Pairing/Charac: BruceDick, Damian
Words: 1284
Rating: K?
Notes: I have no self control, fuq school. Co-written-ish with Tictoc via comments inspired bythis. no beta cause I got none.

Summary: Damian should learn not to snoop in this family.

Damian stares down his father with the best blank face he's learned. The face drilled in him from his days in the League. He's fighting down the twitching, disapproving, disturbed frown along with the urge to wipe his hands on something. To get rid of the disgusting whatever he felt after accidentally touching the thing lying innocently in his father's office desk, placed squarely, neatly on top of important documents between golden pens and letter openers.

Surface reflecting the sunlight streaming from the floor to ceiling windows of the Wayne Enterprise office.

Shining slick behind framed glass and rich, dark wood.

A picture of Grayson.

Laying back.

Clad in a blue navy suit.

Legs up.

Self indecently exposed.

Shorts, too short, hiding nothing.

Cheeks ruddy, eyes plea-

"Damian I didn't-"

Damian turns up his nose at his father, pivots on a toe, wipes his fingers against his t-shit as hard as he can, and wings it out of the office. He has a moment to regret the almost hurt shine of his father's eyes, but better a disgusted face than a hot blush to match the mortified glow slowly climbing his stoic, usually stoic, father's face.

Even his father's work desk is unsafe.

He tries his best to avoid his father for a whole week. Feels so grateful his father excels in avoidance when he's at a loss.

Neither of them want to talk about the thing.

Dinners with eyes pointedly looking a tad to the right or left. Robin listening to orders with head held down, in concentration, in still fresh embarrassment.

Batman as mechanical as necessary.

But Dick.

Dick's different.

Dick's making his life a living hell.

Each day the older man deems it necessary to bother he and his father, talking about his day living outside the manor, cracking jokes that makes Drake laugh brainlessly.

To drop by andhelp -ask inane questions, smile stupidly, flirt unabashed, touch indiscreetly- on whatever case the Dynamic Duo is tackling that given day.

Each day the man crosses Damian's vision…

He's wearing that god-awful bright blue atrocity.

Thighs flashing away from the dark blues and greys of jeans to scarred tan skin.

And those eyes…

A living, breathing, moving, chasing hell.

Damian grits his teeth as he darts into an open door the moment he hears the light, bouncy hops of the older man's footsteps echoing in the hallway ahead of him. He sees Drake's mouth open in protest before he covers it with a bruising grip and a death glare. Daring him to be the shitty brother he is.

He finds out that Drake is the worst with an impromptu screech as he withdraws his slick, licked palm, now covered in whatever germs breed in Drake's filth-ridden mouth.

Aims a baleful glare as he hears a "Damian!" yelled excitedly down the hall.

Footsteps closer.

Damian dives towards the room's window, gets a face full of Drake's bony chest before bouncing to the hardwood floor.

"Drake move or I will end you!"

"Nope!" The asinine asshole smirks down at him, "Dick's all touchy-feely 'cause you're not being a good little bro."

"Move or I will castrate you in your sleep," He pushes off the ground, imitating the growling depth of Batman's voice.

"As if you can."

Drake's smirk has him seeing red, but before his clawed hands reach to strangulate that idiotic, patronizing smile off of Drake's face, he's held up in the air by his armpits.

Legs dangling shamefully in the air.

"Unhand me Grayson!" Damian hears an offending chuckle from Drake that has him struggling against the firm grip holding him up.

"What's up with you this week, kiddo?" Dick places him down on the floor, before flipping him forward with a firmer grip on his shoulders. Staring at Damian with furrowed eyes.

"Let me rip out his throat first," He snarls at the older man, averting his eyes quickly when his mind starts wandering from those eyes once again.

"C'mon Damian, what's up?" Dick's puppy-dog eyes is all he can see, "Even this is more neurotic than usual…"

"Let me go," Damian looks a point above the older man's shoulder.

"Damian, please?"

"Stop with the god damn eyes!" He almost spits at Dick's confused face, "It's the same damn eyes you gave, give, him."

"What?"

"The shorts hid nothing," Damian wishes away the heat spreading on his cheeks, "Nothing!"

He watches Dick's face shift from utter confusion to embarrassed understanding. The frown transform to a sheepish smile, "You weren't supposed to see that."

Damian growls louder, this time ready to claw that school-boy smile off of Grayson's face.

"I was teasing Bruce, you kno-"

"That wasn't teasing!" Damian doesn't hyperventilate. The rise and fall of his chest, the rapid intake and exhale all from anger.

"Well-"

"Grayson!"

Dick utters a quick laugh before he's engulfed in a warm embrace, face crushed against a plain white tee. Being pulled closer with an amused grip. "Lighten up, little D."

"Get off of me," Damian weakly struggles. He knows the more he resists, the stronger he'd be held.

"I'm sorry."

"It was right there."

"Where Bruce is only supposed to see," Dick's voice reverberates on his chest, still amused, but trying to apologize.

"Stop with those disgusting pictures," Damian raises his arms to give a halfhearted hug back. He's watched Drake do the same to be free.

Dick gives him a last squeeze before releasing him from the suffocating circle of arms, "Well, they're not for you."

"I don't care," Damian gruffs, walking past Dick to leave the room, "Stop. With. The. Pictures."

He has a moment to collect his thoughts, feels hope welling in his chest for at least some days of reprieve. A couple of days away from their open, nontraditional affection.

Is able to hold his head high as he closes the door behind him, finally not thinking of Dick in any way but annoying.

Like always.

"Oh, Damian!" Dick yells with a suspicious lilt in his voice, "I wouldn't look at the bottom-most drawer of your wardrobe!"

He roars in frustration as he storms off to ignore the morbid curiosity now gnawing at his mind.

Stomps faster as he hears guffaws of two torturous devils following him down the halls.

"I'm sorry," Bruce offhandedly blurts while they play fetch with Titus on the manor lawn.

Damian scrutinizes his father's face, ignoring the cold nose nudging his fingers for the tennis ball. Discomfort radiates from his father's blank expression. His severe lips too forced in an unoffending line, eyes unprotected.

"You didn't do anything," Damian looks off into the distance, lobs the ball as far as he can, with his heart oddly calm despite the worry he's been feeling after his 'talk' with Dick.

"There's a certain… predictability with Dick's mischief," Bruce intones, still too honest to hide the amusement, "I should have known something was amiss the moment the drawer opened without a key."

Titus proudly jogs towards them, jaws around a bright green ball, tail wagging, and ears lifting in the air. Paws making indents in the fresh green grass.

"Prior warning would be nice," Damian spares his father a surly glare, "Appreciated even."

"I will keep that in mind," His father holds out a hand for the ball, drawing the dog away from Damian. Throwing the ball farther still, smiling contently.

A rare sight away from what Damian's deemed 'the Dick effect'. It makes Damian smile in return, chest constricting a little with some emotion he's missed for a long time, "Good."

"However," His father's eyes take on a irksome glint as a dark brow raises in question, "Would you like me to make a binder of them?"