DCU: The Joy of Spring (Dick/Steph, Dick/Tim, implied Tim/Steph)
Title: The Joy of Spring
Author: technosage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing(s): Dick Grayson/Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake implied
Rating: call it M
Warning: abuse of manga, Tim, and continuity.
Summary: ...the joy of Dick?
Steph laughs, the sound ringing out shockingly bright and clear, in a park filled with sun-seekers on the first warm day of spring. Tim immediately looks for the key to unlock the spontaneous burst of joy.
It's nothing he said; he hasn't said two words since Dick insisted they join the tourists in the park. Dick's been telling Steph about the JSA helping him build a lair atop the Cloisters. More precisely, about Power Girl's impressive...abilities. None of kids in their vicinity have done anything especially interesting with their balloons, although there's one weaving a basket out of grass who keeps eyeing the balloon speculatively like he's measuring lift capacity.
Dick's mouth gives it away, the graceful arc of a flirtatious smile. Tim follows his arm around Steph's waist and shakes his head, almost wry. Dick's strong fingers - Tim knows exactly how strong - dip into the waistband of the short denim skirt he asked her to wear. Impertinent. Shameless. Embarrassing. But Steph's laughing and leaning up on tiptoe to press their mouths together in a messy, unplanned kiss.
Sharpening, Dick's gaze sweeps past her, scanning Bat-like. Apparently he finds what he's looking for, because he's kissing Steph back now, thumb caressing her pulse in small circles Tim knows mean yes?
Yes. But the question's not for him, not this time. Tim's glad, because Dick would. Right here in the park. Without regard for the fact there are kids, parents, and people who know the Waynes and Drakes sharing the boardwalk and grass with them. And Tim would, he suspects due to his creeping blush, let him.
It's only when Dick teases, "Go get us some cotton candy, and whatever you want," that Tim deciphers the breathless yes, in Steph's hands in her own back pockets, chin tilted out waiting for Tim to comply. He does, of course. He's never been able to deny her anything, not even Dick.
Three hundred twenty paces to the concession stand seems fitting, 3/20, the first day of spring. Dick's birthday. The wait isn't three minutes and thirty seconds, Steph's, but there's a 3 on the back of a blonde kid's red jersey and a 30 on the license card for the concession cart, which is green. The cotton candy, spun sugar, is too pastel. He buys bright red candied apples and a spiral-swirl lollipop with all of their colors, too. Zesti for him, hot chocolate for Steph - she'd drink it on July 4th. He'd buy Dick a beer in plastic bottle, but that's the last thing they need. Dick more relaxed than he already is. So Dick gets root beer, and Tim's lips quirk in a private smile. He does, too, have a sense of humor.
Three hundred twenty-two paces back; he had to sidestep a girl on a skateboard. Under the branches of a blooming tree, Steph has her leg wrapped around Dick's hips. To the casual passerby, it looks sweet with the cherry blossoms floating to rest on Dick's shoulders and in Steph's hair. But Tim knows manga's dirty secret, and this is not entranced lovers carried away in a kiss.
Dick's jeans will be open; Steph's underpants pushed aside. The tight press of their hips and low wrap of Dick's arm hides them, but those little boosts that rattle the boughs are anything but innocent, and the lock of Dick's mouth over Steph's isn't (only) love. It's necessary camouflage for Steph's screams.
He watches until Steph shakes and Dick stiffens. Pink and white blossoms rain over them. Steph giggles and buries her face in Dick's shoulder. Dick groans, smiling, and plucks petals from her hair. Tim hopes he wore a condom.
Later, lotused on the picnic blanket - he can't say no to Dick either - Tim reads Hemingway. Correction: pretends to read Hemingway. Really he's watching Steph feed Dick cotton candy and calculating how much more they'd get done if they'd learn to multitask. Dick rolls his head on his neck to look at Tim.
Nothing to see here. I'm busy. I'm improving my mind.
He must've missed something - Dick looking at Steph and Steph looking at Dick and both of them nodding with knowing smiles, probably; they do that a lot - because when he glances at them again from under his lashes, Dick's gone and Steph's lying on her stomach, chin on her hands, watching him.
Tim should've known. He really should have known. Dick's an affection-starved octopus. If Bruce had only hugged him once a day when he was twelve, Dick wouldn't be wrapped around Tim right now, lips skating over Tim's pulse and asking yes? with the agile fingers on the buttons of his jeans making the question moot.
He squeezes his eyes shut and nods, tilting his head for the mouth that reduces him to shivers. Dick cranes his head around to kiss him, slow and sweet - he's a giraffe, too, on top of the octopus th--
Oh god, Dick.
His hand's wrapped around Tim, calluses at the curl of his fingers hitting him just right. Dick's knees frame him, but there's no way this can look innocent, not with him shuddering and panting against Dick's mouth. Or Dick's hand pumping obscenely between Tim's thighs. No flower petals to disguise the biseinin doujinshi of Tim's hips jerking with each heated jolt.
He opens his eyes. Steph's tongue plays over her lips, candy pink gloss replaced with candy red from the apples and Dick's kisses. Her eyes track Dick's hand, up and down. When Dick adds a twist, as gratuitous as the fourth flip and as perfect, Tim whines, bites Dick's lip and comes. All over his stomach, all over Dick's hand, all over everything.
Over Tim's shoulder, Dick mouths his own fingers clean. Tim squeezes his eyes shut again, wishing Dick would realize his come isn't cotton candy. It's embarrassing. Ridiculous. Wanton.
Dick licks Tim across the mouth. Licks him. He opens his eyes and his mouth to protest but is treated to a come-and-cotton-candy kiss. Then Dick grins, insouciant. "Yes, Tim. I used a condom."
Throwing her arm over her eyes, Steph flops over on the blanket and...just...laughs.
***
A/N: unbetaed, lest I lose my nerve. It's been way too long since I wrote, and this is just for fun. I suppose it's also vaguely responsive to silensy's Dick/Steph, on the joy of being alive prompt in my impromptu porn-para-or-more-a-graph-athon.
Author: technosage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing(s): Dick Grayson/Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake implied
Rating: call it M
Warning: abuse of manga, Tim, and continuity.
Summary: ...the joy of Dick?
Steph laughs, the sound ringing out shockingly bright and clear, in a park filled with sun-seekers on the first warm day of spring. Tim immediately looks for the key to unlock the spontaneous burst of joy.
It's nothing he said; he hasn't said two words since Dick insisted they join the tourists in the park. Dick's been telling Steph about the JSA helping him build a lair atop the Cloisters. More precisely, about Power Girl's impressive...abilities. None of kids in their vicinity have done anything especially interesting with their balloons, although there's one weaving a basket out of grass who keeps eyeing the balloon speculatively like he's measuring lift capacity.
Dick's mouth gives it away, the graceful arc of a flirtatious smile. Tim follows his arm around Steph's waist and shakes his head, almost wry. Dick's strong fingers - Tim knows exactly how strong - dip into the waistband of the short denim skirt he asked her to wear. Impertinent. Shameless. Embarrassing. But Steph's laughing and leaning up on tiptoe to press their mouths together in a messy, unplanned kiss.
Sharpening, Dick's gaze sweeps past her, scanning Bat-like. Apparently he finds what he's looking for, because he's kissing Steph back now, thumb caressing her pulse in small circles Tim knows mean yes?
Yes. But the question's not for him, not this time. Tim's glad, because Dick would. Right here in the park. Without regard for the fact there are kids, parents, and people who know the Waynes and Drakes sharing the boardwalk and grass with them. And Tim would, he suspects due to his creeping blush, let him.
It's only when Dick teases, "Go get us some cotton candy, and whatever you want," that Tim deciphers the breathless yes, in Steph's hands in her own back pockets, chin tilted out waiting for Tim to comply. He does, of course. He's never been able to deny her anything, not even Dick.
Three hundred twenty paces to the concession stand seems fitting, 3/20, the first day of spring. Dick's birthday. The wait isn't three minutes and thirty seconds, Steph's, but there's a 3 on the back of a blonde kid's red jersey and a 30 on the license card for the concession cart, which is green. The cotton candy, spun sugar, is too pastel. He buys bright red candied apples and a spiral-swirl lollipop with all of their colors, too. Zesti for him, hot chocolate for Steph - she'd drink it on July 4th. He'd buy Dick a beer in plastic bottle, but that's the last thing they need. Dick more relaxed than he already is. So Dick gets root beer, and Tim's lips quirk in a private smile. He does, too, have a sense of humor.
Three hundred twenty-two paces back; he had to sidestep a girl on a skateboard. Under the branches of a blooming tree, Steph has her leg wrapped around Dick's hips. To the casual passerby, it looks sweet with the cherry blossoms floating to rest on Dick's shoulders and in Steph's hair. But Tim knows manga's dirty secret, and this is not entranced lovers carried away in a kiss.
Dick's jeans will be open; Steph's underpants pushed aside. The tight press of their hips and low wrap of Dick's arm hides them, but those little boosts that rattle the boughs are anything but innocent, and the lock of Dick's mouth over Steph's isn't (only) love. It's necessary camouflage for Steph's screams.
He watches until Steph shakes and Dick stiffens. Pink and white blossoms rain over them. Steph giggles and buries her face in Dick's shoulder. Dick groans, smiling, and plucks petals from her hair. Tim hopes he wore a condom.
Later, lotused on the picnic blanket - he can't say no to Dick either - Tim reads Hemingway. Correction: pretends to read Hemingway. Really he's watching Steph feed Dick cotton candy and calculating how much more they'd get done if they'd learn to multitask. Dick rolls his head on his neck to look at Tim.
Nothing to see here. I'm busy. I'm improving my mind.
He must've missed something - Dick looking at Steph and Steph looking at Dick and both of them nodding with knowing smiles, probably; they do that a lot - because when he glances at them again from under his lashes, Dick's gone and Steph's lying on her stomach, chin on her hands, watching him.
Tim should've known. He really should have known. Dick's an affection-starved octopus. If Bruce had only hugged him once a day when he was twelve, Dick wouldn't be wrapped around Tim right now, lips skating over Tim's pulse and asking yes? with the agile fingers on the buttons of his jeans making the question moot.
He squeezes his eyes shut and nods, tilting his head for the mouth that reduces him to shivers. Dick cranes his head around to kiss him, slow and sweet - he's a giraffe, too, on top of the octopus th--
Oh god, Dick.
His hand's wrapped around Tim, calluses at the curl of his fingers hitting him just right. Dick's knees frame him, but there's no way this can look innocent, not with him shuddering and panting against Dick's mouth. Or Dick's hand pumping obscenely between Tim's thighs. No flower petals to disguise the biseinin doujinshi of Tim's hips jerking with each heated jolt.
He opens his eyes. Steph's tongue plays over her lips, candy pink gloss replaced with candy red from the apples and Dick's kisses. Her eyes track Dick's hand, up and down. When Dick adds a twist, as gratuitous as the fourth flip and as perfect, Tim whines, bites Dick's lip and comes. All over his stomach, all over Dick's hand, all over everything.
Over Tim's shoulder, Dick mouths his own fingers clean. Tim squeezes his eyes shut again, wishing Dick would realize his come isn't cotton candy. It's embarrassing. Ridiculous. Wanton.
Dick licks Tim across the mouth. Licks him. He opens his eyes and his mouth to protest but is treated to a come-and-cotton-candy kiss. Then Dick grins, insouciant. "Yes, Tim. I used a condom."
Throwing her arm over her eyes, Steph flops over on the blanket and...just...laughs.
***
A/N: unbetaed, lest I lose my nerve. It's been way too long since I wrote, and this is just for fun. I suppose it's also vaguely responsive to silensy's Dick/Steph, on the joy of being alive prompt in my impromptu porn-para-or-more-a-graph-athon.