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Duplicity

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Tim should have been disgusted by what he had seen. And he certainly was—but for all of the wrong reasons. Watching Batman fuck his boy sidekick was disturbing but, because it was Dick behind the cowl, Tim was left with more resentment than horror.

One of the lessons Tim had learned during his career is that there were different levels of disturbing. Sometimes, a thing could be so stomach-churning that it'd be impossible to turn away from. Tim imagined that was what he was experiencing now.

Tim matched glares with the boy looking up at him. Tim couldn't mask the scrunch of his nose, the clench of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. Disgusting, he thought. His glare moved from Damian’s face to the cuffs on his wrists. God, Tim had caught them in the act so many times, it was as if they weren't every trying to hide the forbidden relationship—as if Bruce being gone meant they could do whatever the hell they wanted.

After all, without Bruce, who would notice? Who would stop them?

Who could stop them?

Tim had spent years watching Dick. Had spent most of that time picking up the subtle nuances in his interactions with Bruce. Dick was a hero, sure, but there was always something off about him. So Tim’s opinion and expectations of Dick weren't marred by the discovery of the illicit relationship—he felt as if he had seen it coming, and very little could change Tim’s feelings for Dick at this point—but goddamn.

Why Damian?

The sickness inside of Tim slowly, slowly darkened into rage with every mark he spotted on Damian’s skin. He had troubles discerning which were bruises and which were hickeys—he had more troubles discerning which bruises were left by Dick or by opponents.

Bruises on Damian’s wrists. Bruises on his hip bones. Bruises on his inner thighs.

Tim was holding his breath.

Dick was a strong guy. A nice, gentle soul. But strong. And Damian was not easy to deal with, not even in bed from the times that Tim had watched them. Biting and clawing and wrestling around. Besides, they were already into this kinky shit, by the looks of it, so what was stopping Dick from fighting back if it was already part of Damian’s game? Bruce probably would have wanted it rough, if he had wanted Dick at all, so what was stopping Dick when he was obviously trying to live vicariously through Damian?

As Tim looked over Damian’s body, a creeping sense of doubt plagued his mind. Why was he there? He told himself he had just wanted a closer look. He wanted Damian to know that he had been watching. That their secret wasn't a secret.

But Tim wasn't so sure anymore. His heart beating fast and hard, a surge of mixed emotions rising up inside of him. Anger and jealousy and regret. Why Damian?

He scanned over Damian’s body. Bound wrists above his head, attached to just one of the many pipes that mazed throughout the safehouse. Vest popped open, one pant leg and his underwear wrapped around an ankle, mask off. Dick seemed to like Damian naked, always taking his time in undressing him but always undressing him nonetheless—Tim had always wondered what Dick’s hands had felt like, were they rough or smooth? When he slipped his hand under the vest, down the pants, did his hands feel warm?—but Tim supposed Dick was probably in a hurry. Cloth placed between Damian’s teeth, as if Tim needed to hear them to know what they were up to anyways.

His gaze stopped between Damian’s legs. Tim tilted his head, getting a look at the plug that rested there. No wonder Dick had kept him cuffed—he wasn’t finished, he had every intention of coming back and finishing the deed.

Tim should have turned around and left. He could watch from the tapes or the shadows, like he had been doing for months. He should get out of sight before Dick got back. But he couldn't look away. As upset and disgusted as he was, he couldn't stop looking.

Damian flinched when Tim reached for the plug, the toy jostling inside of him. Even so, he peered up at Tim, hateful. No doubt some choice curses were bouncing around in his head without any room for escape, so he communicated through his eyes instead. Damian’s legs were unbound and Tim was fully aware of this fact, keeping in mind that Damian could and would fight back.

He wasn't sure what he was doing when he pulled out the plug. Maybe he just wanted to take it away, to mildly inconvenience their game. But he wasn’t expecting the filthy, wet sound when he removed the toy. Definitely wasn't expecting the sudden dribble of ejaculate that rolled from Damian’s open hole down to his crease.

Oh, so Dick wasn't putting his game on pause.

He was keeping Damian ready for Round 2.

Heat rushed to Tim’s face all at once, his head feeling dizzy. Damian’s body tensed and relaxed, his hole fluttering, another thick drop of seed rolling down.

Tim felt a sudden surge of arousal, his cock twitching. His lust for Dick overceded any disdain for Damian. If it hadn’t, Tim wouldn’t have spent nearly as much time spying on them. Wouldn't have listened to their breaths and whispers and grunts every time they thought they were in a private room. Wouldn't have watched every sick game they played, their bodies twisted together, mouths and hands and limbs touching. Wouldn't have imagined himself in Damian’s position instead—that it was him that was getting bent over on a staircase, him sucking Dick’s cock while he sat in Bruce’s chair, him getting tied up and fucked in this safehouse. This was the first time he had been so close—he had spent years imagining Dick’s taste, his scent, and now...

As he looked down at the trace Dick had left behind, Tim’s mind went hazy, and he found himself lowering down to the height of the bench. Suddenly, nothing else mattered—it didn't even matter how angry and jealous he was. He wanted it.

The smell of sex filled Tim’s senses. Tim chased after it, the flat of his tongue swiping across the mess Dick had left, ignoring the muffled moan that escaped Damian.

Dick. His first crush on a man, perhaps his first serious crush ever. When he first met the man in person, without the mask, it was like a sexual awakening. It felt like something inside of Tim was pulling him towards Dick, and that was the moment where Tim realized that he was capable of feeling more than just friendly admiration, that he was capable of having these feelings towards men. Dick was everything to Tim, even now. Even after all his sins, even after he had broken the most sacred of codes, even if he represented everything Tim was trained to fight against.

Tim tasted the still hot, bitter seed on his tongue. Damian bucked. Tim was prepared, his hands coming down hard on Damian’s thighs and pinning them to either side of the bench, stopping him from kicking and turning. Damian’s breaths quickened, growling around the gag, still struggling. Tim ignored him. He ducked his head, his tongue stroking over Damian’s entrance, catching Dick’s essence on his tongue. Tim groaned against Damian’s flesh. He could feel his cock pulsing in his pants, wanting escape. His eyes closed shut, trying to savor the moment.

His tongue caught the trickle down Damian’s thighs and crease, then dragged back toward Damian’s hole. The boy jerked, thighs trembling, and groaned into his gag when Tim entered him with his tongue. Tim didn't let up, his grip keeping Damian down, mouth and tongue moving.

Tim could feel his saliva mixing with Dick’s ejaculate. His breaths grew heavier the longer he worked his mouth. His cock was so hard that he was leaking now. He was kneeling on the ground, his hips rolling up into nothing but air. Tim had licked Damian clean but God, Tim needed more—he needed—

Tim pulled back. He expected a kick but it didn't come. It wasn't until now that he could hear Damian’s staccato breaths, his nose huffing. His knees were trembling, his small cock fully erect, his skin darkly flushed. He was suffering under his own body, his state of heightened sensitivity. Damian likely hated Tim as much as Tim hated him—but Tim guessed that right now, Damian was mostly angry at Dick for leaving him like this for so long.

Tim quickly pulled at his clothes, his utility belt hitting the floor. All the while, he looked down at Damian. Sweat was gathered near his hairline, long lashes shadowing over heavy-lidded eyes. He seemed just as dazed as Tim was.

Tim started to free his cock. He eyed down Damian, the red vest pulled apart, a nipple peeking out. Tim had never teased his own chest until the night he saw Dick suck and pinch Damian’s nipples. Since then, it became a part of Tim’s nightly routine.

Even with his cock fully erect with the desire to fuck, a strange feeling washed over Tim as he spread Damian’s legs open. It was something in the act of looming over Damian. This was the sight that Dick had seen, time and time again. Tim imagined being Dick, with this small boy underneath him.

Certainly, Dick had imagined himself as someone else too.

Tim couldn't help it—ever since their first encounter, he felt this deep resentment toward Damian. Just the sight or reminder of him flared up that emotion, as much as he tried to be cordial. And any time Damian messed up or acted out of line, which was far too often, Tim used it to justify his feelings.

This boy wasn't deserving of the Robin name. And yet, he had replaced Tim nonetheless. Tim couldn't wrap his head around it. Couldn't understand why Dick chose this kid over him. Was Dick afraid? It was sad, really. If only Dick had known. If only he had known that Tim was just as sick as him. Tim would have let Dick taken whatever he wanted, and Tim would have called it his too.

That’s really what this all was about.

Why Damian? Who cares?

Tim just wanted to feel close to Dick again, that was all.

His cock slipped in far too easily, Damian’s small body stretched by both Dick and the plug. Damian’s head tilted back, his expression tightening as Tim slid in all the way, as deep as he could, balls pressed against Damian’s ass.

Damian was still wet, lube and Dick’s seed rammed deep inside of him. Wet and warm.  Tim’s eyes fluttered, the breath in his chest tightening, heat rushing through his body. Damian felt good. Tim’s cock touching where Dick had been—that felt even better.

Tim thrusted once, shallow but hard. A unanimous groan filled the air, mixed with a wet sound and the clap of skin on skin. Tim liked the sound. His fingers laced over the bruises, the shadows of Dick’s hand, and Tim gripped hard. He thrusted again.

Something overcame Tim. A sort of adrenaline rush, pulsing in his veins, his heart beating hard. He created a rhythm, rocking into Damian over and over again. Using his hands to help Damian onto his cock. He thrusted quickly, plunging repeatedly into that wet heat.

Tim glanced down, watching as he thrusted in and out of Damian. He moaned, electricity racing down his spine, when he saw the glistening sheen on his own cock. He pushed in faster, longer strokes, mixing up Dick’s remaining ejaculate all over his cock. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing, his nipples hardening, his head hazy.

Dick was a hero. Tim’s hero. And his touch had been nothing more but wishful thinking. He wished he had known. If only he had known.

Tim heard a sputter. He thrusted in particularly deep, heard a clear groan, and glanced up.

Damian had worked the cloth past his lips. It sat below his mouth, on his chin.

But Damian did not scream. He simply glared at him, equally intense as the day they met and fought in the batcave.

It didn't scare Tim into stopping. It didn't make him feel ashamed.

The opposite, he felt vindicated.

Damian had been a problem child since day one.

Tim didn't even know why he had been so worried.

Damian was the replacement, not him.

Tim started moving again. He didn't tear his eyes away from Damian’s face. He wanted to see him wince. He wanted to see his pride crumble and break, like it had so many times when he thought Dick was the only one watching. Tim started pushing in faster, harder. Heart beating loud, heat in his face, hands gripping Damian so tight he could feel the strain in his tendons.

Damian’s voice was louder, clearer. His voice wasn't smooth, wasn't begging. Rather, he grunted between clenched teeth, his breaths husky and haggard, occasionally breaking into a groan or cry. His hands tightened to fists in their restraints, his chest rising and falling with every breath, nipples and cock still pointing with arousal despite the frustrated expression on his face.

The friction around Tim’s cock started to grow hotter, dryer. He kept fucking Damian anyways, fucked him harder. Tim wanted to finish inside Damian. Wanted to fill him up, the way Dick had. Wanted to plug him back up and hope Dick wouldn't even notice the difference when he returned. Hoped Dick’s tongue and cock would touch the places Tim had, hoped Dick would like it.

Tim focused on that thought. It was getting difficult to concentrate. He could feel his cock pulsing and swelling inside of Damian. He wanted that. He wanted—

A loud pounding on the door, breaking Tim out of his haze. Tim glanced back over his shoulder. He had locked the door from the inside—Dick wasn't going to override that, not easily.

Another pound on the door.

“Robin, open up.”

Tim suddenly felt aware of the heat on his body, the sweat on his nape. He looked back down at Damian. The green in his eyes seemed to grow brighter. Tim clenched his jaw.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. He barely recognized his own voice, didn't recognize the menace in it. Damian simply looked at him. “Scream. He'll forgive me. He'll never choose you over me.”

Tim would never forget that first meeting. Not all those years ago, at the circus, before Dick became his hero. No. Tim will never forget meeting the hero. Never forget the pitying look in his blue eyes as they met face-to-face in the cave.

You don't know what you're getting into, Dick had said.

“He only keeps you around because he feels bad for you.”

Tim had trained, prepared for that moment. Years of studying, of honing his body. Even prepared himself from rejection. But it still stung.

You could never replace him, Dick tried to argue, his profile reflecting on the surface of the glass display case.

“He only wants you because you remind him of Bruce.”

Despite the sting, despite Tim wanting Dick’s approval so desperately, he spoke up:

I don't want to replace anyone.

“You don't know him like I do,” Tim said.

“You're wrong,” Damian suddenly whispered, the words harsh.

Tim looked down at Damian, stopping when he realized Damian’s face had changed, a flash of his usual arrogance returning to his expression.

So disgusting that Tim couldn't look away.

“I know him better,” Damian breathed, a sudden smile cracking across his exhausted face. “And that pisses you off.”

Tim stared.

Behind them, the slamming fist on the door, louder now.

“Robin? Robin, are you in there? Open up.”

Tim would never forget:

His words of defiance stunning Dick into silence—until that shock slowly, slowly, eased into a smile.