Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jon entered Damian's apartment, listening for the faint beating of his heart under the tinny sound of music coming from a phone speaker.

He could hear the pounding but he didn't see Damian anywhere, not in the kitchen making dinner, not on the couch working on bills or reading a book, not in the guest room cleaning up the mess his niece made when she was here yesterday. 

Slowly he ventured down the hall as the music got closer and the heartbeat with it. He followed the sound to Damian's bedroom door. 

Jon hesitated briefly but then knocked politely. When he heard a muffled, “Come in,” he opened the door.

At first, he didn’t see anyone there either. Just Damian’s bed — completely buried under a mountain of blankets and throws. Jon frowning, scanned the room again, now with x-ray vision.

Oh.

Damian was the pile of blankets, or at least under them.

He stepped tentatively forward and lifted up the bottom most blanket, just a little bit so he could see Damian's frowning face. 

“Put that down, you're letting the cold air in.” Damian grumbled.

Jon chuckled lightly, “Oh is it cold?”

Damian glared, huddling deeper into his chrysalis, “You can't feel that?”

“No, not really,” Jon shrugged, “I can’t really feel it when it's cold.”

Damian glared harder and spat out an annoyed, “Tt, aliens.”

“Hey,” Jon huffed and pretended to be offended, “only half.”

Damian sighed. “My heating’s broken. The super won’t be in until Monday.”

Jon blinked. “That’s two days from now.”

“I’d fix it myself,” Damian explained, “but I’m not allowed to because of insurance reasons. I’ve already checked.”

Jon nodded along, suppressing a smile. “Can I join your cocoon?”

“As long as you don’t make me colder than I already am.”

Jon grinned and slid under the blankets beside him, wrapping Damian up in his arms. Damian leaned into the warmth almost immediately — Jon was practically a walking furnace.

Jon felt himself tense just a little. He’d never really been in Damian’s bedroom before — not for an extended period of time, and definitely not on his bed. They’d kissed and touched and cuddled plenty of times on the couch and in the kitchen, sure, but there was still an unspoken boundary, a quiet line neither had crossed quite yet.

They had been together for about two months, and things were going well. Really well.

Jon came over regularly— enough that, while he didn’t technically live there, he's there more often than not.

Damian had already come to meet, well not to meet more… reintroduce himself to Jon's grandparents as Jon's boyfriend. Martha and Jonathan had been overjoyed, saying they’d known it would happen the second they met Damian all those years ago.

Jon had met the Waynes again too — as Damian’s boyfriend this time. All of his siblings had been ecstatic, Bruce on the other hand was more reserved. Not out of disapproval, more so because he and Damian had only just started tentatively reconnecting a year or so ago, after half a decade of distance. 

Bruce had taken Jon aside at the Watchtower the day after getting the text about their relationship and said to him, quiet and sincere, that he hoped Jon would love and care for Damian as much as he deserved. 

That same day, Dick had pulled Jon aside too.

He told him that he’d never seen Damian the way he was when Jon went missing in space. That those six years had been torture for everyone in the family, watching their youngest fall apart piece by piece. 

“I expect you already know what our family is capable of,” Dick said, his voice low, eyes hard.

Jon nodded. He did. He’d seen the Bat family in action more than once—he knew what they could do when pushed.

“B has a no-kill policy,” Dick went on, “but the rest of us aren’t quite as strict about that.”

Jon swallowed. A shiver crawled down his spine.

“You treat him right,” Dick warned, “and don’t you ever let us see him like that again.”

Jon’s mouth went dry. He nodded, unable to get out a steady word.

Then Dick’s expression softened, shifting from Nightwing to the man behind the mask. “Listen,” he said gently, resting a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “Damian’s been through a lot—you know that. We’re just… protective.”

Jon flinched a little at the contact, the mix of threat and sincerity still settling in his chest.

“Damian’s dated his fair share of guys who left him hurt,” Dick added quietly. “Some didn’t even stick around long enough to learn what his laugh sounds like.” He gave Jon’s shoulder a small squeeze. “He deserves someone good. I hope that’ll be you.”

Now, Damian’s head rested against Jon’s chest, breathing slowly, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear. Jon’s arms were wrapped around him, fingers clutching lightly at the fabric of Damian’s hoodie.

It was November — colder than it should have been — but New Jersey, Gotham especially, never really followed the rules when it comes to weather.

Jon thought for a moment, trying to come up with a way to dull the slight shivers he felt from Damian, frowning. “Maybe I could warm the room up a little,” he mused, “heat vision wouldn't work, a small solar flare, maybe?”

Damian looked up at him, confused. “Since when can you do one of those?”

Jon blinked. “Did I not tell you about that?” He asked, “That’s how I got out of the volcano.”

Damian stared at him, horrified. Jon didn't notice — he just kept talking. “I took in as much residual yellow sun energy as I could from the lava. It wasn’t much, but it built up over time until—well, it practically ripped out of me, one big explosion. Enough to get me out.”

“You got out of the volcano,” Damian said slowly, “by using volatile energy that has never been tested on Kryptonians, triggering a solar flare you’d never tried before? You could have died.”

“Yeah,” Jon said softly, having realized Damian’s thought process. “I know. But I didn’t really have any other options.”

Damian went quiet, eyes flicking between Jon’s as if trying to decide whether to hold him or shake him. He understood — of course he did — but the image lodged behind his eyes was of Jon burning himself out in the dark, alone. 

The words hollowed him out. For a heartbeat, it was like feeling the loss all over again, only sharper, because now Jon was here — warm, alive, smiling — and the thought of that warmth going out made something in Damian’s chest twist painfully.

Jon hurried to reassure him, voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I’ve been practicing,” he said. “I can’t get hurt doing it the way I am now. It’s fine. I promise.”

Damian just held him tighter.

For a long while, they laid like that, wrapped in silence, listening to the soft classical music playing from Damian’s phone — violins, flutes, and piano blending together. Jon recognized one of the melodies; it sounded like a pop song reimagined as an orchestral piece. He liked it better this way — quieter, warmer —  he knew he’d never hear the original again without thinking of this moment.

He leaned down and kissed the top of Damian’s head, brushing his hair back just enough to see his face. Damian smiled — a small, quiet one that said, I think I’m going to love you for a really long time.

Jon smiled back the same way. He kissed Damian again, on his forehead this time, then Damian tilted his chin up just enough for their lips to meet — soft and sweet.

The cold was gone now. In its place was the slow, steady heat of Jon’s body, radiating through layers of fabric and skin until Damian felt it in his bones. He could smell him too — faint soap and something that reminded him of the air before it begins to rain, clean and sharp. Jon’s arms, an anchor and a hearth all at once, and Damian found he couldn’t even remember what it meant to be cold.

Jon rested his forehead against Damian’s, eyes closed, smiling faintly as he listened to the music and their breathing each other's air— steady, light, and free. 

Jon couldn’t help but want to be closer to Damian — even when he’s holding him as tightly as possible, practically merging into one person, he still wanted to be nearer. And yet the closer he was the less he could look at him, the less he could see his eyes and nose and smile. 

He pressed another kiss to Damian’s lips, unable to help himself.

Damian leaned into it, deepening it just the slightest bit, breathing through his nose so it wouldn’t have to end. 

Jon cupped Damian’s cheek with one hand, thumb brushing gently against his skin. Sinking into the feeling, Damian tugged him closer until Jon was half-lying on top of him, another layer to the mountain of blankets

Jon’s other hand slid to Damian’s waist, fingers lingering on the warm skin at the small of his back, beneath his sweatshirt. Damian’s hands fisted in the back of Jon's t-shirt, pulling him even closer.

Jon pulled back, just far enough to meet Damian’s eyes — bright, emerald green, never failing to take Jon’s breath away.

“I love you, Damian.”

Damian lifted a hand to brush Jon’s hair back from where it hung on his forehead. “I love you too.”

Jon took a breath, steadying himself. “I know we talked about… waiting — about taking things slow — and you were right. But… I think it’s been long enough. Don’t you?”

Damian’s eyes searched his. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “You don’t have to be ready. That’s up to you and you alone.”

Jon nodded carefully. 

“No,” Damian stated, gentle yet firm, “I need you to say it. Tell me if you want this.”

Jon kissed Damian again, light and sweet, “I want this.” he whispered.

Damian nodded. “You can change your mind at any point,” he said. “I won’t ask why.”

Jon nodded again, leaning in until their lips met once more. Damian let him. Warm and delicate, they melt into each other again. 

When they broke apart again, Damian’s voice was soft — steady in a way that grounded Jon even as his heart stumbled. “Do you know what you want to do?”

Jon blushed, eyes darting down before he could stop himself. “I–I know what to do. I’ve…um...”

Damian smiled, the same gentle tilt of his head he always had when spotting a stray cat or a bird nesting somewhere it shouldn’t. “No,” he said quietly, “do you know what you want to do?”

Jon swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I want…” His breath caught. “I want to be close to you.”

Damian’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, soft enough that Jon felt it more than he heard it. “That’s a big part of it,” he murmured.

Jon let himself fall from where he’d been propped up, resting his head on Damian’s collarbone. 

He squeezed Damian tightly, careful not to bruise with his strength. He nuzzled into Damian’s neck, breathing in his scent, feeling his pulse beat beneath his nose.

Damian’s hand circled onto Jon’s back, one sliding around to his ribs. He tilted his head to the side, giving Jon more access to his throat. Jon swallowed and pressed a delicate kiss to the skin — just one, soft and simple. 

It tickled.

Damian huffed lightly and turned his head back toward Jon. Their noses pressed together, quiet smiles mirroring each other. Damian’s eyes dropped to Jon’s lips and sank into a gentle kiss, and then another, and another. 

They hadn’t even done anything yet, and Damian already felt out of breath. Every time he pulled back, he saw Jon’s face and just fell right back into another kiss.

Jon wasn’t being very helpful. He kept smiling, unable to stop long enough to let a kiss last for more than a second.

“Would you stop,” Damian said lightly, laughter hiding in his voice. It was getting hard to stay together when all they had were two huge grins pressing against each other instead of lips touching.

“Sorry,” Jon said, chuckling lightly. “I just— I can’t stop smiling.”

Damian brushed their noses together, voice low and reassuring. “We can take our time,” he murmured. “Go slow. We have all night.”

Damian stroked Jon’s cheek and rested his forehead against his. They tried to lean in for another kiss, but it ended up all teeth, because neither could wipe the grin from their face.

Time slipped by quietly, laughter fading into soft breaths and slower movements. Eventually, their smiles softened as they held each other close.

They fell back into each other slowly, lovingly, letting themselves learn everything there was to know about the other’s face, mouth, and smile — committing every single detail to memory. Their mouths were warm, hot even; cool air slipped out through their noses as they tried to catch their breath, only for it to be taken away again.

Jon could feel the pounding of Damian’s heart against his own chest, as if it were inside his ribcage. Even through the layers of clothing between them, the space felt too small, the fabric too tight.

“Are you still cold?” Jon asked, thumbing the edge of Damian’s hoodie.

“No,” Damian said quietly.

“Can I?” Jon pulled back just far enough for Damian to sit up. When Damian nodded, Jon’s hands moved to the hem of the hoodie, his fingers trembling slightly. He drew it upward inch by inch, the fabric dragging softly along Damian’s sides as he helped him sit up. The hoodie slid over Damian’s head, leaving his hair mussed.

Damian — still in the long-sleeved shirt underneath — reached to take that off too, but Jon stopped him, helping him out of it just as slowly, just as lovingly.

Jon let himself look at Damian. He hadn’t seen his boyfriend without a shirt in a long time — not since before they were together, when they were just kids. Damian had always been toned, but now, as an adult, the strength suited him more than it did when he was just a child, forced to fight.

The silvery scars that enveloped nearly every inch of his skin were familiar, but they still sent a dull ache through Jon’s chest.

There was a sunburst scar taking up half of Damian’s stomach — Jon knew there was an identical one on his back where the blade had gone straight through. There were thin lines from old fractures, the faint traces of injuries healed long ago. The first time Jon had seen them years earlier, he’d gone home and cried, mourning the childhood his friend never got to have.

Now, though, the scars looked different — softened by time, and cared for with creams and lotions. He didn’t see many new ones, but the few he did made his chest tighten.

He traced a hand along one of the longer scars down Damian’s ribs, fingertips brushing over skin that no longer felt sensation. Damian’s breath hitched as Jon traced another, and another, covering each horrid memory with warmth, safety, and love.

Jon’s fingers moved so lightly they were like a feather’s touch, and Damian’s breath shook.

It took a while, but eventually every scar Jon could see on the upper half of Damian’s body had been traced by his hands. Still, it didn’t feel like enough, so he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to one of the larger ones — and then another, and another.

Damian’s breathing turned shallow. His fingers clutched Jon’s shirt, knuckles white. Tears stung the corners his eyes.

“Jon,” he said, voice unsteady.

Jon hummed softly against his skin, the vibration deep and soothing.

“Jon,” Damian repeated, voice breaking. “Look at me.”

He slid a hand beneath Jon’s jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes met.

Jon saw Damian’s wet eyes and shaky smile and froze. “Sorry — was that too much?”

Damian shook his head, biting his bottom lip, still gripping the fabric of Jon’s shirt.

“Oh,” Jon murmured, voice quiet, and pulled his own shirt off.

Damian hesitated a moment before resting his hands on either side of Jon’s torso. His thumbs drew small circles on the skin as his eyes traced him — up and down, taking in every detail, every freckle, every muscle.

Jon had no scars. He’d been hurt before, but he healed too quickly to ever be marked. The sun always took care of it. The only imperfections on his skin were moles and freckles — constellations scattered across him.

Damian’s eyes followed them like a map.

Jon watched him watching, saw Damian roll the inside of his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze rose to his own. 

Jon’s hand found Damian’s face, and leaned down again, folding over him like a blanket, their lips meeting — no less sweet than before, but a little less gentle.

Damian’s knee brushed Jon’s, their chests rising and falling together, skin to skin. It felt as if every breath moved through both of them at once, syncing them without effort. Jon could feel the faint bumps and ridges of Damian’s scars against his own skin.

They're waists still both clad in denim, pressed together seeking friction. Damian rolled his hips and Jon pulled back from their kiss as an electric shock of feeling hit him, a breath striking through his lungs like lightning. 

“I don’t think all night is going to be an option for me,” he whispered against Damian’s mouth, half-laughing, half-breathless.

“Aren’t you supposed to have increased stamina or something?” Damian murmured back, just as out of breath, leaning forward again until their lips brushed. The teasing tone pulled another shaky exhale from Jon.

Damian pressed closer, slow and deliberately grinding himself against Jon, drawing soft sounds from himself and— more importantly— Jon.

“Fuck,” Jon groaned out under his breath, a muted sound that he couldn’t quite swallow.

Damian only smiled faintly, tracing his nails down Jon’s shoulders—barely a touch, not enough to scratch, just to remind him he was there. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Jon’s neck, a whisper of warmth before mouthing at the skin.

“Damian,” Jon groaned out.

Damian pressed open mouth kisses up and along his jugular to his chin and mouth meeting their lips again.

Damian didn't stop his movements even when Jon pressed closer, trying his best to match his rhythm. A hand ran down Jon's back and onto his rear, pushing him that little bit closer to Damian's ministrations.

“Da–,” Jon’s voice broke on the name before he started moaning quietly like he was trying to hide it. 

Damian traced his fingers from the back of Jon's waistband to the front, stroking the skin along the way, sending shivers up Jon's spine. He could feel Jon's arms shake around him.

“Dames,” Jon breathed again, his voice almost a whine.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, his words brushing against Jon’s lips.

Jon opened his eyes—he hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Damian’s green gaze met his violet, eyes flooded with a swirling mixture of love and lust battling for dominance. His chest rested against Damian's heaving with shaky breaths. His arms caged Damian in.

“I… I’m kinda scared,” Jon said quietly, resting his forehead against Damian’s.

“We can stop.” Damian pulled his hand back immediately. “Just give me the word. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s not—” Jon caught his hand, fingers lacing with his. He floated a little, just so he didn't have to depend on his shaking limbs to hold him up. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

The tension drained from Damian’s shoulders. A small smile curved his lips. “I’m fine, Jon. Perfect, actually. And for the record, you’re already doing better than most of the guys I’ve been with.”

Jon pouted; Damian clicked his tongue softly. “Here,” he said, pulling back despite the small whine of protest that left Jon. “Hush. Now lay down.”

Jon did, letting himself sink back into the mattress. Damian shifted to sit straddled in between Jon’s legs, positions reversed.

“I wanted you to set the pace, since you’ve never done this,” Damian said, brushing his thumb over Jon’s jaw, “but if you’re that worried…” He leaned down and kissed him again—slow, grounding. “You have to tell me if you want to stop.”

“I promise,” Jon breathed.

Damian smiled and pressed another kiss to his lips, then to his cheek, his throat, his shoulder, his chest. Jon’s breathing hitched when Damian kissed the spot over his heart, hands tracing the waistband of his Levi's.

Damian idled his head there for a moment, cheek against Jon’s chest, smiling up at him with pure affection. His fingers played absently with the button of Jon’s jeans.

“Everything okay?” he murmured.

Jon swallowed, nodding. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“You’re sure?” Damian asked, eyes flicking up, ear resting over Jon’s heart. “Your heart’s a little loud,” he teased.

“Damian,” Jon whined, “Please.”

Damian smirked and laid another kiss over Jon’s racing heart, then began to move lower, leaving a slow trail of warm kisses as his hands carefully worked at the button of Jon’s jeans. Unzipping and tugging slightly at them and pressing another kiss right below Jon's navel Damian tossed the pants away to the floor. He looked up at Jon trying his best to keep his eyes open through heaving breaths. 

Jon lifted up his hips and let Damian pull his jeans down, boxers going along with them. He took in a shaky breath as his skin was slowly exposed. 

They were still buried beneath the blankets, Damian’s head now almost completely hidden. Jon pushed the pile back, the cool air brushing over his abdomen, until he could see Damian’s flushed face.

Jon cupped his cheek, and Damian turned his head to press a kiss against Jon’s palm. Then presses another on his pelvic bone, then thigh, then other thigh, avoiding one place both felt like he needed it most. 

Jon lets out a whine. He rolled his hips into the air seeking friction, only to be held still by Damian's steady hands. 

Damian's eyes moved to meet Jon's, not taking a single glance away as he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of Jon's dick. Jon's breathing hitched as Damian slowly sunk his mouth onto him. Tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the sensation. 

Kryptonians, and by extension Jon, were not able to feel temperature as subtly as humans, and yet, in that moment all he seemed to feel was Damian's warmth encasing him.

He splayed his arms out, gripping either edge of the bed to stop himself from lacing his fingers through Damian's hair, and pushing his head down for Jon to buck into.

Jon watched helplessly as Damian moved up and down, every lick and swirl of his tongue a spark that seemed to travel straight through his entire body. 

He tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to see Damian—every expression, every breath—but the feeling overtook him. His head tipped back, chin up to the ceiling, and an aching moan wrenched out causing Damian's dick to twitch. 

He kept trying to buck his hips into the heat, his body acting on instinct, but Damian’s hand pressed him back down, trying to ground the super strength Jon couldn’t quite control in his haze. 

Damian pulled back again, licking at the tip and then went back down, hollowing out his cheeks.

Jon’s back arched. His body tried to moan again but the sound couldn't even release from his throat.

A faint tearing sound reached Damian’s ears. Without lifting his head, he glanced to the side and saw the mattress bowing beneath Jon’s grip, the fitted sheet splitting at the seams where his hands had clenched too tight.

Damian lifted off for a moment, looking up at Jon's scrunched face and white knuckles on the edges of the bed. "You doing okay?" He asked almost teasingly. 

Jon didn’t bother replying; he just kicked his legs like a child throwing a tantrum. “Dames,” he whined — or at least it sounded like “Dames.” It was hard to tell at that pitch.

Damian couldn't help but laugh, pulling himself back up Jon's body to lay atop him. Jon groaned at the loss of touch but quickly it turned into another moan when Damian's mouth attached to his. He had a feeling he shouldn't enjoy the taste of his own sweat and precum on Damian's tongue but the slightly salty taste just made him feel even closer to his boyfriend somehow. 

Jon tore his hands away from the edge of the bed, wrapping them around Damian’s shoulders and pulling him close before rolling them over. Damian’s hair fell backward, a dark wreath surrounding his head.

“I thought you wanted me to take the lead,” Damian said, laughter in his voice.

Jon smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

"Sorry, I just—I need you."

Damian shook his head fondly and tilted his chin so Jon could continue his trail of kisses down his throat. "Jon," Damian tried but Jon was too focused on leaving marks along Damian's collarbone, "Jonathan." 

Jon looked up, pupils blown wide, "What?" The word was more of a breath than something coherent. 

"You said you want to be close right?" Jon nodded, "do you want..." Damian hesitated trying to word it in a way that wouldn't overwhelm his boyfriend, "me to be close to you or you to be close to me?"

"What do you—oh," Jon cut himself off when he felt the friction of Damian's jeans roll against him again.

"I'm okay with either," Damian assured, "they both feel good. Bottoming takes some getting used to and it can hurt at first."

"I don't want to hurt you." Jon's words whipped out with fear lacing them, "I can be the bottom, I can't hurt you."

Damian huffed through his nose with a lovesick smile, "You're really cute."

"What do you—"

"I have bottomed plenty of times before, I'm used to it," Damian explained, stroking a thumb under Jon's worried eyes, "I was saying that because it would be your first time."

"Right." Jon nodded, "you promise I wouldn't hurt you?"

"No," Damian said, Jon whined in concern, "I can promise that it won't hurt for long and I'll feel good a lot longer." 

Jon buried his face into the crook of Damian's neck. 

"Hey,” Damian murmured, fingers sliding through Jon’s hair, “do you want to top?"

Jon barely nodded, not lifting his head from Damian's skin.

“Then we’ll take it slow,” Damian said softly, brushing a kiss against Jon’s temple. “Make sure I am stretched well, okay?”

Jon pushed himself up, determination flickering through the nervousness in his eyes. “Okay.”

Damian pointed to the top drawer of his nightstand. 

Jon floated over— not fully trusting his shaking legs— to pull out a half empty bottle of lube.

Jon's brows scrunched, "Do you have a new one?"

"Why?" Damian asked not glancing over as he adjusted his position, "there should be plenty."

"I just..." Jon started, moving back to kneel between Damian's legs. “Have you used this one with someone else?” Jon asked, eyes flicking down. His tone wasn’t jealous, just small—like he hated himself for asking.

Damian sighed, "Jon, I haven't been with anyone in over a year.”

Jon frowned, lips pressing together, that hadn’t really answered his question.

“No,” Damian said, taking the bottle in hand. “I’ve only ever used this one alone.” Jon's shoulders seemed to loosen, “did you get a condom?”

Jon hesitated, the wrapper still in his hand. “Do we… actually need it?” he asked, brow furrowing. “I can’t get sick. Kryptonian immune system and all that.”

Damian gave him a pointed look. “You’re only half Kryptonian. We have zero clinical proof of what your biology can or can’t catch.”

Jon frowned. “I’ve never gotten sick before.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t,” Damian countered, rolling his eyes as he reached out to brush Jon’s thigh. “And even if you were completely immune, I still prefer being careful. I’ve been tested, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Jon grumbled under his breath. “Fine.”

“It also makes cleanup easier,” Damian added.

Jon blinked. “Oh.”

That bit seemed to convince him more than anything else. He placed the square wrapper on the sheets next to them, leaning forwards to press a kiss onto Damian's lips. 

He ran his fingers along the edge of Damian's jeans, listening to the rough sound as his nails scraped across denim. 

Slowly he removed Damian's jeans and briefs off of his legs, lifting him carefully as he did. 

 “So…” Jon said as Damian clicked open the bottle, voice soft but unsteady, “do ever you think of me?”

Damian smirked, eyes flicking up through his lashes. “Who else?” 

Jon practically melted, a crooked smile tugging at his lips despite the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Don’t you think about me?”

“Yeah,” Jon breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Damian tilted his head, the teasing edge in his smile softening. “Then maybe,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along Jon’s jaw, “you’d like to have something new to think about.” Damian holds out his palm, “give me your hand.”

Jon did so without thinking, resting his hand in Damian's outstretched palm. Damian squirted a generous line of lube onto Jon's fingers. Jon shivered at the slick feeling but began rubbing his fingers together, warming up the material.

Jon knelt between Damian’s legs, settling on the mattress and squaring his shoulders as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Hey,” Damian murmured, his hand settling on Jon’s forearm. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Jon closed his eyes, drew in a slow breath, and let it out before looking again. Damian was sprawled against the pillows, the faint light from the city slipping through the curtains and washing over him. For a moment, Jon wished he could take a picture—the way the glow brushed over Damian’s face, how his dark hair fanned around him like a halo, and how those green eyes held nothing but love and patience.

Damian shifted slightly beneath him, knees parting in silent invitation, and Jon felt something warm and overwhelming settle low in his stomach.

He nodded to himself and reached for him with cautious care. Jon used the back of his hand to spread Damian’s legs open a little bit wider, trying to avoid slicking up his thigh with the lube that coated his fingers.

Slowly he pressed the pad of his middle finger onto Damian's hole, feeling him twitch under his digit.

Damian lifted his hips to get closer to the light touch but instead of pressing in Jon dragged it slowly up and up until it reached the tip of Damian's dick resting against his stomach. Jon stroked Damian a few times, swirling a circle on the head before dragging a single finger back down along the vein.

Pressing a lubed finger against and past the pursed lips of Damian's entrance, Jon listened to Damian’s shaky breathing. He stopped right before the first joint, not even a full inch inside, looking up to check Damian's eyes to make sure that he wasn't hurting him.

“Keep going,” Damian said.

Jon pressed in with the rest of his middle finger, watching it slowly disappear into Damian’s heat. When he reached the knuckle he looked up at Damian again for any sign of distress before pulling it out at the same speed. Then back in, agonizingly slow. 

After a few minutes, Damian couldn't take it anymore and started bucking up onto Jon’s hand, which did very little to help against Jon’s pace. 

Damian slid his hands up, cradling Jon’s face, tilting it up just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Can you… another. Add another?” he asked, voice thin with need

“Already?” Jon hesitated, keeping the same slow pace. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Damian brushed their noses together, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not. I promise. Please.”

Jon pulled his finger out and poured more lube onto his hand — more than he really needed — and then lined up two fully coated fingers, pushing against the resistance and sinking them deeper within Damian's warmth. 

Damian heaved in a sharp breath and Jon froze. 

“Don't stop,” Damian tugged Jon’s face towards his. “It's good,” he reassured Jon, pressing a kiss on his lips, “it's really good.”

Jon kept pressing in and out, splaying his fingers and stretching Damian at the same torturous pace. Jon felt Damian's hot breath on his lips as Damian's hips rocked on his fingers. 

Jon watched as Damian's eyes fluttered closed and then he crooked his fingers, slightly cheating with x-ray vision to make sure that he hit Damian on just the right spot, ripping a gasp out of him. Jon worked the nerves repetitively and thoroughly as Damian’s legs shook. 

His hands clawed at Jon's back, unable to find purchase since his nails were unable to dig into the impenetrable skin. 

Jon pulled back out and Damian whined, wanting and breathless when Jon inserted another finger crooking and spreading them out, stretching him and stroking him and just the right places over and over and over again. 

Slowly, painfully slowly.

Damian's fingers searched for Jon's hair and yanked it forward. He pulled him into a bruising kiss, moaning into it every time Jon hit that bundle of nerves on every single stroke of his fingers. 

The fuzz in his head grew and grew. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out every sense but touch. 

“Stop—” Damian gasped suddenly, the word torn out of him before he could shape it gently.

Jon froze like he’d been struck. His whole body went still, eyes wide with fear. “Did I—? Damian, did I hurt you?”

Damian immediately shook his head, grabbing at Jon’s shoulders with trembling hands. “No—no, Jon, not that.” His voice broke on a half-breath, half-laugh. “You’re doing everything right.”

Jon blinked, still unsure, muscles locked with worry.

Damian pulled him down by the back of the neck until their foreheads touched, breath trembling against Jon’s mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m… I’m not going to last.” He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed, thighs quivering where they framed Jon’s hips. “I’m ready. You can—”

His voice dipped into a whisper. “Please.”

Jon pulled out carefully. Damian let out a quiet cracked whine from the sudden absence of Jon’s touch.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked against Damian's lips, worry still lingering in his voice..

“Yes, please,” Damian whined, opening his eyes to meet Jon’s, unfocused with pleasure and trust.

Jon pulled himself up grabbing the condom from the bed and tearing it open with his teeth. He started to put it on but Damian stopped him with his hand. 

“You have it backwards,” he breathed out in a light chuckle and flipped it around, rolling it onto Jon's penis. He grabbed the bottle of lube again and poured it into his hand, stroking Jon a few times for good measure.

Jon centered himself, taking a deep breath, and tried to compose himself. He could feel the tip of his dick graze the warmth of Damian's stretched hole and shivered. 

Damian rested his hands on his shoulders, one moving up to Jon's face to pull their foreheads together, breathing shakily in time with one another. 

Then, suddenly, a knock at the window shattered their quiet. Before the swoosh of it opening could even register, Jon vanished beneath the bed, wedged between a couple of storage totes full of out-of-season clothes. 

Damian burst out in a full, uncontrollable cackle, clutching at his blanket pile in a half-hearted attempt at modesty. Laughter shook through him in great, heaving breaths, tearing free before he could even try to stop it.

The curtains drew back, and Tim stepped through the open window in full Red Robin gear, boots landing with a heavy thud.

“Hey, could you stitch up my hand, I—” he started, then froze. “What’s going on?” His brows knit together, first in confusion, then in alarm. “Did you get Joker-gassed?”

Damian couldn’t speak — every time he tried, another wave of laughter tore through him. He just shook his head, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Hey, Mr. Detective,” Steph called from where she was half-hanging out of the window. She pointed toward the floor, to two pairs of jeans tossed haphazardly on the ground by the bed.

Tim followed her hand, eyes flicking from the jeans to Damian and immediately paled. “Oh. Oh shit.” He winced. “Is Jon here?”

Damian finally managed to breathe again, his voice ragged with leftover laughter. “Leave.”

“Yup!” Steph chirped, grabbing Tim by the cape and yanking him back out the window. She slid it shut behind them — probably already telling the others to avoid Damian’s apartment for the rest of the night.

The room went still. The only sound was the soft piano melody still playing from Damian’s phone.

“Maybe I should start putting a sock on the window,” Damian quipped, voice still shaking with the remnants of laughter.

“Is he gone?” Jon’s muffled voice came from under the bed.

“Yes,” Damian said, “you can come out now.”

Jon peeked out, then climbed to sit on the floor, pouting. “Why wasn’t your window locked?”.

“Because my siblings are accident-prone, and I like to be on standby,” Damian replied dryly. “Besides, he would’ve just picked the lock anyway.”

Jon rested his chin on the edge of the bed, still sulking.

“Sorry, did that ruin the mood?” Damian said softly, reaching down to brush his fingers through Jon’s curls, “I can go take care of myself really quick if you want to stop and pick back up another time. We could just cuddle for tonight.”

“No,” Jon said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Damian asked, searching his face.

Jon nodded, determined.

“Then come back up here.” Damian patted the space beside him.

Jon floated off the floor and settled between Damian’s legs again, squinting.

“What?” Damian asked.

“I thought he was supposed to be the smart brother. How’d it take him so long to realize when you look…so…” Jon trailed off, losing whatever words he meant to finish with

Damian’s face and chest were flushed, a faint red blooming beneath the soft light. Bruises were already forming along his collarbone and throat, scattered like constellations. His hair was a mess, lips still swollen from kisses. Damian huffed a quiet laugh — he must’ve looked absolutely wrecked.

Jon was staring like he’d forgotten how to blink, “Beautiful.” 

“You think I’m beautiful?” Damian teased.

“Of course I do, you’re— just look at you.”

Damian’s smile softened, almost shy, his teeth catching the inside of his lip to keep himself from beaming.

“You know how gorgeous you are, right?” Jon asked.

Damian looked away, trying and failing to hide his smile. Jon ducked into his line of sight again.

“Damian,” he murmured, “I could live my whole life staring at you — not eating or sleeping, just looking — and I would die a happy man.”

“Shut up,” Damian said, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice.

“Never.”

Jon let his body fall, chest to chest with Damian’s. Their hearts beat against each other, their noses brushing as their foreheads met. Damian’s half-lidded eyes lifted to meet Jon’s through dark lashes, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Jon didn’t resist Damian’s gravity — he let it pull him down, wordlessly asking for a kiss with nothing but his eyes.

Their eyes fell shut as they sank deeper into each other’s warmth. Every breath Damian tried to take was stolen before it reached his lungs, replaced by Jon’s exhale. He wound his arms around Jon’s torso, pulling him closer and closer, until he wasn’t sure where his body ended and Jon’s began.

Damian tried to speak but Jon’s lips found him again before a word could escape, melting the sentence away into another breathless kiss.

Jon let out a low moan, the sound vibrating against Damian’s chest, leaving the briefest pause that gave Damian just enough air to speak.

“Jon,” he breathed — the name barely more than a whisper. 

Jon opened his eyes, the haze softening as he looked down at Damian. His thumb brushed over Damian’s cheek, slow and grounding, urging him gently to open his eyes too.

Damian’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and tender, love written in every line of his face.

Jon lined himself up and let the tip of his dick kiss the rim of Damian's entrance.

Damian gave him a small nod. Jon leaned forward, moving carefully, afraid that anything faster might break one of them.

Damian hissed softly, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. Jon froze immediately, every muscle in his body going still as his eyes searched Damian’s face for any sign of pain.

He found it — the faint crease between Damian’s brows, the tight pull of his breath — but before he could retreat, Damian shook his head.

Wordless, he sat up just enough to close the space between them, folding himself forward until their foreheads met. His breath came in short, uneven bursts against Jon’s lips as his hands cupped the back of Jon’s neck.

Jon pressed forward again, and Damian’s warmth surrounded him, whole and completely.

When he finally bottomed out, Jon barely had time to take a breath before instinct urged him to move again. But Damian’s hands gripped his waist firmly, halting him in place.

“Wait!” Damian said, the word shooting out like a bullet. “Just—wait a second.”

Jon froze immediately, panic flickering in his eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice tight with worry.

Damian shook his head, breathing through the sharp edge of the sensation. “No,” he managed between breaths. “Just… give me a second.” His chest rose and fell rapidly before he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Okay.”

Jon stayed still, searching his face. “What is it?”

“I just had to get used to it,” Damian said, the faintest grin curving his lips despite his unsteady breathing. “I’m ready now. You can move.”

Jon held his gaze for a long moment, eyes tracing every line of Damian’s face, as if making absolutely sure. Then, softly — “Okay.”

Jon moved his hips back, holding back a moan as Damian's walls subconsciously gripped around him.

Damian's body tried to gasp when Jon pushed forwards again but his throat closed, unable to let air enter his lungs.

Jon moved slowly, each thrust deliberate, careful. It felt like he was being torn apart trying to keep himself in check, every muscle tense with restraint.

He tried to hold on to the same slow, careful rhythm he’d stretched Damian with, the one that had made him plead and shake. But it was a battle — every instinct in him screamed to move faster, to close the distance entirely, to lose himself in the feeling of being one.

Each time Damian’s breath hitched, though, Jon forced himself to slow again. He focused on the rise and fall of Damian’s chest beneath his palms, on the small, trembling exhales.

Then Damian’s hands slid to his back, pulling him down again until their mouths met. The kiss was hot and desperate — all teeth and breath — Damian tilting his head until he found the perfect angle.

He broke away only far enough to bring his lips to Jon’s ear, his voice low and ragged, lips caressing the earlobe. “Faster.”

Jon’s breath hitched, half a whine caught in his throat. “Are you—”

“Faster,” Damian repeated, the word coming out more like a growl this time — impatient, wanting.

Jon pulled out as gently as before, leaving just the very tip of his head inside Damian’s body before slamming forwards, directly onto Damian's prostate.

Damian screamed, his body arching as his arms scrambled to wrap around Jon’s neck and shoulders, clinging like he might fall apart without something to hold onto.

Jon froze, panic flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry! Are you—?”

“Yes!” Damian gasped, his voice breaking. His fingers dug into Jon’s skin as if anchoring himself there. “Yes, please—don’t stop. Please.”

Jon tried to steady his rhythm, not slamming into Damian again but keeping it at a somewhat consistent pace, hitting in just the right spot as often as he could. 

Damian tried to reach for Jon’s mouth, desperate to ground himself in another kiss, but his lips wouldn’t quite form the shape — they stayed parted in a silent moan he couldn’t swallow down. His whole body trembled, every breath slamming against his ribcage like something wild and frantic trying to break free.

His hands clawed higher along Jon’s shoulders, searching for something solid, something real, something to hold on to before the feeling swallowed him whole.

Jon wrapped his arms around Damian’s waist pulling him closer and deeper with every thrust of his hips. 

He relished the sounds Damian made — the uneven rushes of breath, the tiny, barely-there squeaks that slipped out of him whenever Jon pressed the right button.  

Damian's legs wrapped around Jon, shaking and shivering in time with Jon’s movements. Jon was practically holding Damian in the air, supporting nearly all of his weight as Damian clung to him. His whole body was wrapped around Jon with desperate strength — like a barnacle refusing to let go of a ship — every limb locked tight, every breath trembling against Jon’s skin.

The fuzz crept in from the edges of Damian’s mind like a tide blurring everything it touched. His thoughts dissolved one by one, slipping loose until all that remained was warm, encompassing, and overwhelming feeling.

“Jon…Jon!” He could hardly form words, could hardly think beyond the rush of warmth and touch and the dizziness.

Jon reached around at Damian's moans, wrapping a hand around Damian's dick and stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“JON!”

Damian came apart with a shout, the sound breaking into a soft, almost noiseless moan. Jon wasn’t far behind — a low groan tore out of him as he squeezed his arms around Damian, holding him tight as Damian's heated walls clenched tight on him. 

Jon’s whole body curled forward on instinct, arms locking around Damian, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

The fog dissipated slowly, leaving Jon blinking through the daze, overwhelmed and stunned in a way he’d never felt before. His chest pressed hard against Damian’s, desperate to keep their heartbeats aligned. Reality trickled back in pieces — Damian’s warmth, Damian’s breath against his ear, Damian.

He held Damian like he was afraid gravity might steal him away, arms locked tight, trembling fingers curled into Damian’s skin. His pulse hammered wildly, almost frantic, like his body was still trying to understand what had just happened.

Damian melted beneath him, his body going completely slack as the tension drained out of every muscle. Jon felt the shift and immediately softened his hold, cradling Damian carefully as if he were something impossibly precious. Damian’s breath stuttered against Jon’s collarbone, warm and uneven, and Jon kissed the side of his head

“Ya rabb, kayfa kuntu sa’a‘īsh law lam ajidk?”

“What’ja say?” Jon eased Damian back onto the pillows, kissing the corner of his mouth before pulling out slowly, carefully. Damian winced at the sensitivity “I think my head may be a bit screwy still.”

Damian hummed.

They laid side by side, chests rising and falling in tandem. Jon stared at Damian, tracing the exhaustion-softened lines of his face with his eyes. His own breathing was still ragged, his heart pounding like it was trying to escape his ribs.

“No one… no one’s ever made me feel like that.” Damian said without opening his eyes, letting himself bathe in the afterglow.

“It’s not always like that?”

“I wish,” Damian chuckled weakly to himself.

Jon went silent, and the quiet stretched. Damian felt the absence of his voice immediately. He blinked his eyes open and turned his body towards him, searching Jon’s expression.

“Nobody has made me feel loved like that before.” Damian explained, “I’ve never loved like this before.”

Jon’s breath caught. Slowly, he turned to face him fully, their noses almost touching again.

Damian lifted a hand and cupped Jon’s cheek, his thumb tracing along the familiar curve — the dimple, the warm skin, the soft line of Jon’s bottom lip. Jon leaned into the touch like it was instinct, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of Damian’s thumb.

Damian’s already warm smile melted. 

Jon shifted like he was going to lean in again but stopped himself. 

“I’m— I’m gonna get a towel,” he murmured. “So we can cuddle without… you know. Getting gross.”

He hovered off the mattress, wary of his shaking legs, and made his way toward the bathroom.

Damian shivered the second Jon’s warmth left the bed, the cool air of the room rushing back in to replace the furnace heat Jon had held around him like a swaddle. He sank into the pillows, cheeks still flushed, heartbeat still stumbling in his chest.

Jon returned after only a few seconds of absence, brandishing a wet hand towel, having already cleaned himself up. 

He settled beside Damian again, moving slowly and carefully. Jon’s touch was warm and impossibly gentle as he wiped Damian’s stomach, hips, and the backs of his thighs. 

Damian watched him the whole time — the concentration in his brow, the way Jon’s tongue peeked from between his teeth when he focused, the tenderness in every movement. It made something warm bloom in Damian’s chest.

When Jon finished, he tossed the towel into the hamper and hovered closer, unsure if he should lie down yet.

“Hey,” Damian murmured.

Jon looked up, and Damian reached for him. He tugged Jon in by the jaw, guiding him into a soft kiss — slow, easy, warm.

“I love you,” Damian whispered against his lips.

Jon pressed another kiss to Damian’s lips, just as gentle as the first. “I love you too.”

Damian let the words sit between them for a moment, soft and warm. Then, “Can you get me some pajamas? I’m cold.”

Jon chuckled under his breath — a small, warm sound — and floated off the bed. He opened Damian’s dresser and pulled out a soft pair of pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. Damian smiled, taking the clothes from his hands. Jon lingered beside the bed, still completely nude.

“Go ahead,” Damian said, gesturing at him. “You can borrow something too.”

Jon hesitated. “I probably left a pair of sweats in the guest—”

“My stuff is closer,” Damian argued gently.

“Are you…” Jon trailed off at Damian's lifted brow.

“I offered,” Damian says simply.

Jon didn’t argue again. He rifled through the drawer, picking out a pair of Damian’s boxers and a worn t-shirt. He slipped into them quietly, still moving a little unsteady.

Damian dressed as well, pulling on a loose pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Jon didn’t even pretend not to stare. His eyes followed every movement openly, reverently, no longer bothering to hide how in awe he was of the man in front of him.

Once they were both clothed, Damian picked up his phone and ended the music still trickling softly through the speakers. The screen immediately lit up with forty-eight notifications from the family group chat.

He turned the screen off without checking what was bound to be nonsense and set the phone facedown on the nightstand. 

They climbed back into bed, Damian curling into Jon’s chest, fitting there like he’d been carved for it. 

Jon wrapped his arms around him immediately, holding him close, legs tangling together beneath the mountain of blankets.

Damian buried himself deeper into Jon’s arms, the last of the shivers finally fading.

The heater could stay broken forever, he thought. He didn’t need it. Not when Jon held him like this.