#dickxtim

[kaciart]

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[agentava]

New Dick/Tim sex pollen

Red Robin comes to slowly, then all at once, adrenaline pounding. Nightwing. Nightwing is there, and he’s checking him over, just like any time Robin’s been hit in the field. There are drugs in his system, he can taste them on his lips, feel them rushing through his body. He’s pinned, too, and Dick works at it, trying to free him, but Tim can’t move. His arms have some give but not enough to reach his utility belt, and his legs are frozen in place. 

“It’s okay,” Nightwing says, and it’s Nightwing’s hands on his shoulders, but it Dick’s voice, warm and gentle. “Your hearts pounding too hard; your fever’s too high. Come on, Timmy,” he says and Tim can feel it, feel his heart racing, his pulse thrumming, blood rushing through his head, his body… but more important, more than anything else is Nightwing. Dick’s close, his breath warm on Tim’s cheek. “Come on,” he says again, and when Tim opens his eyes Nightwing’s sigh of relief is something Tim can feel, not just hear, a smile against his jawline as Dick ducks down, relieved.

Are the Stars Out Tonight

[syntactition]

smutty Tim Drake headcanon, no regrets.

Tim gets super-embarrassed after sex because he’s usually trying to cope with something by compartmentalizing and ignoring it, so intimacy + whatever he’s repressing this week sometimes overwhelms him and he starts crying either during or after. He hates it but it’s hard to predict when it’ll happen, and it’s not like he’s going to give up sex forever because his emotions won’t behave.

Bonus pairing reactions: Kon probably freaked the fuck out the first time because he thought he accidentally hurt Tim. Dick would just get comfy and hold him until he feels better.

[timnottimmy-blog]

Next Chapter of my Fic I Wanted to Be Nothing will be ready by monday at the latest

Yay!

[timnottimmy-blog]

I wanted To Be Nothing (TimXDick fic) Part II

Tim knew he was busted, the thought's raced through his head and he could on to snippets of blurred words like Bruce, Dick and dissapointment. He felt agony from head foot and was upset to find a feeding tube threaded through his nose and down his throat. Tim thought the tube was unnecessary and reached to grab it but stopped when he heard Alfred's voice.

"Master Tim I recommend you don't do that, unless you want to worry Master Bruce and Master Dick even further, even Master Damian is far surlier then usual"

"Alfred I really don't need all this I just put my body under to much strain after skipping a few meals you know how absorbed I get into my work."

"I think the word is obsessed Sir, now that you're awake I'll call the others down and we'll discuss the procedure for your treatment."

Tim sighed and sunk as far into the sterile white gurney as he could and tried to lose himself in the sound of all the machinery.  Dick, Bruce and Damian approached him Damian suprisingly said nothing but he did glare ferociously at Tim.

"Tim, you are sick, we are going to get you better and you will not argue this point" Bruce used the deep,calm, stern tone reserved for dealing with life or death situations.

"Bruce isn't trying to be harsh Tim," Dicks tone was soft and flowing and Tim looked into his eye's a bright blue not dark and stormy like his. "We know you haven't really been eating for at least a month, we should have noticed sooner but we all just get so wrapped up in all of our hero drama it's hard to see whats write in front of us"

"How did you figure it out"

"Don't be stupid Drake we have what pretty much amounts to a hospital in here and Alfred is pretty much a Dr. It wasn't hard to diagnose you, it figures you would have this little defect"

"Damian enough" Damian looked up at Dick and remained silent "Anyway Tim we've Developed a meal plan for you 3 meals a day and 3 snacks, most of your meals will be eaten with ensure"

"Oh god" Tim put his head in his hands

"You get to choose the food you eat, and if you eat regularly we can take that tube out, no strenuous activity until your vitals are more stable and lot's I've bed rest. I've taken on the biggest role of watching you during meals, taking your vitals and what not it'll be a great time for us to bond little bird"

Tim wished he could turn to salt and crumble away this was Dick Grayson, playing the part of the nurse to some sick in the head teenager, no this was not how Tim wanted Dick to see him, not at all.

Dick brushed the hair from Tim's brow, Tim blushed furiously and turned on the gurney to hide his crimson face.

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

To him, Tim seems to treat every little thing with caution and wariness, no matter what it is — disassembles the motives and individual perception and emotions. Scarily enough, it's an inherent Batman trait. /Established relationship. Standalone. M-rated.

[protagonistically]

Fic: "Another Fine Mess" | Dick Grayson/Tim Drake | pg-13

Title: Another Fine Mess Fandom: DCnU; Dick Grayson, Tim Drake Word Count: ~1,750Rating: pg-13 Notes: Dick/Tim ficlet for Julieeeeee.  <3  Based off her beautiful art that I can’t find.  I suck. --- “Dick - I think that I’m going to have to call child services and have you taken away from yourself, and I’m being completely serious here.” He sprays the Windex across the sticky surface of the counter-top.  There is something slimy and suspiciously green growing in the grout of the tile on the back-splash.  Something reminiscent of the sludge of the sewer where Killer Croc lives. It curls and twists inside Tim’s stomach.   Before his face twists up in disgust, Tim mutters, “You’re disgusting,” loudly under his breath as he works the scouring pad harder into the porous surface.   “Yeah, but you love me.” Dick’s voice sings back. Scrub-scrub-scrub, Tim’s arm moves and cleans until his arm hurts and the grout is white again.  “Correction --I did.  I *did* love you.  But now whenever -- I look at you, I’m going to see the fact that you’re a borderline-hoarder.”  Tim’s thoughts spin from there and they aren’t pretty. He has to stop what he’s doing and wring his yellow-cleaning glove covered hands in anxiety. “Oh my god, Dick.  You’re going to have to go on one of those reality shows.  The one where people go through all their things and the second bedroom that used to be their child’s room is now a shrine to old, empty cereal boxes that the crazy person actually has convinced themselves that they might actually need them some day.”  Tim takes a deep breath, catches it.  “Dick.  Why would you do that to your family?” Dick’s warm laughter floats over to Tim in the kitchen, “You’re being dramatic, baby-bird.  Besides, It’s not that bad.”  Dick’s feet are curled over the arm of the recliner and his socks don’t match - his big toe of his left foot is sticking out of a hole.  There is an empty Pringles can a foot in front of the chair.  Tim knows that the older man is not wearing pants, because he can see no less then four pairs of slacks haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch. Dick clearly doesn’t like to wear pants inside the apartment.  Or socks.  Or shoes.   All of them are everywhere and Tim’s OCD tendencies are kicking in hard.   How can a person live like this? Tim wipes his brow with his arm and drops another food-crusted plate into the full sink of hot water and dirty dishes.  “Seriously, Dick.  You are 21 years old.  How is is that you can’t do dishes yet?  I’m going to explain to you how this works -- you have to *empty* the dishwasher.  You can’t just take out forks and bowls *as needed*.” Dick smiles and lowers the volume on the television set a little bit, so he can hear the younger man grumble under his breath.  “I don’t know, Timmy.  That seems awful silly.  Sometimes you only *need* a spoon, after-all.”  Dick grins at the TV when he hears the dishwasher door violently slam.   The television set changes, Tim can tell from the noise and the reflection from the window.  The dishwasher is emptied and Tim has carefully put away the dishes in neat stacks and orderly rows.  “And you can’t just leave an old bowl of oatmeal out, Dick.  It dries.  Like cement.”  Tim lifts the bowl out of the sink with the spoon that had glue itself in the basin with the dried instant oatmeal.  “See?”  Tim waves the spoon/bowl about in the air and they do not separate. “We could probably use that as some sort of organic bat-glu-” “No.”  Tim sighs and ties up another trash bag.  When he had cleaned out Dick’s fridge, he found a jug of milk dated six months ago.  Even though he had poured the rotten milk down the drain and then poured a vinegar mix down there, the trash bag with the empty carton was still being double bagged.  “Do I even want to know why there was a sock in your fridge?” “Hm.  Is it the ankle sock with the Nike symbol on it?” “It was.  And now it’s garbage.” Tim drops the trash bag with the other by the front door to be take out later.  He’s sweaty, sore and more than a little grossed out.  He thinks cleaning Dick’s apartment is harder than some of the gauntlets that Bruce made him run his first year as Robin. But more than anything, Tim is pissed off. “Dick I’ve been cleaning for over two hours, are you really not going to help?  Like, at all?”  Tim marched over to the man, who was lounging in his boxers without a care in the world - grinning like the proverbial cat with a canary. The leather of the recliner creaks, Tim has a mild panic attack about what’s hidden under the cushions, but Dick answers before he breaks out the vacuum again, “But you’re doing such a great job -- wouldn’t want to slow you down, Timmy.”  Dick smiles wider and changes the channel once again.  “Oh look; Idol’s on.” Tim is -- he thinks this must be what it’s like to actually see red.  His hands are shaking in their balled up fists - he feels his face tighten and his eyes narrow.  “Dick, I will kill y-” Dick’s baby blue eyes meet Tim’s and his smile is full of good humor as he leaps out of the lazy-boy recliner and grabs Tim’s face between his two well-calloused hands.  Dimples and blue eyes and stupid Dick Grayson charm.  “You, Mr. Drake are giving me your adorable ‘angry-badger’ face.” The younger man tries to pull his face away from Dick’s hands but only meets resistance.  Tim feels his face scrunch more and he put yellow cleaning glove covered hands on his hips, “I do not have an angry bad-gmmph.” Dick kisses him, as deeply as he can with a smile still pulling on his handsome mouth. “I like your angry badger face,” He murmurs when he comes up for air. “You’re still disgusting.”  Tim sulks as he lets Dick pull him into the bedroom.  “I haven’t cleaned in there yet!” Floor boards, clean and lemony fresh, creak as the two men make their way down the hall.  “Who cares.  Don’t look at it.  Look at me.”  Dick licks up Tim’s neck kisses the boy’s hollow cheeks and the corners of his eyes.  “Or better yet, close your eyes.” He feels his eyes flutter when Dick pulls him into the room, kisses the sensitive skin behind the shell of TIm’s ear, “Dick - I-I’m gross - Luh-let me--” “No.  You smell good, Timmy.  Like,”  Dick inhales the younger man’s scent on his skin, and snorts out a laugh and presses his smile into Tim’s sternum, “Like sweat and Clorox.” Tim huffs out a laugh as Dick's mouth makes his way back up Tim’s neck and chin, licks the boys chapped lips for him.  Small kisses are shared between Tim’s words, “Oh yeah.”  Kiss, “A universal,” Kiss, “Aphrodisiac,” Kiss.   And then more kisses.  Kisses that flutter in Tim’s stomach and ignite lights behind his eyelids and kisses that he can feel under Dick’s fingers, even though his lips are against his own.   Dick’s hands press under Tim’s shirt, into the skin and muscle there.  They work their way down into the waist bands of both Tim’s jeans and boxer-briefs.  Tim lets out another breathy laugh when Dick’s nails scratch lightly just under the elastic.  “So bleach and my ‘angry-badger face’ really get you going, huh?” Tim gasps loudly when those clever fingers just hit the juncture of thigh and groin and Dick pulls his lips and teeth away from the boy’s ear.  “Oh yeah, baby.”   His skull knocks lightly against the plaster wall when Dick pushes him there.  He feels it when Dick falls to his knees in from of Tim.  Feels the man pull Tim’s shirt out and fit his head under the cotton -- startles a snort-laugh out of Tim and then a moan. Kisses and tongue and saliva that Tim’s mouth knows, the skin on his abdomen and navel know now too and Tim gasps and knocks his head against the wall again when teeth catch the skin on his lower stomach. “Dick!”  Tim’s eyes open in surprise and shock. And all he sees is piles and piles of laundry.  The Appalachian trail of dirty laundry starts in Dick’s bedroom. “Oh my God - when was the last time you did laundry, Dick?”  Tim’s hand absently curls around where Dick’s head sticks out from beneath Tim’s shirt. “Close your eyes, Tim!” Is the only thing Dick says -- muffled from under the shirt -- before he uses his lips to open the top button on Tim’s jeans and his teeth to unzip them. Tim closes his eyes.   Before he knows it, his pants and boxers are around his ankles and he can feel Dick’s strong arms move him, to what he assumes is Dick’s bed.  Dick has Tim above him, bony, scarred knees straddling Dick’s chest as Dick pressed kisses through Tim’s shirt, bites gently at his right nipple and the sucks it through the cotton.   Wet, hot mouth.  Each turn of Dick’s clever tongue makes Tim forget about the abandoned trash-bags in the foyer and the dishes soaking in the sink.   Silky black hair finds its way under Tim’s fingers as he braces himself over Dick’s strong, lean form.   Finally, after what seems like ages, the older man works Tim’s saliva-marked t-shirt over his head and he’s naked and all Tim wants to do is feel Dick’s skin, bone and scars against his own.   He can’t take it anymore and he whines and moans and turns to lay down on the mattress, opens his eyes and mouth ready to scream at Dick to just get naked already.   But he can’t, because the second he rolls over onto the sheets and blankets on top of Dick’s bed, something crunches loudly, obnoxiously, breaking the moment of passion and heat and love.

Tim breathes in once -- gasps -- and more crunching.

“Dick, what the hell is in your sheets?” Tim stills himself, tried not to move at all.  It almost sounds like... foil? “Uhh,”  Dick settles his weight on Tim, uses acrobat thighs to pin Tim like a specimen to the bed.  “Oh!  Salt and Vinegar chips.  For a snack.” Tim let’s his head fall back on the mattress, listens to the light sounds of crunching chips as the bed moves and Dick shuffles around the 500 thread count sheets for a 99 cent bag of clogged arteries. “You’re disgusting.” -Fin.