Batman pulled into the cave too fast, only just managing to retain enough control to not overshoot. The slammed door echoed through the cavern, exacerbating his already aching head, tightening the knot that extended from his tense shoulders through his clenched jaw and into his throbbing temples.
Robin better hope that Batman didn't find him before he'd had a chance to calm down. Although if he didn't show up soon-- He pushed the cowl back, settling into his chair to start tracing the links between the hoods he'd taken down tonight and the larger gang they'd been tracking for nearly a month. The trail was still weak, and that didn't help his foul mood. Finally he pushed back from the computer, considering heading back out. It was fairly early yet, but the way he was feeling, it might be dangerous -- for anyone he ran into.
He headed up to the manor, trying to contain his anger. Sometimes Dick really pushed Batman's conviction about not killing. If they made it successfully through his current stage of rebellion with no major injuries, they'd be lucky. They were still trying to feel their way through the transition from Robin as full-time sidekick to Robin as part-time sidekick and leader of the Titans. The fact that Dick's hormones seemed to be in overdrive didn't help in the slightest, and the fact that he had inappropriately fixated on his mentor was...disturbing.
Batman wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Oh, he had to put a stop to it. Of course. As soon as possible.
He thought maybe it was time to talk to Robin about a new costume.
As soon as he found him and found out what possible reason he had for not bothering to show up for patrol. Batman had waited as long as he could, had tried Robin's radio, had even contacted the Titans. Nobody could find him. It was irresponsible, and he wouldn't put up with it.
Robin had been more irresponsible lately, at least where Batman was concerned. Showing up late, or not at all, throwing himself more recklessly into dangerous situations, flirting--
It was past time to sit him down and point out that if he wanted to be treated as a responsible adult, he had to behave like one, not like some, some-- God, his head hurt.
Stepping into the library, he found Alfred hovering like some kind of English hummingbird, apparently flicking dust off the pristinely clean bookshelves with a feather duster. As soon as Bruce stepped through the door, still in costume, Alfred stepped forward, as if he'd been waiting for him -- which he probably had.
"Master Bruce, I think you should know--"
"Has Robin bothered to show up?"
"Yes, Master Dick arrived shortly after you left--"
"Where is he? It's past time we talked." Bruce headed for the door into the main part of the house, which was inexplicably closed.
"Wait, sir, he's not alone!"
That pulled Bruce up short. He turned to look at Alfred. "He brought someone here. To the house. Without informing me."
"Yes, sir. I thought you might want to know before--" He gestured at Bruce's attire. "I took the liberty of bringing down some plain clothes for you," he said, pointing at a pile of folded clothing in a chair.
Bruce wasted no time stripping off the batsuit, handing it to Alfred, who folded it tidily and then held it, clearly still agitated. "Who is it?" He pulled on the sweater and pants swiftly, and headed for the door.
"I don't know the boy, sir, just that his name is Lucas, and that Master Dick met him at some club--"
"We have a serious drug trafficking problem we're trying to trace, and he's going clubbing?" Bruce didn't wait for anything else Alfred had to say, just headed out the door.
"Sir, wait, you might-- Oh, dear!"
There were no voices downstairs in any of the public rooms, so he headed upstairs for Dick's bedroom, wondering what the hell Dick was thinking, bringing a stranger home, with all they had to protect.
He heard soft murmurings as he reached the landing. All that they had to do, and Dick was wasting time with strangers. As he raised his hand to pound on Dick's door, he saw that it was ajar; he could see the flickering light of a fire through the few open inches. As he reached to push the door open, deciding that Dick's privacy deserved no more respect than he accorded Batman's, he heard a soft cry that sounded nothing like friendly conversation, and then a very familiar voice moaning, "Christ, yessss..."
He stiffened in shock, but his hand kept moving, pushing the door open, softly and quietly, Alfred's careful housekeeping keeping all mechanisms well-oiled and silent.
Nothing he saw lessened his shock. The soft light of the fire showed him Dick, naked, his slim, honed body braced on forearms and knees, spread out beneath another man as he took Dick from behind, hands gripping Dick's hips, thrusts pressing Dick into the bed, making him whimper. The soft, hungry sounds pierced Bruce's throbbing head, and he braced himself with a hand on the doorway.
Bruce stood there, irresolute, knowing he should leave but unable to move, unable to stop watching, stop listening to the greedy sounds that Dick was making -- nearly unable to prevent himself from going and ripping this intruder away from Dick's body.
He'd seen Dick naked, often, but he hadn't-- He hadn't allowed himself to look. Now he couldn't stop, his eyes running over the clean lines of his back, the firm curves of his arms, his flanks, his hip-- and as Dick's lover pulled one hand away to grasp Dick's shoulder, he left Dick's hip bare to Bruce's gaze, letting him see the dark tattoo on the point of the hip, a tattoo shaped like--
--a stylized bat.
Bruce stopped hearing, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. The revelation thundered through him, his sign on Dick's hip, his symbol riding Dick's flesh, pierced into Dick's skin, and Bruce was so hard he ached.
Then Dick turned his head and looked straight at him, panting. His eyes widened, but then he grinned fiercely. It was a smile Bruce had never seen from him before, although seeing it now, it had been hinted at, many times lately, smiles Bruce had pointedly ignored and tried not to think about. It was a knowing, heated smile, far more mature than Bruce had allowed himself to see, something he could no longer deny. Seeing it now, he wondered how well he'd concealed his own confusion and longing.
The smile faded, but Dick kept staring at Bruce, and Bruce couldn't look away, even as Dick's lover wrapped his hand around Dick's cock and started stroking it. Dick's lips parted softly, gasping, fists clenched in the sheets, his eyes locked on Bruce, and Bruce could swear Dick mouthed his name as he came.
Bruce staggered back, not knowing how much noise he made, if any, just needing to be away, anyplace else, as his world shattered to pieces.
He made his way down the stairs blindly, almost tripping once. Alfred was standing in the foyer.
"Oh, dear, sir--"
"Goodnight, Alfred," Bruce said, brushing past him without looking at him, unable to face knowing eyes of another kind. He didn't stop until he was in the library, reaching for the whiskey.
He poured himself a couple of fingers and swallowed them without tasting, pouring another glassful without pausing. Only then did he deliberately cap the bottle, and this time it took three swallows to empty the glass. Then he stood there, head down and arms braced on the table, trying to clear his mind of the images clamoring for his attention.
When had his-- When had Dick become someone he barely knew? It seemed like one day they were partners, a well-oiled machine, almost reading each other's minds, and the next--
The next he couldn't look at Dick without wanting him, and so he'd stopped seeing him, pushed him away so he didn't have to deal with his own lust. Only Dick had seen, hadn't he? Seen and tried to encourage it, and it all just spiraled out of control. He couldn't allow-- It was wrong, and he had no idea what to do, because he wasn't sure he could do what he had to do. He didn't know if he could let Dick go.
He moved to the window, staring out over the lawn, head spinning from lust and booze and emotional landmines. He dimly heard the front door open and close, heard an engine start up and dwindle in the distance, heard the gurgle of the water pipes upstairs.
He was still standing there when the library door opened, then closed again.
"Alfred said you were looking for me." The tone was jaunty, defiant, with just an edge of nervousness.
"What kind of game are you playing, Dick?" He turned around. Dick stood there in a torn, too-small T-shirt and blue jeans, his feet bare. His face was calm, smooth, but Bruce could read the tension in the lines of his body, the stance that held him ready to move at a moment's notice.
He didn't realize that his eyes had dropped to Dick's hip until he saw Dick's fingers rubbing against the spot through his jeans, and he looked up to see that sleepy-eyed smile again. His temple throbbed.
Dick shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know what you mean." He turned his back on Bruce and wandered over to the bookshelves.
Bruce's anger flared, sharp and hot, and he came around to stand behind Dick, not quite close enough to touch. "I think you do. You've been reckless and foolish lately, distracted, and then you don't show up for patrol when you know I expect you, nobody knows where you are, and then you bring-- " Bruce stopped, jaw tightening, hearing the lack of control in his voice.
"Yes?" Dick asked "His name is Lucas. What were you going to call him?"
"Who it was is immaterial. You risked exposure, and your lack of respect for Alfred--"
Dick turned around, his face no longer serene. "Alfred? Alfred was perfectly polite to my guest." Dick's voice dropped into a register that was low and dirty. "And he wasn't the one who stood there watching me get fucked, was he?"
Bruce stepped in closer, his fists clenched. "That's enough!"
"Was it enough, Bruce? What exactly are you having trouble with, the fact that I'm no longer always at your beck and call, or the fact that I let some stranger fuck me in your house? That I wanted him to--"
Dick looked no more shocked than Bruce himself when Bruce slapped him.
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Then Dick raised a hand to rub his jaw lightly. "Bruce, I--"
Bruce stood rooted to the spot, appalled at his own violence, but unable to back away now, unable to stop. "Would I smell him on you? If I got any closer, would you smell like him?" Bruce's voice was rough and raw. "Would you taste like him?"
Dick's eyes widened, and then Bruce pushed him up against the bookcase and kissed him brutally. Dick made a short, strangled sound, resisting only briefly, then he melted against Bruce, opening his mouth, kissing him back without reservation. Dick's worn T-shirt couldn't withstand Bruce's need, and it too easily tore from his body, exposing him to Bruce's ravaging mouth and hands.
Bruce made short work of Dick's jeans, as well, pushing them down, digging his fingers into Dick's hip, thumb stroking over the bat sigil over and over and over. Dick groaned, kicking his jeans off so he stood there, naked except for the shreds of his shirt.
"When?" Bruce breathed into Dick's ear. "How long have you had this?"
Dick took a deep breath, shuddering. "Maybe-- Maybe two years? I was young, and stupid-- I thought you'd seen it. I thought--" He made another of those strangled sounds as Bruce bit his lobe, sharply, and held on. "God, Bruce, if I'd known you'd react like this--"
"Shut up." Bruce stepped back and turned Dick to face the shelves, pulling his hands up and pinning them against the books. Something fell to the floor and shattered. "Don't move."
Bruce reached between Dick and the shelves to grasp his cock, pressing his own aching flesh against Dick's naked ass. Dick groaned and bowed his back, pressing back against him.
"I said--" Bruce squeezed harder, "--don't move."
Bruce bent his head to bite Dick's shoulder, squeezing his cock, feeling its weight and hardness against the palm of his hand. Dick tasted faintly like soap, and mostly like clean skin, with just a light sheen of sweat. He licked Dick's nape, a wide swipe of his tongue, and pressed his wrists firmly against the shelves with one hand. "Keep them there." Dick moaned softly when Bruce let go of his cock.
Then he was biting and licking his way down Dick's spine, knowing he'd lost what little sanity he possessed, and entirely unwilling to care, with Dick's naked, willing body in front of him, with Dick spreading his legs for him, with Dick reduced to nothing but helpless, sighing whimpers that burned Bruce's ears.
Bruce's teeth left vivid red stains on Dick's skin, marking the path of possession. He spread Dick's buttocks wide, sliding his thumbs to rub and press, following with his tongue, wanting to erase any trace of the other man. Dick started swearing with increasing incoherence, moving only to spread his legs wider, which Bruce allowed. When Dick was trembling and silent, his skin flushed, Bruce licked his way to Dick's hip. Then he pulled back, one hand resting lightly along the curve of Dick's ass, waiting. It didn't take long.
He bent in and licked the bat symbol, then covered it with his mouth and bit the skin of the tattoo hard, nearly hard enough to break the skin, and he hoped Alfred had gone to bed as Dick cried out, sharply.
"Dick?" he murmured, barely above a whisper.
"What? Anything, Bruce, I swear, I'll do anything--"
"If you ever let anyone touch you like that again--" Bruce licked the tattoo again, "I'll kill them," he said, in a deep, throaty growl. It was a lie, but it felt like the truth.
Then Bruce was sucking on the tattoo, pulling the flesh of it into his mouth, sliding the fingers of one hand deep between Dick's buttocks to rub against the opening to his body. Dick started keening, his legs shaking, and then he was coming, untouched, spattering against the lower shelves.
Bruce stood up, opening his pants, and pulled Dick's hips out until he could guide his cock into Dick's body, still warm and loose from his earlier encounter. He slid in deep, gripping Dick's hips tightly, placing his hands where the other man's had been, covering Dick's body with his own, thrusting hard and fast, as if he could drive the other man from Dick's mind, from his own, replace the memory of him with the reality of Bruce's own possession.
"You're mine," he growled into Dick's ear, too far gone to deny himself. "You belong to me."
Dick's hands scrabbled against the shelves, trying to brace himself, and he nodded frantically, gasping. "Yes! God, yes, Bruce, anything, you can have anything, everything--"
Bruce thrust one last time, coming hard, his vision narrowing. In the aftermath, a sweet lethargy flooded his body, and he stood there unmoving except for his fingertips tracing the swollen point of Dick's hip.
When he came to himself, he stood there, dumbfounded and horrorstruck. Dick stood within the circle of his arms, shaking slightly.
"Oh, God, Dick, what have I--" He carefully stepped back, biting his lip as he slid from Dick's welcoming body. Dick groaned, but just held limply to the bookshelves.
He fastened his clothes hurriedly, and hesitated before laying hands on Dick again to turn him around so he could see his face. He'd have to-- Dick would every right to-- "Dick, I'm so--"
Dick had a daffy, goofy grin on his face. He opened his eyes and looked at Bruce. "Okay, maybe not so stupid after all."
Dick slung his arms around Bruce's neck and pulled his head down. "Shut up, Bruce. If you apologize, so help me--" And he kissed him, and there was nothing hesitant in it, no reluctance at all.
Bruce caught his arms and pulled them down. "Dick, stop that, this is wrong--"
Dick rested his hands on Bruce's shoulders, idly toying with a lock of his hair, looking well-fucked and tolerant. "Why?"
"Why what? I'm your guardian, Dick--"
"No, you're not. You were, but I'm nineteen, Bruce. I can fuck who I want. And--" he broke off, and the look on his face changed from sated to slightly haunted. "I want this. I want you."
He leaned up to kiss Bruce again, who was so shaken that he let him. Then his arms were full of warm, willing Dick, intent on dissuading him from any rash decisions.
Bruce tried to pull back, and finally Dick let him, looking grumpy. "You don't get to make this decision all by yourself, you know. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not going to give up. Especially not now." He slid one leg forward to rub between Bruce's.
Bruce wanted this so badly he could taste it, but he couldn't let himself believe it was allowed. "Dick, you're so young, you should--"
Dick grinned madly. "I should bring strange young men home and let you watch?"
Bruce flushed hot and cold. "I'm sorry--"
Dick held his hand over Bruce's mouth. "Don't apologize for that, either. I've never seen anything so fucking hot in my life, looking up and seeing you there, wanting me--"
"Dick, your language--"
Dick burst into gales of laughter while Bruce stood there, sheepish.
"You just watched another man fuck me, made me come by sucking on my tattoo, and fucked me into the wall, and you're going to complain about my language. God, Bruce, you're so brilliant, and so beautiful, and so, so strange." He started laughing again, and it was a rich, joyous sound, and Bruce had never been able to not respond to it.
He leaned his forehead against Dick's. "I'm not sure I can do this."
Dick lifted his head up and kissed him. "Hush, Bruce. Let me make this decision. After all, you've been on me to take on more responsibility." He grinned again as Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
"Oh?" Dick tilted his head to one side. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, and that sultry tone was back, along with that smile. Bruce was never going to get used to that smile. He hoped. Finally, only a little reluctantly, he smiled back into that well-loved, glowing face.
Bruce pressed his palm over Dick's tattoo and watched him shiver. "Here, let me show you."