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It starts with a rough day and too much tension between his shoulders. It starts after the holiday season picks up. There is chaos everywhere. There are far too many meetings arranged, and there is something about his environment overall that pushes him past that limit that he had never even thought about.
It takes him a while to pinpoint the exact thing that pushes him over the edge. Or rather, it takes him weeks to admit that, in part, it is jealousy -bitter and utterly raw- what makes him look up the best escort site Gotham has to offer. The other thing that pushes him in that direction is the fact that yet another gala is coming up, and Lucius inform him that unless he shows up with a date of his own, the suitors, men and women alike, will be all over him.
"Bruce got married recently," Lucius had said. "You're the only route left for anyone that is after the Wayne fortune. The stakes are even higher than before, both because of the marriage and because you are the oldest."
Bruce had scoffed and tried to help him out. "Everyone is welcome to try and woo him. We all know no one will succeed."
"We do, but I am afraid that after your marriage, caution was thrown to the wind. People will not be as gentle as they were before this particular event."
"Do you believe someone will try and add something to my drink and make me sign a marriage license?" Thomas had finally asked.
"At this point, I would believe at least one person is willing to go that far."
Thomas hadn't needed much prompting after that. Soon after seeing Bruce leave the office to pick up his beloved reporter, Thomas had started his search. He did not have the patience nor the desire to go out and date someone at least twice before informing them about the gala, invite them and introduce them to proper etiquette for the Wayne events. He had figured hiring someone to play the part would be much easier.
Seeing the young man in front of him right now, he can't say he made the wrong choice.
"You go by Robin on the website, but I assume that is a mere nickname," Thomas says as he watches from the couch in his apartment as the man removes the tattered shirt and tight jeans in which he'd arrived. His skin looks golden and soft and unmarred even from where he is.
"That's right," the man replies. He finishes undressing and reaches for the suit Thomas had laid out for him.
"I don't want that. What is your name?"
"What do you want my name to be?"
Thomas's gaze sharpens, his lips curve in displeasure. "Name," he repeats.
The man laughs, finishes with the pants and starts on the shirt. "Richard Grayson, but people call me Dick."
Thomas looks appalled. He waves his hand dismissively and gets to his feet. He approaches his "date" for the night and helps him accommodate the suit jacket. He reaches for the tie, but the man -Richard, Thomas refuse to refer to him as Dick- takes it first and knots it with ease. He tilts his head back when he's done and offers Thomas a big professional smile. It is as empty and bright as the lightbulbs back at the manor.
"I read and memorized the story you sent to the agency. Dates, events, I've got it all here. I don't like not establishing rules for the actual performance, so if you have them, I would really appreciate to hear them now," Dick says.
Thomas raises an incredulous eyebrow at what sounds like an implicit command. At the same time, it pleases him to know he is dealing with someone who knows his job well enough.
"I would like to hear your rules first," he replies, and Richard nods.
"Only two," he begins. "First, no shoving alcohol my way. I don't drink on the job, and no amount of bills will change that. Second, if you want sex after the event is over, the fee per half an hour doubles. Then again, you are Thomas Wayne Jr. Money surely isn't a problem."
"You are correct. It isn't." Thomas's lips curve in light disdain and amusement, and he closes the small distance between them. His fingers rise to cup Richard's chin between his fingertips, and he tilts the younger man's head back, narrows his eyes.
"As for the rules I have," he muses. "Do not speak to anyone if I am not beside you. I hired you to look pretty and fend suitors away, not to mingle and have fun. Your job is to look pretty and agree with what I say. I don't want any discussions on any subject. Take care of the suit. If a liquid or some sort of food falls on it, you will pay for it. I don't dance, so there will be no dance, and you are not allowed to dance with anyone else. You are free to touch me however you wish, and be aware I will take the same liberties to make the act more real. Are we clear?"
He manages to sees the spark of defiance in Dick's eyes a second before he blinks, and he flashes the lovely and empty smile again as he says, "Crystal."
Thomas releases him and nods. He starts hunting for his car keys.
"No comment about the sex, I see," Dick says.
Thomas scoffs. "Who ever said I wished to bed you, Richard?" he laughs. And despite his good looks and clearly charming personality, Thomas honestly doesn't want to spend more money only to have sex and satisfy the mild curiosity Dick seems to have awoken inside him. He is no longer the rich president with carnal needs that act of their own volition. Those days ended after he turned thirty, almost five years ago.
However, somewhere along the night, everything warps, and turns, and like one of Bruce's children is fond of saying: 'it all goes to hell'.
Thomas believes in giving credit where credit is due, and he admits Dick deserves more credit than he ever thought. The man is, after all, a splendid performer and a natural charmer. He is quite silent as Thomas drives them to the gala, speaking only once or twice to comment on how nice the car is. Thomas answers and bites back the need to tell him that in order for their ruse to work, Dick needs to try harder. As it turns out, there was never any need for Thomas to express his worries. The moment the passenger door opens and Dick latches his hand onto Thomas's forearm, the show is on and Thomas has a hard time not falling for it, and that in itself is more admirable than anything else.
Dick smiles as they make their way through the crowd. It is no longer the hollow and painfully bright smile he gave Thomas back at the apartment. No, this smile is actually filled with life and enough fake joy that it even looks real. Dick's laugh is warm and hearty. His hand rarely leaves Thomas's arm, and when it does, it is Thomas who reaches for his hand and keeps is clasped inside his own. People question Dick, because of course they do, and the looks Dick throws his way, the small and apparently intimate smiles along with the happy sighs almost make Thomas forget. He deflects the most pressing questions with an almost eerie confidence and ease, and sooner rather than later, the persons who approach them planning to uncover the truth end up enjoying an amicable chat with Dick. Thomas can say Dick is more professional in those few hours than half the people currently working on Wayne E.
Then people start dancing, an true to Thomas's established rules, Dick takes a seat next to him and idly plays with a glass of wine he never even brings up to his lips. The façade falls for a minute, and Thomas sees Dick's features arrange themselves into what he supposes is trained neutrality. It is too perfect to be spontaneous.
Thomas throws an arm around the back of Dick's chair and brings his own glass to his lips. He takes a slow sip.
"Your performance is admirable," he comments, voice bland.
Dick's eyes barely flicker in his direction. "I am merely doing my job," he says, then pauses. "But thank you. I try not to disappoint."
"It is very clear to me now why you came so highly recommended from the website."
Dick ducks his head, keeps his gaze on the dance floor. He continues to play with his wine while not even smelling it, an after a couple of minutes of contemplation, Thomas notices the way Dick's shoe taps against the floor to the beat of the song currently filling he air.
"Do you dance?" Thomas finds himself asking.
Dick's eyes linger a bit more on him this time. "No," he says.
Thomas almost believes him.
"New rule," he informs, and leans forward so he can press his lips against Dick's ear. "Don't lie to me. While regularly useful, I will not tolerate them from you, especially when I'm asking a direct question. So let us try again. Do you dance, Richard?"
Dick looks mildly surprised for a second. He tilts his head to one side and seems to scrutinize Thomas's face until he deems his words real.
"I do," he admits.
"Do you dance a lot in your free time?"
"With all due respect, Mr. Wayne—" and Dick seems fixated on referring to him as such in private and not to name him in front of others, "—I believe that is none of your business. You don't like to dance, so no dancing. Isn't that what you said? The rule you established?"
Thomas raises an eyebrow. Then he frowns. He decides to let the matter go for now, and that's what he does, at least for another fifteen minutes. When the time is up and a song finishes, Thomas nods and gets to his feet.
"I have changed my mind. We will dance," he announces. He holds out his hand, and Dick merely stares. However, when people start glancing their way and snickering, Dick pastes a smile on his face and takes his hand.
Thomas pulls him close, walks them to the dance floor. The widened eyes all around them speak volumes, and the snickering is replaced with gasps when Thomas wraps an arm around Dick's waist and starts swaying to the music.
Dick gives him his first genuine and beautiful smile during their second song. It is blinding, it is pure and actually joyous. It is, simply put and without intending to be dramatic, one of the most beautiful things Thomas has ever seen.
As Thomas spins him around, Dick lets out a laugh that is as real as his previous smile. It's a clear and clean sound, one that lightens up Dick's eyes and even makes Thomas crack a smile. He likes this. He knows that given how much Thomas is paying him, he has zero obligation to make sure Dick has a good time. This is not a date by any means. This is a business transaction and Dick is doing his job. Still, Alfred has always smiled and told both him and his brother that they tend to have soft, human spots every once in a while.
By the looks of it, Dick is one of his soft spots, at least for tonight.
Thomas waits until what he believes is the right moment. It arrives after their fourth song in the shape of a very excited Dick falling into his arms after a particular enthusiastic spin. The younger man´s bright eyes twinkle, and he sways against Thomas´s body with easy and comfortable movements.
“Do you dance a lot in your free time?” he tries again.
Dick stiffens, and his eyes flicker up to Thomas for a split second. His brow furrows, smooths right away, and he takes in a deep breath. “Yes,” he says.
“As a hobby?”
“For now. I´m in dance school.”
Thomas allows himself another smile. Yeah, that does make sense.
“If this is any indication of how good a dancer you are, you must be very amazing indeed,” he says.
Dick flashes him an almost shy grin and let´s himself be spun around some more. He doesn’t say anything else, and Thomas lets it be. They dance a couple more songs before Thomas tells him it´s time for them to go sit back down. Dick nods and lets Thomas takes his hand as they make their way back to the table.
Thomas finds himself starting another conversation. “What is your favorite type of music to dance to?” he asks, and that question is closely followed by another one. “What do you plan to do after dance school is over?”
Dick answers. Dick gives him more of those genuine smiles. When Thomas throws an arm around the back of his chair again, Dick scoots in closer and leans his head against his shoulder.
The night ends on a high note and the lingering sound of Dick´s laughter in his ears. They make the big and flamboyant exit that is expected of the eldest Wayne, leave Bruce and his husband to deal with the parting words to the event. Thomas drives back to his apartment so Dick can return the suit and gather his own clothes.
Dick changes in silence. Thomas sips a glass of his favorite wine while Dick hangs up the suit. When he´s done, he turns to Thomas.
“Everything is back in place and intact, as far as I can see.”
Thomas nods. “Thank you.”
“I believe you know how it goes. If the money isn’t in my account by tomorrow…”
“I will be in trouble. I am aware.”
“Great. So, since there is no sex on the horizon and it is kind of late, I´ll get going.” Dick picks up his backpack. “Have a good night… early day, Mr. Wayne.”
“Thomas.”
Dick smiles, shakes his head. “Good night.”
Thomas nods. He watches Dick walk out of the room. Seconds later, the door opens and closes. Thomas stirs his wine. After a good twenty-minutes, his phone rings.
“Bruce,” he greets as he brings the phone to his ear without even looking at the screen beforehand.
“A boy toy,” Bruce replies dryly. “That´s what people are already saying. You got yourself a boy toy. They expect the break up in a week and with very public drama. You better be able to bring back that young man from wherever you pulled him from. We do not need a scandal only because you were not able or didn’t wish to actually find and court somebody.”
Thomas snorts. He rolls his eyes. He stares at the suit laid out on the back of one of the couches.
“No need to worry, brother,” he replies. “I do plan on bringing this young man into my life again.”