Nightwing’s ass and fingerstripes appreciation post.
by 89g (doujinshi panel)
hi my name is adori and I like to combine things I like……….dont juDGE„,…
Jason’s growing out his hair and snagging Roy as his Biffle, Dick goes red. I thought you two didn’t want to be like each other? asdfghjkl;
You always draw me the cutest, most adorable things. I can’t — even *flails*. I don’t deserve your drawings, but I love them so much!!!
I haven’t written you anything in a while, so take this Dick/Tim ficlet about the flu. I haven’t been very inspired to write lately, so this is probably really bad, but I just wanted you to know I really appreciate the drawings that you do with me in mind.
Thanks for being my friend. <3
“It’s just allergies, Dick.” Tim wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I just… keep vomiting up my Claritin. As soon as I can keep it down, I’ll be fine. Can you hand me another?”
“Tim. You’re dehydrated, throwing up, and have a 103.6 degree fever. That’s the flu, kiddo.” Dick’s large hand rubs small, comforting circles on the back of what Tim knows is his sweat-soaked t-shirt. That’s allergies, too.
“No, it’s just allergies.” Tim tries to make his voice sound normal, but he can’t hide the rawness of it.
“Well, how about you take this flu medicine that Lesley prescribed for you, take a nap and then we can reassess how you feel.” The hand that isn’t on Tim’s spine reaches over to the side table to grab a bottle of blue sports drink and a pill. “Here, now… are you going to throw up? This needs to… stay down.”
“It’s not the flu, Dick!” He’s shivering now, while the sweat dries cold and clammy on his face and the small of his back and his stomach contracts painfully. Please don’t throw up, he thinks frantically, as he wraps the quilt tighter around him, curls the basin that had just been emptied of his meager stomach contents in closer to his body. “Can I take two pills than?”
“Prescription only says one, kiddo. Why don’t you just rest then, until your “allergies”,” Dick air-quotes, “Stop being a problem,” Dick is smiling and sounding way to rational.
Soft lips touch the top of Tim’s black, lank hair and then Tim hears a pillow fluff behind him.
“Rest up, Tim, water and powerade is on the table, call me if you *need* anything.” Dick’s gentle voice. Dick’s kind voice.
Tim wants him to shut up.
Tim *wants* to ask for his thick, down-stuffed winter coat even though it’s only the first day of November. Even though Alfred has been tending the fire in the room for the last few hours. Asking for the coat is like admitting defeat.
But what if he grabs his thick wool scarves? It’s totally scarf weather.
He sets the basin aside, vomiting crises averted for now, and slips lower into the blankets, cocooning himself deeper in the soft folds. Dick had turned his pillows, reshaped them so that his head was cushioned perfectly. He can sort of smell Dick’s cologne on the sheets and he turns his head so his nose is closer to the fabric of the pillow-case.
The bright orange prescription bottle is right there. And… Tim has a lot of work to do.
Tim reaches over to grab the bottle of sports drink and the bottle, listens to the jangle of pills in the plastic and reads the label carefully.
Lesley gave him the really *good* stuff.
“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you get your skinny, little punk-ass out of that chair, up those stairs and back into your bed.”
Oh. That was Dick’s angry voice. Tim didn’t actually hear that voice a lot. And not usually aimed at him. He’s heard it aimed at Bruce a number of times, but Tim… he’s only heard it directed at him once or twice before.
For some reason absurd reason that makes Tim giggle. Not laugh.
“Tim. Move it, buster.”
Tim tries to cut off the giggling - and he’s about 53% affective, “Dick, I have work to do.” He pulls his quilt, that he’d dragged with him from his bedroom around his shoulders and readjusts the scarf around his neck so that it covers his nose. His hands and fingers stick out of the folds and he resumes typing.
Dick’s footsteps echo in the cave, grow louder as the man gets closer, “No. No. You have to go upstairs and get better, Tim. This is completely irresponsible!”
“Tim, so help me I will nerve strike you, knock you out with bat-gas and then *tie* your limbs to your bed. Don’t test me, I’ve done this before!” Dick spins the chair Tim is perched on, his fingers typing on air now.
Another giggle, “Sounds fun… Can’t you do that while I’m not sick?”
Dick blinks at him.
Tim blinks back.
Why would he say something like that? Tim feels his face grow hot.
Hotter than the fever and the infection has made his body. ”Uh, Dick, I do-“.
“Ha! You just admitted you were sick! Back to bed, buddy. Your work will be here when you feel better.” The older man accuses.
“Damnit!” The flu is stupid. And… the room is spinning a little bit. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken three doses of that medicine.
Dick grins and pulls on Tim’s wrist to get the younger man vertical, “I’ll still be here to, Timmy.”
And Tim has to stop, ignores the horrible nausea creeping up his insides. The first Robin’s eyes are narrowed and his grin is wicked and it sends completely different chills down Tim’s spine.
But then Tim looks up and away to quickly.
“Oh boy.” He feels himself stumble and then feels Dick catch him around the waist.
“Tim? Tim are you okay?” Dick’s voice is back to his concerned octave.
Tim feels that voice melt over him, over his two sweaters and flannel pants and scarf and quilt. It’s warmer than all of them. But still, “I don’t want to alarm you, Dick. But I think… the ceiling and the wall flip-flopped.”
“Nope.” Dick hooks Tim’s knees around his forearms and Tim has to hook his own arms around Dick’s neck.
He lets the world spin and swirl as Dick carries him up the stairs, “Be careful, anyway,” he says into Dick’s neck.
Nightwing, by Brian Stelfreeze
cutie patootie, gonna boop your nose
- Batman and Robin #06 (2009)
…I like the way you think, JT.
Through the years, I’ve debated whether it was fair of me to take him in. Train him. Give him another identity to hide behind. But, I’ve learned that Dick wasn’t like me. He didn’t come from a world of privilege. He was a performer. Gifted in that way. And while, at the time, the transition from Robin to Nightwing was… difficult for us both — it was a day I had long prepared myself for because… Dick was born to be in the center ring.”