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The rhythm of dancing with Grayson is something Damian almost knows by heart; it’s like going through his drills, meditative. He’s not entirely present, lost in his focus, on regulating his breath. Dick had won the last few rounds so now Damian is try-harding to come out on top. This is good, ideal— this means that Dick will be forced to stop holding back if he even wants a chance, and Damian loves it. He doesn’t even really know why, and he’ll never admit it, but he thinks Dick can tell anyway.
When he does succeed it feels well-earned in a way few things do. His hair is sticky with sweat and his ribs are aching, bruised and he doesn’t entirely realize that he’s grinning, triumphant, nor is he entirely cognizant of the consequences as he relaxes his shoulders and, ever so slightly, presses the length of his staff harder against his brother’s throat.
He’s watching Grayson’s eyes as his lashes flutter and his already dark pupils go wider. Damian’s body barely has time to react before Dick is moving, faster than him with his guard down like it is. Damian yells as he is spun and practically tossed into the air, landing with an oof on his back with his arms in a lock above his head, legs held so securely under Dick’s weight that he can’t move to kick away.
“Grayson! Accept your defeat!” he howls, squirming. Dick shifts him slightly and then it is a moment of ruffled confusion as his shirt is yanked over his head and off.
“Wh— RICHARD!” Damian screeches, trying to buck but Dick catches him in the air by the back of his leggings, yanking them down and just as smoothly peeling them off.
Damian goes still. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of the mat under his bare shoulders and how his cunt is throbbing, wet now, probably was already. His breath is caught in his throat as he watches Dick push his thighs apart and crawl between them, holds his gaze as he leans down slowly until there is no room between them.
Damian lets out a shuddery breath. Dick inhales like he is savoring it before closing the distance, and Damian is moving too, pressing their mouths together in a way that becomes desperate in half of another breath. Damian’s hands are free now because Dick is dragging his down, over Damian’s sides and down under him, lifting him up and into his arms, and Damian is arching up to meet him, throwing his legs around Dick’s waist and locking his ankles, rolling his hips up with a groan he can’t keep in.
“Fuck me, Grayson, fuck me fuck me,” he chants in between kisses, and Dick makes a sound like he’s been kicked in the stomach, and his hand is between Damian’s legs, cupping and grabbing him hard for just a moment before fingers slip between his folds.
Damian moans, high and surprised before he goes lax in Dick’s arms, rolling his hips into the touch.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he breathes as Dick sinks two fingers into him slow, easy with slick and sweat, then curls them and shoves them deep and firm. Damian’s eyes roll back under his lids as pleasure throbs through him. “C’mon, now.”
Dick shoves his face into Damian’s neck and growls, and his hips roll and he takes his hand away. “Demanding,” he mutters.
Damian is wiggling in anticipation, curling his fingers in the damp curls at the back of Grayson’s head. At the first press against his entrance he rolls his hips down, and Dick is ready for him, fucking into him ruthlessly.
Damian arches his back sharply, and Dick takes the opportunity to bite into the column of his throat. He’ll have to wear a turtleneck for a week.
Eventually Dick adjusts to let Damian shove his arm between them, and as he rubs himself in jerky circles it is the warmth of Dick’s big hand spreading over his hip that sends him over the edge, earlier than he’d have liked but impossible to avoid, with the way Dick is fucking into him.
As he comes Dick moans and kisses him again, or rather licks at his mouth as it falls open for one shuddering moment.
Damian feels a little like he’s lost his mind as he gasps in the aftermath of his orgasm, especially with Dick still fucking him like he can’t help himself, kissing over Damian’s cheeks and mouth.
“Ah, Grayson,” Damian pants, reaching up to get a grip on Dick’s hair and yanking his head back. “Good boy.”
Dick moans brokenly and his hips stutter, and Damian sees the faint purple of a fresh, nearly-there bruise over his adams apple.
“Oh,” he breathes, and then yanks again, shoving at Dick’s chest. “Roll over, let me ride you,” he commands.
Dick obeys like a well-trained dog, flipping them easily without slipping out and Damian moans as he sinks down hard. Dick whines as Damian rolls his hips leisurely a few times, fucking himself in long strokes as he flattens his palms over Dick’s chest.
Then with a grin he leans forward, wrapping his fingers around Dick’s throat.
It takes both his hands to get a proper grip, to cut off his blood supply but he’s trained for this— allowing Dick a few more shaking breaths before easing down and slowly taking his air, too.
It’s that easy; Damian fucks himself on Dick’s cock in quick, short strokes and puts his weight onto his hands, and Dick is holding his hips so tightly there will be fingerprint bruises as his jaw drops and he comes, silent until Damian gives slack and allows him to gasp in a whining breath. Damian lets out a pleased sound in return as he feels warmth curl inside him.
He’s more prepared this time as Dick surges upward and gathers him into his arms, curling over and around him and pressing his face into his throat.
“You’re perfect,” he says, though he’s still a little out of breath.
Damian hums, pleased. “Drake is due back any minute now. Doesn’t he like to watch back the security footage after patrol?”
Dick stiffens. “Goddammit.”
Damian snorts, tipping up his head to nuzzle at Dick’s temple. “I’ll go erase them if you clean up your mess first.”