Chapter Text
The bed was cold, save for his own body heat. The space where Richard would normally be curled up was bare, empty. Usually, Thomas would drift with the scent of Richard's dark hair, luring him into the dreary waking world, only brightened by Richard's sweetness and fierce spirit. His chest would be pressed to his boy's back, the two of them twined together, fitting like perfect puzzle pieces.
But Richard's normal place was cold, almost as if he hadn't slept there at all.
Thomas sighed, pushing himself to sit up. He stood, stretching, wondering just when Richard had gotten so good at sneaking out of his bed, sneaking away from him like a silly little bird away from the warmth and comfort of their nest. Hearing the soft rumble of water hitting the shower floor, he crept toward the cracked open door that lead to his large bathroom. With a nudge, the door opened, revealing cool marble and a foggy mirror, filled from the cilling to the floor with steamed air.
A smaller body stood in the shower, his neck bent back and his eyes fluttering lightly as warm water hit his reddened skin and rolled down his sculpted body. Thomas couldn't help but admire the young man who had not quite noticed him yet. Leaning against the doorframe, he studied Richard's beauty, those strong shoulders, that soft but firm stomach, those wonderful thighs, his knees, his arms, the shifting muscles of his back, leading down, down, down to those strong, long legs, to that lovely rear. His body was a sight to behold, but Thomas couldn't help but reminisce over Richard himself, his personality and his spirit.
So perfect...So precious…
He cleared his throat as he stepped into the bathroom, pulling his nightshirt over his head.
"Richard, you should have awoken me. I would have been happy to join you."
Lazily, almost as if he were still asleep, Richard glanced at the other man, turning to coat his black hair in water from behind.
"I thought you would want to sleep in today."
Thomas quickly finished striping himself, tossing his clothes aside. He smirked. "Only if you were with me."
Opening the shower, he placed his hand on Richard's side, quickly closing the glass door behind him as to keep the warm air in.
"Turn around, sweetheart. Let me get your back."
Richard compiled without a word, his expression blank and distant. Thomas noted this action as he squeezed body wash onto his sponge - the cheap stuff that smelled horribly artificial but Richard said it reminded him of his family - and began to massage it into the smooth expanse of skin in front of him, his caresses slick. The warm water washed over them, drizzling against the ground and pooling around their feet.
After a few moments, Thomas sighed, his body relaxing as his fingers grazed against Richard's back. "Are you upset about last night?"
"What do you think?"
The older man wrung out the sponge, allowing it to rinse out the soap so he could wipe away the remaining bubbles on Richard's back - a flash of a thought overtook his mind. Blood running down Richard's back, thick and warm from gapping slashes and bruises. If he had fallen with his family, he would have worn those wounds.
"I admit that I was somewhat...harsh," Richard's sharp eyes snapped toward him, his neck twisting so he could look over his shoulder. "But I will not apologize for doing what is best for you."
"Harsh is a word for it." Richard turned around, fully facing the older man. "I need to do this, Thomas…" He paused, turning his face away, his voice going soft as if he were building up courage.
"Thomas, if I were to di-"
"Do not finish that sentence."
Water caressed Richard's chin, running down his cheek to his jaw and neck to the shower floor as if they were large teardrops. Thomas' jaw tightened, his hand coming up to rest on the younger man's cheek as he turned back toward him.
"If I were to die, like how my family died, would you leave it, even if there was a new lead?"
"How can you even ask me a question like that? You know I would -" His throat tightened, constricting the words and making them suffocate in his throat.
I would burn the world to avenge your death. I would make them suffer as you did. I would punish them until they knew my pain and more.
"I don't want you to get hurt." was all he could say.
Richard's face softened, a wet giggle escaping his lips. "I know. You've told me over and over." His hands wrapped around Thomas' neck, drawing them closer together, their noses barely brushing. As Richard raised up on his tiptoes, Thomas' hands automatically went to his hips, steadying him.
"I'm not as fragile as you seem to think." He whispered, the water pouring over them, soaking their hair completely.
Not fragile. Just…dear to me….
"May I propose a compromise?" Thomas murmured, his lips against the side of Richard's mouth in a kiss.
"Yeah," Richard relented, sounding half annoyed, half amused. He noticed that Thomas chose not to comment on the fragile comment. "But that doesn't mean I'll accept it."
"Of course, my love." Trailing loving kisses down the other man's neck, the water spraying their skin, Thomas grinned. "I'll go in your place. Give me a list of what you want to say to him. I'll find everything out for you."
Pulling back, Richard blinked, placing a hand on Thomas' chest, making him pause in his advances. "I thought...you...really don't want me to go that much? You'd go for me?"
"Anything for you." He promised, pulling the younger man closer, closer than he was before. "I...I was wrong last night. I acted rashly. I just…I want to make certain that you are safe, Richard."
His eyebrows creasing together, Richard's eyes darted away, embarrassment flooding his face. "I…I know. Thank you , but I need to do this for myself." Richard's hands pressed against Thomas' sides, reemphasizing his words, attempting to make him loosen his hold, not out of fear but out of discomfort. Their skin felt sticky when their wet bodies were pressed together, like they were glued to one another.
"Can you let go of me for a second? I can't talk to you like this."
If I let go, you'll go away. You'll get hurt. You'll find out. You'll find out the truth. You'll get hurt. I'll be the one to hurt you. You'll hate me. You'll hate me. Please don't hate me. I'll do anything for you. I'll do anything if you just stay by my side. I'll give you everything. Just say the word and i'll get whatever you desire, just don't leave me. I'll take your hate. I'll take whatever you want to give me: spite or love, adoration or damnation. I'll take whatever you deem fit for me.
"I can't." He whispered pitifully, molding his body to Richard's, resting his chin on his shoulder. "I can't stand to be separated from you."
Richard's breath blew against his ear in a sigh. "I have a compromise too."
Thomas' grip tightened.
"Come with me. You can monitor the whole conversation, beginning to end."
Thomas lifted his head from the other man's shoulder, resignation coating his face. "This is what you want?"
Richard nodded wholeheartedly.
Despite his better judgment, Thomas relented upon seeing that hopeful expression.
"As you wish."
Thomas tilted the younger man's chin up, making his hair fall directly into the spray of water.
"Let me wash your hair, darling."
Richard smiled gently.
“Please do.”
The cool air of the night stung against Thomas' face, making his skin dimple under the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket.
Boring. Boring. He sing-songed to himself in his head. Always boring.
The woman at his side was vaguely interesting in the sense that she was interested in him. She draped herself on his arm, acting as if they were a couple or anything more than acquaintances. She was a past fling that Thomas had only called because he had to maintain face in the constant barrage of tabloids and leeches who wished to profit from him.
"I'm saddened to see that your young companion has failed to show." The woman at his side purred, the sharp ends of her nails pressing against his forearm. "Is he usually tarty?"
Plastering a fake smile on his lips, he bared his teeth charmingly.
"I'm afraid Richard won't be joining this lovely gathering tonight. He hasn't been feeling well lately and decided it would be best if he stayed home."
Once he considered the company, Thomas wasn't feeling as well as he should have.
"Oh dear. I hope it isn't serious."
He patted her hand, his skin tingling where he touched her, feeling the urge to wipe his palm.
"Not at all. I suspect it's allergies."
"Allergies? Really Thomas? Who stays home from a party because of allergies?" Richard's voice flitted into his head through the small earpiece, fitted in his right ear, colored so that it blended with his skin, inconspicuous and unobtrusive.
Thomas tsked outwardly, catching the attention of his female companion. He smiled apologetically at her. "Forgive me. I just saw someone receive a botched drink order. It pains me to see good libations go to waste."
"Oh. Perhaps you could advise me then? I never know what to order, especially at these functions."
"Of course." He took the liberty of tightening her hold on his arm as he guided her from the dimly lit patio to the garishly decorated ballroom. The bright oranges and golds of the room sharply contrasted with Thomas' own color scheme of black, red, and deep blue in his own home. This place was much too bright for his tastes. Though privately, he thought Richard would find it whimsically charming.
"Thomas, what was all that stuff you told me earlier? Don't get distracted? Stay focused?"
Ignoring the voice in his ear, Thomas led his companion to the bar, where they both leaned against the cool, brown-varnished wood, damp with condensation from past drinks. "You know, wine is a delicate thing. You have to know how to play the game."
"The game?" The woman questioned, tilting her head.
"Yes, wine can be full of surprises, new tastes, new scents, new…" He tilted his head down, staring at the other end of the bar where the barkeeper was filling other guests' orders. "Experiences."
The woman turned a pale shade of red, turning fully toward the bar, her dress brushing against the bar.
"Way to lay it on thick."
"Every wine is different." He continued, speaking to the women at his side as he flagged down another bartender. "You have to treat it as such. Some wines pair well with meat. Others do well with fish. The choice must be adjusted to the companion's traits."
Having composed herself, the woman placed an elbow on the bar, turning her head to face him.
"Fascinating. I wasn't aware you were such a wine connoisseur."
He smiled prettily. "Not as much as your husband. How is his business doing lately?"
An amused snort sounded through his earpiece.
“Thomas.”
He sipped his wine, admiring the rows of full bottles across from him.
“He is behind on his payments.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Or did he think that I would not notice that my bank account is light by half a million?”
He set his drink down lightly, toying with the glass stem.
“I am not easily distracted by a woman’s charm, even as beautiful as you are.”
Thomas Wayne Jr could only be swayed by one beauty, and that man was several rooftops away eavesdropping in on his conversation.
He smiled, gently, as if he were amused by her sudden change in expression, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
"I have lost my patience." He drawled against the warm shell of her ear. "I expect my money within the next three days."
As he pulled away from the woman, sipping at his wine, a voice drew his attention, allowing her to quickly gather herself before she averted her eyes and fled, taking the voice's distraction as an opportunity. He sighed, bored as he downed the rest of his drink.
"Thomas!" Thomas would recognize Ultraman's voice anywhere, despite his unhappiness with that fact.
The voice in his earpiece blew a puff of air, excited. Thomas could hear the man on the other end shift, the toes of his boots clacking against the rooftop.
"You are dismissed." He murmured softly from barely parting lips between gesturing for another glass of wine and turning toward Clark Kent who had arrived at his side. "Head back home."
"Is that Clark?"
"Thomas!" Clark clapped the other man's shoulder, a bright smile on his face. "Glad I could catch you! Where's your little friend?"
Giving the appearance of being cordial, Thomas turned to the older man. "He felt ill tonight. I informed him that he would be staying home."
"That's not what you said to that woman. You can't just change -"
Clark's head turned slightly, hearing the little voice in Thomas' earpiece. Tilting his head just a tad, he zeroed in on the man's voice from a few buildings away.
"-the story. That's not how it works."
"It seems you're in a bit of trouble, my friend." Clark hummed, signaling for the bartender to bring him a glass of wine.
"Thomas-"
Thomas clicked the earpiece off under the guise of brushing his hair off the shell of his ear, but Clark could still hear the sweet voice that belonged to Dick Grayson.
"Thomas? Ugh! Fine."
Clark could hear the stomp of heavy boots before the soles scrapped against concrete and the whizzing of a steel cord being shot through the air.
"What do you want, Clark?"
Thomas' stony expression exuded an air of guarded indifference. Clark hummed to himself, amused, hearing the other man's blood pressure rise.
"Aren't you worried that our little birdie is going to fly off somewhere he isn't supposed to?”
He took a sip of his drink, his eyebrows raised, irritating Thomas further.
“He knows better.” Thomas’ voice echoed and muffled in the clear wine glass as he mimicked the other man, ignoring the bait for what it was. He was not unaware of his own insecurities, quite the opposite in fact, but he would not let this man use them against him.
Ultraman quirked an eyebrow, bringing the tart Wine to his lips. “We'll see.”
The odor of their base below the house was never fully pleasant, and storming in covered in muck and rain never helped things. The mud splattered across his thighs and the wheels of his bike did little to distract Richard from his anger. Slamming the bike into park and powering it off, he let it teeter onto its side and crash to the floor, flecks of paint scrapping off. He stepped over it easily and ripped his hood off, revealing his sweat-soaked hair and the frustrated turn of his lips.
The rusty scent of blood overpowered his senses, making the room shift around him. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye, he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible against the distant drip of water and the hum of the technology around him. Consumed by a growing migraine and the tightness in his back, he missed the measured approach of steps.
He swung his fist before even feeling the warm fingertips on his shoulder. Swiveling on the balls of his feet, he stopped just before his fist collided with a concerned, unflinching face.
“Alfred?”
Richard jerked at the quivering noise that slipped from his mouth, unwilling to fully recognize the squeak as his own voice.
“Master Richard…” Alfred only frowned at him in that fatherly way of his, his gloved hands curling around the younger man's biceps.
Tears welled and spilled over Richard's cheeks, the salty tears turning a pale pink as it mixed with the blood that had seeped through his mask and dried on his face. He fell into the older man's arms, readily, feeling strong arms encircle him and warm, gloved hands cradle his back and neck.
“Alf…I…”
Flakes of dried blood and drops of new tears soaked through the older man's suit jacket and shirt. Slowly, they sunk down to the floor together, the older man pulling Richard tighter against him with every passing second. Petting the other man's hair, the butler pressed his cheek against Richard's forehead, swaying them together. Alfred's voice barely disturbed the ominous, suffocating silence of the cave.
“No need to explain. Only when you're ready.” Alfred nudged him into a sitting position and hauled him to stand. “Let's get you out of those dirty clothes. I can't imagine you’re comfortable.”
Richard’s mouth twitched upward despite his puffy eyes and pale face.
As he herded the younger man upstairs, Alfred ignored how Richard leaned into his side with every step they took together, how deeply his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Neither of them even thought to blush when Alfred began drawing a bath, while the younger man striped himself. His Talon suit, he had peeled off in the cave at Alfred’s instance, leaving it on the concrete floor as he was instructed. Less mess , Alfred had said as an explanation or something to that effect. The younger man chewed his lip, struggling to remember the older man’s exact words.
Taking off his white gloves, Alfred studied him between adjusting the temperature of the water and pouring bath salts. While comfortable with his nudity, Richard shifted under the scrutiny, feeling self-conscious at the older man’s knowing and stern gaze.
“Do you have any injuries I should know about?”
Richard recognized Alfried's tone as the same one that his late mother used to ask a question that she already knew the answer to.
“My chest hurts.” He answered weakly, honesty rolling off his tongue far more easily than it had for some time. “And my head.”
The butler nodded, guiding the younger man down into the steaming water by his arm. He tilted the younger man's head back, scooping handful after handful of water onto the top of his head, careful to shield his eyes with his free hand.
“I'm not surprised. You've had quite a night.”
Alfred made no attempt to pry further, and Richard made no effort to hide his growing anxiety. His fingers twisted in the water, making it rush over his thighs and knees. The older man tended to his charge clinically, shampooing his hair and washing his body as if washing the younger man were nothing but part of their routine, which, Richard supposed it was, in a way. All the dried blood and injury was not something new, nor was it unexpected.
“Do you want to know who it was?” Richard’s voice cracked against the sloshing of the water.
“I know who it was not.” Alfred’s nails scratched rounds into the younger man’s head, making his eyelids heavy. Richard leaned into the touch as the older man began rinsing his hair. “That’s enough for now.”
“I don’t remember…much of it. I-I was on the rooftop,” Closing his eyes, the younger man’s face twisted into a grimace. “Then I was there, doing…that. I’ve never…at least, not like that.”
“I know, child.” Alfred soothed, carding his fingers through his charge’s long hair. “Just rest for now.”
It was well past two in the morning before Thomas pulled into his garage and neatly parked his expensive car parallel to the others. Alfred was still in his suit, fully dress and not a hair out of place, waiting for him on the other Side of the room as Thomas slammed the door to his car shut. He slid the keys into his coat pocket, idly counting his cars, noting not a single one had been moved. He grinned to himself, amused. Richard must not have been that angry with him if he hadn't taken any of them for a joyride. Moreso, Thomas hadn't been notified by his tracking system that any of their other specialized vehicles, so to speak, hadn't moved from their last position.
“Sir,” An unusual expression of concern painted the butler's face. “I suspect that the night did not go as planned.”
Thomas suppressed a sigh. “No. It did not. Has Richard gone to bed yet?”
Alfred cleared his throat, lowly, as he trailed behind his master.
“He's still quite awake.”
Thomas loosened his tie, listening to their footsteps as they made their way to his master suite.
The dark wooden floorboards creaked below them with every step. The whole of the house glowed with dim, warm light, casting long shadows into the cool air, a sight that would bring the hairs on the back of any visiting person's neck to stand on end. It was no less quiet in the Manor than it usually was, despite the drizzle that had started some hours ago and would most likely persist until tomorrow afternoon, but the wafting scent of Alfred's soup and the aroma of freshly brewed ginger and turmeric tea hung in the air, a special blend that the butler had concocted himself several years ago before Richard had even entered their lives.
Thomas rolled his head, slowly, and rubbed the back of his neck, blowing air through his nose.
“You're dismissed for the night, Alfred.”
“Sir,” Alfred tilted his head in ascent. “Be gentle with him tonight.”
“Always.” Thomas laid his hand on the rounded, embellished door knob. Before he twisted, he rumbled. “Before you go to bed, could you bring another pot of tea up?”
“Already on your nightstand, sir.”
The younger man smiled gently.
“Thank you. Goodnight, Alfred.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
The room was dim when Thomas entered, save for the glow from a night light that he had been certain resided in Richard’s official room. The wall plugin nightlight had been something from Richard’s childhood that he had snagged, among a few other momentos, before what was left of the circus had reclaimed the trailer that his family had lived in for the majority of his life. Thomas had almost bought the broken-down thing himself, but the circus was far quicker than he was in this matter. The nightlight cast twinkling stars onto the ceiling and walls, dancing lazily in the darkness, throwing just enough light to be able to see the other occupant of the room, sitting at the end of the bed as he stared at the floor.
Thomas shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair as he considered Richard’s appearance. The younger man had bathed and dressed himself in a pair of Thomas’ pajamas, which brought a warmth to his chest. Seeing the younger man in his clothes soothed his irritated jealousy just ever so slightly, but it was enough to calm his concern for the boy and rouse his brimming affection for him. The younger man’s hair had been left uncombed, as was his custom before bed, but he fiddled with the lepel of the silk button-down nightshirt he wore.
“I’m not sorry.” The younger man croaked, his head bowed.
“I’m not asking you to be.”
“You’re going to be angry.”
“I sense you're not apologizing for leaving your post.” Thomas tilted his head and took Richard by the chin. Their eyes locked. “What have you done?”
Richard's gaze flicked to the window briefly, listening to the gentle drops of rain that tapped soothingly against the windowpane, before looking at the older man once more.
The younger man's lips pressed into a line.
“...I killed him.” He admitted, softly, not so much ashamed of the act itself but of how it occurred. “I don't remember…”
Thomas hooked his fingers under the other man's jaw as he sat down, tilting his face, so he could peer into his eyes. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Richard's mouth as he murmured to him soothingly.
“I'll take care of it in the morning.”
“Thomas,” Richard's voice croaked. “I don't remember . I was on the roof, then…his blood was on me. It was so hot. I thought I was burning. I-I-”
The older man exhaled and stood, loosening his tie and stripping himself of his clothes. The accumulation of scars and bruises that littered his body did nothing but enhance his handsomeness. Before Richard, only in his boxer shorts, Thomas knelt in front of the younger man, encircled his arms around his waist, and pressed his forehead into the younger man’s tight stomach, full and warm, lightly gurgling in digestion. He inhaled deeply, slumping forward in contentment as he exhaled.
“Darling, you just need some rest.”
Richard’s arms wound themselves around Thomas’ shoulders, pulling closer, pressing them together for a moment before releasing him and falling backward onto the bed, his weight bouncing him lightly. His forearm veiled his eyes, his breathing labored, but deep.
Thomas studied the younger man, taking in the turn of his jaw and the subtle scent of his freshly washed skin. His hair was still damp. Little droplets clunch to his hairline. Folding his arms on Richard’s lap, Thomas languidly slipped his fingers under the waistband of the other man’s pajamas, running the calloused digit along the elastic, his skin brushing Richard’s hip.
“Or some reassurance, perhaps?” Thomas murmured, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s right knee through the fabric of his sleep pants. Thoughts of Clark Kent still swirled in his mind, the man’s hand brushing Richard’s as he handed him a file, the man’s eyes on him whenever Richard turned away, the man’s smug looks, the man’s arms around Richard’s waist, bruising and crushing, the man holding Richard as he fucked him, raw, ugly, and murderous. Hungry. Uncaring. Revolting.
Thomas rubbed his cheek against Richard’s thigh, just above his knee, his hand caressing the younger man’s side. He wanted to take the younger man into his mouth and show him just how tender he could be, how caring, how thoughtful, how he could satisfy him. Because Thomas was who he was meant to be with, and while Thomas never doubted Richard’s affections or faithfulness, he doubted others. Other people were always the problem. Always getting in the way of the two of them.
He knelt over Richard, his hands slithering under his supine form, reaching under him to underdress him, but he paused. Richard’s face was far too pale, even in the dim light of their bedroom. He stared at the ceiling, a pretty frown on his lips.
Thomas sighed, berating himself, and pulled himself off of the younger man. He kissed the other man’s hands, pulling him off of the bed. Herding him under the covers, he pressed a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. Richard felt the warmth of Thomas’ palm leave his skin as he drifted to sleep to the sound of the gentle thrum of the shower and the scent of an untouched pot of tea.