The internet happened to be an advantageous creation — especially when a teenager was on an exceedingly private and 'there-was-no-way-in-hell-anyone-could-trace-his-history-files-just-try-it-Drake' investigation on how to pleasure oneself to the fullest extent. And what of it if the son of Batman could not be immune to those visceral and somewhat bothersome compulsions?

Wasn't even a concern.

That was what the shower was for.

Letting the hot, steamy water roll off his shoulders, down the scarred patches on his back, down the longest one on his spine, Damian lowered himself to a bench squat with one hand to the wall. The head of his penis nudged away from his sinewy thighs squeezing together. Waited too long with how painfully erect it was becoming. No matter. Damian glided his thumb and index finger on the surface where veins ripened against bronze skin, and he tightened his lips together when his throat clenched for a gasp before pinching the tip. Preferred method, yes, but wasn't enough this time.

He pulled his hand away to reach between his cheeks and locate his entrance, stroking in small, tight circles when Damian could feel himself relaxing.

It wasn't as if this was the first time he pleasured himself… the statistics of his age group and gender group indicated doing so was normal for a fifteen-year-old male… but maybe not for something like this. And without the recommended basics the alleged "experts" explained via internet to ease the process (Damian would sooner compliment Fatgirl than have his father discover a miniature bottle of ID Glide Personal Lubricant among his possessions)…well, this would certainly be worthy of mental cataloging.

Deeming himself ready, Damian forced the stroking finger to the first knuckle to find a solid wall of heated muscle to greet him further on. Damn. When was this supposed to be pleasant…?

Several rapping knocks on the closed, bolted door. "Damian," a familiar voice called out, sunnily, "Do you have a minute?"


"Grayson, remove yourself from the premises this instant!" At the curt and breathless order, a lighthearted chuckle followed.

"…But I just got in." Grayson was teasing him. And he had to do it right now. "And besides, Alfie's cooking my favorite. Did you want lasagna tonight?"

"I don't care—just LEAVE," Damian snapped.

Grayson's presence wasn't withering away his erection so much as it was straining it to darken in color. No, his body didn't want Grayson to leave. Damndamndamn.

"It feels like I haven't talked to you in ages, little D… not since Bruce got back into Gotham…"

"Don't…" Damian huffed, pushing air through his teeth and growling as his inserted finger dug past the ring of anal muscles, "…call me that. I am nnn-not a child." Hot. Thick.

Grayson's voice softened with sentimentality, barely heard over the background roar of running shower water, and Damian's finger curled inside towards his testes. Reality sank in. He was fingering himself to Grayson's voice. He was finger-fucking himself raw to Grayson's voice. "You aren't. I just miss having you around. I hope you know that. We should patrol sometime."

There. Right there. Something… that curled up his wet toes into themselves. "Hnngn-…!" Damian grazed again at what felt like a fairly prominent ridge among the heaving — heaving because of him, because of what Grayson was inadvertently doing to him — and softer muscles, and swayed in place to the flats of his heels as he smacked an open palm to his mouth.

"Hey, Damian, are you okay in there?" Aargh. Grayson heard that.

"…Fine. Go away."

Another gentle chuckle. Distinctly warm. Damian returned to grasping himself, rubbing up and down in a steady pace. Grayson. "I'll just say you want the lasagna, okay?" Dick told him. Footsteps padding away. How many years… how many since they had been partnered up together, taking down the filth of this city as Batman and Robin? How many since they had seen each other…?

The calloused pad of Damian's thumb smoothed along his wet slit.

Grayson probably still had that ridiculous smile he used on everyone, even when proven an incompetent fool, and that ridiculous look of pride and compassion in his eyes…

Damian's fingers pinched himself. Again. Again. He hissed out his orgasm, spilling and mixing along with the water fading into the shower drain. Knees feeling weakened, Damian stood to plant both hands to the wall, tipping his head backwards and letting his hair plaster to his skull, the hot stream rinsing the sweat gathered on his face. Droplets clung to his eyelashes. Grayson.


Because who doesn't like a good ole Damian masturbating fic from time to time? :3