SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!

Ah don't own them (more's the pity!), DC does! Ah am only borrowing them for a spell and Ah promise to return them unharmed (well, MOSTLY unharmed -- well used, but unharmed!) No infringement of copyright is intended! Ah ain't making a plug nickel heah:):)

Rated R for m/m sex! If'n such like offends ya'll then skedaddle:):)

The song "I'm On Fire" in Part Two, is used without permission but Ah like to think The Boss would approve:):)

Menage A Trois Of The Bat

OR

Sucker For A French Accent

OR

French Fried To A Crackly Crunch

A Nightwing/Azrael/Batman Tale by Dannell Lites

It's got to be the accent. No way around it; it's got to be that damned French accent.

I mean, I don't even *like* Jean-Paul Valley. He makes my teeth hurt, I grind them and grit them so much when I'm around him. I can't stay in the same room with him for more than five minutes without wanting to hurt him. The man doesn't even have to say anything. In fact, he usually doesn't. He's as closed mouthed as Bruce. All he needs to do is stand there and look at me with those smoky blue eyes from beneath those brooding brows and my hand starts itching to hit him.

So how in the name of God did I end up cowering in his bed, holding onto him as if he were a life raft and I were a drowning man?

Beats the crap out of me. I have absolutely no idea.

Grayson, I told myself, you better start getting a clue here, pal, or you're going to end up in a world of hurt.

All right. He's not the first man I've been to bed with, I'll admit that. I closed my eyes in pain. No, not the first. But I'm not going to apologize for what happened between Joey and I. I guess the truth is that I'm not really sure exactly what happened there, either. Joe Wilson was a very special man. We fought together and lived together as Titans for a long time. It was a bad time for me. Bruce's rejection nearly killed my self-esteem. After the Joker's bullet wounded me he wounded me even more gravely when he fired me ... made me promise never to wear the Robin costume again. But, of course I couldn't tell *him* how badly I was bleeding. I threw myself into leading The Titans.

And there was Joey.

Jericho was beautiful. On the inside where it counts. Sure, on the outside, too. But that was just icing on the cake. When Joey died, part of me died with him. No, I refuse to apologize about Joey.

Even to Bruce.

Bruce knows, damn him. He always knows. I'm an open book to him; always have been. He took one look at Joey, his hooded eyes drifted back to rest on me and he *knew*. It was almost as if he could smell it on my skin. There I was, little Robin with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Again.

We were careful. You'd better believe we were careful. I think it hurt Joey that I insisted on such secrecy. I wasn't ashamed of him. I wasn't. But I think he thought so. I never told him how proud I was to be his lover; just let the thing lay there between us, a smothering blanket in the night. And *that* I *am* ashamed of. But I buried that kind of caution with Joey. Now, I don't care who knows. It's a natural part of who I am. Joey taught me that.

That still doesn't explain Jean-Paul does it?

Hey, don't look at me. I just went down to the Cave to practice, alright? I almost turned back on the steps down into the depths of my home away from home when I heard him. I knew it wasn't Bruce. Bruce doesn't make any noise unless he wants to, no matter what he's doing. And there was a lot of noise coming from the practice mats spread out in their bright little corner of the Bat Universe.

No, damnit! I grew up here. This was my home. Bruce and I may be waltzing around each other, watching, waiting for something or someone to define us for one another, but I refused to be run out of my own home by this interloper. I gripped my towel and stalked my way down the stone steps. The Cave was a big place. There had to be room for the two of us.

I was wrong about that.

I had no sooner began my warm-up exercises than Jean-Paul began to watch me quietly, those dark smoky blue eyes burning into my back. I don't mind an audience. But *this* audience was making me decidedly nervous and uncomfortable. I haven't quite got the hang of these new escrima sticks yet and I need a lot of practice. What I *don't* need is to muck up because I'm nervous and hurt myself.

"Something I can do for you," I demanded, my voice harsher than I had intended.

With one fluid movement, Jean-Paul rose from the sitting position in which he'd been observing me to his full height. He's almost as tall as Bruce is, I thought. Okay, sue me. I have a weakness for tall, very well built men. Joey was actually a bit more slender than my usual cup of tea. But my body was forcibly reminding me that Jean-Paul was just right. For the first time I began to believe some of the things Bruce told me about him. That's he's not entirely human, I mean. Nothing that graceful is merely human. He smiled and lowered his eyes.

"Just watching a Master," he said. My lips thinned.

"You've got me confused with Bruce," I said, coolly. Him and everybody else on the planet. His chuckled reply was musical.

"Oh no," he insisted softly, "I'd never do that." I blinked. Could Jean-Paul Valley have just complimented me? In fact, that almost sounded like it might be a come on ... I had to be hallucinating.

"Bruce is like a lion," he explained, still smiling. "All strength and power, rolling over his enemies like a force of nature, a part of the night he so craves." His gaze began at my bare feet and traveled slowly up my body taking in every detail, leaving goose flesh in it's penetrating wake. I felt naked.

"You, on the other hand," he said, "are a gazelle. Speed and agile skill with your body are your weapons." Absently, he pointed to the sticks clutched in my tight fists. "Those are just extensions of your hands."

I wanted to say something. Anything to break the awkward silence that fell like a wall between us. But nothing would come. I opened my mouth and gaped like a landed fish. Feeling like ten kinds of a fool, I blushed. I resolved then and there to kill him if he laughed.

But he didn't.

"I am here to learn," Jean-Paul pronounced. "Perhaps you will teach me? I should very much like to know how to use those." He pointed at the sticks again.

"I'm just learning myself," I stammered, "I don't think -"

"Then we will learn together, no?"

How could I refuse? From the beginning, it didn't go down well at all. He ignored my nervousness, didn't even seem to notice much less protest when I flinched from his every touch. He was driving me crazy. I swear he found every excuse in the book to touch me and to make sure that I touched him. I was one solid unresolved ache by the time I'd taught him the simplest thing like the proper way to hold the damn sticks.

"Like so?" he inquired, the picture of guileless innocence. "Uh ... no ..." I ground my teeth. "Like *this* ... " He smiled, his hand lingering on mine.

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed. "Now I see."

Finally, I had enough. With an effort I pulled myself away from him, his warm breath raising the hairs on the nape of my neck.

"Playtime is over," I snarled. "What do you want from me, Jean-Paul? What ever it is, it doesn't have a thing to do with these!" I held the sticks up in front of me like a shield. Gently he pushed them aside and I let them fall to the floor with a clatter. They weren't going to help me. I didn't even struggle when he slid sinewy arms around me.

"The question is," he whispered in my ear, "is what do *you* want?"

Jean-Paul cupped my buttocks and smoothly pulled me closer until I was molded against the softness of the sweat pants he wore. My God, he's strong. Lifting me effortlessly, he pressed his pelvis into mine and I moaned. I wanted to wrap my legs around those slim hips and devour him. Through the cloth I could feel his flesh stir. Slipping my hands down the back of Jean-Paul's pants, I stroked the sleek muscles there. My mouth captured one of his nipples and drew hot, wet rings around it with an eager tongue I nipped at one with my teeth. He smelled faintly of salt and the earth.

"Harder!" he gasped, then groaned when I did as he asked.

Biting down hard, I suckled him like a child and he rumbled deep in his chest with pleasure. The sound and the feel of him ignited a fire in my groin that set my nerves aflame, singing a sweet song of desire. His lips found my neck and began to nibble with an agile tongue. My body arched, hips working almost against my will. This was crazy. Utterly insane. We were in the middle of the Bat Cave, for God's sake. Alfred, or worse, Bruce might walk in at any moment.

But then, that was part of the allure wasn't it? The forbidden fruit.

"Please" I whispered. "Please! Now! I need ... I need ... "

Christ, I hated the sound of my own voice just then. The desire ... the longing ... ringing in its depths left a cold emptiness in my belly. Just exactly *when* had this happened to me? This loneliness eating away at me? I didn't have a clue. It seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my soul. I couldn't believe that I was doing this. I was actually about to make love to a man I didn't even like. Was I really that alone? Hurting that bad?

Yeah, I was.

"I know what you need," Jean-Paul said with a smile that would have melted a stone. "I know *exactly* what you need ... " he assured me and moved.

We went crashing into a wall and Jean-Paul braced me against it. Slowly, I lowered myself onto the length of his penis, tight internal muscles rippling until I had all of him inside me. I gasped, gritting my teeth. God, that felt good! I loved the feeling of being filled, being consumed that overwhelmed me. It's like being a part of something bigger than yourself; like being connected, love flowing from one body to another. It's wonderful to be desired, to be needed. And it's good, so very, very, good, not to be alone.

Quickly, Jean-Paul began to thrust from his hips, each stroke taking him deeper and deeper inside me until I thought I might split down the middle. Moaning, I met thrust for thrust, clinging to the wall frantically, digging my fingers deep into it's padded surface, clawing for release. Arching into his desire, I reveled in the feel of him, the masculine taste of his pale skin still in my mouth. All too soon I felt the small internal tremblings that told me I had almost reached completion. Jean-Paul's testicles spasmed and drew themselves up close to his body. With one last massive thrust, he came, filling me with spreading warmth.

Deliberately, I set internal muscles to work rippling once more, massaging the length of his hardened flesh. Groaning with release, he trembled for an instant. I cried out as my own orgasm overtook me. Turning, I clung to Jean-Paul's strong body, shivering as minuscule echoes of my climax fluttered through me. Panting, I rested my head on his broad shoulder. After a moment, as gently as a feather floating to earth, he lowered us both to the matted floor. I didn't move but instead lay curled in his arms for as long as he would allow it. Breathing heavily, his eyes closed, Jean-Paul smiled that breathless smile once more.

"Well, little friend," he murmured, "that was good. You learn quickly."

Yeah, Bruce always said I was quick. I don't mind being a quick study, but I don't think I ever wanted to be a quick *fuck* like this.

"Look at yourself, man!" I spat in silent rage. "Nightwing, superhero at large - Richard John Grayson, the last of the flying Graysons - rutting up against a wall like an animal. Damn you!" I tried to tell myself not to be so hard on Mary Grayson's little boy Dick. Try as I did, I couldn't find a single excuse for this, though. But I did try.

It was either that or cry.

For an answer I began to kiss my way down the length of Jean-Paul's tall body. I paused at his belly button and grinned. He was an outie. Playfully, I kissed it, then nipped and briefly sucked at the small protrubence. Jean-Paul drew in a sharp breath and his back arched. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he impatiently guided my lips down to the V of his outstretched legs. Obediently, I followed. I was surprised to see that he was circumcised. The feel of him inside my body told me he was but it was still surprising. Even today, lots of European men aren't.

He had a pretty penis. Nestling amidst bright, sunshine blond curls, it thrust proudly forward, even now, like the arching neck of a great pale stallion. Reverently, I took it in my hands and began to kiss it. When I felt it stir, I smiled. Holding it tenderly I teased the tip of my tongue around the rim of the head. Carefully, I flicked my tongue in a lazy arc up the sensitive underside. With a free hand I tickled and gently stroked his testicles until I could feel them tighten in readiness for release.

Jean-Paul moaned and thrust himself deeper into my waiting mouth. My tongue lapped at him and I began moving my mouth and tongue up and down the great length of him. At his side, his hands buried themselves in the deep pile mat, clutching at it until it seemed the bones creaked. Gasping, The Batman's new protégé, my replacement, thrashed and moaned louder, body demanding release, bucking like an untamed horse.

Carefully, I began to slow my rhythm, encircling the base of his great organ with one hand. He gritted his teeth, hips pumping; but he refused to speak or cry out. Slipping a hand beneath his upraised body, I caressed the long lean muscles of his buttocks. Humming throatily, I felt the vibrations of my fleshly music travel down the length of him to set the muscles of his thighs trembling.

When I released my firm hold on the base of his penis, he shot off like a rocket, filling my mouth with his essence. I swallowed the thick salty quintessence of him. Oddly vulnerable, Jean-Paul panted like a winded predator and I held him for long moments until the trembling passed.

"Very good this time, little friend," he finally husked with that devastating smile, stroking my hair. "That was well done. You deserve a reward."

With that, he stretched me out beneath him, whispering both hands down my body. With his fingers he caressed my swelling manhood, then lowered his head. He began to lap and tease at me like a great cat. His hands reached out and began to caress and tweak my hardened, aching nipples. Tongue working furiously, he worked my stiffening flesh time and time again until I whimpered for release. My body shook and my hips began to rock themselves in an age old rythmn.

After that, I don't remember much. My dreams were filled with smoky blue eyes so dark they were almost black. I don't remember falling asleep, but I'm one of those guys who falls asleep as if they'd been clubbed, afterwards. No, I don't remember falling asleep.

But I do remember waking up in my own bed. Alone. I reached for warmth and comfort, but my searching hands found only emptiness. The sheets were cold. No one but me had lain here in hours. I sighed.

"By now you should be used to waking up alone, Grayson," I told myself, fiercely, "it isn't as if this is the first time. Or even the first half dozen. Practice makes perfect." There was no doubt about it. I had lousy luck with sex, anyway. I was sixteen when Babs broke my heart.

"It'll never work, Dick," she patiently explained to me. "I'm twenty-four years old and you're a minor." I remember how lost she looked, sitting there hunched in on herself as if she wanted to disappear. "They call that statutory rape in this state. It's got to stop." Sooner or later it always stopped.

Joey died.

Wally grew out of his crush on me.

I don't know what the hell happened with Kory.

And the Huntress ... I don't even want to *think* about her. I don't *do* one night stands.

"Well, you do now, pal." I castigated myself. "Better get used to the idea. You've seen the future and its lonely." I was reaching for the pillow to pull over my head and shut out the world when my fingers closed on something soft. And then I jumped when the thorns pricked me.

It was a single red rose, perfect in every regard, laying in wait for me on my pillow. There was no note, of course. It wasn't necessary. I didn't need my eyes to tell me who it was from. Smiling, I wondered if Alfred knew that JeanPaul had plundered one of his prize Angelfire roses. Probably. Alfred knows everything.

Humming "Le Marseillaise", I lay back down and tumbled back into sleep, surrounded by hope and the intoxicating scent of roses.

End, Part One!

Part 2