Damian smirked and settled down to dinner. “Nice apron.”

Simon glared. “Grouchy kid, aren’t you?”

Damian giggled and took a sip of his drink. “I was complimenting it.”

“Sure,” Simon grumbled, fingering the transparent, lacy cloth that covered his chest. “I’ll have you know this was a gift. And its fully functional, even if it is a bit frilly.”

The red head ignored the second part of Simon’s statement. “A gift from who? A lover? You can’t make fun of my maid outfit if you have that.”

“Yes, actually I can. This is actually functional. I sincerely doubt you can do anything in that maid getup.”

Damian leered at him, but said nothing. He had learned that Simon did not respond well to open flirting and come-ons. But to looks, he blushed. To subtle flirting, he flirted right back. He didn’t seem to realize he was flirting most of the time.

Right on cue, Simon flushed, mind jumping to what Damian would have said anyways.

The younger male smirked again. “Want any help with setting the table?”

Simon flushed and shook his head. “It’s fine.” He began to shuffle around the kitchen, reaching for dishes with suddenly awkward limbs.

Damian rose gracefully. “I feel useless when I’m just watching.” He strode into the kitchen and reached for the silverware at the same time Simon did. Their hands brushed. Simon jumped back, flushing. Damian resisted the urge to snicker and instead pretended he hadn’t noticed. He took a step closer, pressing his arm against Simon’s apron. The material was scratchier than he had expected. It was an interesting feeling, more odd than bad.

Damian wondered for a moment what it would feel like to press his naked body against Simon’s hard form with only the rough material between them. He shivered.

“Cold?” Simon asked, taking a step back.

“Uh, yeah,” Damian muttered. In truth, he wasn’t, not really, but it was cool and now that he was paying attention, he actually was a little chilly. He took the excuse and took a step closer, resting a hand on Simon’s bare shoulder. “Ooh, toasty.”

He tensed underneath his hand. Damian hid a grin and was about to step into him, but stopped himself. All that ever happened when he did things like that was a quick flash of desire and then, usually, an argument that made Damian feel small and young. Instead of pressing himself against the man, he removed his hand casually, reaching around his teacher for forks and going back to the table without another word or touch.

Simon gaped after him, before jumping and quickly going back to getting napkins. Damian smirked as the man nearly dropped the plates in his hand. The dinner was mostly silent, Simon remaining clumsy and bewildered throughout. Damian, for once, didn’t hit on the man. He didn’t flirt, he didn’t try to play footsy underneath the table, and he didn’t try to shock or horrify. After dinner, he silently washed the dishes, not complaining or demanding compensation of some kind.

During their nightly tutoring session, Damian maintained the distant friendliness. By the time his homework was finished, both males were on edge.

Damian retreated back to his room, thinking hard. It was difficult to not flirt. It was habit, especially when he was attracted to someone. Too keep everything completely innocent, or at least very subtle, was difficult. But, it seemed the thing to do. Simon seemed as off kilter as he was. And that was a good thing. The man was growing far too blasé about Damian. Maybe it was time for a change in strategy…

---

Simon blinked down as Damian smiled up at him and slipped away, hips gently swaying as he walked away, books held tightly in his arms.

“Are you mad at me?”

Damian turned and cocked his head to the side. “No, why?”

“N-No reason.”

“Okay.”

Damian disappeared around the corner. Simon groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “What the fuck did I do to piss him off?” he muttered to himself.

The following days followed suit. Simon asked more than once if he had done anything wrong. Damian always gave him the same answer. After school, a week after the odd behavior started, Damian was waiting for Simon to pack up, lounging against his door easily. “Hey, Simon?”

“Yes, Red?”

“Damian,” was the quick snapped reply. “I hate being called that. No one’s around anyways.”

Simon looked up, shocked. “I thought you chose…” He trailed off when Damian looked down and shook his head.

“No.”

“Who named you Red then?”

“My da- No one. Never mind.”

Damian whirled on his heel. Simon jumped up and seized his elbow before he could run. He pulled him into a tight hug. Damian shrugged him off and pulled away as far as Simon’s grip on his arm would let him. Simon shrugged of the sting of the rejection, and prompted gently. “Your dad?”

 The redhead slowly nodded. “Yeah. He couldn’t call me by my real name after all, not to clients. If they didn’t hear my name….”

“What?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“Just spit it out, Damian.”

Damian let out a sound, more of a sob than a laugh. “Most people tell me to do the opposite.”

Simon ignored the statement. “If they didn’t hear your name?”

“They could pretend like they weren’t fucking a friend’s eleven year old boy. He had a fake ID all made up.” He laughed, the sound broken. “It had my picture, but said Red Cherry and listed my age as eighteen. God, it was such a joke.” He hugged his arms tight around himself. “I knew almost all of them, you know? He used to have them over for things like barbecues and Sunday football games. But they all pretended like- like…” He broke off, a sob ripping its way out of his throat.

Simon pulled him into another tight hug. This time, Damian pressed himself close, hands clutching at his shirt. “Like they didn’t know me,” he whispered. “Like they didn’t know what- or who- they were doing. That was one of the worse parts.” He laughed softly again. “And now, every time I have sex, that’s still what everyone calls. ‘Red, red.’” He groaned softly and leaned his head onto Simon’s chest. “So, just, please don’t call me that unless you have to.”

“Su-sure,” Simon whispered. He continued to hold Damian for a few long minutes.

It was the younger male who finally disentangled himself. He was blushing softly, looking self-conscious. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Simon looped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into what he hoped was a comforting one-armed hug and smiling as warmly as he could in light of the confession he just heard. “Don’t worry about it.”

Damian stared up at him with unreadable green eyes for a moment, before leaning against Simon once again. He began to reach up, stretching his body.

Simon jerked back. “Hey!”

Damian grinned and grabbed his chin. He planted a loud, sloppy kiss on Simon’s cheek. “So paranoid! That’s all I was going to do!” He turned away, leading the way out of the room. His fingers were crossed behind his back.

Simon snorted, unable to stop from grinning widely, and followed him out.