always with the Dick jokes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irrelevant) wrote2011-06-17 09:36 am
irrelevant) wrote2011-06-17 09:36 am
[fic] not quite so new (DCU reboot)
not quite so new
Tim Drake, Dick Grayson | G | ~400 words
“I like it, little brother.”
“Yes,” Tim says absently, frowning at his reflection. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Dick laughs and hops down from the windowsill and Tim looks away from a very bad judgment call, the better to watch him come closer in the mirror.
“So whose obviously excellent taste do we have to thank for all this awesome?” Dick’s hands squeeze Tim’s shoulders; they slide down (feathers, damn it) Tim’s arms, and his fingers should have stripes and they should be blue, but they’re not blue at all.
“Too much red,” Tim mutters, and then when Dick looks confused he says, “It’s Roy’s design.” And has the dubious pleasure of seeing Dick’s mouth drop open.
“You’re kidding.” Tim meets his eyes in the mirror. “Okay, you’re not.” His hands fall away from Tim’s arms and dangle, open and empty, at his sides. “How did that even happen?”
He looks genuinely confused. Tim wishes he was. “He was in the cave talking to Bruce while I was going over the design specs. I didn’t like anything I’d tried – when he said he had some ideas, I thought—” Seeing Dick’s incredulous look, he turns around and glares. “I’ve always liked his costume designs. They were never this – this fussy before. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Dick’s surprise is gone, leaving a grin in its place. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve said that in conjunction with Roy—”
“Shut up,” Tim cuts him off. He waves one of his new birdarangs – again, too much gold and red – at Dick. “I’m not the only one who got a bad makeover.”
Dick squints past him at the mirror, thoughtfully tracing the red stripe. “Yeah, I’m thinking I should switch back.” He shrugs. “That’s what I get for letting the kid pick my design.”
Tim raises his (wings) arms. “And this is what I get for letting anyone who knew you ten years ago pick my design. Also, why didn’t you tell me Roy had started hanging out with Jason and Kory? A little warning would have been nice.”
“But oh how you’ll soar, little redbird,” Dick says soulfully. “Ooof.” He has, Tim thinks, only himself to blame for the punch. If he hadn’t been laughing so hard, Tim would never have been able to land it.
Tim Drake, Dick Grayson | G | ~400 words
“I like it, little brother.”
“Yes,” Tim says absently, frowning at his reflection. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Dick laughs and hops down from the windowsill and Tim looks away from a very bad judgment call, the better to watch him come closer in the mirror.
“So whose obviously excellent taste do we have to thank for all this awesome?” Dick’s hands squeeze Tim’s shoulders; they slide down (feathers, damn it) Tim’s arms, and his fingers should have stripes and they should be blue, but they’re not blue at all.
“Too much red,” Tim mutters, and then when Dick looks confused he says, “It’s Roy’s design.” And has the dubious pleasure of seeing Dick’s mouth drop open.
“You’re kidding.” Tim meets his eyes in the mirror. “Okay, you’re not.” His hands fall away from Tim’s arms and dangle, open and empty, at his sides. “How did that even happen?”
He looks genuinely confused. Tim wishes he was. “He was in the cave talking to Bruce while I was going over the design specs. I didn’t like anything I’d tried – when he said he had some ideas, I thought—” Seeing Dick’s incredulous look, he turns around and glares. “I’ve always liked his costume designs. They were never this – this fussy before. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Dick’s surprise is gone, leaving a grin in its place. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve said that in conjunction with Roy—”
“Shut up,” Tim cuts him off. He waves one of his new birdarangs – again, too much gold and red – at Dick. “I’m not the only one who got a bad makeover.”
Dick squints past him at the mirror, thoughtfully tracing the red stripe. “Yeah, I’m thinking I should switch back.” He shrugs. “That’s what I get for letting the kid pick my design.”
Tim raises his (wings) arms. “And this is what I get for letting anyone who knew you ten years ago pick my design. Also, why didn’t you tell me Roy had started hanging out with Jason and Kory? A little warning would have been nice.”
“But oh how you’ll soar, little redbird,” Dick says soulfully. “Ooof.” He has, Tim thinks, only himself to blame for the punch. If he hadn’t been laughing so hard, Tim would never have been able to land it.