
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/579367.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Dick_Grayson
  Additional Tags:
      Crush, Masturbation, Uniforms, Fingerstripes, pornday
  Series:
      Part 1 of Stolen/Borrowed
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-10-18 Words: 524
****** Stolen Touch ******
by iesika
Summary
     Tim likes the gloves.


It’s a risk, because there is a chance that Dick will wake up and wonder where
he’s gone, wonder why he isn’t tucked in safely on his couch. Tim thinks it’s
worth it, though – even the risk that something awful will happen that requires
Nightwing’s attention, and that Dick will open up the secret panel and discover
his theft.

He’s on the floor of Dick’s bathroom, leaning back against the hard edge of the
tub, the porcelain as cold as the tile under his ass, against his balls. He
doesn’t even feel it, though, because he’s pulling on the gloves. They’re too
big – his hands slide inside them too easily, and his fingers don’t reach the
tips. He doesn’t care. It’s good enough. It’s enough.

His gauntlets don’t feel like this. They’re stiffer, textured for climbing,
reinforced across the knuckles with durable polymer. Nightwing’s gloves are
like a Kevlar skin, and just barely thick enough that when he brings his
fingers to his mouth, he can only really feel it with his lips.

There’s a mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and Tim watches, revels in
the illusion as he traces his own mouth. Nightwing’s gloves, and it could be
Dick’s fingers in them, should be, should be Dick’s palm he licks from the
heel, along the stripe, up and between his middle and ring fingers. It should
be Dick’s thumb on his chin, prying his mouth open, to slide those two, blue
fingers into Tim’s mouth, push a little, past his teeth, scraping on the edges,
pressing down on his tongue. His index and pinkie, dark against his pale skin,
splay against his face when he thrusts the fingers deeper, all the way down.

Tim’s other hand – the other glove – is busy. He cups his testicles and
squeezes, lightly at first and then a little more. The glove is too dry to do
more without pain, and so he switches hands, bites down on his thumb until he
can feel it through the glove, catches his cock with his slick hand and pumps,
slowly, looking down.

He’s not going to last long. He’s not –

Tim pulls himself up to his knees and turns a little, and then he sucks his
index finger hard, licking it all over and getting it as wet as he can. He
wishes there were another mirror, behind him, wishes he could see better as he
pushes into himself. If he didn’t have to decide which hand to watch…oh, if he
had a camera... He could edit the footage, crop it just so...

He bucks into his fist – into the glove – grips himself tighter and lets
himself go, caught between his hands – the hands - his hands.

Oh. He bites his lip and shakes his way through a gasping, panting orgasm,
careful as he can be to keep himself silent. If he called Dick’s name, he would
come running.

Oh.

The glove looks even better, now. Tim examines it in the light, turning it,
careful, watching the damp shine. He brings his fingers to his mouth again.

He ought to put the gloves back clean, after all.
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