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It feels like everything ought to be monumentally different the morning after, like everything should have shifted just enough to commemorate that he got fucked by Bruce Wayne. But it isn’t. The world didn’t change at all. Everything just feels a little bit more, like it’s the way it was always supposed to be.
Dick thinks that this might be the longest Bruce has slept since he’s known him, or at least the longest time that didn’t involve being drugged or a head injury. Sun streams through the windows, and Dick estimates it’s at least 9:00. But it’s the weekend, and everyone can make their excuses later because right now Dick smells coffee and bacon.
Bruce stirs, and Dick presses a kiss to his cheek. “Mornin’,” he says as he pulls away.
Bruce rolls over and kicks off the sheets, clad in nothing but mussed hair and a lazy smile. He, Dick Grayson, gave the Batman sex hair. Put that in the Guinness Book of World Records, or on his tombstone, or on a billboard somewhere none of the family and their assorted villains can see it, because it needs to be commemorated somewhere.
“Mm. Good morning, Dick.” He’s beautiful. Dick’s always known he got a side of Bruce no one else did, except maybe Alfred. But this? Bruce sprawled nude in his bed with a smile and unguarded eyes? This is an embarrassment of riches.
Dick was scared that he’d go to bed with Bruce and wake up with Batman. That when Bruce opened his eyes, he’d see nothing but darkness and denial and more suffocating self-righteousness in their depths. There’s none of that there as Dick yawns and nuzzles into Bruce’s neck.
Bruce wraps his arms around Dick and holds him for a long moment. But all too soon, his arms relax and he exhales. “The others will wonder where we are.”
“Let ‘em wonder. We were both out later than them last night,” Dick says.
“And when they come looking to make sure we’re okay?”
“Let ‘em come.” Dick burrows his face deeper into Bruce’s neck.
“Dick…” Bruce’s voice is pragmatic, though with an undercurrent of mirth. Dick lifts his head in time to see the edges of his eyes crease in amusement. “We’re not wearing pants.”
“Screw pants,” he says as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He nevertheless rummages through the dresser to see what clothes he actually had stored here.
Dick feels Bruce’s eyes on him and sneaks a glance back. Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his pants. His mouth is slightly open, and his eyes are definitely on Dick’s ass. Dick sways his hips a bit and hears an unconscious intake of breath from across the room.
As fun as teasing Bruce is, breakfast takes first priority, and once Dick’s shrugged on pajama pants and a t-shirt, he walks toward the door.
“I’ll make sure the coast is clear,” he says.
Bruce walks toward the door and sniffs the air. “It smells like pancakes. I doubt you’ll find Tim and Damian anywhere but at the table.”
“Do you really want to be asked why you’re doing the walk of shame in your own house?” Dick grins and pulls Bruce down for a quick kiss before he heads out the door. “See you at breakfast.”
When he gets to the dining room, no one even acknowledges his presence at first. Tim and Damian are on opposite sides of the table, eyes locked in matching death glares, each boy shoveling pancakes into his mouth at a speed that probably isn’t possible for civilians.
Damian finishes first, slamming his fork down on the table. “Beat that, Drake!”
“Quantity trumps speed,” Tim says.
“Then why are you so short?”
“I’m taller than you!”
“At least I’m still growing!”
Dick doesn’t bother to get in the middle of these tiffs anymore—brotherly bonding and all that—so he just sits down at the table. The argument goes silent when he pulls out his chair.
“Morning, Grayson.”
“Morning Dick.”
Neither of them will quite meet his eyes. Dick’s not sure what he did, or if he just came in at the wrong moment.
Alfred breaks the tension by bustling in with a tray piled high with pancakes and bacon.
“Good morning, Master Dick.”
“Morning Alfred!” At least he’s not acting strangely.
“I trust you slept well?”
Damian snickers, but goes back to his poker face when Dick looks in his direction. Tim is still expressionless, but rapidly turning purple.
“I slept great, thanks.”
Tim chooses this moment to have a coughing fit. Alfred’s lips twitch.
“I’ll get you some orange juice,” Alfred says, and hurries back to the kitchen.
As he’s leaving, Bruce comes in. He sits at his usual seat, next to Dick, and Tim makes a small strangled noise. His face is rapidly deepening in hue.
“Good morning Dick, Tim, Damian.” Bruce nods at them in turn.
“Good morning, Father.” Damian’s tone is getting icier by the second. “Did you sleep well?”
Dick sighs and slams his head on the table. Bruce takes the coward’s way out, rapidly filling his plate and then making a break for it.
Alfred pokes his head into the room. “I take it Master Bruce will be taking his breakfast in his office this morning?”
“I think so,” Dick says.
Alfred sets a glass of juice in front of him with one hand, a steaming mug in his other. “I’ll take him his coffee.”
Well shit. Dick’s trying not to panic, but it’s not going so well. Everyone knows, Alfred is probably lecturing Bruce right that second on not taking advantage, and nobody’s ever going to look Dick in the eyes again. He’ll probably have to move to Europe. Or worse, Metropolis, and Clark will be way too nice about the whole thing but Dick will see the sadness in his eyes, and—
Tim interrupts his panic spiral. “Are you okay?” Dick realizes he’s been breathing way too fast, and that his head’s been on the table for a good minute. Most worryingly, he hasn’t touched his pancakes.
Dick lifts his head and fixes his breathing. “Yeah.”
Tim’s obviously way out of his depth, judging from the way he’s twisting his fork in his hands, but he keeps going. Bless the kid. “Are you happy?”
Dick smiles then, almost. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Tim makes eye contact for a split second and nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Took you long enough.” It’s as good as a blessing. “It’s just…”
Dick braces himself.
“Will you please get your room soundproofed?”
Damian chokes, then follows in his father’s footsteps and bolts from the room.
Dick sighs in relief. “Yeah, babybird. I can do that.”
The tension’s broken then, and they talk normally for a few minutes while Dick eats his pancakes. As he finishes, Alfred comes back into the room.
“Master Dick? May I talk to you for a moment?”
Dick stands up, squares his shoulders, and straightens his back. Time to defend himself. Tim rolls his eyes and gives Dick a thumbs up. Dick sticks out his tongue.
“Yeah. Absolutely. What’s going on?” Dick asks as they walk out into the hall, towards the foyer and away from listening ears.
“So Master Bruce has finally gotten his act together.” And miracle of miracles, Alfred is smiling.
Dick’s face splits into a grin. “You’re not mad?”
“You’re well past the age where you can be trusted to know what you want.” Alfred lays a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “But do make sure he knows that he’s what you want.”
“He does,” Dick says. “I mean, he should. I said… I’ll tell him.”
“Don’t hurt him, Master Dick. He’s had enough of that already.”
Dick nods. “I won’t.” And then suddenly, on impulse, he’s hugging Alfred. “Thanks, Alfred.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Alfred leaves with a smile and a nod, and Dick somehow ends up outside Bruce’s office, staring at the door.
Make sure he knows that he’s what you want. He has to know. But for all Dick’s protestations that he’s the only one in the family who actually talks, he and Bruce haven’t talked about a thing. So he steels his courage and he knocks.
“Come in,” Bruce says.
Dick cracks the door open. “Um, it’s me.”
“I figured as much. Come in,” he repeats.
Dick enters, swings the door closed, and clicks the lock shut.
“We should talk about some things,” Dick says. “Shouldn’t we?”
“There’s a lot to talk about,” Bruce says. “Damian may never speak to us again, I’ve never seen Tim turn that shade of purple, and Alfred just gave me a lecture about how I shouldn’t break your heart.”
“To be fair,” Dick says, “he gave me that one too.” Dick walks towards Bruce, situating himself on Bruce’s lap in the spacious chair. “We’ll make it work.”
“What are we making work, even?” One of Bruce’s hands is laid gently on Dick’s waist. The other is gripping the armrest tightly enough Dick’s surprised the plastic hasn’t warped.
Dick knows how Bruce gets. He handles, even thrives on unpredictability, to the extent that it’s predictable. This thing they have now? It’s the opposite of predictable, especially if you’re Bruce and you’ve managed to convince yourself that every single advance Dick’s made was the product of misplaced longing and an overactive imagination. Even Dick’s in over his head.
“What do you want it to be?” Dick says. That’s a completely different question to ask when they’re not in the bedroom, and he avoids Bruce’s eyes because he can’t handle all that intensity.
“I won’t ask you to give up Jason. We can be a case-by-case basis, if you like. Or a sleep-deprived mistake.”
Dick’s not sure how Bruce manages to miss the point so spectacularly, again and again and again. World’s Greatest Detective, his ass. “Jason isn’t…”
“You love him,” Bruce says. It’s not a question.
“Have you known me to have a quota? Jason doesn’t do partners.” The last sentence is accompanied with a ghost of a laugh, one that stings them both. “He’s more of a…team-up kind of guy. That’s not what I want from you. Unless it’s not—“
Bruce cuts him off. “I want what you want.”
Dick’s laugh is genuine this time. “We’re spending a lot of time talking in circles for people who want the same thing.”
“So you’d like to be…partners.” The word would’ve sounded ridiculous had Dick said it; after all, they’d been partners almost since day one. This is different, though. The way Bruce says it has more weight, and a delicious suggestive frisson beneath it. “I’m too old to be anyone’s boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend’s more of a Jason thing,” Dick says. “You could have a Jason, if you wanted.”
Bruce’s eyes widen, horror washing over his face. “I don’t want to—“
Dick cuts him off. “I’m not suggesting you actually date Jason. I can’t count high enough for the number of levels that’d be weird on. But, I mean. If you find someone else you want in your life. Let me know.”
“But you’d be the primary partner,” Bruce says. “There’s a certain level of trust in this. In you.”
“I’ll try to live up to it.” Dick’s long been all too aware of the weight of Bruce’s expectations. He feels the tension heighten in his shoulders. He’s like Bruce in that, in how he carries his burdens almost physically.
“Not like that,” Bruce says. “In that I trust your decisions. Not the ones I expect you to make.” And Dick wonders when Bruce started seeing him like that, like he was whole and complete and even wise. Obviously he knew. He’d never have approached him had they not been on equal footing. But it was easy to forget after spending so long in his shadow.
“Partners,” Dick says. It’s such a small word to sum up such a large concept. He pauses to lean back and look at Bruce, smiling. “Partners sounds good.” Dick has a ridiculous impulse to stick out his hand to be shaken, but realizes he can just kiss Bruce instead.
Bruce is smiling against his lips, and Dick laughs into the kiss. This is different in daylight too, without the haze of sex or sleepiness. It’s just the two of them like they’ve always been, except he can touch now. Bruce’s lips are big and windburned and almost jubilant, and his hint of stubble rubs against Dick’s cheeks. Dick leaves kiss after joyful kiss on Bruce’s lips, his forehead, his closed eyelids, and Bruce hums happily under his ministrations.
“You’re cute,” Dick says.
“I’m too old to be cute.” Bruce doesn’t open his eyes, just sits there and lets Dick learn his face with fingers and lips, the smile on his face evident in his voice too.
“You’re fucking cute, Bruce. Isn’t this supposed to be founded on mutual trust?” Dick is straddling him now, but there’s nothing sexual about it. He’s just finally letting himself give in to his craving for physical affection.
“I’m not cute. I’m Batman.”
“Keep lying to yourself.” Dick kisses his cheek.
“Brat.”
“What’re you gonna do about it?” The air shifts, and what started as an innocent pose gets rapidly more heated as Dick grinds his ass down. Bruce’s penis seems to be taken a definite interest.
“Hm. Turn you over my knee?” Bruce says, and Dick’s not sure whether to glory in making Bruce make a joke or if he should react to the heat that rushes through him at that statement. Because what he wouldn’t give for Bruce to pin him down and spank him until he was begging to be fucked.
Dick moans a response, grinding harder against Bruce’s cock. Bruce fucks his tongue into Dick’s mouth, and Dick can’t help but think of what else he wants in his mouth. He wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and gives into the kiss.
“Another time, maybe,” Dick says once he finally has to breathe. “Right now I’d rather be on my knees.” He slides out of Bruce’s lap and falls to his knees under his desk, and holy blowjobs, Batman, this is a whole other fantasy he’d tried desperately to put out of his mind. He unzips Bruce’s pants and reaches into his boxers to free his erection.
Bruce’s cock is just as pretty in the light of late morning as it had been the night before. Now that Dick’s capable of rational thought, he’d say it’s probably 7 or 7.5 inches long, curving up towards his stomach and slightly to the right. Dick takes it in his hand and gives it a few strokes, twisting his hand slightly on the downstroke. Bruce gasps as his cock continues to harden.
“Gotta be quiet,” Dick says. “Don’t want to scar Timmy more than he already is.”
“Can you please not talk about Tim when you’re about to blow me?”
“Can do, boss.” Dick pops the tip of Bruce’s erection in his mouth and sucks hard. He savors the taste of clean salt and musk.
“You look so good like this,” Bruce says. “Ought to keep you here for when meetings get boring.” He inhales a little too loud, a little too long as Dick starts to bob his head.
Dick’s hands go to his hips, holding them down. He moans around Bruce’s erection as he suddenly slides his head down impossibly far.
Dick comes up coughing. “Shit.”
“Are you okay?” Bruce says, one hand on the back of Dick’s head and the other on his chin.
“You’re not gonna break me, B. I just got a little too excited.” Dick gives him a thumbs up and goes back to work, swallowing as much of Bruce’s cock as he can and working the rest with his free hand.
Bruce tries to quiet the involuntary noises he makes, the grunts and moans that Dick’s clever hand and mouth coax out of him. There’s so much Dick wants to say now, and Bruce should be the one beyond words but he is too, because he can’t think of a time when he hasn’t wanted this.
Dick knows longing much better than having, and he’s lost in the taste, the rhythm, the shuddering of breath. He doesn’t think it will ever get old to take Bruce apart and build him back up. Bruce is laying him bare without even trying. It’s always been like that. It always will be, and that’s the best promise he can think of.
Dick looks up at him through long eyelashes, Bruce’s groans turn louder, longer. “Please, Dick. Please.” And in this, at least, they’re in perfect agreement. Dick hollows his cheeks, dives down until his nose brushes the dark curls at the base of his cock. Bruce’s hands go to his shoulders, try to warn him.
“Dick. God, your fucking mouth. Gonna come.”
Dick has a momentary battle about whether to swallow or let Bruce come on his face. He’d like pictures of the latter, and is sure that Bruce would too. But Bruce is in a nice shirt, and Dick wants to taste so bad it hurts. So Dick pulls back, swirls his tongue around the head, sucks hard, groans around Bruce’s cock.
Then Bruce is coming, and all his attempts to be a gentleman are lost as he pulls Dick’s hair with shaking hands.
“Dick.” Bruce says his name like it’s holy.
Dick swallows as much as he can, some spilling onto his lips. He moans as he licks Bruce’s softening cock clean. He’s a born performer, and this is his favorite spotlight.
“You taste so good.”
Bruce catches his breath and just looks at Dick, fingers trailing over his cheekbones. “Insatiable,” he finally murmurs.
“It’s why you love me.” Dick smiles at him, his tongue flicking out to lick the last of Bruce from his lips.
Bruce pulls Dick back up into his lap and reaches for the button of his pants. Dick shakes his head.
“Still sensitive from last night,” he says. “Gimme a kiss and I’ll be happy.”
Bruce kisses him, licking his own taste from between Dick’s lips.
“This what you wanted?” He kisses him again, and Dick practically purrs. He lays his head on Bruce’s shoulder and listens to his heartbeat.
“Yeah. This is exactly what I wanted.”