There was a shoebox sitting innocently upon his bed.

Everything about this box was as average as you could get. Average size, average colors- even the brand displayed on its lid was average. For all the world, this was just another everyday shoebox that certainly isn't, or ever going to, hold something of great value.

But Tim Drake knew better than that.

He inched toward the box, a giddy sort of anticipation rising inside his body (the sort that always surfaced whenever he looked inside his "treasure box," ever since he was just an adolescent who figured out perhaps one of the biggest secrets in all the universe). It caused the edges of his lips to twitch upward into a sly little smile. His heart thudded faster and faster as his fingers touched the lid, feeling the familiar, worn cardboard for a minute before lifting it off and letting it join the box on the plush surface of his comforter.

Inside the box, laying in an organized disarray, were newspaper clippings and pictures that he had collected (not only Batman and Robin, but Bruce, Dick, and Jason themselves), and the odd trinkets that held enough emotional value for them to be kept.

Tim's fingers caressed each object as gently as one would a lover, slowly working his way through the pile until he found a picture that he felt the need to pick up and inspect.

The picture displayed a grinning, practically glowing from happiness Dick, who just so happened- it's not like he took the picture like that or anything, h-honestly- to be shirtless. After staring for a moment, practically entranced by the charm that radiated from Dick despite being a simple photo, his cheeks began to heat. He lowered the picture and almost dropped it back into the box, but, for some reason, lifted it out again. As he swallowed his embarrassment and cursed himself for his stupidity (it was just a picture- there was no reason he should feel /dirty/ for looking at it), he studied it again.

It was tattered around the edges- a sign of its age as well as the frequency with which it had been handled- and was, as a matter of fact, one of his favorite pictures of his brother figure. After another glance at the perfect grin Dick had on his face, it wasn't hard to guess why.

His thoughts gradually drifted from the picture, to what it would be to have Dick grin like that at him. Sure, he was often on the receiving end of some rather breathtaking smiles, but to have a such a flawless, joyful expression directed his way? The thought was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and definitely enough to keep his daydream flowing.

Dick would give him that grin, would open his arms and pull him into one of his hugs (Tim had learned never to deny them- Dick was just a touchy-feely person, and personal contact was something you had to learn to accept), would tell him how good of a little brother he was, how /proud/ he was of him. And then he would lean in, whisper his name once against his ear and pull back to press his lips against-

Oh god.

Oh god.

He was not fantasizing about Dick. Not like that. Anything but that.

And yet, his body seemed to disagree with his mind, for the beginnings of arousal were stirring in the pit of his stomach, a molten heat that taunted him and made this fantasy of his continue despite every fiber of his morality screaming that it was wrong.

Tim maneuvered his body onto his bed, thoughts centered on how Dick would kiss him, gentle and warm at first, but with a growing sense of urgency that they both would have felt. Tim slid one of his hands down his chest (the other still gripped the picture so hard that his knuckles were turning white), his mind's eye envisioning that the warm touch wasn't his own, but Dick's. He brought his hand from his chest to his crotch, where he palmed his bulging erection through the fabric of his jeans. As soon as he did this, a soft, shuddering gasp escaped his lips. Tim closed his eyes to center on his fantasy, nimble fingers unfastening his jeans then tugging them down his hips. After, he slipped his hand inside his boxers, a barely perceptible shudder of anticipation rising through him. In his mind, Dick was fondling him, alternating the pressure as he continued to stroke his erection until finally, he wrapped his hand around his arousal and squeezed. The sensation caused him to toss his head back, a quiet groan rumbling in the back of his throat. He wouldn't have to worry about being quiet- Batman was patrolling solo tonight, Alfred was more than likely asleep, and Dick- Dick rarely popped into Gotham these days.

Tim slowly began to pump himself, keeping time with the Dick in his imagination, hips jutting upwards with every jerk of his hand. His head rolled back, lips parted in a silent gasp, his mind's eye picturing Dick's mouth nipping and sucking at his neck, picturing him mumbling sweet nothings against his skin. Tim shuddered at that, hips stuttering upwards in a clumsy, lust driven movements. The simple idea of Dick doing that.. was. Just.

Tim sank his teeth into his lip to hold back his moans, hand and hips moving faster and faster, driving him towards his release with that delicious friction. In his mind, Dick was moaning his name into his ear, toes clenching and chest heaving as it tried to compensate for the lack of air.

".. Tim?"

Tim groaned in response, marveling at how /good/ his imagination was, for Dick's voice sounded so soft, so near, and so /real/ as if he were actually there.

"Nng, Dick!"

And then Tim was cumming, vision darkening around the edges from the sheer force of his orgasm.

Tim slumped back in his chair, panting and satisfied, almost ready to clean himself up and head off to bed.

And then he heard his name again.

"Uh.. Tim?"

The shock is a cold rush through him, chasing away the afterglow of his release so fast that if it were possible, he would have gotten whiplash. He turns his head, looking over his shoulder and- - there stood Dick Grayson, in the flesh.

Tim rushed into action, quickly cleaning up any remnants of his release, pulled up his boxers, and practically leaped toward the doorway and shoved Dick out of the room, refusing to listen to the muffled protests that came through the door.

When, at last, Dick seemed to have given up and gone away, Tim slid down the door and held his face in his hands, feeling the pure heat that radiated from his face.

Ohgodwhydidn'thelockthedoor?

How could he be so stupid?

And now, Tim thought with rising, icy dread, Dick knew.