You get ten instead of three this time, because I'm doing these next few for a Livejournal drabble challenge. I'm using the themes I've been given, and all must be exactly 100 words. I claimed Robin/Kid Flash. Are you surprised? Feedback is especially appreciated because I am trying to learn how to write romance—what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong…point it out to me so I can see it! Thanks!
Forever
He had work, and it was important, no matter how much Wally was hanging over his computer, fingers trailing along the back of his neck, just below his hairline, other hand flipping through the papers on his desk and commenting on how boring they were.
"How long are you going to stay here?"
"Till you leave with me. Meaning, about forever."
He turned to look at Wally, meaning to pull away from the touch. Somehow, it didn't quite work. "Are you going to count to infinity, too?"
Wally bent to kiss his cheek. "You. Are really cute when you're pissed."
---
Ring
"Seven days."
"Uh huh. Not interested."
"No, seriously, seven days."
"Wally, who told you that we were watching The Ring?"
A long pause. "…Cyborg." Cyborg who was trying valiantly not to laugh, but in the process of failing.
Robin wasn't sure if he was addressing the others in the room, the voice on the cell phone, or both. "I didn't even like it anyway, you know. Do you want me to list the plot holes in alphabetical order, or chronological—"
"No, seriously! I'm coming home in seven days, okay?"
"Uh huh. Great save."
"Knew I shoulda called Beast Boy."
---
Movie
"…I'm not telling him."
He felt a sigh from the boy lying next to him. "Could we maybe not use cuddle-time as argument-time? Please?"
"I'm not."
Wally rubbed the back of his hand. "What are you afraid of?"
He closed his eyes, wanting to focus on the touch, but it was washed out by reasons—fights and screaming and slammed doors, and the cold disapproval that he knew would come, a horror movie on fast-forward, and he knew the ending but that wouldn't make it less painful.
Robin shuddered and slid closer to Wally. "Of what I know he'll say."
---
Emotion
It was what Bruce had taught him not to have. Or at least, to compartmentalize, to quarantine away for later analysis, where emotion wouldn't tangle up in work, wouldn't slither into your thinking, your judgment. He'd taught him that a nine-year-old could face down six men with guns, could keep the fear and pain away until afterwards—afterwards, when he'd cry himself to sleep in Bruce's lap.
It was what Robin still didn't have when Wally grabbed him by the hands and his heart beat faster. Or at least, what he couldn't access under six years of quarantines and labels.
---
Snow
He'd only wanted to bake cookies. To be nice. And maybe he wasn't the greatest at pouring (it was the measuring cup's fault).
Robin definitely wasn't the greatest at forgiving people for making a mess.
And he definitely wasn't amused when Wally brushed the flour onto the floor, and it dotted the linoleum like snow. Like when you're a little kid, and you stay up all night hoping that school will be cancelled, and then you finally see the first flakes gleaming on the lawn.
But he was definitely cute when Wally smeared some of the flour across his nose.
---
Sky
Once, he'd been hers. It hadn't lasted very long. This…she didn't know how long it would last, either, and she didn't know if she wished for it to end. She wanted him to be happy. This was a high price to pay.
But she would send those thoughts away, float them in between one of the clouds as the sunshine warmed her skin, the salty ocean below her making flight easier, the smile that she stretched across her face just good enough to fool her body into keeping her airborne.
Starfire had the sky. But the sky couldn't kiss her.
---
Book
He'd been studying statistics. Something about standard deviation. Maybe. Or physics. But the book was slipping from his grip, whatever it was, slipping as his other hand wrapped around Wally's neck, and then he was pressed against his desk, and Wally was impossibly warm, impossibly close. And then they were kissing, and he wasn't sure who started it, but it didn't matter very much—stopped mattering entirely when Wally's fingers rubbed against his thigh, and the book (Why was he holding a book?) fell with a noise loud enough to startle both of them.
He gestured hopelessly. "Statistics. I think."
---
Stars
"You think it's a bad idea?"
He knew he'd find her on the roof. She'd been coming up here a lot lately; said that it was the only place to escape the headaches. The headaches that were his fault.
"I think it isn't my business."
"But I'm asking you."
Silence. Her face tilted up to the stars, the fluorescent lights from the roof hugging her cloak.
"Raven?"
She blinked and pulled back her hood, the hero morphing into the girl as the violet eyes focused on him. "I can't tell you that, Robin. And neither can an analysis. Just you."
---
Alive
He'd finally figured out why Robin could fight without superpowers. Because he gave more than he could give, made himself find the strength that wasn't there, and then, somehow, it was—because he willed it. Because he wouldn't let weakness and humanity and blood and broken bones stop him. Wouldn't.
It made Wally proud of him, but it also made him have to touch him after the fights; to kiss him with intensity that frightened, overwhelmed; to fold Robin into his arms, feeling the feverish heartbeat as if it were inside his own chest, reminding him that he was alive.
---
Love
Wally said it, but Robin didn't. Couldn't. It made whatever empty response he came up with immeasurably awkward, but the other option was silence, and that was worse. Anyone else would have been embarrassed, and maybe stopped, but Wally didn't know how to be embarrassed.
Sometimes, it got stuck in his throat, took up space there, made it impossible to speak—when Wally held him, fingers weaving through his hair, and "I love you," fell out of the other boy's mouth, innate and sincere and easy.
And then it was gone, leaving behind an emptiness he was never prepared for.