Work Text:
The hard maple dining table was unforgiving against his cheekbone and ribs, it was freshly waxed and pooling with his drool, the sweet woodsy scent invigorating his mind. It was but one of the things that was invading him, filling him up, making him whole. Grunts were in the air, peaking every time his thighs were pushed forward into the edge of the wood. His shirt was bunched up at his shoulders, food dishes shoved out the way and teased him with the smell of bacon, another meal he’d barely gotten to eat.
“You’re mine, Dickie, you’ll always be mine,” the dark low voice growled out behind him. He felt the fingers in his hair suddenly, gripping strongly at the roots that tugged the strands and lifted him back with force, causing his spine to curve and twist in pain until he could see the face of his Master, Bruce Wayne.
“I don’t care if you’re 18, you’re not going anywhere,” Bruce assured him, commanded him, demanded from him. While it was true he had the right to petition for his freedom now that he was of age, he knew that it was never an option. He couldn’t escape those icy blue eyes, always watching, staring, analyzing, controlling. Even now as he felt the grip yank him harder for a response, he knew. He was Bruce’s.
“I’m yours, always.”
“Good.”
The grip, never relenting, brought him closer, closer until their lips met and Dick could feel the hunger and bruising possessiveness. It was all encompassing, hot and hard with a flash of tongue when he was yanked free and shoved back to the table with a thud. Dick gasped in, a groan of pain escaping his lips, but it was nothing to the sudden renewed vigor in which his ass was being pounded into as if Bruce intended to stamp the very shape of his cock deep within him. There was nothing but white hot friction, promising pleasure with every plunge of pain. Long used to the sometimes impatient way Bruce would take him without any aid, he couldn’t help but moan in excitement.
It was messy in how eager Bruce had gotten started, the rattling of cutlery on the dishes finding their way onto the bare wood, scattering food, a sudden glass tipping over and spilling. The bright orange liquid threatened to soak into his hair, but it wouldn’t matter if it did. Bruce wouldn’t care unless it got in his way of his enjoyment. Dick’s discomfort was never a real concern, nor should it be.
“Please,” Dick begged, words slipping out as they often did when Bruce was being so indulgent as to not cage his cock. “Please let me cum, Master.”
“Not yet, soon,” the voice growled out again behind him between ramming jolts. Dick wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t upset him somehow when he felt the unforgiving squeeze of Bruce’s hands into his hips, surely hard enough they’d leave little smiling nail marks adorned in bruises there. It had started sweet but devolved into domination. He felt his eyes rolling closed, painfully hard, cock congested and ready to unleash as his prostate was raked against by the sheer girth of the invader.
Shudders began to roll through him as sweat built up on his body, his voice louder and louder when he was slammed into one last time and he felt himself swelling with molten heat, every burst of seed throbbing through Bruce’s cock against his inner walls. He whimpered and groaned, but he couldn’t come, not until he had permission, not until the rugged voice of his Master allowed it.
“Now. paint the floors,” he was commanded and Dick felt the heat that had built in his waist and waved out in electric pleasure from his torso to the tips of his fingers and toes to his groin. It rocked him and exploded forth, the sound of his release plopping down onto the wood below until he was spent and panting heavily. Bruce hadn’t left him, keeping him stretched, hands smoothing over him as if they were thinking and contemplating something when they grabbed for his hair again.
“Aah!” Dick cried out from the sudden change to pain again, at the loss of heat between his cheeks. He was being dragged abruptly, barely able to pull his pants back up from his ankles as the open robed master took him into the hallway and through the secret entrance to his dungeon. Unlike a lot of whispered words from fellow slaves, his master was a bit different from others he’d learned about. Bruce’s dungeon was different. Carved from stone beneath his mansion, it led down into natural caves. It could support a full house of slaves, with a number of rooms and cages. But they all stood empty. It had been a long time since Bruce had brought him there and his heart began to beat wildly.
He wanted to plead, to beg for forgiveness, but he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong, and even then, Bruce wasn’t one to usually allow for it.
Punishment was meant to be taken.
Punishment was always deserved.
At every step, cold bit into his bare feet and his legs to his spine until he had begun shivering involuntarily. It felt like he might simply vibrate apart and collapse had Bruce not continued to wrench him further towards the room he most feared. He couldn’t stop the resistance that began with his feet, pushing down into the rocky flooring to slow the progress, to steal precious seconds, nor could he stop the whimper that began to crawl out of his throat like some dying creature that stole the words from him. When it opened at last with a creaking wail, his head was drawn up to force his feet to stand as he was pinned to the doorframe.
His desperation came in wet eyes, his mouth open as his hands grabbed for the rich fabric of the silky black robe. He wanted to scream anything! anything! I’ll do anything! but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t bring oxygen into his restricted chest, and the world began to blur behind warped droplets and a black haze.
“You’ll always be mine,” Bruce told him again, his other hand coming to grab him by his jaw. “If you even think of leaving me, I’ll find you. There is no place in this world you can hide from me. No rock, no hole, nothing. Wherever you go, I’ll always be there. You hear me?”
The heat from Bruce’s body helped steady the chill that had settled in his rattling bones, his words searing into his mind as he tried to nod in vain when the words failed to generate in his throat. It wasn’t enough and the grip was tightened as he felt his head shifted and banged against the door frame.
“You hear me?” The growl radiated down his body, making him scared, making him hard.
Bruce was angrier, so much angrier. He didn’t want to make Bruce angry, no, never that. Even with the room, anger was so much worse.
“I hear. I won’t leave. I’m yours!” he croaked out, moving his hands to the broad muscled chest, down his abs, trying to bring him closer, to prove there really was nowhere else he wanted to be, no other place he belonged. “I’m Yours!”
Just when a sliver of hope thudded through his chest at the calming look in the fierce blue eyes that were aimed at him, Dick was pushed into the room with a yelp. He began to shake uncontrollably, staying on the ground as he held himself. The room was bright, so abnormally white that it hurt the eyes to stay open, invaded the depths of them while they were closed, bleeding down into him as if to visually overwhelm him. But this was just the beginning, Dick knew. He never got put in the room and got off so easily.
No…No…No…No…No.
Rocking, rocking helped to soothe him, every enunciation of the world in his mind like a ticking of a clock, a tick to keep the time, a tick to tell him that it was moving, a tick to keep his mind focused on something other than the sudden blast of noise that speared its percussive static down through the ear canals into his very soul, making every thought incoherent. He didn’t need thoughts and hands were useless to stop the invasiveness. Just count time.
No…No…No…No…No.
The noise suddenly stopped nearly as soon as it had come, plunging him into a strange silence that roared in his head. It was louder than the static, it was louder than the white, and he cried to fill the sound void with anything. Just count time.
No…No…No…No…No.
5 seconds, 46 seconds, 34 seconds, 97 seconds, 13 seconds? 5 minutes? 2 seconds, did it count? Had he hallucinated it? He wailed when the noise suddenly hammered into his thoughts. He began to jump every time the noise came, every time it ended. He couldn’t settle, he couldn’t relax, he couldn’t do anything but suffer without a shred of relief.
Static. Silence.
Static. Silence.
Static. Silence.
On. Off.
Over and over.
So many times Dick had lost count. It didn’t matter anymore, his hoarse voice only secondary in discomfort to the swollen eyes that cried until no more came, to the numbness that stole feeling from his extremities. Time had ceased to have meaning. The frigid hands of despair dragged him down into the pits of hopelessness where only the darkness of his parents' deaths met him, calling to him to join them in oblivion, but Dick didn’t want to die.
He needed Bruce. Bruce could make it all go away. Bruce wanted him to stay so badly he was making sure he stayed. Bruce was punishing him for even having had the smallest of ideas to petition his freedom. Bruce wanted him near. Bruce couldn’t live without him. Bruce loved him.
Bruce…Bruce…Bruce…Bruce…Bruce.
Yes, Bruce loved him. This was proof, wasn’t it? Bruce loved him and took care of him. His room was so much better than most. He ate so many fine foods and tasted so many fine wines. He’d seen others dying needlessly on the news because they couldn’t afford help. He’d never die because Bruce was poor. Bruce never hurt him too badly, no, he could take it. He was a good slave. Good for Bruce and Bruce was good for him, taking him around parties and never letting a single soul touch him. No one was good enough. No one but Bruce.
When the warmth began to seep through him, drawing to life each limb to the tips, he let out a small breath of ease and began moving. The euphoric elation lifted him out of the pain and misery, bringing him somewhere he’d never been before in the honey sweet clouds of white around him. His heart began to beat in a flutter.
Bruce loves me.
A smile crossed his lips, eyes lifting to the camera. Bruce was watching because Bruce cared.
Bruce loves me a lot.
Suddenly it didn’t seem so hard to sit in the room anymore where everything else faded away and all he had was himself and Bruce through the camera. His gaze remained fixed on the white painted box with a circle black lens, high in the corner, and slowly spread his legs for him. First he brought his hand down, rubbing against the length of his shaft outside his pajama pants as the noise began to blare again, but all Dick could feel was the desire coursing through him.
“Master…” he murmured, letting his head fall back. Soon the fabric in his way was too much and he shimmed them down to his ankles and spread himself wide again. He remembered the way Bruce liked it when he showed his stomach, kept trim and defined, and pulled his shirt off, eyes lifting quickly, never wanting to stray too far from the reflective glare of working inner mechanics. Little goosebumps prickled across his skin, but he didn’t care. He needed relief.
Bruce’s cum had begun leaking out at some point. Although he didn’t know exactly when based on the wet spot on his pajamas, there was enough left when he brought his other hand down past his balls and slid into his loose bud to give him the slick he needed. His own hands could never satisfy him the way Bruce could.
Bruce loves me.
Squelching noises burst through into the silence as he finger fucked Bruce’s cum back into his ass. It was making him hot, undone, and scratchy moans absorbed into the walls as he started jacking his cock off with wild abandon. He could feel the heat of desire blossoming under his skin, rippling around him into the barrage of noise as though it were nothing but the sweet renditions of a love song perfectly crafted by none other than the master who loved him so.
He came harder than he ever had, so hard it forced his fingers out of the heat beneath him. The milky white cream erupted up and arched as it fell onto his exposed neck and chest, raining warmth on his sweaty skin. He bit the bottom of his lip knowing Bruce was watching as his body was racked with pleasure. It shook through to his core, to his soul where Bruce lived.
“Good Boy, Dickie.” Bruce’s voice was like velvet in the silence, slicing through and reverberating in his heart, accompanying the soft pants. “You’ll always be my special boy.”
Dick nodded enthusiastically, heart thudding with the very hard earned praise, throat raw as he happily lifted his voice to his Master, to his everything. “Yes! I’ll always be your good boy!”
The noise did not return, nor did his master’s words, but Dick still held the spoken treasure close to his heart, filling the empty void with its repetitious replaying. It soothed him like a babe on its mother’s teat, and he began to lick every drop of cum off his body using his fingers just like good boys are supposed to.
When the door opened an eternity later, Bruce held his hand out. The clothes he wore looked soft and warm, warm like the smile on his master’s lips and he rose to his feet, righting his clothes back onto his body and taking his hand.
“I have a present for you.” Bruce informed him as they walked along, leaving slowly up further and further until they’d come back into the first floor of the mansion where hardwood floors and walls greeted him with its dark and golden tones, where his master’s long lost family members smiled coyly in brushed paintings, and Bruce brought him to his room and kissed him as though they’d been parted for far too long. Dick could feel himself melting against the endless depths when he was held gently away and their gazes met.
“Shower and dress in something nice and appropriate for guests.”
Dick suddenly perked up in excitement and the knowing smile on Bruce’s face told him enough that he was sure to love it. It bubbled out of him and he threw himself up to kiss Bruce on the cheek. With a pat on the bum, he hurried to the shower, hurried to dress, hurried to hide the puffy red of his face and marks on his neck as he’d been taught. Soon he was looking reinvigorated, though worn, and slipped on his house shoes and met Bruce at the door.
Rarely had Bruce gone so far as to escort him in recent years, leading him down the hallway, where every step felt like he might rocket off the ground had Bruce’s strong grip not tethered him to earth. And when they came into the formal living room, Dick couldn’t understand why he was standing across from a teenager who looked like he’d seen better days.
“Dickie, I would like you to meet Jason. Jason Todd.”
Dick looked up to Bruce, slightly confused. This wasn’t Clark, Luther, Diana, Harvey, Barry, Jack, no, no this wasn’t anyone he knew and his gaze fell down to the boy again. He couldn’t be much older than 13, and the curly black hair framed his boyish features in a near angelic light despite the clear anger and hatred that smoldered behind the tempered blue eyes and a narrowed furrow of his brows. He was like his master. He was like him. He said it was a present?
“Do I need to remind you of your manners, Dickie?” Bruce’s chiding voice cut through the growing feeling of betrayal.
“Hello, J-Jason,” his voice croaked, still recovering from the endeavor below the floorboards. “A pleasure to meet you.”
The boy didn’t respond back, a near snarl in his lips.
“He’s shy, Dickie. Why don’t you sit together and help make him feel at home. After all, this is his home now.”
Dick’s eyes widened into disbelief, the words slamming into his chest as though he’d been punched. He swallowed the lump in his throat, toeing the line between angering Bruce and understanding if what he was hearing was true as he woodenly came to sit beside the small, perhaps malnutritioned, kid next to him. Dick had been eight when he was bought on the legal market, when the world of glittering shows had been replaced by the glittering lights of an auction house.
“His home?”
“Yes. Jason is our new pet. I got him for us both. Now that you are a man, I thought it was about time.”
Dick looked over to the kid again, a tremor in his body that he sought to keep still, so the boy wouldn’t feel it, but the disgusted look in the boy’s eyes were soon directed to him before they flashed with what seemed almost like pity.
“Thank you,” Dick replied, attempting to sound truly pleased when all he felt was something dark in his heart trying to drag him down, to steal the last of any hopes in his heart, prodding at his mind something he couldn’t quite understand how to say, how to express, how to feel. He couldn’t understand why everything about this horrid black haired kid next to him made him want to lash out violently, to hit, pummel, bash, and destroy. It was so visceral that Bruce’s voice startled him out of the flash of red he was envisioning.
“I’m going to settle a few matters with the staff. I believe we can come to an agreement over who Jason shares the bed with tonight. We wouldn’t want him to get lonely or scared on his first night, would we?”
“No, sir.”
“Play nice,” Bruce cautioned in a near lighthearted way, but the words brought another wave of despair that strangled his heart. It wasn’t long before the two of them were alone in the room, the ambient noises of the outdoors, of grandfather clocks, and breathing filling up the stretch of time as neither were particularly interested in looking at each other. Eventually Dick tried to appease his master’s request should he be listening and watching in on one of the various cameras throughout the mansion.
“Is this your first…first master?” he asked, his voice attempting to sound cordial.
“This sleezeball don’ fuckin’ own me,” the hiss of anger spat out in his direction, accompanied by another sneer.
“You’re not a slave?” Dick asked, incredulous.
“I’m nobody’s fuckin’ slave. Cotton in ya damn ears or somethin’?”
Dick shook his head, not understanding, “then why are you here? You want to be here?”
“Hell no, I…they forced me here,” the boy gruffed and crossed his arms. “Fuckin’ tagged and sold me like I’m some damn piece of food on a shelf. I was better off on the streets.”
“Bruce Wayne is a good master. It’s nice here in the manor, you’ll see. He’s the be-”
“Shuddup you fuckin dipshit! Bet he raped ya ass an’ ya here praising him? Fuck’s wrong with ya?”
“But we’re slaves.” Dick said, face distorting. Bruce loves me. I wanted him to touch me.
“So? Who says? The assholes doing it? Just cuz’ its legal don’ make it right. You just go along with whatever the hell’s happenin’, do ya? Got cheese for brains?”
“Hey! Don’t talk like this!” Dick suddenly got worried. A prickly tingle of heat waved over his shoulder bringing tension into them as he looked around frantically. Bruce might have heard him talking. He didn’t want to go back into the room. Anything but the room. “Just shut up and do what he says. You don’t want to make him mad.”
“I’ll do what I damn well please, thank ya very much.” With that the boy huffed and turned to look away. Dick could see the denial in his face, but it was a denial he’d watched a few go through before. In the back room of social events where some slipped away without their master’s knowing, he’d often heard stories of slaves trying to run away and it was never pretty what happened to them, the examples that were made out of them. He couldn’t stop the anxious energy in his limbs.
“You shouldn’t say things like this. You’ll only regret it in the long run. This is your home now and it’s probably the best you could hope for. You’d better-”
“Ya think I wanna be here just because this fucker is rich? Ya stupid! They’re the fuckin’ worst, don’ ya know?”
“I don’t want you here either!” Dick burst out suddenly in anger, finally fed up with all the taunts. The boy slowly looked at him, his face puckering as if he’d tasted something sour and the look of pity seeped into the gaze even stronger. He couldn’t stand it, the violent anger bursting through him as he stood and pushed the new object of his rage down onto the floor. “I don’t want to share! He’s MY master!”
“Hey! Fuck you! Fuck ya fuckin’ master too!” Jason spat out as he scrambled up to his feet. It was seconds before the little firsts came flying and Dick tried all he could to block each blow before Dick overcame him by sheer weight and strength and height and shoved him into the wall nearby with a growl. A plaque clattered to the floor and a firm hand on his shoulder startled him out of the blinding outrage before he could pummel him more than a few times.
“That’s enough, you two.” Bruce’s voice was unmistakable in its commanding tone, and despite all the bluster of his newest housemate, Dick watched Jason shrink slightly at the sudden firmness aimed at them. Dick let him go, unpinning him from the wall and looked down to his shoes, noticing the smear blood on his knuckles.
“I’m sorry, Master.” Dick offered in apology. He didn’t know what had overcome him but it didn’t matter what Jason thought or said, Dick knew in the end Bruce was someone with true power. Physical, mental, and ridiculously wealthy. Connections with the President of the country itself no less. There was nothing Bruce wanted that Bruce didn’t get. Nothing. Jason was going to understand it soon enough and all that machismo would have been for nothing.
“Now look at what you’ve done, Dickie.”
Dick lifted his gaze in time to see Bruce reach over and smear the blood running down the little upturned nose.
“We must take better care of our present, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Sir. I will do better, I promise.”
“Good boy,” the velvet voice soothed again and Dick felt a sick realization take hold of him. His gaze lifted to Bruce, searching in the contemplative expression to see if it meant that he could do whatever he wanted to the boy so long as he didn’t ruin him for Bruce. He hated it. He wanted him gone.
“Come Jason, let me show you to your new room and take you on a tour of the house.” Bruce placed his arm around Jason’s shoulders and began to take him from the room when he stopped to give Dick a wicked smile. “Why don’t you go fix yourself some lunch, Dickie. It’ll take a while to show him the way around things here.”
“Yes, Sir.” Dick brought his hands together, chest beginning to heave in small bursts as he watched their figures retreat. He looked down realizing he’d wrung his fingers so hard they’d dug divots into his palms and he eased them up. Doing as he wasvtold, though each step was reluctant, he raided the refrigerator for leftovers until he’d pecked at enough things to feel satiated. It was hard to stomach food knowing that Bruce was…Bruce was doing something to Jason…just as he’d done to him. Pacing didn’t help either, but sitting down was even far more unbearable and suddenly he felt the absolute need to make sure.
He walked swiftly, silently, a decade of trying to be invisible at times aiding him in his deceptive stealth until at last he’d heard yells in the hallway near the special room. His heart fell, face crumpling as he held back tears. He didn’t even need to place his ear to the door to hear the angry quips, the sound of smacking skin, silence followed by grunts and groans, muffled crying. Salt stung his eyes. Somehow they’d produced more tears, wrenched them out of the last corners of his broken heart and he ran to his room with a slam of his door.
Bruce loved him, not that lookalike imposter! Bruce wanted him to stay, not that mean thief! Bruce loves me! ME! Not him! NO! HE HAS TO GO!
He pulled his fists up and began to beat at his head as he was overwhelmed with hate and jealousy. BRUCE IS MINE! He can’t have him! I won’t let him! He doesn’t even want to be here, why can’t Bruce see that? Why?! I’m a good boy! He’s a bad boy! He’s not better than me! No! I’m-
Dick began to cry as he crumpled to the ground, heartbroken. Hours passed with Dick imagining all the ways the surly wretch had seduced Bruce, tempted him, stole his love and attention. When the overhead system gave its soft chime for dinner, he slowly rose off the floor, stiff from inactivity, and began to make his way back to the dining room where just that very morning Bruce had claimed him. He sat down in his normal seat, food already laid out and ready to consume.
“To our newest member,” Bruce said when they’d all been settled, Jason sitting across from Dick, each to the side of their master. Dick lifted his glass to join in the toast but couldn’t find the words in him to parrot. Jason looked disheveled, face blotchy and red and sporting a few already developing bruises along his cheek and neck. The angry look in the young boy’s eyes had turned far more indignant and distant but Dick didn’t care. All it did was make him hate him even more.
“Let’s eat.”
The silence was only broken up by the occasional sound of forks tapping plates, though Jason hadn’t touched a bite, and Dick felt satisfied that at least idle conversation hadn’t been demanded of them. He could always count on Bruce for silence when he wanted it. It wasn’t until a small piece of cake had been set in front of Dick did his gaze tear away from the ungracious kid and fall onto the sugary confection.
“Thank you,” he hummed happily, going to lift his fork up with the warm width of Bruce’s hand landed on his own.
“I think Jason might need special attention tonight, Dickie. Since it’s your birthday, it’ll be your choice who he stays with. I know you’ll make the right decision.” Bruce’s words were like honey barbed wire and Dick looked over to the sudden trepidation in the kid’s eyes. How dare he steal my birthday night from me. He wanted to strangle him for the words he was forced to utter.
“He should stay with you, Master.”
“That’s my good boy, always thinking of your Master’s needs.”
Dick gave a faltering smile, eyes falling back to the cake in front of him. It no longer held the appeal it had seconds before but he ate the confection lest Bruce think he was ungrateful.
When dinner had ended, Bruce left with Jason, leaving him to himself once again and surely Dick thought he might truly go insane. Even the white room was not this sickening, this horrible. It felt as though his heart was being torn up from the inside, that it might burst and rob him of life at any moment, and he decided he’d try and go to sleep early, rest from all the hardships the day had brought him.
His dreams offered no comfort, no reprieve, and when he woke hours later tossing and turning, he paced the halls. He didn’t know when he wound up in the kitchen looking at the knives where two empty slots stared back, nor when one particularly long butcher knife ended up in his clutches, but he’d made his mind up. No one was going to replace him. No one was going to steal his master from him. No one.
Bruce loves me .
He crept softly once more, a few floorboards creaking under his feet. Bruce’s bedroom was nearby his own and he leaned against the door to listen in. It was silent as the night could be that he could tell, and he grabbed the cold brass doorknob. Steeling his nerves he slowly turned the handle and opened the door as gently as he could. To his heart’s benefit he was relieved no noises sounded and his eyes began to adjust to the room where moonlight streamed in through the wall of windowed doors that led to a great balcony. And though he’d seen the terrible fall of his parents to their death, it did nothing to prepare him for the most horrifying scene to witness of his life in the pale light.
Jason Todd, naked and splattered with blood, was slicing a knife up high and down into the body he straddled below. The sound of gutting skin was soft from so far away, Jason’s quick paced huffing rage barely any louder.
“NOOOOO!” Dick wailed suddenly when he finally realized what was happening. Who was beneath Jason. Who was certainly more than injured by the glinting bloodied silver that descended and ascended in quick succession. Jason whipped around, eyes wild, knife poised for danger.
“How could you!?” The knife clattered from Dick’s hand to the floor, clattering as he ran as fast as he could with erupting sobs. Jason was already moving away, shell shocked and breathing heavy as he put distance between them, but Dick didn’t care. His only worry, his only concern was laying bleeding out. Dick crawled up onto the large bed, hands shaking as he tried to staunch the blood flow with sheets and blankets from gushing sharp wounds.
“Bruce! Bruce! Oh God! No! Bruce! Please, No! No Master, No! Don’t die! Don’t leave me! I need you! I need you!” He begged, he pleaded, he cried, and grasped the cold growing body in his arms, buried his face against the blood splattered neck. It pulled in its sticky metallic sheen at his knees, smeared against his arms and chest.
“Dickie?” Jason’s gruff voice said, almost gentle, like he was talking to a bomb ready to explode.
“What?! What?!” Dick erupted, squeezing the corpse of his master. “What can you possibly have to say to me?!”
“You’re free! Don’ ya get it? They told me ya 18! Now we’re both free!”
“Go away! Go away! I never want to see you again!” Dick wailed, reaching over for the phone. Help, he needed help. Bruce could live still if he just gets help. The receiver picked up to a dial tone and he dialed for aid, for ambulances, for medics, for a savior, for a miracle.
When Jason had left, Dick wasn’t aware, his eyes stuck to his Master’s sleeping gaze as he rocked and answered lifelessly when prompted by the growing number of people in the house. When paramedics pulled him away, when they took his master away, when his world seemed to truly end for a second time, when nothing no longer stirred inside his own dead cold heart, Dick finally slept.
Epilogue
Dick adjusted himself on the soft cushioned high back chair, straightening his suit as his gaze drifted idly over the crowd. The auction was about to begin and the chatter of Gotham’s elite began to quiet down, people taking their seats with paddles in hand. A few people greeted him, and even though he never had been accepted in their society with the entire Wayne’s wealth left to him, he greeted them back warmly. It was a facade he’d gotten quite used to wearing over the last two years. He flipped through the brochure in his hand, waiting and waiting through auction after auction until the only one that had ever interested him came up.
He was black haired, blue eyed, pretty, and boyish. Just like Bruce. Just like Him. Just like Jason, the rebel who was still in the wind. One, Timothy Drake, son of recently deceased elite Gothomites. He was the first to stir the dead organ within him. A smile crept on his lips as the boy was brought up closer to the edge of the stage. He was far more beautiful in person than his picture had indicated, the summary showing how intelligent he was, excelling in musical arts. A real prodigy of sorts. Special. Orphaned and in the system just like all the rest of them had been, his master included.
The bidding began, fierce competition. An older tall man in greens and golds with graying hair and a beard, parents of an eager blonde, a bulky black haired youth sporting circle sunglasses, and a few other unremarkable characters tried their best to steal him, but Dick was tenacious and unrelenting in his offers until at last his was the last paddle to stand.