Actions

Work Header

road rash

Work Text:

There isn’t a particular warning, but something doesn’t feel exactly right about Drake’s willingness to allow Damian into the driver’s seat of his car. As covetous as the man is about the vehicle, Damian doesn’t think Grayson as ever been allowed to drive it, let alone Todd or Brown. Something in Damian preens with it, but he’s still wary. He trusts Drake, but only so far as he can throw him. Given how small Drake still is, that would be rather far. 

“Go ahead, then, little bird. Get in the driver’s seat, if you think you can,” Drake says, which is simply a challenge that Damian has to take. He cuts his eyes at Drake before climbing into the car, the seat moving backwards to accommodate his height before Damian can even think to move it. It’s just like Drake that even his car is hyper-intuitive, but Damian doesn’t let his expression show his appreciation. Drake would get much too big a head for it, and Damian simply cannot allow that. 

“Buckle up, Drake. Wouldn’t want anything… untoward to happen,” Damian says as he buckles his own seatbelt, shooting a smirk in Drake’s direction. Drake buckles his with a single raised eyebrow. 

“Already planning to crash my car, Damian?” he asks, his cold tone curling around Damian’s name in a way that has the Al Ghul suppressing a shiver. Drake always sounds cold, detached, though Damian would love to make him drop that persona. Not that he’s ever admitted that, even to himself. 

“Just taking precautions,” he replies, clipped but still with humor, as he puts the car in reverse. The thing naturally starts as soon as Drake gets in it whether Drake is wearing his kevlar suit or not; Damian doesn’t really know how it works, and at this point, he’s too scared to ask. There’s silence for maybe a minute before Drake breaks it, his words making Damian choke on his spit. 

“You look good driving my car, little bird,” Drake says, a hand taking a possessive hold of the back of Damian’s neck. Damian cuts eyes to his right. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t know what to do in this circumstance. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s never been one he’s had to deal with before; as many people have been forward about their attraction to the heir to all things Wayne, Damian has never accepted any advances before. 

“Well, right now, I have my hand on the back of your neck. I’m telling you that you’re attractive. If this isn’t the sort of attention you would like to receive from me, or even if it’s just not the kind you’d like right now, I’d recommend sharing with the class,” Drake says, a smirk curving his face. Damian supposes he should call the other man Tim at some point, but he would like to know where things are going first. 

“What sort of attention would this entail?” he asks, a touch challenging even if this is exactly what he wants. He does not know how to go down without a sort of challenge in his bones. Tim smiles. 

“Touching. Pretty names. Pretty words. Leaving marks on your pretty skin. Calling you mine. Taking care of you. Your choice, Damian. If you say no, this will all go away. No questions asked,” Tim soothes, the pad of his thumb stroking along the back of Damian’s neck. Damian would be ashamed of the way that he relaxes nearly immediately, but he’s too busy working not to fall into a kind of stupor. 

“You would like to… touch me? Take care of me?” he asks, clarification for something that he understands in theory, but not really in practice. Why Timothy would want him of all people leaves things to some confusion. Damian hasn’t always been the kindest to Tim in the past, and it would certainly be his right to continue to dislike Damian at the very least, if not hate him entirely. 

“I would love to touch and take care of you right now, if you would let me, little bird. None of this happens without you saying the words,” Tim says, his fingers now spreading out to scratch at the short hairs at the nape of Damian’s neck. Damian hates the way that he arches into it, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it. He struggles to keep his gaze on the road and away from Tim. 

“What are the words?” he asks despite his fear, biting onto his bottom lip to help him retain some sort of focus. His jaw clenches as Tim massages the back of his neck, soft and solid at the same time. 

“You know, Dami. You have to ask me for it. Just ask me. Say please,” Tim says. Damian holds back a whine. He hates to ask for things, something he knows that Tim knows, something he’s sure that everyone who has ever met him knows. Instead of snapping back, however, Damian simply swallows his pride. He’s much more interested in however this will result than any sort of pride he needs to retain. 

“Timothy. Will you… will you please touch me?” he requests, his cheeks burning dark despite his deep complexion. He is rewarded with a smile, one that he cannot focus on for the turn he has to make, and then the hand on his neck migrating down to his chest. Damian grinds his teeth as to not show how the light brush of Tim’s fingertips on his nipple through his shirt nearly makes him jerk. His chest has always been sensitive, but everything feels nearly alight with sensation just from being alone with Timothy in this context. Swallowing, Damian sits back a little when Tim’s hand makes to untuck his shirt from his dress pants. 

“Look at you, so good for me. Are you going to be a good boy for me, Damian?” Timothy asks, leaned over the center console so that his mouth is close to Damian’s ear, and Damian is unsure of when he moved. He holds in the whimper that wants to make its way out as Tim’s teeth catch on the lobe of his ear, a place that he didn’t know was sensitive until this very moment. 

“Answer me, Dami. You gonna be a good boy?” Tim asks again, his hand halting in a surprisingly possessive splay at the bottom of Damian’s stomach. A whine leaves Damian completely unbidden.

“I’ll be good, Drake, is that what you would like to hear?” he snaps, completely regretting it less than a second later as Tim removes his hand from Damian’s person entirely. 

“If you don’t want to touch you, you can simply say it, Damian. There’s no need to be rude,” Tim says, his clipped tone completely false. Tim knows what he is doing, and what he’s doing is driving Damian completely up the wall. Damian tries to withhold his immediate want to apologize, tries to put it off, tries to compose himself, but he’s rock hard while driving a luxury car and the man of his frequent dreams since early teendom is sitting next to him, having recently had a hand near his need without ever actually touching it. It cannot be held against him if Damian breaks. 

“Fine! Fine. I’ll be a good boy. I want to be… I want to be a good boy for you,” he admits, his eyes solidly on the road. He does not want to look at Tim, does not want to admit to that kind of defeat, but he’s hardly in luck when they catch the next red light. He’s not surprised as Tim’s hand catches his jaw, dragging his gaze in Tim’s direction. 

“I am not someone you snap at, Damian. I will care for you, I will love you, but I will not be the object of your anger. That is something you need to know now,” Tim says, though it’s like Damian’s mind will only process the one thing. 

“Love me?” he asks, nearly breathless. No one… no one ever says that they love him. Grayson will occasionally send his love via text message, Father will imply his, Pennyworth gives him care in place of love, but… no one ever says it. Damian feels as if he has recently swallowed an entire balloon, completely inflated. The feeling only expands as Tim breaks into a smile, softer than any expression Damian has ever seen on a face that is always all sharp angles. 

“Love you, Damian. I already do. I would like to make sure that you know it, always,” Tim answers, his hand coming back to Damian’s neck in a comforting manner. Damian certainly cannot be blamed when he takes it as an invitation to lean in, to kiss Tim with all of the passion and uncertainty he has within him. He whimpers when Tim takes completely control of his mouth, hand tilting Damian in exactly the way that he likes without any consult of Damian at all. Tim’s tongue has barely gotten past Damian’s teeth when the older man pulls away, Damian limiting his sound of disappointment to the back of his throat. 

“Light’s green, little bird,” Tim says, nodding toward the light. Damian darkens red and nods, focussing on the road again. When Tim does not resume in his exploration of Damian’s body, Damian bites his lip, swallowing. 

“Tim, will you touch me again please? I’ll be good,” he asks, pressing down the need to feel entirely ashamed of himself. It’s a surprise as Tim leans across the center console again, this time pulling down the collar of Damian’s button-up shirt. It must be a strain on the other man to lean far enough to bite into Damian’s skin, but it doesn’t take long for the thought to leave the younger man’s mind entirely. This tiny act of claiming, this small thing that will leave a mark for others to see, steals all of the breath from Damian’s lungs. 

“Hey, pretty bird, you’re okay. Keep your eyes on the road,” Tim whispers, his right hand unzipping Damian’s dress pants. There is no way that Tim is still completely buckled, but the Red Bird isn’t making any noises of protest, so Damian doesn’t either. He lets out a long whine when Tim wraps his hand around Damian’s length. 

“Timothy,” Damian breathes out, swallowing when Tim’s thumb swipes over the head. His eyes nearly slide shut before he remembers exactly where he is, at which point they snap open. He hasn’t veered out of his lane at all, but it might have been a little bit of a close call. Tim doesn’t stop though. 

Tim’s hand stops him when Damian reaches for him. 

“No, no, little bird. I’m taking care of you, Damian. Not the other way around. Let me take care of you, pretty bird. I’ll let you take care of me later, if you’re good. Is that what you want? Do you want to make me come apart, little bird?” Tim whispers. Damian keens, though whether it was from the words alone or the way that Tim squeezes at the base of his cock not a second later, Damian is unwilling to debate. 

“So sensitive for me, Dami. Has anyone touched you before? Am I your first, little bird?” Tim asks. Damian nods. 

“No one else. No one but you,” Damian admits raggedly, nearly feeling on his very edge from the bare minute of Tim’s touch. He cries out at Tim squeezes again, not too hard but not nearly as careful as Damian has always thought one had to be with such sensitive areas. Even if Timothy decides he doesn’t want this (so completely his right, even if the very idea makes Damian tear up in that awful sensitive way that he has never liked), it seems as if Damian has learned more things than he thought there were to know. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you? Damian Wayne Al Ghul, one of the most powerful men in the world, and you’re mine. Mine,” Tim confirms, stroking Damian ever harder. Damian makes the next turn without even sparing a thought for it, sitting back in his seat. Tim’s hand stills, making Damian shoot him a questioning look. He would not like to admit that it might be even the slightest bit insecure. 

“We’re here, Dami. Let’s go have dinner,” Tim says, getting out of the Red Bird as if nothing is amiss. Damian gets out of the car and stands, painfully so, zipping his trousers before turning to Tim with his indignance. He doesn’t even get an angry word out before Tim’s mouth is on his own, silencing him entirely. Begrudgingly, Damian pulls away. Even if Tim has the kind of mouth that people write sonnets about, he is still angry. 

“You’re going to leave me like this!” he says, gesturing downward. Tim laces fingers through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. 

“You’ll be fine, pretty bird,” he says, pulling out of the kiss, “and if you’re good, I’ll turn on the autopilot on the way home and take care of you with my mouth.” Damian is completely agog for only one second, just enough for Tim to put a few feet of distance between their two standings. He catches up quickly. 

“There is an autopilot?!”