"What," Damian says, "is this god-awful noise protruding from your speakers, Grayson?"
Dick grins as he pulls the car out of the driveway. "This," he explains, shouting loud enough for Damian to hear him, "is what some of us call music."
"I hope you're not including me in this us," Damian says. He reaches to turn down the volume, or change the song, or possibly just blow up the car and hope that helps, but Dick slaps his hand away.
"Now come on," Dick says. "I went to your very boring movie that I had to read last time –"
"It's called culture, Grayson, c-u-l –"
"And you wouldn't even let me get popcorn –"
"Because I didn't want to taste the kernels in your teeth when I kissed you –"
"And on that note," Dick says, aiming a pout at him, "you wouldn’t even make out with me at the movies –"
"I'm sorry if public displays of slobbering aren't my forte," Damian says. He reaches for the radio again, and Dick grabs his wrist this time. "Grayson," Damian warns.
"Damian," Dick says. "I promise you, if you behave yourself I will make it worth your while."
He lets Damian go, and Damian considers this. Dick has never let him down before. Still, he can't just let him get away with that. "Behave," Damian snorts. "I'm not some infant."
"No," Dick agrees. "You're more like an old man in a twenty-year-old's body. A super foxy teenager's body," he amends, as if he can just feel Damian glaring at him.
"Fine," Damian snaps. He turns his gaze to the window. "So where are we going Grayson?"
Dick flashes him a blinding smile. "Dancing," he says.
Two hours and four shots later, and Dick licking the sweat from his neck while he grinds against him, and Damian has to admit that maybe this song isn't so terrible.
fill
Dick grins as he pulls the car out of the driveway. "This," he explains, shouting loud enough for Damian to hear him, "is what some of us call music."
"I hope you're not including me in this us," Damian says. He reaches to turn down the volume, or change the song, or possibly just blow up the car and hope that helps, but Dick slaps his hand away.
"Now come on," Dick says. "I went to your very boring movie that I had to read last time –"
"It's called culture, Grayson, c-u-l –"
"And you wouldn't even let me get popcorn –"
"Because I didn't want to taste the kernels in your teeth when I kissed you –"
"And on that note," Dick says, aiming a pout at him, "you wouldn’t even make out with me at the movies –"
"I'm sorry if public displays of slobbering aren't my forte," Damian says. He reaches for the radio again, and Dick grabs his wrist this time. "Grayson," Damian warns.
"Damian," Dick says. "I promise you, if you behave yourself I will make it worth your while."
He lets Damian go, and Damian considers this. Dick has never let him down before. Still, he can't just let him get away with that. "Behave," Damian snorts. "I'm not some infant."
"No," Dick agrees. "You're more like an old man in a twenty-year-old's body. A super foxy teenager's body," he amends, as if he can just feel Damian glaring at him.
"Fine," Damian snaps. He turns his gaze to the window. "So where are we going Grayson?"
Dick flashes him a blinding smile. "Dancing," he says.
Two hours and four shots later, and Dick licking the sweat from his neck while he grinds against him, and Damian has to admit that maybe this song isn't so terrible.