#i need the live slug reaction except its all the reporters bruc.e wayne oliver quee.n alfred pennywo---

[fightwing]

DANCE :  for one muse to ask the other to dance at a party. / @roysenal

he's not saying he WISHED for a fire --- but he certainly wasn't opposed to an alarm. as a general champion of public safety, he's largely against mass panic for the sake of anything other than catastrophe, but at this particular moment he doesn't totally care. catherine, or charlotte, or cynthia or whatever her name was that always seemed to single dick grayson out in a crowd was simply B E T T E R at cornering than the young ward was at escaping, and with no polite way to say 'this is my nightmare' in a rich person's arena, it was his own traitorous voice that paused long enough for her to take his hesitance as a yes. and the thing of it was, they were not compatible. at all. other than the obvious --- that she was older than bruce himself and had vicious and downright mean opinions of everyone she was determined to share with him, but the part he cared the most at present was that every other step would be firmly and painfully ON HIS FOOT. maybe this was a him problem, but at this particular moment he'd rather be going round for round against any number of gotham rogues than in the stuffy, overpriced, underhated--- " mind if i cut in? " dick's wired instincts turn instantly towards the voice. easily recognizable by sound alone but upon inspection roy looks . . . HANDSOME. no other way to put it, even clinically or analytically as bruce was so adamant his every thought be. roy harper stood in a properly tailored suit that accented the fine lines of an archer's body. broad shoulders, tall figure, and his hair was artfully tousled --- swept in such a way dick knows was intentional but is victim to its affects same as anybody else, he'd imagine. worst of all, he's got that smirk. the one that lights the little stars in his eyes that twinkle with all he knows he's doing and worse, SUCCEEDING at. despite being his friend for some time now, dick feels, ultimately, a little starstruck. it's roy's outstretched hand that kicks his brain back into power. he'd always take the hand of a teen titan, especially when it was pulling him out of a moment such as this. his own smile is small and genuine and he can FEEL the heat rise on his face in a manner far too embarrassing for robin, but maybe suitable for dick grayson, ward of brucie wayne at a gala. sure, let's blame it on that. the acrobat nods, " lead the way. " roy's responding smile makes something in his stomach flutter. makes him totally forget his manners and just give in to being whisked away by his knight in shining tuxedo, and the eventual clasp of their hands feels more electric than any mission had ever allowed. the difference is obvious almost immediately. the way they move in tandem --- steps an extension of the next one rather than a clashing of leadership. it's a simple and slow song, one dick had found EXCRUCIATINGLY long in his previous company and yet, now worried about hearing its ending notes all too soon. dick bites down the silly smile that threatens to breach his face by looking at his hand, now wrapped around his companion's properly tailored middle as if he had needed to readjust (he hadn't). instead, dick waits a beat, a quick one, two where his heart doesn't feel like it's trying to squeeze through his ribs and make a hasty exit like the fire alarm plan had been executed before he gives in to the dance. leaning in slightly, just enough for the whispered words " thank you " to stay as they should: just between them.