[This time it's Dick that watches Bruce. It's one of the more difficult times to reconcile the two men he knows. The wealth of wisdom and experience really isn't there. The feeling of having just more on so many accounts haunts the bird behind the bat whose shadow looms so big over Gotham. In Dick's life, his mentor and the only father-figure he's ever had took out his every shred of anger on The Joker and broke every rule he ever made when he finally killed that laughing figure. The one that took so much from him, and then in a fit of despair, that same mentor tried to take his own life.
What would Bruce say if he could see into Dick's head, his life, his wild experiences. They were enough. Somehow through it all, Dick grew. He grew to be the man that his mentor had always pushed him to be. There was far less vengeance floating around after the person who killed Dick's parents finally did die, but it was his mentor that taught him not to harbor that kind of vitriol in his heart, that it would eat Dick alive.
How can Dick of all people communicate that simple fact to Bruce now. He can see that same fire, that same brutal force in the subtle dip and set of his shoulders, and he knows where it comes from-- Dick's been there, been through it all. He finds himself lost in thought when Bruce returns from his own reverie.
In fact, It all but startles him to see Bruce move toward him to sit.
Pushing back against the cushion, Dick dumps back the rest of the drink with a little less care than the first one and pours himself another.]
Yes, well, messing things up is something I'm well versed in and have been wildly successful at. I'm attempting this new thing now. I'm trying to start new, I'm trying to be open ... I'm not great at it yet, but I'm working toward a goal. I want to really talk to people and not shut them out, not only talk, but listen as well. Then maybe the next person I find myself in love with won't run screaming. Then again, who knows.
[There's a soft lift to his shoulders, where fabric touches fabric and they brush up against Bruce's. Dick notices the motion merely because it's rare that they actually touch. Being this close is different for him-- not with people, but with Bruce. It's been a moment, and in recognizing that, he allows himself the opportunity to really look, to taken in the other male's countenance, finding things Dick had never noticed before and wondering silently if he should speak of them.]
( part of the reason why heβd hesitated to come β why he still wonders if he should be here is the fact that heβs not the version of the man heβs known for a number of years throughout his life. for him, he hasnβt even met a young dick grayson β hasnβt felt the sympathy for a freshly orphaned boy losing his parents right before him and knowing how that feels in the moment and wanting to help. wanting to be there for him because he gets it, unfortunately. maybe this would be a little easier if he already had, knowing how to be around him. or maybe it wouldnβt matter at all, given the fact that theyβre relatively close in age like this. maybe it would be even more strange for him if he had a young dick grayson in his care back in his gotham, only to be with an adult version of him now. whoβs to say? as it stands, he knows this is more strange for dick than it is him. because of course it would be.
licking over his lips, he stares down to his drink again, having nursed so much of this when being shaken from bed from yet another nightmare of his parents death. sleep is nothing he finds peace in and he only really lets his head hit the pillows when he absolutely needs to. or when alfred reminds him to actually go and get some rest.
another swig, he finishes it and holds the glass there between his fingers, staring to the way the bit of light catches on the glass and he looks over to dick then with those blue eyes that, regardless of version, are so very bruce. )
Sounds like a New Yearβs resolution to make.
( not one he himself would ever make. but then again, a lot of bruceβs ways of communicating are mostly done through his actions and the expressions he makes. or doesnβt, in some cases. )
[Is it strange that the only reason Dick actually invites Bruce over is for the very same reason that Bruce might hesitate to come. He would never bring his mentor into his home. It would be odd and feel far too much like he was exposing some private, inner part of himself. This feels vastly different, for as much as there is similar, there is difference.
Dick would never in any million of a human's years settle on a couch with his mentor, and yet here he finds himself observant of Bruce, tracing scars with his eyes and noting the weighted lines where slumber never reaches below. The hollow pallor should be off-putting and yet it makes for such a striking contrast to the eyes that reach further into the caped crusader than he was ready for at the moment. Icy blue, and brilliant at the same time. There's so much written beyond them. Dick only knows it in part, but is deeply curious in the same way that Bruce tends to be.
A hand reaches out, and then drops when Dick realizes his motion. Instead he coughs, and turns to open the decanter and pour out another round of drinks for them both. It's easier to drink to the new year with a beverage in hand. ]
I guess that's something.
[Fumbling about his mind for a distant thought, or one closer by, Dick does everything he can to navigate away from those eyes. The alcohol dips and curls along the crystal of his glass. Maybe Dick didn't always spend his money, but he kept a few things from growing up. There was always good liquor to be found, and very nice glasses for it to be had in. ]
So tell me Bruce, what is your New Year's resolution. Is there anything new I should know about?
( quiet, he watches the amber liquid slowly fill the crystal in his hand and he gives a soft hum of thanks. again, the whole not so much communicating with words thing. typical bruce, no matter the age. no matter the version.
the question doesn't necessarily catch him off guard but it does pull a huff from him β a tiny sliver of amusement, almost, as he bring his glass back up to his lips. )
Am I not enough of an open book already?
( it's said dryly because he damn well knows he's not. the amount of things he keeps to himself β keeps locked away in his thoughts to torture himself with in private is endless at times. sometimes, the only real way for him to get them out of his head for some semblance of peace and quiet is writing them down in his journals. though it doesn't always work and sometimes he fixates over seeing them right there in front of him, but. bruce and healthy coping mechanisms are not exactly anything that go hand-in-hand.
slowly, he takes a swig of his drink and looks down to his glass. he's hunched over a little, legs apart, drinks dangling there between his legs and he looks over to dick for a moment. )
[A small bubble of a laugh slips from between pensive lips, which turns into more. Dick snorts, and then laughs outright at Bruce, because they both know how likely he is to share much of anything beyond the mission with the class, even if that class is made of one singular sensation like Dick Grayson. There's another chuckle that comes with being so light-headed as Dick realizes that he just thought of himself as a singular sensation. Isn't there a song... and that's where he cuts off that thought process with another laugh.
Shaking his head, Dick's brain flips back to Bruce. Dick gazes at the long, slender fingers that encircle the rim of the glass, deepening his breath so that the mirth dies down. When he finally does turn his gaze upward at Bruce, he finds those eyes again. They catch the edge of his breath, slide along his frame and twist his stomach into a knot, the kind he's unfamiliar with in this sort of territory. ]
Right, you're a regular old Wikipedia full of information. Let me just haul out my computer here and plug it in. I'm sure it'll come up with something.
[Dick tried to take his mind off Bruce by thinking about open books. Books implied encyclopedias, but they were far beyond the day and age for those. Those were ancient things that sat lonely and strategically placed on a bookshelf that might have been covered in dust if Alfred wasn't so damn good at his job at the manor library.
It didn't really work. Maybe there was a thought, and maybe it happened unconsciously, Dick reaches a hand over and pats Bruce's knee, sliding it up his leg a little before pulling away. A sigh follows along with the quick wetting of his lips and then another deep sip of his drink. There were always safer topics.]
How's alfred then. I know he's probably the same as always, but I like to hear about him if you'll share. There's times I miss his constant nagging.
( thereβs a glance to the hand that touches his knee, fleeting. itβs only after that he takes to staring at his drink he holds, another slow swish of it around with a tilt of his wrist. the topic of alfred has him hum rather thoughtfully. for as difficult as it can be for bruce to open up about himself, talking about alfred is a little easier.
a little. )
Fine. ( a beat. ) Heβs fine.
( not wanting to come off as dismissive about the man. he knows he can sometimes come off that way when he speaks, even when he doesnβt mean to. a lot of the time he doesnβt mean to.
slowly, he takes another sip of his drink, tasting the remnants on his lips after. )
Think heβs given up on trying to convince me to call it quits. ( batman, that is. the thought gets bruce to smile a little fondly, glass held between the tips of his fingers as he holds it there before him. ) But Iβm sure heβll still give it another try sometimes.
[They share that same fondness, that same smile when thinking about Alfred. Dick grew up with the man, and he was the closest Dick had to a true friend and companion half the time. He schooled him, taught him how to cut berries to put on his waffles and sewed up his wounds after battle. He'd long ago given up on getting his mentor to put an end to his night job. It was there to stay, and even with Dick's youth, there was only a few months of disdain before Alfred gave in to what he knew as the inevitable.
Turning his own soft eyes to Bruce, Dick tips his head.] He gives in, eventually, you know... but he'll never give up on trying to get us to take care of ourselves. He still calls me and reminds me to do so, especially lately since he knows I've been alone. The man is a wonder. You did good with him. You do good in general, Bruce. You really do.
[There, it's out there. The fondness of tone or facial expression doesn't change and while Dick knows that there's differences between one and two; it doesn't matter to him. The heart of a bat is always tortured and haunted, but good comes from it. Gotham is a better city with them, than without. The code is worth something, and Dick can feel the knot in his stomach spread into warmth. ]
( he doesn't know how to take that sort of praise and it shows there on his face. it's not that he's uncomfortable... well. maybe it is a little, if only because, again, he doesn't know how to take it.
staring to his drink, he opts to down the rest of it and looks to the empty glass he now holds between his hands. slight shake of his head, teeth drag over his bottom lip β he's mulling over how to answer. )
I didn't do anything with him. ( with alfred. ) He's the one who deserves the praise. Especially in putting up with me.
( bruce was a bit of a wild child as a teen and now, in his vengeance era, he's still as difficult and stubborn as ever. )
[It might still be vengeance, but it's there with that dogmatic purpose that Bruce can forge his absolute calling and Dick knows it far better than anyone else, living with his mentor for so many years. It all started somewhere and whether it be two or twenty years, the person developing within is still the one who fights to protect Gotham, even if it's to chase after the ones who are responsible for the worst night of his life. At least, this is what rumbles around in Dick's think tank as he mulls over the slender male next to him and his empty glass while silence wafts around them.
The smile still rests there as he nods, a slow, exaggerated down and up of his head. Dick knows that Alfred deserves a lot of credit. Stubborn is and will always be something that Alfred has to deal with, from one generation to the next and thereafter. Pulling a leg up on the couch bent at the knee, Dick directly shifts his stance so that he can look at Bruce over the bend. The alcohol is there if Bruce cares to pour himself another. If not, perhaps Dick will get to it momentarily to keep his heady buzz going.
Goodness knows it's what pushes him beyond any boundaries he might have stuck to before, in space and conversation.]
He puts up with a lot, and that doesn't really change. I'm sure you give him a rough time, but you care and he knows it. It's hard not to, and he's the one that cares for us, even through the hard times. I don't know when you'll find exactly what you need, but I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere.
[The hand that had reached out previously, does so again and lifts the stray bits of hair that dangle in front of Bruce's visage. Dick runs a finger down the other male's cheek and pauses there for a second, biting his own bottom lip as he does.]
( in the end β especially now at this [relatively early] stage in his life as the vigilante he's become, bruce being on his own so much is not a good idea. there's more he needs to be. he knows that. but he still becomes obsessedβ fixated on things and people he feels he needs to bring to justice. never mind the fact that sometimes he forgets to eat or sleep or do the daily tasks of taking care of himself in ways that aren't bandaging up or stitching together injuries beneath his suit. he has a tendency to become so lost in the thing β in the name he's become that nothing and seemingly no one else seems to matter. he needs to be reeled back in at times... reminded that he's not just batman, but bruce wayne, too.
being here β being around others like is... it's been new and an adjustment to him, but. he's managing. for now. in this moment here with dick. so when he goes and says that β when he reaches out to touch him in a way only selina really has in the past couple years, he can't help but close those bright blue eyes of his for just a moment before they're slowly opening to look to dick again. )
[It's that. That's the thing that Dick is slowly pulling into place. Maybe it's been time in coming, or perhaps it was the boost in foolhardiness that the alcohol provided, but it's that missing piece that Dick has finally latched onto. The difference, the man and the myth. His mentor will always be a bit more, a bit beyond Dick, but Bruce is real. He's made of the same flawed flesh and bone that Dick is.
Sitting there, with his hand on Bruce's face, Dick realizes the man next to him is merely Bruce. He's like any other of the titans, or vigilantes that he's known. They've all been different, yes, but each and every person broken in one manner or another.
Inhaling deeply, nostrils flare slightly while Dick shakes his head. He's taken his journey, and has already run from this city once. He took flight, flew hard and burned cities around his ankles. Men brought him to heel, and he dedicated himself with his own self-righteous anger at smacking back. Dick was no saint, and there's a very big reason why he burned all his relationships down into the ground until very recently.
Maybe he could remember to take care of himself, but only because it was all but beaten into him-- he had other issues, ones that burn around his tender heart. He's growing, but it's still a long journey and he wants to take Bruce along with him. ]
No. no. I am not going to leave again. I did that once, and almost lost it all. I want to stay, and I think it would be good for both of us.
[There's equal softness of tone, and demeanor. Dick knows that he should move one way or the other, but he's caught there in those eyes.]
I- You have incredible eyes, Bruce. Truly striking, beautiful really.
[swallowing the lump in his throat, Dick almost forgets that he has a glass in his other hand, letting it tip until the contents fall over his fingers.] Oh. shit. man. How stupid of me.
( good for both of us, he says. but bruce wonders more if it would be good for dick more than for himself. after all, dick's the one here drinking alone like he is. bruce hadn't. bruce had been working on repairs to his suit while simultaneously running through various sources on his laptop in search of whatever he's currently decided needs his attention. it's actually still going, back at the place, even while he's here and it is, unsurprisingly, connected to the phone he has on him, tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. because bruce doesn't really know how to take it easy or not be batman. he hasn't always been doing the vigilante life, no. but it's all he's been obsessed with the past few years and the only real thing he's completely thrown himself into.
again, much to alfred's dismay.
but bruce being alone means being left with his thoughts and some of them are ones he doesn't want to have, so. he lets himself drown in the role of the dark knight he's taken on. even here. and in doing so, it's more like a double-edged sword than anything remotely healthy.
dick goes and spills his drink as he does and bruce just stares in silence as he does. a fleeting sweep of his gaze down to the mess before he's looking back up to the other man with those eyes he'd just been complimented on. a compliment, which, doesn't entirely seem to faze him, but. then again, he's bruce.
[Uncomfortable. There's a word that Dick's not wormed his way into feeling in quite some time. The answer to that thought takes a backseat to the more immediate and pressing matter at hand, and that's the alcohol abuse. The spill spins Dick into a small whirlwind of slightly uncoordinated action. The finger that had been pressed to Bruce's face is immediately removed in favor of reaching for the closest box of tissues, which is the only thing nearby that he has to wipe up the spill.
The clumsiness, Dick admits wasn't caused by the comfort level that Bruce might think of. It was something more. Dick has his own projects brewing. They percolate on their own in his own little office, networked into the greater bat-computer at large. He's got his eye on a gang that's been running underground drugs to local high schools right now. It might seem fairly regular, but Dick believes there are darker ties. All he needs is one more good lead...
However, he's taken enough time from all this to learn how to manage life. He's not like Bruce in that. Yet, he's here for Bruce, slowly realizing what that means, even if it means pushing past what actually made him uncomfortable. It is his own skin, and thoughts. Things he never expected, things he's held only for other women before. A fondness.. and something else, he realize to his surprise. ]
I- no. it's not that. I mean, I - no. you don't make me uncomfortable in the way you think. I-
[words are not always easy for Dick, he's been working on his feelings and learning to share, but after so many years of not doing it, they are stuck. He knows that he shouldn't do anything, and his head screams at him, but instead of the words he leans across the gap and delicately presses his lips to Bruce's. It's light and gentle. He knows it's going to send him to hell, but Dick doesn't care. He pulls away, and then looks at Bruce.]
there's something to be said here. namely, the fact that bruce seems to attract those who simply want to kiss him without his even realizing. for someone so smart and perceptive in the field of being a detective, it's amazing how he seems to miss the more intimate details of a situation.
selina had been the last person to do this β to catch him off guard like this and, like before, he's left without much to say when it slowly breaks. because it's always slow for bruce in the moment, as if some part of him buried deep beneath the cape of the dark knight longs for this. for an intimacy. a connection he's been without or only ever had so fleeting in his life.
to be expected, there's a silence that comes with that and after a moment, bruce looks down to his empty glass he still holds. who is he to dick? a [younger] version of a man he knows? someone he's looked up to and spent years of his life with as both ward and family? that thought has his expression scrunch up for a moment. only a moment because, to bruce, dick... isn't really anything because he doesn't exist to him. not yet anyways. just here. in this space. in this apartment he has for himself. in this apartment he hadn't been sure he should come over to and yet, some part of him still wanted to, which is why he's here now.
but that also isn't entirely true. dick not being anything to him. in the time they've known each other here, he's been there, like he's said. even when bruce hasn't seemed to want anyone there. really, like with the kiss, he wonders how he manages to find these people. how he ends up caring for them in ways he didn't think he ever would. in ways, he wonders, if others even know he's capable of for how aloof he can come off as at times. bruce cares. so much that it scares him sometimes. because to care means he'll eventually lose them and he's still skittish with the thought of that what with having nearly lost alfred and already having lost his parents.
licking over his lips, he tastes both the alcohol and the other man on them and there's a soft sigh that leaves him then as he stares across the apartment. glass tipping back and forth simply as a means to give his hand something to do. )
You really shouldn't.
( because he deserves better. everyone deserves better than bruce. )
[Then comes the horrible gap of silence that Dick knew was inevitable. The greater part of his brain tells him to turn back and rearrange himself so that he's no longer facing this person, this man whose managed to work his way beneath Dick's skin in a way he never thought another man could. Dick understands the craving, and the longing. He's tried to fit himself against so many other people and he's always failed because they didn't get his dedication to the mission.
Now, Dick is trying desperately to open himself up, to change the very essence of who he is, the only person he's known for decades. The only reason he can even begin such an attempt is because he died, and saw how horrible his life was, how depraved he truly was inside. He saw his true self in the face of the Joker as he kicked and tortured Jason to death, or was it the Joker he killed in the pit. It's all a bit fuzzy now, and intermingles in his mind.
The one thing that's crystal clear is the fact that life is far shorter than Dick ever thought it could be. It's one thing to be out there, facing death and knowing that he could die any instant, and another to actually go through the process. Maybe he shouldn't, maybe Dick shouldn't crave the intimacy that he does with Bruce-- this Bruce that's so very different from his mentor, a person, a locked and lonely vigilante like himself on so many levels, he feels.
Locking eyes with this man, the one across from him who is so much more than Dick ever realized, even without spoken words. He leans in and takes his hand to Bruce's face again, caressing his cheek. He touches their lips together once more, still lightly, there's an eagerness for more, but he's hesitant. There's worry that Bruce doesn't want this, doesn't accept the fact that he's not the girlish figure that either of them know. -- not that Dick actually knows anything.
Catching Bruce's lip, he licks over it and then presses in another soft kiss, capturing it before he pulls back, forehead seeking forehead. ]
I shouldn't, but I will. I want to. Is it terrible?
( is it terrible? somehow, that feels like a loaded question with an equally loaded answer. selina had wanted something like this β something with him, even if neither of them really knew what it was, but. he'd been unable to give it to her. unable to follow her. unable to see what it could be. spoken for to a city he couldn't quite untangle himself from, even if some small part of him wanted to at times.
he's standing here in that scenario again β technically sitting this time, but. the scenario is more or less the same. a sort of deja-vu he didn't think he'd find himself in. wanting something from him he's not so sure he can give.
dick touches him and those blue eyes fall shut. lips touch. soft. something he's not used to. bruises, punches, knives, gunshots. sharp, painful touches are what he's used to β what he almost expects to feel. not this softness that makes everything around him slow. as if to savor it while he can. which is why it's surprising, even to himself, that when dick's forehead presses to his, there's a gentle sort of reciprocation in the way he lets his own stay there against dick's. as close to a nuzzle as bruce wayne can offer.
again, soft on his lips, a sigh. )
It could be.
( this could be terrible. i could be terrible for you. )
[Don't get him wrong, Dick knows equally as much about all the violence of life. He's awash in it. He's still wearing a slice along his rib, and a giant bruise that spans the width of his left kidney. The way he cursed after that one. The stupid prick knew exactly where to hit with that giant pipe. Luckily, Nightwing is quick and twisted his way out, swinging around to win the night with two glowing blue electric sticks. That's Dick's typical night. He's dedicated to the job, and to do anything else-- he can't even begin to comprehend a life that doesn't involve the job.
Maybe he didn't always want the mantle of Gotham, the darkness that sweeps the city. He strayed from the evil that crawls in the shadows and curls around souls, waiting to corrupt into a type of hell that Bruce can only imagine still. Dick has seen the madness that mere human monikers can create. It dwells in Gotham like no other city out there, and yet... Still, Dick came back because he wanted to.
This is his home, and this is the place that needs him, as much as it needs Bruce-- and to reciprocate, they both need the city. So, why then, can't they need one another. It's strange logic, and not even something Dick has wrapped his entire brain around yet. He's still a little stuck on the fact that his desire struggles for Bruce, and the sharp angles of his jaw, the sweep of his cheekbones, even the roughness of his chin as it slopes down to the lean lines of his neck.
It's into that softness that he leans, and whispers between the pair of them. Never once do his fingers falter. They push back into Bruce's hair momentarily, and then pull forward to cup his cheek again, digits fanning the space to capture the entire sweep of bone. Leaning into their closeness, Dick realizes that maybe this isn't as terrible as he thought, maybe there could be something more. There's no disgust, or revulsion. Instead, there's a simple warning.
Heaving his own sigh. He smiles gently, so close to the lips near his. ]
It could be, but maybe it won't.
[Ticking his head to the side, Dick mouths along Bruce's jaw, and up to his ear, gently caressing the curl with the warmth of his breath.]
Maybe it could be okay. [a whisper, a kiss to the side of Bruce's face before he meets the other's lips again, skimming across them with mouth open, feeling the urge to do so much more, but holding himself in check.]
( part of him has to wonder if this is the alcohol talking. he knew dick had been drinking some prior to his arrival β prior to the invite he'd decided to accept, when dick had been indulging on his own here. but he doesn't believe the other man to be intoxicated at the moment and that his words are that which fall to the side of genuine rather than a result of alcohol. although, the alcohol could possibly be giving him the courage β the nudge of sorts to do so, but. he's more than sure the other man is aware of his words. of his actions and his touches.
at least that's good to know. or is it? overthinking, as always. that's bruce wayne for you, no matter the version.
this version, however, lets blue eyes slip shit and a hum to rumble deep in the back of his throat as lips are drawn across pale skin. his scars are more beneath his clothes, littered across his back and chest. some in the process of healing, others still fresh and angry.
a duck of his head, dark strands of hair fall in front of his face and his mind kicks into overdrive. what to do. what to say. what he's feeling right now. he's had a couple glasses himself and he could chalk it all up to that. but he knows he's sober. knows he's nowhere near being intoxicated and he doesnt even want to be, truth be told. because another thought touches him. that maybe dick is just as lonely as he is. when he really stops to think about it. when he's not distracted with being so hyper focused on something or someone that needs to be taken care of. when all of that is gone and there's the silence that gives way to thoughts and feelings so often pushed aside and ignored. maybe that's what this is. seeing and finding that same loneliness tucked away inside a darkness that's become so familiar now. and because it's familiar, it almost feels safe in some unhealthy sort of way.
gentle as it is, a huff leaves bruce then and as he lifts his head some, when he speaks, it's with his own lips brushing over dick's. )
Nothing about this is ok.
( for dick, mostly. because he's sure this is liable to hit him with some sort of existential crisis when it all really hits him later. that's why he should leave. for dick's sake. but bruce sometimes makes questionable decisions and it's why rather than leave like he should, he kisses him. soft at first before it becomes a little harder and hands come up to hold dick's face, forehead pressing to his. eyes closed. a sliver of sanity grasped. )
I can't be what you need because you need someone better than me.
( because bruce is still selfish in his own ways and can't untangle himself from his other self. from the dark knight that's consumed him and his life. )
[Fuck. There's a start in Dick's brain, and then it shorts when Bruce doesn't move. The shock of hair that falls and shuffles along to brush not only Bruce's face, but Dick's as well given their current level of intimacy. The mental curse drifts along the same fleeting brush of Bruce's lips, because Dick knows those words on an extremely personal level himself, having said them time and again to others. He's warned souls that weren't aware of who he was, what he was, what path this life carved out for him.
That's why this could be more than okay, and the next kiss only further proves it. Dick slides in even closer, wanting to feel an even greater nearness to the man who somehow slipped between Dick's defenses while he wasn't thinking it to death. Maybe he will later, but that says nothing for the thoughts that race through his mind now, the ones that are there and the ones that turn to dust when those hands come up to hold onto Dick's face.
Leaning into the kiss, Dick's lips part easily as the exchange grows and he begins to divest into the wonders of the other man. His hand drops slowly from Bruce's face to edge along his shoulder and then down further, winding around to his back where he drags and pulls the press fabric that covers the scars that lay below. Scars they both wield across their bodies, mentally, physically and emotionally, Dick concedes.
Shuttering a breath when this kiss breaks, he's moving his forehead where it rests in a sweeping motion. The lashes from his eyes still rest against Dick's cheek, keeping closed the windows to his eyes. Bruce is the only other person who can fall into the same darkness, and understand every bit of the secrets they keep. Dick has never met another person on any level that could do that, and that's one of the myriad of reasons why he continues to press his lips to Bruce's time and again, in soft tiny whispers of kisses, biting tenderly, and tugging at the other man's lips until he is sure his denial is understood. ]
You don't understand. I am the one who always tells everyone that. Those are my words, and they all leave. They all realize it's the truth. I- I don't need anything more than who you are.
( but he does need more because bruce will deny him so much when the mood strikes. sometimes without even realizing it. things he'll say that will cut sharper than any knife could. things he'll do that will make him wonder if he even cares. if he ever did. it's not something that could potentially happen. it's something that will happen. over and over and over again. where he chooses what he needs over what he wants.
because he will. every time. no matter how much it hurts.
the breath that leaves him is one that's heavy, slipping from his lips to fall onto dick's. again, familiar. the heaviness that comes with being who they are. forehead still pressed there to dick's, words are soft as they leave him. )
You do. Because you deserve more.
( everyone who finds themselves caught up in his orbit does. yet bruce can't help but brush the pad of his thumb along dick's bottom lip, blue eyes somber in the way they just barely stare to the other man, so close as they are.
dick can handle himself physically. he's seen it. but emotionally... he'll leave him with far deeper scars than any physical wound ever could. )
[Perhaps it's all true, but there's nothing tangible that Dick has to predict Bruce's absolute mannerisms. This Robin has only the history that he knows, and the foundation of pain and suffering he's found along the way. Before it's always been Dick that has left behind anyone he's tied himself to, slicing with his own emotional knives. He never stayed any course, or kept through any promises until this last mission, but there was never a relationship involved, only the mission. There's hope, but that's all he truly manages as a chord toward his future.
It's not foresight that moves his fingers down Bruce's back and wages war against fabric until the pads of his digits scatter and brush over the tiniest bit of flesh, breathing in that deeper connection that Dick craves as much as he does anything else right now. It could be shoved away, taken in this second and Dick would understand.
The path he wanders is fraught with dangers and risks, something that Dick faces every day. He throws himself into harm for people he doesn't even know, so why wouldn't he eventually toss himself into the same type of dangerous fray when it comes to desire, and that which he seeks in those eyes so crystal clear in front of him. ]
No one deserves anything in this world. You and I we didn't deserve the cups handed to us. Who's to say what I deserve, what you do. Stop telling me that I deserve better. You don't know what I've done...
[Choking on those words would have been easier than saying them aloud, but Dick manages it. He swallows down the taste of bile in his throat that hasn't bothered him in a while. Dropping his own head, Dick almost breaks the connection, but he can't. He will not break first. Even as his eyes close, his mouth opens to that thumb, kissing the tip of it, before catching it between his lips gently. ]
Bruce...
[The name is a whispered breath pushed between lips as they release the calloused finger. Sweeping his hand from behind Bruce, Dick slides both hands now, alcohol long ago forgotten, along the sides of Bruce's body and up to line fingers together at the back of the other male's neck. Curling nails inward, they press dully against the skin. ]
... I don't care what I deserve, I only know what I want right now.
( the fact that bruce still has his coat on shows he hadn't really intended to stay very long. yet here he is. on dick's couch. tangled up in words and fingers and feelings of all things.
there's a shift there in those blue eyes of his when dick goes and says what he does. when he more or less tells bruce of his own burdens he carries even without the details of them. you don't know what i've done is something he, himself could say right back to dick... can relate to in ways some part of him wishes he didn't. for dick's sake, that is.
but it's hearing his name on the other's lips that has that gentle shift in his gaze to soften some, despite the somber, and he stares to the other man for a long moment before he lets his eyes fall shut. this isn't weakness. but this also isn't courage or strength either. he doesn't know what it is. he'll need to figure it out later. for the moment, he simply stays there close against him like he is, dick's fingers at the back of his neck almost burning him with how unfamiliar such a touch is to him. )
[Feeling the subtle shift in the air between them; the air in Dick's lungs refuses to release. His diaphragm stays where it is, keeping everything in check as the cape crusader does his best to dissemble exactly what moved between them. Ever ticking off a never-ending list of variables, Dick prepares himself with the utter stillness that happens right before a battle.
The same neurotransmitters declare themselves and release into the hero's body as it waits for an emotional precipice to tip, in the same way they do with a bloodletting. Strange how the body's defenses intermingle certain emotions, fight and flight all together. The fingers clasped behind Bruce's neck don't care what they had to wade through to reach the spot they are at, be it turtleneck, coat or even a scarf. Realize it or not, there's still an utter determination to keep the pair knit together, even as Dick offers Bruce a quiet way out.
Not that it was given verbally, only emotionally, even then it was completely stilted by the grasp and pull every force that Dick has wrought up to this point. Still waiting for the proverbial ball to drop, Dick doesn't breathe again until Bruce seemingly changes the course of conversation.
What does he want. It's a statement in his mind, a pressing burden in his heart. How it got there, Dick knows he'll dig out and look at later, but for now the only answer he can give is born in another kiss, and this one is far deeper than any he's offered before. This kiss is given with the tilt of his head, and a heavy press of lips that open to an exchange of tongues and emotions-- ones that Dick lets loose into the fervor, things he'd never be able to put into words. This. This is what he wants, or maybe he wants more. He wants Bruce, in every and any way he can possibly have him.
It's a terrible ache that only grows deeper when he pulls back slightly.]
You. This.... tomorrow be whatever the hell it wants to be.
[Whatever that means, be it truth or small fiction, Dick wants it all the same. ]
( so it's an in the moment thing, is it? hm. maybe this is all more physical than emotional then. maybe this is just... some thing for the night. does that make it better? does that make it ok? he doesn't know. but he can feel the desire β the desperation almost there on the other's lips for whatever this is that he finds himself nosing gently at dick there in the silence that falls between them after.
a silence that almost feels as if he's contemplating it. )
Just this.
( words soft, it's said not asked. as if trying to confirm what it is he's hearing from the other man. as if letting him hear it said back to him to know that's what he wants. )
[It costs nothing for Dick to draw his hands forward and push back at the coat that Bruce is wearing. Whatever his verbal acknowledgement ends up being, Dick hopes to award himself with at least this much. There's a tip of humbled eagerness, a dichotomy in the way he brushes his nose back-- edging along Bruce's cheek after to tip up his chin so that Dick's mouth can blush small kisses against the long line of Bruce's neck.
He hums softly against the skin given to him. Inhaling the moment and leaning on his senses to memorize it in every minute detail possible. ]
Tonight.
[Muttered against tender, giving flesh, the acceptance isn't exactly what's being asked or spoken on. Silently, Dick can acknowledge all that he yearns for and yet knows what he's libel to gain if he asks for more. They've talked about beyond this, and Dick understands that Bruce thinks he deserves better than what can happen. So he doesn't bother to speak another word, but merely licks over the skin that's open to him, knowing that he will still give his entirety to this one night.]
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What would Bruce say if he could see into Dick's head, his life, his wild experiences. They were enough. Somehow through it all, Dick grew. He grew to be the man that his mentor had always pushed him to be. There was far less vengeance floating around after the person who killed Dick's parents finally did die, but it was his mentor that taught him not to harbor that kind of vitriol in his heart, that it would eat Dick alive.
How can Dick of all people communicate that simple fact to Bruce now. He can see that same fire, that same brutal force in the subtle dip and set of his shoulders, and he knows where it comes from-- Dick's been there, been through it all. He finds himself lost in thought when Bruce returns from his own reverie.
In fact, It all but startles him to see Bruce move toward him to sit.
Pushing back against the cushion, Dick dumps back the rest of the drink with a little less care than the first one and pours himself another.]
Yes, well, messing things up is something I'm well versed in and have been wildly successful at. I'm attempting this new thing now. I'm trying to start new, I'm trying to be open ... I'm not great at it yet, but I'm working toward a goal. I want to really talk to people and not shut them out, not only talk, but listen as well. Then maybe the next person I find myself in love with won't run screaming. Then again, who knows.
[There's a soft lift to his shoulders, where fabric touches fabric and they brush up against Bruce's. Dick notices the motion merely because it's rare that they actually touch. Being this close is different for him-- not with people, but with Bruce. It's been a moment, and in recognizing that, he allows himself the opportunity to really look, to taken in the other male's countenance, finding things Dick had never noticed before and wondering silently if he should speak of them.]
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licking over his lips, he stares down to his drink again, having nursed so much of this when being shaken from bed from yet another nightmare of his parents death. sleep is nothing he finds peace in and he only really lets his head hit the pillows when he absolutely needs to. or when alfred reminds him to actually go and get some rest.
another swig, he finishes it and holds the glass there between his fingers, staring to the way the bit of light catches on the glass and he looks over to dick then with those blue eyes that, regardless of version, are so very bruce. )
Sounds like a New Yearβs resolution to make.
( not one he himself would ever make. but then again, a lot of bruceβs ways of communicating are mostly done through his actions and the expressions he makes. or doesnβt, in some cases. )
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Dick would never in any million of a human's years settle on a couch with his mentor, and yet here he finds himself observant of Bruce, tracing scars with his eyes and noting the weighted lines where slumber never reaches below. The hollow pallor should be off-putting and yet it makes for such a striking contrast to the eyes that reach further into the caped crusader than he was ready for at the moment. Icy blue, and brilliant at the same time. There's so much written beyond them. Dick only knows it in part, but is deeply curious in the same way that Bruce tends to be.
A hand reaches out, and then drops when Dick realizes his motion. Instead he coughs, and turns to open the decanter and pour out another round of drinks for them both. It's easier to drink to the new year with a beverage in hand. ]
I guess that's something.
[Fumbling about his mind for a distant thought, or one closer by, Dick does everything he can to navigate away from those eyes. The alcohol dips and curls along the crystal of his glass. Maybe Dick didn't always spend his money, but he kept a few things from growing up. There was always good liquor to be found, and very nice glasses for it to be had in. ]
So tell me Bruce, what is your New Year's resolution. Is there anything new I should know about?
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the question doesn't necessarily catch him off guard but it does pull a huff from him β a tiny sliver of amusement, almost, as he bring his glass back up to his lips. )
Am I not enough of an open book already?
( it's said dryly because he damn well knows he's not. the amount of things he keeps to himself β keeps locked away in his thoughts to torture himself with in private is endless at times. sometimes, the only real way for him to get them out of his head for some semblance of peace and quiet is writing them down in his journals. though it doesn't always work and sometimes he fixates over seeing them right there in front of him, but. bruce and healthy coping mechanisms are not exactly anything that go hand-in-hand.
slowly, he takes a swig of his drink and looks down to his glass. he's hunched over a little, legs apart, drinks dangling there between his legs and he looks over to dick for a moment. )
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Shaking his head, Dick's brain flips back to Bruce. Dick gazes at the long, slender fingers that encircle the rim of the glass, deepening his breath so that the mirth dies down. When he finally does turn his gaze upward at Bruce, he finds those eyes again. They catch the edge of his breath, slide along his frame and twist his stomach into a knot, the kind he's unfamiliar with in this sort of territory. ]
Right, you're a regular old Wikipedia full of information. Let me just haul out my computer here and plug it in. I'm sure it'll come up with something.
[Dick tried to take his mind off Bruce by thinking about open books. Books implied encyclopedias, but they were far beyond the day and age for those. Those were ancient things that sat lonely and strategically placed on a bookshelf that might have been covered in dust if Alfred wasn't so damn good at his job at the manor library.
It didn't really work. Maybe there was a thought, and maybe it happened unconsciously, Dick reaches a hand over and pats Bruce's knee, sliding it up his leg a little before pulling away. A sigh follows along with the quick wetting of his lips and then another deep sip of his drink. There were always safer topics.]
How's alfred then. I know he's probably the same as always, but I like to hear about him if you'll share. There's times I miss his constant nagging.
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a little. )
Fine. ( a beat. ) Heβs fine.
( not wanting to come off as dismissive about the man. he knows he can sometimes come off that way when he speaks, even when he doesnβt mean to. a lot of the time he doesnβt mean to.
slowly, he takes another sip of his drink, tasting the remnants on his lips after. )
Think heβs given up on trying to convince me to call it quits. ( batman, that is. the thought gets bruce to smile a little fondly, glass held between the tips of his fingers as he holds it there before him. ) But Iβm sure heβll still give it another try sometimes.
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Turning his own soft eyes to Bruce, Dick tips his head.] He gives in, eventually, you know... but he'll never give up on trying to get us to take care of ourselves. He still calls me and reminds me to do so, especially lately since he knows I've been alone. The man is a wonder. You did good with him. You do good in general, Bruce. You really do.
[There, it's out there. The fondness of tone or facial expression doesn't change and while Dick knows that there's differences between one and two; it doesn't matter to him. The heart of a bat is always tortured and haunted, but good comes from it. Gotham is a better city with them, than without. The code is worth something, and Dick can feel the knot in his stomach spread into warmth. ]
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staring to his drink, he opts to down the rest of it and looks to the empty glass he now holds between his hands. slight shake of his head, teeth drag over his bottom lip β he's mulling over how to answer. )
I didn't do anything with him. ( with alfred. ) He's the one who deserves the praise. Especially in putting up with me.
( bruce was a bit of a wild child as a teen and now, in his vengeance era, he's still as difficult and stubborn as ever. )
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The smile still rests there as he nods, a slow, exaggerated down and up of his head. Dick knows that Alfred deserves a lot of credit. Stubborn is and will always be something that Alfred has to deal with, from one generation to the next and thereafter. Pulling a leg up on the couch bent at the knee, Dick directly shifts his stance so that he can look at Bruce over the bend. The alcohol is there if Bruce cares to pour himself another. If not, perhaps Dick will get to it momentarily to keep his heady buzz going.
Goodness knows it's what pushes him beyond any boundaries he might have stuck to before, in space and conversation.]
He puts up with a lot, and that doesn't really change. I'm sure you give him a rough time, but you care and he knows it. It's hard not to, and he's the one that cares for us, even through the hard times. I don't know when you'll find exactly what you need, but I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere.
[The hand that had reached out previously, does so again and lifts the stray bits of hair that dangle in front of Bruce's visage. Dick runs a finger down the other male's cheek and pauses there for a second, biting his own bottom lip as he does.]
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being here β being around others like is... it's been new and an adjustment to him, but. he's managing. for now. in this moment here with dick. so when he goes and says that β when he reaches out to touch him in a way only selina really has in the past couple years, he can't help but close those bright blue eyes of his for just a moment before they're slowly opening to look to dick again. )
You should.
( go anywhere, he means, with a voice so soft. )
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Sitting there, with his hand on Bruce's face, Dick realizes the man next to him is merely Bruce. He's like any other of the titans, or vigilantes that he's known. They've all been different, yes, but each and every person broken in one manner or another.
Inhaling deeply, nostrils flare slightly while Dick shakes his head. He's taken his journey, and has already run from this city once. He took flight, flew hard and burned cities around his ankles. Men brought him to heel, and he dedicated himself with his own self-righteous anger at smacking back. Dick was no saint, and there's a very big reason why he burned all his relationships down into the ground until very recently.
Maybe he could remember to take care of himself, but only because it was all but beaten into him-- he had other issues, ones that burn around his tender heart. He's growing, but it's still a long journey and he wants to take Bruce along with him. ]
No. no. I am not going to leave again. I did that once, and almost lost it all. I want to stay, and I think it would be good for both of us.
[There's equal softness of tone, and demeanor. Dick knows that he should move one way or the other, but he's caught there in those eyes.]
I- You have incredible eyes, Bruce. Truly striking, beautiful really.
[swallowing the lump in his throat, Dick almost forgets that he has a glass in his other hand, letting it tip until the contents fall over his fingers.] Oh. shit. man. How stupid of me.
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again, much to alfred's dismay.
but bruce being alone means being left with his thoughts and some of them are ones he doesn't want to have, so. he lets himself drown in the role of the dark knight he's taken on. even here. and in doing so, it's more like a double-edged sword than anything remotely healthy.
dick goes and spills his drink as he does and bruce just stares in silence as he does. a fleeting sweep of his gaze down to the mess before he's looking back up to the other man with those eyes he'd just been complimented on. a compliment, which, doesn't entirely seem to faze him, but. then again, he's bruce.
and, in being bruceβ )
Do I really make you that uncomfortable?
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The clumsiness, Dick admits wasn't caused by the comfort level that Bruce might think of. It was something more. Dick has his own projects brewing. They percolate on their own in his own little office, networked into the greater bat-computer at large. He's got his eye on a gang that's been running underground drugs to local high schools right now. It might seem fairly regular, but Dick believes there are darker ties. All he needs is one more good lead...
However, he's taken enough time from all this to learn how to manage life. He's not like Bruce in that. Yet, he's here for Bruce, slowly realizing what that means, even if it means pushing past what actually made him uncomfortable. It is his own skin, and thoughts. Things he never expected, things he's held only for other women before. A fondness.. and something else, he realize to his surprise. ]
I- no. it's not that. I mean, I - no. you don't make me uncomfortable in the way you think. I-
[words are not always easy for Dick, he's been working on his feelings and learning to share, but after so many years of not doing it, they are stuck. He knows that he shouldn't do anything, and his head screams at him, but instead of the words he leans across the gap and delicately presses his lips to Bruce's. It's light and gentle. He knows it's going to send him to hell, but Dick doesn't care. He pulls away, and then looks at Bruce.]
It's.. that.
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there's something to be said here. namely, the fact that bruce seems to attract those who simply want to kiss him without his even realizing. for someone so smart and perceptive in the field of being a detective, it's amazing how he seems to miss the more intimate details of a situation.
selina had been the last person to do this β to catch him off guard like this and, like before, he's left without much to say when it slowly breaks. because it's always slow for bruce in the moment, as if some part of him buried deep beneath the cape of the dark knight longs for this. for an intimacy. a connection he's been without or only ever had so fleeting in his life.
to be expected, there's a silence that comes with that and after a moment, bruce looks down to his empty glass he still holds. who is he to dick? a [younger] version of a man he knows? someone he's looked up to and spent years of his life with as both ward and family? that thought has his expression scrunch up for a moment. only a moment because, to bruce, dick... isn't really anything because he doesn't exist to him. not yet anyways. just here. in this space. in this apartment he has for himself. in this apartment he hadn't been sure he should come over to and yet, some part of him still wanted to, which is why he's here now.
but that also isn't entirely true. dick not being anything to him. in the time they've known each other here, he's been there, like he's said. even when bruce hasn't seemed to want anyone there. really, like with the kiss, he wonders how he manages to find these people. how he ends up caring for them in ways he didn't think he ever would. in ways, he wonders, if others even know he's capable of for how aloof he can come off as at times. bruce cares. so much that it scares him sometimes. because to care means he'll eventually lose them and he's still skittish with the thought of that what with having nearly lost alfred and already having lost his parents.
licking over his lips, he tastes both the alcohol and the other man on them and there's a soft sigh that leaves him then as he stares across the apartment. glass tipping back and forth simply as a means to give his hand something to do. )
You really shouldn't.
( because he deserves better. everyone deserves better than bruce. )
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[Then comes the horrible gap of silence that Dick knew was inevitable. The greater part of his brain tells him to turn back and rearrange himself so that he's no longer facing this person, this man whose managed to work his way beneath Dick's skin in a way he never thought another man could. Dick understands the craving, and the longing. He's tried to fit himself against so many other people and he's always failed because they didn't get his dedication to the mission.
Now, Dick is trying desperately to open himself up, to change the very essence of who he is, the only person he's known for decades. The only reason he can even begin such an attempt is because he died, and saw how horrible his life was, how depraved he truly was inside. He saw his true self in the face of the Joker as he kicked and tortured Jason to death, or was it the Joker he killed in the pit. It's all a bit fuzzy now, and intermingles in his mind.
The one thing that's crystal clear is the fact that life is far shorter than Dick ever thought it could be. It's one thing to be out there, facing death and knowing that he could die any instant, and another to actually go through the process. Maybe he shouldn't, maybe Dick shouldn't crave the intimacy that he does with Bruce-- this Bruce that's so very different from his mentor, a person, a locked and lonely vigilante like himself on so many levels, he feels.
Locking eyes with this man, the one across from him who is so much more than Dick ever realized, even without spoken words. He leans in and takes his hand to Bruce's face again, caressing his cheek. He touches their lips together once more, still lightly, there's an eagerness for more, but he's hesitant. There's worry that Bruce doesn't want this, doesn't accept the fact that he's not the girlish figure that either of them know. -- not that Dick actually knows anything.
Catching Bruce's lip, he licks over it and then presses in another soft kiss, capturing it before he pulls back, forehead seeking forehead. ]
I shouldn't, but I will. I want to. Is it terrible?
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he's standing here in that scenario again β technically sitting this time, but. the scenario is more or less the same. a sort of deja-vu he didn't think he'd find himself in. wanting something from him he's not so sure he can give.
dick touches him and those blue eyes fall shut. lips touch. soft. something he's not used to. bruises, punches, knives, gunshots. sharp, painful touches are what he's used to β what he almost expects to feel. not this softness that makes everything around him slow. as if to savor it while he can. which is why it's surprising, even to himself, that when dick's forehead presses to his, there's a gentle sort of reciprocation in the way he lets his own stay there against dick's. as close to a nuzzle as bruce wayne can offer.
again, soft on his lips, a sigh. )
It could be.
( this could be terrible. i could be terrible for you. )
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Maybe he didn't always want the mantle of Gotham, the darkness that sweeps the city. He strayed from the evil that crawls in the shadows and curls around souls, waiting to corrupt into a type of hell that Bruce can only imagine still. Dick has seen the madness that mere human monikers can create. It dwells in Gotham like no other city out there, and yet... Still, Dick came back because he wanted to.
This is his home, and this is the place that needs him, as much as it needs Bruce-- and to reciprocate, they both need the city. So, why then, can't they need one another. It's strange logic, and not even something Dick has wrapped his entire brain around yet. He's still a little stuck on the fact that his desire struggles for Bruce, and the sharp angles of his jaw, the sweep of his cheekbones, even the roughness of his chin as it slopes down to the lean lines of his neck.
It's into that softness that he leans, and whispers between the pair of them. Never once do his fingers falter. They push back into Bruce's hair momentarily, and then pull forward to cup his cheek again, digits fanning the space to capture the entire sweep of bone. Leaning into their closeness, Dick realizes that maybe this isn't as terrible as he thought, maybe there could be something more. There's no disgust, or revulsion. Instead, there's a simple warning.
Heaving his own sigh. He smiles gently, so close to the lips near his. ]
It could be, but maybe it won't.
[Ticking his head to the side, Dick mouths along Bruce's jaw, and up to his ear, gently caressing the curl with the warmth of his breath.]
Maybe it could be okay. [a whisper, a kiss to the side of Bruce's face before he meets the other's lips again, skimming across them with mouth open, feeling the urge to do so much more, but holding himself in check.]
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at least that's good to know. or is it? overthinking, as always. that's bruce wayne for you, no matter the version.
this version, however, lets blue eyes slip shit and a hum to rumble deep in the back of his throat as lips are drawn across pale skin. his scars are more beneath his clothes, littered across his back and chest. some in the process of healing, others still fresh and angry.
a duck of his head, dark strands of hair fall in front of his face and his mind kicks into overdrive. what to do. what to say. what he's feeling right now. he's had a couple glasses himself and he could chalk it all up to that. but he knows he's sober. knows he's nowhere near being intoxicated and he doesnt even want to be, truth be told. because another thought touches him. that maybe dick is just as lonely as he is. when he really stops to think about it. when he's not distracted with being so hyper focused on something or someone that needs to be taken care of. when all of that is gone and there's the silence that gives way to thoughts and feelings so often pushed aside and ignored. maybe that's what this is. seeing and finding that same loneliness tucked away inside a darkness that's become so familiar now. and because it's familiar, it almost feels safe in some unhealthy sort of way.
gentle as it is, a huff leaves bruce then and as he lifts his head some, when he speaks, it's with his own lips brushing over dick's. )
Nothing about this is ok.
( for dick, mostly. because he's sure this is liable to hit him with some sort of existential crisis when it all really hits him later. that's why he should leave. for dick's sake. but bruce sometimes makes questionable decisions and it's why rather than leave like he should, he kisses him. soft at first before it becomes a little harder and hands come up to hold dick's face, forehead pressing to his. eyes closed. a sliver of sanity grasped. )
I can't be what you need because you need someone better than me.
( because bruce is still selfish in his own ways and can't untangle himself from his other self. from the dark knight that's consumed him and his life. )
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That's why this could be more than okay, and the next kiss only further proves it. Dick slides in even closer, wanting to feel an even greater nearness to the man who somehow slipped between Dick's defenses while he wasn't thinking it to death. Maybe he will later, but that says nothing for the thoughts that race through his mind now, the ones that are there and the ones that turn to dust when those hands come up to hold onto Dick's face.
Leaning into the kiss, Dick's lips part easily as the exchange grows and he begins to divest into the wonders of the other man. His hand drops slowly from Bruce's face to edge along his shoulder and then down further, winding around to his back where he drags and pulls the press fabric that covers the scars that lay below. Scars they both wield across their bodies, mentally, physically and emotionally, Dick concedes.
Shuttering a breath when this kiss breaks, he's moving his forehead where it rests in a sweeping motion. The lashes from his eyes still rest against Dick's cheek, keeping closed the windows to his eyes. Bruce is the only other person who can fall into the same darkness, and understand every bit of the secrets they keep. Dick has never met another person on any level that could do that, and that's one of the myriad of reasons why he continues to press his lips to Bruce's time and again, in soft tiny whispers of kisses, biting tenderly, and tugging at the other man's lips until he is sure his denial is understood. ]
You don't understand. I am the one who always tells everyone that. Those are my words, and they all leave. They all realize it's the truth. I- I don't need anything more than who you are.
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because he will. every time. no matter how much it hurts.
the breath that leaves him is one that's heavy, slipping from his lips to fall onto dick's. again, familiar. the heaviness that comes with being who they are. forehead still pressed there to dick's, words are soft as they leave him. )
You do. Because you deserve more.
( everyone who finds themselves caught up in his orbit does. yet bruce can't help but brush the pad of his thumb along dick's bottom lip, blue eyes somber in the way they just barely stare to the other man, so close as they are.
dick can handle himself physically. he's seen it. but emotionally... he'll leave him with far deeper scars than any physical wound ever could. )
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It's not foresight that moves his fingers down Bruce's back and wages war against fabric until the pads of his digits scatter and brush over the tiniest bit of flesh, breathing in that deeper connection that Dick craves as much as he does anything else right now. It could be shoved away, taken in this second and Dick would understand.
The path he wanders is fraught with dangers and risks, something that Dick faces every day. He throws himself into harm for people he doesn't even know, so why wouldn't he eventually toss himself into the same type of dangerous fray when it comes to desire, and that which he seeks in those eyes so crystal clear in front of him. ]
No one deserves anything in this world. You and I we didn't deserve the cups handed to us. Who's to say what I deserve, what you do. Stop telling me that I deserve better. You don't know what I've done...
[Choking on those words would have been easier than saying them aloud, but Dick manages it. He swallows down the taste of bile in his throat that hasn't bothered him in a while. Dropping his own head, Dick almost breaks the connection, but he can't. He will not break first. Even as his eyes close, his mouth opens to that thumb, kissing the tip of it, before catching it between his lips gently. ]
Bruce...
[The name is a whispered breath pushed between lips as they release the calloused finger. Sweeping his hand from behind Bruce, Dick slides both hands now, alcohol long ago forgotten, along the sides of Bruce's body and up to line fingers together at the back of the other male's neck. Curling nails inward, they press dully against the skin. ]
... I don't care what I deserve, I only know what I want right now.
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there's a shift there in those blue eyes of his when dick goes and says what he does. when he more or less tells bruce of his own burdens he carries even without the details of them. you don't know what i've done is something he, himself could say right back to dick... can relate to in ways some part of him wishes he didn't. for dick's sake, that is.
but it's hearing his name on the other's lips that has that gentle shift in his gaze to soften some, despite the somber, and he stares to the other man for a long moment before he lets his eyes fall shut. this isn't weakness. but this also isn't courage or strength either. he doesn't know what it is. he'll need to figure it out later. for the moment, he simply stays there close against him like he is, dick's fingers at the back of his neck almost burning him with how unfamiliar such a touch is to him. )
And what do you want?
( he shouldn't ask. yet he does. )
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The same neurotransmitters declare themselves and release into the hero's body as it waits for an emotional precipice to tip, in the same way they do with a bloodletting. Strange how the body's defenses intermingle certain emotions, fight and flight all together. The fingers clasped behind Bruce's neck don't care what they had to wade through to reach the spot they are at, be it turtleneck, coat or even a scarf. Realize it or not, there's still an utter determination to keep the pair knit together, even as Dick offers Bruce a quiet way out.
Not that it was given verbally, only emotionally, even then it was completely stilted by the grasp and pull every force that Dick has wrought up to this point. Still waiting for the proverbial ball to drop, Dick doesn't breathe again until Bruce seemingly changes the course of conversation.
What does he want. It's a statement in his mind, a pressing burden in his heart. How it got there, Dick knows he'll dig out and look at later, but for now the only answer he can give is born in another kiss, and this one is far deeper than any he's offered before. This kiss is given with the tilt of his head, and a heavy press of lips that open to an exchange of tongues and emotions-- ones that Dick lets loose into the fervor, things he'd never be able to put into words. This. This is what he wants, or maybe he wants more. He wants Bruce, in every and any way he can possibly have him.
It's a terrible ache that only grows deeper when he pulls back slightly.]
You. This.... tomorrow be whatever the hell it wants to be.
[Whatever that means, be it truth or small fiction, Dick wants it all the same. ]
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a silence that almost feels as if he's contemplating it. )
Just this.
( words soft, it's said not asked. as if trying to confirm what it is he's hearing from the other man. as if letting him hear it said back to him to know that's what he wants. )
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He hums softly against the skin given to him. Inhaling the moment and leaning on his senses to memorize it in every minute detail possible. ]
Tonight.
[Muttered against tender, giving flesh, the acceptance isn't exactly what's being asked or spoken on. Silently, Dick can acknowledge all that he yearns for and yet knows what he's libel to gain if he asks for more. They've talked about beyond this, and Dick understands that Bruce thinks he deserves better than what can happen. So he doesn't bother to speak another word, but merely licks over the skin that's open to him, knowing that he will still give his entirety to this one night.]
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From:sorry for the delay. it's been a week at work.
From:and my weekend was freaking nuts!
From:β€οΈ
From:Hopefully this week takes it easier. You deserve the bestest.
From:same to you since i've enjoyed them very much β€οΈ
From:They do make me very happy. β₯ Always look forward to them.
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From:sorry for the delay on this. had to get back into the smut brain.
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From:Profile
February 2025
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