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It doesn’t take a genius to know that the boy standing at the bar is uncomfortable. Which means, obviously, that the man standing far too close to him with a glass of beer in a hand was either very stupid or about to be a lot of trouble. Damian's too far away from the bar to make out the conversation, but the younger of the two is definitely shrinking away, whereas the elder is leaning way too forward in his seat to be friendly. And judging by the way the younger stranger's eyes are flicking in every direction like he's trying to find an escape and the sleazy grin on the other’s, Damian’s pretty sure it’s the latter.
“Damian? Hello? Earth to the demon brat.” A finger snaps sharply in front of his face and Damian blinks, shaking his head and turning to raise an eyebrow at his second brother. “Yes?”
The music in the club is annoyingly loud, speakers blasting songs by some popular artist whose name escapes him, the bass thumping loud enough to shake the wobbly table. Besides the bright neon signs adorning the walls and the multicoloured laser lights over the dance floor, the club is dark save for the bar and a few dim hanging lamps over the tables scattered around the edges of the room.
Jason wags a finger at him like a mother. “Don’t ‘yes’ me, demon brat, it’s your birthday and you are not going to be spending it brooding.” He takes a swig of his beer and nods towards the dance floor, flashing strobe lights illuminating contours of bodies. “Go on, have some fun for once.” Damian rolls his eyes and sips his cocktail just as Dick and Wally stumble back to their table, Dick laughing and clearly drunk out of his mind. His face brightens when he sees his brothers. “Lil’ D!”
“Grayson,” Damian deadpans as Dick almost falls on top of him, “you’re drunk.”
Dick hums and Wally hauls him into a chair, his husband managing to look to look both amused and concerned at the same time.
Jason sighs. “Shit, man, you look fucking plastered. What’d he have?” He directs the last question to Wally, who looks flustered. “A few shots? Probably a beer?”
Dick giggles. “Maybe three.” Wally corrects himself, and at least has the grace to look ashamed.
“Dick, you’re a fuckin’ lightweight, man,” Jason groans and heaves Dick into Wally’s arms in a bridal carry, and Wally staggers back at the sudden weight before righting himself. Someone whistles at them. “Alright, time to go.” Wally tells him and Dick plants a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Wally! Love you, dude.” Damian snorts and sips his drink.
The speedster grins soppily at Dick. “Yeah, well, its a good thing we’re married then.” Dick gasps and almost falls out of Wally’s arms. “We are?”
“Okay, buddy, let’s get home.” Wally grunts and makes his way towards the exit. The last thing Damian hears before they get out of range is his brother asking if West was going to bring him to bed, and he sighs, lifting his drink to his lips again.
Jason starts going on about how Tim was doing as the new CEO of Wayne Industries, as well as how Kori and Roy were on some ‘business trip’ out of town, and Damian nods at all the correct intervals, making noncommittal sounds. Unconsciously, his eyes drift back to the two at the bar. The man is still there, leaning on the island top flirtatiously as the younger man pointedly turns his face to sip his drink.
The first man is slim and tall, he observes idly, probably a few years younger than himself if Damian had to hazard a guess. He’s got pale, freckled skin and scruffy black hair, glasses perched high on his nose and he’s wearing a flannel over a thin white shirt. His face is twisted in barely concealed disgust as the guy leans closer and puts a hand on his thigh that he smacks away. Damian puts his drink down on the table harder than strictly necessary.
The older guy is fair-skinned, light brown hair swept over his head in a pretentious hairstyle and a pearly grin that looks like it came straight of of an advertisement. He’s got a leather jacket on, dirtied combat boots on his feet, ankles crossed.
Damian kind of really wants to punch him the face.
“Dames? Are you even listening to me? I swear, its like talking to a fucking wall—“
“Trouble brewing, your seven o’clock.” Damian mutters and Jason immediately stops. For once, Damian is grateful for their ingrained Robin training when Jason takes a small sip of his beer and turns to check it out. He knows his brother’s noticed when he turns back to his beer and his forehead is pinched, tense. “Think we should cut in? Fucker looks like he could do with a broken nose.”
“Father told us not to make a scene,” Damian murmurs, and promptly stands when he sees the older man squeezes the other’s thigh and the boy jerks out of his hold, barstool scraping backwards. The bartender was started to give the pair wary looks. “I’ll be right back.”
He ignores his older brother calling his name, pushing through the crowd of people to make his way toward the bar.
“Come on, pretty,” he can hear the older guy say and he grits his teeth, shoving past a couple on the dance floor. “Don’t you wanna let me take you home?”
“I’ll pass,” the boy says tersely, making to get out of his seat.
“Aw, don’t be like that—“
“Excuse me,” Damian steps up to stand next to the younger man, sliding an arm smoothly around his back. “Do we have a problem?”
The man raises an eyebrow. “And who are you?”
“His boyfriend,” Damian says crisply and the young man looks up to blink at him in confusion, eyes wary and tense and blue behind round glasses. Damian’s fingers tighten a little on his arm where they've rested, silently praying for him to go with it, and the stranger thankfully relaxes. He smiles a little and brings a hand up to soothe over Damian’s arm lightly, as if afraid of overstepping boundaries, touch raising goosebumps. “Babe, it’s fine. He didn’t know.”
Asshole sits a little more upright in his seat, dark eyes trying to bore a hole into the younger man's skull as his sleazy smile turns into something a little uglier. "That your guy?"
"Yes." Blue eyes glance up at Damian as the warm body leans a little into his side, just enough to be conspicuous. "You're a little late, babe."
"Traffic was hell," Damian answers with a curious look out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching upwards.
“Right,” the guy says, obviously still a little pissed as he clambers from the bar stool. “Uh, sorry, I guess.” He says to Damian, who gives him a tight-lipped smile.
“I think you should be apologising to my boyfriend.”
After a muttered apology over his shoulder, the guy’s gone, disappearing into the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Damian watches him go, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed, before turning back to the person at his side.
“Are you alright?” He asks, slipping his arm from around the boy’s waist and is relieved to see him nod.
“Yeah. Thank you,” the stranger says quietly, and Damian shrugs. “It was no trouble. He was bothering you.”
“Could have handled it myself.” He hears the guy mutter and Damian’s face splits in a rare grin.
"I'm sure." Damian holds out a hand. “Damian Wayne.”
The man stares for a moment, before taking it with a firm grip. “Jonathan Kent," he says, with a sweet smile, eyes bright and blinding. “Most people just call me Jon.”
“Well, Jon, it’s been nice meeting you,” Damian says as he starts to turn away, and is surprised to find that for once, he isn’t lying. He’s almost relieved when the boy—Jon—reaches out to snag the sleeve of his turtleneck sweater. “Wait, wait, just—“ he blushes as he lets go, and Damian’s pretty sure it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “—uh, my friend ditched me for someone else and I’ve got, uh,” he fidgets and Damian smiles in amusement, perhaps feeling more than a little charmed. Jon clears his throat and looks up at Damian, wary courage in his eyes. “Um, I was wondering if you’d like to come back to mine for a coffee?”
Something must show on Damian’s face because Jon immediately backtracks, gesturing wildly. “I mean, it’s not like you—I’m not forcing you, we don’t even have to do anything, it could just be a coffee—“ His face colours even more. “—god, I didn’t even think about whether you were interested, shit, I’m sorry if I assumed anything, I just thought it’d be a nice thank you? I guess? I mean, I’ve got no idea, I’ve never—“ Jon babbles, face grower redder and voice almost lost in the thumping music until Damian finally, finally decides to shut him up by fitting his lips to the other’s, hand firm on his shoulder and keeping his back pressed against the brick wall of the club.
Jon stills, and for a moment Damian is afraid he moved too fast—until Jon starts reciprocating, kissing back cautiously like he’s never done it before. Sighing contentedly, Damian shifts so that their chests are pressed together, his head tilted back slightly to meet the extra two inches Jon has on him.
In a sudden rush of boldness, Damian nips sharply at Jon’s bottom lip and the other makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. There’s a sudden crack heard even over the heavy bass and Damian pulls away to stare incredulously at Jon’s clenched fist around a protruding brick in the wall.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m—“ Jon quickly shakes his hand, brushing away the crumbs from his skin. Damian blinks once, twice. “—sorry, its just,” the younger man laughs nervously. “Rickety building, am I right?” “So it seems.” Damian says slowly, raising his eyes to meet Jon’s blue ones. In the neon lights of the club, he could have sworn that they flashed red for a split second before it was gone.
“Um,” Jon coughs softly, fingers coming up to pinch at Damian’s sleeve, the heat between them dampened but still simmering under the surface. “So, was that a…yes? To the coffee? Or are we off?”
Damian searches his eyes for any sort of deceit, finding nothing but hope and wariness in his wide blue eyes, and shrugs in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “Sure.”
Jon’s face breaks into a grin, sweet smile making him look even younger, and Damian can’t help but lean in to kiss him again. Jon’s fingers twist in the material of his turtleneck and Damian licks into his mouth hungrily, Jon’s startled whine making his head swim.
The kiss only lasts a second more before Damian pulls back.
“How old are you again?” He asks breathily, tipping his head back as Jon presses his lips to Damian’s jawline in soft kisses.
“Twenty-one this year,” Jon says and the older man kisses him hard once more before standing and dragging the other to his feet. On the other side of the club, he hears Jason catcall, and Damian flips him off without even looking. Jon laughs nervously as they exit the club into the cold night air. “Was that your friend? I mean, I don’t want to make it seem like I’m dragging you away—“
“You’re not.” Damian raises a hand. “Taxi!”