Title: Tied To You
Prompt: Ropes
Prompt No.(2/13)
Notes: Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Bruce would be lying to himself if each time he came across his Boy Wonder tied to a chair, pole, or even a plastered full-bodied horse statue once, that for a second he did not take in the sight.
Of course, he had to, to see how grisly the danger, but the extra time he spent before springing into action he let his eyes wander over his partner's physique.
His young Robin – Dick – was knelt on the ground, knees spread, pleading eyes staring straight ahead. His hair – usually neat – was ragged and wet and the bangs hung in front of his black mask. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, exposing the developing chest emblazoned with the red material of his disguise. The reason why Robin couldn't, or wouldn't, make any sound, was because of the gag stretched over his lips that were glistening.
He supposed it was Dick's innocence, something he'd swore he would protect to his Aunt Harriet, and that innocence was being robbed.
Bruce darted over, wrenching the gag from his ward's – partner's! – mouth, the gasp making him flinch.
'Thanks. I've been here for I think – an hour. Riddler had better things on his mind than babysitting me' Dick grumbled and Bruce had to grin.
'Did he hurt you?' Bruce asked quickly, not seeing any blood or wounds.
'One of his men knocked me out, tied me up, and when I woke up I was forced to stay in this position. So, no, not really. Christ, my legs ache' Dick wobbled, and Bruce tended to the binds at Dick's wrists.
They were tight and doubtless would leave a burn mark.
He shouldn't like that idea, and he stood to his feet, hauling Dick up, trying to push the thought out of his head.
Dick was frowning, jaw set hard. Bruce had long learned it was a Robin expression when the boy wanted revenge.
'We'll get him, don't worry' the urge to end with kiddo was sitting at the tip of his tongue but Bruce rallied against it.
He had given up on seeing Dick as a child a long time ago, although not before Alfred. Alfred treated Dick like a grandson, or a child to that affect, up to the age of fourteen, when Dick became Robin and an adult member of the Wayne manor.
At fourteen the boy had grown stupendously, the stealth and elegance of an acrobat firmly announcing its presence in his training. Bruce could not be more proud.
With the elegance, came the slow loss of innocence and Dick's increasingly curious nature.
He failed to realise that he still had a hand on Dick's forearm, the boy looking up at him with a bemused expression.
'You all right?' he asked and Bruce dropped the hold immediately, nodding efficiently behind the cowl.
Slipping out of the place by unfastening windows and making jumps that few would dare try, the two made it back to the Bat Cave and up to Wayne manor.
Changing out of the sometimes-restricting costume, Bruce passed Dick's room. His ward was looking in the full-length mirror propped against the wall of his room. Bruce knocked once, sharply, announcing his presence.
Dick was flexing his hands, investigating the markings with a glazed expression.
'Dick?' Bruce asked and the boy jumped, twirling to face him.
'I'm fine. Alfred said dinner's in five minutes…' Dick passed Bruce, but the older man stopped him. Honestly, Dick should know by now that he couldn't lie to Bruce. The boy stopped, sighing, closing his eyes.
Bruce worried about his ward eighty percent of the time, the majority was when they were on patrol in Gotham. He knew all to well that Dick could handle himself – they had had enough arguments to verify that – however Bruce still worried.
'They sting a bit that's all. Struggled a little too hard on the rope'
'I can wrap them up for you?' he phrased, and Dick paused, then nodded mutely. Bruce knew that Dick didn't want to wrap the bruises up, he wanted to soldier on. Bruce was concerned as to what they would say at school if Dick Grayson turned up with lacerations and bruises on his arms. Child abuse perhaps?
Bruce hunted for the supply box – the small one in his room, when to wounds are too little for Alfred to be anywhere involved, he would rather do it himself. Dick sat awkwardly on the edge of Bruce's bed.
Bruce found the box, consequently the bandages and instructed Dick to hold out his arms. He was careful, soft, not at all gruff as Dick assumed he would be the first time Bruce had patched him up. The marks on his right arm were higher up, due to the position his arms were tied in, so the bandage wouldn't be visible. His left however trailed onto the tender skin just below the heel of his palm, and would show underneath his shirt. Bruce felt his partner's pulse – which always pumped with adrenaline in fights – quicken.
Taking a short glance, Bruce stilled at the blush the heated Dick's cheeks. He was making the boy uncomfortable, something he never wanted to do, even if he had been brusque with Dick before. That deep-rooted hunger, the hunger he'd repressed for two years flared so he didn't dare let his ward see it.
The burn marks from the rope that held his Robin helpless now covered in creamy white cotton.
There came a soft knock. 'Dinner is served, sirs' Alfred's voice sounded and Bruce turned to the man with a small smile.
'Thank you Alfred' Dick and Bruce said at the same time. Alfred smiled in that knowing way that he had always done since Bruce was young, and disappeared, softly treading back down to the dining room.
'I think he's made his famous Duke Wellington' a blinding smile, stepping away from Bruce and crossing the room.
He mentally chastised himself, waiting. Dick was still a boy, why did that fact conveniently depart in moments like those?
He took a deep breath in through his nose before following his Boy Wonder downstairs.