My Tattered Princess - A Batman Fanfic
Jan. 15th, 2012 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tyrrorTitle: My Tattered Princess
Author: Tyrror
Pairings: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes
Rating: PG
Summary: There are some things that Damian simply does not do. Dancing is one of them. Unfortunately for him, Colin has spent the last five years learning how to not take ‘no’ for an answer.
There are many things that Damian Wayne simply did not do. On the rare occasion, and often under the insufferable influence of one Richard Grayson, he would find himself begrudgingly doing one of these things; however this would almost certainly lead to a day locked in the darkest, most untrod corner of the mansion he could locate in the almost naïve hopes that the unbearable man would cease attempting to besmirch his dignity for at least the rest of the day. Unfortunately, this method of problem avoidance did not maintain any form of adequacy when there was no mansion to hide within nor when the perpetrator of such unacceptable activities was not, in fact, Grayson, as was the case today.
“I do not dance.”
This was the third time that Damian had said that exact line in just as many minutes and, just like the two times before that, he set his jaw in a tight clench afterwords and glared down the other boy in the room who was fiddling rather ineffectively with the radio on his dresser while waiting for him to crumble under his disapproving stare.
“You don’t swim either, but it only took me eight tries to get you into the trunks earlier and two more to get you into the water.”
“That was endurance training,” Damian muttered ineffectually.
“We had a water fight. For an hour.”
Suddenly the room was filled with a terrible pop song that Damian did not recognize due to his utter distaste for any genre in which a bra was considered an appropriate top and one corner of his mouth curled up into a trademark snarl; he had hoped the boy simply wouldn’t be able to get the nun’s old device to work after he had plucked it so unceremoniously from downstairs.
“Please?” the ginger said as he spun around from the clunky radio, cocking one hip to the side and resting his hand there; tilting his head forward just far enough that the only thing anyone would be able to focus on are those enormous hazel eyes behind the most unmanly lashes that Damian had ever seen, none the less when he narrowed that category down to his knowledge of fifteen year old boys.
They had both grown, Colin was taller than him now by several inches, a fact of which Damian was not highly fond, but the boy was still unbearably thin underneath his baggy clothing and he still wore that unsufferable mop of red hair on top of his head that Damian would never admit to being fond of because, really, shouldn’t the son of a billionaire prefer that his best friend at least have a sensible hair cut? He watched as the redhead blinked once, then again, and the smaller boy failed to hold back a shudder when he realized that, just like the last time Colin had pulled that maneuver on him, he had lost. The mischeivious grin that the ginger had been getting so good at using lately slowly spread across his face and he shook those bony hips of his from side to side as he advanced upon the darker boy.
“Everyone dances, it’s fun,” Colin said as he moved slowly around his friend, that grin still plastered on his face like he’d just gotten away with eating an entire birthday cake, and Damian sighed.
“That is not dancing,” the shorter boy said, pointing to Colin’s slowly gyrating hips as he moved in time with whatever god-awful techno drivel had just come on after the last song. “That is flailing.”
There was that hip, and that hand, and those eyes and Damian almost, almost flinched in a manner that would be completely unbefiting of the son of Bruce Wayne right before he let his eyes drop to the toes of Colin’s scuffed sneakers in an attempt to not add those eyes or, god forbid, that pout to the list of terrible, terrible weapons that were being hoisted unwittingly aginst him. They had been the best of friends for over five years now and Damian was the only person around whom the redhead acted like a real person and not some terrified shell and, somewhere in the back of his mind, Damian realized that he should feel good about that. He should be happy that despite his inability to react with anything aside from snark and cynicism, that this full-of-life boy who smiled whenever he could and laughed no matter what others might think of him, who was the complete opposite of everything Damian felt like he was supposed to be, was comfortable enough in his presence to take the darker boys glares without flinching, from time to time going so far as to glare back, to laugh on the rare occasion when he was clumsy and to punch him in the arm like real boys are supposed to do. He should be happy that this boy chose him, over all the other much more friendly prospects in his life, to be his best friend for no other reason than because he wanted to and expected nothing in return; someone who told him his every secret and trusted Damian would keep them safe, someone who, on those rare occasions that Damian actually needed a shoulder, was there without question and never once mocked him for those times even though he had every right to considering some of the things the dark boy had said to him. But it was at moments like this, when he cocked that hip and glared the smaller boy down that maybe, just maybe, Damian wished Colin was a little less comfortable around him.
“You look like a girl when you stand like that,” Damian spat, but even he could tell that his words fell flat compared to normal. He flicked his eyes to the side, still avoiding looking straight on at the other boy but he could hear the smile in his voice when he started talking and snapped back to look at him when he felt another hand in his own.
“Fine then, we’ll dance your way,” Colin said as he brought Damian’s other hand around his back before putting his own free hand just behind the shorter boy’s neck, “and since I look so much like a girl I guess I’ll just have to dance as one too.”
The two of them stood there for several moments, the techno beat pumping on in the background while Damian stared in what could only be described as awed confusion at those gigantic, hazel eyes which, at this particular moment in time, seemed to be bubbling over with mirth; doing his best to look anywhere but at the other boy and finding that surprisingly hard to do now that they were so close. Eventually he was forced to settle on staring at the other boy’s two-sizes-too-big tee shirt, his cheeks going slightly red as he felt the hand he was holding shift slightly and their fingers interlocked while Colin giggled at his uncertainty.
“Well?” the redhead said softly, “I could have sworn this involved more movement.”
“I hate you,” Damian muttered back, slowly moving his feet in what he felt to be the most uncoordinated manner he could have possibly mustered and silently cursing at himself for these pointless nerves. Try as he might, however, Damian was still a fifteen year old boy and, as all fifteen year old boys will attest, being this intimate with just about anyone often times leads to a lot of shuffling feet and awkward glances.
“I know,” the redhead said simply, shifting forward slightly to close the space between them and bring his chest flush with the boy in front of him, “Thank you.”
The words were whispered so softly into his ear that the floundered Boy Wonder almost missed them and when they finally sunk in, the way they were said caused his face to warm unexpectedly and something in his gut to shift almost painfully to the left in a way he had never experienced before. The face next to his own dipped until it rested in the crook of his shoulder in a manner that Damian assumed could only be uncomfortable for the taller boy but Colin’s ever present smile was pressed gently to the bare skin of his neck and showed no signs of fading as they swayed slightly like fabric caught in the wind to some song Damian had never heard. His mind raced to determine exactly how the other boy had convinced him to do this in case he needed to prevent it from happening again, even as the thought crossed his mind that, perhaps, he wouldn’t mind so much if they did it again, but then Colin sighed ever so slightly against him and the breath ghosting over his skin caused him to shiver as he realized something very important about the boy in his arms.
He had tattered jeans and scuffed up shoes, the world’s stupidest hair that was only outdone by the crooked grin that never seemed to leave his face and the biggest eyes that the boy had ever seen. And for some reason that he simply couldn’t explain, Damian Wayne could never, never say ‘no’ to him…at least not for long.
Author: Tyrror
Pairings: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes
Rating: PG
Summary: There are some things that Damian simply does not do. Dancing is one of them. Unfortunately for him, Colin has spent the last five years learning how to not take ‘no’ for an answer.
There are many things that Damian Wayne simply did not do. On the rare occasion, and often under the insufferable influence of one Richard Grayson, he would find himself begrudgingly doing one of these things; however this would almost certainly lead to a day locked in the darkest, most untrod corner of the mansion he could locate in the almost naïve hopes that the unbearable man would cease attempting to besmirch his dignity for at least the rest of the day. Unfortunately, this method of problem avoidance did not maintain any form of adequacy when there was no mansion to hide within nor when the perpetrator of such unacceptable activities was not, in fact, Grayson, as was the case today.
“I do not dance.”
This was the third time that Damian had said that exact line in just as many minutes and, just like the two times before that, he set his jaw in a tight clench afterwords and glared down the other boy in the room who was fiddling rather ineffectively with the radio on his dresser while waiting for him to crumble under his disapproving stare.
“You don’t swim either, but it only took me eight tries to get you into the trunks earlier and two more to get you into the water.”
“That was endurance training,” Damian muttered ineffectually.
“We had a water fight. For an hour.”
Suddenly the room was filled with a terrible pop song that Damian did not recognize due to his utter distaste for any genre in which a bra was considered an appropriate top and one corner of his mouth curled up into a trademark snarl; he had hoped the boy simply wouldn’t be able to get the nun’s old device to work after he had plucked it so unceremoniously from downstairs.
“Please?” the ginger said as he spun around from the clunky radio, cocking one hip to the side and resting his hand there; tilting his head forward just far enough that the only thing anyone would be able to focus on are those enormous hazel eyes behind the most unmanly lashes that Damian had ever seen, none the less when he narrowed that category down to his knowledge of fifteen year old boys.
They had both grown, Colin was taller than him now by several inches, a fact of which Damian was not highly fond, but the boy was still unbearably thin underneath his baggy clothing and he still wore that unsufferable mop of red hair on top of his head that Damian would never admit to being fond of because, really, shouldn’t the son of a billionaire prefer that his best friend at least have a sensible hair cut? He watched as the redhead blinked once, then again, and the smaller boy failed to hold back a shudder when he realized that, just like the last time Colin had pulled that maneuver on him, he had lost. The mischeivious grin that the ginger had been getting so good at using lately slowly spread across his face and he shook those bony hips of his from side to side as he advanced upon the darker boy.
“Everyone dances, it’s fun,” Colin said as he moved slowly around his friend, that grin still plastered on his face like he’d just gotten away with eating an entire birthday cake, and Damian sighed.
“That is not dancing,” the shorter boy said, pointing to Colin’s slowly gyrating hips as he moved in time with whatever god-awful techno drivel had just come on after the last song. “That is flailing.”
There was that hip, and that hand, and those eyes and Damian almost, almost flinched in a manner that would be completely unbefiting of the son of Bruce Wayne right before he let his eyes drop to the toes of Colin’s scuffed sneakers in an attempt to not add those eyes or, god forbid, that pout to the list of terrible, terrible weapons that were being hoisted unwittingly aginst him. They had been the best of friends for over five years now and Damian was the only person around whom the redhead acted like a real person and not some terrified shell and, somewhere in the back of his mind, Damian realized that he should feel good about that. He should be happy that despite his inability to react with anything aside from snark and cynicism, that this full-of-life boy who smiled whenever he could and laughed no matter what others might think of him, who was the complete opposite of everything Damian felt like he was supposed to be, was comfortable enough in his presence to take the darker boys glares without flinching, from time to time going so far as to glare back, to laugh on the rare occasion when he was clumsy and to punch him in the arm like real boys are supposed to do. He should be happy that this boy chose him, over all the other much more friendly prospects in his life, to be his best friend for no other reason than because he wanted to and expected nothing in return; someone who told him his every secret and trusted Damian would keep them safe, someone who, on those rare occasions that Damian actually needed a shoulder, was there without question and never once mocked him for those times even though he had every right to considering some of the things the dark boy had said to him. But it was at moments like this, when he cocked that hip and glared the smaller boy down that maybe, just maybe, Damian wished Colin was a little less comfortable around him.
“You look like a girl when you stand like that,” Damian spat, but even he could tell that his words fell flat compared to normal. He flicked his eyes to the side, still avoiding looking straight on at the other boy but he could hear the smile in his voice when he started talking and snapped back to look at him when he felt another hand in his own.
“Fine then, we’ll dance your way,” Colin said as he brought Damian’s other hand around his back before putting his own free hand just behind the shorter boy’s neck, “and since I look so much like a girl I guess I’ll just have to dance as one too.”
The two of them stood there for several moments, the techno beat pumping on in the background while Damian stared in what could only be described as awed confusion at those gigantic, hazel eyes which, at this particular moment in time, seemed to be bubbling over with mirth; doing his best to look anywhere but at the other boy and finding that surprisingly hard to do now that they were so close. Eventually he was forced to settle on staring at the other boy’s two-sizes-too-big tee shirt, his cheeks going slightly red as he felt the hand he was holding shift slightly and their fingers interlocked while Colin giggled at his uncertainty.
“Well?” the redhead said softly, “I could have sworn this involved more movement.”
“I hate you,” Damian muttered back, slowly moving his feet in what he felt to be the most uncoordinated manner he could have possibly mustered and silently cursing at himself for these pointless nerves. Try as he might, however, Damian was still a fifteen year old boy and, as all fifteen year old boys will attest, being this intimate with just about anyone often times leads to a lot of shuffling feet and awkward glances.
“I know,” the redhead said simply, shifting forward slightly to close the space between them and bring his chest flush with the boy in front of him, “Thank you.”
The words were whispered so softly into his ear that the floundered Boy Wonder almost missed them and when they finally sunk in, the way they were said caused his face to warm unexpectedly and something in his gut to shift almost painfully to the left in a way he had never experienced before. The face next to his own dipped until it rested in the crook of his shoulder in a manner that Damian assumed could only be uncomfortable for the taller boy but Colin’s ever present smile was pressed gently to the bare skin of his neck and showed no signs of fading as they swayed slightly like fabric caught in the wind to some song Damian had never heard. His mind raced to determine exactly how the other boy had convinced him to do this in case he needed to prevent it from happening again, even as the thought crossed his mind that, perhaps, he wouldn’t mind so much if they did it again, but then Colin sighed ever so slightly against him and the breath ghosting over his skin caused him to shiver as he realized something very important about the boy in his arms.
He had tattered jeans and scuffed up shoes, the world’s stupidest hair that was only outdone by the crooked grin that never seemed to leave his face and the biggest eyes that the boy had ever seen. And for some reason that he simply couldn’t explain, Damian Wayne could never, never say ‘no’ to him…at least not for long.