by Te
May 26, 2012

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized references to storylines that are some years old now. Meant to take place some ten months after Jason's return to Gotham.

Summary: He's still Jason.

Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content some readers may find to be disturbing.

Author's Note: I've had this bunny for the better part of a year now -- okay, no, that's a lie. I've had the bunny that *became* this story for nearly a year. It's so different, though, that I just might have to add the bunny to the list of things I keep screwing up in -- hopefully -- enjoyable ways, like the "Dick obsesses about Tim" bunny. We'll see. In any event, this -- like basically all of my Red Hood stories -- was written explicitly to make my Pixie happy. I hope it does it for y'all, too.

Acknowledgments: Much love and squeezes to Pixie, Mildred, ShadowValkyrie, Nonie, Spice, Melissa, and my Jack for audiencing, encouragement, and any number of helpful suggestions. Pixie, of course, gets extra credit for her tireless efforts to help me see Red Hood as redeemable.

Length: 22,000 words.


Jason lands on the terminally -- and conveniently -- shadowy roof of the Hunt building and stares at the kid he's going to be sharing it with for the next fuck only knows how many hours.


With Tim fucking *Drake* of all fucking *things* --

This is --

("I'm asking you as a favor.")

This is fucked-up, is what it fucking is --

("I'm asking -- I would not ask if it was not --"

"Necessary? Is that the word you wanna use?")

And Bruce had clammed *right* the hell up, standing there on *his* roof -- in one of the few spots which *wouldn't* get his ass killed --

Jason'd had one of the *others* --

And they were damned well both thinking of all the *other* ways Bruce *used* to define that word. So.

("Get outta here, Batman --"

"There was a time when you never wished to call me that --"

"Times *change*.")

And Bruce had gritted his *teeth* --

And Jason had remembered hating that sound --

*Fearing* that sound when he was twelve and training, because he knew in his *bones* it meant he was fucking up --

And *then* learning to just hate it, because being *thirteen* had taught him -- among *many* other fucking things -- that the sound *just* meant that Bruce was trying real damned hard not to --

Reach out.

Fucking --

Right there on Jason's *roof* --

Even though they hadn't been together in *years* --

Even though --

("Oh, for fuck's *sake*, B, what's the stakeout even *for*?")

And Jason was ready -- all fucking set -- to kick Bruce's ass off the roof if he said or did *anything* that even *looked* like he was *noticing* Jason showing an interest --

If he even *breathed* the wrong way --

He *knows* he was --

But all Bruce had done was nod fucking *curtly* and detail the fucking *mission*. Yet another mobbed-up so-called 'family' looking to take territory from a gang that just doesn't want to *call* itself a family, and looking to do it in the most violent possible way.

Technically it's *Huntress'* territory, but Babs has her working in fucking *Ireland* of all places --

And Dick is with the Outsiders and off the fucking *grid* --

And Batgirl is in the 'haven *for* Dick --

And the *good* Robin -- hates him.

Hates him like fire on her gorgeous fucking *tits*, which -- no, Bruce *didn't* put it that way, but he didn't fucking have to.

You blow away one fucking rapist in front of a girl -- and maybe get a *little* brain juice in said girl's hair -- and you're fucked for *life*, apparently.

*But* --

("I'll do it *myself*, B --"


"What the fuck do you *mean* 'no'? You *know* --"

"I know that they have collected an arsenal of weaponry and will have, at that location, at least six trained hitmen and perhaps as many as two dozen soldiers."

"I can --"

"The fact that you *can* --"

"Doesn't mean I *should*? I'm not your fucking partner, B, and I'm *definitely* not your *subordinate* partner --"

"You are yourself, and I would rather see this mission go uncompleted than risk --"


And -- Bruce had looked at him. *Just* looked at him, and with his mouth set and the cowl on it shouldn't have fucking *meant* anything --

It *never* should --

But it did.

It -- did.

And Jason had crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the roof --

And maybe fucking used his peripheral vision to watch Bruce clench his fucking *fists* --

("Please, Jay. I will not ask --"

"*Don't* say you won't ask me for anything else."

"I --"

"You can't *make* that kind of promise, *Batman*.")

And Jason had *looked* at him --

*Into* him as much as he *could* --

And then he'd been in that ice-cold hotel Chilton suite in Addis Ababa, the suite that was just as perfect and rich and beautiful as every *other* suite he'd been in since hooking up with Bruce -- except for the fact that the air conditioning only had settings for 'freezing' and 'freeze your fucking sac off.' He'd *been* there --

And Bruce had been on his knees --

And Bruce's huge fucking hands had been on his hips --

And Jason had been *fifteen*, not nineteen, and fifteen was young enough to still be a little scared by all the impossible *love* in Bruce's eyes, all the need and hurt, all the *promises* --

("If you give me another chance, Jay --"

"B --"

"If you *allow* me to *try* --"

"Fucking -- *B* --")

And there had been tears in Bruce's eyes as he'd shuffled closer on his knees, as he'd *clutched* --

And made Jason believe.

He still *fucking* does, and that's a *problem*, but --

*That* night --

On his damned *roof* --


"*When* do you need me there, B.")

And Bruce had actually *shuddered* --

But he'd given Jason the date and the time --

And he *hadn't* put up a fight when Jason had told him to get the hell off his roof --

And the fact that he's pissed about that, *too* is a fucking *problem* --

But Jason is here, on the Hunt building, in the handy-dandy shadows, with the skinny little freak who looks about as right in a Robin suit as Jason would in Dick's *first* Nightwing suit.

But he's wearing it anyway.

And he's *been* wearing it. For *years*.

He wears it *with* the girl --

She's his *girlfriend* --

*Of* years --

She *likes* him --

The kid raises an eyebrow behind the mask -- but doesn't reach for his staff or any of the other weapons Jason *knows* he's carrying.

Unless he's carrying something *new*.

It would be *like* him --

And --

And there is abso-fucking-lutely a difference between useful paranoia (Batman) and *stupid* paranoia (Bruce). Jason knows which one of those he needs right now, so he just jerks his chin at the kid in something which could -- maybe -- be read as a greeting --

The kid gives him an --

God, you can't even call that an *expression*, much less a fucking *smile* --

So maybe Jason is scowling.

And maybe the kid's eyebrow is up even *higher* --

Christ, this is fucked the *fuck* up. Jason sighs and -- he's not now nor has he ever been Alfred. He doesn't pinch the bridge of his nose. He just -- shakes his head a little.

The kid purses his *lips* -- and. All right, that's definitely *an* expression.

Jason decides to call it improvement. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing of note," the kid says, and moves back into position behind a crenellation that's no stupider than his hair... used to be. *If* there's product in it now, there can't be all that much. His hair is shorter than *Jason's* --

He's not thinking of the kid's hair. He's *not* thinking about buzzing his own down that short --

He *hated* having hair that short while he was training with the League of Assassins --

And he's officially *looking* for things to piss himself off more -- fucking wonderful.

He picks a crenellation of his own. "What *wasn't* 'of note'?"

"Hnn. Well --"

"Wait," Jason says, and pulls out his scope, adjusting it a little. Maximum zoom on this model is beautiful -- too beautiful. He doesn't need to see the blackheads on Vinnie Tarantella's nose. He *does* need to see those work tables chock full of MAC-10s, nine millimeters, *Uzis* --

*Two* rocket launchers --


"Agreed," the kid says, and -- fits a weird little *thing* over the lenses of his mask. It looks a little like the little plastic *nothings* beach-bunnies wore as eye-protection when they were soaking up sun back in the eighties, only the eye pieces are translucent --

Hunh. "Is *that* your scope?"

"At the moment, yes. I'm experimenting with it."

Well... shit. It's small enough to fit *in* a thick-enough domino. "How well does it work?"

The kid waves a hand. "Not as much zoom as yours. Info-crawl is slow and -- somewhat -- distracting. Other than that... perfect."

"Who made it?"

*That*... is an actual smile. The fact that Jason wants to smack it off his face...

Is a fact. "Fine. Are you gonna *share* it?"

"When I know it won't get any of my loved ones killed."

Loved ones. *Loved* ones.

Loved ones...

Jason gives himself time and room to turn that little phrase around in his head a little, to just -- poke at it, a little.

Not allies. Not friends. Not even *family*.

*Loved* ones.

Would *he* have referred to any group that included *Bruce* as his 'loved ones' when *he* was Robin?

Does it help if you're *not* fucking him?

Wait, *are* they still keeping it clean? Jason narrows his eyes and turns away from his scope -- keeping it in position by force of habit -- to check the kid out a little. He --

He's scanning the restaurant and the apartments above it *slowly*. He's --

Okay, no, "do you need to pan and scan that slowly with those?"

"No, I'm letting the info-crawl... crawl."


"Eighteen individual heat signatures --"

"Got that."

"One of them is -- possibly -- running a mild fever --"


"There's a methane leak in the basement --"

"Shit --"

"Nothing serious, compared to other parts of Gotham. We *probably* won't have to risk our lives evacuating these people before we risk our lives assaulting them --"

Jason snorts --

Scowls --

*Blanks* his expression --

But the kid never looks around. At all. Never --

Fucking fine. "What else?"

"The basement is... hmm. It seems to be in the process of collapsing into some of Gotham's more problematically-maintained tunnels."

'Problematically-maintained'. *Really*. "Is it gonna happen *tonight*?"

*That* gets a frown --

"You can't tell."

"No, I can't," the kid says, and frowns *darkly*. "The structural flaws are deep and severe, but there's no way for me to tell, from here, how long they've been there, or how well-mixed the concrete in the spars is, or --"

"Got it. You were gonna tell me the not-important stuff I missed."

An eyebrow raise -- and the kid nods. "An egregiously large amount of food from Fatboy's was consumed, and there were three desultory rounds of poker -- played for chips, not cash. If there was anything before that, it transpired before I arrived."

Jason drums the fingers he doesn't have on his scope on the roof, rubbing for the nervy-painful-soothing scrape of grit on concrete that was hopefully mixed better than the stuff across the street --

Wants --

*His* scope isn't telling him anything about a methane leak.

He *has* sniffers, but he has to fucking set them *up*. And he has to *know* something's wrong *to* set them up.

And --

"I want your scope."

"Hnn. Say please."

Jason blinks --

Scowls *again* --

And the kid *coughs* a laugh. *Painfully*.

"It's not good procedure to make your *partner* hope you *choke*, *Robin*."

The kid *hums*. And rocks on his *heels* --

"All right, *fuck* you --"

"Hnn. Maybe later. But," and the kid reaches into his eight o'clock pouch... and pulls out another one of the weird little scopes. It's --

"It's bigger than yours."

"You're bigger than I am."

"You made it for B?"

Tim turns and *looks* at him. Somehow, it's real fucking obvious that it's a *look* even though the scope is making him look insectile and creepier than usual.

And that -- "*Why* did you make one for me?"

Tim spins the scope on his fingers -- and reaches out to hand it to him.

"Seriously --"

"You don't want to hear any of the answers to that question," the kid says, and his voice is -- low. Serious.

A little fucking *dark* --

"You think I can't take care of myself --"

The kid *snorts* -- "No. That... I can honestly say that that thought never crossed my mind. Take it. Please." And he raises his eyebrow again.

Jason stays *still*.

"Please --"

"No, I --" But how to actually say 'I'm just trying to keep from snatching it like a grabby three-year-old'? Just --

Jason takes the scope and fits it over his domino --

Immediately discovers that the kid's temperature is low-normal and that his heart rate and pulse are *both* a little fast --

That he *weighs* between one thirty-five and one-forty-seven pounds --

That he's at least five feet, six inches tall --

"Okay, wait --"

"Toggle the second button on the right to kill the crawl."

"*Thank* you," Jason says, and does it -- and now he just sees -- the kid.

Small. Thin. Creepy.

And just a little bit smug.

And apparently more than willing to put up with --

"I -- have a temper," Jason says, and doesn't fucking *scowl* --

Much --

Fucking A. He scowls. But he keeps meeting those insect-eyes while he does it.

The kid raises his eyebrow *slowly*.

*Achingly* slowly.

He *keeps* raising it.

Higher and fucking *higher* --

"Oh, come the fuck *on* --"

"Did you... think I hadn't noticed?"

"I'm *trying* to --" Apologize? *Really*? Jason growls and tucks his -- inferior -- scope away, then turns his attention back to what he's actually *supposed* to be doing.

The kid hums quietly.

Jason thinks -- long, hard, and seriously -- about kicking his ass all over this rooftop.

It's *dark*. No one will *see*. And -- heh. If he crushes that stiffened gorget on the kid's cape *just* right, he won't even be able to *yell*.

Not that he does, as a general rule.

Even when he's in the middle of kicking *ass*. Jason *knows*. He's *watched*. No hoots, no shouts, no screams --

Maybe he saves it for when he's fucking?

*Jason* would fucking scream if he was fucking Stephanie Jean Brown. Jesus, those hips are --

And those *tits* --

And, the *most* recent conversation they'd had --

("Aw, c'mon --"

"You know what? Go eat a freaking *dick*, dildo-head."

"I don't even *wear* that anymore --"

"No, I change my mind."

"*Good* --"

"Go eat a leprous, syphilitic, hepatitic -- and I don't even know if that's a word, but it *should* be -- *green* and *slimy* dick. And then? *Choke* on it."

"... but would it turn you on at all? Eh?")

And then she'd tried to punt his sac up into his lungs.

And then, when that didn't *work*, she'd tried to run him over.

But *Tim* she likes. Fucking --

He doesn't sigh. He's not alone. He's not --

He'll *be* alone in just a few fucking hours, and then he can -- do whatever the fuck he wants. Because that's what alone means.

That's one of the perqs *of* alone.

It's --

The kid's going home to the manor after this. To *Bruce*. To --

Well, he'll *report* all of this, that's for damned fucking sure. Not that Babs isn't recording --

Now is not the time to let his sac creep for all the fucking surveillance in the family. Now -- is not the time.

*Now* is the time to watch *Mikey* Tarantella wander up to one of empty and fucking *depressing* apartments above the restaurant --

Into a bedroom with nothing but a cardboard box, a bare light bulb, and a sagging, stained twin-sized mattress --

And then he kneels *on* the mattress, whips out a *gorgeous* little thirty-eight -- and shoves it between his lips.


"Well -- shit," Jason says, but he's already moving --

He can *see* Tim moving in his peripheral vision --

They *can't* just let someone off themselves, no matter *how* much they deserve it --

Not while they're on the motherfucking *Batman's* watch, anyway, and this is why he usually *isn't* --

Mikey pulls the gun out of his mouth.

They pause on the balustrade, highlighted against the night.

Mikey laughs so hard -- yeah, now he's actually crying. Jesus. "Any ideas what *this* is about?"

"None. My last intel about his personal life suggested no monetary difficulties and entirely positive relationships with both his wife and his mistress."

Jason -- sighs. "I guess he could just be nuts."

"Always a possibility. But..."

"It's not in his yellows, yeah, I hear you. Christ, if he fucks this operation up --"

"You'll shoot him?"

Jason narrows his eyes.

And licks his teeth.

And -- scowls.

"Hnn. Sorry."

"So -- I got a question for you, kid."

"I may -- *may* -- have an answer for you. Slightly older adolescent."

Jason opens his mouth -- closes it. "I think we fucking *covered* the part where I don't think you deserve to be Robin."

"Hmm. Yes, you're right. And we *didn't* cover the part where I think you only have some -- *some* -- right to make that call. And we definitely didn't cover the part where I've decided that you don't get to be an asshole to me with impunity," the kid says, and continues to watch Mikey.

And -- right. "Are you this much of a bitch to your 'loved ones'?"

"Oh, yes. They tend to find it bracing, and occasionally sexually arousing. Though usually I tend to eschew the ironic single quotes --"

"So you're a *lying* bitch, too."

"Hnn. I tend to eschew them for *that* particular phrase. I love. I don't 'love'."

Jason -- takes a breath.

And turns *that* over. Just --

Was that a vulnerability? Should it even *count* as one when it's just balls to the fucking *wall* like that? Just --

Everyone -- *everyone* -- fucking knew who and what *he* loved when *he* was Robin. That's part of *being* Robin. He'd thought...

He'd thought the kid wasn't like that.

Jason frowns --

And Mikey dumps the bullets out of the thirty-eight and -- swallows them like aspirin.

One by one by one.

"Uh... hunh."


"Yeah, I... what."

"I don't... think... ah. I'm reasonably sure we can just let this happen," the kid says, and settles back into a crouch.

"Yeah, well. We *are* letting it happen, so -- yeah." Jason gets back into his own crouch --

And turns his attention to the rest of the building. The directional mic isn't picking up much in the way of *interesting* chatter -- just fucking *football* of all fucking things -- and --

Wait, no, now *Jimmy* Tarantella and someone Jason's pretty sure is Harry Benerelli are talking about pros. Shockingly, they aren't being especially respectful about it.

Jason, who is aware of *most* of his own tells nowadays, doesn't actually stroke the butts of his guns.

But he wants to. He --

The pros are Robin's *beat*. What the *hell* does this kid know --

Dickie at least had some *idea* --

And of course B had rewritten the fucking *protocol*, but --

Jason bites back -- most of a growl. Just --

"For the record," the kid says, *real* slow and casual-like --


And he turns to look at Jason, to meet his fucking *gaze* --

"*What* --"

"I don't tend to let men like that get away without at least *some* reproductive difficulties... and I don't expect you to, either."

"*I* don't tend to let men like that get *away*."

"I'm aware of that, but --"

"But this isn't my case. I'm *fully* fucking aware of that -- Robin."

*Both* eyebrows up, and if he even *thinks* about thanking Jason for that --

If he opens his prissy little fucking *mouth* --

The kid inclines his head -- and turns back to their targets.

Jason breathes.

And breathes a little more.

And --

He's seen the kid with Stephanie, of course. He's got good *enough* instincts, and he's had world-class training at shaking a tail from the very beginning, but --

Jason is better.

He's seen them on rooftops, in alleys --

Seen her shoving him back against water towers and seen *him* crawling in her bedroom window and onto her bed at dawn. Jason didn't stay. He didn't --

Not --

Just for long enough to be *sure* that his own instincts -- the instincts that made him goddamned fucking *certain* that Stephanie was a *beard* -- were wrong.

Or that Tim's closet led to fucking *Narnia*.

And then, of course -- there's his team.

*His* team, and you'd think Bruce would've *learned* that Robins who don't stay in Gotham *don't fucking stay in Gotham* --

At least Dick was only rolling up to NYC. *This* kid is crossing the fucking country every fucking week.

Jason had thought seriously about paying a visit out *there*, but since what he was *really* thinking about was beating the shit out of the kid who had taken "his" place --

Yeah. *Sometimes* he can fucking well control himself.

Like when his *emotions* are about to lead him into an *incredibly secure building full of metas who really fucking like the guy he wants to hurt*.

Just -- what the hell would've happened if he'd actually *succeeded* with that mission? The family gunning for his ass -- that's the big one, and it's bad e-fucking-nough that they don't always or even *often* appreciate the work Jason does around here -- and an operative down.

An operative needed by the family *and* by -- the Titans.

And *these* Titans were never his in the first place. Not --

("Kory, did you seriously fucking trip me with your fucking *hair*?")

And Kory had purred --

Completely and totally fucking *purred* --

And then gone back to sharpening Donna's knives and swords for her -- a job she'd found honorable *and* soothing -- while Jason had struggled and pushed and pulled and gotten exactly fucking nowhere. No --

He'd *gotten* himself *cocooned* from his feet to his *chin*. After a while, Gar -- in chimp form -- had fed him bites of cold veggie pizza and let him have some juice -- through a straw.

After *another* while...

Well, Donna had walked in, clapped, giggled, rolled him over, and sat on his face.

Jason had stopped complaining. For, like, three solid days.

Including the time *after* he'd gotten back to Gotham.

It had been *good*, it had been --

The kid had been on the mission where everything had gone to shit and Donna had been killed, but then, so had a bunch of other people -- including some of *Jason's* favorite people in the world.

*Roy* had been real fucking pointy about pointing out that the kid *hadn't* fucked up... except by not following Dick's example with his team, and Jason was all set to have something else to be pretty fucking pissed about --

Until Roy had *also* pointed out that the kid was leashed at the time. *Tighter* than Dick ever was.

Than he ever was, too.

That --

("So what are you trying to fucking say, Roy?")

And Roy had spread his hands and shrugged before finishing off his extremely fucking *chewy* beer --

("You said you weren't here for my advice, Jaybird -- so I'm not saying one little word.")

And Jason hadn't been *able* to hold back a glare for that --

("I *usually* don't play with this much of *this* beer in my system, Jaybird... but that doesn't mean I *can't*.")

And Roy had *looked* at him, eyes almost *bottle*-green in the weird light from the Outsiders' consoles --

And that --

Well, that had been enough to remind Jason of all those other times in the first Titans Tower, because Roy has never, *ever* fucking *needed* Kory's hair to tie a guy up for him -- whether or not he's wanted it.

Jason had lost the glare *and* his clothes --

And that look had turned into one good, long, *hard* fuck of a smile.

Which probably doesn't look all that different from the one on his face *now* --

Damn --


Jason -- frowns, not scowls. "You spend too much time with Daddy."

"Hnn. I might have been using the word ironically --"

"If you ever act like a fucking hipster around me, I *will* slit your damned throat."

"Hnn. Hnn. You *did* already make a good start on that --"

"What? It was just a fucking *slash* --"

"And *you* don't know my gorget as well as you thought you did. I don't wear the same one Robin-the-Fourth does."

Jason -- blinks. "Why the fuck *not*?"

Tim shows his teeth. "I'm allergic enough to fiberglass that the material of the cape would have to be problematically thick for it to be safely stiffened *with* fiberglass."

"*Christ* -- how the hell deep --"

"Catwoman gave me emergency stitches."

"*That* bitch --" Jason growls and thinks of -- too damned many nights during his training when Bruce had come home smelling like her perfume.

All those fucking nights when it seemed like he wasn't just fucking up, but was fucking up *so* bad that he *would* get bounced right back into the system, and from there --

Well, he knew where he *really* belonged, didn't he?

*Didn't* he?

Not to even fucking mention --

"Ah... I know precisely why *I* don't like being in her debt, but...?"

Jason -- doesn't shudder. "Are you asking?"

And the kid is silent for a moment. A *long* moment. Long enough that Jason is dead fucking sure that he *will* chicken out --

"Yes. Yes, I'm asking."

"One? Thieves are criminals, too. The fact that the motherfucking Batman has a soft spot for a *sexy* thief makes *everyone* look bad."

"Agreed. Two?"

"*Two* -- is the fact that she's not fucking above putting a hurt -- a *serious* hurt -- on vigilantes who piss her off, whether or not they attack her first," Jason says, and thinks about Bruce's shaking hands as he'd applied the wound sealant to the *deep* whip-slash on Jason's inner fucking *thigh* --

He hadn't been *able* to stitch it when they'd gotten back to the Cave, and having Alfred's hands that close to his tackle was just fucking *wrong* --

Jason shakes his head. "Any-fucking-way. I don't *like* violent people unless they're on *our* side -- which she isn't, and never will be."

That gets another fucking eyebrow raise, and fucking really --

"I'm *not* saying she doesn't do good things here and there, and the pros in her corner of the East Side *appreciate* her, which is something *I* appreciate. I'm just saying -- and this might as well be three -- *she's* flat-out said that she prefers criminals to good guys, and she *wasn't* talking about the kind of criminals *we* are."

The kid -- smiles. Just a *little*, but still --


He shakes his head. "I don't want to interrupt you. Four?"

Jason narrows his eyes --

Thinks --

"Am I leaving that?"

The kid raises that eyebrow without turning around -- and then shakes his head once. "I'll tell you anything you'd like to know -- assuming it wouldn't compromise security. But I don't want to interrupt you," he says again, and his voice is quiet again. Low and *serious* again.

That --

It twists a little something inside him. It makes --

Right now, it puts an image in his mind of Bruce at his fucking *neediest*. Because when he's *that* needy, he *knows* it -- and leashes himself.

He --

"Are you --" Needy. He can't fucking *ask* --


"You don't say --" My name. Jason growls and shakes his head.

"Obviously, we don't have to talk about anything but the mission --"

"*Jesus*, you've spent too much time around B," Jason says, and this time he *does* pinch the bridge of his nose --

And laugh a little --

A *little* --

And the kid is smiling. Showing teeth, even. Jesus.

"What does *Robin* do when you smile at her like that?"

"Punch me. And then do several different wonderful things to the rising bruises."

Jason -- doesn't fucking grunt.

The kid hums anyway. "She has, of course, *told* me about your... advances," he says, and smiles even *more* obnoxiously.

"You're *not* monogamous, so don't even pretend --"

He waves a hand. "I wouldn't dream of it. But." And the kid turns away from the restaurant and *aims* the smile at him.

"But *what*?"

"Would you like some free advice...?"

"From *you* -- wait. Are you seriously offering me advice about how to get with your *girlfriend*?"

The kid shrugs. "It might not work. But... I'm invested in her happiness. Always."

Jason -- stares. Just... stares.

"Hnn. I'll let you think --"

"What the *hell* makes you think that *I* would make her *happy*? She tries to fucking *sterilize* me every time I'm in *range*."

"The day we met, she hit me with a brick."

Jason grunts *and* snorts --

"Now *that* was a fascinating sound --"

"*Where* did she hit you?"

"Here," the kid says, and strokes his temple. And cheek. And jaw.

"She used the long side?"

"Oh, yes."

Jason -- sighs. "God, I like her. But seriously --"

"Hnn. Are you sure you want me to answer the question?"

I *want* you to say my fucking name -- one of them, anyway. And -- "Don't be a fucking *tease* about it. Answer my questions or don't."

"Well. I wouldn't want to be a *tease* --"

"Lying bitch."

"Hnn. Hnn. I... let's just say that I spent a fair amount of time comparing Robin-the-Fourth to the stories about you I -- begged -- everyone to tell me."

What. There's a part of him -- and, Jason can own this, it's a big fucking part -- that wants to focus on the first part of that. The part where, apparently, the kid thinks he has a lot in *common* with Stephanie --

And he *wants* to call her Steph --

Hopefully while doing other fucking *things* --

But. "'Begged'."


"You --" Jason frowns and feels himself... reaching. Not for anything good, either. Not for anything but the darkness and fucking *hate* -- "You already *knew* who I was -- Robin."

"I knew your name, your vital statistics, your family history, your educational history, *some* of your medical history... I didn't know *you*, at all."

Jason -- doesn't squeeze his fucking eyes shut. Doesn't --

"And... I'm more than willing to stop talking about --"

"Since when --" Jason growls and --

Clenches his hands into *fists* --

And deals with what -- what he already fucking knows. He -- blows out a breath.

And looks at the kid who -- "You're not supposed to fucking *like* your fucking *predecessor*, kid."

"Hnn. How's that working for you?"

"I don't --"

The kid *grins*, and that --

"All right, fine, how fucking often does *that* expression wind up on your face?"

"Oh... fairly often. When I'm with Nightwing or Robin-the-Fourth." And the kid rocks his head back and forth -- not like Dick. *Dick* would actually *be* dancing.

The kid is just... humming without noise. Kind of.

Jason blows out another breath. "I like Nightwing just fucking fine."


"I'll still beat the shit out of him if he gets in my way."

"Of course."

"*Fuck* you."

"We're still on the clock, as it were, but --"

"Oh, don't even --" Jason cuts himself off and glares at the kid.

"In the interest of full disclosure..."


"I spent the vast majority of my thirteenth year with Batman, his... man about the house, and *your* memorial. Everyone who *knows* me... has expressed some variety of *vehement* belief that it has made a difference --"

"I don't *want* to know you," Jason growls --

And the kid shows his teeth again. "All right." And then he just -- turns back to the damned restaurant.

Just like that.

Just --

("Leave me the fuck alone!"

"It's only... I need to see if you've pulled a muscle --"

"I'm fucking *fine*!"

"As you say.")

And Bruce had just... left him there on the mats, shivering and gripping at his side --

It had hurt so *bad* --

When he was twelve, he hadn't *known* how to take care of himself through a spar, hadn't known how to *trust* Bruce to *tell* him how --

And he *really* hadn't known how to trust Bruce to *touch* him when it *wasn't* for something like a spar or just correcting his fucking form.

Bruce had left him there, and gone right to the console -- just like he'd already figured *out* that Jason needed him at *least* that far away but also in *sight* --

And he'd stayed *right* there, loose and easy and calm even though he'd *had* to be worried fucking sick --

Stayed there for the *hour* it took for Jason to stop fucking *shaking* --

And then for the ten minutes it took for him to breathe himself *up* to walking up to him --

("Yes, Jason?"

"Maybe -- uh. Show me how to fix this. My side."

"Of course.")

And Bruce's smile had been so *relieved* --

He hadn't told Bruce he could call him 'Jay,' that time. He'd wanted to, though. He'd wanted --

A lot of fucking things at once.

Jason rolls his head on his neck. "Which one of them told you my tells. I already know it wasn't B."

The kid hums. "Nightwing shared some few, as did Oracle. And... Arsenal."

That -- fucking stings. Mostly the parts of him which don't *get* to make the major fucking life *decisions*, though, so --


Jason nods and turns the info-crawl back on, scanning --

Alarm. Specifically, a subtle little red flash in his left peripheral vision. The crawl is saying -- that there's someone 'agitated' right there. Well. Play the game.

Jason turns to *look* -- and the kid's heart rate is up too damned high for a conversation, and his temperature is up a little, too --

"Are you sick?"

"No. Just... hnn. Agitated."

"I'm *not* planning on fucking with you -- Robin."

"I know. But you are... upset."

Jason -- scowls. "It happens."

"I was hoping it wouldn't, tonight," and Tim takes some meditative breaths.

As usual, it's really fucking hard not to fall into the *rhythm* of them --

And then Jason remembers that he might as *well* let himself fall into them, because, yeah, he *is* upset. So --

So they just breathe themselves right down *into* themselves a little, and if it's a little close --

A little fucking *intimate* --

Has he really not meditated with *anyone* since --

He *would've* with Roy, but Roy's meditation involves Tamaranian fucking *joy*-sticks when it doesn't involve someone getting flogged or pierced or spanked or all three.

Just --

Jesus. *Jesus* fucking --

He's been home for the better part of a *year* --

"I'm sorry --"

"Shut up," Jason says, more reflexively than anything -- "It's not you -- all right, it will *be* you if that eyebrow goes up any fucking higher."

The kid hums.

"That's better."

"As you say --"

"Don't *B* at me anymore --"

"Occupational hazard --"

"It is *not* --"

"It is -- for me," the kid says, and rolls his head on his neck before taking another deep breath. "I kind of... he was the first person who... paid attention to me. For extended periods of time --"

"I don't --"

"Want to know me? Hnn. But you do now. The fact that you're tensing up to *run away* --as opposed to tensing up to beat the hell out of me -- tells me everything I need to know on that score --"

"*Jesus*, you're annoying --"

"I'm going to help you. I'm going to give you the most pathetic and, yes, annoying facts about me --"

"So I can go back to *disliking* you? What the fuck is your *damage*?"

"Well. Do you want it in list form?"

"*Why* --"

"You're off your game. And, frankly, that's a problem."

"I'm not gonna be *more* on my game if I go back to just fucking hating you, you little prick!"

Eyebrow goes up --

"*Jesus* --"

"What *will* work?"

Jason growls --

Scans the restaurant *slowly* -- no one else has made off with any of the weaponry.

They're sitting around eating *subs* and watching a fucking *sitcom* --

And the guy with the fever is swaying a little. Hunh.

Mikey Tarantella is a little swollen around the eyes, but he's laughing at the dumb-ass jokes --

And even the actual hitmen aren't doing anything but sitting around and eating. "So I'm officially starting to wonder if these guys were drugged while we weren't paying attention."

"Or if there's a gas leak my sniffers aren't picking up."

"Eh, most of the ones that would *be* leaking around here wouldn't *increase* their appetites."

"Very true," the kid says. "Still --"

"I'm ready for that advice."

And the kid's --

Drake's face has that kind of stillness that means he's blinking a lot. A *lot*. Heh.

Jason turns back to the restaurant. "I'm just gonna crouch right here like the good, focused, and incredibly well-fucking-trained vigilante I am, and I'm gonna watch the criminals sit on their asses and eat, and *you're* gonna tell me how to be enough like you that Robin-the-Fourth will sit on my face."

Drake snorts. "Well -- you're not going to be like me."

"Fine, enough like *someone* else --"

"No. Enough like yourself."

Jason feels his smirk slip a little -- no, no. "I'm listening."

Drake nods. "Everyone who ever knew you -- and deigned to speak to *me* about you -- was very clear on the following things: You were open. You were honest. You were loving. You were violent and brutal, but only to the deserving. You were *impatient*, but never with those in need. When you *did* lash out at the undeserving, you always caught yourself before --"

"Before I could do too much motherfucking *damage* --"

"And you apologized for it. Hnn. Sometimes too much, in ways that made your loved ones deeply frightened for your emotional state."

Jason inhales a little and just --

("Fuck, Jesus, Dick, I'm *sorry* --"

"No --"

"Don't fucking tell me *no*. I'm *sorry*. I fucked *up* --"

"You're *upset*, little wing --"

"You don't -- you don't fucking do -- "

"You didn't do *anything* --"

"You don't fucking *say* --")

And Dick had *gone* for him, so fast and fluid that Jason had *fought* --

Which is why he wound up on the *floor* of the Titans' gym for his cuddle. For --

And God, Dick had just kissed him all *over*, promised it would be okay, promised that he *understood* -- even though Jason had fucking jabbed a sharp *stick* in the wound he *knew* was in Dick's heart about Bruce.

The wound he'd known *had* to be there after the *first* time they'd met up --

But Dick was Dick, and he damned well picked himself up the *second* he saw how horrified Jason was, and he'd chased all that bleak and awful *pain* out of his own eyes --

So he could comfort *him*.

He --

"I wouldn't -- I wouldn't ever fucking hurt -- Nightwing. Not... seriously," Jason says, and feels like the most pathetic and weak and *useless* --

Isn't he supposed to be fucking *harder* than this?

Except, you know, the *other* half of his brain is yelling at him about how weak it is to fucking *weasel* like that about people who've never been anything but *good* to you --

Never --

"He misses you," Drake says, quiet and low again.

"Yeah, I -- the feeling is mutual. You were talking about --"

"Do you think it's possible?"

Jason frowns, and watches Tommy "Smokes" Morocci snort something that probably isn't baby powder in the customer bathroom. "One sec --"

"Heroin, according to Batman's sources."

"God, wouldn't that be *nice*? Get *all* these fucks on the nod and just walk right in --"

"And shoot them?"

"Not *all* of them, Robin. I promise," and Jason waggles his eyebrows once.

And those are definitely more blinks happening behind that mask. Score one for the dead guy.

Jason jerks his chin at Drake. "Is what possible?"

"For you to become the man you were in the process of growing into," he says. Just --


*Out* there. Fucking --

"Were you always this ballsy?"

Drake laughs like a *real* boy. "No. Not even remotely. I learned a lot from you."

Jason blinks *again* --

"Hnn. Not all of that learning happened while I was following you and taking pictures."

"How much of it happened while you were *spanking* it to those pictures?" And Jason's all set to think he's getting another point --

The crawl is telling him that Drake's temperature is rising *steadily* --

"Heh. Okay --"

"No more than thirty to thirty-five percent," Drake says, and his voice -- isn't husky enough.

What? No. No.

Not --

"Uh. Okay..." Jesus, that was just a fucking *placeholder* --

He's *gotta* have a better response than that --

*Something* --

And Drake puts out another real-boy laugh. Just --

Fine. "You need to do that more often," Jason says, and watches Morocci sway on his feet and giggle like an idiot -- quietly enough that no one in the dining room looks away from the TV.

Drake hums. "Funnily enough --"

"Everyone fucking tells you that?"

"Yes --"

"*Listen* to them."

"I have. I laugh like that sixty percent more often than I used to."

"You've been doing that *Batman* laugh all night!"

"I really didn't laugh like a human freaking being -- as Robin-the-Fourth is wont to say -- very often before entering this family."

Which... "*Something* tells me I'm about to learn something fucking horrible about your childhood."

"Hnn. You don't have to."

"You were *going* to --"

"You're focusing a lot better than you were before. We can save the trauma and boredom for another time."

We're not gonna fucking *do* this another time --

Except that saying things like that in this life is a *great* fucking way to *doom* yourself --

In a lot of fucking *ways* --

Jason keeps his mouth shut --

For about ten seconds. "I wasn't growing up all that sweet."

"Everyone --"

"Everyone *eulogized* me, Robin," Jason says, and shakes his head. "I was a mess. I was fifteen years old and *married* to a thirty-eight-year-old *psycho* who treated me like his *older* brother when he wasn't treating me like a Gift From The Heavens."

"Ah... hm."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, I know you can't see it. I *know* he changed -- I could see that by the damned *uniform*. He's grown up a little. Now he just tries to convince me to be his brother full *stop*. I... heh. There were other things. Like the fact that sometimes when I woke up alone I knew -- *knew* -- that it meant that all the good things were gonna end and I was gonna wind up back on the street, and the fact that B -- who *loved* it when me and Nightwing got together -- *still* lost his mind *every* time I went up to NYC for a weekend, and the fact that I knew in my *bones* that B was wrong about the no-killing thing --"

"*Did* you kill Garzonas?"

Jason smiles, and knows it's old on his face. "He was gonna leave it. He *did* leave it -- didn't bench me for even a *day* even though *he* wasn't sure if I did it or not. But he didn't trust me anymore. Not completely."

Drake swallows. "I'm sorry --"

"Don't. We could've fixed the whole fucking thing if I'd just told him right then and there that I *couldn't* make myself stick my neck out to save him when he fell, that there was a *moment* when I knew I *could* save him -- fuck, it stretched out like fucking *taffy*..." Jason shakes his head. "I couldn't do it, and I wasn't even a *little* sorry to see him fucking *splatter* on the pavement, and -- there was another moment. When he was asking *without* asking if I'd pushed him, and I could've filled it up with the truth, and everything I was feeling, everything I *needed* him to understand about how I didn't fucking *need* him to kill *anybody*, how I would do it *for* him -- for the whole fucking *city*... fuck, what does this even mean to *you*?"

Drake takes a sharp breath. "More... more than I know how to say."

That -- "Was that true?"

Drake looks down at the roof... and smiles like someone's stabbing him. "No."

"Are you gonna *tell* me the truth?"

"Do you --"

"I wanna know," Jason says, and the best thing he can say about it is that it *wasn't* a blurt. Much.

Drake looks up again --

*Studies* him --

"For fuck's sake, you're more interesting than I thought you were, okay? I just -- I don't know what I fucking thought --"

"Yes, you do."

"Fine, yes, I do, and right now -- right now I'm going with the idea that I *might* have been wrong. It happens sometimes. Even now that I'm a grown-up and well-adjusted and actualized and shit."

Drake touches his pointed little tongue to his upper lip.

"Laugh or I'll break your nose."

Drake coughs -- "Ah. Hm. Ha?"

Jason -- grins. Some. "Good enough. Now answer the question."

Drake *bites* his lip --

"Come on, pony up the goods here --"

"I was in love with you."

"You --"

"Didn't know you. Still," and Drake smiles ruefully and shrugs. "The things I heard about you... didn't exactly *dim* my feelings."

What -- the *fuck* is he supposed to do with this?

What is this even --

*How* --

Drake's smile turns mean. "Don't worry. I don't plan on breaking into your base while you're on the other side of the city to masturbate into your helmets."

Jason *chokes* --


Jason flips Drake *off* --

"All right, I admit it: I *do* periodically break in for long enough to sniff your dirty laundry and lick your clean forks --"

That snort *hurt* --

"-- and I'm the reason why all your product now has... extra hold."

It *takes* a second --

But only a second. "*That's* fucking *gross*."

Drake raises an eyebrow. "*That's* what gets that reaction?"

"Have *you* ever had someone you didn't like come in *your* hair?"

"I... can't say that I have."

"I *don't* recommend it," Jason says, shaking his head and smiling. He can live with this. He can --

He's *not* a fucking coward --

And Drake is *very* obviously thinking about Jason's year as a hustler and filing that *away*, so --

So he can say his own brain-breaking things. He jerks his chin at Drake again. "Did you ever fucking *think* about what I used to do for a living when you were busy 'loving' --"

"Watch the single quotes. Please."

Jason opens his mouth -- and closes it. And raises his hands. "All right. You gotta gimme a little fucking time to deal with this, though."

Drake cocks his head to the side. "Do I...?"

"How often do people declare their love for the boy *you* used to be?"

Another mean little smile. "That boy... didn't exist. He was a cipher --"

"Yeah? Not too many *ciphers* know how to *love*, Robin." Say *my* name --

But Drake turns away.

He --

No. "Don't do that --"

"I -- wait," he says, and focuses on their actual *targets* --

Jason does the same -- "Ah, fuck."


Morocci's face-down on the bathroom floor in a spreading pool of his own blood. His -- hunh. "His vitals... aren't bad, actually."

Drake frowns a little in Jason's peripheral vision. "I'm wondering if I can trust --"

"*Your* vitals are a mess."

The frown gets deeper. "So are *yours*, if we're going to be bitchy about it --"

Jason snorts. "Pointing out that you're emotional is bitchy now?"

"I... hm." And that...

"You *blush*?"

"It *happens* --"

"Hey, I'm fucking allowed to be surprised, you little freak. You were talking about coming in my hair without fucking *blinking*."

"All right, I'm curious --"

"Once. Just once. I made him pay extra, too."

"That... wasn't my question. But now it is --"

"I threatened to cut his balls off if he didn't. Men's reflexes -- heh, no, *correction*: *Most* men's reflexes are a little fucked right after they get off. *You* know that."

"I do. And the way you said that... hm. You're saying B's reflexes --"

"I'm not saying *anything* about B. Heh. Except for how I totally am," Jason says, and watches Morocci's blood get all bubbly as he, presumably, snores. He's fine for now. "What *was* your question?"

"You mentioned wanting Robin-the-Fourth to sit on your face --"

"God, I bet she tastes fucking fantastic."

"I tend to prefer the flavor of male ejaculate to female --"

"I *knew* it -- keep talking."

"Hnn. But yes, she tastes very, very good. Very... sweet."

"Fuck. *Fuck*. Okay. I'm fine. You were saying?"

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. "Having spent a significant amount of time with Robin-the-Fourth's vulva --"

"Oh, God, don't use that fucking word."

Another mean smile -- "All right. Having spent a significant amount of time with Robin-the-Fourth's pudenda --"

"*Jesus*, you suck -- keep *talking*."

"-- on my *face*... well. I have to wash my hair thoroughly, *too*."

"No, no, *that* stuff you leave in there."

Drake's blinking again. Jason can *feel* it.

Jason grins. "Got somethin' to say?"

"I... presume you're about to extol the virtues of female effluvia --"

"*Jesus*, *why* does she fuck you?"

"Because I'm absolutely nothing like anyone who has ever hurt her, and she knows I never will be. Because I'm beautiful to her -- inside and out. Because I make her 'snort like a freaking sow.' Because I smile every time she makes that sound. Because I let her feed me 'food' products that were created in labs by aspiring supervillains -- including 'cheese' fries. Because even my penis -- she didn't use that word -- is 'classy'. Because I'm better at giving orders than Batman -- sometimes. And because I'm better at *taking* orders than Batman, too. Those were the reasons she gave me when I asked. She intimated that there were others, which she would share with me when I proved I was mature enough for them."

That -- "She's in love with you."

Drake smiles, and it's soft and warm and -- good. "The feeling is mutual."

Jason licks his lips and nods, turning his attention back to the restaurant and just -- dealing a little with that.

Thinking about it.

Stephanie all blond and peaches-and-cream and muscles and *scars*, Drake all dark and pale -- and muscles and scars.

Is she soft under that armor? She *looks* like she would be. Sometimes you can almost see some *jiggle* under those shorts and tights --

Drake isn't soft anywhere. Drake --

Even *Bruce* had *meat* on him other than muscle. He --

("So... uh."

"Yes, Jay?"

"*Why* do you still have fat? I mean... I've *watched* you. You don't even *like* eating fatty foods. Even though Alfred makes them *awesome*.")

And Bruce had *hummed* -- and prodded that tiny bit of softness he had over his abs.

Right over the spot Jason -- who'd been pushing *hard* on thirteen at that point -- had spent a lot of damned time thinking about... touching.

Maybe biting.

*Definitely* humping -- on the *way* to that cock that's so fucking huge his brain hadn't decided whether it was nightmare fuel or... something better.

A lot fucking better.

How much had Bruce *known* about what Jason was thinking back then? On the one hand, world's greatest fucking detective. On the other hand, world's biggest fucking *idiot* -- when it came to relationships.

He'd talked about having *hopes* when they'd first started hooking up. He'd -- yeah. *That* day, though --

("Does it bother you, Jay?"

"Uh... what? No! I mean, it's not like you're actually... you know."


And Jason had bitten his lip and shaken his head. He couldn't --

It was hard to think in *words* with Bruce still *touching* that spot on his body --

And Bruce had nodded once.

("Some people who lead physically strenuous lives find it easier -- on a number of levels -- to remove all but the barest minimum amounts of fat from their diets -- and from their bodies. But --"

"You don't? Why not?"

"Were I a woman with a body fat percentage as low as what I have now, I would, at the very least, be on the *edge* of having any number of hormonal difficulties which would vastly interfere with my ability to do my duties. Males have fewer such concerns, but there are still some few. Additionally...")

And Bruce's smile had been distant and almost *fond*, like maybe he was thinking about something -- someone? -- *good*.

Jason had wanted --

("C'mon, tell me --"

"I worked alone for years before Dick joined me. While Alfred tried his hardest, there were still some weeks when I would eat only enough to fuel myself. Because my metabolism is quite fast and because I exercise rather a lot --"

"You'd drop weight like *crazy*?"

"Oh, yes. And then the health problems were impossible to ignore, as rapid weight loss is dangerous and --"

"Got it. Who were you *thinking* about, B? Who *likes* you with meat on your bones, hunh?")

And Bruce had blinked and looked --

Looked *frightened* --

And he'd shaken his head.

("Uh. Okay, you *don't* have to tell me --"

"I. I want to tell you everything. It's only... he was my lover when we were in school together.")

And *Jason* had blinked... but back then, he hadn't known enough to back the fuck *off* for words like that. Hadn't --

("Did you... was the break-up bad or something?")

And the look on Bruce's face --

The *hurt* in his *eyes* --

Jason had shivered hard and made a promise to himself to leave it the fuck *alone*. Just --

("Uh. Never mind. Tell me more about how you want *me* to eat? Or... something?")

And that had been weak as *fuck* -- but Bruce's expression was so *grateful*, so happy and relieved --

Like Jason had done the best possible fucking *thing* -- instead of just letting him hide in all his *good* memories of one of the worst, most *murderous* psychos in the whole damned *country*.

Back then --

Back then, Jason hadn't even known that Two-Face had been the one who killed his father.

But Bruce had.

"Tell me..." Jason shakes his head and just --

"Tell you...?"

What's it like to be in love with someone and never once have to think you're fucking nuts for it?

Jason squeezes his eyes shut behind the mask and shakes his head, then opens them right up again. Morocci has rolled onto his back. It's impossible to tell if he's still bleeding, but, even if he *is*, the trickle has to have slowed up some.

The pool isn't spreading.

Georgie "Muscles" Conchiglie is pretending to *fuck* one of the rocket launchers, but no one is actually paying attention to him. He... hunh.

*His* vitals are going a little -- just a little -- haywire. And --

Drake hums. "It will never cease to amaze -- and astound -- me how very *many* inappropriate things men will stick their penises into, given even the remotest opportunity to do so."

Heh. "Like you never thought about fucking the palm of one of B's gauntlets."

"There's *nothing* inappropriate about --"

"Robin. Those things'll leave you raw for *days*."

"Hnn. Some of us like that sort of thing."

Jason snorts -- and *then* thinks about it. "You're fucking Arsenal, too."

"Ah... as of very recently, yes."

Jason raises his eyebrows while watching Conchiglie whip it out. He's licking his lips and sweating, and if anybody tries to make *Jason* touch that rocket launcher, they're gonna hurt. But -- "How recently? And why did you hesitate to tell me?"

"Last weekend," Drake says, and his lip curls as Conchiglie starts rubbing his cock around and around the business end of the rocket launcher.

Last weekend, Jason had spanked it seven different times while watching porn on his computer and not getting enough fucking sleep and not getting --

Not getting anything *like* what he needed.

Just -- "And my other question?"

"You weren't happy when I mentioned Arsenal before."

"I'm not happy *most* of the fucking time --" And *then* Jason realizes what he'd said. And winces.

And shakes his fucking head --

"Forget I just said that."

"Not... likely."

Jason snorts. "Fine. *Pity* me. See what it gets you."

"I was thinking about something more along the lines of sympathy."

Jason -- doesn't shudder. He.

He focuses on the restaurant. He focuses, and realizes that everyone -- everyone except Conchiglie and Morocci -- is paying as much attention to the commercials as they're paying to the sitcoms.

It's a different one now, and -- no, wait -- "Who's the one calling for six fucking pizzas?"

"Billy Bandit."

"That is *not* his fucking name," Jason says, and *glares* at Drake --

"Hnn. It really is. He changed it legally two years ago."

"Fucking A --"

"He was arrested as soon as he walked out of the courthouse on outstanding warrants for his habit of fencing stolen goods."

Jason snorts. "Okay, that's better -- wait, did he really just ask for lettuce and *cream* cheese on his pizza?"

"I... hm."


Drake shakes his head. "It's just that none of these people fit the *profile* for overeating while under stress."

Jason shrugs. "Profiles only take you so far, Robin. You know that."

Drake nods -- but keeps frowning. He --

Jason doesn't want that. He -- "I never wanted Arsenal all to myself."

"You --"

"I was upset because I wanted him to keep my secrets. Even though --" You're family. Say it. Cope -- fucking *cope* --

"I'm listening."

Jason -- breathes. "Yeah, you are. I -- here's the thing. I don't know how much *you* know about Arsenal about this point, and I'm not --" Jason shakes his head. "See, there's everything *Nightwing* can tell you about him, and I *know* he told you a lot, because he's damned well your older brother --"

"There is -- there are aspects of Arsenal's life which Nightwing doesn't touch."

"Yeah, *that*. And -- you *can* just file it under BDSM and all that good stuff, that *really* good stuff --"

Tim --

"Was that a purr?"

"I admit nothing. Go on."

Jason snorts and grins, and -- doesn't actually manage to catch himself before he gives Drake the kind of playful shove --

Well, he'd done it, and Drake's looking kind of stunned and *swallowing* at him -

And Jason is fucking *staring* --

They're just *looking* at each other, and Jason knows exactly what Drake is seeing in his info-crawl about Jason's vitals. Fuck --


"You were. You were talking about Arsenal."

Jason takes a *breath* -- "Yeah. Yeah, I was. Uh -- anyway." Jason licks his lips --

Fucking *stops* that --

"He -- there's a lot to him, is all. And a lot of *that* is in the way he goes about domming people. And subbing to people, too, for that matter. You know?"

Drake's smile is a little shaky -- but not in anything *like* a bad way. As opposed to a *hungry* way. "He... ah. He goes... very... deep. God, that sounds --"

"True. It sounds *true*. And -- heh. You can see *me* blushing a little, too, yeah?"

*Drake* licks his lips. "Yes."

"Yeah. I know *exactly* how deep he can get in you. In himself, too. And -- you know, I *can* read people pretty fucking well. I knew from the jump that you'd probably go for a little D/s if you ever got the opportunity --"

"Or... more than a little. As the case may be."

"So is this where I ask about what your fantasies about me were like?"

Drake opens his mouth -- "Ah... maybe?"

"Maybe meaning you'd tell me if I *did* ask but you're pretty sure they'd break my fucking head?"

Drake licks his lips again, and -- smiles. It's... warm. Not wide and not fucking *sunny* -- but warm.

It's a good fucking smile. It's --

"Well... I wouldn't dream of trying to make a prediction like --"

"Admit it, I totally make you hurt for being such a lying little bitch," Jason says, and waggles his eyebrows again.

Drake parts his lips --

Licks his *teeth* --

"The thought had occurred."

"Uh, huh. See, *Arsenal* taught me that when you wanna *punish* someone, you take *away* the thing they want."

"Batman didn't teach you --"

Jason snorts. "Fuck, no. He gave me *everything* I wanted -- usually before I *knew* I wanted it. Except for one thing." And Jason *taps* the butts of his guns.

Drake inhales sharply and nods once. "Noted. Please... go on?"

"Heh. Sure thing. A boy like you... I *knew* you liked at least a little pain. No. There's more than *one* reason why you get turned the fuck on every time Robin-the-Fourth takes it out on you a little."

"That... is the absolute truth."

"Uh, huh. So maybe I'd be *gentle* with you."

"Oh -- ah."

"Maybe I'd take it *real* slow and do you *tenderly*."

"Fuck, that's -- ah --"


Drake raises that eyebrow again. "In more than one way."

"I'm turning you on."

Mean *and* prissy look --

"Heh, okay, I guess I *did* know that. It's not like -- you can fucking tell how *I'm* doing over here, Robin."

*Blinks* behind that mask --

"You can see my fucking *vitals*, you freak --"

"Ah -- seeing isn't always... believing."

And that...

Jason shakes his head. "Okay, *now* tell me something awful about your childhood."

"I'd rather have you talk more about sex --"

"Yeah, we can do that, too, but -- I'm asking," Jason says, and holds it, and holds it, and fucking -- no. It's not worth it. "Please."

*More* blinks --

The kind of swallowing that's really --

"Okay, no, first tell me if you deep-throat --"

"As often as humanly possible --"

"Good to know, answer my other question. Maybe -- *how* is it that B was the first one who paid attention to you? What were your parents even *like*?"

Tim turns away --

"C'mon --"

"They were... professionals. Both of them, really, though my mother was better at it. The business suffered immensely after she was killed..." Drake shakes his head and turns back. "I learned what they wanted me to learn. I said what they wanted me to say -- to other people, since they had no time for me whatsoever --"


"If I ever seemed... slow at picking up some point about economics, or business in general, my mother would... take me in hand --"


Drake shakes his head once. "Not physical. Not..." He frowns. "I think I've given you the gist."

*Jason* frowns. "You were a lot more eager to spit this out --"

"When I was trying to chase you away? *Think* about that."

"Okay, yeah, you can be a bitch that way. I like it. But you gotta fucking realize that I'm not gonna head for the hills just because you *might* get a little fucking *sad*."

Drake lifts his chin --

"Did you get that from me or Robin-the-Fourth?"


Jason grins a little helplessly. "It's a great way to get your fucking bell rung, Robin --"

"My jaw... can take a great deal of punishment."

So he's thinking about fucking Timothy Jackson Drake's mouth. Right now. *Right* now.

And -- he really, really was thinking about it before, too.

*And* -- Drake can see it. *Clearly*. He --

"We can... stop talking entirely."

Say my *name* -- "We have a *mission*, Robin --"

Drake points to the restaurant.

Jason looks --

Sammy Pironini is paying a delivery guy -- but he has the door open so wide that the kid can see all the weapons.

Conchiglie is sitting in a corner jerking off to what looks like a Games Illustrated magazine -- and not the swimsuit issue, either.

Morocci is drawing *stick* figures in the blood all over the bathroom floor --

Mikey Tarantella is weeping again --

And none of the other guys are making that good of a showing for themselves, either.

Which --

"B drugged the food from Fatboy's, didn't he."

"My guess is that he used a great deal of concentrated THC."

"Fucking -- he seriously pulled us away from the *actual* mission to baby-sit a bunch of fucking assholes that *he* fucked up."

"Hnn. I suspect he had other motives, too."

"Yeah, fine, the weapons are right -- fuck. He set *us* up."


"Us in fucking *particular*."

"He -- he's always wanted --"

"He always *wanted* his *boys* to get *along*."

Drake takes a deep breath. "Yes. He --" He shakes his head. "Look, I'm perfectly capable of keeping an eye on these people until the drugs wear off --"

"Don't," Jason says, and stands up, letting himself pace a little. It's not like the *targets* will notice him --

Or be able to do anything *about* him if they *do* --

Fucking *Bruce* --

Right now, a part of Jason is *only* pissed because Bruce promised not to run any more games on him, not to --

Not to fucking *lie* to him, no matter fucking *what* --

("It's only --"

"No fucking *lies*, B!"

"I've been... so many people have told me that I can be *too* honest, that I can -- can *oppress* people with the truths in my heart..."

"I don't fucking know what that means!")

And Bruce had smiled ruefully, *gently* --

Bruce had reached out and just *barely* touched Jason's cheek with his fingertips --

("*Tell* me!"

"I believe. I believe I would do anything if it meant that I would never -- *could* never -- chase you away --"

"You -- you *can't* --"

"Jay --"

"I'm not a fucking *quitter*!"

"Never, no, but --")

And Jason had shoved him, reached up and *shoved* him just as hard as he *could* --

And Bruce had *stepped* back --

("No! Come *back*!"

"I --"

"Fucking *A*, B, *we* can have -- I think we can have -- you *want* me!")

And -- fuck if it hadn't looked like Bruce was gonna *cry* --

His eyes had actually *gotten* a little wet --

("*No*. I want you -- you *know* I want you right back --"

"Jay --"

"Don't say *no* to me --"

"I love you. I love you... so very much. I would never --"

"Never fucking *lie* to me!")

And Bruce had gasped and *nodded*, licked his lips and looked hopeful, looked --

Looked like he wanted to say a whole lot of things. Looked --

Jason wanted to hear all of them.

And he still does. Just --

("I will never lie to you again, Jay.")

And --

("I've wanted -- if I could give you *pleasure* -- no. I will not *lie*. I *want* to give you pleasure, I want to pleasure you until you can't help but *sleep* --"

"But you want me to pleasure you right back?"

"I am not. I am not a good *man* --"

"*Say* it!"

"*Yes*, Jay!")

And --

("Oh -- oh, my love -"

"Yeah, fuck -- fuck, *touch* me and I'll --"

"My beautiful *love* -- *HNH* --")

And the rest of that was just noise and *heat* --

It was a lot more than that. A lot -- a lot fucking more. *But* --

He wasn't supposed to fucking --

He didn't lie.

He didn't *guarantee* that anything would go down. He didn't --

He used the fact that he knew that *Jason* knew that he didn't fuck with actual missions --

That he didn't *risk* drugging that many people at once unless it was necessary --

That he never fucking -- did this.


Jason drops into a crouch again and covers his face.

"I feel... that I should apologize --"

"No," Jason says, and *then* moves his hands. "Unless you fucking *asked* him to --"

"Never. I -- I don't... do that. But I did leap at the chance to... have this night with you --"

"Don't apologize for that --"

"I --"

"You could -- who am I in your head?" And Jason turns enough that he can see Tim's profile --

Drake's profile --


Tim frowns. "I'm... not sure what you mean. Beyond what I've already --"

"When you think of me, what *name* do you use?"

"I... hnn."

"Yeah, *use* that fucking sad excuse for a laugh if it means you'll get back on your fucking *game* --"

"'Red Hood' murdered the boy I fell in love with. He wasn't my *first* love... but he was the second. Additionally, he was Robin. You're never actually going to get me to call you that, and... well. I *could* apologize for that, but it wouldn't be sincere."

Jason licks his teeth again. "There's such a thing as --"

"Reclamation...? Of course. But part of allowing myself to be a human being is allowing myself to be adamant about... this."

"You were glad when I ditched the helmet."

"I had practical reasons --"

"Just say yes."


"What's my name? Though if you say 'Robin' --"

"You'll break my nose?"

"All *over* your face, you little freak."

Tim smiles. *Meanly*. "You don't have a name in my head. Not really."

Jason... blinks. "That's --"

"It is what it is. But I'm still getting to know who you are --"

"I'm still getting to know who *you* are, but I fucking well use your *names*."

"Do you? In your mind?"

"Tim," Jason says, quietly enough to only carry the few yards between them.

And -- Tim shivers. "That's... ah. Affecting."

"Yeah, hunh? Gonna return the favor?"

"Are you going to tell me how *long* you've been willing to use that name?"

"About a minute and a half -- consciously --"

Tim snorts --

"Heh. Unconsciously? Probably longer. I was never the quick one, Robin."

A sour look --

"And if you're about to get on my case for getting on my *own* case --"

"I'll remind you of Batman?"

"And all the other guys who live inside him, yeah," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I'm not -- I'm still me."

"Are you?"

And Jason *wants* to remind Tim about *eulogies* -- but.

He has a fucking point.

Jason grips his hands together between his knees and stares up at the reddish Gotham night sky. Light pollution -- and other kinds of pollution.

Like the ugly fucking magic that's in the city's *bones* --

All the things Jason's never wanted to think about --

The other things he's never --

The other, *other* things --

Jason snorts, and just fucking deals with the fact that his eyes are a little wet behind the mask, that he's *shuddering* a little, that he's been home for ten months and not fucking home, at *all* --

That he's had *one* home since his mother died --

The mother who actually *gave* a shit about him --

He ran away from home, and from the only *father* who gave a shit about him --

Even though he really, really, *really* fucking sucked at being a father.

But he ran away, and he died, and when he came back...

Well, he ran away again, didn't he?

Those memories are a little... torn-up and hazy and fucking *vague*, but it would be just fucking like him, wouldn't it?

He --

"I get scared sometimes, Robin."

"Everyone does --"

"Uh, hunh. They really fucking do. I just -- heh."


"What are the accidental stoners up to?"

"Eating. A lot. The anchovy-mashed potato-sausage pizza is already gone."

"God, fuck, that actually sounds kinda *good* --"

Tim tosses an energy bar at his head --

And Jason snorts again. "Good fucking call."

Jason eats, and eats some more, and -- wait. "Who convinced B to dip these things in chocolate?"

"Hnn. Robin-the-Fourth wouldn't touch them until he did."

"Fucking *fuck*, I want her."

"I'm going to share this conversation with her, so be prepared to be mercilessly teased."

Jason lets himself moan a little --

And Tim -- laughs. A real one.

"Yeah, yeah, you just better fucking *appreciate* --"

"I'm very much hoping to convince her to marry me someday. She can wear an eggplant wedding gown with any number of places to stash weaponry, steel-toed boots, and flowers in her perfect hair. *I* will let her dress me like a diminutive James Bond --"

"And you'll have even more weapons?"

"Paranoia is a way of life... Red."

Jason grunts -- "Don't."

"I --"

"Don't. It's not like you actually want to --"

"I *am* capable of being polite --"

"Or *A* would've fucking poisoned you, I *know* that. But -- I don't need you to be polite to me, Robin."

Tim turns to face him, and... he's hard to read. He looks fucking *blank* --

And then the alarm in the scope kicks in, and -- "Don't have a stroke. Please."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Tell me more about fear?"

"I can do that," Jason says, getting up and walking close again before crouching next to Tim.

A little closer. Just --

"I was scared of B -- and I still am. I was scared of Nightwing coming back and -- heh. Taking *his* place back. I was scared of winding up homeless and having to sell my ass again -- and that may have actually happened after I got resurrected, according to my *seriously* hazy memories, so, you know, still pretty fucked-up about that -- no, don't say anything, yet."

Tim closes his mouth and nods.

Jason smiles ruefully. "Thanks. Anyway. Still fucked-up there. Then -- other things. I was scared of *disappointing* B. I was scared of *hurting* B. I was scared of being... being anything but what he needed. *All* of what he needed. I was scared of being alone. I was scared of being weak. I was scared of everyone realizing... I guess you can say I was scared of being known, too, but I don't really... do you know what that's like?"

Tim swallows again. "Yes. I... don't want anyone in particular to see everything that makes me who I am."

"Because then they won't love you anymore?"

Tim offers a rueful smile of his own. "They might not even need me."

Jason bites the inside of his cheek and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, you know. I don't know *why* you know -- no, tell me."

"I'm not a friendly person. I'm not... I love what is, to me, a large number of people, but those are the *only* people I love. I don't love this city -- I need it because it needs me. I don't love the species -- I think it needs to be improved by several orders of magnitude before it will be worth *anything* like the effort my loved ones -- and I -- put into saving it on a regular basis --"

Jason grunts. "So why do you -- no. I know. You do it so you *can* be close to the people you love."

"Precisely. Though I'm not... I also have to admit that I would probably wither and die without the opportunity to brutalize strangers on a regular basis."


"It helps that they deserve it," Tim says, and his smile is the one that looks like a stabbing in process.

"But they don't have to?"

"I... wouldn't say that --"

"What *would* you say?"

"That more people 'deserve it' than who generally *get* it."

Jason blinks.

"I'm not actually a psychopath. I've tested myself rigorously on the matter. I have some -- *some* -- sociopathic tendencies, but I'm not very far along that particular spectrum, either. I'm just... violent and unfriendly."

"And a liar."

"And a liar, yes," Tim says, and his smile is a lot better, which gets Jason all fucking *set* to breathe again -- "Batman never would've chosen me. Not without Nightwing and A urging him to do just that. Not without it being all but a fait accompli."

Jason -- jerks back a little. "What the hell are you --"

"Nightwing. You. Robin-the-Fourth... and me. One of these things is not like the others."

Jason stares at Tim. And keeps fucking staring, because --

This --

This kind of -- self-loathing? *Really*?

"Hnn --"



"*No*," Jason says, and jabs Tim right in the chest armor. "Ignore the fact that he *kept* you. Ignore the fact that he gave you your own chunk of the city he *does* love. Hell, fucking ignore the fact that he's bent over *backwards* to make sure he didn't fuck up with you in the same ways he fucked up with me *and* Nightwing --"

"I --"

"*Shut* up. What you *can't* ignore? Is the fact that he fucking well risked the *lives* of *eighteen fucking people* --"

"It's just THC!"

"And *he* didn't know when *we* would figure it out. Note that we *didn't* before the budding artist in there nearly snorted himself to the fucking ER!"

Tim frowns *hard* and turns away, and --

No. Jason *grips* Tim's jaw and turns him back to face him -- "*Listen* to me --"


"Okay, that's a good fucking command voice, I like it --"

Tim *growls* --

And Jason kisses him, just --

One kiss, because it's what Bruce wants --

Because Tim's right fucking there --

Because Tim *hurts* inside, needs, and you don't let that --

Because Tim loved Jason, *loved* him, and he'd been pretty fucking sure *only* Bruce --

Jason kisses Tim because he wants to, because Bruce fucking *gave* him this chance the way he'd given -- or *tried* to give -- Jason every-fucking-thing else --

He doesn't have to waste his chances just to be hard.

He doesn't have to fucking --

Blood, blood in his mouth, and for a moment he doesn't know which of them it *belongs* to --

But then he feels the sting in his lower lip, and he realizes he has to fucking pay *attention* to this kiss, to what he's *doing*, to this --

Tim is trying to twist *away* --

"*Fuck*," Jason says, letting go and pulling *back* suddenly enough that he lands on his ass -- "I'm sorry --"

Tim growls again and *pants*, glaring down at the roof and --

Jesus, Jason has a fucking *weakness* for blood streaked on a soft mouth --

And Tim's mouth is *real* fucking soft *now* --

And he can get a grip. *Right* now. He breathes. "I read you wrong. I'm sorry. I'm not -- I'm never gonna try to *force* you into anything --"

Tim laughs like something *cracked* inside him --

"Or... *you* tell me what to say."

"You. You sound like... him," he says, looking up at Jason and smiling ruefully again.

Jason frowns and tries to figure out. "Like... B?"

Tim takes a sharp little breath -- "Like Jason."

Jason's cock... is awake. Definitely fucking --

At least it didn't *twitch*, but --

"I am him," Jason says, and his own voice is too low, too -- "There's just more of me than you thought there was."

Tim parts his lips --

Presses them together and *frowns* --

*Licks* his lips -- "Just like... there's more of me," he says, quiet and low --

"Yeah." Lick your lips again -- no. Jason shakes himself like a dog and -- gives himself a squeeze.

Hard enough that his jock -- *so* fucking inferior to the ones Bruce had made for him back in the day -- *punishes* him a little --

And Tim pants a little more and stares. And *stares* --

And there goes his fucking cock, jock-punishment and all. "I think... uh. I think it'd be a great fucking idea to talk about what we want here --"

"You didn't read me wrong," Tim says, and *then* looks up to meet Jason's eyes. "You know you didn't. Don't you?"

"I've got what the info-crawl is telling me. I've got what my *instincts* are telling me -- "

"Yes --"

"And I've got what my bloody fucking *lip* is telling me, Tim."

Tim winces. "I -- couldn't. I couldn't --"

"Ever think maybe it's fucked-up to wanna screw a dead fifteen-year-old instead of a live nineteen-year-old?"

Tim snorts. "As a matter of fact... I..." He shakes his head, pulls his scope off, tucks it in his pocket, and flips the lenses on his domino up. The fact that Jason already knew his eyes were a seriously *cold* blue-grey --

Nobody's eyes look cold when their pupils are that blown. Just -- nobody. "Tell me. Please."

Another sharp breath. "I wanted this. I wanted the chance to see you in a situation where we would have to be professional, and even genial. I wanted the chance to give you the scope, to -- to maybe *impress* you --"

"You really fucking did --"

"I wanted all of it. And I've had it. And more than I imagined *possible*. And... I don't exactly know what to do with myself right now."

Jason sucks his lip -- it's not bleeding much anymore. "This is where I usually hit people. Or curse and yell *while* hitting people."

"Or shoot people?"

"I try not to do that when I'm feeling too emotional, actually. I try to -- you can't kill a person when you're fucked in the head. You can't -- you can't let yourself get into habits like that."

Tim lifts his chin again. "Or the wrong people wind up dead...?"

Jason smiles ruefully. "Exactly. B taught me that you have to have rules for this shit, and he was right about that."

"It's why the Joker is still alive."

Jason *winces* -- "Yeah. And Two-Face, too."

Tim nods thoughtfully... and then smiles, small and quiet. "It's a good rule."

Jason *blinks* --

"You weren't expecting to hear me say that."

"No, I wasn't."

Tim nods again, licking his lips. "I have more -- and more detailed -- fantasies about maiming than I do about killing. But that doesn't mean the killing fantasies aren't there. Your breathing... hnn. Don't have a stroke...?"

That -- Jason flips Tim off --


His breathing isn't any better. It's just -- not. But. "Yeah."

"If we set up both directional mics --"

"We can hear everything going on over there while we get to know each other even better?"

Tim shows his teeth, but with his lenses up he looks a lot more hungry than mean.

Maybe he was that hungry before, too. Maybe --

Jason shakes it off, tugs out his mic, and sets it up. And then he makes a *point* of looking over their targets -- the mics aren't lying. Nine of them are passed *right* the fuck out, including Morocci --

Four of them are playing Asshole with what looks like fucking *cooking* sherry --

Three of them are watching TV --

Mikey Tarantella is swallowing more bullets *while* stalking through the empty apartments with the unloaded gun --

And Conchiglie is *still* jerking off.

Good e-fucking-nough -- especially since Tim is *kneeling* instead of crouching, and a part of Jason's mind apparently needed to see that fucking *badly*. Just --

"Is that a suggestion, Tim?"

Tim cocks his head to the side and smiles. "Your penis hurts. I feel confident about my ability to do something about that."

"Heh. How's *your* cock feeling?"

"Cradled lovingly in an increasingly damp padded jock."

Jason raises his eyebrows --

And the smile turns rueful again. "When Batman told me you'd agreed to this... I began a program of systematically having large amounts of sex *and* masturbating myself somewhat raw."

"You don't hurt."


Jason sucks his cut lip again -- stops. "I want you to."

Tim *grunts* --

And Jason rolls onto his own knees. "I want you to feel what *I* feel."

"That -- that's the best --"

"*Connection*, yeah?"

Tim pants and nods. "It's -- I've always wanted --"

"To feel me?"

"*Yes* --"

"No --"

"*Yes*, Jason -- *nnh* --"

Jason stares at his hand around Tim's throat, at the *size* of his own hand versus --

But he knew Tim was small. Small and -- not young.

Not really.

Jason licks his lips and squeezes, knowing Tim will feel it even through his -- inferior -- gorget. "Feeling me is great. Being *with* me is even better. *Right* with me, yeah?"

Tim nods slowly --

"You can still talk."

"You don't want the fantasy of choking me?"

"I *want* your *voice*, Tim --"

And Tim moans and closes his eyes, tilts his head back just a little --

Just enough that Jason can *see* some of that throat --

Long throat, longer than Stephanie's --

Longer than *Bruce's* --

("Are you -- do you... uh. Do you like it there? Being, you know, kissed and stuff?"

"I'm not... particularly sensitive --"

"Oh. Okay --"

"But. I want your touch, Jay. Every touch you're moved to -- *hnh* --")

And maybe he's leaning right in, maybe --

Definitely he's sniffing a little, smelling soap with a little perfume in it that he's willing to bet Tim *only* lets Robin use --

Something --

Something a little *heavy* and sweet --

Tim *moans* again --

And Jason *licks* Tim's throat, every little bit of it he can get to --

Licks and *bites* --

"Fuck -- Jason --"

Sucks *once* and *then* pulls back. "No? I can't mark you?"

"I -- definitely didn't say that --"

"Are you gonna mark me?"

Tim stares at him -- into him a little -- but he frowns.

"What -- oh, Jesus, this is why screwing on rooftops is bad fucking *form* -- most of the time," Jason says, stripping off the scope -- *carefully* -- and flipping his own lenses. He raises his eyebrows -- and strokes his gloved thumb through the spit on Tim's throat --

Tim moans again --

"Gonna answer my question --"

"Where. Where do you want to be marked," Tim says, and that's about *half* a question --

"You order your girl around like that?"

"Sometimes. I --" Tim shakes his head. "I don't know what I want --"

"Was that the truth?"

"Mostly? Ah... mostly."

Jason licks his lips and *presses* with his thumb. "What's the rest of the truth?"

Tim shivers and -- spreads his knees --

"Jesus, I -- ever want me to fuck you?"

"Yes. And that's the rest of the truth --"

Jason grunts again and -- doesn't buck for that. He's *not* fifteen anymore. But he *is* opening his pants --

"*Please* let me help with that --"

"Fuck -- fuck, yeah --"


"None," Jason says, releasing Tim's throat and forcing himself to stop working on his belt --

"That's *dangerous* --"

"So am *I*," and Jason's laughing for it, *arching* for it as Tim fucking well *works* the Bat-style gauntlets, as Tim gets him open, gets him *free* --


"You like it, Tim?"

Tim *grips* his cock in answer --

"*Fuck*, gauntlet --"

"You love it," Tim says, and strokes him *slowly* --

Jason shudders and *pants* --

Doesn't buck, doesn't fucking *buck* --

("Jay --"

"Don't stop -- don't stop don't stop --"

"I'm *hurting* you --"

"Oh -- oh, *yeah* --")

And Jason groans and feels himself *sweating* for it, feels himself *shuddering* more --

"Should I stroke you faster...?"

"Fuck -- shit -- I don't wanna be *raw* --"

"Hnn. Lying... bastard."

Jason gasps a laugh and grips his own thighs, tilts his head back and -- grinds.

A little.

A *little* --


"God, faster -- yeah -- fuck, *yeah* --"

"You are... immensely beautiful --"

Jason snorts. "You -- you fucking well better be talking about my *cock* --"

"There's *nothing* wrong with appreciating the whole sweating, grunting, grinding --"


"Hnn. Should I use my teeth, Jason...?"

God, that was practically a fucking *bark* -- "Suck me, just -- just suck --"

"I want to bite your foreskin --"

Jason chokes and snorts again, *gasps* again -- "Fucking *don't*," he says, and tilts his head back down enough to *look* at Tim. "The gauntlet's bad *enough*."

"I can't help but notice --"

"Some of us like it a little *gentle*."

Eyebrow *way* the fuck up --

And Jason gives up and snickers. "I do, fuck, I *do* -- at least on my foreskin -- but don't fucking *stop*, yet --"

"All right..." And Tim fucking --

"Jesus, that -- that *squeeze* --"

"This one...?" And Tim shows his *teeth* again --

"How long have you wanted to fucking *punish* my poor cock?"

Tim *licks* his teeth. "No more than... ten months."

Jason snorts again --

*Pumps* into Tim's fist --

Such a bad idea, bad *fucking* idea --

He's sweating from the *pain*, too --

And Tim's lips are parted so *sweet* --

Tim's barely fucking *blinking* --

"Fuck, I need --" And Jason shakes his head and leans in, begs a little with a nuzzle, a breath --

A lick --

And Tim moans and kisses him, kisses him hard and wet and --

*Squeezes* him again, and Jason makes *way* too loud a noise --

Right into Tim's pretty little mouth --

Right --

And this kiss is better, so much better, because Jason's sweating and *hurting* too much to concentrate on anything but getting licked, getting his tongue *sucked* --

But he can fuck Tim's mouth --

He can fucking well *promise* that --

And they're moaning together now, nuzzling up on each other and licking --

Tim bites his fucking *jaw* --

Jason licks Tim's cheek all the way to his ear and bites him *there* --

Tim bites his *throat* -- and kisses him *softly*, *breathily* --

Kisses his way back *up* to Jason's ear --

"I want you... very, very badly."

Jason pants --

Winces and *grunts* for Tim's squeeze --

Licks Tim's ear and *sucks* his earlobe, but he can't wait, he can't -- "Do me, suck me, c'mon --"

And he's not actually *ready* for Tim to pull back --

He's groaning and *twitching* --

He fucking *needs* this --

How did that even *happen* --

No, no, he's not gonna ask, asking's for when he's alone again, when he's fucking cold, when he doesn't have a gauntleted fist around his *sac* --

*Finally* --

And when there isn't a hot, wet, *soft* mouth wrapped around the head of his cock and sucking --

Sucking hard enough to make him grunt more, shake his head and clench his fucking *fists* -- no.

He *yanks* his gloves off and pushes his hands into Tim's hair, feels --

God, thinner than it looks --

Just a *little* product -- not enough to be annoying --

Fucking -- fucking *fuzzy* at the sides and back, and yeah, he's molesting Tim's fucking *head*, but Tim is *humming* around him now, licking and sucking and stabbing at the slit like he thinks Jason's cock is gonna start spitting pre-come like *Chester's* --

But --

"Super-- Superman?"


Jason *winces* for the vibration of that and --

Not bucking *yet* --

He can keep a *little* fucking control --


"Ah, Jesus, I just wanna -- are you *fucking* him?"

"Mm-mm," and Tim shakes his head *slowly* --

Drags his fucking *tongue* --

Jason moans and pants --

Pushes a *little* deeper --


"Oh -- oh, yeah, fine, okay, good *enough*," Jason says, laughing and *rocking* his way in --

And in --

And *in* --

Tim *gurgles* --

"Oh, mother*fuck*, I *love* that --"

Tim *smiles* around him and gurgles *more* --

*Drools* a little --

"Yeah, fuck, *get* messy --"

Tim pulls *back* --

"Hey, wait --"

But all he does is *nuzzle* Jason's cock, dragging it all over his mouth and cheeks --

His fucking *domino* --

God --

God, he hasn't *had* this --

And maybe that's why he's moaning and bucking for it, trying for it --

"C'mon, God, fuck, gimme your --"

*Mouth* --

Except that what he's getting is Tim's tight fucking throat, small and -- and *hard*, somehow --

God, he hasn't *had* a throat in fucking --

Fucking *forever* --

And maybe that's why he's groaning like this, groaning like he's fucking *dying*, because Talia always made him fucking *worry* about his cock when she did this --

Because Roy --

He always *needs* Roy to work him *over* before he does anything remotely *like* this --

Fuck, Tim is trying to pull *back* again --

And yeah, he's *holding* Tim's head to his crotch like a greedy fucking *asshole* --

Jason lets *go* --

Tim shakes his head *hard* -- and starts *fucking* himself on Jason's cock, down and down --

One swallow after *another* --

And Jason's getting fucking *loud* for this, getting --

All right, he hasn't tried shoving his fist in his *own* mouth in a long time, and it turns out that it *hurts* --

And *laughing* while moaning isn't any *quieter* --

And Tim's looking up at him fucking *avidly*, Tim is *studying* him even as he *does* himself --

He *has* to fucking know what looks like that *do* to him --

Jason moves his fist -- "Can you -- *fuck*, can I fuck?"

*Sharp* nod, and Jason's nodding back, panting and *gripping* Tim's head --

Tim *closes* his eyes --

"*Don't*, lemme -- lemme *see* you --"

Eyes *wide* open again --

And that means he sees every *second* of them rolling back in Tim's head for Jason's first thrust --

Second-third-fourth --

And now the rhythm's got him, fucking *owns* him, because he's moving for it, *giving* for it --

God, everything, fucking everything --

And gritting his teeth just makes him sound too much like *Bruce* once he starts grunting for it --

He can't stop --

He can't fucking *stop*, and he's still *molesting* Tim, feeling everywhere, everywhere he can *reach* --

He *has* to feel --

He has to *know* --

And Tim's cape is off --

And Tim opens his eyes again and *smiles* as he opens his gorget --

And Jason can feel that throat, too, feel that *scar*, long and humped and fucking *dangerous* --

The sweat feels *cold* on his back, but -- "Lemme fucking *bite* you there --"

Tim nods --

"Lemme -- lemme touch -- I gotta fucking *touch* --"

Tim nods more fucking *vehemently*, but it's not enough --

It's not enough until Jason's stroking Tim all over again, gripping and *touching* even as he fucks --

Right --

*In* --

And he's groaning for it now, needing --

Needing exactly what he's fucking *getting* --

"God -- fuck -- *Tim* -- *UNH* --"

Squeezing --

He'd *forgotten* that gauntleted hand around his *sac* --

He'd --

Jesus, he can't fucking *see* --

He can't *think* --

He's --

He's *gotta* be fucking Tim too fucking *hard* now, but he's not stopping, he's not fucking *stopping*, because Tim will *yank* if it's not right --

Tim will --

Fucking *bite* --

And the part of him that wants *that*, too, is fucking *damaged* -- but he knew that already. He --

He's *smiling* as he fucks --

Laughing just like maybe a part of him *is* still fifteen --

Fourteen-thirteen --

Not twelve, *not* twelve, but that's not here, that's not anywhere fucking *near* this rooftop, because Tim's moaning like there's a prostate in his fucking *throat* --

Except when Jason is buried deep. Then it's quiet, dark and beautiful and so sweet, so --

So *hard* when Tim squeezes again --

When he really lets Jason *feel* all that texturing --

So cool and *rough* --

God, he's fucking *gripping* the back of Tim's neck and his shoulder --

Holding him --

Still --

And then he can't see *anything* but *hard* white light --

No, he can see *Bruce* holding Tim still, see him holding Tim by the *hips* as Jason spreads Tim, spreads him *wide* --

As Jason shoves right the fuck *in* --

God --

"I want -- *fuck* --"

And this squeeze makes him tear *up* in the half-second before his body says yes, before everything in him says *yes* --

And he's *losing* it, *pumping* his way in and in as he spills --

As he fills Tim *up* --

So good --

Fucking --

Fucking *great*, and he always wants --

No, he's gotta let go, he's gotta --

But Tim just *grinds* his face against him and swallows --

And swallows --

And *keeps* swallowing *long* after Jason stops coming, which...

Jason pants a little --

Pets Tim *more* than a little --

"You sure you're not banging Big Blue?"

Tim opens his eyes again, and they're dark and *hot* --

Jason licks his lips. "I mean, I don't judge or anything."

Tim swallows *again* --

Jason *grunts* -- "I don't -- I don't judge *much* --"

He swallows *again* --

"Jesus. Fucking -- that's a little like being *pinched* now --"

Tim groans in his chest *obnoxiously* --

So Jason smacks the back of his head --

*Friendly*-like, so there's no fucking call for Tim to pull *all* the way off like this --

Jason bites back *most* of a whimper --

And thinks *real* hard about smacking the smirk off Tim's face, because *Jesus* -- but he's already kissing Tim, holding his face and making the kiss hard, making it *deep* --

Tasting his *cock* and wanting more, a lot fucking *more* --

So maybe he's reaching for Tim's belt --

And getting held by the wrist. Just --

Jason pulls back and raises his eyebrows.

Tim shakes his head and -- blushes. "How *much* do you know about my traps?"

"Every-fucking-thing --"

"As of *when*?"

Well -- "Three months --"

"No," Tim says, and pushes Jason's arm away from himself before tugging off his gauntlets, opening his motherfucking *false fingernail* --

"You *know* that's fucking creepy --"

"Useful, though," and he pulls out a thin, tiny metal *stick* --

*Extends* it --

And uses it to punch his belt in eight different places. It *clicks*, loosens --

Jason reaches -- and *snatches* his hand back *just* in time to avoid getting stabbed by about fifteen suspiciously *shiny* fucking spikes. "Fucking *Christ* --"

"Hnn. You never really know," and Tim hums for an *exact* three-count while putting the stick away --

The spikes slide back *in* --

And *then* Tim takes his belt off.

"And when you can't get to a damned stylus?"

"You have no idea how many I carry on my person. Just in case."

Jason snorts and reaches -- "Wait. *Can* I touch you yet?"

Tim smiles sharply. "You *can*..."

"Bitch. *How many more traps*?"

"I disabled the rest while I was fellating you, so... touch away," and Tim tilts his head back a *little*, parts his *swollen* lips  --

Jason *licks* his lips. "You look fucking great with a cock in your mouth, Robin."

"And when I've recently *had* a penis in my mouth?"

Jason grins and shakes his head. "Nah. Penises are smaller than cocks. Everybody knows that."

"Hnn. Daintier, perhaps...?"

"Oh, yeah," and Jason cracks open Tim's chest armor. "Maybe even classier," he says, and shoves his hand in to feel heat, sweat --

"I wonder how you would explain Batman's penis."

"I *don't*. He has a *cock*. A nice, big, long, *thick* one which curves up *hard* and *begs* to get sat on."

Tim narrows his eyes a little --

Tilts his head back a little *more* -- yeah, that's a *great* suggestion* --

Jason *grips* Tim's throat with the hand he isn't feeling him up with, squeezes and tugs his plain, simple t-shirt up and out of the way so he can use his calluses on what feels like a *small* nipple --

So he can rub and just *abuse* a little in a nice and *gentle* way --


Jason grins and licks his lips. "You honestly think he doesn't want you. Don't you."

A *sour* look -- and then a blank one. "He doesn't."

"Heh. You think --" Jason shakes his head. "He believes that's part of why I died, you know? All that hardcore *fucking*. He *told* me he'd learned from his 'mistakes,' Tim. Told me he could *prove* it --"

"The mistake might have been -- been taking on partners who attracted him --"

"Sure, maybe. Or it could've been letting himself *feel* those partners. Letting himself *taste* them when they were sweaty and needy and *aching* for it --"

"I don't -- want to think about him."

Jason raises his eyebrows and pinches Tim's nipple *hard* -- and squeezes his throat *harder* -- and doesn't call Tim a lying bitch again. They *both* know he is.

"*Nnk* --"

"Not even if I want you to, baby? Not even if I fucking *need* it?"

Tim flushes hard and *dark* --

The tip of his tongue slips out just far enough --

Jason leans in and licks it --

Tim *shudders* --

"He did this for *both* of us, Tim. A part of him is somewhere watching every *second* of this... and waiting for me to use *my* cock to do all the things he's promised himself he'd *never* do again. So should I?"

The flush gets *darker* --

Tim's eyes are so *wide* -- and then he closes them and shudders, arches and *offers* --

"*Fuck*, I need you on a bed --"

Tim *bucks* --

"Yeah, you need it, too. You..." Jason licks his lips. "Get your tights and jock out of the way."

And Tim lets his eyes slip most of the way closed --

He's so fucking *flushed* --

And he kneels up and *shoves* his shorts, tights, and boxer-briefs down --

*Eases* the jock out of the way -- and yeah, that's a classy-looking cock. Not too *big*, but nice and neat. Though some of that has to be those fucking *manscaped* pubes --

Pre-come beads up while Jason *watches* --

And Jason is flaring his nostrils, because the scent is so *hot*, so --

He hasn't *had* this scent before, he hasn't had *any* guy younger than he was, and the fact that he probably *isn't* actually smelling it --

It doesn't change how he feels.

It doesn't change what he *wants* -- and he can have it. All of it. He fucking *knows* he can, and that --

"It's enough, isn't it?" And Jason loosens his grip on Tim's throat --

Tim gasps and looks *confused* --

And Jason licks his lips and kisses him again, kisses him hard and gets -- moaned into --

*Gripped* by the shoulders, and Jason wants to tell Tim to grab his sac again, torture his half-hard cock --

Jason bites Tim's lower lip *just* hard enough to make it bleed and sucks *hard* --

And Tim groans into the air nice and loud, nice and --

Not better than the taste of Tim's blood and Jason's own cock. Not --

And a part of him is just spread right the fuck out on Bruce's big bed, yelling his head off and wondering *which* bite will break the skin and what Bruce'll do when it happens --

What Bruce'll *say* --

He'd had a *lot* of damned theories about that before Bruce finally *did* break the skin one day, and all of them were wrong, because all Bruce did was *groan* Jason's name and suck all the blood up, lick and slurp and *nuzzle* --

And maybe he's biting Tim's jaw now --

And his throat, his perfect fucking --

*More* perfect with that godawful scar, and Jason doesn't know if he's trying to bite it worse or bite it *better* ---

Tim's hands are in his *hair* --

Tim's groaning and -- "Please -- *please* --"

And Jason knows in his *bones* that Bruce is hearing this --

That Bruce is needing this as much as *Jason* is --


Jason *licks* Tim's throat all the fuck *over* --

Jason sucks *hard* kisses over his pulse point --

Pinches Tim's nipple with one hand and *grips* his cock with the other --

"J-Jason -- *please* -- "

Jason squeezes *hard* --

"*Fuck* --"

-- and *slurps* his way off Tim's throat. "Gimme what I want."

"What -- what?"

"I'll make it worth your while, Tim. I'll..." Jason licks his lips and starts to stroke. Starts to *jerk* --

"Nnh -- oh -- *please* --"

"You like your sac played with, baby?"

"I -- fuck, yes --"

"Here," Jason says, letting go of Tim's nipple and *massaging* his -- shaved, now that Jason is paying attention -- sac a little, squeezing *gently* and working it --

Tim groans and pants, grips Jason's shoulders *harder* --

"Yeah, you like that..."

"Yes -- yes, please --"

"I like *you*. Don't come yet, okay?"

Tim stares and *searches* him, mouth open and expression a little *worried* --

Jason grins. "You're wondering what I want with you?"

"I -- yes --"

"More. I want fucking *more*. Beds, floors, walls -- *one* bed in particular, though."

Tim shakes his head in *confusion*, and that's what tells Jason -- more than *anything* else -- that he's working Tim over, making it *good* --

"B's bed, Tim. Big and -- mm. He can't have changed everything. He can't do one fucking thing about how it *smells* --"

Tim *grunts* --

"Yeah, *that* --"

"You -- it smelled like *you* --"

"But it doesn't anymore --"

"It *can* again --"

"Both of us, Tim. Both -- heh. You've always wanted to --"

"Don't -- don't --"

"Shh, just think about it," Jason says, and strokes Tim a little faster --

A little fucking *harder* --

"Think about it and *hurt* for me."

Tim *grunts* again and stares, looking wounded and *young* --

Just -- "Wanna fuck you *bad*, Tim..."

"Let me -- we both carry *lubricant* --"

"We really fucking --" Jason shakes his head. "Tell me what's going on across the street, because all *I* can hear are the noises you're making --"

Tim moans and shakes his head --

*Pumps* into Jason's fist --

Jason squeezes *hard* with both hands to stop him --

And Tim throws his head back and shouts *quietly*, fucking --

"God, that's fucking hot, fucking --" Jason shakes his head again and lets go of Tim, grabbing his little tube of medical-grade out of the inner pocket closest to his armpit --

And he's not *thinking* about the instinct that made him pick the *warmest* fucking pocket for the stuff even though he'd sworn to himself he *wouldn't* be fucking on the street anymore --

He's not *smart* --

But he can damned well slick three fingers --

Tim starts to *turn* --

"No, stay *right* there --"

"Jason --"

"I gotta fucking *see* you, okay?" And Jason wasn't expecting *that* much need in his voice -- but he's already on-board with the fact that he's fucking *slow*, fucking -- "C'mon, reach back and spread -- *one* hand --"

And Tim reaches back with his right hand, leaving his left side free and making it *easy* for Jason to reach around with his right --

Easy to feel, *rub* a little on a hole that doesn't feel all *that* tight --

"*Please*, Jason --"

Rub *slower* and grin --

"Oh -- oh, God, do you -- you already *know* I want him!"

"Yeah, I do. But I need more," Jason says, and strokes a *hard* line up the underside of Tim's cock --

"*Fuck*, I -- if -- if he ever *wanted* --"

"He *does*."

"Of course I would, I'm -- I'm *human* --"

"And you're Robin, too, you're -- heh. You're *little*. You could bounce on his lap *easy* --"

"*Jason* --"

"You could let him hold you *still* for me --"

"I'm not moving *now* -- *HNH* --"

And Jason narrows his eyes for the heat, the *tight* fucking heat, because apparently he'd *had* to shove in with two --

"*Fuck* -- fuck me, please *fuck* me --"

"Just my fingers --"

"*Anything* -- oh, *God* --"

"Didn't think I could get deeper, baby?"

Tim grunts and pants, pants and shakes his head like it *hurts* -- and then immediately starts using Jason's fingers to do himself, *work* himself --

"*Fuck*, you're hot -- Bruce's fingers are bigger and *longer* --"

Tim cries out and *pleads* with his eyes --

Jason licks his lips and *crooks* his fingers --

"*Jason* --"

Grips Tim's *cock* again --

"I'm not -- I can't *last* like this --"

"Then give me what I *want*."

"*Please* --"

"Say you *will* with me, that we can -- fuck, baby, it was so good with him, it was so fucking --"

"I want -- I want --"

"It was always *right* --"

"Take -- *take* it again --"

Jason growls and starts to *fuck* Tim with his fingers --

"Ahn -- *ahn* --"

"You can show me -- no," Jason says, shaking his head and fucking hard, fucking *fast* --


"You can *help* me, Tim, help me fucking show *him* that it was the one thing we did *right*!"

And Tim's eyes are wide again --

Tim's lips are parted and he's *searching* Jason --

Shaking all over and working those narrow little hips like a *pro*, but still searching, still --

"I *mean* it --"

"I know -- I -- oh, fuck -- oh, *fuck* --"

"Yeah, fucking give it up for me, for *us* --"

Tim whines and clutches Jason's shoulders again, really digs *in*, and it's a *tease* because Jason can't feel half of Tim's fingers --

The armor's in the *way* -- "Need us *naked* --"

Tim grunts and nods frantically, *yanks* at Jason's clothes --

"Not *here* --"

"Oh, *God*, Jason --"

"I'll strip you down, Tim. I'll -- I'll fucking lick you all over until I know *everywhere* that makes you fucking *noisy* --"

"*Fuck* --"

"And then -- and then Bruce can bite --"

"I've seen that! I've watched --" And then Tim's hanging his head and groaning, long and low and *helpless* --

And Jason realizes that he's *holding* his fingers bent while he fucking *reams* Tim --

While he *works* Tim's cock --

He needs --

"You should've let me *see* you, baby..."

Tim shudders and groans *more* --

"*Look* at me --"

And Tim jerks his head up --

"Yeah. *Yeah*. Think about B and me putting on a *show* for you -- instead of just fucking where you could see us --"

"Jason --"

"Think about B doing *everything* you want him to do to me --"

"*Nnh* --"

"He fucking *lives* to follow *orders*, baby --"

"I know, I *know* --"

"*Yeah*, you do," Jason says, leaning in to lick that pretty mouth, suck those lips --

*Take* the kisses --

All of them, just *all* of them, because he has enough control to make them *good* now, make them *right* --

Push deep and take *more*, just more --

And Tim is *moving* between Jason's hands, giving it up so *sweet* --

Tim is groaning into Jason's mouth and *shaking*, and that --

"Gonna come for me?"

"S-soon --"

"Heh. Gonna come *harder* if I make you think about the orders *I'd* give Bruce if he was doin' *you*?"

"*HNH* --"

"Oh, yeah, *clench* for me, baby --"

"*Jason* --"

"*Do* it, 'cause I'd just tell him to fuck you *harder* --"

"I -- I can't --"

"You *can* --"

"I need you *both*!"

"*Fuck*, yeah," and Jason kisses Tim again, kisses him hard and fucking *goes* for it, pulling out *most* of the way and *fucking* his way back in with three --

One thrust after *another* --

One dirty-hot *push* --

Tim *screams* into Jason's mouth --

Screams again and starts to *shake* --

And then he's *sobbing* his way through an orgasm, shooting off all over Jason's suit and hand --

Jason really could've *planned* this better --

Story of his motherfucking *life* -- but sometimes it works out pretty fucking well. *Sometimes* it ends with a hot and *smart* little bitch coming all over him *while* frantically licking his mouth --

Jason sucks that tongue *hard* --

And there's more come on his hand. Fucking *yes*. Jason holds Tim a *little* tightly but mostly gently --

Stills his other fingers --

And kisses Tim again and again until the sobs turn to moans turn to *quiet* moans.

And *then* he pulls back and grins his *best* grin. The one --

("Oh, Jaybird. Get *over* here.")

And --

("Oooh. Are you thinking *thoughts*, little wing? You -- mm. You better be.")

And, of *course* --

... but there were never really any words for *this* grin from Bruce. Just the sense of the world moving *real* fucking fast around him and *sudden* heat, sudden *need*, beaming *down* at him from the biggest --

The best --

Jason closes his eyes and smiles --

And Tim strokes his cheek with shaking fingers. "Are you --"

"I'm great. Just -- remembering," and Jason opens his eyes again. "And planning."

Tim licks his lips. "I don't. I don't know how I'm supposed to go home tonight, Jason."

Jason frowns. "What do you mean?"

"He's monitoring. He *has* to be --"

"He's *B*. He already *knew* you wanted his cock up your ass."

Tim coughs a laugh and shakes *harder* for a moment -- and then takes a deep breath and smiles ruefully. "You have a point, but I can't -- what if he *doesn't* --"

"He *does* --"

"Can you even *imagine* the awkwardness?"

Jason frowns --

"God, of course you can't. You've been beautiful your whole *life*."

"Do you -- you think you're the ugly Robin, don't you."

Tim raises that eyebrow -- and blocks Jason *easily* when he goes for the smack. And raises the eyebrow higher.

"Do I have to kick your ass *now*?"

"Jason --"

"You're *hot*, you stupid little freak!"

"I *know* I'm attractive --"

"Then what's the fucking *problem*? Don't you have, like, *six* fucking boyfriends to go with your girl? Ah, Jesus, is that *why*? Are you seriously just trying to make yourself feel *prettier*? Because that's --"

"No! I *love* them --"

"But you don't fucking *trust* them?"

"I don't. I'm not. I'm not good. At trust."

Jason frowns harder. "Tim --"

Tim drops his hand --

Lifts his hands to cover his face --

"*Tim* --"

"Give me -- a moment."

"Fine, but I'm sucking this come off my hand before it gets cold --"

Tim *grunts* -- "Ah. Ah. Hm." He drops his hands.

Jason raises *his* eyebrows and licks up some come.

And some more come.

And gets the stuff on his armor --

Tim's cock twitches --

And so does Jason's.

Jason fucks his mouth with his increasingly *less*-sticky fingers --

"You -- ah."

He raises his eyebrows *higher* --

Tim narrows his eyes. "You did this to Bruce habitually, didn't you."

Jason nods *slowly*.

"You just -- *distracted* him --"

Jason pulls his fingers out with a *nasty* slurp --

"*Fuck*, Jason --"

He wraps his wet fingers around his -- very pretty, if he does say so himself -- cock and *presents* it.

"Nnh. I. You. You made him *forget* --"

"Uh, hunh. All the shit he didn't *need* to remember."

Tim *stares* at Jason's cock --

Jason wiggles it a little --

Tim *moans* -- "I -- I *do* have to remember --"


"I'm not likely to forget -- but --"

"I don't fuck people I'm not hot for. I grew *out* of that shit."

"You just like my *personality* -- oh, God, what did I just say."

Jason snorts *painfully* --

*Twice* --

Watches Tim blush and look *horrified* --

Snorts *again* -- wait, no --

"Oh -- God, are you making your penis *dance*?"

"I gotta see if you'll get any *dumber*, baby --"

And Tim flips him off with both hands, which *maybe* shouldn't be making Jason feel this warm...

But the look in Tim's eyes says he's got a little warm going on inside, too. Good deal.

Jason jerks his chin at him. "I do like your personality, though. You *mostly* only make me wanna hit you in the good ways."

*Tim* snorts. "I assure you, they've *all* felt like kisses."

Jason grins a little more. "So you *will* act like the smart bitch you are and jump on his cock?"

Tim *pants* -- "I -- ah --"

Jason wiggles three fingers -- and remembers to pull a wipe from his belt --

"Oh -- I should've taken care of that --"

"It's *my* damned hand, asshole," Jason says, and takes care of business --

And then deals with the fact that Tim fucking yanks the wipe out of his hands and puts it in an *evidence* bag. Just --

"Are you gonna *keep* it?"

"*No*! I'm just not leaving any DNA on this rooftop if I can at *all* *help* it," Tim says, and it's the *mean* voice --

So Jason waggles his fingers again.

"Oh -- *what*?"

"You can take him."

"Ah -- fuck."

"Heh. You took *these*... like a pro --"

"It's not -- I'm not *worried* about the *pain* --"

"I *know* you're not. I just want you to think about it more."

"Fuck -- you --" And Tim growls and glares down at the roof.

Instead of glaring at *him*, and that --

Jason can't take that, so he lifts Tim's chin a little --

Fucking *owns* the fact that it's just *better* to see Tim's eyes --

"C'mon, tell me --"

"Come back," Tim says, and his voice is *hard* --

"I -- what?"

"You know exactly what I meant."

Jason shakes his head --

"*Don't* be a -- hnn. 'Fucking bitch'. Just come back... and take what you *want*."

"I *am* taking what --"

"*All* of what you want, Jason. Because I *can* walk into Bruce's bedroom on my own... but I'm not going to do it while he's actually *there* unless I'm *following* you."

"Okay, fine, I'll *visit* --"


"Don't fucking --"

"*No*," Tim says, using the fucking *command* voice --

"Tim --"

"Not. A. *Visit*," and Tim twists free of Jason's grip. "You're an adult now, right? That's what we're all supposed to *think*, anyway --"

"Adults move the fuck *out* --"

"When they want to. When they *need* to. *Neither* is true about *you*."

Jason -- takes a fucking breath. Just one fucking --

He's *home* --

He's not home. He's not home and he hasn't *been* --

"Come back with me," Tim says, and his voice is quieter, more -- more fucking *gentle* --

"Don't -- just don't --"

"You're not Robin, anymore. Fine. Neither is *Nightwing* --"

"*Nightwing* lives in fucking *Blüdhaven* --"

"Because he's needed there. He'd come back *home* in a *heartbeat* if he wasn't -- and the only one of us who *doesn't* know that with *all* of themselves is *Batman*. Who is, as you may have noticed, *crazy*."

The want for this --

The fucking *hunger* for it --

Jason had known -- *known* -- that none of them would ever *say* anything like this, no one but *Bruce*, and Bruce would really mean 'come back and be the same boy you used to be.'

Wouldn't he?

Jason had never let him get the *words* out, had chased him away --

*Fought* him away --

Over and fucking *over* --

Because he couldn't take it if --

"Hnn. You think he doesn't want you back."

Jason -- doesn't fucking wince.

And *then* he remembers that the scowl is fucking worse than *meaningless* --

He turns away and breathes --

And breathes --

And Tim sighs. "He doesn't talk about it, of course. Robin-the-Fourth would just hurt herself in an attempt to brutalize him, Nightwing would hurt himself trying to drag you home at a speed technically impossible for humans to achieve, Oracle would *electrocute* him until he dragged you home himself... and Batgirl already knows."

"And you."

"I know, too. I... I think it's fair to say that I would have to be *lobotomized* not to know it."

Jason *hurts* --

He fucking --

He shakes his head --

"Jason --"

"I'm a killer, and that doesn't fucking *change* --"

"You said it yourself, you know. He *thought* you were a killer and he still couldn't --"

"He was *hoping* I *wasn't* --"

"That isn't in question. Nor is the fact that he's in love with you -- and I strongly suspect that he's going to spend the rest of his life apologizing to you for ever making you doubt that."

"I *know* he's in love with me --"

"No. You know that a crazy vigilante who hates guns and would never kill is in love with you. You *don't* know that *B* loves you. Because if you *did* --"

"He said. He said..." Jason squeezes his eyes shut --

("Every moment, Jay --"

"C'mon, B, just *do* me --"

"Every *second* of every *minute* of every *hour* --"

"*Shut up* --"

"Every moment without you I am *lost*!")

And Bruce had cupped Jason's face with the hand he wasn't bracing himself on --

Bruce had *gripped* Jason's face, and it had almost *hurt*. He was *millimeters* away from the pressure points, and he was shadowing Jason's whole *world* --

But his eyes were blazing.

And pleading, too. *Begging* for Jason to *hear* him --

To *understand* --

So maybe Jason's the one covering his face and shaking.

And maybe, just maybe, he's *also* the one thinking of missed fucking chances --

Running the fuck *away* -- for years.

For --


Jason shudders again and looks *up*. "I'm not -- I can't stay where he fucking *puts* me --"

"So don't --"

"It's too fucking *high*, Tim! Jesus, he once spent an hour drawing *wings* on my *back*!"

Tim blinks --

And Jason's laugh is fucking cracked, but -- "Yeah. *Think* about that. Just -- what the fuck would *you* do if you had to live up to *that*?"

Tim bites his lip -- but only for about two seconds before he smiles ruefully. "I had to live up to you --"

"He'd *never* make you -- make you..." And Jason frowns and tries to just --

Tries to hold *onto* something --

Tim's smile is getting *wider* --

"God, fuck, don't say a fucking *word*!"

"All right," Tim says, and starts fixing his *clothes* --

"Don't do that, *either* --"

"Jason --"

"And don't fucking *listen* to me when I -- fuck. *Fuck*," and Jason feels another one of those *cracked* laughs bubbling up the back of his throat --

Tim *hums* --

And Jason lets the laugh out.

All of it.

Even the parts of it which are making his eyes wet again and his body *shudder* again, and he's been cold, he was always *cold* without someone in the bed with him, always --

And he'd only had to say that *once* before Bruce was letting them sleep together whenever he *could* --

Even when he *knew* the nightmares would come --

("Oh, Jay, no --"

"*Yes* --"

"I hurt you *again* --"

"Every bruise is *worth* it, B!")

Because sometimes *he* could say stupid and crazy shit, *too* --

And wind up half-fucking-*crushed* in the kind of hug that's a little too painful to be good --

And just the right amount of painful to be great. Just --

He's still fucking *laughing* --

And now there's a Robin wrapped *cautiously* around him from the back, a Robin who's just as wrong for the job as Jason always thought --

Too cold, too dark, too fucking *analytical* --

Too --

Ah, fuck. "You should be *my* Robin, you know."

"All right, *now* I regret putting my clothes back on --"

"Hug me *better*, you little freak. I *know* Robin-the-Fourth fucking well taught you *how* --"

And this --

This is good, this is *warm* and good, because Tim is breathing against Jason's throat and *gripping* him --

He's just as strong as he *should* be, and leaning into the hug is making Jason sweat again, making his fucking *heart* pound --

He does it *anyway* --

*Swallows* around his heart when Tim makes a small sound --

But Tim just hugs him even tighter -- and kisses Jason's throat.

Jason shivers and lets himself feel it, fucking *live* in it --

So *good*, *especially* with his pants around his fucking knees and his cock unsure whether to *really* get ready for more --

Jason sighs and breathes. "This. This is home."

"Jason --"

"This is home, *too*, I mean," he says, and feels himself blushing --

Needing more --

He knows how to get it. He twists and flips Tim over his shoulder --

Fucking *thrills* to watch *Tim* twist in mid-air and land in a crouch --

And smiles for the feel of a sharpened batarang -- pulled before Jason could *blink* -- pressed to his foreskin. "Just this, I swear," and Jason cups Tim's face *slowly* --

Bites his lip even slower than *that* --

And laughs into the kiss Tim gives him, because that batarang isn't going *anywhere*.

Maybe once they actually make it to the big bed.


Jason licks Tim's tongue all over, pulls back enough to *suck* his swollen lips, and then pulls back the rest of the way -- raising his hands in surrender and not even trying to watch Tim tuck the batarang away. "Let's call the cops on these guys, hunh?"

"Oh -- we should probably make sure they're still *alive*, Jason --"

"Call me Jay?"

Tim shivers and stares at him with his lips parted --

"Pretty please?"

And then he smiles like someone *half* his age, nods once, and licks his lips again. "Jay."

Jason grins. "Yeah."

And then Tim puts his scope back on and turns to the restaurant -- "Oh. Ah. Hm."


"You... should look."

Well, *that's* a queasy fucking feeling, but he damned well does it --

And watches the guy he *thought* was Big Frankie Amoretti walking -- *stalking* -- around the room full of *pathetically* struggling stoned mob guys with zip-strips in his hand and an *extremely* fucking *Bat* expression on his face. Fucking A.

"Who the fuck is fighting *crime* tonight?"

"Ah... presumably Robin-the-Fourth? Whichever Birds Batman could bribe to stick around?" *Tim's* laugh is cracked. "I have no *idea*."

Jason snorts and scrubs a hand down over his face. "Fucking. A."


"The *question* is..."

"Yes, Jay...?"

"Do we go with the idea that he loves us *less* because he was less willing to risk these fucks' lives..."


"Do we go with the idea that he loves us *more* because he couldn't actually put any fucking *distance* between us."

"Hmm. There's a third option, Jason."

"Do fucking tell."

"He loves us more *and* loves suffering. The way he's moving, the way the shadows are framing his groin --"

Jason toggles his comm. "Jesus fucking *Christ*, B, what did I fucking say about fucking *chastity* devices?"

Bruce hums. "I was hoping you would forgive me... just this once."

Jason snorts and -- blushes again. That's the *confident* voice. It's hopeful and loving, *too* -- but it's also happy and just a little fucking *secure*. The kind of voice *designed* to make a thirteen-year-old kid follow you fucking *anywhere* *while* making that kid... worry a little.

About being good enough. About --

God, so fucking *much* --

And Bruce doesn't actually *stop* zip-stripping people until he's *done*, but then he walks out on the all-but-empty street *immediately* and looks up at their rooftop like he needs to *see* them --

No. Like he needs to be *seen*. But --

"I can't -- your eyes --"

And Bruce nods once and slips off the muddy brown contact lenses just like that, tucking them into his day-belt -- which *had* been hidden under an ugly fucking stained polo shirt and a false fucking *paunch* -- with a frown of distaste and *then* looking back up at them --

*Offering* himself, and Jason can't not see it, can't not *feel* --

("I will always be yours, Jay.")

Jason shivers and -- looks to Tim.

Who *isn't* looking --

"Jesus, Tim, just --"

"It's not for me --"

"Come *on* --"

"It is," Bruce says, low and husky and --

Fuck, that twitch would've fucking *hurt* if Jason's jock was still on --

And Tim is shivering like he's got a fucking *fever* --

He does. He *does*, and Jason will never fucking *forget* that --

Just as he'll never fucking forget the *plea* in Tim's eyes when Jason lifts his chin to make him face him, make him *see* him --

"It's okay, baby --"

"We're going to have to... talk about --"

"The pet name?"

"*Yes* --"

"We'll do it later. For now..." And Jason nods down toward the street. Toward their *other* home.

*Another* shiver, but --

"Let me give you this. Like you gave me... heh. A whole fucking lot."

Tim blushes and *nods*, licks his lips -- and lets Jason turn him toward the street *fast*, inhaling sharply --

"Robin. Please."

-- and then just gasping as he stares at Bruce reaching toward him with one hand, reaching *out* --

"Show me. Please. You've both taught me so *much*."

And that --

Yeah, *Jason's* heart is pounding *again*, and the alarm on his scope wants him to know that Tim's is, too.

Tim's soft little *moan* wants him to know the same damned thing -- so maybe Jason's crowding him a little, shuffling closer on his knees and *staying* close, making *him* warm --

And starting Bruce's lessons early, too, judging by the sound of Bruce's *shaky* breath -- "Please."

And Tim's nod is *jerky*, but it's there --

And Jason's nod is actually a seriously vehement *gesture* toward his own *crotch* --

Bruce lights up just the way he used to, and -- yeah. He looks just as fucking psycho when he's smiling with another man's face on as he does when he's smiling while wearing his own. Good to know.

The makeup just wasn't that *good* back then -- and *then* Jason realizes that his mind was babbling to itself to hide from the fact that he'd pulled his fucking *grapple*-gun and was about to fly the fuck *down* there with his pants still around his knees.

*Jesus* --

"Hnn. I was about forty-eight percent sure that you'd do it," Tim says, and shows his teeth.

"Yeah? Fuck you."

"Well, all right, but I assumed you'd want Batman's... seconds."

Bruce *grunts* over the comm --

"Heh. The phrase is *sloppy* seconds, you fucking bitch. Get it *straight* --"

Bruce *growls* over the comm --

"You have my apologies, I'm sure... but would you use your tongue...?"


And they *both* jump for that --

And *pant* for that --

And move on fucking *auto-pilot* to tuck their scopes away, fold down the mics and tuck *them* away, and get the *rest* of their clothes straight -- Tim still didn't have his *cape* back on --

They're done. They're *moving* --

But Tim doesn't pull his grapple-gun right away. He --


He flushes *hard* -- and pulls it. "After you."

That --

"I *did* say I'd be following you --"

"Am I trusting you, Tim?"

Tim smiles wryly. "Precisely as much as I've been trusting you for the last five minutes."

Well -- okay. Jason lifts grapple-gun. "Just remember, baby: the big, pretty cocks are *this* way."

"Hnn. Noted."

Jason shoots --

Flies --

Catches a *glimpse* of a Bat-bike Bruce is *motoring* towards, stashed in an alley that *none* of the cars would fit in --

And *then* hears the puffing *pop* of Tim's grapple --

And takes a *breath* --

"By the way," Tim says, and the smile in his voice is *evil* -- "I give the orders first."

Bruce sighs with *pleasure*. "Please do."

Jason *thinks* about demanding to get a say --

Thinks about *asking* for a say --

But then...

Then he thinks about everything Roy has taught him about how fucking *perfect* it can be not to have a say, at all --

How fucking *warm* --

And he smiles.


Feedback lets me know you're out there -- and yes, I care about that. Feedback is how I connect to people, and how I make new friends and meet new lovers -- just ask the ones I already have sometime. Feedback makes all the hard work *more* meaningful, and *more* special, and *more* worthwhile. Feedback? Is the glue that holds my fragile sanity together, to be honest. Talk to me.

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