Fic: Skate Fan

[munnin]

Title: Skate Fan
Characters: Dick/Tim, Roy, Babs
Fandom: DCU, Winter Olympics AU
Rating: PG for boy flirting
Disclaimer: All fun, no cash.
Author’s notes: 100% organic. May contain minor flaws and imperfections that beta-treated slash wouldn’t.

Summary: for kirax2 and her Porn day celebrations.

 

 

 

“Richard Grayson. USA.” The announcer intoned, echoed across the stadium in several different languages. “5.6, 5.5, 4.9, 5.2, 5.7.”

Dick lowered his head with a relieved sigh. Even with the four from the French judge he was still in the semi-finals. If he could just keep this up though the next couple of days he have a look-in at a medal placement.

Alfred draped a towel over Dick’s neck and patted his shoulder. “Well done Master Dick. May I recommend you retire for the afternoon before your interviews?”

“I’ll be with you soon Alfred.” Dick grinned up at him. “I just wanna see Roy’s routine.”

“Roy Harper. USA. 5.4, 5.4, 4.7, 5.0, 5.5.”

Dick grinned as Roy shot his a smile, skating to the other side of the stadium. Looks like they’d be going to the semis together. He grabbed his skates and wondered down towards the exit. There was a small crowd waiting for him as usual, and as usual Dick happily took his time signing things and chatting to his fans. After all he was an ambassador for his country and his sport.

At the back of the group was a dark haired young man with the figure of a skater, all long lines and tight muscles. Dick smiled at him, sure he’d seen the young man somewhere before. He strolled past the crowd of giggling girls to meet the youth.

“Would you sign this for me?” The young man asked timidly, holding out a copy of Dick’s biography.

“Of course.” Dick smiled, stepping closer to take the book. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Tim.” The youth whispered, a little awestruck. Dick was still dressed in his performance costume – all skin-tight spandex and sparkles, the bright blue V on his chest dragging the eye down his body.

“Tim?” Dick repeated, looking perplexed. “As in Tim Drake?”

“You know of me?” Tim asked, shading the most beautiful red. “But I’m not anyone important.”

Dick dropped the book and pen to grab the youth, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh god no! You’re so important! You wrote me that beautiful letter when I had that bad fall in 2006.” He let Tim go, staring into the youth’s eye earnestly. “I would have quit if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I...I didn’t know...I’m so glad.” Tim stammered, completely overwhelmed.

Alfred tutted from the edge of the group, catching Dick’s attention and tapping his watch. He was late for his interviews.

“I have to go Tim.” Dick muttered frantically, scooping up the pen and scribbling a time and place on the back of Tim’s hand. “There’s a party tonight at the team barracks. I want you to be there.”

“But I’m...I’m not with the team.”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Dick whispered, dragging Tim into another quick hug. “Just tell whoever’s at the door that Short-pants sent you.” He squeezed Tim’s hand. “I’ll see you tonight.” And he ran towards Alfred’s impatiently tapping foot. 

Leaving Tim standing there, red faced and flustered.

***

That evening found a very nervous Tim knocking on the door of the US team barracks.

“No fans, no media.” The man at the door intoned, pushing Tim away. “Team and friends only tonight.”

“I’ve come to see Mr Grayson.” Tim spluttered.

“And?” the doorman shrugged. “No fans, no media, told you that. Now piss off.”

“Ah...he said to say Short-pants sent him.”

“I’ll take this one John.” Roy Harper eased out onto the doorstep, eyeing Tim with a dirty smile. “Now where did Dicky-bird find a tasty morsel like you?”

Tim inched back as the red-head advanced. The rivalry between Harper and Grayson was legendary and Tim suddenly felt dangerously small around the well built skater. He gulped. “He asked me to join him here.”

“Then I better take you to him.” Roy grabbed the youth’s upper arm and dragged him inside. The barracks were warmer that Tim expected and he felt himself flush with the heat as Harper dragged him through the press of people. Dick was curled up in a corner, his head next to that of a pretty red-haired girl in a wheel-chair in quiet conversation.

“Dicky-bird?” Roy called, “You been ordering out and not asking me to pitch in? I would have gone you halves.”

“Don’t be such a prick Roy.” Dick growled, coming up to take Tim’s arm. “This is Tim Drake.”

Roy cocked his head. “The letter writer?” His face changed, smiling at Tim, at once friendly and welcoming. “It was a good thing you did.” He said, taking and shaking Tim’s hand. “We all owe you for that.”

“Let the poor boy go.” The girl muttered with the chiding tone of a sister. “Dick why don’t you give Tim a tour of the barracks.”

“Good plan.” Dick pried Tim’s hand out of Roy’s, wrapping it in his own. “Come on.” He dragged Tim though a maze of rooms, away from the bustle of the crowd. “I’m sorry Tim. Roy is just an ass.”

“Is that why you’re rivals?” Tim asked quietly as they settled on a couch in an empty room.

“The rivalry thing’s really more of a publicity stunt. We’re actually pretty good friends. He can be an utter bastard sometimes but...” He reached up to brush the back of his hand over Tim’s cheek, “What he said was true - without you I would have quit after Turin.”

“The fall wasn’t that bad.” Tim whispered, trying to fight the heave of his chest as Dick stroked his face. “No-one had ever attempted a quadruple kick spin before you. That alone will go down in the history books.” 

“I’m going to do it.” Dick said quietly. “If I make the finals. My coach Bruce and I have been working on it and I’m confident...” He cupped Tim’s chin. “I won’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat as Dick leant in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Dick’s breath caressed his skin. “I don’t know if...this is something you’d be interested in but...” he pulled Tim closer, snaking an arm under Tim’s jacket. “After the finals, I’d like to...thank you properly. Your words of encouragement saved my career and possibly my life.”

Tim swallowed hard, lost for word. “I’d...I’d like that.”

In the finals, Dick Grayson pulled of the first ever quadruple kick spin to take away the gold.