Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: AU-ized versions of things from older
storylines. Takes place in a different sort of 'year one'
for Batman.

Summary: He's done this before.

Ratings Note: Sexual content which dovetails neatly with
the content some readers may find disturbing.

Author's Note: Kind of a potential prequel to "A cavern
in the white," taking place a few years before the
events of that story.

Since it *is* a prequel to something Jack wanted, it
counts as an additional b-day present. Happy merry,
baby. *g*

Acknowledgments: To Betty for... allowing herself
to be trapped into asking for this very thing.
 
 

It's probably the weirdest thing he's ever done, and part of
him is actually kind of surprised about that.

Part of him keeps asking "really...? *really*?" and it's...
pretty annoying, all things considered.

Jason doesn't really --

There's another part of him that annoys him pretty often,
too, and it's the part which keeps insisting that it isn't
supposed to be like this, keeps asking when he's going
*home*, keeps asking what he's *doing*, and it'd be one
thing if it was about -- this.

It'd be one thing if it was *always* about things *like* this,
but it isn't. It's the food, and the clothes, and the people
with the wrong kind of eyes, the wrong kind of *looks* for
him, and that's the other annoying thing --

That part is slow and stupid and a little forgetful in the bad
way, because the thing is? Once you get the cowl off -- and,
so far, that's not too hard -- Bruce's looks aren't wrong at all.

Well. Not like... not like that.

Because, even like this --

Even though he'd strapped himself to the bed while Jason
was still in the shower, both wrists and one ankle and the
other ankle waiting for *him* to deal, even though he's
huge and naked and scarred and bruised and, in
retrospect, everything Batman's supposed to be -- except,
of course, for the strapped-to-the-bed-thing --

And the rock-hard-to-the-point-of-that's-gotta-hurt thing --

And the --

"Jason..."

And the everything, really. Even though, despite, all of that
*stuff*, the sweat beading on his forehead and the way his
lower *lip* is swollen --

"Jason. Please."

Jason shakes it off as best he can, and smiles the way he
hasn't really gotten a chance to do since... since the circus.
Not really. He knows how that smile looks, and he's *glad*
he put all that time and effort into stealing toothpaste and
floss along with, well, food and clothes.

He isn't backlit, and naked is *not* the same as suited up
and ready to fly (nothing is), and his hair is too long *and*
the roots are showing in a way that's more white-trash than
stylish, and Bruce --

Bruce's eyes just *shine*, all at once. Just like the first time
he'd watched Jason on all the equipment downstairs, and
maybe just like they'd done when Bruce had nabbed him.
*He* couldn't see it then, but he kind of thinks he *knows*
it now.

And he *really* does when he takes that last undone strap
in hand. When Bruce's mouth falls open and he takes this
deep, panting breath --

Jason was *going* to ask if he should -- you never really
knew with the bondage types, because they *all* had a
different set of rules -- but he really doesn't have to. He
checks the tightness on the others, and fastens it, and...

And it's not like Jason's decided whether or not he's sticking
around after he feeds himself up a little more and gets a
nice stash of warm clothes, but it's *also* not exactly a
bad idea to make sure the freaky rich freak *wants* him
around.

Not exactly, anyway, and --

And there's something like breathing in *flipping* onto the
bed, instead of climbing, even though no mattress is
*ever* really firm enough to do a *good* handstand, as
opposed to an adequate one.

His shoulder complains a little when he walks on his hands,
but it's mostly healed from the time -- the *last* time -- he
let a john take him someplace more private for him than it
was for Jason, and.

And almost the first thing Bruce had *asked*, instead of
telling, was whether or not Jason had any preferences for
hair-dye, or if he *did* want to let it grow out, and --

And he *knows* it's stupid, but right now it's more than
enough reason to like the gasps when he lets his hair brush
against one of Bruce's thighs on his way *up* the bed. It's
enough reason if he says it is, and he does.

It's enough.

It's also a little awkward -- he's *not* risking those massive
pillows, not until he's had more time to *practice* again --
but it doesn't hurt his neck *too* much to tilt it until they're
almost face-to-face.

This close, he can feel the way Bruce says his name more
than he can hear it, and that's --

He doesn't know.

He doesn't really know *anything* -- no.

He doesn't really know what Bruce wants, so he just flips
himself back down until he can straddle the man's chest,
and look at him, and -- yeah. "What do you want," he says,
keeping the question out of it. Keeping it a little soft.

"Oh. Just... I..."

This isn't new, either. "I could suck you...?"

Bruce looks almost *panicked*, and that -- that isn't new,
*either*, but it still feels weird from a guy who'd told Jason
his full name while still mostly in the damned *Batman*
costume.

And the frown on his face makes Bruce kind of *strain* --

So he stops frowning.

And cups -- most of -- the man's shoulders in his hands. He
really is massive. "You... you're pretty hard."

It makes Bruce blink, and maybe -- it's possible that could've
been a word. It comes out too strangled, though. Too --

"Hey, how old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-six. I'll be -- I'm twenty-six."

Which doesn't explain anything, and he doesn't have any
idea why he thought it *would* -- Jason shakes his head,
and yanks the pillowcase off one of the massive down-y
things Bruce isn't actually laying on.

"Oh -- did you -- want...?"

Jason smiles for him again, easy and just -- easy. And uses
the pillowcase to wipe away a little of the sweat on Bruce's
forehead --

And jumps, because Bruce just came on him. Just --

When Jason looks over his shoulder, *most* of it is on
Bruce's stomach, but there's definitely some on him.

"Oh -- God. I --"

Jason shakes his head, thinks about whether it would be a
good idea or *not* to shove the pillowcase in Bruce's
mouth, decides that it would be a little *too* funny, and
reaches back to grab the man's still-hard dick, instead.

"*Jason* --"

"So... maybe you can tell me what you want, now?" This is
the softest smile he has. It had never worked on his mother,
but...

Bruce doesn't know him that well. No one does.

"Or..."

"Anything. There's -- the second drawer. On the left. Jason --
*please* --"

"Or maybe I could just..."

"*Jason* --"

It's a little awkward to jerk someone off in this position --
half-twisted so he can still see Bruce's face, knees tucked
against the man's warm, damp armpits -- but.

It's making it better for Bruce. He can --

He'd have to be *blind* not to tell. And he's not psychic or
anything, but the *way* Bruce is looking -- *staring*. It's
like getting eaten *alive*, or maybe like being --

Maybe like what would happen if he could've had the
high-wire and the *faces*, too, instead of just the glimpses
of open mouths and pointing fingers and the shine that
meant smiles --

And right about now, he's kind of regretting jacking himself
hard in the bathroom, because right about *now* he's
about one more *something* away from needing to get off,
as opposed to being *capable* of getting off. Just --

"You like this," he says, and even keeping the question out
of it couldn't keep it soft. Even --

"I need -- I *need* --"

"I've got you, Bruce. I --"

"Jason --"

"I. I know what you need," he says, and it would've been
better if he hadn't licked his lips like that. But --

"Yes. You -- you *know* --"

But maybe it wouldn't. He doesn't -- he can't really --

It's easier to just give Bruce a little promising squeeze and
*move*, at least enough that if he *has* to rub himself off,
he can do it on sheets instead of the man's chest (but he'd
want it, he'd really) --

It's easier to get between those thighs that could probably
snap him if Bruce was in the right position and the wrong
mood and just...

Fuck. He's slick and hard and *dark*, like this is the best sex
he's ever had in his *life*, and it's actually a little
*intimidating*, but all he has to do is go with it.

*He* hadn't tied the man to the bed -- one ankle doesn't
count -- and he'd given Bruce every chance to *say* what
he wanted, assuming it wasn't...

"Your -- oh, Jason, your mouth -- so beautiful, so -- oh
*please* --"

And it's not exactly trademark-worthy, but he knows how to
lick a guy clean enough to make it easier to suck him down
without making it *seem* like he just wants the first few
tastes to be as much his own spit as some stranger's dick --
it's all about keeping your eyes *mostly* closed, and
making a little noise -- and it's just.

He can *go* with it. Especially since the way Bruce's hips
are pumping make it really fucking unlikely that he'll *have*
to suck...

As opposed to just licking more. And that's... an idea.

Because the first thing Bruce does when Jason gets a hold
on those thighs is do his best to *spread*, just -- opens
right *up*, and his balls are just as sensitive as anyone
else's, and the sounds Bruce is making don't even seem
like they *might* have been words, once --

He can't see Bruce's eyes this way. He can't --

He doesn't *want* to, because the sheets are already the
kind of torture on his dick -- so fucking clean and smooth --
that Jason can't *deal* with, and the second he loses any
more control --

Bruce's *eyes*.

He *can't*. It's not -- it just can't be like that, not for him,
and it's better to just -- just *focus*.

Sucking Bruce off might *not* be fast enough, and sucking
and licking his balls *definitely* isn't fast enough, but...

But Bruce is clean and sweaty and -- and he tenses and
*whimpers* when Jason kind of nudges his balls out of the
way with his face, and this is nothing *like* the best
position for this, but that's just right, too.

He can focus on the annoying pain in his neck, and the
slight strain in his upper back, and the *stretch* of his own
tongue to --

"J -- Jason -- oh -- oh, *please* --"

He can't get deep, and he can't get really *fast*, but it only
takes a second to get the base of Bruce's dick in one hand,
and then it's just a matter of figuring out a rhythm of
squeeze and thrust and squeeze...

And then deliberately fucking with it a little.

And then just letting *Bruce* fuck with it a little, because
he's moving the whole huge fucking *bed* -- it's just that
*good* for him, that perfect, that right, like maybe it's time
to pack up and go, because it'll never *be* that good
again for them, for the crowds, and you always have to
leave them wanting --

Leave them --

It's actually a little disturbing that he *can* hear his name
in Bruce's shout, Bruce's *scream*. That he can --

That maybe it's just another part of that magic, that
dangerous-perfect connection of player to audience, or
just... just...

He has to *make* himself let go, and pull back -- you don't
fucking *hurt* them after -- no matter how *right* it feels
to hold on. And he's -- he's all strained. He's gotta stretch,
but first he has to kneel right up, and smile --

And Bruce actually looks a little.

A little like it would've been just *fine* to hang on,
obviously softening dick or no. The smile doesn't feel any
more wrong on Jason's face than it should, though, so he
keeps it up until it feels right again, and raises his eyebrows
a little.

And watches Bruce stare, and feels it, and *lives* in it, a
little, and he can keep himself from reaching for his own
dick, but he can't keep his hand from twitching --

And he can't keep Bruce -- Batman -- from seeing it.

"I -- "

"Would. Would you? Touch yourself?"

Yes. Really -- fuck. "Is that what you want...?" Not soft, not
soft at all.

"More than -- anything," Bruce says, and the look in his
eyes --

Jason can't, and he can, and he does, and he's -- he's done
this, too, and on his knees, and in a bed, even -- though
not one this big and clean, and that doesn't matter. It's all
about doing it slow --

"Please, faster --"

Or -- it's about keeping his eyes open, eyes on the damned
*prize* --

"Jason. Jason, I -- please, you're so very *strong* --"

Or if he just -- there. If he keeps his eyes squeezed shut (he
can *feel* Bruce looking), if he keeps himself steady --

"I'm not. I'm only. I tied myself. I didn't want -- anything
you didn't like. I didn't want to hurt. I didn't. You're so
perfect --"

If he catches himself on his free-hand, at least the stretch
of his body, the arch of it -- it's a good --

"When I saw you, I had. I lost. I -- *need* --"

Good *show* --

"Oh, Jason..."

And he's not strong or perfect enough to keep the sound he
makes from being anything but loud and obvious and
needy when he comes, but he *can* keep himself braced,
fingers splayed on the rich, rich sheets, knees shaking,
familiar enough taste in his mouth and come all over his
fingers.

If he can just stay right here until he can catch his breath --

The grunt is low and harsh and makes his heart speed up
again, makes him move and look --

Just in time to see Bruce doing something sickeningly
*cool* with his right thumb to free himself --

"It's just -- practice. Willpower. I -- I have some of that. I."
Bruce shakes his head and frees his left wrist with his right,
and this is Jason's cue to...

Something.

He doesn't.

He shakes his head and yanks open the strap on the man's
left ankle just in time for Bruce to free the right, and then
he has just enough time to yell at himself for not getting
enough air, because Bruce is *crushing* him to his chest,
and kissing him. Hard.

Jason kisses back -- and is glad he did it *tentatively*,
because Bruce kind of shoves him away.

"Uh --"

"This. This isn't --"

Right. "Oh, sorry, Bruce --"

The hands on his shoulders aren't gripping very *hard*, but
they're there, and huge, and it takes -- kind of a lot to keep
his expression casual.

But he can.

"You. You shouldn't think." Bruce squeezes his shoulders,
and then doesn't so much move his hands as rip them
*away*.

Okay...

"You're not here for... this. I'll always -- ask. You can
*always* say no. I. You should rest," Bruce says, in that
*voice* he was using on the streets, even though his eyes
are still that hungry, still (right) the same, still --

And just... "Yeah...?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and never mind -- apparently -- the fact
that his hands are fisted so tight at his sides his knuckles
are *white*. "Yes," he says again, and, "go. Sleep."

Jason can't really decide if the urge to salute is worse than
the urge to bow, but, in the end...

He could use some sleep, especially if tomorrow -- *today* --
is going to be like yesterday, with him going from meal to
workouts -- *training* -- to meal and back again. And then
back here...?

He can't really... think about that, right now. And he doesn't
look back over his shoulder when he gets to the door, and,
when he gets to the bathroom off the other bedroom -- his
bedroom -- he keeps the door open.

It's not that the view of the bedroom itself is perfect from
the bathroom -- and it's less than that from the shower, and
also this is a man who climbs up the sides of *buildings*
even though Jason's pretty sure he's never been to a circus
in his *life* --

But. He can still see. Just in case.

Of whatever.

end.