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They aren’t a thing.
It’s one of the unspoken rules between them, but it’s one that’s set in stone. Dick has long accepted that– and if he has feelings about that, issues with calling it for what it is? Well, that’s firmly his fucking problem, and he needs to get over it.
Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe when the other person is the one that is emotionally unavailable, it’s easier. It means that he isn’t the asshole constantly being the let down; there are no dates for Dick Grayson to miss, if there just aren’t any dates.
There are a few other rules.
They don’t fucking get serious about the fact that Jason died. They don’t even begin to try and untangle that mess of emotion– and Dick, frankly, doesn’t know if it’s because Jason is sick of how hung up he is over it, or just… doesn’t want to face the emotion behind that.
Don’t get emotional.
Don’t bring up bullshit.
Theoretically, that means that their… whatever it is, it’s simple. Casual. Easy. They aren’t a thing, there isn’t over a decade of emotion behind it, there’s no messiness of not-brothers or failed mentorships or survivor guilt or anger about their father figure bubbling up in the background, a constant brewing storm, ready to rip them apart.
It works.
Dick is currently telling himself that it works, because his phone just pinged with a message from Jason after weeks of the man ghosting him and he is not all bent out of shape over it. He hasn’t been moping, upset that Jason Todd was off traipsing around with Roy Harper again, leaving him alone to his perfectly good and happy life in Bludhaven.
He’s not fucking oscillating wildly between mad fluttering in his chest and desperate, needy preening and anger that all it takes is one goddamn message and he feels ready to burst with emotion. He isn’t slipping into the bathroom to run fingers through his hair for the thousandth time, to make sure he looks casually put together and not like he’s desperate to see Jason, like he’s a man stranded in a desert, parched and dying, and all he needs is the taste of Jason Todd on his tongue–
“Get it the fuck together, Grayson,” Dick tells himself, point-fucking-blank.
He doesn’t need to change his clothes again. He doesn’t need to look good. Jason had texted asking him to get dinner - Dick knows what that means. Either he wants a free meal and help with a case, or they’re about to embark on another insane, whirlwind of a thing, an unlabelled, definitively casual fling that will pry open his ribcage, rip his heart out, and spit and stomp on it.
Fuck, he’s thirty years old. Dick knows better, and he knows that he could walk away, permanently put those boundaries up, and Jason would just shrug and accept it, remove Dick Grayson from his potential booty calls list and move him back firmly to ‘reluctantly trustworthy contacts’ - someone to call in for a favour, on something a little too unsavory for the Bats, but toeing the line enough that Nightwing will show up.
He probably reeks of desperation. Dick sighs; he’s in front of the mirror again, artfully tousling his bangs. There’s no masking the dark circles under his eyes, but at least he’s dressed sharply - he’s not trying to impress Jason, just remind him of the hard curves, the lean muscle, everything he’s fucking missing out on.
Good enough.
—-
The food, at least, is good.
Dick tries to focus on the tangible, simple things: the chair is mildly uncomfortable, because Jason had slid into the booth side, tucked himself up against the corner, and Dick couldn’t deprive him. That’s something Jason’s never outgrown - that half-feral street kid that Bruce had taken in, he’d always made sure to get his back to a wall, eyes scanning for the closest exit. Survival instincts. It’d worked for him on the streets, made him too cocky, too confident, and…
Fuck. Breaking rules. Thinking about forbidden topics.
Anyway, the food is good.
Dick reaches for another slice of the bread; this place comes with a weird spread that shouldn’t be good, but is. He’s pretty sure it’s cucumber, fresh and light, and fucking delicious.
“Florida again?” he asks Jason carefully.
The other man rips at his own piece of bread, shoving it into his face voraciously. Dick knows better than to worry - that’s another thing he just can’t do - but he sees the way Jason’s a little leaner than he was last time, his face sharp, angular. Dick hopes he’s taking care of himself. He hopes that Jay’s whole life isn’t wrapped up in Roy again, and everything that mess of a man brings in.
“For a while,” Jason says dismissively. “Hit both coasts. I was lying low.”
Dick tries to keep his expression neutral, and Jason outright laughs at the piss-poor job he’s doing. “Fuck off, Grayson. I’m capable of keeping myself out of trouble.”
“Sure you are,” Dick says with a casual grin, throwing it right back. It’s easier when they drop the pretense, when they stop trying to be stiff and nice to each other. “And that’s why you’re being as vague as humanly possible.”
“That’s just the trust issues,” Jason says with a shrug. “Can never really trust you aren’t wearing a wire.”
Dick tenses, and he’s sure it’s visible - he’s never really been able to fully know what to do about this huge, gaping wound between them. “You know I wouldn’t.”
“ ‘course I do. Not intentionally,” Jason says with a shrug. “You’re too trusting.”
This isn’t going the way Dick wanted it to at all - and by that, it’s going the exact way he anticipated it would. He hates this, hates the baggage, and the way he doesn’t even know how the fuck to work through it. His usual method is to either sidestep, or pick a fight. It never really ends well - but some ends, they’re better than others.
“I trusted you when everyone else said that was a shit idea,” Dick points out.
That makes Jason laugh, and Dick hates that his heart pounds, his breath catches, he’s all stupid and dumb and gone with the simple, sincere sound of it.
“It was a shit idea. When have I ever been a good influence?” Jason shoots back, reaching for his glass of wine. They’re sharing a red that Jason had picked out. It was way too expensive; Dick is so fucking happy to indulge that he ignored the price.
“There’s probably been once or twice,” Dick says, with a shrug and a sly smile.
The main courses come out, and Jay’s eyes go all wide and shiny as his chicken parmesan - a huge portion - is put down in front of him.
“Nah. That’s just bias getting in the way,” Jason says with a gleam in his eye, and then he’s digging in. Dick’s own pasta is full of vegetables, a facade of health, even though he’ll be working it off anyway, one way or another.
They both shovel pasta in their faces for a moment - it’s a guilty pleasure of Dick’s, one that he’s more than happy to indulge in. Jason’s always had food scarcity issues, but he’s also had issues follow him into adulthood that is just another thing they don’t talk about. He doesn’t take proper care of himself.
Either way, food always does something, calms some wild and frenetic part of Jason’s brain. Dick knows this about him - if he said it, Jason would bite his fucking head off. He just waits.
After several voracious, desperate bites, Jason pauses. He takes a sip of his wine, pokes at his food, swirls some pasta around with his fork.
“Sorry,” he says, voice lowering in that way that means he’s sincere. “I meant to… I didn’t…”
Dick doesn’t pry, doesn’t talk. He simply eats a piece of broccoli out of his pasta.
Jason sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing.
“I didn’t mean to ghost,” he says finally. “Not this time.”
That’s…
Dick is surprised. He hopes that he masks that he’s surprised, because that’s the fastest way to lose the other man, to end up right back where they started. This is different, this is out of the established rulebook, and there’s a part of him that wants to talk, even though that’s the worst fucking way to handle this.
“It’s okay,” is what he says, “I’m pretty used to it by now, Jay.”
Jason stares at his wine; his eyes are so bright, that unnatural green that makes it truly impossible to forget what he’s been through. Dick can still close his eyes and remember what Jay’s eyes looked like before, what the Lazarus Pit robbed from him. He’s probably the only person in the whole world who truly remembers.
(Bruce would say he remembers, but what he remembers is all imprints, his own big, bottled down emotion overwhelming everything, overwriting the kid that Jason was, the adult he is now–)
No. Stop.
“You’re a fucking terrible liar, Dick,” is what Jason chooses to say.
Well, fuck.
Dick reaches for his own wine, taking a long, deep sip, He reminds himself that as much as mother hens about Jason, as much as he’s nitpicking the other man’s eating habits, he’s pretty sure he had garbage, empty carbs for his last several meals. Be careful, Dick tells himself.
“You don’t want to have this conversation, Jason,” Dick replies. “And I really don’t feel like being goaded into a fight.”
“You are so fucking diplomatic these days,” Jason grumbles in response, kicking at his foot under the table. He’s wearing those stupid steel-toed boots and it hurts and Dick wants to hiss about the fact that he didn’t sign up for a bruised shin. “I miss when I could just shoot you, instead of using my goddamn words.”
Dick laughs. “Honestly? Same, sometimes. You ran less when you were shooting me.”
Jason shoots him a dark look. “Isn’t that the fucking problem, Dickhead?”
There’s something there, something that is unspoken, but feels like a livewire, like Dick has been struck by fucking lightning. The emotion takes root and suddenly spreads, fucking invisible Lichtenberg patterns scarring over his heart, his chest, spearing down his ribs and into the pit of his stomach and threatening to burn him alive and whole.
“West coast, huh?” Dick asks careful, casual, after a few heartbeats of sharp silence between them. It’s heavy, the air suddenly thick, like it’s going to storm, but it’s just the two of them, here, in a quiet corner of a nice restaurant. “Been a while since I’ve made it out there. How was the weather?”
“Fucking hot for February,” Jason says with a grumble. “Really wish we hadn’t experienced this global warming apocalyptic shit during my lifetime. Should’ve stayed dead.”
Dick laughs at that, truly does, because Jason’s shitty, morbid, impossible sense of humour is goddamn music to his soul, and it’s easy to joke and move on. This is better, this is easier, this is ignoring things and playing firmly by the rules.
“Yeah? What were you there for?” he asks, hoping against hope.
“Intercepted some unsavory shit in Miami,” Jason says with a shrug. “Chased ‘em all across the country, ended up in San Diego.”
“Yeah? Drugs?” Dick asks, leaning in closer, voice lowering.
“I fucking wish. Sickos trafficking immigrants,” Jason replies, voice lowering further, after a furtive glance around.
Then Jason starts to talk, loosens up, and just like that, they fall into the cycle again, something impossible and visceral and the most real thing Dick’s ever experienced in his whole life - because it’s as honest as it is fleeting, and he can’t escape.
—
They go back to Dick’s place this time. Sometimes, it’s one of their various safehouses. Sometimes, they get a hotel room - as impersonal as it is, it’s easiest to untangle fantasy from reality in those sterile, curated rooms - and sometimes, they argue bitterly and leave separately. Worse still, sometimes they make eyes at each other all night, only for Jason to bite his lip so hard it draws a little well of blood - only to awkwardly offer Dick a few drags of his cigarette and then stalk off into the night.
But tonight is… strange. A liminal space, in the fragmented crossings of their separate lives.
“Sorry it’s a mess,” Dick says with an awkward laugh.
Jason grins. “No you’re not. Like you actually care about my opinion.”
“I care,” Dick says quickly, and then catches himself, admits the truth. “But not that much. You’re not going to judge me.”
Jason kicks off his boots, and now that they’re alone in Dick’s (admittedly, messy) apartment, the door locked and bolted, the various safety mechanisms engaged, he slips out of his heavy leather jacket.
“I’m always judging you,” he points out.
“Not for the state of my apartment,” Dick replies swiftly.
Jason slips into his space so easily, it almost makes him breathless. “I dunno, Dickbag. You didn’t get your air fixed for an entire month last summer. The fucking brat had to bully you into it. I was judging the fuck out of you.”
Dick gives easily, his body opening for Jason to slide in. Arms wind around his waist, as Jason loops arms around his shoulders. The height difference is always a little hot jolt in the pit of Dick’s stomach - he remembers Jay being so small, so fragile. Now he’s got all those inches, but he’s not as bulky as he makes himself out to be. He’s not as tough as he pretends, he’s still…
“And why would you judge that? You don’t live here,” Dick says with a wry smile.
Jason ducks his head down, and he bites Dick’s lower lip - the sharp little burst of pain blossoms, goes right to Dick’s brain and makes him want to fight back just as much as it makes him want to submit, to let Jason Todd manhandle him and do whatever the fuck he wants.
“Maybe I would if you’d fixed your air,” Jason grumbles, and then he kisses him, and all the smart, logical thought leaves Dick’s stupid, horny brain.
Maybe he should put weight into Jason’s words - but instead, he’s focused on the tongue pressing at the seam of his lips. It’s not fair when Jason does that, gives little bits of himself while he’s being so distracting. Dick groans, opens his mouth, their tongues tangling together in heat and saliva and the tang of copper as his bitten lip protests.
Jason half groans, half gasps, a hand lifting to tangle in Dick’s hair, tugging him closer and holding him there like his life depends on it. Maybe it does - maybe this second, cursed life, it’s all tied to Dick Grayson, the two of them impossibly intertwined in a way that they both are outrunning –
They’re failing. They’re falling.
Dick laps eagerly into Jason’s mouth, delves into wet heat and tries to eat him alive. He nips at his lower lip, sucks the flesh into his mouth and teases until the other man moans. God, the sound; it goes right to Dick’s cock, already beginning to stiffen. He’s lost, he’s gone, he dreams of the days that Jason comes back and inevitably brings them back here.
He’s barely even aware that they’re moving until Jason’s got him backed up across the living room; the back of Dick’s shins hits the couch, and without thinking, he slides backwards. The contact breaks - just for a moment - and then Jason’s in his lap, strong, powerful thighs spreading to straddle him.
“Fuck,” Dick says, eloquent as always, as he leans back against the couch cushion behind him. His hands shift, magnetic, drawn to the sharp jut of Jason’s hips, fingers digging in and squeezing the way he knows Jason likes. It’s a little mean, possessive, saying all the things they’ve forbidden themselves from voicing.
Jason’s eyes flutter, and he’s getting that hazy, lost, lidded expression that Dick loves so much.
“Oh yeah?” he murmurs. “You see something you like, Dickie?”
They both know, both can feel the way that Dick’s cock is responding. There’s a shameful bulge pressing against the seam of his jeans. Jason laughs quietly, hips rolling forward, putting hot friction over the place Dick needs it the most - he gasps, grip tightening, fingers ready to bruise, to leave marks that he’ll kiss later, one by one, if Jason stays long enough to let him.
Dick’s hips roll up, and he doesn’t bother to hide his needy groan as his cock grinds into the seam of Jason’s ass. He knows Jay likes it when he’s desperate, when he’s needy, knows that he gets off on how badly he’s wanted.
“Fuck, Jay,” he moans, “haven’t been able to stop thinking about this lately–”
It’s a truth, and it’s spoken so fucking openly and desperately, Dick doesn’t think Jason will look too far beyond it– he can get away with it–
That makes Jason moan, the sound low and open and so good that Dick surges forward, doesn’t get a good look at the strange, vulnerable expression flashing across Jason’s face, barely even acknowledges it - because he’s kissing him, their lips coming together messy, saliva smearing across their chins and cheeks, getting all gleaming and messy. He loves it, loves the way Jason gasps when he sucks a hickey into his jaw, works lower to bite and mouth a fantastic bruise into the crook of his neck. He groans wildly as Jason’s hips find a steady rhythm, grinding down to tease at Dick’s aching cock, pressure and friction that is so good, but not good enough, heat spreading –
“Poor thing,” Jason says hotly, biting at the shell of Dick’s ear, and god, Dick’s stupid, foolish, gone-gone-gone brain loves when Jason talks to him. It’s rare; Jason’s often silent when they’re together like this. Getting him sharp, teasing, it’s a rare treat, and it ruins Dick every time.
“Really been that long?” Jason continues, working that steady, rhythmic rolling of his hips. Dick tries to rock up, tries to press the bulge of his cock into the curve of Jason’s hot, welcoming body - but instead, Jay lifts up, denies him, laughs as Dick’s hips fuck up into nothing but empty air. “Oh, come on, big boy. You aren’t that desperate, are you?”
Dick hates the frustrated, needy groan he lets out - just as much as Jason loves it, as much as those wicked green eyes glint. Jason’s weight sinks down again, thighs spreading further, until his whole body is seated in Dick’s lap. The contact is so much, an ache that isn’t enough, but more than that - it’s intimate, quiet, something that’s… not unusual for them, in moments like this, but somehow, it feels different.
Dick lifts one hand, his fingers tangling in Jason’s hair. The other hand slides back, past the jut of his hip, to splay at his lower back. Long fingers slip under the seam of his shirt, spear across pale skin, pull Jason closer–
They both gasp, moaning into each other’s mouths as they kiss again.
“ ‘m always desperate, Jay,” Dick groans, the words quiet, half-muffled by their lips moving together. His hips roll up and this time, Jason grinds down to meet him, some real friction that makes Dick moan. It loosens up his dumb, lust-addled brain, makes it easier to run his mouth and talk, to say things he shouldn’t. “I missed you–”
“Don’t,” Jason gripes back, immediately, but there’s no bite to it. He doesn’t even pull away, instead bites at Dick’s lip hard. They both groan again, Jason gasping as he licks the fresh pulse of blood off Dick’s lips, goes back in for more. “Don’t, Dick, I can’t–”
This time, Jason is the one to break the words with a moan as Dick rocks up, angles just right so he’s grinding against the seam of Jason’s too-tight pants. He can feel the fucking heat, can practically sense how wet and aching he is beneath the fabric. It’s too easy to get lost, to remember that this is familiar, that they’ve somehow managed to learn each other, inside and out, trial and error and a whole lot of missteps, but here they are.
“Yeah you can,” Dick encourages, even though he has no idea what he’s saying, not really (or maybe he does, but that’s something they don’t talk about). “C’mon, Jay, need you, please–”
Whatever the begging is, whatever he’s asking for, it works. Something inside Jason snaps, and he’s suddenly shoving roughly at Dick, both hands firm against his chest as he pushes him further back against the couch cushions.
Jay’s still got it, makes it look effortless, the way he shifts back. His shirt’s ridden up enough that the very bottom of that long, shiny scar that scores his abdomen is visible. Dick’s fingers twitch; he aches to touch, to drag his tongue up that line, but he knows better. Instead he watches, obedient, as Jason’s long, pale fingers toy with the button of his jeans.
“Do you need me?” Jason asks quietly - and the words don’t belong here, in this moment, not at all. They don’t fit into any of this facade that they’ve built up.
Dick’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second - and then he catches on. He dodges the sudden severity of the situation, the words that will send Jason bolting out that fucking door and halfway to Lousiana before Dick’s cock stops running the show and his brain starts working.
Instead, he leans back a little, puts his own body on display. He slides a hand lazily up his own shirt, exposes lean, toned muscle - groans at how sensitive he is, even the pads of his own fingers eliciting goosebumps.
“Yeah,” he says, putting on a show of his own, slipping fingers up until he’s teasing at one of his own nipples beneath the fabric of his shirt. Based on the way Jason’s eyes narrow, the way he breathes in sharply, he’s watching, taking in the way the stiffened flesh peaks, just out of sight.
“Yeah, what?” Jason murmurs, working open his pants - lifting up to slowly shimmy them down his thighs, kicking them off with far too much grace for someone half-perched in his lap.
Dick groans, appreciative, feels the spread of desperate arousal, the way he’s so worked up from barely anything. Jason’s thighs are long, powerful, toned - he’s fucking naked underneath those jeans, and sue him, Dick Grayson is a hot-blooded man. His eyes dart between Jay’s thighs and his mouth is fucking watering at the sight, fingers twitching with the need to grab.
“Yeah, please, come here, Jay, I need you–” Dick gasps, surging forward, reaching to pull Jason back into his lap.
Jason moves first, and the sound that escapes Dick’s lips is somewhere between a laugh and a moan as Jason fucking slaps him right across the face for daring to disobey. It’s not hard enough to hurt or leave a mark, just sharp enough to sting, to remind Dick, momentarily, of who’s in charge of this messy game they play.
“Watch it,” Jason warns, his voice low and dangerous, sweet and deadly and perfect and god, Dick’s so hard he could die. His fingers squeeze into fists, and he growls, low in his throat – their eyes meet, just for a moment, and then Jason moves.
He’s back in Dick’s lap in an instant, that hot, insistent weight so goddamn perfect. Dick surges forward again and Jay allows it because he’s coming in - it’s another one of those kisses that’s hot and vicious, tongue and with too much teeth. Strong, thick thighs straddle him and Dick wants to touch, slides a hand between them, down over Jason’s abdomen, traces the little trail of hair, half expecting–
“So fucking impatient,” Jason pants against his lips, but he doesn’t stop him, does nothing to prevent Dick from finally touching.
Christ, Jay’s wet already, and Dick moans like a dying man tasting water as his fingers delve between messy, soaking folds. He finds Jason’s clit easy - touching him is second nature, even if it shouldn’t be, even if Dick is supposed to pretend it isn’t. He’s hard already, sensitive and aching, the first touch making Jason moan filthily in his ear as he leans in to bite him.
“Fuck– careful–” Jason grits out as Dick’s talented fingers circle the sensitive flesh, tease beneath the hood to shamelessly play with him. It’s too easy to use his thumb and forefinger, to jerk at Jay’s cute little cock, work him all up hot and desperate in about five seconds–
It always does the fucking trick. Jason whines and gasps, thighs trembling. He’s all big and tough until Dick’s jerking him off, or sucking him off, and then he turns whiny, frantic, desperate for something more.
“Dick!” Jason gasps; Dick grins, feral, all teeth.
“Yeah, pretty bird?” he murmurs, quiet, almost lazy. Dick’s cock is so hard, he could come in his pants. He can smell Jason’s arousal, can feel the wet trickling down his inner thighs and messing up his pants. He wants to manhandle him, grab that little waist and throw him down and dive between his thighs and feast like a king.
Jason scrabbles at Dick’s shoulders, nails sharp; his hips jerk forward, despite his words, fucking into the teasing touch on his clit. He’s already throbbing, swollen, and Dick really does consider making him come, getting him off and easing back and then working him up again - maybe edge him, keep him begging –
“God, asshole, you’re going to fucking kill me!”
Jason’s voice is all hoarse and beautiful and perfect, and Dick thinks that it would really be okay, for them to die like this, together. He doesn’t have a chance to respond, because Jason surges forward, teeth sinking into his lower lip and tugging sharply. Hands shift from their grasp on Dick’s shoulders, and he gives him a rough shove as the kiss breaks.
Dick wants to laugh in response, but Jason’s too fast. His palm is hot, heavy, as he slides it down over the prominent bulge of Dick’s cock, teasing the head right where it leaks against his pants. Dick moans, knows that he can be shameless too, puts on a show of tipping his head back and exposing the smooth expanse of his throat as he rocks up, tries to fuck into Jason’s palm.
“Want something?” Dick asks, his voice thick with his own need.
“Do you?” Jason snarls back, demanding, commanding, fucking perfect.
He squeezes at the bulge in Dick’s pants, thumbs over the strain of his cockhead, and Dick moans, lets his desire take over. Just like everything in their lives - this is a give and take, playing at a game that neither of them is winning. His hips lift off the couch, stutter and thrust as Jason’s fingers tighten, squeezing him a little too hard, but god, he’s way too close to getting off.
“Yeah–” Dick confesses, breaking, because coming in his pants is a mortifying concept. “Fuck, Jay, need that pussy.”
And that’s what makes Jason break. It’s always something, and it’s usually Dick Grayson, running his mouth and saying utter filth and just as shameless as he is horny. He’s all breathless, flushed face, a trickle of sweat running down his throat and sticking his bangs to his forehead. Jason’s staring at him, he realizes, as those deft, slender fingers release his cock, to work at the button of his jeans, slip inside–
“God,” Dick moans, gives Jason every single thing he wants, as a hand curls around him, frees his cock from too-tight fabric. Jason’s beautiful, hair tousled, his own face a sweaty, shiny mess - lips kiss-swollen, cheeks tinged red with arousal, with emotion, with something. “Please, Jay, I–”
“Need you, yeah,” Jason says quietly, intensely, “Dick, I–”
They move as one, somehow; they always do. The strings pulling them along, they’re all messy and twisted, tangled together and falling apart and getting lost in whatever fucking road the tapestry’s weaved. But right now, they’re together, and Dick thinks he knows but instead, Jason kisses him and he lifts and he kisses back. They part, just for a second, and Jason’s fingers lift between them; Dick grabs him by the wrist, spits into his palm, sucks a long finger into his mouth and teases the pad with his tongue.
Jason whines, reaches down, jerks Dick’s aching cock, gets it all wet and slick.
They’re kissing again, Dick fucking his tongue desperately into Jason’s mouth, mimicking what he needs, when Jay draws up onto his knees. He presses in closer, arms wrapped tight around Dick’s neck, sticky-wet fingers tangled into the too-long hair at the nape of his neck, holding him like a lifeline–
There’s no teasing, not this time. Dick swears he could cry when suddenly, Jason sinks down– his wet folds envelop Dick, that perfect pussy molding around him like they were made to do this. Because they were, Dick’s brain supplies, before it short circuits, stops working, turning him to nothing but base need.
His hips lift as Jason’s sink down– and suddenly, they’re connected all the way, the wet seam of Jason’s thighs spread wide and open as Dick’s balls strain against the fat folds of his pussy. Dick’s eyes go wide, and he wants to look, but god, that involves looking away from Jason, that involves putting a single inch of distance between them, and that’s an impossible idea.
“Jay,” he gasps, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes meet - their worlds collide, and it’s perfect. “Jay, I–”
Jason begins to fucking move, and whatever stupid thing Dick was going to say, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does.
The rhythm is so natural, something in the chaos of their lives settling into place. Everything falls away; it’s like the first time Dick took that leap of faith and he flew. It’s a hundred moments, lost in time. It’s a lifetime ago, a short, skinny little kid looking at him with so much awe, with all that misplaced trust. It’s gunshots and electricity, banter and ignored messages and missed calls–
It’s the way Jason grinds down, clenches around the thick length of Dick’s cock that pulls the breath from his lungs. The arousal is a tight knot in his gut, muscles clenching and whole body riding the sensation.
“Fuck,” Dick says, hot, tearing away to bury his face in Jason’s throat, to lick at the sweat trickling down and bite into soft skin and leave even more marks, “yeah, Jay, good boy, yeah–”
His hands find Jason’s hips, and Dick can’t think, can do nothing but act on instinct. He knows just how to hold on, just how to manhandle. He shifts his weight, leans back and puts everything into the way he drags Jay’s body against his. He knows he’s found it, knows because Jason suddenly cries out. He feels it– the tense of inner muscles, the way Jay’s thighs seize up, the rhythm stutters as he grinds the thick length of his cock directly into sensitive inner walls, just right.
“God, Dick, just like that, yeah, don’t stop–”
Jason’s gasping out, practically sobbing. Dick feels every clench of that pussy as he sinks down, grinds his hips forward as Jason rides him. It’s so wet, the sounds hot and slick, skin-on-skin, Dick’s thighs messy as Jay drips all over him.
Like this, Dick Grayson has a single mission. He’s leaving bruises on Jason’s hips, on his throat where he nips at sensitive, hidden spots that are hard-wired to Jay’s cute little cock. He spears Jay open again and again, frantically thrusts up in a rhythm all their own– he’s so hard, so aching, balls straining and desperate to fill Jason up, to claim him and lay his stake and breed him up so fucking good– that thought is almost as good as the physical sensation, so hot and perfect and pleasing to his stupid hindbrain.
“You need this cock?” Dick gasps, mindless. Jason’s breathless, crying out, fingers scrabbling at Dick’s back and nails leaving red-hot scratches.
“Fuck you,” Jason bites back, but it’s pathetic, not even a real attempt. His thighs shake, and he’s breathless, gasping and grinding and trembling, all full-bodied and needy. “Dick, ‘m close–”
“Yeah,” Dick agrees, “yeah, Jay, need it, need to see you–”
There’s barely any space between them, but Dick’s fingers wedge down between their bodies. Jason’s pelvis grinds against him, and Dick hisses sharply, his fingers diving between soaked folds. Jay’s clit is so swollen, throbbing in time with their shared heartbeats, one rhythm. Dick grits his teeth - he needs to bite something, he’s so fucking close, he swears he tastes blood, feels his lungs seizing up –
“That’s it,” Jason says quiet, frantic, his voice lowering in that way that always reveals he’s right about to come. “Don’t stop, Dick, I–”
It’s hard to focus, it’s hard because Dick’s ears are ringing and the world is blurring out. He surges forward, sinks his teeth into the meat of Jason’s shoulder, bites because he needs something to ground him, just a moment longer. His brain isn’t working right, everything all out of sync - he’s spearing his cock up into Jason, hard, chasing his own release because he has to, fingers cramping and sore as he works his clit in rough pulls, jerks Jason off, begging him because Dick Grayson needs this, needs–
God he needs everything but he needs nothing else, nothing except fucking this.
“Dick!”
His name on Jason’s tongue is so sweet, Dick loves this, he’s in goddamn full-bodied love. Jason seizes up, trembling and shaking as he cries out. His hips stutter and he sinks his whole weight down, wet gushing between them to soak Dick’s thighs, to drip down onto the couch and soak into the fabric– a tragedy, if they hadn’t already thoroughly ruined it like this before.
Dick’s seconds away, and the moment that Jason bears down, he gasps and sobs and bites again, bouncing Jason in his lap with the hand still on his hip– it takes two, three, four rough, deep thrusts, and then–
His orgasm still somehow catches him offguard, despite the fact that he’s been staving it off the whole time. Dick gasps and cries out, thighs tense and abs clenched. He thinks he’s crying, or maybe that’s sweat in his eyes. He doesn’t know, just gasps, feels his heart come to a full ass step in his chest as he buries his face in the crook of Jay’s neck, kisses and bites and gasps and mouths at him.
Slowly, Jason’s weight sinks down on him; the arms wound around Dick’s shoulders tighten, and then loosen. All Dick can do is breathe, gasp until parched lungs remember how to work. As consciousness drifts back in, he’s aware, quite suddenly, that Jason’s fingers are idly stroking through the hair at the base of his skull, nails occasionally dipping down to scratch at the nape of his neck.
Dick moans, quiet; his cock, still buried deep inside, pulses, and he feels Jason shiver in response.
“Give a guy a minute to breathe,” Jason says with a hoarse laugh, but he doesn’t lift up, not yet, instead sinks down a little further, rocks his hips just to see the response he gets.
“Fucking brat,” Dick says, eyes bleary as he pulls away, finally. Jason’s a mess– there’s red bite marks along his collar, his throat, his jaw. He looks thoroughly wrecked, and god, that’s the hottest thing ever, knowing that he did this.
“Yeah, whatever, I just blew your mind,” Jason replies with a cheeky smirk. He shifts his weight again, looks so fucking pleased as Dick’s cock gives a protesting little throb, still buried deep inside of him.
Dick groans, tears his gaze away to see where they’re connected, shivers at how swollen and sensitive Jason still is, the evidence of their shared mess smeared on his belly, along his thighs, beginning to trickle down around the base of Dick’s cock. He could go again– but that’s just it. Dick is pretty sure that when Jason Todd is involved, it’s impossible, but he’s so goddamn insatiable.
“Stay?” he finds himself saying, as he gives his hips a little roll upward, groans as Jason shudders and gasps, body oversensitive with frayed nerves and the lingering aftershocks of a good orgasm.
Jason stiffens for a moment; sharp eyes narrow, and for a heartbeat, Dick is positive that this is it, he’s fucked it all up, he’s broken one of their unspoken rules. He always does this, has this impeccable ability to put his foot in his mouth despite all his attempts to keep this casual, keep it cool, damn his stupid, erratic heart.
Suddenly, Jason surges forward, kisses him, hard. It’s enough to silent that messy inner narration, enough that Dick just stops thinking.
“God, you fucking idiot,” Jason says, only parting enough to hiss the words, and then delves back in for more. His arms unwind from Dick fully - but there isn’t time for Dick to panic, not while he’s getting the life sucked out of him with that clever tongue delving down his throat, not while his brain is all mushy and good.
Jay surges forward, drives his weight down fully as suddenly, an impossibly strong grip clasps Dick’s wrists. Dick groans, eyes fluttering, as Jason pins him back against the couch, presses his wrists down and uses him as fucking leverage.
The first filthy, deep grind of Jason’s hips has Dick moaning, the kiss breaking because otherwise he can’t breathe. There’s saliva dripping down his chin, a thin strand connecting their lips, and it’s so fucking hot. His cock twitches, pulses back to life - and Jason moans in response, pussy clenching down as his hips roll lazily.
“I told you,” Jason says, voice intense, quiet, falling back into that goddamn voice he uses when he’s on a single-handed mission to ruin Dick Grayson entirely. “It’d be easier if - nn, fuck, Dick - I could just shoot your ass.”
It’s deep, impossibly so - there’s no upward motion anymore, just slow, downward motions as Jason fucks onto him. Slick inner walls cling to him, and Dick feels it, every time his oversensitive cockhead teases right into Jay’s g-spot, feels the way the other man shudders and clenches, slick and come pooling at the base of Dick’s cock, dripping down over his balls, where they’re pressed together.
“God, Jay,” Dick gasps, moans, head tipping back. The ceiling is hazy overhead - it’s dark, all shadows and the dim light of a shitty Ikea lamp in the corner - and like this, he can pretend this is forever. Another drive of Jason’s hips, fingers clamping at his wrists like a vice, pinning him, holding him captive, and Dick’s cock twitches. God, he’s close already, his gut twisted into knots, tension pulling at every fucking muscle in his body.
“Yeah,” Jason agrees breathlessly, because yeah, this is good, “you fucking ruin every good thing, asshole, shut up and just fuck me–”
This time, Dick just fucking listens. He’s aware of the words Jason’s saying, and fuck, he’s aware of what Jason isn’t saying, maybe truly for the first time. If he wasn’t getting his dick wet, maybe he’d sit bolt upright, the revelation sinking into his skin, into his bones, worming into his heart and burrowing in.
Instead, Dick’s hips lift, he meets Jason’s thrusts; the sound he makes is in unison with Jay’s frantic little moans. The sound is wet, his balls slapping against the seam of Jason’s pussy - the upward motion pushes him deeper, so deep, until it feels like just a little more, and he could sink into that womb, create something there, a home and a meaning beyond all of this–
Jason gasps, nails biting into Dick’s wrists. He surges forward, presses his forehead into Dick’s shoulder, bites him there too now, his turn to hold on for dear life as he picks up the pace. It’s deep, frenetic – all that control giving away to something wild and desperate and important.
Dick sobs when he feels the jut of Jay’s hard little cock against his pelvis, presses his hips up to give the other man friction where he needs it. He aches to get his mouth on it, to wrench Jason off him and get down there and lick every bit of their shared mess away, suck it into his mouth and tease with his tongue and taste him, god he needs –
“Yeah,” Jason grits out, bites him again, moans and clenches his pussy down as Dick grinds up into his g-spot inside, grinds into the sensitive, swollen head of his trapped clit between them, “don’t stop, fuck you, don’t stop–!”
Jason comes with a gush and a sudden, sharp cry. His whole body tenses, shakes and trembles, and the moment his grip loosens on Dick’s wrists, Dick is moving. He surges forward, grasps hard at Jay’s hips and wrenches him forward, manhandles and pulls him on his cock, keeping up that steady, impossible, deep grind, right against all his sensitive spots–
“Fuck!”
Jason’s eyes widen and his muscles seize and tremble, his belly clenching and thighs shaking, wild and lost as Dick fucks him right from one orgasm into another, gives him no fucking reprieve, no moment to question himself and everything. This is it, I do this, Dick thinks wildly one second, and then his cock takes over and he’s using Jason, simply taking, feeling how wet and tight it is as that perfect pussy clenches rhythmically, as his balls slap wet against swollen, soaked folds–
His mouth hangs open, a silent scream, as the world stutters and disappears into white static. He comes harder than he can remember, so hard that it hurts, everything straining and his balls aching and his erection too sensitive, hurting with the effort of draining every last bit of release in him deep into Jason’s welcoming body.
Jason collapses against him, truly does this time, limp and exhausted, his whole body shaking with the mere effort to breathe. Dick doesn’t let go of his hips, but his grip loosens; he can only breathe, feels his ears ringing and the pounding of his heart trying to escape his ribs.
Deep inhale, hold, exhale. Fingers trace over the jut of Jason’s hips, feels the sensitive spot on his left side where he wrenched it out of its socket once– Jason whines, quiet, as Dick’s fingers crunch at the cartilage that doesn’t quite fit back together just right.
Some things shouldn’t work, but do. Some things fit, just in the most… haphazard, tangled-together way.
“I’ll try,” Dick says, when he can fucking breathe enough that the world stops spinning, when he’s certain he won’t pass out.
Jason doesn’t open his eyes; he tips his head, mouths lazily at Dick’s throat. “Mmm?”
Dick doesn’t respond for a moment. He slides his fingers under the hem of Jason’s shirt - still on, sweat-soaked and disgusting - and sighs at the sensation of raised scar-tissue under the pads of his fingers. It makes Jason shiver, tense for a moment - and then, a shuddering breath, a deep exhale, and he relaxes again.
“I’ll try. To just be… normal about all this,” Dick says. It’s a confession, but it’s not. It’s saying nothing, saying everything. It’s just… talking, and he’s breaking lots of rules, but maybe it’s okay.
Jason laughs quietly. “Dickhead. You’re the one who acts like me staying the fucking night means we’re getting married.”
“No I don’t. I–”
Dick bites back the urge to fight, to defend. He sighs. Jason gets under his skin, and it’s because he sees him. He doesn’t like it - doesn’t like that someone knows him, remembers him from when he was raw and angry, lashing out at the world, lashing out at Bruce. He’s changed, but he hasn’t, and Jason Todd knows how to unpeel him and see everything that’s shoved beneath the surface.
He sighs. Jason shifts gently in his lap, lifts up - they both wince at the sudden wet, the trickle of mess that’s starting to get tacky and dry on his thighs. God, they need to clean up, but the idea of putting space between them is suddenly a lot. Dick squeezes his eyes shut and suddenly looks away, takes in a breath that’s oh no, it’s shuddery and messy and dismal, and, and–
“Hey.”
Jason cups at his cheek, and Dick forces his gaze back. Green on blue, something that’s not the distant past, but it’s their latest stab at things, it’s something recent, current, it’s the same vivid gaze that Dick will see the next time they do this, too.
“I’ll try too,” Jason says, with a shrug, and then he gives Dick’s cheek a sudden, sharp little pat - more akin to a playful slap than something reassuring. Something bubbles up in Dick’s throat, and then fuck it, goddamnit, he laughs quietly.
“Yeah. Okay. You want to stay the night?” he asks.
“Only if you cook me breakfast,” Jason retorts, with a grin that shows too much teeth. He winces as he stands up, groans and cracks his shoulder, the sound breaking the silence with a horrible, awful snap. “Fuck. And you’re not putting your cock in me in the morning, don’t even try, I never want to see that thing again, Dick.”
Dick grins. “Yeah, whatever. You can have the shower first if you want it.”
“ ‘course I can,” Jason says, like that was even an option.
Like any of this is optional - like they aren’t in so deep, that they have to try. And who knows? Maybe they’ll even succeed, this time. If not, there’s always the next one. Dick doesn’t let him think about that, because that’s the first step to failure, but maybe he can lighten up on the rules this time. Just a little.