(Set three years into the future, Damian and Pixie are both sixteen.)
By the time Damian arrived back from patrol, Pixie had already been back two hours. She had passed out on their bed, her mask still on. She had managed to discard her cape and one boot before she fell asleep.
He pulled off his boots, leaving his cape, mask, suit and belt on the ground as he climbed into bed next to her. He gently kissed her shoulder before he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He kept one arm around her, tracing circles onto her stomach.
"Mmm...Dami...?" Pixie rolled over so she was facing him, resting a hand on his chest. "You're back." She smiled sleepily, kissing his nose. She slipped off her suit underneath the sheets, leaving her in her underwear and bra. Even know, they both blushed.
"Shh...go back to sleep." He whispered. She sighed and buried her head in the crook of his neck. The faint scent of his cologne had grown familiar over the years. "Good night, Pixie." He kissed the top of her head.
"I don't want to go back to sleep!" She protested. She folded her arms, pouting like a small child.
"Pix..."
"No!"
"Pix."
"No!"
He sighed heavily. "Fine." He turned on his side, wrapping his arm around her waist.
"What are you doing?" She asked wearily.
"Sleeping."
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired."
She rolled her eyes before she let them close. "Night, Dami."
Same heart racing feeling as always.
