Archive of Our Own

Laying together pressed shoulder to front upon the night-cool sandstone of the palace roof, lay the Demon Twins.

Above them stretched a glittering expanse of stars on a canvas of deep indigo. There was not a hint of light pollution in the sky. So deep in the tibet mountains of Nanda Parbat, little could lessen the view. Danny was certainly enraptured by the sight, his eyes glued to the brilliance of the full moon above. His eyes reflected starlight and moonlight both, the silver light casting shadows around cheeks still rounded with childhood.

Damian found he couldn’t look away. As breathtaking a view the stars were, they didn’t hold a flame to his twin brother.

The cold of the desert did nothing to dispel the warmth of Danny’s arm carelessly splayed over Damian’s chest. In fact, Damian found himself even warmer than before, as though there was a spark lit in his ribcage.

As if feeling his lingering gaze, Danny tipped his head to Damian, foreheads brushing. His eyes were so, so bright. Mesmerizing. “Why are you staring at me, Dami? Don’t you see how gorgeous the moon is tonight?”

Damian didn’t comment on the nickname, not even to halfheartedly grumble as he usually did. Instead, he found his heart skipping a beat in his chest, his breath stuttering a bit in his lungs.

Was he ill? What was this fluttering in his gut? Damian pushed down the feeling and dared not mention it to his brother.

Instead, he found another confession pulled from him: “The moon pales in comparison to you, Danyal. I may as well call you Ya Amar, for you are the only moon I need to light my nights.”

A blush immediately darkened Danny’s face, spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. He ducked his face into the crook of Damian’s shoulder, but Damian was pleased to note that it did nothing to hide the reddened tips of his ears.

A satisfied smirk curled Damian’s lips. It wasn’t often that he was able to fluster Danny. Usually, it was Danny’s own flirting causing Damian to sputter and swipe at his brother, face red. It was nice to witness the opposite.

It, unfortunately, did not last long. Before Damian could process what had changed, Danny wilted into him, digging his cold nose into Damian’s exposed neck and tightening his arm around him.

“I don’t want to leave,” he breathed, a secret shared in the nonexistent space between them. Damian was glad for it. It wouldn’t do to have one of Grandfather’s, or even their Mother’s, ninja overhearing that.

Danny was going on a mission. Alone. It would be the first time in their eight years that the Demon Twins would be separated. Damian was infuriated by Grandfather’s orders, though he hid it well. They were far stronger together than they were apart. Why couldn’t he see that? But Grandfather was insistent, and Grandfather always got his way.

It was all Damian could do to grip onto Danny’s arm and hold him back. “It will not be for long,” Damian assured the top of his twin’s head. “You are an incredible warrior, Danyal, and I have full confidence in your ability to return as swiftly as possible.”

It was easy to say such comforts aloud. But on the inside, Damian ached with the idea of parting even for a short while. Hopefully, his statement would not be a lie, and his brother would return to him quickly. But he would not voice those doubts in his head. He would not see his brother hurt any more.

A ghost of movement preceded Danny scooping up Damian’s hand and lacing their fingers together on Damian’s chest, right over his rapidly-beating heart. Danny kept his face hidden from his gaze, but he did wiggle closer, pressing his torso flush with Damian’s free arm.

“I’m scared,” Danny admitted, voice small. “What if I fail this mission? Grandfather…”

Those words tightened a vice around his heart. He knew that same fear, and the reason for it. Grandfather had slowly escalated pitting the two of them against one another. As they were separated more and more for training. As they were made to compete. Damian hated it.

It was clear, the longer things went on, that Grandfather was only looking for one heir to take his throne.

Damian swallowed his nerves. “There is no need for fear, Ya Amar. You will succeed,” he told him.

Danny squirmed a bit, ears going a lovely shade of pink from hearing Damian’s new nickname again. But he wasn't distracted. “But if I do fail… do you think Grandfather will have me killed?”

“Absolutely not!” Damian snapped, too loud in the silent night. He tore their hands apart so he could grab Danny’s jaw, pulling him up so their eyes could meet. “I will not allow it, Danyal,” he snarled at Danny’s wide-eyed blinking. “We will foil Grandfather's machinations to separate us. There is no need for only one Demon’s Head. We are stronger together. We will become stronger than Grandfather could ever dream of as partners.” A pause. “We will become partners in everything. You have my word, Danyal.”

Danny laced their fingers back together, sandwiching Damian’s hand against Danny’s face. Blue eyes glimmered with wetness, a hint of tears in the light of the moon and stars. A little smile tugged at his brother’s mouth, never able to hold back in the face of Damian’s declarations of their bond. “Partners,” he agreed softly, nuzzling into Damian’s palm.

Damian’s breath caught at the simple faith Danny had in him. It was a treasure he would hold close for all of their lives. Warmth unfurled in Damian’s chest, filling him. The fluttering started up even stronger than before.

There was no concern for his health, this time. Obviously, these flutters were markers of his bond with Danny. His body had no choice but to fall prey to the beauty of his brother’s smile.

Was this what their Mother felt for their Father?

Whoever the man was, if he was anything at all like Danny, then Damian understood the feeling completely.

Danny, oblivious to his thoughts, cocked his head at Damian's prolonged silence. “Dami?” he prompted, squeezing his fingers.

Blood was roaring in his ears. He couldn’t look away from blue eyes cast pale in the moonlit sky. Damian was powerless against the impulse dragging him closer.

Their lips met.

The lines of Danny’s body went taut, muscles locking. Damian immediately worried he'd made a mistake—but then Danny relaxed, practically melting against him. He sighed against Damian’s mouth, soft and sweet and everything Damian didn't know he needed. He tasted faintly of the spiced tea they'd shared earlier, before they'd snuck out to stargaze. His arms wound around Damian, holding him impossibly closer.

Damian’s heart was soaring.

When finally they parted, breathless and dizzy, the twins held each other's gaze. Damian could see the adoration in the creases around Danny's eyes, the starlike sparkle in them. In the soft uptick at the corners of his slightly swollen lips.

Could anything be more beautiful than his brother?

Then Danny laughed, soft and warm, covered by his hand to stifle the sound, and Damian was proven right. There wasn’t a single sound more beautiful than that laugh. Damian couldn't hold back a soft chuckle of his own, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I liked that,” Danny murmured, leaning his head against Damian's, fingers tangling together tightly. “Can we do it again?”

Damian's smile grew. "When you return from your mission, we can kiss as much as you would like," he promised.

Danny grinned, bumping their noses together. "Then I will finish my mission quickly and efficiently," he declared, leaning forward to steal one last kiss. "And hurry home to you, Dami."

Damian's chest ached with the sheer amount of love held within it. He didn't think he'd ever felt so much at one time, before. "I will be waiting for you with bated breath, Ya Amar."

Danny’s face went bright red once more, before his expression flipped to determination.

Uh oh. Damian knew that look. “Danyal...”

Danny was not deterred. “I need a nickname for you too, Damian! And not something as brotherly as Dami! It’ll have to be good, to show how much I love ewe. Get it? Ewe? I’m not kitten with you, Dami!”

Groaning, Damian shoved Danny’s face away. “Stop.”

Danny was already giggling, pleased with himself. “Or what? You’ll fleece? I’m purrfectly happy to continue!”

“You do not need to strain yourself to come up with something, Danyal.”

"Awwwww come on, Dami! You came up with Ya Amar. Ya Amar! How am I supposed to come up with something as cool as that! You picked a nickname from my special interest! So, I need to find something animal-related for you, right? Because I’m so otterly in love with you!”

Damian’s face burned. “Danyal.”

“Damian, my dear, my darling, my doe,” Danny cooed, rolling onto Damian’s chest and cupping his cheeks. “My sweet, sweet salmon. My darling duckling. My beloved bear. My cherished cheetah!”

Damian groaned again and shoved Danny off him, rolling over to hide his burning face in his arms. “You’re ridiculous.”

Danny just cackled, pressing against Damian’s back and wrapping his arms around him. “And you love me for it! My darling damselfly.” He kissed Damian’s shoulder through his shirt, grinning against the fabric. “I’ll come up with something perfect, don’t you worry.”

Rolling his eyes and keeping his flushed face hidden from view, Damian could only lament falling in love with his idiot of a brother. What did that say about him and his tastes? Nothing good, certainly.

He found he couldn't muster the ire to care.

He sighed, tilting his head to look at the stars above. He’d have to endure Danny’s continued teasing when he returned. He would have far too much time to himself to come up with a litany of options, each one worse than the last.

Damian couldn't wait to distract him with kisses when he returned.

7 YEARS LATER

The silk tie around Damian’s neck was so restrictive, it may as well have been a noose.

Hiding away from the riff-raff of the Gotham City Hall gala attendees, Damian worked a finger into the perfect Windsor knot in an attempt to loosen it.

“Oi, don’t go ruining Alfie’s hard work, brat.”

Large hands swatted his away from the tie. Damian let his arms fall stiffly to his sides as Jason Todd-Wayne readjusted the fabric with the practiced precision of a man forced to wear one too many times growing up.

Jason’s own tie was already loosened. Of course it was, the hypocrite. The knot hung crooked at his throat, his collar open enough that it would undoubtedly annoy Pennyworth when the man caught sight of him. His jacket was tailored properly befitting a son of the Wayne family, but he wore it unkempt as though it were the worst sort of armor. Broad shoulders, tense jaw, already wishing he was anywhere else.

Tonight, Damian found himself actually sympathizing with the brute.

“You look like you’re plotting to stab the next shareholder who asks you about school,” Jason said.

Damian tt’s. “I am considering it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t. Bruce will make that stupid constipated face, and then Alfred’ll get all British Disappointed at me for not stopping you.” Jason gave the knot one last tug, firm enough to make Damian’s chin lift. “There. Perfect little murder prince.”

Damian scowled up at him.

Jason smirked back. “What? You are.”

Father’s too-boistrous laughter drew their attention across the room. Brucie Wayne was in full swing, that night. His own tie was loosened with faux drunkenness. He was loudly talking to a silver-haired widow decorated in far too many diamonds and tittering behind a hand.

Disgusting.

Jason rolled his eyes at the display and turned back to Damian. “I know why you’re really upset, you know.”

He fought the urge to stiffen. “I do not know what you are insinuating.”

“Sure you don’t, kid.” Jason crossed his arms, but his expression softened. “...It’s today, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Damian looked back to their Father schmoozing and being a nuisance, feeling the tightness around his neck like hands squeezing.

To be at a gala on this day, the anniversary of his greatest loss—it felt like drowning, like hanging from the gallows. He could not help but look at his Father, the bumbling idiot version of him, and wonder what things Danyal would have done to lighten the mood instead. What jokes he would have whispered into Damian’s ear, blue eyes glimmering with mischief. What pranks he would have goaded Damian into playing on the attendees. How he would have laughed, cheeks rosy and teeth shining with how big his grin would be.

How his lips would have tasted, after.

“Damian.”

Jason’s voice cut through the fantasy, low and careful.

Damian blinked.

The ballroom returned by degrees. Gold light. Perfume. Polished marble. Jason standing beside him, no longer smirking.

Damian’s hands had curled into fists, nails digging harshly into his palms. He forced them back open.

“It has been seven years,” Damian muttered under his breath. “And yet each day without him hurts as freshly as the first.”

Jason set a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. 

For several breaths, neither of them spoke. The gala carried on around them, careless and loud. Laughter bubbled from clusters of Gotham’s wealthy. Crystal glasses clinked. A string quartet played something bland and expensive from the far end of the room. Father remained across the room, still performing, still smiling with all his teeth. 

Damian hated all of it.

Hated how fake it all was. How it spat on the memory of his brother, who died on this day when they were just eight years old. How Damian was bereft of Danyal's warmth, his beautiful eyes, his smile.

He wished he could kiss him one more time.

Timothy Drake-Wayne appeared at Jason’s shoulder, tapping away at something on his phone. Another nuisance. “I hate rich people,” he announced.

Jason looked down at him, moment ruined. “You are rich people.”

“I hate other rich people,” Tim corrected, scowling into the crowd. His hair had been combed back at some point in the evening, but enough loose strands had escaped to make him look like he had already been awake for three days. Knowing Drake, he likely had. “Specifically, I hate rich people who donate just enough money to be considered important and then use charity galas as networking events for morally dubious business ventures.”

Jason blinked. “That was weirdly specific.”

“Vlad Masters is here.”

“Who?”

Tim’s expression was sour. “A self-made billionaire with far too many shady dealings. And somehow worse than the usual gala parasite. Biotech, weapons, energy tied to some kind of radiation that I haven’t been able to crack… Not to mention his countless shell companies that has even Babs overwhelmed. And worse, he keeps trying to set up appointments with Bruce or Lucius to get a foot in the door with Wayne Enterprises. I don’t like having this guy in Gotham.”

“Of course he’s in Gotham.” Jason nabbed a glass from a passing server and scowled when it turned out to only be sparkling water. “Why are all these evil rich guys so desperate to network? What happened to normal villain hobbies? Like building volcano lairs. Or collecting weird little statues.”

Damian exhaled through his nose. “This conversation is pointless.” He adjusted his cufflinks. “If Drake is so concerned with this Masters character, he should simply hack the man’s finances.”

Tim grinned, sharklike. “Already done.”

“And?”

“And he’s got some weird spending habits. Lots of donations to the same ghost hunter couple in Illinois—which, by the way, ghost hunters? Really?—but nothing I can pin him for, yet.” Tim sighed. “I hate rich villain-types.” He looked up at Damian, finally seeming to notice the way he was holding himself. “You look like you want to stab someone.”

Damian scowled. “I will,” he said, glaring pointedly at Tim.

Tim took a careful step back. Good, he was properly intimidated. “Please don’t.”

“Please do,” Jason countered, sipping his water and grimacing. “I'm about to die for a second time of boredom, y’know.”

Tim rolled his eyes, and Jason smirked at him. The trio lapsed into silence, watching the gala continue around them.

Damian wished he were anywhere else.

“Huh,” Tim said suddenly. “Masters has someone with him.” He squinted across the ballroom, then pulled out his phone to snap a quick photo and zoom in. “A kid.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose. “Kid?”

“Yeah, teenage-looking. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Definitely adoption bait, so keep him out of view from Bruce at all costs.” Tim frowned at the screen. “He must be Masters’ heir? I don't remember hearing about an heir in my intelligence gathering.”

Damian scoffed, turning to get his own look. “Drake has proven himself to be unreliable, yet again. If this child is—”

The words died in his throat.

Across the room, standing next to a tall silver-haired man in a pristine white tuxedo, looking for all the world that he wished to be anywhere else, was a boy. Dark hair, blue eyes, just as Tim had described. But that wasn’t nearly all of it.

It was his familiar face. The thick angled brows received from their father. The sharp cheekbones of their mother. A nose that Damian saw every morning in his own mirror.

He was dressed messily. His dark blue tuxedo was well-tailored for all that it was wrinkled in places like the cuffs and his collar. His hair may have been styled at one point, but it was a spiky mess from hands constantly raking through them. There was even a bright green dot on one of his ears, a glimmer of rebellion in each faucet of his outfit.

Then, those blue eyes met his, and the world fell away.

Not truly. Damian knew, distantly, that the music continued. That the quartet had not stopped playing. That Gotham’s wealthy still laughed and lied and drank beneath the chandeliers. That Jason was beside him, and Tim was still saying something under his breath. 

But none of that mattered.

Because the boy beside Masters stared back at him, frozen in recognition.

He was older. Of course he was older. Seven years had passed. Seven years of Damian growing taller, sharper, crueler in some places and softer in others. Seven years of waking from dreams where a smaller hand had been curled around his. Seven years without his twin, his partner, his other half.

Danyal? Damian mouthed silently.

Jason had gone still beside him, also clocking the boy.

“...No way,” Jason said, voice distant.

Tim’s voice had gone cold and clipped. “Do you think this is another clone situation? He looks like Bruce. Should I comm Oracle?”

“That’s…not a clone,” Jason managed.

Damian swallowed, but he couldn’t look away. He barely dared to breathe, lest the vision vanish.

Then, Danny took a hesitant step toward him.

That broke the spell. 

Damian charged forward. Ignoring the startled shouts from attendees. Ignoring warnings from his other, lesser, brothers. Danyal started running, too, pushing past Masters’ restricting hand with eyes only for Damian. 

They crashed together, arms wrapping tight around each other.

Danny smelled like ozone and something cold, unfamiliar, but beneath it was the same scent Damian had grown up with. A boyish musk and spiced tea. The smell of home. 

And he was solid beneath Damian's palms.

Real.

Damian couldn't believe it.

"You are alive," he gasped into Danny's shoulder.

A strange hiccupping laugh answered him. "More or less," Danny admitted, fingers tightening in the fabric of Damian's tuxedo jacket, definitely wrinkling it. Damian couldn't care less. "I missed you, Dami."

The world righted in a way Damian had thought impossible. He had resigned himself to it. To a life spent without his other half alive and well, by his side. That hollowed place within Damian seemed to flicker, sparking with warmth he once thought lost forever.

Damian lifted his head, coming up to fix his eyes to Danny’s blues.

There, mirrored, was relief, pure joy, and longing. All of his feelings reflected back on a face so similar yet still completely different. Their foreheads came together, skin pressed firm but gentle. His hands clasped Danny’s shoulders like vices, as if fearing he would dissolve into mist. This was real. Danny was really here, alive and whole.

Damian lifted a hand and cupped it to Danny’s cheek, fingers finding a single green ghost earring adorning his earlobe. It was a nauseating, sickly green. Too familiar. He loved it. He pinched it, rubbing the resin between his fingers, letting it ground him in the moment. He felt Danny lean into the touch.

Then Danny's bottom lip trembled, then words spilled forth in an anxious rush: “I’m sorry. I tried—I tried to get back to you after everything went wrong, but— Fuck, by the time I was in America, I had no idea how to reach out to you, I had no way of knowing if you were even still in the Himalayas with Mother and Grandfather, and then I had no way of contacting you without tipping someone off about where I'd ended up—”

Damian pressed a finger to Danny’s lips, silencing that rambling explanation.

He had so many questions bubbling beneath the surface, all fighting to escape. But first, the most important thing:

“Ya Amar. I have missed you.”

Danny’s answering grin was blinding, eyes blurring with tears. “Damian.”

From far away, Damian could almost make out the whispering from Gotham’s elite. He could hear his other "brothers" discussing them ("TWINS? Damian has a brother?!" "Shh! I’ll explain later, Timbers!"). There may have even been schmoozing from Masters to a blue-screening Father, where the silver-haired man was attempting to wiggle his way into the cracks of Wayne Enterprises.

Damian couldn’t care less. He only had eyes for the miracle in his arms.

Danny squeezed him closer. His voice was soft, a whisper meant only for Damian’s ears. “I'm sorry I'm late. I have so much to tell you.” He paused, then smiled, slightly hesitant this time. "What you promised, before I left on my mission... is that. Still on the table?"

"Always." He didn't even hesitate.

Danny beamed. "Then..." His smile took on a familiar gleam. "I missed ewe too, Dami."  He leaned in closer, breath warm against Damian's lips. Those impish things looked far too delicious for the nonsense they were spouting. "I've been cattle-lyzing what I'd say when I saw you again. It's been grazing on my mind—"

Damian shut him up with a kiss.

The room around them erupted into shouting.

Damian had dreamed of this moment. Many times. Too many. He had imagined the press of lips, the warmth, the way Danny would melt into him. He had imagined his hand cupping Danny's cheek, Danny's fingers treaded into his hair, pulling each other closer, closer, closer.

It was even better than he had dreamed.

"What the fuck." Damian could hear Tim hissing. “Jason, what the fuck?”

"This... explains a lot, actually," Jason said, sounding far too amused.

Someone else was swearing.

It was far too loud.

And Damian couldn’t care less.

Danny was in his arms, tasting faintly sweet and bubbly, like he'd had soda before arriving at the gala. His lips were soft, still slightly chapped as they had been when they were children. They were also a tad cold, as though Danny had been standing in a freezer before arriving. No matter, his partner and other half would just have to warm them for him. It was less than an inconvenience.

Damian never wanted to let go.

Unfortunately, they still had an audience.

"DANIEL! You are making a scene!" Masters' voice cut through the shouting, sharp and furious. A hand came down on Danny's shoulder.

Damian had a blade out and under Masters' chin before Danny and himself parted. The silver-haired man froze, eyes narrowing. He was taller than Damian, but Damian had spent the past seven years training under Batman and the rest under Talia Al Ghul and Grandfather. He could kill this fool in an instant.

"Remove your hand lest you lose it," Damian snarled.

Vlad's eyes flashed red. A meta, then. No matter.

Danny shivered against him, cheeks red and lips glistening with moisture. His eyes were dark with desire, not even glancing in Vlad Masters' direction. "Fuck, that's so hot," he blurted. He shook himself and grinned, teeth unnaturally sharp. "Better listen to him, Fruitloop. He's not bluffing."

Masters’ hand slowly, very reluctantly, went slack.

Then, Danny's fingers wrapped around Damian’s tie, and Damian and his blade were being tugged away from the maybe-supervillain. Danny winked at him, unworried and devilish. "Let's find someplace quiet, yeah? We deserve some privacy."

He flipped Masters the bird and dragged Damian out of the room. The last thing he saw before they escaped into the halls was his Father’s startled face, Tim's slack jaw, Jason’s shit-eating grin, and Vlad Masters’ furious, red-tinged glare.

And as he turned back to his twin, he glimpsed Tim jolt forward from the corner of his eye. "Hey, wait—!"

Jason's hand stopped him. "You don't wanna do that, Timmers." 

"Huh? Why not?"

"Trust me. Let's just focus on damage control—"

That was the last thing Damian heard before the twins exited the room entirely, ducking into an empty hall way. 

Danny was quick to open the closest unlocked door he could find. A broom closet.

The moment the door clicked shut, Danny had Damian pinned against it, pressing flush against him with all the eagerness of a starving man finally getting a meal. His lips trailed up Damian's jaw, leaving cold spots in their wake, until they found Damian's own again and deepened, deep and hungry.

Damian kissed back just as desperately, letting himself be manhandled while his hands gripped Danny's waist so tightly his brother had no chance of ever leaving again.

"Danyal..." Damian gasped when they finally parted, Danny's mouth travelling down the limited bit of skin exposed on Damian's throat. "How is this possible?"

Danny hummed distractedly, mouth creating a suction at Damian's pulse that had his toes curling in his leather oxfords.

Damian shuddered, fingers clutching at Danny's back. "Danyal, you died," he told him, breathless, barely biting back a moan. "Mother told me so herself."

Danny laved at the undoubtedly reddened skin with his tongue. "Didn’t.” He hooked a finger into Damian’s tie and tugged it to the side, latching his mouth onto the newly bared skin. “Not then.”

Baring his neck readily to his brother, his twin, his other half, Damian could do little else but lean against the door and stare down at his first and only love as he worked to litter Damian’s skin in a litany of love bites. The dim lighting of the closet painted Danny in soft golds and deep shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the almost-glowing blue of his eyes.

He was the most beautiful thing Damian had ever seen.

His grip on Danny's waist kept him from trailing too far down Damian's body, but Danny didn't seem to mind. He was too busy mapping out Damian’s throat with his lips, tongue, and teeth. He trailed back up, kissing and licking his way back to Damian's mouth.

Damian carded a hand through Danny’s hair, gripping the dark strands between his fingers and tugging. Keeping those tempting lips away. “Tell me,” he commanded, though the effect was ruined by how breathless he sounded.

Danny whined, pressing the length of his body flush against his brother's. It exaggerated the lines in his arched throat, making his swallow all the more pronounced. Damian watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and yearned.

“Danyal.” His voice was firm despite the heat of desire coiling. He was pulling on all of his training to keep his head. Even then, it was a struggle. Every part of him wanted what Danny was giving freely. But the Bat in him was too loud. He had to know.

“Dami,” Danny’s voice was between a pant and a whine, chest heaving. He tried to press their lips back together, but this time Damian raised a hand to physically block his mouth.

A cool, wet tongue ran along the length of his palm.

Was that childish, or erotic? Damian did not know. Still, he found himself more fond than disgusted. “You are impossible, Danyal.” The smile twitching at his lips betrayed his attempt to feign frustration. No matter. It was not as though he could lie to Danny, as it was. He sombered. “Please. I must know.”

An exaggerated sigh puffed cold air against his wetted palm. Both of Danny’s hands came up to cradle Damian’s, moving it so Danny’s cheek pressed to the back of it. “Can’t it wait, Dami? I’ve waited seven years to return to you.” Danny’s voice is soft, ruined in longing and unspoken things Damian couldn’t hope to know. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

 “And I thought you were dead,” Damian countered. His cheeks felt suspiciously wet. “Please.”

Danny nuzzled into Damian’s hand and glanced away. But, finally, he began: “Grandfather had planned that mission to be my end. I got away. But I couldn’t go back, where he would either try again or… or try and kill you next. So I stayed in hiding.  A family found me in Paris, when I was hiding in the catacombs. Their daughter wouldn’t leave without me.”

Ice seemed to crawl through Damian’s blood, shooting pain through all it touched. Of course Grandfather would want Danny removed. All attempts to pit the two against each other had failed, up until that point. Neither would deliver a lethal blow to the other, always proving their loyalty to each other above all else. Damian swallowed down the vitriol he wished to scream to Ra’s al Ghul.

Truly, the old fool was lucky he was dead for good.

“Where did they take you?” he choked out around the rage.

Danny’s eyes flickered back to him, radiating concern. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into Damian’s wrist. “A midwestern town. Amity Park, Illinois.”

Damian swallowed the last of his anger and nodded. That information was enough to calm the inescapable curiosity born from training with Father. Then that thought hit him hard enough to knock a gasp from him.

Danny didn’t know about Father!

“Danyal! Our father!” Damian reoriented himself before speaking. “Mother left me with him. Our father is not in the league. He is here! We could go home together with our father, and stay together!”

That seemed to reignite Danny’s earlier excitement. He surged closer, tugging Damian until all space vanished between them again. "Together, " he echoed against Damian's lips, and captured his mouth in a kiss. 

With his Bat side sated, Damian could finally give his brother the attention he deserved.

His hands rose to cup Danny’s face, fingers dragging over every inch of skin. Worshiping. Memorizing. A cold exhale ghosted across his face, and Damian leaned into it. When Danny deepened the kiss and sucked Damian's tongue into that cool mouth, Damian groaned at the taste. Everywhere Danny touched seemed to burn. Heat was flooding into his veins.

The next time they parted, it was Damian’s turn to audibly protest.

Danny smiled at him, cheeks flushed and gorgeous. “You know, Dami,” Danny slid a hand up along his arm, practically groping at the muscles of his bicep. “I’ve had seven years to come up with a nickname for you, and I think I found the right one.”

Damian huffed at the distraction. He pressed a trail of kisses up Danny’s jaw, to his cheek, seeking his lips.

Danny turned away, keeping Damian from recapturing them. He chuckled. “It was really hard to come up with anything close to Ya Amar. You didn’t make it easy.” Danny told him, now toying with a gelled curl of Damian’s hair. “I mean… calling me your moon? How could I possibly top that? But then… at 14, I walked into a portal and left it half alive, half dead.”

Damian stiffened. “Danyal—”

Shushing him with a finger to the lips, Danny continued. “I'm fine, Dami. More than fine. I'll tell you all about it later, I promise. It's just that… Dying, then coming back halfway? It's so different from being resurrected by the Lazarus Pits. There was no Madness. Instead, I became intimately familiar with my soul, my core.”

Those blazing blue eyes set their sights on him, and a bolt of electricity and heat seemed to zing down Damian's spine.

“I learned that there was something stronger in me than the Moon and the stars and all of the planetary masses of outer space. And because of that… I finally found the perfect nickname for you.”

He leaned in impossibly close, sharing Damian's breath. Sharing heartbeats, and heat, and all those precious signs of life, “half-dead” or not. Damian could feel the press of Danny's bulge firmly against his own, trapped as they were behind restrictive dress pants. It was so much. It was everything.

“You are… Ya Rohi. My Soul. My Core.”

Damian was stunned speechless.

He could feel Danny's breath against his lips as he spoke. Could see the sincerity in those blue eyes. Could feel the truth in every inch of Danny's body pressed against his.

Ya Rohi.

Heat bolted through him, straight down to his half-hard penis.

He actually felt it twitch.

Danny felt it too, if his immediate fanged grin was any indication. “Ohhh,” he purred, grinding his hips against Damian's. His bulge was just as prominent. Just as interested. “You like that? Ya Rohi.”

“Danyal,” he growled in warning, voice husky with want.

Danny shivered and licked his lips. He drawled out, long and purposeful: "Ya. Ro. Hi." 

Damian's hands tangled in Danny's hair, yanking him in. Danny laughed and moaned into his mouth, clutching at his arms, grinding his hips against him.

They quickly found a rhythm together, rutting against each other like the baseless teenagers that Damian so despised. Oh, how he finally understood the appeal. Having his brother there, panting against his lips, moaning into his mouth every time their hips met just right…

Damian was already addicted.

Something in the friction had Danny grip tightening, turning claw-like, a hungry growl bubbling up his throat. His half-lidded eyes looked at his twin and flickered, casting an eerie green in the darkened closet.

Damian paused, entranced by the sight.

Lazarus green. No, Damian paused and corrected himself, they weren’t quite that shade. These eyes weren’t shaded with the madness that used to flare in Jason’s eyes, or Grandfather’s. These did not bubble with anger and smoke. These were pure.

He brushed a thumb under one of Danny’s luminescent eyes. “Beautiful,” he breathed reverently. 

Danny jerked against him, cheeks flushing even darker than before. He choked on a whimper. “Dami—!”

They fell back into kissing, but Danny’s wandering hands held purpose now. They slid down Damian’s chest, making quick work of his belt buckle and zipper until he was free to slip questing fingers into Damian's boxers.

Damian gasped against his lips, hips bucking forward into Danny’s grip. He pried himself free of those lovely lips with a groan. “Danyal! We cannot! Someone will overhear!”

Danny’s eyes glittered. They were so, so bright. And yet, they were almost entirely eclipsed by the dilation of his pupils. He licked a stripe up Damian’s neck. “No one’s going to interrupt us. I put up a shield. C’mon, I want to make you feel good, Ya Rohi. Please, let me.”

Danny’s fingers trail against the delicate skin of his crotch, finding the base of his erection. Sensitive skin alighted, sending waves of want rolling through him.

Damian bit his lip harshly to quell the sounds of his arousal.

Words failed him for several long moments, but when he managed to speak, it was with a hoarse croak: “Danyal, we shouldn’t.”

Danny’s teasing fingers paused. He leaned back and studied Damian’s face. Whatever he saw had those glowing eyes dim slightly. “Oh."

His hand began to retreat.

Quickly, Damian captured that wrist before it could clear his waistband. He shook his head at Danny’s confused look. “I did not say stop.”

Danny’s eyes immediately brightened. He grinned, triumphant, leaning in to kiss down Damian's jaw to his throat as he wrapped his fingers back around Damian's length. He nipped gently against one of Damian's numerous hickies and smiled when that caused his brother to shiver.

“Danyal wait,” Damian gasped, squeezing Danny’s wrist. Danny immediately whined, but Damian pressed on: “Before we continue, we must be quiet. Do you understand? We are still in a public venue. We cannot afford to be overheard.”

While Danny was quick to nod and agree to Damian's demands, Damian was not convinced by his brother’s assurances. The glint in those blue-green eyes told him that Danny intended to test Damian's patience. Still, Damian released his wrist, allowing Danny to resume his ministrations. He, too, was becoming impatient for more—damn the consequences.

With his wrist now freed, Danny traced the pads of his fingers up the vein prominent on the underside of Damian’s erection. Up, up, up, until Danny could get a grip on the hem of Damian’s boxers and tug them out of the way so his penis could flick out into the cooler air of the closet, flushed and proud.

Danny pulled back just far enough to admire his prize. His glowing eyes, eyelids lowered heavy with lust, cast an eerie green glow on Damian’s erection, highlighting every vein, every twitch, the bead of precum already forming at the tip. He stroked the skin, audibly marveling at how the skin moved with his fingers, stretching and making the flushed tip even more prominent. That bead of moisture dripped down onto Danny’s hand.

Damian bit down on a moan at the sight.

Danny glanced up at his face, eyes half-mast in arousal. “You’re so hard for me,” He husked, running his palm from base to tip. Pleasure shivered through Damian with the tender stroke. “Ancients, but I've been dreaming of this. I've wanted you for so long. You're so beautiful, Ya Rohi.” 

Damian lost his grip on his moan, the sound loud in the closet as he pressed his forehead to Danny’s and kissed him, hard. "You talk far too much," he growled into Danny's mouth.

Danny laughed, breathless. "I'm sorry, I talk— Oh—"

Damian pressed the heel of his palm into the heated bulge in Danny's pants, silencing his brother's teasing with a choked gasp. Danny’s eyes fluttered shut as Damian rubbed slow circles into the fabric, mouth falling open in pleasure. His fingers on Damian's erection stuttered in its teasing.

Damian smirked in victory. “What was that?”

Danny groaned, hips jerking forward into Damian's palm. "You're still such an asshole!"

Damian couldn't help but chuckle against Danny's lips. "Possibly. But I am your asshole. Danyal. Ya Amar."

Danny moaned, too loud. Too purposeful. Damian slapped a hand over that devilish mouth to muffle the sound, glaring at those eyes glittering with mischief.

If Damian was the asshole, then Danny was the piece of shit.

“Quiet, Danyal, or I shall stop,” he hissed in threat. Then, before Danny could make any more noise and ruin the moment, he made short work of opening up those slacks and freeing Danny’s erection to Damian's hungry gaze.

It was largely similar to Damian's own. Circumcised, more long than wide, and flushed darkly at the mushroom-shaped head with arousal. Perfect.

Danny gasped softly at the exposure, arching into Damian's touch when Damian wrapped his fingers around him. He stroked experimentally, twisting his wrist slightly at the upstroke just to hear Danny's breath hitch. 

"Fuck," Danny whispered, voice strained. His fingers tightened around Damian's length in retaliation, squeezing just enough to make Damian groan back. “Damian…”

Damian kissed him, swallowing Danny's moans as they stroked each other, savoring the moment. It was sweet, very much tender, the way they moved together, trading kisses and soft gasps and moans, hips rolling into each other's hands.

Then, Danny's sharp canine pricked Damian's bottom lip, and the zing of pleasure-pain had Damian bucking forward, knocking their erections together.

Things quickly devolved from there.

At the first touch of their bare lengths sliding together, Danny groaned loudly into Damian's mouth, rolling his hips forward to chase the friction. Damian bit down on Danny's lower lip, muffling his own noises as he returned the motion, not even caring at Danny’s volume in the face of that incredible glide of precum-slicked skin.

Danny bullied Damian's hand until they both had a grip on their pinned erections, movements uncoordinated and messy as they kept bucking into each other, bumping hands, knocking teeth as they quickly lost themselves in the moment.

Their hands made slick sounds that were deafening in the small space. Damian couldn't tell where all of the fluid was coming from—surely their precum wasn't enough—but he wasn't about to stop to find out. Not when Danny was pressed against him so perfectly, mouthing at his cheek, his jaw, making gorgeous breathy moans, squeezing their erections together just right— 

It was incredible.

The entire world zeroed in to just him and Danny, just as it was meant to be.

Based on the expression on Danny's face—eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering, mouth open and glistening with his tongue poking slightly out, utterly debauched—he was of a similar mindset.

Time bled together as tension coiled tighter and tighter in Damian's abdomen, pleasure building too rapidly. Too soon. He didn't want the moment to end. He wanted to bring Danny pleasure for hours, for days, forever.

But seven years of longing and pent-up need was too much, and Damian found himself hurtling toward climax embarrassingly fast.

A little groan of protest bubbled to his lips. Yet he was lost to the pleasure. It was just too good. There was no stopping it, not with it drawing his balls up into his body in preparation.

"Danyal," he gasped, trying to warn him.

"Dami," Danny returned with equal desperation, pressing his forehead to Damian's as their hands moved faster, harder, the wet sounds growing louder. His eyes peeked open to meet Damian's, spilling green light between them. "Beloved, I'm—"

Beloved.

Damian came with a stifled cry, shuddering violently as pleasure erupted through him, pulsing hot ropes of cum between them, splattering against Danny's shirt, staining their hands, coating his twin's own length.

Danny gasped at the heat, pressing their foreheads harder together as his hips jerked erratically, orgasm slamming into him with just as much intensity. His cum mixed with Damian's, slightly cooler, yet all the hotter in that it was his.

Danny panted and struggled to catch his breath, pressing kisses to Damian's lips, his chin, wherever he could reach. The glow in his eyes slowly dimmed until he blinked, and they returned to the blue that Damian so loved and adored. "Ya Rohi," he breathed, trembling in the aftershocks, fingers loosening their grip around their softening erections.

"Ya Amar," he answered. He kissed him back, slow and deep, tasting Danny's breath, his skin, his lips. Their cum rapidly cooled between them, sticky and unpleasant, but Damian wished to savor this moment with Danny for as long as possible before they had to clean up. Before they had to return to the outside world, where danger and lies and death awaited them.

But here, in this stolen moment, they were just Dami and Danny. Just two boys in love and, finally, finally whole again.

Danny sighed softly against his lips. "I love you."

Damian swallowed thickly, pressing another kiss to Danny's lips before pulling back slightly. He had never been good with words. Never been good with emotions, either. But this was Danny, his Danyal, his other half, and if there was anything Damian could give, it was this.

"I love you, too."

Danny grinned, bright and brilliant as the moon.

They tucked themselves away and made use of some rags in the broom closet to clear the spend from their hands and shirts as best as possible. The wrinkles in their suits were unsalvageable, but there was little they could do in the moment. Hopefully, Alfred would be understanding of the circumstances. Still, that still meant there was one thing they could not avoid.

"Removing ourselves from this building without our siblings or father noticing our movements will be difficult," Damian murmured as he smoothed his fingers through his hair to restore some semblance of order. The gel was proving to be more of a hindrance than a help, leaving it stuck standing up and thoroughly mussed.

He looked, quite frankly, like he had been fornicating in a closet.

Damian could already feel the chagrin and mortification rising to his cheeks, replacing his cooling aroused flush. The idea of facing Father, or worse, Todd… The teasing from Todd would be far, far worse than whatever lectures their father would have in store for them.

Danny chuckled at his expression, reaching up to fix Damian's hair with gentle fingers. Somehow, he got it to lay down flat. "Relax, Dami. I can handle it."

Damian arched an eyebrow at him. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Danny smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Trust me."

Before Damian's very eyes, a ring of white light appeared around his twin's waist, splitting into two rings—one traveling upward, the other downward—and in their wake, Danny reappeared, but different from before. His navy tuxedo had been replaced with a black hazmat suit, with white boots and gloves, and an insignia of a... P? D? on his chest. His skin was tanned, his hair was white, and those luminous green eyes were back, looking down at him with pride puffing out his chest.

Yes, looking down at Damian.

Danny was floating. No, not even floating—it was as though gravity for him had negated entirely, and he was simply standing a foot off the ground.

This new version of Danny smirked down at Damian and held out a gloved hand. "Nice to meetcha! I'm Phantom, hero of Amity Park. Would you like a ride home?"

Half alive, half dead, he recalled Danny telling him.

Damian's mind raced at the implications.

Even still, Damian did not hesitate to place his hand in Danny Phantom's and look up at him. "Please."

Danny grinned, sharp and fanged and otherworldly. He tugged Damian closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Damian found himself pressed flush against Danny's chest, arms wrapping instinctively around Danny's shoulders.

"Hold on tight," Danny whispered against his lips.

Then, they were off.

Damian felt a sensation not unlike being doused in cold water, and suddenly, they were flying up and through the ceiling, phasing through the building entirely, and emerging into the starry night sky of Gotham. 

When Damian looked down at Gotham City Hall, he noticed that he could not see their bodies.

They had gone invisible.

"Cool, right?" Danny said, pressing a cold kiss behind Damian's ear. "There's no need for sneaking around at all with invisibility and intangibility at our beck and call. You can point us straight home!”

Damian stared down at the golden lights of the gala, watching the guests mill around, oblivious to the twins floating above them. He even spotted Tim through one of the windows, scanning the crowd and likely searching for them. Damian's tracker would have been fritzing due to the strange magic of Danny's powers.

He'd set them straight the moment Damian had Danny at the manor.

Then, something clicked.

"You imbecile! You could have taken us somewhere private this entire time?!"

Flickering back into visibility, Danny's head ducked, one of his hands letting go of Damian to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, um, yeah... Maybe..."

"Danyal!" he snarled. "Do not tell me that we remained in that closet on purpose!?"

"NO! No, I—" Danny flushed, and it was strange seeing green instead of red color his cheeks. "I kinda... forgot? Um."

Forgot.

Of course he did, why was Damian even surprised? He was the same as a child. Damian groaned, pressing his face into Danny's shoulder. "You are an idiot," he muttered into the fabric of his brother’s suit.

Danny laughed, pressing a kiss to Damian's hair. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot, Ya Rohi."

Damian's chest grew warm at the reminder of earlier, and how easily Danny echoed that he was Damian’s, just as Damian was Danny’s. He looked up at his twin, studying his new features, his glowing green eyes, snow-white hair, and sharpened fangs. How inhuman they looked. How different he had become in the seven long years they’d been separated.

But he was there now, in Damian's arms. A dream come true. His other half, returned to him. They were whole again.

And he was beautiful, idiocy and all.

"You are," he agreed softly.

Danny's smile was small and warm. He tightened his hold on Damian's waist. "Let's go home, Dami."

"Yes," Damian agreed. "Home."

They flew off into the night.