Title: Dami/Colin WTF Meme
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman in any way shape or form, nor do I make money off of this. Whee!
Summary: Zurite's WTF Meme: Batman style. Enough said.
Warnings: Sex, lewdness, swearing, hints from spans over the course of twenty years. Need I say more?
For: Rose Midnight Moonlight Black and my own amusement.
I can't draw to save my life, so I went with a fanfic version of this after stumbling among a million of these on deviantArt.
Introduce the character(s) you like best:
Damian Wayne (guest starring Colin Wilkes).
A drabble for them never seen by the public:
The blue from the water and neon splash across Damian like a new skin or a light from a moon from some uncharted planet. Colin knows that inside, the dark haired boy is furious at just having to be anywhere near the aquarium, but he also knows that the so-called "Devil Sprout"—as Tim called him, though with less spite nowadays—sucked up his attitude and rude comments and came with the ginger anyway. That in itself is good enough for today.
"Come on," Colin grins, leading Damian deeper into the tunnels that this particular aquarium had built in so people could see the fish more clearly and from all angles, "The octopus just had its babies. Let's go see!"
Damian makes his trademark scoff, but allows Colin to tug him along. The shadows of a pair of Clown fish flit over their joined hands, but neither notice.
Interesting… Under constipation on the toilet:
Why? Why did attempting to be normal lead to such things as this? Why couldn't he still be in the League of Assassins and without this sudden need to comfort his companion in this most awkward thing that was food poisoning gone wrong?
"…Do you want more of this pink stuff?" Damian asks tentatively, still outside the door as Colin was embarrassed to have him in there with him, despite him having nothing that Damian had not seen before.
"No," Colin groaned from inside, "No more Pepto Bismal."
Very nice. Now, a little something with him/her/them as a withered old person(s):
"Please…slow down…you're…gonna give me…a heart attack…"
Grudgingly, Damian stopped at the fifteenth step up the ramp that led to the ocean. The cane made a loud tap as he held the rail and turned to see Colin breathing hard down at the tenth step, grey hair getting a little in his eyes as he bowed down and panted.
Trying to be sexy and over-doing it with make-up, wardrobe and a huge afro:
The Catholic school girl uniform fit perfectly, the green and white stripes and checkers making his skinny legs look even paler as he stood at the top of the staircase, Damian at the bottom, and wearing some clothes that looked to have been ripped off of Austin Powers himself.
A wolf whistle found its way out of Damian's mouth when Colin neared the last step down, almost tripping as a result from the sound and the mere look in Damian's eyes.
"Don't do that!" Colin squeaked, jumping the last step with a little pout and keeping his hands firmly placed in front of him so it wouldn't flutter up.
"Damn," Damian said, coming as close to a compliment as anything, "Wish we weren't late for that charity, otherwise I'd get a ruler and—"
"Stop!"
That was hot! …Er, now something with them shaving/waxing…something:
Keeping his arms wrapped firmly around his legs like a pouty five year old, Damian refused to look at Colin, the ginger looking apologetically over his shoulder every five seconds, still going through the Wayne heir's closet, "I'm so sorry! I guess that was a really bad idea. But, Miss Stephanie said people do it a lot and you did say you were trying to be normal—er, more normal, anyway."
"I'm never listening to you again. Why didn't you get yours done?"
"Sorry," Colin repeated, blushing in either shame or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, "I couldn't afford the wax. It's not that bad, is it? You went to a professional—"
"Who said it would only sting for a minute! She lied and now not only am I still itchy, but I am completely bald!"
"She didn't leave you anything? Not even a landing strip or an arrow or anything?"
"I really hate Stephanie…"
Awkward? Now, have them in a thong:
"Did your older brother really wear these once?"
Damian didn't answer, still trying to find a way to get out of the room and ignore the set of green scaled…underthings…Dick used to wear, now being worn by his friend for swimming. It was so indecent!
LOL. Okay, for kicks, have them caught masturbating:
Lying down, supine, atop his thousand dollar sheets—the ones with the sprawling gold and silver design like in the Renaissance paintings at the Louvre—Damian held the picture he had of Colin and himself at the ferry. His other hand was busy tweaking one of his nipples, a light gasp escaping his throat when he felt a delightful sting from the pec.
His hand traveled down south, slowly but surely reaching for his boxers—the pants he had already taken off sitting wrinkled in the corner of the room—and brought his fingers under the elastic band. His eyes glazed over, but he tried to focus them as best he could on the visage of the ginger in the picture. He could imagine the younger teen reaching and touching at his-
A sudden and unwelcome light crossed the room, getting wider and wider as his door opened. Damian automatically removed his hand and tried to hide the photo under his pillow, spinning onto his stomach to hide his raging hard-on. He opened his mouth to yell about knocking to one of his so-called brothers, but instead found himself staring at the living entity of the photo. His mouth snapped shut and judging by the tomato red complexion on his face, he had already seen the photo. And probably what the brunette had been trying to do.
"I—It's not—" Damian stuttered, staying firmly against the mattress.
"You could have asked me, rather than do that," Colin grinned, dropping the basketball he had carried into the manor directly onto Damian's pants in the corner and entered, shutting the door behind him.
Ah, they had too many babies! Shall they be having a tough parenthood:
"Daddy!"
The echo that was the result of three perfectly beautiful brunette seven year old girls and one tiny four year old ginger girl was enough to make Damian want to leap out a window, turn his car on and head for the bar to meet up with Jai and Chris like he had hoped to do earlier. But, no, he would be brave. It was only three hours until Colin got back from work. He would be fine.
Putting on his best smile—not at all friendly to his friends, but familiar enough to the girls that it no longer scared them like when they were babies—Damian patted them each on the head and allowed them to attach an apron around his waist, dragging him into the kitchen, begging to make cookies.
Of course, that was just his seven year olds. His little ginger just sort of followed behind him silently, hand permanently clinging to his pant leg.
Someone has devised a way for one of the babies to wear the aforementioned thong:
"Daddy, lookie what Uncle Jason gave us!"
Trying and failing not to appear like the visage of the Devil himself rising from the earth, Damian felt his hands clench into fists and his teeth grind down so hard he could feel something in his jaw crack painfully, but paid it no mind.
Dick tried to look as nonthreatening as possible and stood well behind the girls as he herded them into the house after an afternoon of babysitting at the Watchtower while Damian and Colin were stuck helping Superman fight Lex Luthor and his chauffer Mercy Graves in a low profile way. All of the girls were in the swimming suit tops Colin had supplied them, but as it seemed, Jason had thought it would be fun to give them Dick's green scaled short pants in from his days of Robin.
Even his little angelic ginger was wearing one and Damian wanted to seriously reconsider his promise not to kill Jason.
Smooching time:
There is a feather light sensation against the shell of his ear and Damian almost moves his hand to flick it away, thinking it to be a bug, but quickly stops when saliva joins the touch, along with a tongue tracing his ears entire outline.
He groans, but not in a tired or annoyed way. Rather, it is in a way that goes hand in hand with the gentle laughter Colin gives to him as he starts moving along Damian's neck, tongue doing wonders for the bruises adorning him from just the night previous.
"Hurry and take off your boxers," Colin orders, for once in a hurry, "I only have a half an hour until I have to get to work."
Hmm, Damian couldn't recall the last time they had a quickie. This would be good…
Wild card time; write whatever you want:
"I'm not going in there," Damian says for what feels like the millionth time, not letting go of the theater's doorway, no matter how stupid he looks to people walking by. He meant what he was saying, really, really, really!
Colin just looks at him with a smirk, arms crossed and looking oh-so-delectable in his leather jacket and denim jeans, "You're coming in. This is for charity, and we're doing it."
"But…why?" The brunette practically sobs, finally letting go of the door and allowing Colin to grab his hand and lead him near the back of the operatic theater. The nosebleed section was where they ended up, so Damian supposed he should be grateful that Colin was perhaps taking pity on him.
"Like I said," Colin started, though quietly as the light were turning down and a dozen or so women in skimpy outfits seen often on life sized mannequins in love boutique windows made their way to seats already set upon the stage, a microphone standing before each of them, "It's for charity. But, there's the added bonus of it giving you the opportunity to understand women better."
"Why do I need to understand women?" Damian snorted, trying to tune out the woman who came up first to speak the introduction to the Vagina Monologues, "If I don't eat at the restaurant, there's no reason to listen to the specials."
Colin leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek before snatching away the large soda they had decided to share. Damian's consolation prize to that was the extra buttered popcorn fed to him by Colin's fingers.
