[log] the gift is in the giving
Summary: On a cozy Sunday morning with Roy in January before genderswap, Dick wakes to the gift he has, the gift he is, and the gifts they haven't gotten yet. Rated: NC17 for the beginning; written with the assistance of sidekickhangovr before she left; Roy modded by permission.
Sunday morning, Exiles treehouse, my room.
Warm. Cradled like a hawk on the thermals. Drifting in lazy circles for the sheer pleasure of flying.
Indulgent...
The arm around Dick’s tightens before he moves to rise. The wide lips against the back of his neck soothe, "Sleep, shortpants," urging him back to the thermals.
"Training," he protests in a soft, slurred drawl, but his hips nestle back against Roy’s wood. He’s still wet and open from the last fuck, the one they fell asleep in the middle of.
"Not for three hours." Dick wonders how he knows. How long Roy’s been up watching him sleep and guarding his dreams, but the train of thought’s interrupted by Roy’s nose against his pulse. "No one’s going to lose an ounce of muscle just because you only burned the candle at one end today. Sleep."
Somewhere along the way you’re an obsessive control freak became my obsessive control freak and means I’ve got you the way Dick has everyone else. Softer than he’ll let Roy see, Dick smiles, turns his head into the pillow and shifts his weight forward until the tip of his cock daubs the sewn-patchwork silk of his sheets with darker splotches. "Kon might skip-"
"Tim’s problem," Roy growls, but he knows the game. Behind Dick, he’s already reaching for a condom from the nightstand. "And you’re mine."
His problem, but also his. Roy won’t say it, they don’t, but the dick in his ass, the fist around his, the teeth in his shoulder that rock him back to sleep say it clearer than words.
When he wakes again, an hour and a half later from the angle of the light, the fingers that have been weaving through his hair go still, then grip tightly to deny the tenderness of the moment before. He presses a kiss to the scarred muscle beneath his mouth, but bites when Roy’s hand squeezes his ass.
"See? Still the best ass on the island with an extra hour of sl-Ow. Fucker."
Dick smirks and slides his palm down Roy’s abs. "Way to ruin the moment, asshole."
"Why is it always a moment, not a minute, or the fucking fantastic fantasy of you being a guy for once?" Roy grouses, but the grip in his hair softens. Deft, bowstring-callused fingers stroke the nape of his neck and he quiets again, letting Roy’s touch ward away everything he doesn’t have solutions for a few minutes longer.
"Huh." It sounds like grunt for well, what do you know?
"Huh?" He opens his eyes to look at Roy, falls headlong into puzzled Arrow-green depths, and stops the answer with a lingering, way-too-sweet kiss to Roy’s generous mouth.
Roy indulges them both, deepening the kiss and sliding his palm down Dick’s back, slowly, attentively, before he pinches the ends of Dick’s hair between his fingers and tugs on his head. Over his own protest at the end of what might’ve been Roy making love to him, Dick lifts his gaze, meets Roy’s, and follows the direction of his intent nod.
"Hhn." Dick arches up, reluctant to lose the warmth of the nest of their tangled limbs, but too curious to stay. Head tilting, gaze zeroing in, he rolls to his knees.
Roy’s watching him not the furnishings that hadn’t been there when they came in from patrol already stripping each other’s uniforms and fell into bed; Roy always watches him, with a marksman’s eye and has always, since they were teenagers. When did it start feeling like stolen kisses?
Wrapping his hand around Roy’s ankle for a second first, he slips from bed, pads naked across the floor to inspect the waist-high hand-carved wood chest wrapped in a red ribbon and the smaller box on top of it.
"Exhibitionist."
"Voyeur," he retorts, studying them for almost a minute before he reaches to touch.
"Wrong boy-toy." Not boyfriend, of course not. Both he and Tim are convinced the other’s the more important one, and neither of them is. Just different. "I’m a hands-on kind of guy."
A series of quips about archers and long-distance relationships tumble through his brain, but the top box has a card that reads "For Roy" and Dick’s not interested in the verbal spar anymore. Maybe he should be more careful, but Babs got a Cray and Kon got surfboards. Cassie got a hover sailboard, all from the island. Helen got a fully-stocked bar and Brown got keyboards, amps and a guitar. Morgan got a computer-bank with a naquadah generator. Tim got solar panels, so… so he fingers the ribbon and cards, turning them over to check for anything suspicious, but a smile quirks his lips.
Confident there’s nothing to hurt his archer, Dick brings Roy’s gift back to bed. Kneels over him for a kiss, then sets the 9x11x5 box on his chest. "Open it."
Roy’s eyebrow sweeps upward; his hand sweeps Roy’s hip. "Not too fond of the island’s gifts, Robbie."
Dick smoothes his hand through Roy’s unruly hair. It hasn’t been this long since before Lian. Dick misses her, but he loves the feel of it in the Vs of his fingers. Thick, stubborn, passionate. Like Roy. He doesn’t have to say anything, it’s all in his eyes; Roy nods, and pulls the end of the ribbon.
Inside, red and green tissue paper wrap what turns out to be three matching picture frames in decreasing sizes. Roy opens them slowly after the first, the largest, a portrait of Lian Roy can’t take his suddenly damp eyes off.
Dick’s eyes sheen too. That portrait, and the smallest one, of Dick and Lian, he recognizes. The twins are on both their desks at home. "I took her to get those last Christmas." Last Christmas for him. Two from now for Roy. The middle-sized one is a candid of Roy and Lian that Dick snapped the first day in the park after Roy got out of the hospital.
"Miss her so goddamned much, Dick."
He hasn’t said it. Not once since he got here, and the naked pain of it strips Dick’s breath for almost a minute. "I know," he says, aching soft, and firms up his grip in Roy’s hair.
Roy grips his wrist - tight, an archer’s hands are strong - and Dick expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, Roy holds on, bruising Dick’s wrist with the strength of his love for his daughter, Dick’s goddaughter (daughter, in a different world, if Dick has his way), and his need. They sit there like that for a long time. Minutes ticking by, Roy’s breathing hoarse and harsh, erratic; his shoulders tense and his gaze locked to the photos in his other hand.
"Go on," Roy urges him finally, voice as bruised as Dick’s wrist, but his eyes hold a smile when he glances up at Dick, then his gaze darts back to Dart - Dick’s nickname for Lian, that Roy hates. No superhero codenames until she’s twelve, shortpants. Without looking away from the photos again, he jerks his chin toward the chest. "Too small for a plane to jump out of. Go see what it is."
Roy needs time; he gets that. So Dick goes, squats down beside the chest. The things he wants the island can’t give him. Or if it can, he definitely doesn’t want them in a wooden box. Not even a pretty one with a big red bow. Rolling his shoulders against the tension of Roy’s longing and his own nerves, Dick unties the ribbon, unwinds it, then rewinds it around his arm and lays it aside. Silk has a high tensile strength, so it’s worth keeping.
At first when he pushes up the lid, he only blinks, lips twisting into a bemused smirk. Then he raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck while he surveys drawers of miscellaneous…stuff. Computer stuff, housewares stuff, girl stuff, jewelry, electronics, all sorts of small items--
"Should I start calling you the Dread Pirate Robin?"
Dick laughs a little, brain already starting to catalog his new wealth. "Maybe. Or maybe Bat-a Claus."
From the bed, Roy groans, but Dick’s grinning back over his shoulder and one thing has always been true. Bad puns aside, Roy has never been able to resist the full force of Dick’s grin.
Without standing, Dick moves to rummage in the other chest where he keeps his suit. His fingers close around his mini-comp.
"What’re you-"
"It’s a surprise," Dick answers, focused and intent. A couple of keystrokes bring up the file. Absently, his other hand reaches into the new chest for one of the jump-drives in the top tray on the right. He plugs it into the comp, clicks and sends.
While his comp downloads the file labeled ‘RL_compiled’ he’s been waiting for the right moment to do something with, Dick goes back to inspect the contents of the chest more closely. If he’s right…
And he is. There are three digital picture frames in the next drawer down. He picks the one with the highest storage capacity and resolution, gets up, pads over to the bed and hands it to Roy.
"What?" Roy’s eyes widen, almost suspicious.
Dick just grins again, then bounds over to his mini-comp while Roy pokes at the frame; batteries and USB charger included. Then Dick’s back again, bright and buoyant with the surprise. Quick as a Bat, he straddles Roy, plugs in the hump and turns the frame on. Roy watches it and Dick watches him; every nuance of his lips and eyes and flutter of lashes while his face flickers through thought after emotion after thought.
Finally, Roy reaches out for him and cups Dick’s face, expression quizzical. "So your Christmas present is more pictures of Lian for me?"
"No." He turns his cheek against Roy’s palm and lips against. "It’s the ability to give perfect presents…" Glancing down at Roy, eyes shining, he finishes it, "To all the people I love."
Sunday morning, Exiles treehouse, my room.
Warm. Cradled like a hawk on the thermals. Drifting in lazy circles for the sheer pleasure of flying.
Indulgent...
The arm around Dick’s tightens before he moves to rise. The wide lips against the back of his neck soothe, "Sleep, shortpants," urging him back to the thermals.
"Training," he protests in a soft, slurred drawl, but his hips nestle back against Roy’s wood. He’s still wet and open from the last fuck, the one they fell asleep in the middle of.
"Not for three hours." Dick wonders how he knows. How long Roy’s been up watching him sleep and guarding his dreams, but the train of thought’s interrupted by Roy’s nose against his pulse. "No one’s going to lose an ounce of muscle just because you only burned the candle at one end today. Sleep."
Somewhere along the way you’re an obsessive control freak became my obsessive control freak and means I’ve got you the way Dick has everyone else. Softer than he’ll let Roy see, Dick smiles, turns his head into the pillow and shifts his weight forward until the tip of his cock daubs the sewn-patchwork silk of his sheets with darker splotches. "Kon might skip-"
"Tim’s problem," Roy growls, but he knows the game. Behind Dick, he’s already reaching for a condom from the nightstand. "And you’re mine."
His problem, but also his. Roy won’t say it, they don’t, but the dick in his ass, the fist around his, the teeth in his shoulder that rock him back to sleep say it clearer than words.
When he wakes again, an hour and a half later from the angle of the light, the fingers that have been weaving through his hair go still, then grip tightly to deny the tenderness of the moment before. He presses a kiss to the scarred muscle beneath his mouth, but bites when Roy’s hand squeezes his ass.
"See? Still the best ass on the island with an extra hour of sl-Ow. Fucker."
Dick smirks and slides his palm down Roy’s abs. "Way to ruin the moment, asshole."
"Why is it always a moment, not a minute, or the fucking fantastic fantasy of you being a guy for once?" Roy grouses, but the grip in his hair softens. Deft, bowstring-callused fingers stroke the nape of his neck and he quiets again, letting Roy’s touch ward away everything he doesn’t have solutions for a few minutes longer.
"Huh." It sounds like grunt for well, what do you know?
"Huh?" He opens his eyes to look at Roy, falls headlong into puzzled Arrow-green depths, and stops the answer with a lingering, way-too-sweet kiss to Roy’s generous mouth.
Roy indulges them both, deepening the kiss and sliding his palm down Dick’s back, slowly, attentively, before he pinches the ends of Dick’s hair between his fingers and tugs on his head. Over his own protest at the end of what might’ve been Roy making love to him, Dick lifts his gaze, meets Roy’s, and follows the direction of his intent nod.
"Hhn." Dick arches up, reluctant to lose the warmth of the nest of their tangled limbs, but too curious to stay. Head tilting, gaze zeroing in, he rolls to his knees.
Roy’s watching him not the furnishings that hadn’t been there when they came in from patrol already stripping each other’s uniforms and fell into bed; Roy always watches him, with a marksman’s eye and has always, since they were teenagers. When did it start feeling like stolen kisses?
Wrapping his hand around Roy’s ankle for a second first, he slips from bed, pads naked across the floor to inspect the waist-high hand-carved wood chest wrapped in a red ribbon and the smaller box on top of it.
"Exhibitionist."
"Voyeur," he retorts, studying them for almost a minute before he reaches to touch.
"Wrong boy-toy." Not boyfriend, of course not. Both he and Tim are convinced the other’s the more important one, and neither of them is. Just different. "I’m a hands-on kind of guy."
A series of quips about archers and long-distance relationships tumble through his brain, but the top box has a card that reads "For Roy" and Dick’s not interested in the verbal spar anymore. Maybe he should be more careful, but Babs got a Cray and Kon got surfboards. Cassie got a hover sailboard, all from the island. Helen got a fully-stocked bar and Brown got keyboards, amps and a guitar. Morgan got a computer-bank with a naquadah generator. Tim got solar panels, so… so he fingers the ribbon and cards, turning them over to check for anything suspicious, but a smile quirks his lips.
Confident there’s nothing to hurt his archer, Dick brings Roy’s gift back to bed. Kneels over him for a kiss, then sets the 9x11x5 box on his chest. "Open it."
Roy’s eyebrow sweeps upward; his hand sweeps Roy’s hip. "Not too fond of the island’s gifts, Robbie."
Dick smoothes his hand through Roy’s unruly hair. It hasn’t been this long since before Lian. Dick misses her, but he loves the feel of it in the Vs of his fingers. Thick, stubborn, passionate. Like Roy. He doesn’t have to say anything, it’s all in his eyes; Roy nods, and pulls the end of the ribbon.
Inside, red and green tissue paper wrap what turns out to be three matching picture frames in decreasing sizes. Roy opens them slowly after the first, the largest, a portrait of Lian Roy can’t take his suddenly damp eyes off.
Dick’s eyes sheen too. That portrait, and the smallest one, of Dick and Lian, he recognizes. The twins are on both their desks at home. "I took her to get those last Christmas." Last Christmas for him. Two from now for Roy. The middle-sized one is a candid of Roy and Lian that Dick snapped the first day in the park after Roy got out of the hospital.
"Miss her so goddamned much, Dick."
He hasn’t said it. Not once since he got here, and the naked pain of it strips Dick’s breath for almost a minute. "I know," he says, aching soft, and firms up his grip in Roy’s hair.
Roy grips his wrist - tight, an archer’s hands are strong - and Dick expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, Roy holds on, bruising Dick’s wrist with the strength of his love for his daughter, Dick’s goddaughter (daughter, in a different world, if Dick has his way), and his need. They sit there like that for a long time. Minutes ticking by, Roy’s breathing hoarse and harsh, erratic; his shoulders tense and his gaze locked to the photos in his other hand.
"Go on," Roy urges him finally, voice as bruised as Dick’s wrist, but his eyes hold a smile when he glances up at Dick, then his gaze darts back to Dart - Dick’s nickname for Lian, that Roy hates. No superhero codenames until she’s twelve, shortpants. Without looking away from the photos again, he jerks his chin toward the chest. "Too small for a plane to jump out of. Go see what it is."
Roy needs time; he gets that. So Dick goes, squats down beside the chest. The things he wants the island can’t give him. Or if it can, he definitely doesn’t want them in a wooden box. Not even a pretty one with a big red bow. Rolling his shoulders against the tension of Roy’s longing and his own nerves, Dick unties the ribbon, unwinds it, then rewinds it around his arm and lays it aside. Silk has a high tensile strength, so it’s worth keeping.
At first when he pushes up the lid, he only blinks, lips twisting into a bemused smirk. Then he raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck while he surveys drawers of miscellaneous…stuff. Computer stuff, housewares stuff, girl stuff, jewelry, electronics, all sorts of small items--
"Should I start calling you the Dread Pirate Robin?"
Dick laughs a little, brain already starting to catalog his new wealth. "Maybe. Or maybe Bat-a Claus."
From the bed, Roy groans, but Dick’s grinning back over his shoulder and one thing has always been true. Bad puns aside, Roy has never been able to resist the full force of Dick’s grin.
Without standing, Dick moves to rummage in the other chest where he keeps his suit. His fingers close around his mini-comp.
"What’re you-"
"It’s a surprise," Dick answers, focused and intent. A couple of keystrokes bring up the file. Absently, his other hand reaches into the new chest for one of the jump-drives in the top tray on the right. He plugs it into the comp, clicks and sends.
While his comp downloads the file labeled ‘RL_compiled’ he’s been waiting for the right moment to do something with, Dick goes back to inspect the contents of the chest more closely. If he’s right…
And he is. There are three digital picture frames in the next drawer down. He picks the one with the highest storage capacity and resolution, gets up, pads over to the bed and hands it to Roy.
"What?" Roy’s eyes widen, almost suspicious.
Dick just grins again, then bounds over to his mini-comp while Roy pokes at the frame; batteries and USB charger included. Then Dick’s back again, bright and buoyant with the surprise. Quick as a Bat, he straddles Roy, plugs in the hump and turns the frame on. Roy watches it and Dick watches him; every nuance of his lips and eyes and flutter of lashes while his face flickers through thought after emotion after thought.
Finally, Roy reaches out for him and cups Dick’s face, expression quizzical. "So your Christmas present is more pictures of Lian for me?"
"No." He turns his cheek against Roy’s palm and lips against. "It’s the ability to give perfect presents…" Glancing down at Roy, eyes shining, he finishes it, "To all the people I love."