"What am I supposed to do with these?"
The High Priest stared at the two bound men that had been plopped down in front of him, and despite the ridiculous wooden mask the dude was wearing, Dick could tell that he really wasn't crazy about the whole thing. Well, that made two of them, then. Three, if Damian's massive frown was any indication.
This was really not how Dick had wanted this evening to go.
He still felt a little woozy; it had taken them three poisoned darts to bring him down, and a whopping five to drop Damian. Much like his dad, the younger Wayne had that thing where his body seemed to stubbornly refuse to react to sedatives unless someone pulled a hilarious overkill. Together, father and son had brought many a sniper armed with horse tranquilizers to tears, and it never really got old to witness it.
The boy was on the ground next to him, obviously trying to pretend that being assaulted, drugged, tied up and tossed at the feet of some crazy maniac was new and scary to him. He had an adorably hard time pulling it off.
There was an awkward silence in the sacrificial chamber in the underground temple of the Order Of The Serpent. The men who'd dragged them there shuffled their feet. Eventually, one of them stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"One of these two shall be our offering to the Great Serpent tonight," he suggested, gesturing towards them with his massively sleeved arms, which prompted Damian to try out the "terrified civilian" face that Alfred had taught him. It was easily one of the funniest things Dick had seen this week, right next to that video of that kitten falling off a piano.
"Look at them, Great Master, they're in peak condition, a worthy sacrifice! They put up quite a fight, I must say. And the smaller one is even the son of that vile philantropist, Bruce Wayne from Gotham City."
"I recognized him from the papers. There was a picture of him on a boat," one of the goons added proudly, to which the son of the Bat let out an exasperated growl. Dick remembered how livid he'd been to have to go to that photo op on the deck of the S.S. Martha.
Damian quickly collected himself, though, and piped up in his meekest voice. "Please, Mister. Please, let me go, I, er, implore you! My father … has money?"
He shot Dick a confused look that said Am I doing this right?
"Silence! Money will not save you, or your friend," the High Priest sneered, waving his magical wand…thing in their faces.
"Oh, him?" Damian gave Dick another look, not so secret this time. The corners of this mouth were twitching. "You can keep him. He's my manservant. I don't really care what happens to him; I have tons of those."
Dick rolled over to elbow him, which was pointless – because he was tied up, and because nudging Damian into his rock-hard abs was the equivalent of nudging a brick wall.
"Quiet now, insolent boy," the High Priest replied, raising his arms. His sleeves were inexplicably even longer than everyone else's. "I will now channel the Serpent to see if one of you will make an acceptable sacrifice!"
He shook his stick at them again and did his best impression of a hissing snake, to which Damian made his Is he being serious right now-face, which was only mildly less entertaining than his I'm totally not a borderline invincible crimefighter, for real you guys-face.
Dick had almost forgotten how much he missed seeing that on a regular basis.
To be fair, there seemed to be some low-level magic at play. A cold, strange atmosphere seemed to take a hold of the place, and Dick felt his spine tingling as some of the torches went out. The leader's phallic wand even seemed to vibrate, or something, which Dick really did not appreciate so close to Damian's face. The cult members stood huddled together, watching with baited breath, not daring to make a sound.
After some time, the robed man lowered his arms and concluded: "They simply won't do."
The pack of goons seemed devastated. "But – Master – "
"Silence." The High Priest raised his hand. He had freakishly long fingernails. "The Serpent demands a sacrifice that is pure. Neither of them is a virgin."
"Well, that should've been obv – " Dick began, then paused, then looked at Damian, who did his best to avoid his gaze. "Wait. What?"
"Does that mean we can't toss them in the pit of snakes?" The cult member who'd recognized Damian asked, sounding as if his birthday had been cancelled.
"Oh, we'll definitely do that," the master assured him. "But we'll have to tie them to a virgin first. Bring these two into the dungeons, and find me a pure soul before sunrise. For that is the path of the snake. Go forth, my little adders!"
A few minutes later, Dick found himself tied back-to-back with Damian in a damp, pitch-dark, decidedly leaky dungeon. It was quiet except for the steady dripping, and the rumbling of both their stomachs. They could've really used that snack they had been about to get when all this went down.
After a while, Damian said: "So. Blüdhaven."
"Not that different from Gotham, I see."
It was cold down here, but Dick could feel the warmth of Damian's skin against his back. Somehow, the boy seemed to always glow slightly, as if there was some unspecified heat source inside him. Knowing Damian, it was probably his pent-up rage.
Dick sighed. "Same accumulation of supervillains big and small with a flair for the dramatic and their eyes on world domination, I'm afraid. Sorry about that."
"Well," Damian drawled, "You were right, this is an excellent way to spend my weekend here. I really appreciate it."
Dick blushed. "Look, I said I was sorry."
He truly was. He'd really wanted to show his former difficult partner and even more difficult friend a good time on his visit. Show Damian that being a civilian and doing stuff that didn't involve swinging from the rooftops or brutalizing thugs could be fun. After all, among the people Damian could be expected to voluntarily spend time with, Dick was the expert on that. But of course, this was how it had to play out. Of course, "going out for falafel" had to turn into "get into tussle with Order Of The Serpent, end up as sacrifice for the Snake God".
"Don't be." Behind him, Damian shifted a little, leaning into him for more support. "I wasn't being sarcastic. This isn't too bad as far as entertainment goes. I saw what you had planned, and … really, Grayson, the circus? Please remember that I'm not twelve anymore."
Dick's blush grew deeper. "That's … age has nothing to do with it," he grumbled, hurt. "You are never too old to experience the magical joy of the circus! It's an art form."
"Sure," Damian said politely, though not polite enough to sound as if he cared. Like most people his age, he thought the circus was lame, but Dick hadn't entirely given up on turning that around yet. He'd really love to shove a bag of old-fashioned popcorn into his hand, put him into one of those vintage wooden seats and see how he liked it. He probably would; especially the acrobats and the wild animals.
"Hey, I'm from the circus, and I'm cool, right?" He tried. Friday night was officially ruined, but they could still catch a show tomorrow, if neither of them got eaten by snakes.
He couldn't see the younger boy's face, but he could practically hear that smirk. "You think that I think you're cool?"
Dick smiled to himself. He knew that Damian did, and they both knew that there was no point in arguing because he'd never admit it.
Besides, there was another thing that he really wanted to know about. And they had a lot of time to kill until the Order returned.
"So," he said slowly, "You're not a virgin? When did that happen?"
He was really curious, to be honest. Imagining Damian attempting to date was like imagining a vicious, pissed-off tiger cub … attempting to date.
"Let me get this straight, Grayson," Damian sneered, but he seemed a little tense suddenly, "We're trapped in a temple with a bunch of crazy people who want to feed us to their snakes, and the things you choose to zero in on is – me not wanting to go to the circus, and me having sex. Does it bother you this much that I'm not a little boy anymore?"
"Well, no," Dick said, which was the truth. Damian had been really fun when he'd been small enough for Dick to toss him over his shoulder (if he found the right angle to get close enough), but he wasn't any less fun now that he was all grown up, confident as always and more volatile than ever. A cross between a ticking time bomb and the most interesting person you'd ever meet. At least if you had a slight addiction to dangerous people and dangerous situations, which Dick Grayson clearly had.
"That's not it. But I thought…well, I always figured we'd talk about stuff like that, you know? Instead, you spent the entire afternoon re-telling that story about how your mother made you wrestle an alligator in a pit when you were eight. Which, not news, and also, really more depressing than you seem to realize." He shrugged. "Me and Tim talk about personal stuff all the time."
Damian groaned. "Thanks for that. The one thing this night was lacking was the image of Drake having sex."
"Talking about your private life is kinda important, it means you have one," Dick told him, since that wasn't a lesson Damian was likely to get from Bruce. "And I don't know if you know, but private lives can be great."
Damian scoffed, and Dick could hear him kick the gravel off the wall; and for a slight moment, that pouty little boy who insisted on having zero emotions was back.
"Overrated," he muttered.
Something about that was sad. If Damian had been with someone and still thought so little of it, it couldn't have been great.
"Aw, c'mon," Dick said gently. "Who did you date? Someone I know?"
Damian's skin seemed to burn hotter than before. "I don't date, Grayson," he spat, "That's not how I do things."
Dick raised a brow. "Then how – "
He couldn't finish, as the boy suddenly toppled over, and his entire body convulsed as he started to cough and retch.
"Damian?" Dick struggled to look at him, and his hands grew icy cold as he remembered the terrible, familiar feeling of being worried about him. "What's wrong? Damian?! Oh god, talk to me – "
The boy stopped shaking, and then made Dick Grayson feel like an idiot as he turned his head around to present the razor blade he'd just coughed up, holding it between his teeth.
"Great." Dick frowned at him, only to be completely ignored while Damian to cut himself free. "You'd do anything to get out of this conversation, wouldn't you."
"It's really not that embarrassing, you know!"
"Having a love life is a good thing!"
"Oh and by the way, they have sword swallowers at the circus, you'd totally dig that – "
Damian spat the razor blade into his freed hands. "Shut up, Grayson!"
Dick gave him a stern look. "Your father, and Alfred, and me, and everyone who has ever seen you do that, told you not to eat razors anymore. Seriously."
Damian licked his lips, and gave him that deranged, dark, carefree grin that Dick, quite honestly, had no defenses against. "And I've told you all the same thing: I've been doing this trick since I was five."
"You know that's appalling, right. Not impressive."
"Let's see your great escape plan then, Nightwing."
That was a challenge Dick couldn't pass up. "Sure. Gimme a minute."
"What the – " Damian fell silent and looked on with frowning skepticism as Dick started to wiggle on the floor.
"Well," he explained, while shimmying out of his restraints without breaking a sweat, "When I reconnected with the folks at Haley's Circus – "
Damian rolled his eyes at that.
"They had a contortionist there. He showed me some stuff."
"That looks … very undignified, Grayson," Damian complained, but Dick could tell he looked at him twisting around on the ground with some fascination, cold, cat-like blue eyes fixed on his movements.
If he didn't know any better, he could've almost sworn Damian was checking him out or something.
"My method was much less embarrassing, though," Damian insisted, eyes darting away from Dick's as the taller man got to his feet. "You looked ridiculous. Very very ridiculous." His face seemed to glow a little.
Dick grinned at him. "I can teach you that."
There was nothing to do until the goons returned with the virgin for them to rescue, so they sat back down on the floor for the most clammy, least comfortable hang-out session ever. Damian took up a bone that looked alarmingly like a human rib, and started drawing circles into the dust. He seemed uncharacteristically flustered.
"If you really want to know," he mumbled after a while. "When I turned eighteen, I, well, I figured it was time for me to get it out of the way, so I made arrangements with an admirer of mine, and got it taken care of."
That sounded so technical and joyless that Dick let out a bewildered "…what?"
Damian shot him a weirdly defiant look. "Being a virgin is a liability in our line of work, and you know that!" he condescended. "Look at these nutbags and their virgin sacrifices! And I cannot even count the times enemies of my father swore to 'corrupt' me, or 'pervert' me or whatever, since that's apparently what they're all into these days." He crinkled his nose.
"Yikes," Dick muttered, as the more unsavory memories of his early days as Robin came back. "I hate to say it, but I know exactly what that's like."
No wonder Damian's approach to sex wasn't exactly light-hearted.
"Besides. Is it so strange to think I have admirers?" Damian growled, before looking away. "I'm cute," he added, and went back to doodling on the floor.
"You are," Dick said, before thinking about it. "But…taken care of? Like getting rid of your wisdom teeth, or having a tire fixed?"
"It's not really like that, is it?" Damian replied. "Because you need a doctor or mechanic for that, or Alfred. But you can have sex with anyone. It doesn't matter who."
Dick bit his lip. He remembered how nervous, happy, and goofily excited he'd been when he'd had sex for the first time. That was how it was supposed to be, wasn't it? The way Damian looked and sounded, he'd never experienced the thrill of stumbling on to a bed with someone, kissing and laughing until you were out of breath.
Granted, it was pretty hard to imagine Damian doing any of that, but still.
"You were…nice to her, though, right?" Dick asked him quietly.
Damian's head shot up angrily as he scowled at him. "Who do you take me for, Grayson?! Of course I was! I gave them flowers and took them to dinner and said please and thank you and all that. I know how to conduct myself, since you and Alfred never stop hounding me about being nice. Don't worry. I was nice. Really nice. "
Dick honestly had no idea what being really nice meant in Damian's world. But something else caught his attention. "Them?"
Damian looked so tormented answering that, Dick almost regretted asking. "Okay, I admit, I took two people to bed – "
Dick blinked. "Really? That's kinky. And … ambitious."
"On separate occasions, Grayson, geez! Don't be such a child." Damian rolled his eyes. "A girl, once, and once a boy. Because … I wanted to know which one I liked better." He tossed the bone away and got on his feet, his face darker than before.
"This is dumb!" He hissed. "You promised me fun, and instead, I'm stuck in a dungeon with you, answering your stupid questions about that stupid thing!" He turned away abruptly, and seemed to pretend to examine the wall or something.
Dick somehow wanted to go over there and hug him, but Damian and hugs were a toxic combination even in less awkward situations.
"Sorry," he said instead. "I shouldn't have. We don't have to talk about it."
The boy tsked him again. "It's a little late for that, isn't it."
Dick left him be for a while. He should've known that talking about … the mushy stuff was way more difficult for Damian than being attacked by half a dozen beefed-up thugs in a dark alley. He was reminded of how much Bruce loved to talk about his romantic life, as in, not at all. He was the same, always acting as if it didn't affect him, as if it could never really be a part of him, because there was that something, that secret he couldn't share with the people he shared his bed with.
Dick had experienced what it was like, with Babs and Kori and others, what it was like to be with someone who knew who you really were. And it was beautiful. If complicated.
"It was fine," Damian suddenly snapped, hardened voice, hardened shoulders. "Both times. I liked it fine. I didn't feel any different. It was … satisfactory."
That was a bummer if Dick had ever heard one.
"It can be more than that, though," he said cautiously, "Have you ever met someone that you've … I don't know, really been into?"
Damian turned around to give him the weirdest, most fleeting of looks.
There was oddness in the air for a moment. Like; a sizzle.
"Not lately," Damian said briskly.
Then, his face contorted, and he slammed his fist against the wall. "How long does it take these idiots to find a single virgin in this town? Seriously!"
Dick observed him. "You will, you know."
"Shatter their bones as if they were dry clay? Of course I will."
"No. I mean, you'll meet someone – "
"Grayson," Damian said, still not looking at him, still pressing his fist into the wall, "Please don't."
It was rare to hear Damian say "please", and even rarer that he meant it, and it made Dick shut up. At least for a while.
"So uh," he eventually said. "How's schoolwork?"
That seemed to appease Damian a bit, and he grudgingly spoke about it for a while, until the sound of feet alerted them to their capturers returning. There was no talk necessary; this, they both knew by heart. They returned to their original position on the floor, pretending to still be bound together. Of course, they could have waited on both sides of the door and jumped their foes immediately, but somehow they wordlessly agreed that it was more fun this way.
Soon, light fell into the dungeon as the door was opened. The High Priest was standing there, and behind him his little adders, clutching a sobbing young girl in their midst.
"Sacrifices," the master asked, "Are you ready to face your deaths?"
"Are you ready to face your tonsils when I twist you like a balloon?" Damian retorted, obviously too upset to pretend he was a scared little rich boy.
"Go easy on 'em," Dick whispered to him as the cult members approached. "We're still civilians, and these guys are amateurs. They're really not prepared for the full Robin."
"Should've thought about that before you made me really angry with all that mushy talk," Damian hissed, before he shot up, flipped onto his hands and planted his feet into the two faces unfortunate enough to be closest to him.
It was Dick and Damian against eighteen of them, so in other words, it was kind of a cakewalk. Still a good time, though.
They fought their way out of the dungeon, back into the sacrificial chamber. With Damian serving as a pain-inducing, whirlwind distraction, Dick dove for the girl, grabbed her, and placed her gingerly on top of the altar, out of harm's way.
"It'll be a minute," he assured her, before he threw himself right back into the action.
He'd forgotten how much fun it was to fight alongside Damian, and what a pleasure it was to watch him. Dick liked battle, occasionally, when it wasn't about the whole world ending or everyone he knew and loved dying (which it often was), but Damian clearly loved it. He literally looked like a bird that was finally, finally let free to soar. It was … like … poetry. Face-smashing, bone-shattering, terrifying poetry.
Dick found it hard to concentrate on the cult member whose shoulder he was currently dislocating.
There was something else, too, a change, a shift in Damian's style. Where he'd completely obliterated his foes before, if nobody stopped him, he now showed restraint, focusing on taking them down as quickly and as bloodlessly as possible, moving like a ghost from one to the next; using his mind instead of his natural penchant for cruelty. That was Bruce's work, and Dick's, too. And it filled him with pride to see it.
Dick also wasn't sure if Damian had always made those sounds when fighting. Those hoarse, fierce little sounds. Perhaps he'd forgotten about it. Or maybe the quality had changed, or the pitch, or something, at least he didn't remember them to be this sensual –
He could've watched him forever, easily, if Damian hadn't suddenly turned towards him, blue eyes as large as saucers, and yelled, "Grayson!"
Dick snapped out of it and turned around, a little too slow, a little too late.
As it turned out, that cult leader didn't only have a vibrating magic stick. He also had a freaking gun.
The shot echoed cold and hard from the underground temple's walls, and in the next moment, Dick Grayson collapsed as a blunt force hit him right in the chest.
That blunt force being Damian Wayne, who'd reached him at what seemed to be superhuman speed, and slammed him into a wall seconds before the bullet met its target. It propelled into the wall instead, inches from their faces.
Before Dick could even process it, the boy whirled back into the other direction, shattered the cult leader's hand as he kicked the gun into the snake pit, and a second later, Dick could hear the man howl as Damian broke his magic stick over his head.
Shaking, Dick opened his dried-up mouth to thank him, but he didn't get to it. Damian was already back by his side, yanked him close by his shirt and glared at him like he'd never been glared at before, not even by Batman.
"What. Is wrong with you," the boy panted, more out of breath than he'd been from the fighting.
"I…" Dick licked his lips. "I got…distracted."
"By what?!" Damian seemed tempted to grab his former Batman by the shoulders and shake him. He was visibly trembling in those invaluable designer sneakers he was wearing for the day. "What could've possibly distracted you from that?!"
For some reason it wasn't easy to say that. Dick just stared at Damian, whose entire face was glowing as if on fire. His ragged breath was furious, hot, and fragrant. Spicy.
I weirdly want to kiss you right now.
"Fine!" The boy let go of him and turned on his heels, still livid. "Then don't tell me."
They dusted themselves off, rang in an anonymous tip with the police, and made sure the girl was fine. Her name was Marie and she readily promised she wouldn't tell anyone what really happened, right after avowing to never take the graveyard shift at Nadir's Falafel Hut again. Dick dragged Damian off before he could give her earnest advice about losing her virginity as soon as she could arrange it.
It was nearly dawn when they returned to the surface. All the way up, Dick thanked Damian repeatedly for shielding him from that bullet, but it didn't seem to count, because the boy simply ground his teeth, fuming silently by his side.
That was, until he caught his first whiff of fresh air, at which point he started to rant.
"Unbelievable!" he tittered, kicking a conveniently placed trash can, "I am so not ever going on patrol with you ever again! What a shameful display. You can be glad I won't tell Father, or you'd be having a really tense phone conversation – "
Dick knew he should've been embarrassed, but instead, he had to grin.
"You won't tell him?" He perked up, lips twitching. "That's great. Because I'm not crazy to receive a spanking at this point in my life. He totally used to do that, you know – "
"I should spank you!" Damian hissed, his face darkening once more. "Why are you laughing!? This isn't funny!"
"Well, it's kinda – OUF!"
The boy had slammed him into the wall again.
Dick found himself with his back against it, blinking at the shaking rageball that was Damian. "What's it with you and walls today?"
He could've easily shaken him off, really, but he didn't.
There was something about seeing Damian this upset about him almost catching a bullet. It was …
It was sweet.
His words, though; not so much.
"You could've died," the boy spat. "You could've died and I would have never forgiven you for that. Because then I'd never – "
He stopped, looking embarrassed all of a sudden.
Then, he blurted out: "Grayson. Do you like men?"
That seemed like a weird trajectory, but Dick was too baffled not to reply. "I d– … I do, actually, why?"
"How about…" He'd never heard Damian stumble over a sentence before. His blue-eyed stare was supercriminal-levels of intense. "How about me…?"
"What?" Dick furrowed his brow. "Well, Damian, obviously I can't tell you if you like m – "
He didn't get to finish, because by then, Damian had grabbed his face with both hands and was, for lack of a better word, attacking Dick's mouth with his mouth.
As far as kisses went, it was a disaster. It was toothy, clumsy, desperate, possessive, really dry (what was with this boy's hydration?!), accompanied by some furious nail-clawing, and very very annoyed. Dick had been with his share of complicated people, but he'd never, ever been rage-kissed this hard.
His entire face was in all kinds of pain when Damian eventually let up. His lips were rapidly swelling. His head was spinning.
His knees were butter.
Damian was so close that their lips almost touched again as he spoke. "You idiot," he growled, but there was a dark, affectionate twinge in his voice that made Dick shiver. "Don't notice when people are shooting at you. Don't notice when people are hitting on you."
"You were…hitting on me?" Dick asked, very slowly. After that kiss, his brain was still deprived of oxygen, and … thought. Also, this was madness. And vaguely intimidating.
Damian's mouth opened and closed a couple times. The look of pure, humiliated anger that flashed across his face answered Dick's question before he even started to rant.
"'course I was!" He barked, indignant. "I came all the way out here to Blüdhaven, didn't I? I agreed to sleep on a couch. I'm wearing my really tight shirt. I went to the park with you. What did you think I was going for when I suggested we order an ice cream bowl for two, Grayson? Why would I share food with you?"
"Good question," Dick admitted, "I thought that was weird. Delicious. But really weird."
Damian pouted. "I only told you that alligator story again to punish you, because you wouldn't pick up on my gestures. I know you hate that story, Grayson, because I am perceptive. Unlike you. "
"I guess I … never looked at you that way," Dick confessed awkwardly.
And it was true, he hadn't, not until twenty minutes ago, when he'd seen him fight down there in the dungeons. Perhaps it had been earlier, right when he'd felt his warmth against him as they'd been tied together. Or perhaps even when he'd greeted him at Blüdhaven Central Station, looking actually pretty gorgeous in that really tight shirt.
Usually, when faced with even the smallest hint of rejection, Damian would throw a tantrum, or terrify everyone into giving him what he wanted, anyway. Right now, he just looked as if punched in the gut.
"Fine," he croaked. "That's … that's that, then. I'm glad we discussed it. Now, let's never mention it again."
And with that, he stiffly turned and walked away, leaving Dick with precious seconds to sort that mess out.
"Damian. I didn't – that's not what I – stop! "
But he didn't stop. Not until Dick caught up to him, put his arms around him, pulled him close, and held him, right there in that narrow dark alley they'd escaped to.
He could feel how mystified Damian was, at first, then he grew really tense … and then his hands found Dick's and tentatively wrapped them around his waist. Dick closed his eyes as he nuzzled his face against the back of Damian's neck. That was all they did. And somehow, it fit.
The embrace seemed to melt away some of Damian's guardedness, but his voice was as sharp as ever when he inquired: "You're not…taking pity on me, are you?"
Dick silently shook his head, face still buried against Damian's neck.
"You're not doing this because you think you should, because I saved your life."
"Then…" Damian's voice sounded unusually tiny. "Then…why?"
"Because," Dick muttered into his hair, "You're right. Sometimes I'm not very perceptive. Not even when it comes to myself. But what I realized is," he had the pleasure of feeling Damian swoon against him as he whispered into his ear, "That I'm really, really into you. In fact, I'm so attracted to you I nearly got shot."
"Oh," Damian said shakily. "That's what that was. Wait. That's not a good thing, is it."
"Probably not. But if you really want to try this – "
"I do," the boy retorted promptly, spinning around to almost headbutt Dick in his eagerness. "I vote yes. I'm for it. Let's do it. I mean. Try it."
And there it was. There was Damian, wide-eyed and really being into someone, and that someone was him.
It was beautiful.
And only mildly scary.
Dick smiled, leaned down, and kissed him the way he liked to do it, that was, softly, deeply, sensually, and lasting for quite a while. Damian's breath hitched in his throat, and then, the boy flung his arms around his neck so forcefully as if he wanted to twist his head off.
There had to be a hint of violence in everything he did, apparently. Which was disturbing. And a little hot.
"You know," Dick told him breathlessly as they removed their lips from each other, "It's a tough call, but you might actually be the most dangerous person I ever went out with."
Damian full-on beamed at that, which was rare, bewildering, and about as pretty as the sun rising into the sky behind them. "Thank you."
"It's not a … compliment …forget it."
"Oh, but for me it is," the boy purred, and Dick only now realized that he'd wrapped his legs around him with vice-like precision. "And now let's go find us some breakfast. That we can have in bed."