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“Robin!” someone shrieks and Damian turns, ready to fight, surely wondering why so many low-rank villains feel the need to announce their presence before an attack, but he instead finds a woman running toward him breathlessly.
Damian blinks and his stance loosens as he tries not to gape at her. “Is there a problem?”
She reaches his proximity and doubles over a moment, gasping, and Damian does his best not to scold her for wasting his time. He thinks of all the crime Gothamites are constantly facing, looking in himself for enough sympathy to exchange for patience. Flushed, she straightens up quickly and smiles and Damian is taken aback.
“Hi,” she says and Damian does not step away. He just…assesses his current situation.
“Problem?” he asks again.
Her expression changes to a pout. “Oh, yes,” she intones. “I have a horrible problem, Robin, and only you can solve it.”
“Get on with it then.”
“See?” she says, and she spreads her hands before her. “That’s my problem: we’re not getting it on.”
Damian only stares at her, appalled and…oh, that heat he’s feeling is in his cheeks. “What?” he manages. He shakes his head and ignores the way his voice shakes, too. “T— tt.”
The woman winks at him and Damian is frozen.
“Robin?” someone else calls. “Are you coming?”
Nightwing hops down and his gaze swivels between Damian and the woman. He grins his impossibly charming grin at her. “Did you need something?”
She eyes him with uncertain interest and Dick tries not to feel too insulted when she shakes her head, albeit ever-so-slightly. “Nah,” she says to herself after she finishes her appraisal. “Robin’s definitely cuter.”
“And, despite his newfound height, not yet eighteen.”
The woman stares at Damian again, then lets out a disappointed sigh. Suddenly, she smiles and her eyes twinkle. “When’s your birthday? I’ve got the perfect—”
“We have to go,” Dick interrupts and Damian gives him a curt nod.
They hop away and the woman shouts her number into the distance.
With the safety of a rooftop, Dick pulls Damian into his arms. “Her pickup line wasn’t nearly as good as any of mine,” he murmurs, amused, and his finger crooks under Damian’s chin as he leans in. “I’m just saying.”
Damian kisses him hard before shifting away slightly. “‘Not yet eighteen,’” he mimics, in far too eerie an approximation of Dick’s own voice.
Dick shrugs. “You know I hate that.” Then, his cowing turns to false confidence. “Anyway, my job is to stop them from committing crimes, not me.”
“Are you planning on committing a crime, Grayson?” Damian asks, but his smirk belies his earnest tone.
Laughing, Dick nuzzles Damian’s throat. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Are you going to stop me, Robin?”
“Tt,” but then Damian’s breath hitches. “I might be willing to concede defeat. Just this once.”
“I guess I should be happy you’re not sleeping with supervillains—we’d all be dead.”
“Be quiet, Grayson,” Damian says, and he does his best to make it so.