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It's after an hour of actual silence that Dick finally stands from the computer. He's kept an eye on Damian, just the occasional glance his way, to make sure he hasn't passed out, isn't trying to escape, hasn't somehow managed to hurt himself — all entirely real concerns, given just how belligerent he was acting prior. It'd taken long enough for the thrashing, the shouting and muffled threats to die down, several instances of restarting the timer later, and…
And Damian's finally gone lax. He’s let the ropes take his weight fully, head bent, the back of his neck exposed, and the thinnest string of saliva dripping into a puddle beneath his bound and suspended body. He doesn't so much as twitch as Dick approaches. A good sign that this ongoing “training” is working.
The kid's headstrong, defiant, likes shooting off the handle without pausing to assess the situation or consider his own limitations — it's going to get him killed if he stays on as Robin. And if Bruce ever does come back… well, Dick just needs Damian to learn how to accept orders and have a partner without mouthing off.
If this is what it takes, so be it.
It's not like he doesn't find any enjoyment in it, though, or that this is some trial he has to bear for a greater good. There is something thrilling about his hands holding Damian down while he tries to fight back, using his weight to press Damian's knees to his chest and bind him, fingers finally pressing into the hinge of his jaw so he can push the gag between his lips. Then, quiet. Or something like it. Eventually.
He cards a hand through Damian's hair, a little damp at the roots with his raised body temperature, but soft. Thicker than Bruce's, Dick assumes that's Talia's influence. Just like this whole behavioral problem is to begin with. But it's not Damian's fault, and it can be fixed. Dick slides his hand down, grips his chin and guides his head up to get a better look at him.
Damian only blinks, green eyes bright and fully aware. He hasn't sunk so far to not be present. But his chin is wet, shiny with spit. His pupils are wide, eyelids lowered, and his face is red. Embarrassment or strain, Dick isn't quite sure yet.
“You're gonna behave now?”
Of course there's no response, just a soft noise that sounds something like affirmation at the back of Damian's throat, vibrating against Dick's fingers. Dick rubs his thumb over the boy's cheek. “I should leave you for another hour, the way you acted.”
That gets him a little more. A flex of his body, straining against the bonds, and a sharper noise.
“You're only proving my point by doing that.”
Damian’s expression tightens, his eyes cut away from Dick's. But he slowly, bit by bit, forces himself to relax.
Dick sighs, leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. Something like apologetic, but not quite. He's buzzing beneath the surface as he steps back, sliding his hand from Damian's warm skin. “Little bit longer then.”
There isn't a peep from Damian in that additional hour. Just the occasional creak of the ropes as he attempts to find relief while held in a stress position. Even that stops eventually, though.
Returning to Damian's side, he doesn't bother asking. Only carefully lowers him down. Dick helps to release him from the bindings, unwinding his rushed work with a more deliberate pace now that Damian isn't fighting against him. He's loose and sore, slumps weakly into Dick's hands and has to be propped up when Dick moves to free his hands from behind his back. The gag comes last, damp and hot from being in Damian's mouth for so long, Dick drops it to the floor.
Speaking of. His little puddle of spit got bigger. Dick uses his sleeve to wipe at Damian's chin. “Now you've just got to clean up your mess. Then we're all done and can call it a night.”
“… My mess?” He sounds genuinely confused. Cute. Damian glances to the discarded ropes, the gag, and shifts his weight as if to move to pick them up.
Dick stops him, hand on the top of his head, he directs his attention down. Shifts his own foot to line up next to it. Frame it for him so he can't miss it. This time, Damian does seem to hesitate. Dick can help with this too. He threads his fingers through Damian's hair, and pushes him down.
His hips tilt, his knees start to bend. He's still far too weak-limbed to put up a fight about it.
“Grayson, it's not—”
“It's your mess, baby bat. Clean it up. Now.”
His knees meet the floor, Dick's grip in his hair lessens, but his palm remains. Resting. Waiting for whatever internal conflict is waging inside Damian to be resolved. He knows, or has to get the idea, that if he refuses, he'll be put back. Right where he started.
Damian shivers, exhales, then bends further, down to his hands and knees. His shoulders round as he falls closer, his mouth opens, tongue peeking out, tiny and pink, it drags along the floor right by Dick's shoe.
He licks up his own saliva and is particularly thorough with it, going back over the same spot until it looks even more damp than it had begun. Dick watches him swallow, watches him lick his lips after, and if Damian wasn't already directly between his legs, wasn't looking up at him with big green eyes asking what else? maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to grab at his Robin's hair again and pull into a proper kneel. Maybe he wouldn't have pulled his cock out and slid his leaking tip across Damian's lips, still so swollen and pink from the gag.
Then again, he probably still would have.
Has wanted to since he'd seen the way Damian's lips stretched around the gag to begin with, the image of his cock taking its place ingrained into his consciousness — Dick likes to think of himself as a strong man, moraled, but everyone has moments of weakness. That's all this is. Just a single moment. He taps his cockhead against Damian's lips, tightening the grip in his hair.
“One more mess for you to clean,” he explains.
Damian's breath is quick, chest rising and falling, gusts of air blow across Dick and only making him harder in the process. Then he does open his mouth, and Dick doesn't have to force him. And that's— it means something. Damian's tongue curls almost expertly around the underside of his cock as he leans forward to take it. His lips stretch obscenely as he sucks the tip in.
Dick helps to guide him deeper, pushing his head down just a little more, until he hits the back of his throat. Damian's fingers snap up to grip at the sides of his pants, but he doesn't gag, doesn't jerk back and cough. The kid doesn't even have a gag reflex. Christ. He swallows, tightening around Dick's cock, the silky feel of his hollowed cheeks, the movement of his tongue.
Maybe Dick isn't so strong, actually. Just wishful thinking.
Grip still tight in Damian's hair, Dick pulls him back, flexes his hips and pushes in again, fucking into Damian's mouth slowly. Carefully. He doesn't want to actually hurt him, even while he's trying to push as far down Damian's throat as he can, bury himself inside that too tight warmth, press his face all the way down until his nose hits Dick's pelvic bone.
He's already drooling again, saliva spilling out from between his lips the longer Dick uses him. Though this time, his closed eyes are wet with the strain. Spilling over to dampen his cheeks.
If Dick had thought further ahead, he'd have gotten Damian laid out, head tilted just right, so he could wrap a hand around his throat instead of holding his head. Then he could see his cock stretching Damian’s throat himself, see it and feel it, squeeze it even tighter. Maybe next time.
Next time?
… Fuck. Probably.
Hands scrabbling at his thighs, Dick finally sinks fully inside Damian, the fluttering muscles of his throat tighten and release around his cock so quickly, trying to force him back out. Dick only retreats a little so that he can push in again, rocking into Damian's wet mouth, his tight throat, until he feels that pressure in his groin finally snap.
He groans, orgasm slamming into him like a truck. Dick spills down Damian's throat, cock twitching, mind blank for an almost embarrassingly long time — when he pulls back, softer as he slips from between Damian's abused lips, Damian does finally cough.
Head bowed, he hasn't let go of Dick's pant legs. And Dick doesn't move to help. He loosens his grip, though, and pets through his hair instead. “Alright?”
“No,” he wheezes, voice shot. Dick has to strain to hear him. “That was horrible.”
“You're alright. You'll get used to it.”