Work Text:
“Dick! Think fast!”
He turns just in time to catch the brightly colored object Roy has thrown at his head. Examining it, he finds that it’s a water gun. A big one.
Checking the tank, he finds it full.
“Oh, Roy,” Dick croons, grinning devilishly. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”
He runs forward, pumps the handle of the toy and begins to fire at his friend.
Roy screeches, apparently unprepared for the battle he’s started. He kicks up sand as he ducks for cover behind Kori, who laughs and flies high enough that Dick can spray him unobstructed.
After a few moments Roy finally gains his bearings and begins to fire back.
They go at each other mercilessly, taking no prisoners in their good-natured war.
By the time the toys have run dry both of them are soaked head to toe. So are Garth, Wally, and Donna. Vic and Kori are the only ones to escape unscathed. Vic declared his extra large beach towel a safe zone, and Kori chose to float above the fray and referee. Though what the rules were remains unclear to Dick.
“Richard,” calls Wally, kneeling by the pile of bags they dumped further from the water. “Re-apply my sunscreen!”
“Sure thing, babe,” Dick calls back.
“Gay!” Roy crows from where he lounges on his bright red towel, as though he is not the biggest homosexual on this beach.
“Shut the fuck up, Roy!” Wally throws a wadded up towel at him, and Dick can’t help but laugh.
Roy teaches Garth and Wally to boogie board. Meanwhile Dick, Donna, Vic, and Kori spend some time soaking up the sun.
“You’re going to get some sick tan lines from that swim binder, my dude.”
“Eh,” he shrugs. “Worth it.”
The rest of the day passes in a blur of happy feelings and warm sand. As evening approaches the group finds themselves sitting on the picnic blanket, watching the sun set.
“You know,” Wally starts, voice soft to suit the pleasant mood. “Y’all are-”
Roy and Dick both immediately turn and point at him, chorusing “Y’all!”
“Shut up, ” the ginger groans, throwing his head back in exasperation. It's a long-running joke.
“Silence, midwesterner!”
“Leave him alone, boys,” Donna admonishes. “Besides, neither of you have room to talk, with your coast slang.”
Both of them begin to protest but are silenced by laughter and agreement from the rest of the group. Dick feels his cheeks heat from more than the sun as his tendency to slip into a Jersey accent is brought up. Roy isn’t laughing for long because he’s next.
“Roy, say ‘bag.’”
“No.”
“Milk.”
“Please stop.”
The good-natured teasing, the easy familiarity they all have with each other, Dick feels his heart swell.
He loves his friends.