Her lips had felt soft and sweet, like kissing cotton candy or a stuffed teddy bear. And her breasts had been pillow soft against me. God, what a high - it was like soaring again. I was a hero once more in someone's eyes. And a pretty pair of eyes too.
Then she was gone and the bad guys had converged like a swarm of locusts or something equally biblical in a bad way. He'd shown up then, swooping down from the night, and the sight of the suit alone sent them scurrying away like the terrified little vermin they were.
But not me. I saw that suit and I saw my parents, my brother - dead.
"Bastard!" I yelled as I began pounding at him with everything in me.
"It should have been you! It's your fault. If you had told Two-Face who you were at the circus, they'd still be alive!" He blocked my last punch, his face, what you could see of it anyway, like stone. But his eyes, they told a different story. Of a man whose heart was breaking all over again. A man who understood only too well what it meant to be alone - truly bone-chillingly alone. And he let me cry, never once telling me it was unmanly or weak. And then...
"If Bruce Wayne could have given his life for your family, he would have."
I'm not sure how we got back to the Bat Cave. I have a vague recollection of Bruce - I mean Batman - carrying me to the car and placing me inside. I'm no weakling; swinging from the daring trapeze, a catcher no less, means you gotta have the bulk, so picture me at 180 pounds of pure muscle. Like I said, no weakling, yet I don't think he even broke a sweat.
Then we were there, in the Cave. And he was in this clinging white tee-shirt and blue track pants, and I was going on about how fighting the bad guys made my pain go away and how even if he didn't help me catch Harvey, I'd still go after him and...
"Screw you!" No way I was being a college student when my life had just been burned to ash all around me. I wanted revenge - cold, hard satisfaction. I wanted that son of a bitch to know pain like he'd never felt before. What it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest still beating and your world to burn around you. What it felt like to be the only survivor of a world dying, a life gone insane.
Then Al was gone, and Bruce and I were alone, and we were in each other's faces. You listen to the word on the street long enough, you hear them say, "Never piss off the Bat." Good advice. Too bad I hadn't heard it yet.
One minute I'm screaming at him, "You gotta teach me!" referring to killing Harvey of course, next minute his hands are digging in my shoulders, his eyes are blue flames, and his tongue is giving me a tonsillectomy. God, I nearly creamed myself then and there.
Oh yeah, you gotta teach me, Bruce. Teach me how to do this. "Bruce," I manage to whimper as I thrust hard against that rock hard body. It's a body that's been honed into a crime-fighting machine - all hard angles and sharp edges, muscle and sinew and danger and heat. And I want that body on me, in me, taking the pain away, driving away the darkness, the hopelessness, and the terror. I want the man to teach me how to trust again, how not to be alone. How to love and be loved in return.
"What do you want, Dick?" he whispers in 'The Bat' voice, and I feel my world break apart once more and realign yet again. And this time I know the answer.
We've moved again, this time to his bedroom, and still I don't know how we get there. All I know is the taste of his mouth, dark and dangerous - just like him. All I feel is that rock hard body against mine and an even harder cock boring into my stomach. It's not enough. Nowhere near enough.
Somehow, the leather jacket is gone, so is the ripped shirt, his shirt, my black jeans and boots, his sweat pants. We're skin to skin and horizontal, and his hands are moving. Mapping and tracing every inch of me. I'm moaning, small, breathless sounds. Begging him to touch and taste and take. But Bruce is the Bat, and everything is done methodically and with purpose.
He's reconnoitering the territory, learning all the high points and low, the weak areas, the best area to breach. Bruce is mapping out his plan of attack, while sending me writhing and moaning and begging for him to teach me - oh please teach me.
"Teach you what, Dick?"
"How to belong to you."
And I feel him slip a finger inside me, already slippery but from where I don't know; the bed must come equipped with a utility belt of some kind for all the important stuff - lube, condoms, a spare set of bat handcuffs. OH GOD! What the hell was that? He damn near blew my brain off with whatever he touched.
The moans become whimpers. Need you, Bruce, in me. Now. Please, lover, teach me. Can't wait any more. But I have to because you're not done tormenting me. One finger melds into two, then three; all the while your other hand pumps my cock in rhythmic cadence, making me squirm and buck - first into your fist then back on those fingers and shit! Oh again, please!
"Dick, look at me,"
My eyes are glassy, but I manage to find yours and the look in those normally ice blue eyes, now as hazy as a summer's day. I've found my home again.
"Bruce," I whimper and reach out with both arms, pulling you down for a kiss that becomes my lifeline.
Something hard and round and blunt nudges my anus, but I'm so wrapped up in the dueling of our tongues and the taste of your mouth that I don't register that it's your cock until it's halfway inside me, already past the muscles that could have caused me some pain.
I feel so full, like my flesh is being stretched into infinity to take all of you in, but take you I do, and soon you're buried deep inside, to the hilt, and your eyes are now indigo with heat.
"Bruce," I whimper again.
"Shh, go ahead and fly, Robin; I'll be here to catch you."
And you're thrusting - hard and fast, over and over - and I'm falling and screaming and flying and bawling like a baby. Then I'm coming, harder than I've ever come in my life, and you're right there to catch me when I fall.
I curl up in your arms, a sobbing wreck, not the tough guy any longer, huh, Greyson? But you don't care because you know that tomorrow the old Dick will be back, the troubled youth with a chip on his shoulder. But this time the chip won't be quite so big.
Because Batman taught Robin how to fly again tonight.