jamjar

Title: What a swell party this is
Fandom: DCU, Superman/Batman
Notes: Title from here, inspiration from petronelle, who wanted Brucie/Clark. Well, she says it was for others, but... So Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. Nothing explicit and utterly frivolous, but arguably identity porn.
You meet such a range of people at a Gotham party.

(  Bruce secretly (publicly) admits to loving and loathing these functions at random. )

So, the wonderfully intelligient Brainiac 5 fic I received was by sparcck, and the fic I wrote was Obfuscation for derryderrydown. Thanks to everyone that listened to my cries of "I don't know what I'm doing!" and extra thanks to petronelle, girl_starfish and brown_betty for beta-reading, hand-holding and general goodness.

Title: Obfuscation
Fandom: DCU, Flash
Notes: Originally written for the 2006 Comica Obscura challenge. Featuring Linda Park. Gen.

( She wakes up and opens her eyes. )

Title: Gods Reclaim Not
Fandom: DCU, Batfamily
Warnings: Sex, het, slash and m/m/f threesome.
Written for rubynye for the I Saw Three Ships post-christmas secret santa. Her request was Nightwing/Robin/Robin, any set of the other Robins (Robin II, aka Jason, Robin II, aka Tim,and Robin IV, aka Steph) and I opted for Dick Grayson (Nightwing)/Tim Drake (Robin III)/Stephanie Brown (Robin IV)
Thanks to petronelle and brown_betty for beta-reading and title-giving.
Story notes: Set as a pre-War Games AU. Steph doesn't know who she is anymore, only who she's not.



( She wakes up because her leg hurts. )

Dick throws himself forward through the air, travelling through with more grace and direction than most flyers manage. His hands catch the top of the flag pole of lightening rod or whatever it is, and he swings around, pulling himself in and sliding down it.

He leans on it, looks and Roy and smirks. He's breathing heavily, but Roy knows it has more to do with how much he enjoyed that little demonstration than actual exertion.

Roy leans on to his bow. “I feel like I should be tucking money in to your G-string,” he says.

Dick blinks and looks confused for a second. “My-- what?”

Roy shakes his head. “Never mind."

Dick's always had that combination of control and carelessness about his body, a result of working it, training it and knowing it absolutely, to the point where he can be thoughtless with it.

Dick looks at him, then back at the pole. Hesitates for a moment like he's debating rolling his eyes, then grins at Roy. "Pole dancing can be a serious gymnastic sport, you know. Takes muscle endurance and coordination."

"Muscle endurance and coordination. Those are always the first thing I think of, when I see pole-dancers." Roy thinks about Gina and Isis and Gypsy. "Actually, that might be--"

He stops talking, because Dick has grabbed hold of the pole, pulled himself up, wrapping his legs around, and is leaning backwards, holding on with his legs, back arching until he's touching the ground with his hands. He pulls himself up, swings his whole body around the pole to build up momentum, then hooks one leg around the pole, spinning around it before grabbing his ankle with one hand and leaning back. His back arches and he hold the position for a moment before adjusting his position, gripping on to the pole with both hands and unfolding his legs, spreading them out and holding perfectly steady.

He flips upright, slides and spins down in to a smooth dismount.

Roy's throat is dry. He swallows a few times before he can speak. "Batman really got you the best trainers in everything, huh?"

Dick shrugs. He gives a half-smile, deliberately playful. "I don't suppose you'd believe it's all natural talent?"

"I ain’t gonna do it, Red."

"Uh-huh." And if she adds just a trace more –-oh, maybe more than a trace of nitrate, because her babies deserve it-- then she can increase the growth just enough to—

"Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Harley," Ivy says. And then if she lets them grow on that wonderful soil she found in the--"

"That was the last time, ever, because you never respect me after," Harley says.

"Hmm. No, of course no--" Wait, what was that? Ivy looks up at Harley’s back. Her ponytails float above her shoulder and even from behind, Ivy can tell that she has her arms crossed and her lips pouting. "Harley, what’s this about?"

Harley turns around, knocking over several valuable test tubes and sending Ivy scrambling for them. Harley, as ever, is oblivious to the chaos she causes in Ivy’s carefully ordered lab. "I’ll tell you what it’s about! It’s about respect. It’s about you showing me a little appreciation. I don’t go jumping in the Gotham City Aquarium for anyone, ya know," she says, sounding hurt. Her arms are folded under her Arkham Amateur Softball Team T-shirt and she still smells like seaweed, pacing up and down the workbench. "And I don’t get any thanks. No respect." She stops pacing and stands still, looking down at Ivy. There’s a smear of dried mud, probably gained during her scramble through Swamps Of The Worlds. "You don’t repect me at all."

"Because you were caught," Ivy says, trying to keep her voice patient. "You almost brought the wrath of the Bat on us. And of course I-- consider you a good friend."

Harley looks down at her suspiciously. "So does that mean you respect me?"

Anything to get you off my work surface and away from my-- "Yes," Ivy says. She looks Harley in the eye and makes her voice sincere, curling one hand around Harley’s ankle to prevent any more pacing. "Of course I do." She really does smell of seaweed. Ivy tugs her, not quite enough to get her off balance and Harley takes it as a cue, somersaulting down. She holds her hands together, pressed against her chest.

"You really mean that, Red?" Harley says, sounding hopeful. Her hair looks like two shocks of wheat in the sterile lights of the lab. "’Cause you’re my bestest galpal, ya know?" She’s up on her tiptoes, leaning forwards, kinetic energy in waiting. It was a particularly rare strain of kelp she dove for, distinctive in colour and chemical composition, with a fascinating potential phylogeny...

"I know," Ivy says. "And you’re..." She pauses, leans forward to wipe a smear of sugar off the corner of Harley’s mouth.

Harley beams, leans forward and kisses her.

"This is what I don't get," Tim says. "They know we've got grapples. They know there are way too many metas that can fly. They know that half the capes in the JLU have got anti-grav or wings or something. And they still never look up." He jumps on the railing of the fire-escape, changes from a crouch to a handstand and then hooks his legs into the bar above. On the street three stories below, the cops are pushing Clayface into one of the modified vans. "You think it's a criminal trait? Start stealing candy from old ladies and babies, surround yourself with two-bit thugs that make Grundy look like Luthor, and you lose the ability to look up once in a while."

Dick leans against the railings. "Not everyone takes the high-road," he says. "Most people go through life on ground level." He looks at Tim and raises an eyebrow. "And right side up."

Tim takes out a powerbar and takes out a bite. Dick can see his throat move, working against gravity. He finishes it off and, because Alfred's training is more powerful than even Bruce's, he scrunches the wrapper up and tucks it into a pocket in his belt. "Yeah? Poor bastards."

"I don't think they mind," Dick says.

Tim pulls himself up and on the way, kisses Dick. The angle is doubly strange, upside down and to one side, but Dick is nothing if not flexible. Tim unhooks his legs and jumps back on to the fire-escape, his face still red from the blood rushing to it. "That's just because they don't know what they're missing."

She asked for Eroica/Eel O'Brian (Plastic Man) and then changed her mind, but I'm not going to let a sudden attack of sanity on her part stop me.

( It's not like he's the last guy Eel's expecting to see in Somewherezikstan )

Not what you requested but it is Roy and a Robin


It's curiosity, really, that and the knowledge that Batman's up in orbit right now, that's got him checking out the new Robin. She doesn't notice him as quickly as Dick would, even back when he was in the panties, but she covers it pretty well when she does, ignoring him to get him to follow 'til she's on her ground, and because Roy's a gentlemen, he does. She lets him catch up to her on a flat roof with a pigeon coop in one corner and a door leading to the rest of the building on another.

"Arsenal. Does your daddy know you're out this late?" Robin-the-blonde steps out of the shadows, grinning like--

Not really like Dick or Jason or Tim, but still close enough to make him smile back.

"Does yours?" She stiffens a little, and maybe she is doing a little extracurricular. Robin's have never been good at sticking to 9-5. He holds out his hands. "Relax. I won't tell my mentor if you won't tell yours."

There's that smile again, Robin-bright. "Cool." Said it like she means it, and with enough energy to make him pretty sure she's still in her teens. It's hard to tell exactly. She fills out the uniform pretty nicely, strong legs in the green tights, but she's not that tall. Her smile changes, just a little more adult. "And I won't tell yours that you've been ogling the new Robin for the past fifteen minutes."

Thirty, actually, but he's not going to tell her that. "You haven't been in the game for long or you'd know that the Green Arrow wouldn't exactly be grounding me for that."

She laughs and moves, leaning back against the wall with one knee bent, foot flat on the bricks. "Hey, I understand. I am the first Robin to look this good in a skirt."

Roy grins. "Not even close."

She wasn't expecting that, but he can see the little clues when it hits, even before she licks her lips, pink tongue darting out over Robin-red lipstick. "Oh," she says.

Roy wonders which one she's picturing.