Darkest before the dawn 1/3
Title: Darkest before the dawn
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Jackson, Derek/Stiles,
Warnings: Abuse of a position of authority, violence, D/s over-tones
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4000/11,000
Summary: It’s a story about love, vengeance, justice, and a cruel city named Gotham. Batman AU.
Notes: I’m really not sure where this came from or why. It mostly just did. I feel I need to apologize to the Batman comics, I’ve taken bits and pieces and bastardized them horribly. Much closer to the DC comic-verse than the Nolan films.
Perversely Derek wondered if he would ever forget that night. He stared at the crash as if trying to sear all the gruesome details into his very brain. The woman was practically sheared in half by the force of the crash, the man was completely hidden from view, just a wet mess in the passenger seat that dripped in a spreading puddle that reflected the weak lights.
And in the middle of it all, like a miracle the boy. He couldn’t have been older than eleven with floppy gold hair stained dark and large luminous eyes staring up at Derek from a gore-stained face.
“Help me.” He said in a voice that trembled, he was shaking like a leaf and years later Derek would still be able to remember every eyelash, the way his lips shook, and the way his striped t-shirt clung to his narrow chest.
Derek paused, the kid was okay and both the adults were beyond help now. What else could he do?
“Stay here, don’t move.” Derek growled, and it was the gutter of town but he was so close and every second he waited here his lead got further away. Derek had waited months for this tip to pay off.
“Don’t leave me.”
He’d left the child standing there with only the bodies of his parents for company. The Batmobile tore through the night (but through no more cars than the one already). In his dreams the crash would always be his fault, even if Harris’ car hit them first causing it to spin right into the Batmobile.
Derek would always wonder how life would have been different if he’d stopped and helped Jackson (he wouldn’t know the kid’s name until later).
--
He lasted three sleepless days. Prowling around the house like an angry ghost. Deaton would hover looking worried when he wasn’t actively trying to talk Derek off the cliff of his guilt. It didn’t work. Nothing was making it better and Derek hadn’t survived this long only to lose his mind now.
The lady stared at him. Derek tired his most charming smile.
She sort of fluttered.
Still it was against regulation. Single man, so early in his twenties that he was barely an adult himself; even if he was a multi-billionaire and sole heir of Hale International.
“I just want him to have the best future possible.”
She melted.
Derek became the legal guardian of a small damaged child. Deaton was not impressed.
“You can barely take care of yourself, children need more than money. They need attention and love.” Derek could read between the lines ‘do you even know what love is anymore?’ He would have been insulted by the remark had it not been probably true.
“You looked like you were getting bored now that I’m always so busy.” Derek replied instead.
“Hardly.” Deaton frowned hard at him. When his family had been murdered Deaton was the only thing like-family that Derek had left. He’d raised Derek in the huge empty halls of what had been Derek’s family home and chased away the ghosts from the corners.
“I know what it’s like to be young and angry and alone in the world. Only I had you, I had money. He’s going to go into a state home.”
“Lots of children go into homes; bad things happen.” In Gotham a lot more than in other places. Too many dark dirty streets to turn down and get lost in. Too many children left without anyone to love them.
“I left him there.” Bloody and scared, staring at the dismembered body of his mother, and for nothing another lead that didn’t get him closer to the people who killed his family. “Besides it’s done. Jackson is on his way tomorrow.”
Deaton gave him a narrow-eyed look and Derek went to take a nap. He was going out tonight, there were crimes to stop.
--
Derek wasn’t actually sure what to do with Jackson. He was small, thin in a way that Derek never had been. The hollow-eyed sorrow was a familiar feature and still Derek didn’t know what to do about that. He was pale with a soft smattering of freckles and round cheeks. He was apparently actually twelve. He stared at the house with a mix of terror and awe. Derek never thought about how it looked to other people, sat upon the hill full of empty windows staring out at the world silent and still like a tomb.
“This is where you’re going to live now.” He didn’t say home, because once you lost home in a spray of blood it never came back the same.
“Okay.” Jackson said, blinking once at Derek.
Deaton offered him a hand but both of Jackson’s were twisted in front of him like he was trying to pull his own fingers off. Deaton gave Derek a pointed look. “How about I show you to your room? We’ll get it decorated this week, how does that sound?”
Derek honestly couldn’t remember if Deaton had been that kind to him as a child, certainly not when he’d been a surly teenager losing himself in training. Still it didn’t take a genius to see that the kid was fragile. Jackson was held together with gossamer strands of will power and sheer stubbornness.
He tried to make himself be around, to sleep normal hours just in case. In case Jackson wanted to talk to someone? Derek remembered being that age and the last thing he’d wanted to do was talk about it no matter what everyone said about it. Still he managed two days of Jackson seeing him pace like a caged animal through the house. Jackson mostly was surly and stayed either in the kitchen or in a far corner of the library like a new cat hiding under the sofa.
“He’s a boy, not a pet you need to take an interest.” Deaton looked pained, in the dining room Jackson was playing with his dinner, eating it slow and methodically.
Derek wouldn’t remember what he said, or how the conversation went. He would always remember the part where Jackson started to cry almost silently ‘I just want to go home’.
Jackson was in the best boarding school New York State could offer within two months. It wasn’t like Derek didn’t write.
--
Jackson had a slightly morbid fascination with cars. If you pick the right time of night you could speed down the freeway going so fast that if you crashed it would be over in seconds, Derek knew this because he too was one of the creatures of the night. Jackson liked to pretend like he didn’t remember the crash the same way Derek liked to pretend that he was over watching his parent’s murder. These things happen so fast, Jackson couldn’t possibly remember the warm spray of blood on his face.
Derek had given Jackson a Porche for his sixteenth. It was ostentatious and yet slightly more sedate than a Lotus.
Jackson had smiled at him, bouncing on his toes. Even Deaton couldn’t find a fault with the gift.
It was a little unnerving how fast Jackson had grown. He was still slightly short for his age and showed no signs of growing much taller but his face had lost most of its baby fat. From his chubby cheeks came the sharp edges of his cheekbones only highlighting the soft curve of his mouth. He was maturing quickly.
“Please.” Jackson pressed against him with that lush mouth. Derek had a grip on his hips keeping him just far enough away that they weren’t pressed up against each other but not quite far enough away to avoid those plush kisses.
“Jackson no.” Derek growled. He couldn’t figure out how they had gone from there to here. Jackson crawling into his lap in the sitting room (Derek hastily shut down his tablet, Jackson was never to know about Batman. He couldn’t know).
“I know it’s not because you don’t want me.” Jackson smirked at him. Of course Jackson knew just how pretty he was getting, and Derek should look into that school he’d sent him if this is what they sent back.
“Because it is wrong.” Derek managed to push him off, but couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips, chasing the taste of the hot chocolate that Jackson had been drinking from his lips. The sticky-sweet film just reminded him that this was the worst of ideas. “Not to mention illegal.” He managed to get Jackson off of him and on his feet again.
“Okay, good night.” Jackson bent over the arm of the chair and kissed the corner of his mouth, pressing the edge of a small smile against Derek’s cheek.
Derek snarled wordlessly at the tablet, at the windows thrown open to that showed Gotham lit up and looming at the bottom of the hill like a waiting beast. He’d go out tonight, he needed to hit something.
--
Derek should have been gentle. He should have been caring.
Derek bit down on Jackson’s shoulder while he sobbed, knees shaking as Derek shoved two fingers roughly into him. Jackson’s back arched, feet sliding through the bedding as Jackson bit off curses. Maybe if Derek was rough enough Jackson wouldn’t want this anymore. There was very little negative reinforcement couldn’t fix.
“Is this what you wanted? Brat.” Derek said low, voice scraping along the constants in a wet drag. He kissed Jackson’s neck, and Jackson had both hands in his hair. His kisses were wet and sloppy, tongue clumsy but easily tamed.
Derek pinned him down with his own body weight, listening to the hectic stutter of Jackson’s breathing and the rapid slam of his pulse where Derek was fucking him with his fingers. He slipped a third in, Jackson ripped his mouth away wailing softly as his hips jerked up away from the sensation. He was breathing in soft sobs now, hands still curled in Derek’s hair like he couldn’t let go.
“You can still back out.” Derek mouthed wetly at the sharp line of his cheekbone.
Jackson shook his head slowly. “No, I want this.”
“You sure?” Derek pushed his fingers in deeper and Jackson whined, shuddering with his whole body. It was so wrong but Derek was so hard, thrumming and so wound up that his eyes were beginning to blur with it, Jackson was so tight inside there he wasn’t going to fit. It was all Jackson, mouth slack and his cocky persona blown to so many little pieces and scattered around the bed. “Because my cock is going to go a lot deeper than my fingers Jacks.”
“Yes.” Jackson grit out between his teeth, tugging on Derek’s hair hard and pulling him up for another sloppy kiss.
“Split you open so wide around me.” Derek said against his lips, letting Jackson taste the words and the flick of his tongue. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I want it.” He said fiercely.
Derek hummed finally giving into another kiss, controlling it with a hand on Jackson’s jaw.
He pressed against Jackson’s prostate, and Jackson yelped. Then he moaned, a filthy wet sound and his mouth was swollen and obscene and Derek kind of wanted to stick his dick there, ride the soft curve of his bottom lip and see if he could force his throat open the same way he was doing his ass. Jackson was jerking, hips shifting so that he could rub his dick against Derek’s forearm. It was hot and wet leaving dribbling lines of heat with every flex.
Jackson was babbling now, words all jumbled together, something you’d hear in low-rent porn. Derek gagged him with his tongue. The lube was still tangled in the sheets to his left, the condoms all the way in the drawer to his right.
“Have you ever done this before?” (He did send Jackson to an all-boys school), Jackson sex-flushed and wide eyed shook his head. “Anyone?”
He scowled at Derek which was enough of an answer. It also shouldn’t have sent a pulse of want straight from his brains to his balls. He was a sick fuck, the kind of sick fuck he put in jail but the thought that he was Jackson’s first made his dick twitch. It was the possessive thrill of it. There had been no one before him and he was about to ruin Jackson for anyone else.
He slicked himself up, rolled Jackson on his front and pulled him up onto his knees. There had to be something about not being able to see his face, would make this feel less wrongbadsofuckinggood. Only it didn’t, there was the pale sweep of Jackson’s back, dipping low as he grabbed at the sheets and holding on like he’d fly away if he didn’t. “Look at you, so desperate for it.” Derek pushed two fingers into his wet hole just because he could and Jackson groaned low in his chest pushing back on it, all clinging heat and desperate tightness.
He pressed his hand to Jackson’s stomach, stuck like a skipping CD on the fact that he was stuffed inside there filling up Jackson. The slight rub of his palm against the soft skin on Jackson’s stomach was the only tenderness he allowed himself.
Jackson dropped his shoulder and moaned like a shameless whore as he took it over and over again. Derek was entranced by the flex of the muscles in his shoulders, the way he writhed like he couldn’t decide if he wanted more or he wanted to get away.
Jackson came all over himself with a sob when Derek leaned back on his legs and lifted him up, pushing as deep as he could physically go. Derek smothered a curse with Jackson’s shoulder shuddering hard and riding out the way that Jackson’s body was shaking apart in his arms.
Derek pulled out and finished himself off against his lower back, watching his come cool on Jackson’s skin. And knowing this wasn’t a habit he should get into. Still he rubbing it into Jackson’s skin while Jackson shivered fingers curling into the blankets with a small whine.
--
It was a filthy habit, but Jackson was so good when he was stretched out in the bed eyes wet because Derek wouldn’t let him come thumbs prying him open and eating him out.
--
When Jackson was fourteen he had been kidnapped. It wasn’t Batman related, it was the fact that Derek Hale was a young multi-billionaire with a habit of pissing people off. His corporate tactics were ruthless, slash and burn strategies that left the competition ruined in his wake sobbing into their broken cheque books and cursing his name.
One day he got a call from the school. Jackson couldn’t be found. Derek hadn’t been too worried, at fourteen Jackson was still prone to sulking fits and hiding from the headmasters in a ploy to draw Derek or Deaton out to see him at school.
Hadn’t been worried until the photos arrived, Jackson in his school uniform gagged with his own tie and looking terrified and yet still defiant.
Derek gave them the money. Then he put the four men he found holding Jackson in the hospital. Severe cranial trauma with a baseball bat. He never did find out who hired them. It was probably the first time he ever stopped to wonder if vengeance was more important than family. (The answer was still yes.)
--
He hadn’t meant to accumulate stray broken children. Stiles was an accident. Stiles was Commissioner Stalinski’s son. The commissioner grudgingly accepted Batman as if not an active threat than at least a less of a hindrance than the criminals he caught.
Stiles had being mouthing off, using the only defence left to him, tied to a chair and being dangled like bait in front of the GPD. It had been the first night that the Batsignal lit up the night. It blazed in the sky like beacon and Derek had gone to investigate.
His mistake was assuming that the punk guarding Stiles was down when he wasn’t. The shot echoed all around him coupled with a fierce pain that threatened to overwhelm him. Mr. Punk eventually went down but he’d been running on empty, growing heavy with each drop of blood that hit the floor.
“Oh shit shit shit.” Stiles said, eyes wide and mouth round with stunned shock. “You’re Batman. You’re hurt.”
Off in the distance siren started up, wailing in the night like so many mourners.
“I’m fine.” He grit his teeth, his entire side burned like fire, everything was slippery wet with blood. Just because the police tolerated him didn’t mean they wouldn’t take the opportunity to unmask him if presented. “I need to go.”
Derek collapsed watching Stiles’ face like a pale moon over him. ‘Shit’
--
Stiles accepted a position at Hale Incorporated as an intern and Derek’s personal assistant in training. Stiles was mouthy and hyper and possibly one of the most irritating people that Derek had ever met. But it was accept him, train him and use him as a weapon against the shadows he chased through Gotham or kill him.
Not a day went by when Derek wondered if killing him wouldn’t be easier. Deaton put up with him with the sort of long-suffering impatience he rarely showed with Derek. He also had an inappropriate crush on Derek. What was he catnip to jailbait? (Every day Derek told himself he wasn’t that kind of pervert but after training hand to hand with Stiles when he was sweaty and flushed from exertion he imagined getting his hands on those slim thighs.)
Thus Robin was born.
--
Derek honestly hadn’t even considered it.
Jackson came home like a storm, car pulling into the drive way with an obnoxious crunch of hundreds of dollars worth of custom rubber and gravel, and it was marked on the calendar; circled twice by Deaton. Still Derek hadn’t really put much thought into it. Stiles was fresh from the shower after a round of sparing, bounce to his step and liquid grace he soon seemed to completely forget outside of a life or death situation.
Jackson stopped as if completely frozen. He went pale suddenly, causing the faint smattering of freckles along his cheeks stand out. His mouth went hard even as his eyes narrowed. “Hey.” Stiles grinned at him, flicking his eyes to Derek, and he had to bit the inside of his lip to stop from cursing, he could see the thoughts jumping around Jackson’s head coming to all the wrong conclusions.
“Hey Dad, I’m home.” Jackson stalked through the halls all wounded pride and teenaged fury. Derek grit his teeth, in all the years they had lived together Jackson had never once called him Dad.
“What crawled up his ass?” Stiles frowned, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.
Derek decided not to answer.
That night Jackson crawled into his bed the same way he did whenever he was home. He was completely naked, and already slick, pressing his mouth against Derek’s. “Please.” Derek let his thumb slip inside Jackson’s ass and his body rolled with the sensation moaning softly while Jackson mouthed at his chin.
He really needed to stop this. Still he pressed a finger inside just to listen to the way that Jackson’s breathing hitched.
--
Derek brought Stiles back to the house more often while Jackson was back. He couldn’t just stop training him when Jackson was around, Stiles was smart but still seemed like his mind had grown quicker than his body, like he wasn’t always sure where his feet were. Derek wasn’t going to be responsible for any more deaths. It was only logical.
“I don’t think Jackson likes me much.” Stiles sighed, he was lying on his back, spread out across the floor, Derek was sitting next to him taking a long pull on the water bottle before handing it to Stiles.
“Jacks doesn’t like many people.” He was a brat, and Derek would like to be able to blame that on anyone else but he knew all of Jackson’s worst flaws were his fault. He also touched Stiles more when Jackson was here too, a hand on the shoulder there and a pat on the back here. He pat Stiles’ stomach absently.
“Maybe he’d like me more if he knew I was Robin, that’s like an instant cool card. I have to be able to tell someone. I mean it is getting hard to make up excuses to explain thing to Scott.”
“Jackson must never know.” Derek snapped.
“What? Why?” Stiles frowned.
“Because.” Derek bit the word out let it snap and flick in the air for a few moments. “Then someone would need to explain to him that I killed his parents.”
“Oh.” Stiles stared at him for a long moment, “yeah, that would suck.”
He stood up; leaving Stiles spread out on the floor and retreated.
Jackson must have seen Stiles freshly showered and leaving again because that night he crawled brazenly into Derek’s bed in only a clingy pair of boxers. He pressed slick open-mouthed kisses too Derek’s shoulders and groped him through his thin sleep pants.
“Teach me how to suck your dick.” Jackson mumbled against his shoulder.
“You do fine.” Derek grunted grabbing the back of his neck and digging his fingers into the pale skin dragging him until he was sitting up and Derek could watch the way the moonlight made Jackson’s skin glow. He rolled his hips against Derek’s thigh shamelessly.
“No, I want you to teach me how to really take it. You know.”
Jackson licked his bottom lip and Derek could see it. Could hold Jackson’s mouth open and fuck his throat until his eyes watered.
“Sure.” Derek tossed him onto his back and loomed over the careless sprawl of Jackson’s limbs. Jackson gave him one of those irritating cock-sure smiles that he’d developed some time when he was away at school. The one that drove Derek insane. Fine, Jackson wanted to play it that way-Derek was going to enjoy this.
There was something horrible about the way that Derek loved the little gagging sound that Jackson made, lips stretched obscenely wide around Derek’s dick and nose pressed against his stomach. He loved the way Jackson would heave for breath when he was given a rest going back for more before he was ready. He was so eager for it tonight.
“Just a bit more.” Derek growled, Jackson’s fingers were digging into his hips his throat constricting in the most exquisite way. He wasn’t gentle when he shoved up, holding the curve of Jackson’s skull in his hands as he forced him to take it over and over. His balls and Jackson’s face were coated in that thicker slick saliva that come from fucking his throat directly.
Jackson came all over himself with a high-pitched whine, pressing his face against Derek’s thigh as he sobbed. Derek waited it out before riding Jackson’s face to his own end.
Jackson was filthy covered in spit and tears and come. He curled up next to Derek all loose limbed and swollen-mouthed. The shame was a familiar friend by now that same sweeping guilt that let him know he was doing something wrong. It was all tangled up with all the other insurmountable guilt that he’d carried around for so long that it had morphed into something else entirely.
Derek left him there and went to clean up.
--
“You should stop punishing Jackson for loving you.” Deaton said slowly while he put breakfast on the table the next morning. “It’s not fair on Stiles either to keep stringing him along.”
Derek stiffened.
Jackson’s voice was horse and scratchy but Derek hadn’t hurt him (more than he could handle). “I thought you didn’t approve of our dalliance.” Derek said slowly. They have had a million different iterations of this fight in just as many words and judging looks. It wasn’t like he needed Deaton to tell him it was wrong. He was well aware this thing with Jackson was depraved.
“I do.” Deaton agreed curtly. “But this is too much Derek. His only sin is stupidity-he loves you.”
Derek snarled wordlessly at him. “I never asked him to.”
“Suck it up.”
Chapter 2
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Jackson, Derek/Stiles,
Warnings: Abuse of a position of authority, violence, D/s over-tones
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4000/11,000
Summary: It’s a story about love, vengeance, justice, and a cruel city named Gotham. Batman AU.
Notes: I’m really not sure where this came from or why. It mostly just did. I feel I need to apologize to the Batman comics, I’ve taken bits and pieces and bastardized them horribly. Much closer to the DC comic-verse than the Nolan films.
Perversely Derek wondered if he would ever forget that night. He stared at the crash as if trying to sear all the gruesome details into his very brain. The woman was practically sheared in half by the force of the crash, the man was completely hidden from view, just a wet mess in the passenger seat that dripped in a spreading puddle that reflected the weak lights.
And in the middle of it all, like a miracle the boy. He couldn’t have been older than eleven with floppy gold hair stained dark and large luminous eyes staring up at Derek from a gore-stained face.
“Help me.” He said in a voice that trembled, he was shaking like a leaf and years later Derek would still be able to remember every eyelash, the way his lips shook, and the way his striped t-shirt clung to his narrow chest.
Derek paused, the kid was okay and both the adults were beyond help now. What else could he do?
“Stay here, don’t move.” Derek growled, and it was the gutter of town but he was so close and every second he waited here his lead got further away. Derek had waited months for this tip to pay off.
“Don’t leave me.”
He’d left the child standing there with only the bodies of his parents for company. The Batmobile tore through the night (but through no more cars than the one already). In his dreams the crash would always be his fault, even if Harris’ car hit them first causing it to spin right into the Batmobile.
Derek would always wonder how life would have been different if he’d stopped and helped Jackson (he wouldn’t know the kid’s name until later).
--
He lasted three sleepless days. Prowling around the house like an angry ghost. Deaton would hover looking worried when he wasn’t actively trying to talk Derek off the cliff of his guilt. It didn’t work. Nothing was making it better and Derek hadn’t survived this long only to lose his mind now.
The lady stared at him. Derek tired his most charming smile.
She sort of fluttered.
Still it was against regulation. Single man, so early in his twenties that he was barely an adult himself; even if he was a multi-billionaire and sole heir of Hale International.
“I just want him to have the best future possible.”
She melted.
Derek became the legal guardian of a small damaged child. Deaton was not impressed.
“You can barely take care of yourself, children need more than money. They need attention and love.” Derek could read between the lines ‘do you even know what love is anymore?’ He would have been insulted by the remark had it not been probably true.
“You looked like you were getting bored now that I’m always so busy.” Derek replied instead.
“Hardly.” Deaton frowned hard at him. When his family had been murdered Deaton was the only thing like-family that Derek had left. He’d raised Derek in the huge empty halls of what had been Derek’s family home and chased away the ghosts from the corners.
“I know what it’s like to be young and angry and alone in the world. Only I had you, I had money. He’s going to go into a state home.”
“Lots of children go into homes; bad things happen.” In Gotham a lot more than in other places. Too many dark dirty streets to turn down and get lost in. Too many children left without anyone to love them.
“I left him there.” Bloody and scared, staring at the dismembered body of his mother, and for nothing another lead that didn’t get him closer to the people who killed his family. “Besides it’s done. Jackson is on his way tomorrow.”
Deaton gave him a narrow-eyed look and Derek went to take a nap. He was going out tonight, there were crimes to stop.
--
Derek wasn’t actually sure what to do with Jackson. He was small, thin in a way that Derek never had been. The hollow-eyed sorrow was a familiar feature and still Derek didn’t know what to do about that. He was pale with a soft smattering of freckles and round cheeks. He was apparently actually twelve. He stared at the house with a mix of terror and awe. Derek never thought about how it looked to other people, sat upon the hill full of empty windows staring out at the world silent and still like a tomb.
“This is where you’re going to live now.” He didn’t say home, because once you lost home in a spray of blood it never came back the same.
“Okay.” Jackson said, blinking once at Derek.
Deaton offered him a hand but both of Jackson’s were twisted in front of him like he was trying to pull his own fingers off. Deaton gave Derek a pointed look. “How about I show you to your room? We’ll get it decorated this week, how does that sound?”
Derek honestly couldn’t remember if Deaton had been that kind to him as a child, certainly not when he’d been a surly teenager losing himself in training. Still it didn’t take a genius to see that the kid was fragile. Jackson was held together with gossamer strands of will power and sheer stubbornness.
He tried to make himself be around, to sleep normal hours just in case. In case Jackson wanted to talk to someone? Derek remembered being that age and the last thing he’d wanted to do was talk about it no matter what everyone said about it. Still he managed two days of Jackson seeing him pace like a caged animal through the house. Jackson mostly was surly and stayed either in the kitchen or in a far corner of the library like a new cat hiding under the sofa.
“He’s a boy, not a pet you need to take an interest.” Deaton looked pained, in the dining room Jackson was playing with his dinner, eating it slow and methodically.
Derek wouldn’t remember what he said, or how the conversation went. He would always remember the part where Jackson started to cry almost silently ‘I just want to go home’.
Jackson was in the best boarding school New York State could offer within two months. It wasn’t like Derek didn’t write.
--
Jackson had a slightly morbid fascination with cars. If you pick the right time of night you could speed down the freeway going so fast that if you crashed it would be over in seconds, Derek knew this because he too was one of the creatures of the night. Jackson liked to pretend like he didn’t remember the crash the same way Derek liked to pretend that he was over watching his parent’s murder. These things happen so fast, Jackson couldn’t possibly remember the warm spray of blood on his face.
Derek had given Jackson a Porche for his sixteenth. It was ostentatious and yet slightly more sedate than a Lotus.
Jackson had smiled at him, bouncing on his toes. Even Deaton couldn’t find a fault with the gift.
It was a little unnerving how fast Jackson had grown. He was still slightly short for his age and showed no signs of growing much taller but his face had lost most of its baby fat. From his chubby cheeks came the sharp edges of his cheekbones only highlighting the soft curve of his mouth. He was maturing quickly.
“Please.” Jackson pressed against him with that lush mouth. Derek had a grip on his hips keeping him just far enough away that they weren’t pressed up against each other but not quite far enough away to avoid those plush kisses.
“Jackson no.” Derek growled. He couldn’t figure out how they had gone from there to here. Jackson crawling into his lap in the sitting room (Derek hastily shut down his tablet, Jackson was never to know about Batman. He couldn’t know).
“I know it’s not because you don’t want me.” Jackson smirked at him. Of course Jackson knew just how pretty he was getting, and Derek should look into that school he’d sent him if this is what they sent back.
“Because it is wrong.” Derek managed to push him off, but couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips, chasing the taste of the hot chocolate that Jackson had been drinking from his lips. The sticky-sweet film just reminded him that this was the worst of ideas. “Not to mention illegal.” He managed to get Jackson off of him and on his feet again.
“Okay, good night.” Jackson bent over the arm of the chair and kissed the corner of his mouth, pressing the edge of a small smile against Derek’s cheek.
Derek snarled wordlessly at the tablet, at the windows thrown open to that showed Gotham lit up and looming at the bottom of the hill like a waiting beast. He’d go out tonight, he needed to hit something.
--
Derek should have been gentle. He should have been caring.
Derek bit down on Jackson’s shoulder while he sobbed, knees shaking as Derek shoved two fingers roughly into him. Jackson’s back arched, feet sliding through the bedding as Jackson bit off curses. Maybe if Derek was rough enough Jackson wouldn’t want this anymore. There was very little negative reinforcement couldn’t fix.
“Is this what you wanted? Brat.” Derek said low, voice scraping along the constants in a wet drag. He kissed Jackson’s neck, and Jackson had both hands in his hair. His kisses were wet and sloppy, tongue clumsy but easily tamed.
Derek pinned him down with his own body weight, listening to the hectic stutter of Jackson’s breathing and the rapid slam of his pulse where Derek was fucking him with his fingers. He slipped a third in, Jackson ripped his mouth away wailing softly as his hips jerked up away from the sensation. He was breathing in soft sobs now, hands still curled in Derek’s hair like he couldn’t let go.
“You can still back out.” Derek mouthed wetly at the sharp line of his cheekbone.
Jackson shook his head slowly. “No, I want this.”
“You sure?” Derek pushed his fingers in deeper and Jackson whined, shuddering with his whole body. It was so wrong but Derek was so hard, thrumming and so wound up that his eyes were beginning to blur with it, Jackson was so tight inside there he wasn’t going to fit. It was all Jackson, mouth slack and his cocky persona blown to so many little pieces and scattered around the bed. “Because my cock is going to go a lot deeper than my fingers Jacks.”
“Yes.” Jackson grit out between his teeth, tugging on Derek’s hair hard and pulling him up for another sloppy kiss.
“Split you open so wide around me.” Derek said against his lips, letting Jackson taste the words and the flick of his tongue. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I want it.” He said fiercely.
Derek hummed finally giving into another kiss, controlling it with a hand on Jackson’s jaw.
He pressed against Jackson’s prostate, and Jackson yelped. Then he moaned, a filthy wet sound and his mouth was swollen and obscene and Derek kind of wanted to stick his dick there, ride the soft curve of his bottom lip and see if he could force his throat open the same way he was doing his ass. Jackson was jerking, hips shifting so that he could rub his dick against Derek’s forearm. It was hot and wet leaving dribbling lines of heat with every flex.
Jackson was babbling now, words all jumbled together, something you’d hear in low-rent porn. Derek gagged him with his tongue. The lube was still tangled in the sheets to his left, the condoms all the way in the drawer to his right.
“Have you ever done this before?” (He did send Jackson to an all-boys school), Jackson sex-flushed and wide eyed shook his head. “Anyone?”
He scowled at Derek which was enough of an answer. It also shouldn’t have sent a pulse of want straight from his brains to his balls. He was a sick fuck, the kind of sick fuck he put in jail but the thought that he was Jackson’s first made his dick twitch. It was the possessive thrill of it. There had been no one before him and he was about to ruin Jackson for anyone else.
He slicked himself up, rolled Jackson on his front and pulled him up onto his knees. There had to be something about not being able to see his face, would make this feel less wrongbadsofuckinggood. Only it didn’t, there was the pale sweep of Jackson’s back, dipping low as he grabbed at the sheets and holding on like he’d fly away if he didn’t. “Look at you, so desperate for it.” Derek pushed two fingers into his wet hole just because he could and Jackson groaned low in his chest pushing back on it, all clinging heat and desperate tightness.
He pressed his hand to Jackson’s stomach, stuck like a skipping CD on the fact that he was stuffed inside there filling up Jackson. The slight rub of his palm against the soft skin on Jackson’s stomach was the only tenderness he allowed himself.
Jackson dropped his shoulder and moaned like a shameless whore as he took it over and over again. Derek was entranced by the flex of the muscles in his shoulders, the way he writhed like he couldn’t decide if he wanted more or he wanted to get away.
Jackson came all over himself with a sob when Derek leaned back on his legs and lifted him up, pushing as deep as he could physically go. Derek smothered a curse with Jackson’s shoulder shuddering hard and riding out the way that Jackson’s body was shaking apart in his arms.
Derek pulled out and finished himself off against his lower back, watching his come cool on Jackson’s skin. And knowing this wasn’t a habit he should get into. Still he rubbing it into Jackson’s skin while Jackson shivered fingers curling into the blankets with a small whine.
--
It was a filthy habit, but Jackson was so good when he was stretched out in the bed eyes wet because Derek wouldn’t let him come thumbs prying him open and eating him out.
--
When Jackson was fourteen he had been kidnapped. It wasn’t Batman related, it was the fact that Derek Hale was a young multi-billionaire with a habit of pissing people off. His corporate tactics were ruthless, slash and burn strategies that left the competition ruined in his wake sobbing into their broken cheque books and cursing his name.
One day he got a call from the school. Jackson couldn’t be found. Derek hadn’t been too worried, at fourteen Jackson was still prone to sulking fits and hiding from the headmasters in a ploy to draw Derek or Deaton out to see him at school.
Hadn’t been worried until the photos arrived, Jackson in his school uniform gagged with his own tie and looking terrified and yet still defiant.
Derek gave them the money. Then he put the four men he found holding Jackson in the hospital. Severe cranial trauma with a baseball bat. He never did find out who hired them. It was probably the first time he ever stopped to wonder if vengeance was more important than family. (The answer was still yes.)
--
He hadn’t meant to accumulate stray broken children. Stiles was an accident. Stiles was Commissioner Stalinski’s son. The commissioner grudgingly accepted Batman as if not an active threat than at least a less of a hindrance than the criminals he caught.
Stiles had being mouthing off, using the only defence left to him, tied to a chair and being dangled like bait in front of the GPD. It had been the first night that the Batsignal lit up the night. It blazed in the sky like beacon and Derek had gone to investigate.
His mistake was assuming that the punk guarding Stiles was down when he wasn’t. The shot echoed all around him coupled with a fierce pain that threatened to overwhelm him. Mr. Punk eventually went down but he’d been running on empty, growing heavy with each drop of blood that hit the floor.
“Oh shit shit shit.” Stiles said, eyes wide and mouth round with stunned shock. “You’re Batman. You’re hurt.”
Off in the distance siren started up, wailing in the night like so many mourners.
“I’m fine.” He grit his teeth, his entire side burned like fire, everything was slippery wet with blood. Just because the police tolerated him didn’t mean they wouldn’t take the opportunity to unmask him if presented. “I need to go.”
Derek collapsed watching Stiles’ face like a pale moon over him. ‘Shit’
--
Stiles accepted a position at Hale Incorporated as an intern and Derek’s personal assistant in training. Stiles was mouthy and hyper and possibly one of the most irritating people that Derek had ever met. But it was accept him, train him and use him as a weapon against the shadows he chased through Gotham or kill him.
Not a day went by when Derek wondered if killing him wouldn’t be easier. Deaton put up with him with the sort of long-suffering impatience he rarely showed with Derek. He also had an inappropriate crush on Derek. What was he catnip to jailbait? (Every day Derek told himself he wasn’t that kind of pervert but after training hand to hand with Stiles when he was sweaty and flushed from exertion he imagined getting his hands on those slim thighs.)
Thus Robin was born.
--
Derek honestly hadn’t even considered it.
Jackson came home like a storm, car pulling into the drive way with an obnoxious crunch of hundreds of dollars worth of custom rubber and gravel, and it was marked on the calendar; circled twice by Deaton. Still Derek hadn’t really put much thought into it. Stiles was fresh from the shower after a round of sparing, bounce to his step and liquid grace he soon seemed to completely forget outside of a life or death situation.
Jackson stopped as if completely frozen. He went pale suddenly, causing the faint smattering of freckles along his cheeks stand out. His mouth went hard even as his eyes narrowed. “Hey.” Stiles grinned at him, flicking his eyes to Derek, and he had to bit the inside of his lip to stop from cursing, he could see the thoughts jumping around Jackson’s head coming to all the wrong conclusions.
“Hey Dad, I’m home.” Jackson stalked through the halls all wounded pride and teenaged fury. Derek grit his teeth, in all the years they had lived together Jackson had never once called him Dad.
“What crawled up his ass?” Stiles frowned, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.
Derek decided not to answer.
That night Jackson crawled into his bed the same way he did whenever he was home. He was completely naked, and already slick, pressing his mouth against Derek’s. “Please.” Derek let his thumb slip inside Jackson’s ass and his body rolled with the sensation moaning softly while Jackson mouthed at his chin.
He really needed to stop this. Still he pressed a finger inside just to listen to the way that Jackson’s breathing hitched.
--
Derek brought Stiles back to the house more often while Jackson was back. He couldn’t just stop training him when Jackson was around, Stiles was smart but still seemed like his mind had grown quicker than his body, like he wasn’t always sure where his feet were. Derek wasn’t going to be responsible for any more deaths. It was only logical.
“I don’t think Jackson likes me much.” Stiles sighed, he was lying on his back, spread out across the floor, Derek was sitting next to him taking a long pull on the water bottle before handing it to Stiles.
“Jacks doesn’t like many people.” He was a brat, and Derek would like to be able to blame that on anyone else but he knew all of Jackson’s worst flaws were his fault. He also touched Stiles more when Jackson was here too, a hand on the shoulder there and a pat on the back here. He pat Stiles’ stomach absently.
“Maybe he’d like me more if he knew I was Robin, that’s like an instant cool card. I have to be able to tell someone. I mean it is getting hard to make up excuses to explain thing to Scott.”
“Jackson must never know.” Derek snapped.
“What? Why?” Stiles frowned.
“Because.” Derek bit the word out let it snap and flick in the air for a few moments. “Then someone would need to explain to him that I killed his parents.”
“Oh.” Stiles stared at him for a long moment, “yeah, that would suck.”
He stood up; leaving Stiles spread out on the floor and retreated.
Jackson must have seen Stiles freshly showered and leaving again because that night he crawled brazenly into Derek’s bed in only a clingy pair of boxers. He pressed slick open-mouthed kisses too Derek’s shoulders and groped him through his thin sleep pants.
“Teach me how to suck your dick.” Jackson mumbled against his shoulder.
“You do fine.” Derek grunted grabbing the back of his neck and digging his fingers into the pale skin dragging him until he was sitting up and Derek could watch the way the moonlight made Jackson’s skin glow. He rolled his hips against Derek’s thigh shamelessly.
“No, I want you to teach me how to really take it. You know.”
Jackson licked his bottom lip and Derek could see it. Could hold Jackson’s mouth open and fuck his throat until his eyes watered.
“Sure.” Derek tossed him onto his back and loomed over the careless sprawl of Jackson’s limbs. Jackson gave him one of those irritating cock-sure smiles that he’d developed some time when he was away at school. The one that drove Derek insane. Fine, Jackson wanted to play it that way-Derek was going to enjoy this.
There was something horrible about the way that Derek loved the little gagging sound that Jackson made, lips stretched obscenely wide around Derek’s dick and nose pressed against his stomach. He loved the way Jackson would heave for breath when he was given a rest going back for more before he was ready. He was so eager for it tonight.
“Just a bit more.” Derek growled, Jackson’s fingers were digging into his hips his throat constricting in the most exquisite way. He wasn’t gentle when he shoved up, holding the curve of Jackson’s skull in his hands as he forced him to take it over and over. His balls and Jackson’s face were coated in that thicker slick saliva that come from fucking his throat directly.
Jackson came all over himself with a high-pitched whine, pressing his face against Derek’s thigh as he sobbed. Derek waited it out before riding Jackson’s face to his own end.
Jackson was filthy covered in spit and tears and come. He curled up next to Derek all loose limbed and swollen-mouthed. The shame was a familiar friend by now that same sweeping guilt that let him know he was doing something wrong. It was all tangled up with all the other insurmountable guilt that he’d carried around for so long that it had morphed into something else entirely.
Derek left him there and went to clean up.
--
“You should stop punishing Jackson for loving you.” Deaton said slowly while he put breakfast on the table the next morning. “It’s not fair on Stiles either to keep stringing him along.”
Derek stiffened.
Jackson’s voice was horse and scratchy but Derek hadn’t hurt him (more than he could handle). “I thought you didn’t approve of our dalliance.” Derek said slowly. They have had a million different iterations of this fight in just as many words and judging looks. It wasn’t like he needed Deaton to tell him it was wrong. He was well aware this thing with Jackson was depraved.
“I do.” Deaton agreed curtly. “But this is too much Derek. His only sin is stupidity-he loves you.”
Derek snarled wordlessly at him. “I never asked him to.”
“Suck it up.”
Chapter 2