#aviaryverse

And yeah, sometimes Damian invites him to his bed, and sometimes he goes. Joining him naked in the bath, though. That’s… that’s a little more. That’s intimate.

Downright romantic if Jason squints a little and plays up the candles as anything more than functional.

(Can be read as a stand alone.)

“Our Timothy has a mouth on him, doesn’t he? How like him to play both sides against each other.”

“Tim isn’t our anything.”

“Right. My Timothy for the moment. What have you done to wound his fragile heart this time, Father?”

“If he hasn’t shared it with you–”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I know full well that he didn’t want you to bring in Richard.” Damian tilts his chin, nods once more towards the plane. The Robin. “And yet you did, another sacrifice for your mission to chew up and spit out. How long until something happens to this one? Or is he your ongoing test of self-control in full effect?”

How far can he push, how much can he say, before Bruce reaches the end of his rope? If Damian could see his eyes, he would know the exact moment that his patience snaps. As it is, he is left with the scraps. His father’s mouth pressed into a line, his tight jaw. It reads as anger, of course, but there is an undercurrent of disgust. At Damian, certainly. But also at himself.

“His family died in front of him, Damian. He was angry. He needs guidance and direction. You of all people…”

Damian scoffs. He flips a dismissive hand, brushing off the topic of himself. “Me, of all people? You’re not here to justify your newest Robin to me, ‘of all people.’ I won’t give you Jason, nor will I give you my alternate. They are both well taken care of.”

Fingers wrap around Damian’s wrist, digging through the thick layers to hold him still. It is such a firm grip– “I’m not leaving without them. Don't make me fight you, Damian.”

“Then stay.” He leans in close, enough to feel the warmth of his father’s body through the icy air. In the midst of this storm, he curls his left hand around the back of Bruce’s neck. He can’t feel the material of his suit through his gloves, but it is stiff. Supportive like an exoskeleton. “I would let you fuck either of them. Both?”

Damian exhales hot breath against the exposed skin of Bruce's face. Wonders, if in all those recordings that this man keeps, if this moment could be one—he banishes the thought. “It could be our secret from your hero friends. How much you want to fuck your Robins–”

He is pushed away at the same moment his wrist released, as if he is an open flame. A hot coal that has been spat out and landed on bare skin. A half-step back, a half-step away, Damian can see that Bruce's skin has gone pale. Paler.

He continues, “Jason has a lovely mouth, Father. Can suck cock like a dream. Takes it just as well.”

Bruce's nostrils flare.

“The younger me… well. He would let you do anything so long as you speak to him sweetly. Would you like to hear about Timothy? How much he enjoys being tossed arou–”

The wind up of his punch isn't hidden. It's well telegraphed, but Damian does not dodge. Doesn't even flinch as it connects with his face. The flinch comes after, with the crack of his nose breaking, the blood that immediately begins to spill down his lips and chin. He leans forward, lets it fall bright red into the snow, staining a brilliant contrast before it melts though and vanishes.

Bruce's voice is frigid. Colder than the air, than the snow that has formed a crust in Damian's hair, the ice weighing down his eyelashes. “You’re disgusting. I will be taking them back with me, and you won’t see them again, not from the inside of a cell.”

Damian turns his head, spits a mixture of saliva and blood to the ground. The pain from his face thrums, radiating heat through his body. With the taste of iron at the back of his throat, he stands straight, drags the back of a hand across his mouth; smearing the blood more than wiping it away, it continues to drip freely.

jason was picked up by the league after he wandered around in gotham for a good while, same as canon. damian knew about the passing of bruce's latest robin, and had jason brought to him when it was relayed that he was somehow back. unlike canon, he didn't try to train, test, or figure out how. damian doesn’t really have the patience for obscure mysteries and magics that won't affect anything in the grand scheme of things, and he certainly does not want a crying zombie boy wandering around his base. he also doesn't hold nearly as much reverence for the lazarus pits, ra's/talia aren't around to stop him, so he just dunks jason immediately.

damian asked for jason's read of events and immediately began to feed into the idea that bruce would never avenge him, that what happened was bruce's fault, that the word is the joker is still running free in the streets of gotham killing people, and clearly bruce doesn't care enough to do anything about it. but don't worry, damian will handle it for him. he'll avenge jason and fix it, because unlike their father, damian will definitely love him unconditionally.

and jason's still a 15/16 year old kid who lost everything. his bio dad, his adoptive mom, his bio mom who he'd only just met, his "dad," his life... he's so messed up, so conflicted over everything. then here's this adult who's theoretically putting him first. theoretically willing to right a wrong that bruce won't. so yeah, sure. he'll stick around. he'll stay and learn to fight how the league does. but only so he'll never feel that weak ever again. the only issue... damian really is very charismatic when he wants to be. and when the time comes... does he want to leave?

like damian is personally handling jason's training. it's the most lingering gazes, hands on hips to adjust stances, offhand sexualized comments that could be played off, but everything stacks and it's damn near impossible to ignore damian pressing up against his back just like bruce would.

falling into damian's bed is made very easy. jason does feel loved, does feel taken care of, just like he'd been promised. he's even trusted enough to train his own team in time, go on globe-trotting missions of his own choosing. it means a lot to jason, particularly because bruce had been so hesitant to let him have something outside of batman/robin after tim left for young justice or teen titans, one of those teams.

Hands fit around the Robin’s neck perfectly; it is as if he was made for Damian to hold as such. Thumb to thumb, middle finger to middle finger, he squeezes just so. Timothy tightens around him immediately, clenching deliciously. His chin lifts, his hands scrabble as claws, digging furrows into Damian’s back when he doesn’t slow his pace.

His blue eyes are locked onto Damian’s, his pale skin darkens several shades of red. Lips part to take in air that won’t reach lungs no matter how hard they pull, and Damian can’t help himself. He leans down, licks into the wet, wanting mouth that is oh so familiar.

Timothy.

With his nasty attitude silenced, his overly analytical eyes fuzzy with lack of oxygen, split wide on Damian’s cock, this is probably his best look yet. The strength in his hands lessen, the sting of every cut left behind enough to keep Damian holding him tightly, for as long as he must. It is enough for him to dig teeth into Tim’s nearly purple lip and draw blood to the surface, watch the thin stream of red slip so enticingly down the curve of his cheek.

There is an agreement between them to not leave marks that can’t be explained away, but Damian has always been a bit of a liar. Just as Timothy has always been a bit of an instigator.

Damian speaks in a low tone that can surely still be heard. He isn’t unconscious yet, but it is a near thing. “You’re so pretty like this, beloved. My kingdom to keep you quiet and filled.”

It’s once his body’s tension fully releases—once Timothy’s hands slip from Damian’s skin, flopping uselessly to the bed beneath them—that he sits back and releases Timothy’s throat. His chest immediately expands to make up for the deficit, but Damian is more preoccupied with getting his hands on the slim waist before him. On canting those hips up and creating a better angle for himself.

The pace he sets is not unkind. Timothy is always asking for more. Harder, faster—Damian is simply removing the need for pleading words.

He fucks into the younger boy; his father’s ward and protégé and colorful partner, pushing himself closer and closer to that that siren song of a precipice. But it isn’t until those eyes snap back open, bloodshot and confused, then angry.

So damn angry.

Damian can only smirk at him. He slips a hand from hipbone to wrap around his cock. It isn’t as hard as he’d been before, but Damian won’t leave him wanting. Never wanting.

“You’re a… shit. You fucker,” Timothy grits out, voice devastatingly rough. As if Damian’s fucked his mouth instead.

Hand moving in time with his thrusts, Timothy fills back to hardness in no time, still cursing Damian’s name all the while.

It’s only that Damian still finishes first.

The sounds of his pitched, ragged breathing, the vision of his pink tongue darting out from between swollen lips, lapping up blood, pushing at the imprint of Damian’s teeth… he pulls from Timothy’s terribly inviting body to come over his stomach.

A last minute decision; one entirely derived of a need to claim what is his. The hand he’d been holding onto Timothy’s hip with goes to his own cock, jerking himself through his release. Ropes of his come land on smooth skin, splashing up his chest. Heavenly, the way his spend gathers, pools in the valleys of abdominal muscle.

Damian’s hand squeezes Timothy’s cock once his waves of pleasure recede, eliciting a hiss of a reaction.

Finished with himself, Damian redoubles his efforts on Timothy. That too, doesn’t take long once it is all Damian is focused on. One hand wrapped around him, the other cradling his balls, rolling them over in his palm, tugging just the way he likes it—he spills quickly, hips lifting, a wordless shout on his split lips.

He allows Timothy to fuck his hand through it, to ride the orgasm to completion.

When he stills, hips falling pliant, legs going lax, that is when Damian finally releases him. His hand slips up the still heaving stomach, rubbing their mingled release into overheated skin before another complaint can be made.

Jay ✰ 30 ✰ They/He ✰ Aspec ✰ Ao3

Warning for NSFW & Batcest. I could not care less about your opinions on my ships. Just block me.

Only writing, if you're here for that: @noctstate Personal & multifandom sideblog that's more SFW, yet still somehow about Damian: @distanteffigy Literally just panels from things I read: @qarvo

New releases are tagged #wednesday spoilers for a week, and when I post about backlog reads, I use #jay reads dc, for easy muting. I'm also on LoCG, but don't really review my reads.

Interactions and asks are always welcome. I've been known to write fics and ficlets for things sent to me when the inspiration strikes, but I don't do requests (outside of reblogged ask prompts). I don't, and never intend to, take commissions. I will do agreed upon art trades.

Kink limits before sending asks.

If you write or draw anything inspired by what I post, you have my blanket permission to do so, just tag/send it to me, I would love to see it!

WIP list tag game.

to be so real with you, there's going to be nothing to this fic beyond the snippet below but smut - i think when i was in the midst of world building for the verse, i couldn't help but to think of jon joining in (of course), because big hands wrapped around dami's tiny waist will always get me.

“No way you called me all the way out here just to show me — what, yourself? What kinda narcissistic…” Jon's voice trails off.

He squints between the two of them, eyes lingering on Dami sitting placidly in Damian's lap despite the immediate outburst, cheek resting on Damian's shoulder. He runs a soothing hand down Dami's back, traces the line of his most prominent scar down his spine, ending just above his tailbone, where his hand flattens. Spreads wide with a show of ownership.