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It's a wonder that there are any unscorched parts of earth left in the wake of the war. The angels must have tucked it away, this little oasis amidst battle for respite from the sulfurous smoke and ash blotting the skies. Dick squints up at the sky. It has been *ages* since he has seen blue, and the warmth of the sunlight falling across his shoulders doesn't chafe like hellfire. Odd.
The sway of pleroma in the humid breeze is the only tell that heaven's entourage has arrived. He doesn't turn to them. Just because Bruce and Diana have finally managed to broker this treaty doesn't mean he has to play nice. Just civil.
He keeps a hand on his hip and his face tilted to the sky while gentle wings approach him. Someone clears their throat, and finally he turns.
Diana stands, tall and mighty, behind heaven's offering, and Dick takes the moment to inspect it. It — he is young. Complexion unbroken and backlit by the angelic grace humming within him. His dark hair curls against his forehead and contrasts his alabaster skin. His wings are plush, full, unmarked by injury or age. He is more cherub than seraph. He is beautiful.
The boy's eyes are bright, curious, roving over Dick earnestly. When they lock gazes, a blush rises to the boy's cheeks but he doesn't look away. Dick smiles.
"Jason," Diana says, "here is your betrothed. Demon Prince, please accept this offering." She squeezes the boy's shoulder and gently pushes him forward.
Jason's eyes flick down to the ground. He inhales deeply, then looks up again. "I am your husband," he declares.
The fervor wrapped in so sweet a voice sends a tingle through Dick, settling low in his belly. His tail unfurls from around his waist and curls around Jason's nearest wrist, dragging him even closer. "Yes," he says through a grin, "you are mine."