fic: People in Masks Cannot Be Trusted (Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult)
People in Masks Cannot Be Trusted
Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 3,175 words
If Jason is Westley, Dick doesn't want to know who Buttercup is.
Thanks to angelgazing for all her help and to
devildoll for looking it over.
~*~
People in Masks Cannot Be Trusted
It's easy enough to track Jason back to the abandoned loft he's currently living in. So easy that Dick knows Jason knows he's there--one wide window is unlocked and the alarm isn't set. Since the place hasn't blown up around him, he figures Jason's okay with him taking a look around.
There's not much in the place. The ceilings are high, and one wall is windows from waist height up, though the view of the alley below is obscured by what looks like decades of dirt and grime on the glass. One graffiti-covered brick wall is taken up with a large flat screen television, a bank of computer monitors, and surveillance equipment. He chooses not to think about how Jason gets electricity and cable.
Facing the TV, there's a ratty green couch with cushions that sag in all directions and a black fleece blanket draped over the back. Hammett and Chandler snuggle up against Heinlein and Asimov on a small bookshelf in the corner, the spines cracked with wear, and there are some DVDs piled on top. He sorts through them quickly--a few slasher flicks and pornos, a copy of The Breakfast Club, and a couple of other eighties teen classics. On top of the DVD player, he finds the empty case for The Princess Bride.
He hears Jason before he sees him, the tread of his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "Popcorn?" he asks, holding up a plastic bag with a box of microwave popcorn inside.
"You're not wearing your mask."
"My, you are observant. The boss must be so proud." Jason rolls his eyes. "Can't be a criminal overlord all the time, Dick. Sometimes, I just need to go to the bodega and pick up some groceries, and I attract a lot less attention this way."
Dick gives him an appraising once-over, making sure his gaze doesn't linger on Jason's shoulders or thighs; he thinks that for once, Jason's selling himself short. Not that he's going to tell him that. "Nice setup you've got here," he says instead.
Jason shrugs, mouth twisting in irritation before it smoothes out into a mockingly self-deprecating half-smile. "It's not stately Wayne manor, but it'll do." He pulls the box of popcorn out of the bag and heads to the small kitchen, opening the box as he goes. "So if you're not here for movie night, why are you here?"
"Movie night?" Even before Jason died, they were never close, certainly not close enough to spend any time hanging out watching movies, let alone with enough regularity to have movie night. Now--Dick doesn't know what they are now. He doesn't know if there's a term for it. Frenemies, maybe. Is there such a thing as frenemies who fuck? Jason would laugh if he asked him. Bruce would probably know, given his thing with Selina. Better not to think about Bruce right now. Dick's pretty sure he wouldn't approve.
Jason watches him, and Dick wonders if he's going to call him on not answering, but Jason just says, "I figured you got my invitation." He nods towards the open window Dick came in through, the sensors lining it blinking green. His mouth curls in a brief frown. "You're a little overdressed, though." He tears the plastic off a bag of popcorn and shoves it into the microwave.
Dick looks down at himself, as if he could forget for a second that he's in uniform, and shrugs. "You know me. I like to be prepared."
"Yeah, you're a real boy scout."
Dick can tell by the sour tone of Jason's voice that he needs to step carefully, and not just because he has a vague notion of getting laid tonight. "So what's on the menu?"
Jason gives him a sharp, knowing grin. Dick is a little concerned that it turns him on as much as it worries him. "It all depends. Popcorn," Jason gestures at the microwave, where the popcorn has started to pop, "a movie, and if you play your cards right, a good, hard fuck." Jason's voice is teasing but his expression is guarded, wary. Dick can feel the tension in him despite his casual pose, sense the violence that lives under his skin, always waiting for the right spark to light him up.
"Okay," Dick says. It's safer for everyone if they stay in and watch a movie. Safer for Gotham, anyway. Dick's not so sure about himself. Somehow, he doesn't think this is what Bruce meant with that one awkward, you should always be safe, Dick. Though since Jason's been back, he's taken to carrying condoms around even on patrol. "But none of those pornos, okay?" Because that would be weird. Weirder. Whatever.
"Goth Girls Do Gotham doesn't do it for you?" Jason says, but he's a little more relaxed as the timer dings and he takes the popcorn out of the microwave. He raises an eyebrow. "You like the homemade kind better?"
Dick doesn't dignify that with an answer. Sometimes he forgets he's under almost constant surveillance for a good fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. He steps closer, plucks the steaming bag of popcorn out of Jason's hands, drops it on the counter, and takes Jason's face in his hands so he can kiss him.
Jason tastes like stale coffee and heat, his tongue a wet rough glide against Dick's. They've done this often enough now for it to not be so awkward, though it's still as strange as it is amazing.
Jason pulls back, his mouth red and wet, and shakes his head. He thumbs the bottom edge of Dick's mask. "Take it off."
"Jay--"
Jason walks away, into the living room, where he turns on the television. The DVD menu fills the screen. "People in masks can't be trusted," he says. He drops down onto the couch, but Dick can see he's still ready to spring up and fight if Dick says or does anything he perceives as a threat.
They could actually talk about it, or Dick could go for the easy out. Dick doesn't even have to think about it. "I would have pegged you for Inigo, not Fezzik."
"You would." Jason's smile turns secretive and his eyes go faraway for a second, as if he's thinking of a joke only he's in on. Dick's not sure he wants to know what it is, which means Jason probably wants to share it with him. "I see myself more as the mysterious man in black."
"If you're Westley, who's Buttercup?" Even as the words leave his mouth, Dick realizes what Jason's answer is going to be. "No way."
Jason throws his head back and laughs, deep and genuine. Dick feels an unexpected rush of warmth in his chest at the rare sound. "Yeah, princess."
"I'm gonna change," he says, feeling embarrassment heat his cheeks. "You turn the cameras off, okay?"
"I could make you a star," Jason says, but he doesn't argue. Dick wonders how he's going to ask Babs to erase whatever footage Jason does record; he knows there's no hope of asking her not to watch it first.
He turns towards a door at the far end of the kitchen, noting its reinforced steel frame and the retinal scanner on the doorjamb. He should make an effort to see what Jason's hiding in there besides his weapons stash, but he's not ready for that confrontation tonight. His voice is steady and light when he says, "Guess that's not the bathroom."
"Guess not." Jason's lips are pressed tightly together when Dick glances over, but he doesn't sound pissed. "It's through the bedroom. You can borrow my sweats."
They're about the same size, close enough for him to be comfortable in Jason's clothes, anyway. Dick resolutely does not think about the first time they met, when Jason was dressed up in his clothes and using his name. He tucks his uniform away and contemplates the pile of dirty socks and underwear on the floor in the corner of the room, but decides barefoot is better than sifting through Jason's laundry.
When he looks at the mirror, Jason is behind him. He wraps an arm around Dick's waist and shoves a hand down into his pants. Through the soft, worn material of the sweats, he can feel Jason's erection against his ass.
He wants to close his eyes, tip his head back and thrust into the tight grip of Jason's hand, but he doesn't. He puts a hand on Jason's wrist and pulls away gently. "Popcorn's getting cold," he says.
Jason grunts in disappointment but lets himself be led back to the couch. He thumps his boots up onto the makeshift coffee table and grabs the remote to start the movie. Dick grabs the bag of popcorn, which has cooled off a bit, and settles down beside him.
"Why don't you take your boots off?"
Jason's eyes go flat and his face goes blank, as much a mask as the hood he's not wearing at the moment. He's never learned to hide it behind an amiable smile and inane chatter the way Dick has.
"Yeah," he finally says, "okay."
He leans down to unlace them, the curve of his spine like a carapace. Dick lays a hand on the small of his back. He doesn't do anything besides push up Jason's t-shirt and feel the muscles move under his skin, willing him to relax. Jason sits up again and Dick slides his hand around, thumbs the notch of his hipbone before pulling away. They slump together on the couch, the bag of popcorn on the cushion between them, knees and shoulders angled awkwardly, towards a tentative intimacy that repels as much as it attracts.
The popcorn has a slightly burnt taste to it, but it makes a satisfying crunch in counterpoint to the tinkly movie score, and Jason's mouth is intermittently warm against Dick's neck. He tries not to get distracted at the way Jason sucks the salt off his own fingers, all red lips and pink tongue and a wet pop when he's finished. They both pretend they're not watching each other, and it feels a little like high school, except with a lot more potential for things to explode if something goes wrong. The strangeness of the situation subsides as Dick's lulled by the familiarity of the movie, so much so that it startles him when Jason stops it just after Buttercup has pushed the Man in Black down the hill.
"Hey," Dick says, "I was watching that." The last word is spoken into the heat of Jason's mouth. He slings a leg across Dick's thighs and levers himself into Dick's lap, his groin brushing lightly against Dick's half-hard cock.
Jason rocks down against him and he plants his feet and pushes up as much as he can under the solid weight of Jason's body; the sagging cushions don't help, but Dick doesn't really care. It feels good and he can be patient. Jason tastes like the popcorn they were just sharing, salty and slick against Dick's tongue. He runs his fingers through Jason's hair, traces the long line of his neck, the strong angle of his jaw. Dick can feel the happy noise Jason makes rumble through his chest before Jason pulls back. His eyes are heavy-lidded but easy to read, full of desire and something that might even be affection, though Dick's not going to let himself sink into that delusion.
Jason yanks his shirt off and tosses it over his shoulder, his tousled hair making him look even younger than he is. "Come on," he says, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt Dick's wearing and doing the same thing. Then he shifts back and rises up on his knees so he can unzip his jeans and push them down far enough to free his cock. He curls a hand around it and strokes once, then keeps his hand wrapped around the base for a long moment; he drops his head back and lets out a low moan that makes Dick shiver, his own cock aching in response. He pushes at the waistband of his borrowed sweats so he can get it out and stroke, though he keeps his gaze on Jason, who's holding himself very still above him, one hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Dick runs his hands along the heavy muscles of Jason's thighs, enjoying the way they quiver under his touch. Then he grabs Jason's ass and pulls him close so they can thrust against each other. He smears the precome beading at the head of Jason's cock down along the shaft, thin sheen of it taking the painful edge off the friction as they rub together, leaving only breath-stealing pleasure.
As much as Dick finds refuge in talking around and away from (and occasionally about) difficult subjects, sometimes it's just easier to do this, to be silent and let his body do the talking.
Jason leans in and kisses him, all sharp teeth and thick tongue, his fingers tightening in Dick's hair to hold him in place. The tiny pinpricks of pain highlight the amazing sensations sparking through him, and he gasps into Jason's mouth. He can feel sweat pooling behind his knees and trickling down his back, which is itchy and chafing against the nubbly old upholstery. He reaches down between them to cup and squeeze Jason's balls, and then presses a finger up behind them. Jason moans into his mouth, his hips moving even faster. Dick grins into the kiss and strokes back, finds Jason's tight little hole and rubs at it gently.
"Fuck, Dick, please," Jason manages, his voice hoarse and pleading in a way that fills Dick with smug satisfaction, though he's sure Jason will deny it forever. "I want you to fuck me so bad." He's flushed from sex already, so Dick doesn't think he's blushing, but Jason leans forward and hides his face in the crook of Dick's neck, like he's let slip something he was trying to hide. Dick's brain has mostly relocated south, so he can't tell if it's an act or not (with Jason, it could go either way), and at the moment, he doesn't really care. He's totally on board with Jason's plan. If only he could remember where he stashed the lube.
"As you wish," he murmurs into Jason's sweaty hair, a slip of his own. He doesn't think Jason hears him.
He keeps fingering Jason's hole, feeling the heavy, humid pant of Jason's breath against his neck. Jason writhes against him, better than any porn Dick's seen (let alone the crappy stuff in Jason's collection, and possibly he's going to have to ask Babs to make them copies, too), and he knows he's close to coming--they both are, from the way Jason's rhythm is stuttering and his thighs are tensing. Heat spirals higher and tighter along Dick's spine, his hips pressing up into the heavy weight of Jason's body as he chases after the right angle and degree of friction that will get them both where they want to go.
Another hard surge of his hips and Jason shivers and comes, head tossed back and body arching like an acrobat, thick strands of come painting their bellies and chests. He slumps forward when he's done, shifting so Dick is thrusting against the crease where his thigh meets his body, slick with sweat and spunk. His tongue is wet and soft against Dick's collarbone right before he bites down hard.
The pain jumpstarts his orgasm; it rolls through him like a shockwave and he rides it as long as he can, pulse after pulse of pleasure beating through his veins. He puts a hand under Jason's chin, tips his face up so they can kiss, though it's more like they just breathe into each other's mouths for a little while, pressed together from shoulder to hip. Jason palms his neck and thumbs the bite mark on his clavicle, which makes Dick shiver in a mix of contentment and anticipation. Dick runs his hands up and down Jason's sides, feeling the cage of his ribs expand and contract as he breathes. He slips his hands around to Jason's back and lazily counts the knobs of his spine, enjoying the way his breath hitches in what might be laughter.
They stay that way long enough for Dick's brain to start working again; he shifts and Jason feels it, slides off him and onto the couch in a surprisingly graceful maneuver, all things considered.
Dick looks up and there's Buttercup and Westley frozen on the screen. "You know there's no happy ending here," he says, great sex apparently having completely broken the filter between his brain and his mouth.
Jason raises an eyebrow, and his voice is smooth and sarcastic. "I don't know what your definition of 'happy ending' is, Dick, but I think we both just had one."
"Come on."
Jason frowns and looks away. "Buttercup and Westley don't actually get a happily ever after either in the book."
"You've read the book?"
"I'm not stupid, Dick. I know how to read. Sometimes, I do it for fun." Jason sits up, all boneless contentment gone. He grabs a t-shirt from the floor and starts scrubbing at the come drying on his skin. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"You know what the problem is." Dick begins cleaning up as well, grimacing at the mess in his sweats. "You're a fucking drug lord."
"I don't have a trust fund," Jason says matter-of-factly. "It costs money to fight crime."
Dick takes a deep breath and keeps his voice level. "You don't fight crime, you commit crime."
"You didn't care ten minutes ago." Jason raises his chin, jaw set stubbornly, and holds Dick's gaze.
Dick glances away. "I made a mistake." He's pretty sure Jason will misunderstand the regret in his tone, but he's not going to explain. He forces himself to meet the challenge in Jason's gaze squarely.
"Yeah, I think you did." Jason looks away this time, hair hanging limply in his eyes. "You'd better go."
"Jay--"
Jason rubs a hand over his face, pushes his hair off his forehead. He looks exhausted, suddenly, and older than he should. "Get the hell out, Dick. Now. Before I beat the shit out of you." He sounds as weary as he looks, and that's somehow worse than anger.
Dick grabs his stuff and goes. The fire escape is cold against his bare feet, and he changes back into his uniform on the roof. He thinks about leaving Jason's clothes there, but it would be rude not to wash them before he returns them. And they'll give him an excuse to see Jason again.
A few days later, Jason's building burns down. The news attributes it to an exploding gas main, but Dick knows it's Jason's paranoia. He doesn't take it personally. He knows they'll find each other when they're ready.
end
~*~
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~*~
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Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 3,175 words
If Jason is Westley, Dick doesn't want to know who Buttercup is.
Thanks to angelgazing for all her help and to
devildoll for looking it over.
~*~
People in Masks Cannot Be Trusted
It's easy enough to track Jason back to the abandoned loft he's currently living in. So easy that Dick knows Jason knows he's there--one wide window is unlocked and the alarm isn't set. Since the place hasn't blown up around him, he figures Jason's okay with him taking a look around.
There's not much in the place. The ceilings are high, and one wall is windows from waist height up, though the view of the alley below is obscured by what looks like decades of dirt and grime on the glass. One graffiti-covered brick wall is taken up with a large flat screen television, a bank of computer monitors, and surveillance equipment. He chooses not to think about how Jason gets electricity and cable.
Facing the TV, there's a ratty green couch with cushions that sag in all directions and a black fleece blanket draped over the back. Hammett and Chandler snuggle up against Heinlein and Asimov on a small bookshelf in the corner, the spines cracked with wear, and there are some DVDs piled on top. He sorts through them quickly--a few slasher flicks and pornos, a copy of The Breakfast Club, and a couple of other eighties teen classics. On top of the DVD player, he finds the empty case for The Princess Bride.
He hears Jason before he sees him, the tread of his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "Popcorn?" he asks, holding up a plastic bag with a box of microwave popcorn inside.
"You're not wearing your mask."
"My, you are observant. The boss must be so proud." Jason rolls his eyes. "Can't be a criminal overlord all the time, Dick. Sometimes, I just need to go to the bodega and pick up some groceries, and I attract a lot less attention this way."
Dick gives him an appraising once-over, making sure his gaze doesn't linger on Jason's shoulders or thighs; he thinks that for once, Jason's selling himself short. Not that he's going to tell him that. "Nice setup you've got here," he says instead.
Jason shrugs, mouth twisting in irritation before it smoothes out into a mockingly self-deprecating half-smile. "It's not stately Wayne manor, but it'll do." He pulls the box of popcorn out of the bag and heads to the small kitchen, opening the box as he goes. "So if you're not here for movie night, why are you here?"
"Movie night?" Even before Jason died, they were never close, certainly not close enough to spend any time hanging out watching movies, let alone with enough regularity to have movie night. Now--Dick doesn't know what they are now. He doesn't know if there's a term for it. Frenemies, maybe. Is there such a thing as frenemies who fuck? Jason would laugh if he asked him. Bruce would probably know, given his thing with Selina. Better not to think about Bruce right now. Dick's pretty sure he wouldn't approve.
Jason watches him, and Dick wonders if he's going to call him on not answering, but Jason just says, "I figured you got my invitation." He nods towards the open window Dick came in through, the sensors lining it blinking green. His mouth curls in a brief frown. "You're a little overdressed, though." He tears the plastic off a bag of popcorn and shoves it into the microwave.
Dick looks down at himself, as if he could forget for a second that he's in uniform, and shrugs. "You know me. I like to be prepared."
"Yeah, you're a real boy scout."
Dick can tell by the sour tone of Jason's voice that he needs to step carefully, and not just because he has a vague notion of getting laid tonight. "So what's on the menu?"
Jason gives him a sharp, knowing grin. Dick is a little concerned that it turns him on as much as it worries him. "It all depends. Popcorn," Jason gestures at the microwave, where the popcorn has started to pop, "a movie, and if you play your cards right, a good, hard fuck." Jason's voice is teasing but his expression is guarded, wary. Dick can feel the tension in him despite his casual pose, sense the violence that lives under his skin, always waiting for the right spark to light him up.
"Okay," Dick says. It's safer for everyone if they stay in and watch a movie. Safer for Gotham, anyway. Dick's not so sure about himself. Somehow, he doesn't think this is what Bruce meant with that one awkward, you should always be safe, Dick. Though since Jason's been back, he's taken to carrying condoms around even on patrol. "But none of those pornos, okay?" Because that would be weird. Weirder. Whatever.
"Goth Girls Do Gotham doesn't do it for you?" Jason says, but he's a little more relaxed as the timer dings and he takes the popcorn out of the microwave. He raises an eyebrow. "You like the homemade kind better?"
Dick doesn't dignify that with an answer. Sometimes he forgets he's under almost constant surveillance for a good fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. He steps closer, plucks the steaming bag of popcorn out of Jason's hands, drops it on the counter, and takes Jason's face in his hands so he can kiss him.
Jason tastes like stale coffee and heat, his tongue a wet rough glide against Dick's. They've done this often enough now for it to not be so awkward, though it's still as strange as it is amazing.
Jason pulls back, his mouth red and wet, and shakes his head. He thumbs the bottom edge of Dick's mask. "Take it off."
"Jay--"
Jason walks away, into the living room, where he turns on the television. The DVD menu fills the screen. "People in masks can't be trusted," he says. He drops down onto the couch, but Dick can see he's still ready to spring up and fight if Dick says or does anything he perceives as a threat.
They could actually talk about it, or Dick could go for the easy out. Dick doesn't even have to think about it. "I would have pegged you for Inigo, not Fezzik."
"You would." Jason's smile turns secretive and his eyes go faraway for a second, as if he's thinking of a joke only he's in on. Dick's not sure he wants to know what it is, which means Jason probably wants to share it with him. "I see myself more as the mysterious man in black."
"If you're Westley, who's Buttercup?" Even as the words leave his mouth, Dick realizes what Jason's answer is going to be. "No way."
Jason throws his head back and laughs, deep and genuine. Dick feels an unexpected rush of warmth in his chest at the rare sound. "Yeah, princess."
"I'm gonna change," he says, feeling embarrassment heat his cheeks. "You turn the cameras off, okay?"
"I could make you a star," Jason says, but he doesn't argue. Dick wonders how he's going to ask Babs to erase whatever footage Jason does record; he knows there's no hope of asking her not to watch it first.
He turns towards a door at the far end of the kitchen, noting its reinforced steel frame and the retinal scanner on the doorjamb. He should make an effort to see what Jason's hiding in there besides his weapons stash, but he's not ready for that confrontation tonight. His voice is steady and light when he says, "Guess that's not the bathroom."
"Guess not." Jason's lips are pressed tightly together when Dick glances over, but he doesn't sound pissed. "It's through the bedroom. You can borrow my sweats."
They're about the same size, close enough for him to be comfortable in Jason's clothes, anyway. Dick resolutely does not think about the first time they met, when Jason was dressed up in his clothes and using his name. He tucks his uniform away and contemplates the pile of dirty socks and underwear on the floor in the corner of the room, but decides barefoot is better than sifting through Jason's laundry.
When he looks at the mirror, Jason is behind him. He wraps an arm around Dick's waist and shoves a hand down into his pants. Through the soft, worn material of the sweats, he can feel Jason's erection against his ass.
He wants to close his eyes, tip his head back and thrust into the tight grip of Jason's hand, but he doesn't. He puts a hand on Jason's wrist and pulls away gently. "Popcorn's getting cold," he says.
Jason grunts in disappointment but lets himself be led back to the couch. He thumps his boots up onto the makeshift coffee table and grabs the remote to start the movie. Dick grabs the bag of popcorn, which has cooled off a bit, and settles down beside him.
"Why don't you take your boots off?"
Jason's eyes go flat and his face goes blank, as much a mask as the hood he's not wearing at the moment. He's never learned to hide it behind an amiable smile and inane chatter the way Dick has.
"Yeah," he finally says, "okay."
He leans down to unlace them, the curve of his spine like a carapace. Dick lays a hand on the small of his back. He doesn't do anything besides push up Jason's t-shirt and feel the muscles move under his skin, willing him to relax. Jason sits up again and Dick slides his hand around, thumbs the notch of his hipbone before pulling away. They slump together on the couch, the bag of popcorn on the cushion between them, knees and shoulders angled awkwardly, towards a tentative intimacy that repels as much as it attracts.
The popcorn has a slightly burnt taste to it, but it makes a satisfying crunch in counterpoint to the tinkly movie score, and Jason's mouth is intermittently warm against Dick's neck. He tries not to get distracted at the way Jason sucks the salt off his own fingers, all red lips and pink tongue and a wet pop when he's finished. They both pretend they're not watching each other, and it feels a little like high school, except with a lot more potential for things to explode if something goes wrong. The strangeness of the situation subsides as Dick's lulled by the familiarity of the movie, so much so that it startles him when Jason stops it just after Buttercup has pushed the Man in Black down the hill.
"Hey," Dick says, "I was watching that." The last word is spoken into the heat of Jason's mouth. He slings a leg across Dick's thighs and levers himself into Dick's lap, his groin brushing lightly against Dick's half-hard cock.
Jason rocks down against him and he plants his feet and pushes up as much as he can under the solid weight of Jason's body; the sagging cushions don't help, but Dick doesn't really care. It feels good and he can be patient. Jason tastes like the popcorn they were just sharing, salty and slick against Dick's tongue. He runs his fingers through Jason's hair, traces the long line of his neck, the strong angle of his jaw. Dick can feel the happy noise Jason makes rumble through his chest before Jason pulls back. His eyes are heavy-lidded but easy to read, full of desire and something that might even be affection, though Dick's not going to let himself sink into that delusion.
Jason yanks his shirt off and tosses it over his shoulder, his tousled hair making him look even younger than he is. "Come on," he says, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt Dick's wearing and doing the same thing. Then he shifts back and rises up on his knees so he can unzip his jeans and push them down far enough to free his cock. He curls a hand around it and strokes once, then keeps his hand wrapped around the base for a long moment; he drops his head back and lets out a low moan that makes Dick shiver, his own cock aching in response. He pushes at the waistband of his borrowed sweats so he can get it out and stroke, though he keeps his gaze on Jason, who's holding himself very still above him, one hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Dick runs his hands along the heavy muscles of Jason's thighs, enjoying the way they quiver under his touch. Then he grabs Jason's ass and pulls him close so they can thrust against each other. He smears the precome beading at the head of Jason's cock down along the shaft, thin sheen of it taking the painful edge off the friction as they rub together, leaving only breath-stealing pleasure.
As much as Dick finds refuge in talking around and away from (and occasionally about) difficult subjects, sometimes it's just easier to do this, to be silent and let his body do the talking.
Jason leans in and kisses him, all sharp teeth and thick tongue, his fingers tightening in Dick's hair to hold him in place. The tiny pinpricks of pain highlight the amazing sensations sparking through him, and he gasps into Jason's mouth. He can feel sweat pooling behind his knees and trickling down his back, which is itchy and chafing against the nubbly old upholstery. He reaches down between them to cup and squeeze Jason's balls, and then presses a finger up behind them. Jason moans into his mouth, his hips moving even faster. Dick grins into the kiss and strokes back, finds Jason's tight little hole and rubs at it gently.
"Fuck, Dick, please," Jason manages, his voice hoarse and pleading in a way that fills Dick with smug satisfaction, though he's sure Jason will deny it forever. "I want you to fuck me so bad." He's flushed from sex already, so Dick doesn't think he's blushing, but Jason leans forward and hides his face in the crook of Dick's neck, like he's let slip something he was trying to hide. Dick's brain has mostly relocated south, so he can't tell if it's an act or not (with Jason, it could go either way), and at the moment, he doesn't really care. He's totally on board with Jason's plan. If only he could remember where he stashed the lube.
"As you wish," he murmurs into Jason's sweaty hair, a slip of his own. He doesn't think Jason hears him.
He keeps fingering Jason's hole, feeling the heavy, humid pant of Jason's breath against his neck. Jason writhes against him, better than any porn Dick's seen (let alone the crappy stuff in Jason's collection, and possibly he's going to have to ask Babs to make them copies, too), and he knows he's close to coming--they both are, from the way Jason's rhythm is stuttering and his thighs are tensing. Heat spirals higher and tighter along Dick's spine, his hips pressing up into the heavy weight of Jason's body as he chases after the right angle and degree of friction that will get them both where they want to go.
Another hard surge of his hips and Jason shivers and comes, head tossed back and body arching like an acrobat, thick strands of come painting their bellies and chests. He slumps forward when he's done, shifting so Dick is thrusting against the crease where his thigh meets his body, slick with sweat and spunk. His tongue is wet and soft against Dick's collarbone right before he bites down hard.
The pain jumpstarts his orgasm; it rolls through him like a shockwave and he rides it as long as he can, pulse after pulse of pleasure beating through his veins. He puts a hand under Jason's chin, tips his face up so they can kiss, though it's more like they just breathe into each other's mouths for a little while, pressed together from shoulder to hip. Jason palms his neck and thumbs the bite mark on his clavicle, which makes Dick shiver in a mix of contentment and anticipation. Dick runs his hands up and down Jason's sides, feeling the cage of his ribs expand and contract as he breathes. He slips his hands around to Jason's back and lazily counts the knobs of his spine, enjoying the way his breath hitches in what might be laughter.
They stay that way long enough for Dick's brain to start working again; he shifts and Jason feels it, slides off him and onto the couch in a surprisingly graceful maneuver, all things considered.
Dick looks up and there's Buttercup and Westley frozen on the screen. "You know there's no happy ending here," he says, great sex apparently having completely broken the filter between his brain and his mouth.
Jason raises an eyebrow, and his voice is smooth and sarcastic. "I don't know what your definition of 'happy ending' is, Dick, but I think we both just had one."
"Come on."
Jason frowns and looks away. "Buttercup and Westley don't actually get a happily ever after either in the book."
"You've read the book?"
"I'm not stupid, Dick. I know how to read. Sometimes, I do it for fun." Jason sits up, all boneless contentment gone. He grabs a t-shirt from the floor and starts scrubbing at the come drying on his skin. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"You know what the problem is." Dick begins cleaning up as well, grimacing at the mess in his sweats. "You're a fucking drug lord."
"I don't have a trust fund," Jason says matter-of-factly. "It costs money to fight crime."
Dick takes a deep breath and keeps his voice level. "You don't fight crime, you commit crime."
"You didn't care ten minutes ago." Jason raises his chin, jaw set stubbornly, and holds Dick's gaze.
Dick glances away. "I made a mistake." He's pretty sure Jason will misunderstand the regret in his tone, but he's not going to explain. He forces himself to meet the challenge in Jason's gaze squarely.
"Yeah, I think you did." Jason looks away this time, hair hanging limply in his eyes. "You'd better go."
"Jay--"
Jason rubs a hand over his face, pushes his hair off his forehead. He looks exhausted, suddenly, and older than he should. "Get the hell out, Dick. Now. Before I beat the shit out of you." He sounds as weary as he looks, and that's somehow worse than anger.
Dick grabs his stuff and goes. The fire escape is cold against his bare feet, and he changes back into his uniform on the roof. He thinks about leaving Jason's clothes there, but it would be rude not to wash them before he returns them. And they'll give him an excuse to see Jason again.
A few days later, Jason's building burns down. The news attributes it to an exploding gas main, but Dick knows it's Jason's paranoia. He doesn't take it personally. He knows they'll find each other when they're ready.
end
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