on principle [dick/damian]
I kind of loaf around various interweb stuff until things come into my head. Then they do, and this kind of thing happens. :3 This is partly dedicated to ladyk_d_azrael , because she’s awesome, and an inspiration. Seriously. C:
Title: On Principle
Rating: 17+
Warnings: NSFW, Gay Sex, Language.
Fandom: DC
Summary: Damian hates Dick Grayson. He hates his perfect ass, and his perfect teeth, and the way that he treats him like a child, with his chaste kisses to the forehead and grabs of the hand. Hard and rough, that's how he wants it, and if it takes a few years to get there, it's a risk he's willing to take.
Age Ten.
I fucking hate Grayson.
“I’m going out tonight.” He’s dressed in a sharp, clearly tailor-made suit, and it accentuates his assets. The pants hug his backside carefully, they make him look classy, but dangerous. They’re nowhere near as kind to his ass as his costume is, but then again, cotton and silk had nothing on spandex. His blue eyes brightly shine in the evening’s full moon, and they match the ridiculously vibrant tie he dons. The shirt is dressy, and topped with a black, white-pinstriped vest. “Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone, alright?”
Tt, the boy thinks to himself, glaring at his caretaker. It’s annoying to be thought of like a child in any situation, but as Grayson kisses him softly on the temple, his scowl grows deeper and he wants nothing more than to show his mentor his true feelings about such teasing without darker intent by kicking the aerialist’s jaw out of his mouth and shoving his green, white-laced boots up that precious, perfectly sculpted ass.
Always with the teasing, that man. Touching, all the time. His mother, at the best of times, would only caress her son’s shoulder lovingly; it was probably against the ‘breeding your child to be an assassin’ code. But Grayson, unlike anyone he’d associated with prior to his becoming Robin, felt disconnected without his sense of skinship. The fleeting touches, the gentle caressing of hands, seemingly innocent kisses on the forehead. Grayson believed nothing to be wrong with his actions, including those same actions being taken with a boy merely ten years of age.
But that didn’t stop the boy’s hand from twitching in frustration when the man walked out the door with a smile and a wink. He broke a lamp and explained it away the next morning as misplaced aggression, which wasn’t a lie.
Damn it, Damian snarled to no one in particular as he walked away from the broken pieces of porcelain. I fucking hate Grayson.
.
.
.Age Twelve.
“Good job,” The man says, and they hug, and the youth realizes that his caretaker’s grasp has lingered just a second too long. The youth scowls, and he is torn between ripping Grayson’s heart out of his chest right now, especially while he is so close, or actually letting this continue, but that would be out of character and the man would start getting cocky about that, as though he weren’t already. Instead of doing anything, Damian only clenches up and mutters incomprehensibly, studying the man. His hands are large, much larger than his, covered in both scars and calluses, but much like his own, also coated in the blood of others. Neither of them are strangers to loss and anguish, and it was a struggle for the both of them to overcome the criminality of killing people and strive to serve justice to people that did just that. Those same hands, so much like his own might be in ten years, run through his locks like a lover’s touch, a caress with short, dark hair. His own wavy tresses are neatly trimmed this morning, but that doesn’t stop them from falling just above Damian’s eyelashes when he rests his head on the boy’s scalp, chin first. “I’m proud of you, Damian,” Dick murmurs in a way that the youth wants to interpret his words is coquettish, but he can never truly be sure.
After all, the youth is almost convinced that his caretaker is a satyriasis, a man addicted to keeping bed with a warm body at all times.
His conclusion is unfounded, of course, but it is an admittedly truthful argument. While sex was not his every thought, he certainly had no restraints or holds on his number of bedfellows, man and woman alike. He was kind, handsome, and most importantly, talented. In many ways. Grayson is committed to his jobs, his civilian persona as Wayne Corp’s head here in Gotham City while Bruce is away, and his heroic persona, the one that was in pursuit of justice. Unlike his father, his kindness and respect for those whom he brought home and into his arms was genuine, and his soul was pure despite the thousands of gutters his body had been dragged through, and the horrors he’d seen in life. It made Damian’s throat clench, thinking about how he matched up to Grayson in his father’s eyes, because no one would ever be his equal. He shook the thought and forced himself not to sound like a right moron when he opened his mouth. “Get off of me, Grayson, before I’m forced to knee you in the groin.”
That tinkling little laugh brings a light flush to his cheeks, and he curses every bone in his body for almost giving into the socialite’s charms. “Love you too, brat,” And the words don’t mean what he thinks they mean, but he cannot stop his heart from racing. “Well, I’m off for work,” Because the sun is high in the sky, this means the sort in which he doesn’t don a cowl and directs a business, or rather, Damian directs business matters, while Dick handles interpersonal communications and actual explanations. Since the last fiscal year had brought the youth’s nearly strangling a man for refusing to listen to his reasons for expanding the company’s sphere of influence, and also its change in policies that he’d drafted, Richard had decided that it was best for all parties if Damian handled things from here, back at home, and he took care of up front and personal business, at least until he was older, and better at not almost-killing people over trivial matters. “And, little D, try not to be such a prince, alright?” He curses his greatest ally and adversary in both Farsi and Arabic, but he only chuckles and ruffles his hair again, chastising him. “I speak both of those languages, mister. Watch your mouth.”
The door closes behind him and he only just barely stops himself from throwing the knife in his belt at Grayson’s skull, all the while red in the cheeks from irritation and something else.
I’ll kill him, if it’s the last thing I do! Damian rages silently, storming into the kitchen to bark at Pennyworth, who only rolls his eyes at the familiarity.
“Problems with Master Richard, Master Damian?” The man getting on in years turns his old eyes to the boy with a feeling of déjà vu.
“Say, Pennyworth,” Damian starts, the boy all lean muscles and a ferociously sharp blue-gray gaze as he perches on the stool coolly. “Think I can pin Grayson to the wall with four knives if I stop him fast enough?”
The butler rolls his eyes and simply turns on the stove to prepare breakfast for the young master. “I suppose that’s a yes, then.”
“I fucking hate Grayson, Pennyworth,” He snarls lowly, the term so full of acid and familiarity that the butler can see it as nothing more than an affectionate term for his other master. He’s perfectly sure that the boy has an idea of this now, but has no grasp on his feelings, so they come as he’s used to-as hatred.
Master Richard, he thinks to himself as the boy prattles on about the much anguish the man has caused him, then moves on to the thousands of ways he can kill him. You’ll shortly have quite the jealous suitor on your hands.
.
.
.Age Fourteen.
They’re staring at each other, and it’s awkward as fuck, and neither of them wants to speak, but they know it can’t be helped.
Grayson sighs. “Look, Damian, it’s a very natural thing. I got them when I was your age too.”
“But I’m above such trivialities,” The pride with which he’d murmured such a thing almost made Dick burst out laughing, but he’d barely stifled his laugh with a fist in front of his mouth. “Don’t you chastise me, Grayson!”
“I’m sorry,” He snorts around a series of giggles, his blue eyes scrunched up with the pain of holding the laughter in until he just stops trying and bangs his fist on the table, laughing without restraint. The youth across from him at the table has his arms folded across his chest stubbornly, and he is doing anything but laughing. In fact, his face is still red from embarrassment and fury, and he’s pulling out a miniature switchblade and playing with it, scowling at his nemesis. “Damian, having a wet dream isn’t a big deal. Every guy gets them at some time in their lives.” His smile is wide, and it’s not helping matters at all, but he’s not laughing so hard any more. It’s becoming reassuring, older brother Dick, and his hand lands lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “More importantly, who was it about?” His dark eyebrows lilt, and Damian jumps across the table to scrabble at Richard, who is only laughing like this is a familiar game. He plucks his teenaged partner off of him and forces him to sit Indian style once the switchblade is far across the room. “Come on, Damian! I’ll tell you about my first dream if you don’t tell me.”
Damian is horrified, and his name almost spills from his lips, but he’s not about to give in to him. “No,” Cursing in Farsi, and Dick only scowls disapprovingly before regaining his humor.
“What if I guess?” He folds his arms back under his chest, but the man looks more amused than ever. “Supergirl? Batgirl?” The first guess isn’t terrible, and the second makes the youth want to retch.
“Please tell me you’ve got more sense than that, Grayson,” The son of Bruce is surly, and he’s a moment away from punching his Batman in the face and then kicking him in the groin.
He hums while he thinks, and then has a look of wily surprise when he snaps. “A boy? Colin?”
Damian stammers out a protest and looks more horrified than ever. “You’re disgusting. It’s not Alien chick or flat tits, so you automatically assume it’s Colin?”
Grayson shrugs with a knowing smile. “Hey, I had a crush on one of my best friends when I was a teenager. Happens.” He looks even more horrified by the idea, so the man keeps on thinking, putting a finger under his chin in thought. “It’s not Kara, or Steph, or Colin, so…” Damian is silently offering a prayer to his non-existent god that he smite Grayson where he sat so that he could be free of his plague forever. Suddenly, Grayson has an idea again, and shows this by slamming his fist against his palm. “Of course! They say that people usually go after those that remind them of their parents! So, maybe Babs? Or Catwoman?” Both of their noses crinkle, and the teenager is infuriated by how close he’s getting. “Nah, maybe a little too old.”
The teenager knows he will be kicking himself for this later, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You’re getting closer.”
He claps his hands in joy, but Damian groans, cursing himself. “Yes!” Grayson cheers and keeps searching his mental database. After a moment of silence a look of awestruck horror crossed his face. “If they remind of you of your parents…that includes Bruce. Oh god, please tell me you’re not attracted to Timmy. If that’s what all your years of bitching about him have been about, so help me God-”
“Fuck no!” Damian snarls, chucking a piece of conveniently nearby china at his head. “How in God’s Green Earth would you have convinced yourself that I had fantasies of a sexual nature with Drake?!”
Dick let out a sigh of relief. “Well, if anyone’s like Bruce, it’s Tim, and, well, you know, you never know.”
He wants to scream, because the man is right, but about the completely incorrect person. How in the fucking hell have you missed the fact that you and my father have more in common than him and Timothy Drake, Grayson?! Except for the fact that you actually acknowledge my existence, and haven’t tried to kill me, and actually…actually… He doesn’t want to even think the word ‘love’ regarding his caretaker, because it will make him flush, and it will give him away. He’s desperately trying to look infuriated, and he’s hoping that something, anything, will take the man’s eyes off of him. But then, big, electric blues widen, and he understands. It all clicks, and nothing Damian can do will make him forget. “I’m leaving,” He’s infuriated with himself and he’s stalking away as quickly as he can manage. He makes it to the door, so frustrated that, had he been a different person, someone more like his Batman, he might’ve cried, but he held no shame, other than the fact that he’d given into Grayson’s antics. Al Ghuls had no shame, but…but as he glanced back once more, something longing and yet set in a glare, he had to shake those thoughts from his head.
“Coat, Master Damian?” The very much elderly Alfred Pennyworth asks in his soft British tones, and Damian only shakes his head, squinting his eyes closed tightly.
“No need,” He mutters angrily, more furious with himself than anything else. “I’m fine.”
It’s a blatant lie, but the man merely nods and watches the teenager slip into the shadows, pulling up the hood of his not-nearly effective enough hoodie. The old butler shuffles to the other room, where the first member of this household aside from himself and his Master Bruce was standing, pouring himself a cup of hard liquor. “Master Richard?”
“Me,” He laughs a bit, his head tossed back with an odd sort of smile, half bitter, and half thrilled. “Damian, he…” His blue eyes are worn and weary, but Alfred cannot help but be reminded of the boy when he was naught but a child. “First wet dream today,” He whispers secretively, and Alfred tries very hard not to laugh or roll his eyes. They’re all still so young, and it’s a strange thing, watching children grow into their skin. This youth in front of him, all fluidity, and wonder, and beauty, looked nearly as old as he did, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “About me.”
He nearly drops the tray in front of him, and yet he is not surprised at all. The old man coughs a bit and looks him right in the eyes. “Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice is that of reason, and the once young ward looks to him as he did when he was around three feet tall, and looking up at the older gentleman was all he could do. “How one feels is a matter of uncertainty. A storm, if you would. You cannot let age, or Master Wayne’s principals on relationships, get in the way of such…feelings.”
He sips at the brandy, which he doesn’t even like. “Too young,” He’s scared, terrified even. Dick Grayson is trying his best, extending his reach to Damian, and he knows that he feels the same now, but it’s all happening too fast…“Too soon,” He murmurs around the glass, and after he puts it down, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t…we can’t, Alfred. He’s a child! I’m…I’m…” His voice trails, and the glass in his hand trembles. “I’m in love with a half-demon created in a test tube. Damn it. Damn it! Bruce’s kid, and he’s fourteen, and I’m supposed to hate his guts-no, that’s not right, I’m supposed to be taking care of him, and we’re supposed to be…” Those blue eyes are forlorn and edged with tears that will not be. “Batman and Robin.” A short sob, no tears. Alfred’s hand is a welcome comfort on his shoulders. “What the fuck am I doing?”
He smiles a bit with a bitter chuckle. “What Master Bruce never could with you-the right thing.”
Another bitter laugh. “You know, Alfred? Sometimes, I hate me. What am I supposed to say to him when he gets back?”
“Whatever you want to say, sir,” The butler nods, and then walks away. “Just promise me one thing, Master Richard?”
“Sure, Alf,” The ice in his glass clinks and he lets a tired sigh pass his half-smiling lips. “What’s that?”
“Don’t try to spend the rest of your life alone,” The Brit says wisely. “Master Bruce never quite took that piece of advice to heart. And besides,” His smile is warm, and Dick feels less and less like the people he sends to Arkham and more like a red-blooded male again. “Master Bruce never quite realized what a prize he let get away so many years ago. Don’t let young master Damian become a regret, sir.”
Dick smiles a bit, and the laugh that rocks him is odd. “I’ll do my error best, Alfred.” With that, the man laughs back and leaves the man alone with his glass of dark liquor. He lets his head meet with the wood. “Fuck it all, Grayson,” He laughs to himself.
.
“Hello, what are you-” The door practically slams open into the youth’s face and as he rubs the bridge of his nose, he tries again. “What was that for?” He sees the look on his friend’s face, closes the door quietly, and sighs. “I guess you’re not in the mood to talk.” His dark-haired friend crosses his arms and looks surly from the blonde’s bed. Although he’s glaring something fierce, Colin only sighs in familiarity. “So,” He ventures conversation with Damian, knowing that this is the only way to get anything done. “Let me guess. You got into an argument with your brother.”
“He’s not my goddamn brother!” Damian snarls and Colin recoils, but not out of fear.
“Alright, alright,” The blonde says calmly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not your brother. You’re having, err, bat troubles. What happened this time? Still treating you like a child?”
His eyes are icy and he looks both scared and scary as the depths of hell. “Not anymore,” Damian fumes in a near-silence, and Colin is worried for his friend. “I had a dream this morning.” Colin is still blinking, waiting for the interesting part to happen, but it pains his dark-haired friend to squeegee out the truth. “Of a different nature than a…usual dream.”
“So you had a tent in your pants,” His friend says nonchalantly, big blues curious. “Happens to everyone.”
“Not to me,” He barks, but it has no bite, and Colin is worried again. “And besides…it was about someone too…too close.” His eyes are far away, and Colin’s mind races until he lets out a slightly horrified gasp.
“You didn’t-” Damian glares sharply.
“I did,” This time the words are acidic and Colin is completely stunned. “I had a dream about Grayson fucking me, and, and…” His voice trails until it is quiet, but a twisted sort of smile slips onto his face. “And goddamn it all, I liked it, and Grayson’s face was positively priceless, and I wanted to wake up and take a cold shower, but then it…” The smile slipped off and his fists clenched in his pants. “Then, he found out. He walked in on me in the morning, and we tried not to talk about it all day, but at dinner time, right before patrol, everything just went to hell, and I…” Dark lashes brushed naturally tanned cheeks, and his smile was now a full-fledged scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
There’s a silence before Colin speaks again. “That’s weird.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Damian snarls lowly, reprimanding himself more than anyone else. “But not nearly so weird as one of his guesses. You and I?” They both shudder in horror. “Fuck no.”
“I meant, it’s weird, y’know, that it’s been so long,” His eyes are half-lidded, but he won’t sleep, for fear of the terrors that lie in his dreams. “You and him have…chemistry, in a weird sort of, he’s fifteen years older than you sort of way.”
Damian snorts. “He wouldn’t even think of laying a hand on me.” Those gray-blue eyes look almost hurt, but he mutters on. “I’m only a child in his eyes, and more importantly, I’m something that none of them even wanted to acknowledge at first.”
“Yeah, but he acknowledged you first, right?” The blonde is right, and Damian watches as he speaks, feeling sick, scared, and full of unbridled joy. “I’d be willing to bet you anything that he likes you too, but right now, you’re too young for him to make a move.” Colin smiles proudly, and the other youth still listens. “You’re the one that always said he was all about sex. If he’s not screwing you sideways by your sixteenth birthday, all is wrong with the world, and you need to move on with your life.” He smiles widely, holding up a finger and showing his bright teeth. “Until then, you tease him back, tease him until he can’t stand it any more, and he pegs you to a mattress.”
“Colin,” His mind races and the devilish plan is sounding crazier and crazier. “This is insane. I’m Robin, he’s Batman. We’re supposed to be working together, or some other sort of philosophical bullshit. More importantly, I’m fourteen, and he’s twenty-nine.”
“The night is young,” The blonde smirks. “Why not start it off right, huh?”
“You know,” Damian smirks back and claps his friend’s hand in a high five. “I like the way you think, Colin.”
“I know you do.”
.
.
.
Age Fifteen and Three Hundred and Sixty Four Days.
Everything below the waist aches, and it is not because of injuries. Although he was supposed to have brought some tight-waisted redhead home with him and screwed her until the sun came up, but he couldn’t. Since that fateful night nearly two years ago, they’d been playing this game, although it was an unnamed concept and an undeclared war. Dick would bring home his floozies, but every time he did, Damian would be waiting right there, clad in barely anything at all, on the couch with one of his floozies, both of them somewhere between second and third base.
It left Dick insanely jealous, and Damian carrying on a string of one night stands slowly catching up with his mentor’s. However, when the teenager had finished playing his card and discarding his bedfellows, Dick put his floozies to work, often walking out into the living room and snatching the youth’s flings due to his fine ass and all around great looks, for he’ll stroll in, proudly nude, ashamed of nothing he’s bearing. “Hi,” Dick will breathe against Damian’s neck, raising the hairs there, and he’ll wink at whatever half-dressed body is in front of him, and then he’ll stroll right back, making sure whoever it is that he’s screwing is loud about crying out his name.
But just then, the man had messed up. He was sleeping with some girl, and although being vocal was quite a talent of his, it was also quite the curse. He rocked on a high climax, just moments away, and sweat poured over him. It traveled into his clenched eyes, and down his dry, gaping throat, but he couldn’t stop. All of his muscles tensed, and he pushed in slickly, but then he’d made a huge mistake. “Damian,” The groan came out against his will, deep and throaty, and needy, and fuck, that heat around him was only going down instead of up to where it belonged. He sucked in air dangerously, and then he stopped breathing altogether.
“I’m sorry,” His erection is falling, and he’s horrified, as is the woman below him. She slaps him, and he deserves it, and as she opens the door, Damian is standing there in a state of shock. She’s gone, and now it’s the two of them, looking at each other, and Dick is ashamed-more ashamed than he’ll admit, ever.
It’s silent for a long time, with Dick placing his head in his hands and pressing the palms to his eyelids, and Damian lying there, clad in nothing more than a pair of revealing underpants. They only breathe for what is close to half an hour, and then the youth speaks. “You said my name.”
“Your birthday is tomorrow,” Dick spills out like a broken train’s parts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Only sixteen. You’re only sixteen.” His voice is cracking, and he sounds like a wounded bird. His voice was stronger before, but now it is only remnants of what it once was. “I didn’t want this to happen.”
“You said it was no big deal,” Damian is half-furious and half-smug with the arrogance of having known he was right all along. “You said you’d forgotten about it. You said we were, what was it, only partners.”
“We were!” Dick snarls back, and the boy is almost scared, but he’s entranced with the beauty that is Grayson now. “Batman and Robin! The dynamic duo! And you bickered, and I hated you, you little shit, and everything that came out of your mouth was a smartass comment, and you’re tan, and a fucking genius, and a thousand things I’ll never be, and fuck it all if I haven’t been in love with a child this whole time, and there’s not a goddamn thing you and me can do about it.”
Damian, to say the least, is surprised. His voice is almost a whisper as he mutters back. “I thought you…I really thought you had moved on.”
“I live with you, and I see you half-naked every day, Damian,” His blue eyes pierce the very soul, and they search his own blue-gray eyes dangerously. “Did you really think I could forget about someone like you? We’re practically oil and water, and you’re exactly wrong for me, and I love you.”
The words echo in his head from years ago. “But I thought that you thought of me as…”
“As a child?” A bitter laugh, and he lets himself fall face flat on the pillows. “Yeah right. Hardly likely, considering your mouth.” He scowls, and Grayson laughs a little bit. “Like a brother? I tried, but fuck, have you seen yourself, lately? You’re…you’re…” The words die in his lips, and those eyes search the boy like it is the first time he’s ever done this, and guilt plagues him. “God damn it.”
“God damn what, Grayson?” Damian’s voice is dangerous and sultry, and his hands are moving closer and closer, as is the rest of his body. Tan, lithe, muscular, the teen slithered closer, got so close that their legs were touching and their noses brushed. “The fact that I want you to fuck me, and you want to? What’s wrong with that? Haven’t you fucked everything and everyone else you’ve wanted to?” His eyes are wild and proud, and Dick’s are questioning, prying, soaking in the words he spoke, rather than his ears. That tongue flicks out of the youth’s mouth like a promise, and they are so close that it brushes those bruised, dry, cracked lips. “So what are you waiting for?” Damian presses himself flush, and his lips get close enough for a kiss when the words rub against Dick’s mouth. “Fuck me, Grayson.”
The last words are enough, and a storm of hot, wet kisses are shared. The man grabs the teenager’s sides firmly, and his hands slide carefully up and down until his mouth moves from mouth to throat. Damian can only suck in a shaky breath as Dick pulls down his underpants, rubs the inside of his tight thighs, and sucks on his neck hard enough to leave a hickey. Eyes wander, taking in the sight of the youth. Lean muscle, broadening chest, that same crew-cut hair, an abdomen most youths his age would kill for, and a member that was none too shabby. On the other side of him, the teenager was trying to learn the older man’s body by memory, from his scar-adorned chest and rippling back, sharp shoulders, pecs that he’d found his lips wandering to so that he could tease his nipples. Dick hummed in pleasure, and he similarly scoped Damian’s body until the boy had finished searching his own.
The man’s legs were that of a god, sculpted beautifully, perfectly even. Tight thighs and calves that Damian had only seen in costume were loose now, and Dick’s tongue under his ribs made him suck in a breath, but not stop with his own hands tangled in the man’s curls and his hand rubbing arousing circles from those perfect buttocks to the tender back of his inner thighs, and then the base of his spine.
“Stop that,” Dick murmurs against the youth’s abdomen, the trail of cold following his hot mouth right down to the sharp curve of his nose.
“Make me,” The not-so-little prince demands, and it is with that spark that Dick realizes something. They’re doing this-actually doing this, and he’s not guilty. Damian wants this, he realizes, the lusty gaze in his eyes telling him to do everything but stop.
“Okay,” Richard’s tongue does wonders on the boy, and his hands twitch as his much more experienced elder takes his head further and further down to those thighs, where he spirals up to his base. His tongue flicks behind it, from the curvature of his legs up to his balls, and Damian bucks up into the expectant man quite against his will. His gaze whips around and he brings his legs up to Grayson’s torso and forces him down.
“I didn’t say to play games, Grayson,” Their faces are so close, and Damian’s mouth latches on before he can even complain. “I said to fuck me, didn’t I? Or, wasn’t I clear enough?” His hand takes hold of the man’s length, and he sucks in a startled breath. “Fuck me, Grayson,” Those gray-blue eyes bore his soul and as his hand starts to move, a not-so-careful pace that he still can’t find any reason to complain about, they’re both rock hard, and he can’t find any reason not to do just that to the teenager. “Fuck me hard, front, back, sideways, I don’t give a shit. But whatever you do, you put your dick inside of me, and you fuck me all night long, Grayson.”
His eyes roll back, and he breathily moans out a response. “Alright, alright. But, on one condition.”
“Don’t play games with me,” Damian snarls before biting quite hard at the tender flesh of his ear. “What’s your fucking condition?”
“Call me by my first name.” He smiles pleasantly, flicking his tongue out to the head of Damian’s lower half, making the youth twitch in impatience and frustration.
“I already did,” The boy chortles, and the man laughs sarcastically.
“Har har,” Now it’s along the side of his member, which is twitching and leaking, and Grayson won’t do anything about it until his young partner gives in.
After a couple more minutes of the almost-blow job Grayson gives him, he swallows a moan and bites out an, “Alright! Fuck it all, just…fuck me, Richard, or Dick, or whatever sort of sick fucking name you want me to call you, just PUT. IT. IN.”
“Now that’s more like it,” Dick murmurs, and his tongue delves behind his junk again and into a hole where a ring of muscle lie. Damian squirms, but Dick’s hand holds him tenderly above. He fiddles with his weeping member until his hand is wet, and then he pulls away from those lips to let his tongue go back to work on that wonderfully tan chest. Damian holds on for dear life to Dick’s back, etching his name with his nails on it, and also in his scalp.
The first finger goes in, and his groan of pain is nothing in comparison to the second fingers, where he looks so pissed that he could kill his partner.
“Relax,” Grayson murmurs softly in his ear, and he complies, breathless due to the kiss Grayson once again presses to his lips.
They’re rubbing together down below, but Damian can’t focus on that, because the fingers hit the spot, and his eyes cross. He half-smirks, half-scowls, and Dick thinks it’s the best look in the world.
Sweat is rolling between them, as are other bodily fluids, but Dick doesn’t forget proper etiquette. Always the gentleman, Dick pulls on a condom single-handedly, the other busying Damian to his almost-orgasm. But then, when he’s prepared, he settles the boy. “It’s going to hurt.”
He laughs. “Good. The harder, the better.”
Dick Grayson laughs heartily, and nods. “If you say so.”
He pushes in without abandon, and Damian’s eyes bug out more and more until he is nearly all the way in. But he pulls out, and he breathes, and the pace picks up substantially. There is no difference between the youth’s clawing and the man’s life-stealing kisses, all teeth and nails and fury and beauty, and in an act of minutes, desires have won over any sort of game that they’ve been playing with each other. Reckless abandon is champion, and Damian grits his teeth each time all two-hundred pounds of Dick slammed into him, and moans, and sweats, and they’re sweating each time they grab and squelch, and kiss, and hair and sweat and breaths, and lives-they’re connected, as they always have been, and it’s amazing, and Dick is soaring, and Damian is pleased, and before they’ve realized, they’ve come twice, and they’re switching positions, and the night is nowhere near over.
“Grayson,” Damian breathes out in between a session, his hand on the man’s member as though it were his own, legs curled together, his head on the man’s chest. “I fucking hate you. So much.”
“Yeah, Damian,” Dick breathed out until he leaned down to kiss the youth again. “I love you too.” A strange silence and the moon shined down on his perfect smile as though they’d choreographed the incident. “And also?” He held the boy closely, tenderly, blue eyes sparkling with happiness. “Happy birthday.”
He’s flush against his chest and the words almost bring him to a seventh erection. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Grayson.”
“As you wish, my prince.”
“And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
.
.
.
Age Eighteen.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” The redhead known as Oracle in the superhero community smiled at one of her longest lasting flames, friends, and, at one point in her life, bedfellows. “I don’t get to see a lot of you since you’ve gotten married.”
“Shut up,” Dick flops on her couch with a contented smile. “I already get enough of that from everyone else. Can’t I just go somewhere without someone making fun of the fact that I’ve been in a long-term relationship with one of the most volatile people on the face of the planet?”
“As if, bubble buns,” Barbara Gordon winks at him from her wheelchair. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m happy for you. Haven’t seen you this genuinely happy since finger-stripes were in.”
His mind wanders and he throws his hands behind his head comfortably. “That long, huh?” He thinks about Damian’s many expressions and emotions, and he wonders what about the boy has him so charmed, but it’s hard to explain to anyone else. “I guess it has been.”
“I’m just glad someone can deal with all his shit,” She snorts, and he snorts in response similarly, and then they both laugh. “You deserve a medal.”
“He’s not too bad once you get used to him,” Dick replies with that same smile, and not even an hour since his visit has begun, a knock comes on the window of her apartment. “Speak of the devil.”
“Shh, he doesn’t like being called that,” She jokes, and they both laugh again. A blur rushes in and pulls the man’s ear, both of them only centimeters from each other’s heights.
“Gordon,” Damian nods briskly, then turns to his boyfriend of two years. “Property.” The title makes Dick roll his eyes, and Barbara laugh heartily. “Sorry to interrupt your talk about daisies and rainbows, but we have business. If you’ll excuse us, sugar tits, let’s go, Grayson.”
Her friend and she share a look, and she stifles her laughter for when the youth and her friend are gone, her friend currently rolling his eyes and bickering with his boyfriend.
Even as they leave, she catches the tail end of their lover’s quarrel.
“I told you, Damian, we’re just friends.” They lace hands, and the surlier young man sticks up his nose royally. “I love you.”
“Still fucking hate you, Grayson.” The words are familiar, and Dick squeezes his hand before pecking him on the forehead.
“I know.” And he does, and they separate only to suit up and kick some bad guy ass before rejoining at the manor and having their way until they grow tired, as a matter of principle.
.
Hope you guys enjoyed it! :3
Title: On Principle
Rating: 17+
Warnings: NSFW, Gay Sex, Language.
Fandom: DC
Summary: Damian hates Dick Grayson. He hates his perfect ass, and his perfect teeth, and the way that he treats him like a child, with his chaste kisses to the forehead and grabs of the hand. Hard and rough, that's how he wants it, and if it takes a few years to get there, it's a risk he's willing to take.
Age Ten.
I fucking hate Grayson.
“I’m going out tonight.” He’s dressed in a sharp, clearly tailor-made suit, and it accentuates his assets. The pants hug his backside carefully, they make him look classy, but dangerous. They’re nowhere near as kind to his ass as his costume is, but then again, cotton and silk had nothing on spandex. His blue eyes brightly shine in the evening’s full moon, and they match the ridiculously vibrant tie he dons. The shirt is dressy, and topped with a black, white-pinstriped vest. “Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone, alright?”
Tt, the boy thinks to himself, glaring at his caretaker. It’s annoying to be thought of like a child in any situation, but as Grayson kisses him softly on the temple, his scowl grows deeper and he wants nothing more than to show his mentor his true feelings about such teasing without darker intent by kicking the aerialist’s jaw out of his mouth and shoving his green, white-laced boots up that precious, perfectly sculpted ass.
Always with the teasing, that man. Touching, all the time. His mother, at the best of times, would only caress her son’s shoulder lovingly; it was probably against the ‘breeding your child to be an assassin’ code. But Grayson, unlike anyone he’d associated with prior to his becoming Robin, felt disconnected without his sense of skinship. The fleeting touches, the gentle caressing of hands, seemingly innocent kisses on the forehead. Grayson believed nothing to be wrong with his actions, including those same actions being taken with a boy merely ten years of age.
But that didn’t stop the boy’s hand from twitching in frustration when the man walked out the door with a smile and a wink. He broke a lamp and explained it away the next morning as misplaced aggression, which wasn’t a lie.
Damn it, Damian snarled to no one in particular as he walked away from the broken pieces of porcelain. I fucking hate Grayson.
.
.
.Age Twelve.
“Good job,” The man says, and they hug, and the youth realizes that his caretaker’s grasp has lingered just a second too long. The youth scowls, and he is torn between ripping Grayson’s heart out of his chest right now, especially while he is so close, or actually letting this continue, but that would be out of character and the man would start getting cocky about that, as though he weren’t already. Instead of doing anything, Damian only clenches up and mutters incomprehensibly, studying the man. His hands are large, much larger than his, covered in both scars and calluses, but much like his own, also coated in the blood of others. Neither of them are strangers to loss and anguish, and it was a struggle for the both of them to overcome the criminality of killing people and strive to serve justice to people that did just that. Those same hands, so much like his own might be in ten years, run through his locks like a lover’s touch, a caress with short, dark hair. His own wavy tresses are neatly trimmed this morning, but that doesn’t stop them from falling just above Damian’s eyelashes when he rests his head on the boy’s scalp, chin first. “I’m proud of you, Damian,” Dick murmurs in a way that the youth wants to interpret his words is coquettish, but he can never truly be sure.
After all, the youth is almost convinced that his caretaker is a satyriasis, a man addicted to keeping bed with a warm body at all times.
His conclusion is unfounded, of course, but it is an admittedly truthful argument. While sex was not his every thought, he certainly had no restraints or holds on his number of bedfellows, man and woman alike. He was kind, handsome, and most importantly, talented. In many ways. Grayson is committed to his jobs, his civilian persona as Wayne Corp’s head here in Gotham City while Bruce is away, and his heroic persona, the one that was in pursuit of justice. Unlike his father, his kindness and respect for those whom he brought home and into his arms was genuine, and his soul was pure despite the thousands of gutters his body had been dragged through, and the horrors he’d seen in life. It made Damian’s throat clench, thinking about how he matched up to Grayson in his father’s eyes, because no one would ever be his equal. He shook the thought and forced himself not to sound like a right moron when he opened his mouth. “Get off of me, Grayson, before I’m forced to knee you in the groin.”
That tinkling little laugh brings a light flush to his cheeks, and he curses every bone in his body for almost giving into the socialite’s charms. “Love you too, brat,” And the words don’t mean what he thinks they mean, but he cannot stop his heart from racing. “Well, I’m off for work,” Because the sun is high in the sky, this means the sort in which he doesn’t don a cowl and directs a business, or rather, Damian directs business matters, while Dick handles interpersonal communications and actual explanations. Since the last fiscal year had brought the youth’s nearly strangling a man for refusing to listen to his reasons for expanding the company’s sphere of influence, and also its change in policies that he’d drafted, Richard had decided that it was best for all parties if Damian handled things from here, back at home, and he took care of up front and personal business, at least until he was older, and better at not almost-killing people over trivial matters. “And, little D, try not to be such a prince, alright?” He curses his greatest ally and adversary in both Farsi and Arabic, but he only chuckles and ruffles his hair again, chastising him. “I speak both of those languages, mister. Watch your mouth.”
The door closes behind him and he only just barely stops himself from throwing the knife in his belt at Grayson’s skull, all the while red in the cheeks from irritation and something else.
I’ll kill him, if it’s the last thing I do! Damian rages silently, storming into the kitchen to bark at Pennyworth, who only rolls his eyes at the familiarity.
“Problems with Master Richard, Master Damian?” The man getting on in years turns his old eyes to the boy with a feeling of déjà vu.
“Say, Pennyworth,” Damian starts, the boy all lean muscles and a ferociously sharp blue-gray gaze as he perches on the stool coolly. “Think I can pin Grayson to the wall with four knives if I stop him fast enough?”
The butler rolls his eyes and simply turns on the stove to prepare breakfast for the young master. “I suppose that’s a yes, then.”
“I fucking hate Grayson, Pennyworth,” He snarls lowly, the term so full of acid and familiarity that the butler can see it as nothing more than an affectionate term for his other master. He’s perfectly sure that the boy has an idea of this now, but has no grasp on his feelings, so they come as he’s used to-as hatred.
Master Richard, he thinks to himself as the boy prattles on about the much anguish the man has caused him, then moves on to the thousands of ways he can kill him. You’ll shortly have quite the jealous suitor on your hands.
.
.
.Age Fourteen.
They’re staring at each other, and it’s awkward as fuck, and neither of them wants to speak, but they know it can’t be helped.
Grayson sighs. “Look, Damian, it’s a very natural thing. I got them when I was your age too.”
“But I’m above such trivialities,” The pride with which he’d murmured such a thing almost made Dick burst out laughing, but he’d barely stifled his laugh with a fist in front of his mouth. “Don’t you chastise me, Grayson!”
“I’m sorry,” He snorts around a series of giggles, his blue eyes scrunched up with the pain of holding the laughter in until he just stops trying and bangs his fist on the table, laughing without restraint. The youth across from him at the table has his arms folded across his chest stubbornly, and he is doing anything but laughing. In fact, his face is still red from embarrassment and fury, and he’s pulling out a miniature switchblade and playing with it, scowling at his nemesis. “Damian, having a wet dream isn’t a big deal. Every guy gets them at some time in their lives.” His smile is wide, and it’s not helping matters at all, but he’s not laughing so hard any more. It’s becoming reassuring, older brother Dick, and his hand lands lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “More importantly, who was it about?” His dark eyebrows lilt, and Damian jumps across the table to scrabble at Richard, who is only laughing like this is a familiar game. He plucks his teenaged partner off of him and forces him to sit Indian style once the switchblade is far across the room. “Come on, Damian! I’ll tell you about my first dream if you don’t tell me.”
Damian is horrified, and his name almost spills from his lips, but he’s not about to give in to him. “No,” Cursing in Farsi, and Dick only scowls disapprovingly before regaining his humor.
“What if I guess?” He folds his arms back under his chest, but the man looks more amused than ever. “Supergirl? Batgirl?” The first guess isn’t terrible, and the second makes the youth want to retch.
“Please tell me you’ve got more sense than that, Grayson,” The son of Bruce is surly, and he’s a moment away from punching his Batman in the face and then kicking him in the groin.
He hums while he thinks, and then has a look of wily surprise when he snaps. “A boy? Colin?”
Damian stammers out a protest and looks more horrified than ever. “You’re disgusting. It’s not Alien chick or flat tits, so you automatically assume it’s Colin?”
Grayson shrugs with a knowing smile. “Hey, I had a crush on one of my best friends when I was a teenager. Happens.” He looks even more horrified by the idea, so the man keeps on thinking, putting a finger under his chin in thought. “It’s not Kara, or Steph, or Colin, so…” Damian is silently offering a prayer to his non-existent god that he smite Grayson where he sat so that he could be free of his plague forever. Suddenly, Grayson has an idea again, and shows this by slamming his fist against his palm. “Of course! They say that people usually go after those that remind them of their parents! So, maybe Babs? Or Catwoman?” Both of their noses crinkle, and the teenager is infuriated by how close he’s getting. “Nah, maybe a little too old.”
The teenager knows he will be kicking himself for this later, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You’re getting closer.”
He claps his hands in joy, but Damian groans, cursing himself. “Yes!” Grayson cheers and keeps searching his mental database. After a moment of silence a look of awestruck horror crossed his face. “If they remind of you of your parents…that includes Bruce. Oh god, please tell me you’re not attracted to Timmy. If that’s what all your years of bitching about him have been about, so help me God-”
“Fuck no!” Damian snarls, chucking a piece of conveniently nearby china at his head. “How in God’s Green Earth would you have convinced yourself that I had fantasies of a sexual nature with Drake?!”
Dick let out a sigh of relief. “Well, if anyone’s like Bruce, it’s Tim, and, well, you know, you never know.”
He wants to scream, because the man is right, but about the completely incorrect person. How in the fucking hell have you missed the fact that you and my father have more in common than him and Timothy Drake, Grayson?! Except for the fact that you actually acknowledge my existence, and haven’t tried to kill me, and actually…actually… He doesn’t want to even think the word ‘love’ regarding his caretaker, because it will make him flush, and it will give him away. He’s desperately trying to look infuriated, and he’s hoping that something, anything, will take the man’s eyes off of him. But then, big, electric blues widen, and he understands. It all clicks, and nothing Damian can do will make him forget. “I’m leaving,” He’s infuriated with himself and he’s stalking away as quickly as he can manage. He makes it to the door, so frustrated that, had he been a different person, someone more like his Batman, he might’ve cried, but he held no shame, other than the fact that he’d given into Grayson’s antics. Al Ghuls had no shame, but…but as he glanced back once more, something longing and yet set in a glare, he had to shake those thoughts from his head.
“Coat, Master Damian?” The very much elderly Alfred Pennyworth asks in his soft British tones, and Damian only shakes his head, squinting his eyes closed tightly.
“No need,” He mutters angrily, more furious with himself than anything else. “I’m fine.”
It’s a blatant lie, but the man merely nods and watches the teenager slip into the shadows, pulling up the hood of his not-nearly effective enough hoodie. The old butler shuffles to the other room, where the first member of this household aside from himself and his Master Bruce was standing, pouring himself a cup of hard liquor. “Master Richard?”
“Me,” He laughs a bit, his head tossed back with an odd sort of smile, half bitter, and half thrilled. “Damian, he…” His blue eyes are worn and weary, but Alfred cannot help but be reminded of the boy when he was naught but a child. “First wet dream today,” He whispers secretively, and Alfred tries very hard not to laugh or roll his eyes. They’re all still so young, and it’s a strange thing, watching children grow into their skin. This youth in front of him, all fluidity, and wonder, and beauty, looked nearly as old as he did, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “About me.”
He nearly drops the tray in front of him, and yet he is not surprised at all. The old man coughs a bit and looks him right in the eyes. “Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice is that of reason, and the once young ward looks to him as he did when he was around three feet tall, and looking up at the older gentleman was all he could do. “How one feels is a matter of uncertainty. A storm, if you would. You cannot let age, or Master Wayne’s principals on relationships, get in the way of such…feelings.”
He sips at the brandy, which he doesn’t even like. “Too young,” He’s scared, terrified even. Dick Grayson is trying his best, extending his reach to Damian, and he knows that he feels the same now, but it’s all happening too fast…“Too soon,” He murmurs around the glass, and after he puts it down, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t…we can’t, Alfred. He’s a child! I’m…I’m…” His voice trails, and the glass in his hand trembles. “I’m in love with a half-demon created in a test tube. Damn it. Damn it! Bruce’s kid, and he’s fourteen, and I’m supposed to hate his guts-no, that’s not right, I’m supposed to be taking care of him, and we’re supposed to be…” Those blue eyes are forlorn and edged with tears that will not be. “Batman and Robin.” A short sob, no tears. Alfred’s hand is a welcome comfort on his shoulders. “What the fuck am I doing?”
He smiles a bit with a bitter chuckle. “What Master Bruce never could with you-the right thing.”
Another bitter laugh. “You know, Alfred? Sometimes, I hate me. What am I supposed to say to him when he gets back?”
“Whatever you want to say, sir,” The butler nods, and then walks away. “Just promise me one thing, Master Richard?”
“Sure, Alf,” The ice in his glass clinks and he lets a tired sigh pass his half-smiling lips. “What’s that?”
“Don’t try to spend the rest of your life alone,” The Brit says wisely. “Master Bruce never quite took that piece of advice to heart. And besides,” His smile is warm, and Dick feels less and less like the people he sends to Arkham and more like a red-blooded male again. “Master Bruce never quite realized what a prize he let get away so many years ago. Don’t let young master Damian become a regret, sir.”
Dick smiles a bit, and the laugh that rocks him is odd. “I’ll do my error best, Alfred.” With that, the man laughs back and leaves the man alone with his glass of dark liquor. He lets his head meet with the wood. “Fuck it all, Grayson,” He laughs to himself.
.
“Hello, what are you-” The door practically slams open into the youth’s face and as he rubs the bridge of his nose, he tries again. “What was that for?” He sees the look on his friend’s face, closes the door quietly, and sighs. “I guess you’re not in the mood to talk.” His dark-haired friend crosses his arms and looks surly from the blonde’s bed. Although he’s glaring something fierce, Colin only sighs in familiarity. “So,” He ventures conversation with Damian, knowing that this is the only way to get anything done. “Let me guess. You got into an argument with your brother.”
“He’s not my goddamn brother!” Damian snarls and Colin recoils, but not out of fear.
“Alright, alright,” The blonde says calmly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not your brother. You’re having, err, bat troubles. What happened this time? Still treating you like a child?”
His eyes are icy and he looks both scared and scary as the depths of hell. “Not anymore,” Damian fumes in a near-silence, and Colin is worried for his friend. “I had a dream this morning.” Colin is still blinking, waiting for the interesting part to happen, but it pains his dark-haired friend to squeegee out the truth. “Of a different nature than a…usual dream.”
“So you had a tent in your pants,” His friend says nonchalantly, big blues curious. “Happens to everyone.”
“Not to me,” He barks, but it has no bite, and Colin is worried again. “And besides…it was about someone too…too close.” His eyes are far away, and Colin’s mind races until he lets out a slightly horrified gasp.
“You didn’t-” Damian glares sharply.
“I did,” This time the words are acidic and Colin is completely stunned. “I had a dream about Grayson fucking me, and, and…” His voice trails until it is quiet, but a twisted sort of smile slips onto his face. “And goddamn it all, I liked it, and Grayson’s face was positively priceless, and I wanted to wake up and take a cold shower, but then it…” The smile slipped off and his fists clenched in his pants. “Then, he found out. He walked in on me in the morning, and we tried not to talk about it all day, but at dinner time, right before patrol, everything just went to hell, and I…” Dark lashes brushed naturally tanned cheeks, and his smile was now a full-fledged scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
There’s a silence before Colin speaks again. “That’s weird.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Damian snarls lowly, reprimanding himself more than anyone else. “But not nearly so weird as one of his guesses. You and I?” They both shudder in horror. “Fuck no.”
“I meant, it’s weird, y’know, that it’s been so long,” His eyes are half-lidded, but he won’t sleep, for fear of the terrors that lie in his dreams. “You and him have…chemistry, in a weird sort of, he’s fifteen years older than you sort of way.”
Damian snorts. “He wouldn’t even think of laying a hand on me.” Those gray-blue eyes look almost hurt, but he mutters on. “I’m only a child in his eyes, and more importantly, I’m something that none of them even wanted to acknowledge at first.”
“Yeah, but he acknowledged you first, right?” The blonde is right, and Damian watches as he speaks, feeling sick, scared, and full of unbridled joy. “I’d be willing to bet you anything that he likes you too, but right now, you’re too young for him to make a move.” Colin smiles proudly, and the other youth still listens. “You’re the one that always said he was all about sex. If he’s not screwing you sideways by your sixteenth birthday, all is wrong with the world, and you need to move on with your life.” He smiles widely, holding up a finger and showing his bright teeth. “Until then, you tease him back, tease him until he can’t stand it any more, and he pegs you to a mattress.”
“Colin,” His mind races and the devilish plan is sounding crazier and crazier. “This is insane. I’m Robin, he’s Batman. We’re supposed to be working together, or some other sort of philosophical bullshit. More importantly, I’m fourteen, and he’s twenty-nine.”
“The night is young,” The blonde smirks. “Why not start it off right, huh?”
“You know,” Damian smirks back and claps his friend’s hand in a high five. “I like the way you think, Colin.”
“I know you do.”
.
.
.
Age Fifteen and Three Hundred and Sixty Four Days.
Everything below the waist aches, and it is not because of injuries. Although he was supposed to have brought some tight-waisted redhead home with him and screwed her until the sun came up, but he couldn’t. Since that fateful night nearly two years ago, they’d been playing this game, although it was an unnamed concept and an undeclared war. Dick would bring home his floozies, but every time he did, Damian would be waiting right there, clad in barely anything at all, on the couch with one of his floozies, both of them somewhere between second and third base.
It left Dick insanely jealous, and Damian carrying on a string of one night stands slowly catching up with his mentor’s. However, when the teenager had finished playing his card and discarding his bedfellows, Dick put his floozies to work, often walking out into the living room and snatching the youth’s flings due to his fine ass and all around great looks, for he’ll stroll in, proudly nude, ashamed of nothing he’s bearing. “Hi,” Dick will breathe against Damian’s neck, raising the hairs there, and he’ll wink at whatever half-dressed body is in front of him, and then he’ll stroll right back, making sure whoever it is that he’s screwing is loud about crying out his name.
But just then, the man had messed up. He was sleeping with some girl, and although being vocal was quite a talent of his, it was also quite the curse. He rocked on a high climax, just moments away, and sweat poured over him. It traveled into his clenched eyes, and down his dry, gaping throat, but he couldn’t stop. All of his muscles tensed, and he pushed in slickly, but then he’d made a huge mistake. “Damian,” The groan came out against his will, deep and throaty, and needy, and fuck, that heat around him was only going down instead of up to where it belonged. He sucked in air dangerously, and then he stopped breathing altogether.
“I’m sorry,” His erection is falling, and he’s horrified, as is the woman below him. She slaps him, and he deserves it, and as she opens the door, Damian is standing there in a state of shock. She’s gone, and now it’s the two of them, looking at each other, and Dick is ashamed-more ashamed than he’ll admit, ever.
It’s silent for a long time, with Dick placing his head in his hands and pressing the palms to his eyelids, and Damian lying there, clad in nothing more than a pair of revealing underpants. They only breathe for what is close to half an hour, and then the youth speaks. “You said my name.”
“Your birthday is tomorrow,” Dick spills out like a broken train’s parts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Only sixteen. You’re only sixteen.” His voice is cracking, and he sounds like a wounded bird. His voice was stronger before, but now it is only remnants of what it once was. “I didn’t want this to happen.”
“You said it was no big deal,” Damian is half-furious and half-smug with the arrogance of having known he was right all along. “You said you’d forgotten about it. You said we were, what was it, only partners.”
“We were!” Dick snarls back, and the boy is almost scared, but he’s entranced with the beauty that is Grayson now. “Batman and Robin! The dynamic duo! And you bickered, and I hated you, you little shit, and everything that came out of your mouth was a smartass comment, and you’re tan, and a fucking genius, and a thousand things I’ll never be, and fuck it all if I haven’t been in love with a child this whole time, and there’s not a goddamn thing you and me can do about it.”
Damian, to say the least, is surprised. His voice is almost a whisper as he mutters back. “I thought you…I really thought you had moved on.”
“I live with you, and I see you half-naked every day, Damian,” His blue eyes pierce the very soul, and they search his own blue-gray eyes dangerously. “Did you really think I could forget about someone like you? We’re practically oil and water, and you’re exactly wrong for me, and I love you.”
The words echo in his head from years ago. “But I thought that you thought of me as…”
“As a child?” A bitter laugh, and he lets himself fall face flat on the pillows. “Yeah right. Hardly likely, considering your mouth.” He scowls, and Grayson laughs a little bit. “Like a brother? I tried, but fuck, have you seen yourself, lately? You’re…you’re…” The words die in his lips, and those eyes search the boy like it is the first time he’s ever done this, and guilt plagues him. “God damn it.”
“God damn what, Grayson?” Damian’s voice is dangerous and sultry, and his hands are moving closer and closer, as is the rest of his body. Tan, lithe, muscular, the teen slithered closer, got so close that their legs were touching and their noses brushed. “The fact that I want you to fuck me, and you want to? What’s wrong with that? Haven’t you fucked everything and everyone else you’ve wanted to?” His eyes are wild and proud, and Dick’s are questioning, prying, soaking in the words he spoke, rather than his ears. That tongue flicks out of the youth’s mouth like a promise, and they are so close that it brushes those bruised, dry, cracked lips. “So what are you waiting for?” Damian presses himself flush, and his lips get close enough for a kiss when the words rub against Dick’s mouth. “Fuck me, Grayson.”
The last words are enough, and a storm of hot, wet kisses are shared. The man grabs the teenager’s sides firmly, and his hands slide carefully up and down until his mouth moves from mouth to throat. Damian can only suck in a shaky breath as Dick pulls down his underpants, rubs the inside of his tight thighs, and sucks on his neck hard enough to leave a hickey. Eyes wander, taking in the sight of the youth. Lean muscle, broadening chest, that same crew-cut hair, an abdomen most youths his age would kill for, and a member that was none too shabby. On the other side of him, the teenager was trying to learn the older man’s body by memory, from his scar-adorned chest and rippling back, sharp shoulders, pecs that he’d found his lips wandering to so that he could tease his nipples. Dick hummed in pleasure, and he similarly scoped Damian’s body until the boy had finished searching his own.
The man’s legs were that of a god, sculpted beautifully, perfectly even. Tight thighs and calves that Damian had only seen in costume were loose now, and Dick’s tongue under his ribs made him suck in a breath, but not stop with his own hands tangled in the man’s curls and his hand rubbing arousing circles from those perfect buttocks to the tender back of his inner thighs, and then the base of his spine.
“Stop that,” Dick murmurs against the youth’s abdomen, the trail of cold following his hot mouth right down to the sharp curve of his nose.
“Make me,” The not-so-little prince demands, and it is with that spark that Dick realizes something. They’re doing this-actually doing this, and he’s not guilty. Damian wants this, he realizes, the lusty gaze in his eyes telling him to do everything but stop.
“Okay,” Richard’s tongue does wonders on the boy, and his hands twitch as his much more experienced elder takes his head further and further down to those thighs, where he spirals up to his base. His tongue flicks behind it, from the curvature of his legs up to his balls, and Damian bucks up into the expectant man quite against his will. His gaze whips around and he brings his legs up to Grayson’s torso and forces him down.
“I didn’t say to play games, Grayson,” Their faces are so close, and Damian’s mouth latches on before he can even complain. “I said to fuck me, didn’t I? Or, wasn’t I clear enough?” His hand takes hold of the man’s length, and he sucks in a startled breath. “Fuck me, Grayson,” Those gray-blue eyes bore his soul and as his hand starts to move, a not-so-careful pace that he still can’t find any reason to complain about, they’re both rock hard, and he can’t find any reason not to do just that to the teenager. “Fuck me hard, front, back, sideways, I don’t give a shit. But whatever you do, you put your dick inside of me, and you fuck me all night long, Grayson.”
His eyes roll back, and he breathily moans out a response. “Alright, alright. But, on one condition.”
“Don’t play games with me,” Damian snarls before biting quite hard at the tender flesh of his ear. “What’s your fucking condition?”
“Call me by my first name.” He smiles pleasantly, flicking his tongue out to the head of Damian’s lower half, making the youth twitch in impatience and frustration.
“I already did,” The boy chortles, and the man laughs sarcastically.
“Har har,” Now it’s along the side of his member, which is twitching and leaking, and Grayson won’t do anything about it until his young partner gives in.
After a couple more minutes of the almost-blow job Grayson gives him, he swallows a moan and bites out an, “Alright! Fuck it all, just…fuck me, Richard, or Dick, or whatever sort of sick fucking name you want me to call you, just PUT. IT. IN.”
“Now that’s more like it,” Dick murmurs, and his tongue delves behind his junk again and into a hole where a ring of muscle lie. Damian squirms, but Dick’s hand holds him tenderly above. He fiddles with his weeping member until his hand is wet, and then he pulls away from those lips to let his tongue go back to work on that wonderfully tan chest. Damian holds on for dear life to Dick’s back, etching his name with his nails on it, and also in his scalp.
The first finger goes in, and his groan of pain is nothing in comparison to the second fingers, where he looks so pissed that he could kill his partner.
“Relax,” Grayson murmurs softly in his ear, and he complies, breathless due to the kiss Grayson once again presses to his lips.
They’re rubbing together down below, but Damian can’t focus on that, because the fingers hit the spot, and his eyes cross. He half-smirks, half-scowls, and Dick thinks it’s the best look in the world.
Sweat is rolling between them, as are other bodily fluids, but Dick doesn’t forget proper etiquette. Always the gentleman, Dick pulls on a condom single-handedly, the other busying Damian to his almost-orgasm. But then, when he’s prepared, he settles the boy. “It’s going to hurt.”
He laughs. “Good. The harder, the better.”
Dick Grayson laughs heartily, and nods. “If you say so.”
He pushes in without abandon, and Damian’s eyes bug out more and more until he is nearly all the way in. But he pulls out, and he breathes, and the pace picks up substantially. There is no difference between the youth’s clawing and the man’s life-stealing kisses, all teeth and nails and fury and beauty, and in an act of minutes, desires have won over any sort of game that they’ve been playing with each other. Reckless abandon is champion, and Damian grits his teeth each time all two-hundred pounds of Dick slammed into him, and moans, and sweats, and they’re sweating each time they grab and squelch, and kiss, and hair and sweat and breaths, and lives-they’re connected, as they always have been, and it’s amazing, and Dick is soaring, and Damian is pleased, and before they’ve realized, they’ve come twice, and they’re switching positions, and the night is nowhere near over.
“Grayson,” Damian breathes out in between a session, his hand on the man’s member as though it were his own, legs curled together, his head on the man’s chest. “I fucking hate you. So much.”
“Yeah, Damian,” Dick breathed out until he leaned down to kiss the youth again. “I love you too.” A strange silence and the moon shined down on his perfect smile as though they’d choreographed the incident. “And also?” He held the boy closely, tenderly, blue eyes sparkling with happiness. “Happy birthday.”
He’s flush against his chest and the words almost bring him to a seventh erection. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Grayson.”
“As you wish, my prince.”
“And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
.
.
.
Age Eighteen.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” The redhead known as Oracle in the superhero community smiled at one of her longest lasting flames, friends, and, at one point in her life, bedfellows. “I don’t get to see a lot of you since you’ve gotten married.”
“Shut up,” Dick flops on her couch with a contented smile. “I already get enough of that from everyone else. Can’t I just go somewhere without someone making fun of the fact that I’ve been in a long-term relationship with one of the most volatile people on the face of the planet?”
“As if, bubble buns,” Barbara Gordon winks at him from her wheelchair. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m happy for you. Haven’t seen you this genuinely happy since finger-stripes were in.”
His mind wanders and he throws his hands behind his head comfortably. “That long, huh?” He thinks about Damian’s many expressions and emotions, and he wonders what about the boy has him so charmed, but it’s hard to explain to anyone else. “I guess it has been.”
“I’m just glad someone can deal with all his shit,” She snorts, and he snorts in response similarly, and then they both laugh. “You deserve a medal.”
“He’s not too bad once you get used to him,” Dick replies with that same smile, and not even an hour since his visit has begun, a knock comes on the window of her apartment. “Speak of the devil.”
“Shh, he doesn’t like being called that,” She jokes, and they both laugh again. A blur rushes in and pulls the man’s ear, both of them only centimeters from each other’s heights.
“Gordon,” Damian nods briskly, then turns to his boyfriend of two years. “Property.” The title makes Dick roll his eyes, and Barbara laugh heartily. “Sorry to interrupt your talk about daisies and rainbows, but we have business. If you’ll excuse us, sugar tits, let’s go, Grayson.”
Her friend and she share a look, and she stifles her laughter for when the youth and her friend are gone, her friend currently rolling his eyes and bickering with his boyfriend.
Even as they leave, she catches the tail end of their lover’s quarrel.
“I told you, Damian, we’re just friends.” They lace hands, and the surlier young man sticks up his nose royally. “I love you.”
“Still fucking hate you, Grayson.” The words are familiar, and Dick squeezes his hand before pecking him on the forehead.
“I know.” And he does, and they separate only to suit up and kick some bad guy ass before rejoining at the manor and having their way until they grow tired, as a matter of principle.
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Hope you guys enjoyed it! :3