Fic: Neither Sweet nor Stolen (Bruce/Jason)
Title: Neither Sweet nor Stolen
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd (Batman/Robin II)
Summary: KISS, n. A word invented by the poets as a rhyme for "bliss." It is supposed to signify, in a general way, some kind of rite or ceremony.
Some People Aren’t
She was exhausted when she came back from the hospital so it was her Ma who’d put the thing down before goin’ home. But now, an ear splitting screech is piercing through the darkness and she’s wide-a-fucking-wake at, she checks the dim glowing numbers of their cheap alarm clock, two in the fucking a.m.!
“Willis!” she swats the space beside her but her arm lands with a thump on empty old mattress. Oh that’s right, Willy went out. First night him and her and their freakin’ bundle of bawling joy are home and he’s pokin’ her shoulder at ten saying he’s goin’ out on a job! She’d been too tired to give ‘em hell for it but oh, was he gonna get it as soon as he got back now.
Sheila stood up in the dark and grabbed her robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around herself as she made her way into the kitchen where they had the crib set up ‘cause their bedroom was too small for the thing.
It had been at the insistence of Willis that she’d carried the troublesome thing inside her own body for nine months. What a hilarious situation! She knew girls who got pregnant on purpose to keep a guy around, Sheila’d tell ‘em to their faces they were fucked in the head. And most guys she knew wanted a girl to get rid of a mistake asap but oh no, not her man. If it’d been up to her she’d have eliminated the problem except, Willis had made it clear he’d never be able to look at her the same way again. Some dopey moral holdover from his fucken’ uptight Catholic bitch of a mother. So now, after nine months of hell, an excruciating child birth, and probably one hell of a debt owed to the hospital she’s left - on her first night back in their dirty little rinky-dink apartment - alone, ‘cause her stinkin’ crook of a not-a-husband (and oh yeah ain’t that icing on the fucken’ cake: Willis is so fucken’ Catholic he can’t abort a fetus but the hell if he’s gonna marry her, the mother of the goddamned child he just had to keep!) with no idea what the fuck to do.
“Out on a job, yeah right.” Sheila muttered to herself. “I know where you are Willis!”
Oh she knows, she knows where Willy is. Out getting drunk with those shiesty friends of his down at Lynche’s. Flirting with that sluty waitress, Cathy, who Sheila’d gone to school with and knew for a fact had a penchant for goin’ after other peoples men.
Sheila stares down into the crib, arms folded around herself with a small frown on her face. Some people just aren’t cut out for this shit. It’s two in the fucking a.m. and she has no idea how to make her own goddamn baby shut the hell up.
She reaches down and brings the crying baby up to her shoulder, belatedly remembering to support its head when it flops back and looks off. Slowly she rocks back and forth before pecking the child on the forehead.
“Jesus Christ Jason, be quite!”
How it’s Done in Paris
After School Care at G.C.P.S. 141 was a joke. It was supposed to be a free program run by the school to watch kids whose parents worked late so that they didn’t have to walk home alone because they all lived in the fucking narrows and that was dangerous. But guess what, they lived in the fucking narrows so the teachers didn’t give a fuck that there were dealers on the playgrounds and that parents working late wasn’t the most likely reason kids weren’t getting picked up on time.
In any case, Jason Todd wasn’t getting picked up on time because his dad was a dead criminal and his mom was a junkie. Jackie Sands, Sally Myers, and Marshal Jenkins were in much the same situation. And Maggie Crump, Casey O’Brian, and Honesty Michaels weren’t getting picked up on time because they were in foster nobody cares. There were only a few kids who weren’t in After School Care but the majority of Jason’s classmates had either skipped school or had already given up on their parents and walked themselves home, huddling together in small groups and taking round about routes to avoid the worst corners.
“Jason!” Casey shouted, snapping him out of his daydreams and back to their lame game of spin the bottle. “You gotta kiss Maggie. And none of that chicken peck shit we saw from Jackie and Marsh, I wanna see some tongue.”
Jason looked down at the brown beer bottle they’d found beside the fence and it was indeed pointing at him. He looked across it and locked uncertain eyes with the girl. She was okay he guessed. She was nothing special as far as looks and even though the shitty “family life” books they went over in gym class said her boobs should probably be showing up soon she didn’t have any. But she wasn’t annoying and she didn’t have a missing tooth like Sally so he guessed he could do worse for a first kiss.
Maggie scooted herself into the center of their little circle and smoothed down her green dress.
Something clenched inside Jason’s chest, it wasn’t like fluttering in his stomach butterflies and why did people say that and shit she was closing her eyes and he needs to be closer to her if he’s gonna kiss her and he has to kiss her or else they’ll all think he’s a chicken and this might be the only girl he ever kisses because fuck girls are weird and he never knows what they think or how fucking Casey even got them to agree to this dumb stupid stupid game, shit.
Jason kneels up and throws himself in her direction at about the same time. Luckily he manages to get his hands on her shoulders and steady himself before his lips are pressed against hers and he’s feeling nothing near steady and his first thoughts are all about wondering what he’s supposed to do next.
Maggie’s lips are unexpectedly covered in a waxy, weird tasting film and it takes Jason longer than it should to realize its chapstick. He doesn’t think his face has ever been this close to another persons and he’s glad her eyes are closed so he closes his too. Maggie’s stiff as a board but Jason remembers Casey’s watching so he un-puckers his lips and tries to kiss her like he’s seen in pg-13 movies and like how he tried kissing his arm a few days ago.
Maggie’s lips are nothing like his arm but it’s not bad and she’s finally stopped pursing her lips like a fish and put her hands on his sides. They’re moving their lips.
“Tongue!” Casey shouts, grabbing Jason’s attention for the second time.
Jason thinks they must have been kissing five seconds and forever but shit’s moving real fast now and fuck it, Jason shoves his tongue into Maggie’s mouth at the same time she tries to shove hers into his and then their tongues are touching and hers tastes bland and wet and foreign.
He must have surprised her because she opens her eyes and jerks back. Jason still has his hands on her shoulders but when she shakes them off and scoots back to her spot in the circle he guesses the kiss is over and sits down too.
“Get outta the middle Todd!” Casey says, and Jason feels his cheeks get hot.
Playing Chicken
His wife - no he can’t think of his wife so Charlie takes his hand off the wheel and sticks his finger in his mouth removing the wedding ring with his teeth. He tosses it in the cup holder, then on second though puts it in the storage arm rest thing in between the front seats.
He’s driving an okay car, nothing too fancy, nice little blue, American made, four seat four door, low price, standard, middle class car. It needs it’s automatic windows fixed, the back ones don’t roll down anymore but it’s not under warranty anymore and the dealership wouldn’t really fix it anyway so…
He’s driving home from work, it’s late but he’ll get home later. He’s not on the roads that will take him home, back to his wife. His good enough apartment that’s outside the city in a nice little gated apartment community and his not ugly, not pretty wife who’s not a bitch but not particularly interesting and doesn’t deserve a husband who doesn’t come directly home from work but probably wouldn’t find another semi-decent man who didn’t if she left him.
She knows. He knows she knows. She knows he knows she knows and he knows that too but that all falls under things they ignore right along with the three hours longer than it should take for him to get home.
He’s driving in circles around a neighbor hood who’s streets aren’t made for modest blue little four doors but which see them often enough that nobody doesn’t know the reason they are there.
Outside his window women walk along the sidewalk in very high heels his wife would never wear. After he passes the women there are more people in heels but this time they are men or nearly men. Finally, after that, is what he is looking for.
At the end of Twelve-Hundred Street, the very edge of the Bowery, is what he’s looking for. They are a far cry form the bright colors of the selections before them. A boy or two leaning together against a dimly lit section of wall. Smoking under a street lamp. Huddled into a pay phone stand. Poking a head into the open window of a car just like Charlie’s.
Charlie doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He dose but he doesn't let himself thing about it until he sees it. Then he dose. A boy who looks young, shy, nervous, a chicken. Chicken new, not chicken scared, although the boy he is looking at is both.
He slows down his car and the boy goes stiff. When he’s stopped Charlie rolls down his window and waits longer than he normally has to for the boy to finally take a few steps forward.
“You wanna go on a date mister?” The boy’s voice sounds weak, like it was shoved out of him and just wants to crawl back into his mouth.
“Sure baby, why don’t you come around and get in the car?”
The voice he uses isn’t Charlie’s. Charlie isn’t Charlie. Charlie is in a good enough car living in a good enough life but bubbling up from the inside or maybe pulled like a blanket over the outside is something called John, the kind of person who’s not Charlie that calls street punks chicken, and baby, and invites them into his car for dates.
Charlie takes a good look at the kid as he’s sliding into the car. Young, 13 maybe but probably younger, ink black wavy hair that curls around his forehead, wide baby blue eyes with thick long lashes, pale skin and pink lips. Lush lips, kid’s got a fuckable mouth. Small frame, underfeed like most of the kids out here but he’s got big hands and feet, looking just gangly enough to indicate that he’d probably be tall if he makes it to someday and malnutrition doesn't stunt his growth.
“You a cop?” asks the kid, like they all ask, as if it will protect them.
“Nah, chicken.” Charlie leans over, snakes a hand around the back of the boy’s neck and draws him in to an open mouthed kiss that’s wet and sloppy and faintly against his will.
The T-Rex in the Room
On the first night Jason had walked resolvedly though the cushiest fucking joint he’d ever been in. He opened doors that were heavier than he was used to because nowhere he’d ever lived had solid wood doors anywhere.
Jason was also more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his entire life. Didn’t matter that he’d just finished eating a fucking amazing ham and cheese, taken a bath in some hot tub like thing, or that he’d then put on the best robe ever he was scared shitless and he had good fucking reason to be.
Batman was clearly a lunatic. Who the fuck kidnaps a fucking random kid off the street, takes them down to their fucking “lair”, ties them to a chair, and then just invites them up for a late dinner, offers them a bath, and then sticks them in some hotel suite room like shit’s not crazy as fuck. Man’s a nut, period.
But that nut is fuckin’ Bruce I-shit-money Wayne so Jason’s gonna suck it up and suck it cause you don’t pass up shit like that unless the man’s a fucking loony who tries to kill you which is a possibility but not three hours ago Jason tried to jack the tires off the fucking Batmobile so really, sanity is in short supply tonight.
So Wayne’s insane in the membrane but Jason’s just wondering how off his rocker the man is because if it’s just that he likes running around at night dressed like a bat that’s perfectly fine. If he likes tying up kids in his lair that’s acceptable too, hell, Jason’s an adventurous kinda guy and he knows a good deal when he sees one so not much could dissuade him from doing what he was clearly brought here to do.
Come to think of it Wayne had that other kid not too long ago too. Michael Jackson much? Whatever, Jason had done worse in the name of getting by so fuck it.
And then there he was. Right at the foot of the largest bed he’d ever seen. Wayne right there looking at him like a really confused man, and when Jason climbed up, looking like a deer surprised by vaguely disgusting headlights.
Cold as fucking ice: “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever you want - ”
“Get out. Now.”
And that stare had frozen Jason to the bone and before he knew it he was walking back to his hotel suite like a zombie and clearly Wayne was too fucking insane for words.
The next day Wayne tried to explain over breakfast that Jason wasn’t here for “that sort of thing” and that he “only wanted to offer him a home” and more bullshit than Jason had ever ignored in one sitting.
That night he grabbed some million dollar knick knacks and tried to run away, shit was too fucking crazy, but he only got as far as the butler would let him and that wasn’t very.
Jeeves, Alfred, whatever, took him to the kitchen and offered a BLT that Jason couldn’t turn down and explained in no uncertain terms that “Master Bruce” was the best fucking man in the universe and Jason should not act like a little shit head.
Jason gave him the kick knacks, trodden off to his hotel suite, and went to bed.
It only took a week before Jason stopped trying to run away, two and a half before he stopped hording food, and a month before he’d call Wayne “Bruce” and start training as Robin.
The first time he refused to recognize it was when he got pinned on the mats and felt more than just the press of a jock but he’d already started to like being called Jay.
It was ever present. Touches while stretching, looks while undressing, pins that lasted too long, and a million other things that B must have been fucking praying Jason never noticed and fuck it B really was the shit, fucking greatest man Jay ‘ed ever known and goddamnit everyone was a perv and a liar and fuck that wasn’t even the most of it.
The worst part was Jason loved being called Jay, he fucking loved every fucking hair ruffle, he craved “good job” like it was his crack. Batman was his god and The Cave was the temple he worshiped in.
Jason jerked off frequently to the though of Batman fucking him like the whore he was and goddamnit how’s that for screwed up hu?
The first night he came back from going out as Robin - and wasn’t Discowing a dick? - Bruce was sitting at the computer typing away.
Jason was high, high on life like those losers who use that expression will never experience. Delirious and pumped and 15 and Robin, Batman’s Robin, Bruce’s Jason, B’s fucking Jay.
And when B spun his chair around and asked him how his night went Jay told him “I need to be in your lap, like now.”
Bruce looked a little stunned but when Jay climbed up and straddled him he didn’t get pushed off.
And when he wrapped his arms around The fucking Batman and kissed B like some desperate thing trying to crawl inside the skin of another it didn’t take long for strong hands to find his hips and pull him closer.
Kissing B was like diving into the ocean. It was like giving up. Jay forgot to be conflicted about being in love with the man who he believed when he’d promised him he didn’t want Jay “like that” but did.
Jay was rolling his fucking hips in the lap of The motherfucking Batman and said motherfucking Batman was helping guide them, shit -
Those were tears, he was crying and being held like he was water that would slip away and B’s tongue was in his mouth like a snake, like a sin and he could never be close enough, never want this to end, never want anything more than this.
“B…fuck… Love you, fucking - oh God, shit, AH!”
B had pulled back but Jay was still lost, eyes closed, grinding in B’s lap and panting heavily.
“Jason. …Jay,”
A moan escaped him that could have been a “hu?” When he lifted his lashes the look in B’s eye’s could have devoured him so he buried his head against B’s neck and pressed his nose against the spot where B’s skin disappeared into the hard collar of The Suit.
“Baby,”
Jay squirmed in B’s lap because he shouldn’t like that but it was B and the laws of physics could go fuck them selves if B told them to and really, if Jay didn’t like being called “baby” or anything of the like it was his own damn fault and -
“God, I’m so sorry Jason…”
And shit! Fuck that!
“No!”
A yelp might have been more dignified but Jay had already given up on shame although, clearly, B hadn’t gotten the memo.
“No, this is - “
“Fuck you!”
“Jason!”
And all Jay can do is grab B’s face and look at him. Look at his eyes, blue and deep, hungry, dangerous, and conflicted, shameful, regretful.
“No, B I - I want this. I know, I - I’m fucking crying, what the hell… please, please don’t - shit that was babble - um… gimme a sec cause you know, this is… not the best situation… to be coherent in.”
“Alright.” And Jay can tell B is closing up, getting distant and shit’s fucking urgent -
“Don’t do that. Listen to me okay? I - I want this,” He thinks he might be petting B’s face but really, anything that keeps the man from turning in on himself and deciding this is a bad idea is acceptable. “It’s okay - “
“This is not okay.”
“Fuck that!”
“Jason.”
“Shit, - don’t cut me off! - I don’t care. Who cares? Nobody, nobody that matters. This is you and me and the giant fucking T-Rex in the room here and I’m over it, this is too much, I want you, please… just kiss me?
Note: The summary is from the Devil's Dictionary because I suck at them.
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd (Batman/Robin II)
Summary: KISS, n. A word invented by the poets as a rhyme for "bliss." It is supposed to signify, in a general way, some kind of rite or ceremony.
Some People Aren’t
She was exhausted when she came back from the hospital so it was her Ma who’d put the thing down before goin’ home. But now, an ear splitting screech is piercing through the darkness and she’s wide-a-fucking-wake at, she checks the dim glowing numbers of their cheap alarm clock, two in the fucking a.m.!
“Willis!” she swats the space beside her but her arm lands with a thump on empty old mattress. Oh that’s right, Willy went out. First night him and her and their freakin’ bundle of bawling joy are home and he’s pokin’ her shoulder at ten saying he’s goin’ out on a job! She’d been too tired to give ‘em hell for it but oh, was he gonna get it as soon as he got back now.
Sheila stood up in the dark and grabbed her robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around herself as she made her way into the kitchen where they had the crib set up ‘cause their bedroom was too small for the thing.
It had been at the insistence of Willis that she’d carried the troublesome thing inside her own body for nine months. What a hilarious situation! She knew girls who got pregnant on purpose to keep a guy around, Sheila’d tell ‘em to their faces they were fucked in the head. And most guys she knew wanted a girl to get rid of a mistake asap but oh no, not her man. If it’d been up to her she’d have eliminated the problem except, Willis had made it clear he’d never be able to look at her the same way again. Some dopey moral holdover from his fucken’ uptight Catholic bitch of a mother. So now, after nine months of hell, an excruciating child birth, and probably one hell of a debt owed to the hospital she’s left - on her first night back in their dirty little rinky-dink apartment - alone, ‘cause her stinkin’ crook of a not-a-husband (and oh yeah ain’t that icing on the fucken’ cake: Willis is so fucken’ Catholic he can’t abort a fetus but the hell if he’s gonna marry her, the mother of the goddamned child he just had to keep!) with no idea what the fuck to do.
“Out on a job, yeah right.” Sheila muttered to herself. “I know where you are Willis!”
Oh she knows, she knows where Willy is. Out getting drunk with those shiesty friends of his down at Lynche’s. Flirting with that sluty waitress, Cathy, who Sheila’d gone to school with and knew for a fact had a penchant for goin’ after other peoples men.
Sheila stares down into the crib, arms folded around herself with a small frown on her face. Some people just aren’t cut out for this shit. It’s two in the fucking a.m. and she has no idea how to make her own goddamn baby shut the hell up.
She reaches down and brings the crying baby up to her shoulder, belatedly remembering to support its head when it flops back and looks off. Slowly she rocks back and forth before pecking the child on the forehead.
“Jesus Christ Jason, be quite!”
How it’s Done in Paris
After School Care at G.C.P.S. 141 was a joke. It was supposed to be a free program run by the school to watch kids whose parents worked late so that they didn’t have to walk home alone because they all lived in the fucking narrows and that was dangerous. But guess what, they lived in the fucking narrows so the teachers didn’t give a fuck that there were dealers on the playgrounds and that parents working late wasn’t the most likely reason kids weren’t getting picked up on time.
In any case, Jason Todd wasn’t getting picked up on time because his dad was a dead criminal and his mom was a junkie. Jackie Sands, Sally Myers, and Marshal Jenkins were in much the same situation. And Maggie Crump, Casey O’Brian, and Honesty Michaels weren’t getting picked up on time because they were in foster nobody cares. There were only a few kids who weren’t in After School Care but the majority of Jason’s classmates had either skipped school or had already given up on their parents and walked themselves home, huddling together in small groups and taking round about routes to avoid the worst corners.
“Jason!” Casey shouted, snapping him out of his daydreams and back to their lame game of spin the bottle. “You gotta kiss Maggie. And none of that chicken peck shit we saw from Jackie and Marsh, I wanna see some tongue.”
Jason looked down at the brown beer bottle they’d found beside the fence and it was indeed pointing at him. He looked across it and locked uncertain eyes with the girl. She was okay he guessed. She was nothing special as far as looks and even though the shitty “family life” books they went over in gym class said her boobs should probably be showing up soon she didn’t have any. But she wasn’t annoying and she didn’t have a missing tooth like Sally so he guessed he could do worse for a first kiss.
Maggie scooted herself into the center of their little circle and smoothed down her green dress.
Something clenched inside Jason’s chest, it wasn’t like fluttering in his stomach butterflies and why did people say that and shit she was closing her eyes and he needs to be closer to her if he’s gonna kiss her and he has to kiss her or else they’ll all think he’s a chicken and this might be the only girl he ever kisses because fuck girls are weird and he never knows what they think or how fucking Casey even got them to agree to this dumb stupid stupid game, shit.
Jason kneels up and throws himself in her direction at about the same time. Luckily he manages to get his hands on her shoulders and steady himself before his lips are pressed against hers and he’s feeling nothing near steady and his first thoughts are all about wondering what he’s supposed to do next.
Maggie’s lips are unexpectedly covered in a waxy, weird tasting film and it takes Jason longer than it should to realize its chapstick. He doesn’t think his face has ever been this close to another persons and he’s glad her eyes are closed so he closes his too. Maggie’s stiff as a board but Jason remembers Casey’s watching so he un-puckers his lips and tries to kiss her like he’s seen in pg-13 movies and like how he tried kissing his arm a few days ago.
Maggie’s lips are nothing like his arm but it’s not bad and she’s finally stopped pursing her lips like a fish and put her hands on his sides. They’re moving their lips.
“Tongue!” Casey shouts, grabbing Jason’s attention for the second time.
Jason thinks they must have been kissing five seconds and forever but shit’s moving real fast now and fuck it, Jason shoves his tongue into Maggie’s mouth at the same time she tries to shove hers into his and then their tongues are touching and hers tastes bland and wet and foreign.
He must have surprised her because she opens her eyes and jerks back. Jason still has his hands on her shoulders but when she shakes them off and scoots back to her spot in the circle he guesses the kiss is over and sits down too.
“Get outta the middle Todd!” Casey says, and Jason feels his cheeks get hot.
Playing Chicken
His wife - no he can’t think of his wife so Charlie takes his hand off the wheel and sticks his finger in his mouth removing the wedding ring with his teeth. He tosses it in the cup holder, then on second though puts it in the storage arm rest thing in between the front seats.
He’s driving an okay car, nothing too fancy, nice little blue, American made, four seat four door, low price, standard, middle class car. It needs it’s automatic windows fixed, the back ones don’t roll down anymore but it’s not under warranty anymore and the dealership wouldn’t really fix it anyway so…
He’s driving home from work, it’s late but he’ll get home later. He’s not on the roads that will take him home, back to his wife. His good enough apartment that’s outside the city in a nice little gated apartment community and his not ugly, not pretty wife who’s not a bitch but not particularly interesting and doesn’t deserve a husband who doesn’t come directly home from work but probably wouldn’t find another semi-decent man who didn’t if she left him.
She knows. He knows she knows. She knows he knows she knows and he knows that too but that all falls under things they ignore right along with the three hours longer than it should take for him to get home.
He’s driving in circles around a neighbor hood who’s streets aren’t made for modest blue little four doors but which see them often enough that nobody doesn’t know the reason they are there.
Outside his window women walk along the sidewalk in very high heels his wife would never wear. After he passes the women there are more people in heels but this time they are men or nearly men. Finally, after that, is what he is looking for.
At the end of Twelve-Hundred Street, the very edge of the Bowery, is what he’s looking for. They are a far cry form the bright colors of the selections before them. A boy or two leaning together against a dimly lit section of wall. Smoking under a street lamp. Huddled into a pay phone stand. Poking a head into the open window of a car just like Charlie’s.
Charlie doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He dose but he doesn't let himself thing about it until he sees it. Then he dose. A boy who looks young, shy, nervous, a chicken. Chicken new, not chicken scared, although the boy he is looking at is both.
He slows down his car and the boy goes stiff. When he’s stopped Charlie rolls down his window and waits longer than he normally has to for the boy to finally take a few steps forward.
“You wanna go on a date mister?” The boy’s voice sounds weak, like it was shoved out of him and just wants to crawl back into his mouth.
“Sure baby, why don’t you come around and get in the car?”
The voice he uses isn’t Charlie’s. Charlie isn’t Charlie. Charlie is in a good enough car living in a good enough life but bubbling up from the inside or maybe pulled like a blanket over the outside is something called John, the kind of person who’s not Charlie that calls street punks chicken, and baby, and invites them into his car for dates.
Charlie takes a good look at the kid as he’s sliding into the car. Young, 13 maybe but probably younger, ink black wavy hair that curls around his forehead, wide baby blue eyes with thick long lashes, pale skin and pink lips. Lush lips, kid’s got a fuckable mouth. Small frame, underfeed like most of the kids out here but he’s got big hands and feet, looking just gangly enough to indicate that he’d probably be tall if he makes it to someday and malnutrition doesn't stunt his growth.
“You a cop?” asks the kid, like they all ask, as if it will protect them.
“Nah, chicken.” Charlie leans over, snakes a hand around the back of the boy’s neck and draws him in to an open mouthed kiss that’s wet and sloppy and faintly against his will.
The T-Rex in the Room
On the first night Jason had walked resolvedly though the cushiest fucking joint he’d ever been in. He opened doors that were heavier than he was used to because nowhere he’d ever lived had solid wood doors anywhere.
Jason was also more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his entire life. Didn’t matter that he’d just finished eating a fucking amazing ham and cheese, taken a bath in some hot tub like thing, or that he’d then put on the best robe ever he was scared shitless and he had good fucking reason to be.
Batman was clearly a lunatic. Who the fuck kidnaps a fucking random kid off the street, takes them down to their fucking “lair”, ties them to a chair, and then just invites them up for a late dinner, offers them a bath, and then sticks them in some hotel suite room like shit’s not crazy as fuck. Man’s a nut, period.
But that nut is fuckin’ Bruce I-shit-money Wayne so Jason’s gonna suck it up and suck it cause you don’t pass up shit like that unless the man’s a fucking loony who tries to kill you which is a possibility but not three hours ago Jason tried to jack the tires off the fucking Batmobile so really, sanity is in short supply tonight.
So Wayne’s insane in the membrane but Jason’s just wondering how off his rocker the man is because if it’s just that he likes running around at night dressed like a bat that’s perfectly fine. If he likes tying up kids in his lair that’s acceptable too, hell, Jason’s an adventurous kinda guy and he knows a good deal when he sees one so not much could dissuade him from doing what he was clearly brought here to do.
Come to think of it Wayne had that other kid not too long ago too. Michael Jackson much? Whatever, Jason had done worse in the name of getting by so fuck it.
And then there he was. Right at the foot of the largest bed he’d ever seen. Wayne right there looking at him like a really confused man, and when Jason climbed up, looking like a deer surprised by vaguely disgusting headlights.
Cold as fucking ice: “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever you want - ”
“Get out. Now.”
And that stare had frozen Jason to the bone and before he knew it he was walking back to his hotel suite like a zombie and clearly Wayne was too fucking insane for words.
The next day Wayne tried to explain over breakfast that Jason wasn’t here for “that sort of thing” and that he “only wanted to offer him a home” and more bullshit than Jason had ever ignored in one sitting.
That night he grabbed some million dollar knick knacks and tried to run away, shit was too fucking crazy, but he only got as far as the butler would let him and that wasn’t very.
Jeeves, Alfred, whatever, took him to the kitchen and offered a BLT that Jason couldn’t turn down and explained in no uncertain terms that “Master Bruce” was the best fucking man in the universe and Jason should not act like a little shit head.
Jason gave him the kick knacks, trodden off to his hotel suite, and went to bed.
It only took a week before Jason stopped trying to run away, two and a half before he stopped hording food, and a month before he’d call Wayne “Bruce” and start training as Robin.
The first time he refused to recognize it was when he got pinned on the mats and felt more than just the press of a jock but he’d already started to like being called Jay.
It was ever present. Touches while stretching, looks while undressing, pins that lasted too long, and a million other things that B must have been fucking praying Jason never noticed and fuck it B really was the shit, fucking greatest man Jay ‘ed ever known and goddamnit everyone was a perv and a liar and fuck that wasn’t even the most of it.
The worst part was Jason loved being called Jay, he fucking loved every fucking hair ruffle, he craved “good job” like it was his crack. Batman was his god and The Cave was the temple he worshiped in.
Jason jerked off frequently to the though of Batman fucking him like the whore he was and goddamnit how’s that for screwed up hu?
The first night he came back from going out as Robin - and wasn’t Discowing a dick? - Bruce was sitting at the computer typing away.
Jason was high, high on life like those losers who use that expression will never experience. Delirious and pumped and 15 and Robin, Batman’s Robin, Bruce’s Jason, B’s fucking Jay.
And when B spun his chair around and asked him how his night went Jay told him “I need to be in your lap, like now.”
Bruce looked a little stunned but when Jay climbed up and straddled him he didn’t get pushed off.
And when he wrapped his arms around The fucking Batman and kissed B like some desperate thing trying to crawl inside the skin of another it didn’t take long for strong hands to find his hips and pull him closer.
Kissing B was like diving into the ocean. It was like giving up. Jay forgot to be conflicted about being in love with the man who he believed when he’d promised him he didn’t want Jay “like that” but did.
Jay was rolling his fucking hips in the lap of The motherfucking Batman and said motherfucking Batman was helping guide them, shit -
Those were tears, he was crying and being held like he was water that would slip away and B’s tongue was in his mouth like a snake, like a sin and he could never be close enough, never want this to end, never want anything more than this.
“B…fuck… Love you, fucking - oh God, shit, AH!”
B had pulled back but Jay was still lost, eyes closed, grinding in B’s lap and panting heavily.
“Jason. …Jay,”
A moan escaped him that could have been a “hu?” When he lifted his lashes the look in B’s eye’s could have devoured him so he buried his head against B’s neck and pressed his nose against the spot where B’s skin disappeared into the hard collar of The Suit.
“Baby,”
Jay squirmed in B’s lap because he shouldn’t like that but it was B and the laws of physics could go fuck them selves if B told them to and really, if Jay didn’t like being called “baby” or anything of the like it was his own damn fault and -
“God, I’m so sorry Jason…”
And shit! Fuck that!
“No!”
A yelp might have been more dignified but Jay had already given up on shame although, clearly, B hadn’t gotten the memo.
“No, this is - “
“Fuck you!”
“Jason!”
And all Jay can do is grab B’s face and look at him. Look at his eyes, blue and deep, hungry, dangerous, and conflicted, shameful, regretful.
“No, B I - I want this. I know, I - I’m fucking crying, what the hell… please, please don’t - shit that was babble - um… gimme a sec cause you know, this is… not the best situation… to be coherent in.”
“Alright.” And Jay can tell B is closing up, getting distant and shit’s fucking urgent -
“Don’t do that. Listen to me okay? I - I want this,” He thinks he might be petting B’s face but really, anything that keeps the man from turning in on himself and deciding this is a bad idea is acceptable. “It’s okay - “
“This is not okay.”
“Fuck that!”
“Jason.”
“Shit, - don’t cut me off! - I don’t care. Who cares? Nobody, nobody that matters. This is you and me and the giant fucking T-Rex in the room here and I’m over it, this is too much, I want you, please… just kiss me?
Note: The summary is from the Devil's Dictionary because I suck at them.