Dick doesn't like losing.

You've scored on him at least seven times now, three of them being in a row, and he's not happy about it. It doesn't matter how hot you are, how good you look in your swimwear, how cool you look jumping about to receive the ball like you're made for this. No, no, none of that matters. Definitely not, no.

"Are you sure you're not cheating?" Dick whines sourly through the net, glaring across at you as if you and the volleyball have personally wronged his entire bloodline, hands itching to throw a handful at your face and call it a day. Instead, Dick brushes his hands off on his swim trunks, waiting for Jason to serve. No wonder they were losing.

It really isn't fair; you can't look that good and be deathly brilliant at volleyball, it's criminal. Unlawful! It gets to a point where Dick's just saying words, but he's riding this plane until it crashes and burns, because it's you.

Once again, your spike slips past his block, his immaculate block, thank you, and he barely surpresses the urge to dive under the net and tackle you into the sand. It's just a game, Tim tries to tell him, while Jason and Damian look like they're ready and equipped for murder. You, on the other hand, are trying not to laugh. You and your smile.

"Oh, come on!" He groans as you slip one past him again, his entire soul screaming in agony as he watches the ball hit the ground. Dick storms from the sand court, carrying himself to the waterfront bar to sip alcohol from a coconut and sulk, eyeing you and your... everything. It isn't fair!