Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Damian starts chasing him down again, Tim briefly wonders why he keeps running.

It’d be so easy to turn around and let the man catch him. Maybe they’d crash into each other, and Tim would get to feel the hard lines of his muscles Tim sometimes struggles to look away from. The thought makes his stomach flutter, and he nearly trips over himself, considering.

No, the logical part of his brain scolds as he leaps across another rooftop, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. You’re mad at him, remember? And your goal is to avoid him at any cost to ignore his awkward apologies.

“Shrike!” Damian shouts and the rough tenor of his voice is enough to make Tim shiver. He always liked the deeper quality of it, and the way it sounded so different from his usual tone. “Come with me, Shrike! Let me help you!”

“Come?” Tim says out loud, skidding to a stop beside one of the noisier HVAC units in the city. Now, it seems like the best idea to let Damian catch him. “You’ll let me?”

He turns, knowing he went unheard, and watches as Damian releases the grapple to silently land on the roof. One of his thighs flexes, and Tim’s mouth waters as he follows the path to his—

“Timothy?”

“Huh?” Tim mumbles, and frowns. “Names.”

“I was calling you for a minute already,” Damian says flatly and moves closer. Tim breathes in the scent of kevlar and blood, and something coconut-y that always distinguished him as Damian. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” Tim says, dizzy. “Why?”

Damian frowns. There’s a cut on his lip. Tim aches to taste it.

“If you don’t remember what happened, then I must take you home,” Damian declares. “We’ll find an antidote before anything happens.”

And he wraps an arm around Tim’s waist, gripping his hip tightly.

The simmering warmth beneath Tim’s skin suddenly intensifies, and Tim bites back a sound, knees buckling. Luckily, Damian’s still holding him up, and it gives Tim the chance to twist his body so he’s pressed against Damian’s front, body trembling.

They’re closer than they’ve ever been, but Tim just wants more.  

He wants to shed their suits until nothing but skin is touching. Tim wants to crack Damian’s chest open to crawl inside his rib cage, cocooned in hot blood, laid to rest right beside the man’s beating heart. Most of all, he wants Damian inside him, and this thought, in particular, makes him grip the front of Damian’s Nightwing suit tightly, heart pounding in his chest.

“Please,” he whispers, and whimpers when Damian’s hand shifts, resting against his lower back. His cunt throbs and Tim licks his lips, speaking louder, “Damian, please.”

“No,” Damian says, and Tim wants to cry. The need burns through him, and he thinks he might die. “That’s Ivy’s pollen speaking. Once we get the antidote in you, I know you’ll regret saying this.”

“I won’t,” Tim insists. He goes up on his tiptoes, reaching up with one hand to trace the line of Damian’s jaw, following the path to his throat. Tim presses two fingers against where Damian’s pulse should beat, hidden beneath the suit, and feels the way the other man swallows. His teeth ache. “I…” He slides them up higher, tracing the edges of Damian’s mask next. “I want. ”

“You don’t,” Damian says quietly, and Tim doesn’t miss the edge of self-deprecation in his words. Ever the child that’s so much like their father… “Not me. It’s the pollen you inhaled.”

“It’s not,” Tim swears. He feels hot, sticky. “It’s not, it’s not, it’s not, it’s—please.” Uncomfortable. Unbearable. “I won’t make it to the Cave, Damian. Please.”

“Names.”

“Please.” Tim wants to cry. And maybe he does because he feels a gloved hand cup his face, thumb sweeping over his cheek. “Nightwing, please…”

Damian barely nods before Tim surges up to kiss him, burying his hands in Damian’s hair. It’s getting longer, and it’s enough for Tim to tangle the strands in his fingers, tugging and gripping it tighter when Damian starts kissing back in a way that makes Tim whine, needy.

Somehow, they end up behind the HVAC unit, Tim half-naked and Damian still fully dressed in his suit. There’s a bit of fumbling on Tim’s end, but finally, the heat abates as he sinks onto Damian’s cock. He feels some relief as it rubs against his walls, deeper and deeper until Tim thinks it reaches the furthest parts of himself.

Tim gasps, stuck on the way it stretches him so nicely. He cups the man’s cheek, fervently wishing to see his eyes, and closes the distance between them.

Except he doesn’t kiss Damian, no. His lips ghost over the cut on the other man’s mouth, and his tongue darts out, tasting blood. Tim feels Damian’s hands slide over his hips, and he grinds against him, a soft moan spilling out at the feeling of his cock.

“Are you feeling better?” Damian asks after Tim pulls away. His cheeks are darker, and he’s breathing heavily.

“Shut up,” Tim orders, and starts riding him.

Fuck. Why the hell did he keep running away from Damian?

He feels like Damian’s cock is rewiring his brain with how good it feels in his cunt. Jesus. It’s gliding into him easily because he’s so wet, and it’s making Tim’s head rattle, making him think insane thoughts about staying in the manor more often as long as he can have this every night.

Nothing else is said as Tim takes what he needs, the heat slowly lowering to a simmer. Damian treats him well, at least—he even grips Tim’s hips to fuck up into him when Tim falters, knees aching. Moans and whimpers spill from his lips with every smack of their hips. He clenches around Damian, gasping when Damian starts rubbing his clit with a gloved thumb, the sensation making his toes curl.

“Fuck,” he says brokenly. “I need—”

“I know,” Damian says. “I know.”

Tim’s mouth drops open when Damian fucks him harder, not letting Tim move an inch thanks to the tight grip he has on his hip (with only one hand, too!). It makes him feel like a toy—Damian’s personal fleshlight—and the thought turns him on more than it should, enough to leave him teetering at the edge.

He distantly registers the high-pitched noises he’s making. They’re unfamiliar and wanting, and he doesn’t know what to do with the sudden pressure in his gut. Tim grips Damian’s shoulders, wishing to dig his nails into his skin, and glances at Damian, breath hitching.

The way Damian stares at Tim, also wanting, makes him feel deliriously insane.

Tim suddenly wants his camera, wants to snap a picture of Damian’s expression to keep forever because it’s more logical than pinning Damian to a canvas like Tim’s personal butterfly just so he can continue to stare into those dark eyes, forever frame the way he looks so hungry for him, even when they’re already joined together. It’s making Tim feel—he— fuck.

“Timothy,” Damian says, whispers, in a voice so rough like he, too, is full of pollen, and—

Tim curls forward, hiding his face in Damian’s chest when he comes.

He grips Damian’s arm tightly, gasping, moaning. His hips jerk against Damian, every jolt coinciding with each pulse of his orgasm as Damian fucks him through it. Tim whimpers when Damian abruptly stiffens before burying himself deep inside Tim, and he whines when he feels the hot flood of Damian’s come.

Some of the buzzing beneath his skin disappears, but Tim knows it’ll climb to an unbearable level in due time. He doesn’t give it any more thought and stays in the same spot until his hip twinges, and that’s when Tim tips his head up to rest his lips against Damian’s cheek, tasting salt.

“Are you crying?” he murmurs, rocking ever so slightly.

“No,” Damian says, and Tim knows it’s a lie.

❦ ❦

Catwoman delivers the antidote.

She’s kind enough to stand on the other part of the roof as Tim waits for it to kick in, even though a good portion of the pollen has run its course with the extra rounds of fucking they got in. 

Still, the feeling of Damian’s cum sliding down his thighs after standing makes him twitch. He can also see some of the bites he left on Damian’s jaw, can see a hint of a scratch on the exposed part of his neck from when Tim got so frustrated he tore off his glove and tossed it off the roof just so he could touch him.

Tim hastily pulls up the bottom of his suit, trying not to watch as Damian tucks himself away and denies Selina’s help for an escort home.

Damian says nothing to him as he grapples away from Tim, and he forces himself to do the same before he does something stupid like chase Damian down.

Every time he pauses on a rooftop to adjust his clothes, particularly his pants whenever they rub against his aching cunt, Tim nearly runs after him. He doesn’t know what to do with this yearning need inside him—this desire goes beyond what the pollen awakened. 

It’s terrifying, which is why Tim bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to go home, shimmying through his window and lying on the ground, mind replaying the night’s events. He presses his thighs together, a spark crawling down his spine, and forces himself to peel off his suit to shower.

Tim haphazardly tosses it into a corner, walking to the bathroom. His thighs are sticky with his slick and Damian’s cum, and Tim swallows, swiping a finger over a small portion. He brings it up to his lips, daring to taste and fuck if it makes him wish he got to taste it from the source, suddenly desperate to feel the weight of Damian’s cock in his mouth.

“Shit,” Tim mutters, feeling another tug in his gut before he stumbles into the shower.

The heat of the water makes his stomach twist again, and Tim can’t resist sliding a hand down to his cunt, idly rubbing his fingers over his sore clit. He shifts, biting back a sound when he feels more cum leak out of him. Tim arches, gasping, as he slowly pushes it back in.

Where it belongs, he thinks hazily and shoves another finger in alongside the other two.

❦ ❦

Things are awkward.

Tim doesn’t think it’s as obvious to the others as it is to him, but he can see it in every passing interaction with Damian.

He got used to the weight of Damian’s stare, his neck always tingling whenever he neared the older vigilante or walked away from him. Sometimes, when Tim dared to glance at the man, he’d accidentally meet that gaze, too intense for his liking, and Tim would be the first to break it, ears burning.

Now, Damian barely looks at him, and when he does, he’s quick to turn from Tim completely, giving off an air of embarrassment. He also avoids Tim’s patrol route completely when he previously stalked the perimeter like a mountain lion waiting to pounce, and Tim should be happy about it.

He should.

So, why does he look over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Damian? Why does he keep lingering in the Cave, waiting for Damian to draw him into another conversation? Why can’t he stop thinking about the way Damian felt inside him?

Tim tries not to think about the last question too much.

While pondering the Damian situation, Tim tugs on his jacket and opens the door, stopping when he sees Damian standing in front of him, fist poised to knock.

They stare at each other.

“Uh, hi?” Tim says, confused.

“Hello,” Damian says quietly.

More staring.

“Can I… help? You?”

“I…” Damian finally looks away. “You got hurt last night on patrol.”

“We always get hurt on patrol,” Tim points out. “It’s nothing new, and that knife barely made me bleed. It was already scabbing over by the time I came home last night.”

“Did you bandage it?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he grumbles. “There’s no need for you to hover like I’m an incompetent child. I may have some form of brain damage from dying, but I’ve survived just fine without any help.”

“I’m not—” Damian sighs. “I merely wanted to check on you. That’s all.” He holds up a white plastic bag. “I brought food.”

Tim eyes it speculatively. “What’d you bring?” he asks.

“Thai.”

“And did you get—”

“Mango sticky rice? Yes.” Then, quieter. “I remember.”

“Oh.” Tim chews on his inner cheek. “I didn’t think you paid much attention.”

“Not at first. I started after…” Damian trails off, voice growing softer. He sounds almost nervous. Sad, maybe. “After you died.”

“Right.”

Tim slowly reaches out, taking the bag from Damian. Their fingers brush, and Tim avoids Damian’s eyes, electricity zinging pleasantly down his spine. “Alright,” he says, opening the door wider. “Come in, then.”

Damian follows him into the kitchen, not saying a word. Tim leans against the counter, watching as he pulls a few small containers out of the plastic bag. He eyes the line of Damian’s jaw, remembering how he sucked a bruise there while he was grinding against Damian’s spent cock, needing more.

It’s gone now, but the memory remains.

“I’ll leave soon,” Damian says, still not looking at him. “Thank you for inviting me in.”

“Alright, enough is enough,” Tim says, walking over to jab a finger against Damian’s chest. “We fucked. It happened. If you want to talk about it, we can. I’d honestly rather move past it.”

“Right,” Damian says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

“What I really want is a redo,” Tim complains, turning away to search for a drink in his fridge. He needs a Zesti—or anything to keep himself busy. “But I can’t exactly go up to Bart and ask him to reset the timeline so I can lose my virginity not high off sex pollen.”

“You—” Damian makes a choked sound, and Tim peers at him, mildly concerned.

“You good?” he asks, grabbing a melon soda Bart left the last time he visited. 

“I… I didn’t know you were a virgin,” Damian says, and Tim can’t even begin to describe the look on his face. It makes Tim want to squirm, for some reason.

Tim rolls his eyes instead. “It’s not like I had anyone to do it with before I died,” he says, taking a sip of his drink as he catches Damian’s wince. “No one ever interested me when I came back, either.”

“Not even in the League?”

“Ra’s tried,” Tim says, almost laughing at the disgusted look on Damian’s face. “But I never wanted to, not with him.”

“But you have wanted,” Damian says.

Tim blinks, a little thrown by the question. Damian also seems surprised, as if he never intended to speak at all. “Yes,” he says slowly. “I have.”

“You wanted me.” Damian’s stare feels more intense, eyes darker. “You would have made it to your apartment if you kept running, but you stopped to let me catch you this time.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Tim defends, face hot. He fiddles with the metal tab on the can. “It was the pollen.”

“I’m sure it was.” And suddenly, Damian is there, crowding Tim against his fridge. “But there’s no pollen right now.”

“No,” Tim says, mouth dry. “There’s not.”

Damian takes the soda from him, and Tim lets him, watching as he places it on the counter nearby. He doesn’t even fight the other man when he wraps a hand around both of Tim’s wrists, holding them above Tim’s head while he slots a knee between Tim’s thigh.

Tim is now very aware of how wet he feels.

“We can pretend,” Damian says, voice low. “That this is your first time.” He lowers his head, and Tim shivers when his lips touch the shell of Tim’s ear. “If you want, of course.”

Tim swallows, flexing his hands against Damian’s hold. There’s no give, and it makes the pressure in his stomach grow tighter. He shifts, trying not to moan when he accidentally rubs his clothed cunt against Damian’s knee.

“I—” Tim says, hot all over. “I want.”

He thinks he feels Damian’s smile.

❦ ❦

Tim isn’t sure what he expected, but it’s certainly not Damian carefully undressing him in the bedroom before laying him down and kissing down his chest to reach his already-wet pussy. He even nips and sucks bruises onto Tim’s upper thighs, dangerously close to where he aches.

“You’re so tense,” Damian says. “I need you to relax.”

“Shut up,” Tim mutters, heat rising to his cheeks when he looks down and sees Damian settling between his legs, staring right at his pussy and not at Tim.

“No one has ever done this, either?” Damian asks as he circles Tim’s entrance with a finger. Every touch makes him jump, and Damian has the audacity to huff out a laugh, even while he brushes a thumb over Tim’s clit.

“No,” Tim answers, exhaling shakily. 

Damian hums, and leans forward to lick him.

Tim shivers, body going tenser at the action. There’s also a spark of pleasure that follows, and it travels through the rest of him, settling in his stomach. His cunt throbs and Tim keeps himself very still so he doesn’t do something stupid like rock against Damian’s tongue.

He doesn’t even know what to do with his hands.

They end up twisted into the sheets when Damian continues his ministrations, dragging his tongue over Tim. Every time he grazes Tim’s clit, Tim shudders, the heat in his stomach slowly unfurling and blooming into something larger, and it continues to grow even after Damian grabs Tim’s hips to tug him closer, dragging his tongue across him in a way that forces small gasps out of Tim’s mouth, along with some other noises Tim barely recognizes.

It doesn’t sound like him.

Tim’s usually very quiet whenever he gets off—the softest moans usually buried into his pillow while his fingers rub his clit beneath his blankets. Even when he uses a toy, Tim’s moans just barely squeak out.

But right now, he’s moaning so loudly that he’s slightly afraid someone might actually hear him from outside, despite being several floors above ground. Sometimes, when Damian presses firmly on his clit with a thumb, it drags a whimper out of Tim’s throat, or a whine when he slowly circles it, making him squirm.

“Let me—” Damian says, and shifts even closer.

Tim suddenly understands what people mean when they say they want to be ‘buried’ in pussy, because Damian’s doing exactly that as he licks Tim’s other lips, tongue flat against it. He hums, and Tim jumps, gasping when he feels Damian’s tongue flicking out as if testing. Tasting.

And fuck, he’s so wet, too—sloppy and dripping, some of it coating his upper thighs, maybe even dripping down to the sheets below. Tim can hear all the sucking sounds Damian makes against him, pressed so close that Tim’s afraid he can’t breathe.

He’s kissing me, Tim thinks, dazed. He’s kissing my—

And then Damian stuffs two fingers inside.

Tim whimpers, feeling a strange pressure inside his gut when Damian flexes them against his walls. His hips twitch, and then Tim’s back arches, a cry leaving his lips when Damian brushes against something that makes him feel like he’s about to fly out of his body, especially when Damian keeps lapping at his fucking pussy, sometimes focusing on his clit and making Tim squirm.

He doesn’t stop, and the pressure only builds and builds.

Tim tries to shut his legs a couple of times, but Damian merely shoves them apart, sometimes gripping one so tightly that Tim swears he feels his bones creak. He also spends a good portion of his time with Damian’s arm across his stomach, pinning him in place while he uses two fingers to hold Tim’s pussy open, tongue-fucking him until Tim writhes, kicking his legs out as he tries to reach the crescendo of the pleasurable wave, only to sob when Damian stops, gently licking him.

“Please,” he gasps, feeling overheated and sweaty. “I want—will you—”

Damian seals his mouth over Tim’s clit and sucks.

Tim doesn’t even know how to describe the noise that spills out of his mouth—desperate, needy, or something.  

His whole body shakes when he finally comes, cunt pulsing with each wave, but Damian doesn’t stop.

Tim cries out when Damian shoves an additional finger inside, stroking his inner walls and paying extra attention to the spot that makes his brain burst with stars. He tugs on Damian’s hair when the pressure returns. Tim simultaneously shoves his hips against Damian’s fingers and tries to move away from the man’s mouth, overwhelmed.

“Damian,” he hiccups, squeezing his eyes shut. “It feels—it’s too much! Damian, you’re gonna make me—!!”

Damian pushes another finger inside, and the tight knot inside Tim’s stomach suddenly pops.

Tim thinks he’s saying something—maybe Damian’s name—but all he can do is focus on Damian’s mouth, his hands, and the jolts of pleasure shooting down his spine, coinciding with each clench of his cunt. He practically thrashes, hips bucking, feeling his cunt gush around Damian’s fingers. 

His toes curl when Damian fingerfucks him through it, sopping wet pussy squelching with every thrust, and Tim sobs when the intensity of his orgasm only increases, shaking apart beneath Damian’s tongue and losing himself.

After a while, Tim drifts back into awareness. His inner thighs are wet, as are the sheets beneath him, and he’s still trembling. He’s also very thirsty. There’s also a warm weight on his stomach, and when Tim looks down, he sees Damian resting his head there, face turned away from Tim.

Slowly, he reaches out to pet Damian’s hair.

And like a neglected cat, Damian stiffens very briefly before he melts, pushing up against Tim’s hand. He still doesn’t show his face, but that’s okay.

“Do you—” Tim tries, voice breaking immediately. He coughs, clears his throat, and makes another attempt. “Do you want me to—”

Damian shakes his head.

“Oh. Okay.”

“I already—” Damian’s voice sounds rough, with an edge of something thick, and Tim thinks he feels droplets of warmth on his skin. “I did. Already. When you…”

Tim flushes at the thought. He shifts his hips, grimacing over the way the sheets stick to his sweaty skin, and asks, “Are you crying?”

“No,” Damian says, but Tim feels another drop of warmth on his stomach.

He doesn’t mention it.

“Is it always like that?” Tim asks next, trying to ignore the curl of discomfort. He really doesn’t know how to handle a crying Damian. “That felt… a lot more intense than the time we…” He stops, blinking up at the ceiling. “Um. Yeah.”

“What did you think happened?”

“I thought—” Tim suddenly wants to hide, embarrassed. “It felt like I pissed myself, Damian.”

Damian chuckles, and then he’s moving away from Tim’s touch, face settling between Tim’s legs yet again. “I wouldn’t have minded if you did,” he says, lifting his head. There’s no sign of his tears, but Tim’s not really paying attention, breath hitching when Damian thumbs over his clit, making him twitch. “I made you squirt.”

“Oh.” Tim will have to look into it afterward because he’s far too interested in something else right now. “Are you going to fuck me?”

“Hm.” Damian sits up, and Tim sees the wet spot on his pants before he shoves them down to pull out his partially soft cock. A small dribble of cum leaks out from the tip, and Tim swallows, imagining it going down his throat. He inhales sharply when Damian rubs it over his entrance, clenching around nothing after it bumps his clit. “Yes.”

It’s nothing like the night of the sex pollen incident.

Tim can feel the way his pussy stretches around Damian’s cock, and his mouth drops open at the sensation, a low moan escaping when it rubs against his inner walls in the best way.

He’s lightheaded and dizzy, and Tim quickly clutches Damian’s shoulders, digging his nails into flesh when Damian just keeps fucking going deeper and deeper, until finally, their hips meet. Tim pants, hips jumping whenever Damian twitches inside him.

“Jesus,” Tim says, turning his face away and shutting his eyes. He tries not to tense when Damian brushes a hand over one hip before gripping it tightly. “I didn’t realize it’d be so big.”

He looks back at the sound of Damian’s groan, feeling a trickle of heat, and something like anticipation, when he catches Damian’s dark-eyed stare. Tim suddenly feels as though he’s about to be devoured, and he finds the thought more pleasing than he expected.

A part of Tim expects it to go as fast as it did when he was dosed with sex pollen, but when Damian finally moves, fully hard now, it makes every part of Tim’s body light up in pleasure. He tosses his head back, toes curling, and gasps Damian’s name, feeling the man’s grip tighten on his hip. The other hand joins, and Tim feels like he’s being dragged on and off Damian’s cock by his strength alone, and all he can do is meet his thrusts, clenching around him just to hear the hitch of his breath.

Tim could easily lose himself in the feeling of Damian fucking him. The sensation of their bodies sliding together, hot and tangled, makes Tim forget where they begin and end.

Damian doesn’t go fast or hard like the night of the pollen. Sometimes, he does snap his hips forward harshly, making Tim gasp loudly, and wildly, clutching him close, but otherwise, he keeps a steady rhythm and pace. 

His stomach flutters as the heat in his gut coils tightly. Tim tightens around Damian to trap the feeling, to trap him, and the movement of Damian’s hips stutters and stops for a second. He nearly complains, but then Damian starts grinding against him, so Tim ends up releasing an embarrassing squeaky moan.

(He tries really hard not to think about the fact that it’s… oddly nice. Romantic, maybe, if Tim ignores the way Damian grips his hips so tightly at times that there’s barely any wiggle room, or how they aren’t lovers at all.

Tim tries to entice him to go faster, even asks him, but Damian just shushes him.)

Damian’s hands slide from his hips to Tim’s lower back, and then he’s being lifted above the bed, and it feels like Damian goes deeper. The angle also brings forth new sparks of pleasure, and all Tim can do is cling to Damian with one hand, shoving a hand between them when everything starts becoming too much.

The feeling of Damian’s thick cock deep inside him makes his toes curl, and the way it slides in and out, sometimes lingering, like his pussy doesn’t want to let it go, only pushes him closer and closer to the edge. Tim peeks down again, and fuck, the small bump on his stomach looks so obscene, especially when it moves with Damian’s every thrust.

His fingers slip over the slick from his cunt, and he accidentally feels his stretched-out pussy. Tim moans, shutting his eyes, rocking his hips to meet Damian as he chases the feeling of tight pleasure. His gut clenches along with his pussy, and then Damian’s kissing him, and Tim’s gone.

It’s not as strong as his previous orgasm, but Tim still shakes and whimpers through it, only growing louder when Damian shoves himself in as deep as possible, a hot flood of warmth following.

He lies there panting, sticky and sore in many places, after Damian sort of… curls into him, head resting on Tim’s chest. Again, Tim lifts a hand to pet Damian’s hair, and there’s no pause this time. Damian pushes into it, forcing a soft sound out of Tim when he shifts, causing Tim’s oversensitive cunt to twitch.

After a while, the sweat on his body, and the drying mess on his thighs, start to feel uncomfortable.

“You can stay, if you want,” Tim mumbles, and tries to push himself up. “But I’m not sleeping on this mess.”

“Go shower,” Damian says and moves some of Tim’s hair away from his face. “I’ll clean up and reheat your food.”

“ Our food,” Tim corrects, hissing when Damian pulls out of him. He peers between his legs, watching as cum slowly dribbles out of his worn cunt. It’s… a lot, and while Tim’s fingers twitch with the need to push it back inside, he fights the urge and instead slowly moves past Damian. “I’m not gonna send you home after… that. ”

He stands and takes a step… and then his knees buckle. Tim probably would have fallen on the floor if it wasn’t for Damian’s arms wrapping around him, holding him up.

“How about we both shower?” Damian says, sounding amused. “It looks like you can’t walk.”

Tim punches his abdomen. “Shut up,” he grumbles. “Alright, fine. Let’s go fucking shower.”

❦ ❦

They end up fucking in the shower, too.

❦ ❦

Things go back to normal.

Damian keeps trying to integrate himself into Tim’s life as he did before, but Tim can’t muster up any of his old anger or annoyance. He even allows the other man into his space, rarely shaking off the hand Damian places on his shoulder when he leans in to check his injuries. 

(Tim sometimes has to hold his breath, letting the burn of his lungs combat the urge to jump Damian’s bones, but that’s life after having Damian’s cock in him.)

Sometimes, Tim even works with Damian on a case by either helping him connect a few pieces or tagging along to apprehend a suspect to shake down for information. 

These moments teeter dangerously close to the peace Tim has been craving, unhelped by the flashes of desire Tim sometimes gets when he watches the older man speak, eyes fixed on the way his mouth moves, how his tongue occasionally darts out when he’s concentrating particularly hard on something.

The bruises on his hips and thighs fade with time, and soon, Tim is only left with the memory of what they did, and he learns to live with it.

He wonders if Damian is doing the same.

❦ ❦

The bright lights of the Cave greet him.

Tim groans, shielding his eyes and squeezing them shut. He waits for the black spots to disappear before daring to look around again, squinting when his blurry vision makes everything tilt from side to side. He focuses on the dark lump beside him, blinking rapidly until it takes shape, revealing…

“Damian?” he says and falls into a coughing fit, throat suddenly feeling itchy.

Immediately, there’s a bottle of water touching his lips. Tim doesn’t even try to fight the way Damian helps him drink. He knows he won’t be able to do anything with his shaking hands.

“Thanks,” he rasps, feeling water drip down his chin. “What—”

“Fear toxin,” Damian says. “A new strain.”

“Oh.” Tim rubs his eyes. “No wonder I feel like shit. How long was I out?”

“A couple of days. We…” Damian releases a shaky breath. “We had to sedate you so we could find an antidote.”

Tim lowers his hand and blinks at the man, making note of his disheveled hair and the bags beneath his eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

The chuckle Damian releases is nothing short of hollow, and it’s cut off only seconds later. Silence fills the small area, and Tim continues to watch Damian’s face, body occasionally twitching or trembling—after-effects of the toxin, he knows.

“You were calling for me,” Damian finally says hoarsely. “Screaming, actually.”

“Oh.” Tim stares at the ceiling. “I was—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“—remembering my death,” he continues, completely ignoring Damian’s hurried protests. “All the torture leading up to it… The beatings weren’t so bad, you know, but the electricity—god, I wanted anything but the fucking—yeah.”

Tim doesn’t know why he’s even talking so much, especially about a subject as taboo as Damian’s life in the League. Maybe it’s the fear toxin that’s loosening his lips.

(Maybe it’s the vulnerability of the setting—the way Damian looks at him, eyes red-rimmed and face wan, like he really did spend all of his time at Tim’s side, waiting for him to wake up.)

“You had burn marks on your forehead,” Damian eventually says.

“From the probes, yup.” Tim swallows, feeling another itch in the back of his throat. “I called for you, Damian. That’s why I was screaming your name—I did it back then, too.”

“I thought I heard you, once,” Damian says, and when Tim dares to glance at him, he sees the agony on his face, plain and true. “It woke me from the drugged sleep Pennyworth forced upon me, and I went out searching, following Father’s trail, and then—”

“You were there?” Tim whispers, astonished.

“I was too late,” Damian says, sounding guilty. “When I reached your location, I heard the first gunshot, and by the time I got there, I saw the second. You were gone when I reached your body.”

“I never knew,” Tim says quietly.

“No one did.” Damian looks away, but it’s not long before his gaze returns, almost as if he’s afraid to lose sight of Tim. “Everyone assumed, afterward, I was fine, that I didn’t care, but it wasn't true. I only seemed okay because I saw you.”

“Saw… me?” Tim parrots, confused.

“Every second, every minute, and every day,” Damian replies. “You were in my dreams and nightmares, and followed me wherever I went.” He places a hand over his chest, and his eyes go distant. It’s… worrying. “When you were with me, it never hurt. I could almost forget.”

“But it wasn’t me,” Tim says, trying to be gentle. He reaches out, arm shaking from the remnants of the toxin, and takes Damian’s hand. “Not really.

Damian blinks, looking more present. “I know,” he says, flipping Tim’s hand. Tim watches as he leans down to rest his lips on Tim’s wrist, right above his pulse. The chaste touch makes him shiver, moreso when Damian’s lips part, the brief swipe of his tongue causing a spark of heat to settle in his stomach. “But sometimes, it was easier to believe.”

“I’m here now,” Tim whispers.

“It’s even easier to forget,” Damian replies. He lifts his head, eyes glassy yet again. “Is this real?”

“Real,” Tim assures. He glances around the Cave before leaning over to kiss the corner of Damian’s mouth, lingering. “I’m real.”

Damian’s palm slides over the back of his neck, and Tim lets the man guide him into a real kiss.

It’s slightly awkward with his position, and his sore body twinges in various places, but it’s perfect enough to warm the rest of his cold body. He tugs Damian closer, and soon, the bed is creaking beneath them as Damian settles above him, smelling of sweat and coconut.

“I’m here,” Tim whispers when they’re partially undressed, gasping as Damian finally slides inside. He’s not that wet, but the burn keeps him present—and it doesn’t really matter, not when Damian needs him now more than ever. “I’m not going anywhere, Damian.”

Damian’s breath hitches, and he doesn’t hesitate. He fucks Tim with short snaps of his hips, causing the bed to rattle and sway. Tim occasionally meets his thrusts, but lets Damian do a majority of the work, body still tired from the toxin. He keeps his eyes fixed on Damian’s face, even when Damian shoves a hand between them to rub Tim’s clit.

(He says nothing when Damian silently cries, thumbing away the tears before dragging him down for a kiss.)

❦ ❦

Damian keeps whispering something, and Tim’s sleepy, orgasm-muddled mind struggles to pay attention. It’s in another language, one Tim recognizes. League dialect, and he’s saying—

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Shut up,” Tim mumbles, blindly swatting him. “S’okay, dummy. Not your fault.”

Damian laughs. It’s the saddest one he’s ever heard. “I should have been there for you,” he says quietly. “Faster. Stronger. I… should have treated you better, too. You didn’t deserve everything I said to you.”

“I didn’t,” Tim says simply, and drops his head onto Damian’s chest, trying to soak up the other man’s warmth. “But I forgive you.”

He can feel the way Damian’s breath hitches, his body shaking. Tim knows, without looking, that Damian’s probably giving him a look of wonder, which often appears whenever Tim lets him do something affectionate or oddly domestic.

(It makes Tim feel a lot of things he doesn’t want to confront.)

“Stop talking,” Tim says, shutting his eyes. “Sleep.”

“… Here?”

“I won’t have nightmares if you’re here,” Tim admits, twitching when he feels Damian’s arm wrap around his waist. “Don’t be so smug.”

“I’m not,” Damian says, and there’s that stupid smug note in his voice. Tim struggles to contain a smile, glad they’re past the guilt. “I’m glad I can help.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tim pauses. “Don’t let Dick see me like this.”

“Jason has been keeping him upstairs. He’s good at it.”

“Hm.”

“They’re good for each other. And this is coming from me.”

“Well,” Tim says. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” He pauses, thinking. Heat crawls up to his cheeks, and he prays his blush doesn’t show when he says, “This is the last time, alright? It can’t happen again.”

“Okay,” Damian says, voice even. Tim wishes he wasn’t too tired to look at his face, to try and see what Damian’s really feeling. “Whatever you say.”

❦ ❦

It happens again.

And again, and again, and again.

They keep seeking each other out in between patrols, and they steal random moments in the Cave when Tim dares to visit, still feeling out of place even in the space littered with his things, the very same spot where Damian bites his neck as he shoves himself deep into Tim’s cunt, his large hand pressing down on Tim’s mouth to muffle his shout.

“Shh,” Damian whispers in his ear, grinding so deep into Tim he thinks his stupidly amazing cock might be rearranging every single part of him. “Someone will hear.”

Damian removes his hand, and Tim’s next moan only echoes for a second before Damian kisses him heatedly. He whines when Damian pulls out all the way, and then drags his nails up Damian’s back when the other man slams back into him, creating a punishing pace that makes the workbench shake precariously beneath them.

Objects and tools clatter noisily to the ground, but Tim doesn’t care. He pants and whines, desperate to finish this and come before someone actually does find them.

The hand returns, but this time, Damian covers his nose, too, and Tim soon finds himself clawing at Damian’s wrist, lungs burning with the effort to breathe.

But Tim doesn’t push Damian away or try to escape, and Damian keeps fucking him.

He can’t breathe, but he can hear Damian’s barely contained groans and the soft smack of hips, the slick from his pussy plopping onto the ground. Tim suddenly feels wired, buzzing with new energy, and his toes curl at a particularly harsh thrust, eyes rolling back.

Higher and higher he climbs, vision going dark at the edges, until, until—

The hand slips off his face, and Tim gasps for air as he comes, hips jerking wildly until Damian grips them with both hands, keeping him in place. He squeezes his eyes shut, back arching as he basically unravels in Damian’s arms, whimpering when he feels Damian fuck him faster. His cunt flutters and clenches around the man’s cock, the continued stimulation and aftershocks intensifying his pleasure, making his mind go blissfully blank.

Tim barely even twitches when Damian suddenly stills and groans, much deeper than before, but he does manage a pleased hum over the feeling of Damian’s cum painting his insides. It’s always so warm, so much, and he knows it’s leaking around Damian’s cock, likely dripping onto the floor as well.

He sort of… drifts, feeling fuzzy and warm. A hand brushes hair out of his eyes, and Tim means to thank the person touching him, but he doesn’t think the words come out right. That’s okay because Tim thinks he conveys his gratitude when he turns his head to kiss a scarred palm, smiling. 

“Timothy?” The voice is familiar, and when Tim dares to peek up, he sees pretty green eyes looking down at him in what seems to be amusement. It’s Damian! Of course! “Where are you right now?”

“Flying,” Tim says softly, taking one of Damian’s hands and a callus. It feels particularly rough, and he wonders where he got it and when it developed. He traces a couple of scars, thinking of the same questions. Do they all have stories, or are there so many that Damian has forgotten most of them? “You’ll catch me if I fall, right?”

“Of course,” Damian says. “Always.”

Sometimes, it even happens during patrol, and Tim usually ends up pressed against the brick wall of a dirty alleyway or shoved into the maintenance room of a building. If Damian’s particularly bold, he’ll take Tim on a rooftop, both of them partially dressed in their vigilante costumes.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” Tim hisses one night, feeling a little weak in the knees when Damian cups the back of his neck to guide him into another kiss, slipping him some tongue. It’s enough to make him throb, cunt achingly empty. “Someone will see us.”

(He’ll deny it to anyone else, but the thought thrills him.)

“Let them,” Damian replies as he easily disables all the traps on Tim’s suit just to shove a hand down Tim’s pants. “I know you like it, Shrike. I can feel it.”

“Shut up,” Tim says, embarrassed over how easily wet he gets. Sometimes, all it takes is the memory of Damian’s cock, and Tim’s squirming in his chair, wishing he had the real thing. “Shut the hell up, Nightwing.”

He still pushes his hips into Damian’s touch, feeling like he might go crazy if he doesn’t get those fingers inside him. Tim moans in relief when Damian slides his fingers inside. The initial stretch makes his cunt twinge with slight discomfort, but the pain only makes it so much better, and Tim presses his face into Damian’s shoulder, clenching around those digits.

“Is this why you changed out your gloves?” he gasps, moaning against Damian’s throat when the other man curls his fingers, rubbing them against his walls in a way that makes his knees shake. Fuck, he’s already so close to coming—when did Damian become an expert in Tim’s cunt?

“Hm.”

“Horny brute. You didn’t even know if I’d agree to this.”

“You always do,” Damian says, teasing. “You’re so needy, Shrike. I’m surprised you haven’t realized how much of a whore you are.”

Tim comes.

And even while it’s happening, Tim bites Damian’s shoulder, mentally cursing the kevlar when the other man laughs. He even manages to say, “It’s not—s-shut—you didn’t—stop, don’t—!”

His voice pitches a bit higher near the end because Damian keeps fingerfucking him through his orgasm. Actually, despite the awkward position, Damian positions his palm against Tim’s clit while his fingers remain inside, and Tim doesn’t know whether he wants to get away from the sensation of the glove rubbing against him or toward it.

“No, Da-Nightwing, don’t,” Tim chokes out, eyes stinging. Of course, Damian doesn’t stop, not even when Tim tries to shove him away, and definitely not when Tim’s orgasm surges through him again, making him gush around those fingers as he humps Damian’s hand.

“You’re terrible,” he complains after collapsing against Damian, twitching when Damian curls his fingers once before pulling them out.

“And you should return the favor,” Damian shoots back. He starts moving around, and Tim just knows he’s pulling out his cock. Horny brute indeed. “My wrist hurts.”

“If you have a cramp in your wrist, I have no sympathy,” Tim says, shutting his eyes. Still, he wraps a hand around Damian’s cock and starts stroking it, lips twitching when Damian hisses. “This will have to do.”

“Spit on it,” Damian commands, and his hand slides over the back of his neck, squeezing so tight that it makes Tim’s head go a little hazy. “Get it wet for me.”

Tim leans back, wishing Damian’s mask was off so he could look into the man’s eyes and get a better read of his emotions. His other hand twitches at the thought, but instead of following through, Tim slowly leans down, never looking away, and gathers enough saliva in his mouth. Then, he spits a huge glob of it onto Damian’s cock.

He catches the way Damian’s face darkens, the way his breathing picks up. Tim uses the spit as a lubricant for Damian’s cock, drifting back into his space to press an open-mouthed kiss against the man’s jaw.

“See?” Tim whispers. “I listen better than you.”

“False,” Damian says with a distinct hitch to his voice. “You only listen when you’re all stupid and sweet, usually after you come.”

Tim grips him tighter, but it just makes Damian groan nice and low right into Tim’s ear, and Tim’s fucking cunt twitches because it sounds too good to ignore. He keeps stroking Damian’s cock, the glide made easier as the man keeps leaking all over his glove, until eventually, he comes all over the fabric with a shuddering breath, still holding onto the back of Tim’s neck.

“Clean it up,” Damian orders.

And maybe Tim is stupid and sweet, because he dutifully obeys, licking Damian’s cum off his glove while Damian watches.

When they’re in the Cave, later, Tim happens to glance over at Damian… and he can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks when he sees that Damian has his middle and ring finger beneath his nose. This close, Tim can also see his nostrils flaring, likely smelling the remnants of Tim’s come.

Tim pretends he doesn’t do the same when he peels off his suit.

(And then there are moments Tim refuses to let himself think about: opening the door for Damian and granting the man entry into his home, accepting whatever food offering he brings, and sharing the meal with him on Tim’s ratty couch, all while the TV plays reruns of stupid sitcom Tim secretly enjoys.

Damian sometimes asks questions about the plot or character, and even though Tim often wonders if he’s faking interest, he still spills every single detail he can fish out of his mind, the rest of his tension leaving him as he rambles.

They usually end up horizontal by the end of it, kissing until Tim’s lungs feel like they might burst. Even then, he allows it to continue, greatly enjoying the feeling of it, the way Damian’s tongue slides over his own, the way spit connects their lips when Damian finally pulls away like their bodies don’t want to let the other go.

Tim craves Damian at the most random moments. Not just his cock, no—Tim often finds himself looking to his side whenever he’s in his apartment, expecting a conversation or a judgemental comment, and ends up feeling disappointed when he’s completely alone.

It’d probably invade his every thought if Tim didn’t do the smart thing and lock it all away in a box, never to be touched again.)

❦ ❦

“Hey, Tim?”

“Hm?”

“Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!”

Tim lifts his head to stare at his kid brother, who hangs upside down on the pull-up bar in the Batcave, swaying very gently. “What’s up?” he says, tracing the last of Damian’s writing in the margins before closing his book and carefully placing it on the Batcomputer.

It’s a book Damian left at his place. Tim brought it to pass over to the man, but apparently, Damian’s out discussing something with Jon Kent, so Tim kept the book on him while Dick easily wheedled him into taking the kid down to the Cave to let him train on the gymnastics equipment Bruce added for him.

“I think it’s cool that you and Dami are getting along better,” Dick says, smiling brightly. “Mostly ‘cause I like that it makes you come around more. This place is boring without you.”

“Didn’t you break a chandelier the other day?” Tim wonders.

“Yeah! But you weren’t there, so it was less fun!”

“And didn’t you tell Damian you hated him?” Tim would know, considering the man broke into his apartment the other night, deeply distraught about Dick’s words, and Tim had to suck him off to get him to calm down and talk.

“Only ‘cause he’s taking up all your time!” Dick scowls. It reminds him too much of an angry kitten, and Tim bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t smile. “What do you guys even talk about when he takes you to his room? You guys are always in there forever…”

“We don’t talk,” Tim says, and immediately regrets it when it makes Dick’s expression shift to curiosity.

“What?” Dick asks, grabbing onto the bar. He flips himself around until he’s gracefully balanced on top of it. “What do you guys do, then?”

“It’s not important,” Tim says quickly and leans forward. “Tell me about school. How’s that going?”

“Also boring,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. His face brightens only seconds later. “But Jay sometimes comes over to have lunch with me, and that’s always fun! He saves his cookies for me!”

“Doesn’t Alfred already pack you cookies?” Tim says, arching a brow when Dick looks away. “Are you tricking Jason into giving you extra treats?”

“Noo…” Dick says slowly in a way that tells Tim he’s lying. “Anyways, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you think the Batmobile looks like some sort of big cat?” Dick asks, pointing to the vehicle in question.

Tim considers it. “What, like a puma?” he says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Dick smiles so brightly that Tim considers shielding his eyes. “ Jason says it looks more like a warthog, but I told him it doesn’t even have any tusks!” He sighs, flipping off the bar (giving Tim a mini heart attack in the process) and running over to flop across his lap. “I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says wryly, tucking some of Dick’s hair behind his ears. He remembers watching Mary Grayson do the same thing, and he likes to sprinkle in some actions from Dick’s mother and father just to ease some of his heartache. “Sorry, Dickie. I’ll try to spend more time with you instead of Damian.”

“Maybe we can all hang out together, ” Dick says, looking hopeful. “And with Jay, too! But not Bruce. He’s too stinky.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Tim smiles at his little brother, and Dick immediately smiles back. “Sure, little robin. We’ll figure something out.”

❦ ❦

Tim lands on the rooftop below and does a little roll to disperse some of the force on his body, immediately picking himself up to continue. 

He spies a flash of blue above him and pulls out his grapple, firing it toward the taller building and pulling himself up. Tim flips onto the next roof, eyes fixed on his target. Typically, Tim would have lost him by now, but he’s disoriented, and probably already forgot about his predicament.

“Nightwing!” Tim calls out, only a little bit panicked. “Come with me, Nightwing! Let me help you!”

Damian stumbles to a stop before turning toward him. Tim thinks he sees Damian’s lips move, but he pays it no mind as he rushes to where Damian stands, looking him all over to make sure there’s nothing on him. When he sees nothing, Tim slowly reaches out to grab Damian’s elbow.

“Nightwing,” he says, shaking him slightly when he doesn’t move or respond. “Hey, Nightwing? Are you okay?” Still nothing. Tim steps closer to him and says, quietly, “Damian?”

Damian starts and visibly swallows. “Names,” he says, sounding rather hoarse.

Tim rolls his eyes. He bites the tip of the glove on his free hand and pulls it off, pressing the back of it to Damian’s cheek and ignoring how he shudders. “You’re burning up,” he says worriedly. “What did Ivy hit you with?”

“The same thing you had almost a month ago,” Damian answers.

Tim frowns before moving closer to the man, wrapping an arm around his waist. He feels the way Damian tenses, briefly, before he slowly relaxes.

“I won’t take you to the Cave,” Tim says as he leads them to the nearby stairwell. He ignores how concerned he feels over the heat Damian exudes. “There’s an antidote at my place, and we’re just a block away. You’ll be fine.”

Damian chuckles. “As long as you lock me in a room after the dose, you can take me anywhere,” he says, and the raspy quality of his voice makes Tim feel a lot of things that are a bit inappropriate for the situation. “I can handle it myself.”

Tim says nothing as he walks them toward his apartment. Thankfully, they encounter no Bat or criminal, so it’s easy for Tim to sneak Damian into his secret elevator. It was a bitch to install, but definitely worth it.

“I could…” Tim jabs the button to his floor, cheeks burning, and he doesn’t look at Damian when he wets his lip and says, “I could help you.”

“… I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You helped me, Damian,” Tim replies. “And I’m offering, so let me do this for you, okay?”

The elevator stops and dings, and Tim drags Damian into the apartment when the doors open. He helps him into the chair and quickly grabs the antidote from his minifridge by the computer, ready and waiting for such times. Tim offers it to Damian, who does nothing for a long moment, gazing up at Tim with dark eyes.

“You’ll help me,” he says.

“Yes,” Tim says, swallowing. “If you want.”

“I want.” Damian takes the antidote from him, dragging his fingertips over Tim’s palm. “I want to eat you out.”

Tim makes a weird, squeaky sound, watching as Damian jabs his thigh, releasing the antidote into his system. The syringe clatters to the ground when Damian suddenly stands, looming over Tim. The room suddenly feels hot, and Tim struggles to hold his gaze, cunt throbbing with sudden need.

Damian’s hand slides over his arm, his elbow, before going to his waist. He expertly removes Tim’s belt, and soon, the bottom half of Tim’s suit is on the floor, Tim watches with wide eyes as Damian sinks down with it, staring at Tim with blown pupils.

“Please,” Damian says and leans forward to bite one of Tim’s thighs, making his breath hitch. “Let me taste you again, Timothy.” Damian toys with the little bow on his underwear, and Tim shivers when his fingers get too close to where he’s already soaking wet. “Please.”

“Okay,” Tim whispers. “Okay.”

❦ ❦

“ Ah, Damian…”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head, digging his nails into the headboard as he rocks his hips against Damian’s mouth. His thighs are trembling, and cunt already feels sore, but he doesn’t even think about trying to move away from the other man for a break, and not just because of the ironclad hold he has on Tim’s legs.

He suddenly stiffens and shudders when Damian starts sucking on his clit again, feeling the ever-familiar gush of his orgasm. His walls flutter weakly, and he whimpers when he feels Damian lapping it all up before shoving his tongue back inside Tim, prolonging Tim’s orgasm and making his hips twitch wildly.

“Y-You’re gonna—” suffocate, Tim wants to say, but instead he’s dropping a hand to slide his fingers into Damian’s hair, tugging on it harshly when he doesn’t stop.

Damian continues to lap at Tim’s pussy, not at all concerned for his own pleasure as he seems entirely focused on Tim.

Damian has already made him come three times so far, and Tim’s slowly creeping up on his fourth. He rides Damian’s face as he chases that unfurling heat, releasing Damian’s hair to grip the headboard again, a litany of, “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” spilling from his lips when Damian drags his tongue over Tim’s clit.

He makes no sound when he comes again—eyes squeezed shut and mouth open, body twitching and trembling all over. His pussy clenches around nothing, pulsing in time with every wave of his orgasm.

Tim wants to collapse in on himself. He wants to fall into bed, and onto the sheets, and just exist for a while, live in the pleasure Damian has bestowed upon him, but he doesn’t do any of that, not when Damian breaks away, takes a deep breath, and goes back to eating Tim out.

“Wait,” Tim says, breathing hard. “I need to—let me turn around.”

Damian pauses, tongue inside Tim’s pussy, before he helps Tim turn around, which is great because Tim’s shaking all over, and his knees twinge when they dig into the bed again.

Finally, instead of staring at the wall, Tim gets to see all of his room and the rest of Damian as well. He starts when Damian suddenly squeezes his ass, squeaks when Damian spreads him open, and goes back to eating him out like he’s fucking starving for Tim.

He wants to lose himself in the feeling, but he’s transfixed by the pool of white on Damian’s stomach, more slowly dripping from his cock and adding to it. 

“Did you—” Tim cuts himself off, swallowing hard. He doesn’t need to hear the answer from Damian, not when the evidence is right in front of him.

His mouth waters and Tim suddenly finds himself leaning down to drag his tongue over the mess, swallowing it with a pleased moan. He then turns his head slightly to press a kiss against the base of Damian’s cock, feeling it twitch against his head, feeling warmth dribble onto his head. 

Tim continues the path up to his cockhead, dragging his tongue across it, and Damian thrusts upward, the tongue on his cunt stilling before disappearing entirely.

“Be—” Damian starts to say, but then Tim takes Damian’s cock in his mouth, and whatever he’s about to say gets lost in his strangled moan.

Tim moans, too, and that makes Damian’s hips twitch again. He bobs his head, mostly focusing on the tip, and Tim even toys with the slit before moving back down to Damian’s stomach to clean the rest of the cum off him.

Finally, when nearly all the cum is gone, Tim kisses and bites Damian’s hips, feeling the way they jump each time. Damian falters from where he’s at, which pulls some of the heat in Tim’s core back and allows him to return the favor.

He kisses his way up Damian’s cock, occasionally pausing to drag his tongue across it, the way Damian does to his pussy. When Tim reaches the top, he doesn’t hesitate and takes half of it into his mouth, nearly choking when Damian fucks upward with what sounds like a cut-off whine, and then—

Tim lifts his head immediately, coughing, cum dripping off his lips while some lands on his cheek, just beneath his eye. He quickly gets himself together and guides Damian’s cock to his mouth again, letting the man cum on his tongue.

“Will you—” Damian starts saying, voice rough. “Look at me, Timothy. I want to see—”

He turns as much as he can, one of Damian’s hands falling off his ass just so Tim can meet the man’s gaze. Tim wonders how he looks with cum on his face and clinging to his lip, red-faced and panting.

Damian looks stunned, but it quickly fades into a hunger that looks so familiar and inviting to Tim. Then, Tim gets yanked back, and Damian’s mouth is back on his cunt. He eats him out with what feels like a frenzied fervor, flitting between lapping at Tim’s pussy and flicking his tongue in and out of it, occasionally swiping over Tim’s sensitive clit.

Tim wrestles with his desire to press his face into Damian’s thigh so he can pant and whine. He wraps a hand around the base of Damian’s cock and wraps his lips around the tip, sucking on it a few times just to feel Damian stop, hearing the stutter of his breath, before sinking down slowly, eyes fluttering shut when the taste of Damian coats his tongue.

He moans, and Damian’s cock slides in deeper when the man bucks his hips. 

His mind starts to go a bit hazy as he keeps his mouth full of Damian, and every noise he makes becomes muffled as the other man goes back to playing with his pussy. Tim releases a particularly loud one when Damian keeps flicking his tongue against Tim’s clit, and very nearly chokes when Damian shoves himself in deep enough to make Tim feel like he can’t breathe.

(And he likes it.)

Soon, Tim has to pull off him, digging his nails into Damian’s thighs when he practically mouths at Tim’s cunt, making his own sounds that cause Tim to buzz with renewed arousal. He whines, squeezing his eyes shut when Damian slides the tip of his tongue against one side of his clit, firm, and—

There’s a familiar pressure in his gut, and Tim curls forward, rocking back against Damian’s tongue, his mouth, chasing the feeling. “Please,” he gasps. “Yes, yes, yes, please! Damian, please! There! Yes!”

Damian pulls his mouth off Tim, and Tim almost cries, but it’s quick and brief, enough for Damian to slur out, “Let go. I’ve got you. Let go.” before he dives right back in, and all it takes is a few more licks.

Tim makes no sound when he squirts, clutching Damian’s thigh with one hand while the other nearly tears the sheets, body tense and rigid as he gushes. He’d probably tip over if it wasn’t for the way Damian holds him in place, still stimulating his clit while he comes and comes, cunt pulsating in time with every jerk of Tim’s body.

And maybe Damian’s kind enough to realize he’s too far gone, because Tim’s suddenly on his back, hazily staring up at the ceiling while he continues to twitch and shake. He does nothing when Damian moves until he’s kneeling above Tim’s chest, one wet hand stroking his cock and staring down at Tim with dark eyes, mouth, and chin, all wet and shiny.

“Open,” he demands, and Tim’s tongue lolls out when he opens his mouth, waiting.

One pump, two, and Damian groans so deeply when he comes.

Most of it lands on his tongue, but Tim can also feel it getting on his cheeks, his chest, and even across one eye. He shuts it in time, thankfully, and when Damian finally finishes, Tim can feel a gentle hand wipe away the mess before cupping his face, a thumb stroking his cheek.

“Do you,” Tim mumbles, keeping his eyes closed. “feel better?”

He hears Damian chuckle. “Shut up,” Damian says, and Tim doesn’t miss how fond he sounds.

❦ ❦

Tim darts forward, launching himself off the table to wrap his thighs around the goon, swinging his body to pull him down. He grabs the gun and uses the butt of it to knock the guy out, releasing the magazine and tossing it to the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you use that move on me when we spar? You’d probably win.”

He whirls around, adrenaline spiking, only to stop and smile when he spies Damian standing in the doorway, katana held loosely in his hand. “Because then I’d lose the upper hand,” he says, dumping the empty gun on the table. “I can’t pull out all my tricks when we spar, Nightwing. You’ll learn all my moves and use them against me.”

“True,” Damian says because he’s a smug little shit. “But maybe I’d let you beat me just once, if only to feel your thighs around my neck.”

Tim rolls his eyes. He’s about to respond but stops when he sees a glint in the distance outside the closest window. Tim steps closer toward it, and then—

“SHRIKE!”

Someone grabs his body and yanks it behind their muscled figure. Tim’s head spins at the movement, but he does have a moment where he stares up at Damian, stunned and confused, right before the man lurches forward, blood splattering across the front of Tim’s suit.

He catches Damian’s falling body out of instinct, eyes wide. Panic surges forward, and all Tim can do is scream.

❦ ❦

“You really should get some rest, Master Tim.”

“I’m fine where I am, Alfie,” Tim says, barely glancing at the man. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll get much sleep anyway. You know how my mind works.”

“Ah, yes,” Alfred says dryly. “Insomnia. The most terrible curse to be bestowed upon this family.” Tim hears the click of porcelain, and he can see from his peripheral that Alfred set down a tray of tea beside Tim. “Try not to lecture him too much, Master Tim. As angry as you may be, please remember he was trying to protect you.”

“What if it had cost him his life?” Tim says fiercely, blinking away tears. “Alfred, I can’t—” He stops, biting his inner cheek.

“Can’t what, Master Tim?”

Tim doesn’t answer.

Damian suddenly shifts, and Tim refocuses on the stupid man lying before him. He scoots his chair closer, grabbing one of Damian’s hands. He nearly misses Alfred’s departure, but the click of the door lets him know that they’re alone.

He watches as Damian’s eyes flutter a few times before opening completely. Tim catches the furrow of his brow and waits for the man to glance his way. When he does, Damian opens his mouth, and Tim speaks quickly, saying, “I had you moved to your room. The bullet didn’t hit you anywhere serious, and it was coated in some unknown substance. We think it might have been a tranquilizer.”

“Ah,” Damian says, voice raspy. “The League?”

“Probably,” Tim says.

“Hm.” Damian keeps staring at him. “Are you okay?”

“Am I—” Tim laughs hysterically. “Damian, what the fuck.”

“What?”

Tim takes a moment to gather himself together, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You big idiot,” he says, ducking his head. He clutches Damian’s hand tightly, staring at him, memorizing every line of his face. “I need you to stop doing this shit, okay? It’s stressing me out.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Damian says. There are shadows beneath his eyes, but he still gazes up at Tim warmly, like he’s so goddamn happy to have him there. “If I hadn’t moved you out of the way, the bullet would have fatally wounded you. I didn’t have to think about it.”

“And, what? Your life is so much more expendable?” Tim scoffs, but he can’t hide the way his lip wobbles. “Damian, you bled so much… I almost thought—”

“I know,” Damian says, and he brushes two fingers over Tim’s cheek. “But I didn’t. I’m here.”

Tim sniffles. “Is this real?” he whispers.

“Real,” Damian promises.

He stares at Damian for a long moment before standing. Tim shoves his pants and underwear down before climbing on the bed and sliding onto Damian’s lap with ease, leaning down to kiss him, shivering when Damian cups the back of his neck.

“You can,” Damian says against his lips. “Whatever you want, Timothy. You can take it.”

Tim ends up riding him hard and fast, and Damian just… lets him, stroking Tim’s thighs and occasionally squeezing his hips like he’s encouraging Tim, all while he stares up at Tim in a way that makes Tim feel as though someone pried open his chest, allowing a devout follower to gaze upon the inner workings of their precious deity.

“Fuck,” Tim says, voice breaking when he comes. He curls over this stupid, stupid man, tears leaking from his eyes. They fall onto Damian’s chest, and Tim releases a shaky breath when the other man curls a hand around his neck, squeezing.

“Are you crying?” Damian asks.

“No,” Tim lies, moaning when he rolls his hips to cover up his sob.

Instead of ignoring it, like Tim often does when Damian cries, Damian surges up, his pained groan becoming muffled when he presses his lips to Tim’s throat. Tim’s hand flies to Damian’s bandaged wound, hovering, but then Damian drags a broken gasp out of him when he tightly grips Tim’s hair and pulls his head back, biting down.

“Don’t fret,” Damian says, voice soft. “Don’t cry.

“I’m not,” Tim retorts, hiccupping. “S-Shut up.”

“It’s okay, be—Timothy.” He leans up to kiss Tim’s cheek and then licks his tears away. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

❦ ❦

(Afterwards, when they’re lying half-dressed beneath the covers, and Damian’s asleep with his arm curled around Tim’s shoulder, Alfred stops by with more tea.

Tim tugs the sheets up higher, cheeks warm, but Alfred merely smiles and replaces the old tray with a new one. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, but when he opens his mouth to apologize, or maybe make excuses, Alfred merely holds up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’ve learned many things during my time as Master Bruce’s caretaker,” he says. “And the first rule I’ve implemented into my life is to never ask questions, no matter what I see.” Here, Alfred pauses. “But might I say that you two do an excellent job of caring for one another.”

Tim blinks, and Alfred’s gone before Tim can say another word, the door closing soundlessly behind him.

He glances at Damian, who still slumbers in, and also locks that moment away, burying it in the deep recesses of his mind before resting his head on Damian’s chest, letting the sound of his heart lull him right to sleep.)

❦ ❦

Tim’s sitting on a bench in the Cave, working on some gear, when Damian approaches.

The other man sits beside Tim, brows furrowed as he reads the file in his hand. Their shoulders bump, briefly, and Tim’s lips twitch before he returns to his work. After a while, something colorful enters his vision, and Tim looks up to see Damian holding out an object wrapped in dark green tissue paper.

“Here,” Damian says absently. “You can have it.”

Tim blinks, confused, but accepts it nonetheless. He sets his tools aside and slowly peeks back the paper to reveal a leather sheath. His fingers brush over something hard, and Tim opens it, soon pulling out a beautiful knife with a handle made of bone, intricate designs carved into it. The blade itself looks sharp, and deadly, and when he lays it flat on his palm, he can tell it’s perfectly balanced.

“It’s mine,” Damian explains, and when Tim glances his way again, he sees the man staring right at him. “I have no more use for it, and thought it should go to someone who’d treat it well.”

“Thank you,” Tim says, and embarrassingly enough, he blushes. “It’s beautiful.”

Damian nods once and returns to his reading, leaving Tim with the impression that he might be embarrassed, too.

Tim examines the knife again, lightly dragging a fingertip over the flat edge. He even dares to tread close to the sharp edge, watching as a few beads of blood well up on the thin cut made on his index finger. Tim pulls away to prevent it from smearing across the blade, flipping it over to slide it back into the sheath.

But he pauses, catching sight of an inscription on the other side of the handle. There, in Arabic, it reads MY LIFE.

“You made this,” Tim realizes, remembering a moment between training sessions in the League where Ra’s told him about the al Ghuls crafting their own perfect weapons—using their life as an extension of themselves.

“I did,” Damian answers, shutting the file and tucking it beneath one arm. “I replaced the blade, though.” Here, Damian spreads his palms, and Tim can see a Hello Kitty bandaid wrapped around one finger, along with several nicks along his palm. “It should last a while.”

He swallows. “How long?” Tim dares to ask, meeting Damian’s gaze.

“Forever,” Damian says, leaning toward him. “If you wish.”

Tim could easily take this gifted weapon and stab it into Damian’s chest. He could peel the man open and find out what exactly makes him tick, or maybe crack open every single line of his rib so he can take a bite out of his sentimental heart, let the blood fall down his throat, and drown him

He doesn’t do it.

Instead, Tim curls his hand tighter around the knife, lowering his head to stare at the inscription again. He traces Damian’s words with a trembling finger, blinks away tears, and sighs.

“Right,” he says, placing Damian’s life on the bench and standing. “Damian, I can’t…”

Tim makes the mistake of glancing at Damian’s face, and the devastation he sees there makes him falter. Quick as ever, Damian’s face smooths out and goes blank, but not before Tim catches the glimmer in his eyes.

And so, Tim does what he does best.

He runs.

❦ ❦

It’s raining when Damian finds him.

Tim’s standing where they first fucked only a month before—where Tim lost his virginity after an encounter with Ivy’s pollen. He still distinctly remembers the want, the need, the way he trusted Damian to hold him together while he was shaking apart with every orgasm.

(He lost count after six because while Damian came inside him three separate times, he would stay buried in his cunt, soft and probably sensitive, rubbing his thumb over Tim’s clit until Tim gushed around him, tugging on Damian’s hair and whining.)

“We can’t do this anymore, Damian,” Tim says when the other man lands on the roof. The others probably wouldn’t hear him, but Tim knows him too well by now. “We never should have started in the first place.”

“Why?”

Tim turns to look at him. Damian looks a bit like a drowned rat, and Tim hates how he’s into it. “Because it’s wrong,” he answers, hands flexing at his sides.

“You can lie better than that, Timothy.”

He ducks his head. How did he let himself reach a point where Damian easily sees straight through him? “You shouldn’t want me,” Tim says quietly. “I’m not… I’m not the same person I used to be, okay?”

“I don’t want him,” Damian says, and he sounds so fucking earnest that Tim almost believes him. “I only want you.”

Tim thinks about how there’s more food in his fridge because Damian stops by with groceries, sometimes cooking a meal with plenty of leftovers to last Tim a while, and how Damian will rest his head on Tim’s lap when they’re watching a movie in Tim’s apartment, eyes shut and face content whenever Tim drags his nails across the man’s scalp, arching into it like a pleased cat.

So many moments have been shared since the initial sex pollen incident, even though it was only supposed to be the one and only time. But they continued to fuck and fuck, stealing kisses while Damian was buried so deep that Tim almost forgot they were two people. The intimacy bled into their regular life, and Tim can’t even remember a day when Damian wasn’t willing to touch him, when Tim didn’t find himself drifting closer to Damian, pulled into his orbit, too used to his presence to bother moving away.

“Stay,” Damian says softly. “Please.”

Tim swallows, eyes burning. “You’ll get tired of me,” he whispers.

“I won’t.”

“I’m too broken. You can’t fix me.”

“I don’t need to, you’re fine.”

“And I came back wrong.”

“So did I.”

“You—” Tim’s out of excuses. He sniffles. “You’ll hate me,” he says finally, voice shaking. “You will. And then you’ll leave me.”

“Never, beloved,” Damian says, in a voice so tender it makes Tim’s tears spill over. He feels like he’s slowly becoming undone, splintering from the middle. Again, it’s Damian who holds him together—cupping Tim’s face and kissing him so gently that it makes Tim tremble.

“Please,” Tim whispers, clinging to him. “ Please, Damian.”

“Don’t cry, beloved,” Damian says, and the affection curling into his voice forces a sound too close to a sob out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

Somehow, they end up in the Batmobile. It’s parked in the empty alleyway, and Tim can barely hear the rain pelting the roof above the sound of their shared panting. 

He sheds Damian’s suit and feels the man do the same for him in return, and Tim finds himself lost in Damian’s eyes when he pushes into Tim’s cunt. Tim gasps, wrapping both arms and legs around Damian as the other man snaps his hips forward, sinking in completely.

There’s a need burning inside him, but Tim doesn’t mind the pace Damian picks.

It feels… softer, somehow. Special, maybe. Neither are focused on taking or giving pleasure, both rocking together, kissing, clinging.

Tim almost misses the heat building in his gut, but when he comes, it’s with Damian’s name on his lips.

Later, much, much later, when they’re both nestled under a shock blanket in the Batmobile, Tim lifts his head when Damian kisses his bare shoulder, humming.

“I meant what I said,” Damian says. “Every word.”

Tim turns toward him, eyes caught on the scar near his lip. He closes the distance between them to kiss it, sighing happily when Damian draws him into a deeper kiss.

“What if I want to leave?” Tim eventually asks, stroking Damian’s cheek. “What then?”

“I’ll follow.”

“To another city?”

“Yes.”

“Country?”

“Yes.”

“Planet?”

“Beloved, I promise you, I’ll follow no matter where you go,” Damian says. Tim catches a glimpse of Damian’s (unexpected) boyishly sweet smile right before he brushes their nose together. “Even in death, I’ll follow.”

“Jeez,” Tim grumbles. “You’re too much, sometimes.”

“But I’m yours.” Damian cups the back of Tim’s neck, squeezing. “And you’re mine…” There’s a moment where Damian’s face flickers, showing his uncertainty. “Yes?”

“Yes, Damian,” Tim says, and he helplessly lets himself be drawn into another kiss. “Yes.”