by Lara Wilson

They are alike enough in looks to be brothers. Both dark haired, pale skinned, lithe and lean. Over the past year the youngest put on inches so they are nearly the same height.

If an outsider gave them even more than a casual glance, he'd think they were brothers.

Which would make what they are doing at the moment wrong.

Surprisingly the youngest is the aggressor, the elder amused enough to allow him control. In looks they are nearly identical but in personality the differences show quickly. Despite loss of family, friends, purpose which they both share, the older of the two is all passion and fire, while the younger is reason and logic.

He'd analyzed every possible reaction before making his first approach, and, the reaction that had seemed the most probable in his calculations had come to pass.

The older--the first--had responded eagerly.

Now he lays back, sated but not tired, watching from beneath hooded eyes as the younger--no longer a boy, though--kisses his way down his chest and abdomen. There's almost a method--no scattering of kisses or trembling of hands--and it amuses him even more because it is so perfectly in character.

Even in making love his little brother's brain keeps working.

Later they lay curled facing each other, knees touching, hands clasped between them. The older of the two is relaxed, loose-limbed, content to just be. The younger is alert, still, calm but never at rest.

That outsider looking in, if he knew their circumstances, the man whose life they had both shared, would think the eldest was raised in the happy family, away from the darkness except when he seeks it out; that the younger grew up in the shadows, their dark purpose informing every moment of his life.

That outsider would be wrong.

Perhaps the older man rebelled against the darkness in becoming a thing of light. Perhaps the younger raised in the light willingly embraced the darkness as a part of himself.

An outsider would never know.

But, they know. They are two sides of the same coin, but even more than that, at heart they are the same. There is light and dark in both of them, accepted, if not embraced. They chose this life and it has made of them the same thing.

Despite changes in names and costumes, methods and partnerships, they are more than brothers.

They are Robin.


This is my first attempt at these characters and I'm a little amazed at myself that this is the idea I got after racking my brain for weeks for plot bunnies. I tend to see Dick and Tim as brothers; incest is usually one of my big squicks; for some reason with this pairing it doesn't bother me.

Anyway, the idea that inspired this was the image that popped into my head of them nude, laying curled facing each other, their knees touching.

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