By SKH
©February 2003
Rating: PG (sorry)
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson
Continuity: Darklady's 'Hornetverse.'
Disclaimer: Characters herein are owned by DC Comics/Time Warner/AOL. No profit is realized from creation of stories based on these trademarked characters.
Not to be archived without permission.
Florence Nightenwing
By SKH
Nightwing pulled his motorcycled into its space in the Batcave and quieted the engine. Dismounting, he doffed his helmet and strode to the uniform vault. He didn't bother looking around for Batman. He had it on good (Alfred's) authority that the Bat was roosting, albeit against his will, upstairs in Bruce Wayne's master bedroom suite. This was the third night Nightwing had patrolled Gotham City in the Batman's stead. As unbelievable as it was to have to take the reins -- or jumpline in this case -- he was glad to do it. It wasn't every day, or year, or even decade, that Bruce Wayne got the flu.
Dick Grayson quickly shed his boots and gauntlets, and then peeled out of his suit and undergarments, leaving them casually strewn across a bench in the wardrobe vault. The chilly air in the cave danced over his bare skin, instantly hardening his nipples. Dick grabbed a plush terrycloth robe from a hanger and pulled it on, then ran barefoot up the cold stone staircase, taking the steps three at a time.
It was a quarter past three in the morning, an early turn-in by Gotham crime-time, but between Nightwing and Robin, the city's mooks seemed to have given up and gone to bed early. Dick enjoyed any chance to work with Tim. He enjoyed even more that subbing for the Bat gave him the opportunity to come "home" to Wayne Manor, something he definitely didn't do enough of. Bludhaven was a handful, for both Dick's day job and Nightwing's nightly responsibilities. The work was gratifying, giving him a sense of autonomy he hadn't always enjoyed in Gotham.
But there was no denying that the Manor was home.
Dick stopped by the kitchen first to grab the sandwich Alfred Pennyworth had left out him. Dick wolfed the chow on his way upstairs, and by the time he reached Bruce's door, he had drained a liter bottle of water as well.
Dick slowly opened the door and peeked inside. He listened to the uncharacteristic snoring, a phenomenon that must be a result of the flu's aggravating effects on Bruce's sinuses. With a grin, Dick slipped inside the room. He padded quietly to Bruce's bedside, perusing his sleeping partner carefully. By the light of the illuminated clock on the bedside table, Dick noted the bottles of medications, cough syrup, and the wastebasket overflowing with used tissues. The quiet drone of a humidifier accompanied Bruce's congested snoring. A little cloud of menthol vapor wafted around the bed.
Wrinkling his nose at the medicinal aroma, Dick turned and headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, Dick emerged from the bathroom, clean inside and out, and feeling like a new vigilante. Clad only in the cloud of steam, he rubbed his hair vigorously as he returned to the bed.
The snoring had stopped, replaced by a mucous-laden blast resembling the rumblings of Bruce's Harley Hog.
Dick dropped the damp towel on the carpet and combed his hands through his hair. The bedside lamp switched on.
"You can leave your hands like that," Bruce growled nasally, his red-rimmed eyes scanning the defined musculature in front of him.
"It's aliiiiiive!" Dick softly teased, keeping his fingers locked behind his head, enjoying Bruce's libidinous gaze. He slowly turned around, showing off his best assets before returning his languid
smile to Bruce.
"Hmph. Barely." The response was followed by another noisy, wet blast.
Dick winced and dropped his hands. "Yecch." Then, apologetically, "I didn't wake you, did I?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to pick up the different flu remedies one by one.
"No. I couldn't brede."
A smirk curled Dick's lips. "Of course you couldn't breed. You sleep with a guy," he quipped.
"Don't be cute," came the warning growl.
"It's impossible for me not to be cute. That's why you love me." Dick leaned in and kissed Bruce's forehead, displaying affection as well as testing Bruce's temperature.
"D'ats not de only reason," said Bruce, reaching out to cup Dick's freshly shaven cheek with his hand.
Dick reached for Bruce's hand with his own, then tenderly kissed Bruce's palm. "There's my hot bod, too."
"Brat."
"*Your* brat. And now your brat is going to make you some of this Thera-Flu junk. You really sound terrible."
"D'ats because I feel terrible," Bruce agreed, enjoying how Dick was holding his hand. Frowning, he said, "You're not concerned dat you might get dis flu?"
"Not really," Dick said nonchalantly as he released Bruce's hand and reached for the box of powdered flu remedy. "I got my flu shot two months ago. Department policy. With the staff already so thin, the BPD can't afford to have officers out sick."
"Hmph." Bruce's grunt was as much for the loss of contact with Dick as for the mention of the bane of his domestic existence -- Bludhaven and its bothersome police department. That meant Dick would likely be gone by sunrise. Not enough time for sleep, not enough time for... Bruce reached for another tissue and blew.
Dismissed, Dick sighed and walked away with an envelope of powder. A couple of minutes later, he returned from the bathroom with two steaming cups -- herbal tea for him, and the medicinal brew for Bruce -- thanks to the little tea-making appliance Alfred shrewdly placed there. Handing a mug to Bruce, Dick walked around the bed and climbed in.
"You're staying?" Bruce asked between sips of the lemon-flavored medicine.
"'Til noon!" Dick cheerfully replied. "I'm on second shift this week." Dick drank in the tea as well as the little smile that appeared on Bruce's face. He waited as Bruce drained the cup, then
took it from Bruce's hand and put it on the table on his side of the bed, along with his own mug.
"Feeling better?" Dick asked with a wicked wink.
Bruce gave Dick a tired smile. "Not 'wink' better."
"'Cuddle' better?" Dick's eyebrows raised inquiringly.
"Yeah." Bruce reached out and again brushed Dick's cheek with his fingers. With a groan, he turned out the light and settled down into his pillows. Dick pulled the blankets up around Bruce and snuggled up behind him.
"Nice," Bruce murmured, relishing the warmth of the firm body against his. He pulled Dick's arm from around his waist up to his chest, locking their fingers together. "Mmmm," was his response to the reciprocating kiss on his shoulder. Before he dropped off into an antihistamine-induced sleep, Bruce decided that getting the flu wasn't all *that* bad.
The End.