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The October 7th Cake

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It was later than he’d realized when Damian got back to the manor, and he instinctively moved in characteristic silence, more out of respect for anyone who might be sleeping than because he was worried about getting caught.

No, no one would have a problem with him coming home well past three in the morning—it was nothing uncommon in this household, and it had only been at his father’s suggestion that he’d gone out at all. Much as he’d tried to be subtle, the family had started to notice that Damian was patrolling far more than his share of nights, and it was suggested, in that brick-wall kind of way, that he take a couple nights off and enjoy some time to himself.

Of course it was no accident that Damian had been going out on patrol more often. It just wasn’t exactly for the brooding workaholic reasons people seemed to expect of him. Rather, the reason was quite a bit more simple (and still more complicated) than anything the rest of his family might have guessed.

To be blunt, it was Jason Todd.

Or more precisely, Damian’s feelings for Jason, which had recently become more difficult to control. Sure, Damian had been interested in him for years, been attracted to him for just about as long as he could remember, but lately, Jason hadn’t been coming around the manor as often for anything that wasn’t work-related, and Damian… missed him.

There had been a period where Jason seemed to be around all the time. He was working on a case with Bruce, and every time Damian walked into the room he was just there, apparently (weirdly), genuinely happy to see him.

Sometimes if Dick or Tim was around as well, Jason would start up a little game, striking up a conversation with Damian in one of the few languages they both spoke but that the others weren’t versed in. It never failed to get Tim’s feathers ruffled, shooting them annoyed looks and huffing indignantly as they casually discussed what kind of cookies they hoped Alfred would bake later, or what had happened in the latest chapter of some novel one of them was reading. The joke was that their talk was never anything remotely serious, never anything of any importance whatsoever. Damian knew the point of it was just to annoy their adopted brothers, and that it had nothing to do with him, specifically.

Yet even as he knew that, Damian couldn’t help but feel this easy connection with Jason. There were things the two of them had in common or could talk about that the rest of the family just wouldn’t understand. There had been plenty of times when Jason and Damian hadn’t seen eye to eye, or had even been on the opposite sides in battle (what’s a gunshot wound or two between Robins?), and it had taken Damian a while to get past Jason’s completely warped relationship with his mother, but he couldn’t deny that he had a great deal of respect for the man. Furthermore, Damian was aware he didn’t always have a lot of success getting along with people. Though he was skilled in many areas, he wasn’t as gifted in the area of charm, and he sometimes lacked the patience necessary to get to know and trust new people.

Todd wasn’t difficult in the way that so many of Damian’s social interactions were. They could understand each other without Damian feeling that he had to put on a face, an act, something more acceptable for the public. He had really started to look forward to seeing him, to having him start muttering something to him in Urdu about Dick’s haircut. There was a freedom in how he could laugh with Jason.

Damian didn’t have delusions about how Jason saw things between them. He knew that in his eyes he would probably always be a kid, a demon brat, never fully an equal. That knowledge didn’t stop Damian’s heart from fluttering every time Jason smiled at him, or stop the late-night imaginings of Jason rolling his hips against Damian’s as he bit at his neck, something which had been coming unbidden to Damian’s mind with increasing frequency.

The past few months Jason had been over less and less, and never socially. He wasn’t coming to Dick’s movie nights or hanging around Bruce’s study to talk after casework was done. The only chance Damian had had to see him was as the Red Hood, on patrol. So naturally, how could Damian pass up a chance to go out and protect Gotham when it also meant his only chance of working with Jason?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried getting to see him for something social. It was outside his comfort zone, but Damian had texted more than once, asking if Jason wanted to go get frozen yogurt, or whether he needed help with anything he was working on his own, but Jason always seemed to respond to his texts too late, or said he was busy and suggested Damian ask Dick instead.

The small rejections only managed to deepen Damian’s attachment, perhaps appealing to his competitive nature, his desire to chase something and catch it—though he certainly didn’t think of Jason in those terms. He just wanted to be near him.

Extremely, emotionally and physically, near him. Possibly directly on top of him.

So it was that Damian ended up going out to patrol even on nights when he knew he wouldn’t see Jason, just for the distraction it provided. He had found himself slipping more often, letting his mind wander to thoughts of Todd when it really shouldn’t. He could hardly stop himself from thinking of him as he thrust up into his own hand, imagining being surrounded by his scent, hearing his breaths coming faster, tasting his sweat…

It was safer to stay out late working, in hopes that he’d be too tired and too focused on other things to dwell on how it might feel to be that close to him, to be more to Jason than all he knew he was.

He hadn’t seen him outside the field since the night Jason had insisted on taking him out drinking to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. Dick had had an entire thoughtful afternoon dedicated to Damian and the things he knew he enjoyed, and Bruce had been firm on a family dinner, but Jason had managed to snag the late-night time slot, immovable in his assurance that “getting wasted” was a necessary part of turning twenty-one.

“It’s not as if I’ve never had a drink before,” Damian had reminded him impatiently. He’d been more than a little uncomfortable with the entire thing, wary of putting himself in a situation where his inhibitions might be less than usual, especially around Jason.

“Yeah, well, the idea this time is for you to have a lot of drinks,” Jason had said, that cocky grin that was altogether too attractive present on his face. “Not some sip-of-champagne-at-the-gala bullshit, but some real adult level drinking.”

Damian had merely rolled his eyes at that, not bothering with any retort about how alcohol was hardly a worthwhile rite of passage at this point in his life. He’d graduated from university, had a hand in saving the world (how many times?), died and come back from it… Cocktails didn’t seem like any kind of indicator of “growing up”. Still, he kept it to himself. Jason would just do what he wanted, no matter how Damian argued, and Damian had learned (albeit gradually, and sometimes painfully) that snide remarks couldn’t (always) prevent the inevitable. Besides, it wasn’t like there was literally anything he’d rather do than spend an evening just relaxing with Jason. If he could get himself to relax around Jason.

“I’m really thinkin’ if booze can’t loosen you up some, it might just be a lost cause.” Jason’s eyes were so focused as he watched Damian drain his second glass, and there was something honestly thrilling about having that attention on him.

“Please,” Damian said, suppressing the annoyed little click of his tongue that wanted out. “I am not that tight.”

It took several seconds for Damian to realize exactly how he could have worded that better, only really processing how it had sounded when he saw the look on Jason’s face: his mouth dropped open, eyes still intently focused on Damian. The feel of the blush burning its way out to the tips of Damian’s ears was unmistakable, and he started in on his next drink eagerly, hoping to cover whatever coloring the low lights of the bar didn’t hide fully.

He didn’t bother trying to backtrack, thinking that would only call more attention to what he had said, and possibly to where his own mind had gone. All there was to do was change the subject and hope his comment was forgotten.

Of course it wasn’t forgotten by Damian himself. He’d been hung up on it ever since, wondering if Jason had heard it the way he had completely not intended, whether it had put thoughts of Damian in a sexual context into his mind. Maybe he didn’t fully want Jason to forget it either.

It was impressive in a way how his introspections always managed to end up back in the same place, even as he tried to distract himself with a hundred other things. He was sure that when his father had shooed him out for the evening he had been hoping that Damian was going out with friends, engaging in some recreational or social activity suited to his age range, but he’d instead spent several hours at the library doing research for a case Tim was working on.

Out of everyone, Tim seemed to be the only person who didn’t give Damian those sympathetic, concerned looks, like he knew he was working himself too hard and would regret it later. Maybe that was just because Tim was on the receiving end of those looks too often himself, but it worked out in Damian’s favor. When Damian offered to help with research on the down-low, Tim took him up on it without a lecture, and without even the smattering of suspicion Damian might have expected from him. Over time he supposed their loathing for each other had really cooled into a mutual respect and appreciation for one another’s differing methods and perspectives, and Tim wasn’t one to turn down a useful tool being handed to him.

After compiling and encrypting his findings to send to Tim securely, Damian was finally trudging into the Manor a good deal past when he expected anyone else to be awake.

Which was why he was so surprised to see the light on in the kitchen. The faint but distinct sounds of a hand mixer (along with bowls clattering, some appliance beeping intermittently...) had Damian tiptoeing over to see what on earth Alfred could be up cooking at this hour.

He wasn’t sure how to react when he found Jason there instead, hugging a mixing bowl to his chest as he peered, frowning, at an open book of recipes on the counter.

For a long moment, Damian just stared, taking in the sight of Jason, in a tank top and sweatpants, freshly showered after the night’s patrol, surrounded by dishes and ingredients, looking surprisingly in his element.

“I know maybe you think you switched on an episode of Ace of Cakes, but this isn’t a live show, so were you gonna say something?” Jason didn’t look up from the book in front of him, but one his his eyebrows lifted.

“What are you doing here?” was all Damian could think to say.

“Pick up that kinda warm-welcome line from B?” Jason glanced over now, but he was smiling. “I’d think it was obvious that I’m baking.”

Damian pursed his lips, taking a couple tentative steps into the kitchen. “I meant why. Why are you baking, here, in the middle of the night…?”

“Funny story,” Jason said, and turned to pour the contents of his mixing bowl into two cake pans he had sitting on the counter. “A few months back, Roy helped me out with that thing I was working—I don’t know if you remember, the human trafficking bullshit—and so naturally I told him, ‘I owe you one,’ right?” His eyes stayed on what he was doing, using a spatula to smooth over the tops of the mixture in its separate pans. “Now silly me, thinkin’ when it came time for him to call in his favor it’d be a hero thing—no, he hits me up, telling me I owe him yadda yadda and it’s urgent, and what he needs is for me to bake him a cake—and not just any cake, mind you, but a fucking September 7th cake—never mind that we’re well into October…”

Damian was only half-listening, still completely thrown by the fact that Jason was there, and somehow distracted by what looked to be a dusting of cocoa powder smudged on Jason’s left cheek. This was dangerous. He hadn’t had time to mentally prepare himself for an interaction with Jason, and time away from him had done absolutely nothing to quell his desire for him. Foolishly, in Jason’s absence, Damian had allowed his fantasies about him to grow wilder than any garden, so in a way it was almost surprising that even just seeing him like this hadn’t gotten Damian hard in a matter of seconds. He fought down the urge to lick Jason’s face clean and tried to regulate his breathing back to an acceptable level.

“Do you have any idea what a pain a September 7th cake is to make?” Jason asked, looking at Damian seriously.

It seemed that he actually wanted an answer so Damian just shook his head.

“Point being, I didn’t have everything I need at my place.” Jason put both pans into the oven, and then leaned against the counter, facing Damian fully. “And where have you been? Missed you on patrol.”

The topic shift brought Damian somewhat back to himself, and in an effort to not get hung up on the idea that Jason had “missed” him, he let out an irritated little huff of air and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have been benched.”

“What, you injure something?”

“My physical condition is not under scrutiny,” Damian said. “Father is merely concerned that I have been patrolling excessively.”

“Have you been?” Jason’s face was as unreadable as if he were wearing the Hood and Damian worked his jaw before answering.

“I know my limits. I have been… keeping busy.”

“Hm. You know there’s no harm in letting someone else handle Gotham for a night now and then, though.” Still nothing showed on his face, but there was something—could it have been concern…?—in his voice, and it caused Damian’s brain to stall for a few seconds.

In the silence Jason reached up to brush his shower-damp bangs back from his face, using the back of his wrist as his hands were still messy with whatever he'd been mixing. Damian had to apply years of training in order to not gasp audibly as the action of raising his arm revealed to Damian a glimpse of one of his greatest weaknesses, and for him to admit, even to himself, to having such a weakness at all must have really said something about how significant it was.

Only a glimpse and Damian’s mind was blank of any response he might have had for Jason a moment before, his thoughts completely centered on the fantasy of Todd lifting his arms for him, showing Damian everything; of Damian burying his nose in the hair growing there, breathing in the scent of him, masculine and heady; of flicking out his tongue for a taste—

Damian coughed awkwardly as he realized Jason was still staring at him, his eyes ever so slightly curious now at the way Damian was behaving. His thoughts never would have gotten so carried away if he’d had time to prepare himself for seeing Jason, at least not right in front of him like this. Honestly that was just irresponsible.

“I’ve been finding other ways to make myself useful,” Damian said, careful not to make eye contact.

“I don’t doubt it,” Jason said, one eyebrow still quirked in mild suspicion.

“I’ll be heading up to my room now.” Damian was eager to get out of there as quickly as possible. He was only more likely to give himself away the longer he lingered. “I wish you luck on your baking endeavors.”

“Goin’ to bed?”

Damian considered it, and then shook his head. Going to bed now would just leave his mind free to obsess over this most recent interaction with Jason, and he’d rather not give it the opportunity. “I will most likely be up sketching for a while.”

“Then don’t be too surprised if I come askin’ you to taste-test something for me,” Jason said, and pushed off from the counter to start rounding up the supplies for the next part of what he was making.

He was still muttering something about icing and getting the right consistency as Damian turned and made his way out of the kitchen to head up to his room.

It was nice to see him. Even if it was unexpected, Damian couldn’t very well complain. Hadn’t he been wanting to see him, after all?

That didn't mean it was easy to see him, standing there, looking so good, seeming like maybe he wanted to see Damian too. And sure, Damian knew he could write that off as something fraternal, should write it off that way, but maybe he’d wanted too much and too long to not let himself feel at least a little bit excited, hearing Jason say he’d missed him on patrol.

With a sigh, Damian came into his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. He took off his shoes and left them with his messenger bag near the door before coming all the way into the room, turning on the lamp at his desk, and dropping down into his chair. In going out and helping Tim with his research, he had hoped to distract himself from his near-continuous thoughts of Jason, but that had all been nullified by even the briefest of conversations with him.

It wouldn’t be a problem, Damian thought as he pulled out one of his sketchbooks from a drawer of his desk, if Todd wasn’t so goddamn attractive. What right does he have being so sexual and alluring, doing something as harmless as baking a cake? Unacceptable.

His pencil moved idly over the page without any particular goal in mind, and Damian wasn't paying that much attention to any of it anyway, his thoughts still running in swirling patterns that somehow seemed to be shaped like the man currently in his kitchen. He was stuck on that unreadable expression Jason sometimes wore, how he could look at Damian with so much intensity and how Damian still didn’t know what to make of it.

He’d had that intensity in his gaze when he’d looked at Damian at the bar, the night they’d gone out drinking, that focus. When Damian had gone and said that comment on his tightness. And maybe it had really been nothing, and Jason’s mind hadn’t even gone there. There was no real way to be sure. Naturally, Damian had made the connection to the double entendre, but that was surely because he was always half-thinking of something sexual when it came to Jason anyway.

It was no surprise to Damian when he glanced down at his paper and found that his meandering pencil lines had taken refuge in the form of Jason’s figure, a more detailed study of just his eyes in one corner of the page. He dropped the pencil and pushed away from his desk, his head falling back against the back of his chair. Letting his eyes slide closed, he went over the scene in the bar again, for the thousandth time at least.

It was hard for him not to think about how Jason had looked at him, but more, how he’d wanted Jason to look at him.

“Maybe you should let me be the judge of how tight you are,” he’d have liked to hear Jason say.

“And how do you propose to judge that?”

It was a fantasy he’d had countless times since that night, and Damian let it play out in his mind, the rest of the bar and its customers falling away until it was just Damian bent over the bar, with Jason, all hard muscle, pressed up against him. His breath caught at the idea of Jason grinding himself against his ass, one hand slipping into the front of Damian’s jeans, wrapping around his cock—

Except he couldn’t enjoy Jason’s eyes burning into him from that angle, so he had to reposition the fantasy so he was sprawled out on his back on one of the bar’s tables instead, Jason comfortably between his legs. He’d always loved the thought of how Jason could loom over him. Even if he’d outgrown most of the family, Jason was one of the few people Damian knew who could still make him feel small, and it was something he lived for.

You seem pretty tight to me,” Jason might say then, two fingers buried deep inside Damian. “How many people have you let fuck you anyway?

Enough to know what I like,” Damian could reply.

Maybe in these fantasies he had a tendency to imagine himself as a good deal more together than he really would be. Damian could privately admit that were he actually in such a situation, he might not have such an easy time forming witty retorts, and would find himself wholly preoccupied with whatever Jason’s fingers were doing inside him, but he didn’t see the harm in imagining a more confident version of himself.

At any rate, what he did and said wasn’t the important part of the fantasy. It was of considerably more interest to him just how Jason’s fingers would feel, stretching him open. His hands rubbed over his thighs and he let out a shaky breath.

Yeah? And this is what you like, isn’t it?” Jason would ask, and Damian would fight against the pleasure in order to keep his eyes open, to meet Jason’s gaze unflinchingly. “You like to be spread open and fucked good and hard.

“Yes,” Damian breathed, and before he even realized what he was doing, his jeans were open, pulled along with his briefs down under the swell of his ass, and his fist was tight around his cock as he let himself get swept away, thinking of Jason’s hands on his hips as he drove into him.

Fuck, Babybat, love how tight you are—like it’s just for me—”

It is, it’s all for you, want your cum inside me—”

“I really need someone else to taste this and tell me if it’s—”

Damian’s eyes snapped open, and he whirled around in his chair just in time to see Jason’s mouth gaping as he looked from Damian’s face, down to what his hand was doing, and then away.

Everything seemed to be in slow-motion. It couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds, but Damian felt like he had time to study the scene as if it were a painting: the way Jason’s grip tightened on the bowl of icing in his hand, the door hanging open behind him (unlocked, of course, since Damian had intended to only be sketching and gotten carried away), and how Damian’s own hand didn’t even slow down as he stroked his cock, somehow only more aroused as he was confronted with the real Jason in his bedroom.

Shit, I’m sorry! Fuck!” Jason raised the bowl in front of his face and turned around faster than Damian might have thought humanly possible, stumbling in his desperation to flee the room, and knocking himself face-first into the bedroom door. It slammed shut and Jason fell back on his ass with a few more choice curses.

“Todd!” Damian finally managed to pry his hand away from himself and get his pants done up at the prospect that Jason might actually be injured. He pushed up from his chair, hurrying to where Jason was still sitting on the floor with his hands over his face.


“Are you hurt?” Damian asked warily, though he welcomed the opportunity to focus on something other than the erection still painfully obvious in his pants.

Jason only swore a few more times.

“I will get my first aid kit.”

No, shit, don’t, I’m fine!” Jason said without uncovering his face.

“You’re fine?”

“No, I’m not fucking fine,” Jason cried angrily. “Does it look like I’m fine?!”

Damian was confused, which only made him want to react with anger as well. “If you bothered to pay attention to where you were going, you would not have run into the door like some kind of imbecile!”

Jason looked up at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking with me? That is not the issue I’m having.”

Damian scowled, hating feeling out of the loop.

“I walked in on you with your damn dick out!” Jason said, his voice much higher than usual. “How am I the only one who seems to have noticed?!”

“-tt- I noticed; I am simply not overly disturbed by it,” Damian said. “Nor will I be ashamed of doing something natural.” No, it was more the content of the fantasies that Damian was feeling ashamed of…

Jason made a noise like a laugh that had had all the humor freeze-dried out of it.

Damian peered at him curiously. “If you have such a problem with it, perhaps you should have knocked.”

“I did knock!” Jason said, gesturing uselessly towards the door. A bruise was beginning to blossom under his right eye where he’d collided with his own mixing bowl, but he didn’t seem to have any attention to spare for his minor injuries. “I thought I heard you say ‘come in’ so I did!”

“I never heard you knock,” Damian admitted, his cheeks burning in a most unwelcome embarrassment. With a sniff, he crossed his arms over his chest, and looked off in the direction of his desk. “I apologize for your having to walk in on what you deem to be such a disgusting scene.”

Jason made another strange noise, and Damian turned back to him suddenly.

There was something else there. Jason’s expression, so often difficult to take cues from, was radiating something… new. It wasn’t disgust, or even horror, and Damian found himself kneeling beside him, searching his face openly. It was only a flicker, some combination of fear and veiled but unmistakable arousal, and Damian wasn’t about to let that get away from him.

In less than a second he had Jason pinned down against the floor, straddling his magnificent thighs, and staring down at him. Mustering up whatever sexual confidence the fantasy version of himself could lend him, he went for an old standard: “What’s the problem, Todd? See something you like?”

Jason shook his head. “I can’t—You’re Damian, it’s too fucked up…”

Damian snorted. “I am not bothered by your history, if that is your concern. Or if you need to be reminded that I am an adult—”

“I don’t need a reminder of that actually, I’m fully aware,” Jason assured him. “Just… for the past two years, I’ve been telling myself you’re off-limits, and seeing you like that—”

Damian thought for a second and wet his lips before quietly confessing, “If you’re curious, I was thinking about you.”

At that, Jason’s control seemed to snap and he let out a breathless moan before surging up and claiming Damian’s mouth, wasting no time in getting his tongue past Damian’s lips, tracing along the points of his teeth.

It was surreal, after wanting him for so long to have Todd exactly where he wanted him, to feel his strong thighs under him, to be able to taste him, and Damian wasn’t sure for a second how to respond. He let Jason fully explore his mouth, a shiver going down his spine, and then Jason’s hands were on his waist, slipping up under his shirt, and Damian gasped, wanting some semblance of control back just until his mind started working again.

Grabbing hold of Jason’s wrists he slammed him back down against the floor, his arms over his head, and his heart was suddenly beating faster as he realized everything he wanted was right before him, only waiting for him to reach out and take it.

He bent over Jason, kissing along his jaw and at his neck, using just the smallest amount of teeth here and there, had Jason tipping his head back and sighing. Damian didn’t stop there though, and let his kisses continue down along Jason’s shoulder until he got to what he really wanted and went for it before he could talk himself out of it, burying his nose in the hair under Jason’s arm and inhaling deeply, a broken, needy sound leaving him just after.

Somehow it was more than he imagined, everything about Jason surrounding him, the scents of soap and sweat, leather and a distant smoke, combined now with cocoa and coffee and this unreachable sweetness. Soft hair brushed Damian’s lips, moving with his breath, and he let himself go, parting those lips and letting his tongue out to lick a stripe up along the sensitive skin.

Dami—What are y—Ohh.” Jason tensed beneath him, and Damian let go of his wrists, giving him the opportunity to push him away should he be uncomfortable with the direction he was taking this.

When he wasn’t immediately shoved off, Damian went ahead and enjoyed himself, licking Jason again, savoring the taste of his sweat, and then pulling some of that soft flesh between his lips and sucking lightly.

“Wh—OH, oh fuck,” Jason hissed, his hips jerking. One hand came to grip the back of Damian’s hair, but instead of yanking him away, he was just holding him in place, moaning low in his chest.

Damian was overwhelmed. His hands pawed helplessly at the carpet, at Jason’s shoulder; his hips were moving restlessly, desperately. He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life, felt like he was high off Jason’s scent, like he was drowning in him and still couldn’t get enough. He became aware that there was a high keening sound in the room and it was coming from him, even as he continued licking and nipping at the tender skin of Jason’s underarm.

His zipper was pressing uncomfortably against his erection, but he couldn’t stop grinding himself against Jason’s thigh, hard and thick and right under him. Jason’s hands were on him too, rough and broad, holding him like he wasn’t an imposingly large man himself. He was close. He was terribly, embarrassingly close, from nothing at all, and he had to push himself away, sitting up just so he could breathe, whining loudly as he twisted Jason’s tank top in his fist.

Jason was panting as he looked up at him, arousal darkening his eyes dramatically. “Jesus, Damian, you… you’re close, aren’t you?”

Damian bit his lip, nodded. He was falling apart and he wasn’t going to last for more than another minute at this rate, was going to end up shooting right in his clothing. It wasn’t what he wanted but he couldn’t really be surprised, given how long he had only dreamed of having Jason this way. He let one hand drift down Jason’s stomach to the front of his sweats, moaned as he felt how hard Jason was, and moaned louder at the conscious realization that Jason was hard for him.

His louder moan was cut short however as Jason shoved two fingers into his mouth, and Damian really had no choice but to suck.

The distraction was sufficient for Jason to get them flipped over, so Damian’s back was flat against the floor and Jason was leaning over him, fucking his fingers in and out of his mouth.

“God, you’re so hot,” Jason said, sounding awed. “Your mouth…”

Damian squirmed, holding onto Jason’s wrist with both hands. Saliva was dripping down Jason’s fingers, smeared over Damian’s chin. He was starting to look as much of a mess as he felt, any hope of that suave fantasy-Damian completely melted into nothingness.

Jason pulled his fingers out, traced them over Damian’s reddened lips as he let him gasp for breath. “How long have you wanted me?”

“Years,” Damian said and shook his head. “As long as I’ve wanted anyone.”

“And you jerk off thinkin’ about me?”

Damian swallowed. “Frequently.”

“Fuck, man…” Jason climbed unexpectedly to his feet, and for a moment Damian thought he’d scared him off with his honesty, but then the drawer to his nightstand was opening and Damian was trying not to whimper as he watched Jason rummage through it, knowing just what he was searching for.

“All the way to the left, in the back,” Damian said, pushing himself up as well. He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it as Jason came over with lube and condoms in hand.

“What’s it like, when you think of it?” Jason asked. He stood before Damian and stripped casually out of his tank top, exposing beautiful expanses of scarred skin and toned muscle.

Damian’s hands were there, moving over Jason’s chest before his brain could even engage to give them such a command. “How do you mean?” he said distractedly.

“I mean, I know what I’ve been wanting from you, but I want to know if it’s the same thing you want. ‘Cause I could be flexible.” Jason placed his hand over Damian’s, getting him to look at his face.

“Oh.” A legitimate shudder went through Damian’s whole body as he understood what Jason was asking, realized just how close he was now to getting fucked by him. He took another few seconds to consider it the other way, to picture Jason being flexible, as he put it, and while that certainly wasn’t an unappealing thought, he could only handle so much at once. He let himself fall back against the bed and spread his legs in as suggestive a manner as he could while still fully clothed. “Like this,” he whispered. With you buried balls-deep in my ass, he didn’t manage to say.

Jason’s hand rubbed over the front of his sweats before he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down with his boxer briefs. He crawled onto the bed between Damian’s legs and Damian couldn’t even start to take his eyes off Jason’s cock, mostly hard and curving ever so slightly to the left, the foreskin pulled back from the head.

His own cock throbbed at the mere thought of getting that inside him.

Damian clumsily got his jeans open, scooting further back on the bed and lifting his ass to pull them down. The cool air of the room hitting his heated erection made him gasp, or would have, if he hadn’t been paralyzed by the way Jason was staring at him.

It was the exact look he’d always craved from him: pure, intense want, utterly sexual and undeniable. Damian’s hips canted helplessly, and he reached for Jason’s hand again, dragging his fingers back into his mouth just to give himself something to focus on.

Jason didn’t seem to mind. He simply smirked and picked up the lube, getting it open and spread over the fingers of his other hand with no trouble at all.

Damian’s eyes closed and he tried not to let out even the smallest sound as he felt Jason probing around his entrance before finally pushing past the tight ring of muscle and starting to move slowly in and out. Damian clutched harder at Jason’s wrist, sucked harder at the fingers filling his mouth, and bucked his hips involuntarily as he had the thought that Todd was finger-fucking him from both ends.

“Shh, you have to relax.” Jason’s voice was deep and soothing, something Damian wanted to be wrapped up in.

It did occur to Damian that he was still thinking way too much, even as everything was happening. He couldn’t seem to shut off this constant stream of thoughts, simultaneously distracting from and magnifying everything Todd was doing.

Jason’s lips pressed against his neck as he spoke, “You’re doing so good, but I’ve got to get you open so I can really fuck you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Damian moaned around Jason's fingers, as close to a “yes” as he was going to get at the moment. He forced himself to relax, breathing out through his nose, and letting tension drip from his fingertips until soon Jason was thrusting two thick fingers in and out of his hole, rubbing along his inner walls, curling in just the right spot to have Damian shouting.

Apparently satisfied with his prep, Jason retrieved his hand from Damian’s mouth once more, and Damian only distantly heard the ripping of the condom package and the drizzle of lube before the felt the head of Jason’s cock pressing against him. Jason shoved one of Damian’s thighs up, almost to his chest, let Damian’s leg rest on his shoulder, and started to slowly push into him.

It was overwhelming much sooner than Damian expected. The very concept of what was happening had Damian whimpering, a wave of precum leaking from his straining dick.

“Fuck, fuck, Dami, you’re—too tight,” Jason said, every word sounding like it required great effort. “I don’t know if I can—Goddamn.” 

Damian shook his head stubbornly, his hands fisted in the covers on either side of him. “I can take it, Todd. Fill me.” He licked his lips and added a barely breathed, “Please.

Jason swore under his breath a few more times, but he didn’t argue. He just kept up his achingly slow pace working his cock into Damian’s body until Damian thought he would lose his mind just from the intensity of the sensation.

By the time he was fully seated in him, Damian could have sworn he could feel Jason throughout every inch of his body, so full he couldn’t remember what it was like to be any other way. He quickly became impatient for Jason to move, and made sure to tell him in no uncertain terms.

“If you do not hurry up and start fucking me, I will get myself off without your assistance and you will lose your opportunity,” he said, digging his nails into Jason’s bicep.

“Brat,” Jason muttered, but he definitely started fucking him.

Damian had been fucked before, sure, but this wasn’t anything like his past experiences. This was fire and desperation and, underneath it all, some bizarre protectiveness that he craved more than he knew. It wasn’t familiar and yet the second he felt it, it became a part of him. He let the feeling come back out to surround Jason as well, holding onto him tightly, rolling his hips to meet thrust after thrust, moving them as a cohesive unit, equal partners in this act of passion, of art.

He was sure it should have been loud, that the sounds they were making should have been filthy and deafening, and yet he couldn’t seem to hear anything but Jason’s soft panting, the occasional, precious utterance of his own name. All other audio was lost, buried under too many layers of feeling. He felt so much that everything burned, but with the kind of pain he couldn’t imagine wanting to stop.

Damian had known he wouldn’t last long, already on edge from the moment he’d climbed on top of Jason (or possibly before that, if he included his unfinished self session), and as soon as Jason’s hand came to wrap around his cock he gave up any pretense of holding back from the inevitable. He still wasn’t aware of how loud he was moaning, or in what language his praise came, but it was fewer than a dozen strokes until he was spilling over Jason’s hand, cumming so hard that his whole body shook, slamming his head back against the bed multiple times as Jason fucked him through it.

Jason wasn’t far behind after that, only taking the time to briefly adjust their angle so he could work solely towards his own pleasure. Damian hadn’t even fully come down when he felt Jason stilling, saw his mouth dropping open as he found his end and emptied himself into the condom between them.

Damian wasn’t typically one to struggle with much of a post-sex haze, but this wasn’t like other times, and now he was on the losing end of a battle with his own consciousness. He felt Jason move off and away from him, felt the dip in the bed that suggested he’d returned, and then the damp of a cloth cleaning him up.

“All right?” Jason’s voice was still soft, and Damian cracked an eye open to look at him.

“You clearly still do not understand just how long I have wanted that to happen,” he said.

Jason let out a light laugh. “Guess I don’t. But I hope it doesn’t take as long for it to happen again.”

“As soon as I am once more fully awake is fine with me,” Damian said, rolling onto his side and pulling Jason towards him.

“Mm… Ah, fuck!”

Damian lifted his head. “What?”

“The goddamn cake,” Jason said, covering his face with his hands. “Ah man, the icing is definitely fucked now. I’m gonna have to totally re-do it. Shit.”

“I will assist you,” Damian offered.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You will? With baking?”

“I am not unskilled in baking; why would you think that I am?” Damian said sharply.

Jason laughed but raised his hands in surrender. “Just never thought about it, to be honest.”

“It is only fair for me to lend a hand, since I’m the one who distracted you from it in the first place.”

“I guess that’s a reasonable way to look at it.”

“However, it will have to wait until I have slept, since apparently my eyes will not stay open at this time,” Damian said, and burrowed against Jason’s chest.

“As long as we get up before Alfred finds the kitchen in its… uh, current state.”

Damian felt the kiss pressed to his forehead as if it were in a dream and yet with the certainty that it was reality. This time, it wasn’t just a fantasy, having Jason curled up against him, and maybe, it wouldn’t have to be in the future.

His last thought before falling asleep was that perhaps he ought to tell Roy that he owed him one, as well.