Suki Blue Fiction
“Indulging?” Tim asked, snagging the huge
bar of chocolate from Dick’s coffee table. “You’ll get man-boobs.”
“Huh?” A puzzled expression traveled the length of Dick’s face in an amused wave
as he appeared in the doorway, the top part of his costume very absent and a
four inch square of gauze pressed to his collarbone.
Tim waggled the chocolate to show what he’d meant and dropped it back on top of
the day’s newspaper. Hershey’s blended into Bank Heist: Thirteen
Killed and Tim didn’t give it another thought.
“Ouch,” he said instead. “Collarbone's the worst.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Dick grinned, and Tim watched him pad barefoot to
the fridge. “The elbow hurts worse. Trust me.” There were bruises hovering on
the brink of existence on Dick’s back and from the feel of it, Tim’s back -- and
front -- hadn’t fared much better.
“You break it?”
Dick shook his head. “Sheet metal, straight to the bone. Hurt like a bitch’s
bitch.” Tim watched him pull out a soda which he held up for approval. Tim
nodded at him and Dick threw it and grabbed another for himself.
“Thanks for assis’ tonight, Bro,” Dick said.
“Sure. Anything to save you from the ass-kicking of a lifetime. Mind if I stay,
by the way?”
Dick’s grin widened and he looked away when he spoke. “You don’t even have to
ask. You know that.”
Tim shrugged and immediately regretted it when pain spiked up his side and
nestled at his shoulder.
“Let me see that,” Dick insisted, and the soda can was forgotten while he
squeezed Tim out of his costume.
“I do have to ask,” Tim said a little later, which made Dick frown until he
picked the conversation back up.
“I think you actually came off worse than me,” Dick said, and he ran gentle
fingers over a bruise on Tim’s arm which was eggplant purple and rapidly turning
black.
“You might have someone else here,” Tim persisted. Dick wasn’t as closed mouthed
as Bruce, not by a long shot, but he had picked up some of Bruce’s annoying
habits, subject avoidance being the most frustrating one of all.
“True,” Dick finally said after a lost moment spent locating and touching each
one of Tim’s bruises. “I might.”
As much as he didn’t want it to, it stung, and it took all of his willpower to
keep still, stay relaxed and swallow the urge to twitch away.
Many others had come before him -- pardon the pun-- and many others would come
after. This was The Dick Grayson, after all. There would always be a
crowd, a line, a collection of wannabes, and some of them would get through and
some of them wouldn’t.
Dick’s warm body pressed against him and as usual Tim didn’t really care who
came and went or even who got to stay. Right now he was at the front of the line
and he was damn well going to get served.
Tim dipped his head and licked a wet line over the cut at Dick’s collarbone. He
tasted sweat and copper. The cut was barely a half hour old and when Tim held
tight to Dick’s biceps and suckled the wound, it opened to him and released
warmth and pain.
“Tim.” Dick gasped, his breath quickening. Tim was sure he could hear
thunder instead of a heartbeat. “What are you…?”
Tim kissed his way up Dick’s neck. He closed his eyes and felt his cock harden
at every clench of Dick’s fingers at his waist. “Making condoms that bit more
redundant,” he answered, but he wasn’t entirely convinced Dick was paying full
attention now.
Their mouths touched and Dick either didn’t care or didn’t notice his blood on
Tim’s lips, because Dick was kissing him deeply, holding his jaw and just
kissing him like the world was about to end.
Maybe it was; they just didn’t know it.
He was so hard, and it was only Dick that could make him feel like this. And
fine, he’d once said the same thing about Pamela Anderson and several of the
Gladiators, but he was sure this was different. This was Dick Grayson,
Nightwing, his friend, his brother, and he could make Tim feel like he could do
anything, feel everything, fly high like Superman and never ever come back down.
There was nothing wrong about this, nothing sordid, nothing that Bruce could
disapprove of, because right now he was with Dick and soon Dick’s cock would
fill him up and what could possibly be wrong with that?
They rarely made it to the bedroom before they fucked; if Tim hadn’t been so
busy ridding Dick of the rest of his pesky costume, he might have stopped to ask
why. But no, that would involve thinking, possible dealing and likely denial
which could only be bad and would only lead to Emo pillow-hugging and the
irresistible need for a pink diary with a little gold lock that a goldfish could
pick in its sleep.
Dick’s cock was thick and heavy in his hands. It was the only cock Tim had ever
held. He squeezed and pulled, tugged and stroked, until the rest of Dick was
soft and pliable, needy and vulnerable. It was only then that Tim dropped to his
knees and took him all the way in. It was the only cock he’d ever sucked and Tim
was reasonably sure it would be the only one, because being on your knees took
trust that others would never be given the opportunity to earn.
He felt the tug at his hair and Tim released Dick’s cock and grinned up at him.
“Going to fuck me?” Tim asked.
The grin was returned and Tim was pulled to his feet and roughly turned and
pushed against the kitchen counter.
Dick’s hands covered Tim’s, holding them down on the jelly-and-crumbs covered
worktop. With his lips touching Tim’s ear he whispered, “Stay.” And then
was gone, rummaging in a nearby drawer for lube and probably condoms because
Dick liked to play dirty but he was still all about the safety, Tim’s penchant
for licking bloody wounds notwithstanding.
Tim smiled and didn’t stop smiling until Dick’s smooth fingers entered and
stretched him.
“Okay?” Dick asked.
“Very. Do it.”
Dick’s hands smoothed down his sides, his touch gentle and reverent. Tim
wouldn’t allow himself to think loving because he wasn’t in Dick’s league
and never would be.
Dick dropped a chaste kiss to his shoulder and then Tim’s feet were nudged wide,
and he felt Dick’s cock sliding inside him, stretching, burning, filling and
connecting.
He gripped the counter hard with white-tipped fingers and held on while extra
bruises formed at his hips. Every breath he took now was shared, every thought
part of a collective, one goal in mind, one ambition, one need.
“God, Tim. Fuck, fuck…touch yourself for me, please.”
Tim obeyed because right at this moment he would do anything Dick asked,
anything.
The apartment filled with a collage of panting breaths and strings of praises,
groans and exuberant cries. Dick was as verbal during sex as he was when he
tumbled through the air, his feet connecting to a jaw or his fist impacting
ribs, and it forced a bubble of hysterical laughter up into Tim’s throat. It
didn’t burst, but that was only because there were other things waiting to pop.
And when Dick’s rhythm failed and his arms wrapped around Tim’s waist to hold
on, that’s exactly what happened.
Dick’s slowing breath was hot in his ear now, making Tim feel warm and relaxed,
and Tim was determined not to come down with Wobbly Legs Syndrome because Dick
had teased him relentlessly about it last time.
Dick kissed his neck. “That was…”
“Water,” Tim croaked like a dying man in the desert, and they both
cracked up, Dick still inside him, draped over him, still part of him.
“…thirsty work,” Dick finished, as if that was what he was going to say all
along. He pulled out and Tim felt the loss immediately but pretended he didn’t.
“I’ll just get cleaned up, I think.”
“Run the shower. I’ll join you.”
Tim nodded and moved away. There was no awkwardness, which had completely
surprised Tim the first time they’d fucked. Six months and many fucks later it
was still a little bit surprising.
It was, however, surprising that they were still fucking.
“…and after, how about TV in bed? With pizza? I’m awake, completely awake. Are
you tired? How about a movie marathon? Are you listening to me? Did I break you
again?”
Dick laughed and poked him in a manner that a plumber would poke a suspect
section of piping.
Tim shook his head and apologised when he realised his thoughts had drifted and
his mind had left this plane. “Sounds great. I may need Pepsi if you’re gonna
insist on a Matrix marathon again. I’ll need the caffeine.”
“No problem. I always keep my fridge well stocked for my boy-” Dick’s eyes
widened and he abruptly stopped talking.
“Were you going to say boyfriend?” Tim asked before he thought about what he was
asking and how embarrassing it would be if Dick said no.
“Uh, maybe?”
“I thought you were sworn off boyfriends. And girlfriends.” While he waited for
Dick to answer, he glanced around the room as random objects caught his eye:
Tim’s jacket that he left two weeks ago, Tim’s stack of Playstation2 games,
Tim’s schoolbooks, Tim’s spare laptop, Tim’s DVD’s, Tim’s Big Book of Sudoku,
Tim’s favourite red and black sweater…
Dick followed his gaze and smirked. “It seems I may have accidentally acquired
one. What do you know.”
Tim’s heart hammered and together they just looked at each other, both lost for
words for the first time ever.
“We should check your bedroom,” Tim eventually said.
“For more boyfriends?”
“No, asshole, to see if I accidentally commandeered one of your drawers or
something.”
Dick’s eyes narrowed playfully and he nodded slowly. “We should definitely check
that out. I’m sure I would have noticed, what with my stint at the side of the
World’s Greatest Detective.”
“Same here.”
They went to check, and a minute of stunned silence followed.
“You wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Dick eventually asked. “A date
where we actually know it’s a date.”
“You’re not going to buy me flowers, are you?”
“I might. Flowers, chocolates, grappling hook, you choose.”
They were both grinning stupidly, holding on to each other in front of the open
drawer of Tim’s things.
Dick continued: “A movie, dinner, or a roof-top fight? What are you in the mood
for?”
“As usual, all three.” Tim kissed his boyfriend.
The End