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femmedelalune (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} femmedelalune) wrote,@ 2007-02-19 22:17:00 |
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DCU, 15, Fantasy Familiar
Fantasy Familiar
Disclaimers: Bernard, Bart, Tim and everyone else in the DCU belong to other people, and no money is made from this.
Rating: 15
Warnings: slash, futurefic, reference to characterdeaths
Bernard returned to the city he was born in, grew up in, witnessed the murder of his best friend in, every year to buy a Christmas tree. Same place every year, just on the outskirts. It was the smell, he insisted. The tree had to smell just so, or it wasn’t Christmas.
He was browsing decorations - white? Yes, white. Bernard was someone who’d decorate his tree in white, though the red and gold look was tempting - when Poison Ivy attacked. She had Harlequin trailing after her, but it was Ivy’s crusade. And, unfortunately, Bernard was right in the line of fire.
Tim had been watching from a nearby roof. Dick was watching the other major Christmas tree farm, and batgirl had her eye on a few places in town. It hadn’t been hard to predict something of this sort would happen.
Tim ran his fingers across the familiar mask, knowing this would be the last time he wore it - barring unforeseen incidents on the way home - and swallowed his regret. He’d already stretched his tenure as Boy Wonder out further than the name ought to allow, and tonight he’d lay down the mask. And see how long he lasted before picking up another one.
He fired the grapple and watched his zip line streak out in front of him, tightening itself once the grapple had caught on the full sized Scotch Pine that fronted the urban farm. As he swung he pointed his toes, more for his amusement than anything else. He released the line maybe half way down and engineered his landing to fall directly on top of Ivy.
The fight was fast and vicious, Robin cutting through vines and creepers and even a few animated trees to finally force Ivy into submission with a can of fake snow, the kind that suffocated plants. With her incapacitated Robin glanced around to see Harlequin kick a cell phone from a bystander’s hand, though he thought she might have been too late to prevent the call. Harley kicked Bernard again, but her foot tangled in his unfeasibly long white coat. He jerked back, startled, but only succeeded in pulling Harley with him, off-balancing them both and leaving them in a tangled yet festive pile.
Sirens began to wail in the distance, punctuated by a “Hah! Too slow, bitch” from the owner of the white coat. Harley bit his ankle.
Robin made a quick study of Poison Ivy to confirm she wouldn’t reassert herself as a threat in the next few seconds, and darted over to haul Harlequin from the innocent young man. She shot him a pleading look, but he shook his head, handcuffing her to a convenient railing.
“Uh.”
Robin looked down at Bernard. Bernard’s eyes ran across every line and curve of Robin’s face, recognition written across his face. Had it not been for the lenses, their eyes would have met in silent understanding. Tim reached a hand down to help him up. Bernard swallowed heavily and licked his lips.
“Are you alright, citizen?”
Bernard looked at the lenses again, unable to suppress a snort of laughter despite his shock.
“Ye- Mostly, sir.” His eyes were bright, challenging. “I’m in a little shock, and I think my ankle might be hurt. Would you help me home?”
Harley burst out laughing, but Robin only nodded.
They were gone before the police arrived, even though Bernard ought to have stayed and given a statement. The newspapers would no doubt be full of rumour that Robin, Urban Legend Junior, had taken home a young man. To whose home, it hadn’t been clarified. Of course, Robin was about to cease existing, so it didn’t bother Tim.
The Red Robin seemed too small for two young men, both taller and better built than their teenaged selves. Now the secret had been acknowledged Bernard seemed at a loss as of what to say. They raced through the shadows.
“I, uh, live in Keystone City now,” Bernard admitted eventually. Keystone? That didn’t seem... right. New York. Los Angeles. Too late to change it now and break the flow.
“I can take you there,” Tim said, “though if your ankle really is hurt we might want to stop somewhere a little more local so I can have a proper look at it.”
Bernard stared down at his feet. “It’s okay, but I think I’d like to stop anyway.”
Tim nodded.
They pulled into a dark garage in a familiar part of town. Tim turned the engine off and they sat in silence for a few moments. He was aware of Bernard’s eyes on him.
“Sorry it’s not the Robin’s Nest,” he said.
“I was hoping for the Batcave, personally,” Bernard told him lightly.
Tim climbed into the back of the car, unclipping his cape as he manoeuvred into the cramped space with the flexibility more famously attributed to his predecessor.
“I need to change,” he said simply.
“Oh. Um, should I...” Bernard trailed off, apparently deciding that simply facing forwards was enough.
In the back of the car Tim pulled a pair of jeans over the familiar tights and a polo neck jumper over the tunic, taking off the belt. He retrieved a small bottle from it, but made no further movement. Finally, he noticed Bernard looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“This is...” Tim swallowed and told himself to stop prevaricating. “The position of Robin is officially vacant,” he said curtly, spraying the substance over the mask and peeling it away from his face. Bernard turned in his seat to watch.
It was the third time they’d looked at each other this way, but the first time their eyes truly met. Bernard’s breath hitched audibly. Tim managed a small smile for him.
“That mask’s done horrors to your skin,” Bernard blurted.
This time it was Tim who couldn’t help but utter a brief chuckle. He crouched in the back of the vehicle, body language still very much that of Robin, and studied Bernard as intensely as Bernard studied him.
“You’ve had your hair cut short. Suits you,” Tim said eventually.
“Thanks.” Bernard paused. “Yours still needs something doing to it. One day I’ll work out what.”
Tim climbed back through the space between the seats and out of the driver’s side door. Bernard took the hint and joined him outside. In the snow Bernard’s white coat provided better camouflage than Tim’s dark clothes. Tim was still wearing the dark green gauntlets when he slipped his hand into Bernard’s. Bernard squeezed, slightly.
The streets grew more familiar as they walked, until they faced a house well known to both of them. Tim’s hand tightened on Bernard’s before letting go. Tim led the way up the path and retrieved a key from the top of the doorframe. He gestured Bernard into the house.
Bernard hung his coat up by the door while Tim wandered into the kitchen, calling for his stepmother.
“Do you... do you live here?” Bernard asked, following him.
“No. I ...stay... here,” Tim said slowly. “Sometimes.”
They stood in the kitchen, awkward on the linoleum. Bernard licked his lips nervously.
“What do you do now?” Tim asked with forced casualness.
“Student,” Bernard said simply. “I take it you’re a full time costumed vigilante?”
“I... was.” Tim sighed heavily. “I’ll probably end up doing it again, but I feel I ought to at least make an effort to quit.”
“You did before, didn’t you?” Bernard said thoughtfully. “You know, I always kinda suspected. Not seriously, but it was a sort of fantasy possibility.”
“Fantasy?”
And then Tim found himself moving before he had time to think and his arms were around Bernard and his lips were very firmly locked to his mouth and his tongue was already finding its way in. Bernard groaned. Tim pulled his gloves off behind Bernard’s back so that his fingers could dig into the fluffy wool of Bernard’s sweater, while Bernard seemed intent on exploring the uniform still hidden under the street clothes.
Tim moved to suck on Bernard’s neck, tongue against his pulse. Bernard made some weak breathy noises and stumbled back against the kitchen table. Tim offered him a predatory smile.
“Bernard,” Tim growled.
“Tim,” Bernard murmured. “Shall we?” He jerked his head towards the stairs.
Tim raised an eyebrow and smirked. “How long have you...”
Bernard flushed slightly. “A long time,” he admitted. “You wrecked me when you left.”
“Wrecked?”
He grimaced. “I lost two best friends,” Bernard pointed out. “I worried about you.”
“I lost two sort-of-girlfriends and my father,” Tim said sharply.
“Why did you think I worried?”
“Upstairs,” Tim said abruptly.
“It was a shit year,” Bernard said as he trailed Tim, voicing what he apparently assumed to be Tim’s thoughts. “No one wants to talk about it.” And then, from his own mind, “I wish you hadn’t left. The rest of the years were even shitter.”
“Is that a word?” Tim asked.
“Don’t know. I just know that’s how it was.”
“Shitter.”
“Yes.”
They were in Tim’s room by this time. The computer hummed serenely in the corner. The bed was a small single, tucked against a wall, and some of the posters hadn’t changed since Bernard’s last visit. Tim hadn’t lived her in a long time.
Tim pulled the sweater over his head and kicked the jeans off, exposing exactly as much flesh as he had before. He glanced over his shoulder at Bernard, who looked as though he was about to start salivating. You didn’t have to be naked to be attractive, and Bernard seemed determined to confirm this as he plunged towards Tim. His fingers explored every inch of the coated Kevlar while Tim returned his attention to that sensitive spot on Bernard’s throat. Between the two of them they began peeling Tim out of his uniform, which seemed to Tim like the best possible way to take it off for the last time.
“Tim?”
“Berr-rt,” Tim tried to save it.
“Bert?” Bart raised an eyebrow at his lover. “Are you okay, Tim?”
“Yeah, fine,” Tim grimaced.
“Whatcha thinking’ about?” Bart asked playfully, bouncing onto the double bed.
“Nothing,” Tim said.
Bart pressed a hand to a distinctive bulge in the sheets. “Nothing?” he asked.
“You?” Tim offered.
Bart leant over and kissed him gently on the lips. “Liar,” he said as he pulled back. “But I’m still flattered, so I’ll let it go.”
Tim wrapped his arms around Bart and pulled him close, lying next to him on the bed they shared. Bart stroked his hair and kissed him again. He was slippery in Tim’s arms, the Flash suit being almost frictionless. Bart had disappeared after Wally’s funeral, for what only Tim had recognised as years. Tim hadn’t had that advantage when Bruce died, but Bart had been there.
“How’s it feel to know today’s the last day you’ll be Robin?” Bart murmured, slipping his hand beneath the sheets to tangle his fingers in the hair on Tim’s belly and below. “You okay?”
Tim reached over and pulled the still unfamiliar red cowl away from his boyfriend’s head. Bart had cut his hair short now, in what Tim realised was the cut he’d attributed to Bernard in his fantasy.
“Yeah,” he lied.
“Why don‘t you let me help you take the uniform off tonight,” Bart purred in his ear. “Make it... special.”
Tim swallowed heavily and stared at the ceiling. “I... I appreciate it, Bart, but I don’t think I’ll exactly be in the mood.”
Fantasy Familiar
Disclaimers: Bernard, Bart, Tim and everyone else in the DCU belong to other people, and no money is made from this.
Rating: 15
Warnings: slash, futurefic, reference to characterdeaths
Bernard returned to the city he was born in, grew up in, witnessed the murder of his best friend in, every year to buy a Christmas tree. Same place every year, just on the outskirts. It was the smell, he insisted. The tree had to smell just so, or it wasn’t Christmas.
He was browsing decorations - white? Yes, white. Bernard was someone who’d decorate his tree in white, though the red and gold look was tempting - when Poison Ivy attacked. She had Harlequin trailing after her, but it was Ivy’s crusade. And, unfortunately, Bernard was right in the line of fire.
Tim had been watching from a nearby roof. Dick was watching the other major Christmas tree farm, and batgirl had her eye on a few places in town. It hadn’t been hard to predict something of this sort would happen.
Tim ran his fingers across the familiar mask, knowing this would be the last time he wore it - barring unforeseen incidents on the way home - and swallowed his regret. He’d already stretched his tenure as Boy Wonder out further than the name ought to allow, and tonight he’d lay down the mask. And see how long he lasted before picking up another one.
He fired the grapple and watched his zip line streak out in front of him, tightening itself once the grapple had caught on the full sized Scotch Pine that fronted the urban farm. As he swung he pointed his toes, more for his amusement than anything else. He released the line maybe half way down and engineered his landing to fall directly on top of Ivy.
The fight was fast and vicious, Robin cutting through vines and creepers and even a few animated trees to finally force Ivy into submission with a can of fake snow, the kind that suffocated plants. With her incapacitated Robin glanced around to see Harlequin kick a cell phone from a bystander’s hand, though he thought she might have been too late to prevent the call. Harley kicked Bernard again, but her foot tangled in his unfeasibly long white coat. He jerked back, startled, but only succeeded in pulling Harley with him, off-balancing them both and leaving them in a tangled yet festive pile.
Sirens began to wail in the distance, punctuated by a “Hah! Too slow, bitch” from the owner of the white coat. Harley bit his ankle.
Robin made a quick study of Poison Ivy to confirm she wouldn’t reassert herself as a threat in the next few seconds, and darted over to haul Harlequin from the innocent young man. She shot him a pleading look, but he shook his head, handcuffing her to a convenient railing.
“Uh.”
Robin looked down at Bernard. Bernard’s eyes ran across every line and curve of Robin’s face, recognition written across his face. Had it not been for the lenses, their eyes would have met in silent understanding. Tim reached a hand down to help him up. Bernard swallowed heavily and licked his lips.
“Are you alright, citizen?”
Bernard looked at the lenses again, unable to suppress a snort of laughter despite his shock.
“Ye- Mostly, sir.” His eyes were bright, challenging. “I’m in a little shock, and I think my ankle might be hurt. Would you help me home?”
Harley burst out laughing, but Robin only nodded.
They were gone before the police arrived, even though Bernard ought to have stayed and given a statement. The newspapers would no doubt be full of rumour that Robin, Urban Legend Junior, had taken home a young man. To whose home, it hadn’t been clarified. Of course, Robin was about to cease existing, so it didn’t bother Tim.
The Red Robin seemed too small for two young men, both taller and better built than their teenaged selves. Now the secret had been acknowledged Bernard seemed at a loss as of what to say. They raced through the shadows.
“I, uh, live in Keystone City now,” Bernard admitted eventually. Keystone? That didn’t seem... right. New York. Los Angeles. Too late to change it now and break the flow.
“I can take you there,” Tim said, “though if your ankle really is hurt we might want to stop somewhere a little more local so I can have a proper look at it.”
Bernard stared down at his feet. “It’s okay, but I think I’d like to stop anyway.”
Tim nodded.
They pulled into a dark garage in a familiar part of town. Tim turned the engine off and they sat in silence for a few moments. He was aware of Bernard’s eyes on him.
“Sorry it’s not the Robin’s Nest,” he said.
“I was hoping for the Batcave, personally,” Bernard told him lightly.
Tim climbed into the back of the car, unclipping his cape as he manoeuvred into the cramped space with the flexibility more famously attributed to his predecessor.
“I need to change,” he said simply.
“Oh. Um, should I...” Bernard trailed off, apparently deciding that simply facing forwards was enough.
In the back of the car Tim pulled a pair of jeans over the familiar tights and a polo neck jumper over the tunic, taking off the belt. He retrieved a small bottle from it, but made no further movement. Finally, he noticed Bernard looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“This is...” Tim swallowed and told himself to stop prevaricating. “The position of Robin is officially vacant,” he said curtly, spraying the substance over the mask and peeling it away from his face. Bernard turned in his seat to watch.
It was the third time they’d looked at each other this way, but the first time their eyes truly met. Bernard’s breath hitched audibly. Tim managed a small smile for him.
“That mask’s done horrors to your skin,” Bernard blurted.
This time it was Tim who couldn’t help but utter a brief chuckle. He crouched in the back of the vehicle, body language still very much that of Robin, and studied Bernard as intensely as Bernard studied him.
“You’ve had your hair cut short. Suits you,” Tim said eventually.
“Thanks.” Bernard paused. “Yours still needs something doing to it. One day I’ll work out what.”
Tim climbed back through the space between the seats and out of the driver’s side door. Bernard took the hint and joined him outside. In the snow Bernard’s white coat provided better camouflage than Tim’s dark clothes. Tim was still wearing the dark green gauntlets when he slipped his hand into Bernard’s. Bernard squeezed, slightly.
The streets grew more familiar as they walked, until they faced a house well known to both of them. Tim’s hand tightened on Bernard’s before letting go. Tim led the way up the path and retrieved a key from the top of the doorframe. He gestured Bernard into the house.
Bernard hung his coat up by the door while Tim wandered into the kitchen, calling for his stepmother.
“Do you... do you live here?” Bernard asked, following him.
“No. I ...stay... here,” Tim said slowly. “Sometimes.”
They stood in the kitchen, awkward on the linoleum. Bernard licked his lips nervously.
“What do you do now?” Tim asked with forced casualness.
“Student,” Bernard said simply. “I take it you’re a full time costumed vigilante?”
“I... was.” Tim sighed heavily. “I’ll probably end up doing it again, but I feel I ought to at least make an effort to quit.”
“You did before, didn’t you?” Bernard said thoughtfully. “You know, I always kinda suspected. Not seriously, but it was a sort of fantasy possibility.”
“Fantasy?”
And then Tim found himself moving before he had time to think and his arms were around Bernard and his lips were very firmly locked to his mouth and his tongue was already finding its way in. Bernard groaned. Tim pulled his gloves off behind Bernard’s back so that his fingers could dig into the fluffy wool of Bernard’s sweater, while Bernard seemed intent on exploring the uniform still hidden under the street clothes.
Tim moved to suck on Bernard’s neck, tongue against his pulse. Bernard made some weak breathy noises and stumbled back against the kitchen table. Tim offered him a predatory smile.
“Bernard,” Tim growled.
“Tim,” Bernard murmured. “Shall we?” He jerked his head towards the stairs.
Tim raised an eyebrow and smirked. “How long have you...”
Bernard flushed slightly. “A long time,” he admitted. “You wrecked me when you left.”
“Wrecked?”
He grimaced. “I lost two best friends,” Bernard pointed out. “I worried about you.”
“I lost two sort-of-girlfriends and my father,” Tim said sharply.
“Why did you think I worried?”
“Upstairs,” Tim said abruptly.
“It was a shit year,” Bernard said as he trailed Tim, voicing what he apparently assumed to be Tim’s thoughts. “No one wants to talk about it.” And then, from his own mind, “I wish you hadn’t left. The rest of the years were even shitter.”
“Is that a word?” Tim asked.
“Don’t know. I just know that’s how it was.”
“Shitter.”
“Yes.”
They were in Tim’s room by this time. The computer hummed serenely in the corner. The bed was a small single, tucked against a wall, and some of the posters hadn’t changed since Bernard’s last visit. Tim hadn’t lived her in a long time.
Tim pulled the sweater over his head and kicked the jeans off, exposing exactly as much flesh as he had before. He glanced over his shoulder at Bernard, who looked as though he was about to start salivating. You didn’t have to be naked to be attractive, and Bernard seemed determined to confirm this as he plunged towards Tim. His fingers explored every inch of the coated Kevlar while Tim returned his attention to that sensitive spot on Bernard’s throat. Between the two of them they began peeling Tim out of his uniform, which seemed to Tim like the best possible way to take it off for the last time.
“Tim?”
“Berr-rt,” Tim tried to save it.
“Bert?” Bart raised an eyebrow at his lover. “Are you okay, Tim?”
“Yeah, fine,” Tim grimaced.
“Whatcha thinking’ about?” Bart asked playfully, bouncing onto the double bed.
“Nothing,” Tim said.
Bart pressed a hand to a distinctive bulge in the sheets. “Nothing?” he asked.
“You?” Tim offered.
Bart leant over and kissed him gently on the lips. “Liar,” he said as he pulled back. “But I’m still flattered, so I’ll let it go.”
Tim wrapped his arms around Bart and pulled him close, lying next to him on the bed they shared. Bart stroked his hair and kissed him again. He was slippery in Tim’s arms, the Flash suit being almost frictionless. Bart had disappeared after Wally’s funeral, for what only Tim had recognised as years. Tim hadn’t had that advantage when Bruce died, but Bart had been there.
“How’s it feel to know today’s the last day you’ll be Robin?” Bart murmured, slipping his hand beneath the sheets to tangle his fingers in the hair on Tim’s belly and below. “You okay?”
Tim reached over and pulled the still unfamiliar red cowl away from his boyfriend’s head. Bart had cut his hair short now, in what Tim realised was the cut he’d attributed to Bernard in his fantasy.
“Yeah,” he lied.
“Why don‘t you let me help you take the uniform off tonight,” Bart purred in his ear. “Make it... special.”
Tim swallowed heavily and stared at the ceiling. “I... I appreciate it, Bart, but I don’t think I’ll exactly be in the mood.”
