buggery | It's not porn yet, but it might yet go that way...

I wrote this thing earlier this week. I had no idea where it was going, but it was very insistent, so I ~~let it ride me~~ wrote it until I came to what seemed like a stopping point. Nonie tells me it's suitably self-contained, so since I finally found a title I'm reasonably content with*, here it is.

For a Farthing

The bus drops several slouching, knapsack-burdened kids on the corner, right on schedule, and he's able to just continue walking as if he hasn't been waiting for one particularly hunched kid.

He doesn't think Tim sees him coming, as he matches pace and gets within arm's reach. Before he can say anything, though, Tim asks, "Are you here to chew me out for quitting, too?"

Tim hadn't even turned around. Some habits can't be unlearned.

"Ouch," Dick says, laying a hand on one slumped shoulder. "No, I'm not."

Tim makes a non-committal noise that he's *not* going to point out makes the kid sound like Bruce, and keeps walking. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't shrug Dick's hand off, either.

"It occurred to me that you might need a reminder that not everyone in-- in *either* of your families is upset with you. Looks like I was right."

"So you're here to pretend it's okay."

Well, at least Tim's talking. "No, I'm not here to pretend anything. I'm here to remind you that Tim Drake is okay, regardless of who or what else he is or isn't, and that you're still part of *my* family."

He doesn't see it coming -- Tim's gotten fast, and apparently he's not out of practice enough yet for his reflexes to have slipped any -- there's not even a giveaway twitch in his shoulder before it drops and Tim turns, stepping into Dick's space and wrapping his arms around him.

"Hey," Dick says, and hopes it didn't sound like a protest. He settles his own arm around Tim's shoulders and ruffles his hair with the other hand.

Tim just squeezes him harder.

Dick thinks about saying something about the way they're holding each other in the middle of the sidewalk, attracting curious looks, but thinks better of it *before* he opens his fool mouth, for a change. He rests his chin against the top of Tim's head, instead. There's a voice in his head suggesting that perhaps he was in need of some physical reassurance, himself. It sounds suspiciously like Alfred.

Tim says something, but it's muffled by the way his face is pressed to Dick's shirt.

He shifts his arm to lay more loosely on Tim's shoulders, and leans back slightly. "Hm?" he prompts.

Tim turns his head and doesn't relax his own grip in the least. "I'm sorry."

"Tim..." He sighs. "What could you possibly think you need to apologise to me for? And if you say anything about letting down me, or the 'legacy,' don't think I won't kick your ass right here."

Tim snorts. It's a suspiciously damp sound, and Dick's arms tighten around Tim without him even thinking about it. "I haven't been there for you lately, and you've... needed it, lately," is what Tim says.

It's tempting to push Tim away to arm's-length and *shake* him, but between the unsteadiness of Tim's breathing and the way he's subtly rubbing his cheek into Dick's shirt... "*I've* needed it. Jesus, Tim." He just hugs Tim a little harder, and pets his hair rather than ruffling it.

"If you deny it, I'll kick *your* ass," Tim says. His voice is a little deep, but even. "Right here."

"Hey, my life is a shambles. I admit it freely."

"See, this is my point." Tim squeezes him, which is kind of impressive because Tim's been holding him damn tightly for a while now without letting up. "You have more than enough going on right now. You shouldn't be worrying about me."

Dick laughs, helplessly. "No, no," he gasps, "that's *my* point."

He can feel Tim giggling against his chest. It feels... good. When they've both wound down and started to catch their breaths, Tim squeezes him once more, that kind of squeeze that means, I'm going to stop hugging you in another moment.

He strokes Tim's hair once more -- it doesn't do much to straighten it, but even ruffling Tim's hair doesn't really mess it up -- and slips his hand down to cup Tim's jaw.

When Tim shifts back, his hands settling at Dick's waist, and looks up, his eyes are dry, and mostly unshadowed.

"Do you need to get right home?" The shadows leap into Tim's eyes like he's been backlit, and Dick stops himself from wincing by main force of will.

Tim's voice is light, though, and he's mostly *not* faking how much, or he's gotten better at faking it than anyone needs to, even with what they do. Or, for Tim's case, did. "They won't send out a search party for at least an hour. Why?"

"I'm in the mood for pizza."

Tim's grin makes his cheek fit even better with Dick's palm. "There's a great place about three blocks that way," he says, gesturing with a toss of his head vaguely southeast.

The Drakes' new condo is a little over a block to the northeast. "'Great,' hmm?"

"Wood fire, stone slab. They make their own sausage."

He slides his hand back down to Tim's shoulder and turns them gently pizza-ward. "I should've just trusted your judgment, hunh."

Tim leaves one hand around his waist. "Yep."

*The title is, probably, overly highfalutin' for this little story, but I liked it. For those playing the home game, yes, it was taken from that book, though it's also meant partly as a play on "a penny for your thoughts."

still hungering for porn? try here

edited to adjust rating, because "ass" deserves at least a PG for language