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Home wasn't a place. Home was people, relationships, moments frozen in time tainted by a longing heartbeat.
Home was back then, before everything went down. Home was the in-between a tragedy and another.
Home was the feeling of being part of something.
Dick feels he hasn't been in home since Damian had died.
Now, even whit Damian back, Dick is certainly that this homesickness won't fade his ugly head away.
This heartless city that sits beneath his foot is a constant reminder of it. He was the one that got away. His family is a one hour thirty minutes trip, but he cannot make himself think about it. He hasn't earned it yet. Not after Spyral, and death, and fake promises, and so much pain.
He can't.
But Dick is a selfish man.
That is the reason behind all this, really. Because even if it isn't safe, he has been in Bludhaven long enough to know how to gamble. So when Tiger shows up, Dick is certain this will be his best worst choice yet.
It happens pretty quickly. They are talking about a new kind of weapon that appeared last month. One that neither of them was aware about until it started to cause trouble. It was powerful and dangerous, The Second Hand seems to be involved somehow, too. So they team up again.
It remainded him of their time together, when no one in his family knew he was alive. It's kinda funny that even with the heartbeat in his chest, he still savour the pill in his mouth, he still feel the clammy hand in his face. He sometimes wishes Luthor didn't had a plan B.
But that doesn't matter.
(Call it morbid curiosity, but he has seen himself in front of his own tombstone, his name engraved in the cold thing. Two dates. His finger trace his name and he breath just to prove that he can.)
It is easy to tease Tiger, make fun of him, poke the beast behind the man. Like Robin before, Nightwing is good with his words. Talk is an art he has mastered, after all.
So he presents himself like a gift, he opens up just enough to seems vulnerable and approachable. And when Tiger finally give in, Dick doesn't know who of them is the prey in this situation.
He can indulge himself in this comfortable lie, treat kisses like love declarations after the violent war that consumed his heart. He isn't stupid, but he is a performer. Acting is a powerful skill that he have honing it for years now. Dick is so comfortable lying that sometimes he forgets he have been doing it all along.
When their lips collide it is not the violent destruction that he have been craving since they met. It is tender and soft. Tiger cradles his face like Dick is something precious, delicate, fragile even. He feels unworthy.
Dick Grayson doesn't do a stand alone night. He is a man of commitment. No. He was. Because Dick also had died before. Because all this mess was about him dying before. He can't be the same person, can he? So it is okey, he can do this, he can willingly put himself in this man's arms without muttering "I love you"s like it have some kind of meaning. And when Tiger travels down his neck, he let himself fly. Tiger will catch him.
Maybe.
Like a moth to a light, Dick is drawn to Tiger. The man's kisses burns like a fire dancing across his sinful body. It make him want to confess all his crimes. He wants to be baptized in the hope that flickers trough his ribcage.
The soft mouth that lavish his body with so attentively care make him wanna cry like a child. There are voices inside his head screaming, swearing, mumbling a cacophony of hateful words.
He isn't interested in thinking, because those thoughts stings and hurt and he is fucking exhausted. He wants to let himself feel. He is chasing the hight of being use, and the final down to be put aside.
Rough hands hold his face again. Tiger is looking at his eyes with such intensity that all the walls are treating to raise,to protect and brace himself for the upcoming blow. The 'you are a mistake that I should never have made' is somewhere deep down there, Dick is convinced. He isn't sure if he will be able to heard it without shattering in a million of tiny parts.
There are ugly emotions bubbling in his chest, he bites his trembling lips to get a hold of them. He can't spell them out in the open, because he knows himself well enough to understand whatever he is going to say would be filled with hatred.
He is about to lash out and Tiger is gonna left him too, and he would be alone. Alone in his fucking lonely apartment that is too big and too small. He can't, he can't, he can't. Why is he so stupid all the time?
Dick speaks the next word without thinking, then. The "Destroy me," is barely audible in the quiet room.
And Tiger is tightening his hold on Dick's face. Their lips meet again for a brief moment as Tiger silently says "You are a terrible spy, Grayson."
A snort that sounds so much like a sob break free while Dick looks incredulously at Tiger's eyes. Well, yes. No shit, Sherlock. He fucked up a lot of time when he was with Spyral, he doesn't need a reminder, thank you very much.
"But you are a good man."
And there are too much conviction in his voice that, for the first time since they met, Dick doesn't have any quip to offer.