Chapter Text
Jason isn't quite sure how it happened. One minute he and Black Mask were trading their usual quips, laced with false politeness and thinly-veiled innuendos, and the next, something in the air between them changed. Looking back, Jason thinks he might have finally made one too many BDSM jokes. But it's not his fault, right? If Roman wants to run around looking like he had a business meeting at 6 and a dominatrix appointment at 7, he's practically welcoming those kinds of comments with open arms.
Still. Jason hadn't been prepared for a gloved hand to grab him by the hair and wrench his head back, and he'd almost gone for his gun, but then Roman had said, “It's uppity little shits like you that make me wonder if I got into the wrong line of business.”
Jason's hand lingered by his holster, but he put on a casual air and asked, “Ooh, I like this. You gonna charge me by the hour, or do I get a special family discount?”
Sometime between then and now, he'd ended up on his knees, the head of Black Mask's cock hitting the back of his throat. His life often takes weird turns like that. He's learned to roll with them by now.
Anyway, how he got here isn't half as important as how unfairly fucking good it feels to have the hardwood dig into his knees while Roman fucks his mouth. The guy's a scumbag, a creep, a million other words that wouldn't fly in polite conversation, but every time he holds Jason's head steady and bucks against his face so hard he has to clamp down on his gag reflex, Jason's cock twitches in his pants.
“I like you like this,” Roman says, nicely, conversationally. “Puts that smart mouth of yours to good use.”
Jason wants to roll his eyes at how cliché it all is, but then he's being shoved down, held there, and it's all he can do to keep from vomiting. He doesn't know why he bothers. A lap full of puke might teach the guy a lesson about how you treat your sex partners.
Just when he thinks he's on the verge of passing out, Roman yanks him up to catch his breath, and the fuzzy blackness near the edges of his vision begins to recede. Jason gulps down big lungfuls of air, connected to Roman's cock via a thick string of spit. He licks his lips, and it snaps.
“Knew you were into this kinda thing,” he says. His voice is already raspy. God damn it.
“Oh, Red,” Roman says, and shoves him back down, “you have no idea.”
For the next few minutes, it's impossible to talk, so Jason comforts himself with the confirmation that he was right all along. And, despite his continued insistence that he himself is not into BDSM, he can't ignore the way his cock strains against his jeans. He never thought of himself as a masochist, but between the sting in his hair, his throat, and his knees, he wonders if he might have to re-evaluate some things after today.
He reaches down to unbutton his pants, but half a second later, his hand gets shooed away by one immaculately-polished Italian dress shoe.
“What do you think you're doing?” Roman asks, and the sole of that shoe presses down on the bulge in his jeans. Jason makes an unintentional muffled noise around the cock in his mouth. “Think you can mouth off the way you did and I'd still let you reward yourself?”
Jason thinks that he's mouthing off in exactly the way Roman wants him to, but, much to his continued annoyance, he can't say that. He offers up one finger in response.
The shoe on his crotch presses down menacingly. “Watch yourself.”
Jason can't smile, either, but his eyes sparkle with mischief when he looks up at Roman. He sucks harder, offers up the barest hint of teeth, and elicits a low groan from behind that mask. Looks like he's not the only one with a bit of a masochistic side.
He decides he likes that sound, and he can't exactly do much from his current position, so he re-doubles his efforts on sucking Roman off. This isn't the kind of thing he has a lot of experience with, but he's a man. He tries to replicate what he'd like if their positions were swapped. He adds his hands into the equation, keeping a few fingers wrapped around the base of Roman's cock (though it does little to keep him from being shoved down and nearly choked every couple of seconds). On the upswing, he sucks hard at the tip, uses just enough teeth to draw out more of those growling noises. Roman's foot grinds against his dick, and it takes all of his self-control not to either buck forward or pull away.
By the time he feels the tang of precum on his tongue, they're both sweating, grunting like animals, and Jason feels a strange swelling of pride every time Roman swears under his breath. He thinks to himself that he got Black Mask this hard, he reduced the crime boss to a panting mess on his own dining room chair. Even on his knees, he feels powerful.
Leave it to Roman to start talking and ruin the whole thing.
“Look at you,” he says, pulling his cock out so he can trail it over Jason's cheek. Jason looks up at him with half-lidded eyes, keeps his tongue out, tries not to think about how undignified he must seem like this. “Bet you've been wanting this for a long time, huh?”
“Not as long as you,” he counters, eyes defiant, and gets slapped in the cheek with Roman's length as thanks for his honesty.
“You make it so easy to wanna ruin you, you know that?” Roman tugs on his bangs, forces his head back, and presses the tip of his cock against Jason's waiting tongue.
Jason drags his tongue over the head, gives it a kiss, and says, “You couldn't ruin me if you tried.”
Roman's expression is unreadable behind his mask, but Jason can hear the amusement in his tone. It's lazy, chummy, the way it always is when he thinks he's taking someone up on a bet they have no chance of winning.
“We'll see about that.”
A few minutes later, when Roman comes in his mouth, he doesn't swallow. He stands up, spits into Roman's half-empty crystal wineglass, and retreats to his room, humming out a casual goodbye as he goes. When he gets to his bed, he jerks off so hard that he sees stars behind his eyes.
Nothing changes between them after that, not while they're working. They trade quips and “friendly” insults the same as ever, and Black Mask still insists on treating Red Hood like the son he never had. They run Gotham's underworld like a well-oiled machine, orchestrating everything from international weapons deals to shoving around the little guys in charge of picking up Roman's dry-cleaning.
Things get so busy for a while that he and Roman don't see each other much, and when they do get together, there are always other people around. If Roman had been thinking at all about their last private encounter, he never shows it, so Jason doesn't, either.
All that changes the next time they're alone.
It starts out routine. As routine as things can be when he's tasked with giving a mission report to Roman from the confines of his bedroom, that is. They're both fully-clothed, and the room is big enough that Roman can stare out the window while Jason examines knickknacks on top of his dresser from the other side of his king-sized bed. They trade intel and plans like usual, for the most part.
But Jason can feel it again. The tension in the air between them, the unspoken “what'll happen next” question lingering like static after every pause in the conversation. Jason runs his fingers over an expensive oak watch box, figures one of the Rolexes inside must cost more than what both of his parents made in their entire lives, and doesn't even notice Roman standing behind him until he looks up into the vanity mirror.
He manages not to jump, which he's proud of, but Roman must have caught the shock in his eyes, because he chuckles.
“Hope you're not just working with me to get at all my toys,” he says, reaching past Jason's shoulder to drum his fingers on the top of the box.
“Figured you'd have a whole other room for those,” Jason says. “You know, 50 Shades it.”
“Funny.”
While Jason tries not to think about what he just implied (tries not to remember being on his knees with a Bruno Magli loafer pressed against his dick), Roman flips the box open and pulls out a watch. It's got a black band, and the clock face is some sort of shiny metal with a paint job that reflects dark red when it catches the light.
“18 karat white gold,” he says, trailing a thumb around the edge. “State-of-the-art, limited edition. Custom made by my guys in Switzerland. You won't find another one like it anywhere in the world.”
“Okay, but a smartphone is, like, thirty bucks,” Jason says. “Can that thing even make calls? Seems like a questionable financial decision to me, I'm just sayin'.”
Roman cuts him off by taking hold of his wrist. “Try it on.”
“'Scuse me.”
Jason's deadpan is met with a chuckle. Roman lifts his wrist, pushing Jason's sleeve up, and despite himself, Jason shudders. Roman takes his time fastening the watch, and it feels cool and heavy on his wrist. He frowns down at it, wondering how he's supposed to react to something like this. Awe? An offer to suck dick for the chance to keep it? He's not feeling it.
Roman sets a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder, and the pair of them look into the mirror.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asks.
“Uh.” Jason shifts where he stands. “Someone who's way too done with all this weird rich guy bullshit?”
Roman chuckles. He's almost too friendly; it's weird. “I see someone who has what it takes to run my empire when I'm gone. Someone who knows what he wants and how to get it. Someone who deserves to wear a watch like that.”
“You know what I see when I look at this pretty family photo?” Jason counters.
“What's that?”
“A guy who's been breathing in way too many leather fumes. Y'know, I like the aesthetic as much as the next guy, but are you sure the mask isn't too much? I know I bring it up a lot, but I really think—”
Roman tugs his head back by the hair, so hard that Jason actually yelps from the sting of it. He grips the dresser with one hand, letting the band of the watch dig into the rich, dark wood. He can still see his reflection down the bridge of his nose, just barely, and watches his Adam's apple bob when he swallows.
“For a smart kid, you're pretty damn ungrateful,” Roman says. “I bring you into my life, my organization, my family, and you can't be assed to have one touching moment with me?”
Jason snorts. “We both know that's a load of crap,” he says. “What do you really want, Roman? 'Cause I haven't had anything to eat yet, and I was hoping to get outta here sometime soon. Can we please cut the bullshit?”
“I like it when you say please,” Roman says. His grip on Jason's hair never wavers. “Why don't you say it again?”
Once more, Jason can feel something hot and heavy in the air. This is what it was like before, he thinks, before he found himself on his knees with a mouth full of cock. He can't even remember if he was shoved there, or if he went down of his own accord. He sucks in a breath to try and clear some of the fog out of his mind.
“Just a second ago, you were gonna give me an 18-karat wristwatch on some sorta sentimental wannabe father-figure whim,” he says. “Kinda feels like I got you wrapped around my finger even without using the p-word.”
Roman laughs again, louder now, like Jason said something really hilarious. “You think that's what this is? Sentiment? I must've been treating you too nicely, boy.”
“Mm, the hand in my hair says otherwise.” Jason meets Roman's eyes in the mirror, as best as he can when he's still wearing that mask. He hates how exposed he looks compared to him: neck bared, back arched, expression on full display. He hates how it stirs something hot in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, you haven't seen me lose my temper yet,” Roman says, and he moves his face closer until the zipper at his mouth is hovering near Jason's throat. “I never did ruin you like I wanted to, did I?”
Jason gulps. “Never even came close.”
“Hmm.” Roman's zipper presses up against Jason's skin in a mockery of a kiss. “Guess we'll have to fix that.”
The next thing Jason knows, he's lying face-first on top of the bed, bent over so that his feet still rest on the floor. Roman is on top of him, and he's let go of his hair in favor of wrenching his arm behind his back. Jason grunts, mentally goes over five different ways to break the hold, and executes none of them.
Roman's thumb digs into the watch until the sharp edges of it cut into Jason's wrist. He's big and heavy on top of him, and when he leans in close to speak into Jason's ear, the scent of leather and cologne fills his nostrils.
“You really don't deserve all I do for you,” he says, sounding equal parts annoyed and resigned. “Don't know why I keep a brat like you around.”
Jason shifts his head until he can look over his shoulder, and flashes Roman a smile. “My sparkling personality?”
“Yeah. Right.”
One hand keeps his arm pinned behind his back, while the other trails down his side. Jason bites his lip. He's not sure what he's anticipating — whether he's disgusted or excited or something else entirely — but he knows that, against his better judgment, he doesn't want to move. Not really. Still, that doesn't stop him from struggling, wiggling his shoulders and his hips in a way that's just a shade too pointed.
“Should take off my belt and teach you some respect, you know that?” His hand stalls at Jason's waist, and Jason wills himself to stay silent and keep his breathing under control. It's a lot easier said than done. “Kids these days. You have no idea how to behave around your superiors.”
“You really wanna be my daddy, don't you, Black Mask?” Jason asks, still grinning that cheeky grin. He hopes it makes up for the fact that his pulse speeds up double when he says it. “That's pretty sick. But I could tell, you know? Fetish types like you normally like that kinda thi— Oh, shit.”
Roman had met his babbling with a firm smack to his clothed rear end. It didn't hurt so much as it was surprising, but if the goal was to shut Jason up, it had worked.
“You don't know when to quit, do you?” Roman asks, half a sigh in his tone. “Nah. You keep opening that pretty little mouth of yours, and I think it's because you want someone to call your bluff. If you wanted me to put you in your place, you only had to ask...” He leans in, lowering his voice until it's barely a murmur. “...son.”
Jason sucks in a breath, then immediately chides himself for it. He wants to congratulate himself on being right about Black Mask on all counts, but his own growing erection is really putting a damper on that victory. God. He never pegged himself as the sort of person to get turned on by all that hokey daddy crap, but now that he's knee-deep in it, he can kind of see the appeal.
He really is sick, isn't he?
He doesn't have time to ponder the question before Roman's undoing his pants and yanking them down, along with his underwear. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and absolutely hates how exciting it is.
Roman reaches a gloved hand around to grab his dick, and it's rough and firm and everything Jason never knew he wanted. He bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound, but his harsh exhale through his nose is pretty telling.
“Jesus. You're this hard already?” he asks, and Jason feels a spike of shame despite himself. It shoots up his spine and makes his heart flutter, and his mouth is too wet, his head spinning too much. “You make yourself seem so tough, but it's all an act, isn't it? It's alright. I'll give you what you need.”
There is absolutely no reason any of this should be as hot as it is. Jason's never thought of himself as a sub — as much of a sexual person at all, really — but here he is, practically trembling underneath one of Gotham's premier crime bosses. In all fairness, the way Black Mask tugs roughly at his cock could drive anyone insane, he's pretty sure. And he thinks he's holding up well, despite the circumstances. At least he hasn't started moaning yet.
Then Roman brings his hand up, trails a thumb over his perineum and drags it over his hole, and the gasp that wrenches its way out of Jason's mouth is more than a little embarrassing.
“Tell me,” Roman says, and damn it all, he still sounds so fucking calm. “You ever had anything shoved up this cute little hole of yours?”
“Aw,” Jason pants, smiling again, “you think I'm cute.”
Roman's hand smacks against his bare ass, and this time it's so unexpected and hard that Jason actually yelps.
“What can I say?” Roman takes a rough handful of Jason's ass, dragging his thumb tantalizingly close to his hole. “I'm a sucker for a sub who tries to play tough.”
Jason thinks ah-ha, wonders if Roman really does have a playroom filled with whips and chains and ball gags, and tries to ignore how nice it feels to be spread open like this.
“Not a sub,” he says, flexing the fingers of the hand Roman still has pinned. “I told you, I don't play these games like you do.”
“Oh yeah?” Roman asks. “Then what do you call all this?”
Jason thinks for a moment. (It's damn hard to do, with a haze of arousal clouding his head.)
“...Humoring my old man.”
“I see,” Roman says. “Well then. I guess I'm gonna have to show you how it's done, huh?”
“This means you're admitting I was right all this time, just so you know,” Jason fires back. “About the BDSM?”
“Notice how I never denied it,” Roman says. Jason opens his mouth to retort, realizes he's right, and clamps his lips shut. “Now, you never answered my question: have you ever had anything up here before?”
Jason doesn't have to ask what he means by “up here,” because Roman's finger is tapping his hole. It's such a weird feeling, having someone prodding around down there, but every little bit of contact sets Jason's nerves on fire. He sucks in a breath.
“Why, never in all my years,” he says, affecting a fake Southern belle accent. “I've been saving myself for a nice husband.”
Roman seems less than amused. “Won't find that here, I'm afraid,” he says flatly. “But you're in luck. A caring father is the next best thing, right?”
Jesus Christ. Jason actually has to bury his face in the comforter to avoid making a sound. This isn't fair. Roman should not be able to get under his skin with only a few words; definitely not words like that. And when he chuckles, the vibrations shouldn't go straight to Jason's dick.
He hears the squeak of leather, then something hovering by his face. Roman says, “Look,” and when Jason peeks out, he sees an ungloved hand.
“Poor boy. I'm teasing you too much, aren't I?” He reaches out to grab Jason by the chin, tugging until half his face is visible again. “C'mon. Open that pretty mouth for daddy.”
“You are a huge fucking pervert,” Jason says, and he's stunned by how breathless his own voice is. “I mean, I always figured that you were, but seeing it in action is kinda blowing my mind.”
“Don't act like you aren't complicit in this,” Roman says, and Jason can practically hear his eyes rolling. “Like you haven't been trying my patience this whole time. You almost came in your pants just from sucking me off; don't play innocent.”
“Yeah, about that? I have some complaints,” Jason says, and he becomes vaguely aware that he's talking just to talk, as if by being chatty enough, he can make this whole thing less weird than it is. “First, who comes in someone's mouth without warning them first? Not very classy. Second, you never returned the favor—”
“Oh, shut up,” Roman says, at the same time he shoves two fingers into Jason's mouth. Jason makes a noise around them, salivating as Roman starts to work them in and out. “You sure seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there. Were you worried, is that it? About how far I might go?”
Jason couldn't answer even if he wanted to, but Roman is right. Even now, his heart is pounding at the thought of what they're doing. He doesn't like being vulnerable in front of people, especially not when those people are murderous scumbags like Black Mask. If he does this, there's no going back, he knows that.
Then again, he already crossed the threshold from partnership to something else the second he sucked Roman's cock into his mouth, didn't he?
Jesus, his head hurts. He doesn't want to think, he just wants to feel, and luckily, Roman's pace increases, fucking his mouth even faster with those fingers.
“Like I said: cute. You talk a big game, but at the end of the day, you're still a snot-nosed kid.” He presses down against Jason's tongue until he's forced to open his mouth, and then it becomes much harder to muffle any noises. His fingers keep moving in and out, and he can't stop thinking of how they'd feel somewhere else. “But that's okay. That's what I'm here for. C'mon, open those legs up...”
Roman nudges a knee between Jason's legs, forcing him to spread them as much as he can with his pants bunched up around his thighs. He thinks this is really happening, and then Roman's fingers are withdrawing from his mouth and smearing saliva over his hole, and it's cool and wet and one starts to press inside him ohgod—
He's whining before he realizes it, high-pitched and breathless, and the hand that isn't pinned down clenches down on the comforter like a lifeline. Roman isn't gentle. He shoves his finger in as far as it'll go, and then he starts to move it in and out, so rough that Jason's hips rock back and forth with every thrust. It's deep, and it's purposeful, and Jason's never felt anything like it.
“There you go,” Roman says, and Jason takes pleasure in the fact that his voice is a little breathier now than it was before. “Good boy. Knew you could make noise for me.”
Jason doesn't want to make noise, but every time that finger shoves him forward, he lets out a little “ah,” and it's all he can do to make sure that's the only sound coming out of his mouth. But then Roman presses in another finger without warning, and Jason's brow furrows, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. He stays frozen like that for about three seconds, and then it's all too much. He lets out a long, whining moan, just as pained as it is pleasured.
“J-Jesus Christ, Roman, tha-that's—” He grits his teeth, willing his voice to stop shaking, but it's trembling as much as his legs are. “Ohmygod. Can you— Fuck, can you slow down for one goddamned second?!”
“Can't take it?” Roman asks, swirling his fingers in a way that hits a whole new spot inside of Jason he never knew existed. Jason rocks up on his toes, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and it still hurts, but god, he never wants it to end.
“Oh my fuck fuck fuck—” Jason murmurs, almost sobs when those fingers twist and rock and hit that spot again. “Just— Just— G-give me a— Roman. Roman! Daddy—!”
He doesn't know why he said it, why now. He doesn't know why it made his cock throb the way it did, doesn't want to think about the implications, because now he can't pretend he was only joking before, Roman's fingers are in his ass and he had to feel the way it affected Jason just to say that one word. He just has to take solace in the way it makes Roman's movements stutter, in how he can hear him curse under his breath the way he did when Jason sucked him off, right before he came.
“Christ, kid,” he says, as soon as he stops swearing. He pulls his fingers out, which is good, because they were starting to dry out and leave Jason with more pain than pleasure. Jason can hear a drawer open, can hear Roman fumble with something just outside his line of view, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he might be looking for.
He licks his lips and summons up enough control over himself for one more taunt. “Lube in the sock drawer? Called it. You're so—”
But he never gets to tell Roman what he is, because Roman presses the slicked-up head of his cock against his ass. He shivers from his head to his toes, and his hips rock back without his say-so.
“Liked you way more when you were screaming my name,” Roman says, and he starts to press his cock in.
It's big. Way bigger than two fingers, at least, and while it's a lot wetter than those fingers, that doesn't help much. Jason presses his face into the bed sheets, pulling his hips away, but Roman just bears down on him, not letting him set his own pace.
“God, god, wait,” Jason says, tugging at the covers, trying to wrench his other arm from Roman's hold. “C'mon. Roman— Nngh. Roman!”
“There we go,” Roman says, voice low and gravelly and still way too fucking attractive. Jason thinks of all the ways he could tear the bastard's throat out while Roman works himself, inch by inch, into his ass. “Just like that. Good boy. You keep saying daddy's name like that.”
Jason sobs, open-mouthed, against the blanket, so full, and fuck, Roman just keeps going. Despite it all, his cock is still throbbing, and he thinks he's harder than he's ever been in his fucking life.
“I can't, I can't,” he says, overheated to his core, tears and snot and spit wetting the bed under his face. “Mmm. I- I- R-Roman, please...!”
“That's it,” Roman says, beginning to rock his hips, one hand set on Jason's waist. “Beg me. That's what I like to hear.”
Jason hates him. He absolutely fucking hates him. He wants to vomit, but he still squirms in an attempt to get any sort of contact against his aching cock. He can't tell how he feels about this, wishes he could just have five seconds to think, but Roman is cruel and terrible and won't give him even that much. So Jason sobs and pouts and yelps, twitching with pleasure-pain every time Roman shoves a little deeper inside him.
“I can't— I can't— It's too— Roman,” he breathes, and he relaxes just long enough for Roman to finally bottom out.
“You can,” Roman says, running a hand over the sweat-drenched small of his back. “Look at this...”
He stops moving, and before Jason can think, he's rocking his hips back, craving more of that sensation. He feels aghast, betrayed by his own body, and Roman chuckles above him, starting up a rhythm again.
“Look. You want this,” he says, and Jason hates that he agrees. “So stop whining.”
Jason emphatically does not stop whining.
“S-sick,” he says, “you're sick, you're s-so fucking sick,” and he's not sure which one of them he's talking about.
Roman speeds up, changes his angle, and then Jason really is screaming, clawing the bed so hard that the fitted sheet pops off of one corner of the mattress. He rocks back more pointedly, and it still hurts, so deep and aching that he feels it up in his stomach, but it's hot and it's wet and the sound of their bodies slapping together has him intoxicated.
He's drooling on the bed, eyes unfocused, and he's not sure if it's sweat or lube or precum he can feel dripping down his cock. He's never felt anything so intense, and it doesn't help that Roman keeps muttering mind-numbingly filthy things to him in that low, gritty voice of his.
“Wanted this for a while, haven't you? Someone to put you in your place. Knew it right from the— ngh— moment we met, you'd shut up as soon as you got a cock in you. All you little brats ever want.”
“Shhh-shut up,” Jason drawls, trying as hard as he can to speak between helpless moans. “O-old man— Ah! A-always t-talkin'... like you're— hot shit... Mmm!”
“Respect your fucking elders,” Roman says, digging his nails into Jason's side. “Stop pretending. You're a little slut, aren't you? Say it. You're daddy's little slut.”
“N-not a—” Jason starts, but then Roman's hand comes down to smack his ass. It stings, and god, that cock of his is so deep, and he can't take it any more, he can't, he whines and squirms and reaches back with his free arm to claw at Roman's waist. “—slut! I'm a slut. Oh my god. Just fucking fuck me you old fffucking— Oh shit yeah, just like that. Just like that, daddy, please, don't stop, don't stop don't stop don't stop, ungh—”
The words pour out like water from a broken dam, and he gives himself over to pleasure entirely. Another two strokes, and he's coming all over Roman's expensive comforter without ever being touched. He twitches and bucks and squirms, and Roman just keeps going, spitting out vulgarities like they're the only words he knows. Just when Jason thinks he can't take it any more, when he's sobbing and on the verge of passing out due to overstimulation, Roman slows down, filling him up with a few more long, pointed thrusts.
Neither of them can do much more than try to catch their breaths for the next few minutes. When Roman finally releases his arm, he can't feel it, pins and needles weighing it down. Lube and cum run hot and wet down his thighs, and the stench of sex is so thick in the air that Jason can taste it in the back of his throat.
It feels like forever before he can finally speak again. He rests half-slumped against his bed, snuggling there with his eyes closed.
“Just so you know, I'm keeping the watch.”