Tim propped his socked feet up on the upholstered foot-end to the only recliner, locking his fingers together and cracking his knuckles with a heavy sigh.

The span of tensing silence was getting absurd. Especially without Alfred being a buffer for a few hours when he left for errands.

"Want to watch a movie?" he finally asked Damian, glancing over at the sixteen-year-old evidently distracted with unscrewing the inner spring-loaded mechanics of the collapsible Bat-sword.

Damian muttered with his perfectly-formed, bared teeth clenching around some gutted, miniature wire coils, "Get bent, Drake."

Instead of choosing the option of getting pissy, like he may have awhile ago, Tim's eyes took a long, hard look at the mess around Damian on the floor. Normally, and a big hearty thank you to Alfred, the entertainment center to Wayne Foundation penthouse didn't get like this. A variety of tools and items from an older Batman utility belt had been discarded, some grouped together, others scattered without much consideration. "Lose some of your Bat marbles lately?" Terribleterrible crack, worthy of Dick's standards, but…

He smirked, a little cheeky, as Damian pulled the coils from between his lips and sent a cursory, dirty glare in Tim's direction before looking back to his screwdriver and to his project.

"Your humor is unnecessary and vexing. I'm working."

"You could, you know…" Tim said, leaning up from his casual sprawl against leathered cushions, "relax—just because Dick left you in charge of Gotham while he's out on League business—"

It was very much possible to feel the venom in Damian's voice as he said crossly, "He left you in charge, Drake."

"Dick asked me to help you, Damian. Okay? I'm not trying to take over. We're working together." Tim gave him an exasperated, sour look. "That's if you are willing to go along with it…"

A grunt — but not one of Damian's familiar or insulted ones — and a flash of something lewd bore right back into Tim's blue eyes as Damian's head jerked towards him.

"…I haven't dismissed your services yet, have I?"

Tim quirked an eyebrow at the carefully aimed hint of suggestion. Almost too subtle, too disguised for anyone else to catch.

If anything, Tim understood that there was an art to that sort of thing.


Gotham never slept restfully. Neither did her protectors.

Sleep took away crucial amounts of time, sleep took down barriers. Barriers they didn't feel comfortable letting down without absolute certainty.

The high-rise windows to Tim's guest room filtered in the city's humidity, weighing his body with dampness already from exertion, his body throbbing for release. He panted into the steady and progressing undulation; of sex he knew remarkably well — sex that, well, was usually rougher than this. His hand ran over curls of bristling, dark hair under Damian's bronzed navel, smoothing them as the next thrust — deeper; HARDER — wrenched out a strangled groan from Damian, moaning louder. He pressed his chest, heaving to the twin set of pillows, coming over Tim's wrist; dripping; hot.

"Uuh…" Tim murmured out his own orgasm beneath the sounds of Damian's labored breathing, slowing his thrusts against Damian's hips but still pushing inside until those lingering bits of pleasure sank away. Soft, and spent, Tim slipped out of him gently, keeping one hand firm over the space of Damian's tailbone. His thumb rubbed over Damian's stretched entrance; exploring; appreciative.

"One day we… should switch it up…" Tim breathed with obvious mocking, but snickered good-naturedly when Damian mumbled some curses into his forearm.

Heated and wet, Tim's tongue plunged itself inside Damian without prior warning, lapping at the come filling him — and Damian's breathing shortened to gasps as he shifted, arching the inside of his back, and clawing the ruined bed sheet. Refractory period. Fifteen minutes. Tim wiggled around Damian's muscles with a weak hum; slick; quivering; salty with Tim's come.

From his experience… a lot could happen in fifteen minutes.


"You're using a Philips screw with a Pozidriv tip, you know that, right?"

"No one asked you, Drake!" Damian sneered from across the kitchen table.

Tim snorted, mussing his towel through his showered hair. "Then don't bitch about it to me when you break the spring-load to the sword."

A smaller pair of blue eyes narrowed, icy and livid.

"… …WHAT did you call me?"

The screw in Damian's project cracked something that appeared very important, and then popped out.

"Master Tim, Master Damian, I have returned." Alfred rapped on the hallway wall with a patient hand as he carried in bags.

Damian grumbled as he shoved himself out of his chair dangerously tottering for the floor tiles, and went for the Bunker's elevators. "Pennyworth, I'm starving. Cook something adequate for once."

"Do you have a preference, Master Damian?" Alfred questioned, arranging the plastic bags on the table, and stepping aside intuitively when Damian stormed in his path.

The shout came from the recesses of the hallway, "NOT SHIT!"

Tim shrugged, walking up to Alfred's right side in the U-shaped kitchen, and remarked as he grabbed some cans for the pantry, "You eventually get use to him, Alfie… I think."

"Indeed, sir," Alfred replied with his habitual reservation, and then gazed mindfully at him. "And how are you faring, Master Tim?"

Tim blinked.

"Your blossoming relationship with Master Damian?"

Panic snatched onto Tim's inners. His hand grasping around one of the pantry handles tightened bone-white. "I…"

"It would not take a detective to make the educated guess." Alfred's lips slipped into a mysterious smirk. "I merely wash the laundry."

"We've been careful…" Tim felt like what he was saying sounded more like an excuse. They had been while cleaning up—god—just

Alfred nodded, not seeming disapproving, or concerned, or really anything other than… intentional.

"Slipups are not a crime. Nor do I believe having a physical attraction for someone."

Damian returned to the kitchen table, stomping, and with a pair of safety goggles over his face and a compact welder gun. He fired it up to fix his project mistake and silently ignored their existence.

Tim's relief faded. He whispered to the butler, "Dick doesn't…?"

"Master Dick is unaware of this development," Alfred confirmed with a whisper as well, turning on the oven, and Tim could do freaking cartwheels. "It's up to yourself and Master Damian when to reveal your relationship to him. Now, Master Tim, would you like this evening's main course to include the matsutake mushrooms in a stew or sautéed with garlic and rosemary?"


Tim moaned, open mouth clinging and sucking to Damian's shoulder. He slid a leg across Damian's waist, bare heel digging down when two long fingers inched against his prostate. The lubricant and the short break for deep, mediating breathes had been enough to ease him open for Damian's intrusion and ached for the sensation of those fingers skimming around nerves, purposely avoiding.

"Beg for it, Drake."

"-aah…fuck y-you," Tim said, gasping when the scarred pad of Damian's middle finger stopped over the slippery head of Tim's penis, pushing down hard. Shit.

"Your vocabulary is atrociously limited but I've also gathered that you know the meaning of the word 'beg' quite fully…" Tim let out a frustrated gurgle when Damian's fingers inside him began to pull out extra slow. "Or perhaps your intentions are to remain unsatisfied?"


"Damian…" He licked his lips, assaulted by biting kisses, and Damian's fingers stilled halfway. "I want you to-…please…" Tim let his voice soften, and was rewarded with a glimpse of Damian's erect penis responding with a faint twitch. The fingers slammed back to their full length, slammed back and against and back Tim's prostate ruthlessly, and Tim set his hips to piston, to mimic it blissfully.


He poked the outside of the cardboard box in Tim's arms with some caution. "What do we do with it?"

The lonely, calico kitten meowed noisily up at Damian and Tim fought back a deliberate smile as Damian's eyes took in the sight of the furry creature with an onset of fondness.

"Let's figure out a name for him first. That way, it will be more difficult for Alfred to kick him out of the penthouse."


I do not own brands of screwdrivers and screws, or anything Batman related.

This… turned out to be a continuation for "Adequate" by the end of the first/second draft. I didn't intend for that but, hey, it worked out. That being said, it's the same type of universe where it's Pre-Reboot but in the future where Dick is still playing Batman in Gotham while Bruce is playing Batman Inc. elsewhere. This was also a request by girlwonderrobyn who asked very nicely for more Tim/Damian M-rated ficcage (njfgjnfg I hope it met your needs) and I have discovered a Tim/Damian FST: Ashlee Simpson – "Nothing New". It was so them that I was stunned. Ahahaha. Any and all comments are appreciated~