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Dick Grayson woke up up to the feel of kisses being peppered over his neck, pointy teeth grazing gently at his skin.
As his mind slowly rose to conscious, he became aware of that amazing musk and bergamot scent, of the heavy weight on top of him, of that stubble he adored so much rubbing against his skin, of the feel of a tongue tracing his collarbone, of hands sandwiched between his rear and the mattress, of the crotch gently — unconsciously, instinctively — grinding against his hips.
It was his favorite form of waking up.
A lazy moan escaped him. All loving ministrations stopped, but before Dick could whine in protest, a kiss was pressed against his slightly parted lips.
Dick gave another moan, his arms circling around his partner’s neck. As a response, the other man proceeded to nib at Dick’s lower lips, to thrust his tongue inside Dick’s mouth, to do just about anything that would draw out more pleased sounds out of Dick.
The man’s efforts were well rewarded, but he was not the only one with such a quest. When Dick pulled at his dark hair, a sound resembling a growl rumbled between their kiss. Dick smirked, pulling himself up so that he was almost seating. The man moved accordingly, effortlessly adjusting their position so they fit together like to pieces of a puzzle, their lips never once disconnecting. They kissed and kissed and kissed, lazy and slow and passionate all at once, every second savored, the pulls and tugs and grinds and sighs as sensual as a waltz being danced in an empty ballroom decorated with roses and candles, darkness and the pale light of the full moon.
Truly, Dick would never tire of kissing Bruce Wayne.
When they did pull apart, Dick found himself seating against the headboard. Their room was dark, and not just because of the heavy black-out blinds that were installed on every window at the Wayne Manor. The mantle clock showed they still had 90 minutes before the first rays of sun broke through the horizon.
Bruce was kneeling in front of him, his back hunched, his hips hovering just slightly above Dick’s lap. His left hand held Dick’s own, their fingers intertwined, his right cupped Dick’s jaw, his large thumb gently caressing Dick’s cheek. Still wearing his black sleeping robes that were far too similar to his cape and his cloak, he towered over Dick, dominating the human’s field of vision.
“Morning,” Dick greeted with the goofiest of smiles, his hands gently scratching the nape of his vampire’s neck.
Bruce’s eyes softened, his own lips tugging upwards, even if just slightly.
“Good morning,” Bruce greeted back, voice barely above a whisper. He took Dick’s left hand and kissed his fingers. “You should be getting ready soon.”
“If your goal was to get me to leave the bed, than you need to adjust your strategy, Wayne,” Dick said. “After that kiss, the last thing I want to do is get up.”
“You want to go back to sleep?”
Dick snorted.
“Don’t play coy. You know exactly what I meant.”
Bruce’s chuckle was deep and husky. When Dick was younger and just unraveling the extent of his feelings for the man who was both mentor, guardian, and friend, he likened the sound to a creamy hot chocolate enjoyed in front of the fireplace during a snowy winter night. It was comforting, rich, and it never ceased to make pleasant heat spread through the entirety of Dick’s body.
“We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”
Dick gave an exaggerated pout.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” Bruce captured Dick’s lips in a tender lingering kiss. He tried to back away, but Dick chased his lips with a small whine. It made Bruce chuckle. “Dick… Later. If you don’t start getting ready now, you’ll miss the sunrise.”
Dick let out another whine, trying to entice Bruce with another kiss.
“I have over an hour until then, B,” Dick whispered, continued to scratch the back of Bruce’s neck, adding just enough force to make Bruce shiver. “There’s no need to rush. We can spend some time together until then.”
Bruce’s eyes sparkled with just the slightest mischief.
“We could,” he agreed. “But Alfred and the kids spent the last few hours preparing all your favorites for breakfast, and it would be such a pity if it was all cold by the time you got to the terrace.”
Dick blinked, his hand stilling.
“They did what?”
“They left everything ready for you,” Bruce continued, in that same casual tone. “As soon as you went to bed, they set out to prepare the terrace and spent hours cooking. They wanted everything to be perfect for when you watched the sunrise. But if you rather stay in bed while the breakfast they worked so hard is ruined—”
Dick shoved Bruce’s shoulders before he could finish the sentence. Bruce chuckled, taking the cue to sit back just enough so Dick could push the luxuriously heavy duvet covers away and swing his legs over the mattress.
When he turned on the lamp by their nightstand, warm light to flooded their bedroom. Even with the bulky hand-carved antique furniture, the room was still incredibly spacious. Beneath his bare feet, Dick could feel the soft fibers of the rug that was sprawled beneath their canopied bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows were spread through western and northern walls, each adorned by old fashioned curtains while also being equipped with modern high-tech automatic black-out blinds that were programmed to close two hours before the sun was expected to rise, and opened one hour after it had completely set. Beautiful crown and floor moldings perfectly complimented the royal blue and dark brown color scheme that had been selected for the space decades — if not over a century — before Dick’s birth. Four bookshelves — two for each of them — were filled with titles ranging from first editions of The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Castle of Ontrato to modern novels like If We Were Villains and The Goldfinch; they framed a large fireplace which, along with the mantle clock, also had a flat screen television with surround sound. There, one could also find a sitting area fit for most city apartments, complete with two matching love seats, an ottoman, a three-seated couch, and a coffee table where Bruce, Dick, and their children would sometimes enjoy tea together and play Uno or Phase 10 before beginning their night.
It was, in Dick’s opinion, the perfect combination of what made Wayne Manor so enchanting: a seamless blend of the old and the modern.
“I thought you went on patrol last night,” Dick said as he reached for his slippers under the bed. He debated momentarily on whether he should bother putting on pants and his dress-robe just to go to the closet and put on his proper clothes for the day. “Was I mistaken?”
“I went on patrol,” Bruce sat in the middle of the bed, watching Dick with great attention. “I offered to take Jason with me, but he wanted to help Alfred with the muffins and the scones.”
Deciding against putting on pants, Dick headed to the walk-in closet. The door remained open so he and Bruce could continue to talk.
“Was anyone minding the Computer?”
“I had everything under control,” Bruce said from the bedroom. “It was a quiet night.”
Dick frowned at the ill-concealed “no.”
“You should have let me go with you,” Dick removed his favorite sleeping shirt and folded neatly, leaving it on top of a chair.
“You have a busy day ahead of you. Resting was a better use of your time.”
“I told you, B, my day is not going to be ‘busy.’ And even if it were, I’ve done a lot more with a lot less sleep under my belt,” Dick grabbed a pair of jeans, a simple long-sleeved black shirt, and a gray sweater. All of his — and everyone else’s — heavy winter coats, along with scarves, hats, and any other cold winter wear was in the closet by the entrance of the north wing. “You know I don’t like you going out on your own.”
“Batman has cared for Gotham for almost as long as its existence, Dick,” Bruce said. “It is Robin who is in danger when we go out. Even Shrike, on the rare occasions he’s allowed to join us, is safer when facing the rogues than you are.”
Dick faltered in his actions for a moment. A slow, deep breath helped keep his annoyance and frustration at bay. He refused to have this argument again, on this day, of all day.
“Well, that won’t be a problem for long, will it?” Dick said with smug long-waited satisfaction. Before Bruce could respond, he continued. “Hey, how cold was it outside?”
“You’ll want to wear gloves, a hat, and a scarf,” Bruce said. “I think Alfred and the kids laid out some blankets for you in the balcony, but you should still keep warm during the day.”
“Didn’t the forecast say it was going to get warmer later? Like, early fall type weather?”
“I don’t want you catching a cold.”
Dick snorted, “Again, B, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem after tonight.”
Just as Dick had expected, Bruce didn’t reply.
Dick continued to dress himself, searching for his socks and a comfortable pair of shoes. Once ready, he was about to head back into the room when the sight of his reflection in the full-length mirror stopped him in his tracks.
Dick tilted his head, taking a final look at himself. At twenty-five, he knew he still retained some of that boyish charm from his youth while also having a melancholic and graceful maturity that few people his age could attain; it was the sort of air that came from a strange mixture of trauma, hardship, and responsibility that could both bring a person to the brink of despair and raise them to be the best iteration of themselves. His skin had a sun-kissed tone despite the fact that Gotham was perpetually plagued by gray skies and the young man hardly ever spent any time out during the day. Though athletic, his build was rather lean, his stature just an inch or so away from the average male height, and his clean-shaved round jaw, upturned nose, and playful blue eyes gave him that “pretty” quality many associated with his person. His hair, soft and just long enough to acquire that unkempt look if he went too long without brushing, was, in that moment, a messy disarray.
How would he look after tonight? How similar yet different would he look in a decade? In two, three, or even ten? Even if he retained his youth, age would undoubtedly change him in a myriad of unforeseen ways, its effects carried not in wrinkles or gray strands, but in the way he would hold his shoulders, the gracefulness of his walk, the slight raise of the chin, in a shift in the curvature of his smile.
As these thoughts navigated his mind, Dick’s eyes traced over the lines of his long, slender, temporarily unmarred neck. He could almost feel Bruce’s worshiping touches again, his fluttering kisses, his teeth sinking into his skin with twin piercing stings that were too pleasurable for words.
A shiver ran through his body. His cheeks heated up. He could barely suppress a smile. It didn’t matter how much he changed. All that matter was that Bruce — Bruce, Alfred, and the children… His family… His Coven — would be with him throughout it all.
“Dick?” Bruce called from the bedroom, concerned. He probably heard Dick’s increased heart rate.
Ears like a Bat, Dick smiled.
“I’m coming!”
He left the room, smile still lingering on his lips. Bruce sat in the middle of their bed, robe sprawled around him, open just enough for Dick to mourn the fact that they didn’t have more time to spend together that morning.
Tonight, Bruce had promised. And Dick was going to make sure he honored that commitment.
“Kids already in bed?” Dick asked. “Kinda of early for them, isn’t it?”
“I told them if they wanted to be up right at sunset, they needed to get plenty of sleep,” Bruce explained. “They’re… Excited for tonight. Don’t want to waste a minute without you.”
Warm affection bloomed inside of Dick’s chest.
“Are they properly asleep or just in their rooms? I might go wish them ‘good night’ — well, ‘good morning’ — but I don’t want to wake them.”
“They’re asleep.”
“Even Timmy?”
Bruce paused for a second. Dick was certain that if his ears were not so human-like, he would see them twitch.
“He’s asleep as well.”
Dick smiled, satisfied. He approached Bruce to give him a sleep well kiss before heading out for his breakfast when the forlorn expression the vampire wore made him pause.
“What?”
Bruce hesitated for a moment before getting out of bed and walking towards his still human partner. He took Dick’s hands into his own, Dick’s slender palms and long fingers contrasting with Bruce’s own wide and square ones. The vampire’s thoughtful gaze was fixed on them, thumb gently caressing Dick’s knuckles.
Dick waited silently, patiently, as he had done a thousand times in the past and would, he knew, do a thousand times more in the future.
“You can still back out,” Bruce said at last. His words were barely above a whisper, and yet they were the loudest sound in the Manor. “No one would blame you. The children wouldn’t blame you, and I… I certainly wouldn’t blame you. We… I… None of us, would love you any less.”
Dick pulled his hands away only so they could cradle Bruce’s square jaw, his hold gentle and tender and reassuring. It forced Bruce’s eyes to meet his, forced Bruce to see certainty in Dick’s gaze, the peacefulness in Dick’s smile. Though Dick knew Bruce would never admit it out loud, some of his anxiety melted from his stiffened shoulders.
“I know, B. And I appreciate you saying this. But… But I want this, okay? I’ve wanted this since… Since before we brought Jason home. Since before I even knew you wanted me like I wanted you.”
Bruce leaned into Dick’s touch, his lips almost smiling.
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” Bruce whispered.
Dick laughed a little.
“I can think of many things, Mr. Batman,” he whispered back. Going on the tip of his toes, Dick placed a chaste kiss on Bruce’s lips. “But you don’t have to do anything to deserve me, Bruce. I want you. I’m giving myself to you. That’s all that matters.”
Bruce looked at him in awe. He did that sometimes; like he couldn’t believe Dick was real, like he couldn’t believe any part of their lives together was real, like he still thought what they had was a dream forever out of reach. It was a look that never failed to sadden Dick, for it made him think of how the loneliness rooted in that wonder was so deep and painful that it had left the man forever scarred.
“I love you, Dick.”
Bruce uttered the words with such an open vulnerability and serious earnest that it was like he was saying them for the first time. Dick smiled in response, feeling the exact same exhilaration, relief, and euphoria from that cold night years ago, when all pretenses were abandoned and Bruce kissed him for the first time.
“I love you too, Bruce,” Dick whispered. “Now, go get some sleep. I want you rested for tonight. And for later, too. I’ll be holding you to your promise.”
Bruce leaned down and gave Dick a parting kiss before he returned to their bed and Dick left their room.
Dick walked along the long corridors, passing by the doors of each of their children’s rooms, Alfred’s chambers, as well as the family’s personal library and Bruce’s private study. Though time pressed on and though Dick had lived in the large Chateauesque styled estate for most of his life, he took in every detail of his surroundings as if it were his first time traveling down the winding passageway.
How different would everything look to him at this time tomorrow? Would the aging floorboards still sound eerily quiet under his footsteps? Would the contrast between the beige wallpaper and the dark wooden pilasters become even greater? Would he be able to see a loose thread on the crimson carpet? Would the light provided by the brass chandeliers suddenly be too bright? Would he be able to differentiate between the tiniest brush strokes in Dutch-paintings that hung throughout the Manor? Would that comforting rose and jasmine fragrance that lingered faintly in the air suddenly overwhelm him? Despite Bruce and Alfred’s claims that the Manor held no mysteries that Dick’s curious mind and natural sensitivity towards magic hadn’t already uncovered during his first year of living with them, the young man could not help but believe that the house — that his home — must still have a myriad of little secrets currently imperceivable to his very human senses.
At the end of the north wing, right by the door that separated the Manor’s private quarters — the ones that were prohibited to even their closest friends — from the rest of the house, Dick his winter attire from inside the closet. Properly layered and warmed, Dick locked the dividing door and headed out to the east wing’s terrace.
Though the sun had yet to peak out of the horizon, the sky no longer retained that pitch black darkness so characteristic of Gotham’s nights. The time of morning which was the subject of many of Bruce and Dick’s heated fights was only minutes away; Bruce’s stubborn insistence on patrolling their city until the very last possible second thanks his unwavering faith in the Batmobile’s tinted windows and Dick’s fear that the sun would one day steal from him that which he loved most being an explosive combination. Bruce often met Dick’s accusations of carelessness with angry dismissals, their arguments escalating to shouts and hisses and words aimed to hurt. It wasn’t until Jason had a close call while out as Shrike that the stubborn Head of the Ancient Wayne Coven finally empathized with his human lover. From that day on, whenever Batman returned to the Cave just as the sun was beginning to rise, rather than brushing off Dick’s worries with cold statements of “I’m fine” and “I’m safe and I’m home, aren’t I?,” Bruce instead pulled Dick into his arms, kissed his hair, and with a soothing voice said “I’m fine,” “I’m safe,” and “I’m home.”
The eastern terrace itself was large, with stone pillars and railings carved with rose and jasmine motifs that mimicked the flowers featured in the Wayne crest. Located on the second floor, it overlooked the eastern woodland part of their estate, with the ocean peaking just beyond beyond the trees, and some of Gotham’s skyline visible to the south. That morning, white snow covered every surface in sight, creating a hazy yet enchanting coolness that would beautifully contrast the soft pinks that would soon bathe the scenery.
The table itself was simple, with an iron frame and glass board. Out of all nine chairs, only one place was set — the one located right in center and facing eastward. A large and indulgent breakfast feast was sprawled in front of it. There was a thermos with Alfred’s famous hot chocolate, a small portable stove that kept the eggs warm, a jar of Dick’s favorite marmalade, a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a pot with homemade butter, a plate cheese slices, and a basket with freshly baked banana nut muffins, toasts, and scones. Two lit candles enhanced the peaceful atmosphere, and on the seat to his right were two folded blankets.
It was only as Dick sat down that he noticed noticed a small pile of papers pined down to the table, right by the sugar bowl. Foregoing the food, Dick immediately reached for them.
At the top of the pile was a drawing with Damian’s characteristic untamed energy. Nine colorful blobs were spread out through and despite them being composed of mostly abstract shapes, Dick could easily identify in them each of his family members. He and Bruce stood in the center of the page, the latter represented by long, vertical, and wild black lines, the former by softer and smaller blue circular strokes. A green figure in between them was clearly meant to symbolize the little vampire.
Next came Tim’s drawing — identifiable not only because of the boy’s neat signature at the bottom, but also because of it’s careful precision and its timid lines. In the drawing, Dick carried Tim in his arms, the young boy’s head resting on his shoulder, Dick smiling as he embraced him. The background was minimal but crucial to the picture; the table with the rotting linen, the broken light fixture, the cobwebs… It was crude yet heartbreaking representation of the abandoned Drake mansion during the night Dick found a thirsting Tim.
Duke’s drawing was not nearly as energetic and abstract as Damian’s, nor was it as deeply personal as Tim’s; still, it married both concepts by showing what appeared to be tonight’s Ceremony, Bruce and Dick both at the center of the picture once again, and the rest of the family spread out in a child’s replica of the Manor’s ballroom. Every one of them had a smile on their face while Duke stood right beside Dick, holding his hand for support.
Steph’s was a drawing of her in bed, with Dick sitting beside her. It could be a depiction of countless times when Dick went to visit her during the day, easing her nightmares by bringing her into his arms, singing to her to drown out the sounds of thunder, reading stories when she struggled to sleep, brushing her hair while reassuring her that she would always belong in their family.
Cass and Jason, the two eldest children, didn’t give him drawings, but rather wrote him letters. Cass’ was short, simple, but it was filled with sentiment the young vampire often struggled to articulate into words. She talked about how she loved learning to dance from Dick, how she couldn’t wait to for tonight and hoped his last day in the Light went well, and how she could never thank him enough for making her see that a Coven could also be a family.
Jason’s letter was the longest; the neat penmanship betrayed the many drafts the boy must have written before finally perfecting his message and transferring to a clean sheet of paper. In it, Jason described how even though he could not remember much of his human life, he knew that even before he met Bruce and Dick, Robin had given him hope and strength. He talked about how terrifying those first few weeks before Dick found him had been — how the thirst physically hurt, how he didn’t understand what was happening to him, how he believed himself to have become a monster. Dick felt physically nauseous when Jason wrote about how he almost walked into the daylight, sometimes on accident, sometimes out of a desire to end his own suffering. And then, he talked about their first meeting, about seeing Robin and being scared Robin would kill him, but instead Dick brought him home to the Cave and to a family.
You’re more than just my dad, Jason wrote, You’re my hero.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Dick did not want to wake any of his children up, he would have left the beautiful breakfast spread behind to go hug Jason and never let him go.
To Dick’s surprise, the letters didn’t end there. Dick opened the envelope’s royal blue wax seal with care, finding inside a letter from Alfred.
Dearest Master Richard,
I hope you know that it is not the Ceremony alone which make you a part of the Ancient Wayne Coven. I say this not to dismiss its importance nor to downplay the strength of the blood magic that shall bind you to the rest of us — I know well that such things are not insignificant, and that is not due to their raw magical power alone. There is, I have always believed, a strength in symbolism, and the rituals and traditions we carry forward throughout centuries help us manifest into this world that which is intangible — emotions, relationships, beliefs. It is not, therefore, solely the magic that lends the Ceremony it’s strength, but that which it symbolizes: The welcoming of an outsider into a Coven, and the vow of an eternal and unbreakable union between two individuals.
But as I said, that is not what makes one a part of the Wayne Coven. By the time you read this letter, I am sure Master Bruce himself has told you that if you do not wish to undergo the Transformation, none of us would hold it against you. None of us would love you any less. You, Master Richard, are already an indispensable and irreplaceable part of our Coven, and shall remain so even if you decide to stay human and mortal, regardless of whether blood magic ties you to us or not. Your impact on our lives cannot be understated, and our love for you shall reign eternal regardless of the choice you make.
That being said, know that despite my reassurances, I am also overjoyed that that which all of us have always felt to be true will now become official.
You know me not be a man of a lot of words, but in this occasion, allow me the indulgence of boasting like the proud parent I am. To say you have become a fine young man — a hero — of great character, integrity, and with a great heart is to utter the understatement of the last thousand years. Trust me, for I am almost old enough to know. I confess that when Master Bruce brought you to the Manor that night, I was uncertain if we would be able to provide a proper home for you — if we, as pureblood vampires from an Ancient Coven, would be able to properly care for a traumatized magically-sensitive human child who had lost his parents to one of our kind. I thought us unprepared and unsuited to such a task, and in many ways, I do believe myself to have been right. And yet, if I have only one regret in regards to this matter is that you were not born two or three centuries ago so you could have blessed our lives sooner. Ever since you came to us, we ceased to live bleak existences. You re-introduced us to simple joys, to warmth, kindness, and to a light that comes not from the sun, but from the unconditional love shared between those who we deem family.
I have been caring for Master Bruce alone for centuries. Though once upon a time he was a happy a child, such days happened so long ago that their memories feel as real as the conjured images of a fairy tale. Though once upon a time the Wayne Coven had been strong in numbers, when you came into our lives, we had been lonely for so long that I had accepted an eternal isolated existence and saw it as the natural order of the universe. I thought Master Bruce forever lost to his Mission to protect the city that was our home. I thought — no, I should say “I feared” — that it would only be a matter of time before Bat consumed Man, and I thought myself powerless to do anything but watch such an inevitable tragedy.
Then, you appeared. You opened his heart. In the beginning, his actions towards you were cold, unsure — not because Master Bruce was himself a cruel man, but rather because our isolation and his pain had deprived him of meaningful interactions for so long that he did not know how to behave around one he cared so deeply for. He did not know, I believe, how to process his own affection for you. Yet, despite the cold nights, the arguments, and the tears, you never gave up on us. You were only a child and yet you found it in yourself to forgive us for every error and every transgression and showed us a better way of living. Soon, the cold walls that surrounded Master Bruce’s heart melted. Soon, he smiled with genuine happiness. Soon, he made friends with other vampires whom he worked with for centuries. Soon, he even made friends with the humans who assisted him in his battle. Because you gave Master Bruce no choice but to open up his heart to you — because you did not let his sorrows swallow him, and because you embraced both Bat and Man — he was finally able to open himself up to others in a way he had not for centuries.
More than that, it is thanks to you that we now have a family, that the Wayne Coven is no longer composed of only Master Bruce and myself. I never thought I would see the day when our Manor would be filled with young laughter, with hurried little footsteps, with more kids to look after. I dreamed of Master Bruce becoming a father — I always knew fatherhood would suit him well — but never thought it would happen. I’ll be forever indebted to you for providing us with such a gift, Master Richard.
With all of this in mind, is it any wonder that it was you for whom he fell in love for? My only surprise is that it has taken both of you this long to finally go through with the nameless Sacrament. I know many in our community disapprove of what both of you will do tonight, I know many would deem it reckless — I, myself, would have shared those thoughts not two decades ago, always puzzled as to why this rite exited in the first place. But now I know; one only needs to look at both of you to understand.
For the past few months, I have been carefully planning tonight’s Ceremony so that it may reflect not only the uniqueness of our circumstances, but so that it can properly embody the special role you have played in all our lives. I have studied the magics carefully, and together with Master Bruce, have arranged something that I believe you will enjoy. For now, though, enjoy your last hours in the Light. Myself and the children have prepared this breakfast for you with all your favorites — while I know this will not be the last meal, you’ll pardon this sentimental old man for wishing it to be special nonetheless. We’ll be eagerly awaiting your return at dusk to finally welcome you into the Night.
I am proud of you, my son.
Yours Truly,
Alfred Pennyworth
Dick had to put away the letters and the drawings quickly for fear that his tears would ruin them. He used his coat sleeves to clean his eyes, heart swelling; if there had ever been any doubts or fears in his mind over his decision, then Alfred’s letter and his children’s gifts would have successfully erased them all.
The sky had significantly brightened by the time he finished collecting himself. After ensuring the papers were far enough away from the food to not be damaged, Dick grabbed the blankets to drape one over his lap, and the other over his shoulders. He opened the thermos with Alfred’s famous hot chocolate, and served himself.
Dick watched his very last sunrise with a content smile, his engagement ring on his right finger glistening as if the pink morning light kissed it farewell.
Though Dick’s family envisioned his last day as a human as one of farewells, in reality, there were few aspects of his life that would change so drastically as to incite such sentimentality. Most of his friends were vampires, and those who weren’t — Babs, Clancy, and Bea — were far more used to seeing Dick after dark, for a life raised by two creatures of the night meant that Dick, despite being human, was accustomed to a nocturnal schedule.
He would not be denied food either. While vampires got their nutrition from blood, food was neither poisonous nor repulsive to them. Rather, it was a pleasure they chose to indulge in whenever they pleased and for however much they wished. Other the removal of certain ingredients — garlic, rosemary… things that Dick didn’t normally eat anyway given it was Alfred who taught him to cook — and the addition of Bruce’s blood, there would be little need for Dick to adjust his diet.
The only thing that he was truly abandoning, then, was the sunlight. For this reason, rather than spending his days giving needless tearful goodbyes, he chose to spend the majority of his last hours as human in search of his favorite spots in Gotham, admiring them one last time under a thankfully cloudless sunny sky. But even as he walked leisurely along the paths of Robinson Park, snow crunching under his boots, Dick found that there was no melancholy in his visits — the young man may have loved Gotham, but it was not a particularly beautiful city, it’s charm coming from that strange forgotten decay that clung to even the newest and most modern edifices. It was, Dick always thought, a city best suited for the night.
However, though most of his last day in the sun was tinged by ordinariness, there was one important thing he wished to do before he closed the door on the Light forever.
John and Mary Grayson were buried within the Wayne Estate. Their graves were located far enough from the Manor to require either a long hike or a short car ride to get to the site. Close to the ocean and surrounded by woods, the grove’s gentle curved lines, tamed wilderness, rotunda, and river mirrored the English garden aesthetic of the Manor’s main grounds. During the spring and summer, the entire scenery bloomed sweet smelling flowers and housed all sorts of creatures. During the fall, the leaves fell like a fiery cascades, the rustling of the branches and the crisp noises created by barest shift in the ground rendering the area with perpetual motion. During winter, however, it was ice that encrusted the tree’s twig-like bare fingers so that when the light hit them just right, they sparkled with a stillness that seemed to freeze time itself.
Dick allowed himself a moment to take in the sight, to watch as the low afternoon sun filtered through the bare canopies, its light bathing the snow covered grove. John and Mary’s shared gravestone was of a tall and slender white marble, creeping vines wrapping them with nature’s embrace. Their names were carved in elegant script, along with the epitaph “The Flying Graysons brought joy to all who met them, and for that, they will be forever loved.”
“This is not a goodbye,” he said, after setting one of the bouquets in his arms down. “I’ll still visit. Often. It’s just… Next time I come, I’ll… I’ll be a bit different.”
A beat of silence, and then, in the distance, a solitary crow in the distance called out.
“I don’t know what you would think of this. I don’t know if you would approve. I… I don’t even remember if you knew anything about magic and the supernatural at all, since I only remember leaning about it after… Well… I like to think you would, though. Approve, I mean. I… I’d like to think you’d understand that not all vampires are like Zucco, and that even though they are different, they’re not… They’re not monsters,” Dick said. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t believe that I’m throwing my life away. Because I’m not. I’m happy. I’m so happy. I’ve wanted this for so long and… And I love Bruce so much. I know this is the right decision for me.”
He paused again, almost expecting the crow to answer him once again. The grove was silent.
“I think you’d like him, actually. You may think he’s a bit too… Stiff, or closed off, but you’d like him. You’d see that he has a good heart and that… That he’s good to me. That he’s everything I could ever want and he’ll always do everything in his power to make me happy,” Dick smiled as he toyed with his engagement ring. “We’re going to get married properly as well. It won’t be just the… The last Sacrament tonight. That’s… Like the Welcome Ceremony, that ritual is very personal and intimate, done only in the presence of one’s Coven. When it’s done, that is. So we’ll have a proper wedding, too, with guests and everything. A cake, even. Alfred is going beside himself with the planning, but I think in a few months, it will be Bruce who will be worrying about wanting everything to be perfect.”
Dick chuckled to himself. In his mind, he could already picture his partner obsessing over every detail, watching as the Manor was decorated, spending the days awake making calls, ensuring they had the exact number of flowers for the centerpieces, that all the glasses were of the exact crystal he requested, personally checking the tablecloths to ensure their colors were all perfectly identical and not a shade off from their chosen color scheme.
“You’d love the children, too,” Dick’s smile grew wider, his voice more excited. “Oh god, how you’d love them! I’ve been teaching Jay, Cass, and Steph the trapeze. Tim is still a bit too anxious about going up on the platform, and Duke and Damian are still too small. But I’ve been teaching them, and Jay, Cass, and Step really love it! You should see them fly! You’d be so proud of them! Soon they’ll be good enough that I’ll be able to show them some of our famous jumps.”
Dick paused, letting his words hang in the air. He thought of a world — an impossible one, his mind knew, but one that both he and Bruce talked of often — where his parents, too, were part of the Coven; a world where Thomas and Martha hadn’t been killed either, where all four of them would be there for the Ceremony that night and would be present for their wedding in June. He imagined Martha doting on the girls and giving them all sorts of pretty dresses, of his father, John, being the one to take Tim on his first flight, his arm secure around the little boy’s waist. He pictured Thomas sharing his love of reading with Jason and Duke, and thought of Damian sleeping in Mary’s arms, his round little cheeks pressed against her shoulder as she carried him everywhere.
“I think you’d really love them. And they would love you, too,” Dick whispered after the silence had stretched for too long and the sun could no longer be seen over the horizon. “And you’d love Bruce. If you met him, you’d see… You’d see that there’s no one else in this world for me. You’d see that… That we’re incomplete without each other.”
The weather had grown colder, the breeze biting.
“Next time I visit, I’ll bring everyone with me. I’ll be a bit different, but… But I’ll be the same, too. At least, in all the ways that count.”
Dick got up, giving his parents’ grave one last look. He’d only only been with Bruce and Alfred for a week when they first took him to this spot. Though it had been a summer night, the air was cold, the wind howling around them, and the tree leaves filtering the full moon’s light, creating strange shadows everywhere. Dick’s grief, so raw and fresh, was a monster determined to swallow his heart, claws digging at his chest as the little boy cried for his parents, cried for himself, and cried for a life that would now never be his. At only eight years of age, seeing his parents grave for the first time broke through the haze of lonely mourning by transforming that awful nightmare into an unthinkable reality.
They had stayed there for hours, Bruce and Alfred silently giving Dick all the time he needed, then carrying home in their arms when he was too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep beside his parents one last time.
It wasn’t until his next visit that he noticed the only other gravestone in that site. Made of a similar style, with a similar white marble, its age showed in the few cracks that even the most loving and meticulous care could not prevent. There were a few vines at its base, the stone having clearly settled upon the land so long ago that it became as integral to the grove as the roots of the trees and the pebbles that helped shape the river. Thomas and Martha Wayne’s names were carved into the stone, but Bruce’s misplaced guilt prevented him from giving his parents any parting words.
This, Dick later learned, was a special place for the Wayne Coven. Only its members were supposed to be buried at this site. Until the Grayson’s arrival, only Thomas and Martha rested in this grove.
Before returning home, Dick slowly made his way to their grave. With some hesitancy, he put the other bouquet — blood red roses and midnight white jasmines, the Wayne flowers — on the ground.
“I do love him. More than you can ever imagine. More than I can understand,” Dick whispered. “And I… I promise to take care of him. Always.”
In the distance, the crow cried out again. This time, another one responded. As Dick returned home, a gush of wind bid him farewell and his last twilight fell upon the Wayne Estate.
Dick had already locked the door behind him and was removing his winter coat when he heard the first set of light footsteps running down the stairs. He barely had a moment to prepare himself before Stephanie tackled him into a hug, her long blond hair flying behind her.
“You’re back! You’re back!” she cried in that excited squeal that was so characteristic of five year olds.
Dick smiled as Steph buried her face in his stomach, her short arms barely able to circle around his slim waist. He ran his fingers carefully through her hair, feeling the tangles and knots that had yet to be brushed away.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Dick asked, noting that the little girl still wore her pink and purple nightgown and nighttime slippers. Though the large mansion had been designed so that vampires could walk safely along its corridors and reside in each room during even the sunniest days, Dick and Bruce had always preferred that the children used the majority the daylight hours to get whatever rest they needed. “What time did you get up?”
“She barely slept,” Jason’s voice called out from the top of the stairs. Dick looked up to see the little eight year old vampire holding Damian’s hand and helping the two year old down the long flight of stairs. Cass, who was six, did the same with Duke, who was only three. Tim, at four years of age, raced down by himself, his eyes wide and anxious as he, too, came to give Dick a tight hug. All of them also wore their pajamas. “She woke up Tim and the two came to my room before noon. They were worried you wouldn’t come back.”
“Was not!” Steph cried out, still clinging to Dick.
“Was too! The two of you were crying like babies all morning!”
“You worried, too,”Cass’s voice was voice quiet, her smile teasing.
Jason’s cheeks flushed as he pouted.
Dick scooped Tim into his arms. The little boy buried his face in the crook of his neck, just as he had done all those years ago when they first met. He clung to Dick tightly, as if afraid of letting go.
“Why were you scared I wouldn’t come back?” Dick’s free hand still carded gently through Steph’s hair. “Don’t you know I’d never abandon you?
Steph nodded.
“Car accident,” Duke replied, as a way of explanation once he and Cass reached the bottom step. “You could have caught the clench and died.”
“You could have stumbled into a robbery and decided to play hero and gotten yourself shot,” Jason still held tightly to Damian’s hand as the little toddler tried to wiggle his way out of his grasp, wanting to rush through the final steps and join the rest of his siblings. “It would have been just your luck to have gotten killed on your last hours as a mortal.”
Dick laughed, and the sound eased the anxiety and tension that each of his children were carrying.
“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Dick shifted Tim in his arms, and moved his hand out of Steph’s hair to invite Jason into an embrace. Jason didn’t smile, but he released Damian and hurried to Dick nonetheless. “I’m home, Littlewing. You don’t need to worry anymore.”
“Knew you come back!” Damian declared proudly, a grumpy pout on his face as he waddled over to sit by Dick’s feet and tried to push his siblings out of the way.
Dick laughed again.
“Thanks, Little D.”
“Now you have to stay alive until Bruce Transforms you,” Jason mumbled, still clinging to Dick just as tightly as Tim was. “So don’t hit your head when getting out of the tub, Dickface.”
“I promise I won’t, Jay.”
Cass and Duke moved closer, each of them wrapping their arms around Dick’s waist so that the human was now surrounded by his vampire children.
“Ah, Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice cut not unkindly through the moment. The children pulled apart just enough so they could all turn to face the pureblood vampire butler who stood by the archway that connected the main entry hall to the northern galley. “Welcome back.”
Dick put Tim down. Alfred always carried himself with grace, his voice ringing with a clear dignity that made his pronunciation of every syllable crisp. His deliberate inflections laced his words with a myriad of unspoken thoughts; a “thank you,” could mean “I am proud of you,” one day and a “You are a reckless fool who should count himself lucky to be alive,” the other, the difference coming across solely by the pace in which he spoke and the warmth or iciness of his tone.
As he greeted Dick, the phrase rolled out of tongue with a slow and pleased indulgence.
“Hey, Alfred. I’m taking you didn’t get much sleep either?”
“There’s far too much to be done to waste a minute on such a triviality,” Alfred spoke. “Even when one does not count the food needed to be prepared for the banquet and the magical preparations for the Ceremony, the decorations alone take a long a time to prepare.”
Dick’s raised his eyebrows, “Decoration?”
That was the first time he heard of such thing, though he supposed he should have expected considering his own involvement in the preparations for each of the children’s Welcoming. Alfred, for his part, seemed amused at Dick’s oversight.
“But of course. This is a night of celebration, Master Richard.”
“Can we help?” Duke asked.
“Master Bruce is almost finished with the ballroom, Master Duke,” Alfred said. “You can, however, help me with tonight’s feast if you so desire. We also still need to set the table, take out the good china, and ensure the family silverware and crystals are all properly polished. And then all of you must get yourselves bathed and dressed.”
“What about music?” asked Cass.
“Already selected,” Alfred assured them. “Now, if you wish to help, follow me into the kitchen. We’ll allow Master Richard take his bath first and give him time to get ready.”
Dick watched his children followed Alfred one-by-one and disappeared out of sight. Only Jason lingered by Dick’s side, the anxiety from earlier returning to his gaze, his hands curled into fists.
Dick knelt down so he could look his son in the eyes. He took the little boy’s hands into his, preventing the nails from digging into the skin. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong; after years caring for him, he knew Jason would tell him on his own time.
Sure enough, after a few moments of silence, Jason spoke up, his voice strained.
“You don’t have to do it, you know,” he whispered the words as if afraid Alfred, Bruce, or others would hear him. “Duke, Steph, and I didn’t have a choice. The others were born like this. You, though… You could stay human if you wanted.”
Dick’s expression remained pleasantly neutral.
“Do you think I should?”
Jason’s lips pressed into a thin a line. His shoulders hunched in the way they usually did when he was trying his very best not to cry. He was small, so terribly small and yet he always tried to act like he was so much bigger and so much older than he actually was. Were Jason still human, he would have been fourteen years old now; a child still, but an older one, a teenager going through puberty, going to school, starting to discover his sense of identity and how he fit into the world at large, experimenting and exploring and rebelling and loving and hating and growing. Instead, his mind and body were frozen at eight while the blood-filled trauma of his painful and lonely Transformation rendered him far maturer than any little boy should ever be.
It was, Dick found, the odd contradictory of his immortal children that made them so difficult for others to understand; years — sometimes decades — of life gifted them with a wisdom impossible to find in a human, and yet, all that vast experience was still filtered through and processed by the eyes and mind of a child.
Jason had been alive for fourteen years, but he still had the needs and wants of any eight year old boy. And yet, at the same time, he lived long enough to believe himself too old to wake up crying from nightmares, too old to desire comfort from Bruce and Dick; he understood enough about the world to equate not to want his dad by his side if it cost him his humanity with strength and selflessness.
“You know, Jay… It’s okay if you want me to Transform,” Dick said after it became clear Jason was not going to answer him on his own. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“It is!” Jason snapped, finally looking up at Dick. His eyes were filled with tears he was still fighting not to spill. “It’s selfish! It’ll hurt and you’re giving up everything and—”
“I’m not giving up anything,” Dick cut him off, though he made sure to keep his tone gentle. He tugged at Jason’s hand, trying to encourage the boy to come into his arms, but Jason stayed stubbornly rooted in his spot. “I’m serious, Jason. I’m not giving up anything by doing this. I want to be with you, with all of you.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ I want this, Jason. I… I know you did not get the luxury to choose. What happened to you — to you and Steph and Duke — was horrible. You’re not… None of you are wrong for being weary of the Transformation. The three of you were wronged. What happened to you was a horrifying violation, and you have every right to be upset over it and to feel that you’ve been robbed of something important,” Dick held Jason’s hand tightly as he spoke. When Jason tried to look away, Dick cupped the boy’s cheek so he wouldn’t avoid his gaze again. “But that is not what is happening to me. Do you understand the difference, Jason? I am choosing this. I want this. I have wanted this since I was twelve years old. What is going to happen tonight and what happened to you… It’s not the same thing. And you’re not selfish for wanting me to Transform.”
Jason let out a sob. The front he was putting up crumbled as he threw his arms around Dick, who hugged him just as tightly. Jason cried as Dick’s gently rubbed his back, never once trying to quiet him. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed liked that, but it didn’t matter. Dick knew Alfred and Bruce must have heard enough of the conversation to understand Jason needed this. Dick knew they wouldn’t mind pushing back the Ceremony a little if required.
“I read your letter, you know,” Dick whispered, after Jason had calmed down. “It made me cry like a baby.”
Jason snorted as he pulled away from their hug. There were still tears in his eyes, his nose still a bit red, dripping with a bit of snot.
“That’s ‘cause you’re a crybaby.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m a hero, too, aren’t I?”
Jason shook his head, “Don’t know where you got that idea.”
Dick ruffled his hair.
“You little brat,” he said fondly. Then, with the sleeve of his sweater, cleaned Jason’s eyes and nose. “You feeling better?”
Jason hesitated.
“You meant it, right? You’re… You’re okay with all of this?”
“I meant it, Jay,” Dick said. “There’s nothing I want more in this world than this.”
Jason frowned. He cleaned his own eyes this time.
“But aren’t you scared?”
Dick paused for a moment, considering. Then, he shook his head.
“I trust Bruce.”
Jason let out a small sigh.
“Yeah… Bruce wouldn’t hurt you,” he said with a nod to himself. “You should be getting ready, though. Sorry I—”
“Jason,” Dick cut him off with that same gentle yet firm tone from before. When he was sure he had Jason’s attention, he continued. “You never have to apologize to me. Not for this.”
Jason smiled then gave Dick another hug. Dick hugged him back just as tightly.
“I love you, Littlewing.”
“Love you, too… Dad.”
Dick was holding the bathroom’s doorknob when he caught a whiff of Bruce’s musk and bergamot fragrance. He stopped his action immediately, and within seconds his partner stood behind him, his tall and broad frame pressed against his back. Bruce’s right hand covered Dick’s, their fingers interlacing, engagement rings greeting each other with a soft clink.
“Welcome back,” Bruce whispered, his breath caressing Dick’s hair, his left arm looping around the young man’s waist.
Dick leaned backwards, falling into the vampire’s embrace. He kept his gaze on the door, even as Bruce’s head tilted downwards to kiss the crown of his head, to kiss his forehead, kiss the shell of his ear.
“It’s good to be back,” Dick greeted. “Were you also worried I would die before coming home?”
“Don’t jest about such things.”
Dick chuckled, “Is that a ‘yes,’ then?”
Though Bruce didn’t use his words, the tightening of his hold around Dick’s waist was answer enough.
“Bruuuuuuuce,” Dick laughed again, turning around so he would finally face his partner. His breath caught on his throat as his eyes met Bruce’s — the amount of love and longing in them was humbling; it made Dick want to spend the rest of his existence being someone worthy of such undeterred adoration. “I’m here, aren’t I? You had no reason to worry.”
“I know,” Bruce agreed. “I was keeping an eye on you. Just in case.”
“In case of accidents? What would you have done? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know,” Dick’s arms looped around Bruce’s neck as Bruce’s other hand secured his hold around Dick’s waist. After a second, Dick leaned back again, letting himself be weightless, only his hold on Bruce and Bruce’s hold on him keeping him standing. “Should I even ask if you managed to get any sleep?”
The short pause that followed the question betrayed a slight abashment.
“The bed is too large without you,” Bruce said. “Too cold, too.”
Dick threw his head back and laughed. It was a pathetic excuse, but one he could relate to all too well. But before he could find a way to tease Bruce about the matter, the vampire leaned forward and kissed Dick’s throat.
Dick sucked in a breath. His hold on Bruce’s neck tightened. It was just a phantom of a kiss, a light brush of lips to skin, and yet it sent an electric current through Dick’s vein. All of the sudden he was too aware of every minuscule movement, of how a simple inhale or an otherwise unnoticeable sway affected the tiny points in which they touched.
Dick exhaled, and Bruce smiled. He gave another kiss, and another, and another, lips traveling upwards, head tilting so he could gain better access to the slope of Dick’s jaw. Dick’s fingers gripped the fabric of Bruce’s shirt as he adjusted himself to aid Bruce’s mission.
When Bruce’s lips reached his ear, Dick shuddered. Bruce chuckled, that velvety voice that was like chocolate doing little to appease the flames burning inside the human and clouding his mind with their smoke.
“You’re being unfair,” Dick whined, bringing their torsos closer together, delighting in the way Bruce’s hold on him tightened.
Bruce chuckled again. The sound made Dick’s toes curl.
“How so?”
Dick opened his eyes to glare at his partner, but as soon as he did, Bruce licked the shell of his ear, making him close them again.
“Getting me all hot and bothered… Didn’t you tease me enough this morning? I was going to take a long warm bubble bath before the Ceremony, but now I’ll have to do with a cold shower.”
Bruce hummed, then, after a moment of performative deliberation, started to nip at Dick’s ear lobe; his teeth softly grazed the tiny bit of flesh, lips sucking and tongue flickering. It was unfair. It was so incredibly unfair that Bruce could reduce him to such a pile of warm goo, it was unfair how quickly Bruce could rid him Dick of his senses, it was unfair how he could no doubt hear just how fast Dick’s heart was now beating.
“You don’t have to take a cold shower,” Bruce whispered, releasing his earlobe, but continuing his ministrations in the area. He kissed his jaw again, the junction of his neck, one of his hands cupping Dick’s rear and giving a not-so-subtle squeeze. “There are other ways to take care of your problem.”
Dick snorted, Just my problem, is it?
“I have to get ready, don’t I?”
“We have time.”
Dick moaned as Bruce continued to pepper kisses across his skin, his voice husky in his ear. Dick had goosebumps all over his body.
“Like we didn’t have this morning.”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “I promised that we’d get to it later, didn’t I?”
“I thought you meant after the Ceremony and after the celebration.”
“We can have both,” Bruce retorted. “We have time to have both.”
Dick chuckled, then moaned as Bruce sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck.
“Lucky me.”
When Bruce pulled away, Dick didn’t give him the chance to continue his teasing. Before the vampire could once more kiss his jaw or murmur heated whispers in his ears, Dick captured his lips with a hungry kiss.
Bruce took control immediately, and Dick released it with pleasure. His arms were still snaked around Bruce’s shoulder, fingers clinging to the fabric of his button shirt, feet on the tip of his toes, body completely pressed against his partner’s. He wanted to be close, he wanted to be so close that there would be nothing between them, no fabric, no air, no space… Nothing. The soft scratchiness of Bruce’s stubble made heat pool at the base of Dick’s abdomen, so when Bruce’s tongue plunged into his mouth with an aggressive possessiveness that had Dick’s head spinning, he grinded their hips together in a clear invitation to further escalate matters.
Bruce groaned. The hand on Dick’s rear gave it another squeeze, while the other cupped the back of Dick’s head with a gentleness few would imagine the imposing man to be capable of. It never ceased to amaze Dick how Bruce could always manage to hold and touch him in a way that both demonstrated his voracious desire for the human while also maintaining a tenderness that made Dick feel like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Dick’s hands traveled to Bruce’s collar. Bruce’s refusal to ever wear a T-shirt gave Dick the years of practice needed to not fumble when undoing the buttons while his eyes remained close and his mouth preoccupied. Bruce smiled against Dick’s lips when, after finally undoing his shirt, Dick’s hands immediately traced the man’s chest and abs. Dick disconnected their mouths, gave Bruce’s lips a light peck, then trailed his kisses down Bruce’s square jaw, his strong neck, stopping at the dip of his collarbone that always drove him wild. As Dick savored that spot, he helped Bruce brush away the shirt, the offending garment softly falling on the floor.
Bruce didn’t give Dick the chance to step back and admire him, though. As soon as Dick’s lips abandoned his skin, both of his arms hoisted Dick up. On instinct, Dick’s legs wrapped around Bruce’s waist, their arousals pressing together unexpectedly, making both gasp. Dick’s own hands now buried themselves into Bruce’s scalp, fingers pulling at the hair.
The way he was being held, Dick was now the same height as Bruce. Their hot panting breaths mingled, the intense hunger of their gazes cutting through the haziness of lust. Dick’s heart beat erratically. His cheeks felt so hot it was as if he had a fever. He was hypnotized by the man in front of him, his chest swelling with an incomprehensible amount of love, desire making his skin prickle uncomfortably so that the touch of his clothes and the coldness of the air were unbearable; only contact with Bruce’s skin, with his body, with touch, with his mouth could possibly feel right and natural.
When Bruce spoke, his voice was gruff with ill-retained control. Man, vampire, and Bat all bled through the simple word.
“Bed.”
Was it an order? An invitation? It didn’t matter, because Dick lunged for another kiss, his hold on Bruce’s so strong that it would have hurt anyone else. Bruce returned the kiss with eagerness. His hold on Dick remained secure even as the human teased him with slight jerks of the hips while he strode across the room and, contradictory to the intensity of their actions, gently laid Dick right in the middle of large king-sized mattress, head cushioned by their multitude of pillows.
Even when pressed for time, even when their desire for one another was so overwhelming that it was hard to contain, even when their coupling was a spontaneous explosion of pent up frustration, Bruce and Dick were never hasty when it came to sex. Was it Bruce’s long vampiric existence that granted him such patience even when both were brimming with desire? Or was it the years of self-imposed separation born out of a pretense that their feelings for one another were that of a caretaker and his charge that made them wish to savor every second they had together? Perhaps it was just something about them, that unique dynamic manifesting in such a peculiar way even when lost in the depths of carnal desire. Regardless, whether they were stealing a moment away during a Masquerade or a Gathering, or whether they had the entire day to spend in bed, there was always sensual slowness to how they came together.
Clothes tossed aside, they were now both naked and exposed to each other. Bruce’s left fingers, slick with cold lube, prepared Dick. His right hand stroked both of them together in slow yet deliberate motions. Dick kept his hands buried in Bruce’s hair, pulling at the strands, making him look wonderfully disheveled, raw and wild and out of control in a way he never was with anyone but Dick. Dick moaned and gasped as Bruce worked him over, but even though he knew the vampire loved those sounds, he always cut them short, instead opting to keep his mouth busy with Bruce’s lips.
Truly, Dick would never tire of kissing Bruce.
Once Dick was sufficiently prepared, they pulled apart. Dick whined even if he knew the separation wouldn’t last. Lost in his need for Bruce, he already missed the feel of those lips, already hated the emptiness inside of him, already ached for Bruce hand around his shaft, he was already desperate for the weight of Bruce’s body on top of him, making feel so safe and beloved. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Hair tousled, chest heaving, Bruce watched him with incomprehensible mixture of raw desire and the tenderest of love.
Dick spread his legs and nodded. Bruce positioned himself, his tip right at Dick’s entrance. Then, he hovered over Dick again, giving a languid kiss as he pushed inside. No matter how often they did this, Dick could never hold back a smile once he felt the entirety of Bruce’s shaft fill him. It felt more than just wonderful, more than just right or natural… It felt like being whole.
Bruce didn’t move right away. Dick didn’t mind. The two stayed still, indulging in the feel of absolute completion that settled between them whenever they came together. Dick scratched the nape of Bruce’s neck, looking up into his eyes with that blissful smile. Bruce looked down at him in sheer awe, his hands holding to Dick’s hips.
God, how Dick loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he loved this man so much and after that night, they would belong to each other in every way imaginable. After that night, they would be able to spend an eternity together and the thought of that alone made tears of joy sting Dick’s eyes. After that night, they’d finally be one.
Dick wasn’t sure which one of them moved first; he didn’t know if it was him who unconsciously jerked his hips and prompted Bruce to start moving, or if it was Bruce who captured Dick’s lips into another kiss. It might have been both, or it might have been Dick who pulled Bruce down for a kiss and Bruce who couldn’t contain himself anymore and started thrusting. It didn’t matter. They fell into a slow, lazy yet sensual rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony.
In. Out. In. Out. Bruce’s grip on Dick’s hips was tight enough to leave bruises. Dick’s tongue explored Bruce’s mouth and when it grazed against the sharp fangs, his toes curled. In, out. In, out. All that matter was each other, the heat shared between them, their sweat glistened skins sliding together as if their bodies were made to fit together just like this, were create just to keep this motion going forever. In and out, in and out, in and out. Dick moaned, pulling Bruce’s hair. One of Bruce’s hands grabbed Dick’s shaft, pumping it in accordance to his thrusts. In and out and in and out and int and out and—
As the pleasure build up between them, their movements grew more erratic. They remained in perfect synchrony, somehow, but the rhythm was broken, Bruce’s thrusts becoming more forceful and possessive. Dick tried to keep their kiss going, but soon he was throwing his head back, unable to keep quiet any longer.
“Bruce…! Ah… Bruce.. Bruce… Bruce..!”
Dick’s voice fully destroyed any control Bruce might have still been holding on to. His hips slammed forward, both hands now holding Dick so the angle would be right every time. He buried his head in the crook of Dick’s neck, and the feel of his hot breath and that soft scratchiness of his stubble only seemed to heighten the pleasure Dick felt. Dick wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. The smell of sex and sweat and musk and bergamot drenched their surrounding, the sound of skin slapping on skin, Dick’s moans, Bruce’s grunt… They were reaching their peak.
Bruce’s mouth opened around the skin of Dick’s neck, saliva dripping. Dick still had enough sense to know what Bruce wanted. Fingers clenching Bruce’s hair, pushed the vampire’s head down in encouragement.
Bruce’s fangs sank into his skin with familiar twin piercing stings.
Dick’s vision went white. All at once, sheer ecstasy flooded him as if a dam had ruptured. He might have shouted out loud, though he couldn’t be sure. According to Bruce, who told him this with a such reverence in his voice, he’d done so numerous times in the past, the vampire’s name always ready on his lips. His hips jerked forward, his nails digging into Bruce’s scalp. Bruce’s pace was brutal now, the intoxication of feeding straight from the vein blinding the two men to anything but to the raw carnal pleasure they shared. Dick wasn’t sure how he was still breathing, but he didn’t care. All that matter was the man on top of him, the man biting him, the man inside him. All that mattered was Bruce.
Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce BruceBruceBruceBruceBruceBruceBruce—!
When Dick was about to come, he yanked the vampire away from his neck and slammed their mouths together in a filthy blood smeared kiss.
Orgasm hit him while his tongue was still down Bruce’s throat, his hands holding to Bruce’s jaws as if afraid he’d pull away. Blood dripped down both their chins. Bruce lasted for only a few seconds more, and after seven deep thrust, his seeds filled Dick to the brim. By the time they both came down from their high, Bruce was still inside of him, and Dick’s upper body was elevated over the mattress, Bruce’s arms bringing him up so their torsos met.
They stayed like that while catching their breaths. One of Dick’s legs was still lazily wrapped around Bruce’s waist, a signal that he did not want him to leave just yet. Bruce kissed the twin punctures, licking them with such care that it made Dick shudder. If they weren’t pressed for time, the gesture would have been enough for Dick to ask for another round after they recovered.
Once they finally pulled apart, Bruce let Dick sink into the mattress while he went to grab the tissues to clean him. Again, he worked slowly, peppering soft kisses over the human’s torso, nipping slightly at the sensitive nipples, sometimes licking Dick’s spill while the young man basked in the afterglow.
When he was finally done, he gave Dick another kiss, the taste of his blood coating both their tongues. Then, Bruce laid by Dick’s side. Not even a second after, Dick curled next to him, his head resting on top of Bruce’s chest, their legs tangled together, their fingers intertwined so their engagement rings could kiss. Bruce’s free hand scratched Dick’s head in such a soft and pleasant manner Dick was sure he’d soon fall into a content nap.
Instead, though, he looked at their rings, he paid attention to Bruce’s slow heartbeat, he enjoyed the rise and fall of his chest.
“I love you,” Dick whispered, though he knew he didn’t have to. He still enjoyed the taste of the words.
Bruce kissed the top of his head.
“I love you, too.”
After finally taking his long and hot bubble bath, Dick readied himself. He wore black pants that, though understated, accentuated his athletic slenderness. His fitted silk shirt featured a black-on-black damask pattern and the fabric of his cravat was soft and delicate. His velvet vest was a deep royal blue, it’s notched pointed lapels and collars adorned by black ivy-like embroidery, its small buttons a glistening gold that brought to the garment the last of the three Wayne Coven colors. To complete the outfit, Dick also sported a knee-length jacket, black in color with blue patterns on the cuff and collars, gold buttons, and a split swallow tail. In the back, replicated in rich braided details, was the Wayne Crest’s Bat.
It wasn’t Dick’s first time wearing Coven Dress. Since joining the family as a child, Alfred ensured Dick would always have such clothing for Gatherings, Masquerades, and for the Welcoming of each of his children. For seventeen years, the older vampire had personally designed and hand-sewed garments branded with the Wayne’s aesthetic, the Wayne crest, the Wayne symbols, and the Wayne colors so never to leave in question Dick’s indisputable place in the Coven.
It wasn’t Dick’s first time wearing Coven Dress. But it was his first time wearing these particular clothes, for they had been especially designed and crafted for tonight and every night that followed… They had been especially designed and crafted to compliment Bruce’s Coven Dress.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Dick could barely keep his hand steady as he put on his eyeliner, smudging to bring out the blue in his eyes, just as Bruce liked it. Once done, he took a moment to admire his engagement ring before putting on his black gloves and leaving his and Bruce’s bedroom.
Though he’d seen its splendor plenty of times in the past, Dick’s steps still staggered when he opened the heavy double-doors to the ballroom and saw what awaited inside. The dark wooden floor shone beneath his feet, an almost perfect mirror that reflected the warm low light coming from the candles in the iron chandeliers and the candelabras evenly spread throughout the space. The heavy blue curtains were open, exposing the large stained glass windows that filtered the full moon’s light, transforming its cold paleness into colorful beams that caressed every surface with gentleness. Rather than oppressive, the darkness which clung to the corners created an atmosphere of intimacy. The enchantments required for the Sacraments caressed Dick’s skin, their magic shining just out of the human’s sensitive sight and the sounds of a waltz played only by string instruments filled the room whose crispy air was seeped with the scent of jasmines. Finally, arrangements of blood-red roses and pure-white baby-breaths guided one’s eye to the altar located in front of the largest and tallest window.
The entire family was gathered already. Alfred wore a knee-length velvet jacket with pointed hemlines and fine trimmings, black in color but with royal blue lining, and gold buttons. It, too, had the same ivy-like embroidery details in the lapels as Dick’s vest — a Wayne Coven signature. All the boys wore similar outfits to the ones Dick himself wore as a child — double breasted vests made of royal blue velvet fabric with a black damask print, gold buttons, and notched lapels. Their fitted black pants helped elongate their legs. Their individuality was established through their jackets — Jason’s being long with the blue detailing around the cuffs, Tim’s sporting a swallow tail split, and Duke’s and Damian’s both featured more gold in their designs. The girl’s dresses, by contrast, had an 1850s silhouette — made out of silk, their flouncy royal blue skirts were simple in design, while their off-the-shoulders sleeves were adorned by black lace and gold trimming. They wore black laced gloves and chokers, and while Cass’ short hair was loose, Steph’s longer one was arranged in a intricate braided knot.
Dick was intimately familiar with Bruce’ Coven Dress. His lips knew the feel of the satin shirt with black-on-black damask pattern; his fingers memorized the exact curvature of the blue velvet vest’s deep V-neckline; his hands had gripped said vest’s wide lapels where it was embellished by the black ivy-like embroidery; he’d had personally undone those gold buttons after their last Gathering; his teeth had pulled those black gloves off by the fingers a myriad of times; and since hitting puberty, his eyes had long admired how the dramatic elegance of the exaggerate forked swallow tail, with its black lining and trimming, enhanced the contrast between Bruce’s narrow waist and broad shoulders. The vampire’s cravat was nearly identical to Dick’s, as was the knee-length jacket. It was beautiful, it suited Bruce perfectly, and it was all currently covered by the Head of Coven’s black cloak.
The cloak resembled Batman’s in many ways. The lines connecting the head and and the shoulders formed a strong yet elegant triangle that was followed by harsh vertical straight lines caused by the fabric’s sudden drop. Its trail was long and heavy, sprawling on the ground, swallowing its surroundings and bringing them into the darkness with its tendrils. Bruce managed to wears its oppressiveness with a grace that proved his supernatural origins, his steps always a weightless and silent glide.
Though all the vampires noticed Dick at the same times, it was little baby Damian who first acknowledged him.
“Richard!”
Dick grinned as the two year old vampire waddled his way to him. He met his youngest son halfway, swooping him into his arms and kissing his grumpy cheeks.
“Hey, Damian,” he greeted. “Hope I didn’t make you wait long.”
“You did!” Damian complained, still pouting as his fists hit Dick lightly on the chest, earning a laugh from the human. “You took forever!”
“I’m sorry,” Dick said, though he knew he didn’t sound sorry at all. He still carried Damian in his arms as he made his way to the rest of the family. “That was terribly rude of me.”
“It was!”
“No, it wasn’t,” Jason rolled his eyes, arms crossed. “Stop being a brat.”
“You’re a brat!” Damian said.
“He’s got a point,” Step said. Cass silently giggled.
Before Jason could give an angry retort, Alfred broke.
“The extra time was much appreciated, Master Richard. It had taken Master Timothy, Master Duke, and I quite a bit longer to find the nice silver,” Alfred’s said. “And I must say, the new Dress suit you well, Master Richard,”
“Well, you do a masterful work, Alfred. Pretty sure you could have a very successful fashion career if you wanted to.”
“You flatter me,” Alfred said.
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” Dick said. “The clothes are very comfortable and they look great. It shows how amazing you are with a needle.”
“I debated whether the cravat should be included for tonight’s Ceremony as I feared it would be difficult to clean off any blood stains from it,” Alfred confessed. “But I imagine by this point, Master Bruce is quite used to feeding without making a mess.”
Dick flushed as some of the children giggled and snorted.
“Alfred,” Bruce scolded, clearing his throat with embarrassment. “Don’t be crude.”
“My apologies, Master Bruce,” the glint in Alfred’s eyes showed he wasn’t sorry at all.
The children’s excited chattered mixed with the music, and for a moment, the familiarity and normalcy of their conversations — Steph’s excited rambles, Tim’s timid additions, Duke’s thoughtful but uncertain observation, Jason’s snark — and the their movements — Cass playing with her skirt as she swayed to the rhythm of the waltz, Damian clinging to Dick with a cute pout, Alfred’s content subtle smile as he watched them with his sharp eyes — eased some of the natural anxiety ingrained in well-awaited events.
But chatter was better reserved for when the celebrations commenced and they could dance and feast; as it often was the case, it fell on Bruce to remind them of that fact.
“If we don’t want the banquet to grow cold, we should begin the Ceremony.”
Chatter was replaced by silence. Suddenly, the magic surrounding them was heavier. After pressing a kiss to his temple, Dick placed Damian on the floor. Jason immediately took his hand, and the children gave a few steps back.
Bruce held out his left hand. Dick took it without hesitation.
The walk up the altar’s small steps was the longest one of Dick’s life. He could feel the weight of the gazes on him, could hear the echo of his shoes drowning out the sound of the waltz, and could feel each of his thumping heartbeats as if the organ pulsed with heavy poignancy. Once they reached their positions at the center of the stage, Bruce took his other hand. The cool colored moonlight played off against the warm one radiating from the candles, their duality accentuating Bruce’s handsome strong features, drawing out his natural mysterious and ethereal allure.
Dick’s lungs forgot to breathe. Dick’s heart amended their mistake with a squeeze.
“Are you ready?”
Did Bruce whisper those words just for Dick? Did he say them at a normal tone, confident and assuring? Did he shout them until the Manor’s walls shook? Dick didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Their deep tenor was like melted chocolate.
Dick grinned.
“I’ve been ready for a long time, B.”
Bruce blinked, taken aback. Then, his features softened.
Dick’s Ceremony would be unlike any before. Not only did it blend together the Welcoming — a Sacrament performed whenever a new vampire was welcomed into a Coven and bonded to its members by blood magic — with a sacred and rare Sacrament meant to link the souls of two individuals for eternity, but it also took into consideration the added complication of Dick’s Transformation.
As such cases were so rare to be deemed legends, there was no Sacrament for the willing Transformation of a human. Few were the humans who chose to abandon the Light, and even fewer were the pureblood vampires willing to grant such humans with nocturnal immortality. It was the uniqueness of Dick’s situation that made it feel like his Transformation should also be formally acknowledged. As Alfred said in his letter, ceremonies and rituals embodied abstract concepts and made them tangible; the entire family agreed that Dick’s willingness to undergo the Transformation in order to be with them should, therefore, be honored accordingly.
Originally, they discussed having three separate events. In the first night, Dick would undergo the Transformation. In the second night, he would go through a traditional Welcoming. In the third night, Bruce and Dick’s souls would become one. It seemed like not just the simpler approach, but the most natural as well, giving Dick time to adjust between each change and extending their private celebration into a days-long event. At one point, Bruce even suggested that there should be three days between each Sacrament, but the thought was discarded in favor of bundling them into one Ceremony. Forced to improvise, Alfred and Bruce carefully researched the magic, studied the Coven’s traditions, and experiment with how far each could be changed and stretched to fit Dick’s situation before they were finally able to plan tonight’s Ceremony.
It would start with Dick’s Transformation.
Bruce released their hold to undo Dick’s cravat just enough to expose his long slender neck where the bite from just a few hours ago was still fresh. The vampire’s eyes fixated on Dick’s pulse, his fangs glimmering as they peered from his slightly agape mouth. Dick looked at each of their children before his gaze settled on Jason. The boy was looking at his feet with a troubled creased between the boy’s brows, his lips pressed together in an nervous thin line, his hands fisted by his side. More than once he suggested the children not be present for this part of the Ceremony, but they all — and Jason especially — had stubbornly insisted on being there for such an important occasion.
Perhaps Dick should have been more firm, but it was too late now. He kept his eyes on Jason until the boy finally met his gaze. Dick gave him a grin. Jason relaxed a little, giving him own encouraging smile. Alfred moved to stand behind the boy, putting a comforting hand on his shoulders just as Dick longed to do. The action grounded Jason, bringing him back from memories of his own torturous Transformation.
Jason took in a deep breath, gave another smile, than a nod. Only then, did Bruce step forward.
By giving Dick his cravat to hold, Bruce pulled him back into the moment. He tilted Dick’s head so their eyes could meet.
“It will feel a little different than when we usually do this,” Bruce told him, his voice in that same tone from before, the one that seemed so loud and so quiet, that made it so the entire world faded away and nothing existed but the two of them. “But it won’t hurt. I’ll make sure it won’t hurt. I promise.”
“I know. I trust you, Bruce.”
Something flickered in Bruce’s expression. Love, desire, awe, perplexity… All of it at once and all of them parts of this same strange emotion. It was a feeling Dick knew well, for there was scarcely a moment shared between them when Dick didn’t want Bruce, when Dick wasn’t overwhelmed by how much he adored Bruce, when Dick wasn’t amazed at Bruce’s goodness, when Dick wasn’t astonished that, out of all the people in this world, Bruce had chosen him, that Bruce trusted him, that Bruce loved him back and wanted him just as much.
Bruce leaned down, his breathing hot against Dick’s throat. On instinct, Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce broad shoulders with a familiar embrace and closed his eyes. He waited. Bruce’s lips softly brushed against the skin in a brief and tender kiss. The seconds stretched in silence, Dick’s mind faintly registering the Manor’s scent of roses and jasmine mixing with Bruce’s own musk and bergamot fragrance.
Then, those familiar and pleasant twin stings pierced his neck.
Dick’s hold on Bruce’s shoulder tightened. A soft gasp escaped his lips. It wasn’t like usual, no, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It reminded him a little of Bruce’s first time feeding on Dick, back when he was still only sixteen and their relationship, while having shifted from one between charge and caretaker, had not yet become romantic despite Dick’s wishes and Bruce’s own repressed desires. Feeding straight from the flesh, Dick had been explained at that time, could be quite complex; it changed depending on the vampire’s emotional state, their relationship to the one who was supplying the blood, and their intentions. Only pureblood vampires could Transform humans with their bite, but control over the ability was hard to master and easy to lose. The act was deemed to be simultaneously an extreme form cruelty and a demonstration of utmost trust, straddling the strange boundary between horrific violation and erotic intimacy.
There were many vampires who knew the taste of Dick’s blood. The children had it often; Alfred only on the rare occasions when the thirst weakened his iron will; friends like Donna, Rachel, Clark, and Roy were forced to drink it by dire circumstances. They would all do so in the future, probably in the same frequency, as his vampire blood would still offered the nourishment they required. But Bruce was the only one who had ever fed and would ever feed from Dick’s vein.
Dick’s fingers clutched at the fabric of Bruce’s cloak. He kept his eyes shut, mind hazy, his fleeting awareness not even trying to cling to the present, instead allowing him to sink into the feeling of Bruce, Bruce, Bruce as a pleasant tingling sensation spread throughout his body starting from his neck. Dick held back another gasp; that feeling traveled to his chest, to his heart, it’s warmth reaching to every part of him, filling him to the edge of his skin, to the tip of his toes, the ends of his fingers, to every last fiber of his hair before spilling out and consuming him from the surface as well. Then, when it was done, it turned inwards — far more inwards than it was physical possible, inwards towards something intangible, towards something that was connected to everything that was Dick Grayson.
Dick’s breathing grew heavy, his heartbeat slowing down. Though his thoughts were sludge, he could feel the one holding him hesitate. No, that wouldn’t do. Dick’s hold tightened again, pulling at the one he loved most, the one he trusted with everything that mattered to him. He pulled him closer, his left hand traveling to raven locks, caressing and scratching it in encouragement, in reassurance, in comfort. The hold around his waist — when did an arm loop around it? — tightened and that pleasant tingling sensation pierced into Dick’s core.
Suddenly, that faint rose and jasmine fragrance that lingered in the Manor — the one he had come to so closely associate with home and safety and love — penetrated his lungs with the strength of an invading army. It, Dick realized, also underlined the scent of every person in the room, mixing with their own personal smell. It was, he realized, the Wayne Coven smell, the reason why their crest was composed of a bat surrounded by jasmines and roses.
Bruce’s scent was the most recognizable to him and the one he grasped at in an instand: musk and bergamot. It was a scent Dick loved dearly, that made him want to bury his nose into the crook of Bruce’s neck and spend the rest of his existence inhaling nothing but that.
Then, there came the others. Sandalwood, rangoon creepers, patchouli, geranium, lavender, oakmoss, vanilla… Some, Dick knew already. He recognized the sandalwood from whenever he shielded Jason with his body when they were out as Robin and Shrike; he knew Damian’s oakmoss from whenever Dick held the sleeping toddler close to his chest; he’d never forget the comforting lavender that had clung to Alfred’s coat and soothed Dick to sleep when he was a child waking from nightmares. The others he could not place but he was determined to memorize by the end of the night.
Then, came the sounds. Bruce’s heartbeat, Alfred’s, the children’s… His ear seemed already attune to all of them. Then, came the sound of the music, of the wind outside, of the owls in the distance, of the candle’s flame dancing with a quiet flicker.
It was only when Bruce pulled away, though, that Dick finally opened his eyes and looked at the man he loved with his new vampire eyes.
One of Bruce’s arms still held him by waist, offering support to keep him on his feet. The other, held Dick’s hand, its grip tight. He hovered over Dick, watching him with intensity. Dick could count his eyelashes, could see every stitch of his cravat, could somehow perfectly see all the fine angles of his features and creases of his cloak without the shadows which gave them its form losing their darkness. Though Bruce’s chin was clean, his lips were painted a rich scarlet red. It took all of Dick’s self control not to lean forward to clean them with a passionate kiss.
Instead, he ran his tongue over his teeth, then pouted.
“Well, that’s not fair. Bruce’s fangs are definitely sharper than mine.”
Almost immediately, the tension in the ballroom dissipated. Bruce smiled, his shoulders sagging. The children laughed with relief. Damian, tried to waddle to the altar, but Steph held him back.
“How do you feel?”
“Are you okay?”
“Do you feel dizzy?”
“Did it hurt?”
“It worked, didn’t it? Didn’t it?”
The questions came all at once. Bruce continued to support him by keeping an arm looped around his waist, almost as if he was afraid Dick would faint if he didn’t stand by his side.
“I’m okay,” Dick assured them. The words, to his own surprise, were true; though he was a little lightheaded and his limbs weighted with the heaviness of a slight fatigue, he did not feel nearly as weak as he expected. “It didn’t hurt at all.”
Jason came to the edge of the altar, holding up a slight handkerchief. He watched Dick with eyes so attentive and piercing they resembled Bruce’s infamous Batman Glare.
Dick gave him a smile as he reached for the handkerchief, “Thanks, Littlewing.”
Jason continued to stare at Dick. One second passed, then two, then five, and then he let out an enormous sigh that sounded as if a boulder had been lifted from his chest. He nodded at Dick, his eyes wet with tears, his lips fighting off a smile. He turned around embarrassed, walking to Cass’ side before Dick could say anything else.
Dick gave a small chuckle, knowing he would have plenty of time to fuss over his eldest after the Ceremony was finished.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bruce took the handkerchief off his hand to lightly dab at where the twin puncture wounds in his neck. It was a performative gesture, for just as Alfred had predicted, Bruce was skillful and experienced enough to not spill a single drop of blood. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I’m fine.”
Bruce frowned.
“We can wait to continue, if you need to rest,” Bruce said. “If you need to delay—”
But Dick was already shaking his head.
“I want to keep going. Right now.”
Bruce hesitated. After a few seconds, he nodded and turned towards Alfred.
As Alfred got the case, Bruce picked up the cravat that Dick had dropped sometime during his Transformation. He helped adjust Dick’s collar, his fingertips lingering against the wounds that would become his very last scar.
“Are you okay?” Dick asked.
Bruce’s touch was a reverent caress.
“I’ll never have to worry about losing you to a cold again,” he said, his voice filled with both awe and relief. “Or to an accident, or to an injury.”
“Or old age,” Dick cupped Bruce’s jaw, going on the tip of his toes, their foreheads touching. “You’re never losing me now, B.”
Bruce smile was uncharacteristically bright. It was one of the most beautiful sights Dick had ever seen.
By the time Bruce had finished tying Dick’s cravat and adjusted his jacket, Alfred already had the case in his hands. He waited until both men pulled apart, though Bruce’s arms remained securely wrapped around Dick’s waist. Only once Bruce gave him a nod, did the Ceremony resume.
Though the music continued to play, though the candles’ flames flickered, though a rose lost its petal, there was an uncanny stillness in the ballroom as Alfred unlocked the case containing two of the Wayne’s Coven most precious and ancient artifacts.
Dick’s sensitivity to magic was a gift he shared with his parents, a sixth sense Bruce insisted he trained so he could better survive a life in the Night. The Manor was littered with items that, growing up, had filled Dick with immense discomfort; but of all the books and swords and caskets and coins and masks he’d encountered over years, it was the chalice and the dagger used in the Welcoming that made Dick the most anxious.
The dread they illicit on him as a human was nothing compared to the what he experienced now as a vampire. Raw power rolled off the chalice and the dagger like thick waves of fog. It was not that spells coated their exteriors, but rather, it was as if every single one of their atoms was not composed of electrons and neutrons, but rather of enchantment. They were as intimidating as they were opulent, both made of gold that had been shaped into swirly vines of roses and jasmines, their surfaces encrusted with numerous sapphires. Even as they laid cushioned by royal-blue velvet lining, as carefully polished as any of the family silver, menace dripped from them like blood. They were not magical items, but rather, they were magic incarnated.
Dick was suddenly glad that Bruce was still holding him up.
Cass and Jason looked at each other. They argued without words before coming to a begrudged agreement: Cass was the on to take the chalice from the case.
“Thank you, Miss Cassandra,” Alfred said, taking the dagger.
Cass silently held out the chalice in front of her.
Alfred looked at Dick.
“Are you ready, Master Richard?”
Dick took in a deep breath. He could feel the ancient magic coursing beneath his feet like a river, and if he focused hard enough, he could even trace its runes in his mind, seeing the invisible shapes and symbols and swirls its power formed. Instead, he grounded himself in the touch around his waist, the smell of must and bergamont, the slow heartbeat just mere inches away from him.
“I’m ready.”
Alfred nodded.
“In that case,” without hesitation, Alfred took the dagger’s blade to his right palm and sliced it with a clean horizontal cut. Dick winced. He had not even noticed that the man had removed his glove. “Master Richard, with this offering, I Welcome you to the Ancient Wayne Coven.”
In the darkness of the night, against the stillness of the ballroom, Alfred’s blood was as scarlet as the roses that surrounded them. It filled the chalice in large quantities — far more than what such a wound would ordinarily produce. After five seconds, Alfred flexed his fingers, and it stopped. When he opened his palm again, the wound was gone, not a scar in sight.
The dagger, too, was clean.
Alfred took the chalice from Cass’ hand. He bent over, just slightly, and held it out in front of the little girl as if it were a tray filled with delicious hors d’oeuvre.
Dick’s back stiffened as he took hold of Bruce’s hand. Bruce gave him a reassuring squeeze, even as Dick knew that he, too, disliked what was about to happen. No matter how much ancient magical protection and other advantages being blood bonded to a Coven as well-respected as the Wayne provided their children, and no matter how much said children did not seem to mind such proceedings, seeing their flesh being sliced open by such a dreadful instrument was never an easy sight for the two parents.
Cass turned to look at Dick. Her dark eyes gentle, her smile kind.
“Dad,” she said, her voice a delicate whisper as she removed her laced gloves. “With this offering, I Welcome you to the Wayne Coven.”
She held out her hand, palms up, and Alfred cut it. She turned it so it would perpendicular to the floor, and together with Alfred, they counted until five before closing her fist, fingers caressing her palm. When she opened her hand again, the cut was gone, and she put back her glove.
One by one, each of the children repeated the words. Duke was next, followed by Steph. Tim’s voice was the quietest, but he insisted on letting the blood flow for a whole ten seconds. Then, came Jason, who never once looked at Alfred, the chalice, or the cut in his hand throughout the process, his gaze fixed on Dick. Damian’s turn was the hardest, even though Jason held him with the uttermost care and Alfred helped curl his little fingers closed after only just three seconds, it took all of Dick’s will power not to leave the altar and take his youngest into his arms.
Alfred placed the half-filled chalice and the clean dagger on the altar’s floor, in front of Bruce and Dick’s feet. The two stared at the artifacts for a moment. Bruce kissed Dick’s temple, then begrudgingly let him go.
He grabbed the chalice and dagger, then offered the former to Dick. It’s contents seemed to glow, though Dick was not sure if that was because of the blood magic at work, or if it was simply due to the artifacts’ polished surface. Maybe it was just Dick’s new vampiric senses that made it so. Maybe it was a combination of all those factors. Regardless, Dick took the chalice into his hands, and held it between him and Bruce.
Bruce rested the blade on his palm, but he did not slice the flesh. He looked into Dick’s eyes, his countenance at once soft and determined.
“Dick…” he paused. Dick didn’t mind. He truly would never tire of hearing that beautiful voice say his name. “You know you have always been a part of this Coven. Of this family. Though this is the most powerful magic known to our kind, it cannot begin to measure up to the depths of our love for you.”
Dick felt his eyes sting with tears.
“Still… It is my honor to finally be able to give you all the protections and privileges that have always been rightfully yours. With this offering, I Welcome you into the Noble and Ancient Wayne Coven.”
With an elegant swooping gesture, Bruce cut the palm of his hand. Dick watched as the blood flowed into the chalice. It was as if all colors had been drained from the world with the exception for the gold of the chalice, the scarlet of the blood, and the glowing icy blue of Bruce’s eyes.
Bruce held his hand for a full thirty seconds. By the time he closed his wound, Dick was scared that the chalice would spill over.
Bruce took the chalice from Dick’s hand and gave him the dagger. Dick held it’s clean blade up, the polished golden surface a slender mirror. In it, Dick saw how, after the Transformation, his skin had lost some coloration. It was not that he was paler than before, but rather, the pink and brown hues that were so characteristic of a healthy human had been dulled, making it seem as if Dick had stepped out of a black and white photograph. His eyes, though, were not only still vividly blue, but now also carried that slight inhuman glow. They were still contoured by the smudged eyeliner, a few strands of hair falling softly over them. A distant vain part of him wondered if Bruce thought he still looked pretty like that.
He removed his gloves and touched the blade against his left palm. It’s surface was like ice. Dick took a deep breath, looked into Bruce’s eyes, and mimicked that swooping motion, slicing his flesh open.
At first, there was a quick and sharp sting. Dick hissed, but more because of the cold than because of the pain. As the blood flowed out, a duller yet prolonged pain throbbed around the cut. Like Bruce, he held out his hand for thirty seconds before curling his fingers over the wound.
His fingertips felt wet and sticky. He could see the blood dirtying his nails. Then, it was gone, along with the pain, along with the cold. The chalice was filled.
Everyone watched him, but Dick had eyes only for the mixed blood inside the ancient artifact. He didn’t even notice when Bruce gently placed it in his hands, taking the dagger for himself. Again, he saw his own reflection staring up at him.
He must have stayed silent for too long for Bruce’s voice cut through his trance.
“Do you remember what you have to say?”
Dick almost snorted.
“Really, B?”
Bruce smiled.
Dick turned to look at his children, at Alfred.
“I thank you for your offering,” the words rolled out of his tongue with the ease of years of practice, having long been memorized after a twelve years old Dick came upon the details of the Welcoming in an old book hidden in the Manor’s library. “And in return, I offer my eternal and unconditional loyalty to each and every member of the Wayne Coven. With this, I bind my blood to yours.”
Dick brought the chalice to his lips. It, too, was icy cold. As he tipped the rim so its rich contents could pass through his lips, coat his tongue, and cascade down his throat, he thought it was appropriate that his first time taste of blood as vampire would come from mixed concoction of all the ones he loved most.
It didn’t taste metallic. The thick consistency was strange, but not unpleasant. It was sweet, almost floral, but the taste was unique and… And absolutely delicious.
He had to stop himself from downing the entire cup. The sweetness lingered in his tongue, quenching a thirst Dick had not realized was drying his throat. Tingling warmth coursed through his veins, the magic spreading through his entire body and soul.
Dick passed the chalice to Bruce. He smiled at Dick, touched the chalice to his lips.
“I offer you my eternal and unconditional loyalty, Dick. With this, I bind my blood to yours.”
Holding Dick’s gaze, Bruce drank from the cup.
Almost immediately, Dick could feel Bruce’s heartbeat inside of him, could feel Bruce’s air in his lung, Bruce’s blood in his veins.
Once again, one-by-one each of the children drank from the chalice. Each time, Dick felt their heartbeat join his own, their breaths filling his lung, their bloods warm in his veins. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he was finally given that which he most desired.
Alfred was the last one. When he finished the cup, Dick almost felt like a child again. He desperately wanted to run into Alfred’s arms — into his father’s arms — and embrace him with all his strength.
It was only when the elder vampire put the two artifacts put away that Dick realized he no longer held the dagger in his hands. Once the case closed, that oppressive magic lifted from the room.
Dick laughed. He bent over himself and laughed, and then he rubbed his eyes clean of tears. Joy and relief and exhilaration unlike he had ever known before filled him to the brim until he had no choice but to let it all out through laughter and through crying. He fell to his knees, hands over his mouth, but he could not contain himself.
He could feel them. He could feel his entire family connected to him, blood tying them together. They were finally there and Dick could not stop himself from crying. He was finally part of the Wayne Coven.
When Dick finally regained enough of his senses, he noticed how his entire family was looking at him. The younger ones seemed anxious, Damian trying to squirm his way out of Alfred’s hold to come to him, Tim trying to escape’s Jason’s grasp, his filled with worried, Duke and Step looked between Cass and Dick, caught between wanting to comfort his crying dad and following the example of his older siblings. Jason, Cass, and Alfred, all cried as well.
Dick looked over his shoulder. Bruce watched him with those beautiful eyes he loved, the moon’s cold rim lighting making his silhouette, which had already been enhanced and exaggerated by the dark cloak, even grander. For a moment, Dick saw Bruce as the rest of the world did; he saw a centuries old vampire from an noble and ancient Coven, an extinct form of elegance shaping every line of his figure, his stillness possessing a dignity few could ever dream of mustering thanks to the subtle yet masterful way he yielded his presence’s power, making his strength unquestionable; he saw Batman, standing over the criminals of Gotham, inhuman in his quietness, the confidence and the intensity of his blank gaze as intimidating as a loaded gun; he saw Brucie Wayne, the elite socialite with charming smiles that command a room, a man who with a few words could crush any politician, ruin any celebrity, destroy any career.
Then, Dick saw the shadow in the woods standing over his eight year old self. He saw the man who stared down at him while Dick knelt by the bloody corpses of his parents. He saw the man who rather than leaving him to his fate or dropping him in someone else’s care, instead chose to bring Dick into his home. After centuries of lonelines, this man chose Dick to be the first person he would welcome into his life. And now, after seventeen years, he was also finally Welcomed into his Coven.
Never in his life had Dick been in more awe of the man he loved.
Bruce, too, was silently crying.
He offered Dick his hand. Without hesitation, Dick took it. The two stood side-by-side.
“Sorry,” he said, feeling a little more self-conscious yet no less giddy. “That was embarrassing.”
“Not at all, Master Richard,” Alfred said. “One can be excused some sentimentality in such well-awaited occasions.”
“We’ll spend all night, and perhaps all morning celebrating, too,” Bruce said, still holding on to Dick’s hand. “We’re all happy to have you with us, Dick.”
Dick let out another nervous and relieved chuckle. He felt he was going to cry again. He would probably spend the entire banquet crying, never quite believing that this dream was reality. But he could feel them. This was real and he could feel them with him.
“Are you ready for the last part?” Bruce asked.
“Are you?” Dick gave Bruce’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Now this is about both of us, Bruce.”
Bruce’s eyes twinkled with amusement, though his words were as earnest as they could be.
“I’ve been ready for a long time, Dick.”
You sap, Dick thought with a smile.
The other cloak had been set aside discreetly in a corner, hidden by flowers that circled the altar. Bruce grabbed it, his hands caressing the folded fabric before unfurling in one single motion. With ease that had to come from much practice, he draped the garment over Dick’s shoulders so that like Bruce, Dick’s entire outfit was now hidden.
The cloak was heavier than Dick had expected. It was as if the darkness of a starless night and the responsibilities of being the Head of the Coven were weaved into every stitch. And yet, it was also comforting, like a weighted blanket on a winter night, or the embrace of a loved one when loneliness was too much to bear. It now marked Dick as Bruce’s equal in their Coven’s hierarchy.
The two men — the two vampires — stood at the center of the altar, roses and the baby-breaths and waxed dripped candles in elegant iron candelabras surrounding them, the stained glass framing the scene, the moonlight contouring their figures. It was a sight one would think possible only if created by the brush-strokes of a master painter, a perfect mixture of darkness and romance, of sensuality and tenderness, of love in all of its beautifully incomprehensible forms.
Alfred said nothing. The children stayed silent. Even the sound of the waltz seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was only Bruce and Dick that mattered.
Bruce held out his left arm. Dick undid the cufflink and pushed back the sleeve of the jacket and the shirt beneath, exposing Bruce’s wrist. He could see the veins beneath the pale surface, long and with gentle curves like an old river. Then, Dick held out his own left arm, and Bruce followed the same procedure with him.
They didn’t need to ask if they were ready; one look into each other’s eyes and they knew they couldn’t wait a moment longer.
“I love you,” Dick whispered, sounding almost breathless.
“I love you, too,” Bruce whispered back, his tone collected yet no less emotional.
With their gazes locked and never breaking, they sunk their teeth into the other’s wrists.
Despite their long existences, their tendencies to favor habits over change, and the great importance they placed on loyalty, it was rare for vampires to perform this Sacrament. In fact, many considered the act of two lives becoming one in such a literal way to be antiquated at best and barbaric at worse. For a Head of a Coven to go through such a procedure — for them to make their Coven vulnerable in such manner — was almost unheard of even in ancient times.
And yet, once Bruce and Dick finally agreed that it was time for Dick to undergo the Transformation, there had never been a question in their minds that they would go through this.
If the blood bond between the members of a Coven was close, than there were no words that could describe the relationship shared between two vampires whose souls were connected by this Sacrament. To call them partners or mates was not enough; to say they were were one being in two bodies did not adequately covey how every inch of their existence was stitched together for the mention of their separate physical anatomies still emphasized a distance that no longer mattered. No word could ever possibly articulate the profound depths of this rare bond, and so, out a mixture of respect and repulsion, to this day, it, as well as what each vampire was to one another, remained forever nameless.
As Bruce’s blood filled Dick’s mouth — it had such a sweet and rich taste, like a chocolate that melted in your tongue, like biting into a juicy orange on a hot summer day — he could feel their souls and their lives blending together. It wasn’t just that Dick felt Bruce’s heartbeat in his chest or felt his breath in his lungs or his blood in his veins; everything Bruce felt — physically or emotionally — Dick did as well, every thought Bruce had, Dick heard it in his own mind, every memory recollected or forgotten now also belonged to Dick. And it was the same for Bruce. The barriers that separated them were destroyed forever, every weakness, every insecurity, every experience, every ugly part of their beings exposed as they trusted and understood they’d never be judged and instead would always be understood and cherished. There could never again be a Bruce Wayne without a Dick Grayson, or a Dick Grayson without a Bruce Wayne; if one of them died, the other, too, would perish. Their lives were now inseparable.
And that, Dick felt — Bruce felt it, too, agreed wholeheartedly, knew it as well as he knew himself — was the most natural and wonderful thing in this world.
They released each other’s wrists, their gazes still locked. Dick saw himself through Bruce’s eyes — he saw the blood that stained his lips and the corner of his chin, saw his tear-stained cheeks, saw how his hair fell in front of his eyes in a way that made them impossibly blue. He felt Bruce’s awe, his love, could feel his thirst, his desire to pull Dick into his arms, to drink from his vein, to be tucked inside him with not even the lightest layer of fabric between their bodies. And Bruce felt Dick’s worship for the other man, felt the endless joy that threatened to explode his heart, felt how Dick’s fingers itched to grasp and pull at Bruce’s hair, how Dick wanted to have Bruce on top of him, obscuring his vision so that nothing but the two of them existed.
Later, Bruce’s voice echoed in his mind. Dick felt giddy at its sound, and the realization that Bruce could feel said giddiness only amplified it further.
Later, Dick agreed.
But that promise did not stop Dick from lunging forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s shoulder, and kissing him. Bruce caught him with ease, his hold around Dick’s waist. When so close, their black cloaks made it impossible to distinguish where one body finished and other began. Their tongues greeted each other with little reservation, their actions both passionate and slow, like a waltz being danced in a moonlit ballroom filled with roses and baby-breaths, waxed dripped candles in iron candelabras. It was the first time Bruce tasted his own blood on Dick’s lips, but it wouldn’t be last.
Truly, Dick would never tire of kissing Bruce.
They broke the kiss, but remained in each other’s arms. Blue eyes met blue, blood stained lips smiled at each other as pointed fangs peaked out. No more words were needed between them, but Dick loved it that Bruce said them anyway.
“Welcome to the Night, my love. Now, let’s celebrate.”