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"Did you see that?" you point accusingly at the TV from where you're lying on the couch, and Dick's laughter makes his chest shake underneath you. "They just got the boom in shot."
"Yea, I saw," he agrees solemnly, one of his hands gently twisting through your hair, pulling out tangles with a delicate focus that you're always just a bit surprised by.
"So I saw it and you saw it, but no one in the editing room saw it?" you retort, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
"Somehow, honey, I think you're actually paying more attention than the people who made this film," he says gently, and you scoff, muttering something about Hallmark movies.
Dick smiles - he can't really help it, on nights like these. You're tangled up on the couch together with so many blankets that he can feel the weight bearing down on him, and the lights of your Christmas tree shimmer in endless white-gold, painting the two of you in a glowing sort of halo.
It's nice, he thinks lazily. Peaceful. It's -
"There was a typo in the credits of the last one we watched," you remind him.
"I know, honey, I remember," he says kindly, and something about the patient, little lull of his voice has you looking at him with a fondness that feels like it could do him in. You click your tongue in annoyance and he leans down again, squishing your cheeks together with one hand while he places a kiss to the tip of your nose.
"This is fun, isn't it?" he coaxes, and you soften just a bit, reaching to pick up a sticky, sweet cookie from the coffee table. The plastic packaging crinkles as you do, and you snap the crushed corner back into place.
"Did you drop these?" you ask mildly as you take two halves of a broken cookie, and Dick makes an indignant, insulted sort of sound.
"You try grappling across the city with a package of cookies!" he insists, and you wrinkle your nose.
"No thanks, baby, I'll leave that to you," you say kindly. "But you could've walked? Like a normal person?"
"I would've been late," he insists, and your eye twitches as you watch a particularly choppy bit of camera work on the TV.
"You wouldn't have been late," you shrug. "We didn't have plans."
"What is this then, hm?" Dick counters, tightening his arms around you so that you're squeezed closer to him, forcing you to drop the offending package of cookies back onto the coffee table.
"We're just sitting here," you remind him. "The movie could've waited."
"The movie, yea," he murmurs as he skims his lips across your cheek. "But not you. I don't like keeping you waiting, baby."
That softens you a bit, of course, and you press your lips together with a dissatisfied sort of sound as you press closer to him.
"Whatever," you murmur, and Dick smiles down at you like it's the best sort of compliment, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Did you get weird looks?"
"What, Nightwing picking up Christmas cookies?" he laughs. "Nah. Totally normal."
"Oh, good," you say lazily, your cheek against his shoulder as he pulls the blanket tighter around the two of you. It's difficult, he finds, to really be still - there's a wound-up sort of energy that sits under his skin and makes his fingers twitch.
And it's a lucky escape, then, he thinks, that he gets to have you here like this - that he gets to use his hands for something good. His fingers flit around, adjusting the blanket and smoothing your hair down, and the knowing little smile that you shoot his way has him brushing his knuckles against the softness of your cheek.
"You look like you're having a good time," you say softly, a slow sort of thing in the stickiness of the evening as the lights from the tree blink down onto the two of you.
"I am," he agrees gently, his smile slow as he relaxes further into the couch. "Are you?"
"Of course I am," you respond, and his lips quirk up into a bigger smile.
"Even though you hate the movie?"
"It's a Hallmark movie, you're not supposed to like it."
"Babe," he laughs. "That's not true at all."
"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "I'm having a good time. That dialogue was weird," you point out as an afterthought, your attention divided between the TV and him.
"Only because you're paying so much attention to it," Dick counters, his hand moving to smooth up and down your back.
"You can't pay too much attention to a movie," you argue back. He softens a bit, and you're really not sure he should, but he holds out a cookie as a peace offering, and you take it - just to appease him, you're sure.
"You would be great in a Hallmark movie," he murmurs, and you pause with the cookie half up to your mouth.
"I beg your pardon?" you huff out in a half-laugh, and he swipes some of the red and green frosting from your cookie and licks it off his finger.
"Come on," he coaxes. "Big city, work obsessed -"
"Work obsessed?" you laugh, cutting off his list.
"Lacking holiday spirit," he continues, and you make an indignant sort of sound, shoving your half-eaten cookie towards his mouth.
"And what does that make you?" you laugh as he takes it from you, nipping at your fingers as he eats the cookie. "My charming, small-town boyfriend here to change my ways?"
"I could be," he grins, and you roll your eyes.
"You could not be," you insist, but he just rolls onto his back and readjusts the two of you with gentle hands until you're straddling his lap.
"Why not, baby?" he asks kindly, and you cross your arms.
"I have Christmas spirit. I ate the cookies."
"I know you did, honey," he agrees with a nod, and you press your lips together to fight your smile.
"I'm watching the movie," you add.
"Yes, you are, babe."
"And I like my big city life." That gets another laugh out of him, loud and honest as he tugs you down until you're lying on top of him once more.
"I know you do," he says in amusement as his hands latch onto your hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing little circles into your skin. "Don't worry - I have no plans to whisk us off away from Bludhaven."
"We could go back to Gotham?" you suggest.
"Don't joke," he scoffs, and you smile against his skin as you press a kiss to his cheek.
"Do you want to know a secret, though?" he adds, and you push yourself up enough that you can plant your hands on his chest and look down at him. The Christmas lights pool across his skin and reflect in his eyes, a thousand little stars shimmering back at you as he fixes you with a lovesick gaze.
"What?" you murmur. His smile softens into something gentle, his hands kind as they touch your skin.
"I like this life of ours, too," he says softly, and this time you don't try to stop the smile that spreads across your face.
"Yea?" you ask, your voice dripping sweetness.
"Yea, honey," he says easily. "I'm kind of in love with it."
"That's good," you murmur. "I'm kind of in love with you."
"Kind of?" he huffs. "I should make you watch another Hallmark movie for that."
"We can do that, baby," you give in easily, and when you lean down to kiss him sweetly, his lips taste like Christmas cookies. "We can watch as many as you want."