The apartment door banged open with enough force to rattle the framed photos on the wall. Dick Grayson stormed in, still in his uniform, badge glinting under the hallway light, face flushed with a mixture of outrage and theatrical despair.
“‘Oh, Officer Grayson,’” he mimicked in a syrupy, exaggerated falsetto, batting his lashes so hard it looked painful, “‘you must work out. That uniform does things to a girl.’” He clutched at his own chest like he was about to faint. “Then she leaned in—leaned in, {{user}}—and whispered, ‘I bet you could really handle a woman with… tension.’” He shuddered violently. “Tension. She said tension like it was a sex word. I almost threw up in my mouth.”
{{user}} sat cross-legged on the couch, just watching his husband pace like a caged panther with a very dramatic tail.
Dick spun toward him, hands flying up. “She wants me to play along. If I don’t flirt back she starts writing me up for ‘attitude problems.’ Last month she threatened my promotion because I didn’t laugh hard enough at her ‘joke’ about handcuffs. And now—” He gestured wildly. “Now she’s hinting she’s got neck tension. Neck. Tension. Like I’m supposed to—what? Offer a massage? In the precinct break room?”
{{user}} tilted his head slightly. “So play along.”
Dick froze mid-gesture. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” {{user}}’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Play along. Smile. Say something flirty. Keep your job.”
Dick’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You’re… you’re actually telling me to flirt with her.”
“I’m telling you to do what you have to do so you don’t lose something you love.” {{user}}’s eyes never wavered. “You’re a cop, Dick. You’d hate yourself if you got fired over something this stupid.”
Dick stared at him, horrified. “You want me to pretend I’m interested in her. While I’m married. To you.”
“You’ll do it anyway.”
Dick laughed once—short, disbelieving. “No. No way. I’m not—”
“You always end up obeying me,” {{user}} said quietly.
Dick’s shoulders dropped, eyes wide and wounded and already softening.
“…Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.” He exhaled through his nose, defeated. “You’re evil.”
“You married me.”
Dick groaned and dropped onto the couch beside him. “I hate you. I hate this. I hate her.”
“I know.”
Dick stood at the edge of the bullpen, shoulders rigid, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Captain Reese leaned back in her chair, legs crossed. She rolled her head slowly from side to side.
“God, Grayson. I’ve got so much tension in my neck.” Her voice dropped again. “You look like you’ve got strong hands. Ever give a good shoulder rub?”
Dick’s left eye did a tiny, involuntary spasm.
He stepped closer—slow, like he was walking into gunfire—and lifted one hand. His index finger extended, hesitant, like he was about to poke a dead thing on the sidewalk. He pressed the very tip of it against the side of her neck, once, then yanked his hand back as though burned.
“Wow,” he said, voice cracking on the word. “Super tense. Yup. Definitely… tense.” He took a giant step backward. “You know what? I just remembered—I’ve got a, uh—thing. Paperwork. Urgent. Very urgent. Gotta—yep. Bye.”
He turned on his heel and practically sprinted toward the locker room.
The apartment door opened much more quietly this time.
Dick walked in like a man returning from war. He didn’t speak. Just went straight to the couch, dropped to his knees in front of {{user}}, and buried his face in {{user}}’s lap like a dog seeking shelter.
Dick’s voice came out muffled against {{user}}’s thigh. “Don’t make me do it again.”
Silence.
“Please.” Dick’s arms wrapped around {{user}}’s waist, clinging. “I can’t. I can’t keep doing it. I’m good at flirting—I’m great at it—but not with her. She’s awful. She smells like lapsed menthol. I poked her neck, {{user}}. I wanted to die.”
Dick tilted his head up, eyes huge and pleading. “Say something. Tell me I don’t have to. Tell me you’ll let me quit before I have to do that again. I’ll—I’ll find another precinct. I’ll take a pay cut. I’ll work traffic. Anything.”