Chapter Text
Training is an absolute fiasco; Jon’s movements are weak and uncoordinated while he complains about the red sun lamps for the entirety of it. Damian can’t with his childness.
“Fine! I’ll fucking turn them off.”
And what a bad idea that is. Five minutes with the lamps off is enough to make Damian regret putting on leggings instead of the sweatpants. Jon is visually restraining but occasionally, the sounds of metal being crunched by his hands or a nut coming out of place can be heard and the idea of an uncontrolled Jon is the most arousing thing to Damian.
“Can we stop already? I feel kinda bad that I’m breaking everything.”
“You wouldn’t be if I’d kept the lamps on.”
“But it feels wrong.”
“You really need the training, though”
Jon pouts for about five milliseconds when Damian proposes a showcase of restriction.
“So, how many do I make?”
“Until you can’t anymore.” He rolls his eyes and corrects himself. “A hundred.”
Jon is lying on the press bench about to lift over a thousand pounds, he must do it slowly and without breaking the bar for it to be successful and earn his freedom. Damian is standing in a pseudo spotter position with his arms crossed.
When he lifts the bar for the first time, Jon locks his eyes to Damian’s and as the number of repetitions approaches the tenths, his sight travels down Damian’s body latching on the very clear imprint of his hard-on.
“You know, here I am concentrating, and you can’t even do me the favor of doing the same.”
“What are you talking about?”
The bar continues going up and down at snails’ pace. “I mean that you’re enjoying this, and I can see how much.”
Damian turns red (fascinating that he can spear any blood from his dick), and Jon puts the bar in its resting position to sit up and face him.
“That is just- “
“A natural, blah blah blah.” He smiles as his eyes rake across Damian’s groin. “You always put that excuse and never let me see, not that there’s that much to see.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s okay, not everyone has more than a few inches to show. And if that’s how you look hard, I can imagine it is not that impressive.”
“Idiot, I’ll let you know that it is of a perfectly acceptable size.”
“Then let me see.”
Damian paused, waiting for Jon to say he was joking but he never did. His fingers reach forward to Damian’s leggings and pull them down, savoring the fact that he’s wearing something similar to a thong.
“Fuck,” Damian tries to cover himself, but Jon’s arms are faster. “Don’t look!”
“I think I will, even your underwear is embarrassing, Dami.” At super speed those are lowered, too. “And look! This can’t be longer than four inches, what the fuck?”
“Stop…”
Damian’s hands hold onto Jon’s that keep his clothing at knee level. Jon leans forward to inspect the cock better.
“It can’t be very useful; can you even jerk off?” The tiny cock pulses and a bead of precum appears on top. “You must be very pent up. I couldn’t imagine being this much of a slut and unable to cum.”
“I’m not a slut.”
“Well, what do you call it? You’re dripping on the floor, and I haven’t touched it.” Damian doesn’t respond but his cock does. It gets redder and wetter the more Jon inspects it, both hands still in Damian’s clothes. “I suppose even a man-clit is good for playing.”
“Wait, Jon-”
Jon moves his tongue towards the flow of precum and is welcomed by strings of cum all over his face. The boy cums and cums until his cock is empty and even smaller, shaking legs make him drop to the floor and Jon catches him and hugs him.
“It’s okay, you’ll learn to love this.”