Batfic: Tryptophan (Bruce/Dick)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Tryptophan
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Dick
Rating: PG
Word Count: 808
Summary: The day after Thanksgiving, Dick lounges on the sofa and gets a pleasant surprise.
Disclaimer: DC owns the characters and the rights, and my little fic makes no money at all.
A/N: Tryptophan is an amino acid used to make serotonin, which gives you a feeling of pleasure or well-being and makes you sleepy. It is found, among other places, in turkey.
A/N2: Inspired by BradyGirl's 2007 DCU Fic/Art Halloween Challenge. (Prompt: pie.) I didn't use prompts from each of the categories, so this fic doesn't qualify for the challenge, but you should all check it out, anyway. This is just a quiet, lazy little ficlet with no real purpose. Nothing special, but it made me write it.

“I didn’t think it was actually possible to eat an entire pumpkin pie by yourself, but it’s good to know you can still surpass my expectations, Dick.”

 

Dick groans and slides down on the sofa until he’s lying on his back. “It was over the course of two days, and you know you helped me eat it.”

 

Looking at the body stretched out, unmoving, on the sofa, Bruce smiles. “A piece or two, at most. The rest was entirely a casualty of your sweet tooth.”

 

Dick struggles to lift his head and glare in Bruce’s direction. “It was the damned whipped cream; that was the kicker. Since when does Alfred leave me alone with pie, anyway?”

 

“I think he said something about you being old enough to know better, by now, although I might have misunderstood him.”

 

There is a sound suspiciously like a muffled laugh, and Dick wishes he felt capable of taking some form of revenge on a man who has never overeaten in his life. He feels a little like a turkey himself, right now, stuffed and cooked and immobile on a platter. Just the thought of going out on patrol tonight makes him want to be sick, and Bruce will spend the entire time forcing him into bizarre feats of acrobatic fervor simply because he can and he wants to punish Dick for his excesses.

 

“Bruce…”

 

“Clark said he’d keep an eye on Gotham tonight.”

 

Dick sits up as abruptly as his overburdened stomach will allow. “What? Since when do you let Clark look after Gotham? I thought you were all territorial and possessive.”

 

Bruce gets an odd look in his eye. “Possessive, yes, and fairly territorial, I’ll admit. But on occasion, being friends with Superman does have its uses. And the day after Thanksgiving is hardly one Clark holds sacred.”

 

Dick isn’t convinced. “But--”

 

“But nothing. He said he’d take care of things, so you and I can take it easy. We don’t have to go anywhere, tonight.”

 

Now, Dick is concerned. For Bruce to concede Nightwing is allowed a night off is one thing, but for Batman to stay at home and let Superman look after his city, well, that is an occurrence that is beyond rare.

 

“Both of us? We’ll just take the night off and spend it lying around and…digesting?”

 

“Precisely.”

 

Dick blinks. Then shrugs. He’s too full to get overly worked up about Bruce’s admittedly unprecedented laissez-faire attitude. Groaning a little, he lies back down and closes his eyes.

 

“Are you comfortable enough, Dick?”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Bruce breathes out a small laugh. “Do you need a blanket or anything?”

 

“Mmmno. Thanks, though.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Dick breathes in and out, drifting slowly and fading into black, until he feels the cushion dip against his side. When he opens his eyes, Bruce is right there, looking at him, and Dick can feel the heat rushing into his face. Bruce doesn’t look away, and perspiration beads on Dick’s upper lip while Bruce says nothing. And continues to stare at him.

 

“Bruce? Is something wrong?”

 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth tips up, and Dick would call the expression wistful if it were on anyone else’s face, but on Bruce, it comes across more as oddly mischievous.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“Then, um, what is it?”

 

Bruce leans over and brushes his lips against Dick’s, and Dick feels the breath stutter to a stop in his lungs.

 

“B-Bruce?”

 

“You taste like sugar.”

 

Dick thinks there should be something profound lingering in the corners of that statement, but all he can think to say is, “I just ate pie and whipped cream.”

 

Bruce makes a startled noise that Dick really wants to label a snort, but he’s just tired enough to be generous and call it a choked laugh.

 

“Yes, Dick. Very true.”

 

“Kiss me, again,” Dick says quickly, before he lets himself think about it too much.

 

“Gladly.”

 

Bruce moves in again, but this time, the kiss is stronger and longer and deeper and harder. There are tongues this time, and teeth, and Dick is glad he can breathe again, even if it’s more like panting. When Bruce stretches out on top of him, Dick doesn’t even protest the weight on his stomach, in spite of the uncomfortably strained state of his pants that has nothing to do with the erection he has recently developed.

 

He doesn’t know where this is coming from, why now, tonight, after all this time; but Bruce hasn’t stopped kissing him, and there is no sign of the guilty desperation he always expected if this ever actually happened.

 

So Dick wraps his arms tighter around Bruce and lets himself fall into the heat of the sweetest kiss he’s ever known, on a night out of time when they are two instead of four, and the shadows are of their own making.

-

Comments

[zarabithia.livejournal.com]

Oh, that was lovely. I loved stuffed, happy Dick. And Smart!Takewhatismine!Bruce is awesome too.

And oh, that last line is gorgeous.

*hugs them tight and wishes for them to stay happy.*

[ladybugkay.livejournal.com]

Thank you! In my head, this version of Dick and Bruce stay happy and nothing very bad ever really happens, and even when they fight they make things up the very next day. It's a happy place! LOL

And I rather liked the last line, myself. Thanks for your wonderful comments; they are very much appreciated.