Trigger warning: possible dubcon going forward


Okay, Damian kissed good. And tasted good. And the feeling of her body pressed against the wall as he pressed against her, his hands holding her firm by the waist was just … gooooood. So gooooood that Steph kind of just started kissing him back, her eyes closing without her permission and her brain shutting down. Still a teensy bit tipsy, she was focused on the pressure of his lips and the little alternate nips as he moved his head to tilt the other way and once she opened her mouth a bit, his tongue darting against hers. Oh god, that fucking tongue. She shivered and sighed and he pressed his pelvis just a little firmer against hers. He had broken down the wall and they could finally stop ignoring the partner banter and the smiles and the big ball of weird tension that kept giving her weird fluttery stomach feelings.

"Dami," she managed to get out as she broke the kiss for the simple need to breathe. He started kissing her jaw and her fingers started combing though the hair on the back on his neck. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"Damian," she tried again, hoping to find some purpose in her own words.

"Stephanie," he groaned. He was grinding up against her. She could feel him hard against her leg. She was grinding back against his leg now and he nearly growled against her skin.

"Damian, you were hurt," she said still moving her hips a little as he rubbed against her, "I still have to examine you."

"Yeah, you do," he said in a voice that sounded wrong and dark and sexy as hell before his mouth shot to her now exposed neck, sucking hard against a special spot that Steph was not aware until that moment existed. But with lightning shooting to her belly in horny electricity, she sure knew about it now.

"J'ai rêvé de cela," he practically growled against her skin. "Je te veux si mal. Je tiens à vous lécher partout."

Oh. French. He's speaking French. That's … new, she thought as her smile faltered. She was pretty sure he knew she couldn't speak French. Maybe he does have a concussion. Shit, maybe I should try to get him to sit down. His hands crept to the hem of her sleep shirt, moving around to cup her ass.

"Votre corps est céleste," he whispered against her lips. "Je pourrais l'adorer."

Well, she didn't speak French but that was hot. As was the little squeeze he was giving her ass and the way his tongue was back in her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling so he came down to her level and she went up to his, letting their kisses deepen. Let this happen, a voice came from the back of her brain. He wants you. He wants this. Oh god, the friction of her boyshorts and his suit leg felt amazing against her core. And he smelled so good. Like his normal musky smell but also sweet like … roses.

Or … ozone.

Steph's eyes flashed open. Shit. Shitty shit shit. Her heart raced as her brain put it together. His bending over in pain. The sudden make-out session. The out of nowhere seduction. The freaking French. And his eyes. His green eyes. That was never one of the symptoms before, but …

"Wait," she said, her voice shaking as she pulled away from his mouth. "Damian, where were you tonight?"

"I'm here," he said, using that sex voice he pulled out earlier, "With you." He started leaning forward again to get back to the kissing.

"No, Damian," she said firmly, holding his shoulders back firmly, "Where did you go on patrol? What were you doing?"

He blinked, panting. "I—" he struggled to get out the words. "I don't remember … " He looked down, himself getting panicky.

"Damian," she said again, "Please don't shut down on me. Focus. You hung up the phone with me and were going out."

He nodded weakly. "Running late. I was running late. Went right to listening to the police alerts. I … there was a break-in. The Arboretum."

Shit.

"Ivy," she gritted. It wasn't even a question — they both knew. When he opened his eyes again, they were clearer, but still with that iridescent, swirling green that threatened to pull her in with its intensity.

"Your eyes are green," she said, as if that was some brilliant revelation, "That's … that's new for her."

He nodded again, subconsciously leaning forward into their previous position. And she might have noticed it if she wasn't busy hating herself. And she really did hate herself. She should have known. She should have known this was stupid Ivy's horny pollen toxin bullshit. Green eyes were never a thing for this before, but damn it, she should have realized it with everything else. Why else would he throw himself at her? Why else would Damian Wayne ravage her against a wall? A pit of dread fell into her stomach. Oh jesus, she kissed him back. She was ready to take him to bed. She almost—

And now he was kissing her neck again.

"Just a little more," Damian begged, his voice full with that desperate craving that went with the toxin. And for a split second, her body pushed her to let it keep going. She had to keep her focus to help Damian, but that knowledge didn't stop his mouth from feeling amazing on that little spot he discovered so quickly. It had been so long since anyone … so maybe just a little more kissing—

"No," she said staunchly, trying to pull away a bit from his adoration. She wouldn't do this. "We can fix this. Your belt. The anti-toxin."

"Civilians," he gasped out, still kissing her neck, "Two scientists. She got all three of us. Green eyes. This new strain it … one anti-toxin dose wasn't enough. I had four doses, Brown. They needed all of them."

Steph tried not to groan. Of-fucking-course, he had to be selfless and now he was the one in deep shit. Not that she wouldn't have done the same, but still.

"What about—"

"Out of town," he said, still panting against her skin.

Double shit. She knew that, but still … shit. Not that she really wanted Bruce to come in and see his son like this, but she was still hoping he and his stocked utility belt would be close. Cass was out of the country on some ninja mission. And the rest of the family was on opposite sides of town from the apartment, except Tim, who was up in the Watchtower. And then there was her. He came to her thinking she'd have the antidote.

"Damian," she said as gently as she could. He needed to know.

But he only moaned back.

"Damian—"

"I like how you say that," he growled.

"No, Damian," she said far more firmly, taking his face in her hands so he'd look her in the eye, "You don't understand. I don't have my suit with me. It's at the Cave being mended." He came here clearly as a last resort and she didn't have the freaking antidote and now he was nuzzling her right hand, applying open mouth kisses to her palm before leaning back in to—

"Damian!" she said, pulling her hand back and trying to shake him (and her) out of it, "You need to listen to me. No suit means no antidote."

"Don't care," he moaned, swooping her into his arms and kissing her again and muttering "I need … I need …" against her mouth. He struggled to get out the words.

Oh, she knew exactly what he needed and he was going to hate her for it. Horny, pollinated Damian might be a-okay with her getting him the care he needed in non-professional ways, but she was pretty sure regular Damian would not be okay with what she was going to have to do. And that made her not okay with what she was going to have to do. She was full out dreading it.

Because okay yes, Damian had won the puberty lottery. She wasn't blind and she attracted to the male gender and yes, he was a hot 19 year-old who was often doing pull-ups near her while shirtless. Or pinning her down onto the training mat during sparring while still being shirtless. And yes maybe them getting along better made him that much more appealing to her as a hot male specimen. And yes maybe when she had enough time before bed to get out the vibrators, his face had flitted onto some of the random fantasy guys she conjured up to get into the mood. Maybe his face would occasionally be the one that stuck around once her body really started going. Maybe she had imagined him panting just like this. Him kissing her just like this. And under other circumstances …

But that didn't change the fact that he was on Ivy's pollen and was in pain. Despite it making certain usually fun urges come to the forefront, the pollen wasn't something anyone would want to take willingly once they'd experienced it. It wasn't freaking Viagra. Steph had learned that for herself years ago as Batgirl … she had been caught without an anti-toxin on her belt and the need to get naked with the nearest person was so strong that she was ready to rip her clothes off right there in the Wayne Corp. greenhouses. But it didn't feel good as much as burned. It was like a desperate urge that could never possibly be fulfilled on her own, an undying craving that quickly had her curled in the fetal position, doubling over in pain.

But that was when Black Bat found her. And Cass took care of her. Cass forced her to stay still with a sitting hold maneuver of Steph's back to Cass' front and within two minutes of careful touching and soothing words, Stephanie had felt the painful pressure of her arousal released. They never talked about it after but for as long as she lived, Steph would always be grateful for how Cass helped her that night.

"Browwwn," Damian groaned. He was back to grinding certain body parts against hers (certain very hard body parts, Steph noticed), but he was clearly holding himself back from going further, obviously not wanting to do something he would regret despite the toxins pushing him to do more. His brow scrunched in what should have been pleasure, but what Steph knew was growing into pain … and not the fun kind.

Quickly going through what she knew from treating Ivy's victims and her personal experience with this chemical, she knew his heart rate was getting faster, that his mind was becoming more and more disoriented. It was developed by Ivy to stop her foes outright, adding a bit of humiliation to what she saw as mankind's ego. Steph's impromptu make-out session with a team member — one she had started thinking about in a not entirely pure way — might have seemed like a fantasy come true from anyone on the outside, but Damian was in serious trouble. Even if she could get him to her car (with the way he was writhing against her, that would be a fucking miracle), they wouldn't make it to the manor before he went into cardiac arrest. And thanks to Ivy's sick sense of humor when it came to distracting her foes, there was only one way to release that tapped adrenaline.

She could feel him shaking against her. His life was in danger and she was going to have to do something that he would probably hate her for in the morning, but at least she knew that it wasn't sex in the strictest, heteronormative sense that would neutralize the toxins.

Meaning that intercourse wasn't necessary for him to get through this. Meaning she could get his body back to safe levels with what was basically second base in high school petting terms. That was how Cass saved her, so Steph knew it would work and she knew it had to be her. Being desperate and needing an emergency handjob would embarrass anyone, but Damian was one of the proudest people Stephanie knew. Even if time wasn't of the essence, he needed someone who could handle his situation quickly … efficiently. Who could keep him from doing anything more embarrassing or regrettable than absolutely necessary. Who could make sure he was okay without taking advantage of the situation. And as much as his mouth on her neck (oh yeah, he had gone back to kissing that one beautifully sensitive spot on her neck) was tempting her to give him what he asked, she knew what needed to be done.

When she had been edging close to death and the only way through it was to orgasm to another person's touching, she had been lucky to have a friend who would do what needed to be done. And now Steph would be paying that kindness forward.

"Stephanie, anaa ataajok." he stammered out against her ear in a language she didn't even recognize, "Anaa ataajok."

"Damian," she said, edging his shoulders back with her palms. His eyes were hooded, still glazed, but some focus seemed to be in there behind the green haze. "I know you're fighting it, but you need help. Let me—" she said, "—let me help you, okay?"

Her shaky right hand edged down the front of his costume, her other hand holding first on his shoulder to keep him in place. She carefully loosened his utility belt, her mind racing as she planned out how to go about it. Cass had kept her firm in place, sitting behind Steph with both of them on the floor so her hands could do the work. Ideally she'd want to get Damian on his back (No, not like that! she yelled in her own head), but she didn't want to spark the pollen in him when he was so calm now.

Once the utility belt was unactivated and put aside, her hand moved back to his torso, hesitantly creeping between the top part and bottom part of his costume. She felt his abs flinch as her fingers reached flesh and wasn't sure if the hitch came from her throat or his. She knew touch was important. Intercourse itself wasn't needed, but someone else's touch was. Gathering her gumption, Steph reached under the waistband.