title: Incidentals: They Don't Call 'Em Iron Chefs for Nothing
fandom: DC Comics
characters/pairings: Dick/Tim
rating: Teen
warnings: sexual conversation
summary: Dick teaches Tim the joys of the Food Network
notes: this was inspired by a more-than-usually insane chat i had with rithy, who is my never ending font of inspiration. plus, i think she's feeding my plot bunnies steroids... o_O

Tim shut his gross anatomy book with a satisfying thud. His vision was blurred with muscle groups, nerve clusters, and diagrams of the interstitial spaces of the inner gastric layers. None of it made the slightest bit of sense to him right then.

Stumbling out of his bedroom, he had but one thought... To drown his anatomy woes in caffeine and sugar.

When he heard the tv in the living room, he almost knocked his head into the wall. He'd completely forgotten that Dick was going to stop by after his patrol. How late was it anyway?

Before greeting his lover, he properly fortified himself with a bottle of Zesti and a bag of Twizzlers. Armed to face anything, he shuffled into the living room.

"Hey. How's the studying going?" Dick opened his arms immediately, and Tim had just long enough to mentally pinch himself before he fell into them.

It was still nearly impossible for him to believe that he and Dick were lovers. Added to that heady sensation, they were still in that phase of the relationship where sex was new to them, and they could barely keep their hands off of each other. The thought that Dick Grayson, best ass in all of superhero-dom, couldn't keep his hands off of him, Tim Drake, ordinary guy, was enough to make Tim giddy.

Or horny. Whichever meant that he was getting some tonight.

Tim was even willing to put the bottle of Zesti down for some necking, though he was very, very careful not to let even a single caffeinated drop spill, and he kept the bottle in his eye line at all times.

"Ok, I guess." Dick nibbled gently on Tim's ear, teasing him as he spoke softly.

"Hm?"

Dick chuckled quietly, pulling away enough so that he could shake his head. "You do remember to resurface long enough to get some air every once and a while, don't you?"

Tim blushed. "About as often as you remember to ask for help when you need it. Nice shiner, by the way."

"It's nothing. A simple face meeting fist thing. Which I totally meant to do, by the way."

"Right." Tim laughed as he reached for his Zesti. The siren call of caffeine could not be delayed any longer.

As he took a long, satisfying pull, he managed to catch what was onscreen for the first time.

"You're watching a cooking show."

"It's Iron Chef."

"You don't cook."

Dick shook his head. "It's not about that. You've never seen Iron Chef? You'll love it!" Dick snuggled in closer, managing to snag a Twizzler as he did. "It's the best show."

"I... I think I've heard of this. This is where the cooks compete, right?"

"Right!"

Tim stared at the screen. There was a guy in a silver chef's outfit, rushing around, finishing up some sashimi rolls. Then they would flip to another chef, less extravagantly attired, also rushing as he painted some sauce on some plates.

"Dick? Why are we watching this?" Tim sipped his Zesti, feeling more than a little off balance, between the marathon anatomy cram and his lover's odd taste in programming.

"Just watch."

So Tim watched. He watched as the two chefs finished their dishes, working up until the last second. He watched as the one announcer declared, "This kitchen battle is O-Vah!" He watched as a Japanese man interviewed the chefs, and as their dishes were presented, and then tasted. There was a House representative, an actress, a photographer, and a fortuneteller, all speaking with dubbed voices as they politely and impolitely critiqued the dishes.

Then, it was time for the verdict, and the flamboyantly shiny Japanese man whose voice wasn't dubbed made a dramatic speech, heightening the tension.

"That's Chairman Kaga," Dick informed him with almost reverent tones.

The Iron Chef won, and he seemed very pleased.

Tim shook his head, finishing off the last of his Zesti mournfully. "I don't get it."

"What?"

"What's the big deal? Why would they get so worked up over a cooking competition? Is this some sort of weird Japanese honor thing, or what?"

"Well," Dick patiently explained, while pulling Tim into his lap, "you see, the loser gets whipped by Kaga afterward."

"Oh?" Tim raised an eyebrow as he arched his neck back, letting Dick kiss along his jugular, while he tried not to think of the names of all the muscles, nerves, arteries, and veins in the neck.

"Mm. Kaga is a master of the wet noodle whipping technique. And while that's pleasant..." Tim was sure it couldn't be as pleasant as what Dick's fingers were doing to his left nipple, "the winner gets to serve Kaga privately."

"Oooh, so that's what they're competing for," Tim smiled as he pushed up Dick's shirt, absently identifying all his abdominal muscles silently, "Kaga's sexual favors."

"And of course, the commentators go to a special booth in Kaga's bedroom. They time the presentation, as well as remark on the winner's style and expertise. When Kaga is done with the winner, he gives a hand signal, and the one guy proclaims, 'This bedroom reward is O-Vah!!!'"

Tim leaned back until he was horizontal, dragging Dick's shirt over his head so that he could have access to all that glorious skin covering those toned muscle groups...

"And the fortune teller lady is there, of course, because she's a pervert. 'His technique with the lube isn't bad, but this swirl motion is completely overdone. I feel like I'm watching a rerun!'" Dick did a halfway decent job of imitating her dubbed voice as he started to undo Tim's pants.

Tim laughed, his stomach heaving as his hands ran through Dick's hair, trying to encourage his head to come up so that he could kiss that mouth...

"And Ohta is on the floor, of course. 'Yes, the iron chef is using two flavors of lube, which he mixes himself in his free time. The condoms are a rare import from Greece, and they are guaranteed not to interfere with sensation.'"

Tim shook his head, laughing while gasping, Dick's hands on his cock driving him wild. "You know... not everything in life... is about sex."

Silence reigned in the living room, as if time had stopped.

Tim sat up and took Dick into his arms. "I'm sorry, babe, I didn't mean it, it was just a joke."

"It was like... for a second there, my whole world was crashing all around me," Dick sniffed as he rubbed against Tim. "Hold me. Lower..."





oh, yeah, that one is just for the giggles. like you couldn't figure that out yourself...






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