#satirickittyfic

When Tony took Bucky's innocent joke too far but it all worked out OK in the end, unless you were Steve.

Tony knew he probably shouldn't do it. It would likely come across as insensitive, as if he thought Bucky was a robot or something, which he very clearly wasn't; no robot had an ass or thighs like that, they were quite clearly well-earned biological rewards for all that murder strutting the man did.

Tony just couldn't help himself though.

Bucky had found the stick blender last weekend and cracked a joke about how Tony should make him an arm he could swap the attachments for, so, technically, it was Bucky's own suggestion and he shouldn’t get upset about the results, even if it was just a self-deprecating joke. Tony had laughed, but the brain worm had burrowed into him enough that he knew he had to follow the idea through or else he would never sleep again. So maybe it wasn’t that funny of a joke, and it had taken five hours to build each attachment and a few thousand dollars worth of materials, and maybe it was insensitive, too, but.

So that was how Tony had come to have a shiny new adapter for Bucky's Wakandan shoulder socket in his hand and a collection of multifunction arms spread out on his workbench, ranging from the obviously necessary artillery launcher with a few prototype ammunition varieties to the oversized stick blender, just because he could. Unfortunately, when Tony was working on stopping the blender from vibrating Bucky's entire body when it was in use, he'd gotten another brain worm that he just couldn't shake; thinking about that gorgeous tech attached to that gorgeous man whilst he had been measuring the vibration rate to stabilise the arm had given him… ideas.

He had been in the lab for fifty-two hours when FRIDAY had finally broke and told him to go to bed or she would start accidentally sending Steve the fanfics Tony had written about Captain America as a teenager, so Tony had stumbled out of the lab bleary-eyed and confused, leaving everything spread across the workbench.

Gotham was peaceful for once. Sure, it was smoggy as hell, the view from his ledge looking over Crime Alley was shit and Jason was not expecting the calm to last, but while he had the opportunity for quiet he was taking it. His helmet was off, a well-earned cigarette burning between his fingers, and he was content minding his own business -plotting the Bat's demise for the umpteenth time that week- when Dick dropped in behind him on silent feet. The stealthy twat then had the audacity to startle him by singing "I want your love, and I want your revenge, you and me could write a Bat Romance! Ha, BAT, get it?"

Jason flushed, momentarily embarrassed that Dick had caught him off guard and crushed the lit cigarette in his fist before he dropped it, the leather gloves protecting his palm. Not that he would've registered it anyway; cigarette burns weren't exactly high on his worst injuries tally. His chest tightened and his brain went offline for a moment, his shame rapidly replaced with anger and when his focus returned, his gun was already levelled at Dick's chest.

Dick, who was clearly oblivious to the danger he was in or just plain fucking stupid, kept on talking. His face, at least the half of it not obscured by the domino mask, had lit up in a playful grin. "Aww, come on! It was a good one, Jaybird. Your whole shtick is love and revenge!" he said, his grin spreading with pride in himself at his supposed joke. Jason knew Dick was making some kind of reference but he had no idea what the hell it was he was referencing and his ignorance of the joke only aggravated him more.

Jason's heart felt like it was in a vice, his breath coming short and his ribs aching in his chest. What kind of tactic was this? Shouldn't Dick be trying to arrest him, fight him at least, subdue the dangerous one that won't follow Bruce's imposed laws and send him away to Arkham like the Bat had promised, to help him? Did Dick know about his teenage crush then, had Bruce known and had instructed Dick to taunt him with it now? Jason should've seen it coming. This was the classic Robin schtick: keep talking, jab where it stings, distract and enrage your enemy so they won't see where the real danger was coming from. Maybe the Batman was somewhere close, invisible in that way of his, ready to swoop in to save the day. Jason tried to fight the rage that was seeping into him, he tried to push it back down deep into his bones where it always waited. He didn't have to be able to see it to know that the green light started shining from his eyes anyway, at least remaining hidden from Dick behind the white lenses in his domino. He focused on Dick's face, remembering the few times Dick had paid attention to him when he was Robin and managed to keep the Pit down enough to pull his shot. The bullet only grazed Dick's bicep.

A Jaydick rewrite of The Hard Goodbye - Sin City, but we only kill the bad guys

Jason wakes up from a one-night stand to find himself framed for murder, obviously, he's not about to let that stand and cuts a path through Gotham's underbelly to find Goldie and clear his name.

Dick knew he was being tailed. Again. Whoever they were, they obviously weren't professionals and it's not like he didn't have experience spotting a tail; shaking his nosy little brothers who happened to be leagues above these guys with their skill kept his own finely honed.

This was the third time in two weeks. He had managed to lose the first couple of groups easily with a few acrobatic disappearances when turning a corner and in the most recent one he had walked into Spolier's territory for the night and had her scare them off. Unfortunately, he'd been out and a little too publicly seen tonight to pull that off again. He didn't need some fan uploading Richie Wayne backflipping off a fire escape to TikTok.

Dick rolled his eyes and continued playing the part of Richie Wayne -a little too drunk, having lost his friends and cheerfully wandering to his next drink and maybe a new friend or two- except he'd wandered a bit far out of the Diamond District and was currently pottering around in crime lord territory while trying to subtly lose another set of attempted kidnappers, which he really just wasn't in the mood for.

Seriously, how old did he need to get for this to stop happening? Why did they always go for him and not Dami or Tim? Honestly, the boy hostage/kidnapped socialite thing just wasn't cute anymore when you were nearing thirty.

The cobblestone street wasn't quite deserted but it was still quiet, with only a few people scattered around making their way home or towards their next drink. He spotted a dive bar up ahead with "Bere Per Dimenticare" spray-painted on the window. Dick couldn’t tell if it was the name of the bar or graffiti gifted by an artist with a sense of humour. It didn't show any outward signs of being a mob haunt and it wasn't pinging any memories, so if it was in Bruce's files it wasn't somewhere Dick had taken note of.

There was a collection of bikes in the front lot outside and he stopped to admire one that looked almost armour-plated with striking red accents. He made a little show of staggering around and let out a low appreciative whistle and determinedly headed for the door. Fuck it, this place would be as good as any for his favourite escape tactic: waltz in, make a scene then slip out the back, leaving a riot behind. If he was very lucky, maybe his tail wouldn't be stupid enough to follow him inside and try to blend in with a bunch of bikers. Maybe he could actually have a drink and make his way home to Bludhaven in peace. Maybe. Not likely, though.

He shoved the door open roughly, then stared at it like a drunken idiot when it banged off the wall inside. He shrugged casually and plastered a wide grin on his face as he headed straight up to the bar, as though he had every right to be there despite the heavy silence that fell upon his ridiculous entrance.

"Hey! What cocktails do you make here?" Dick slurred at the bartender with a cheeky wink. It's possible he was laying it on a little thick, but he might as well get some entertainment out of this. The bartender already looked like he wanted Dick to fuck off and never come back, so that was a win.

"Best you're going to get is a whisky and coke. I don't think this is your kind of bar, pal," the bartender replied huffing but already grabbing a glass and the cheap whisky from behind him.

"That'll do! I like whisky, and I know, right?! But I lost my friends and I didn't want to go home yet and there was this cool bike outside and… Thanks!" Dick cut himself off when the cocktail, if you would consider a whiskey and coke a cocktail, was thrust at him unceremoniously. He beamed at the exasperated bartender and shoved way too much money across the bar, announcing "keep the change" over his shoulder as he looked around for somewhere more interesting to sit. The bar was pretty nice, considering the impression he got from the outside. The old-fashioned solid oak bar and matching tables looked clean and waxed and his Italian loafers hadn't stuck to the floor once, so that was actually an improvement on the club he'd just left.

Unfortunately, he noted his stalkers had wandered in too, through a back door presumably, like they didn't stick out like sore thumbs lurking in a corner in their smart black suits. They hadn't even bothered to get drinks; they were just sitting, staring in every direction but at Dick. He sighed heavily, wondering how to get out of this one without ruining his cover. Much as it would be nice just to beat their faces in and leave them in the alley outback, it wasn't like he could fight them properly as Richie without arousing suspicion, and Bruce would kill him if Richie Wayne went viral for knocking out three thugs in a biker bar in Little Italy.

His gaze fell on what he deduced were the owners of the bikes he saw outside. A quick count said there were fourteen of them, gathered around a few tables by the window. Almost all of them were watching Suit One and Suit Two with undisguised suspicion, all but one, who was watching Dick with interest. Well, since he was looking for a distraction, that ought to do it.

He walked up to the guy, fully intending to cause a scene and slip away in the chaos, maybe by saying the bartender put Dick's drink on the guy's tab or something, but as he got closer he realised the man was subtly checking him out. Well, this he could work with. He put a little sway into his walk and very unsubtly checked him out right back. The biker was big, young- definitely younger than the rest of the gang- his brown leather jacket stretched across wide shoulders and hugged thick biceps beautifully. Dick's gaze slid up to the man's face and his interest peaked even more. His eyes were an extraordinary shade of teal Dick had never encountered before and they twinkled with amusement at Dick's blatant display, his lips were full and inviting, and his mouth would be pretty on a more delicate face but with the man's strong jaw and thick brows, one of the said brows currently arched questioningly at Dick, he just looked ruggedly handsome. Dick bit his lip and smiled at himself. It was time to go all out. His stalkers sat at a table nearby, watching him like they weren't utterly obvious. He took the last few steps towards the handsome biker and gracefully swung himself into his lap, long legs wrapped around the biker's waist and arms sensuously draped around his neck.

"Hi!" Dick smiled vapidly up at the man before leaning in to kiss him. For a moment he had no idea where this was going to go. Would he be unceremoniously dumped onto the floor in feigned disgust? Maybe punched in the face? He knew the man wanted him but whether he was open about it, especially in this kind of crowd, was another matter entirely...