Work Text:
“Hnn.”
It’s a quiet, annoyed grunt, barely audible over the TV, accompanied by a shift in movement. When Tim hears it, he glances away from the episode of Stargate and twists around, looking up over his shoulder at Damian. “Everything alright?”
Damian looks down and gives him a small smile. He’s been sketching while they watch TV, sitting up with his feet stretched out in front of him and resting on an ottoman. Tim’s curled up next to Damian’s left side, his head tucked up against Damian’s thigh. It’s the perfect position: Tim can still see the TV, and Damian can still sketch, but they’re cuddled up together, and Damian can rest his left hand on Tim’s head and give him occasional skritches.
“Everything’s fine, habibi,” Damian says, and Tim sees that he’s put his pencil down and is massaging out his own hands, rubbing the pad of his left thumb over the crease in his right palm, curling and uncurling his fists. “Just tired hands.”
Tim puts one hand on Damian’s leg and uses it to push himself up, turning towards Damian. “Can I help?” Tim reaches his hands out, palms up.
Damian’s eyes soften, and he gives Tim another smile, shifting to face him. “Thank you.” Damian reaches out and puts his hands in Tim’s, resting gently on top of them.
Tim smiles back at him. “Of course.”
Tim shifts his grip so he can take Damian’s right hand in both of his. He gently starts to massage it, working his way down the hand in smooth motions, then rubbing each of the fingers individually.
Damian has nice hands. They’re a lot bigger than Tim’s are, but that only makes sense, given their respective heights. Damian’s fingers are long and thin. As he works, Tim muses on the fact that Damian’s hands are softer than one might expect. Not without their callouses, and there’s a few distinctive, ropey scars on his left knuckles, but mostly Damian’s hands are soft and warm to the touch.
Tim gently turns Damian’s hand over and starts to really press into the tendon of the thumb, working at it in tiny, firm circles.
Damian lets out another quiet grunt.
“Sorry,” Tim says, and he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet Damian’s. “Too much?”
Damian shakes his head, looking down at Tim warmly. “It’s alright. It’s helping.” Damian curls his fingers over Tim’s and gives his hand a brief squeeze. “You can keep going.”
Tim nods. Damian relaxes his hand, and Tim gets back to work, slowly pressing out and releasing the tension in the muscle. Damian lets out a long, slow sigh, breathing through the tension. Tim feels Damian’s heart pulse steadily in his wrist, can feel the subtle motions of Damian’s deep breathing as his chest rises and falls.
Tim spends the most time on Damian’s right hand, because that’s the one he draws with. But once Tim’s finished that, he places Damian’s right hand back down on his lap, and takes up the other. Tim goes through the same process with that one too, rubbing out the tension, feeling how this hand is under different stresses from the other, and working out the blood flow. Tim focuses carefully on his task, gazing intently at Damian’s hands underneath the pale yellow lamp light. In the background, the TV keeps playing an episode that Tim’s watched at least a dozen times, and there’s the ever-present quiet rush of cars from the street outside.
“There,” Tim says finally, when he’s sure he’s done as much as he can. He releases Damian’s left hand, and glances up at Damian’s eyes. “Better?”
There’s a crinkle around Damian’s eyes, and a small, soft smile playing at his lips. He gazes down at Tim with something that’s like pure adoration, his expression full of love. “Much better.” Damian reaches up to cradle one side of Tim’s face, and then the other, holding it carefully and gently in his strong, powerful hands. His forefingers slide up behind Tim’s ears, and Tim lets out a quiet sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. Damian holds Tim’s head steady and bends down to press a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “Thank you, habibi.”
Tim smiles, eyes still closed, and tilts his head, leaning it into one of Damian’s hands. “You’re so welcome.”
“Here.” Damian releases Tim’s hold and shifts to face back towards the TV, moving his sketchbook to rest on the coffee table. “I think that’s enough sketching for one night.” Damian pats his lap, gesturing Tim towards him.
Tim smiles and crawls forward on the couch, happily climbing into Damian’s lap. Damian’s arms come to wrap around him, and Tim tucks his arms in towards his own chest and ducks his head forward, burying his face in Damian’s big shoulder.
Tim can’t actually see the TV when they’re like this, but that’s okay. Damian drops another gentle kiss onto the top of Tim’s head, soft against the fluff of his hair. One of Damian’s hands slips between them and finds one of Tim’s hands, interlacing their fingers together. Quietly, Damian murmurs, “I love you, Tim.”
Something wells up in Tim’s chest, something warm and bubbly, something that feels so big it might burst. “I love you too.” It comes out slightly muffled by Damian’s shirt, but Tim knows that Damian understood him anyway.
Tim keeps half an ear on the episode, closes his eyes, and snuggles even closer into Damian’s chest, feeling warm and safe in Damian’s arms. He keeps his hand tangled with Damian’s, holding it steady.