It was unusually quiet at Wayne Manor that afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Dick’s room, casting soft golden beams over the floor and bed. The thick comforter was pulled up to their waists, and tangled beneath it were two very content young men.

Wally lay on his back, red hair a mess against the pillow, eyes closed but unmistakably awake — you could tell by the lazy grin on his lips. Dick was curled into his side, one leg thrown over Wally’s, face tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. His dark hair was tousled, and his fingers absently traced little circles over Wally’s chest.

“You smell like oranges,” Dick mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Speed force hygiene,” Wally replied smugly. “Fastest shower in the world.”

Dick snorted softly and nuzzled in closer, his nose brushing Wally’s skin. “That’s gross and hot at the same time.”

They lay there in the silence that only came when Alfred had already brought them snacks and Bruce was conveniently on League business. Dick tilted his head up just a little, pressing a kiss under Wally’s jaw.

“You know,” Wally said, peeking one eye open, “I could stay like this forever.”

“Might have to,” Dick murmured. “You’re trapped under Nightwing’s death grip.”

Wally laughed, wrapping his arm tighter around Dick’s waist. “Best trap I’ve ever fallen into.”

Neither of them moved. Outside, the manor grounds were quiet, and inside, in the warmth of Dick’s room, it was just the two of them, content and tangled in each other’s arms — safe and home.