Well this is different, Dick smiles at himself in the mirror after waking up in a unfamiliar bed in a familiar room.
He allows himself a moment of panic before bolting up to the bathroom, acutely aware that he's not wearing anything, Bruce wears nothing at all, in the bedroom.
Bruce's face looks oddly cute and slightly terrifying with a flabbergasted expression.
The cuteness of those severe lips open in a surprised O makes Dick hope the women, men, anyone from Gotham never sees it.
He flexes toned biceps and pecs, savoring the feeling as each muscle moves with his command. Bruce's muscles feel heavier than his own, moves with more solid, attractive force. The pulling of old, scarred tissue a foreign familiar feeling.
The scars aren't surprising, Dick's watched Alfred suture up most of them as Bruce stoicly went about his way as if he wasn't bleeding all over the cold cave floor.
But the feeling of them, the intimate feeling of each twitch, titillating
Tracing them with Bruce's larger hands is even more exciting. Though he wishes it was his own.
Urgent pounding comes from his the bedroom door. "Dick, let me in," his own voice, mainly calm though frazzled around the edges, carries through the door.
Dick watches Bruce's handsome face frown with his disappointment, flexes that tush one last time before heading to the door.
"Hey there gorgeous," Dick opens the door with Bruce's voice and Bruce's body bared for all to see, leers stronger when his own face blanches before his eyes, "What's up?"
"What happened last night?" Dick's own face, expression more surly than Dick's ever had, scrunches before he's nudged out of the way.
"You tell me," Dick closes the door with a click, "Woke up feeling weird and delicious."
His own face pulls a frown, ends up looking like a pout, which Dick thinks is so unfair and no wonder Babs sometimes laughs when he's mildly upset. "Be serious," Bruce says with his lips downcast.
"Who said I wasn't?"