Chapter Text
“I won’t allow it to happen,” Damian states to no one in particular, shaking out the remnants of his smoothie into its pristine crystal glass. His sole audience member is leaned up on his marble countertop, arms folded over one another as he watches Damian scowl at the beverage like it’s personally offended him.
Jason can’t stifle his smirk, so he doesn’t. If he were anyone else’s bodyguard, he might be more concerned with decorum. But he’s Damian’s, and he knows, despite the pristine appearance the mafia don maintains, that Jason’s rough-around-the-edges honesty is something he values greatly.
Everything in Damian’s life reeks of perfectionism. The immaculately presented apartment is just one reflection of that; his trim, neat three-piece suit at six in the morning another. He’s picked up a reputation amongst the ranks for being a tight ass, but Jason’s honestly never seen anyone manage a clan half as well as Damian does.
Jason’s been around since Bruce was heading the clan, and those aren’t small boots to fill. But Damian had established himself quickly as someone not to be trifled with, and has only built on that reputation since.
It’s rare to see him this agitated; rare to see Damian blatantly expressing such vigorous emotion. Only Jason gets to see this side of him, and he’s earned that trust in spades.
He reaches over to the fruit bowl to snag an apple, biting into the crisp skin loudly as Damian rinses his shaker out into the sink. For a guy who’s more likely to get done in by a bullet than his cholesterol, he’s remarkably picky about his health. But then again, Jason supposes, his job is to make sure Damian doesn’t have to worry about bullets.
“It’s not going to happen,” Damian repeats in a mutter, though he sounds less sure by the minute. His gaze stays fixed out the penthouse windows as he sips the green-grey smoothie contemplatively.
Jason wonders, if Damian’s so averse to this idea, why he doesn’t just ask Jason to make it disappear. It’s not like that’s beyond Damian’s power, nor Jason’s. He’s gotten rid of more than a few ‘problems’ in his time as Damian’s right-hand man.
“Then why not just make it all go away?” he asks around half-chewn apple, enjoying the distasteful curl of Damian’s lip.
That dark brow furrows, a single crease marring that forehead beneath neatly combed hair. “It’s a favour,” Damian says, with reluctance, “to an old friend of father’s.”
“Ah,” Jason says, because that explains anything. As stubborn as Damian can be at times, it’s no match for Bruce. Jason knows that firsthand. “So the arranged marriage was his idea.”
Damian sets down the last of his smoothie, frown deepening as he gazes out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “He thinks we’ll make a good match. And it will strengthen both our families.”
Jason hums, leaning on his crossed arms. “Do you like the guy?” he asks airily.
Damian shoots him a disparaging look. “Don’t be facetious. We’re not dating. We’re getting married.”
Jason arches his brows in a mockery of surprise. “My mistake. I thought something like mutual attraction was important for a wedding.”
The mafia don scowls, and turns to head back into his study, polished oxfords quiet on the pristine tile. “It’s not the same as dating and you know it.”
Jason can’t hide his smirk, reaching across to snag what’s left of Damian’s drink, tossing it back with a wince before he rinses it in the sink and follows his mark into his study.
Damian’s stood at his desk, rifling idly through a portfolio of papers with a disconcerted frown that Jason knows from experience means he’s worried. Scared, even. And the great Wayne Family don doesn’t just get scared.
He leans his palms on the desk, holding Damian’s gaze even if the younger man won’t meet it. “I’d hope it’s not the same as dating. Marriage is a hefty commitment.”
Damian scoffs, the paper shuffling becoming erratic, works clipped and quick. “It wouldn’t be the same as dating. Marrying Jon is… is perfunctory. It’s strategic. It’s not love, it’s not…”
Jason sighs, fingers sliding across the width of the mahogany to still Damian’s. The mafia don pauses, eyes on Jason’s digits as they slip between his own, squeezing fondly as Jason lifts them to kiss the knuckles.
“It’s not us,” Jason finishes quietly, and Damian swallows.
“I tried to tell father,” he says, hushed. His tone is fraught with apology, with guilt. “That I wasn’t interested in marrying Jon, that I was… taken.”
Jason’s lips curl in a smile, which he buries in another kiss. He could imagine how Bruce would take that conversation. His perfect, precious son, dating the help. Dating his own bodyguard, assigned on Bruce’s trust. He’d have Jason’s head.
Damian wouldn’t have told him directly, but Jason understands where his earlier hesitance stems from. Not that it will stop Bruce from forging ahead.
He sighs, using their entwined grips to tug Damian out from behind the desk. Layering himself up against the younger man’s body is second nature, his hand falling to Damian’s hip.
“Do you even know the guy?”
Damian’s lips twist. “Jon and I dated previously, when I was much, much younger.”
Jason takes that in stride, stroking an idle thumb over the arch of Damian’s hip bone through his suit. Damian relaxes into his touch, even if it’s only by millimetres. “And? What’s he like?”
Suspiciousness graces Damian’s features, but Jason holds firm. Keeps his expression carefully neutral until Damian considers the question and answers, “He’s lovely. Energetic, compassionate. Steadfast and loyal to a fault. A natural born leader. He inspires confidence from his men, and awe from his enemies.”
It sounds like a practised line, something one might say at a dinner party in his honour. Jason leans down to kiss at the skin beneath Damian’s jaw, slow and sensual.
“And what’s he really like?” he murmurs gently, and hears Damian exhale sharply.
“He’s frustratingly optimistic,” Damian answers, swaying into Jason’s body when he kisses above the line of his shirt collar. “Egregiously considerate, and incongruently sweet.”
Jason chuckles. “You like him.”
Damian’s head jerks back, affronted. That frown is back in full indignant force. “I do not.”
“You do,” Jason teases, eyes slanting to hold that burning glare. “Whether you want to admit it or not.”
He leans his weight into Damian slowly, enjoying the slight hitch in Damian’s breath as the pressure registers. There’s nothing that gets Damian hot under the collar faster than reminding him how much bigger Jason is than him.
“More than like him, I think, if he gets under your skin this easily.”
“It’s not the same,” Damian chokes out. Jason lifts a finger to hook his shirt collar down, far enough that he can suck a blooming bruise where no one else will see it.
“Of course not,” he murmurs against the bright spot of purple blood. Presses a quick kiss to it before he lets Damian’s collar slip back into place, obscuring any evidence. “But it doesn’t need to be.”
“It doesn’t matter either way,” Damian grinds, and pushes away from Jason’s bulk, out from his place trapped between the desk and his lover.
Jason sighs, reining in his temper. He turns to lean lazily against the abandoned desk, crossing his arms as he watches Damian meticulously straighten a few books on the nearby shelf. “Why wouldn’t it matter? It’s not like he means anything to you. What’s got you so uppity about a marriage to a guy you used to date, if you don’t even like him like that anymore?”
“Because he’s not you.” Damian’s fingertips still against the spine of a first edition, pressing lightly against the leather like he wishes he were pressing on Jason’s lips. “Because he can’t be you, even if I want him to be.”
The tension unwinds from Jason’s shoulders, some of the air deflating from his chest. As much as he likes to tease and joke about it, he knows the truth of the matter. Class and profession aside, he’ll never be good enough in Bruce’s eyes to be with his firstborn. No one will, Jason suspects, even this arranged suitor.
The guy’s certainly got his work cut out for him. Jason doesn’t envy him in the slightest.
It might even be nice to have someone to commiserate with, after all these years spent secretly at Damian’s side.
A smile tugs at Jason’s lips, fingers drumming on his opposite forearm. “Who says you have to have one or the other?”
The look Damian passes over his shoulder is deprecating, and chastising. Jason pushes upright, palms spreading placatingly.
“I’m serious. Just because you’re tying the matrimonial knot doesn’t mean I have to take a hike. Boyfriend or not, husband or not — my job is to defend you, to be by your side till the end of your days, or the end of mine.” He drops into the corner armchair facing Damian, the furniture creaking under his sizable bulk. “That doesn’t change just because someone new shares your bed. Might even mean less work for me. A few nights off a week sounds—”
“You’re pushing your luck,” Damian warns him, and Jason relaxes into that familiar tone. That’s the voice of a mafia don, promising blood and violence in every note. Not a threat but an assurance. Damian wears the mantle well, it’s breathtaking to watch him take charge; Jason tries to push his buttons as often as possible, just for the chance of seeing this side of him.
“I could ask him if he’s single.”
“That would be inappropriate.”
“He might be inclined to share you with me,” Jason muses aloud.
Damian scoffs, sharp and pointed. “If only I were inclined to share you with him. ”
“But you are curious.” The mafia don flushes at Jason’s probing tone. “I think I could make him fall for me. I can be charming. You could have a competition on your hands, Mr Wayne.”
Damian’s scowl darkens. “No.”
Jason doesn’t let up. “No because it’s inappropriate, or no because you don’t think you could beat me at—”
Damian is leaning over him in the next moment, nails biting into the soft upholstery of Jason’s chair. He swallows sharply, a thrill travelling the length of his spine at the intensity of his glare.
“Because you are mine, Jason Peter Todd,” he murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard, but for the way the words pierce to Jason’s very core. “And I will not be sharing you, in this life or the next.”
Jason’s eyes are entranced by those lips, his words a bit slurred when he replies, “Are you afraid of losing me?”
“No,” Damian answers, unwavering. “I’m not worried about Jon being a contender for your heart — worthy though he may be — because I know it belongs to me. There isn’t a force in the universe that could change that immutable fact.”
“Sounds pretty selfish to me,” Jason whispers. They’re close enough that their lips brush on every other syllable. “Keeping me all to yourself. What if I want to share you with him?”
The heat in Damian’s cheeks is palpable, but he holds his facade well. “You would share me, would you?”
Jason nods, fingers reaching out to wind in Damian’s belt loops, tug him forwards until he crooks a knee to hover over Jason’s lap. “How could I not? Everyone deserves to see you as I do. It would be a privilege for them to witness your magnificence.”
Damian’s words are low and husky. “Charming. Practised that, did you?”
A grin splits Jason’s lips. “Maybe. Only in front of the mirror a few hundred times. You do that to me.”
“My sweet poet,” Damian murmurs, mouth a spare inch above Jason’s. The yearning is intense, the urge to close the distance and kiss him overwhelming. But Jason knows the anticipation is as sweet as the surrender.
"I try," Jason replies, gaze flicking between those parted, smirking lips and Damian's intense green eyes. "I think I could win Jon over with my silver tongue."
Something electric flashes through Damian's eyes and evaporates just as quickly. "You will not be putting that silver tongue anywhere near Jon."
Jason hums, teasing. "Kiss me and maybe I'll reconsider."
"Reconsider and maybe I'll kiss you," Damian counters without a beat of hesitation. Jason chuckles breathlessly. Rolls his head in a small circle just to enjoy the way Damian's lips follow his, like they're strung together by an invisible string.
When he realises he's doing it, Damian scowls and presses them together. Jason pecks a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, entreating.
"It can't hurt. At least I'll get a read on whether he likes me. All the better if I'm going to be sharing my time with him." He grips Damian's hips tighter, pulling him closer. Damian sways into his touch. "Especially if I'm going to have to watch him put his hands all over you."
Damian swallows. "I suppose it's unavoidable."
"Is that a yes, then? I can go give him a warm welcome to the family?"
Those green eyes are scolding. "Don't do anything rash."
"Me?" Jason says, and opens Damian's lips with his own, breaths hot between them. "Never."
