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Dick’s not entirely sure where the evening went wrong.
It’d started out fine.
Slade was just as charming over dinner in person as he had been over the last few weeks over text and facetime. Sure he was older than Dick would usually go for, but Dick reasoned that just meant he was settled and accomplished already, leaving room for Dick to really figure himself out at the ripe old age of twenty-three. He didn’t exactly think long about the fact that Slade had kids of his own… or that those kids weren’t exactly young anymore… or what Bruce would say when he found out.
Not that Bruce had a leg to stand on anyway with all the under-30s models he brought around.
Anyway, all that aside, Slade was a nice, if lonely, older man who listened to Dick’s ramblings with little complaint. Sure he worked alot but he still made time to text him back even if it was short single word answers. He never complained about how often Dick contacted him as long as the calls didn’t come during business hours… which were a pain to keep track of but Dick did his best to figure out which timezone Slade was in at any given moment.
Hell, Dick had been surprised when Slade had actually shown up at the restaurant since this was the third time they were rescheduling. He’d been extremely apologetic and ordered them both the steak and lobster with a really nice bottle of wine without batting an eye. They even shared some dark chocolate mousse thing for dessert though that was clearly for Dick’s enjoyment since Slade only took a few small bites.
Needless to say, he’d enjoyed himself all dinner and hadn’t wanted it to end…
So he’d suggested a nearby bar, one he’s gone to several times. The Red Hood was a smaller place, cozy with an interior that was vaguely reminiscent of a Victorian Era library complete with a dart board, pool tables, chairs with treated red velvet, and a working fireplace that ran four or five months a year. He was familiar with most of the staff… who were, bizarrely, mostly redheads. Wally had gotten a kick out of it when they’d come here a few months ago.
Slade had agreed and met him in the parking lot. Dick had started to ask him a question but Slade had held a finger up for a call that lasted almost ten minutes. He kept shooting Dick mildly apologetic looks and attempts to get off the phone but they’d ended up in his truck while he discussed money for a job and working off a tablet because whatever was on the other end of the phone couldn’t wait another few hours. Once done, Slade offers a grin and his arm, leading him inside like a gentleman.
It was all shit Bruce had do to his dates over the years so Dick didn’t think much of it.
He’s not really sure why he almost sighs in relief at seeing who’s manning the bar tonight, but the black-haired bartender, wearing his signature deep red dress shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and black vest, settles something in Dick. Maybe he’d already sensed something was going to turn sour and knowing neither of the girls was there was good. Not that he didn’t like them. They were both cool and could mix a mean cocktail, but neither of them would be able to do anything about Slade.
Now… the two guys could.
Especially the one with black hair who was easily half again as wide as Dick even if he was a good few inches shorter than Slade.
They settle at the bar and get served by the other bartender, another redhead. He’s the chatty sort, enthusiastic about bow hunting and his daughter. Dick likes him fine. Hell, if Dick came here more often, they might even be friends or something.
He asks them what’s up while he’s pouring Slade’s Laphroaig whiskey over ice, nodding at the casual mentions of ‘work’ and whatnot. Dick talks about one of his students at the gymnastics place he coaches at while watching him toss a bottle of Fireball in the air and catching it before pouring a shot’s worth of it into a glass for Dick. He nods at them both and goes off to refill somebody else’s drink. There’s a group from one of Gotham U’s sororities crowding the bar as the black-haired guy puts on a full show over making what looks like a line of Cosmopolitans or something.
Dick swallows the shot and waits the few minutes for him to finish before flagging down the other bartender for something else.
The black-haired one comes over after he’s handed off the last of whatever pinkish drink that was, “Yea?”
“Can I get a… Cerulean Seas?”
“Sure,” he glances over at Slade, “Anything for you?”
Slade gestures with his glass, “I’m good.”
There’s a sharp nod and Dick watches the mixture of vodka and blue curacao, among other things, go in the shaker and into a glass with a much subtler flair. There’s still some in the way he twirls things with his fingers and finishes the pour way over his head. Dick thanks him and takes a healthy sip as the bartender walks off to deal with somebody else. Slade shifts closer which… Dick’s not entirely psyched about. He’d dropped his hand on Dick’s thigh awhile ago, during the show, which was a little forward but Dick hadn’t minded much… at least until said hand had started squeezing and groping. Slade’s thick thigh presses firmly against Dick’s, his foot almost hooking about Dick’s heel. The pinkie traced up Dick’s zipper and Dick finally takes the hand in his. He forces a smile when Slade looks at him, brow raised. A couple of guys hoot and holler over at dart board and Dick takes the opportunity to look over Slade’s shoulder.
Unfortunately, it also gives Slade the opportunity to ghost a kiss on his neck.
Yea no.
He leans into Dick’s space, lips tracing over his ear as he murmurs about the things he’s going to do to Dick once they’re back at his hotel room. Dick’s spine lights up in a repulsive shiver. Why? He’s not sure. A couple of hours ago? he might’ve downed the rest of his drink and dragged Slade out of there.
Now?
Now, he’s stuck in this seemingly intimate moment, hand on Slade’s chest in a reflexive need to push him away. Slade’s just covered it with his as his other arm pulls Dick just a little closer, almost into his lap. He’s not sure he’s ever been this not into something. His dick’s limp as anything and it doesn’t look like that’s changing any time soon.
“Ready to go?”
Dick shakes his head and leans it back to rest on Slade’s shoulder, showing off his throat in hopes that Slade doesn’t notice how not into this he is… because there’s this air around Slade, one that’s been brewing for at least the last thirty minutes, and Dick’s not liking it, “Can I get another drink? I’m really fun when I’m tipsy.”
Slade just studies him and then there’s a faint smirk, “Sure, doll,” and he gestures. The black-haired one shows up while wiping a glass off. “Another whiskey on the rocks, the Laphroaig.”
Grey eyes flick to Dick.
Dick takes a steadying breath, remembering the note he's seen in the bathroom here, “Can I get an angel shot?”
The bartender’s face doesn’t change but his stance shifts slightly as he offers a smile, “Of course,” and leaves to fill Slade’s.
His heavy hand touches Dick’s thigh again
“After this, you wanna get out of here.”
Dick pretends to sway a little, getting Slade’s hand on his side to steady him for his effort, “Iiii just remembered that I’m… busy, tomorrow morning. Got a meeting with the old man over coffee before he goes into work so I gotta be up early.”
“You don’t have to stay the night…” the hand drifts again, settling into the crease of Dick’s hip and thigh, “I can have you out within an hour,” he leans closer, “Or you could take me back to your place and I can leave at my leisure, cuts down on travel time.”
Dick leans away a little.
“Come on, doll. I don’t bite.”
The bartender shows up with their drinks, dropping Slade’s hard enough for the liquid to slosh over the sides, "You might not, but I do." A shot glass of something frosty is gently placed in front of Dick.
Slade’s not impressed, “Got something to say?” and notes the not-whiskey (is that mop-bucket water?) in the glass in front of him, “Hey-!” he doesn’t sound pleased in the least, “This isn’t what I ordered.”
“No?” the bartender checks their ticket, “One Whiskey-on-the-rocks, one Cerulean Seas, and one Get-the-fuck-out.”
“Excuse me…!”
“See?” he turns the ticket around, “Right here.”
Slade looks like he’s about to murder something, “Where is your manager…?”
The bartender grins, “I’ll be right back,” and… sink-spins behind the bar…
And slowly comes back up with the biggest customer service smile Dick’s ever seen, “Good evening. How can I help you.”
Slade narrows his eyes, “Where’s the owner.”
The grin turns sharp, “I happen to own this little establishment and I take particular offense to you harassing one of my customers.”
“I’m not harassing him! We’re here on a date! You’re the one-”
“It’s clearly not going well,” he cuts Slade off, “I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Slade’s face twists, “You-!”
“Do I need to call the cops.”
“Am I doing something illegal by sitting here with my boyfriend?”
“No, but you’re bothering some of my other customers and it’d be bad for business to make them feel unsafe… which you’re doing.”
Slade almost retorts but it’s clear that they’ve gained the attention of a good majority of the patrons. He glares instead and gets up, walking off in a huff. Dick sits there, his neck feeling like it’s on fire even as the bartender/owner gestures that the show’s over. A glass of water appears and Dick looks up.
“You ok?
Dick bites his lip and grabs the water, “Yea… thank you.”
“No big. You need a cab or uber or something…?”
Dick shakes his head, “I drove but… I think I’ll sit here for awhile, if you don’t mind.”
“Nah. Take the time you want. If you want and have the time, I’ll walk you to your car after I finish up in a couple of hours.”
Dick nods, “Thanks I… might take you up on that.”
“Sure. If you need something and don’t see me, ask for ‘Jason’ ok?”
“Thanks… Jason.”
He does end up staying there for the rest of the evening. A text to Wally gets answered forty minutes after it’s sent and it’s times like this that Dick wishes they weren’t several states separated. The redhead rages from Kansas, but ultimately has to go to bed because he’s got a marathon to run the following morning so Dick sits there, nursing his water then a ginger beer. He spends a little time studying the jar on the counter. It’s not for tips like he’d expected, no… It’s for the ‘Cat Todd Food Pantry and Rooming House’ which he’s pretty sure is either across the street or the parking lot for something. He looks it up on Google and finds it's only been around for a few years. There’s nothing on the founder beyond a blurb about ‘Cat Todd being the best of us’ and ‘it’s a shame her dream had to come around posthumously’ or something to that extent. It was worded better on the site’s page, something a poet would write. It’s touching honestly.
The place starts to clear out and ‘Jason’ looks like he’s helping to get most of it cleaned up before he leaves. Dick asks for the bill, but he’s waved off everything.
“But… that’s alot of money… You’re sure?”
“I’m not gonna make you pay for that guy’s assholery. It’s fine… really.”
“If… you’re really sure.”
“Very,” he walks off to grab something from under the counter.
Dick sits there for a minute, unsure what to do… and then stuffs the few bills he has on him into the jar on the counter. Jason’s on the move, waving to the redhead on his way out. Dick follows him and steps out into the semi-chilly midnight air. The parking lot’s much emptier than it was when he arrived so his car, a bright blue Lotus, is easy to spot.
Jason pauses a couple of parking spots from the car, “I’m headed to Waffle House. If you don’t want to be alone, you can come.”
“Oh…!” Dick thinks for a minute, “Um…”
“You can follow me over so you can leave if you want. I’ll sit further from the door so I can’t get in the way.”
Dick smiles a little and internally shrugs, “Yea… sure, why not.”
“Alright. See you in five then,” Jason walks off to a motorcycle closer to the door.
Dick slides into his car and glances in his rearview to spot Jason and- sees Slade’s truck… or rather it looks like Slade’s truck. Then again, Slade’s is more run-of-the-mill. For every way it sticks out on the inside, it blends in on the outside so that particular truck might not be his, but Dick’s suddenly very glad he’s decided to go with Jason instead of heading home to a dark, empty apartment. He supposes he could make the drive and go to Tim’s, the dork would still be up by the time he got there, but he doesn’t want to deal with the probing questions about his date.
He pulls into the diner parking lot right behind ‘Jason’. The bar owner shakes his hair out once it’s out of the helmet. A hand fluffs it, the white streak getting buried in the black for a brief moment. Dick gets out of his car, feeling ridiculously overdressed for fucking Waffle House, but it’s like 1am and who really cares.
There’s a booth free and they’ve waved into it by a waitress who seems to know Jason by name. He seems to know her too because they chat on the way to said booth where he slips in, facing the door as he said he would. Dick gets the seat actually closer to said door but it’s a little difficult to find Jason dangerous when he’s asking the waitress about who her kid’s doing in the new daycare. They both order coffee: decaf. Dick goes for a chocolate chip waffle and Jason gets a whole platter of various breakfast stuffs.
“So…” Dick toys with the menu once their waitress is gone, “you’re ‘Jason’ and you own a bar.”
Jason shifts, sprawling a little, “And you’re a semi-regular who’s had a really shitty date.”
Dick frowns, “Yea…”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
Dick bites his lip, “He wasn’t really like that before…”
“Some people hide it really well. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last…”
Their coffees arrive and they doctor them or drink them black as they do.
“He wasn’t, like, super sweet. There were rough edges, but I liked those. They made him feel real… you know?”
Jason gives a noncommittal grunt.
“The worst part? I probably would’ve gone back to his hotel room, but he was such an ass about it…” Dick sinks a little, “Sorry. You don’t know me and I’m oversharing. I'm Dick by the way.”
Jason doesn’t reply for a moment, “People are shitty… Situations like tonight are why I have the Angel shot available. I wish I didn’t need too but,” he shrugs and gives Dick a half smile, “I’m just glad you used it. I’ve seen a few who don’t and maybe should’ve…”
Dick sips his coffee, “That sucks…”
“Yea…” Jason sniffs, “So. You.”
“Me…?”
“What do you do? I’ve seen you around a few times, but it doesn’t seem like your scene.”
Dick shrugs, “It’s… it’s not really… but sometimes it’s nice to be somewhere you wouldn’t normally be.”
Jason nods, “And where are you normally?”
“Gymnastics gym.”
Jason’s brows pop, “Oh?”
“Yea… My parents were both gymnasts, competed for awhile before retiring to coaching so I grew up around all that… When they died, the guy who adopted me paid for the best coaches for private lessons and everything… I was good… still am but… I ended up at the Olympic tryouts.”
Both of Jason’s brows have disappeared into his hairline, “No shit? That’s cool.”
“It would’ve been… if I’d made the team… Lost a spot by… one.”
“Damn… but you were there. Bet the other guy only just squeaked in.”
“Lost it by point zero five.”
Jason winces.
“If I’d been point zero six better, I would’ve been able to represent America, Gotham, in Chita,” he huffs a sigh, “So after that, I kind of… lost the point to life for awhile. Had to deal with the disappointment of failed life expectations.”
“Where do you think you would be if you had gone…?”
Their food arrives.
Dick smears the butter over his waffle, “Probably about the same place honestly. Coaching and all that… I would just have an Olympics under my belt… Something to honor my parents, you know?”
“Kinda,” Jason nods, “My parents weren’t anything quite like that so, I’d say the personal expectations were alot lower. I’d like to think they’d be proud of me but who actually knows, right?”
“How did you come by owning a bar?”
Jason monches a sausage, “Grew up in the area… The bar was a staple for most of my childhood. Closed up for reasons and sat abandoned for awhile. Decided I wanted to bring it back… Took me a couple of years to get the capital for it but-” he shrugs, “-got it to work.”
“That’s… enterprising.”
“It’s a necessity. The area needs something like it,” Jason’s tone is… Dick can’t quite put his finger on it but it’s warming.
The check comes and Dick grabs it.
Jason arches a brow, looking insistent, “I asked you here.”
“And I owe you for my drinks. Let me.”
Jason makes an almost-duck face and then sighs, “Fine.”
Dick smiles and heads up to the front to pay once they’re done eating. He scribbles a hefty tip on the receipt and tucks his card back into his wallet. Jason’s waiting for him by the door and opens the first one for Dick, following him out the second and onto the sidewalk.
Dick inhales, smelling the Waffle House air, “This was… nice…”
Jason smiles, “Yea…” Dick’s about to walk away when Jason moves a little, “This might be forward and very likely not good timing but,” he bites his lip, “When you’re ready… if you’re interested… I’d like to take you on a real date.”
Dick feels his lips tilt up, “Oh? What Waffle House not your go-to?”
“No actually,” Jason plays along, “It’s McDonald’s breakfast.”
“A man of taste.”
Jason winks, “You know where to find me,” and slowly walks away. Dick watches him go, stepping off to get to his car. He notes that Jason doesn’t even put his helmet on until he’s inside and turns the engine on. They share a wave as Dick drives off.
Yea… he’ll be finding Jason soon…