
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/579372.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Dick_Grayson
  Additional Tags:
      Fingerstripes, Uniforms, Masturbation, Laundry, pornday
  Series:
      Part 2 of Stolen/Borrowed
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-09-14 Words: 2263
****** Borrowed Pleasure ******
by iesika
Summary
     bor·row v., v.tr. 1. To obtain or receive (something) on loan with
     the promise or understanding of returning it or its equivalent. 2. To
     adopt or use as one's own

Dick noticed the smell of sex lingering in his bathroom when he got up that
morning with a sharp little shock of a thrill that made him tighten his hand
around his morning wood. It shouldn't have been such a surprise; Tim was a
teenager, so of course he jerked off. Dick hadn't expected first-hand
confirmation of that, though.

When he'd passed through the living room, Tim had still been asleep on Dick's
couch, pillow over his head to block out the light. At some point during the
night, he'd come in here to wank himself to sleep. Maybe he did it every night,
under his covers and safe in his own bed; Wally used to, when they were that
age. Dick had certainly gone to bed with that intention most nights, only to be
cock-blocked by exhaustion.

It was good that Tim was comfortable enough with him to do that here, even if
he had hidden in the bathroom to do it. That made Dick happy for entirely
unperverted reasons.

Those weren't the only reasons, though. Dick closed the toilet and sat down,
skinning his shirt off and opening the hamper in front of him. There was a
wash-rag in the bin that hadn't been there when he undressed for bed. It was
still damp, when his fingers brushed it, so he pulled it out and held it to his
face, curious.

Tim's scent was deep and rich, almost a taste on the back of his tongue. Dick
licked his lips and reached into his sweatpants before he could stop and think
about what he was doing, squeezing and stroking as he pressed the cloth to his
lips.



He noticed the scent again that night, as he was dressing to go out. Tim was
changing in Dick's bedroom, so Dick was sitting on the couch, getting his boots
and gloves and mask in order. At first he thought he was smelling the couch
where Tim had slept, and he picked up the blanket that had been folded over the
arm and pressed it to his face. Nothing. Dick set the blanket aside and tried
to take mental stock of the situation.

God, he was such a perv, sniffing around after a boy almost a decade younger
than him. Dick was pretty sure it wasn't his fault he always ended up attracted
to the people he cared about, but he could acknowledge, at least, that it
probably wasn't normal.

The thought made Dick sigh and run his hand back through his hair - or start
to, anyway, because when he brought his gloved hand up to touch his temple, the
scent suddenly intensified. His eyes widened in surprise, and he jerked his
hand back to look at it. The glove looked normal. He sniffed it.

Oh god. Dick's mind flashed, suddenly, to the moment he'd opened the
compartment that held his uniform. He'd thought, then, that something had
seemed slightly off about how it had been placed. He'd chalked it up to the
fact he'd been talking to Tim while he put it away, but now...

Dick sniffed the glove again.

"Do you have a-" Tim started, from the doorway, and then broke off and went
silent. Dick's head whipped around and they stared at each other for a long
moment. Tim's face was tight, his jaw locked, eyes carefully devoid of emotion
but tense around the corners. As the staring contest dragged on, color started
to rise high on his cheeks. Dick had never seen him blush before, and it was
startlingly appealing.

There was no way Tim didn't realize what Dick had found out - his gloved hand
had been pressed over his mouth and nose when the boy walked in, his eyes
closed as he breathed deeply. Apparently Tim wasn't going to say anything,
though. Dick couldn't blame him, really. What *did* you say to a friend whose
clothes you'd been jacking off with?

For that matter, what did you say to the boy whose scent was making you unfit
to fight crime in a skin-tight uniform? It was almost certainly going to be up
to Dick to break the silence, but he had no idea what to say. The moment
stretched on and on, neither of them blinking.

He tried to think it through rationally, as difficult as that was with the
scent still in his nostrils and the way Tim was holding himself tense as steel.
At some point, after Dick had gone to bed last night, Tim had crept into the
bedroom, into his closet, disabled the alarm, and removed his costume - or
maybe just parts of his costume. He'd taken it into the bathroom. He'd
masturbated. Maybe he'd just rubbed against the material, maybe put the glove
on and touched himself.

The mental image was powerful. Dick didn't realize he was licking his lips
until he saw the minute widening of Tim's eyes, the sudden increase in color in
his cheeks.

It was possible he just had a Kevlar fetish. He certainly wouldn't be the first
Dick had ever run across. But...Tim had his own Kevlar gloves. He'd apparently
gone to great lengths to borrow Dick's. That had to mean something.

Tim was starting to look kind of pained, so he needed to do something, before
the poor kid gave himself a heart attack, but Dick still didn't know what to
say. He finally gave up and just went with his instinct for the physical,
opening his mouth and sliding two fingers inside to the second knuckle.

Tim gasped and slumped back against the door-frame as if his strings had been
cut, his eyes wide and suddenly dark. Okay, Dick thought, obviously that was
the right thing to do. He sucked his fingers, letting his cheeks hollow as he
pulled them from his mouth and dragged against his lip. There wasn't anything
to taste - Tim had cleaned the gloves before he put them away, he guessed. It
was only the scent that still lingered.

Dick kissed his fingertips and then pulled off the glove, one finger at a time.
He held it up between them for a few seconds and then tossed it over to Tim,
who caught it instinctively and then looked like he wanted to drop it. "Put it
on."

"But-" Tim looked torn. He stared at the glove, at Dick, back at the glove.
"Dick." It sounded like a question.

"Do you just like how they feel?" Dick asked. He reached across the couch to
where his other glove sat, neatly folded on top of his boots. "Was it just the
gloves? Did you put on the boots? Tights?" A thought flashed through his mind,
and Dick felt his own skin flush with sudden heat. "Jock?"

Tim made a small sound low in his throat. "Just-just the gloves. Dick."

"Come here," Dick said, holding out his hand. He pushed his boots onto the
floor. Tim didn't move at first, so Dick said it again. "Come here."

"I didn't-" Tim started to say as he stepped away from the doorway, but he
broke off, so Dick wasn't sure what he meant to say. "Dick. Are...are you mad?"

Maybe, if by 'mad' Tim meant 'crazy'. "Come here." He repeated. When Tim was
close enough, Dick reached out and caught him with one hand around his wrist,
the other on his waist, pulling him down to sit on the couch. He took the glove
from Tim's unresisting hand and opened it, holding Tim's wrist as he slid the
glove onto him, carefully guiding his fingers into place, then lifted his other
hand and repeated the process.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked, and then broke off with a gasp when Dick
leaned forward and sucked his thumb into his mouth. "Oh," he said, a moment
later. "You, um. I guess you don't mind then."

Dick shook his head without opening his mouth, and then shifted until he could
take Tim's thumb all the way down, until his nose was pressed to Tim's palm. He
scraped with his teeth as he pulled away again, still holding Tim by the wrist,
and guided Tim's other hand down to cup him through his tights. "Okay?" he
asked.

"Oh god," Tim breathed. His hand spasmed under Dick's, tightening and then
releasing. "I can't - I can't feel you. Let me take it off."

"I don't know," Dick said, "I kind of like the look of it." He thrust up
against Tim's hand, feeling the rasp of armor against armor, watching the blue
against the black. "Like you in my clothes. I like seeing you in my uniform,"
he added, reaching out and stroking up Tim's leg. "Like you better in the
shorts."

"The shorts make me look twelve," Tim protested, even as he let his hand be
molded to the shape of Dick's erection, all without tearing his eyes away from
the sight.

"Are you calling me a pervert?" Dick said, laughing. Before Tim could answer,
Dick leaned down and pressed his lips to Tim's. Tim gasped against his mouth
and gave a shuddering moan as his free hand came up to lightly touch Dick's
shoulder. "I kinda am," Dick confessed in a whisper. "I jerked off this
morning, thinking about you."

Tim groaned loudly and slid his hand up Dick's neck into his hair, pulling him
into a deeper, wilder kiss, their teeth clacking together. His grip on Dick's
erection shifted into a clumsy, frustrating stroke through two layers of
Kevlar. Dick pulled his hand away after a moment and broke the kiss despite
Tim's protests, standing to skin out of his uniform.

"I could smell you," he said, in a rush. "You weren't even awake, but I knew
you'd been in there, knew you'd been touching yourself." He pulled his jock
down and away with care, let it fall down his legs and stepped out of it to
kneel up on the couch, leaning over Tim and forcing him back against the
cushions. "If I'd known you'd been thinking ofme..." He rucked Tim's shirt up
over his stomach, until he could see how hard the boy was under his tights.
"I'd have woke you up. Maybe used my mouth..."

The look on Tim's face was wild, somewhere between fear and fascination, but
when Dick slid down his body to kneel naked on the floor, he shivered all over.
When Dick tucked his fingers into Tim's waistband and tugged, Tim braced his
feet on either side of Dick's knees and arched up, lifting his hips to help
Dick undress him. When Dick bent his head and pressed his mouth and nose into
the hair above Tim's rising cock, Tim's gloved palms slid up Dick's arms to his
shoulders, his neck, and finally cupped the back of his head. "Oh, god," he
breathed. "Are you really gonna-"

Dick nuzzled him, rubbed his face against Tim's erection, kissed the base and
nosed at his balls. "You smell so good," he murmured. "Been thinking about
sucking you, all day."

"Fuck," Tim gasped. It was the first time Dick had ever heard him curse. The
sound of it made Dick grin, pressing the flats of his teeth dangerously against
Tim's balls. That earned him a high whine, followed by a sob. "Dick."

"This is what you want?" Dick asked. He tried to be good, tried to wait for an
answer, but there was just too much temptation. He cupped Tim's balls in his
hand, stroking with his fingertips and squeezing lightly. "Tell me."

"Yes!" Tim gasped, and the fingers in Dick's hair tightened almost to the point
of pain. "Oh god, please. Dick!"

That was good enough. Dick licked a stripe up his shaft and then swallowed him
down, as deep as he could. The taste of him was overwhelming, heady and rich,
filling his nose and making his mouth water. He squeezed Tim's balls in his
palm, squeezed his own erection with his other hand, felt, with a sharp rush of
pleasure, the tension in Tim's sack as he thrust up, arching off the couch.

Dick swallowed him down, stroking with his tongue as Tim shuddered under him,
until the boy was sobbing and pounding on his shoulder with a fist. He pulled
off and looked up at him. Tim's eyes were squeezed tight shut, his head thrown
back, his lashes damp and matted against his cheek. He looked absolutely
beautiful, absolutely broken, and Dick closed his eyes against the sight,
pressing his face to Tim's shaking thigh as he pumped into his own fist,
groaning through his own orgasm and absolutely ruining his rug.

When he'd caught his breath, he kissed the skin under his cheek and then licked
a stripe up it before lifting his head. Tim's eyes were nearly closed, just a
dark glint from under heavy lids. He was looking down at Dick with something
like religious awe. Dick smiled back, somewhat weakly.

"After patrol," he said, his throat rough from use, "you can tell me what you
were doing in my bathroom this morning. What you were thinking about."

Tim looked away, licking his lips and then biting them. "You," he said,
quietly. "Your hands. Just...you."

Dick's grin broadened. "Yeah?" He arched his neck as Tim's fingers ran gently
through his hair, pressing his forehead against Tim's thigh. Tim's gloved
fingers stroked across his cheek, and Dick turned to kiss them. He sat up a
moment later and caught Tim's hand, pulling the glove off so that he could kiss
the damp hollow of his palm.
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