Work Text:
Nightwing’s patrol ends early, and it is by both circumstance and necessity that Dick finds himself back at the Manor at the end of it. Back home, for all intents and purposes. He takes a shower, changes into the spare set of civvies he keeps in the cave, and then heads upstairs.
It’s getting late, and he can’t decide if he wants to just stay the night or try and head back to his apartment in New York. What he does know is that he wants to see his little brother, put in some face time and check to make sure he’s doing okay. Tim should be back soon, so Dick settles into Bruce’s big recliner in the TV room and flips on the set, leaning back and getting comfortable.
After a few minutes he falls asleep.
Sometime later a sound startles him awake. He blinks for a moment, disoriented by bright light of the television. The digital clock on the cable box tells him that it’s about three-thirty, and now that he’s fully aware of things he realizes the sound is coming from the kitchen, just down the hall. Hoping it’s Tim, he hauls himself out of the chair and towards the sound.
Dick takes one step into the kitchen and stops short. Tim is standing at the sink, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs as he takes down an enormous glass of water. Every line and curve of his body speaks of exhaustion, of bone-deep weariness. If Dick knows anything about the kid he knows that it means he’s been working himself too hard again, and Dick curses himself mentally for taking so long to check up on him.
“You look like hell, kid,” he says, moving towards him. When Tim chokes, obviously startled, Dick is right there, patting his back. Tim leans into him, pressing his face into his chest as his breathing steadies out. Dick rubs his back gently; intent on enjoying what he fully expects to be only momentary contact.
After a moment Tim does try to push away, mumbling “Need a shower,” as he presses his hands against Dick’s chest. The move is weak, half-hearted, and Tim frowns a little as he looks up at him. Dick finds himself smiling. “Rough night?” he asks.
Tim nods, his head bobbing lazily, hair falling heavily into his eyes, and Dick makes a spilt-second decision.
Tim feels like he weighs nothing when Dick picks him up, all lean muscle and not much else. He works off almost every ounce of food he puts into his body, and Dick makes a mental note to kidnap him sometime soon, fill him full of pizza and ice cream and anything else he can think of.
“Come on, little brother, let’s get you to bed,” Dick says. Tim doesn’t respond, just wraps his arms around Dick’s neck and grumbles a little.
Tim leans his head against Dick’s shoulder as they head upstairs, and Dick finds himself grateful for the touch. He had planned on wrestling some hugs out of Tim tonight, for the both of them, but he hadn’t expected to get this much out of him. Dick’s been feeling a little needy lately and Tim… Well, Dick’s professional opinion is that he’s usually at least a little below average on the physical contact meter.
Or a lot. It’s all relative. He’s not as bad as Bruce, but he’s still nowhere near normal.
Tim is asleep, or as near as it gets, his breath puffing shallowly against Dick’s neck when they reach his bedroom. Tim’s room now, he reminds himself as he lowers Tim down to the bed.
“Shower,” Tim insists as soon as his back hits the mattress, all the letters of the word blending together as his eyes fall closed again. Dick doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tim look so vulnerable, so open and easy. Whenever he’s awake there’s always something about him, something in his eyes that speaks of calculation, a reflection of the ever-running computer that is his brain. It’s off right now, and Dick studies his face, his half-closed eyes.
It’s endearing, and Dick can hear it mirrored in his voice when he says, “Tim, you’re exhausted.”
He watches Tim frown, his eyebrows furrowing up and his lips turning down, just before he tries to sit up. Dick pushes him back down with an easy hand to the center of his chest and Tim’s frown deepens. He reaches up and wraps his hand around Dick’s wrist.
“Please.”
Tim hates being dirty, Dick knows, and he’ll hate waking up in the morning smelling of sweat. Of course there’s no way he’s capable of taking a shower on his own, and that’s really what Dick’s decision comes down to.
He picks Tim up, hands under his arms, mumbling something encouraging when Tim wraps his arms around his neck, legs around his waist.
The bathroom connected to the bedroom is only a few steps away, and Dick sits Tim down on the toilet seat before he turns the hot water on in the shower.
He turns around to find Tim watching him through half-closed eyes, legs spread languidly to either side, his head almost lolling back. It’s quite the pose, although Dick is sure that Tim has no idea how he looks, of the suggestion in his loose limbs and sleepy eyes.
He needs to focus. There’s a time and a place, and it’s not now, not here.
Of course it’s not as though he hasn’t thought about it before, imagined rooftops and alleyways, couches and even, occasionally, beds. He has an active fantasy life, to be perfectly honest. It doesn’t mean anything.
He takes his clothes off quickly and then turns to pull Tim up. Tim leans into him as soon as he’s on his feet, pushing his face against Dick’s chest and sighing. It sends a ripple of sensation across Dick’s skin, and he squashes it ruthlessly down. There’s no reason he can’t do this, he thinks, his hands hovering over Tim’s hips. There’s nothing more important than taking care of Tim at the moment, his own uncontrollable hormones be damned.
He pushes Tim’s boxers off, steering them towards the shower as soon as Tim steps out of them. Once they’re under the spray he pulls Tim back against him, fumbling for the soap in the shower caddy.
Tim leans back, head resting on his shoulder, and Dick hums in approval. “This what you needed little brother?” he asks.
Tim doesn’t answer, just hangs in Dick’s arms and lets the water run over him, over his head and down his chest. Dick lathers his hands up and walks them back out of the water before he starts to wash him. Tim whines a little as the cold air hits his skin, but as soon as Dick’s hands start moving over him he quiets down. He works professionally, not thinking of anything but getting Tim’s skin clean, and certainly not thinking about what exactly he’s washing as his hands dip low between Tim’s legs.
“S’glad ’m tired,” Tim mumbles, low and so run together that Dick wouldn’t have caught it at all if his ear wasn’t so close to Tim’s mouth. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be heard at all.
He breathes out a startled laugh along Tim’s hair. That’s… that’s something he’s going to have to give some thought. Some consideration.
He rinses Tim off quickly and manages to get them out of the shower without any major destruction. Tim is literally falling asleep on his feet as Dick dries them off, ruffling the towel over Tim’s head for good measure. Dick carries him to the bed and tucks him under the covers, his face slack, eyelashes dark curves across his cheeks. He pushes the damp hair off of Tim’s forehead, thinking absently of how messed up it’s going to look in the morning.
“You can stay here,” Tim offers quietly, turning a little towards Dick’s hand.
It’s not the best idea. Not tonight, to crawl into bed with his very naked little brother. There’s opportunity there, too much of it for Dick to really know what to do with it yet. “I’ve got to head back, actually,” he says instead, even though it’s going to be a miserable ride. “I just wanted to check up on you.”
Tim nods, just barely, and Dick watches as he falls asleep, his breathing deep and even.
He ducks down before he can talk himself out of it, pressing his lips to Tim’s in a gentle, stolen kiss.
Then he goes back to the bathroom to retrieve his clothes, already planning how he’s going to lure Tim over to visit him in New York. So that he can fill him full of junk food and maybe, if he doesn’t chicken out, test the waters just a little.