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In the darkness of his bedroom, Dick’s eyes are fixed on the clock hanging to the left of the door. He watches as the hands tick away the seconds that pass, inching closer and closer to the top of the hour. He retired to his quarters nearly three hours ago, and at this time of night, he’s almost sure that Alfred and Bruce have done the same.
Ever the good scout, Dick tries not to make a habit of sneaking out at night. He’s a good ward, and he’s an even better kid—Bruce says so himself, as do Bruce’s rich friends and Alfred. It makes it a little easier on nights he does decide to break the rules for a change and sneak off to do hero stuff while the house sleeps, and when he hears the chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway after watching the taller hand on the clock in his bedroom hit midnight, he takes his chance.
Dick keeps an ear out for the slightest of sounds on the other side of the door as he creeps across the floor of his room and suits up. The bright colors on his uniform are painfully striking in the darkness of the manor and the shadows of his bedroom, but if he can keep quiet and sneak out the front door without getting caught, he knows it won’t be a problem for him.
It’s midweek and a school night, which means no official Robin duties for him—not with permission from Bruce, that is. Dick can hear Bruce’s chastising voice ringing in his head as he turns the knob and peeks through the crack in the doorway, his eyes scanning the hall for any signs of his mentor whether it be in civilian clothes or suited up.
Bruce wasn’t going to like him sneaking off like this, which was why he had to be so careful. It was the newest rule of the house, courtesy of Alfred: no vigilante work for little Robins after 9 PM on school nights, and certainly no patrols for little Robins on days that ended without a long, restful morning full of nothing to do in order to properly recover from their work. He was still a young boy, Alfred would tell them both, to which Bruce would promptly agree. He needed his rest, he needed his sleep, and for Christ’s sake, he needed his education.
Dick didn’t particularly like this new rule. It felt patronizing, and he didn’t like that feeling. Alas, Alfred’s word was king, even if Bruce was technically the man in charge of the house.
Dick winces at the sound of his bedroom door creaking noisily as he opens it a little more, leaving just enough room for him to slip through. So far, there was no sign of Bruce or Alfred anywhere, which was good. All of the lights were off save for the dim orange lamps hanging outside in the garden, and even their glow through the windows wasn’t nearly enough to leave Dick feeling exposed.
He creeps forward one step at a time, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s walking through a museum after close. His head is on a swivel as he swings it left and right, peering through his mask at the dark shadows that loom over him as he sneaks by. His heart is racing, the palpitations pounding in his head as he jumps onto the railing of the stairs and slides the rest of the way down.
He’s silent as he lands on his feet. His cape billows out behind him, and he crouches low, expecting an ambush. Downstairs there is still no one around, and the lights left on overnight to illuminate the way to the kitchen and the door are turned off. Strange, Dick thinks as he stands back up and continues forward, but not nearly concerning enough to stand around worrying about.
He makes it across the empty ballroom and halfway through the small awning that narrows into an exit towards the garden before he feels something—someone—watching him. He tenses, one hand stretched out towards the door handle while the other braces against the small utility belt hugging his waist, and listens, his head turned to look over his shoulder at the dark room behind him.
There are no sounds, no footsteps, no yawns or heavy sighs in the air. It’s not Alfred, then, but Dick isn’t sure that it’s Bruce, either. It’s then that he relaxes a little further, his shoulders sagging as he turns back to the door and begins to undo the locks.
He’s ready now, his fear of getting caught turning into a giddy anticipation that leaves his heart racing and his skin prickling as he turns the final lock and reaches back down for the door handle. If Bruce catches him now, it will be too late. He is already suited up and heading out the door, and by the time Bruce manages to do the same—
Suddenly, the lights are coming back on. Dick freezes in place, caught with his hand on the handle and his eyes wide behind his mask as he slowly turns back around at the sound of a clear, disgruntled grunt.
“Uh-oh,” he gulps, surprised to see that instead of Alfred standing behind him, half-asleep and looking far too disgruntled for a butler to be looking at such a late hour, it’s Bruce.
Bruce stands there, his usual suit and tie replaced with a pair of black baggy sweatpants and loose fitting black top. His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares down at Dick with those tired, sleepy eyes, but where Dick expects to find irritation he instead sees gentle concern. It’s enough to leave him closing the door behind him and turning around fully with his hands folded behind his back and his head bowed as he stares up at Bruce with the guiltiest look he can muster—and this time, it’s all genuine.
“Dickie?” Bruce says, his voice rough with sleep. “What’s going on, chum? You’re not heading out there at this hour, are you?”
Dick flinches at the question, his cheeks growing hot with shame. Of course he was. It was obvious, wasn’t it? The worst part about it was that there was no way to explain his way out of the situation he’d gotten himself into. Here he stood, clad in his entire Robin uniform, sneaking around the manor at midnight and escaping through the nearest back door.
Bruce had to know that that was exactly what Dick was doing, yet to Dick’s surprise, he continued playing dumb.
“It’s late, you know,” Bruce says, emphasizing his words with a yawn, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got school in the morning, kiddo.”
Dick didn’t know what to say. He had never actually snuck out before—not like this. There were times in the past where he’d tried to sneak out past Alfred’s watch and run off to save Batman when Bruce needed the backup, and he had gone off on plenty of solo missions here and there under the careful monitoring of his mentor from back here at the manor, but sneaking out at night? Alone, without explicit permission, and without anyone knowing where he might run off to?
Dick gulps again. He isn’t sure why, but something about the realization of what he’s done—or what he’s tried to do, more accurately—feels even worse now that it’s Bruce who’s standing over him after catching him in the act.
He feels guilty. He feels embarrassed. He’s Robin, Batman’s sidekick! How the heck could he have been so careless?
More importantly, how the heck could Bruce have known?
Bruce stands over him with the slightest bit of a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches Dick stutter and stammer his way through a pathetic explanation. It feels a little patronizing, Dick thinks, the same way that that stupid new rule Bruce and Alfred put together for him does. It makes him squirm watching Bruce struggle to contain his amusement behind his hand as he listens to Dick explain, apologize, explain some more, and promise that it won’t happen ever again after this.
“I wasn’t going anywhere dangerous,” Dick says, as if the assurance means anything after he’s been caught doing something he knows he shouldn’t. “I was just wanting to help! I wanted to do some more reconnaissance work, and—and I wanted to keep you updated on who was doing what, just like I used to!”
Bruce shakes his head at that, a small chuckle escaping him as he does it, and Dick’s flustered embarrassment quickly shifts into something more akin to frustration, though it only lasts for a moment. He tries his best to keep his head held high and his gaze steady as Bruce kneels down in front of him and reaches for his shoulder, fingers gentle as they wrap around his much smaller frame.
“Is that so?” Bruce says with a tilt of his head. “Knowing you, that simple ‘reconnaissance work’ would end up turning into something it shouldn’t.”
Dick can’t deny that. It’s probably part of why the new rule was put into effect in the first place, he thinks. Still…
“It’s not fair,” he pouts. “I want to help, too.”
It really isn’t fair, he thinks to himself. He had been so careful, so quiet. He still can’t wrap his head around how Bruce managed to catch him—and just in time, too.
“It’s late, Dickie,” Bruce says, the nickname burying the sting even deeper, “and you have school in the morning. You know the rules.”
“Yeah,” Dick says as his gaze drifts away, lingering on the floor. He fights the urge to fiddle with the edge of his cape as he crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look defiant, just in case there’s any chance Bruce might change his mind. “I know.”
Bruce doesn’t let go of him right away. He sits there in a crouch, studying Dick carefully, and slowly, his apologetic frown and sorry eyes turn into a thoughtful look.
“I had a feeling this day would come,” he says, speaking on a sigh as he finally pushes himself up, never once letting go of Dick’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Dick… maybe a little too good, if you get what I mean.”
His hand slides down Dick’s arm until his rough, calloused fingers are intertwining with Dick’s, gently pulling the boy forward until Dick lets go of the door handle.
“You can’t always be out and about doing hero work. It’s not good for you. It’ll exhaust you before you know it, and you’re still young enough for that to feel impossible.”
Dick doesn’t protest as Bruce begins leading them both away from the door, but he does stare longingly over his shoulder as they head back towards the stairs and up to the second floor. It’s back to bed with him then, he thinks, and he tries to stifle the disappointment as they make their way up the staircase.
“It’s just this one night,” he tries to say once they reach the top—a final attempt at weaseling his way out of the new rules and out the door. He puts on his best puppy dog eyes as he pries off his mask and stares up at Bruce, watching in real time as the man’s gaze softens up all over again. “Please, Bruce. At least let me stay up a little later. I’ll help you in the study. I’ll help you in the Batcave. I’ll even—“
He stops when Bruce holds up a hand, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
“No can do, kiddo,” Bruce says. “Alfred would have both of our hides if he knew we were still up right now.”
That’s that then, Dick thinks. He’s gotten his answer. He relents, expecting Bruce to guide him back to his bedroom and to linger until he’s taken off the uniform and slipped under the covers, but to his surprise, Bruce doesn’t do that. Instead, Bruce is tugging him forward and heading further down the hall, passing both Dick’s bedroom and Alfred’s quarters where Dick is sure Alfred must be asleep by now.
It’s just the two of them for the rest of the night, he realizes, because Bruce isn’t sleepily dragging him off into the butler’s room like he sometimes does whenever he catches Dick wandering around past his bedtime, and Bruce isn’t escorting him back to his bedroom—they’ve already passed that now, and they’ve passed Alfred’s room, too.
“You’re clearly too worked up to be going to bed just yet,” Bruce murmurs aloud as he makes it to the end of the hall and pushes the door to his own bedroom open. Dick peeks inside, feeling surprised and uncertain. “I think I can help with that.”
The bedroom is dark save for the little bit of light that comes through the tall window to the right, and Dick finds himself squinting until Bruce pushes by and moves to turn on the small lamp at the bedside. The sheets on the bed are pulled straight and untouched, left just as they were after Alfred came through to clean that morning, and Dick realizes with a rush of indignation that Bruce must have been watching him sneak around the manor the entire time.
He doesn’t speak as Bruce leads him to the bed and gestures for him to lie down, and Dick complies, the fluttering in his chest leaving him unsettled as he waits for Bruce to explain what he means by helping the boy settle.
The bed is comfortable—similar to his own, if a little cushier. Dick can’t begin to imagine how many nights Bruce must have spent in here, sleeping on this same mattress. He’s been in the manor and part of the family for plenty of years by now, but even his bed doesn’t feel nearly as comfortable just yet. It eases his mind enough for him to settle back and get comfortable as he watches Bruce undress, his shirt tossed aside as he raises his arms over his head in a stretch.
Between the dim lighting and the comfort of having Bruce nearby, Dick starts feeling a little sleepy lying there in Bruce’s bed. He doesn’t move from atop the sheets, instead waiting for Bruce to finish rummaging through the drawers of his dresser for whatever it is he might be searching for, and blinks as he watches Bruce pull out something long, fuzzy, and brown.
It takes a moment for his brain to process what he’s seeing, but when he realizes what Bruce is pulling out of the drawer and wrapping around his free hand in big, loose loops isn’t a set of children’s pajamas or an extra pillow, but instead rope—thick, scratchy rope that coils around his forearm and hangs low to the ground—he starts to feel a little confused.
“What’s that for?” he says, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he sits up on the bed.
Bruce doesn’t answer him at first. He’s silent as he comes back to the bed and begins sectioning the rope out into even lengths, then leans over Dick’s sprawled out form and gathers him up by his hands. Dick doesn’t protest as Bruce pulls his arms up over his head and secures the rope around his wrists, tying them together before wrapping the loose end of the rope around the eye of a screw drilled into the headboard a few inches above where Dick lies.
“Bruce?” he says, sounding more confused than curious as Bruce continues to tug the rope tight. “What’s it for? What are you doing?”
This is… weird, he thinks. It’s very weird. He doesn’t protest—it’s Bruce, after all—but he’s starting to feel very confused now, and he doesn’t like that Bruce isn’t giving him an answer.
“I’m helping, Dickie,” Bruce says simply, as if the answer is clear, and Dick is foolish for not seeing it for himself. “Don’t worry too much about that right now. Just relax.”
As expected, Dick does the exact opposite.
“Helping me… what, exactly?” he says, his voice shifting into something just short of worry as his face twists along with it.
Bruce laughs again, and it’s the kind of sound that leaves Dick feeling vulnerable and self-conscious.
Suddenly, Bruce is touching him. Dick shudders as Bruce’s hands move from stroking his arms to sliding down his sides, and he freezes when Bruce’s thumbs slip under the edges of his red top to tease the waistband around his green panties. His touch is hot against Dick’s skin, and Dick can’t help but whine when he feels Bruce’s touch grow firm, his fingers curling around the top of Dick’s panties and forcefully shimmying the fabric down past Dick’s hips and under his ass, one inch at a time.
“I’m helping you learn when not to be such a die-hard hero, Dickie,” Bruce says again in that patronizing tone, still acting as though the answer was clear from the start, as though Dick should have been able to figure it out for himself. “Lift your legs up for me. Let me help you get out of this suit.”
Dick’s breath catches in his throat as he stares, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as Bruce tugs the green underwear down to his thighs, then below his knees. Bruce peels them off of Dick without a second word and, after holding them up in the air between his pointer finger and thumb as he clicks his tongue and shakes his head, tosses them into the growing pile of clothing on the floor.
It’s then when Dick realizes that Bruce is all but naked. He’d taken his shirt off while he was gathering the rope, of course, but somewhere between tying Dick up and tearing off the bottom half of Dick’s skimpy little Robin outfit off of Dick, he’d managed to kick off his pants, too. He stands there at the side of the bed now, bare-footed and in nothing but his boxers, and Dick blushes when he sees Bruce’s tongue poke out to wet his lips as he unlatches Dick’s utility belt next.
With nothing to hold his top in place, the fabric lays loose and baggy around Dick’s belly, exposing his bare cunt and soft skin to the cold bedroom air. His nipples are hard underneath it, and the soft mounds of his tits are noticeable under the way the fabric clings to him. He tries to close his legs as Bruce crawls into bed beside him, but Bruce is there, too, prying them apart again and reaching for the rest of the rope he left sitting beside them in the center of the mattress.
“Relax, chum,” Bruce says as though they’re merely winding down from patrol, Bruce in his boxers and Dick still half-dressed in his uniform. “I won’t tie them too tightly. I just need to make sure you’ll lie still so I can help, okay?”
Dick’s throat feels painfully dry, even after he swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. The room is dark despite the light from the lamp next to him, but he can still see Bruce’s bulge outlined in his tight-fitting boxers, the length of him becoming much more prominent as his cock hardens. Seeing it leaves a same strange fluttering sensation in Dick’s chest, the kind he feels whenever he’s been caught staring there before or when he’s being talked down to by Bruce or Alfred. This time, it’s different—not objectively good, not decidedly bad. It’s just…
There. Growing. Just like Bruce’s cock, which Dick realizes is getting bigger and bigger within the containment of his boxers.
He’s seen Bruce hard before… he thinks. He isn’t really sure what the word means, but he knows from seeing him now that this is the definition of it. He feels his heart beat a little faster as Bruce moves over him, dark eyes strangely lidded and filled with a look Dick hasn’t seen in a very long time.
It’s lust, he thinks. Not quite lust, maybe, but that was the word Bruce had used for it when they had a run in with Poison Ivy and Bruce was dosed with her venom, so that’s what Dick compares it to.
“Bruce?” Dick manages to croak, his chest already heaving with heavy breaths as he trembles under Bruce’s roaming gaze.
Bruce’s touch all but burns him as his fingers curl around Dick’s thighs, but Dick doesn’t dare pull away. He lies still, compliant, as Bruce ties loose knots around each of his ankles and tugs his legs apart before securing them on either side of the bottom of the bed.
It’s not the most comfortable position to be in, but he can still move, if only slightly. He can bend his knees, he realizes, and he does so as Bruce settles back between his legs, his face set into an expression Dick has definitely never seen him wear before.
“Now Dick,” Bruce says as he runs his fingers up and down Dick’s thighs, his unreadable expression never breaking despite the shivers and groans it elicits from Dick, “you understand this is for your own good, right?”
Dick fights hard to keep his eyes from closing. Bruce isn’t touching him yet—not there at least, not where he’s most vulnerable. He knows he’d be lying if he says he’s never thought about it before, Bruce’s hands on him like this, but he doesn’t dare admit that as he forces himself to nod and tries not to whimper too loudly when Bruce’s head ducks down between his thighs to plant a gentle kiss just below Dick’s bellybutton.
“Yes,” he manages to gasp after Bruce has pulled back and fixes him with that expectant stare. “Yes, yes, I understand. I understand, Bruce.”
Bruce raises his eyebrows in a show of surprise. Dick knows it isn’t genuine. Bruce is just putting emphasis on the fact that Dick would ever dare break the rules in the first place.
“It’s a good thing I caught you when I did,” he says as he moves back down to hover over Dick’s cunt. He studies the pale, fuzzy lips for a moment, silent before he speaks again. “You know how dangerous Gotham gets at night.”
Dick’s body is trembling, his face burning hot with shame and need. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through a shudder when he feels Bruce’s breath against his cunt, the tickling tease enough to spur on another stronger wave of blooming warmth that spreads through his belly.
“I—I know,” he manages to stutter. “I know it’s dangerous—“
“It’s very dangerous, Dick,” Bruce corrects, “and here you were, gearing up to go out there all by yourself… without so much as telling me.”
Dick flinches again when he hears (and feels) Bruce scoff. He opens his eyes just wide enough to see Bruce shake his head, and the rush of hunger and need stirring in his gut is briefly extinguished by the fact that Bruce is right, that he was going to go out there without so much as leaving a note, or taking a walkie, or—
“And on a school night no less,” Bruce continues to say, his irritation rising with his words. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Dick tries to speak, his mouth opening and closing on words that just won’t form, and the whole time Bruce is watching him, the stern expression he wears twisting back into something amused and exasperated. At this point, Dick isn’t even sure if it’s all a show or if it’s real. All he knows is that Bruce is moving closer, wetting his lips again, and staring Dick down with those piercing dark eyes filled with want.
“It’s okay now, kiddo,” he says, drawing out another groan from Dick when he forces the boy’s legs open wider. “It’s alright. You can go out and be a hero again when the weekend comes. We’ll just take care of all this boundless energy you seem to be full of tonight, you and me.”
It’s not a scolding that Bruce gives him for trying to skirt his weeknight curfew, nor is it a talking to about the dangers that Dick could find himself getting into wandering out there in the streets on his own—dangers like this, he thinks, with a grown man’s head hovering between his skinny thighs while he lays prone and bound, his struggles fruitless. The only difference is that Dick doesn’t try to struggle, not even when he feels the heat of Bruce’s breath on his privates grow closer, hotter, until it’s a moist tongue suckling gently at his swollen clit.
“Guh—ah-ahh!” Dick chokes out, his head lifting up off of the pillows as he involuntarily arches into the sensation. “Bruce… Buh—Bruce?”
Bruce is gentle in his ministrations, his tongue perfectly wet as he laps at Dick’s clit. It’s a steady up and down motion that rocks the bed beneath them ever so slightly, and when Dick tries to squirm away, his range of motion painfully limited by the ropes around his wrists and the ties keeping his ankles spread apart for easier access, Bruce’s fingers dig a little deeper into the flesh on his thighs.
It’s too much, he thinks. He’s never done anything like this before, and he can feel the heat that’s begun pooling in his belly turning into an insistent throb in his cunt that leaves his clit growing hard and painful under the pressure of Bruce’s tongue sucking at it, swirling against it, and coating it in a thick layer of warm saliva as he massages it with his tongue.
The feeling alone makes him wish he could hold Bruce’s head in place and buck his hips up into the pressure, but he’s still torn between the need to pull away and beg for Bruce to stop, the sensations too much and too new when he’s trapped and lying there prone.
Bruce hums against him, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against Dick’s cunt and leaves the boy scrunching up his face and squeezing his eyes shut. His thighs have begun to tremble, his arousal growing from just feeling Bruce’s tongue against him, but Bruce remains steady, his slow, agonizing pace never speeding up or slowing down.
“Bruce,” Dick tries again, blinking back the tears that pool in his eyes when the sight of the man buried between his legs becomes too blurry to see properly. “Bruce, what—what are you—?”
He cuts himself short at the sight of Bruce resurfacing, the man’s chin covered in his cunt’s slick and a sheen of saliva. It makes him shudder all over again, and the sudden loss of warmth and pleasure and pressure against his clit draws out a pathetic sound that Dick is sure he’s never made before in his life.
“Relax, chum,” Bruce says again, speaking in the same casual tone as before despite the incriminating evidence of Dick’s fluids smeared across his face and the terrible position they’ve found themselves in. “I’m just trying to help you ease up a little.”
That doesn’t exactly answer his question, but Dick doesn’t have it in him to ask anything more. Bruce beats him to it, and before Dick can even open his mouth again, he’s writhing against his bonds, tugging helplessly against the ropes tying his wrists and holding his arms over his head as Bruce nuzzles his way past the lips of Dick’s cunt and puts his tongue to good use elsewhere.
“Bruce!” Dick whines, his head falling back as he lifts his ass up when Bruce’s hands pull him forward. He can feel Bruce’s tongue circling the outer rim of his hole, tender and teasing as Bruce’s nose rubs against his clit. “Please, please—ack!”
Bruce holds him in place, his fingers moving further upwards to grope at Dick’s ass cheeks as he slowly pushes his tongue inside Dick’s cunt. Dick is wet enough to take his cock at this rate, if not a few of his fingers, too, but Bruce is a gentleman; he’s not going to rush through the boy’s first proper experience of being pampered and fucked.
The manor’s walls are built for quality and made with privacy in mind, and according to the clock on the far wall, it’s nearly one in the morning. Even so, Dick is almost certain that if Bruce keeps this up—and if he can’t keep himself quiet—they’re going to wake Alfred. It’s not a thought that he wants to entertain, and it’s hard to care when Bruce is ravaging him like this, but Dick still tries to keep his cries reduced to soft whimpers and focuses on floating his way through the experience instead.
Bruce remains steady, his head bobbing up and down as he runs his tongue across Dick’s slick and fucks it into Dick’s hole. His nose still rubs against Dick’s clit enough to have the boy trembling with every brush that touches it, and before Bruce can even manage to get where he wants the boy to be, Dick is suddenly going still, his thighs seizing up and squeezing around Bruce’s head as he shakes through his first orgasm of the night.
“Ah-ahh—ah!” Dick stutters out, his eyes wide and his head thrown back against his arms as he jerks through the aftershock.
Bruce holds him steady through it, his strong hands gripping Dick’s ass while he keeps his tongue inside Dick’s hole and his nose pressed up against Dick’s clit, only pulling out and looking up when he feels Dick sag back against the mattress and hears the sound of his Robin panting for breath. He pulls away slowly, licking up the last of the slick that clings to his lip and relishing in the shudders and weak whimpers it earns him, then sits up between Dick’s legs and stares down at the boy, assessing his mood.
Dick stares back through half-opened eyes, his cunt still throbbing faintly from the intensity of his orgasm.
He’s never felt like that before. He’s never reached such a satisfying ending on his own, even when he’s tried to explore and play in his own downtime. It’s like having a god sitting there between his legs, a god who’s taken pity on his wrongdoings and has instead decided to reward him with the idea of something better, something more satisfying, now that he’s obeyed.
“You okay?” Bruce asks softly, dark eyes studying Dick’s face as he returns to stroking a hand up and down one of Dick’s thighs. “That was a little intense, wasn’t it?”
Dick’s voice nearly betrays him again when he speaks, but he stops to swallow and clears his throat. It’s still weak and wavering and bordering on uncertainty, but he nods as he speaks, and it appears to be enough for Bruce.
“Yeah,” he rasps, blinking slowly as he struggles to hold his head up. “Yeah.”
It was a lot, and as he comes down from the high, he can feel his eyes starting to well up with tears again.
“Aww, Dickie,” Bruce coos at him, his smile turning back into a worried frown. “I know, kid. I know. This is just to help you, okay? I’m just trying to help.”
He leans forward, reaching over Dick’s body and lifting a hand up to cup Dick’s chin while he slides his thumb across Dick’s cheek to wipe away the tears that fall. The warmth is a comfort, as is the gesture, and Dick allows himself to close his eyes of his own volition this time, tilting his head to the side to melt into Bruce’s touch.
“Attaboy,” Bruce says with a few approving pats against Dick’s cheek. He’s pulling back and settling himself in between Dick’s thighs again a second later, and this time, when his hand strokes over Dick’s chest and down his sides before settling atop Dick’s thigh where it lay before, Dick doesn’t squirm away. “You can’t be going off and playing Robin on a school night, kiddo. You know that.”
Dick nods in agreement, his face twisting into something of a pout as his cheeks grow hotter all over again with a fresh rush of shame.
“But,” Bruce continues, one finger tapping against Dick’s thigh as he emphasizes the word, “I can’t have you cooped up here in the manor and staring at the clock all night, either.”
Right, Dick thinks. They’ve already gone over this part, haven’t they? They did the whole discussion about what Dick shouldn’t be doing at midnight on a weeknight, and Bruce did to Dick whatever it is that he does with that ungodly tongue to Dick’s t-dick and hole that left the boy feeling more bone tired and blissed out than he’d ever felt in his life. Now… now they were back at square one. Bruce was looking at him with those lustful eyes again, too, and Dick was starting to feel the strange sensation of arousal building up in his belly all over again.
Dick tenses as he watches one of Bruce’s hands move from atop his thighs to between them again, but Bruce is quick to reassure him with a click of his tongue and those soft, alluring eyes that carry a look inside them that Dick is sure he isn’t old enough to be seeing.
First, it’s the faintest brush of Bruce’s thumb pad against his clit, a sort of soft, sweeping sensation as he feels Bruce’s hand spider around his cunt. Dick whimpers when he feels the heat of Bruce’s palm pressing close to his lips, the sticky slick clinging to the outer rim of his hole immediately smearing across Bruce’s hand as Bruce settles into place.
Bruce is going to fuck him again, Dick realizes. He’s going to fuck him a second time, and this time, he’s going to be doing it with his fingers.
“Oh god,” Dick moans aloud—the sort of phrase that could very well get him clocked upside the head for daring to utter at his young age.
“Just for good measure,” Bruce assures him as he moves in closer, circling the bulge of Dick’s clit before he moves onto rolling it between his finger and thumb. “And for your own good, chum. I can’t have you sneaking off on me like that again.”
Dick isn’t going to be going anywhere after this, he thinks. Not when Bruce has already fucked him within an inch of his life with his tongue alone, and definitely not now that he’s going to continue the punishment with his fingers.
He arches back up off of the mattress with another guttural sound when he feels Bruce’s middle finger pushing past his lips and poking into his hole, the pressure stronger and much more solid than Bruce’s tongue had been before. It fills him up nicely, and as Bruce gently forces his way inside—sliding in and out, in and out, and pushing his finger a little deeper inside every time—Dick feels himself coming undone.
He’s babbling again before he knows it. A steady stream of “oh god, oh god, oh my god” and “Bruce, Bruce, please, Bruce” is all he can manage for a while as Bruce works himself around Dick’s tight walls and fills him up until finally, between the wet gushing from Dick’s hole and the needy begging from the boy and his heightened arousal, Bruce manages to slide a second finger inside.
“Easy,” Bruce says as he works both fingers in and out, curling them at the joints to catch against the little bundle of nerves hiding just above the entrance to Dick’s cunt. His thumb remains steady against Dick’s clit, his pad working soft circles into the swollen mound as he moves his hand. “That’s it, Dickie. You’re doing just fine.”
Dick doesn’t respond. He’s too busy clenching and unclenching around Bruce’s fingers, his own fingers curling into his palms and digging into the green leather of his gloves. He shudders as Bruce picks up the speed, his hips working up to meet Bruce’s thrusts as his breath catches in his throat against the jolts of pleasure when Bruce hits that special spot inside of him just right.
“Guh-uh—huh,” Dick grunts out, his mouth hanging open as his head lolls back. He’s breathing fast again, his chest rising and falling in sync with Bruce’s rapid hand as his arousal builds up into another budding orgasm. “Bruce—Bruce—Bru-u—uce!”
He can feel it building up from all the way in the bottom of his gut until the burning pleasure spreads up his chest and runs down his legs as his cunt clenches around Bruce’s fingers. It’s a blinding pleasure that leaves his vision white and his throat raw with the sounds that tear from it, and the whole time, Bruce doesn’t dare stop the steady movements of his fingers or his thumb. He works alongside Dick’s orgasm instead, drawing out the explosive sensations until Dick is sobbing against the overstimulating pain and helplessly writhing beneath him.
When he comes back to, Bruce is still there, head bent between his legs, peppering kisses up and down his thighs and murmuring soft praises in between. He lies still for a time and simply watches, his body tingling and his face wet with tears. When Bruce finally lifts his head up from lapping up all the residue wet from Dick’s cunt—a simple, tender act that somehow still draws another weak orgasm out of Dick all the same—he smiles, and Dick finds he has just enough energy left in him to smile back.
“There’s my Robin,” Bruce says as he bends down to plant a final kiss atop one of Dick’s knees. “Feel better?”
He does, actually. He’s satisfied, satiated, and even his drive to help—to assist Batman, to back Batman—has been filled.
He tries to help where he can when Bruce begins untying his ankles and undoes his wrists, but without the bonds to hold him up or keep him in place, Dick just falls flat against the bed again, completely and utterly spent. Bruce simply chuckles and shakes his head at the sight, more than happy to take care of the rest on his own.
Gently, he pulls Dick’s top up over his arms and off of his body. Then, he plucks Dick’s fingers out of the gloves’ finger holes one by one before pulling them off, too, and tossing them onto the pile beside the bed. Dick’s green booties come last, and after that, Bruce’s Robin is fully naked and leaking atop his sheets, eyes heavy and mouth still turned up in a sleepy little smile.
Dick rolls over as Bruce peels back the covers before rolling back into place and snuggling underneath them. He mumbles his thanks as Bruce tucks him in and blushes when Bruce leans over him again to plant a gentle kiss atop his forehead before reaching for the lamp to the left and turning it off, immersing the room back into full darkness.
When Bruce slips under the covers and curls up behind him, Dick doesn’t protest. He snuggles deeper into his side of the bed instead, comforted by the weight of Bruce’s arms circling around his waist and the feel of Bruce’s front pressed against his back.
When morning comes and the alarm goes off, Dick wakes up groggy, disoriented, but also more rested than he’s been in a long, long time. It’s at breakfast after being lent a pair of old clothes from the back of Bruce’s closet from Bruce’s old school days that Dick realizes it’s the first time in a long time that he actually slept through the night.
The thought brings a big, wide smile to his face. As he waves Bruce goodbye and follows Alfred to the car, he makes a mental note to try to sneak around in his Robin uniform during school nights more often.
— — — — —
For a few weeks, Dick falls into the same routine. He dons his uniform, sneaks down the stairs and heads for the door, and gets caught just before making a break for the gardens—but only for the first several days. After that, he’s caught at the bottom of the stairs. Then, he’s caught at the top. Then, it’s as he’s leaving his room… and even then, it’s as he’s putting on his uniform that he hears the knock at his door and sees Bruce’s head peeking through it a moment later with that knowing look and those amused yet disapproving eyes.
It leaves him feeling fuzzy every time. Bruce fucks him good and fucks him long, and by the end of it every night, Dick is too tired and worn out to even think about suiting up again, let alone leaving Bruce’s bed. He sleeps hard and long with Bruce lying at his back, and in the mornings, he wakes up tired, but refreshed, and with Bruce already up and gathering his old school clothes for Dick to wear out of the back of his closet.
Bruce is always there it seems, ready to stop him from sneaking off to do crime fighting in the name of saving Dick’s strength and preserving Dick’s education. Dick always has his doubts about all of it, but none of those doubts ever come to light for a long time as they both settle into their new role during the weekdays.
So far, Bruce has been successful. Dick’s attendance is up by a lot, his grades are looking better than before, and he even sleeps through the night and makes it to school on time feeling refreshed and eager for the few nights he’ll get to spend as Robin instead of antsy over time spent dealing with domestic household things instead of stopping crimes and shouldering Batman’s burdens in the streets. The whole ordeal starts to fall apart late one Saturday night, however, when Dick is actually scheduled to be going out and serving as Batman’s sidekick, but instead finds himself huddled up in his room and hugging a warm water bottle to his aching belly.
He doesn’t usually tell Bruce about these weeks, having instead learned to confide in Alfred in the past whenever his cycles catch up to him and leave him bleeding for a short while, but tonight, it’s inevitable. He misses breakfast, and he doesn’t come down to dinner, and when Bruce comes calling, already clad in most of his Batman uniform and holding his helmet under one arm, he finds Dick lying curled up on his side in his bed, his Robin uniform still lying across the dresser on the other end of the bedroom where Alfred left it cleaned and ready for him to wear.
As per usual, there’s a knock at his door before Bruce opens it and pokes his head inside. He looks around for a moment, his eyes still adjusting to the dim lighting, before he spots Dick lying there in bed.
“Dick?” Bruce calls out. “Patrol time, chum. Why aren’t you ready?”
Dick briefly considers coming up with a good lie to get Bruce off of his back for the night before quickly dropping the idea. Bruce knows him too well for that, he thinks. Besides, if his sluggish performance throughout the day and consistent absences were anything to go off of, he was sure Bruce would have already begun to suspect that something was off.
“Dickie?” Bruce calls for him again when he fails to respond, his voice lowering a notch as he drops the tender nickname he’s adopted for the boy. He slips into the room and shuts the door behind him, then comes to stand at the foot of the bed. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Dick blushes bright red as he uncurls from his ball on the bed and looks up at Bruce. Bruce must know about this, he’s sure. How could he not? He tries to remind himself that it’s natural, that it happens, and that Bruce is sure to understand, but something about the way his mentor stands over him with that strange look of concern on his face feels all too familiar to Dick. He finds himself fidgeting with the plastic label on the water bottle he holds as he averts his gaze, mumbling under his breath about feeling unwell.
“Unwell?” Bruce echos. “What do you mean by that?”
Dick hesitates, his face growing hotter. He’s not sure why it suddenly feels so hard to be honest with Bruce, but it does. He turns and sits back against his pillows, holding the water bottle close to his chest as he watches Bruce look him over.
“It’s… um,” he mumbles, his fingers working their way beneath the label. “It’s nothing. It’s just…”
It’s his period, he wants to say. He’s on his period, and he feels terrible. His awkward silence must speak enough for him, because after a long pause, Bruce is softening up with that look that says he knows exactly what’s going on.
“Oh, Dickie…” Bruce begins as he circles the bed and settles down onto his knees next to Dick’s side. “You should’ve told me.”
Dick watches as Bruce reaches out to rest a hand against his belly, Bruce’s fingers splaying out against the fabric of his shirt. It rests just below Dick’s bellybutton, right where Bruce always touches him before undressing him on the nights he’s found Dick sneaking out in his Robin garb, and he can’t help the little shiver of familiarity that passes through him at the reminder.
Bruce’s face hardens, and Dick knows he caught the movement.
“Come on,” he says gently, lifting his hand up again to take Dick’s before sliding the boy up off of the bed and into his arms. “No patrol for you tonight. Let’s take you back to my room, how about that?”
Dick doesn’t protest as Bruce carries him in his arms across the hall and down to Bruce’s bedroom. He lifts his arms up when Bruce pulls his shirt off of him and wiggles his hips to ease himself out of his shorts when Bruce tugs them down to his knees and throws them to the floor, but when Bruce’s hand goes for his underwear, Dick freezes.
“It’s okay, Dickie,” Bruce assures him as he reaches for the edge of the sheets and peels them back, revealing layers of soft, fluffy towels stretched out underneath. “I’ve already prepared the bed.”
He knew, then, Dick thinks as he relaxes, this time allowing Bruce to slowly pull his underwear off of him. There’s a pad layering the bottom of the underwear that’s already halfway soaked through with blood, and Dick blushes again as Bruce tuts at the sight.
“You poor thing,” he says, carefully folding the underwear up before setting it aside. He reaches for Dick’s face again, his hand patting Dick’s cheek as he starts stroking up and down Dick’s thigh with the other hand. “You’re in no state to be out there fighting tonight—not like this.”
Bruce remains gentle, his voice a soothing croon as he helps Dick lie back against the bed and carefully slides himself up onto the mattress below Dick. He undresses, too, shedding his shirt and pants before taking off his boxers and revealing a long, thick cock that’s already halfway hard.
It’s not the first time Dick has seen it exposed by now, and it definitely isn’t the first time Bruce has fucked him with it, but Bruce still strokes Dick’s thighs and pats his belly as though it’s totally new while he pulls the sheets away and stretches the towels back out beneath them.
Dick knows where this is going. He’s done this a million and one times by now already. Still, Bruce asks, just like he always does.
It’s a different question this time, but still close enough for Dick to know exactly what saying yes will entail.
“Do you want me to make you feel better?” Bruce says, his cock twitching as his hands move from rubbing Dick’s outer thighs to circling inward towards Dick’s cunt.
Dick doesn’t have to say a word. Bruce already knows he wants it, just like usual.
— — — — —
It becomes a routine for them after that night—not the excuses of catching Dick escaping during the weeknights clad in his uniform and ready to fight crime, nor the shallow explanations of trying to ease Dick’s misery when he’s feeling under the weather, but the ritual of Bruce coming to Dick’s room each night, turning on the lights and calling softly for the boy to come, to join him, and to have a little fun.
Dick doesn’t try to protest against it anymore. He doesn’t try to sneak out anymore, either. His nights are far too busy for that now that Bruce is demanding his full attention. He’s always too tired to do anything anyway, what with the way Bruce leaves him at the end of each night together.
Each night ends with him feeling the same way: overwhelmed and overstimulated, buzzing with new sensations and lingering pleasure, sticky with his cunt’s slick and leaking Bruce’s cum, panting and spent. It’s too much to even think about sometimes, so he doesn’t. Nowadays, he simply passes out as soon as the lights go off, and by morning, he’s just energized enough to make it out of bed and head to class.
It happens on the weekends, too. He still patrols with Bruce, and he still upholds his own duties as Robin, but before that, after that, on weeknights when his duties are revoked, on the nights where there’s school in the morning, on the nights where Bruce is sure he could escape?
On nights where Bruce is asking about relieving Dick’s pain?
On nights where Bruce claims he heard Dick whimpering, nights where he says he thinks Dick might have been planning to head out even after finding the boy rummaging through the fridge in search of a midnight snack, nights where Bruce wakes him just because, just for the routine, just to have Dick warming the other side of his bed?
It happens then, too.
Bruce suggests it as a solution to keep up with helping Dick sleep through the night. He suggests it as a way to ease Dick’s discomforts. He suggests it when crime is low and their energy is high, and he suggests it on nights where they’re coming home feeling exhausted but successful.
Bruce uses every excuse under the sun until the excuses stop coming and Dick learns to stop leaving Bruce waiting. It’s then that they eventually stop beating around the bush with unnecessary questions and nervous buildup just get right to it, and they get right to the part where Batman is fucking his Robin into the mattress and relishing in the sounds the boy can make.
It gets easier, giving in. Bruce uses bondage at first, just to keep Dick in place. Then, he uses his fingers. Then, it’s his tongue. Then, it’s his cock, always his cock. He fucks Dick properly, and he calls Dick by his name. Not “Dickie,” not “kiddo,” not “chum.” Just Dick, Dick, oh, Dick…
It happens for weeks, months. It’s a part of their routine for a long time, even after Dick grows out of it some years later when he dons his new role as Nightwing and hands down the torch to someone else. He still remembers those tricks, though, and he still remembers the soft sound of Bruce’s voice luring him back to the bedroom for more.
When the next several Robins eventually come to take his place, no matter how big, how small, how old, or how young, Dick knows the tradition still carries on. He knows it for a fact—he can see it in their faces, and he can smell it on Bruce’s lips.
It’s a relief, he thinks, knowing some things never change. Where there’s always Batman and Robin, he’s grateful to see that behind closed doors, there will still always be Batman fucking his beloved Robin, too, no matter how many new Robins come around to take that place.