Archive of Our Own

“I have something to tell you,” Damian said. 

They were sitting on top of the meanest looking gargoyle on fifth street, a box of takeout Vietnamese settled on Jon’s knee. Damian hadn’t touched his food. He’d removed his gauntlets, just to wring the bulletproof fabric out in his hands. Jon’s eyes kept drifting to the never-chipped black shine of his nails, and the white scar over his knuckle. Damian’s hands were calloused, his fingers long and slender. They gave the image of a displeased cat’s claws, always ready to hiss and scratch when he was disgruntled. 

Jon had been expecting this. From the moment he’d arrived in Gotham, Damian had been unusually quiet and cooperative. He’d kept them away from Crime Alley, let Jon lead the way in taking down the few muggers they’d caught, and his eyes under his mask kept darting around, as if looking for attackers. 

“Yeah?” he said. 

“You are the first person I am telling,” Damian said. “You are not… the first person who knows. Todd has known for a while. And on the mission my family went on last week, they found out. Now that I am not hiding it any longer, I see no point in keeping it from you. You are one of the people I trust the most, and I hope that this will not change that.”

“No way, dude,” Jon said, grinning. “You’re my best friend. Nothing in the world could change that, unless you were, like, working for Lex Luthor.”

That startled a laugh out of Damian, and he relaxed against Jon’s side. “No, no. I… ah, Jon, I am not human.”

Jon had been expecting something else. Something that made sense. I killed someone. I’m gay. I’m going back to the League of Assassins. 

“What?” he said finally, when it seemed clear that Damian would not continue without a reply from him. 

“The Lazarus Pit… it creeps into your DNA. It changes you. Todd is the same as me, as is Mother. We are similar enough to humans to blend in, to find homes in your societies, but that is because of intricate magic that hides what we really are.”

Damian took in a deep breath, and he had horns. 

They curved slightly up from his hairline, white and blunt. They were short and round, honestly sort of cute. His open mouth was full of sharp, pointed teeth. The black nails were elongated, sharp, like the claws Jon had just compared them to.

The biggest shock was his legs. From between them hung a tail, long and thin and cat-like, with soft black hair down the body of it and a pitch-colored frond at the end, like a feather or a leaf. His legs were feline, digitigrade, an extra joint finding its way below his knees to make them curve like an animal’s. 

“Oh,” Jon said. “Wait, what? No way. D, that’s so cool.”

“No names in the field,” Damian said, but he was smiling.

“There’s no one around, and D doesn’t give literally any clue as to what your name could be. It could mean dick. It could mean dude. It could mean demon—what are you, by the way?”

“A demon. A leech.”

“That’s why Hood calls you leech?”

“Yes. Demons feed on human souls. Reborn demons—revenants, like Todd—must find soul with teeth and claw, but some born demons are leeches. By being near a human, I can sap small amounts of their soul. Enough to grow back. It makes people… irritable around me. It is why I am not a good ally.”

“You’re a plenty good ally,” Jon said, nudging Damian’s shoulder with his own. “An even better friend.”

“I am an instigator at best.”

“It’s kind of funny, though. That’s why your family’s always arguing?”

“Sometimes. I think that having me around them for so long has made them antagonistic, even without my aid. Or perhaps they were already like that. Todd assures me that I have not ruined them, but… I worry.”

“Knowing them, they were like that before you came. Dad says Dick and Batman have been fighting since Dick was Robin.”

“Yes, Richard has told me that.” Damian drew his legs up and tucked them into his chest, wrapping his arms around them and curling into a ball. Once again, Jon was reminded of an angry cat. 

“This is cool,” Jon said, and nudged Damian’s side. “I’m glad you told me.”

“I am hard,” Damian said, “constantly.”

It wasn’t a comment from out of nowhere. They’d been discussing, in loose terms, their annoyance (mostly Damian) or enjoyment (mostly Jon, although he was being perhaps the vaguest he’d ever been, in an effort to keep Damian from finding out that he was Jon’s number one masturbatory fantasy) of the changes they were going through. 

Jon tensed his thighs, fighting to keep himself from suffering the same affliction Damian was complaining about. “Yeah,” he said, but his throat was dry and it didn’t come out. He swallowed and tried again. “Yeah. That’s puberty, Dami.”

Damian groaned, digging his head into his pillows. Jon wondered if he ever humped them at night, and if he did, what did he think of? Then he shook his head, clearing those thoughts. Bad thoughts. 

“I know,” he bit out, and Jon could hear his scowl even if he couldn’t see it. “I am having enough trouble with the rest of that. This is just adding insult to injury. I’m worried someone is going to notice. I am worried my father is going to notice.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Jon tried to console him. Damian grunted. Jon was fighting a losing battle against his cock. 

“All. The. Time,” Damian spat out. “It is worse, because I’m a demon.”

“Why is that worse?”

Damian suddenly looked as if he regretted mentioning it. His entire head was practically under his pillow now. When he spoke, it came out muffled. “Forget it.”

“No, I wanna know. What does being a demon have to do with you being hard?”

“Demons have hemipenes,” Damian admitted, as if it shamed him deeply. “It is… inconvenient.”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “Sounds like it.”

The room fell to silence and Damian emerged from the pillows, face red and hair messy—and how Jon wanted to drag his fingers through it, mess it up even more! He pulled Damian’s blanket into his lap to cover his tenting jeans, but the smell of it was so firmly Damian —bergamot, cedar, with the vaguest undertones of something demonic. Sulfur, maybe—that it just made precome drip from his cock. Were he alone in his own room, he would have whined, ground the fabric down on his dick, let his own scent overtake that of his host. But he wasn’t in his own room, so he bit the inside of his cheek and ignored it. 

Damian grabbed his hair and tugged his head around to face him. Jon’s face was likely flushed and blotchy, but Damian ignored that, his steely green gaze simply landing on Jon’s eyes. 

“You don’t know what a hemipene is, do you.”

“No,” Jon admitted. He thought it sounded like something out of the monster romances that his mother had downloaded on her kindle. The ones that he wasn’t supposed to read, so he just told her he was reading Dune or The Raven Cycle. Damian was a demon. A beautiful one. He looked the part of a malicious villain, only soft for the one he loves, the one he fucks viciously with his hemipene. Maybe that meant it had a knot, like the werewolf shifter books that Lois read? Or maybe it was ribbed, with a petal-like head. Or it had suckers like a tentacle. Either way, he wanted to hold it.

Stop thinking about your best friend’s dick, Jon.

“It means I have two cocks, Jon.”

He could have come in his pants right there. The thought of that—Damian pushing into him with two thick, long cocks, spreading him open with one while Jon jerks the other against his own, pushing one into Jon’s mouth and letting the other drag along his cheek, leaving drops of pearly white precome. Jon breathed in deeply through his nose and thought instead of calculus equations, willing his boner down.

Three and a half hours later, Jon was laying back in his own bed, panting and gasping into his hand. His hair was stuck to his face with sweat and his cock bobbed over his stomach, shiny with lube and precome. Three fingers probed his ass, thrusting desperately against his prostate. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was Damian inside him, over him. 

Damian’s hair would be mussed, like it was from his pillows, and his face would be just as red and sweaty as Jon’s. His mouth would be open, just slightly, and his eyes would be half-lidded and shadowed by his heavy, dark brows. He’d have his fangs out. Jon liked his fangs—he wanted Damian to bite him, dig them into the skin of his neck and drink soul out of him the way he never did from anyone. He wanted Damian to litter his thighs with hickeys and bruises and bleeding soul the color of the Lazarus Pit. 

Damian’s horns would be unglamoured, too, so that Jon could grab onto them and drag Damian down to kiss him. 

And Damian would be thrusting into him, those two cocks buried deep within Jon’s ass, tight and wet and warm. He wanted to feel full of it, Dami’s cocks, Dami’s spend. 

With a final press against his prostate, Jon’s vision went white. His back arched off of the bed and he couldn’t stifle the desperate, wanton moan that he released. His come painted his chest and thighs, dripping down to where his hand was buried within him. Where Damian belonged. 

Jon allowed himself a minute of laying there, basking in the afterglow, before he forced himself up to clean. 

Damian’s hair was plastered to his face, raindrops dampening his shoulders. His eyes—such a bright green—were locked on Jon’s face when he opened the door. 

“Wh—oh my God, Damian, get inside, it’s pouring! What are you doing here?”

It was storming outside—the sort of storm that was rare in Smallville. The rain came down hard, the trees swayed and the wind howled through their branches, the sky had been a sickly, greenish yellow before night fell. The TV in the living room displayed a tornado warning, flashing across the bottom of the screen in bright red letters. 

As much as Kansas is known for tornadoes—thanks, Dorothy—storms really aren’t incredibly frequent. More often than not, if it rained, it was just a depressing, mild drizzle. There were a few good rains every year, when the creeks overflowed their banks and the sky turned black with clouds. Still, they never seemed to last long. Not more than thirty minutes. 

This storm had been raging for over an hour. 

Jon pulled Damian into the house, letting the door slam behind him. Damian dripped on the welcome mat, looking almost dazed as Jon disappeared into the kitchen to get him a towel. 

He was still standing in the same place when Jon returned, and he took the proffered towel and started to dry himself. 

“What’re you doing here?” Jon asked. 

Damian looked up to meet his gaze, shifting closer. “You have been avoiding me,” he said. Jon was infinitely glad that Damian didn’t have superhearing—his heart pounded in his chest. 

“What? No. Pshaw.” 

“You have. You need to stop.”

Jon said, “I’m not avoiding you, Dami. I’ve been meeting you for all our patrols.”

“And leaving right after. You don’t ask me to hang out anymore. We haven’t had a sleepover in months.”

“We’re too old to have sleepovers,” Jon defended himself. “You’re nineteen! Whenever I used to ask you to sleep over, you told me you didn’t want to. Excuse me for realizing my efforts weren’t being appreciated.”

Damian looked hurt by that, and Jon wanted to take it all back immediately. “I appreciated your efforts. Being too old for something is not the same as not wanting it.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re too old for sleepovers.”

“Then let's have one. Tonight.”

“Obviously we’re having one tonight, Dami.” As if to highlight his point, thunder crashed outside the window and the sky was turned white by lightning. “It’s not safe for you to be driving home in that.”

“Tt. Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Are your parents home?”

“No,” Jon said. “They’re in Metropolis. Kon was here earlier, but he left when it started to rain.”

Damian nodded. “So we’re alone in the house. Okay. Cool.”

The implications of that hit Jon like a kryptonite brick to the skull. “Oh. Oh, yeah, cool. Cool-cool-cool.”

“I don’t have sleepclothes. I wasn’t expecting to actually spend the night.”

Jon’s voice broke when he said, “You can borrow some of mine.” Damian was kind enough not to mention it.

Lightning struck again, and in the day-bright whiteness of it, Damian reached up to cup Jon’s face and pull him down. Jon let him, easily moving under the demon’s claws. Damian’s lips were soft, dry and yielding under Jon. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. 

Damian was kissing him. 

Damian. 

Kissing him.

The noise that escaped Jon’s throat was, frankly, too embarrassing to mention. He leaned into the kiss, letting Damian push him against the wall of the foyer. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed down into it, letting Damian glide his lips over Jon’s. 

It was the best kiss he had ever had. His heart was pounding. His head was reeling. He had been dreaming of this since he was eleven. 

Damian pulled back, eyes hooded and narrow, brows low. “Be with me,” he said. 

Jon pressed a hand to his chest, over where his heart was beating fast enough that, were he human, he would probably be dead. “Yes.”

“Romantically.”

“Oh my god, Dami, please. Yes.”

“Don’t avoid me anymore.”

“Never again. I won’t do it ever again. Damian, kiss me again.”

Damian did.

Damian’s lips pressed firmly against Jon’s, a hand tangled in his long curls. Jon, leaning over him, let his mouth slide open and Damian’s forked tongue slid across his lower lip. It was warmer than a human’s tongue should have been. Jon couldn’t stop his hips from canting down, his dick dragging along Damian’s thigh. Damian gasped, claws tugging on his hair, and Jon sprang back. 

“Sorry,” he said, panting. He could hear Damian’s heartbeat speeding up. 

“It’s alright,” Damian said. “More than alright.”

Jon bit his kiss-swollen lip, glancing across the bed at Damian. His horns were out, the ends sharper than they were when he was fifteen and a few inches longer, the start of a curve just starting to form. A sheen of black had grown over the bone, shiny and flat. Damian was looking back at him, his eyes almost glowing Lazarus green. Kryptonite green. Damian sat by the head of his bed, and Jon sat further down in the center of the duvet. His lips were tingling. His palms were sweating. His cock was aching.

“We could—”

“I’d like to—”

Jon laughed, and a smile flickered across Damian’s face. Jon scooted closer to him, heart beating fast, and pressed his knee to Damian’s. His skin was warm, even through two layers of jeans. That’s demons for you.

“You first,” he said. 

“I would like to continue,” Damian said, and Jon’s face burned. He nodded. 

“Me, too.”

“I… Beloved, I admit I am apprehensive about this. I would like to, but I don’t want to… scare you off. I must inform you before we begin that demon genitalia differs from human or kryptonian genitalia, and I understand if you don’t want to continue—”

Jon cut him off with his lips, pressing them easily to Damian’s mouth. 

“I know, Dami. You told me.”

“I did? I don’t recall this.”

Jon’s face somehow managed to blush further. “I was sixteen, and you were seventeen. We were talking about school, and then that turned into, um. Talking about life. And you told me that you were going through some changes that were interrupting your day-to-day, and I was like, yeah, D, that’s puberty, and you were like, Kent, I’m hard all the time, and I was like, puberty, Damian, and you were like, well. I don’t remember what it was exactly you said, but you were like, it’s harder for me because I’m a demon and demons have hemipenes, and I didn’t know what a hemipene was so I had to ask and you said it means I have two cocks, Jon, and I went home and fucked myself on my fingers thinking about that.”

Damian’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away from Jon. The harsh arc of his brows didn’t waver, but Jon was suddenly aware that he may have shared too much information. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, sorry, that was weird. Um.”

“You find it attractive?” 

Jon had to drag his gaze away from Damian’s unflinching eyes. He buried his face in his hands. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I think about it a lot.”

“How often is a lot?” Damian asked. 

“Pretty much every time I touch myself.”

Damian reached up to draw Jon’s hands away from his face and leaned in to kiss his lips. It was a soft kiss, almost chaste, but the heat of it was salacious. Damian’s fangs caught on his lower lip as he opened his mouth to draw his forked tongue against Jon’s, and Jon couldn’t stop the pitiful whine that emerged from his throat. Damian seemed to like it, though, if the way he pressed closer was any indication. His claws found their way to Jon’s hair, digging into and pulling on his curls. The breath that he swallowed from Jon’s mouth was more of a moan.

Jon found himself being tipped back, his head hitting the pillows. Damian’s weight came down on his chest, not that it bothered him, and he settled between Jon’s hips. He could feel Damian’s hard-on—hard- ons —through their pants. They felt big. Bigger than his fingers, certainly. He rocked up experimentally and was rewarded by Damian’s animalistic growl. He reared back, pulling his lips from Jon’s, to gasp and hump down, rubbing their cocks together. 

“Dami,” Jon said, reaching a hand up to draw Damian back down, but Damian caught his wrists with his blackened claws and slammed them to the bed, leaning over Jon menacingly. Jon wrapped his calf around Damian’s thigh, grinding back against him. 

 Damian’s breath was unnaturally hot, a stream of smoke billowing from his open lips. “Kiss me,” Jon begged. “Dami, Dami, please, kiss me, Dami—”

He was shut up by Damian’s mouth on his, that forked tongue running over his teeth, those fangs digging into his lips. 

Damian pulled back after a moment to growl, “Take your pants off,” before diving back into Jon’s mouth. Jon whined, dragging his hard cock against Damian’s. It was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced—better than his fingers in his ass, better than the imagined image of Damian above him, because this was real. Damian was hovering over him, kissing him, thrusting his tongue against Jon’s, licking at the drool that dripped down Jon’s cheek, dipping down to kiss his neck only to return to his mouth once more to nip at his lips. 

“Can’t,” Jon whined. “Hands—need hands—oh, Dami!”

Damian growled, low in his throat. His hands left Jon’s wrists and he shifted to hold himself up with one forearm, mouth still connected to Jon’s, and he shimmied his jeans down his hips. Jon was so distracted by the sound of Damian’s panting filling the air and the feel of him, still rutting against Jon’s thighs as he struggled to remove his pants without undoing his fly, that he forgot to move his arms until he heard the telltale flick of Damian’s tail, meaning his glamour had dropped above the knees, and then he felt Damian’s fingers prodding at his fly. 

“Come on,” Damian said, impatient as always, and Jon was startled into action. He pushed his pants and boxers down his hips, over the curve of his ass, and let out a sigh of relief when his cock came free. Damian huffed, and Jon could feel him against his skin. He pushed Damian back—ostensibly so that he could pull his pants down all the way, but mostly so that he could get a good look at the cocks that had plagued his fantasies for years. 

Both were longer than Jon’s, although one only by an inch or two and the other by several. They were flushed red, with veins running down their undersides. A patch of neat black hair rose from them, leading underneath Damian’s shirt, and Jon took the chance to tug on the hem of it. 

“Off,” he said. “Wanna see you.”

Damian discarded the shirt, as well as his jeans, and sat back to watch Jon remove his own clothing. He seemed fascinated by the sight of Jon baring himself, reaching out to trace reverent claws across Jon’s pecs as they were revealed. 

“Can I touch you?” Jon asked, and Damian hummed an agreement. Jon reached out, hand wrapping around the shorter of Damian’s two dicks. The noise Damian made was something primal, inhuman. Jon wanted to hear it again. 

He tugged on the shaft, teasing his fingers along the veins. Damian moaned, leaning closer to kiss him once more. It was sloppy—Jon was distracted by Damian’s dick, and Damian was also distracted by Damian’s dick, which led to a kiss that was more teeth than tongue. Jon didn’t mind. He liked Damian’s teeth. 

He pulled back to say, “Dami,” like it was a prayer, and then his lips were stolen by Damian once more. He swallowed down the guttural, demonic noises that he spat out, as well as the pants and moans. 

“Dami,” Jon said once more, and Damian pulled back just enough for Jon to say, “Can I blow you?”

The sound that came from Damian’s mouth was obscene. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, yes, Jon, please.”

 So Jon laid him out on the pillows, black claws gripping the white fabric, his cat-like legs digging into the emerald duvet. His hands went to Damian’s hips, and Damian shifted one hand from the sheets to Jon’s hair. Jon kissed him, but Damian groaned and tugged him down. 

“Come on,” he said. 

“Patience is a virtue,” Jon sang, resisting Damian’s pulling to litter nips and kisses down his neck and collarbones. 

“I’m a demon,” Damian said. “Demons are not—ah!—virtuous—Jon, come on —so I am well within my fucking rights to—Jon!—to be impatient. Please.”

“How can I resist when you ask me so nicely?” Jon joked, digging his nose into Damian’s collarbones. He bit Damian’s nipple lightly on the way down, making Damian’s back arch off of the bed, and let Damian’s hand lead him down to the two bobbing cocks between his legs. 

He wrapped a hand around both of them, amazed when his fingers didn’t touch. Fuck, it was hot. Damian snarled, hips jerking up, tail thrashing. But Jon couldn’t open his mouth wide enough to fit both, and he wasn’t sure that would be entirely comfortable for Damian, what with the differing lengths. 

“Um,” he said, “Which one do you want me to…”

Damian peered down at him, eyes lazily half-lidded and lips kiss-swollen, and said, “Whichever you prefer. My left—your right—would probably be less pleasant for you, because it has a. Um. A baculum.”

“A what?”

“There’s a bone in it, which allows for longer copulation. Also, it’s bigger.”

“Is that because of the bone?”

“Presumably,” Damian said. Then he let out a gasp as Jon licked up the underside of his shorter cock. “Kent.”

“Dami,” Jon said, and pulled the head into his mouth. It tasted of skin, sweat, sulfur. He dipped down the shaft, taking it further into his mouth, and Damian moaned. 

“Good,” he said, too quiet for anyone but a kryptonian to hear. “So good, beloved, come on.”

Jon felt Damian’s head bump against the back of his throat and bobbed back up until its corona was just behind his lips, then dropped down once again. Damian’s longer cock rubbed against his cheek and outer lips, and he wrapped that in his hand as he sucked. 

Damian’s back arched, his hips thrusting up, and his cock slipped down Jon’s throat. He gagged, but it really wasn’t that bad, so he continued down until his nose was buried in Damian’s neatly trimmed hair. Damian’s claws scraped the back of his scalp, unable to hurt him but unwilling not to try.

Jon came up to take in a deep breath and cast his eyes up at Damian. His face was closed off, leaning into the pillow, eyes shut tight and mouth twisted into a scowl. Jon ran a hand up his thigh, feeling the corded muscle beneath, and waited until Damian met his eye with a glare. 

“You doing okay?”

“Why’d you stop?” Damian spat, opening his legs as if to invite Jon back down. 

“Just want to make sure you’re liking it.”

“Well I am. Beloved, hurry up.” He wasn’t going to say please again, Jon knew, but he could see his begging in his loose shoulders and blown-out pupils.

Jon dipped back down to take Damian into his mouth. 

A grip on Damian’s hips kept him from thrusting up, allowing Jon to take his time savoring Damian's taste. Damian fought against it, hips attempting to rut into Jon’s mouth, but without Pit Madness, the demon’s strength was nothing on the kryptonian’s. Jon was leisurely in his bobbing, taking time to taste Damian’s precome and hum with his cock seated deeply in his throat. Before long, Damian was grabbing his hair, pulling him faster, writhing beneath him. 

“Jon, I’m gonna come,” he said, and Jon drew his fingers along Damian’s other cock. He removed his hand from Damian’s hip, allowing him to thrust deeper into his mouth, and let the hand in his hair lead him. Damian’s hips bucked, longer dick rubbing desperately against Jon’s cheek while the shorter made shallow thrusts into the back of his throat. Damian whined and came. Jon took it down, swallowing his come and continuing to suck until Damian pulled him off. His dick fell against his thigh, but the other was still hard. 

“How was that?” Jon asked, and Damian pulled him back up to meet his mouth. 

“Good,” he said against Jon’s lips. “So good, beloved.”

Damian carded his claws through Jon’s hair, laying with him for a moment, before he flipped them so he was once again hovering over Jon, weight resting on his elbows, and kissed him. 

His still-hard cock brushed against Jon’s and both of them pulled back from the kiss to whine. Jon wrapped his arms around Damian’s neck, burying his fingers into his mane, and pushed back up into him, and Damian let his eyes fall shut, resting his forehead on Jon’s collarbone. 

“Would you like me inside of you?” he asked. Jon’s cock twitched, his hips jerked upwards, and he threw his head back. The very thought of it had him moving a hand down to wrap around the base of himself, gripping tight to keep from coming. 

“Yes,” he said. 

Damian left him for a moment to retrieve a bottle of lube from his bedside table, and Jon took the time to admire him. The golden skin, like a statue, like a god, and that black tail curled behind him. The mane that led down his spine, the dark claws fading to long fingers encircled by gold rings, the extra bend in his legs that made him taller than when he was glamoured—though still not quite so tall as Jon.

Damian returned to the bed, settling between Jon’s thighs. Jon leaned up on his elbows to watch as Damian poured lube onto his fingers—claws glamoured away and rings set carefully on his bedside table, leaving only golden skin and short black nails—and then wrapped them around Jon’s cock. Jon gasped, dropping back down to the bed. 

“Dami!”

“Shh, beloved, let me take care of you.”

Jon thrust up to meet Damian’s strokes, thighs tensing around Damian’s hips. He let out a noise halfway between a sob and a moan. “Dami.”

Damian moved his hand down to grab at Jon’s balls, then dragged his ever-warm fingers down his taint towards his puckered hole. He pressed one against it, slipping it in easily enough. Jon spasmed beneath him, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Do you do this to yourself?”

Jon whined, nodding into the pillows. “Feels—ah—feels better when you do it.”

“Hmm. Recently?”

“Last night. Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you. Damian!”

Damian continued to press into Jon, adding a second finger and scissoring them. Jon keened, cock twitching. A bead of precome appeared at the slit, and Damian watched as it dripped slowly down the underside of Jon’s cock. He pressed his fingers into Jon’s walls, feeling for his prostate, and a smile appeared on his face when he brushed it and Jon moaned. 

Jon’s breaths were coming heavy and his dick twitched with each movement of Damian’s fingers inside of him. A third entered, pushing in deep alongside the other two, and he thrust down against it, hoping to take it deeper. His eyes fell closed, but he could hear Damian’s breath, carefully controlled and even, and his heartbeat, crazily fast in his ribcage. 

When Damian removed his fingers, Jon’s eyes fluttered open. There were tears clinging to his lashes, and he blinked them away. He watched as Damian spread lube on his cock, then pressed it against Jon’s hole. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice rough. Jon could feel the wetness of his precome against his ass, could feel how his length twitched against him. 

“Go in me,” Jon said, hips pushing against Damian’s cock. “Want you to fill me up, Dami.”

Damian pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Jon’s mouth as he entered him. Jon was hardly able to return it—he had never taken more than his fingers, and Damian had a reasonably-sized cock. It didn’t hurt, not like the first time he’d tried to finger himself and hadn’t used any lube. There was a stretch, but Jon was used to that. He liked it, even. Any pain that he felt was not overweighed by the pleasure of Damian pressing into him, but instead joined it, mixing together inside of him to make him twitch and drip yet more precome across his stomach. 

“You feel so good, beloved,” Damian said, lips against Jon’s ear. He shivered, pushing back against Damian’s length, willing him to enter all the way. “So tight.”

“Hurry up,” Jon said desperately. Damian let out a breath of smoke against his ear and seated himself fully inside of Jon. 

“Feels so good,” Jon said. “Move, Dami, please, I’m ready.”

Damian pulled out until only the head of his cock remained inside of Jon, before thrusting back in, making Jon’s back arch off of the bed. His second cock fell against Jon’s, hardening once more, and Jon wrapped both in his grip. The movement of Damian’s hips as he ground in and out of Jon’s ass, dragging his cock along Jon’s, was enough to have both of them gasping and rutting together. It was messy, and Jon was boxed in by Damian’s demonic heat. He’d never wanted anything more. 

His orgasm hit him like a gunshot, whiting out his vision and leading broken moans from his throat. Damian fucked him through it, then pulled out. He ground both his cocks against Jon’s hips, boxing in his spent length, and Jon’s hips twitched valiantly. 

“Dami…” he muttered, wrapping an arm around Damian’s back. “Inside. Want you to come inside me.”

“You wouldn’t like to wait?”

“I was serious when I said I wanted you to fill me up. Come in me.”

Damian growled, low in his throat, and brought his cock back down to Jon’s hole. “If it gets to be too much, tell me.”

“Damian,” Jon said. Damian pushed into him, then pulled out before Jon had any time to adjust, and then he was thoroughly fucking him. A bit of the Pit crept into his eyes, allowing him to push into Jon harder, fuck him faster. The room was filled with the wet sounds of Jon’s hole and the slapping of skin on skin. Jon’s breaths were coming fast as he writhed beneath Damian, dragging his fingers down Damian’s back, clawing for a grip. 

“Jon,” Damian said, right against his ear. His fingers dug into Jon’s hips, his thighs, black nails pressing into the meat of his legs. Were Jon human, they would have left bruises. He whined, twitching beside him, still with a hand wrapped around Damian’s length. 

Damian continued thrusting into Jon, pressing him down into the bed and littering his neck with kisses and bites that left no marks. He fucked him ruthlessly, like an animal in heat, until finally, he spilled into Jon’s walls. With a few strokes from Jon, he was coming once more, this time onto Jon’s stomach. 

Damian collapsed on top of him, claws once again out and digging into the plush mattress. Jon rubbed a hand down his spine, petting his mane and twirling the course hairs around his fingers. 

After a moment, Damian stood and prowled to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth to wipe his spend from Jon’s ass and chest. Jon hummed, smiling softly as Damian dropped the cloth onto the floor to take care of later and crawled back into bed beside him. He pulled Jon to his chest, wrapping his tail protectively around him, and settled his chin against the nape of Jon’s neck. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice soft. Jon chuckled. 

“I’m better than alright, Damian. The boy I’ve been in love with since I was eleven just gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

“I have you beat,” Damian said. “The boy I’ve been in love with since I was eighteen just gave me the best three orgasms of my life.”

“I’ve loved you longer,” Jon said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Damian let out a rare laugh.

“I am pleased to be the one to receive your affections.”

“Well, there’s no one else on Earth I would want to be with. Earth or the rest of the universe.”

“I love you,” Damian said. It was far from the first time he’d uttered those words to Jon, but still, Jon’s heart fluttered each time he heard them. 

“I love you more.”

Claws dug playfully into the impenetrable skin of his stomach. “Impossible. I love you the most.”

“You dare to challenge me?” Jon laughed. “I accept! We fight at dawn.”

Damian pressed a kiss to the back of Jon’s neck, and he could feel the smile on Damian’s lips as he said, “To the death.”