I own nothing DC Comics are the gods of the graphic universe and own all...

The Gift
Jay Tryfanstone

I sit here, in this space that is mine. Outside the window night unfurls against Alfred's roses, changing one familiar landscape into another which is almost a different country. There is little trace of the earthquake that devastated this garden: in some places, Alfred rebuilt what was lost: in others, he has changed and altered what was once certain. My hand rests on a newspaper, but now, I am content to remain in silence, my thoughts adrift.

Behind me I hear the heavy, soft thud of the front door, Alfred's voice, clearly accented. The swift light steps that cross the hall. I can almost feel the hand on the door, Nightwing's step, exact, beloved, on this faded carpet. Sitting, I feel the heat of his body behind me, as he slips one arm around my shoulders and drops a kiss on my hair, the soft sound as he breathes in, rests his chin on top of my head.

I am not a physically demonstrative man. I find it hard to respond to Dick's touch, his habit of always having some part of his body against mine, the way he leans against my legs or rests his arm against my back, the confidence with which he curls his head into my shoulder when we sleep. There are times when I find it almost unbearable that I find it easier to respond with violence than with love: I cannot remember how many people have fallen before my fists, under my feet: I can probably count on one hand the times that I have reached out to him for a physical reassurance of his presence. Every time he touches me, I thank whoever blesses us that he does not seem to care.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

("Are you sure?"

"No." Nightwing's voice is cheerfully honest.

"I could always ask someone else."

"Hey, Babs," Dick says "I might not be sure, but you asked me first. I get first dibs on this one.")

In the car, the three of us are silent. I don't know what Alfred thinks, although I know that both Dick and Barbara have discussed this with him. I know Dick is uncertain, excited, apprehensive, tension running through the body that touches mine so lightly.

("Hello?"

"Babs?"

"I've got a date."

"When?"

"Thursday. What would be easiest? Do you want to bring the stuff round? Or bring yourself?"

"What about the temperature?"

"It'd probably be better if you were here. I'll take myself shopping."

"Bassinets? No, tempting fate...I'll come round. Morning, afternoon?"

"Six o'clockish?"

"Cool. Babs -"

"Second thoughts?"

"No. But -" Dick pauses. "Can I bring Bruce?")

He didn't tell me until Barbara had found a date. I knew, of course, that they had decided this long ago when they were teenagers, perhaps when they were lovers, perhaps in that black period when Barbara was building a new life that ran on wheels, not legs. I've never asked. It was never my business. But when Dick came and told me, when he asked me to go with him - How could I say no? How could I explain this unreasoning fear?

(Barbara laughs. "So I don't have to embarrass myself in the newsagents', then?"

"Babs, you could probably open a bookstore with the amount of stuff you've got on that lap-top. Porn comes digital these days, remember? But that wasn't what I meant."

"I know." Babs' voice is sober now. "And I'm not quite certain about how Bruce is going to see this..."

"He's cool."

"Yeah..But what does he really think?"

Nightwing smiles. "This is Batman we're talking about. I don't know. But I do know that if I want him to be there, he'll be there."

"Ahhh." Barbara says. "Such is love...You want him there, Wingster?"

"I do."

"Then bring him. After all..." Babs laughs.

"What?"

"Well, I can't work out if he's going to be a daddy or a granddad or a slightly detached and bizarre uncle, but he's certainly part of the family.")

Alfred pulls up outside the Clocktower. Gravely, he reaches into the glove compartment and extracts a small insulated carrier.

"You might need this, Master Dick," he says.

Dick reaches forward. "Thanks, Alfred."

"Master Dick -"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

Dick lays a hand on Alfred's thin shoulder, grasps it. As Alfred's own hand comes up, for one second, to touch Dick's in reassurance, his eyes meet mine in the mirror. I'm not the only one who is worried.

("But Dick-"

"Yeah?"

"Don't get the samples muddled up. I'm not birthing little bats."

"Are you so sure, Batgirl?")

Going up in the lift Dick is silent, his eyes elsewhere. For once, I feel the need to touch him, reach out my hand towards his. The lift stops. He's gone.

Barbara, alerted by Alfred from the carphone, waits in the doorway. She sees Dick first, striding along the corridor with that insouciant, gymnast's grace, his face older now than when they swung together, laughing, over Gotham's rooftops. Behind him, shadowed, Bruce's solid and reassuring figure. Quietly, she lets out the breath she was unaware of holding.

Dick smiles,"You ready?"

"All set. There's a container in the fridge." For a second Bab's face is touched by embarrassment. "Er.. ..how long..?"

Dick's flummoxed. "I don't know." He laughs. "Can I give you a call?"

"Yeah. I won't be far. I just didn't fancy hanging around -"

"Thank goodness," Dick pauses. "You know, we could just do this..."

Barbara's eyes snap to Bruce's. He raises his eyebrows, nods, waits.

"I'd really rather not," she says, with decision.

"Okay." Dick smiles at her, bends down, whispers something in her ear that leaves her grinning. Walks into the flat.

"Love you, short-ass!" Barbara shouts after his retreating back.

"You too."

And Barbara moves forward, looking up at Bruce. "Hey...thanks, Bats."

To her astonishment, Bruce kneels by her chair, clasps her hand in his. His eyes are shut.

"Bruce?"

Bruce opens his eyes, smiles with an unexpected and sweet gentleness. She hasn't seen him look like that since...

"Barbara."

He lets go her hand, rises to hold the door open for her. Leaving, Barbara is surprised to find that the familiar corridor is just a little blurred in her vision.

In the kitchen, Dick is regarding the small plastic container with extreme suspicion.

"It's all very well," he says to his silent lover "saying I would do this, but how one is supposed to manage the actual mechanics.."

"I would have thought that was relatively simple." Bruce comments, a stray trace of humour quirking one corner of his mouth.

"It's different for you."

"I wasn't stupid enough to volunteer."

Dick glares at the taller man. "You weren't asked."

"Thank goodness."

Dick shakes the container.

"How long is this going to take?"

"I'm starting to regret asking you to help."

"What?"

"You think I'm doing this on my own?"

"You're not managing to do it at the moment."

Dick is reminded once again of Bruce's greater weight and height as the big man stalks towards him -

"Hey-"

- and picks him up with both hands and a grunt of effort, hoisting Dick's puzzled but not unwilling body onto his shoulder.

"What -"

"Shut up and think baby thoughts. Hold onto that tube."

Dick sees, from an unexpected angle, Bab's kitchen floor, the polished wood of her hallway, the lintel and tiles of her bathroom. Feels Bruce's muscle flex, and finds himself deposited with speed onto a pile of fluffy towels.

"Stay there."

Dick is still blinking up at the dimmed light when Bruce returns with more towels, a portable CD player and a capped bottle of oil.

"Whalesong?" he says, sorting through a small pile of CDs. "Earth music? Dolphins?"

"Ugh." Dick manages.

"Quite. Ahh..Gershwin." There's a trace of satisfaction in his voice as he turns to look at Dick. "Why have you still got your clothes on?"

"I didn't know I had to take them off."

Bruce sat on the low toilet, grinning a little. "Go on, then."

"Why do I feel this has all gone wrong?" Dick muttered as he shucked fleece, t-shirt and jeans. "Enough for now?" A definite glare at his (clothed) lover.

Bruce's gaze moved slowly down that familiar, beautiful body, a trail of heat that left Dick feeling exposed and..Yes, a distinct trace of excitement. The big man collected more towels and moved, settling himself against the bathtub and covering his black jeans with another towel.

"Come here."

He said to Dick, making of his legs and torso a cradle into which Dick willingly moved, his back lightly against Bruce's chest.In front of him Bruce's hands (Smoothing nightmares, holding him safe against the night, offering him a devastating and life-long passion) opened and warmed the massage oil.

"Hand." Bruce's deep voice said in his ear. With Bruce's fingers stretching and teasing his, with his blood definitely running a little quicker, Dick's thoughts take wing.

"Bruce..."

"Mm?"

"What did you do, before?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..did you ever imagine doing this, before you and I..."

A warmed amusement. "What, help someone provide a sperm sample so his best friend can produce children?"

"No, I mean..having sex, with me?"

Bruce laughs. It's a short, bitter laugh. "It's not something I think about." His fingers still, move to Dick's arm.

"But you must have wanted to." Dick's voice is reasonable.

"Of course I -"

"So how? What did you do? Did you imagine it, or did you try to forget it? Did you ever touch yourself...like this?"

Bruce sighs. "If you're going to be embarrassed, so am I?" He offers.

"Yeah," Dick wiggles in encouragement as Bruce's hands move to his shoulders.

"I'm not doing that guilt trip again." He warns.

"So give me something else."

"Jesus, Dick."

"Go on."

Bruce leans his head back against the rim of the tub as his hands continue their efficient massage. "There was this video.."

"This first Bludhaven one."

"Yes."

"And?"

"It was the first time I'd seen you for years, the first time I'd seen Nightwing's costume. It was a shock how you were still you...and changed. Grown up. I'd always thought of you as a boy, and suddenly...you weren't."

"Bruce, I'm trying to think making baby thoughts here."

"Well, if that isn't calculated...Okay. I never took the video upstairs," He said.

"But?"

Bruce bends his head, kisses the spot on Dick's shoulder that is his alone. "I took my thoughts. I tried not to, but when I closed my eyes you were there. I wanted to rub my hands against your skin, costume, strip it off you..."

"Better."

Dick's body is starting to move against Bruce's hands, a small friction of resistance and acquiescence.

"I thought of your hair on my skin, what it would feel like in my hands, on my cock."

"Mmm?"

"You were a lot quieter then." Bruce pinches one of Dick's nipples, with force, feeling Dick shiver under his touch.

"Do that again. Go on."

"I wanted you in my bed, imagined your body against the sheets, wanted to know how you would sound with my hands on you, if you would laugh or sigh or moan under my weight.."

Dick's breath is faster now, his skin reddening. He turns his head restlessly against his lovers', the black silk of his pony tail between then. Bruce's hand moves to the fastening of his shorts.

"I wanted your hands on me, wanted to know the way your mouth would feel around my cock, wanted to look down and see you sucking me.."

Dick tilts his own, stiff, cock towards Bruce's slick exploring hand.

"I wanted you spread out and willing, hot for me.."

His hand slides the length of Dick's cock, warm against heat. Dick catches his breath.

"The whole lube issue never entered my dreams," Bruce remarked.

"Bruce!"

Honesty, now. Bruce's voice has roughened, gained an edge that sends it sliding towards Batman's. "I wanted to fuck you into tomorrow," he said. "I wanted to be the first, the hardest, the longest, I wanted you screaming and coming and coming again. I wanted to fuck you so hard and so well that anyone else would be nothing compared to me."

Dick's breath is coming in little gasps, one of Bruce's hands on his balls, the other settled into firm rhythm around his cock, Dick pushing against that decisive and aching pressure.

"In my dreams," Bruce said. "It was my cock in you that pushed you over the edge, my hands making you come, my tongue and teeth on you that you screamed for."

Dick's hips are moving urgently against Bruce's legs: moaning, his hand joins Bruce's on his cock, speeds..

Gravel and velvet. "Come for me, Dick."

Dick's body tightens and arches, head back, hips up, as Bruce's merciless hand milks the precious drops of semen and pleasure.

"Bruce," he says, softly, blind, lost in this black space of love.

"It was my name you called when you came," Bruce tells him.

Relaxing, loved, boneless, happy, Dick remembers.

"Shit, Bruce - the sample!"

"I got it. It's okay."

"I must ring Babs." Dick reaches for the phone by the bath.

"Careful!"

Dick's dialling. "Babs, Babs, where are you, we've got it!"

"Really? Fantastic, I'm on my way!"

"Where are you?"

"In the lobby. I'll be three minutes. Oh, Boy Wonder-" Amusement. "Thank you!"

Dick hits the end button, turns round.

Meets Bruce's horrified gaze, looks down at his unclothed body, the unbuttoned shorts, the mess of towels, the oil, the CD player, Bruce's gleaming hands, the sample perched precariously on the toilet seat.

"Oh, fuck."

"Quite," Bruce is rising, gathering towels with speedy despatch.

Dick grins. "Into tomorrow," he says. "But when we get home."

Back in the car, Dick, knowing full well what the answer is, turns innocent eyes on his lover and asks:

"Bruce -"

"Yes?"

"How do you know where Barbara keeps her massage oil?"

Bruce turns his head, smiles.

"What did you whisper to her before she left?" he asks.

Fin.