I had to get out of there—Babs was getting sick of me. I've been sleeping at her place for over a week now. I'm really grateful to her—some of her loyalty from the old days collected and she didn't tell anybody I was there. I heard Tim calling her a few times but chose those moments to conveniently disappear into the night. Barbara doesn't ask many questions; at least, she stopped after I didn't answer them. She's quiet enough, though our fumbling is a bit awkward around each other. Inside my body there were whirlpools that were only quieted by the brief stabs of combat and blissful forgetfulness the mask offered me. I went out for hours at a time now, from the moment the sun went down until the early hours of the morning, starving my body and trying to dissipate the part of my brain that held the memories of him. I racked my mind for something to do and simply got a headache. It's time to talk to Bruce, I realized, making up my mind and heading for the manor, considering briefly cloaking myself in the security of the mask but deciding against it; I was going as Dick, not Nightwing. I love long drives. The rush of the air outside passing my window purified the fumes from the cars in front of me. It's almost like falling if I just squint a bit. My insides hurt whenever I thought of the past. It seemed to jab at me from all sides, taunting me with my various regrets and grievances. How would I ever make this right? Bruce would know. Bruce always knew.

The manor was quiet and I let myself in, not expecting to run into Alfred—he was like a ghost in the vast dullness of the house, floating about from floor to floor, popping up where you least expect it. I headed to the cave where Bruce'd surely be. The dank stench of darkness and mystique was ripe in my nostrils the moment I entered, footsteps echoing.

"Bruce?" I wondered aloud, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I could not see anybody around in the lone room, though I caught the familiar glow of my old costume, leering at me from behind the glass case where he kept it along with the others. Except his, of course. The golden child. I shook my head—it wasn't time for that now. I walk around and search more—perhaps I simply hadn't spotted him yet. I paced around the cave, touching its cool stone walls, hoping to find Bruce. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair.

"Where are you, Bruce?" I spoke to nobody as I stood in front of the giant computer screen, which towered over me, dwarfing me. I didn't complain—I was used to it, not being very tall as it is. Most people don't know it but Babs is taller than me, not by much, but don't think she ever lets me forget it. I looked to his empty computer chair, standing alone and erect as though it were accessing his secret databases all by itself. I touched the back of it and spun it around in aggravation, completely bewildered and half horrified to see Tim scrunched up in the chair, appearing like some haunting spirit come to scare my hair to whiteness. My eyes flickered with surprise, a small hiss passing my lips. His arms were crossed in defensive stance, teeth clenched. The severity of his position made me wince inside. There was a noticeable sheen in the air as though light reflected off the shield of ice I detected around him. I'd been too preoccupied to realize he was even there. I don't like to be caught off guard, and I growled softly in my throat.

"Tim—" I faltered, a frown bubbling beneath my brow. "Where is Bruce?" It was a stupid thing to say in light of everything that's happened but it was all I could come up with at the moment.

"Day time business." His response was curt and sharp, cutting my soft lips with its sheer force. I knew Tim was cold but he'd never been this cold to me. Little brother... I wanted to reach out to him and I'm sure my hurt shone through my eyes like a beacon. I am also sure he won't care. And why should he? I was the one who… I sigh and bite my lip, hard. This was going to be difficult. Was there anything still behind that hard exterior or had in the inside simply evaporated—or worse, been smashed up by my thoughtless actions? I want to take him up into my arms and apologize but of course I do not.

Instead I nod, "do you know when he'll be back?" I sound so small, I do not like letting anybody overtake me like this. He turns away from me with a shake of his head and the sheer intense indifference and rejection of that move makes my retinas shatter, pupils dilating. I feel blind and drowning, eyes blurred with tears. God, I missed his warmth. He turns back around, his posture is completely reminiscent of Bruce and I cringe momentarily.

"If you would like to wait for Bruce it's advisable to wait in the study. Alfred knows when he'll be back." The sheer robotic quality of his voice in juxtaposition to his usual crisp softness kills me. He was suggesting I leave—me, to whom this place belonged as much as it did to him—more so, for I was officially, legally Bruce's son. Who was I kidding? Tim and Bruce were more alike than him and I. Tim is more Bruce's son than I ever was. Bruce's true son is the one who'd refuse adoption. A sneer worked itself upon my pained features and I struggled to eradicate it.

"I can wait here." I cross my arms; waiting for his next strategically placed blow to my sternum, sharpness penetrating through the armor of my skeleton to my soft, bruised heart. I cannot keep the sparkling of a teary oasis out of the desert of my otherwise barren eyes.

"How's Barbara?" His defenses were melting, little by little, though I knew once you got through the ice, there would be a wall of stone. I sighed. Barbara… she's crippled, she isn't mine anymore. Either of those things are something I wanted to declare.

"She's fine. She's Barbara. She's always fine." The words came out sharper than I'd meant them to but I realize that if he wanted to play that game, we could. I grew up here, Tim. I know how to be cold and unfeeling. I know how to shut down. I'm the fucking original boy wonder. Don't fuck with me. My shoulders slump and I sigh—I can't hurt him like that, my little bird. My little boy—Jesus. Mine. Christ. I love you. My eyes widened with god knows how many chemicals—I must just be malnourished. He stands and moves away from me and my body naturally comes close to his, breathing almost on his neck. I close my eyes, trying to sear into the back of his skull with my eyes, bore a hole through his head where his brains'll leak out so I can see what he's thinking and feeling. His posture indicates that he's conceded the dominant position to me, at least for the moment. My hand brushes his shoulder and I hold my breath, oxygen caught in my lungs, rapidly caving into carbon dioxide. The race was dizzying—would I succumb to unconsciousness before we spoke again. Fine, God, I'll give into your divine plan.

"I missed you." I whisper, soft and alien words echoing the darkness. He scoffs and looks at me with unmistakable scorn—I doubt sinners felt this much fire and hate in the bowels of hell. I am a sinner. I forgot.

"Dick, I don't want this from you." I am hurt, his words slice like blades but rightfully. He wishes to have nothing more to do with me. He stands, inches from my face but it's nothing close to romantic—it is Pluto from romance. The tension and confrontation sting my weakened body until I almost collapse.

"I understand, Robin." Impersonal, we can't be friends anymore. We can't be close as of anymore. I destroyed the foundation of our relationship and now it came crumbling down around me. I am left weeping in the ruins of us, brother. I bite my lip so hard, blood courses down the side of my mouth. I turn around and wipe my mouth so he doesn't see anything. If I feel and he notices, he may be hurt once more. I cannot keep hurting him; I wish to hurl myself into the pitch-black pit. He doesn't want anything from me anymore.

"Dick…" I heard him inhaling, breathing wavering. "I don't blame you for leaving. In fact, I commend you. I would have left too." I shudder briefly and spin around, lightning quick, hair whipping against my unstable face with unstable features. I looked at this small trembling boy hiding behind the Robin mantle.

"Oh, Tim…" I pull him close instinctively, my arms wrapping themselves around his waist with the little strength they've left. A surge of adrenaline is enough to complete my vice-like grip, since I know he'll try to pull away. My face is buried in his hair, his scent lulls me to a calm comatose state, keeping me from tears that were blurring my vision. My hair is a mask, my tears are a mask. I let them fall as everything left separating us falls as well. His name is upon my lips like a prayer, falling from my mouth repeatedly. Tim… Tim… Tim… What was I doing here, why was I touching him again? I just kept pushing it, hurting him more and more. I felt him tremble and wince—the boy can't bear the weight of me messing up any longer. His hands are warm and strong, gliding along my back with all the grace of an ice dancer. Doesn't he realize how graceful he is? We're both trembling now, and I sneer at my own tears, my weakness. Batboys don't cry, I chided. The sensation of hands upon my stomach is minimal—he doesn't want me touching him, of course. I shouldn't be doing this but my grip only tightens. I inhale the oleander of his hair, my breath resting in the follicles like dew upon leaves. I feel like a newborn, a lamb, a twisted sick black creature allowing this boy to shoulder my responsibilities.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry for everything." He didn't accept apologies. He wouldn't accept this. He wouldn't accept me. I love you.

"It's okay. You needed to leave. I know that certain things don't run mutual and in that case we need to terminate this." His voice was soft as I remember it being, and his lips were doubly soft working themselves on my fine glass-cut jaw. My eyes widened, the cosmos exploding on my palette. What was he doing? He didn't stop. No, he didn't stop.

"I-I know..." My hand weaved through my hair. "But it's so hard to stop, I don't want to stop…" My voice wavered into deep whispers and I felt like a lion before a roar. "Who said they weren't mutual?" My whisper trickled down into his ear, the soft breath of my voice ruffling the small fine hair that feathered the sides of his head. He tensed and I winced as his sharpness dug into me through his jaw. I felt as though I'd been stabbed and all the poison that'd been building inside him seeped into me now.

"Your actions did." Yes, he had a point there. I am such a bastard, how could I have left him like that? I hung my head.

"I know. I'm a coward. I'm sorry. " I'd flown away in true bird style. Batboys don't apologize—when would I ever learn? Tim's a much better Robin than I ever was. He looked me straight in the eyes in true Tim style. He was every bit as heroic and gallant as the papers made him out to be. God, I love you.

"Dick--stop apologizing to me, I don't need that. You're not a coward--you were protecting yourself and what your actions said still happens to be the belief." I frowned in confusion: what did he mean?

"The belief?" You are so brave, little brother. You never cling to me but I cling to you. You are Atlas holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I meant that I'm still under that same impression." His hands dance over my back—oh how I've missed his touch.

"Then allow me to remedy that." Then I did the only thing I could; I kissed him, long and deep and mournful, putting every ounce of passion my weary body could into my lips. My knees buckled to him and I grew dizzy, half from weakness, but mostly from the sheer relief of this forbidden embrace. He'd hate me for this in a minute. But he didn't seem to hate me. Instead he invited me in like a wolf from the cold, and I found refuge in his body and the way it melted to me as it always had—proof that all was not lost, that he was still Tim. Oh little brother… his warm seared me almost to blindness, and the softness of his mouth on mine made my heart beat wildly upon my hollow ribcage until it played tunes like the skeleton of a music box.

"Dick," He pulled his face from mine "you're just lonely. You don't love me." I opened my mouth to protest but it was lost once more in the affectionate heat of his lips pressed against my skin, they seemed to be everywhere at once and small mines of pleasure exploded under my skin. Love? Oh yes, yes this was love. I knew it. I was the one to pull away this time, staring hard into his eyes. I pictured myself swimming in the sheer depth and warmth of them, floating perfectly amidst his genius for all time.

"You're wrong, little brother." My thumbs attached themselves to the gentle lines outside his eyes—he'd get crows' feet when he aged. "I do." His response was to lay a devastating kiss upon my lips that blossomed to my burning skin upon his, hands slinking up his shirt and feeling the sheer heat and passion that made his body pulsate and glow, counting each delicate rib and hard muscle as it squirmed to my touch beneath the perfect flesh. You are poetry, Tim. How could I not want you? This was not carnal, as one may expect. I surprised even myself as my body's reactions were completely stifled by my stimulated mind whispering words of love over and over into my mind. Some of these phrases may have made it to the outside word as audible declarations: I didn't know nor did I care. My touch was firm yet gentle, fluidly gilding along his body, pulling off the impeding sweatshirt followed by the thin cotton t-shirt until finally the glory of his flesh came into view inch by inch until I almost melted. I loved the scent of him, the heat rising off his skin despite the cold air around us, I could practically see the ribbons of steam cascading down his body as his hands quickly stripped me of my top layers as well. I winced, and a groan of pleasure shot through my body as he sunk his sharp teeth into my flesh, attempting to devour me, perhaps to savor this moment forever, as I wanted to. Ripples of bliss pumped through the pond of my body, beginning at the top and working their way down as dopamine and hormones enriched my blood, sending shivers down my spine as Tim continued to work his teeth and lips upon my now burning skin. Excitement and arousal flooded my body, the kind I had not felt for months and I moaned, low and loud.

He's a tornado, he's a flood of passion, a natural disaster of love overwhelming me with his large quick hands that seem to be everywhere at once and that mouth.. He grinds against me and the friction on the denim of my pants is unbearable, I almost cry from agony and desire but his mouth muffles my cries, the hot serpent of his tongue sliding between my lips to ravage my mouth as he was ravaging the rest of my body and I wanted to respond but he was so quick and Christ it felt good. The mixture of sharpness and his soft demanding kisses created an unfathomable thirst within me. I bucked against him and his kisses grew deeper, hotter, hands holding me in place, molding me to his whims. Had he really never done this before? Each touch elicits a shudder or mounting groan from me until I am sticky with desire and the words spill from my lips between kisses: "I love you," my hands weave patterns in his hair, not allowing his body to be away from mine. The whole thing is a like a dance, slow and torturous. I swear he could be a professional ballerina.

I don't know what he's doing, how does he know what he's doing? He's doing terrible things to me, I want to cry out for him to stop but his mouth upon mine, receding and coming back like the ebb and flow of the tide stops me. No, I don't really want him to stop; I've never felt so helpless before. I love the dominance I've never before seen from him, his eyes clouded with something I hadn't seen before. I am a phonograph playing groans from my golden throat, hands idle and suddenly I realize what a bad lover I'm being so my hands move along his waistband, touching the deep impressions of his hips to his thighs. The clank of his quick hands releasing my belt buckle resounds throughout the cave and I gulp. His mouth is hot and passionate, unleashing lava onto my skin in blue fire and raw goose bumps. I'm burning, so aroused it hurts. Please Tim… just move your hands a bit more, god. Let him move his hands.

But he doesn't move his hands; instead I feel the heat of his mouth traveling over the rockiness of my body. I worry that my hot flesh is searing his lips and consider pushing him away, just in case the skin of his mouth will burn off but of course it doesn't. His lips are skilled and soft, of course. Tim is skilled at everything he tries. Too skilled, god. I don't even realize it but my hips are moving slowly with each flick of his tongue, breath caught in my throat as I consider the possibility of that marvelous tongue elsewhere. Jesus. A groan erupts from my lips as his hand finally touches my hot, highly sensitive skin. I blush at how aroused I am—it's hard for even me to believe it. Oh fuck, Tim's touching me, teasing me, stroking me. His tongue works its way into my parted mouth and I groan like a beast, like a machine that is stuck on repeat. His hands feel so good, my erection is leaking unbearably and I pray that he will not stop. My mouth responds to the slick warmth of his tongue, inciting a battle. My eyes roll back in my head, byproducts of the intense pleasure he was giving me. I feel this might be heaven, this can't be earthly.

"I love you," he whispers and I can't do anything but buck and groan—I belong absolutely to him, to his hot wandering hands teasing my flesh. He's playing my body like Orpheus with his lyre, drinking in the sheen of sweat upon my skin. My mouth finds it way to his neck in the darkness of my vision blurred with desire and I suck on the warm skin, groaning simply at the heavenly creamy taste. Why hadn't I done this before? Jesus, at this rate I'm going to ruin my pants forever. I don't care.

"Don't stop," I croak, voice grave with lust and love. I push my hips forward to his wanting hands. His hand continues its bliss upon me, and I'm so thankful, so thankful. The pleasure is so immense I worry that my body cannot take it and I'll simply combust. That's what orgasms are for, Dick. I moan at the thought and Tim's relishing it. His teeth sink into my sensitive mouth again, flushed with passion, bruised from his previous handiwork. I shudder over and over, and the heat of my entire body is like a welding torch, melting my sticky arousal to Tim's hands. They keep moving and teasing and stroking—does he know what he's doing to me. His name falls from my lips, muffled by his teeth and his animalistic passion. I've never known Tim to be so... raw, so fierce. This arouses me even more, if possible. Finally, after what seems like hors, my senses seem to have kicked in and my self-moving hands have to be forced to pull apart the obstructive fabric of his staining pants, barely bothering with buttons. I was so heated and stimulated that I could've simply shredded the material. My fingertips find the velvety skin of his erection, almost as good and soft as his groaning mouth. I run my fingers lightly along his skin but then retreat, unable to give up the intense pleasure he's giving me as of yet. Soon… Soon I'll return the favor. My mind flows to where this could lead—he's so domineering at this rate he'll be fucking me—Christ. I buck and groan so hard at the thought I worry I've ruptured my vocal chords.

"More…" I purr. "Please, more…" I've never felt so wanting, so needy in my entire life. At these words Tim's arousal twitches and I realize how much he's enjoying this power over me, the adrenaline of it. He can do anything he wants to me, please let him do anything he wants to me. He barely even seems to hear me, as my low voice doesn't register on the scale of human hearing. His claws tear my chest and release me from the aching confines of my pants, finally, as the last of my clothing pools at my feet and I kick them aside. His mouth travels along my chest, attaching itself threateningly to my nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh so I buck and twitch more to his rapidly stroking hands. I grit my teeth and thank the gods silently for my stamina—otherwise I would've surely climaxed already. I am a cornered animal, his prey pressed against the cold metal behind me. He's thrusting against me, moaning for the sensation and pleasure, and that maddening hand keeps stroking me. I push my tongue into his ear, rimming the shell of pink flesh, hearing his thunderous moan in the core of me, and making my flesh vibrate as I gasp from pleasure. He needs to be touched, he's craving it, his arousal pressed like a sword cutting into my thigh. I oblige, drinking in his groans as they are ripped from his throat upon my hand thumbing the most sensitive part of his flesh. I buck hard—I want more. I want him to fuck me. Please don't stop touch me, Tim. My mouth moves along the hard length of his chest, intent on giving him the same treatment he'd given me seconds earlier. Instead of being gentle, I bite down hard on his nipple, feeling he deserves the severe pleasure of it. Then my mouth quickly removes itself and I lick my lips. The smell of sex rises like steam in the cave. He moans and it's getting more difficult to contain myself. His hand quivers upon my body and I quirk an eyebrow upwards.

"I want more, Dick..." I swear I feel the sensation of my pupils dilating with desire and pleasure at this statement. He's trembling more than I am and his hand washes over my body though my twitching erection still hasn't found relief. "I want—I want more…" His voice growls in my ear and I moan and bite my lip from desire. My hand bolts to him, stroking his aroused, blood filled flesh, hot like liquid steel. My fingers get coated easily with the sticky sweetness of him and I raise my hands to my mouth, savoring the salty ecstasy that I drink from each of my fingertips, the sultry taste of desire dancing upon my tongue. More… I will give him more. We lock eyes as I extract the last bit of sweetness from my fingertips. My lips move slowly to his, locking them together in hot desire, my hand still upon him, stroking.

"Make love to me," I plead into his mouth, making sure he hears me clearly. "Please, I need to feel you." I am begging—this is new and even more arousing. I push my hips wantingly against his, my soft pink tongue flicking and wandering along his chest, neck, throat. A growl presses against my vocal chords, followed by a small whimper of desire. I am his entirely. My other hand never left his erection, it kept moving with my signature liquid speed and his body quivered with tumultuous desire before his strong fingers clamped over my hand, looking hard into my eyes. He doesn't want to come yet—all right. My hand moves to his hips, and he kisses me. Our flavors mingle and we both moan, low and soft. The air seems humid and tropical, fogged up with desire. I've never had this much desire. He's so strong, pushing my docile form over the consol against which I was prior to his carnal lust taking over. I feel his breathy kisses along my shoulders and realize he's at a loss for what to do. My skin raises and shudders at his fluttering lips. I push my hips back against him, trembling. My breath comes in jerky shakes.

"Please fuck me," a half growl, half whimper. A plea. My hands dig into the icy metallic edges of the platform, knuckles white, bracing myself. Beads of sweat and desire escape my hot skin. I am aware that I am begging. Begging is considered to be shameful in most societies but right now it's just the two of us in the dark together, in the dank cold that was transformed into a place of unimaginable heat and I can let my defenses down. A moan of ascent falls from his trembling mouth—I can't see but I know he's quivering for now it's traveled through the rest of his body and mine by association. I groan too, at the feeling of it. His momentarily waver in confidence is eradicated as he forces one, then two digits inside of me. I grit my teeth at the sensation, feeling thankful that this was not my first time and therefore I could relax myself and enjoy it. I wanted him so badly I throbbed with desire, I'm sure he could sense it and was feeding off of it. Soft noises of pleasure escaped my mouth as my hips pushed back against him, telling him silently I wanted more. Finally, he pushed his leaking arousal into me and my eyes shot open—I hadn't paid attention to the sheer size of him earlier, lost in the sensation. This was unimaginable; I was being split in two as he bucked harder and harder, half dead with pleasure.

"I don't know h-how much longer I can..." I moan loudly, the feeling of bliss coming in waves through my body as he thrusts harder and faster, close to climax.

"Don't stop," I hiss, grinding myself back against him. My chest is almost hitting the razor edge of the consol yet I don't care, I tighten my grip and brace myself further.

"Harder," I'm begging against, whispering his name under my breath. Tim... Tim… Tim… My jaw clenches and I tighten my abdomen, causing my muscles to squeeze around him. A loud moan erupts from his body at this, and I twitch, still so aroused that I'm half blinded by it. He complies, thrusting so hard I almost fall over and grit my teeth at the sensation. First let him have his pleasure, and then I'll have mine. He moves faster still and I'm amazed at his speed. His body trembles and my breathing becomes ragged in anticipation. Finally he comes, a low loud moan, letting loose a torrent of liquid into me in his passion. He stumbles back, exhausted and delirious and I immediately turn and capture him in a searing kiss. I am not always so docile. I growl and my hands are firm on his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees in front of me. He looks up at me in innocent questions, passion still floating like blood in his eyes, and I lick my lips. He'll understand what I want. I stroke his jaw and push a finger into his mouth, watching his warm tongue slip out and taste it curiously. This is just a precursor—I close my eyes, waiting for more, hips rocking forward slowly. His teeth sink gently into my finger and I open my eyes and growl at him. The growl is quickly replaced with a moan as he devours my entire finger, and I've the long fingered hands of a pianist or surgeon. A devilish half smile distorts my features as I push my hips farther forward. My eyes plead with him silently: Please touch me, Tim. Taste me. Suck me. My abdomen is glistening with a decorative sheen of sweat, and the lines of my hips seem to converge in Tim's face. His eyes are reflective, glazed with desire for me. He takes each of my fingers into his mouth and I moan at his soft, sucking mouth. My body feels empty without him and I realize this isn't the last time this will happen. Another bestial noise passes through my lips as I picture us tangled and twisting in my bed, him taking the brunt of it this time. How he'll enjoy it, writhe and moan with delicious abandon. How I'll flick my tongue along his length and taste the same salty stickiness I'd enjoyed so much earlier. Mmm. I buck hard. He's playing with me, teasing, me, hands light upon my arousal, tongue embedded in the grooves of my hips. I moan and I cannot stop, nor can I stop my hands from weaving through his thick glossy hair. My voice is strangled in my throat and my hands leave his hair, having to brace myself on the familiar metal consol as I feel the first sensation of his mouth on me, hands digging into my hips, grasping for.. something. It seems he must brace himself as well. My eyes roll back in pleasure as his lips engulf me bit by bit, devouring my throbbing flesh. His actions pluck shaky moans from my lips, culminating in a loud yell when his bold movements find my erection all the way down his throat, twitching with heat and the wet velvet of his mouth. I hope I don't choke him.

"Oh, Tim…" It's hard to hold out; hard to keep from feeling like I've been ushered into the white-hot pleasure that is Heaven. God must've sent him, I keep thinking. I move slowly but inevitably, building ever closer to climax. My sensitive arousal jerks with every breath, every graceful movement of his head and strong, callused hands. I feel the familiar tugging at my core as waves of pleasure overtake and I'm bucking suddenly, stars explode in front of my eyes in a torrent of color as I spill into his mouth with a loud, greedy moan. I hear him choke a bit but, to my surprise, he licks his lips, satisfied, before standing and wrapping his arms around me.

"Oh Dick," I feel him smile against my neck and I smile as well as I contemplate how well we fit together, how our hips jab each other and how his lovely angular face is a puzzle piece in the jigsaw of my crook. My hands sweep gently over the beauty of his sloping back and shoulders before resting in his sweaty hair. I push a kiss to his forehead, possessive and loving. The cold air comes back to us, nipping at our scalding skin. I whisper my love to him and wrap myself around his body, determined to keep him warm.