fic: The Weather Inside (DCU; Dick/Jason; adult)
The Weather Inside
Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 4,020 words
"I thought you weren't in the mood for games." "I thought you were."
Thanks so much to
snacky for looking it over, and to silveronthetree and
devildoll, who helped me with this story when I'd stalled out on it.
~*~
The Weather Inside
It's easier than it should be to break into Dick's apartment and leave the carefully wrapped present under the lonely, Charlie Brown-looking tree decorating his living room. Jason wants Dick to know he was there, so he's not particularly careful, but the point is moot, since the place already looks like somebody tossed it. Jason snickers, imagining Alfred's appalled response.
Once the breaking and entering is done, Jason sets himself up on the fire escape across the alley; he zips his jacket tight against the cold December wind, takes out his binoculars, and waits. The sky is threatening rain or sleet or maybe even snow, but he pays it no mind. It's Gotham--the sky is always threatening something.
The waiting's always been the hardest part of the job for him; he's not in constant motion like Dick, but he's not made to sit still. There's an itch under his skin and a twitch in his muscles and he thinks about lighting up a cigarette. It doesn't matter that it would give him away since he's aiming to get caught, and it would give him something to do, for a few seconds at least. He doesn't, though; he doesn't like the way Dick grimaces when he tastes the smoke on his tongue. Instead, he pops a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth. Never let it be said he can't be considerate. It's just that, most of the time, he chooses not to be.
Dick gets in earlier than he expected--Jason wasn't sure he'd come home at all, to be honest, but Dick enjoys his freedom more than Bruce probably likes, and here he is, unwinding a long blue scarf from around his neck and tossing it onto a chair that already holds a week's worth of laundry (dirty, not that Jason sniffed it or anything). His heavy wool coat follows it, listing drunkenly off the chair because of all the change in the pockets.
He lights the tree but leaves the rest of the apartment in the dark. He pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot that's been sitting on the burner since God only knows when and wrinkles his nose after he takes a sip. Jason allows himself a snicker at the face Dick makes; more than a day, then, possibly two or three, knowing the way crime ratchets up in Gotham around the holidays, and how it settles for a few hours on Christmas Eve before picking up again after everybody's unwrapped their presents.
He can tell the exact moment Dick spots the package, the way his shoulders square and his chin comes up, all senses alert for an intruder. Jason would swear his ears perk and his nostrils flare, too, but he can't actually see that.
Jason dials his number and Dick answers after half a ring. He says, "I'm really not up for your games tonight."
"No games," Jason replies, which is only half a lie. "Or, not any you won't enjoy playing." He listens to the sound of Dick's breathing, soft and even, as he eyeballs the present. "It's not going to explode or spray you with acid or anything. It's just a Christmas present."
Dick tears the paper warily, and laughs when he sees the CDs enclosed. "I've never actually heard of White Lies or, uh, No Age."
"That's because your taste in music sucks. Also, you need a new mp3 player. CDs are so twentieth century."
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Jay." Dick sits down by the window, and grins when Jason shifts into his line of sight. Jason ignores the way it makes his heart beat a little faster. "I didn't get you anything."
He hadn't expected a gift, so he doesn't know why he feels a twinge of disappointment. What they are--what they're doing--Jason doesn't like to examine it too closely, and he's pretty sure Dick doesn't, either. But he's also pretty sure that whatever their relationship is, it doesn't come with the expectation of Christmas presents. The expectations aren't nearly that benign. He doesn't let any of that show in his voice, though, when he says, "I'm sure we can figure out something that'll make me happy."
"So the gift comes with strings attached?"
"It's Gotham, Dick. Everything comes with strings attached."
Dick huffs but doesn't dispute it. "What do you want?"
Jason hums, pretending to think for a moment, like he hasn't had this moment planned out for weeks. "Take off your shirt."
Dick laughs. "Are you serious?"
"One button at a time." When Dick doesn't move, Jason says, "Dude, I know you're not shy."
Dick snorts but he starts to unbutton the blue dress shirt he's wearing. He's got a wife-beater on underneath, and Jason smiles in anticipation of what his shoulders will look like in it when he shrugs the Oxford off. He stands and pulls it out of the waistband of his black dress pants, then puts the phone on speaker so he can make a show of undoing the cufflinks. Jason refocuses the binoculars for a better look; they're plain silver discs etched with something very similar to the blue stripe on his Nightwing costume.
"Present from Daddy?" Jason asks, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his voice.
Dick doesn't rise to the bait. The bastard. "Alfred."
"Of course." Jason doesn't feel a pang of regret--he's long past that, and it's not like he even owns any shirts with French cuffs--but he has to ask, "Does he still make those cookies?"
"Yeah. And the hot chocolate with the homemade whipped cream."
"Damn."
"Jason--"
Jason shakes his head. "Let's get back on track here. Take the shirt off. Slowly," he adds when it looks like Dick is going to shuck it quickly and carelessly.
Dick shrugs and does what he's told. He always was better at taking orders than Jason. Through his binoculars, Jason can see the roadmap of old scars crisscrossing his skin and the newer bruises that haven't had time to heal, spangled red and green and blue from the Christmas lights. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to find that a turn-on. Dick's nipples are peaked under the ribbing of his tank top, and Jason has to take a quick, deep breath, because it's one thing to watch when Dick doesn't know he's doing it, and something totally different--better--when he does. When he's participating.
Jason spits out his gum before he chokes on it.
Dick drapes the shirt over the back of a chair and folds his arms across his chest. Jason knows he's aware of how that makes his muscles flex, and that he's not doing it to be intimidating.
"Cold out there, huh?" Dick says.
Jason shrugs. They've all done their time in Gotham's bad weather. He'll be all right as long as it doesn't start sleeting. "I'm thinking warm thoughts, chum."
"But not clean ones." Dick's mouth quirks in a bright grin.
Jason lets out a bark of laughter. "Never that."
Dick drops his hands to his belt buckle, thumbs hooking into his waistband, and cocks his head as if to say, What next?
"Boots first," Jason says. "Socks, too." He wrinkles his nose, and his mock disgust must show in his voice, because Dick laughs again.
Dick drops into a crouch like some kind of dance move, and Jason says, "Dammit, you were supposed to bend over."
Dick flips him off and finishes untying his boots. He places them neatly next to the sofa, black socks tucked inside, pretty much the only neat thing in the disaster area of his living room.
The clouds choose that moment to burst, dropping sharp needles of icy rain down over the city like a curtain.
Jason shivers as sleet slips beneath the collar of his jacket to sting his neck. He sucks in a breath of cold, damp air that cuts through his lungs like a razor, and rapidly reconsiders the logistics of his plan.
Dick's settled down on the floor in front of the sofa, one knee bent so he can rest his elbow on it, the other stretched out in front of him. His head is tipped back, exposing the long, perfect line of his throat. He looks like a fucking Calvin Klein ad, the kind Jason used to jerk off to back when he was too embarrassed to buy gay porn.
"You could invite me in." His voice is rougher than he intends; he chooses to blame the weather.
"You broke in once; I'm sure you could do it again."
"It'd be quicker if you just opened the door."
"You're always in such a rush. You should slow down, take some time to smell the roses." He can hear the amusement in Dick's voice.
"You're not the one freezing your nuts off, Ferris."
"I guess that would put a damper on things."
"I can think of a few ways you could warm me up." He uncoils and makes the jump to Dick's fire escape easily, heavy treads of his boots slipping only a little on the slick metal.
Dick is at the window when Jason gets there, and he hauls Jason over the ledge as soon as Jason gets it open. His mouth is ridiculously, unexpectedly hot over Jason's. Jason stumbles against him, hands coming up to grab Dick's biceps so he can steady himself, and Dick shivers at the touch. Jason would like to think it's because of him, but he's pretty sure it's because his gloves are cold and wet. The room is warm and smells of steam heat; it makes his scalp prickle, or maybe that's Dick's tongue, sliding wet and eager against his.
"I guess I haven't been too naughty, huh?" Jason says when Dick lets him up for air. He keeps his gaze on Dick's face as he uses his teeth to pull at the fingertips of his (wet, unpleasant-tasting) gloves (don't do that again, Jay), and watches the way Dick's eyes track his mouth, pupils expanding from more than just the dimness.
"Not yet," Dick answers, his hand slipping between them to cup Jason through his cargoes. "But give it a few minutes."
Jason tries to pass off his moan at the touch as a groan at Dick's terrible sense of humor (like his isn't just as bad), but he's pretty sure Dick's not buying it. He bites at Dick's mouth, his own hands going right for Dick's fly, and Dick pulls away, does one of his stupid flips that are somehow a thousand times hotter than when anyone else does them, and ends up sitting on the back of the couch.
Jason blinks at him. Dick's usually the even-tempered one, not prone to mood-swings; that's Jason's job. On the other hand, Dick's good at gauging people's moods and molding himself into what they want him to be. Jason's not sure which this is, and the aching throb of his cock makes it easy to pretend he doesn't care.
He can hear the radiator clanking softly in the background over the heavy beat of blood in his ears. He realizes the silence has gone on longer than it should have, so he says, "I was just trying to open my present."
Dick gives him another grin and then he's on one hand, legs straight up in the air, like he's on the pommel horse at the Olympics instead of on the sofa in his living room.
Jason frowns, and dislikes how exposed his face feels without a mask. "I thought you weren't in the mood for games."
Another flip and Dick is right next to him again, his breath warm against Jason's ear. "I thought you were."
He thinks about saying, I didn't come here for this, but aside from the fact that it's kind of a lie, it also opens up the question of why he did come, which is not one he wants to answer, at least beyond the obvious. So instead he goes with, "Tease," and though it takes him a few seconds too long to get it out, long enough for Dick's eyes to narrow in curiosity, he doesn't press the issue. Probably all mellowed out from Alfred's hot chocolate and bullshit holiday spirit.
He's still close enough that Jason can smell the stale coffee on his breath, feel the heat of his body, and since that's what Jason's really after, the real reason he came (or one of them, anyway), he pushes down the weird anger that's crawling up his throat--he reminds himself shouldn't have started the game if he didn't want Dick to play; shouldn't have come here at all unless he was prepared to deal with everything else that comes along with having sex with Dick--and leans in for another kiss. Dick sighs into his mouth and shivers when Jason scrapes a nail over one of his nipples.
"Come on," Jason says, low--almost soft--against the stubbled skin of Dick's jaw. "It's not like you've got anything I haven't seen before." Which is both the truth and a lie, because in the few weeks since they've been doing this, it's been in dark alleys or on chilly rooftops, shirts rucked up and tights shoved down so they can rub and thrust against each other, hard and fast, pretending that they have some measure of privacy. They've never been naked, or even horizontal, for any of it, which makes it seem less real and more like some kind of ridiculous fantasy, and wow, Jason knows he's a little unstable (or, at least, that's what other people keep telling him), but he doesn't think he totally made up all the sex he and Dick have been having, though it suddenly strikes him as a very real, if very weird, possibility. Since very real but very weird seems to be the story of his life, he pulls back. "Dick?"
Dick presses his open mouth against Jason's, no tongue this time, just breathing out when Jason breathes in.
"It's okay," he whispers, and Jason feels it against his lips more than he hears it. Dick pushes Jason's jacket off his shoulders, and pulls back far enough to yank his turtleneck up over his head. Jason lets him. He's not wearing the body armor tonight, just the old thermal undershirt he usually wears beneath it. It's stained under the arms and soft from too much washing, and Dick slides his hands up underneath it, his calluses rough and warm on Jason's skin. "This okay?" His voice is soft, more like he's calming a spooked civilian than getting ready to fuck. The only sound in the room is the ragged huff of their breathing, and underneath that, the clatter of frozen rain on the windows.
"Yeah, Dick. Yeah. Jesus." Jason's voice is breathier than he'd like, but it doesn't shake. He doesn't need to be handled.
"Come on," Dick repeats back to him. He curls his fingers in the belt loops of Jason's cargoes and pulls him towards the couch, slick red mouth leaving trails of heat on Jason's jaw and throat.
Jason wants to protest, remind Dick who's running the show, but it's always been easier than he'd like to follow Dick's lead. Especially when Dick leads him where he wants to go. He thinks about making the obvious joke but decides it's not worth the effort--there are better things to do with his mouth at the moment.
Dick falls back against the couch with the same careless grace he does everything, and tugs, but Jason plants his feet. "Take your pants off."
"You first."
Jason shrugs and squats so he can untie his boots, and then he shucks his pants and his underwear. He grabs the small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms out of his pants pocket and sets them on the couch next to Dick.
"I like to be prepared," he says when Dick raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you're a real boy scout."
For once, Jason doesn't rise to the bait. He's been hard entirely too long to fuck it up now. "You'd know." He drops a hand down to stroke his cock, thumbs the slit and spreads the precome over the head, his breath going shallow and needy as Dick watches him. He squeezes the base, gets himself back under control.
"Your shirt, too," Dick says, his voice low and hungry, the heat in it sending a burst of answering heat off under Jason's skin. He doesn't bother to argue, to complain about how his plan's gone sideways and they've suddenly reversed roles. He just pulls his shirt off over his head; he can feel his sweaty hair spiking and drooping in its wake, but none of it matters because Dick is focused on him, wide black pupils ringed with dark blue in the dim light of the Christmas tree.
Dick smirks, his thumb circling the button of his fly, and then he fucking undulates out of his pants. If Jason didn't know better, he'd swear sometimes that Dick's got no bones. He's wearing boxers printed with the S-shield, which makes Jason snort with laughter.
"What?"
Jason fingers the thin cotton--Dick doesn't have room to wear them under his uniform--and the warm skin underneath, enjoying the way Dick jumps at the touch, like it tickles. "Seriously?"
Dick laughs. "Maybe I haven't had time to do laundry."
"Yeah, okay," Jason says, "you go with that story." He gets distracted for a second, then, thinking about the possibilities. "You think there's a market for Red Hood merchandise?"
"No." Dick doesn't even hesitate.
He runs a hand up Dick's thigh. "You could model it." He keeps his voice light, teasing. "We'd make a killing." Also, it would piss Bruce off, which would make it worth doing even if it didn't make any money at all. He's pretty sure that goes without saying.
"No."
"I could diversify my revenue stream." He rubs the inside of Dick's knee with his thumb, coaxing.
Dick shakes his head and spreads his thighs a little wider. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"
Jason laughs, low and dirty. "No, I guess not."
He leans in and mouths at the head of Dick's cock, enjoying the little thrill he gets when Dick gasps. He lifts his head to admire the growing wet spot on the cotton, and then hooks a thumb into the waistband of the boxers and tugs. "Off," he says. He plucks at the tank top. "This, too."
Dick shimmies out of his underwear and Jason has to stop and stare for a few seconds, because Dick is pretty much the most perfect thing he's ever seen, and he wants to remember this forever, be able to replay it over and over again once he's not allowed to have the real thing anymore.
"You can look," Dick says, wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking it slowly, "but touching is good, too."
"Touching, yeah," Jason says, trying to get his brain working again, "I can do that." He climbs into Dick's lap, knees sinking into the cushions next to Dick's hips, their cocks bumping and rubbing in a way that makes both of them gasp and moan. "Wait," Jason says, "I have a plan."
"You have a plan."
"You don't have to sound so skeptical." Jason picks up the lube and squeezes some out onto his fingers. "It's a good plan." He rises up onto his knees so he can reach back and start slicking himself up. The lube is cool and the feel of it sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure through him.
"You're right," Dick says breathlessly, his hand settling on Jason's hip, thumb sweeping back and forth over the jut of his pelvis, making him shiver, "this is a good plan."
"I will always remember this as the Christmas you admitted I was right about something." Jason's voice is rough, and his eyes flutter closed when Dick leans forward to scrape his teeth over Jason's right nipple. He tries to control his breathing, but then Dick's fingers join his, twisting up inside him, opening him up, and it's like all the air in the room disappears. "Jesus."
"Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah." His breath stutters as Dick finds his prostate and rubs. "Fuck, yeah."
"Good." Dick pulls his hand away, and Jason makes an embarrassingly needy sound.
"Fuck, no, you bastard. Don't stop."
Dick holds up a condom and raises an eyebrow. Jason hates that aside from the light flush rising under his skin, he still looks calm and cool. He looks like he's the one who engineered this whole scenario, and it reminds Jason of all the things he hates about him, about Bruce, about the way they always seem to keep control and he always loses it, and not always because he wants to. It makes him reckless, always has, and he doesn't go slow, doesn't tease Dick the way Dick's been teasing him; as soon as the condom is on, he shoves down hard onto Dick's cock, and bares his teeth when Dick gasps and moans, his hips jolting up against Jason's ass.
The stretch of his quads as he moves up and down feels good, as if all the training to make himself as strong as possible is culminating in this moment, this ability to fuck himself on Dick's cock like it's the only thing he's ever wanted or needed.
Dick wraps a hand around him, twining their fingers together and stroking up when Jason pushes down. He shifts his hips and shoves up, a change of angle that sends white sparks up behind Jason's eyelids.
"Oh, fuck, that's good."
Dick hums a laugh that Jason can feel vibrating through him, and he leans forward to lick it out of Dick's mouth. Dick pushes him back and rocks up into him, the two of them moving together like a finely tuned engine.
"God, Jay, you feel so good. So fucking hot." Dick's voice is low, his words a litany of everything he likes about fucking Jason, and Jason finds it hard to catch enough breath to respond in kind. He gasps into Dick's mouth, choked off words with no vowels in them, which is fine because he doesn't know what he wants to say beyond please and fuck and yes. The inexorable burn of pleasure pulses through him, and he comes so hard it almost hurts.
Dick's hips are still pumping into him, and he rides it out, pleasure still sparking warm beneath his skin, until Dick tosses his head back and comes with a hoarse moan. Jason leans forward to lick the perfect arch of his throat, to bite at the hinge of his jaw, tasting sweat and stale cologne.
They stay still for a moment or two, and then Dick grunts and shoves at him. Jason lifts up and sighs regretfully when Dick slips out. He feels raw and fucked open and needy in a way that he doesn't expect and kind of hates. He wants to curl up in Dick's lap and cuddle, so he heaves himself over onto the couch beside him instead. Dick strips off the condom and tosses it in to the garbage, and even naked and fucked out, there's a grace to him that Jason can never emulate, only envy. He comes back to the couch and sprawls out like a dog that wants its belly petted.
Jason's fingers twitch in response and he curls them into a fist.
"Hey," Dick says, before Jason can do anything stupid, "it's snowing."
He looks out the window, which is smeared with rain from earlier, to see the white flakes falling in the yellow glow of the streetlight.
"Huh."
Dick reaches out and grabs Jason's hand, uncurls his fingers and twines his own around them. Jason wants to say something cutting, but his brain is still foggy from sex and he feels like he could sit on Dick's stupid couch and hold his stupid hand forever.
"Merry Christmas," Dick says.
Jason laughs. "Yeah," he says. "Merry Christmas."
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/383019.html.
people have commented there.
Under the Red Hood; Dick/Jason; adult; 4,020 words
"I thought you weren't in the mood for games." "I thought you were."
Thanks so much to
snacky for looking it over, and to silveronthetree and
devildoll, who helped me with this story when I'd stalled out on it.
~*~
The Weather Inside
It's easier than it should be to break into Dick's apartment and leave the carefully wrapped present under the lonely, Charlie Brown-looking tree decorating his living room. Jason wants Dick to know he was there, so he's not particularly careful, but the point is moot, since the place already looks like somebody tossed it. Jason snickers, imagining Alfred's appalled response.
Once the breaking and entering is done, Jason sets himself up on the fire escape across the alley; he zips his jacket tight against the cold December wind, takes out his binoculars, and waits. The sky is threatening rain or sleet or maybe even snow, but he pays it no mind. It's Gotham--the sky is always threatening something.
The waiting's always been the hardest part of the job for him; he's not in constant motion like Dick, but he's not made to sit still. There's an itch under his skin and a twitch in his muscles and he thinks about lighting up a cigarette. It doesn't matter that it would give him away since he's aiming to get caught, and it would give him something to do, for a few seconds at least. He doesn't, though; he doesn't like the way Dick grimaces when he tastes the smoke on his tongue. Instead, he pops a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth. Never let it be said he can't be considerate. It's just that, most of the time, he chooses not to be.
Dick gets in earlier than he expected--Jason wasn't sure he'd come home at all, to be honest, but Dick enjoys his freedom more than Bruce probably likes, and here he is, unwinding a long blue scarf from around his neck and tossing it onto a chair that already holds a week's worth of laundry (dirty, not that Jason sniffed it or anything). His heavy wool coat follows it, listing drunkenly off the chair because of all the change in the pockets.
He lights the tree but leaves the rest of the apartment in the dark. He pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot that's been sitting on the burner since God only knows when and wrinkles his nose after he takes a sip. Jason allows himself a snicker at the face Dick makes; more than a day, then, possibly two or three, knowing the way crime ratchets up in Gotham around the holidays, and how it settles for a few hours on Christmas Eve before picking up again after everybody's unwrapped their presents.
He can tell the exact moment Dick spots the package, the way his shoulders square and his chin comes up, all senses alert for an intruder. Jason would swear his ears perk and his nostrils flare, too, but he can't actually see that.
Jason dials his number and Dick answers after half a ring. He says, "I'm really not up for your games tonight."
"No games," Jason replies, which is only half a lie. "Or, not any you won't enjoy playing." He listens to the sound of Dick's breathing, soft and even, as he eyeballs the present. "It's not going to explode or spray you with acid or anything. It's just a Christmas present."
Dick tears the paper warily, and laughs when he sees the CDs enclosed. "I've never actually heard of White Lies or, uh, No Age."
"That's because your taste in music sucks. Also, you need a new mp3 player. CDs are so twentieth century."
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Jay." Dick sits down by the window, and grins when Jason shifts into his line of sight. Jason ignores the way it makes his heart beat a little faster. "I didn't get you anything."
He hadn't expected a gift, so he doesn't know why he feels a twinge of disappointment. What they are--what they're doing--Jason doesn't like to examine it too closely, and he's pretty sure Dick doesn't, either. But he's also pretty sure that whatever their relationship is, it doesn't come with the expectation of Christmas presents. The expectations aren't nearly that benign. He doesn't let any of that show in his voice, though, when he says, "I'm sure we can figure out something that'll make me happy."
"So the gift comes with strings attached?"
"It's Gotham, Dick. Everything comes with strings attached."
Dick huffs but doesn't dispute it. "What do you want?"
Jason hums, pretending to think for a moment, like he hasn't had this moment planned out for weeks. "Take off your shirt."
Dick laughs. "Are you serious?"
"One button at a time." When Dick doesn't move, Jason says, "Dude, I know you're not shy."
Dick snorts but he starts to unbutton the blue dress shirt he's wearing. He's got a wife-beater on underneath, and Jason smiles in anticipation of what his shoulders will look like in it when he shrugs the Oxford off. He stands and pulls it out of the waistband of his black dress pants, then puts the phone on speaker so he can make a show of undoing the cufflinks. Jason refocuses the binoculars for a better look; they're plain silver discs etched with something very similar to the blue stripe on his Nightwing costume.
"Present from Daddy?" Jason asks, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his voice.
Dick doesn't rise to the bait. The bastard. "Alfred."
"Of course." Jason doesn't feel a pang of regret--he's long past that, and it's not like he even owns any shirts with French cuffs--but he has to ask, "Does he still make those cookies?"
"Yeah. And the hot chocolate with the homemade whipped cream."
"Damn."
"Jason--"
Jason shakes his head. "Let's get back on track here. Take the shirt off. Slowly," he adds when it looks like Dick is going to shuck it quickly and carelessly.
Dick shrugs and does what he's told. He always was better at taking orders than Jason. Through his binoculars, Jason can see the roadmap of old scars crisscrossing his skin and the newer bruises that haven't had time to heal, spangled red and green and blue from the Christmas lights. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to find that a turn-on. Dick's nipples are peaked under the ribbing of his tank top, and Jason has to take a quick, deep breath, because it's one thing to watch when Dick doesn't know he's doing it, and something totally different--better--when he does. When he's participating.
Jason spits out his gum before he chokes on it.
Dick drapes the shirt over the back of a chair and folds his arms across his chest. Jason knows he's aware of how that makes his muscles flex, and that he's not doing it to be intimidating.
"Cold out there, huh?" Dick says.
Jason shrugs. They've all done their time in Gotham's bad weather. He'll be all right as long as it doesn't start sleeting. "I'm thinking warm thoughts, chum."
"But not clean ones." Dick's mouth quirks in a bright grin.
Jason lets out a bark of laughter. "Never that."
Dick drops his hands to his belt buckle, thumbs hooking into his waistband, and cocks his head as if to say, What next?
"Boots first," Jason says. "Socks, too." He wrinkles his nose, and his mock disgust must show in his voice, because Dick laughs again.
Dick drops into a crouch like some kind of dance move, and Jason says, "Dammit, you were supposed to bend over."
Dick flips him off and finishes untying his boots. He places them neatly next to the sofa, black socks tucked inside, pretty much the only neat thing in the disaster area of his living room.
The clouds choose that moment to burst, dropping sharp needles of icy rain down over the city like a curtain.
Jason shivers as sleet slips beneath the collar of his jacket to sting his neck. He sucks in a breath of cold, damp air that cuts through his lungs like a razor, and rapidly reconsiders the logistics of his plan.
Dick's settled down on the floor in front of the sofa, one knee bent so he can rest his elbow on it, the other stretched out in front of him. His head is tipped back, exposing the long, perfect line of his throat. He looks like a fucking Calvin Klein ad, the kind Jason used to jerk off to back when he was too embarrassed to buy gay porn.
"You could invite me in." His voice is rougher than he intends; he chooses to blame the weather.
"You broke in once; I'm sure you could do it again."
"It'd be quicker if you just opened the door."
"You're always in such a rush. You should slow down, take some time to smell the roses." He can hear the amusement in Dick's voice.
"You're not the one freezing your nuts off, Ferris."
"I guess that would put a damper on things."
"I can think of a few ways you could warm me up." He uncoils and makes the jump to Dick's fire escape easily, heavy treads of his boots slipping only a little on the slick metal.
Dick is at the window when Jason gets there, and he hauls Jason over the ledge as soon as Jason gets it open. His mouth is ridiculously, unexpectedly hot over Jason's. Jason stumbles against him, hands coming up to grab Dick's biceps so he can steady himself, and Dick shivers at the touch. Jason would like to think it's because of him, but he's pretty sure it's because his gloves are cold and wet. The room is warm and smells of steam heat; it makes his scalp prickle, or maybe that's Dick's tongue, sliding wet and eager against his.
"I guess I haven't been too naughty, huh?" Jason says when Dick lets him up for air. He keeps his gaze on Dick's face as he uses his teeth to pull at the fingertips of his (wet, unpleasant-tasting) gloves (don't do that again, Jay), and watches the way Dick's eyes track his mouth, pupils expanding from more than just the dimness.
"Not yet," Dick answers, his hand slipping between them to cup Jason through his cargoes. "But give it a few minutes."
Jason tries to pass off his moan at the touch as a groan at Dick's terrible sense of humor (like his isn't just as bad), but he's pretty sure Dick's not buying it. He bites at Dick's mouth, his own hands going right for Dick's fly, and Dick pulls away, does one of his stupid flips that are somehow a thousand times hotter than when anyone else does them, and ends up sitting on the back of the couch.
Jason blinks at him. Dick's usually the even-tempered one, not prone to mood-swings; that's Jason's job. On the other hand, Dick's good at gauging people's moods and molding himself into what they want him to be. Jason's not sure which this is, and the aching throb of his cock makes it easy to pretend he doesn't care.
He can hear the radiator clanking softly in the background over the heavy beat of blood in his ears. He realizes the silence has gone on longer than it should have, so he says, "I was just trying to open my present."
Dick gives him another grin and then he's on one hand, legs straight up in the air, like he's on the pommel horse at the Olympics instead of on the sofa in his living room.
Jason frowns, and dislikes how exposed his face feels without a mask. "I thought you weren't in the mood for games."
Another flip and Dick is right next to him again, his breath warm against Jason's ear. "I thought you were."
He thinks about saying, I didn't come here for this, but aside from the fact that it's kind of a lie, it also opens up the question of why he did come, which is not one he wants to answer, at least beyond the obvious. So instead he goes with, "Tease," and though it takes him a few seconds too long to get it out, long enough for Dick's eyes to narrow in curiosity, he doesn't press the issue. Probably all mellowed out from Alfred's hot chocolate and bullshit holiday spirit.
He's still close enough that Jason can smell the stale coffee on his breath, feel the heat of his body, and since that's what Jason's really after, the real reason he came (or one of them, anyway), he pushes down the weird anger that's crawling up his throat--he reminds himself shouldn't have started the game if he didn't want Dick to play; shouldn't have come here at all unless he was prepared to deal with everything else that comes along with having sex with Dick--and leans in for another kiss. Dick sighs into his mouth and shivers when Jason scrapes a nail over one of his nipples.
"Come on," Jason says, low--almost soft--against the stubbled skin of Dick's jaw. "It's not like you've got anything I haven't seen before." Which is both the truth and a lie, because in the few weeks since they've been doing this, it's been in dark alleys or on chilly rooftops, shirts rucked up and tights shoved down so they can rub and thrust against each other, hard and fast, pretending that they have some measure of privacy. They've never been naked, or even horizontal, for any of it, which makes it seem less real and more like some kind of ridiculous fantasy, and wow, Jason knows he's a little unstable (or, at least, that's what other people keep telling him), but he doesn't think he totally made up all the sex he and Dick have been having, though it suddenly strikes him as a very real, if very weird, possibility. Since very real but very weird seems to be the story of his life, he pulls back. "Dick?"
Dick presses his open mouth against Jason's, no tongue this time, just breathing out when Jason breathes in.
"It's okay," he whispers, and Jason feels it against his lips more than he hears it. Dick pushes Jason's jacket off his shoulders, and pulls back far enough to yank his turtleneck up over his head. Jason lets him. He's not wearing the body armor tonight, just the old thermal undershirt he usually wears beneath it. It's stained under the arms and soft from too much washing, and Dick slides his hands up underneath it, his calluses rough and warm on Jason's skin. "This okay?" His voice is soft, more like he's calming a spooked civilian than getting ready to fuck. The only sound in the room is the ragged huff of their breathing, and underneath that, the clatter of frozen rain on the windows.
"Yeah, Dick. Yeah. Jesus." Jason's voice is breathier than he'd like, but it doesn't shake. He doesn't need to be handled.
"Come on," Dick repeats back to him. He curls his fingers in the belt loops of Jason's cargoes and pulls him towards the couch, slick red mouth leaving trails of heat on Jason's jaw and throat.
Jason wants to protest, remind Dick who's running the show, but it's always been easier than he'd like to follow Dick's lead. Especially when Dick leads him where he wants to go. He thinks about making the obvious joke but decides it's not worth the effort--there are better things to do with his mouth at the moment.
Dick falls back against the couch with the same careless grace he does everything, and tugs, but Jason plants his feet. "Take your pants off."
"You first."
Jason shrugs and squats so he can untie his boots, and then he shucks his pants and his underwear. He grabs the small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms out of his pants pocket and sets them on the couch next to Dick.
"I like to be prepared," he says when Dick raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you're a real boy scout."
For once, Jason doesn't rise to the bait. He's been hard entirely too long to fuck it up now. "You'd know." He drops a hand down to stroke his cock, thumbs the slit and spreads the precome over the head, his breath going shallow and needy as Dick watches him. He squeezes the base, gets himself back under control.
"Your shirt, too," Dick says, his voice low and hungry, the heat in it sending a burst of answering heat off under Jason's skin. He doesn't bother to argue, to complain about how his plan's gone sideways and they've suddenly reversed roles. He just pulls his shirt off over his head; he can feel his sweaty hair spiking and drooping in its wake, but none of it matters because Dick is focused on him, wide black pupils ringed with dark blue in the dim light of the Christmas tree.
Dick smirks, his thumb circling the button of his fly, and then he fucking undulates out of his pants. If Jason didn't know better, he'd swear sometimes that Dick's got no bones. He's wearing boxers printed with the S-shield, which makes Jason snort with laughter.
"What?"
Jason fingers the thin cotton--Dick doesn't have room to wear them under his uniform--and the warm skin underneath, enjoying the way Dick jumps at the touch, like it tickles. "Seriously?"
Dick laughs. "Maybe I haven't had time to do laundry."
"Yeah, okay," Jason says, "you go with that story." He gets distracted for a second, then, thinking about the possibilities. "You think there's a market for Red Hood merchandise?"
"No." Dick doesn't even hesitate.
He runs a hand up Dick's thigh. "You could model it." He keeps his voice light, teasing. "We'd make a killing." Also, it would piss Bruce off, which would make it worth doing even if it didn't make any money at all. He's pretty sure that goes without saying.
"No."
"I could diversify my revenue stream." He rubs the inside of Dick's knee with his thumb, coaxing.
Dick shakes his head and spreads his thighs a little wider. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"
Jason laughs, low and dirty. "No, I guess not."
He leans in and mouths at the head of Dick's cock, enjoying the little thrill he gets when Dick gasps. He lifts his head to admire the growing wet spot on the cotton, and then hooks a thumb into the waistband of the boxers and tugs. "Off," he says. He plucks at the tank top. "This, too."
Dick shimmies out of his underwear and Jason has to stop and stare for a few seconds, because Dick is pretty much the most perfect thing he's ever seen, and he wants to remember this forever, be able to replay it over and over again once he's not allowed to have the real thing anymore.
"You can look," Dick says, wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking it slowly, "but touching is good, too."
"Touching, yeah," Jason says, trying to get his brain working again, "I can do that." He climbs into Dick's lap, knees sinking into the cushions next to Dick's hips, their cocks bumping and rubbing in a way that makes both of them gasp and moan. "Wait," Jason says, "I have a plan."
"You have a plan."
"You don't have to sound so skeptical." Jason picks up the lube and squeezes some out onto his fingers. "It's a good plan." He rises up onto his knees so he can reach back and start slicking himself up. The lube is cool and the feel of it sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure through him.
"You're right," Dick says breathlessly, his hand settling on Jason's hip, thumb sweeping back and forth over the jut of his pelvis, making him shiver, "this is a good plan."
"I will always remember this as the Christmas you admitted I was right about something." Jason's voice is rough, and his eyes flutter closed when Dick leans forward to scrape his teeth over Jason's right nipple. He tries to control his breathing, but then Dick's fingers join his, twisting up inside him, opening him up, and it's like all the air in the room disappears. "Jesus."
"Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah." His breath stutters as Dick finds his prostate and rubs. "Fuck, yeah."
"Good." Dick pulls his hand away, and Jason makes an embarrassingly needy sound.
"Fuck, no, you bastard. Don't stop."
Dick holds up a condom and raises an eyebrow. Jason hates that aside from the light flush rising under his skin, he still looks calm and cool. He looks like he's the one who engineered this whole scenario, and it reminds Jason of all the things he hates about him, about Bruce, about the way they always seem to keep control and he always loses it, and not always because he wants to. It makes him reckless, always has, and he doesn't go slow, doesn't tease Dick the way Dick's been teasing him; as soon as the condom is on, he shoves down hard onto Dick's cock, and bares his teeth when Dick gasps and moans, his hips jolting up against Jason's ass.
The stretch of his quads as he moves up and down feels good, as if all the training to make himself as strong as possible is culminating in this moment, this ability to fuck himself on Dick's cock like it's the only thing he's ever wanted or needed.
Dick wraps a hand around him, twining their fingers together and stroking up when Jason pushes down. He shifts his hips and shoves up, a change of angle that sends white sparks up behind Jason's eyelids.
"Oh, fuck, that's good."
Dick hums a laugh that Jason can feel vibrating through him, and he leans forward to lick it out of Dick's mouth. Dick pushes him back and rocks up into him, the two of them moving together like a finely tuned engine.
"God, Jay, you feel so good. So fucking hot." Dick's voice is low, his words a litany of everything he likes about fucking Jason, and Jason finds it hard to catch enough breath to respond in kind. He gasps into Dick's mouth, choked off words with no vowels in them, which is fine because he doesn't know what he wants to say beyond please and fuck and yes. The inexorable burn of pleasure pulses through him, and he comes so hard it almost hurts.
Dick's hips are still pumping into him, and he rides it out, pleasure still sparking warm beneath his skin, until Dick tosses his head back and comes with a hoarse moan. Jason leans forward to lick the perfect arch of his throat, to bite at the hinge of his jaw, tasting sweat and stale cologne.
They stay still for a moment or two, and then Dick grunts and shoves at him. Jason lifts up and sighs regretfully when Dick slips out. He feels raw and fucked open and needy in a way that he doesn't expect and kind of hates. He wants to curl up in Dick's lap and cuddle, so he heaves himself over onto the couch beside him instead. Dick strips off the condom and tosses it in to the garbage, and even naked and fucked out, there's a grace to him that Jason can never emulate, only envy. He comes back to the couch and sprawls out like a dog that wants its belly petted.
Jason's fingers twitch in response and he curls them into a fist.
"Hey," Dick says, before Jason can do anything stupid, "it's snowing."
He looks out the window, which is smeared with rain from earlier, to see the white flakes falling in the yellow glow of the streetlight.
"Huh."
Dick reaches out and grabs Jason's hand, uncurls his fingers and twines his own around them. Jason wants to say something cutting, but his brain is still foggy from sex and he feels like he could sit on Dick's stupid couch and hold his stupid hand forever.
"Merry Christmas," Dick says.
Jason laughs. "Yeah," he says. "Merry Christmas."
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/383019.html.
people have commented there.