Work Text:
Winter is not particularly your "thing". The capitalism of it all makes you cringe, and you do not see snow as a plus side. As pretty as it is, snow equals cold. Really cold. Unpleasantly cold. Plus, traffic surrounding the holidays sucks in Gotham. Traffic sucks in Gotham in the first place. Walking is typically preferable unless it is cold, which it is, meaning you'd rather just stay home than do anything at all. Overall, not your favorite season.
But when Dick "Puppy Dog Eyes" Grayson asks you to do winter stuff, you do winter stuff. That is just how these things work, no ifs ands or buts about it. He is not above using the 'I missed so many holidays because of Batman :(' guilt tactic, as you've learned from experience. That is how you ended up on a lake of ice with blades strapped to your feet.
"Dick, I really don't think-"
"Shh, come on. You're fine," he goaded, pulling you along behind him slowly. Once he'd picked up momentum a little, he'd turned around to face you, because of course his ass can skate backwards. "See? You're doing so good!"
It was honestly a miracle that you weren't on your ass yet. After the last time, you'd made Dick promise that he wouldn't get too fast, and that he'd use his unexplainable skating expertise to make sure you stayed upright. Admittedly, it was working.
"I'm pretty sure this is mostly you, big guy." You reply, doing your absolute best to sound mildly annoyed and unimpressed. You were doing a shit job at it though. Something about seeing him so happy made it impossible for you to be a grouch, even if you were freezing to death and convinced you were going to end up taking a skate to the eye or something equivalently bad.
He hummed a noise of disapproval as he pulled you closer to him, somehow managing to dodge all of the normal people who couldn't skate. "No, you're a natural. I told you you'd be good at it, didn't I Dove?"
For the sake of argument, you could've brought up the multiple times thus far that you've fallen down and the possible concussion that you may or may not be dealing with. But, again, you can't seem to find the words to complain. This bastard has you wrapped so far around his finger that he could take you straight to the North Pole and all you'd do is smile and nod, and you love him for it.