fic: Crooked (1/1, Tim/Jason, Batman comics)
fic: Crooked
author: eggblue
pairing: Tim Drake (Robin III)/Jason Todd (Red Hood)
rating: nc-17
notes: Takes place during Battle for the Cowl.
warnings: knife, blood, cowlporn. It’s Jason.
summary: Jason drags Tim back to his lair for some cavesex.
For a friend <3
*
Tim opens his eyes and the cowl is down and someone’s big, rough hands are playing with his hair, petting it away from his forehead.
Then, darkness.
Tim opens his eyes and the cowl is up and now there is a heavy weight - a heat - pressing down, straddling above his waist and he can’t *see* anything, only feel trapped and heat and heavy.
Darkness, again.
He’s in a cave - perhaps a part of *the* cave - and he flashes back to Jean Paul and razor gauntlets and red eyes -
Red eyes. Jason Todd.
Tim’s heart sinks and he groans - no, whimpers - and he’s been here before, trapped and beaten and dragged by his ankles to a proto-Batman lair to prove someone’s crazy *point* again.
A hard, cold tightness at his jaw, and then - “I would never hurt you,” cooed out like some kind of joke. He can see now:
Black rimmed eyes so bright and blue they would be a cliche of madness if they weren’t the very definition of beautiful. Black hair parted harshly down the middle, hanging in jagged points across that boy’s face, streaked with his own blood and the stray blood of others. The petite nose dotted with freckles, the crooked mouth with ridiculously curved and full lips so useful for mocking, now busy lapping up blood from a crooked knife. Everything about him bright and huge and crooked.
Jason.
Fuck.
He feels paralyzed from the chest down, and though he knows he is squirming to get free - voluntarily and not - he isn’t even moving. Have to be paralyzed. Or maybe that is just Jason, pressing his legs together and holding him there with the muscles of his thighs, squeezing and pressing down and leaning *in* - closer, closer - with his elbows on either side of his face - leaning in and in, licking the last of the blood from his lips, then biting them bloody again, groaning and pressing *down* and Tim can’t move an inch.
He’s close enough to wet Tim’s chin, mouth, nose with one lick of his thick tongue. Tim can’t close his eyes, sees Jason almost close his own with some kind of twisted ecstasy. “He thinks this is wrong, little birdie. What do you think?” Then those eyes are narrow, and so so bright, and maybe it is madness, but Jason knows exactly what he’s doing.
Tim would shudder if he wasn’t pinned down by 225 pounds of hot crazy. So much sweat and heat between their mutual Batsuits, he’s afraid they’re going to melt together, the hot breath on his face suffocating.
Jason winks.
Tim swears he’s becoming delirious, eyes rolling back in his head. “I don’t know what you want, Jason.” Something makes him think of Kon - big bodies out of control, getting taken apart in the Titans Tower, Jason in the Robin suit screaming and throwing and pounding him again and again. And he has no answers for any of it. Big, sexy bodies, possibly crazy, possibly into him, possibly wanting him dead, and looking to him to figure it all out, and he has no idea, none at all.
He feels it huge, like a panic, like something he doesn’t want to *deal* with. This is going to kill him.
But Jason won’t let him go.
Those rough hands grab his hair again and yank and slam his skull back against hard rock and he tastes iron in his mouth. “What did I say, huh?”
Don’t lose control, Jason, he thinks. Don’t, don’t. And forces breath back into his lungs again. Then Jason’s fists at his cowl, ripping him open.
“What does he call you? Tim? Timmy? No, Timothy. Sometimes even... Robin? What did you have to do, huh? To prove yourself to him. We all gotta do it sometime.” He sits back on his heels, and god his thighs squeeze even harder, filling up the sides of his vision, spreading from his chest to halfway down his own thighs, and at least twice as thick. “You wouldn’t *believe* the things he made me do,” Jason rolls his eyes, swings the knife in his wrist in what for him must be a casual shrug.
Just breathe, Tim, breathe, he repeats to remind himself. Because he keeps forgetting, like Jason can suck all the air out of a room and replace it with a living kind of breathlessness.
Is this how he lives all the time? Is this what it feels like to be in Jason’s presence?
Then Jason is no longer kind. He rips Tim’s suit away from sternum to crotch. “Does he do it hard or easy for you? Does he do it gentle,” a huge, calloused hand up the plane of his stomach to his chin, a rough squeeze and a palm flat against the bottom of his jaw, pushing back and up, stretching his neck and blocking his air. He can’t *see* and Jason’s other hand is moving along the seams of the suit, inside against his hip, opening him up -
“Guh!umphumphumph,” he tries to whimper against the palm to his throat, through his nose, when he feels those hard callouses play teasingly light with the precome on the head of his cock, sliding and brushing rough against his leaking slit, his sensitive circular ridge underneath. Squeezing tight, like only he does when he’s desperate and angry and can’t *think* anymore. Only when he’s alone. *Squeezing* and playing and every inch of him arching up off the hard stone but he can’t move against those thighs.
“Does he do it gentle, like this,” those playing, teasing fingers, so rough, “gentle to make up for me?” A release of weight then, just for a moment, then hot breath against his ear, “Can he ever do it gentle enough for you?” Then the weight of Jason’s whole body against his chest, his face hovering above his own, looking down at his tortured prey - that’s all Tim sees in his eyes, the Robin-like joy of it, and at the edges, a pain that he can’t even begin to comprehend, to even touch.
Then is changes, before his eyes. “Or maybe,” Jason begins, “You are a little like him yourself. All controlled, all cold stoic nothing. And inside this tiny, slutty, horny squirming thing, never full, never satisfied. Never quite enough. Begging for it, needing it hard and fast and quick. Just to get rid of that thing. So I have to be the one to do it, have to be. But it’s okay, Tim,” a sharp kiss to his lips, tasting of someone’s blood, “I’m really very very good at it.”
Jason tears with his knife then, cutting the rest of his suit to shreds, tearing off the cowl with his blade and his *teeth* and shoving it back onto Tim’s head. No, no he was just finally able to *breathe* -
He’s panting and Jason is licking his lips and biting his tongue and pulling on the cowl like Tim is some doll he’s dressing in playclothes. Tim goes to swat at his hands and he realizes - his hands have been free the entire time.
But he’s useless. All useless against Jason and his weight and his desire, so much stronger than his own.
But he has desires, doesn’t he? The desire to be free, and safe, yes, but - He’s still here. Jason can clearly defeat him - he has before - and there’s not much he can do, but what does he desire most here, and is it anything to rival Jason’s? Jason who he watched as a boy, saw that impossible freedom. Jason he talked to, the dream in the glass case that never seemed real.
Jason still pinning him down with his thighs and jerking him roughly with his hand and holding him around his neck and lifting him off the stone so he can *watch* where their bodies meet. Jason pressing down his straddle until their thighs are rolling together, his hard bulge pressing closer against his pumping fist.
Tim can only grab at the thick arm holding up his head, getting nowhere.
“You’re kind of hot, you know that?”
Tim crying out, weak sounds. Little puffs of air.
“You’re hot for something. Are you imagining Dick doing this for you? Big brother lending you a hand, touching you and having no idea what he’s doing to you, getting all hard in your jock for him, wanting him to fuck your face as long as you can keep your eyes open,” he licks his lips. “And just watch him move it in and out. All slick, perfect, smooth, long, clean, perfect Dick.” Jason’s full bulge pressing against his fist, Tim’s cock, hardness to hardness to hardness.
Tim falling back against the stone when Jason lets him go, presses three fingers into Tim’s mouth, three more into his own, and presses in, moans and *humps* and Tim wants to be filled EVERYWHERE. “Nuhuhuhuh,” he whimpers around Jason’s fingers, thick enough to choke.
Jason stops sucking with a wet sound. “What is that, Timothy? You ready to tell me what it is you want?”
“Nghngh, yes,” he slobbers from his swollen lips. “I’s you, you. Big and hard like you.” And fuck, god, it’s actually true. Someone big enough to tear him down and tear him apart and take away anything resembling control. And he doesn’t even need *restraints*.
“You’re so easy,” Jason flips him over. “It’s almost disappointing.”
Then there’s teeth biting at his shoulder and a heavy hand pressing him down at the wrist and the three fingers that were in Jason’s mouth are now prying him open and Jason is spitting and spitting and spitting into his fingers, against his hole, impatient. “Fuck, you’re tight,” using both hands to hold him open, and Tim is getting pushed forward off the stone slab, wanting to sink into the floor with the humiliation, with the crazy feeling that he’s not - never ever - will never be enough or good, even good enough for someone like Jason, who was *born* experienced, and then Jason pulls out, sloppy-wet, almost *lovingly* kisses and sucks deep at Tim’s hole, getting it wetter and wider and ready - because even if it’s dirtywrongneverever - Jason *likes* it that way best and maybe Tim does too, because something in him just gives up. He pushes his knees to the edge, hugs the cold stone under his chin and gives into the unnameable thing in Jason that makes things like this possible for Bats like him.
He has the cowl on and who fucking cares what he’s thinking right now?
Then Jason is pulling him back onto his cock, stretching his legs into a split and maneuvering his body or holding it steady at will with his hands and his thick hardness, pulling Tim down onto himself and curving his back so tight that Tim can see it from between his own legs, where the hugest thickest part of huge thick Jason is pressing up behind his balls, between his tiny, plastic doll-sized ass cheeks, past where his own cock is bobbing up against his stomach like a tiny joke in comparison, where the size difference of their thighs would make him laugh if he could *breathe* and then Jason is in most of the way, shoving up and in, before he starts fucking.
Hard jerking fucking motions that make Tim’s ass bounce. Uneven slamming motions that knock them both off kilter, only to find it again, only to jerk them loose again. Crying, moaning, inhuman sounds coming from beneath Tim’s cowl, growls and shouts and yeah yeah shit-talking, that’s what you need, that’s what you want, that’s it that’s it that’s it that’s it, coming out with Jason’s breaths until he presses his body all over again and just fucks and fucks and fucks into darkness and someone screams and someone comes and someone screams and someone comes and someone screams and someone comes and Batman bites at Batman’s cowl with his teeth and red eyes glow bright at blue at red at blue.
*
end
author: eggblue
pairing: Tim Drake (Robin III)/Jason Todd (Red Hood)
rating: nc-17
notes: Takes place during Battle for the Cowl.
warnings: knife, blood, cowlporn. It’s Jason.
summary: Jason drags Tim back to his lair for some cavesex.
For a friend <3
*
Tim opens his eyes and the cowl is down and someone’s big, rough hands are playing with his hair, petting it away from his forehead.
Then, darkness.
Tim opens his eyes and the cowl is up and now there is a heavy weight - a heat - pressing down, straddling above his waist and he can’t *see* anything, only feel trapped and heat and heavy.
Darkness, again.
He’s in a cave - perhaps a part of *the* cave - and he flashes back to Jean Paul and razor gauntlets and red eyes -
Red eyes. Jason Todd.
Tim’s heart sinks and he groans - no, whimpers - and he’s been here before, trapped and beaten and dragged by his ankles to a proto-Batman lair to prove someone’s crazy *point* again.
A hard, cold tightness at his jaw, and then - “I would never hurt you,” cooed out like some kind of joke. He can see now:
Black rimmed eyes so bright and blue they would be a cliche of madness if they weren’t the very definition of beautiful. Black hair parted harshly down the middle, hanging in jagged points across that boy’s face, streaked with his own blood and the stray blood of others. The petite nose dotted with freckles, the crooked mouth with ridiculously curved and full lips so useful for mocking, now busy lapping up blood from a crooked knife. Everything about him bright and huge and crooked.
Jason.
Fuck.
He feels paralyzed from the chest down, and though he knows he is squirming to get free - voluntarily and not - he isn’t even moving. Have to be paralyzed. Or maybe that is just Jason, pressing his legs together and holding him there with the muscles of his thighs, squeezing and pressing down and leaning *in* - closer, closer - with his elbows on either side of his face - leaning in and in, licking the last of the blood from his lips, then biting them bloody again, groaning and pressing *down* and Tim can’t move an inch.
He’s close enough to wet Tim’s chin, mouth, nose with one lick of his thick tongue. Tim can’t close his eyes, sees Jason almost close his own with some kind of twisted ecstasy. “He thinks this is wrong, little birdie. What do you think?” Then those eyes are narrow, and so so bright, and maybe it is madness, but Jason knows exactly what he’s doing.
Tim would shudder if he wasn’t pinned down by 225 pounds of hot crazy. So much sweat and heat between their mutual Batsuits, he’s afraid they’re going to melt together, the hot breath on his face suffocating.
Jason winks.
Tim swears he’s becoming delirious, eyes rolling back in his head. “I don’t know what you want, Jason.” Something makes him think of Kon - big bodies out of control, getting taken apart in the Titans Tower, Jason in the Robin suit screaming and throwing and pounding him again and again. And he has no answers for any of it. Big, sexy bodies, possibly crazy, possibly into him, possibly wanting him dead, and looking to him to figure it all out, and he has no idea, none at all.
He feels it huge, like a panic, like something he doesn’t want to *deal* with. This is going to kill him.
But Jason won’t let him go.
Those rough hands grab his hair again and yank and slam his skull back against hard rock and he tastes iron in his mouth. “What did I say, huh?”
Don’t lose control, Jason, he thinks. Don’t, don’t. And forces breath back into his lungs again. Then Jason’s fists at his cowl, ripping him open.
“What does he call you? Tim? Timmy? No, Timothy. Sometimes even... Robin? What did you have to do, huh? To prove yourself to him. We all gotta do it sometime.” He sits back on his heels, and god his thighs squeeze even harder, filling up the sides of his vision, spreading from his chest to halfway down his own thighs, and at least twice as thick. “You wouldn’t *believe* the things he made me do,” Jason rolls his eyes, swings the knife in his wrist in what for him must be a casual shrug.
Just breathe, Tim, breathe, he repeats to remind himself. Because he keeps forgetting, like Jason can suck all the air out of a room and replace it with a living kind of breathlessness.
Is this how he lives all the time? Is this what it feels like to be in Jason’s presence?
Then Jason is no longer kind. He rips Tim’s suit away from sternum to crotch. “Does he do it hard or easy for you? Does he do it gentle,” a huge, calloused hand up the plane of his stomach to his chin, a rough squeeze and a palm flat against the bottom of his jaw, pushing back and up, stretching his neck and blocking his air. He can’t *see* and Jason’s other hand is moving along the seams of the suit, inside against his hip, opening him up -
“Guh!umphumphumph,” he tries to whimper against the palm to his throat, through his nose, when he feels those hard callouses play teasingly light with the precome on the head of his cock, sliding and brushing rough against his leaking slit, his sensitive circular ridge underneath. Squeezing tight, like only he does when he’s desperate and angry and can’t *think* anymore. Only when he’s alone. *Squeezing* and playing and every inch of him arching up off the hard stone but he can’t move against those thighs.
“Does he do it gentle, like this,” those playing, teasing fingers, so rough, “gentle to make up for me?” A release of weight then, just for a moment, then hot breath against his ear, “Can he ever do it gentle enough for you?” Then the weight of Jason’s whole body against his chest, his face hovering above his own, looking down at his tortured prey - that’s all Tim sees in his eyes, the Robin-like joy of it, and at the edges, a pain that he can’t even begin to comprehend, to even touch.
Then is changes, before his eyes. “Or maybe,” Jason begins, “You are a little like him yourself. All controlled, all cold stoic nothing. And inside this tiny, slutty, horny squirming thing, never full, never satisfied. Never quite enough. Begging for it, needing it hard and fast and quick. Just to get rid of that thing. So I have to be the one to do it, have to be. But it’s okay, Tim,” a sharp kiss to his lips, tasting of someone’s blood, “I’m really very very good at it.”
Jason tears with his knife then, cutting the rest of his suit to shreds, tearing off the cowl with his blade and his *teeth* and shoving it back onto Tim’s head. No, no he was just finally able to *breathe* -
He’s panting and Jason is licking his lips and biting his tongue and pulling on the cowl like Tim is some doll he’s dressing in playclothes. Tim goes to swat at his hands and he realizes - his hands have been free the entire time.
But he’s useless. All useless against Jason and his weight and his desire, so much stronger than his own.
But he has desires, doesn’t he? The desire to be free, and safe, yes, but - He’s still here. Jason can clearly defeat him - he has before - and there’s not much he can do, but what does he desire most here, and is it anything to rival Jason’s? Jason who he watched as a boy, saw that impossible freedom. Jason he talked to, the dream in the glass case that never seemed real.
Jason still pinning him down with his thighs and jerking him roughly with his hand and holding him around his neck and lifting him off the stone so he can *watch* where their bodies meet. Jason pressing down his straddle until their thighs are rolling together, his hard bulge pressing closer against his pumping fist.
Tim can only grab at the thick arm holding up his head, getting nowhere.
“You’re kind of hot, you know that?”
Tim crying out, weak sounds. Little puffs of air.
“You’re hot for something. Are you imagining Dick doing this for you? Big brother lending you a hand, touching you and having no idea what he’s doing to you, getting all hard in your jock for him, wanting him to fuck your face as long as you can keep your eyes open,” he licks his lips. “And just watch him move it in and out. All slick, perfect, smooth, long, clean, perfect Dick.” Jason’s full bulge pressing against his fist, Tim’s cock, hardness to hardness to hardness.
Tim falling back against the stone when Jason lets him go, presses three fingers into Tim’s mouth, three more into his own, and presses in, moans and *humps* and Tim wants to be filled EVERYWHERE. “Nuhuhuhuh,” he whimpers around Jason’s fingers, thick enough to choke.
Jason stops sucking with a wet sound. “What is that, Timothy? You ready to tell me what it is you want?”
“Nghngh, yes,” he slobbers from his swollen lips. “I’s you, you. Big and hard like you.” And fuck, god, it’s actually true. Someone big enough to tear him down and tear him apart and take away anything resembling control. And he doesn’t even need *restraints*.
“You’re so easy,” Jason flips him over. “It’s almost disappointing.”
Then there’s teeth biting at his shoulder and a heavy hand pressing him down at the wrist and the three fingers that were in Jason’s mouth are now prying him open and Jason is spitting and spitting and spitting into his fingers, against his hole, impatient. “Fuck, you’re tight,” using both hands to hold him open, and Tim is getting pushed forward off the stone slab, wanting to sink into the floor with the humiliation, with the crazy feeling that he’s not - never ever - will never be enough or good, even good enough for someone like Jason, who was *born* experienced, and then Jason pulls out, sloppy-wet, almost *lovingly* kisses and sucks deep at Tim’s hole, getting it wetter and wider and ready - because even if it’s dirtywrongneverever - Jason *likes* it that way best and maybe Tim does too, because something in him just gives up. He pushes his knees to the edge, hugs the cold stone under his chin and gives into the unnameable thing in Jason that makes things like this possible for Bats like him.
He has the cowl on and who fucking cares what he’s thinking right now?
Then Jason is pulling him back onto his cock, stretching his legs into a split and maneuvering his body or holding it steady at will with his hands and his thick hardness, pulling Tim down onto himself and curving his back so tight that Tim can see it from between his own legs, where the hugest thickest part of huge thick Jason is pressing up behind his balls, between his tiny, plastic doll-sized ass cheeks, past where his own cock is bobbing up against his stomach like a tiny joke in comparison, where the size difference of their thighs would make him laugh if he could *breathe* and then Jason is in most of the way, shoving up and in, before he starts fucking.
Hard jerking fucking motions that make Tim’s ass bounce. Uneven slamming motions that knock them both off kilter, only to find it again, only to jerk them loose again. Crying, moaning, inhuman sounds coming from beneath Tim’s cowl, growls and shouts and yeah yeah shit-talking, that’s what you need, that’s what you want, that’s it that’s it that’s it that’s it, coming out with Jason’s breaths until he presses his body all over again and just fucks and fucks and fucks into darkness and someone screams and someone comes and someone screams and someone comes and someone screams and someone comes and Batman bites at Batman’s cowl with his teeth and red eyes glow bright at blue at red at blue.
*
end