Summary: written for the dc kink meme.

Prompt: ‘Future!fic, Dick/Damian, costume fetish. Bonus points if Damian puts on Dick's old Robin suit.’

A/N: In case anyone doesn't know – in current DC continuity Bruce Wayne is dead (yeah, we'll see how long that lasts) and his former protégé Dick Grayson (the first Robin) has donned the cowl to fill in as Batman. The current Robin is Damian Wayne, Bruce's son with Talia al Ghul of the League of Assassins.

Warnings: D/S, spanking, smut. Dick is about 30 years old here, and Damian is 17 (which is over the legal age of consent where I come from. He’s fictional, ok? I’m not advocating you do this with your own teenage sidekick IRL).

“Robin, stop fooling around back there. We need to scavenge the parts for the gyrostabliser and get back to the tower.” Dick pushed the cowl back and carded his fingers through his hair before whipping the dust-cloth off what turned out to be an old batbike model.

Damian’s voice echoed flatly across the cave. “You really used to wear this?”

Dick straightened up and turned his head, immediately recognising something different about the approaching form as he caught sight of the younger man. The drape of fabric about his shoulders maybe –

As Damian stepped into the light all was revealed (or if not all, more than usual) – he sported Dick’s old costume.

It was certainly a striking effect – Damian was recently turned seventeen but still slight, the bulk of the muscle not yet filled in. Dick’s mouth went dry as he took in length of the current Robin’s bare legs, the muscles of his long, slim thighs taut. An idle thought strayed unbidden across his mind: turns out the brat’s leggings and hoodie get-up was hiding quite a body.

But you knew that already, a darker voice said.

The only thing of the kid’s own left on was the green pvc Doc Martens, unlaced and gaping – obviously he had decided the soft-soled pointed boots were ridiculous and beneath him, or they had proved to be the wrong size...

‘It’s impractical, to say the least. Kind of tight, aren’t they?” Damian’s fingers tugged at the elastic at the join between his thigh and hip. “Or maybe,” he gave one of his superior, knowing smirks, “you didn’t have that much to fill them with back then?”

Goddamn Damian, making everything seem sinister and wrong. The costume was a relic from back in the days when Robin didn’t say things like ‘fuck you, scumbag’ or ‘I was raised by assassins and I can cripple you from here’. The first Robin had been a symbol of everything that was good and innocently carefree – a nimble, tumbling, high-kicking acrobat in bright, cheerful silks. There was nothing indecent about that, and Bruce had certainly never looked at him like he was currently looking at–

... Like Damian – with that smile and that stance – was encouraging, intimating that he should look–

He hid his agitation behind a businesslike tone: “we don’t have time for this. Go and get changed.”

“No really, I’m thinking of going out like this tonight. It would certainly be distracting.” Damian tossed the cape of bright yellow satin behind his shoulders and planted his gauntleted hands on his hips, puffing his chest out. “I’ve seen the old newspaper cuttings: ‘Dynamic Duo Chortle at Joker’s Boner’ and all that...” he sniggered. “What kind of things was it you used to shout? ‘Holy corrupting juveniles, Batman!’.”

“Enough, Robin. It was a different time.”

Damian came closer, sauntering over to lean against the desk of the supercomputer console. “Yeah. So, did Batman ever take you down here and spank you for endangering the mission?”

“Not like you’re thinking.”

“Oh, so he did? Panties on or off?”

“Damian,” Dick stepped forward and grasped his sidekick by the upper arms, aiming what he hoped was a chastening glare at him.

“No real names,” he chided, breaking the grip easily by jerking his arms in and up. Dick almost flinched when hands reached towards his face, curling around his neck and tugging the cowl back into position.

The growl came unbidden into his voice, slipping into place as easily as the purpose-moulded mask and hi-tech lenses which let him see Damian better in the twilight beyond the scope of the spots – colouring him faintly green around the edges and lighting his eyes up bright and eerie, like a nocturnal animal caught on camera. “I’ve had enough of your games tonight–”

“Yes,” Damian agreed, fingers trailing over the green feather-decal fabric stretched over the muscles of his lower abdomen. “I’m a very bad Robin, aren’t I?”

“You are.” Dick found himself leaning in, looming over the younger man. “You’re arrogant and undisciplined. You’re a danger to yourself and others. You claim you’re ready to be Batman, but you’re just a brat with a chip on your shoulder and something to prove.”

Damian hung his head, his mouth turning down at the corners. “So... I’ll never be good enough?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then make me good enough.” Damian’s fingers traced the symbol on Dick’s chest, his voice low and emphatic like his words were a formula or mantra: “I need you to make me worthy.”

“First,” Dick said in the voice still not his own, catching the strange stylized tone of the other’s speech, “you have to be sorry.”

“Make me,” Damian repeated, turning around and – oh God! – bracing his hands against the console, bending.

Dick reached out, the supple leather of the glove creaking quietly as he slipped it under the hem of the bright red tunic to lay his palm against the small of Damian’s back, feeling him shudder very slightly. A sadistic streak of enjoyment which Dick hadn’t realised was there welled up as he leaned over and murmured in the younger man’s ear: “panties on or off?”

Damian answered with a grunt, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pushing the green pixie shorts down his thighs and past his knees to pool on the floor and be deftly kicked aside with a booted toe.

Behind the lenses, Dick’s eyes widened, his hand slipping downwards to the v at the very base of the younger man’s spine, the palm veering to the right to cup and squeeze.

Damian let out something like a whimper and leaned further forward, burying his face in his arms.

“What should you sorry for, Robin?”

“You know. You know. Tell me.”

“For all the backtalk?”

“Yes - AH!”

The force stung his palm and reverberated up his arm, and as he took his hand away he saw the perfect print of it flash white and then colour pink across the expanse of smooth, rounded flesh.

“For all the times you lost control and took it too far?”

“Yes.”

Another smack, placed at a different angle for variation, made the younger man’s head jerk.

“For hurting Tim?”

“No. Little fucker was asking for– AGH! Ok, ok, yes.”

Dick grinned. “For being an insufferable prima donna?”

“Fuck you Gray– AGH.”

“No real names in the field,” he murmured, pinching the over-sensitized flesh before laying another hard blow just where the top of Damian’s left thigh met the tender curve of his ass. Damian cursed and then sighed, shifting his hips and pushing back against Dick’s hand.

“You love this.”

The younger man nodded and wet his lips, one hand dipping to fumble with the pop-fastening of one of the utility belt’s pockets. Dick made a curious sound in his throat, reaching in to discover the contents. A bottle of lube – well, that’s a new feature, he thought absently, ‘for today’s Robin on-the-go’.

Immediately, he bit off one glove and coated his fingers. Damian watched him over one shoulder, his cheek pressed against the desktop, an eye glinting. When the first finger slipped in, Damian’s spine arched, his head snapping back as he let out a moan loud enough to echo through the cave. Dick became suffused with a prickling heat which pooled in his face and groin just from watching the digit penetrating and reappearing... and from feeling warmth radiating off the kid’s body and watching the hand-prints slowly fade – as Damian sprawled forward and allowed it all to happen. He built up a rhythm before working a second finger in alongside the first, noting with satisfaction that this addition provoked a different, higher cry.

“Is this what you’ve been wanting?” He began to twist the fingers every time he pulled them back, fascinated by the way it made Damian screw his eyes closed and caused his jaw to flex and bottom lip tremble. He had never before seen him so open – the younger man’s expressive register was generally limited to ‘surly’ and/or ‘angry’.

“Yes, God, yes,” he choked out. “Been waiting for you...”

“Liar. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, is it?” Dick removed the fingers entirely, prompting a grunt of discomfort and annoyance.

“It is, it is...” Damian insisted, pushing his hips outwards in a distinctly un-virginal display until another hard smack made him rock up onto his toes and back to the ground.

“You think I don’t watch what you get up to in Titan’s Tower? You think I haven’t put your room there under surveillance?” As the words left his mouth, Dick blinked behind the mask, wondering when, exactly, had he started method-acting Batman, cultivating this obsessive need to observe and control everyone and everything...

“Tch, you think I didn’t notice the bugs and cameras? I let you watch,” Damian sniggered, slyness creeping back into what was visible of his expression. “Did you enjoy the show, you dirty old man?”

“It just goes to show that you can’t be trusted.” Dick delivered another sharp smack and squeezed a handful of the abused flesh in his gauntleted hand, knowing the abrasive texture on the palms and tips of the gloves would feel maddening. “Manipulating your teammates like that. Using them, playing with their affections. You should be ashamed, you sully the good name of Robin.”

He watched Damian pout exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. I should give up on you.”

“No, no,” the younger man turned, his arm snaking out to catch Dick’s wrist. “I can be good. I won’t disappoint you again!”

Dick wasn’t sure what he was talking about – who he was talking to. For an eerie moment he thought it might be Bruce that Damian was imagining, but as he observed the way the younger man’s eyes were fixed upon the symbol, he felt that he understood.

He drew himself taller and twitched the cape so the folds of dark fabric fell around them both. His voice deepened – now Batman was doing the talking.

“You were trying to make me jealous, make me angry – flaunting yourself with those others. It was pointless – you know you belong to me, you can’t get away.”

“Yes,” Damian agreed, staring up at the cowl with an expression something like religious ecstasy, “I know.” He dropped to his knees, hands working quickly at pulling the bottom half of the costume from under the utility belt and halfway down Dick’s thighs.

He narrowed his eyes in the same appraising way he always did before going to work on an engine as he ducked his head and leaned in to lick a stripe up the underside of Dick’s cock with the flat of his tongue. Dick’s groan came out as a low-pitched rumble in his chest, one hand moving to cradle the back of Damian’s skull as lips parted to take him in.

As Damian’s head began to bob and his palms pressed against Dick’s hipbones, all the prior fooling around with teammates finally came into perspective. The kid had wanted to practice, to perfect, Dick realised dimly, the jealousy of the previous moment being replaced in his mind with a complacent satisfaction: Robin is mine.

“Good,” Dick gasped, trailing his fingers through the short, silky hairs at the nape of the other’s neck in encouragement. “That’s very good.”

Around him Damian gave a self-satisfied smile before pulling away, the head of Dick’s cock leaving his mouth with a slick pop. He then pulled himself up on the console, leaning back on one arm and bracing his heels on Batman’s waist, the slender fingers of his free hand closing around the base of his own lapsed erection and stroking it back to hardness.

And all Dick could think was that, yeah, the kid is fucked-up beyond all belief and probably always will be, but he’s also magnificent. He found himself bending forward, leaning in to kiss the insolent curve of his upper lip; in response the younger man turned away pettishly, so Dick raised his hand to grasp the sharply-defined jaw and hold him in place. Damian’s mouth eventually slackened under the demanding assault, the point of a tongue flickering against his as Dick’s free hand crept up to unfasten the red tunic, the fingers clumsy on buttons he had only ever worked from the opposite perspective.

With Damian’s chest bared – heaving and glowing with perspiration – Dick smirked and used the still-gloved hand to pinch his nipples, making him twist and cry out.

“Just do it, come on,” Damian demanded, looking between them to where Dick applied lubricant to his cock all too slowly.

“Impatient,” Batman’s voice chided.

“Oh–” whatever Damian had in retort was lost in a sharply-sucked breath and another of those strange, uncharacteristic whimpers as Dick tilted his hips and pressed in.

Damian’s heels crossed over his back, the crushing grip of knees and muscular thighs around his waist pulling Dick in closer. He paused for one moment, overwhelmed by the tightness of the other’s body around him and the sight of so much bare skin. Damian trembled and jerked so violently in Dick’s arms it seemed like he would come apart, but after a just few seconds he regained his composure, looking up through damp strands of dark hair to bite out: “move you bastard.”

As Dick rolled his hips, stroking in and out and slowly building in a tightly-controlled rhythm, he stared down at the younger man in greedy fascination: teeth indented Damian’s bottom lip; arm muscles knotted with strain as he rocked himself forward to meet Dick’s thrusts, head falling back and throat bobbing as he swallowed – lost in pleasure as if it was his birthright.

Yes, magnificent.

When he pushed in deep and grasped the base of Damian’s cock, feeling him shudder and hearing him cry out, hands scrabbled over sweat-dampened lycra, digging in to Dick’s shoulders with such force that he could feel the points the kid’s fingernails even through padded gloves.

“Ah!” Damian’s eyes widened, giving him a look as if the intensity of sensation surprised him – then, a run on exclamation as he came: “OhfuckBatmanyes!”

The sight of Damian’s face contorting like that because of him and the patterning of pearly strands casting across a lean, pale abdomen and chest were enough to finish Dick too.

All the Robins have been different, he reflected, his mind floating independent of the warm exhaustion weighing down his body as he slumped against Damian in a tangled heap of limbs and fabric.

... The first was an acrobat; the second a boy so unwisely fueled by vengeance; the third was a detective; the fourth, a warrior. Damian’s independence and a savagery were what Dick had spent years endeavouring to tame – but perhaps that urge was wrong. Perhaps those qualities were what time would require of him.

Once he had rearranged his costume, Dick leaned in the stroke the kid’s flushed cheek and went to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. When Damian turned his face away again, he pulled it back, more roughly this time.

“Grow up,” Batman said, turning with a flurry of the cape and leaving him sprawled there, half sliding off the countertop. As he neared the area where the showers were he paused, turning his head to glance back and growling: “well, are you coming?”

Damian gave another one of those infernally pleased with himself smiles as he dragged a hand back through his hair and hopped onto the ground, letting the tunic and utility belt slide off and leaving the Robin outfit in ruins behind him.

- END

A/N:

I figure that once Damian gets to fifteen/sixteen and realises that he’s hot he becomes the Teen Titans’ resident machiavel and Lothario. He’s Talia al Ghul’s kid, I can’t imagine him failing to use his looks to make trouble. Man-slutty Damo FTW!

The glorious camp of the silver age has been ret-conned out of existence, apparently, but I sure as hell didn’t vote for that, DiDio. Bring back random spankings, inappropriate costumes and hilarious double-entendres, I say!

‘Holy corrupting juveniles, Batman!’ is from an episode of the sixties TV show involving a finishing academy for female crooks. Like seriously, you couldn’t make that crack up.