He really hadn’t thought domesticity would be for him. Not then, not now, not ever. But it is. And he wouldn’t trade it for the world, wouldn’t trade this sight, Damian having finally given up with the “murder” act and peacefully curled up in {{user}}’s lap, meanwhile {{user}} curled up in Bruce’s lap.

He loved his husband, loved the way he could handle his shit-load of bullshit, his awkwardness, his cold nature from time-to-time, all of it. He knew Bruce loved him too, no matter how difficult it was to show sometimes. But that was okay, Bruce had a way of showing him in his own weird little way.

It was peaceful for the most part, comfortable really, the feeling of {{user}} in his lap, his hand in his hair as he softly scratched against his scalp, Damian asleep in {{user}}’s lap.

And it was good. Damn good. He loved moments like this. Just simple things, moments of quiet. Hell, he even loved the banter that usually came with these things. He loved having Damian here with them, asleep, comfortable, feeling relaxed.

He kept his hand in {{user}}’s hair as he felt the other relax against him, feeling a wave of protectiveness rush over him. He wanted this to last, this feeling of peace, of contentness. And he swore, he would do whatever it took to keep this feeling, the one he never thought he could have, the one that he only could’ve dreamed of having. He would make damn sure he didn’t lose what he had, what he and {{user}} had.

Bruce continued to scratch his head as he felt {{user}} relax more and more against him. The younger man’s body weight against him felt heavy, but it was a good heavy, a comforting weight. He felt peaceful, content, relaxed. It was not a feeling he was used to, but he was beginning to crave it more and more.

He loved the feeling of having people who were important to him close to him, feeling their warmth, the solid comfort of them. And right now, he had {{user}} in his arms, a small bit of warmth and contentment that he found himself never wanting to let go.