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Nestled In Blankets

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Dick observed himself in the full length mirror, looking almost giddy as he pushed the long sleeves up his arms only to have them fall back down to his sides. His face looked flushed, his eyes tired, his hair a bedraggled mess, and he had the worse runny nose in like ever, but that didn’t beat the smile on his face, accompanied by a giggle that ended with a cough.

Bruce was out at a dinner party that night, one that would undoubtedly last until two o’clock in the morning, which was, if Bruce wasn’t called away by the city. Point was though, Bruce wasn’t there, and Dick was free to do whatever he pleased. All right, admittedly Dick was suppose to be in his own room, resting from a fever that had hit him hard earlier that day, but he had woken up from a drug-induced sleep, slipped out from his bed and padded right over to Bruce’s room. Opened up his drawers and took out one of the older man’s night shirts and slipped it right over his own head.

Dick had always known that Bruce was a large and intimidating man, but wearing one of his clothes made him realize just how small he was compared to him. The shirt fell to just about his knees, the sleeves resting at his ankles; Dick looked like he was wearing a particularly long dressing gown, with sweats on. He frowned at his reflection before pulling his own pants down and kicking them off. The cool air whirled around his bare legs, and he sighed, relieved.

Looking toward the bed, he smiled to himself. Glancing around to see if anyone would notice, which was ridiculous since the only one else around was Alfred and he was busy doing his daily rounds around the mansion, Dick made his way over to the bed, crawled toward the top, and dived beneath the covers.

Somehow, Bruce’s bed was always better than Dick’s, a lot warmer and softer. Yeah, sure, his nose was all stuffy and clogged up, but if he breathed in deeply he could catch a whiff of Bruce’s aftershave, soap, and something else he can’t put a name to. He took in a deep breath through his mouth, sucking in the scent and letting it roll around on his tongue, as if the smell were tangible and he could taste it on his palate.

It led his muddled mind to wander what it would be like, if he could press his face against Bruce’s skin, take in the hard, heady scent of the man and feel the warm press of his body against his, and not at all feel an ounce of shame for it. Lying in his bed like this, Dick could almost imagine what it would feel like if Bruce was laying next to him, both of them tucked beneath the covers with his arm over Dick, holding him firmly against his chest, their legs tangled together, and the sounds of their breath evening as they drifted to sleep.

Dick curled, tucking the blankets tighter around him as he sighed softly, falling deeper into sleep. Floating in the soft misty clouds of sleep, he heard the gentle creak of the door as it opened, and a weight unsettling the edge of the bed. A heavy, but gentle hand at his head, smoothing away his hair. He felt his lips curl into a smile as he slept, his dreams settling into soft touches and sighs that swept over him like a breeze, swathed in warmth.

Bruce gently stroked Dick’s hair, smiling down at him, nestled in the middle of all those pillows like a small bird, and leaned down, laying a soft kiss at the boy’s temple.

“Goodnight, Dick,” he said gently, tucking the covers around the boy more firmly before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Dick turned on his side, pulling the blanket closer around him, murmuring softly in his sleep, “Night, Bruce.”