Hello! So this is another prompt from the 50 followers piece! One I actually wrote two different versions of, and this is the first. It was anonymous, for prompt 48, "Boo.", with the specific request that it be Talon!Dick and Stray!Jason. So, I wrote two different ones. Because after asking I figured out the ask-er meant Talon!Dick as in Court of Owls, but I was so attached to the idea of Stray!Jason and Talon!Dick from Earth-3 that I had to write it. So this happened. Enjoy!
"Boo."
I nearly leap out of my fucking skin.
"Jesus Christ," I shout, spinning, crouching, and trying to jerk away all at the same time. It ends with me sprawling over the rooftop, and nearly falling off the side. My heart pounds, my eyes are wide, and this asshole is standing over me grinning. I get my breath back and glare up at him, baring my teeth. "What the fuck, Nightwing?"
He laughs and rocks back on his heels, not showing even the slightest bit of guilt over nearly making me fall over the side of the building. The suit's streaks of blue are different, and darker, but that barely registers. Nightwing changes his suit's design all the time. This time the streaked symbol across his chest is gone, leaving just black armor in its place. There are stripes up the outside of his arms, ending in points up either side of his neck, and then curling at the bottom to point at the underside of his wrists. I can see the start of similar lines on his hips, but they curve back around his thighs and I can't see the rest of the design. It's a little strange, definitely not one of his better designs. Too much black, no brand recognition.
I start to get up, but then he's moving forward and crouching down over me, shoving me back to the rooftop by both my shoulders. It's a hard push, and I'm not expecting that much force behind it, so it knocks me down again. Part of me — the part that reaches up and grips Nightwing's upper arms, like I'm going to throw him off — draws my mouth into a snarl, and brings anger to the front of my mind. The rest of me quietly notes that he's settling down over my hips, knees pressing in against my sides and his fingers digging just hard enough into my shoulders to be painful. That's the part that I shove to the corner of my mind with all the other moments I've noticed his attractiveness.
"What the hell?" I repeat, tightening my grip on his arms. "Did the new suit come with being a bastard? I haven't done anything, Nightwing. Get off me!"
"Nightwing?" he echoes, his head tilting to the side. Something stirs in my gut, some kind of instinct that makes me narrow my eyes and poise myself to move. His voice is right, his face is right, but there's something about his smile and the way he's holding himself that doesn't click.
I'm familiar with Nightwing, I know how he moves, how he thinks, what his patterns are. He could be enough of an asshole to scare the crap out of me like that, easily, but he'd feel some guilt over it. He'd apologize, even if he was laughing while he was doing it. This is a weirdly aggressive, up front move for him. Usually he doesn't get this close to me unless I'm the one who's pressed the distance between us, or he's thanking me for something. This feels wrong.
Nightwing's right hand slides in and down, and I realize he's going for a grip in my hair in just enough time to pull away. I shove him back, twisting and bucking to get him off of me. He looks a little startled, and the second he's far enough back for me to get out from underneath him I do it. A backwards roll gets me away, and then I bare my teeth as I get my focus back on him, staying in a low crouch so I can move any direction as quickly as possible.
He smiles, with a sharp edge that looks out of place on his face. I take a closer look, trying to find anything that might point to him being intoxicated, drugged, or otherwise under someone else's control. Nothing stands out. He looks healthy, there's no damage to his suit, and he's moving just fine, it's just different than what I'm used to. He straightens up, and the motion is a sliding arch that tightens my throat, his hands touching the sides of his ankles and then sliding up his legs as he draws up. It hooks my attention, and I follow the hands all the way until they tap against the outside of his thighs. Then I jerk my gaze away and up to his face. The curl of his mouth is wicked, knowing, and satisfied.
"You're not my Nightwing," I manage, carefully straightening up. I keep my knees bent just in case I need to run.
The man smirks, shoulders rolling in a careless shrug. It has no right to look as good as he makes it. "You're not my Jason," he answers. The voice is right, but the nearly purring tone it comes out as is something I've only imagined in wet dreams. I swallow. "Gotta say, skintight looks good on you. Not sure about the cat thing, but I suppose it offers all kinds of games, doesn't it?"
"Who the hell are you?" I demand, my hands clenching at my sides. I almost clench them tightly enough to puncture my gloves with my own claws, before I remember to relax at least a little. If he knows my name, then something here is very wrong. Sure, Nightwing knows who I am, but that's because he's one of the Bats. Not like I was being really subtle, considering I'm officially Selina's kid. But this guy is not my Nightwing; he shouldn't know.
Another flash of a smile. "Nightingale," he says, with a step closer to me. I match it by stepping back and keeping my distance from this weird, twisted, hot version of my Nightwing. "Relax, kitty. I won't bite unless you want me to." The inhalation I'm in the middle of catches in my throat, and I have to choke and cough for a few seconds to get my breath back.
He springs forward while I'm distracted, and by the time my reaction catches up he's in my face, hands curling around my wrists and twisting them in until it hurts. I snarl out anger, pulling back and then wincing when the hold twists a little further. So I try something else. I jerk forwards, bringing my teeth apart so I can snap them together again right in front of his face.
He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch.
I recoil a little bit, staring at him in shock. Everyone flinches at teeth snapping towards them. It's human instinct. Who the hell is this 'Nightingale'? What kind of version of my sometimes-friend is this?
He smiles, tilting his head to the right. "You're going to have to do better than that, Jason." Then he's closing the distance between us, it's his teeth parting and going for my throat. I flinch back, and they click together about half an inch away from my chin. He presses closer, pulling me into him by his grip on my wrists. His hands are at the wrong angle for me to scratch at him; I can't quite reach with my hands twisted like they are. "I thought you were supposed to be the predator between the two of us, kitty." His voice is a low, amused, whisper.
My teeth bare. "Don't call me that. My name is Stray, motherfucker, and I'll rip you a new one if you call me kitty again." I jerk against him, hold back the wince, and glare down at him. The height difference isn't as emphasized as usual, I'm realizing that he's got small heels on the back of his boots that are a little taller than the ones on mine and it's nixing my usual advantage. "Let me go. Now."
Nightwi— Nightingale smirks, and then his right hand releases my wrist. The flicker of the smirk warns me a fraction of a second before he twists the wrist he's still holding. I yelp, go down hard on my knee, and then snarl as I lash out at him with my free hand.
He lets go and slips back, just far enough away that my claws slice through air instead of his calf. He snaps his foot towards my head, and I yank my arm up enough to shove it away from its course. I'm not down for getting kicked in the temple. I move enough to get my toes underneath me, and then launch myself at Nightingale.
If he's anything like Nightwing he'll be fast, flexible, and seriously skilled. I know how to fight Nightwing. I'm taller, my build gives me more flat out strength, and his ridiculous acrobatics don't count for much if I'm in close. Plus, I'm the one with bladed weapons. I don't need as much buildup to make my strikes hurt; he needs more. All I have to do is get in close to him, and hold that distance no matter how he tries to get away. After that, it's just endurance and stopping him from landing anything on me that's too nasty. I probably won't do much damage, but neither will he.
He seems a little surprised by my straightforward approach, and I think that's the only thing that lets me actually hit him. I slam into his middle, knocking him backwards and to the rooftop underneath my weight. He's already recovering as he falls, and I lock my left arm around his waist and sink my claws into whatever the hell is underneath that hand — the other side of his waist? — to get a good grip on him. It's enough to stall him until we hit the roof, and the impact of our combined weight drives my claws a little harder into him.
I get ahold of his left wrist with my free hand, as he arches up and away from my claws, his legs sliding up around my hips. It's a painful grip, but I shove his arm down against the roof and snarl into his face. Then he's moving, and I expect the swing of his free arm towards my cheek so I duck away from it. Nightwing hits hard, I can't imagine this imposter is any different. He misses me, but then his arm is around the back of my neck, and I freeze when metal presses against the side of my throat, right underneath my jaw.
I can't see it from this angle, but I can feel the shape of his hand pressed to my neck, and what I'm absolutely certain is a blade threatening to slice open my skin. So I look up at Nightingale, and the sharp-edged smile on his face.
"You're going to let go," he tells me, his voice quiet. "Let go, get your claws out of my back, and I don't slit your throat." His smile gets a little sharper. "I'm fond of my Jason, but you don't have those privileges." I swallow, and then wince when the blade nicks my throat. I can feel a bead of blood slide down my skin. "Right now, Jay. Or are you so sure I'm bluffing?"
I let go of his arm, and then slowly brace my hand against the roof so I can push up. His hand moves with me, keeping the knife against my skin. I get far enough up that I can slowly retract my claws out of his skin and suit, and ease my arm out from underneath him. Then I stay utterly still as that knife slides around the back of my neck, all the way around to the the underside of my chin. Not once does it dip below the line of my costume. The point presses up, and I move with it. All the way up and then onto my back, and not once does it slip far enough away that I consider the idea of trying to jerk away as a real possibility.
He settles over my waist, and then the knife turns and presses flat beneath my jaw. Not an instant threat, but he could still slice me open before I could get close to stopping him. I ease back against the roof, trying to figure out exactly what his game is. If he even has one.
"Hands up above your head," he orders. I'm starting to think that smile is more like a shield than a real expression. I obey, keeping my movements slow so he doesn't get the idea to twist that knife. He gives what sounds a whole lot like a condescending hum of approval when my hands are lying up above my head. I wince when his knees tighten in against my sides, then tilt my head back a bit to gain just a bit of distance between me and that knife. He lets me.
"Different universe, or what?" I keep my voice quiet, moving my jaw as little as I can so I don't press into the blade.
"I suppose," he answers, head tilting up like he's looking off of our roof. "This isn't my Gotham; doesn't have the same feel to it." He refocuses on me, with another flash of a smile. It's definitely not real. "You might be Jason, but you're not my Jason. He'd never go in for the skintight look." His free hand reaches up, brushing gloved knuckles across my cheek. I swallow, but stay still. "Eyes haven't got that green tinge either; you've never been in the Lazarus Pit. Stray instead of Red Hood. It's interesting at least."
My eyes narrow a little bit as I try and puzzle out his words. "You said you were Nightingale. Mine is Nightwing." He must see the movement of my gaze down his chest, but he doesn't react. "Different pattern on the costume. You move differently, smile differently…" My gaze flicks down towards the blade. "He'd never kill."
That gets me a sharp little stiffening of Nightingale's shoulders, and his smile slips away as his mouth parts in what I can read as surprise. Then the look is gone, and his head tilts to the side.
"Wait… Is he…?" This smile is almost enough to call a grin, and he gives a hum of amusement and leans down into me a little bit. "Is your version of me a hero, Jay? Oh, that's so cute. I almost want to meet him; get the measure of a version of me who wastes his life saving people."
Alright, that's officially a little scary. The thought of someone as skilled as Nightwing, but without the same strict moral code? Without the same good nature? He'd be beyond deadly. It's almost as scary as the thought of Batman putting his mind behind killing, or ruling Gotham. I know he could.
That free hand slides down the side of my face, curls in my hair. I grit my teeth when Nightingale tugs at it, only partially because it worries me to have him moving my head with that blade still snug against my throat. It doesn't nick me though, so I guess he's got some serious control, or a lot of practice moving people while he's holding them on a knife.
"Just out of curiosity," he murmurs, with a smirk, "are the two of you fucking?"
I choke on my own breath again, eyes widening as I stare up at him. "What?" I ask, when I can speak again. "No! Nightwing's a friend sometimes, that's all! God, no!"
I clearly don't fool him, because he only laughs. "Not yet, hm? But oh you want to be." Another tug at my hair, pulling my head an inch or so to the side. "Poor little kitty doesn't even know his bird's real name." I tense as he leans down, pushing the boundaries of uncomfortably close. Not that this whole thing wasn't uncomfortable to start with. "Would you like to, Jay? I could tell you some of your bird's secrets. Like how—"
"No!" The refusal comes out in a shout, and then he's yanking my head back to bare my throat, and pressing the tip against my Adam's apple. "Don't you fucking dare," I snarl anyway, wincing at the needle prick of the blade but not letting it stop me from speaking.
"Loyal too." He gives a small laugh, and lets go of my hair. The blade slides down to press flat against the side of my neck, letting me tilt my head down to look at him again. "Guess you're not so different from my Jason."
"What the hell do you want?" I demand, baring my teeth and glaring at him. "I had work to do before you dropped out of the sky."
"I'm sure it was very important," he comments, with more than a little bit of sarcasm. "How about you show me around this Gotham, Stray? I'm sure you know all the best…" The pause is definitely intentional. "Sights." The way he smirks, slow and with something I swear I'm not misreading as desire, makes me swallow.
"I'm so not interested," I snap, trying to hold onto some kind of strength in my voice. Just something to stop myself from folding down and letting him run roughshod over me. The knife to my throat doesn't help me with that problem; I still can't bring myself to try getting my hands down from up above my head.
"Why not?" he nearly purrs. "Same body, Jay. Different scars, probably, but I guarantee his cock is just as good as mine." A slightly wider smirk as I gape. "Can't speak for how satisfying he is, but people never regret nights with me."
"Alright," I start, gritting my teeth for a second. "Even if it wasn't the most fucked up, twisted, bizarre breach of trust to do that to Nightwing, what the fuck makes you think I'd be at all interested in sleeping with the guy who's been holding a knife to my throat?"
"You put your claws in my back," he points out. "But that didn't stop me."
"You're threatening to kill me," I press, in what's almost a shout. "But now you want to fuck instead? No! Get the hell off of me! I don't know what kind of strange, murderous world you live in but I'm so not interested in trying out how you screwed up people do things."
He laughs, taps my throat with the flat of the blade — that makes me flinch — and then sits back. "Alright, Jay. Really, all you had to say was no."
I stare as he pushes up and off of me, all grace and smooth lines as he stands and steps away from me. I get my first glance at his back, and the three lines of blue that streak down on either side of his spine, ending in points that frame it. It's a little bit of a mouthwatering effect, even though I think that Nightingale might be certifiably crazy, and is definitely at least a killer. I get my arms down and shove up, backing away before I dare getting to my feet.
"I… That's it?"
The smirk he turns on me is wicked. "Unless you want more." I see him tuck the blade away into a hidden pocket on the inside of his right wrist, and follow the movement until I'm sure that it's gone from his hands. "I think I'll just explore this Gotham on my own. Could be fun; I'm sure there's lots to see." He's moving before I get the chance to stop him, towards the edge of the roof with a quick stride that still manages to roll his hips enough to draw my eyes down towards them.
"Wait!" I call, taking one step forward as if I'm going to follow him. Which I'm so not. "This isn't your world, Nightingale!"
He flashes me a smile over his shoulder, one foot braced on the edge of the roof and not an inch of fear in him at the well over twenty story drop below. "Just means everything is new. Thanks for the fun, kitty. You ever want to play again, come find me." Then he's laughing, twisting and diving off the edge of the roof. I've seen Nightwing do the exact same move so many times that there's not even a moment of doubt that he'll catch himself. So I don't run forward.
Sure enough, a half a moment later there's the distinctive click and wind of a grapnel. I can't see where it hits from here, but I know the sound well enough. I close my eyes for a second, swallowing and then rubbing a hand over my eyes.
Well that was… fucked up. Yeah, good way to describe it.
I reach for my phone, dragging it out of the pocket of my belt it's in and holding down the one to call Nightwing. His work phone, sure — definitely not his personal one — but it still gives me a direct line of communication to him. That's good enough; it lets me pass on the tips I actually want him to have.
The line clicks on, and I start speaking before he has the chance to say anything.
"So, I just met an alternate universe version of you that is scary as all hell, and also a seriously attractive motherfucker and knows it. I might have just set him loose on Gotham. Accidentally. In my defense he had a knife at my throat, and the only reason he left is because I turned him down when he asked me to show him around Gotham, and implied that there could be sex in it for me."
There's a slight choking sound from the other side of the line, and I can't help the tiny twitch of my mouth into half a grin.
"I hope you realize what I just gave up," I tease, "and what I'm ruining all chances of having by calling you. So heads up; you've got a mildly crazy, smooth talking, armed, hot bastard in Nightwing black and blue running around Gotham. Just so you know. He calls himself Nightingale, seemed to have at least some of the same skillset as you, and seemed to know a different version of me. Definitely asked me if we were fucking."
"Oh my god," comes the horrified whisper. "Stray, just stop."
"Relax." My grin is bigger now, since I've fallen into the familiar game of teasing the hell out of Nightwing and seeing how embarrassed I can make him by talking about sex. "Your reputation as a one-woman kind of guy is intact; I told him no. Though, alternate version of you, and he didn't seem real convinced that we weren't interested."
There's a deep sigh, a groan, and a thunk of skin on metal. Like he's dropped his forehead onto something. "What's the location?" he asks, sounding resigned. "And are you in to help me catch him?"