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n.
"B."
He doesn't get an answer.
"B."
Nightwing is bleeding emotions into the secured comm line, heart in his throat, scraped out with a shovel made rusty by old blood. It's a visceral and palpable horror when he keeps going in the graveyard silence that follows his own voice.
"You cannot be fucking with me right now." That infamous alpha pride stripped down to the bone, Dick would bare his throat and beg willingly if Bruce allowed it. His voice is pitched soft and low, damn near desperate when there is a rustling as Jason slides off of Roman Sionis' lap. "Please don't tell me you're actually letting him do this."
This is Jason sinking down to his knees at the back of Black Mask's personal limousine.
There is a listening device wedged between the leather seats of the limousine, placed there during its vehicle service almost a week ago.
Jason may be off comm but he can still be heard clearly through the active device, picking up his voice as he whines, and it is unmistakable as he gets it out around a mouthful of cock. Roman Sionis' cock to be exact while the man digs a hand in against Jason's scalp, bringing his head down until the seam of Jason's mouth is wrapped around the base. All the way until his nose is buried in the coarse hairs there, and it is a sound that fills their shared network of comm lines when the audio from the device comes through live.
Roman’s mutters of praises drag a particularly cutting chill down Dick's spine like a knife carving right into bone.
Dick can't see Bruce from where he is positioned and he is glad for it. He isn't sure he knows how to react if there is just indifference in Bruce's expression.
"You really are quite good at this, Jason." Black Mask says, chuckling as Jason makes another sloppy noise that gets choked off when the head of Roman’s cock hits the back of his throat, leather glove tracing the corner of Jason’s mouth that is all wet with drool and messy with precum. "I'd admit I don't hate it when you're mouthing off but I definitely prefer you all red in the face when you're choking on my cock."
Jason makes another sound to that, a muffled thing that might have been a protest, fading out into the background when Roman is reacting to whatever Jason just did with a resounding groan of his own. The man rumbles on a pleased note.
"Aren't you a sweet thing, baby?"
Nightwing knows this, that the mission outweighs the steps to get to it.
One more soldier in this long enduring war.
After all, he was the first to give himself over to it. But Dick doesn't have to agree to a single thing when that is Jason in line for the firing squad.
Nightwing is physically shaking in his position above the city, watching the inconspicuous limousine as it makes a turn around the corner and heads towards Batman’s location. Not daring to move for fear of coming apart right here and right then where he’s not allowed when it puts the entire op at risk.
His imagination doesn't just give way to Black Mask leaning back in the seats, but also to Jason on his knees between the man's thighs as Roman gets both hands in his hair and yanks him down in quick short bursts that hurt. The man bottoming out on every thrust even as Jason chokes, his throat clenching down on the intrusion that prevents him from sucking in any air that can actually reach his lungs.
Dick's head only sees Jason being used like he is some thing instead of some one while Roman fucks his mouth. Keeping him in place for long enduring seconds that stretch out into minutes before he is spilling into the back of Jason's throat. Coupled by the soundtrack played right into his ear, with Black Mask sounding so fucking pleased, it sickens Dick to the core.
This high up, where nothing is supposed to touch him, not in any way that he cannot brush off with a perfect back-flip he can complete in deep sleep, Nightwing wears his heart on his uniform when he comes through the line again.
"I can't do this, B."
He yanks his earpiece out, and the breath that comes out of him is shuddering.
b.
"It makes you so mad, doesn't it?"
Jason knows him, too well it seems when Bruce can hear the smirk from Jason's voice alone. The cave is empty save for them.
"You don't know just how much."
Every drop of Jason's boots, each scuff across the floor of the cave as he gets close, Bruce feels the thrum of barely contained anger lining every emotion that he can imagine to feel within his range from one to five as he waits for Jason to come to him. On Jason's own terms, always, a promise he made on that very first night, and one he will keep until he dies.
"Trust me, B." Jason physically turns Bruce's chair so they come face to face, his mouth curled into that exact smirk Bruce imagined. It is all thrill that runs through him, and Bruce can feel that getting underneath his own skin. "You aren't subtle."
No, he really isn't, he can't be, and Bruce is glad Jason can tell.
Bruce is muted in his senses.
And it is both a blessing and a scorn when he was there for Dick's ruts, and then Jason's heats too.
Bruce isn't rendered useless in the face of what should be a soft sweet scent. It still doesn't take away a thing when Jason undoes the buttons of his shirt, works from his throat all the way down. Bruce wants him, badly and always. He tracks Jason's hands as he drops his suit jacket to the ground, his skinny black tie, and then the fall of his shirt as he gets it off. His belt meets the floor next, the loud clang as the metal of the buckle collides with the floor. Jason pauses with the button to his pants undone, makes a deliberate motion of smoothing out the creases like there is any possibility that Bruce can forget what Jason had just been doing with another man barely an hour ago in a separate part of the city.
Jason's thumbs are hooked into the waistband of his dress pants. He stops, searching for something in Bruce's eyes, and Bruce isn't sure if Jason finds what he is looking for. But Jason goes through with the motion, drawing his briefs down with his pants.
"Still want me?" He asks, his voice dropping low, wavering on a tentative edge as the fabric comes away soaked and sticky at the seat of his briefs in rivulets of translucent white.
It is the soft sink of his bottom lip as he bites down. It is the sight of his cunt, all pink and puffy and used while semen drips to trail down the inside of his thighs as he kicks out of his pants, leaving himself completely naked in the chill of the cave, presenting a picture of something less than desirable and maybe even despicable if anyone else had a say.
"Always." Bruce answers, and there is a finality to how he draws to his full height to close that final distance, leaving Jason with no room to have any doubt that Bruce wouldn't want him in any way he is allowed to have him. He drags his gauntlet off before he brings a hand up to Jason's cheek, tips his jaw up so he can press his mouth to his.
Jason has never once needed Bruce to be sweet with him. Yet, Bruce still kisses him with saccharine on his tongue.
Bruce has long since figured out how much Jason likes it when he holds on to him in a tight-hard grip, so he never holds back. But when the whimper slips out the moment he presses Jason to the flat surface of the computer desk, Bruce tries to withdraw instantly because: "You're hurt."
Only Jason's vice grip on his forearms keeps him from backing away completely.
"Nothing permanent."
Jason's ass is bright red and sore to the touch, stings a bit too when it digs into the edge of the desk. But that is all Bruce can focus on.
Bruce says again. "He hurt you."
"And I was the one that allowed him." Jason explains, he knows Bruce doesn't agree but he is not looking for him to agree. Jason smiles, and it is placating in the face of the fury that burns in Bruce's thundering expression. He smiles, and Bruce wants more than anything to keep that.
Bruce has to glance away for a seething few seconds before he can look at Jason again. "He still hurt—"
"Not in any way that matters." Jason says, his insistence going soft around the edges as Bruce's touch goes tender, a sigh falling from between his parted lips as he sinks into every caress. "So, what's it going to be, boss?" He breathes out, pressing his weight into Bruce's hands, trusts him to hold him up. "Are you going to make me beg too, or are you going to fuck me the way I want it?"
"Jay," Bruce starts as he rubs the head of his cock against Jason's slit, not quite pushing in to the hilt, all in one go the way Jason wants it even as he tries to buck his hips into it, "I'm going to fuck every last trace of him out of you."
Jason's laugh is shared with the press of Bruce's mouth to his, his words are a murmur with barely any distance between them, swapped in spit across the tip of their tongues on every syllable.
"I'll hold you to it then."
j.
"Who could've imagined the Red Hood would look this good underneath all that bat-issued armour?"
Roman rumbles, and he is leering. His gaze dragging hot and heavy over him, made all the more so when his fingers are following.
Instead of an answer, Jason just shudders on an exhale for Roman's benefit.
His legs are shoved apart, spread out into the shape of a capital M, Roman has three fingers crooked as they touch him between the thighs, trailing from his cock to his balls to his opening before he is grazing a knuckle over his hole on a carefully made threat that Jason almost has to bite his lips bloody to keep from outright laughing at.
Because if anal is Black Mask's warning to a rowdy omega with an affinity for bringing down the kingpins of Gotham then Jason has more bad news for the man: There aren't many things left in this world that can be done to him that could still shock him.
Jason swallows thickly, downs a scoff to get Roman hooked further and deeper as he shows him just how much this is affecting him. He sucks in sharply on an inhale as Roman's hand moves again, dragging over his slit before he is pushing two fingers inside, murmuring the man's name just as he spreads Jason's cunt wide open.
His cheeks go pink, flushing prettily because he might not be dripping wet like Roman wants him to be but he is still slick between the legs from deepthroating the man, and it feels fucking obscene to be exposed like this.
Roman looks at him like having Red Hood spread out across the backseat of his limousine is a feat.
It isn't, Jason isn't a particularly hard laid.
It's easy to get him in bed and between the sheets screaming your name, but Roman doesn't know that.
Jason makes a very sweet noise when Roman finally fucks into him.
Roman feels differently inside of him, fills him with indifference when the breach is made without any preparation; just a rough shove of his hips and a guttural grunt. Roman's hands grip his wrists, forces Jason to arch his spine as the man yanks him in deeper, working him on his cock and back and forth. There is a flimsy illusion here like Jason isn't sure if he wants to pull closer or pull away all together.
He is pretty sure Roman can tell. He is also pretty sure Roman doesn't care.
It's a quick, hard fuck— on top of the backseats while his hands scrape across the leather seats without any real purchase on every thrust. Roman cracks a hand over his ass when he doesn't keep up with the noises, falling silent in the grunts of a man making an effort to fuck him so thoroughly.
Jason looks at Roman, sees every terrible thing the man is capable of and wonders how he doesn't feel a smidgen of fear when he is at his mercy like this. He moans loudly for Roman's benefit, keeps up with the charade as he says his name, a litany of no's breaking down into a hoarse fucked out yes and then a softer little please before Roman is coming inside of him.
He's had better but he's also had plenty of much worse fucks if he's in the habit of being honest with anyone.
Control is vital.
And if this is how he gains it, grip slippery with blood, his eyes glinting that Lazarus glow then so be it. And if this is how he maintains it, on his back with his legs spread wide or with his mouth wrapped around a bad man's cock then Jason isn't afraid to go through with it.
"Fu—"
Bruce swallows down the rest of it as he sinks inside of him.
Jason can feel all of Bruce, likes all of it, down to the way the head of Bruce's cock pushes right up against his cervix on every thrust where he bottoms out. And it is a strange thing to feel when he's already been fucked less than an hour ago by another man. He doesn't think it is as simple a thing as just how deep Bruce goes each time he drives into him, but he likes the way it feels to have all of Bruce inside of him, and he tells him just that when he whines into another kiss that Bruce presses to his mouth.
This always feels new, no matter how many times Bruce does this with him, and Jason opens his mouth eagerly with every single one— even on the turns that Bruce keeps it chaste, catching just the corner of his lips. Because it all feels like their first when Bruce was his first.
A first kiss that didn't taste of cum still bitter across his tongue, cloying inside of his throat.
It's a lot of leeway that he didn't think he would get but it's a lesson he's made Bruce learn once, and then again and again since his return from the afterlife. This is his operation, his sting, and he will damn well use himself as he pleases. What Bruce wants of him afterwards is his to offer and Bruce's to decide whether he is worth anything to him at all.
Bruce doesn't pin him to the desk, the man simply leans in closer when Jason winds his arms around his neck.
He lifts up for another kiss, and it is a sharp stark reminder that there is only so much he can control when he catches the brilliant Nightwing blue in the peripheral of the cave. His grip goes just as hard as Bruce's at his hips, knuckles bone white, voice falling to just panting now, and Jason is quiet as he comes with Bruce following hard.
Dick Grayson stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking like he is in free fall without a line.
n.
"Um, your golden boy’s here."
Jason's voice is a little worse for wear. And even with most of him hidden from view by Batman's cape, Dick hardly needs to be trained by the world's best detective to see the trail of all of Jason's clothes on the floor of the cave. Dick doesn't know what he is waiting for, shock like ice, cold in his veins.
Maybe it is the way Bruce nods at Jason's statement.
Maybe it is his head filling in all the blanks as to why Bruce didn't want him on Red Hood's op.
"Tell me I'm wrong." Dick says, breathing harshly out between his teeth, his words coming out in a quiet simmering seethe, and Dick hasn't had the urge to break something so badly for so long.
Except it all comes rearing its ugly head, and he thinks he could hate the two of them for bringing it all back in one fell swoop.
"You're not." Bruce answers the same moment Jason goes. "You're dead fucking wrong."
"You really shouldn't look so surprised."
Is what Jason starts with, sitting naked atop the desk, having shrugged off a shirt that Bruce tries to hand him.
The two of them are left alone, Bruce in the shower with the pointed glare that Dick fixes him while Jason just nods when the man glances to him. Dick knows Jason is trying to prove a point, somehow, somewhere in this vast murky pit that Dick didn't even know he's stepped inside of until he's choking from just below the surface.
"I'm not—" Dick isn't sure he has the capacity to figure out the point Jason is trying to make when there are blossoming bruises all over his wrists and hips and the fact is that Dick doesn't know which belongs to Roman Sionis and which belongs to Bruce fucking Wayne. "It's not surprise."
"Oh, so you're appalled then."
Jason doesn't even flinch, and Dick isn't sure what hurts more that he is unfeeling in all of this or that Dick is feeling his portion too.
"Stop putting words in my mouth, Jay."
He peels the domino mask from his face, tosses it to the side. And there is a fair level of dejection in that motion drawing them back to an equal footing even if it doesn't feel fair at all.
Jason huffs out a breath, like he is trying to ground himself too, and Dick is drowning in his frustration that mounts and mounts and mounts. Dick waits and for one long unwavering moment, he is sure Jason is simply going to get up and leave. But Jason swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing at his throat decorated in bright red hickies like a collar at his neck. His voice drawn soft and low to ask because even if Jason doesn't want to say it, he cares, just that little bit.
"Then what are you?"
Dick blinks back tears he is not allowed to shed and falls back on a very familiar feeling he's known all his life.
"I'm angry that I've saved so many but none of them were you."
Dick has a scent of fresh sheets put out to dry in the sunlight.
While there is an empty space where Jason’s scent should be.
Wiped clean, not a trace, an absence of scent across his skin even after the most strenuous mission. Jason sweats and he still reeks after a night of patrol but there is nothing identifying to it. The only scent Dick has ever been able to pick up from Jason since his death is the smell of rot and decay that makes the hairs at the nape of Dick’s neck prickle. And it is only ever under extreme distress that Jason’s non-existent scent turns into a soft waft of fruit ripened through to rotten, the smell spilling out in trickles like he is splitting right down the center.
There is none of that right now.
"Bruce learned this once, and he's learned it plenty of times since. So you better start too." Jason tells him pointedly, holding his gaze as steady as if they could be talking about the shitty Gotham weather. "It's not your choice to make. And it's definitely not B's."
Dick opens his mouth but Jason's eyes flash a warning at him.
"It's mine, Dick. But it seems like you all keep forgetting that."
Every word he shares, even in their deliberate lack of painfully explicit details, feels like a live flaying to Dick.
"If it isn't clear yet, it means I'm going to keep doing what I do to do exactly what needs to be done."
It means Jason will kill or, if it is more advantageous, fuck his way through the villains he deems necessary.
Dick picks a clean spot on the desk and sits down next to Jason to work Jason's words over and over inside of his head. The silence that settles is one of trepidation, Jason is drawn to the hum of the batcomputer while Dick tries not to think about the fall of water still coming from the shower. Dick knows his next words weigh very differently in worth to them but Dick needs to say it.
And just maybe, Jason needs to hear it.
"I'm still sorry you had to do it."
"Dickiebird," Jason isn't gentle but he tries for Dick's sake when he gives him a half-smile that's just a little crooked, "I'm not."
The water stops.
b.
"Can I?"
Jason's question is almost shy.
Short of giving him the world, Dick's answer is of infinite indulgence. Bruce knows a feeling or two about that.
"Anything, little wing."
He knows these things about Jason even if he really shouldn't.
That Jason's lips are chapped. That there is a healing split at his bottom lip that keeps flooding the taste of copper in every touch of their mouths with the way he is always near haphazardous with it even when there is no rush.
That Jason isn't very good at kissing if truth must be told.
But the inside of his mouth is all soft heat when he opens up, and he always does at the simplest swipe of tongue, pliant when there is the edge of teeth just grazing against the seam. Bruce knows all of these things intimately, all of them secrets to be taken to his grave.
Bruce doesn’t know how to look away.
When Dick kisses Jason at his tentative request, he kisses him deeply, an outpouring of affection that is pure and genuine even if Jason doesn’t believe in anything as altruistic as that. And between one frantic kiss and the next, when Jason climbs into Dick’s lap, Bruce watches Jason’s hand reach for the hidden zipper of the Nightwing uniform. Drawn down all the way to the base of his spine, Jason touches the tan expanse of Dick’s skin that is revealed to him.
Bruce revels in it.
Jason might never notice this for himself, but he is touch-starved, quiet in his reactions but reacting every time. Bruce has known it since the first time they fucked with Jason yanking him down over him, and he is reminded each time after that when Jason comes to him, leaning into the simplest touch of fingers across skin.
Dick is different than him when it comes to Jason.
Dick gives Jason free reign, goes where Jason pulls him to, helps when Jason is tugging at the uniform insistently enough to get the point across that he wants it off. Bruce stays right where he is, water dripping from the ends of his hair while Jason rubs himself up against the protective cup still underneath the Nightwing costume, smearing Bruce’s cum all over Dick’s lap as he tries to get some friction on each rock of his hips, the motion shaky when he is moving back just a fraction with his mouth all kiss-swollen and red to say:
“Haven’t had an alpha knot inside me yet.” Pitched low and coming out slow, every syllable sticky with allure laid thick over each word like honey. “You gonna be my first tonight, pretty bird?”
Dick leans back against the desk so he can work his uniform over and off his hips, one hand curling steady at Jason’s hips, fingers fitting over the bruises Bruce himself made. Dick doesn’t rise to the bait Jason lays at the part of his mouth, looking for something ugly like jealousy.
Dick is anything but ugly, incapable of something Bruce clings to for a peace of mind: that of all the bad men in his life, Jason always comes back to him like he is the worst one of them all.
"Like I said, Jay." Reverence like glaze across his lips, Dick makes him the same promise Bruce could never really say out loud. "Anything."
It is a little bit precarious with the way Jason is riding Dick on top of the desk, their strength on display in the eerie blue glow that the batcomputer casts over them.
It is a very deliberate show for one.
Bruce sees the way Dick is rougher than he tends to be but just shy of how Jason likes it.
Callouses across his hands, Dick runs his fingers across Jason’s skin, marveling at the scars and the healing welts, tugging and pinching at his nipples until they are the same shade of brilliant red to match the colour over his ass. Dick never lets up with his kisses, shifting a hand to cup Jason’s chest, squeezing down firmly until he gets Jason faltering in his pace. Every motion of him coming up and dropping right back down gets the puffy peak of his tits dragging harshly against Dick’s palm.
Jason is a quiet fuck, near silent with his pleasure in the breathy little noises that dissipates at the tip of his tongue while Dick is all groans and grunts and praises falling like prayers around them as Jason finally gets all of the alpha’s cock inside of him. Dick is thicker than Bruce, and Jason feels all of it when the head of his cock grinds so deeply inside of him, pushing right against the opening of his cervix just as Bruce did each time Dick thrusts up without any warning.
Their faces are flushed in exertion, skin buzzing with frantic energy that keeps them moving without an end in sight.
Jason keeps one hand over Dick's chest, feels the thundering beat of his heart against his sternum as he is forced out a choked up little sigh that is all pleasure. Physically shaking from his knees to the inside of his thighs on every turn that he rises up, it is more than just over-sensitivity igniting across his skin. It is the start of Dick’s knot catching at the rim of Jason’s opening each time he falls back on the alpha’s knot.
Hair sweat soaked and swept back, teeth sinking down on his lips on a soft whine, a breath of ah, toes curling as he comes when he drops down harder than intended. He comes streaking white all over Dick's stomach, clenching down and fluttering like a tight hot vice all around Dick.
Dick is a litany of swear words, all of it coming out freely on a harsh gasp with the sight of Jason above him.
Bruce wonders the true weight in how he cannot look away.
Jason slumps a little in his afterglow, not even protesting as Dick moves him for himself, leaving bruises right over where Bruce left his. Jason is on the perfect edge of too much, letting his own weight keep him on Dick’s cock while every thrust has him working that much more of the knot inside of him.
When it finally catches, Jason blinks his misty eyes open to look to Bruce from across the cave.
j.
"B," he rasps out, "you said you wouldn't make me beg."
The shadow of the Bat to fall over him comes at his beckoning, and there is respite to that.
That he still has this level of control over the man.
Bruce comes up to them from behind, steadies one hand at his waist while he swipes two fingers across the place where Jason is stretched out wide on Dick’s knot, catching the overflowing slick and the trickle of cum leaking out with his fingertips.
He is aching where he's taken Roman, Bruce, and now Dick too. All of them filling him up like there is an empty bottomless pit inside of him that wants all of this. And he does, in some strange sick way, detached from it all.
"Never," Bruce tells him, and it gets a noise out of him when Bruce rubs the pads of his slippery fingers against his hole. "Not unless you want to."
A noise builds halfway to anticipation.
A stuttering in his breathing already disrupted by the way Dick pulses buried inside of him.
Jason inhales sharply at the initial press of Bruce’s finger inside of him. One into the dry burning heat of his core temperature, paved by his own slick, Bruce eases a finger all the way to the second knuckle on the first attempt.
Bruce is painfully patient with him, rubbing that single digit all along the inside of his walls as he opens him up to take the full size of another man’s cock. It’s a dulling little motion that is soothing on repeat as his body accommodates the intrusion. He is far more distracted by the path of kisses Bruce trails across the back of his neck, the man’s mouth brushing over scent glands rendered useless in his mutilation in the pit.
Jason is a little bit dazed by the time Bruce finally adds a second along the first, pushing both fingers inside of his ass down to the last knuckle.
“Jay, I wish you could see yourself right now.” Dick tells him while Bruce rumbles his assent.
Jason shakes a little in the grip that Dick keeps on him, whines just loud enough to be heard over the opened mouth kisses Dick keep drawing him into. Each one long and lingering, and Jason nearly misses the third finger Bruce pushes inside of him.
“You’re fucking exquisite.” Dick keeps going, groaning loud enough to drown out Jason’s own little sound at those words alone.
Jason finds it easier and far simpler to focus on the sensation. That he wants it deeper and harder. And it’s a very specific kind of dirty little wish on his bucket list when he’s already kicked the bucket once. Jason doesn't ask for it but they give him exactly what he wants.
With Dick still knotted in him, Bruce exchanges his fingers for his cock, and fills him right up too.
Here is what Bruce and Dick will probably never understand. It's exhilarating to have the scum of this earth fold for him, giving in to all of their baser instincts for a taste of him.
A bad seed planted to grow and grow. All the nutrients and water used yield a rotten fruit. He’s not one to belong, and they can bite his neck bloody but he isn’t capable of submitting, not in the way they want him to.
Just as he would with his Glocks or his Kris blade, when placed in Jason's full control, sex can be made into a precision weapon too.
As a kid, he's done plenty of terrible things to get by.
Playing into dirty grubby hands of men like a lamb to be slaughtered while they grab and grope at him, baring his throat and smiling the most lovely damning thing before he is parting his mouth for their degradation. There are some truly vile things to be done in the name of survival.
Here is the difference. This isn't him young and helpless and desperate.
This is him bringing the wicked curve of his blade to their throats and dragging it across the skin to make them bleed. A cascade of red to fill his vision in the name of justice. It's nice because this doesn't come close to any of all the things he was made to do. Bruce and Dick can know the truth, that it doesn’t bother him, not in the ways that it would them, not in any way that truly matters at all.
There is a difference even if they do not see it. Jason doesn’t need them to believe him for it to hold true as an absolute.
However misplaced, justice is still justice and justice is righteous.
His body is a tool, his sexuality is to be used. And sex, it is just one more bargaining chip on this table for him.
Stretched beyond anything he's used to, their cocks rubbing inside of him, it's the sensation of being filled up fuller than full.
The simplest sound to make up a single word is hard to get out from between his lips when Jason is strung taut like a bow between them. But even without a voice, he makes Bruce get a little rough with him, hand in his hair and yanking until he gets that good burn at the roots.
Bruce leans in to bite his ear, trailing his mouth from the shell to the lobe and muttering little praises of how hot and tight and fucking good he feels. If Jason isn't already soaked between the legs, he would be getting embarrassingly wet. Instead he just squeezes his eyes shut, gulping in the cool brisk air of the cave each time Dick gives him the chance to breathe. His lips hurt from kissing, his tongue all numb from the way Dick keeps drawing it inside of his mouth, lapping and sucking at the tip with every kiss.
"Good?" Bruce murmurs, that single word like a brand across his skin.
Even as a beta, Bruce still commands a room when it gets Jason nodding, leaning forward to brace himself over Dick while his spine arches to take Bruce deeper inside of him.
It's unfair. Because the answer is that it is good even if he’s never needed sex to feel good to get off on it.
“Jay,” Dick starts, biting off a groan at the way Bruce’s thrusts makes his knot tug at Jason’s cunt, “you’d tell us if this is too much for you, won’t you?”
It is too much, has been too much since the start, but that’s precisely the point. He won’t tell them a thing aside from the obvious and he will lie through his teeth even when asked for the simple truths.
“Y-yes.” He tells them with a gasp.
Bruce is close and he can feel the way Dick's knot is slowly going down.
Jason himself is open and wet, fucked through to thorough and completely exhausted. Jason has no idea how many times he's come. He is shooting blanks, coming on nothing and he can barely feel his cunt aside from the wet hot sensation of Dick's semen messily leaking out of him as Bruce presses his weight against his back as he fucks into him one more time.
Promises are made and promises are kept.
"Next time Black Mask tries to put his hands on you, he’s going to know exactly why he shouldn’t." Bruce growls out, and it’s a sound that makes him go downright pliant even if it is coming from a man that has never been an alpha.
If he still has half his brain with him, Jason can flat out admit that Roman hasn’t been on his mind since Bruce first put his hands on him. The only reminder left is the slight sting of his ass from where Roman smacked a hand or two and then several more times on each side. It makes Jason grin a little to think Bruce can’t quite get the image of him getting down on his knees for a crime boss out of his head.
“Gonna show the world exactly who I belong to, aren’t you?”
Jason asks but really, he doesn’t want any of the answers either one of them can give him. It’s sweet that they think he is made for more than just this. It makes him laugh at the thought that Dick came all this way with every intention to rip Bruce a new one just to end up in this predicament.
Tuning out Bruce, Jason leans down and kisses what might have been an affirming reply coming from Dick’s mouth until all he can make out are the sweet soft sounds of the golden boy groaning.
In all the blank spaces of what’s left of his head, he wonders.
If this is about anything other than being utterly fucked, well then, he is probably doing this wrong too.