Thinking about Tim being Damian’s first kiss.
Damian being so soft, so tentative, when he lightly presses his lips to Tim’s. He doesn’t close his eyes, wants, needs, to see Tim’s reaction.
He doesn’t know what to think when Tim says his name in that tone of his that means he’s sorry and he doesn’t want to hurt you but Damian, he— he can’t let this be their first and last kiss, won’t leave Tim with this impress of him, someone who can’t kiss properly, can’t take Tim’s breath away. He knows he can, given the chance.
He leans forward again, eager to prove himself. To prove that if Tim just lets him, he’ll be so good that Tim won’t ever need anyone else, won’t even be able to entertain the idea.
So he kisses Tim like his life depends on it, because in a way, he thinks it does.
He licks, and he nibbles, and he pulls. He’s climbing into Tim’s lap, straddling him and holding on to his face for dear life.
He doesn’t notice the tears coating his cheeks until he feels a thumb swipe at them.
“Dames..” and he can’t— he can’t.
He tastes salt, and he knows Tim does too, because he hasn’t stopped kissing him.
“Please,” he snivels. He’s breaking the kiss to burrow his face in Tim’s neck. “I can be so good for you,” he whispers. “Please, just— just let me show you I can.”