Warnings: explicit sexual content; underage; crossdressing kink; feminization; sexual harassment
Pairings: Dick/Damian
Credits: This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. This fanfiction was written and created by me.
A/N: A maid fic, set in some... fake, pseudo-Victorian AU.
When Bruce leaves on an important business trip, he trusts Dick with taking care of the Wayne Estates-and watching over his spoiled and bratty son, Damian. Damian isn't too happy about the arrangement, especially with the new set of chores (and uniform) that comes with it.
Or: I actually wrote maid!Damian smut
Um.
So I've had this craving for crossdressing kink.
And even though I had a million other projects I have to work on, this fic sorta... just fell out of my hands.
I have no explanation. This is just really weeby, smutty porn.
Don't bother trying to make sense of the setting. If you think of anime tropes that involve maids, this is basically the same thing. It's Victorian-inspired but none of it is historically accurate in the slightest. This is also a non-cape AU.
As mentioned in the warnings, this fic has underage content. Please don't read if that's an issue. Any reviews complaining about this fact will be ignored and deleted.
"Master Damian?"
There was a light knock on Damian's door. Damian held his breath. Finally, a heavy sigh from the other side of the wall.
"Master Damian, I implore you to come out of your room. I believe it would mean a lot to your father if you said your goodbyes before he left on his business trip."
Damian finally unwrapped himself from the blanket he had pulled over his head. He stomped up to his bedroom door, swinging it open just as the butler was about to knock again.
"I don't care!" Damian yelled up at the man.
He was about to slam the door but Alfred stepped in its path, blocking it.
"It'll only take a moment, Master Damian." With an almost weary expression, Alfred said, "Besides, knowing your father, he will likely not leave until he speaks with you..."
Damian narrowed his eyes at Pennyworth. The man was also dressed for travel—he even had a bag in one hand.
Still sulking, Damian dragged his feet as he followed Pennyworth down the staircase.
The rest of Bruce and Alfred's luggage was packed away in the carriage. Bruce was standing in the foyer, talking to a young man. Damian knew who this person was—Dick Grayson. His face was featured in a few portraits throughout the manor, and Bruce had already spoiled who the substitute caretaker of the estates would be.
"There you are," Bruce said, noticing Damian. He held out his arm, beckoning Damian forward. Naturally, Damian took that as his cue to stop in his tracks. The boy crossed his arms, stubborn as ever. "Damian, come say hello."
Both men's eyes looked at him expectantly. Damian sucked in a breath. Now that he had a good look at him, Dick seemed even younger than how Damian imagined him. And by that assumption, he was probably too inexperienced to properly run a business. Damian immediately turned to Bruce.
"Father, you can't go," Damian tried to protest again.
Dick chuckled warmly. "He's attached to you."
Damian shot a glare in Dick's direction.
"I'm afraid that's not the issue," Damian caught Bruce whispering.
Damian ranted anyways. "He'll ruin everything that you've worked for!"
"Damian, I told you already—visiting the rest of the Wayne Industries branches is essential to keep our business running. It'll only take the summer. Dick is more than qualified to take over my position in my absence. In the meantime, you two will have to take care of the estates—which means you have to listen to what Dick tells you to do until I return."
Damian's expression soured.
"...ah, so that's the issue," Dick said, with a tone of realization. Damian immediately turned on him.
"I don't have to listen to anything you say!"
Damian wasn't expecting the hand that suddenly landed on his arm. Bruce dragged the ranting and raving boy into the parlor. Before Damian could throw another insult, his father knelt before him. Both hands were on his shoulders, their eyes meeting at the same level.
"Damian, listen to me very closely," Bruce said. Upon hearing his stern tone, Damian went silent. Bruce was a calm, quiet man—but his anger was nothing to tamper with. "This is a very important trip. I'm leaving you in the best of care. If you cause any trouble at all while I'm gone, it'll be the biggest mistake of your life."
A punishment. At that, Damian bristled. Not liking the threat, he challenged, "How big?"
"Well, hopefully we won't need to discuss that," Bruce said, removing his hands. "But if you can't take good care of the estates, maybe you'll need to spend some time at your mother's place instead."
Damian's eyes widened.
"I won't go!" he said, stomping a foot. "All Mother lets me do is study—and Grandfather smells old and bothers me with all his boring stories!"
"I know you don't like it there—which is why I'm letting you stay here, with Dick," Bruce said firmly. Damian clamped his mouth shut, hands curled into fists at his sides. "Don't make me regret my decision or you'll be spending the school year at your mother's. Just be good while I'm gone." Bruce's hands rubbed his shoulders, as if trying to calm him down. It wasn't working—Damian's rage was boiling. "The summer will be over before you know it."
"Tt."
Damian poked a fork at his dinner. It could be edible—but it didn't look as good as Pennyworth's cooking, so Damian assumed the worst.
Damian could feel Dick's eyes watching him, likely wondering why his cooking wasn't up to par with Damian's tastes. Truthfully, Damian was hungry, and his mouth was closed more out of spite.
"We've met before, you know. You probably don't remember—you were very small back then. It was before your parents…" Dick trailed off.
Damian didn't understand why Dick just didn't blurt it out. "Before they separated."
"Right," Dick said, moving in his chair uncomfortably. The man smiled—he did that a lot, Damian noticed. Damian glared up at him in response. With a tone of fondness, Dick said, "You used to steal the flowers from the garden and give them to me."
The story could be true. But as far as Damian's memory was concerned, that moment in the foyer had been the first time they had ever met. Dick had been raised in this manor, but he was already working for Bruce in Blüdhaven by the time Damian was sent to live with his father.
Dick suddenly laughed, his distant gaze caught up in some flashback.
"I remember this one time, you startled a rabbit. He ran right past you and knocked you into the mud. Your mother was furious with me for not watching you closer—but it all happened so fast."
"I don't remember," Damian said flatly.
Dick cleared his throat and went back to poking at his meal.
A little later, Dick tried a conversation again. "So, I put some thought into how we will do chores. The manor is pretty large—so I was thinking that rooms could be assigned to different days. I have to do the cooking, so I can take care of the kitchen as well. But as for the other rooms—"
"'We'?" Damian repeated incredulously.
Dick frowned. "Pennyworth left to help your father. With work, I'm not going to have time to do everything on my own. I'm fairly certain that your father told you that you would also be responsible for taking care of the manor."
Bruce had said as much—but Damian assumed his father had meant that he was responsible for making sure that Dick didn't burn down the house.
"I will not lower myself to the same level as a servant."
Dick seemed to bristle in place. Still, he managed to be calm.
"I believe your father also told you that you'd follow my orders." Dick leaned back in his chair. He reached into pocket, pulling out a small journal. "Do you know what this is?"
"Tt. I don't know. Your diary? A book of poems?"
"This will be a logbook. Every time you disobey an order, I'll take note of it in here. When the summer is over, I'll hand this to your father."
Damian's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."
"I won't have to, if you're agreeable. I don't think me asking you to do what is already expected of you is a crime."
Damian slammed his fists on the table, the plate clattering. "I am not a servant!"
"We're simply splitting Alfred's work—"
Damian scoffed. "I will not lower myself to the same level as that old fool!"
"You can't possibly mean that. Alfred is family." Dick seemed genuinely insulted.
"He's just a silly butler! I'm the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul—not a dishwasher!"
"I think you should go to your room and rejoin the dinner table after you remembered your manners," Dick said, narrowing his eyes.
"Excuse me?"
Dick opened up the logbook. He started to fish for a writing utensil in his coat pocket. Damian's face flared up, remembering his father's threat of sending him to his mother's.
He could argue for the rest of the night—but it would all have dire consequences when his father returned.
Damian scooted back in his chair with a ugly sound. He got to his feet and stormed up to his room where he could sulk for the rest of the night.
"Stupid Father. Stupid Pennyworth. Stupid Grayson," Damian grumbled under his breath as he stormed up the steps.
The next morning was strange. Dick had prepared Damian's breakfast but didn't join him at the table. Damian liked to think that he had convinced Dick to back off, but there still seemed to be a thick tension whenever they shared a room.
Damian had a few hours to himself when Dick went into town. Instead of feeling relieved, Damian felt strangely bored and lonely in the large manor by himself. Normally by now, Alfred was preparing tea and a snack.
Damian was slouched over a loveseat, a book in his hands, when Dick finally returned home. Damian could feel Dick standing in the doorway of the study, watching him, but the boy refused to break the ice.
"Well, when you're finished, come up to my office," Dick finally said, turning around.
"You mean my father's office," Damian countered. Dick paused but said nothing more. Damian set the book in his lap, listening to Dick's footsteps head up the staircase.
Huffing a little to himself, Damian tossed the book onto the cushions and went to follow.
Dick had a stack of work on his desk and was already sorting through it. Damian reluctantly approached him.
"What do you want?" Damian said, expression sour. Without even looking at him, Dick got up and moved toward a stand in the corner of the room. Damian just now noticed a small, unfamiliar trunk sitting on the surface.
"I thought long and hard about your comments the other day, especially the ones regarding Pennyworth. Since you are so insistent that taking over a few of his duties would put you on the same level as a servant, and given that you have no choice but to perform such duties—I've decided that to complete the role, you might as well dress like a servant too."
Dick set the trunk on the desk, sliding it across the surface towards Damian. Damian eyed it suspiciously.
"'Servant'," Damian repeated, sneering. Dick gave him a hard look. "I'm not wearing anything you give me."
"What's wrong? Is there something degrading about wearing a uniform? Alfred wears one all the time," Dick said, seeming cold.
Damian frowned uncomfortably. He knew his words regarding Pennyworth had been harsh. He knew he had been unfair—Pennyworth didn't deserve it, Damian could admit with some guilt. Knowing this, Damian's anger did not quell, but he managed to bite back his words.
He moved to the edge of the desk, prying open the trunk.
His face instantly fell.
"What is this?" he asked flatly.
"Your uniform," Dick said, his focus already returning to his work, pen scrawling away without care.
Damian couldn't restrain his growl. "This has to be a joke. This is a maid's uniform."
"They didn't have a butler's uniform in your size. I had to settle for the smallest women's uniform instead. You'll be wearing it while performing your duties."
"Like hell I am!"
Dick leaned back in his chair, fishing for the logbook that was sitting in the pocket of his jacket. All at once, memories rushed back to Damian—his mother's forceful hands fixing his posture, the slow tick of a clock in a library, the same story of his grandfather in the olden days over and over and over... The young heir flared with anger.
"Forget it!" he spat. "I'll wear the stupid thing."
He pulled the dress out of the trunk.
Amazingly, it was even worse than he thought.
"What?" Damian said, jaw going slack. This was definitely an act of humiliation—Dick was exacting revenge on Pennyworth's behalf. Damian held the dress up to his body—even with the lace and ruffle trim, the skirt just barely made it to the top of his knees.
And if the length wasn't the worst part of it all, it was the design.
The lace was embroidered with a very feminine heart and dot pattern. Ruffles lined the short, puff sleeves. The skirt was laid on top of several layers of chiffon, giving it a proper bell shape. Tiny satin bows decorated the gathered seams. The scalloped collar fastened with a tiny heart-shaped button with a pearly luster. Even the damn apron had ruffles.
But hands down, the worst of it all was the top of the dress. Smack dab in the center of the chest was the cut-out of a heart.
Damian was so furious that his hands began to tremble, the fabric slowly twisting in his fists.
"This—this is indecent," he said, straining to find the power to not scream at the top of his lungs.
"I hardly think so. The outfit has tights and bloomers as well. It's very modest—aside from the chest, I suppose, but it's not as if you have cleavage. You're a boy."
Damian glanced in the trunk. His face burned when he saw the lace-topped, knee-length socks. "Those are not tights. And the coverage is just one of the problems—it's so—so—"
"Cute?" Dick asked, arching an eyebrow. Damian wanted to die. "Well, as I said, it was all that I could find. I'll purchase a butler's uniform eventually—given I find the time."
Damian didn't understand why Dick still bothered with pretenses instead of spitting it out. What he surely meant to say was:
If you don't shut up, you'll be wearing girl clothes all summer.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Dick asked when Damian didn't respond. He was too busy glaring down the outfit.
"Excuse me?" Damian said, dark gaze flickering upwards. Dick stared back at Damian with no particular expression.
"The day isn't over. You have work to do. Go get dressed."
Blue eyes watched Damian expectantly. Suddenly pressured, Damian felt strange. A part of him wanted to ask Dick for forgiveness—doing a servant's work was one thing, but to do it while dressed as a maid seemed like excessive punishment. Damian squirmed a little in place, feeling conflicted—but ultimately, his pride won out.
Dick wanted to make a fool out of him. Fine. But he'd have to let up eventually, so long as Damian completed his work as told. Damian wasn't going to get out of this by grovelling, and the boy would sooner die than give Dick the satisfaction of his pleas.
Damian tossed the dress back into the trunk. He shut it unkindly, a few layers of the petticoat still sticking out of the sides when he locked it up. He hurried off to his room.
"Pervert," Damian grumbled.
It was the only explanation for why Dick would choose such an outfit, when he could have easily forced Damian to wear a jester's hat or something else equally humiliating.
Damian stared unhappily at his reflection in the mirror. Damian didn't buy for a second that Dick happened to find this dress. It was carefully and strategically chosen. The corseting at the waist and poofy skirt would have made anyone look like a woman. The dress gave the silhouette of a girl, albeit a very flat-chested and somewhat broadly-shouldered one.
Luckily, the socks ended up landing above the knees, giving Damian a little more coverage—but there was still a sliver's worth of thigh between the tops of the socks and the bottom of his skirt. And even with the bloomers on underneath, Damian felt horribly exposed with the chiffon layers constantly brushing up against his bare legs.
Damian pulled on the scalloped-edge gloves and took out his list. The first chore was to wipe down all the surfaces in the parlor. Damian huffed to himself. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get out of the ridiculous outfit.
He stomped past Dick's office in his mary-janes when he heard Dick call for him.
"Damian. Where are you going?"
Damian took a deep breath. Back straight, chin up, he marched into Dick's office.
"I'm doing what you told me to do," he said between clenched teeth. "I'm going to clean the parlor."
"You're not wearing your outfit," Dick said, frowning. He got up from behind the desk.
"Then what do you call this?" Damian said, furiously flapping the apron that was tied around his waist.
Dick ignored him. Damian's gaze followed the man incredulously as he disappeared into Damian's room—without Damian's permission—and found himself swimming in confusion when he heard a light chime.
"You're not wearing your headdress," Dick said, coming back out.
He held up the small lacey headband. Damian slowly blinked.
"There is literally no point," Damian said. "It doesn't even cover my entire head. It's purely aesthetic—"
Dick ignored him, forcefully plopping the headband onto Damian's head.
Damian's eye twitched when the headdress rang.
It had bells attached.
"There," Dick said, smiling. "The supply closet is in the kitchen. If I'm still working when you're finished, just knock."
Dick, seeming more than a little satisfied, sat back down at his desk.
"'If I'm still working when you're finished, just knock'," Damian muttered under his breath in the most nasally voice he could manage.
He scrubbed the floors furiously. Washing the floors was his last task for the day. Damian took a few breaths. He was surprisingly tired—granted, he had done all of the chores rather fast. After he was done, he practically ran into Dick's office, the stupid bells chiming along with his strides. He knocked as loud as he could.
Dick eventually came out—not as fast as Damian would have liked—and went to look over Damian's work.
"Well? Are we done now?" Damian said impatiently.
"Touch this spot here," Dick said, indicating along the edge of a shelf.
"What? Why?" Damian said, brow furrowing at the strange request. "I did everything that you asked!"
"'June 16th. Along with skipping out on his chores, your son also argued against my orders'—"Dick murmured to himself.
"Tt."
Damian ran his finger alongside the shelf, as told. Dick suddenly grabbed Damian by the wrist, holding his hand in the air.
The tip of the white glove was a murky gray.
Damian nearly thought that Dick was disappointed—until he remembered that the man was a complete sadist. "One of your chores was to dust. You only wiped down the table." Dick let go of Damian's wrist. He walked to the center of room and lifted up the rug. Damian diverted his gaze, knowing fully well that he swept a mess underneath it and didn't bother mopping. "You just cleaned around the furniture and rugs, you didn't bother to clean underneath it. The windows have streaks. The candlesticks are unpolished. You didn't even bother to put all the books away or fix the cushions. Did you really expect me to believe that you cleaned this all in—"Dick stopped to look at the grandfather clock. "—less than an hour? You also didn't clean the clock cabinet."
"Fine! I'll dust your stupid surfaces!" Damian said.
"Well there's no point now," Dick said, frowning. "If you dust now, it'll just get on the floors that you washed. You would have to start all over again." Sighing, he said, "No, I think I'll just give you a different chore."
Hours later, Damian was still sitting in Dick's office. His eyelids drooping as he sealed envelopes—and there was still an entire stack of letters on Dick's desk to go. The entire time, Dick kept humming to himself.
"At least we get to spend some time together," Dick said.
Damian's eyes rolled up towards the ceiling.
The next day, Damian was in charge of watering all the plants. An especially embarrassing task—while the Wayne estates were very private, visiting the gardens in a dress was still incredibly embarrassing.
Face pink, Damian wasn't sure how to feel about the breeze that touched his legs.
When he moved to stand up after being crouched next to a rose bush, he felt a tiny prick.
Damian angrily swatted at the rose in response, its petals effectively smushed. He stopped to look at the damage on his shoulder—no blood it seemed like.
Damian paused, looking closely at the tiny hole in the sleeve.
He raised an eyebrow.
Dick had instructed—for reasons relating to his creepiness, Damian assumed—that Damian wait at the door and greet the man whenever he returned from work. From there, Dick would check off his list and, given that everything was up to his ridiculous standards, would then give Damian permission to change back into his normal clothes. Later, when Dick finally opened that front door, he blinked in surprise when he saw Damian was not in uniform.
Not even giving Dick a chance to say a word, Damian immediately held up his dress.
"The dress tore," Damian said at once. He resisted the smirk when Dick looked carefully at the ripped sleeve. Tight-lipped, Dick still managed to give Damian an expectant look. Both victory and mood soured, Damian bowed as instructed. "Welcome home."
Later, after Damian had finished his dinner, he went to get ready for bed. To his surprise, the maid dress was laid out on the bedspread. He slowly crossed the room, heart hammering, and picked up the outfit with dread.
He held it up—both sleeves were now missing, the armholes carefully sewn.
Damian clenched his jaw, almost considering ripping the skirt as well—but he realized, with fear, that Dick might just take that as an excuse to shorten the hem.
"Damian," a voice called from the other side of the manor.
It was Dick. Damian, however, did not respond. He was too busy reaching underneath a stand.
Damian grumbled and growled to himself. Moments ago, he was wiping down the trinkets in the study when a tiny globe fell out of its stand and rolled into the narrow crook.
Damian stuck his arm even further underneath the dresser, his fingertips brushing along the round object, but not quite grasping it. He could hear Dick's footsteps in the hall.
"Damian," Dick said with a huff. "There you are—oh."
Damian turned his head to look in Dick's direction. "Don't laugh, you idiot. I just dropped something."
Damian blinked, noticing that Dick's gaze had moved skyward.
"Uh, right," Dick said, clearing his throat.
Damian's gaze happened to land on the glass paneled door—Damian could just barely make out his reflection.
Damian's face burned when he saw the familiar trim of his bloomers. He had never noticed until that moment how far high his skirt would ride up when he was on his knees.
Damian's hand finally wrapped around the globe.
"Anyways, I was going to say, when you're done cleaning—"Dick said, but he was cut off when the globe hit him in the chest before bouncing back onto the ground.
Bruce and Alfred sent Damian a letter from Keystone City. Damian never expected that he'd actually miss them until he read it over. His father actually praised him—it seemed that Dick's last letter had given compliments to Damian's behavior. Bruce rarely, if ever, praised Damian—which was admittedly disheartening—so reading those words made Damian feel oddly proud.
Additionally, he missed having Alfred around. Alfred could keep the entire house clean by himself—and cook delicious meals and desserts.
Damian sighed heavily, folding up the letter back in its envelope.
While Dick was down in the Gotham office, Damian took some time to skip out on his chores, kicking around a ball in the yard. Sometimes he liked to pretend it was Grayson's head.
His activity was cut short when he heard some voices. At first, Damian thought he imagined it, until he heard a low laughter. Frowning to himself, Damian drew closer to the source of the voice, peeking around the corner of the manor, the vines and shrubs keeping him concealed.
Walking up the stone path were two men—a tall, redheaded, handsome man, and a squat, old, ugly man.
Damian instantly recognized the shorter man's beak nose, though he had never met him. Oswald Cobblepot. The papers often talked about him, often accompanied with an illustration. Damian had thought the drawings were an exaggeration, a caricature of sorts—but no, the man was genuinely that slimy-looking. The redheaded man seemed familiar as well, though Damian couldn't place a name on him.
"Hmph. The gardens look rather shabby," Cobblepot noted, long nose pointing upwards. "The entirety of Wayne Estates have gone to shit in Mister Wayne's absence, it seems."
"We could have visited the office instead."
"See, it's that sort of thought process that makes your family third-rate, Elliot. The key to success is to be aggressive—Wayne's whelp of a replacement will be caught off guard when he sees us here." Oswald cackled, the sound grating on Damian's ears. "Not that it will be difficult to close a deal on the inexperienced fool, anyways. Leaving him in charge will be the biggest mistake of Wayne's life."
Damian didn't quite understand what was going on—but he was aware that alongside his father, Oswald Cobblepot and Thomas Elliot were from the wealthiest families in Gotham. They had been business partners in the past—though Damian suspected that his father didn't enjoy working with them. No wonder why, both men seemed absolutely foul.
One other thing that Damian understood was that he didn't want to be caught here, especially since he was still in uniform. Damian rose up to sneak away—when one his bells gave a chime.
Damian instantly froze. Oswald continued rambling, not noticing, but Thomas instantly turned his head in Damian's hiding spot.
"Is someone out there?" Elliot asked. Cobblepot finally shut up.
Damian cursed under his breath. There was no denying the look in Elliot's face—Damian was spotted. No point in hiding now.
Damian rose to his feet.
"Who are you?" Elliot asked.
"Oh, good, a maid," Oswald said. He waved the tip of his umbrella at Damian. "Girl, come open this door. We're arranged to meet with Mister Grayson on important business."
Damian wanted to shout at them to leave—but then he realized, with dread, that the last thing he wanted was for these men to discover that Bruce Wayne's son was dressed as a maid. It was better to continue the charade.
Still, not liking the men, Damian scrambled for an excuse to not let them in. He said, "Grayson never mentioned a meeting."
"'Grayson'? Is that what you call your master?" Oswald said, guffawing. "If any of my servants called me anything but Master Oswald or Master Cobblepot, I'd wring them of every copper they owned and throw them into the filthiest streets of Gotham!"
"Perhaps she's simply taking precautions," Elliot said. Damian didn't like the scrutinizing way the man looked at him. "But there's nothing to fear—we hardly look like a pair of beggars or thieves. Surely even a maid can see that, even if she doesn't recognize us. Come open this door."
"Not without Grayson's permission—"
"The disrespect!" Cobblepot suddenly cried. "At the very least, address your master properly."
Damian's face burned. Not in a million years would he ever call Dick 'Master', and especially not to please this greasy toad.
"It would be in Mister Grayson's best interest if we could continue our meeting as planned," Elliot said, giving Damian a pointed look.
Damian stopped himself from scowling. It was clear from what he had overheard that these men were trying to take advantage of both Bruce and Dick—but Damian also didn't know the details of their deal. As much as he wanted to shoo these men away, he wasn't sure if he could take the risk of potentially ruining an important business arrangement. Additionally, with the way Cobblepot was fuming, Damian was worried that his position as a maid might get him in trouble or possibly harmed.
Reluctantly, Damian decided to open the doors for them—but that wasn't going to stop him from watching them like a hawk.
Oswald waddled in first. Damian shut the door behind them with a little bit of force.
They were standing in the foyer for a few seconds when Cobblepot suddenly scoffed.
"Well? Aren't you going to take our coats?"
Damian gritted his teeth but said nothing. He took their coats and hung them up. Immediately, Oswald was critiquing the layout of the house. Damian stuck close by, to make sure they didn't get their grubby hands on anything, when Elliot suddenly glanced back at him.
"What?" Damian couldn't resist saying. He hated the way this man kept looking at him.
"You have a leaf in your hair," Elliot said. Without waiting for Damian to shake it out, the man plucked it away. Damian felt his stomach twist—he didn't like the man's looks, nor the way he had just touched him without permission. Worse, Damian didn't like that he couldn't fight back. "I don't think I've ever seen a girl cut her hair so short."
Damian kept his mouth shut.
"Hmph. Then consider yourself lucky. Plebeians have to shave their heads to avoid lice. Mister Grayson probably can't afford a proper serving girl. She even looks starved," Oswald grumbled.
"I think she's just young."
Damian scowled. He was standing right there.
"Ha. I wouldn't doubt it. Never trust an unmarried man who would bring a boy into his house. Mister Grayson probably prefers young servants, due to his upbringing."
Damian wasn't so young that he could miss the implications there. Insulted, Damian opened his mouth to protest—but was cut off when the tip of Cobblepot's umbrella lifted the edge of his skirt.
"But you are a girl, aren't you?"
Face reddened, Damian instantly smacked the umbrella away.
"Did you just raise your hand? Why, I never—"
"You can't blame a maid for protecting her decency," Elliot said on Damian's behalf, but such words hardly earned Damian's trust.
Cobblepot was unconvinced. He waved the sharp end of his umbrella threateningly. Damian didn't flinch, his eyes glaring.
"Listen here, girl, when dealing with men of a higher class—"
They were cut off by the sound of the door opening. Dick entered the home, looking shocked by the appearance of guests.
Damian was surprised by how relieved he was. He instantly hurried to Dick's side.
"Welcome home," he said with a bow. When he raised himself up, he shot Dick an almost pleading look. Dick's gaze flickered in the direction of the men, a quiet look of understanding in his expression.
"This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting guests." Dick took off his coat, passing it to Damian. Damian didn't protest, just glad that he was no longer stuck alone in the manor with the two older men. "You'll have to forgive me, I was not prepared."
"Mister Wayne was in the process of discussing a deal with us," Oswald said, his earlier tone mellowing into one that was very professional. Damian felt nauseous. "Mister Elliot and myself are anxious to finish our discussion—and since Mister Wayne is absent, we have no choice but to come to you."
"That shouldn't be an issue," Dick said, placing his hands together. He turned to Damian, faltering for only a moment. "Julia," he said, deciding on a name. "Why don't you grab us some tea and meet us in the parlor?"
Damian didn't say a word, disappearing into the kitchen. Anything to get away.
When Damian returned with the tray, Dick already had papers on the table between them. The men were deep in conversation and Damian tried to remain as ghostlike as possible.
"Mister Grayson, how does someone with your background fall into this line of business?" Cobblepot pressed.
"My background?" Dick said, eyes focused on arranging their contracts.
"If I recall correctly, you were circus folk."
"Yes, but that was a long time ago. Since being placed in Bruce Wayne's care, he taught me everything he knew about his business."
Damian set the cup and saucer in front of Elliot first. He could feel that gaze on him again.
"You have very beautiful eyes, Julia," he said. It took a second for Damian to register the name—he had to look up at Thomas for confirmation.
"Thank you," he muttered, though he wanted nothing more than to take the teaspoon and gouge out his eyes so Elliot could never look at them again. Or better yet, shank it through the man's heart—assuming he had one, anyways.
"Does your maid address anyone properly?" Oswald said, jumping into the conversation.
"I don't think we were ever introduced," Thomas said.
"Right," Dick said, clearing his throat. "Julia is my maid. I brought her with me from Blüdhaven. Julia, these are associates of Bruce Wayne's. This is Mister Oswald Cobblepot and that is Mister Thomas Elliot."
"You can just call me Doctor," Thomas said. Damian flashed the doctor a fake smile and went back to pouring his tea, the liquid overflowing the cup and spilling onto the saucer. Elliot eyed it for a moment, blinking.
Damian wrapped around the table, the conversation resuming.
"Well, I hope Mister Wayne taught you well," Oswald said, voice rough. "You seem to know your courtesies somewhat well, for a circus boy."
"He did," Dick said. He gave a crooked smile. "But as they say, you can take the boy out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the boy."
"Is that so?" Cobblepot said, snorting a little. "I find the circus to be a lower level of entertainment. A beggar is still a beggar, no matter how fancy they dress."
Damian felt his face burning on Dick's behalf. But he kept his mouth shut, eyes focusing intensely on Oswald's cup.
"In the end, that's all the circus is—lower class fools and their tricks. Unwanted freaks in costumes. They'll dress themselves up in makeup and ridiculous colors and frills and then they twist and bend in any way possible, whichever way the audience deems. How fortunate it must have been for you, to be taken away and brought into the home of one of Gotham's richest families."
"Two of Gotham's richest families—Bruce is Martha Kane's son as well," Dick pointedly corrected. Oswald's face twitched. "And I suppose it was fortunate, that I was brought into the home of the richest man in Gotham. I just wish it hadn't happened at the expense of my parents' lives."
"I'm sure they would have preferred to know that their son was being properly fed and clothed, instead of rolling around in straw and doing backflips for copper."
Dick didn't say anything—but Damian, not as forgiving, tilted the pot. The spout spilled hot tea on Oswald's sleeve. The man yelped, his arm drawing back.
Before anything else could be said, Damian quickly said, "I'll grab a cloth."
He set the teapot down with a sound and quickly disappeared, feeling pleased by the loud squawking behind him.
Later, after the business deal was finally closed, Cobblepot was the first to demand Damian to bring him his coat.
Damian felt a small level of satisfaction when Oswald put on his gloves before holding his umbrella with one hand, and stuffing the other into his coatpocket. The man couldn't feel it with a glove on—but Damian had stuffed flour into his pockets while they were busy sipping tea.
"I'm a little curious," Elliot said to Dick, pausing in the doorway. Even Damian found himself glancing up, wondering what Elliot had to say. The doctor asked, "Did Mister Wayne take his son with him on his trip?"
Damian's stomach dropped.
Smoothly, Dick replied, "Damian was sent to his mother's."
"I see," Thomas said. "You know, Mister Wayne and I knew each other as boys. He looked quite different back then—you would never assume as much now, but as a child, he was rather small."
Elliot's gaze flickered in Damian's direction. Instinctively, Damian inched a little closer towards Dick's shadow. The man said nothing more, shutting the door behind him.
There was a collective sigh of relief when they were gone.
But it didn't last long. Damian ripped off his gloves and threw them at back of Dick's head.
"This is all your fault, for dressing me up like this!"
"Perhaps," Dick said, picking the gloves up off the ground. "Those two are animals—they would have treated Pennyworth just as poorly."
That didn't quell Damian's anger in the slightest.
"You weren't there when they took turns ordering me around, treating me as if I was—as if—"
"You were lower class?" Dick finished for him, eyeing him closely. Damian stopped. Dick didn't hand him back his gloves. Instead, he plucked the headband off of Damian's head. "I'll still need your help around the house, until your father returns. But until then, you can wear what you like. You're right—your treatment would have been better if you weren't dressed as a maid."
At that, Damian paused. "Wait, did you make them come here? Just to teach me a lesson?"
Dick frowned. "No, of course not. I was genuinely surprised when they showed up. However, Bruce did tell me they would try to cut a deal with me."
"Oh, so you didn't let them get their way," Damian said, relieved.
"Well, actually, I did," Dick said. Damian looked aghast. "According to your father's instructions, of course. Cobblepot is thinking he's getting the better end of the deal by selling his property to Wayne Industries—he think it's a declining business area. In reality, the population in eastern Gotham is growing with the influx of immigrants coming to the coast. If Cobblepot had just lowered his prices to something affordable, his business would have done quite well. Additionally, Elliot just sold us his property as well, and I managed to convince him to lower his price. Your father now owns a very large chunk of Gotham." Damian blinked in surprise. "Don't worry. You'll eventually learn how to a manage a business—but in the meantime, you should practice controlling your temper."
"My temper?" Damian repeated. Dick smiled a little.
"Did Cobblepot's insults about dressing up and doing tricks strike a nerve?" Dick said, smile growing. He tapped the headband against his palm, the bells jingling like a tambourine.
Damian's face reddened. "No, it didn't bother me at all! I just don't like him!"
Damian snatched back his gloves and headband. Dick looked at them in Damian's hands, a curious look on his face. Damian shrunk in place, realizing what he did a little too late. He fished for an excuse.
"I can't get my real clothes dirty," he decided on, grumbling.
"Hmm, right. That reminds me, I didn't check off your chores for tonight…"
Damian scowled. Even after Damian had learned his lesson, Dick was still relentless.
Damian waited in the foyer, tapping his foot on the hardwood floors. He glanced up at the clock—Dick should have been home by now. But this wasn't the first late night he had spent in town, Damian supposed. Damian's father usually had to stay late at work as well, but even Bruce came home on time the day before the weekend. Huffing a little to himself, Damian went back into the dining room.
Summer was nearing the end. Damian could now get through the list of chores without issues—although Dick still hadn't fulfilled his promise on getting him a butler uniform, even after they deemed the maid outfit was no longer necessary—and Damian knew that the dining room would pass Dick's standards, as they had for the past few nights. But he went ahead and set up the table, which wasn't in his list of chores, figuring it was nearing dinner time anyways. Time passed. He went ahead and lit the candles as well, even filled up the vase.
He sat at the table for a few minutes, chin resting on his gloved hands, mary-janes swinging. Still, no sign of Dick.
Sighing, he took the roast out of the oven. Served the plates.
He had just grabbed the rolls when he heard the footsteps on the stone walkway.
Damian hurried to the door.
He bowed. He started to chant his daily greeting but was cut off by the sound of the door shutting.
Damian lifted his chin. Dick dragged his feet to the coatrack, hanging up his coat. Damian blinked in alarm when he saw it start to slip—he hurried in time, catching it before it could hit the ground. He placed it in its proper place.
Damian quickly spun around, about to demand Dick to pay attention, but stopped short when he saw Dick taking off his shoes. The man's fingers fumbled clumsily at the buttons. Damian stared, dumbfounded by how long it took for Dick to finally take them off—but it all made sense when he caught a glimpse of the man's face. Dick's eyelids were drooped, dark circles under his eyes. Damian almost wanted to yell at Dick to go to bed—but he shut his mouth, realizing he wasn't going to tell Dick how to care for himself, as doing so would imply that he was watching after the man's well-being. Which he completely wasn't.
Damian closely followed Dick as the man stumbled into the dining room. The bells on his headdress gave a ring when he accidentally bumped into Dick, who suddenly stopped in his path. Damian rubbed his nose, scowling to himself. Suddenly, a warm hand landed on his bare shoulder—he never did get those sleeves replaced—and drew Damian's gaze upwards.
Damian looked, unblinking, at Dick's expression.
The man seemed relieved.
"You did good," Dick said. Damian didn't turn away—but he felt strange, like he should avert his gaze. His face was suddenly warm. "You can go get dressed now."
Damian went to go do so without saying a word.
It was strange. He had worn the maid uniform for at least a few hours every day. He was now at the point where his uniform felt more familiar than his actual clothes.
By the time he came back to the dinner table, Dick was faceplanted into the table, his hand laying limply in the bread basket. Sighing heavily, Damian slowly inched the basket across the table, away from Dick's reach. The hand flopped onto the surface.
Damian awkwardly ate his dinner across from the snoring man, his gaze flickering up more than a few times at Dick's dumb sleeping face.
Dick worked at his desk while Damian circled around the room, cleaning the office.
Damian could hear Dick behind him, messing around with a shelf. Damian was polishing the mirror when he caught something in the reflection.
"What?" Damian said sharply, but his tone didn't ward away Dick's staring. He felt strangely nervous when he saw Dick coming closer.
"You really do look like a girl in that outfit," Dick said, his footsteps coming to a stop as he stood directly behind Damian.
Almost instantly, Damian's eyes flickered up at his own reflection. His face instantly turned hot, not because of Dick's teasing—
But from the realization that he had forgotten.
Forgotten that he had been wearing a maid's outfit for weeks now.
Wearing the outfit and cleaning the house and greeting Dick when he came home became such a routine that it didn't even feel like a punishment anymore. It had stopped feeling like a punishment a long time ago—and it was nothing that felt forced. It was just a gradual transition over time.
He no longer felt ashamed to play the act of a servant—because he didn't feel like a servant anymore.
Nowadays, he was only bothered when Dick came home and had to put together dinner while he was exhausted. Or when Dick's work was interrupted because things weren't put away in the proper place, and it kept him working longer.
Damian stared as Dick's face entered the mirror. He kneeled behind Damian, his large hands moving up Damian's front. Resting over his chest. Damian's brow furrowed ever so slightly, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, when Dick's hands squeezed. The soft lining of Damian's dress brushed against his nipples—not the first time Damian had noticed the dress could do that, as he occasionally discovered during more physical chores—and Damian flinched in response.
His heart started to race as Dick gently massaged his chest, squeezing them together. The motion bunched up the top of Damian's dress, the heart cut-out contracting—and Damian could see a faint line there between his pecs, but nothing more.
"Well, almost," Dick said with warm mirth. Damian felt embarrassed.
"I'm not a girl," he said at once.
"No," Dick said, agreeing. It wasn't until that word that Damian realized how close Dick was to him—his breath fanning over his ear. Damian could feel goosebumps beginning to rise on his skin. Dick's fingers found Damian's hardening nipples, rubbing against them through the soft fabric. Damian's breath hitched. "But you are my pretty maid, aren't you?"
Damian wanted to fight against that phrase—but in actuality, his mind fixated on it. Pretty maid. His legs felt oddly weak. His hand clenched tightly around the rag. His heart was beating hard against his chest and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do—but the thought of stopping Dick never occurred to him.
Dick turned his head, his lips finding the shell of Damian's ear. Sucking on the sensitive skin. Damian's nipples were now poking through the fabric, which Dick took advantage of. Fingers pinching at the sensitive nubs.
Damian was breathing hard now. Each exhale shuddering out of him. Heat strong in his face. Eyes half-lidded.
"Hm?" Dick said. Struggling to think, Damian just realized he never answered Dick's question.
"No—"he managed to gasp, just as a hand journeyed between his legs. The layers of soft fabric pushed down on Damian's groin. He couldn't feel Dick's hand through all of the layers—but he could feel pressure. The fabric teased his steadily growing erection.
"Lift up your skirt," Dick whispered into Damian's ear. Damian shuddered at the command.
Head hazy, he felt this strange compelling to obey. A desire took control of his hands—not just a need to feel Dick's hands on him, but also a wish to make Dick happy. It was weird how he had never noticed it before—how he desired to help make things easy for this man.
Damian wasn't used to doing kind things for people until Dick had pushed him into it. It felt satisfying, to have all his work appreciated. To be praised for it, instead of simply being told he was great for the matter of his birth.
He lifted his dress and petticoat. His cheeks burned brighter when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Dick wrapped an arm around Damian, his large, strong hand pressing against Damian's front. Dick started to gently massage the steadily growing erection. Gentle kisses feathered the back of Damian's head and neck. Damian couldn't resist the soft sigh as Dick's palm pressed up against him, separated only by the thin layer of his cloth bloomers. He realized with embarrassment that Dick's hand seemed to completely cover his length.
Dick forcefully turned Damian's head, craning his neck upwards. Damian blinked in surprise when Dick's lips pressed against his. Dick's kiss was warm, soft. Damian made a soft noise, the sound vibrating between their lips.
Damian felt Dick's tongue press against his bottom lip. Damian's mouth parted, their tongues meeting. Dick seemed to fill Damian's mouth completely, and Damian moaned once again. Dick's kiss was an entirely new sensation—it felt obscene, but it made his face hot all the same.
Damian gasped, pulling away as Dick's hand reached down his bloomers. Damian murmured a protest as his undergarments pushed down to his knees, his exposed erection appearing in the mirror's reflection. But he didn't drop his skirt—he listened to his orders, small fists wrapping tight around the material, tiny teeth chewing on his bottom lip. Dick's callused hand wrapped around Damian's cock, stroking him. His hand moved with more ease now, pleasure racing through Damian's body as Dick played with him. Fingers still teased his nipples, making his whole body burn with pleasure.
Damian shuddered between Dick's hands, eyelids feeling heavy. He didn't know what to do. He felt weak under Dick. His hips wanted to buck into Dick's fist, to feel more of the sensations running through his body. He could hear his skirts swaying as he squirmed underneath Dick's touch, his heated breaths filling the air.
Dick pulled at a nipple and Damian's moan escaped him, loud. His knees finally buckled, his body lowering to the rug. His vision blurred, tears of mixed pleasure and humiliation brimming his eyes. He could make out Dick's form, which seemed to completely cover Damian's own. As for the rest of the image, Damian could barely recognize the long-lashed, blushing maid that gazed back at him.
"You're making a mess," Dick whispered, gently kissing Damian's hair. Damian's eyelids fluttered all the way open when Dick's hand left his cock.
He could see Dick's fingers glistening with his precum. Damian chewed on his bottom lip, feeling humiliated. And yet his cock seemed to pulse in response.
"Aren't you going to clean it up?" Dick said.
His fingertips landed on Damian's soft lips. Damian, feeling lightheaded, replied instinctively—his lips parting open as Dick's fingers pressed against them.
Damian could taste himself on Dick's fingers. Dick's teasing went straight to Damian's head—he couldn't believe what his body had done. Couldn't believe that he was cleaning his own mess with his mouth. He whined around Dick's fingers, feeling filthy.
Dick's fingers explored Damian's mouth. Until they were all wet. Then they went back to Damian's cock, stroking him again. Damian trembled—Dick's wet fingers felt good wrapped around his flushed cock. Damian wanted to thrust into Dick's hand, which squeezed him so delightfully, but even when he was on his knees, his balance felt fragile.
Dick finally released Damian's cock. Damian finally dared to look back at him, confused as Dick walked away from him. His heart beat faster, almost wondering if he did something wrong. Almost afraid that Dick would stop.
Dick headed towards his desk, removing his cravat and tossing it on the corner of the surface. He removed his jacket, followed by his vest.
Dick turned toward Damian, holding up his garments with an outstretched arm.
"Hang them up."
A simple request—but Damian's legs were still trembling from all the attention. Damian almost wanted to protest—but he didn't. His body rose on its own.
He was aching hard, his cock bumping up against the soft layers of his underskirt. Damian carefully walked over to Dick, grabbing the clothes.
He turned back around and nearly whimpered. The room had hooks but they were all the way by the door. Damian could feel the smooth, soft chiffon brushing against his cock and the cheeks of his ass. There were so many layers that it felt like his lower body was being hugged by the soft material, encasing his strained erection.
He walked across the room, his cock pressing against the folds of the fabric. He was leaking again—he could feel a small wet spot where his tip kept bumping up against.
Damian glanced back, hands still clutching the material of Dick's coat. Not quite letting go yet. While Damian had been hanging up the items, Dick already lowered his suspenders and was unbuttoning his shirt.
"Come here," Dick said, when they locked eyes.
Heart beating ever faster, Damian obeyed. He stopped before Dick, his gaze averted. He felt strangely shy. His eyelids lowered as Dick pet his hair.
"You take such good care of me, don't you?" Dick said, voice warm and gentle. His touch calming. Damian's eyes finally fell shut as Dick's kisses were placed against his ear, cheek, neck. He could feel that hand, creeping under his skirts again. Damian squirmed in place when Dick's hand made contact with his hard cock, the tight squeeze of his hand warm and welcoming. Damian let out a soft moan as Dick started to massage him. "You work very hard to make your master happy, don't you?"
Damian tensed at that word. Master. A small voice in the back of his mind protested—no, he wasn't a real maid and there was no master. He was just a boy. More than that, he was the son of Bruce Wayne, the most powerful man in Gotham. But at the same time, he could feel his body leaning towards Dick's lips and touch. Dick's words even seemed to soothe him, as if Damian could take pride and comfort in the things he was saying.
A stroke of Dick's hand and Damian grabbed Dick for balance, tiny gloved hands wrapping around the man's biceps. Damian's eyes opened, gaze falling downwards. Dick's other hand was touching himself through his pants. Damian could see the size of him tenting against the front seam.
Noticing his gaze, Dick murmured, "Would you take care of me right now?"
Without even thinking, Damian's hand responded. With almost a life of its own, yet still tentative, Damian's fingers brushed against Dick's groin. The hand assumed Dick's place, massaging the erection through the fabric. Damian could just barely feel the heat and shape underneath the layers of clothing. The blush on Damian's face grew more furious as Dick groaned softly, the sound explicit-sounding. Damian's hand tried to mimic Dick's motions, his hand rubbing and massaging the member.
Damian's breath hitched when Dick's hand moved around his skirts, cupping over his ass before moving toward the crease. The pads of his fingertips rubbed over Damian's entrance, teasing the spot, before finally pressing inside. Damian chewed on his lip at the sensation, the digit pushing deep inside of him. His cock pulsing between his legs in response. But he focused only on his hand on Dick's cock, palm rubbing over the shape.
"Can you take it out for me?" Dick asked.
Damian did. White gloved fingers nimbly undid the findings, all while Dick fingered his ass. Damian reached underneath Dick's undergarments, feeling the hot flesh. He fished out the erection, his face burning with embarrassment at its weight and length. He looked at it, feeling its heat in his hand. He hadn't seen anyone else's before—Dick's seemed impossibly big.
Damian was distracted from his staring when Dick's second finger began to press inside of him. A strangled moan escaped Damian's lips, the sound filling the room as his hole was stretched to accommodate a second finger. Dick's fingers felt thick—Damian could feel every movement, every slide as they pushed their way inside of him.
Dick's voice sounded different, almost heated and breathy as he spoke. "Very good, Damian. My pretty maid. Do you want to service your master even more?"
Damian could barely think, much less find the words to protest against Dick's titles. If anything, Damian felt strangely drawn to the sound of Dick's voice, which had this unique, almost lyrical quality to it. Master. There was something comforting to the word—it felt protecting, almost. The same sort of relief Damian felt when Dick had arrived home in time when Cobblepot and Elliot were harassing him.
Dick's fingers pushed impossibly deeper, hand pressed up against the cheeks of Damian's ass, his knuckles pressing. The intrusion felt strange, the stretch of his hole aching. But there was something satisfying in the warmth that filled him—the way Dick's fingers curled and massaged him. By the time Dick finally removed his hand, Damian felt strangely aware of their absence.
Dick gently pushed on Damian's shoulders, guiding him to his knees. The soft rug and his socks gave some relief to the hard ground. Damian felt hot, his cock aching hard underneath the layers of fabric, as Dick gently stroked himself in front of Damian's face.
"Can you put it in your mouth for me?"
Damian's heart skipped. Suddenly uncertainty filled his head—such a thing seemed filthy, indecent. But Dick's hand was still on his shoulder, rubbing him so soothingly. It made Damian want to try. It made him want to please.
Embarrassment prickled his cheeks as he leaned in, tentatively wrapping his lips around the head of Dick's cock. He felt the smooth, hot flesh on his tongue. Dick looked big and he felt bigger—once he was past the tip, Damian could feel his jaw start to ache. His small mouth struggled to accommodate the man's girth, his lips stretched wide. He couldn't go much deeper than halfway down the shaft.
Damian felt Dick's hand caress his face. Damian's eyelids fluttered. It felt so nice.
"Look up at me," Dick gently commanded, and Damian obeyed.
It was difficult to see him. Damian angled his head, their eyes meeting. Damian felt his cock twitch underneath his skirt, his body responding to Dick's darkened gaze. Damian could only imagine what he looked like—on his knees in this outfit with his cheeks stuffed full with Dick's cock. Instead of feeling ashamed, he felt his body stir. He could feel Dick's swollen cock pulse in his mouth, see the dilated lust in his eyes, listened to the deep moan.
"You look so pretty. My cute little maid." Dick's hand stroked through Damian's hair. A moan escaped past Damian's lips, unbidden. Lips vibrated around the intrusion in his mouth. Dick held Damian's head, guiding him up and down his cock. Damian's eyes fell shut, feeling Dick slide against his tongue. Listened to the crude sounds of his wet mouth fill the air. The taste and smell filled Damian's senses, making his head hazy.
Dick's breath was quickening. He thrusted into Damian's mouth a little too rough, the bells on Damian's headband ringing in protest. But Damian didn't pull away—he wanted to please. He opened his mouth wider, feeling the stretch at the corner of his lips. He placed his hands on Dick's thighs, balancing himself as Dick thrusted into his mouth at an even pace.
Dick groaned deeply, the timbre making Damian shudder around him. Damian could taste Dick's precum on his tongue—different from his own. More thrusts and suddenly Damian's mouth felt like it couldn't take much more—he was already sore. He started to groan around Dick's cock in protest—he wanted to hang on, wanted to be the good maid that Dick said he was. Wanted to feel Dick fill him up in any way possible. But he couldn't.
Dick pulled himself out. The predictive gesture felt almost kind, generous. Damian took a breath. He wiped his wet, reddened lips on the back of his glove.
Damian didn't notice the ache in his knees and back until Dick guided him back to his feet. Dick laid back on the desk lifting Damian with him. Damian shuddered, feeling his still erect cock brush up against Dick's body.
Dick adjusted him, Damian's legs falling on either side of the man's body, their erections pressed up against each other, Damian's skirt blanketing over them. The boy's hands tightened around Dick's shirt, holding on as large hands ran circles over his thighs, above the protection of the lace-topped socks. Damian shuddered in response to the warm, comforting touch.
Damian rolled his hips, seeking friction against his erection. Dick's member was still wet, their cocks sliding together.
Damian gasped when Dick's fingers traced over his entrance. Damian could feel the rumble in Dick's chest as he chuckled.
"Does that feel nice? It's hard to tell who is servicing who," Dick teased.
Damian felt strangely shamed by Dick's words. Like he wasn't doing a good enough job to please Dick, even though the man's erection was pressed up against his own.
Damian didn't linger on the thought for long. He knew how he seemed—desperate. Maybe even spoiled. But he did need something more, and Dick obliged—his fingers starting to enter Damian. Damian openly cried out, his body trembling. It felt better than before, somehow—like he hadn't realized how good it felt until they were gone, and now that they were inside him again, he couldn't get enough. Dick's fingers slipped back in easily, beginning to thrust inside of him. Damian rocked his hips, pushing back on Dick's hands. Fucking himself on the fingers and rubbing up against Dick's cock. It all felt so good. So good.
He could feel his lips parting, jaw going slack. Eyelids lowering in pleasure. Dick's free hand teased his nipples through the dress, eliciting a high-pitched moan. Damian's head went light and hazy from all the sensations, gasps falling from his lips, heart pounding in his chest.
Dick seemed to be responding to Damian's pleasure. His fingers thrusting even faster, deeper. His hand pinched and pulled each of Damian's nipples. Dick's breath was quickening as well, aligning with Damian's moans and whines.
"I have to reward my maid for being good, don't I?"
"Yes," Damian said with a gasp.
Damian could feel it—a third finger beginning to push inside. Damian felt a sound crawl up from the back of his throat—and when Dick pushed, Damian finally cried out. His hips stuttered in place, cock trembling. His body felt hot, so hot—trapped underneath layers and layers of clothing.
The stretch was almost painful—Damian felt so full. When Dick's fingers finally started to move again, Damian whimpered behind a closed mouth. It was too much. Too much. Damian's hands grasped Dick's unbuttoned shirt, fists twisting in the material. His weight rested on Dick for balance, his entire body shaking and trembling as Dick stuffed three fingers in deep. Damian could feel himself clenching and unclenching around the intrusion, trying to relax. Damian breathed hard, heart racing, trying to decide what he wanted Dick to do. Not sure if he should hold still or move.
Dick eventually decided for him—fingers moving inside of him. Trying to stretch him out. It was so warm in the room. Damian could hear his own gasps, barely recognizing the high, almost feminine, voice.
Dick had gone strangely quiet. He was watching Damian closely.
"Damian," he said.
Damian looked at the man. Beautiful blue eyes looked at him from under dark tresses.
"I want to be inside of you."
Damian grasped the meaning of Dick's words. He couldn't find a response—but his head started to nod on its own.
Somewhere, in the pleasure that clouded his head, a single thought seemed to move to the forefront:
He really wanted to make Dick happy.
Dick removed his fingers. He lifted Damian up, aligning him with his hard cock. Damian clenched his eyes shut as he felt the tip start to press in—when it finally pushed inside, Damian's hole closed around the head easily enough. But as Dick started to lower Damian, his body started to struggle to accommodate the man's size. Damian groaned, feeling his body straining to fit Dick inside of him. It felt too big—Damian could have sworn he was getting split in half. A sheen of sweat lined the back of his neck and hairline. Too big, too hot—
Dick groaned deeply, head falling back onto the desk. He looked up at Damian with half-lidded eyes. Something about the look did something to Damian—it made him feel strangely proud, despite how shameful and crude the whole situation was.
He could do it.
He could please Dick.
Damian straightened himself, resting his weight on his knees. He lowered himself down on Dick's cock, both of them moaning as he took more and more of Dick inside of him. Damian flinched when his rear finally met Dick's hips—Dick was buried all the way inside of him now.
Damian stilled for a second, chewing his lip. All he could feel was Dick's cock inside of him. It filled him, completely—thick and hot, stretching his hole to the brink. So far. So deep inside.
But he wasn't finished. He needed to do more. Needed to work harder to please Dick properly. So he raised himself up, whimpering softly at the sensation of Dick pulling out of him, before falling back down. Dick's hands tightened on his hips—it was working, Damian could feel it. He was giving Dick what he wanted.
So he did it again, with more confidence. The tip of Dick's cock hit something inside of him as it went in, making Damian moan behind closed lips.
His body started to adjust. He rode Dick, rising and sinking on his cock. Building up a rhythm. As it grew easier, his pace built up. The bells on his headdress chiming in tune with the pace of their fucking.
Dick steadily grew more vocal. Damian felt encouraged by this, hips moving faster. He bounced on Dick's cock, the ringing of his bells slurring together in a string of chimes.
There seemed to be a chorus of sounds—the movements of their bodies meeting, their voices in pleasure, the gentle creaking of the desk, the sway of fabric.
It felt good. The friction became something desirable. Dick's cock struck all of his sensitive spots. Damian found himself openly moaning, riding with more vigor.
Dick suddenly groaned deeply. Hands tightening so hard around Damian that Damian almost thought it'd bruise. Damian cried out, his entire body stiffening as Dick lifted his hips up off the desk, thrusting impossibly deep inside of Damian.
Damian felt white hot pleasure through his body as Dick started to fuck up into him, his pace far more brisk than he had been before. A far cry from his usual controlled, gentle touches.
But Damian didn't mind. Pleasure was racing through his body, sparks down his spine. He was so hot, his eyes burning with tears, lips parting as he moaned, head tilting back.
His cock bounced between his legs. The bells rang almost frantically. Damian's moans were more like whimpers now, feeling desperate.
"You're so tight," Dick said, voice strained. Damian dared to look at Dick, found himself lost. His eyes. His eyes. "Are you going to come for me?"
Damian could feel the heat pooling in his lower abdomen. Damian bit his lip and nodded quickly, bells bouncing with him.
"But a good maid would take care of her master first, wouldn't she?" Dick said, cock buried in deep. Dick stopped thrusting, grinding against Damian instead. Damian faltered, his body seeming to melt. It felt good—but it was almost a tease. Damian liked the feeling of Dick sliding in and out of him better. Damian felt so frustrated, his cock aching hard, a drop of precum rolling from the tip of his cock to the underside.
Damian was humiliated deeply by Dick's words. He felt like some uncontrollable, wanton creature. Even so, he couldn't stop his hips rolling, seeking friction. Face burning with humiliation, Damian nodded almost eagerly, spitting out, "Yes."
"But you're a selfish girl, aren't you?"
Damian felt something in his chest twist. His eyes burned with tears of frustration and shame. "Yes."
At that, the lust in Dick's gaze seemed to grow. "Say it, that's an order."
He couldn't—he couldn't say it. But Dick's cock was moving inside of him—the man's hips rotating against him. Damian's body danced on the edge of pure ecstasy—caught in a beautiful state of pleasure, but not quite enough to push him over that edge. He needed that push. Needed Dick to fuck him fast and rough into his orgasm.
"I'm—"Damian's breath got caught, a damn near sob rising to his throat. He needed it. He needed it. He needed it. The words spilled out all at once, "I'm a selfish girl."
"That's okay," Dick whispered, his hips starting to make shallow thrusts. Damian moaned, the sound catching in his throat. "Because you have a good, forgiving master, don't you?"
Damian's head nodded. This one was easier to admit, his speaking voice returning to him.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you, Master, thank you—"
Heat seemed to rush through Damian all at once. Dick wasn't even at the same rhythm he once was—and yet, Damian was finally pushed to the edge. His body clamped down on Dick's cock, his fists tightening. He cried out, his voice filling the room as heat pushed through his groin, his seed spilling onto his underskirt and Dick's lower abdomen.
Dick fucked him through his orgasm, the pleasure building. Damian caught the man cursing under his breath, and no sooner than Damian had finished, Dick had Damian on his back.
Damian's eyes widened, a sharp gasp cutting through the room as Dick dragged his body to the edge of the desk. Dick was standing at the end, cock hard and soon he was pushing back inside. Damian covered his mouth, teeth biting down on the glove, as Dick entered his sensitive body.
Dick's pace was relentless, his composure gone. Damian's skirt covered the area where their bodies met—but Damian could catch a hint of his stomach, watched it flex as he drilled him with powerful thrusts.
Damian could feel sparks with every drive forward, his eyes rolling back. He almost wanted to beg Dick to stop, it was too much, too much, but no such pleas escaped him.
He wanted Dick to finish. Wanted to keep his legs spread, his hole hugging around the man's cock, until he was good and pleasured. Wanted to make this man feel as comforted and loved as possible.
Damian could do that. He could hang on just that little bit longer to serve Dick's whims.
Dick forcefully pushed Damian's legs up, hands hooked underneath his knees, the boy's small body folded in half. A sock was starting to slip down his leg, gathering around his ankle. The motion bunched up Damian's skirts and Damian knew that from Dick's angle, the man could see everything.
"You have no idea how many times I watched you over the summer," Dick murmured. His hands held Damian so roughly they could bruise. The man bared his teeth, stifling a groan, as his cock buried in deep. "No idea how many times I saw you bent over and wanted to lift up your skirt and fuck you in every room of this house."
Damian's hands slipped across the desk, trying to find purchase. His body was reaching its limit—but Dick seemed to be close, his thrusts erratic.
"God, you've made a mess," the man whispered, and Damian's whole body shuddered as a finger brushed against his skin, picking up the seed that had spilled there.
Damian looked at Dick's glistening fingertips, remembering earlier. He grabbed Dick's wrist, bringing the fingers to his open and obedient mouth.
As his tongue cleaned Dick's hand, Dick suddenly groaned, his cock thrusting in deep. Their hips meeting. The man's entire body stilled and Damian flinched, feeling something hot inside him, filling him up.
Damian whimpered when Dick finally pulled out, feeling warm and thick seed drip down his hole and thighs, onto the hem of his skirt and the desk.
Damian dared to to pat down his skirt, taking a look.
He had made a mess.
But Damian felt like he had done his job well.
"Damian!"
Damian ignored the knock on his door, head buried under his blankets.
A sigh, muffled by the wall that separated them.
"I have to catch my train soon. I'd like to say goodbye before I go."
Damian didn't move. Finally, Dick's resigned footsteps.
Chest twisting, Damian finally got to his feet. He hurried to the door, swinging it open, but Dick was already down the staircase. Damian chased after him—at the top of the staircase, Damian could see Dick saying his goodbyes to Bruce and Alfred.
Damian dragged his feet down the steps. When he made it to the landing, Dick finally made eye contact with him.
Dick held his arms open for a hug.
Damian immediately crossed his arms, shoulders hunched.
Bruce shot him a hard look. "Damian, come say goodbye."
All eyes looked at him expectantly. Damian inched closer, but instead of leaning in for Dick's hug, Damian hid behind his father.
"Bye," he grumbled.
"I'm sorry about this," Damian caught Bruce whispering.
"It's okay," Dick said lightly. Damian blinked in surprise when the man's hand landed on top of his head, petting him one last time. With a kind smile, Dick said, "I'll miss you too."
Damian's face reddened.
"Tt." He swatted Dick's hand away.
Damian watched Bruce and Dick carry the luggages to the carriage. A strange sinking feeling filled Damian's chest as they walked further and further away.
Suddenly, there was a quiet ahem.
Damian looked up at Alfred.
"Master Dick informed us in his letters that you had quite the good behavior," Alfred said. "As such, I thought you might have earned a reward."
At that, Damian blinked.
Damian followed Alfred into the parlor. Sitting on the table was a box. When Damian drew closer, he noticed holes on the lid.
Curiosity piqued, he removed the top.
Damian stared at the contents.
His first thought was that the black and white fur reminded him of a butler's uniform.
"I'm certain you'll take good care of him," Alfred said.
Damian picked up the kitten, positioning him in his arms, tail curled around his elbow. The cat tried to swipe at Damian's chin with a tiny paw, and Damian found himself smiling.
"I suppose this is sufficient. I think I'll name him 'Alfred'."
"Oh," Alfred said, looking visibly surprised. But just as quickly, the butler's expression softened. "I see. Very well, Master Damian. As you wish."