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Damian shifted his leg out from under his lap, shaking off the pins-and-needles feeling which threatened to numb his foot entirely. Though that phrasing always seemed so ridiculous to him; he’d climbed freezing mountains before most children knew their ABCs, he knew the true danger of hypothermia and frozen limbs in a way few boys his age ever would. He also knew, coincidentally, how it felt to fall into a vat of pins and needles while chasing the Mad Hatter around the criminal warehouses of this corrupt city. So numb feet from sitting in one position for too long felt incredibly mild compared to all of that.
Instead of running rooftops with the rest of the Bats and collecting more tales of wild injuries, Damian sat half-curled in his father’s tall chair this evening, drinking in the peace of a night off alone in the manor. Well, mostly alone.
“I’ve got you now, Titus. There’s no escaping me.” Closer to the crackling fireplace, Colin wrestled with the Great Dane while Damian continued to draw the scene in his sketchbook. They rolled together, Colin latching on to Titus’ back, before the dog gently tugged on his loose-fitting jacket and dragged him to the floor.
“It looks like you’re the one in need of escape, Colin.”
“Oh no! The fearsome warrior has me trapped. Whatever shall I do?” Colin bemoaned, scratching the legs Titus trapped him with.
Damian tweaked a few lines in the piece as he watched Titus huff and sniff Colin’s flushed cheeks. Unlike most when faced with a dog the size of Titus, Colin simply laid there in complete calm. The boy had no fear of him—of anything, really—which Damian found inspiring at times. Despite everything he’d been through with Crane, Colin continued to be brave and have hope in a way that reminded him of Grayson.
Not that he’d ever tell him that, of course.
“Titus is one of the most elite fighters in this house. I should know, I trained him myself. There’s nothing you can do.” His eyes wandered up from the paper to see the sleek form of Titus wagging his tail as he hovered over Colin. The warm light from the fire created a fascinating set of shadows that he thought challenging enough to capture, but deep down he knew it was just an excuse.
How could he pass up the opportunity to draw both his favorite models when they were together?
Titus proved excellent for dynamic poses, helping Damian hone his grasp of animal movement, while sketching Colin often provided him with the perfect representation of human anatomy. As someone who could willfully grow any parts of his body from average child to monstrous adult, an artist could find no better muse to practice with.
And half the time Colin didn’t even know he was being studied for one of Damian’s art projects, personal or otherwise; the other half was spent following Damian’s orders for which body parts to showcase and the perfect angles to sit in. Unlike Grayson’s exaggerated posing or Kent’s short attention-span, Colin never teased or pouted or pestered to do something more entertaining when he indulged Damian in his drawing sessions. The boy would just get this curious smile on his face before asking what Damian needed him to do. He was always so...amenable.
“I shall accept my fate with—” Colin broke into giggles as Titus began licking all around his face. No matter how hard he shoved at the dog’s snout, the relentless attack of kisses would not let up; there was nothing to be done against a dog on a mission.
Pencil poking his chest from where it had slipped from his fingers, Damian took a deep breath and bit his lips to keep from smiling. He never smiled so much as when he was hanging out with Colin. Made it all the more frustrating when Grayson noticed, especially while on patrol.
“Dami, help! Please I—“ he gagged as Titus’ tongue lapped over his open mouth—a French Kiss Damian would certainly remember. He finally lost the battle against smiling, chuckling at Colin’s desperate flailing.
“Alright, alright. Titus come.”
Sketch pad still in his lap, Damian pet the dog’s head as he sat at his feet. The base drawing depicted Colin and Titus mid-wrestle, Colin sitting atop the Great Dane while the fire roared behind them. Nothing too grand, but something calming to pass the time. Another one to add to his growing collection of Colin and Titus portraits; he had half a mind to do a series for class of just them.
Titus huffed, rubbing his head against Damian’s outstretched hand like the loyal hound he was, asking for praise for a match well fought. Man’s best friend, a vigilante’s best sidekick, the one he trusted to comfort him when people proved too much—there’s nothing Titus couldn’t do. Even make a boy with venom serum running through his veins surrender in defeat.
“Now that you’re done de-flowering my friend, would you like some treats from Pennyworth?” he asked the champion dog.
“Yes, actually. Something to drink would be nice.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Hey, this was a mutual de-flowering. We have a bond now, Titus and me.”
Damian made a face. “Please stop talking about it.”
“You brought it up!” Colin laughed as he sat up on his elbows.
Red hair ruffled from Titus’ snuffling, baggy clothes even more disheveled than usual from rolling around, Damian caught himself staring as the glow of the fireplace illuminated Colin’s breathless smile. Sweat glistened against freckled cheeks and Damian wondered when the boy would let him detail every single one on paper--when, not if, because Colin never denied Damian anything. He’d always been such a loyal friend, much like Titus. Reliable while on patrol, trustworthy enough to keep Damian’s secrets without judgment, someone who truly understood what it was like to experience people at their worst and keep going anyway.
Colin shrugged from the ground, flicking his hair out of his eyes to better see Damian staring back at him. In that moment, he felt the weight of every look they’d ever shared, every smile, every brush of shoulders--every hour spent watching each other as Damian sketched. He suddenly felt overcome with that same pins-and-needles feeling from before, except now it lingered around his heart; a buzzing numbness which spread across his chest up towards his head and back down to his toes. His lungs seemed to close up, as if this realization proved more important than breathing to his brain. Colin had always been one of Damian’s closest friends, perhaps the closest of all after their time together in Gotham, but perhaps there was more to it now than there was before.
Perhaps this numb fluttering in his chest as he watched Colin stand and stretch before waltzing over to pet Titus, resembled something much more intimate. Something much more emotional. God, Grayson would never let him hear the end of this.
“I like it, very Western cowboy and his mighty steed,” Colin nodded as he leaned over Damian’s shoulder to glimpse the sketch. His one hand rested on Titus’ neck while the other wrapped around the chair. Damian had to convince himself to breathe slowly and nod along, cursing himself for wishing the arm would wrap around his shoulders instead.
“Please, if anything, you look more like a knight riding Titus into battle.”
Colin bumped his shoulder against Damian’s arm. “A knight? You think me so noble?”
Oh no this had become dangerous waters. Standing up to put some distance between the grinning boy and Damian’s flustered face, he waved the notebook without looking behind him. “Of course not! I was mistaken, not a knight, no. Maybe a squire or a stable hand. That seems more fitting. Now come, Titus. We must get our snacks before Drake and the others consume everything when patrol ends.”
Colin stumbled after them, smirk painfully obvious in his voice even though Damian refused to acknowledge him. “Excuse me, my prince. You mustn’t travel through these dangerous woods without your knight in shining armor to protect you.”
Ears flushed, shoulders hunched, Damian couldn’t help but throw the sketchbook in his face as they entered the kitchen. “Just drop it already.”
“Happy to see the young masters enjoying themselves,” Alfred commented from his place at the table. He’d just finished piling the plates with every sandwich combination they had ingredients for and was most likely taking a small break before the others arrived. Damian almost felt bad about disturbing the man who worked so hard, but Colin’s presence at his back took precedent.
Turning the pages, he loudly hummed and tsked at each drawing as if he knew anything about art, turning to keep the book from Damian’s embarrassed attempts to reclaim it. He mildly wondered if this revelation about his newfound...feelings...would be obvious in any of the portraits he’d done already. The thought alone brought a wave of panic that boiled away the numb pins-and-needles until he noticed Alfred’s knowing nod.
Damian looked back to where Colin had sat in front of a pile of sandwiches taller than his head, eyes glued to the pages as cheeks that should no longer be flushed from over-exertion darkened deeper. He had that same curious smile he always wore when Damian talked about drawing him, but from a distance such as this he finally realized what was so curious about it after all--he looked fond.
Feeling more overwhelmed than the time his mother kept him sparring all day and night for a lesson in stamina, Damian couldn’t fathom what to do with this information other than to use it to his advantage. Knowing his
(dare he say it)
crush on Colin could quite possibly be reciprocated, Damian did the only thing he could think to do to win the upper-hand.
Afterwards, he’d blame Grayson and his sappy influence. It was the only explanation, really.
Swallowing the lump in his threat, Damian leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Colin’s cheek, instantly regretting it as he tasted the unfortunate aftermath of Titus’ kiss attack. The foul taste reminded him of all the times Titus got carried away licking his face, which was something he thought about remarking to Colin but he held back.
Instead of lingering on any potential consequences for his actions at all, he ignored Colin’s jaw drop and swiped the book from his limp hands. Sitting next to him with his own plate of food seemed only logical after that, determined to eat instead of talk any more about what had just transpired. It was better to wait and see what Colin would do in response rather than risk exposing himself more, he reasoned with each bite.
Alfred watched from the other side as both boys ate in silence, shoulders brushing while matching blushes painted their faces. The only one willing to disturb the peace laid across their feet under the table, resting after a job well done with an occasional lick at their ankles as if begging for food. With each lick, they both startled, sneaking glances at each other to see who would break first and confess. Plates emptied but Alfred bet neither one would sleep without saying something to the other; Titus was too dedicated to being their wingman--well, wing-dog--to ever give up that easily.
And if Alfred snuck Titus an extra sandwich or two under the table for bringing the boys together, no one needed to know but them.