Summary: Damian never saw such a thing in his life.
Disclaimer: I own no characters from this and make no money from writing such things.
Dedication: To Rose Midnight Moonlight Black, for previous writings on my behalf. This is short, but I hope it is pleasing.
Blinking back the light that caused him to go blind for a moment, its glare almost like the echo of a voice upon the dark shadow of the Wayne manor's kitchen in comparison, Damian caught sight of blue eyes staring from across the small island at him. Mirror blues of his own.
The elder brunette felt his eyes close a second and in the same instance, he pulled out the jug of milk so he could add it to cereal he usually only ate when prying eyes were not upon him. To eat something endorsed by 'Tony the Tiger' was not something he wanted to be pestered about, but seeing as Terry didn't look up to saying anything snide at the moment, forwent his secrecy and flicked on the light attached to the stove.
Terry's eyes narrowed at the even worse onslaught of light, but said nothing. He simply brought the cold cup of coffee he had been nursing for over an hour up to his lips and felt his teeth gnaw at the cold container itself.
"You look terrible," Damian started, snarky as usual but without the general bite he had when wide awake. He took his seat on the other side of the island and unloaded his cereal into a bowl. The only food he could provide himself at this late hour without waking up Colin or Bruce with the smoke detector going off. Stupid bloody toasters.
Terry tried to chuckle, but pulled it back at the last moment, a lightly irritated expression causing his face to tweak, "Urgh, I feel terrible."
"Bad night on the town?"
The new Dark Knight lowered his cup and felt rather than allowed his head to thunk against the counter, the chill from the tile sending a chill up his head and through his hair, "No. It wasn't even that bad. Just a few Jokerz and Splicers, but…I can't go to sleep. My yawn…"
Here the young man stopped, and Damian could practically gorge himself on the embarrassment permeating from him. But rather than provoke an argument when he was attempting to make sure the only other people he gave a damn about stayed asleep upstairs, Damian munched on a spoonful of cereal.
"Your yawn, what?"
Slightly worn down fingers tapped repeatedly beside his head and against his coffee cup, and after deciding that 'whatever, I don't really care' was the best way to go about this sort of thing at four in the morning, Terry answered, but kept his head down, "My yawn is stuck."
Damian raised a brow. He was pretty sure he heard right…
"Stuck? I'm pretty sure those things don't get stuck."
Terry lifted his head, "Mine does. When I come home from patrol and get particularly tired, sometimes my throat seizes up and whenever I try and finish it, the rest won't come. Like highly evolved hiccups. Except these come with headaches, too."
The other brunette resisted, resisted and resisted again, but he couldn't help it. He let out a laugh, almost cruel, but not quite. Some of his milk splashed out of his bowl and dotted the counter, his spoon swiftly joining it as his laughter continued, trying to brace his arms upon the counter.
"It is not-!" Terry started to say, but was interrupted.
Damian never saw such a thing in his life.
First the younger man's mouth opened to start the yawn, teeth showing like a lion's, but then whatever breath built up to be released into the atmosphere stopped. Terry's throat made what Damian could only assume was a pained sound and the Wayne heir was suddenly caught by the urge to get up and check if he was choking. Terry gave three sharp intakes of breath and then his mouth shut.
He looked extremely mortified as well as displeased.
"…Wow," Damian muttered, taking up his utensil and bowl and set them in the sink, the metal clinging, but not enough to make any impact, not really.
"Make it stop," Terry groaned, head back atop the tile, almost pleading, "I want to sleep! And it won't go away without someone else to instigate another yawn."
Damian certainly was going to do no such thing as instigate a yawn. How insane would that look? However...
The tall, well built man walked around the young, increasingly more miserable man and, without anything to suggest he would have done anything else, brought up a hand to a pressure point in Terry's neck.
The result was as expected. He was out like a light and would have fallen completely from his seat, had Damian not wrapped an arm around his stomach and—without much of a thought—tossed him upon his own shoulder like a sack of vegetables.
The kid would have a slight ache in his neck in the morning, but Damian didn't care. Now he would be thinking about this…whatever had just happened to Terry…well into tomorrow. He was no doctor, but this would be something to either keep him occupied when his mind wandered or very (very) amused.
Amused was more likely though. This would make for a fine piece of blackmail.