Fic. Written for Te's cliche challenge. Thanks to Merhawk for Beta, any mistakes are mine. Constructive criticism very welcome. Tim/Dick. ish.
His peripheral vision was wider than before, he noted absently, watching the flicker of Tim shifting slightly in the corner of his eye.
Dick turned away from the mirror. The costume just looked...sat...wrong. Even unzipped, it was tight in all the right places. He tried to fit his arm inside past the right flank reinforcement, adjusting himself awkwardly beneath the slight downward flex of the thin pectoral guard.
Dick's shoulders described an entirely unrestrained picture of depression. The scrap of mirror Tim could see beside his waist reflected the back of the Nightwing costume unzipped, an elongated arrow running down the line of shoulderblades and spine, and smooth skin, slightly damp with sweat at the base of his back. Tim knew, having stroked it soothingly, awkwardly, palm grip-sliding over slick moisture at the base of each sweep.
There was just no way it was going to work. The costume was skin-tight, in ordinary conditions. Now it was impossible to do up, and Tim was rapidly coming to realise, offered little in the way of...
"maybe you could wear one of Babs' old..."
"don't even think about it."
Dick's voice was the same, at least. Oddly deep out of that delicate looking throat, but it was. Something.
A light flashed on Tim’s utility belt.
"Bruce," he whispered.
Tim had said Bruce wouldn’t be back until morning. Stupid to believe that Batman wouldn’t come back to check a stranger, an intruder. Dick couldn’t remember having ever brought guests into the mansion, into the training rooms without asking. The bat was too much of a control freak for that to happen. He supposed that Tim, who didn’t after all live in the mansion, might not know that. What had triggered the alert? Couldn’t be D.N.A scanning. He was clean for that. Had to be heat sensors.
Tim had made sure there were no visuals. At least there was that. At least…
The door opened. Tim imagined he could hear Dick's careful breathing on the window ledge outside.
Tim walked out. Shut the door. Didn’t lean against it. Bruce turned, towering over him, looming just enough to get his point across.
"Bruce. Trust my judgement."
Tim could see that steel-trap mind tick. Twice.
"Who is it?"
A friend. In trouble. No. Bruce would want to help. Batman would have to help. Dick had said that he didn’t want Bruce to see him like this. That Dick didn't mind Tim seeing him like this hurt, maybe. He'd paused too long.
My girlfriend, Tim had been going to say. Stupidly.
Bruce looked hard at him for three seconds. And turned. And left.
Tim breathed twice, completely normally.
Then turned and went back into the gym.
Dick is standing still in the middle of the floor, feet shoulderwidth apart. It’s odd to see him this. Grounded.
He'd watched as Dick tried some flips before. Enough to know that Dick would have to retrain extensively to be anywhere near as able with this new body. Enough to know that Dick knew as well. Tim had watched Dick wobble in mid-air, and stumble as he landed. He'd seen the wrench on Dick's face.
That was somehow the worst.
Tim notes the slight jerking twitch of movement restrained in Dick's forearm. Fingers carefully not-twitching by a sweetly curving thigh. The costume isn't doing Tim any favours. He can see every curve of flesh pushing against the cloth. He notes with less detatchment than he would like that Dick has left the codpiece out of his costume. Tim supposes that he hasn't realised how - revealing - the costume is without it.
He hopes Dick doesn’t notice he’s staring. Somehow it would be worse to be caught looking now.
Thank god he's got the lenses in. He puts a hand up to his mask.
"take off the mask." Dick is looking at him.
Stupid. Beginners mistake.
Tim doesn't move.
Tim flicks the lenses back.
A concession. And Dick nods.
Tim swallows carefully. Maintaining his deadpan expression is more difficult than he had anticipated. And now, just standing here. He claps his hands together in parodic efficiency.
“Let’s get you dressed”
The old batgirl costume wasn't a perfect fit, but didn't look actively uncomfortable either. It had some kind of padding, or inbuilt anti-gravity, or underwiring, or. Something. Tim looked carefully at Dick's chest. Things were certainly more...uplifted. He noted the shift and tension across the collarbones, and flicked his eyes further down the costume.
Dick stood straighter, a little.
Somehow Tim thought that this would be easier if Dick were just some kind of twisted clone, or replacement from a parallel dimension, or alien dream-made-flesh. Something normal and Tim knows exactly how wrong a thought that is. To wish Dick could be an enemy, who Tim could zip-strip and lay aside like a difficult mathematical problem.
But he wasn't.
They'd gone over that. Dick had insisted. His dimensional signature is too accurate a fit. Scars and stories all check out. D.N.A direct match. He'd managed somehow to keep his Y chromosome. On the atomic scale, he was still a man. On every level, he was still Dick.
He'd just. Changed shape.
Tim's cheeks want to burn. They'd checked that extremely carefully as well.
Dick had insisted.
Tim supposes that had it been he who had... changed, he too would have wanted to be fully cognizant of all aspects of the situation. He conjectured also that he would have chosen someone in the bat-family to go to before anyone else. Preferably someone who understood the pressures of...
He has a moment of horror at how little they know about what's been done. Supposing it's contagious.
He shifts his posture infinetissimally. Just…Checking. There.
And Dick, looking at him with knowing eyes. Grin sharp and pretty.
"Believe me. You'd have noticed."
Tim judges, despite his chagrin at a moment of weakness detected, that Dick probably needed a small victory of this kind.
His lips tighten.
He is aware of his role, of the necessity for someone who. Who is able to preserve a reasonable level of calm. Despite his pretensions to the contrary, Bruce too often allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement. Tim, never. Dick needs Tim maintain control.
Dick flopped abruptly backwards into a bridge. It was too much that he was nervous now. Nerves of all things, butterflies at this time, seemed so...stupid. He should be. Something. Angry, tormented. He grunted, rying to stretch these oddly different abdominal muscles out along his back-curved spine. He ought to be the emotional equivalent of an overdrawn checking account. He figured maybe he'd built up extra reserves of angst-resistance somewhere along the line.
Nothing like threshold training to build stamina. Thanks due to Bruce for that.
"not as good as being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, maybe, but I take what I can get."
Tim's eyes shot up to meet his. That set to his mouth again.
Embarrassment, Dick realised. Tim was uncomfortable.
A desperately unmanly giggle threatened to bubble past Dick's suddenly tight throat. Tim thought he'd been caught looking at Dick's rack.
The frantic irony of it hit him like a crowbar in the chest. Elation. The enigma code broken. Lenses up. He could read the new robin, And all it took…
He had been looking.
The giggle bubbled through his diaphragm, oddly high pitched, and that was it. All of a sudden Dick was gulping and shuddering, and gasping after control. He pushed his palms into his face, feeling the finer bones. The same calluses. The shorter fingers.
Dick's first sob felt as though it were wrenching pieces out of Tim's heart. He checked himself, catching the impulse which had him stepping forward, arm half raised.
And clenched his fist.
He would not take advantage of this situation. Being aware of the vulnerabilities, the dangerously unexploited cliches of this situation made it his responsibility to maintain control.
He was steering dangerously near self-indulgence even remaining here. His usefulness had lapsed. There was no more that he could...
Tim stopped thinking.
Two swift unbalanced strides, and Tim had slid the sedative patch like a kiss of fingers onto the exposed skin just below the shell of Dick’s ear.
Dick's hand moved up to touch his, delicately, raising blurring eyes to Tim's face.
"that..." His voice disconnected as he slumped sideways into Tim's arms, an odd warm mix of heavy and light. His head in the crook of Tim's elbow was a trusting fragile weight.
Tim laid him gently on the exercise mat, and stood back.
Dick sprawled, too small on the dark ground.
Tim had a mad urge to lie down beside him, to curl around him and protect Dick with his body. It was a stupid urge. Even in this shape, Dick was still bigger than he was. Dick could take care of himself.
Tim did not need to stay.
It would be the height of stupidity to further this madness.
He had a physics problem at home that really ought to have been completed.
With the alarm system keyed to his heat signature, Dick would be perfectly safe here, even sedated.
When he woke up, he might be cold. Maybe Tim should stay. Just to...
Tim shut the window on his way out.
Chapter two/ sequel with pr0n.
He knew the moment that he touched his cock that he had made
Dick. Her. And trying not to think about.
What it would be like.
And not, not thinking about it or the fact that he was
an older woman
and kind of a virgin if you thought about it which he wasn't going to do.
Tim felt his palms tingle. Slightly sweaty sof.t.
His back arched and the tiles of the shower wall were cold against his
shoulder, and, the ceiling light was making his vision white with his head flung back like this and curves
and light off her skin, off leather, and, Oh, water was running into his mouth
And the lush wrong curves that looked… but made it all of a sudden okay to look at all.
A sudden flash of Dick in leather. All over.
No. Patent leather. Like a dominatrix. A porn star. A. Supervillain. so wrong
And boots up his thighs.
All the way up. So Tim could run his hands up the inside.
All the way up.
And touch his…
And touch his cock.
Tim's throat locked up and he was coming, water washing it away,
shower drops on oversensitised flesh,
Dick naked. Male.
Tim kept his hand moving, softly, moaning helplessly. He couldn't stop and his back itched, and the sole of his foot was cramping but he couldn't stop
because if he did he'd have to think about this.
and Tim didn't like what he thought he'd be thinking, when. If. and he came again, empty
and cold and wet in endless aching undulations and an excess of pleasure and he
wasn't even looking at the light but everything behind his eyes was bright and cold and
The towel felt wonderful rough against his skin.
His arm felt cold against his palm when the towel slipped from his grasp.
Tim sat naked on his bed, in his achingly normal bedroom,
and put his face on his hands.
"This is so fucked up"
- (no subject)