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Damian has been acting weird lately. Well, weirder than he usually does. It kind of makes sense, though; he's newly fifteen, in his first few months on testosterone, and Dick of all people knows what that's like.
Damian was raised to know everything about his body, the same as Dick was, although for very different reasons. The changes that come with both puberty and testosterone are disorienting, to say the least. But Damian has always had so much more anger and aggression than Dick, even when Dick was at his worst. He's bottling up his emotions, as he always does, and it's visible to those who know him well that he's going to explode sooner or later. So Dick, as the mediator of most of the family's conflicts and the one Damian is most likely to open up to, needs to do damage control.
Bruce tells Dick that he's going to take Damian off patrol for a while, supposedly until his hormones level out somewhat and he can reacquaint himself with his body. Dick doesn't argue, even though Damian is going to pitch a massive fit about it, because it makes sense. Damian has been making mistakes on patrol: landing awkwardly when he grapples from one building to another, losing focus and getting hurt, and thinking illogically when he has to solve problems. That last thing is what worries Dick (and Bruce, although knowing him, he'll never admit it) the most. Damian has always been so rational and clear-minded as Robin, his split-second decisions paying off better than any of his predecessors’. Dick asks Bruce to let him tell Damian about being benched, to mitigate the damage somewhat, and Bruce agrees readily. Dick can't blame him for not wanting to deal with the nightmare that is a furious Damian Wayne.
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When asked, Alfred informs Dick that Damian is in his room. Dick hesitates outside the door, praying to whatever powers may exist that there won't be too big of a meltdown, and knocks. Damian opens it almost immediately - he must have heard Dick's footsteps. He takes one look at Dick's face and says flatly, “What bad news are you going to give me this time?”
“Can I come in, so we don't have to have this conversation in the hall?” Dick asks. Damian sighs exasperatedly, but steps away from the door. Dick enters, closes the door behind him, and follows Damian to the window seat opposite the door. Damian sits and looks at him expectantly. “Don't shoot the messenger,” Dick starts as he settles on the other end of the seat from Damian, all too familiar with his tendency to lash out at whoever was nearest when he's upset.
Damian rolls his eyes. “I know better than to think that whatever you're about to tell me was your idea. You have that look on your face that you get when Father has decided something and you have to spread the news. Just get on with it.”
Dick wants to protest that he has no such look, but he knows that he does. Several people have mentioned it to him. “Okay,” he says, and decides to bite the bullet and hope for the best. “Bruce has decided to take you off patrol for the time being.”
Damian mutters something in Arabic that's probably a curse. “Of course he has. I've become a liability.”
“Damian,” Dick starts to protest, but he's cut off as Damian continues.
“I would do the same in his place. A Robin with as much experience as myself, who makes as many mistakes as I have recently? Someone would get seriously hurt sooner or later.” He's scowling, obviously imagining all the terrible things that he thinks might have happened if he had kept on as he had been.
“You're taking this surprisingly well,” Dick ventures cautiously. He had expected a much worse reaction than this.
Damian snorts. “I know I've been making mistakes on patrol, Grayson. It was only a matter of time until Father did something about it. That doesn't mean I like it.”
That’s fair. No one hates it more when Damian makes mistakes than Damian himself. “Any idea why you've been making those mistakes?”
Silence, heavy with one of the emotional confessions Damian always struggles to make. Dick waits, and is rewarded with a quiet sentence. “I don't know what's happening to my body.”
“Oh, Dami,” Dick sighs. He had suspected it would be something like this, but Damian has to be really upset to admit what he perceives as weakness so easily. “That's normal, with the testosterone and general puberty bullshit. You knew things would change.”
“Yes, I did,” Damian bites out. “I just didn't expect to feel so…out of control. I can't focus, I'm overly emotional, I can't even sleep normally. Was it like this for you?” He looks at Dick, a plea for help in his eyes that he rarely shows.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Dick admits. “I started testosterone earlier than you did, though, so it won't be exactly the same. It's slightly different for—”
“Everyone, yes,” Damian finishes for him. “Dr Thompkins told me as much when I started.”
“Exactly,” Dick says. “So you kind of just have to wait it out.”
Damian groans. “And there's nothing I can do to make it easier?”
Dick hums, considering. “I mean, lowering your dosage might work, but I doubt you want to do that.”
“Definitely not,” Damian confirms, scrunching his nose in the way that Dick thinks is incredibly cute. “Transitioning will take long enough as is. I have no desire to draw it out any more. Is there nothing else?”
A thought suddenly occurs to Dick. He might get punched for asking, and Damian might already know…but if he does know, then why would he still be this stressed all the time? Even as uptight as he always is, there would be a little while after an orgasm that he would be somewhat relaxed, and he definitely hasn't been relaxed. “There is something,” he begins, thinking carefully about what he wants to say. “You might have tried it already, though.”
Damian huffs. “If it has a chance of working, I have not tried it. Nothing I have tried worked in the slightest.”
“Okay,” Dick says, “then maybe you haven't tried it. Don't, like, draw and quarter me for suggesting it, please.”
Damian rolls his eyes. “Just tell me, Grayson.”
Dick takes the plunge. “Masturbation.”
Damian is silent for a few seconds, his cheeks rapidly flushing. “What.”
“I know you know what masturbation is, Damian,” Dick deadpans. “Would you like me to use more descriptive terms?”
“No,” Damian blurts, “I know what it is, I just didn't know that I could—” he cuts himself off, blushing even more.
“Why wouldn't you be able to do it?” Dick asks, confused, hoping once again that he won't be the target of a sudden fist to the jaw. Damian absolutely hates talking about anything personal; he gets that from Bruce. However, Bruce is far less likely to injure anyone who asks him about his sex life. (He'll just raise an eyebrow and look at you sharply.)
“I don't have…the right…equipment,” Damian mutters, obviously embarrassed. “Biologically.”
Dick thinks he might understand what Damian's trying to say. “Damian, do you think only people with male genitalia could masturbate?”
“I don't exactly spend much time thinking about that sort of thing,” Damian hisses. The blush has spread from his cheeks to his ears, and Dick thinks that's absolutely adorable. His face is probably so warm right now, he thinks, and gets the bizarre urge to touch Damian's pink cheeks and feel the heat and texture of his caramel-coloured skin.
Dick gives himself a mental slap because what the fuck was that thought, brain? “Do some research,” he suggests. “Try it. It generally works as a good stress reliever.”
“Okay,” Damian says dubiously. “I'll do research.”
“Great!” Dick chirps, and cringes internally because he really shouldn't be sounding that happy about Damian learning to masturbate. He looks around wildly for an excuse to exit this conversation immediately, and his gaze catches on how low in the sky the sun is getting. “I should get back to Bludhaven in time for patrol. No rest for the wicked,” he jokes feebly.
“Okay,” Damian repeats. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything else, so Dick makes a hasty escape. He texts Bruce that Damian has been informed about taking a break from patrol and that Dick is heading back home to get ready for his own nightly patrol, bids goodbye to Alfred, and gets the fuck out. I really need more sleep, he thinks. Or to get laid. That would also work.
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Everything is normal for a few days. Bruce is called away on an off-planet mission with the League, so Dick stays at the Manor to help Tim, Steph, Duke and Cass (Damian is still benched) keep the peace while Batman is gone. Jason is doing fuck knows what, no one has seen him in over a week. It's fun, working as a team again, even if Damian avoids him like the proverbial plague and won't meet his eyes whenever they're in the same room.
Due to aforementioned avoidance, Dick is extremely surprised to find Damian sitting in the armchair in Dick's bedroom when Dick comes up from the Cave after patrol. “Hey,” he says, trying to act normal. “What's up?”
“It didn't work,” Damian says shortly. He's looking at his hands, folded in his lap. When Dick flicks the light switch, he can see the pink tips of his brother's ears. The obvious embarrassment makes it clear what he's referring to.
“What do you mean?” Dick says. “Did it not make you feel better?”
“I couldn't…” Damian trails off, huffing in frustration. “I couldn't finish. It felt like I was going to, but it started to hurt right before I got there.” He sounds like he's forcing every word out with great difficulty.
Dick hums thoughtfully, sitting on the end of his bed. “I can't remember that ever happening to me. You're usually pretty good at powering through pain, though. What's stopping you?”
“My subconscious forces me to stop touching when the pain begins. If I could make myself keep going, I would. I looked on the Internet, and the few mentions of my predicament I could find all said to just continue the stimulation, but I physically can't. My body won't let me.” The words come out in a rush, like Damian's been wanting to rant about this for a while. After the tirade, he sighs through his nose. “My concentration is even worse than before I was taken off patrol,” he adds quietly. “I don't know what to do.”
“Oh, Dami,” Dick says. “I'll try to think of something.” They sit in silence for a minute, Dick racking his brain for possible solutions. There is one that seems likely to work, but is Damian desperate enough to go through with it?
“You could try a vibrator,” he says, before he can lose his nerve. Damian makes a choked sound, and Dick forges on before he can protest. “You wouldn't have to try to move once it starts to hurt. You would just have to keep the vibrator in place.”
“And how am I supposed to acquire such a thing?” Damian hisses. “I'm fifteen, and I live with Batman. Even if I could legally buy one, nothing gets in or out of this manor without Father knowing about it.”
“Right,” Dick says, “World's Greatest Detective. But he's not here right now, not even on this planet. So how would he find out if you got one before he gets back?”
There's silence for a moment. “Grayson,” Damian says slowly, “Where would a fifteen-year-old be legally allowed to buy a sex toy?”
“I could get it for you,” Dick offers. He doesn't know what obscure corner of the universe this boldness is coming from, but he might as well use it while it's there. “I know places that sell them. I could buy one, let you know when I have it, and you could smuggle it from my room to yours. Easy.”
Damian seems to actually be considering it, which Dick hadn't expected. “Aren't there different types?” he asks. “How would you know which one to buy?”
“Yeah, there are different types, but the basic categories are internal and external. I'm guessing you want external?” Damian nods. “Okay,” Dick continues, “then you should probably go with a bullet vibrator.”
“A bullet – what? Why is it called that?” Damian says, confusion evident in his voice. “Bullets don't seem like something that anyone would want there.”
“It's the shape,” Dick explains, laughing. “They look a little like bullets. That's the only similarity.”
“Oh. Okay. What else should I know about them?” Damian's actually looking at him now, which is something that hasn't happened in several days. “How do they work?”
“They're generally around four inches long,” Dick says, recalling what he knows about bullet vibrators. He has a couple at his apartment in Bludhaven. “The ones I've seen are either battery-powered or rechargeable with a USB cord. You usually press a button to turn it on and off, and sometimes use the same button to change the speed. If not, there'll be a different button for that. It depends on the brand and model, but they come with a usage guide.”
“That sounds too good to be true,” Damian replies, and Dick laughs. “You could just buy one? Where?”
“There are some physical stores that sell sex toys, but most people get them online. It would probably be faster for me to buy one in a physical store. I know of a few in Gotham, and it would make it harder for Bruce to find out if I go to one of those and pay with cash instead of buying one online.”
Damian broods for a moment, chewing his lip. It's absolutely adorable, the way his white teeth worry the pink flesh. “Okay,” Damian says abruptly.
“Okay? You're actually willing for me to buy you a vibrator?” Dick asks, surprised. He had expected more embarrassment than this, more of a fight.
“You offered,” Damian says defensively. “I need to be able to think straight, or Father will never let me back on patrol. If a…vibrator…will help, I'll try it.” He says 'vibrator' through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Dick says. “I'll try and get one tomorrow. That sound good?”
Damian nods. “You'll tell me when you get back with it?”
“Yeah,” Dick says. “I'll even bring it to your room, if you want. I'm used to sneaking things in and out of this place,” he adds, grinning mischievously.
“Fine,” Damian says. “Just don't get caught.” He gets up and heads for the door. “Good night, Grayson.”
“Night, Damian,” Dick replies. “Don't stay up all night reading.” Damian tends to do that when he hasn't been on patrol.
“That would be difficult, since I'm unable to focus for more time than it takes to read two pages,” Damian retorts. Dick laughs as the door clicks closed, footsteps fading. As he changes into an old T-shirt and boxers for bed, he thinks, What have I gotten myself into?
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Dick gets the vibrator easily enough. He tells Alfred he's going to meet an old friend from high school — the butler almost definitely knew he was lying out of his ass, but he didn't say anything, probably used to it from living with Bruce for decades — and makes extra sure that there's no tracker on his bike before he goes to a sex shop he's been to several times before. He gets a USB-rechargeable black bullet vibe, the box promising that the toy makes minimal noise, and a bottle of cleaning spray to go with it (he learned the hard way that UTIs from unclean sex toys are Not Fun). On his way to checkout, Dick grabs a nondescript tube of water-based lubricant. He obviously doesn't know anything about how wet Damian might be, and it's always better safe than sorry with lube.
On the ride back to manor, he's all too aware of the bag containing the vibrator and accompanying items stowed in his backpack. He can't help but wonder if Damian will like them, if they'll work as Dick hopes they will, if his little brother will come out of his bedroom with the flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes that Dick always has after he—
Shut the fuck up, he tells his brain. You're so out of pocket. Stop.
When he finally arrives, he immediately goes up to his room, barely pausing to say hello to Alfred. Damian will be at school for another couple of hours, so Dick shoves the backpack under his bed so he hopefully won't think about it while he catches up on Heartstopper. Needless to say, the mission is successful. Anyone who can keep a boner while watching an episode about wholesome teen with an eating disorder is a fucking psychopath.
Not that Dick really had a boner, of course. He was just mildly horny from being in a sex shop and, well, the lack of a sex life. And he can't be any kind of horny around Damian, because that's weird as hell. Little brothers should never be conducive to horniness.
Anyway, by the time Damian gets home, Dick is not only un-hornified, he's battling tears. (Thank fuck for sad British teens and their enhanced ability to make unsuspecting people cry.) He hears familiar footsteps in the hall passing his door, the quick and light tread that only makes a sound because Damian wants to announce his presence. He hunts for his phone in the sheets and sees a new message.
Dami 🖤
Did you go shopping?
Dick 💅🏼✨️
yep!
found what i wanted :)
be there in a sec <3
He stashes his phone in his pocket and drags the bag with the vibrator in it from under the bed. He double-checks the contents - box with the vibe, cleaning spray, lube - and attempts to act casual as he walks to Damian's room. When he knocks, he's greeted with muffled grumbling, which he takes as permission to come in. The sight that greets him is, in all honesty, funny as fuck and definite blackmail material.
Damian is facing away from the door, half of his back exposed, with his school uniform shirt mostly off his arms and tangled around his neck. “Grayson,” he greets, embarrassment clear despite the fabric obscuring his words.
“Hi, Dami,” Dick singsongs, grinning widely. “Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle over there. The great Demon's Heir, defeated by a dress shirt? Gotta say, I never saw this coming—”
“Are you going to jabber incessantly, or are you going to help me?” Damian interrupts.
“Well, if you insist,” Dick responds. He puts the bag down on the bed and goes to figure out how the kid managed to imprison himself in a shirt. He determines that Damian forgot to unbutton the collar, and only realized when his arms wouldn't budge in the sleeves. This left him with his arms above his head and the shirt hem around his ribs, exposing his toned midriff. “I'm never letting you forget this,” Dick says, as he grabs the hem of the shirt and tries to pull it down.
Damian's abs jump from the sudden touch, muscles rippling under the skin. Dick is 150% not looking at them, and even if he were it would be out of pride. “Of course not,” he grouches. “You love embarrassing me, I would expect no different.”
“Good to know,” Dick chirps. He wrestles the shirt down far enough to reach Damian's collar and pick the button open, then the second one for good measure. “Try now.”
Damian lifts his arms again, this time successfully getting the shirt over his head. He throws it into the laundry hamper with more than a little vitriol. “I hate that uniform,” he mutters, and heads to the closet to find another shirt.
Dick looks at his side profile as he crosses the room, the sharp jaw, straight nose and prominent collarbones. Damian is wearing a binder, he notes absently, then remembers something from before he got top surgery. “Hey,” he says, and Damian pauses. “Binder off after eight hours,” Dick reminds him. “You don't need any extra danger to your ribs, trust me.”
Damian sighs, reaching for the zipper on the side of the binder. “It wouldn't kill me,” he grumbles. “It's a binder, not a boa constrictor.”
“Okay, Steve Irwin, I think you've forgotten that I used to wear those and know they feel like constrictors after a few hours. And yeah, they won't kill you, but you'll be wearing one on patrol and you need a break until then, trust me.” Dick would say more, but he realizes that he very much did not think this through. Having Damian take off his binder is good, yes, but he failed to consider that he's going to see Damian fully shirtless.
Damian twists at the waist to get the binder off, turning halfway towards Dick. As he goes to put it in the hamper with the offending shirt, there's an unhindered view of his chest. His tits are smaller than mine were at that age, Dick notes absently, most of his mind suddenly and unwaveringly focused on the slight bounce with each step Damian takes, the caramel-brown skin and dark nipples. He snaps back to reality when the kid heads back to the closet and pulls on a T-shirt. Oh fucking fuck me, I'm insane, he tells himself now that his brain is back online. I am crazy and a perv and I need to get laid ASAP so I stop creeping on everyone, I am so incredibly gross for that.
Damian must notice the look on his face, because he raises an eyebrow and asks, “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Dick says. “Sorry, I zoned out. Anyway, I have the thing we talked about.” He gestures at the bed, where the nondescript white shopping bag sits innocuously near the pillows.
Damian flushes. “Thank you,” he says, going to pick up the bag. “Uh, everything you need should be in there,” Dick says. “The instructions are on the box. I got it in black since that's, like a neutral color—”
“Thank you, Richard, I'm sure I can figure it out,” Damian says. It's probably supposed to be sarcastic, but he sounds distracted. Dick books it out of the door, chirping “Have fun,” in what he hopes is a normal and non-strained voice. Once he's back in his own room, he flops onto the bed, buries his face in the pillow and tries desperately not to think about the high chance that his baby brother is about to have his first orgasm with a toy Dick bought him. He very much ignores the flash of heat in his belly at the thought of Damian's reaction when he first presses the vibrator to his—
Jesus fucking Christ, Dick really needs to get laid.