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It was a cold night in Gotham. The rain was coming down harshly, the lightning striking mercilessly, the thunder roaring loudly. Most of the lights at the Wayne Manor were already long out, all but two of its residents having retired to bed, guided into slumber by the storm’s lullaby. The halls were empty, the inside of the home quietly still. As they sat side-by-side on the steps of Martha’s winter garden, both nursing cups of hot cocoa and surrounded by the plants Alfred cared for so reverently, it was as if they had been transported to a magical realm where the clocks did not tick and the rainfall could fuel one with courage to do the impossible.
The rain pattered all around them, the water cascading down from the glass ceiling and walls as the scent of jasmines and begonias and lilies engulfed them. Lightning struck. Dick rested his head against Bruce’s shoulders, a small smile playing on his lips. Bruce kissed the top of his head. Seven seconds later, the thunder came.
Everything was so impossibly perfect and right that Bruce could scarcely believe it was real.
But it was. It was all real. The melodious sounds of the thunderstorm reminded Bruce that, by some miracle, this sheer peaceful bliss was possible, and Dick did love and want him just as much as Bruce loved and wanted him.
This, Bruce knew, was true happiness. This was how he wished to spend the rest of his life.
After the death of his parents, Wayne Manor had always been a torturous place for Bruce. Everything in it reminded him of Thomas and Martha, of the family he lost, of the fact he was alone. The little scratches on the antique chess pieces Thomas used to teach him how to play the game, the little window nook overlooking the rose bushes where Martha would knit him a blue scarf she said matched his eyes, the two larger-than-life empty seats at the dining table, the chandeliers his mother adored, the Persian rug his father detested but never bothered replacing, the oil painting of the happy family…
Everything, every little detail no matter how insignificant, served to remind him of the two of them, and every single time he thought of them, his brain forced him to relieve their deaths. Over and over again he would see his mother’s pearl necklace snapping, feel his father’s hand push him back behind him, hear the those two fatal gunshots… Every little detail in the manor transported him back to that night at Crime Alley when their bodies laid by his feet and Bruce was left rooted on the spot. Helpless, useless, he watched the blood pool around them, unable to call for help, the cold winds cutting against burning cheeks.
After the death of his parents, the empty halls of the manor seemed haunted by the specters of their memories. It felt like Bruce was living in a mausoleum with generations of Waynes scrutinizing his every move. He learned to live with the invisible weigh of their gazes, with the suffocating pressure of their legacy, the lonely dignity of their name. The day Thomas and Martha died, Bruce lost not only his parents but also his home, and after years, after almost two decades of being haunted by the emptiness of Wayne Manor, he had forgotten that the giant old edifice could be anything but a monument to his Mission.
He forgot it could be a home.
Another lightning. Another thunder. From the corner of his eyes, Bruce watched as Dick took a sip of his hot cocoa, letting out a content sigh. Bruce placed his own mug on the marble floor beside him, and with his hands now free, encircled Dick’s waist with his right arm.
Dick beamed at him, nuzzling closer, straightening his back so he could be tall enough to rest his chin on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce smiled at him and pressed his lips to his hair once again, then to his forehead, and finally to his lips.
Dick hummed into the chaste kiss, following Bruce’s lips for a brief moment when they pulled apart. Bruce chuckled, and with his left hand carefully took Dick’s mug from his hands and placed it beside his. He cupped Dick’s delicate jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek. The longer Dick looked at him with such adoring eyes, the harder it felt to breathe, his heart beating fast inside his chest.
Bruce loved this man. Bruce loved this man so much it was overwhelming at times. How could someone feel so much emotion at once, how could one’s heart carry so much love? Bruce could not imagine his life without Dick; his mind despaired at the thought of ever being forced to exist without Dick by his side. There was no Bruce Wayne without Dick Grayson. There could never be a Bruce Wayne without Dick Grayson, and Bruce…
Bruce wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man who made his house a home again. With the man who brought him a family. With the man who made him more than a shell filled only with regrets and self-loathing. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man who, somehow, looked at him and saw something worthy of care and admiration, who somehow could see pass the numerous icy walls he built believing them to be the best way to fulfill his Mission. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man who knew his mind with such precise accuracy that he could predict his every thought and knew his body with such intimacy that whether they were fighting side-by-side as Batman and Nightwing beneath Gotham’s sky or making love as Bruce and Dick beneath the covers of their bed, they always fit together like two halves of a whole. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man who knew all of his faults, who knew all of his mistakes, who had seen him at his absolute worse, who had been hurt by him in ways that were unforgivable yet still fought for him, still held out his hand and pulled Bruce out of the darkness no matter how many times he unknowingly plunged headfirst into it, the man who knew all of this ugliness and spite and poisonous traits and yet still looked at him as if Bruce had hung the moon and stars in the sky. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man who made Bruce think that maybe his trauma and his Mission did not doom him to a life in the company of phantoms in a lonely mausoleums, that maybe family, happiness, and love was something he could have while still being himself.
Bruce wanted, more than almost anything in the world, to marry Dick Grayson.
Lighting. Thunder. The rain continued to fall with a melodious steadiness and Dick still stared at him with those adoring eyes and beautiful smile.
God, how Bruce loved him.
“You’re lost in your thoughts again,” Dick whispered. His voice was husky in that way that was usually reserved for early in the morning. One of his hands traveled to the nape of Bruce’s neck, scratching it lightly, sending pleasant shivers down Bruce’s entire body. “I can hear the gears turning from all the way here.”
Bruce hummed.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Dick appeared to think.
“Not this time,” he concluded. “You’re lost in your head, but… But they seem to be pleasant thoughts.”
Bruce chuckled and Dick’s smiled brightened, his cheeks flushing. Bruce had learned, in their two years together, that Dick was actually quite fond of Bruce’s voice. Especially when he sounded gravely or when he used his Batman voice. Especially when Bruce chuckled or during those rare moments when he let out a genuine laugh.
“They are pleasant. Very pleasant thoughts.”
“Oh? Care to share?”
Bruce did. He wanted to share them very much. He had an entire plan on how he was going to do it, too. The ring was already bought, kept hidden in a drawer inside his study. The reservations for private table at Gotham’s finest restaurant had already been made, with a view overlooking the ocean. Arrangements for the family to not come down to the cave’s gym so they could an afternoon together in the trapezes had already been put in order. The perfect spot, Dick’s favorite rooftop at the heart of Gotham, was already chosen. Even his suit, tie, shoes and socks had been carefully selected. And the words Bruce wanted to say — the hardest part of this entire scheme — were already written down, carefully edited so no sentiment was left unspoken, and fully memorized so they could come with ease. All he had to do now was wait.
So instead of answering him, Bruce stood up and held out his hand. Dick, as usual, did not even hesitate to take it. Their fingers curled around each other as lightning struck. It flooded the room for the briefest second, allowing Bruce to watch as Dick rose to his feet with an amused smile. Surrounded by Martha’s favorite plants, with odd shadows of the pattering raindrops on glass projected onto his skin, and blue eyes that were as kind and gentle as they were sharp, Dick looked mesmerizing. He looked like a creature stepping out of a fairytale, like one of those apparitions described in Gothic tales that were too beautiful and ethereal to be real.
But as the thunder roared, Bruce smiled. It was real. This was all real. Dick was real, he was here, and Bruce knew that he would be madly in love with this enchanting man for the rest of his life.
Bruce gently tugged Dick forward, then encircled his waist with his free arm. Dick placed his other hand on his shoulders, and when Bruce started to lead him into a dance, he followed without missing a beat.
It was a simple waltz. Their bodies were pressed together, Dick’s head tilted slightly upwards and Bruce’s slightly downwards so their eyes could remain fixed on each other. Bruce guided them through the narrow spaces in between his mother’s plants — between the jasmines and the begonias and the lilies — as the sound of numerous thick raindrops on the winter garden’s glass ceiling and walls created their music. Their bodies swayed slightly, their breaths mingling.
Everything was perfect. As long as Bruce could hold Dick in his arms, everything would always be perfect.
“Do you remember when you and Alfred first taught me how to dance?”
Dick’s voice was still a whisper. It seemed wrong to speak any louder than that, as if any sound that drowned out the rain would shatter the magic spell befalling them on that moment.
“You took to it very quickly,” Bruce said. “Also far better than your brothers.”
“I like dancing. I like ballroom dancing, the waltz, more than any other type of dancing, I think,” Dick said. “Hate the galas, hate the events, but the dancing? I could dance like this all night.”
Bruce hummed, “Is that a proposition, Mr. Grayson?”
Dick raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, don’t challenge me, Mr. Wayne,” he said. “Not only do you know my stamina very well, but after years fighting together, you should also b more than a little aware that I can stay a whole night awake without problem. We could dance like this until the sun rose or Alfred called us for breakfast, and I would not be one bit tired.”
“No,” Bruce chuckled. “And neither would I.”
Their dancing steps had taken them to the other end of the winter garden, their hearts beating in synchrony, their movements perfected after so many years together.
“I used to dream of this,” Dick whispered. “Never thought it was going to be possible, so I cherished every lesson in which you were my partner. It was, I thought, the closest I would ever get to having you.”
“I hope I didn’t—”
“You could never disappoint me, B,” Dick interrupted before he could finish his sentence. He always knew what Bruce was going to say. “Not really. This? This right here, right now? This is a dream come true for me, Bruce. A dream come true and I would not change it for anything else in the world.”
Bruce heart swelled at his words. He did not deserve this man. He did not deserve him, but he would take him and spend the rest of his life making him happy, trying to be worthy of his dedication.
“I used to get so jealous,” Dick continued. “Whoever was your date or whoever had you attention… Even when I knew they meant nothing to you, or you were just going to share one dance and you would never look at them again… I would get so jealous, I could hardly stand it.”
Bruce chuckled as they turned. A white lily lightly brushed against their sides.
“I got jealous of you as well,” Bruce confessed. “Perhaps not… Not as early as you did. But once you got older… I remember, at a Halloween masquerade, you and Roy Harper talking while away from everyone. I remember he said something that made you laugh, then he pulled into a… Well, I wouldn’t call it dance—”
“Oh, you wouldn’t?” Dick teased.
“—since it heed to no rhythm and had no form, but… But I… It was the first time I realized that my feelings for you were beginning to shift.”
Dick stared at him with eyes filled with empathy, a quiet understanding of not only r how painful and confusing those years had been for both them, but how difficult it was for Bruce to get those words out, to articulate those long repressed emotions with any degree of clarity.
“I started to pay attention to those who invited you to dance,” Bruce said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “I could not justify to myself why it made me so angry and possessive to see you with someone else, but… But those galas became even more hellish than before.”
“I thought I noticed,” Dick said. “I thought… Well, I didn’t think, I could tell there was a difference. And I could feel your eyes on me, more than usual.”
“You were always aware where I was or what I was paying attention to.”
“Of course,” Dick agreed. “I… I don’t think I could ever be any other way, B. I… I don’t think there’s a single version of me that could exist that is not completely in tune with you. It wouldn’t be me otherwise.”
Bruce’s breath caught on his throat. It was a miracle that he did not miss his step.
“So I did notice. I noticed the shift, but I just… I couldn’t allow myself to believe the reason for it. I couldn’t allow myself to hope.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispered. His voice was strained, his throat felt both dry and clogged. “Back then… Back then, I also… I didn’t allow myself to accept the reason for it. Perhaps it was for the better. You… You were still young, it was still… Inappropriate. I did not want to accept the truth. I could not accept it. But I do now. Accept it, I mean.”
“I know, B,” Dick smiled, kindly.
“I… I love you.”
Every time Bruce said those words, Dick looked at him with the utmost awe. He looked at him as if Bruce had just made him the happiest person in the universe, as if it wasn’t Dick’s existence that kept him from drowning. It made Bruce want to say those words every day, no matter how foreign it was to him to discuss his feelings so openly. Now that he knew that he could, he wanted to say them every day.
“I love you too, Bruce,” Dick said. “There was only ever you for me, and I… Well, if it makes you feel any better, I promise that I’ll never dance with anyone ever again.”
Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. Lightning struck, allowing him to see those beautiful eyes and that breathtaking smile.
Four seconds, and then the thunder. Everything was perfect. Bruce wanted this for the rest of his life.
Rain pattered above them, beside them. Bruce had a plan. The ring was inside his desk’s drawer, the afternoon together at the trapeze, a romantic dinner date. He the suit and tie and shoes and socks selected, the perfect spot chosen. He had the speech written and edited and memorized, years and years of of thoughts poured into those words. He had a plan.
But in that moment, everything was perfect and Bruce had no choice but stop their dance and falling to one knee.
Dick sucked in a breath. His eyes were wide as Bruce took both his hands.
“I had a plan,” Bruce confessed in a gravely voice. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he was sure not even the storm could drown it out. His lungs felt empty, breathless. “I have a ring, too. Not here with me, though, but here in the manor. In the study. We can get it afterwards, if you want. Before we go to bed. We can get it, but… I had a plan, but I don’t think I can wait anymore.”
Tears were filling Dick’s eyes. He was already smiling.
“Bru—”
“I love you, Dick,” Bruce said in a rush, as if the words did not want to stay in for a second longer. The speech he had memorized fled his mind as everything else faded from existence. He was certain that it wasn’t for Dick’s grip on his hands, they would be shaking. “I love you and….”
The words were gone. His mind was blank. As he stared into Dick’s eyes and took in his smile, nothing else seemed to matter, nothing else seemed to exist. They were encased in an enchantment in which the clocks did not tick and the rainfall could fuel one with courage to do the impossible.
He had a speech memorized with years of thoughts and emotions poured into every word. But in that perfect moment, that speech did not matter. Bruce knew Dick understood them regardless.
“I love you,” he said it again, because he could still do at least that much. Because he knew in the end, that was all that mattered. Because he knew that to Dick, no speech could ever compare to those three little words. “Will you… Will you be mine? Will you let me be your husband?”
Dick fell to his knees and lunged into a kiss.
Their teeth clashed, both of them grinning. Bruce barely managed to keep them up, both his arms wrapped around Dick’s waist as the younger man’s full weight was thrown at him. Tears fell down Dick’s face as their lips somehow managed to move together perfectly despite the sloppiness of the kiss. Their tongues slid against one another, Dick was now straddling Bruce’s waist, a hand moving to the nape of his neck and gripping tightly to the hair, an echo of the gentle scratchy caress from earlier that night. It still send shivers through Bruce’s whole body.
They only pulled apart when their lungs could not bear to scream for air for a second longer. And even then, they still followed each other’s lips with quick kisses. One of Dick’s hands was pressed against Bruce’s chest. One Bruce’s hands had left Dick’s waist and now cupped his jaw. There was barely an inch of separation between them and still they longed to be closer.
Dick’s eyes were glazed, filled with sheer bliss as he stared at Bruce. He smiled and kissed him, then pulled away, smiled again, and then kissed Bruce once more. It drew a warm and affectionate chuckle out of the older man. Outside, the lightning cut through the heavens, and a second later, thunder followed. The rain fell with a deafening strength.
“I guess that is a yes?”
“Of course it’s a yes!” Dick cried. His voice was exasperated, outraged. “As if there was ever a chance I’d ever—! Of course I’ll marry you! As if there was ever any need to ask!”
Relief washed over Bruce as he chuckled.
“I’m serious, B. You could have driven me to the court house tomorrow without saying a word about it until the judge pulled out the marriage license and I would have signed without hesitation.”
“While hearing that makes me very happy… I would hope for something more romantic for our actual wedding.”
“Romantic, you say?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “Something grander… Where we could have a first dance together.”
Dick’s eyes softened.
“I guess I’ll never dance with anyone else ever again, huh?”
“No,” Bruce said. “And neither will. There will only ever be you, Dick.”
“There was only ever you, Bruce.”
Lightning.
Thunder.
As raindrops fell on the winter garden, Bruce and Dick sealed their true love vows with another tender kiss.