fic: Killing the fatted calf (Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult)
Killing the fatted calf
Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 1,750 words
Jason shoves Dick and Dick shoves back.
Thanks so much to
tripoli for all her help and encouragement and for betaing. And thanks also to
devildoll for looking it over. This is all Neil Patrick Harris's fault.
~*~
Killing the fatted calf
Jason's standing in the doorway when Dick gets out of the shower. He doesn't know why he's surprised. It's not like the kid was ever one for knocking.
"So the prodigal returns." Dick knows it's a cliché, but he's too startled at getting caught with his pants down to be original, let alone witty.
"I don't know if that's the best analogy," Jason says, leaning against the doorjamb and shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargoes. He's taller and broader than he was the last time Dick saw him, which he figures is expected, since it's been five years. If anything can be said to be expected from someone who's come back from the dead. Without the helmet and the body armor, he looks like any other street thug, and Dick's thrown a little, because that doesn't match his memory of the kid. Bruce had said he'd been wearing his domino mask under the helmet, but his face is undisguised now, if not unguarded. Dick isn't sure if he's flattered or freaked out by that.
"After all, I didn't run off to live the good life with daddy's money." He's got a point, though Dick's reluctant to cede it to him. Smarter than the typical street thug, Dick reminds himself, and better trained, too. The treads on Jason's heavy black boots are caked with dirt that transfers itself to Dick's otherwise spotless floor when he crosses his feet at the ankle, though the casual pose is belied by the tension in his shoulders. Dick can't see his hands, which is worrisome, but he bets they're curled into fists in his pockets. "And I didn't even get a welcome home feast."
"Maybe if you hadn't started a gang war and tried to kill Batman, you would have."
Jason's mouth widens in a shark's grin. "I had to kill my own fatted calf. Not like the old man was gonna do it for me."
Dick wants to say he's sorry, wants to say he missed Jason (wants to say that Bruce missed Jason), but he doesn't know if Jason would accept that. Doesn't think he would. So he shrugs, pretending indifference. "If that's what you need to believe." He grabs a pair of jeans from the pile of clothes in the hamper.
"Don't worry. I'm not here to kill you."
Dick snorts. "I'm not worried. I'm sure I could take you."
Jason keeps talking as if Dick hasn't said anything, which is exasperating and familiar in a way that makes Dick glad Jason's alive. "If I were here to kill you, I wouldn't let you go out naked." He cocks his head in mock thoughtfulness. "Probably." He watches avidly as Dick pulls his pants on, and Dick flushes under his gaze but pretends not to notice. "It's a good look for you."
Dick zips up his jeans and raises an eyebrow. Jason smirks, looking pleased with himself in a way that sends a shiver--and not one of fear--through Dick. He shoulders himself off the wall and bends down to untie his boots.
"What are you doing?"
Jason gives him a pointed look. "Making myself at home." He takes his socks off, too, balls them up and shoves them into the boots.
"I wasn't aware you were staying."
Jason straightens up and rolls his shoulders. "There's a lot of things you aren't aware of, Dick."
Dick doesn't bother to refrain from rolling his eyes. Jason might be five years older than the last time Dick saw him, but sometimes, he still sounds like a petulant twelve-year-old. "So I've been told."
"And anyway, when I beat your ass, I don't want you saying it wasn't a fair fight."
There's so much wrong with that statement, Dick doesn't even know where to start. "Since when do you fight fair?"
Jason's mouth quirks in that wicked grin again. "One night only." He yanks his sweatshirt up over his head and tosses it onto the bed, baring pale skin and a well-muscled chest. "It's a private show." He laughs and nods. "So you agree that I'm gonna beat your ass. Glad we're on the same page here."
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, well aware that Jason came to him because Bruce wouldn't put up with this kind of bullshit. He shouldn't either, should have taken Jason down the minute he showed up, and then dumped his ass in jail. He knows why he didn't though, the sour taste of guilt and grief too easy to recall even now. He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice, refusing to be goaded. "Jason--"
"You always have to be the reasonable one, right? So all that's left is for me to be the crazy one." His eyes go wide and wild for a second and he looks like the killer he's become. "Turns out I'm pretty good at that. " Jason pushes a hand through his hair. It looks like it hasn't been washed in days. Dick wonders if it itches.
"Come on, Dick. I know you've gotta be annoyed right now, if not outright pissed." He steps closer, right up in Dick's face. "But you aren't gonna let it show, are you, because you've always got Bruce in the back of your mind, judging how you behave. Always gotta be the good son, the one who isn't impulsive or violent or angry." He shoves at Dick, his hands warm and strong and shocking for a second, and Dick shoves back, immediately and instinctively.
So much for not letting himself be goaded.
They're almost evenly matched--Jason is heavier and broader, but Dick is faster and more flexible and his reach is slightly longer. They trade kicks and punches, but it's more exploratory than deadly, though it certainly hurts enough when Dick takes a hit. Jason's picked up some interesting moves in his travels, though Dick can easily spot the things he learned from Bruce. That familiarity is comforting in a way that says something about Dick's life that he doesn't examine too closely these days.
Jason gets in a couple of good hits--Dick's lip is split and he's going to have a foot-sized bruise on his thigh in a couple of hours--and he's got a few surprises up his sleeve, but in the end, Dick pins him against the wall, his chest against Jason's back, the two of them breathing in time, slick sheen of sweat between them.
"Who was gonna kick whose ass, Jay?" he asks, his mouth right up against Jason's ear, the scent of dirty hair tickling his nose. Jason twists, and Dick gets a glimpse of white teeth before Jason's tongue is in his mouth, tasting of heat and blood and saliva. He shoves back with his hips, and Dick is interested enough in continuing the kiss that he eases up, lets Jason turn around and face him.
Once Jason's got his hands free, he puts them to good use, grabbing hard at Dick's shoulders and scraping blunt nails down his back before settling in the notches of his hips, holding him close so they can rub against each other. Jason lets out a low moan, his skin flushed and slick with sweat, and Dick wonders, just for a second, how he let things get so out of control. He decides he doesn't care that much when Jason bites at the hinge of his jaw and then licks away the sting.
He grabs Jason's chin, tips his head back so he can lick and nip at his throat, bite down hard on his collarbone. That makes Jason's hips buck. He laughs, the closest thing to happy Dick's heard him sound since he's been back, and tugs at the fly of Dick's jeans, flicking open the button and zipper and shoving them down over Dick's hips. He takes care of his own next, getting them open and out of the way quickly. Dick is captivated by the thin line of hair trailing down Jason's flat belly, by the thick, hard line of his cock as it's revealed.
Jason pulls back far enough to swipe his tongue along the palm of his hand, and then he lines up their cocks and wraps his saliva-slick hand around them. Dick gasps in startled pleasure and his hips jerk forward, desperate for friction and heat, his eyes closing as his vision starts to spark white around the edges in pleasure.
"Yeah, Dick," Jason pants, his voice rough and his breathing ragged against Dick's ear, "gonna make you come."
"Jesus."
"It's Jason." Another laugh, and Dick swallows it down with a hard kiss, pain from his split lip singing in his veins like pleasure. He licks the taste of his own blood off Jason's tongue.
"Come on," Jason says, "come on," but then he's the one coming, his head tipped back against the wall, mouth slack and eyes closed as his hips stutter and pump, thick strands of come painting their bellies and thighs.
Dick reaches down between them, wraps his hand around Jason's, and jerks himself roughly. Jason's eyes open and he watches with that same intense look he wore earlier, kiss-swollen mouth curving into a smile when Dick makes a low noise in the back of his throat and comes, pleasure burning through him as he adds to the sticky mess between them.
Jason raises their joined hands to his mouth and licks, teeth scraping the pads of Dick's fingers, and Dick moans, his spent cock giving a slight twitch of interest. He slumps forward, presses his forehead to the damp skin of Jason's shoulder, inhaling the sharp scent of spunk and sweat.
The moment doesn't last long. Dick gets his breathing back under control and he pulls away. They clean up quickly, silently, and when he looks up from zipping his jeans, Jason's eyes are guarded again, the curve of his mouth cynical.
"I'd call that a draw," he says, pushing past Dick to pull on his sweatshirt.
"You would," Dick answers. "Even though I kicked your ass."
"If that's what you need to believe," Jason answers. He grabs his boots and holds them close against his chest. "I'll see you around, Dick." He swings out the window onto the fire escape and disappears into the four a.m. darkness before Dick can respond.
Dick licks at the blood still slowly oozing along his lower lip, and wonders what'll happen the next time they meet.
end
~*~
So, that happened. Feedback would be awesome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/195154.html.
people have commented there.
Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 1,750 words
Jason shoves Dick and Dick shoves back.
Thanks so much to
tripoli for all her help and encouragement and for betaing. And thanks also to
devildoll for looking it over. This is all Neil Patrick Harris's fault.
~*~
Killing the fatted calf
Jason's standing in the doorway when Dick gets out of the shower. He doesn't know why he's surprised. It's not like the kid was ever one for knocking.
"So the prodigal returns." Dick knows it's a cliché, but he's too startled at getting caught with his pants down to be original, let alone witty.
"I don't know if that's the best analogy," Jason says, leaning against the doorjamb and shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargoes. He's taller and broader than he was the last time Dick saw him, which he figures is expected, since it's been five years. If anything can be said to be expected from someone who's come back from the dead. Without the helmet and the body armor, he looks like any other street thug, and Dick's thrown a little, because that doesn't match his memory of the kid. Bruce had said he'd been wearing his domino mask under the helmet, but his face is undisguised now, if not unguarded. Dick isn't sure if he's flattered or freaked out by that.
"After all, I didn't run off to live the good life with daddy's money." He's got a point, though Dick's reluctant to cede it to him. Smarter than the typical street thug, Dick reminds himself, and better trained, too. The treads on Jason's heavy black boots are caked with dirt that transfers itself to Dick's otherwise spotless floor when he crosses his feet at the ankle, though the casual pose is belied by the tension in his shoulders. Dick can't see his hands, which is worrisome, but he bets they're curled into fists in his pockets. "And I didn't even get a welcome home feast."
"Maybe if you hadn't started a gang war and tried to kill Batman, you would have."
Jason's mouth widens in a shark's grin. "I had to kill my own fatted calf. Not like the old man was gonna do it for me."
Dick wants to say he's sorry, wants to say he missed Jason (wants to say that Bruce missed Jason), but he doesn't know if Jason would accept that. Doesn't think he would. So he shrugs, pretending indifference. "If that's what you need to believe." He grabs a pair of jeans from the pile of clothes in the hamper.
"Don't worry. I'm not here to kill you."
Dick snorts. "I'm not worried. I'm sure I could take you."
Jason keeps talking as if Dick hasn't said anything, which is exasperating and familiar in a way that makes Dick glad Jason's alive. "If I were here to kill you, I wouldn't let you go out naked." He cocks his head in mock thoughtfulness. "Probably." He watches avidly as Dick pulls his pants on, and Dick flushes under his gaze but pretends not to notice. "It's a good look for you."
Dick zips up his jeans and raises an eyebrow. Jason smirks, looking pleased with himself in a way that sends a shiver--and not one of fear--through Dick. He shoulders himself off the wall and bends down to untie his boots.
"What are you doing?"
Jason gives him a pointed look. "Making myself at home." He takes his socks off, too, balls them up and shoves them into the boots.
"I wasn't aware you were staying."
Jason straightens up and rolls his shoulders. "There's a lot of things you aren't aware of, Dick."
Dick doesn't bother to refrain from rolling his eyes. Jason might be five years older than the last time Dick saw him, but sometimes, he still sounds like a petulant twelve-year-old. "So I've been told."
"And anyway, when I beat your ass, I don't want you saying it wasn't a fair fight."
There's so much wrong with that statement, Dick doesn't even know where to start. "Since when do you fight fair?"
Jason's mouth quirks in that wicked grin again. "One night only." He yanks his sweatshirt up over his head and tosses it onto the bed, baring pale skin and a well-muscled chest. "It's a private show." He laughs and nods. "So you agree that I'm gonna beat your ass. Glad we're on the same page here."
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, well aware that Jason came to him because Bruce wouldn't put up with this kind of bullshit. He shouldn't either, should have taken Jason down the minute he showed up, and then dumped his ass in jail. He knows why he didn't though, the sour taste of guilt and grief too easy to recall even now. He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice, refusing to be goaded. "Jason--"
"You always have to be the reasonable one, right? So all that's left is for me to be the crazy one." His eyes go wide and wild for a second and he looks like the killer he's become. "Turns out I'm pretty good at that. " Jason pushes a hand through his hair. It looks like it hasn't been washed in days. Dick wonders if it itches.
"Come on, Dick. I know you've gotta be annoyed right now, if not outright pissed." He steps closer, right up in Dick's face. "But you aren't gonna let it show, are you, because you've always got Bruce in the back of your mind, judging how you behave. Always gotta be the good son, the one who isn't impulsive or violent or angry." He shoves at Dick, his hands warm and strong and shocking for a second, and Dick shoves back, immediately and instinctively.
So much for not letting himself be goaded.
They're almost evenly matched--Jason is heavier and broader, but Dick is faster and more flexible and his reach is slightly longer. They trade kicks and punches, but it's more exploratory than deadly, though it certainly hurts enough when Dick takes a hit. Jason's picked up some interesting moves in his travels, though Dick can easily spot the things he learned from Bruce. That familiarity is comforting in a way that says something about Dick's life that he doesn't examine too closely these days.
Jason gets in a couple of good hits--Dick's lip is split and he's going to have a foot-sized bruise on his thigh in a couple of hours--and he's got a few surprises up his sleeve, but in the end, Dick pins him against the wall, his chest against Jason's back, the two of them breathing in time, slick sheen of sweat between them.
"Who was gonna kick whose ass, Jay?" he asks, his mouth right up against Jason's ear, the scent of dirty hair tickling his nose. Jason twists, and Dick gets a glimpse of white teeth before Jason's tongue is in his mouth, tasting of heat and blood and saliva. He shoves back with his hips, and Dick is interested enough in continuing the kiss that he eases up, lets Jason turn around and face him.
Once Jason's got his hands free, he puts them to good use, grabbing hard at Dick's shoulders and scraping blunt nails down his back before settling in the notches of his hips, holding him close so they can rub against each other. Jason lets out a low moan, his skin flushed and slick with sweat, and Dick wonders, just for a second, how he let things get so out of control. He decides he doesn't care that much when Jason bites at the hinge of his jaw and then licks away the sting.
He grabs Jason's chin, tips his head back so he can lick and nip at his throat, bite down hard on his collarbone. That makes Jason's hips buck. He laughs, the closest thing to happy Dick's heard him sound since he's been back, and tugs at the fly of Dick's jeans, flicking open the button and zipper and shoving them down over Dick's hips. He takes care of his own next, getting them open and out of the way quickly. Dick is captivated by the thin line of hair trailing down Jason's flat belly, by the thick, hard line of his cock as it's revealed.
Jason pulls back far enough to swipe his tongue along the palm of his hand, and then he lines up their cocks and wraps his saliva-slick hand around them. Dick gasps in startled pleasure and his hips jerk forward, desperate for friction and heat, his eyes closing as his vision starts to spark white around the edges in pleasure.
"Yeah, Dick," Jason pants, his voice rough and his breathing ragged against Dick's ear, "gonna make you come."
"Jesus."
"It's Jason." Another laugh, and Dick swallows it down with a hard kiss, pain from his split lip singing in his veins like pleasure. He licks the taste of his own blood off Jason's tongue.
"Come on," Jason says, "come on," but then he's the one coming, his head tipped back against the wall, mouth slack and eyes closed as his hips stutter and pump, thick strands of come painting their bellies and thighs.
Dick reaches down between them, wraps his hand around Jason's, and jerks himself roughly. Jason's eyes open and he watches with that same intense look he wore earlier, kiss-swollen mouth curving into a smile when Dick makes a low noise in the back of his throat and comes, pleasure burning through him as he adds to the sticky mess between them.
Jason raises their joined hands to his mouth and licks, teeth scraping the pads of Dick's fingers, and Dick moans, his spent cock giving a slight twitch of interest. He slumps forward, presses his forehead to the damp skin of Jason's shoulder, inhaling the sharp scent of spunk and sweat.
The moment doesn't last long. Dick gets his breathing back under control and he pulls away. They clean up quickly, silently, and when he looks up from zipping his jeans, Jason's eyes are guarded again, the curve of his mouth cynical.
"I'd call that a draw," he says, pushing past Dick to pull on his sweatshirt.
"You would," Dick answers. "Even though I kicked your ass."
"If that's what you need to believe," Jason answers. He grabs his boots and holds them close against his chest. "I'll see you around, Dick." He swings out the window onto the fire escape and disappears into the four a.m. darkness before Dick can respond.
Dick licks at the blood still slowly oozing along his lower lip, and wonders what'll happen the next time they meet.
end
~*~
So, that happened. Feedback would be awesome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/195154.html.
people have commented there.