He wouldn't know what to do if I started behaving. Gordon is much too old to be changing the game on him now, I can't put him through that kind of stress.
[ Damian may be speaking blithely, teasing Dick about his continued justifications for pushing the Commissioner's many buttons, but he's watching, closely. And when Dick reaches for him, tugging at his shirt sleeve despite the effort, Damian snorts, uncoiling from his seat.
Damian remembers what it's like to be that age, remembers the desire to save face. ]
-Tt,- this chair -- move over, brat, I'm taking your bed.
[ Which is why he's up and bullying Dick over, carefully lifting him again so he can be placed further to the side of the bed, just so that Damian's much larger bulk may join him. He makes a show of fussing until he's comfortable, long legs stretched out and back curving against the headboard, and his arm curls around Dick and tucks him close to his side as if the boy is a pillow; when really it's more like Damian is functioning as the hot water bottle against Dick's cooler skin.
He may not be saying the words, but Damian prefers to speak physically: a hand pushing Dick's bangs back, a squeezed hug, head turning to whuff an over-exaggerated, grumpy sigh into his hair, the way he fashions himself into a refuge past which no man (or butler) would dare cross.
I'm here. You're safe. You'll be fine. ]
I think you like the Commissioner more than you like me. [ Complaining - Damian is excellent at it. ] Or, more accurately, it's the Commissioner's daughter you like more, huh? Miss Gordon.
no subject
[ Damian may be speaking blithely, teasing Dick about his continued justifications for pushing the Commissioner's many buttons, but he's watching, closely. And when Dick reaches for him, tugging at his shirt sleeve despite the effort, Damian snorts, uncoiling from his seat.
Damian remembers what it's like to be that age, remembers the desire to save face. ]
-Tt,- this chair -- move over, brat, I'm taking your bed.
[ Which is why he's up and bullying Dick over, carefully lifting him again so he can be placed further to the side of the bed, just so that Damian's much larger bulk may join him. He makes a show of fussing until he's comfortable, long legs stretched out and back curving against the headboard, and his arm curls around Dick and tucks him close to his side as if the boy is a pillow; when really it's more like Damian is functioning as the hot water bottle against Dick's cooler skin.
He may not be saying the words, but Damian prefers to speak physically: a hand pushing Dick's bangs back, a squeezed hug, head turning to whuff an over-exaggerated, grumpy sigh into his hair, the way he fashions himself into a refuge past which no man (or butler) would dare cross.
I'm here. You're safe. You'll be fine. ]
I think you like the Commissioner more than you like me. [ Complaining - Damian is excellent at it. ] Or, more accurately, it's the Commissioner's daughter you like more, huh? Miss Gordon.