A/N: My first attempt at straight-up romance for these two. Wish me luck.

Heavily influenced by Zeraphie's fic "How to Win a Nightwing", which I definitely recommend. It's fantastic. Just go read it, please.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or the show, Young Justice.

Smile

The morning sunlight acts as a halo on his brown hair tousled from a good night's sleep. Dick observes this in near silence, his breathing the only thing audible to human ears. He watched his lover lay there, chest rising and falling, blankets tangled all around his restless body.

Dick feels light, happy. It's rare, considering his occupation and their record of wins to losses, but he feels genuinely good in this moment, looking at Bart, every ache of yesterday forgotten for the love of another dawn. Reluctantly, he even reaches out to touch the precious thing, brushing a few strands of the caramel-colored halo away from his futuristic lover's pale face.

This kid had changed his life in so many ways already, making every day another adventure. Texting him was hilarious, terms between decades making conversation hard. Then there were Bart's quirks: the eating habits, his hugging, his lack of subtlety, his eyes... Sure, the eyes weren't a quirk, per say, but Dick had damn sure fallen in love with them.

Bart twitches in his sleep. Something in his cheek tensed for a heartbeat before settling again, his fingers grasping for something that isn't there.

A nightmare, Dick assumes. He lets his inhibitions fade to nothing and begins to rub the pad of his thumb along Bart's cheek, something he hopes can be translated into a reassurance.

The twitching stops. More muscles tense, and Dick suddenly regrets touching the speedster so much. Damn the kid for being a light sleeper... Richard almost feigns sleep, but one of those eyes opens, big, green, and beautiful. A satisfied smile touches Bart's features as that twitching, grasping hand takes hold of Dick's, the one that was quite close to his face upon awakening.

Just seeing him smile is contagious, and Dick smirks, letting his own ocean eyes fall shut, sinking into the bed while Bart snuggles closer. His face is pressed into the acrobat's chest, and Dick can still feel the teen's smile. Then the brown-haired boy says confidently, "We're both still naked."

Laughter, soft and curt, follows. "Yes we are," Dick confirms just as Bart's hands begin wandering down to his abs. Then lower.

"Crash."

"I think you scared her," laughs Dick as he watches the primly dressed waitress rush off to put in the biggest order she's ever gotten; he bets she wishes she had brought that little pad of yellowed paper now.

"Are you looking at her ass?" asks Bart pointedly as he shoots a playfully accusing glare in Grayson's direction, one eyebrow tilted at a hilariously awkward angle. And his lips are twisted up adorably, sending Dick's heart into flips and somersaults, which he didn't believe possible before this moment. Only this speedster…

"No, Bart, I'm not," he says with a half-grin, stirring some sugar into his coffee while the speedster fires off a glare at the woman just before she disappears into the kitchen area. "But it hurts that you would think that."

"I'm just checking," huffs the child, ripping open a third packet of sugar and putting it in Grayson's coffee for no reason other than sheer boredom. "I like keeping my man close." He props his elbow up on the table and puts his chin in the palm of his splayed hand. "It's not because I'm jealous or anything," comes his quick defense, "because I'm not. It's just that you're eye-candy. And jailbait, not gonna lie."

Dick's confidence is strangely restored. "Thank you. I think." He stirs his coffee.

The intensity of Bart's emerald stare doesn't bother Dick until he looks up for a second, preparing to ask if he had something on his face. In that moment, Bart's standing up in their tiny window booth, reaching across the table to grab at his jacket, and mashing their lips together, making sure to get every part of this kiss.

Bart bites at him hungrily, pulling him in close, embracing every second of this. Both hearts are set on fire, racing at the speed of sound. Dick doesn't fight it, and even laces his fingers together behind Bart's neck, keeping him there longer. Sometimes, the elder is afraid to let go, terrified that the smaller brunette would disappear in a heartbeat and never return, zapped to the future through quantum physics or simply running away.

Teeth clash for a second until Bart gains entrance and then there's tongue. Dick elicits a moan, which is definitely not appropriate in public, but man, they don't kiss like this enough...

Plates crash on the other side of the cigarette smoke-scented diner, and their waitress is staring wide-eyed at the table, a witness to their lip lock. She hustles away in her heels to get a broom, pretending to have seen nothing.

But at the sound, they'd broken apart, and now Grayson was wiping some of Bart's spit from the corner of his mouth. The speedster could be so sloppy sometimes, yet he finds that it never bothers him much. "You did that on purpose," he comments.

"Duh." Bart kidnaps his boyfriend's coffee and steals a sip. Then a smile sweeps across his face, capturing that childish essence that he always radiates. "But it was a pretty crash kiss, right?"

"So crash." Dick craves another.

Nervous. Shy. This isn't the Bart that Dick fell in love with.

"Do you want to go to my school dance with me?"

The answer is simple in his heart. He wants to go. But the age difference, the social hierarchy, gossip... "I can't, Bart." He was trying to spare the kid. High school's a bitch when she wants to be. Being from the future is hard enough, but being gay makes things more difficult in today's society.

"That's- That's crash." He rubs the back of his neck. Red flashes across his cheeks: hot embarrassment. "I'll be good. I can go alone, no problem."

Well, no matter how many times Dick explained the fact that gays weren't openly accepted in this decade, Bart wouldn't tone it down. If he were to take his boyfriend to school, it would not end pretty on Bart's behalf. He wants to go, but he can't bring himself to wound the speedster's reputation.

Now he has to ask: "What's wrong?" Because Bart's body language says it's not the rejection. Something else is bothering him and Dick can't pinpoint it.

His lips purse thoughtfully for a moment, then he sighs, and asks, "Can you teach me how to dance?"

Nightwing grins, glad that they're alone at Mount Justice. It's serene here, and although the cameras are on, no one's there to monitor them. (And it's not just because Nightwing organized it that way, he swears.) "Sure."

"Crash." His voice comes out breathy and excited. And as soon as he sees Nightwing on his feet, his lithe speedster body is pressed up against the muscular acrobat. "Because we don't really do this in the future. School dances are just things on old shows, so retro..."

Dick's hands fall on Bart's hips, and the kid snuggles in a little closer. Really, this is probably just an excuse to be close to him, but Dick doesn't care. They can't be alone in his apartment all the time. The real world is out there whether they're ready for it or not. "Now put your arms around my neck."

He does as instructed, surprisingly enough, and even tiptoes up to press a quick kiss to Nightwing's lips. Bart's grinning. Those green eyes glimmer and sparkle with different levels of enjoyment and amusement, like he's having the time of his life just standing there with Richard Grayson.

Dick smiles. The kid's contagious and he'll swear by it any day. "Then we just sway."

Hard, deep-bellied laughter rings out when Bart starts to roll his body likes he's doing the worm or whatever. He's trying too hard, Nightwing can tell. "Okay, okay, Imp, stop it."

Bart protests, "This is hard."

"You're making me hard," Dick laughs, the words slipping from his mouth without restraint. Because really, he shouldn't be saying those things; Bart has never missed the opportunity for sex before and Nightwing doesn't think he'll stop now. "So just stop doing thatand follow my lead, okay? The cave is not a good place to be doing this in the first place."

The smirking speedster then falls into he correct swaying motion, following his boyfriend's motions and then his short steps. Dancing. They're dancing. Impulse presses his face into Dick's armor-plated chest, listening through the thin padding for the hero's heartbeat; he loves the sound of it. "If I get good at this, do you think we can go to one of Bruce's charity things?"

Biting back a sigh, Dick consents with a "Sure, Imp". Because society won't accept them there either. But seeing Bart smile makes his heart leap, and he doesn't care that it's an empty promise. At least they have this moment...

He's been sitting in the chair for hours, watching his teammate, his boyfriend, his lover, lie in that bed; wires are taped to his forehead, a needle in his forearm, and a mask is feeding him oxygen. The blood transfusion went over well considering Bart's a speedster, so Nightwing has nothing to complain about, but he was supposed to wake up before now...

There was a crash. A truck hit Impulse: what are the odds? He had internal hemorrhaging, but it had repaired itself quickly, leaving only his consciousness to be restored in time. The swelling of his brain has gone down, which is reassuring, but he's still out cold.

And Nightwing is concerned. His hair is ruffled from the hundreds of times his gloved hand has run through it. The mask is damp with tears that have yet to dry. (When Wally called in, he just said there was an accident and failed to mention that Impulse was still alive...) Dick can hardly believe it happened. How could Bart have been so careless? He once more runs that hand through his hair.

His other hand is meshed with Bart's, their fingers intertwined. He can feel the thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump of the speedster's heightened pulse. Even though his heart is beating, Dick is not reassured. He's so afraid that... that Bart won't wake up.

Because when he was young, he thought it was a curse. Everyone he loved would die. His parents were first, and then the many times Bruce was near death... He'd tried not to love for the longest time but soon after realized it was the line of work. Vigilantes aren't exactly in a safe field.

The pulse that throbs under his fingers speeds up; some fingers twitch. There's a low whimper as Bart shifts after hours of stillness, and Nightwing is suddenly feeling better than he has in hours, relief sweeping through his own veins. Dick rises out of the chair, his hand still meshed with Bart's.

Those green eyes open and shine like a pair of emeralds. For some reason, the color makes Dick think of a meadow, an open span of nothing but flawless grass. It makes him think of freedom. Then his voice comes out all raspy: "I feel like I just got hit by a bus..."

"A truck," the raven-haired man corrects as he bites back a smile, "but basically the same thing."

Low laughter comes from Bart, still hoarse and raspy. But hey, he hasn't lost his sense of humor. His grin is broad, open, and bright. Free. "Puts a whole new meaning on 'crash', doesn't it?" And he's still snickering.

All Nightwing can do is smile along.

The wind rips at their civvies, pulling open jackets and blowing through escaped hair. Warm arms are wrapped around Richard Grayson's waist, the reminder that his lover is tucked in tight as the motorcycle tears down the highway at neck-breaking speeds.

Bart's laughter fills his ears, his heart, his veins; Dick smiles and pushes the bike to go faster.

Red headlights glare at him from ahead while swift turns carry the two away from dreaded stops. Pauses in motion are unwanted, even hated. Bart decided for once that he didn't want to run alongside, and Dick didn't argue, instead just instructing that he wear a helmet and hold on tight.

The warmth of having his boyfriend so close sends a shiver through Dick, and he hears more of the heart-felt, bell-like laughter that rings out amidst roaring engines and grinding gears. The bike whips around vehicles at top speed as the engine growls hungrily, eating up the road as they ride.

For Bart, the motorcycle is thrilling, but it doesn't have the same rush as running. There's less danger on Nightwing's bike, not to mention how slow it is. (Not unlike Grayson himself, honestly. Speedster problems…) But he hangs on, arms wrapped tightly around Dick's toned torso, and pressed his face into his lover's neck, breathing him in while the smell of car fumes swirls around them, and this is life. Breathing in polluted air, moving through thick crowds, making love every night; kissing, holding, existing.

It's the way the world turns, and he can't do anything about it. So Bart decides that he'll keep falling in love with Dick Grayson, over and over and over again. A laugh is loosed and the engine gives a loud roar as they go faster- faster, faster- through the streets of Blüdhaven.

A/N: Thanks for reading and please leave a review (:

~Sky