Work Text:
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Jason doesn’t turn at the voice. He keeps his eyes fixed on the bright lights of Gotham far beneath his feet, all of them distorted by the blinding light on the tower’s face. W for Wayne. W for war. W for weep.
“I told you I’d be here,” Jason replies, still not turning.
The voice sits down. Nightwing looks like he always does, which is to say, better than him. Not that Jason’s setting the bar very high. It’s hard to be a stunner when half your face has been branded by a psycho clown.
But the psycho clown is dead now, so. There’s that at least. Jason’s no optimist, but after all that’s happened, he finds himself looking for the little things now and then. Shit. He’s spending too much time with Nightwing, isn’t he? Not that he’s really complaining.
After Knightfall, there wasn’t much room for anger anymore. There wasn’t much room for anything. Bruce and Batman were both dead, the city was yet again crawling out of the ashes of itself, and the rot seemed to have burned itself away. Maybe it was inevitable that the two of them would collide. They knew. They knew. And so few others did.
It didn’t start out happy. But then, somewhere in the midst of it all—and Jason hesitates to even admit it, in case it’s ripped away like everything else—that’s what they became. Happy.
“How’s Blüdhaven?” Jason asks.
Nightwing shrugs as he takes off his mask. Dick Grayson, ladies and gentlemen. He’s even more beautiful than his vigilante counterpart.
“Oh, you know,” he says. “How’s Gotham?”
“Oh, you know.”
“That bad, huh? Ouch.”
Jason’s mouth twitches into a smile.
(W for wry.)
Dick scoots a little closer to him. It’s freezing on top of the tower, thousands of feet in the air, and the warmth of his body is a welcome reprieve. Though if Jason’s being honest with himself, he’d enjoy the heat of him in the middle of a Caribbean summer.
“You’ve got a little something there,” Dick says, brushing his thumb over his own jaw. “Dirt, I think. A little lower. No, lower.”
Jason gives up, glowering at him.
Dick grins as he pulls off a glove. “Here.”
Now his bare thumb is brushing over Jason’s face. It lingers there, dangerously close to his lips. Teasing, definitely.
(W for waiting.)
Jason cocks an eyebrow. “Are you done?”
“Not yet.” Dick flicks him in the nose, laughing as Jason growls and swipes at him. “Now I am.”
“Ass,” Jason snaps, but smiles anyway.
Dick’s eyes sparkle. He leans closer to fuss with Jason’s uniform, fiddling with the straps over his breastplate and pretending to brush dust from his shoulders. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to upset the big bad Arkham Knight.” He pauses. “Or is it the Red Hood now?”
“Jason’s fine.”
“Yes, he is,” Dick murmurs, his hand beneath Jason’s jaw. He kisses him playfully, just the faintest brush of his lips over Jason’s.
(W for want.)
Jason grabs him and pulls him closer, kissing him as fiercely as frozen mouths will allow. If only his younger self could see him now—the kid would have given his left arm for a chance to be with Dick freaking Grayson. Jason still would, if Dick asked it of him. Not that he ever would, at least not seriously. Dick is disgustingly good like that.
(W for weak at the knees. )
Their lips part. Jason rests his forehead against Dick’s and closes his eyes, his stomach fluttering and heart pounding. When he opens them again, he finds Dick’s large blue eyes blinking at him.
“Hi,” Dick says, breathless
Despite the cold, Jason feels his face go hot. “Hi.”
“Want to get out of here?”
“Not yet.” Jason finds his lips again and kisses him gently, savoring the slightly sweet taste of his lips. He smiles as Dick’s breath hitches.
It’s the little things, after all.
☆☆☆