InsaneJournal

FIC: Catch Me When I Fall--DCU Dick/Roy
title: Catch Me When I Fall
author: lisa roquin
rating: adult
fandom: DCU
characters/pairings: Roy Harper/Dick Grayson
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: they've known each other since they were twelve, there's no need for questions, no need for words
warning:
author's note: intended for porn_battle prompt
DCU: Dick Grayson (Nightwing)/Roy Harper (Arsenal), old familiar heartbreak but there's no way what cropped up will fit into a comment's character-limit. This is what today's no kid quiet was spent on rather than a dozen things I should be doing.
wordcount:






He doesn't make a sound when there's a knock at his window, never mind he's on the 37th floor, never mind his apartment's security. A moment later the sliding glass door of the balcony in his bedroom opens. That Dick can bypass the security isn't a srurpise. No matter how many times it's changed or upgraded, Dick's always gotten in. Roy's not sure if he could keep him out if he wanted to, not able to imagine wanting to, not permanently, and never when Dick comes like this, no matter how much this is going to hurt.

He doesn't say a word, merely grabs the baby monitor from the nightstand drawer and takes the monitor to the hall outside Lian's room before returning to his bedroom and locking the door behind him.

He doesn't know what it is this time. He doesn't ask. He'll hear soon enough, probably not from Dick, but from the gossip at the Outsiders HQ, from the six o'clock news, something. Enough to tell him why, or near enough. If it was Barbara, or the Bat, or Robin, or simply a bad day on the beat in the Haven for Officer Grayson. It doesn't matter, Dick's sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched, broken, and he's here that's all Roy needs to know.

"Take it off," Roy says softly and turns on the reciever half of the monitor sitting on top of the nightstand, volum high. He digs in the nightstand drawer again, condom and lube dropped onto the bed. As much as it might be a nice fantasy to peel Dick out of Nightwing's costume, he knows better. He has no clue where the fastenings are, nor what paranoid boobytraps might be on the costume either. For all this was Dick, Nightwing had been raised and trained by the Bat.

He reaches for the drawstring on the loose pajama pants he was wearing, undoes it, pushes them down, walking out of them on his way to Dick.

Sometimes, most times, it's fast, rough, angry and desperate. Pain laced with hatred, grief, helpless rage. A fight with the Bat. A victim that couldn't be saved and it didn't matter if it was Nightwing or Officer Grayson that couldn't save them because behind both was Dick. When the second Robin, Jason, had been killed or when the girl, Spoiler, Steph had. Barbara's confinement to the wheel chair. The spooky little shit back in the Robin uniform now. Whatever the cause, a pent up barage of something that needed it's outlet and that outlet often fast, and angry-rough, desperate and a bit crazed. Occasionally even nearly violent, an argument, a shoving match, one or the other of them pinned against the wall or to the floor, with the bare minimum of prep that left them moving slow for a day or two from the rough pounding that followed.

This was one of the times it wasn't. A look, a touch, Roy doesn't make a sound. They've known each other since they were twelve. There's no need for questions, no need for words. He settles Dick onto the bed, moving mostly over, on him.

Slow soundless kisses, easy knowing touches, how and where to touch, to coax out a response from Dick's body burned into his brain. Not for the first time he thinks Donna would be amused as hell that her death, her funeral added this to the ways they caught the other when they stumbled, when they were drowning. Then she'd probably come up with a dozen reasons to ream them both over it. If Dick's hands tremble a little as they move over Roy's back, if his fingers dig in almost enough to bruise, clinging, near desperate for something, someone to hold onto, Roy pretends not to notice any more than he acknowledges the salty-wet tasted here and there on Dick's face, in his kiss might be a tear.

"Roy," the sound is no more than a breath as Roy shifts moving downward, kisses trailed over faint scars and smoothe skin over muscle. "Shh, let me," is Roy's answer, just as soft, heavy with everything neither of them will admit they know, murmured against skin. A shuddering breath, long fingers threading through short red hair, "Roy" defeat, permission, need all in that one little syllable. Touches turn softer, loving, worshipping, not just reassuring, arousing.

He reaches for the lube, careful, knowing where the lines and limits are, or were, he doesn't dare to push them, not this way. Not when Dick's been brought to the point he's here, and it's like this. His tongue traces over the head of Dick's cock one last time before kissing his way back upward, a slick finger slowly pressing into Dick. They know exactly how much the other can take, of stimulation, of stress, of pain, of emotional battering before it's too much and it's the last that has Roy cautious, on both their counts.

His arm and shoulder stretched almost too much as his fingers carefully stretch Dick. A shift, slight twitch, Dick's leg wrapped high around Roy, above his waist, not breaking the kiss they'd fallen into once again.

"Roy" a soft gasp, near pleading.

Roy steals another kiss before shifting, easing his fingers from Dick who is well past ready for him. Another shift, the condom rolled on, Dick's legs wrapping around his waist as he slowly presses in. Slow, easy, they've known each other too long, trained together, fought together for falling into a rhythm not to be effortless, natural. Dick's hand slides from Roy's back, slips between them to stroke himself. Roy follows him over the edge to completion only a few thrusts later with a groan into Dick's neck.

He eases back, sliding from Dick's body. The condom is slipped off and dropped in the trash next to the bed. He catches Dick, with the first hint of a move to get up, pulling him along, turning them on their sides, face to face and tangled together. Roy brushes a soft kiss across Dick's lips. Dick presses close a few moments, hand sliding over Roy's shoulder, absently rubbing at the muscle that was stretched a little wrong, a little too much earlier. This time when Dick eases back, Roy lets him go with. Roy says nothing as Dick goes for his Nightwing uniform and dresses. It nearly kills him to watch, it always does, especially when it's like this. Too real, too quiet, too raw in ways that don't leave visible bruises

"Promised a certain someone chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and a morning cartoon marathon." he calls softly. "Care to join us?"

Dick smiles, a different ache, a shadow of regret in his eyes but the broken, the devastation of earlier pushed back. "I'm off this weekend. I'll see you at eight." The sliding glass door shuts behind him, a shadow flies past the window leaving Roy alone with a heart ache as familiar as the man who'd just left.