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When Bruce fucks Tim, it's always with the domino on.
It doesn't matter if the rest of the Robin costume had found itself bunched up under his armpits and at his ankles, or if it’d found itself displaced on the floor. This way Bruce could pretend, ignore the difference in the blues of his eyes, the crease of his eyelids and the thickness of his brows. He could pretend that Tim's moans and cries were deeper and raspier. He could ignore the tears welling up in the boy's eyes, and pretend he didn't see them bubble and fall from under the mask.
He could pretend that Jason was still here.
Bruce roams his hands down Tim's side, smooth and pale, pressing down on the purpling bruise on his hips as his hands tighten their grip, pulling Tim further down on his length with a groan, eyelids fluttering as he revelled in the borderline painful tight heat of the boy. Tim cries out, high and pained and Bruce whispers reassurances, to a boy long gone.
“P-Please! Please Bruce, it hurts, stop..” Tims pleads breaking off into sobs, face wet with tears. Bruce hushes him, bringing a hand up to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks, “Shh, Jason… It’s okay son, it's okay..” Bruce whispers, but Tim continues to wail, snot joining the tears and Bruce can’t take it, because Tim sounds nothing like Jason and he's ruining the illusion.
Bruce grips the boy's chin tightly in his hand and kisses him so roughly their teeth clash together. It was salty and wet but now Tim shut up, the only noise was the pained whimper from his throat and the wet slap of skin to skin. It's nothing like he’d imagined he’d be with Jason. He’d never actually done anything of this sort with any of his children. Dick had been too much like him, and all he’d ever seen in Dick was his reflection and a determination to make sure he’d never live to become him. Jason was skittish, and Bruce knew that it would only work to drive his boy away (Bruce hadn't even needed to touch him to do that.).
Tim had gone limp when Bruce had begun kissing him, but his struggle starts up again the longer it goes on. Bruce doesn't let up, moves his hand down to Tim's waist and draws him closer, moves him up and down his cock with more vigour and the kiss becomes more frantic as Tim gets louder until Tim falls limp again and Bruce pulls away. The boys quiet again, but the room is far from silent, Bruce is panting and the methodic slap, slap, slap begins to get sloppy until Bruce stills, and spills inside of Tim.
It takes a while for Bruce to catch his breath and come back to himself, but Tim still hasn’t woken back up, his chest a steady rise and fall. Bruce uses this to clean Tim up, carrying him to the cave shower and finally ridding him fully of the Robin suit and mask. His eyes are shut and his brows deeply furrowed even in his sleep. Bruce looks away, focusing on cleaning his spend out of the boy before drying him off and dressing him in the clothes he’d left in the locker. He throws the Robin suit, wet from sitting on the shower floor onto one of the benches trusting Alfred will get it clean. He sets Tim on the bench also, before heading to shower himself.
Tim didn't look anything like Jason. He was pale whereas Jason had had a healthy tan. Jason had a cute little tooth gap, Tim does not. Jason would never have let Bruce do to him what Tim does. Jason was Jason, and Tim was Tim. Bruce's chest ached, and when he walked out of the shower he realised he had done little to clean himself. Tim was no longer on the bench, and Bruce was grateful. He didn't think he’d be able to look him in the eyes just yet, and he knew he’d come back tomorrow for patrol. He always did.