Description: Damian tries a different angle when dousing your insecurities.

Request: may we have some post coital action with damian pls

Hello, I love your writing! May I request older!damian drawing his s/o nude pls?

Words: 4428

Notes: So, this time Jen and I wanted to try something different. That means that I wrote everything and then she edited it just to make it a little bit more smutty. Basically, we're just really thirsty for older!Damian at all times and we needed a way to vent. Definitely, heavily implied smut here folks.

_

You knew, that if the situation were reversed, Damian Wayne wouldn't hesitate to do what you wanted to do. If the sketchbook lying tantalizingly close to you was yours instead of his, he would leap at the chance to see what you had drawn. But that was the thing... This wasn't your sketchbook, it was Damian's.

It was a simple, fair-sized book of sketch paper, kept together by spiral binding and two hard green covers. Anyone who didn't know Damian could have easily mistaken it for a normal book. But Damian carried this tool with him everywhere he went, just one part of his massive arsenal of mysteries that coerced you into attempting to solve him as a whole. The curiosity of all these little secrets surrounding him was what lead you to him. So, in short, this sketchbook was just another part of your beloved puzzle of a boyfriend that you needed to solve. Just thinking about it made your curiosity peak.

So when Damian finally closes his sketchbook of mystery and slides it onto the coffee table to take a call, your fingers are wrapping around the spine the moment he's turned down the hall.

If this was your sketchbook, you'd want no one ever opening the cover without your permission, even a significant other or family. Damian's response to your prying would not be good for his mood nor your relationship, so you decided that asking was always the best option. You looked around the doorframe at him,"Would you mind if flipped through your book?"

Damian leaned against the hall's wall, phone to his ear and brows furrowed. The irritation in his expression was a stark contrast to his tone, which was filled with jest and an odd bubbliness. This was the voice of his true alter-ego; not Robin, but Damian Wayne, the playboy, billionaire's idiot son. You knew just by his face that the act was hard to keep together. With a distracted nod, he turned away and continued talking about this party he'd certainly not gone to.

With his consent, you shot back into the parlor and settled into Damian's favorite armchair, book in hand and smile on face. There wasn't much to be surprised by. Damian was good at nearly everything—especially back-rubs and cuddling, as you'd reminded him a thousand times—so it wasn't a shock to see the detail and picture-like quality of each piece. It was all so realistic you felt you could peel a peach he'd drawn off the page and bite into it. What did come as a surprise, however, was what Damian drew.

And that was, of course, mainly you.

After a couple pages of Titus, Ace, Batcow, and Alfred the cat, came people. In with the bunch was a beaming Dick Grayson, caught half-way through a genuine laugh; an Alfred, studiously raising his trademark eyebrow-of-sass; a Bruce, looking on with nothing but pride on his face; a Talia, who appeared calm and loving. Then you.

You, boredly reading on your phone in a gala dress, temple resting against the banister of the stairs. You, caked in mud and grinning madly. You, cupping someone's jaw—probably his—and kissing their cheek. You, annoyed but calm, holding Jon in a firm headlock as he shook with laughter. You, smiling casually with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your child-sized Robin jacket. By the time you'd reached the more recent sketches, your cheeks were aching from the smile cutting your face in two.

A shriek tore from your lips when two hands slapped down on your shoulders, startling you from your flustered haze. Damian's threatening and teasing voice floated into your ears,"What are you doing?"

"You said I could look through," you defended, putting a hand on your heart to steady its sudden rapid pace. He didn't seem pleased to find you flipping through, and probably realized his mistake, already cursing his distraction. He didn't seem pleased to find you sitting in his chair, either. Easily, he remedied the situation by scooping you up, turning around and landing back in the chair with you situated on his lap. Damian couldn't help but smirk with your yelp.

"They're amazing," you confessed, shifting to find a comfortable space. You flipped through the pages of his family, pausing at another of you in a dress for an event."They're so realistic I swear you've taken a picture for some. You also... draw me... a lot."

To think that he thought about you in his free time. Half of these you have no recollection of, so he must have had an image for reference, or maybe even knew what you looked like from memory. Damian had seemingly mastered the art of drawing you, down to the curve of your nose and the sharpness in your eyes. This easily made your face as scarlet as a rose in bloom.

He sunk with smugness at your praises, easily brushing it all off,"I imagined you'd like them. I have a talent for this sort of thing," Damian watched you observe the same sketch of you in a dress, how your lips fell downward. Thus, he ventured,"Anything to critique?"

"You uh... you definitely... romanticize me. There's no way I could be this attractive," you laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck,"I mean, you got my face right. But my body... am I really that... perfect? I've always thought I was, y'know, a little... rounder."

"I only drew what I see," Damian shrugged. You bowed your head at the suggestion.

"Well, y'know we've never... you've never seen me nude before, and so I figured... did you ever guess for some bits? Like look at this one of us at the beach, with me in the swimsuit. Are you sure that you didn't just make me look a little... hotter?" You asked. Then, began to babble to yourself,"I'm unsure if you've ever even seen me in a swimsuit before. After all, we do live in Gotham... ha..."

"Why would you say that?" Damian posed. Now, his brow had furrowed, hand coming down to wrap around your thigh.

You closed the book and slid it back onto the table, suddenly wishing you'd never grabbed it in the first place. It was sweet to imagine that he would think you were so beautiful. But the truth was, in your eyes, you aren't.

"I guess I'm just... not as beautiful as you believe I am, Damian," you confessed.

Damian snorted. Then he snickered. Then he began to laugh, full-bodied, half bent over you in his mirth. His shoulders shook with the force of your words, and then the laughter came in a wave of unceasing disbelief. By the end of it, he practically had tears in his eyes.

Damian wrapped his arm around your back, pulling you closer to the center of his lap,"You're an idiot. Of course you're as beautiful as I believe you are, because I'm never wrong."

"You are this time," you countered. Damian didn't like how quiet your voice had gone.

"TT," Damian shook his head, and checked his watch."We still have a couple hours. Now, allow me to prove you utterly incorrect, beloved."

___

"You're going to what?" You gaped at him.

"You do not have to if you do not want to," Damian said, unsheathing a larger sketchpad from beneath his bed. His glanced over at you,"Although I know you want to. I would thoroughly enjoy it, too."

"Of course you would," you scoffed. Damian pulled a chair to your side of the bed, planting the supplies there, and turning to look you over. He had that sly look on his face—whether it meant he had a dastardly plan or he was going to make out with you, you had no idea. Hopefully, it came down to both involving the other.

"I would only want to because you're utterly, enchantingly, beautiful," Damian emphasized. He took your hands and kissed them both, watching your face flare with the action. He'd put too much effort and time into making you blush day-to-day.

Damian was a man of challenge. He must always be correct, must always be right, and knew undoubtedly that his point of view was the only one of value. (He was definitely wrong in some cases—not like he'd admit it—but for once he knew entirely that he was not.) So if you were invested in the idea that he was wrong in thinking such a thing, he'd willingly jump at the excuse to flatter you.

Before you could raise an argument to his statement, Damian held your hands and put them upon his face,"Now, do you want to do this? I will say it again—you don't have to. But I would prefer it."

"...Can I cover myself with the sheet?" You asked.

"Of course," Damian said. He threw the sheet at you, then looked down with that sly grin again. His voice dropped a tone,"Do you want me to undress you?"

"Oh, shut it," you scoffed a laugh, forcing him to turn around. He obeyed patiently once you commanded,"And don't peak."

"Not like I need to. I'll get to do all the peaking I want for the next hour or so," Damian said. Teasingly, he added,"This is the first time someone has ever posed nude for me before. I'll get to draw every curvaceous side, each shine of light on skin, every subtle line of bone, of delicate touch—"

You threw your shirt at his head to stop his taunting, but it didn't keep the blush from flowing down your arms now too. He snickered to himself.

You didn't mind undressing in front of him, it was the fact that he was being so affectionate that made you want to shrivel up into a ball. He'd never referred to you as beautiful so many times in an hour before. You don't think he'd ever accepted a challenge so willingly, either. But this had been one of a thousand times in which Damian taunted or teased you, preferably to flush your skin, and you could take comfort in the familiarity of that. Regardless if he was being so sweet, he was still managing to be a bit of an asshole at the same time. Truly your Damian.

"Okay," you sighed, pulling the sheet around your body,"What next? Are you going to throw some rose petals on the mattress? Serenade me in Arabic?"

"(If that's what you'd like, my love,)" Damian supplied in his mother tongue.

Your voice definitely went up a flustered octave,"I-I was joking, Damian."

Now that he got a good look at you, he knew almost immediately that drawing such... art would be harder than he had originally imagined. Damian could never quite capture the intelligence in your eyes in proportion to reality, nor could he take the form wrapped in sheets to paper—did you always look so cute when embarrassed? My, was he imagining the fine curve of your legs? He certainly was now. Just the thought of having them wrapped around his hips was mouth-watering.

Gah, what had you done to him? The league had planned for him to be uninfluenceable, with nothing he loved capable of manipulating or being manipulated. But that by no means meant Damian didn't welcome this attraction. It made him feel more human than anything, and he so desperately wanted to cut ties with the demons in his blood. To the league, attraction meant weakness. To this new Damian Wayne, attraction was just another way of confirming he was normal. Normal was a good thing.

"Damian... this gesture is so sweet, really. But how is drawing me going to solve anything?" You questioned, bunching the sheet up around your chest,"We all have our insecurities. It is so kind of you to try and solve mine, but insecurities are what make us strive to be better. Besides, you could always draw this prettier version of me, then claim that's how I looked to you and blah, blah, blah."

Damian inhaled tightly, cursing your intelligence and how it entwined with your anxiety. That had not been his plan, but of course you were too smart for that, knowing full well what angles Damian would take in order to prove something. Your philosophies and wisdom always came to him in times of need. He had always been so insecure about so many things—his family's love and trust in him, your love in trust in him, his capabilities as Robin, how easily he could be swayed to the dark side, and about a thousand other issues—and you had imposed this insane idea upon yourself that it was your duty to clear him of these frailties. You had made it your responsibility to prove to him that no one could truly cleanse all of their sins, but as long as they kept trying too, that made them the better person. You didn't have nearly as much self-doubt as he, so Damian could at least serve his debt to you by attempting to aid you. That would make him better, right?

Together, you settled onto the edge of the bed. Damian spent the silence securing the sheet around you, tugging it up to wrap around your shoulders instead of your arms. He shook his head,"You must understand—I am in debt to you. You have done nothing but tire over me and my complications, slaving at every chance to assure me of all of my strengths, and yet all I have done in return is not enough. I will not plead with you. But you must let me repay you."

"Damian, you idiot. I'm your girlfriend. When I fell in love with you, I signed up for all the crazy emotional baggage you carry at all times, and I like to think you reciprocated because I was the only one who could carry it with you." Your hand came up to hold his face, to keep his attention and eyes on you—TT. As if they'd ever go astray."You're not in debt to me. That's just... what I do. You don't have to reciprocate. You don't have to try and repay me. It's my job to help you through all of your stuff. Don't act like you have to do the same for me."

"There's no logic in that," Damian scoffed,"If you are allowed to pamper me, if it is given as apart of being my significant other, then it must be the same vice-versa. Fine—don't think of this as me fulfilling a debt. Think of it as me doing my job. But that won't stop me from believing that I owe you my everything."

Damian watched with too much passion as your lips curved, easing slowly as the flowing of water, stolen away by the softness of your eyes and the kindness in your words. It was impossible to believe that you were looking at him with awe, with a sense of wonder. But you were.

"And to think some people say you're heartless. Damian, you're only heart," you laughed.

"If you tell anyone, I'll make sure you won't see the light of tomorrow," Damian swore.

He felt the air shift as you dared to lean closer, one hand loosening its grip on your temporary—temporary—attire and the other climbing into his hair. Damian felt your lips move more than saw,"What should we do until then?"

"You have proven that drawing you as of now will accomplish nothing," Damian smirked,"But I propose this: I show you how beautiful you are with my hands instead of my pencil, and then I draw you. Perhaps that will change your perspective."

And there was that glorious blush again, running deep beneath every inch of your skin (that he could see). He wanted to see all of it. He wondered how far it reached. He wondered if he could reach farther.

"What are you implying...?" Your fingers combed down the decline of his scalp, grasping at the hairs at the base of his skull. Then, a test tug. A test push, and you were closer.

"Don't play dumb, my love. You know how your displays of intelligence affect me," Damian said. By now he had managed to turn your bodies chest-to-chest, faces closer than ever. It sent little shocks up his spine.

"I want you to say it," you whispered. Your other hand had lost interest in keeping the sheet on, instead retiring to wrap under his arm and cup his shoulder from behind. It was only your chests that held it up. He didn't miss the way your fingers lingered on the muscles in his back.

Damian easily slid his hands beneath your thighs, bringing them up to knot around his waist, the sheet dropping somewhere in between.

"Artists show, not tell," Damian lectured. Then, you'd bought each other forward, meeting beautifully in the middle.

____

"You know, I'm pretty sure that you never leave the bed before the other gets up. Unless you want your partner to think the whole night meant nothing," you said as you entered the kitchen.

Damian had heard you from down the hall, feet padding softly against the carpet. At first he didn't recognize it. But that was only because there was something off in your footing, off in your body language, off in your everything. You explained this very clearly with a grunt in your attempt to reach him,"Uugnhh, especially if the partner can barely walk to get up and follow you. My everything aches."

Your legs gave out as soon as you got to his side. Easily, Damian hooked his arm beneath your shoulders and caught you before you fell into the counter,"Maybe six rounds was enough for one night."

"You think?" You laughed back.

Damian set you on the countertop beside the sink. He'd opened the window, giving the sun access to his skin and the water. The brushes Damian was washing turned the liquid shades of red, gold, [skin tone], and various grays, the opaque colors swirling beautifully in the transparency as if they were dancing with one another. Where the spout delivered came the rippling haloes, distorting Damian's hands and the sunlight reflecting against them. The water worked as a mirror and sent the light in odd, swaying fractals on his bare torso and ruffled hair.

You took a moment to admire the finished piece, which laid drying beneath another window. After your... night, Damian had fulfilled both of his promises—or part of one anyway, as he had done more with his mouth than with his hands. He had left your throat, chest, and even your thighs covered in love-markings. It made you appear to be a canvas of your own, covered in the blooming purple, red, and pink petals of a flower. You had no idea how, but he'd worked up the energy to begin the piece, and had even decided to put it into watercoloring. Meanwhile, you'd fallen asleep the moment your head hit the pillow feeling more beautiful than ever.

"But you weren't exactly complaining at the time," Damian said, bowing his head and looking up at you with eyes brimming with smugness,"Or maybe that's just because you were a little distracted."

You looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, without a moment to lose, shoved a hand into the sink and flicked some of the water coating your hand into his face. Damian dodged a quarter of it, laughing hysterically. Although he was mocking you, the grin on his face gave away to show he was just teasing. His voice changed to copy yours, even going as far to mimic the pleasant shudder of your shoulders when he moaned, imitating your