A/N: I show no signs of stopping, my friends. Run while you cAN FOR I HAVE FALLEN DEEPER INTO THE PITS OF DAMIARTY

I'm sorry if they're kinda OOC here. But let's face it, these two would be at each other's throats every chance they get. Two genii in one place is bound to spark up some serious competition. Again, this was inspired by Rumble Sphere's Heat, which you should really check out if you already haven't.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to either Batman or AF.

The night was young and the party was in full swing. Under the canopy of stars, and the soft lighting of the overhead fairy lights, Artemis would daresay it was almost romantic.

He caught himself and his lips curled at the thought, his fingers resting lightly on his temples. The heat must be getting to me, he thought glumly as he fidgeted with his collar.

He had heard nights at Gotham could be chilly on more favorable nights and bitingly cold on others, but it would appear to be a different case altogether that night. It was muggy and the open air did little to clear his mind of his displeasure, and the company did not help matters at all. The air was filled with the usual artifice of hollow pleasantries and arid gossip. It seemed as if Gotham's elite were too busy immersed in their little world to notice anything else.

It was dull and utterly mundane, a complete waste of his time.

"Did you hear? Wayne's eldest ward, Richard, is here. My, my what a dish!"

Oh, for Heaven's sake, how much more of this useless nattering did he have to- "Artemis, my boy, why don't you come over here for a minute?"

His train of thought was cut off by his father's voice, loud and clear despite the low buzz of voices that had settled over the expanse of the garden.

He straightened his posture, lifting his chin and clearing his expression of his earlier frustrations. Dutifully, he walked over to his father, hands clasped behind his back, as his father's own hand settled lightly on his shoulder.

"Mr. Wayne," his father began lightly, donning a well-rehearsed smile, "This is my son, Artemis."

Artemis' gaze flickered over to the tall man opposite his father, a brow quirking in interest. The head of the Wayne house was a man who seemed to radiate power with his incredible musculature alone, but there was a cunning intelligence that twinkled behind seemingly benign blue eyes.

Despite his distaste of the inane chatter, he was not deaf to the gossip around him. He had heard of the man's promiscuous nature, a title he had graciously accepted. Yet no matter how freely the man carried himself, there was something off about his smile and easy gestures, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Hm, interesting indeed.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne," he nodded curtly, careful to keep his expression neutral.

The man smiled in amusement, setting his champagne flute on a nearby table. "Yes, hello to you too, Artemis."

He turned briefly, as if he were beckoning someone over, and not a minute later, a boy no older than Artemis himself stood beside Mr. Wayne, seemingly dwarfed by the man's stature. Yet he carried himself in a manner that radiated arrogance, head held high with a swagger to his steps. The boy's lips were twisted in a haughty smirk, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"This is my son, Damian," Mr. Wayne introduced, patting the boy's back lightly.

The boy was watching him closely, a predatory glint to his gaze. Picking up on the challenge, Artemis found himself narrowing his own eyes, his brows furrowing despite himself.

"A pleasure," Artemis sniffed as he schooled his features, offering his hand. There was no way he'd give this delinquent the satisfaction of showing his aggravation.

He pleasured in his small victory when the boy glowered at his lack of visible reaction.

The boy tutted softly, the beginnings of a sneer settling on his lips. "I'm sure," He returned derisively as he shook his hand, his grip a little too tight for comfort.

Artemis Senior coughed lightly, sensing the tension between the two boys. "Why don't you two better acquaint yourselves? Mr. Wayne and I have business to attend to."

Nodding tersely, both boys stepped apart, refusing to let their glares waver.

Right before the men left, Mr. Wayne clapped Damian on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper in reprimand, "Be nice."

That smirk was back, a dangerous sharpness to the quirk of his lips. "Of course, father."