He leans forward and practically devours the pizza the minute I set the box on the table. I sit, watching, amused. I can practically see him drooling. He must really not be used to health food. I munch on an apple. We'll get pepperoni next time, I make a mental note. There is a piece of lint in Tim's hair. I frown. My boy wonder was supposed to be clean, perfect, lint-free-- /my/ boy wonder? I was going insane. I meant mine because, because he was the robin I helped train. Human beings are wonderful creatures because we can come up with reasons for everything. I wondered for a moment if Kory could rationalize like I could. I reached forward and extract the invader from the otherwise perfect locks. He flinches and I throw the lint away. Ah, perfect once more. I looked at the pizza. The boy had eaten all but two pieces. I was impressed. I had the urge to-- no, I couldn't! But my hands were ahead of my brain and I had the second piece halfway down my throat before Tim could blink. He just stared at me. "Tell nobody" I growled, feeling much like Batman, and finished the piece.
"I knew you'd give in. It was inevitable as soon as your nostrils flared when you went to the door. I expected more of you, Dick-san." The cocky bastard. I had to smirk, however. I flashed this trademark debonair facial expression at him, thinking about how it melted the hearts of many women. And Garth too. My mind mocked me, thinking back to my younger days as a sexually confused titan. The way our awkward hands fumbled together, fingertips brushing in the dark of my room littered with newspapers. We were just kids then. My eyes closed at the memory. The pizza burned my throat and I grimaced, cursing my earlier instincts to stay away from the stuff. My body had failed me. And there was still the matter of setting Tim in his place. At least he seemed to be something less than dead, which is rare. I flashed him a warm smile.
"I regret it greatly, sensei." My grin faded and I regressed back into my thoughts and memories. Tim stared at the TV. When had that turned on? I pondered my nostalgia. Is it normal to remember so often, so much? That is all we have to cause us pain-our memories. If I had amnesia, I would be okay. Retrograde amnesia, not Anterograde, I correct my mind. Would I really be okay? I don't want to remember my name. I've just gotten used to it, really. Not hating it. Dick. Dick. So vulgar when anybody says it. It pulsed upon Garth's lips when I touched him. "Dick... Dick… oh Dick," I hoped he meant me. I loved that he spoke to me and not to Robin. Robin. Dick. Nightwing. I'm all of them. Batman-well, I was never really Batman. That name was most vulgar of all and I suddenly replaced my name with "batman" in the mouth of the memory. "Bruce…" he moaned, and my mind flashed to Jason and Bruce. Oh no. Amnesia. There never was a Jason and Bruce. Dick and Garth. Dick in Garth. Ew, Richard. You're disgusting. Vulgar. It comes with the territory. My body tensed for a minute as I wondered if Tim could somehow read my mind, see how sick I really was. Sheer panic wracked my nervous system as my pupils dilated and looked at him. I shook my head-that was stupid. Tim can't read minds.
"Dick?" The question didn't register. I kept looking at him, this pure boy in front of me, and my mind immediately began to think of ways to make him dirty. I'm sick, disgusting. Dick. Dick. Dick. Do you hear yourself? This boy is not meant to be soiled, but I want to. I shouldn't want to. I don't, really. There is a smudge on his shirt. Looks like blood. Smells like blood. I lick my fingertips and rub the cotton. He couldn't wash this out. What the fuck am I doing? He's staring at me. I lick my fingertips. Oh god. I shook myself out of my coma.
"Yes?" He stared at me. I braced myself for the next question.
"Uh. How many people have you been with?" I just blinked a few times. My instincts were to answer frankly. I had to count. How many people… Should I count Barbara? I wanted to so badly. It really wasn't that many. Did he mean kissing or sex or everything in between? I decided to assume.
"Sexually? Three." My pulse began to race recalling these memories. Blood rushed to the surface of my skin in what I'm sure was an unsightly blush. I was glad I was wearing sweatpants that day. The clock seemed to tick so loudly it deafened me. It was just the blood pumping in my ears, I realized. Warm sweaty bodies tangled with mine. The taste of skin. Metal. Copper. Blood. She'd liked it rough. I shifted to accommodate my growing flesh, and the friction of the fabric brushing my thigh elicited a muffled moan of pleasure from my lips.
"How many people have you wanted to be with?" Hmm. I didn't know how to respond. Who did I want to be with? Such a long list, from the people whose names I don't even know. I pass them on the street. Their faces flash briefly in my mind. I hesitate.
"I'm not sure. More than three." He looks away from me, disappointed. I'm relieved, because then he cannot see my arousal. I sigh.
"I'm not sure I'll be with anybody sexually anymore, Tim. No point in dreaming." I smile at him, though the pressure in my lower half is almost painful now. Images flash through my mind. Bruce. Garth. Kory. Barbara. I shudder a bit. I hope he doesn't notice this, but I know that is too much to hope for.
"You're only Twenty-Four. Don't be insane." I ponder this. Am I really so young? It seems like I've survived hundreds of years and I am Dante coming out of the caves of Hell. I read too much. My groan reverberates off my walls. Damn my good acoustics.
"I'm also a Batboy." I make my point simply. He'll understand, I'm sure. The mask makes age irrelevant. Babs couldn't see past it. She does not wear a mask any longer. Kory never wore a mask. She was never ashamed of who she was. Perhaps it was me who needed her. My lovers were unmasked in my mind, one by one, and I saw parts of myself, parts I hated, in them. I saw their strengths and my weaknesses. My eyes moistened and I grew angry. I cannot cry. Batboys don't cry. Not in front of Tim. I didn't even cry the night they died. And yet I cannot help my arousal. God. Sick.
"Dick, I've never been with anybody. Are you telling me I'm doomed to forever be alone? We're both batboys here." His voice shatters my thoughts. I shake my head in disbelief. This beautiful Adonis sat here beside me, thinking he would never sin. He would never know the pleasures of the flesh. Worse, that he would forever be alone. I was torn between laughing and sobbing. I turn to him, and my hand goes immediately to his shoulder. The jolt of warmth coming from his skin is startling. It revitalizes me and I finally realize why Bruce does this so often.
"Tim… no. That isn't it at all. You will never be alone. I'll always be here." It sounds so fake, so boyish and after-school special-like, but it's all true. I squeeze his shoulder as if to reaffirm my statement. "I'm yours," I add, without meaning to. What did that mean? His dark t-shirt brought out the plume of his hair. His shampoo was new, I could tell. His… I meant that I'd always be there for him, I'd always go to him first. I would rescue him and fulfill my destiny and Richard Grayson. The mantle would not help this time. I don't want it to.
He doesn't say anything. In fact, he doesn't do anything except put his hand on my own. The hand resting on his shoulder. There is a jolt as his skin comes in contact with my own and I breathe and sigh of relief, as though for once I am not alone in this apartment. We sit in quiet but we are not millions of miles away. We are on the same planet. It slips from my lips before I can stop it. I really am an idiot.
"You're mine, too." the words seem to come from my own mouth. I felt my lips move as I said them, but i don't remember thinking it. I don't' know why I said it. My inner bird panics and longs to fly. I bite my lip instead, to keep the useless flaps of flesh from revealing anything else.
"Besides, Dick," He begins, and I know he will ignore my previous statement. "You don't really expect to never lure another woman into your bed. You have champagne in the wine rack under your coffee table. Speaking of champagne, you never offered me one of your creepy health-drinks and I'm about to start reciting Rime of the Ancient Mariner." I raised an eyebrow, mustering a short laugh.
"I'd like to watch you suck the blood from your arm before I quench your thirst, little brother. I do not /lure/ women, Tim. I simply smile and they are mine." There, a bit of arrogance to smooth things over. My hand is caressing his back, putting us into sync. He's so warm, and I can't help being in awe at this.
"Thank you for letting me visit." The phrase was so sweet and simple, so unlike him, I almost laughed. He stood up and awkwardly put an arm around my back. I sniffed his neck. I almost pulled him closer but thought better of it. He headed to the fridge-I wondered what he wanted to find in there. My secret ice cream was all the way on the other floor. I snickered secretly to myself. I venture out onto the limb. This is where I've never been with anybody. Territory. Tim and I have a sweet intimacy about our movement. It isn't awkward. It is natural.
"Would you like some champagne, Tim? We can celebrate." I wait for the inevitable question.
"Celebrate What, Dick?" I've never had champagne." I smirk, large and uninhibited. I want him to squirm. I stand and walk over to where he is lingering in the spotless kitchen. My fingernails scratch away a bit of dirt on the countertop. My lips float close to his ear
"Us. Being Together." I move gracefully to the necessary drawer and pulled out a bottle opener. He stiffened, just as I wanted him to. What is going on with the mechanisms of that brilliant brain of his? What does he think he's figured out? I don't even know what's going on. I watch him, the slight tremble in his body. I knew how it felt to have hot, wanting breath on your ear. Was it wanting? What did I want? I wanted to ask him what he thought of men, what he thought of sex, of women. I knew what he thought. He wasn't Bruce nor Jason. He was just Tim, a little scared boy trapped in my kitchen under the bright lights that sting his eyes. This poor child needs to get out more.
"Dick, don't play around--" I twirl around and stare at him, seeing his breath quicken, his pupils dilate. "I don't know how well I do with alcohol." Little boy pleas. I want to click my teeth, I wish to snap. I pull a bottle out from under the table. How did he know I kept it there? I uncork the bottle carefully, not daring to spill any on my beautiful cold wooden floor.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'll take care of you." I pour him the tiniest bit in a clear, clean glass with a long stem. I am dazzled by the flowering of it, and think how it used to be simple sand. Would I ever turn to glass? I shook my head. No, Dick. Don't be crazy. The bubbles fill my nose from here. Curse my sensitivity. He comes up behind me and I hand him the glass. He's so nervous, his body fights the urge to tremble. I chuckle. I think of old black and white movies. Then you can swallow it, see? And it would dissolve and moonbeams would shoot out your fingers and toes and out the ends of your hair…Babs used to tell me I was romantic like that. I poured myself a small glass. Tim needed something from me. Reassurance. I smiled at him, warmth spitting from between my lips, from the deep recesses of my throat.
"I've asked you so many questions, why don't you interrogate for a while?" He tries to take the focus from the situation, the lights, and the whole process. I turn to him, grab his chin and force him to look at me. I am gentle yet firm, something Alfred taught me. Bruce was never really very good with gentle.
"Why are you so interested in my sex life, little brother?" My thumb brushes his soft skin and I am pricked with the beginnings of stubble. He just began to shave, I could tell. I chuckled. His eyes grew wide with something like panic and I drank this in. I knew he wasn't really scared, just startled. I didn't worry.
"I'm not interested in your sex life in particular. I've just been contemplating the importance of sex over an extended period of time and required the insight of an older, more experienced gentleman such as yourself; and I asked so many questions, two I believe, because you are so stiff with your information and you tend to keep it very well hidden." He pauses to take a breath. "However, I've learned little because you've exposed little..." My lips are close to his jaw line. I take him in. I wonder if this is the Robin Bruce dreamed of. Will he be the perfect one or will there be others? His skin is flawless, lucky bastard. How many scars does he have already? I think of my own gnarled body. What woman would want me now?
"How much do you want me to expose, Tim?" my voice is low and un-intimidating.
"Sex is… good with the right person. Sex is necessary to release stress sometimes, otherwise undo… tension builds up." I emphasize the word to see him squirm more. I get off on it. God, help me. I do.
"Did Bruce do this to you?" The question comes like a cold blow to the chest. He's closed up again. I stagger backward, stung. I look at him, hurt clouding my vision, before composing myself and putting down the glass of champagne. The sun is low in the clouds, and i watch the red sky penetrate them. They bleed with the same wounds as I do. I clench my fists until the skin bleeds. Great, more scars. I ponder opening the window and simply jumping out. No, I wouldn't even die. I would catch myself with my acrobatic reflexes. My breathing comes in ragged breaths before I even notice it is so. I bite my lip to secure the repertory malfunctions and taste hot blood on my tongue. Is Tim still here? Probably not. I hear something behind me but it's all white noise.
"Dick, just, don't touch me u-unless you know it's okay. You know my guard is down. You know how much I trust you. Dick?" I stare at him with gaunt eyes, blank, looking him over, trying to assess the reason his cheeks are so flushed and his pants are so-oh god. Not this. This is what gets me into trouble.
"I'm sorry" the two words assault my ears and I hunch over, as though in pain. The words echo over and over in my mind. Did Bruce do this to you? Don't touch me. I look at my hands, strange and alien like poisonous snakes. I grope around blindly for something to cut them off with. A disappointed noise gets caught in my throat as I find nothing. I sink to my knees and contemplate the whirl of faces trapped in my mind. Once I tried to take a drill to my temple in an attempt to carve the images out. Red hair, so much red hair. His is black. It could never work. I hate you Bruce. I look at Tim, wounded, helpless. How could I let him see me like this? God, Dick. You're such a fucking coward.