Here's another in the Batuniverse. For anyone who might be wondering, yes, I am working on PM stuff as well, and all of it isn't underaged fic. I've actually been working on several things all at the same time, but reached the 'the end' on this one first.

Summary: Dick's moody, recovering from the flu and feeling insecure.

A sneeze worthy of the big bad wolf taking on the house of bricks echoed through the halls of Wayne Manor.

"Bless you," Alfred Pennyworth responded.

Dick Grayson fixed the butler with a look of intense dislike. Not only was the man not doing something to get Dick well – and everyone knew Al could fix anything -- Al also had the nerve to be one of only two people in all of Gotham City who hadn't caught the damned flu.

The fact that Dick's guardian was the other healthy person didn't do much for his mood either. Of course, the worst thing was his own stamina had held out long enough for the rest of the word to recover before he even got sick. Left him shit out of luck on the sympathy stakes.

Apparently unfazed by Dick's best scathing look, Al continued to uncap the bottle of some vile mixture which seemed to do nothing more than grossly insult his taste buds. He watched a dubious brown liquid pour onto a small cup, then the cup moved toward his mouth.

He gave serious thought to keeping his jaw clamped shut, but knew if he tried it, Al would hold Dick's nose until he gave in. Better to surrender and keep his dignity. He opened his mouth and drank. The shudder the taste inspired made even his toes rattle. He coughed, sputtering, "Bad enough ... dying ... trying to ... poison me, too."

"Nonsense, Master Dick," Al assured him. "This remedy has been in my family for generations."

Dick went back to glaring.

Al gave him a kind smile and a pat on the cheek. "It will let you sleep, young sir. You need that most of all."

Sleep. There was another thing on his long list of complaints. Since he'd had the first sniffle, he'd been exiled back to his own bedroom. The fact it had been his idea in no way eased the severity of Bruce's criminal acceptance of it.

Dying, miserable, alone, unwanted, unloved. ... And another thing. He blinked and found Al had gone. Must have drifted off, he thought, a glance at his bedside clock confirming almost ninety minutes had passed between one thought and the next. Middle of the afternoon. Bruce should be up and at work. Either here in the den or off to put in an appearance at the Wayne Enterprises office.

The call of nature prompted Dick to abandon his sick bed long enough to deal with a gallon or twelve of orange juice, but he paused in the bathroom doorway instead of returning to the sheets. He'd wallowed in the bed for three days now, and he was tired of it. Not to mention lonely.

He pulled the comforter off the bed, wrapped it around himself, then headed downstairs, his mind on one of the sofas in the drawing room. If he looked pathetic enough Al might build him a fire in the monster fireplace and get him some more orange juice.

His legs felt wobbly by the time he reached the bottom of the staircase, but before he headed for the sofa, he couldn’t resist veering towards the den. He heard voices inside, proving Bruce was indeed in residence, and assumed he was talking to Al. When he pushed open the door, he found Bruce alone and in the middle of a conference call.

"Just a moment," Bruce said to whoever he was talking to, then hit the mute button. "Did you need something, Dick?"

Yes, but he couldn't quite figure out what. "I just wanted to say hi," he muttered, feeling lonely and sad. Such a baby.

Bruce smiled at him. “Hi, yourself. Now go lie down on the couch before you fall down. I’ll come talk to you as soon as I’m off the phone.”

Which could be hours from now, but at least it was something. Feeling like some pathetic puppy promised a bone, he wandered back to the parlor, then curled up on his favorite of the three antique sofas. He had time to think he would never sleep while he waited, then, to his utter annoyance, he blinked and found himself back upstairs in his bed.

The sheets were fresh, and the sun had set. He’d slept away the entire day. Worse, he’d slept through Bruce carrying him upstairs. Scowling, he got up again and found he felt much better. Well enough at least to dislike a head full of unwashed hair and the pajama bottoms clinging to his legs. He headed for the shower.

Uncertain when his body would decide to go all limp and useless again, he washed quickly, dried his hair with little mind to style, then pulled on a pair of sweats. Satisfied he might possibly pass for human, he went in search of Bruce.

It didn't take long. He could see the light shining from beneath the master bedroom door. Odd time for Bruce to be lurking around in the bedroom. Both too early and too late for sleep. Any other bedroom activities were supposed to revolve around Dick.

The sight of the tuxedo laid out on the bed reminded him it had been three long days since he'd taken ill. Which meant it was Friday night and time for the annual Wayne Foundation Charity Ball. From the sound of it, Bruce was in the bathroom getting ready. To go out. Without him. When he was lonely.

Barely resisting the temptation to 'accidently' flop on the pristine evening clothes, he dropped onto the bed, then passed the time scowling at the ceiling. Satisfied he'd practiced enough to have the look perfect, he turned it on Bruce the moment the man had the nerve to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Bruce froze a moment, then rewarded his efforts with a 'now, Dick' look. "We talked about this."

The scowl faltered. Not because of the look or the truth of the words, but because Bruce wasn't wearing anything. Unfair tactics. How was a guy supposed to think with such a sight before him? Well, he could play dirty too. He resorted to a pout enhanced by a perfect watery shimmer in his eyes.

Bruce sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed. His lips pressed against Dick's forehead – something Dick would have found far more satisfying if he didn't suspect it had more to do with taking his temperature than with a need to touch.

"I have to be there tonight," he said, then gave Dick a smile. "If it were any other event, I'd let the lower lip and dewy eyes win."

Dick stuck his tongue out at him.

Bruce chuckled and began to dress. Hardly the way to get on Dick's good side, but he did know Bruce had to go. If there was one event the crown prince of Gotham society couldn't miss, it was his own ball. Damn. He couldn't even take solace in worming out a promise to leave as soon as possible – Bruce never stayed at any society event a minute longer than he had to. Not even his own.

He sighed heavily. It sounded like a snort given his stuffy nose. He groped for the end table, but Bruce dropped a tissue in his hand before he could find the box. "T'anx," he muttered, then blew his nose with enthusiasm. Made him feel better, but he doubted it was the sexiest thing he'd ever done.

It only took Bruce a few minutes to dress, then he bent over, blocking Dick's view of the ceiling. "Do you want me to send Alfred home for a while? You know he'd be happy to come back and fuss over you."

He was lonely enough he considered it, but it was all too pathetic. 'Poor little boy was feeling sorry for himself so humor him' sort of thing. Wasn't the humoring he wanted and settling for Al would make him poor company. "No, I'll be okay."

"Hmm." Bruce gave him a long look, then smiled. "Be good," he said, giving him another kiss on the forehead.

It all felt very ... platonic. If he'd had the strength he'd have given Bruce a nice shiny black eye to match the high polish of his shoes. Instead he nodded and watched Bruce walk out the door. A few minutes later, he heard the limo pull away from the manor.

Bored and dejected Dick dosed in between moments of brooding. It wasn't fair. They'd only been lovers for two weeks before the flu had driven him from the bed he now rested upon. Alone. He would have liked to say he'd seen regret in Bruce's face when he'd suggest it might be better if he moved back to his old room while he was contagious. Truth was, he'd felt too lousy to notice anything. It would have made it easier if Bruce hadn't allowed him to go. Had insisted he stay in their bed and sneeze all over him if need be. But he hadn't.

Now Dick lay on Bruce's bed and didn't know how to make it their bed again. Or even if he had to. Maybe Bruce simply expected him to come back when he felt like it. Damn, he didn't know what to do.

Frustrated and a session in the gym out of the question, he resorted to the tried and true – the television. Snatching up the remote, he turned on the set, to be greeted by the opening strands of 'Gotham Tonight.' He frowned. It was an hour too late for it ... Oh, no.

The ball. They'd cover it live, preempting network programming. His hand seemed to freeze, his fingers unable to push the power button or change the channel. A pure glutton for punishment.

As he sat there watching like some star struck idiot, a limo pulled up, Al got out, opened the door for his passengers, then Bruce emerged from the back seat. Bruce offered his arm, and a long shapely leg slid out onto the sidewalk. A glittering blue gown showcased it nicely. The leg flexed and Julie Madison rose from the car like Venus from the surf.

Stunning, intelligent and charming. Dick hated her. She was everything Bruce Wayne could want in a relationship. If he wasn't already involved with his sixteen year-old ward. If he still was involved.

A terrible need to race downtown and rip her off of Bruce's arm swept through Dick. He was halfway down the staircase before he came to his senses. What did he think he was doing? He couldn't afford jealousy. One wrong move and social services would be all over this place. He could hardly tell a social worker it was okay; he was old enough to decide his own fate because he was old enough to slug it out with Killer Croc. Oh, that would go over big all right.

He stopped his descent, then sat down on the stairs. It gave him a lovely view of himself in the mirror on the landing. Bleary eyes, pale skin, chapped lips and a inflamed peeling nose. Everything Bruce could want in a mate.

Sighing, he considered the situation. He was lonely, insecure and pathetic. He couldn't throw a jealous fit – hell, he'd agreed Julie was the perfect solution to their problem. She was an actress and found it very beneficial to be seen with Bruce Wayne, but had no romantic interest in him. A friend, not 'a friend.' He took a deep breath. repeated this reminder to himself like a mantra. After a few minutes, he stopped and reconsidered the situation. Nope, still didn't like it.

Bruce had been distant, Dick looked like shit and Julie didn't.

Jealousy was out. A session in the gym would probably kill him. But he had to do something. All right, enough maturity. Time to do something really stupid. If he couldn't be a sensual alluring lover, he'd be ... a teenager in a snit.

But what to do? Ah.

He got up and stalked down the stairs, then into the silver closet. A touch of a hidden switch and the entrance to the Batcave swung open. He had the flu – well, the lingering remnants of it – shouldn't go into a cold damp cave. Okay cool and drafty. It would do.

The shivers began before he even reached the bottom, but he got a blanket from the infirmary and was soon curled up all nice and cosy in the chair behind the main console. He supposed it was cheating to resort to the blanket, but he really didn't want to get sick again. Merely make a statement.

Trouble was, it might be hours before Bruce and Al returned. Might even be morning before either of them wandered down here and found him. He frowned, snuffled, then decided he needed a better plan.

Okay. He was alone. In the cave. In front of the computer. One mother of a powerful computer. Video games? Nah, he wasn't in the mood, and Bruce never objected when he played those, contenting himself instead with looking superior and tolerant. No, not the reaction Dick was looking for.

What then? Well, when in doubt, consult an expert. He pictured himself calling Kyle, Stephen or Heather and asking them what was the stupidest thing they'd ever done, but it probably involved sex, and he wasn't in the mood to hear it.

Wait a minute. Sex. He could call one of those sex lines. Charge it all to Bruce's credit card. Nah, he'd have to listen to whoever was on the other end to make the dollars add up. Boring. Hmm. Sex. Credit card. Computer. Ah ha.

Web surfing. Sex sites. Stuff to buy. Perfect.

A nice dramatic finger twiddle, then he pounced on the keyboard. Briefly he considered starting with a search command, but discarded the notion at the thought of how many sites it would pull up. No, better to resort to memory. While he had never done this before – too many other demands on his time to indulge in web surfing sex shop sites, not to mention Al moved like a cat and could sneak up on a guy whenever he was up to something he shouldn't be – his friends had, and they liked to talk.

He started with an index list Kyle had crowed about (http://dmoz.org/Adult/Shopping/Sex_Toys_and_Supplies/M/). The Men's Room link looked promising, so he clicked on it, ignored the 'stay out if you are under 21,' smirked as he clicked on 'Sexy Bottom,' then burst into laughter when a picture of a naked woman with throbbing breasts took form.

He looked over the categories and couldn't resist opening the bondage file. He sighed when confronted with more naked women. It almost made him close the site immediately, but curiosity made him page down.

The models left him cold, the merchandise made the escape artist in him snort with laughter, but beneath it all, a heat swept through his body. It took very little imagination to picture himself in the lust loops. Bent over, wrists bound to ankles, helpless to prevent Bruce from taking him.

Then he rolled his eyes. He hadn't even been able to convince his lover to penetrate him yet, and here he was fantasizing about restraints. Bruce would freak if Dick so much as mentioned the idea.

He supposed he should be a little freaked out himself. But he wasn't. Not really. Bruce was older and stronger; he was Dick's teacher in things of a bat-nature and his legal guardian. He'd fallen in love with all of that as much as with the man himself. Still moving such an awareness into their sex life would require more cunning than dumping a box full of toys onto the floor.

Not in the mood for more naked women, he opted to leave the site and returned to the index. He tried Multiple M'o'ments next. Too pink, although the notion of hosting one of their merchandise parties at the Manor gave him a good laugh.

"Kyle, my friend, I'm not sure I approve of your taste," he announced when another site led him to more naked women and a category labeled 'dongs.'

He frowned. Now what? He didn't want to buy a bunch of dildos modeled after the erections of famous porn stars even if a bill from Moanin' Lisa's Mastur-Pieces would give Bruce a start. Then he remembered a few overheard giggles and mutters from the girls about Good Vibrations.

What the hell. He typed in www.goodvibrations.com and got a 'no site found' message. He frowned, then shortened vibrations to vibes. Up popped a drawing of a woman, but at least she had all her clothes on.

The intro appealed to him, so he happily clicked on the standard 'I'm over 21' button, and started shopping. He put a dozen of every anal toy into his shopping cart. In every size and every color. Not a small bill, but not the heart attack for Bruce he was hoping for. So what next? Ah, 'Oils, Feathers, and Games' looked promising.

Another dozen of almost everything – he opted to skip the game (Bruce was such a kill joy, he'd never play it) and the ben wa balls. Finished with that section, he resisted going into Bound to Please. Some things would have to wait until Bruce was old enough to handle them.

He went nuts in the lubricant section, buying things by the case, then he opted to explore the book section. A mistake. Absorbed by all the possibilities spread out before him, he failed to sense another's presence, until Bruce was standing directly behind him.

"Dick."

Jumping like ... a teenager caught cruising sex sites, his hand scrambled to blank out the computer screen, but Bruce caught hold of his wrist. "Sit still."

Damn. Who needed leather restraints when Bruce could pin a person with a glance and a growl?

Bruce moved to the shopping cart and studied the order. He made a few adjustments, mostly bringing the number of each item down to more reasonable amounts, then filled in the information for the account normally used to buy parts for the Batmobile and submitted the order.

All while Dick gave serious thought to dying of embarrassment.

Bruce shut down the modem line, then asked, "Happy now?"

Dick didn't say a word. Nor could he bring himself to look Bruce in the eye.

"It's cold down here, and blanket or not, you should be in bed."

He nodded. How could he have been so stupid as to lose track of time? Bruce never stayed at any party for more than three hours, yet he'd sat here like a fool surfing along for nearly four. Damn and blast. He'd wanted to savor revenge before being subjected to the lecture it would inspire. He'd counted on at least two weeks to savor things before it all hit the fan. Now, he would have nothing beyond embarrassment and a package he would probably never see. Bruce sighed, then scooped Dick up, blanket and all.

He couldn't help himself. Mortified or no, he was starved for Bruce's touch and being carried was like a feast laid out before him. He snuggled up against the powerful chest and all but purred when the arms around him tightened.

His euphoria lasted until he was lowered onto a bed and opened his eyes to discover it was his own. No. Another one of those platonic forehead kisses brushed him, then Bruce said, "Good night." No.

"Night," he muttered, the sniffle in his voice having nothing whatsoever to do with the lingering effects of the flu. He rolled onto his side, putting his back to Bruce, and fought the urge to give into more than a sniff.

He could feel Bruce's gaze boring into his back for several minutes, then finally, "Dick? You do want to sleep alone ... don't you?"

"No." The tears might still be confined to his eyes, but they were in his voice.

It was that easy. One 'no' and Bruce gathered him back up, then carried him to the master suite. Their bed after all. Bruce stripped him, tucked him into the bed, then disappeared into the bathroom.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing his bathrobe. Although return was a subjective term. He seemed unwilling to move further into the room than the doorway, and Dick's fears returned. "Bruce?"

"You didn't want to sleep in your room the last few days."

A statement, but he chose to see it as a question. "No."

"I thought you wanted to be. ... Damn it, Dick, some people like sleeping alone when they're ill."

"Didn't want to make you sick, too," Dick muttered, knowing it was a lie. The offer had been the correct thing to do, but he'd done it more to hear Bruce say no, he didn't have to go, than to spare the man a sneeze or two.

Bruce made an exasperated sound, his face settling into a scowl. It clearly said, 'I have so much power over you, I have to let you run our relationship. You're supposed to know that, not test me all the time.'

Dick glared back, but had the sneaking suspicion it looked more like a pout. He did his best to project, 'I do know, but I don't feel good, and I look worse, and Julie was beautiful, and I'm afraid, and. ...'

A sigh signaled Bruce got the message. A rueful smile graced his handsome face, then he whispered, "Brat."

A delicious warmth swept through Dick. "I love you, too."

Bruce got rid of the robe and slid into the bed. "Now," he said, gathering Dick into his arms, "am I going to have to get some software program to keep you off the porno sites?"

The thought made Dick snicker. One of his job descriptions was computer hacker extrodinaire. He'd have a program like that for breakfast. "Sorry, I. ... She was wearing a blue gown, and I have a snotty nose."

"Hmm, yes, it was a nice dress, but do you know what I was thinking all the time I was with her?"

"No, what?"

"I was thinking how much I wished I'd had you curl up on my lap while I made that conference call so we could have spent some time together."

Charmed beyond sense, Dick forgot himself and kissed him. Bruce opened his mouth and allowed the touch to deepen, encouraging him, but deprived of the ability to breath through his nose, Dick had to end the kiss or start gasping for air. His attempt at seduction thwarted by an overactive nose, he began to sulk.

"Oh, no, spare me."

Dick glared. "I hate being sick."

Bruce considered this, then said, "Perhaps I can do something to make you feel better."

He answered with a smile. Sex with Bruce was his idea of the cure for anything, and it had been almost a week since he'd felt good enough to survive it.

Soft kisses began to explore his face and neck, while hands roved over his body. He squirmed and laughed with delight, his stuffy nose making it sound like a chirp of a real robin. Or a crow. His eyes closed and he let himself drift while a warm loving touch reduced him to a heap of singing nerve endings. He heard the drawer open, the top of a bottle snapping off and spread his legs in anticipation.

Bruce took him in his mouth at the same time he slipped a finger inside him. Dick lasted five seconds before he came. A new record for him. He was licked clean, then waited for the weight of his lover to settle on top of him, for the cock he wanted instead of the finger to settle between his thighs.

Instead, Bruce turned him onto his side, the finger within him continuing to stretch and thrust. The warm, muscular length of Bruce's body snuggled up behind him, and lips nuzzled Dick's neck. "Bought a lot of toys tonight, brat. Mind if I go there first?"

Mind? He wiggled backwards, pushing his backside against the hard cock which had been tempting him for so long.

A chuckle in his ear, more lube carried into him by a second finger, then the fingers were gone, and Bruce began the slow, patient process of entering him for the first time.

The man amazed him. Dick was recovering from an illness and had already come once, but he was nearly frantic to have Bruce buried deep within him. Yet the owner of all that throbbing hardness moved as if he had no immediate plans. Control thy name is Bat.

He tried to hurry things along with a few pushes of his own, but a hand of iron settled on his hip and held him firmly in place. "It doesn't hurt. I swear. Hurry."

"It doesn't hurt, because I'm not hurrying. Now hush."

Damned, flying rodent. He was going to die of frustration if – "Oh!" Sparks went off in his head. The probing fingers had given him as much many times before, but it wasn't fingers this time. Bruce was taking him, moving bit by bit deeper and deeper. He found enough voice to whisper, "Love you."

Bruce nuzzled Dick's cheek with his own, then returned the words.

Precious in their rarity, Dick gathered them into his heart to cherish later, but at times like this, they were redundant. Bruce screamed them with every breath, every touch. Letting it all wash over him, he suddenly never wanted this to end and blessed every excruciatingly slow moment. Full, stretched, claimed. Loved, adored, taken. All the strength of the Bat humbled for him. Let Julie Madison have the limos and the parties. This was his alone.

When he came the second time, it was a gentle release. Almost a sigh of pleasure. Bruce held him through it, then used the relaxation which followed to push in the last inch. A kiss to the nape of Dick's neck celebrated the success, and he expected Bruce to start thrusting.

Instead, the arms tightened again. "Go to sleep."

"Don't you want to. ..."

"I will after a while. Right now I'm fine."

His whole body tingled at the words, but they made him feel like an idiot. "I'm sorry."

"What about?"

"I don't doubt you, you know. But. ..."

Another kiss. "She had a beautiful dress, and you had the flu." He sighed, his breath a warm caress through Dick's hair. "Letting you guide me through this relationship doesn't mean I should ignore my instincts. But I did, and I hurt you."

"Bruce. ..."

"Next time, I'll ask you to curl up on my lap."

"You will?"

"Yes, as long as you promise to be honest with me. No more gestures for my good. And no more testing either." His nose tickled the ridge of Dick's ear.

"Should have known better. Bat's don't get the flu."

"Well, once every decade or so." There was laughter in his voice, even though Dick suspected it was nothing less than the truth. "But some things are worth the price."

He smiled and the last of his cares drained away. "Sleepy," he admitted.

"Sleep, then. I'll stay with you for another hour."

And if Dick knew the Bat at all, in precisely sixty minutes, he would be alone in the bed. The thought didn't bother him now. His lover would hold him close until duty called. Gotham was a mutual obsession, not a rival. He clung to wakefulness a moment longer. "'morrow go with you."

He heard a whispered, "We'll see," then drifted towards dreams of a shipment of toys he would use with his lover, not to compensate for his loss. "Mine."

"Yours."

Part III

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