"I'll go get t-them" the stammer shakes my voice as the result of my trembling body. I growl, half at the desire, half at the weakness, and turn toward the dark recesses of my bedroom door. I stumble into my bedroom, trying to muster gracelessness and failing miserably. I thought it was foolish of me not to be able to be foolish, yet I was foolish in so many ways. To my surprise and pleasure, Tim followed me into the bedroom. The taste of pleasure turned to bitter discomfort in my mouth as I was not alone anymore and could not relieve myself. Tim was standing so close to me, I could feel his hot breath on my neck and half cursed half praised him for his height, the tingling sensation of his breathing made me forget why I came in here for a moment. I turned around and almost collided with him, standing there shivering. I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around him, as our noses were so close they almost touched and transferred the last bits of water left of his skin to mine. The closeness of it made me shudder and renewed my erection even more, if possible. It was to the point of pain now, and I clenched my jaw to conceal my current condition and I just stood there, looking at him, aching to plunge into those pools of blue that lay before me, and half snarling to bite his lip and drink him in. Damned towel. Perhaps I could coax him out of it… my powers of persuasion were taught to me by the legendary Batman and I don't think he's had time yet to teach Tim. He never taught Jason; he didn't need to teach Jason that much. I closed my eyes briefly to shield Tim from my smouldering gaze; afraid it would burn his flesh. I moved slightly closer and felt the accidental brush of his lips and my own as I reached forward to pluck and eyelash from his cheek. I averted his eyes and blew on the soft thing, making a wish deep in the core of my wretched body that I wouldn't dare repeat even to myself. I watched it float away on the invisible breeze that constantly swept through my apartment and promptly went to the drawer, retrieving a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for Tim, determined to ignore what had just transpired.
To my relief and secret despair, Tim took the clothes I'd presented him and I told myself everything was okay. My breath spiked in my throat as he promptly dropped the towel and pulled the clothing on, standing for a moment in stark naked glory and my pitiful shameless eyes could not help feasting upon the sight. In that split second (and all the while he changed) I noted the slim lines of scar tissue on his back and shoulders. They crisscrossed on his thighs and deeper gashes twisted themselves around his back. I knew I was not much different in the mirror and briefly wondered if we were the same person. My throat went dry examining him so closely and I took a step forward to inhale the scene further. When he finished, he was dangerously close as my one step turned into two and then three.
"Socks?" he chirped in a voice so innocent I wanted to throttle him and gouge my eyes out at the same time as the bastards kept jumping up and down his body, ravishing it as I could not. My shoulders tensed and I was a stone gargoyle blemishing the face of a church, looking down at the angels in my path. Just one angel, and he stared at me once more with those innocent eyes. I fought a lump in my throat, swallowing hard, retrieving socks for him. By this time I'd learned to ignore my throbbing arousal. I half-shoved them at him and gave him my signature warm smile, hoping to melt some of the tension in the air. But at the same time the tense atmosphere was exciting, making me aware of the nerves in my body as I hadn't been in a long time, of the molecules of air vibrating around me in an exaggerated samba My shoulders were still bunched up as I put a friendly hand on his shoulder and shook my pupils clear of lust and foggy thoughts of chemistry.
"Here, these are my warmest pair. You look so cold." Hand gives reassuring squeeze to go with reassuring smile. Shoulders-not reassuring. "Relax." He bit his lip unconsciously, seemingly deep in thought.
"Does your back hurt?" His voice cut into my thoughts and I blinked at him for a moment, straightening.
"Yes," I nodded. "It aches terribly." What do you plan to do about it, I asked in my head, truly puzzled at where his question was going. At times I am naïve to the motivations of people but am able to pass it off as though I know whatever somebody is thinking at any given time. I suppose it is a talent to make up for lack of talent in other areas. I am hardly perfect. I crack my neck with a sickening crunch, resisting the urge to wince and be a wimp in front of Tim.
"Little brother…" I do not know how to finish the sentence. I just keep my hand on his shoulder gently for a moment before letting it slink back to my side. I thought of Tim in the Robin costume, which has been modified since I first wore it. Bruce let me design it myself and my mind lingers to the short sleeves, the necklace. The R in the chest. The short shorts. Everything was short at one point-I was a very strange kid. Bruce sniggered at me secretly when I demonstrated their length. He didn't understand the tendencies the circus had instilled in me. I sigh and allow my hand to guide my thumb, the skin brushing against Tim's bottom lip gently, as a gesture of affection, I told myself, before floating back to my little sphere of living adjacent to his. I really must stop touching him.
"Why do you ask?" I decide that's a safe question.
"I thought since you helped me out earlier, I'd return the favor and help you with those knots in your back." His response was both startling and intriguing and my eyes bore holes into his lanky body hardened through the same treatment I'd essentially gotten and was putting myself through everyday since then. I glanced at his hands, judging their strength, remembering the firm grip he has on his utilities, his grappling hook as it shot from his hand. Tim would never fall as I never fell and this excited me somehow. My body gave an internal lurch and I chided my heart thinking of those strong slim hands playing my body like a finely tuned piano. Tim would be a great pianist, those tapering fingers stroking the ivory keys with precision.
"That would be nice," I groan out. Such a generic response, Dick. Say something more-you're so boring, so flat. "I'd like to see what your hands can do-" Where did that come from? I mentally bash my head against the wall. That was so suggestive and I knew I meant it. I longed to see what those learned yet endearingly inexperienced hands could do to my lean form. I hungered for those slender, strong fingers to dance over my body and make me… Stop it, Dick. I looked at him.
"Where should we--I--?" came the response and he blushed so sweetly and faintly it was all I could do to keep from ravaging him right there. I knew he'd intended to ask me where we should go for him to begin working his magic on my body yet I my unruly mouth still contorted into a large, pouting smirk. I let my hands wander over the small of his back and linger near his hips before both they and the smirk faded.
"On the couch." Yes, my nice white could where we could lay down-- /i/ could lay down, I meant. White. White is so pure. Tim is so pure. I wish to make him not so pure. Less white. The white couch. The perfect place. My grotesque mind floated to scenarios in which we soiled the couch in various forms. I looked at him and licked my lips, startling even myself at this even more suggestive action to follow my previous statement. Then I swaggered to the couch and collapsed gracefully and silently upon its unsuspecting springs, lounging on my stomach, my attentive eyes watching Tim's movements, waiting. I smiled sideways for him to join me.
He skipped over to me in that queer way of his (queer as in strange and not the other kind of queer though it's not like I hadn't considered it and I just kept smirking), and crouched down beside me. It was sweet in a way-his timidness, something I'm not used to seeing. It must be cast aside as something primitive and strangely sensual comes over him when he fights. I understand this: the adrenaline rush, the pure exhilaration and realization that you're watching the fluid movements of your body outside of yourself, like some warped ballet. His hands slide up my shirt and I hear myself let out a deep groan as they make contact. I bite my lip, wondering if he thinks the scars to be grotesque. He's on the floor, no this won't do.
"What are you doing down there? Get on top of me." I am too commanding, the words are forceful and final and I worry I've frightened him. My hand darted behind my back to grasp his gently, working a finger along his wrist, barely grazing the skin and making actual contact. I don't know why I had done that.
"It'll be more comfortable that way-for me at least." I laughed good-naturedly, hoping I hadn't frightened him away. "That way your hands can reach more of… me" what a clumsy phrase. I wasn't used to being clumsy. He climbed eagerly on top of me and the pressure and the weight of him put pressure on my body, which was still semi-aroused. I let out a groan, half out of pleasure, half from pain as his hands started on me again. The light way his fingertips grazed my shoulder blades made me shiver and resist the urge to laugh and admit I was ticklish. This was so different from anybody else who'd ever touched me. Garth… well he was not the massaging kind. We were hormonal teens then and he'd just as soon settle for a quickie. Kory's hand would nearly split me in two before she realized to control her strength. I used to tremble with fear at the thought of us making love and the possible detachment of my body parts that would ensue. Barbara… she was not the gentle type. Not like this surprisingly gentle boy. I was not really so surprised, as I always suspected he had it in him. Tim isn't all he seems on the outside. I allowed his hands to tentatively explore my flesh before diving in without abandon before posing the question:
"Would you like to continue this in bed?" Smooth Dick. You're not courting a girl here. You're just getting a back rub from your little brother. But I couldn't deny the jump of my flesh at the thought as the pressure and friction between my thighs almost overtook me. His nails scrape my back and he hops up in response. My skin tingles from the sensation and I can see that he's agreeing… eagerly. I stand and stretch, from my fingertips to my toes, with the yawn of a large cat. I am a panther stalking my prey. Who is my prey? Is it Tim? Yes…I'm eager to be touched more… my smirk is unconsciously plastered upon my face as I advance upon him, graceful, and he reacts like the elk I see, the tiger I know he is underneath the meek exterior his nervousness has carved out for the moment. I make a move to stroke his jaw with my hand and it is obvious but I draw back and brush past him, hoping the movement would distract him from the obvious tightness in my pants. I am enclosed in darkness as I enter my room, and decide to leave it dark as I plunge into to white comforter on the bed, eyes all this time fixated on Tim, waiting for him. These viewing glasses contract into slits, beckoning him silently to hurry up for I miss the crushing feeling of his weight upon me. I figure the bed won't put as much pressure on my hips and I can continue to ignore my throbbing flesh.