by Weirdness Magnet
January 24, 2005

Disclaimers: They belong to DC.  If they were mine, I'd *really* never get anything done.

Spoilers: Up through Identity Crisis and Teen Titans #20.

Summary: Bart has a brood.  Tim has odd ways of showing gratitude.

Ratings Note/Warnings: NC-17.

Author's Note: Title provided by LC from bic runga's "Drive."

Acknowledgments: To LC for the title.  To Te for the beta and getting me to write when I really didn't want to.

*** 

Bart thinks he could get really good at this brooding thing. 

It's late, or early depending how you looked at it.  Bart chooses to look at it as night even though the sky outside the Tower shows little hints of dawn. 

It's mostly dark, though, and everyone is asleep.  Bart's on the floor, back against the couch and sound on the television turned low (just in case). He isn't really watching it, though.  He thinks he ought to mute it, or turn it off altogether and go patrol or something, but... he's not really in a productive mood. 

He's in the mood to sit alone in a dark living room and brood. 

He's tried to show how glad he is to be back in the Tower again without letting the others see how *relieved* he is to be here, too.  Forcing cheerfulness gets tiring after a while, even for someone with his stamina. 

Except 'tired' isn't the same as 'sleepy.'  Every time he closes his eyes, he winds up thinking of *school*.  Which is the one place he doesn't want to think about, especially now that he's here, in the Tower. 

Among friends. 

Something he distinctly doesn't have in Keystone. 

The gnawing in his stomach when he thinks about Monday morning is already becoming familiar.  He doesn't know what to do about that.  He shoves the thoughts away as much as he can and toys absently with the remote.

The shadow shifting catches his attention. "You're up late," Tim says.

Bart nods. He doesn't trust his voice much right now.

"Do you want to be alone?"

And Bart *does*, sort of, but it's the living room and the TV's here, and he's read enough psychology books to know that if he'd truly wanted to be alone he'd have stayed in his room. And it's Tim, whose presence can't be felt in a room unless he wants it to. Watching TV with him is just like being alone. So...

"I-- no, it's okay." He manages to get it out without his voice wobbling. Much.

Tim sits on the couch behind him. Bart shifts so Tim's legs don't bump him and wraps his arms around one of the big floor cushions.  He props his chin in the squishy cushion, playing with the fringe a little, and goes back to not-watching the TV.

The gauntlet on his shoulder is a surprise.

Tentative, like Tim wants to be reassuring but hasn't worked out the details of it yet. Tim squeezes Bart's shoulder gently, but it still -- "Ow."

He can see Tim's reflection frowning in the television screen.  "You're tight there."

"I... have stress."

Tim leans in, puts his hands on Bart's neck and pushes gently with his thumbs.

"Oh -- "

And okay, 'backrub from Tim' was not on Bart's list of things to do today, but *man*. He can't stifle the little moan, so he presses his face into the pillow.

Tim doesn't seem to mind. He just shifts so Bart is sitting between his calves, and starts working on Bart's neck.

And Bart knows it *is* work, as opposed to just petting, because Tim finds each knot and kneads until Bart can feel the muscles loosen. It's methodical and precise, and Bart doesn't know much about pressure points but he *knows* Tim does, and that's probably why he lost feeling in his left arm there for a second.

He's hoping, anyway.

His thumbs press gently just behind Bart's ears, small circles of light pressure that's just enough to make Bart's neck feel loose and make him whimper. When Tim slides a hand into Bart's hair and rubs his scalp, *that* feels like being petted, like being comforted, right until Tim slides his hands into position on Bart's head and whispers, "Trust me."

Sharp twist before Bart can protest, and a crack.

Bart has to blink a lot before his vision clears. "*Warn* a guy before you do that."

He can *feel* Tim half-grinning and resists the urge to elbow him in the shin.

He's glad he did, too, because Tim massages his neck and shoulders again, which makes Bart have to press his face into the *pillow* again, because *god*, it feels good, like his muscles are warm and loose and liquid, and he *can't* be quiet.
 
And then Bart feels himself being nudged forward.

"Lie down. Your back is a mess."

He blinks twice but obeys, unfolding himself from around the pillow and laying on top of it instead. He turns to ask if he should take off his shoes or something, but gets distracted by Tim peeling off the gauntlets and draping his cape over the back of the sofa.

Bare hands. He's not sure he's ever *seen* Tim bare-handed, outside the shower. And Bart knows he wasn't supposed to be looking then, but it wasn't possible *not* to look. Tim was... well, out of uniform. And that, like, never happens.

*This* never happens, either. Tim kneeling beside him and murmuring, "Let -- let me know if this hurts."

*Push* on either side of his spine, and Bart feels something *give*. It makes his right leg jerk involuntarily. "Whoa!"

"It's supposed to do that."

"Uh, okay." Bart really wants to ask *why* it does that, but it seems like a better idea to let Tim slide his hands up and down his spine, and anyway he can look it up later. Tim is feeling for something, Bart knows, but to him it feels like being... soothed.

Which is not something he really *wants* to admit needing.

Or that he really needed to talk to Max today.

Or that he really Hates-with-a-capital-H his new school. He hates how the teachers roll their eyes every time he asks a question, even a relevant one.  He's tried making friends, really *tried*, but every attempt he's made at making conversation has been met with various degrees of rejection.  On a good day, they just glare at him or make snide comments.   

Bart especially hates how every time someone talks to *him*, it's just his classmates setting him up to humiliate him.  He's avoided fighting so far, but there are some things even *he* can't run away from.

He'd like to tell Jay about it, but that could lead to either being shipped off somewhere else, or worse, a buck-up-little-camper speech that he *can't* deal with.

He misses Preston. He misses *Carol*, and he misses Manchester, and –- 

He can't deal. He's had enough, he needs Max to tell him how to handle this, but Max is long gone and that's it, Bart officially Can Not Deal.

Tim strokes him beneath his shoulder blades.  Bart feels the tear slide down across the bridge of his nose and drop into the pillow. He turns his face into the cushion so Tim won't see.

Bart shudders once and tries to breathe in long, controlled gasps, but Tim pushes on this spot on his back, and Bart knows the touch is too precise to be anything but deliberate.  

And then there's a rush of warmth through his chest and into his head, blurring his vision.  He tries to breathe but all he can manage is a choked-out sob, then another.   Then another, until he's crying into the pillow.

"It's okay, Bart."  Tim's voice isn't entirely convincing, but it doesn't matter.   Bart hangs onto the cushion with both hands, praying no one can hear, but he can't make himself *stop*.

Not for much too long, anyway.  

Bart turns his face and Tim is still beside him rubbing slow, heavy circles on his back.

Tim doesn't say anything. Bart thinks *he* should say something, because... well, he officially lost it in front of Tim, who is not the person one usually loses things in front of. He tries very hard to specifically *not* lose things in front of Tim. 

"D'you," Bart tries, but it comes out a croak. He coughs and tries again. "Got any dignity in that utility belt?"

Tim actually reaches into one of the pouches, and Bart blinks as Tim hands him a grey cloth.

Bart rubs the strange fabric between his fingers. "Bat-Kleenex?" 

"A specially-blended polymer.  We use it for field bandages, but it absorbs most liquids. Blow your nose."

Since it's not a linen handkerchief embroidered with a little 'R', Bart feels less guilty about wiping snot on it. He scrubs the worst of the wetness off his face and sighs heavily. 

Nobody back home likes him, Bart thinks, and now nobody *here* will respect him.  This just gets better and better.

Tim's expression isn't reassuring even though he says, "It's... okay."

Bart groans and buries his face in the pillow. "It's *not."

"You didn't lose it in front of the others, or on a mission. That's what matters."

Bart turns enough to look at him with one eye.

"I can keep a secret," Tim says quietly.

"You *planned* this," Bart says. It *had* to be. A big make-Bart-cry *plot*. Bastard.

"It's... worrisome. When you don't want to talk about things."

Bart pouts a little. He thinks he's allowed.  "I can be quiet and broody too, y'know. I had a good brood going."

"It wasn't bad, for an amateur." Tim rubs his back. "It just -- It isn't *like* you."

Tim keeps rubbing circles on Bart's back. It *is* soothing now, instead of being a Tim-way to force emotional release, but it's still weird. Tim is being *nice*, which is wrong, and he's bare-handed, which is so wrong Bart thinks it's probably jeopardizing the structural integrity of reality.

"Why are you doing this?" Bart asks. It comes out soft, which Bart thinks is good given the way that it makes Tim *still* all over.

"You can talk to me, Bart," Tim says finally.  "I -- I want you to know that."

I know, Bart starts to say, until he really *looks* at Tim. For a moment, it's painfully obvious how badly Tim does feelings. He's clearly mentally wrestling with something large and looming. Bart has seen that look before, right after Vic pulled him off of --

Oh, *shit*.

"Are you -- this is about your dad, isn't it?"

Tim doesn't flinch visibly, but Bart sees it anyway. He isn't as good at seeing Tim's expressions as Kon is, but he's getting better. He knows the expressions are there, if fleeting. 

"It's because we were *nice* to you, after, and now -- fuck, do you think you *owe* us something?"

"No," Tim says. It's low and rough and Tim isn't touching him anymore. Bart watches Tim dig dirt from under his thumbnail.

"It's because -- " Tim says roughly around the big looming *thing*, "I don't want to be like *him*."

His dad, Bart thinks. But then he realizes that while 'dad' is a big looming concept in most people's psyches, Tim isn't most people. For him, the biggest looming concept is...

"Batman?"

Bart sees the frown flit across Tim's face.

Do you have *any* idea how much therapy you need? Bart doesn't say. But he thinks it really loudly, maybe loud enough for Tim to *hear*, because Tim looks up at him from behind the eye shields.

"You're -- doing a good job. Of not being him," Bart says instead.

That gets him an eyebrow quirk.

Bart runs a finger along Tim's bare hand. "*He'd* never take off his gloves."

And okay, Bart has to be a little smug when Tim blinks visibly behind the mask. He recovers quickly, though, and gives him an uncertain half-grin.

"You're ... pretty smart, Bart."

"And don't you forget it." Bart gives him a flash of grin before taking hold of Tim's hand more tightly. "You can always talk to us, y'know. To me. Contrary to popular belief, I can keep secrets, too."

Tim grips his hand, just a little. "I know. It's just -- I'm not always so good at talking."

"You're working on that. Meantime, you can always be non-verbal."

*That* gets him a significant eyebrow quirk.

Bart swallows the laugh, twists up off the floor and pulls Tim into a hug. Tim acts like someone who has no concept of where to put his hands, but when Bart gives him a squeeze, he wraps his arms around Bart's back and *holds* him.

"See? Not so hard."

"Hn." Tim leans into him. "I can't go around spontaneously hugging my teammates, Bart."

"Oh. Right. Kind of throws a wrench into that whole I-am-the-night vibe, huh?"

"A little." Tim turns his face into Bart's neck.

"Cassie wouldn't mind. Gar probably wouldn't either. Kon would just pretend to mind. And -- " Bart whispers into Tim's ear. "Well... *I'll* never tell."

Bart isn't sure if he feels Tim smiling against his neck, but he *does* feel Tim squeezing him just a little tighter. Tim exhales softly, and the warm air across Bart's pulse makes him have to bite his lip when his cock twitches involuntarily.

The angle of their hug is awkward so Bart is pretty sure Tim can't feel him there. Which is a good thing, because Tim doesn't seem inclined to let go anytime soon and he keeps breathing *warm* on Bart's neck, and it's... Bart doesn't *want* to be hard right now. Bart breathes slowly and closes his eyes, wishing it would go away.

It won't. It absolutely refuses to when Tim presses his lips very deliberately on Bart's pulse. And Bart lets out a surprised, "Oh," and clutches Tim *hard*.

Mentally *berates* himself for it and tries to pull back, but Tim is holding *on* and dragging his lips across Bart's cheek.

"Tim, I -- " he tries, but then Tim's mouth is *on* him. Warm and alive and pressing *hard*, and leaving him gasping when Tim finally breaks off.

"Is this -- do you mind?" Tim asks tentatively.

Bart starts to say 'no', then thinks better of it. "This isn't some weird experiment, is it?  'Cause if you're testing some level of Bat-ness -- "

Tim kisses him quickly. To shut me up, Bart thinks, which doesn't mean he's wrong, even though Tim shakes his head.

"You can keep a secret?" It's not, entirely, a question.

Bart nods, just in case it is.

Tim strokes Bart's cheek with bare fingers. "I like touching. And it's not something... I don't get to do it much."

And Bart *gets* that. Tim probably had to sign away his right to hugging when he got his cape and tights. Bats don't hug, Bart knows, and Tim doesn't know how to ask for *anything*, ever.  He wasn't even going to *tell* them when his dad...

*Fuck*. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Tim needs *therapy*.

And it probably isn't *this*, but he can't not pull Tim in as tightly as he can and kiss him as *slowly* as he can before it starts to hurt.

Moving slowly *does* hurt after a while. Being still makes Bart shudder and he tries hard to stay slow. Tim doesn't seem to mind when he can't anymore, though. He cups Bart's face with one hand and leans into it, letting Bart kiss him as fast as he needs to.

Which means he's too busy to notice Tim moving them until Bart finds himself lying back on the floor pillow. Tim slides down beside him and moves one leg between Bart's.

He knows the moment Tim feels his erection. "I -- all the. Kissing."  Bart can't stop the blush.  "But hey, it didn't happen in front of the others, or on a mission. That's what matters, right?"

And Tim actually *smiles*, with a flash of teeth and everything. "Right," he says, and it's almost predatory when he leans in to kiss again.

Tim is good at kissing, but a little strange too, like he wants to compensate for a lack of practical experience by putting a *lot* of thought into technique. Tim's hands don't stop *moving* on him, one hand petting his hair while the other skims Bart's body over the thin t-shirt. The touch is too heavy to be a tickle but it's not hard enough. Bart moves his own hands over Tim's back, but that's... the armor is too thick for Tim to really *feel* it, so Bart slides his hands to the bare skin of Tim's arms. He rubs them up and down and covers Tim's hand when he finds Bart's nipple through the shirt.

And gasps when Tim gives it an experimental pinch. Tim pulls back enough to look in Bart's eyes. The eye shields are up now, and Bart *really* wants to know how the hands-free features on Tim's mask work.

"Does that hurt?"

"In a good way." Bart runs a finger down Tim's armored chest. "Do *you* like that?"

Tim gives him a tiny nod. "Tell me what you like."

"Skin," Bart blurts. "I like your skin."

Bart can feel the heat of Tim blushing, and he really wishes he'd left a light on so he could *see* it too.  Bart mourns the loss of contact when Tim sits up, but stops minding when Tim takes off the belt. The body armor cracks open like a turtle shell and hits the floor with a rubbery thud.

Tim only hesitates when his fingers find the hem of his green t-shirt. It takes a second for Bart to realize that Tim is *asking* if this is okay. Bart doesn't know how to say thank-you to that without sounding like a dork, so he whips off his own t-shirt instead.

Bart guesses his enthusiasm is what makes Tim blink and smile shyly. Tim lifts the shirt over his head and...

Scars. Even in the dim light of the TV, Bart can see them. There are a lot.  More than he remembers from their times in the communal showers.  And it hits him that not all of Tim's hesitation was about going to second base.

But *he* doesn't want to hesitate. 

Bart pulls him back down to the floor. Wraps his arms around Tim's back and touches all that wonderful scarred *skin*, massaging Tim's tongue with his own as he rubs a particularly deep scar below Tim's left shoulder blade. It makes Tim *shiver* and groan into Bart's mouth, and Bart has to close his eyes and grind hard into the thigh shoved between his legs.

Tim breaks the kiss to gasp. "Bart -- "

"Do my nipple again..."

Tim makes this tiny sound before skimming his thumb back up Bart's chest. He finds the nub and pinches just hard enough to make Bart yelp, make Tim have to kiss him again to keep him quiet. Tim twists it again and again until Bart is moaning constantly and *bucking* against him.

Bart holds on to Tim's hand, riding out the pinches and twists to his sensitive flesh. So good, Bart wants to tell him. So *good*, please don't stop...

He doesn't *ever* want to stop. He's leaking into his underwear and he can smell Tim's sweat and Tim sucks on his tongue every time Bart makes noise. The grind of Tim's armor is the best tease ever, and Bart has to grab Tim's hip with his free hand and pull him in *harder*.  He moves under Tim again, again, and all he wants is for Tim to hold on to him *tighter*

Tim breaks the kiss and buries his face into Bart's neck. "God, Bart, I -- "

"Don't stop," Bart begs, clutching him harder as he bucks. "*Please* don't stop – "

*Sharp* cry into Bart's ear, and Tim shudders hard and stills. Bart forces himself to slow down.  He knows Tim just came and he's so close, so *close* but Tim is making little hurt noises.  He manages to stop and pets Tim's hair with a shaky hand. "Are you okay?"

Tim doesn't say anything, just reaches between them and yanks Bart's pants open, getting him out of his underwear and jerking him *hard*. Bart lets his head fall back and arches into Tim's fist. He feels Tim's teeth graze his throat, and Tim speeds his hand until it's almost as fast as Bart needs it.  Tim has him.  Tim *has* him and he's not going to stop.  Bart has to close his eyes and let himself *feel* this.

"Oh god -- " 

"Yes."  Tim's voice sounds almost *pained*.

"Oh *god* --"

Bart isn't quite vibrating but he's shaking so hard Tim has to get an arm around Bart's shoulder to hold *on*. Bart knows he'll cause damage pretty soon, so he reaches down and stops Tim's hand.  

"Let go." 

"No."

"I need you to -- " Bart manages to slide his fingers in under Tim's.  Tim's hand wrapped around *his* fist, and this way Bart can do it as hard and fast as he needs but he won't hurt Tim.  He knows Tim understands when he squeezes Bart's hand and makes Bart jerk himself *faster*. 

"Bart," Tim whispers.

Tim, he tries to say as he arches off the floor.

He's still getting his breathing under control when he feels Tim reach above his head. Then Tim slides their hands off his dick and Bart looks down to find Tim wiping their hands with the Bat-Kleenex.

Absorbs all kinds of liquids. Right. He closes his eyes until Tim finishes cleaning them up.

And opens them again when he doesn't feel Tim come back. Tim looks... he's chewing uncertainly on his lip even as he fingers Bart's hair.

"Are you freaking out?" Bart asks. It's more blunt he'd like it to be, but he doesn't really know a not-blunt way to phrase it.

"No. I was just. Would it be okay if we -- stayed here. For a while."

Cuddle, Bart thinks. He rolls the thought over in his mind. Tim wants to cuddle. Tim wants to *cuddle*? *Tim* wants to cuddle. Tim *wants* to cuddle.  Bart feels a paradigm in his brain shifting without a clutch.

He scoots over anyway to give Tim some room on the pillow.

Tim settles in and nudges Bart. "Roll over."

Bart starts to ask why but does it anyway. Tim scoots in behind him and presses against Bart's back, sliding his hands around Bart's chest and pulling him in.

Spoons, Bart thinks. Tim wants to spoon.

Bart wriggles a little to get comfortable. Realizes his butt is rubbing Tim's armor, and, "Isn't that uncomfortable? I mean, it has to be kind of... sticky."

"I'm okay." And Bart thinks about suggesting they go clean up, but Tim pulls him close and nuzzles the back of his neck a little, and moving suddenly seems like a really *bad* idea, no matter how sticky Tim is.

Bart gives Tim's forearm a little squeeze. They lie quietly for a while. Eventually, Tim shifts behind him until he's resting his cheek on Bart's shoulder. The gentle scrape of stubble against his skin makes Bart shudder lightly.

"You okay?" Tim asks quietly.

"Yeah. Just. This is nice."

He can feel Tim stiffen even as he says, "Yeah."

Bart brushes his fingertips across the light hair of Tim's arm. "Tim, anytime you -- this is something you can have, if you want it. I can... keep a secret."

He isn't sure, but he thinks he hears Tim breathe, "thank you," as he exhales.

Bart reaches back with one hand and cups Tim's hip. Pulls him closer and decides not to let go until Tim wants him to.