
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/73830.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson, Tim_Drake/Koriand'r
  Additional Tags:
      Crossdressing, interesting_definition_of_consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-01-31 Words: 2756
****** Metaphorical Cherry ******
by cmshaw
Summary
     Dick grins and pokes Tim in the padded shoulder. "So you wind up in
     Titans territory undercover as a co-ed--"
Dick knows that Tim is walking up to the door of his apartment, but when he
looks through the peephole after the knock there's a girl there. He can't place
her for a second, but her frown looks familiar--
Yes, and it's still true when he yanks the door open. His little Timmy's
standing there in make-up and a wig and a very familiar frown and, when Dick
settles his shoulder against the doorframe and gives him/her a smirking once-
over, Tim adds an irritated eyebrow quirk that he probably doesn't even realize
he learned from Bruce. Dick has no idea why Tim's here (like this!), but
something deep inside is already kicking up its heels and chortling over the
possibilities for poking a great deal of fun.
Tim sighs. "May I come in?" he asks, pushing past Dick into his apartment. Dick
tries to hip-check him on the way by and Tim swivels easily out of the way,
turning up his suddenly-cute-as-a-button nose and putting his hands on his hips
once he's inside. Dick wants to applaud, but he settles for closing the door
and indulging in another long slow ogle.
Tim gets himself down onto the sofa in a move that looks caught between his
usual ostentatiously-normal teenaged boy flop and a fairly prim maneuver that
keeps his knees together. For a moment it fails and Dick can almost see right
up Tim's skirt. When he looks back up at Tim's face, Tim is blushing bright red
and entirely failing at glaring.
Maybe this time Tim's going to try seducing him and not lose his nerve twenty
seconds in. Dick's whole body twitches at the thought. He circles around behind
the sofa just for the fun of watching Tim tense up as Dick moves out of his
line of sight and perches himself on the arm of the sofa right next to Tim.
"So," he says brightly, "undercover or just going out dancing?"
Tim tugs at the jacket cuff of the woman's suit he's wearing to such good
effect. "Caroline's a med student at -- well, it can vary. We were tracking
drug sales but it turned out to be a lot bigger than that, and I wound up in
New York."
New York, huh? "Am I going to get a prank call from Arsenal?"
And Dick needs to not lick the lipstick off of the smile that Tim's aiming a
few inches to the side of Dick. He also needs to stop thinking about sex for a
minute in case this is actually work-related, and besides Tim is the sort of
nice girl who'd go for lipstick that doesn't get wonderfully messy. Tim says,
"Probably several." Several -- prank calls from Arsenal, right. Dick is
absolutely paying attention. "The Titans wound up briefly involved. There's a
formal report in your email."
The report isn't urgent, obviously, but he pauses anyway to ask, "Do I need to
know anything now?"
"There's nothing of immediate concern," Tim tells him, and now they're back to
the question of why Tim's here. Bludhaven's not all that far from New York, but
it's far enough to -- okay, now Dick's picturing Tim racing down the turnpike
on his tricked-out batcycle, wig and suit jacket flapping in the wind, pink-
lipsticked mouth pursed in annoyance at the traffic.
He grins and pokes Tim in the padded shoulder. "So you wind up in Titans
territory undercover as a co-ed--"
"Med student," Tim says.
Dick grins wider. "As a co-ed nurse--"
Tim rolls his eyes.
"And you don't invite me along?"
"You'd have been too pretty," Tim answers promptly. "I needed a low profile."
He almost pulls it off, too, but the blush flares up again and ruins the smirk.
Dick chuckles and watches Tim trying to look him in the eyes.
"Right," Dick drawls, rocking back and forth. "And who wound up hitting on
you?" Probably Roy, and the question is how much hurtin' Tim put on him and how
much more Dick is going to have to add if he tried to cop a feel--
Except that Tim gets that little bat-smile back even as he says, very
seriously, "Starfire wanted to tell me that I was a beautiful woman and
shouldn't be ashamed to act like I knew it."
Tim probably thinks that's funny because he thinks Kory wasn't actually hitting
on him. Dick thinks that's hilarious because he's pretty sure she was. "What
did you say?" he asks.
"'Thank you,'" Tim says gravely. The smile turns up a notch, as does the blush.
"Then she propositioned me for sex."
Dick nearly chokes on his laughter. The look that must have been on Tim's face
-- "And what did you say to that?" he manages to ask.
"'Yes,'" Tim says, still solemn.
"You -- wait," Dick says, and he tosses himself backwards onto his hands.
"What?" he says, and shifts up onto the coffee table. "You what?"
Tim doesn't look any more sensible upside-down. Dick cartwheels onto the sofa
and paces along the back of it, and Tim twists around to watch him. Tim -- in
strappy black flats and an awkwardly-fitted woman's suit and eyeliner and Kory
could just pick him up and toy with him, pull down his pantyhose and his -- is
he wearing little silk panties? If he asks Kory, will she tell him?
Dick drops down cross-legged onto the cushion next to Tim. "Tell me you did,"
he begs. "Tell me there's video and I can see -- ow!"
Tim pulls his elbow back. "You could've blocked that," he says.
Dick rubs his chest. "That really hurt," he tells Tim.
"Your guard was--"
"We were talking!"
Tim looks pissed off, which means he's probably feeling guilty. "You also could
have picked a slightly less objectifying response."
"You realize you're not actually a--" and he blocks Tim's elbow this time. "I
mean, um, sorry?" Tim's got pale pink nail polish on those vicious hands of his
which would have clashed with Kory's hair if he buried his hands in it, which
he must have done if Kory unbuttoned that blouse and ran her hands up Tim's
chest to cup his -- plain bra or lacy one? The falsies would have been -- have
to still be, right now in front of him -- the highest quality. Bruce allows
nothing less --
"That would be more sincere if you weren't staring at my chest," Tim says
dryly.
"Yeah, I," Dick says, and scrubs a hand through his hair ruefully. "Or we could
just move on to my second and more nuanced and mature reaction now."
"Okay," Tim says. He folds his hands expectantly. After a moment, he adds, "Let
me know when you get there."
"Um," Dick says. Tim's frown has eased up to the level that means he's failing
to not enjoy himself. Dick leans forward a little bit and watches Tim's thighs
tense. There's a run in his pantyhose. There might be holes in it farther up
under the skirt, finger-sized holes where Kory couldn't wait. Tim can fight in
pantyhose, of course; he regularly fights in tights. Did he kick anyone's teeth
out in this outfit? Did it turn Kory on if he did? Did Tim's thighs fall open
for her the way Tim never lets them for Dick? "You might need to give me a
minute or two," he admits.
"Do you need some time alone?" Tim asks, and his voice is just off enough to
make Dick think about it. About walking into the bedroom and closing the door
and jerking off to the knowledge that Tim is thinking about Dick thinking about
Tim having sex.
His big head hurts a little, but his little head hurts a lot. His jeans are way
too tight when he sits in this position, and by "position" he means "three
inches away from the cockteasing Robin in drag". Dick swallows and leans a
little more to make it two inches. Tim still doesn't part his thighs, but he
does lick his lips and leave them wet and open.
Tim absolutely went down on Kory. If there's any justice anywhere in the world,
Tim went down on Kory. Lipstick and all. Mascara smeared on Kory's thighs. Cunt
smeared on Tim's cheeks, rubbing away the artificial blush to show the real
blush underneath. Kory's hips would be capable of flinging Tim around when she
came.
Tim waves his hand in front of Dick's face and Dick blinks. Tim's pouty pink
mouth isn't helping him control his breathing at all. "Do you have sex with
Kory a lot?" he asks.
Tim looks startled. "It was my first -- it was my first," he repeats. "I mean,
if it counts."
"Sex with Kory always counts," Dick says.
"Even if I was still all," and Tim gestures to his outfit.
Dick grins. No, if he's honest, Dick leers. "She liked it," he says. "She kept
you in it."
Tim ducks his head and tugs at the hem of the skirt. "As much as was practical.
She pulled my pantyhose down when it was...necessary."
"Necessary," Dick says, and ruffles Tim's wig.
"I'm a little sore," Tim admits, and Dick seizes up, his hand still on the back
of Tim's head. If Kory did -- Tim's available to be used, to be fucked -- he
wants Kory's sloppy seconds so badly he can hardly see. Tim ducks his head free
and shakes his shoulders out. "Are you objectifying me again?"
"Yes," Dick says. Why does Tim always stay so distant --
"Dick," Tim says, which is when Dick realizes that he's pinning Tim down on the
sofa with the weight of his body. "This isn't what I meant. Come on." He's
pushing Dick off, and then Dick has Tim's hands and he blocks those elbows and
the knee and the other knee -- Tim has no leverage here and no call for
scolding Dick about staying aware of his vulnerabilities -- and he can't find
anything in Tim's mouth but the plastic aftertaste of cosmetics, but that's not
going to stop him any time soon. Kory's been there, and Dick is going there
now.
Dick gets his legs around one of Tim's thighs and rides it, Tim's pantyhose
clinging to the fabric of Dick's jeans, until Tim's skirt rucks up far enough
for Dick to press the bone of his hip up into Tim's crotch when he grinds down
hard onto the muscles of Tim's leg. Tim yells into his mouth, his whole body
jerking against Dick's, and Dick groans and rocks with it until Tim gets his
teeth around Dick's lower lip and bites down hard.
Dick pulls his head back sharply. Tim lets go of his lip and Dick tastes blood.
"Be careful," he says. "That hurts."
"Yes," Tim says. His voice is high and pained and he shoves against Dick's
grip. "Your hip there hurts a lot."
Dick looks down their bodies. He's got his hip braced to rub against Tim's -
- "Your lipstick put me on autopilot," he says apologetically. "I do still need
to be looking for cock and balls down here, right?" He hitches himself forward
until he can press more gently with his thigh, then shifts again until they're
lined up, cock to cock through his briefs and jeans and Tim's panties and
pantyhose. This time when Dick presses down Tim doesn't make any noise at all;
his mouth falls open as he arches back, but Dick can't reach to kiss it any
more. He rests his forehead on the arm of the sofa and watches instead.
Tim has to be getting much more sensation than Dick is, because every thrust of
Dick's hips is making him shudder. Dick can't really get enough friction like
this, but his breath is catching on a moan every time Tim's hips roll up
underneath Dick's and completely fail to shift Dick at all. And he's fought
with Tim, trained with Tim, seen all of the muscle he can feel moving against
him now, and the fact that Robin is completely caught between the soft cushions
and the weight of Dick's body -- he doesn't want to be Bruce. He doesn't want
to sympathize with Bruce. He -- think of Clark. Or Kory, god, yes: Kory with
Robin whimpering underneath her, Kory in love with her own power and with
Robin's fuckable little weapon of a body -- and Tim presses his face against
the back of the sofa and comes, still trapped and silently gasping, against
Dick's hips.
Dick kneels up, his own chest heaving for air, and rips open the button of his
jeans, the fly of them, and shoves them down his thighs. He can pick Robin up
and move him, and he flips him easily over the arm of the sofa, pushing the
skirt farther up and spreading Tim's knees apart. There's a wet stain in the
pantyhose between Tim's legs and he bends down to press his mouth to it. It's
sweat and the scent of the come that spilled just under the waistband, and Dick
can feel the softness of testicles against his lips. He works his mouth back
and forth, licking and sucking until the pantyhose is dark and wet from Tim's
balls all the way up the center of his ass, and then he kneels up again and,
holding Tim by the hips, sets his cock in the line he's just drawn. Now he can
grind down as hard as he likes, and he can feel the flex of Tim's body against
his hands too. He can watch the thrust of his own cock against Tim's well-
muscled ass in striped panties until he comes from it, until he arches his back
and drives Tim down against the sofa arm and then bends his head again to keep
watching. The convulsive drive of his hips is spreading the wet stain all
across Tim's ass in uneven lines.
Finally he falls back down onto the sofa, letting go of Tim and sprawling wide.
He's panting like the aftermath of a small gang war.
Tim clambers off the sofa arm and stands up, pulling his skirt down and patting
it smooth with hands that don't seem very steady. He tugs on his blouse and
jacket while Dick watches lazily, then finger-combs the wig back into shape and
tucks the wispy bits on the sides behind his ears.
"Well," Tim says, "I suppose we know what kind of a girl I am, now."
Dick grins and beckons Tim closer. Tim hesitates a moment and then steps back
toward the sofa. Dick puts his hand around Tim's waist and, when Tim braces
himself, uses it to haul himself up into a sitting position so that he can kiss
Tim's mouth. He's abruptly reminded of the bite on his lip; he hadn't felt it
at all in the rush of lust before, but now it's throbbing. Tim doesn't kiss him
back particularly enthusiastically, either, so it's an unsatisfying kiss all
around.
Back to being distant already. "I've bought you dinner loads of times," Dick
protests, "or confiscated it on patrol for you, at least," and Tim's eyes
twitch up into a smile that, after a moment, reaches his mouth, too. Tim's
lipstick isn't smeared at all, and Dick reaches up to rub the corner of Tim's
mouth with his thumb. Tim turns his head and presses a brief kiss to it, and
Dick is pretty sure there's a message there, a good one, even if his brain is a
little too fuck-stupid still to translate it.
If Tim didn't go down into the Batcave with Bruce every day, this would be a
perfect moment to say something sentimental, perhaps even using the L-word.
(Not "lesbian", although now he's looking at Tim's falsies and thinking of
Kory's breasts again -- no, now's not the time.) (Next time, though....) And
already Tim's stepping back again, clasping Dick's hand in both of his as he
pulls it away from his face. "I should be heading home," he says, and lets go.
"You never even said why you stopped by," Dick says.
Tim snorts. "Oh, you gave me answers," he says, and there's a look in his eyes
that makes Dick kind of desperate to know what the questions were and if he's
going to get a passing grade for his essay. Or maybe that's the eyeliner.
"I have to work tomorrow," Dick says. "And -- I'll call you when I'm free,
okay?"
"Sure, Dick," Tim says. "I'll be waiting." And he smoothes his skirt down one
more time before letting himself out.
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