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Olive Juice

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Dick didn’t usually take the initiative to go out for groceries. He wasn’t exactly afraid he’d catch anything while out, but it seemed easier to just let Jason do the errands since he COULDN’T catch anything. But with all the ways he’d been annoying Jason, he really couldn’t shake the strong desire to do something that would impress the guy.

For weeks, he’d been watching videos and practicing with water bottles and today, he was determined.

Jason’s drink was an Old Fashioned, but Dick didn’t honestly know what bitters were and was looking for something that required the shaker. Thankfully Jason really was an old-fashioned man when it came to drinking, so he was a fan of the simpler things. And what, Dick thought, could be simpler than a dirty martini? Not to mention he loved the Bond reference.

After the perilous trek down the road to the liquor store (deemed ‘essential’ during the quarantine, thank heavens), Dick climbed back to the window entrance to Jason’s apartment, input the code, and slipped in to find his boyfriend doing pushups with some jazzy background music going. As much fun as it was to watch Jason’s workout routines (and participate…Dick really couldn’t just let himself go), he needed some privacy.

“Hey Jay, weren’t you going to work on your bike?” Dick suggested as he slinked around to the kitchen depositing his bags on the counters.

“Sure, but I can do it later.” Jason never broke concentration and didn’t miss a pushup on the down beats to the song that played. How he could speak without messing up his breathing was beyond Dick.

“W-well, I have something I need to do and it’s going to be kind of loud, so I thought that maybe it’d be easier if you just, you know, checked out for a bit.” Dick leaned against the counter in front of his bags and watched Jason intently.

Jason furrowed his brow before taking a deep breath and kicking his legs up, slowly reaching up to a pointed handstand. His form looked great, but now his breathing was definitely off. “Don’t strain your core,” Dick noted. “You don’t want to pull something.”

“Tch! I’ve…whew…I’ve got it.” Jason exhaled slowly, inhaled, and then bent his elbows slowly.

“Okay. I get it. You’ve got me thoroughly enamored with your little show. But I really do need some privacy.”

“Last time…I gave you privacy…you painted yourself…”

“Hey, that turned out fun, didn’t it?”

Jason scoffed to show his exasperation and lost his balance and wound up barely catching himself before crashing into the table. Dick knew better than to fuss over him. “You pull something?”

“Fuck. No. Just…out of practice I guess.” He got to his feet and wiped the sweat from his forehead on the bottom of his shirt, giving Dick even more of a show. “Promise not to burn the place down? And I mean it. If you’re cooking again, I swear—”

“I’m not cooking, I’m not painting, I’m not doing laundry. Okay? Just give me one hour.”
Jason sighed. “Alright. One hour. Not much you can destroy in…” He stared at Dick and dropped his shoulders. “Just…don’t do anything…ridiculous.”

“I won’t!”

Jason snatched up his water bottle and the keys for his motorcycle, then slipped out of the apartment, finally giving Dick some alone time to practice.

Flair bartending, after all, was a pretty cool talent to have, not to mention just the thought of it was enough to stir some feelings in Dick. Surely it would work similarly on Jason.

Dick began emptying the bags of liquor and garnishes. He knew Jason owned a shaker but didn’t want to ask where it was, so he bought a new one just in case. He washed it thoroughly and filled it with a few ice cubes. He then popped one of the pour nozzles onto a cheaper bottle of vodka.

Juggling was never exactly his strong suit, but he DID have some experience. He used to practice with the clown back at Haly’s. And according to the videos this was mostly about weight distribution and coordination. He didn’t have to juggle more than one thing at a time, so it wouldn’t be that difficult…right?

To keep it easy, he picked the bottle up by the neck and tried to pull it around his head…only he realized quickly that he picked it up wrong to do that. So, he tried to shift it in his hand and ducked his head—as if that would help—and wound up tapping the bottle against his cheek just hard enough to knock it from his hand.

CRASH!

Jason hadn’t even been gone for five minutes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” He crept around the kitchen, avoiding the glass, and ditched his socks to avoid tracking vodka all the way to the laundry closet where they kept their cleaning supplies.

Cleaning up proved to be difficult and took up more time than he realized. By the time he picked up the next bottle, Jason was already climbing back in the window, his face scrunched up.

“Whoa, why does it smell like a bar?”

“Damnit, I’m not ready for you to—” Apparently Dick had missed a chunk of glass and managed to step on it on his way out of the kitchen. He dropped and Jason was inside and all over him in seconds (it was a little funny, Dick thought, that Jason hated being fussed over, but would shower others with attention at the slightest provocation). “I’m fine. Just missed a piece.”

“Well the good news is that the alcohol will help keep the cut clean,” Jason mumbled before heading into the bathroom and reemerging with a first aid kit. “Smells like vodka in here. Was your surprise to give my apartment an intoxicating ambiance? You know we have to live here, right?”

Despite his earlier comment, Jason still soaked a swab with some rubbing alcohol and applied it to the cut. While it burned, it was hardly a new sensation for Dick, and he was able to keep perfectly still while Jason patched him up.

“What’s your opinion on flair bartending?” Dick ventured to ask, carting his fingers into Jason’s naturally messy locks. It had been a couple weeks since he’d bothered dyeing it and the streak of white was peeking out at the roots again.

“Oh, that’s what happened then?” Satisfied with his work, Jason stood up, checked out Dick’s supplies, set a pouring spout on the more expensive bottle of vodka, then proceeded to toss it so that it flipped once and landed balanced on his arm.

Excitement lit up Dick’s face. “You…when?”

Jason snatched up the ice-filled shaker, gave it a quick flip in his hand, and proceeded to make a show of making the cup and bottle dance around each other before pouring a couple shots worth then snatching up the bottle of vermouth. By the time he added a hint of olive juice to his concoction, Dick may as well have been drooling from his spot on the floor. “You won’t like where I learned that.”

Dick tried to recover some dignity, finally getting to his feet while Jason continued to mix the drink. “Let me guess; you did a stint in Vegas and thought it would be a handy trick.”

“I mean, it’s come in handy once or twice in Vegas.” Jason strained the drink over two glasses and skewered a couple of olives. “But that’s not where I learned it. Black Mask had me work his club briefly when I was acting as his right-hand man.”

That came as a sort of punch to the gut. And right when Dick was feeling so turned on too. “No olives for me.”

Jason grimaced. “You want a dirty martini with no olives?”

“I just don’t like olives.”

Jason popped one in his mouth before wrapping an arm around Dick’s waist and pulling him so that they were flush against each other. He stole a kiss and, to Dick’s surprise, slipped the olive into his mouth. Dick honestly had never bothered to give olives a try after being burned once as a kid, thinking they were grapes. Now? The intense vinegar taste mingling between their tongues was…delicious…

Jason pulled away first, and whispered, “Mm. Least you know I like my martini dirty.”

Dick wanted more. He craved more. He reached out, ready to steal another kiss, but Jason just turned away from him, scooped up the glasses, and handed one to Dick. “Jay—”

“It’s okay,” Jason said calmly, moving around to the couch. “Put on whatever rom com you’ve been eyeing and we’ll see just how easy it is to distract you.”

Dick bit his bottom lip, knowing full well he wasn’t going to make it past the first few minutes if Jason was really feeling up to it. “I’m not that easy,” he said anyways before taking a sip of his martini. The cool drink mingled well with the lingering taste of the olive. “But there is this one movie. It’s a musical, so it’ll be nice background music for…um…”

Jason’s shirt landed on the chair by the kitchen and Dick almost forgot about his injured foot entirely, stumbling on his way over. The martini sloshed n the glass and some spilled onto the floor, but neither one of them cared. They were ready to make a different kind of mess.