Entry tags:

bruce, dcu story, dick, millionaire, slash

A bird in the hand - DCU story, Bruce Wayne/Nightwing
Title: A bird in the hand
Authors: jamjar and petronelle
Fandom: DCU
Series: How to Marry a Millionaire (Story #1)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Nightwing
Summary: Bruce Wayne, playboy millionaire, has a taste for the exotic.
Rating: Adult content
Notes: Thanks to everyone who helped ease this into existence.
Disclaimer: They belong to DC Comics, not to us, or they really would be having a lot of sex.


"I'll have to check the papers tomorrow," Bruce Wayne says as the man in the dark, vaguely bat-shaped mask sets him on a rooftop. The sound of police sirens echoes up from below. There are even more particulates in the air than normal, thanks to the explosion. Bruce dusts himself off. "I'm sure someone got a picture." He smiles. "What did you say your name was?"

The whited-out lenses make the man's stare disturbingly blank. "Are you all right, Bruce?" he asks.

He pats himself down and straightens his cuffs. "Never better. Oh -- wait, I know. You must be Robin."

The vigilante's voice drops into the baritone range. "Nightwing, Mr. Wayne. Are you sure you're all right? No head wounds?"

"I didn't even get my hair mussed, thanks to you," Bruce says, and gives him a smile.

"There's something --" Nightwing touches Bruce's cheek. His gloves feel smooth and armored. "Lipstick."

Bruce chuckles. "Ah, Mellie.  She insists she's an autumn. It's a shame, because I'm a winter." He eyes Nightwing's costume and touches his arm to find out if the fabric is as sleek as the gloves. Underneath it, he has serious muscles, and broad, strong shoulders. He's not as built as, say, Superman, but he's well-developed and definitely limber. Bruce puts an arm across his shoulders and says, "I like the outfit, by the way.  Not many people can carry off skin-tight spandex.  It's one of the great tragedies of the world that generally, the people who try are the ones that really shouldn't. You, my friend, definitely have the body for it."

Nightwing gives him a long, whited-out look and says in a voice as flat as his gaze, "Thanks. Can you get home from here all right?"

"Oh, I've come back from far worse places in a far worse state," Bruce says, leaning in a little to confide.  "Though any journey's better with some company." He gestures at the city.  "The scenery around here lacks a certain something."

Nightwing wriggles a little -- almost as if he wants to shrug Bruce's arm off, and then decides against it. "I'm busy."

Bruce gives him a little pat. "You can spare the time.  All work and no play -- you don't want to be a dull boy, now do you?" He bends a little to murmur in Nightwing's ear, "Trust me, play is something I know a lot about."

He's close enough to see Nightwing shiver. "Bruce --"

"Are we on a first-name basis, now, Mr. Wing, or may I call you Night? No? But Nightwing is such a mouthful. Unless that's just the costume." He runs his hand down the man's back. That's too much, apparently; Nightwing shrugs his arm off.

"Mr. Wayne. Let me take you home."

"Oh, no. And do call me Bruce." Bruce moves away a little and loosens his tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Nightwing hasn't moved away; he can't be all that offended. Bruce can still see his muscles flex as he moves. A little space may be all he needs for the moment to feel comfortable, and more comfortable later on. "You need some time off, Mr. Nightwing. I'll let you keep the mask on, if you want."

Nightwing relaxes, just a little, uncrossing his arms and sliding a little more out of the shadow.  "If that's what you want--"

Bruce takes advantage of this to put his hand on Nightwing's back again. "Come on, I know a place where they serve the best tartes aux Saint-Jacques this side of the Atlantic."

"I'm not exactly dressed for dinner." It's dry, but amused. He's making progress.

"I can get it to go. You could come back to my place, or I've got a little pied-à-terre, just for those times when I want to spend a night in the city proper." He strokes Nightwing's lower back. Admirable muscle definition, there. "Good location, big fireplace and a fully stocked wine cabinet."

"I should go," Nightwing says, but he's not making a move, except to lean against Bruce's touch.

Bruce undoes his cuffs, dropping the cufflinks into the front pocket of his blazer.  His nails are perfectly manicured, and he polishes them against his sleeve. "You really shouldn't. I'm sure Gotham can take care of itself."

Nightwing hesitates another moment. "I suppose Batman can handle it."

Bruce nods decisively. "He's a competent guy. I'm sure he can take care of everything that's important, tonight."

Somehow, even with the white lenses, he can tell that Nightwing is staring up at him. "Are you sure you're all right, Bruce?"

"Positive," Bruce says, and kisses him. Nightwing makes a gasping noise and hugs him with all the strength he must have to be a vigilante in such a dangerous city. His mouth is so hungry, it's as if no one has kissed him in years. The wine cabinet might not even need to be unlocked.

"Oh, god, Bruce," Nightwing says. He's gasping for air and clinging to Bruce. "Where's your apartment?"

"I can call the car," Bruce offers, pulling out his cell.

"No." Nightwing takes it from him and tucks it back in his pocket, managing to get in a long stroke on his thigh along the way. He runs his other hand through Bruce's hair and pulls him in for another kiss. "I'll get us there. Just tell me."

Bruce settles a hand on his exceedingly well-defined ass and laughs. "You're going to carry me?"

And there's the edge of danger again, the vigilante daredevil look. "I got you here, didn't I?"

It makes him irresistibly kissable, and Bruce Wayne is not one to try to resist the irresistible. Nightwing whimpers a little and hugs him more tightly. "It's on Fifth and Thirty-fourth," Bruce says.

"No sweat." Nightwing wraps an arm around his waist. "Hang on."

"Oh, I will." Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. Nightwing fires some kind of gun with a rope.

"Ready?"

"Yes." The rope tugs, and they're airborne for a few breathless seconds before they pause on the next building. "That was great. You could charge for that kind of thing."

Nightwing laughs. "Sure, Bruce. Maybe you could figure out how to market it. Keep hanging on, that's all."

Bruce buries his face in Nightwing's neck. "I won't let you go."

After a dizzying cascade of swings and swoops, they stop on a rooftop. Bruce can't figure out where they are, but Nightwing looks pleased with himself. They're probably there. "It's the penthouse," Bruce says, "and I think one of the windows is unlocked."

"Which side?"

Bruce looks around and recognizes the movie theatre up the street. "Over here, third one from the end." He gives Nightwing a little squeeze. "Thanks for the lift."

Nightwing gives him a heart-stoppingly beautiful grin. "My pleasure, Mr. Wayne."

"That comes later." Bruce winks at him, and he chokes.

"Right. I should get back to patrol."

Bruce kisses him; he's still as hungry for it as he was before. "Batman can handle it."

Nightwing sighs. "I think he's busy tonight."

"Nightwing," Bruce says, and traces the lines of his mask with one finger. "If you can't trust Gotham's protector, who can you trust?"

"Are you sure?" Nightwing manages to narrow the lenses of the mask somehow.

"Yes. Stop asking me that. The window's right over here."

"All right, Mr. Wayne," Nightwing says. He fastens his cable to something on the roof and dangles off it with impressive grace and dexterity to open the window, then hauls himself back up.

Bruce greets him with another hug and a thump on the back. "Please. Call me Bruce."

"All right, Bruce." Nightwing kisses him, tentatively at first, then with all of that achingly attractive enthusiasm.

"Let's go inside," Bruce suggests. Nightwing pushes him off-balance, off the roof, and a moment later they're dangling outside the window. "Efficient."

"Thanks." Nightwing swings in and helps him inside, then closes the window and locks it. "Can't have any intruders in here."

Bruce kisses him again. "No. Of course not." He runs his hand down Nightwing's well-muscled chest. "Did you want dinner? We forgot it."

"I'm not hungry," he says, and it's not all that accurate, because he's wrapping himself around Bruce, arms and a long, strong leg. He kisses thoroughly, like he's trying to memorize everything about the way it feels and tastes and smells. The kisses on the roof were only appetizers, and this is a five-course meal, rich and delectable.

"We should take this out of the kitchen," Bruce says between kisses. "Did you want anything to drink?"

"No," Nightwing says, and nuzzles his neck. "I'm fine." He unfastens Bruce's pants. "Where's the bedroom?"

"Third door on the right," Bruce says, and pulls away from him just long enough to tug his pants up one-handed before Nightwing kisses him again. "Hang on," he says. "I'll be there in a minute."

White lenses shouldn't be able to look forlorn. "Where are you going?"

Bruce laughs. "I'm going to get a bottle of merlot. You may not be thirsty, but I am."

"Can't it wait?" Nightwing starts unbuttoning Bruce's shirt.

"No," and Bruce pushes his hands away. "There's a bottle I've been saving for a special occasion."

Nightwing follows him to the wine cabinet. "Oh. All right."

"There." Bruce finds the right bottle and hands it to Nightwing. Someone, somewhere has taught him how to handle wine with respect.

He reads the label and looks up. "You have been saving this."

"Ten years or so," Bruce says, and shrugs a little. "Might as well break into it now." He opens the bottle and pours them each a glass, then lifts his to toast Nightwing. "To the man who saved my life."

Nightwing's hand shakes. "Bruce --"

"Careful, Nightwing. You don't want to drop it."

Nightwing clinks glasses with him gently; his hands are still shaking. He manages to sip it without spilling any. "It's good."

"It's much more complicated than just being good." Bruce turns the glass in his hand. "So many years in the making, and now it's open. Unique to the moment. I really think you should fuck me."

Nightwing freezes, his wine sloshing slightly. "What?"

"I said, I think you should fuck me," Bruce says, and smirks at him.

"Oh." Nightwing shakes his head. "I -- I was going to say something like that."

"Why don't we take it to the bedroom and see how it works out?" Bruce shrugs. "Not to brag, but I think we might be able to manage both. I certainly can."

Nightwing sets his glass down. "Bruce --" He has just enough warning to put the glass on the table before Nightwing is in his arms again, kissing him and shivering and pulling at his clothes.

"I've got you," Bruce says, petting his back. It's easier to let Nightwing cling to him than it would be to disentangle, and easier to just carry him to bed than try to make him walk on his own.

"Oh, Bruce," Nightwing says in his ear when Bruce gets them to the bed.

"All those hours in the gym finally paid off," Bruce says, and gets lost in another kiss.

"Yeah." Nightwing helps him take his shirt off and smiles at him -- not the bright grin of before, but a quieter look. "Here -- I have to get undressed."

Bruce watches, fascinated, as Nightwing writhes and twists and contorts and manages to get his skin-tight uniform off and into a neat pile on the floor within a few seconds. "Not bad," he says, and runs a hand down his chest. "You don't have enough armor, though. All these scars."

One mark there, smaller than a bullet-wound, catches his eye. He consults with his inner teenager, bends his head, and gives a small sucking bite, drawing back to look at his work.  Not quite as impressive as he'd managed in his heyday, but Nightwing has a lot more scars he can practice on.

"Oh, god." Nightwing hugs him tightly -- too tightly for the moment.

Bruce pushes Nightwing's arms away from himself. "Let me concentrate." He grins. "This is precision work."

"What?" Nightwing sits up a little, but when Bruce starts on the next scar, he relaxes back onto the bed. "Jesus, Bruce."

"I'll keep them below the collar," Bruce says, and traces a narrow V down Nightwing's chest.

"All right." Nightwing has a scar that runs across his pelvis. It must have been difficult to heal. He's taken a lot of damage for a young man; it's the least Bruce can do to make the scars more decorative, and it does make him whimper nicely.

"That looks like a bad one," he says, running his fingers, then his tongue, along a scar on Nightwing's side. "Who gave you that?"

Nightwing shivers and touches it lightly. "The Joker, I think."

Bruce kisses his fingers. "It looks more like Two-Face's work."

Nightwing sits up. "What?"

Bruce pushes him back down firmly. "I'm not done yet."

Nightwing says, "Wait," but when Bruce kisses him again, he shivers and relaxes into it. He doesn't even move his hands; respectful boy.

Bruce finds another scar that needs a hickey. It winds its way around Nightwing's thigh, and the inner part, where the skin is softest, should be marked. "Spread your legs," he says, and Nightwing achieves a respectable angle without more than a gasp. To forestall any further discussion, he wraps his hand around Nightwing's erection and pets him while he works on the scar. "You look like such a fine, upstanding young man, apart from all these scars. Doesn't anyone take care of you?"

He shivers and arches into Bruce's hand, moving smoothly and beautifully. "Not like you do."

"And I didn't even buy you dinner." Bruce chuckles and pulls away ruefully, dropping his clothing. The rest of Nightwing's scars will have to wait; his patience is wearing thin. He reaches for the lube.

Nightwing tilts his head up. It's impossible to tell whether he has his eyes open or not behind that mask, but Bruce did promise he could keep it on. "Are you all right?"

Bruce smiles at him. "I think you should do me first."

"Why?"

"I know I can manage a second attack, but you --" He waves a hand.

Nightwing laughs once, incredulously. "Bruce, you know you shouldn't dare me."

"It's in my nature to provoke people. It's a curse, really."

Nightwing sits up -- no, gets up and over him and pins him in one fluid movement that Bruce couldn't hope to counteract without years of martial arts training. "You picked the wrong victim this time." He holds Bruce's wrists down over his head and gives him a thoroughly wicked grin. "I'll show you second attacks."

Bruce's smile challenges him to prove it. Nightwing smirks back and does his best. More kissing, which he is excessively good at. He hitches up Bruce's legs, moves them to the side and just rolls against Bruce in one smooth movement that has Bruce extremely interested in just what kinds of training he's had.

It doesn't seem like the move has any practical use other than rubbing their cocks together.  Nightwing pulls away long enough for Bruce to see him smile, brilliant in the city-lights coming from the window.  He's had either good nutrition or an excellent dentist.

Another of those beautiful ripples makes Bruce groan and try to pull Nightwing closer, to latch on to his neck.

Nightwing shudders when Bruce does this, and stops moving.  "I need--"

"So do I. What are we waiting for?"

Bruce forces himself to let go and Nightwing stays still for a second, then sits up on his knees.

Bruce takes a moment to enjoy the sight and wishes his desire for privacy hadn't removed all the security cameras from this room. Maybe his team left one behind. They might be overprotective, and inclined to act on their own. But it's probably not necessary; it's not likely that he'll forget something like this.

Particularly not in that it's been a while. He can't manage the degree of spread that Nightwing can, but he can do more than enough and lift his hips. "I hate to make you wait, but --"

Damn masks and damn lenses. All he can see is the little smile on Nightwing's face. "Turn over."

Bruce laughs and rolls over. "Woof."

Nightwing runs his hands up Bruce's thighs and spreads his buttocks with strong, confident fingers. "All work and no play makes Bruce a tense boy, huh? Well, don't play dead."

The first touch of his tongue makes Bruce shiver and bury his face in the pillow to suppress a moan. "Don't worry about that."

"You don't have to be quiet," Nightwing says. Bruce lets himself groan, then, because words won't come and it's a small, hot, wet piece of heaven. Nightwing chuckles in answer.

With some effort, Bruce says, "You're not winning."

Nightwing slides a finger inside him and circles it with his tongue. Bruce's answer is low and meaningless. Nightwing laughs again. "Aren't I?"

Bereft of anything but the word "fuck," Bruce throws the pillow at him.

"Aw. Do you want me to stop?" Nightwing gives him another lingering lick.

"Fuck," Bruce says, and feels Nightwing chalk up a point.

"I thought you'd never ask," Nightwing says. "Do you want it like this?"

It takes a moment for Bruce to be able to turn over, but he does it. "I'd rather see you."

Nightwing rolls the condom on and looks up at him. His smirk fades into a softer smile. "God, Bruce, I -- I really want you."

"I --" Bruce reaches for him, and he kneels on the bed, eyes blank white but every muscle, every posture eloquent. He's hungry for something more, something-- Bruce pulls him down on top of himself. "Don't make me wait."

"You made me wait long enough," Nightwing's expression says.  Bruce ignores it.

Nightwing's body is tense, those fantastic shoulders still, but he holds himself up like it takes no effort,  Bruce follows a line of marks, scars and lovebites, trying not to get distracted on the way. He grips Nightwing and helps him position himself. It's been-- not a long time, not really, but not that recent either. Bruce can't really bring himself to care. Given how good he's been at using his body this whole night, starting with Bruce's rescue, it shouldn't surprise Bruce that Nightwing gets it right first time.

It's just-- perfect, absolutely perfect.

And then he does it again.

Then the bastard pauses, and looks at Bruce.  "You're--"

So Bruce takes the initiative.  He can't get a great angle, can't do anything like Nightwing's graceful ripple, but he can manage to thrust up.

Nightwing groans.  "Bruce..."

"Do not make me do all the work here, Nightwing.  That's just bad mann--"

Nightwing takes him at his word. He's fucking him, hard and perfect, barely giving them time to breathe, and Bruce can hear his own name coming out of Nightwing's mouth, needy and desperate. He kisses Nightwing, swallowing the sounds, and gets his hand down to his own cock. It's not going to take much, and he wants to draw it out, or at least give a reasonable show, but--

In all fairness, he doesn't know how long Nightwing will last.  He has no basis for judging whether that desperation means that he's close, or if it's just the way he always sounds in bed.

He grips his cock, and it only takes a few strokes before he's coming. He's rather satisfied when Nightwing follows him, pulling his mouth away and gritting his teeth, then collapsing on Bruce.

"Bruce," Nightwing says.

He's heavier than Bruce was expecting. All that muscle mass. Bruce runs a hand down his back, cataloguing scars that will eventually need lovebites. "Not bad for the first skirmish," he says, "but we'll see how the next sally goes."

"You're being very militaristic."

"Maybe I'm just in an aggressive mood."

Nightwing raises an eyebrow and looks at their bodies. "Being in an aggressive mood makes you want to get fucked?"

"Why, doesn't it work that way for you?"

He chuckles. "Point."

"In any case, we abandoned a bottle of perfectly good wine," Bruce observes, and nibbles Nightwing's ear.

The resulting shudder is reminiscent of those exquisite ripples. "So we did."

"If you let me up, I'll go and get it," he offers magnanimously.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Nightwing grins at him. "You don't want to lose, do you?"

Nightwing may be sheer muscle, but he's not expecting Bruce to flip him over. He lands with a whuff. "I won't lose," Bruce says, and kisses him again to prove it.

He wraps his legs around Bruce's waist effortlessly and kisses him back. "I should let you get the wine. You'll need the handicap." His smile is bright and teasing.

"You're not drinking all of it," Bruce says. There's a scar right behind his ear. It's not strictly below collar level, but when he bites it, Nightwing whimpers and rocks against him.

"Trying to get a head start?" Nightwing says in a choked voice. He lets Bruce go and gives him a little push. "If you're thirsty, get the wine."

Bruce gets up and runs a hand over the lean length of his body. "Why don't you entertain yourself while I get it."

Nightwing shrugs languidly. "I wouldn't want you to miss anything."

Bruce kisses him lightly. "I want to see what you come up with."

It makes Nightwing chuckle and reach for him again. "I doubt I could surprise you if I tried."

Bruce backs away, out of reach. "Try." He goes into the kitchen and picks up the wineglasses and the bottle. He flips through his address book for a few moments to give Nightwing time to think of something intriguing, wondering whether Nightwing should be filed under N or W.

When he comes back in, he has to pause in the doorway to watch. Nightwing is lounging on the bed, his legs spread wide and two fingers buried deep inside himself.

Bruce sighs appreciatively at the same time Nightwing does. 

A little too loudly, because Nightwing takes his hands away. Bruce grins at him and says, "Don't stop on my account."

"You were taking a while." Nightwing gives him a lazy smile.

"Are you always this impatient?"

Nightwing shrugs. "I've been waiting a long time."

"Let's see if I can make it worth the wait."

Nightwing raises an eyebrow and starts fingering himself again. "You can try."

"Is that a dare?" Bruce sets the bottle and one of the glasses down and watches him.

"I don't want to put too much pressure on you."

"I do my best work under pressure."

Nightwing grins and adds another finger with an almost entirely suppressed sigh. "Of course you do, Bruce."

Bruce sips his wine. "Do you, ah, need a hand?"

"I thought I was supposed to make the bad puns." Nightwing tips his head back. "Kiss me?"

Bruce sits on the bed and kisses him, savoring the rhythmic little jerks Nightwing makes in response to his own hands. "There's no way you're going to win if you're that far gone already."

"He who laughs last," Nightwing says, and kisses him again.

"And he who comes first --"

"Technically, you already beat me to that."

"Best two out of three?"

"If you think you're up to it."

"Granted, you're younger than me, but I think that might be a point in my favor.  You know what they say about old age and treachery." Bruce grins and gives Nightwing's cock a friendly stroke, gauging his reaction. "Since you spent all that time getting ready for me, I think it'd be a shame not to take advantage of it."

He takes the lube, slicks up his own fingers and checks Nightwing's work.  Not that he doesn't think the man would do a good job, just that -- as he did earlier -- it's easy to get impatient and mistake "good enough" for actually good.

He likes seeing Nightwing's body flex, move, while Bruce is teasingly thorough. Likes seeing how easily he can get Nightwing to stop speaking, stop playing with words and just--

Just lay himself wide open for Bruce.

It's fascinating in the best sense.  Part of him wants to watch it for hours. Another part of him is loudly saying, enough already, and can he just--

"Come on, Bruce," Nightwing says. His voice is choked. "Please." Another stroke, more deliberate, and Nightwing turns his head. "Don't tease me now."

Bruce puts on a condom and slicks himself with shaking hands. "That's not a winning mentality, you know."

Nightwing's laugh catches in his throat like a sob. "Just do it already."

He's glad he insisted on thoroughness as soon as he begins. Restraint, gentleness, caution -- they all evaporate with the first thrust, and it's too much to try to find them again. Nightwing whimpers and grabs Bruce's hips, pulling him in deeper, closer, until they can kiss again. "All right?" Bruce asks.

"God, yes," Nightwing says. "Don't stop."

Stopping would require some higher intervention, something outside of the space between them that smells of sweat and sex, that's filled with the soft, hungry noises Nightwing makes against his mouth and the moans Bruce can't hold back. Bruce catches himself saying, "I --" and kisses him again to muffle it.

"Oh, Bruce," Nightwing says, his voice gone hoarse and breathy.

Bruce makes himself laugh. "Sounds like I'm winning."

Nightwing's smile goes from dazed to focused. "Never." He braces himself against the mattress and uses his strength, his enviable flexibility to return Bruce's thrusts, to make it perfect and more than that.

It's too good, and Nightwing's mask does nothing to hide the need, the desperation Bruce isn't sure he can live up to. Nightwing keeps saying his name, over and over like it's the answer to something, and Bruce knows it isn't. Beautiful mouth, shaping his name, and Bruce can feel his own need rise out of response, out of sympathy, out of-- something.

"Bruce, Bruce, I've been-- fuck, Bruce, you--"

"Dick."

And Nightwing comes, shuddering, and it's permission for Bruce to do the same.

A few thrusts and the world goes dark.

It comes back several breaths later. Nightwing is stroking his hair. "So."

Bruce kisses his cheek. "Best two out of three?"

Nightwing smiles crookedly at him. "Do you really think you can top that?"

"Probably not at the moment, no."

"Then let's call it a draw." Nightwing stretches his arms and yawns.

Bruce traces one of the bitten scars on his chest. "For tonight, anyway." He sits up, pulling away, then lies down next to Nightwing, who hugs him tightly. Of course he's a cuddler. "Do you have anywhere you have to go?"

"I don't think Batman will worry."

"Not tonight, no." Bruce gives him a little good night squeeze. "For once. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Bruce."

* * * * *

Bruce wakes up with his face buried in the back of Nightwing's neck. He looks up to check the time -- five minutes before the alarm. It's fortunate that he has so much experience sneaking out of bed; he doesn't even wake Nightwing. He turns the alarm off and goes into the kitchen.

They didn't finish the wine, which is a shame, though probably worth it.

He takes a monogrammed notepad out of a drawer and taps his fingers against it for a minute, composing, before he leans on the table and writes.

"See you around. - B"

He goes back into the bedroom. Nightwing has moved into the warm spot he left, but it's getting late. He sets the note on the table, then finds his keyring and takes off the spare for this apartment. He leaves the key on the note.

There are plenty of suits in the closet, and it only takes a moment to dress. On his way out of the bedroom, he kisses Nightwing lightly on the forehead.

He whistles all the way into the office.


ETA: 8/17/05: Pay No Attention and Moonlighting are the next two stories in the series "How to Marry a Millionaire."