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Jonathan had a habit since they were kids—a habit motivated by Damian’s misbehavior, which Jon would argue was putting himself in danger, and which Damian argued was a tactical move for the mission. Damian had a feeling that habit was incoming.
“You rushed again!” Jon raised his arms, his eyes—wide and yet so exasperated—felt like they could pull Damian in and drown him in blue, crystal waters. Damian glared at Jon through his peripheral vision, his arms remained crossed on his chest as he sneered.
“And you ruined our chance at putting down Vandal once and for all,” Damian retorted, turning on his heel to face his hovering partner. He raised his chin and rolled his shoulders back—his gaze narrowed and rather arrogant. This wasn’t Damian Wayne—this was the gaze of Damian Al Ghul.
“You underestimate me, Superboy.” The words cut like sharp ice, slivery and rushed—he was offended. How dare Jon not trust him? There was no denying that Jon knew Damian was capable—he was raised a weapon before a human, after all.
To his surprise, Jon sneered back at him. “You’re too reckless—fighting Vandal alone? Are you serious!”
“I am not made of porcelain, Superboy. You know well that I’m well versed in combat to handle this myself.”
Damian tutted, turning his head to the side—an almost childish display, yet he was too emotional to catch his rather unpoised demeanor.
A long, tired, guttural groan ripped through Jon’s throat as his feet touched the roof gently. His hands carded through his dark curls, his tongue sticking out to moisten his dry, chapped lips. Damian’s eyes took note of everything: the waver in Jon’s voice, his slacked posture, and his lips. Especially his lips. He tutted again, thinking of himself to be a fool for his lover. He could feel his anger lessen in intensity just by observing his worried beloved.
His pulse quickened just a bit, hesitation a hair’s width away from taking over his fury before he reined it in to focus—to remain stubborn.
“Look, D. You know what happened last time you went through this alone.” Jon took in a sharp breath, nostrils flared as his gaze turned downcast—and he shuddered.
Of course Damian knew—the time he fought Slade himself when he’d come back. He remembered how close he’d been to death—how Jon struggled to forgive himself for not coming to his aid fast enough. And for a moment, they had all believed that he would not make it—a rather underwhelming notion in Damian’s book. There was no doubt he’d make it. He wasn’t weak. Albeit, it had been rather humiliating that he’d lost against Slade.
“Tt. And that means I can’t handle myself against Vandal?” He pushed back, glaring at the man before him. A sigh slipped past Jon’s frowning lips as he shook his head and tapped his foot.
“It means that you need to be more cautious.”
“I don’t need to be—”
“Damian.”
Damian snarled, dropping his arms to his hips in a sharp, scolding stance—if the moment hadn’t been rather intense, Jon would’ve joked that Damian looked like an angry Lois scolding him.
“Codenames, Superboy.”
Jon narrowed his eyes, nostrils flared. “Robin,” he corrected himself.
“We aren’t kids anymore; you need to know when to hold back.”
“Exactly, we aren’t kids, and I can handle myself.”
And that seemed to have done it. Jon threw his arms over his head and let out a wail—he’d given up. Damian was just too stubborn to get through, and although he loved the brat to bits, he was not well-equipped in the moment to handle a seething Robin.
“That’s it!” Jon groaned, his feet raising as he began to hover in the air. Damian’s gaze followed upward to watch Jon cautiously as he took a step back.
This was it, he knew exactly what was coming. Wasting no time, Damian slung over the roof to an adjacent building, running with quick efficiency. Yet Jon had been faster—his super abilities put him at an obvious advantage, and Damian never hated them more than in this moment. He was caught by his waist and flown up in the sky, his back against a strong, well-built chest.
“Let me down, Kent!”
Jon flew higher into the air, his bulging arms caging in the leanly built former assassin. Damian could easily dislodge himself from Jon’s hold—and even Jon knew that. Had it not been for the fact that they were suspended in the sky, he would’ve been well free by now. The threat of falling to his death was far superior to feeding his hurt ego.
“Nuh-uh. Not until you accept your mistake and say sorry.” Jon shook his head, a slight grin adorning his face.
“You fool. You still do this and give me the talk about how we’re not kids anymore? Let me down this instant.”
And Jon—that despicable farm boy—had the gall to laugh at Damian instead. His arms tightened around the flailing limbs of his lover and he spun, hovering even higher into the dark sky. Jon wheezed as his forehead rested on the back of Damian’s neck, the little hair there pricking at his skin, but he paid no heed to it. All the past moments’ worry had dissipated into amusement, while Damian’s fury had only intensified with Jon’s teasing.
“Nope. You were being a brat, and that called for air jail. Now where’s my sorry, sweet-cheeks?”
And if this couldn’t get any better—the faint red taint flushing the nape of Damian’s tan neck made it too good to be true. Gods, he yearned to see those emerald eyes beneath that mask.
“Sweet-cheeks? Are you serious, Jon?” Damian’s voice almost cracked, his shriek getting lost in the clouds, and if he was in his right mind—he’d be composed and not fuming at being called sweet-cheeks.
“I think someone’s not saying a word they should be saying right now.” Jon spoke, a wide toothy grin marring his face as he turned Damian in his arms around to face him, so that he wouldn’t have to crank his neck to look at Jon behind him.
“Release me at once, Kent! Or so help me—”
“Magic words first.”
And if Damian’s glare couldn’t deepen anymore—it did, in fact, deepen even further. Jon swallowed, though his teasing grin never faltered even for a moment. He was enjoying this far more than Damian liked, and this was exactly why he despised this since they’d been kids. Air jail was a habit of Jon’s that he found less than endearing.
“You have a death wish.”
“You sure talk big. I haven’t died yet, D.”
“Yet, Kent. Now put me down.”
Jon tsked, shaking his head as he tightened his grip, his blue eyes glimmering as the moonlight shone on his face.
“Nope, not unless you apologize.”
Damian threw his head back, sighing before his grit came back. He was not about to give in this easily. Among the many qualities Jon had fallen in love with, Damian’s fiery spirit was no exception. In fact, it was probably Jon’s most favorite. Damian never easily backed down. Well, he never backed down, but with Jon, a few exceptions could be made.
“No.”
Jon tilted his head, mirroring a puppy-like look on his face. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “This is getting tedious.”
Jon’s grin widened. “You know this can all stop pretty easily if you just…” He trailed off, giving Damian a knowing look, to which Damian responded with a sneer.
“Not a chance, hayseed.”
Jon hummed, breathing in Damian’s scent as he nuzzled his neck before pulling away—and he shrugged. “Alright then, we can do this however long you’d like.”
Damian’s lips pulled down into a frown, and if he wasn’t wearing his mask—Jon would know that his eyes had widened just a tad. And he was thankful for this bit.
“You won’t dare.” He spoke, chin raised as he challenged Jon.
“Oh, I dare,” Jon replied, humming a tune. Damian recognized the song—it was the same one Jon wouldn’t stop playing during their trip to the farm. Some Nirvana song, was it? His lips thinned out into a straight line.
“You are insufferable.”
Jon merely chuckled in response before it died down, his sapphire eyes gleamed a bit less as a subtle frown took over his chiseled features. He really was no longer that stupid, dumb boy—he was a man with the power to bend the world to his will. A living, breathing god.
And yet this man loved Damian. A worried gaze settled in Jon’s eyes.
“Please, Damian, never do that again… you know how—”
His voice cracked, and he pulled Damian impossibly closer to his warm body. Damian raised both eyebrows, his cheek squashed against Jon’s chest, his eyes softening ever so slightly.
“How much it… hurt when that happened to you. Please, Dami’. I just want you to take care of yourself.”
Jon leaned back, gazing down at his lover with so much love that it knocked the air out of Damian’s lungs, and he almost stuttered.
“I… tt. Alright. I am sorry, and I won’t… do it again.” Damian grumbled under his breath, gazing down at their tangled bodies as a red tint took over his bronze-colored cheeks. Of course he’d fall for it—he had always fallen for it. Jon never failed to make him feel like some insipient, love-drunk fool.
But perhaps he didn’t mind. Not that he’d admit it.
Jon’s eyes widened and a bright, gleaming smile replaced his worried frown as he twirled them in the air as some sort of victory dance. And for a moment, Damian quite literally could not breathe at the sight of his beloved smiling so brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling—and one of his eyes closing more than the other, an asymmetry he had grown to find endearing.
Rolling his eyes, he cleared his throat as he gave a pointed look downward. “I believe I’ve served my time.”
“Oh, right.” Jon brought them both down on the building’s roof, carefully placing Damian on the ground as if he were made of fine china.
“One of your better landings, I must say.”
Jon merely grinned.
“Don’t take this as a complete victory, Kent. I’ll have my revenge.” Damian tsked, straightening his uniform out.
“I’ll be waiting for that, Robin.” Jon huffed out a chuckle, coming forward to stand next to Damian.
“I love you, Dami.” The words came fast—before he could even put any thought to what he would say. And he regretted none of it. He loved Damian, and there was no denying that. He raised his arm, hand hovering for a moment to rest on Damian’s shoulder, but he pulled away.
Damian had not missed the hesitation in Jon’s moves.
“Tt. Foolish man.” Damian grabbed Jon’s larger arm and moved it to rest on his shoulder. “You’re shying away now?” He raised an irritated eyebrow at Jon.
Jon coughed—faux clearing his throat—as his grip tightened on Damian’s shoulder. “C’mon, D… I’m just nervous.”
“We have eloped in bed. This should be nothing to you.” Damian spoke, resting his weight on one foot as he smirked up at Jon, enjoying getting back at the other man.
Spluttering, Jon took a few steps back as he ran a hand through his curls—mussing up his hair. “I—I, um, just. Fuck, Damian.” He groaned as he covered his face with his hands.
Damian huffed out a small, airy chuckle as he strode toward Jon in powerful, confident steps. He pulled Jon’s hands down, uncovering his flushed face.
“I love you too, habibi,” he whispered, so low—yet he knew Jon heard it.
Jon’s pale skin flushed to an impossible shade of reddish-pink as he grumbled low in his throat, covering his face back. Damian rarely would say I love you back, and when he would—Jon felt like melting into putty each time. He felt as if his bones had turned into sand.
“I hate you.”
“Payback.” Damian smirked, stepping back. And Jon glared at him.
“Oh, it’s on.”
He proceeded to chase Damian all over Gotham City. Undoubtedly, he could’ve caught Damian easily with his superpowers, but he reveled in the chase—reveled in the little bursts of laughter tearing through Damian’s beautiful mouth.
That was until he was back serving air jail again in Jon’s arms. Air jail was intolerable. Except… when it was Jon.