If You Need Me, Dear, I’m the Same as I Was | Damian Wayne
✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Chubby Reader
✦ word count — 8.5k
✦ request — may I request Ex Older Damian Wayne x Chubby Reader! Where the reader goes to a charity ball that her friend wanted her to go with since her friend and their family are rich and do this every year. And right when the host of the ball were thanking everyone for coming and stuff they mentioned the top person who donated the most and that being Damian. With Damian going up the stage to make a small speech, his gaze caught the reader. Making him stammer before he continued. I guess somewhere along the lines of him finishing a girl comes up and hugs him or something which send the reader running to the change room (cuz they super fancy lol) and unaware to the reader, Damian came after her. Locking the door behind him and resolving old issue they might have and maybe couldn’t have in the past. Maybe it being Robins leaving to a long mission and him not telling her about that yet. And then making up. It could be them coming out of the dressing room and being under the mistletoe or if you are allowing spicy scenes then that.
✦ warnings — nsfw, exes to lovers, angst, melancholy, hints of jealousy, hints of possessiveness, smut, hand job, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, protected sex, mentions of food, fluff.
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Hearing his name stung. He was the top donor of the night, on behalf of the Wayne family. Damian thanked the host and stood at the podium, scanning the room as he made a speech. Since when did he make speeches?
Your eyes met for a moment. He hesitated, borderline stumbling through his words, but he recovered quickly. He finished his speech with his gaze upward, on the chandelier.
You couldn’t help but follow him with your eyes as he walked down the podium, and immediately wished you hadn’t. A woman threw her arms around his shoulders. He rested a hand on her upper back. You wanted to vomit.
Making your way through the crowd, you followed the path to the changing room. Away from the noise, you heard your elaborate breath just before your ears started ringing.
You took deep breaths. You couldn’t ruin Nova’s perfect job with your makeup for a man who didn’t know what he wanted. Besides, you vowed not to cry over him anymore; the mourning phase was supposed to be over. Clearly.
You stood in front of the full-body, ornate, gold mirror to the right of the vanity. Your reflection assured you that you hadn’t somehow ruined your brand-new velvet dress. Leaning onto the vanity where small ornate mirrors matched, you confirmed your makeup hadn’t moved an inch.
Bringing a hand up to your head, you rearranged your hair a little bit, fiddling with it to fully calm yourself.
“You look stunning.”
Your head whirled to the left upon hearing Damian’s voice. His eyes were on you, but yours were on the closed door behind him.
“What do you want?” The question came out clear, smoothly. You were proud of yourself.
“You.”
How dare he say such a thing months after not fighting for you? On a night he brought someone else as a date to the charity ball he must have known you would attend because Nova’s family always did.
“Hard to believe.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“You are so considerate, aren’t you?”
Damian sighed; gaze unwavering. “This is my attempt at making things right.”
“Five months later.”
“You didn’t want to hear me out before.”
“I don’t think I want to hear you out right now either,” you admitted. You hated the way your voice softened, the fact that he still had some power over the way you felt. “There’s not much you can say that will make it right, Damian. I thought you were smart enough to realize that.”
He stood there for a moment, only gazing at you in silence. You wished he would just turn around and leave, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t his style. Everything that happened, the way the relationship ended, hurt more precisely because you knew him well. He was stubborn, somewhat entitled, and he always got what he wanted one way or another; he wasn’t one for giving up on something at the first hurdle. And yet you hadn’t seen him in five months.
Begging might not have been part of his vocabulary, but you never wanted him to beg. You had wanted him to be honest, to stop hiding things from you. And he couldn’t, he didn’t have it in him to fight for you.
The silence between you stretched, shrinking the room as you stood mere feet away from each other. The chasm between you expanded. You were almost certain he would leave at any moment, perhaps find some sick satisfaction in ruining your night.
Damian’s body twitched forward, as if he were to take a step. He didn’t. Instead, he broke the silence, voice steady, “There’s something I never told you.”
You gazed at him. Fully this time, past the cold demeanor you were trying to feign and past his tense shoulders. “Do I even want to know?”
You needed him to look at you in the eyes and tell you this wouldn’t break your heart all over again.
As if he knew that, and perhaps he did, he added, “It’s not what you are thinking.”
“Okay,” you breathed out. “Talk.”
This time, he stepped forward and walked toward the beige sofa behind the vanity. You watched him through the mirror as he unbuttoned his blazer and sat down. Damian beckoned you to sit with him, patting the empty space beside him.
Despite yourself and all the things you had promised your friends —that you didn’t care anymore, and that you wouldn’t hear him out even if he begged—, you approached. You sat flush against the arm of the camelback sofa, leaving enough space between you. He seemed to take offense yet didn’t dare complain.
“When Alfred told you I was out of the country…” he began, palms flat against his thighs as he looked at you, “he assumed you were aware beforehand. I discussed telling you what I am about to tell you with the family, and they all agreed it would be for the best. My father even suggested it might strengthen our relationship.”
He didn’t let you ask any questions as he continued, “I didn’t have time to tell you. Something came up, I had to leave quickly, and it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be able to contact you once I had taken care of…” he hesitated for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sign of open-mindedness. “It wasn’t supposed to take me a week, and you weren’t supposed to be upset.”
“So you had it all planned? Including how I would feel?” You shook your head in disbelief. He was supposed to make it right, not remind you why you cried for a week straight. “You haven’t even told me why.”
“You know who Batman is.”
You almost laughed at the change of topic. It took guts to derail a conversation he had insisted on starting. “Sure.”
“And Nightwing…”
“Everybody knows we have vigilantes around,” you impatiently reminded him.
He nodded, lifting a hand from his thigh. For a second, as he flexed his fingers, you thought he might place it on your shoulder. His hand stayed in the air, and in any other instance, you would have grabbed it. Damian knew that too. “But no one knows who they are behind the cowl,” he said solemnly.
Your eyes lingered on his hand. “And you do?”
“Yes,” he admitted quietly.
In a way, it made sense. His ancestors basically founded the city, his family probably knew every secret Gotham had ever harbored. Not only that, but Bruce seemed to hold a reverence for Gotham that you had never truly understood but utterly admired.
“That’s cool,” you said, and you meant it. “I just don’t see how—”
Before you could express that vigilantes had nothing to do with your past relationship, Damian blurted, “I’ve been Robin since I met my father.”
“Out of all the things…” His words took a moment to fully register in your brain. You thought you heard him wrong for a split second. “You could be lying right now.”
“Why would I ever lie about this?” he asked. Indignation and hurt laced his voice as he added, “Why would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know.” You turned your head to fully look at him. “It sounds absurd.”
He nodded. He seemed so innocent, looking at you through his long lashes. “I can prove it. I can go as far as to prove where I was that week.”
His words tugged at something inside you, something you liked to pretend wasn’t there anymore. You couldn’t express that, though, you could only stare at him, hoping you would find anything to say. You didn’t.
“I should have told you sooner.”
Yes, he should have. He should have spared you the grief and the countless tears.
And yet you felt like an idiot. How detestable must you have been in his eyes, breaking up with him because he was too busy saving people. “Yes, you should have. I thought…” you trailed off. It wasn’t common for you to not speak your mind around him, to tip-toe around subjects as if he was just any other person. In a whisper, you admitted, “I thought I had done something wrong.”
Damian finally rested his hand on your shoulder, dragging it along your shoulder blades until his arm was around you. “You didn’t do anything wrong, habibti.”
This was cruel. He was so close and so warm. After what you could only describe as an eternal winter that wasn’t even close to being over, after the torturous entirety of what should have been the perfect autumn.
“Were you really going to tell me?”
“I was. And I am not just saying it to appease you.” He knew you so well. Damian drew in a deep breath. His voice became airy, tone lower, “I thought I would never see you again.”
Oh, how much you had missed his voice. “So did I.”
You were supposed to forget about him, to only see him again on TV solely by mistake on a rainy afternoon while visiting your parents.
“You thought? Or were you hoping?”
“I… I don’t know.”
He grumbled.
Shifting to look at him properly, you found yourself at a loss for words. You understood he didn’t want to hear that; you would hate it if it came from him. You just didn’t know if you should apologize for being honest.
“I suppose I would feel the same if the roles were reversed,” he mumbled.
“I wish you had told me,” you admitted in a whisper. It would have saved you many tearful nights and bitter days. And maybe heartbreak as a whole too.
“I was going to.”
“I believe you.”
He cupped your face in his free hand, making you look into his eyes. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“I have missed you,” he said gently.
“I’ve missed you too.” For a moment, you debated whether to add anything else, but you couldn’t help yourself and elaborated, “It took a lot not to return your calls.”
You hadn’t even dared to block him, pretending you were being the bigger person by simply ignoring his messages and calls, when in reality your heart skipped a beat every single time his name appeared on your screen.
“I wish you had.”
“Would you have told me?”
“Not on the phone.”
You were busy the first few times he called, packing stuff and eventually moving. It had been a good excuse at first, a genuine distraction. Eventually, you had to talk yourself into ignoring his calls, ashamed to admit you wanted him to chase after you, to show that he cared.
In those moments, you had wanted him to feel like you did when he didn’t answer, when you found out he was in another continent because his butler-grandfather figure let it slip when you called in panic.
Now you wondered if Alfred told him how worried you had been, or how quickly you ended the call once his whereabouts were revealed. You cried so much that day. It had already been awful, and you needed Damian. You had wanted nothing more than his soothing voice to tell you everything would be ‘fine’ as he often remarked.
Perhaps you still did.
“I can almost hear you think.”
You huffed half a laugh. He and his need to know everything. “It’s what people do when they are quiet.”
“Is it?” He kinked an eyebrow. “What was I thinking about, then?”
“Knowing you, nothing easy to understand.”
He laughed, shaking his head. You had almost forgotten the melody of that sound. “Wrong.”
“Really?” Your voice carried amusement. It felt like a conversation from simpler times. “Care to share?”
You hated that your eyes zeroed on his lips the moment he started talking, not processing his words; in fact, barely registering he was speaking. You would have embarrassed yourself by only staring if his voice hadn’t once been your favorite sound.
He smiled as he continued speaking. Whatever he was talking about, was as irrelevant to him as it was to you.
His thumb caressed your skin. You hummed, almost like a spoiled cat, and felt yourself lean into his touch before you could realize what you were doing.
“May I kiss you?”
You should have said no, maybe make him work for it a little. But you didn’t want to. His lips were so pink, still so pouty and inviting.
Through a breath intake, you said, “Yes.”
He softly pressed his lips to yours, bringing his arm upward to curl around your neck so he could pull you closer. He kissed you slowly at first, gave you a chance to back out; you could change your mind at any second, it was safe to do so around him. It made you want to kiss him even harder.
Your bottom lip got caught between his pillowy ones, and things clicked like they always had with Damian. You rested your hand on the back of his head, mindful of not ruining his hair.
Damian’s tongue broke through your lips in no time. He removed his arm from your shoulders and snaked it around your middle, bringing his other hand down to your thick waist to guide you into a better position. He hummed on your mouth, kissing you deeper as he held you tight.
You briefly wondered why you had even tried to find somebody else. Not only had they been inadequate at an emotional level, but they couldn’t make you feel like floating with just a kiss like Damian did.
He dragged his lips away from yours, to your jaw first. His hand traveled upward to hold your chin up, and he attached his lips to your neck. You slipped your fingers into his hair, sighing. He smiled against your skin — he had you where he wanted.
In an act of mercy, he didn’t comment on it. He busied himself with covering your neck in kisses. He trailed down, mouth slightly open when it reached the uncovered portion of your cleavage.
You gently pushed him off you. His elaborated breath matched yours. “Not here,” you panted.
“Yeah,” he rasped, “you’re right.”
You stared at each other for a prolonged moment. He kissed you again, briefly, sweetly.
Finding yourself at the vanity once more, you fixed your makeup and re-applied lipstick. Damian stood behind you, hands on your waist, chin on your shoulder.
He ran his palms up and down your velvet gown, reaching your hips before going back up to your waist, and starting over once more.
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.” His breath tickled your cheek.
“Maybe you should stop.”
“Maybe?” he repeated, incapable of not teasing you.
“Definitely.”
He pressed his body flush to yours, curling an arm around you. The strength of his grip and the weight of his body on your back were oh so familiar.
“Most people must be gone by now,” he said, as if he knew you only needed a little push to be persuaded.
But you couldn’t do that to Nova. “Even worse. What will the few left think when I leave this room with you?”
“That I won tonight. Without competition.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere right now.”
“As long as you don't run away again.”
“Oh, my.” You didn’t think he would notice; much less assume you had run away. “And what will your date think?”
“Emiko isn't my date. Only a friend.” His lips grazed your neck. “She’s Wally’s girlfriend. Remember him?”
You hummed. You remembered sweet and funny Wally. “Well, my date might be looking for me.”
He tensed, taking handfuls of you. “Don't call her that.”
“Why not?”
“You know the implication.” The pout was evident in his voice.
You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Damian didn't find it as amusing as you did.
“Go tell her I'm taking you home.”
You hesitated, wondering if Nova would be angry at you for this. Yet, it was what you wanted, so you decided to face the music either way.
You found your dear friend outside the changing room, sat on a leather loveseat —beige and with gold accents, as everything in the venue was— with Damian's friend. They both stared at you intently.
Damian squeezed your plush hip. “I’ll get your jacket.”
Nova pursed her lips. Emiko lifted both eyebrows. You inhaled, about to explain yourself, when Nova interrupted you, “I knew it would happen sooner or later.”
You felt bad that it had been so obvious to everybody but yourself, that your best friend had to put up with your crying and complaining, with your meaningless vows, just for you to fold so easily.
“As long as you're happy… I’m cool with it,” she assured you.
Emiko hadn't taken her eyes off you, as if analyzing you. Her blueish hair was down, contrary to the intricate updo she had donned when Damian made his speech.
“Everyone knew you would give in,” Nova admitted.
“That doesn't make me feel any better.”
“But it’ll make everybody else feel better,” Emiko said in almost an assuring tone. Her voice was sharp, but not devoid of warmth. “He’ll finally shut up about you and let us live.”
Nova giggled and gave you a look that told you it would be the same for your friend group. Somewhat unfair when you didn’t talk that much about him anymore, only when you were in a bad mood, but you understood her point of view.
Damian already had his coat on as he re-joined you, holding your jacket so you would slip your arms in. You did so, avoiding Nova’s and Emiko’s eyes.
“Ready to leave?” he asked.
You nodded. “But Emiko…”
“She can get home by herself,” he said softly, in more of a show of trust in his friend than in attempts to avoid taking her anywhere.
“I can,” Emiko said firmly, “don’t worry about me.”
“She can leave with me,” Nova suggested. “Night’s still young.”
“Don’t get yourselves into too much trouble,” Damian warned. You didn’t know if he was joking or worried. Maybe both.
Nova glared at him jokingly. “You get her home safely, or I swear to God…”
“Yeah, I’ll kick your a—"
“I get it!” Damian interrupted Emiko, then told her, “And you are supposed to be on my side.”
Emiko rolled her eyes. “Just go.”
Damian rested his hand on your lower back, gently nudging you toward the exit. Cold air hit your face, as if you needed any reminder of just how long winter was running. He fully wrapped his arm around you, physically shielding you from the cold.
Once in his car, he did a double take to make sure you had your seatbelt on and handed you his phone in case you wanted to play some music. Just like he always had done.
Those were the things you missed the most about him, the way he took care of you as if out of instinct, how easily he made you part of his life and imprinted every single aspect of yours. You second-guessed everything when you broke up with him, convinced yourself not a single thing about your relationship had been real.
It now sounded unfair, not only because you knew the truth, but mostly because you had been friends once. Or as close to friends as two people with romantic tension could come to be.
Damian used to take you home when you still lived with your parents, and your only relation to him was a friendship held together by his refusal to get romantically involved with anyone and your hesitance to say anything in case it would make you look uncool.
Your parents loved him. Your mom told you the breakup could only have been your fault, blaming your career choice and the way you dressed. According to your father, you scared Damian off with your eagerness to eat the world, so much so that he claimed you should slow down so it wouldn't happen again with somebody else.
Although you didn't pay their words any mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were more a reflection of how they saw their own relationship. They would probably divorce soon or simply grow to hate each other. They didn’t seem to have much in common apart from having raised you and your sister.
Your sister agreed they weren’t good for each other anymore, but the fallout wouldn’t touch her. She moved to Colorado because of her partner, and her love for them was stronger than her hatred of the dry climate.
"I moved," you blurted out, suddenly scared he would take the old way, the short one, the one that led to a house that was never a home.
"I heard." A couple seconds later, he clarified, "I saw the photos on social media. The ones Melissa posted."
You held a decorating get-together when you moved. Friends had come and gone throughout the day, helping with different things. You ended up changing most of those things eventually, but you weren’t alone that day, and that was all that mattered.
Neither of you said it, but both of you knew it should have been Damian hanging artwork in your living room and talking you out of hot pink wallpaper for the bedroom.
You gave him the address, and when he pulled into the parking area designated for visitors, you expected him to wish you a good night. It didn't make sense, you knew his intentions, and Damian wasn't the type to simply drop you off. Still, you braced yourself for a goodbye that didn't come. Not in the elevator, not in the middle of the hallway, not as you reached apartment 37.
His breath was on your neck, your hand in his. The cold light in the hallway didn’t have time to bother you, and the carpet-less porcelain floor was a mere afterthought as Damian stood flush to your side while you unlocked the door.
His strong cologne filled the living room, masking the air freshener you took so long to pick at the grocery store.
Damian looked around, taking note of the lack of photos as decoration and the empty space near the window. It didn't take him long to set his eyes on you. Extending an arm, you offered to take his coat.
The empty closet welcomed the coat in, and if anybody asked you, it looked full now. You hated thinking such things, hated that he was what your life had been missing. But things clicked, living by yourself wouldn't be so lonely if he stayed the night from time to time, going out with friends would be more fun if you could call him drunk to tell him you love him without worrying that you'd sound pathetic, and the boring job you accepted to shut your parents up would be oh so bearable if you knew you would get to see him at the end of the day even if it was just through a video call.
You grabbed Damian by the face and kissed him, jacket halfway down your arms. His hands immediately settled on your waist; he used his grip as leverage to lean in, slotting his nose against yours.
Contrary to his eagerness from earlier, he kissed you tenderly. Everything slowed down — well, everything but your heartbeat.
You didn't think you would ever get to kiss him again. You had mourned this, his warmth, the sighs he let out every time you played with the short hairs on his nape… being this intimate with him.
“I missed you,” he said against your lips. You didn't get to tell him, again, that you had missed him too; he kissed you harder, squeezing your pliant body as a reminder that he could, that you were there.
Your arms were tight around his neck. It was such a familiar kind of kiss —one of those you would share in your childhood bedroom while your parents were out, or in the tiny kitchen of the apartment you used to share with the roommate you had a fallout with in college—, not too heated, but not chaste enough to be considered innocent.
“Wanna move to the couch?” you asked.
He hummed, slowly moving away from you. Damian sat on the blue couch as if he had done so many times before, watching you take your jacket off and hang it with his coat. You walked toward him, debating whether you should take your heels off already or not.
His hands reached over for you, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you between his legs. You shook your head, trying not to laugh. Lifting his eyebrows, he asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” You ran your fingers along the silky lapels of his suit jacket. “You’re as forward as ever.”
“And you look incredible tonight.”
“It’s a very nice dress.”
“I do have an inclination for the model.”
You let out a tiny laugh, face warm — you were more flattered than abashed, and either way, Damian got the satisfaction of so quickly finding out not much had changed.
Kissing him again, before he could gloat about his —and only his— ability to make you feel special, you felt him slowly trace your sides up and down. His lips moved with yours in sync. You missed kissing him like this, like the world would end if you stopped for whatever reason.
There were many things you would have liked to convey in the kiss. None of them would come close to simply kissing him, though — there would, hopefully, be time to talk things out. You slipped your hands between his suit jacket and his shirt, smoothing the shirt with your palms as Damian slipped his tongue past your lips.
You removed his suit jacket; sure he wouldn't care if it got a crease or two. He was warm, even though you just now realized you hadn’t adjusted the thermostat. Not that you needed to make the room warmer, his hands all over you were enough.
Whichever spell he cast to make the apartment his own by simply stepping inside only intensified as you moved to your bedroom. Lust overpowered his curiosity, and instead of looking around, perhaps making a comment about the floral bedding, he coaxed you onto the bed.
You pulled him on top of you, kissing him once more. Damian didn’t deny you, but his hands didn’t stay put. He couldn’t help but seek some kind of control, touch heavier and rougher as he explored your body. His warm mouth almost swallowed yours, reminding you exactly why you hadn’t been able to replace him.
Softly, you pushed him off, chest heaving up and down as you breathlessly explained, “It’s getting toasty in here.”
Damian dazedly nodded.
You sat up, prompting him to crawl backward and stand up. He insisted on being the one to take your dress off, careful not to ruin it in his eagerness.
With the velvet garment aside, he made a motion to push you back onto the bed, but you reached over to grab the collar of his shirt before he could.
He kept his hands busy by tracing your figure, slowly, eyes up to watch your face as you unbuttoned his shirt.
A scar on his shoulder caught your eye, darker than his skin. It ran from the top of his shoulder to his pec, fading out mere millimeters above his nipple.
His touch faltered as you stared. You opened your mouth, stuttering as you found yourself torn between assuring him there was nothing wrong with it and the desire to ask what had happened.
“Later,” he said, withdrawing his hands from your body so he could fully discard the shirt.
You found more scars as your hands and eyes wandered, and now his preference for semi-clothed sex and dimmed lights made sense.
“Will you tell me about these too?” you dared to ask softly.
He didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes.” He even sounded relieved.
His touch resumed, and soon, the kissing did too. You dragged your hands down his torso where you found tiny scars and fading marks; you followed the pattern of some with the tips of your fingers, just by feel as you kissed.
Damian’s hand traveled up to your chest. He traced the decorative lace of your strapless bra and looked up at you. Something muddied his gaze, but he didn’t utter a single word. He pulled your bra down, freeing your breasts from the black cloth, and settled his hands on them.
You played with the waistband of his trousers, hooking your fingers In one of the loops holding his belt. The air got knocked out of you as Damian’s hot mouth made contact with your breast, derailing your attempts at teasing.
He sucked on your breasts, taking his time with each one, until he took one of your nipples into his mouth. You didn’t get to remind him not to leave marks, and you only had half a mind to thank the universe that winter was in full swing, and you had no reason to show that much skin in general.
Gripping his thigh, you shifted so you could reach properly without pushing him off you. But you still struggled to unbuckle his belt.
“Do you need help?” he asked, adopting a teasing tone.
“You think so?”
Damian huffed a small laugh, then went back to peppering kisses all over your breasts for a moment, just to see your impatient reaction. When you purposefully whined in frustration, he suppressed a smile and stood at the end of your bed to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.
As he kneeled back on the bed, coming up briefly to kiss your lips once more, he dropped his hands onto your breasts and gently groped them while he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck.
Reaching over for his thighs, you found yourself frustrated as you struggled to focus on what you wanted because of his touch and kisses. If he knew he was making things harder for you, and therefore for himself, by not letting you focus on touching him, he didn’t have it in him to complain.
You twisted your body on the bed, trying to find a better angle. Damian stopped for a moment at that, allowing you room to get more comfortable.
Your gazes crossed as you grabbed a pillow to prop your head up. He gazed at you with such intensity that you had to fight a shiver as his blown-wide pupils followed your movements.
Damian held your gaze as your hands found their way to his thighs, fingers brushing the hem of his briefs. It wasn’t your intention to tease him now, or to do anything other than touch him for that matter.
“Can I?” you asked.
He nodded. “You can do whatever you want.”
Your pulse quickened at his words, blood pumping and rushing as you processed the implications of what he said. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, you pushed them as further down as they would go.
Tracing the insides of his thighs, you fought the urge to move too quickly. His eyes never left yours, not as your fingers ghosted the base of his cock, and definitely not when you dared run your thumb along the head.
You gently wrapped your hand around his shaft, grip loose and fingers barely moving as you felt the weight and girth in your grasp. You started stroking him slowly, not once looking away from him. In some ways, it felt like it was the first time you were truly intimate, with the lights on, skin against skin.
He leaned into you, subtly driving his hips forward to get more contact. You tightened your grip around his shaft at that, still stroking him slowly but more firmly now.
His hands trailed down to your torso, stopping momentarily to tenderly pinch your belly. You let out a breathy laugh, prompting him to squeeze you more firmly.
“Keep it slow,” he gently instructed whilst he began to pull down your tights. “I’m going to get you ready.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you admitted, voice coming out thick.
He pulled down your tights, moving away from your touch to tug on them and slip them off your feet. Throwing the tights onto the floor, Damian kneeled beside you on the bed, resting his hands on your thick thighs, squeezing as much of their flesh as his hands could take.
Your strokes on his cock resumed while he kneaded at your hips. He discarded your panties too. His eyes raked up and down your body, drinking you in as his hands rested on your hips for a moment, fingers digging into different spots on your lower belly, hips, and thighs, hands traveling lower.
He sighed softly as your hand moved a little faster. His own fingers reached your slit, parting your lips and gathering the slick evidence of your arousal. He hummed to himself as his fingers caressed every crevice of your pussy, as if he had never touched you before.
Damian didn’t comment on the fact that you had been right and getting you wet wasn’t needed, and instead pushed your legs further apart with his forearm, fingers still roaming your folds. He looked down, almost entranced, index grazing your clit.
Your breath hitched, your fist closing tighter around his cock by mere reflex. He let out a groan, dragging his fingers down to tease your entrance as you slowly pumped his cock in your fist.
His eyes didn’t leave your pussy as his middle finger entered you slowly, gently exploring, caressing, with no intentions to truly finger you.
Damian used his thumb to trace your inner labia, careful not to approach your clit. He looked almost relaxed, sighing under your touch as your fist massaged his cock, keeping it hard as it started to throb.
And yet he moved away from your grasp.
You watched as he kneeled on the soft rug that framed your bed. He just followed the movement of his fingers with his eyes for a couple seconds, making you sigh partly in arousal and mostly in utter desperation.
He withdrew his hand and leaned forward to lick a long stripe through your folds, bringing his hands to rest on your thighs and keep you from closing your legs. Your breath got caught in your throat, stuttering between a moan and a gasp.
You wanted to remind him that he didn’t have to eat you out, or finger you, that you were more than ready for him to take you. But you didn’t dare, not when doing so would entail admitting out loud that you had yearned for this, that you were perhaps a little desperate to have him inside you again.
Damian moaned as his tongue traced your folds in the same way his fingers had, teasing your clit with only the tip of his tongue until he himself grew impatient and started sucking on it.
“Slow down or I’m gonna—"
He interrupted you by grazing your clit with his teeth, extracting a moan from deep within you. Lifting his head so you could hear him, he explained, “I don’t have condoms on me.”
“There are some on the nightstand if you want.”
His grip on the flesh of your thighs tightened as he rose, staring at you with dark and sharp eyes. He made no other comment, no gesture, as his hands left your thighs and he moved toward the nightstand to open the drawer.
He took the open box of condoms out and dropped it next to your reading lamp once he had taken a foil packet out.
You watched as he tore the foil with his teeth, eyes following the path of his hands as he grasped his cock with one hand and unraveled the condom down his length with the other.
Damian kneeled between your legs. “What do you want?”
“You,” you answered simply. It was obvious.
“Be more specific,” he commanded.
You didn’t know where it was coming from, what made him switch to being more dominant. It was a side of him you had only seen glimpses of, but you weren’t about to complain. At all.
“I want you inside me, Damian.”
One of those, you didn’t know which one, seemed to be the magic word.
He pushed into you, looking up at your face for signs of discomfort. Slowly, he pushed his hips forward, giving you time to adjust to every inch. Once he was fully seated inside you, he came up to hover over you with his forearms at each side of your head.
“Ready?”
“Yes.” You sounded a little too eager for your liking.
He drove his hips backward, then forward, tentative for the first few thrusts. You tried to breathe through your nose, much like he was doing, but you had never learned to control your breathing nor your eagerness.
“I missed this.” His voice came out broken, strained, as he found a suitable rhythm for his thrusts.
“Uh-huh,” you hummed in agreement, eyes lidding closed as pleasure overcame you.
“Look at me, angel.”
He rested his hand on your throat, not applying any pressure nor closing around it at all, merely a reminder that you were to look up at him. This was the closest you would ever come to getting choked by him, you knew it very well, and you reveled in it, in the claim he was staking on you.
Looking at him was harder than it sounded. You just wanted to close your eyes and get lost into him, how well he filled you up, the pleasant stretch of his cock as he pressed into you. Damian stayed still, bringing his hand up to caress your face, encouraging you.
Your eyes finally focused on his handsome face, on his furrowed brow as he concentrated in fucking you deeper. His eyes bore into yours and his thrusts became harsher, quicker, making you gasp and whine.
He pushed himself up, slowing down as he grabbed at your hips. “Don’t close your eyes,” he commanded, “keep looking at me.”
You nodded, not able to speak as the rocking of his hips picked up pace once more. He brought you closer, prompting you to open your legs even more as your ass lifted off the bed. Damian ground against you as he thrust into you, filling your bedroom with the sound of skin against skin, of his groans and your whimpers as each thrust made you clench tighter around his cock, as the lewd sounds of your growing wetness mingled with everything else.
He continued with that pace, kept your eyes locked as a thin layer of sweat coated his unblemished face. His grip on your hips, vice-like, as if holding onto you was the only thing tethering him to Earth, didn’t falter for anything. But he didn’t have everything under control; his jaw was clenched, eyes wild as they stared into yours. Sounds of pleasure inevitably escaped him, groans and sighs — he had never been one for dirty talk, and in all honesty, the sight before you was enough to get you closer and closer.
One of his hands let go of your hip, traveling inward to your mound. He touched you gently, in contrast to his thrusts, until his fingers grazed your engorged clit. You moaned, and he smiled, making a sound through his nose. Slowly, Damian started to rub your clit, focused on your pleasure in an almost sobering way.
His eyes left yours for a moment, dropping to your form as he pleasured you, watching the gentle bounce of your breasts and the jiggle of your soft curves.
“Don’t stop,” you told him, almost scared he would somehow change his mind.
He didn’t stop, but for a moment, his touch became gentler. The pressure of his fingers against your clit bordered on reverential and the pointed thrust of his hips, earlier methodical, turned into another way of caressing you.
It wasn’t just sex, and you briefly wondered if he felt like this was the first time too, if in some way, he wanted it to be special. You didn’t dare to ask, and he didn’t let you either, leaning his body forward as he watched, as he touched, as he fucked you.
“Like that?” His voice, strained and deep, gave you goosebumps.
You hummed, knowing you would blurt something silly if you opened your mouth. He seemed to know, perhaps he even knew what you would say if you let yourself use your words. Once again, he had mercy on you and instead of commenting on it, on letting it taint the moment, he focused on giving you pleasure, on getting himself closer until his cock pulsated against your tightening muscles, until your gazes found each other out of instinct as your stomachs turned into knots.
He came first, stilling for a moment as he dropped his forehead onto your chest, fingers limp against your clit. He gasped, a shudder ran through him, and he briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them and looked up at you, chin resting on the valley of your breasts, he resumed rubbing your clit, watching your reactions intently, trying to gauge if he should do anything differently.
You found it in yourself to grind against his fingers, making him hiss. His softening cock, still inside you, throbbed at the movement. He pulled out and removed the condom, tying it up before delving into your pussy without warning.
His lips captured your clit, hands coming up to grope your breasts and play with your nipples as he ran his tongue through your folds, drinking you up instead of tasting you. You clenched around nothing, so close already that you grabbed his head and ground against his pretty face, doing your best not to clamp your legs shut as to not asphyxiate him.
Damian sucked on your clit, flickering his tongue against it every time you ground onto his mouth. He didn’t stop until you came, not when your body tensed up, not even when your whimpers turned into moans as your legs started trembling.
His mouth stayed there, attached to your clit, for as long as you came and then some. He ran his tongue through your folds to clean you up, then left a trail of kisses all over your labia.
You breathlessly looked at him as he laid on his side next to you, hands lingering on your chest.
He leaned in and kissed you. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you sighed, still catching your breath.
You turned on your side to fully face him. His hand moved up to rest tenderly on your neck, giving you enough space to breathe. You couldn’t help but give him a small smile.
“I’m gonna clean up, okay?” you said gently, trying to somehow assure him you weren’t kicking him out.
He nodded, watching your every move as you rolled on the bed to sit up.
By the time you were done cleaning yourself up and had slipped one of the pairs of cotton panties you kept in the bathroom, Damian had already picked up the scattered clothes off the floor. He stood at the foot of your bed, briefs back on, as he typed something on his phone.
Feeling your presence, he locked his phone and dropped it onto the bed. “I brought you a glass of water,” he said, pointing at a glass on the bedside table.
You walked toward a dresser and pulled out a t-shirt. “Thank you.”
He sat on the bed, watching you put the t-shirt on. As you sipped on the glass of water, he leaned back, resting his weight on his arms.
Your eyes fell on his chest, once again on the long dark scar. You set the glass back down onto the bedside table and nodded upward. “Did it hurt?”
Damian blinked rapidly, then nodded. “It did.”
Frowning, you reached over, caressing the portion of the scar on his shoulder. You were at a loss for words. What does one say when the person they love admits having been in pain? And what does one do when the evidence of said pain is so tantalizingly fascinating?
“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly.
“The scar?”
“That I might get hurt at any given moment,” he clarified.
Your eyes searched for his at that. What did he want to hear? And what were you willing to put up with for him? “I find it worrying,” you said apprehensively. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“But it is.”
“But it is,” you echoed, somewhat resigned. There was no way you would change his mind, and a part of you didn’t want to. This was the real Damian you were seeing, perhaps for the first time in your life.
“Can you deal with that?” His voice carried genuine curiosity. And something more, something vulnerable and rooted deep. “If we…”
You huffed a laugh, not trying to make fun of him of course, but almost incredulous that Damian from all people would doubt himself like this. “If we get back together?” you finished his sentence.
He nodded. “I want you,” he said, as forward and direct as ever, “but I cannot abandon that part of my life for you.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
He stared at you, analyzing you, as if seeing through you. Straightening up, he reached over to grab your hand. “I know. But you might later.”
Even though he knew better than you for the simple reason that he wasn’t new to this, you frowned, almost pouting. Your curiosity got the best of you, and you asked, “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen it happen.”
“Well, I wasn’t there.”
Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pleaded, “Don’t get defensive.”
You squeezed his fingers. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s unfair to assume things about me when the parts that might affect me didn’t bother me before.” Perhaps you were getting a little defensive, but you had never done well compared to other people, much less to people you didn’t know. “I’m not saying it was easy,” you added, “but I dealt with it when I didn’t know why you disappeared, or why you didn’t answer my calls, or why you cancelled plans almost every time.”
His gaze softened. “You thought it was your fault.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, somewhat ashamed now that you knew the full truth. “It’s nice to know I was wrong, I guess.”
He huffed. “You guess.”
“Well it’s not nice to be wrong, but in this case… not that bad.” A sudden shiver ran through you. “I’ll adjust the thermostat. Do you want some tea?”
Damian nodded, reaching over for his button-up.
You paused. “If you want something warmer, there are sweatshirts in the closet.”
He dropped his shirt and in two strides reached your closet. You let him be as you padded your way to the thermostat.
With the temperature adjusted and the kettle on, you came back into your room in search of some socks. Damian was laying on your bed, wearing a black sweatshirt too big for him, as he looked up at the ceiling.
Sitting on the bed, you slipped the fuzzy socks on and asked, “Tired?”
“Thinking.”
“Wanna share with the class?”
He rested his hand on your bare thigh, fingers running circles over your skin. “I never considered you might have assumed it was your fault, or that I wasn’t as invested as you, or…” Damian trailed off, not daring to finish his sentence.
“I guess you were just focused on your stuff.” You leaned over to look at him better. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Damian.”
He met your eyes. “It does to me.”
Grabbing his hand, you squeezed his fingers. “Come, let’s have some tea. Maybe a snack.”
He sighed. “Fine.” Shimmying closer to the edge of the bed, he waited for you to stand up before doing the same.
“Want a pair of fuzzy socks?” Before he could answer your question, you handed the socks to him and dropped his hand.
He was quick to put the socks on. “These feel nice,” he said as he stood.
“Right?” You grabbed his fingers and led him into the living area. “I found them by mistake looking for a sweater.”
“Did you find the sweater?”
You made a face and shook your head. “Too small for me.”
As the tea steeped, you went through your pantry and pulled out some snacks you found. Damian read the ingredients in each package.
“I never thought I would see the day you’d buy oatmeal cookies.”
You put the packages he had discarded back in place. “I’m trying to eat more fiber. And failing.”
“Odd strategy to get your fiber from cookies,” he lightheartedly mocked you, opening the package and taking a whiff of the cookies.
You playfully glared at him, but he was too busy pulling cookies out to see you.
“There’s a gala I have to attend in two weeks.” His tone was casual as he brought a cookie close to his mouth.
“Are you making another speech?”
He lowered his hand, along with the cookie, for a moment. He then gave you a confident smile. “Only if I can show you off throughout the evening first.”
You tilted your head, studying him. A part of you wanted to make a sardonic comment, maybe tease him a little bit, but the flutter in your stomach didn’t allow you to be anything but earnest. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“I see no point in waiting.”
“Not even a little bit?” you pressed. When he lifted his eyebrows at your question, you hastily added, “I mean, what if things go wrong like two days later?”
“Nothing will go wrong.” He took a bite off the cookie, watching you, as if waiting for you to disagree.
“If you’re so sure…” You took a sip of tea, letting the hot liquid linger in your mouth before swallowing. Putting the mug down, you added, “I need to know the dress code, though, I donated most of my fancy stuff.”
“It’s black tie,” he answered simply, eyes on you even as he took a gulp of tea. “Why don’t we go shopping this week?”
You could only stare at him. Your hesitance was irrational, you knew as much, but you were more scared than you were willing to admit.
“Shopping,” you repeated, trying to fill the silence. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Damian put his mug down onto the counter and reached for you, resting his hands on your shoulders, thumbs grazing the base of your neck. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against yours.
You could see in his eyes that he wanted to say something. Words seemed to fail. He inhaled deeply. Slowly, your hands came up to rest on his waist. Damian closed his eyes, grip tightening on your shoulders until he decided it was better to wrap his arms around you.
Nothing would go wrong.
