Playing Cupid: Dick (DCU)
Feb. 26th, 2006 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thefroggThis was another reply to a challenge on the Dimensions of Dhvana mailing list (have your choice of character meet Santa Claus). There's a Playing Cupid: Bruce all plotted out and practically written just waiting for me to sit down and type it, but my muse hasn't threatened to strangle me yet, so...
Title: Playing Cupid
Author: Frogg
Universe: DC. Your mileage may vary, any Batverse works. I think.
Type: Pure fluffersap.
Status: Finished.
Pairing: Bruce/Dick, Batman/Nightwing
Rating: PG
Betaed: Quickly by Chaospearl.
Feedback: Yes please!
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they wouldn't look like they needed a good hard shag, now, would they?
December 23rd. 24th, really, since it was just past 2 am.
Dick Grayson stumbled through the hidden panel to Dr. Fleidermaus' apartment, still clad in most of his Nightwing costume. Mask, gauntlets, and boots were gone, the fastenings to the upperhalf partially undone, one hand on the wall for support, the other fumbling with catches.
Sleep beckoned. It had been nearly three days since he'd had anything more substantial than a catnap, the normal holiday flood of domestic violence having worn him down as much as the increase in Nightwing's activities.
Especially one case he wasn't going to think about, thankfully closed as of a few minutes earlier.
'I know I should take care of this, but...Have to do it again, too tired to see straight,' Dick thought to himself as he finally managed to get to the bedroom, armor left in awkward puddles behind him.
Then he was face down in bed, a pillow all but bursting at the seams as he clutched it to him for comfort.
'In the morning...'
~~~
Santa sighed, a look of sympathy on his round and rosy face.
'Well, Richard, I hate to wake you, but I don't visit people a night early lightly...' Deciding to let the young man sleep a few minutes more, Santa looked around the apartment, taking in the stacks of papers and periodicals, piles of laundry waiting to be attended to, and general bachelor pad mess.
"They do say I check twice," he muttered to himself, taking a rather suspiciously short scroll, worn at the edges from frequent handling, from a belt pouch and unrolling it. "Obsessively Good," it read in elaborate script at the top. The very short list - relatively - he was allowed to do more than the 'usual' for.
And Richard's name was on it. Not at the very top, but close enough.
Right next to another he'd be visiting. Later.
The scroll was rerolled and put away, the rest of the apartment explored, including Dr. Fleidermaus' next door.
Knowing what was needed, aside from Richard himself, at least, Santa chuckled quietly to himself and snapped his fingers. The mess disappeared: laundry clean, folded and put away; dishes washed and dried and in their cabinets and drawers; newspapers in the recycling, magazines in their basket by the couch, and books on the shelves. The refrigerator was stocked, bursting with good wholesome food. Everything that could gleam did. And Nightwing's costumes, weapons and other equipment clean, repaired, and put in its proper place.
"Now, let's see what I can do about you, Richard." Returning to the bedroom,
Santa couldn't help but admire the form sprawling across the bed, tangled in the sheets. Pure aesthetic beauty. At least until the shadows cast across the muscled back and shoulders stopped matching up with the marks darkening the
sweat-chill skin.
"Oh, dear. There's only so much I can do for that," Santa murmured. He frowned in concentration and snapped his fingers again, easing the cramping and strain on a body pushed past its normal limits, tending the wounds, thankfully superficial, Dick had not managed to.
"Well. I suppose you're just going to lie there and sleep, are you? I don't think so." Crossing the room, he placed a gentle hand on one bare shoulder, unconcerned about startling the sleeper. One of the perks of the trade, being able to slip under anyone's danger radar.
"Mm?" Dick mumbled something and clutched his pillow tighter; there was a small cracking sound as a seam popped. "Ntime yt. S'll drk."
Asleep again.
"Richard John Grayson." A sharper tone than he cared to use.
Bleary blue eyes slowly opened. Blinked. Dick raised his head slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. "Not Chrissssmas," he slurred. "Not funny." Closed his eyes again, and Santa would have thought he'd gone back to sleep. "No chimney."
Santa chuckled. "Young man, I have no need of chimneys. Do you really think I could *fit* in one, the way people build them these days?" He laughed again. "No, Richard, don't go back to sleep."
"Why're you 'ere thn?"
"I have a gift for you."
"S'not Chrisssmas," Dick replied after a pause, still having trouble controlling his sibilants.
"It's a gift for you to use on Christmas, which is why I'm giving it to you now," Santa clarified.
Another pause. "S'not againsssta rules?"
Santa laughed. A real belly-laugh this time, not one of his quiet little chuckles. The sound of it boomed out through the apartment. "No, dear boy, it's not. Not for you, at any rate." And he pulled a red envelope out of his belt pouch, along with a small bit of something dangling on a cord. Set the envelope, and the something-on-a-cord, on the bedside table. "You get some sleep. And do with that as you like." Santa smiled, knowing the outcome. It was inevitable. And Eros, for once, was going to owe him. Big time.
"'k."
"Good night, Richard. Have a very merry Christmas."
"Will. G'night, Sssanta."
Santa chuckled again, then put his finger to his nose and...vanished in a cloud of golden sparks.
Silence once more descended on Dick's apartment.
Dick's eyes snapped open.
"Santa?!"
He rolled over, looked at the table.
A sprig of mistletoe on silver cord. A red envelope with his name written on it.
In Bruce's handwriting.
Title: Playing Cupid
Author: Frogg
Universe: DC. Your mileage may vary, any Batverse works. I think.
Type: Pure fluffersap.
Status: Finished.
Pairing: Bruce/Dick, Batman/Nightwing
Rating: PG
Betaed: Quickly by Chaospearl.
Feedback: Yes please!
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they wouldn't look like they needed a good hard shag, now, would they?
December 23rd. 24th, really, since it was just past 2 am.
Dick Grayson stumbled through the hidden panel to Dr. Fleidermaus' apartment, still clad in most of his Nightwing costume. Mask, gauntlets, and boots were gone, the fastenings to the upperhalf partially undone, one hand on the wall for support, the other fumbling with catches.
Sleep beckoned. It had been nearly three days since he'd had anything more substantial than a catnap, the normal holiday flood of domestic violence having worn him down as much as the increase in Nightwing's activities.
Especially one case he wasn't going to think about, thankfully closed as of a few minutes earlier.
'I know I should take care of this, but...Have to do it again, too tired to see straight,' Dick thought to himself as he finally managed to get to the bedroom, armor left in awkward puddles behind him.
Then he was face down in bed, a pillow all but bursting at the seams as he clutched it to him for comfort.
'In the morning...'
~~~
Santa sighed, a look of sympathy on his round and rosy face.
'Well, Richard, I hate to wake you, but I don't visit people a night early lightly...' Deciding to let the young man sleep a few minutes more, Santa looked around the apartment, taking in the stacks of papers and periodicals, piles of laundry waiting to be attended to, and general bachelor pad mess.
"They do say I check twice," he muttered to himself, taking a rather suspiciously short scroll, worn at the edges from frequent handling, from a belt pouch and unrolling it. "Obsessively Good," it read in elaborate script at the top. The very short list - relatively - he was allowed to do more than the 'usual' for.
And Richard's name was on it. Not at the very top, but close enough.
Right next to another he'd be visiting. Later.
The scroll was rerolled and put away, the rest of the apartment explored, including Dr. Fleidermaus' next door.
Knowing what was needed, aside from Richard himself, at least, Santa chuckled quietly to himself and snapped his fingers. The mess disappeared: laundry clean, folded and put away; dishes washed and dried and in their cabinets and drawers; newspapers in the recycling, magazines in their basket by the couch, and books on the shelves. The refrigerator was stocked, bursting with good wholesome food. Everything that could gleam did. And Nightwing's costumes, weapons and other equipment clean, repaired, and put in its proper place.
"Now, let's see what I can do about you, Richard." Returning to the bedroom,
Santa couldn't help but admire the form sprawling across the bed, tangled in the sheets. Pure aesthetic beauty. At least until the shadows cast across the muscled back and shoulders stopped matching up with the marks darkening the
sweat-chill skin.
"Oh, dear. There's only so much I can do for that," Santa murmured. He frowned in concentration and snapped his fingers again, easing the cramping and strain on a body pushed past its normal limits, tending the wounds, thankfully superficial, Dick had not managed to.
"Well. I suppose you're just going to lie there and sleep, are you? I don't think so." Crossing the room, he placed a gentle hand on one bare shoulder, unconcerned about startling the sleeper. One of the perks of the trade, being able to slip under anyone's danger radar.
"Mm?" Dick mumbled something and clutched his pillow tighter; there was a small cracking sound as a seam popped. "Ntime yt. S'll drk."
Asleep again.
"Richard John Grayson." A sharper tone than he cared to use.
Bleary blue eyes slowly opened. Blinked. Dick raised his head slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. "Not Chrissssmas," he slurred. "Not funny." Closed his eyes again, and Santa would have thought he'd gone back to sleep. "No chimney."
Santa chuckled. "Young man, I have no need of chimneys. Do you really think I could *fit* in one, the way people build them these days?" He laughed again. "No, Richard, don't go back to sleep."
"Why're you 'ere thn?"
"I have a gift for you."
"S'not Chrisssmas," Dick replied after a pause, still having trouble controlling his sibilants.
"It's a gift for you to use on Christmas, which is why I'm giving it to you now," Santa clarified.
Another pause. "S'not againsssta rules?"
Santa laughed. A real belly-laugh this time, not one of his quiet little chuckles. The sound of it boomed out through the apartment. "No, dear boy, it's not. Not for you, at any rate." And he pulled a red envelope out of his belt pouch, along with a small bit of something dangling on a cord. Set the envelope, and the something-on-a-cord, on the bedside table. "You get some sleep. And do with that as you like." Santa smiled, knowing the outcome. It was inevitable. And Eros, for once, was going to owe him. Big time.
"'k."
"Good night, Richard. Have a very merry Christmas."
"Will. G'night, Sssanta."
Santa chuckled again, then put his finger to his nose and...vanished in a cloud of golden sparks.
Silence once more descended on Dick's apartment.
Dick's eyes snapped open.
"Santa?!"
He rolled over, looked at the table.
A sprig of mistletoe on silver cord. A red envelope with his name written on it.
In Bruce's handwriting.
