always with the Dick jokes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irrelevant) wrote2011-02-05 04:01 am
irrelevant) wrote2011-02-05 04:01 am
[fic] More Than Blood (DCU)
More Than Blood
DC comics | Dick Grayson/Tim Drake/Jason Todd | NC-17 | ~1600 words
warning: dub-con/non-con
notes: A Porn Battle XI entry that didn’t get done in time. The prompts I used were brothers, robins, negotiate.
Tim is unhurt if you consider roughed up, gagged and chained to a metal support beam unhurt.
Dick does -- well, any ex-Robin would, including Jason, who knows from tied up and helpless on the floors of not empty enough warehouses. Possibly, it’s why he’s so good at this. Probably.
“Dickiebird,” he calls, smart enough to let the echo hide his position. “Nice of you to drop by. Timmy was starting to get worried, but I told him you were good for it.”
Maybe, maybe not. Dick’s smart enough not to take this kind of bait. Stupid enough to come anyway because Tim, and yeah, Jay, and Dick raises his hands and steps into the thin stream of moonlight coming through the skylights.
“What do you want?” he asks to get the ball rolling. Get Jason’s mouth going and maybe get a fix on him, but his laughter is all around, bouncing off the walls and floor, confusing Dick’s ears and brain worse than before.
“Well, I don’t rightly know, Big Bird,” Jason says inside the echo. “What does anyone want? World peace, dry shoes and a warm place to shit?” He’s laughing again and Dick’s ears are ringing— “Little song, little dance… Mister J’s head on lance, but you know—”
Here it comes.
“All whackos being equal, I’d settle for watching you blow kid bro, there.”
Tim doesn’t react. He doesn’t even twitch. Dick knows his eyes are closed behind the mask.
“Jay,” he says, hands still up. “You don’t have to do this.” He’s moving as slowly as he dares, a fraction of a step at a time, but Jason’s Bruce’s boy, too. He knows what’s up.
He knows and he makes a noise like a rude game show buzzer, he laughs and he says, “Wrong answer, Dickie.” And drops from the rafters.
And Dick’s moving the second he hears Jason move, but it’s a second too slow for Bruce, two seconds too slow for Tim because Jason is behind Tim and the keris’s finish is dull against Tim’s moon-lit skin. The edge isn’t anywhere near dull, and Dick has to take one more step.
“Uh-uh-uh, Dickiebird.” Jason hums and presses. Dick jerks and Tim doesn’t move at all except for the thin line of wet sliding down his throat to pool where his collar should be.
“You son of a bitch,” Dick says. The bastard took Tim’s cape.
Cape and gauntlets and belt, Robin’s staff and R-shaped, last ditch shuriken. They’re scattered all over the floor, too far away to retrieve but close enough to see. Jay’s just that good at taunts, verbal and visual, and Tim’s equipment is Tim's goad, the same way Tim is Dick’s.
Visual for sure, and then Tim swallows, the dry click of his tongue under the gag one more echo, and it’s two for two. Dick has to swallow twice before he can say, “Let him go. You want me, not him.”
“My goodness me, all those adoring redheads must’ve gone to your head.” Jason is shaking his own head. “Give me a little time, I think I could get to like Timmy even better than you.” The blade slips up and down Tim’s throat, bloody smears spreading until Tim looks like something tried to tear him open and Jason is smiling at Dick over his head.
Jason leans forward and kisses the top of Tim’s head. Leans down until his mouth is brushing Tim’s ear and he says, “How about it, kid? How bad do you want that mouth on you?”
Dick sees the shudder go through Tim but he still doesn’t get it, not right away. It takes him a couple of seconds and then—
“Jesus,” he whispers. “You sick son of a bitch.”
“That would be B.” Long lazy strokes, careless on the curve of Tim’s jaw. “I’m just looking for some quality familial togetherness,” Jason says, and Tim makes the first real noise he’s made since Dick got here.
Small. Choked off, too obviously a protest. Jason’s teeth are very white in the gloom. Tim’s blood is dark against his brighter tunic.
“What’s it gonna be, kids?” Jason asks. Dick sees the knife press, he sees Tim’s instinctive flinch and he’s already moving.
Jason’s voice stops him maybe a meter away. He says, “Lose the hardware,” and Dick strips his gauntlets off and tosses them. His escrima clatter jarringly against the concrete floor. His knees hit with less noise but the jar is a thousand times worse on his joints, and Tim…
God. God. Face turned away into Jay’s shoulder, and god, if he could just—
"Close, but no wingding," Jason's amused voice comes down from above. "One to go."
Dick looks up at Tim's mask, hoping Tim is looking back. "I'm sorry," he says, and he is, he (is?)
His comm lands soundlessly on Tim's cape. Jason's hand is rock solid around the knife's hilt. “I’d give him a second mouth before you touched me,” Jason says conversationally. “Get to it, Big Bird.”
There’s a new, dark trail down Tim’s chin. He’s bitten his lower lip bloody. Dick bites down on the inside of his cheek and hooks his fingers into Tim’s leggings.
It’s not a sound, not exactly. Deeper than normal breath, shocky, almost a gasp. “Ssshh,” Jason croons, even though Tim didn’t actually make any noise. “He’s gonna take good care of you kiddo, don’t you worry.”
“Shut up,” Dick snarls, and pushes Tim’s jock down to join his leggings.
Sweat and lust and fear, Tim smells like all of them, and like himself underneath. He’s hard and slick, hips moving in involuntary, jerky hitches, and Dick is halfway there himself just from the feel, the heat of him. He looks up the length of Tim’s body, he says forgive me inside his head, and then he leans forward and sucks Tim into his mouth.
Tim’s panting, Jason’s humming, and Dick digs his fingers into Tim’s hips, encouraging him, come on, please, Tim. There’s a wet noise, slick sucking pop, and Dick is so goddamn slow tonight, he doesn’t get it until Tim jerks in his hold, shuddering so hard Dick knows there are going to be more than ten finger-shaped bruises on him tomorrow.
He pulls back a little, circling the head with his tongue, nudging the slit, and he sees Jason’s smile, Tim’s bloody mouth, and Jesus, that sound...
Jason’s fucking Tim with his fingers. Dick can feel every shove with his hands and his tongue and his mouth.
He can’t hear Tim’s breathing anymore, just Jason’s. His own.
Sorry, I’m so sorry, Timmy, so—
Silent, still, Tim comes in his mouth. Dick relaxes his throat and closes his eyes and lets himself take it.
He tries not to react when he realizes those are Jason’s fingers wiping come and spit off his chin, tracing the stretch of his mouth around Tim’s cock. He wonders how long ago Jason put the knife away, but Tim is breathing again, high tight distressed gasps, and until he stops, the knife is going to be a non-issue.
He’s shaking under Dick’s hands, and Dick pulls off so slowly maybe only he realizes he’s moving. Gently sliding increments of time until they’re both free and Jason’s hand is gone and Dick is swallowing. He feels Tim tense when Jason pulls his fingers out, and then he’s pulling Tim’s leggings and jock back up. Tugging the shorts back into place and resting his forehead against Tim’s hip.
He’s as hard as he ever got surreptitiously sneaking glances at Bruce in the showers after patrol.
“Dick,” Jay whispers. “Dickiebird.”
He lifts his head. Braces his hands against the ground and pushes to his feet, staggering under the blood heavy weight of his erect cock. And he’s looking at Jay so he doesn’t have to look at Tim. He’s leaning forward, wrapping his arms around Tim, and Jay’s mouth is right there over Tim’s shoulder.
Candy bitter and coffee sweet, hot and open and he’s kissing Dick leisurely, like he’s got all night to do this. Do Dick. And he’s laughing, into Dick’s mouth, biting his lower lip, and Dick is coming, inside his uniform, pressed tight against Tim’s hip while Tim shakes and shakes between them and Dick makes all the sounds Tim wouldn’t and Jason laughs and twists the knife he already put away and murmurs “Yeah, baby, like that, just for me” into Dick’s mouth.
He’s breathing too hard, clutching Tim tight enough to hurt both of them. “Taste good, Big Bird,” Jay says as he pulls away from Dick, and then he laughs again. “Like the kid.”
Dick drops his head down onto Tim’s shoulder and holds on to him and doesn’t, fuck, he’s not going to cry. He’s-
“Bye-bye, birdies. Catch you again sometime, maybe.”
He’s going to stand here and listen while Jason shoots his grapple. He could raise his head and watch him go but loosening Tim’s gag is so much more important.
So is figuring out why Tim is still tied up.
It’s an easy answer: Jason used to be Robin. If this had been anyone else, Tim would be free already. If Jason had left him alone…
But he didn’t and now Tim is on his knees, biting a new hole in his torn lip while Dick rubs feeling back into his hands and arms. Dick knows when it starts to come back because Tim jerks free of his hands and starts crawling toward his cape and belt.
Dick can’t stop himself. He reaches for him, his hand on Tim’s back and Tim throws himself to the side, coming up facing Dick, crouched and panting. Ready. “Don’t,” he says, and his voice is raw, rough, not his. “Don’t.”
Still facing Dick, running his hands over the floor until he finds the edge of his cape. He tugs it to him and pulls it on. Watching Dick the whole time.
Dick kneels alone in the middle of the floor and doesn't move.
For the first time in his life, he doesn't want to.
And now for my next trick: StephRobin/Batman! Tune in next week for more Adventures in Mindfuck Land, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel! *rolls eyes*
DC comics | Dick Grayson/Tim Drake/Jason Todd | NC-17 | ~1600 words
warning: dub-con/non-con
notes: A Porn Battle XI entry that didn’t get done in time. The prompts I used were brothers, robins, negotiate.
Tim is unhurt if you consider roughed up, gagged and chained to a metal support beam unhurt.
Dick does -- well, any ex-Robin would, including Jason, who knows from tied up and helpless on the floors of not empty enough warehouses. Possibly, it’s why he’s so good at this. Probably.
“Dickiebird,” he calls, smart enough to let the echo hide his position. “Nice of you to drop by. Timmy was starting to get worried, but I told him you were good for it.”
Maybe, maybe not. Dick’s smart enough not to take this kind of bait. Stupid enough to come anyway because Tim, and yeah, Jay, and Dick raises his hands and steps into the thin stream of moonlight coming through the skylights.
“What do you want?” he asks to get the ball rolling. Get Jason’s mouth going and maybe get a fix on him, but his laughter is all around, bouncing off the walls and floor, confusing Dick’s ears and brain worse than before.
“Well, I don’t rightly know, Big Bird,” Jason says inside the echo. “What does anyone want? World peace, dry shoes and a warm place to shit?” He’s laughing again and Dick’s ears are ringing— “Little song, little dance… Mister J’s head on lance, but you know—”
Here it comes.
“All whackos being equal, I’d settle for watching you blow kid bro, there.”
Tim doesn’t react. He doesn’t even twitch. Dick knows his eyes are closed behind the mask.
“Jay,” he says, hands still up. “You don’t have to do this.” He’s moving as slowly as he dares, a fraction of a step at a time, but Jason’s Bruce’s boy, too. He knows what’s up.
He knows and he makes a noise like a rude game show buzzer, he laughs and he says, “Wrong answer, Dickie.” And drops from the rafters.
And Dick’s moving the second he hears Jason move, but it’s a second too slow for Bruce, two seconds too slow for Tim because Jason is behind Tim and the keris’s finish is dull against Tim’s moon-lit skin. The edge isn’t anywhere near dull, and Dick has to take one more step.
“Uh-uh-uh, Dickiebird.” Jason hums and presses. Dick jerks and Tim doesn’t move at all except for the thin line of wet sliding down his throat to pool where his collar should be.
“You son of a bitch,” Dick says. The bastard took Tim’s cape.
Cape and gauntlets and belt, Robin’s staff and R-shaped, last ditch shuriken. They’re scattered all over the floor, too far away to retrieve but close enough to see. Jay’s just that good at taunts, verbal and visual, and Tim’s equipment is Tim's goad, the same way Tim is Dick’s.
Visual for sure, and then Tim swallows, the dry click of his tongue under the gag one more echo, and it’s two for two. Dick has to swallow twice before he can say, “Let him go. You want me, not him.”
“My goodness me, all those adoring redheads must’ve gone to your head.” Jason is shaking his own head. “Give me a little time, I think I could get to like Timmy even better than you.” The blade slips up and down Tim’s throat, bloody smears spreading until Tim looks like something tried to tear him open and Jason is smiling at Dick over his head.
Jason leans forward and kisses the top of Tim’s head. Leans down until his mouth is brushing Tim’s ear and he says, “How about it, kid? How bad do you want that mouth on you?”
Dick sees the shudder go through Tim but he still doesn’t get it, not right away. It takes him a couple of seconds and then—
“Jesus,” he whispers. “You sick son of a bitch.”
“That would be B.” Long lazy strokes, careless on the curve of Tim’s jaw. “I’m just looking for some quality familial togetherness,” Jason says, and Tim makes the first real noise he’s made since Dick got here.
Small. Choked off, too obviously a protest. Jason’s teeth are very white in the gloom. Tim’s blood is dark against his brighter tunic.
“What’s it gonna be, kids?” Jason asks. Dick sees the knife press, he sees Tim’s instinctive flinch and he’s already moving.
Jason’s voice stops him maybe a meter away. He says, “Lose the hardware,” and Dick strips his gauntlets off and tosses them. His escrima clatter jarringly against the concrete floor. His knees hit with less noise but the jar is a thousand times worse on his joints, and Tim…
God. God. Face turned away into Jay’s shoulder, and god, if he could just—
"Close, but no wingding," Jason's amused voice comes down from above. "One to go."
Dick looks up at Tim's mask, hoping Tim is looking back. "I'm sorry," he says, and he is, he (is?)
His comm lands soundlessly on Tim's cape. Jason's hand is rock solid around the knife's hilt. “I’d give him a second mouth before you touched me,” Jason says conversationally. “Get to it, Big Bird.”
There’s a new, dark trail down Tim’s chin. He’s bitten his lower lip bloody. Dick bites down on the inside of his cheek and hooks his fingers into Tim’s leggings.
It’s not a sound, not exactly. Deeper than normal breath, shocky, almost a gasp. “Ssshh,” Jason croons, even though Tim didn’t actually make any noise. “He’s gonna take good care of you kiddo, don’t you worry.”
“Shut up,” Dick snarls, and pushes Tim’s jock down to join his leggings.
Sweat and lust and fear, Tim smells like all of them, and like himself underneath. He’s hard and slick, hips moving in involuntary, jerky hitches, and Dick is halfway there himself just from the feel, the heat of him. He looks up the length of Tim’s body, he says forgive me inside his head, and then he leans forward and sucks Tim into his mouth.
Tim’s panting, Jason’s humming, and Dick digs his fingers into Tim’s hips, encouraging him, come on, please, Tim. There’s a wet noise, slick sucking pop, and Dick is so goddamn slow tonight, he doesn’t get it until Tim jerks in his hold, shuddering so hard Dick knows there are going to be more than ten finger-shaped bruises on him tomorrow.
He pulls back a little, circling the head with his tongue, nudging the slit, and he sees Jason’s smile, Tim’s bloody mouth, and Jesus, that sound...
Jason’s fucking Tim with his fingers. Dick can feel every shove with his hands and his tongue and his mouth.
He can’t hear Tim’s breathing anymore, just Jason’s. His own.
Sorry, I’m so sorry, Timmy, so—
Silent, still, Tim comes in his mouth. Dick relaxes his throat and closes his eyes and lets himself take it.
He tries not to react when he realizes those are Jason’s fingers wiping come and spit off his chin, tracing the stretch of his mouth around Tim’s cock. He wonders how long ago Jason put the knife away, but Tim is breathing again, high tight distressed gasps, and until he stops, the knife is going to be a non-issue.
He’s shaking under Dick’s hands, and Dick pulls off so slowly maybe only he realizes he’s moving. Gently sliding increments of time until they’re both free and Jason’s hand is gone and Dick is swallowing. He feels Tim tense when Jason pulls his fingers out, and then he’s pulling Tim’s leggings and jock back up. Tugging the shorts back into place and resting his forehead against Tim’s hip.
He’s as hard as he ever got surreptitiously sneaking glances at Bruce in the showers after patrol.
“Dick,” Jay whispers. “Dickiebird.”
He lifts his head. Braces his hands against the ground and pushes to his feet, staggering under the blood heavy weight of his erect cock. And he’s looking at Jay so he doesn’t have to look at Tim. He’s leaning forward, wrapping his arms around Tim, and Jay’s mouth is right there over Tim’s shoulder.
Candy bitter and coffee sweet, hot and open and he’s kissing Dick leisurely, like he’s got all night to do this. Do Dick. And he’s laughing, into Dick’s mouth, biting his lower lip, and Dick is coming, inside his uniform, pressed tight against Tim’s hip while Tim shakes and shakes between them and Dick makes all the sounds Tim wouldn’t and Jason laughs and twists the knife he already put away and murmurs “Yeah, baby, like that, just for me” into Dick’s mouth.
He’s breathing too hard, clutching Tim tight enough to hurt both of them. “Taste good, Big Bird,” Jay says as he pulls away from Dick, and then he laughs again. “Like the kid.”
Dick drops his head down onto Tim’s shoulder and holds on to him and doesn’t, fuck, he’s not going to cry. He’s-
“Bye-bye, birdies. Catch you again sometime, maybe.”
He’s going to stand here and listen while Jason shoots his grapple. He could raise his head and watch him go but loosening Tim’s gag is so much more important.
So is figuring out why Tim is still tied up.
It’s an easy answer: Jason used to be Robin. If this had been anyone else, Tim would be free already. If Jason had left him alone…
But he didn’t and now Tim is on his knees, biting a new hole in his torn lip while Dick rubs feeling back into his hands and arms. Dick knows when it starts to come back because Tim jerks free of his hands and starts crawling toward his cape and belt.
Dick can’t stop himself. He reaches for him, his hand on Tim’s back and Tim throws himself to the side, coming up facing Dick, crouched and panting. Ready. “Don’t,” he says, and his voice is raw, rough, not his. “Don’t.”
Still facing Dick, running his hands over the floor until he finds the edge of his cape. He tugs it to him and pulls it on. Watching Dick the whole time.
Dick kneels alone in the middle of the floor and doesn't move.
For the first time in his life, he doesn't want to.
And now for my next trick: StephRobin/Batman! Tune in next week for more Adventures in Mindfuck Land, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel! *rolls eyes*
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