#drunk drabbling

Damian would give anything for that smile to be for him. He would kill for it, but that would only take the possibility further from him.

Drake has Dick Grayson's love and, for that, Damian can never forgive him.

Damian wants Grayson to love him, to see him, to...to take him and make him forget about all those other things.

Instead, he seethes.

He sobs. Alone in his room, when he's certain no one will know.

Because Tim Drake has everything he should want.

And Tim Drake has the only thing he's ever truly wanted.

Drake touches Grayson's side and it's almost innocent.

Dick swallows (his pride). “I want to kiss you,” he says again. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he admits, knowing how it sounds otherwise.

Damian dares to look at him, dares himself to stare–as if he can help himself. His hand does not shake as he pours himself another drink. “Oh?” he asks, forcing himself to be casual, forcing Dick to put himself further out there. He knows there’s a risk. He knows Dick can still back out and this can lead nowhere, but he can’t… He can’t.

“Dami.”

Damian downs his drink and pours himself another.

“Can I kiss you?”

Damian gives the barest hint of a nod and Dick sighs. Damian clears his throat. “Yes,” he enunciates. Quieter, he adds, “Please.”

Dick’s face breaks into a gentle smile and he leans across the table. Damian’s heart could beat out of his chest right now. “You’re welcome,” Dick says, so close Damian can feel his breath.

It’s Damian who closes the distance, surges forward to press his lips against Dick Grayson’s like he’s wanted to since he originally developed that stupid ten-year-old crush years and years and years ago.

Dick pulls back, and somehow he’s managing not to smile. Somehow, he keeps his expression innocent, cautious. “Can I do it again?”

Dick rubs Damian’s arm, twining their fingers to give Damian’s hand a squeeze and ever-so-gently escape from him. He holds Damian’s arm until he can coax Titus under it to replace, feeling very much like Indiana Jones as he does. (And pleased Damian had a fair amount of wine the night before, thus allowing him a deeper sleep and Dick even the chance of escape.)

Damian’s hand idly scratches at Titus’s ears, but he seems content enough to stay in bed. (Dick should have never expected Damian to actually stay out.)

Alfred winds around his legs in an attempt to trip him and Dick tries to glare at the cat only to find himself scooping the thing up and giving it a little cuddle as he walks. He finds himself getting Alfred a treat before he’s even consciously aware of it.

Dick shakes his head at himself as Alfred eats and goes about getting ingredients out of the refrigerator and the cupboards. Typical breakfast food, but he knows Damian will appreciate it just because he’s made it.

Tofu scramble and tempeh bacon and fried potatoes and pancakes. He thinks he’s got all of his bases covered. Now, he’s just got to bring it to Damian–

Oh. Damian is standing behind him and– Wait. How does Damian already have a mug of tea?

“Please, Grayson, as if I can’t predict your every move.” Damian takes a sip from his mug, but he’s smiling when he pulls away from it.

Dick scratches his head, spatula still in hand. “I–” He huffs out a sigh.

“What?” Damian asks, and he makes sure he sounds genuinely interested. He places a hand on Dick’s chest and Dick’s eyes slide closed on instinct as Damian leans in to kiss him.

Dick is smiling when Damian steps back. “Sit down,” he orders, although there’s no way it can be considered stern or serious. Damian, however, does so anyway. He takes a moment to put together a semi-decent plate for his partner and sets it down on the table.

Damian actually looks… Well, he looks happy.

And, speaking of… “Happy birthday, Dami,” Dick tells him.

“Thank you, Richard,” Damian returns, and it’s so much better than when he used to tell Dick that birthdays were meaningless and that it was pointless for Dick to designate a date for him.

Dick’s smile is wide and fond. “You’re welcome,” he says. He steals Damian’s fork to take a bite. He’s actually done a pretty good job, if he thinks so himself. He scoops up another forkful and holds it up. Amazingly, Damian opens his mouth for him. All the little signs that Damian trusts him–implicitly–still have Dick in awe sometimes.

Damian closes his eyes as he swallows and then he’s looking at Dick and Dick doesn’t know why he’s starting to get hard.

Well, he does, but it’s not his fault Damian has this power over him.

“Now?” he asks, and as incredulous as it is, it’s still just a whisper.

“It is my birthday,” Damian replies innocently.

There is no universe in which this is fair.

Dick is still standing, but he’s somehow backed himself against the table. Damian’s hand is possessive on his thigh and Dick groans. “It is,” he agrees. He watches Damian carefully as Damian’s eyes rove over him. “What–”

“Don’t move,” Damian tells him, but his chair scrapes across the floor, the force hard enough to have it toppling over.

Dick takes in a deep breath and it’s no surprise when Damian is peeling his boxers down his thighs.

Damian grips Dick’s hips, dropping down to his knees as he uses Dick as his leverage.

“Do you want me to–” Dick grips the table as Damian practically swallows him. “Damian.” His hand flexes against the wood as he resists the urge to grab Damian’s head. That is, until Damian takes his hand and moves it for him.

Damian’s tongue is insistent and his head bobs as he takes Dick as far as he can.

Dick looks down only to almost wish that he hadn’t.

But he can’t look away and his hips surge to meet Damian and Damian makes this little noise, something between a grunt and a moan, and Dick wishes he could bottle that noise, hear it all the time.

Damian’s hand slides up Dick’s thigh and Dick lets himself just go with it, lets himself fuck Damian’s mouth as Damian continues with more vigor than any human being has a right to.

Dick can’t believe he’s already so close. For fuck’s sake, he’s in his mid-thirties. But it’s Damian’s twenty-second birthday and Damian is gorgeous and eager and he loves him more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything and– “Fuck. Fuck, Dami, I–”

Fingernails dig into the flesh of Dick’s thigh and somehow that’s what pushes him over the edge. His fingers tug at Damian’s hair, but Damian doesn’t budge, swallowing it all down.

Dick tries his best to catch his breath, but Damian is perfectly calm, letting Dick go and pulling his boxers back up as if nothing has happened.

Damian sits back down in front of his breakfast and digs in as if there had been no interruption.

Eyes, really, because blue eyes meet his and it's a man who looks about his own age. They're nowhere near each other, but Dean can't look away and neither can his mystery man. His throat works and only when someone bumps him does he realize that his group has moved on. He glances around until he finds their leader and heads in that direction, but he can't help noticing that the guy is still focused on him.

He has to keep going though.

.

Dean doesn't have his first English class until his third day into the semester. It's the prerequisite to all of the things he actually wants to take and he's heard mixed reviews about the professor. Despite everything he wants to project, he's actually early.

He doesn't really want to talk to any of his classmates and it's kind of a problem.

The professor arrives and Dean feels an overwhelming urge to make fun of the man, whose first name is Zachariah of all things, but he needs this class. He keeps reminding himself of this.

Ten minutes late the door opens, and Dean could swear it's the guy he saw in the quad during orientation. He tries not to stare and the guy seems too flustered to notice him in return.

It's fine.

Dean pretends that he doesn't glance in the guy's direction every five seconds.

But then, three hours later, the guy is in his math class and, this time, he hears the man's name called.

Castiel.

Dean has never heard a sound quite like that before. He's nervous when Castiel glances back, takes real note of him.

He is vaguely aware that curiosity has quickly turned to full-blown crush. And that he is, apparently, not too old for ridiculous crushes.

When they're dismissed and he gathers his things, he can sense someone hesitating, staring at him.

"Dean?" Castiel asks.

Dean freezes, then nods. "Yeah," he says. "Cas, right?" he returns. It only feels natural.

Castiel seems to roll the sound over in his head. "Yes," he agrees.

Dean offers his hand and Castiel shakes it, sending sparks up Dean's arm, down Dean's spine.