"I just don't know if it's a good idea, adding them to your arsenal, Damian." Dick said, frowning at his sidekick who was twirling the escrima sticks in his hands.
"I don't see why not. I'd kick some serious ass with these." Damian did a flip, imitating how he'd bash the skull of some street thug with one of the sticks, balancing with the other as he landed.
"Maybe it's just – "Dick began, trailing off and looking back at the computer.
"What?" Damian asked in a huff. The boy, though almost 18, was still impetuous.
"Nothing. Let's finish up this cataloguing and get to bed." It was already 4 AM and the night hadn't exactly been a cake walk: a couple drug busts, a brief run-in with Scarecrow. Nothing major but nothing easy.
Damian cocked an eyebrow and came to stand behind the chair. "Ahh, I get it…" he began. "They're kind of like, your legacy. You don't want me using them, is that it?"
Dick furrowed his brow and harrumphed a little, not answering the boy.
"It is, isn't it?" Damian pressed, now leaning his back against the console and staring at his mentor, waiting.
"It sounds stupid but… yes." Dick gave in.
"Knew it."
Damian, always so sure of himself.
"Using 'em anyway though." While gloating, Dick quickly vacated the chair and headed out of the bunker, pissed at himself, at Damian, at the past and the present. Thinking about the weapon, though merely a tool of aggression, they symbolized something to him: all the years as Nightwing, when he'd become his own man, his own hero – Bludhaven's hero – out from the shadow of Bruce. And yet, in the mantle of the Bat, they still hit a nerve with him and it made him want to throttle Damian for being so flippant about something he took quite seriously.
As he approached the elevator to head to the penthouse, he heard the quiet footfall of Damian behind. Though they went up in silence, Dick was fuming. "Maybe I could rig some kind of thigh sheath; for easy access."
"No, Damian." Dick said firmly, not even making eye contact as they made their way through the darkened kitchen, the living room, and on towards the bedrooms.
"Ooh, or maybe a holster on my back. How sick would that be?" Damian knew what he was doing; that side of him never really thinned out even as he molded to be Robin as years went on. He may have fallen into the role well, become a little bit more reverent, but his roots of being the protégé of the League of Assassins were embedded in his very being. He would always know how to get under Batman's skin.
In fact, this wasn't the first time he'd tried it and Dick really gave thought to what Damian was aiming at; if it was merely to aggravate him or for some other ulterior motive. Were the looks Damian gave him now, as he intimated where he'd store the weapon, a taunt or a tease?
Dick neared his room, rested a hand on the doorframe and turned to look at his sidekick, now almost as tall as he. He tested his theory now. "I'm not going to say it again. NO." Damian looked, for a mere second, dejected. But he quickly mustered a devious grin and twirled a baton in his mentor's face, mockingly. Things can happen, as they say, in the blink of an eye. And it only took an instant for Dick to apprehend the weapon and jam it up under Damian's jawbone, cold steel pressing him into the wall, toes nearly lifted off the floor. He tried to yell but his throat was closed off enough to stifle the objections, his hands clawing at Dick's gauntlets. Managing to move the stick slightly, he croaked out, "Let me down, asshole."
Unceremoniously, Dick dropped the stick and let the boy fall to the ground. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He growled, huffing into his room to change, though he thought about doing something entirely different.
Damian sat on the floor, rubbing at his throat and catching his breath. It wasn't like him to feel schooled but this time, he did.
Dick had pulled the door to but left a wide enough gap for the boy to see in. Dick stood shirtless in the stark light of his bathroom, washing up.
He didn't knock, he just went in, making his presence known by sitting on the end of the bed, which creaked under his muscled weight.
"What now?" Grayson queried, toweling his face and shutting off the bathroom light.
Damian scowled at him but said nothing.
Dick exhaled through his nose and took a step closer. "You disappoint me, Damian."
"I won't use them. I'll be better." He offered.
"I just want you to respect my request."
"I will. I… I respect you." Damian said, and Dick knew it was hard for the kid to make that allowance, then. There was something in the boy's body language, as he hung his head, shamefully. Dick felt for the boy.
The two had become very close over the years as Batman and Robin – in the work relationship sense - but there were still some things – some hidden places – that had yet to be trespassed. Tonight, they went there. Damian crossed the line. It was time for Dick to do the same.
Dick stepped closer to him, lifted his chin up so as to get a better look. "Forgiven." His eyes were true, he meant it. Damian pulled his face out of the man's grasp and leaned back, warily. "Ok, I don't want to get all sappy." And he got up to leave, mission accomplished, air cleared, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pulled him back, turned him around to face him. Of course there was hesitation – what was Dick doing? – eyes searching faces, for some hint of… vulnerability.
The answer came in the form of a kiss, delivered slowly yet firmly to Damian's lips. Dick knew he was taking an awfully huge risk because Damian could have chosen one pressure point and dropped him to the floor easy as a child, so the action itself was tentative. But as the younger man's mouth beneath his gave way, opening, and allowing, he eased some, relieved.
Pulling back, "I have to go." Damian said, though his tone seemed to lie. "No, you don't." Dick's hand slid down Damian's arm, fell down to his fingers and lightly brushed them. "Stay."
It was Damian's turn to exhale, exasperated, fraught with decisions. This was never his intention – ever – with the man. The kiss was one thing. Staying in his bedroom was entirely another. He briefly wondered if this was his punishment for pushing so hard, for being such a jerk. Damian's eyes flittered from the window across the room, to the dim light on the nightstand, to Dick's face – only briefly – then down to the ground. With a sigh, Damian lifted a foot and nudged the door shut behind them.