Chapter Text
He sells the watch.
It's gaudy and useless and feels too heavy on his wrist; it takes less than a full day for him to get sick of it. When he takes it off, he can still see faint red indents in his skin from where it pressed down during his and Roman's “excursion.”
He catches himself looking at them too often, and when they heal, he trails his fingers over the places where they used to be. He thinks he really must be sick.
But otherwise, things carry on as usual. In front of their men, they're still Black Mask and Red Hood, crime boss and his would-be heir. (Sometimes Roman calls him “son.” He doesn't say it any differently than normal, but the bastard knows damn well what he's doing.) They chat and plot and have breakfast together, though Jason never stops feeling out-of-place in the multi-million dollar high rise.
He continues working on his own schemes, of course. He's not stupid enough to get caught up in sentiment after a fuck; Black Mask is still his enemy, his mark, even if the thought of him occasionally summons up a few X-rated images now. If anything, this might work in his favor. He can play daddy's little prince, and getting the proof he needs to incriminate Roman will be easier than ever.
Ha. If only it'd be that easy.
Still, he tells himself it's worth a go. Just playing a role, he thinks to himself, when he meets Roman's eyes from across the table and presses his lips to a wine glass that feels too delicate for his hands. And when Roman slings a friendly arm around his shoulders, Jason presses against his side a little too closely, because he has to keep up the act. Sometimes, he even does it in front of their men, feels their eyes on him through their ridiculous masks. His heart races the fastest then, like he's doing something really filthy. He wonders often when he became such a fucking pervert.
Those thoughts rise to a fever pitch when he's snooping around Roman's room one day. He never bothers to leave the door locked, because he isn't stupid enough to leave anything incriminating in there. And yet Jason still goes through everything, in the hopes that maybe he'll get lucky.
He doesn't. But he does take the bottle of lube out of the sock drawer. It sits buried in his own for a few nights before he finally gives in to the gnawing urge in the back of his mind and puts it to use. He fucks himself with his fingers and gnaws at the inside of his elbow, muffling his moans when he comes.
Yeah. He's a grade-A, pasteurized, farm fresh freak.
So he's got a little bit of a problem. A week and a few generous tablespoons of lube later, he can admit that. Not out loud, of course, but under his breath, when he lies sticky and exhausted in his bed, visions of Roman still lingering in his mind's eye.
It's not his fault the pushy fuck made him realize he likes anal. Really, this whole mess is Roman's fault. He wouldn't even be here if not for his little techno-organic crime spree. So why should he be the only one to suffer? It's that question that re-energizes Jason, and he doubles down on his efforts to drag Roman kicking and screaming down with him. Go big or go home, right?
So he starts sitting a little too close to Black Mask on the couch when the team meets up in his lounge. And he drinks from his wineglass sometimes, letting his fingers brush Roman's when he tilts the crystal toward his lips. He finds that the “familial” terms of endearment spill out before he has much of a chance to think them over at all.
“Black Mask has been like a father to me,” he announces to the crew one day, with Roman looking on nearby. “He has a stern hand, but I know he's just doing what's best for me. For all of us.”
“Lookin' good, pops,” he tells Roman when he's straightening his tie before a meeting. He does it when they're with company, and feels the older man stiffen up under his ministrations. He offers up a smirk before walking away.
Then on another occasion, when he's feeling particularly feisty — agitated at getting nowhere with the case, annoyed that Black Mask's bumbling crew won't leave him alone, horny a-goddamned-gain — he lets slip a, “Maybe you should spank me.” He doesn't even remember what they'd been ribbing each other about.
“Maybe I should,” Roman says, expressionless with his mask on, as conversationally as if he'd just brought up the weather.
People stare. Jason's ears go red. He concedes that he lost this time, and retires early so he can jerk himself off with his pilfered lube.
“I know you took it,” Roman says one evening, in the doorway of Jason's bedroom.
Jason's mind races, trying to think of all the things that could possibly mean. Does he know about the cure? The money he got from shucking the watch? But all he says is, “Jesus, dude, you have got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
Roman chuckles. “It's okay that you did. But you could've bought your own if you wanted some so bad. I'd have gladly supplied the funds.”
“I feel like we're on two totally different pages.” Jason kicks his feet up onto his bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Me, talking about having my privacy violated time and time again. And you, talking about... whatever it is you're talking about. Seriously, help me out, here.”
“Red.” The tone is so no-nonsense that it almost gives Jason flashbacks to a cave and a cowl. He pushes those thoughts out of his mind and clamps his lips shut. “You don't have to put up a front with me like this. If you want to spend another night in my bed, you need only ask.”
Oh.
Jason swallows.
“Technically, I wasn't on your bed,” he says, eternally impressed with how nonchalant he can make himself sound. “I was sorta half-on, half-off. You know, you're really not all that accommodating? Kinda selfish, actually...”
The entire time he speaks, Roman stalks closer, until he's eventually standing at the foot of Jason's bed. He feels like a slab of meat under Roman's gaze, and he can't even see his eyes. What a crock.
“Didn't think you minded,” he says, all calm and cool in a way that makes Jason hate him.
“Yeah, well, both my heads don't always agree,” Jason says with a shrug. “You should listen to the one that can talk, you gigantic douchebag.”
Despite his words, there's no venom in his tone. He almost sounds impressed with how shitty Roman can be.
“My my. You've still got a rebellious streak, don't you?” Roman asks. He lifts his hands to fiddle with first one glove, then the other. Jason looks at the leather pulled taut around his fingers. “That's good. I like a bit of fire in my proteges.”
“Was there a reason you came slinking into my room, or did you just feel the urge to get creepy on me again?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me out with something.” Jason arches a brow, but says nothing, so Roman continues on. “I want to tie you up and fuck you. Think you could manage that?”
Jason has got to hand it to the guy: he knows exactly what to say to leave someone speechless. Feeling like his balance has just been irreparably thrown off, he gapes, blinking a few times as if to try and clear this Roman-shaped wet dream from his vision.
No dice. He's the real deal. Jason scoffs.
“Begging your freakin' pardon?”
“It's a simple request.” Roman shrugs, letting his hands drop to his sides. He slides them into his pockets; Jason doesn't let the action go unnoticed. “You seemed so thrilled to be held down last time, I figured you wouldn't mind giving this a try.”
Jason feels his cheeks redden against his will, curses inwardly at his own body's betrayal. “Whoa, first? The 'thrill' wasn't from being held down. Cramped me up for hours. Second, I dig sexual confidence and everything, but this is just a little over the top, even for you. Gonna ask me to sign a sex contract before we get started, too?”
“You read too many terrible smut novels,” Roman says. Jason opens his mouth to object, but Roman talks over him. “I just thought I'd try to be nice and give you the option. One of these days, you're going to shoot off that mouth again, and I may not be able to control myself. I'd hate for something to happen in front of our men.”
Jason narrows his eyes. Is that a threat? He wants to be mad, to be furious at this asshole's presumptuousness, but...
God fucking damn it. The mere idea is getting him hard.
He licks his lips and swallows, mouth suddenly far too dry. “Knew you were a gentleman.”
“That I am.” Jason can hear the smile from under his mask. “So, how about it? I am a busy man, and if you don't like my offer, I can squeeze someone else into this time slot...”
“Oh, please. Spare me the businessman mumbo-jumbo.” Jason rolls his eyes openly, perhaps a bit too dramatically. “I'm not gonna be your pre-meeting quickie. You take your time and fuck me right, or else no deal.”
There's a pause. “Is that a yes?”
Jason takes about 3.5 seconds to wonder what the fuck he keeps getting himself into, and replies, “Dunno. D'you need a second to clear your schedule?”
Roman chuckles and places a knee onto the bed, shaking his head in amusement. “Never for you, my boy.”
It throws him off so completely that Jason doesn't see Roman's hands leave his pockets until he has him by the wrists. He bucks, but it's not enough to throw Roman off, and in a second, his hands are cuffed to the headboard. He tugs at them experimentally, sucking in a breath when they bite into his flesh.
“You know I could be out of these in, like, 30 seconds, right?” he asks.
“I know,” Roman says. “But you won't. I'm not willing to compromise on this part.”
“Freak,” Jason breathes, but he doesn't try to pick the locks.
Roman chuckles again, and Jason hates how much he's beginning to like that sound. It's deep and it's low and the vibrations go straight to his cock, which Roman is now palming through his pants.
“I think you could shape up to be a great sub,” Roman says, still casual. “An uppity one, but some people like that.”
“People like you?” Jason asks, trying his best to keep his hips still.
Roman drags a thumb down the line of his now fully-hard cock, and Jason's head lulls to the side.
“Yes,” he says, “people like me.”
He's so fucking smug. Jason can't stand it. He wanted Roman to lose his cool, but not like this. And with his hands bound, he feels like there isn't much he can do to turn the situation back in his favor. All he has are his wits, his voice, and his legs. The latter spread, and he urges Roman forward with an ankle at his back.
“So, what would an 'uppity sub' say right about now?” he asks. “'Cause I feel like I nailed it the first time around. I can go for broke, though. This tender stuff is nice and all, but I was kinda hoping for something with a little more bite to it. You're not getting soft on me, are you, old man?”
“Bite, huh?” Roman pulls his hand away, and Jason almost groans. “...I think I can manage that.”
Then he's unzipping the mask near his mouth, and when he lowers his head, Jason realizes he should watch how literally his taunts can be taken. Roman's teeth dig into the sensitive spot between his ear and his neck — just teeth, no lips — the sides of the zipper scratching against his skin.
“OW, fuck!” Jason curses. “Goin' all vampire on me. Thi-this really is a teen romance novel, isn't it?”
Roman just keeps biting until he can feel the telltale welling of blood around his teeth, then a tongue snakes out to lap it up. It feels so intimate, so unspeakably wrong when Roman hardly ever shows his mouth, and it leaves Jason sucking in shallow breaths and curling his toes. He doesn't even realize he's been tugging at his restraints until Roman pulls away and he can go slack again.
As soon as it starts, it's over, Roman sitting up and zipping his mask closed again. Saliva and blood cool on Jason's skin, leaving him aroused and uncomfortably clammy.
“That work for you?” Roman asks, and Jason summons up enough willpower to shrug.
“Gettin' there.”
“Good.” Roman runs his hands down Jason's sides, eliciting a shiver. He rests them at his hips, cool leather on hot skin where his shirt has ridden up. “Why don't you tell me what else you want? I'm sure you've had plenty of time to mull it over.”
Jason doesn't miss that implication, and he glares, but truth be told, Roman is right. He's been the subject of all of his fantasies for the past few weeks. The trouble is, when faced with the reality, he has no idea where to start.
“Truth be told,” he says after a moment, “I was thinking of riding you.”
Roman chuckles again, tracing circular patterns into his hips with the pads of his thumbs. “That so? Be a good boy for me, and maybe I'll allow it.”
“Oh, you'll allow it, good,” Jason says. “Glad you're one of those nice bondage-loving pervs.”
“You should see what I do to the ones I don't like,” Roman says.
Jason's heart thuds loudly in his ears. He looks around at all his possible exits. He has at least three guns hidden in this room alone.
He says, “Show me.”
He can feel Roman's eyes raking over him. He tries to imagine that they've gone wide under his mask.
“While I admire your spirit, I don't want to incapacitate you.” Jason laughs. Roman keeps talking over him. “But if you'd like, I can give you a little preview.”
“It takes more than some dick to mess me up,” he says. He hears Roman start to contradict him, so he presses on, “I've been practicing since last time. You caught me off-guard. Like I said, you're not the most caring guy to roll around in the hay with.”
Roman shrugs. “If you insist.”
He slides off the bed, and for a second, Jason wonders if he's going to just leave him here. But all Roman does is start to slowly, methodically take off his clothes. His shoes are first, followed by his gloves, his tie, his belt, and then finally, his suit jacket. He unbuttons the cuffs on his white dress shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbow. Jason can spot the crisscross of scars under downy hair, fair fairer than he would've imagined. They look like the kind you'd get from knife fights, which shocks him. He never took Roman for much of a hands-on guy.
“Where'd you put it?” he asks, snapping Jason out of his reverie.
“Wha...?”
“The lube,” Roman says. He jabs two fingers toward the mesh of his mask. “My eyes are up here.”
“Ha ha.” Jason jerks his head toward his bedside table. “In there.”
“And I'm the predictable one.”
Jason mutters, “You asked,” but there's a lack of any real bite to it. He's too busy watching the curve of Roman's back as he opens the drawer, shifting around one of Jason's guns before he comes upon what he's looking for.
“Wow, you've been busy,” he says, and Jason glares off to the side when Roman dangles the much emptier bottle of lube by his face.
“Shut up.”
“Aww, c'mon, Red,” he says. “Not getting scared on me, are you?”
No. Truth be told, Jason is trying to tamper down his own arousal. His head keeps swimming with images of what Roman might do to him, of how much more intense it might be than the last time. And the last time was intense. Something about having a cock shoved up your ass has that effect.
“Bored, actually,” he says, feigning a yawn. “That what you do to your other subs? Bore them to death?”
“Are you admitting you're one of my subs?”
Jason opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and wags a finger at Roman. “Touche.”
Roman puts the bottle on top of the bedside table and climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself between Jason's still-spread legs. He tries to close them just to be contrary, but Roman yanks them open. He bites down on his lip to keep himself from gasping.
“I thought about gagging you,” Roman says as he starts to undo Jason's pants, “but you're just so much fun when you talk. When you're not getting on my nerves, that is.”
“That's a shame, 'cuz I love getting on your nerves,” Jason says. Roman yanks his pants and underwear down a few inches, and he talks over the flood of arousal that hits him when he's bare. “My favorite part of the day. Say, did you ever scrub that jizz out of your wineglass? Or did you just drink it like that? Bet you did, you're a fucking lunati— Ohh.”
How did he not notice Roman unzipping his mask and leaning down? Because now that face is between his legs, leather squeaking between his thighs, pants still gathered around his knees. Roman's hands are digging into his hips, lifting them up, while his tongue prods around over Jason's hole. That feeling of teeth and zippers and no lips is weird as hell, like he's fucking a mannequin or a skeleton, but when Roman's tongue shoves inside of him, he can't think of anything but how fucking good it feels.
“J-Jesus Christ, that's— Oh, shit.” Jason's head flops back against the pillows, and he blinks blearily up at the canopy above his bed. “That's new.”
Roman doesn't respond, of course. He just keeps licking and prodding and fucking Jason with his tongue, in and out, hot and wet, until Jason's squirming and flushed underneath him. His legs ache from being held up in the air for so long, but his dick is so hard that he can feel it twitch with his pulse.
His breath turns shallow, and he grinds his hips forward, eventually losing his battle against his own voice box. He whines and moans and growls, tugging against his bindings until he can feel metal cut into his skin.
Finally, Roman comes up for air, sliding a finger in at the same time he pulls his tongue out. He immediately starts thrusting it in and out, giving Jason no respite.
“You— You know— You can use lube when... when you finger someone, too,” Jason says, red from his nose to his ears.
“I know,” Roman replies. “I've just been wanting to do that for a while.”
Jason laughs, a little bit of a manic edge to it. He lets his head roll to the side, and grins up at Roman, eyes half-lidded. “You're still being so fuckin' gentle. Afraid you'll hurt your favorite little boy?”
“No, not at all,” Roman says. “I just hate to rush.”
Jason opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, Roman's free hand shoots out to pin him down by the neck. At the same time, he adds two more fingers, and Jason curses himself through the sting. Him and his big mouth.
The neck really is the most alarming part, though. Roman's palm presses down against his throat, cutting off his air, and struggle as he might, his grip won't waver. Jason realizes very belatedly that he never came up with a safe word.
Good fuckin' going, he tells himself. They're gonna find you blue in the face with your pants down. Preferred the explosion, honestly.
“Did you know,” Roman starts, like he's not choking the life out of Jason, “that a loss of oxygen can intensify arousal?”
Well, I wasn't reborn yesterday, Jason thinks irritably, but he can't say anything. Then Roman's fingers curve up, rubbing against that spot inside him, and stars dance around the edges of his vision. He goes to gasp, but he can't, and it's the weirdest fucking feeling in the world.
No, scratch that: the way his cock twitches and his stomach lurches when he finds he can't breathe is the actual weirdest.
Roman is merciless, pounding against his prostate with all the force of his weight behind the assault. Jason squirms, kicking out weakly, his mouth hanging open until he can feel drool drip down the side of his face. Above him, Roman looks impassive as ever, like he couldn't care whether Jason lives or dies or comes or not.
And then, when he feels like he's about to pass out, the pressure at his throat lifts. He gasps for air, kicking his legs with renewed force, but Roman's other hand doesn't let up at all. From his position, all he can do is kick the air on either side of Roman's body.
“I can feel you twitch,” Roman says, those pearly white teeth still on full display under his mask. “Feels good, doesn't it? I can't wait to be inside you.”
“Th-this is,” Jason starts, voice hoarse and raspy, “exactly what— I mean. Y-You are. The least considerate dude. I've— nngh, ever slept with.”
“You'll get used to it,” Roman says.
Jason considers using this brief moment of respite to ask for a safe word.
He doesn't.
Then it's too late, Roman clamping down on his throat again. He changes the angle of his thrusts, and, Jesus Christ, Jason feels him start to add a fourth finger. It's way too much, and there's no way his ass is wet enough for that, but every slide and scrape sends his head spinning. He doesn't know if it's the lack of oxygen or if he really is just a masochist, but it's driving him insane. He wants to moan, wants to scream, wants to curse Roman's name to fucking Hell where he belongs, but all he can do is gape, tongue hanging out of his mouth, too heavy for him to move.
The next time he's allowed to breathe, Roman's other hand stops moving, and he shifts back to look down between Jason's legs. Jason's too busy coughing to care.
“Wow. Look at this,” Roman says, as if that's something Jason can actually do. He bears down with all four of his fingers, like he's stretching Jason open. It hurts, and he groans, but he doesn't object. “You are full. How's that feel? Tell daddy.”
Jason hates that it still makes his cock twitch, hates that there's no way Roman doesn't see it. “Feels like you shoved your hand up my ass and then choked me.”
“You have such a way with words,” Roman says. He slides his fingers out, and Jason can finally let out a breath in relief. “If this is too much for you, I'm afraid—”
“It isn't.” Jason says it so quickly that he surprises himself. “Anything you're thinking of throwing at me... I can take it.”
His ass and his throat both ache, and his wrists and arms are beginning to as well, but he's still blindingly hard. He knows full well that this isn't safe. That even if he tries to escape, he's at a disadvantage. Maybe that's why he's so turned on. He's always gotten excited at the prospect of leaping headfirst into something dangerous. Not this excited, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?
“Still so determined to prove yourself,” Roman says with a slap of Jason's ass. “That's good. Makes things fun for me. Almost like a challenge. Now, let's see...”
He slides open the drawer of Jason's bedside table, and he starts to interject with, “Getting senile on me? You already took it—”
What Roman pulls out isn't lube, but Jason's pistol. He clamps his lips together and swallows.
“Ah.”
“Mhm,” Roman says, pointing it at his face. “Open your mouth.”
Jason looks down at it, all cool metal and hard lines, a Beretta 92 that fits snug in his hand. It doesn't belong in Roman's. It shouldn't be pointing at its owner. He licks and then bites his lower lip.
“That thing's loaded,” he says.
“I know.”
Jason runs his options for exit back through his mind. If he dislocates his thumb, he doesn't have to pick the lock on the handcuffs. He could disarm Roman and get to his other hidden pistol in five seconds flat. He could end this now, if he really wanted to.
He opens his mouth.
“Good boy.” Roman presses the gun inside, knocking against Jason's teeth as he goes. It's cool and it's big and it's angled all the wrong ways, and one errant slip of Roman's finger will kill him (again). It makes his heart race for all the wrong reasons. He bobs his head forward, lifting his hips to demand attention.
Roman grins — at least, he thinks it's a grin, but he can never tell with that mouth of his — and starts to pump the gun in and out, a crude mockery of the first time they ever got together. Jason takes it like a champ, even if every unintentional knock against his teeth sends pain radiating through his skull.
“You know,” Roman says, and Jason hears another zipper being undone, “I might change my mind about keeping you gagged. This is nice.”
Just to be difficult, Jason murmurs around the barrel of the gun. It sounds suspiciously like a slurred version of, “You can go fuck yourself.”
“Sorry, didn't catch that,” Roman says, reaching over to grab the lube with his free hand. Jason watches as well as he can from his position, head immobile under the insistent thrusting of his own gun.
Jason rolls his eyes. A second later, he feels Roman's slicked-up cock sliding over his hole, and he moans despite himself.
“Since you're a little tied up, I think I'll tell you all about the view I've got right now,” Roman says, teasing him with just the head of his cock. “Red Hood is a good name for you; you get so red whenever I touch you. Look at that face. You're blushing. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a virgin.
“You're good at what you do, though. You like licking your gun, don't you? I'd love to give you something nice and warm to suck on. I think I might let you wear my necktie if I did that. Yank it nice and tight, watch you go blue instead.”
It's not normal to get turned on at the thought of being asphyxiated by a crime lord, is it? Jason feels like it's not, but here he is, leaking precum onto his stomach, bobbing his head despite himself to the rhythm Roman's set.
This is a new kind of overwhelming, different from how he felt last time. Last time, it was all physical, too much too soon, fingers and a cock impaling him in ways he never thought could feel so good. Now, it's more mental, Jason drunk on the idea of being tied up and held captive with his own weapons. You'd think someone who's died once before would be a little less touch-and-go with their own life, and yet here he is, giving a blowjob to a deadly firearm.
He bets Dick never does anything this interesting on undercover missions.
“Jason,” Roman says, and then he's pulling the gun out, letting it drag over Jason's lower lip as it goes. “You're right. I'm so inconsiderate, aren't I? Tell me, what do you want?”
“I want you to fuck me,” he says, taste of metal thick in his mouth. “Right the fuck now. I can feel how hard you are, too, pops.” He grinds his ass against Roman's cock to emphasize his point. “You're gonna put that fuckin' prick in my ass, and you're gonna fuck me 'til I come. Stop fucking waiting. You piece of—”
Roman cuts him off by slamming the gun down across his jaw. Jason's head whips to the side, and immediately, he tastes blood. He spits out a big, thick wad of it, but more keeps coming, oozing out onto the pillows.
“Do not give me orders,” he says, “or I'll shove this up your ass instead.”
Jason feels the press of the gun barrel against his temple, and doesn't have to ask what he means by that. He shivers.
It's not from fear.
“...Daddy,” he tries, rolling his tongue around inside his burning mouth. He spits more out, quite a sight, he's sure; he can feel splatters of blood and spit all down one side of his face. “Daddy. C'mon. You wanna give me what I want, don't you? Thought I was a good boy.”
He turns until he's face-to-face with the gun again. He keeps his eyes locked on Roman's mask, then presses a bloody kiss to the barrel. There's a hardness in his gaze that says don't think I'm rolling over for you, but he's so fucking turned on at this point that he doesn't want to keep up the tough guy act for too much longer. It gets exhausting being such a douche all the time.
“Oh, Red,” Roman sighs, letting Jason drag his lips up and down the barrel. “What am I going to do with you? You can never decide if you want to obey me or not.”
I don't, Jason thinks. If nothing else, he can always hold on to his defiant thoughts.
“But, well.” Roman taps Jason's sore cheek with the gun. He can't stop himself from wincing, but he doesn't make a sound. “Truth be told, I've been wanting to fuck you for quite a while now. You're lucky I fit so well in you; I'd never let you talk to me like that, otherwise.”
Jason smirks, even though it hurts his face. “About time. How many times does a guy gotta make passes before he gets fucked around here?”
“Oh, about that,” Roman says, and he starts to slide his cock in, firm and steady. “We're gonna have a talk later about your conduct in front of my men.”
“Ye-ah?” Jason drawls, focusing on relaxing his muscles. It still stings, but he really has had a lot of practice since last time. Now, it's much easier for Roman to bottom out. He sucks in a breath, and with a strained voice, says, “Y-you never did spank me... Ah... 'Was kinda disappointed.”
“I know,” Roman says. “That's why I didn't do it.”
Jason goes to say “You bastard,” but Roman chooses that moment to start rocking his hips, and the words die on the crest of a moan. Shit. Jason's sure he does that on purpose.
But he can't complain. Not now, not when he's finally getting what he wanted all this time. Like last time, Roman is fast and uncompromising, and Jason can tell by the desperation in his thrusts that he's more affected by all this than he's been letting on. He keeps the gun pressed to Jason's forehead for a while, but then it dips lower, and Jason eagerly opens his mouth to welcome it in.
It hurts and it's wrong and it's fun, Jason's legs slung over Roman's shoulder, practically bent over double while the older man pounds into him. Every time the gun draws back far enough, he makes a sound, breathy and thick and desperate, the muzzle smeared red with his blood. He yanks at the handcuffs, and wonders if his wrists are bleeding, too. He can't help but think, with secret satisfaction, that he'll have more marks to covet once this is all over.
After a few minutes of panting and thrusting and cursing, Roman pulls the gun out and slams it none-too-gently on the bedside table. Jason hardly has time to turn his head and look before two strong hands wrap around his throat, cutting off his air once again.
From this angle, he notices that he can see Roman's scars up close. They're faint and white, disappearing up under his sleeves, like a map written with blades. He decides he's going to figure out where they're from later, but for now, he just admires them. Another sign reading “DANGER” blinking big and red with an arrow pointed toward Roman.
His vision starts to swim, and he raises his hands with the intent to claw at Roman's wrists (leave some more marks on him), but the sharp jerk of the chain keeps him in place. Something about that limitation breaks him in the best way, and he screws his eyes shut, losing himself to pleasure. He's so close, but Roman eases up and lets him breathe, and his body rejects the kindness.
“Back, haahh—” He turns his head, spits out more saliva than blood, and looks up at Roman through bleary eyes. “Put 'em back, ah, d-do it again...! Want it. Daddy, please—”
Roman hardly lets him finish before he squeezes again, filling Jason's head with that overbearing, buzzing static. He lets it happen, wants it to happen, feels like, at this moment, his neck is the most intimate part of his body. It's warm and Roman's hands shock him like an electric current, keeping him held down, keeping him grounded while at the same time letting him float. He lets Jason breathe twice more, never very much at a time, not even long enough for Jason to get his thoughts together and babble.
His lower body writhes and twists, but he leaves his upper body under Roman's control entirely. And then, soon enough, he feels the winding of a cord about to snap, and he's coming without making a single sound. His vision goes white and black at the same time, somehow, and he can't even move through the waves of pleasure that rock his whole body. He just has to sit there and surrender to it, let it wash over him and drown him, and it's the strangest and most wonderful thing he's ever felt, so terrifying and hot and sticky and deep.
He thinks he must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knows, Roman is collapsing next to him, and he can feel something warm and wet leaking out of his hole. Every breath feels like fire, but he gulps them down like a lifeline — and that's what they are.
Roman's saying something, but Jason's ears are ringing, so he can't hear it. He becomes vaguely aware that his hands are free, but he doesn't have the strength to pull them down. Maybe he can just... stay here, like this, forever. That sounds nice.
“—kid. Hey. Kid!”
A slap to the unbruised side of his face snaps him out of it. He grumbles. Leave it to Roman to ruin his relaxation.
He tries to say something, he really does, but all that comes out is an indignant hmph. Roman sighs and shakes his head.
“Hey, spoiled brat. Wake up. You gotta get clean.”
Jason flips him the bird. Despite the aching in his body, he then flips himself over, very pointedly smearing cum all over the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets Roman bought him. It'll go nice with the bloodstains, he thinks.
“You're impossible,” Roman sighs.
Jason smirks. He bats his eyelashes, marveling over how heavy they feel. There's a real yawn in his voice this time when he answers.
“That's why you like me.”
Roman doesn't deny it.