Chapter Text
Damian’s fantasies used to be tinged with violence and victorious triumph. He used to dream of cornering Drake and beating him with his fists or various instruments. His katana, a bat, his staff, crowbars, pieces of rusted rebar from any of the crumbling buildings in Gotham.
Images of standing over a purpling body, limp with broken bones, pressed into the ground- it had Damian’s heart beating rapidly in his chest.
But one day, those thoughts shifted.
Damian still recalled when the shift had occurred. When that burn of hatred under his skin, that hyper-focused animosity, became something else. There was still a simmer under his skin, a tingling sensation that crept up his neck and shivered the base of his spine. His attention became fixated when he saw Drake. That too didn’t change.
But the flow of emotions, the concentration that flooded Damian’s mind, became thickened and heavy with something else.
Usually, the dreams he had would end with Damian threading his fingers into Drake’s long hair and rubbing his unconscious face into a spot on the turf soiled by Titus.
One night that turned into something else.
Instead of Damian’s fingers tangling into Drake’s hair, it was him hooking his fingers under the band of Drake’s pants and shoving them down to his knees, exposing him. His body was pale and unscarred even though Damian knew that wasn’t right. His ass was soft, round, and turned red with the imprints of Damian’s fingers as he squeezed a cheek and garnered a weakened moan of discomfort.
Drake in the dream was too weak and damaged to fight back. It was a realization that slowly seeped into Damian’s mind as he squeezed and dug his fingers into the delicately bruised skin.
Damian woke up in his bed with a rapidly beating heart and a pulse so loud it was like an alarm was blaring in his ears. His underwear had been uncomfortably wet, his entire back soaked through with sweat, and his thighs trembling with effort like he’d spent the last twelve hours sprinting on a treadmill.
He could recall the phantom feeling of Drake’s body from just before he was startled awake. He’d felt the squirm of his torso as he pressed into him, he’d heard the wet, choked gasps from lungs punctured by broken ribs. The repetitive wet thrusting and the way he’d chased his pleasure, completely disregarding Drake’s. Ignoring him for the most part, only focused on getting off because Drake was just a means to an end-
Damian had woken up before he’d orgasmed. Though it hadn't seemed to make much of a difference.
Damian repressed a grimace at the stickiness of his underwear, the fabric wet as it clung like film around the head of his limp penis.
Damian pushed his luck with Pennyworth about a year back and had promptly been sentenced to handwashing the family's delicates every laundry day. Indefinitely.
The indignity of handling his father's boxers every week was made more tolerable with the knowledge that his humiliation would be known only to him. That much served to reassure Damian as he quietly rolled the fabric off and slipped on a new pair before returning to bed.
The shift happened without much warning. That much Damian knew.
What he thought was an unfortunate one-time occurrence very quickly became a nightly event.
It was as though one day Damian wanted to kill Drake and then the next he wanted to strip him.
A few weeks later during a health class in school, Damian was able to put a name to what the uncomfortable feelings fluttering in his body were.
Puberty.
The aging health teacher explained to Damian and his class of giggling fourteen-year-old classmates about all the changes and feelings they would be experiencing if they weren’t already.
Floods of hormones that made you stink and gave you acne. Boys would get taller, voices would crack and get deeper. Secondary sex characteristics would begin forming. Increases in muscle mass, testicular enlargement, as well as an increase in penile length-
The girls in Damian’s class burst into uproarious laughter at that which had Damian squirming uncomfortably in his seat and resisting the urge to slump down in his chair in humiliation even when he’d done nothing wrong.
“Some of you may have even woken up one morning with strange sensations in your body-”
Damian slumped down further.
“Overnight when the bladder fills up, the pressure may lead to you waking up with what’s colloquially known as ahem ‘ morning wood’-” It was said with an edge of resignation as the girls once again let out scattered giggles through the room.
The girl next to Damian snorted, grin and laugh muffled into a scrunchie she was wearing on her wrist.
When the health teacher began talking about first ejaculations Damian promptly raised his hand and requested the bathroom pass. He spent the remainder of the class period wandering the halls and only returned at the end. By the time he came back the boys in the class were making exaggerated gagging and throwing up motions while the girls in class remained silent and beet-red in their seats at the age range of menarche projected on the board.
Hours later when Grayson picked him up Damian slid into the backseat of his car and primly buckled himself in.
He pointedly ignored Grayson’s probing about how school was.
Damian had always followed Drake, monitored him, and spied on him. That was why Damian’s file on him was so thick.
The pictures from security cameras, stolen copies of tapes from the cave, and tapped phone lines that let Damian listen to recorded telephone conversations.
It was child’s play really. Damian could monitor a target without being detected since before Drake’s balls even dropped. It was somewhat of an inconsistent thing.
Every few weeks, Damian would look and see if anything new had developed- if Drake was up to something like he’d always suspected him to be.
Both father and Grayson had implied numerous times when they thought Damian wasn’t in the vicinity to hear that Drake was quite the little sneak.
That’s what had led to Damian’s larger measures to watch Drake. Measures such as typing up a quick algorithm (Gordon and Drake both so loved to believe that they were the only ones in the family that could work a computer) to send him an alert whenever Drake mentioned him through any of his devices.
So far Damian had accumulated a very very very thin file.
Because Drake didn’t talk about him. Didn’t ask about him, mention him, or text about him.
The small handful of times that his name left Drake’s mouth was in response to a question about him.
Damian had a text exchange where Grayson asked if Drake could pick him up from school one day.
Drake's reply had been a simple, three-letter reply of ‘lol’.
Damian had double-checked the date of that exchange and confirmed that yes, that was indeed the day that Grayson had handed him a twenty and told him to take a cab back to the manor since father and Pennyworth were both overseas and he would be leaving on a mission in a bit.
It was months ago but the next time that most of the family was out of town and Damian was left responsible for finding his own way home, he ordered plenty of food from his favorite vegetarian restaurant that charged far too much for appetizers. After a moment he decided to add on a dessert sundae from an ice cream shop he knew Drake liked.
Of course, he’d charged it all to Drake’s credit card.
Three minutes after the doorbell rang and Damian shooed the delivery boy away, he’d gotten a text from Drake who was in San Francisco.
It was a middle finger emoji.
Something bubbled in Damian at the sight of it. None of the choking annoyance or frustration he always felt whenever Drake’s name settled in his mouth like honey.
No. It was different. A flash of odd warmth, a sprinkle of amusement that was almost immediately and forcefully snuffed out.
After a moment too long of standing frozen in the hallway of the manor, food in one hand warming his palm to near uncomfortable levels, Damian texted back numerous emojis that hopefully got across his message of where Drake could stick it.
Damian needed to get his hormone-infested brain back into working order.
That night, as he settled in for bed- Damian did it.
He carefully checked his firewalls and privacy protection systems on his tablet for a full minute before carefully googling ‘P-O-R-N’ in the browser.
The results were immediate with available links totaling in the billions. Damian settled on the first result and repressed a grimace at the distasteful thumbnails.
There were tits and pussies. Lots of them.
Shots of veiny male hands squeezing plush tits and thumbing at pink perked nipples didn’t arouse anything in Damian. Fingers fucking into a dripping cunt or riding cock similarly didn’t produce much aside from a click of his tongue. It’s not that the women were unattractive, a few of the short clips he watched managed to bring a blush to his face, but they weren’t…right.
Their voices were too high and breathy, moans too long and drawled out. For a moment, Damian fondled himself to a video of a brunette lapping at the length of a pink dildo. Her lips were full and glossy, nails nicely manicured as she jacked at the cock of silicone and metal. She was clean and had a nicely maintained appearance which Damian appreciated.
But it still wasn’t sufficient.
But with the girl being Damian’s best bet so far, he’d clicked on the profile of the pornstar whose name contained far too many ‘x’s’. She was a soloist for the most part. Shots of lacy bed sheets and tight outfits littered the page as Damian scrolled down.
It seemed like she was originally more of a dominatrix before the vibe of her videos changed. Form-fitting leather catsuits with shots of whips and wide stretches of reddened skin met Damian’s gaze.
Eventually, he settled on a short five-minute clip that caught his attention.
The video was a lot grainier than her more recent work. Shaky, unfocused shots and some static as she pressed out soft moans. A pink rim was stretched around a hyper-realistic strap-on. Damian could see where lacy underwear was pushed down to bunch up at her knees. Her nails were filed to a stiletto shape that left imprints on the skin of her partner as she squeezed pale ass cheeks and parted them further-
“ Unghh hhnn- ”
Gutted sounds floated into Damian’s ears from his headphones. The rim was pulsing around that silicone cock, stretched out and worn from friction. Damian swallowed at the sight. Occasionally the girl let out a little sigh or huff of effort but for the most part, the video was filled with male grunts and moans.
Damian didn’t notice how the video was slowly approaching the end of its runtime. He did notice when his cock, hardening in interest, began pushing against the end of the tablet he had it nestled against.
As soon as it was over, Damian immediately began searching for more videos like it. Boy, was there a lot to choose from. Damian spent the rest of the hour watching and scrolling through videos. When he hit the one titled ‘punishing my step brother’ that was when Damian fell down a whole other rabbit hole.
Damian did not acknowledge the dreams for the longest time. Sure they occurred from time to time, they hijacked his brain and ruined his more enjoyable thoughts of grinding Drake’s face into the dirt- but they hadn’t meant anything.
Damian’s surveillance, spying, and monitoring of Drake were the exact same as he dished out to all his enemies. He had bugs scattered in his room, office at WE, as well as the apartment he kept in the city. Titans tower was out of his reach but Damian would be sure to change that once he was allowed to take missions outside of Gotham.
(Officially at least. Father and Grayson did so love to believe they held Damian on a short leash as if he hadn’t learned how to slip from his handlers by the time he could walk.)
It was all still the same. Damian would watch Drake as he pathetically ate takeout for the fourth night in a row. Only now, sometimes, he did it with his cock in his hand and the sound of a twink getting obliterated in his headphones.
‘Oh! Oh god, big brother! Please I’m so ungggg- hah! I’m so gah!-’
Drake wasn’t the worst looking person in the world.
(That position was held firmly by Todd).
If anything, Damian would say that Drake was finally making himself useful for once.
So if Damian had a saved still of Drake in his bare chest wearing low-hanging sweatpants as he hung upside down from his couch and watched movies from a projector it didn’t matter.
‘Oh! Harder! Please please please ahhhn hhhhmmm-’
He had a zoomed-in screenshot of Drake’s parted red mouth, open and soft as he tossed in a kernel of popped corn. Lips shiny with butter and salt, fingers resting on his fat bottom lip, blue eyes wide and clear-
It was a pathetic sight really.
The same thing all day every day.
Drake’s files in the cave never held new or interesting information that could assist Damian in his contingencies and take-down plans.
If he was hiding information he’d certainly gotten better at it, though. Damian severely doubted that. Drake never learned his lesson no matter how frequently it was drilled into his head.
‘Harder harder harder I can take it-!’
So it became Damian’s new normal. After getting home from school, returning to his bedroom after patrol, getting grounded and sent to bed without dinner. Damian would pull out that cleverly hidden tablet from the false back in his closet and look.
Sometimes Drake would be at WE, click-clacking away at the monitor and playing at running Damian’s company.
(The figures for the last quarter were acceptable but if they fell any lower Drake would be hearing from him.)
Damian had a notebook that was filled to the brim with analyses of Drake’s schedule. Of how frequent his bathroom breaks were after consuming certain foods, his topics of conversation with his assistant, familiarity with the delivery boy who brought up his lunch. The same was across the board for each of Damian’s monitoring devices. Penciled notes with diagrams and suggestions of who could be bribed to poison Drake and framed to take the fall. The doorman of his apartment whom Drake sent Christmas cards, the cashier of the grocery store that carried Drake’s purchases out to his car for him because he had a crush, the lady whose guts Drake hated because she stole his apartment parking spot all the time.
The plans were wide and varied. Occasionally they contained sketches. Ugly depictions of Drake’s scrunched-up face as he was burned, cut, branded, tied up and tortured. An increasing number of them were featuring Drake naked, his cock wet and exposed. Despite all his watching and surveillance, Damian had never once actually seen Drake naked. He had no frame of reference. (Damian refused to acknowledge that the body he was using to model all those positions was the gay porn star whose videos he was a frequent supporter of).
That flame always simmered, always fed, and maintained like the eternal fires of Chimera. From the moment he met him, from the second his name was uttered to Damian- he had despised Drake. He’d fantasized of the day he would topple him and cast him out. Expose him and show his father how unnecessary he was.
Damian thought of pushing open his lily-white thighs and fucking into the seam of them. He thought of intertwining his fingers into those dark locks forcing him to swallow down Damian’s cock.
Imagined choking him on it, eyes big and blue looking up at him from behind dark lashes and begging for mercy. Of blocking his air and not allowing him to breathe anything but the smell of Damian until his eyes rolled back into his head. Watching as white drooled out of his parted red mouth while he laid back, still. Still and dead and dirtied by Damian as a final show of his triumph.
So Damian watched. He watched and watched and watched-
Drake was steadily becoming a problem for Damian. Maybe he should’ve come to that realization when his porn interests began including searches for ‘Red Robin’ (of which the results were wide and varied and featured costumed actors that were more often than not, doing heterosexual porn much to Damian’s disappointment.)
Damian’s sketchbook had transitioned once again to include sketches of Drake. Colored and shaded images of his naked back and the curve of his neck. His exposed torso with pink and red oil pastels used to make his nipples as rouged and distressed as possible.
But his condition had worsened beyond that. Damian had stooped…lower.
Damian had never been particularly close with Drake, not happy or ecstatic to see him when he would come to the manor. Grayson would always try to push him to be kinder, to say ‘hi’ to Drake when he came to visit, and hug him goodbye when he left. The family had been relaxing after dinner together. They were in the sitting room enjoying one another’s presence when it was time for Drake to leave. He’d stood up and stretched, raised his arms high above his head, and exposed a flash of his flat stomach and thin, trim little waist. Damian had stared. His eyes had lingered and he’d had to force his eyes away before anyone caught him looking.
Perhaps it was the fact that his cock hadn’t given him not even a day of rest or maybe it was that the moans and sounds of the video he had saved on his tablet were still playing in the back of his mind. But when Drake stood and hugged Grayson, knocked shoulders with Todd, and kissed their father on the cheek…
Grayson always tried pushing him to hug Drake. He’d wrap his hands over Damian’s shoulders and half give him a little shove followed by an encouraging noise. Usually, Damian dismissed it, shook him off, and hissed some little sound to get him to go away. Drake would roll his eyes, scoff a little sound and turn on his heels to depart for his apartment.
This time, when Grayson placed his hands on Damian’s shoulders, he allowed himself to be pushed forward. He didn’t resist as much as he used to, he made a whining sound that got cut short when he pretended to trip on an invisible fold in the carpet. He stumbled to a stop in front of Drake who stared at him with a single raised brow, the edge of amusement tugging at the end of his soft mouth.
Damian glared at him, hoping it carried more heat than the instinctive fluttery feeling of nervousness he felt in his gut.
It was an opportunity.
Damian felt like an animal, a low dog acting only on impulse and desire.
Quick as a whip, Damian tightened his hands to wrap around Drake’s slim waist. His hands slipped under the loose edge of Drake’s shirt and one of his palms felt the warm, soft skin of Drake’s lower back.
He held it. Stroked the pads of his fingers and marveled at the gentle slide of skin against skin for a moment. It almost seemed like it dragged on for hours, Damian’s cheek pressed to the warm cotton of Drake’s shirt, nose swarmed with the smell of fabric softener. His mouth caught on the edge of a bump and it struck Damian how his mouth was at the perfect height for Drake’s chest and if he leaned slightly to the right he’d be able to mouth at the pebbled nipple beside his head.
Damian caught himself in an instance when he registered just how quiet the room had fallen. When he realized the relaxed slouch of Drake’s back had straightened up and gone tense like a rod.
The next moment was quick and imbued with a heart-pumping shot of fear. Damian shoved Drake back, and turned, not even looking as the older boy stumbled back and fell onto his butt like an uncoordinated toddler. Damian ignored the call of his name and raced back to his room where he locked the door behind him.
It was getting worse.
The problem, his… affliction was worsening.
It finally started to settle for Damian when the turmoil in his chest was swiftly followed by him shoving his hand into his underwear and grasping his length with the same palm that had stroked the soft skin of Drake’s back.
Damian arched away from the door when he came, his cry silenced by a flash of white teeth that were digging into his lip so hard it broke the skin.
Damian did not get better. Part of him that was too focused, too aware of Drake’s existence. It clouded his mind and fizzled the edges of his memory.
Grayson once told him that being a Bat meant often being single-mindedly focused on something. Likely, he’d been talking about a goal, a purpose, a never-ending mission.
He probably hadn’t been referring to Damian’s increased interest and attention to a most despised rival, but perhaps it would have always panned out this way.
Drake occupied more of his mind than the rest of the family even before he’d met them. He’d been Damian’s ‘white whale’, the benchmark, the measuring stick for which his success was calculated.
Mother never failed to remind him that while he was nursing his bruises and broken bones from a failed spar, the boy taking his place was being kissed, coddled, and praised by his father. A knockoff imitation was flying beside his father, holding his attention and love. Mother had a sour turn to her lips whenever she referenced Drake and how Damian was failing to live up to him.
Years after the fact and Damian still didn’t quite understand why his mother had been so focused on Drake. Not Grayson, not Todd or Gordon even though they’d all worked beside his father for longer than Drake. He’d never been told to eliminate Grayson, not like how he’d been told to eliminate Drake. Grayson’s photos didn’t hang in his training room, the soft curve of his civilian body on display through surveillance photos. Grayson was never monitored the way Drake was.
Drake had been a haunting aspect of Damian’s training. Always there, always present, his existence an oppressive force every time he failed.
Drake would have succeeded. Drake would have finished faster. Drake would’ve found a more efficient way. Drake Drake Drake-
Damian’s first assassination attempt in the cave had been sloppy. Even if he’d succeeded, he’d committed the act in a way where his guilt would’ve been undeniable. Video evidence would’ve revealed the truth if Damian attempted to lie or cover it up. It was stupid. He should’ve waited, gained Drake’s trust, and then splattered his brains out over the brick and mortar in an alley and made it look like a mugging.
Instead, he’d been impulsive and failed just as his mother said he would.
But that day…on that day…standing on top of that dinosaur and watching Drake’s hand get extended to him, his plush mouth curved into a small smile even as he called Damian an asshole-
A tingle had traveled through Damian. A spark that had jolted him into action because Drake was attempting to do to him what he did to his father-
The sight of Drake’s body, sprawled open on the cave floor, blood and glass all around him like a gory picture of Icarus.
It had filled Damian with a satisfaction that had flowed through his entire body, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair. Electricity had coursed through his limbs rendering him weak-kneed and stupid. It had been unlike anything he’d ever felt before and like nothing he’d felt sense.
At least not until Damian began touching himself with that image in his mind.
So became Damian’s new normal. Puberty came and passed and still the heat under Damian’s skin did not relent.
His tablet ran out of storage eventually. Not enough space for all the pictures and videos he had accumulated. So he began a slow transition to a new place.
Damian did not touch Drake, not unless it was for special occasions. On birthdays and holidays where there were guests over the manor and everyone was too focused on each other to spot Damian slipping away to the bathroom after giving Drake his yearly hug.
The stiffness in the interaction never went away and Damian never learned what a pliable and lovingly reciprocating Drake felt under his hands. Grayson had been ecstatic at the development, near bouncing with joy at every side-armed hug. (If Damian ever tried to initiate a full-bodied anything with Drake his interest would be caught and exposed immediately).
Damian replaced bugs when they burnt out, rewound cameras and tapes, and sent copies to himself. He watched Drake’s schedule, monitored his activities, and most importantly: his relationships.
Both Damian and the rest of the community at large long had suspicions of Drake and his old young justice team. Damian could see the sly efforts of those teenagers to charm Drake into their beds. Movie nights and massages and training that got far too hot and heavy.
Nothing ever came of it even though Damian could see Drake’s friends were making their best attempts to encourage an outcome. Damian could only be grateful that Drake was either completely blind or purposefully obtuse.
(Though Damian did think of it on occasion, of catching Drake getting fucked. Of watching that graspable ass of his get parted and fucked without mercy as he cried and sobbed into his hands, muffling the moans into drooled-on sheets. But those thoughts were almost immediately followed by an indignant rage that bubbled in Damian, splitting his being at the seams from being unable to contain the incredulity of Drake allowing anyone but Damian to touch him).
Damian’s collection of drawings increased. As his mastery over his art grew, so too did his compositions. Pencil, charcoal, and watercolor drawings of Drake were all stuffed into a single bound sketchbook. Imaginings of how Damian would touch him, the things he would do to Drake, and things he would make Drake do to him were inked and stained into those pages. Damian had lovingly filled that book with every wish and fantasy that he craved, how he would decorate and destroy, how he would own and possess-
Damian hid it in a false bottom drawer of the desk in his room and layered math textbooks and protractors over it to throw off snoopers. Then again, in a family full of detectives the point would seem moot but there appeared to be a silent understanding in the family that rooms were off-limits to others
It was a line even Pennyworth didn’t cross with him limiting his cleaning to only what was visible and outside the closets and drawers.
So Damian had felt secure, had felt content in the privacy of his room remaining sacred.
That feeling remained up until the day he returned from school and wandered into his room to find Grayson sitting heavily on his bed, head tilted down and Damian’s sketches spread all across his bed.
In his hand was Damian’s tablet, the tablet that he kept hidden in his closet from view. (The tablet with the pictures, the videos, and the recordings-)
A glance towards that corner of the room and Damian could see clothes and jackets dumped on the floor. Everything that could be pulled out and rummaged through was opened, the underneath of Damian’s bed, where Grayson was sitting so heavily, was gutted of all its possessions.
The shot of fear that coursed through Damian as the scene settled in for him was nothing compared to the pain that flooded him at the heavy disapproval in Grayson’s eyes when he finally lifted his head to look at him.
“I just, I’m trying to understand- ”
Damian sat on his bed with both ankles crossed and tucked under him, his clenched hands were glued to his knees and his head was down as Grayson paced agitatedly in front of him.
He’d been stuck in place since the second the words ‘sit, Damian’ had left Grayson’s mouth.
There was a coldness in Damian, like a block of ice had frozen in his veins and oxygen was no longer getting carried to his vital organs.
He felt crippled, attacked, most of all he felt…shamed.
Grayson hadn’t hidden his unease at the unearthing of Damian’s research materials. He hadn’t quite managed to hide how appalled and disgusted he was before Damian had spotted it on his face.
Damian felt like his feet had been kicked out from under him at the sight of those furrowed brows and those downturned lips. He’d felt like someone had tied a three-pound weight to the back of his skull and shifted the rotation of the room by fifteen degrees.
Damian deeply valued Grayson’s opinion of him, it was his most closely kept secret. The idea that Damian had done something, anything to garner such a disapproving reaction…
It had Damian’s throat swelling up and his eyes burning with unshed tears.
He…he didn’t know what he expected but it hadn’t been that. It hadn’t escaped Damian’s attention that his increased interest in Drake was inappropriate at the least and taboo at the worst. There was a reason he’d hidden it. Of course, Damian had already been hiding it given that he was conspiring against an ally. Still, there was something particularly shameless about having someone know you didn’t trust them and plotting against them where they could see it nonetheless.
Neither father nor Drake did that and they were both joined at the hip with their paranoid delusions, even Damian could admit that. If it had been that though, if it had been just that and they saw that Damian had been back to his old ways and simply scheming…
It was likely the backlash wouldn’t be as bad. Damian knew though, that the additional information that Grayson had found- if it’d just been the tablet that was found he could’ve played it off, could’ve made it seem that despite his apparent progress he was still at his core-
“Damian it’s…it’s just- you can’t do this.” Grayson stopped in front of Damian, his legs spread shoulder-width apart in a firm stance but there was a slump to his form. A weakened slouch to his shoulders. His voice was low, hoarse, not quite whispering but also not at his normal speaking volume. “I-It’s so inappropriate."
Damian’s door was locked and he knew that until five o’clock rolled around, they were the only ones home until Alfred returned from his daily errands. So there was no need for Grayson to talk as though he was fearful that someone would overhear them.
Still, Grayson could’ve been screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs and Damian still thought it wouldn’t have hurt as much as the silently dismayed look on his face.
“He’s your brother, Damian.” Grayson continued slowly, forehead scrunched as he stared at Damian with a…look in his eyes.
Damian wasn’t sure what look it was but for some reason, it made the tightness in his chest ache all the worse. Damian had never had any strong feelings towards what he was doing, no clear guilt or feeling of wrongness about what he felt, but the way that Grayson was reacting to it made him feel…sick. It made his stomach queasy and his head staticky. There was a discomfort in his gut that made him nauseous like his body was preparing to throw up but not going to. The anticipation of a bodily reaction but no follow-through. It was like his gut was wound with tension like a roller coaster cart just teetering on the edge of a peak.
Grayson made a noise, shook his head, and began pacing in what looked like disbelief.
Damian shifted in place, discomfort thick in his form. His hands were shaking and his head felt tight like he was feeling the pressure of being underwater. His heartbeat was so loud he could feel it in his ears.
Damian had stared down his death before and it had never felt as bad as he did now.
Grayson slowed in front of him and took a slow, steadying breath.
“I…I’m sorry Damian I’m not…I’m not sure how to take this-”
Suddenly Damian felt a bubble of annoyance cut through the discomfort. The way Grayson was acting you’d think that he was the one Damian was lusting over.
“Well you wouldn’t have to take it now would you.” The words flowed out before Damian could stop them and he watched as Grayson’s head turned toward him, expression etched to one of surprise. Damian kept going. “If you had not gone snooping this would not have happened!”
At that Grayson’s expression turned to one of contained emotion, forcibly blank as he pursed his lips.
“I’m sorry for snooping, Damian.” He began steadily, there was an edge to his voice that Damian didn’t like. It wasn’t a cruel or vicious tone but it made him uncomfortable. “Given that your sixteenth birthday was in a few months I wanted to get a clue for what to get you.”
Grayson’s tone never rose, he didn’t say it bitingly or like he was mocking him. He was simply informing Damian and delivering an apology.
The mention of Damian’s approaching ‘sweet 16’ also had him ducking his head with a dizzying amount of sickness swirling in his skull. Grayson had been causing quite a stir about it in the manor, Gotham, and among the capes. He was near bursting with excitement at the encroaching date, unlike Damian who really had no great feelings about it.
A gala was to be held in his honor and no small number of classmates had been treating Damian notably better in the hopes of getting an invite. Hearing mention of his birthday had him swallowing around a ball of guilt in his throat.
He could only imagine how it went down. Grayson, so bouncy and excited, thinking himself so clever for sneaking into Damian’s room while he was away at school and the manor was vacant. Sorting and pawing through Damian’s things for any hint of what his world’s desire may be. Finding the tablet under piles of clothing in the closet because Damian kept telling himself he would put it away properly. Or perhaps he found the sketches first, thinking he’d find a note detailing Damian’s most heartfelt wish under ‘Calculus of a Single Variable: Early Transcendental Functions’.
In a way he did. Damian eyed his drawings still spread around him. He still didn’t know how long Richard had spent staring at them before Damian had returned home.
The thought of Grayson holding and handling something that Damian spent hours of work on had him feeling exposed. Like he’d been pantsed in front of an entire crowd of camera flashing reporters.
Damian slumped further down on himself.
“Do you realize how…how wrong this is, Damian? To have these thoughts and feelings?”
Of course he had. He just hadn’t cared. It wasn’t as though he’d acted on them either. Damian knew his thoughts weren’t exactly pure. Granted, most things related to sex tended to make people uncomfortable but there was a reason Damian hadn’t discussed how he felt with Jon or Collin or anyone he may have considered a confidante. Not even Titus nor Alfred were privy to the information. It was a closely held thing because even as he did it, Damian still remained startlingly aware of how…ill received it would be.
Drake already disliked him. If he knew of Damian’s surveillance let alone what he did with the information…
Grayson heaved a heavy sort of sigh and Damian resisted the urge to flinch and put his head down further.
“God, I,” Grayson mumbled something low, “I just…what would Bruce say if he saw this?”
It hadn’t sounded like a genuine question directed towards him, more like a mindless musing for how to deal with the situation but Damian’s head shot up nonetheless.
“Don’t tell father!”
Damian’s voice was tinged with desperation. If Drake knew that was one thing, Damian would die of humiliation and embarrassment and all the shame that came with rejection. But father?
Father had never had a high opinion of Damian. He loved him of course but he loved all his children. Father would get that look in his eye, the pensive quietness about him when given information that deviated from his ‘normal’ (which wasn’t anything resembling what Damian thought true normal was supposed to be). His disapproval would sting worse than what he felt from Grayson.
Damian sometimes wondered who father would choose if it came down to a choice between his children. Every time he measured himself up against any of his siblings in his mind, he lost. But Timothy.
Timothy was father's sparkling jewel, his crowning achievement. (That’s what mother had said, had told him so many times before). Where Grayson deviated and left, Todd failed and died. Not Timothy. Not Timothy who was so loyal and dedicated, despite his occasional rebellions.
Timothy who visited Father when he was laid out with illness or injury and gave him reports and updates on the state of the city and company. Timothy who accompanied Father out every time he requested whether it was a dry night of surveillance or an even drier social event. The two of them had a closeness between them that Damian had never been able to imitate or gain for himself.
It had been hard to not be resentful in the beginning. Even over the smallest things like the fact that when he drank, father only allowed Drake to be the one to pour his drink for him. According to Grayson, it had been an act that Drake had performed for his own father before he died. It was similar to holding onto a pack of cigarettes when you didn’t smoke. A simple glass of bourbon or scotch delivered to a beloved father figure on a cold winter night and it somehow meant you loved them and were loved in turn.
Damian couldn’t explain why he’d felt so enraged every time he’d spotted his father sipping on amber-colored liquid in a crystal glass at Christmas time. He’d grown since then and it didn’t bother him nearly as much but it still remained…the little shows of how much more father valued Drake.
Father already perceived Damian to be an established threat to Timothy given their rocky beginnings and their continued rocky relationship.
If he knew…If Grayson told him about Damian’s feelings…about what he’d done and how he’d desecrated Drake’s image through the perversion of his body…
Well, Grayson’s reaction alone was plenty of evidence of how well father would take the news.
“Don’t tell him,” Damian repeated softly. The edge of devastation was tugging at the words and Damian hated the crack in his voice as verged on begging. “Please, Richard. Don’t tell him.”
Grayson stared at him. There were lines on his brows and sadness so thick in his eyes it was like molasses
After a moment Grayson’s eyes slipped closed and he slumped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“Okay.” He replied softly. “Okay, okay.”
Grayson kept his promise. He did not tell.
In exchange, Damian was to destroy it all. Everything.
The tapes, the pictures, the audios, the drawings. Grayson was present for every step, watching over his shoulder as he inserted a kill drive into the tablet and switched it on.
“This is…all the stuff right?” Grayson asked quietly.
There was a ball in Damian’s throat and he didn’t want to answer.
A beat of silence passed and then Grayson continued.
“It was…It was just Tim that you…did this with, right? No one else?”
At that, Damian felt he understood what Grayson was getting at.
“Just Drake.”
Damian didn’t know why he felt the need to specify.
“No one else, it was…just Drake that I-”
That Damian collected, watched, and fixated on. If he were working a case and evaluating the perpetrator’s excessive collection of material on a subject he likely would have called them obsessed. Psychoneurotic with antisocial tendencies and a fixation on a subject. History of violence, interference may not be well received.
Grayson fell silent beside him and Damian could feel his eyes on him as he entered the keys to wipe everything on the tablet.
Years' worth of files were dissolved in front of his eyes in seconds.
A sick plop that felt like a stone sitting in his stomach had Damian holding back a gut-deep sound as the loading bar for completion filled up.
Damian gathered up every bit of physical evidence he’d accumulated over the years, including all his backups. Some of it had genuinely been material gathered up to exterminate Drake but Damian hadn’t been serious about killing him in years, not since he’d hit puberty.
Grayson led him to the fire pit out back where the family occasionally gathered to roast marshmallows. It was an open, round pit, dirty with soot and blackened logs. The wood ash was piled high in the center and Damian knew that it was approaching the time when Pennyworth would gather it up for the vegetable garden.
He watched as Grayson constructed a small cabin of wood and swiftly lit it.
He did not need to instruct Damian about what to do next.
Something in Damian cracked when he let the flames lick at the edge of the first paper.
It was not that he’d spent hours on the collection or that they’d been made with Drake in mind.
It was that the papers were everything Damian had never been able to say or do. They were things that were always going to be muffled and unsaid, yet another part of himself that had to be put away in order for him to be acceptable. (That bruised skin, those broken bones. Images that filled Damian’s mind occasionally to see Drake destroyed and open in front of him. Unable to do anything but take whatever Damian gave to him. That too was now all gone)
Seeing them destroyed and burned, eaten by those fires in exchange for Grayson’s silence…
It did something to him.
Damian’s shaking hands grew with the tremors as he piled the papers on higher, the flames getting fed and growing in strength and brightness. Heat licked at his hands and at some point, Damian realized he was crying.
Grayson remained crouched down beside him, hands flexing and unsure against his knees.
A wave of shame hit Damian when another wave of tears flowed down his cheeks.
Too much. It was just too much humiliation for a single day and without waiting another moment, Damian dumped all the papers onto the small fire and ran.
He didn’t turn back and Grayson didn’t call after him.
Damian didn’t run back to his gutted room.
His eyesight was blurry from the salty tears he was furiously wiping away, his mind thick with hissed demands to stop his incessant crying, acting like a girl who’d been turned down for prom.
Damian steadied his breathing and calmed down in a closet two doors down from Drake’s room. It held extra linens, pillows, and towels. The closet smelled like wet, old wood and lemon polish.
Damian remained there, in the dark, for the rest of the evening until he heard movement and conversation flow through the manor.
He used a spare towel to dry his tears and poured nearly an entire dropper bottle of Visine into his eyes before dinner when he slipped into a hall bathroom.
No one commented on his silence that evening.
Grayson chatted happily with the family, laughing and joking. He kept his promise.
Damian felt small for several weeks after getting caught. He felt like a mouse scurrying in his own home every time he crossed paths with anyone in the family. Especially with Grayson.
There was a strange air between them now, an air that could only develop as the result of two people knowing something the rest of the manor’s inhabitants didn’t. But the two of them were skilled in disguising the awkwardness. Grayson still hugged and ruffled his hair, Damian wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He couldn’t ignore the soreness in his chest that flared every time he looked at the fire pit in the garden from his bedroom window.
Speaking of Drake, Damian’s’progress’ had regressed. It felt as though the tentative touches and small, less-icy greetings the two of them had been working towards completely disappeared. It was difficult to behave normally when Damian couldn’t help but tense at the feeling of being watched every time he did anything.
Grayson’s eyes were a heavy weight to bear. Damian felt them during the side-hugs he and Drake tensely gave each other on his arrivals and departures to the manor. He felt them when Drake asked Damian to pass the salt at the table and their fingers brushed. When they stretched in the cave before patrol and Drake needed someone to press his legs far enough back that his knee would be beside his ears. Damian maintained a distance and Drake cast him a look of suspicion each time.
But it was no different from the look he cast Damian every time he deviated from his mold such as when he opted for cream and coffee in the mornings rather than an herbal blend tea.
The raw hurt of it scabbed over. Eventually. Grayson’s continued suspicion persisted because apparently he thought that if he looked away for a moment then Damian would be out being inappropriate again.
It continued for a few months after Damian had sworn to Grayson that he wouldn’t look at Drake in any way other than brotherly. Then, slowly, Grayson began to pull back. He was no longer watchful whenever he and Drake sat next to each other on movie nights or when Drake would patch him up and glue him back together in the cave.
Perhaps Damian had simply needed to lick his wounds before he was ready to do anything again. But there was one little fact that Grayson had seemingly overlooked or forgotten.
It was something that Damian had almost forgotten in the haze of his disgrace.
It was that Damian was still young and always ready to test boundaries.
The thing about teenagers getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to was that it didn’t make them stop doing what they were doing.
It just made them more careful.
Grayson had asked if the surveillance material he’d gathered had been everything and whether it was all loaded onto the tablet before it’d been destroyed.
The thing about the oracle-developed kill switch was that not only did it wipe everything on the drive, but it also simultaneously fried everything offline that was streaming to the device.
Even if Damian were to go digging in Drake’s office or apartment, he would find nothing but the burned remains of the bugs he left behind. Or at least the burned remains of the bugs that had been connected to that tablet.
Maybe it was because Damian hadn’t remembered it at the time, if he had, would Grayson have seen the truth on his face?
Damian had been running out of space on that tablet and he’d never been one to pile all his eggs in a single basket anyway.
Damian’s additional bugs that he’d planted were very very few. In fact, there was only one that had been active when Grayson had caught him. Damian had replaced the rearview mirror inside of Drake’s car with a fake that had a camera inside. The mirror was two-sided and hid the camera capable of streaming live inside it. It provided crisp audio and a 1080p display, it also contained a stabilizer so the fact that it was in a car wouldn’t affect the quality of it.
It was Damian’s one saving grace when he began to feel that familiar heat simmering under his skin. He’d never gone so long without seeing Drake, he was unaccustomed to not being able to pull out a tablet and see what he was doing.
It was too soon after being discovered and Grayson's eyes still carried that edge of scrutiny so it was unlikely that Damian would be able to venture out and plant new material for a long while.
So Damian had been forced to endure the aching pain of a full cock. Until he’d remembered that he’d hooked up that mirror webcam to his laptop. He’d had no storage backing set up to save any of the videos that were continuously being funneled back to his laptop. The odds of him being able to just open up and see Drake were low, especially since Drake only ever spent time in his car when he was commuting somewhere.
When Damian had replaced the mirror, that was the first time he’d ever been inside Drake’s car. It was a humble black sedan with tinted windows, brown leather seats, and a custom interior that his father had commissioned for Drake’s fifteenth birthday. He’d been driving it ever since and had utterly refused any replacements that father had offered him.
Damian recalled it had been stolen from the valet lot of a restaurant once when the family had gone out to dinner. Todd spent a solid five minutes hysterically laughing before he realized that Drake was genuinely sobbing at the loss. He then promptly spent the next five hours hunting down and retrieving the vehicle from a chop shop near the train tracks.
Drake had been so grateful, hugging Todd for several minutes and saying ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’ until he was out of breath and red.
Since then father personally outfitted the car with a proximity alarm that would go off and send an alert to Drake’s phone whenever someone approached and loitered around the vehicle for longer than a preset amount of time.
Finding a workaround for that security measure had been the hardest part of getting the camera installed. Drake’s car keys carried a disabler for the measure and despite his hours of searching, Damian had not been able to find the spare key that he knew had to be stored somewhere in the manor.
So Damian had been forced to reverse engineer the measure based on father’s notes and write a code into another set of keys from one of the manor’s many cars to pull off his scheme.
It was a lot of effort put forth just for some potential footage of Drake being stuck in traffic. Damian had almost not even bothered with it given the incompatibly high risk with a low reward.
Still, Damian persisted. He set a timer for around the time that Drake was set to leave Wayne Enterprises and waited.
He took an additional security measure when he bided his time and stood by until a day that Grayson would be out and not scheduled to return until late.
The last thing Damian needed was his newfound sneakiness to be uncovered so soon.
Damian had been prepared for some shots of Drake tired and sleepy. He’d been ready to see him slide into the driver's seat and let out a long little sigh before he departed. Drake always left W.E late, nearly an hour to two after his shift as CEO was over and all the other employees had gone home.
Still, Damian opened his laptop thirty minutes after Drake was set to depart and was surprised to see that the camera was active, having detected movement.
Damian eagerly opened the stream.
Drake always parked on the absolute top floor of the WE parking garage even though he had his own space on the ground floor. He claimed it’d been for easier roof access in case he ever needed to suit up.
It was also private. Barely a single other car was present given that no one wanted to make the long descent down and slow climb up at the end of a workday.
In hindsight, it was a very well-put-together cover. No holes, nothing to question. Not a single person would’ve seen anything off in the justification.
Hell, Damian didn’t see anything off about it. Didn’t put any of the pieces together until it was all laid open and bare in front of his face.
Damian spotted Grayson’s naked back first. He recognized him not from his guttural moans, full-body rocking, or the flexing of his back muscles; but from the scar on his tricep (thank you FHD camera).
They were in the backseat, Drake and Grayson. Damian could see that delightfully fluffed head of hair occasionally flashing from behind the driver’s seat. Both the passenger and driver's sides blocked their tangled limbs and Drake’s face from view but Damian knew exactly what they were doing.
He couldn’t see him but he could hear him and Damian knew Timothy’s voice in his dreams so he surely knew it through his headphones that were streaming live.
“ Ah! Ah ah ah ah hnnnng, god! Dick mmmn ! Nnnghh oh god, Dick- yes yes yes yes yes- ”
Timothy was on his hands and knees and making great use of those ‘expandable 25-inch seats’. Damian could hear as the brown leather of those seats made soft little sliding noises as wet flesh slid against it when Grayson adjusted behind him.
The windows were fogged up, wet from body heat and the panting breaths getting pushed out of Drake as Grayson readjusted his grip on his hips.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
Grayson you shameless hypocrite.
Grayson’s mouth was parted and open, drooling mouth curved into a pleased smile with every wet thrust into a whining Timothy. Grayson was able to kneel on the seats without having to crouch his head down thanks to the ‘plenty of headroom’ provided by the car. Damian had silently questioned why father had included that feature when Drake stood at such a small height and had never grown much beyond his teen years.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
Steadily, without taking his eyes away from the sight, Damian slowly tugged his cock out of his sleep shorts.
“ Gnnn Tim-!” Grayson closed his eyes and tilted his head back in bliss as he started an unrelenting pace. Damian could see how tightly he was gripping Timothy’s hips, his fingers dug into the hollow of hip bones while his thumbs made little circular massages into his ass.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
Damian swallowed and tightened his grip on his growing erection, his eyes locked on Timothy's sweet form. Those rouged knees from being pressed against the seat’s material, that trembling body squirming with pleasure-
“ Ah !” Drake’s back curved further down. Damian could see that the only thing holding him up was Grayson’s firm hold on his hips. His little face was pressed to the seats, pants audible through the installed mic present for the show.
Damian swallowed at the sight of a rough cock flashing every time Grayson pulled out. Timothy’s red length was bobbing between his legs. The tip was flushed and beading with little drops of cum that occasionally dripped down and was rubbed into the fine leather seats like a conditioner.
Grayson stroked a tender hand along Timothy’s trembling back, making a soothing sound from deep in his throat as he crouched over him and slowly began fucking with enough force to begin jostling the camera.
Timothy immediately arched up into it, his soft ass making wet, squishing noises as Grayson continued pushing out grunts that sounded like ‘ungh ungh ungh’.
Grayson’s eyes stayed closed, his brows furrowed as sweat dripped down his face and onto that smooth white back
Damian stared, absolutely hypnotized at the sight.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
“ Mnnnngh more, please Dick ah ! Nnnn ha hah more!”
Timothy was slowly inching back, hips wiggling and trying to fuck back against the cock battering his walls.
Grayson pressed his front all along Timothy’s back, their heads were near side by side as he whispered low words of praise.
“So good Timmy, so good you’re so tight for me baby- ”
Timothy whined a high-pitched little sound that had Damian’s heart stuttering.
Damian's fist immediately became a blur on his cock. His fist was a bit too tight, the pressure and force based on nothing but Grayson’s praise of how tight Timothy was.
Tight. Damian thought as he packed his fingers together to form a seal around his cock. Tight.
“ Nnngh , oh your pussy is so wet for me-”
Damian let a wad of spit form in his mouth and just as quickly let it drop onto his length.
Wet.
“Faster! Oh, faster Dick hhah hah nng please I need it! I need it so mu- ah !”
Faster.
Damian felt his mouth fall open, a warm coil sparking in his gut as he stared at Grayson who was attempting to flatten Timothy into the seats. His full body was pressed into him, the only movement from his hips that were so rapidly thrusting into that warm, pink little hole.
They were like animals Damian realized. Like two dogs furiously mating in the middle of a park, no regard for who saw them or where they were all that mattered was the primal need to fuck and be fucked.
Damian let out a soundless cry as he arched into his hand.
Grayson was letting out sounds that didn’t seem human, his face twisted into a near growl as he stuttered to a stop. Damian could see where his hips ground into Timothy’s soft ass, squishing the soft fat with the force of every slam into him. Timothy let out a plaintive mewl and threw his head back.
“ Hahh !”
Oh. Damian realized.
“ Nnnng !”
He was cumming.
It took several moments before Grayson fully stopped, his back muscles tight with tension for a second before loosening and slumping down on the body under him. He caught himself on his elbows and Damian watched as Grayson littered Timothy’s shoulders with short kisses and interspersed words of ‘so good’ ‘Timmy’ and ‘love you’.
That last one had something in Damian’s chest going taut with tension. The pleasurable haze of his orgasm was almost instantly wiped away as he sat up in bed at the words.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
Timothy was squirming on the seats, tilting his head back and meeting Grayson’s mouth with his own. Pink lips mashed together and Damian watched as Grayson’s tongue slipped out and began tracing that fat bottom lip.
Strings of spit connected the two of them when they pulled away and Grayson pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Timothy’s forehead.
‘He’s your brother, Damian.’
Something, something hot and indescribable began bubbling in Damian’s chest.
A flick of the wrist, a new tab, and the tally open on W.E’s employee website revealed that 87% of the entire parking garage was vacant.
Damian immediately began shifting his searches to the cameras at W.E he knew were open and unmonitored. Timothy and Grayson resumed kissing for a while longer. Timothy slowly turned over onto his back so Grayson could hover over him. His front was splattered with thick, white release.
The top floor of the parking garage was empty. Damian could see the grainy security camera above the elevator. Timothy’s car wasn’t visible which meant that he had to have parked in the blind spot near the edge of the square garage.
It was on purpose.
Grayson peppered little kisses over Timothy’s nose and cheeks much to his delight.
Damian watched, something hot and ugly melting in his gut as Timothy wrapped two naked arms around Grayson’s neck.
“He’s your brother, Damian.”
That’s what Grayson had said.
Oh, you can’t do this Damian. Tim is your brother you sick, depraved little freak. Get rid of all these pictures you drew or I’ll tell dad, don’t get too close or I’ll tell dad. The family will be so disappointed in you if they ever found out, they’d kick you out, Tim would hate you but don’t worry I won’t tell anyone.
Damian felt something that seemed like betrayal seep into his shaking limbs as he watched Grayson cup Timothy’s face in his hands and slip his tongue into his mouth.
It was beginning to sink in. The horniness was no longer clouding his vision and now Damian was staring at…at…he didn’t know what the fuck he was staring at.
Damian’s shaking hands gripped both ends of his laptop screen.
Drake ran late from the office every day he was there. Grayson, apparently, rather than running his ‘errands’ three to four times a week was out fucking his brother.
The same brother that he’d shamed Damian for feeling an attraction to. The one he’d made delete his entire history of tapes and pictures, the one he’d made burn his drawings of.
Damian had never felt smaller than he’d had in the week following Grayson’s discovery.
Only for it to turn out that Grayson was guilty of the exact thing that he’d been so disappointed in Damian about.
The audacity of him.
Timothy let out a soft moan. Grayson began rolling his hips again and Timothy bent his knees and braced them against the tinted window. Even if someone walked right by the car they wouldn’t have a single clue about what was going on inside. (At least Damian knew why Drake had tinted windows now. The car had been designed by his father with Drake’s specifications in mind and now more and more of its design was beginning to make sense).
The audacity of them both.
Grayson began panting a low sound as both their bodies moved together.
The sight of Grayson sitting on his bed, waiting for Damian to come home flashed behind Damian’s eyelids.
Why? Why did he do it?
Damian felt a wad of emotion form in his throat, his anger turning to some mix of hurt and resentment.
If the two of them were the same, why did he make Damian feel like…that?
Was it jealousy? He hadn’t liked that Damian was interested in his paramour and hadn’t wanted the competition?
Timothy’s red mouth parted and he spread his legs open further just as Grayson reached between them to grab his cock.
How long had it been going on?
Grayson was hardly celibate. He engaged in frequent on again off again relations with Gordon and the alien, and he and Todd both took to bars for the purpose of conquests.
Damian knew because he overheard their conversations often, mainly about how they complained that Timothy rarely joined them.
Timothy. Up until he’d opened his laptop, Damian had been under the impression that Timothy was a virgin. Something that wasn’t through a lack of trying on the Titans or Brown’s part.
Timothy gasped as Grayson slowly began circling his half-hard cock around his rim. Damian could see where Timothy was fisting his own erection and panting little breaths into Grayson’s mouth.
Timothy and Grayson had always been close.
It was just another thing that Damian had been envious of. He’d hated how Grayson hugged and kissed Drake, how he lifted him off the ground and spun him around while laughing about how light he was.
Grayson slowly pressed in, his jaw falling open and letting out a drawn-out moan as he sunk into Timothy’s sloppy wet heat.
The two of them would work missions together both in Gotham and other cities. Damian never understood why Grayson never took him out on missions outside the city.
Father hadn’t been very sympathetic to Damian’s plight and instructed him to remain patient.
‘I’m sure Dick will take you out one of these days, he and Tim have always been close but they’ve had a rough few months Damian. Just be patient’
One tipping point for Damian had been the yearly camping trip that Timothy and Grayson took. A three-day getaway to the family log cabin where they’d go fishing, camp, and swim. Originally it’d been a trip planned by Grayson for the whole family but neither Todd, Cain, nor father had been interested in a ‘weekend without technology’. So it was usually just him and Timothy.
Until Damian came along and agreed to join them. Then all of a sudden it was a trip ‘just for us to bond’, and ‘we’ll go another time Dami’.
Damian only learned the truth of it being a family trip when father had been surprised to see him still in the manor after both Grayson and Timothy had departed.
‘I thought you were going on the family camping trip with them’ he’d said. Damian had been so enraged and hurt at the fact that he’d been duped that he hadn’t bothered to mention anything about how they’d said it was a trip ‘just for us’.
Damian had never hated Drake more than when he’d replayed those words in his mind. He’d blamed him, viewed him as the obstacle he’d been told so many times that he was.
That should’ve been where the first seeds of suspicion sprouted. Why would they want to be alone? Didn’t they get enough time together in the manor?
It was the privacy most likely.
Grayson took Timothy to that log cabin for privacy, probably so they could fuck like rabbits until they returned and he could continue to pretend that he was of the opinion that fucking one's brother was disgusting.
Hypocrite. Shameless flagrant.
Mother had always encouraged (ordered) Damian to remain focused on Drake. Not Grayson, not Todd- only Drake.
Grayson had slipped under the radar, and Damian had dismissed him. Ignored him and focused his threat assessment solely on Drake.
Oh how blindly naive of him.
How many years had Damian spent locked on Drake, so convinced of his trickery and deceit that he’d allowed it to tunnel his vision?
(Broken bones. Damian thought of torn flesh and weakened kitten cries as Timothy arched back and away from his demon hands.)
Damian heard the wet slide of cock fucking rapidly into a wet hole. Timothy cried at the jostling, wrapping his hands around Grayson’s shoulders as he was fucked. Damian watched how he carefully kept his nails tucked into his palms.
No hickies littered either of their throats even though Damian had the misfortune of having seen Gordon without a turtleneck following one of her liaisons with Grayson.
A well-covered trail, solid justifications, and alibis.
Damian had only uncovered this all through luck, chance, and timing. But Grayson had been so thrown off that day in his room. He’d been unfocused, distressed at learning what Damian had been doing, about how closely he’d been watching.
He’d more or less threatened to tell father, knowing that Damian would do anything to prevent that. If father knew about Damian’s behavior he’d have raised a more scrutinizing eye to it all and father was a great detective, he would’ve noticed something off.
In fact, Damian noticed something off, recalling all those times Drake had stumbled home exhausted. If he revised them with another set of eyes he’s sure he would spot inconsistencies but those tapes were gone forever.
Well…perhaps not all of them.
Damian stared at the red blinking button in the corner of his screen with the small words ‘recording’ under it.
Timothy moaned and pressed a loud, fat kiss to Grayson’s mouth that he smiled into before fucking another whine out of Timothy.
Damian felt another one of Grayson’s words float to the front of his mind.
“I just…what would Bruce say if he saw this?”
Oh, what would father say indeed.
Something began sinking into Damian.
That car and all its convenient little features had been gifted to Timothy on his fifteenth birthday. Grayson had been twenty-one, just barely the legal drinking age. Damian had no proof that they’d been sleeping together then but it sure did paint an unfavorable picture of the prodigal son now didn’t it.
A humming sort of sensation began to radiate in Damian’s chest. It took a moment before he recognized it for what it was. Excitement.
How much sleep had Damian lost over the last few weeks? Equal parts fear and dread of Grayson reneging on their deal and telling father.
They’d been going on their yearly camping trips since Timothy was fourteen.
They’d been hiding their relations for a long time it seemed, Damian eyed where Grayson kissed Timothy’s neck but never bit or sucked him.
Timothy was letting out weakened cries, the force of Grayson’s thrusts forcing sounds out of him as they intertwined their fingers and Grayson pinned their hands over their heads.
What expression would Grayson make when Damian called him to his room after he returned to the manor and showed him the recording?
Timothy sucked on Grayson’s bottom lip and let out a soft grunt as Grayson began pushing into him with slow, purposeful thrusts.
Would he go as white as a sheet? Would he feel that fear and dread that had filled Damian’s heart when he’d wandered into his room and saw him sitting there with all those drawings?
Grayson dropped and pressed his chest to Timothy’s, they were so close it was like he was trying to force them to combine into a single person. Grayson had always been clingy (and possessive, Damian recalled the year that Todd had pinned mistletoe all over the manor for Christmas and followed Timothy around through every doorway. Grayson had physically picked Timothy up and forced him to stay in the kitchen with him and decorate gingerbread.)
Todd was also not going to be very amused to find that Grayson had been fucking his ‘little brother’. Gordon as well, Damian had heard all about Grayson’s history of infidelity.
(Poor Timothy. To be stuck receiving love in an empty parking lot like he was the cheap mistress not even worthy of a proper bed.)
What would Grayson say when Damian brought all this up?
Most importantly, what would Grayson be willing to give him to make sure that Damian never said a word about any of it?
Damian knew what he wanted. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted the body he helped stretch on the mats whose knees could reach his ears. He wanted the hands that poured thousand-dollar scotch into a glass. Lips that kissed greetings on everyone’s cheeks but Damian’s. A mouth that curved into a sweet smile when happy.
He wanted Timothy who had flooded his brain and occupied his mind since he was an adolescent. Who Damian had violated and assaulted time and time again in his dreams.
Timothy was cupping the back of Grayson’s head, his little fingers were weaved into thick curls and kissing into a moaning mouth that was pumping release into him.
Damian imagined him situated between Grayson’s legs as Damian hooked his knees over his shoulder and fucked him. Grayson would only be allowed to watch, helpless and powerless to do anything lest Damian out him to the family.
Timothy had always valued Grayson’s word and opinion of him so deeply. If Grayson told him to let Damian fuck him he would. If he told him to let Damian own him he would. If he told him to let Damian love him he would.
Damian felt his fingers twitch against his keyboard, barely restrained in their buzzing joy.
Soon. Damian watched the sweet curve and soft slope of Timothy’s body as clothes were picked up from the floor of that humble little sedan.
Damian stared at Timothy as he dripped hot, white semen onto the seats and imagined licking up the mess between his thighs. He imagined stuffing him full again and again and again.
Timothy had been growing more willing to Damian’s handling ever since he stopped spitting venom at him. He’d pat Damian on the back during a hug a few times, at least he did back before Grayson had caught him with his pants down.
That was okay because now Damian caught him too. Fair’s fair.
Damian couldn’t deny that some part of him felt vindictive, felt a deep annoyance because Grayson had really been planning on pulling a fast one on them all.
How ironic that Damian, who’d been raised in the shadows, was now bringing something to the light to get his way.
And he would.
Damian had seen the way Grayson’s expression had twisted, how he’d jumped to make sure that Damian felt bad before making arrangements to make sure he wouldn’t talk.
How very… League of Grayson.
Perhaps the two of them were more similar than Damian had thought.
Damian stared at how Grayson was stroking Timothy’s thighs, spreading kisses on his reddened knees as he worked his underwear onto him.
Timothy looked absolutely charmed.
Mother truly had been off base when she’d instructed Damian to focus all his attention on Drake.
It was an oversight on his part, focused so much on the encroaching sandstorm that he hadn’t even seen the snake at his feet.