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If you asked Tim a week ago, he would have said he doesn’t give a crap what the baby bat does in his free time. If you asked him now…
Tim was bitten just a few days ago while dealing with a vampire infestation in Gotham. Being turned actually hasn’t been as bad as he thought it would be, though. It hurt at the time, and now the light hurts his eyes and he’s hungry all the time, but it’s still reversible. The rest of the family is working on finding the vamp that turned him so that they can use his blood in some reversal spell.
In the meantime, Tim’s being kept locked up nice and safe, away from the innocent citizens of Gotham. He hasn’t been able to leave the Manor at all since he was turned, and they’ve kept a large supply of bagged blood for him to feed off of.
It doesn’t quite satisfy the hunger, but it takes the edge off. Just enough so that Tim can pretend that he’s fine and not do anything “worrying” around them all.
So yeah, it sucks. But Tim’s used to sucking (haha, vampire pun), and it’s really not that bad. The worst part of it is... Well, it’s Damian.
Maybe it has something to do with blood type? Or maybe vampires have been hiding the fact that everyone’s blood tastes different? But Damian’s smells undeniably better than the others. To the point that a day ago Tim had to physically exit the cave because Damian was training on the mats, getting his blood pumping, and Tim just barely resisted the urge to go over there and sink his fangs into something warm instead of some plastic baggies.
He’s been avoiding Damian since, with the help of many cameras. Which is totally not weird at all, because he’s just monitoring Damian to make sure he can keep him safe. From himself.
And it’s mostly working too. Tim will keep a laptop open throughout the day and night showing whatever Damian is doing, whether it be drawing or training or reading one of his little romance mangas, and Tim can give him a wide berth. The only times it fails him is when Bruce forces the family–at least the ones who live there–to eat together.
Like now. It’s dinner for the rest of them, but Tim’s only just woken up, so it’s more like breakfast to him.
And really, it’s bizarre that Bruce makes him be here when he’s… like this. All he can do is drink blood out of a mug, and it doesn’t even feel right when he can’t sink his teeth into anything. But he’s been keeping that little tidbit a secret from them all. They don’t need to know how he bites into the blood bags and imagines skin tearing instead of plastic.
He takes another sip.
“Ugh. Father, does he really have to do that at the table?”
Tim glares, and Bruce sighs.
“We’re going to treat Tim like a human being, not a leper. And we would do the same for you if you had been the one to get turned, Damian.”
He mumbles something under his breath about how he would never have gotten himself turned, knowing that Bruce won’t be able to hear him but that Tim would with his newfound supernatural abilities.
As retaliation, Tim takes an unnecessarily loud gulp from his mug, staring Damian down all the while. With the back of his hand, he wipes away some of the blood staining his upper lip. Damian mimics gagging at him from across the table.
——
Tim leaves dinner early, because of course he does. He’s not going to sit there and stare as Bruce and Damian eat their food.
Bruce has good intentions, but it’s miserable being there with them. He can’t eat any of the food, his body rejects it now. And having them so close, especially Damian? It’s a mistake waiting to happen. The only thing that’s kept it bearable is that Tim can focus on drinking the blood right in front of him instead of drinking the person in front of him.
They go on patrol after, which Tim also isn’t allowed to join in on. He stays behind, keeping a watch on incoming 911 calls and the comms, helping with tech support where he can. It’s very boring compared to actually being out on the streets with them. He doesn’t know how Barbara manages.
Dick and Steph are also out tonight, so of course Dick ends up pairing off with Damian. Which isn’t a surprise, but it still annoys Tim, especially when they turn off their comms later that night.
Dick should know better than this. Something could happen while their comms are off, and then what would they do? It’s irresponsible.
Their comms have been off for about 4 minutes and 37 seconds–not that Tim was counting–when Dick turns his back on to the main line. “Robin isn’t feeling so well, he’s gonna turn in early tonight.”
“Is he injured?” Bruce asks.
“No, just a stomach ache. He’ll be fine soon enough.”
Tim supposes it makes sense that Damian wouldn’t be able to openly admit to everyone that he’s in pain. But still.
He downs two blood bags before Damian gets back.
At some point you would think he’d get used to it, but it’s hard to ignore. A constant craving he can never satisfy. Trying to stay busy and drinking bag after bag only alleviates, not cures his symptoms.
It proves to be lacking when Damian gets to the cave though. Tim’s whole body goes rigid at the smell of him, because fuck, why is it stronger than usual?
He should’ve left when he knew Damian was coming back. It’s too late for that now though, Tim needs to just wait this out. It’s no big deal, it’s no big deal.
Except, is it? There’s only one reason he can think of for why the scent of Damian’s blood would be stronger, and considering he just got back from patrol…
Dick said he wasn’t injured, but would he lie to keep Bruce from overreacting? Was Damian spending those four minutes convincing Dick to lie for him? Does he need first aid? How the fuck is Tim supposed to help patch Damian up when he’s vibrating with the need to pin him down and suck him dry.
Tim impulsively swivels the chair around to face Damian, saying the first words that come to mind. “Are you bleed-” and then it comes to him all at once. He doesn’t know how exactly he realizes, but his eyes flit down to Damian’s crotch, and Damian sees the look, and his reaction tells Tim all he needs to know.
Damian goes bright red, and he throws the nearest thing–one of his boots he’d just been taking off–squarely at Tim, who catches it against his chest with an “oof”.
“You disgusting, filthy-” he throws the other shoe, “-miserable pervert!”
“Damian, I-”
“You’re- you’re gross, and indecent and-”
“I didn’t know okay!”
Damian gives an anguished “AUGH!” as he storms out, which suits this entire interaction very well.
Tim’s left with two boots and a lingering scent in the air. And because he can’t resist the temptation, he gets up and checks whether the bench Damian had been sitting on has any blood on it.
It doesn’t.
——
Tim gets what he wanted. Well, what he should have wanted anyway. Damian’s avoiding him now, which makes it a lot easier to avoid him back.
He still keeps an eye on the camera he installed in Damian’s room though. For safety. But he makes it a point to not think about drinking Damian’s blood, because lately those thoughts have become even less PG rated than normal.
It’s just… Would it be so bad if he had a little taste? Now that he could have some without hurting anyone, and without it coming from plastic bags that are days, maybe weeks old.
Not that Damian would ever agree to it. If Tim got called a pervert for even glancing in that direction, there’s no telling what Damian would call him if he actually suggested something.
Tim sighs. Blood bags it is.
——
That thinking lasts maybe a day.
It feels like his body is going haywire. He’s been staring at his laptop for what feels like hours, watching Damian finish his homework then start sketching on his bed.
Tim’s tried to focus on other things, but he’s drooling just at the thought of Damian’s blood. He can practically taste it on his tongue now. Before, there was absolutely zero chance of Tim getting any blood. Now there’s at least the slimmest possibility.
But is there any way Damian would let him down there? The most he can imagine is maybe getting Damian to let it drip into a cup for him? But he doubts he could really convince him to do anything of the sort. Damian’s such a prude.
On the screen, Damian gets a notification–some sort of reminder–on his phone. He makes a face before getting up and going to the bathroom.
Tim doesn’t have a camera in the bathroom (yes, even he has limits), but he can guess why Damian went in.
He waits for Damian to come back out, pondering bribes, possible blackmail, and all the blood Damian must be wasting right this second. Just throwing it away like garbage. Blood that Tim would appreciate.
It’s maddening. Almost as if Tim were starving to death and had to stand by silently as someone squandered a tasty feast right in front of him.
Damian comes out of the bathroom minutes later, and then he leaves his bedroom. Unattended.
Tim scrambles out of the chair. This could be his one chance, and he has to act fast. He doesn’t know where Damian is going or for how long, he just knows he can get to that bathroom in under two minutes. And that Damian has hopefully left something behind.
He checks each hallway he goes down, making sure that Damian or someone else isn’t in them. This will be a lot harder to cover up if he has any witnesses who might wonder where he’s headed.
His heart is pounding by the time he gets to Damian’s door. Tim knocks twice, just to make sure he hasn’t already come back.
“Damian?” He opens the door.
Crumpled bed sheets, sketchbook and phone on top of them, textbook and papers all tidy and in order on the desk. No Damian in sight. Tim makes a beeline for the bathroom.
And god, he can smell it. He gets on his hands and knees and digs through the trash bin next to the toilet, because what use could he possibly have for dignity at this point.
Tim soon finds what he’s looking for. The tampon is neatly wrapped in toilet paper, and it’s smaller than he expected, but big enough that he’ll still get to taste the blood on it.
He’s on limited time, so he needs to get the tampon back with him to his room asap. Tim quickly tries to arrange the trash to look roughly the same as it was before he found it, then starts to leave. Tim’s out of the bathroom and almost safely to the door, feeling like he might just get away scot-free, when the door starts to open.
And then he’s face to face with Damian.
Tim has to steel himself, because the blood on the tampon might’ve smelled strong, but it’s even worse with Damian right in front of him.
“Drake? What are you doing in my room?” Damian crosses his arms.
Breathe. Act casual.
He uses the hand not currently holding a soaked tampon to brush back some of his hair, which draws Damian’s gaze up to the movement, and not to Tim casually putting his other hand in his pocket.
“I, um. Wanted to talk to you.” He brings his hand down and into his other pocket as well, trying to look like that’s how he normally stands.
“About?”
“The other night.”
Damian’s face goes a little pink, but he still looks guarded. Hopefully he’ll be distracted and focus more on his own emotions rather than Tim being in his room without him knowing.
“Go on,” Damian says.
“I’m really sorry. I could smell blood, and I was just worried you were hurt. I didn’t mean to offend you after I realized...” he trails off.
Damian averts his gaze, looking somewhere to the side. “It’s fine. I overreacted.” He makes a quiet little huffing noise to himself, like he hates having to admit it.
“So we’re good?” Please don’t drag this out.
Damian nods.
Tim thanks sweet baby Jesus for all his blessings as he starts to walk past Damian.
“Hey, Drake?” He stops him right before the doorway.
“Hm?”
“What did you put in your pocket?”
Tim takes back everything he said to sweet baby Jesus. “Oh, it was just my vape. Sorry for smoking in here, I got a little anxious waiting.”
Damian stares him down. “I didn’t smell any vape smoke.”
Tim shrugs, but Damian doesn’t budge from the door.
Okay. Option 1: Run and never let Damian find out. Their relationship won’t be all that great, but when was it ever? Option 2: Tell him and die, probably.
Before he can make the very obvious decision to get the hell out of there, Damian lunges.
It all happens too fast. They fall to the ground, Damian on top of him, attempting to shove his hand down Tim’s pocket. Tim now has supernatural strength though, so he rolls them over while trying to rip Damian’s hand away. But Damian already has his hand around it, and all Tim does is manage to cause the tampon to fly out of Damian’s grip and land a couple feet away from them with a smack.
He watches as Damian goes from confused, to disbelief, to disgust.
“You-!”
Tim slaps a hand over his mouth.
“You already said it all before, okay. Would you have preferred I try to take it from the source?” He looks at Damian imploringly, which just makes the smaller boy kick and struggle to try to push him off.
And well. Tim’s already been caught. He should at least get something out of it while he can.
“I’d make it good for you. For both of us.” He maneuvers them so that he can get a leg inbetween Damian’s and grind it up against his clothed pussy. Damian thrashes beneath him. He’s red in the face now, trying to shake his head no.
Tim keeps grinding, pressing kisses to Damian’s cheeks when tears start to build up in his eyes. “Shh,” he soothes, “It’s okay. Don’t worry, you’re gonna feel so good.”
It’s when Damian’s muffled noises start to sound less like protests and a little more like moans that Tim takes his hand away from Damian’s mouth and kisses him there too.
“St- stop it,” Damian says, trying to break away from the kisses. But his body is reacting much better now. He’s not fighting much anymore, and Tim would bet his life that Damian’s poor little pussy is aching from all the friction.
Tim slips his hand down Damian’s underwear and pants, rubbing his folds, and Damian lets out an embarrassing whine. His legs kick, but not at Tim anymore.
“Doing so well,” Tim breathes into Damian’s neck. He can hear the blood pumping under his skin, and Tim suddenly feels ravenous.
The hand at Damian’s cunt finds his string, then without any warning, he tugs the tampon out in one strong pull. Damian flinches at the sudden burst of pain, so Tim kisses him once more, tossing the tampon to the side.
When he can’t wait even a second longer, he bundles Damian up in his arms and lifts him up, depositing him on the bed. He pulls Damian by the hips until his ass is at the edge of the bed, and then he’s roughly tugging off Damian’s pants and underwear, getting on his knees on the floor.
He only spares a moment to admire Damian’s pretty pussy, and then he’s hooking Damian’s legs over his shoulders and diving in.
He’s slurping loudly, not even caring about Damian’s moans or his hands tangled in Tim’s hair. After almost a week of horrible, plastic bags of blood, Tim is finally getting what tastes like heaven.
He licks up every inch of blood he can find on the folds, then starts licking at his hole, before sticking his tongue in as deep as it can go, trying to lap up all the blood inside. Tim idly rubs at Damian’s clit while he’s at it, hoping his slick will push out more blood.
Damian’s legs are shaking and clenching around his head, and Tim just pushes in deeper. He hums at the taste, and his free hand goes down to unbutton his jeans, taking his hard cock out in hand.
“Drake, Drake-!” and then Damian’s hole spasms around his tongue, and there’s a rush of more blood and slick that has Tim lapping furiously and his hips jerking forward.
Tim comes embarrassingly quick after just a few more strokes, and despite Damian trying to push his head away, he keeps licking until he’s certain there’s not another drop left.
He eventually tucks himself back into his pants and gets up with a grin, feeling sated for the first time in what feels like years now.
Damian looks debauched under him. Legs spread obscenely, tear tracks on his cheeks, his shirt ridden up and leaving everything else bare. He looks too tired to move.
Tim tries to be nice, so he grabs the corner of the blanket and covers Damian up, leaning over him and pressing a kiss against his cheek as he does so.
“How many days are left of your period?”
Damian rolls his eyes at Tim. “You’re the worst.”
Tim just laughs, and Damian snuggles into his blanket.