Disclaimer: DC owns them. Not mine. Never will be. No money is being made from this work of fiction.
Telling Tales
By Arlene
Instead of his usual breakfast in bed, Bruce had come down to the dining room. Grabbing a cup of coffee, he picked up the newspaper and sat down.
The headline was outrageous! "Batman Is Gay: Robin Tells All!" was what the National Squealer was saying.
Startled, Bruce almost dropped his cup in his lap. "Alfred!" he yelled, "Since when did we subscribe to the 'Squealer?'"
The old gentleman silently appeared with a plate of toast. "Sir, we haven't a subscription. Normally, I wouldn't consider allowing such . . . drivel . . . into the Manor. I wouldn't even use it for kindling. However, Miss Barbara had it sent over. She thought it might amuse you." After placing the toast in front of Bruce, he moved the butter and jam within reach of the seated man. As he turned towards the sideboard, "Yee-haw!" was heard coming from the foyer.
Without turning his back, he admonished the newcomer. "Master Dick, how many times have I told you not to slide down the banister? It surprises me that it can still withstand your weight." He knew the comment would fall upon deaf ears, but saying it was a tradition he was loathe to break.
"Good morning, Alfred! Mornin', Bruce." Dick practically bounced into the dining room, grateful for a day off from work. Before Alfred could serve him, he helped himself to some toast and orange juice. Deep into reading the article, Bruce merely grunted his greeting.
"Whatcha readin', Bruce?" The younger man leaned over for a better look. Bruce obligingly angled it in his direction.
Dick scanned the page. "That's disgusting! How can people write this garbage, let alone read it?"
Bruce looked surprised. "What? Is accused of being gay so bad?"
"What?" Dick looked confused. "No, not that! That!" He summarized it for Alfred's benefit. "The penguin population in the SeaWorld in Florida is so out of control that they have to cull their penguins once a year and have a cook-off. Says they invite chefs from all over the world to invent new recipes. The winning recipe was a penguin filet braised in white wine."
Bruce smirked. "I hear it tastes like chicken."
"Barbaric!" Alfred shuddered visibly. "Everyone knows that penguins go with red wine." He hid his own smirk until he entered the kitchen.
Shocked by the announcement, Bruce choked on his coffee, spraying the brown liquid all over the linen tablecloth. He gasped as Dick absently patted his back, still staring in the direction of Alfred's retreat. Dick shook his head. "I think he's been sniffing the silver polish again." He turned back to Bruce, whose coughing was now under control.
Bruce wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat, smiling slightly. "I forget that Alfred has a wicked sense of humor."
Dick made his way back to his own chair. "And you. 'Tastes like chicken.' You made a joke before lunch. What's going on?"
Bruce shrugged. "Guess I woke up on the right side of the bed."
"You mean the left," Dick grinned.
"Whatever."
"So Batman's outed, and Robin tells all? Does little Timmy need a spanking?" Dick bit into his toast.
"That's not your job. It's Spoiler's." Now it was Dick's turn to choke. Bruce allowed himself to smile fully. Bruce 2, Alfred 1, Dick 0. Bruce liked winning, even in little things.
Dick shook his head. "What is it with you people this morning? Laughing Boy hit you with some gas? Seriously, though," he pointed to the article, "does that bother you?"
Bruce thought briefly. "No, not really. Most gay men are thought of as effeminate. If people believe it, they'll underestimate Batman and that might make his job easier. Anyway," he said airily, "billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne is definitely *not* gay. Just ask Gotham Gertie. Or Lila, or Chase, or Vicki, or Candy . . ." He let the list trail off. "Only the gullible and feeble-minded believe the National Squealer."
Dick brightened. "Talia will be crushed, not to mention Selina."
Bruce sat back. "Barbara already sent them copies, anonymously of course. It's probably for the best that Batman has no romantic entanglements, especially with known criminals. I've always thought of him as asexual."
"A sexual what?" Ding. Score one for Dickie.
Bruce ignored it. That one didn't count. He handed the paper over to Dick and pointed. "They even included a picture of 'Robin' in an attempt to give the story some credibility. Look."
Dick bent closer to the picture. Hm, smiling teen-aged boy, masked, short dark hair, about the right height. The black cape slightly obscured the top of the costume, but it was clear that "Robin" was trying to assume a heroic stance, hands resting on hips and legs apart. He concentrated harder. He'd seen that smile before, and he definitely remembered those legs . . .
He sat up and blinked. "Harley Quinn?" Bruce nodded. "But why? I mean, aside from the money, of course."
Bruce blushed a bit. "She, uh, propositioned me a couple nights ago. I turned her down." He then grinned wickedly. "Seems Joker's been having, ahem, problems."
Dick's smile mirrored Bruce's. "So 'Puddin's' been living up to his namesake under the belt?"
Bruce winced and shifted in his chair. "That was bad, Dick."
Dick remained unrepentant. "Yeah, I bet Harley thought so, too."
Alfred stepped into the room. "Master Bruce, the salon called. They would like to know if it will be satisfactory to reschedule your manicure until after your facial?"
Dick snickered. "So, 'effeminate,' huh?"
"Tell them it's fine, Alfred. All part of the image, Dick, you know that." He would never admit that he actually enjoyed the pampering. Anyway, his skin felt smoother after a few sessions.
The two men started clearing the table. "Oh, Dick, I forgot to give you something." Bruce held out a folded piece of paper. "From Barbara."
Dick took the paper suspiciously. Bruce never 'forgot' anything. He opened it and read.
"Hey, FBW, if you can prove to me that some of the positions 'Robin' tried with Batman are physically possible, I won't send copies to Roy and Wally. Meet me for lunch. --Babs"
He groaned. He didn't mind trying them with Babs at all. In fact, he was just going to suggest it. However, knowing her, she'd send the copies anyway.
He hastily made his departure. "Gotta go, Bruce. I, uh, gotta talk Babs outta something." It was hours before lunch. Maybe if he could distract her enough, she'd forget about Roy and Wally.
"Oh, leaving so soon, chum?" Bruce asked innocently. "You'll be back for dinner, won't you?"
Dick smiled. "Don't count on it."
End