Chapter Text
*bang bang bang*
Quite honestly the knocking on your door this late at night scares the fuck out of you so you're already not in the best mood when you look though the peephole to see one Richard Grayson on your doorstep. Your mood worsens when you open the door and immediately smell liquor on him.
"Grayson. To what do I owe this honour at two in the morning?"
"Was in the neighbourhood." He smiles brightly, if a little lopsided. You stare back at him, unimpressed. "Also I may have lost my keys and I don't want to wake Alfred this late."
You arch a brow. "Waking me is just fine though?"
"You weren't asleep."
Well he's not wrong, but it still feels like a flimsy excuse. Regardless, you step aside to let him in. For Alfred's sake. Dick manages just one step through your doorway before he loses his balance and falls. A less acrobatic man would have been flat on his face, but Dick somehow manages to reflexively turn the fall into a forward roll. Unfortunately he doesn't quite hit the follow through so he ends the roll sitting on your floor, looking a wee bit green. You shut the door behind him and step over his legs.
"Ta da?" He tries, with a flourish of the hands. Then he holds them out to you. "Help?"
God save you. You grab his hands to haul him up but you both miscalculate and he practically catapults up into your personal space. You might have ended up nose to nose if he weren't so tall. As it is, you're more like nose to chest. You have to tilt your head up at a sharp angle to meet his eyes.
"Hi." He whispers. It might have been charming if he didn't have whiskey breath. You take a step back at the strength of the fumes.
"Go sit before you break something, Grayson."
Once he's safely on your couch you head for the kitchen to find something to feed him. He descends on the sandwich you offer with enthusiasm. By the time he takes the last bite he seems at least a little closer to sober.
"So who am I calling?"
"Huh?" He tilts his head like a confused puppy, mouth still full of food.
"Who am I calling to come get you? Jason?"
Dick suddenly looks sheepish and you're immediately suspicious. Your concerns are soon validated. "He, uh... he told me I'm out of passes for the year. Could I crash here? Pretty please?"
Dick Grayson can offer up a very pretty please when it suits him, all big doe eyes and pouty lips. You envy Jason's boundary setting for a second and curse your own soft heart while you're at it. "Ugh. Fine, fine."
He lights up like the damn fourth of July.
"Your lanky ass won't fit on the couch, can I trust you not to puke in my bed?" He nods vigorously and then has to stop, the movement apparently making him dizzy. Oh brother. "Okay I'm getting you a bucket. Bedroom's through there."
You point him in the right direction and then take his plate back to the kitchen. You're pretty sure there's a bucket under your sink, thank god, and you grab him a bottle of water while you're at it. By the time you make it to the bedroom you fully expect him to be curled up under the blankets. He isn't. Instead he's butt ass naked in the middle of the room. You yelp and whirl round immediately, screwing your eyes shut.
"GRAYSON! Pants ON!"
He tries to argue. "But they're not comfy..."
"Richard Grayson, you put your boxers back on or I am calling Alfred."
"nooooo..." You can hear the pout in his voice, but thankfully you can also hear the rustling of fabric that means he's making himself decent. Your eyes stay firmly closed until he swears on his life that he's got them back on. Unfortunately for you they leave approximately nothing to the imagination so once you turn back around you have to keep your eyes trained on his face as you bully him into bed.
Once he's tucked in (he insisted) and has both water and the bucket set up within arms reach, you move to go, planning to sleep on the couch yourself. Dick has other ideas.
"Awwww, we're not cuddling?"
"We are not."
"Please?"
You sigh, hand on the light switch. "No."
"Please?"
"Grayson..."
"Please?"
You're certain he could keep this up all night.
"Oh my god, fine." Giving in with a dramatic huff, you flick the light off before you remove your own pants and slide into the bed next to him. "You're a pest, you know that? It's a miracle nobody has murdered you."
He laughs. "Many have tried."
As soon as you're under the covers he's reaching out to pull you into a cuddle, arms wrapping securely around you and leg trying to slip between your own so he can press himself fully along your back. You're not sure how to feel about the level of skin contact but it is undeniably cozy. Dick runs hot apparently and you're so warm that the blanket might be entirely pointless. He sighs happily, breath tickling along the back of your neck. You wriggle in protest and he grumbles, pulling you tighter.
"Stop moving."
"Stop breathing down my neck!"
"Mm not." He lies, nuzzling even deeper into the crook of your neck. "... You smell good."
"Alright creeper, go to sleep."
He finally descends into blissful silence, presumably asleep, and you let yourself enjoy the situation just a little bit. So sue you, maybe you think Grayson's hot and maybe it's been a while since an attractive man has shared your bed. It doesn't mean anything. It definitely doesn't mean anything that it's the best night's sleep you've ever had.
-
You wake up no longer wrapped up in Dick Grayson the octopus. When you peer over to check on him, you find him face down in a pillow. You're not sure how he's breathing like that but he definitely is because he's also snoring like a chainsaw. He doesn't stir even a bit as you climb out from under the covers and make your way to the kitchen.
You manage nearly half an hour of blissful peace before he wakes up and stumbles in to find you finishing a cup of coffee.
"Morning." He yawns and stretches, showing off his long limbs and really highlighting the fact that he hasn't put his clothes back on yet.
"Grayson, do we have to have the pants argument again?"
He makes a face at you but disappears back into your bedroom without comment. When he returns he's wearing sweatpants that are definitely yours based on the several inches of ankle he's showing. His chest remains bare. It's enough of a win, you decide, so you pour him a coffee as well when he throws himself down at the table.
"You're an angel."
You ruffle his already sleep-mussed hair. "I must be to put up with you."
Instead of pushing you away he leans into the attention in a way that kind of reminds you of a puppy. "Thank you for letting me stay. Really. I owe you one."
"What you owe me, Grayson, is a good night's sleep." You grumble and he laughs.
"I'll get you one, just as soon as I figure out how to wrap it."