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sidewaysTitle: Shake It
Rating: PG
Series: Marvel/DC crossover (Peter Parker/Dick Grayson/Raven)
Wordcount: 303
Summary: "So not who I was expecting to be the real lightweight here."
Remarks: A continuation of comics ot3 nonsense.
Rating: PG
Series: Marvel/DC crossover (Peter Parker/Dick Grayson/Raven)
Wordcount: 303
Summary: "So not who I was expecting to be the real lightweight here."
Remarks: A continuation of comics ot3 nonsense.
“I guess I thought - demon heritage? That has to count for something.”
Someone jostled Peter’s elbow - or tried to at least, he felt the knock and heard the grumble over the thudding music, but he had a comfortable slouch settled against the bar and saw no reason to pretend willingness to budge. Plus he had a good view in the important direction and a warm weight pressed against his other side and that was all the reason in the world to stay put.
He was reasonably confident Dick could stand upright if he chose, but the hellion of the highwire had started getting handsy by- okay, honestly, before the drinking had even started. He’d stopped being much of a conversationalist somewhere around drink five, though, currently shaking Peter with the force of his laughter, face buried into his shoulder.
“The devil’s drink,” Peter continued. “Satan’s brew. The wine biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.” The giggles seemed to take on a somewhat querying tone, so he added, “Subway preachers, big bird. One does not simply ride the Second Avenue line after 10pm.”
Something about that set Dick off twice as hard, fingers hooking into the back of Peter’s jacket, his hysterics bright sunlight, a complement to the neon lights haloing off the feather-black hair whirling in front of them, to the warm burn low and easy in Peter’s stomach.
“The point is!” Peter brandished a finger, narrowly missing a passing waitress despite the blurry tingle of the spider sense. It was possible that drink, uh, something had made its mark on him as well. “The point is… so not who I was expecting to be the real lightweight here.”
Ahead, effortlessly moving to the beat, Raven gave no indication she planned on getting down off the table any time soon.
Someone jostled Peter’s elbow - or tried to at least, he felt the knock and heard the grumble over the thudding music, but he had a comfortable slouch settled against the bar and saw no reason to pretend willingness to budge. Plus he had a good view in the important direction and a warm weight pressed against his other side and that was all the reason in the world to stay put.
He was reasonably confident Dick could stand upright if he chose, but the hellion of the highwire had started getting handsy by- okay, honestly, before the drinking had even started. He’d stopped being much of a conversationalist somewhere around drink five, though, currently shaking Peter with the force of his laughter, face buried into his shoulder.
“The devil’s drink,” Peter continued. “Satan’s brew. The wine biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.” The giggles seemed to take on a somewhat querying tone, so he added, “Subway preachers, big bird. One does not simply ride the Second Avenue line after 10pm.”
Something about that set Dick off twice as hard, fingers hooking into the back of Peter’s jacket, his hysterics bright sunlight, a complement to the neon lights haloing off the feather-black hair whirling in front of them, to the warm burn low and easy in Peter’s stomach.
“The point is!” Peter brandished a finger, narrowly missing a passing waitress despite the blurry tingle of the spider sense. It was possible that drink, uh, something had made its mark on him as well. “The point is… so not who I was expecting to be the real lightweight here.”
Ahead, effortlessly moving to the beat, Raven gave no indication she planned on getting down off the table any time soon.
