BATATHON DRABBLES

DC Comics, Bruce/Dick

Pollen

His eyes are wide, pleading. He wraps his leg around the bar of the cage, all that naked flesh on offer, as his body shudders with need.

"Bruce, please…"

The Bat cannot watch this display. He stares into the distance, waiting it out. When Robin comes down, he'll feel guilty. He must prepare for that. He must not think about his sidekick's lust.

Robin is stripping off his uniform.

Yielding would be easy. But Batman holds to his resolve, glad he gave the key to Alfred. He can do this. He is in control.

"Please…"

Closing his eyes, he waits.

Small spaces

"No."

"Batman, I'm small, I can get through!"

"No."

He will not send Robin into unknown danger. Even if it will stop the villain, even if it's right, he won’t do it.

"I'm in this as your partner. Or am I just wasting space?"

Bringing this boy onto the streets, the boy who is almost a man – how could he do this to him?

A hand on his arm and a confidant smile. "You know I can do this."

He lets him go, because birds have to fly and Robin is unstoppable. He made him that way.

He is proud.

No father

When Andy from school asks if Bruce is his dad, he says no, sharply, immediately.

He had a dad once, a man who flew on the wind, laughing, brave. Bruce could never be that man.

But he is drawn to him, enchanted by the spell of the Bat, by this man who is so like him and yet doesn't really know him at all.

He pretends this love is just friendship or admiration, but he knows it is deeper, darker, sweeter.

Adulthood beckons. Soon he will know for sure if this is real, returned. He craves it to be so.

Loaded

He lives in the worst part of town and he revels in it. There are fights outside his door every night and he presses his ear against the wood, grinning to himself.

There's something thrilling about living on his own, earning his own money, making his own life. He is free.

And that's what he tells himself every time he sees Bruce Wayne on the news, smiling for the cameras and pretending that he owns the world. He is money. Dick hates him.

Yet he remembers hot chocolate and being held close, like he was important.

He wishes Bruce remembered.

Coffee black

Alfred has always brought in the coffee and the paper. It is a ritual undisturbed by Batman and it has only stopped for earthquakes and the saving of the world. Alfred allows this.

He has brought coffee to the injured, to a vigil sitter by the bedside of a Robin and to a man consumed by grief and guilt. There is something familiar that always comforts.

Today, Dick enters the kitchen and sets down his helmet. Grinning, he takes the cup from Alfred.

"I'll take it," he says simply, and Alfred lets him, because mantles need to be passed on.

Persuasive arguments

There is a sound at the door. I look up and see Dick balanced on Alfred's shoulder, barely able to stand but somehow moving forward. Alfred looks disapproving. I am livid.

"What are you doing? You should-"

"Shut up," he grinds out and then collapses gratefully into the nearest chair. "You…can't do…this."

I glare at Alfred. "Oh, really?"

"No. Won't…let…you," he gasps. I go to him but I refuse to touch. I'll hurt him.

"Dick, I have to…"

He catches his breath. He is desperate. "You're Batman. Don't stop…because…of me."

I relent. "Okay."

"Good." He holds me. Everything is better.

Crawl

Bruce is going to shout.

Dick brings the bike to an unsteady stop. He hates this, crawling back to Bruce like an infant, weak, failed.

The Bat strides over confused and Dick dismounts the bike before collapsing to the ground. He is embraced by the cloak as the cowl comes back and it's Bruce's worried eyes he sees.

"What happened?"

"Fight. Gun." He coughs, faint red on skin.

He hates giving in like this, but when Bruce carries him so gently, treats him so tenderly and tucks him up in bed with a soft, chaste kiss, Dick realises he's home.

Perfect rescue

The dart hits and he goes down instantly. He is immobile, at the thug's mercy. This is it.

He watches the crowbar arc down- but, suddenly, a shape, blue-black blur and a cry echoes out with the sickening crack. One-two-three and the man is incapacitated. It's a perfect attack.

His rescuer breathes heavily, bleeding onto the ground, but he is alive, vital, beautiful by the moon.

Cradling his shattered arm against his chest, Nightwing sits down beside him and offers a faint smile.

"Guess this is where we wait for Robin, huh?"

He would wait all night for that smile.

Keeping up appearances

Alfred observed Dick carefully, noting the loose sprawl of limbs and the wine glass in hand. He looked up and scowled.

"I came here to be alone."

"Oh, really? I was deceived for a moment."

Dick refused to meet his eyes. Alfred waited patiently.

"I can't stand it, Alfred. It's so…false. He's there with his jokes and his…women! He'll take one to bed and that'll be that. Here I am, left. Just…left."

Dick rose unsteadily and stumbled.

"Have you told him, Master Dick?"

A harsh laugh. "What for? It's all about the mission, isn't it?"

The door slammed. Alfred sighed.