Needs have no place between them, except in bed. There, there can be no mistaking its meaning. Her breath might catch around his name, her fingers twined in his hair, his head between her thighs. He might strangle her name, his hands fisted in her hair as she takes him in her mouth. Those needs they understand, they want, they crave.
But needs that might speak of feelings, of deeper dependence, those go unsaid by an agreement that does not need to be spoken. Whatever they feel, belongs to themselves. They will not burden each other with what the other won't willingly give.
What neither of them is willing to admit is that not saying something doesn't make it any less true. But fate and circumstance make fools of us all, and on a cold winter night, Zatanna finds Dick waiting at her door.
She looks at him curiously, as she unlocks the door and enters her apartment, trusting that he'll follow behind her when she does.
She turns to face him, the word, what half formed on her lips. There's a look on his face that she's never seen there before, one that tells her that he had nowhere else he could go, no one else he could turn to. It should be enough for her, for them. It's not.
They face each other in silence, not touching, for Zatanna doesn't know how long. He stares at her, begging her to ask him, to know, and she does, but she can't. She doesn't know why this time is different, only that it is. This time she needs the words that only he can give her.
And finally--finally--Dick bends first. He reaches out for her hand, his thumb rubbing against the skittish pulse in her wrist. He takes a deep breath, blows it out. When he speaks, he looks her in the eye. "I need you," he says simply, without pretense or prevarication.
The words unlock something inside her and she touches his cheek with gentle fingers. "Tell me."
Need is a word they do not speak.
Needs have no place between them, except in bed. There, there can be no mistaking its meaning. Her breath might catch around his name, her fingers twined in his hair, his head between her thighs. He might strangle her name, his hands fisted in her hair as she takes him in her mouth. Those needs they understand, they want, they crave.
But needs that might speak of feelings, of deeper dependence, those go unsaid by an agreement that does not need to be spoken. Whatever they feel, belongs to themselves. They will not burden each other with what the other won't willingly give.
What neither of them is willing to admit is that not saying something doesn't make it any less true. But fate and circumstance make fools of us all, and on a cold winter night, Zatanna finds Dick waiting at her door.
She looks at him curiously, as she unlocks the door and enters her apartment, trusting that he'll follow behind her when she does.
She turns to face him, the word, what half formed on her lips. There's a look on his face that she's never seen there before, one that tells her that he had nowhere else he could go, no one else he could turn to. It should be enough for her, for them. It's not.
They face each other in silence, not touching, for Zatanna doesn't know how long. He stares at her, begging her to ask him, to know, and she does, but she can't. She doesn't know why this time is different, only that it is. This time she needs the words that only he can give her.
And finally--finally--Dick bends first. He reaches out for her hand, his thumb rubbing against the skittish pulse in her wrist. He takes a deep breath, blows it out. When he speaks, he looks her in the eye. "I need you," he says simply, without pretense or prevarication.
The words unlock something inside her and she touches his cheek with gentle fingers. "Tell me."
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