Fic: Lawn Mowers 'N' Lemonade (1/1)
Title: Lawn Mowers 'N' Lemonade (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Dick, Alfred
Categories: Slice-Of-Life, Challenge
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: A hot day, a cool drink, and Bruce noticing Dick’s tight shorts.
Date Of Completion: June 18, 2007
Date Of Posting: June 18, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1055
Author’s Note: This was written for
merfilly 's June/Mood Challenge. The claim I chose was "Energetic", and the person was Dick. Yeah, I know, quite a stretch there! :)
“He’s a regular dynamo, sir.”
Alfred was trimming the rosebushes while Dick was running around with the lawn mower. Their regular landscaping service had closed for the day because of a death in the owner’s family, and the Wayne Foundation was giving a garden party here at the Manor tomorrow.
“He volunteered right away when he heard of my dilemma.” Alfred eyed a branch critically and then calmly attacked it, cutting away the branch he deemed necessary to go.
“He’s got a good heart,” Bruce murmured.
He watched his young lover as Dick maneuvered the lawn mower. It was a hot day, and Dick was shirtless, skin gleaming with sweat as the sun beat down. His dark hair was straggly and falling over his eyes, his strong legs bare as he wore only light-green shorts. Scuffed-up sneakers completed the skimpy ensemble.
With energetic movements, Dick had at least half the grass here in the backyard mowed. The front lawn would be a major project, but Dick and Alfred had agreed that the back had to be tackled first.
“As for being a dynamo, he always has been, Alfred.” Bruce flexed his muscles. “Let me go and change and I’ll help out.”
“Excellent, sir.”
Bruce changed to jeans and a Gotham Knights’ T-shirt. He laced up his sneakers and headed down to the backyard.
Dick saw him and waved with a smile as he continued working with the mower. Bruce picked up a pair of shears and helped Alfred with the trimming. There were dozens of bushes and hedges that needed it.
Dick stopped the mower, ran into the house, came out with a small towel tucked into his back pocket, combed the remaining lawn for twigs and stones, stood on one foot and emptied his shoe, a large pebble tumbling out, and then started the mower again. Bruce and Alfred exchanged amused glances at all the activity.
As he worked, Bruce kept glancing toward Dick. The younger man’s muscles rippled as he pushed the mower, his movements graceful as always. He was approaching mowing the lawn with characteristic energy and yet was methodical in his pattern, making the result look professional and neat for the critical eyes of Gotham’s elite.
Not that Bruce cared half the time what the elite thought, but he had to keep up appearances, if only for the family name, and besides, charming his fellow uppercrust meant more money for the Wayne Foundation, and that was what really counted.
The morning continued with the garden work, only a cool breeze off the ocean keeping them all from drowning in sweat, Bruce thought wryly. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and gathered up the mass of clippings and dumped them into the trash barrel. When the landscapers came again, they would take care of the refuse.
The lawn mower cut out and Dick said, “Whew! Those guys from Kerrigan’s deserve their money!”
Alfred and Bruce laughed in agreement, and Bruce said, “I’ll help you with the front lawn. We’ve got that old sit-down mower that should still work.”
Dick pushed his hair back and puffed out his cheeks. “Okay.”
“First, sirs, may I suggest some lemonade for a short break?”
“Bring it on, Alfred!” Dick said with a grin as he happily headed for the deck chairs out by the seawall. Bruce followed, sitting opposite Dick as they sat at the small table, shaded by a yellow-and-white striped umbrella.
Dick closed his eyes and stretched out in the chair with raggedy hair, shorts that were beginning to fray, and beat-up sneakers.
To Bruce, he looked like a glistening young god.
Alfred came out with the lemonade, setting the two tall, frosted glasses down on the table.
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce and Dick said almost in the same moment, and Dick grinned as he snatched up his glass, drinking with appreciative fervor. Alfred nodded and returned to the house.
Bruce drank his own lemonade, smiling at Dick, who winked at him. Dick’s eyes made appreciative note of Bruce’s muscular bare arms, mischief dancing in the blue orbs. The younger man closed his eyes again and the ocean breeze ruffled his hair, Dick’s chest lightly rising and falling as he let his adrenaline wind down while he listened to the sound of the waves and the seagulls. Contrary to popular opinion, Dick could sit still. Bruce had seen it many a time, especially when they were out on patrol and staking out a situation, Robin beside him and not moving a muscle for as long as it was required before bursting into energetic motion. Now Dick allowed his body to cool down, fingers wrapping around his glass again and taking another sip.
Droplets of condensation slipped off the glass, splashing gently on his chest, adding to the sun-kissed gleam on smooth, bronzed skin. Bruce watched the droplets trail down the chest to the stomach, mesmerized, body jerking slightly when Dick’s long leg reached out and his foot gently teased his own jeans-clad leg. A small smile around Dick’s lips telegraphed to Bruce that his partner knew that he was being watched.
Bruce kept silent as Dick teased, calmly drinking his lemonade on the outside, his blood pulsing on the inside.
Brat! He knows how to push my buttons and he does it every time!
Dick continued ‘playing footsie’, his body relaxed but his ardor evident to Bruce in the curve of lush lips, the slight hitching breaths, and the slight tremble of his foot. He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow, Bruce watching the movement of Dick’s throat.
The kitchen door opened and Dick withdrew his foot, setting his glass down on the table.
“Would you like a refill, sirs?”
Dick stretched and opened his eyes, Bruce finishing his lemonade. “No, I think we’d better get to the front lawn,” Bruce said.
Dick stood up with Bruce and both grinned at the crisp white shirt Alfred now wore. As Dick walked ahead of Bruce to the tool shed to check out the other mower, Bruce watched every step, admiring the tight buttocks in the tight shorts.
That boy is made for tight pants!
Bruce smiled as Dick wiggled his butt, knowing once again he was being watched, and Bruce headed for the tool shed to join his sweaty, gorgeous landscaper.
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Dick, Alfred
Categories: Slice-Of-Life, Challenge
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: A hot day, a cool drink, and Bruce noticing Dick’s tight shorts.
Date Of Completion: June 18, 2007
Date Of Posting: June 18, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1055
Author’s Note: This was written for
merfilly 's June/Mood Challenge. The claim I chose was "Energetic", and the person was Dick. Yeah, I know, quite a stretch there! :)
“He’s a regular dynamo, sir.”
Alfred was trimming the rosebushes while Dick was running around with the lawn mower. Their regular landscaping service had closed for the day because of a death in the owner’s family, and the Wayne Foundation was giving a garden party here at the Manor tomorrow.
“He volunteered right away when he heard of my dilemma.” Alfred eyed a branch critically and then calmly attacked it, cutting away the branch he deemed necessary to go.
“He’s got a good heart,” Bruce murmured.
He watched his young lover as Dick maneuvered the lawn mower. It was a hot day, and Dick was shirtless, skin gleaming with sweat as the sun beat down. His dark hair was straggly and falling over his eyes, his strong legs bare as he wore only light-green shorts. Scuffed-up sneakers completed the skimpy ensemble.
With energetic movements, Dick had at least half the grass here in the backyard mowed. The front lawn would be a major project, but Dick and Alfred had agreed that the back had to be tackled first.
“As for being a dynamo, he always has been, Alfred.” Bruce flexed his muscles. “Let me go and change and I’ll help out.”
“Excellent, sir.”
Bruce changed to jeans and a Gotham Knights’ T-shirt. He laced up his sneakers and headed down to the backyard.
Dick saw him and waved with a smile as he continued working with the mower. Bruce picked up a pair of shears and helped Alfred with the trimming. There were dozens of bushes and hedges that needed it.
Dick stopped the mower, ran into the house, came out with a small towel tucked into his back pocket, combed the remaining lawn for twigs and stones, stood on one foot and emptied his shoe, a large pebble tumbling out, and then started the mower again. Bruce and Alfred exchanged amused glances at all the activity.
As he worked, Bruce kept glancing toward Dick. The younger man’s muscles rippled as he pushed the mower, his movements graceful as always. He was approaching mowing the lawn with characteristic energy and yet was methodical in his pattern, making the result look professional and neat for the critical eyes of Gotham’s elite.
Not that Bruce cared half the time what the elite thought, but he had to keep up appearances, if only for the family name, and besides, charming his fellow uppercrust meant more money for the Wayne Foundation, and that was what really counted.
The morning continued with the garden work, only a cool breeze off the ocean keeping them all from drowning in sweat, Bruce thought wryly. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and gathered up the mass of clippings and dumped them into the trash barrel. When the landscapers came again, they would take care of the refuse.
The lawn mower cut out and Dick said, “Whew! Those guys from Kerrigan’s deserve their money!”
Alfred and Bruce laughed in agreement, and Bruce said, “I’ll help you with the front lawn. We’ve got that old sit-down mower that should still work.”
Dick pushed his hair back and puffed out his cheeks. “Okay.”
“First, sirs, may I suggest some lemonade for a short break?”
“Bring it on, Alfred!” Dick said with a grin as he happily headed for the deck chairs out by the seawall. Bruce followed, sitting opposite Dick as they sat at the small table, shaded by a yellow-and-white striped umbrella.
Dick closed his eyes and stretched out in the chair with raggedy hair, shorts that were beginning to fray, and beat-up sneakers.
To Bruce, he looked like a glistening young god.
Alfred came out with the lemonade, setting the two tall, frosted glasses down on the table.
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce and Dick said almost in the same moment, and Dick grinned as he snatched up his glass, drinking with appreciative fervor. Alfred nodded and returned to the house.
Bruce drank his own lemonade, smiling at Dick, who winked at him. Dick’s eyes made appreciative note of Bruce’s muscular bare arms, mischief dancing in the blue orbs. The younger man closed his eyes again and the ocean breeze ruffled his hair, Dick’s chest lightly rising and falling as he let his adrenaline wind down while he listened to the sound of the waves and the seagulls. Contrary to popular opinion, Dick could sit still. Bruce had seen it many a time, especially when they were out on patrol and staking out a situation, Robin beside him and not moving a muscle for as long as it was required before bursting into energetic motion. Now Dick allowed his body to cool down, fingers wrapping around his glass again and taking another sip.
Droplets of condensation slipped off the glass, splashing gently on his chest, adding to the sun-kissed gleam on smooth, bronzed skin. Bruce watched the droplets trail down the chest to the stomach, mesmerized, body jerking slightly when Dick’s long leg reached out and his foot gently teased his own jeans-clad leg. A small smile around Dick’s lips telegraphed to Bruce that his partner knew that he was being watched.
Bruce kept silent as Dick teased, calmly drinking his lemonade on the outside, his blood pulsing on the inside.
Brat! He knows how to push my buttons and he does it every time!
Dick continued ‘playing footsie’, his body relaxed but his ardor evident to Bruce in the curve of lush lips, the slight hitching breaths, and the slight tremble of his foot. He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow, Bruce watching the movement of Dick’s throat.
The kitchen door opened and Dick withdrew his foot, setting his glass down on the table.
“Would you like a refill, sirs?”
Dick stretched and opened his eyes, Bruce finishing his lemonade. “No, I think we’d better get to the front lawn,” Bruce said.
Dick stood up with Bruce and both grinned at the crisp white shirt Alfred now wore. As Dick walked ahead of Bruce to the tool shed to check out the other mower, Bruce watched every step, admiring the tight buttocks in the tight shorts.
That boy is made for tight pants!
Bruce smiled as Dick wiggled his butt, knowing once again he was being watched, and Bruce headed for the tool shed to join his sweaty, gorgeous landscaper.