Caged Heat
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne
Genre: It started out as a PWP, then turned into something more.
Warnings: Language, awkward sex, surprise guests
A/N: After a few weeks of being grudgingly attracted to each other, Red Hood and a newly eighteen year old Robin work through some stuff during a night of rough sex. Damian tops. He also is kind of a douche; but that’s not new.
“You know what they say,” Jason Todd quipped as he roamed through the contents of his fridge. “Normally, having a bird in your house means bad luck.”
His words were met with silence. Jason turned around. His guest had stopped boredly fumbling with his communicator, and was now staring down his little joke with all the disdain of a Roman Emperor turning his thumb downwards at a feast.
He felt flustered, which was something he’d hoped not to feel tonight; or, ever. “Get it, ‘cause you’re a Robi - ”
Oh, why was he even bothering. He waved his hand, exasperated.
“You know what, forget it. Forget I said anything.”
That put a cruel little smile on Damian Wayne’s face, and he spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. “Done.”
Damian had followed him here without hesitation, and now he was leaning in the shadows between the two barricaded windows, looking almost casual with his arms crossed. That was, of course, a ruse. He was as ready to go apeshit on someone’s pain center at the drop of a dime as ever. Because he was a smart one.
However…that wasn’t what they’d come here for, tonight.
Jason turned back to his fridge, trying to remember the basic etiquette of no-strings-attached fucking. “You want a beer?”
“I never drink...”
When he turned back, he could see Damian raising his chin. He sounded tempted. “Does drinking heighten sexual pleasure?” He then asked, bluntly and sincerely curious. Jason saw his blue eyes glint in the dark. He’d removed the lenses, but kept the mask on.
Jason gave this a fair thought. “Nope,” he eventually said. “It helps you unwind, if you need it, but other than that, it’s pretty overrated.”
“So. It doesn’t improve sex, but it does affect motor control and reaction time.”
“Yes.”
“Then. No.” Damian frowned. “Why would you suggest that. Seems counterproductive.”
Jason looked at the beer can in his hand. “Yeah,” he shrugged, and tossed it back into the fridge.
They had run into each other in the streets of Gotham a couple times during the past months, and it had been - interesting. Damian was still slumming as Robin, which meant he was usually running with his dad, despite their downright toxic chemistry; but ever since he’d turned eighteen, there was at least one night a week where he’d roam alone, usually on Fridays. He was fine on his own. He’d taken being Robin to a whole new level; perps were almost more terrified of him as they were of the Bat. Jason liked to think that Damian had continued what he, himself, had started back then. Not that he’d ever say that to his face, or to anyone’s.
He wasn’t sure what Bruce was thinking, exactly. He was usually monstrously protective of his devilspawn. Jason figured it was probably some kind of test run; checking to see if Damian was really laying off killing people, even if his father wasn’t around watching him like a hawk…bat. Of course it was foolish to assume that Bruce didn’t trace his every move, though.
“Is that thing on?” He pointed at the communicator.
Damian scowled at him. “You think I’m stupid?”
“That’s not an answer.” Jason grinned. “Technically, it would be stupid of you to turn it off.”
“Really.”
Damian left his spot on the wall and approached him. He still wasn’t much to look at, if Jason was honest, with those harsh features and tense movements and that severe, unflattering haircut. But now that adulthood had hit him like a freight train, there was…some raw, angry, sexual energy lurking underneath. And Jason could feel his pulse rise as Damian grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, tugging at him and talking through his teeth.
“Let’s see. Either I come here, with you, in the middle of the night. Alone. Not a single person knows I’m here. Or: I let Father know I’m with you. In the middle of the night. Alone. Now tell me: which one of these would be stupider of me?”
His hands turned into fists as he dragged the taller man further down by his shirt, and whispered, “I disabled it an hour ago.”
Jason shuddered. God. He wanted to lick his face so bad.
They had been meeting up these past Fridays. “Meeting up” as in, “getting in each other’s way all the time”. Somehow, the Red Hood and Robin seemed to always have similar ideas about which ganglord to bust, or which cartel to take on, so that they’ve been bumping into each other on high-rises and behind dumpsters and in dark alleyways constantly. At one point, they’d even found each other crawling underneath the same limousine. It was seriously a little embarrassing, and kind of annoying, at first. Those meet-ups had often turned into hissing matches, and then actual matches, and then those had somehow, over time, turned into weirdly sensual wrestling sessions; which was odd, because wrestling was neither of their specialties, at all.
And then, a week ago or so, as they were rolling around in the dirt, Jason had ripped off his helmet and they had clumsily made out for a little bit.
It had been fun, until Damian, after greedily sucking on his tongue for about five minutes, had kneed him in the chest, stumbled to his feet, spat “How DARE you!” and swung off into the night.
Jason hadn’t given chase, because he’d been kneed in the chest. Also because it was really uncomfortable to do parcour with a raging boner. He had no idea how Damian did it.
If he was perfectly honest with himself, Damian was absolutely his type; dangerous, uncommunicative, emotionally stunted, and perpetually mad at his dad.
He’d fear- thought that after that one time, perhaps the brat would avoid him, or something. But this Friday, he’d been there again, rabid like a honey badger and ready to throw down as always.
It was crazy; and distracting. Neither of them was getting any work done at this rate. Something needed to be done.
So this time, while Damian was busy choking him with his wiry, unnervingly strong legs, Jason had asked him if he’d ever gotten a blowjob, and if not, if he was interested in one.
Then, he’d laid back and enjoyed the boy flinching at that suggestion, hard, and very tellingly.
People who did not turn down blowjobs when offered: lonely, angry, thrill-seeking overconfident eighteen year old virgins with daddy issues.
And now they were here. Alone. In the middle of the night.
Damian was still glaring at him, holding his face very close and seemingly unsure how to proceed. Strange how awkward that suddenly was if they didn’t have destroying each other’s bodies as a pretext.
He winced, blinking nervously, as Jason gave his lips a playful lick, and all that jaded confidence slipped for a moment. “Is this…are we starting? Have we started yet?”
“Easy.” Jason took his wrists, which the boy inexplicably allowed, and directed his arms around his shoulders. “In case you haven’t noticed, little bird, this whole thing has started a while ago.”
“Lame,” Damian scolded him, but then he let the older boy kiss his neck anyway, closing his eyes and letting out a deep, rumbling sigh. His whole body was so tense that he barely seemed to breathe.
The kissing always felt corny and kinda dumb, really; it wasn’t as if they liked each other or something. But they did it, anyway.
“The couch,” Jason muttered, voice getting deeper and throatier with every touch. “Get on it.”
As usual, Damian didn’t like to be told what to do. “…why.”
“Because,” Jason grinned against the warm skin of his neck, “You’re going to get weak in the knees, very soon.”
“I don’t get weak - ” Damian started to protest, and Jason lost his patience and pushed him on to the couch, where he wanted him. The boy didn’t seem to take offense; honestly, he seemed a little excited by that. He looked up at him with grim, amused apprehension in his eyes. Jason could see his own spit gleaming on Damian’s half-opened lips. Lovely, very lovely. He was…lovely.
He needed to stick his tongue in there. So he crawled on top of him, and did just that.
Damian was as closed-lipped dry-humping him as he was elsewhere (whenever he couldn’t come up with a good burn), but it was nice to hear him breathe as fast and shallow as he did, see his cheeks all flushed, and sense the urgency as he squirmed against him, snapping at his lips.
Not that he was the only one growing impatient. Jason didn’t offer these things lightly, or often, but right now it was almost overwhelming how badly, desperately he wanted to suck this particular cock. It shook him all over. He let his hand travel South, reaching between the trembling boy’s legs to see what was u -
He removed his mouth from him, blinking. “Oh, come on.”
Damian seemed alarmed, both by the hand stroking him through his clothes, and the look on Jason’s face. “What.”
Of course. Along with all his riches, his genes, his upbringing and his numerous talents, the brat had to have that, too.
“You’re hung, aren’t you,” Jason snapped at him.
“-hung?”
Damian stared at him, completely stone-faced, and Jason remembered that he had zero experience.
“That means,” Jason gave him a wry grin and a teasing squeeze. “You have a massive cock.”
Damian Wayne was a trained actor, but he couldn’t even pretend to be humble if he tried. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly, as the he grabbed Jason’s hand and unceremoniously shoved it down his pants to get a good feel-around, “Is this considered large?”
“You asshole. You know. Don’t tell me you’ve never showered with a bunch of other boys and noticed them looking at you.”
Damian tsked him for that. “I don’t shower with other boys,” he drawled, “I never went to public school, except that one week when I went undercover and I…” his voice turned breathy and his hips bucked as Jason really started to put the moves on him. “…saved…every…one…”
For a split second, Jason wondered if Damian’s father had the same equipment down there. Then, he couldn’t decide if he was disturbed or turned on by that, or both, and decided to focus back on the task at hand.
Removing a Robin suit was a bitch, as it turned out. Jason gritted his teeth; his own one had been way less complicated. This was all zippers and rubber and kevlar, aggravating. Damian had a much easier time getting him out of his shirt, mostly because Jason had already dropped his bulletproof vest, and because the boy shredded the fabric like a caged wild animal going nuts at the zoo. He’d kinda liked this shirt, too, but it didn’t seem that important right now.
He fumbled at the suit for a while, drops of sweat forming on his forehead, until Damian slapped his hands away, shot up with a frustrated “Dammit, Todd!”, and then got out of the wretched thing himself.
“Leave the mask on,” Jason told him, looking up at him with sultry, glinting eyes, “I think I’d like it with the mask on.”
He went down on his knees, when Damian suddenly barked, “Wait!”
Jason tilted his head at him, licking his lips. He really, really wanted to put his mouth on that thing; this was maddening. “Yes?”
Batman’s boy suddenly looked very young and inexperienced as he stared down at him with an almost anxious little frown, even though he was rock-hard and obviously aching for it.
“Are you…are you going to bite me?”
He’d almost laughed at that, if he hadn’t caught that glimpse of pure paranoia in Damian’s eyes. Though, it probably wasn’t paranoia if people actually tried to destroy you every day of your life. He could kinda understand that.
Damian twitched as Jason ran his thumb across his tip, grinning up at him.
“Are you gonna choke me to death with your huge member?”
“What? No.” He seemed to relax a little, giving himself over to the touch. “That’s…stupid…”
“There’s your answer,” Jason said, and then he lowered his head, and went to work.
“Nhn - ”
Damian actually stopped breathing when he took him in his mouth. Somehow, he seemed to retreat from him while thrusting into him at the same time. His cock had been hard, anyway, but now, his entire body became hard, his legs, his stomach, his arms and shoulders, everything. His face contorted as if he was experiencing torture, or something. His fists were opening and closing restlessly. For a boy who mostly connected touch to “someone trying to twist my head off”, it was probably the ultimate endurance test.
This wouldn’t do; he’d have to get him out of that, to get him there. It had been a while since he’d had done this (forever ago; he could barely remember, really), but when Jason Todd did something, he always fully committed to it. He worked him using his mouth, his tongue, his hands; wetly, hotly; slow, gentle; faster, harder. Ran his fingers across his thighs, lightly, almost tenderly, letting him know that there was nothing to be worried about. For him, it was all kinds of sweet; his own hard-on was straining against the zipper of his pants. He fully expected he’d have to take care of that himself later, but that was fine. He’d forgotten it could be this fun. Or maybe it never had been this fun before. Damian was so clean and he smelled fantastic, and tasted well enough, even. But he would. Not. Breathe.
That was, until Jason decided to go all-in, and took him in so deep that he could feel him hit the back of his throat.
Damian’s fists hit the couch like in defiance, but his entire being convulsed and his breath finally escaped him in a long, repressed, shuddering hiss. There was virtually no difference between Damian getting a blowjob, and Damian getting needles shoved under his fingernails. This was truly a lonely, tormented, neglected dick he was sucking.
After ten more minutes of that, Jason let him slip out if his mouth, and gasped for air.
“O-okay,” he panted, horny, angry, and frustrated as all hell. “Okay. What is the deal. With you.”
“I can’t…” The snide brat sounded almost apologetic, which was an entirely new side of him, “I can’t…relax. I don’t…relax. I don’t.”
Jason moaned and let his head rest on his thigh for a moment. And then, Damian’s hand was there, in his hair, doing some ruffling thing like he was a cat. That would’ve been hot if he’d done it a few minutes ago.
“It’s not you,” Damian muttered, sounding annoyed with himself. “You’re…good.”
Jason turned his head to look up at him; that couldn’t have been easy for him to say, admitting that someone else was good at something, even if it was giving head.
“Well, thanks,” he said dryly, “But my jaw hurts like hell, right now, so…uh…”
He wasn’t sure what he had been about to suggest, when the boy suddenly grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him up to kiss him fiercely on the mouth, despite of where that mouth had just been.
So much weird, misplaced energy in that kiss.
“There’s something I want,” The younger boy breathed, his lips brushing against Jason’s. “I want to…really…”
A chill ran down Jason’s spine, but he said nothing. He didn’t help him. He knew exactly what he was trying to say, but he wanted to hear him find the words for it, wanted to hear Damian say it.
“…I want to stick it in you.”
…well, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.
“I’d let you,” he replied at once.
The look of pure, mischievous greed that flashed across Damian’s face was delightful. “- really?”
Jason eyed his impressive erection warily for a moment, but then he nodded. “Sure. I’ve brought down entire guerillas, drove tanks, fired rocket launchers at tanks, got killed, came back, travelled universes, it’s not as if I’m insecure about my masculin - you’ve stopped listening to me, haven’t you.”
“Nn.”
Damian obviously had, since he was now tearing into the front of Jason’s pants with the same ferocity with which he’d just wrecked that shirt, and refused to come. Jason caught his wrist again and got back on his feet, dragging Damian up with him.
“Over here.”
He’d never lied down in his bed with someone else before. Well, he had been in bed with people, occasionally, but not for a while, and never in this bed.
Unfortunately, it also looked exactly like that.
“Let me just - ”, blushing, he tossed out the gun magazine, the empty noodle cups and the crusty sock, and shook out the pizza crumbs. Damian curled his lip and seemed to seriously debate whether or not to lie down in that for a second, but then his sexual appetite won over and he crawled into the sheets, looking at him expectantly to follow.
As soon as he’d approached the bed, Damian grabbed his belt, and got rid of it. The pants came next. Jason almost whimpered as his own cock was finally freed; he’d been so focused on trying to pleasure the complicated brat that he’d lost track of how badly he himself needed to get off.
“You’re not that bad either,” Damian told him generously. Then, he patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Here,” he ordered, mistaking him, again, for a pet.
That was obnoxious. Then again, Damian looked great naked.
Instead of getting next to him, however, he pushed him on his back, crushing their lips together in another furious, toothy, surprisingly deep kiss, and then he groaned when Damian pulled him on top of him by his ears.
They twisted in the sheets together, for a while, playing with each other, teasing each other, running their fingers up and down the scars they both had. Damian made absolutely no attempt to stroke his dick, but he figured out how to grind his knee against it just right, and Jason had to freeze up several times and employ some breathing exercises to keep himself from blowing his load all over his stained linens. He wasn’t sure if he’d still let the brat stick it to him if he wasn’t aroused to the point of insanity, and he really, really wanted that to happen.
Their grinding went from passionate to frustrated to desperate to downright aggressive, and very soon, he found the boy’s ear again, whispering. “There should be a bottle of oil in that drawer next to you. It’s not for…it’s for guns. But it’ll do. Get it.”
Damian did, and then popped off the cap and smelled it. “Ew. How long has that been in there?”
“I don’t - who gives a fuck. Do it.”
Damian scrunched up his nose. “You do it.”
“Little bird,” He stretched himself out next to him, presenting himself; maybe showing off a little. “D’you want to fuck me, or not?”
The boy’s eyes went from the rotten oil to his naked body, and for the first time, it occurred to Jason that perhaps Damian liked looking at him just as much as he liked looking at Damian.
He smacked his lips once, and then squeezed some of the stuff into his hand.
Jason directed him, showed him what do with it. He was a skilled learner, and as it turned out, pretty eager and compliant when he was promised a reward.
Getting it in, however, that was…something else.
He rocked, and felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as the younger boy actually tried to enter him with a crude, ambitious thrust. Oh god. Oh g- …oh god. Oh god.
Good thing pain endurance was one of his strongest features.
“Is it - ” Damian actually looked concerned, probably just because he saw his prospect at banging him in jeopardy. “- bad?”
“N-no.” Jason told him; no lie. Slowly but steadily, he was relaxing into it. Shuddering, he put his arms around Damian and squeezed him tight. Every nerve in his body was flaring up as if on fire. “It’s…incredible. It feels…incredible. Keep going. Keep. Going.”
He hadn’t thought a smile on that face could look so filthy. “Yes.”
And he did.
In the following minutes, Jason learned two things: first, once kicked into gear, Damian was as ruthless and vicious in bed as he was in battle. And second: they were both total screamers.
Some of it was pain, on his end, but most of it was nerve-searing, brain-melting pleasure. He should’ve known, but the boy was a beast, and his bed was slamming into the wall to accompany the screams and moans coming from it. Their sex sounded angry, extremely angry, until at some point, his downstairs neighbor started to bang his cane against the ceiling, shouting at them to keep it the hell down.
Jason barely registered it, but Damian suddenly became perfectly still, on top of him, inside him, his face twisted and his teeth bared, sticky with sweat, every muscle in his body taut with tension.
Trembling, he yelled: “SHUT. UP.”
The banging and shouting from downstairs died immediately. Damian tilted his head, listened to the silence, then looked down at Jason and growled, “I didn’t mean you. Keep screaming,” and resumed nailing him into the mattress as if he was on a mission.
Shaking, sweating, Jason caught one of his hands and directed it around his cock. “L-let me introduce you…”, he managed to pant, “To a concept called reciproci --- ooh. Oh OW!”
He immediately regretted it, cringing as Damian commenced to beat him off with all the grace and sensuality of a wood-chipper. Holy crap, if this was how he did it to himself, it was no wonder he was pissed off all the time.
“S-stop it, you’re…- what the f - argh, stop I said!” Groaning, he slapped his hand away, and did it himself.
With that, and the intense pounding he was receiving, it didn’t take more than two, three strokes and he was done. He came, shaking and moaning, but Damian still had trouble with it, he could tell. The urgent, furious hum coming from his lips sounded more and more frayed. This was insane. He had to be half-mad by now. Jason’s lips twitched into a grin. With this level of control, paired with that dick, the poor kid had potential to wreak havoc on the Gotham casual dating scene. Later, maybe. But for now, Jason quite liked knowing he was the only one…the only one who got to have…this.
He reached up and mussed his hair, caressed his neck, feeling the heat and the fraught tension that ran deeply through every inch of him. “Let go,” he murmured, still moving against him. “L-let go. It’s fine. It’s good.”
“I want to,” Damian hissed at him through gritted teeth, “I want to. I. Want - ”
And then, suddenly, it shook him. He arched his back, let out a last, husky cry, and nearly put his fist through the wall as he came. Jason had never seen anyone come this forcefully, angrily, or desperately before. He wasn’t surprised Damian wasn’t keen on anyone seeing it. But there really was nothing hotter than holding him as sweet, sweet release finally got him.
It took a while until the twitching subsided, but when it did, he rolled off of him immediately, disentangling himself from Jason’s embrace.
There was no pillow talk, no niceties, only their unsteady, pained breathing for a while.
Jason was spread out on his back and couldn’t see himself moving for the next few hours. Next to him, Damian Wayne was back to his usual frowny self, even though his face and chest were still beautifully flushed.
“I’m hungry,” was the first thing he said, after a while. “Do you have food.”
Jason lazily blinked at him. “There’s …a frozen pizza in the freezer, I think. You can have it. I’ll just…lie here for a while.”
Without another comment, Damian got up and padded into the kitchen, where Jason could hear the freezer opening and then a series of muffled curses as Damian struggled with his gas stove. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never seen one of those before. He closed his eyes.
He only noticed that he’d come back when he felt the warmth of his skin right next to him. In the next moment, he gasped as something icy cold was dumped on his chest.
“What th - ”
“It’s beer,” Damian said morosely. “I thought maybe you want one.”
He angled for the can without looking at it. “Thanks. You do know you have to remove the plastic wrap from the pizza before you put it in, right.”
Damian scoffed at him. “Being rich doesn’t make me an idiot, Todd.” There was a pause. “Excuse me.”
Jason sipped his beer and listened to Damian’s naked feet tapering back into the kitchen, then to the new string of curses, and a second later the air filled with the stinging scent of burnt plastic. He grinned. This seemed like a good time for a smoke. He reached for the emergency package he always kept in his nightstand, and lit up. It was probably rude, but it wasn’t as if Damian could complain about the smell, now.
“Well, that was a failure,” Damian reported as he crawled back into bed, where Jason threw a bag of Skittles at him that he’d found next to the cigarettes.
“There.”
The boy tore open the bag without a thanks, and started popping Skittles into his mouth. He’d also somehow found Jason’s TV remote.
“Where’s the History Channel?” He demanded to know, flipping through the channels. “There’s a Stalin marathon on. I forgot to tell Alfred to record it.”
Jason propped himself up on one arm. “You really do have a blackened little heart, don’t you?”
Damian sneered. “You probably have a blackened lung. So I win.”
Jason chuckled, producing a cloud of fine, bluish smoke. “Point taken.”
Now that he’d gotten something to eat and found the History Channel, Damian seemed to be almost making himself comfortable. Jason wasn’t sure what to think about that. He watched his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
“I won’t stay,” Damian assured him, drowsily. “I’ll just…I’ll watch ‘till the next commercial, then I’m off.”
“Sure.” Jason threw a piece of blanket over him.
That next commercial hadn’t even arrived when Damian’s head slumped against Jason’s shoulder and his breathing became deep, steady, peaceful.
Jason let him. Truth be told, he’d planned to kick Robin to the curb right after they’d done the deed. He surely hadn’t planned on having a cuddly sleepover with him. But he hadn’t felt this satisfied or content in days, weeks, months. His guard was practically around his ankles, and yet he wasn’t worried, because he knew neither of them would try anything, at least not tonight.
There was no point in ruining that now.
He’d been convinced that Damian was already asleep, but when he rested his head next to him, the boy moved softly, opening one eye to look at him.
“I’m going to do that to you again in the morning, you know,” he mumbled.
“That’s cool,” Jason told him, closing his eyes.
He wasn’t sure how long they slept, but it was that type of sleep that people like them rarely got; deep, dreamless, serene.
And like all good things, it ended swiftly, cruelly, and with a bang.
He awoke to the indescribable sound of his barricaded bedroom windows shattering, and a second later, two shadowy figures descended on them, capes swooshing in the dark.
Damian was up even faster than he was, balling his fists and getting ready to fight, paying no attention to the fact that he was naked. Jason wasn’t much slower, swiftly throwing himself to the side, grabbing the gun that he kept under his pillow -
Which was promptly knocked out of his hand by a Batarang.
A… -
Damian’s eyes went wide with unspeakable horror. “No,” he hissed, and then screamed, “No. NO!” Then, he bolted right out of bed, wrapped in Jason’s blanket, dove into his tiny bathroom, and slammed the door shut.
Jason groaned, clutching his bleeding hand. It figured. Of course the Dark Knight would not be vexed by one disabled communicator -
Also, that had been his only blanket. So not only did he have Batman and Red Robin in his bedroom, he also was freshly fucked, very tellingly bruised, and completely bare-assed.
The Bat looked at him as if he wanted to bite his face off.
This couldn’t be happening.
Screw being naked. It wasn’t as if things could get worse. He got ready to leap at them, when Drake, who really looked like he’d rather be someplace else, had the gall to put up his hand in a gesture of…what?
“First things first,” he said briskly. “Does that bathroom have a window? Because if it does, he will escape through it.”
As always when they met, Jason had a burning desire to put his fist through Drake’s pointy little face, but there was a note of genuine concern for Damian in his voice that gave him pause. He didn’t exactly want the boy to run through Gotham in a blanket, either.
“…no,” he huffed. “No. No window.”
“Good,” Drake hesitated, then scrunched his nose. “Your bathroom doesn’t have a window…?”, he asked pityingly.
“Okay, you know what - ”
He was halfway to Drake’s throat as Batman got him, slamming his entire weight into him until he collapsed on the bed again, panting. Batman had his knee against Jason’s throat, shaking with the obvious desire to break every bone in his body. He seemed so mad that he wasn’t even capable of talking. Red Robin did all that.
“His clothes?”
Drake was looking back and forth between Batman crushing Jason and the closed bathroom door like a nervous squirrel, which would have been vaguely amusing if he hadn’t been in a world of pain.
“Living room,” Jason croaked at him, and Drake was gone in a red-and-black flash. Leaving him alone with the Bat.
It was strange. He’d seen Bruce Wayne do mundane things like brush his teeth or eat a grapefruit for breakfast, and yet, when he was like this … he knew what those criminals felt. He was imposing. He was beyond compare.
“Aren’t you ashamed?” His former mentor finally managed to hiss, shaking with anger.
Jason looked at him. “I am,” he said flat-out.
The simple honesty in that seemed to throw Batman off a little; apart from that, Drake had returned clutching Damian’s Robin suit. He gave the bathroom door a knock.
“Damian. It’s me. I have your clothes. I’m…I’m just going to hand them to you, all right? That’s all. You don’t even have to come out.”
“Damian, do as he says,” the Caped Crusader barked.
There was a long stretch of silence. But then, the door was cracked open and Damian’s arm shot out, grabbing at his costume.
Batman snapped at Red Robin: “Get him.”
Drake blinked. “But I told h - ”
“I don’t care. Get him. Do it now.”
With a barely audible sigh, Drake pushed his shoulder into the door, and a minute later, Jason could hear all his toiletries go to hell as the third and fifth Robin started brawling in his bathroom, while Damian was screaming “Breach of trust, Drake, breach of TRUST!”
Batman turned his full attention back on him.
“What’s your game, Jason?” He demanded to know, sounding dangerous and, what was worse, personally offended. “What’s your angle? What do you want with him?!”
Jason didn’t have a response. I’m horny and lonely, and your son’s cute seemed like the wrong thing to say.
“I just…wanted him,” he eventually uttered.
And really, what else was there to say.
Batman scowled at that. He looked so furious, and at the same time, as Jason slowly realized, somehow helpless. At once, he understood that despite all his anger, there was nothing Batman could do. The last of his boys was all grown up now, and he could do whatever he wanted, even if it was the Red Hood.
That had to burn his ass something fierce.
He gave him a cocky smile. “You … know how it is, Bruce,” he said. If Batman was going to beat him up for this, he could at least make it count. “Worlds collide. People meet. You and … Grayson would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
The Dark Knight tensed, and then, the weirdest thing happened.
Neither of them said another word. Instead, they exchanged a long, strange, intense “I got the drop on you”-type of look, and then, Batman released his windpipe.
“Stay down,” Batman warned him.
Jason rubbed his throat, coughing, and shot him a dirty look. “Can I grab a pillow?” He asked, pointedly. “To cover my junk?”
There was an awkward silence, and then, Batman abruptly averted his gaze. “Please do.”
In the bathroom, the fighting had died down. Jason had been rooting for Damian to put Drake’s face through the toilet seat, but that hadn’t happened. They both came out looking relatively unscathed. Damian’s Robin suit looked slightly rumpled, but he was wearing it again. He was cracking his knuckles, looking awfully dignified for a teenager whose first one night stand had just been crashed by his dad and his adopted brother.
Drake had a busted lip and a bruised cheek, which Jason appreciated.
“I’m willing to come with you,” Damian informed his father. He didn’t do so much as look at Jason. “I believe we’re done here. Let’s go home.”
“We will,” Bruce promised him, in a tone that would have sent lesser sons running for the hills. “And then we’ll talk.”
Damian’s eyes were gleaming. “Can’t wait.”
“Hey. Hey! HEY!” Jason gaped, incredulously, as they all made to march back out through his window. Did that wretched family really think they could trash his place, ruin his possessions, alert possibly the entire block of his presence, and look at him naked, without any repercussions? He could never use this hideout again!
“Who do you think y - ”
They all stood, looking dispassionately through their visors, while he glared at each of them in turn.
And he realized that Damian had been right. They were so totally, utterly done here. Instead of doing anything, he just barked out a laugh, and got himself another cigarette.
“Yeah…you know what? Fuck off. All of you.”
So they did.
Damian was the last. Jason silently watched him as he climbed onto the windowsill, as nimble as a cat. Good. He was sorta mad at him, but not enough to want him to go splat on the concrete. That’d be a waste. If not for him, certainly for someone.
Though, before he left, Damian suddenly turned, gave Jason the sweetest of diabolical smiles, and mouthed something:
I will find you
And with that, he dove out into the night.
Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne
Genre: It started out as a PWP, then turned into something more.
Warnings: Language, awkward sex, surprise guests
A/N: After a few weeks of being grudgingly attracted to each other, Red Hood and a newly eighteen year old Robin work through some stuff during a night of rough sex. Damian tops. He also is kind of a douche; but that’s not new.
“You know what they say,” Jason Todd quipped as he roamed through the contents of his fridge. “Normally, having a bird in your house means bad luck.”
His words were met with silence. Jason turned around. His guest had stopped boredly fumbling with his communicator, and was now staring down his little joke with all the disdain of a Roman Emperor turning his thumb downwards at a feast.
He felt flustered, which was something he’d hoped not to feel tonight; or, ever. “Get it, ‘cause you’re a Robi - ”
Oh, why was he even bothering. He waved his hand, exasperated.
“You know what, forget it. Forget I said anything.”
That put a cruel little smile on Damian Wayne’s face, and he spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. “Done.”
Damian had followed him here without hesitation, and now he was leaning in the shadows between the two barricaded windows, looking almost casual with his arms crossed. That was, of course, a ruse. He was as ready to go apeshit on someone’s pain center at the drop of a dime as ever. Because he was a smart one.
However…that wasn’t what they’d come here for, tonight.
Jason turned back to his fridge, trying to remember the basic etiquette of no-strings-attached fucking. “You want a beer?”
“I never drink...”
When he turned back, he could see Damian raising his chin. He sounded tempted. “Does drinking heighten sexual pleasure?” He then asked, bluntly and sincerely curious. Jason saw his blue eyes glint in the dark. He’d removed the lenses, but kept the mask on.
Jason gave this a fair thought. “Nope,” he eventually said. “It helps you unwind, if you need it, but other than that, it’s pretty overrated.”
“So. It doesn’t improve sex, but it does affect motor control and reaction time.”
“Yes.”
“Then. No.” Damian frowned. “Why would you suggest that. Seems counterproductive.”
Jason looked at the beer can in his hand. “Yeah,” he shrugged, and tossed it back into the fridge.
They had run into each other in the streets of Gotham a couple times during the past months, and it had been - interesting. Damian was still slumming as Robin, which meant he was usually running with his dad, despite their downright toxic chemistry; but ever since he’d turned eighteen, there was at least one night a week where he’d roam alone, usually on Fridays. He was fine on his own. He’d taken being Robin to a whole new level; perps were almost more terrified of him as they were of the Bat. Jason liked to think that Damian had continued what he, himself, had started back then. Not that he’d ever say that to his face, or to anyone’s.
He wasn’t sure what Bruce was thinking, exactly. He was usually monstrously protective of his devilspawn. Jason figured it was probably some kind of test run; checking to see if Damian was really laying off killing people, even if his father wasn’t around watching him like a hawk…bat. Of course it was foolish to assume that Bruce didn’t trace his every move, though.
“Is that thing on?” He pointed at the communicator.
Damian scowled at him. “You think I’m stupid?”
“That’s not an answer.” Jason grinned. “Technically, it would be stupid of you to turn it off.”
“Really.”
Damian left his spot on the wall and approached him. He still wasn’t much to look at, if Jason was honest, with those harsh features and tense movements and that severe, unflattering haircut. But now that adulthood had hit him like a freight train, there was…some raw, angry, sexual energy lurking underneath. And Jason could feel his pulse rise as Damian grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, tugging at him and talking through his teeth.
“Let’s see. Either I come here, with you, in the middle of the night. Alone. Not a single person knows I’m here. Or: I let Father know I’m with you. In the middle of the night. Alone. Now tell me: which one of these would be stupider of me?”
His hands turned into fists as he dragged the taller man further down by his shirt, and whispered, “I disabled it an hour ago.”
Jason shuddered. God. He wanted to lick his face so bad.
They had been meeting up these past Fridays. “Meeting up” as in, “getting in each other’s way all the time”. Somehow, the Red Hood and Robin seemed to always have similar ideas about which ganglord to bust, or which cartel to take on, so that they’ve been bumping into each other on high-rises and behind dumpsters and in dark alleyways constantly. At one point, they’d even found each other crawling underneath the same limousine. It was seriously a little embarrassing, and kind of annoying, at first. Those meet-ups had often turned into hissing matches, and then actual matches, and then those had somehow, over time, turned into weirdly sensual wrestling sessions; which was odd, because wrestling was neither of their specialties, at all.
And then, a week ago or so, as they were rolling around in the dirt, Jason had ripped off his helmet and they had clumsily made out for a little bit.
It had been fun, until Damian, after greedily sucking on his tongue for about five minutes, had kneed him in the chest, stumbled to his feet, spat “How DARE you!” and swung off into the night.
Jason hadn’t given chase, because he’d been kneed in the chest. Also because it was really uncomfortable to do parcour with a raging boner. He had no idea how Damian did it.
If he was perfectly honest with himself, Damian was absolutely his type; dangerous, uncommunicative, emotionally stunted, and perpetually mad at his dad.
He’d fear- thought that after that one time, perhaps the brat would avoid him, or something. But this Friday, he’d been there again, rabid like a honey badger and ready to throw down as always.
It was crazy; and distracting. Neither of them was getting any work done at this rate. Something needed to be done.
So this time, while Damian was busy choking him with his wiry, unnervingly strong legs, Jason had asked him if he’d ever gotten a blowjob, and if not, if he was interested in one.
Then, he’d laid back and enjoyed the boy flinching at that suggestion, hard, and very tellingly.
People who did not turn down blowjobs when offered: lonely, angry, thrill-seeking overconfident eighteen year old virgins with daddy issues.
And now they were here. Alone. In the middle of the night.
Damian was still glaring at him, holding his face very close and seemingly unsure how to proceed. Strange how awkward that suddenly was if they didn’t have destroying each other’s bodies as a pretext.
He winced, blinking nervously, as Jason gave his lips a playful lick, and all that jaded confidence slipped for a moment. “Is this…are we starting? Have we started yet?”
“Easy.” Jason took his wrists, which the boy inexplicably allowed, and directed his arms around his shoulders. “In case you haven’t noticed, little bird, this whole thing has started a while ago.”
“Lame,” Damian scolded him, but then he let the older boy kiss his neck anyway, closing his eyes and letting out a deep, rumbling sigh. His whole body was so tense that he barely seemed to breathe.
The kissing always felt corny and kinda dumb, really; it wasn’t as if they liked each other or something. But they did it, anyway.
“The couch,” Jason muttered, voice getting deeper and throatier with every touch. “Get on it.”
As usual, Damian didn’t like to be told what to do. “…why.”
“Because,” Jason grinned against the warm skin of his neck, “You’re going to get weak in the knees, very soon.”
“I don’t get weak - ” Damian started to protest, and Jason lost his patience and pushed him on to the couch, where he wanted him. The boy didn’t seem to take offense; honestly, he seemed a little excited by that. He looked up at him with grim, amused apprehension in his eyes. Jason could see his own spit gleaming on Damian’s half-opened lips. Lovely, very lovely. He was…lovely.
He needed to stick his tongue in there. So he crawled on top of him, and did just that.
Damian was as closed-lipped dry-humping him as he was elsewhere (whenever he couldn’t come up with a good burn), but it was nice to hear him breathe as fast and shallow as he did, see his cheeks all flushed, and sense the urgency as he squirmed against him, snapping at his lips.
Not that he was the only one growing impatient. Jason didn’t offer these things lightly, or often, but right now it was almost overwhelming how badly, desperately he wanted to suck this particular cock. It shook him all over. He let his hand travel South, reaching between the trembling boy’s legs to see what was u -
He removed his mouth from him, blinking. “Oh, come on.”
Damian seemed alarmed, both by the hand stroking him through his clothes, and the look on Jason’s face. “What.”
Of course. Along with all his riches, his genes, his upbringing and his numerous talents, the brat had to have that, too.
“You’re hung, aren’t you,” Jason snapped at him.
“-hung?”
Damian stared at him, completely stone-faced, and Jason remembered that he had zero experience.
“That means,” Jason gave him a wry grin and a teasing squeeze. “You have a massive cock.”
Damian Wayne was a trained actor, but he couldn’t even pretend to be humble if he tried. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly, as the he grabbed Jason’s hand and unceremoniously shoved it down his pants to get a good feel-around, “Is this considered large?”
“You asshole. You know. Don’t tell me you’ve never showered with a bunch of other boys and noticed them looking at you.”
Damian tsked him for that. “I don’t shower with other boys,” he drawled, “I never went to public school, except that one week when I went undercover and I…” his voice turned breathy and his hips bucked as Jason really started to put the moves on him. “…saved…every…one…”
For a split second, Jason wondered if Damian’s father had the same equipment down there. Then, he couldn’t decide if he was disturbed or turned on by that, or both, and decided to focus back on the task at hand.
Removing a Robin suit was a bitch, as it turned out. Jason gritted his teeth; his own one had been way less complicated. This was all zippers and rubber and kevlar, aggravating. Damian had a much easier time getting him out of his shirt, mostly because Jason had already dropped his bulletproof vest, and because the boy shredded the fabric like a caged wild animal going nuts at the zoo. He’d kinda liked this shirt, too, but it didn’t seem that important right now.
He fumbled at the suit for a while, drops of sweat forming on his forehead, until Damian slapped his hands away, shot up with a frustrated “Dammit, Todd!”, and then got out of the wretched thing himself.
“Leave the mask on,” Jason told him, looking up at him with sultry, glinting eyes, “I think I’d like it with the mask on.”
He went down on his knees, when Damian suddenly barked, “Wait!”
Jason tilted his head at him, licking his lips. He really, really wanted to put his mouth on that thing; this was maddening. “Yes?”
Batman’s boy suddenly looked very young and inexperienced as he stared down at him with an almost anxious little frown, even though he was rock-hard and obviously aching for it.
“Are you…are you going to bite me?”
He’d almost laughed at that, if he hadn’t caught that glimpse of pure paranoia in Damian’s eyes. Though, it probably wasn’t paranoia if people actually tried to destroy you every day of your life. He could kinda understand that.
Damian twitched as Jason ran his thumb across his tip, grinning up at him.
“Are you gonna choke me to death with your huge member?”
“What? No.” He seemed to relax a little, giving himself over to the touch. “That’s…stupid…”
“There’s your answer,” Jason said, and then he lowered his head, and went to work.
“Nhn - ”
Damian actually stopped breathing when he took him in his mouth. Somehow, he seemed to retreat from him while thrusting into him at the same time. His cock had been hard, anyway, but now, his entire body became hard, his legs, his stomach, his arms and shoulders, everything. His face contorted as if he was experiencing torture, or something. His fists were opening and closing restlessly. For a boy who mostly connected touch to “someone trying to twist my head off”, it was probably the ultimate endurance test.
This wouldn’t do; he’d have to get him out of that, to get him there. It had been a while since he’d had done this (forever ago; he could barely remember, really), but when Jason Todd did something, he always fully committed to it. He worked him using his mouth, his tongue, his hands; wetly, hotly; slow, gentle; faster, harder. Ran his fingers across his thighs, lightly, almost tenderly, letting him know that there was nothing to be worried about. For him, it was all kinds of sweet; his own hard-on was straining against the zipper of his pants. He fully expected he’d have to take care of that himself later, but that was fine. He’d forgotten it could be this fun. Or maybe it never had been this fun before. Damian was so clean and he smelled fantastic, and tasted well enough, even. But he would. Not. Breathe.
That was, until Jason decided to go all-in, and took him in so deep that he could feel him hit the back of his throat.
Damian’s fists hit the couch like in defiance, but his entire being convulsed and his breath finally escaped him in a long, repressed, shuddering hiss. There was virtually no difference between Damian getting a blowjob, and Damian getting needles shoved under his fingernails. This was truly a lonely, tormented, neglected dick he was sucking.
After ten more minutes of that, Jason let him slip out if his mouth, and gasped for air.
“O-okay,” he panted, horny, angry, and frustrated as all hell. “Okay. What is the deal. With you.”
“I can’t…” The snide brat sounded almost apologetic, which was an entirely new side of him, “I can’t…relax. I don’t…relax. I don’t.”
Jason moaned and let his head rest on his thigh for a moment. And then, Damian’s hand was there, in his hair, doing some ruffling thing like he was a cat. That would’ve been hot if he’d done it a few minutes ago.
“It’s not you,” Damian muttered, sounding annoyed with himself. “You’re…good.”
Jason turned his head to look up at him; that couldn’t have been easy for him to say, admitting that someone else was good at something, even if it was giving head.
“Well, thanks,” he said dryly, “But my jaw hurts like hell, right now, so…uh…”
He wasn’t sure what he had been about to suggest, when the boy suddenly grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him up to kiss him fiercely on the mouth, despite of where that mouth had just been.
So much weird, misplaced energy in that kiss.
“There’s something I want,” The younger boy breathed, his lips brushing against Jason’s. “I want to…really…”
A chill ran down Jason’s spine, but he said nothing. He didn’t help him. He knew exactly what he was trying to say, but he wanted to hear him find the words for it, wanted to hear Damian say it.
“…I want to stick it in you.”
…well, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.
“I’d let you,” he replied at once.
The look of pure, mischievous greed that flashed across Damian’s face was delightful. “- really?”
Jason eyed his impressive erection warily for a moment, but then he nodded. “Sure. I’ve brought down entire guerillas, drove tanks, fired rocket launchers at tanks, got killed, came back, travelled universes, it’s not as if I’m insecure about my masculin - you’ve stopped listening to me, haven’t you.”
“Nn.”
Damian obviously had, since he was now tearing into the front of Jason’s pants with the same ferocity with which he’d just wrecked that shirt, and refused to come. Jason caught his wrist again and got back on his feet, dragging Damian up with him.
“Over here.”
He’d never lied down in his bed with someone else before. Well, he had been in bed with people, occasionally, but not for a while, and never in this bed.
Unfortunately, it also looked exactly like that.
“Let me just - ”, blushing, he tossed out the gun magazine, the empty noodle cups and the crusty sock, and shook out the pizza crumbs. Damian curled his lip and seemed to seriously debate whether or not to lie down in that for a second, but then his sexual appetite won over and he crawled into the sheets, looking at him expectantly to follow.
As soon as he’d approached the bed, Damian grabbed his belt, and got rid of it. The pants came next. Jason almost whimpered as his own cock was finally freed; he’d been so focused on trying to pleasure the complicated brat that he’d lost track of how badly he himself needed to get off.
“You’re not that bad either,” Damian told him generously. Then, he patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Here,” he ordered, mistaking him, again, for a pet.
That was obnoxious. Then again, Damian looked great naked.
Instead of getting next to him, however, he pushed him on his back, crushing their lips together in another furious, toothy, surprisingly deep kiss, and then he groaned when Damian pulled him on top of him by his ears.
They twisted in the sheets together, for a while, playing with each other, teasing each other, running their fingers up and down the scars they both had. Damian made absolutely no attempt to stroke his dick, but he figured out how to grind his knee against it just right, and Jason had to freeze up several times and employ some breathing exercises to keep himself from blowing his load all over his stained linens. He wasn’t sure if he’d still let the brat stick it to him if he wasn’t aroused to the point of insanity, and he really, really wanted that to happen.
Their grinding went from passionate to frustrated to desperate to downright aggressive, and very soon, he found the boy’s ear again, whispering. “There should be a bottle of oil in that drawer next to you. It’s not for…it’s for guns. But it’ll do. Get it.”
Damian did, and then popped off the cap and smelled it. “Ew. How long has that been in there?”
“I don’t - who gives a fuck. Do it.”
Damian scrunched up his nose. “You do it.”
“Little bird,” He stretched himself out next to him, presenting himself; maybe showing off a little. “D’you want to fuck me, or not?”
The boy’s eyes went from the rotten oil to his naked body, and for the first time, it occurred to Jason that perhaps Damian liked looking at him just as much as he liked looking at Damian.
He smacked his lips once, and then squeezed some of the stuff into his hand.
Jason directed him, showed him what do with it. He was a skilled learner, and as it turned out, pretty eager and compliant when he was promised a reward.
Getting it in, however, that was…something else.
He rocked, and felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as the younger boy actually tried to enter him with a crude, ambitious thrust. Oh god. Oh g- …oh god. Oh god.
Good thing pain endurance was one of his strongest features.
“Is it - ” Damian actually looked concerned, probably just because he saw his prospect at banging him in jeopardy. “- bad?”
“N-no.” Jason told him; no lie. Slowly but steadily, he was relaxing into it. Shuddering, he put his arms around Damian and squeezed him tight. Every nerve in his body was flaring up as if on fire. “It’s…incredible. It feels…incredible. Keep going. Keep. Going.”
He hadn’t thought a smile on that face could look so filthy. “Yes.”
And he did.
In the following minutes, Jason learned two things: first, once kicked into gear, Damian was as ruthless and vicious in bed as he was in battle. And second: they were both total screamers.
Some of it was pain, on his end, but most of it was nerve-searing, brain-melting pleasure. He should’ve known, but the boy was a beast, and his bed was slamming into the wall to accompany the screams and moans coming from it. Their sex sounded angry, extremely angry, until at some point, his downstairs neighbor started to bang his cane against the ceiling, shouting at them to keep it the hell down.
Jason barely registered it, but Damian suddenly became perfectly still, on top of him, inside him, his face twisted and his teeth bared, sticky with sweat, every muscle in his body taut with tension.
Trembling, he yelled: “SHUT. UP.”
The banging and shouting from downstairs died immediately. Damian tilted his head, listened to the silence, then looked down at Jason and growled, “I didn’t mean you. Keep screaming,” and resumed nailing him into the mattress as if he was on a mission.
Shaking, sweating, Jason caught one of his hands and directed it around his cock. “L-let me introduce you…”, he managed to pant, “To a concept called reciproci --- ooh. Oh OW!”
He immediately regretted it, cringing as Damian commenced to beat him off with all the grace and sensuality of a wood-chipper. Holy crap, if this was how he did it to himself, it was no wonder he was pissed off all the time.
“S-stop it, you’re…- what the f - argh, stop I said!” Groaning, he slapped his hand away, and did it himself.
With that, and the intense pounding he was receiving, it didn’t take more than two, three strokes and he was done. He came, shaking and moaning, but Damian still had trouble with it, he could tell. The urgent, furious hum coming from his lips sounded more and more frayed. This was insane. He had to be half-mad by now. Jason’s lips twitched into a grin. With this level of control, paired with that dick, the poor kid had potential to wreak havoc on the Gotham casual dating scene. Later, maybe. But for now, Jason quite liked knowing he was the only one…the only one who got to have…this.
He reached up and mussed his hair, caressed his neck, feeling the heat and the fraught tension that ran deeply through every inch of him. “Let go,” he murmured, still moving against him. “L-let go. It’s fine. It’s good.”
“I want to,” Damian hissed at him through gritted teeth, “I want to. I. Want - ”
And then, suddenly, it shook him. He arched his back, let out a last, husky cry, and nearly put his fist through the wall as he came. Jason had never seen anyone come this forcefully, angrily, or desperately before. He wasn’t surprised Damian wasn’t keen on anyone seeing it. But there really was nothing hotter than holding him as sweet, sweet release finally got him.
It took a while until the twitching subsided, but when it did, he rolled off of him immediately, disentangling himself from Jason’s embrace.
There was no pillow talk, no niceties, only their unsteady, pained breathing for a while.
Jason was spread out on his back and couldn’t see himself moving for the next few hours. Next to him, Damian Wayne was back to his usual frowny self, even though his face and chest were still beautifully flushed.
“I’m hungry,” was the first thing he said, after a while. “Do you have food.”
Jason lazily blinked at him. “There’s …a frozen pizza in the freezer, I think. You can have it. I’ll just…lie here for a while.”
Without another comment, Damian got up and padded into the kitchen, where Jason could hear the freezer opening and then a series of muffled curses as Damian struggled with his gas stove. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never seen one of those before. He closed his eyes.
He only noticed that he’d come back when he felt the warmth of his skin right next to him. In the next moment, he gasped as something icy cold was dumped on his chest.
“What th - ”
“It’s beer,” Damian said morosely. “I thought maybe you want one.”
He angled for the can without looking at it. “Thanks. You do know you have to remove the plastic wrap from the pizza before you put it in, right.”
Damian scoffed at him. “Being rich doesn’t make me an idiot, Todd.” There was a pause. “Excuse me.”
Jason sipped his beer and listened to Damian’s naked feet tapering back into the kitchen, then to the new string of curses, and a second later the air filled with the stinging scent of burnt plastic. He grinned. This seemed like a good time for a smoke. He reached for the emergency package he always kept in his nightstand, and lit up. It was probably rude, but it wasn’t as if Damian could complain about the smell, now.
“Well, that was a failure,” Damian reported as he crawled back into bed, where Jason threw a bag of Skittles at him that he’d found next to the cigarettes.
“There.”
The boy tore open the bag without a thanks, and started popping Skittles into his mouth. He’d also somehow found Jason’s TV remote.
“Where’s the History Channel?” He demanded to know, flipping through the channels. “There’s a Stalin marathon on. I forgot to tell Alfred to record it.”
Jason propped himself up on one arm. “You really do have a blackened little heart, don’t you?”
Damian sneered. “You probably have a blackened lung. So I win.”
Jason chuckled, producing a cloud of fine, bluish smoke. “Point taken.”
Now that he’d gotten something to eat and found the History Channel, Damian seemed to be almost making himself comfortable. Jason wasn’t sure what to think about that. He watched his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
“I won’t stay,” Damian assured him, drowsily. “I’ll just…I’ll watch ‘till the next commercial, then I’m off.”
“Sure.” Jason threw a piece of blanket over him.
That next commercial hadn’t even arrived when Damian’s head slumped against Jason’s shoulder and his breathing became deep, steady, peaceful.
Jason let him. Truth be told, he’d planned to kick Robin to the curb right after they’d done the deed. He surely hadn’t planned on having a cuddly sleepover with him. But he hadn’t felt this satisfied or content in days, weeks, months. His guard was practically around his ankles, and yet he wasn’t worried, because he knew neither of them would try anything, at least not tonight.
There was no point in ruining that now.
He’d been convinced that Damian was already asleep, but when he rested his head next to him, the boy moved softly, opening one eye to look at him.
“I’m going to do that to you again in the morning, you know,” he mumbled.
“That’s cool,” Jason told him, closing his eyes.
He wasn’t sure how long they slept, but it was that type of sleep that people like them rarely got; deep, dreamless, serene.
And like all good things, it ended swiftly, cruelly, and with a bang.
He awoke to the indescribable sound of his barricaded bedroom windows shattering, and a second later, two shadowy figures descended on them, capes swooshing in the dark.
Damian was up even faster than he was, balling his fists and getting ready to fight, paying no attention to the fact that he was naked. Jason wasn’t much slower, swiftly throwing himself to the side, grabbing the gun that he kept under his pillow -
Which was promptly knocked out of his hand by a Batarang.
A… -
Damian’s eyes went wide with unspeakable horror. “No,” he hissed, and then screamed, “No. NO!” Then, he bolted right out of bed, wrapped in Jason’s blanket, dove into his tiny bathroom, and slammed the door shut.
Jason groaned, clutching his bleeding hand. It figured. Of course the Dark Knight would not be vexed by one disabled communicator -
Also, that had been his only blanket. So not only did he have Batman and Red Robin in his bedroom, he also was freshly fucked, very tellingly bruised, and completely bare-assed.
The Bat looked at him as if he wanted to bite his face off.
This couldn’t be happening.
Screw being naked. It wasn’t as if things could get worse. He got ready to leap at them, when Drake, who really looked like he’d rather be someplace else, had the gall to put up his hand in a gesture of…what?
“First things first,” he said briskly. “Does that bathroom have a window? Because if it does, he will escape through it.”
As always when they met, Jason had a burning desire to put his fist through Drake’s pointy little face, but there was a note of genuine concern for Damian in his voice that gave him pause. He didn’t exactly want the boy to run through Gotham in a blanket, either.
“…no,” he huffed. “No. No window.”
“Good,” Drake hesitated, then scrunched his nose. “Your bathroom doesn’t have a window…?”, he asked pityingly.
“Okay, you know what - ”
He was halfway to Drake’s throat as Batman got him, slamming his entire weight into him until he collapsed on the bed again, panting. Batman had his knee against Jason’s throat, shaking with the obvious desire to break every bone in his body. He seemed so mad that he wasn’t even capable of talking. Red Robin did all that.
“His clothes?”
Drake was looking back and forth between Batman crushing Jason and the closed bathroom door like a nervous squirrel, which would have been vaguely amusing if he hadn’t been in a world of pain.
“Living room,” Jason croaked at him, and Drake was gone in a red-and-black flash. Leaving him alone with the Bat.
It was strange. He’d seen Bruce Wayne do mundane things like brush his teeth or eat a grapefruit for breakfast, and yet, when he was like this … he knew what those criminals felt. He was imposing. He was beyond compare.
“Aren’t you ashamed?” His former mentor finally managed to hiss, shaking with anger.
Jason looked at him. “I am,” he said flat-out.
The simple honesty in that seemed to throw Batman off a little; apart from that, Drake had returned clutching Damian’s Robin suit. He gave the bathroom door a knock.
“Damian. It’s me. I have your clothes. I’m…I’m just going to hand them to you, all right? That’s all. You don’t even have to come out.”
“Damian, do as he says,” the Caped Crusader barked.
There was a long stretch of silence. But then, the door was cracked open and Damian’s arm shot out, grabbing at his costume.
Batman snapped at Red Robin: “Get him.”
Drake blinked. “But I told h - ”
“I don’t care. Get him. Do it now.”
With a barely audible sigh, Drake pushed his shoulder into the door, and a minute later, Jason could hear all his toiletries go to hell as the third and fifth Robin started brawling in his bathroom, while Damian was screaming “Breach of trust, Drake, breach of TRUST!”
Batman turned his full attention back on him.
“What’s your game, Jason?” He demanded to know, sounding dangerous and, what was worse, personally offended. “What’s your angle? What do you want with him?!”
Jason didn’t have a response. I’m horny and lonely, and your son’s cute seemed like the wrong thing to say.
“I just…wanted him,” he eventually uttered.
And really, what else was there to say.
Batman scowled at that. He looked so furious, and at the same time, as Jason slowly realized, somehow helpless. At once, he understood that despite all his anger, there was nothing Batman could do. The last of his boys was all grown up now, and he could do whatever he wanted, even if it was the Red Hood.
That had to burn his ass something fierce.
He gave him a cocky smile. “You … know how it is, Bruce,” he said. If Batman was going to beat him up for this, he could at least make it count. “Worlds collide. People meet. You and … Grayson would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
The Dark Knight tensed, and then, the weirdest thing happened.
Neither of them said another word. Instead, they exchanged a long, strange, intense “I got the drop on you”-type of look, and then, Batman released his windpipe.
“Stay down,” Batman warned him.
Jason rubbed his throat, coughing, and shot him a dirty look. “Can I grab a pillow?” He asked, pointedly. “To cover my junk?”
There was an awkward silence, and then, Batman abruptly averted his gaze. “Please do.”
In the bathroom, the fighting had died down. Jason had been rooting for Damian to put Drake’s face through the toilet seat, but that hadn’t happened. They both came out looking relatively unscathed. Damian’s Robin suit looked slightly rumpled, but he was wearing it again. He was cracking his knuckles, looking awfully dignified for a teenager whose first one night stand had just been crashed by his dad and his adopted brother.
Drake had a busted lip and a bruised cheek, which Jason appreciated.
“I’m willing to come with you,” Damian informed his father. He didn’t do so much as look at Jason. “I believe we’re done here. Let’s go home.”
“We will,” Bruce promised him, in a tone that would have sent lesser sons running for the hills. “And then we’ll talk.”
Damian’s eyes were gleaming. “Can’t wait.”
“Hey. Hey! HEY!” Jason gaped, incredulously, as they all made to march back out through his window. Did that wretched family really think they could trash his place, ruin his possessions, alert possibly the entire block of his presence, and look at him naked, without any repercussions? He could never use this hideout again!
“Who do you think y - ”
They all stood, looking dispassionately through their visors, while he glared at each of them in turn.
And he realized that Damian had been right. They were so totally, utterly done here. Instead of doing anything, he just barked out a laugh, and got himself another cigarette.
“Yeah…you know what? Fuck off. All of you.”
So they did.
Damian was the last. Jason silently watched him as he climbed onto the windowsill, as nimble as a cat. Good. He was sorta mad at him, but not enough to want him to go splat on the concrete. That’d be a waste. If not for him, certainly for someone.
Though, before he left, Damian suddenly turned, gave Jason the sweetest of diabolical smiles, and mouthed something:
I will find you
And with that, he dove out into the night.