So on the tenth day of Christmas, my true muse gave to me, 'Dick/Tim, UNWRAP THE PRESENT'. Yes, she did put it all in caps. And while she was making this list she thought of the prompt, told me about it, and then declared she was going to put it on the worst possible pair of characters she could. I am really, really, glad she did. XD
This contains established Dick/Jason, and brief mentions of Dick/Tim and Jason/Tim (none that occurs). It's also got referenced voyeurism, masochism, exhibitionism, and one character (guess who) with OCPD. Enjoy!
"Hey, Tim."
I refrain from getting up from my position on the couch and running, as all experience dictates that I should. Instead I carefully check to make sure I'm not showing any of my immediate wariness, and turn my head to get a slightly better angle on my oldest 'brother'. He's behind me, as Dick chooses to be nearly all the time, when given the option, in his interactions with everyone but Jason. Considering my new understanding of the Talon who came before me, after my very nearly violent talk with him last night, that means that Dick must have figured out or been told Jason's new trigger points a while ago.
Usually, Dick only chooses to inflict physical pain on the people that he claims to care about; more accurately called the people that he's claimed. That includes Jason, therefore Dick has and will avoid causing any emotional or psychological damage if at all possible. He prefers his toys when they're not broken.
I don't react when Dick's arms wind over the back of the couch and then my shoulders, looping loosely around the front of my chest and, consequently, my throat. I'm not concerned; in a lot of ways Dick is even more predictable than Jason — the influence of the Lazarus Pit, the bursts of anger and something close to insanity, made predicting Jason a difficult thing at times — and Dick doesn't go after family. It doesn't matter what physical moves he makes, threatening or seducing, Dick won't do anything to cross the boundaries of his own sense of morals without my permission or at least lack of argument.
"Can I help you, Dick?" I ask calmly, not pausing the work I have open on my laptop. For Dick, the saying 'give an inch and he'll take a mile' is completely accurate. Giving anything but cursory attention, especially pausing my work, would invite him to take the laptop and monopolize my focus for himself.
"I want to make a deal," he purrs into my ear, not quite touching but more than close enough to feel dangerous. Even knowing that Dick wouldn't harm me without the lack of another option, having his teeth this close to my skin doesn't feel safe in the slightest.
"Outline your terms," I say simply, finishing the last touches of one piece of code and closing it down, starting work on a second.
Making deals with any of my family is generally a profitable encounter, if a tricky one. Loopholes are a part of the game, but the rewards can be extremely lucrative or useful. We are all aware of what is valuable, especially to each other and money, naturally, isn't, so these trades are all about information and favors. I've gotten some very useful information from Dick before; he has a knack for that as well as a knack for getting people to do what he wants them to. All around, Dick is generally a good trade partner.
Of course, I'm not the only one who Dick makes deals with, which means I have a rather automatic response of wariness to his presence. His teasing, light nature aside, I'm not the correct level of idiot to believe that just because he jokes instead of being threatening, Dick's not dangerous. Perhaps it's because I knew him as Talon, and then as Nightingale, a long time before I ever met him as Dick; though I made the connection years earlier. Besides, from what I understand — and I was no exception — Dick's method of greeting each new Talon is a rather violent trial to see what they're made of. I haven't watched Jason's trial at Dick's hands yet, though I'm sure it's recorded somewhere in our archives, but I believe I put up a decent fight for not being naturally combat oriented.
Dick's hands flatten over my chest and slide down, wrinkling my shirt, but I shut down any kind of reaction to the touch without a problem. "I want you," Dick says, this time actually grazing his teeth against the shell of my ear, "and in payment I won't make the deal I just offered to Jason, where I show him one of your weaknesses."
Hmm... That could be troublesome. Then again, I did just discover all of Jason's new weaknesses. I can probably stand for him to know one of mine, since I'll still be far ahead in terms of preparation. Dick will have to do a lot better than that to make me sell myself in payment.
I pause my work, turning my head a bit further towards Dick until I can see his eyes and his smile, his lips only a few fractions of an inch away from the skin of my cheek. I summon the same smile to my own lips, my eyes narrowing just a little bit, and I lower my voice to a soft whisper to speak.
"You're not my type, Dick."
Dick gives a clear laugh, breath warm against my skin and obviously not in the least bit offended. "Someday I will be," he promises, and leans just a little closer to press a totally chaste, nearly brotherly kiss to my cheek before he straightens up and away from me. Of course, his hands still slide up my chest in what any sane person would call molestation, but in this house is more just a fact of life. So long as Dick isn't grabbing anything he shouldn't be, I don't care.
I return my attention to my computer, unable to hear Dick moving but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Dick is an Owl, after all, and we're known for our stealth. Damian is the quietest of us, by virtue of his size, although Jason is actually surprisingly silent when he wants to be, considering his height and his general choice of combat boots as footwear, and I'm somewhere in the middle of all of us. We haven't had that competition, yet.
Actually, now that I consider it, Jason's stealth follows the same pattern as many of his other skills and traits. Good, excellent even, but only if he has the motivation to really utilize all of his talent. If Jason really has an obvious fault, it's that he doesn't use all of his skill unless he's driven into it or has a good reason to. It's also what makes him a formidable enemy. You could spend months watching him fight and never know how good he really was until you pissed him off; I made that mistake.
I thought Jason was just a half-decent fighter. That he'd used surprise to gut Dick, and escaped Bruce's wrath by the skin of his teeth. Until he came after me.
True, the first time was an actual ambush. I didn't hear a thing until he was on me, and the first strike to the back of the head kept me dizzy and off balance enough that I didn't even give Jason a challenge. He took me apart with ease. After that I thought I knew what he was capable of, but the next two times we fought he did nearly the same thing. I thought I was matching him, or at least exploiting what I knew of the flaws in his combat style, but then he recovered and came back faster, with more precision and a flow of movement that was nearly Bruce's equal. I'm still not entirely certain that I know what he's really capable of.
His fight with Bruce, the real one, was off the grid and away from any surveillance. All I know is that Jason was dragged back, bruised and bleeding, and that Bruce looked equally battered although there was more damage to the suit and less to him. Bruce won, and Dick stepped between them because Jason is, in the end, his. Also, Jason is family. Perhaps I'm only starting to get to know him, but he's an Owl. That makes him part of my family.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and both Jason and Dick circle around the couch in front of me. I watch them, inwardly wary, as Jason drops himself into one of the armchairs that's angled inwards, at the couch more so than the TV against the wall in front of me, and Dick sits down on the opposite side of the coffee table my feet are resting on and sets a rather large basket full of wrapped gifts — in varying sizes, colors, and professional levels of wrapping — on the table.
He looks up at me, grinning, and I glance at Jason. Jason looks a little disbelieving, arms crossed over his chest, but he meets my gaze for a moment before giving a small shrug and looking down at Dick, who's settling himself into a cross-legged position on the floor in front of the gifts.
Ah, this must be that deal. I wonder what Jason gave Dick in exchange for this apparent 'weakness' that he's going to learn about? I'm mildly curious what that could be worth to the most violent of our brothers. Also, I'm wondering exactly what Dick is going to try to prove. Perhaps I can pass by it by simply ignoring both my siblings until they give up. Unlikely, I admit, but there is always a very slight chance that one or both of them are in an impatient mood.
"These are to the two of us from the other members of the team, Tim," Dick says brightly, and I raise one eyebrow in the look I borrowed from Alfred before lowering my gaze to my computer and doing my best to completely ignore both of them. "Oh, this one's from M'gann! It's all gone through security already so I guess it's safe to open here."
Riiiipppp.
I freeze for a moment, and then slowly raise my gaze up to Dick, the present in his hands, and the torn paper still half stuck to the rectangular box. He smiles brightly, innocently, at me. I watch him in what I think might be some kind of mixture of disbelief and horror as he rips the piece of paper fully off, leaving torn edges of wrapping and a bow still crooked diagonally across the top, barely even clinging on. I can feel myself swallow, and my gaze drops to the present and away from his bright blue eyes. He makes a happy little humming noise and tears another portion of the paper off of what I think is a plain brown, cardboard box that someone once used for shipping.
Dick drops the paper on the floor and cuts into the tape holding the box shut — without finishing taking off the paper — with a knife he apparently materialized, cutting half of it open and then wrenching apart the other half with his bare hands. The tape gives grudgingly, peeling bits of the box away with it, and I honestly have no idea what my face looks like. But this…
"Ah!" Dick exclaims, retrieving a plastic bag amid a flood of crinkled paper stuffing that he just lets fall on the floor. "Cookies from M'gann!" He tosses them to me and I catch the bag on complete reflex before dropping it to one side of me on the couch, and Dick laughs. "Yeah, I don't trust them either."
He tosses the box behind him, spilling more paper, and I twitch, sharply. "Dick, could you maybe—"
Riiiiiipppp.
I cut off, and he smiles up at me with that same blindingly innocent one. It's fake, so fake. He has another present in his hands. Square this time, with so much tape packed onto the outside that it's covered in a faintly milky sheen. Now one side is sticking up, twisted and with a dozen different strips of curling paper where the tape tore the design away from the top. He rips that piece away, dragging about a quarter of the top of the paper with it, still looking at me.
"Yes, Tim?" he asks sweetly, and distantly I can hear Jason snort. "This one's from Wally. He's the only one that uses this much," riiiipppp, "tape."
Calm. Calm. It's not my business how Dick opens his presents even if he's doing it wrong and there's going to be paper everywhere and doesn't he know that Alfred will not be pleased at all? Even if he has no taste and is just — rip — taking that apart and creating a complete mess of a pile, and not carefully pulling the wrapping apart so it doesn't tear like it should be done. That's the right way to do it. This is barbaric.
"Yes," I answer distractedly, staring at his fingers as they slowly peel another piece of the wrapping away, the edges catching and tearing. "Dick, I can open those."
"Oh, it's no problem, Tim," Dick says, still smiling and I think I flinch when his hand jerks and rips the paper away. "You're busy, right?"
I carefully pick my laptop up and put it aside, on the couch opposite from where the plastic bag with the cookies is. "No, I—" He jerks again, paper and tape falling to the carpet, and before I realize what I'm doing I lunge across the table for the gift. Dick smoothly rolls back, kicking my arm up and away from it as he goes. He's laughing, and plan foiled I settle for grabbing the basket and retreating to the couch with it. I flash one of Damian's sneers at Dick and settle myself firmly in front of the basket. "You're doing it wrong," I stress.
Dick's grin is wide, and his head turns in the direction of — I follow his gaze — Jason, who is muffling laughter into the sleeve of his leather jacket. "Told you," Dick says smugly, in a purr, and Jason gives up. His laugh is startlingly bright and genuinely happy, and that's not a sound I've ever heard from him before. I've heard him laugh but it was bitter, or angry barks of amusement.
"You've proved your point," I say over Jason's laughing, aiming one of Dick's own smiles — with the baring of teeth and narrowing of eyes that make it a threat and not real in the slightest — back at him and not giving up my spot in front of the basket of gifts. "Congratulations. Now I have work to do, if you don't mind."
Dick gets to his feet, tossing me Wally's half unwrapped present with careless ease — I snatch it out of the air, even though the paper trailing from it is unpleasant and just wrong — and giving me an equally careless smile. "Of course, baby bird. No problem. I've got my half of a deal to collect, after all."
I warily watch him cross the room to where Jason has his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. I'm fairly sure I'm not that amusing. Clearly, my violent older brother hasn't had a lot of things to laugh at recently. That's not too surprising, and explains the overreaction. I am not entertaining enough to be worth the silent, shaking laughter of someone that can't breathe. I've never been that entertaining. In fact, I don't know why anyone finds me entertaining at all, except when I'm that way on purpose. I don't bother pretending to be that with my family, anyway.
Dick takes a handful of Jason's hair and yanks up, arching our brother's neck back against the chair. Jason takes a sharp breath in, eyes snapping wide and I can see him reach for the knife I know is at the small of his back. I'm not particularly inclined to warn Dick about that. Jason's eyes flash bright green for a second, hand behind him, as our eldest slides a knee into the chair beside him and lets his free hand slide up Jason's chest.
"You owe me," Dick purrs with a smirk, fingers tracing over Jason's arched throat. For a moment I think Jason's about to stab our oldest brother, and I wonder exactly how much Dick has tested his interactions with Jason since our brother came back to life. Dick is aggressive when it comes to seduction, and his touch is painful more often than not — I've watched his partners limp or cringe around the next day — and Jason does have this new list of things he's not alright with.
Being at anyone's mercy is his trigger — one even I wouldn't exploit without good reason — and Dick tends to make everyone feel like that.
After that moment — where I wait and Dick shows absolutely no concern for what he's doing — I can see the tension bleed out of Jason, as his hand reemerges without a knife in it and he eases into the hands in his hair and against his chest. "Yeah, I do," he answers, sounding just a bit breathless. An aftereffect of the laughter, probably. Or just Dick's presence. "Here?"
Dick's gaze slides to me, and his smirk is predatory. "Well, apparently I'm not dear Tim's type. Seems rude to make him watch anything." He tugs sharply on Jason's hair and Jason's eyes flicker closed for a second as he swallows, one hand clenching into a fist. Well, now that would explain why Dick claimed Jason as his own, wouldn't it? Also, why before-death Jason seemed so completely alright with that.
Our violent brother likes pain.
That almost makes me interested in him, especially since Jason is certainly closer to what I like the look of in males. More muscular, thicker, built as a brawler and not an acrobat. I prefer my men to look like men, and my women to look like women. There's absolutely no denying that Jason is handsome, either. However, he's Dick's territory. Until Dick decides that he's willing to share our brother with anyone else, the theoretical reward isn't worth the risk, or the repercussions. Jason wouldn't thank me for it either.
"Come with me, Jason," Dick demands, voice a promising whisper, and uses his grip on Jason's hair to pull our brother up to standing. I can see Jason's throat work in another swallow, his head tilting a bit to compensate for Dick being shorter. Dick flashes me a wicked smile, and lets Jason go. "Enjoy the gifts, Tim."
Jason spares me a glance, but then Dick is dragging him out of the room with the hand clenched tight in his shirt, and he's grinning and following completely willingly. I almost feel cheated as they vanish.
I was played, used to prove a point, and traded to Jason for something that he clearly is keen to do anyway. What was the point of the deal at all? Why is Dick giving away information that he could trade as a valuable commodity? Is he really that fond of our brother, of Jason? I suppose Jason is very nice to look at, and clearly can handle and appreciate what Dick dishes out.
… I should activate my surveillance and see precisely why it is that sex with Jason is so valuable. For the sake of information, of course. All information is valuable, and with the way the team is leaning these days — now that we're all a bit more comfortable with each other — information of a sexual nature is probably going to be one of the most valuable commodities around. Knowing precisely what someone will or won't do, what they enjoy, what they don't. These are going to be the bits of information that will get me other valuable things to trade.
Mind made up, I turn and settle back onto the couch, retrieving my laptop and keying into my security. I get comfortable, shoving the gifts off the couch to lay along it and rest my back along a cushion and then the arm.
This could be a while.
You just know that Tim has at least some measure of OCPD. And as someone with a minor version of that issue, let me just say that watching somebody rip apart wrapping paper just feels wrong to me, and like I just want to grab it out of their hands and do it myself. Yes, I borrowed my own reactions for Tim. XD Now, as I am not Tim, and I have a fairly minor case of this, I resist lunging across tables at my family members. But the urge is there, make no mistake.
So, in continuity, this comes directly after (the day after, in fact) 'Auld Lang Syne', on the first year that Jason has been returned to the Owl-family, the year before 'Trading Gifts'. This isn't the first time Dick and Jason have been together since he's been back, but it hasn't been more than once or twice before. What exactly Dick claimed as payment, I leave to your imagination. (But it wasn't Jason playing bottom, because I have yet to write far enough into this storyline the point where Jason actually becomes comfortable with that again, although I know how it happens.)
We're nearing the end, guys. Only two days left, and then we'll be done with this collection. However, no worries! I have much more in this universe planned outside of the Christmas sections. I'll be including a Master List on my profile eventually, so those who want to read these in canonical order (according to my universe) can. When that happens, I'll put up a warning on the top of each story pointing towards that list.
For now, see you tomorrow!