DCU FIC: Flannel Over Silk
Title: Flannel Over Silk
Author: iesika
Fandom: Pre-boot DCU
Characters: Tim Drake and Dick Grayson
Note: A short piece for mithen, who gave me an invitation to AO3 so I wouldn't have to wait for ever and ever. <3 Thank you!
Prompt: Dick/Tim fluff or h/c, flannel sheets
Tim's sheets back at his parent's house are plain white cotton. The sheets on his bed at the manor are silk, and probably very expensive. Mrs. Mac changes his sheets every Monday, and Alfred changes the ones at the manor every Wednesday and Sunday if Tim has been napping or sleeping over there, folding them into crisp hospital corners. The sheets at both houses are always clean and always smell faintly of detergent or fabric softener.
Dick's sheets are soft blue cotton flannel, and he probably hasn't changed them in weeks. They're wrinkled, one corner pulling up from the bottom, and faintly stained with old blood from the last time Dick had stitches to pull. They smell like him, like his bodywash and his sweat, like kevlar and ozone and chemical smoke and just a little like sex, and Tim doesn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
Tim burrows down face-first into the pillow and breathes deeply. He doesn't get this chance often. Dick would probably be willing to put up with Tim sleeping over more often if Tim asked, but...he can't. Right now he's only here because his parents are out of town again and they were up fighting crime until dawn. After scrambled eggs and toast eaten in half-uniform, Dick gave Tim the first shower and insisted Tim take the bed. Tim has been laying here for almost ten minutes listening to the sound of Dick's humming and the faint patter of the shower through the wall beside his head.
It's nice. Comfortable. Dick is right there, on the other side of the wall, and his smell is all around, and the sheets are warm and soft, and Tim is only a little bit hard. Eventually Dick will come out of the bathroom and crash on the couch, and in a few hours they'll wake up and maybe order a pizza and lay around for a few more hours before Tim has to go back to Gotham.
The water cuts off, but Dick keeps singing softly, the sound only stopping to be replaced with toothbrush noises. A few minutes later, Dick comes into the bedroom in just a towel (draped unhelpfully over his hair), and puts on a pair of boxers from a basket by the closet door. Tim feigns sleep to watch him from his nest of warm sheets and blankets, lids barely parted. In the dawn light, he watches Dick run through a few simple stretches, twisting his spine and rotating his arms in his shoulders.
Tim is something of an expert at birdwatching, and to him the motions look...not quite right. A little too stiff. Not quite the right range of motion. He sits up in the bed, letting the blankets fall down to his lap. "Rotator cuff?"
"Nah," Dick says easily, rolling his shoulder. "Just the trap. I kinda strained it a few days ago. It's fine, just a little stiff after all that linework."
Tim frowns. "Why did you challenge me to play tag if you had a pulled shoulder. That was unnecessary strain."
The shrug Dick gives him isn't as fluid as Tim is used to. "Having fun with you is never unnecessary. We don't get to play enough."
"We can play when you're better," Tim insists, though the simple way Dick says that is making him warm inside. "Here-" He kicks the sheets aside and swings his feet out of the bed. "I'll take the couch. You're hurt."
"Not enough to matter Dick argues, but he comes over to the bed anyway and sits down. Tim is about to get up when Dick catches him around the waist, pulling him along as Dick lays down. "We'd both fit."
It's a terrible idea. Just laying in Dick's sheets was enough to give Tim's penis ideas. There's no way that the two of them sharing a bed for the entire morning won't result in utter embarrassment. But Dick is warmer than the sheets, and he smells good, and the skin of his back is soft and smooth under Tim's hand.
"You smell good," Dick mumbles against Tim's throat. The vibration of it makes Tim's whole body quiver just slightly.
"Okay," Tim says. They're turned awkwardly on the bed, and his feet are still sticking off of the side, and Dick is on top of most of the blankets, but Tim doesn't want to move. After a bit of wrangling, he at least gets a layer of sheet over their legs. By that time, Dick is snoring faintly, still half on top of Tim.
In a few hours, Dick will wake up and hopefully pretend not to notice that Tim is hard. Tim will probably have dozed off at some point in between, and he'll be comfortable and warm and wrapped up in Dick's arms. Maybe Dick will fumble on the nightstand for his phone and order that pizza, and they'll fall back asleep for half an hour to be wakened by the knock on the door.
Maybe Tim will be groggy enough to confuse reality with a very good dream, and lean up to kiss Dick softly on the mouth. Maybe Dick will kiss him back.
It's a good dream. Tim closes his eyes and drifts off, his breath slowing to match the rise and fall of Dick's chest against his side.
Author: iesika
Fandom: Pre-boot DCU
Characters: Tim Drake and Dick Grayson
Note: A short piece for mithen, who gave me an invitation to AO3 so I wouldn't have to wait for ever and ever. <3 Thank you!
Prompt: Dick/Tim fluff or h/c, flannel sheets
Tim's sheets back at his parent's house are plain white cotton. The sheets on his bed at the manor are silk, and probably very expensive. Mrs. Mac changes his sheets every Monday, and Alfred changes the ones at the manor every Wednesday and Sunday if Tim has been napping or sleeping over there, folding them into crisp hospital corners. The sheets at both houses are always clean and always smell faintly of detergent or fabric softener.
Dick's sheets are soft blue cotton flannel, and he probably hasn't changed them in weeks. They're wrinkled, one corner pulling up from the bottom, and faintly stained with old blood from the last time Dick had stitches to pull. They smell like him, like his bodywash and his sweat, like kevlar and ozone and chemical smoke and just a little like sex, and Tim doesn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
Tim burrows down face-first into the pillow and breathes deeply. He doesn't get this chance often. Dick would probably be willing to put up with Tim sleeping over more often if Tim asked, but...he can't. Right now he's only here because his parents are out of town again and they were up fighting crime until dawn. After scrambled eggs and toast eaten in half-uniform, Dick gave Tim the first shower and insisted Tim take the bed. Tim has been laying here for almost ten minutes listening to the sound of Dick's humming and the faint patter of the shower through the wall beside his head.
It's nice. Comfortable. Dick is right there, on the other side of the wall, and his smell is all around, and the sheets are warm and soft, and Tim is only a little bit hard. Eventually Dick will come out of the bathroom and crash on the couch, and in a few hours they'll wake up and maybe order a pizza and lay around for a few more hours before Tim has to go back to Gotham.
The water cuts off, but Dick keeps singing softly, the sound only stopping to be replaced with toothbrush noises. A few minutes later, Dick comes into the bedroom in just a towel (draped unhelpfully over his hair), and puts on a pair of boxers from a basket by the closet door. Tim feigns sleep to watch him from his nest of warm sheets and blankets, lids barely parted. In the dawn light, he watches Dick run through a few simple stretches, twisting his spine and rotating his arms in his shoulders.
Tim is something of an expert at birdwatching, and to him the motions look...not quite right. A little too stiff. Not quite the right range of motion. He sits up in the bed, letting the blankets fall down to his lap. "Rotator cuff?"
"Nah," Dick says easily, rolling his shoulder. "Just the trap. I kinda strained it a few days ago. It's fine, just a little stiff after all that linework."
Tim frowns. "Why did you challenge me to play tag if you had a pulled shoulder. That was unnecessary strain."
The shrug Dick gives him isn't as fluid as Tim is used to. "Having fun with you is never unnecessary. We don't get to play enough."
"We can play when you're better," Tim insists, though the simple way Dick says that is making him warm inside. "Here-" He kicks the sheets aside and swings his feet out of the bed. "I'll take the couch. You're hurt."
"Not enough to matter Dick argues, but he comes over to the bed anyway and sits down. Tim is about to get up when Dick catches him around the waist, pulling him along as Dick lays down. "We'd both fit."
It's a terrible idea. Just laying in Dick's sheets was enough to give Tim's penis ideas. There's no way that the two of them sharing a bed for the entire morning won't result in utter embarrassment. But Dick is warmer than the sheets, and he smells good, and the skin of his back is soft and smooth under Tim's hand.
"You smell good," Dick mumbles against Tim's throat. The vibration of it makes Tim's whole body quiver just slightly.
"Okay," Tim says. They're turned awkwardly on the bed, and his feet are still sticking off of the side, and Dick is on top of most of the blankets, but Tim doesn't want to move. After a bit of wrangling, he at least gets a layer of sheet over their legs. By that time, Dick is snoring faintly, still half on top of Tim.
In a few hours, Dick will wake up and hopefully pretend not to notice that Tim is hard. Tim will probably have dozed off at some point in between, and he'll be comfortable and warm and wrapped up in Dick's arms. Maybe Dick will fumble on the nightstand for his phone and order that pizza, and they'll fall back asleep for half an hour to be wakened by the knock on the door.
Maybe Tim will be groggy enough to confuse reality with a very good dream, and lean up to kiss Dick softly on the mouth. Maybe Dick will kiss him back.
It's a good dream. Tim closes his eyes and drifts off, his breath slowing to match the rise and fall of Dick's chest against his side.