Fic: Sepia Pearls (1/1)
Title: Sepia Pearls (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Dick, Tim
Genres: AU, Romance
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Top model Dick Grayson catches the eye of successful photographer Bruce Wayne.
Date Of Completion: October 12, 2014
Date Of Posting: December 22, 2014
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 4274
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for the 2014 Bruce/Dick Christmas Swap Thing. :) Prompt #2: Dick is a model and Bruce a photographer. Bruce becomes smitten with Dick. Sexytimes possible. AU, possible R/NC-17.
The past is the past,
Living and vital,
Tinged by sepia
The pearls of time
Spilling out
From dark, cool
Places.
Clarissa O’Doul
"The Living Past"
1996 C.E.
Bruce checked his camera, satisfied that it was in working order. “Tim, that light should be over there.”
“Yes, sir.”
The thin college student quickly set up the light. He was reliable and eager to learn the business, so Bruce kept him on.
“Do you think Mr. Grayson will be on time?”
“He has that reputation for punctuality, as flighty as he likes to act.”
As if on cue the door opened and Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson breezed in, wearing green bellbottoms, a canary-yellow silk shirt and dashing scarf as ruby cufflinks winked in the light. He wore a red choker with a tiny bird attached.
Bruce was dazzled by the man’s beauty and appalled by his color scheme but he had to admit that Grayson had style. His own style was expensive but in exquisitely good taste: a pale blue McCarron shirt and darker blue J.T. Burton pants and Gucci loafers with a shiny gold Rolex watch.
“Good morning, good morning,” Dick said cheerfully, taking down a pair of yellow-framed sunglasses from atop his head. “What’s the scenario, Mr. Wayne?”
“Um, your clothes are in the dressing room. I’ll give you details when you come out.”
“All right.” Dick clonked past Bruce on his way to the dressing room.
Platform shoes?!
Bruce shook his head as he re-checked his camera. Tim was completely dazzled and would probably be useless for the rest of the day.
He eyed the stage through his lens. When he had accepted this assignment, he had been excited. Dick Grayson was the hottest male model in the business, his unique style a mishmash of any era he took a fancy to. Evidently today he was in ‘70s mode.
Dick Grayson also was quickly becoming the center of controversy. He liked to use his body to best effect, and like the Calvin Klein ads of the ‘80s that were daringly risqué, he shed his clothes without a qualm if the ad was set up for it.
Bruce’s groin tingled at the thought of a nude Dick Grayson in his studio. He looked up as his model came out of the dressing room, garbed in a casual yellow McCarron shirt, white shorts and deck shoes. Not as broad-shouldered as Bruce, he still had well-developed muscles, including powerful thighs.
Bruce studied Dick’s face. It was just shy of too pretty, yet retained a masculinity that pleased women and men alike. Long lashes framed sapphire-blue eyes, and dark, silky hair framed the high cheekbones and straight nose. The lush lips were curved into a smile.
Bruce realized with a sense of astonishment that Dick Grayson sparkled. He wasn’t wearing sequins and yet he seemed to exude light.
He’s a natural for the camera.
Dick pointed to the monogrammed emblem above his shirt pocket. “McCarron shirts? Very classy.”
“Fairly conservative company.”
“But respectable.” Dick put his hands on his hips. “Shall we get started?” He glanced over at Tim. “And you are…?”
“Tim Drake,” Bruce said, answering for his tongue-tied assistant.
Dick smiled directly at Tim and Bruce wondered if he was going to have to call the paramedics.
“Tim, get us the drinks I put in the fridge.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tim scurried off while Bruce said, “Okay, as you can see, the background is a beach setting…”
They were well into the session by the time Tim came back with cans of Coke.
“Yes, let’s have a smile, now turn this way, oh, yeah, now smile...”
Ten minutes later Bruce called for a break and all three drank frosty cans of Coke. Dick swung his legs as he sat on the stage.
“My favorite, thank you.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Top models of either sex did not thank for small courtesies. They expected them.
“You’re welcome.”
They finished their Cokes in companionable silence and returned to work. During the session, Dick’s back was to Bruce, affording the photographer a great view. Licking his lips, he snapped the shot.
Dick’s movements were fluid and graceful, and Bruce knew that his shots would be winners.
When the session was over, Dick changed and breezed out again, thanking Bruce for ‘a creative session’. It was like a force of Nature had just left the room.
“Well,” Bruce said to Tim.
“Yeah.” Tim exhaled. “Nice guy for a model.”
Bruce opened the darkroom door. “Let’s get started.”
Tim followed and they quickly developed the photographs. Bruce preferred the old-fashioned method of photography. His reasons were his own, but he could afford his idiosyncracies. He was the top fashion photographer in the business and in demand. He was Bruce Wayne, damnit!
“Wow,” Tim said.
Bruce looked down at the photographs developing in the solution. “Wow, indeed.”
& & & & & &
The McCarron shirt ad was a major success. Bruce was arrogant enough to credit his talent, but he also had to admit that Dick Grayson’s talent shone through the glossy prints. The McCarron Company immediately contracted for a series of ads with Dick, and the budget included location shooting.
So it was that Bruce and Tim met Dick in the city on a rainy Monday morning.
“Okay, we’ll do a truncated shoot this morning,” Bruce said. “Tomorrow the sun’s supposed to be out.”
Dick was dressed in a crisp pink McCarron shirt and white pants. He looked like a young man who was home from Harvard or Princeton. He carried a white-and-black striped umbrella, a prop that Bruce approved of on this gray day.
“Gotham has a lot of interesting architecture. We’ll use it.”
“Just say the word, Boss.”
Bruce led them through the city, choosing different locations. He first had Dick pose on the steps of the ornate Gotham Public Library with its stone lions and marble Ionic columns. The bronze double doors depicted the Revolutionary War Battle of Gotham Heights in 1776.
“McCarron shirts are traditional and should have a background reflecting that,” Bruce explained.
“Shouldn’t they be going for the younger demographic?” Tim asked.
“They want the serious up-and-comers,” Bruce said. “Young men who are on the make in the financial world and uppercrust Society. Snob factor.”
“I guess you’re right. Kind of like back in the ‘50s when a man would buy a Cadillac to show that he’d arrived.”
Bruce chuckled. “What do you know about the ‘50s?”
“I read.”
Dick came down the steps. “Where next, Chief?”
“Don’t call me Chief.”
Dick winked at Tim, who smiled back. He was carrying a second camera slung over her shoulder and water bottles in a bag.
“Let’s head over to the Art Museum.” Bruce capped the lens.
The rain was a fine mist. Dick offered his umbrella to his companions but they declined. Bruce noticed how the mist sparkled like diamonds in Dick’s hair and on his skin.
Once they arrived at the museum, Bruce positioned Dick at the fountain in front of the entrance, surrounded by colorful red, gold, and orange chrysanthemums. He took some shots, careful to keep the sun in back in order to illuminate Dick. The nimbus of light created a stunning effect as his skin glistened.
He’s selling more than shirts.
They went to one more location, Robinson Park, and the antique footbridge over Swanson Pond. Dick stuck just the right note of casual elegance.
“Okay, let’s break for lunch. Unless you models don’t eat?” asked Bruce.
“I eat.” Dick smiled. “I work out, too.”
“Are you a vegetarian or vegan?”
Dick laughed. “No, I like a good burger now and again.”
“All right, I know a good restaurant just outside the park.”
Tim had a class to attend so he left the camera and water bottles with Bruce. Dick volunteered to carry the bottles.
When they reached the restaurant, they were led by the maitre d’ to the second level, which was divided into a cozy dining room and outside deck. A canopy covered the deck so the mist would not affect them.
Dick ordered a chicken salad with celery and French bread while Bruce chose a turkey-on-wheat with lettuce, tomato, and red onion slices with a side dish of saffron rice.
“Guess we’re close to vegetarian,” Bruce said ruefully.
“Next time we can order he-man steaks.”
Bruce laughed. “All right, you’re on.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of white wine and they enjoyed the drinks while waiting for their food.
“I was very pleased to hear that you were the photographer for this assignment.”
“Oh?” Bruce sipped his wine.
The waiter brought a basket of French bread, neatly sliced and piping-hot. Dick took a thick slice and offered the basket to Bruce, who took a slice.
“Of course.” Dick buttered the bread. “Your reputation is pretty sterling.”
“I might say the same of you.”
“Only might?” Dick took a bite of the bread.
“Ha, okay, more than ‘might’.”
Dick smiled a satisfied smile. “Your skill with the comics is amazing. The first shoot we did together was a great result. My agent was ecstatic.” Dick took another bite of bread. “I never looked better.”
Bruce laughed. “Well, I see you have some supermodel characteristics.”
Dick smirked as the waiter brought their entrees. They dug in, enjoying the food as the mist drifted onto the deck, feeling cool against their skin.
“Nice view.” Dick gazed out at the harbor. “The city isn’t quite so grim as people say.”
“Gotham grim? Who says that?” Bruce asked in mock amusement.
“Oh, people.” Dick held out his arm. “Feels nice, this mist.”
Bruce carefully refrained from staring at Dick’s mist-sprinkled forearm. Instead he concentrated on his turkey sandwich.
“May I ask you something?”
Bruce looked up. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you like taking pictures with an older-style camera and developing the photos the old-fashioned way?”
“You mean instead of a digital camera?” At Dick’s nod, Bruce picked up his wineglass and sipped the Chardonnay. “I believe a part of myself shows through with a non-digital camera that doesn’t work with a digital one. Newer technology is amazing but I believe the past can still give us useful things.”
Dick’s smile was amused. “Not surprising from a man who lives in Gotham.”
“What?”
Dick waved his hand out at the city. “The gargoyles, flying buttresses and gingerbread curlicues speak of the history of this city. The past lives and breathes here.”
Bruce smiled. “Gotham is most definitely a city of heritage.”
Dick speared a piece of chicken. “I like that.”
“What?”
“A city that honors its heritage instead of forgetting it.”
You’re an unusual man, Dick Grayson. Not many young men would care about the past.
It was a perfect day.
“It suits it.” Dick said.
“What suits?”
“The mist. It suits Gotham.”
& & & & & &
That night, Bruce pored over a stack of photographs that he had found on the Internet. All were of Dick Grayson in a series of cologne and perfume ads that were strongly reminiscent of Calvin Klein’s ‘80s ads, using buff young men and women in suggestive poses while nude. The ‘naughty bits’, as they were politely called, were artfully obscured, but it was basically nude photography.
He started at each photograph, picking up each one and placing it facedown in a second pile. He ran a hand through his hair, then picked up his cell phone and made a call.
& & & & & &
The restaurant was quiet and intimate. Bruce did not want a noisy, crowded atmosphere for this proposition. He waited patiently, dressed in a pale blue McCarron shirt and navy-blue slacks. He wore his gold Rolex watch and consulted it as he leisurely drank his white wine.
Whatever happened to my beer drinking days? he thought wryly.
He looked up in time to see Dick enter the restaurant, dressed in a bright red silk shirt and black pants. He wore a short gold necklace and as he shook hands with Bruce, his sleeve rode up and revealed a wide copper bracelet with intricate starburst designs.
“Nice place.” Dick smiled at the waiter and after a quick look at the menu, ordered a steak, baked potato and mixed vegetables. He winked at Bruce.
“Waiter, I’ll have some red wine to go with my steak, baked potato, and mixed vegetables,” Bruce said coolly.
After the waiter departed, Dick burst out laughing. He took a long sip from his water glass.
They talked about their latest shoot, and when the entrees came, Bruce allowed himself to savor the juicy steak before he broached the subject for which he had invited Dick to this lunch.
Dick’s eyes were watching him subtly, but the curiosity was there. Bruce took another bite of steak and made his move after swallowing.
“Dick, I’ve seen your other ads. I want to do some test runs with you.”
“Test runs? For what?”
“I want to do a series of Victorian-style erotic photographs to present as a major new collection. I want you to be the star of the whole artistic endeavor.”
Dick’s eyes lit up. “You’re going artistic?”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?”
Dick stuck his fork into a piece of meat and chewed the steak thoroughly. He swallowed and said, “Most definitely.”
& & & & & &
Bruce had set up the lights in his studio himself. Tim was not going to be part of this project. He checked the mini-refrigerator. It was well-stocked with cans of Coke. He smiled as he shut the door.
A knock at the front door straightened him up. He went to the door and opened it and was greeted by a smiling Dick Grayson.
“Come on in,” Bruce invited.
“Thanks.” Dick swept past him. “Shall we get started?”
Bruce wondered if his subject was nervous, but Dick gave no indication of it. He stood before the stage.
“Do you want me up there?”
“Yes. Face the wall, then turn your head back to me."
“Right.”
Dick began disrobing, taking off and neatly folding a yellow shirt, green pants and white cotton briefs. He had kicked off his shoes and peeled off pale yellow socks. He stepped up on the stage and followed Bruce’s instructions.
Bruce was mesmerized by the perfect buttocks. So round and firm! He steadied his hands as he raised the camera. Dick allowed a small smile on his lips. Oh, boy!
Bruce began shooting, directing Dick with typical photographer patter. He asked Dick to turn around and was impressed by the other’s manhood. Dick was completely relaxed without a trace of embarrassment.
Bruce took several more shots and kept a professional detachment, or at least he tried to. Dick was very distracting.
If you looked up the word in the dictionary, yep, there’s his picture.
When he was finished with the shots, Dick got dressed and Bruce took two cans out of the mini-fridge. They sat and drank the cold drinks, Dick asking if the light had been what Bruce had wanted.
“Yes, it’s a different case with black-and-white photography.”
“I find photography fascinating. I really admire great practitioners of the art like yourself.”
Bruce grinned. “You flatter me.”
“Well, you deserve it. May I watch you develop the pictures?”
“You may. Come on.” Bruce finished his Coke and Dick drained his own can. The cans clattered in the recycling bin as the two men entered the darkroom.
Bruce noticed that even in red light, Dick was gorgeous. His mind blanked.
“Bruce?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the first step?”
“Oh. Well, we…”
Bruce explained the procedure and gradually the photographs appeared. Dick lifted one out with forceps.
“This is really good.” It was the first pose that Bruce had requested.
Bruce looked at the perfect buttocks. “Perfection.”
Dick smiled. He pointed at several pictures. “These are the sepia tests?”
“Yes. Your skin shows up well.”
“I think so, too.”
Bruce could smell the faint, clean scent of expensive cologne. It was a good smell.
After developing all the pictures, the photographer and his model exited the darkroom. Dick surveyed the studio.
“Are you going to set up here?”
Bruce shook his head. “It requires too much of a make-over. I rented the studio next door. It’s completely empty. I’ll be starting from scratch.”
“Will you be haunting the antique shops?”
“Yes, I have a list from Alfred.”
“Who’s Alfred?”
“My butler.”
Dick looked at him in amusement. “You have a butler?”
“Of course.”
Dick shook his head. “Of course.” He did not bother to hide his smile. “I’d like to come along.”
Bruce could not believe his luck.
& & & & & &
Bruce’s fingers itched to take pictures in the golden autumn light. The countryside was bright with yellow, red and orange trees as Bruce drove his classic Mustang with the top down. Dick sat beside him. They stopped at a barn with the sign Annie’s Antiques lettered on a board over the doors.
Inside the cavernous barn was a jumble of antiques: furniture, posters, books, magazines, toys, figurines and other curiosities. Bruce and Dick wandered through the cluttered aisles, delighted at finding charming treasures like a stack of Life magazines from the ‘40s or a blue pedal car in perfect working condition from the early ‘60s.
“Here’s something,” Dick said as he examined a fringed lamp.
“Looks like a Tiffany one over here. A couple of crystals missing but that’s easily hidden.”
“We’ll have to include fresh ferns for the shoot. Nothing says Victorian like ferns. And a curio cabinet stuffed with geegaws and bric-a-brac.”
“What about stuffed animals under glass?”
Dick made a face. “Let’s skip that touch.”
“Agreed.”
“Oh, hey, there’s a horsehair sofa!” Dick inspected the furniture. “Kind of threadbare and the wood finish is worn, but some throw pillows and an afghan can hide a lot.”
Bruce frowned. “Most Victorian erotica used a bed.”
“True, but I’ve seen sofas used.”
“Hmm.”
“Can we do both?”
“Maybe. We’ll need an exotic robe for you to drape over a chair.”
“And an exotic bedspread.”
They chose some 19th-century knickknacks, Dick choosing some souvenirs from Niagara Falls and Atlantic City. He bought a miniature of the Empire State Building for himself and Bruce was delighted to find a souvenir of Gotham’s Big Dan clock.
Bruce arranged with the owner to deliver the sofa to the studio and he and Dick took the smaller items with them.
They had lunch at a roadside café, enjoying fresh turkey sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, and light mayonnaise, accompanied by side dishes of potato salad with dill. Pie fresh from orchard apples was a delicious dessert.
They discussed the decorating and Dick mentioned jewelry. “Even the male nudes wear some.”
“We’ll definitely keep that in mind.” The thought of this young man in nothing but glittering baubles set Bruce’s groin tingling.
They picked up some fine antique jewelry at the next antique shop. Dick’s eyes sparkled as he examined a rhinestone bracelet.
“It’s got all its pieces.” He studied the clasp. “It won’t fall off.”
“Good.” Bruce found a carnelian ring. “Try this on.”
Dick slipped it on. “Perfect fit.”
“We’ll take it and the bracelet,” Bruce said to the woman behind the counter. “And the matching necklace.”
“Look at these pearls!” Dick picked up a long set of lustrous pearls and twined them in his fingers. “Oh, yes. This, too, please.”
Things were shaping up quite nicely.
& & & & & &
The studio was ready for a full session. Bruce checked the camera and his Rolex as the dressing room door opened. Dick emerged in a green-and-gold robe with brocade slippers. The sleeves were long and wide and Dick walked gracefully to the sofa. A bed was set against another wall.
Bruce and Dick had set up tables with the Victorian lamps, a curio cabinet crammed with knickknacks, two fresh ferns in terracotta pots, and embroidered decorative pillows on the bed with a handmade afghan thrown over the back of the horsehair sofa. The round pillow with tassels was set at one end.
“Let’s start with the sofa,” Bruce said.
Dick nodded as he sprawled on the couch, his robe opening artfully. He and Bruce had studied Victorian erotic photographs, some dating back to the 1840s. The rhinestone bracelet and necklace sparkled under the lights. He slipped on the carnelian ring.
“As soon as photography was invented, on came the nudies,” Bruce had said wryly.
Dick knew exactly the pose that Bruce wanted. The first poses hid his cock, but gradually he exposed it while still wearing the robe. He kicked off his slippers and stretched like a cat.
Shivering slightly, Bruce continued shooting. Dick suddenly turned over and hiked up his robe to expose his delectable buttocks. He looked over his shoulder with heavy-lidded teasing.
“Ouch.”
“What?”
“Danged pillow.” Dick pulled it out from under his body. “How did people get comfortable with these things?”
“Remember, these were people who wore whalebone corsets and stiff collars. All right, break.”
He came back from the mini-fridge with Coke and Dick exclaimed in delight, “Bottles!”
Bruce grinned. “Yeah, I had a buddy of mine at the bottling plant send me a case. Have to get in the right frame of mind, right?”
Dick drank the Coke, the liquid pouring down his throat and Bruce trying to stay focused on his next set-up.
When they were finished he said, “Okay, bed.” Bruce realized what he had just said and ignored Dick’s laughter. Dick took some lotion from a decorative tin on the endtable and kept his hands from drying out.
Dick changed his beaten-gold rhinestone necklace to a long strand of pearls. The real thing instead of fakes, their luster shone against satiny skin. Dick posed stretched out as he had done on the sofa. His next pose was one hand fingering the pearls.
Dick did not even need to be directed for the next series of poses. He disrobed and canted his body in alluring poses with a smile ghosting around his lips more than not.
“All fours, baby,” growled Bruce, a trickle of sweat running down his spine.
Dick obeyed, looking over his shoulder with a smoldering expression that hit Bruce right in the groin.
Dick spread his legs and Bruce carefully placed his camera on a tripod and stepped to the bed. He reached over and grasped Dick’s hips.
“You’re a damned tease,” he rasped.
“What took you so long?”
Bruce tightened his grip. “Are you ready?”
“Practically since the moment I met you.” He pointed to the endtable. “Use the lotion.”
Bruce fumbled with the lid but pulled it off and scooped out some cream. He climbed onto the bed and his fingers slipped between Dick’s cheeks, gently preparing him as Dick arched his back. Bruce coated his cock and replaced his hands on Dick’s hips. He leaned down and kissed the small of his back.
Dick wiggled his ass and Bruce unzipped his pants, freeing his cock, and clutched Dick’s hips again. He wasted no time, blood throbbing through his veins and his cock poking at Dick’s buttocks.
He thrust in, muscles clenching around his cock as he heard Dick’s gasp of pleasure. He pulled out and thrust back in, using deep strokes as he established a rhythm.
He was consumed by smooth skin and tight heat as he kept up the pace, desperate to fill Dick, take him, possess him…
I want you so much!
Dick pushed back, eager for even deeper penetration. Bruce complied, driving in until he hit the sweet spot. Dick cried out, clawing at the sheets while the pearls swayed wildly.
“You’ve wanted to spread your legs for me for a long time,” Bruce growled. “These perfect cheeks, just begging to be pulled apart and my cock rammed in between them.”
“Yes!”
“What a slut you are. Preening and prancing around naked, stretching and jutting your hips up and begging to be fucked as you get on all fours and bounce your ass at me.” He grabbed Dick’s cock and milked it.
“Yes!” sobbed Dick. His body shuddered as Bruce hammered into him like a piledriver.
Bruce’s vision tinged sepia at the edge as he grabbed the long strand of pearls and pulled Dick’s head back. “Say you want to be fucked!”
“Fuck me!” Dick screamed.
Bruce released Dick’s cock and brought his hand down hard on one butt cheek as he slid his other hand around warm skin and pinched Dick’s nipple hard, his vision nearly whiting out as Dick’s cry ripped from his throat and Bruce spurted deep inside his gleaming body. Dick came almost at the same moment, both of them collapsing and panting heavily.
The picture!
Bruce’s fogged mind drove him off the bed and to the camera as he yanked his pants up. He took the shot of a blissfully-spent Dick sprawled on his stomach with his legs spread, the pearls draped over one shoulder. He took a few more for insurance and staggered back to the bed, lifting Dick and rolling him on his back.
Back at the camera he saw a picture of a beautiful young man in the throes of afterglow, his skin shining with sweat and dark bruises on his hips. His legs were open to show his spent cock, and the pearls trailed down his chest and stomach, one pearl gleaming in his navel as swollen lips smiled and mussed hair fell into heavy-lidded eyes.
If both post-coital photos were the talk of the art exhibition, all the better.
And if the majority of sex shots were private in the future for Bruce’s personal collection, even better.
And if young college student Tim found the stash and enjoyed a blissful afternoon with his hand between his legs, all the better for aspiring photographers. ;)
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Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Dick, Tim
Genres: AU, Romance
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Top model Dick Grayson catches the eye of successful photographer Bruce Wayne.
Date Of Completion: October 12, 2014
Date Of Posting: December 22, 2014
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 4274
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for the 2014 Bruce/Dick Christmas Swap Thing. :) Prompt #2: Dick is a model and Bruce a photographer. Bruce becomes smitten with Dick. Sexytimes possible. AU, possible R/NC-17.
The past is the past,
Living and vital,
Tinged by sepia
The pearls of time
Spilling out
From dark, cool
Places.
Clarissa O’Doul
"The Living Past"
1996 C.E.
Bruce checked his camera, satisfied that it was in working order. “Tim, that light should be over there.”
“Yes, sir.”
The thin college student quickly set up the light. He was reliable and eager to learn the business, so Bruce kept him on.
“Do you think Mr. Grayson will be on time?”
“He has that reputation for punctuality, as flighty as he likes to act.”
As if on cue the door opened and Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson breezed in, wearing green bellbottoms, a canary-yellow silk shirt and dashing scarf as ruby cufflinks winked in the light. He wore a red choker with a tiny bird attached.
Bruce was dazzled by the man’s beauty and appalled by his color scheme but he had to admit that Grayson had style. His own style was expensive but in exquisitely good taste: a pale blue McCarron shirt and darker blue J.T. Burton pants and Gucci loafers with a shiny gold Rolex watch.
“Good morning, good morning,” Dick said cheerfully, taking down a pair of yellow-framed sunglasses from atop his head. “What’s the scenario, Mr. Wayne?”
“Um, your clothes are in the dressing room. I’ll give you details when you come out.”
“All right.” Dick clonked past Bruce on his way to the dressing room.
Platform shoes?!
Bruce shook his head as he re-checked his camera. Tim was completely dazzled and would probably be useless for the rest of the day.
He eyed the stage through his lens. When he had accepted this assignment, he had been excited. Dick Grayson was the hottest male model in the business, his unique style a mishmash of any era he took a fancy to. Evidently today he was in ‘70s mode.
Dick Grayson also was quickly becoming the center of controversy. He liked to use his body to best effect, and like the Calvin Klein ads of the ‘80s that were daringly risqué, he shed his clothes without a qualm if the ad was set up for it.
Bruce’s groin tingled at the thought of a nude Dick Grayson in his studio. He looked up as his model came out of the dressing room, garbed in a casual yellow McCarron shirt, white shorts and deck shoes. Not as broad-shouldered as Bruce, he still had well-developed muscles, including powerful thighs.
Bruce studied Dick’s face. It was just shy of too pretty, yet retained a masculinity that pleased women and men alike. Long lashes framed sapphire-blue eyes, and dark, silky hair framed the high cheekbones and straight nose. The lush lips were curved into a smile.
Bruce realized with a sense of astonishment that Dick Grayson sparkled. He wasn’t wearing sequins and yet he seemed to exude light.
He’s a natural for the camera.
Dick pointed to the monogrammed emblem above his shirt pocket. “McCarron shirts? Very classy.”
“Fairly conservative company.”
“But respectable.” Dick put his hands on his hips. “Shall we get started?” He glanced over at Tim. “And you are…?”
“Tim Drake,” Bruce said, answering for his tongue-tied assistant.
Dick smiled directly at Tim and Bruce wondered if he was going to have to call the paramedics.
“Tim, get us the drinks I put in the fridge.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tim scurried off while Bruce said, “Okay, as you can see, the background is a beach setting…”
They were well into the session by the time Tim came back with cans of Coke.
“Yes, let’s have a smile, now turn this way, oh, yeah, now smile...”
Ten minutes later Bruce called for a break and all three drank frosty cans of Coke. Dick swung his legs as he sat on the stage.
“My favorite, thank you.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Top models of either sex did not thank for small courtesies. They expected them.
“You’re welcome.”
They finished their Cokes in companionable silence and returned to work. During the session, Dick’s back was to Bruce, affording the photographer a great view. Licking his lips, he snapped the shot.
Dick’s movements were fluid and graceful, and Bruce knew that his shots would be winners.
When the session was over, Dick changed and breezed out again, thanking Bruce for ‘a creative session’. It was like a force of Nature had just left the room.
“Well,” Bruce said to Tim.
“Yeah.” Tim exhaled. “Nice guy for a model.”
Bruce opened the darkroom door. “Let’s get started.”
Tim followed and they quickly developed the photographs. Bruce preferred the old-fashioned method of photography. His reasons were his own, but he could afford his idiosyncracies. He was the top fashion photographer in the business and in demand. He was Bruce Wayne, damnit!
“Wow,” Tim said.
Bruce looked down at the photographs developing in the solution. “Wow, indeed.”
& & & & & &
The McCarron shirt ad was a major success. Bruce was arrogant enough to credit his talent, but he also had to admit that Dick Grayson’s talent shone through the glossy prints. The McCarron Company immediately contracted for a series of ads with Dick, and the budget included location shooting.
So it was that Bruce and Tim met Dick in the city on a rainy Monday morning.
“Okay, we’ll do a truncated shoot this morning,” Bruce said. “Tomorrow the sun’s supposed to be out.”
Dick was dressed in a crisp pink McCarron shirt and white pants. He looked like a young man who was home from Harvard or Princeton. He carried a white-and-black striped umbrella, a prop that Bruce approved of on this gray day.
“Gotham has a lot of interesting architecture. We’ll use it.”
“Just say the word, Boss.”
Bruce led them through the city, choosing different locations. He first had Dick pose on the steps of the ornate Gotham Public Library with its stone lions and marble Ionic columns. The bronze double doors depicted the Revolutionary War Battle of Gotham Heights in 1776.
“McCarron shirts are traditional and should have a background reflecting that,” Bruce explained.
“Shouldn’t they be going for the younger demographic?” Tim asked.
“They want the serious up-and-comers,” Bruce said. “Young men who are on the make in the financial world and uppercrust Society. Snob factor.”
“I guess you’re right. Kind of like back in the ‘50s when a man would buy a Cadillac to show that he’d arrived.”
Bruce chuckled. “What do you know about the ‘50s?”
“I read.”
Dick came down the steps. “Where next, Chief?”
“Don’t call me Chief.”
Dick winked at Tim, who smiled back. He was carrying a second camera slung over her shoulder and water bottles in a bag.
“Let’s head over to the Art Museum.” Bruce capped the lens.
The rain was a fine mist. Dick offered his umbrella to his companions but they declined. Bruce noticed how the mist sparkled like diamonds in Dick’s hair and on his skin.
Once they arrived at the museum, Bruce positioned Dick at the fountain in front of the entrance, surrounded by colorful red, gold, and orange chrysanthemums. He took some shots, careful to keep the sun in back in order to illuminate Dick. The nimbus of light created a stunning effect as his skin glistened.
He’s selling more than shirts.
They went to one more location, Robinson Park, and the antique footbridge over Swanson Pond. Dick stuck just the right note of casual elegance.
“Okay, let’s break for lunch. Unless you models don’t eat?” asked Bruce.
“I eat.” Dick smiled. “I work out, too.”
“Are you a vegetarian or vegan?”
Dick laughed. “No, I like a good burger now and again.”
“All right, I know a good restaurant just outside the park.”
Tim had a class to attend so he left the camera and water bottles with Bruce. Dick volunteered to carry the bottles.
When they reached the restaurant, they were led by the maitre d’ to the second level, which was divided into a cozy dining room and outside deck. A canopy covered the deck so the mist would not affect them.
Dick ordered a chicken salad with celery and French bread while Bruce chose a turkey-on-wheat with lettuce, tomato, and red onion slices with a side dish of saffron rice.
“Guess we’re close to vegetarian,” Bruce said ruefully.
“Next time we can order he-man steaks.”
Bruce laughed. “All right, you’re on.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of white wine and they enjoyed the drinks while waiting for their food.
“I was very pleased to hear that you were the photographer for this assignment.”
“Oh?” Bruce sipped his wine.
The waiter brought a basket of French bread, neatly sliced and piping-hot. Dick took a thick slice and offered the basket to Bruce, who took a slice.
“Of course.” Dick buttered the bread. “Your reputation is pretty sterling.”
“I might say the same of you.”
“Only might?” Dick took a bite of the bread.
“Ha, okay, more than ‘might’.”
Dick smiled a satisfied smile. “Your skill with the comics is amazing. The first shoot we did together was a great result. My agent was ecstatic.” Dick took another bite of bread. “I never looked better.”
Bruce laughed. “Well, I see you have some supermodel characteristics.”
Dick smirked as the waiter brought their entrees. They dug in, enjoying the food as the mist drifted onto the deck, feeling cool against their skin.
“Nice view.” Dick gazed out at the harbor. “The city isn’t quite so grim as people say.”
“Gotham grim? Who says that?” Bruce asked in mock amusement.
“Oh, people.” Dick held out his arm. “Feels nice, this mist.”
Bruce carefully refrained from staring at Dick’s mist-sprinkled forearm. Instead he concentrated on his turkey sandwich.
“May I ask you something?”
Bruce looked up. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you like taking pictures with an older-style camera and developing the photos the old-fashioned way?”
“You mean instead of a digital camera?” At Dick’s nod, Bruce picked up his wineglass and sipped the Chardonnay. “I believe a part of myself shows through with a non-digital camera that doesn’t work with a digital one. Newer technology is amazing but I believe the past can still give us useful things.”
Dick’s smile was amused. “Not surprising from a man who lives in Gotham.”
“What?”
Dick waved his hand out at the city. “The gargoyles, flying buttresses and gingerbread curlicues speak of the history of this city. The past lives and breathes here.”
Bruce smiled. “Gotham is most definitely a city of heritage.”
Dick speared a piece of chicken. “I like that.”
“What?”
“A city that honors its heritage instead of forgetting it.”
You’re an unusual man, Dick Grayson. Not many young men would care about the past.
It was a perfect day.
“It suits it.” Dick said.
“What suits?”
“The mist. It suits Gotham.”
& & & & & &
That night, Bruce pored over a stack of photographs that he had found on the Internet. All were of Dick Grayson in a series of cologne and perfume ads that were strongly reminiscent of Calvin Klein’s ‘80s ads, using buff young men and women in suggestive poses while nude. The ‘naughty bits’, as they were politely called, were artfully obscured, but it was basically nude photography.
He started at each photograph, picking up each one and placing it facedown in a second pile. He ran a hand through his hair, then picked up his cell phone and made a call.
& & & & & &
The restaurant was quiet and intimate. Bruce did not want a noisy, crowded atmosphere for this proposition. He waited patiently, dressed in a pale blue McCarron shirt and navy-blue slacks. He wore his gold Rolex watch and consulted it as he leisurely drank his white wine.
Whatever happened to my beer drinking days? he thought wryly.
He looked up in time to see Dick enter the restaurant, dressed in a bright red silk shirt and black pants. He wore a short gold necklace and as he shook hands with Bruce, his sleeve rode up and revealed a wide copper bracelet with intricate starburst designs.
“Nice place.” Dick smiled at the waiter and after a quick look at the menu, ordered a steak, baked potato and mixed vegetables. He winked at Bruce.
“Waiter, I’ll have some red wine to go with my steak, baked potato, and mixed vegetables,” Bruce said coolly.
After the waiter departed, Dick burst out laughing. He took a long sip from his water glass.
They talked about their latest shoot, and when the entrees came, Bruce allowed himself to savor the juicy steak before he broached the subject for which he had invited Dick to this lunch.
Dick’s eyes were watching him subtly, but the curiosity was there. Bruce took another bite of steak and made his move after swallowing.
“Dick, I’ve seen your other ads. I want to do some test runs with you.”
“Test runs? For what?”
“I want to do a series of Victorian-style erotic photographs to present as a major new collection. I want you to be the star of the whole artistic endeavor.”
Dick’s eyes lit up. “You’re going artistic?”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?”
Dick stuck his fork into a piece of meat and chewed the steak thoroughly. He swallowed and said, “Most definitely.”
& & & & & &
Bruce had set up the lights in his studio himself. Tim was not going to be part of this project. He checked the mini-refrigerator. It was well-stocked with cans of Coke. He smiled as he shut the door.
A knock at the front door straightened him up. He went to the door and opened it and was greeted by a smiling Dick Grayson.
“Come on in,” Bruce invited.
“Thanks.” Dick swept past him. “Shall we get started?”
Bruce wondered if his subject was nervous, but Dick gave no indication of it. He stood before the stage.
“Do you want me up there?”
“Yes. Face the wall, then turn your head back to me."
“Right.”
Dick began disrobing, taking off and neatly folding a yellow shirt, green pants and white cotton briefs. He had kicked off his shoes and peeled off pale yellow socks. He stepped up on the stage and followed Bruce’s instructions.
Bruce was mesmerized by the perfect buttocks. So round and firm! He steadied his hands as he raised the camera. Dick allowed a small smile on his lips. Oh, boy!
Bruce began shooting, directing Dick with typical photographer patter. He asked Dick to turn around and was impressed by the other’s manhood. Dick was completely relaxed without a trace of embarrassment.
Bruce took several more shots and kept a professional detachment, or at least he tried to. Dick was very distracting.
If you looked up the word in the dictionary, yep, there’s his picture.
When he was finished with the shots, Dick got dressed and Bruce took two cans out of the mini-fridge. They sat and drank the cold drinks, Dick asking if the light had been what Bruce had wanted.
“Yes, it’s a different case with black-and-white photography.”
“I find photography fascinating. I really admire great practitioners of the art like yourself.”
Bruce grinned. “You flatter me.”
“Well, you deserve it. May I watch you develop the pictures?”
“You may. Come on.” Bruce finished his Coke and Dick drained his own can. The cans clattered in the recycling bin as the two men entered the darkroom.
Bruce noticed that even in red light, Dick was gorgeous. His mind blanked.
“Bruce?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the first step?”
“Oh. Well, we…”
Bruce explained the procedure and gradually the photographs appeared. Dick lifted one out with forceps.
“This is really good.” It was the first pose that Bruce had requested.
Bruce looked at the perfect buttocks. “Perfection.”
Dick smiled. He pointed at several pictures. “These are the sepia tests?”
“Yes. Your skin shows up well.”
“I think so, too.”
Bruce could smell the faint, clean scent of expensive cologne. It was a good smell.
After developing all the pictures, the photographer and his model exited the darkroom. Dick surveyed the studio.
“Are you going to set up here?”
Bruce shook his head. “It requires too much of a make-over. I rented the studio next door. It’s completely empty. I’ll be starting from scratch.”
“Will you be haunting the antique shops?”
“Yes, I have a list from Alfred.”
“Who’s Alfred?”
“My butler.”
Dick looked at him in amusement. “You have a butler?”
“Of course.”
Dick shook his head. “Of course.” He did not bother to hide his smile. “I’d like to come along.”
Bruce could not believe his luck.
& & & & & &
Bruce’s fingers itched to take pictures in the golden autumn light. The countryside was bright with yellow, red and orange trees as Bruce drove his classic Mustang with the top down. Dick sat beside him. They stopped at a barn with the sign Annie’s Antiques lettered on a board over the doors.
Inside the cavernous barn was a jumble of antiques: furniture, posters, books, magazines, toys, figurines and other curiosities. Bruce and Dick wandered through the cluttered aisles, delighted at finding charming treasures like a stack of Life magazines from the ‘40s or a blue pedal car in perfect working condition from the early ‘60s.
“Here’s something,” Dick said as he examined a fringed lamp.
“Looks like a Tiffany one over here. A couple of crystals missing but that’s easily hidden.”
“We’ll have to include fresh ferns for the shoot. Nothing says Victorian like ferns. And a curio cabinet stuffed with geegaws and bric-a-brac.”
“What about stuffed animals under glass?”
Dick made a face. “Let’s skip that touch.”
“Agreed.”
“Oh, hey, there’s a horsehair sofa!” Dick inspected the furniture. “Kind of threadbare and the wood finish is worn, but some throw pillows and an afghan can hide a lot.”
Bruce frowned. “Most Victorian erotica used a bed.”
“True, but I’ve seen sofas used.”
“Hmm.”
“Can we do both?”
“Maybe. We’ll need an exotic robe for you to drape over a chair.”
“And an exotic bedspread.”
They chose some 19th-century knickknacks, Dick choosing some souvenirs from Niagara Falls and Atlantic City. He bought a miniature of the Empire State Building for himself and Bruce was delighted to find a souvenir of Gotham’s Big Dan clock.
Bruce arranged with the owner to deliver the sofa to the studio and he and Dick took the smaller items with them.
They had lunch at a roadside café, enjoying fresh turkey sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, and light mayonnaise, accompanied by side dishes of potato salad with dill. Pie fresh from orchard apples was a delicious dessert.
They discussed the decorating and Dick mentioned jewelry. “Even the male nudes wear some.”
“We’ll definitely keep that in mind.” The thought of this young man in nothing but glittering baubles set Bruce’s groin tingling.
They picked up some fine antique jewelry at the next antique shop. Dick’s eyes sparkled as he examined a rhinestone bracelet.
“It’s got all its pieces.” He studied the clasp. “It won’t fall off.”
“Good.” Bruce found a carnelian ring. “Try this on.”
Dick slipped it on. “Perfect fit.”
“We’ll take it and the bracelet,” Bruce said to the woman behind the counter. “And the matching necklace.”
“Look at these pearls!” Dick picked up a long set of lustrous pearls and twined them in his fingers. “Oh, yes. This, too, please.”
Things were shaping up quite nicely.
& & & & & &
The studio was ready for a full session. Bruce checked the camera and his Rolex as the dressing room door opened. Dick emerged in a green-and-gold robe with brocade slippers. The sleeves were long and wide and Dick walked gracefully to the sofa. A bed was set against another wall.
Bruce and Dick had set up tables with the Victorian lamps, a curio cabinet crammed with knickknacks, two fresh ferns in terracotta pots, and embroidered decorative pillows on the bed with a handmade afghan thrown over the back of the horsehair sofa. The round pillow with tassels was set at one end.
“Let’s start with the sofa,” Bruce said.
Dick nodded as he sprawled on the couch, his robe opening artfully. He and Bruce had studied Victorian erotic photographs, some dating back to the 1840s. The rhinestone bracelet and necklace sparkled under the lights. He slipped on the carnelian ring.
“As soon as photography was invented, on came the nudies,” Bruce had said wryly.
Dick knew exactly the pose that Bruce wanted. The first poses hid his cock, but gradually he exposed it while still wearing the robe. He kicked off his slippers and stretched like a cat.
Shivering slightly, Bruce continued shooting. Dick suddenly turned over and hiked up his robe to expose his delectable buttocks. He looked over his shoulder with heavy-lidded teasing.
“Ouch.”
“What?”
“Danged pillow.” Dick pulled it out from under his body. “How did people get comfortable with these things?”
“Remember, these were people who wore whalebone corsets and stiff collars. All right, break.”
He came back from the mini-fridge with Coke and Dick exclaimed in delight, “Bottles!”
Bruce grinned. “Yeah, I had a buddy of mine at the bottling plant send me a case. Have to get in the right frame of mind, right?”
Dick drank the Coke, the liquid pouring down his throat and Bruce trying to stay focused on his next set-up.
When they were finished he said, “Okay, bed.” Bruce realized what he had just said and ignored Dick’s laughter. Dick took some lotion from a decorative tin on the endtable and kept his hands from drying out.
Dick changed his beaten-gold rhinestone necklace to a long strand of pearls. The real thing instead of fakes, their luster shone against satiny skin. Dick posed stretched out as he had done on the sofa. His next pose was one hand fingering the pearls.
Dick did not even need to be directed for the next series of poses. He disrobed and canted his body in alluring poses with a smile ghosting around his lips more than not.
“All fours, baby,” growled Bruce, a trickle of sweat running down his spine.
Dick obeyed, looking over his shoulder with a smoldering expression that hit Bruce right in the groin.
Dick spread his legs and Bruce carefully placed his camera on a tripod and stepped to the bed. He reached over and grasped Dick’s hips.
“You’re a damned tease,” he rasped.
“What took you so long?”
Bruce tightened his grip. “Are you ready?”
“Practically since the moment I met you.” He pointed to the endtable. “Use the lotion.”
Bruce fumbled with the lid but pulled it off and scooped out some cream. He climbed onto the bed and his fingers slipped between Dick’s cheeks, gently preparing him as Dick arched his back. Bruce coated his cock and replaced his hands on Dick’s hips. He leaned down and kissed the small of his back.
Dick wiggled his ass and Bruce unzipped his pants, freeing his cock, and clutched Dick’s hips again. He wasted no time, blood throbbing through his veins and his cock poking at Dick’s buttocks.
He thrust in, muscles clenching around his cock as he heard Dick’s gasp of pleasure. He pulled out and thrust back in, using deep strokes as he established a rhythm.
He was consumed by smooth skin and tight heat as he kept up the pace, desperate to fill Dick, take him, possess him…
I want you so much!
Dick pushed back, eager for even deeper penetration. Bruce complied, driving in until he hit the sweet spot. Dick cried out, clawing at the sheets while the pearls swayed wildly.
“You’ve wanted to spread your legs for me for a long time,” Bruce growled. “These perfect cheeks, just begging to be pulled apart and my cock rammed in between them.”
“Yes!”
“What a slut you are. Preening and prancing around naked, stretching and jutting your hips up and begging to be fucked as you get on all fours and bounce your ass at me.” He grabbed Dick’s cock and milked it.
“Yes!” sobbed Dick. His body shuddered as Bruce hammered into him like a piledriver.
Bruce’s vision tinged sepia at the edge as he grabbed the long strand of pearls and pulled Dick’s head back. “Say you want to be fucked!”
“Fuck me!” Dick screamed.
Bruce released Dick’s cock and brought his hand down hard on one butt cheek as he slid his other hand around warm skin and pinched Dick’s nipple hard, his vision nearly whiting out as Dick’s cry ripped from his throat and Bruce spurted deep inside his gleaming body. Dick came almost at the same moment, both of them collapsing and panting heavily.
The picture!
Bruce’s fogged mind drove him off the bed and to the camera as he yanked his pants up. He took the shot of a blissfully-spent Dick sprawled on his stomach with his legs spread, the pearls draped over one shoulder. He took a few more for insurance and staggered back to the bed, lifting Dick and rolling him on his back.
Back at the camera he saw a picture of a beautiful young man in the throes of afterglow, his skin shining with sweat and dark bruises on his hips. His legs were open to show his spent cock, and the pearls trailed down his chest and stomach, one pearl gleaming in his navel as swollen lips smiled and mussed hair fell into heavy-lidded eyes.
If both post-coital photos were the talk of the art exhibition, all the better.
And if the majority of sex shots were private in the future for Bruce’s personal collection, even better.
And if young college student Tim found the stash and enjoyed a blissful afternoon with his hand between his legs, all the better for aspiring photographers. ;)
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