
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/40786.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse, Young_Justice_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Bart_Allen/Tim_Drake
  Additional Tags:
      Rope_Bondage, PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-04-23 Words: 2504
****** Unsnarled ******
by cmshaw
Summary
     You deal with this one, Rob.
"You deal with this one," Kon tells him, putting both hands on Tim's back and
pushing him toward the hallway. "This is a job for Robin."
Tim sighs. "And you won't tell me what this job *is*."
"It's -- really no. Don't make me think about it. Just go fix it, okay?" Kon
shoves again.
Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask and goes. Cassie is leaning against the wall
opposite the suite that Bart has claimed and Suzie is floating next to her.
"Robin, thank you," Cassie says. The door to Bart's suite is ajar. "I didn't
want to leave him alone, but I, um."
Suzie swirls worriedly in the air. "It seemed kind of private," she says.
Robin pinches the nosepiece of his mask. "I don't suppose either of you are
willing to tell me more than that?" They both shake their heads frantically. "I
didn't think so."
"Just," and Cassie flaps one hand in an unusually helpless way towards the
door, "help him, okay?"
"Of course," Tim says, and pushes the door open carefully. There's a muffled
thumping and a frustrated noise from the direction of the bedroom, to the left.
Tim pushes the door most of the way closed behind him and calls out, "Impulse?"
There are a couple of more enthusiastic thumps, then Bart calls back, "Robin!
You can help me." He sounds hopeful, but there's something strange and rough in
his voice.
Worried now, Tim presses up the open doorway and, when it sounds like there's
only Bart in the room and he's staying to the side, swings around fully into
the room. He's not sure what to expect --
-- this isn't it.
There's no one else in the room; even in the windstrewn clutter which is Bart's
natural habitat, that's easy to discern. Still, someone might have been and
left again, so Tim asks, "Were you attacked?"
Bart twists around until he can look mostly in Tim's direction, although
"twists" is a bit of a misnomer when actually what Bart does is shimmy back and
forth until his body rotates far enough. "Attacked? What?" he says, and Tim
sighs. "No, I saw this thing and I had just the absolutely perfect rope -
- well, more like the perfect yarn, but really you just have to keep braiding
it and braiding it until it's thick enough to be called rope, it's really a
very arbitrary division -- but anyway, I thought I could try it but it's
getting all tangled and now I'm not sure exactly what's going where and I kind
of want to just vibrate out and run away but that would be giving up and also
I'm not sure which direction I need to vibrate in --"
"Bart," Tim says.
Bart blinks. "Yeah, Robin?"
Tim sighs again. "What 'thing' did you see?"
"I've got a book right over mmph ugh um you see it's oof," Bart says, rolling
sideways until he's halfway into a distinctly ungraceful somersault over his
right shoulder.
There's a book open on the floor by the foot of the bed, and Tim holds it up in
Bart's line of sight -- approximately a fifty-five degree angle up from the
head of the bed -- to ask, "This book?"
"How'd you know?" Bart says.
Tim flips through the open chapter. It's -- well. Huh. Interesting. Where did
Bart get this? And why do the patterns on pages 167 and 194 look so familiar?
"I didn't know you could read Japanese," he says idly as he continues reading.
"Not very well," Bart admits cheerfully. "I have to look things up a lot."
"Hmm," Tim says, setting the book down. "That might explain your
current...predicament."
"Oh!" Bart says. "Oops! Did I get something wrong?"
Tim reaches toward the knots across Bart's chest, then pauses. "May I?" he
asks.
Bart's breathing slips up to a rate that sounds more terrifying than it
actually is for Bart's speedster metabolism and then, remarkably, steadies
again. "Yeah," he says, and clears his throat. "Um, please?"
Tim's pretty sure his own cheeks are red. He keeps his focus narrow, slipping
two fingers between Bart's bare collarbone and the rope. The braid is neat and
even here, and the knot just to the right of Bart's sternum is quite nice. It
splits there into two strands which meet the ropes wrapping around Bart's
ribcage from behind, and Tim bends down to look into the darker area formed by
the arch of Bart's torso off of the bed. Here the knots are sloppier and off-
center, and Tim runs one finger down until the rope dissolves into twists of
thin yarn which tangle Bart's legs, holding his left ankle against his right
thigh just below the hard curve of his buttock, which is the last rope-free
part of his body.
He stands up again. "Were you braiding as you tied?" he asks, running the tip
of his index finger's gauntlet over the knots across Bart's chest.
Bart nods, which destabilizes him enough that he starts to roll again. Tim
catches him with his other hand and props him up, which makes Bart's breath
catch again. It's getting somewhat unavoidable that Bart's cock, or what's
visible of it through a thorough coil of rope, is dark and full and twitching
every time Tim moves.
Tim says, "I've thought about tying you up so you couldn't run, of course, but
never quite like this," which is pointless babble to cover his nervousness, so
he shifts the hand which was holding Bart up by the arm until he's holding Bart
up by rope instead. It digs into his shoulders and sides, but not dangerously;
Bart had braided it until it was safely heavy, although it stretches enough
that he'll have to be cautious of it pulling tight. "Why braid your own?" he
asks.
Bart blinks a number of times and says breathily, "I really like this yarn.
Like, really like it." On the far side of his bed, Tim can see that his
knitting bins have all been dumped onto the floor.
Tim twists his hand, watching the effects on Bart's skin. "It is very nice
yarn," he says. He doesn't know much about yarn despite -- or perhaps because
of -- Bart's occasional attempts to teach him knitting or to get him to wear
oddly-shaped sweaters, but it's a beautiful color against Bart's complexion.
"Hm. Stand up."
"Um," Bart says apologetically, "I can't. That's why I called Kon for help."
Tim pauses. "Do you want me to go get him."
"No!" Bart says. "I mean, unless you want to? I figured he'd be the one to hear
me, is all. And he'd go interrupt you even though you said we shouldn't."
"He did, yes," Tim says, and puts his hands back on Bart's arms for a safer
grip. "I'm going to lift," he says. "Wiggle until you get your feet under you."
Bart grins. "Wiggle? This is the technical Bat-term for it?"
Tim ignores him, pulling Bart off the edge of the bed and bracing himself to
hold him up. Bart's relatively small but Tim's leverage is poor, especially
with Bart wiggling away like this. The ropes are twisting around him but
they're tightening too much as they go, and Tim frowns. "Stop," he says. "I'm
going to lift you a little higher," and he hikes Bart up and gets one arm
wrapped around Bart's hips. Bart makes a high-pitched noise and his movements
lose all sense of purpose for a moment, but Tim now has a hand free and can tug
Bart's ropes and knots back more or less into place. "Why did you tie your
hands behind you?" he asks, wishing that he could attribute his own breathy
voice to the physical exertion instead of to the strong urge to grab the
knotwork over Bart's stomach in his teeth. It would do nothing to provide any
leverage.
"Hnnnnnnnmph," Bart says, his stomach flexing. He -- oh. The ropes around his
cock are catching against the decorative lacing on Tim's tunic every time
either one of them move. Bart's moving a lot. Tim should have reasons for
setting Bart back on his feet which are kindly, or at least fastidious, and
which don't revolve around not wanting to fully untie Bart just yet. "Oh," Bart
says a little sadly as he gets a bit of his balance.
There are ligature marks on his thighs where the yarn had tangled. Tim kneels
and places his hands over them. He can't feel the texturing through his
gauntlets, but it doesn't seem quite right to remove them while Bart's still so
naked. Or -- something. He can't really be expected to make sense --
"Turn around," he says, acknowledging the hoarseness in his voice, and Bart
goes up on the balls of his feet and swivels, rocking back and forth a little
until Tim steadies his thighs again. There are more marks here, deeper against
the backs of Bart's knees. Bart's forearms are bound in coils of rope which
echo the binding around his cock, but the ends of the ropes fray into yarn
strands which Bart has wound around his fingers and clutched so hard that his
knuckles pale despite the softness of the yarn balled in his fists. Tim finds
the knots which should be holding the ropes smooth against Bart's buttocks and
loosens them. When he pulls them into position and tightens them again, Bart's
hands release and clench spasmodically. "Tell me if," and Tim pauses. Pain
doesn't seem like the right concept here. "If there's a pattern you'd prefer,"
he finishes.
Bart's laugh is barely audible. "I notice you don't," he gasps, "say whether
you'd change anything."
It's probably best that Bart can't see the teeth Tim's baring in something like
a grin right now, all things considered. There's an area along the base of
Bart's ribcage where the lines are hopelessly muddled; Tim can see how they
should be framing Bart's muscles, but he isn't going to be able to retie them
to do it. It's frustrating -- but, if instead he crosses this one and pulls -
- yes, that's it. And then in a mirror against his shoulder, and now what's
framed is the leanness of his torso. He's going to have to stay arched a
little, but. Tim runs his hands up Bart's arms for the pleasure of feeling the
two loops which hold his upper arms away from his back. "This is...very nice,"
he says, and Bart shudders against his palms.
He walks around instead of making Bart turn again, inspecting the effect from
the front. Bart's slight arch and the ropes which Tim shifted upward make knots
dig in just underneath Bart's nipples. His head is tipped back and his eyes are
closed, but he opens them again as Tim stops. The gold is a razor halo against
the black of his pupils, and the flush to his skin looks just as lovely against
the rust color of the yarn as his paleness does. Tim reaches out and pinches
nipple and yarn together with both hands, and Bart's mouth falls open
soundlessly. When he lets go, Bart rocks on his feet.
Tim can't wait any longer; he wraps one hand around Bart's rope-wrapped cock
and squeezes hard. "Aah!" Bart says. He squinches his eyes shut and pants.
The rope under Tim's fingers is nubbly and fascinating. There is a line of
knots up the underside and a criss-cross over the top, and he runs his fingers
up and down before squeezing again. Bart yells louder, and louder again for
Tim's next squeeze. For the third he screams, and pants with little crooning
noises when Tim eases up again. He sounds -- safe, happy. Like a little kid
screaming with delight on a playground swing. Tim doesn't think he's made a
noise that carefree since he was very, very young. He didn't think you were
allowed, once you were an adult or a hero. He twists his other hand back into
the ropes across Bart's chest and works his hands in counterpoint until Bart is
shrieking and rocking in his grip. His skin is red where he's flushed or bound
and the ropes are growing darker with sweat.
And he's still not climaxing. Why isn't he? Tim squeezes harder, grunting with
the effort, but Bart only gets louder. Then he sees -- there's another loop
under the coils around Bart's cock, a tighter one with a quick-release knot --
Tim drops to his knees, holding his grip across Bart's chest and cock, and gets
the knot-release in his teeth. The yarn rope is softer even than Bart's
testicles against his cheek, but when he tugs the loop free Bart howls, a full-
body howl that would knock him off his feet if Tim let go, and his cock almost
hums against Tim's hand before shooting come up and up across his own chest
where it soaks into the ropes and across the back of Tim's hand where it stays
in wet stripes.
"Ooh," Bart says, and Tim almost lowers him to the floor before remembering
that they're beside the bed. He stands up and pulls Bart sideways, tipping them
both across the mattress. Bart groans again and his eyelids flicker.
Tim kneels over Bart's hips and turns Bart on his side to that he can take the
yarn out of Bart's hands. He unwinds it slowly from around Bart's fingers, then
his wrists, then works his way up Bart's arms and begins untying his shoulders.
It's meditative, and Bart, for a wonder, lies quietly while he does it. He
shifts enough that Tim doesn't think he's fallen asleep. Slowly Tim works his
way down Bart's chest and then his stomach. Bart's come is still wet on the
back of his right gauntlet.
When he reaches Bart's hips, he unwinds the loop around Bart's testicles and
the whole coil falls free into his hands. Bart's lose again, but he's still
sprawled underneath Tim just smiling and breathing. Tim can see the marks
tracing up Bart's body, but it still feels wrong to touch with his bare hands -
- and then he realizes how he can touch.
There's a clear imprint of the rope's braid against Bart's left hipbone, and
when Tim presses his lips there he feels like it's transferring to his mouth.
He follows it upward with his tongue until Bart is twitching too rapidly for
Tim's mouth to track.
"Sorry," Bart says, "I'm sorry, just -- ticklish!"
Tim grins and shifts himself upward. "I apologize," he says, and puts his
tongue into a knot-mark over Bart's pectorals.
"Mmm," Bart sighs, and he rubs his hands across Tim's hair. "Oh, is it okay to
touch you like this?" he asks.
Tim considers it. Ordinarily no, but this isn't exactly an ordinary feeling. "I
might make you stop later," he says.
"Mmm," Bart says again, and strokes from the collar of Tim's cape to the top of
his head.
Tim licks Bart's bared nipple, then a rope-mark, then the line of Bart's bared
collarbone. "Mmm," he agrees. "Mmm."
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