Pancake for the Breakfast (Patreon)

The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the blinds when the scent of butter and batter filled the apartment. Nightwing stood at the stove, humming softly to himself, wearing nothing but a jockstrap and a chef’s apron that covered his front but left his ass completely bare.

He had gotten up early, thinking a homemade breakfast would be a good way to kickstart the day after last night’s patrol.

From the hallway, a groggy Roy Harper rubbed the sleep from his eyes and trudged toward the smell of food. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he looked very much like someone who’d gone to bed far too late. But his sleepiness evaporated the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh,” Roy drawled, suddenly very awake, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Now I understand what pancake you meant.”

Dick froze mid-flip, cheeks turning a shade deeper than the strawberries on the counter. “Roy…” he said cautiously, not turning around.

Roy came closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the way the apron framed every curve of Dick’s exposed backside. “Don’t act innocent, acrobat. You’re practically serving it on a plate.”

Dick huffed, setting the spatula down before he dropped it. “I meant actual pancakes, Roy. Food. Breakfast.” His voice was tight, defensive — and a little breathless.

Roy stepped in behind him, close enough that Dick could feel the heat of him, the steady pressure of a palm sliding onto his hip. “And I mean this breakfast.” He leaned down, lips grazing just under Dick’s ear as he spoke.

A shiver ran down Dick’s spine. He tried to steady his voice, but it came out softer than intended. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm-hmm,” Roy murmured, pulling him back against his chest, making it crystal clear how little he cared about pancakes on the stove. “And you love it.”

For a moment the kitchen filled only with the sound of sizzling butter and the uneven rhythm of Dick’s breath. His hands braced against the counter, fighting the instinct to give in, even as Roy’s grip and his teasing words melted away his resistance.

Finally, Dick closed his eyes, letting out a shaky laugh. “You’re not here for breakfast at all, are you?”

Roy’s grin pressed against his skin. “Oh, I’m starving,” he said. “And I always get what I want.”

The pancakes on the stove began to smoke, but neither of them noticed.