#idk enough about modern high society so im borrowing from older traditions

[ladytauria]

kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference with jaydami <33

*puts on clown nose*

reverse robins, anybody? xD

thank sm for the prompt maya <3 i knew p much immediately what i wanted to do with it, but it took a bit for the fic to actually take shape, lol.

i hope you enjoy!

>> AO3 <<

Jason’s life would be so much easier if Damian wasn’t so damn pretty.

Every so often, Bruce is expected to host some of his peers for dinner and drinks—some long-standing tradition that Bruce can get away with skipping out on sometimes, but too much, and people will start to talk. It's stupid, but part of the cover.

If you ask Jason, they're worse than galas. He misses the days he could duck out after dinner. He guesses he still could, but— Now that he's older, it's a little more expected for him to actually participate.

Jason would rather not. He knows plenty of Gotham’s upper crust would rather he didn’t, too, no matter how well Jason has managed to assimilate. But… he has plans, and unfortunately, he can acknowledge that they’ll be raised if he’s in somewhat good standing among the folks with the money.

Doesn’t make attending any easier.

At least he only has to worry about attending the ones Bruce hosts. Eventually his peers will start inviting him to theirs, but for now, he’s still being very quietly snubbed. Which—for the moment at least—suits him just fine, plans or no.

Damian showed up this time, an hour before dinner started; wrapped in green and gold and looking like he just stepped off of a magazine cover. Jason barely paid attention at dinner tonight—too busy trying not to blush anytime Damian sent him a sly smile, or covertly rolled his eyes, or signed something discreetly across the table. He knew it was hardly private—Bruce had been there, he’d surely caught every one—but. The attention—

It made him feel… special.

Stupid, of course. Damian hardly sees him that way. He’s… To Damian, he’s family, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

But it’s kind of nice to pretend, when he gets the chance.

Bruce’s final guests are finally on their way out the door. Jason sits, chin in hand, at the top of the stairs, watching as Damian and Alfred see them out. He thinks the whole house breathes a sigh of relief when they finally leave. Alfred excuses himself to the kitchen, likely to oversee the temporary staff Bruce hires for these things. He’ll have them out the door as soon as possible, too, and then Jason will finally be able to sleep.

Damian lingers by the door for a moment. Then, finally, he begins to ascend the stairs. "Jason," he says. It’s a greeting and a question all in one.

Jason stands, smoothing the wrinkles from his slacks. “Can’t sleep until I know everyone’s gone,” he says. He knows they’d never be able to get into the family wing, not with Bruce’s security, but—

Old fears are hard to shake. Jason never sleeps well when there are strangers around, no matter how many locks Bruce gives him for his door.

Damian nods, like this is perfectly reasonable, and not a weird hang-up of Jason’s. ‘Course, considering... Damian probably feels the same way. That— It’s not comforting, ‘cause Jason hates to think of why he might, but… At the same time... it's reassuring to know he’s not alone.

Damian stops a few steps down from him. Like this, they’re almost at eye level; Damian’s eyes just past Jason’s nose.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Jason says. Mostly just to say something. Keep the conversation going, even if just for a little while. It’s not often anymore that it’s just the two of them. He can’t begrudge Dickie the comfort of Damian’s presence, nor would he ever want to lose his time with Tim, but—

He does miss, sometimes, when it was just Damian and Jason—and sometimes Steph or Cass.

Damian hums. “Father is not as unbearable at these as he is at other functions, but. I’d still be remiss in my obligations if I left you to deal with him alone for too long.”

Jason knows his ‘obligations’ are purely platonic. He knows. His heart flutters, though; the traitorous bastard putting a more romantic lilt on the word. “Well. I appreciate it,” he says, softly. He bites his lip. “I… It’s nice. Having you around.”

Damian smiles. It’s small; mostly in his eyes, the way they upturn at the corners. “It is nice to, ah, ‘be around’,” he says. He reaches up to smooth down the lapel of Jason's blazer. Even through the layers, his touch burns like a brand. “You’ve grown up well, habibi.” His mouth curls up, just a little bit more.

The compliment is unexpected. The smile even more. And the touch—

Jason flushes scarlet. Every blush he’d fought back at dinner hits him now, and he feels a little lightheaded with it.

That, he decides, is the reason he leans down, foolishly, and presses a kiss right against one of those upturned corners. “Thanks,” he breathes—and then, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest, he flees to the safety of his bedroom, leaving Damian alone in the stairwell.

[ 50 Types of Kisses ]