The snow falls thick and soft around them, as they trudge the last few dozen feet to the door of the cabin. There is no wind to whip the snow into flurries, but it falls so thick only the faint gold glow spilling from the windows assures Tim they are still going in the right direction. They walk in comfortable silence, the only sounds the crunch of their footsteps and the creak of branches as they settle under the accumulating weight. His arms are full of firewood, hacked with prejudice from the trees with branches low enough to be reached. No one had been expecting quite this much snow, and the cabin is not adequately supplied with wood for however long they will be stuck out here. Damian, walking by his side, is similarly burdened, hatchet hanging from his belt-loop. This is their fifth trip, and the younger boy had finally deemed them finished. They will stack the wood inside by the fire to begin drying it out, and hopefully it will be enough that they will stay warm through this little adventure.

They had stripped the branches within easy reach from the trees surrounding the cabin. Any deadfall was long buried, so green branches were their only option. Needing to keep to the low branches had slowed their progress, but no one wanted to risk climbing in this weather. Well, maybe Dick would have. That is one of the reasons they left him inside. Where it's warm. Tim jealously eyes the hood of Damian's coat, and wishes he had the forethought to bring a hat. Or that he didn't get so cold so easily. It is not a problem on patrol, where the heating elements in his suit keep him warm enough. It is only a problem when Brucie-mandated vacations turn into disasters, like most of the things Brucie touches.

Tim is also jealous of Damian's longer stride, which helps him clear the already accumulating snow drifts. It is not fair that he is officially the shortest member of the family. Damian has long since outgrown him, and is still growing. He is fast catching up to Jason's height, much to the older boy's chagrin, and may yet reach Bruce. It does not seem like he will quite match Bruce's mass, though. His figure, built both by his mother's genetics and Dick's hand in his training, is along slimmer lines. He is growing more every day into a frankly beautiful young man. He does not even have the decency to go through an awkward, clumsy adolescent stage, like Tim had. The constant training had helped, but Tim had still had a few moments.

Sometimes, Tim thinks as he stumbles in the snow, it's like I never grew out of it.

He drops the armful of wood to brace himself, and feels himself caught and pulled against a warm, firm body instead. He looks up at Damian, who dropped his own burden to catch Tim before he could fall. Tim's back is pressed against the younger boy's front, one arm wrapped around his waist, another around his chest. Tim's own hands have come up to clutch at the arm across his chest; reflex to prevent himself from falling despite years of voluntarily flinging himself off buildings.

Damian's frowning blue eyes peer down at Tim, framed by lashes adorned with snow flakes despite his hood.

His hair is getting long, Tim thinks inanely, caught by those eyes. I wonder if he's doing it to imitate Dick, piss off Bruce, or because he just hasn't bothered to cut it yet?

His face looms over Tim's, the hair in question falling inky on caramel cheeks burnished pink by the cold. Breath becomes steam in the cold air, ghosting across Tim's face. The sensation makes Tim shiver, suddenly aware of both how cold he is, and how close Damian is. Something flares in Damian's expression, tightening the lines around his eyes momentarily, darkening the blue of his eyes. Tim stares up at him, wordless, trapped by the intensity of that gaze.

Damian blinks and slowly pulls away, keeping hands on his arms as he makes sure Tim is steady.

"Thank you," Tim tells him, grateful for the save, feeling heat rush into his cheeks, hoping it's not noticeable past the cold-flush already staining his disgustingly fair skin. It is embarrassing. He jumps off buildings for a living, for goodness sake. No, he doesn't have the same level of gracefulness as Dick, but really. He thought he'd stopped tripping over his own feet years ago. He waits for the scathing remark. It never comes.

Damian just nods curtly, and his hands lift away slowly, palms then fingers, eyes still intent on Tim's face.

"You are welcome." He says finally, voice low. The faintest hint of accent still lilts his voice on occasion, polished away by his years in the city until it is nearly subsumed into the upper-crust Gotham accent Tim shares. Damian has matured a lot these last few years, changed, and not just physically. Sometimes Tim forgets that. Sometimes it is impossible to avoid.

Tim takes a step away, and cannot quite contain the minute flinch around his eyes as he steps on his left foot. He must have wrenched it a bit when he tripped. It doesn't feel strained, just a tad sore. He will have to be remember to be careful of it or-

"-Eep!"

"…Was that a squeak?" Damian's bemused face is abruptly closer. Understandable, considering he has swept Tim up into his arms without any warning. Or any apparent effort. Bastard.

"No." Tim denies vehemently, hands flailing briefly. "It was a manly sound of surprise. It was a very dignified expression of surprise which perfectly precedes the question why are you carrying me?! "

A smirk firmly in place, Damian starts towards the cabin again, leaving their spoils in the snow. Tim squawks, flailing some more. Damian doesn't even seem to notice, indifferent to his attempts to escape. Tim feels the shift in his stride that mean he had to adjust his balance, though. Hah!

"What are you doing? Put me down! You can't just leave our firewood there. It's cold, and snowing, and I'm not coming back out to find it all once it gets buried!"

"No. You have injured yourself. Again. I'm taking you to Grayson so he can look at it. I'll come back out and get it, and this will all go faster if you cease complaining."

Tim scoffs and crosses his arms. He is not complaining. This is completely unnecessary. He can get out of Damian's arms if he wants, but that will most likely result in him getting dropped in a snow-bank. He is covered in enough snow as it is, thank you. Besides, Damian is warm. This hold has his neck at on awkward angle as he fusses, trying to continue to look around at the whitening world. Neck beginning to ache, he stills, contemplating the wisdom of his next action. He tentatively lays his cheek against Damian's chest for the support, looking up at him. Damian glances down when he feels the increased pressure, but does not comment.

"I'm not injured," Tim continues to insist. "Put me down. I don't need Dick to check it."

"Don't need me to check what?"

Tim closes his eyes against Damian's smug smirk. They have already reached the cabin, Damian's long stride making moments of the distance.

"Drake has injured himself. His left leg." Damian informs Dick, who has come to the door to let them in. They step inside, Dick leading them towards the nest of blankets he has been constructing in front of the fire. The warm air in the cabin feels good, admittedly, though the side pressed against Damian almost seems to burn, despite the layers of cloth separating them.

"Damian is being ridiculous," Tim informs Dick, not bothering to turn his face away from Damian's chest. The warmth feels so good. "It's not even wrenched, just a bit tender. It's nothing."

Dick laughs softly, looking at him, warmth and affection radiating from his smile. "The same way it was 'nothing' when you got shot on patrol in the first place?" He asked, pulling some of the blankets aside, tugging a pillow out from under them, and fussing a bit, dragging a stool over by the fire as Damian continues to hold Tim. It looks like he has drug the coverings and pillows off of every bed and out of every cupboard this place has.

"That was only a graze, and we were in the middle of a crisis. This is totally different." Tim doesn't know why he is still protesting, as Damian carefully kneels in front of Dick, preparing to lower Tim onto the stool next to the nest of blankets. He's obviously not going to win against both of them. It feels good, honestly, to know that both his partners worry about him.

"That 'graze' was a through and through which required 10 stitches," Damian's sharp voice rumbles against his cheek, and his grip tightens with every word. "Was centimeters from severing your femoral artery and is barely healed. You nearly bled out anyway as you refused to let us check it until you nearly passed out from blood-loss. It is still stiff, still aches and you should not have been out in the cold for as long as you were. It is doubtless the reason for your unusual clumsiness."

Tim has to accede to that. All of it. His injury is a large part of the reason Bruce insisted on sending them on this little retreat, to finish healing away from the temptation of patrol.

Though Tim is pretty sure that making a production of sending them away as Brucie in the middle of a society party, instead of quietly just making it happen as Bruce, is a punishment specifically for Tim. Bruce had not appreciated him trying to sneak away from the manor back to his rarely-used apartment to finish healing in peace.

Then again, his partners hadn't appreciated it either, and hadn't complained nearly as much as they should have about Brucie's theatrics.
They had probably all been in on it together.

Regardless, it happened, and Tim can't exactly deny the circumstances that led to it. Tim pats the suddenly harsh grip on his bicep, feeling a tad breathless at the strength of the arms holding him to Damian's chest, and at the fierceness in the blue eyes glaring down at him. He glances away from the intensity, looking at Dick.

Dick is looking at Damian, something indefinable in his expression, a pleased smile flitting at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Tim glances back up at Damian, to find him now staring at Dick, eyes hot and lips slightly parted.

Tim swallows, glancing between them, shifting again unconsciously. Are they finally-?

Two sets of blue eyes arrow in on him and his mouth goes dry as the lingering heat in both gazes rest momentarily on him. He squirms, suddenly very aware of the fact that he is held between them, still in Damian's arms. Damian's eyes flit closed for just a second, and when they open again, they are not heated, but troubled. He lowers Tim onto the stool, practically shoving him into Dick's arms, and rises to go retrieve the abandoned firewood.

Tim's hand snaps out to stop him, catching his arm before he is too far away.

"It wasn't your fault." Tim says firmly. Damian flinches before turning to glare at him.

"I missed the gunman. You got shot. Do not patronize me." His words are sharp and short. Angry.

Tim glares back, fierce.

"I've been doing this longer than you have, brat." He snaps. Tim appreciates that he worried them, but his pride can only take so much. He has been doing this job since long before Damian, worked with Bruce for years, and now he has created his own identity. It has taken a lot to establish himself, and just because he chose to work with Batman and Robin once more did not negate his experience. Just because he has returned to the manor, just because they have been working well together the last few years does not mean he will let Damian walk all over him. He had made the decision at the time that resolving the crisis was more important than treating his wound, and he stood by it. There had been civilians in immediate danger. They have no right to be second-guessing his decisions. "It was just as much my responsibility to watch for gunmen. It is not your responsibility to protect me, or Dick's. I can take care of myself, I've been doing it for a long time."

"You are our partner, now," Damian snaps back, breath coming harsh. "Just because you have had to do so before, does not absolve us of the responsibility now. Just because Father-"

"Damian," Dick's voice is mild, but Damian's teeth click shut on whatever his next words would have been. Tim is still impressed with Dick's influence on the no-longer-demonic youngest Robin, even after all these years. He is wondering what Damian was about to say about Bruce, though, as Dick continues. "It was not your fault. It wasn't my fault. These things happen. We all look out for each other. We all have each other's backs." Dick smiles at both of them - warm and fond, and so happy - and reaches out to flick Tim between the eyes. "Though next time, try to tell us how bad it is before you're passing out, yeah?"

Tim flushes and nods, giving Damian's arm an apologetic squeeze for his words and letting him go. Dick is right, of course. Partnerships need input from all sides to make them work. It is just still odd, sometimes, working alongside Batman and Robin. Odd to think of himself as part of that dynamic, when he no longer wears the 'R'. They had welcomed him into their dynamic, though. It had been sometimes rocky at first, but they have been working smoothly for almost a year now, with no major injuries. They had gotten cocky, and it had almost cost them Tim. They are all still a little prickly about it.

Damian nods at them and vanishes out the door.

Dick helps Tim out of his coat, which is covered in quickly melting snow, and out of his boots. He chatters at him about the things he found in the cabin, what he thinks they should have for dinner, as he settles on to the floor and draws Tim's left foot into his lap, resting on the pillow he had unearthed from his blanket creation. Tim lets the words wash over him, as gentle fingers brush over his ankle, prodding and feeling for swelling Tim is sure he will not find.

"Feels sound," Dick declared, fingers shifting from clinical investigation to gently tracing the contours of his foot, ankle, slipping under the hem of his pants to follow the muscle up his leg. He switches to outside the pants, massaging his way up, until he ends up with his hand cupped gently over the place on Tim's leg that Alfred had removed the stitches from the week before. His eyes squeeze closed, and he leans forward to rest his cheek atop his hand.

Tim reaches out to rest his hand on Dick's hair, fingertips playing gently with the soft strands.

"It wasn't your fault either," Tim's voice is low, ernest. "I got distracted, I didn't see him." Dick, laughing as much as he allowed himself in the Cowl, fighting in perfect synchrony with Damian. The lighting was perfect, full moon and the multi-colored glare from the neon lights cast harsh and soft shadows across the both of them, outlining the flare of Dick's cape and joyful tilt of his head, the brutal grace of Damian's motion. They moved perfectly together. Tim's fingers itched for the first time in years for his old SLR and, lost in the past, nearly missed the glint of light against metal as the gunman took aim. "I'm just glad neither of you got shot, and that we were able to stop them." Glad they shot me, and not either of you. I couldn't have taken it if my inattention cost me anyone else.

Dick smiles sadly up at him, as if he can read that last thought behind his eyes. Before Dick can comment on it, Tim hurries on. "What's all this, then?" He asks, tilting his head at the odd nest.

Dick gives him a look, telling him that the older man is letting him get away with the redirection, before he sits up, practically bouncing in place, excitement oozing off him like he is five. "It's a sleepover, Timmy! It'll get cold tonight, so I figure we should all sleep out here in front of the fire! We have hot chocolate, and there are ingredients for s'mores!"

Tim blinks at him. He thought that was what Dick was going to say. But… He thinks back to the heated look between Dick and Damian, the way the air crackled between them. He…doesn't think it is a very good idea for him to intrude tonight.

"Ahh, I think…" Tim trails off when Dick goes still, hand slowly drawing away from his leg, looking at him with big eyes.

"You don't want to?" Dick asks softly.

"I just think that it might be best if I slept in one of the beds. Let you two" finally figure out that you want each other, finally do something about it, finally figure out that a partnership is only supposed to be two and leave me behind, "sleep by the fire. I'll be fine in one of the beds."

"If you really don't want to stay with us." Dick says, not looking at Tim but at the carefully arranged nest of blankets. Tim feels the loss of heat against his leg, the phantom imprint of that withdrawn hand, looks at Dick's slumped shoulders and sighs. Tim hates disappointing Dick. It's like kicking a puppy. A tiny adorable puppy that only wants to love you and cuddle up with you, and lick you (- and wow, Tim is stopping that line of thought right there, thank you.) Which is patently ridiculous, because Dick is the goddamn Batman.
Tim sighs. It is really no use. He's never been able to deny Dick anything.

"Alright." Tim sighs. "But!" He interjects into Dick's happy cheer. "I'm not sleeping in the middle."

Dick pulls him into a hug, and jumps up to go let Damian in and start some hot chocolate. Tim eyes the nest of blankets. This is probably a mistake, but he has rarely been able to deny Dick anything. Especially something this simple. Something that will make him so happy. At least if he sleeps on the outside he will be able to slip away if he needs to.

He watches the way that Dick's hand comes to rest gently on the curve of Damian's hip, as he directs him inside. He notices the way Damian's whole body curves in towards Dick's as the older man speaks.

He amends that "if" to a "when," and sighs, standing up to see what he can do to help, ignoring the tightening in his throat and the way his eyes sting. He needs to get away from the smoke the fire is producing. That's all.

As much as he appreciates the increase in size and musculature - and treasured the moments he surpassed first Drake and then Grayson in height - there are many things Damian hates about being a teenager. He hates the way his voice cracks at inopportune times, defying his normal perfect control. He hates the rushing hormones. The way the ladies, and some men, at the Wayne Enterprises parties have begun to look at him as more than just a conduit to his Father, or Grayson, or Drake, and have begun to court him directly. They comment upon how much like his Father he looks.

They think it is a compliment, to compare him to his Father. If they had any idea who his Father truly was, it might be a compliment. To be compared to the useless fop his Father plays in public, however, is not. Besides, they are wrong. He does not look like his Father. He inherited most of his facial features from his mother, despite the color of his eyes and hair. His stature is his Father's but that is the extent of the resemblance as far as Damian is concerned. He is glad he does not seem to be alone in that opinion. Dick had once overheard one of those socialite clingers-on call him the spitting image of his Father. The flare of anger Damian read in Dick eyes was unexpected, and covered with a laugh as the other slung an arm over Damian's shoulder and told the woman that she must be mistaken. Damian looked like himself, more than anything. That had brought an unexpected flush to Damian's face. The socialite had cooed (so had Dick) and called him cute, and the moment passed. It had been nice to hear, though. That Dick does not only see his Father in him, sees him for himself. Dick has always done that though; taken him for himself. Though judging by the way Richard will sometimes pause and look at him, he has gained a few of his Father's expressions. Sometimes that pleases him.

Sometimes he hates that as well. He is no longer the child who wished to be all that his Father was. He is his own man. He has learned many things, broken away from the naivety of his childhood. Time and hard lessons have helped him to understand his Father better now than the perfect idol his mother always painted him as. Damian understands him as a man with flaws, with quirks and hurts, and a big heart. A man who still loves them, even though he does not always know how to show it, or even let them believe it. Damian is a man now too, one who has formed his own opinions and ideas. Now he just has to let his body catch up with that fact. It's getting there, but the process is awkward.

His growing body defies his previously perfect control. Despite what Timothy grumbles about, he too has been having some coordination problems as his body changes. (Tim has noticed, though, in contradiction to his grumbling. Tim notices everything, catalogs everything that could possibly be important, especially when it could endanger them on patrol.) Dick seems to adore bending them both into impossible shapes in the name of flexibility and awareness of their bodies. If Timothy had spent these formative years of his life under the training regimen of Dick Grayson he probably would have had significantly fewer mishaps. Or at least fewer ones caught by Oracle's cameras for posterity. Dick had sworn Damian to secrecy about the files, though. If Tim found out he would likely risk Oracle's wrath by deleting them, and Dick seemed convinced there could never be enough footage of adorable, tiny-Timmy!

There are parts of Damian which are inclined to agree.

Though watching that footage, watching young Timothy's interactions with his Father, Damian cannot help but think that if his Father had taken the time to see Tim as a boy-in-training, and not just as a perfect substitute to his predecessors; as Tim and not just Robin, like Dick had done for him - well. That way led furious ranting, pained looks from Dick, disapproval, or awkward stilted explanations as Dick tried to explain away his beloved mentor's inexcusable behavior.

Dick had neatly redirected him earlier, when he would have told Tim exactly how he felt about his father's inability to protect the older boy when it should have been his primary responsibility. Damian had let his mentor redirect him, this time. He disliked causing that conflict in his Batman - fears the day an unbridgeable fissure will open between him and his father, fears Dick's choice, fears he will lose. He is glad that Tim and himself were able to come to terms, despite their frankly hostile start. Making Dick choose between his brothers… Damian had come out on top of that choice when he became Robin purely by dint of Tim making the decision to leave. Dick had been so sad though, with Tim gone. Damian could see now, looking back, what he never would have deigned to notice at the time. Dick had not been choosing between them, he had been choosing both of them, but they had both been too stubborn and hurt and angry to see it. Tim had seen it as Dick making him decide between them and Bruce, who he had saved, who had saved him, gave him purpose. Damian did not want to contemplate the outcome of that choice, which had driven Tim away from his beloved Titans, and into a mantel to which he was unsuited, though he had adapted to it, and it to him, until he had once more made a name for himself within the community.

Dick is ecstatic to have them both back. It has been nearly two years since their tentative foray into partnership and Damian still sometimes sees Dick grinning sappily at them whenever they interact peacefully. The fact that Tim's presence has drawn both Brown and Todd back into the fold brings his Batman joy beyond expressing. Damian is glad for that, though he likes it best when it is just the three of them, and he thinks Dick does too. Sometimes he manages to rope Tim into their routine, luring him away from his computers, or staff routines, coaxing them through stretches together with warmth in his voice and firm, guiding hands. The peace in his eyes at those times, them all on the mats, cave quiet save for their breathing, the distant rush of water and the ever-present hum of the machines, the joy and warmth… Sometimes Damian thinks he would do anything to ensure that look never fades again.

Those sessions are deceptively helpful, for all that Damian normally feels made of taffy when they are done. They are also torture, fuel for his dreams in the dark of the night.

He cannot control the dreams that come to him now. Unfulfillable dreams, confusing dreams, full of lithe, dark haired figures, firm hands, and hot mouths. He has been dreaming nearly constantly for months, waking hard and aching. He knows, intellectually, that the dreams are normal, and so are his body's reactions. A part of his maturation process. He has done his research, knows what to expect. Knew, even before one horrendously awkward conversation with his Father, Dick sniggering unhelpfully from the background as the Batman stammered and blushed his way through an explanation of the 'the birds and the bees' (The Bats and the Cats~! Dick had hooted from the background) to a mortified Damian. Dick had somehow managed to capture a frame from the security footage in the cave of that conversation, both Wayne's faces tinged red, Damian looking disgusted, shouting, with his hands over his ears. Dick was practically collapsed with laughter in the background, tears of mirth on his face as he laughed, and Bruce in the foreground, face red but set determinedly, as he pointed at a graph on the statistics of teen pregnancy.

For someone who had told Bruce to 'man-up' and 'I'm not giving the BabyBat The Talk!' Dick had taken unholy joy in hanging around to comment and offer personal anecdotes.

Damian is fairly certain Dick does not know it, but Damian has his own favorite still from that day. One of Dick pinned under him, arching up into it, still laughing. Damian had tackled him into the mats to try to get him to stop telling a detailed story about the time Roy had gotten hit with sex-pollen while only Dick and Kori were around, and how they had happily taken care of him until it wore off. When Dick had relaxed under him, going limp and smiling up at him with pleased eyes, Damian had caught himself seconds from capturing that smile with his own lips. Damian had beat a hasty retreat to the showers, instead, and refused to look at Dick or his Father for the rest of the day.
He hates the way he feels so out of control, the way he needs in such a physical, uncontrollable way. The sensations themselves are often pleasant, but it is the loss of control he resents.

He hates it more when he wakes, nestled in the nest of blankets before the fire that Dick had been so proud of, to find himself rutting against his brother's - his mentor, his Batman's - firm abs. Hard cock peaking out of the slit in his boxers, sliding against skin bared where the shirt Dick had gone to sleep in has ridden up. Slick fluid pearls in the wiry patch of hair that trails down into Dick's own boxers. The friction of coarse hair against sensitive flesh is almost unbearable now that he is awake.

Damian freezes, cursing the situation. Cursing his Father for suggesting a group skiing trip, and himself for acquiescing. Cursing the gods for the freak storm that trapped him in this cabin with Grayson and Drake. Cursing Grayson for insisting they all sleep together in front of the fire, rather than their perfectly comfortable beds. Cursing himself for giving in.

He knew it was a bad idea, too close, too tempting, dangerous, but impossible to resist. Not when he has wanted for so long.

A faint moan rumbles in the chest he is pressed against and Damian's eyes fly up to meet Dick's, blue eyes meeting blue-grey. Damian's anxious gaze meets Dick's, who is staring down at him, lust and affection darkening his eyes. Damian goes still, exerting ruthless control to still the twitching of his hips.

"Grayson, I-" Damian starts, fear suddenly choking his voice, not sure what is happening, or what to do. Lies. He knows what this is, knows it has been building, pulsing between them, rising slowly to the breaking point. But he is not sure if now is the time, not sure how to explain, how to ensure it all works out. There are more factors at play than just Dick and him. Dick's hand comes up and he lays a finger across Damian's soft lips. Damian falls silent.

They hold gazes for a long moment, speaking without words of the many half-caught glances, fully formed thoughts, and restrained action. Of interest suppressed for years, until Damian was of an age to give legal, informed consent, to grow fully into his own. Of shared interests now bared. Dick's eyes hood when he reads that consent, that shared interest, in his younger partner's, his Robin's, eyes. So Damian takes, no more hesitation. This is happening, finally happening, and he takes full advantage of that; surges up to kiss his Batman.
He is caught, as he always is, held firm and warm, seized and pulled against Dick's body as the other rolls onto his back, working the kiss, encouraging Damian to continue to rut against him, encouraging the slightly larger man to blanket him, rolling his hips up against the firm body above him. Hands bury themselves in dark locks and pull, dragging Grayson up into the kiss, pulling himself down into it, trying to meld their mouths into one, teeth clacking, and tongues exploring. Damian is inexperienced, new to the whole concept, but Dick guides him through it, rousing his passions, yet taming the violence, just as he always has. The kiss turns soft, exploring, but no less passionate, before picking back up into biting aggression as lust builds, the need of years finally granted outlet.

Hands flutter over his back, teasing below the waistband of his boxers, tugging at them, before encouraging him to wiggle out of them entirely. Firm hands settle against his buttocks and squeeze, wrenching a moan out of him, stolen from his mouth by Dick's busy tongue. One hand remains there, squeezing and helping him to thrust, as the other goes wondering again. Calluses drag and catch on scared skin as fingers walk themselves back up his side then drag nails down the spinal-replacement scar, silvery and faded with the years. These hands know him precisely, but never have they touched him so intimately, with so much passion.

It is the stuff of fantasies he has refused to admit to himself, waking panting and hard in the night, grasping at empty air for hands that did not reach back, thrusting against firm bodies that melt away along with Morpheus' regard. The only thing that will make this more perfectly match those vivid dreams - is trying to unobtrusively slip out of the shared nest of blankets.

With the kind of unison that had made them such a formidable Dynamic Duo, Dick and Damian both reach out and grip Tim, breaking their kiss with great reluctance to turn blazing, desire flooded eyes to pin the middle boy with their gaze.

Tim feels a moment of pity for the criminals who have faced this pair, so in tune with each other. He doesn't let that stop him from tugging against Dick's implacable grip on his wrist, deciding to ignore, for now, the equally firm grip Damian has on his shoulder, they way they reached out to him together.

"Going somewhere, Timmy?" Dick's voice is low; rough and smokey with arousal and lingering sleep. It sends shudders through Tim he tries desperately to hide. By the wicked gleam in Damian's eyes he fails.

"Let me go Dick," Tim says, some of his temper and hurt making it into his voice despite his best efforts. "I, if you and he want to-" Tim tries to suppress the flush on his cheeks when he thinks about what exactly they had been doing, practically on top of him. "That's your business. But I don't want to watch it."

Dick chuckles, then moans when Damian drops his head to bite at his neck in punishment, or reward, or both, for the friction provided by his rippling abs. Tim tugs harder at the restraining grip, not yet ready to resort to violence to get out of the hold but fast approaching the point.

"Now I know you're lying to me, Tim. Little stalker Timmy doesn't want to watch?" Dick teases, rolling his hips up into Damian, and Tim feels the hurt stab through him. Dick has never used that against him before; never used it to hurt. Why would he now, when he has to know how much Tim has always wanted him. He picked Damian. Again. Fine. He doesn't have to rub it in.

Without even looking Damian intercepts the nerve strike Tim began instinctively in reaction to the hurt, trying to get Dick to release him. He raises his head to peer at Tim through sweat-dampened bangs, grip firm on Tim's other wrist now. The spot on Tim's shoulder where his hand had rested feels cold.

They each have hold of a wrist, reaching out to him from where they lay entangled. Two pairs of blue eyes drag along Tim's form, coming to rest caressing the obvious tent in his boxers. Tim flushes a brilliant red, and tugs against their hands again, wanting to cover himself. He tries not to be ashamed of his reaction to waking up to the two of them writhing beside him like a dream come true. He is only human, after all, and they were both gorgeous. Dick was still the picture of masculine beauty. Even Damian has grown to be strikingly beautiful, if such a term can be applied to Bruce's strong build combined with Talia's exotic features and the boy's own cocky attitude. They have not truly been at odds in years, and Tim will admit to having entertained…thoughts. It did not seem to matter now, though, if Dick and Damian had finally decided to move past whatever had been restraining them from coming together.

Damian uses his grip on Tim's wrist to pull the older boy closer, breaking into his depressing line of thought. "What Richard is trying to say in an even more inept manner than usual is; why should you only watch?"

Tim's dazed blinking is just enough a distraction that he is caught by surprise when Dick's leg flashes out from beneath the blankets to sweep his legs out from under him. Damian rides the powerful surge of Dick's hips like they had choreographed the move; spring-boarding off and launching himself at Tim, pinning the now-smaller man under him, mouth attacking lips parted in surprise.

He may be a novice at kissing, but he is a fast learner, and Dick is a good teacher. He licks his way into Tim's mouth, trying to employ all the gentleness Dick showed him. He has shown Timothy too much violence over the years, now is not the time for more.

Tim is unresponsive for a long moment, muscles like cabled steel under Damian's hands, and lips unyielding to questing tongue. Slowly, slowly, he relaxes as Damian's stroking hands are joined by Dick's light petting along both their bodies. When Tim finally, finally begins to respond, Dick can feel the tension drain out of Damian in reply.

The youngest pulls out of the kiss with a last swipe against Tim's reddened lips before staring down at Tim with a serious expression.
He will utter no apologies. There have been enough of those, tacit though they were. There were mistakes on both sides; pettiness, and hurt and aggression. Though Damian can now admit, through the lens of years and Dick's teaching, that the initial hostility was solely his fault. No good, no further resolution, can come from rehashing that. All that remains now is to see if Timothy will allow this, despite everything. If he will accept Damian's advance not just as an addendum to Dick's, but on its own merit.

Tim doesn't know where to look, what to think. He can barely reason past the slight throbbing of his lips, and the much more urgent throbbing between his legs. His eyes dart back past Damian to land on Dick's wistful, hopeful smile.

He doesn't understand.

They've finally kissed. And more. Something has finally broken them both past the resistance of years, into something Tim has seen as inevitable almost from the start. Why are they spending what should have been their special moment to try to seduce him into their bed? Seeing as they hadn't really even gotten together yet, they couldn't possibly be bored with each other yet, and while he could totally see Dick wanting to bring an occasional third into a relationship, surely not this soon. Or maybe not. He was kinda the serial monogamous type. Besides, Damian struck him as far too possessive to allow such a thing. (Tim wondered on occasion if the younger boy even realized he always referred to Dick as his Batman.)

What are they doing with him?

Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because Dick's happy, lustful, hopeful smile slides into a sad one.

"Oh, Tim…" Dick leans down, past Damian who shifts the slightest bit to allow him, and, ignoring Tim's widening eyes, takes his mouth in a kiss. Tim is whining into it practically before it starts, eyes fluttering shut, mind wiped by the fulfillment of one of his oldest fantasies. A dream spawned in the days where a kiss was all he could imagine, and he could think of nothing better than being encased in those warm arms which had once held him so gently, star of one of his earliest memories.

Now, it is a different set of arms that holds him steady as Dick takes possession of his mouth, nipping playfully at his lower lip. He sets his teeth into it and tugs gently, eyes open to watch Tim melt, loving the choked mewl that earns him, and the buck of hips echoed through Damian's hot body sandwiched between them.

Tim follows the pull, lips meeting Dick's over Damian's shoulder, their tongues playing between brushes of lips, as Damian feasts on Tim's neck and holds him tight with strong arms wrapped around him.

When he is finally convinced he has driven the rational thinking out of Tim's mind, Dick pulls back, waiting until Tim manages to drag his eyes open again to make his case.

"We both want you, Timmy." Dick says plainly, all earnest, sad puppy-eyes and deliciously puffy lips. "I want both of you. Dami wants both of us. Do you want us?"

The obvious, physical, answer to that question is hard to deny, when he is sure that Damian can feel his hardness pressed into his stomach, just as Tim can feel Damian's against his hip. His lips still tingle from Dick's kiss, and the lust in his eyes is impossible to mistake.

Still, somehow, incredibly, unbelievably, he gets the feeling they are not simply talking about the physical, here. They are talking about something more, something with both of them, and that - That is terrifying.

Tim places a hand on Damian's chest and pushes, slowly, backing the teen off of him, and by default Dick as well, trying to give himself room to think. He pulls himself up to sitting, crossing his legs and trying to collect himself.

Tim looks at Dick, on his knees in front of him with golden skin shining in the firelight, dark sweat-damp hair falling across hot eyes, body perfect and erection bulging against its confinement. Did he want him? Gods, yes. Since before he knew what it was to want someone, he had wanted Dick. That feeling had never gone away, always a low-level hum, even below his attraction to various others. He has long since given up hope though, and to be presented with it now, is almost more than he can take. But want him? That was never in doubt.

Damian… The younger man crouches before him, gloriously nude and proudly erect, toned muscle tense, looking ready to spring; forwards or away, depending on Tim's answer. Tim could never have fathomed an attraction to the violent, arrogant brat who had first arrived in Gotham. This man though? Who has grown up so much, grown so strong, and who is, if not compassionate, than at least determined to be the best he can, and protect his city and its people.

Him, Tim could want.

Could love. He could love both of them, so easily. Is already on the cusp of it, working so closely with them these last few years.
It is exhilarating.

Dangerous.

Terrifying.

What do they want from him? Dick said they wanted him, and yes, he can tell that, but for how long?

"What-?" Tim begins, seeking clarification, reassurance, something, but Damian cuts him off.

"I love you both," Damian says, cutting through Tim's question, plunging fearlessly, unflinchingly into the situation, as he has approached everything else in his life. "I want you both by my side, for as long as our lives permit."

His eyes are full of trepidation, but no uncertainty. He will not run from this, now that it is in the open. He has never run from anything in his life. He will not start now, with something so important to him. He could never have imagined that the one he saw as standing in his place could become so precious to him. That the one he tried to kill could make as good of a partner as his Batman, that the three of them could become so seamless a team. They had, though. Slowly, haltingly, they had come together again, holding Gotham together by blood and sweat, by pain and fear.

Dick and Damian's partnership had never faltered, simply widened, broadened to include Tim; his meticulous planning and endless lists, his interfering meta friends, and Brown, and Todd for some unfathomable reason. His grace and deadly beauty. His biting wit, and playful nature which finally started to re-emerge, crippled and limping from the events of the last few years. Dick was more than happy to help nurture it back to health, though, despite Damian staring on in wide-eyed horror as the two, sometimes three or four when Todd and Brown were around, ex-Robins traded terrible puns and jabbered on about old music and took a night off patrol to drag Damian blindfolded train-surfing.

Tim lays fingers gently against his throbbing lips. He should say no.

He should say no, and remove himself from the room. Leave the other two to comfort each other from his rejection, to come together as they belonged. These had been good years, working with them, part of their seamless dynamic; counterpoint to their flaws, as they were to his. He should not allow them to complicate their working relationship, their personal relationship, with this ill-advised threesome.
He should say no.

Tim opens his eyes. Dick is literally biting his lip, nearly splitting the skin with the effort not to speak out, not to further his case, to let Tim think it through on his own. Damian is motionless, eyes riveted to Tim, expression totally blank. Unreadable, save for the tiny nervous twitch of fingers, and the way he leaned subtly against the reassuring presence of Dick at his side.

He should say no.

He holds out his hands to them instead-

-And is bowled over onto his back by Dick's enthusiastic response, lips claimed as the older man writhes full-length against him. Damian impacts their entwined forms a half-second later, hands and lips everywhere, and Tim loses himself in a haze of sensation, touching and touched.

He doesn't know how this will work, or if it will come to a messy end, but as he gasps into Damian's hungry mouth while Dick's tongue does wicked things to his chest he cannot regret his choice. They still have many things to talk about, but that will come later. He will see where this goes, and if he is truly, wonderfully lucky, they will create something that will endure for the rest of their lives.