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Gotham city had been unusually quiet lately.
No armed robbers to take care of, no treacherous evil plans to foil, no villains from other dimensions to beat.
Which is why Damian Wayne was currently sitting in his room, doing nothing of great importance on a random Tuesday.
Propped up against a stack of pillows, Damian was lounging, a random book he stole from Bruce’s office in hand. One hand came to adjust his wired earbuds—which he still can’t believe he let you influence him into using.
A couple of steps away, you were seated on his desk chair, completely unbothered.
The fancy oak desk—usually used for studying, or some kind of intensive detective work, currently served as a temporary resting spot for your beauty products, and a smallish mirror you found in Damian’s bathroom.
Could you have done your makeup in the bathroom like any other person? Yes, but that would defeat the purpose of coming over to spend time with your boyfriend. Even if you two barely spoke a word to one another, save for when Damian decided to bless you with his melodic voice.
Truthfully, you had not interest in the contents of whatever old leather book your beloved had swiped from his father’s stash. You were, however, entirely content to let the relaxed rumble of your boyfriend’s voice wash over you whenever he decided to quote the texts.
Damian had just finished reading a rather dense paragraph detailing some medical procedure. He knew you weren’t paying any semblance of attention to anything he rambled about, but that didn’t deter him from shifting his focus from the inked pages and onto your form, hoping to gauge your reaction to the information.
You were far too busy, a careful hand dipping the applicator into its antique kohl bottle, gathering the fine dark powder onto its blunt tip. Leaning slightly closer to the mirror, you gently rested the applicator against your waterline, a seamless swoop with a closed eye.
Damian was transfixed, watching as you did it once, twice, thrice with unwavering precision. Each swipe deepening the rich, dark powder lining your pretty eyes, before steeping the applicator back in the kohl and repeating the same ritual onto the other eye.
Damian was stuck, book forgotten between his fingers, helplessly gazing at your reflection.
The muted Gotham sun was begging to dip lower outside, filtering through the sheer curtains of Damian’s room, casting your form in a haze of soft golden light. The melody of a beautiful love song started filtering through his wired earbuds—a track he had certainly not added to his playlist himself after you forced him to listen to during your date last week, all while singing the lyrics dramatically—accompanied the light, making the serene moment look like a page taken straight out of one of the many shojo mangas housed in his bookshelves.
“Are you alright, Damian?” Your voice pulled him out of his trance, it took him a second to realize you were teasing him, not genuinely asking about his wellbeing. “If you keep staring at me like that, I will have no choice but to assume that you have missed me.”
Damian stiffened, a pretty shade of red dusting his cheeks. He looked down, pretending to be enamored with the dry medical text, one hand shooting up to stop the music.
“Do not flatter yourself.” He replied, voice dropping back into its usual defensive tone, even if its effect was ruined by the subtle softening of his demeanor, and the hint of love in his eyes. “I was merely observing your technique, which for your information is quite sloppy.”
You chuckled. Damian’s critique was empty, he always compliments your kohl, and you know he thinks it graceful. It was merely a not very good attempt at halting your teasing comments.
“Is that so?” You sassed, turning to address him directly, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done then, beloved?”
Never one to back down from a challenge, Damian abandoned his resting place.
He possessed no knowledge of how to correctly apply kohl beyond what he had seen his mother do, and the few times she applied it on him herself. He hoped that would be enough to one up you, at least for today.
He took his seat on the chair with you standing behind him, handing him the precious bottle of kohl.
“Go on.” You urged.
Damian held the antique vessel with the kind of intense care reserved for disarming an explosive weapon. He twisted the decorative crown of the bottle, revealing the kohl stained applicator.
It reminded him of his mother, how he would watch her sit on her vanity, twisting open her own kohl bottle and applying the powder to her eyes. Often, she would urge him to kohl his own, a habit that slowly faded away after his move to Gotham.
Concerned by his abnormal stillness, you called out his name while placing a hand on his shoulder.
Going off of his muscle memory, Damian brought the applicator up to his eyes, lining them. The action was a familiar sense of comfort, the rare moments when he wasn’t training or fighting, but spending time with his mother in mundane ways.
“This is a simple task, and my technique is clearly superior.” He boasted, turning to rest his free hand on your waist.
You allowed him to situate you on his lap, taking advantage of the proximity to dust off some stray kohl dust from under his lower lashes.
“Not bad, I don’t know about superior tho.”
He gave you one of his signature ’Tt’ in mock offended disbelief, acting as if the lack of your praise and approval was a blow to his honor.
“It is superior, beloved.” He persuaded, tightening his hold on you.
“Uhm, no.” You pushed back, holding back a fit of giggles. “It’s literally not.”
“Hayati.” He warned, his lips desperately wanting to stretch into a smile. However, he suppressed the urge.
Eventually, the fight over whose technique was better died down, leaving you snuggled up in silence.
You kept gazing at him, specifically his eyes. You couldn’t help it, the kohl complimented his sharp green eyes and you were impossibly weak for his gaze.
Unable to hold back your aggressive affection for the boy currently serving as your resting place, you surged up, brushing your lips to his cheek in a firm kiss, imprinting the shape of your lips in gloss on his honeyed skin.
He was not surprised, having learnt to anticipate your random displays of love.
“You are impossibly distracting, Damian.”
A satisfied hum vibrated through his chest. He would never admit it, but having you—his beloved—praise him for any reason did something funny to his chest.
“Am I now?” He lowered his head, resting his forehead against yours and making sure to maintain the eye contact; all to watch you unravel slowly under his intense, love filled gaze.
You pursued your lips in a pout, trying and failing to keep your heartbeat in check, much to the content of your boyfriend. Cracking under the pressure, you let your eyes stray away from his. Only for Damian to tilt his head, keeping himself in your line of sight.
“Do not look away from me, Habibti.”
Knowing that he had rendered you speechless, Damian decided to repay the kiss you gave him with one of his own, firmly pressing his lips to your glossed ones.
“There, now we are even.” He whispered against your lips, a slight smirk gracing his face.
“You are insufferable.” you stated, crossing your arms as he walked off with you still cradled safely in his embrace, being carried off like a disobedient princess.
Unfazed, Damian dropped himself back on his bed, adjusting you so you were more comfortable.
“You were the one who initiated the display, beloved.”
You huffed, finally dropping the defensive fold of your arms as you let your head rest against his shoulder.
There was no point in arguing with him when his body was this warm, and his hold on you was this comforting—besides, Damian let you win, and this argument could last for days if you let it.
“Now hold still, beloved.” He whispered into your hair, already resting his cheek onto your head, and closing his eyes.
Oh, how you two wished Gotham would stay quiet. Just for a little longer.