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Sometimes Dick misses the twin beds, but he supposes it’s good that Bruce got over his thing about not sleeping in the master bedroom and moved them in here. The room is creepy and gothic, like it should be a background set in an Abbott and Costello monster movie that Alfred would give him a judgmental look for watching, and on top of that, the huge mattress swallows him every night. But at least he gets to be next to Bruce. He could reach over and touch him just like this without having to walk the distance between the smaller bedframes just to crawl under his covers.
Dick’s eyes fall from the chandelier he’s been staring at all night to look at Bruce sound asleep next to him. His head is turned away, emphasizing the sharp curve of his jawline leading down to his neck, to his chest, swelling with every deep breath he takes. Bruce is always waking up first and dragging Dick out of bed to update him on whatever case he’s found, so he doesn’t usually see him like this— so calm and defenseless.
Dick sits up onto his knees, carefully so as not to disturb the mattress too much, and shuffles closer to the older man. He places a flat hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of the bare skin. He usually sleeps shirtless with only pajama pants for coverage, whereas Dick prefers just boxers and an undershirt. Sometimes he thinks to himself that it feels fitting that their sleep clothes are like two halves of a whole, but that’s too silly to say out loud.
With Bruce’s face still turned away, Dick just places a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before sitting back up and scooching down the mattress, taking the covers with him. The man isn’t stirring from such light stimuli, but it amuses Dick to think that this is one of the greatest heroes in the world; he jokes to himself that a villain could kiss him in his sleep and he would have no idea, but realizing that the villain would be Catwoman sours the humor. Whatever. Catwoman gets to kiss him in public, but she isn’t in his (their) bed, planting open-mouthed kisses down his naval.
That gets him. He sucks in a sharp breath and shifts slightly. Dick moves his mouth from his naval to the thin material of his pants, the heat and moisture quickly sinking through. Bruce is barely conscious, but his hand easily finds the back of Dick’s head as he hardens under his tongue.
Dick flicks his eyes up just in time to see Bruce lift his head, looking down at him. His eyes are still half closed and clouded, and he lets out a shocked but amused huff of air.
Dick lifts his head to give a cheeky grin. “Hey, pal.”
Bruce runs a tongue along his sleep-chapped lips, considering the situation for a moment before saying, “You have school in the morning.”
“Can’t sleep.” Dick runs his fingers just over the low-hanging waistband, watching the sensitive skin flinch under his touch. “Wear me out?” he suggests.
Bruce huffs out another laugh and drops his head back onto the pillow, while his hands meet Dick’s in pulling his pants down his hips.
They don’t do this a lot, not because neither of them like it, but rather, Dick thinks, because Bruce feels weird about putting him on his knees, so he’s the one who has to initiate.
It usually happens in the cave when Bruce isn’t paying enough attention to him, so he kneels under the desk and takes him in his mouth, sloppy and obscene while slipping a hand down his own shorts just to make as lewd a noise as possible between the dramatized moans muffled around Bruce and the movement of his slicked up fingers until Bruce uses the heels of his blue boots to kick the computer chair away from the desk and drags Dick up onto his lap, pushing the green fabric of his shorts aside to replace his fingers.
The last time he did it was an attempt at getting Bruce to let him and the Titans go to a concert as civilians in the city. He didn’t treat it like an outright exchange, but maybe he should have, because apparently he’s old enough to suck cock, but not hang out with his friends.
He didn’t have friends outside of Bruce for a long time, so he can understand the older man’s weariness at the change in pattern. It’s been just them for so long; sometimes Dick himself gets anxious at the thought of being close to someone else. But the Titans are good people, and it’s not like he’s going to be doing this with Kid’ or Aqualad or, God forbid, Speedy. Besides, it’s not like Bruce doesn’t have the Justice League. It doesn’t seem entirely fair. He would frown if not for the current circumstances. Speaking of—
He becomes suddenly aware of the ache in his jaw and the salty musk coating the back of his tongue when Bruce’s hand squeezes lightly at the back of his skull.
He must’ve zoned out again. He’s happy Bruce is probably too sleepy to notice; he usually gets all in his own head about it when Dick goes somewhere else during sex.
But while he’s here… he heeds Bruce’s warning and pulls off before he finishes. Bruce looks down at him, still a touch too groggy to hide his annoyance at the delayed orgasm, but Dick’s sure he’ll handle the horrible inconvenience of lying there while he rides him.
As suspected, he looks pleased enough when Dick straddles him, reaching down to position them before sinking onto him. The way his head rocks back, and his hips automatically jerk up into him, he can tell this probably won’t last much longer. He grinds his hips slowly for a moment just to torture him a little. It’s not received well, the older man grabbing his hips just to raise him an inch and thrust up into him. Dick holds back a grin at the desperation and plants his hands on Bruce’s chest to move in earnest.
He gets approximately ten bounces in before he can tell Bruce is close again, which is also around the same time his knee pops loud enough for both of them to wince. The shock of it vibrates up his leg, and Dick makes a sound like something died in his throat.
Bruce’s hand goes from his thigh to cup around his kneecap, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
Dick groans, collapsing into Bruce’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, muffled into his neck. So maybe he’s not supposed to be putting pressure on that leg after the injury last week. He’s been fine so far. “Just gimme a sec.”
“Here—” Bruce says, propping himself on one arm while the other hand slides around to his lower back, like he’s bracing to flip them.
Dick pushes him back down and repeats, “Just gimme a sec.” Admittedly bratty.
Bruce obediently settles back down with only a quiet tongue click in protest.
Dick closes his eyes, resting his cheek on his collarbone. He could probably start moving again, the adjustment of his knee more shocking than painful, but it’s kind of nice being relaxed and plastered to Bruce while he’s stretching him open.
Bruce is getting twitchy and impatient underneath him, now woken up from his sleep only to be brought to the edge twice and now acting as Dick’s personal sexy body pillow.
The big bad Batman. Dick grins against his chest.
He sits up, keeping his hips stationary and running his hands up Bruce’s torso until they reach his face, smushing his cheeks together between his palms, and Bruce lets him, only pinching his eyebrows and watching him wearily. His hair is all messed up, and his pulse is jumping at his neck. His fingers flex against Dick’s hips.
“You look good like this.”
Bruce blinks at him once, and then there’s a woosh and his back hits the cool sheets, knocking a giggle out of his lungs as he wraps his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and lets him fuck him into the mattress.
Weeks later.
School was awful. Alfred put some kind of ointment on his scalp to treat the scab he got when Bruce knocked him out yesterday (to prevent him from going after a crook), and it crusted and flaked in his hair. Every time he scratched at it, the guys in his English class asked him if he got fleas from the circus. He’s so happy to be home, B-lining for the study.
Bruce is half sitting on the desk, holding up a paper to the light of the window. He smiles when he sees Dick.
“Chum,” he says warmly. “Pick out a suit; we’re going to the opera tonight.”
Dick steps closer to get a look at what appears to be schematics of the opera house. He has a feeling they’re going to be crawling through vents tonight and considers wrapping that knee.
Feigning a closer look at the papers, Dick leans closer to the older man, who settles a hand on the back of his neck in response. The warmth of it spreads an ironic chill down his spine.
“What time does it start?”
“We should be leaving by half past seven.”
Dick lets his school bag slip off his shoulder and thud to the floor. “Plenty of time.”
“For?” Bruce asks with a raised brow.
Dick is too distracted kicking off his shoes and undoing the buttons down his shirt to answer.
“The correct answer was planning and preparation,” Bruce tells him.
“After,” Dick assures, pulling his undershirt over his head before collecting the papers out of Bruce’s hands. “I’d just be distracted.”
He hops up onto the desk, and for all his protests, Bruce stands between his legs, one hand cupping the side of his face and the other running a thumb along his bottom lip, like he’s about to pry him open for a dental exam.
“Do you have homework?”
Dick nods while taking the thumb in his mouth, grazing his bottom teeth along the pad.
“You’ll do it before the opera.”
He nods again, smiling around the digit at his success as he starts unbuckling his belt.
Bruce takes his hand back and renders Dick’s own efforts irrelevant as he pulls the school uniform slacks down his legs. Dick lifts his hips off the desk to help until it’s just his bare skin on the cold wood while Bruce stands above him, fully clothed.
The older man gently pushes him onto his back, and his skin breaks out in goosebumps as the calloused hands brush against sensitive skin. He pulls his thighs apart, making room to fully press himself against Dick, who really hopes he wasn’t planning on wearing those pants.
He used to be too uncomfortable to let even Bruce see him, but things feel different now. Aside from physically changing in the last few years, becoming more comfortable in his body— it seems silly to feign modesty in front of someone who, just last year, had him kick his legs up into a couple stirrups and jammed an IUD deep inside him. They’ve been past discomfort for quite some time now, leaving Dick’s focus solely on the zings of pleasure he gets from grinding against the center stitching of Bruce’s slacks.
He sits up, making quick work of undoing all the buttons down Bruce’s shirt, leaving a white tank top hugging his chest, while Bruce unbuttons his own pants and takes himself out of his boxers.
He’s already adjusting Dick’s hips and lining up— Dick likes it when they do it like this. No foreplay, so it kind of feels like he’s being split in half when Bruce pushes inside him in one fluid motion, forcing himself through his body’s tense resistance at the sudden intrusion. Dick hears himself make a sound like he actually is being cut in half, his toes curled and his fingers clawing at Bruce’s biceps just for the moment it takes to adjust.
“Need a second?” Bruce asks with genuine concern. It must be some kind of ego trip for him to receive that kind of reaction, Dick thinks with some amusement as he forces his muscles to relax.
He plays into it, batting his eyelashes and wrapping his arms around his neck. “Golly, I don’t know, Batman, you’re just so big, I can hardly—”
Bruce cuts him off with a harsh kiss, muffling the mocking words with his tongue, and Dick giggles into his mouth until his teasing is punished with an onslaught of brutal thrusts, forcing embarrassingly loud “ah”s to fall out of his mouth with each one. He wraps his arms tighter around his shoulders, holding on like it’s a ride while the pleasure-pain warms his whole body.
Bruce slows the punishing pace in favor of kissing him deeply, one hand cradled around his jaw, and Dick suddenly wishes they were in bed, taking their time.
He opens his eyes when Bruce stops kissing him, changing positions by straightening up and motioning for Dick to lie back, the sweaty skin of his back now sticking to the wood.
Big hands wrap around the backs of his thighs, pushing up until his knees are nearly touching his chest, so he can’t move with him, instead just held still while he rocks into him, spreading his legs and watching— it feels pornographic, like there should be a TV screen between them.
Dick lets his head fall back down to look at the ceiling, but his skull hangs just past the edge of the desk, the sharp corner digging into the cut on his scalp with every thrust. Bruce is so strong.
Dick thinks he could’ve handled that crook yesterday. It was only a matter of communication; if Bruce had just told him his plan, he wouldn’t have had to resort to incapacitating him just to keep him away. Then again, Dick doesn’t think there’s a scenario where he would’ve listened to that plan, letting Bruce go in alone. He’s always going to follow Bruce into danger, but he supposes his intrusion could’ve messed something up. He trusts Bruce to do what’s right. It always works out in the long run. Like that time Bruce fired him, and he cried until he threw up, but it turned out it was actually just to protect him. He trusts Bruce easier than he can breathe.
Bruce— who is fucking him right now and with increasing intensity, so he’s probably close to finishing, and Dick should really stop zoning out like that. It’s like a button his brain presses to get to the end of sex, but he doesn’t know why that button would exist— just so he can skip the fun and jump to washing up? Bruce will send him out of the study and to his room, where he’ll sit at his desk and do his English homework while thinking about his imaginary fleas. He doesn’t cry after sex anymore, but for some reason the thought of all that makes his eyes sting.
He’ll just have to stop Bruce from finishing.
“Wait, wait,” he says, sitting up on his elbows suddenly, ignoring the head rush. “Stop.”
Bruce stills. “Are you okay?” He goes to pull out, but Dick keeps him there with his legs around his waist.
“Yes. Just stop.”
Bruce nods in confusion, waiting for Dick’s next move, which Dick isn’t quite sure of yet. He looks down, letting his thighs fall open, returning the position Bruce had just put him in. The older man is tracking the movement with hooded eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips without even realizing it. Dick sees it, though, same as he feels his hips twitch to get deeper inside him, but he manages to remain otherwise still.
Dick reaches his hand down, letting his fingers split into a V shape to feel around where they're connected, his fingers slipping around his hole and the base of Bruce’s cock. He’s so deep inside him, buried at the hilt, stretching out the skin. Most times after sex, when they do it rushed like this, Dick ends up wiping a spot of blood off of himself, but he never tells Bruce that.
He shifts his hips slightly and tenses his muscles. Bruce sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers twitch against the back of Dick’s thighs. He was definitely close. Dick practically smells the sexual frustration coming off of him in waves.
He moves his hand up just enough to touch himself, giving slow little strokes until he’s involuntarily trying to buck up into it. It does feel good, but maybe the doe-eyed lip bite that follows is more for the benefit of the man tracking his every movement than a genuine reaction.
He picks up the pace, letting the back of his head hit the desk as he arches into it, dramatized moans falling from his lips. After enough time, he actually can’t help it, squeezing around Bruce with hair sticking to his forehead. He screws his eyes shut, just focusing on the feeling and the movement of his hand until everything goes white and fuzzy. He can hardly hear the noises spilling out of his own mouth, but he’s well aware of his body's involuntary urge to move against what’s already inside him, his hips rocking against Bruce through the orgasm like he’s a toy.
“God…” Dick sighs with a heavy breath as his muscles go slack. It takes him a second to feel the fingers, still planting on his thighs, digging bruises into the flesh. He ignores them, taking a few more seconds to breathe.
Eventually he lifts his head, feeling cloudy and satisfied compared to Bruce's locked jaw (which might as well be dripping with drool), his whole body rigid with frustration.
“Okay,” he says. “You can move.”
Bruce doesn’t hesitate to obey, his hips immediately snapping forward, the movement even hotter and slicker now; his pace is fast and desperate. He leans down to plant open-mouthed kisses along Dick’s neck. It vibrates against his tongue when he says, “Just don’t come inside me.”
Bruce hums around the spot he’s sucking above Dick’s collarbone in confirmation, but it almost sounds like he’s not really listening. It makes Dick giddy seeing him all desperate.
He encourages him, giving him soft gasps and scratching his nails down his shoulder blades, meeting every thrust just until—
“Wait—” he says urgently, pushing a flat palm against Bruce’s chest.
Bruce’s hand goes from supporting the small of Dick’s back to slam against the wood as he forces himself to stop moving. Dick frowns at the attitude, but he does at least collect himself for a second, swallowing hard before asking, “Yes?”
Dick sits up, taking a few seconds to straighten out of the material of Bruce’s undershirt as he realizes he doesn’t have a reason to give the older man. He slides his hands from his chest to wrap around his neck, and looks up at the tense angles of his face. He looks into his blown pupils and asks, “Were you close?”
Bruce closes his eyes and lets his forehead knock against Dick’s. He pulls his hips further off the corner of the desk to make sure he’s as deep inside him as physically possible when he says, “Yes.”
Dick runs his fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. “Do you want to move?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
Bruce opens his eyes to look at Dick, like he thinks he may be joking, but Dick keeps a straight face, though it probably looks a little distorted from how close their faces are.
He can tell he’s trying to keep the whine out of his voice when he says, “Can I please.”
“Please what?”
“Dick.”
He says it sternly, like it’s an order, like he’s wearing the cowl— which is weird, because Dick doesn’t think Batman is typically known for begging teenagers to let him come, so he doesn’t know what that voice is doing here. He can order Robin to do a lot of things, but he knows the line is at some point before this.
His face must translate his thoughts enough without need for spoken word, because Bruce is already babbling, “Sorry, I’m sorry— can I come, can I please—”
Dick almost comes again on the spot from hearing Bruce say that, so he figures it’s only fair to close his slack jaw and give a jerky nod.
Instantly, Bruce has him held tight against him, one arm wrapped around his back and the other holding his thigh up at his hip as he slams into him with the energy of a man who thinks he’s about to be stopped again.
His face is buried in the crook of his neck when he spills into Dick in a matter of seconds, his body tense and shaking as a whiny moan that Dick would kill to hear is muffled against his skin.
Finally, he sighs all of the air out of his body and releases the death grip he has on Dick into a loose hug. His head is still bowed, now resting on Dick’s shoulder as he lets out a tired hum.
“Bruce?” Dick says softly, trying to hide how out of breath he is just from sitting there and getting fucked like that.
“Hm?” Bruce responds fondly, only lifting his head to plant a chaste kiss to his neck.
“I didn’t say you could come inside me.”
Bruce straightens up, wide-eyed for a second, but Dick only has to blink before he’s on his knees, eating him out until he cries, his thighs quivering around his head.
-
His legs are still shaky when he’s pulling his pants back up. He leans against the wall for support.
When he turns back around, Bruce is making quick work of stuffing his shirt back into his waistband. He gathers a few flyaway strands of hair back onto his head.
“Homework. Quickly.”
Dick nods, knowing the sooner he gets it out of the way, the sooner he can move on to Batman and Robin business.