A/N: I am so fucking determined to enter 2017 with DickDami fics for you all.
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“Speaking of, where is your spawned playboy, Bruce?”
Slipping a hand into his pocket, Bruce offered a wry grin. “Last I heard? Greece. And that was from some tabloids.”
“Are you saying you can’t keep up with his whereabouts?”
Bruce’s brows raised. “Are you kidding? With how sharp his tongue is, I can barely keep up with his conversations half the time!”
Laughing with the rest of them, Dick shook his head and stepped away from the group, placing his still half-full flute on a passing tray. The crowd was pressed together tightly with less than five minutes to midnight and every last one of Gotham’s finest in attendance had one eye on the clock, ready to ring in the New Year. Normally, Dick was all for such gatherings, but tonight, he felt he was more in need of air than a warm body pressed against his side to countdown with.
He stepped out onto the small balcony and suppressed a shiver at the bitingly cold temperature.
“There’s a drunk down on Fifth who keeps panicking about the end of the world.”
Dick didn’t even bother turning around, knowing the voice would be well-concealed in the shadows.
“Did he try asking you if you had found Jesus?” Dick asked, leaning on the railing and staring out over the city.
“Not sure. There was a lot of blasphemy going on when I locked him in a dumpster so that he would stop throwing rocks at shop windows, but I’m not sure if that counts towards making him a religious man.”
Dick barked out a laugh and looked over his shoulder at the Cheshire grin that was shining out at him from the shadow behind the doorway.
“The night’s been that slow, huh?” he ventured to guess.
“Remind me to never volunteer my services on New Year’s Eve when the Joker is already locked away.” Green gloves breached into the light as Robin crossed his arms. “As it is, I’ve resorted to throwing batarangs at trash cans, just to see how many cats jump out of them.”
Dick winced. “Please tell me you’re at least retrieving the batarangs you’re wasting.”
There was no immediate response, but Dick could guess well enough that there was a shrug.
“Someone should put in a call to the Health Department for the Chinese place down on Sixteenth and Twenty-Seventh. There was a suspicious lack of cats in their dumpsters.”
Inside, the tumultuous chatter began to uniform out as a countdown from thirty began.
29…28…27…26…
“Did you swing by, hoping to ring in the New Year with the rich and fabulous?” Dick pushed himself away from the railing and headed into the shadows.
…21…20…19…18…
Damian snorted, but offered no form of confirmation or denial as he stubbornly remained where he was.
...15…14…13…12…
Dick came to a stop just at the light’s edge. “Please don’t tell me you’re here because you’re still trying to keep track of all the women Bruce is with. Even I can’t keep up with that.”
…6…5…4…3…
“It’s hardly rocket science,” Damian scoffed, stepping forward so that the toes of his boots were centimeters away from Dick’s. “The brunette under his arm tonight will make seven so far.”
–APPY NEW YEAR!
“Okay, you made that sound way too easy. You’ve got to have a different reason for being–”
“Shut up, Grayson.”
Dick blinked and found himself obeying, only to have his eyes widen in surprise at the cold pair of lips that were suddenly pressed against his own. Barely able to contain his smirk, he allowed his eyes to slip closed and kissed Damian back, letting the man slip away shortly after his lips had warmed to Dick’s body temperature.
“Happy New Year, Grayson.” The voice seemed to echo slightly, indicating just how quickly of a getaway Damian was making.
Dick smiled and shook his head. “Happy New Year, Damian.”
A/N: If you’ve read this before, I’m sorry. I can’t decide which blog I want to keep it on...
The obsession started off innocently enough.
Okay, so it started off as a botched up Google search that led to a sick fascination when Damian realized there was a huge fanbase out there for Nightwing’s ass.
There were blogs. Numerous blogs that featured nothing but submitted photos from various onlookers of Nightwing in action with blurred closeups of his flexed glutes. Most of the pictures were pathetic and didn’t really show much, but whoever ran this particular blog was an artist and took to redrawing the photos in stunning HD quality.
The redraws were rather inaccurate due to too much being left to the imagination, Damian later realized while out on a stakeout with the blogs’ star. He had long since grown bored with watching the building’s front and had unknowingly turned to watching Dick’s backside instead.
It was when Nightwing uncurled from his position for a quick stretch break that the impulse overtook Damian and he pulled out his phone. It was set to silent, but the auto-flash was unexpected.
“You better hope no one saw–”
The bang of a door in the not-so-distance cut Dick off from his reprimand and the two were forced to relocate for the night.
Whatever. It was worth it.
The anonymously submitted picture practically went viral within the superhero fan-based community. The artist who ran the redraw blog thanked the mysterious photographer profusely with lots of capslock wording and heavy gif usage. A few people argued it was fake. Either a really good photoshop or a cosplayer. A few overzealous fans argued it had to be taken by a fellow superhero who had discovered the blogs.
Only one person thought to question him on his official Twitter for Robin, asking if he had worked with Nightwing at all recently.
Through a wicked smirk, Damian replied back that he hadn’t, and even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t tell anyone due to the sensitivity of some of their missions.
From there, it became a new game for Damian. See how many – if any – pictures he could sneak of Nightwing before getting caught.
Some made it to the internet as more anonymous submissions to various blogs. Others never saw the light of day.
He had to apply several upgrades to his phone. A better night camera, for one. Instant access to the camera app. Encrypt the photos for when Nightwing tried to take the phone to delete them. Create a private cloud between his laptop and phone for the few times Nightwing actually was able to get in and wipe them.
Meanwhile, the online Superhero fanbase was exploding with excitement over the photos Damian provided. More and more people were growing curious as to who was taking the pictures, leading to more and more speculation that it was someone from the Birds of Prey team or one of the Robins – Red or Original; it was a source of war amongst the fandom.
The fun stopped for a while when Nightwing simply started confiscating his phone at the start of all patrols they went on together.
At least until Damian was able to secure a private shipment of new phones and hide them within his suit.
Watching Grayson’s head drop in defeat from his crouched position below Damian’s upside-down form when he heard the soft click of the camera had filled Damian with more satisfaction than he ever thought possible.
“Just how many of those do you even have on you?”
“And why would I ever divulge that piece of information?” Damian shot back, taking care to tuck the phone away before Grayson could turn and see where it was stored.
Nightwing promptly rolled onto his back, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in annoyance. “We need to talk.”
The Talk included an explanation on the importance of staying focused when patrolling, as well as the need for absolute secrecy, which meant bringing nothing that could lead to identification in the event of getting caught.
With his jaw stubbornly set and arms crossed, Damian bit out an, “Okay, Dad.” that led to Grayson placing his head in his hands and lamenting over the fear that he was turning into Bruce.
From there, Dick tried to fit back into his roll of laid back, understanding big brother that led him to asking questions that Damian had no intention of properly answering. And despite his vague, one-worded responses, Dick somehow managed to reach the conclusion that Damian was taking pictures while on their patrols to serve as a memoir of sorts for whoever the next Robin would be.
“What do you mean ‘next Robin’? I have no intention of dying or letting anyone usurp my position!”
“You already hold the record for the oldest Robin by far. You plan on wearing that outfit until you’re twenty-five?” Nightwing challenged in amusement, cocking his hip and crossing his arms.
Damian petulantly shrank back. “Drake would have if I didn’t take it from him.”
Nightwing’s laugh signaled the end of their conversation.
Damian made it a point of upping his level of discretion with his photography after that, which meant fewer pictures were taken until his presence within the superhero fandom was nearly nonexistent.
But then a new anonymous photo appeared, taken from an angle far too close to have come from an innocent bystander. And the thing was, Damian wasn’t the one who had taken it.
Ire flooded through him that he wasn’t the only vigilante out there in on this game, and with a quick look at the photo’s background, he wasn’t the only person to reach the conclusion that the picture was taken at the Teen Titan Tower.
The Red Robin fandom was unbearable in their triumph.
For once, Damian was at a loss. He had no idea how to gain back arguable credit that he was the one taking all the pictures, short of compromising top secret information. Or making it a selfie, which would take far too much time to set up with how perceptive Grayson was getting to the camera.
Opportunity came barreling down the door when one of their missions together went slightly wrong and they found themselves under heavy artillery attack.
They managed to find a janitor’s closet to momentarily hide in, with Robin squished back against the supply shelves and Nightwing shielding him just in case they were found.
Despite the gravity of the situation, when Damian looked down, he knew resistance was futile. Because there was Nightwing’s perfectly formed butt mere centimeters away from his hips. The perfect shot to bring all photo credibility back to him.
Barely even daring to breathe, Damian reached into his utility belt to retrieve one of his phones. Carefully, he stretched up his arm to heighten the angle of the picture. As he lined up everything in the phone’s screen, an idea occurred to him. Obviously, Tim kept an eye on the Nightwing fandom. Which meant he, more than likely, knew that Damian was the one behind the high-quality photos. Which also meant he posted that picture from the Tower in a direct challenge to Damian.
Smirk creeping up on his lips, Damian gently rested a gloved hand against Dick’s uniformed waist and pushed his hips forward, not stopping until they were in full contact with Nightwing’s ass. The flash that followed was, unfortunately, necessary with how dark it was in the closet.
The amount of trouble that one put him in, including being grounded from any Robin duties with Nightwing for a month was worth it once the photo was online.
The Red Robin fandom was ground into the dust and laughed at by the entirety of the Robin fandom, who crowed from the rooftops that they knew it was Robin all along. Because Red Robin just didn’t have it in him to actually start trolling a fanbase.
Unfortunately, Tim was a sore loser and tattled, but that was okay. Because as far as Damian was concerned, he won and was now the envy of just about every person in existence.
Dick isn’t sure if it’s guilt or fear for his life that keeps him away from the manor in the days that follow his and Damian’s…couplings.
He tells himself that if he were smart, he’d just avoid the manor altogether, but he knows that could never work. Damian would simply hunt him down – has hunted him down – and they would wind up right back where they started. With Dick losing control and Damian encouraging it to the point where he’s actually limping for several days after.
He’s tried to apologize, tried to take things a bit easier, but Damian refuses both. He simply smirks and tells Dick he enjoys the aftermath of pain. Because each twinge is a reminder of the amount of power he holds over the older man. Because every time he has to adjust the position he’s sitting in, or presses into the sharp ache of a remaining love bite, flashes of their nights together run through his head and leave him longing for more. Because when Dick is off hiding from the ramifications of his actions, the pain is all Damian has to comfort him.
Dick isn’t sure how to deal with that final revelation. A part of him wants to eliminate it. To stay through the morning after. To actually spend time with Damian. But Dick’s so deeply entrenched in the idea that Bruce doesn’t know about them. That if he did know, Dick would probably be dead. Never mind that he’s the goddamn Batman and knows everything by default. If he knows about this, why hasn’t he said anything? Why hasn’t he tried to put a stop to it if not given them his blessing? Bruce’s silence was always the easiest way for him to play mind games with Dick, and Dick can’t help but find the fact extremely unfair given the situation.
Rating: T
Pairing: Dick/Damian
Disclaimer: This would be a fanfic of a fanfic.
A/N: In light of that Hell Connection aesthetic, I realized now would be a good time to transfer this unofficial, yet officially endorsed, side story.
Summary: A peek at the nature of Dick and Damian’s relationship from Hell Connection. Takes place after chapter 5.
Hell’s First Contact
Dick was hovering. He knew he was hovering, but couldn’t bring himself to stop.
He had no idea how Tim had managed to tangle himself in this mess and his old protective instincts were going into overdrive. He should have been there for Tim. Dick knew what the kid was capable of and should have found some means of keeping him away and distracted for the day. He should have kept in better touch. He should have left Tim with some kind of warning of the types of dangers this world really held for someone with his powers. He should have been there!
Running an agitated hand through his hair, Dick did his best to will the guilt away, finding it hard to focus on anything that didn’t involve the ‘should have’s, especially when he didn’t even dare allow himself to start thinking about the ‘what if’s.
“You should go to him.”
Dick looked over sharply, eying Bruce as the man continued to stare down at Tim’s peacefully sleeping form.
“Go to who?” His brain failed to connect whatever dots his father figure was alluding to as it informed him that he was already here with Tim now.
Bruce’s impassive gaze rose and met Dick’s.
“Damian.”
Dick frowned and looked around, his mouth hovering open as the response that Damian was here remained stuck in his throat. Because Damian, in fact, wasn’t.
Turning in a full circle, twice, Dick found himself baffled as to why Damian wasn’t around. Damian was always around unless Dick explicitly ordered him away. Which he hadn’t. And the probability of him being off working was extremely low. They had finished documenting and getting rid of the more incriminating evidence at the hotel room hours ago, and Damian was never one to volunteer his services, especially for Jason who was now pouring over photos of the writings that had been on the walls.
Maybe he was waiting just outside?
Dick was saved the trouble of poking his head out the bedroom door to peek into the hall by Jason entering, waving a small, leather-bound book in one hand as he scowled at a blown-up photo in the other.
“Bruce, if I’m reading this correctly—”
“Where’s Damian?” Dick interrupted, now fully feeling the boy’s loss almost like a missing limb.
Glaring at Dick for good measure, Jason lowered the journal and stacked it under the picture he had been studying. “You know, I’d say it’s creepy how similar you and the brat can be at times, except he always makes it a point to keep tabs on where you are.”
“Where is he?” Dick repeated, calming slightly at the priest’s usual catty reaction.
Jason shrugged and crossed his arms. “Hell if I know. I asked the kid to help me go through all this and the little shit told me he wasn’t my Google translator and to do it myself before storming off. Introducing him to the Internet wasn’t one of your better ideas, Dick.”
“He’s in your room,” Bruce spoke, eyes shut as he massaged at his temples with one hand, well familiar and worn with the way his collection of sons tended to bicker.
“He probably broke in to go through your closet,” Jason put in distractedly, his attention having already returned to his task at hand. “I swear Damian is way creepier than the books warned us about.” He looked back up. “And I mean that in the weirdest way possible.”
Shaking his head, Dick forced a smile and gave Jason a shove for good measure before exiting the room and heading towards the stairs that would take him up to the family wing of the house.
He never liked the size of Wayne Manor, opting to live at the suite in Wayne Tower instead. But within the past few months, he had been forced to fully move back home. Partly due to Damian’s need to have him close and partly because Bruce didn’t want the two of them living off on their own without some form of supervision.
Dick couldn’t bring himself to blame him. With Damian teetering on the very cusp of adulthood, their ever-evolving bond was racing towards something the neither the books or any of Jason’s contacts had warned them about. While he considered himself knowledgeable enough to keep his decisions involving Damian as objective as possible, when it really came down to it, Dick wasn’t sure if he would trust himself either if he were to remain alone with the boy for a long enough period of time.
The door to his bedroom was still closed and locked. Dick knew better than to trust physical evidence considering the circles he grew up in, but when he entered the room, everything looked just as it had been before Bruce had left and they moved in to the church.
He very nearly dismissed Jason’s idea of checking the closet when he noticed the shirt he had changed out of earlier was missing from its spot on the floor in the bathroom doorway. Logic told him Alfred had snuck in to clean, but the thought wasn’t enough to stop him from detouring to his closet to do a quick inventory.
His old college sweater was gone as well.
Letting out a sigh that seemed oddly muted for the size of the room, Dick turned and left to find Damian.
Fortunately, he was in the first place Dick thought to look. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem nearly as fine as Dick had foolishly hoped he would be.
“Hey.”
When Damian failed to even acknowledge his presence, Dick cautiously approached the curled figure on the far end of the bedroom and slid down against the wall until he was seated beside him. It was only then that Dick noticed his shirts bunched up in Damian’s lap.
“Can I ask what you’re doing with my clothes?”
“Don’t worry.” Damian’s voice was muffled as he spoke into his knees, prompting him to turn his head to the side, as it remained resting on his arms. “I’m sure your clairvoyant friend won’t be encountering them any time soon.”
“True,” Dick agreed, mimicking Damian’s position with his legs propped up and elbows resting on his knees. “But that still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing with my clothes.”
The soft stain of a blush across his high cheekbones tainted Damian’s scowl. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said in lieu of an explanation.
Dick blinked. “No, I haven’t,” he automatically denied. At Damian’s skeptical stare, he felt compelled to elaborate. “It’s been a busy couple of days; what with the Rift being more active, then the Seal, and now Tim—”
“Fine,” Damian cut in. “Ever since Tim has come to town, you’ve gone above and beyond to be exceptionally busy in ways that will ensure I am not around.”
“It’s not like that…” It was completely like that. And even without being subjected to the withering glare, Dick knew his argument was beyond weak. So he returned to the original subject instead. “You know, that still doesn’t tell me why you broke into my room and stole my sweaty t-shirt and favorite sweater – the same one that you’ve forbidden me to wear out of the house, I might add.”
Damian peered down into his lap, drawing his legs closer to his body in an almost protective gesture. “It’s hideous. Get over your complex.”
Dick refused to be swayed. “Are you really going to make me ask a fourth time?”
For a long moment, Damian remained silent. It didn’t bother Dick. He had long ago learned that Damian would always answer his questions if he was capable of remaining patient enough to allow the boy to fully organize his thoughts.
“Your scent…” Damian frowned down at the articles of clothing. “It’s soothing.” He shifted a bit, wrapping his arms tighter around his knees. “Seeing as how you’ve been ‘busy’ and it looks like things are only going to get ‘busier’—” Dick marveled at how he could hear the air quotes without Damian lifting a finger, “—I simply took matters into my own hands. If you had waited another hour, I would have returned them exactly as I found them. I’ve told you before that I’m perfectly capable of being at least somewhat self-sufficient.”
Dick found himself at a loss of how to handle the sheer amount of guilt he was suddenly drowning in. “Damian…” He scooted closer. “You shouldn’t feel like you need to turn to my clothes when you’re in dire need of comfort.”
“That’s hardly my fault, now, is it?”
Dick winced. “Okay, so I completely deserved that.”
“We’re going to have to renew the bond again soon,” Damian needlessly reminded him. “Do you still want to?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I still want to. Why wouldn’t I want to?” Hell, Dick had dreams about what the ceremony would wind up entailing once their bond was strengthened and left free to push and test its new limits without either of them fully capable of holding back as they had been doing so since he had returned. The last ceremony certainly had interesting results.
Damian shrugged and pushed the clothes off his lap. Dick took it as a sign that he was free to properly offer reassurance and moved until his side was flush against Damian’s, wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulders when he leaned into him just slightly.
After a moment of sitting together in a comfortable silence, Damian spoke up. “I know of one hundred and twenty three ways to break out of this hold.” He looked over at Dick. “You would only survive thirty-six of them.”
Dick couldn’t stop the fond smile from curling up at the corner of his lips. “This hold is called a hug, Damian. You’re going to need to accept that you’re human and just get used to it someday.”
Damian looked away. “A human wouldn’t know one hundred and twenty-four ways to break a hug,” he complained.
“I thought it was twenty three,” Dick questioned, opting to try and keep the conversation light.
“I thought of another one,” Damian said tonelessly, looking almost bored as he stared at the far wall of his room.
Dick chuckled and shook his head. “And would I survive it?”
A teasing smirk played at the corner of Damian’s mouth. “Maybe. Most likely.” He turned and Dick saw the warm playfulness alight in his eyes. “I have my doubts, though.”
Dick’s brain fell peacefully blank. It was rare for Damian to relax to such an extent that he would crack jokes without a malicious intent behind them. Acting purely on instinct, Dick drew Damian towards him, not realizing what he was doing until he felt Damian’s lips moving against his own, parting to allow his tongue access. Several seconds later, the feel of Damian’s fist clenching the material of his shirt directly over his heart caused Dick to draw in a sharp, dizzying breath. His body was reacting far more enthusiastically than he was comfortable with and he had no idea how to slow it down.
It was the bond acting up again. It had to be. They just needed to hold out for a few more weeks and things would be fine once more.
With that thought in mind, Dick pulled back. Damian’s eyes were still closed, his brow furrowed just slightly in a way that made it hard for the older man to not dive right back in.
Instead, he tried to move away, but was stopped as Damian tightened the hold on his shirt.
“He killed my mother.”
Dick froze. Damian’s eyes were back to their usual, cold fury.
“I know.” Relaxing to show that he wasn’t going anywhere, Dick kept his gaze locked with Damian’s and saw the uncertainty flicker through his eyes.
“Do you think he will – He might still be able to…”
“No.” Dick’s answer was firm enough to prevent Damian from arguing. “He’d have to break passed me first and I like to think you’ve got a strong enough hold on my soul that it won’t exactly be an easy task for even the Devil himself to rip you away from me.”
Damian didn’t smile at the humor, so Dick did for the both of them, pulling Damian close once more, this time for a real hug. His worry for Tim returned tenfold, and yet, overshadowing it was Damian and the knowledge that Dick would do anything to keep him safe.
He just hoped such limits wouldn’t come to be tested.
Prompt: You’re dressed as a sexy cop at this party, please arrest me.
Damian didn’t want to go. There was no purpose in going. In fact, going would probably be detrimental to his college career, considering the amount of homework and reading he was expected to get done over the weekend.
“It’ll help your social life! Did you know, the connections you make in college are some of the most important ones in your career? By starting to network here, you’ll have an inside into who knows how many fields thanks to everyone being in a wide variety of majors! How awesome is that??”
Despite is upturned nose, Damian did decide that sounded pretty awesome.
And so, he put his schoolwork aside, dressed into something sensible, changed into something “practical” at his roommate’s ardent horror, and headed out with the group, determined to make some connections that weren’t linked to him through his father.
For some reason, Damian imagined a college party to be not so different from some of the raunchier parties his family had been invited to in the past. As he walked up the sidewalk to the large abandoned house that had been acquired for the night, he was starting to realize he couldn’t have been more wrong.
The rancid smell of alcohol permeated the air, along with the heavy thrum of music’s deep bass coming from somewhere further inside. Various strings of Christmas lights and disco balls had been put up as a main light source, and all around, people were cheering, laughing, screaming, and just…moving.
If Damian were to compare this to anything, he’d think he just walked into a flash mob version of the Harlem Shake.
A hearty slap on his shoulder jolted him forward. “Alright! Let’s go have some fun!”
Before Damian could answer, a red plastic cup was shoved into his hands with liquid sloshing over the sides, and by the time he looked back up, his friends had all scattered.
Stepping out of the doorway, Damian sniffed at his cup before taking a sip. He had no idea how he was expected to network when everyone around him was acting like a bunch of animals.
Several drinks and two shots later, Damian had a feeling he was starting to figure it out. All he had to do was give out his business card at some point immediately after the cheers and people would happily take it and pocket it. And even better were the ones who used the back to write their names and phone numbers on it before giving it back.
It seemed people of this age group had their own language when it came to networking, which included making a fist with the thumb and pinky pointed out by their head while saying, “Call me.”
Damian could definitely do that.
It was amidst a chugging contest that the bass to the music suddenly cut out, which actually did wonders for the light nausea Damian had been feeling for the last hour. He was nearly done with his drink when the chanting died out, and upon canting his eyes to the side, he noticed cops.
The remainder of the beer sloshed down his shirt.
Some distant form of logic screamed at him to get the hell out of there before he got caught and stained the Wayne family name. He was underage, several girls had gone topless, and he was pretty sure drugs were present. Considering his status, he would probably be arrested just to make a point.
Pivoting on his heel, Damian moved to lose himself in the panicked crowd only to slam into a solid wall of muscle.
Staggering back, he was saved from falling thanks to a sure hand at his elbow.
Any gratitude he may have felt vanished as he realized his barrier/savior was one of the many officers filtering through the party.
“’M’not drunk!” Damian immediately proclaimed, still clutching the uniformed arm for balance.
“Damian??”
Damian’s eyes went wide as recognition of the cop slowly filtered through his brain.
“Oh, Christ on a cracker, your dad is going to kill you.”
Officer Dick Grayson had been one of the orphans Damian’s grandparents sponsored through his schooling. He was older than Damian by a good six years, and despite being offered a free ride through just about any university in the country, Dick had decided to settle for the local police academy.
Damian only ever really saw him over the holidays during his grandparents’ ugly sweater parties, where Dick would be wearing the same sweater every year. Damian was fairly certain the man kept it in the trunk of his car and pulled it on as he walked up to the door, since his hair was always in disarray as well.
But now…
Now Dick was put together. Hair lightly gelled back, uniform pressed, bright smile gone in replace of concern, and no red cheeks from being pinched by adults who had drank too much eggnog.
All in all, Dick looked…amazing.
“You’re going to arrest me,” Damian announced to the shiny badge on Dick’s chest.
“Er, I was thinking about letting you off with a warning, but—”
Damian shook his head. “You’re a hot. A…a cop. A hop cot. That’s what you do to bad boys like me.”
Officer Grayson’s eyebrows shot up. “But,” he stressed, “I have a very strong feeling you would spectacularly fail a breathalyzer test.”
Body going ridged in offense, Damian snatched his hands back and glared into bright blue eyes. “I would never! I don’t fail tests!”
“Right. How about a compromise? I escort you back to your dorm and you don’t worry about the test,” Dick offered, figuring this easier than dealing with the inevitable blow to Damian’s ego with the breathalyzer results.
Damian frowned as he felt a gentle hand on his back guide him towards the entrance. “But…the law?”
“I’ll worry about the law. You worry about not puking in my car. Sound good?”
Damian mulled it over. “You’re not babying me, are you?”
Dick’s laugh sounded like it was punched out of him. “No.” His gaze swept over Damian’s form. “Definitely not.”
Placated for the moment, Damian allowed himself to be led to the crowd that was bottlenecked at the door and then through, following Dick to the throng of police cars that were parked in the street with their lights flashing.
His jaw dropped open in betrayal when Dick opened up the backdoor to his patrol car.
“You’re arresting me!”
“No, this is just standard—” Dick cut himself off at the devastated look he was being subjected to.
Damian had always been a kid who kept his emotions closed off from others. He rarely smiled, he swallowed his anger, and Dick had never seen him sad.
He wasn’t sure he could handle a sobbing Damian in the back of his car.
Instead, Dick mutely shut the back door and opened up the front passenger one instead.
Once they were both settled, Dick radioed in his plans and turned off his light bar before making the three minute drive to the college dorms.
“Are you going to tell my dad?”
Dick winced at the question. He could picture Bruce yelling at him for not setting an example by arresting Damian just as easily as he could see himself getting yelled at for taking Damian in. It was a lose-lose situation.
“I’m willing to keep it a secret if you are,” Dick offered. “Provided you tell me what you were doing at a party like that.”
Damian’s head lolled around against his seat until it was facing Dick. “I was networking.” His eyes went wide with remembrance and suddenly he was struggling against his seatbelt to reach into his pocket. “Here!”
Dick’s eyes darted from the road to take the card that he was being offered. He waited until they were parked before looking at it.
It was a business card. With Damian’s name, number, email, and major all listed in gold font against a muted black background.
Dick couldn’t have stopped his laugh even if he tried.
“I just wanted to make connections that were my own!” Damian explained. “And not linked through my family! I’m a grown man now, I need to be able to rely on myself for things like this!”
“That’s…that’s a sound idea.” Dick forced his laughter to subside and offered the card back to Damian. “But maybe next time, you should limit your networking to rallies rather than parties.”
Damian frowned at the card. “You don’t want it?”
“Well, I don’t really need it, considering I already know you.”
“But…I want to be connected to you. Directly. And not—not through my grandparents.”
Dick let out a measured breath. With drunks, their logic was always so simple. He knew there would be no harm in accepting the card and tucking it away in his wallet.
But on a more personal level, Dick wanted to pry apart Damian’s logic with more questions. To dig into the man’s psyche while his emotions were still floating near the surface to see if his thoughts for Dick went any deeper than “hop cot”.
In the end, professionalism won out, and Dick made a show of tucking the business card into his wallet.
The smile he was awarded with was worth it, although seeing Damian make the classic phone sign and saying, “Call me!” threw him for a bit of a loop.
So did Damian’s failed exit when he moved to quickly get out of the car despite forgetting to open the door first, leading him to knock himself out after banging his head against the window.
THE END.
“I can show you the world.
Shining, shimmering…spleh-hen-did.
Tell me, Princess, now when did you–”
Damian flings back the curtain and shoves the window to his apartment open, unintentionally smacking Nightwing and causing him to jostle about on his cable.
To his credit, Nightwing is completely unfazed.
“–last let your heart decide?”
“What is this? Some kind of Spiderman and Aladdin crossover?”
Dick’s eyebrows go up (technically, down) in surprise as he extends a foot and wraps it into his line, successfully slowing his spinning to a stop. “You’ve been having contemporary movie marathons without me?”
Damian simply crosses his arms and scowls, decidedly not telling Dick about how Stephanie teases him at every opportunity about his lack of knowledge on pop culture.
The silence, unfortunately, prompts Dick to continue singing.
“I can open your eyes.
Take you wonder by wonder–”
“What do you want?” Damian interrupts.
Instead of giving a real answer, Dick simply smiles and extends out a hand.
“Do you trust me?”
Damian stares at the open palm, his complete lack of amusement shining through as he looks back up at Nightwing’s mask.
Dick’s grin stretches wider and his arm moves forward a bit more.
“Do you trust me?” he repeats.
Rolling his eyes, Damian uncrosses his arms and reaches out to accept the invitation. His stance remains firm as Dick tugs at their clasped hands, allowing his upper body to be pulled forward until his knees are leaning against the window frame. He refuses to go further.
But that’s fine because, Dick uses the leverage to pull himself forward, curling his torso up until he can stretch his neck just enough to reach and capture Damian’s lips in an upside-down kiss.
It’s slightly awkward and doesn’t feel anywhere near as amazing as some of their other stolen kisses, but Damian’s slight intake of breath lets Dick know that it’s perfect regardless.
The phone call came at 2am, shortly after Dick had just dozed off after a night out with friends.
“We’re meeting on the corner of Jones and Sunset in half an hour.”
Dick had no idea who was on the other end. “…What?”
“Wally says make it fifteen minutes if you want time for makeup.”
Makeup? But… “I thought I wasn’t...my schedule…m’I wrong? M’sorry…” He struggled to get up and found himself simply hovering on his knees and hand, his blankets tented over him as he squinted at his pillow.
“You’re not wrong. It just so happens to be raining.”
Raining…? Dick’s eyes widened. Rain! They needed that! For that one scene!!
His covers went flying through the air as he practically leapt out of bed. “I’ll be there in ten! No, wait! Fifteen, ‘cause it’s raining and it would be bad if I died!”
“Right. Hey, Steph!” The voice grew distant from the phone. “We’re going to need to make a coffee run-!”
The call ended, leaving Dick free to scramble for his clothes. He couldn’t remember which shirt he was supposed to be wearing, so he brought them all, much to Kate’s amusement as she worked on hiding the dark circles under his eyes.
“Give me that,” Stephanie snapped, pulling the grocery bag full of clothes out from Dick’s grip and exchanged it with his coffee. “You’re in the button-up.” She rifled through the bag and pulled out the wrinkled shirt before walking off with it.
“Don’t I need that?” Dick asked, eyes following her movement as he took a generous sip from his warm to-go cup.
“Once Stephanie’s steamed it, you will,” Kate answered, apply a layer of powder over her handiwork. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Dick could barely feel the caffeine kicking in by the time he was sitting in the car, driving through the torrential rain, squinting to find the marked bus stop he was supposed to stop at. He nearly missed it despite it being swarmed by bright umbrellas and lights for the camera crew and had to make a fairly illegal U-turn.
Damian looked miserable. His uniform was soaked through and his shivering was out of control.
“Colin?” Dick called out as he rolled the window down. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“Waiting for the b-bus.”
A scripted glance at the clock on his dashboard. “The last bus stopped over an hour ago.”
Damian looked ready to cry and Dick was pretty sure it wasn’t much of an exaggeration for his character. Hell, he wanted to cry just knowing how miserable Damian probably really was.
It was far too easy to fall into the emotions you were meant to portray when you were this exhausted.
“Come on,” Dick offered. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Once Damian was in the car, Dick refrained from blasting the heater, knowing the noise would cause issues with the sound crew.
“So, where am I going?” Dick asked, pulling away from the curb. He deliberately ignored the dash-cams that were in his field of vision.
“…Is the library still open?”
“Uh, no.” After a beat, Dick continued the line of conversation. “Is there a last minute project you needed to research for?”
“No.”
The silence stretched on.
“I’m going to need directions to your house soon, kiddo.”
Damian’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “I’m not going home.”
“What? Why? Did something happen?” When no answer was forthcoming, Dick glanced over at Damian, who was staring out his window. “Colin!”
“What.”
Dick pulled over and put the car in park. “Talk to me.”
Damian looked down at his lap, his jaw working as he mulled over his lines. A shoulder came up in a half-shrug. “My parents were fighting…the fight turned on me…They said…They’re not…”
Dick’s hand came up to rest on Damian’s shoulder. “Is this about you being—?”
Damian’s face crumpled as he nodded. His breath came out in a heaving gasp and he fisted the damp bag in his lap. “I know…I know you said what we did the other day can’t ever happen again. But please – please – don’t make me go back home,” he pleaded brokenly.
Without even thinking, Dick’s knuckles came up to carefully wipe at the tears that were now making their way down Damian’s cheeks.
Characters: Dick Grayson
Rating: almost M
Prompt: Dick WOULD let the female superheroes paint his nails if they asked.
A/N: I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I guess I should throw out a fetish warning…
It Must Be Art
Dick loved color. He grew up in a circus, so of course he loved color. He loved the way the Flying Graysons’ sequined outfits sparkled under the spotlight. The way his Robin costume once shone brightly next to Batman. The way Flash would leave a streak of red behind that would actually glow on a rainy night in a large city.
It was the same red that Dick could always find dotted around at fancy dinner parties on women’s fingers and toes – little pinpoints that never failed to catch the light with their gloss and attract Dick’s attention in an almost hypnotic way.
And it was never limited to just red. Oh, no. Red was just the start. From there he would find pale pinks, bold blues, ‘french tips’ that he longed to nibble, gems, streaks, dots, designs, why couldn’t he have something like that?
Because as a grown child of Bruce Wayne, he would make heads turn so fast he’d find himself under a civil suit for whiplash. At least, that’s what he told himself whenever he passed up a nail salon and inhaled the intoxicating scent of nail fume nirvana.
Deciding to find some alternate means of fulfilling this gnawing want, he came up with the perfect compromise. Dick would let female superheroes paint his nails if they asked.
Problem was, they never did.
He even went so far as to open himself up to their pranks by falling asleep on the couches at the Teen Titan Watchtower, making sure his hands and fingernails were clearly exposed in ways that were sure to give any typical woman ideas. But his women were too nice. The most he ever woke up with was a drawn on mustache and monocle, courtesy of Bart, and that was only because the little bastard moved faster than his ability to wake up and give chase.
Just as Dick was starting to despair, he stumbled across Stephanie. Sweet, adorable, little Steph whose hand happened to be splayed out over the table, surrounded by various nail torture devices, with her full concentration dedicated to dragging a tiny little brush up the nail of her pinky.
Dick was on her faster than Batman was on Catwoman.
Or vice versa. It usually depended on their moods for the night.
Despite being careful, his greeting still caught Stephanie by complete surprise and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he startled her enough to cause the brush to jolt from its path.
Luckily for him, it didn’t take much talking and staring for Stephanie to insist she paint Dick’s nails for fun as they waited for Tim and Kon to return from their 'bro date’.
Dick was fascinated as Stephanie’s tiny hands intertwined with his in the oddest of ways as she 'buffed’ and 'prepped’ the nails on all ten fingers before reaching beneath the table and hauling back up a gift bag that was full to the brim with the most amazing selection of nail polish colors Dick had ever seen. It made him feel like a damn kid in a candy store and he had to fight the almost overwhelming urge to dump the bag out from a height great enough to break the bottles so he could watch the colors mix and run.
Eyes darting back and forth, Dick froze as he spotted a color that almost made him moan in want. The bottle said 'lollipop’ but he knew that color from anywhere. It was Flash red.
Even when on the job, Dick had never sat so still, and he watched with baited breath as Stephanie unscrewed the cap and dragged the brush against the edge of the bottle, her warm palm pressing down against the back of Dick’s hand as she chose to start with his right middle finger.
A shudder ran down his spine straight through to his toes at first contact, causing Stephanie to pause. It was cold. Cold enough to be felt by the skin beneath the nail. He hadn’t expected that and did his best to laugh it off so that Stephanie would continue. She did and Dick’s chuckle was cut short as his teeth dug into his bottom lip. Suddenly it was hard to remain still. He was thrumming with energy that his body had no idea what to do with. So he distracted himself with random thoughts.
He had no idea who Tim and Kon were trying to kid with this 'bro date’ of theirs. His nails were gorgeous. He needed to pick up milk on his way home. He should probably wear gloves. Would Bruce approve if he ever saw this? Had Bruce ever painted his nails before when going undercover? Had Selina or any of his other dates ever offered? Did Bruce say yes? Did Stephanie ever offer to paint Tim’s nails? He needed to grab peanut butter, too. Would it still be safe to stick his finger in peanut butter and suck it off with nail polish? Despite being Flash red, 'Lollipop’ was a good name for the color. Because now he was really craving peanut butter. Only instead of sticking his finger in, he’d just scoop it out with the back of his nail. The brown on red would be just like a caramel apple. He needed to buy some chocolate syrup from the store as well.
Dick didn’t even register Tim and Kon’s presence until they were at the table, grabbing at Stephanie’s salon items as she did her best to swat them away. Tim stopped in his teasing only when he noticed Dick’s nails.
“It’s about time,” was all he said with a shake of his head.
Dick opened his mouth to retort, only to stop in horror when he realized the reason his throat felt slightly constrained wasn’t because of being caught by his younger brother or potential ramifications from Bruce or the tension running through his body. It was from a different type of tension. Located solely in his pants.
