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    Summary

    "You're a duplicitous piece of shit," Roy says evenly, like he's commenting on the weather.

    One hand is tugging at Dick's hair now, the other still pinning Dick's wrist against the floor. He pushes Dick's head up against the tile, forcing Dick to look him in the eye. Dick scratches his one free hand down Roy's arm, but Roy doesn't budge. In fact, he grins.

    "Can't ever just say what you need," he says. "Just like dear old dad, huh?"

    Before Dick thinks about it, he's working up a mouthful of spit and blood right into Roy's face. Roy blinks, once, twice, as it slides down into the blood already pooling at his chin.

    "Okay," Roy says, and then he's pulling at Dick's hair so hard that his vision almost whites out, hips bucking up again. Roy's breath is hissing out against Dick's cheekbone when he says, "There are at least six different ways you could break this hold right now. Maybe even a few more that you know and I don't. Not to mention all the openings you had before this."

    Dick inhales, exhales, sharp and wild. He doesn't say anything.

    "So tell me no," Roy continues. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to leave."

    ***

    Dick and Roy make everything worse.

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