Xmas gift for katarik: More Than Two.
Title: More Than Two.
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Rose/Jason, Bruce/Jason, Cass/Steph, Steph/Jason, somewhat Slade/Jason/Rose
Word Count: 1, 273
Raiting: NC-17, all the way through.
Summary: God. If I said this was unashamed identity porn, I'd be understating it. Jason, Steph, Rose and daddy issues. And sex. A lot of sex. Because the language of touch is sometimes less complicated than words, and words are overrated anyway. Xmas gift fic for katarik.
More Than Two.
Jason cups one of Rose's breasts through the flimsy nightgown. It’s really warm against his touch, and he thumbs one of the nipples just roughly enough to make her squeal. Her hair falls over her face and shadows her face; for a second, her image changes and Jason sees a different blonde, one that tends to appear whenever he needs company the most.
Steph has possessed people before to talk to him ‘in person’. Usually people that are unconscious because it doesn’t seem as much of a violation then.
Jason’s pretty sure that Steph isn’t possessing Rose right now; it doesn’t seem her style.
Still, he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from calling her ‘Steph’ or making a crack about ‘Robincest’. Rose doesn’t notice it when she looks up at him and this time, her face morphs into Slade’s.
Jason must have hit his head during training a lot harder than he thought. Slade’s a hard taskmaster, and there is no way that he wants to think of Slade in bed with him. Slade’d probably drill him harder than Bruce did, and yeah, Jason’s brain is a little too focused on ‘breast’, ‘nipple’ and ‘sex’ to deliberately be making innuendoes, but he’s not sex-stupid enough to fail to recognize the double levels of that thought.
Speaking of which…
He looks over Rose’s shoulder, to the camera that he’d identified as being there the first night that he’d moved in, and grins. It’s an unnerving grin, too sharp for what he’s doing (having a very pretty, one-eyed blonde girl straddling him while in a see-through nightdress), and Jason lets it linger on his lips a few moments before he puts his hands up to Rose’s shoulders and shoves.
To her credit, she catches herself in mid-air. Dickhead must’ve trained her well, Jason thinks to himself.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” She sounds pissed. Jason finds that understandable.
“Tell Daddy that if he wants free porn, he’s got the wrong ex-Robin.” He stretches, nude and unashamed, and strokes a hand lazily over the erection that’s going to end up not being tended to because he’s trying to make a fucking point here (and isn’t that ironic when making the point requires not fucking?). “And that if he wants to fuck you, he should just do it himself instead of using intermediaries.”
Rose spits something in response to that, but Jason’s attention is already off her and on the blonde girl standing at the foot of the bed. That blonde is wearing an eggplant costume and a grin that Jason used to see on his face every night before he went out as Robin, “What’s wrong, Jay? I didn’t think anything could make you turn down sex.”
Her tone is more laughing than mocking, and Jason smiles at her even as he spreads his legs a little more and strokes himself slowly, putting on a show for the man that he knows is watching him. He can’t reply to her directly, not without looking crazy for talking to a girl that nobody can see unless they’ve died at least once (or unless they’re Alfred, Alfred could see Jason and he can see Steph, and neither of them quite know why), so Jason doesn’t say anything but just fists his cock a little more languidly.
Steph’s wolf-whistle makes it clear that she likes what she sees. He half-expects the phone to ring and to hear Slade whistle at him too over the line, but no, that’s not Slade’s style. Bastard’s very much like Bruce, really, and that’s something that Jason is doing his best not think about because otherwise he’s going to think about (Slade) Bruce watching him fuck (Rose) Steph and if he does that, he’s going to come right now.
That’d be embarrassing. It wouldn’t be likely to convince Deathstroke to stop with the lessons that Talia is paying him for, but it would be very, very embarrassing, not the least because Steph is there.
Steph glides down to straddle him in only the way a ghost can, body dipping a little too low and going right through his thighs before she gets the hang of it and hovers just above him, legs spread. Her purple hood is pushed back, blonde hair exposed and domino mask off, and her eyes are very blue as she smirks down at him, “Once you go Robin, you never go back?”
Jason isn’t precisely faithful to her. He’s fucked Talia and he might fuck Rose tomorrow, somewhere her father can’t see, and he’ll probably end up fucked by Slade, but Jason’s got to admit that something about the way that Steph’s hand sinks right through his and then he stops being able to control it because she’s using it... Something about that makes him way too hard, makes him wonder what would have happened if Bruce could’ve seen him, if they could’ve done this.
He asked Steph once if she does with Batgirl as well. She’d asked him what is it with guys and liking girl-on-girl action, then Jason had to duck a hail of gunfire from a corner he’d been sure he’d cleared, and the conversation died out at that point.
The mental image of Steph controlling Batgirl’s hand (he can’t picture Batgirl except in the costume with the grave-gaping-wide-mouth) is one of the sexier ones he has in his head, and Jason thinks that probably says a lot about him. He’s not saying anything right now, though, because Steph has wrapped his own hand over his cock and is making him jerk himself off.
It feels really different when Steph does it. The angle’s different for her, for one thing, so she keeps trying to bend his wrist in ways that strain it.
That’s okay; the half-burn of stretched muscles is part of the fun.
Steph’s also a little rougher than Jason is, weirdly enough. She’s only got control of his hand and wrist, so while she can stroke it awkwardly, she can’t move his arm and get the full, fisting strokes that Jason tends to use on himself. She always likes to thumb the head, though, and Jason really likes that. Likes the way she always looks like she’s concentrating so hard, loves the way that she usually grabs his other hand and sticks his own fingers in his mouth.
“Suck.” She says, and Jason bites his fingers instead for the fun of hearing her indignant sound, so different to the yelp Rose had made when he’d been just a little too rough with her. There’s something strangely frail about Rose, like her namesake, something porcelain and pretty. China doll seeking Daddy’s approval.
Steph wants Batman’s approval as well, Jason knows, but she’s different to Rose. She’s sunshine on a street, the kind of light that highlights grime and tries to burn it all away. She’s loud and raucous and cheerful, and Jason thinks that if he’d been a girl, he’d have been (Robin) Steph. Though he’d have never fallen for Tim Drake, Boy Wonderful.
Too bad that Steph thinks it would be too immoral to possess a body for sex. Otherwise, Jason could show her what a real fuck is, since there’s no way Tim Drake could beat Jason in bed (not that he can beat Jason at anything else, Jason’s the better Robin). Bruce has to know that. And if not, Jason'll show him.
That he's the better Robin, that is. Not the better fuck. Bruce ought to know that Jason's --
No.
He's not thinking of that. He's not thinking of Bruce. Steph might be, but he's not. He's grown past that. Out of it. He's--
You remain unavenged, Talia's voice says in his head, and he knows at least part of why he likes Steph's teasing is that it stops him from hearing anyone except her. No Talia. No Bruce. No Slade (who is probably still watching this), and no Rose (did she slide into Nightwing's bed as well, would she fuck Tim and try to collect the whole male Robin set?). Just Steph, just here, blonde and focused, and in her eggplant-purple Spoiler costume with cherry red-lips.
Nobody else but two ex-Robins in a bed, one revived, one dead.
For now, though, Jason feels Steph drop into him and share his orgasm as he comes over his fist, and it’s enough. The feel of a second mind, of a body stretched out inside his, is enough.
She’s under his skin, she’s Robin (under his skin, he's Robin), and she’s enough.
Robin. Spoiler. Robin.
She makes him Robin, and he unmakes her. Neither of them need Bruce when they're like this.
~Fin.~
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Rose/Jason, Bruce/Jason, Cass/Steph, Steph/Jason, somewhat Slade/Jason/Rose
Word Count: 1, 273
Raiting: NC-17, all the way through.
Summary: God. If I said this was unashamed identity porn, I'd be understating it. Jason, Steph, Rose and daddy issues. And sex. A lot of sex. Because the language of touch is sometimes less complicated than words, and words are overrated anyway. Xmas gift fic for katarik.
More Than Two.
Jason cups one of Rose's breasts through the flimsy nightgown. It’s really warm against his touch, and he thumbs one of the nipples just roughly enough to make her squeal. Her hair falls over her face and shadows her face; for a second, her image changes and Jason sees a different blonde, one that tends to appear whenever he needs company the most.
Steph has possessed people before to talk to him ‘in person’. Usually people that are unconscious because it doesn’t seem as much of a violation then.
Jason’s pretty sure that Steph isn’t possessing Rose right now; it doesn’t seem her style.
Still, he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from calling her ‘Steph’ or making a crack about ‘Robincest’. Rose doesn’t notice it when she looks up at him and this time, her face morphs into Slade’s.
Jason must have hit his head during training a lot harder than he thought. Slade’s a hard taskmaster, and there is no way that he wants to think of Slade in bed with him. Slade’d probably drill him harder than Bruce did, and yeah, Jason’s brain is a little too focused on ‘breast’, ‘nipple’ and ‘sex’ to deliberately be making innuendoes, but he’s not sex-stupid enough to fail to recognize the double levels of that thought.
Speaking of which…
He looks over Rose’s shoulder, to the camera that he’d identified as being there the first night that he’d moved in, and grins. It’s an unnerving grin, too sharp for what he’s doing (having a very pretty, one-eyed blonde girl straddling him while in a see-through nightdress), and Jason lets it linger on his lips a few moments before he puts his hands up to Rose’s shoulders and shoves.
To her credit, she catches herself in mid-air. Dickhead must’ve trained her well, Jason thinks to himself.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” She sounds pissed. Jason finds that understandable.
“Tell Daddy that if he wants free porn, he’s got the wrong ex-Robin.” He stretches, nude and unashamed, and strokes a hand lazily over the erection that’s going to end up not being tended to because he’s trying to make a fucking point here (and isn’t that ironic when making the point requires not fucking?). “And that if he wants to fuck you, he should just do it himself instead of using intermediaries.”
Rose spits something in response to that, but Jason’s attention is already off her and on the blonde girl standing at the foot of the bed. That blonde is wearing an eggplant costume and a grin that Jason used to see on his face every night before he went out as Robin, “What’s wrong, Jay? I didn’t think anything could make you turn down sex.”
Her tone is more laughing than mocking, and Jason smiles at her even as he spreads his legs a little more and strokes himself slowly, putting on a show for the man that he knows is watching him. He can’t reply to her directly, not without looking crazy for talking to a girl that nobody can see unless they’ve died at least once (or unless they’re Alfred, Alfred could see Jason and he can see Steph, and neither of them quite know why), so Jason doesn’t say anything but just fists his cock a little more languidly.
Steph’s wolf-whistle makes it clear that she likes what she sees. He half-expects the phone to ring and to hear Slade whistle at him too over the line, but no, that’s not Slade’s style. Bastard’s very much like Bruce, really, and that’s something that Jason is doing his best not think about because otherwise he’s going to think about (Slade) Bruce watching him fuck (Rose) Steph and if he does that, he’s going to come right now.
That’d be embarrassing. It wouldn’t be likely to convince Deathstroke to stop with the lessons that Talia is paying him for, but it would be very, very embarrassing, not the least because Steph is there.
Steph glides down to straddle him in only the way a ghost can, body dipping a little too low and going right through his thighs before she gets the hang of it and hovers just above him, legs spread. Her purple hood is pushed back, blonde hair exposed and domino mask off, and her eyes are very blue as she smirks down at him, “Once you go Robin, you never go back?”
Jason isn’t precisely faithful to her. He’s fucked Talia and he might fuck Rose tomorrow, somewhere her father can’t see, and he’ll probably end up fucked by Slade, but Jason’s got to admit that something about the way that Steph’s hand sinks right through his and then he stops being able to control it because she’s using it... Something about that makes him way too hard, makes him wonder what would have happened if Bruce could’ve seen him, if they could’ve done this.
He asked Steph once if she does with Batgirl as well. She’d asked him what is it with guys and liking girl-on-girl action, then Jason had to duck a hail of gunfire from a corner he’d been sure he’d cleared, and the conversation died out at that point.
The mental image of Steph controlling Batgirl’s hand (he can’t picture Batgirl except in the costume with the grave-gaping-wide-mouth) is one of the sexier ones he has in his head, and Jason thinks that probably says a lot about him. He’s not saying anything right now, though, because Steph has wrapped his own hand over his cock and is making him jerk himself off.
It feels really different when Steph does it. The angle’s different for her, for one thing, so she keeps trying to bend his wrist in ways that strain it.
That’s okay; the half-burn of stretched muscles is part of the fun.
Steph’s also a little rougher than Jason is, weirdly enough. She’s only got control of his hand and wrist, so while she can stroke it awkwardly, she can’t move his arm and get the full, fisting strokes that Jason tends to use on himself. She always likes to thumb the head, though, and Jason really likes that. Likes the way she always looks like she’s concentrating so hard, loves the way that she usually grabs his other hand and sticks his own fingers in his mouth.
“Suck.” She says, and Jason bites his fingers instead for the fun of hearing her indignant sound, so different to the yelp Rose had made when he’d been just a little too rough with her. There’s something strangely frail about Rose, like her namesake, something porcelain and pretty. China doll seeking Daddy’s approval.
Steph wants Batman’s approval as well, Jason knows, but she’s different to Rose. She’s sunshine on a street, the kind of light that highlights grime and tries to burn it all away. She’s loud and raucous and cheerful, and Jason thinks that if he’d been a girl, he’d have been (Robin) Steph. Though he’d have never fallen for Tim Drake, Boy Wonderful.
Too bad that Steph thinks it would be too immoral to possess a body for sex. Otherwise, Jason could show her what a real fuck is, since there’s no way Tim Drake could beat Jason in bed (not that he can beat Jason at anything else, Jason’s the better Robin). Bruce has to know that. And if not, Jason'll show him.
That he's the better Robin, that is. Not the better fuck. Bruce ought to know that Jason's --
No.
He's not thinking of that. He's not thinking of Bruce. Steph might be, but he's not. He's grown past that. Out of it. He's--
You remain unavenged, Talia's voice says in his head, and he knows at least part of why he likes Steph's teasing is that it stops him from hearing anyone except her. No Talia. No Bruce. No Slade (who is probably still watching this), and no Rose (did she slide into Nightwing's bed as well, would she fuck Tim and try to collect the whole male Robin set?). Just Steph, just here, blonde and focused, and in her eggplant-purple Spoiler costume with cherry red-lips.
Nobody else but two ex-Robins in a bed, one revived, one dead.
For now, though, Jason feels Steph drop into him and share his orgasm as he comes over his fist, and it’s enough. The feel of a second mind, of a body stretched out inside his, is enough.
She’s under his skin, she’s Robin (under his skin, he's Robin), and she’s enough.
Robin. Spoiler. Robin.
She makes him Robin, and he unmakes her. Neither of them need Bruce when they're like this.
~Fin.~