This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.
So, remember that event I kept referencing all over the place, about Ultraman (Clark) breaking Dick's cheekbone? Well, I finally finished it. Here it is! It's also a middle piece for the Dick/Jason relationship, before the Jason/Roy starts, and a much earlier view of Kon-El as well. It was one of the very first things I ever started writing in this universe, so it's nice to finally be finished with it and putting it out. XD Enjoy!
Warnings for this chapter are: Unwanted sexual advances, and consensual biting.
"Who's the new kid?" I ask, sprawling back against the couch and tilting my head the direction of the hulking, muscled brute nearly lurking in the corner, blue eyes partially narrowed and his hands shoved into the pockets of jeans that barely fit him. Good legs, nice ass, black shirt with a really obvious Ultraman symbol stretched over more muscle than I usually like, and built thicker than I like too.
Blue eyes flick to me, and the kid — maybe like, sixteen? Seventeen? — sneers at me. I snort and grin back, arching an eyebrow and daring him to try coming over and trying to fuck with me.
Wally's leg bounces where it's laid over my knees, foot tapping against the arm of the couch, and I automatically snap a hand out and smack him in the thigh to get him to stop. He does, briefly, then his other leg starts tapping against the floor. Speedster energy, nothing like it. Wally's either riding high and incapable of being still or crashed out on a floor hard, with no stages in between. There is only asleep, there is no 'tired' for him.
"Clone," Wally answers with a quick — I mean fast — glance the way my head is tilted. "Kon-El slash Conner. Kryptonian." Ah, he's Ultraman's new sidekick, the one who pretty much just popped up out of nowhere and just started showing up next to the big idiot without anyone saying anything about it. There was something about a section of the team, led by Tim, getting him out of one of Luthor's labs. I heard a bit about it, but never really asked, and none of the family thought it was worth telling me about, apparently.
Wally twitches, and then he's up and gone, and only months of practice around the speedster stop me from jumping or flinching. I stretch my legs out, watching the red blur from the corner of my vision as Wally circles the kitchen. I can see the cupboards opening and closing again, with only a few taps of noise. A couple of swats from various members of the 'team' stopped him just letting them slam closed again, especially after he broke one and Dick snapped it in half over his head in retaliation.
"You touch my Slim Jims I'll put a bullet in your knee," I call, leaning my head back against the couch and not looking over at Wally.
Everyone's got their own stash of snacks, and Wally's got a habit of digging into other people's whether his are gone or not. There's a woosh of air and he's leaning over my shoulder, arms braced on the couch behind me and mouth wide in a grin.
"No you wouldn't," he says, and I tilt my head to look at him.
"You'll heal," I point out. "Try me."
"Can I have one if I get you one?"
"No. Eat your own damn snacks."
"Reeeeddddd," Wally whines, pouting, and I roll my eyes.
"You can have some of mine, Lightning," says a smooth voice, and Wally's head turns to look across the room. Out of the other half of my vision, I can see new-boy's head turn too. I resist for a second before following general consensus and looking over at the archway. "If you're willing to trade for it."
Dick's walk is eye-catching and breathtaking in all the normal ways, and I resist the urge to swallow on pure fucking automatic. It should be damn illegal to look that good in tights, and know it. I've got a bit of an immunity, extended exposure and all that crap, and so does Wally, but I don't have to look at new-boy to know he's tensing up and swallowing hard. Dick's hips roll and sway with more grace than a guy should have, ever, and the confidence in it is easy to see. The smirk on his lips proves that he knows the way he looks, has for as long as I can remember, and likes it.
"Yeah? Trade what?" Wally asks, kind of suspiciously, straightening off the couch a little bit.
I smother a sigh as Dick, in his usual way, slides up way closer than most people would consider comfortable, leaning against the couch right next to Wally and down next to him. It just doesn't matter that Wally and I are used to his behaviors, Dick doesn't tone it down for anybody but Bruce and a few of the other high members of the Crime Syndicate.
Dick's head tilts, mimicking the long, slow drag of his gaze down Wally's also-in-costume frame that's hidden behind his domino mask. "How about a kiss?" he nearly whispers, smirk turning full on wicked. I roll my eyes again and let the sigh out, pushing off the couch and shaking my head.
"I'm straight, N, and you bite." I circle around the couch, heading for the kitchen because Wally's eternal quest for food made me hungry.
Dick scoffs. "Labels. I don't bite that hard; promise not to make you bleed. Much."
"Red," Wally calls after me, "your brother's being a perverted, manipulative, bastard again."
"He's not my brother," I refute automatically, crouching down and retrieving one of my Slim Jims from the back of the cupboard I stash them in, behind a bunch of pots people rarely use. Useless, totally not a secret, but it at least points out that I don't want them touched. "Deal with him yourself you food whore."
"I stocked up yesterday," Dick says in a low purr. "I've got all the good stuff, Lightning. The stuff that just explodes on your tongue."
I shake my head as Wally makes a choked little noise and stand back up, checking the cabinet closed with my hip as I turn around. I lean back against the counter and tear the packaging open, watching this train wreck occur. Dick knows everyone's weak points, Wally's just happens to be really, really easy to exploit. The poor bastard will do just about anything for good, tasty, food.
"What are your terms?" Wally asks flatly, jaw setting in a way that I know means he's ready to deal and probably about to do something he'll regret, because he never seems to learn that making deals with Dick is a bad idea unless you know what you're doing and cover all your loopholes.
Dick makes a pleased noise and leans a little closer to Wally, who holds his ground. I bite into my snack. "Alright… How about I get to mark you, Lightning?"
For a second I think Wally's about to be really dumb — like dumber than usual — and just agree without actually wondering what that means. Then his lips thin and he gives Dick a sideways look.
"Mark hooooowwwww?" he demands.
Dick's lips curl up to reveal teeth in what's almost a grin. "I want to bite you, since you mentioned it. One bite per snack, Lightning?"
I can't help snorting, but neither of them even glance at me. I glance briefly up at new-boy off in the corner, who's staring with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. I'm not around here much — I've got my own job and apartments, after all — but clearly new-boy hasn't been around enough to gain any kind of immunity to the force of nature that is Dick when he wants something, or just thinks he can fuck with you. Poor bastard. He'll learn fast, or Dick will twist him every which way until he learns slow. Should be fun to watch either way.
Wally eyes Dick, and then gives a rapid nod. "Deal, Nightingale." He sounds determined, ready, and I take another bite. Wally, on the other hand, never learns.
Dick takes one step in, one leg between Wally's as he shoves his shoulder back to angle him flat against the back of the couch, back bending a little and hands gripping the edge of the couch to balance himself against Dick. My so-not-a-brother's hand slips over the reinforced red and yellow tights covering Wally, over the lightning bolt on his chest and then up to touch the edge of where his costume ends, along his throat.
"How many do you want?" he asks, angling just right and leaning over Wally to dwarf him even though our speedster is tall and skinny, just as tall as I am and three inches higher than Dick. Wally swallows thickly, maybe just realizing the kind of trouble he's gotten himself into. "Or should I just keep going until you're finished?"
There's Dick's other undeniable skill. Making everything he says sound dirty or intimate in some way. Phrasing things vaguely, or in just the right words so it sounds like all he's talking about is sex and you couldn't be blamed — if you were blindfolded or just straight up blind — for thinking that he was just spouting dirty talk at someone if all you heard were his out of context lines.
"Fivveee...?" Wally says, sounding really unsure, and Dick's almost a grin slims down to a smaller smirk that manages to look pretty damn scary even to me. Wally, the dumbass.
Dick tugs at the edge of Wally's costume, pulling it down his throat an inch or so and bracing his other hand against the back of the couch, between Wally's side and his arm. "You pull away, I'm not counting it," he warns, and I roll my eyes as he leans forward and down, fitting his mouth against the left side of Wally's throat. He waits just a second, for the speedster to inhale, and bites down.
Wally's right hand flashes up in a blur of red, landing on Dick's back and he gives a sharp, startled cry of pain. "Holy fuck," he nearly snarls, after a second. "You've got demon teeth, N!"
"You're an idiot," I comment, mockingly saluting him with my Slim Jim before taking another bite of the snack. Wally's teeth bare, his head tilts back, and I look over at new-boy.
His mouth is legitimately open a little bit, eyes round, shell shocked, and more than a bit glazed with lust. It's pretty damn hilarious to me, and the little startled jerk he gives when Dick lets go and Wally groans, nearly panting, is even better. Wow, clearly the new-boy has led a sad little sheltered life and not been privy to any of the Crime Syndicate's wild activities. Also, he definitely hasn't been here long enough to know that sex and sex-like games are about as common among our group as threats of violence and murder. It's really just a thing we do; after all we're all pretty used to getting what we want, when we want it. Sex is even more valuable as a commodity than money or favors a lot of the time.
Like now. Dick doesn't give half a fuck about money, we're goddamned Waynes, and he can probably talk anyone into doing just about anything for him so favors aren't really useful for him either. Dick takes his payments in people letting him do whatever he wants to do to them. Most of the time, it doesn't hurt too badly.
Wally shouts some curse that's said too fast for me to decipher, hand blurring a little but staying at Dick's back. Wally knows better than to try pushing Dick away, so it's probably just there on the off chance that Dick goes for his jugular. Not that Dick would.
Why kill a plaything when it keeps falling right back into your hands?
I lean a little more securely against the counter, seeing the flicker of Dick's teeth — just a little stained with blood, so Wally's probably not going to have to wash any of those same stains out of his tights — as he pulls back a bit. He doesn't wait for Wally to say anything, just leans down a little bit and bites into the skin right beneath the left side of his jaw. This time Wally just grunts and shakes a little bit, though I don't know if that's real reaction or him just vibrating a bit because he's trying hard not to move.
I can see Dick roll the flesh between his teeth, breaking blood vessels and dragging a quickly blackening bruise to the surface of Wally's skin. Right at the front, where everyone will see it for the next couple of hours until it fades. Increased healing abilities must come in handy.
I wonder if Dick is going to call Bruce and get Wally pulled in to fight so the whole Crime Syndicate will see the marks. I don't think any of them would particularly care, in fact I think Quick would pretty much just burst into laughter and mock his sidekick for at least a week… which might be exactly why Dick would do it. Dick does love to see people squirm, especially when he's the one making them uncomfortable.
Christ, Dick is going to have so much fun teasing new-boy when he really notices him.
There's that whole Clark and Bruce rivalry thing going on so I doubt that Dick would actually let the poor fuck do anything to him, but oh the kid is going to end up with so many boners it really shouldn't be funny. But it is. I'm going to laugh my ass off. Hey, Clark should be thanking Bruce; Dick's gonna teach his sidekick some control.
I'm so entertained by new-boy that I almost miss Dick leaning back to a straighter position, and the wicked smirk still on his lips. He licks his lips, running his tongue over his teeth, and makes a satisfied little noise. Wally, still half-pressed over the couch, glares up at him.
"That's—"
Dick gives a sharp smile, one hand snapping up to trace along the bites, and Wally shivers and slaps his hand away at a speed I almost can't see. "I'm bored with your neck," Dick announces, unphased by the rebuttal. His hand rises again, tapping against the lightning bolt emblem. "Take your top off."
"What part of straight did you miss, N?" Wally nearly gasps, and Dick shrugs.
"Does it look like I'm trying to fuck you, Lightning?" he asks in a purr, leaning back down. "But you made a deal with me, and I'm through with your neck. If you want food, you give me access to your torso."
"How do you keep falling for this?" I ask incredulously, from my spot at the counter.
"Or I can just slice open the parts I want to bite you at," Dick offers, leaning down into Wally and totally ignoring me. "It's only two bites, you can fix a couple of rips easy."
Wally glares a little harder, the hand on Dick's back moving to his shoulder to keep him pushed away a little bit. "Nope, absolutely not, no! I need this suit, N, I'm not letting you tear holes in it just because you don't like the awesome skin on my neck. No, shoo, back devil creature!"
Dick grins and leans in instead, ignoring Wally's hand at his shoulder — Dick's upper torso is a lot stronger than Wally's — as he leans down and speaks into his ear. It's barely even a whisper, and it's the wrong angle for me to read his lips, but by the face Wally makes I know exactly what he's saying. Dick's describing the food he has in that voice of sin he's perfected, weaving magic with his words and pretty much conning Wally into enough of a blissful, orgasmic state that Wally will do whatever the hell he wants.
"Just do it," Wally spits, eyes blown wide, and I shake my head and throw the last of the Slim Jim into my mouth.
Wally's so damn predictable, and so totally useless at saying 'no' to Dick.
I mean, hardly anybody can say 'no' to Dick with any real success — I count myself a proud member of that small group — but still, you'd think Wally would at least have gained up a little resistance to his manipulations by now. It's not like Dick ever really changes his tactics, not that he needs to. Dick's pretty irresistible all on his own, no need to change things around and try and come at people from different directions when they're never going to figure out your first approach.
The costume rips with a familiar sound, and I watch Dick flip the knife in his hand and tuck it back away with practiced ease. I didn't notice him pull it out — I was watching Wally, not Dick — and it's probably likely that no one saw him put it back away but me.
Or… actually. Scratch that. A kryptonian and a speedster? If they were paying attention — alright, not that likely — it's totally possible that they could see where Dick stores the knife, and how he put it away. But they'd have to be paying attention, and Wally is kind of… busy, while new-boy is a little too hot and bothered. Dumbasses.
Wally gives a startled shout as Dick shoves him backwards across the couch, pinning his hips down with the press of his leg while he arches Wally's back over the edge of the couch. I roll my eyes and head to the fridge for a drink of some kind, crouching down in front of it to take a look at what's inside. Let's see… Beer. Yeah, beer sounds good.
"Son of a bitch," Wally shouts, and I pull the beer out and turn back around, swinging the fridge closed and looping around the kitchen to get a better angle on the two of them as I reach into a pocket of my jacket and retrieve a bottle opener. I lift one hip onto the counter, taking a drink, before raising my gaze back to the idiot and my not-a-brother.
Dick is just pulling back, licking blood off his lips — which gives them a ridiculously good looking tint that just shouldn't be a thing — from a nasty looking bite on the exposed slice of flesh along Wally's side, the slice of his costume showing the skin about halfway up his ribs on the right side down to his hip. Dick bit down higher on his ribs, and I stifle a wince. That's a really tender spot on just about anybody. Still, Wally got himself into this, so he deserves it. You just shouldn't bargain with Dick, it doesn't turn out well for anyone but… Well, I can get away with it sometimes, Bruce gets away with it most times, Tim knows better than to take any deal not in his favor…
Dick's right hand is flat against Wally's chest, holding him arched back and forcing his skin taut against the muscles and bone beneath. His left hand tugs at the edge of the rip in the costume, pulling it down, and I roll my eyes as I realize what Dick's going for. His back bends in a way that really shouldn't work in those kind of positions, teeth flashing, and Wally recognizes what I already knew way too late.
"That'snotmytorso, N!" Wally protests in a voice that's pretty much just a rush of syllables — the only reason I understand it is I've listened to way too many of his superspeed rants — and just barely manages to get it all out before Dick's teeth sink into his hip, right on top of the bone. "Fuck!"
I snort and take another drink of the beer. It's not real good tasting, but I'm not stupid enough to have hard alcohol when there's a Kryptonian bastard in the room that I don't know. Beer won't affect me unless I overdo it, and I'm only intending to have the one.
Wally twitches, spazzes out for a second, hands clenching down on the couch and barely vibrating as he tries — I assume — really hard not to shove Dick away from him. His teeth are bared and clenched, muscle straining tight and that must sting like a bitch because that bite underneath his jaw is a pretty nasty color already.
"You know," I start, with a grin, and Wally's hand flashes up to point at me.
"Shut up, Red!" he snaps, and I can't help laughing. Dick joins me after a second, once he's let go of the flesh he's mauling and is straightening back up. He leans down over Wally, leaning on his chest and smirking down at him.
"I could go for more, Lightning," he says smoothly, and Wally makes a choked little noise.
"No! Get off me and keep your demon teeth away, N!"
"But you know, I have these chocolate—"
Wally is gone, Dick is sliding back from a shove delivered too fast for me to really follow — but somehow still totally keeping his balance and making it look purposeful — and I snort and shake my head. Dick straightens up like nothing happened, smoothing hands down the lines of his costume and making his way over to me.
"No," I preempt, as he slides over and in front of me, his arms bracing against the counter on either side of me. Anybody else boxing me in like this would get a fist to the jaw — at best; I like my space — but Dick is an exception to that rule, like every other rule I have. I trust Dick not to hurt me too badly, and not without talking me into letting him first. He knows I don't take shit from anyone, not even him.
"Oh, Red," Dick says in a purr, lining himself up against my chest, and I only move to get my arms out of the way so I can still lift my beer to my mouth. He's long and lean against me, just what I like in all the right ways — I blame Dick that I ever got these kind of preferences in the first place, attractive bastard — and totally insane on top of it.
Well, not really. Dick goes after what he wants, it's as simple as that. He just doesn't let morals, or decency, or anything else stand in the way of him getting it. He's brilliant, and he's ruthless, and apart from Bruce he's probably the most dangerous man I've ever met. I'm really glad he's pretty much on my side.
"I said no, Nightingale," I repeat, and he makes that goddamn face. The one where he pouts and bites his bottom lip and hangs his head just a little like he's a kid and you just kicked his puppy. It's a good thing he's got his mask on, or I'd be fucked. Maybe even literally even though I don't do that either. Damn those eyes of his. I swallow, and carefully turn my eyes up towards the ceiling so I don't have to look at the manipulative bastard. "No."
He makes this soft little whining noise, my free hand clenches against the counter but I don't look down at him, and then he sighs. Like I'm disappointing him in every way, and if I wasn't so sure that he was just playing me I'd be dropping to my knees and doing any and everything he wanted just to make him happy again. Bastard shouldn't be able to get so close to winding me around his fingers like this, but at least I know I'll probably never actually do any of it when we're around other people. It's just the eyes I can't handle. The family doesn't count as other people, they're all as helpless under Dick's puppetmaster fingers as I am with the exception of Bruce… sometimes.
"Alright," he says, dejectedly, very slowly pushing off me with one hand and pulling back. I keep my gaze turned away until I hear the small clicks of his heeled boots — and what guy wears two inch heels on purpose? Stupid question. Dick, of course — from farther away on the cement floor. Then I risk looking back down.
Dick's crossed over to one of the cabinets against the wall, opposite the kitchen, filled with DVDs and framing either side of the TV set up in front of the couch. The glass cover is swung open, and he's leaned down — with only his torso of course — and rifling through the titles. I roll my eyes and return to my beer for a sip before lowering my hand and digging my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans.
'You hiding?' I send to Wally, as a text. I get an answer back pretty much instantaneously.
'Yes. I like my side and he's going to *bite* me again if I stay in there.'
I smother down a grin and glance up at Dick. What I see almost makes me laugh out loud, and the grin breaks free. Oh, poor bastard. New-boy is approaching Dick, not an ounce of caution in the way he's moving or even a bit of wariness. His gaze is fixed down at Dick's ass — that part I get, and I know Dick bends like that on purpose — and only raises a little, along the arch of my mostly-ally's back and to his neck, as he gets to within a foot or so. Dick pretends not to notice him, and damn I think new-boy actually falls for it. Idiot.
'It's safe,' I send back to Wally, and then follow it up with; 'Have N and the Kryptonian brute been introduced yet?'
A second later Wally is standing at my side, and I raise one hand in a shushing gesture as his mouth opens. I point over at Dick and new-boy, and then make a vague gesture at my ear with the hand that's holding my phone and then flick my gaze down at the phone. Super-hearing, and there is no way I'm risking fucking this up by saying anything out loud.
Where Wally gets his phone from I honestly don't know, but then he's sitting up on the counter next to me with it in his hands and my phone is buzzing in my hand with the notification of a new message.
'No! You think he's dumb enough to try what he's *totally* trying right now?' I cock my head towards Wally and give him a 'really?' expression, and a nod. Wally's fingers are a red blur over the keypad, and his mouth is a thin line. 'You think we should warn him?'
'Fuck no, this'll be hilarious,' I answer, and Wally shoots me a wide grin that looks just a little cruel. Yeah, no one likes Kryptonians.
The best part is that it's all his own fault. All you have to do is see Dick in combat, any combat, to know he's a ridiculously talented killer. What kind of moron ignores that and takes him at face value? Sure, the talk around Dick might be that he'll sleep with anything that moves, that he's a whore or a slut and that all you have to do is talk to him to get him in bed — or against a wall — but people are idiots. Dick takes what he wants, but only what he wants. If he doesn't want you, you're damn well not going to touch him without suffering for it. Watching people learn that lesson is always amusing as hell, and watching a muscle bound idiot Kryptonian learn it is going to be hilarious.
This should be good.
New-boy — Kon-El — takes a step closer, and Dick deigns to notice him. He straightens up and turns, shutting the cabinet behind him and leaning back against the wood and glass with a smirk. New-boy steps too close to be safe anymore, one thick arm rising to press his forearm against the glass, his other hand coming forward to touch Dick's hip.
'He doesn't like that hand, right?' I get from Wally, and I echo his grin with one of my own.
Dick doesn't even twitch, just raises his left arm to wrap around the shoulder of the Kryptonian dumbass, gloved fingertips curling through short black hair as his smirk gets just a little wider, tossing his head so his neck bares and arches for just a moment. He's taller than Kon-El is, especially in the heels, but the careful arch of his back keeps him a little lower, so they're a little more even in height. New-boy's hand tightens a little bit, slips back to cup Dick's ass, and I can nearly feel Wally's horror next to me. To anyone who knows Dick, the tiny upward curl of the smirk is a blazing neon sign that screams: you've gone too far.
I'm pretty sure that Kon-El says something, because Dick grins and I focus down on his lips to read him as he replies, "Is that right?"
Wally and I share one brief glance in the pause before Dick's hand tightens in the short strands at the back of new-boy's neck and he leans back in a way that's too graceful an arch of movement, one knee coming up and nailing Kon-El neatly in the crotch. I wince, Wally cringes, and new-boy bonelessly folds over onto Dick with a noise pretty close to a keen for someone that heavily built. Dick pats the back of his head and then steps to the side, reversing their positions and slamming Kon-El back against the cabinet. It rattles a little bit, and Dick's smile is sharp and vicious as he straightens to his full height, his right hand — hidden between them until now — glowing green with what I'm pretty damn sure is a flat piece of kryptonite woven between his knuckles. Fuck, ouch.
Dick's back is to us, and whatever he says is too quiet for me to hear, but Kon-El sneers and glares at him. Poor, suicidal, bastard. Dick's kryptonite-laced hand snaps forward and Kon-El goes really pale — impressive considering he's got that normal Kryptonian tan — really fast as that hand closes over his crotch, fingers squeezing in. I can see the edge of Dick's smile, and I can see his other, free hand coming forward to play over the Kryptonian's arched, strained, throat. His nastier fingers tighten for a second as one of Kon-El's hands rises to push at his chest, and new-boy backs the hell off and flattens back against the cabinet, chest heaving.
Dick leans forward, speaking directly into Kon-El's ear, and the Kryptonian nods several times, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. I see his mouth come apart long enough to say, "Alright."
Dick lets him go, obviously tucking the kryptonite away into one of his hidden pockets, and turns his back to stalk his way across the room towards Wally and me. New-boy slides to the floor, glaring but looking fairly traumatized and in a fair amount of pain too. Pretty much the classic reaction to Dick backing someone off; new-boy got off pretty easily actually. I've seen Dick do a lot worse for a lot less.
I tuck my phone away as Dick shoots Wally a small smirk and then turns and steps up against me, leaning his back up against my chest and laying his head against my shoulder. I resist the urge to draw in a sharp breath at all of that lean muscle pressing back against me, but I know Dick can hear the hitch in my breathing anyway. His left arm rises and loops around the back of my neck, and his right comes up to snag the beer from my hand with practiced ease. I give an annoyed huff, but don't try and reclaim it.
I try not to watch the way his lips purse around the neck of the bottle, but that's always a lost cause. The little sound he makes, hips pressing back into mine as he arches just a little bit, makes me swallow and close my eyes for a second, holding down every desire that Dick's presence fans to life in my chest and gut. He shifts, letting the beer drop down, the gloved fingertips of his left hand tracing patterns against the back of my neck.
"Give me your phone," he demands, and I snort without thinking about it.
"Use your own," I tell him flatly, and he makes a faintly irritated sound and holds the beer back in my direction. I take it back, tilting it up into my mouth, and then nearly spit it all over the room when Dick's hand is suddenly in my pocket, fingers stroking parts I really wasn't ready to have touched. "What the fuck, N?!" I snarl, choking on beer and almost shoving him away before his hand leaves my pocket. With my phone.
"Yours is more entertaining," he says with a smirk, tugging at the hair on the back of my neck and leaning back against me a little more securely. I snarl down at him, and then watch with a bit of dismay but no real surprise as Dick unlocks my phone without missing a beat and navigates over to contacts, clicking into Owlman and raising it to his ear.
I take another drink.
"Red Hood," Bruce says a moment after the phone picks up. "I'm busy, what is it?" I wince, but Dick only smiles.
"Hey, Owlman," he says, and I can nearly feel Bruce's momentary confusion and then that thought that's way too common when people deal with Dick. 'Why am I surprised?'
"Hello, Nightingale. What can I do for you?" Bruce, probably more than anyone else, knows there's no point fighting or refusing Dick unless it's important. Just let him do what he wants, and you probably won't end up on his list of people that need to get fucked up.
"Well," Dick starts, smile slipping to a smirk, "I just wanted to let you know that if you get a call from Kal-El, his brat deserved it."
I can picture that look Bruce gets. The one where he's thinking of impending headaches, trouble, and needing to deal with the other idiots in the Crime Syndicate. Of all the trouble one of us just caused him. "What did you do to him?" is what he asks, tone already heavy with resignation.
Dick glances over at Kon-El, who recoils a little bit under his smirk but with that 'I'm totally not afraid of you' glare that isn't fooling any of us. "He's not even bleeding," Dick answers, leaning his head back against my shoulder again, "and it's nothing permanent. So long as he keeps his hands off me, it'll stay that way."
Bruce sighs — my mental image rubs a hand over his eyes — and replies, "Thank you for the warning. Try not to get in any more fights."
"I don't start fights, I start slaughters," Dick says indignantly, "and it wasn't a fight anyway."
"Please attempt not to alienate my allies," Bruce corrects, "thank you." The line disconnects.
Dick's hand invades my pocket again to shove my phone back in — with way more touching than is at all necessary — and promptly steals my beer again. It's about at that point that Wally, who I really stopped paying attention to when Dick and Kon-El got too interesting, bursts into laughter. Not just giggles, or snickers, but full-on howling, shaking laughter as he pretty much collapses on the countertop. I give him a weird look, Dick's head turns but he's still just smirking, and beyond Wally Kon-El is still hunched over on the ground against the cabinet, but looking up with a glare and bared teeth.
"Finally snapped, Lightning?" I ask over his laughing, draining the last of my beer and setting it off to the side.
It's a few decent seconds — and he's a speedster, so that's significant — before Wally calms down enough to answer me. "You were totally right, Red," he says, still laughing a bit, "hilarious."
Kon-El's snarl gets a little bigger, blue eyes a little more narrowed and murderous, and I drop my hand down to my jacket, fingering my own hidden, boxed piece of kryptonite. Every member of our family has one, just in case the rivalry things between Clark and Bruce ever gets too nasty. If the son of a bitch tries anything, I'll take him down. After Dick does, naturally.
Dick's fingers curl around my wrist, pulling it away from my kryptonite without even looking, and he shakes his head just a little bit. "Don't, Red. Kon's learned his lesson, hasn't he?" His grin is nasty in the 'someone's about to get hurt' way, and I let him move my wrist without a fight.
Kon-El gets to his feet, only leaning on the cabinet a little bit, and standing with his legs spread just a little bit. Probably some pretty tender bits down there; I know how strong Dick's legs are from experience. A lot of experience. Oh Jesus I didn't need those thoughts in my head right now.
"You're a fucking psychotic bastard," Kon-El growls, and Wally falls off the counter in his laughing fit and smacks into the floor, degenerating into feeble gasps for air as he flickers in and out of superspeed. Dick ignores him.
"Sticks and stones," Dick says, drawing my captive arm around his waist and letting me keep it there as he lets go and slides his hand back to my thigh. I so don't need to be in the middle of a Kryptonian and Dick. Too late, oh well. "You want to take this one, Red?"
Oh great.
I look over Dick's head to Kon-El, trying to ignore the feeling of Dick's muscles under my arm in the clench and release of breathing, and the totally intentional press of his ass back against my hips. No success there.
"Kryptonian doesn't equal better," I put simply, "and you should probably learn to judge someone based on how they fight, not what they look like, if you want to live more than a few weeks." Dick's hand strokes down my thigh, back up, and even through the armor padding I can feel it. I swallow.
Wally's up and moving in the next second, leaning against the cabinet next to Kon-El with a wide grin and flushed cheeks, one hand touching one of the Kryptonian's shoulders. "Dude, Kon, Nightingale is our leader when we actually work together. Did you really think he was just a pretty face, seriously? Human so doesn't mean weak, buddy, but if you really think it does you should totally bring that up to Owlman and see what happens." Kon-El snarls and Wally flashes off, circling the room and coming up to the side of Dick and me. "Hey, N," Wally starts.
"Go for it," Dick says, without even waiting for Wally to ask the question he's literally vibrating with, and our speedster gives a crow of victory and darts across the kitchen to the cabinets I know hold Dick's collection of snacks.
I just snort when Dick's hand digs back into my pocket, pulling my phone back out. He flicks to messaging — I start planning what I'm going to say to whoever he pisses off — and brings up a blank field, single thumb putting in the letters he wants without a hitch. Talents that come with having to send messages while moving across Gotham rooftops; all of us Owls are pretty much insanely good at texting without looking or fucking things up. It comes in handy in theoretically identity-revealing situations too.
'Interested in frustrating him?' the message reads, when Dick's fingers tug at the hair on the back of my neck and pull my attention away from Wally's raid. Dick barely waits for me to read it, and doesn't wait for any kind of answer before erasing the words and starting again. 'Your room is next to his. Super-hearing?'
I nearly snort, and I lower my head — cautiously, because even though Dick is usually fine with me touching him, it's still better to be careful — to press my mouth against the side of his neck, hiding my smirk. Yes, I say into the side of his neck, only mouthing the agreement, and his fingers soothe over my skin.
'I'll get Black Talon to keep an eye on our security, tell us when he goes to sleep.'
I smother a second snort into Dick's neck at the thought of our younger 'brother.' Tim's probably the most ruthless of all of us, and the smartest too, much as that used to bite to admit. Replacement and I didn't get along for a long time, in that whole section of time where I pretty much either wanted nothing to do with the rest of the Owls or wanted to tear them apart piece by piece. Dick and Bruce talked me — and beat me — out of that stage, and Tim was surprisingly alright with the fact that I beat him into the ground, and stabbed him in the chest three separate times. These days the only one of all of them that still hates me is Damian, Bruce's little demon child that he stole out of Talia al Ghul's hands.
I might have shot and nearly killed him. What the little bastard doesn't appreciate is that if I'd wanted him dead he'd be dead. He was just a distraction. Or maybe that's why he hates me. I don't know, I gave up on that little shit a while ago.
I watch Dick spell out a text to Tim, rolling my eyes and tightening the arm I have around his waist a little bit. 'Black Talon, can you hack into the team's security cams?'
I raise my gaze to Wally for a few seconds, watching him rifle through the cabinet in a blur of motion, before my phone vibrates with a new message and I look back down. Dick gives a small laugh.
'Like I'm not already in. What do you want, Nightingale?' The fact that Tim doesn't even ask why Dick has my phone, or how he got it, really just solidifies that everyone knows Dick does whatever he wants. Good luck trying to stop him.
'Mind telling us when Ultraman's new boy goes to bed? And recording his reaction after?'
Tim's reply comes before Dick even hits send, in a simple, 'Done,' and I shake my head a little bit. Yeah, Tim's definitely hacked into all of our security already, and obviously with full control of the cameras too. If I didn't pretty much trust Tim not to fuck me over without a good reason, or on Dick or Bruce's orders, I'd be worried. Maybe I'm a bit of an outcast, or at least I was, but I'm still an Owl and that means loyalty to the family above all else. You don't shake that kind of conditioning off.
Dick gives a small, pleased sound that makes me shut my eyes for a moment, my arm tightening around his waist, and shuts my phone off. I grit my teeth to stop any kind of noise when he reaches back to tuck it away inside my pocket, a faint shudder twitching my shoulders forward as his fingers wander way more than they have a right to.
Well, way more than anyone else has a right to. Dick has his own set of rules for 'acceptable' behavior, mainly being that he can do whatever the fuck he wants to you, and you damn well better not touch without his permission unless it's involuntary movement. Most of the time I get away with touching, which makes things a little more bearable, and Dick doesn't usually get quite as touchy as this with people who he doesn't let touch him back. Even Dick only pushes people so far, most of the time.
Oh I can't wait until later. At least I know that I'm actually going to get to take all of this out on Dick later, no matter how far he pushes me. That's a lot more of a promise than Dick usually means with his teasing.