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“Gosh freakin’ darn it! I hate magic,” Clark seethed, arms crossed, pouting at Bruce.
“Now, now. Don’t hurt yourself cursing like that,” Bruce teased, though it was still his Batman voice, so it just kind of sounded weird.
“It’s interesting how Jon has a puppy-brain, like his consciousness is in the backseat,” Damian said, playing with Jon’s floppy ear.
Jon went by himself on a call, like an idiot, against a sorcerer. Luckily, they weren’t the violent-type, just the Adventure-Time-Magic-Man-type. They turned the sea bright pink, the clouds purple, and the sand glitter. Then, turned Jon into a Super Dog when Superboy tried to stop them.
He didn’t look like Krypto; instead, a Golden Retriever. But with blue fur, because after being turned to a dog, Jon tried to bite the sorcerer. Damian said a Golden was very fitting for Jon’s personality, whatever that meant. Batman and Robin arrived shortly after Superboy was turned, Zatanna and Constantine in tow. Superman came shortly after, successfully capturing the sorcerer with Zatanna’s charm.
“His brain is mostly a dog’s. Jon is still in there, but it’s almost like his consciousness was trapped in a cell,” Zatanna said, observing the magic.
Whatever was happening, Jon was not paying attention. He was too busy chasing fish in the sea (all green, cheers sorcerer) and birds in the sky (orange instead of white). His dad was calling for him, Batman tried, even Zatanna and Constantine tried to rein him in. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop. It’s like his brain just kept saying bird, fish, bird, fish.
“Come, Jonathan,” Damian called, patting his knees, using his sweet voice. Jon ran to Damian, tackling him to the ground, unable to control his excitement. His blue tail was wagging a kilometer a minute as he licked Damian’s face, causing him to laugh.
It was a good thing Damian loved animals, because he knew just what to do. He put a soft, leather collar around Jon’s neck, leaving it snug but loose enough it didn’t hurt. He didn’t bother with a leash, just hooked two fingers through the golden ring on the front.
“Now, try to listen. You cannot run off, okay? Stay with us and listen to whatever I tell you.”
Jon barked, understanding perfectly.
“Good boy!” Damian cooed, reaching into his utility belt and pulling out a little bag of peeled orange slices. He slipped one into Jon’s mouth. Thank Rao Jon was a dog, because good boy would’ve done some very dangerous things if he was a human.
So, everyone boarded the Batplane and flew back to the cave. Zatanna tried to undo the enchantment, as did Constantine, but they couldn’t figure it out. Jon was getting restless, whining against Damian’s knee. He would just gently shush Jon, petting his ears or scratching his back. Sometimes, he would get another orange slice.
“I think it should be gone in a couple of days. Maybe a week. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to suggest. I can try to do a bit of research and let you guys know,” Zatanna said, patting Jon on the head.
He whined again, looking at Damian.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell is the matter with him?” Constantine said, trying to light a cigarette. Damian tt’d and quickly took his lighter.
“Do not smoke in front of him. What do you think, fool? He’s restless. You two have been working on the spell for hours,” Damian said, gently nudging Jon’s head off of his leg and standing.
“Come, Jonnie. Let us go play.”
They went into the large yard of the Manor, where Damian and Jon would throw tennis balls to Titus and Krypto. Luckily, Clark brought them to Ma and Pa’s, worried about their reaction to Jon. That was Damian’s suggestion. Rao, he was so smart.
“Go get it!” Damian said sweetly, using his pet-voice, tossing a tennis ball.
Jon barked and ran after it, enjoying the feeling of getting energy out. He brought it back to Damian, careful to let the ball hit his hand and not Jon’s teeth. In the back of his mind, Jon knew he should be embarrassed, but the dog-brain was taking over, feeling excitement and love and joy. Damian was so good at taking care of him, treating dog-Jon like Titus. After an hour or so of fetch, Damian calmed Jon down by looping his fingers through the loop on the collar.
“Are you hungry?” Damian cooed, ruffling his fur. Jon barked, surging forward to lick Damian’s face, earning a laugh.
The two went inside, where Alfred was preparing dinner. Clark and Bruce were sitting there, reading over tablets, likely trying to figure out how to get Jon back into a dog. Jon didn’t care, trotting circles around Damian and skirting under the table for pets.
“Any updates?” Damian asked, heading to the kitchen. He made a face as he pulled out plain chicken breasts, asking Alfred to boil and shred them for Jon.
“It should only last up to a week,” Bruce said, squeezing Clark’s hand reassuringly.
“We cannot tell Lois,” he muttered.
Damian snorted and sat on the floor, letting Jon try to curl up on his lap. He kept up with the pets, thankfully, lulling Jon into a bit of a doze. He was comfortable, with his dad watching over him and Damian petting behind his ears. His tail did not stop wagging the entire time.
After a bit, the heaps of chicken Damian had Alfred prepare were done. Damian tried to save some of Jon’s dignity and set him up at the table, letting him eat off of a porcelain plate sitting in a chair. Jon ate quickly, starving after playing fetch for so long, messily drinking the water from the large bowl Damian set by him.
“Awe, was that good?” Damian cooed, finishing his own meal, giving Jonathan a few dog-safe bites. He chuckled when Jon licked at his fingers.
The two went to the bathroom next. Damian ran a shallow bath, urging Jon to get in. He was still in the Robin suit, though the domino was off and he took the boots and chestplate off, leaving him in the pants and compression shirt. Using a cup, he gently wet Jon’s blue fur and lathered up some shampoo, scratching as he cleaned, causing Jon’s tail to wag and his leg to twitch.
“I think I enjoy you better like this, hayseed. Though I do miss your constant chatter,” Damian cooed, scratching Jon’s ears. With a happy bark, Jon shook his fur out, making Damian laugh as he was sprayed with water. After the shampoo was washed out, Damian dried Jon with a soft towel.
Sadly, he made Jon wait all alone on the comfortable couch in the study while he showered. Jon waited outside of the bathroom door instead, laying in the front, alert in case anyone tried to get in. Tim walked by once, earning a growl.
“How precious, did you wait for me, Jonnie? Good boy,” Damian cooed, stepping out in his pajamas. Jon barked happily and jumped on Damian with his front paws, earning another round of pets.
“Alright, alright, down boy. Time for bed. Perhaps you’ll be back to yourself in the morning. Hopefully, you will have no memory of this… you know I can’t help myself around animals,” Damian blushed.
Damian brought them back to the study, setting up some pillows and blankets. Jon whined, sitting at Damian’s feet and giving his best puppy dog eyes. He always let Titus sleep in the bed with him. Would he really make Jon go sleep somewhere in the Manor all by himself? Damian turned and looked down at Jon, a soft expression that was saved only for animals on his face. There was a delicate smile on his lips, his eyes soft and adoring.
“What’s the matter? Show me,” he cooed, bending slightly to ruffle Jon’s head, making his ears flop side to side. Jon’s tail started wagging again. He stood and bounded down the hall toward Damian’s room, letting out a little bark before he could help himself.
Jon heard Damian chuckle, bounding down the hall after him. Jon sat before Damian’s bedroom door, tail still wagging, fighting the urge to start panting. Damian chuckled and reached down to pet Jon again, rubbing a floppy ear between his thumb and forefinger. Jon couldn’t help but lean into it.
“Alright, alright. We can share my bed, just for tonight. I really hope you are not back to normal tomorrow morning…” Damian muttered, opening his door.
At his hesitation, Jon used his snout to push Damian in the room, running around excitedly and diving on the bed. He writhed against the blankets and pillows, finding a bit of comfort in Damian’s scent. Somewhere in his brain was screaming in horror, but the dog-brain didn’t understand why, so he kept wiggling, earning a loud laugh from Damian.
“Titus will be upset with me,” Damian said. Jon growled, trying to defend his nest, earning another snort of laughter from Damian.
Jon curled up, feeling Damian climb into the bed next to him. He adjusted the blankets over them both, laying on his back and sighing. Jon whined until Damian put a hand on him, rubbing soothing circles into his side. Jon huffed happily, closing his eyes, snuggling into Damian’s side.
When morning came, Jon woke up first. He groaned, sore in his elbows and knees, and tailbone for some reason, which was rare for a Kryptonian. Rao, magic was evil. Realization set in, all of the dog-Jon memories, causing him to wince in embarrassment. Damian was so darn cute taking care of animals. Too cute. Good thing he can blame his reactions on dog-brain.
Jon sighed and stretched, feet something warm curled on his chest, thinking it was still his fur at first, until he blinked sleep out of his eyes. Damian was curled on top of him, like how they went to sleep, still petting Jon in his slumber. Then, it hit him. Shaking the rest of the puppy-brain out, Jon noticed he wasn’t a dog anymore.
Jon tensed immediately, reaching a hand up (he had thumbs again!) to feel his neck. The collar was still there, a little loose on his neck, the leather warm from wearing it all day yesterday and all night. He couldn’t quite reach the latch with Damian on him, and selfishly was enjoying the impromptu cuddle session before Damian woke up and beat him. Well, he was bound to get in trouble anyways. Might as well make the most of it. Gently, Jon rested a hand on Damian’s back, softly rubbing up and down, unable to resist the temptation. Jon let his eyes close again, enjoying the feeling of being back in his body, debating what type of flowers to send Zatanna as a thanks.
Damian stretched his hand out, fingers tracing the loop on the collar, moving up his neck to tangle in Jon’s hair. He used his thumb to rub small circles behind his ear, as if he were still a dog. Embarrassingly, it felt as good as a half-human, half-alien as it did when he was a dog.
“Hmm, my puppy,” Damian said, voice low and breathless with sleep.
Jon flushed, swallowing hard. That was an interesting thing to learn about himself, that he will never mention to anyone.
Chapter 2 - Who’s Making Me Come
Jon’s favorite color was emerald green. He’d tell anyone it was because green was how the crops looked at Ma and Pa Kent’s farm, the shade of the soft grass outside of the Wayne Manor that he and Krypto and Titus play in, and the feeling Jon had when Clark brought in the dark green Christmas tree, with the snow still melting on the branches, to string with lights and decorate.
But really, it was because of Damian’s emerald green eyes.
When they were kids, he only really ever saw Damian in the domino mask. Typically, they were on missions together, Superman and Batman close by. Even when they would have pizza parties in the cave after, or eat ice cream on the ledge of skyscrapers, Damian kept his mask on. Bruce was no better— the cowl was always on. Jon remembers Clark complaining about it when he was young. He remembers relating, wanting to see Damian’s eyes underneath that mask.
Jon was always told the eyes are the way to the soul, the way to read someone, see what they’re actually thinking. Damian was so mean to him; did he really hate Jon that much, or was he just a mean-spirited person? He tried to bait Damian into taking that mask off a few times, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t until Clark and Bruce started dating and the Supers were moved to the Manor that Jon finally saw Damian’s eyes.
It was across the dinner table. Damian had a book laid flat on the table, barely touching his meal, too focused on the pages. It was something Jason dropped off earlier, and at the time, Damian was the only person he really cared to be around in the Manor. Jon tried to not make his watching obvious, but Damian had that weird bat-sense, and looked up at Jon.
Emerald green eyes, like staring into polished gems, bored into Jon’s boring blues. Dark, long lashes framed his cheekbones when he blinked, almost touching his eyebrows when his eyes were open. It made sense to Jon why Damian wore the domino; it couldn’t have been for his identity, but because no criminal, no crook, would take Damian seriously with those gorgeous green doe eyes.
Though they would probably fold immediately.
From that day, Jon decided his favorite color was green. Specifically, the green of Damian’s eyes, with the gold-ish flecks near the pupil. When he was still a kid, his crayon boxes would be full of different shades of green. His coloring books would show all the people with green eyes, or the sun would be colored in green rather than yellow, or the stars would be green instead of gold. When he grew out of coloring, Jon started dressing in shades of green. A hoodie here, a pair of pajama pants there. Even his friends and family would buy him things in green.
The funny part was Damian— smart, sly, beautiful, Damian— had no idea. He would buy Jon a green stuffed frog when he went to the zoo for the tenth time in a week, or cover him with a green blanket when he fell asleep on the couch, or get him a new green water bottle when Jon misplaced his other. Little did he know how much comfort, how much love Jon associated with the color.
And Rao, those eyes did nothing to prevent Jon drooling over Damian.
Sometimes, when Jon was taking pictures for the Daily Planet at a Wayne gala, Damian would throw a smolder over his shoulder. Jon would have to loosen his tie and find somewhere to get a glass of ice water. Or when Damian was particularly sleepy, those emerald eyes would increase in size, turning into a perfect set of watery puppy eyes. Jon would hum the song attached to those animal shelter commercials in his head.
And on Jon’s worst days… Damian used those eyes as a weapon.
It should've probably been scary. I mean, even Jason cowered when Damian hit him with that glare. Jon only saw it once, on Damian’s birthday, when they were in the cave typing up a report. Jon was being very useful, floating lazy circles around Damian, occasionally handing Damian one of the Oreos stacked on his chest. Jason and Roy came riding into the Cave on Hood’s bike, gear still on, all screeching tires and rumbling engine.
“Jason’s hurt!” Roy yelled, scrambling to bring Jason to the small cot.
Damian furrowed his brow and stood gracefully, quickly bounding to the cot that Jason was laying on.
“Where is he hurt?” Damian asked, getting ready to pull a pair of latex gloves on.
“Here. You need to look really close,” Roy said, pointing at Jason’s mouth. Damian made a tt sound, and started to get close to Jason’s mouth.
Then, Jason lifted his head, and gave Damian a very wet kiss on his forehead.
“Happy birthday, demon brat!”
Roy popped a thing of confetti he had hiding in his pocket, and Jon fought the urge to grin. But Damian… he was not laughing. Instead, those emerald green eyes were piercing, going right through Jason’s soul.
“You absolute fool.”
Jason literally squealed. Roy tried to get between them, but Damian just kneed him in the gut and kept chasing after Jason. And though it should’ve been terrifying, Jon stood stunned stupid, with warm cheeks, lost in that emerald green glare.
And Rao help him when that glare was turned on Jon. It was game over. He had to think about terrible things to not combust on the spot: the one time he caught Clark and Bruce in the sparring room, Kon calling Tim his hummingbird in that disgusting cooing voice, his mom chewing on the eraser of her pencil and swallowing it instead of spitting it out.
None of those tricks worked today, though.
Jon sat across from Damian in the study, tea long gone cold between them, untouched scones on a pretty porcelain platter. The chess game they were playing has been going on for hours. Damian, of course, started winning almost immediately. Jon decided to take his phone out of his cargo pants pocket and start planning his moves on an app he had installed. Which, of course, was causing him to win.
“You are never this good. I don’t understand,” Damian said, moving a pawn and setting that glowing green glare on Jon. He felt his face heat.
“Maybe luck? Are you tired or something?” Jon tried to defend, moving his knight. “Check.”
Damian sighed, delicate fingers wrapping around his rook while he thought. His eyes were still fixed on Jon, and if he could sweat, he’d be perspirating. The light from the windows behind the desk they were seated at made Damian’s eyes shine like stars, like gems set into stone. Jon ached to thumb his eyelashes, to feel if they were as soft as he thought.
Then, that glare turned vicious. Jon felt heat build in his belly.
“Jonathan. You’re cheating.”
“No I’m not!”
“Put your hands on the desk. Now.”
Jon did so, whatever it took to keep those eyes on him.
“Stand up.”
He did, and Jon totally forgot his phone was in his lap. It clattered to the floor, right to Damian’s socked-feet. And when those twinkling greens glared back up at him… there was nothing Jon could’ve thought to keep the blush off of his face, the red from creeping up his neck. Jon clasped his hands in front of himself, giving Damian a shy smile.
He was in big trouble. And not because of the glare Damian was giving him (though that was the reason for his predicament).
Chapter 3 - To My Sinful Senses
Jon was a truly horrible cook. Clark wasn’t that good either, unless it was breakfast food. Kon was decent, but could really only cook the same four things. So, when Batman and Superman started their… thing, Jon was more than grateful to have Alfred’s cooking at every meal. He tried to help out where he could, even when the butler chased him away, but the best he could do was cut vegetables or peel potatoes. Jon didn’t even like touching the raw meat.
So, when Alfred goes on his one vacation a year, it’s usually the worst couple weeks of Jon’s life. Luckily, frozen pizzas exist and Clark will cook breakfast. But it gets old eating the same couple of things. One year, Jon tried to learn how to cook. It was a grilled cheese and a can of tomato soup. How hard could it be?
Well, Jon learned the hard way how not to cook. He had the heat up too high on the burners for both the soup and the grilled cheese. Damian had wandered down to make a cup of tea and caught Jon about to give it a bit of cold breath to make the smoke stop and to put the flames out, but Damian hollered at him and got him out of the way, taking care of the fire and the mess.
“Are you really that incompetent, hayseed?” Damian sighed, just tossing the soup pot and small pan into the trash.
“I’m hungry, little bat! C’mon, can’t you teach me how to cook?” Jon begged, trying to give Damian his best puppy dog eyes.
Well, Jon got his way that day, and every day since after he nearly burned the kitchen down. When Alfred goes on his trip, or the food he prepared was already put up, Jon would find Damian and ask if he was hungry. Usually, Damian wasn’t, but he knew if he said no, Jon would probably destroy the kitchen. It was a great transaction… until Jon had to get feelings over it.
It was like a switch in Jon’s brain flipped one day. He blames it on the fact Damian was soft from sleep, hair mussed from its usual perfect style, loose pajamas on his body and fluffy cat-pattered socks on his feet. He was out late on patrol with Tim, both tumbling through the Cave and heading to their rooms when the sun was already over the horizon. Jon snuck down to the kitchen and was just going to have some cereal, something simple, when that Bat-sense alerted Damian that Jon was digging around in the kitchen.
Even with super-sense, Jon almost had a heart attack when he turned with a box of cereal in his hand and saw Damian squinting in the doorway. Jon noticed right away Dami was wearing his Metropolis Meteors shirt, comfortable and loose on him, exposing a creamy, honey-brown collarbone. The flannel pajama pants paired with the shirt was an adorable combination, different from the silk pajama sets Damian usually wore. Even so, it was rare for Jon to catch him in pajamas, only if there was an emergency and Jon had to wake Damian up in the dead of night. And those fluffy socks… damn cute. With little fluffy ears at the top and all.
“Burning the kitchen down, Kent?” Damian drawled, voice soft and quiet with sleep.
“It’s just cereal. Hey, shouldn't you be in bed?” Jon pouted, setting the box on the counter to fully face Damian.
“We do not have any more milk, Todd used the rest a couple of days ago.”
“That’s fine, I like eating it raw anyway. The milk makes it soggy,” Jon shrugged, reaching to the cupboard for a glass bowl.
Damian was blushing and Jon heard his heartbeat increase, the blood in his body rushing to his cheeks. Before he could ask what was wrong, Jon was getting shoved out of the way and directed toward the breakfast bar.
“Just sit down, Jonathan.”
So, Jon watched a very, very soft and sleepy Damian amble around the kitchen, preparing a breakfast of eggs and toast, forgoing bacon and adding extra peppers and cheese in the eggs instead. Jon realized, with his own blush, that he wanted to watch Damian in his oversized shirt and kitty socks make breakfast every morning. And he was a great cook, rivaling Alfred. Something about being provided for really did it for Jon… even if Damian made him do the dishes after.
So, Damian cooking for the both of them became a regular thing. It was always vegetarian dishes, but Jon wasn’t missing out at all. After patrols, still half-dressed in Robin gear, Damian would prepare a snack for the two of them. When Jon had a nightmare, Damian would get him a cup of tea and a cookie or two. When Jon missed dinner and someone ate his portion (thanks, Kon, and thank Jason Todd too), Damian would sit him at the breakfast bar and prepare something for him.
It was no different this evening. Damian was helping Bruce work on an old cold case, something the two realized might be attached to a new wave of crime bosses in Gotham. The only issue was they needed the physical evidence, in the form of newspapers dating back up to a decade. Jon had agreed to help Damian, going down to the Cave with him and digging through boxes and boxes of newspaper. It was hard to complain when Damian was so close, his arm would brush Jon’s when they would dig through the boxes. Or when Jon would find something and Damian would lean into his space.
“How much longer?” Jon asked, voice ending in a bit of a whine, as he took another box to the table where they would go over all the evidence at once.
“As long as it takes. Do not tell me you’re tired,” Damian huffed, tossing the paper he was holding into another half-full box.
“I’m starving, Dami.”
“Do you do anything other than eat?”
“Well, I annoy you. And fly sometimes,” Jon joked, earning an upwards twitch of Damian’s lips.
“Moreso the first. Stay here and start looking through those papers. I’ll get us a snack.”
Damian walked out of the cave, pausing once to stretch his back into an arch nothing shy of a cat. Jon pretended not to look, but he definitely was enjoying the prettier view of Damian as opposed to the black and white newspaper. Jon ended up reading through the first stack of ten, pulling the pages off to the side for Damian to go through when he was back, and was reaching for the eleventh when he came back.
“I have a soup started in the slow cooker. For now, this should tide you over,” Damian said, setting a bowl of fruit in front of Jon and a little folded napkin.
Jon isn’t exactly sure he’s ever blushed so hard, nor felt as loved as he does now. Damian cut up each fruit in a perfect bite— apples, oranges, strawberries, grapes, and even cherries. He also took meticulous care to take the seeds out, even the pits out of the cherries. There was a little bit of lemon and honey on top, to keep the fruit fresh and sweet while Jon worked.
“Tell me if you notice any other inconsistencies.”
Damian went back to the shelves stacked with papers, not before popping a cherry into his mouth, licking the tip of his finger to sift through more pages. Jon was a lost cause. He wasn’t going to notice anything else, minus how hot Damian was. And how the fruit in his bowl was the best fruit he’d ever tasted.
Chapter 4 - I’ll Never Love Anyone The Same
Jon has had a lot of bad days. Jon has had a lot of good days. But, Jon has only had one day so good, so perfect, that it still haunts him.
Damian’s sixteenth birthday wasn’t a big fanfare. In fact, he declined any offer of a birthday party. Bruce offered to have something at the Manor, and Damian shrugged it off and said he was fine with just a cake and having everyone over for dinner. Jason and Bruce formed somewhat of a truce, agreeing to be cordial for Damian’s special day. Clark also agreed to pick up Pa and Ma Kent for the afternoon, especially since Ma loved to dote on Damian.
But it was sixteen! Everyone wanted to do something special for Damian. Dick and Wally started making plans for a surprise party at their place, but Damian obviously found out and shut it down. Tim and Kon tried to plan some sort of a zoo adventure, but Damian thought it was unfair to take the attention off of the animals. Jason, however…
Jason insisted Damian needed to go do something rebellious. To celebrate turning sixteen! Damian refused to drink a beer, or smoke a cigarette, or vandalize something. So, Jason and Roy took Damian to get his ears pierced. Surprisingly, Damian loved this idea. He didn’t just get one lobe piercing— the next time Jon saw Damian, he had two tiny silver hoops in each lobe of his delicate ears.
And if that didn’t do something to a teen fresh out of puberty, learning all sorts of things about their sexuality and what they found attractive. For Jon, it was Damian Wayne, with two dainty, silver hoops threaded through each ear.
Over the years, Damian started putting little studs in (he had a set of little bats, which was Jon’s favorite), or dangling hoops with different charms. Damian typically wore a silver star and moon charm in each ear that made his emerald green eyes stand out, much to Jon’s dismay. To make matters worse, the little clink-clink that came from the charms brushing together sent full body shivers up and down Jon’s spine. No matter where he was in the world, he would hear that telltale cling-cling, and start blushing like mad, imagining those silver charms dangling from Damian’s delicate ear and reflecting light into his green eyes.
Sometimes, Damian absentmindedly hit the charms with the tip of his index finger, so they made the jingling sound while he was focused on a report, or watching something on the TV. If Damian did this while they were playing a game of cards or chess, Jon would lose quicker than usual. Those earrings clinking together were Jon’s kryptonite. Thank Rao he didn’t wear them on missions or patrols, otherwise, Jon would be taking casualties every second. Damian did wear a set of earrings sparring once, dangly charms with a spike on one and a snake on another, and Jon lost terribly, even with super strength.
Of course, when Jon arrived at the Daily Planet that morning, barely on time, his mom was already perched at his desk, cup of coffee in hand. His dad was sitting in Jon’s chair, typing away on a laptop, talking to himself.
“You guys aren’t telling me you’re getting divorced again, are you?” Jon joked, leaning against his cubical wall.
“Still happily married to Bruce,” Clark said.
“Happily married to Diana,” Lois nodded.
“We just, um. You need to go to the Wayne gala with Jimmy, to take photos while he runs press,” Clark said, quickly shoving the words together.
“Dad! You’re going to be there! Why can’t you?!” Jon hissed. He didn’t mind going, but seeing Damian dressed up always made him fumble, and his mom never let him live it down when Jimmy gossiped.
“I’m obviously Bruce’s plus one,” Clark teased.
“And mom?”
She shrugged. “Date night.”
Jon frowned. Who was Damian’s plus one, then? He usually asked Jon to get him out of work, but maybe he was bringing a date. Either that, or Clark and Bruce conspired against Jon and told Damian to not ask, so he would be forced to work the event.
And now, at this stupid gala Jon was attending with Jimmy for the Daily Planet, his focus was ruined. Not only was Damian dressed in a gorgeous three-piece suit, dark blue accents, with his hair messily styled, he was wearing those stupid charm earrings. All night, Jon was taunted by clink-clink and chandelier light reflecting off of a star and moon charm. Even Clark had made his way over and asked if Jon was feeling okay!
The Waynes were making their way toward their table, Tim and Kon politely chatting on the way. Jason and Roy were not in the crowd, but likely watching from the shadows or rafters, just in case some random villain showed up. Dick and Wally were walking in front of Damian, but the youngest Wayne without a date was causing quite a stir.
Jon gritted his teeth when people swarmed Damian, especially those far too old to be interested in him. Dick noticed and called out for him, reaching a hand out and slightly pushing Wally into the crowd to give them all a bit of space. Jimmy nudged Jon, signaling him to get his camera ready as Damian walked by to take Dick’s outstretched hand. One their fingers were touching, Wally politely putting a protective hand on Damian’s back, Jimmy destroyed his night.
“Mr. Damian Wayne!”
Damian spun, his lips slightly parted, green eyes twinkling as he locked eyes with Jon. Both earrings in each lobe clink-clinked together as he turned his head. His perfect, pink lips pulled back into a grin as Jimmy had to force the camera out of Jon’s hands to get the photos, before he winked at Jonathan and turned back towards Dick and Wally.
His stupid, traitor brain sent that image directly down south, playing it over and over across his vision. Jon felt himself get hot all over, even with his tie already loose. The clink-clink he heard as Damian spun to greet the participants at the gala was certainly not helping. He groaned to himself. How can earrings cause me this much trouble?!
Chapter 5 - I’ll Never Feel Ashamed
There were things every Super listened to, that their ears were always trained on to block out the millions of soundwaves that the Earth was made of. Clark had to learn this the hard way, whereas Kon and Jon were both taught how to manage the overstimulation.
For Clark, he focuses pretty much constantly on Bruce’s heart. Once, Barry got ahold of some alcohol designed to get he and Wally buzzed. Clark tried some, not thinking it would work on him, and was horribly wrong. He refused to drop Bruce’s wrist, otherwise he’d panic not being able to hear his heart. He also listened to Ma’s humming, Pa’s tractor in the field, and Lois’s cluck of her tongue.
Kon focused on Tim’s neurons in his brain. Even on the rare occasion he slept, Kon explained Tim’s brain as an orchestra, a symphony of sounds as neurons took off at astonishing rates. He was always thinking. Sometimes, Kon would hum a tune no one recognized; Jon learned it was whatever melody went along with Tim’s thinking patterns. He also listened for Clark’s laughter, Jon’s fingers on the keyboard at work, and Cassie and Bart’s bickering.
Of course, Jon listened to Ma and Pa, too. He also listened to his mom’s sighs, his dad’s humming, and Kon’s snorting laughter. But something that always grounded him, even when he was a child, was Damian’s voice. It was soothing; baritone and proper, not too loud nor nasally nor trill. It was perfect. He could read audiobooks for a living if he wished.
In a terribly embarrassing fit of fear, Jon admitted his constant listening to Damian. He had just been pierced with kryptonite on the field, trying to cover for too many people at once. As Jon sat in the Cave, Clark rubbing his head while Bruce picked out shards of kryptonite, Jon started panicking.
“His voice, dad. I can’t hear Damian’s voice!”
In a blur of motion, Bruce trying to hold Jon down so he didn’t hurt himself, Clark went to find Damian. He was on patrol with Jason, doing a bit of recon while Hood ate a burger on the side of a building. After hearing Jon was hurt, Jason shooed him away and Clark flew them back.
“Jonathan, what is the matter?” Damian asked, voice cool and calm despite Jon struggling to get out of Bruce’s hold.
“Oh, thank Rao. Please, little bat, please keep talking,” Jon had begged, laying back while Bruce continued his picking. Damian sat at the edge of the cot and talked about a bit of everything, more words at once than Jon ever heard.
Now, Jon was pretty sure Damian spoke out loud during the day just to appease him. Sometimes he would read outloud, or speak Arabic under his breath, coo at Titus, or talk to the animals at the zoo. When he couldn’t sleep at night, he would whisper to Jon and tell him what he wanted for breakfast tomorrow, or how he was going to prepare his tea, or if he was going to indulge in that cinnamon coffee Alfred makes. His favorite was when he would test if Jon was awake.
“I suppose if you’re listening, you should come join me for breakfast tomorrow. It is supposed to be sunny, so we can eat on the patio.”
He would only smirk when Jon showed up, still in his pajamas, and sit across from Damian.
And on Jon’s worst days, Damian would wake up screaming from a nightmare, gasping for breath. It’s like he knew Jon would hear and be getting ready to dash to his room, but Damian would just sigh and tell him everything was fine, just a dream.
These days weren't the worst just because of the nightmares. It was because Damian would use that elegant voice, that was lazy and soft and smooth with sleep, to reassure Jon. He wishes Damian had super hearing, so he could mutter reassurances to send his little bat back to sleep, but instead, Jon was on the receiving end.
“It’s okay, Jonathan. I did not intend to startle you, habibi. It was just a bad dream. I had two cookies before bed, you see, so it was probably the sugar.”
Jon would hear Damian let out a soft, little groan as he shifted in bed, getting himself in another comfortable position. If he really listened close, he could hear Damian’s pajamas slip across his skin, or his sheets form around his body.
“It is interesting how eating or drinking before bed can affect the sleep cycle. You see, the sugar spike causes your brain to release stress inducers, like cortisol or adrenaline. That’s why Alfred tells us to have tea with cookies before bed. I was lazy this evening.”
Damian let out a long yawn, adjusting his pillow. Titus huffed from his spot on the floor, likely disturbed when Damian had his nightmare. Maybe it was too hot to sleep in the bed. That never would’ve bothered Jon.
“You would never have a nightmare again if you slept in my bed,” Jon whispered, like Damian could hear him.
“I believe Jason drinks this sleepy tea with melatonin in it. I tried melatonin once and it was a mistake. I had the worst nightmares of my life. I’m not sure how melatonin works for him, but everyone is different. I read once it was because of how it affects the REM cycle.”
Damian fluffed his pillow. Jon tried not to let Damian’s voice seep into his core, but it was getting lower and more syrupy the more tired Damian got. He let out a soft noise, not quite a whine but close.
“Sometimes, I’m scared to go back to bed after a nightmare. Isn’t that silly?” Damian chuckled. Jon shook his head; how could that be silly? If Jon had a nightmare, he had to get up and wall the halls for a bit.
It was silent for a bit, Damian’s heart was slow, his breathing gentle. Jon sent every ounce of relaxing energy his way, begging the universe that he would have happier dreams. Jon sat up for a minute, telling himself it was to check on Damian, but really, he was just a tad worked up from that sleepy voice. It was so rare he spoke like that, only early on Christmas morning when Dick would wake everyone up at 5 in the morning (even if they patrolled until just an hour prior).
“Goodnight, Jonnie,” Damian sighed, voice as sweet and slow as honey.
“Goodnight, little bat,” Jon whispered, a smile on his lips.
The next morning, Damian gave Jon a rare smile across the table at breakfast. Jon returned the grin with a beaming upturn of his lips. Turns out, both of them had sweet dreams of the other.
Epilogue - Of Using You For Pleasure
The first time it happened, Damian assumed it was an accident. They were in the cave, pouring over leads and reports with Tim and Kon. To take a bit of a break, Damian went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water, draining half in one go. Jon floated over and asked Damian for a sip.
“Just get your own glass, Jonathan.”
“Yeah, but you’re going to dump the rest of that out, so just give it to me! Save water, little bat!”
Damian sighed and passed Jon the glass, heading back over to the desk where papers were spread out in different piles. Out of the corner of his eye, Damian saw Jon turn the glass, and sip it from the exact same spot Damian’s mouth was. Of course, he schooled his beating heart to remain steady so as to not alert Jon, but the tips of his ears flushed pink. But, maybe it was just an accident; it isn’t like Jon could see where his lips were.
The second time, the two were at a cat cafe in Metropolis. For once, it wasn’t due to hero business or Wayne Enterprises business. Rather, Jon had just asked Damian if he wanted to go with him. Imagine his surprise when they walked through the doors and Jon pointed to a spacious room with about ten cats. Even someone as stoic as Damian couldn’t hide his amusement, especially once Jon had said he already signed Damian’s waiver and he could go play with the cats.
After about two hours of coddling, playing, and sweet talking to each and every cat (even the shy ones), Jon pulled Damian out of the room so they could talk to the owners and get something to drink. Damian shoved as much cash as he had on his person into the tip jar once everyone’s eyes were off of him and ducked behind Jon to find a table closest to the cat window. Damian assumed Jon had already ordered for him, so he was plenty happy to watch the cats through the glass with a ridiculous smile.
“Here you go, little bat; one lavender chai latte for you, and hot chocolate for me!”
Damian took his mug and sipped at the foam on top, licking his lips as he set the mug down. Jon tracked his every move, taking a sip of hot chocolate and getting whipped cream on his nose. As Damian reached out with a napkin to swipe it off, he chuckled to himself. It felt so much like a date, but really, it was just Kansas Kent being a soft-hearted man.
“Would you like to try mine? You may like it better hot,” Damian said, sliding his mug towards Jon.
And like that day in the cave, with the glass of water, Jon turned the mug and sipped out of the same exact spot Damian’s lips were. His traitor heart instantly increased by a few beats, causing Jon to quirk his brow as he set the mug back down.
The third time, Damian created a plan to test his hypothesis. He was the son of the world’s greatest detective, after all. It was after a Friday night patrol. Both got back to the Manor, covered in grime and sweat and condiments after their run in with Condiment King. Jon took a shower in seconds using his super speed while Damian did their patrol report.
“Do you want to watch our show, Dami?” Jon asked. The second episode of the show Jon was invested in (and Damian was too, though he’d never admit it) was aired this evening and he could not wait to watch it.
“I suppose. Go set it up and I will bathe. Make some popcorn too, while you’re at it,” Damian sighed, acting like it was an inconvenience. Really, it was part of his plan.
So, Damian showered, changed into comfortable clothes, and put on a swipe of chapstick over his lips. He headed downstairs and saw the show loaded on the TV, a big bowl of popcorn on the couch (the smaller one, where the two would sit shoulder-to-shoulder, Damian noticed), and Jon with his feet up on the coffee table.
“Do you want something to drink, Kent?” Damian asked, going to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
Damian suppressed his grin. He took his glass back to the living room and sat by Jon, taking a few pieces of popcorn. Jon started the show and shoveled handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, opposite of Damian’s grace. Once the show was about halfway in, Damian took a sip of lemonade. Like planned, his chapstick left a lip print on the rim of his glass. He set it down, facing it away from Jon.
After a few minutes, Jon leaned over and plucked Damian’s glass off of the table. He spun it so the lip print was facing him, and took a sip. Damian fought the urge to smirk. Instead, he just watched as Jon set the glass back down and rubbed his lips together, smearing the chapstick.
Should it be gross, sharing a glass with Jonathan, especially after he so deliberately drank from the same spot Damian did? Yes.
Is it, for whatever reason, making Damian blush and ruin the stoic demeanor he fights so hard to keep around Jon? Also yes.
So maybe the whirlwind of confusion in Damian’s brain was what made him blurt out: “Do you want to kiss me?”
Jon stared, blush rising on his cheeks. Damian looked away sharply.
“I just thought because of the glass, and I—”
Damian was pressed back against the arm of the couch, eyes wide, lips slightly parted against Jonathan’s. The fog of confusion cleared, and Damian wrapped his arms around Jon, tugging him close. And if they missed the rest of their show… that was no one’s business minus theirs.
And Clark’s. Who had to pretend he didn’t hear the soft smack of their lips while Bruce was waiting for his reply at the Watchtower computer, to hear if everyone was safe after patrol tonight.