Notes: I'm drawing on multiple canon sources and inventing my own - hey, if DC can keep reinventing things, so can I! While I kept Dick's age as 10 when he came to live in the manor, I can't see the Bat letting a child hit the streets. So I upped the age of Robin's official debut by a few years.

Dick Grayson slammed his locker shut, shouldered his leather backpack, then headed for the rear entrance and the parking lot. By the time he made it outside of the hallowed halls of Gotham Academy, he'd turned down four invitations to 'hang out' and ignored several wistful admiring looks.

He overheard a girl he didn't really know telling another not to bother with him, that he only dated the popular girls. Not true. Dick had made a point of escorting the ambitious, not the popular. All a girl had to do to warrant his attention was to give off those subtle vibes that she didn't give a damned about anything beyond being seen socially with Bruce Wayne's ward and to hell with who or what else Dick was. They used him, he used them. A satisfactory arrangement all around. If a cynical one for someone of his age.

A slight smile threatened the corners of his mouth. Not much about his life matched up to his age. Never had. He pulled the keys from his pocket as he approached a shiny new black Porsche. His consolation prize for turning sixteen while his 'indifferent guardian' was out of town. 'Poor Dick, the butler had to take him to get his driver's license.' He'd heard those whispers as well.

Again he fought a smile. In truth, Bruce was hiding out in the Batcave. One of those times Bruce Wayne was on vacation while the Batman made his usual nightly appearances. It was a tactic among many that Bruce had for making his alter ego seem like a separate person. And the man flat out adored him. Of that Dick had no doubt.

"Hey, Grayson!" the voice sounded as he opened the door of his car. Damn, he'd been hoping to make his escape before Kyle could catch up with him.

He didn't really have a best friend anymore than he had girlfriends, but Kyle Safford came the closest to matching that description. The redhead with a linage that went back to Mayflower tolerated Dick's 'quirks' and had a sense of humor Dick could appreciate. He did have to admit that it was nice to have someone with whom he could exchange complaints about the burdens of living an over-privileged life. Expectations of all sorts, the press ever vigilant for a juicy scandal at the slightest misstep, it could all be wearing. Talking about it made it easier. Knowing all that, Dick stopped and waited.

"Some of us are headed for Julian's. You want to come?" Kyle asked.

Dick suppressed a groan. He wanted to go home, but it was a very unteenager-like thing to do on a Friday afternoon. Especially after finishing up mid-terms. He should want to cut loose and have a wild time with his friends. He'd pushed turning down such offers as far as he could. After all, he had no real excuse. His guardian was supposed to be away from home, and Julian's was the current 'in' place. A club for teenagers with more money than they knew what to do with, a trendy juice bar and a kickass sound system, it attracted the prep school crowd like diamonds drew Catwoman.

"Sure, sounds great," he said, his tone sounding far more enthusiastic than he felt.

Kyle poked at Dick's left earlobe. "Nice rock."

"Birthday present," he answered, this time his voice conveying boredom when pleasure coursed through him. The diamond stud of tasteful size, but brilliant in its perfection sparked a gleaming reflection on the black sleekness of the Porsche. Dick's knowledge of jewelry had whispered $1,005 in his mind when he'd opened the small box three days ago. It had taken the sting right out of having his sixteenth birthday on a Tuesday smack in the middle of his mid-terms. Not because of it's obvious value – noticing that had been a mere side effect of how Dick spent his free time – but because Bruce had understood him enough to give it to him.

As clearly as if it were yesterday, he could remember his father's face the day Dick had successfully asked to get his ear pierced. A determined nine-year old should have been no match for John Grayson, but. ...

*"For the tenth time, Dick, no. You're too young."

Dick glared at his father. The man had said the same thing to him when he was eight. He hadn't liked hearing it then any more than he did now, but he was a year older. A year smarter. "How can I be too young to get my ear pierced, but old enough to do a triple somersault without a net?"

John blinked in surprise, while Mary Grayson laughed. "He has you there, darling," his mother said.

A slow smile spread across John's face. "Yes, he does. All right, son. But nothing flashier than a gold stud."

Dick nodded and grinned, while his mother told him, "There's a shopping mall a few miles from here. I'm sure it will have an earring counter that does piercing. I'll take you tomorrow." She gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Now, it's late, you'd best get to bed."

He started to head for the small part of the trailer that was his room, then stopped. "I was doing the somersault last year, too," he told his father. He'd actually done it for the first time on his birthday, something the ring master had crowed about to the crowds in the big top.

"I know."

"Then how come I wasn't old enough then?"

John smiled. "You aren't old enough now because you're doing a trick, Dick. You're old enough because you figured out it was something to support your argument." ...*

Dick pulled into a parking garage two blocks north of Julian's and punched his entry code into the gate. The mechanical arm blocking his path rose. He drove through, then up to the sixth floor and the spot always reserved for a Wayne vehicle. One of the perks of his guardian owning parking garages throughout the city. He never had to pay, never lacked a parking space.

He shut down the engine, then couldn't resist angling the rear view mirror to take a moment to admire the diamond stud. A hole in his ear. It was the only visible sign that he'd once been in the circus. He'd accepted without complaint all the changes necessary to be the proper ward of one of the richest men in the country, but he'd continued to wear the earring. Bruce had had to pull a lot of strings to allow that once Dick had started attending Gotham Academy. A boy with a pierced ear had not fit the image cultivated by a prep school with a school uniform which included a tie and a blazer.

Even two years later the trustees quietly referred to The Earring War. He'd even heard whispers that Bruce had threatened to start a prep-school of his own, and offer salaries large enough to steal away every member of the Gotham Academy faculty. Dick suspected it was true, but he'd never ask Bruce. However he'd managed the miracle, getting the dress code changed was one of the things his guardian did for him out of love. A thing to be cherished, not questioned.

He smiled again, restored the mirror to its proper position, then got out of the car. He'd had plans for tonight. Big ones, and not one of them had anything to do with hanging out at Julian's. Ah, well, if nothing else, life had taught him to improvise. Determined to make the best of it and have a good time, Dick headed for the elevators.

An hour slipped by while Dick nursed an Electric Blueberry Freeze and nibbled on chips and salsa while sharing horror stories about mid-terms. It was fun. Even if Dick's problems with school had more to do with boredom than challenge. A quick mind and a childhood spent with tutors had put him that much further ahead of his classmates. It gave him maneuvering room to keep his grades up while indulging in other interests, but the cost was staying out of the accelerated programs and the loss of any significant intellectual challenge. From his schoolwork.

He smiled slightly, and Kyle threw a napkin at him. "Don't know what you're complaining about, Grayson. You undoubtedly got all 'A's again."

"I don't know, Safford. Sometimes I think figuring out the twists and turns of Mrs. Winchester's mind is a bigger challenged than memorizing any text book."

Everyone moaned. The quirks of their English lit teacher were infamous. A student could know a work by heart and somehow manage to earn only an average score. Dick found it a lot like matching wits with the Riddle, although he doubted Mrs. W would find the comparison flattering.

Heather Erickson chose that moment to join them, claiming half of Dick's chair. He allowed it as she was what the Gossip Gertie referred to as his 'current flame.' However, Heather would be dumping him soon. He could see the signs. Stephen Neuman had broken up with his steady and was giving Heather interested looks. Not quite as much money in marrying a Neuman, but the bloodline was pure. After all, Dick wasn't a Wayne by birth. He came from circus stock. A suitable escort with Bruce's money to his credit, but not the breeding stock most parents wanted producing their grandchildren. Which was fine with Dick, as he had no intention of ever marrying anyone.

She gave Stephen a brilliant smile, Dick gave him a wink, letting him now that whatever happened was fine with him. He didn't know if the guy would back off if Dick objected, but it didn't matter since he would be relieved to get the girl off 'his dance card' and back on his friendly acquaintance list.

After a moment Heather turned her attention back to him and caressed his bejeweled earring. "It's a pity you had to waste a birthday on a Tuesday," she said. "But we could turn my party into a duo birthday celebration."

A Saturday evening lost to a sweet sixteen birthday party. He'd die first. But the offer was genuine, so he gave her a smile. "I'd love it, but Wayne's due in tomorrow afternoon. My presence will be required in the Manor." He said the last in a pompous tone and was rewarded with a gratifying chorus of groans.

"All part of the joys of being a member of the elite," Stephen said.

"Yeah," Kyle chimed in. "Could be worse. You could have to escort your grandmother to the opera."

The boys, including Dick, all shuddered while the girls winced, but gave them disapproving looks. Hanging out really wasn't a bad way to spend a few hours, and it would please Bruce that he'd spent some time with people his own age. He said it was good for him. Frequently. His guardian worried that Dick would lose touch with what it was like to be a real teenager. He always answered that as soon as he met a real one, he'd take notes.

Cindy Greene ran up. "Hey, there's something going on outside! There are police cars all around the bank down the street."

Time to clock in. While everyone else ran for the door to get a look, Dick went out the back way. He pressed the stud on his watch, and Batman's face filled the small screen. Dressed and ready to leave the Cave. Must have been listening to the police scanner.

"Bank at 5th and Claremont," Batman told him.

"I was at Julian's," Dick answered.

"I'm on my way." That meant thirty minutes – even the Batmobile couldn't do a damn thing against rush hour traffic.

"It's a day job, Bruce," he said, his teasing tone offset by his swift strides back to the parking garage. "Bats aren't supposed to come out until sunset."

"They do when little birds need their wings clipped."

Dick laughed as he pushed the call button for the elevator with his thumb. "I'll call you after I've done a recon."

Bruce nodded and ended the transmission.

The elevator on the far left opened. It only responded to three thumbprints – his, Bruce's and Alfred Pennyworth's. Otherwise its indicator always made it look like it was on some other level.

Once inside he pressed a sequence of numbers instead of a single floor. The elevator descended. A moment later it opened on a short hallway that ended with a nondescript door. Another coded entry on the number pad to the right of the door, and he stepped into a small Batlair. A costume each, a weapons selection and a tiny but well-stocked alcove for medical emergencies, nothing else, but it allowed Dick and his guardian to become Robin and Batman while in town without taking the risk of carrying spare costumes around in unattended cars. There was a set up exactly like this one in every parking garage Bruce owned. They never had more than a few blocks to run when duty called.

He stripped out of his clothes, yanked out the earring and pulled off the prominent 'mole' on the right side of his neck. An identifying mark that'd had to go when he became Robin, a false version of it helped confuse the issue of his identity.

A plastic film pressed to his left earlobe made the hole vanish as if it had never been there. Then the costume. Maroon, green, accented with black and gold, the armor was muted shades of the costume he'd worn in the circus. To finish he pressed on his mask, then dawned the yellow lined cape instead of the all black one. Better choice for day work, and it fit his spirit when he flew. The first time he'd transformed into Robin, it had taken twenty minutes. These days, he did it in five.

A minute later he was on the roof. He took a deep breath – anticipation, not fear – then leaped off the edge. Flying. The wind whistling in his hair, the ground mocking him as it drew him closer. No one to catch him. Flying with nothing but skill to save him.

A tuck into a somersault, then an arch as he straightened out carried him to an easy landing on the next rooftop. The remaining rooftops required nothing more than a running jump to travel from one to the other. He landed on the building across from the bank, his footfall so silent that the officers stationed there didn't hear him.

He slipped into the shadows, found his own vantage point, then pulled out a pair of small, high-tech binoculars. He tripped the infra-red option and trained them on the bank.

Oh, this was familiar. The shadows, a vantage point and the Bat's second pair of eyes. He'd dawned the Robin costume for the first time when he was ten and had helped Batman bring in Tony Zucco – the man who had sabotaged the trapeze rig and caused the death of Dick's parents.

His immediate need for revenge eased, he had agreed to temporary 'retirement.' He'd known he'd needed more than an acrobat's skill to survive in the Bat's world, not the least of which was training a growing body to need only a few hours sleep. He'd managed that and an excellence in self-defense training by twelve. Which brought him back to vantage points and two years of 'observe only.' Now, he was expected to observe, assess and know himself well enough to judge what he could handle versus what should be left to the Batman alone. Then there were days like this when the choice simply did not exist.

He frowned at what his viewer showed him. Eight figures lying on the bank floor. Alive, and either hostages or napping villains. Three heat signatures were up and moving around. The spectrum changes indicated growing agitation and one of the eight on the floor was small. A child. Probably crying, grating on nerves stretched thin by a target turned into a cage. The brink of disaster.

He touched the throat mic in his cape. "No time left," he murmured, then launched himself forward. Flying again, but focused on what was to come, not the sensation. Without conscious thought he aimed the cablegun, fired, then flowed with the swing of his line to slow his momentum before letting go, his body an arrow aimed straight for a decorative window above the front entry. He hit boots first, his cape drawn up on his arm to protect his face as he sailed through.

He dropped a smoke bomb as his hands cleared the threshold. Focused on targets he'd only had a split second to pinpoint, he tucked into a roll as he landed, then dove left. Bullets struck the ground where he should have been, his Batarang flashed dealing with the gunman furthest from him. He took a more physical approach with the other two.

A spin kick ploughed into the side of a solid body, sending it sprawling into the second one. Speed and precision strike points compensating for youth and size, he punched upward, snapping a head back with something only a hair's breath from lethal force.

Designed to momentarily confuse then dissipate, the smoke seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving him a clear line of sight. All three closed on him – hostages and police forgotten in the heat of having something to attack. Kick to the kidney, spin, punch to the stomach, leap up and over, foot to the back of the knees, he moved in a symphony of muscle and color that took down one, two, then three men twice his size.

Robin stepped back, eyes intent for signs of further attack from the bruised lumps on the floor, but they did nothing beyond moan and clutch at wounded limbs. He resisted the urge to grin, then shouted, "Clear!"

The lobby filled with police, relieving him of the need to resort to the Batcuffs. He nodded at the most senior officer, who frowned in return. Robin didn't take it personally. While Batman was the stuff of legends now, Robin had been a visible presence at his side for little more than a year. Few knew what to make of him and more than one cop had muttered about 'child endangerment' and had threatened to take him in 'for his own good.'

Before anyone could decide to do so today, he leaped for the door, caught hold of the top of the threshold to hop over the tide of blue. His Batline deployed and he was rocketing upward, away from reluctant allies, admirers and broken foes.

"Batman."

"Here," came the terse answer through the small receiver in his right ear. Robin longed for the day when his voice dropped enough to manage such a deep, spooky sound.

"Job's done. No one hurt, well, no one but a few bruised bad guys." While his voice might lack that distinctive growl cultivated by Caped Crusaders everywhere, it pleased him that it sounded so nonchalant. He'd never attempted something so dangerous on his own.

He expected a growled 'affirmative' or 'returning to base.' Instead the Bat surprised him by saying, "Good job, Robin."

The grin he'd battled earlier split his face. "Thanks. Bet I had you worried."

"Terrified, but I did know you could handle it."

'Or I wouldn't allow you to hit the streets.' He heard the unvoiced part and felt that swell of pride simply being good enough in Batman's eyes gave him. "Home in forty."

"Out."

Once he reached the solitary stretch of road winding along the cliffs surrounding Wayne Manor, Dick opened up the Porsche, enjoying the combination of tight turns and speed. Amusing, but nothing when compared with the power of the Batmobile – something he'd been driving since he was old enough to manage the controls and see out of the cockpit at the same time. All in all though, the car had been a nice birthday present. But not the one he'd wanted. He planed to get that tonight.

Mid-terms over, the weekend here at last, and he had plans. He'd had them for years. All he'd needed was the courage to carry them out. He laughed as he guided his car into the slot between Bruce's Jag and Bentley. Facing down the Joker was easier than this, and his heart had never pounded this hard when dealing with Two-Face and his fondness for heavy calabur handguns.

He walked toward the Manor and tried not to think of the other dozen times he'd decided he was ready, only to chicken out at the last minute. Not tonight. He was in love and loved. Not to mention sick to death of his own right hand. Then there was the sticky, lonely mess of waking up every morning to an empty bed after a wet dream. Adolescence was a bitch no too ways about it. But he was no normal adolescent. He thrived on danger and challenge. Which brought him back to the Manor and the question that had plagued him for years – how to seduce the Bat.

On first glance the very idea seemed absurd. Beautiful women moved in and out of Bruce's life with enough regularity to convince anyone that he wasn't interested in a male lover. Then again, those women never lasted long, even those few who knew Bruce was the Batman. Bruce seldom was the one to end it, and Dick had watched him suffer through more broken hearts than any one person should ever have to endure. Which was another reason he'd waited.

It had to be forever with Bruce. He wouldn't, couldn't ask Bruce to bed him for simple desire's sake. There was too much at stake for that. Bruce loved him. Loved him. And in the name of that love, Dick knew he could lure him into an affair, but it was a risk. He knew Bruce had never given much of his heart to any of those women. But he'd not held back with a ten-year-old boy who had lost everything and desperately needed a home where he was loved. If Dick walked away after a fling, he knew it wouldn't break Bruce's heart – it would crush it beyond repair.

Of course that was all very sophisticated of Dick, and not something he'd put into conscious thought until the last few months. Mostly he'd kept his peace out of shear terror. That Bruce would reject him, send him off to some fancy boarding school far from Gotham. Or that others would find out how he felt and take the poor deluded child away from his predator guardian.

He'd needed time to find the strength to risk Bruce's reaction, to overcome the prancing rooster that lurked inside him and would urge him to indiscrete smirks and subtle boasting. Coming to terms with all of that had been Step One.

Step Two had been to let Bruce see him considering Step One. That had led to an interesting dance. Let the love reach his eyes for a few moments, long enough to make the man wonder, but never be certain. Quiet, thoughtful moments for no reason that never crossed the line into brooding. Legal files consulted on the definitions of child molestation versus statutory situations that he closed a shade too slowly to prevent them from being seen.

Step Three. Ask.

Dick shook his head, a part of him certain he was completely out of his mind. Surely if he had any sense he'd run, then again, if he had any sense, he'd cower behind locked doors when the Batsignal shown in the sky. Nope, sense was highly over-rated and tonight was the night.

He found Bruce in the parlor watching the evening news, and Dick heard promises of the forecast for the weekend after the next commercial break as he walked in. Timing was a good omen. He'd managed to miss any tedious hype about Robin's work.

Bruce switched off the set, looked at him for a long moment, then asked, "How was school?"

Such a normal thing to say. Dick laughed. "Kyle insists I got straight 'A's again."

"That's a relief."

Dick had plans, but as a smile spread across Bruce's face, every last one of them vanished from his mind. Handsome, brave, brilliant and even had a sense of humor abet a sarcastic one. How could a man like this possibly want him? He couldn't prevent his thoughts from racing again through the catalog of stunning women who had courted Bruce or the Batman. How could a kid who occasionally drank straight out of the juice carton compete with Catwoman?

The cold weight of uncertainty pressed down on him. Was he chickening out yet again or had he always mislabeled an attack of common sense as cowardice. Old enough to be Robin. Old enough to choose to abandon his virginity, but old enough to be the Bat's mate? If only it didn't matter so much.

"Is something wrong, Dick?"

"No, I. ..." He sighed. He was so desperately, completely in love with Bruce. It made the idea of seeking ... anything with someone else distasteful. He needed Bruce. "I ... liked my birthday presents." He didn't know where that came from. He'd said thank you when he'd opened them and no one could have missed how pleased he'd been with the earring.

Bruce looked at him. "So it seemed. Yet somehow I hear a 'but' in that statement."

Did he? Yes, he did. His subconscious coming to his rescue or his damnation. He nodded. "I didn't get what I wanted most of all."

"Oh?"

"I wanted ..." His throat felt dry, and he swallowed to moisten it. "I need to hear you say you love me."

It was so damned selfish. Bruce was a physical man. He touched to show he cared. The words he offered up were normally the polished charm of the playboy veneer he hid behind. Dick was supposed to know what the hand that frequently found its way to his shoulder meant. To understand the love in the press of palm to the small of his back. And he did. But he was about to risk everything on his ability to read the Bat. He lacked the courage to do that. To his horror, his confidence vanished and screamed that he wasn't old enough.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, then fled the room. Running off to his room was no simple matter in a home this size. Out the parlor, through the foyer, up the grand staircase, down several corridors to the bedrooms on the back of the manor. His, like Bruce's, overlooked the sea. A spectacular view, but his face burning with shame, his heart hurting, he ignored it, throwing himself down on the bed, and struggling to control his emotions like some stupid ... teenager.

Tears slipped from his eyes, the truth ripping at his soul. He wasn't old enough. He would never be old enough. A part of him would always be a frightened child unwilling to risk being cast out, risk being alone. He couldn't risk what he had. He couldn't.

He sniffed, then stiffened as the bed dipped under another person's weight. "Dick," Bruce's voice was soft with affection and concern, the hand that came to rest against Dick's arm large and warm.

"'m all right." Oh, that was convincing. He sounded like he'd been crying for weeks. He rubbed at his damp cheeks, then tried again, "I -"

"I know."

Those strong, yet gentle hands, guided Dick to turn onto his back, then a light brush of them wiped away the next round of tears. "'m sorry. Being a baby."

Bruce shook his head. "No. A baby is selfish and screams its right to attention and love for all to hear. But you're willing to lie here alone and allow me to pretend I don't know what's going on."

"Bruce. ..."

"I'll admit this would have been a lot less complicated if you'd waited two more years, but you always were an impatient brat." He smiled, then pressed a light kiss to Dick's forehead. "Tell me what you want for your birthday."

Dick's heart pounded loudly in his chest. The clamor was so great, he found it difficult to speak over it. Bruce had decided to make it easy for him. He really had read the man right. The barest of whispers escaped his lips. "I want to make love. With you."

Lips pressed to his in answer. Not his first kiss, nor was it the first time a tongue slipped inside his mouth. A familiar sensation adrift in a host of different ones. Love laced with passion, the weight of a powerful body pressed against his, the slight scrape of five o'clock shadow against the smoothness of his cheek – his head swam with the newness of it all.

Dick wanted to be witty and wise when their lips parted. Wanted to make things so wonderful Bruce wouldn't notice a dozen leather-clad Catwomen. Instead, he lay in Bruce's arms, staring up into that handsome face and murmured, "Oh."

Another smile. Another caress of his face. "Let's get you undressed," tickled his ear as lips brushed against his temple, then hands moved to the buttons of his shirt.

His chance to make up for banality. Something to make Bruce forget every princess, every jet setter, every beautiful woman with style and a $500,000 evening gown showcasing every sensuous curve. "Okay." *Idiot! Bruce wants sophistication in his bed, not some moron who can't even –* "Oh!"

He couldn't be blamed for that one. Bruce had licked his nipple. How could anyone think straight when he did that? And what had happened to his shirt? Not to mention his pants. He was naked! And ... Oh, God, so was Bruce. Skin to skin. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He'd explode! One slide of that magnificent body against his, and he did. He came with a gasp, spurting between them, his only solace that he managed not to say, 'Oh.'

Mortified didn't begin to cover it. He'd ruined everything, and ... damn, that felt good. Bruce hadn't even paused in his activities. His hands caressed and soothed while his lips continued to alternate between dining on Dick's neck and little bites at his nipples. How was a guy supposed to brood when he did things like that, and mmm. ...

"Oh!" His eyes widened as something very large and very hard pressed against his belly. Now, that was impressive.

"Shhh, it's all right." The warm whisper returned to his ear. "It's not going anywhere you don't want it to."

Not want it to? What else did the infuriating man think Dick had been fantasizing about since ... well, since he'd talked to a few of the male prostitutes that haunted Gotham's red light district. One of those irritating ironies of his life -- he wasn't considered old enough to check out that sort of reference book from the library. "Want to," he grated out, pleased that his tongue managed to form the words.

"Hmm," Bruce nipped at the join between neck and shoulder. "That, we are taking slow."

"But-"

"Not tonight," he growled, thrusting against Dick twice and almost sending him over the edge again. A small reminder of who was the over-sexed teenager and who was the adult with the picture in the dictionary under the word 'control.'

Dick moaned and scowled, his hands gripping Bruce's shoulders. "Soon?" he whimpered, hating to give up, but knowing when to admit defeat.

"Oh, yes," Bruce purred, and Dick was gratified to note he wasn't the only one using 'oh.'

A nudge of that impressive length against Dick's thighs, and he parted them, letting all that hard, hot flesh slide down his own length then brush beneath his balls.

His leg muscles tightened, his brain shut down and Dick screamed his release. Panting, he clung to Bruce, who held him, nuzzled him, petted him until he relaxed.

"Press your legs together," Bruce ordered when Dick had calmed. "Hold me as tightly as you can."

He obeyed. His thighs clamped together, forming a snug passage for Bruce to claim, while his arms hugged the powerful torso. The bed rocked with each thrust, and Dick's mind gibbered with a mixture of terror and absolute delight at the thought of his ass serving as the man's sheath. Soon, oh, please, yes, soon.

Bruce stiffened, and Dick pulled him down into a kiss, allowing him to swallow the groan of Bruce's climax. The act drained him, a heavy lethargy invading his limbs as Bruce shifted off him.

Dick was a sticky, wet mess, but Bruce cuddled him close, settling him in his arms, then. ...

The press of a warm, damp cloth woke him, and Dick opened his eyes to find Bruce cleaning him up. Mmm, much better than waking up alone after a wet dream. "We seem to have made a shambles of your bed," he said, guiding the cloth over Dick's belly. "Perhaps we would be more comfortable sleeping in mine?"

A tight warmth clutched at Dick's heart. "I can sleep in your bed?"

A kiss. "That's part of being lovers."

"You want to do this again?" Dick's voice nearly squeaked. "After I was such an idiot?"

"Idiot?"

Dick made a face. "I sounded like some. ..."

"Like the virgin you were?" Bruce smiled.

"Well, yeah, but -"

A kiss silenced him, then Bruce propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at him. "It will be a long time before we can acknowledge this. Two years at least. Better three."

Dick was young enough to view three years as an eternity, but he'd known the law would not look kindly on what they had. They had to wait until he was eighteen. Better nineteen to allow others to delude themselves that they'd waited until he was of age before becoming ... lovers. He liked the sound of that. Very much. "I know."

"Do you?" Another kiss. "I can't stop dating without it making every society column on the eastern seaboard."

"But I'm the only one you'll have sex with." It was a requirement. He could tolerate anything as long as he had Bruce's fidelity.

"The only one. I swear it."

"Me, too."

A faint smile. Dick could almost hear him thinking about how young Dick was and how unlikely that particular promise was. "Dick, I want one more promise from you."

Here it comes. "What?"

"I only want you in my bed when you want to be there. You must swear to me that you'll never come to me because you think it's what I want."

Disbelieving Bat. Dick resisted the urge to smile. He didn't know that much about the mating habits of bats or robins. But this particular Robin mated for life.

Yes, he knew the future. For the rest of his life, Robin would stand at the Bat's side, while Dick slept in Bruce's bed. In time, Bruce would know it, too. When they were old enough. "I promise."

Part II

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