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The Color of Pleasure (DC Comics, NC-17)
Some Mondays, you just need a PWP.
Title: The Color of Pleasure
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters/Pairing: Dick/Tim (Nightwing/Robin III)
Rating: NC-17
Based on: General birdboy love.
Disclaimer: These characters and their settings aren't mine, though I know just whom I'd hire to draw this if they were.
It's pretty dim in Tim's bedroom, with the computer asleep and only the streetlights and city glow for illumination. It's almost too dark to make out the hue of Dick's blue stripes, though the division from the black still shows up distinctly. To say nothing, Dick thinks, of the molecule-sharp boundary of black and blue against Tim's skin, as he smiles a little wider and pushes just a little harder, damp hair sliding thrust by thrust down over his eyes. His hands are far too busy to push it back, with one braced on the bed, Tim's fist curled tight around his wrist, and the two blue-striped fingers of the other moving in Tim's body, blue and black against glowing flesh.
If he had a third hand he could better feel Tim, touch his flushed-hot cheeks, cup his waist as he writhes in a tight little circle, stroke his cock where it's hard and leaking up against his belly. He really should lean down; he knows how good Tim would taste in his mouth, how he'd feel warm and heavy on his tongue, the way he'd twist to muffle his scream in the pillow. But he leaned back to keep his weight off Tim's healing ribs, and now he can't stop watching the waves up Tim's spine, his hair stuck to his forehead and the shadows of his lashes on his bruise-dark cheeks, the dents of his teeth in his tender lower lip. Dick can't stop watching as Tim hitches a knee a little higher over his elbow, braces against his grip on Dick's arms and shoves himself into the thrusts. He can't stop watching his fingers, edged with their blue stripes, disappearing into Tim.
Tim's mouth opens, red and sore and wet, and Dick thinks he'll finally get that scream, but Tim actually gasps recognizable words. "Reckless," he whispers, grinning around it. "This is---"
Dick twists his fingers, and can hear the cry behind the choke. "You're gonna say that until you come, won't you?" He shoves harder, almost too hard, and can see shining slivers of eye beneath Tim's damp lashes, all whites as Tim's eyes roll back. He arches, corded muscles trembling; he holds the arch, and Dick's seriously torn between watching and fastening his mouth on a nipple.
Tim's fingers tighten on Dick's wrist till they're denting the glove. Tim's pulling, and his mouth is dark and tender, and Dick can barely spare enough care to lean over him rather than on him as he presses his mouth to Tim's, tasting heat and life and the blood just beneath his skin, tasting himself on Tim's tongue. Tasting Tim's scream as Tim pushes up into the kiss, muffling himself with Dick's mouth, squeezing tight around Dick's fingers as he comes.
Tim's whimpering into Dick, his mouth going slack. Dick doesn't realize he's not breathing in order to listen until his chest starts to hurt, until Tim falls back into the pillow and he has to suck in a deep breath. Tim sinks away from him, legs limp over his arms, hands fallen loose; Dick eases his fingers out and Tim barely shudders, half-smiling, looking like he's passed out, and if Dick can be instrumental in convincing his little brother to get a little sleep, really, he's content. He swipes at his glove with a wipe, and doesn't lean down and lick Tim's belly, and takes another steadying breath, filling his lungs and emptying them. His skin prickles and tingles against the suit, and part of him wants to strip off, slide under the sheet he's pulling over Tim, and curl up around him for a few sweet hours.
But, he's got a patrol to finish, and Tim needs to sleep.
So Dick sits back on his knees, putting himself back together and watching Tim breathe, and doesn't jump even a little when Tim says perfectly clearly, "those files are on my computer, right?"
"You're supposed to be asleep."
"You're the one who climbed through my window." Tim opens one eye, smile drawing up beneath it. "When my dad and Dana are home, no less. Sleeping right down the hallway."
Dick sighs as emphatically as he can. "Everything I've got is on your computer, and Oracle sent a note too. And it'll all be there four hours from now. Now will you go to sleep?"
Tim yawns elaborately and shuts his eye. Dick leans down and kisses the eyelid for emphasis, its crinkles smoothing beneath his mouth; he also kisses the fading warm flush on Tim's cheekbone as he steps backwards out of Tim's bed. Backing into the window, Dick ducks so his shadow skims the foot of the bed, so he can watch Tim's face softened and peaceful in the low light, his hand uncurling easily on the pillow.
Dick grins, swings a leg over the sill, and goes.
Title: The Color of Pleasure
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters/Pairing: Dick/Tim (Nightwing/Robin III)
Rating: NC-17
Based on: General birdboy love.
Disclaimer: These characters and their settings aren't mine, though I know just whom I'd hire to draw this if they were.
It's pretty dim in Tim's bedroom, with the computer asleep and only the streetlights and city glow for illumination. It's almost too dark to make out the hue of Dick's blue stripes, though the division from the black still shows up distinctly. To say nothing, Dick thinks, of the molecule-sharp boundary of black and blue against Tim's skin, as he smiles a little wider and pushes just a little harder, damp hair sliding thrust by thrust down over his eyes. His hands are far too busy to push it back, with one braced on the bed, Tim's fist curled tight around his wrist, and the two blue-striped fingers of the other moving in Tim's body, blue and black against glowing flesh.
If he had a third hand he could better feel Tim, touch his flushed-hot cheeks, cup his waist as he writhes in a tight little circle, stroke his cock where it's hard and leaking up against his belly. He really should lean down; he knows how good Tim would taste in his mouth, how he'd feel warm and heavy on his tongue, the way he'd twist to muffle his scream in the pillow. But he leaned back to keep his weight off Tim's healing ribs, and now he can't stop watching the waves up Tim's spine, his hair stuck to his forehead and the shadows of his lashes on his bruise-dark cheeks, the dents of his teeth in his tender lower lip. Dick can't stop watching as Tim hitches a knee a little higher over his elbow, braces against his grip on Dick's arms and shoves himself into the thrusts. He can't stop watching his fingers, edged with their blue stripes, disappearing into Tim.
Tim's mouth opens, red and sore and wet, and Dick thinks he'll finally get that scream, but Tim actually gasps recognizable words. "Reckless," he whispers, grinning around it. "This is---"
Dick twists his fingers, and can hear the cry behind the choke. "You're gonna say that until you come, won't you?" He shoves harder, almost too hard, and can see shining slivers of eye beneath Tim's damp lashes, all whites as Tim's eyes roll back. He arches, corded muscles trembling; he holds the arch, and Dick's seriously torn between watching and fastening his mouth on a nipple.
Tim's fingers tighten on Dick's wrist till they're denting the glove. Tim's pulling, and his mouth is dark and tender, and Dick can barely spare enough care to lean over him rather than on him as he presses his mouth to Tim's, tasting heat and life and the blood just beneath his skin, tasting himself on Tim's tongue. Tasting Tim's scream as Tim pushes up into the kiss, muffling himself with Dick's mouth, squeezing tight around Dick's fingers as he comes.
Tim's whimpering into Dick, his mouth going slack. Dick doesn't realize he's not breathing in order to listen until his chest starts to hurt, until Tim falls back into the pillow and he has to suck in a deep breath. Tim sinks away from him, legs limp over his arms, hands fallen loose; Dick eases his fingers out and Tim barely shudders, half-smiling, looking like he's passed out, and if Dick can be instrumental in convincing his little brother to get a little sleep, really, he's content. He swipes at his glove with a wipe, and doesn't lean down and lick Tim's belly, and takes another steadying breath, filling his lungs and emptying them. His skin prickles and tingles against the suit, and part of him wants to strip off, slide under the sheet he's pulling over Tim, and curl up around him for a few sweet hours.
But, he's got a patrol to finish, and Tim needs to sleep.
So Dick sits back on his knees, putting himself back together and watching Tim breathe, and doesn't jump even a little when Tim says perfectly clearly, "those files are on my computer, right?"
"You're supposed to be asleep."
"You're the one who climbed through my window." Tim opens one eye, smile drawing up beneath it. "When my dad and Dana are home, no less. Sleeping right down the hallway."
Dick sighs as emphatically as he can. "Everything I've got is on your computer, and Oracle sent a note too. And it'll all be there four hours from now. Now will you go to sleep?"
Tim yawns elaborately and shuts his eye. Dick leans down and kisses the eyelid for emphasis, its crinkles smoothing beneath his mouth; he also kisses the fading warm flush on Tim's cheekbone as he steps backwards out of Tim's bed. Backing into the window, Dick ducks so his shadow skims the foot of the bed, so he can watch Tim's face softened and peaceful in the low light, his hand uncurling easily on the pillow.
Dick grins, swings a leg over the sill, and goes.
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and how much do i wish i found this 6 hours ago when i was still at work? *sigh*
All Mondays need a Batfamily centric PWP.
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There's something about Dick/Tim that just keeps me coming *back*...
Also: good of you to note what the Nightwing gauntlets are MADE FOR.
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That was what it was! I just had this cosmic sense that I had to write them. It was necessary as breathing.
*glee* I am extra glad you like this one, Te. :D
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and you've given me a mental picture which I will treasure always. ;-)
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(And that image was just *undeniable*. I'm just glad I could share it with everyone!)
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This is absolutely wonderful, hot and sweet and so very very them. *hearts*
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I love how much Dick loves his little brother, and the many and varied ways Dick *expresses* that love, and I deeply love the mental image you have given me. (I always knew that the blue fingers of porn were, indeed, blue fingers of porn, and you cemented that knowledge *wonderfully*.)
I love how you describe Tim, all those lush words so that I can *see* him, what Dick does to him, what he does to himself. I love how clearly you evoke their mutual love.
I love that Tim is a freak and after sex with Dick he can *still* think about (the box) the files he needs. I love him evoking reckless (and fearless, and effusive, and full of grace, and also the most beautiful person in the history of *ever*, which Bruce totally thought even if he couldn't get himself to say it).
And I love you, ever so.
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I love how you see all these things I've tried to work into my little stories, because even a short story should say *something*, after all. Your comments make me glow.
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..and it is glorious and beautiful and just as reckless as Nightwing should be.
And oh, TIM. Perfect. Wonderful. Beautiful and lush and never plotless with you because Dick was plotting against (for?) his brother the whole time.
And I love what you do with twisting sounds into tastes and the way you pull scent and sight and feel all together and...
*mewl*
And the image of the way they're wrapped around each other is just too hot to handle, yes.
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This is such an awesome comment. I should reply bit by bit but I just keep rereading it and wallowing gleefully. Thank you, a *lot*.
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Also, the gloves. Yes, that.
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Long ago, when I first beheld the current Nightwing suit, I choked when I saw the stripe on the gloves. It just said "PORN". Hence, this.
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guh....just.....wowzers :D
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The lateness not problem :]
and you're very welcome!
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