Robin's Reckoning written by Jimmy

 

Robin's Reckoning

By Jimmy  

 Warning: I do not own any Batman or Batman related properties, this is an act of fiction. Also, this is not my artist work in the comic. It was sent by a good friend that wants MORE ballbusting and Robin stories. This one is for you Jake. I may be running out of photos, but I will finish the last ones I have with hopefully some fun twists and turns.

Sitting in window sill in a white tank top, and stripped boxers Tim Drake stares out the window of Wayne Manor.

Recently he has had a great time busting Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing’s balls. Just a few minutes ago he had gotten him down in the batcave. The pair had been sparring and he had worked up quite a sweat. Dick was winning, but a lucky chance had helped Tim to land a lucky blow with his knee crushing Nightwing’s nuts and smooshing them flat against his tailbone.

“Heh,” Tim Drake says huffing and puffing as he lands catlike on all fours watching Nightwing’s spiral and grimace as he lands before him on his knees.

Batman puts one hand on his face and groans, “Dick…you keep falling for it. It’s…embarrassing.”

Time Drake agrees, but that does not stop him from gloating and loving the sounds of feeblement coming from his partner on the cave floor as he clutches his once again aching gonads.

“I’ll get you…”

“Naw… you won’t!” Tim gloats as he practically skips up the stairs, and stripping off his costume and jumping in the shower. He happily goes over his victory downstairs in his mind as hot water cascades over his head. Got ‘em good.

Sitting in the window sill, Tim Drake enjoys the summer breeze, its nightfall and he itches to go out into the darkness.

The door to his bedroom opens, and Tim turns to face the guest and sees Nightwing. Dick Grayson is in full costume and holding his phone.

“Wait until I show you!” Dick says coming into the room, but slinking around the corner is Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s son; the other Robin.

Shirtless, and quiet Damian follows behind Dick wearing his green domino mask an angry scowl on his face.

“I got Damian so good! Look at the way he landed on his…”

Whatever Dick was about to say is cut short. Damian buries his bare foot in the crevice between Dick’s wide open and very defenseless legs nailing him hard with a snap kick.

Tim is impressed as Damian Wayne’s manages to squish Dick’s balls and punt them up so hard that they each hit his chiseled abs before sinking back down.

Dick falls from grace, again landing before Tim on his knees and groaning.

The blue phone twirls in the air soaring to the carpet, but Tim catches it just before it falls.

“Look at that phone and die, Drake.”

Damian Wayne’s cold voice is almost silent, but the threat is anything but.

Tim smiles, but turns the phone so that he can see the screen. “Ooops…how clumsily of me.” Tim holds the phone out for Damian to take.

“Go on…I won’t look again at you on your ass in the mud puddle from clayface.”

Damian’s eyes narrow underneath his green domino mask, his forehead creasing in a frown. “I suppose you have a death wish then, Drake. Understood.” He snatches the phone from Tim in one fluid moment and comes right up to him, face-to-face.

“Watch your back.”

“I guess that means I have to do that twice over, Dick said threatened me recently…I am still here.”

Damian’s breath is hot as he grabs hold of Tim Drake’s sleeveless white muscled rippled t-shirt pulling the fabric in bunches so that his belly and chest is exposed as he pulls it away from his skin.

“I am not, Grayson. My promise means something. See you soon, Drake.”

In a flash Damian Wayne is gone in a puff of smoke.

Tim is coughing and waving his hand around his face while Dick is rolling on the floor, still gasping like a fish.

“You…*cough, cough…have the weakest balls.” Tim informs him as he marches out of the room starring down the deserted hallway wondering where on Earth Damian Wayne sneaked off to.

“This is not over,” says Tim as he straightens his shirt, and notices the fraying fabric around his right pec. Looking down he notices ripped into the fabric is a perfectly shaped ‘R.’

“Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Round one goes to you…but you won’t win the war.”

 

To be continued…