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This hadn't been the first time Dick experienced a kidnapping with the connection being the Al Ghuls.

But it was a first for the long succession of… not getting kidnapped for the past few years. There seemed to be less of an inclination to kidnap Batman. But when he had been Robin…? Whoo, boy, Dick lost count of how many times he would be escaping ropes and chains and overly handsy villains.

Fortunately, the scaly panties were out of the picture by now.

A stone-carved holding cell somewhere underground in Mediterranean Europe — dark, dank, damp (along with a bunch of other D- adjectives, he was sure). Plenty of enforced suspension restraints spreading Dick's arms apart. His feet remained tethered down. Give him another hour and he'd wear his restraints out enough to slip a foot free without a guard noticing. One foot was all he needed. Cape, cowl, and utility belt taken away somewhere in the last forty-seven hours.

Dick's happiest moment of captivity being Ra's al Ghul's guards attempting to strip him of the Batman belt (smashed the camera in the buckle for good measure… they were getting smarter) and getting to watch as six of them passed out from the built-in tazar security system.

The last three guards fought off some robotic flame and smoke bombs that seemed hell bent on chasing them out of the cell.

He earned himself a couple wind-knocking punches in the gut and a knotted, stinky rag for a makeshift gag from laughing so hard. Completely worth it.

But completely the last time he would do a favor for Bruce like this after returning to Bludhaven. Last freaking time.

Human traffic wasn't very common down in this part of the murky underground tunnels, so Dick estimated from his stay this far, and couldn't help but have a little disbelief when he heard the footsteps. The guards outside the cell respectfully acknowledged the approaching figures, and more silent, black-clad guards filtered into view. A soft, womanly voice spoke in Arabic. An ankle-length, wine-colored dress.

Dick narrowed his eyes, annoyed, thinking to himself: 'Great.'

Who he saw next, locked sullenly around Talia's possessive arm, made Dick's already weakened stomach clench. His ex-partner didn't face the cell and proceeded to collide into a guard, seeming to curse at him, and then Damian and his mother started arguing quietly and fast to each other in a language he wasn't familiar with.

Talia's embroideries on her dress matched Damian's maroon-colored, fashionably patch-worked sherwani.

A loving family. Right.

By the end of the argument, Talia looked more than displeased with the outcome. With a great amount of hesitation, she handed the fifteen-year-old an item before walking off with the newer guards. The one Damian had sworn at moved aside for another guard to open Dick's holding cell, shutting the barred door behind the teenager as he entered.

Dick's gag tugged out of his mouth harshly, Damian's fingernails scraping the side of his unshaven cheek. "Do you understand why we keep you alive?" Damian's eyes on him were cold.

'Play along.'

"Why don't you tell me then, Damian?"

He squeezed his jaw excruciatingly, lip curled. "To my understanding, Mother is seeking to create leverage against Father once more. To entice him to fight alongside her. Through you."

Dick's stomach hurt at the impending confirmation and he kept his voice mildly intrusive, "Like creating you."

"Correct." Damian's fingertips shifted away from Dick's jaw to pat his shoulder and then run slowly over his own face. "Grandfather's half sister failed to acquire what she needed from Drake."

"A last resort, huh?" Dick laughed humorlessly, lowering his head. "I feel like I should be insulted somehow," he mumbled. Damian moved around him, slipper-feet mute against stone floor. His nature switched from malice to something that sounded more like him — apprehensive; tenacious.

"{The guards do not understand Russian. And I've gathered that you are fluent. This should allow us to talk freely.}"

"{Why did you do this, Little D? Why go back to them now?}"

Damian flinched at the nickname. He growled, "{I will not allow Mother to so much as touch a single strand of your hair.}" Dick glanced at the white-labeled, sterile container in Damian's hand.

"{So you're gonna do this by yourself.}" He stated, jerking his blood-matted head towards the hallway, "{That's why you had her leave.}"

The container shook.

"{Stop talking,}" Damian demanded, stubbornly.

He put on a pretty damn brave front for how Dick was sure he really felt — miserable; fearful; uncertain — and Damian's legs straddled Dick's lap in his sitting, tethered position to the floor. Dick held his breath when Damian's hands dug into the lip of his costumed, modified-Kevlar pants and shoved underneath for the jock. Their audience, the guards outside the holding cell, snickered through the bars and mumbled amongst themselves, and judging how Damian's cheeks reddened with humiliation, they were not polite comments.

He tried to keep a collected expression, focusing on the line of Damian's throat, and panting lightly when Damian's hands grasp around him, cool and dry and soft, and that purposeful contact awakened that sensitive organ — collected; had to keep focus elsewhere; had to — and Dick's hips rolled under Damian's weight at the strokes, some harsher around the foreskin, some lingering. Damian's eyes gazed down on him, a little more confident of his actions as Dick made a more audible, more indulgent cry when his cock was freed up.

Hardly any communication between them in the past three years… and Damian knew to…

Dick shut his eyes from the teenager's blue irises, from the looming (soclosenowsoclo-) reality. So much older now. When had Damian—…?

The space between them lessened, as Damian leaned up, never relenting on his motions. Dick's own blue eyes flew open at the feel of Damian's mouth to his. Damian's hand squeezed around him painfully (ohgodgodyesy-) until Dick complied, easing his lips apart for Damian's tentative and exploring tongue.

Something small and ridged and metal slipped into Dick's mouth.

"{They know,}" Damian spoke urgently into their feeble kiss, massaging the tip of the cock in one of his hands, and the other pressing the container between their ribs, safely away. "{If you care for me as you once did… you will save me from this before it's too late.}"

He actually sounded… scared.

Dick came with an exhale, a huff of breath to Damian's cheek, and Damian's hands worked him back into the jock and wiped clean. As he rose with the empty container, tucking it under his shirt, the guards released him from the cell with undisguised, wary looks and two of them led Damian away. Dick watched with a frown, and swallowed thinly at the object in his mouth, allowing it to settle uncomfortably in his esophagus as one of the men inspected him.

He wiggled out his tongue in a vulgar, grinning manner when one of the guard's scabby hands poked to enter his mouth and hold it open as a flashlight examined him. When the guard finished his inspection, closing the cell door for good, Dick waited several minutes before forcing himself to vomit up the key, flushing with the effort and grinning wider.

Time to return the favor to Little D.

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"I had expected that Grandfather would give up on the impracticality of possessing my body after some time…"

Damian sighed, tilting his neck as Dick pressed an anesthetic cloth to the deeper split of a cut before arranging the surgery kit into his lap. He scooted his chair closer to Damian's in the empty Cave. The exception being the flapping wings of the 'pet' bats.

"Not sure if it's better or worse than being executed." Dick let out a nervous laugh as Damian sent him a darkened look over his shoulder. "…Okay, it's worse," he corrected, threading the medical needle and got to work. Some fight to get out of. Damian had been the one to take most of the damage before they could retrieve and manually pilot the new Wing Plane. Damian never complained as the stitching went on.

All stayed quiet until Dick checked over his handiwork on the teenager's neck. His fingers brushed over Damian's skin absently. "I have… taken advantage of you."

Dick shrugged, revealing nothing. "I've been in worse situations," he said.

"It need not have come to that if…"

"It was a part of the performance, right?" He interrupted Damian's eerie sort of self-wallowing, smiling cheerfully, "We got out, didn't we?"

Dick closed up the kit, lifting himself onto his feet.

He heard Damian murmur, "…It wasn't." Dick's head tilted sideways, continuing to listen, "…You were mistaken in assuming about how I may feel towards you," Damian told him with a stronger voice, gripping his knees.

'Wait.'

Dick let it sink in a moment. The kit dropped onto the med table. "How long has this—?"

"—since you left," Damian answered with a straight face.

Dick's eyebrows arched up. "Really?" he asked, disbelieving, smile undecided in emotion.

Damian snapped, features scrunching, "Don't you dare patronize me, Grayson!"

"That's almost cute that you had a little kid crush on me."

"Grayson!"

"Ease up. I'm just messing with you." Dick shook his head, reaching out and threading short strands of Damian's black hair, "You know that this ca—"

The teenager snatched his arm, yanking it down, and yanking Dick down to bend at waist level, meeting eye-to-eye. Damian's teeth bore.

"Don't tell me I cannot have what I want," he whispered, touching a hand under Dick's chin but making no further move between them — the memory of earlier that evening much too fresh. So, Dick made the decision for him. He pulled the teenager out of the chair, pulled their chests together, and kissed Damian's upper lip, those teeth; greedy—stop. Think.

"Damian… listen," he whispered to the younger sitting up on the cold, med table with palms planted flat and body reclining backwards slightly.

Damian's legs in his change of clothes from the escape — a pair of lightweight, brown trousers — crooked open.

"Suck," a low, croaking command.

Dick's forehead wrinkled and Damian took a moment to roll his eyes at the question that followed, "Do I want to know how you know this?"

"I'm how old?"

The older man laughed again, slightly in dubiety, "Not old enough for this to be legal, I'm sure…"

Damian tugged him forward by the collar, seizing Dick's hands and placing them over his belt buckle, muttering about Dick being too talkative when Dick's hands started moving on their own. He didn't know why he was giving into this so readily when there were probably ten different consequences and jailing penalties to go along with sticking Damian's cock in his mouth right now. But it fills the lining of his mouth so nicely, so warm, and Damian's moans are…

And, really… Dick had always been exceptionally good at taking orders.

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Never enough Dick/Damian stories. Never, ever. I got this done last year but it needed a few more drafting and revising decisions… but it seemed perfect to give out to my gf for Valentine's Day (since she was the one who requested the pairing and the kinks back then). Better than getting it on today is reading your favorite characters getting it on. 8Db