Disclaimers: No one here is mine.

Spoilers: Follows NW:YO canon.

Summary: The kid's hard to read.

Ratings Note/Warnings: There's sex here, as well as content
some readers may find disturbing.

Author's Note: I blame the first Nightwing uniform. And
Houie's art. And society.

Acknowledgments: To Jack and Jam for audiencing,
encouragement, and helpful suggestions.

*

The fight's a good one -- bad guys all taken care of and the
kid has more new bruises than he does.

It's a small and petty pleasure, but it's his, and he'll take it.

Right now they're on a rooftop, and Jason is crouching on the ledge
like if he just glares hard enough another criminal will show up that
he can punch. Or... no. It's not a glare, not really.

It's just that as near as *he* can tell, the kid doesn't have a single
smile that Dick can read *as* a smile without thinking about it some
first. This is the one which is more hungry than anything else, more...

Well, it's not like he doesn't remember what it's like when a fight is
both hard *and* not -- really -- long enough.

"Easy, kid. You're actually supposed to take breaks --"

"Whenever we can. Yeah, I got the same speech you did."

Exactly the same? There's a part of him which wants -- still -- to say
'yes, obviously.' The rest of him isn't so sure anymore. He nods to
cover the lack of a response and moves a little closer behind the kid.
Quietly.

Jason doesn't react at all for much too long, and Dick thinks about
calling him on it when the kid stiffens and whirls. "Heh. Got you."

"Too slow," he says, reaching out to jab the kid lightly on the
forehead. "I had almost a minute."

That gets a scowl. "B looks louder than you do," he says, as if that's
an explanation.

Dick nods instead of asking. The kid pretty much has to be different
(in every. Single. Way, and really, was that a message? How could it
not be?) from him, after all.

And right now, the difference is in the stare. It's -- not angry. He's
still not sure what anger looks like on Jason. It's...

He's not sure. "What?"

"Man, I..." Jason reaches out and jabs Dick's chest, right where the
dip on the Nightwing suit ends. And then he shakes his head. "No one
who *ever* saw that outfit would ever have any questions in their
head about the Robin suit. Like, ever."

Dick frowns. "Did you *not* get the speech about the tactical
importance of --"

"Distracting the bad guys from the hurting they're about to get?"
Jason... that's definitely a smirk. "Yeah. I did. The man said he never
would've considered it if *you* hadn't insisted, Cleavagewing."

It's tempting to ask if the kid wants to start something, but in the end
it's also kind of pointless. If he did, he would. This is something else.
"Did you have anything in particular you wanted to say, kid?"

"Nothin' at all," he says, leaning back enough that one good shove
would send him right off the roof, and smirking wider. "I think I'm just
gonna enjoy the view."

Enjoy the... "You know, I can't wait until Batgirl gets to work with you."

When Jason cocks his head, the streetlights gleam, a little, off his teeth.
"I'm a bad, bad boy, but I'll take the ass-kicking like a happy, happy
man. Damn, she's hot."

"Kid --"

"The *man* says you're *not* dating her."

He had? "You *asked*?"

Jason shrugs and rocks a little on his heels. "I say again: she's *hot*."

"And you honestly think *you* have a chance?"

"Maybe she just likes her men --"

"Short, offensive, and in need of a beating?"

Jason snickers. "Hey, I try not to judge, you know? Not when they can
kick ass in *heels*, anyway."

Sometimes, he thinks Jason *wants* Dick to beat the shit out of him.

"Gotta wonder how *she'd* look in an outfit like that, though. Damn."

Sometimes, he's absolutely *sure* of it. "Robin --" He cuts himself off,
hard. He hadn't wanted to say it, yet. It's a bargain with himself that he'd
made in the interests of his own damned sanity -- only call the kid Robin
when he... deserves it. Something.

"You know, every time you slip, I get this warm little glow," Jason says,
tapping his own chest.

There's more armor there than there was on his own suit. The kid's gonna
need it in about a minute. And he's not supposed to know it *is* a slip --

"Then again, maybe it's just from staring at your man-tits all night. Jesus,
Nightwing."

Dick blinks.

"I mean..." Jason reaches out, again, but it's not a jab so much as a long
(appreciative) stroke up the cut (it's *not* cleavage) on Dick's chest.

"Kid --"

And down again.

Dick catches Jason's wrist. "Back off."

Jason flexes his wrist in Dick's grip.

It feels exactly as strong as it looks. (And why would Bruce want a partner
who was just a smaller version of him? In terms of strengths, anyway,
and --)

"I *am* a teenaged boy, Nightwing," he says, and reaches out with his
*other* hand.

And Dick's watching the kid's balance -- not as precarious as it looks, because
the ankles are just as strong as the wrists, and somehow strangely
*obvious* in the boots -- but maybe he's watching too hard, as opposed
to --

The thing is, he *knows* this is just another goad. It's not, actually, all that
different from the crap Roy kept pulling in the days immediately after Dick
showing up in the suit. Roy would appreciate Jason's sense of humor, such
as it is, and --

"Robin," he says, deliberately.

Jason looks up at him, but he doesn't stop touching. Not skin -- but that
really feels like a 'yet,' right now.

And he doesn't look like he's teasing so much as --

"You know, your nipples are getting hard, man."

"Amusingly enough, this is the sort of thing that happens when people feel
me *up*, little wing."

It's the name the kid pays the most attention to -- though it's not like Dick's
gotten much chance to use the kid's *real* name. Little wing... works, in a
lot of ways he doesn't know how to think about, whether or not he wants
to.

It's just that right now --

"Yeah...?"

-- 'working' means something different. For whatever reason, it's not hard at
all to read the look on the kid's face.

"I mean..." And this look, Dick thinks, is only *trying* to be a smirk. "What
can I say, man? I kind of want to *keep* feeling you up." And Jason's hand --
the free one -- slides away from Dick's skin. But only to rub at Dick's nipple
through the suit.

Dick catches Jason's other wrist and squeezes.

Jason licks his lips.

"*Jesus*, kid. I don't *play* with kids who were still in grade school when I
was --"

"It's not like I'm a virgin, D -- Nightwing."

"That isn't my point --"

"No?" Jason grins, and slips off the ledge, moving in those last two steps until
he's right... there.

Breathing against Dick's jaw and -- yeah. Flexing his wrists. Both of them. And
really *not* trying to get away, as opposed to making sure Dick knows he's
still holding on. Or --

"Then what is the point, man? It's not like we've got anything *else* to do
right now."

They don't. No signal tonight, and Batman's with the League, and --

He jerks when Jason -- Jesus -- *licks* him and lets go of the kid's wrists in a
reflex he has to promise himself a sincere effort to get rid of when that just
leads to Jason's hands on his *chest* again, thumbs finding Dick's nipples and
rubbing --

Hard.

Dick brushes the kid's hands aside again, grabbing for his wrists and catching
them easily. Too easily. He narrows his eyes and Jason looks down, a little.

The mask is making him hard to read again, but not that hard. His lips are a
little parted and --

Flex. "Or we could play it this way," Jason says, and looks up. His *head*
doesn't come up, and Dick knows, with perfect certainty, that if the mask wasn't
there the kid would be giving him a *look* from under his eyelashes.

Street-kid. Jesus fucking --

"I could've guessed you'd like it like that. Should've, maybe," he says, and
flexes his wrists one more time. And smiles. "Considering."

And if anyone asks him -- if he's *that* unlucky -- he has one excuse he can
give. It's the smile, and it's the fact that it's the -- *clearest* thing he's seen on
the kid's face since running Bruce's corrupted little gauntlet.

Since he *met* the kid.

The smile on his face is almost gentle, or... accepting or -- something.

He doesn't know.

He just knows that shoving Jason's wrists behind Jason's (broad, for his age)
back and *holding* them there doesn't do anything but --

"Fuck, *yeah*, Nightwing."

And that he'd known it would before he did it. Dick closes his eyes behind his
own mask and squeezes the kid's wrists too hard.

"I could beg --"

"How much --" Dick stops, breathes. He doesn't want to use the damned
Nightwing voice for this, and he doesn't want to know why it's the first thing
that came out of his mouth. "Little wing."

Jason bites his lip a little. "What?"

"How likely is this to get you to --" Not be *like* this. "Focus?"

The kid shrugs, pulling a little against the hold Dick has on him. "Sex and
patrol, man. Two great tastes."

Dick laughs despite himself, because really... not-virgin or not, what the *hell*
would the kid know about it?

"Uh... Nightwing --"

"Easy," he says, and moves the kid's wrists to one hand. He has no doubt in
his mind that Jason can break this hold with raw force alone, but.

He doesn't try.

Not when Dick squeezes just (because) to be sure, and not when Dick cups
him through the shorts. More armor here, too.

Still not enough to keep Dick from feeling the heat.

"Jesus, Nightwing -- fuck --"

And not enough to keep Jason from feeling *this* squeeze. Good to know. Or
maybe just interesting. Or --

He doesn't know.

The last time he'd done this on a rooftop, in uniform, it had been because Kory
really, really wanted to. Same as the first time. The kid is anything *but* Kory,
but it still doesn't feel as different as it should to tug the shorts aside just
enough to get in, to squeeze Jason's wrists *much* too hard when he curses
too loud, and to stroke.

"Oh... God, your... your fucking *gauntlets* --"

It stops him -- he hadn't even remembered to take them *off* -- but --

"C'mon, c'mon, *please* --"

But he's not going to stop again. And --

"Yeah -- *yeah* --"

"Is that the best you got, kid? I thought you said you could *beg*."

It makes Jason suck in a breath -- too loud -- and Dick waits for the laugh, the
joke, the thing that'll let him to do this as hard as he *wants* to...

It doesn't come.

"Please. Please, Nightwing..."

Dick hears himself grunt and feels himself *squeeze* --

"Oh fuck, please, man, c'mon, please make me come --"

"Jesus --"

"I'll suck you -- or you could -- could just use my come to --"

Sometimes Kory starts to say things which make it easier to kiss than to listen,
too. But she never lets him get away with just shoving his tongue in her mouth.
Not without a bite and *never* without a growl.

Jason just groans though, making Dick's palate feel kind of tickled and itchy.

And Jason doesn't break the kiss to --

Do anything. He just kisses back. He apparently likes kissing just fine (or is it
part of this? Giving him what *he* wants?), and he wouldn't have...

He wouldn't have thought it would be this good, and better when Dick uses
his body and Jason's *cooperation* to spin them around against the leg of
the water-tower. Dick's arm is protecting Jason's wrists from the metal, and
Jason's moans are getting quieter *and* more desperate-sounding.

Running out of air and just -- *close*.

Dick pulls back enough for them to breathe and leans in to exhale against
Jason's ear, smiling a little when it makes the kid *buck*. "Come for me, little
wing."

It makes Jason fuck his fist, hard and fast and utterly shameless. Just like one
good pass with a mag-lite wouldn't make everything they're doing --
everything *Dick's* doing -- painfully obvious.

"Do it --"

'Now,' he doesn't have to say. His gauntlets are actually thinner than Jason's --
and the ones *he'd* used to use -- and he can feel Jason's come sinking
through. His palm feels hot and sticky, and Jason is breathing like the aftermath
of a spar.

Certainly like the spars *Dick* used to have with --

"Fuck, Nightwing, that was..."

The smile on the kid's face when he looks up this time is like the ones he --
almost -- knows now. Sharp and a little wild and -- yeah. Happy. He can see it.
And this is where he says something to the kid about getting his head back
into the game. This is where he lets *go* --

"Nngh -- ow. Heh. Guess I need to work that stretch, hunh?"

-- *before* Jason drops to his knees.

Had he seen this coming? *Why* hadn't he seen this coming?

He can see that the stretch of the kid's arms behind his back and *up* is
painful -- it wouldn't be entirely easy on *him* -- but his brain isn't taking the
information in. It's -- he can't --

Jason's *mouth* on him through the suit, hot and -- he can't feel the wet,
but he knows it's there --

"Kid -- little wing --"

"Just let me, man. This is..." Jason flexes his wrists and drags his cheek over
him. "This is *good*."

With his hands back, he *can't* get Dick out of the suit. But it doesn't stop
him from nuzzling, from -- if that part of the suit wasn't dark, the wet-spot
would be embarrassing and obvious. Just like the one inside his jock.

"Please --"

"*Don't* --"

Jason tenses and Dick bites his lip. Hard.

"Kid... *Robin* --"

"No more begging? Okay. Fuck my *mouth*, Nightwing."

"Jesus --"

"You've got me on my knees. You know what I want --"

"-- fucking *Christ* --"

"You *know* what I deserve," Jason says, and licks him, slow and hard,
through the suit. And then he leans back again. "Right?"

It's easier in that way it never was when it was just him and Bruce, in that
way that's *wrong*, to stare down into the whited-out lenses of Jason's
mask. He doesn't know what's in the kid's eyes at all, but his mind can make
(excuses) guesses and his hand doesn't care.

His sticky, working hand, shoving down his tights and his jock and Jason
doesn't even wait for him to pull his dick down from where it's trying to
arch against his abdomen -- just *lunges* at him and works his lips around
the head --

"God -- *fuck* --"

And works his head *down*.

And up. And --

And Dick slicks Jason's hair with his own come and pulls --

And *jerks* at the way the kid moans around him and pulls harder before
he can stop and just make himself hold on.

It's --

Kory's mouth, Kory's wicked, wicked smile --

Jason's *teeth*, sharp and painful and -- *gone* -- before he can do more
than make a wordless noise.

He wanted Dick to *fuck* his mouth. He wanted -- Dick wants --

The first roll of his hips feels awkward and wrong -- and makes Jason's wrists
flex hard enough in Dick's hand that he almost lets go.

But he knows what that flex means now, and the second roll -- the second
*thrust* feels too good, too perfect, and Dick squeezes his eyes shut and
gives up a little --

And more than that every time a thrust cuts *off* one of Jason's groans.
And -- oh God, *this* --

Dick feels his face heat and *forces* himself to open his eyes, and --

The position. His hand in Jason's hair. His *dick* sliding between Jason's
swollen, red --

His stomach lurches, but he's too hard, now, for that to be anything but
another *feeling*, another reason for his knees to feel weak and for him to
bite his own lip to keep from saying something awful, something worse, or
maybe just something *true*.

Jason's too good at this.

And Dick can't stop.

He closes his eyes and does it, hoping for -- speed, or gentleness, or
something that could make this more or different from what it *is*, but he
can feel himself shaking and he can feel his fingers *tightening*, and when
Jason just swallows him and stays there --

"God -- *please* --"

-- he can keep himself from thrusting even harder but he *can't* keep
himself from coming.

He can barely keep himself *upright*, and --

Jesus, he's still holding the kid's *wrists*. Dick lets go and drops into a crouch,
and tries not to think about how much of it is to just stabilize himself
physically again as opposed to how much it's to rub at least some of the
stiffness out of Jason's shoulders.

And Jason... is breathing hard. Not coughing, and not --

He's laughing. "Wow. Jesus, Nightwing."

"J -- Robin. I..."

He hears himself trailing off and feels exactly as pathetic about it as he should,
but the look on Jason's face is just a little too close, a little too -- fucking
*gentle* for anything else. It's asking for something, or confirming something,
and Dick isn't sure what.

It makes Dick want to take off his mask. He keeps rubbing at the kid's
shoulders instead, and hates himself for hearing warning bells when the kid
smiles and --

He can smell himself on Jason's breath, and it means that his mouth is open
for the kiss. The slow, hard, *wet* kiss that -- doesn't last long enough. Or
too long.

And then Jason is twisting away and standing -- and reaching down to offer
his hand. Dick takes it and gets pulled into something that's too close to be
anything remotely appropriate.

Except that Jason isn't looking at him so much as giving a sharp and kind
of -- *off* -- smile to the roof.

"Robin?"

"Nothing, man. Just..." Jason shrugs and squeezes his hand once before
reaching down to adjust himself in his shorts. "You know. Thinking."

He's hard again. But --

"Patrol?"

Dick nods.

*