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Robin feels like he's been on patrol for hours, circling around familiar routes with no real direction or purpose. He's taking a moment to re-orient himself on the roof of an apartment complex when he suddenly finds himself slammed up against the roof access door.
"You missed our date, Robin," Nightwing growls, kissing him as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Robin takes it, his own mouth already open with surprise and making it easy. His gloves slip and drag against Nightwing's suit when he reaches for him, sliding over his chest, sides and up his arms before he can find purchase, curling his around his shoulders.
"Sorry," he pants when the kiss breaks for a moment. "Arkham. Breakout. No choice." Each word is punctuated by a kiss, fleeting and feverish. Nightwing's hands feel like they're everywhere-- under his cape, pressing against the armoring over his chest, ghosting and faint across his face.
They disarm his belt with speed that should probably concern him, but only makes him hum into the kiss and press closer. It does nothing to help get the belt off, but Robin's not really thinking too clearly, caught in the moment.
Nightwing smiles into the kiss when the belt finally drops to the ground, a sharpening of his mouth that Robin can't see, but he can feel.
Now his hands are pushing and tugging at his suit, searching for a way in--
Robin moans, loud enough to feel shocking, when Nightwing finally works his way into the shorts, gauntlet cool and strange and making everything hotter, more intense. It would be worrying, if Robin was capable of doing anything more than curling his toes in his boots--
And waking up.
Disorientation. For a moment it's so strong that Tim doesn't know where he is, can't understand the dark corners and strange shadows of his bedroom ceiling because his mind is looking for a rooftop, expecting cool night air around him and colder steel at his back.
He was dreaming. It feels like a revelation once he works it out, and by then there are only fragments of the dream left, spiraling away like mist when he tries to grasp at them. Nigtwing. Dick. Tim's breathing heavily, and his body has responded in the only way it knows how to that sort of stimulation.
He still can't quite make himself believe what happened earlier. Can't really make himself understand that it was something that happened to him. As opposed to something that he might have imagined happening to him, but in reality?
It's too much.
Certainly there's no way he can possibly fall back asleep without acknowledging the dream he just had.
For specific, possibly innuendo laden, definitions of the word acknowledge.
He thinks about kissing Dick again. About his strong, insistent mouth and clever, searching hands, and sighs as he slides his own hand under the waistband of his boxers.
Eventually he falls asleep again.
The next day at school seems to be interminably long, more so than usual because Tim can't seem to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his mind wanders off. To what happened last night, or alternatively, and with considerably more anxiety, to what will happen tonight. He thinks about it so much that he's a wreck by the time the last bell rings. He stands at his locker and stares dumbly at his books, completely incapable of figuring out what he needs to take home with him.
"Tim? Are you okay?"
He looks up to find Zoanne standing next to him. Craig Pulaski steps up behind her, a hulking and good-naturedly handsome presence over her shoulder.
"Yeah, Drake, you seemed pretty out of it today, what gives?"
It just goes to show how out of sorts he is that he hadn't even noticed them walking his way.
He sighs and shuts his locker door, giving up on trying to figure out his schoolbooks. It might be selfish, but Tim's pretty happy to see Craig trailing after Zoanne like a puppy. He tries to think of an answer, but when he turns around he sees that Zoanne is biting her lip and looking down, and Tim has to take a moment to hope that she's not just going out with the other boy in an attempt to make him jealous.
"Late night?" Craig offers, and it's better than whatever Tim had been about to come up with so he shrugs and fakes a smile. "Yeah, something like that."
Craig grins at him and winks, like they're sharing some sort of secret. Tim's so distracted by this show of teenage male camaraderie that when his cell phone rings he answers it without looking at the screen first.
"Hello," he says absently.
"Hey, little brother."
It's Dick. He sounds amused, perpetual laughter bubbling under the surface of his voice. Tim blushes, caught off guard, a wave of heat across his face that he can't hope to stop. "Oh! I mean, uh. Hey," he finishes lamely, ignoring the curious expressions on his friend's faces.
"Hi," Dick says, and this time he does laugh, just a little. Tim closes his eyes and tries to let the embarrassed self-consciousness roll off of him and away. "I just wanted to call and make sure that we were still on for tonight," Dick says carefully, placing obvious emphasis on the words on and tonight.
Tim frowns. "Yes. Did you think I was going to back out?"
"I wanted to make sure I hadn't imagined everything, to be honest." There's a short pause. "Also, I know what happens in that crazy little head of yours when you think about something too much."
Tim leans back against his locker. "I suppose you're right," he admits. "Thankfully, I've been at school all day so I had plenty of things to think about other than you."
He remembers he has an audience, and glances over at Craig and Zoanne to find the other boy grinning at him, perfect white teeth gleaming, his arm slung around her shoulder. Dick's laughter in his ear is warm. Pleased.
"Tell me when you're coming over. Tell me it's soon."
Tim looks at his watch and does the math in his head. "I can get there around six, I think."
"Mmm... sounds good. I'll have pizza."
"Pizza?"
"Yep. Pizza and movies," Dick confirms. "That okay?"
Greasy pizza, undoubtedly bad movies, and a big couch to curl up on. With Dick. He smiles to himself. "Sounds great. I'll be there around six."
When he gets off of the phone Craig is still grinning at him in a rather obvious way. Zoanne isn't smiling, but that's not really Tim's problem anymore. He can't help but feel grateful for it.
"I gotta go," he says. "See you later?"
"Sure man, no problem," Craig says, winking again. It's not any less weird the second time. Tim gives them a smile as he leaves, heading straight for his car.
The reasons Tim had to factor in when he gave Dick an ETA were these: He has to stop off at the manor, and he has to take the car into the city.
The stop at the manor is necessary so that Tim can take a shower and grab some extra clothes. He always feels gross if he doesn't clean up after school, even when he's just going to get himself dirty all over again with training or going out on patrol. It's something about the institutionalized air of the place, with it's press of a thousand teenage and therefore questionably hygienic bodies in the halls. Something about the smell, too, that makes him feel the need to scrub it all off at the end of the day.
Once he's showered and changed he grabs a few things to take with him, and then he's in the car and out on the road again. Theoretically the trip shouldn't take that long. As the crow flies New York isn't very far away, but the early evening rush of cars on the highway means it will take him about an hour or so to get to Dick's new apartment. If he had taken his motorcycle it would only take about half that time, but he really didn't want to show up covered in highway dirt. With helmet hair.
Of course the longer trip just gives him more time to think, no matter how hard he tries to not dwell on it, and by the time he reaches Dick's apartment he's gotten himself all twisted around.
He doesn't know what to do about this. There's no procedure to follow and he doesn't have any sort of precedent for this type of relationship. Beyond that he doesn't even really know what Dick wants.
Sex? Something more than that? Tim knows that he'll take whatever he can get, but it would be good to know if Dick is thinking with more than just his--
Well.
Tim stares at the door and attempts to figure out how to even begin that conversation. He doesn't get very far before it opens.
"I thought that was you," Dick says.
He's wearing an old t-shirt that's almost too small for him and what Tim knows are his favorite pair of jeans, threadbare and ragged at the hem and the pockets. Tim watches him curl the toes of his left foot into the thick rug in front of the door.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come in?"
"I was just trying to figure that out."
"Hmm." Dick leans against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes the thin shirt pull tight across his shoulders. "Any reason for the indecision?"
Tim sighs, shifting a little. "I don't know, isn't this a little weird?"
Dick smiles, and Tim's stomach does a little flip. "I knew it wasn't a good idea for you to drive. Too much time to think."
"Dick."
"Okay, okay. Yeah, it's a little weird. It always is," Dick says. "But wouldn't it be less weird if you came inside?"
Tim nods and lets Dick pull him into the apartment. It's half unpacked; a series of unopened boxes and empty stretches of floor punctuated by islands of lived-in spaces. For example, there are boxes and papers and stacks of mail all over the kitchen table, but the kitchen itself is free of boxes and relatively tidy. Tim hangs his bag on one of the chairs ringing the table and says, "You still haven't unpacked everything?"
"Uh, no? I unpacked the living room," Dick says, gesturing towards the area where the TV is set up, surrounded by a couch, two old, cushy armchairs, and a coffee table.
"So you just need motivation?"
"Yes. Exactly."
Tim smiles. He can do this. It's not so different from their old friendly bantering. "So if I can convince you that the kitchen table is a necessary surface to have cleared, you'll unpack all of this?"
Dick takes a step towards him. "Or I can just throw it all on the floor, because that's faster. What kind of convincing did you have in mind?"
Tim slides away from him, blushing. So maybe it's a lot different. The weight of Dick's attention has always been heavy, but this is astronomically more than he's used to.
He heads for the area where the TV is set up to look at the movies. Dick has a lot of dvds. He tends to buy them and then stick them on the shelves of his entertainment stand still wrapped in plastic. Sometimes it takes years before they're opened and watched.
"What were you thinking of watching?" he asks, hoping that Dick will take the obvious distraction.
"Tim."
"Action? Or maybe a comedy--"
"Tim."
He turns around to face him, crossing his arms over his chest in what he knows is a bristly and defensive gesture. He can't help it. "I've just been thinking, you know, that I don't know how to do this. With you, I mean. I don't know how to do this with you, not without massively screwing things up.
"I don't know where to start. I don't know what you want."
"You," Dick says quickly, moving the rest of the way towards him. "I want you," he says again, half-thoughtful and half-amused. "And there's plenty of places to start."
"Dick."
"Do you want to take things slow?" Dick asks, still a little bit teasing as he takes a step into Tim's personal space. "Because we can do that too. We can have dinner, go out to the movies..."
He reaches out and touches Tim's neck, his thumb rubbing across the line of his jaw. "Or we could just skip all that and make love right now," he finishes.
Make love. Of course Dick would say that, it's just the corniest, dime-store romance, trite thing to say--
Except for how it instantly twists Tim up inside because he knows that Dick means it.
Dick grins. "Did I switch gears too fast for you, little brother?"
Tim bites his lip, because that. That right there--
Dick is watching him avidly.
"It's just--"
"I'm listening."
"I'm not sure how we can do this," Tim says again. "We just figured out how to be brothers again, how to be a family. I can't do things halfway, Dick."
Dick nods, serious and sure, just that fast. "I get it, Tim, I really do. I wasn't just thinking about sex, you know."
Relief washes down his spine like warm water, because he hadn't known. He'd hoped, but he hadn't been sure. Dick brings his hand to Tim's face, cupping his cheek, fingertips curling into his hair behind his ear. "You have to know how bad I am at this. Do we need to talk about it?"
"No," Tim says, screwing up his courage and taking that last step between them, placing his hands flat against Dick's chest. "I want you to kiss me again."
"Yeah, okay," Dick says, close enough now that Tim can feel the whisper of it on his skin. "I can do that."
Their lips brush together and Tim's eyes close as he leans into it. Into the opening press of their mouths, and the first brush of Dick's tongue past his lips has Tim moaning for it, far too eager and aching for more. Dick curls his other hand around Tim's hip and tugs him closer, as close as possible. Tim can feel Dick's heartbeat under his palms, can smell him with with every stolen breath he takes. It's dizzying, and Tim thinks at least we know this part works.
His cell phone rings out of nowhere, a complicated series of low and high notes, a specific ring tone that lets him know that there's some sort of emergency back in Gotham, and Dick's phone starts up a few seconds later. Tim pulls away and Dick groans unhappily when he steps back, but he doesn't protest.
Tim goes to his bag and retrieves his more 'official' communicator, popping it in his ear and crossing his arms. "R to B."
There's a momentary low buzz of static before Batman speaks. His voice is more clipped than normal, words abrupt in a way that adds to Tim's feeling of urgency.
"Need you back in Gotham. Breakout at Arkham. Having some trouble with containment."
"Understood," Tim replies, thinking immediately of the dream he had last night. He looks at Dick. "Nightwing and I are on our way."
Dick makes a face at him before heading to his room.
There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Noted," Batman finally says after a moment. The line goes dead.
Tim follows after Dick. "Hey, do you still have one of my suits..." he trails off, because Dick is half dressed, leggings on and in the process of pulling the top of the suit over his head.
"Back of the closet," Dick answers once he has his head free.
Tim turns away, blushing again, and digs in the back of the closet until he sees a flash of red. He pulls one of his extra suits off a damn hanger and rolls his eyes. "You really need--"
"A better hiding place than that. Yeah, I know. You can make me one, if you want." He's putting on his gloves now, stepping into his boots. "There should be boots and a staff in the back."
Tim changes quickly, facing the closet and pretending he can't feel Dick's eyes on him the whole time. When he turns around Dick has his mask on, white-out lenses down, and Tim can't read his eyes. It doesn't make his expression any less intense.
He kisses Tim quickly but fiercely. "This isn't over," he says, a little remnant of uncertainty in his voice making it sound like a question. Tim nods mutely.
"Good." He grins like a shark, all sharp teeth and danger. "We'll take my bike."
Riding a motorcycle with Dick is something that only adrenaline junkies should attempt, Tim thinks, clutching Dick hard around the middle as they weave recklessly through the traffic outside of Gotham. The abject terror has slowly drained away every other feeling he has, lessening the potential awkwardness of being pressed from crotch to shoulders along the length of Dick's back.
The asylum is a mess. The main wall on half of one of the wings of the building has been blown away, the fire smoldering down to charcoal and ash by the time they get there. Batman has already rounded up most of the more dangerous inmates that have escaped, and he sends Nightwing and Robin out to collect the rest.
Five hours later finds them pulling into the Cave on Dick's bike, tired and far too dirty for Tim not to want to shower immediately. There's something especially messy about the inmates of Arkham, and Tim feels like he's covered from head to foot in one sort of weirdness or another.
He hops down and heads straight for the showers as soon as Dick stops the bike. He can hear Dick following him but he doesn't really care, just starts stripping off his uniform, dropping bits and pieces on the way like he's molting feathers.
The shower is blessedly hot and does a great deal to melt some of the post-fight fuzz out of his head, making him feel somewhat human again. Dick turns on one of the showers on the wall opposite his, and they wash in silence.
Tim really hates dealing with Arkham, more than just about anything else short of the Joker and probably Two-Face. The asylum just freaks him out, full of the evidence of what the human mind is capable of when it's pushed past its limits. It always makes him worry about his own sanity, makes him worry how long he can live this life before he just snaps.
There is a future out there waiting for him, one that he's seen and wants no part of.
They dry off, changing into some of the spare clothes that are kept down here. Neither one of them bother with anything more than underwear, and Tim can feel Dick watching him as he runs the towel over his skin one more time, trying to figure out what he wants to do.
Remaking the decision he had already made earlier tonight, before they were interrupted.
They're family, at the base of it, and that means something. He knows that Dick would never purposefully hurt him, just like he knows that he would gladly follow Dick off the edge of the world. He's never been able to do anything else.
Right now he's tired, worn out both physically and mentally, and he doesn't want to waste time worrying about this anymore, so when Dick tries to move past him for the door he grabs his hand.
"Come upstairs with me," he says. There's water from his hair dripping into his eyes. He's sleepy and sore and he feels ridiculous standing here in his underwear, but Dick looks at him like he's desirable, like he's something that he wants.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Tim says, grinning slyly. "We can have a sleepover. It'll be fun."
He ducks out of the way when Dick lunges for him and heads upstairs, laughing. Relieved.
Dick catches up with him as he gets to his bedroom. Once Tim shuts the door Dick kisses him, pushing him back against the cool wood. Tim knocks his head against it when he arches up, trying to push himself into the kiss.
Dick pulls away, grinning, and says, "Now where were we?"
"Here, I think," Tim answers. "Except I was being difficult."
"Hmm... and what changed your mind?" Dick's hand is moving along his side, warm and with just enough pressure to not be ticklish.
Tim kisses him again, warm and open-mouthed. "Sometimes I worry too much." Another kiss. "I don't know if you've noticed."
"Maybe. Maybe," Dick says, kissing him again and spinning them around so that he can walk them towards the bed.
"You stole my room, you know," he says as he pushes Tim down onto the bed, crawling over him immediately. He kisses him once more, hard, and Tim can't do much more than feel it before Dick's pulling away.
"My bed," he adds, grinning down at Tim, his hair hanging in damp curls around his face. He bounces the bed a little, pushing with his hands and knees. "I bet this is even the same mattress."
"Probably is," Tim says, staring up at him. Dick bounces the bed one more time and then flops down on his back beside Tim. Tim blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before he props himself up on his elbows so he can stare at Dick. Who is rubbing his hand low over his own stomach, letting his fingers dip and drag a little at the waistband to his underwear.
Tim wants to know what that feels like.
"You know," Dick says thoughtfully, "I can't even count the number of times I jerked off in this bed." Tim wrenches his gaze from his wandering hand back up to his now smirking face. It's not like Tim's never thought about it. The thing about the wealthy is that plenty of them got that way by being frugal. Sensible. A mattress is something you buy and keep for years and years if it's high quality.
"Thousands of times, probably. Sometimes it was the only way I could get to sleep at night."
Tim knows what he means. Sometimes there's no other way to burn the leftover adrenaline out of your body. He watches Dick's hand again as it makes another pass across his stomach.
Dick turns his head to look at him, and Tim's torn between bright blue eyes and Dick's hand drifting lower to cup himself through his underwear. "When was the last time you touched yourself in this bed, Tim?"
Tim wants that touch too, those bigger hands on his body, or possibly he just wants to touch. He knows Dick's being a tease, and its working because he's hard. Having trouble paying attention to Dick's words rather than his actions, and he's sure Dick knows it. He thinks he can turn the tables, though. At least a little.
"Last night," he answers.
"Last night," Dick repeats slowly, like he has to taste the words in order to understand them. "After I left..? Of course after I left." He rolls onto his side and pushes Tim back down to the bed with an easy hand in the middle of his chest. "Any particular reason?" he asks, grinning.
"I was dreaming about you," Tim says simply, watching Dick's eyes widen and then narrow. "I woke up at the worst possible moment."
"Heh. It sucks when that happens," Dick says happily, but so much more intensely focused. "But you have to tell me all about it, you have to." Dick pets his way down Tim's chest as he talks, tracing scars and stopping to smooth slow circles around his belly.
Tim breathes deeply, trying not to squirm. "I... I don't know. I don't remember much, just bits and pieces."
Dick hand moves lower, right to were Tim needs it. "Tell me?"
Warm, warm hand, just marking the shape of him, not even squeezing, and it still takes every bit of his willpower not to let his eyes roll back in his head. He swallows. "I-- we were on a rooftop--"
"A rooftop?"
"Yes, in our uniforms--"
"Ooo, kinky."
Tim swats at him and Dick catches his hand, twining their fingers together and pressing their joined hands to the bed. Tim's heart stutters and skips, because even though Dick's not touching him where he really wants it, the innocent gesture just means more.
"When did you wake up?" Dick asks, shifting over him, pressing his thigh between Tim's legs, firm and good against his erection. He can feel Dick's own against his leg when he pushes up, angling for more friction.
"Right as you got your hand in my pants," Tim answers breathlessly.
Dick grabs Tim's other hand, pushing it down to the bed as well. "That's a shame," Dick says. "I guess I'll just have to make it up to you."
"Yes," Tim breathes out, arching up but unable to get very far, not without having to fight for it, and he doesn't want that. He just needs a little more contact.
"Mmm. God, you look good like this. So, so good." Dick kisses him again, holding him down with their joined hands, leaning onto Tim's body with more pressure. He pulls his mouth away after a moment, lips against Tim's jaw, his cheek.
"I thought about it, you know. Last night. Thought about talking you into going upstairs. When I got home I couldn't stop thinking about it, about you in this bed. My bed." He pushes down against him and Tim gasps, feeling his heartbeat skip a little. "About what I wanted to do to you..."
He kisses his way down to Tim's throat, warm open lips and the slight drag of stubble on his skin making Tim roll against him, using the leverage of his pinned hands to press up.
Dick bites the side of his neck, letting go of Tim's hands to hold him down with his body, and that feels even better. Dick's mouth on his neck is scorching, sweet pressure and teeth and he's arching into it, reaching up to clutch at Dick's shoulders as he tries to push up against the thigh pressing between his legs.
He can hear himself breathing. It feels like every other inhalation is a gasp, and there's a part of him that is insisting that he should be embarrassed about it but he just can't be. He's too wound up to care.
Dick's hand sliding down his side feels like it's charged with static, and there's so much sensory information flooding his brain that it's making it hard to focus.
So when the world around him flips and turns it takes him a moment to get his bearings.
He flails for a second, but Dick's hands are on him, one against his back and one on his thigh, steadying him. Tim opens his eyes and finds himself straddling Dick's hips, hands against Dick's chest and half propped up.
"I want to see you," Dick says, pressing Tim back until he's sitting on his heels. There's a second where he feels terribly exposed, suddenly aware of just how hard he is, how obvious it is in this position, but Dick is smiling up at him, flushed skin and warm eyes that are full and wanting, and it doesn't last. "I want to touch you. Can I?"
Tim wants to roll his eyes and say something sarcastic, because the answer is obviously yes, but he finds he can't do anything but nod.
"Good."
Dick curves his hands around Tim's ass, moving him up a little until he ends up sitting across his lower stomach. He can feel Dick's erection under his ass and he gasps, shifting back and down until he can feel the length of it pressing against him through their underwear. Dick sucks in a breath under him and moves his hands to grab Tim's hips and hold him still.
"No teasing," he says.
"Who says I'm teasing?"
"You..." Dick shakes his head, damp hair falling away in dark curves around his face. "Wasn't I supposed to be making something up to you?"
Tim arches an eyebrow and grabs Dick's hands, moving them to the waistband of his underwear and curling his fingers under the elastic. "I think you were about right here," he says, feeling his heartbeat pick up again.
"Oh? I guess I was," he says, tugging Tim's boxers down. Over his ass and down his thighs as far as they'll go, freeing his erection and then immediately wrapping his hand around it. Tim moans, a broken, short little sound that he tries to cover up, bringing his hand to his mouth on instinct.
Dick grabs his wrist, pulling his arm down behind his back and holding it there in a firm grip. "Uh-uh, I want to hear you." He moves his other hand, a little slick with Tim's precome and just perfect, making him whimper. "Yes, like that. Every sound you'll give me."
Tim can't do anything but obey, every twist of Dick's hand and push of his own hips drawing some sort of noise out of him. It's been a long, long time since he's done anything like this, a long time since he's had another person's hands on him and he'd almost forgotten how intense it is, how much sharper the sensation. He moans for what feels like the hundredth time, pulsing slickly into Dick's hand, and he's so, so close to coming. A large part of him wants it, wants to watch himself ejaculate all over Dick's chest, but he's feeling greedy, wanting to make this last as long as he can. Wanting to make it better.
Dick's still holding Tim's other arm down, pinned behind his back. Tim groans, thrusting up into Dick's fist and then back down against him, taking the moment of distraction to twist his arm in Dick's grip and grab his hand, pushing it down along the curve of his ass and then lower.
"Ah, do you want..?" Dick asks, tentatively dragging his fingers across the sweat-damp and sensitive skin.
"Yes," Tim answers quickly, while he still has his voice. He leans forward, curling in enough to kiss him. Dick surges up to meet him, pushing his tongue into Tim's mouth and gripping his ass. Tim takes the opportunity to wiggle the rest of the way out of his underwear, stretching out over Dick and letting go of the hand on his ass so he can quickly pull them off. Somehow Dick never loses his hold on Tim, even though his hand is squashed between them, and Tim has to make himself concentrate enough to move his other hand down to fumble for a moment at the bedside table.
It's a victory to find the lube, and even more so to pull himself away from the kiss and sit back up again. Dick looks confused for a moment, dazed and wide-eyed, before his focus sharpens and he grins, holding out his hand.
He's sweaty, breathing hard but not hard enough, in Tim's opinion. He wants to see him lose it, wants to be the one to make him crazy.
Tim opens the bottle and pours some out, over Dick's fingers, smoothing it in between them with his own. Probably far too thoroughly, if Dick's raised eyebrow is anything to go by.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Dick shifts under him, bringing his knees up against Tim's back as he slides his hand between his legs, brushing deliberately against his sac as he goes. His fingers are cool and gentle against Tim's skin, sliding in cautious circles around his hole, spreading the lube all over. Tim sighs, leaning some of his weight back against Dick's legs, and lets his eyes fall closed.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Dick whispers reverently, like his words might break the moment if they're any louder, his desire like the tap of a hammer against glass. "Do you know that, Tim?" he asks, pressing in a little with one finger. His other hand is still wrapped in a loose afterthought around Tim's dick and it's not enough. It's not--
Tim shivers, suddenly aware that he's holding his body tense in anticipation. He makes himself relax and opens his eyes to look down at Dick, who seems to be waiting for an answer. "No," he says simply.
"Well, you are." Dick slides his finger in the rest of the way, slow and steady enough to drive Tim crazy. "I wish I could show you. I wish you could see yourself like this, all flushed and open, so open for me..."
Yes, Tim thinks, for you. He leans back a little more, taking some of the pressure off of his knees, and lets himself feel it. Lets himself be aware of the moment, one second passing into the next, and aware of his body. The sweat on his skin and every electric point of contact with Dick's body, the way that arousal and fear are twisting up sweet and hot in his chest.
Dick slides his finger out and before Tim can do much more than whine at the loss he's back with two, pushing in and Tim's body doesn't accept it easily, but it's so good that it doesn't matter. It doesn't take long before he's moving down against them, wanting more, feeling his body breaking out in shivers of sweat as he tries to match the motion of Dick's hand.
"Just look at you," Dick says, tightening his grip on Tim's dick, letting him move in and out of his hand as he rises and falls. "How much you want this."
It's not a question. "Yes."
Dick's fingers are flexing, spreading inside of him and slowly stretching him open. "How much you want me."
"Yes. Oh, please," Tim says, barely aware that he's begging.
"Shh, baby, it's okay. I've got you," Dick murmurs. This time he eases Tim open deliberately, three fingers pressing up carefully. Every millimeter feels like a mile, the sting and twisting burn of it almost enough to take Tim away from how good everything else feels, how good this will feel.
"Please," he says again. It seems to be the only thing he can get out of his mouth.
"What," Dick says, his voice thick and low. "What do you need?"
Tim shakes his head. He can't think, can't make himself speak without stuttering, he's sure of it. Instead he reaches back and grabs the leg of Dick's underwear, tugging a little, pulling them off when Dick catches on and lifts his hips. Tim's other hand still has lube on it from earlier, and he reaches behind him to curl it around Dick's dick, slicking it up.
Dick stills all over, the hand around him and the one that's still inside him, and his eyes go dark when he lets go of Tim's dick to cup his face and make him meet his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asks, and his voice is rough in a way that Tim's never ever heard before.
He wants to say yes, that if there's anything he's been sure about today it's that he wants this, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, "Yes, please. Please. Fuck me."
"Jesus. Yeah, okay." Dick slides his fingers out carefully, slow and steady. "I really need to kiss you again," he says, sitting himself up with Tim still in his lap, pulling him in with the hand on his cheek. The kiss is urgent, deep and wonderful, and Tim gives it back as well as he can, tangling a hand in Dick's hair and pushing up on his knees, until he has to pull away to catch his breath.
"How... I mean..." he trails off, face scrunching up, unsure of how to ask. How do you want me just doesn't sound like something he can make himself say.
Dick smiles. "I kept meaning to ask you if you've ever done this before, but I guess that answers my question. Are you sure you want to do this? It doesn't have to be tonight, you know."
Tim frowns, as much for being asked again as for the thought of having to wait, and makes himself look Dick in the eye. "Yes. And yes it does. I want you-- I want this, and I don't want to have to wait."
"Okay," Dick answers softly. "I just didn't want to do anything that you weren't absolutely sure you wanted."
"I don't think there's anything that you could do to me that I wouldn't want, if you needed it. That I wouldn't gladly take."
It's not something he ever thought he would need to say, and by the look on Dick's face it's not something that he was expecting to hear.
Tim watches him swallow, the shift and movement of his throat, and hopes that he didn't just mess this up. He knows it's not all that hard to scare Dick off.
"I want you on your hands and knees," he says thickly. "That'll be the easiest way."
Dick kisses him again, hard, and then pushes at him, basically doing a lot of man-handling and groping to get him in the right position. For a moment Tim feels exposed again, because Dick's hands are on his ass, holding him open and Tim can feel his gaze painting strokes against his skin, as firm as his touch. Tim fists the comforter in his hands and makes himself relax as Dick lines himself up. "Take a breath."
This stretch is different, deeper and so much more, and Tim has to tell his body not to panic. He breathes slowly, focusing on the movement more than the feel of it, until he's all the way in.
"Okay?" Dick asks, voice unsteady, and Tim nods. He's still hard, but it's not as urgent as it was. Not as imminent. It's more of a low throb, moving through him in a wave of sensation every time Dick thrusts.
"Fuck, you feel good," Dick says.
Tim wants to say something, echo the statement, maybe, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he opens it is a low moan.
Dick echos that, moaning and grabbing Tim's hips to pull him back, slowly increasing the speed of his thrusts as Tim matches his pace.
It's more than he could have ever imagined, this feeling. The push and pull of their bodies building every sensation, higher and higher until Tim feels it break over him, a rush of heat down his spine that crackles like static under his skin. It's overwhelming, overloading his senses until he can't understand anything but the most basic things, the white-hot points of Dick's fingertips where they press into his hips, hard enough to bruise, and every single sound they make as their bodies come together, every breath that's loud and obvious.
Dick grabs him around the waist, hauling him up in the middle of the bed to lean back against his chest. His hips are still moving, sliding in quick thrusts that push each breath out of him even as his legs fall apart, sprawling to either side of Dick's own.
"Oh," Tim gasps, because the angle has changed, is more intense.
"You were too far away," Dick pants against his ear. He places one hand in the middle of Tim's chest, running the other down to grasp Tim's dick again.
Tim arches into it, throwing his head back to rest on Dick's shoulder. He can move this way, thrusting into Dick's fist and back onto his dick, matching his rhythm.
"God, Tim," Dick groans, pushing his face into Tim's hair.
Tim moans, a high, whining sound. Every thrust is taking him higher, flooding his body with sensation. It's hot and electric down his back, flushing his chest and tightening his balls.
"Come on, baby. Come for me," Dick whispers, his lips brushing Tim's ear.
It makes him shake, shoving into Dick's hand over and over until he comes. The orgasm burns through him like lightning, and he can feel himself shudder all over, every muscle tensing as he slicks up Dick's hand.
Dick hips are moving faster, and Tim can't do anything but ride it, hang on and let Dick fuck him. It feels so good, so good to be used like this, to be needed and necessary to someone else's pleasure.
Dick groans, every motion ragged and rough until he stills, crying out and holding Tim's hips down. Tim can feel it as he comes, pulsing and wet inside of him, and it's enough to make him moan again.
Tim tips his head back and Dick kisses him, slow and breathless, and Tim turns as far into it as he can without really moving.
They stay like that for a while, tangled up together, their breathing evening out and the sweat cooling on their skin.
They don't move until they absolutely have to in order to avoid a mess, and it even then it takes them a few minutes to disengage, to clean up and sort their limbs out. Tim is quiet throughout, mostly because he's afraid that he'll say something absurd, like thank you, if he were to even try to open his mouth.
Dick pulls the covers back and kisses him down to the bed, smiling at him when he pulls away. "You're all sweaty," he says, dragging his hand through Tim's hair.
"Yes." Tim reaches up to touch his face, cupping his cheek. Dick turns into it, kissing his palm.
"What is it?" he asks.
Tim hums, tracing Dick's lower lip with his fingers before dropping his hand. "Just making sure that you're here. That I'm not having some sort of massive hallucination."
Dick's smile turns crooked, a little goofy. "Go to sleep, little brother, I'm here," he says, pulling him close and tugging the blankets up, "I'll be here in the morning. And the next morning, too. If you want me."
Tim sighs, curling up against Dick's chest. "Don't make promises you can't keep," he says.
"I won't. I'm not."
There's something plaintive and uncertain in Dick's voice that Tim wants to reach out and touch, to hold close and reassure.
"Okay," Tim says, letting his eyes fall closed. He presses a kiss against Dick's chest, right above his heart. "Okay."