The Way I Was Made - Part II of III (SR/SV/TT) Adult
Part I
Jason's not a teenage girl, so he doesn't run around the university campus telling everyone that Robin just macked on him. But he wants to.
Really badly.
He could go find Bart and tell him, but then that would invariably lead to a questions about how exactly did Jason meet Robin, and how exactly did Jason get up on a roof to get macked on. There's an unspoken understanding between them that they're both "different," but this would be a little weird for anyone.
Truthfully, Jason's not worried about the flying conversation, inasmuch as he doesn't want to seem like a fawning fanboy. This is how he ends up watching Bollywood films with his next door neighbor -- Geeta -- at two in the morning.
Jason’s lying on Geeta’s roommate’s bed staring at the TV. He’s never met Geeta’s roommate, and according to Geeta, neither has she. "If her clothes weren’t there and the sheets on the bed changed, I’d think she didn’t exist," Geeta told Jason and Luke after the fifth month of not-seeing her roommate.
Geeta’s dancing around her room in her pajamas, doing things with her hips that would normally have Jason a lot more interested, except that he’s already got his attention focused somewhere else. "--on? Jason? Jason!"
"Huh?"
"Okay, Lane, cough it up. You’ve been more out of it than usual tonight, and that’s saying something. You normally drool all over yourself when you see Aishwarya Rai. I at least expect some non-rhythmic white boy dancing if you’re going to eat my samosas."
Jason looks down at the half-eaten veggie samosa in his hand. "Oh, I was just thinking," he answers vaguely.
Geeta laughs. "That’s novel for you," she says, plopping down on her bed and folding her legs underneath her. Geeta has a huge poster of Johnny Cash next to her bed, and her room is so small that if she and Jason both reached out they could grab hands. "So, what -- no, this has to be a who -- who are you mooning over?"
Jason stuffs the rest of the samosa in his mouth. "Nobody," he spits out, crumbs flying everywhere.
Geeta just snorts. "Riiight," she says extracting a brush from her sheets and beginning to attend to her glossy black hair. "You should work on that delivery if you’re trying to make it believable."
*
The first boy Jason ever kissed was Jamie Forman; they were thirteen and at Alice Hammond's birthday party.
Forty minutes before kissing Jamie, Jason had been kissing Heather Brooks in a game of Spin the Bottle. When the bottle landed on Jamie, Tom Ridgeworthy had protested that boys couldn't kiss boys because that was queer. Alice disagreed. And so did Heather.
And so did Jason, because he had three dads.
Since Jamie cornered him in the bathroom later on and slobbered all over him, Jason figured he disagreed, too.
Even the school administration was on Jason's side.
A week later, when the principal pointed out during an emergency assembly that tolerance must be extended to all sorts of people, he pointedly said that the message wasn't the problem -- the problem was vandalism.
Apparently the school administration frowned upon their students spray painting 'I LOVE QUEERS!' on the side of the gymnasium.
And since his grandfather had given the school the donation for the gym, everyone was surprised at the six used spray paint cans found in Tom Ridgeworthy's locker during locker check.
Everyone, of course, except Jason.
*
Jason can hear Tim's voice through the door, and it's only good manners for him to knock before he barges in, but this is college and Jason's a long way from his grandma. "Tim, man, it's Thursday night, and we're in college, put down --"
The door is blocked by something, and Jason only gets halfway in the room to find Tim pulling on a shirt and some guy sprawled on Tim's bed in a black turtleneck and jeans. Tim has guests, well, just one guest.
Jason's a little caught off guard though, because there's a lot of naked Tim being covered up by his shirt. He's got these scars, and Jesus, Tim must play rough. "Jason, have you ever heard of knocking?"
"No, never heard of it; I must've been absent at school that day."
"Big surprise there," Tim snorts.
The guy on the bed sits up. "A man after my own heart." He's got dark hair and huge blue eyes. He's a lot older than Tim. Like a lot older. Of course it would figure that Tim has some hot older boyfriend. Now would be an excellent time for Jason to squash the competition with his superstrength, or possibly his heat-vision, but Tim might frown on that.
Jason eyes the guy curiously; now is not really a good time for jealousy, but Jason's timing has never been good. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company." The sarcasm makes every word crisp; he's not sorry at all.
"Oh, I'm not company," the guy says getting to his feet. "I'm family. Dick." He extends his hand. "You must be Jason."
And just like that, Jason's green-eyed monster is quelled in favor of burgeoning curiosity. "Are you Tim's brother?" he asks, shaking hands a little too long. "Cousins? Because, uh, I can sort of see the resemblance."
"I'm whoever you want me to be," Dick says with a grin, and just like that Jason's sold. He'll take his Dick Drake to go.
There's a massive groan from Jason's right -- Tim's covering his face with hands. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" and Jason's not sure if Tim means Dick or him.
"I just got here," Jason protests.
"He means me," Dick explains. "He never wants to introduce me to his friends, which I'm beginning to understand if they all look like you."
It's Jason's turn to blink, because wow, Dick is really flirting with him. Plus, Dick's grin is this huge, blinding thing, and Jason might be in lust. Again.
"Jason, did you need something in particular?" It takes Jason a minute to realize that Tim's talking to him, because he's dated older women, but older men are an untapped resource, and if they're all like Dick, Jason's been wasting valuable time.
"Oh, yeah, um --" One glance at Tim, and Jason remembers what he came for. Tim's cheeks are flushed, and Jason blinks. One minute it's famine, the next it's hormonal flood. "There's a midnight screening at the Union, I figured we could see that, and then I could get you drunk on cheap beer and take advantage of you. But if you're busy --"
"I'm kind of busy," Tim hedges.
"No, he's not," Dick counters.
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Huh."
"If he won't go, I will," Dick drawls.
"No, you won't," says Tim.
Jason crosses his arms and leans back against the door. "If you two are going to fight over me, could you take off your shirts? I'm shallow that way."
Tim makes a derisive noise, but Dick laughs. "I can see why he likes you."
Jason's a little slow on the uptake, but uh, "You like me? You do not -- "
"The egotism could stand some work," Dick continues even as he's pushing them out of Tim's room, "but don't worry, Tim'll take care of that for you."
Which is how Jason gets his first non-date with Tim Drake.
*
The first time Jason woke up floating over his bed he freaked out pretty badly. Well, he freaked out badly enough that he came crashing down to earth and broke the bed. He tried to fix it instead of telling his dad, which worked for two whole days until it happened again.
Jason swore he wouldn’t dream about Amy Masters again.
The third time it occurred, his dad happened to walk in. The look on his face when he opened the door and saw Jason floating against the ceiling was priceless, in that sort of "Jesus Christ, what the hell?" way. And then Jason crashed down, and his dad eyed him with amusement. "So, flying, huh?"
Jason couldn’t even find the words to explain that this was becoming a regular occurrence. All his dad said was, "I was thinking about pancakes for breakfast, and maybe some furniture shopping, and then we should probably call Clark."
The last thing Jason wanted to do was call Clark, because seeing Clark always seemed to make the skin around his dad’s eyes tight, but there weren’t exactly a whole lot of options open to him. It wasn’t like he could call up a flight school and say, "Yeah, so I’ve been flying a lot, in my bedroom, can you give me some landing pointers?"
By the time Jason had showered and dressed, the smell of pancakes was practically ordering him downstairs. Clark was standing by the island in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand, and Jason paused in the entranceway, because this was his house, and Clark wasn’t welcome anymore.
"Jason," Clark’s nod of acknowledgement made Jason’s teeth hurt.
"I thought he wasn’t coming until later," Jason spoke directly to his dad.
Richard frowned and handed Jason a plate stacked high with pancakes and bacon on the side. "Jason."
Jason sighed and set the plate down on the island and busied himself slathering on butter and pouring syrup. "Hello," he said grudgingly.
"You could actually sit at the table," his dad mocked. "It won’t bite you."
Both Jason and Clark looked up, but Clark looked away sheepishly when he realized Richard wasn’t necessarily talking to him. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated in strange places by Jason’s knife and fork and the sound of batter sizzling on a griddle. "Your dad tells me you’re having some flying issues," Clark said eventually.
Jason scoffed around a piece of bacon. "Sure, if you call waking up by bumping into the ceiling, and then crashing and breaking your bed a ‘flying issue.’"
Clark took a sip of coffee. "We can have you flying properly by lunch at the latest. Just be happy you haven’t started setting things on fire with your eyes. That one is a bitch to explain."
Jason choked on his bacon, and his dad frowned. "Clark, language."
It was interesting to see Clark blush after being chastised.
*
Jason’s second not-date with Tim is made over breakfast in the dining hall. Tim’s sitting alone, eating something that might've been oatmeal in a previous life, and flipping through a large book, when Jason drops down across from him with today’s excuse for pancakes. Jason’s drowned his in syrup in hopes that the sugar shock will cover for the taste.
"What are we studying?" he says between bites of his bacon. 90% of the food made in the dining hall is inedible, but they make up for it with the bacon, and nobody can screw up cereal.
"Byzantine history."
Jason nods thoughtfully. Well, as thoughtful as anyone who spent most of his sleeping hours stopping five muggings, three assaults and one would-be rapist can be at nine in the morning. "Who are you studying? Constantine? Justinian I? Theodosius II?"
Tim doesn’t look up. "Constantine."
Jason makes a hmming noise. "Not a lot to say about a man who claimed to see a flaming cross in the sky, you know? Christianity, yay! It’s always nice to see people thinking of ways to persecute each other in the name of the same god."
Tim glances up, and Jason feels stupidly pleased at the upturned corners of Tim’s mouth. "So there is something you pay attention to besides blowing things up and sex."
Jason smirks and pokes at his pancakes. "I like history. And sex. Sue me. Anyway, how else are you going to know what’s coming if you don’t know what’s already happened before?"
Tim blinks. "I didn’t realize you had so many opinions."
"I’m trying to impress you with my eloquence."
"You don’t have to try so hard with me, you know. Now if you really wanted to impress me, you could actually apply yourself in Calculus."
"Okay, can we not have the tutoring conversation right now? You’re sort of messing with my game."
"Your game?"
"Yeah, you know where I’ve been hitting on you for-fucking-ever, and you’re being extremely difficult and playing hard to get.”
Tim looks down at his book, but Jason can see the grin. "Oh, that game."
"Was there another game? I didn’t get the memo."
"Then you should check your e-mail," Tim says matter-of-factly.
Jason pokes at his breakfast again and shakes his head. "How about we go back to your place and I quiz you on history and check my e-mail at the same time?"
"All right, Mr. Lane, you’re on."
It takes Jason a minute to realize Tim’s said ‘yes.’
*
Jason met Lex Luthor for the first time when he was fifteen.
He’d read the articles, seen the news stories and the interviews, and investigated every piece of propaganda possible. He knew there was no love lost between Clark and Luthor, except that Clark wasn’t exactly Jason’s shining beacon of judgment.
If anything, Clark was an inducement to think better of Luthor.
Still, there was no fanfare, no great festivity for the prodigal son, no weeping embraces or apologies, just a chance meeting. Perhaps that’s why Jason remembers it so well.
His dad had arrived in Smallville at ten-eighteen Saturday morning to pick up Jason and take him home to Metropolis. He'd been on assignment in Pakistani Kashmir for three weeks, and now it was back to Riverside Drive, with the dock where Jason had learned how to fish, and where Clark sometimes liked to hang out when Jason didn’t want to see him.
When they’d gotten home to Metropolis, his dad had taken him to his favorite Chinese restaurant to celebrate, even though the car was redolent of the apple pie and baked chicken which his grandmother had insisted they take.
It was a dingy little place called Won Su’s that had the best hot and sour soup in the state. The minute they’d walked in the front door, Jason’s antennae had gone up in the way it always did when Clark was around -- except that this was different. This was less with the anxiety and more with the curious, it was the way Jason had felt about Superman before Clark had broken his dad’s heart.
Jason paused at the door, completely expecting Clark to push out of the ever-swinging kitchen door holding a plate of beef and broccoli, but instead his eyes had landed on the profile of a bald man in a lilac-colored Oxford shirt and a grim black woman standing beside his booth at attention.
Jason took a step back and ran right into his dad. In fact, he’d stood on his foot, and when his dad protested, Lex Luthor looked up. Jason just blinked.
Jason had always thought that if they ever met he'd know exactly what he wanted to say, but now he was at a loss. He didn’t even realize he’d stalked over to Luthor’s booth until the black woman had obstructed his path, only to snap back to attention at Luthor’s firm, "Leave him alone, Mercy."
Jason’s heart pounded loud enough to deafen everything in his mind, but someone who sounded like him said, "Do you know who I am?"
Luthor raised an eyebrow as though half-alien absentee sons approached him at greasy spoons all the time. "Jason, I know everything about you."
"Oh." Jason’s knees buckled from confirmation of what he’d already known. It was one thing to know he had three dads, but it was another to actually meet the missing piece over Peking duck.
He couldn’t breathe under the weight of all the weirdness, and he wanted to run away, far away from the confirmation that he really was as fucked up as he tried to pretend he wasn’t.
Luthor watched him curiously. Jason could feel himself being studied, and he stared back insolently.
He couldn’t turn away, even when Luthor was looking right past him, and then there was the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder and everything was okay. Or sort of okay, and it didn’t matter who’d given him his DNA, because Richard White had raised him. He could’ve been a Luthor or a Kent, but he wasn’t either one, he was just him.
"Mr. Luthor." Hearing his dad’s voice was like cold water.
"Mr. White."
"We were just--" when his dad paused, Jason caught his eye and he realized his dad was doing it on purpose. They could do whatever Jason wanted: stay, go, never talk about it again.
"We were, uh, going to have dinner," Jason finished gamely.
Luthor’s eyes never left Jason’s face. "I wouldn’t want to intrude, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like."
Later on Jason realized he never hesitated when he said, "Okay."
*
"So, I was thinking you should go out with me and pick up girls," Jason says to Tim over his derivatives homework. He likes differential equations, because they’re not all about the fundamental theorem.
Jason hates the fundamental theorem.
"You’re back to sleeping with girls now?" Tim’s across the table from Jason, looking just as pale and twee as ever. Jason never thought twee was his type, and then he met Tim. If Jason reaches out he can touch Tim’s hand, but that’s just girlie.
"I was always sleeping with girls -- or I was until I met you," Jason clarifies. "Now it’s just me and Miss Rosy Palm."
Tim snickering is progress. Sometimes the best thing you can do is to do nothing at all. Jason doesn’t subscribe to this theory, but he’s heard it works for other people who aren’t pursuing Tim Drake.
"Right," Tim’s face doesn’t show anything, but this is Tim so who really knows what he’s thinking. Jason sighs as Tim goes back to looking over his assignment for next week, which Jason actually spent more than 30 minutes working on. It’s all part of the plan.
"Do you see how celibate I'm being just for you?" Jason’s not wheedling, but it’s close. "But you’re being difficult, and I figure if we go out and pick up girls then I can figure out your type and get rid of the competition."
A muscle twitches in Tim’s temple. "You’re going to dress up in drag for me?"
"I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but if that’s what you want --" To Tim’s credit he doesn’t even blink when Jason sits back in his chair and pulls his shirt off over his head. Jason’s wearing an undershirt though, since he’s trying the less is more approach -- this is part of the plan too.
"You need to change this," Tim points to the variables on problem #12, and pushes the paper back over to Jason, who peers a bit closer.
"Is it hot in here?" he asks, his shirt inside out and hanging from his wrists. Other people probably haven’t resorted to stripping in one of the private studying rooms in the Thomas Wayne Library, but that’s not really his concern.
Tim makes a condescending noise and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a can of Zesti. "You can’t even think up a better pick up line than that?" he asks, pulling open the tab.
Jason sighs and pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. "I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult."
"Jason, not everyone is going to fall at your feet just because you’re attractive."
Jason’s grin says it all. "So you do think I’m attractive!"
When Tim rolls his eyes, Jason’s grin broadens. "Stop fishing for compliments, you know you’re attractive, now act like you have a brain."
Picking up his pencil, Jason studies the problem as though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for -- if he deliberately produced the wrong answer there’s nothing wrong with that. "I don’t see it," he says pushing the paper back over to Tim. "Why don’t you show me again?"
Tim narrows his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel like a victim of extortion?"
Jason’s all wide-eyed wonder. "Extortion implies something evil and wrong; I’m just trying to get help from my tutor so that I don’t flunk out of school and have to spend the rest of my life selling my ass in the East End."
Tim raises an eyebrow in amusement. "A little dramatic, don’t you think?"
Jason sighs, leans across the table, flips his pencil around, erases the answer to problem #12, squints at it for a full ten seconds and then writes out the right answer. "Okay?" he asks, looking Tim squarely in the face.
He’s very much not expecting it when Tim closes the gap and kisses him. It’s quick and fleeting, and then Tim’s fingers are curled in the neckband of his tee shirt and it’s not so quick and fleeting. Tim watches Jason until he closes his eyes, and Tim doesn’t kiss the way Jason thought he would at all. Instead of calm, cool proficiency, it’s hot and wet and frantic -- and he bites.
When he lets go of Jason’s shirt, Jason’s eyes are still closed. When he opens them Tim’s fixing him with that blue-eyed gaze. "Huh."
Jason has the best verbal skills ever, and they only get better, because one minute he's half way over the table and the next Tim's shoved him back, and he flails for a moment before crashing into his chair, which miraculously doesn't dump him on his ass.
For a second he forgets how to breathe, because Tim's half way across the table -- he's crawling -- and then he's climbing on top of Jason, and he may be lean, but Jesus, is he strong.
"I, uh, yeah, okay," is Jason's witty reply as Tim settles over him, and then they're kissing again, and finally, Jason is getting a return on his investment.
His entire body snaps to attention like a plant getting water after being neglected for weeks on end. Every cell, every muscle tenses, and his cock goes from its normal semi-tumescent state to full mast. At least some part of him knows how this dance goes.
Tim's lips are dry but not cracked. They're boy lips, not soft and full, but not too thin either. And he kisses well. Very well. If Jason could get him to slow down a bit, it would be even better, so Jason cups the sides of Tim's face and pulls him back slightly. Not enough to lose contact, just enough to show Tim what he wants -- although judging by Tim's noise of protest, he knows what he wants too.
It's almost March, and Jason's been working on Tim for weeks, so apparently Tim's been exercising some restraint too.
Jason's learned there's no real difference between kissing a boy or a girl; it all comes down to technique in the end. Tim uses just enough tongue -- thankfully without the slobbering -- but his teeth.
Jason is really loving the nips along his bottom lip, his jaw, his neck. It's almost as nice as Tim writhing on his lap. Even with the famous Making Out with Robin session under his belt, Jason's wound up pretty tightly, and if he ruins another pair of jeans because his cock couldn't be contained, that would really kind of spoil the whole thing.
Tim's breath is hot along Jason's neck, and his hands are tangling in Jason's hair. When Jason grabs his hips to hold on, hold him down, he can feel how hard Tim is. Each thrust he makes is met with another by Tim.
They're rutting and grinding in a feeble plastic chair, and then Jason's scrabbling for the fly of Tim's jeans, sliding his hand between denim and cotton, and fuck, Tim is so hot in his hand.
Jason makes a keening noise against Tim's lips as he strokes, and he can't hold on with Tim attacking him like this. With each stroke, Tim makes these bitten off moans, the chair is scraping across the floor with all the motion, and then Tim's gasping and shuddering in Jason's arms. His face is flushed and his lips red and swollen as he considers Jason through half-lidded eyes.
If Jason had seen this one coming, he would've locked them in the same room months ago. His head is still swimming, but his cock is straining against his pants, and when he looks up at Tim there's this incredibly devious grin on Tim's face.
Jason lets out a very unmanly yelp when Tim squeezes his cock hard through his jeans. And then Tim's on his feet and zipping up his pants. "Imagine what’ll happen if you really apply yourself next time," he says, grabbing his backpack and heading out of the door.
Jason just stares at the closed door for several moments. All the blood in his body has rushed to his groin, and he can't be too sure, but he thinks he liked things better when Tim didn't seem to be interested.
*
Jason had a girlfriend in high school named Tana, except they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend as much as they were friends with "benefits". Tana wanted someone to keep her parents off her back, and Jason just wanted to get laid. It worked out really well for both of them right up until the summer before their senior year when Jason met Charlie Sikes, an intern at the Daily Planet.
Charlie had brown hair that was too long, legs that went up to his neck, and he hailed from El Paso, Texas. Jason had never met anyone from Texas before. It didn't help that Charlie liked to say 'y'all' a lot and played the guitar like his life depended on it.
When he wasn't fetching lattes for the sports desk, he was learning about photography from Jimmy Olsen or talking about U.N. peacekeeping missions with Jason's dad.
If Jason's dad liked him, then he was good enough for Jason, which was how Jason ended up having sex with Charlie in a Daily Planet broom closet when Jason was supposed to be at home looking at potential colleges. Charlie was supposed to be covering a press conference at City Hall.
Everything would've turned out fine, except that as Jason was superspeeding out of the Planet he ran into Clark, who was superspeeding in from who only knew what.
Someone reeked of sex; Jason assumed it was him.
The probability of this meeting happening at this particular time had to be about 3.14 trillion to one.
And yet it happened anyway.
Only in Jason's life.
The next day Charlie was gone, and three weeks later school started up. To add insult to injury, Tana had met someone over the summer.
Jason was so pissed off that he didn't talk to Clark until Thanksgiving dinner in Smallville. His Grandma Martha wouldn't pass him the salt, and when he got up and stomped around the table to get it, she sent him back to his chair and made him ask Clark for it.
*
Jason’s not trawling for criminals, even though Tim left him frustrated enough to think he can take on The Joker himself. Instead, he’s trawling for Robins. Or, well, just one Robin in particular, but he’s not having the best luck.
Jason's gone through forty-three days of almost celibacy for Tim.
The three weeks since Robin kissed him on a filthy Gotham rooftop don't count, because Robin hasn’t been back. Jason's been looking. Every time he ties up a mugger with their own shoelaces or trusses up a thug and deposits him outside the Gotham Police Station, he's on the lookout for Robin, but no luck.
A few nights ago he thought he might've seen The Batman, but that freaked him out, so he went back to Halston and played PSP with Luke until he forgot about it altogether.
He's back on the prowl though, and he's got his superhearing in his favor, and --
"Kon, do you spend all your time lurking on rooftops, or is this a recent development?"
Jason smiles into the empty alley below him. Superhearing has nothing on Robin, and he files that away for future reference. "It's a new thing," he says, turning with a smirk.
Robin's standing not more than four feet away on the rooftop, wearing that damned red body suit again with the yellow cape. Not that Jason expected him to show up in jeans and a sweater, but the suit shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is. Gotham's as dark as tar at night, and Robin stands out like a liquor sign.
"I wasn’t planning on it," Jason concedes, "since I do have a life. But I met this guy a couple weeks ago, and then he took off and didn't even leave me his phone number, so I thought I should drop out of school and stalk him."
Robin does the head cocking thing again. "A little dramatic, don't you think?"
Jason's dick twitches. He's been jerking off thinking about stripping Robin out of that damn suit for fucking ever at this point. Pavlov could've written about Jason Lane's response to red spandex. "You sound like someone I know."
"Someone you like I hope." Robin takes a step closer to Jason, and it takes Jason a second to realize that Robin's hitting on him. Again. His life rocks.
Jason licks his lips and blinks. He can't really read anything with Robin's mask on, but uh, yeah. "I do, um, like him I mean."
"Does that mean you're spoken for?"
Jason pauses for a moment. "Spoken for? Do people still talk like that outside of 19th Century English novels?"
Robin's mouth twitches at the corners. "And yet, you didn't answer my question."
Jason takes a step forward, and they're now separated by about two feet. "I think he would understand if I told him I was cornered by a superhero and was powerless to resist."
"Cornered by a superhero on a roof?"
"I'd leave out the roof part. What he doesn't know won't keep him up nights."
"That's a pretty flexible way of seeing it."
Jason laughs. "I'm standing on a roof in Gotham with Robin, who kissed me first, because he caught me tying up muggers with their shoelaces. A Robin who is wearing red spandex and black underwear, which should not be nearly as hot as it is --" Jason's still talking when Robin closes the gap between them. "Would you like to explain that to somebody you like?"
There's something about Robin's smile that's extremely familiar, but that's crazy talk. Not everyone is a superhero is disguise. Jason's just predisposed to paranoia because of Clark -- and because Tim left Jason with a hard-on in the library. All that frustration probably cost him about a million brain cells.
"I can see how that might sound a little suspect." Robin's breathing on Jason right now, and Jason knows it's supposed to be cold out because it's March in Gotham, but he's feeling pretty hot himself. "So I suggest a compromise."
"Compromise," Jason parrots. Robin's so close to him that he can see the stubble along his jaw. Somebody didn't shave before making the rounds. Also, the mask thing is driving Jason to distraction because he can't read Robin's face, but you don’t ask a superhero to remove his mask. Jason read that in Warrior Angel No. 214.
"I give you a blow job, and then you don't have to confess anything, because technically, you didn't do anything."
Jason's hears the words. He knows what they mean. He's still processing though when Robin's on his knees, unfastening Jason's jeans, and pulling down his boxers, and holy fuck if there's a crime happening right now, it's totally going to have to wait.
One minute they're talking, and the next Jason has a superhero sucking his cock. If he had known how today was going to go he would've gotten up earlier, and like, kissed babies, or tried to cure AIDS, or gone to Atlantic City.
Robin's mouth is hot and wet, and it's been way way way too long since Jason's had a blow job. Robin's fingers are stroking the thin skin along his oblique, curling around his hip with a grip that belies his size. Oh god, Jason could die a happy half-alien right now.
He's been pursuing Tim for about two months, and he hasn't seen Robin in three weeks, and -- and he's getting his dick sucked, so who fucking cares?
Jason's clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, because he really wants to touch Robin, but who knows the etiquette for getting sucked off a on a roof by a superhero who's making really loud, wet noises?
"Can I -- can I --" Jason's waving his hands about like a spazz, and it would be so funny if Robin weren't mouthing the head of his cock. His hands are curled around Jason's thighs, his lips are red and wet, and Jason's left knee almost buckles at the sight.
"I won't break, if that's what you mean," Robin says, and then he's going back down on Jason's cock, sucking over and over. It's wet and hot, and loud. Jason twitches as he pets Robin's hair, and his fingers get tangled of their own accord. He keeps meaning to work on the hair-pulling, but it never happens.
Robin's tugging on Jason's balls, sucking him as Jason pets his hair, and Jason thinks life has to blow for other people who don't have their own superheroes.
He gets a quick flash of his dad and Clark and wobbles dangerously, but Robin's hands are there, and Jason's making these whimpering noises like he's going to die.
And then he sort of does. The only reason he doesn't fall on his ass is because of Robin.
Yay for superheroes.
He helps Robin to his feet, and doesn't quite know what to say, so he busies himself with pulling up his jeans. When he looks up Robin's tongue is licking something from the corner of his mouth, and Jason's cock starts to gear up for round two.
"So, um, yeah, can I return the favor?" Jason motions to Robin's crotch, looking down at the black spandex, and is that spandex or something else, because Jason can't see anything. It would be wrong to X-ray Robin's jock after he blew him.
Jason does it anyway.
"It's booby trapped," Robin says.
"But you could help me," Jason points out.
"What about your friend?"
It takes Jason a moment. "Oh, well, yeah, but he sort of left me today."
Robin's mouth twitches again in that almost-smile. "Maybe try him tomorrow."
"Can I try you tomorrow?" Jason asks.
This time he gets a real smile. "We'll see," Robin says, moving around Jason, and onto the ledge a few feet away.
"When am I going to see--" but Robin's already gone.
*
The day his superhearing kicked in, Jason freaked out so badly that he hid on top of a glacier in Greenland until Clark found him sitting in his bathrobe with his knees on his elbows and his hands over his ears. The cracking of ice yielding to global warming was deafening, but it was better than the screaming and the shouting, the abuse, the cries, the everything.
Except Clark said he couldn’t hide, and it was on the tip of Jason’s tongue to point out that Clark had a lot of nerve in his blue spandex. Clark just took it, like he took a lot of Jason’s anger and confusion, and he taught him how to tune things out. Everything from the sound of ants marching to 757s taking off at Logan International had to be filtered out, and now Jason has to make an effort if he wants to hear his dad yelling at the TV because the Sharks suck again this season.
Sometimes he listens in for his dad’s typewriter in his home office or the sound of Clark zipping back and forth around the world. He only listens for the Flash when he can't sleep, because tracking him is a mental workout. Jason can hear the birds chirping in Smallville when he talks to his Grandma Martha, but most of the time he only hears what’s directly around him. So it’s not as though he’s eavesdropping when he goes to visit Tim. He’s still at the other end of the hall when his hearing kicks in, and he’s not sure what he was expecting to hear -- probably something salacious like Tim jerking off -- but Tim seems more like a shower masturbator, if only to keep things clean.
Jason doesn’t think about Tim jerking off all the time -- just a lot of the time. Except that today is different, because it's the day after the day before, and Jason's still only seen snippets of Tim’s body so the image is a little convoluted. Scars and pale skin, long thin fingers wrapped around a hard cock and water running in rivulets down Tim’s chest.
Jason really likes the slender, flexible thing Tim has happening. Tana was incredibly lithe like Tim and she sucked cock like a vacuum.
Now he’s really digressing, but sometimes he totally misses how uncomplicated things were with her.
The point is that Jason's not trying to listen to a garbled conversation between Tim and someone who sounds like Dick. Except that there is a lot of interference, like when he tries to eavesdrop on things at N.I.H., and Tim keeps calling Dick ‘N’ and he sounds irritated. He keeps saying he’ll tell when he’s ready.
He doesn’t want him to know. Not yet.
Jason’s not the suspicious type, not really, but he knows cryptic when he hears it.
He knows when people are keeping secrets.
*
The first time Jason realized he wasn't like the other children was at Lizzie Grier's sixth birthday party. She had a piñata, and Jason had never seen a piñata before. He was excited, maybe a little too excited. The last thing he saw before Lizzie's mom blindfolded him was his mom's big smile and his dad's wink, and then he was spun around and around and around.
Jason had never really dealt with orientation before, but he thought he knew where he was going. He thought he knew where the piñata was. So he swung.
And someone shrieked.
And then someone screamed.
There was a lot of blood in a broken nose apparently.
Lizzie didn't talk to him for the rest of the year.
*
Jason doesn't know what he's looking for. Doesn't know who he's looking for, but he's fairly certain that it should be a lot harder for Jason to find out that Tim Drake is Bruce Wayne’s ward.
It should certainly be a lot harder for Jason to put the pieces together and realize that Dick isn’t Dick Drake, but Dick Grayson, who also just happens to be a ward of Bruce Wayne.
And it probably would’ve been a lot harder, if Jason hadn’t gone next door to Geeta and asked her to do a little background checking. He could’ve done it himself, but what were friends for, if not to use their considerable computer skills for the greater good?
It takes Geeta fifteen minutes of Jason looking over her shoulder to hack the school’s mainframe and pull up Tim’s records. When she sees Bruce Wayne’s name, she just gives Jason a piercing look. "You know he’s the one who built the library, right?"
Jason cocks an eyebrow. "Thomas Wayne Library?"
"Yeah, that's his dad -- in sociology we studied modern day philanthropy and the ways in which people use it to exorcise their guilt about being so damn rich."
Jason scoffs. "If you know any rich people who are being weighed down by their money guilt, let me know."
"I hear that," Geeta laughs. "Seriously though, Bruce Wayne has a way of going above and beyond."
"You mean apart from giving away his money?"
"Well, yeah, see I knew Wayne had a ward of some kind, but I thought his name was Dick."
"Dick?"
"Dick -- Dick Grayson." Geeta snaps her fingers. "That’s it."
"Huh."
"Huh, what, Lane? Is this Drake boy the reason you’ve been washing regularly for a change?"
Jason just snorts. "Everybody’s a comedian," he says, but it’s about then that things start to happen very rapidly in his brain.
Clark knows Bruce Wayne, or at least he’s interviewed him -- Jason’s read the articles. For all the problems he has with Clark as a person, Jason respects him in a manner of speaking. He’s Superman, he tries for Jason, and he’s won Pulitzer Prizes. Both Jason's mom and his dad have loved Clark fiercely, so he can’t be all bad. Not when Jason has memories of Clark teaching him how to hook a worm and taking him flying before he could do it on his own.
Before Jason got older and started noticing the grey in his dad’s hair and decided that Clark was the enemy.
Anyway, if Jason asks Clark then Clark will tell his dad, and Jason doesn’t want a snitch; he wants facts. "Geeta, um, I’ve gotta go."
Geeta waves him off. "I’m going to check some stuff out, you know, while I’m snooping around. Did you want a print-out of this stuff, or what?"
Jason’s already got his hand on the doorknob. "No, I’m good, thanks though."
"Whatever. Get me some alcohol and we’ll be even."
"You’ve got it." Except when Jason leaves Geeta, he doesn’t go to procure underage booze, or even to his scheduled tutoring session with Tim. Instead he flies to Metropolis to see his dad.
His other dad.
*
When Jason was sixteen he found his mother's old superhero scrapbooks in a chest in the attic. The chest was an old battered wooden thing, covered with the dust motes of age and neglect, and when Jason toyed with the lock it disintegrated in his hand. Whether that was down to age or strength he couldn't really say, but after he opened the chest and saw the scrapbooks, he knew exactly what they were without even needing to open the cover.
He picked up the blue leather book that held innumerable clips about all the superheroes he'd idolized, and the red cloth book his mother had reserved just for Clark, and took them downstairs, his footsteps light and even, like he was floating.
He stalked through the living room, opened the sliding doors, and walked barefoot through the grass, down the dock to the very end.
He stood there for some time, holding the books at arms length until they burst into flames.
That was the day Jason's heat vision kicked in.
*
Jason’s never been inside LexCorp towers. He’s seen them from his dad’s office at the Planet, and he’s walked past them on field trips to City Hall. He’s even used them as a landmark when he’s gotten lost, because if you can’t find the 80 story building in the middle of town, you have problems. Still, it’s slightly imposing to walk inside the cavernous marble foyer in his holey Chuck Taylors as though he has a right to be there, and then it occurs to him that he does. He has more right than almost anybody else, which is probably why he thinks the sixteen security cameras are tracking his movements as he approaches the receptionist.
She’s young, not much older than Jason, and she’s speaking rapidly into her headset. It takes him a minute to realize she’s speaking Hindi, and he only recognizes it because Geeta loves to listen to her Bollywood soundtracks at 4am.
He pauses at the behemoth glass desk and picks up the pen to sign in, but the receptionist stops him. "Welcome to LexCorp, Mr. Lane, if you just follow Hope she’ll take you to see Mr. Luthor."
Jason thinks he should be surprised, and then he thinks about who Lex Luthor is and just gives her his most winning smile, following her head nod to a tall blonde woman who looks as though she hasn’t smiled since Jason was a baby.
The ride up in the elevator is quiet, like to the point that Jason starts feeling a little paranoid, because the blonde woman has three guns strapped in various places, and Jason doesn't know if he's bulletproof, but he's not really interested in finding out.
The elevator doesn’t chime, it just stops and the doors open, and there’s Lex Luthor standing in the middle of a glass wonderland, pristine in a crisp navy suit and white Oxford shirt.
Now’s not really the time for Jason to have an ‘Oh shit, what the fuck am I doing moment?’ That should’ve happened about five minutes ago, so he steps out of the elevator and into who knows what. When Lex Luthor had said he knew everything about him, Jason had sort of thought he was joking. Now he’s thinking not so much so.
It’s been three years since Jason’s seen him, but it doesn’t seem as though his other dad has aged a day, and it occurs to Jason that one of the reasons he tries not to think too hard about Lex is that he doesn’t know how to think of him. He’s not Dad, or Clark, or Luthor, despite whatever Superman calls him, he’s just -- he’s Jason’s other genetic donor.
"Hi, Mr. Luthor." Jason doesn’t know whether to shake hands or hug or whatever, so he just stands there surrounded by the sort of wealth that he only sees on TV. Floor to ceiling windows, plush leather chairs, marble, all the trappings that he could’ve had if he’d ever run away like he’d planned.
"Jason, this is a pleasant surprise, and please, Lex -- I told you to call me Lex." Lex gestures towards a grey leather sofa with light purple trim, and it shouldn’t work at all, but it does. The smell of so much leather is a bit overwhelming. When Jason sits down he feels like he’s stepped into a leather bar in the East End.
"Lex," Jason tries it on just for size. It doesn’t sound as strange as he thinks it should.
"Better -- can I get you something to drink?"
Jason shakes his head. He can just imagine spilling it everywhere already. Lex sits across from him in an armchair, legs crossed. Waiting. He’s studying Jason, and then it hits Jason that he’s wearing ratty jeans and a red sweater with blue stains on it.
After the Tim thing and the Robin thing he was little wired, so he spent most of the night in the Chem lab trying to make fire turn purple with Kool-Aid.
He brushes at the stains just to show that he knows how he looks. "I was messing around in the Chem lab," he says by way of explanation, and at this Lex smiles.
"You’re studying Chemistry?"
Jason gives him a wry grin. "For some reason I feel like you already know this."
Lex’s answering grin says it all. "I’d rather hear it from you."
"Stretching your parental muscles?"
At this Lex raises a slender eyebrow, and Jason realizes that this is where he picked up this habit. He's spent so long trying to fight against becoming like Clark -- which seems to be more of a losing battle every day -- he's never thought very hard about what sort of genetic memory he might have inherited from Lex. "Does that bother you?"
Jason shrugs. "Would you stop if it did?"
"Probably not," Lex concedes.
"Good, then let’s talk parental advice."
Lex doesn’t even look fazed, but there’s a hint of something that might be intrigue. "Parental advice that can’t come from your other two fathers?"
"I like variety -- what will you tell me about Bruce Wayne?"
Lex cocks his head to the side; it reminds Jason of Tim in an odd sort of way. "I notice you said 'will' instead of 'can', which makes me wonder what you want to know about Bruce that you can’t find out on the Internet or by asking your parents."
"I want to know about his ward, Tim Drake."
Lex sits up a little straighter at the second part. Jason continues onward, in for a penny, in for the proverbial pound. "And Dick Grayson."
"Jason, I don’t know what you think I know, but--"
"I’m sleeping with Tim."
It’s a lie, but it could be the truth, and when Lex actually blinks Jason can see that there’s something he should know. It feels good to surprise Lex. Jason will keep the victory dance for later.
Lex’s eyes narrow. "You’re what?"
Jason narrows his eyes back. "If you’re going to give me a lecture about unprotected sex, you can save it; I’ve read all your press from when you were young. There’s nothing I’m doing that you didn’t do, too. Hell, by your standards I’m ready for sainthood."
Lex gets to his feet and stalks over to a glass liquor cabinet. His back’s to Jason, but over the clinking of ice cubes Jason can hear soft muttering about "not going to happen to him too" and "keeping secrets" and "that fucking idiot." Jason doesn’t think he’s the idiot, but Lex is clearly concerned that something’s going to happen to somebody.
Probably him.
When Lex turns back around he has a wry smile on his face and glass of something brown in his hand. "There’s something you should know about Tim Drake, but it’s not my place to tell you what it is."
Jason’s scowl is reflected in Lex’s smirk, but before he can protest, Lex carries on. "You’re pissed off that I won’t tell you, I can see that. I’d be angry too, so remember how you feel at this exact moment."
Jason’s on his feet. "I didn’t come here to be babied."
Lex takes a sip of his drink. "If I thought for two seconds this was something you had to know immediately I’d tell you myself, but I’ve been where you are, and believe me you want to hear this from Mr. Drake yourself."
"So, this was all for nothing." Jason doesn’t know what he thought Lex would tell him, but at least now he knows for certain that there’s something he’s missing.
"It’s never for nothing, Jason," Lex says, setting his glass on the counter behind him and walking across to his desk. He taps something on a hidden console and one of the east-most windows slides down and a concrete slab slides up to fill in half its place. It’s like a makeshift balcony. Jason can feel the breeze as the air currents shift around him.
"Stand over there, behind the curtains," Lex points to the dark drapes in the corner, "and I’ll show you something."
Jason’s doubt must be pretty obvious, but Lex arches an eyebrow again, and Jason goes and stands in the corner. He feels like he’s received a latent grounding for something or other, and he’s still turning around when he hears Lex holler "CLARK!"
It’s a testament to something that it takes Clark less than 30 seconds to show up, Jason’s just not sure what. For as long as he can remember Clark’s been firmly anti-Luthor anything and everything, never mind how he acts as Superman. And yet, it’s only when Jason narrows his eyes that he realizes that Lex called Clark and not Superman.
"Luthor, unless you’re ready for me to take you to jail--"
"Knock off the John Q Law thing, Clark." Lex’s tone is all easy ambivalence. "It’s boring and I’m tired."
"Tired of running from the law probably."
"You hurt me deeply with your condescension. As an upstanding citizen, who always pays his taxes, I think I may have to complain to my congressman."
"Knock it off, Luthor. We both know your idea of an upstanding citizen is one who can be bought and put on your payroll."
"I'll have you know that I pay taxes on all my employees -- the legal and the illegal ones. And while we could do this all day, I'm getting off track. I had a visitor today."
"From who, the Ghost of Christmas Past? Did he tell you to change your evil ways?" Jason’s never heard this side of Clark before, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"No, but he told me you’re getting nothing but coal and Kryptonite in your stocking this year."
"Doing good is the gift that keeps on giving." Ah, there’s the sanctimonious Superman that Jason knows, and he wonders for a moment how Clark isn’t seeing him, and then it occurs to him that the curtains must have lead in them somewhere, because he can’t see much besides Lex’s profile either.
"You’re mistaken, Clark," Lex snarks, "Herpes is the gift that keeps on giving."
"Oh, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?"
"It’s not like I could’ve given it to you if I had it, which I don’t. No, the real gift that keeps on giving is a mutated immune system."
"Lex, we’ve been over this fifty times. I was three years old when I got here, it’s not something I did on purpose."
"Today makes fifty-one, and I wasn’t blaming you, I was thanking you, but of course you won’t let me, because I'm a paragon of evil."
"Please, the last time you tried to thank me I almost ended up on a slab in the morgue."
"You're difficult, I had to try a different tack. I used to buy you presents, but you kept returning them. I’m still bitter about those Radiohead tickets, you know."
Jason can hardly keep up with them. This isn't an argument between two people who hate each other, it’s not even heated -- it’s bantering. Sarcastic, friendly bantering. Listening to this conversation tells him more about Lex and Clark than he's ever imagined. Not that he ever imagined this.
The bantering reminds him a little of Tim and him -- except it’s got an edge, and that’s when he realizes that they’re not bantering, they’re flirting.
Oh, Jesus H. Christ in a cornfield.
"Lex, I was fifteen and setting things on fire with my eyes, excuse me for being a little confused about knowing you were after my ass."
"Everyone was after your ass, Clark, and they still are, you just couldn’t see them for Lana."
There’s a pause in the dialogue, and when Clark answers there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. "Do you really want to have the Lana conversation?"
Jason can see Lex actually tap his foot, which is weird, because it’s an almost excessive movement for someone who seems so still. There’s a long silence, wherein Jason prays Lex and Clark aren’t making out, because the weirdness of that would send him straight back to Gotham and right to the front door of Student Counseling.
"So, who is this visitor that you had today that you just had to tell me about? There are these things called phones -- I’ve heard they work real well, especially for billionaires who can replace them after they've run farm boys off bridges."
"So, you finally admit that I ran you over. Well, that only took twenty-five years."
"Lex, c’mon, I have to get back to work. What’s so important that you had to see me right now?" For a horrible second Jason thinks that Lex is going to tell Clark about he and Tim, and oh god, that’s one conversation he does not want to have. Ever.
"I had a talk with our son’s Chemistry professor today. She says he’s doing much better since he’s gotten a tutor." Jason blinks, because Lex knows Professor Bernhardt?
Of course he does.
Lex is still talking. "She said he didn’t need the tutor as much as he needed to focus. She thinks he could be brilliant but he just doesn’t apply himself."
Jason can sense the wry amusement in Lex's tone, and at the moment he’s not sure if Lex is talking to Clark or to him. He kind of feels like an eight year-old kid who’s hearing about a parent-teacher conference, except that his dad’s not there. But the other two are.
His life is so fucking weird.
"Lex," there’s something in Clark’s tone that Jason can’t quite identify.
"Clark, I may have let someone else raise him, but he is still my son. I let him stay with Richard White because you asked me to, but don’t push me on this."
"I know you did--" Clark’s voice dies off.
"I did it for you. We both know that."
"Lex--"
Jason’s ears start ringing, and he’s not sure how long he stands there, but it doesn’t actually occur to him for five whole minutes that Clark has slept with both of his dads and his mom. Actually it’s more like four minutes and forty-two seconds. Wow, is he fucked up.
When Jason looks up again, Lex is watching him from the window, and when Jason peeks around the curtain, Clark is gone.
"You wanted to raise me?" Jason’s voice is high-pitched and the words are slightly stuttered. They fall from his mouth as though he’s forgotten how to use his tongue.
Lex considers him carefully for long minutes, and Jason stands tall. "I want what’s best for you -- so I let you stay with your dad."
Jason swallows. He could’ve had all this, but he wouldn’t have had his dad. "Do you regret it?" He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear, he just wants to know.
"When I see you?" A pause. "No."
If Lex is lying to him, Jason can’t tell. "And when you don’t?"
Lex slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. "All the time."
Jason doesn't know what to say.
Lex carries on blithely. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you that Bruce Wayne is Batman though -- that wouldn't fall under the heading of good parental discretion."
Jason can feel how big his eyes are. "Huh."
Jason knows Lex's smile. He gives it all the time when he's about to go in for the proverbial kill. "I'm sure you can figure out the rest on your own," Lex says blandly. "After all, you are my son."
Part III
Jason's not a teenage girl, so he doesn't run around the university campus telling everyone that Robin just macked on him. But he wants to.
Really badly.
He could go find Bart and tell him, but then that would invariably lead to a questions about how exactly did Jason meet Robin, and how exactly did Jason get up on a roof to get macked on. There's an unspoken understanding between them that they're both "different," but this would be a little weird for anyone.
Truthfully, Jason's not worried about the flying conversation, inasmuch as he doesn't want to seem like a fawning fanboy. This is how he ends up watching Bollywood films with his next door neighbor -- Geeta -- at two in the morning.
Jason’s lying on Geeta’s roommate’s bed staring at the TV. He’s never met Geeta’s roommate, and according to Geeta, neither has she. "If her clothes weren’t there and the sheets on the bed changed, I’d think she didn’t exist," Geeta told Jason and Luke after the fifth month of not-seeing her roommate.
Geeta’s dancing around her room in her pajamas, doing things with her hips that would normally have Jason a lot more interested, except that he’s already got his attention focused somewhere else. "--on? Jason? Jason!"
"Huh?"
"Okay, Lane, cough it up. You’ve been more out of it than usual tonight, and that’s saying something. You normally drool all over yourself when you see Aishwarya Rai. I at least expect some non-rhythmic white boy dancing if you’re going to eat my samosas."
Jason looks down at the half-eaten veggie samosa in his hand. "Oh, I was just thinking," he answers vaguely.
Geeta laughs. "That’s novel for you," she says, plopping down on her bed and folding her legs underneath her. Geeta has a huge poster of Johnny Cash next to her bed, and her room is so small that if she and Jason both reached out they could grab hands. "So, what -- no, this has to be a who -- who are you mooning over?"
Jason stuffs the rest of the samosa in his mouth. "Nobody," he spits out, crumbs flying everywhere.
Geeta just snorts. "Riiight," she says extracting a brush from her sheets and beginning to attend to her glossy black hair. "You should work on that delivery if you’re trying to make it believable."
*
The first boy Jason ever kissed was Jamie Forman; they were thirteen and at Alice Hammond's birthday party.
Forty minutes before kissing Jamie, Jason had been kissing Heather Brooks in a game of Spin the Bottle. When the bottle landed on Jamie, Tom Ridgeworthy had protested that boys couldn't kiss boys because that was queer. Alice disagreed. And so did Heather.
And so did Jason, because he had three dads.
Since Jamie cornered him in the bathroom later on and slobbered all over him, Jason figured he disagreed, too.
Even the school administration was on Jason's side.
A week later, when the principal pointed out during an emergency assembly that tolerance must be extended to all sorts of people, he pointedly said that the message wasn't the problem -- the problem was vandalism.
Apparently the school administration frowned upon their students spray painting 'I LOVE QUEERS!' on the side of the gymnasium.
And since his grandfather had given the school the donation for the gym, everyone was surprised at the six used spray paint cans found in Tom Ridgeworthy's locker during locker check.
Everyone, of course, except Jason.
*
Jason can hear Tim's voice through the door, and it's only good manners for him to knock before he barges in, but this is college and Jason's a long way from his grandma. "Tim, man, it's Thursday night, and we're in college, put down --"
The door is blocked by something, and Jason only gets halfway in the room to find Tim pulling on a shirt and some guy sprawled on Tim's bed in a black turtleneck and jeans. Tim has guests, well, just one guest.
Jason's a little caught off guard though, because there's a lot of naked Tim being covered up by his shirt. He's got these scars, and Jesus, Tim must play rough. "Jason, have you ever heard of knocking?"
"No, never heard of it; I must've been absent at school that day."
"Big surprise there," Tim snorts.
The guy on the bed sits up. "A man after my own heart." He's got dark hair and huge blue eyes. He's a lot older than Tim. Like a lot older. Of course it would figure that Tim has some hot older boyfriend. Now would be an excellent time for Jason to squash the competition with his superstrength, or possibly his heat-vision, but Tim might frown on that.
Jason eyes the guy curiously; now is not really a good time for jealousy, but Jason's timing has never been good. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company." The sarcasm makes every word crisp; he's not sorry at all.
"Oh, I'm not company," the guy says getting to his feet. "I'm family. Dick." He extends his hand. "You must be Jason."
And just like that, Jason's green-eyed monster is quelled in favor of burgeoning curiosity. "Are you Tim's brother?" he asks, shaking hands a little too long. "Cousins? Because, uh, I can sort of see the resemblance."
"I'm whoever you want me to be," Dick says with a grin, and just like that Jason's sold. He'll take his Dick Drake to go.
There's a massive groan from Jason's right -- Tim's covering his face with hands. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" and Jason's not sure if Tim means Dick or him.
"I just got here," Jason protests.
"He means me," Dick explains. "He never wants to introduce me to his friends, which I'm beginning to understand if they all look like you."
It's Jason's turn to blink, because wow, Dick is really flirting with him. Plus, Dick's grin is this huge, blinding thing, and Jason might be in lust. Again.
"Jason, did you need something in particular?" It takes Jason a minute to realize that Tim's talking to him, because he's dated older women, but older men are an untapped resource, and if they're all like Dick, Jason's been wasting valuable time.
"Oh, yeah, um --" One glance at Tim, and Jason remembers what he came for. Tim's cheeks are flushed, and Jason blinks. One minute it's famine, the next it's hormonal flood. "There's a midnight screening at the Union, I figured we could see that, and then I could get you drunk on cheap beer and take advantage of you. But if you're busy --"
"I'm kind of busy," Tim hedges.
"No, he's not," Dick counters.
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Huh."
"If he won't go, I will," Dick drawls.
"No, you won't," says Tim.
Jason crosses his arms and leans back against the door. "If you two are going to fight over me, could you take off your shirts? I'm shallow that way."
Tim makes a derisive noise, but Dick laughs. "I can see why he likes you."
Jason's a little slow on the uptake, but uh, "You like me? You do not -- "
"The egotism could stand some work," Dick continues even as he's pushing them out of Tim's room, "but don't worry, Tim'll take care of that for you."
Which is how Jason gets his first non-date with Tim Drake.
*
The first time Jason woke up floating over his bed he freaked out pretty badly. Well, he freaked out badly enough that he came crashing down to earth and broke the bed. He tried to fix it instead of telling his dad, which worked for two whole days until it happened again.
Jason swore he wouldn’t dream about Amy Masters again.
The third time it occurred, his dad happened to walk in. The look on his face when he opened the door and saw Jason floating against the ceiling was priceless, in that sort of "Jesus Christ, what the hell?" way. And then Jason crashed down, and his dad eyed him with amusement. "So, flying, huh?"
Jason couldn’t even find the words to explain that this was becoming a regular occurrence. All his dad said was, "I was thinking about pancakes for breakfast, and maybe some furniture shopping, and then we should probably call Clark."
The last thing Jason wanted to do was call Clark, because seeing Clark always seemed to make the skin around his dad’s eyes tight, but there weren’t exactly a whole lot of options open to him. It wasn’t like he could call up a flight school and say, "Yeah, so I’ve been flying a lot, in my bedroom, can you give me some landing pointers?"
By the time Jason had showered and dressed, the smell of pancakes was practically ordering him downstairs. Clark was standing by the island in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand, and Jason paused in the entranceway, because this was his house, and Clark wasn’t welcome anymore.
"Jason," Clark’s nod of acknowledgement made Jason’s teeth hurt.
"I thought he wasn’t coming until later," Jason spoke directly to his dad.
Richard frowned and handed Jason a plate stacked high with pancakes and bacon on the side. "Jason."
Jason sighed and set the plate down on the island and busied himself slathering on butter and pouring syrup. "Hello," he said grudgingly.
"You could actually sit at the table," his dad mocked. "It won’t bite you."
Both Jason and Clark looked up, but Clark looked away sheepishly when he realized Richard wasn’t necessarily talking to him. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated in strange places by Jason’s knife and fork and the sound of batter sizzling on a griddle. "Your dad tells me you’re having some flying issues," Clark said eventually.
Jason scoffed around a piece of bacon. "Sure, if you call waking up by bumping into the ceiling, and then crashing and breaking your bed a ‘flying issue.’"
Clark took a sip of coffee. "We can have you flying properly by lunch at the latest. Just be happy you haven’t started setting things on fire with your eyes. That one is a bitch to explain."
Jason choked on his bacon, and his dad frowned. "Clark, language."
It was interesting to see Clark blush after being chastised.
*
Jason’s second not-date with Tim is made over breakfast in the dining hall. Tim’s sitting alone, eating something that might've been oatmeal in a previous life, and flipping through a large book, when Jason drops down across from him with today’s excuse for pancakes. Jason’s drowned his in syrup in hopes that the sugar shock will cover for the taste.
"What are we studying?" he says between bites of his bacon. 90% of the food made in the dining hall is inedible, but they make up for it with the bacon, and nobody can screw up cereal.
"Byzantine history."
Jason nods thoughtfully. Well, as thoughtful as anyone who spent most of his sleeping hours stopping five muggings, three assaults and one would-be rapist can be at nine in the morning. "Who are you studying? Constantine? Justinian I? Theodosius II?"
Tim doesn’t look up. "Constantine."
Jason makes a hmming noise. "Not a lot to say about a man who claimed to see a flaming cross in the sky, you know? Christianity, yay! It’s always nice to see people thinking of ways to persecute each other in the name of the same god."
Tim glances up, and Jason feels stupidly pleased at the upturned corners of Tim’s mouth. "So there is something you pay attention to besides blowing things up and sex."
Jason smirks and pokes at his pancakes. "I like history. And sex. Sue me. Anyway, how else are you going to know what’s coming if you don’t know what’s already happened before?"
Tim blinks. "I didn’t realize you had so many opinions."
"I’m trying to impress you with my eloquence."
"You don’t have to try so hard with me, you know. Now if you really wanted to impress me, you could actually apply yourself in Calculus."
"Okay, can we not have the tutoring conversation right now? You’re sort of messing with my game."
"Your game?"
"Yeah, you know where I’ve been hitting on you for-fucking-ever, and you’re being extremely difficult and playing hard to get.”
Tim looks down at his book, but Jason can see the grin. "Oh, that game."
"Was there another game? I didn’t get the memo."
"Then you should check your e-mail," Tim says matter-of-factly.
Jason pokes at his breakfast again and shakes his head. "How about we go back to your place and I quiz you on history and check my e-mail at the same time?"
"All right, Mr. Lane, you’re on."
It takes Jason a minute to realize Tim’s said ‘yes.’
*
Jason met Lex Luthor for the first time when he was fifteen.
He’d read the articles, seen the news stories and the interviews, and investigated every piece of propaganda possible. He knew there was no love lost between Clark and Luthor, except that Clark wasn’t exactly Jason’s shining beacon of judgment.
If anything, Clark was an inducement to think better of Luthor.
Still, there was no fanfare, no great festivity for the prodigal son, no weeping embraces or apologies, just a chance meeting. Perhaps that’s why Jason remembers it so well.
His dad had arrived in Smallville at ten-eighteen Saturday morning to pick up Jason and take him home to Metropolis. He'd been on assignment in Pakistani Kashmir for three weeks, and now it was back to Riverside Drive, with the dock where Jason had learned how to fish, and where Clark sometimes liked to hang out when Jason didn’t want to see him.
When they’d gotten home to Metropolis, his dad had taken him to his favorite Chinese restaurant to celebrate, even though the car was redolent of the apple pie and baked chicken which his grandmother had insisted they take.
It was a dingy little place called Won Su’s that had the best hot and sour soup in the state. The minute they’d walked in the front door, Jason’s antennae had gone up in the way it always did when Clark was around -- except that this was different. This was less with the anxiety and more with the curious, it was the way Jason had felt about Superman before Clark had broken his dad’s heart.
Jason paused at the door, completely expecting Clark to push out of the ever-swinging kitchen door holding a plate of beef and broccoli, but instead his eyes had landed on the profile of a bald man in a lilac-colored Oxford shirt and a grim black woman standing beside his booth at attention.
Jason took a step back and ran right into his dad. In fact, he’d stood on his foot, and when his dad protested, Lex Luthor looked up. Jason just blinked.
Jason had always thought that if they ever met he'd know exactly what he wanted to say, but now he was at a loss. He didn’t even realize he’d stalked over to Luthor’s booth until the black woman had obstructed his path, only to snap back to attention at Luthor’s firm, "Leave him alone, Mercy."
Jason’s heart pounded loud enough to deafen everything in his mind, but someone who sounded like him said, "Do you know who I am?"
Luthor raised an eyebrow as though half-alien absentee sons approached him at greasy spoons all the time. "Jason, I know everything about you."
"Oh." Jason’s knees buckled from confirmation of what he’d already known. It was one thing to know he had three dads, but it was another to actually meet the missing piece over Peking duck.
He couldn’t breathe under the weight of all the weirdness, and he wanted to run away, far away from the confirmation that he really was as fucked up as he tried to pretend he wasn’t.
Luthor watched him curiously. Jason could feel himself being studied, and he stared back insolently.
He couldn’t turn away, even when Luthor was looking right past him, and then there was the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder and everything was okay. Or sort of okay, and it didn’t matter who’d given him his DNA, because Richard White had raised him. He could’ve been a Luthor or a Kent, but he wasn’t either one, he was just him.
"Mr. Luthor." Hearing his dad’s voice was like cold water.
"Mr. White."
"We were just--" when his dad paused, Jason caught his eye and he realized his dad was doing it on purpose. They could do whatever Jason wanted: stay, go, never talk about it again.
"We were, uh, going to have dinner," Jason finished gamely.
Luthor’s eyes never left Jason’s face. "I wouldn’t want to intrude, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like."
Later on Jason realized he never hesitated when he said, "Okay."
*
"So, I was thinking you should go out with me and pick up girls," Jason says to Tim over his derivatives homework. He likes differential equations, because they’re not all about the fundamental theorem.
Jason hates the fundamental theorem.
"You’re back to sleeping with girls now?" Tim’s across the table from Jason, looking just as pale and twee as ever. Jason never thought twee was his type, and then he met Tim. If Jason reaches out he can touch Tim’s hand, but that’s just girlie.
"I was always sleeping with girls -- or I was until I met you," Jason clarifies. "Now it’s just me and Miss Rosy Palm."
Tim snickering is progress. Sometimes the best thing you can do is to do nothing at all. Jason doesn’t subscribe to this theory, but he’s heard it works for other people who aren’t pursuing Tim Drake.
"Right," Tim’s face doesn’t show anything, but this is Tim so who really knows what he’s thinking. Jason sighs as Tim goes back to looking over his assignment for next week, which Jason actually spent more than 30 minutes working on. It’s all part of the plan.
"Do you see how celibate I'm being just for you?" Jason’s not wheedling, but it’s close. "But you’re being difficult, and I figure if we go out and pick up girls then I can figure out your type and get rid of the competition."
A muscle twitches in Tim’s temple. "You’re going to dress up in drag for me?"
"I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but if that’s what you want --" To Tim’s credit he doesn’t even blink when Jason sits back in his chair and pulls his shirt off over his head. Jason’s wearing an undershirt though, since he’s trying the less is more approach -- this is part of the plan too.
"You need to change this," Tim points to the variables on problem #12, and pushes the paper back over to Jason, who peers a bit closer.
"Is it hot in here?" he asks, his shirt inside out and hanging from his wrists. Other people probably haven’t resorted to stripping in one of the private studying rooms in the Thomas Wayne Library, but that’s not really his concern.
Tim makes a condescending noise and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a can of Zesti. "You can’t even think up a better pick up line than that?" he asks, pulling open the tab.
Jason sighs and pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. "I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult."
"Jason, not everyone is going to fall at your feet just because you’re attractive."
Jason’s grin says it all. "So you do think I’m attractive!"
When Tim rolls his eyes, Jason’s grin broadens. "Stop fishing for compliments, you know you’re attractive, now act like you have a brain."
Picking up his pencil, Jason studies the problem as though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for -- if he deliberately produced the wrong answer there’s nothing wrong with that. "I don’t see it," he says pushing the paper back over to Tim. "Why don’t you show me again?"
Tim narrows his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel like a victim of extortion?"
Jason’s all wide-eyed wonder. "Extortion implies something evil and wrong; I’m just trying to get help from my tutor so that I don’t flunk out of school and have to spend the rest of my life selling my ass in the East End."
Tim raises an eyebrow in amusement. "A little dramatic, don’t you think?"
Jason sighs, leans across the table, flips his pencil around, erases the answer to problem #12, squints at it for a full ten seconds and then writes out the right answer. "Okay?" he asks, looking Tim squarely in the face.
He’s very much not expecting it when Tim closes the gap and kisses him. It’s quick and fleeting, and then Tim’s fingers are curled in the neckband of his tee shirt and it’s not so quick and fleeting. Tim watches Jason until he closes his eyes, and Tim doesn’t kiss the way Jason thought he would at all. Instead of calm, cool proficiency, it’s hot and wet and frantic -- and he bites.
When he lets go of Jason’s shirt, Jason’s eyes are still closed. When he opens them Tim’s fixing him with that blue-eyed gaze. "Huh."
Jason has the best verbal skills ever, and they only get better, because one minute he's half way over the table and the next Tim's shoved him back, and he flails for a moment before crashing into his chair, which miraculously doesn't dump him on his ass.
For a second he forgets how to breathe, because Tim's half way across the table -- he's crawling -- and then he's climbing on top of Jason, and he may be lean, but Jesus, is he strong.
"I, uh, yeah, okay," is Jason's witty reply as Tim settles over him, and then they're kissing again, and finally, Jason is getting a return on his investment.
His entire body snaps to attention like a plant getting water after being neglected for weeks on end. Every cell, every muscle tenses, and his cock goes from its normal semi-tumescent state to full mast. At least some part of him knows how this dance goes.
Tim's lips are dry but not cracked. They're boy lips, not soft and full, but not too thin either. And he kisses well. Very well. If Jason could get him to slow down a bit, it would be even better, so Jason cups the sides of Tim's face and pulls him back slightly. Not enough to lose contact, just enough to show Tim what he wants -- although judging by Tim's noise of protest, he knows what he wants too.
It's almost March, and Jason's been working on Tim for weeks, so apparently Tim's been exercising some restraint too.
Jason's learned there's no real difference between kissing a boy or a girl; it all comes down to technique in the end. Tim uses just enough tongue -- thankfully without the slobbering -- but his teeth.
Jason is really loving the nips along his bottom lip, his jaw, his neck. It's almost as nice as Tim writhing on his lap. Even with the famous Making Out with Robin session under his belt, Jason's wound up pretty tightly, and if he ruins another pair of jeans because his cock couldn't be contained, that would really kind of spoil the whole thing.
Tim's breath is hot along Jason's neck, and his hands are tangling in Jason's hair. When Jason grabs his hips to hold on, hold him down, he can feel how hard Tim is. Each thrust he makes is met with another by Tim.
They're rutting and grinding in a feeble plastic chair, and then Jason's scrabbling for the fly of Tim's jeans, sliding his hand between denim and cotton, and fuck, Tim is so hot in his hand.
Jason makes a keening noise against Tim's lips as he strokes, and he can't hold on with Tim attacking him like this. With each stroke, Tim makes these bitten off moans, the chair is scraping across the floor with all the motion, and then Tim's gasping and shuddering in Jason's arms. His face is flushed and his lips red and swollen as he considers Jason through half-lidded eyes.
If Jason had seen this one coming, he would've locked them in the same room months ago. His head is still swimming, but his cock is straining against his pants, and when he looks up at Tim there's this incredibly devious grin on Tim's face.
Jason lets out a very unmanly yelp when Tim squeezes his cock hard through his jeans. And then Tim's on his feet and zipping up his pants. "Imagine what’ll happen if you really apply yourself next time," he says, grabbing his backpack and heading out of the door.
Jason just stares at the closed door for several moments. All the blood in his body has rushed to his groin, and he can't be too sure, but he thinks he liked things better when Tim didn't seem to be interested.
*
Jason had a girlfriend in high school named Tana, except they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend as much as they were friends with "benefits". Tana wanted someone to keep her parents off her back, and Jason just wanted to get laid. It worked out really well for both of them right up until the summer before their senior year when Jason met Charlie Sikes, an intern at the Daily Planet.
Charlie had brown hair that was too long, legs that went up to his neck, and he hailed from El Paso, Texas. Jason had never met anyone from Texas before. It didn't help that Charlie liked to say 'y'all' a lot and played the guitar like his life depended on it.
When he wasn't fetching lattes for the sports desk, he was learning about photography from Jimmy Olsen or talking about U.N. peacekeeping missions with Jason's dad.
If Jason's dad liked him, then he was good enough for Jason, which was how Jason ended up having sex with Charlie in a Daily Planet broom closet when Jason was supposed to be at home looking at potential colleges. Charlie was supposed to be covering a press conference at City Hall.
Everything would've turned out fine, except that as Jason was superspeeding out of the Planet he ran into Clark, who was superspeeding in from who only knew what.
Someone reeked of sex; Jason assumed it was him.
The probability of this meeting happening at this particular time had to be about 3.14 trillion to one.
And yet it happened anyway.
Only in Jason's life.
The next day Charlie was gone, and three weeks later school started up. To add insult to injury, Tana had met someone over the summer.
Jason was so pissed off that he didn't talk to Clark until Thanksgiving dinner in Smallville. His Grandma Martha wouldn't pass him the salt, and when he got up and stomped around the table to get it, she sent him back to his chair and made him ask Clark for it.
*
Jason’s not trawling for criminals, even though Tim left him frustrated enough to think he can take on The Joker himself. Instead, he’s trawling for Robins. Or, well, just one Robin in particular, but he’s not having the best luck.
Jason's gone through forty-three days of almost celibacy for Tim.
The three weeks since Robin kissed him on a filthy Gotham rooftop don't count, because Robin hasn’t been back. Jason's been looking. Every time he ties up a mugger with their own shoelaces or trusses up a thug and deposits him outside the Gotham Police Station, he's on the lookout for Robin, but no luck.
A few nights ago he thought he might've seen The Batman, but that freaked him out, so he went back to Halston and played PSP with Luke until he forgot about it altogether.
He's back on the prowl though, and he's got his superhearing in his favor, and --
"Kon, do you spend all your time lurking on rooftops, or is this a recent development?"
Jason smiles into the empty alley below him. Superhearing has nothing on Robin, and he files that away for future reference. "It's a new thing," he says, turning with a smirk.
Robin's standing not more than four feet away on the rooftop, wearing that damned red body suit again with the yellow cape. Not that Jason expected him to show up in jeans and a sweater, but the suit shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is. Gotham's as dark as tar at night, and Robin stands out like a liquor sign.
"I wasn’t planning on it," Jason concedes, "since I do have a life. But I met this guy a couple weeks ago, and then he took off and didn't even leave me his phone number, so I thought I should drop out of school and stalk him."
Robin does the head cocking thing again. "A little dramatic, don't you think?"
Jason's dick twitches. He's been jerking off thinking about stripping Robin out of that damn suit for fucking ever at this point. Pavlov could've written about Jason Lane's response to red spandex. "You sound like someone I know."
"Someone you like I hope." Robin takes a step closer to Jason, and it takes Jason a second to realize that Robin's hitting on him. Again. His life rocks.
Jason licks his lips and blinks. He can't really read anything with Robin's mask on, but uh, yeah. "I do, um, like him I mean."
"Does that mean you're spoken for?"
Jason pauses for a moment. "Spoken for? Do people still talk like that outside of 19th Century English novels?"
Robin's mouth twitches at the corners. "And yet, you didn't answer my question."
Jason takes a step forward, and they're now separated by about two feet. "I think he would understand if I told him I was cornered by a superhero and was powerless to resist."
"Cornered by a superhero on a roof?"
"I'd leave out the roof part. What he doesn't know won't keep him up nights."
"That's a pretty flexible way of seeing it."
Jason laughs. "I'm standing on a roof in Gotham with Robin, who kissed me first, because he caught me tying up muggers with their shoelaces. A Robin who is wearing red spandex and black underwear, which should not be nearly as hot as it is --" Jason's still talking when Robin closes the gap between them. "Would you like to explain that to somebody you like?"
There's something about Robin's smile that's extremely familiar, but that's crazy talk. Not everyone is a superhero is disguise. Jason's just predisposed to paranoia because of Clark -- and because Tim left Jason with a hard-on in the library. All that frustration probably cost him about a million brain cells.
"I can see how that might sound a little suspect." Robin's breathing on Jason right now, and Jason knows it's supposed to be cold out because it's March in Gotham, but he's feeling pretty hot himself. "So I suggest a compromise."
"Compromise," Jason parrots. Robin's so close to him that he can see the stubble along his jaw. Somebody didn't shave before making the rounds. Also, the mask thing is driving Jason to distraction because he can't read Robin's face, but you don’t ask a superhero to remove his mask. Jason read that in Warrior Angel No. 214.
"I give you a blow job, and then you don't have to confess anything, because technically, you didn't do anything."
Jason's hears the words. He knows what they mean. He's still processing though when Robin's on his knees, unfastening Jason's jeans, and pulling down his boxers, and holy fuck if there's a crime happening right now, it's totally going to have to wait.
One minute they're talking, and the next Jason has a superhero sucking his cock. If he had known how today was going to go he would've gotten up earlier, and like, kissed babies, or tried to cure AIDS, or gone to Atlantic City.
Robin's mouth is hot and wet, and it's been way way way too long since Jason's had a blow job. Robin's fingers are stroking the thin skin along his oblique, curling around his hip with a grip that belies his size. Oh god, Jason could die a happy half-alien right now.
He's been pursuing Tim for about two months, and he hasn't seen Robin in three weeks, and -- and he's getting his dick sucked, so who fucking cares?
Jason's clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, because he really wants to touch Robin, but who knows the etiquette for getting sucked off a on a roof by a superhero who's making really loud, wet noises?
"Can I -- can I --" Jason's waving his hands about like a spazz, and it would be so funny if Robin weren't mouthing the head of his cock. His hands are curled around Jason's thighs, his lips are red and wet, and Jason's left knee almost buckles at the sight.
"I won't break, if that's what you mean," Robin says, and then he's going back down on Jason's cock, sucking over and over. It's wet and hot, and loud. Jason twitches as he pets Robin's hair, and his fingers get tangled of their own accord. He keeps meaning to work on the hair-pulling, but it never happens.
Robin's tugging on Jason's balls, sucking him as Jason pets his hair, and Jason thinks life has to blow for other people who don't have their own superheroes.
He gets a quick flash of his dad and Clark and wobbles dangerously, but Robin's hands are there, and Jason's making these whimpering noises like he's going to die.
And then he sort of does. The only reason he doesn't fall on his ass is because of Robin.
Yay for superheroes.
He helps Robin to his feet, and doesn't quite know what to say, so he busies himself with pulling up his jeans. When he looks up Robin's tongue is licking something from the corner of his mouth, and Jason's cock starts to gear up for round two.
"So, um, yeah, can I return the favor?" Jason motions to Robin's crotch, looking down at the black spandex, and is that spandex or something else, because Jason can't see anything. It would be wrong to X-ray Robin's jock after he blew him.
Jason does it anyway.
"It's booby trapped," Robin says.
"But you could help me," Jason points out.
"What about your friend?"
It takes Jason a moment. "Oh, well, yeah, but he sort of left me today."
Robin's mouth twitches again in that almost-smile. "Maybe try him tomorrow."
"Can I try you tomorrow?" Jason asks.
This time he gets a real smile. "We'll see," Robin says, moving around Jason, and onto the ledge a few feet away.
"When am I going to see--" but Robin's already gone.
*
The day his superhearing kicked in, Jason freaked out so badly that he hid on top of a glacier in Greenland until Clark found him sitting in his bathrobe with his knees on his elbows and his hands over his ears. The cracking of ice yielding to global warming was deafening, but it was better than the screaming and the shouting, the abuse, the cries, the everything.
Except Clark said he couldn’t hide, and it was on the tip of Jason’s tongue to point out that Clark had a lot of nerve in his blue spandex. Clark just took it, like he took a lot of Jason’s anger and confusion, and he taught him how to tune things out. Everything from the sound of ants marching to 757s taking off at Logan International had to be filtered out, and now Jason has to make an effort if he wants to hear his dad yelling at the TV because the Sharks suck again this season.
Sometimes he listens in for his dad’s typewriter in his home office or the sound of Clark zipping back and forth around the world. He only listens for the Flash when he can't sleep, because tracking him is a mental workout. Jason can hear the birds chirping in Smallville when he talks to his Grandma Martha, but most of the time he only hears what’s directly around him. So it’s not as though he’s eavesdropping when he goes to visit Tim. He’s still at the other end of the hall when his hearing kicks in, and he’s not sure what he was expecting to hear -- probably something salacious like Tim jerking off -- but Tim seems more like a shower masturbator, if only to keep things clean.
Jason doesn’t think about Tim jerking off all the time -- just a lot of the time. Except that today is different, because it's the day after the day before, and Jason's still only seen snippets of Tim’s body so the image is a little convoluted. Scars and pale skin, long thin fingers wrapped around a hard cock and water running in rivulets down Tim’s chest.
Jason really likes the slender, flexible thing Tim has happening. Tana was incredibly lithe like Tim and she sucked cock like a vacuum.
Now he’s really digressing, but sometimes he totally misses how uncomplicated things were with her.
The point is that Jason's not trying to listen to a garbled conversation between Tim and someone who sounds like Dick. Except that there is a lot of interference, like when he tries to eavesdrop on things at N.I.H., and Tim keeps calling Dick ‘N’ and he sounds irritated. He keeps saying he’ll tell when he’s ready.
He doesn’t want him to know. Not yet.
Jason’s not the suspicious type, not really, but he knows cryptic when he hears it.
He knows when people are keeping secrets.
*
The first time Jason realized he wasn't like the other children was at Lizzie Grier's sixth birthday party. She had a piñata, and Jason had never seen a piñata before. He was excited, maybe a little too excited. The last thing he saw before Lizzie's mom blindfolded him was his mom's big smile and his dad's wink, and then he was spun around and around and around.
Jason had never really dealt with orientation before, but he thought he knew where he was going. He thought he knew where the piñata was. So he swung.
And someone shrieked.
And then someone screamed.
There was a lot of blood in a broken nose apparently.
Lizzie didn't talk to him for the rest of the year.
*
Jason doesn't know what he's looking for. Doesn't know who he's looking for, but he's fairly certain that it should be a lot harder for Jason to find out that Tim Drake is Bruce Wayne’s ward.
It should certainly be a lot harder for Jason to put the pieces together and realize that Dick isn’t Dick Drake, but Dick Grayson, who also just happens to be a ward of Bruce Wayne.
And it probably would’ve been a lot harder, if Jason hadn’t gone next door to Geeta and asked her to do a little background checking. He could’ve done it himself, but what were friends for, if not to use their considerable computer skills for the greater good?
It takes Geeta fifteen minutes of Jason looking over her shoulder to hack the school’s mainframe and pull up Tim’s records. When she sees Bruce Wayne’s name, she just gives Jason a piercing look. "You know he’s the one who built the library, right?"
Jason cocks an eyebrow. "Thomas Wayne Library?"
"Yeah, that's his dad -- in sociology we studied modern day philanthropy and the ways in which people use it to exorcise their guilt about being so damn rich."
Jason scoffs. "If you know any rich people who are being weighed down by their money guilt, let me know."
"I hear that," Geeta laughs. "Seriously though, Bruce Wayne has a way of going above and beyond."
"You mean apart from giving away his money?"
"Well, yeah, see I knew Wayne had a ward of some kind, but I thought his name was Dick."
"Dick?"
"Dick -- Dick Grayson." Geeta snaps her fingers. "That’s it."
"Huh."
"Huh, what, Lane? Is this Drake boy the reason you’ve been washing regularly for a change?"
Jason just snorts. "Everybody’s a comedian," he says, but it’s about then that things start to happen very rapidly in his brain.
Clark knows Bruce Wayne, or at least he’s interviewed him -- Jason’s read the articles. For all the problems he has with Clark as a person, Jason respects him in a manner of speaking. He’s Superman, he tries for Jason, and he’s won Pulitzer Prizes. Both Jason's mom and his dad have loved Clark fiercely, so he can’t be all bad. Not when Jason has memories of Clark teaching him how to hook a worm and taking him flying before he could do it on his own.
Before Jason got older and started noticing the grey in his dad’s hair and decided that Clark was the enemy.
Anyway, if Jason asks Clark then Clark will tell his dad, and Jason doesn’t want a snitch; he wants facts. "Geeta, um, I’ve gotta go."
Geeta waves him off. "I’m going to check some stuff out, you know, while I’m snooping around. Did you want a print-out of this stuff, or what?"
Jason’s already got his hand on the doorknob. "No, I’m good, thanks though."
"Whatever. Get me some alcohol and we’ll be even."
"You’ve got it." Except when Jason leaves Geeta, he doesn’t go to procure underage booze, or even to his scheduled tutoring session with Tim. Instead he flies to Metropolis to see his dad.
His other dad.
*
When Jason was sixteen he found his mother's old superhero scrapbooks in a chest in the attic. The chest was an old battered wooden thing, covered with the dust motes of age and neglect, and when Jason toyed with the lock it disintegrated in his hand. Whether that was down to age or strength he couldn't really say, but after he opened the chest and saw the scrapbooks, he knew exactly what they were without even needing to open the cover.
He picked up the blue leather book that held innumerable clips about all the superheroes he'd idolized, and the red cloth book his mother had reserved just for Clark, and took them downstairs, his footsteps light and even, like he was floating.
He stalked through the living room, opened the sliding doors, and walked barefoot through the grass, down the dock to the very end.
He stood there for some time, holding the books at arms length until they burst into flames.
That was the day Jason's heat vision kicked in.
*
Jason’s never been inside LexCorp towers. He’s seen them from his dad’s office at the Planet, and he’s walked past them on field trips to City Hall. He’s even used them as a landmark when he’s gotten lost, because if you can’t find the 80 story building in the middle of town, you have problems. Still, it’s slightly imposing to walk inside the cavernous marble foyer in his holey Chuck Taylors as though he has a right to be there, and then it occurs to him that he does. He has more right than almost anybody else, which is probably why he thinks the sixteen security cameras are tracking his movements as he approaches the receptionist.
She’s young, not much older than Jason, and she’s speaking rapidly into her headset. It takes him a minute to realize she’s speaking Hindi, and he only recognizes it because Geeta loves to listen to her Bollywood soundtracks at 4am.
He pauses at the behemoth glass desk and picks up the pen to sign in, but the receptionist stops him. "Welcome to LexCorp, Mr. Lane, if you just follow Hope she’ll take you to see Mr. Luthor."
Jason thinks he should be surprised, and then he thinks about who Lex Luthor is and just gives her his most winning smile, following her head nod to a tall blonde woman who looks as though she hasn’t smiled since Jason was a baby.
The ride up in the elevator is quiet, like to the point that Jason starts feeling a little paranoid, because the blonde woman has three guns strapped in various places, and Jason doesn't know if he's bulletproof, but he's not really interested in finding out.
The elevator doesn’t chime, it just stops and the doors open, and there’s Lex Luthor standing in the middle of a glass wonderland, pristine in a crisp navy suit and white Oxford shirt.
Now’s not really the time for Jason to have an ‘Oh shit, what the fuck am I doing moment?’ That should’ve happened about five minutes ago, so he steps out of the elevator and into who knows what. When Lex Luthor had said he knew everything about him, Jason had sort of thought he was joking. Now he’s thinking not so much so.
It’s been three years since Jason’s seen him, but it doesn’t seem as though his other dad has aged a day, and it occurs to Jason that one of the reasons he tries not to think too hard about Lex is that he doesn’t know how to think of him. He’s not Dad, or Clark, or Luthor, despite whatever Superman calls him, he’s just -- he’s Jason’s other genetic donor.
"Hi, Mr. Luthor." Jason doesn’t know whether to shake hands or hug or whatever, so he just stands there surrounded by the sort of wealth that he only sees on TV. Floor to ceiling windows, plush leather chairs, marble, all the trappings that he could’ve had if he’d ever run away like he’d planned.
"Jason, this is a pleasant surprise, and please, Lex -- I told you to call me Lex." Lex gestures towards a grey leather sofa with light purple trim, and it shouldn’t work at all, but it does. The smell of so much leather is a bit overwhelming. When Jason sits down he feels like he’s stepped into a leather bar in the East End.
"Lex," Jason tries it on just for size. It doesn’t sound as strange as he thinks it should.
"Better -- can I get you something to drink?"
Jason shakes his head. He can just imagine spilling it everywhere already. Lex sits across from him in an armchair, legs crossed. Waiting. He’s studying Jason, and then it hits Jason that he’s wearing ratty jeans and a red sweater with blue stains on it.
After the Tim thing and the Robin thing he was little wired, so he spent most of the night in the Chem lab trying to make fire turn purple with Kool-Aid.
He brushes at the stains just to show that he knows how he looks. "I was messing around in the Chem lab," he says by way of explanation, and at this Lex smiles.
"You’re studying Chemistry?"
Jason gives him a wry grin. "For some reason I feel like you already know this."
Lex’s answering grin says it all. "I’d rather hear it from you."
"Stretching your parental muscles?"
At this Lex raises a slender eyebrow, and Jason realizes that this is where he picked up this habit. He's spent so long trying to fight against becoming like Clark -- which seems to be more of a losing battle every day -- he's never thought very hard about what sort of genetic memory he might have inherited from Lex. "Does that bother you?"
Jason shrugs. "Would you stop if it did?"
"Probably not," Lex concedes.
"Good, then let’s talk parental advice."
Lex doesn’t even look fazed, but there’s a hint of something that might be intrigue. "Parental advice that can’t come from your other two fathers?"
"I like variety -- what will you tell me about Bruce Wayne?"
Lex cocks his head to the side; it reminds Jason of Tim in an odd sort of way. "I notice you said 'will' instead of 'can', which makes me wonder what you want to know about Bruce that you can’t find out on the Internet or by asking your parents."
"I want to know about his ward, Tim Drake."
Lex sits up a little straighter at the second part. Jason continues onward, in for a penny, in for the proverbial pound. "And Dick Grayson."
"Jason, I don’t know what you think I know, but--"
"I’m sleeping with Tim."
It’s a lie, but it could be the truth, and when Lex actually blinks Jason can see that there’s something he should know. It feels good to surprise Lex. Jason will keep the victory dance for later.
Lex’s eyes narrow. "You’re what?"
Jason narrows his eyes back. "If you’re going to give me a lecture about unprotected sex, you can save it; I’ve read all your press from when you were young. There’s nothing I’m doing that you didn’t do, too. Hell, by your standards I’m ready for sainthood."
Lex gets to his feet and stalks over to a glass liquor cabinet. His back’s to Jason, but over the clinking of ice cubes Jason can hear soft muttering about "not going to happen to him too" and "keeping secrets" and "that fucking idiot." Jason doesn’t think he’s the idiot, but Lex is clearly concerned that something’s going to happen to somebody.
Probably him.
When Lex turns back around he has a wry smile on his face and glass of something brown in his hand. "There’s something you should know about Tim Drake, but it’s not my place to tell you what it is."
Jason’s scowl is reflected in Lex’s smirk, but before he can protest, Lex carries on. "You’re pissed off that I won’t tell you, I can see that. I’d be angry too, so remember how you feel at this exact moment."
Jason’s on his feet. "I didn’t come here to be babied."
Lex takes a sip of his drink. "If I thought for two seconds this was something you had to know immediately I’d tell you myself, but I’ve been where you are, and believe me you want to hear this from Mr. Drake yourself."
"So, this was all for nothing." Jason doesn’t know what he thought Lex would tell him, but at least now he knows for certain that there’s something he’s missing.
"It’s never for nothing, Jason," Lex says, setting his glass on the counter behind him and walking across to his desk. He taps something on a hidden console and one of the east-most windows slides down and a concrete slab slides up to fill in half its place. It’s like a makeshift balcony. Jason can feel the breeze as the air currents shift around him.
"Stand over there, behind the curtains," Lex points to the dark drapes in the corner, "and I’ll show you something."
Jason’s doubt must be pretty obvious, but Lex arches an eyebrow again, and Jason goes and stands in the corner. He feels like he’s received a latent grounding for something or other, and he’s still turning around when he hears Lex holler "CLARK!"
It’s a testament to something that it takes Clark less than 30 seconds to show up, Jason’s just not sure what. For as long as he can remember Clark’s been firmly anti-Luthor anything and everything, never mind how he acts as Superman. And yet, it’s only when Jason narrows his eyes that he realizes that Lex called Clark and not Superman.
"Luthor, unless you’re ready for me to take you to jail--"
"Knock off the John Q Law thing, Clark." Lex’s tone is all easy ambivalence. "It’s boring and I’m tired."
"Tired of running from the law probably."
"You hurt me deeply with your condescension. As an upstanding citizen, who always pays his taxes, I think I may have to complain to my congressman."
"Knock it off, Luthor. We both know your idea of an upstanding citizen is one who can be bought and put on your payroll."
"I'll have you know that I pay taxes on all my employees -- the legal and the illegal ones. And while we could do this all day, I'm getting off track. I had a visitor today."
"From who, the Ghost of Christmas Past? Did he tell you to change your evil ways?" Jason’s never heard this side of Clark before, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"No, but he told me you’re getting nothing but coal and Kryptonite in your stocking this year."
"Doing good is the gift that keeps on giving." Ah, there’s the sanctimonious Superman that Jason knows, and he wonders for a moment how Clark isn’t seeing him, and then it occurs to him that the curtains must have lead in them somewhere, because he can’t see much besides Lex’s profile either.
"You’re mistaken, Clark," Lex snarks, "Herpes is the gift that keeps on giving."
"Oh, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?"
"It’s not like I could’ve given it to you if I had it, which I don’t. No, the real gift that keeps on giving is a mutated immune system."
"Lex, we’ve been over this fifty times. I was three years old when I got here, it’s not something I did on purpose."
"Today makes fifty-one, and I wasn’t blaming you, I was thanking you, but of course you won’t let me, because I'm a paragon of evil."
"Please, the last time you tried to thank me I almost ended up on a slab in the morgue."
"You're difficult, I had to try a different tack. I used to buy you presents, but you kept returning them. I’m still bitter about those Radiohead tickets, you know."
Jason can hardly keep up with them. This isn't an argument between two people who hate each other, it’s not even heated -- it’s bantering. Sarcastic, friendly bantering. Listening to this conversation tells him more about Lex and Clark than he's ever imagined. Not that he ever imagined this.
The bantering reminds him a little of Tim and him -- except it’s got an edge, and that’s when he realizes that they’re not bantering, they’re flirting.
Oh, Jesus H. Christ in a cornfield.
"Lex, I was fifteen and setting things on fire with my eyes, excuse me for being a little confused about knowing you were after my ass."
"Everyone was after your ass, Clark, and they still are, you just couldn’t see them for Lana."
There’s a pause in the dialogue, and when Clark answers there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. "Do you really want to have the Lana conversation?"
Jason can see Lex actually tap his foot, which is weird, because it’s an almost excessive movement for someone who seems so still. There’s a long silence, wherein Jason prays Lex and Clark aren’t making out, because the weirdness of that would send him straight back to Gotham and right to the front door of Student Counseling.
"So, who is this visitor that you had today that you just had to tell me about? There are these things called phones -- I’ve heard they work real well, especially for billionaires who can replace them after they've run farm boys off bridges."
"So, you finally admit that I ran you over. Well, that only took twenty-five years."
"Lex, c’mon, I have to get back to work. What’s so important that you had to see me right now?" For a horrible second Jason thinks that Lex is going to tell Clark about he and Tim, and oh god, that’s one conversation he does not want to have. Ever.
"I had a talk with our son’s Chemistry professor today. She says he’s doing much better since he’s gotten a tutor." Jason blinks, because Lex knows Professor Bernhardt?
Of course he does.
Lex is still talking. "She said he didn’t need the tutor as much as he needed to focus. She thinks he could be brilliant but he just doesn’t apply himself."
Jason can sense the wry amusement in Lex's tone, and at the moment he’s not sure if Lex is talking to Clark or to him. He kind of feels like an eight year-old kid who’s hearing about a parent-teacher conference, except that his dad’s not there. But the other two are.
His life is so fucking weird.
"Lex," there’s something in Clark’s tone that Jason can’t quite identify.
"Clark, I may have let someone else raise him, but he is still my son. I let him stay with Richard White because you asked me to, but don’t push me on this."
"I know you did--" Clark’s voice dies off.
"I did it for you. We both know that."
"Lex--"
Jason’s ears start ringing, and he’s not sure how long he stands there, but it doesn’t actually occur to him for five whole minutes that Clark has slept with both of his dads and his mom. Actually it’s more like four minutes and forty-two seconds. Wow, is he fucked up.
When Jason looks up again, Lex is watching him from the window, and when Jason peeks around the curtain, Clark is gone.
"You wanted to raise me?" Jason’s voice is high-pitched and the words are slightly stuttered. They fall from his mouth as though he’s forgotten how to use his tongue.
Lex considers him carefully for long minutes, and Jason stands tall. "I want what’s best for you -- so I let you stay with your dad."
Jason swallows. He could’ve had all this, but he wouldn’t have had his dad. "Do you regret it?" He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear, he just wants to know.
"When I see you?" A pause. "No."
If Lex is lying to him, Jason can’t tell. "And when you don’t?"
Lex slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. "All the time."
Jason doesn't know what to say.
Lex carries on blithely. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you that Bruce Wayne is Batman though -- that wouldn't fall under the heading of good parental discretion."
Jason can feel how big his eyes are. "Huh."
Jason knows Lex's smile. He gives it all the time when he's about to go in for the proverbial kill. "I'm sure you can figure out the rest on your own," Lex says blandly. "After all, you are my son."
Part III