Archive of Our Own

Dick hadn’t thought much of it in the beginning. Things had still been tensed and rough between him and Bruce, their words and actions just an edge too sharp and cruel.

There’d been a rift between them before Jason had died that had grown even wider after he was gone.

There was no leaning on each other for comfort. No attending family therapy or grief counseling to process their loss. He and Alfred had made a few joint trips to a support group hosted in the gymnasium of a local elementary school but that had quickly stopped after another member got a bit too nosy. Then Bruce had been forced to pay out a hefty sum to prevent a gossip rag from printing a story that was sold to them.

The world was cruel and unkind in the face of their grief.

Bruce should’ve been there for him and Alfred.

Instead, he’d been harsh, angry, and berating. Dick had launched screaming match after screaming match. Argument after argument in defense of himself, in defense of Alfred.

Bruce had been hurt. He’d been the one who’d been too late to save Jason. He’d been the one who’d dug his body out of the rubble. He’d been the one who’d flown home with his casket.

Maybe Dick should’ve been easier on him. Given him a pass and tried to understand what he was going through.

Dick still remembered the words of the group leader for the support group he and Alfred had attended before they’d stopped going. The person running the group had been trying to soothe a crying father who’d been breaking apart in front of them when he’d choked up talking about how his daughter had been killed during an attack on her campus.

‘A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no word for a parent who loses a child. That’s how awful the loss is.’

The words had been said with such a heavy solemnity that the circle of mourners sipping on watered-down coffee and nibbling on stale grocery store sugar cookies had gone quiet.

Dick hadn’t said a word for the rest of the session. Neither had Alfred.

Bruce had been in agony, burning with guilt and pain and failure.

He was like an injured animal biting and scratching at anyone who came near him.

Dick should’ve…he should’ve done a lot.

But Dick was in pain too and it was just easier to help steady Alfred’s shaking hands and help him with dinner and ignore the knowledge that Bruce was probably drinking himself to emotional numbness in his office.

The Titans had offered their sympathies, Kori had tried her best to understand but none of them had known Jason. They hadn’t been family and they simply hadn’t understood.

He, Alfred, and Bruce were like three burn victims trying to hug each other.

Only that Bruce was still on fire.

So Dick had ignored him, reserved his strength to try and heal himself. He’d kept low contact and called Alfred at the manor. He blocked Bruce’s number so he wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to him calling and listen to him drunkenly talk to him in that…that belligerent accusing tone.

He’d felt more than a little sympathy for Tim when he became Robin. Maybe he should’ve stuck around long enough to warn him but the thought of dealing with Bruce out of the mask had still been too much at that point.

So he’d left.

He’d dumped the responsibility on a random kid because Alfred was still not well enough to help Bruce out of his pit.

Alfred whose skin had been gray and pulled tight over his skull like the waxy covering on a mannequin. Whose grief came off of him in waves during the brief lapses of time he’d allow his mask to fall in front of Dick.

Neither of them had been in a position to reach out a hand to Bruce even though they should’ve. Alfred was hardly able to bring himself to visit Jason’s grave after the funeral.

And Dick…Dick had run away.

Run away to the arms of the Titans and his girlfriend and avoided Gotham and all its inhabitants until he’d slowly been roped back in because…because Robin was flying again.

His colors were soaring over the city and some part of Dick just couldn’t ignore that.

So he made the occasional day trip to Gotham, lent a hand when it was needed but for the most part, stayed away.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t been around to see Tim and Bruce get close. Dick still talked to Alfred.

Bruce had been doing better but still not doing great.

They still argued when they crossed paths. Bruce raised his voice like he always did, and got in Dick’s face.

So nobody could blame Dick for feeling relieved when Bruce calmed down around Tim. His voice wasn’t as harsh, his temper not as hot. Bruce was still angry but it was more of a simmer than a rolling boil.

If there was one thing Dick could respect it was that at least Bruce wasn’t taking his pain out on his new Robin.

Dick watched them together, saw how they moved against and with one another. Bruce tilted his head down to listen carefully to Tim’s words, Tim stood on his toes to whisper things to Bruce’s cowled ears. On patrol Batman kept his Robin close, shielding him under his cape from snow, rain, and wind.

When Dick had been Robin he’d gotten, at most, a commiserating look and a lecture about how Dick really should transition to thermal leggings or even pants. Jason had kept Dick’s suit the same even though Dick knew Bruce had desperately pushed redesigns his way.

Redesigns that Tim was now wearing. A leotard with leggings and long boots that would guard against shin splints.

It figured that Tim would have an advantage in being Bruce’s favorite. From the beginning, he’d worn Bruce’s choice in costume.

He’d also been a bit of a suck-up even though part of Dick felt a little bad at the thought but it was the truth. Tim hung onto Bruce’s orders like they were the word of god, he fell over himself to please him and make him happy, and maybe that had stroked some ego monster inside of Bruce.

Because Bruce favored Tim. Favored him in a way he hadn’t Dick or Jason and eventually Damian. It wasn’t just when they were in the mask but out of it too.

Bruce accompanied Tim to his skateboard ‘competitions’ which were really just a bunch of teenagers at a park showing off new tricks to each other. He went with Tim to car shows and photography exhibitions.

They…hung out.

It had baffled Dick the first time that Alfred had told him about it because Bruce didn’t hang out. He didn’t go out to museums or visit the beach and take photos to post on his Instagram.

Everything had to have a purpose: training, a case, following up on a lead, surveillance.

Something.

But no. He and Tim really were just hanging out like they were…friends.

It was more than Bruce did with Clark because Dick had borne witness to pouted attempts by Superman to cajole Batman into going bowling after catching the big bad of the week.

Dick couldn’t count the number of times he’d been disappointed when he caught the sight of two football, baseball, or basketball tickets in Bruce’s hands. Excited at the thought that he and Bruce were going to do something together only to be promptly let down when he was told to ‘bring a friend’.

Because Bruce wasn’t his friend. He was his guardian. His mentor. Maybe even his parent.

But never his friend.

It had stung in the beginning. Realizing that Tim was the exception to that rule.

But in the end, Dick had sort of understood and let it go.

Dick hadn’t been there for Bruce at his lowest. Neither had Alfred. They’d both just been all too happy to let the neighbor kid step in and rehabilitate their broken Batman for them.

So Dick let it go. The little trickle of hurt had quickly stopped when his and Bruce’s arguments did as well.

Bruce was finally… easier to work with.

He didn’t doubt Dick’s decisions as much, he let him operate without constantly hounding him.

Bruce was still an asshole but he’d always been an asshole.

So not much changed there.

Tim fit right into their lives. A sweet boy that endeared himself to a hollow shell of a man.

Part of Dick, the part he smothered down and begged to shut up, couldn’t help but be happy that at least he wouldn’t be forced to put up with Bruce and all his crushing baggage.

So Dick had accepted his second place trophy. His red ribbon, his consolation prize.

First place meant being in Bruce’s good graces and Dick knew he’d sooner peel his skin off than have to put up with all that it entailed.

If Timmy was happy taking on that burden for them why should he complain?

Why should anyone complain?

“Where are Bruce and Tim?” Dick asked, nudging Alfred’s elbow as he stared down into a boiling pot of pasta noodles. Alfred was chopping sweet basil and cherry tomatoes from the garden with a relaxed line of his brow. He pretended not to notice Dick sneaking a few slices of cut-up Italian sausage from another cooling pan.

“I believe they’re in the northern den watching a movie,” Alfred replied, shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in months. The manor was absent of its usual yelling and shattering of antique vases but also missing the cold, icy silence that seeped into the hollow wood of the floors.

Dick didn’t feel that brief throb of incredulity that he used to in the beginning. In fact, he barely felt the urge to raise his brow at any report of how Bruce and Tim were getting along anymore.

Instead, Dick felt a pulse of relief that Alfred didn’t have that tired look in his eyes coupled with a hesitant expression that said ‘I’m afraid that Master Wayne isn’t in the mood for visitors this evening’.

Dick felt an easy grin creep across his face as he patted Alfred on the back and swerved his hips around the kitchen island, making his way to the door.

“I’ll just pop in for a quick hello then, I only needed to grab something from my room really quick so I shouldn’t be here long.”

Dick knew Alfred would bubble up with protests, insist that Dick stay for dinner or even the night.

As well as Bruce was doing, things were still…difficult between them.

Dick peered his head in through the slightly ajar mahogany doors. He pressed his hands into the intricate carvings as he peered in at how Bruce and Tim were curled up together.

The fireplace was crackling with freshly added logs and both Bruce and Tim were huddled under a thin gray blanket.

Dick could see as the top of Tim’s head peeked out. His hair was fluffed and slightly staticky. His cheeks were puffed and red, full of marshmallows he was slowly chewing on.

Dick could see the empty bag on the coffee table in front of them. Alfred definitely wasn’t the one who gave it to him given how much he’d stressed not spoiling one’s dinner when Dick had been young.

Bruce’s head was reclined all the way on the back of the sofa, his eyes pointed more towards the ceiling than the TV showing some black and white noir-esque film.

A hand was weaved into Tim’s silky stands, fingers curled and occasionally tugging hard enough to make Tim’s head bob back and forth.

Not that Tim seemed to mind, his eyes locked on the screen with a cat-like focus. Shiny drool coated his lips as he chewed a white mush in his mouth like a zombie.

Dick couldn’t help the soft snort of laughter that bubbled out of him which caught both their attention.

Tim shifted from his place on Bruce’s lap, letting out a soft whine as Bruce braced him closer to himself, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging his back towards his chest.

Dick resisted the urge to tense at the feeling of Bruce’s eyes falling onto him.

“Dick.” He greeted softly, voice just the slightest edge of surprise. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Dick felt the tension in his back ease a bit. No frown, no bitten-out demand to know why Dick was here, why he hadn’t called ahead.

“It was just a quick trip, I needed to pick up some stuff that I borrowed to return to a friend.”

Dick made a point not to mention that the stuff belonged to Kori and that he was returning them because it seemed like the two of them were on the rocks more and more lately. The thought put a damper on his mood and things with Bruce were still too unstable for him to be any kind of vulnerable with the older man.

Bruce frowned a bit but not in a way that Dick’s fight or flight instincts kicking in. It was a soft look, one edged with confusion and a bit of disappointment.

“Are you going to be staying for dinner?”

Tim suddenly perked up from his place in Bruce’s lap, he turned eager eyes to Dick, a silent plea for him to stay visible in them.

The movement had Bruce’s hand falling down to cup Tim’s slim waist. Dick could see where the blanket had fallen down, revealing the two in post-workout tank tops.

Bruce was in pajamas.

Pajamas in the middle of the day, watching a movie, and asking Dick if he was staying for dinner.

There was no tension or heavy fog of distrust floating in the room.

Bruce’s eyes briefly shifted to Tim, expression flickering at the sight of his near bouncy excitement while he chewed vigorously to swallow back his mouth full of spongey sugar.

Dick could take a guess at what Tim was going to ask of him and it seemed Bruce did too.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Bruce asked lowly, his words were soft. Not grating or harsh.

Dick felt himself nod before he could even process the request and how this would be the first time that he and Bruce would share a dinner table since before Jason had died.

Dinner was pasta with tomatoes, sausage, and zucchini with crunchy slices of garlic bread.

It wasn’t something that Dick recalled Alfred ever making before.

“Alfred this is amazing,” Tim offered through a full mouth. Sauce streaked the side of his mouth and Dick watched as Bruce lifted his napkin to dab at a bit that drooled down to his chin. Tim didn’t notice the hand wiping his face clean as he kept bright eyes locked on Alfred.

“This is so much better than what they serve at Antonio’s!”

Alfred’s shoulders straightened the slightest bit, his back strict with posture even though Dick knew that the pressure from the world had him hunched over most days.

“I should hope that it is Master Tim.” Alfred replied, “Takeout quality dinners, as convenient as they are, can never take the place of a home-cooked meal.”

Tim smiled in response, soft lips curved sweetly. Bruce borderline pried his mouth open with a finger to stuff in a piece of ripped-up garlic bread.

Bruce looked like one of those elderly people who went to the park by Dick’s apartment and fed the ducks.

Tim dutifully chewed, swallowing, and opening with an ‘ah’ sound for Bruce to toss in another piece.

For once Dick had a calm, easy dinner at the manor.

Bruce didn’t sharply tell him not to put his elbows on the table or to stop picking at his vegetables.

It was a welcome change.

Bruce was more worried about stuffing his Robin full like a turkey on Thanksgiving than about the rest of the table’s inhabitants.

He offered the occasional word and responded when prodded but for the most part, seemed content to sit there at the head of the table and press food to his Robin’s lips.

Dick watched Bruce take a bite of pasta and in the next breath offered the utensil to Tim who apparently only ate it if it came from Bruce’s plate.

The next time Dick came for dinner (because that was apparently a thing he did now) Tim’s placemat was left empty and Bruce’s bowl was twice as big as Dick could recall Alfred ever laying out.

But that dinner and every dinner after that was easy and calm, even on the hard nights where the tension in Bruce was near palpable.

Never once did he turn on Dick though or Alfred.

On the rare nights Tim had to return home and it was just them, it was quiet.

Quiet and a bit uncomfortable like they were strangers occupying the same carriage on a train. But even that slowly eased away and even without Tim there Bruce would ask Dick about his day and compliment Alfred on his cooking.

‘Delicious as always old chum’.

Either way, Dick wasn’t complaining about the development.

Not one bit.

Jason’s rage and anger for his replacement had been fanned quite vigorously by the League.

He never mentioned it to the family beyond vague allusions. But out of all of the bats, Jason was sure that the only one who would understand when he tried to place it into words would be Damian.

Probably because he’d been spoon-fed the same shit to him by Talia.

Talia was weird about bats, mainly about Bruce but also about Tim.

Even clouded by the pit Jason had been able to see that there was something…off about Talia. The way she’d clench and glare at a monitor displaying photos of Batman and his new Robin.

She wasn’t a ranter or someone who let their emotions get the better of them but she hadn’t been able to hide how much she’d tense at all the new pieces of information from the surveillance they had locked onto little Timothy Drake.

That was the thing that really should’ve but hadn’t dinged on Jason’s radar.

He’d been so thirsty for justice and vengeance that he hadn’t really seen the conditioning even though it was something that Bruce had trained and drilled him on over and over.

In target practice for firearms Jason’s targets had been photos of Tim in both his civilian and caped suits. All dummies carried varying emotions with photos of him laughing, crying, yelling, and sleeping.

It probably should’ve rung alarm bells in Jason’s head that Talia was able to get such close and intimate shots of Batman’s Robin. But they had only reinforced what Jason suspected, that Bruce didn’t give a shit about his Robins.

If he cared so much for their safety how could he let the League of Assassins so close and how could he let Jason’s death go unpunished?

It hadn’t stuck out to Jason because their placement had seemed so natural. But why would Jason’s training revolve around taking out the replacement? Sure knocking him down a few pegs, teaching him a lesson, and using him to teach Bruce a lesson was a factor in it all.

But Jason wasn’t putting forth all his effort just for some kid he barely knew.

Bruce was who he had his beef with. Bruce was the one who had to answer for shit.

Seeing the two of them together out as civilians and capes burned something in Jason but it wasn’t the thing that drove him to train harder.

Talia was the one who was stuck on the new Robin. Constantly bringing him up, reminding Jason about how he’d been replaced, how he’d taken their place.

(“Their” place?)

Her voice in his head, her photos in his face-

Was it any wonder Jason had beaten the replacement as badly as he had?

Every opportunity that had presented itself to take a shot at him and Jason had taken it.

It was something he never did with Dick or with Bruce after he returned.

With them, the anger was quieter, more simmering. He could let himself think. But with Tim, it was like the sight or smell of him just set him off.

Talia used the opportunity of taking Jason under her wing to turn him into an attack dog.

He really should’ve seen it coming.

It was the exact kind of shit that Bruce would’ve done if he were just a few ticks more of an asshole. (No wonder the two of them had gotten along so well).

So Jason had been slightly more regretful, a bit more apologetic to Tim than he was to the rest of the family.

Tim had accepted his gestures, his words, his awkward and fumbled apologies.

Eventually, the two of them were able to get to a point where they could comfortably make jabs at one another and rib each other like brothers.

Jason had especially loved watching as Tim got manhandled by Bruce whenever he misbehaved. Physically picked up like he was a toddler and thrown over a broad shoulder with a ‘hnngh’ when his stomach collided with a deltoid.

Jason and the rest of the bats would be able to happily man spread and throw popcorn at one another on movie nights while Tim was stuck on Bruce’s lap.

In fact, if anything, Jason only grew to feel more pity for the kid.

The old man was an overbearing hardass and worked the kid to the bone.

In the mornings, Jason would be near falling asleep into his scrambled eggs while little Timmy was in his Sunday’s best blouse and pants, shoes polished and hair gelled as he fixed Bruce’s tie for him and made him a thermos of coffee. Then they’d set off for the office, Tim carrying Bruce’s briefcase and meeting notes like he was a dutiful little assistant while Bruce led him to the car with a hand on his lower back.

Then when they’d return home just before dinner, Tim would bend over and undo Bruce’s laces for him as well as loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

Jason didn’t even know what he’d do if Bruce expected any of that shit from him.

Perks of not being the favorite he supposed.

Damian had seethed with jealousy in the beginning. Why anyone would be jealous of giving Bruce his sponge baths when he fucked around and found out and got himself fucking bed-bound was beyond Jason. (Alfred was getting older, his back and knees weren’t what they used to be and none of them were such massive pieces of shit that they’d force Alfred to spend an hour on his knees bent over a bed to scrub Bruce clean).

But all that fucking cult deconditioning probably took time. Besides, it wasn’t long before Damian also rolled his eyes on family vacations when Timmy would be rubbing sunscreen onto Bruce’s back and reapplying it every few hours just like the bottle recommended.

Maybe Jason had been a little envious in the beginning. Of the goodbye kisses that Bruce pressed to Tim’s cheek and face. Of the way that Bruce’s hand would stay glued to Tim’s waist when they went out to the zoo, amusement park, or aquarium. Of the way his hands always sought out Tim like he was a heat source.

Bruce had never been that affectionate with Jason. His love had been sparse and tense. Awkward hugs that were stiff, smiles that showed too many teeth. Bruce was like a robot trying to imitate human emotion and failing at it. Jason still got the occasional back pats and ‘good work’ but nothing like what Tim got.

Jason had expected that envy in him to drag on, to grow.

But that feeling hadn’t lasted long. Not even Dick, the person that Jason thought would be the most hurt by it, seemed very perturbed by the clear favor and just dismissed it.

He didn’t even snort or roll his eyes like Damian and Jason did on occasion.

“They’ve always been like that.” Dick had offered once. “He’s like Bruce’s security blanket or something.”

Which, okay, that was when all of Jason’s petty jealousy evaporated. He had better shit to do than be Bruce’s fucking binky.

Bruce was a smothering presence, constantly needing to envelop and suffocate out anything else. Having his entire life be shadowed by Bruce would’ve been torture.

Jason would’ve gone crazy if it’d gotten to the point that he had to share a fucking bedroom with Bruce.

Bruce snored. Loudly.

Timmy didn’t seem to mind or notice given that the permanent bags under his eyes never darkened any more than usual when he stayed at the manor and came out of their room.

Then again, the kid was a lot heartier than anyone gave him credit for.

Jason had given the kid the what for enough to know that he wasn’t as bendable as he looked.

So if he wanted to be Bruce’s handler, let him go wild. Jason certainly wasn’t scrambling to go up to bat for the job.

So Jason accepted it and after a while barely even noticed it.

It was just a part of life.

Like how the light fixture in his bathroom flickered no matter how much he changed and fiddled with the bulb. All that meant was that Jason sometimes took showers in the dark. It is what it is as they’d say.

It was no skin off Jason’s back anyway.

Alfred had been the first among the family to welcome the change that Master Tim brought in his charge.

Alfred had…fumbled with Master Bruce’s upbringing. Despite his constant steadiness, there was a part of him that couldn’t ignore the jittering worry under his nerves of steel.

Master Bruce had always been a delicate child. Easily frightened and sensitive.

Alfred could recall that Mister Wayne had loudly scolded his child only once. Only once because he’d been crippled by the guilt of Master Bruce’s tears streaming down his round pink cheeks.

Tragedy had come into Master Bruce’s life far more frequently than was just. That poor sniffling child that sobbed when a voice was raised at him had become hardened and callous. The whole world painted his charge as either an emotionless brute or a naive buffoon.

Perhaps that was why Alfred had stuck beside him despite the pain that burned through his heart every time Master Bruce slipped on that dreaded cowl. (Why Master Bruce? Why not anyone else? Why did the world need to keep ripping into that poor boy like a gang of crows nipping at the peeling bits of flesh from a skeleton? There was nothing more Master Bruce could give and yet still more was demanded of him. More and more and more-)

Alfred knew the love that spilled out of Master Bruce was like an overflowing cup. His love for his parents, for the city, for people. Most capes could never understand why Batman and Superman got along so well but Alfred knew.

Both his charge and Mister Kent were both delusionally optimistic. It was a sentiment that Alfred knew would get looks of incredulity thrown at him but he couldn’t deny their truth. Master Bruce, against all logic and proper reasoning, had faith that people could get better.

Perhaps it was the aged bitterness and life experience that told Alfred that some things were not forgivable. He could not believe, like his charge, that people could turn their lives around and stop causing pain.

That whatever was broken inside of them could be healed, could be fixed.

If there was hope for everyone then there was hope for him, was Master Bruce’s reasoning.

It never failed to break Alfred’s heart when he was reminded of how his boy viewed himself as a monster. Irredeemable, putrid, and cursed for the simple crime of freezing when a gun had been pointed at him in that alley.

Before that horrible day, Master Bruce used to hug Alfred’s waist with all the strength and energy of a foal before he bounced out to the garden to play with his new ball. He used to press kisses to Alfred’s calloused hands and cling to his neck even as Alfred protested that he was ‘much too big to be carried around the manor’.

Alfred should’ve indulged that sweet boy more instead of shooing him off to play so he could finish his work.

Master Bruce had lost something more than just his parents that night. Something soft and sweet and vulnerable.

Something innocent.

So when Alfred had seen a flash of that directed towards Master Timothy he’d nearly shed tears right then.

He’d placed the tray of peppermint tea and dark chocolates onto a table beside the two working by the computer and excused himself upstairs. Alfred had dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief and cleared his throat before he’d felt put together enough to descend back down.

Alfred’s grief from the loss of Master Jason had been like the loss of a limb. Alfred had operated with a blankness over him, a fog that shrouded everything and made the world feel so muffled and far away.

He’d known Master Bruce was suffering, he could feel his chest ripping sobs that were muffled behind locked doors and through the aged wood of the floorboards as he stood outside the room.

Master Timothy had soothed that broken boy in a way that Alfred hadn't been able to.

Alfred recalled when the dark circles under Master Bruce’s eyes had finally begun to lighten and recede. When the hollows of his cheeks began to fill out again because he was eating. When his greasy hair and unshaven face were groomed and maintained again.

It was not a simple journey. It was a slow one, that much Alfred had known.

He knew the snail-like pace it took before Master Bruce was capable of taking care of himself.

Master Timothy started staying nights to make sure Master Bruce got sleep but Alfred only ever washed a single set of sheets. The sight of Master Bruce curled around that small body, hands gripping and pressing them to his chest like a mother bear with her cub as their chests rose and fell with that hypnotic rhythm of sleep.

Timothy shared uneaten parts of his school lunch with Master Bruce as he was drilled on the various parts of a utility belt. Perhaps twinkies and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich were not the best meal for a vigilante but it was something. And it was more than Master Bruce had been willing to swallow in weeks. Besides once Alfred began preparing Master Timothy’s lunches he made sure that carrot sticks, grapes, and lettuce wraps became a staple.

Alfred had walked in on Timothy doing his homework and watching youtube videos of a barber teaching people how to shave with a safety razor. That evening when they descended for dinner Master Bruce’s light beard had been cleared away save for a couple of nicks along his jawline.

Master Timothy fashioned himself as an extension of Master Bruce. Another leg, another arm.

Alfred regretted that a child so young had to take on the burden of an adult. That Alfred’s own failure put him in a position where Timothy needed to provide for Master Bruce because he no longer could.

But Alfred would never not be grateful that he had; that he’d seen Master Bruce drowning and leaped in to save him.

That he’d offered his assistance, his companionship, and his love.

Timothy had reached into that broken shell of a man and tugged out a little bit of that frightened darling boy that Alfred had thought was gone forever.

There was something childish and innocent in the way that Master Bruce and Timothy held hands and hugged one another.

As if that little boy that had shuttered away was finally peeking his head out after all these years.

Kissing hands and nipping at noses, clinging and gripping onto people with the desperation of a child starved of love.

After decades of depriving himself, Alfred supposed it was only natural.

Alfred saw how much good it did, how it made Master Bruce…more.

Happier, better, just more. More than what he’d been in years.

Alfred saw it and fell into the rhythm of it.

Perhaps Master Bruce never dared extend much of himself beyond Master Tim. Perhaps he still kept himself tightly locked up and restrained but with Master Tim he let it out and that- that was enough.

It was more than enough.

Tim and Bruce had always been close. The whole family knew that, acknowledged that.

Maybe they were a little closer to each other than the rest of the family but it wasn’t like it was weird.

Then again, both Bruce and Tim were weird people.

Fuck it, Gotham in general was just a weird fucking place.

“I’ll be back with your drinks soon.” The waiter was a nicely tanned man with a soft accent that left the table followed by a round of ‘thank yous’.

A beat of silence passed before anyone spoke up again.

“Why do you two always do this shit?” Dick asked, a line of exasperation in his face as Bruce blinked at him and Tim tilted his head in innocent question.

“Do what Dick?” Bruce asked, fine brow raised in question and was met by an immediate eye roll.

“You’re both rich,” Dick stressed, drawing out the word. “You can afford your own milkshakes! You don’t have to share.”

Tim immediately frowned, a slight put-out look tugging at his lips.

“Just because you can afford something doesn’t mean you should buy it, Dick, that’s bad money management.”

“Yeah,” Jason readily agreed because anything that contradicted Dick was something he wanted a piece of. “Besides you shouldn’t spend money on unnecessary shit- money saved is money earned is what I always say.”

“Is that why you never pay for dinner?” Dick shot back. Damian made a soft noise that could’ve been a choked-back laugh from his seat at the end of the booth.

Jason shrugged, a smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth.

“Why would I? Besides, dad’s got me don’t you Bruce?”

Damian immediately made an offended noise.

Bruce immediately nodded sagely.

“Of course Jason, anything you need.”

The diner waiter stepped up beside the table, setting down their requested sodas, juices, and a milkshake in front of all of them.

Dick watched in exasperation as both Bruce and Tim tilted their heads close to the cup, sticking their individual straws into the creamy vanilla mess covered with whipped cream and sprinkles. Tim lifted his straw and used it as a spoon to pick up dollops of cream and lick down the length of it.

“Those things are like three dollars, you really couldn’t get another?” Dick asked.

Jason snorted again because it never ceased to amuse him how buggy Dick was about germs. He was the one in the family that carried hand sanitizer in his pocket everywhere he went and kept alcohol wipes at his station in the cave. Every time they went out to eat he would launch the same grievance over the fact that Bruce and Tim shared their drinks.

From what Jason had heard, Bruce and Tim had started using separate straws after Dick saw them share a Sprite at a Gotham ball game with only one straw and had a near meltdown.

“The milkshakes here are big,” Tim protested, “ I can only ever finish half and then Bruce finishes the rest for me, if we got two then one of them would get thrown out and I hate wasting food.”

At that Jason made a firm noise of agreement because that was something he and Tim had always seen eye to eye on. They were the ones who got up at night and cleaned out leftovers from the fridge, ensuring that nothing would get tossed into the bins by Alfred by citation of ‘food safety’. Jason had eaten more potato skins loaded with leftover pork roast and salmon with greens slathered in various sauces than he liked to lend much thought to.

Dick huffed another annoyed breath but calmed down, pointedly looking away with a crinkled nose every time Bruce and Tim’s heads came together to drink from their glass.

“I hope you know you’re also drinking Bruce’s backwash.” Dick sniffed as he continued to flip through his menu like he was still deciding even though they all knew he’d be getting chicken fingers and fries.

Tim blankly stared at Dick for a moment before he wrapped his pink lips around the clear straw and took a pointed, drawn-out sip.

The entire family despised galas. Bruce had grown up going to them and was mostly indifferent to them. The rest of the family was not.

The stifling atmosphere, the quality of people, the conversations- they tended to grate on the family’s nerves. Bruce’s attendance had gone down over the years, citing fatherhood and becoming more family-centric as the reason. Something that Dick knew was an image Alfred approved of much more.

With the city at large recognizing that party-animal Bruce Wayne was finally maturing into a man that meant his absence at events was noted but never interesting enough to become a topic of conversation.

That didn’t mean that Bruce could get away from disappearing from the social scene completely. A singular monthly attendance kept the rumor mill and nosy busybodies at bay.

So that much was the extent to which Bruce and Bruce alone was forced to put up with much to the delight of the rest of the family.

The wealthy of Gotham had a culture, a silent code that they all lived by and obeyed that helped them differentiate themselves from the rabble. It was something neither Dick nor Jason had ever been able to get down. It always made them feel like zoo animals every time Bruce would take them out and introduce them to people who so clearly looked down on them behind those wide plastic smiles.

It was small stuff too, easy to forget and miss stuff. Like whether you wore a tie or a bow tie, cuff links or no cufflinks. It seemed like everyone arrived at a party and instantly knew whether it was one of those events where they could dance to the music or if the live band was meant to serve as background noise.

One of those codes, that both Bruce and Alfred could recall at the drop of a hat, was to never show up to a social event alone once you were above a certain age. It was some kind of social faux pas that would have people talking about you for weeks apparently.

At the risk of drawing more attention than was necessary, that meant that Bruce tried to adhere to those rules as best and often as possible.

When Bruce was in his twenties Dick knew that he’d had a never-ending stream of women he could take with him to rooftop bars and social events. Once he was in his forties the same scheme wouldn’t work. At least not without creeping out the rest of the family even if it was just for show.

Most women Bruce’s age were paired off already- married, engaged, or spoken for.

Bruce liked to consider himself as a man of at least some decency in public so taking out a woman half his age as his date was a big NO, something that Dick was quietly grateful for. There was a pipeline in the upper crust of society that went from ‘hot playboy’ to ‘wrinkled creep’ and Dick was just happy that Bruce was able to restore a bit of his faith by not joining those numbers.

Selina was an occasional option though her presence and reliability were inconsistent. Plus it depended on whether she and Bruce were fucking again or not.

So between all those factors it really only ever left one option for Bruce.

“I don’t know why you always complain,” Jason began, reclining back on a couch and shoving his smelly socked feet into Dick’s face, “shouldn’t you be used to these kinds of things rich-boy?”

Jason’s smile was wide as was Dick’s as they watched as Tim fussed over his bow tie while Bruce adjusted his silver cufflinks in a nearby mirror.

“Boys, please don’t antagonize your brother when we’re just about to leave.” Bruce sighed.

Tim made a muttering little sound as he focused on the white strips of fabric before replying.

“I was rich Jason but not like…Bruce’s brand of rich.” Tim sighed in defeat and lifted his chin as Bruce came to his rescue and began fiddling with the fabric around his throat. “For me that just meant that my family owned more cars and houses in different parts of the country.”

Jason made a fake sympathetic expression and pretended to nod like he understood Tim’s plight.

Tim scowled at him but kept his head straight until Bruce finished and brushed his bangs back.

Bruce’s tie was identical to Tim’s along with their matching cufflinks and suits.

The first time Bruce had proposed that Tim go with him as his ‘date’ to the events Dick had laughed so hard he’d nearly thrown up on the carpet. It was an amusing sight. A sort of daddy-daughter kind of thing. Or rather a daddy-son.

It was equal parts adorable and hilarious. Dick still had a clipping of the newspaper headline of the first time Tim accompanied Bruce to the opening of the new Gotham museum wing.

The whole of Gotham had cooed over Tim and Bruce’s matching suits. Clips of them dancing at a gala made the rounds on twitter followed by a #dadgoals.

Despite Tim’s pouting Dick knew that he still had fun with it sometimes. He knew how Tim would go down to the cave’s disguise wardrobe and put together an outfit for a big-titted little thing with sweet curves to mess with all the dinosaurs that would be going.

In fact, Dick was pretty sure that Tim and Bruce were on their way to an engagement party for some millionaire mummy that was getting married to a girl that Dick had graduated from high school with.

“Your brother and I are heading out, don’t stay up too late.” Bruce passed a warning look over Dick and Jason but let a soft look linger towards Damian who was curled up on the other couch with Titus’s head in his lap while a tail happily thumped against the cushions.

The poor thing had been having stomach problems and Damian had been keeping an especially close eye on him.

‘Bloat is a common health problem in Great Danes, Grayson! Titus has shown no pain or change in size but I will be monitoring his condition nonetheless.’

Tim offered a similar goodbye before slipping his arms into the black coat that Bruce was holding open for him.

Dick watched as Bruce wound a hand around Tim’s waist and settled it onto his hip with a firm grip.

Dick snorted and turned back to the TV where the opening credits to Homeward Bound were playing. It was Titus’ turn to choose the movie according to Damian.

Personally, Dick thought it was just a peek of Damian’s childhood innocence shining through given how intently he was watching the screen while stroking Titus’s large head. His fascination with the idea of Titus or Alfred the cat becoming lost and still managing to find their way back to him was adorable.

Dick kicked his feet onto the coffee table and slapped at Jason to pass the bag of sour cream and onion chips he was hogging.

The nights where they weren’t patrolling and content that Barbara and her girls were protecting the city were nice. Dick was sad they didn’t happen more often.

But he’d heard that Selina was back in town and if Dick was lucky Tim would be joining them on their next night in rather than going out to some crummy party with Bruce.

Dick would even let Tim pick the movie.

Bat dynamics were strange to people. Most capes didn’t lend much thought to them ‘too much of a headache’ was the general consensus.

Even with Bruce’s old no-meta rule, few capes dared enter the city limits.

Well, more like just one.

Clark wasn’t a strange face to see in the cave either in his suit or civilian wear.

The former of which usually raised some alarms for imminent danger. The latter usually meant a friendly visit and possibly a beautifully wrapped pie sitting in the kitchen waiting to be consumed.

(Gotta love midwestern manners.)

Dick knew that Bruce liked to call Clark coming over ‘meetings’ but Clark said they were ‘hanging out’.

(Dick called them ‘play dates’.)

It was rare when most of the family was under the same roof. Cases, work, and getting dragged away by other teams usually meant that only a few people would be around if Clark swung by.

But for once it was a rare instance where all of Dick’s brothers were in the manor, two of them were devouring the pie on the counter while Clark watched with happy eyes and a steaming mug of coffee.

Similarly adorned, Bruce was seated across from Clark at the kitchen island, a small dessert plate in front of him holding a half-eaten slice of apple pie. He was blinking sleep out of his eyes even though it was well into the evening.

(Gotta love vigilante sleep schedules. Which was really more of a ‘sleep where you can, when you can’ schedule.)

Dick was listening with half an ear to Damian and Jason’s banter as Bruce’s voice started leaving its groggy just-woke-up phase.

Dick heard the kitchen door swing open as the click of Tim’s heeled boots hit the porcelain tiles.

“Bruce, I’m heading out for Ives’ birthday party.”

Dick turned his head away from Damian who was attempting to stab at Jason’s hand to stop him from picking up the last crumb from the tin to see Tim who was whispering a low greeting to Clark while getting wrapped up in Bruce’s sleep-heavy arms.

Tim was wearing low-rise dark jeans and a cropped sweater. Together, the outfit showed off his baby brother’s nicely toned abdomen and the soft curve of his waist and little chest.

Bruce’s fingers were stroking at the exposed skin as he tucked his face close to the curved ends of Tim’s long hair resting against his neck.

“You want some pie before you leave? I saved some from your brothers.”

Bruce gestured towards the plate and Tim gratefully picked up the fork to finish off the piece.

“Imma needa a ride to the pahrty, can you tahke me?”

Tim’s mouth was full, chunks of apple and crust flying out as he turned his head to meet Bruce’s gaze.

Bruce’s eyes were closed, and his hands gripped Tim’s waist as he slowly nodded to Tim’s request. He didn’t even shoot an apologetic look to an oddly silent Clark.

“Of course Tim, just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Ah, there he went again. All concerned dad with his ‘cover your drink’ and ‘don’t go off with strangers’ words. Dick did not miss the lectures he’d get every time he would be getting ready to go out and Bruce would stop him in the doorway to warn Dick about date-rape drugs for the sixth time in an afternoon.

He never did that to Tim, trusting him to look out for himself even though, arguably, Dick thought Tim should be getting the bulk of the warnings.

It wasn’t that Dick thought Tim was more likely to end up in a bad spot it was just that…

Tim always dressed so nice and pretty when he went out. Glossed lips and blushed cheeks. His big baby blue eyes framed by ‘Batliner’, something that had been made popular by some Gotham online personality. Timmy’s lashes were long and cast little shadows against his cheeks. Tim was pretty.

People loved pretty stuff and thought that by default they could put their hands and rub their cocks against pretty things. Hot and sexy were intimidating, they turned people on but turned them off at the same time. Once you reached a certain level of sexiness people were just less likely to approach you. But cute? Pretty?

Teddy bears, puppies, and babies were cute and people thought when something like that was in front of them they could do whatever they wanted with them.

That was what Tim was. Damian was a little kid and should’ve fit into the category but Damian was also a scary fucking kid.

So that left Tim in a particularly unique position compared to the rest of the family.

Part of Dick, that worried older brother part, wanted to throw a coat over Tim or drown him in a bigger sweater because his baby brother’s stomach was showing.

(The thought never failed to make Dick feel like a scandalized suburban mom seeing her daughter come home with a belly button piercing.)

But the louder part of Dick, the one that stressed independence and pushed for his siblings to fight for their autonomy and control over their bodies and choices overshadowed it every time.

“You look so cute Timmy!” Dick’s words weren’t false but his grin was a bit strained.

To cover that up, Dick very carefully slapped at the butterknife that Jason was attempting to pull out of a drawer.

Bruce began to lay out a few soft parting kisses to Tim’s neck as he cleaned off the rest of the plate, his smile even brighter at Dick’s words.

“ Fanks Dck!” He replied with a full mouth.

Bruce stroked a hand against Tim’s stomach and softly patted it like Tim was a dog sprawled on the carpet.

“I’m driving your brother to his party, stay here and clean that mess up,” Bruce's sleepiness was almost completely gone as he stood up and pointed to the mess of scattered wet pie and dirty utensils.

Jason began protesting and Damian was scurrying away from the table before anyone could call him back.

Bruce leaned over and murmured some low words to a stiffly smiling Clark before turning around and pressing Tim out the door to the garage. Bruce’s hand had drifted down from Tim’s waist and slipped into one of Tim’s back pockets, fingers spread wide.

Dick had a clean rag in one hand and was wiping down the counter while Jason muttered and cleaned the utensils under the running water of the sink.

Clark had been sitting quietly for a while. Only speaking up once a few minutes had passed since Bruce left to drop off Tim.

“Are they…”

Dick glanced up at the sound of Clark trailing off. Clark’s brows were furrowed, his glasses low on his nose as he nursed his coffee mug with an unsure hand. Clark shifted on the barstool and glanced up at Dick, blue eyes bouncing between him and Jason whose attention he also had.

“Are Bruce and Tim…always like…that?” Clark asked slowly, voice thick with uncertainty.

Dick quirked a brow, a flash of confusion running through him. A glance at Jason revealed a similarly confused expression.

“Like what?” Dick asked.

It couldn’t be the overprotective streak that he was referring to, Clark knew exactly what Bruce was like. But even then, Bruce’s warnings had been remarkably light, nothing like how he usually was when warning his kids against fun and testing boundaries.

Tim was a teenager going to a teenage friend’s birthday party while his parents were out of town. Booze was definitely going to be flowing that night.

Clark’s mouth parted, dark brows pressing together as lines formed across his forehead.

“I…Dick you know what I’m referring to the-” Clark cut off, a soft cough leaving him though it seemed more like a nervous tick than a genuine thing. “I mean all the the-”

Clark made a vague motion in the air with his hand.

Dick felt a bit of hesitance bloom in him at the motion with Clark’s pointed looks at him and Jason like it should be obvious what he was referring to.

He couldn’t be…he couldn’t be talking about how…Tim was dressed, could he?

Dick felt a small frown tug at his lips.

No. Clark wasn’t like that. Evidence showed that he wasn’t. He had zero problems with the way some heroes designed their costumes.

In fact, Dick could think off the top of his head about three heroes whose costumes showed more skin than Tim’s outfit had.

Clark loudly swallowed, his fingers pushing his glasses up to his nose as he cleared his throat again.

Jason wordlessly slid over a glass of water.

“I’m-" Clark choked, before steadying himself and glancing at the door that Bruce and Tim had left through. “I’m talking about the…the touching Dick is that- that’s not…a normal occurrence is it?”

Clark’s voice grew lower, words at a near whisper by the time he reached the end of his question. He was bent over the counter, torso nearly touching the tile as he leaned in to whisper to Dick and Jason like he didn’t want to be overheard.

Dick frowned, brows furrowed in confusion.

Was that what this was about?

Dick shared a look with Jason.

“You mean…the hugging?” Dick asked unsurely.

Clark’s face twitched, expression flashing through something before settling back to normal. His lips pursed to a thin line and his frown grew deeper.

“Dick.” Clark began, tone oddly pointed and unamused like he thought Dick was being cheeky. “You can’t say that you think that what Bruce and Tim were doing was hugging.”

Dick’s lips pressed further down, a sting of something pulsed hotly in him at that tone. Clark didn’t talk to him like that often, that dumbed down ‘i’m talking to a kid right now’ tone.

“Uh yeah?” Jason interjected, brow raised like Clark was being the dense one. “Cuz that’s what they were doing? Haven’t you ever seen a hug before?”

It was said with that edge of sarcasm that Jason had down to an art. Clark didn’t seem ruffled by it but Dick was still able to catch the slightest twitch of a brow.

Clark pressed out a long breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as his eyes briefly closed. A beat of silence passed through the kitchen before Clark spoke up again.

“Bruce touched Tim,” Clark began, blue eyes clear and meeting both his and Jason’s gaze like he wanted to make sure they were following. “On his waist.”

Dick could hear the emphasis on the word.

“On his bare waist and exposed midriff,” Clark continued, his hands flexing uncomfortably against the tile of the kitchen island.

Dick could sense Clark’s unease, his discomfort. It was evident in every line of his body. His posture and the tilt of his head were practically screaming his unrest.

Dick wasn’t sure…he wasn’t sure where Clark’s behavior was coming from. He’d been fine just a few minutes ago. Silent for a while but not in a concerning way.

He was also making an oddly big deal about Bruce and Tim. He was making it seem like he and Jason were somehow missing something really important.

Dick opted to try and soothe Clark, offer up some comfort for his clear anxiety.

“I mean I admit Tim’s shirt is a little short but I don’t really think that-”

“Bruce kissed his neck, Dick.” Clark interrupted. His lips were pursed and there was a tension in his jaw as he met Dick’s eye. “I have a son, I kiss him too- on the cheek, the forehead, on his boo-boos-”

Dick could see as Jason silently mouthed the word ‘boo-boos’ off to the side.

“-but I’ve never kissed Jonathon or even Conner on their necks before. It’s…it’s-” Clark frowned deeply, the lines running across his forehead deepened.

“It’s inappropriate.”

When Bruce returned from dropping Tim off the kitchen was quiet.

‘Does he behave like that with you Dick? With Jason? Damian?’

‘No, it’s like I said Clark, Bruce and Tim are just…close. What’s wrong with that?’

Clark greeted him with a strained smile, an odd tension to his face as he offered some low goodbyes and some justification for his early departure back to Metropolis.

Bruce raised a brow and threw a half-accusing look at both Dick and Jason like they were to blame for Clark’s disposition before he offered his own short goodbyes.

Dick silently watched as Clark, a weird swirl of emotions mixed in his gut.

Jason was similarly frowning, expression deeply perturbed which Dick could understand because he felt like that too.

It’s not that Dick was dismissing Clark’s feelings, he wasn’t!

It was just that…well Clark seemed really sure that there was something wrong with it.

It’s not like he was the first. Gossip magazines and trashy editorials had a history of painting Bruce’s interactions with them, and especially Tim, as…sordid.

Maybe that was why Dick was a bit on the defensive when he’d denied Clark’s observations.

Because Bruce and Tim had always been like that. It wasn’t as though they were hiding it, if it was bad and Bruce knew it was wrong wouldn’t he hide it? Clark was just misinterpreting, seeing things.

A magazine had once published a photo of Bruce and Tim together in their swimsuits reclined on a lounge chair at the beach. Tim had been soaked to the bone with salty water from the ocean, long strands of his hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks as he nuzzled Bruce’s throat. Their legs had been tangled together, Bruce’s hair fluffed up from the wind. A wet towel had been placed over their lap, probably from when Tim had returned to shore and dried off, but the way it had been positioned- it made it look as if they were naked underneath it. That coupled with Tim’s obviousness sleepiness, his red exerted cheeks, and the way Bruce had an arm wrapped around him-

The story had been taken down pretty quickly. Dick was sure it was Wayne Enterprises’s PR team working overtime while the family had enjoyed the rest of their vacation.

It probably wasn’t a good look. Having people believe that the CEO of Wayne Enterprises was fucking his adopted father.

Plus despite how it looked, Dick and the rest of them had known the truth. The photo had cropped them out because they’d been fifteen feet away in the water taking turns dunking one another. None of them had even spotted the party boat sailing by that just so happened to have a member of the paparazzi on it, they’d just been having so much fun.

And shitty stories like that weren’t rare. Bruce caught a lot of flack for being a single dad. His image hadn’t been the best when he was younger and people had questioned why the man who got blackout drunk and wrecked a car every weekend had wanted a child.

Not a baby, but a somewhat grown-up child that he rarely brought with him to events (nevermind that those events were ripe with alcohol and drug use. Hey, it was the 80s and Drew Barrymore was being taken to Hollywood clubs and snorting cocaine while she was still Dick’s age. So needless to say people hadn’t seemed to have had a grasp of what age-appropriate events were.)

So Dick was a little sensitive towards the topic. Jason was too, he hadn’t really liked the idea of Clark saying that something ‘off’ was occurring in his family and right under his nose.

Given his work as Red Hood and Dick’s work as Nightwing they’d since developed a sixth sense for creeps. Parent’s whose eyes lingered for too long on other children while picking up their kids from school. Waitresses and waiters that seemed like they were a little too eager to be nice to Tim and Damian. Teachers that were too demanding in their need to learn more about a student’s home life with the vague feeling that the interest wasn’t rooted in concern.

They’d know. Dick would know, Jason would know, Alfred would definitely know by default of having been monitoring Bruce and Tim’s relationship the longest.

So that’s what it was. Just a misunderstanding on Clark’s part.

Bruce and Tim were just…like that.

It’s not like they were hurting anyone.

So what was the big deal?

Maybe Dick should’ve known better than believing that Clark would just let it go. He, just as much as Dick or any cape, had those ‘gut feelings’ that they couldn’t let go.

Clark had admitted by his own mouth to Dick that sure, okay maybe he was interpreting things differently but that still didn’t mean that Bruce and Tim’s behavior was okay.

Bruce wasn’t someone who took confrontation well so Dick at least knew Clark wasn’t going to be taking his concerns up with him. That would spawn a whole new argument and Dick was not looking forward to the manor gaining a tense air.

Clark stopped by more and more often.

Bruce seemed confused but not particularly concerned, always welcoming him in that awkward stilted way he always did when he didn’t have a cowl to hide behind.

Dick watched as Clark frowned, watching as Tim typed on a laptop at the table while taking occasional bites from Bruce’s fork.

Tim was a picky eater. It was hard enough getting him to sit down and eat with them. Clark shared food with Johnathon and Conner didn’t he? Was it now creepy to give your kid half your sandwich?

Clark had frowned, displeased but not refuting Dick’s words.

Clark had stayed the night. He’d done so multiple times when Dick had been a kid and a handful of times when Jason had been. But Jason’s death had been a turning point for everyone.

Bruce hadn’t been as open or as willing to entertain anyone entering the city. It was the first time in a while that Clark was going to be staying over at the manor.

Clark had stared, gaze deep and disapproving as both Tim and Bruce had retreated back to Bruce’s room.

“They share a bed?” Clark asked, displeasure dripping from every word. There was a deeper hardness than there was before. That night in the kitchen Clark had looked more uncertain, maybe a bit spooked or a little reluctant like he thought they might’ve been pulling a prank on him.

“Yeah,” Dick replied, the word sounding oddly tired as it left his mouth. He’d felt…strung up the last few days. Tired from trying to understand Clark’s words only he couldn’t…there was nothing he could detect that might’ve set off Clark’s alarms.

Something like sharing a bed still didn’t light something in Dick’s gut.

It was a habit Bruce and Tim got into when Tim had been younger. He’d been nervous about sleeping alone in a room of a strange house, and he had a nightmare the first night. He slept better when he wasn’t alone, Bruce slept better when he wasn’t alone.

Clark hadn’t seemed satisfied with the explanation.

But what could Dick say? Sure Bruce had never done that with him or Jason or Damian but they were a different case. Dick had been too embroiled in grief, spending all day crying which had left him exhausted by bedtime.

Jason used to move his furniture in front of the door just to make sure that Bruce couldn’t come in because he was still under the impression he was a pedophile.

Damian…well Damian probably wouldn't have taken the proposal well, possibly perceiving it as some slight against him.

Besides, it wasn’t just Bruce who had shared a bed with Tim.

Dick had shared a bed with Tim before, fuck Jason had too. Overbooked hotels and delayed flights pretty much meant that everyone shared rooms while working out of state at one point or another. If he was with Jason he’d be flipping a coin to see who got the bed but Tim was more merciful, always willing to share.

It was nice. Waking up to Tim curled against him, was better than waking up with a tight back after spending the night on the floor.

“But every night?” Clark asked, voice low as he spoke to Dick in the empty hall of the manor. “What about when Bruce has…guests?”

Despite the situation, Dick couldn’t help but snort at Clark’s blushing face. Red blotches stained his cheeks and his eyes went all shifty from behind his lenses.

Bruce rarely brought women back to the house. Selina, Dick knew, had been pretty huffy for a week a few years back.

Dick had known without having to ask that it had been because of Bruce’s recent habit of only getting together on rooftops or her apartment.

Bruce’s bed now housed Tim as well and as dubious as Bruce’s morals could be Dick was at least happy that he drew a line at letting Tim curl up to sleep in sex dirtied sheets.

Selina still hadn’t been very happy though, robbing a visiting exhibit from one of Gotham’s museums in retaliation that month. Dick remembered it because he’d been stuck tracking down every jewel from a necklace that had been broken up and fenced. The frustration had gotten him to turn and ask Bruce what the fuck he’d done to piss her off this time.

His silence and pursed lips had given it all away.

Girl trouble.

Honestly. How could Dick have expected anything else?

Still, Clark hadn’t looked reassured at Dick’s words.

There was something unsatisfied in his expression, something almost frustrated. Dick recognized it as a look Clark would get when Bruce was being particularly difficult.

“Look,” Dick began, laying a soft hand on Clark’s shoulders, “I’ll keep a closer eye on them, okay? If it makes you feel better I’ll look into it, okay?”

The hard edge of Clark’s expression softened, a tension loosening in his shoulders as he nodded and apparently took some comfort in the fact that Dick would be attempting to assuage his fears.

Dick tightened his hold and tried to reassure himself that a few weeks of surveillance before reporting back should be sufficient.

Besides it wasn’t like Bruce and Tim would be any different than how they usually were. A detailed report and Dick’s presence would be enough to get Clark to back down.

He may not understand, he may not like it.

But that’s just how things were.

It was just how Bruce and Tim were.

Three days in and Dick had to double take when he saw Bruce’s lips stray closer to Tim’s mouth than to his cheek when thanking him for his morning thermos of coffee.

Damian was hurriedly finishing homework that was due that morning given that Math was his first class of the day.

Jason was slumped into his plate, sucking down orange juice and alternating between his toast and hashbrowns. Two carbohydrates first in the morning? Jason must’ve had a rough night.

Neither of them seemed to notice Dick’s fumble with his fork as he heard the soft ‘smeck’ of two mouths pulling away from several chairs away.

Tim was dressed for work, tie and shirt ironed and pressed.

There was a pink frilly apron tied around his waist with bunnies and hearts prancing across the front.

Jason had gotten it for him as a gag gift one Christmas when they were still warming up to each other.

But that baby pink color coupled with Tim’s naturally rosy cheeks, pouty smile and the fact that he was holding a Moka pot with a potholder to keep from burning himself-

He looked like a housewife.

Dick swallowed back the lump of chewed-up egg and cheese omelet sitting in his mouth.

Exactly like a housewife. All he was missing were little kitten heels.

Tim turned on socked feet, a little twirl made by his apron as he swayed back to the kitchen with a little swish of his hips.

Bruce watched him go, eyes soft and lingering as he flipped another page through his paper because he still subscribed to get the physical copy like an old man.

When Tim returned sans apron, both their briefcases in hand, Dick watched with another odd feeling in his gut as Bruce kissed the corner of Tim’s mouth, right at the upcurve of his smile.

Dick half listened to their goodbyes and departures that were all returned with grunts from Jason and Damian. Neither of them had flinched at the sight in front of them.

Granted, Dick rarely ate breakfast with the family, preferring to sleep in and catch an early lunch.

But he’d promised Clark he’d keep a closer eye and - was it a new development? Was that why Dick was so caught off guard.

No. No, they'd done it yesterday and the day before. But it hadn’t pinged anything in Dick’s senses. Not really odd or out of place.

But it was like the repetition in front of him coupled with Clark’s words playing on a loop in the back of his head-

‘That’s not normal, Dick. That’s not normal even if you’re used to it’

Awww Bruce kissed Tim on the mouth.

Bruce kissed Tim on the mouth?

Bruce kissed Tim on the mouth.

Dick stared down at his plate. A ribbon of chopped parsley was sticking to the metal of his fork as he stared down at the furrowed brows of his reflection.

Bruce kissed Tim on the mouth.

…

Bruce had never kissed Dick on the mouth?

It was a given that Bruce and Tim were close.

They just were.

They were like two peas in a pod, so fucking similar. Even if Tim had never come into their lives as Robin Dick was sure that Bruce would’ve loved him as a civilian the two of them had so much in common.

They both sprinkled chili flakes into their hot cocoa because they liked the ‘kick’ it gave never mind that cocoa was supposed to be sweet with plenty of marshmallows and whipped cream.

They both loved some old black and white show called the ‘Gray Ghost’, they quoted it to each other all the time even though most of the lines were depressing as hell.

They both fucking loved peeps, they lost their minds for them at Easter buying box after box and neglecting their diets for that first week in April when they started getting sold in stores.

Dick remembered the first time he learned about that sometime around when Tim started staying at the manor full time. It had stuck in his mind because Dick had never known that Bruce liked any kind of candy or sweet. When Dick had lived with him he’d only ever seen Bruce have the occasional slice of cake and that was on Dick’s birthday.

Tim knew Bruce really well. Enough to read him and pull one over on him every once in a while.

Dick remembered feeling so proud of seeing Tim absolutely hoodwink Bruce so he could sneak out and see some midnight screening of a movie with his civilian friends.

In his first year, Bruce had given Tim access and permission to restricted case information that Dick hadn’t gotten to see until he was in his late teens.

Bruce had left the care of Gotham in Tim’s hands alone on multiple occasions.

Bruce had left plans to hand over control of Wayne Enterprises and the Batman mantle to Tim, informing Dick about in a letter he’d left him in case he ever died. Dick had been horrified at the idea of forcing Tim to endure the weight of that cowl when he was so young. But the costume fitted specifically for Tim’s measurements had been in the place Bruce’s letter told him to look.

Dick could only be eternally grateful that Tim had found Bruce and pulled him from time. Saving himself the pain of that mantle.

That was the other thing. That unwavering belief, those signs that Tim had said Bruce had left them.

Dick had taken another look at them when he was getting nursed back to health by Alfred and Tim. Dick had stared at them, agonized over them for hours.

He’d tried so hard to tell himself that if Tim hadn’t been around he would’ve seen the signs too. Eventually.

He’d known Bruce for years, been raised by him, and fought beside him.

The first clue, that portrait of Bruce as “Mordecai” Wayne…it’d been hung up in the master bedroom. The one that Tim shared with Bruce. It had remained untouched by any of the Wayne Masters over generations, nailed to the wall and watching the room inhabitant sleep.

If not for Tim would the rest of the family have just left Bruce’s room untouched? Leaving it to become a tomb like they had Jason’s room?

How many years would’ve passed before Dick moved into the room? Or Damian?

Would they have figured it out then? Or would Bruce have just faded from their mind at that point? Another in the long list of losses their family had suffered.

Dick had turned it over in his head again and again until he’d been forced to accept it.

Bruce had left that clue for Tim specifically. He’d entrusted his rescue to Tim and Tim alone.

After overcoming the guilt, Dick had come to terms with the fact that he’d felt a little bit of comfort at the thought. Knowing that he hadn’t damned his father to an eternity of getting steadily ripped apart by the time stream.

Because Bruce had placed his faith into his most precious, most beloved Robin.

It’d been a long time since Dick had been bothered by the fact that Tim was undeniably Bruce’s favorite.

This time he wasn’t tinged with jealousy or hurt. There was an odd swirl of emotions in him, strings of confusion weaving around his bones.

Dick watched as Bruce’s fingers latched onto Tim’s waist, tenderly pulled at the ends of his shirt and stroked at the exposed skin of his waist. Tim nearly purred in Bruce’s hands, eyelids heavy and limbs sprawled across him as Bruce used him like a teddy bear.

Tim’s soft bottom always rested on Bruce’s lap, the swell of his ass placed right over Bruce’s crotch-

“You can’t actually be serious can you Dickie?” Jason’s brow was raised, his body relaxed as he reclined on a couch. Despite his lax form, Dick could still detect the sharpened edge of attention in Jason’s eyes as he stared at him.

“I’m not saying anything’s concrete I just…I just thought that maybe Clark was right-”

Jason stared at him.

“I…maybe Bruce and Tim are a little…too close?”

A beat of silence passed between them before Jason pushed himself up.

“What’ve you got?”

Somehow he and Jason got onto the topic of gifts that Bruce had given Tim.

It was the usual shit; cars and clothes that he did for all of them.

But there was a slight deviation between them and Tim.

“These are all from Bruce, right?”

They were in Bruce and Tim’s room, opening drawers and closets and ruffling through their things.

Jason’s hands were on Tim’s jewelry box which was practically spilling with rings, earrings, and necklaces. Dick recognized a few of the pieces as stuff that Tim had worn before. A pearl necklace glinted under the light from a nearby lamp as Jason ran his fingers over them with an odd look on his face.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re all from Bruce.”

Dick remembered seeing Tim open a few of them on Christmas, birthdays, and sometimes Bruce came home with some crazy expensive bag from a jewelry boutique just because.

“Bruce only ever gifts jewelry to his girlfriends…doesn’t he?”

Dick felt a weird slimy sensation roll around in his gut. His tongue felt bigger in his suddenly dry mouth, like a sausage, making it hard to speak as he nodded.

“Y-yeah, he does.”

Selina sometimes wore a set of silver earrings with shining emeralds in them. According to Damian, Talia still wore a beat-up gold bangle that Bruce had made for her when he’d learned from the League blacksmiths because of course he had. Silver St. Cloud was sometimes photographed wearing a very expensive-looking gold chain necklace when walking arm in arm with her fiancé. Vicki Vale conducted her interviews using an engraved Mont Blanc fountain pen with a cap encrusted with diamonds.

The closest that Dick had ever gotten to Tim’s overflowing jewelry box of pearls and jewels was a Patek watch he’d been gifted when he graduated from high school. Even the most Cassandra got were a few fancy barrettes and rings.

Nobody in the family minded because none of them had really had a taste for the stuff.

The master bedroom had all the markings of being occupied by two people. The double vanity in the bathroom held Bruce’s aftershave and Tim’s cologne on each side. The tub and shower were lined by some minimalist bath care products and a bottle of L’Oreal no-tears shampoo and body wash.The walk-in closet had Tim’s clothes on one wall and Bruce’s on the other.

This was Tim’s room as much as it was Bruce’s.

Dick had always mostly assumed that someday Tim would move on and get his own room in the manor.

He wasn’t sure why he thought it but it had always seemed…temporary. Bruce and Tim sleeping together.

That is if sleeping was in fact all that was done.

Tim was a teenager. Dick had woken up to his morning wood ripping through the seam of his pants when he’d been a teenager, he could imagine that Tim was very much the same.

Tim and Bruce were close, that much was clear, that much was evident.

There was a framed picture on the bedside table. Tim was smiling widely and had a hand held out in front of him like he was taking the photo. Bruce was pressed to his side, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. They were both in suits in front of a courthouse and Dick recognized it as the day Bruce had finally gotten the adoption finalized.

Bruce and Tim had always been close.

But…Dick swallowed back the thickening tension in his throat.

It wasn’t like…like Bruce shoved his hand down the front of Tim’s pants every morning and relieved him of his…issue.

That…that crossed a line didn’t it?

That was the inappropriate thing that Clark had been talking about, wasn’t it?

Both Dick and Jason cast a final look around the room before retreating.

There wasn’t much to say about it.

Bruce and Tim shared a room that much was well known. Bruce gave Tim jewelry and Bruce had a history of gifting ex-girlfriends jewelry.

Circumstantial evidence. At best.

It was a long shot. Not really something that pinged the senses as being anything other than a little weird.

But Bruce and Tim were always a little weird.

Dick woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty and panting with the hazy image of Tim straddling Bruce’s thighs in his mind.

Tim was so small. Compared to the rest of the family and aligned with the fact that Damian was set to outgrow him- it was a startling sight seeing him pressing his front with Bruce’s.

Dick pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes, rubbing until sparks entered his vision.

Bedrooms were among the few rooms in the manor that lacked monitoring devices or cameras.

Not that Dick thought he needed to sneak some into Bruce’s room because nothing was going on. Dick would know if they were fucking he would, his bedroom was two doors down and he’d feel the vibration in his floorboards as Bruce’s headboard slammed into the wall with every thrust-

Dick choked and shot up in bed.

Nope nope nope.

Water. He needed water, his mouth was sticky from drool and he was thirsty. Dick pointedly ignored Bruce’s door as he sped walked past it, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet lining the halls.

Tim was built delicately with hard muscle woven into his frame. He was the prime choice for undercover work due to his unique skill of being able to pass as both a man and a woman. His broad shoulders beautifully framed sweet delicate little tits that trailed down to a narrow waist and gently sloping hips.

His ass was plush and squeezable, easy to part and sink your nails into the cheeks like they were fresh bread from a bakery.

Dick swallowed back the thought and began descending down the stairs, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he could hear it. The images were seared into his brain, coming to the forefront of his mind as his brain cleared the fog of sleep from his head.

Tim had made soft little panting sounds, short sucks in of air and then drawn out breaths out. Tim’s hands planted on Bruce’s chest for stability as he carefully worked his thighs to control his descent down onto Bruce’s cock. Choked moans out of both of them, raspy and desperately quietly as they did their best to make the least noise possible.

Tim’s wet pink rim swallowing Bruce’s cock to keep inside with every drag out of him-

Dick sucked down water like he was dying of thirst in a desert.

Dick panted, breathing in like he was dying of heatstroke.

Oh, this was a problem.

Dick felt a familiar stir in his gut and slowly looked down, horror increasing with every inch. His cock was at a half chub, thick with arousal and blood, pressing a heavy, incriminating weight against the thin cotton of his boxers.

Oh this was a very big problem.

Jason was silent and pensive as Dick jiggled his thigh. Titus was running free in the garden, chasing butterflies and making sure Dick kept his promise to Damian about exercising his dog while he was in school. Jason was holding a plate of finger sandwiches while Dick nursed a cup of camomile tea.

“You don’t think they’re fucking do you?” Jason suddenly asked and Dick flinched so violently a wave of tea splashed out over the rim and burned his fingers.

“Fuck!”

Dick cursed as he scrambled for a napkin. His nerves had been on edge since his unfortunate dream. He felt like a delicate Victorian woman, clutching at his chest and fainting at every step and slam of a door.

Fuck.

Jason’s brow was raised at him. Between the two of them, he hadn’t flinched away from the evidence placed in front of them, even providing his own memories about when he’d been gathering data on Tim.

‘Talia hated him and I mean hated him’ Dick recalled Jason telling him. ‘I mean she hated you too but Tim was something special, something different it was like she thought….like she thought Bruce was cheating on her with him, ya know? Like the whole ‘ I hate the other woman on principle’ kind of thing.

Tim as the ‘other woman’...well wasn’t that a thought.

Bruce hadn’t seriously dated anyone in years.

That didn’t necessarily mean that it was because of Tim.

Bruce had been drifting towards making the mission the central focus of his life for years. It could’ve had nothing to do with Tim at all. Plus Talia wasn’t exactly someone Dick could call ‘stable’.

If there had been something going on between Bruce and Tim and she’d spotted it but blamed Tim for being a kid who was by all accounts getting groomed and sexually abused by an adult they trusted?

Yeah, not a very good look. It also didn’t make Talia’s apparent jealousy of Tim a good enough testimony to consider.

Jason waited until Dick got a hold of himself before continuing.

“I mean we know Tim’s touched his dick before.”

That also wasn’t a good point because Dick had too. In fact, most of the family had been exposed to each other quite intimately. You learned that pretty fast with the injuries you got as a vigilante, you lost the squeamishness pretty quickly.

Dick tried his best to steady his heartbeat as Jason began waving his hand around, finger sandwich still clenched in his hand as he talked.

“I mean they could be but at the same time they couldn’t be-”

Dick mopped up the spillage from the table the best he could with a soggy napkin.

“- they’re just both so fucking weird about… fucking intimacy? Bruce has the passion of a dead fish and homewrecks his own relationships and Timmy’s like a chihuahua in the winter when there’s so much as a kissing scene in a movie.”

That Dick knew to be true. Tim had never really grown out of the phase of saying ‘ew’ to the main leads in a movie kissing and then fast-forwarding through the scene with a grossed-out wrinkle in his nose.

That wasn’t exactly the makings of someone who had hardcore anal sex with his dad on a nightly basis.

But Clark hadn’t said he’d thought there was something like that going on, he just thought that Bruce and Tim were crossing boundaries and behaving in a manner that was inappropriate given their relation to each other.

They were behaving in a manner that was exclusive to each other. In a way that could easily be interpreted as maybe crossing some lines of what was considered conventional.

Jason asked him if he thought Bruce and Tim were fucking and Dick…he…he didn’t know.

Honest to god he had no idea.

Clark had texted Dick asking if everything was going alright. Dick hadn’t responded yet, unable to form the words in his mouth let alone his head.

He’d left Clark’s message unreplied to as he did his best to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to phrase suspicions but no confirmations. Things that were strange but not out of the ordinary given Bruce and Tim’s established dynamics. But without verbal confirmation from either of them or more invasive measures then…then it seemed like they just had to let things be as they were.

Let them be as they had always been.

“Are you two fucking?”

The sound that came out of Dick’s throat before he stifled it down hadn’t been human.

Dick stared at Jason across from his seat at the table as Jason stared Bruce and Tim down unblinkingly.

Tim froze where he was bent over, mouth wrapped around Bruce’s spoon. Bruce was similarly frozen, but unlike Tim, his eyes weren’t widened in shock, body frozen like a bunny who’d just realized the shadow of a hawk was flying overhead. Still, Dick was able to spot the immediate lines of tension in Bruce’s form. A tightened grip on the spoon in Tim’s mouth that he pulled out with a wet ‘pop’. Tim’s red lips pursed, his tongue darting out to lick up the bits of food that ended up on his lips.

Both their gazes locked onto Jason with a weird intensity.

“Are you?” Jason repeated somehow not noticing that Dick was inches away and on the verge of a heart attack.

Damian made a little choking noise from his seat beside Dick. He had also frozen at Jason’s sudden question but had apparently bounced back faster than the rest of them.

“Todd! What on earth are you thinking asking those kinds of questions when I’m in the middle of dinner!”

Damian was indignant, forehead scrunched as he pushed his plate away from him with a disgusted sound.

“Refrain from ever asking about my father’s sexual relations in front of me again!”

“Brat, I’m in the middle of trying to figure something out, give me a minute,” Jason’s gaze briefly flickered to Damian who was unhappily shifting in his seat like he was deciding between storming away from the dinner table or going for Jason’s eyeballs.

Tim snapped to attention at the sound of Damian’s yelling, his back straightening as his body inched away from Bruce. His expression was twisted to one of confusion as he stared at Jason with a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

“What the fuck? Why?” Tim asked, voice somehow quiet and incredulous. “Why would you ask that?”

Bruce twitched, his expression distinctly uneasy as he stared along with Tim at Jason who was apparently now understanding that he may have made a misstep.

Dick stared at both Bruce and Tim’s expressions, the way their bodies were tilted away from each other. The way their eyes briefly shifted from Jason to each other before immediately darting away. Bruce clenched his fingers, fiddling with the spoon in his hand, seemingly unsure about what to do with it.

Tim’s lips turned down, brows furrowed together as his expression ran through a series of emotions too fast for Dick to catch.

Jason started to point out their closeness, their unusual closeness.

Bruce’s mouth twitched, a small grimace crossing his expression before it disappeared.

Dick shifted in his seat, pulling at the collar of his shirt. He felt like there was a sauna under his skin, sweat collecting on his brow and nose as Tim’s lips pursed, brow furrowing deeper.

“So because Bruce and I are a little close that automatically means we’re fucking?” Tim emphasized the word with an edge of incredulity like he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

“Look at the risk of sounding like a douchebag, yes.” Jason nodded. There was a stern line to his lips as his eyes volleyed between Bruce and Tim. “It’s been pointed out that the way you two act toes the line of being…well fucked up.”

Dick winced at the phrasing. He couldn’t help but feel the guilt that bubbled in him that part of him agreed with the thought. Maybe he was still a bit shaken from the dream he’d had but Dick was on Jason’s side that a lot of the things that Bruce and Tim did maybe weren’t…what a close father-son duo would do.

Dick thought back on his father fondly and liked to think that he was very close with him before he’d died. Every time he tried to imagine himself in Tim’s place he couldn’t help but squirm.

It just…it felt weird. Not bad or anything like that, it was just…strange.

Then again Dick and his parents had been on a pretty small budget most of the time, constantly moving and performing, never really settling anywhere. Dick’s Saturdays had usually consisted of helping his mom cut out coupons and his dad do laundry. Most nights Dick slept in his parents bed with them because there wasn’t enough room in their little tin can sleeper trailer. Both Bruce and Tim had probably never trimmed coupons from the Sunday paper once in their life. The two of them had grown up incredibly privileged and Dick knew that being born into different tax brackets did make a huge difference in a person’s development.

Maybe that’s just what affection was for one percenters.

The way Clark expressed love and affection for Johnathon was probably worlds different than it was for Bruce. Both Dick and Jason had grown up differently than Tim had, with him spending most of his adolescence in boarding schools and the occasional country club.

Shit, Tim still sent Christmas Cards and texted with his old nanny’s son, the one that used to serve as his playmate when he was little.

Alfred had never said anything about Bruce or Tim’s behavior either. Not a single quirked brow, or questioning purse of his lips. Alfred also wasn’t shy, if he thought something unseemly was going on he would’ve put a stop to it.

Dick heard Tim’s voice raise slightly at something Jason said.

Alfred had been around them the longest, he’d been present in the manor when Dick hadn’t.

Dick heard the scrape of a chair.

If something had happened there was no way Alfred would’ve kept silent. Tim and Bruce had started sharing a bed at some point in the first year after Tim had completed his training and become Robin.

A second chair quickly followed.

If anything should’ve raised red flags that certainly should’ve. But it hadn’t, which meant that Alfred hadn’t considered it a matter to worry about.

But still.

A grown man sharing a bed with a boy he’s not related to and has known for less than a year? Dick may have been let go from the force but that still tingled those old cop senses that he’d honed.

But this wasn’t some strange old man luring little boys to his house.

This was Bruce and Tim and Bruce loved Tim. Maybe he was shit at showing it to the rest of them but there wasn’t a doubt in Dick’s mind that Bruce loved Tim.

So if Dick knew that was an absolute truth and an absolute fact then that meant…

Both Bruce and Tim’s chairs were empty and pushed away from the table. Damian along with his dinner plate was gone and Jason was sitting across from him, shifting uncomfortably.

There was only the vaguest shadow of guilt on his expression that evaporated completely with a shake of his head before he turned back to his plate and speared a carrot with his fork. Never one to waste food was he.

Dick swallowed thickly and looked down at his cold pieces of sliced roast dinner.

If what Dick knew to be true actually was true…

Then that meant that he’d more or less just accused his dad and brother of sleeping together.

Tim was silent getting ready for bed.

Bruce had just stepped into the shower and Tim was combing through his wet hair, trying to work out all the little knots he’d accumulated over the course of the day. Bruce would usually do it for him. Tim would sit between his knees and tilt his head back, feeling little shivers run down his spine as Bruce gently worked his fingers through Tim’s hair.

The velvet fabric of the ottoman he was on tickled the back of his knees and Tim shifted, adjusting his robe and tightening the waist cinch tighter around him.

Bruce’s eyes had been dark with an indiscernible emotion when they’d retreated back to their room after dinner. He’d sat silently on the edge of the bed while Tim had gone in for a shower, door unlocked as always because Bruce had instituted the rule after Tim had been injured and slipped once.

Tim had felt the tension in Bruce’s body as they’d climbed the stairs, leaving their dishes to be cleaned up by an apologetic Dick and a not-so-apologetic Jason.

Jason hadn’t been very sorry about his ‘accusations’ and phrasing about how weirdly close he and Bruce were. Which yeah okay, Tim could see how that could be construed.

He and Bruce were definitely closer than Tim had been with his dad. That didn’t mean that there was anything more going on.

Bruce latched on by seeking comfort and reassurance. He hated feeling powerless and giving him control of a situation made him feel better. It was like giving a baby a pacifier to soothe them. You wouldn’t rip away a baby’s binky knowing how it made them feel better, would you?

Bruce had never had a reason to feel embarrassed about it.

Because Tim hadn’t raised a single protest to helping Bruce by handing over control of…everything.

Of himself- what he wore, what he ate, how he moved, where he slept.

Bruce had taken those reins into his hand and never hesitated to use them. Tim slept in Bruce’s room because that was where Bruce kept all his things. All his clothes, his shoes, his worldly possessions including the small childhood stuffed Raggedy Andy doll that was tucked deep into his closet.

Bruce held him close, gripped him by his waist, and always had his hand on him because Tim was a part of him. He was part of the ensemble that made up Bruce Wayne like a belt or a monogrammed handkerchief.

Bruce stroked his hair, fed him a carefully balanced diet, and kissed him because that’s what you did with beloved pets. It was how Damian treated Titus and Alfred, petting them and murmuring little affirmations of love in their ear when no one was looking.

Bruce took good care of him because Tim was his and it was both insulting and hurtful to hear from both Jason and Dick that they’d thought he’d been doing something to Tim.

Tim could hear the shower running as he finished running a brush through his hair and moved into bed. He arranged the sheets just like Bruce liked, tugging them down and arranging the comforter and pillows like he did every night.

Bruce had been oddly silent after dinner, his body placing inches of distance between them. Tim could see how his fingers flexed, clenching on empty air without Tim there to fill them.

There was an unsteadiness in Bruce’s eyes, a shiftiness to his form ever since he’d pulled away from Tim at the table. He’d felt pressured to restrict himself in the face of the rest of the family’s discomfort with them.

(Years. Bruce and Tim had spent years like this and now all of a sudden they had a problem with it?)

Tim heard the bathroom door open, Bruce came out followed by a waterfall of steam. A gray towel was tied tightly around his waist while another dried his hair.

Long strands that were normally slicked back by gels and oils hung limply in front of his face. Bruce’s skin was red, shoulders and chest rouged with color like he’d gotten a sunburn. From the heat, Tim could feel reaching him from the bathroom and the look of steam-coated mirrors it seemed like Bruce was doing some kind of self-flagellation.

Bruce did that sometimes. He hadn’t done it in years but Tim had learned to pick up on it when it happened. Showering with water that was too hot and burned him. Dental floss that was rubbed harshly against his gums until it cut into the meat and bled. Watches strapped on so tightly to his wrist that they cut off circulation and turned the tips of his fingers blue.

They were small things. Easy to ignore or miss things. In Bruce’s mind, it was okay because it wasn’t like he was mutilating himself or causing permanent damage.

Bruce drifted to Tim’s side, body still arched away as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. Bruce kept his eyes down, locking his gaze on the carpet, on the sheets, on his pillows, and on his thighs when he finally slid into bed.

His body was stiff even as he sank into the plush pillows and down feather-stuffed comforter.

Tim knelt in the center of the bed, a blanket abandoned from its proper arrangement. Tim felt as the warm air from the bathroom caressed his naked thighs not covered by his robe and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that both he and Bruce were completely naked aside from a few barriers of easily removable cloth.

The thought realization had never sparked any feelings before. Tim was stuck unsurely shifting on his knees about how to discreetly slip on some underwear when Bruce’s voice cut into his rambling thoughts.

“You don’t have to stay tonight,” Bruce offered quietly. His expression was hidden by a curtain of wet towel. “If you don’t want to.”

Tim stared at him. What kind of question was that?

That Tim didn’t have to stay the night if he didn’t want to? As if Tim would rather be anywhere else.

Tim felt a bubble of something pop in him, something that felt a bit like indignance at the suggestion. This was Tim’s room and Tim’s bed, he’d never wanted or needed anything else. And now Bruce…now Bruce was asking if he wanted to leave it?

Bruce still hadn’t looked at him but Tim could see that his chin jerked up slightly when he felt the movement of the mattress as Tim crawled closer to him.

Bruce didn’t have a chance to protest as Tim vindictively threw his knee over Bruce’s other side and straddled his torso. Tim placed both hands on Bruce’s lower stomach, making sure to dig his nails in the slightest bit. The front of his robe split open and Tim knew from the way Bruce’s eyes darted down that his pussy was on full display.

Bruce had been squeamish the first time he’d helped Tim bathe. He hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t even blushed but Tim had seen how he’d frozen for a second. How he’d lagged like a computer with a shitty connection, buffering as the rag he’d been using to wipe Tim down of car grease and dirt reached his cunt.

Tim remembered the callouses on Bruce’s hands as he’d parted Tim’s thighs, washing in the crease of his pelvis and thigh, avoiding the red little slit that’d been there. One of Bruce’s knuckles had rubbed against him, dragging it along the seam and feeling as he parted for him, Tim’s natural wetness coating the back of his hand.

It had seemed purposeful, intent at the time but Bruce hadn’t missed a beat, continuing to wipe Tim down and soap him up.

Tim thought of that moment sometimes. He thought of Bruce stopping his clinical and methodical cleaning. He thought of Bruce running a finger along Tim’s slit, pressing a finger in and seeking out his hole. Of his finger pressing in and out, pad stroking the ridges of his wall all curious and eager to explore this new part of his Robin.

Tim was his after all. If Bruce wanted to press into every part of him he could.

Tim would let him.

But Bruce never did. He hosed Tim down and the next time Tim had needed his assistance, Bruce had worn gloves. Blue latex that he’d snapped on like Tim was at the dentist. From there all there was the vague feeling of warmth from a limb, a phantom of intimacy as he’d examined Tim to make sure he wasn’t bleeding after a rogue had taken a cheap shot at his crotch.

Tim felt as his pussy pressed to Bruce’s towel, body flush to Bruce’s and separated by a barrier that was slipping down as Bruce shifted under him.

Bruce was staring at him, his dark gaze somehow going darker.

“Tim,” He began, Tim watched the unsure bob of his throat even if his voice was full of hard steel, “get off.”

“No.”

To prove a point, Tim shifted his hips down harder. There was a soft mound under him, from placement alone Tim knew it was Bruce’s cock.

Bruce bared his teeth briefly, eyes slipping closed, brows furrowing for just a second before he wiped the expression away. Bruce’s hands went to Tim’s waist, and he nearly shivered at the familiar feel of them. Tim didn’t flinch when Bruce dug his fingers into the hollows of his hip bones, grip tight and bruising as he did his best to inch Tim up and off.

“Off,” Bruce demanded, eyes narrowed and order tight like he was telling Titus to stop humping Tim’s leg.

Tim locked his thighs, slipping his calves under Bruce’s quadriceps to keep his balance and placement.

Bruce’s hands tightened, hip bones creaking under his palms. Tim didn’t make a sound.

Tim felt the tightness in his chest spill over, words dripping out his mouth like molasses out of a jar.

“If you want to throw me away,” Tim began, voice low and piercing as he forced Bruce to meet his eyes, “you’re going to have to Throw. Me. Away.”

Tim would accept nothing less than Bruce picking him up and depositing him onto the curb. Undeniable proof that Bruce was done with him and ready to throw him away with all the other trash.

Bruce stared at him. His face was blank, empty as Tim hovered over him, leaning his mouth in close to whisper in his ear.

“I’m yours.” Tim pressed to the curve of Bruce’s ear. “I’m your thing, your pet, your fucking accessory- you use me however you want and when you’re done with me then you throw me away but not before.”

Bruce flexed his fingers on Tim’s hips.

“You own me and if you don’t want me anymore, throw me away. If you’re done with me then throw me away.”

Tim pushed himself up and stared down at Bruce. Tim shifted his hips, pressing down on the bulge he felt under him. He felt the lips of his cunt part, kissing the little mound under him.

Bruce’s throat tightened, Tim could see the bulge of a vein as Bruce held himself still with effort.

“You haven’t even used all of me.” Tim lamented, a throb of pain pulsing through his chest at the thought. “And you’re ready to throw me away?”

Bruce sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so hard that the red of his lip turned white from the force. He was going to break skin if he kept that up.

Bruce was holding Tim still over him, biceps trembling with effort even though Tim knew that Bruce barely needed one arm to pick him up.

Tim felt the belt of his robe finally unravel from all the jostling. Tim’s tits were small, barely a handful, and most days barely anyone even noticed their fullness if they weren’t cupping them in their hands. From the slender line of his neck all down his torso to his cunt, Tim was on display.

Open and free to use by Bruce if he so desired. It had always been that way.

Tim had always expected to one day wake up with a throbbing between his legs. Cunt torn and split, wet and messy from use, cum seeping out at a steady drip like a broken faucet.

That’s what Tim’s purpose was. But Bruce had never followed through, never done much besides look at him with heat in his eyes.

A heat that was bright and visible as Bruce’s dark eyes traced the curve of Tim’s tits down to the pink of his folds.

Bruce shifted under him, heels pressing into the mattress as he squirmed.

Tim rode the hardening cock under him, shifting his hips to let it run along the slit as Bruce let out some little grunted sound.

Was he scared?

Tim slowed his hips, letting his weight rest down briefly.

Bruce never took what wasn’t offered and at the table…when Jason and Dick had stated at them and said those words with question in their voice-

Tim had seen how shaken Bruce had been. None of the others at the table had picked up on it but Tim had. He’d felt as the spoon in his mouth had jerked, as it pressed an edge against his uvula and it had taken every ounce of training Tim had to not gag.

Tim’s denial had flowed off his tongue like the water in a stream. Bruce had been frozen, paralyzed at the questioning so Tim had taken over for him.

Tim had done the hard job so Bruce hadn’t had to.

Did…did Bruce think that Tim’s words had been….true?

Tim stroked a hand along Bruce’s jaw, feeling the jolt in his fingertips as Bruce tilted his head up to look at him.

Uncertainty swirled in his eyes, his fingers on Tim’s waist alternated between squeezing and trying to pry his hands away.

Tim ran a finger along the edge of Bruce’s jaw, settling his thumb on Bruce’s chin and keeping his head still and steady enough to meet his eyes.

Bruce did the same to him sometimes, gripping his jaw in one hand and forcing Tim to look at him in order to discern if whatever Tim just told him was a lie.

This time it was Tim holding Bruce’s face still, fingers pressing into his cheeks as he kept Bruce’s gaze.

Bruce’s eyes shifted, moving from Tim’s face to his mouth, down his throat, along his body and back. Bruce’s hands on his waist flexed, honest in their confusion as they gripped him.

Tim took in Bruce’s expression, the hint of wide-eyed hopelessness he could see in them. It was the same glazed look he’d seen the first night he’d walked into Bruce’s life.

His beard had been heavy and unshaved, his breath thick with the smell of alcohol, and his eyes so dimmed and broken. Tim had given himself to Bruce that night, opening his arms and letting Bruce fall into him with broken raspy sobs.

Bruce had needed him then. Bruce needed him now.

“I’ll let you.”

Bruce swallowed. Tim could hear the little bob in his throat as it passed.

“Whatever you need.” Tim breathed, he ran his nails along Bruce’s cheek, they were blunt and wouldn’t hurt. Tim felt the shiver that ripped through Bruce’s body.

“Whatever you need,” Tim repeated, voice so low it was nearly a whisper. “I’m yours. All yours.”

Tim felt the grip on his hips disappear first.

He’d felt the flood of disappointment fill him up to his eyeballs until Bruce suddenly flipped them over. Tim bounced softly before he felt a palm go under the back of his knees and bend him in half.

Tim felt the rush of breath get punched out of him as his back curved and his knees were pressed back until they nearly touched his forehead.

Tim felt as Bruce shook above him, shoulders trembling as he fumbled with the towel, grunting like a caveman as he tore it off and threw it to land somewhere beside Tim’s head.

Through the seam of his thighs, Tim could see as Bruce’s cock stood up, head a fiery red and flush with arousal. Bruce wrapped a tight fist around himself, hand jacking himself up, smearing pearly drops of precum along his cock.

A bubble of interest began heating up in Tim’s gut. He could feel as Bruce pressed his cock against his cunt, sliding and rubbing himself against the slit to coat himself with some of Tim’s wetness.

“Nngh unngh hmmm nnnn-”

Bruce was making soft grunts of effort, his hips twitching with every slide between Tim’s parted pussylips. Tim was a little wet but he was always a little wet. He needed to be dripping for Bruce to be able to slide in. Otherwise when it was over Tim’s pussy would be dry and chafed from the friction. Not that he’d protest if that was what Bruce wanted, but with the way he was rutting against Tim, darting up to fuck his thighs- it looked like he needed a little help.

That’s what Tim was. Bruce’s little helper.

Tim let one of his hands press down his torso and along his trembling stomach, inching through the gap between his thighs and brushing under Bruce’s furiously pumping length.

Bruce made a low sound, stilling as Tim felt around, running two fingers down the side of his pussy until he found his little neglected clit.

Tim let out a soft moan as he pressed down, rubbing in just the way he liked to get his cunt to clench down on empty air.

Fuck it was always so hard masturbating with a pussy. You either needed the dexterity to be able to thumb your clit and pump fingers into your pussy or the flexibility to fuck yourself with one hand and abuse your clit with the other.

Tim’s other hand was preoccupied with wrapping around his thighs and keeping himself in the position Bruce had put him in which left him with only his fingers to work himself up.

“Ah ahh annh hmmmnn-” Tim was making soft little moans, feeling his toes curl with every squeeze of pleasure he fucked out of himself. He could feel his heartbeat in his clit, the pulse of it thrumming under his fingers as his poor empty pussy tried desperately to swallow something down.

Tim felt as a thick cockhead started swiping down along his split-open cunt, pressing into his urethra and getting a grunt of discontent out of him before drifting down to his opening.

Tim felt his heartbeat pounding his ribcage at the initial push in. It wasn’t all the way, just a short thrust to have Tim’s walls stretch around the head. Breaching through his hole and letting him get used to the size. Bruce grunted over him, brows furrowed with effort as he rubbed his cockhead into Tim deeper, scraping briefly against his walls before tugging it out.

Tim could hear the wet mess of his cunt, his fingers sliding and slipping off his clit with every rub.

“Hahhn mmnnn-”

Tim felt his hips involuntarily thrust, chasing after Bruce’s dick until he pressed back in again. Tim heard the soft ‘squelch’ as Bruce pressed in again, a little deeper than before, helped along by the trembling mess of Tim’s thighs and his dripping cunt.

The stretch was tight. Tim was still too new, too unused and tight. His walls weren’t giving into Bruce’s penetration easily.

“Oh, Tim-”

Tim bit down on his lip at the sound of Bruce’s choked groan. His pussy was too small, too tight, made even tighter by the fact that his legs were pressed together. He needed to open more so that Bruce could drive all the way home.

Carefully, Tim unclenched the arm he had wrapped around his thighs. He took a slow breath through his nose and made a soft sound, wiggling the knees gripped in Bruce’s hand a little.

Bruce’s head popped up, his expression distant and soft. His mouth was dropped open, letting out a continuous stream of soft sounds as he rubbed his cockhead into Tim’s little opening trying to press further and further in.

Tim made a motion to his legs, wiggling his knees for emphasis.

“If you hold me open you could get in deeper.” He offered softly. Tim’s cunt was warm and soft and Bruce had been battering his cock against him making little sounds like he was confused about why he couldn’t fuck in deeper before meeting resistance.

Bruce stared at him blankly, his panting audible to Tim’s ears.

Tim offered a soft, encouraging smile and let his legs fall open when Bruce hesitantly let him go. Tim fell into a split, bending his knees and letting his legs fall open until the outer sides of his thighs met mattress. His legs curled around Bruce’s form, keeping him close.

Without his body in the way, Tim was finally able to see the vibrating edges of Bruce’s form crouched over him.

The hair that colored Bruce’s chest was thick and dark. Tim used to take care of all of Bruce’s grooming, scrubbing the grease from his hair and making sure his skin was smooth and clean. Bruce had slowly taken the role up himself a few years back but it seemed like he’d started neglecting shaving. Which made sense, Bruce had always preferred the more rugged, grizzled look. He hated how clean shaven and prim he had to be when they left for work at WE.

Tim felt as the barrel of Bruce’s chest pressed to him, thick, curly hair rubbing into the soft of his chest as Bruce pressed low ‘mnn nnnn hmmnnn’ sounds to Tim’s ear.

Hot breaths caressed Tim’s throat and he felt a little tremble go down from his back to his weeping cunt. His fingers were soaked, his little clit was twitching under his attention, tightening Tim’s thighs and pussy in anticipation as the familiar spark edged into his vision.

Tim felt the press of a cockhead into his entrance. The crown of Bruce’s dick was being held tightly by Tim’s little opening, parting and being forced open as Bruce took a shaky breath and began sinking in.

Tim choked at the fullness, fuck, fuck it was so much fuller than he’d expected. Tim had trained, tried his best to stretch himself with his fingers and worked his way up with whatever he could find that was vaguely phallus shaped. In his old room at his parent’s house, Tim’s bed had been a four poster structure that’d been carved out of expensive cherry wood from the 19th century. At every corner there’d been a little rod at about waist-height that stuck out, it’d had a rounded little ball with a smooth top sitting on it.

Tim remembered how he’d used his mom’s after-sun aloe gel to make the slide easier into his little pussy. It’d been hard. Tim’s thighs had gotten tired from having to push himself up and down, his little cunnie had always been so achy and sore to the point that he was certain he’d bruised something inside himself.

He’d considered running to Bruce, telling him about why he winced when they’d stretch together. Why Tim would be blinking back tears when he fell into a full split.

But Tim had kept quiet. It’d been a secret and eventually, he’d managed to take the rod in deep, all the way until he felt that hard wooden tip hit his cervix.

It’d been painful. It hadn’t been good or nice at all. It was nothing like the porn he watched during it to get himself aroused. His clit had been where all the pleasure had come from, it was what allowed him to cum, clench, and ride out that toe-curling pleasure even though a hunk of wood was lodged inside him.

When Tim moved into Bruce’s bed he’d stopped.

Bruce’s bed was a canopy with thick velvet curtains that could be pulled closed and give the person inside some privacy . The posters that held it up were larger than Tim’s thighs. So Tim had contented himself with his fingers, slowly increasing the amount and making sure he was always wet and ready.

If he was tired he’d fuck himself full of a few fingers in the bathroom before bed. Not enough to get him interested, but enough so Bruce wouldn’t worry about hurting him. When Tim was horny it was a little different. He’d wait until Bruce fell asleep. Until the pills prescribed by Doctor Leslie for his insomnia kicked in, when Tim was sure that nothing short of that specially developed Bat alarm would wake him.

Bruce only took the pills when he knew Tim would be there. If Tim went on an overnight trip with his school or spent the weekend at Titan’s Tower, he’d return to Bruce bleary-eyed and tired because he didn’t trust the pills if Tim wasn’t around to watch his back.

The sight of Bruce desperately trying to hide how much he was stumbling into the walls from exhaustion lit something in Tim’s gut. It had some thick syrupy feeling swirling in his stomach and every night after he returned, Tim would lie awake and fuck himself while staring at Bruce’s sleeping face. His fingers would be drenched down to his wrist, his clit would be crying in protest and overstimulation and Tim would be biting his pillow to keep the sounds down.

Tim waited and waited for the day Bruce would look at him with those eyes, always edged with interest, and press him into the mattress. For the day he’d hold his legs open, nails digging into his thighs as he took everything Tim wanted to give him.

Tim imagined Bruce exactly as he was now.

Bruce let out a broken, choked sound when he finally let go of his resistance and snapped his hips forward. Tim let out a breathless gasp like Bruce had reared up and shoved his hand through his chest.

It was a gutted sound, deep and aching as Tim’s hips arched up and off the bed.

“Bruce,” Tim gasped, mouth open as he let out a soundless cry. Tim felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, body unable to resist going immediately slack like he was a rabbit caught in a predator’s jaws.

Bruce shook, shoulders trembling as his hands snaked down to Tim’s hips.

Tim felt nails cutting into his skin, their grip was so tight like it was the only thing grounding Bruce.

Fuck he’d really needed this hadn’t he?

Tim had neglected his duties. The thought shot a pang of pain into Tim’s heart and he lifted his head to stare at Bruce over him.

Bruce's eyes were nearly black with desire, his brow nearly stitched together, as he ground his teeth with silent restraint. Bruce’s eyes were locked on where their bodies were joined.

There was an edge of disbelief like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing but that was overshadowed by the clawing want in his expression.

Bruce’s hips were devastatingly not moving. Tim could feel as he twitched around the warm cock inside him, so thick and fitting inside him, and for the first time Tim felt whole.

This was his purpose, this was what he was meant to do.

Unable to resist any longer, Tim began squirming, shifting his hips and trying to work himself up and down as he whined to Bruce with the little cries of a caught animal begging for mercy.

“Bruce! Mmmnn Bruce! Hah hahhhnn mmnnn-”

Bruce’s head snapped up at the sound. Tim’s eyes were half-lidded, gaze hazy from the little jolts of pleasure he was squeezing out of himself as he rocked his hips.

“Nnnngh mmmn Bruce! Oh please please please-”

Tim felt Bruce’s eyes on him, felt him as he creeped closer and somehow sunk in even deeper-

“Please B,” Tim whispered, head tilting back, exposing his neck and belly like a dog showing submission. “Take me, fuck me, destroy me-”

Tim heard Bruce make a little noise but didn’t stop.

“Spit on me, choke me, use me! Fucking use me damn it!”

Tim fucked his hips down harder, hearing the wet ‘squelch’ of his pussy as he forced out a little sound. “I’m yours! Your toy, your dog- order me around, play with me, break me I don’t care-”

Tim wanted Bruce to do it as hard as he always knew he wanted to. Bruce had been holding back, his entire life he’d kept himself restrained thinking no one would want him if they knew what was inside him. If they knew how much he secretly liked hurting things. Others, himself.

Bruce wanted to hurt something and he wanted that thing to be absolutely thrilled to be hurt. He wanted to own something and he wanted that thing to be absolutely ecstatic about being put in a cage.

Alfred, Dick, Jason, Damian, Talia, Selina, Clark, Barbara; they thought he just needed help. That he just needed to be fixed. That the way he was now was what he became as a result of everything in his life and not someone he would’ve grown up to be regardless of what happened to him.

(Tim was certain there was a universe out there with an exasperated Martha shaking her head as her teenage son snuck out for the sixth time in a week to fight crime in a homemade Bat costume. Thomas Wayne was probably setting broken bones and kissing cut knuckles, unable to deny his beloved child anything he wanted in the world.)

His Bruce was a twisted and broken man; made worse by his natural-born desire to own. You’re not born the way Bruce is and not expect to turn out a little selfish, a little possessive.

Tim was the only one who could handle it. No one else in the world could be what Bruce needed.

“Take it all,” Tim offered.

Bruce’s expression kept flickering, shifting like he still couldn’t believe that what Tim was giving him was sincere.

“It’s all yours, it always has been- take it,”

Maybe Bruce thought it was a trap. Like Tim was a seemingly kind old woman offering him a shiny apple only for it to turn out to be poisoned. Tim swallowed back the fullness of his throat, his pussy clenching around the cock that kept getting shifted inside him.

“Please daddy.”

Bruce shivered. A full body tremble and Tim could feel as the tension in him immediately shot up. As those fingers digging into his hips immediately began tightening their grip, deep enough to bruise, deep enough to crack bone-

“Daddy,” Tim breathed, “plea-”

Tim didn’t get to finish, words cut off at a squeak as Bruce began fucking him. Tim could do nothing but frantically wrap his arms around Bruce’s neck and hold on as big hands pinned his hips down to the mattress and began fucking him furiously. Bruce’s hands were so big and warm, so loving even as they gripped Tim’s hips like they wanted to rip off the skin.

Tim let out a little moan as he felt Bruce’s cock slide in all the way, his balls slapping Tim’s dripping pussy with a wet sound as he slammed in. Tim could feel as his hole stretched to fit Bruce more and more with every pump into him, his little cunt was already getting sore, walls getting rubbed raw from the friction and force as Bruce grunted little inaudible noises to Tim.

Bruce’s jaw had the lightest sprinkle of stubble that scratched at Tim’s neck as a warm mouth bit down on his earlobe hard enough to nearly draw blood.

Tim arched into Bruce at it.

“Daddy-” Tim panted, that was it, that was the ticket. That final nail that every bit of Tim belonged to Bruce. As his friend who helped him get sober, his partner who had his back, his lover who let him fuck him so deep, and his son who he adored.

Tim felt as Bruce mouthed the words that formed his name against his neck. Warm lips sent little jolts down Tim’s body. Goosebumps emerged all across his back and arms as he clung to his Bruce, his Batman, his dad-

Bruce was grinding his cock into Tim’s cunt like he was trying to grind in another space for him to fit. Tim chanced a glance to look down, to see his pink pussyfolds were opened so obscenely. How red his cunt had gone like had slapped at the skin until it turned that rouge color. The base of Bruce’s cock was thick with a bush of hair that made Tim’s pussy feel ticklish when he pressed all the way in and rubbed himself into Tim’s opened cunt. Tim felt the slow drag of Bruce’s cock as he pulled it out, watching as the wet of him coated every inch of that length with how much he was dripping.

Tim had been holding his fingers still, keeping them pressed on his clit to not cum even if every atom in him wanted him to rub with every stroke into him until he was arching up, head thrown back, and crying about how good he felt, how he was so full-

A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist in a tight grip and pinned it beside his head. Tim’s eyes shot open, staring up at Bruce who was breathing like he was having a heart attack over him. His other hand kept Tim open as he pressed down further and Tim grunted at the extra weight.

“You’re not cumming,” Bruce gritted out, voice gravely and deep, “you’re not cumming on anything but my cock you. little. slut-”

To emphasize it, Bruce fucked into him harder, snapping his hips at every pointed word. Tim couldn’t help the drawn-out moan that was forced out of him, fuck it was so deep, Tim could feel Bruce in his goddamn lungs.

“You’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” Bruce asked, pressing their foreheads together. Tim sighed breathlessly into Bruce’s mouth feeling his sight go slightly hazy at the soft buzz of pleasure sinking into his skin. Every time Bruce pulled out or pressed in at just the right angle, his clit felt the scrape of his cock against it.

Tim’s mouth fell open and felt himself nod mindlessly to Bruce's words. It got him a little grunt of effort in reply.

“Whore.” Bruce said it like it was both a curse and a praise. Tim swallowed the word, carving it into the bones of his ribs and the pulsing beat of his heart..

Whore.

Whore.

Whore.

“You took my cock so easy,” Bruce continued, lips catching on Tim’s mouth and pressing a brief kiss. Kissing was familiar, kissing was comfortable. Tim could remember how Bruce’s affection strayed from the side of his temple, to his cheek, to his mouth without anyone ever saying anything.

(Until Jason did but even then he’d never had a problem with it before, Tim would be looking into that).

“Little slut,” Bruce nipped at Tim’s bottom lip, catching it between his teeth before letting it go, “who else have you been letting fuck your pussy?”

Tim immediately shook his head, denial falling off his lips like water from an opened tap.

“No one!” Tim panted, eyesight blurred to hell from the tears of pleasure he could feel forming, god he was getting so close, his pussy was clenching down on every tug of cock out of him. “No one but you, it was all for you- I’d never let anyone take it before you-”

Bruce groaned. The sound vibrated all through his chest and drummed against Tim’s front where they were pressed so close together. Tim shivered and felt as his tits pressed closer to Bruce’s front, plushness soft and getting rubbed to sensitivity by Bruce’s intense fucking.

Tim was certain that if the bed was even slightly unstable it would’ve been rocking into the wall with every slam into him.

Tim could see how his pussy was twitching helplessly, hand limp in Bruce’s grip and so close to giving himself relief. Tim’s wetness was spread all along inside his thighs and down Bruce’s front. Tim could see how strings of precum from Bruce’s cock were laying down ribbons of white on Tim’s cunt.

Fuck, he wanted Bruce to cum in him, wanted to feel that flood of warmth and bathe in the absolute hopeless recklessness of it.

Bruce had told Tim while he was in a drunken stupor and mourning the loss of a baby that he was never cut out to be a father.

But he’d never gotten a vasectomy. Even after learning about Damian Bruce had remained attached to that part of him. Batman would’ve said that elimination of every risk should’ve come before personal feelings. Still, Bruce had never scheduled that little surgery.

The thought pumped Tim’s blood faster, filled his veins with a hot liquid as he tried his best to swallow Bruce’s cock back inside him, to keep it where it should be.

“Just for me, all mine, all mine mine mine mine mine-” Bruce was chanting under his breath and Tim let his nails scrape up the back of his scalp, tugging at the short locks of hair and pressing their cheeks together.

“All yours,” Tim promised, sincerity in every word. “Everything, whenever you want it- it’s yours. I’m. All. Yours. Forever”

Tim felt the moment his words registered, the instant they just did it for Bruce.

He felt under his fingers as the muscles in Bruce’s back went still and taught, as his cock, nestled and pressed right to Tim’s cervix, started to twitch. Heard as his breath hitched and as that deeply satisfied, languid ‘mmmmmmmnnnghh’ hummed against Tim’s throat.

The instant that first spurt of warmth coated Tim’s walls was when he felt his eyes roll back into his skull and his toes curl. Tim gasped, choking on every breath as his heartbeat pounded in his head, blinding him with white hot heat sparking through him. He felt the pulse of it stemming from his pussy, so hot and wet and stuffed full as he came with ‘ahh hhhnn gnnhhh’ sounds like he’d had every word ripped out of him.

Tim felt as Bruce’s big hands let his wrist and thigh drop, instead pushing himself up to get a better angle to look as Tim came and clenched on his cock. Bruce let out short grunts, pumping his hips and not letting a drop escape. Tim felt as his fingers touched Tim’s swollen clit and he nearly screamed at the agony of it being fondled.

“More,” Bruce grunted like a caveman, “cum again, more-”

It was like a demand and as his fingers circled Tim’s poor abused clit he couldn’t help arching up, spine almost breaking at the angle. His legs locked around Bruce’s hips keeping him still as he kept grinding at Tim’s clit, pinching and rubbing it until the emptied flow inside him began to trickle again.

Tim’s mouth fell open in a cry, tears streaming down his face as he gasped and arched at the burning ache of another orgasm ripping through him so quickly.

“Fuck!” Tim cursed. “Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck shit!!”

Tim practically seized on Bruce’s cock, clenching down tighter like he was trying to make a diamond from the pressure. Bruce’s fingers were unrelenting, forcing the buzzing to keep going, never letting it die down.

No words aside from more, more, more dripped from his mouth. Tim was gasping, abdomen cramping painfully as he breathed through his mouth, brows furrowed in agony as another hot heat ripped through his pussy and spread through him.

As his clit pulsed from abuse, Tim felt as Bruce started grunting over him again, hand still as he played with Tim’s little button. Tim felt as Bruce groaned weakly, body half falling over him before catching himself on his forearms.

Tim felt his cunt clench involuntarily at the second wave of heat that was flooding him.

Fuck, Bruce just came a second time. He came just from the feeling of Tim cumming on his cock over and over and over again-

Bruce moaned like he was in pain, his hips making little thrusts deeper in like he was trying to carve a permanent place, prompting a hiss from Tim.

God, his pussy was so swollen, so tender and sensitive. It felt about ten sizes bigger from how much it ached and when Bruce slowly pulled out Tim kept his legs open, there was no way he was going to be able to close them without some kind of numbing cream.

Bruce started littering kisses on Tim’s cheeks and forehead, working down to his chest and pressing a lingering kiss to each mound.

Tim felt as Bruce’s mouth lingered on his tit, his lips forming a brief seal on a nipple before popping off. Such a baby. Tim was probably going to wake up with sore and bruised tits in the morning too.

Tim’s legs were paralyzed with only an occasional twitch coursing through them as Bruce pressed his wet towel against his pussy to catch the mess.

“I’m not cleaning you out,” Bruce whispered against Tim’s neck. “You’re keeping it inside you, don’t you dare clean it out.”

That was never going to be an issue for Tim. He’d stop by Cass’s bathroom in the morning and pick up a pantyliner for his underwear. Besides Tim’s pussy was so tender he was certain he wouldn’t be able to stuff anything inside for a while.

Unless Bruce asked him to.

If Bruce asked him to then Tim wouldn’t even notice the ache or the pain.

If it was for Bruce it was worth it.

It would always be worth it.

Dick met Clark a few weeks after that disastrous dinner.

Maybe it was the shame or the embarrassment about being so abhorrently wrong that kept him away and kept him from responding to Clark’s texts.

Clark was in Gotham to serve as a reporter for the Daily Planet. A charity ball was going on and it was one the events big enough that warranted the entire family dressing up. Damian was sneaking cake that he knew he wasn’t allowed to have at one of the tables and Jason was on one of the locked balconies with a tablet and several movies pre-downloaded onto it.

That left him, Bruce, and Tim to mingle.

Much to Dick’s relief, the morning after that dinner neither Tim nor Bruce had acted any weirder or stranger. They’d held their same routine and Dick had relaxed knowing he hadn’t irrevocably ruined his dad and brother’s relationship.

Dick could see them at the other end of the hall, talking to one of the nights donors, probably trying to jointly goad him into giving a little more this year,

Clark was at his shoulder, an ill-fitted suit, tape recorder, and notepad in hand. Those dark-rimmed glasses were sitting low on his nose as he offered Dick a friendly smile.

Dick could see how the ends of Clark’s mouth twitched down when he scanned the room and caught sight of Bruce and Tim.

Bruce had his arm wrapped all the way around Tim, but instead of resting it on his hip like he normally did, Bruce was stroking Tim’s front tenderly. Tim’s head was tucked against Bruce’s shoulder and together they looked like every other couple attending the gala together.

It had taken a while but that odd sense of weirdness that had started settling in his gut finally went away when he saw Tim and Bruce together.

Dick’s eyes, when he started paying attention to Tim and Bruce’s version of intimacy, had done flips on his psyche. He’d wake up from dreams hot, uncomfortable, damnably aroused, and guilt eating at him.

Here he was making something perverse out of something wholly innocent. He’d seen the way Bruce had shied away from Tim at the table, how silent he’d been when he’d gone up those stairs.

Bruce wasn’t a ‘tuck your tail between your legs’ kind of person. He didn’t back down. Ever. He tore and he fought and he raised his voice.

Seeing that had snapped Dick back to reality and he’d taken a minute to contemplate if he had actually just sat down to dinner and accused Bruce and Tim of being inappropriate with one another.

Dick had been able to see how Bruce’s reaction had taken Jason aback, how he’d stared and watched them climb the stairs with an odd look on his face. Dick remembered being tense at breakfast that morning but neither Bruce nor Tim had acted strangely. Tim had been slower and there’d been dark circles under his eyes and Dick had felt a pang of guilt knowing it was likely his and Jason’s words that had kept him up

Still, they’d maintained their closeness even after facing off ‘concerns’ from the family. Bruce had kept a hand on Tim’s lower back when they stood up to leave and he’d spent the morning carefully gripping Tim’s wrist as they’d sat sipping their coffee and orange juice respectively.

Dick had screwed up. He’d realized that the minute that look he couldn’t identify had crossed Bruce’s face. When both Bruce and Tim had startled to a stop, eyes widened and mouths slightly opened. He’d seen it when Bruce had curled his hand away from Tim, body pointedly turned away, a look that could only be discomfort settling on him.

Jesus, what had he been thinking?

Plus getting Jason along with it too?

Jason took that kind of shit seriously, they all did but Jason was on another level and he’d taken the situation with an intense degree of scrutiny. That coupled with Clark’s level of unease and Talia’s weird jealousy of Tim- they’d drawn conclusions that hadn’t been backed by data and fact. Just assumptions and biased perceptions.

Bruce had taught them better and Dick owed them…well he owed a lot of things.

He owed both Bruce and Tim an apology and he owed them the responsibility of clearing the air with Clark.

His heart was in the right place and Dick told him as much.

He hadn’t seemed all that comforted, his brows furrowed slightly as he’d glanced between Dick and a swaying Bruce and Tim on the dancefloor.

“Believe me, Clark, I looked into it the best I could-”

Bruce was smiling down at Tim. A genuine one, the kind that softened the harsh, aged, and tired lines of his face.

“-but you know Bruce,”

Tim’s hands were resting on Bruce’s shoulder, his expression relaxed and content in Bruce’s arms.

“-he’s never been very good with expressing himself and if this is how he does it, is it really that bad?”

Clark was still frowning, not quite convinced. Why he was so stuck on it Dick wasn’t sure.

It was weird, yeah sure. If there was anything that Dick learned while surveilling both Bruce and Tim was that Clark was right about the fact they were weirdly close.

It wasn’t particularly normal if they were held up to Clark’s family or even their own. Bruce and Tim seemed to make special exceptions for each other but that shouldn’t automatically correlate to bad.

It’s not like they were hurting anyone. So what was the big deal?

Clark went silent at Dick’s words, a pensive expression taking over his face. His brows were still furrowed, eyes still narrowed, but he wasn’t glancing over at Bruce and Tim every few seconds like if he looked away they’d be doing something they weren’t supposed to.

He was still uneasy. Dick had offered his words and perspective and he’d vouched for both Bruce and Tim.

Clark’s mouth parted to speak, but Dick never got to hear his response because his mouth was quickly clicked shut when his eyes flickered to something in the corner of his eye. Dick discreetly looked over and spotted what had caught Clark’s attention.

The photographer that the Daily Planet sent with him was a soft looking, round bottomed intern that was getting their red cheeks pinched by one of the older women at the event. The grandma wearing diamonds worth more than what Dick had in his bank account was remarking about how much Clark’s partner resembled her granddaughter. Said ‘granddaughter’ was clearly signaling Clark for help with the way she kept sending an S.O.S with the flash of her camera which the old lady kindly took to mean that her picture was getting taken.

It looked like that was Clark’s cue.

Dick watched as Clark straightened his tie and put on that disarming midwestern smile. But there was a strain just at the edge of it.

Just before he went to help that poor intern who was beginning to signal more frantically, Dick took a quick stepforward, arm raising and mouth opening to offer a final word.

“Clark,” Dick began, patting Clark’s shoulder in what he hoped was reassurance, “it really does seem harmless.”

For a second they both paused, their eyes flickering to the side where both of Bruce’s arms were around Tim’s waist, his hands holding the small of Tim’s back. Bruce’s head was tilted in close like he was about to whisper or kis-

Dick shook his head.

“Besides,” Dick continued, keeping Clark’s attention. Clark’s blue eyes darted back to him. There was an edge, just the slightest bit of apprehension. Clark had always leant Dick’s words a lot of weight, a lot of credence. If Dick insisted, if he pressed the slightest bit more, Clark would accept that. Even if it wasn’t a resolution that he was happy with.

So Dick was going to do that. It was the least he could do for Bruce and Tim.

“If something was going on, we’ve got a family full of detectives. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”