Damian clicked through the articles in the online Gotham Gazette with only cursory interest. When he'd awoken this morning to find Jason missing, he'd been more than a little disappointed. Apparently, his machinations of the previous evening had not been as successful as he'd initially thought. Grayson had then informed him in rather painstaking fashion over lunch that he and Jason had had a long talk, and had come to the conclusion that they "just weren't meant to be." Damian had been irritated by the phrasing, because really, fate was a crutch that weaklings used to excuse their ineptitude, but he'd given Grayson a pass because A. he'd looked like he'd been weeping all night and B. it was probably polite code for "I'm not giving you the details." It was one of the many things he appreciated about Jason; he saw no need for the social codes and niceties that just meant Damian had to work harder to figure out what he was really saying. In the end, Grayson had assured him that they had worked through their difficulties to achieve "closure", whatever that meant, and that neither of them had regretted the activities of the previous evening. Damian had been relieved to hear that last part especially, though he was of course disappointed, as he'd rather enjoyed the experience, and had been hoping to repeat it. No matter, at least Grayson had agreed to give them his blessing, provided Jason continued in his current vein of stable, non-psychotic behaviour. Despite being somewhat perturbed by Jason's abrupt departure and subsequent radio silence, Damian had left Grayson's apartment after lunch with some modicum of confidence about the imminent confrontation with his father.

The talk with his father had, as expected, been difficult for both of them, but his father had been surprisingly receptive. Halfway through the conversation, Damian had been forced to consider the possibility that his father already knew about his relationship with Todd, and had just been waiting to see if he'd come forward of his own accord. If that was true, then in some ways, it was a relief, because if his father really had been surveilling them, then he would've known the truth from his own observations, thus eliminating the need for long-winded explanations and justifications such as Grayson had required. That probably explained why they had come to an understanding so quickly.

He wondered how the dinner was proceeding. It had been over an hour since it began – it should have been concluded by now. He shifted in his seat. He hoped nothing untoward had occurred.

The sound of the tumblers turning in the door locks startled Damian so badly that he almost dropped his laptop on the floor. He quickly put the computer away and hurried to the door. It opened a moment later to admit Jason…wearing a suit, and a really expensive one, from the looks of it. He looked so sharp that it made Damian's mouth fill with saliva and he had to bite back a sudden, powerful surge of lust. He contained himself, however, because he doubted Jason would appreciate being attacked as he came through his front door, particularly after a no doubt harrowing experience with his father.

Jason pulled up short. "Damian. Come right in, make yourself at home."

Damian shrugged the comment off as nonsensical. For all his forthrightness, Jason too occasionally succumbed to making pointless or irrational statements. "How was dinner?"

"It was fine," Jason said.

Damian eyed him critically. Jason didn't seem angry, per se, but he didn't seem as happy or relieved as Damian had expected him to be, if the conversation had indeed been 'fine'. "I apologise for the ruse. I couldn't refuse him. You're not angry, are you?"

"Why would I be angry?" Jason asked as he pushed past Damian and stalked into the kitchen.

Damian contained a sigh. All right, so maybe Jason was a little angry. But he'd already apologized once – he wasn't going to do it again. "Did he tell you about the house?" he asked, switching to a hopefully happier topic.

"Yeah," Jason replied. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and Damian had to jump out of the doorway to avoid getting shoulder-checked again as Jason proceeded into the living area.

"It's good news, isn't it?" Damian prompted.

"Sure," Jason said.

"Is that all you're going to say?" Damian snapped. It had been an anxious, stressful day for him, too, and what little patience he had was wearing thin.

"Look," Jason said, turning abruptly on him. Damian couldn't help but take a defensive step back as he noticed Jason's hands clenching into fists. An air of restrained violence rolled off of Jason in nearly palpable waves. "I can't do this right now. Maybe you should go."

Damian gaped at him as something hot and frustrated and downright painful ignited in his chest. "But..." he trailed off, at a loss as to what to say. They'd succeeded, hadn't they? Grayson, his father, they'd convinced them. This was supposed to be a happy moment – what was going on? Why was Jason acting this way?

As if realising what he was doing, Jason took a deliberate step back and unclenched his hands. "Fuck, that isn't...I mean…" he trailed off with a frustrated growl. "It's just…it's a lot to take in, and I just…I can't…"

All at once, Damian saw past his own hurt and confusion to the man unravelling before his eyes. "Stop," he said, cutting Jason off. "Come here."

"I don't-"

"Come. Here." Damian repeated, his tone like suede-wrapped steel.

For a moment, he thought Jason would refuse, but then Jason heaved an irritated sigh and crossed the room to stand in front of him. From force of habit, Jason automatically assumed a respectful, submissive posture, eyes trained on the floor, arms hanging loosely by his sides, hands relaxed in a soft curl. Damian noted that he already seemed calmer, as though the simple commands and clear expectations had helped to cut through his emotional turmoil. Damian understood what it was like to feel like you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty, to have people thrust their expectations upon you without giving you any idea of how you were meant to fulfil them, to feel confusion and frustration, hope and fear and love and despair all at the same time so that you could barely discern what you were feeling let alone deduce how you were meant to act.

"Look at me." It wasn't something Damian usually demanded when they were both standing, and Jason hesitated for a fraction of a second before he met his gaze. Damian frowned at the dark circles under Jason's eyes, stark against his abnormally pale skin. He looked beyond exhausted, and Damian remembered that he hadn't slept much, if at all, in the last four days. "Whatever it is, it can wait. Come to bed," he said, taking Jason's hand in his.

Jason winced. "I really-"

"To sleep, Todd," Damian interrupted. "No drinking, no smoking, and no sex. Tonight, you're sleeping, if I have to tie you to the bed all night."

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes, but he let Damian drag him to the bed.

"Sit," Damian directed.

Jason sat down on the bed, although it was really more like a controlled collapse.

Damian deftly untied his tie for him. "Tt," he scolded. "A three-year-old could've done a better job of tying this tie."

"'zat so?" Jason said, yawning widely.

Damian pulled the tie through Jason's collar and folded it neatly on the table. He slid the jacket off next and hung it over the back of one of the chairs.

"You don't have to do that, y'know," Jason said. "I'm probably going to burn it in the morning."

Damian glared at him. "That's criminal. It's a Valentino, and it looks stunning on you."

"Forget it, I'm not wearing it again," Jason said petulantly. "It feels like it's made from sewed together fire ants."

Damian unbuttoned the shirt and carefully eased it off Jason's shoulders. "That's because your back is still healing. Besides, you can't expect everything to be as comfortable as a t-shirt."

"Why not?" Jason complained.

Damian shot him a pained look. "Because you're not a toddler, even if you apparently have the manual dexterity of one."

Jason sighed and laid back on the bed while Damian worked on unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. "I don't see a point in wearing uncomfortable clothes that I can barely move in."

"It's not combat gear. The point is the way it looks, not its comfort or utility. If you wear it again for me, I promise I'll take you somewhere that you'll actually enjoy," Damian said as he draped the trousers over the chair.

"I'm pretty sure no place I like is going to have a dress code," Jason groused.

Damian turned off the lights and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over both of them. Then he snuggled down next to Jason and threw an arm over his chest and a leg over his thighs.

"Shut up, Todd," he growled in Jason's ear.

A soft snore was his only answer.

Damian moaned in his sleep. Something was different, his half-asleep brain told him, but it wasn't a threat. It was actually rather pleasant. He squirmed as another warm wave of sensation washed over him. Yes, definitely nice.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, reaching down to touch himself. Instead, he touched something else, something hard and hairy. His eyes snapped open and he half sat up.

"Good morning," Jason said, smirking at him from between Damian's legs.

Damian's lips twitched. "I assume you slept well. Is this an apology for your behaviour last night?"

"Hmmm," Jason hummed around Damian's dick.

Damian threw his head back and bit back a gasp. "Apology accepted," he all but yelped as Jason did something decidedly wicked with his tongue. He really had no idea how Todd managed to do these things with just his mouth. He'd had a couple girlfriends and a boyfriend back in highschool, and none of them had performed to quite this level. The slippy wet swirl of saliva and tongue, the friction and heat of lips and soft palate, the sloppy, filthy sucking sounds – somehow, Jason had it all working in concert to drive him inexorably mad. He fisted his hands in the sheets, writhing in breath-hitching pleasure as Jason worked him over with the sort of intense care and thoroughness he exhibited when cleaning and servicing his guns.

Damian groaned when he thought about Jason's hands, deftly disassembling his favourite Glock, the control, the precision, the power. His back arched off the bed as his orgasm hit suddenly, an unexpected explosion of sensation that ripped all coherent thought from his mind. "J-ay-" he choked out. Slowly, he relaxed back onto the bed, releasing his murderous grip on the sheets as he began to breathe again.

It suddenly occurred to him how he could make good on his promise the other night to make it up to Jason. He'd buy him a custom 1911 – maybe a matched set, with titanium frames – and then...well, then maybe they could have some fun with them. He smirked as the myriad possibilities gyrated a siren's dance through his mind.

"You look like you're plotting something," Jason said as he flopped down next to him. "Should I be worried?"

"Yes," Damian said frankly. He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow so he could look Jason in the eye. Jason looked much improved from the previous night, the dark smudges under his eyes having faded noticeably. His eyes were a clear blue-green, sharp, with only a hint of redness around the edges. He looked so content that Damian hated to spoil the mood, but apology blowjob or not, he couldn't just sweep everything that had happened yesterday under the rug and forget about it.

"What?" Jason asked, his eyes clouding with suspicion.

Damian contained a sigh. "We need to talk about what happened yesterday," he said without preamble.

Jason's suspicion darkened into an apprehensive frown. "I'm not Dick, you know. I don't need to talk about everything all the time."

"I don't expect you to prattle endlessly about your every thought and feeling – I couldn't think of anything more tedious," Damian said. "But I know that the last few days have been difficult for you, and I…I need to know that you're all right."

"I'm fine," Jason assured him. "What about you? Are you all right?"

Damian raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, but he said, "Both Father and Grayson have accepted you. As far as I'm concerned, we've won a major coup."

"I really wouldn't go that far," Jason said in a strained voice.

"No?" Damian prompted.

Jason sighed. "Look, it's a step forward on both fronts, and that's good, more or less. But you have to understand that this shit with Bruce and Dick, it's always one step forward and two steps back. So you'll forgive me if I wait for the other shoe to drop before I start celebrating. Also, my issues with Bruce and Dick? They're just that, my issues. They don't affect us, and they're not for you to worry about. So just…drop it!"

Damian contemplated the request for a moment before he said, "On one condition." He grasped Jason's jaw in a firm grip and forced him to look him in the eye. "You will tell me if it becomes too much to handle alone. My first indication that something is wrong had better not be one of your psychotic little stunts. Do I make myself clear?"

Anger flared white-hot in Jason's eyes, and Damian belatedly realised his mistake. Damn it, that wasn't what he'd meant to say. Actually, that's exactly what he'd meant to say, but that's not how he'd meant Jason to take it.

"Crystal," Jason hissed. He jerked out of Damian's grip and started to get up.

"We're not done here," Damian said, sliding out of the bed in pursuit.

"The hell we aren't!" Jason said as he snatched his shirt off the floor.

Damian moved to intercept him, effectively blocking his escape.

"Get out of my way," Jason gritted. His eyes were hard, flat, his voice edged with an unspoken threat.

"No," Damian said, calling his bluff. He slid into a defensive stance, making it clear that Jason would have to fight him if he wanted out of the room. "You're not running, not this time."

Silence stretched between them as each stood his ground and refused to back down. Finally, Jason broke the tension with a snarl of frustration. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"I want you to talk to me, you emotionally stunted man-child!" Damian exploded. "How is it that you trust me enough to collar you, but you can't trust me enough to tell me what's going on inside your head?"

"Goddammit, I do trust you; that's not what this is about!" Jason shouted. "I just don't want you to be stuck in the middle if everything goes tits up with Bruce and Dick. You shouldn't have to choose between your father, your brother, and your boyfriend, and you shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes."

Damian flung his hands up in sheer exasperation. "So your solution is to shut me out? That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard, and I'm on a team with a guy who calls himself 'Beast Boy'! I'm already in the middle of this whether you like it or not, and I don't need you to protect me. Why does everyone suddenly think I need protecting? Grayson, Father, now you? I'm not some fragile child!"

"God, it must be so horrible to have so many people care so damn much about you!" Jason sneered.

"I know you're mocking me, but do you have any idea how irritating it is to be treated this way?" Damian demanded.

"No, I don't, because no one ever gave a shit about me!" Jason yelled.

"Well I do!" Damian shouted back.

Jason stared at him in stunned silence, as though Damian had slapped him or some other equally inappropriate thing. After a moment he said in a softer though no less adamant tone, "You know, this shit with Dick and Bruce is just the tip of the iceberg. It's not going to get any easier. There's a reason why Dick, Sasha, Bruce…why they all left in the end." He frowned, turning away so that Damian couldn't see his expression. "You would too, if you knew what was good for you."

"Is there something wrong with your listening comprehension skills?" Damian snapped. He circled around to face Jason, because damned if he was going to let him hide from him. "I just told you that I don't need you to protect me. I'm not going anywhere, so you'd better get used to it, Todd!" he said, jabbing a finger at Jason to punctuate his words.

A multitude of emotions flickered over Jason's features. "Damian…" he started, though it soon became clear that he had no idea how to finish that thought.

There was a moment of awkward hesitation, then suddenly they were reaching for one another, seeking to demonstrate in action what they could never say in words. They met somewhere in the middle in a fierce, desperate hug.

"I'm not going anywhere," Damian repeated. He fisted a hand in Jason's hair and jerked his head back possessively. "You're mine," he growled in Jason's ear.

Jason shivered as his arms tightened around Damian. "Yours," he agreed readily.

Damian kissed him then, insistent, demanding, and Jason yielded to him, letting him sweep into his mouth, claiming him, owning him as he went, and yes, Damian thought, this was just as it should be, and maybe even as it was meant to be.