Chapter Text
The Red Robin suit is absolutely disgusting by the time Tim kicks it off and chucks it onto the floor of the shower room. Tonight was not a fun night: Tim managed to fall into two dumpsters, which wouldn’t have been too bad if he also hadn’t had to run after a would be rapist into the sewer. At least he didn’t run into the Killer Croc. Huzzah for small miracles.
Tim sighs as he steps into the shower, feeling his muscles tense first at the hot water then relax. No broken bones or stab wounds for tonight at least, but there are a few small scratches and bruises. If anything, Tim is tired. The new route isn’t something he’s 100% familiar with just yet. He really shouldn’t have gone out without the new territory being memorized, but he has too.
(That’s what he tells himself anyway.) Sure, he could ask Batman to cover his route tonight if he really didn’t want to go out, but Batman would take Robin and Tim would rather get on his knees and suck off the Joker before he let the little demon brat take over his territory, even if it was for just one night.
The water runs long after all the soap is gone, and Tim soaks it up before deciding to turn it off and get out. He sees that Alfred has already collected his suit and has left a tray on a bench. It should concern Tim how he hadn’t even heard Alfred come in, but then again, Tim’s thoughts aren’t exactly in the right place.
On the tray sits a turkey sandwich, a glass of milk, and an apple. Tim eyes it as he wraps a towel around himself, then a bathrobe. He grabs the tray and takes it to his room, though he knows he won’t eat it all. Before Bruce “died”, they’d eat their after patrol snack together, in the Batcave, as they walked through what they did that night. They even talked.
Those days are over though. Now Tim dresses for bed and sips at the milk, leaving the food untouched and thinking about how much he hates Bruce. Because Bruce isn’t in the Batcave waiting for Tim’s report. No. Bruce is doing whatever he needs to do at this time. Sleeping, most likely. Being lost in time really messed him up, in a lot of ways. It’s why he’s not back to being Batman at night every night like he used to. He can’t stay awake long enough just yet, even though it’s been months, which is why Gotham has been split into territories.
It’s going to be different when he’s ready to go back to Batman 24/7. Tim is dreading it, even though he can’t keep going like this. He hates being Red Robin. He hates his name, the costume, and what it means. Red Robin should never exist. He should still be Robin.
And he hates Dick who took it from him.
And he hates Bruce, who came back and allowed Damian to stay Robin.
Tim sets the milk on the tray and leaves it on the dresser. He’ll bring it down to Alfred tomorrow. For now, Tim crawls into bed, suddenly exhausted.
He wakes at noon, but that’s the price you pay when you stay out till 4 am fighting crime. Alfred already has a pot of coffee going, which Tim is so thankful for but can’t formulate the words just yet. It’s still far too early, but he does take the cup of coffee from Alfred’s outstretched hands.
Damian and Bruce are already eating their lunch. Tim sits on the opposite side of Damian with Bruce at the head of the table. They’re eating a soup of some sort, and while Tim will get to his soup eventually, he focuses on his coffee.
It’s black, just the way he likes it. It was something he used to feel so proud over, something he could bond over with Bruce, especially since Dick poured enough cream and sugar into his coffee to give him a cavity, if he even drank it at all.
Things are different now though. Tim watches as Damian delicately dips a cracker into his tomato soup. Bruce reads the newspaper, only glancing up to take a bite of his own soup. Neither acknowledge Tim.
That . . . upsets Tim, no matter how much he tries to tell himself it doesn’t. Dark thoughts sweep through his brain before he can stop them. Did Bruce greet Damian? Or did they both walk into the kitchen together? Things are so different now. Tim doesn’t know how anything works these days.
He feels his fingers clench into the coffee cup. He doesn’t care about Damian, but is it too fucking much for Bruce to acknowledge him? To say good morning? (Or, well, afternoon.) Will he even speak to Tim if Tim doesn’t speak first?
Tim is finding his place in this new world and he’s not sure he likes it.
Alfred sets a bowl of soup in front him after Tim drinks half his coffee, and Tim mumbles a thankful before shoving three large spoonfuls into his mouth. Damian scoffs from across from him, and Tim is prepared for a verbal scoff.
“You look like a starving dog,” Damian sneers. “Really, Drake, at least try to act like a human.”
Tim doesn’t answer him, and instead snaps his head up to see what Bruce will do. Bruce doesn’t even glance up from his newspaper. Evidently, it’s Alfred that chastises the little creep.
“Master Damian, may I remind you that you yourself happens to act like a starving dog after a night out as well.”
Tim barely hears Alfred’s words or Damian’s response. His blood is roaring in his ears and he’s looking at Bruce, who isn’t doing anything. Do something, he wants to yell. Why do you let him talk to me like that? Aren’t I your son too?
He’s vaguely aware of him dropping his spoon into his soup, that it splatters onto the table but his ears are ringing. Bruce only now looks at him, slight concern on his face, as if he can’t be bothered with Tim unless Tim is doing something he shouldn’t be.
It hurts. The feeling of rejection, it hurts. It also settles deep into Tim like a leech who won’t let go. It’s everywhere, and suddenly Tim thinks he might cry or scream or maybe do both.
What he does instead is say, “I’m moving out.”
The words are out of his mouth before he registers them. He blinks, startled at them himself. He hadn’t meant to say them, but now that he has, he’s suddenly so glad. Yes. He’s moving out.
“What?” For the first time the entire morning, Bruce talks to him. It’s satisfying, and it hurts all at the same time.
Alfred jumps in before Tim can respond, clutching a water jug in his hands as he refills Damian’s glass. “I believe Master Tim said he was moving out.” And though he says it clearly, Tim can see the emotion behind Alfred’s eyes.
A part of Tim softens. He may be mad at Bruce and Dick, and he may hate Damian and Jason, but he never wanted to hurt Alfred, who’s been more of a father to Tim than Bruce has in the past few months.
Still. Now that the words are out, Tim can’t take them back and he finds that he doesn’t want to. He hadn’t planned for this, and if he had then surely this isn’t the way it would go, but he’s latched onto this plan now and there’s no going back.
“Yes,” Tim says, swallowing around a lump in his throat. He uses his napkin to dab at the spilled soup. It’s an excuse to collect himself for a few seconds, to let him think what he’s going to say next. “I have everything planned out. I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
It’s a lie, but he doesn’t really care. A week is plenty of time to find an apartment and sign the lease. And if he can’t, well. Maybe he’ll move in with Kon. He’s sure Ma Kent won’t mind. And if she does, then he’ll stay at the Tower just long enough to find an apartment. But Tim highly doubts it’ll come to that. He’ll find something.
When he finally glances up, he’s met with three sets of eyes staring at him, but he focuses on Bruce. The older man looks so much older than he did just a year ago. He looks at Tim as if Tim just announced he was pregnant, or that he was going to dye his hair green- as if Tim had announced something so ridiculous that Bruce couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
“You’re moving out,” Bruce says, and it’s not a question but Tim answers anyway.
“Yes.
Bruce blinks and finally sets down his stupid newspaper. Tim hadn’t even realized Bruce was still holding onto it. “Why?”
And that angers Tim, because it really shows just how fucking oblivious Bruce is, doesn’t it? He’s supposedly the world’s greatest detective, and yet he can’t even seem to fathom why Tim would want to move out, as if Tim is so happy at the manor and that everything is so okay.
Everything is not okay, Tim thinks and clears his throat. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
And Alfred says, “Don’t be ridiculous, Master Tim. Of course you do,” and Damian scoffs, “Well, you’re finally right about something, Drake,” but Tim isn’t paying attention to them. His attention is on his pseudo-father, who looks even more confused.
“Tim,” he starts to say, but then closes his mouth, as if Bruce couldn’t find the words he wants to say. What he does say is, “Where would you even go?”
Something breaks inside of Tim when he realizes Bruce isn’t going to put up a fight. He’s going to get the details out of Tim, and then let him go. He’s not going to bed, Tim realizes. He’s not going to beg Tim to say, or tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He’s going to let Tim go, and he’s not going to care.
Something breaks inside of Tim. He thinks it might be his heart.
Tim wets his lips, aware of the wetness starting to gather behind his eyes but he won’t cry. Not in front of Damian, and certainly not in front of his Bruce. “I have a place,” he lies, and is determined that he’ll go out today and sign a damn lease even if it means begging and throwing a too big amount of money at a slumlord. He’ll do it.
“You do?” Alfred asks, but it’s not really a question. He’s looking at Tim as if he sees right through him. “We’ll, I’m sure Master Bruce won’t mind taking a look around, then. Just to make sure everything is set up for his son.”
“No,” Tim says, a little harshly. He lowers his tone, because he doesn’t want to snap at Alfred again. “I mean, it’s alright. I don’t need any help.”
“Tim,” Bruce says, and he sounds like he can’t process what is happening in front of eyes. Bruce thinks he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what. “I-”
“It’s settled,” Tim says, and he pushes out his chair and stands. “I need to start packing. Have fun on patrol tonight.” He turns towards Alfred and gives the best smile he can manage, although it probably looks more like a grimace. “Thanks for lunch.”
The matter was settled. Lunch was over, Tim was moving out, and Bruce wasn’t going to stop him.
----
The rest of the week is spent with Tim avoiding Bruce and only talking to him about their night time activities. He avoids Alfred, because he knows that Alfred might just be able to talk him out of leaving and Tim doesn’t want that. He also doesn’t want to see Alfred’s disappointed glance because Tim knows it’ll make him cry.
What he does do for the week is pack and set up security measurements at his new apartment. The company offered Tim numerous penthouses, but Tim wanted to find his own place, something that wasn’t attached to Bruce, even if Tim was paying for it with his CEO salary. It was time Tim let go of Bruce, because it was clear Bruce had already let go of Tim.
The night before he officially moves out, Tim does a final sweep of his room. It’s mostly packed save for a few pairs of underwear and T-Shirts, and Tim carefully grabs them and places them into a final box.
There’s a knock on the door and Tim glances up from where he’s sitting on his bed. It’s late, but not late enough for Batman and Robin to start patrol. “Yeah?”
“Tim?” Bruce calls from behind the door, “It’s me. Can I come in?”
Tim shrugs and then realizes Bruce can’t see him, so he sighs and calls out, “Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t exactly want to talk to Bruce, but he also does in the same way he wanted his parents to care about him and not leave for a new country.
Bruce enters the room and Tim’s hit with something he can’t explain as his pseudo-father smiles at him and carefully sits down next to Tim. Bruce looks tired. There’s no way else to explain it. His bags under his eyes are a deep purple, and it seems his hair has grayed even more since he’s gotten back from being lost in time.
Tim wonders, briefly, if he’s partly to blame for it.
Bruce’s not dressed for Batman yet, but he’s also not Bruce Wayne right now. He’s just Bruce, dressed in slacks and a button down shirt. He looks run down and weary, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Yet he smiles at Tim, and Tim hates it but his stomach swoops.
“Tim,” he says, “my son.”
“I’m not your son.” It comes out of Tim’s throat in a growl, and he jerks from the bed to stand up so that he’s momentarily taller than Bruce. “I’m not your fucking son.” He doesn’t know what has come over him, because he has never wanted to say those words. In fact, it seemed like he always wanted the opposite, to be Bruce’s son in the way that Damian was.
He’s just so angry, and he wants Bruce to hurt, hurt as much as Tim is hurting and this is the only way Tim can think of.
(It’s also a lie, because Bruce did legally adopt him after his parents died, but Tim doesn’t allow himself to think about that.)
Bruce frowns and shakes his head. He does look hurt, and a sick part of Tim is so happy about that. “Of course you’re my son. Tim, if there’s something I did to make you feel that way-”
“Something you did?” Tim cries, and his voice sounds manic even to his own years. He can’t believe this. How fucking dare Bruce-he doesn’t even know-well fuck him-Tim’s ears are ringing- “It’s-fuck you. Fuck you Bruce.”
He should stop, let Bruce talk, let him say his peace about how he doesn’t know how Tim’s feeling, how Tim is his son and he should stay at the manor when both know that’s not true. But Tim should let Bruce say it and calm down, but his ears are ringing and his blood is pulsing. He’s so angry. He’s so hurt.
“You’re not my dad.”
He shakes his head as if that’ll clear it, as it will stop all he’s feeling, but that’s impossible. A million emotions are racing through Tim right now and Bruce isn’t making it any better. Bruce is looking at Tim as if Tim kicked a puppy and all Tim wants to do is grab Bruce’s shoulders and shake him, shake him until he can finally realize how fucked up this whole thing is.
“Tim, I adopted you. I love you. I’m sorry if you feel like perhaps I haven’t given you enough attention since I got back-”
Attention? Is that what Bruce thinks this is about? As if Tim is five and he’s jealous over a new baby brother, instead of a demon brat who took his brother, took his mentor (DAD) and his suit? His name? Who tried to kill him, who tells him everyday how Tim isn’t Bruce’s real son?
Attention?
“If you think this is about attention,” Tim says softly but in a low, dangerous voice, one that says he’s about to explode, “then you should change your name to the world’s dumbest detective.”
It’s a crappy dig, one that a five year old might make up, but Bruce just frowns and doesn’t rise to the jibe. “Help me understand then, son. I want to help you. I don’t want you to leave. You don't have to leave.”
“I’m not your son,” is all Tim says because he can’t. He can’t tell Bruce what the real issue is. All he knows is that he wants Bruce to stop saying he’s Tim’s dad, because he stopped being Bruce’s son the minute Bruce came back and chose Damian over Tim.
And he needs to make Bruce see that. (Later, that’s what he’ll tell himself, because he just won’t ever be able to admit just how much he had truly loved Bruce even before he died.) So, he does the only thing he can think of to make Bruce see that.
He leans down and slants his mouth over Bruce’s.
It’s not technically a kiss. Tim’s lips push against Bruce’s closed mouth, and Bruce’s eyes are shocked and panicked, and he doesn’t kiss Tim back. Bruce’s lips are warm but chapped, not exactly the softness Tim had imagined as a kid when he had a crush on Bruce Wayne, the Billionaire, not Bruce Wayne his Pseudo-father.
Tim frowns at Bruce’s lack of response and bites at Bruce’s bottom lip. There’s a part of him yelling at him to stop, that this is crazy, but there’s another part of him telling him to keep going. It feels like his heart is gonna beat out of his chest-
Bruce firmly but gently raises an arm and pushes Tim’s shoulder back with his palm. Surprised, Tim stumbles back and that’s when reality hits him like a train and he realizes what he just did.
He put his mouth on Bruce’s mouth. He kissed Bruce.
Bruce did not kiss him back. Tim doesn’t know how he feels about that.
Bruce seems lost for words, opening and closing his mouth. Tim is crying at this point, angry tears that track down his cheeks. Bruce just rejected him again, and a part of Tim is so happy that Bruce did, and another part of him is so mad.
He’s not exactly sure why he kissed Bruce, just that he knows that’s the one way Dick or Damian or even Jason would never dare to do to Bruce. It’s something that only Tim could do and with dread but excitement, a heat flares in Tim’s belly.
“Tim,” Bruce finally says, hesitates, then carries on. “Tim. We can’t do that.”
Tim shakes his head desperately, his hands going up to cover his ears because he can’t. He can’t handle another rejection from Bruce. It’ll kill him, it’ll kill him, it’ll kill him-
(Something isn’t right with him, he’s realizing. He’s so fucked in the head.)
“It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay.”
Bruce stands and wraps an arm around Tim. He gently maneuvers Tim so that they’re both back to sitting on his bed. Tim lets out a small sob, and he realizes he’s not just crying, but sobbing, big sobs that wrack his body and he’s so humiliated and he hates himself so much, hates Bruce too-
“It’s okay,” Bruce repeats as he rubs circles into Tim’s back. “You didn’t mean to. It’s okay.”
But Tim had meant too, didn’t he? Had needed to touch Bruce in the way only Tim could touch him, in the way that Dick, Damian, and Jason could never, ever touch Bruce.
“I did mean too,” Tim sobs, pushing away from Bruce and causing the older man to stumble back just a little. “I love you.”
And Tim doesn’t even know in what way does he love Bruce, because he wants Bruce to be his dad so badly. He wants Bruce to hold him and rub his hair as he tells Tim that he chooses him, not anyone else, that Tim can be Robin again, that Tim matters. He wants Bruce to protect him and keep him safe, and he wants things to go back to normal-
So he doesn’t know why he also wants Bruce to fuck him into the mattress and tell Tim how beautiful he is, and Tim knows that’s wrong, knows that Bruce is his legal dad, knows that his small celebrity crush he had on Bruce as a child somehow got crossed in the wires of his brain when Bruce died, and it’s disgusting and wrong but-
“I love you too, Tim. You’re my son. Why don’t you stay here and we can work this out, okay?”
But Tim just shakes his head and shoves Bruce, shoves him again, until the man is forced to get off the bed before he falls, and Tim shoves him again, keeps shoving him until Bruce is walking backward until he hits the door. “Just go. You clearly made your choice.”
Bruce reaches out a hand to lay it on Tim’s shoulder, but Tim flinches and steps back. Bruce looks like Tim just kicked yet another puppy. (Tim hates that look, but this is all Bruce’s fault, and Dick’s and Damian’s too, it’s all their fault that Bruce just made another choice and Tim-)
“There’s no choice, Tim.” Now Bruce sounds desperate, as if he’s begging Tim to stay, but that doesn’t make sense because Bruce doesn’t beg. “Please Tim, I didn’t make any choice. Stay here, son, and-”
But buy saying he didn’t make a choice, he did make a choice didn’t he?
“Just go.” Tim rubs at his eyes angrily, mad at himself for letting Bruce see him so weak. “Just go!” Please, Tim wants to say, please stay and choose me. But he knows Bruce won’t so he needs Bruce to leave before Tim completely falls apart in pity and rejection.
So Bruce goes, and Tim collapses on his bed with a cry. Nothing can stop the sobs that wreck his entire body. He wants Bruce to come back so bad, to just hold him and tell him everything will be okay, but everything won’t be okay, and Tim is older enough to know that.
Because once again, Bruce didn’t choose him.
***
The new apartment really isn’t that bad. It’s in a nicer part of Gotham, not exactly the neighborhood that the manor is, but still nice for Gotham’s standards and it’s only ten minutes from where Tim grew up so at least Tim is familiar with it. It’s also in Red Robin’s territory, so there’s no conflict of issue, either.
At least it’ll help Tim get better used to his new route.
Tim’s new apartment is nice, with modern furniture and an open floor plan save for the bedroom, study, and bathroom. There’s plenty of natural lighting, and there’s every bit of furniture a guy could need, so Tim only has to go grocery shopping. It’s the perfect place for a CEO.
It’s not home, but Tim really thinks he can start over here. He could be Red Robin and come home to this place. He could hang out with his friends here, can imagine Kon and Cassie arguing over the TV while Bart makes snacks. He can imagine Steph and him talking on the roof just like they used to.
It’s not home.
But well, it’s the best Tim is going to have. Bruce has made that crystal clear.
Tim hums as he unloads the grocery bags. It’s not much, just coffee beans and some things for sandwiches, but Alfred had sent him off with enough frozen food to last months, so Tim’s not too concerned. As long as he has his coffee, he’ll be just fine.
He’ll be just fine. That’s what he has to tell himself, because if he allows himself to actually think about anything, well-.
It’s best not to think about it.
When the last of the groceries are unloaded, Tim takes a few snapchats of the apartment before sending them off to Steph. He’s quite proud of the apartment, especially since he managed to get everything moved in and done in just two days. Yes, there really wasn’t much to unload, but Tim still did it by himself and he’s so proud.
‘Love it’ Steph snaps back over a picture of her face, her tongue sticking out. ‘Can’t wait to see it in person!’ She sends a little heart and Tim is just so glad she’s back.
He’s about to snap back when his phone rings. He freezes when he sees Dick’s name.
Tim’s relationship with Dick is just as complicated as it is with Bruce. Tim misses Dick, but he misses the old Dick. Now, it’s like he misses a ghost.
He almost doesn’t answer it. But there’s something in there that longs for Dick the way he longs for Bruce so Tim swallows and answers. “Hello?”
He is a bit curious, after all, about what Dick could possibly want. Help with a case? It’s a possibility. They haven’t talked in a long time, not sense- Well. It’s been awhile.
“Tim,” Dick breathes into the phone on the other side, as if he’s shocked that Tim picked up.
Tim sighs and sits down on his couch. He rubs a hand over his face. He’s so tired and he really doesn’t have the energy to deal with Dick right now. Not unless Dick was ready to apologize. “What do you want, Dick?”
“Bruce told me you moved out.”
That’s Dick for you. Straight to point, but somehow also beating around the bush of what he actually wants to say.
Tim frowns. It really wasn’t any of Dick’s business. Bruce shouldn’t have told him, but Tim supposes there really isn’t a good reason as to why Dick can't know. It just irritates him for no reason.
“Yes, I did.”
“But . . why, Timmy?”
Dick really is just like Bruce. Smart, but also so unable to acknowledge and accept feelings to the point that it makes them so dumb. Tim’s like that, too. Steph calls them all emotionally constipated. She’s not wrong.
“Because I wanted to,” Tim snaps, suddenly not in the mood to deal with Dick. His day started off so good, and now his mood is plummeting. “Because I couldn’t stay there any longer.”
Dick seems to be at a loss for words, and though Tim can’t see him, he can imagine Dick biting his lip and mouthing the words he’s trying to put together. They’re really not good with feelings, but at least Bruce usually knows what he needs to say. To an extent. He wasn’t so good when Tim kissed him.
“I know you and Damian don’t get along, but he’s your brother Tim. I”m sure you guys can work it out, but you can’t do that if you don’t go back home.”
A familiar feeling of anger swirls inside Tim, the kind he felt right before he impulsively told everyone he was moving out, and then he did. “We don’t just get along, Dick,” Tim says coolly into the phone. “He tried to kill me. We aren’t brothers. And neither are we.”
“Tim-”
“You chose him,” Tim says with a sudden rush of honesty he wasn’t expecting. His eyes are wet. “You chose him, Dick and so did Bruce. You took Robin away from me. You stopped caring about me, so you don’t get to act like my brother. Not anymore.”
He hadn’t meant to say that, but he’s glad he did. He wants Dick to understand.
Dick is silent on the other line and Tim almost hangs up when Dick finally responds, “Damian needed to be Robin, Tim,” and Tim’s stomach drops because here it comes again, “but you’re still my brother. We can work this out.”
So there it is. Tim angrily rubs at his eyes. It wasn’t fair. “You asked me why I moved out. I answered you. If you don’t like my answer, then that’s your fault, Dick.”
“Tim, please,” but Tim’s already hanging up his phone. His family is smart. They have to know how much Tim is hurting and why, but they’re not willing to fix it. To Tim it speaks volume. Damian means more to them than Tim, so they can’t, they won’t fix what they need to with Tim.
Tim feels like it’s the final nail in the coffin.
***
They give Tim time. They call him, but he doesn’t answer. He works with Bruce at work because he has to, but he’s professional and cool in his answers. Bruce is not his dad, his actions say. Bruce is just someone he answers too.
Their nighttime crime fighting complicates things a bit. He can’t avoid them completely, but on the nights he has to work with any of them, he focuses on the tasks and gets the job done.
They fall into a system. Bruce will ask how he’s doing at work, and Tim will say that he's doing just fine. Bruce will hesitate, like he wants to say more, maybe even ask Tim to come back, but he never does. At night, Red Robin works with Batman to capture A list villains, and sometimes in cases that require detective work. Batman never asks how Red Robin is doing.
Alfred visits occasionally and Tim looks forward to these visits, because Tim may have left Bruce but he never left Alfred. Alfred brings dishes and chastises Tim’s lack of groceries, but also makes sure Tim has enough blankets and toothpaste, too.
He also unashamedly will ask Tim to come back every time. One night, about two weeks after Dick’s phone call, he tells Tim that Bruce misses him.
“Did he tell you?” Tim asks.
“Not through his words, no. But you know how your father is.”
“If Bruce misses me,” he tells Alfred, “he can tell me himself.”
And two days later Bruce stands at Tim’s doorstep, looking almost sheepish. “Hello,” he says.
Tim bites his lip, because boy, does Alfred play dirty. “What are you doing here,” Tim asks, careful to hide any emotion in his voice.
Bruce clears his throat and Tim realizes that he is uncomfortable. He’s out of sorts. It’s not something Tim is used to seeing.
“Can I come in?”
Tim almost wants to say no, but seeing Bruce in person for the first time in weeks has Tim realizing how much he has missed Bruce. He hates that he misses him but he can’t ignore how much he wants Bruce’s attention. (He’s not sure what kind of attention.)
“Fine.” Tim steps back and allows Bruce to enter.
The older man takes a quick look around at Tim’s apartment, taking in the barely used furniture, the empty kitchen, the scattered coffee cups and mugs. Tim’s good at reading people, but not as good as Bruce, and not for the first time does Tim wish that he had superpowers that would allow him to read Bruce’s mind.
“It’s nice,” Bruce says, and it sounds honest.
Tim nods and closes the door behind them. “What are you doing here?”
Bruce seems hesitant again, but he steels forward because he’s Bruce. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he says truthfully. “Are you doing okay?”
“You came all the way here to ask me how I”m doing?” Tim demands, and what he doesn’t ask is, “Do you miss me?”
“You won’t answer my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Tim,” Bruce sighs and once again Tim is shocked with how old he looks, “can we please talk.”
“We are talking,” Tim answers dryly.
Where was Bruce wanting to talk when he came back and saw that Tim was no longer Robin? He hadn’t wanted to talk then. He hadn’t wanted to listen to how Tim felt about not being Robin anymore. Bruce hadn’t wanted to talk when Tim told him about the hell year he had when Bruce was lost.
Bruce had never wanted to talk, so why now.
Something must show in Tim’s face because Bruce sighs again. “This isn’t going how I wanted it too.”
“Does that bother you,” Tim starts, aware he’s playing with fire, “that something is finally not going your way?”
Bruce frowns, but he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at Tim as if he doesn’t know who Tim is anymore, which is fine because Tim isn’t sure who Bruce is, either. He’s certainly not the same guy who legally adopted him. Maybe being lost in time and space changes a person.
“Can you please try here?” Bruce seems frustrated, and Tim huffs but sits down on the couch. “Can you just be honest with me, Tim? I do miss you, and I want you to come home.”
Tim picks up the TV remote and turns on the TV, trying to appear as if he’s bored with the conversation. He shrugs and starts flicking through the channels. He’s happy Bruce said it, he’s happy that Bruce misses him. But that doesn’t mean he can drop everything and just go back.
“This is my home, Bruce.”
Bruce sighs again, something he seems to do a lot in front of Tim, and sits down next to Tim on the couch. “Why? Why is this your home.”
Bruce is so close that Tim can smell his aftershave. It smells really good and Tim scoots just a bit closer to the edge of the couch. If Bruce notices it, he doesn’t mention it.
“No one tries to kill me here,” Tim answers with a shrug and settles on some drama reality show. The volume is so low Tim can’t even hear what they’re saying, but he keeps his eyes on the TV anyway. He doesn’t want to look at Bruce.
“I've talked with Damian,” Bruce says, and Tim spins around so fast to look at Bruce that it almost gives him whiplash. He wasn’t expecting that. It must show in Bruce’s face, because he adds, “I told him that you’re my son just as much as he is, and his behavior is inexcusable. When you come back, I promise you Damian will be on better behavior.”
When. As if Tim is so sure that he’s going to come back. Tim doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he’s glad Bruce talked to Damian, but he highly doubts one talk with the demon brat will change anything.
On the other hand, a part of Tim preens, because Bruce has said that Tim was his son just as much as Damian was. All Tim wants is Bruce’s approval, he still does now even years later.
And a small, disgusting, dark part of Tim feels disappointed, because Bruce sees Tim as a son, which is disgusting because that’s what Tim wants, so why does he feel so rejected to hear those words-
Tim clears his throat and turns back to the TV, careful not to look at Bruce. “I appreciate that, Bruce.” He sighs himself, because things are just so complicated now. “But this is my home now.”
“Tim.” Bruce’s voice is stern but Tim keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “Can you please look at me?”
Biting his lip, Tim tries to keep his eyes to the TV but fails and turns to Bruce. He’s met with icy eyes that, while stern, seem almost desperate. “What is it going to take for you to talk to me? For me to get you home?”
The question bubbles up something inside of Tim. He feels himself swallow, and the all too familiar roaring of blood pounds his ears. “You really want to know?” And he doesn’t even wait for Bruce to nod before Tim is continuing on, though something inside of him is telling him to stop, “You weren’t there. You weren’t there, and Dick was, and Dick took everything from me, and called me crazy. He said you were dead and that I needed to move on. But I didn’t, I knew you were alive, and-and when you came back, I thought you’d fix everything.”
Tim swallows, trying to hold back tears because he won’t cry in front of Bruce again. “But you didn’t fix anything. You didn’t even care that I was the only one who thought you weren’t dead. You came back and things stayed the same! You let Damian stay Robin, and you didn’t care how much that hurt me but I know you knew. You knew it hurt me and you didn’t care.” Tim looks into Bruce's own shocked eyes before he finishes, “You stopped caring about me, because I’m not your son, am I? I’m not.”
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, maybe for Bruce to tell him that he’s wrong, that he does care about him.
He’s not expecting Bruce to grab him-and Tim flinches, but they both ignore it- and wrap his arms around Tim. The hug is so tight, their chests together, and with the height difference it’s easy for Bruce to get Tim’s head into the crook of his shoulder and rest his own head on top of Tim’s.
They have never hugged like this before but god, does it send shivers down Tim’s spine.
“Tim,” Bruce says and Tim almost shivers again, “I have never stopped caring about you.”
Bruce is so warm and strong against Tim, and so many emotions are flying through his body, and Tim realizes that he’s hard.
It’s wrong and it’s disgusting, but Bruce is so warm, and he feels so loved for the first time in over a year, and Bruce is squeezing him like he’s afraid he’s going to lose Tim and it’s all Tim has ever wanted.
The not really a kiss comes back to Tim’s mind and he shudders remembering the way Tim’s lips slanted over Bruce’s, and how soft they were, and Tim shudders again, feels his cock twitch, and he pulls his head back to search Bruce’s face.
“You care about me?” Tim asks softly, but the grip he has on Bruce is strong and tight, as if he scares Bruce is going to pull away and leave him again, and though that’s what he thought he wanted, he realizes how could he ever want that? How could he ever want Bruce to leave?
There’s something in Bruce’s face, like he’s begging Tim not to do what Tim is about to do next, but they both know Tim’s going to do it.
And he does. Tim kisses Bruce again.
It’s different this time. Tim can taste Bruce, (he tastes like mint), can smell his aftershave, can feel his chest against his own and it’s so intoxicating.
Like last time, Bruce does not kiss Tim back, but he doesn’t push Tim back either. He just turns his head so that their lips disconnect, and while he keeps his tight grip on Tim, he says in a soft but firm voice, “Tim. We can’t do that.”
It’s like he doesn’t want to hurt Tim with another rejection, but he needs Tim to see how wrong this is. A flush hits Tim’s cheeks and he breathes, desperate for air, but he shakes his head. “Why?” he demands. “You said you care about me.”
“I do,” Bruce answers with a nod, and Tim can see his pupils, wide and almost blown, “I do care about you Tim.” He shifts gently and Tim realizes he can probably feel Tim’s erection, hard and pressing against his belly. “But you’re my son and this is wrong.”
Tim starts to shake his head, almost desperate for Bruce to understand, to not reject him one more time. No no no no. “I want this,” Tim manages to rasp out, his voice desperate to his own ears. “Please, Bruce, please, I want you to care about me-”
“Tim, please.” And Bruce’s voice seems desperate now too. “Please Tim, I do, but we can’t do this-”
“No no no no.” Tim shakes his head, and suddenly desperate for Bruce to understand, pushes his chest closer to Bruce, feels his stomach touch the older man’s, feels his erection hit Bruce’s thigh-
Bruce shoots out with his arms and grips Tim’s shoulder to keep him from moving any more than he already has. “Why? Why do you want this?” To anyone else it could come off rude, as if he’s disgusted with Tim, but Tim knows better. Bruce is confused and trying to desperately regain control of a situation that he doesn’t know how it got away from him.
“I love you,” Tim gasps out, and he needs to make Bruce understand. “I want you to love me back in the way you can’t love Damian or Dick or even Jason. This,” he gaps, needing air, and he’s so aroused, “this is the only way I can have you. Please Bruce please, please, please.”
He pushes back against Bruce’s front, desperate for Bruce to see him, to understand, so he grabs one hand and Bruce closes his eyes but allows Tim to lead his hand until it touches his erection through his pants, but Bruce growls and snatches his hand away.
“Tim, please. Please listen to me-”
“Listen to me,” Tim demands back and nuzzles Bruce’s neck to plant a kiss on the taught skin there, “I want this, I want this so bad, please, I need this.”
Tim can feel Bruce’s pulse, can feel the other man’s racing heart beat, and with a sudden realization, he knows Bruce is half hard against him, too, so Tim kisses his neck again, sucks just a bit before Bruce gently pries him off again.
Up close, Tim can see the other man’s eyes again, and this time the pupils are completely blown, and Bruce’s mouth is open just a bit and he’s panting, and he has to be a little aroused, has to be, but he stops Tim again, desperately shaking his own head.
He’s losing control and he’s desperately trying to regain it, but he’s half hard against Tim and it sends fire throughout Tim’s body and his cock twitches again.
“You need this?” the older man rasps and Tim nods desperately, trying to maintain eye contact with the older man, to make him see.
“Yes, yes, yes, I need this. Bruce please, please.” He leans up and kisses Bruce’s jaw, tries to get his mouth again but Bruce jerks his head back, but his fingers tighten on Tim’s shoulders and Tim hadn’t even realized Bruce was still gripping them.
“You need this?” the older man demands again, and they keep eye contact, but Bruce seems to be searching Tim’s face, looking for something, and Tim doesn’t know what he’s looking for but he nods.
“Yes, yes, please fuck me, yes-”
Bruce’s hand comes up and quickly slams itself over Tim’s mouth, desperate to stop him, but it’s too late, he heard what Tim said and Tim can feel Bruce’s own erection against him, now fully hard.
“If I do this,” Bruce all but growls, but he pants just a bit, “you’ll come home?”
Tim licks Bruce hand, and Bruce flinches and quickly draws it back, leaving Tim’s mouth free to beg, “Yes! Yes, I promise, Bruce, please. I need-”
“If this is what you need from me, Tim,” Bruce says softly, like he’s already regretting everything.
“Yes, I-”
Bruce cuts him off by finally (finally) pressing his lips back to Tim’s.
It’s not how Tim had imagined it all those years ago as he laid in his bed in the Drake home, his mouth pressed tight together to keep himself quiet, his hips thrusting into the air as Tim jerked himself off, Brucie Wayne smiling at him in his mind.
In his mind, Brucie is gentle but demanding as he kisses Tim.
In the present, Bruce seems almost desperate as he kisses Tim. He curls one hand into Tim’s hair, bringing their mouths closer together, and he yanks, just a bit, but it’s enough for Tim to gasp into the kiss, allowing Bruce’s tongue to caress over Tim’s.
It’s so different from before. Bruce seems determined to see this through, determined to do whatever he needs to do to bring Tim home, and Tim wants Bruce so bad.
Bruce’s tongue prods Tim’s mouth, running over his teeth, the roof of his mouth, all the way tugging at Tim’s hair and Tim can’t quite keep up, all but gasping into Bruce’s mouth as he desperately tries to kiss Bruce back.
Bruce pulls back and Tim’s gasps, sucks in much needed air, and gazes up at Bruce as if Bruce just walked on water. (In Tim’s mind, he practically had.) A thin string of saliva still connects their lips and Tim goes back in for another kiss, but Bruce stops him again.
“Okay?” he asks, and Tim nods.
“Yes, of course, please, fuck me-”
“Please stop saying that,” Bruce whispers, and Tim whines so Bruce shakes his head again, “I can’t do that-”
“You can,” Tim interrupts. “I need it, I want it so bad, please, please.” This time, when Tim reaches out his own hand and rests it against Bruce’s clothed erection, Bruce doesn’t stop him.
The older man just shudders but he leans in to kiss Tim’s own neck. “Okay,” he says against the skin. “Okay, but we do it my way, okay?”
“Yes, yes that’s fine.” Tim palms Bruce’s erection, and Bruce makes a sound in the back of his throat, hot and needy, but despite it he gently tugs Tim’s hands okay.
“Just slow down,” Bruce whispers. “Okay, where’s your bedroom?”
This is really happening, Tim thinks as Tim all but runs to the room, Bruce trailing behind him. Bruce wants him, wants Tim in the way he can’t want anyone else and it sends so much need through Tim. He’s so hard . . .
Now in the bedroom, Tim all but throws himself on the bed, but manages to get his body in a good position, his head resting on the pillows and he’s glad he actually made his bed today. Bruce stands at the foot of the bed, and for one horrified second Tim thinks he’s gonna leave, but he doesn’t.
He climbs on top of Tim and slants his body over Tim’s much smaller one. At this new angle, he can feel every part of Bruce and god it’s happening, it’s really happening.
For a second they just stare at each other, and maybe this is where Tim should be having doubts but he wants this so bad and there’s no way he can stop now.
As if realizing that, Bruce sighs and kisses Tim’s forehead. His large hands find’s Tim’s waist and slowly start to slide up Tim’s side, underneath his shirt.
Tim moans and arches his back, and desperate to feel all of Bruce, he grabs his own shirt and hurriedly takes it off. Bruce doesn’t help, but he doesn’t stop Tim when he starts to tug off his jeans too, leaving Tim in his boxers briefs.
A soft of panic hits Bruce’s eyes, and Tim thinks maybe this is where Bruce will call it quits but he doesn’t. He doesn't stop Tim from yanking on his shirt, from grabbing it and pulling it over Bruce’s head, exposing his scarred chest.
Tim runs his hands over Bruce’s shoulders, and he’s hit with how big Bruce is. Tim’s seen Bruce without a shirt on before, but it’s so different with Bruce laying over him, and Tim realizes that Bruce is so big, he could crush Tim and it should scare him but it doesn’t. Bruce won’t hurt him, Tim is sure of it.
It only makes him more aroused and suddenly desperate for things to start again, he unbuttons Bruce’s pants. Or, at least he tries to but that’s when Bruce finally stops him.
“Wait,” the older man says in that lower, growl-like voice and Tim does, staying still and silent, as if scared that one wrong word will send Bruce flying.
Bruce closes his eyes but he doesn’t get off Tim. He takes in a few wild, panic breaths before he opens his eyes again and then he nods, more to himself than to Tim, and takes off his pants. Clad in only their underwear, they both freeze.
Bruce leans down and kisses Tim’s neck again. “Do you have lube?” he whispers into Tim’s ear.
Tim closes his eyes and whimpers. He can’t speak right now, so he just points to the nightstand. Bruce nods and lowers himself more onto Tim, suddenly pressing all his weight on the younger man so that he can open the nightstand with one hand.
Bruce is hard, and with nothing but their thin underwear between them, their cocks rub together and Tim moans, loudly then, and he can feel Bruce’s own cock twitch, but the man is determined. He manages to grab the bottle of lube, it’s already half way empty but there’s enough in it. If he comes across Tim’s sex toys, he doesn’t mention it.
With the lube in hand, Bruce sits back on his knees, and Tim whines at the lack of contact, but suddenly confident, he sits up as well and reaches for Bruce’s boxers. Bruce doesn’t stop him, just closes his eyes and looks up to the ceiling, as if he’s asking for God to intervene and stop this, but nothing happens.
Tim yanks down Bruce’s boxers and his cock springs free, big and thicker than Tim could ever have imagined. It sends shivers down Tim’s spine at the thought of it inside of him and suddenly an idea goes through his mind.
“Can I blow you?” Tim asks, desperately reaching for the cock in question.
“No.” And this time he does growl and Tim flinches back in shock, and Bruce must see the hurt expression on his face because he sighs and grabs Tim’s hand. “Like this, okay?” With one hand, he slicks up his own dick with lube, and with the other, he guides Tim's own hand until Tim touches the velvet skin.
They both moan, though Bruce immediately shuts his mouth afterwards, embarrassed he let Tim see just how turn on he actually is.
It’s stickier than Tim imagined, but not too different from Tim’s own dick. Bruce’s cock is nice and thick and Tim’s mouth actually waters, wanting to taste it so bad, but he lets his hand fist Bruce’s cock and gives it a hesitant jerk.
Bruce groans and Tim does it again, suddenly with a rush of confidence that doesn’t even seem fake. He uses his thumb to circle the head, and wants to desperately lick away the bead of precum, but he knows Bruce doesn’t want that so he doesn’t. He spreads it around instead, mixes it with the lube until Bruce’s cock is sticky and hard and pulsing in his hand.
Tim sneaks a peak at the other man and is glad to see that Bruce is biting his lip, panting softly as his eyes watch Tim jerk him off. He’s enjoying this, Tim thinks, and his own dick shoots a bead of precum itself. He needs Bruce inside of him now.
“Touch me,” Tim begs in a low whisper and Bruce nods, and lays them back down. The movement causes Tim to let go of Bruce, to which he whines, but Bruce placates him by kissing him once again.
He’s so distracted by the kiss, of their lips together, of the feel of Bruce’s tongue in his mouth, that he misses Bruce dipping his fingers into the lube again, and his entire body almost flies off the bed when Bruce finally slips off Tim’s underwear and touches his cock.
“Ohhhh,” Tim moans, nice and low in his throat and Bruce puffs out a small laugh. The touch is so much different than anything Tim has ever done to himself.
“That’s it,” Bruce murmurs against Tim’s mouth. “Good boy.” Tim whines, his eyes squeezed shut and Bruce says, “It’s okay. I got you, baby bird. I got you.”
“Please,” Tim begs, “more. I need more.”
Bruce hesitates, his hand stilling on Tim’s cock and he bites Tim’s lower lip before breaking the kiss and nodding. “Are you sure that this is what you want, Tim?”
“Yes,” Tim all but sobs. “Yes, fuck me. I need you.”
Bruce looks up at the ceiling again, like he really is asking God for help, but that’s ridiculous. He breathes out harshly but nods again, and suddenly his hand disappears and Tim’s mind short circuits because-
“Oh.”
Bruce pushes a finger inside of him, slow and gentle, and Tim’s done this to himself plenty of times but absolutely nothing could have compared him for the feel of another man’s finger inside of him instead.
It’s, god, it’s amazing, the way Bruce’s finger curls inside of him, up to the knuckle, and searches for that spot inside of him. Oh, it’s so good, and Tim pants, feels his hair starting to stick to his forehead.
“Okay?” Bruce asks and Tim nods.
“More.”
Bruce bites his lip but nods, adds more lube to his fingers and curls a second finger inside of Tim. There’s a light sting, but Tim ignores it, instead focusing on the pleasure, of the way his balls are starting to tighten, and god, it’s so good-
“OH!” Tim shouts as Bruce’s two fingers manage to press against his prostate, and Tim wasn’t expecting that. “Ngh,” he moans, his brain starting to melt and Bruce smiles just a bit at that.
“Good?”
“Yesssss. Yes, so good, oh my god.” Tim’s never had sex before, had only ever messed around a bit with Steph, but he never imagined himself as a talker, but he’s starting to babble as Bruce continues to fuck Tim with his fingers, scissoring them and stretching him open.
“Yes, uh, ngh, so good,” Tim continues to babbles then shouts as Bruce pushes in a third finger, and that time it really does sting and Tim whimpers but Bruce kisses Tim, pushing his tongue inside of his mouth as Bruce adds more lube and curls his three fingers against his prostate.
Tim comes.
Waves of blinding white hot pleasure rolls through Tim as his cock spurts across both of their stomachs and chests, even managing to land a spurt against Tim’s chin, and Tim moans as his ass clenches against Bruce’s fingers and his tongue reaches up to lick away his own come.
“Shh.” Bruce peppers small kisses against Tim’s neck, sucking and biting as Tim’s vision goes white and his dick shudders. Tim’s mouth open, strings of saliva against his lips but Bruce shushes him again. “It’s okay, I got you baby bird. I got you, shh.”
Tim whimpers as the aftershocks rolls through and shudders as his dick gives a final twitch before he lies back on the bed, spent. He closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, and when he finally opens them again, Bruce is leaning over him, concerned in his eyes.
“Okay?” he asks, as if he’s truly worried he really did hurt Tim.
“Perfect,” Tim answers and kisses Bruce again. Bruce won’t hurt him.
Bruce is still hard against Tim’s hip, and he blindly reaches down to curl his hand against him. Bruce flinches but he doesn’t push Tim away and Tim breaks the kiss to beg, “Please, please let me blow you. I promise it’ll be so good.” Which is a promise Tim shouldn’t make because he’s never had a dick in his mouth before but Bruce is so hard and dripping against his hip and Tim wants him in his mouth so bad.
Bruce shudders against Tim but he sits back on his knees and he hesitates before he nods and that’s all Tim needs before he flattens himself on his stomach and licks the tip of the cock.
“Fuck,” Bruce whimpers and encouraged, Tim swirls his tongue around the head and takes more into his mouth. It tastes sort of musky and salty, but it’s not a bad taste, and even though he just came, Tim can feel his own cock getting hard again.
He moans and it sends vibrations across Bruce’s cock, and the older man can’t help but push more into Tim’s mouth. Tim happily takes it, hollowing his cheeks the way he’s seen in porn and sucking. He only has half of it in his mouth before Bruce jerks himself back.
“Enough.”
It’s a shame because Bruce really does have a big cock and Tim wouldn't mind having it down his throat while he gags and drools around it, but maybe for another time. He needs Bruce inside of him so badly.
Tim lies back down on his back, the cock slipping out of his mouth, but Bruce stays on his knees on his bead, chest heaving heavily. He glances back down at Tim and his eyes darken. “Condom?”
Tim points to the nightstand, suddenly so glad he likes to put condoms on his toys because it makes for easier clean up. Bruce coughs, closes his eyes, but he opens the nightstand and grabs the condom, and though Tim knows he’s trying to play cool, a part of him must want this badly because he hurriedly rips open the condom to shove it onto his dick.
Tim’s hard again, and the thought of having Bruce, Bruce fucking Wayne inside of him makes his head spin. Bruce is so much bigger than Tim and it’s so hot . . .
“Um.” And now Bruce looks unsure even as his dick is twitching inside the condom. Tim just knows Bruce wants to fuck him too, so he doesn’t understand why he’s hesitating. “Have you-uh. Have you ever-”
“No,” Tim answers honestly and Bruce freezes. “But it’s okay,” Tim rushes to say, and grabs Bruce’s wrists as the man starts to pull back. “It’s okay, I want this so badly.”
“I can’t-”
“You can, please. Please. I want this so badly.”
Bruce looks like he might cry as he glances down at Tim and Tim honestly expects Bruce to finally realize what they’re doing and leave. But he doesn’t.
Bruce just nods and Tim releases his wrist. “Okay. Okay. I”ll be gentle.” The last part is more said to himself than Tim but Tim can’t even process it because Bruce flattens himself against Tim, grabs his knees apart, and then suddenly the tip of his cock is against Tim’s hole-
And Tim tenses, nervous, but Bruce whispers in his ear, “It’s okay, I got you,” and Bruce’s got him, he won’t ever hurt Tim again, so Tim nods and Bruce licks into his mouth and Tim sighs.
It’s enough for Bruce to inch inside.
Tim has had enough things inside of him before, but it’s nothing compared to the thickness and length of Bruce’s cock. It stings and Bruce isn’t giving Tim time to adjust before shoving more inches inside of him, so Tim pants out, “Ah, gentle-”
“Shh, I got you.” And Bruce tries to be gentle, but Tim is wet and tight around him, and he’s only a man, and his hips snap against Tim without meaning too and Tim cries out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
It surprises Tim because Bruce is kind of known for his extreme self control but it looks like Bruce has lost all control as he snaps his hips into Tim without giving him any time to adjust.
“Ahhhh,” Tim moans and he’s not sure if he wants to push Bruce off him or get him closer. “Wait,” he begs again and this time Bruce cringes but stills his hips and gives Tim enough time to breathe. It’s more of a pant really, but Bruce doesn’t comment on it.
Tim feels so full. It’s nothing he has ever experienced before and he clenches without meaning to on Bruce’s cock, which he regrets a second later as Bruce starts to snap his hips again. They both cry out, and Bruce uses that as an excuse to kiss Tim again. As someone who seemed repulsed the first time Tim kissed him, he sure seems to like kissing Tim now.
Bruce sets the rhythm, hard and rough and nothing like the gentle Tim had expected. He doesn’t . . . hate it, but he’s not sure he likes it either but he’s so scared of saying something that would set Bruce off. He did say they were going to do it his way and that’s fine. He just wants Bruce, even if he wishes they’d just slow down just a bit-
“Oh!”
With a snap of his hips, Bruce’s cock brushes against Tim’s prostate and Tim cries out again. “There! Yes, ngh, do it again, oh my god.”
Bruce doesn’t say anything, just thrusts quick and faster inside of Tim, and again, maybe Tim would like him to be gentle, but it feels good either way, feels fucking amazing and Tim doesn’t think he’s gonna last much longer. Bruce seems to be the same way, because he makes an uneven thrust and they both cry out.
“Fuck,” Bruce moans, and sucks a hickey into Tim’s neck. Tim never saw Bruce as a hickey guy, but fuck does it feel amazing, physically and emotionally. Bruce is marking him, claiming him.
Choosing him . . .
“‘M gonna come,” Tim manages to gasp out. Bruce is ruthless, slamming into Tim and Tim can only grip the sheets and arch his back.
“Not yet,” Bruce growls and Tim blinks in surprise. (In the back of his mind, he wished he’d have told Bruce he didn’t want harsh, cruel. He wants kind and gentle and to be loved by Bruce, but this is okay too, Tim guesses.)
“But-”
Bruce wraps a hand in Tim’s hair and pulls, not enough to yank his head back but enough to make Tim yelp. “Not yet.” He makes another thrust and Tim ass clenches.
“Please,” he cries out, nearly yelping as Bruce thrusts his body up the mattress and almost sends his head flying through the headboard. “‘M so close-”
“No, baby bird.”
Tim doesn’t understand why Bruce is being so mean but Bruce is fucking him so nicely and his balls feel so tight, like they could shoot any minute. His dick is already leaking precum, and fuck he’s close, and he just wants Bruce to love him, to make him feel safe-
“Daddy,” Tim sobs and Bruce hips stutter.
Tim stills too. He . . . hadn’t meant to say that. It was never like he was attracted to Bruce because he was his adoptive dad. It wasn’t like that. He was attractive to Bruce because he’s Bruce Wayne. He’s Batman.
“Sorry,” Tim mutters, his heart sinking as he realizing that he just ruined this entire thing-
Bruce groans, pulls his cock completely out and thrusts it back into Tim. “If that’s what you need from me,” he pants into Tim’s ear, and he starts the rhythm thrusts again.
Tim wants to explain that he doesn’t, that that’s not what he needed and he doesn’t know why he said it, but Bruce grabs Tim’s hips hard enough to bruise and Tim yelps as Bruce’s cock stabs that spot inside of him again.
“Yes,” Tim lies, (he wants to stop) and he arches his back again, allows Bruce’s cock to go deeper. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Baby bird,” Bruce groans and Tim does love that nickname, had pretended to act embarrassed about it when he was a kid, but it’s so endearing and special to him.
The new rhythm Bruce sets is even harder than before, and it hurts but it feels so good. Bruce keeps sucking at his neck while yanking his hair and his cock is hitting all the perfect spots in him.
Tim never wants it to stop (he wants it to stop).
“Daddy,” he babbles one last time.
Bruce moans, yanks Tim’s hair again and he says, “I love you, Tim,” before kissing Tim one last time.
This time when he comes, he can feel Bruce coming with him, too.
Utterly spent, they lay on Tim’s bed and both try to catch their breath. Tim doesn't risk looking at Bruce because he’s not sure what he’ll find on the other man’s face. Regret, surely. Maybe disappointment in Tim? Tim can’t bear to look.
He doesn’t have to. Bruce gently cradles Tim’s jaw and turns his head so that Tim is forced to look at him. “You’re coming home?” he asks. (They only did this because Bruce would do anything to bring Tim home.)
Tim hesitates but he nods, closes his eyes, and just focuses on the feeling of Bruce touching him. “I-yeah. Yeah, I’ll come home.” He won’t come back permanently, but he’ll make the effort to split his time at the manor. (He told Bruce he would.)
Bruce nods and gets up. Neither of them say anything as Bruce gets dressed. Tim is suddenly so tired despite it being in the middle of the afternoon.
“Come home, tomorrow,” Bruce tells Tim, right before he leaves. He smiles at Tim, but Tim can tell it’s forced. Bruce looks like he might throw up. “We’ll even go out and patrol together, okay?” At Tim’s look, he rushes to say, “Just you and me, okay? Like old times.”
And Tim can’t say no to that, so he nods, and Bruce leaves. Tim sleeps for two hours. He’ll panic when he wakes up, but for now he’s exhausted.
***
Tim does go home, but not permanently. He keeps his apartment but splits his time. Alfred is absolutely ecstatic to have Tim back, and prepares his favorite foods on the days Tim sleeps over. He doesn’t even comment when Tim ignores the food for coffee, either.
Damian is not excited to have Tim back, but at least he keeps his comments to himself. He glares and scoffs at Tim but he doesn’t say much when Tim stays in a manor.
Tim is home, just like he’d told Bruce he would. True to his world, they even go out together as Batman and Red Robin. Damian throws a fit, which Tim thinks is ridiculous because the kid is much too old to do so, and Bruce goes out with him plenty of times still, too.
The point is that Tim is home.