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Tim’s not sure exactly how it starts.
That’s somewhat of a lie— he at least knows when it started. He remembers the low-lamp lit bedroom, the soft inhale of breath as Bruce had closed the clasp around his neck, the heavy weight of the pearl necklace as it’d settled across his collarbone. He remembers too, how pale Bruce had been, how he’d stuttered uncharacteristically and refused to meet Tim’s eyes.
The sex had been incredible that night.
The pearl necklace was definitely the start, no doubt about it. Then came the opulent silver rings, the heavy gold bangles, and the many, many different pairs of earrings. Tim gets given more necklaces than he knows what to do with, all inlaid with precious stones, and Bruce makes sure to stand behind him to help click each box-clasp closed.
When he runs his fingers over them, Tim knows that the stones are genuine. He doesn’t even bother asking, and he’d probably feel more weird about it if he didn’t know exactly where all the jewelry was coming from.
See, Bruce wasn’t buying him the pieces. They didn’t come with a turquoise Tiffany bag or tied neatly with a red Cartier ribbon.
No, each gift came straight out of Martha Wayne’s jewelry box.
And maybe Tim should feel weird about that. His relationship with Bruce is difficult enough as it is without bringing his partner’s dead mother into the mix. But he likes it— he knows how special Martha was to Bruce, it makes him feel like Bruce thinks he’s special too. He must trust Tim to give him these items. And Tim does his best to earn that trust. He makes sure to polish each item with care, and keeps them safe in a locked box hidden in his dresser. He also wears them often, proudly, letting Bruce know he appreciates the gift.
It’s an added bonus that Bruce seems to lose his mind whenever he does.
Bruce is always almost shy when he gives Tim the gifts, as if he thinks he’ll be rejected. It’s cute, really, to see how the grown man will shift his weight and flush as he shoves a carefully wrapped box towards Tim. It should be strange, seeing Bruce act like a little kid, but it feels right somehow.
Tim always smiles indulgently, makes sure to appropriately oo and aa over the gift, before thanking Bruce warmly. It’s worth it for the way it makes Bruce light up, his smile boyish despite his years.
He usually puts the jewelry on immediately, if he’s not already wearing some. It’s fascinating to see the change go over Bruce then, the way his smile dims and all that childlike timidness slides away into something unreadable. It’s not grief— no, it can’t be— not with the way he’ll shove Tim up against a wall, hungrily claiming his mouth for his own.
He’ll usually fuck Tim then and there, no matter how public their location. A bedroom, Bruce’s study, the hallway— any of it is fair game. Tim loves it, how raw and uninhibited Bruce gets. It’s frantic, none of the usual calculated love-making that’s Bruce’s signature. Sometimes, Tim can even swear he feels Bruce mouthing something against his neck, but he hasn’t been able to figure out what just yet.
Whatever it is, it bleeds over into their nighttime work as well. Though— it’s softer, less bound by the rigidity of their sexual dynamic.
If he didn’t think it was ridiculous, Tim would almost swear that Bruce is getting injured with increasing frequency, the man acting more recklessly than he usually would. And Tim gets stuck with patching him up.
It’s not that he minds, he doesn't really, it’s more that he dislikes seeing the other man hurt. Tim tells him as much as he wraps gauze around a sluggishly bleeding wound on Bruce’s shoulder.
“I know,” Bruce answers him softly, staring stoically off into the distance. “I’m sorry.”
The apology is a surprise, but Tim thinks he masks his startled reaction well. He ties off the bandage and stands back, wiping his hands off on the mottled red rag on the medical cart.
Bruce still looks forlorn, practically curled in on himself. It’s such a change from his usual self that Tim can’t help reaching a hand up to tilt Bruce’s chin towards him. When their gazes meet, he’s taken aback by the almost teary look in the older man’s eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers, as Bruce leans into his palm. “I’m always going to take care of you. You know that.”
Bruce nods, his eyes closed. Tim is once again struck by just how young the man can look at times. As he stands there, he feels something flutter in his chest, maybe some sort of latent desire to offer protection. As if the Batman needs Tim to be his shield. Regardless, he doesn’t resist the urge, leaning close so that he can press a quick kiss to Bruce’s forehead.
Bruce makes a noise that sounds almost pained, forcing Tim to remember why they’re here in the first place. He draws back and busies himself with finishing patching Bruce up. He can’t help but brush a kiss over each bandage though, fascinated with the way it makes Bruce shiver.
Not long after that day in the cave, the sex changes too.
It’s almost unnoticeable. Would probably be unnoticeable if Tim didn’t just know Bruce Wayne so damn well.
Bruce almost always fucks him on his back now. Missionary had never been their go-to before, but now? Now, Bruce likes to hide his face in the crook of Tim’s neck as he rocks into him, teeth scraping gently across tender skin. He intertwines his fingers with Tim’s too— not as if he’s holding him down, more like he needs the support, like he just wants to be close.
Tim, for his part, arches and gasps under the bulk of that firm body like he always does. Sex with Bruce is always good, his lover patient and skillful, always putting his partner’s needs above his own. He draws ragged noises out of Tim with practiced ease, each touch precise and calculated.
It’s the same as it always is, except Bruce seems almost more eager to please. He’s almost devoted in his worship of Tim’s body. Tim tries to hold on, he does, but how can he when his opponent is Bruce Wayne.
He comes on the hitch of a breath, hips jerking a few times before he settles back against the mattress, boneless.
“Good,” he slurs against Bruce’s mouth. “So good, B.”
Bruce freezes before he moans, spilling inside Tim on an upstroke. He grinds in deeply, like his greatest wish is to bury himself inside Tim’s body. Head tilted back, eyes closed, and short, dark hairs plastered to his forehead with sweat— Bruce is a vision. Tim’s always filled with a sense of wonder that this man chooses him to warm his bed.
His eyes rake over Bruce’s face, drinking in all the little details. They catch on Bruce’s mouth. It’s parted, the lips shiny and red from where he’d bitten them. He’s mouthing something again, like he often does these days.
It’s then that Tim sees the word. It’s out there in the open now, no skin or shirt collar to hide its formation. Bruce looks almost desperate as he mouths it, like it’s a crime or maybe even a sin.
And Tim is no judge or priest, he cannot offer Bruce condemnation or redemption. As it is, as his eyes trace over the silent syllables of the word, he’s not sure if he can even offer acceptance. So he just lies there, swaddled in a nest of satin sheets and watches Bruce mouth it over and over again.
Mommy.
Tim doesn’t know what to do about it. So he does nothing.
It’s weird enough that he’s fucking his adoptive father, they don’t need to add whatever that is to the mix. Bruce probably realizes it too, it’s why he’s never actually vocalized the word or given any indication that he sees Tim as—
Wait—
Does Bruce think of him as a mother-figure?
Tim thinks frantically over the past few months of interactions. The gifts. Bruce’s shy, nervous demeanor. The tense moments in the cave. The word.
Holy fuck, he realizes. My sort-of boyfriend who’s kind-of my dad sees me as his mom.
He could talk to Bruce about it, he knows. He probably should, in fact. But that’s not the kind of people they are. If they were healthy individuals who worked their problems out like responsible adults, then they probably also wouldn’t be dressing up in spandex and kevlar to go fight crime in the night.
As he ponders it, Tim comes to the conclusion that there’s only two routes to take here. One, he ignores it and lets Bruce continue on with his one-sided roleplay in “secret”. Or two, he leans into it.
Option one seems destined for colossal failure, there’s no way he could continue to ignore this indefinitely. But leaning into it? Tim pauses from where he’s pacing his bedroom to consider it.
The images float freely through his mind. He’s dressed nicely, maybe in one of Martha’s old silk blouses. He’s wearing the jewelry Bruce gave him and the pieces clink softly against each other as he moves. Tim would style his hair for once, maybe even wear a little makeup.
His eyes drift close as he loses himself in the scene. He sees Bruce standing before him, dressed down in a pair of sweatpants. His cock, hard and aching, strains the front. Bruce’s hands fist at his side and he stutters as he avoids eye contact.
“M-Mommy please. I need you.”
Back in his bedroom, Tim’s eyes fly open. There’s heat pooling in his gut, and he can’t deny the arousal that floods through him at the thought. Maybe he’s more on board with this than he’d realized.
But how to let Bruce know he’s okay with it?
Tapping his chin as he thinks, Tim smirks as an idea hits him, a truly devilish plan to get them what they both need.
Sneaking the items from the old trunk takes less effort than expected. It's locked, sure, but it's not like Bruce would expect thieves to go rifling through his mother's old things. Not when there's plenty of other priceless items throughout the manor that offer easier pickings.
Tim pops the lid to the trunk gingerly, careful not to let the old metal of the hinges squeak. There's a small cough of dust as it opens, and the smell that wafts out holds traces of mothballs and vintage perfume.
He runs his fingers over the contents of the box, their fabrics soft and supple. Each item he pulls out is beautiful, exquisitely made and extraordinarily expensive.
His eye catches on a dark plum-colored silk blouse. The hemline of the neck hangs low, almost tantalizingly, and there's a playful strip of fabric that could be tied in a bow around his neck. It's stunning, but not what he's looking for. As he places it to the side mournfully, he tries to consol himself with the thought that, if this goes well, he can always come back for it.
Almost elbows deep in the trunk now, Tim feels when he finds what he needs before he sees it. There's the soft brush of velvet against his fingertips, and then his hands are twisting tight into the material as he pulls it out.
As soon as he lays eyes on it, he knows it's perfect.
The dress is made a black velvet, the kind that almost seems to absorb light. Despite being in the trunk for so long, there's no traces of dust to mar its inky surface. The sweetheart necklace offers a sense of innocence that is offset by the high slit running up the side.
Tim hugs it to his chest, pleased. It's exactly the kind of look he'd been going for, one that Bruce won't be able to resist.
Coupled with the pearl jewelry set Bruce had gifted him, he's sure to look the full vision of Martha Wayne.
Tim checks his reflection in the mirror one last time before settling back against the chaise lounge.
The mascara on his lashes draws attention to his eyes, highlighting their sky-blue color. But the brand he'd used is cheap, and black flakes keep shedding, irritating his eyes. He wipes them away hurriedly, not wanting any imperfections on his skin.
Despite that, he thinks he looks good. The pink blush he'd found left behind in the bedroom Stephanie frequents stands out nicely on his skin, and he'd curled the ends of his hair, giving himself a softer look than he'd normally have.
Tim smooths down the front of his dress, and crosses his legs. The black heels he wears were a last minute touch, but he finds he likes their addition. He can't really walk in them though, which is why he'd chosen to remain seating.
The bracelets on his wrists jingle as he moves, and the rings on his hands softly clink as they brush against each other. The necklace sits heavy on his collar, and the earrings pinch just slightly on his lobes.
All the physical sensations only serve to exacerbate tendrils of anxiety begin to swirl in his gut. He's taking a risk, surprising Bruce like this. There is always the possibility that it ends in disaster, but Tim is really hoping to avoid that ending.
The soft click of dress shoes on the wood floor has his back straightening. He tries to adopt a posture of haughty indifference as he waits for the door to open.
He knows Bruce has seen him when the door opens and fails to close.
Tim looks up through his lashes and spies Bruce lingering in the doorway, his hand still heavy on the doorknob. His expression gives nothing away, and he just stares, stares at Tim like he's seen a ghost.
Growing more uncomfortable by the second, Tim steels his nerve. He has to do something, and really it makes the most sense to just jump right into it.
"Bruce," he snaps, making sure to inject his tone with irritation. "Either come in or shut the door. You're letting in a draft."
Bruce's lips part just slightly, and Tim knows he has him.
The door is shut quickly, and Bruce stands just before it, his fingers twitching almost nervously by his sides.
Tim arches a brow.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there?"
It's almost comical, how quickly Bruce crosses the room to stand before him. Now that he's closer, Tim can see just how fast he's breathing and how blown his pupils are. He still makes no move though, standing rigid like a statue.
Tim gives a huff of displeasure.
"Is that how you greet your mother?"
The effect is instantaneous.
Bruce lets out a choked moan as he sinks down to his knees, his eyes almost wild.
"Sorry," he says, wrapping an arm around Tim's knees. "'m sorry, mommy."
Tim coos softly as he brings a hand to stroke through Bruce's hair. Bruce shifts so that his head is lying in Tim's lap, cheek pressed against the velvet of his dress as he continues to apologize.
"Shh, baby. It's alright, you're okay."
There's a sound almost like a sob as Bruce tightens his arms around Tim's legs. Tim tuts softly at the noise, and moves his hand to rub down Bruce's back.
"Come on now, none of that. Why don't you come sit in mommy's lap, sweetheart?"
Bruce scrambles to comply. Tim winces briefly at the heavy weight pressing down on him, but then Bruce tucks his head under his neck to press his nose against the pulse point beating there, and gives the softest sigh.
Well. If he's going to act that cute, then Tim will just have to make do.
He tries his best to wrap his arms around the bulk of the man in his lap. The effect would be better if he could get his hands to touch, but Bruce is just too big. As it is, he settles for one arm around the man's shoulders and the other braced on his knees. Tim tries to rock them the best he can.
Bruce mouths along his neck and shoulder line, the pressure light and ticklish. Tim encourages him with soft coos and a warm hand on his back.
It's when Bruce starts to make his way down to his chest that Tim has to stop him.
"What're you doing?"
The man stills, lips hovering on the edge of skin and velvet, caught out. He nuzzles into the flesh there. Tim doesn't have breasts, but he's sensitive enough there and has to bite back a gasp.
"Wanna taste you," Bruce mumbles. Tim's never heard him sound so…out of control.
"You're a bit too big to be needing mommy's tits, baby."
The moan that spills out of Bruce's lips sounds as if it was torn from him. His breath blows fast and hot against Tim's skin, dimpling the flesh there.
"Please," Bruce whimpers. "Mommy please."
And despite the act he's putting on, Tim is not entirely unaffected by the little game they're playing. Warmth spreads through him, coiling deep at every needy little noise Bruce makes. The power he feels in this moment is intoxicating, but above that is the weightless feeling of trust. The knowledge that he's the only one Bruce will let see him like this, the only one that can fill this role for him.
It's a heady feeling.
"Alright, dear. Since you asked so nicely."
Fingers are suddenly tearing at the top of the dress, unsteady as they try to push it down. Tim chose this dress for a reason though, and the neckline folds easily, slipping beneath his chest until a pink nipple is exposed.
If Tim had thought Bruce would be timid and shy, he is quickly proved wrong.
Bruce descends upon him with the ferocity of a man possessed. There's no warning as he wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking and tugging on it as if there might actually be milk inside. Unable to help himself, Tim moans, curling a hand into Bruce's hair to hold him steady as he nurses.
The sensation is overwhelming, the roughness with which Bruce treats him, coupled with the hot wet heat of his mouth. Bruce's other hand comes up to grope at his left side, rubbing a callused thumb over the bud there until it's sore and straining.
Tim can feel himself thickening against the lace of his panties, and as good as it feels—he doesn't want to come yet.
"Bruce-" He tugs on the mans hair to get his attention. "Bruce- c'mon, stop."
He finally manages to pulls Bruce off of his chest, and is taken aback by the dazed look in the man's eyes, his lips shiny with spit and slightly drooling.
As he holds him there, Bruce tries to fight him, aiming to dive back in and recapture his prize. Tim has to hold his hair tighter to prevent him from moving.
"Bruce," he says, voice sharp. "Mommy said no."
Bruce goes boneless as he shudders, eyes slipping closed even as he lets out a whine.
Tim blinks back his shock, never having heard anything close to that sound come from Bruce's mouth.
"Hey," he starts again, using a gentler tone. He moves his hand to cup Bruce's cheek. "Why don't we go to your room, hm? Mommy just wants to make you feel good, baby."
Bruce nods jerkily, eyes still closed. Tim waits, uncertain if he'll need more prompting but then Bruce slides off his lap and stands. He scoops Tim up in his arms, and carries him through the french doors that lead into his bedroom.
"Oh!" Tim says, delighted. "Good boy, Bruce. Such a strong boy for mommy."
Bruce deposits him on the bed carefully, cradling the back of his head to make sure he's comfortable. Tim lets himself be situated, going with Bruce's movements with amused fondness. This softer side of his lover rarely makes an appearance, and it's good to know that Bruce can be sweet when he wants to be.
Once Bruce is satisfied, he stands back. Tim pulls on the shirt he's wearing.
"Why don't you take these off? It'll be more comfortable."
Bruce undresses in almost record time. At first, he seems like he's just going to throw the clothes wherever, but after a somewhat nervous look to Tim, he folds each item properly and sets them neatly on the floor.
When he's finished, Tim gets an eyeful of just how affected Bruce has been during this interaction. His cock stands full and erect, flushed an almost angry dark red, standing starkly out from a dark nest of hair. Tim can feel his mouth start to water as he looks at it, and he has to swallow drily.
Sitting up towards the edge of the bed, he twists as he tries to find the zipper of the dress. His jewelry clinks noisily as he does so, and as he finds the head of the zipper, he sends Bruce a coy look over his shoulder.
"Help me take this off?"
Bruce is there almost instantly in a rush of displaced air, his fingers shaking slightly as he slowly pulls the zipper down. There's a small gasp when Tim shrugs out of the garment, exposing the white lace panties he was wearing underneath, and the matching silk garter that holds up his nylon stockings.
His black heels are removed with a similar reverence, and lined up next to the small pile of clothes stacked on the floor.
Sighing at his newfound freedom, Tim settles back against the bed with a contented hum. When Bruce doesn't move to join him, he pats the sheets invitingly.
The mattress dips as Bruce crawls onto it, sinking beneath the weight of his heavy frame. Darkness blows his pupils wide as he moves up the length of Tim's body, stopping to hover over him once they're face to face.
Tim smiles at him, wrapping his arms around broad shoulders as he tugs him nearer. He presses a soft kiss to Bruce's lips, quick and chaste, almost innocent in its simplicity.
"Do you wanna make mommy feel good, baby?"
He waits until Bruce nods, and then smiles at him again, brighter this time. He gives Bruce another kiss as a reward.
"My sweet boy. I wanna make you feel good too, okay? Here—"
Tim takes one of Bruce's hands, and guides it to dip below the waistband of the panties. He leads it back, away from his cock, until the fingers can brush against the plug resting snug between his cheeks.
Bruce's breath stutters as he traces over the jeweled plastic tip, feeling how stretched Tim is from his earlier activities, the skin still sticky with lube.
"Do you know what to do?" Tim whispers the words against Bruce's lips. "Or do you need mommy to show you?"
"I-" Bruce takes a moment to wet his lips. "I know, mommy."
"Smart boy," Tim praises.
The fingers work at the plug, gently twisting until it can be pried out. Tim squirms and whimpers at the sensation, the plastic rubbing against his sensitive walls and the sudden empty feeling hits like a punch to the gut.
Bruce pulls the panties off, soft and gentle as he slides them down Tim's legs. Their lovemaking usually isn't this slow, both of them tending to fall prey to their desires, resulting in a rough, passionate frenzy. Tim finds he likes it though, the care with which Bruce is treating him. As if he's fragile, delicate. Breakable.
The sound of spit slapping against skin makes him look up, and he moans as he sees Bruce slicking up his cock with the saliva. Alright. Maybe not completely breakable, then.
Bruce enters him with a broken noise, something almost wild in his eyes. Tim makes a pleased sound, wrapping his ankles around Bruce's waist to draw him in further.
Shallow thrusts push in and out of him, like waves breaking against the shore. The drag is intoxicating, the burn just right, and Tim can't help but reach out towards Bruce's neck, pulling the man in closer.
"Fucking me so good, baby," the words practically spoken into Bruce's lips. "You make mommy feel so good."
Bruce lets out a sharp cry, and then those lips are pressed against his, moving hungrily as if Bruce is trying to consume him. Tim responds in kind, biting and sucking, reveling in the hot press of their tongues as they dance together. His hands wind into Bruce's hair, pulling him close and holding him tight. There's hardly an inch of separation between them, as if they're trying to become one body and mind.
He knows Bruce is close when the hips rolling against his start to become erratic, losing the controlled rhythm he'd set at the beginning. Tim helps him along, arching his back and moving to meet him, each thrust hitting harder and deeper.
Bruce whines, high-pitched, desperate, and Tim kisses him softly, moving his hand to cradle his jaw.
"It's okay, baby boy. Mommy's here, I got you."
Teeth sink into his bottom lip as Bruce comes deep inside him. The aftershocks seem to be endless as Bruce trembles above him, still holding on as if he never wants to let Tim go.
Eventually, he pulls out. Tim sneaks a hand down, quickly jerking himself off until he comes with a soft sigh. Usually, Bruce is better than this and doesn't leave him hanging, but Tim decides to give him a pass for now. He's never seen Bruce in this sort of head space before and is sure it must be overwhelming for the other man.
To his surprise, Bruce collapses on top of him, burying his face in Tim's neck and wrapping his arms tight around him. Tim's eyes widen as he hesitantly brings a hand to stroke up and down the man's back. They've cuddled before sometimes, sure, but Bruce is rarely ever this…touchy.
They lie like that in the still silence of the room, with Tim drawing abstract patterns to connect the scars littering Bruce's skin while warm breath hits his neck. It's only when he feels wetness start to gather there that he decides he needs to break the spell they've cast over themselves.
"Bruce-?" His voice is timid, like he's afraid of how the man might respond. Bruce crying is like snow in the summertime— it just doesn't happen.
Bruce shuffles around a bit before answering, his voice thick and wet when he does.
"Thank you, Tim. I- thank you."
Tim smiles a bit as he wraps his arms around the man again.
"Anytime, B."