Dick Grayson, college student, gasped for air eagerly after the pleasure-infused pain had ceased, only to follow it with short moans of approval. Each touch, desired for so long, warmed his skin, refreshed the flow in his veins, brought him back to life.
He groaned into the pillow as his body stiffened from another shot of pain, but he resisted the urge to defend, his back arched into the contact on its own, his mind filled with white hot indulgence for a long moment.
Through his teeth, between moans from half open lips warming the soft bedsheet under him, he cited names of gods and other sanctities.
Then his moans became shorter and higher again, flowing out of him without a feeling of shame; slender fingers caught a powerful grasp at the edge of the mattress as he pushed himself up, forehead still resting on the thin pillow.
"Lie back," Bruce asked slightly panting, urging the movement with a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Do me in the front," Dick murmured in a breath.
"Let me finish first."
"No, now."
"You don't like this?"
"God I do," he moaned. And he moaned again as his ward's fingers slid along his back with a skill no one else he knew could mime. "You're marvelous," he let him know.
"I can hear that," Bruce muttered. "Luckily, only Alfred's in the house, and he'll never spread the rumour about our little fun,"
Dick let out a tormented chuckle at the irony in his tone.
The older man moved on to his ex-partner's right shoulder and arm, massaging each muscle thoroughly, avoiding the freshly bandaged areas with skill, paying special attention to darkened places of beating; pugging and kneading till he felt the knots in the muscles loosen up.
It was a routine he had been practicing since he started hunting for criminals and getting into heavy fights. Limping in public the day after Batman had been shot in the leg was more than suspicious, after all, so he needed a method to rejuvenate quickly. And the massage did good to both the body and the mind: it smoothed out ruffled nerves and slowed down racing thoughts.
It was easier to perform while there were the two of them, him and Robin. But the boy's leaving was evident, he had always struggled to follow the lead of someone else, and even Bruce preferred him studying somewhere and becoming self reliant; he found this crucial in the life of someone who fought to the death on a regular basis.
"Gosh, I'll never leave again," Dick groaned under the pressure of the blessed hands. "I swear I'll stay here to be your Robin forever," he breathed into the pillow hoarsely.
"Or you can just find a masseuse to be your girlfriend."
"Been trying, but it's quite a narrow description."
"You still have plenty of time to look, it's only been your second semester."
"Perhaps, but our maddened enemies don't wait with their beatings meanwhile. So I'll take the liberty to come back to you for some kneading during holidays."
Dick then pushed himself up and lay on his back, stretching with a pleasured sigh.
"Come on, finish me," he requested.
"I should start taking a return for this."
"Why, isn't my heavenly voice a sufficient reward?" grinned the boy wonder.
Bruce chuckled softly. It was.