Humanity

Author's Note: First time attempting a Batman fic. Kind of surprised I never tried it sooner. Anyways, I left the ages quite ambiguous and I feel they're both a little OOC, but you'll get over it I am sure. I'm quite proud of this and a little constructive criticism would be fucking awesome. Has not been combed over for errors, fair warning is fair.

"This shouldn't have happened."

Dick had grown accustomed to hearing those words in the early reaches of the morning—before the birds sang, before the sun rose, even before Alfred awoke. He had grown accustomed to the familiar scent of the sex and sweat in the air and his body tangled into the crisp white sheets stained with cum and blood and lubricant. He had grown accustomed to it, and he enjoyed the familiarity. He especially enjoyed the familiarity afforded to him in the late night between him and the man who sat beside him, hands covering his face in shame.

Of course Dick did not allow the man to know that. Bruce Wayne always pulled the strings, was always the one in control, but to finally be the puppet master was a sweet satisfaction. To finally, in a way, be out of Bruce's shadow was like a sweet poison he refused to put down even though in the end Dick knew it would hurt him—and not in the pleasant way Bruce gave him the night previous and the night before then, and the week before that. No, the pain he would feel would be far from pleasing, but it would be worth it to pull his guardian's strings and to have the familiar scent of sex fill his heart and drive him dizzy with silent desire.

Most mornings as Bruce would begin his regime of pity and self-hate Dick would turn on his side, away from his guardian, and feign sleep, listening to the man breathe—sometimes slowly, calmly, others rapid and even scared—for several minutes before he would slip out of the bed, gather his clothes to make himself mildly decent, and then disappear—sometimes through the window into the glinting dawn, others through the door, depending on if Alfred would be awake or not.

That morning would be different. Perhaps Dick had gained a small dose of humanity after last night's events; maybe he wanted to pretend his little game didn't exist, if for a moment. He sat up beside his mentor and laid his hand on his scarred knee from so many prior encounters with men and women who wanted to hurt or even kill Bruce Wayne's secret identity. It was an unimportant thought to cross Dick's mind, but his nimble fingers traced one scar in particular, just above his knee. One Dick had inadvertently caused when he threw a batarang in a teenage hormonal rage at Bruce for being, what Dick thought anyways, an absolute ass. It was such a silly argument, one based completely on a lack of compromise between them—Dick because teenagers don't know how to compromise, and Bruce; well Bruce didn't need to compromise. He got everything he wanted and more in the end.

It was something that could both be admired, and repulsed. He continued to slowly trace the scar, his body inching closer to Bruce's body. "It should, and it did." He spoke candidly, if softly as to not disturb the overall quietness of his room. It always happened in his bedroom; for good reason too, as Alfred never went to Dick's room first. He heard Bruce suck in a breath as he laid his head on his guardian's shoulder—muscled and bruised and scarred like much of his body. He couldn't help but smile at the warmth despite his desires not to.

In a moment the tension in the older man's body left, Dick's warmth probably doing as much for him as Bruce's was for Dick. Dick would see the questions and thoughts running through the older man's mind; of course Dick was right when he said it did happen—multiple times it happened after all, but should it have? Should it really? For a man who usually had all the answers, for one he felt as lost as he did when he was a child. "Dick, this is—"

Dick groaned, a little more loudly than he had intended. "Wrong, I know." He interrupted with a grimace. "I don't care." Mentally he added how much he absolutely adored being able to lord over his mentor, even if it was from the shadows. It was a win for all involved; both got a release and Dick…

"It isn't whether or not you care; it is about how things are." Bruce countered; his moral convictions always made Dick want to grind his teeth, that time was absolutely no different. "We have to stop whatever this is. How did this even happen?"

That was a good question, one that neither could very well answer as both their ideas on the entire affair differed. What the two could agree on was it started one month ago after Bruce returned one night on patrol with Todd. Dick attributed it to need, he needed someone to treat him like a fragile doll one moment and then handle him to the point of, even beyond, breaking the next—he used to have that relationship with Bruce as Robin, but with Jason now as Robin it felt as though he had taken the back-burner. Sure he himself had decided to move on from his role as the boy wonder, but he didn't realize what he would be giving up. When it did dawn on him he planned, planned how to attain his needs.

Alfred had accompanied Jason up to bed to make sure he actually went to sleep; Bruce busied himself on the Batcomputer, his bat suit only half off as he tapped away at the keys with determination shining in his blue eyes. Dick knew he shouldn't have been down there so late at night; he had an early morning class, he had a lengthy day ahead of him and already spent a few hours out as Nightwing, he had been exhausted. But to see that determination, to see his mentor, his guardian, his idol underdressed; his plan had to be put into action then and there.

It had been difficult at first to coax Bruce—he had his moral objections to the practice from the start. Dick simply ignored them as he kissed down the older man's neck, pulling and tugging at the remnants of the bat suit. Bruce pushed on him again and Dick whined, stopping his ministrations to whimper—pathetically so—into the man's ear, hot and breathy. "I need you Bruce." The simple whimper led to retreating into the Manor in a fevered storm of kisses and groping all the way to Dick's room followed by the obvious and inevitable—exactly what Dick had wanted. Bruce was a gentle and as brutal in bed as he was at everything else.

It was no secret to Dick that Bruce felt he had been the one to start the affair; it didn't take the world's greatest detective to notice. Still during the day he acted as though nothing happened at night with Dick Grayson, he stayed calm and aloof, probably mentally noting to himself how he would never allow it to happen again—each time with fail. Dick knew Bruce Wayne well, very well, and hypothesized Bruce blamed himself because he was older, he was the father (adoptive or no made little difference), and he had many pressing matters to worry about than how to handle Dick Grayson. Joker, Bane, Poison Ivy, a slew of nameless thugs, Wayne Enterprises… All were far more important than containing Dick Grayson.

Dick didn't know how long he had been in his little reverie but he finally pulled from it with a gentle laugh. "I wanted it."

"You're too young to know what you want."

It almost sounded accusatory, and extremely hypocritical. Dick hummed thoughtfully as he pulled away from his guardian, untangling himself from the sheets and pulling himself up to his feet. "If I remember correctly you've been taking what you want since before I was born." It was a cool statement, a passive-aggressive hint of annoyance. "You should leave, Alfred will be awake soon."

"Dick—"

"It is almost sunrise, wouldn't want to explain to him why you're in my bed naked and not in your own."

That made Bruce practically spring from his place as though something hot poked him and he began to gather his clothing strewn about the room.

With a satisfied grin he too started to make himself decent, though not without sneaking glances as he pulled a thermal over his lithe chest. Without another word from Bruce he left, and Dick didn't even bother to stop him. They would be together in the room again—wrapped in the familiar scent of sex and sweat, entangled in sheets and one another's limbs until Bruce awoke and his routine self-pity began.

Maybe Dick would turn over and pretend to sleep, maybe he would again try to confront the man, maybe he would try something new to see how far he could push and how much he could gain from the man. Either way their days would follow as nothing ever happened and most nights would be filled with bated breath and the closest thing to romance Bruce was capable to giving.