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"So why exactly are you bringing me?" Roy asks, tugging half-heartedly at his arm, where Dick grabbed him and is pretty much dragging him along behind himself.
"One: moral support. Two: because he likes bows and stuff, and you like bows and stuff, and if he talks about bow stuff you can translate," explains Dick cheerily.
"It's called archery, Dick," Roy grouses, capitulating his efforts to get his arm back.
"See, you're already doing your job!" Dick nods theatrically, giving Roy's arm a little pat, just to be annoying.
"I hate you," Roy tells him.
"You love me," Dick returns.
Roy doesn't argue. He stopped denying it around the time he first learned he had a daughter; when it was Dick who changed diapers with him, and helped him through his panic attacks at 4 am, when everything was just suddenly too much. Dick, who sang his daughter lullabies in languages Roy couldn't understand, and only made a little fun of him when he made the formula bottle explode that one time. He loves Dick a whole hell of a lot, even if he sometimes wishes he didn't.
They arrive at the park just barely on time, mostly because Roy was only informed of this little rendezvous last-minute, and he has a whole entire child he usually plans around. A child who is a teenager now, but Roy would still prefer someone keep an eye on his kid, thank you very much. She went from a 'might play with the stove and burn herself and the neighborhood to the ground'-risk, to a 'might put on a mask and sneak out to fight and/or do crime'-risk. So he ended up asking Donna to do a little 'surprise visit' so that her and Lian could have a catch-up girl's night.
"You said he was blond," Roy points out unnecessarily, because he has nothing else to say, and standing around in a random park in silence while Dick very obviously looks around for someone else is kind of awkward, actually.
Roy has no idea what Clint looks like beyond what Dick told him on the way here — which seemed a lot at the time, but turns out to lack much useful information, considering the last time they saw each other was almost twenty years ago. Apparently, Clint learned what became of Dick via gossip magazine a few months ago. When he came across another article reporting how 'Bruce Wayne's eldest' had been spotted regularly in New York, he decided to reach out. Because that's where Clint lives, apparently, and so does Roy, which is why Dick spends so much time here.
"I did say that," returns Dick, equally unnecessarily.
Roy hooks his chin over Dick's shoulder, huffing a breath. Dick pats him on the head mock-assuringly, and Roy nips at his earlobe in retaliation. Dick makes an affronted noise, shoving Roy back off his shoulder.
"Why are you meeting him in a park, exactly?" Roy asks, taking a step back and removing Dick's hand from his face so he can start looking around himself.
He has the good grace to not point out that asking to meet in a park is kind of a major red flag, at least for the first meeting. He doesn't know how Clint reached out to Dick after two decades of zero contact, his first assumption having been social media. But it didn't sound like Dick had seen as much as a picture of the grown up version of his old friend, which isn't exactly assuring in Roy's humble opinion. This entire set up seems like a good way to get mugged, or have an uncomfortable encounter with a creeper, if anything. Not that Dick would be in any actual danger, but still — it's the principle of the thing.
"He said he has a dog," Dick says with a shrug.
"So?"
"Dogs like parks," Dick explains, glancing over at Roy. "Ace used to love parks, Titus likes 'em, and Haley goes absolutely nuts for a trip to the one by my apartment in Blüd."
"Uh-huh," Roy says, turning around to cover a new angle. "So he told you he had a dog, which is why he wanted to go to a park?"
"Nah," Dick says, shaking his head. "He said he had a dog, and I offered to meet in a park."
Roy takes back everything he thought about this Clint guy before. He's not the creeper — apparently Dick is.
"Wait, I think that's him," Dick suddenly exclaims, slapping Roy's arm a few times to get his attention.
"Hey— ow!" Roy complains, swatting Dick's hand away. "What the—"
He cuts off, when a giant, fluffy golden retriever comes hurtling toward him. It launches itself at Roy, front paws slamming against his chest. Roy takes a stumbling step back, nearly tipping over at the force of it.
"Jesus—," he yelps, grabbing the dog's sides to keep it from trying to flatten him to the ground. He can hear Dick's cackling, before it abruptly cuts off, replaced by a tiny hiccup. Roy, instinctively ruffling the slobbering dog's fur, is about to make fun of him for it, until he too looks up and sees a man jogging towards them.
Roy looks down at the dog again, just to make sure it's still there because, for a second, he almost thought the dog had gone and turned human. Because that man could definitely be the human version of this dog. Big, blond, with hair that looks slightly ruffled and a soft, washed-out shirt that's effortlessly sexy on him. The dimply — oh god, he has dimples — slightly unkempt, but very hot human version. Clint, Roy presumes.
"Lucky, stop trying to crush that guy to death," Clint the dog-man scolds, and the dog — Lucky, apparently — makes a high-pitched whining sound and releases Roy from its furry clutches.
"Oh my God," Dick whispers next to him.
"Is that him?" Roy whispers back, through the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, but damn."
Roy nods. He knows exactly what Dick means.
"You didn't say he was hot," he accuses, watching Lucky the dog tackle Clint, who has big hands, and a slightly dopey smile, and arms. Oh god.
"He wasn't the last time I saw him!" Dick hisses back — which is probably a fair point.
Clint manages to wrangle Lucky off of himself, still leaving his entire front covered in dog hair. Roy is probably not any better off. Dick, of course, managed to stay pristine as ever.
"I'm so sorry about that," Clint says, coming closer with Lucky safely on a leash. He's panting a little, and Roy tries very hard not to think dirty thoughts.
"All good," says Roy , holding out one hand. Clint takes it, shaking it a little too hard. "I'm Roy, by the way. Dick's friend."
"Okay! Awesome," Clint returns, before glancing down at his hand where he's still shaking Roy's, and lets go. "Sorry," he says, wearing a sheepish smile that makes Roy want to forgive anything he's ever done and beat to death anyone who might ever say otherwise. "Clint," he adds, by way of introduction. Roy nods, and gives him his most charming smile, because he doesn't care who or what this man is to Dick— he will most definitely be shooting his shot at some point tonight.
"And Dick!" Clint exclaims, turning to his old friend, grin splitting his face that could probably heat Roy's apartment for a month with how warm it is.
Roy takes a step back to get a better view of the two of them, Dick instantly wrapping Clint into one of his Grayson-patented hugs. God, does Dick give good hugs. Clint looks extremely hug-shaped himself, making a very small and very quiet part of Roy want to worm his way between the two.
"Man, you got tall," Clint points out, pulling away from the hug, arms extended to give Dick a thorough look-over. Dick is a good actor, but Roy can see the blush creep its way up his cheeks.
"Speak for yourself," Dick returns, using his head to indicate their height-difference.
"Okay, but consider the last time I saw you, you were like, two feet tall," Clint argues, mock-seriously.
"I was also eight," Dick deadpans.
"Exactly!" Clint laughs, bright and breezy. Roy gulps.
"You are not fucking my childhood best friend, Roy," Dick says, digging a pointy finger into Roy's chest. He reaches all the way over the table of the sensible cafe they stopped by to do so.
"I didn't even say anything!" Roy protests, lifting his hands to show his innocence.
"You were thinking it!" Dick accuses, which yeah, no kidding, Roy absolutely fucking was.
"I thought we were your childhood best friends, man," he says instead of defending himself, referring to the Titans. "This is like, totally hurting my feelings right now."
"No, it isn't," Dick counters, rolling his eyes. "I said it for dramatic effect, anyway. Also, Donna, Garth and Wally are my childhood best friends — you are a thorn in my side I just can't seem to get rid of."
Roy, very maturely, sticks out his tongue.
"You're just jealous," he snarks, giving Dick his sleaziest grin. "Cuz you wanna fuck him too, but you know I'm way more fuckable than you."
Dick glares, opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then his mouth ticks up in the tiniest of smirks, and Roy knows he's done for.
"So you admit it," Dick says triumphantly. It takes Roy a second to connect the dots, but then he groans.
"Yeah, okay! I wanna fuck your hot circus friend, sue me!" Roy throws up his hands for added effect.
"I knew it," Dick replies, grin spreading over his entire face. He's half bent over the table, leaning on his lower arms, probably just so he can get right up into Roy's face.
"Roy Harper wants to fuck hot person; fork found in kitchen. Big deal," Roy huffs, glaring at a cackling Dick. He says 'cackling' but that implies a certain unpleasantness to the sound. Dick has probably never been unpleasant a day in his life. Still, it's the closest Roy can come to describing the pure evil in his laugh. Dick is like a vampire, he muses: beautiful on the outside, but no soul inside. An evil, evil creature come to seduce innocents (like Roy — and Clint) and drink all their blood. Plus an aversion to garlic. Though Roy suspects Dick only pretends not to like garlic because saying "I must look and smell absolutely perfect at all times" is just a bit of a mouthful.
He shoves at Dick's face, who only laughs and grabs his arm. He manages to free himself of Roy's palm in his face, pressing the offending appendage onto the table between them, with one hand wrapped around Roy's wrist. His skin is hot against Roy's, the light scrape of callouses sending a shiver down his spine.
Roy can tell Dick is about to snark back, when Clint appears beside their table again. They quickly snatch back their hands, turning to face him.
He's holding a small plate with a croissant. Both Dick and Roy stare at it, and Clint glances down.
"Yeah, I saw it on my way back from the bathroom and just… couldn't resist?" He says it like it's a question, and somehow that makes Roy want to punch the air to deal with the sudden butterflies in his stomach. Clint isn't even his usual type — beyond being taller than him — lacking the underlying fierceness that usually draws Roy in. But there's something to him, something that makes Roy's skin tingle, puts him just the slightest bit on edge. Like his subconscious is picking up on something his mind hasn't quite put together yet.
It's the danger, he knows, the thrill that usually pulls him in. That, or plain self-destruction. He doesn't know which of the three applies to Clint.
He's hell-bent on finding out.
He glances over at Dick who doesn't seem to fare any better. Eyes big, and blue, and beautiful, glued to Clint like a stamp to a letter.
"So valid," he assures Clint with a too-quick nod, scooting a little to make space for him to sit down. The sneak.
"I hate you," Roy mouths to Dick, as Clint slides into the spot next to him.
Dick only sends him a triumphant grin, and a wink. Roy kicks him under the table. Dick kicks him back, harder. Lucky, curled up a few inches behind their feet, makes a disgruntled huff.
"Does he have water?" Clint asks, bending to look under the table. Dick and Roy quickly pull their legs back into a normal position.
"Oh, yeah, one of the staff brought a bowl over just after you left," Roy tells him, trying to send another kick at Dick via telepathy.
Dick, either reading the intent in his face or actually telepathy-kicked, glares at him. His face morphs back into a pleasant smile the moment Clint's head pops back up from beneath the table.
"So," Dick asks, turning so almost his entire front is facing Clint. "What've you been up to?"
"Uh," Clint says, scratching the back of his neck. "You know. The usual."
Dick nods, like what Clint said was actually insightful in any way. He's really laying it on thick, huh? But it's not like Dick has ever been subtle when there's no reason to be.
"I don't know what the usual is for you guys," Roy points out. He gives Dick another subtle nudge under the table. "Like, what do you do at a circus, juggle?"
"You do know," Dick argues, nudging back. "Because I told you. In detail. Multiple times."
Roy waves that off with a shake of his head. When he reaches out with his foot to find Dick's and give it a stomp, he accidentally brushes Clint's leg. He glances at his face, but luckily Clint doesn't seem to have noticed.
"You told me what you did in a circus — doesn't mean he did the same stuff. That'd be generalizing and, like, presumptuous."
Roy settles on stretching out his legs and letting them rest around Dick's. Partially because he's worried he'll get caught acting like a child and embarrassing himself, and partially just because it's comfortable.
"And assuming he juggled, isn't," Dick deadpans. Clint snorts beside him.
Roy shrugs, comfortably shameless. "Can't hurt to ask."
"Can't hurt to ask," Dick mouths back, clearly mocking. Meanwhile Clint is busy snickering into his palm. See? Roy is hilarious, and Dick just doesn't get his genius, poor fool.
Dick gives Roy's leg another small nudge. Roy can't help but smile. He presses his legs — which have always been longer, ever since they were kids — tight around Dick's, trapping them.
"I didn't juggle," Clint says, through a few more tiny snorts, pulling Roy's attention back on himself. "Or at least not as an act."
"But you can juggle," Roy points out.
Clint chuckles again. "Yeah, Roy, I can juggle."
Roy grins triumphantly at Dick and holds up one hand for Clint to high-five. When their hands meet, Roy entwines their fingers, shifting to look into his eyes.
"You do archery too, right?" he asks, giving a slow, sticky-sweet smile. He drags his thumb over Clint's skin, turning up the charm. "You must be very good with your hands."
Clint stares, eyes slowly widening. He glances over at Dick, who's sulking in his corner, and back at Roy.
"Uh," he says.
"You've got really strong ones. I can tell," Roy goes on, turning their entwined hands this way and that, inspecting them.
"Uh," Clint says again.
Roy brings their joined hands down to the table, looking back up at Clint through his lashes. But before he can speak, Dick pipes up.
"Uhm, we'd like to order please!" he calls to the nearest employee, like a shitty fucking customer. Roy purses his lips and doesn't cuss him out.
Roy keeps his hand locked with Clint's as they order, watching a faint blush climb up his cheeks, until it reaches the tips of his ears.
Dick orders some sugary concoction with about 50 add-ins Roy was forced to memorize years ago, as well as Roy's go-to order of a respectable cappuccino, because foam. Then he turns to Clint, who orders his coffee black, which feels completely at odds with his vanilla-latte-vibes. Roy quietly adds that little piece to the Clint-puzzle he's assembling in his mind. Somehow, it ends up fitting perfectly.
"Can I try some of that croissant?" Dick asks as soon as the waitress is gone. Clint hesitates, glancing from the pastry to Dick's—okay, Roy can admit—very appealing lips, to Roy, and back.
"Uh, sure," he says after a short moment of consideration, pushing the plate over to him. Dick smiles, and takes a, Jesus, a lewd fucking bite out of the croissant. Damn. Roy should've thought of that.
But man, does Dick pull it off. And it should be ridiculous, but instead, it's hot as fuck. Roy peels his eyes away from Dick's sneaky fucking face to gauge Clint's reaction. He's staring, mouth slightly parted. Roy feels his hand clench a little tighter around his. Yeah, that seems about right.
"Can I try too?" he asks, even though he knows the damage has been done.
Clint shrugs, then nods, indicating for Roy to go ahead with his free hand. Roy turns to face Dick and opens his mouth, brows raising expectantly. Dick heaves a put upon sigh, and holds out the croissant for Roy to take a bite out of. He tries his very best to imitate Dick's seductive bite, gently closing his lips around the fluffy dough. He only realizes after he's already pulled away, licking the crumbs from his lips, that he spent the entire time looking into Dick's eyes, instead of Clint's.
He swallows, trying to shake off the swirling mix of feelings that floods him as he feels both their eyes on him.
"It's really good," he rasps, raking his tongue over his front teeth to make sure there aren't any crumbs stuck to them, before he gives Clint a smile that hopefully reads as completely normal and relaxed.
This isn't the first time he and Dick have shared food this way, far from it. It's not even the first time they've maybe tiptoed across the border of what might be considered "normal friend behavior." Like, they spend a lot of time together. They're very close, but that's just what happens when you're both friends and teammates for as long as they have been. And sure, maybe Dick's a bit of a cuddler, but it's not like Roy has a spare bedroom. And what teenagers don't jerk eachother off at least once.
And the one time it happened when they were adults was most definitely an isolated case due to special circumstances. Circumstances being space, and very little privacy for a very long time. And like Dick said, it's not like Roy hasn't done casual sex with friends before. Even though that rarely ended well, but like, the point stands.
Point is, they've always been comfortable with all kinds of physical or emotional intimacy — feeding each other has never registered as particularly strange. But now, with Clint's eyes on him, and the less than subtle sexual undertones? It feels a little different.
Dick returns the half-eaten croissant to its plate, and pushes it back to Clint, who lets go of Roy's hand to eat it. It's a shame, but Roy'll get over it.
They stay quiet as Clint eats, and Roy tries to regain his composure. Not even Dick breaks the silence, which isn't necessarily unusual, but still strikes Roy as odd considering the circumstances. Maybe Roy wasn't the only one thrown off-kilter by the whole croissant situation. Croissiation.
Yeah, no.
Roy has got to do something to get rid of this weird energy.
"So Clint," he says, digging in his brain for something, anything. "Your circus, the one where you met Dick — wasn't it, like, a crime circus?"
Okay, maybe not that.
He watches the micro-expressions flit across Clint's face before he settles back on a neutral smile.
"Kind of, yeah," he says, wiping the last crumbly remnants of the croissant from his face. Clint’s grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Roy's shoulders slump.
"Sorry," he rushes to say, clasping his hands together on the table. Dick hands him a napkin from the pile, and Roy takes it gratefully, using his fingers to slowly rip it into small pieces. "It's just that Dick told me, about when he found out, and—"
"Roy," Dick cuts in, pushing Clint's now empty plate towards Roy, so he doesn't leave the bits of tissue all over the table. "Shut up."
Roy's mouth snaps shut.
"No, no, it's fine," Clint says with a small chuckle. "It's not like he's wrong."
"He's a rude asshole, is what," Dick grumbles. Roy relaxes his legs, shifting his knees to give Dick back his space. But Dick only hooks one leg behind Roy's calf, trapping his leg between his own instead, keeping him close.
"Also not wrong!" Clint snorts, relaxing back into himself. Roy sighs in relief.
"Yeah," he agrees, glancing over and meeting Dick's sky-blue eyes for a moment. "I kinda am."
Clint reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze, making Roy pause his careful decimation of the tissue. "Don't worry, it works for you."
Now it's Roy's turn to blush.
It's getting dark by the time the three of them step out of the cafe. Roy has managed to make up for his earlier faux-pas, and when Dick accidentally revealed Roy's love for archery while trying to tell an embarrassing anecdote from their teens, the following conversation made sure Roy is absolutely head over heels for Clint. And all things considered, he thinks he stands a pretty good chance.
"So, Clint," he starts, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He's actually kinda nervous about this. Clint looks up from where he was giving Lucky a good ruffle, eyes a clear blue, a strand of fluffy hair falling over his brow. "I was gonna ask—"
"Phew, it's getting dark out, isn't it?" Dick cuts in, grabbing Roy by the arm again. Roy glares, and when Dick doesn't let go, slams his elbow into his side. Dick tries to cover his wince with a smile, but doesn't quite manage.
"Right," Clint says, looking from one to the other and back again. "I guess I should head home, huh?"
Roy is about to protest, but Dick slams a hand over his mouth, like a child.
"Sounds good, I'll text you!"
Roy pulls on years of experience of being a child himself and licks Dick's hand. Dick, in turn, stomps on his foot, but doesn't remove his hand, like an absolute monster.
"Do you live close by?" Clint asks, scratching Lucky between the ears. Lucky dog. Name's appropriate, at least.
"Oh, I live over in Blüd, but I'm staying over at Roy's tonight, and he doesn't live far."
Yeah right. Dick'll be lucky if Roy gives him a tent to sleep in, no way is he letting that fucker into his bed tonight. And he sure as hell won't give him his toothbrush, and special shampoo and conditioner set, and all the other crap cluttering up Roy's bathroom. Matter of fact, he'll donate all of it while Dick finds a cozy bench to sleep on.
"I see," Clint says, frowning slightly. Then he purses his lips, giving Dick a helpless look.
"Okay, I have to admit, I'm a little confused here."
"Huh?" Dick says, still smiling. Roy continues his slobbering assault on his palm.
"I mean, you and Roy," Clint continues, gesturing from one to the other with his head. Lucky huffs, as if to underline his point.
"Huh?" Dick repeats, head tilting slightly.
"I mean," Clint starts, frowning slightly. "On one hand, I was pretty sure you were flirting with me. But at the same time, you two are obviously together, hence the confusion."
"Huh..?" Dick says again, now for the third time.
"I mean, if it's an open relationship situation, that's cool," Clint goes on, hand stroking Lucky's fur. "But then like, why not just tell me? I thought maybe you're not out, and maybe I was imagining the flirting? But I'm usually pretty good at picking up those things."
Roy can't help it. He snorts, the rush of air pushing the spit that's amassed between his mouth and Dick's hand up, splashing against his nose. Which — ew.
"Ugh, stop that," Dick snaps, removing his hand from Roy's mouth and wiping it on his shirt.Roy slaps his hand away, wiping the spit from his chin with his sleeve. Spit all over his shirt. Great.
"We're not dating," he tells Clint. Who looks completely lost.
"Wait, what?" He pauses his petting, making Lucky whine unhappily. He looks back and forth between the two of them, squinting. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Dick confirms, face flushed. "Definitely not dating."
The firmness of his answer stings a little, Roy won't lie, but it's not like it isn't true.
"Just friends. And even that is on the fence right now," he says with a smirk, thumping Dick in the arm with his fist.
"Huh," Clint breathes, staring at his hand, running through Lucky's fur. "But all the touching?" he asks, looking back up. "The flirty banter? You staying with him? The whole footsie-situation? The matching wrist bands?"
Roy looks tries not to spiral at the relevation that Clint had been aware of their under-the-table-shenanigans the entire time, and looks at his wrist. And yeah, okay fair. There hangs the friendship bracelet Garth made each of them for Christmas three years ago, but he isn't matching with Dick. He's matching with all of his friends, even if most of them stopped wearing them years ago. And maybe Dick and Roy swapped bracelets last year, drunk off mulled wine and feeling hilarious. Except only Dick had been drunk, because Roy doesn't drink anymore.
"It's not… like that," he tries to explain. When he glances over at Dick, he doesn't meet his eye.
Or is it?
Has Roy been extremely stupid for an extremely long time?
He blinks, and considers the way he's wrapped around Dick, entire body pressed against his. He thinks back on the entire day. On all his thoughts and interactions. Thinks back on an entire friendship of thoughts and interactions.
Maybe, if he stops looking away…
Maybe 'I can never be as good as him' has always held a layer of 'I can never be good enough for him'. And maybe when he offered to blow Dick Grayson on a space ship it wasn't because he hadn't jerked off in two weeks. Maybe it was just because he wanted to blow Dick Grayson on a space ship.
Fuck.
He has been incredibly stupid, hasn't he?
But also, no, no way. Doesn't matter how he feels about the whole thing; as far as Dick is concerned, they're just friends. Dick would've said something. God knows he's had plenty of chances to say something, like that time when Roy's mouth was otherwise occupied and Dick was saying all sorts of things.
"It's absolutely not like that," he reiterates, more firmly. "I'm single, ready to mingle, and would love to take you out some time," he tells Clint, trying to go for charming instead of desperate and completely off-kilter.
"Wait, wait!" Dick cuts in, stepping between Roy and Clint, who looks just as confused as Roy feels right now. "You're my friend, so I get to ask you out first," he rushes out.
"That's absolutely not how that works, Dickie," Roy grunts, trying push Dick out of the way, but the fucker just won't move.
"It is now," Dick snaps back, giving Clint his very best billion-dollar, puppy-dog smile. The one even Roy can rarely resist.
"Uh," is all Clint says. That seems to be a common thing for him.
"Don't make him pressure you into something you don't want, Clint! You can absolutely reject the shit out of him, no worries," Roy assures him. He's got his arms wrapped around Dick, trying to pull him to the side.
"Shut up, Roy," Dick grunts, digging his feet into the floor.
"You move your fat ass out of the way!" Roy snaps.
"Uhm, guys?" Clint says, standing up properly again.
"Yeah?" Dick and Roy both answer at the same time, locked in a stalemate as they push against each other.
"I think I have a solution for your problem," Clint announces, nodding sagely. Dick and Roy both freeze, giving him their full attention.
Clint grins, spreading his arms like a sleezy salesman showing them pocketfuls of illicit goods.
"How about we go on a date together, all three of us?" he offers, smile wide and lopsided. God, dimples. He has such good dimples. They're almost as good as Dick's.
Roy pauses. Runs that thought back.
Yeah, okay. It's kind of obvious now that it's been pointed out to him.
Damn.
He lets go of Dick, who doesn't expect the sudden loss of support, almost braining himself on the floor. Luckily, he's been almost braining himself since he was like, two, or something, and has by now learned how to stop that from happening. He catches himself, stumbling but regaining his balance.
"Yeah Clint," Roy says, heart pounding in his chest. He doesn't know how Dick will react to this. He still might only consider them friends. And that's what they are, have been, and will be, even if Roy is wrong about this. Because through his many tumultuous relationships, throughout all the ups and downs of his life, there has always been a constant —
God, he is so, so stupid.
— and he's pretty sure that if Dick's still here after all the dirty diapers, he'll stick around through this, too. No matter how badly it goes.
And if it goes well… maybe, through what Clint is offering, he'll also get to know Dick all over again.
"That sounds great," Roy says, twitching fingers longing for the long-gone tissue all the way inside the cafe.
"Wait," Dick says, eyes wide and body still as a statue. "Really?"
Clint gives Dick a soft look that Roy doesn't feel like examining too closely right now.
Roy has always fallen fast and hard, and this is no exception. Clint, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, has wormed his way under Roy's skin and into his heart over the course of an afternoon, with his awkward charm and easy humor, dragging Roy into his orbit. Where Dick is polished, Clint is warm and a little rough around the edges, like a well-worn t-shirt. Roy wants to get to know him better, to learn just what it is about Clint that sets all his senses on alert.
"Yeah," Roy repeats. "If you're on board?" He doesn't quite dare to look Dick in the eye.
Dick is quiet for a moment, eyes scanning over Roy's face. He seems to find whatever he's looking for, because, after a moment, he nods, biting his lip.
"Yeah," he echoes, eyes sparkling like rippling waves under the summer sun. "Okay. Let's do it."
Roy has been so, so, incredibly stupid.
Clint grins, and takes them both by one hand. There's a mischievous glint in his eye that seems to spell trouble. Then he presses a kiss to each of their mouths — just a peck — but Roy closes his eyes when it's his turn, chasing the feeling of his soft, slightly chapped lips.
Then Clint gives them both a look, expectant. Roy gulps. He knows what Clint is waiting for.
To Roy's surprise, Dick is the first one to move. His expression, somehow, looks both unbelievably soft and extremely furious.
"I hate you," he tells Roy, placing his palms on Roy's biceps. Roy swallows.
Then Dick leans in, and his lips meet Roy's — and god fucking damn it, Roy is probably the most stupid motherfucker on earth.
The kiss is soft, just like Clint's had been. And this one too, Roy chases.
"Will you look at that," Clint says, breaking Roy out of the spell Dick has put him under. "And here I was, worried I'd lost my knack for reading people."
"Nuh-uh," Roy says, blinking hard. "Definitely not lost."
Dick and Clint both laugh, and Roy can't even be mad at it.
"So, date, when?" he asks because he's making it a mission to be less stupid going forward.
Clint grins, sharing a look with Dick.
"I'll make a group chat."