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Tim had to admit, it was kind of cute the first couple of times. He’d come home, exhausted after patrol, to find the cat—
(“Our baby! Come on, Tim, say it with me! Bey-bee~!”)
—curled up by Dick’s side, like, and he’d be loath to say it out loud or face the dreaded Grayson pout, a tumor. Little Timmy would raise his head in greeting and watch him for a bit before snuggling back into Dick’s chest, arm, leg, or whatever body part he’d deemed worthy of his presence that day.
Timmy, Tim had noted, and very quickly, was much different from other cats. He didn’t display the sort of semi-trusting, yet strongly independent personality common in most felines, but a silent devious kind. Dick said he got that from Tim; the deep looks, and silent feet. He’d find him watching, oddly attentive from the shadows by Dick’s feet, waiting patiently outside the bathroom door while he (or both of them) was in the shower—
(“Aww, look Tim, he misses us!”)
—or just making himself at home on Dick’s lap while they reclined on the loveseat, gaze occasionally flicking back toward Tim alone in the armchair.
He wondered why it’d taken him so long to notice there was something a little off with that kind of behavior. It was probably that seasonal increase in crime, kicking and screaming for Bat attention; spring fever did not go over well in Gotham.
Sighing, Tim dragged himself over to the couch where Dick was snoring away with, guess who, the cat by his side. He had long since wormed his way into their bed and could often be found sprawled out on or against Dick’s stomach. It made cuddling very, very difficult. Not that Tim wanted to cuddle every night! It was nice, yes, but—
Large blue eyes peered up at him, reflective in the moonlight.
Tim stared back, “Uh, hi?”
The kitten stretched lazily over Dick’s back, bouncing slightly with each breath the older man took, eyes locked on to Tim’s. He twisted onto his back and pulled in his legs, effectively sliding himself onto to Dick’s…ass?
Tim cocked a brow. What was he…
And then he started to purr.
Oh god.
Tim reached out with careful fingers, intent on nudging the cat off of Dick without waking Dick up, but Little Timmy just twisted out of the way, righting himself until he was seated upright upon his chosen—
(“Our baby’s such a little prince, isn’t he Tim? Prince Little Timmy Junior~”)
—throne.
Tim’s fingers hit a warm solid mass of muscle and instinctually curled inward. The rush of blood to his face was dizzying and definitely not what he needed after a tiring patrol. By the time he’d managed to jump start his brain, Timmy had made his move.
That same pair of luminous blue eyes watched him curiously as the little paws connected to them worked diligently on Dick’s ass, kneading.
Tim just stared, lips parting slightly in his only admission of shock. This cat—
(“Timmy Junior.”)
—was…was…was—
“Hey there, Timbo.”
Oh fuck.
“A little daring for four in morning aren’t we?”
Dick stared back at him; his torso twisted up and sleep faded from his eyes. They sparkled back at him like Little Timmy’s, big and blue and all-knowing.
Fuck.
“I-it’s not what you think,” Tim stammered, but still unable to remove his hands. They seemed to like it there and frankly he couldn’t find it in himself to blame them. “The cat, he—”
“Timmy?” Dick remarked with a sly smile, “He’s right there.”
Tim followed Dick’s gaze to a pair of little moons blinking up at the two of them from the underneath the coffee table. His lips parted with a small pop as Tim swerved between the sneaky little feline and his own traitorous hands still feeling up on Dick’s ass.
“You were saying?”
Blood pounded in his ears and Tim shivered violently when Dick righted himself until he was lying flat on his back, all the time keeping Tim’s hands pressed to him. They followed the turn of Dick’s pelvis until they met at the front.
Oh fuck.
“Just couldn’t wait could you?”
Bits of silver-blue winked at him before he was crushed to Dick’s chest and all but devoured by a very eager mouth.
Life, Tim realized, just got much harder.