Fic? Maybe?
AU during the Renegade arc. It says something that I said, “I want to see Slade having sex with Dick as *himself*, not Batman-impersonator,” and then I write this, where *Dick* isn't himself.
At least it’s a change?
Dick runs a hand through his hair and seems almost surprised to note that it hasn’t grown any longer, since every other aspect of his body has become more feminine.
An objective observer could have told him that this is not, in fact, the case. True, he-she-moves with a grace normally associated with elegant ladies in hoop skirts, and her-his-shape is undeniably curvy, especially the oh-so-spherical lower portions, but, Rose remembers, that’s not exactly new.
Dick-as-a-man would have been androgynous if he weren’t so animally male, Rose thinks, and she smirks as Dick tries to cross his arms over his chest, finds breasts, and settles her hands on her hips, instead.
Rose isn’t the only one to notice the gesture: her father’s eyes remain on the not-supported-by-the-suit-at-all-but-still-perky-and-full breasts.
Ew.
Rose watches Slade drool behind his eyes and Dick jiggle for a few seconds, and then goes downstairs to giggle with Sophia about this in a juvenile and faintly lesbian way. And also to get something to drink. Preferably something alcoholic.
A body hits the floor above her, followed quickly by a larger, much heavier one.
Something very alcoholic.
Dick has Slade by the ankles and just has time to wonder how female superheroes deal with constantly getting punched in the tit every time they tackle someone before he’s pinned, and damn, that was over quickly, he thinks, but no, Slade’s bracing for an attack Dick wasn’t actually planning to make-but it leaves him open for another Dick is able to make. Dick’s up and over him in a second, and he wonders why Slade is… open… like this, until his knee hits Slade hard in the thigh and Slade’s head falls back with a gasp.
Oh.
Uh.
Shit!
The temptation to roll off and run away-far, far away-is strong, because this isn’t anything he’s done with another man, no matter what the tabloids said about Bruce. For that matter, no matter how Tim looked at him, and that is a thought he is never going to think around Slade again.
But-Slade’s vulnerable. Slade’s never vulnerable.
Dick’s still trying to make up his mind whether to exploit the situation and feel like a whore or to let it be and feel like a coward when Slade takes the whole thing out of his hands by kissing him.
Dick thinks, Hell, it’s a giant chess game, I might as well take another turn since my opponent has turned his back on the board. He tries to let his new (frightening) body respond, even if his mind isn’t exactly in the throes of passion.
And really, the kiss is… not bad. Slade’s hand is on the back of his head, and while it’s a little disconcerting to feel (like a girl) like he doesn’t have to be the aggressor, a fleeting memory of golden skin makes him relax into it, a little.
It’s actually… pretty nice, but even the tickle of (that’s a beard) is a good tickle, if not attractive.
And for a while, that’s all there is: Dick kneeling on Slade, and Slade’s tongue slipping and sliding around with a surprising (disturbing) amount of passion.
Dick starts to feel a little dizzy, and Slade’s hand slipping up his waist (and that’s weird) to his (oh my god I have a boob) breast makes him try to gasp, but there’s Slade’s hand behind his head, and he can’t pull back far enough or long enough to get air, so he hits two pressure points in Slade’s shoulder at once and sucks in a breath.
He loses it again when Slade moans, “Ad-“
It takes less than a second for Dick to be out of the room and headed down the stairs.
Rose and Sophia look up and try not to look like teenagers caught drinking vodka-laced slushies. Dick is wild-eyed and flushed, and his mouth looks bruised, and Rose is really going to try not to be disturbed by the fact that her father just frenched her favorite masturbatory fantasy of the last three weeks.
It helps when Dick jiggles.
“Uh,” he-she-says.
Sophia giggles just a little more drunkenly than she should; Dick’s not that distracted. “Your voice is all husky,” she proclaims, and leans her elbows on the table.
Dick jiggles again. To be fair, she probably doesn’t mean to.
“Can I borrow some of your clothes?” she asks miserably.
Rose looks at her lap under the table, where a bottle holds nowhere near enough liquid. “Sure,” she says. “Can I borrow some of your booze?”
“I don’t have booze,” Dick says-nervously. If Dick thinks there’s any chance that either of them is going to pass up the chance to put him in a skirt and lacy underthings, she clearly hasn’t been a girl long enough.
“Well, buy some,” Rose says, and goes upstairs to dig her thigh-highs out of storage.
I wrote that up in less than an hour, including editing, so it *probably* sucks, but I seriously doubt I'm going to put more time and effort into this thing, so...
At least it’s a change?
Dick runs a hand through his hair and seems almost surprised to note that it hasn’t grown any longer, since every other aspect of his body has become more feminine.
An objective observer could have told him that this is not, in fact, the case. True, he-she-moves with a grace normally associated with elegant ladies in hoop skirts, and her-his-shape is undeniably curvy, especially the oh-so-spherical lower portions, but, Rose remembers, that’s not exactly new.
Dick-as-a-man would have been androgynous if he weren’t so animally male, Rose thinks, and she smirks as Dick tries to cross his arms over his chest, finds breasts, and settles her hands on her hips, instead.
Rose isn’t the only one to notice the gesture: her father’s eyes remain on the not-supported-by-the-suit-at-all-but-still-perky-and-full breasts.
Ew.
Rose watches Slade drool behind his eyes and Dick jiggle for a few seconds, and then goes downstairs to giggle with Sophia about this in a juvenile and faintly lesbian way. And also to get something to drink. Preferably something alcoholic.
A body hits the floor above her, followed quickly by a larger, much heavier one.
Something very alcoholic.
Dick has Slade by the ankles and just has time to wonder how female superheroes deal with constantly getting punched in the tit every time they tackle someone before he’s pinned, and damn, that was over quickly, he thinks, but no, Slade’s bracing for an attack Dick wasn’t actually planning to make-but it leaves him open for another Dick is able to make. Dick’s up and over him in a second, and he wonders why Slade is… open… like this, until his knee hits Slade hard in the thigh and Slade’s head falls back with a gasp.
Oh.
Uh.
Shit!
The temptation to roll off and run away-far, far away-is strong, because this isn’t anything he’s done with another man, no matter what the tabloids said about Bruce. For that matter, no matter how Tim looked at him, and that is a thought he is never going to think around Slade again.
But-Slade’s vulnerable. Slade’s never vulnerable.
Dick’s still trying to make up his mind whether to exploit the situation and feel like a whore or to let it be and feel like a coward when Slade takes the whole thing out of his hands by kissing him.
Dick thinks, Hell, it’s a giant chess game, I might as well take another turn since my opponent has turned his back on the board. He tries to let his new (frightening) body respond, even if his mind isn’t exactly in the throes of passion.
And really, the kiss is… not bad. Slade’s hand is on the back of his head, and while it’s a little disconcerting to feel (like a girl) like he doesn’t have to be the aggressor, a fleeting memory of golden skin makes him relax into it, a little.
It’s actually… pretty nice, but even the tickle of (that’s a beard) is a good tickle, if not attractive.
And for a while, that’s all there is: Dick kneeling on Slade, and Slade’s tongue slipping and sliding around with a surprising (disturbing) amount of passion.
Dick starts to feel a little dizzy, and Slade’s hand slipping up his waist (and that’s weird) to his (oh my god I have a boob) breast makes him try to gasp, but there’s Slade’s hand behind his head, and he can’t pull back far enough or long enough to get air, so he hits two pressure points in Slade’s shoulder at once and sucks in a breath.
He loses it again when Slade moans, “Ad-“
It takes less than a second for Dick to be out of the room and headed down the stairs.
Rose and Sophia look up and try not to look like teenagers caught drinking vodka-laced slushies. Dick is wild-eyed and flushed, and his mouth looks bruised, and Rose is really going to try not to be disturbed by the fact that her father just frenched her favorite masturbatory fantasy of the last three weeks.
It helps when Dick jiggles.
“Uh,” he-she-says.
Sophia giggles just a little more drunkenly than she should; Dick’s not that distracted. “Your voice is all husky,” she proclaims, and leans her elbows on the table.
Dick jiggles again. To be fair, she probably doesn’t mean to.
“Can I borrow some of your clothes?” she asks miserably.
Rose looks at her lap under the table, where a bottle holds nowhere near enough liquid. “Sure,” she says. “Can I borrow some of your booze?”
“I don’t have booze,” Dick says-nervously. If Dick thinks there’s any chance that either of them is going to pass up the chance to put him in a skirt and lacy underthings, she clearly hasn’t been a girl long enough.
“Well, buy some,” Rose says, and goes upstairs to dig her thigh-highs out of storage.
I wrote that up in less than an hour, including editing, so it *probably* sucks, but I seriously doubt I'm going to put more time and effort into this thing, so...