I suppose that's just the way the cookie crumbles. (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nightchik) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} dc_flashfiction,@ 2004-08-16 00:10:00 |
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For the pants challange...
Title: Dress up
Summary: Dick's a little tired of his outfit
Dick likes his outfit the way it is, but sometimes he’s jealous of Bruce. Mostly because Bruce gets to wear pants.
Normally, the lack of pants doesn’t bother Dick. He likes the way his bare legs feel swinging through the cool night air as he twirls and flips and somersaults from one rooftop to the next. On those nights, he’s fighting, running, jumping, generally trying to keep up with Bruce any way he can; adrenalin rushes through him, his skin is burning, and the cold wind lifts tiny beads of sweat off his legs and replaces them with goosebumps. It feels good. It feels flexible and mobile and uninhibited. He can’t imagine wearing the Batman costume; he isn’t even sure how Bruce *moves* in that thing. It looks heavy and hot, and far too restrictive for the way *Dick* moves.
But now Dick is standing in the batcave alone, staring at a musty closet full of black, freestanding cowls, feeling uncomfortably naked. It occurs to him, maybe for the first time, how revealing his costume is. And it’s one thing to be dressed like an acrobat while fighting his way through the night, but it is somehow less appropriate to be just hanging around in the scanty leotard. Which is what he’s been doing for the last few hours, waiting for Bruce to come home.
Dick tugs at his shirt, strips off the Robin suit in one motion, and somehow feels less naked not wearing any clothes at all.
He stares into the closet; a dozen empty batsuits stare back at him. The eyes are all blank, yet really no blanker than usual. Bruce’s outfit is thick, bulky. Dick runs his hand across the abdominal ridges, perfectly shaped for Bruce’s form. That kind of protection is too restrictive for Robin, and he’s thankful Bruce doesn’t make him wear any. But he wonders what it would feel like.
Bruce could come back at any moment, and his heart thuds in his chest as he squirms into the batsuit, and it feels like rebellion. Part of him thinks it might, *might* be worth it to see the look on Bruce’s face if he were to catch Dick wearing his clothes. The other part of him hopes desperately that that doesn’t happen.
The cape curls around his small frame, warming him against the chill of the cave like a blanket. He thinks it would be a very nice suit to sleep in, and he’s tempted to go upstairs and just crawl into bed with it. But he’s not quite *that* stupid.
If he’s truly honest with himself, which is not something that Dick can often afford to be, the *first* time it occurred to him that the Robin costume might be a bit too skimpy was a little over a week ago at the town hall. They were fighting the Joker, and Dick made this absolutely brilliant jump straight over the Joker’s head. Or it would have been brilliant, if the Joker hadn’t looked up at him in mid-jump, wearing that creepy maniacal grin of his, and *pinched* him. The Joker had pinched him, hard, right through his ridiculously thin Robin panties.
He’s been dreaming about it ever since. Not dreams. Nightmares. Vivid nightmares, in which he relives the moment over and over, endlessly: the devilish look in the Joker’s eyes, the way he could *feel* the coarseness of the Joker’s thumb and forefinger, the way the Joker *winked* at him after he landed.
Last night, he had the exact same dream. Only this time, it was *Batman* reaching up from below, it was *Batman* pinching him hard, it was *Batman’s* thumb slipping just under the line of Dick’s panties...
He pictures the look on Bruce’s face if he walked in right now. There aren’t many things that can catch Batman off-guard, but Dick has a feeling that finding Robin wearing his clothes might be one of them. Dick imagines the hard line of Bruce’s jaw, the features frozen in a look something like anger, but really more shock, and the idea makes him smile.
He turns to find Bruce behind him, wearing that *exact* look, and his smile disappears, and his heart seems to stop all together. Bruce’s gaze travels down Dick’s form, his mouth in a thin line as Bruce takes in the image of Robin in the oversized batsuit. Robin pulls the cape tighter around himself and wishes he could disappear through the floor. The cowl slips forward over his eyes, and Dick frantically pushes it back, trying to keep some of his dignity. Dick expected the anger, but facing it in person is too startling, too real. Then he notices the eyes.
Bruce’s eyes are even wilder than he had imagined. The fear in them is genuine, and it’s silly, but Bruce is so *disturbed* at seeing Dick in his clothes that he’s actually *scared*. Dick can’t help it; he giggles. The alarm in Bruce’s eyes grows and Dick just wants to laugh harder.
“Here,” Dick thrusts the Robin panties at Bruce. “You can wear these.”
Title: Dress up
Summary: Dick's a little tired of his outfit
Dick likes his outfit the way it is, but sometimes he’s jealous of Bruce. Mostly because Bruce gets to wear pants.
Normally, the lack of pants doesn’t bother Dick. He likes the way his bare legs feel swinging through the cool night air as he twirls and flips and somersaults from one rooftop to the next. On those nights, he’s fighting, running, jumping, generally trying to keep up with Bruce any way he can; adrenalin rushes through him, his skin is burning, and the cold wind lifts tiny beads of sweat off his legs and replaces them with goosebumps. It feels good. It feels flexible and mobile and uninhibited. He can’t imagine wearing the Batman costume; he isn’t even sure how Bruce *moves* in that thing. It looks heavy and hot, and far too restrictive for the way *Dick* moves.
But now Dick is standing in the batcave alone, staring at a musty closet full of black, freestanding cowls, feeling uncomfortably naked. It occurs to him, maybe for the first time, how revealing his costume is. And it’s one thing to be dressed like an acrobat while fighting his way through the night, but it is somehow less appropriate to be just hanging around in the scanty leotard. Which is what he’s been doing for the last few hours, waiting for Bruce to come home.
Dick tugs at his shirt, strips off the Robin suit in one motion, and somehow feels less naked not wearing any clothes at all.
He stares into the closet; a dozen empty batsuits stare back at him. The eyes are all blank, yet really no blanker than usual. Bruce’s outfit is thick, bulky. Dick runs his hand across the abdominal ridges, perfectly shaped for Bruce’s form. That kind of protection is too restrictive for Robin, and he’s thankful Bruce doesn’t make him wear any. But he wonders what it would feel like.
Bruce could come back at any moment, and his heart thuds in his chest as he squirms into the batsuit, and it feels like rebellion. Part of him thinks it might, *might* be worth it to see the look on Bruce’s face if he were to catch Dick wearing his clothes. The other part of him hopes desperately that that doesn’t happen.
The cape curls around his small frame, warming him against the chill of the cave like a blanket. He thinks it would be a very nice suit to sleep in, and he’s tempted to go upstairs and just crawl into bed with it. But he’s not quite *that* stupid.
If he’s truly honest with himself, which is not something that Dick can often afford to be, the *first* time it occurred to him that the Robin costume might be a bit too skimpy was a little over a week ago at the town hall. They were fighting the Joker, and Dick made this absolutely brilliant jump straight over the Joker’s head. Or it would have been brilliant, if the Joker hadn’t looked up at him in mid-jump, wearing that creepy maniacal grin of his, and *pinched* him. The Joker had pinched him, hard, right through his ridiculously thin Robin panties.
He’s been dreaming about it ever since. Not dreams. Nightmares. Vivid nightmares, in which he relives the moment over and over, endlessly: the devilish look in the Joker’s eyes, the way he could *feel* the coarseness of the Joker’s thumb and forefinger, the way the Joker *winked* at him after he landed.
Last night, he had the exact same dream. Only this time, it was *Batman* reaching up from below, it was *Batman* pinching him hard, it was *Batman’s* thumb slipping just under the line of Dick’s panties...
He pictures the look on Bruce’s face if he walked in right now. There aren’t many things that can catch Batman off-guard, but Dick has a feeling that finding Robin wearing his clothes might be one of them. Dick imagines the hard line of Bruce’s jaw, the features frozen in a look something like anger, but really more shock, and the idea makes him smile.
He turns to find Bruce behind him, wearing that *exact* look, and his smile disappears, and his heart seems to stop all together. Bruce’s gaze travels down Dick’s form, his mouth in a thin line as Bruce takes in the image of Robin in the oversized batsuit. Robin pulls the cape tighter around himself and wishes he could disappear through the floor. The cowl slips forward over his eyes, and Dick frantically pushes it back, trying to keep some of his dignity. Dick expected the anger, but facing it in person is too startling, too real. Then he notices the eyes.
Bruce’s eyes are even wilder than he had imagined. The fear in them is genuine, and it’s silly, but Bruce is so *disturbed* at seeing Dick in his clothes that he’s actually *scared*. Dick can’t help it; he giggles. The alarm in Bruce’s eyes grows and Dick just wants to laugh harder.
“Here,” Dick thrusts the Robin panties at Bruce. “You can wear these.”
