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A Question of Semantics Tim doesn't like that word either. He also doesn't like the words "moist," "tuber" and "dimensurator" for reasons that are unclear, aside from he doesn't like the way they *feel* in his mouth. He doesn't like "desperate" for other, more semantic reasons. He stands in Dick's bedroom trying to think of a word that adequately describes his reaction to Dick's words still ringing in his head. Something between "frustrated" and "pissed" would work, but nothing is immediately coming to mind. He inhales and centers before speaking. "What did you say?" "I said," Dick repeats, leaning back against the doorframe, "this isn't a priority, so it's okay about not showing up last night. It's not like you don't have other things to do." Tim isn't used to making facial expressions, so Tim knows that Dick can't see how exactly like a *slap* the insinuation feels. They've been meeting three times a week for a month. They were supposed to meet *last* night, but Batman and Robin hadn't finished patrolling until nearly dawn. Tim isn't entirely sure Batman didn't keep Robin out longer than usual on purpose. It's impossible to tell just how much the man knows about anything.
"I would have been
here." "Dick." "Really, it's not a big deal." Dick scrubs a hand through his hair to settle it perfectly into place. It *is*, Tim can't say. He knows his face is blank, but Dick is supposed to be able to see everything that isn't obvious. Dick should be *better* at this. He's supposed to know things without Tim having to say them out loud. It's that thought that makes Tim angry enough to grab Dick's t-shirt and half-push, half-throw Dick on the bed. "You have no idea *what* I care about. Or how much." Dick's smirk isn't in his eyes. "So... what? You're going to prove to me that this means anything to you? Believe it or not, I *can* deal with just fucking. But don't lie to me and say it's something else." Tim straddles Dick's lap, pushes his shoulders down. He loves touching Dick's face, the high cheekbones and light stubble on his jaw. He traces a finger down the line of Dick's nose. "I've never lied to you." Dick's mouth twists into a "yeah right" look. Tim's fingers brush into Dick's hair, leans and trails his lips across his forehead. "I lie to *everyone* else." Pulls back and looks *right* into Dick's eyes. "Not you." That's only half-true, Tim admits to himself. Dick *can* handle Tim's honesty, and he's the only living person who understands what being Robin is, but. Tim lies to everyone. Tim lies *believably* to everyone. He's pretty sure that skill explains why there's a Batsuit in his size that he's not supposed to know about. Dick either believes it, or pretends it's true. His hands press against Tim's back, pulling him in, and Tim can smell Dick's shampoo in his slightly-damp hair. Tim makes the kiss on Dick's neck slow and thorough, sucking lightly on the pulse. He slides his hands into Dick's palms, drawing his arms out and holding him down on the bed. Tim bites the newly-exposed junction between Dick's shoulder and neck, and Dick *rolls* his hips up. Tim lifts slightly so Dick doesn't get the grind he was looking for, and instead focuses his efforts on Dick's ear. The lobe is soft in a way the rest of Dick's skin isn't, and Tim likes the way just flicking his tongue and breathing warm make Dick *squirm* beneath him. "Tim..." The kiss is wet and messy and Dick's tongue feels thick and alive in Tim's mouth. Tim moves his hands from Dick's grasp to cup his face and kiss him, taking time to concentrate on the fine details of it. He notes exactly how hard he has to bite Dick's bottom lip to get him to moan. Dick *curls* in and they're sitting up with Tim spread across Dick's lap. Tim wraps his arms around Dick's neck and lets him trail kisses down his jaw, his neck, stopping at his nipple to swirl his tongue around the pink bud. Tim *has* to rock his hips, biting his lip. Dick holds him in with a hand between Tim's shoulder blades and rolls Tim's other nipple in his fingers. Dick twists only hard enough that Tim has to gasp. "Nnn, *Dick*..." "I was starting to think you'd forgotten how to make noise." Tim tugs at Dick's t-shirt. "Take this off." Dick looks up at him and he's not smirking anymore, just *smiling*. Tim isn't sure if that's a Good Thing or a Bad Thing, but Dick lets him pull the shirt off and lets him dig blunt nails across Dick's back, making Dick *buck* up against him. Dick murmurs against his throat. "You feel--" Tim frowns at the way subtle hints aren't working. He wants Dick to be able to *read* him, and some part of Tim's brain wonders if Batman shares similar frustrations. He shoves that thought aside for now. "Take off your clothes. I want to feel you." And Dick's smirk is *right* back. Dick tugs at Tim's waistband. "Fair's fair." Tim lets Dick roll him over, raising his hips so Dick can pull his jeans and shorts off. Tim even endures him making really pleased sounds while looking greedily at Tim's cock before Tim pushes Dick on his back and drags off the man's sweats. "Roll over for me," Tim tells him. The Voice earns him an eyebrow quirk, but Dick obeys in his smart-ass way, making a slow, huge show of rolling over onto his stomach and folding hands beneath his chin. He looks up at Tim from under dark lashes. "Now the spankings?" He doesn't bother saying anything in response. He's not as surprised as he could be by the fact that Dick isn't taking him seriously. Yet. Tim grabs the bottle from the nightstand and pours the oil into a small pool between Dick's shoulders. It's an odd scent, one of Oracle's herbal concoctions that's supposed to be good on bruises but mostly smells like sandalwood and earth and musk. His hands slide into it and across the hard shoulder muscles, getting into the longer hair resting on Dick's neck. Tim pushes the oily strands aside before digging his thumbs into Dick's neck muscles. "Mmm..." "You're tight there." "I'm tight *everywhere*." Tim doesn't take the bait, but Dick chuckles and exhales and lets Tim *work* on his back. Tim pushes against the muscles along Dick's spine, feeling the knots release, moving in hard, slow circles working their way down. Dick lies there and breathes evenly, even when Tim works on his thighs, stroking his thumbs on the soft inner skin before drawing his hands down Dick's legs. Small twitch when Tim runs his fingers down the backs of Dick's knees. "What?" "Tickles." "You're ticklish?" "Shut up and rub me." Tim digs his thumbs in harder, drawing long strokes up the length of Dick's leg, and then the other. He repeats it when Dick makes a soothed murmur. Tim puts his hands back on Dick's shoulders, draws them firmly down his back, stopping at his hips, and repeats it until Dick starts making satisfied "I'm being petted" noises. Tim's hands are on Dick's hips, and it's only a little slide of his slicked hands to cup Dick's ass, spread him slightly, and drag his tongue up the cleft. Dick gasps a moan and his hips follow the long strokes of Tim's tongue. Tim licks along the cleft, not trying to do anything other than make it wet, make it slow, make Dick *want*. Dick's hips push up against his tongue and down against the mattress, and Tim knows the bedspread is too smooth on Dick's cock. Tim reaches between Dick's thighs and pushes at the hard spot behind Dick's balls until he groans and pushes all the way back onto his knees. Tim bites his lip. Dick's ass is exposed and he's making little begging sounds and there is no way, no way at all Tim could not want this. "Oh *god*..." Tim uses both hands to spread Dick, diving in, *thrusting* in as deeply as he can. Dick fists the sheets and keeps making those muffled, needy sounds into the mattress. Tim flicks his tongue around the hole and back in, and it's not really in rhythm, but he doesn't mean to tease so much as to make Dick *need* it as much as Tim does. Tim's cock is dark and leaking and *aching* and he needs to be inside Dick, but Tim needs to do other things to him first. Tim squeezes his own cock with an oiled hand. "Roll over for me." "Don't--don't *stop* Tim, Jesus..." "I'm not, I just." He struggles to say the words. "I want to suck you." He mentally berates himself when he feels the blush creep into his hairline. God, what is he, five? Dick doesn't see, or he doesn't care. "Fffuck..." Tim squeezes Dick's hips. "Please." And it's a request and a beg and he *needs* this, and he needs Dick to want it. Dick moans but rolls on his back, eyes shut and breathing hard. Tim kneels between Dick's spread thighs and lays on his chest, kissing and biting. He finds Dick's nipple and sucks *hard*, riding out the little humping thrusts and feeling Dick's pre-come staining his stomach. He crawls up Dick's body so their cocks rub together. It’s close enough that Tim can lick his way into Dick's mouth. Dick makes needy, *hungry* noises, pulling Tim in *tight*, and Tim reaches back to pet Dick's hips and scrape his nails along Dick's strong, strong thighs. "I want you, Dick." "I'm here. Take, take what you need, oh *fuck*--" Tim grinds into Dick's hips again, letting himself groan against Dick's mouth before pulling back and down and taking Dick into his mouth. Pre-come coats his tongue, thick, salty-sweet, and Tim moans around him. He watches Dick watching him fuck his own mouth on Dick's cock. Dick's pupils are huge, his bruised lips open and gasping, and he reaches down to stroke Tim's jaw. Callused fingers trace his cheek, and Dick's open and wanting and under him, and Tim *made* him look like that. Tim burns the image in his memory and swallows Dick down his throat. "God *Tim*, yes, don't--nn, don't you dare stop--" Tim feels the splash in his throat, and swallows and swallows through the spasms until Dick lies back, breathing hard and still stroking Tim's face. Tim pulls off slowly, licking a last drop off the tip, and lets Dick kiss him, lets him taste himself in Tim's mouth and muffle the last of his moans against his lips. It's Tim's turn to moan when Dick wraps a hand around Tim's cock and squeezes gently. "I should finish this." "You will," Tim gasps, and pushes two fingers into Dick's mouth. Dick instinctively closes his eyes and makes a show of sucking, getting them wet. He tips his head back on the pillow as Tim works his fingers in and out, and Tim braces himself over Dick's body, straddling one of Dick's thighs and resisting the urge to grind against him. Tim has to squeeze his own cock when Dick grazes his teeth against Tim's fingertips, and Dick's eyes glitter when Tim pulls his fingers out and presses them against Dick's hole. Eye roll and an "oh fuck" and Dick curls up enough to bump his forehead against Tim's shoulder. Tim pushes his fingers in gently, working him open and feeling the flex and stretch of Dick's ass around them. He thrusts a little deeper and he can't get where he wants to be at this angle, but Dick's hips are pushing back against Tim's hand and he's getting hard again already, and this is going to be good if Tim can just hold *on*. He lays Dick flat on his back and pulls out his fingers. Tim pours some oil on himself and on Dick, rubbing it in a little before lining up. Tim nudges in gently, letting Dick stretch around him but Dick's hips are *moving* already and he won't--Dick won't hold *still* and he's not going to last if he can't--- "Tim, do it *hard*. I need you to..." "Oh, *fuck*." And Tim pushes in *all* the way and they both yell and Dick *arches* into it, hips off the mattress and pushing onto Tim's cock. He can't be subtle. Tim gets that now. Dick needs Tim to show him what he wants. And Tim... Tim thinks he can handle that. Tim grabs Dick's hips, pulls nearly all the way out, and *slams* back in, again and again. Dick's hips roll up to meet each thrust, and Tim can't stop watching Dick's face. He watches Dick pant, moan, beg, and Tim wants to tell him... everything. That *this* is everything, that making Dick feel like this and look like that, that there's nothing, *nothing* more important than that. He manages, "Dick," before he shudders and comes. Tim braces himself over Dick, panting, willing his fists to unclench and failing. He has to lock his elbows and just watch as Dick finishes stroking himself, biting his lip and splashing hot on Tim's belly. He doesn't move until Dick puts pressure on Tim's elbows to *make* them bend, and Tim all but collapses onto Dick's chest. Slow, controlled breaths ease Tim's breathing back to normal. He shifts and winces at the sticky sound of their skin. He shouldn't have used the oil. Tim slides off Dick completely and rests beside him on his stomach, letting the sheets soak up the wetness. Dick rolls on his side, tucking an arm beneath his head. He reaches out and brushes a few strands of hair out of Tim's eyes. His typical post-coital smirk is absent; his blue eyes are as intense as ever, but his expression is thoughtful. "I don't know what to call this," Dick says quietly. "I know." "I don't know what you want this to be." Tim wants to have an answer. The best he can do is rub his thumb against Dick's palm. "When you figure it out, let me know." Dick pulls Tim close, rolling them on their sides, and settles Tim's head onto his shoulder. Tim won't sleep like this, but he can handle it until Dick drifts off. Tim studies Dick's face as he listens to the sound of his breathing. He *wants* a word for the way this feels. He's sure there is one. He has an idea of which word it could be. He's not sure if he likes that word or not. He shoves the word aside in favor of one he knows he likes. "Dick," he whispers, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
~end
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