Ficlet: Dirty Dancing, (DC Comics) Tim/Dick, Prompt #22 Rock Music
Title: Dirty Dancing
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: R
Content: slash, questionable relationship, language
Word Count: 441
Summary: Two brothers, a night dancing, a sexy song, a relationship that shouldn't be but is necessary for them like breathing.
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade, who isn't in this fic, would never be so stupidly black and white, and Tim wouldn't be suicidal due to people dying on him.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_ballads for theme Rock Music, prompt #22, "Closer" by NIN
A/N 2: Not really a songfic just a very dirty dancing fic to music; if you don't know "Closer", you're really missing something.
Leaning against a pillar in the smokey club, Dick watched Tim dancing for a good thirty minutes, his eyes never leaving his kid brother.
Who danced by himself, with girls, with guys, hands on, hands off.
He didn't seem to care, simply losing himself in the music, grinding against hard bodies when they wanted it, holding them when they wanted that.
The dance floor was awash with teenage hormones and Tim was at the center.
It was not a place Dick would ever have thought to see him.
When he heard the familiar snare drum of the opening of one of the sexiest, dirtiest songs out there, he moved through the crowd, aiming straight for the middle of the dancers.
Tim wasn't dancing to "Closer" with anyone else.
Trent's raw, raucous voice burst from the speakers as he reached Tim's side, took his arm and spun him.
On the streets, Tim would have taken him down at the first touch, but here, in this club, hot and sweaty and, a rare thing, happy, he simply gave Dick a slow smile and wrapped one hand around his neck, pulling him close to grind against him. As Dick caught one twisting hip, hard and muscular beneath baggy jeans, and jerked him even closer, he heard the sounds of disappointment from Tim's other dance partners.
And didn't give a damn.
He also didn't give a damn if the tabloid headlines in the morning read: Wayne Heirs Dirty Dance The Night Away.
When the chorus began, Tim sang along, his other hand sliding down Dick's back to his ass, and their eyes met before their mouths.
The kiss was open-mouthed, hot and wet, and they moved together like all good dancers and completely like lovers.
By the time Trent's voice was replaced by long minutes of hot and erotic music, they were moving off the floor to the first dark corner they could find, ignoring everyone around them and ignored by most of the others. They weren't the first to take advantage of the low lighting and the heat and the pulse of music.
Dick found himself pushed against a wall a few feet from a man and a woman fucking with loud grunts and the slap of flesh against flesh.
He didn't care.
Groaning, he grabbed Tim's shoulders and pushed.
Grinning, Tim dropped to his knees and rubbed his cheek against the erection Dick had been sporting since long before their dance.
Together they lost themselves in another kind of dance.
Like Trent sang--flawed, imperfect, broken alone, together they were something else.
Together, they were all they needed, the only thing that worked.
End
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: R
Content: slash, questionable relationship, language
Word Count: 441
Summary: Two brothers, a night dancing, a sexy song, a relationship that shouldn't be but is necessary for them like breathing.
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade, who isn't in this fic, would never be so stupidly black and white, and Tim wouldn't be suicidal due to people dying on him.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_ballads for theme Rock Music, prompt #22, "Closer" by NIN
A/N 2: Not really a songfic just a very dirty dancing fic to music; if you don't know "Closer", you're really missing something.
Leaning against a pillar in the smokey club, Dick watched Tim dancing for a good thirty minutes, his eyes never leaving his kid brother.
Who danced by himself, with girls, with guys, hands on, hands off.
He didn't seem to care, simply losing himself in the music, grinding against hard bodies when they wanted it, holding them when they wanted that.
The dance floor was awash with teenage hormones and Tim was at the center.
It was not a place Dick would ever have thought to see him.
When he heard the familiar snare drum of the opening of one of the sexiest, dirtiest songs out there, he moved through the crowd, aiming straight for the middle of the dancers.
Tim wasn't dancing to "Closer" with anyone else.
Trent's raw, raucous voice burst from the speakers as he reached Tim's side, took his arm and spun him.
On the streets, Tim would have taken him down at the first touch, but here, in this club, hot and sweaty and, a rare thing, happy, he simply gave Dick a slow smile and wrapped one hand around his neck, pulling him close to grind against him. As Dick caught one twisting hip, hard and muscular beneath baggy jeans, and jerked him even closer, he heard the sounds of disappointment from Tim's other dance partners.
And didn't give a damn.
He also didn't give a damn if the tabloid headlines in the morning read: Wayne Heirs Dirty Dance The Night Away.
When the chorus began, Tim sang along, his other hand sliding down Dick's back to his ass, and their eyes met before their mouths.
The kiss was open-mouthed, hot and wet, and they moved together like all good dancers and completely like lovers.
By the time Trent's voice was replaced by long minutes of hot and erotic music, they were moving off the floor to the first dark corner they could find, ignoring everyone around them and ignored by most of the others. They weren't the first to take advantage of the low lighting and the heat and the pulse of music.
Dick found himself pushed against a wall a few feet from a man and a woman fucking with loud grunts and the slap of flesh against flesh.
He didn't care.
Groaning, he grabbed Tim's shoulders and pushed.
Grinning, Tim dropped to his knees and rubbed his cheek against the erection Dick had been sporting since long before their dance.
Together they lost themselves in another kind of dance.
Like Trent sang--flawed, imperfect, broken alone, together they were something else.
Together, they were all they needed, the only thing that worked.
End