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Ficlet: Snap (Tim, Dick)
Title: Snap
Characters/Pairing: Tim, Dick
Rating: PG
Prompt: Tim(/author's choice), why Tim doesn't take photographs anymore.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_protagonist on the anniversary of her birth. <3
There are moments when he misses the weight of his camera in his hands, the feel and sound of the shutter clicking, capturing a moment of frozen motion for Tim to hoard away under his bed. He could catch Dick at the apex of his swing, body fully extended, toes pointed like stalagmites at the twittering ceiling overhead. Catch the backswing, legs spread nearly into a split, toes just brushing the bar, his center of mass brought close to the bar for maximum gain of momentum. Snap and freeze him in the air, twisting, legs piked, arms folded, turning and turning until his feet strike the mat, his arms extending a moment later, straight out to his sides and then upward in a victory 'V'.
Snap, snap, snap goes the shutter in Tim's brain. His finger twitches involuntarily.
When Tim began this voyeuristic love affair, moments were all he could capture. He might actually see Dick once in a week, a month. The pictures were kept to tide him over - to lay in bed with, penlight glowing faintly through the tent of his covers, to stare at and memorize and trace over and over with his fingertips.
Dick dusts chalk from his hands and crosses to the horse to fetch his towel. He rubs briskly over his bare chest and arms, wipes his face with a clean corner, before his sweat can cool in the cave air and chill his skin. He loops it around his neck and turns to head toward the showers - and then he spots Tim lingering near the racks of weights, and he lopes toward him with a bouncing step and easy grace. His smile is broad and warm. Snap, snap, snap.
"Hey kid. What's up?" Dick says in greeting. He slings an arm around Tim's shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug, skin still damp and slick. He smells as warm as he feels. Tim forces himself to make a face, earning himself a bright laugh for the effort. "Been watching long?"
Always, Tim thinks, but he shrugs and gives his head a minute shake. "Just a bit. Bruce wouldn't have liked that flashy dismount."
Another laugh. The smile, the sparkling eyes, the shaking of the shoulders, that could be caught on film, maybe, if he were very, very good - and very lucky. The sound of it though, somehow light and rich at the same time, the way it sends shivers down Tim's spine when Dick's body moves against his - there's no way to capture that. All Tim can do is lean into his warmth and smile back.
Characters/Pairing: Tim, Dick
Rating: PG
Prompt: Tim(/author's choice), why Tim doesn't take photographs anymore.
Notes: For
the_protagonist on the anniversary of her birth. <3 There are moments when he misses the weight of his camera in his hands, the feel and sound of the shutter clicking, capturing a moment of frozen motion for Tim to hoard away under his bed. He could catch Dick at the apex of his swing, body fully extended, toes pointed like stalagmites at the twittering ceiling overhead. Catch the backswing, legs spread nearly into a split, toes just brushing the bar, his center of mass brought close to the bar for maximum gain of momentum. Snap and freeze him in the air, twisting, legs piked, arms folded, turning and turning until his feet strike the mat, his arms extending a moment later, straight out to his sides and then upward in a victory 'V'.
Snap, snap, snap goes the shutter in Tim's brain. His finger twitches involuntarily.
When Tim began this voyeuristic love affair, moments were all he could capture. He might actually see Dick once in a week, a month. The pictures were kept to tide him over - to lay in bed with, penlight glowing faintly through the tent of his covers, to stare at and memorize and trace over and over with his fingertips.
Dick dusts chalk from his hands and crosses to the horse to fetch his towel. He rubs briskly over his bare chest and arms, wipes his face with a clean corner, before his sweat can cool in the cave air and chill his skin. He loops it around his neck and turns to head toward the showers - and then he spots Tim lingering near the racks of weights, and he lopes toward him with a bouncing step and easy grace. His smile is broad and warm. Snap, snap, snap.
"Hey kid. What's up?" Dick says in greeting. He slings an arm around Tim's shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug, skin still damp and slick. He smells as warm as he feels. Tim forces himself to make a face, earning himself a bright laugh for the effort. "Been watching long?"
Always, Tim thinks, but he shrugs and gives his head a minute shake. "Just a bit. Bruce wouldn't have liked that flashy dismount."
Another laugh. The smile, the sparkling eyes, the shaking of the shoulders, that could be caught on film, maybe, if he were very, very good - and very lucky. The sound of it though, somehow light and rich at the same time, the way it sends shivers down Tim's spine when Dick's body moves against his - there's no way to capture that. All Tim can do is lean into his warmth and smile back.