Bat Boy Headcanons Bed Partners
We are looking at the batboys as bed partners. Not necessary with a focus on NSFW themes, but they’re there.
-Say it one more time, all together now, this man is a blanket hog. After many a night waking with shivers and losing the battle to wrest a sliver of your bedspread to cover yourself (good God, what is his grip strength?), you begin to keep an old comforter at the end of the bed. When it’s time to sleep, if Dick happens to be staying over, you split the blankets in two. He can have the top sheet and the fluffy, fancy duvet. You’re fine curled up in the worn floral cotton cover that had been on your bed in girlhood. Warmth is warmth, Martha Stewart home-goods be damned.
-The added comforter makes for awkward, bulky snuggling. You tried to maintain the post-coital sleep cuddles a handful of times, but with the burrowing nature of the sleeping Richard, spooning through the night was abandoned in favor of pressing your backs together. Most times, sex or no sex, you take a shower and emerge to find him curled under the fancy covers facing the wall. You know he’s not sleeping, but you both pretend. By the time you’ve gone for a shower, everything that needed saying was said. You creep into bed and settle in. Slowly, wordlessly, you inch together until the lengths of both your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. He even points his toes.
-In the morning, fucking morning glory jostles you a few times before rolling his entire body weight over you to “squish you awake.” He chuckles and coos at your angry huffs and groans. Asshole.
-He makes you breakfast to make up for the squishing. Gross whole-grain related hot cereal breakfasts, but whatever. He didn’t hafta’ make it, and that’s what counts.
-You’re not a morning person, by nature. The inherent conflict between someone with your night owl tendencies and his cheery, perky, frighteningly sunny disposition before noon tends to cause friction. At least… you expected it to cause friction. In actuality, he’s just infectiously chipper? It’s hard to stay upset when your house smells like brown sugar and fresh fruit and he’s all smiley.
-This poor boy generates more heat than a top of the line WE radiator. We’re talking damp sheets and a bunched up comforter kicked to the foot of the bed every frickin’ night. You own pajamas. You used to sleep in pajamas. Now you’re too damn hot. Not in a fun, hot and bothered way. No. Hot in the “Jason, I swear to God, if you don’t get your heavy, sweaty arm off of me, I’m kicking you” sort of way.
-For the most part, he doesn’t really sleep. At least, you don’t think he does. He seems to nap in quick bursts, but will stay with you through the night without protest or excuse when asked.
-He sleeps so hard when he rarely slips past his usual doze to full unconsciousness that it doesn’t really matter what you say, nothing can be done. You are trapped in the crushing embrace of your sweaty boyfriend.
-At least he mostly smells good, cigarette breath aside.
-You like cuddling. Previous boyfriends had requested separate blankets or a pillow wall because, Jesus, you are a monster. What Jason does cannot be called cuddling. It’s huddling. He huddles you.
-Your back to his chest. One bicep under your neck and, somehow, that same forearm is positioned in a bar back over your chest so your cheek sits on his elbow. Is it still a headlock if done out of affection?
-You don’t know.
-The other arm gets tossed over your belly. It fastens your torsos together with a firm hold kept in place because he burrows that hand beneath your hip. When he takes deep breaths you’re sort of squeezed. It’s a happy turn of events that you aren’t claustrophobic.
-You’re not sure what happens to your legs. You’ve never managed a look down at them while being huddled. Suffice to say that they are not your own.
-When you absolutely have to extract yourself from him, a lot of squirming is involved. 100% honesty, you have elbowed him awake. You had half an hour before work and were dangerously close to pissing your scant pjs.
-Drastic times, yo.
-On the nights when he just naps, mornings are whatever. The huddling is not at DEFCON 1 levels of nuclear crisis, so you just slip out of bed with some wiggling and start getting ready for the day. Within 30-45 minutes, he drags himself out of bed and gloomily sucks down the coffee you offer to him.
-The morning of the elbowing incident he stayed in bed. You haven’t talked about it.
-The first time you invited Tim over to stay the night, you tucked yourself in while he was hunched at the foot of your bed working on some big project for his company. When you woke up he… he was at the foot of your bed clacking away on that project. He had not moved. He had not slept.
-Like, thanks Edward. I totally invited you over so that you could watch me snore and drool on my pillow instead of fall into a similar state of vulnerable unconsciousness as a relationship building exercise.
-I’m not inviting you back.
-You do invite him back. You also impound his laptop, his tablet, and his smartphone after 11:30 and physically wrestle him into bed. He resists. Desperately.
· “I have to finish that in the next 36 hours. I don’t have time for sleep.”
· “But I’m working on a project for Bruce! I can’t stop until it’s finished.”
· “I took a long nap today. I’m not sleepy.” (Spoken as he yawns.)
It almost reminds you of tucking your kid brother in when he was spoiled and four, but you don’t want your brain making those kinds of connections, and wait… what? No.
-He falls asleep in exactly 23 minutes. Yes, you timed it. If that’s creepy, you don’t care.
-Once actually bedded, Tim is a pretty ideal sleeping partner. No snoring. No copious drool. Mild mumbling here and there when repositioned. You even manage to arrange the both of you into one of those cute couples’ sleeping positions from the movies with your head all on his chest and his nose resting in your hair.
-It is comfortable for 10 minutes, then you move because your arm is asleep and your neck sort of hurts.
-When you wake up, he is gone. There is fresh coffee in your kitchen and also a note signed with the extremely professional full signature of Timothy Drake. You don’t know what to make of that, and honestly, the fact that it is sitting so neatly beneath a sloppily drawn heart doodle serving as the “sincerely” only serves to further confuse you at such an early hour.
-Nights with Tim are always one of these two options: he is up doing some ungodly thing on the internet or sleeping like a rock that somehow rises gracefully before the dawn and never, never wakes you up to say goodbye.
Damian (obviously, significantly older):
-He is surprisingly calm? You are a bundle of nerves strapped into the fourth pair of pajamas you tried on before leaving the closet, and he’s just standing there in pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt staring at you like, “What the hell took so long? Please tell me you know how to dress yourself by this age.”
-Every time it is like this. This is not the first time you have slept beside him, but you just want to tie yourself into a knot and die because, oh my GOD, why is he so p r e t t y?
-Your roles in this relationship are utterly reversed every time it comes down to crawling under some covers. Unfortunately, he even does awkward with more grace than you. Where he usually is painfully formal and stilted in old fashioned ways that amuse you to no end, you’re just like… a mess. A hot mess in blue striped pajamas brimming with nervous giggles and a distinct lack of eye contact.
-He insists that you sleep on the wall side. When you ask, horrified by a premonition of you crushing him in the middle of the night trying to scramble for the bathroom half-asleep, he patiently explains for the seventh time that he has made an honor-bound promise to protect you. You cannot sleep on the outer edge of the bed. If there were to be an assailant, they would have easy access to you while he was hindered by an inferior position deeper within the gully of the mattress.
-Yup. Used the exact words “gully of the mattress.”
-What were you worried about? He’s still your scrub. A pretty scrub, but an awkward scrub who cannot hold a conventional conversation in a bucket with a speech guide.
-When your strange, flighty demeanor calms into your more usual behavior, you settle in nicely. You both like sleeping on your back. He stretches one arm beneath your pillow, and you tuck neatly into his side.
-He is warm. Damian smells like soap and tea and something musky and mannish that isn’t indicative of cologne. It is a good smell, and you always sleep wonderfully when he stays over.