The annual Wayne Foundation Holiday Charity Ball was in full swing when Dick Grayson walked in managing to look elegant, yet relaxed in his formal wear, adding just a touch of color with a red bow tie.  His eyes traveled around the room through the crowd, past women in too-tight gowns and men with too-tight collars, nodding now and then at those he knew, ignoring the interested glances thrown his way.  There was only one reason he was there at all, and when he finally zeroed in on it, he walked purposefully across the floor.

A few feet away from his target, he stopped and stared.  Several heartbeats later, Bruce Wayne looked up from the conversation he was having with two women, both of whom were spilling out over the tops of their dresses.  To Dick's delight, he saw Bruce's eyes widen in surprise, then warm in pleasure.  A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Bruce's mouth, before it was quickly cut off, though Bruce could do nothing to stop the light flush that colored his face before he turned his attention back to the women who hadn't seemed to notice that they had momentarily lost their host's attention.

Dick walked over, not hiding his own smile.  He'd found that making Bruce Wayne blush was definitely in the top five on his list of favorite things to do.  Making Bruce Wayne come was probably number one, but the blushing thing wasn't too far behind.  Due to the number of explicit fantasies he'd had over the years, he'd imagined himself driving Bruce to climax in any number of ways, and that seemed easy compared to the thought of the imperturbable Bruce Wayne, of the raised eyebrow and stern glare, showing embarrassment.  But for the last three months, (three months, two weeks, and four days he reminded himself happily), he had been making Bruce come on a regular basis, and evidently that had flipped a switch somewhere.  Maybe Bruce couldn't quite keep his defenses up when faced with the knowledge that Dick had seen him naked and hard and needy and giving.  Whatever the reason, Dick hadn't been able to stop himself from taking advantage of certain opportunities to occasionally push Bruce's buttons on purpose.

"Dick, glad you could make it," Bruce was saying to him.  "I didn't think you were going to be able to attend."

One eyebrow raised, and Dick grinned wider, holding out his hand, his fingertips squeezing subtly when Bruce shook it.  With a shrug, he said, "The Charity Ball is for a good cause, I made a special effort to get here for at least part of it."

He had told Bruce that he had prior plans, wanting his appearance to be a surprise.  And he had a few more surprises waiting in the wings for later in the evening.  For a while, he joined in the conversation, chatting amiably but all the while watching Bruce out of the corner of his eye, partly preoccupied with replaying some of his favorite moments of the past three months with Bruce and fantasizing about some from the future.  The result of that had him feeling a little hot-and-bothered, so he excused himself to get a drink, and since it was a special occasion indulged with chilled champagne.

With a glass in hand, he walked around the fringes of the festivities, eyes never straying far from wherever Bruce was playing the dutiful host by making small talk with Gotham's society matrons and wealthy businessmen.  His gaze followed Bruce onto the dance floor where he moved gracefully with one after another of the city's supply of young, sophisticated women.  Several glasses of cold bubbly later, Dick was starting to feel irrational flashes of jealousy, each time a woman smiled, batted her eyelashes, and was taken into Bruce's arms.

It wasn't the women, but the situation.  That they could get so physical, their arms around him, his hands on them, exchange kisses in greeting, right there in public, and the next day, the papers would ooh and aah over who had managed to capture the attention of Gotham's most eligible bachelor.  Dick could only imagine what the headlines would be if *he* walked up and planted one on Bruce's kisser.  He drifted for a few blissful moments on the memory of the way that Bruce kissed.  The first time, Dick had come in his pants like an overexcited kid, too happy to even be embarrassed about it.

Self-consciously, he looked around, remembering where he was, shifting his weight a little to ease the sudden tightening in the crotch of his pants.  He searched out Bruce, finding him waltzing with a raven-haired beauty in a sleek snow-white gown that Dick recognized as man-hungry Penelope Clayton.  Deciding it was a perfect time to spring his surprise, he made his way over to them, clamping down on the urge to say, 'May I cut in?' as he tapped Bruce on the shoulder.

"Excuse me for interrupting, Bruce, but I need to speak to you.  There seems to be some sort of problem that I think only you can handle."

Bruce gave him a questioning look, disengaged himself from his dance partner, oblivious to her disgruntled expression, and followed Dick out into the hall.  "What's the trouble, Dick?" he asked, frowning when Dick opened a door and stepped inside.  They were in a small meeting room and he couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, didn't sense any immediate danger.

Dick walked to the middle of the room, and when Bruce joined him, he pointed up.  "Someone seems to have sneaked in here and put up some mistletoe."  And before Bruce could respond, Dick was on him, kissing him senseless.  He gasped when Bruce's strong hands clutched him, pulling him closer, and his own hands wandered over Bruce's body, feeling what he could through the fine material of Bruce's tailored tuxedo.  Trying not to totally lose control of the situation, Dick broke away, took a deep breath and walked to the door.  Opening it, he motioned for Bruce to exit, not giving him time to start a lecture about recklessness.  "Just a reminder," he whispered as Bruce passed him, and he did his best not to smirk as he followed Bruce back to the ballroom.

Bruce went straight to the bar, and Dick watched him as he sipped on a glass of what he knew would be a quality label of scotch.  And it didn't take long for him to find what Dick had slipped into one of his pockets.  Brow wrinkling, Bruce pulled it out, stared at it, looked around hastily as he shoved it back in his pocket, a fierce blush tinting his skin as Dick met his eyes.  Dick had the good grace not to laugh, but he couldn't help a devilish wink.  Especially considering that what Bruce had just been ambushed with was a hand-painted card of Dick, a teasing side view of his right side as seen from behind, naked except for the whimsical touch of a Santa cap...and his Nightwing mask.  True to form, Bruce quickly got himself together, and Dick had to give him credit, because after reading the note that Dick had also slipped him, Bruce deliberately held Dick's gaze and advanced in Dick's direction.

"Moonlighting as a model for the holidays?" Bruce asked, deep and rumbling, giving off a rich scent of scotch and cologne, and Dick felt the effects instantly in his groin.

"Actually, a friend did it for me as a favor.  We used to uh...date."

"Oh really?"  Eyes narrowed, tone hardening.

"Relax, she did it from memory."

Bruce gave him a terse nod, as if approving Dick's response, and Dick hid his amusement.  Sometimes, it was still a struggle for Bruce not to retreat and mask his emotions, but he was giving it a concerted effort and Dick appreciated him for it.  In fact, Bruce was often surprisingly easy to read, and Dick had no doubt that Bruce loved him and wanted him.  A good thing since the feeling was definitely mutual.

"Yeah, well, my work here is done, so I'll leave you to Miss Clayton, over there.  I think you owe her another dance.  Our, uh...matter can wait."

Feeling smug, not caring about Bruce dancing the rest of the night away, Dick made his leave.  He laughed to himself as he drove off, remembering what he had written in the note.  "A sneak peek at what will be under your tree on Christmas morning."  Three days away and he couldn't wait.

~.0.~

It was a cold draft that woke him from a deep sleep later that night, goosebumps suddenly dimpling his naked flesh, but it was the voice that brought him to full consciousness.

"Where's your hat?"

Turning his head, he strained his eyes in the darkness, but saw nothing.  Damn, he thought, no matter how good Nightwing gets, I don't think he'll ever be that good.  Batman had slipped in, snatched the sheet from Dick's body and was lurking somewhere in the shadows.  "Hat?" he asked, trying to get up to speed on the situation in which he'd found himself.

"You offered me something, and I'm here to collect."

Blood rushed through Dick's body as he caught on, but he tried not to let his voice give him away.  "There's still three days until Christmas."

"I decided I didn't want to wait."

Dick started to rise, feeling exposed, naked and ass up talking to a voice in the dark.

"Stop.  Turn over, but stay there."

Automatically responding, he turned onto his back, only to feel even more exposed with his cock reaching for the ceiling.  Despite his apprehension over having to deal with the Bat in their relationship, he couldn't deny that he'd had fantasies of what it would be like to tangle with that darker side in bed.

The room seemed to get even blacker and a weight covered him, the whispering flutter of a cape settling around him, and then he was being kissed.  A rough kiss with a grinding of hips that demanded he answer in kind.  He couldn't hold on, he was pinned to the mattress, all he could do was thrust and lick, buck and bite.  Then the weight slid lower and his cock was enveloped in a hot, moist vacuum while gloved hands spread his legs open.  And before he could even adjust to that pleasure, fingers were filling him, fucking him.

With a shout that reverberated harshly in the room, he came, shuddering violently with thrilling aftershocks.  He was released, and he rolled over, trying to catch his breath, too drained to more than lie there when a hand lightly smacked his ass.  The bed shifted and with little more than a 'whoosh', Batman disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had appeared.  Eyes and body heavy with sated exhaustion, Dick fell quickly back to sleep, idly noting that his Christmas surprise seemed to have backfired, but not in a bad way at all.

~.0.~

The next morning the phone rang, and Dick reached for it, feeling sore in places that brought a smile to his face.  His voice was hoarse when he answered, another reminder of his experience with an unexpected visitor.

"Still in bed?  It's late."

It was Bruce, and Dick's smile grew.  "Yeah, rough night," he quipped, imagining Bruce's face.

But all Bruce said was, "I thought you might want to meet me at the Manor for lunch."

"Sure."

"I'll see you in about an hour."

He jumped up, showered and dressed, wondering if he would be able to turn his lunch date into something more.  Something more like what had happened last night.  If Bruce wanted to throw Batman into the mix, than Dick had a few ideas, starting with the Cave and the smooth black surface of the Batmobile.  His mind filled with lusty thoughts, he left to meet Bruce, grabbing his leather jacket on the way out.  He got to the street, patting his jacket pocket for the keys to his motorcycle and slowed his stride when he felt the bulge.  When he had removed the item, he stopped dead, rooted to the sidewalk, holding up a red G-string...with a Santa face on the front...and a little bell dangling from Santa's hat.  Attached was a note that read, "I think red might be your color."

From a discreet distance away, Bruce Wayne watched, chuckling when Dick realized that people were staring at him as they passed.  Dick blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, and stuffed the garment back in his pocket, trying to walk nonchalantly around the corner.  Bruce smiled, thinking that red was indeed Dick's color.  Slowly, he raised the window of his car and drove away.  For the first time in years, he was looking forward to Christmas morning.
 
 

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