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Tim’s seriously considering moving back to the manor.
The curtains are drawn, shielding his tired eyes from the garish light of dawn, and the living room is suspiciously clear of his overzealous boyfriend and his feline minion. The dastardly pair’s rather subdued behavior might have tipped Tim off just a few days before, but nothing could have prepared him for this: littering the hallway, kitchen—table, chairs, counters, cabinets, what have you—the doorway and Tim’s shoes are thousands upon thousands of rose petals.
Scratch that, the manor’s too obvious and Dick has access.
The petals crush harshly under Tim’s sneakers as he moves to make for the door; his only escape, before—
Timmy tackles him out of nowhere, knocking Tim’s hand from the door knob, and bites at his legs until Tim has no choice but to follow. They’re more like nips, with just enough teeth to suggest that it would be in his best interest to comply to his—it’s Dick’s really, because Tim won’t acknowledge that it’s his until the poor thing gets his name changed—cat’s wishes.
A flood of morning light assaults Tim’s eyes when Timmy gets him where he wants him and soon enough his ears prove the next victim when the beginning of a pop song ring clear.
Oh god no.
“You don’t run with the crowd, you go your own way.”
The closet door swings open and out steps Dick, guitar in hand and strumming away. He turns to Tim and flashes him a coy smile. “You don’t play after dark,” he winks suddenly with some kind of mischievous twinkle, “you light up my day. Got your own kind of style, that sets you apart.”
Tim reels back in shock, and tries to run back to the living room, but slips and stumbles on the petals carpeting the floor. Dick snaps forward, never missing a beat, and pulls Tim toward him to whisper in his ear—“Baby, that’s why you captured my heart.”
Though early rays are unusually cool this summer, and Tim prays—prays hard—that that’s the reason his face feels warm all of a sudden. This is so awkward, so cliché; he’s moved past this—they’ve moved past this, granted Dick’s level of affection was much higher than his own, but even so…
With a purposely slow roll of his shoulder, Dick slides the guitar off and sets it down on the floor. Timmy hops off his seat on the iPod dock, knocking the volume up a few notches in the process, and sniffs the nylon strings with mild interest.
“I know sometimes you feel like you don’t fit in,” Tim buries his face in his hands, “and this world doesn’t know what you have within.”
The heat from his hands seems to be able to transfer straight to his face and Tim burns with embarrassment; the windows are open and the nice elderly lady who gives him a special discount at the library is watching.
“When I look at you, I see something rare; a rose that can grow anywhere…” chuckling softly over the next few words, Dick pries Tim’s fingers from the nail-induced notches currently framing his face.
Tim clutches wildly at the older man, trying desperately to sink into his chest. He could curl up there; it’d be warm and safe from their audience’s curious gaze (an early morning breeze had revealed about five more guests to this free concert).
Dick spirals out, linking their hands, and at the top of lungs belts out, “What makes you different makes you beautiful!”
The bystanders cheer and a couple of wolf-whistles float up to turn Tim’s ears a rather nice shade of crimson.
“What’s there inside you, shines through to me~”
Tim makes break for the window, but Dick catches his waist and curls around him, rocking their hips together. “In your eyes I see, all the love I’ll ever need. What makes you different makes you beautiful to me.”
They sway some more to the gentle baritone of Dick’s voice and Tim tries to keep himself under control. Their audience is still there, launching catcalls and whistles at their window and he’s not about to give them something else—something worse—to gossip about.
So, he tries to maneuver them towards the closet, spinning them around until it’s only a few more feet till his heel meets the off button, when Timmy suddenly pounces, twisting and pawing at the dust particles. One outstretched paw knocks into Dick’s iPod and all of a suddenly Like a Virgin is echoing around the room and, to Tim’s absolute horror, the complex.
Dick breaks away, doubling over in a fit of laughter, and is only made stronger when their audience joins in. In the closet, the cat watches the dock with interest and then smacks at it again. This time it’s Enya that rouses another bout of chortles.
Colored a rather intense tomato-red, Tim hurries over to the window, slams, locks and draws the curtains, then rips iPod from the dock and holds out to his brother.
“What is this?”
It takes a moment before Dick is able to control himself and even then it’s a challenge to answer. He tightens his grasp on his stomach and looks up at Tim, his obvious mirth giving a spectacular shine to his eyes. And Tim finds himself faltering, slightly.
“My Tim Drake Playlist.”
He doesn’t say anything for short moment then promptly sputters.
“What?”
Dick breathes out a laugh then yanks Tim into this lap, gathering his limbs until his brother’s just a blushing ball of boyfriend. Timmy pops up from behind them, climbs into Tim’s lap and licks apologetically at his fingers.
Tim pushes his face into Dick’s chest, huffing lightly when Dick strokes his hair.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful.”