penknife (penknife) wrote in slounger,

Yay, Shrift!

Happy Shrift Day!

Have a Roy ficlet, set ... oh, let's say it's set in that three-week gap in Outsiders #17, shall we?

Keep It Simple

Roy thinks there are two good ways of dealing with it when the job gets to be too much, and one of them is sex. The other one -- well, the other one's been different things over the years. For a while it was archery, and then it was hanging with his friends. For a while it was smack, which was a big mistake. For a while it was Lian -- hell, it's still Lian -- but archery's starting to do it for him again. Pure and simple and clean, all the messy stuff boiled down to one straight line between himself and the target.

He watches Dick flip himself over the edge of the rooftop, a blur of blue and black in restless motion. That's usually Dick's thing. Roy practices with the bow, and Dick defies gravity for the hell of it. But it's not helping him right now. He's moving fast but too tightly, and for the first time in years, maybe the first time ever, Roy worries that --

But that's stupid. Dick never falls.

Roy, on the other hand, might fall off this damn line that he's using to climb down the side of a building if he doesn't keep his mind on what he's doing. He gets close enough to the ground for comfort and watches Dick stand in the shadow of the alley, looking out at the traffic. It's like they're not even here.

If he thought it would make any difference, he'd go to bed with Dick. He knows Dick doesn't do people he doesn't love, but he knows Dick loves him. That's not the question anymore. But Dick would think too much about it, and then things would be weird. Weirder.

Roy wishes Dick would have sex with Kory instead, so that then Dick could think too much about that and fight about it with Kory and get some of this -- whatever it is -- out of his system.

As if in answer to his thought, Kory swoops down, hovering effortlessly beside where he's hanging on the line. "What's on your mind?"

"Just wishing you'd put us out of his misery," Roy says.

He's not sure for a minute whether she's going to get that, and then her lips quirk sideways into a not-entirely-amused smile. "Chicken," she says.

She's right, he thinks, watching her step down lightly to the alley floor and walk up behind Dick, her feet only half touching the ground. He'd rather call it a sense of self-preservation, though. About time he started getting one, right?

"Sure," he says, and drops, waiting to hit the ground.
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