“Oh Damian,” Steph calls in a singsong voice, and then has to bite back her wicked smirk when he comes stomping into the bedroom, glowering down at her from his impressive height.
His thick eyebrows are drawn down into a scowl, and there’s a dishcloth slung over his shoulder, soap bubbles on his knuckles.
People used to get on Steph’s case about her life choices, but she’s pretty sure nobody would argue that domesticating Damian is the greatest achievement of hers or anybody’s career.
“What do you want?” he grouses, and she gives him a serene smile and tilts her head towards the television.
“Infomercial,” she explains sweetly. “Change the channel for me, will you?”
The scowl gets a little deeper. “And you can’t do it yourself because …?”
In answer, she waggles her fingers at him, fingernails glinting purple in the light of the lamp. “My nail polish isn’t dry yet. I don’t want to smudge it.”
It’s weird now to remember what a brat Damian used to be. How he’d look down his nose at her, even when he was only chest-height, how the very idea of doing her a favour would have made his top lip curl into a sneer.
It’s not that he’s mellowed exactly, she still gets to see what a terrifying and gloriously violent fighter he is every night when they patrol. But as a grown adult, Damian’s just more easy-going. Quiet and contemplative whereas before he’d lash out and snap, more ready to try new experiences, less likely to cause arguments just for the sake of it.
Over the years he’s learned to listen to Steph, to trust her. To love her, and she grins as he huffs but obediently snatches up the remote and changes the channel.
“Anything else?” he asks with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, I am kind of thirsty,” Steph muses.
“You have a drink right there,” he points out, jerking his thumb toward her glass of juice.
“Nails,” Steph retorts, holding her hands up and giving her fingers another jiggle.
Damian sighs and glares, but he’s already moving, grabbing her drink and kneeling beside her on the bed. Holding it out, offering it to her, and she leans forward, never breaking eye contact, lips pursing around the straw as she takes a long, measured sip.
Damian’s eyes narrow, pupils dilating slightly as he watches her, gaze flickering down to the shape of her mouth, then back up.
“Anything else?” he asks again when she’s done, but his voice is a little quieter now, a little raspy.
Steph smiles, tilting her head and spreading her knees, slow and obvious. “Well, now that you mention it, I could use a little help elsewhere.”
She watches the way his eyes are drawn between her legs, watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “You’re a manipulative cow sometimes,” he grouses, because bickering is still and will always be part of their relationship. It’s just that nowadays there’s no venom behind the words. There’s heat, sure, but it’s a different kind of heat, the kind that makes Steph bite her lip and wriggle her hips impatiently.
“I think you mean ‘evil genius’,” she corrects, and Damian snorts, reaching back to put her glass down on the bedside table.
“There’s nothing about you I’d call genius,” he taunts, but he’s already crawling over her, hands and knees dipping the mattress, and Steph grins up at him as he settles between her sprawled thighs.
She lifts her hips when he starts to slide the fabric of her panties down her legs, his gaze intent and hungry, and she grins, arching her back a little, showing off for him, watching the amused curl of his lips.
“Hold on to the headboard,” he tells her in the thick voice, and a shiver runs up her spine at the order. “We don’t want you smudging nail polish over the bed spread.”
“Obviously,” she agrees, already breathless, curling her fingers around the wooden rungs of the headboard as Damian grips her knees and lowers himself down to press his mouth against her. Teasing at first, just the lightest pressure, but he can never hold himself back for long, too impatient for her pleasure.
Her tongue sweeps up over her labia, nuzzling at her, getting messy with it, and Steph sighs, rolls her hips trying to follow the movement. His fingers slide over her, one pushing inside to stroke along her walls, to rub against her g-spot in that way that always makes her gasp and shudder.
She wants more, wants to feel more fingers, feel something thicker within her, but he’s isn’t giving it to her. Which, okay, she gets it, that’s payback for her behaviour, but it’s the best kind of payback, the kind that has her mewling and panting, finger moving inside her with almost lazy thrusts.
His mouth is more insistent though, moving rough and determined against her pussy, and he kisses at her clit, makes his mouth nice and firm to make the pressure perfect. Steph moans when he licks at her there, and there’s this thing he does with his tongue, something to do with his other native language and rolling his ‘r’s, that always makes her see entire galaxies behind her eyelids.
He doesn’t push her hips down when they start to roll eagerly, just lets her fuck herself against his mouth, finger rubbing her from the inside and mouth working her from the outside. She can feel her own heartbeat under his tongue, and there’s a tremor in her thighs, a tremble in her muscles that’s shivering its way through her whole body.
She feels a cold sweat on her brow, a fire in her chest, and it’s Damian’s name on her lips when Steph comes.
He’s smirking down at her when she manages to open her eyes again, looking so fucking pleased with himself, and Steph has to push herself up, has to reach for him, no grace to the movements, just eagerness. She wraps her fingers around the collar of his t-shirt, pulls him in close.
“Careful of your nails,” he chides playfully.
“Fuck it,” she grins back, leaning in and kissing the taste of her sex from his lips.
The polish is probably dry by now anyway.