Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, nor the sheets, and am not making a profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
A/N: Continuing on with the prompt given to me by SpaghettiTacos, in which one character says, "I am an adult. I can sleep on Avengers sheets if I want to." This is crack, and not meant to be taken overly seriously.
"I am an adult, Bruce, and I can sleep on Avengers sheets if I want to," Dick says.
Hands on his hips, he squares off against his adopted father, and silently challenges Bruce to say something else about his choice in bedding. Something that, up until now, Bruce hasn't commented about, ever, not even when, in an act of rebellion when he was fourteen, Dick had decorated his room in pink and purple taffeta, and started hosting tea parties with a small group of friends.
"But, Dick, they're Marvel comic heroes, not DC," Bruce says in his, let's be reasonable, tone of voice.
A tone of voice which has never worked once on Dick, because it's also what Dick considers to be Bruce's, I know what's best for you, even though I don't know squat because I'm an adult, tone of voice.
Dick acknowledges that in some ways, he's always going to be a moody, attention seeking teenager. He's okay with that, because Bruce is never going to be the cool, hip, hey, who's your daddy, kind of man, and that's okay, too. It would be weird if he was. On many levels that Dick doesn't even want to think about right now with Bruce standing in his bedroom, staring daggers at his bed.
"My bed, my choice." Dick waves his hand toward the bed in question, breaking Bruce's intense stare, and smiles as he spies Captain America's shield out of the corner of his eye.
He's partial to Hawkeye, because the man can move like an acrobat, and his aim's spot on, even mid-flight, but Captain America has his merits, too, and the man can really rock a skin tight uniform like nobody else, aside from how well Bruce, and well, Dick, and the other Robins, can.
Bruce's face takes on a pinched look, and the man sighs and shakes his head, showing his keen disappointment in what he no doubt considers to be Dick's 'unruly' and 'ridiculous' behavior. He gives Dick one last, pleading look, and frowns when Dick meets his gaze directly, refusing to back down.
"But, Marvel, Dick?" Bruce repeats, voice weak and pained. He reaches a hand toward Dick, which the acrobat neatly sidesteps, and grasps at thin air. Frowning deeply, Bruce casts a scathing look at the bedding, and turns on his heel, eager to leave the room after his failure.
"Don't worry, Bruce, your virtue will remain intact. It's not like we're sharing a bed tonight," Dick calls after him, snickering when he can hear his mentor's steps falter, and the soft curse that escapes Bruce's lips at the implications of his comment.