Chapter 26: The Boy, Kissed

"Damn it." Dick rolled away from the mattress that still had that rubbery new smell, and stood up with a frustrated look on his face. He was used to understanding and mastering the basics of a trick in just a few tries, and yet here he was having problems with something as simple as a single front flip. It was like his old circus training was blocking him from learning new things, which was ironic considering the fact that the current Dick had almost nothing in common with the Flying Graysons' laughing, cheeky little boy.

He was currently in the new gym, surrounded by all the expensive equipment manifested from Bruce's strange need to shower him with gifts and clothes and electronics he didn't really want. The gym was the most expensive purchase, and Dick's favourite - he didn't really want to admit it to himself, but he was glad that Bruce had spent the money to build him a training room, when before all he had had were rough trees and wet grass on the ground. He never wanted to forget his skills from the circus and performing tricks and dangerous stunts made him feel like the world disappeared, when his sharp mind and beating heart were the only things he truly needed.

He wanted to get better, and that's what made him come to the renovated cinema every day after school; stretching, lifting himself up on the rings and going through the moves that Richard had taught him during his visit. It came easier to him without the threat of his friend touching his body to help him if he showed even the smallest sign of uncertainty, and as with everything in his circus life, the moves came to him naturally, with an ease only somebody with his upbringing could have.

Yet without the thrill of performing, and the risk of breaking his neck if he fell, the movements were mechanical, and all he could do was perfect the tricks over and over again, like a broken record skipping. There was no challenge, no satisfaction. Without Richard's eyes on him, the taught moves just weren't enough.

And that was when his eyes fell on the mats in the corner.

"Okay, so I think it's safe to say we've found your weak point. Your floor skills suck," he remembered Richard saying. The words opened something inside of him.

He dropped down quietly and made his way towards them He didn't waste any time dragging the red mats into the floor section of the gym. It was harder by himself, but the boy was determined. He began going through the things he already knew and Richard had told him was part of the team's repertoire; back flips, tumbles, cartwheels and all the variations of it. Yet when he attempted a front flip, trying to fit in Richard's corkscrew-whatever, he realized that the trick itself wasn't the problem, it was the front flip. He couldn't do it.

Whenever he attempted it, his body automatically prepared itself for a double front flip, and he ended up falling on his face or his back. It was maddening, and Dick cursed his trained body. He knew all too well that the reason for this was one of the regular routines he did for his solo act in the circus; repeated front flips in the air until he straightened to grasp hold of the trapeze swinging towards him to the relieved and impressed cheers of the crowd. His quadruple flip, unique in the country in someone at his age, had been drilled into him for hours every day for months, until there was no way he could make a mistake and hurt himself. It was difficult to unlearn that kind of training.

But now he wasn't on the trapeze, he wasn't flying through empty air. The ground was very nearby and he just kept crashing into it. Floor gymnastics were harder than he gave them credit for. And he was not supposed to reach for anything now, not that his body would listen to him. Each time he passed the first flip his body positioned itself to keep going, and hit the mat after the incomplete second flip, aching and annoyed. His motivation was lost, and he lay motionless on the mat for several minutes, his chest heaving and sweat condensing beneath him as he got his breath back.

When he pulled himself up, he was faced with his reflection in the mirror that covered one of the walls, clean and gleaming perfectly. Looking up he saw two cameras on the ceiling. Really. Bruce wasn't even trying to hide himself anymore. He might as well have been in the room with him. Dick looked back towards the mirror wall with disgust. Was there anything hiding behind the glass? A secret room, more cameras? His reflection grimaced back at him.

Tomorrow he would be away from this place and travelling to New Carthage on the bus rented for the trip, miles away from Bruce or the cold darkness of Wayne Manor. He got a strange feeling that he couldn't place whenever he thought about it - sleeping somewhere else with a lock on the door and a certainty that he's protected and completely alone, without mechanical eyes watching his every move and audio bugs recording every sound…

Dick lay down on the mat again and spread his hands out, closing his eyes. He imagined his escape like a dream, being driven steadily away from Wayne Manor and everything that lived there, all the troubles and pain, all the ghosts and ancient history, secrets on top of secrets on top of secrets.

He could hardly believe he hadn't even been at the house for two years - it felt like he had lived there his whole life, that Alfred had always cleaned everything and cooked meals for him, since he was a baby even. And Bruce... the distant father figure who had turned out to be his very own personal nightmare. Dick wondered what it would be like if he truly was Bruce's son, and grew up in the manor from the very beginning. Would their relationship still be the same? Was Bruce fucked up enough to do this to his own flesh and blood?

The reflection in the mirror was certainly similar enough to the photo of the young billionaire that Alfred had shown him all that time ago. He could pass for Bruce's son, especially if you saw them standing next each other, Dick wearing one of the expensive suits picked out for him.

But it was painfully obvious that Bruce had never really seen him as a son, Dick thought bitterly as he rolled over on the mat, burying his face in its slick coolness, the plastic and sawdust smell almost overpowering him. Deep inside the boy, there was still this ache, this fucking need to be accepted by his guardian, by anybody now that his parents were gone. He had brought it to the Manor with him from the Children's Home, and it had never truly left, and he hated himself for it. He was supposed to despise the man, want him dead, tortured, suffering, skinned alive - and really, he did want all of that, and more. But there was a part of him that felt good when Bruce complimented him, a part that wanted Bruce to show him his true self and accept him as his son and not just some brainless pet he owned. He wondered if this need would ever go away, if Bruce would do something so terrible, so painful and so unthinkable that Dick would lose all of this ridiculous hope and learn to stop expecting anything, ever again. A chill went over Dick as he thought that it seemed almost inevitable at this point, and he didn't know what would happen to him – to his soul, his mind, or whatever it was inside him that made him Dick Grayson – when it did.

The boy grew cold as he lay still and let out a long sigh. He stood up, frowning at the now-dried sweat sticking his t-shirt to his skin. He decided to leave the front flip alone for now and try out one of the other moves Richard had showed off; he remembered one that had caught his eye when his friend introduced it, calling it a Butterfly flip or twist or something like that.

"That's not the official name," the blonde explained with a voice of a person that was passionate about the subject they were talking about "But then again you wouldn't find this move in any of the official routines anyway. It's most popular in Free Running groups though, and really neat. Watch."

He could recall Richard's smiling face and the careful way he moved, slowing the process down to show Dick exactly how to position his body.

Imagining the whole process in his head, Dick started to move. The mirror opposite him showed his clumsy take-off that looked nothing like what his friend had performed, and after landing awkwardly on his ass, Dick realized that it was because he was not bent over enough and his arms were supposed to stretch out as he flipped over.

He returned to his previous position and tried again. And again. And again. After five more tries he landed properly on his feet; after six he was able to keep his legs stretched out as he moved them through the air, and after ten more he was confident enough to do two flips in a row. Ending it with a series of somersaults, Dick only stopped when he had no more space in front of him, and then started a series of backwards ones. By the time he made it to his original place he was flushed and properly out of breath, listening to his heart beating madly in his chest.

That was enough for today. Time to pack, he thought eagerly.

Dick was used to travelling. The circus rarely stayed in one place for a long period of time and almost never went to one city twice. It had been his first time in Gotham when his parents were murdered and he stopped being part of the performers' group. He was used to seeing new towns every month, new faces, new places, but there were always things that stayed the same; things like supermarkets, the streets with the same 'big city' feel, the same poor parts of town that were identical in their poverty. He was used to packing not only for himself but for the whole family, and that was why it was strange how nervous he felt now, as he walked up the stairs of Wayne Manor, thinking about tomorrow's trip. Nervous, excited… There was really nothing that could go wrong, and he had teachers and Richard to protect him if anything happened, but he still felt anxious…

Mindful of the portrait hung on the wall, Dick avoided looking in its direction as he tiredly made his way to his bathroom, sweaty, his short hair sticking out in every direction. His body ached from the exercise and it made him feel good; a sure sign that he was slowly returning back to the excellent shape he was in back at the circus. He couldn't wait for another training session with the team where he could show off his skills again and have fun with people he actually had something in common with. It was too bad that he would miss the week's training but he had another four years of the gymnastics team ahead of him so…

'Four years, huh?' Dick thought to himself as he took off his sweaty clothes, carelessly throwing them near the sink. He was aware that the cameras would record everything, but it seemed to matter less and less as the days went by, and Dick realized that it was his survival instinct kicking in again and forcing him to adapt. He didn't try to pretend they weren't there or hide himself from their view anymore, merely accepting the brutal fact and living with it. It just wasn't possible to fight them and the man behind it all, he needed to be able to forget about them to live in any real way. He'd lost so much of who he'd been before his parents' death, he didn't have the energy left to try to hold on to what was being continuously eroded from him.

He wondered how many of the morals and values of his childhood could be driven out of him until he wouldn't be able to function anymore. Was he tolerating this because of his own strong urge to survive, or had Bruce orchestrated the whole thing? Hurting him and then giving him time to recover, to get used to the situation, only to force his head under the surface again once Dick had got his breath back. If all of this had happened on his first night in Wayne Manor, Dick probably wouldn't have been able to cope with it; the rape, the cameras, the absolute control and isolation from the rest of the world…

But Bruce was smart, Dick realized. All of this was gradual, slowly spreading itself over a whole year and he was dealing with it, fucking used to it even. Unbelievable. He couldn't believe that he was getting used to undressing and taking a shower in front of cameras. Of course, this begged the question, just why did Bruce adopt him in the first place? Had he been shopping for a fucktoy and Dick had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, his parents conveniently dead and him in need of a new home? Somehow he couldn't believe it, he preferred to think that he was just a victim of chance, than to admit that even Bruce was capable of that level of planning, deceit and corruption.

'Huh, Alfred must have been shopping,' Dick thought as he noticed the large amount of different brands of hair gels and products. Must have figured out that Dick wanted to keep the spiky look. The butler was observant that way.

He went quickly through the process of cleaning his body, making sure that his hands didn't linger on any one place for too long, forcing himself to think of his body as a mere object he was washing, not belonging or related to him in any way.

It was something he often unconsciously reverted to when he was in the forbidden room, feeling large hands on his skin and telling himself he was just an object that can be easily repaired if hit or squeezed too hard, that Bruce was touching something, but not him. He understood very well that it wasn't healthy, mentally, to see himself that way, but Dick could not be more grateful to be blessed with this strange phenomenon; it made his life easier on so many levels.

He was sure it was alright if you could control it, which he mostly did. He couldn't imagine reverting back to the earlier days when everything was so, too real, when he could hear every heaving breath, feel what his heart now easily shut off and experience what his senses now simply rejected.

He had learned his lesson. He was too arrogant in his previous assumptions about how Bruce could not make his existence that much more painful. It can always be worse, his trembling inner voice reminded him.

It can always be worse.

0o0

0

0o0

He was in the middle of packing when he heard the knock on the door.

"Come in."

There was the sound of the door opening and three quiet steps as someone entered the room. Dick didn't even have to look up to recognize the person as Alfred, with his silent, dignified presence as he waited to be addressed. And who else was it going to be? Bruce? Bruce didn't come himself, he sent Alfred - that was the way it worked.

Feeling mischievous, his mood lightened by his exercise and the promise of an escape from his prison, the boy looked up at the butler from the ground, his hands gently resting on the expensive suitcase by his feet.

"Do you need help with packing, Master Dick?"

"You're asking me?" Dick asked with a smile and turned back towards the neat pile of clothes in front of him. "You know I can do things on my own. I'm great at packing," he replied after a while as he carefully positioned the t-shirt to fit perfectly between the two small piles of clothes. He didn't really want Alfred to leave; just simply having a human presence in the room made his heart lighter and he missed talking to people, their friendly replies and small talk that didn't really mean anything. It was as if his friendship with Richard had opened something inside him that craved human interaction again.

"So I see, sir. One of the skills acquired during your days spent travelling with the circus, no doubt," the man replied with a light conversational tone, and Dick could feel some sort of weight fall from his shoulders; a fear that Alfred would not reply to his banter and instead return to his cold, professional voice.

"That's right," he smiled good-naturedly and reached over for one of the smaller bags on the nearby bed. The box inside him that held his parents' corpses was shut tightly and he didn't feel sad mentioning his happy days at the circus; that wasn't him.

He wanted to continue with the light teasing, ask something like 'Are you going to miss me?' but realized he didn't want to hear the answer and that Alfred would never reply the way he wanted him to. The thought made him hunch over his suitcase, his back to the man.

As if sensing it, the butler's next words were professional and cold and sent a chill down his spine.

"Master Bruce has business tomorrow morning, and is therefore requesting your presence tonight befor-"

"I get it, Alfred," Dick cut in harshly, having known this was coming for some time, and he turned to glare at the old man standing by the door, angry that his little pretend average conversation was ruined so quickly.

Alfred didn't reply and simply bowed, disappearing into the hall like a shadow. Of course he wasn't here just to chat with him, it was always The Master pulling the strings.

Dick hated it.

Alfred probably wouldn't even look at him if it up was up to him. Dick understood, though. Alfred had raised Bruce from a child, and Dick was just the newbie who had corrupted him, the seed of his master's evil. Dick wouldn't be surprised at all if Alfred hated him. But it wasn't fair.

He left the suitcase on the floor, confident that he had packed everything he needed; the only things missing was a toothbrush and some other stuff from the bathroom that he planned to use in the morning. He would just wake up earlier and pack it before breakfast. That was a good plan.

All he had to do now was 'say goodbye' to his guardian. He grimaced at the thought.

His feet knew the way without him having to think about it, he had walked this path so many times before. One foot after the other, and then he realized he had forgotten his shoes, and he hadn't put any new socks on after his shower. That wasn't good, the practical side of him coldly commented, there are shards of glass on the floor when you get there, you'll have to be careful not to step on the shattered lamp pieces…

As if any of that really mattered, but he pondered this dilemma anyway just to have something to think about. It was always easier to turn his head away from the situation at hand and look at the other side, the side that didn't have a frightened boy walking these steps towards the room of pain.

Past the staircase, the portrait on the wall, happy couple smiling down at him. One more turn and he was walking through the familiar hallway with his head bent down like a prisoner nearing his execution. This is the last night, this is the last night, he told himself.

Knock Knock

"Come in."

He opened the door.

The room was dark as always and the black silhouette standing by the window didn't move or give any indication that he noticed the barefoot boy by the door. Dick's eyes gazed at all the familiar objects surrounding him, large desk, broken lamps, dust particles dancing in the air and bookshelves after bookshelves after bookshelves. He looked down at his feet and only now realized his idiocy; of course it mattered if his feet got cut up with the glass, he couldn't go on the trip if he injured himself, couldn't do gymnastics, couldn't even go to school if he couldn't walk. He would be stuck in the Manor until he healed, which could take days...

But it would make Bruce angry if he had to go back to his room to get something he should have thought to bring with him. Bruce didn't find that kind of mistake - being unprepared for the situation - amusing.

"What are you waiting for? Come here," the dark voice ordered, and Dick squinted at the dusty carpet in the dark, trying to see where it was safe to put his naked feet down, not there and certainly not there...

"What's the problem?" Bruce demanded with a low, impatient voice, and turned away from the window to face him. Dick didn't know how to explain his situation; it was so ridiculous now that he thought about it, but he assumed that the best thing to do now was to tell the truth. That was mostly the best approach with Bruce. Short and honest.

"…I forgot my shoes and there is glass on, on the floor," Dick explained quietly, having absolutely no idea how his guardian would react. Bruce looked at him for a second and his face was surprised - Your shoes? - but then he sighed, as if Dick was an ignorant child that could not do anything on his own, and started to move.

The man's movements were quick and efficient, and it took his long legs only a few steps before he was standing in front of the boy, intimidating in his largeness. Bruce put both hands under his ward's armpits, strong hands gripping flesh, and the boy was lifted into the air as effortlessly as if he was just an infant.

Dick gasped at the action but Bruce paid him no attention and carefully turned around, walking back towards his original place by the desk, next to the window, the glass shards cracking as he stepped on them with heavy feet. The man didn't hold him close to his body, keeping him instead at arm's length, barely even looking at his ward as he made his way across the room.

Dick couldn't remember the last time he was held like this, perhaps when he was five and his father helped him onto one of the horses in the circus, safe and supportive. Bruce made it look like he didn't weigh anything at all, in fact he didn't make the slightest noise as he carried him to the desk, and in the moonlight coming from the window, his guardian's face was serious and concentrated on his task, giving Dick the impression that he was the ferryman, emotionlessly carrying him from one side of the river to the other, from the land of the living to the cold, dark, terrifying land of the dead. The desk was an island in the abyss of the forbidden room, a safe haven he couldn't escape because of the glass that twinkled menacingly in the moonlight from the carpet.

"Ah." He was put on the edge of the desk, his bare feet dangling in the air. Bruce let go of him and moved his arms to either side of the desk, trapping him with his body. Dick leaned as far away as his balance allowed him, and kept his eyes at the man's chest, instead of his face. Now that Bruce was facing the windows, he was able to see every detail, every look in his eyes illuminated by the strong moonlight streaming in from behind the clouds. The man's blue eyes were bleached of their colour and looked glassy and dead. Dick didn't want to look. It was scary.

He wished the moon would go away, hide its light just for now so Dick didn't have to watch what was about to happen.

"Are you nervous about the trip?" Bruce murmured in a low tone, gently running his hand along the side of his ward's head before firmly taking hold of it, his hand large and warm and intimidating. His masculine adult voice only increased the boy's fear. With their faces so close, Dick wasn't sure he was even able to make any noise, and so he nodded, dumb and submissive - Whatever you say.

Bruce paused for a while as if thinking about his next words.

"If you feel uncomfortable about going, I can arrange to-"

"NO!" Dick cried out, jerking upright in a spasm of panic, accidentally bringing himself towards the man in the hope of making him understand. He couldn't call the trip off now. He just couldn't.

"I want to go, I… It's fun and the whole class is going and we've been doing the plays in school and seeing them played out is…" he immediately realized that this was the wrong approach; if it was about the plays, Bruce was able to fucking buy the theatre group and make them perform right here in Wayne Manor. The plays themselves weren't the answer.

But what should he say? Bruce probably didn't want him to associate with his classmates and God forbid if he knew that Richard was going on the trip as well; he was sure that if the man knew that, he would cancel everything in an instant and they wouldn't even be having this conversation. The fact that it was a class trip protected him.

"I… want to go," he repeated again, deciding that his original approach of short and honest was the only one at the moment.

Bruce was quiet for a moment and it was only then that Dick realized how close face to face they were, with him sitting on the desk and Bruce hunched over it. He immediately leaned away, never liking to be close to the man's face. There was usually quite a distance between their faces whenever they were in this room, with Dick on his knees or bent over or on the dusty floor with Bruce hovering over him like some kind of a wild creature from his nightmares.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what Bruce thought about this whole trip thing. He would be away from the Manor, from his control, for the first time since he arrived. Three nights without the young boy in the house… Would Bruce care? Would he even notice?

He didn't like the needy tone his thoughts had taken on, and brought himself forcibly back to the present. Bruce's arms lightly brushed against his shoulders as he was trapped in the human cage. He still couldn't find the courage to look at Bruce's face and so he waited for the man's move as he stared helplessly at his chest, willing himself to stay still.

Bruce adjusted his grip on the desk and leaned away slightly, as if thinking about something, indecisive, and Dick would give anything to hear his thoughts, to feel what he felt and understand the terrifying man. But then the brief moment of hesitation was gone. Bruce was back in control again and his hands moved towards the boy's body, his hands tugging the t-shirt up impatiently.

"Lift your arms," he growled, obviously displeased, and Dick obeyed with an alarmed expression on his face, immediately lifting them up high in the air, doing what he was told.

The man took off his shirt, undressing him like a child being undressed by their parent, and after it was thrown to the floor out of Dick's reach, Bruce stepped back, obviously intending to take off the rest.

Uncomfortable, Dick allowed him to, not expecting this complete exposure but somehow used to it. There were times when he was forced to undress in front of his guardian down to his very shoes and he hadn't forgotten how Bruce had demanded he change in front of him at Goldworth's. However, he was rarely undressed by the older man himself. He tried not to think about it too much.

After he was completely naked, he was put in the same position as before, sitting on the edge of the desk with Bruce's hands on either side of him, and he shivered slightly at the cold air on his skin. Dick had never found another room in the Manor as cold as this one, and he wondered why for a moment. Bruce was staring openly at his exposed body, he could fucking tell, and he tried to make himself as small as he possibly could, vulnerable in his nakedness. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me.

Then Bruce leaned away again, still staring at him as he reached for his own shirt and started unbuttoning it impatiently, never once taking his eyes from the sight before him, sitting on the desk. Dick could feel his heart beating like crazy, the adrenalin that he was not allowed to use for Fight or Flight pumping uselessly in his veins. This was not normal, Bruce never took off his own clothes, the only time Dick had ever seen him without a shirt was in his bedroom with bandages covering the firm muscles.

Because the opportunity was so rare, Dick couldn't stop himself from looking curiously at his guardian's chest. It seemed so large, his shoulders so broad, his arms so thick, that incredibly, Dick felt belittled by comparison. As if masculinity mattered now, as if Bruce hadn't already torn the boy's to shreds a long time ago. But where did all those muscles come from? He could have believed that Bruce worked out, that his playboy persona necessitated an attractive physique, and it probably would have raised more questions if Bruce didn't have a personal trainer or something, but what Dick could see now, clearly illuminated in the silver light from the window, went beyond appearances. Bruce was muscled like a man who needed it, not an ounce of fat or blurred outline anywhere on his torso. This was a man who wouldn't have looked out of place on the cover of a work-out magazine, if it wasn't for the scars. Too many to count, they were scattered all over Bruce's skin, in all shapes and sizes. Where had they come from? How did he get them? It was all so strange, and once again, Dick got the feeling that there was more to the Wayne heir than even he knew.

Bruce seemed to decide that he'd waited long enough. In one movement, he swooped down on the boy, his hands gripping Dick's hips and pulling them towards him, roughly spilling him onto his back on the desktop. Dick threw out his arms to catch himself, and ground his elbows painfully onto the pencils and book corners that had survived their previous episodes on the desk. He winced, but managed not to make any noise.

At the same time, Bruce burrowed his face in Dick's neck and there was a warm breath on his skin and some sort of tugging and the sound of zipper and he knew it was coming and he shut his eyes in preparation for-

"Urgh…!" he groaned uncomfortably, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth in pain. Shit, it hurt. It would have been more bearable if Bruce stopped to give him time to adjust, but the man didn't wait to start to thrust impatiently and again and again and the pace picked up and all he could do was take deep breaths to not cry out in pain. Bruce was everywhere, covering him, engulfing him, his face pressed into Dick's hot temple and he could feel his lips moving as if he was saying something into his skin but no sound came out, only the noises of flesh meeting flesh.

"Nnn…nnhhh…." Dick clenched his jaw and moved his head away from the hot breath but this only caused Bruce to grip him harder, drive into him harder, and after a particularly painful thrust Dick gasped out in agony and one of his legs stretched itself out, trembling in the air, trying anything to alleviate the pain. Another thrust and he hooked it around Bruce's waist unconsciously, seeking support and then realizing what he had done he immediately let go, terrified. But before he could lower it or move it away one of the man's hands grabbed his calf and kept it there as he continued to ruthlessly fuck him with a groan that clearly indicated he wanted Dick to keep it hooked around him.

God it was painful. The violation hurt, but what got Dick the most was the pretence, the shut-up-and-take-it, the leg around Bruce's waist as if he wanted what was happening. The boy wasn't allowed to have his own opinions, his own feelings, he was there to be only what Bruce wanted. Piece by piece, he was losing himself to the lies and masks. If they were all anybody ever saw, didn't they become what was real?

The pain was steadily becoming more bearable, or more like his brain was becoming able to shut it out and focus on other things, and with deep breaths Dick was able to start thinking clearly once again. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see his guardian's face especially now that it was so frighteningly clear with the moonlight shinning from the window, bright and blue-tinted from the curtains.

He concentrated on the feel of the dusty wood on his back, the way his skin chafed as he remained unmoving while Bruce thrust inside him as if he was some sort of a life-sized statue built atop the wooden desk, an object that could feel no pain or see any scary sights. None of this was real. He wasn't real.

But for some reason it was impossible for him to escape tonight. Bruce's face was pressed against his temple, neck, ear and this unusual amount of contact made Dick anxious and fearful, and he continued leaning away as far as his body allowed him to. The predator was too near and his instincts cried at him to get away, but of course he couldn't do anything of the sort even if he actually tried. Time and time again he learned that you can't say no to Bruce Wayne and he was weak and pathetic and-

"Hnnn!" Dick whimpered at the unfamiliar intense pain coming from his shoulder and it took him some time to realize that Bruce had bit him, he fucking bit him and was sucking on his neck like an animal. The boy thrashed under the heavy body, his nail-bitten hands grasping at the large shoulders trapping him against the desk but it was a battle lost from the very beginning.

"Aaarg… don't… don't!" he pleaded like the pathetic creature that he was. "It hurts!" he cried, as if all of the things he'd experienced so far weren't more painful and agonizing. Yet, surprisingly, Bruce did stop, and kissed the wound, light feathery touches here and there, the wet warmth of a tongue on stinging skin, and Dick breathed heavily, grateful when the terrible sensation stopped. Inhaling and exhaling to calm his frightened heart, Dick didn't even notice Bruce lean away from the crook of his neck and so was completely unprepared when Bruce's face appeared right above him, intense and frightful. It was too late to close his eyes, he was already caught in that domineering gaze and he stared at his guardian with a horror of a child trapped in a dark basement, scared and utterly alone.

'I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here...'

Dick didn't even realize that the thrusts had stopped, without any indication that the abuse was over. No, he was simply observed, and Dick felt as if the whole mansion held its breath when Bruce leaned down, with an uncharacteristically slow movement, and he shut his eyes, expecting pain (his face bitten off), but what came instead was a firm pressure on his lips. He froze.

The pressure didn't increase, instead it started to move, slowly, and Dick realized that the unfamiliar sensation was kissing. He was being kissed. By Bruce.

"Mhh…!"

Dick immediately began to thrash defensively, twisted his face from side to side to try to escape but he couldn't. It was wrong, it felt very wrong and he could feel shivers of repulsion go up and down his spine disgustedly, his chest aching with a terribly tight emotion that he had experienced many times before but never so intensely. On top of everything else, the rape, the injuries, the cameras, the neglect – On top of physical abuse and psychological warfare, Bruce felt the need to do this to him. Was he deranged? Was his guardian actually insane? Why kiss him? Why? Why be gentle? Not for the first time, Dick was struck with the impression that the man was clinically deluded, that in some subtle way, Bruce had lost touch with reality. Who was the kiss for, him or Bruce? Was Bruce just fucking with him, trying out one of the few things he hadn't inflicted on the boy yet, or did he think that he and Dick were somehow sharing something romantic or passionate?

He finally broke away with a glare, just barely restraining himself from spitting to get rid of the horrible sensation. Bruce's face above him darkened and whatever made him hesitate before completely disappeared with the boy's obvious rejection, and with one hard thrust that made Dick wince in pain, the man's face was on his again and he was sucking and biting at his lips like an animal.

It was agony. He could never get his head far away enough to avoid the man, Bruce always found his lips and continued sucking on them, his tongue trying to get inside past Dick's tightly clenched teeth gritting with tension. He was thrashing, wanting out, like a helpless rabbit caught in a hunter's trap that was big enough to swallow him whole if he didn't escape in time. Bruce was still kissing him, growling impatiently at the boy's constant thrashing and disobedient behaviour. Dick hadn't struggled aggressively like that for a long time.

"Open your mouth," Bruce ordered harshly as he continued thrusting into the boy, his face disordered and aggressive. His voice was inhumanly loud and raspy in his ear. "Open your mouth!"

And Dick fearfully obeyed, and his struggling ceased as Bruce forcefully thrust his tongue into the boy's mouth, humming in pleasure as he found no resistance. Dick felt the strange foreign organ move around in his mouth, touching and sucking on his own tongue enthusiastically and he whined at the weird sensation, half tempted to start struggling all over again. Bruce's tongue on his was disgusting, wet and soft and squidgy and knobbly, and he could taste the man's saliva. He could feel Bruce was nearing his limit, his pace was downright merciless now and Dick wondered if he would be able to walk normally tomorrow, sitting on a bus the whole day.

However all of these thoughts in his head disappeared with a loud noise that came from Bruce as he literally squashed him against the desk, increasing his force as if he wanted to eat him alive and Dick could feel tears of pain flowing down his temples as the strength behind the thrusts became unbearable. He cried out into Bruce's mouth, no longer being able to hold the noises in and the man's moan joined him as he came inside him, shaking. A few shallow thrusts later and Bruce collapsed against him with his weight, face burrowed in the boy's neck as both of them inhaled and exhaled loudly, one from pain the other from pleasure.

It was finally over, Dick breathed out with tears in his eyes. It was over.

He let Bruce recover on his own as he lay on the desk, safe in his knowledge that nothing more would be expected of him for at least three next nights. He could feel Bruce's large chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths and his heartbeat was slowly returning to normal as it beat against Dick's skin.

The adrenalin slowly left the boy's body and he started to feel the cold, and the pain, feel it properly and he grimaced at the stinging sensation on his neck where the man's face was currently burrowed. He could feel Bruce go soft inside of him, a feeling so disgusting he would never get used to it, and the flood of pain inside him as the pressure was removed to compress the feeling. There was a slight shift as Bruce pulled himself out, still leaving the front of his body on top of the naked boy, squashing him with his chest. Dick winced at the weight but didn't complain, didn't say anything at all, just waited for Bruce to say something, move, let him know it was over and he was free to leave and lick his wounds far away from this terrible room.

He could not erase the disgust he felt when Bruce kissed him, his first kiss, he realized with a rising hysteria. Bruce took away his first kiss. It was so laughable, ridiculous that somebody who did all these horrible things to him would kiss him as if… as if they were lovers, as if Dick was an adult, one of his stupid model girlfriends he was always wooing with money, flowers, cars and sweet kisses on her neck. Disgusting, disgusting!

And then, as if sensing his thoughts, Bruce leaned away from his neck until he was looking down at him with that unreadable expression he sometimes had, and Dick nearly whimpered with dread as he leaned down and kissed him on his bruised lips one more time. The boy forced himself to stay very still and endure it, his eyes shut with dread and fear. And then mercifully his guardian leaned back and pushed himself away from the naked body on the desk, his shirtless chest shining in the moonlight that illuminated the dirty office.

Dick also shakily sat himself up, grimacing at the familiar pain inside of him, looking down to see a small amount of blood on one of his thighs. He was not surprised, it hurt like hell. The boy looked around for his shirt since he really didn't want to walk back to his room completely uncovered but when his eyes finally fell on it, it was already in Bruce's hands, who stood now, still shirtless and with his hair messy, several steps away in the middle of the room.

"Raise your arms," he said, and Dick stared at him for a second, not quite understanding the order and then obeying instantly when he realized that the man wanted to dress him. That was new. Bruce rarely undressed him but never ever dressed him. When he had got what he wanted, Dick was treated like air, and he had learned to grab his things as fast he could and get away before Bruce changed his mind and decided he wanted more.

And yet here he was, being dressed by his guardian like a five year old boy who couldn't do it himself. In his exhaustion, he found nothing wrong with it. It was kind of funny when you looked at it from a certain point of view, and right now he was fine with getting into his clothes instead of out of them. He wanted to sleep. He was so tired.

He obediently stretched out his legs before Bruce even said anything and helped him adjust the pants around the waist, Dick zipping himself up without looking at the man. Then, and he had already expected this, he was lifted from the table and carried over to the entrance of the room, his ferryman having the same concentrated look he had during his first crossing of the river. The whole house was eerily silent as Bruce set him down on the hallway floor, where the carpet was soft underneath his naked feet.

His lips hurt as he whispered "Thank you," staggering slightly, his eyes half-closed.

"You're welcome," Bruce replied.

How ridiculous, to thank a man who did all of this to him, but he was exhausted and had really no idea what he was saying. When he peeked at Bruce's expensive watch, he realized it was eleven o'clock. Plenty of time to clean himself up before he goes to sleep, the practical voice inside of him stated. Perfect, actually. He wondered if Bruce had considerately timed it that way, scheduled underaged sex into his evening so that his victim wouldn't be too tired on his trip the next day.

Without looking back at the man or the terrible room, the boy limped his way through the hallway, going up the stars with his teeth gritted in pain. He glared at the portrait hanging near the staircase as was his habit, and after what felt like eternity, made his way inside his enormous bedroom, finally closing the door behind him.

He was so damn exhausted - he could probably skip the bathroom and just go straight back to sleep. He could just clean himself up in the morning, right? Right.

He calmly looked at the bed, then at his suitcase. He was about to bury himself in the covers when he noticed the strange position of the bag, suddenly remembering that was not how he left it. Was he imagining it?

His steps were careful and extremely slow and he limped his way to the middle of the room, kneeling down by the black suitcase. When he opened it, he noticed that the arrangement of the clothes was all wrong; the jeans he remembered putting in the corner were perfectly folded in the middle, as if taken out and replaced in a new order, and some of his ties were rearranged to be folded more carefully.

Ah, he thought tiredly. It was Alfred. He went through my stuff. Even after we talked about-

Fuck it. Fuck it.

He sighed, leaving the suitcase lying where it was and made his way to the bed, pressing his face against the cold pillow. He could feel tears stinging his eyes but damn it, he was too tired to cry so he just rolled over and covered himself with a blanket.

Fuck it. Just fuck it. Tomorrow he would be out of here.

Author's Note: Hello, TheAlchemist'sDaughter here. This is another AmberSpirit chapter, next one's going to be mine. I get the first of the epic The Trip chapters (our fic has story arcs, it's so big), yay me. Also, we broke three hundred reviews with the last chapter, woot. We're aiming for this thing to get a thousand when we finally finish it, I think it can be done. We also got some offers of fanart, inspired by AmberSpirit, so if anyone wants to do that, let us know where we can find it, because we'd love to see, and we'll put it in an author's note so everyone else can see it too. And because someone asked in a review, I'm going to tell everyone, my personal idol for Richard is Alex Pettyfer (Alex Rider in Stormbreaker). If you Google Image search him, the pictures where he's looking the hottest are how I think of Richard. I'm also curious about music videos, but I know they would be almost impossible, what with their being very little to no footage of Bruce and Dick as civilians, not to mention of Bruce abusing Dick, so. You'd have to be a master to make it work.

The playlist is getting a bit crazy though. Still more entries. Here they are though:

Tatu - Perfect Enemy (Dick)

Iamx – S.H.E. (Dick), My Secret Friend (Richard/Dick)

Nichole Aldren – Baby Now (Dick)

Good Charlotte – The River (Dick)

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Your Guardian Angel (Richard)

Linkin Park – KRWLNG (Dick), In Pieces (Dick, Bruce)

My Chemical Romance – Sleep (Dick), Teenagers (students)

Three Doors Down – Let Me Go (Bruce, Dick, Richard/Dick?)

Martina McBride – Concrete Angel (Dick)

Suzanne Vega – Luka (Dick)

Tool – Prison Sex (Bruce/Dick)