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Bruce puts down his pen and a moment later, reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dick's at it again; talking non-stop for the past twenty minutes, not even leaving room for Bruce to respond. Long ago, he thought perhaps it was ADHD, but the doctor he'd taken Dick to denied it. Called Dick high-strung and told Bruce that some people just were. It was fine. It just meant that sometimes Dick really started to get on Bruce's nerves. Dick even knew the effect he had on Bruce at times, had given him a magnet a few years ago with a cartoony rabbit in tap shoes on it and the text beneath it proclaiming You're tap dancing on my last nerve. He'd played it like a joke, but Bruce knew it was Dick's way of apologizing for just how often it'd been happening at the time. For a while, he'd calmed down, seemed like something was evening him out, but the past few months were really trying Bruce's patience. Dick was pushing Bruce right to the edge of hitting critical mass on his ability to contain himself.
Dick cut off mid-sentence and when Bruce looked up, Dick's cheeks were red and he'd crossed his arms tight across his chest. He looked both stoved up and ready to combust. Like someone had put a thousand bouncy balls in a jar and shaken it really hard in a vacuum. Dick sat, shoved his hands between his knees, and immediately began bouncing both legs, chewing at his lower lip.
Bruce took it back. It hadn't been this bad ever.
Containing his own emotions, Bruce picks up his pen and tries to get them through the rest of the wrap-up as quickly as possible. When Dick leaves, Bruce sits for a long time looking after him, pondering just how he could help.
---
The solution shows up in the most unlikely place, but Bruce does his research. He spends every personal minute trying to make sure that he's right and educated and prepared. Then he buys all the things he'll need and hopes Dick will trust him enough to give it a try. It's unorthodox given their relationship with each other, but not entirely unheard of. Dick being Dick, he's fairly certain he'll hear him out.
It's easier than he could ever imagine. Dick shows up post-patrol, already strung higher than a kite, flitting from one thing to the next in a way that makes Bruce almost dizzy. He absolutely will not shut up, either. Except the second Bruce stops typing and looks at him, Dick slams his mouth shut, fully aware of his own issues. Not that Bruce has ever done more than ask him to give him a dang second to answer in the past. But it's clear someone somewhere has made it very clear to him that he is how he is. So Bruce stands, sweeps away across the cave to the mats and Dick trails after him, curious as ever.
He shows him the soft blue and black ropes and tells him all about the research he's done on how, for some people, it calms their mind to be tied up. He shows Dick pictures of what he wants to try and explains how he only wants to help and if this isn't something Dick's interested in trying, it's okay. He makes it perfectly clear there are no expectations here.
It's both reassuring and a little unnerving that Dick hands him back the papers and goes to his knees. At first Bruce isn't sure what to do with it. Dick's quiet. Which, while that's the point, is also a little strange. Particularly since they haven't even started yet. He checks in one more time, gets Dick's signature smile and a cheeky little reply that indicates he's already said yes. If he calls him old man, well, Bruce will ignore that.
He works so carefully. Double-checks every single knot he makes, consults his instruction as discretely as possible. He's done this eight times on a training dummy already, but that's not the same as on a real person of different proportions. Also, his fingers didn't shake when he did it there. Peripherally, he aware that it means he's a little on edge about it, but that makes sense given this is new and a little strange as far as things go around here, so he dismisses it. An easily explained occurrence.
When he finally gets the ropes in place and stands back, he's honestly impressed. Dick looks nice all roped up. The black and blue ropes over his black and blue Nightwing uniform were the right choice aesthetically and Bruce is nothing if not married to the brands they carry. He holds out his hand to Dick and helps him up from the floor, holds both his hands while he shakes out his legs from kneeling for so long, then leads the way back to the computer. He sits and Dick, surprisingly, does as well. He's quiet and when Bruce looks at him, intent to ask if he's okay, he finds him gazing at the screen, a little smile on his lips, wavering slightly in place. He puts his hand on Dick's hand, gives him a curious look, and Dick reassures him he's okay, so they go back to work.
It's blessedly easy to concentrate. Dick isn't talking a million miles an hour and what he does say is efficient, to the point. It's almost like all that's making it out into the world are the words that Dick knows are meaningful, and for post-patrol that's exactly what is needed. Not that Bruce would want Dick to be like this all the time. He adores Dick just the way he is… usually. It's just so damn hard to concentrate when he gets really bad is all.
When he releases the ropes and has Dick show him his torso to make sure he didn't tie them too tight, Bruce finds he's done a fairly good job. He's actually a little bit proud of it. Dick leaves looking a little lost, still more quiet than usual, and it doesn't even take an hour for Bruce to start second-guessing himself.
Did he even have a right to suggest this? Why did Dick look the way he did after? Was he upset? Was something too tight? Worse, is he being selfish wanting this so he can think for five minutes? He wonders what sort of person tries to find a way so desperately to shut someone else up.
It takes forever to get to sleep, his thoughts swirling through his brain, and he feels worse than he has in a while.
---
He's determined not to bring it up again except it's Dick that finally does. The timing is odd. It's a rare day off because they both have to attend an event for charity and it throws Bruce off a bit when Dick knocks on his bedroom door and quietly asks to enter. Even more so to see the ropes in his hands and the way he looks almost embarrassed.
It takes an admission that it helped and that he's almost desperate to feel that calm again before Bruce takes the ropes from him. He sits on the edge of his bed and tries very hard not to feel things about Dick kneeling between his thighs, his shirt shrugged onto the floor behind him. It's a lucky thing it's black, though Bruce now wonders if that's on purpose. He works as quickly as he can while still ensuring integrity. After all, he's not practiced again since he did it last time. He's not even sure why he kept the ropes after having decided not to do it again.
Once he's done, he runs his fingers along the delicate pattern and wonders if maybe he should research another couple, just to give himself some variety in technique. He helps Dick from the floor and holds his shirt while he gets into it, helps him button it up because Dick's already drifting again and his fingers are too loose, too languid to manage the tiny pearlized buttons. Dick tucks his own shirt in and Bruce helps him get his tie back on, smooths his collar down, and makes sure Dick knows how to get out of the ropes if he needs to. Makes sure he knows he can come to him, too.
By the time they get to the event, Dick looks less drifty and more like he's already had a glass of Champaign. It's not overly noticeable except that he's far more relaxed than Dick normally gets. He meanders off through the throngs of people and Bruce lets him go, falls into Brucie Wayne, and within the hour acts like he's sloppy drunk when the truth is, he's had four or five sips of his drink. He keeps track of Dick peripherally, tries not to look like he's keeping tabs. Dick looks relaxed, happy, so at home in his own body Bruce is almost envious of it.
The longer he watches Dick, the more he realizes how much he likes knowing that he's the one who has caused this version of Dick. It's his ropes keeping Dick grounded. His knots and loops and patterns concealed under Dick's shirt. I surges something inside him he's not quite prepared to deal with and by the time they get home, he's annoyed at himself, impatient to free Dick from the confines of the ropes. He wants to get his slimy fingers off of Dick. Feels gross for some of the things he thought while watching him make his way through the ballroom.
Dick is not his. He's not even his Robin anymore. He has no claim and it's wrong to think about him that way.
He does what he needs to. He lets Dick take off his shirt and quickly removes the ropes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. His touches are cursory, his gaze just ensuring Dick's not rubbed raw or bruised from what he did. Even when Dick hangs around for a bit, Bruce feels impatient, on edge. He wants Dick to leave so he can get on with being angry with himself instead of pretending to be okay.
When he leaves, Bruce goes to the cave and puts the ropes back, spends the rest of the evening beating the shit out of the punching bag, trying desperately to make the hollow sucking wound of his anger go the hell away. He goes to bed angry. Wakes up irritable. It ruins the whole next day and he has to address it with himself, tells himself he's just angry because he absolutely should not be thinking possessive thoughts about Dick. He assesses the situation coldly, from the outside, comes up with nothing much of use, and just tells himself to get the hell over it.
He does by the next morning, because Bruce is nothing if not efficient.
---
Bruce puts it off as long as he can, but he sees Dick looking toward where he's stored the ropes. Every single time Dick starts running his mouth, starts flitting around, he comes to a complete standstill at some point and stares toward the small box at the edge of the training mats. It takes him a minute to reengage after that, as though his systems have attempted to reboot, and within minutes he's back to the ceaseless talking, the endless path between chair and table that traps him into the area behind Bruce. It's like his entire being is screaming for him to give in and Bruce starts to think the only reason he's not asking is because he's figured out Bruce is grumpy afterward. Which… just isn't fair. If it's helping him, then good. Bruce isn't angry about doing it, isn't angry at Dick. He's just ticked off about his own thought processes. Dick has no control over those and reasonably, he shouldn't be punished for Bruce's own shortcomings.
So he takes out the ropes himself on the next particularly bad evening and it almost takes his breath away how quickly Dick goes down on his knees for him. It's not elegant. He drops like someone cut his strings, sits there at Bruce's feet almost panting. His cheeks are wet when Bruce stoops to put the first bit around his chest and he has to stop to check in. Dick outright begs him not to stop, pleads with him that it helps and he just wants his mind to shut up for five minutes. He's outright crying by the time Bruce gets back to work, feeling helpless to make it better besides finishing getting him harnessed up. He tries another pattern this time, brings pieces of it down around Dick's thighs and frames his crotch with it. The internet has told him it's even more grounding because of how close to pain it could potentially be but isn't. He's exceedingly careful not to touch anything he shouldn't and to still make sure he's not hurting Dick in the process.
Dick doesn't even want to get up when he's done, but Bruce encourages him to, if only because he's worried about him kneeling for so long. When he sits down, Dick pulls his chair right up against Bruce's, sits so their touching thigh to shoulder, leans into him and stays there.
It's a full half hour before Bruce realizes Dick is breathing a little rapidly and takes a moment to assess the situation. It's almost a shock to find that Dick's hard in his suit, cock obscenely obviously outlined. In the few seconds he's stuck staring, he watches as pre-cum dampens the cloth tight around the tip of Dick's cock. It glistens there wetly and something possessive roars inside Bruce, makes him want to take claim over what's happening. He shoves it away, tells himself it's just the position of the ropes, that he'll have to be more careful next time not to excite Dick. He goes back to typing and pointedly ignores when Dick shifts, puts his hand between his legs, pressed to the chair, and leans heavily against his own wrist. Dick thinks he's being sneaky, but Bruce used to be a master of trying to hide when he was so horny he was about to lose control. Dick may as well be jerking off for all the good it's doing him to be lightly rocking his hips against his own wrist every few seconds instead.
He says nothing. It's not Dick's fault he's so turned on.
He takes Dick out of the harness maybe twenty minutes later, too distracted by how outright desperate Dick has become. It takes considerable effort not to look or accidentally brush past certain parts of Dick while he removes the ropes. He hints that Dick should go use the restroom and once he's gone, Bruce has to resist breaking half the things he owns because nothing in him can come to terms with the sick part of him that wants to stake claim over Dick's arousal. He wants it to be his fault. That's not what Dick signed up for and it's so beyond wrong Bruce doesn't even know what to do with himself.
When Dick goes home for the night Bruce tells himself he's researching things like how to platonically give someone a hand sexually for Dick's sake. An hour later it's difficult to manage to convince his brain of that when he has his hand stuffed down his pants, going to town on his cock, his breathing harsh and his hips bucking. He messes his pants when he cums, sits there and does it on purpose, grunting through his orgasm and tries to reason with himself that he's making himself suffer the indignity of messing his pants to make up for how aroused his searches made him.
Sleep refuses to come to him when he lays down because all he sees behind his eyelids is Dick, all bound up, so achingly hard he can't help but hump his own wrist. He hates himself for that. Hates himself for what he's becoming all because he couldn’t put up with Dick's babbling and flitting.
He feels sick and groggy when he wakes up and it takes considerable effort to go out on patrol in the evening. By the time midnight rolls around, he's full-blown sick and he puts himself to bed and rolls there in misery. God's making him pay for the way he's been thinking, that's all there is to it.
---
It's a week exactly before Dick shows back up and wordlessly holds out the ropes to Bruce. He considers telling Dick he won’t do it again for all of three seconds before he gives in. For all he tells the world he's strong, he is an exceedingly weak man when it comes to this. He tells himself he'll just do it the way he did the first few times but Dick's quiet voice asks him for the same pattern as last time and Bruce is helpless to deny him. His hands shake a little and he has to resist pulling away like he's been burned when his knuckles brush against Dick's crotch. He's already getting hard. It's impossible to ignore this close and Bruce has to finish up in the front as quickly as he can not to give himself away. He's not unaffected and it feels like the world's ending to know he lacks this much control.
He's read all the articles. Dozens of papers. Hundreds of forum posts. Eight books. He is supposed to be in control. And yet… he isn't.
This time when he tries to coax Dick to get up, Dick just shakes his head and stays where he is, sits and drifts, swaying slightly on his knees. Bruce starts to leave him there, but he can't even move his feet. He can't ignore the person he's bound up. It's kind of in the rules. Unless they agreed to leave Dick alone beforehand, he can't just walk away. So he busies himself in the area, cleans up things they've let pile up, keeps an eye on Dick as he moves around on the mats.
It doesn't take long for him to find himself standing in one place, watching Dick. He's so pretty. All roped up and gorgeous, his knees spread so wide, his hands on the floor slightly behind him, hips rocked forward and stilled there. His cock is perhaps the most prominent part of the image, already leaking, making his suit glisten, completely outlined in the material.
He isn't sure what he's thinking. Maybe he isn't. He hates himself even as he kneels next to Dick and makes his offer. Dick's hips jerk and he whines, begs for Bruce's help, and he tells himself it's impossible to say no to Dick Grayson. Even as he unzips him and frees his aching cock the air, he lies to himself.
Bruce tries, he really, truly does. Tries so desperately not to feel anything about what he's doing. But by the time Dick cums over his fist, he's damn near ready to cum in his own suit. It's only the way his suit is made that keeps it from being obvious. He sits there with Dick, holding him against his chest, and fights with his own body until he's calmed down enough he's not a detriment to his own suit.
When he frees Dick, he feels shame. He should have had the control not to be aroused by helping Dick with this. Should have found a way around his own emotion by now. Should have considered what he was doing before he did it and realized where he'd end up before they ended up here.
For one fraught moment, Bruce considers telling Dick about all of his shame, telling him they have to stop because he can't control himself. It's only how happy Dick looks that keeps his mouth closed.
If they need an entirely new weight bench an hour later, Bruce tells himself it's unrelated.
---
The first inkling he gets that Dick has noticed is two sessions later. Dick sticks around longer, refuses to leave when he normally would. At first Bruce thinks it's because he's still floaty and a unique kind of natural high from what they're doing, but after an hour passes and Dick's still following along after him like a lost dog, he thinks for sure it has to be something else The thing he, he just needs Dick to leave. He feels itchy and terrible inside and he's angrier than usual at himself because even with Dick here, he required a visit to the restroom to relieve his very uncomfortable problem. Dick's also not giving him time for brooding. He's disappeared for all of five minutes only to reappear with a little plate of Alfred's cookies and a big jug of ice water. Plus, he generally won't stop touching Bruce.
He feels like he's going to explode. He's pissed off at himself and he wants to give Dick the whole damn world, but he needs a fucking minute. Just one goddamned minute to be properly angry with himself. He gets in the shower because he doesn't know what else to do or where else to go that Dick won't follow him. It takes everything in him no to outright punch the damn wall when he's alone. Instead he just turns up the water and rampages his way through his shower. He knows he has to look like a toddler pitching a fit in the shower, but he can't seem to stop it from clawing its way up inside him.
He has to little self-control these days. He can't stop wanting to touch Dick or himself. Can't stop staring at him while he's bound up and kneeling in front of him and wanting to use all the claiming words in the world. He's a fucking mess and he's got to get his shit straight if he's going to be good to Dick.
Dick's gone when he comes out, a little note on his keyboard telling him he should go rest and he's sorry he had to bail but something's come up in Blüdhaven.
Bruce sits down and does his research. He joins a BDSM forum and poses his question to the people online and it quickly becomes startlingly obvious he's backed himself into a messy corner. They aren't judging him but they make it clear that he's in a Dom/sub relationship already and that it's been a bit under negotiated in some ways. They help him lay out how to make boundaries for both of them but also encourage him to let himself feel the things he does, that all he owes his partner is to be truthful about what's going on.
It resonates with Bruce that all he has to do is be honest. That the only thing standing between him and not feeling like this anymore is telling Dick what's going on.
Someone else comments with a link to a thread about sub drop and Dom drop and then messages him to tell him he should probably spend a few minutes reading the article. He reads through the first part, utterly convinced he's reading it to see what he needs to look out for with Dick. Then he reads the second half and has to sit with the idea that it describes what's been happening to him down to nearly the letter. That part's harder to deal with because it means asking Dick for things afterward.
He reads it again and again and then looks up even more information and starts to realize Dick already has him figured out. He wouldn't leave because he was trying to provide aftercare for Bruce, but all he was doing was pushing him away. The sigh that leaves his lips is heavy, weary, and he promises himself he'll do better. Be better.
Sleep is easier when it comes than it has been in a long time.
---
He's ready when Dick shows up the next day. The ropes are sitting on the table behind his chair and he sees the instant Dick notices them, the way he can't stop staring at them. It takes considerable effort to sit Dick down and talk to him first. He tells him everything, lays all his shame and anger and self-blame on the table and then tells Dick how much he likes doing this for him, with him, it's just… that he wants more. Needs more. He wants Dick to know he's not just a disinterested party in this; that he never has been. Wants him to know that he doesn't want to keep being angry with himself afterward.
It tastes so achingly little for Dick to just give him the brightest smile and settle on his lap, frame his face, and tell him it's okay. He kisses him and whispers all his affections to Bruce, showing him everything he feels in return for Bruce's openness and it's so much more that Bruce expected it would be. It's blindingly clear that Dick loves him; that he nearly always has. If Bruce lets it be, it'll be unsettling. He doesn't let it land that way, though, makes certain it hits him exactly how it's meant to because he owes both of them that much.
They talk about what they both want out of it when they do this and then talk about what they want outside of it and Bruce thinks it's the most honest he's ever been with someone in his entire life. The thing is, Dick still looks at him like the sun rises and sets in him, and while Bruce doesn't entirely understand, he can't say it doesn't feel good.
When he next picks up the ropes, when he watches Dick go to his knees, it's the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and he knows he's allowed to watch it and enjoy it in every way. For one glorious minute, he stands over him, ropes stretched between his hands, and he feels powerful. It's entirely different than it is out in the field. Different than it's been any other time. Dick's handed him this control and he knows how much Dick wants it now. There's no guesswork and, as such, no self-blame.
He's just as careful as always, but he lets his fingers touch now. Every weave and loop is a brush against Dick's body as much as it is the settling of a rope. By the time he gets to Dick's groin, he's hard and Bruce takes the time once the ropes are in place to touch him, a gentle brush of his fingers over the rigid length of it. He touches until Dick's panting, until his hips are jerking against his touch, and then he frees him from his suit and helps him spill across the mats.
Leaving his cock out is intentional, as is helping him stand and leading him with one well-placed finger in his harness back to the computer. When he settles, he tugs Dick onto his lap, and he settles beneath him, lets himself relax as much as Dick does, sits and stares up at Dick's gorgeous, placid face. He's settled fully into his place and Bruce is happy to have him doing it sitting astride him on the chair. His touch is minimal, gentle, build only to settle Dick any time he starts shifting.
Dick stays down for almost an hour before he starts rocking on Bruce's lap, before his fingers dig into Bruce's shoulders, his body refusing to settle anymore. It's only when Dick shifts back a bit that Bruce realizes he's so hard he's leaked all over the front of Bruce's pants, is stringing pre-cum between them. It's fitting, really, that his own cock is rigid and aching in his suit. He fingers the ropes, studies Dick. His silence asks his questions for him because Dick tells him he wants to keep them on and it's so laughably easy from there. He undoes his suit and nearly groans at the way it feels to be showing Dick how aroused he is. His head hits the back of the seat the instant Dick touches him and he knows there's only one word in the entire world that could stop him now.
Dick wastes no time, presses against him and clutches onto him tightly, grinding down hard against him. The chair squeaks beneath them as the cave fills with their little pants and moans, the breathy sounds of their pleasure, and Bruce revels in it. Hearing Dick getting off over him, feeling him straining against him, is absolutely everything. He has no idea how he held back so long. How he denied every single thing he wanted when Dick so clearly wants it all, too.
So Bruce takes. Finally, he takes. He holds Dick's ass and kneads the flesh he's longed to touch. He kisses him and holds him and rocks so desperately against him. And it's like Dick knows everything he needs exactly as he needs it. The words he whispers in his ear, the little pepperings of praise and adoration. Telling him he's done so good for him, given him everything he needs, that he feels so good against him. His words aren't just to fill the silence anymore; now they're built to fill Bruce's heart and they do.
When he cums, he holds Dick tight against him and gasps his way through it. It doesn’t matter that he's drenching both of their suits, doesn't matter that he can't convince his hands to let go. It doesn't matter because Dick's cumming with him, clutching him just as hard.
When he can move again, he takes Dick to the mats and has him kneel again while he takes off the ropes. He caresses his skin how he always wanted to, lets his touch soothe and linger, spends so much longer on aftercare it feels like a whole separate thing. Dick floats for longer afterward, looks both tired and bone-deep satisfied and Bruce feels better than he ever has. He feels whole and strong and there's no voice condemning him for what he wants because he's laid it all out and Dick's told him he wants it just the same.
So when they're done for the evening, showered and all their logs filled out, it's only logical when Bruce takes Dick's hand and tilts his head toward upstairs, a silent question of what he wants.
It's the best damn day of his life when Dick smiles, nods, and leads the way.