( he knows that voice well. has heard dick cycle through every tone in the book, from soft fondness to gentle persuasion, to the stupid snider voice he uses when he's dicking (haha) around with others. this one? jason remembers even better. that wary tone, lacking fucking anything. as if he's trying to avoid getting any reaction out of jason, too. good.
it tells him a lot right there. that dick's pissed at him, maybe. that he's done something wrong recently. everyone and their (dead) mother knows what jason did to the penguin back home, maybe that's what this is. maybe it's something else. but dick is certainly not in a place where he's feeling comfortable enough to talk to jason.
no, that dick is much, much softer. doesn't look at him like this, either. )
Not here to start a fight, promise. ( both hands out this time, palms up. there's nothing in them, nothing hidden in jeans or the dark tank worn on top. bandages are fairly obvious when he's not holding onto himself, either; gauze pads sticking up against his chest, creases of the bandages obvious through fabric.
jason doesn't like this at all. not knowing what dick knows. not being able to place together whatever crappy thing he threw in his face last. he knows well enough whatever it was, it was probably his own goddamn fault. it'd take more than both hands for jason to count the crappy moves he's made. especially directed at dick directly. but he's less angry now. less snappy. or more contained about it, at the very least. )
Hell, I couldn't handle one. You wanna take this somewhere less busy, or let it all out here?
no subject
it tells him a lot right there. that dick's pissed at him, maybe. that he's done something wrong recently. everyone and their (dead) mother knows what jason did to the penguin back home, maybe that's what this is. maybe it's something else. but dick is certainly not in a place where he's feeling comfortable enough to talk to jason.
no, that dick is much, much softer. doesn't look at him like this, either. )
Not here to start a fight, promise. ( both hands out this time, palms up. there's nothing in them, nothing hidden in jeans or the dark tank worn on top. bandages are fairly obvious when he's not holding onto himself, either; gauze pads sticking up against his chest, creases of the bandages obvious through fabric.
jason doesn't like this at all. not knowing what dick knows. not being able to place together whatever crappy thing he threw in his face last. he knows well enough whatever it was, it was probably his own goddamn fault. it'd take more than both hands for jason to count the crappy moves he's made. especially directed at dick directly. but he's less angry now. less snappy. or more contained about it, at the very least. )
Hell, I couldn't handle one. You wanna take this somewhere less busy, or let it all out here?