Title: Red Number Five

Author: Sydni_6.4

Fandom: Batman (Universe: tv cartoons)

Pairing: m/m (Bruce/Tim)

Rating: PG-13 (allusions to underage eroticism, very mild angst)

Archive: With author's permission

Feedback: Gods, yes!

Disclaimer: These characters, and the world of Batman in general, are not mine, but rather the property of DC Comics and/or Warner Bros. This story is written for entertainment purposes only, not for any sort of monetary profit.

Notes: This baby is short. It's a little idea that just sprang into my brain, and I had to let the poor thing out and give it a little room to breathe and play. I happen to think it's really cute. But then, I'm sick. :-) Please note! Bruce has untoward thoughts about Tim! If that bothers you, don't read!

Undying Gratitude: To the several Batslashers who Beta'd this for me-Shadow Drift, Vicki B, Irina, and Arlene. Thanks!

A popsicle. A bright red, raspberry-flavored popsicle. That was what Tim had requested from the snack vendor at the Gotham Zoo, so that was what Bruce had purchased for him.

That was a mistake, Bruce sighed inwardly. Boy Wonder Redux was sitting next to him on a bench not far from the white tiger exhibit. Bruce tried to look away as Tim held the cold, red length in his hands, his lips pursed around the tip of the frozen delicacy. It was a good thing the teen was so preoccupied, or he might have taken notice of

Bruce's uncharacteristic discomfort. Shifting a little in his seat, Bruce tried once again to focus on the cats with their powerful, feline curves and their soft, shimmering whiteness. One large male stalked the edge of the enclosure, eyeing the other cats, his mouth open as he panted with desire.

Or heat stroke. How hot was it supposed to get today, anyway?

A long and noisy slurp from the protégé to his left knocked Bruce out of his trance. The boy was messy. He hadn't gotten any on his clothes yet, but the popsicle was beginning to melt in his hands, and so his tongue worked faster, traveling from the base of the rod where the popsicle stick was gripped tightly in his fist, then slowly caressing its way along the length of the ice, until he reached the top, gave it a strong suck for good measure, and flicked his tongue down the other side, back to the base so he could do it all over again. The vacuum pressure leeched the artificial flavoring from the tip so that it was white as any of the tigers. He was slurping and sucking as though he

were afraid someone might snatch it away if he didn't swallow it all fast enough-probably a holdover from his time on the street. Beads of sweat popped up along Bruce's forehead. To think those talents were being wasted on three parts corn syrup and two parts Red #5.

Finally--too soon, Bruce caught himself thinking--Tim succeeded in melting every last inch of the thing down into his belly and the treat was gone.

Bruce made a mental note to resist the purchase of popsicles, freeze-pops, or banana splits on all future occasions.

END.