
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/154182.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Nightwing/Robin
  Character:
      Dick_Grayson, Tim_Drake
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Sex_Pollen, Cliche
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-03-24 Words: 4907
****** Dodge-town ******
by shrift
Summary
     Wherein Dick gets whammied, sex is had, Tim fails to deal, and then
     there are pastries.
Notes
     Current timelines have been fudged to facilitate the cliché porn.
     Beta by Nestra.
     Te: Dick/Tim sex pollen. You know you want to...
     shrift: This. Mmph. Um. Yes. Dick, he of the roving hands, getting
     whammied and then needing to *pet Tim everywhere*. A wreck of a bed.
     Sheets sticking to their skin...
"Slow night," Dick says by way of hello when Tim lands on the roof behind him.
He's grinning down at the street, gloved hands gripping the building ledge. Tim
hasn't been able to get the drop on him since the first time he visited Dick
here. His security's gotten a lot better since then. And it helps that Dick
really is just that good.
Tim stands beside him and crosses his arms under his cape. "Define 'slow'."
Dick turns the grin on him, and it twists something low in Tim's gut. "Just the
one near-death experience. Nobody's even shot at me. I think they're slipping."
"Right," Tim says, and doesn't look at Dick like he's nuts. They've already had
this conversation, and Dick isn't about to change his ways any more than Bruce
is. "Was it a criminal who tried to kill you, or did you say the wrong thing to
Oracle again?"
"You know..." Dick says. Tim sees the swat coming but doesn't duck. He absorbs
the hit easily and lifts his hand to rub at the sting Dick's thick gloves leave
behind, and on cue, Dick aims another swat at Tim's ass.
"Hey!"
"You're still not too big to spank."
Tim narrows his eyes at Dick behind his mask, and spares a moment to wonder
what it would be like if Dick ever stopped flirting and followed through on
what his body language keeps promising. At least those promises make Tim's
dreams interesting. Better than the nightmares they all suffer from, anyway.
The dreams are interesting enough that he almost tells Dick to try it.
But Tim doesn't say it. Won't say it. He has a lot of reasons why. Some of them
are even valid.
Dick pulls a grapple from his boot. "There's been some action at the warehouses
near the city docks. Blüdhaven Port Authority seems to think there's a new
player in town smuggling happy plants." Dick fires the grapple and grins over
his shoulder. "Interested in doing a little recon?"
"Lead the way," Tim says, and before he can finish the sentence, Dick's off the
roof in a controlled fall, his body arching and curling in ways that Tim will
never be able to mimic.
His grace in motion. His natural athleticism. His devil-may-care and sometimes
insane attitude.
He isn't that Robin. He doesn't want to be.
Tim follows Dick over the edge of the building and hits the jumplines. They
swing over the streets, Dick's body twisting in the air a block ahead, wind
rushing past his ears and the stench of the city thick in his nose. Following
Dick isn't easy -- it's never easy -- but it's satisfying. There's a reason Tim
has an archive of surveillance footage on him. He just likes watching Dick
move.
And it's obvious that Dick likes to move, because they're definitely taking the
scenic route to the docks. It's Tim's night off. He could've gone home, repaid
some sleep-debts, called Steph, maybe caught a movie with Ives. But being
around Dick is easy. Fewer secrets to keep and masks to wear, and sometimes Tim
needs that.
He doesn't like lying. And sometimes it seems like that's all he does.
The first warehouse is a bust. The second houses nothing more dangerous than a
small army of unpleasant rats. The third one looks more promising. It takes
Dick a whole twenty seconds to bypass the security system, and there's an
actual guard station inside the door.
Dick nudges him with his elbow. "Hey. Check out sleeping beauty."
The security guard is snoring away, head back and his feet propped on his desk.
"Aw. You should kiss him, see if he wakes up and you're his prince."
Dick snorts quietly and moves to swat him again. This time, Tim rolls clear, as
Dick no doubt expects. The guard might be sawing logs, but it would be deeply
stupid to make any kind of noise above a whisper right now.
They're not stupid.
Five security cameras, three locked doors, and one awake security guard later,
they finally reach the main warehouse. And it's not so much a warehouse anymore
as it's a greenhouse. Row upon row upon row of exotic plants and sun lamps, the
air a heady mixture of flowers and manure.
"Hoo boy," Tim mutters.
"Jackpot." Dick whistles softly. "You check out the office, see what you can
dig up. I'm gonna get a little perspective on things." There's a quick flash of
his teeth before Dick flies toward the ceiling. He waits until Dick balances
easily on a narrow metal beam before turning toward the office. Computers.
Files. Details. Tim is good at that.
Not nearly as good as Oracle, but then again, Dick's supposed to be the one
with the ego, here.
Tim speed-reads through invoices and spreadsheets while the contents of the
computer's hard drive download to the pygmy C.P.U. he carries on his belt.
Shipments, deliveries, inventory, time sheets, vacation forms -- nothing out of
the ordinary, not even one of Poison Ivy's known aliases.
He's on the middle row of the filing cabinet when he senses movement. He's
already turning with a batarang in hand when he sees a flash of uniform and
confirms that it's Dick. Relaxes. Goes back to the files.
"Find anything?" he asks. Dick doesn't answer, and that's... odd. He's used to
it from Bruce, but... "Nightwing?"
Dick gooses him, and it's so not a surprise. Except Dick's hands don't seem to
be going anywhere fast, and that is a surprise.
Tim, as a rule, doesn't like surprises. They require too many contingency
plans.
Dick's hands are under his cape and... flexing on his ass, and -- he knows Dick
is willing to go the extra mile for a joke, but they're working right now, and
-- "Um, Dick?"
"Mm?" Dick murmurs, and then steps close, crowding Tim against the open filing
cabinet. Tim freezes, trying to think. Dick moves his hands, sliding them up
Tim's back, over his shoulders. Dick's gloves make a soft hissing noise on his
body armor.
Dick's petting him.
Tim swallows. Doesn't bite his lip. Says, "Dick, seriously. What. The hell."
"You smell --" Dick says, pushing closer, his hands still petting their way
down Tim's abdomen. His words are lost in the skin of Tim's throat. Dick
nuzzles him, presses his lips to Tim's skin. Licks, then sucks, and Dick's
hands are squeezing his groin armor hard enough that he can feel it.
Tim inhales sharply. His body wants him to push back, to tilt his head and
expose more of his throat. He forces himself not to move. He's dreamed of this
-- Dick, his hands, his mouth. He's dreamed of this for years, and he can't --
He can't let himself focus on how good this feels.
Something must have happened in the warehouse. Obviously. But what?
"I need you to talk to me, Dick," he says. "I need --"
Dick bites his neck, and Tim's breath catches in his throat, goes ragged for a
moment. He grits his teeth and covers Dick's hands with his own, dragging them
up to his hips and holding them there. Tim knows he won't be able to hold him
long if Dick decides he wants to move. He twists in Dick's arms, tilts back his
head, and --
Dick's face is flushed, his dark air damp at the temples. Tim tugs off a glove
and presses it to Dick's cheek. He's warm to the touch, and he leans into Tim's
hand, turning his face and licking at Tim's palm. This time Tim does bite his
lip. Dick isn't talking, and that's a clue right there. He never stops talking
unless something's seriously wrong. Dick keeps up a running commentary even
when he thinks he's alone, so what...
Tim's mind races. Impairment of self-critical faculty, dilution of inhibitions,
physical manifestation of sympt--
The plants.
Dick's hands are on his ass again. Dick lifts him up and pushes him back, and
the middle drawer slams back on its rails into the filing cabinet behind him.
His grin is fierce, face too close.
And it's time to play 'placate the dangerous drugged guy.' He's played this
game lots of times. He just never thought he'd have to play it with Dick.
"The plants," Tim says. "Dick, I think you're under the influence of --"
Dick pins him against the filing cabinet and slides his hands over the backs of
Tim's thighs. Tugs, and doesn't stop until he has Tim's legs wrapped around
him, and then he grinds against him. Tim's body armor rubs against Dick's
kevlar, pushing the edges of the armor into the softer parts of his body. It
hurts, just a little.
It doesn't hurt enough.
"...some kind of psychoactive pheromone or drug from the plants --"
Dick slides one hand up Tim's back and cups his jaw, his gloved thumb brushing
over Tim's lower lip.
"Tim," Dick says finally.
He closes his eyes, just for a moment. "Yeah?"
Dick kisses him. Kisses him hard, with intent, his mouth wide and wet. Tim
can't stop it, doesn't want to stop it, and he moans around Dick's tongue. The
sound makes Dick kiss him harder, and now Tim knows that Dick kisses like he
fights, wild and deadly, and with his entire body. He doesn't know how he's
ever going to stop --
Oh, god, they have to stop.
He can't get out of Dick's hold without hurting him. Tim can't hurt him -- he
never wants to hurt Dick -- but they can't do this here. It's too dangerous,
and they need to go. He thumps Dick's shoulder with his fist. Dick pulls back
and stares at him, mouth red and open, panting.
Tim is hard, and Dick is very, very distracting.
"We can't -- not here," he says. Dick lets go of him and steps back, and Tim
sags against the filing cabinet. He feels a flash of relief. Disappointment.
Relief. He picks up his glove from the floor, puts it back on. Reaches around
Dick for his C.P.U. and clips it to his belt. "C'mon."
He leads them out of the warehouse, Dick following so closely that Tim can feel
Dick's breath on the back of his neck. They slip out a side door that leads
into an alley. It's empty and dark, and it looks like they're clear.
"Listen," Tim says, turning around, "we need to get you to a medical facil -
- oof!"
"You're coming with me," Dick says, his shoulder hitting Tim in the gut as he
pulls him into a fireman's carry. Dick hits the jumplines before Tim can break
his hold, and as they're flying through the air, Tim has a few minutes to
think. He can't struggle. The lines will handle the extra weight, but this is
dangerous. If it was anyone but Dick carrying him, Tim would say it was
suicide.
Dick trained with Bruce for a lot longer than Tim has, and Dick knows all of
his tricks. There's a very low possibility that he'll be able to get Dick to a
medlab unless Dick's willing to go, and the alternative is...
The alternative is to let Dick have what he wants.
It's selfish and he shouldn't, but this may be his only chance, especially
after the plant mojo wears off. Things between them will change -- already have
changed -- and he wants it.
Wants Dick.
Tim's wanted him for a really long time. For as long as he can remember. Dick
makes it easy for people to want him.
Dick lands on a familiar fire escape and sets Tim down. He opens a window and
Tim slips inside it ahead of him, and then the grip on Tim's shoulder urges him
forward into the darkness. He's gotten used to seeing things in the dark. They
all have -- Dick calls it batvision. And what he sees now is that they're in
Dick's bedroom.
Dick strips off his uniform in a few quick moves, and Tim makes a mental note
to have a talk with him about how much kevlar he's not wearing these days. And
then he's not wearing anything at all, not even his mask. He's just standing
there, naked and aroused. Flushed skin, flexing muscle, his nipples already
hard.
Tim sees the look Oracle gets sometimes when she's looking at Dick, like she's
looking at something so beautiful it makes her heart ache. And that's what Dick
is... beautiful.
"Want you," Dick says, stepping close. He reaches for Tim's uniform, and Tim
covers Dick's callused and scratched hands with his own. He's made some
modifications to the Robin suit since Dick last saw him take it off. There's a
rhythm to it, disarm and remove, starting with the cape. Belt, tunic, gloves,
boots, mask. Impatient, Dick helps with the rest, until Tim's skin is bare.
He's been undressed in front of Dick before, but not like this, with Dick's
warm, rough hands touching him. Touching his throat, shoulders, sliding down
the outside of his arms and back up, pausing to scrape Tim's nipples with his
thumbnails. Tim gasps and leans into his touch, and Dick smiles like he knows
Tim's finally given in.
Dick kisses him, pushing his tongue into Tim's mouth, slowly at first, then
faster and faster, like he wants to eat Tim alive. Tim opens his mouth and
kisses him back just as hard as Dick walks them to the bed. Tim lets Dick trip
him onto the mattress, and Dick covers him a moment later. His body is warm and
heavy, scarred and strong, and Tim learns it with his palms and fingertips.
Memorizes it for later.
Tim makes a short, breathy noise when he feels Dick's cock brush his own. The
noise escalates into a groan when Dick grinds their cocks together with a slow
circle of his hips. Dick kisses his neck, messy and wet. Sucks until it stings.
Tim digs his fingers into Dick's back and spreads his legs as wide as he can.
"Please," he says.
Dick bites his earlobe. "Tell me what you want."
"Please," Tim says again. "I --" He doesn't know. He doesn't know how to do
this. He doesn't know what he can have, but he wants -- "Everything."
"Oh." Dick smiles against his cheek. "Good."
Dick leaves a trail of damp, reddened skin on Tim's body. He can feel his
heartbeat in his ears, at his groin, fluttering in the bottom of his left foot
where it's pressed against the covers. Dick pushes his tongue into Tim's navel,
and Tim clenches his hands in the sheets.
He wraps his hand around Tim's cock and dips his head, and Tim's abdominal
muscles tremble slightly with the effort to remain still. Dick licks the head
of Tim's cock, and the drag of his tongue makes Tim feel like he's breaking
open inside.
"Oh," he says when Dick licks him again, licks and squeezes his hand, and then
sucks him down with a happy groan. Tim bites his lip and clutches at the sheets
even harder. The wet sucking noises Dick's making -- the way his mouth looks
stretched around Tim's cock -- he can't control the way his body is moving
anymore.
Dick reaches for Tim's hands and puts them on his head, and Tim sinks his
fingers into Dick's hair. It's getting long again, and it's soft under his
palms. Dick smiles up at him, sucks a little harder, and then works his finger
into Tim's ass. Tim slams his head back against the pillow and thrusts up with
his hips. With his other hand, Dick traces his fingertips up the back Tim's
thigh and scratches his fingernails over the soft skin behind Tim's knee.
It feels so good. He had no idea it felt this good. Crimes of passion suddenly
make a weird kind of sense, and Dick's finger causes a burning kind of stretch
that Tim needs more of right now. Dick's brow is furrowed in concentration, his
cheeks hollow. He fucks Tim with his finger until Tim comes with a moan
strangling in his throat.
Dick kneels up while Tim is still panting, licks his lips, and rolls Tim over
onto his stomach. Tim presses his face into the sweaty pillow and spreads his
legs while Dick pulls something from an unpacked box next to the bed. Flip of a
snap-top bottle, sound of the bottle landing on the floor, and then Dick's cool
fingers smooth over Tim's ass and push inside.
His heart's still hammering and the sheets are sticking to his skin, and he is
not panicking because he is not afraid. Dick kisses the back of his neck and
takes his fingers away, and then pushes the slick head of his cock inside Tim's
ass. Tim gasps and tenses, and --
"Breathe," Dick growls, and god, he almost sounds like Bruce.
"I --" Tim says, and then Dick kisses him even though the angle's awkward, his
hands moving everywhere on Tim's skin.
"Breathe," he says again, and he sounds like himself, so Tim breathes and Dick
slides in farther. And then he's all the way inside, and Dick's body presses
him into the sheets. He aches and he needs, and when Dick thrusts into him, Tim
cries out for more. The slide in, the slap of skin, the heavy scent of them in
the air and their sweat dripping onto the sheets.
Dick has him on his hands and knees, and his arms are trembling as Dick fucks
him. Tim's moaning all the time now, thrusting back, his hair hanging in his
eyes and Dick's teeth marking his shoulder. Dick's breathing stutters, and he
stops biting in order to push his face in the crook of Tim's neck. His groan is
loud and his body trembles above him, and Tim realizes that Dick is coming.
When Dick slumps down on top of him, Tim reaches down and strokes his cock.
Hard and fast, because he's so close again, and then Dick murmurs something and
kisses Tim's neck, and he comes all over his hand and the sheets.
===============================================================================
He wakes up entangled in the damp sheets with Dick's arm wrapped around his
waist.
Tim's eyes pop open and he thinks about having a panic attack. It's still dark
out, so he hasn't overslept, and --
He's in bed with Dick. His ass is kind of sore. He has a history test in second
period that he hasn't studied for, and he's so past curfew at this point that
sneaking in is going to be a delicate operation.
He has to go home, if only because that's where his homework is.
Okay. First things first. Ever so slowly, Tim eases out of bed. The floor is
cold, and the hair on his skin prickles in reaction. Dick shifts a little in
sleep. Tim watches him carefully until he's sure that Dick hasn't woken up, and
then he crosses to his rumpled uniform. He feels his body more than he's used
to as he tugs on the suit. Feels his muscles ache in new places. Feels sweat
and come smudged on his skin like ink. Smells himself.
Tim smells like sex.
He pauses in the window of Dick's bedroom and looks back. The bed's a mess, the
fitted sheets pulled from underneath the mattress. Dick sprawls across the bed
bonelessly, the beginnings of a beard shadowing his cheek and his shaggy hair
falling over his forehead. His back is a shadow of muscle and scars.
Tim has to make himself leave.
He hops a train back to Gotham and then uses the jumplines to get back to his
neighborhood. No lights are on in the house, so Tim lands quietly and picks the
lock on the roof access door. He changes out of his uniform in the dark hallway
just inside it. His dad and Dana aren't waiting up for him, and Tim gives
thanks for small favors.
It's a lot easier to lie to their faces when he hasn't been out doing anything
sordid.
He cleans himself up in the bathroom. Puts on his pajamas. Sets the alarm
clock. Crawls into bed. Tim isn't ready for it when the alarm goes off a few
hours later, but he puts on his clothes, anyway. Grabs his backpack. Takes a
piece of toast out of Dana's hand as he breezes through the kitchen, and yells
thanks over his shoulder.
School is a welcome distraction. At first. But he's used to meeting Bruce's
expectations, and his classes are basically a walk in the park after that -- a
walk in the park without any supervillains around to pummel.
Tim doesn't quite know how to deal with this. Robin isn't made for this kind of
thing. Robin doesn't have sex, but apparently Tim does. Has. Did, just last
night.
Neither the Robin suit nor the Tim suit feel like they fit today, and so he
goes through the motions in his classes, feeling weirdly exposed all day and a
knot of tension growing between his shoulder blades.
But at least he didn't bomb his history test this morning. Well, probably
didn't.
"Dude, what is wrong with you?"
Tim looks up from where he's been staring into his open locker. "Huh?"
Bernard pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead. He's wearing blue again
today. Tim's beginning to suspect that he doesn't own any other color clothing.
"I've been calling your name for, like, the last hour, Drake."
"Um," Tim says, and realizes he doesn't know how to lie about this yet. He
shuts his locker.
"Come with me," Bernard says, slinging his arm around Tim's shoulders. "We
shall partake of sugary carbonation and greasy french fries, and you can tell
Uncle Bernard all about it."
Tim snorts. "Right. And just so you know? Never call yourself 'Uncle Bernard'
in my presence again."
Bernard drags him to Tweedle D's, and Tim lets him, because he doesn't want to
go home yet, and he's too unsettled for a visit to the Batcave. Bernard orders
for them both, then looks at Tim with open calculation as he chews on the end
of his straw.
"So what gives, Drake?"
"Bernard," he says, slouching in the booth seat, "do you really expect me to
burden you with my existential angst today?"
"Hey, man, I told you about Darla," Bernard says, and then he winces. "And
speaking of Darla, I'll never have a chance with her if guys like that keep
coming in here."
Tim very carefully doesn't turn around to look. "You need to stop
underestimating yourself, Bernard."
"And you," Bernard says, tossing a crumpled napkin across the table that Tim
easily dodges, "need to stop avoiding the question."
Bernard's eyes go big, and then someone sits down in the booth next to him and
slides his arm over Tim's shoulders. Tim freezes as the person asks, "What
question would that be?"
Tim glances to his left. Dick smiles at him widely, and it flips something
inside his chest. He's wearing a T-shirt and a worn pair of jeans that are
about as loose as his uniform, and that really isn't helping.
Dick squeezes his shoulder. "Hey."
"Hey," Tim says.
Dick gives him a whole-body nudge. "You could've left a note."
And Tim just stares at him, because what could he possibly have said?
"It's okay," Dick says, and plunks a Frosty & Fillin' bag on the table in front
of him. "I forgive you."
"You forgive me," Tim says, eyeing the bag.
"Well," Dick says, waving his hand around and scooting closer on the bench
seat. "Sorry? I got your favorites. Figured you could use the energy."
Tim squints at him. "And you wonder why people dump you."
"Not really," Dick says. He leans closer and whispers, "Detective, remember?"
Tim sees Bernard staring at them, and tries to pretend that he isn't turned-on.
"I'm aware of that, thanks."
"Good," Dick whispers. He reaches into the bag, pulls out a donut, and stuffs
it in Tim's mouth. Dick looks across the table at Bernard and holds out his
hand. "Hi, there."
Bernard shakes Dick's hand, and then sits back with his fingers steepled and
looking at them like he's got it all figured out. "Your name wouldn't happen to
be Stefan, would it?"
He really is convinced that Steph doesn't exist, which is kind of funny,
considering that she's one of the few things he isn't lying about. Tim shakes
his head and licks at the cream filling of his donut.
Dick raises an eyebrow. "Do I look like a Stefan to you?"
Tim finishes chewing and wistfully thinks about gagging them both. "Bernard,
meet Dick. Dick, Bernard."
"Dick?" Bernard demands. "You actually go by Dick?"
Dick just grins. It's the self-assured, brilliant grin he uses to charm people
and to get out of trouble with the family. Bernard goes a little pink in the
face, and Tim wonders if his 'modern, enlightened men' speech the other day was
actually Bernard flirting with him.
Interesting.
"Hey, Tim," Dick says suddenly, squeezing his shoulder, "Wanna see my new
bike?"
"Sure, Dick," Tim says as Bernard boggles at them some more. "I'd love to see
your etchings."
"Nice meeting you, Bernard," Dick says and stands up, and Tim slides out of the
booth after him, stuffing the donuts into his backpack. Bernard waves at them
jerkily as Dick guides Tim out of the diner with a hand on his lower back.
Dick's motorcycle is parked just outside, and Tim crosses his arms while Dick
straddles it.
"Thanks," he says. "Tomorrow I'm gonna be 'Tim Drake -- dude, gay, and I hear
he's doing some older guy.'"
Dick smirks and tosses him the spare helmet. "Some hot older guy."
Tim sighs, puts on the helmet, and sits behind Dick. He holds on tightly, and
not just because it feels good. Dick drives like a maniac, and he goes through
motorcycles like most people go through Kleenex. After about fifteen minutes of
hair-raising turns and squawking tires, Dick pulls into a dingy alley that
would be dangerous if they were anyone else. Dick kills the motor, and Tim
jumps off the bike a second later and leaves his helmet on the seat. Dick just
lounges on the bike and lazily pulls off his own helmet. He shoves his hand
through his shaggy hair, and says, "So. About last night."
"I --" Tim can't look at him while he does this. "I'm sorry."
Dick snorts. "Okay, what?"
"I... used you."
"Yeah," Dick says appreciatively.
"I used you," Tim says again.
"Heard you the first time, boy wonder."
Tim rounds on him. "Jeez, are you even listening to me?"
"Uh huh." Dick leans closer and strokes his thumb over Tim's turtleneck, right
where the bruise is that he left on Tim's neck last night. "Used me. Go on."
Tim stares at him. "Wait --"
"I've been waiting," Dick says, and leaps off the bike. He backs Tim against
the alley wall and plants his hands on either side of Tim's head. "Okay, look,
you don't get to be guilty about this one. Got that?"
Tim crosses his arms tightly and looks to the side. "Right."
"Oh, come on," Dick says. "If anybody should be feeling guilty, it's me. I
mean, I was the one who took you to that warehouse, and I'm the one who decided
to take a closer look at the crazy sex plants. You're the one who got us out of
there and got me home, and basically saved our collective bacon."
Tim looks at him with his peripheral vision. "You're not acting very guilt-
ridden."
"'Cause I'm not really feeling the guilt, here, Tim. And considering that I get
yelled at a lot for taking on too much of the blame, that ought to mean
something."
Dick shifts closer and Tim's breathing goes shallow. "Then what are you
feeling?"
"Hey, look at me," Dick says, and Tim does. He looks indulgent and amused, and
kind of like he's up to something. "Guess what, squirt? I've been flirting with
you for years. Because -- hey, free tip for you -- you're hot."
"I'm -- what?"
Dick takes Tim's face between his hands and kisses him with slow, messy strokes
of his tongue. They're both breathing faster when Dick stops and rests his
forehead against Tim's. "You like it. I know you like it. You can't hide that
anymore."
"Dick," Tim says, and unfolds his arms to take hold of Dick's wrists. The
moment is full of weight. Tension. Promise.
Until Dick grins. "You're still freaking out, aren't you?"
Tim glares. "No."
"You totally are."
Tim glares at him a little harder.
"Don't worry. I think it's cute."
"And I'm thinking that I'd like to see what a tangler grenade does to your
face," Tim says.
"Ooh, kinky," Dick says. "I can do kinky."
"Having a trapeze in your bedroom doesn't count as kinky when you're you,
Dick."
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Dick says, and then steps back. He
gets back on his motorcycle and picks up his helmet. "I'm gonna head back to
the 'Haven, maybe track down the source of the crazy sex plants." Dick tosses
his helmet in the air and then catches it. "You game?"
Tim waits a moment longer than necessary just to see the worry creep into
Dick's expression. "We're going in with gas masks this time, right?"
Dick just grins and puts on his helmet.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
