Title: Homecoming
Author: synphstories
Word Count: N/A
Rating: N/A
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Bruce barely gets in from patrol before Dick brings Damian down to the cave to see him.
Notes: Written for the Bruce/Dick Fest with Jill looking over the characterization/giving me inspiration in the form of a porn clip and Angie doing grammar checks.
[AO3 Mirror]
Fisting is a sometimes kink.
Bruce doesn’t do it all of the time he feels the urge to take Dick this way --to take hold of him from the inside. He doesn’t even do it when Dick gets desperate and begs him for it. When he’s reaching down to grab at Bruce’s wrist when he’s being fingered as though he can get his Dom to do anything that they don’t both want one hundred percent.
Fisting is a sometimes kink because Dick can’t always take a night or two off from patrol or work and Bruce--
Bruce knows better than to do anything that would leave him jerking between taking care of his sub and taking care of his city.
“Breathe through it,” Bruce orders without a hint of hesitation in his voice. He slips into the familiar patterns that he only uses while in uniform or during a scene and, as always, Dick reacts spectacularly with a shuddering moan pushing out of his throat. “I only have three fingers inside of you now. You can take more. You’ve done it before.” Bruce inches forward on the massive mattress, resting one hand on the small of Dick’s back and rubbing at the knobs of his spine until the other man relaxes for him. “Just a little bit more and then we can stop for a break.”
When Bruce squirts a generous amount of lubricant over his fingers and the spread-open pucker of Dick’s ass as he prepares to add another finger, he can’t miss the tremor that vibrates through Dick’s body. The well-defined muscles in Dick’s strong and scarred thighs tense up and then relax and Bruce hears Dick forcing out a hissing breath through his teeth.
“If you need me to stop--”
Dick shakes his head. “N-no,” he hisses through his teeth before his breath hitches on a moan and his toes start to curl against the bottom of his feet. “Don’t stop. Not yet.” There’s a flush working its way down Dick’s back in shades of pink and red and it looks as though it’s trying to meet the place where Bruce’s fingers and Dick’s body are connected. Dick shifts against the mattress and presses backwards, taking Bruce deeper and working himself --fucking himself-- on Bruce’s thick fingers.
Bruce doesn’t exactly lose track of time. He gets caught up in the sensation of Dick clenching around him until it’s a near-constant flutter around his fingers. He only pauses when Dick’s breath hitches in that telltale way that means he’s about to splatter the sheets with his come. Bruce lets the fingers of his free hand press into Dick’s left thigh and he’s not exactly nice about it.
“Bruce,” Dick whines, fingers opening and closing as though he wants to grab onto something and hold on for the ride. “I-I’m close to coming.” Dick whines, high and nasally, as he tries to keep Bruce’s fingers where he needs them the most. He pushes back, working his hips and widening the spread of his knees over the sheets until Bruce grabs at his hip and holds him steady.
“You don’t get to come yet,” Bruce says in a firm tone that always has the added bonus of making Dick squirm and sigh. “One more finger and we’ll stop for a little while. Can you do that for me, Dick?”
Dick nods and then says yes in a shaky tone. “I-I can,” he stammers when Bruce curls his fingers down in a final little test of his willpower that has him bucking and gasping and trembling seconds away from an explosive climax.
A few seconds later though, when Bruce presses a fourth finger into Dick’s hole until that stretched out little hole is all but gaping, Dick shakes his head and tries to pull away.
“Trapeze!”
Dick blurts his safeword out and then presses his face into the sheets as though he’s embarrassed that he’s had to use it. His body is trembling hard enough to shake the bed, but Bruce doesn’t care about that. He only cares about his sub’s well-being.
Bruce pulls his fingers out of Dick’s body with a sticky sounding noise. He wipes his hand off on a spare bit of cloth and then reaches for his sub, gathering him up in a loose embrace.
“It’s fine,” he says, keeping his voice low as Dick continues to shake and shiver in his embrace. “It’s fine. You were good. I’m proud that you used your safeword when things were too much.” He presses his lips to Dick’s sweaty forehead and rubs his lover’s arm until he stops shivering as hard.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that Dick says as he looks up at Bruce with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I could have done better--”
Bruce shakes his head. “You were perfect,” he says, and he means it as he looks down at Dick’s face and sees how his lover still looks up at him with such a trusting expression gleaming in his bright eyes. “I couldn’t ask for a better sub. Or a better partner.”
Prompt: #40: "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it." -- Oscar Wilde
Summary: Bruce’s "look but don’t touch” approach to Dick leaves something to be desired.
Notes: Written for the Bruce/Dick Fest with Jill looking over the characterization and Angie doing grammar check and coming up with the title when my mind drew a blank.
[AO3 mirror]
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"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it." -- Oscar Wilde
When Dick walks out of the communal showers in the cave after an intense night of patrol, Bruce makes a show of not looking at the other man or tearing his gaze away from the papers scattered in front of his workstation.
Bruce makes a point of staring down at the reports that he’s supposed to be looking over, staring at the sheets of paper until the letters all run together and Bruce can’t remain certain that he’s actually reading anything on the papers in front of him.
Working --or pretending to work when the original endeavor fails-- means that Bruce has something to focus on instead of the slapping sound of wet footsteps on the cave floor. It means that Bruce can look at the papers and seem invested in talk of crime when he’s really rather focused on the mental image of Dick’s sleek body because Bruce can’t content himself with just looking--
“I swear I had a spare set of shorts in my bag,” Dick says into the overbearing almost-silence of the cave. He sounds frustrated, but not frustrated enough for Bruce to actually look at him and risk being caught staring. “Crap! Don’t tell me I left my bag--” Dick cuts himself off and then a second later, Bruce hears the sound of a gusty sigh slipping out from between Dick’s lips. “Bruce? Are you listening to me, Bruce?”
There is no way that Bruce can pretend at ignorance. The cave is large --very large-- but it’s still not large enough for Bruce to sit a few yards away from Dick and ignore him.
He looks up from the stack of papers in front of him, finding Dick’s form easily as though the tie between them is magnetic and almost instantly, he feels blood rush to his face. Bruce closes his eyes, but it’s already too late for him. The picture of Dick’s mostly naked body winds up seeming etched into his eyes to the point where Bruce can remember the exact placement of the droplets of water making their way down Dick’s scarred chest to the knotted up towel around his trim waist.
“What do you need, Dick?” Bruce finds himself asking even though the words feel as though they are stuck in his throat. “I don’t know where your bag is, but there are extra clothes in the lockers. If not in yours, then look in mine.”
Bruce doesn’t mean to be so brusque with Dick, nor does he mean to turn away from Dick and return to his papers without another word. However, Bruce has spent too long imagining moments like these, scenarios where Dick is open and eager, where Bruce can watch his clothes hang loose on Dick’s lean body and know that he’s staked his claim.
Sadly, predictably, Bruce soon loses his train of thought due to the seeming personification of his desire standing so very close to him.
When Dick snaps his fingers no more than two inches away from the tip of Bruce’s nose, Bruce does not flinch. He does however; roll his eyes up at Dick with one eyebrow arched in a question.
“Did you forget the combination for my locker?” Bruce asks, feeling himself starting to scowl at Dick even though he wants to rub the tiny frown lines that furrow the skin at his brow where it peeks through the damp strands of the other man’s dark hair. “It’s--”
Dick silences Bruce with a wave of one hand and then leans on the table where Bruce’s papers lay spread out, towel-clad body a few inches away from the papers that Bruce has given up on going through. He starts tapping his long fingers against the top of the table to some rhythm that only makes sense in his head.
“You won’t look at me, Bruce,” Dick points out as though they are talking about the weather or something boring, normal, and not at all related to the way that water looks as it trickles down the pale golden surface of Dick’s skin. “You’ve been weird all night, but this is ridiculous. You’ve seen me naked before, so what’s the problem now?”
Bruce tries.
He really does try.
He opens his mouth to say that he’s respecting Dicks boundaries or that he doesn’t want to be rude but then the words vanish off the tip of his tongue, leaving him staring up at Dick and feeling the reminder of his ceaseless hunger gnawing at his chest. This close, Bruce can smell the spicy scent of whatever body wash it is that Dick keeps in the cave. When he inhales through his nose, the smell of Dick’s skin overlaid with that soap makes Bruce’s mouth almost water and he has to bite his tongue.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Bruce says after finally dragging his gaze up to Dick’s eyes instead of focusing on the way that water looks beaded on the other man’s dark nipples and clinging to the scant amount of dark body hair that is dashed across Dick’s chest. “I just have some work to do, Dick. I don’t have time to be distracted.”
Dick rolls his eyes and makes a rude noise with his lips pursed and pushed out. “I’d believe that if you weren’t on the same page that you were on when I went into the shower,” Dick says as he gestures at the papers closest to Bruce’s fingers, the papers that Bruce doesn’t even remember glancing at once in the past few minutes. “Seriously, Bruce, you can tell me what’s wrong.”
The corners of Dick’s mouth lift when he smiles at Bruce and he presses his left hand to his chest where he traces an invisible x-shape over his heart. “I swear, I won’t laugh.”
Bruce licks his lips, mind racing towards anything that he can say that will keep Dick from knowing the temptation he faces just by being so close to Dick. “Dick,” he starts to say, already grabbing on to a plausible-sounding fabrication. “I only wanted to--”
Dick leans in and covers Bruce’s mouth with one finger. “The truth would be nice, Bruce,” Dick says in a soft voice, bright blue eyes already brimming with hurt at Bruce’s attempts to lie by omission. “I said I wasn’t going to laugh.”
When Bruce stays silent, Dick shakes his head, muttering, “I knew this wasn’t going to work,” and then makes to pull away.
Bruce reaches out and grabs at Dick’s wrist before the other man can storm away. The skin of Dick’s wrist feels very tender in Bruce’s grip and he worries that he’s holding Dick too tightly. “I’m sorry,” Bruce says on an exhalation, focusing on Dick’s face instead of his skin and his frowning mouth. “I didn’t want to--”
Again, Dick cuts Bruce off and Bruce has to bite back an instinctive growl at that. “Didn’t want to what?” Dick asks, all but snarling the question as he shakes his head and scowls at Bruce. “If I’d known that you were going to act like this, I would have taken my shower upstairs. Seriously Bruce, why can’t you just... explain things once in a while?”
"I'm trying," Bruce breathes and then he just... gives in. He pulls Dick in close until the other man is standing in the space between his knees and just kisses him. It’s a fast kiss, chaste compared to the thoughts that Bruce has trying to ignore since far longer than it's been permissible to lust after the other man, but a weight seems to lift off of Bruce's shoulders for it.
Dick makes a noise into the kiss, letting out a breath of air that seems like it is forced out of his chest, and then he leans back, settling his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and using them as a brace. "Bruce? What did you do that for?" Dick asks, and the trembling in his voice is quite audible. "You kissed me and I'm not complaining, but -- Why?"
Bruce allows himself to touch Dick, really touch him, and his hands settle above the little scrap of towel at the younger man’s waist. He looks up at Dick and tries to convey the full depth of emotion that he feels. “Sometimes, I’m not very good at speaking my mind,” Bruce admits as he basks in the pleasure that comes from having Dick be this close and warm and content. “But I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”
The small smile on Dick’s face says volumes, but the way that he inches closer until he’s almost kneeling in the chair in between Bruce’s spread legs says something else entirely. “In that case,” Dick says as he starts to rub at Bruce’s shoulders, “I think we have a lot to make up for.”
