"Put these on."

Bruce Wayne had been staring into his closet and spun around to find Dick Grayson standing in his bedroom.  As he watched, the young man tossed a folded pair of blue jeans onto the neatly made bed.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't forget about today, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Bruce said.  "I still have..."  Without turning his head, his eyes slid over to check his bedside clock.  "...38 minutes.  But what are you doing in my bedroom, and what are...*those*?"

Rolling his eyes, Dick grinned and crossed his arms over his chest.  "And you call yourself a detective?  Those are *jeans*, and you'll be wearing them along with the rest of this stuff."  Other articles of clothing joined the jeans on the bed.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and said, "Despite the fact that Alfred considers his duties to be all encompassing, I am perfectly capable of selecting my own clothes, and that includes the appropriate casual attire for today."

Eyes narrowed, Dick met Bruce's gaze.  "Don't try to wangle out of the deal, Bruce.  You lost fair and square, and, until midnight, you're doing things on my terms.  And it starts with these clothes."  Dick made a show of looking at his watch.  "See you downstairs in exactly 34 minutes."

Once he had closed the door behind him, Dick let out a breath, his knees shaking with the effort to remain standing, amazed that he had made it through that little exchange.  It had been risky from the beginning.  Despite what he had said, he knew that Bruce hadn't really lost fairly.  Dick had cheated in order to win, and, in fact, had manipulated the whole episode.

A rather heated argument about Tim and his attitude towards training had ended with Dick yelling, "Dammit, Bruce, why don't you lighten up sometimes!"  His emotions had been running high, and he couldn't seem to hold back, resulting in a challenge.  "You probably couldn't cut loose for one day...not even *half* a day!  What do you say, Bruce?  Willing to make a wager?  I'll take Tim's place in the workout ring...you bring me down, I'll pay $1000 to the charity of your choice...I bring you down, and you give me twelve hours to see just how far you can unwind.  You up for it?  Gonna step up and teach me a lesson about *my* attitude?"

Bruce's eyes were dark and stormy, but Dick knew that the older man had huge stores of control to fall back on, and he expected to simply be dismissed, his outburst brushed aside.  So, he was surprised, and not a little satisfied when Bruce walked over and stepped onto the mat without a word, and all he could think was, 'Gotcha!'

Twenty minutes later, Dick had emerged victorious.  A brief, but pronounced look of astonishment had crossed Bruce's face, and Dick had had to stifle a grin as he relayed the terms of the payoff with Bruce looking up at him from the floor.  A triumph gained by an underhanded technique--the slight faltering, the look of total pain schooled onto his features, enough to distract Bruce long enough for Dick to press an advantage with a move he'd been taught was for extreme circumstances only.  Well, he'd exploited Bruce's concern for him...that should qualify as extreme, he thought, but he didn't feel guilty about that part.

He did feel slightly guilty about using Tim's situation for his own personal agenda.  In the midst of the argument, he had realized that he wasn't just yelling for Tim's benefit, but for his own.  His feelings for the man that had been his guardian had been steadily spiraling out of control.  No longer just a schoolboy crush, but lust and love growing to dangerous levels inside him.  All to no avail, he knew.  No one as rigid and contained as Bruce Wayne would enter into a relationship with someone who had been entrusted to his care.  No matter that Dick Grayson was now a grown man.  And what was worse was that he had the suspicion that Bruce's feelings for him weren't exactly paternal, either.  There had been certain clues that he was sure he hadn't misread...after all, he'd learned his detecting skills from the best.  But, whatever was going on was locked away behind that stony exterior, and Dick hadn't had a clue what the key might be.

Then, he'd been struck with a crazy idea, long shot though it was.  All he had to do was maneuver Bruce into position, get him in a situation where he would be *obligated* to try to loosen his reserve.  Then maybe, for a second, Bruce might let his guard down, and Dick could slip in there, work his way around a bit, and make something come of it.  A long shot, yes, but the only shot he had.  And twelve hours in which to make it work.

Dick took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and went downstairs to wait, turning over the details of his plan in his head.

<<^^>>

Bruce was standing by his bed, *staring* at the bleached and stonewashed denim lying there.  'They're just *pants*, he told himself.  'Just pants.'  In his extensive wardrobe, he had all manner of clothing, but he was sure not one pair of jeans.  But it wasn't as if he *couldn't* wear something...form-fitting.  He put on the Bat suit every night, after all.  He picked up the jeans, and glanced down when something fell free and landed on the bed.

Underwear.  Boxer-briefs.  Soft, gray cotton.  "I have *underwear*," he said aloud to the empty room.  He already had on his a pair of silk boxers underneath the burgundy robe he was wearing.  But Dick had provided him with underwear, and also a Gotham Knights tee-shirt and some sort of denim vest.

He slipped out of his silk robe, and walked slowly around the bed, his foot hitting a bag that had been left on the floor.  Upon closer inspection, inside he found boots and socks.

'Should I expect him to come barging in to dress me, too?' he wondered.

It had all seemed simple enough, but he should have known better than to let his emotions play a part.  Still, it had rubbed him the wrong way when Dick had started going on about how things were for Tim.  He felt he was doing the best he could with Tim, the same as he'd done for Dick.  And if a few rounds on the workout mat were all that it would take to end the discussion, then so be it.  Not that it had worked out the way he'd planned.  Somehow, he had ended up flat on his back, looking up at a smug Dick; honor bound to go along with whatever the young man had in mind.

Twelve hours.  He could do that.  Get himself together, put his emotions back in check, bluff, if it came to that.  Twelve hours alone with Dick, and not for a case of crime fighting, but for...*fun*...and in *jeans*.  Which brought him back to his current predicament.  Quickly, he stripped off his boxers, and picked up the gray boxer briefs, pulling them on.  And then did the same with the pair of jeans.

The denim was snug, but not too tight.  A perfect fit, he had to admit.  The tee shirt was white with the Knights' logo emblazoned on the front and the vest was like a jacket but without the sleeves.  When he had everything on, he turned and looked at himself in the mirror.  'It's no different than wearing any of the disguises I've worn,' he told himself.  But it *felt* different.  He didn't feel disguised, he felt...exposed.  The picture of a man whose life was all smoke and mirrors, existing by virtue of props and a reputation.  Someone with a cause, but no substance.

He looked almost ordinary, like a man set for a day of leisure, but he could see the shadows in his eyes.  And besides, the day ahead, he knew, wasn't really about relaxation.  It was about Dick trying to prove a point, and him fulfilling an obligation.  Not to mention that he couldn't afford to be on less than full alert around Dick, anyway.  The stint in the ring had proven that.  He had too many issues when it came to the younger man.  Things he had successfully compartmentalized over the years.

At the first sign that his feelings were approaching territory better left alone, he had started closing that large, ornate open box in his head that had represented the feelings he had for his ward.  And after dealing with Dick's departure and subsequent return, he had had to shove everything into a plain crate, locked up tight, never to be examined or analyzed.

'Twelve hours,' he thought as he went down the stairs.  'Maybe I should just concede that I need to show more flexibility in dealing with Tim.'  But that might mean the end of the deal, and the brief opportunity to be with Dick under unique circumstances.  And as much as he was dreading whatever Dick might have chosen to 'loosen him up', he couldn't bring himself to let it go.  By the time he walked into the kitchen, he felt nervous, silly, and irritated all at once.  The looks he received when he made his entrance didn't help.

Three heads turned in unison, three jaws dropped, then snapped shut when he frowned at them, (though Tim gasped out 'oh sh--' before *his* mouth closed), and Bruce was ridiculously grateful that nothing more was said.  He walked up to Dick and asked, "So, do I meet your requirements?" daring him to make a snide comment.  And there was some small measure of satisfaction in the fact that Dick seemed able to only nod.

Bruce went over to speak to Alfred, who seemed to have recovered the fastest, and Dick just stared, thinking the most indecently inappropriate thoughts.  He wasn't even sure why his mind was running amok...it wasn't as if Bruce was decked out in black leather, or was wearing a G-string revealing one of his better assets.  The appeal, he suddenly realized, was in how 'accessible' Bruce looked.  Though he seemed a bit uncomfortable, he still looked like a guy you could shoot the shit with or maybe make smile with a kiss, a man who would press your head closer if you were to suddenly drop to your knees and suck on his cock right through his new pair of jeans....

Dick gave a start when he focused and Alfred was standing in front of him with two bags in his hands.

"Everything you requested, Master Dick."

"Thanks, Alfred."  He cleared his throat, hoping his voice sounded normal, taking the packages from Alfred and holding them conveniently in front of his crotch.  "Bruce?"

Bruce gave Dick a nod, and turned to Tim.  "It's Robin and Batgirl tonight.  After putting the Joker back in Arkham last week, I expect things to remain quiet for a while longer."

"Alfred knows how to reach me if there's an emergency," Dick interrupted, catching Alfred's eye, smiling when the older man showed no signs of reaction under Bruce's watchful stare, "but *only* an emergency."

"Well," Bruce said, addressing the room in general, "I should be back around midnight, then."

"Yeah, folks," Dick said, unable to keep the edge from his voice, "don't worry about it.  The clock strikes twelve and the Bat returns.  He'll probably show up on patrol before the night is done, so look alive."  He stalked out, not looking back.  'Get a grip, Grayson,' he scolded himself, 'You haven't even started yet, and you're already letting things get to you.'

'Fun' and 'relaxation' were the buzz words for the day...not just for Bruce, but for Dick as well, and he was determined to make it work.

<<^^>>

Dick was sitting astride one of his favorite motorcycles when Bruce met him minutes later out in front of Wayne Manor.  He made a perfect picture on the vintage Harley touring bike in his own blue jeans, black tee-shirt, and black motorcycle boots, and the look on Bruce's face was worth everything.

"Dick...it would be fine for you to use any one of the cars.  Whichever one you want to drive--"

"Save it, Bruce.  You've ridden a motorcycle before, so this is the easy part.  But I'll take a raincheck on the cars.  I'd love to get behind the wheel of the convertible you bought last year.  But right now...get on."

Bruce got behind Dick feeling totally out of his element.  Sure he'd ridden motorcycles before, but in recent memory, only the battle-ready Batcycles.  And not sitting behind someone where he would have to hold on headed to who-knew-where.

"Bruce," Dick said, interrupting the other man's thoughts, "you don't have to do this.  Truthfully, I didn't think you'd make it past putting on the jeans.  We can end it here.  No harm, no foul.  I let my temper get out of hand, but I was concerned about Tim and..."  He stopped, unable to speak as big hands settled on his hips.  But he was smiling as he revved up the engine and took off.

Dick tried not to give into the clichéd image of 'wind in your hair, riding the open road, heading into the sunset with the one you love', but that's exactly how he felt.  Bruce's body behind him--the strong hands and solid thighs were the only things holding him to the motorcycle so that he wouldn't float away on a cloud of elation.  He wanted to just ride and ride forever, and wondered what Bruce would do if he did that...putting more and more distance between them and Gotham and the life back there...that structured, purpose-filled life.  That wasn't a real option, he knew, but he could do the next best thing.  Mentally, he scrapped the carefully planned events of the day.  A new idea formed in his head...a way to get at least a sense of distance and separation from the real world for a while.  It would be a bit of a ride, but he knew just the perfect spot.

<<^^>>

A little over an hour later, Dick reached his destination.  After several miles along back roads, he had made one last turn past a sign that read 'Private Property of Wayne Enterprises', and stopped his bike when the road ended.  The two men dismounted from the motorcycle, and Dick unpacked some things, handing off a bedroll to Bruce to carry, but ignoring the puzzled look that he was given.

He would have answered any questions, but if Bruce were waiting for him to volunteer information, then there would be a long wait.  Undoubtedly, Bruce recognized the property as a parcel of land that he had purchased years ago.  It had been earmarked for some sort of development deal or corporate expansion; Dick couldn't remember for sure.  He had been young when Bruce had brought him there, explaining details that hadn't mattered to a kid's world.  But as Bruce had walked the property, talking to some other men in suits, Dick had played nearby, staring in wonder at the birds and animals he'd seen, his curiosity about nature revived after having lived in Gotham for a while.  Afterwards, on the ride back, he had asked Bruce question after question about what would happen to the creatures he had seen, and the answers hadn't sat easily on his mind.  But, after a week or so, as often happens with children, something else had come along to capture his attention.

When he was eighteen and friction had developed between he and Bruce, he had gotten into the habit of hopping on the old motorcycle that Bruce had let him fix up, and just riding, imagining what it would be like to just say, 'The hell with everything', and keep going until he couldn't go any further.  On one of those treks, he had stumbled across the property, surprised that no office buildings or home estates had ever been built there.  The place seemed to have turned into some sort of unofficial nature reserve...lush and vibrant, but obviously cared for...not too wild or overgrown.  He had parked his bike and started walking, sure that someone would come along to stop him for trespassing.  A short walk later, he had found the clearing, and sat there alone with nature and his thoughts.  It had become a favorite haunt, and when he'd returned to Gotham after his self-imposed exile, he had even camped there for a few days, contemplating stepping back into Bruce Wayne's life.

Dick came back to the present and realized that he had been moving forward, but Bruce wasn't beside him.  He exhaled loudly, turning back with a less than nice comment on the tip of his tongue, only to find Bruce watching him with an odd expression.  Panicky or unsure--Dick couldn't tell which, but it tore at him.

"You okay?" he finally asked.

There was a quick nod, but Bruce still looked like a man about to be asked to do something for which he was woefully unprepared.

"There's a place just up ahead, or if you'd rather, we could always go back."  Bruce walked up to him, and Dick couldn't help but smile.  "You're not worried about getting arrested for trespassing, are you?  I happen to know that you're on good terms with the owner."

"That helps me, but what about you?"  A sidelong glance, a ghost of a smile.

"I'd have to explain that he has something incredible that I can't seem to stay away from, and hope he understands."  Dick turned and walked on, hoping he hadn't said too much.

They went through a wooded area and came out at a lush, shaded clearing on the edge of a small stream.  Dick took the bedroll, spread it out, setting down the other packages on one corner, then sat down with an audible groan of pleasure at being able to stretch out after his time on the road.

"I love this place.  I've done a lot of thinking here over the years."

Bruce sat down next to him and, after a while, said, "Once a year for the past few years, I've driven up here just to walk around."

"Really?"  Shock was evident in Dick's voice, but he didn't ask any of the questions running through his mind.  His new plan, which was really more of a 'non-plan', hinged on the concept of 'no pressure'.  Just a quiet time spent sitting under the trees.

Bruce nodded in answer, not adding that his visits were always on Dick's birthday, every year since his eighteenth, and that he did it to remind himself of that boy with the innocent curiosity.  His ward.  He definitely didn't mention that Batman had prowled the area on more than one dark night, for reasons that even he didn't understand.  So many things had changed, and he knew that he hadn't handled all of them well.

"Are you hungry?" Dick asked, just to have something to say.

"Are you ready to eat?"

Dick rolled his eyes.  "Have you ever realized how often you *don't* answer questions directly?"

"Have you ever noticed the same is true for you?"

Dick was quiet at that.  He'd often struggled with the idea of how much he was like Bruce...like *Batman*.  There had been a time when all he'd wanted was to be like Batman, then a time when he had rebelled strongly against any such idea.  He had finally gotten to  a point where he felt he was his own man even with the influences of Bruce on his life.

"I'll take that as a 'no' you're not ready to eat yet," Dick said at last, lying back on the blanket, his head under his hands, breathing the fresh air, listening to the murmuring of the nearby water.  Before he knew it, he had drifted off, dozing lightly, but peacefully, his head filled with pleasant thoughts.

Sensing movement close to him, Dick woke, slowly opening his eyes, and he saw Bruce unpacking the bags of food that Alfred had sent.  As if on cue, Dick's stomach rumbled and he grinned self-consciously.  "I guess it's lunchtime."

"I thought you might be hungry once you woke up."

"I wasn't sleeping...just resting."

"Well, you 'rested' for over an hour," Bruce said, humor clear in his tone.  "I see Alfred has been busy," he added, handing Dick a roast chicken sandwich, one of the younger man's favorites.

"I decided the clothes were enough, and that I wouldn't subject you to my culinary skills."  Dick watched as Bruce set out some of his own favorites including roast beef sandwiches with Alfred's special horseradish sauce.

"So you didn't think that I needed to lighten up when it came to my food choices?"

Dick glanced sharply in Bruce's direction, but saw no sign of annoyance, just a slightly curious expression, and the trace of a smile.  He wasn't sure what to say.  They could always go ahead and talk about Tim, but there was so much more in question than that.  Finally, he joked, "Nah, you're okay with food, but have you ever thought about missing the weekly appointment for your haircut?"

Bruce's eyes went to Dick's long hair that had been tied back into a ponytail, and seemed to give the idea serious consideration.  "No," he said decisively, shaking his head for emphasis.

Laughing, Dick teased, "It probably won't grow long anyway.  Years of wearing that cowl have taken a toll, I'm sure."

When there was no response, Dick started to apologize, cursing the fact that he had even brought Batman to mind.

"I push Tim for the same reasons that I pushed *you*," Bruce said.  "Because the danger we face is real.  Because it's important that he be prepared mentally and physically when on the streets.  Because he's young and caught up in *my* fight, and the idea of something happening to him as a result of that is unacceptable."

"Bruce, I understand that, and I'm grateful for your guidance over the years, but there's more than one way to achieve the same results.  You might want to acknowledge that it's *our* fight, too; though, the reasons might not be the same as yours.  And it wouldn't be a bad idea to learn when *not* to push, and *who* not to push, before you push them totally away.  Tim and I are different, Bruce, and I don't think he'll wait until after college to take off on his own if things keep up this way."

"Has he said something to you?"

"Nothing like that, no, but he's growing up.  Is it so hard for you to see that we all grow up?  Or to imagine a *man* fighting by your side, and not a boy?"

Again, there was no answer, and the quiet tension drew Dick to his feet, and he was headed for the woods before he even thought about it.  'So much for fun and relaxation', he admonished himself.  'No pressure, no pressure', he repeated over and over in his head.  'Take your own advice about when not to push...'

After a while, he made his way back to the clearing, and found Bruce still sitting in the same spot.  When he got closer, Bruce looked up at him, but he couldn't read the expression on his face.

"I...I..."  Dick shrugged.  "Sorry," he said at last, "First, I fall asleep, then I take off.  Not exactly how I'd planned things to go."

"Where do we go from here?"

Dick considered that...so many possibilities...

"I have on the requested outfit," he heard, "so what's the next activity?"

"Oh.  This is it, Bruce.  We don't go anywhere from here, except back."  He dropped down on the blanket next to Bruce, mumbling, "This is all I got."

Silence fell between them, and Bruce was at a loss.  Should he try to make small talk?  No, better to address the issue at hand, the way he should have in the beginning.  "I believe you were right about Tim.  A different technique is required to handle situations with him.  I haven't been going about it the right way."

"You've made a world of difference with him.  And with me, too.  No amount of conflict between us can negate the good that has come from my having known you."

"That works both ways, Dick."

Again, there was a lull in the conversation, and Dick stole frequent glances at Bruce's strong profile, wondering what was on Bruce's mind, what his thoughts were about the how day was going.

"I was always sorry about how matters were when you...left.  I would have regretted any permanent break between us."

"Ditto, Bruce," Dick answered, but then, abruptly, Bruce stood up.  Dick expected to hear, 'Now that we've got that settled, let's go back', but Bruce just slowly walked down to the edge of the water, and leaned against an old tree.

Dick couldn't help it... he stared, loving the sight of him, hating that there was probably nothing he could do about it.  And he wondered if maybe in reality those 'clues' he was sure he'd seen were simply him projecting his wants and desires into Bruce's behavior.  Or, even if he had deduced correctly, maybe there was just no way to ever truly get away from what they used to be to one another.  He packed up their stuff, and, with a sigh, walked over to where Bruce stood, about to suggest that they call it a day.

"This land belongs to you, " Bruce said.  Ignoring the stunned look on Dick's face, he continued, "I put it in trust for you years ago.  It was supposed to go to you on your eighteenth birthday, but there was so much tension between us then, that I didn't want you to think I was trying to buy your compliance.  So then it was supposed to go to you on your twenty-first, but..."

Dick knew what was left unsaid, how he had left Bruce, Gotham, the fight...everything.

"But when you turn thirty, it's yours, no matter what."

Dick was incredibly moved by that revelation...and immediately ashamed of his tactics that day.  It seemed he never heeded his own advice until too late.  It was fine to expound on how he and Tim were different and so Bruce needed to act accordingly, but he never remembered how different Bruce himself was...product of his circumstances.  With Bruce, some of the greatest manifestations of his love were things you didn't see or hear about.  And, that was the important thing in the end...the love that they had for one another.  It was what he wanted most of all...love, respect, trust.  And he had those things.  The rest, he would get over, because he didn't want to lose having Bruce in his life.  Who knew how he would have turned out if Bruce Wayne hadn't taken him in?  He had seen enough of life on the streets to imagine what could have happened to a lonely, scared, angry boy suddenly alone in the world.

He swallowed and felt tears burning his throat, surprised that they weren't leaking from his eyes.  It wasn't the gift of the land, exactly, but the idea that Bruce had 'known' what it would mean to him, evidently before he had known himself.  And he hated the selfish, underhanded maneuvers that had gotten Bruce there that day.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, for...all of this...this whole day.  I even cheated to win the bet in the first place."

"I know, but you were worried about Tim, and you made me reassess the situation, so you were right, despite--"

"No, Bruce.  This has nothing to do with Tim.  Not really."  Dick forced himself to look the other man in the eye, facing up to what he was about to reveal.  "I have...feelings for you.  I mean..." clearing his throat, "*romantic* feelings.  And I wanted so badly for you to return them, that I convinced myself that you felt the same way, and if I could only get you to slow down, relax, and think while you weren't in Batmode then we could make something of it.  And I was wrong...wrong to trick you, wrong to try to manipulate things, and wrong to think that even if you did feel the same way, that I had a right to force your hand."  Finally, Dick looked away, turning his back.  "God, I am so sorry."  His voice as strained as he felt.

Bruce came up behind him, and he felt those strong hands resting on his shoulders.  "We're okay, right?  I mean, you don't have to worry about me throwing myself at you or anything.  But in general, you don't have a problem with the fact that I...like men, do you?"  He shook his head, breath leaving him in a loud exhale.  "Shit.  I can't believe how badly I handled this."

Gently squeezing Dick's shoulders, Bruce said, "Dick, we're fine.  No matter what...I love you."  It was one of his shortcomings, he knew.  That he couldn't even manage to communicate his feelings to the few people of significance in his life.  "And you weren't wrong."

Dick's body tensed under his fingers, and he stood his ground when the younger man turned to face him.

"What are you saying, Bruce?"

"I'm saying that even though I've tried to ignore them, I do have...those feelings for you, too."

It wasn't hard for Dick to hear that something was being left unsaid.  "But..." he ventured.

"But we both know that nothing can come of it."

Whatever shred of calm Dick had been clinging to vanished.  "*Nothing*?  What about being together?  What about having a life...?"

He didn't need Bruce to answer the last.  Even without the added complication of being with a man...of being with someone who had once been in his charge, Bruce didn't really have a 'life'.  'Bruce Wayne' was basically a 'cover', after all.  *Batman* had the life.  'But with me, it could be different,' Dick reasoned to himself.  'I live that sort of life, too.  There would be no need for explanations and subterfuge; all they would have to do was make room for each other, expanding on what they already had as they moved on into new territory.

Recklessly, he continued, "What about..."  He was whispering, and despite himself it sounded more desperate than seductive, but then again, he *felt* desperate.  So close...so damned *close*, and he felt it slipping away even as he removed the last of the physical space between them.  "What about this..."

Boldly, he placed one hand on Bruce's hip, the other on the back of his neck, guiding their bodies together, their mouths together...  He almost wished that Bruce would pull away, because he had the sinking feeling that no matter how great a kiss it turned out to be, it wouldn't be enough to change Bruce's mind, and he was sure it would be better not to get a taste of what he would be missing.  But contact was made, and he felt desire rush through him, amazed that his dreams hadn't come close to the glorious reality.  And he was glad that he was holding on tight, especially when Bruce's arms finally went around him, hands at the small of his back, and the kiss took on a life of its own.

As Nightwing, and as a circus performer long before that, he'd felt the sensation of flying, but never anything like that kiss that made him feel so high, going on for what seemed like forever.  And he was going to have to break it off himself before he totally gave into the temptation to hump against the hard-on he could feel next to his own.  Coming in his pants was not an option, though he had the urge to see just how far he could make Bruce go.

In the end, they both simply needed to come up for air.  Dick pulling free with a gasp, and Bruce taking a deep breath.  Their eyes met and, sadly, Dick didn't see the answers he wanted in Bruce's steady gaze, just a neutrality that chilled him.  It was only the sound of distant thunder, heard seconds later, that made him notice how dark it had gotten, and how the wind had picked up, cooling the air around them.

"There's a storm on the horizon," Bruce said, stating the obvious.

'Story of my life,' Dick thought, going to pick up the stuff they had brought with them.  "Yeah, we have a long ride ahead of us...we should go."

He couldn't help noting that despite the things said, the kiss shared, it hadn't turned out well at all.  The last thing he wanted was to get back on the road with Bruce so near, but, pathetically, he knew he wanted to feel those hands on him, one last time.

The storm clouds seemed to follow them all the way back home, taunting them with an imminent outburst.  The first rain drops fell just as Dick drove up to the front of Wayne Manor.  Twenty-four hours earlier he would have parked his bike, and stayed the night in the house that used to be his home, but he just couldn't bring himself to seriously entertain that idea.  Not after the day he'd had.  Instead, he just prayed that it wouldn't pour down on him before he made it back to his own place.  He barely gave Bruce time to dismount, before he pulled off, not looking back.  Missing the sight of Bruce standing there, rain falling softly on him as he stared after the motorcycle and its rider until they had faded into the misty gray distance.

<<^^>>

Bruce went immediately to the BatCave, stripping out of his damp clothes and hanging them up to dry.  Minutes later, he was in full Bat gear, sitting at the console of the Cave's main computer, and for the first time that he could remember, the familiar mantle felt uncomfortable and oppressive.  Years of discipline helped him to ignore the sensation, and he turned his attention to the business of taking care of Gotham.

But, before the night was over, he found himself wishing for the feel of denim against his skin.
 
 

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