frets about wet footprints marring the expensive rugs.

He waits until Dick is almost past his open door to call to him.

"What's up?" He's wearing just a robe and his hair is shaggy-damp. His pale skin is pink from the shower. Bruce takes his hand.

He stands Dick near the fire so he won't get cold. The wine is poured and breathing on the hearth. The carpet is plush and thick against Bruce's bare feet, and he scattered oversized pillows on the floor so they'll be comfortable.

Dick's neck smells spicy and clean from the sandalwood soap. Bruce feels Dick's damp hair brush his cheek as he pulls the tie of Dick's robe loose.

"Bruce?" Dick's voice is uncertain but he's still leaning in a little, unsure what to do with his hands.

Bruce breathes a whisper against Dick's ear. "Trust me." The robe slips off gracefully and puddles around Dick's feet.

Bruce smoothes away the confusion-bordering-on-alarm with a thumb against Dick's cheek. He smiles a fraction, lets the fire warm him and tries to let his expression have none of the Bat. The Bat makes it hard for Dick to relax. He tries to let Bruce fill his eyes so Dick will know this isn't a test.

At least, not for Dick.

He slides his hands down Dick's solid arms to his wrists. He draws Dick close enough that he has to tip his head back to look at Bruce's face. "Do you trust me?"

Dick's eyes widen. Bruce doesn't want to use force, but he is also past letting Dick go.

"Bruce, what -- "

"Answer."

Dick's tongue swipes nervously across his lips. "You know--you know I do. Bruce, what *is* this?"

Bruce has to close his eyes, purr just a little as he eases Dick's hands behind his back. The cuffs go on with a metallic click.

It makes it possible to slide his hands up Dick's back to hug him.

But Dick jerks away. Bruce allows him to pull back enough to look at him.

"Bruce, what the *hell*?" Dick yanks his hands in the cuffs. They're quite secure, though they didn't have to be. Dick never remembers to put his lock picks back on after bathing. Perhaps this will give him incentive. The Bat is quietly pleased.

Bruce sets that thought aside to drag Dick closer. "You said you trust me."

"Yeah, but what--"

"Sh." He rests a finger against Dick's lips. "No more talking."

Dick still looks wary, but he's not trying to wrench away any more. He just looks in Bruce's eyes like he'll find some explanation there.

Bruce snorts internally. Dick should know better.

He makes the kiss as gentle as he can, barely brushing Dick's lips until he feels Dick's mouth relax. Easy, light kisses until Dick tilts his head up.

Bruce cups Dick's damp hair and holds him there as he slides his tongue against Dick's mouth. A small moan vibrates against Bruce's mouth and it makes him slide a hand around Dick's waist and *pull* him in. He can feel the damp heat of Dick's shower-clean skin through his sweater.

He slides his mouth down to the pulse in Dick's throat. Gives it a brief sucking kiss that makes Dick *arch* against him, makes Bruce *dig* his fingers into Dick's scalp and hold him still so he can do it again and again.

Bruce eases them to the floor, leaning Dick back against a pile of pillows. The stretch of his trousers across his erection is not quite painful yet. He glances down to see Dick's cock bobbing gently with each heartbeat.

Bruce reaches slowly across Dick's body so Dick won't perceive the movement as an attack. He draws back holding a full wineglass and makes a small show of taking a sip. The red wine is slightly sweeter than he likes, but it's Dick's favorite. He offers the glass.

"Would you like some?"

Dick's eyes are still wide, but he's a good boy and doesn't speak. Just nods a little, and Bruce feeds him a few small sips. A little spills down Dick's chin, and Bruce licks it off.

Bruce feeds him a little more wine, and when he licks a drop from the corner of Dick's mouth, Dick turns and kisses him wetly. Bruce blindly sets the glass down and cups Dick's face, pressing him into the cushions and lets Dick explore his mouth.

When Dick breaks the kiss, Bruce brings a finger to Dick's lips. Bruce doesn't want to have to use words. He wants Dick to *know* what he wants.

Dick opens his mouth obediently and sucks Bruce's finger, running his teeth against the ridges of his fingerprint. Bruce pulls it out with a wet pop and brings it down to Dick's nipple. Flicks at it while he *presses* his mouth against Dick's, silencing his moans.

Dick pushes up against Bruce, hard cock rubbing the wool trousers. Bruce knows the grainy fabric is a tease, and Dick's hips don't stop *moving* against his thigh. Bruce rolls Dick's nipple between his fingers and *twists* until Dick breaks the kiss, has to yell and toss his head back on the cushions and arch.

Bruce smoothes the nipple with his tongue. He watches Dick bite his lip and press his head back into the pillows harder, his eyes squeezed shut.

He toys with Dick's nipple with his fingers while he gently sucks and licks at the other. Bruce reaches down with his free hand and *pushes* Dick's hips down.

"Don't move."

Dick groans through his bitten lip.

"I want to touch you."

*Whimper* when Bruce trails his fingers across Dick's collarbone. He likes the shape, likes the dip in Dick's neck where it meets and licks the sweat pooling there. His fingers find the line of every scar, has to kiss the deeper ones. He bites the three lines of a claw mark marring the bowl of Dick's hip.

Dick shifts a little, and Bruce presses him down until he realizes the cuffs are wrenching Dick's shoulders out of joint.

"Uncomfortable?"

Dick's eyes widen, but he nods. Bruce's mind flits to the night's patrol. Cuffs are too bulky and it's inefficient to carry as many pairs as they need on a typical night. They need something smaller, lighter. During a recent patrol, he spotted a box wrapped in plastic strips that gave him some ideas. He makes a mental note to give it serious thought later.

Right now, Bruce lifts and rolls Dick over arranging him face down on a single pillow supporting his face and chest. The firelight flickers across the expanse of Dick's back, casting shadows in his cleft. The handcuffs shine silver around the strong wrists, hands flexing at the base of his spine. Dick's eyes are closed and the dark lashes make the flush in his cheeks more obvious.

It's mildly distracting. Bruce thinks Dick would want to watch this. Blindness makes one keenly aware of the world using different senses. Dick must want to fully *experience* this, Bruce surmises, and that's... acceptable.

Bruce pulls out a bottle of oil he had blended to match Dick's soap. He strips quickly, ignoring the insistent ache in his cock and pours a small pool of oil on Dick's back.

Dick grunts when Bruce digs his thumbs in the tight shoulder muscles. Bruce works them firmly, pressing out the tension and tracing the curves of the muscles. Dick isn't done growing yet. Bruce can see already that Dick will have broad shoulders and long legs, but won't be as broad or as tall as Bruce is.

It's both a comfort and a disappointment.

Bruce drags his hands down Dick's spine. He feels the tension ease and silently revels in the little moans Dick is making into the pillow. Dick's hips twitch occasionally, and Bruce knows he's searching for friction against his cock and not getting it.

He pushes his hands down the rounded curve of Dick's ass. Very slowly, very gently, he spreads them enough to expose the sac pressed against the floor. Dick makes a small whimper when Bruce strokes it with oiled fingers. He doesn't try to hold Dick down when his hips move against his touch.

He gets a buck when he slides his thumb into Dick's cleft. Bruce moves his hand slowly, massaging Dick's sac and sliding the oil between his cheeks, and watches his hands flex in the cuffs.

Bruce spreads him with his other hand and pushes his thumb against the small pucker with each stroke, not going in, just testing, teasing, watching it flex against his touch. Bruce knows Dick's body is responsive and extremely sensitive to light stimulation, and it doesn't take long for Dick's hips to *rise* on each stroke of Bruce's hand, urging him to penetrate. Bruce pours a little more oil in Dick's cleft, watches him bite the pillow and *groan*.

"Dick." Bruce's voice is low but it is, thankfully, still Bruce's. The finger slides in effortlessly. Dick muffles his cry in the cushion.

Bruce moves his finger rougher than he means to, but Dick's cries aren't protests and he *shudders* when Bruce finds his prostate. He rubs it only a little before pushing a second finger in.

He's slower and more careful now, to work Dick open. Dick moans with every twist, but when Bruce edges a third finger in the moans turn into something else.

"Oh god, Bruce, *please*..."

The noise Dick makes is high and desperate when Bruce pulls his fingers out.

Bruce rolls Dick over. The flush spreads across Dick's face and chest, his eyes still closed. He pants a little as Bruce arranges himself between Dick's spread legs.

"I want to be inside you," Bruce whispers.

Dick exhales sharply, rolls his head back and blinks hard at the ceiling.

"I won't if you say no. I won't force you." Bruce is almost sure he means it.

Dick keeps panting and still doesn't look at him. Bruce cups Dick's face, making him look at him. "Tell me what you want."

Dick's mouth works several moments before sound comes out. "...do it."

Bruce kisses him and grabs Dick's hip with one hand and lines himself up with the other.

Heat he didn't expect and Bruce holds himself as still as he can. He feels Dick clenching and relaxing and clenching again as he slides deeper. Little thrusts until he's seated all the way, feeling his balls pressing against Dick's oiled skin.

Bruce pulls Dick's legs onto his shoulders to get deeper. It makes Dick's jaw clench *hard*. "That's it," Bruce whispers.

Dick gasps and nods. When he wriggles his hips, Bruce starts to move.

Shallow thrusts at first, until Dick whimpers and that makes Bruce slam in. Does it again, and again, wants to wrench noises out of Dick, he wants to scorch this into Dick's memory so that when Dick closes his eyes he'll feel *this*.

Bruce, in him.

Pulls out nearly all the way and slams in and Dick *screams* and that just makes it better. Bruce moves harder, slap of skin on skin and Dick's rolling his hips up to meet Bruce's thrusts. Dick is taking everything Bruce can give, and the thought makes Bruce smile and bite at Dick's ankle. He wraps his slicked hand around Dick's cock.

Dick cries out with each thrust, arching his hips and begging wordlessly. He tightens his grip on Dick, stripping his cock and making the strokes something more brutal.

Wants to *make* Dick come.

"Bruce, *please*, I'm -- " And Dick shoots into Bruce fist and *clamps* around Bruce's cock, yanking the orgasm out with a grunt.

Dick's legs shudder as Bruce eases them down. He pets Dick's thigh and licks his own hand experimentally. Dick's come tastes salty and a little spicy. He sucks his fingers clean, opening one eye to watch Dick's reaction. But Dick's eyes are closed again.

They're still closed when Bruce lifts him up to release the cuffs. He tosses the metal aside and rubs Dick's wrists to get the blood flowing.

Dick blinks for several moments before he looks at Bruce. Bruce traces Dick's cheek with a thumb.

"All right?"

Dick breathes for a few moments, flushed chest rising and falling, before nodding. Bruce kisses him lightly.

The clean cotton sheets of the broad bed feel crisp against Bruce's skin. He slides beneath the sheets and watches as Dick gets up very slowly. Bruce watches for signs of injury, but apart from shaky knees Dick appears unharmed. Still, Bruce expected post-coital Dick to be... different. He always guessed Dick for the snuggling type. Bruce isn't, but he's willing to make an exception for their first time.

Dick stands at the end of the bed, clutching his robe. Bruce glances at the empty pillow, then back at Dick.

Dick doesn't move. So much for non-verbal communication.

"Come to bed," Bruce says aloud.

Dick doesn't move, but he *does* finally look up. "My choice." Dick's voice is more even than his eyes.

"Always." Bruce is almost certain it's not a lie. He scowls internally; the hesitation in Dick's face shouldn't be there, not now.

He watches Dick look at the floor and finger the edge of his robe. Perhaps, Bruce thinks, he needed a better plan.

The Bat, for once, says nothing.

~end