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He awoke slow, the world trickling in like syrup. At first he thought he was suffocating, the air around him hot from his panting, before he realised his blanket was just over his face.
His awareness came to him bit by bit—something unusual, for him. He would think, later, that he must've been drugged, but in the moment his thoughts slipped through his fingers like sand, and he came to altogether too slowly.
His body was rocking back and forth, back and forth, and there was a heaviness in between his legs, an electricity in his limbs. He tried to speak, mouth swollen and wet, but all that came out was moans—little gasping whines that he’d never heard himself make before—and then he finally managed to get the blankets out of his face.
Damian was bent over him, his arms on either side of Tim's head. His face was flushed dark, his eyes almost black, and he grunted so provocatively that it made Tim feel feverish. “Damian,” he gasped. “W-what's happening-”
“Shhh,” Damian interrupted. His hand slipped over Tim's mouth, his fingers curling around his cheek and chin like a prison, his palm a weight on his lips. “They'll hear you.”
Tim thought, ‘who?’ Thought about reaching up and moving Damian off him, but then Damian flexed his hips and Tim felt like a live wire. He tried to look down, reached, and his fingers went between his legs. There was something moving inside of him, he realised. Then, like a lightning strike, he thought, ‘oh,’ and he thought, ‘Damian's cock is inside of me.’
And then suddenly, he was panicking. He tried to get up, tried to shove Damian away and off him and out of him, but Damian grabbed his wrists and shushed him again and whispered, “stop, calm down, they'll wake up ya amar, ya nur, they'll wake up.”
“Stop, stop,” Tim gasped. Damian stilled, his cock shoved deep inside of Tim's body, and looked at him almost desperately.
“Stop?” he echoed. He pushed Tim's hair away from his eyes, tucked it behind his ear with such gentleness, that for a second Tim was convinced that he must be dreaming, because when had Damian ever been gentle with him?
For a second, they just looked at one another, breathing each other's air, and then Damian frowned, almost like he was concerned about Tim. “What's wrong, Timothy?” he asked, like Tim was being unreasonable.
“What's wrong? What's wrong?” Tim raised his voice. “What do you mean ‘what's wrong’? What on earth do you think you're doing?”
Damian sighed, almost exasperated, and then, slowly, without bothering to answer, he started fucking into Tim again.
“Wait, stop, stop,” Tim insisted again. Damian put his heavy palm on Tim's mouth again, tutting loudly. He didn't stop, speeding up until he was at a comfortable, electrifying pace. ‘He's too good at this’, Tim thought—it was turning his body to putty, threatening to turn his mind blank. It felt good, was the issue. It shouldn't have felt good, not when Tim had never asked for this, not when he was being rap-
“Be quiet, my love,” Damian murmured. He fucked deep, filling Tim up like only a few people had ever been able to. “You'll wake everyone else up. Do you want them to see you like this? Naked and spread out on my cock?”
And no, no, of course not, but Damian’s breath was hot on Tim's ear. “Are you a slut, Timothy?” he asked softly, and then grinned at the way Tim's cunt clenched at the word.
He leaned back again, fucking into Tim with sharp, delicious snaps of his hips, looking much too satisfied. For a second, all Tim could think about was how good it felt, how sensitive his entire body felt with the heat of Damian's skin against his skin, the weight of Damian's cock inside him.
Then his mind cleared again, and he felt shame curl hot in his stomach. He couldn't be enjoying this, couldn't be letting this happen. What was the point of all his training, all his years spent fighting off men bigger and meaner than him, if he couldn't even stop something like this from happening to him? So he fought again, managed to pull his hands from Damian’s grip, shoved his legs up to wedge them between their bodies.
Damian slapped him, once, hard across the face. Tim stilled, shocked, felt his eyes sting with what was definitely, could absolutely not be tears. Stupidly, foolishly, despite Damian violating his body, he had thought Damian would let him get away. A part of him, a stupid, foolish part of him had been convinced that this was somehow a misunderstanding, that he just needed to really show Damian he didn't want this, and Damian would stop.
He gaped, and Damian stared. He seemed horrified, his gaze moving slowly from his palm to Tim's hot cheek as if he couldn't believe what he'd done, as if something had possessed his arm for a split second to deliver the blow.
“I'm sorry,” he said, and, “Timothy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry habibi, I'm a wretch I know, you don't understand, I don't know what came over me, I just-”
He stopped. His eyes seemed to stick to Tim's face like toffee to sticky fingers. Slowly, as if telegraphing his movements, he reached for Tim again, and Tim, dizzy with the mercurial changing of the tides, stupid with some unknown desire, let him. Gently, Damian rubbed callused fingers over the cheek he'd just slapped, his thumb stroking over hot skin almost guiltily. “How quickly your skin turns red,” he whispered, “oh, the things you do to me.”
His eyes grew half-lidded, and, leaning down, he bit into Tim. He groaned, loudly, licking at Tim's cheek, and his hips started moving again, hard, fucking his cock into Tim's wet, twitching cunt.
Tim gasped, reaching up to grab at Damian's biceps, suddenly feeling faint with the force of his fucking again. He could feel himself getting there, and his grip on Damian’s arms tightened as he tried to stop himself from reaching down to rub at his clit. He hoped, prayed he wouldn't come just like this, wouldn't be so shameless and slutty as to come from this, but Damian was good, so good, his cock filling Tim's greedy pussy so perfectly, that all of his self-control did absolutely nothing. He came within seconds.
Damian moaned again, pressing his face to Tim's small breast, mouthing softly at his nipples through the shirt Tim went to sleep in as he slowed down. But his cock didn't stop moving in and out of Tom's clenching hole, and it was obvious he hadn't come yet.
“Beautiful, my baby,” he said. Tim trembled in his arms, tried to move his legs again, but where before they had already felt weak, now they felt like they might as well be wet paper. Damian laughed huskily at the attempt, almost condescendingly, running a hand firmly down Tim's side and to his thigh. He pulled it up to rest Tim's knee on his shoulder, leaning back again so Tim could see the expanse of his chest, the dark brown of his nipples, the sculpted shape of his muscles, the contrast of his moon-pale thigh against Damian’s sun-gold skin. “See how good I can make this for you, Timothy,” he said. He gripped at the meat of Tim's thigh, angling it so his legs were spread wider, and thrust into him unbothered. Casually.
Tim could hardly breathe. The new angle hit him somewhere new, a part of his insides that hadn't yet become acquainted with Damian's cock, a piece of him that hadn't yet molded to his shape. He tried, desperately, to keep the tears at bay—it felt like Damian was changing Tim in a way he'd never be able to undo, like a protein denatured. “Why are you doing this to me,” he asked, staring into Damian's eyes. They looked too much like the man he knew, distantly friendly but reliable. They looked nothing like the man who was supposed to be his brother.
“What was I supposed to do?” Damian asked. “You, inviting me as you did, stretching out over the furniture and walking around half-dressed. Looking at me last week as you did, with your eyes dark and lip bloody, with your legs bruised and on show?
“What was I supposed to do, with you leaving your door so badly secured that it may as well have been wide open?”
Tim had- he'd locked the door, he hadn't thought he'd need security in his own home, didn't think anyone would-
“I didn't want you to, I don't want this!” he insisted. He sounded, to his own ears, like someone else, someone wrecked and destroyed, reforged in another's image.
Damian reached a hand down to Tim's ass, running his fingers through the mess that was dripping down so far from his pussy that he was sure there was a puddle forming beneath him. “Do you feel that?” he asked. “How am I supposed to believe you don't want this when you're soaked, ya amar?”
And, Tim thought, how indeed. Damian pulled him up by the hips and started fucking into him with a vigor Tim hadn't seen yet, putting his hard-earned muscle to use. Tim moaned loudly, involuntarily, at the way Damian's cock got even harder when he was about to come, and then flushed hot in the undying shame of it all.
But Damian looked at him like he hung the moon, the stars, pushing into him with a desperation that made the loud, wet sound of his pussy echo around the room.
“You wouldn't deny me now, would you, beloved?” he moaned. “Wouldn't take this away from me, wouldn't let me die of the thirst of you? If only-” he cut himself off, trying to gasp for breath as he reached for his orgasm. “If only you knew how much I adored you. I'd worship-”
And he was coming, shuddering as he emptied into Tim’s body, and Tim realised—quite belatedly—that Damian was bare inside him.
He wasn't wearing a condom.
Damian's come was inside him.
And, shamefully, that was the thought that pushed him over the edge again. The thought of Damian putting something inside him that might never come out, the wet grinding of his cock in the most intimate part of him, and the sight of Damian, face red with exertion, sweat glistening on his skin like little gems in the dim light of his bedside lamp.
He drifted a little after that. Damian pulled out of him slowly, like he didn't really ever want to leave Tim's body, and he laid the sweetest kiss on Tim's lips as he went. For a minute, Tim thought that that was it. That it was done, and he set about trying to gather the pieces of his shattered mind. But then Damian was coming back and wiping him clean, pulling Tim into his arms like they were a couple, like he hadn't just put his cock inside Tim while he was sleeping and—without his permission—taken something irretrievable.
He murmured gently to Tim, whispering about how he was sorry, how he couldn't help it, how he wanted so badly to wait until Tim was ready but was only human. “I'm strong, Timothy, but you are my vice, my Achilles’ heel. I could stop myself from ever taking another breath before I could stop myself wanting you.”
Tim didn't respond, feeling tired and sore and hurt, like there was a bottomless well of sorrow that was starting to overflow inside his chest. He hadn't realise how much he trusted Damian—the boy who'd tried to kill him multiple times—until that trust had been violated. It was difficult to swallow past the odd, mortifying grief that welled up inside him, but eventually he grew tired enough that he passed out in the arms of the very man that hurt him.
The next morning, it felt like the previous night had been a dream he hadn't actually managed to wake up from. It was only some of him that sat there, blinking at the sunlight slanting through his curtains as if it were something foreign. The rest of him was still there, trapped under Damian, wrapped around him in an excruciatingly intimate way.
He took a shower, and when he came out all pink and scrubbed clean, he stared at his body in the fogged up mirror. He stood there long enough that his skin turned cold and then dry, long enough that the fog on the mirror cleared up, and then stared some more, trying to find evidence of what had happened last night. There was not a mark on him that wasn't there yesterday. He felt like he was going quietly insane.
When he went downstairs for breakfast, he walked in to Dick’s cheerful voice asking about Damian's plans for the day. The other man's response was so quiet Tim couldn't make it out, and when he walked into the room he expected Damian to look up automatically, to acknowledge to both Tim and himself that last night was real.
But Damian acted like Tim didn't even exist, eating his eggs with an almost single-minded focus. He didn't look at Tim, not even as Tim slided into the chair opposite and replied absent-mindedly to Dick's greetings.
When he got up and left, Tim was almost tempted to run after him, but he stayed sitting another half hour, carefully finishing his own breakfast. He stayed until Dick also made his excuses to leave, and then it was just him at the dining table, staring into his empty glass.
He still wanted to find Damian, to find answers to his questions or to demand an apology. But there were no answers that would satisfy him, and no apology that would be enough to atone for what had happened.
Not that Damian was the type to truly be sorry. Despite his numerous apologies last night after the act had been done, Tim found it hard to find him sincere in them. Perhaps they'd been a trick of his mind, or a way to soothe him in the moment—like a lie told to a child to stop a tantrum—but they couldn't possibly have been genuine. He refused to believe it.
And Damian had seemed so… erratic, so different from how he usually was—or how he usually portrayed himself before Tim—that Tim wasn't sure what to expect from him. Such was the thing that Damian had done, that it shook the very foundation of who Tim had thought him to be, and now everything he thought he knew seemed to have toppled into indiscernible fragments.
He still could barely believe last night had been real, but in the bright morning light, his mind felt much clearer. And what really did Tim have, if not his mind?
So why could he not stop thinking about how Damian had looked, larger than life and statuesque in his beauty? Why could he not stop remembering how good it felt, how deliciously wide Damian had stretched him, so that even now he could press his thighs against each other and feel the aching where he'd been hollowed out? Why did a part of him, ashamedly, horrifyingly, want to climb back into Damian’s arms, let him touch Tim again? And where had Damian gone, after all those confessions of wanting Tim, of being obsessed with him?
Why did it hurt to think he'd been lying?