Work Text:
"So I was thinking," Dick starts, nosing the hair at the back of Tim's neck. It's such a perfectly grabbable length right now, ideal for arching Tim back or holding him in place - but even just the black fall of it feathering his jawline can set Dick's heart to fluttering.
He feels more than hears Tim hum in question, his back settled comfortably against Dick's chest - but he clearly isn't paying much attention. He's probably scrolling through his phone or texting his friends with the hand that isn't laced with Dick's against the mattress.
Dick nips at the hickey already bruised into Tim's nape. Tim jolts a bit. The glow from his phone wobbles, then goes dark as he huffs a laugh and sets it face down. Dick presses a pleased kiss to the mark, then continues.
"I was thinking, if 'Flamebird' doesn't work for you - "
"Not this again," Tim laughs out loud this time, shaking against Dick's chest. Dick just squeezes his arm around him and persists.
" - then how about a compromise, like 'Redbird'?"
"That's my car's name, Dick."
"'Nightwing and Redbird' sounds good though, admit it."
Tim turns in place, flashing a roll of his eyes before he tucks himself under Dick's chin, threading his own arm under Dick's so he can hug him comfortably.
"Just because I don't take Redbird out very often anymore doesn't mean the name's free for use now."
Dick's lower lip juts slightly in a pout. He consoles himself by kissing the top of Tim's head. "Fine. Should've expected you to be pedantic. 'Redwing', maybe?"
"Nightwing and Redwing?" Dick can hear the skeptical raised eyebrow in Tim's voice, and the smile.
Well, when he says it like that.
"Okay, maybe not Redwing," Dick concedes. Tim hums in amused agreement. "...Remind me why you don't like 'Flamebird', again?" He would strictly deny any hint of a whine in his tone.
"S'kinda dorky," Tim mumbles sleepily, as patient and obliging in his steadfast rejection as every other time Dick has tried to suggest it. "Like, Flameo Hotman, y'know?"
What even?
"That just means it fits you to a tee," Dick argues, instead of potentially opening a can of worms by asking. Tim pinches his hip. "Ow."
"Also, no prior affiliation with fire as a personal motif," Tim continues, still half into his pillow. "Doesn't seem thematically resonant."
Dick refrains from pointing out the thematic resonance of being one half of a famed pair of heroic lovers, but it's a struggle.
"Okay, granted - but in terms of dorkiness, 'Flamebird' is downright respectable - storied, even! - compared to, say, something like 'Drake' - " he says instead, lifting his head earnestly.
"The Drake hero identity is strictly banned from discussion under Amendment #32 to the Household Rules," Tim recites immediately, proving exactly what degree of dork he is, and also pinching harder at Dick's hip.
"Ow. You snuck that amendment in while I was under duress," Dick sulks, slapping to fend off Tim's grabby and distinctly crab-like pincers.
His stomach still catches a treacherous case of butterflies as Tim smiles slowly up at him, probably remembering the exact circumstances of said duress.
"Mmmhmm," Tim purrs, now lightly circling the pads of his fingers on the tender, abused spot on Dick's poor hip. "And?"
Dick takes a moment to remember it, too. For legal reasons.
Mmm.
...Yeah, worth it.
"Objection withdrawn," he sighs, thumping his head back onto his pillow.
Tim laughs at him, warm and bright and perfect in his arms. Dick closes his eyes and smiles, helpless.
They quiet down and just breathe together for a bit, in sync as always. Dick traces shapes on Tim's back, lazily enjoying his warm skin. Tim presses close and feathers soft, sporadic kisses to his throat, no intention behind them.
After a few minutes, Dick feels Tim's lips slacken until they're just tickling his skin, sweetly maddening. He's probably drifting. Dick should let him sleep - god knows he needs it. But...
"We could both be Nightwing?" he whispers, half meaning to go unheard. "You look so good in the blue and black, baby bird."
Tim makes an exasperated noise. Oops, ha, not as far into his doze as Dick had thought. He sits up, expression unimpressed, but even in the low light Dick can see the dusting of color on his cheeks, the amusement still folded into the corner of his mouth.
"Really, Dick?"
Dick grins up at him, admiring. "Come on, you've shared Robin before, and I know you shared Black Bat with Cass for a while in Hong Kong."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tim says loftily.
"You were pretty seamless about it," Dick admits, sneaking his hand up Tim's side. "To anyone who didn't know you. Or," he smirks, "who hadn't taught you half your moves."
"I can neither confirm nor deny," Tim maintains, eyes raised piously. "Also, bullshit half, maybe twenty percent at the most - " He yelps as Dick finishes snaking an arm around him and judo-flips him to bounce on his back, giggling.
"What, you can crack my secret ID by recognizing a flip, but I can't 'flip' the script?" Dick teases, swinging his weight onto Tim, pressing him into the mattress so he can't get away. He leans down to kiss Tim while he's still groaning at the pun.
They get distracted by each others' mouths, making out for a minute, two. Tim wraps his arms around Dick's neck, lifts his knees to bracket Dick's hips - cradles him. Dick can never get enough of him - the sounds he makes, the intoxicating heat of him. His embrace never ceases to simultaneously comfort and thrill.
Tim lets their lips part; rests their foreheads together to gently stop Dick when he makes a little mourning noise and starts to tip back in as if by gravity.
"Why do you keep bringing this up?" Tim murmurs.
Ah...unfair. Being enfolded like this means Dick can't get away, either.
"You're the one who hasn't made a decision," Dick points out, looking down and away, using his lashes as a shield from Tim's gaze. It's difficult to evade Tim under normal circumstances, much less from all of an inch away, and he really doesn't have a hope of Tim not pursuing. Still. "You said you wanted to move on from Red Robin months ago."
"Mmhm," Tim acknowledges, then nudges Dick's nose with his own, back and forth. Dick sighs, melting. So unfair. "And why do you keep bringing this up?"
He must know. He has to know. Dick hasn't exactly been subtle, and it's Tim.
...He definitely knows.
"I want us to match," Dick breathes. Tim kisses his cheek, soft. "I want people to know we're a set." Tim shifts, kisses his other cheek. "That we - that we belong to each other."
(So even if you run again, you'll have to take me with you in at least some sense, he doesn't say.)
(So even when you flit off, to your never-ending roster of friends and allies, you'll know that your home is by my side - that your home is me.)
(Because I want to put a ring on your finger - I want, I want - but legal technicalities and goddamn social mores mean I might never, ever be able to.)
(Because I want you to be mine.)
He realizes he's said that last out loud when Tim makes a hurt noise and finally returns to his mouth, lips clinging and intent - and he knows Tim heard all the rest, too.
"Be mine, Tim," he pleads between kisses. "Be mine, be mine."
"I am," Tim gasps, holding him tight. "I am - god, Dick, always yours."