Work Text:
“Checkmate.”
Grayson leans back in the chair, running a hand through his hair in awe and frustration. Damian is relaxed in his own seat, arms crossed over his chest, and a smug smile getting comfortable on his face. It’s been four games in a row that the younger boy has won and Grayson silently wonders if it’s possible to cheat at a game like chess.
“Perhaps if you spent less time chasing skirts, you could actually win against me.”
There’s a soft laugh and the creak of a chair as Grayson gets up, grabbing the empty glasses near the chess set.
“Why do I get the feeling that even if I did practice, you’d still manage to beat me?”
Damian straightens up and opens his mouth to speak, but the other man has left the room to refill their drinks and, most likely, chat with Alfred about better strategies.
He’s calculating the amount of time it will take before his mentor comes back to play again when he hears footsteps (too heavy to be Drake’s and Todd isn’t suicidal enough to visit uninvited lately so it must be his father’s) to his left and recognizes the smell of coffee (black, never mixed with anything) permeating the air. Surprised, Damian lifts his head up to watch his father take the seat Grayson had recently departed from. While their relationship is certainly not anywhere in the vicinity of close, it has gotten better than when they had first met. Still, Bruce isn’t known to make himself comfortable around his son and it causes Damian’s brow to crease in confusion.
“How many times have you won?”
Damian blinks once before composing himself and beginning to move the chess pieces to their starting positions.
“Four.”
In Grayson’s defense, he had almost been victorious in the first round but had managed to bungle up the Boden’s Mate pattern he’d been attempting and that had let Damian gain the upper-hand.
“How many games have you played?”
He struggles to keep his smirk from appearing before answering his father.
“Four.”
Bruce lets out a soft huff of a laugh, picking up the white Rook and placing it back in its place. They remain silent after that, Damian staring at the chessboard and Bruce staring into his coffee cup. It’s more than a little awkward, but Damian knows that his father is just as excellent at starting conversations with his son as he is with his father. He grew up knowing of Batman, not Bruce Wayne and Bruce … He had had no idea about his son until Talia had thrust him into his life at a terrible time and left him there. If it hadn’t been for Grayson, the possibility of Damian being completely left behind would have become inevitable.
“Do you know about the Rossolimo Variation of the Sicilian Defense?”
Damian’s eyes snap up to greet his father’s in surprise but he shakes his head cautiously, unsure of where he’s going with this. He knows the Sicilian Defense (as any decent chess player should) and he knows of the Najdof Variation, but he prefers to use different and bolder moves than these.
The other man sets his cup aside and turns the chessboard with a quick, fluid movement. Bruce knows most of the strategies by heart and Damian can tell as he moves the pieces around on the board with no hesitation.
“It’s a third move alternative for the white side, related to the Moscow Variation.”
Damian taps his fingers against his lap in a moment of thought before reaching over and moving his Knight to g6, preparing for his father’s next moves.
“Your turn.”
——-
It’s how Dick finds them half an hour later, both leaning forward in their chairs with Damian fully concentrating on what’s being said and Bruce moving pieces around, coffee long forgotten and cold.