This deepest of blue nights
July 16, 2007
Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: No real spoilers. Takes place relatively early in Jason's tenure as Robin.
Summary: Jason *had* been thinking of it as one of their Batman-and-Robin things.
Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content which dovetails neatly with the content some readers may find disturbing.
Author's Note: Gloss mentioned the rather curious lack of Clark/Jason in this fandom. I felt a need to do something about it.
Acknowledgments: Much love to Katarik, Mildred, Pixie, and Jack who all had a hand in making this much better.
There's more cocoa than coffee in his mug, but since it's the good kind of both --
It's always the good kind of both, now, which means he should probably
just suck it up and stop coming all over himself for it, but Jason
kinda thinks he's allowed to just enjoy himself however he wants -- for
He's still in all of the suit except for his boots -- pretty soon it'll
be time for him to peel out and get taped and bandaged-up for the night
-- but, *right* now, they have a guest.
Superman's floating up a few feet off the floor behind Bruce's chair,
and Bruce is letting a file full of photos run at a speed which is
probably still too slow for Superman, but is as fast as their computers
can handle. Nobody's talking about anything, but that just means it's
something at least mostly for the League, as opposed to something he
needs to know.
Jason takes his mug over toward the gurneys and hops up on one. The
mattress on the thing is thick enough -- normal enough -- that it would
be pretty tragic if one of them pissed themselves on it, or maybe bled
from something nastier than the cuts and scrapes oozing under his suit
and on his legs and arms, but, chances are, the thing has already been
replaced at least once for every year Jason's been alive.
It can deal, and he can suck down his not-enough-caffeine in comfort. Or --
He hits the button which makes it bend upright, settles into a pretty
respectable lounge -- if he does say so himself -- and presses his back
against the mattress until all the pain spots shut up and hum a little.
If he times this right, by the time he's done, Alfred will be coming
back around with either more mochalicious (that pretty girl, maybe a
little older than him, maybe a little younger, pressed up close and
grinning at him as he flew them both out of the burning building --
*with* her cat, thank you very much --)
Or maybe it'll be sandwiches. Sometimes, if they're home early enough
-- like tonight -- it's a real dinner, complete with plates and
silverware and all the fucking *magic* Alfred can put out to make
gourmet food look and taste like real food.
Alfred likes him.
The mattress likes him, too -- maybe a little too much. When he looks,
Bruce is pointing out some dark spot on one of the photos which
apparently is more important than all the other spots and splotches --
and then the photos are zooming by at speed, again.
Jason squeezes his eyes shut against the blur, and -- yeah, the
mattress likes him too much. It's kind of cradling him a little, making
him *almost* wish that he was injured enough to stay right where he is
for at least a few hours, but --
A) No, and --
B) His bed upstairs is even better.
Even though it doesn't make any real, easy sense, Robin's life is
closer to what he was than Jason Todd's life is. The right
neighborhoods, all the bruises, the cold that rips right through and
around the uniform until his legs are raw and his chest can't decide to
sweat or freeze -- no more co-coffee, damn.
He'd gotten distracted.
He -- is actually pretty close to falling asleep, right here. Was he
supposed to just go right into the stripping, clean-up, and bandaging?
Even with Superman right *there*?
It's not that he minds being naked around other guys -- Bruce has done
several different kinds of a good job curing him of that -- but all the
medical stuff is a little -- private. He can't actually picture himself
re-taping Bruce's bruised rib with Superman around.
Hell, most of the time *Alfred* leaves them to it, these days, unless
it's something kinda huge, or Jason's too wiped out to think straight,
much less tape straight. It's --
Well, private. One of those things he and Bruce *do* together, both because they have to and because...
It -- all of it -- is always more real with the smell of iodine and the
kind of glue which *mostly* doesn't rip all the hairs out of their
bodies when it has to come off. It's the way that sometimes Bruce will
let Jay shove him into the shower to let the hot water at least loosen
all of the glue instead of just ripping it off with one of those
Well, Jason *had* been thinking of it as one of their Batman-and-Robin
things, but, if it was, it would probably be easier to think about
doing it with Superman there.
He doesn't really know, and he doesn't want to get in the shower
without *knowing* Bruce is going to be ready to take care of the
road-burn on Jason's back -- of *course* right where he can't reach --
the second he hits the cold air of the Cave again.
What's left is a choice between just hanging around here and maybe
doing some of his stretches -- the ones which don't feel like torture
unless he's been *just* working out, as opposed to patrolling, and of
course the ones which don't need all the wonderful steamy *heat* to
loosen him up enough that the stretches are more possible than awful...
And none of the above are getting done while he's on the gurney, so he
jumps down, sets his mug someplace where Alfred won't have to bend or
stretch to get it, and hits the mats.
Bruce uses a lot of meditation and stuff to get himself into the
headspace where he can stretch himself way more than anyone that *big*
should be able to. Jason uses the fact that if he *doesn't*, he won't
be any good on the street.
Bruce doesn't question his methods, he doesn't question Bruce's. Well,
much. He's pretty sure you're not supposed to meditate on becoming a
creature of pure vengeance swirled up with The Night, but hey, *he*
didn't have the world tour of training and pain. Maybe America just
doesn't *get* the true meaning of Zen.
And possibly he's snickering to himself a little as he tries to
convince his body that it's *actually* an uncooked pretzel -- the
Buddha will kick your *ass*, motherfucker! -- but it's better than
paying attention to the way the little bit of blood on his back had
started to dry and *stick* to the uniform, and the way that lets him
know that he's either going to have to deal with a big, sweaty bandage
tomorrow night or ruin *another* uniform.
He fucking *hates* doing that. It's not like Bruce has ever *told* him
how much all the new and fucking experimental fabrics and armors that
go into their uniforms cost, but he knows none of it is cheap. The
dummies they use to practice their strikes are *designed* to be
completely destroyed, but the uniforms...
He can't help remembering the way his mother had looked every time he
came home with a tear or a hole or a stain which just couldn't be
scrubbed away. Just because it's not his fault doesn't mean it doesn't
make somebody else's life harder.
Robin's only supposed to do that with criminals. And... okay, he
doesn't really bother worrying about the uniforms in *every* way.
Especially since he'd managed to convince Alfred not to worry about the
blood-stains on his gauntlets. *Those* can stay. Heh. And --
And he's out of stretches. The fact that he was tired enough to doze
has as much to do with habit as with anything else. He's in the Cave
and he *smells* like sweat and the street. Everything's telling him
that it will be time to go to bed -- if not, necessarily, sleep --
Bruce has kind of a lot of ways to tire him out for real -- and that's
really completely not a thought for company. Other thoughts. Definitely
So, he eases up to the console, taking a quick and eye-burning look at
the screen -- ow. It *looks* like Bruce is going over his bad-guy files
for Superman, now, and *probably* they're just all the newer ones
they've been dealing with, but he can't tell for sure.
Superman probably keeps him posted on all the assholes in Metropolis, too. Just in case, and --
And Superman smiles at him when Jason gets close, not really turning
completely away from the screen, but still. It's the same smile he'd
had for Jason when he'd shown up tonight to make the alley where they'd
stashed the car way too bright and maybe a little surreal. "Um, hey,"
he says, and rests a hand on the back of Bruce's chair.
"Soon," Bruce says, and also, "I'm sorry."
"No big," and it feels kind of stupid to pat the chair, but somehow it
also feels better than patting Bruce's shoulder with -- again --
Superman right there.
Superman who wants to be *called* Clark, he remembers -- he's not going
to forget -- but Jason's pretty sure he's still supposed to *think* of
him as Superman. And Bruce makes one of those 'I'm acknowledging that
you spoke, but I think you're lying out your ass' sounds.
Which means he knows exactly how much skin that last bounce off a wall
had taken off his back. But. "I was thinking you had some ideas about
what I could do to... fill the time?"
"You should rest," Bruce says, Batman-ing at him a little and typing
something -- probably calling up another set of things for Superman to
"I could... we could do this some other time, Bruce," Superman says,
and Jason can see him shifting in the air out of the corner of his eye
"No, no, I'm not tired, and you guys should just keep filling each other in. I'll --"
Find something to do, he was *going* to say, but Bruce has no problem
whatsoever with reaching back and *catching* Jason's wrist in that way
where you kind of can't *help* knowing that some part of him was
tracking you, knowing you, having --
"Right here, obviously," and also why aren't you calling me Robin? When he looks --
It's not really a surprise that Superman -- Clark -- doesn't look like
he's paying attention to the monitors at all, anymore. He'd -- caught
that. And probably more than Jason is catching right now, himself.
Jason twists and flexes his wrist.
Bruce lets go -- and stands up.
It's a weird kind of... *weird* to catch himself backing up at the same
time that Superman does, especially since Superman's doing it in the
sky, but --
Superman also looks like he's looking -- *hard* -- for something, and "Bruce...?" His voice isn't quite... right? Something.
Which means that it actually goes pretty well with the smile on Bruce's
face. It's one that doesn't belong anywhere near the cowl -- it's
always at least a little creepy when those show up, like maybe the cowl
is trying to *eat* Bruce -- but this time, at least, Bruce seems to
know he's getting his peas in his mashed potatoes. He pulls the cowl
back and off, runs a hand through his hair, and -- turns the smile on
That smile... yeah. Pretty much everything Jason doesn't blame on being
a teenager he can blame on the way Bruce looks at him, sometimes. And
right now. Bruce's hair is sticking up in places, kinda *daring* Jason
to try to get a good enough grip --
Jason decides to look at the floor, or -- no, too obvious. He looks at Superman --
He tries to. If Superman ever looked at people the way that *Clark* is
looking at both him and Bruce, there would either be a lot more people
terrified of him or a lot more half-Kryptonian babies.
*Can* he have babies with human women?
Is Jason seriously trying to distract himself from Bruce being -- *Bruce* -- by staring at Clark? Superman. Super --
"Bruce," Clark -- really, seriously, has to be Clark -- says, and his voice is surprised and pleased and --
And Jason isn't going to check fucking *Superman* out. If he's got a
package to deliver, it doesn't go *here*. So, yes, he looks at Bruce
again, and Bruce is giving Clark a seriously kind of what-the-fuck
look, and Clark is blushing and his eyes are kind of... darting?
Looking back at him?
"So -- maybe I should just take my shower, now," Jason says, taking another step back and just -- taking it.
And stopping *right* where he is, because even though he'd already
known that it's been kind of *while* since he'd taken an after-patrol
shower alone, Bruce's eyes want him to *really* know it. Right down to
the -- bone.
Wait, no --
"You should... yes, take your shower, Jason. I'll take care of your
scrapes when you're done," Bruce says, and this is where he'd really
like to ask -- maybe the universe -- just how much of that taking care
of him is going to include Clark looking at them like *that*, but.
"Yeah, I... okay," Jason says, and tries and fails to beat his erection
to the shower. He's bobbing a little when he strips down just beyond
the tile, but he's really not looking back. Just -- wow. No.
And probably he should be taking a *cold* shower, but living with Bruce
makes that kind of hard. Like, he thinks he'd need to be a lot more
hardcore about... everything before he could take a cold shower without
feeling like a poser. And he can actually *almost* imagine that
conversation with Bruce without needing to laugh, but --
No, almost doesn't count.
He feels a little like an idiot just standing here laughing -- even if
Superman (Clark) is gone, Bruce is still out there, but laughing has to
be better than his other option right now, which is to *think* about
Bruce still being out there, knowing Jason's in here, naked --
Bruce has to know he was starting to get pretty hard. Bruce knows just
about *everything*, sure, but he really seriously knows stuff like
that. It's what had made it so damned -- heh -- *hard* while Jason was
still training, because Bruce is really fucking *bad* at knowing things
Whether or not he actually *says* something about whatever it is right
now, he *knows*, and that can be kind of hard to live with. Which is
why it feels like some kind of fucked-up rewind to brace himself
against the wall with his forearm, to rest his head on it while he uses
his other hand to use *himself*.
It has to be better to do this here, now than it would be to go back out there with a raging hard-on, but it's still...
Bruce is right out there, waiting for him, and -- he knows.
He has to know. Just in a completely different way than how Clark has
to know, and -- okay, shuddering all over for that? Completely
understandable. Getting slicker and *harder* for that -- not so much.
It's just that he's maybe putting on something like a show, right now,
and the fact that he can absolutely keep his mouth shut while he's
doing this, that he can keep himself to a handful of little grunts --
Bruce *knows*, but is Clark paying attention? Is it just background noise?
How much of this is he going to see in Clark's eyes when he's supposed to be looking for Superman?
He's shuddering again, and it's not his damned fault that he's horny
all the time, even though Bruce tends to take it as a reason to be --
to just --
It's too easy to get lost in the feel -- memory of Bruce's hand wrapped
around him the last time they'd done this here, the way he'd done it
just right, hard and fast and a little harsh even as he was just --
kissing him. The back of Jason's neck, his shoulders, his cheek when
Jason had turned to gasp for air. His hands and arms and just --
Bruce *likes* to kiss, and it's impossible not to think about that,
even if it should be possible for Jason not to scrub his face against
his forearm and -- not pretend. It's nothing *like* that. But -- he can
get a little of that crushed-lips feeling, close his eyes and pretend
the prickle of sweat on his back has more to do with who could be
behind him right *now*, as opposed to all the way in the Cave.
He doesn't --
He doesn't exactly *want* to make this *good* -- that's not really
something he can quite justify to himself, but he needs to think about
something, get himself away from the fact that he absolutely has an
audience, whether or not either of them *want* to be --
And then it's the beginning again, he's right *there* in his head, in
his bed, in the *dark*, jerking himself off and knowing Bruce is there
even though he can't --
He couldn't *see* Bruce, or hear him, or smell him, or anything, but he
could feel him, and then he could feel him all over, everything he
wanted, anything. Spreading his legs --
He spreads his legs --
He'd jerked up into his own fist, then he'd done it again because he
could, because he had to, because the shower didn't wash the street all
the way off, because it can't, and, by the time he'd gotten the fingers
of his other hand down between --
The shower tile is hard and cool against his forehead, and he really has to remember not to brain himself on it --
By the time he got his hand *there*, Bruce had his wrist and was moving
him, moving them both until Bruce was right there, covering him, saying
his *name* --
Only right now there's no one to stop him, no one to make this better
for himself. It's awkward to try getting a finger in from this position
-- he's pulling on the half-numbed-out pain in his back, but there's
something about *reaching* this way, reaching for it --
Inside, and he feels warm to himself, not wet enough -- Bruce isn't kissing him anywhere, and that's going to make him --
Jason bites it back as much as he can, keeps it to a little whine that
might even disappear under the sound of the water, rolls his head
against the tile and tries to get closer, get *more*.
Jerking himself faster is part of it, but using his own finger for this
-- he's spoiled, is what the problem is. Bruce would be teasing him,
making him curse, curling and twisting until he's begging -- Bruce
never makes him beg for long. Not after the first time. And just --
The angle's all wrong, but he can still get a *little* bit of a shove,
pretend, *want*. He was thinking maybe they'd just blow each other
tonight and give Jason a chance to make *use* of the extra hours after
their short patrol. Get some sleep, wake up rock hard and give 'Bruce
Wayne' a reason to be late for work -- something.
It's not enough --
It won't *be* enough, and he knows that now. Everywhere, not just his
stupid, hungry *dick*, and possibly he's not doing all that well with
staying quiet, anymore, but he also doesn't *want* to.
Every noise is making him feel more and more *watched*, and there's a
part of him which wonders if it shouldn't maybe be heard, but that part
of him is stupid, slow, and keeping him from coming. Just --
*Let* Bruce watch. Let Clark know what he's keeping Jason *from* --
And he bangs his head against the wall a *little*, but it's not enough
to keep him from shooting off, one-two-three and a little like four,
and he manages to get his hands off and out of himself in time to grab
the wall, but he still slips a little. He's good. He's... mm.
Okay, *now* he can go back to getting clean, though he could probably
be doing a better job with that -- the pain-prickles in his back every
time he reaches or bends or turns a little are kind of having their own
little conspiracy with his dwindling afterglow to make him...
Well, honestly, he feels a little high when he steps out of the shower
and grabs a towel, which is what he's going to go with to explain to
himself why Bruce and Clark are just *standing* over there, way too
close and talking about...
He doesn't have superhearing. He has no idea, and, anyway, Bruce is
looking right at him. It -- it kind of takes Bruce a little too long to
cut his eyes toward the gurneys, but the cut is there, and so is the
plan. He's clean, Bruce is going to take care of him, and Superman is
Clark is going to look at him, apparently. Jason can *tell* that it's
supposed to be that same, soft, welcoming smile, and the welcome part
*is* right there, but there's nothing really soft about it. Hard is
closer. Hard and I-just-listened-to-you-jerking-off-and-I-*liked*-it is
a lot closer than that.
Jason curls his fingers around the edge of the gurney, hoists himself up, and tries not to think about --
Bruce *has* to know that Clark's turned on. And -- okay, maybe he
shouldn't have looked, but it's possible that only blind people would
miss that Clark's turned on, at this point. This is where a part of him
seriously *does* want to ask what kind of half-assed jock Clark has on
under there, but. Clark doesn't need a real jock, and Bruce's
expression, now that he's close, is a little hard to read.
It's hungry as ever, but it's also kind of rueful, and... something
else. Bruce moves in front of Jason and cups his shoulders, squeezes,
*looks* at him --
"Jason," he says, like it's an answer to some question which probably
makes perfect sense inside his head, but isn't doing much for the
people who live outside of that freaky little place. So --
"You -- you could give me a hint about what's going on, if --"
"That's an excellent question, Jason," Clark says, and he's -- closer.
Not a *lot* closer, and also he's hovering off the floor again, "I'd
like to know that, as well."
He would lay money on the idea that Bruce squeezing his shoulders
probably wasn't meant to be an answer, but then he also would've bet
that Bruce would've gone *right* for the bandages and his back, and
definitely wouldn't be sliding one hand from Jason's shoulder to
beneath his chin, tilting his head back --
"Please," Bruce says, quiet and low, and the kiss feels soft and safe
and *strange* without Bruce squeezing him anywhere, not covering and
barely even looming a little, and for most of it Jason is wondering if
the kiss isn't for Clark's benefit, like maybe it's coming-out time in
the Cave, but --
"Oh," Clark says, making it feel like there's a lot more to it than just air and sound --
And Jason gets that Bruce is asking him a question *right* before he
pulls back. Bruce's lips are wet, and Jason's mouth is still open,
still *waiting*, but -- "Um. If you -- you want to?"
The smile in Bruce's eyes is a little much, but then so is the *breeze*
that means Clark is behind him -- no, it's not the breeze. It's all the
heat. "Bruce," Jason says, and Clark --
"Are you -- are you sure?"
Bruce's hand is on his face, his thumb pressing Jason's lips together
before it strokes off to the side. "I -- uh. I'm gonna go with a
definite maybe? I mean --"
"Your back. It's -- is it very painful?" Clark is touching his skin
where Jason isn't all bruised-up and scraped, and his fingers are soft,
smooth -- *warm*.
And Bruce is looking at him. Not like he's waiting for an answer, or
anything. Just -- it's the same look Jason wakes up to more often than
not. Still, *Clark* needs an answer, otherwise this isn't going
Bruce slides his hands down Jason's arms, covering his hands on the side of the gurney -- where does *Bruce* want this to go?
"Uh -- it was a lot worse before I washed off all the drying blood. I mean, I'm not loving it, but it's not too bad."
"Of course," Clark says, and there's just a *little* bit of pressure
from his fingers, now. A little -- "Would you mind if I bandaged you?"
Definitely a little *something*. But -- "Hey, if Bruce thinks you're qualified..."
"He could use the practice," Bruce says, and it's the voice he uses
when he really *wants* to laugh about something but the Batsuit isn't
letting him. And that -- the cowl's off, but nothing else really is,
and while Bruce does *squeeze* Jason's hands, he doesn't make Jason
keep them there.
His hands already know the catches of the chest armor -- his hands know
everything better than what he could describe if someone with clearance
ever asked -- and once it's open *Bruce's* heat is right there, as
opposed to just Clark's -- oh.
"Yeah, I -- go ahead, Clark," Jason says, and keeps working on getting
Bruce *out* of there. It's best when Bruce is helping, but lately he's
just been *letting* Jason do it all, himself. Jason's not sure how it
makes things better for Bruce, but he's willing to go with it.
Especially when it means that Bruce is just standing there, being huge
and perfect and -- less perfect with every piece of the uniform gone.
More real -- scars that cut through the hair on his chest in ragged
little tiger stripes, punctures and puckers, beads of sweat --
"You should let Clark finish," Bruce says, and that's enough of a
message to make it sink in that Jason had jumped down from the gurney,
"You should stop moving *away*," he says, and --
"Oh, I think Jason has a point," Clark says, even and solid, only --
when Jason looks back over his shoulder, Clark's eyes are doing the
same kind of I'm-laughing-on-the-*inside* thing that Bruce's do. It's
kind of... okay, it's kind of a lot strange to just reach out and
*touch* Clark, especially with Bruce's sweat on his fingertips, and --
Jason's touching tongue. Hot, wet, weirdly *hard* --
"Clark," Bruce says, and it sounds like a warning.
Jason pats the closest patch of Bruce-skin. "It's okay --"
And Clark goes down on his fingers, quick and a little too *serious* for it to be anything like a tease. Which --
"Yeah, definitely okay," Jason says and turns back to the business of
getting Bruce naked. The cape and cowl are on the floor, and if Bruce's
jock isn't killing him, then somebody here is doing something wrong.
Also, either way it's gotta come off. The armored shorts -- hm.
"I think I kinda need my other hand back, Clark."
Clark hums around him, splits Jason's fingers with his tongue and kind of --
"Okay, that's -- that's a really good idea, too... uh."
And Bruce has his hands on Jason's shoulders again. "What. What is he doing?"
"He's kind of... I think with anyone else's tongue it would be a tease,
you know, between my fingers. You -- don't really do that."
"No," Bruce says, and this kiss is hard and *right*, the kind of
serious which always makes Jason wonder just what *expression* he'd had
on his face before Bruce had to take his face in both hands and dive
in. It never feels like it's enough to justify the kinds of kisses
It doesn't feel really 'right' to think of them as kisses Bruce
'likes.' Need is probably a better word, just like he needs to slide
his slick fingers up over all that skin and all those scars once Clark
lets him go.
He *doesn't* need more of the sharp-biting feel of the disinfectant
going on his back, except for how he does. He'd bitch at Clark about
the timing -- if a guy has sucked your fingers, the formalities seem a
little pointless -- but Bruce doesn't seem to be letting him go anytime
The best response, therefore, is to go back to getting Bruce out of the
shorts and getting *into* those tights, rub at the muscle, get *to* the
sweat -- suck on Bruce's tongue just enough to let him know what Clark
was doing and what *he* wants to do next.
It's enough to almost distract him from the feel of the gauze, the
places where he's raw enough for it to catch, scratch like Bruce's
stubble, like the short, thick hairs Jason can finally feel with his
fingertips -- no, he can't do that *and* get everything down --
But when he stops teasing at the hair, Bruce grunts into his mouth and
starts fucking Jason with his tongue, fast and slick and completely
fucking -- can Clark tell how Bruce is kissing him?
How much *is* he focusing on getting the tape just right on Jason's
bandage, compared to everything else? And -- it's not like Jason's
holding still. Possibly this will help the bandage move with him
tomorrow -- and tonight. Possibly Clark is just tracking every muscle
shift and flex to get it perfect.
Possibly he keeps forgetting how to breathe through the kiss, because
all he can smell when he does it is *Bruce*, and that's really fucking
hard to concentrate through. Harder -- better -- *harder* when the
shorts, tights, and jock are finally *enough* out of the way, and Jason
can -- heh -- get a *grip*, and --
Okay, it's kind of embarrassing to shiver like this just for the way
Clark is smoothing down the tape, but it's an act that has a whole lot
of *meaning*, and --
And he's justified in everything, he thinks, because Clark is pressed
to his back, making everything a lot hotter and -- okay, more awkward,
too, but it just doesn't *feel* that way when Clark slips a hand
between Jason and Bruce and --
"If I could -- oh, Bruce. You feel --"
Clark's hand is possibly even bigger than Bruce's, but it just feels
*good* when he twines his fingers with Jason's own. "Oh -- yeah. That's
really --" He reaches back and pats Clark's thigh with his other hand,
figuring on his body knowing better how to express the approval than
his mouth does.
"I have to admit, I was hoping you'd appreciate it, Jason. Nearly as much... mm."
Mm? Jason looks up, and Bruce has his head tilted back just a little
and his eyes closed. He looks -- 'relaxed' isn't really the word for
it, but it's the closest Jason's brain can come to -- it. "Wow, I... I
get that you're loving this, Bruce --"
"Yes," he says, and he's not quite smiling *at* them, but teeth are showing.
"Hell yes. I get to blow you, though, right?"
Bruce grunts, and --
And this is the *problem* with trying to talk to Bruce while they're
fucking. He gets *ideas*, and does stupid wrong things like pulling
away and pushing their hands aside -- Jason *notes* that Clark tries
holding on for just a little longer than he does -- and --
All right, Bruce on his knees is something that --
"Oh, Bruce," and Clark is gasping --
He can live with Bruce on his knees. Really. "You coulda just said 'me
first,'" Jason says, and it's actually kind of a shock that his towel
is still there. He *fixes* that, and then Clark's hands are on his
hips. One of them is a little slippery, a little slick with Bruce's
sweat and pre-come and -- okay. "If I'm not gonna be sucking Bruce off
"I'm reasonably sure -- perhaps I should say 'hopeful' -- that Bruce
wasn't being... forbidding," Clark says, and his breath on the side of
Jason's throat is even hotter than the rest of him, but the kiss is
soft and light and really -- not enough.
"Clark, your -- fingers, *fuck*," and that was Bruce, *licking* him,
and Jason *was* still only a little bit hard, but that's not gonna
As always, *easier* to just grab the hand Clark had on Bruce and pull
until all that *power* agrees to cooperate with Jason's wishes and --
yeah, once he has two of Clark's fingers in his mouth, it's easier to
tell that his hands are bigger than Bruce's, just like it's easier to
tell that they're softer and smoother.
No calluses to tease his tongue with, but --
"Oh, that's -- that's very --"
-- that doesn't mean he *shouldn't* tease, especially since Bruce is
just kind of holding Jason's thighs spread with those hard hands and
looking at him. Well... there's no real 'just' about the look,
actually. If someone who couldn't possibly exist in the world Jason
lives in had asked him if Bruce would get off on watching Jason getting
it on with anyone not him, Jason would've laughed his head off.
If Bruce wanted him hooking up with other people, he'd act differently,
*be* differently, fuck him unconscious only once or *twice* a week,
*something*. This --
He has to admit, this is kind of seriously --
"The way you sounded in the shower, Jason..." And Clark kisses him again, licks --
-- different. He hums around Clark's fingers, raises his eyebrows at Bruce --
"I didn't have to hear you," Bruce says, and strokes Jason's thighs. Up
and down and up -- "Everything you did to yourself was written on
Clark's face, in the shake of his hands --"
Bruce's smile manages to be wide *and* narrow at once, wet and hard,
and it's possible that Jason's being a little showy with the fingers
Clark has in his mouth, but it's also possible --
Clark is making him lean enough that it's fairly easy to see Bruce's
hands *and* Clark's other hand on his thighs, touching and moving away
from each other, teasing each other *with* Jason's thighs, and that's
-- really *fucking* hot -- but.
They're too quiet. Jason gives Bruce a "what *else*" gesture and digs
his teeth in -- *tries* to dig his teeth into Clark's fingers.
"I believe Jason would like to know what we were... discussing while he was in the shower. Clark."
"Oh, that --" Another kiss, and then another, slower -- breath. "If it would please you?"
Jason thinks it's maybe *enough* of an answer to lean more of his
weight against Clark and to reach down and give himself a stroke --
"That's very -- very beautiful, Jason," and Clark's other hand is
sliding up, sliding between, *cupping* Jason's balls -- "Bruce wasn't
very interested in letting me pretend I heard nothing --"
"Clark was doing a terrible job of pretending. He began to blush, Jason. And -- I mentioned the shake of his hands."
"Bruce asked me if I -- needed a *moment*. He was -- hm. Quite cold."
"The look on Clark's face was... scandalized, Jason," Bruce says, and
pushes his hands up until they're splayed right where Jason's thighs
meet his torso. "Perhaps I should let Clark continue," he says, leaning
in and --
And there's a minute, probably several, where if Clark was saying
anything at *all*, Jason missed it. Is missing it. He doesn't know why
he thought Bruce would take this slow -- he almost never really *does*
-- but he *had*, and Bruce swallowing him whole makes his eyes roll
back in his head, makes him try to stand up --
Clark's keeping him leaned *back* --
And -- *Bruce*. Human heat and the way he's not even really blinking
*enough*, just staring and sucking and *staring*, and Jason doesn't
really *want* to whimper around Clark's fingers, but his body has given
him a choice between doing that and just losing it entirely.
He can't --
It's always so fucked *up* to see Bruce's lips getting red, to see his
cheeks hollowing around him, see him going all *out* like this, like
there's nothing he'd rather be doing, and Jason's already curling his
toes against the mats and he really doesn't care about anything --
"The first time Bruce took me in his mouth, I had to push him away, fly backwards, get *away* -- you. You're very strong."
Images. Seriously -- pictures --
And all of them are highlighted with the smile that's in Bruce's eyes,
that's actually *narrowing* Bruce's eyes, and Jason needs something to
punch, needs to *curse* -- he pulls Clark's hand out of his mouth.
"Fuck -- fuck -- *really*?"
And neither of them answer him right away -- it's possible he'd cry a little if Bruce honestly tried --
Although that hum is really -- shaking Jason up his spine. Down into his legs, making his *knees* water --
"I was afraid of hurting him, of course," Clark says, walking them
forward until Jason's upright again, except that his knees -- Clark's
arm is around his waist just that fast. "I was more afraid of him
hurting me. Changing me. He made me feel so -- young."
"Uh -- shit, I -- you -- please don't expect me to add anything to the ah -- ah, Bruce -- *Clark* --"
Clark's fingers in a sweet little circle around Jason's dick, squeezing
it, holding Bruce's mouth away from Jason's body -- no. Letting Jason
see Bruce mouthing Clark's fingers, too, and Jason really thought he'd
be able to keep from thrusting, but he is *not* the brains in this
"Bruce asked me if I found you beautiful, and, even though he didn't
make another sound for several seconds, I believed he was laughing at
me. Taunting me," Clark says, and --
It's not really a kiss so much as it's Clark dragging his mouth down
over Jason's cheek until he can lick the corner of Jason's mouth, let
Jason know that it's just hanging open, that he's --
Bruce is still *sucking* him, but he's staying still, just letting Jason *thrust*, and that's always -- it's not --
"Bruce, come on, *please* --"
"His heart-rate just changed. It's -- oh, much faster, now. When I
didn't answer his question, he told me that *he* found you beautiful,
that he couldn't take his eyes off you in that alley --"
("Jason. It's -- it's not about -- this. I promise -- I promised you --")
Oh -- fuck, just -- "Please --"
"He told me the scent of you -- I could smell you under the scents of water, soap -- *drove* him."
And when Jason looks down, Bruce -- his eyes are *closed*. And that's
not -- is he really supposed to be hearing *all* of this? Jason reaches
down, and -- no, not a surprise that *his* hand is shaking, but.
Touching Bruce's face is the same as it always is -- bigger than
anything else no matter how stupid and fucked-up that is. It makes
Bruce open his eyes, give Jason back all of that heat and *feeling*,
everything he's never been able to figure out how it relates to him,
except for how he just -- has to trust Bruce.
And maybe he's nodding like an idiot, now, and also, "please, Bruce, I
just -- I need you. You know I need you -- oh -- *fuck* --"
"He needs *you*," Clark says, and lets go of his dick again, and -- okay, now he's twisting and jerking, he needs *more* --
But Bruce's hands are on his hips and Clark is cupping his throat, pushing up on Jason's chin with his thumb --
"Jason," Clark says, and Jason doesn't have enough *anything* to deal
with the hungry smile on Clark's face, but the kiss is even worse.
Fucking *different*. Clark doesn't taste like anything human, and the
fact that he *shouldn't* doesn't make that any easier to deal with.
Clark's tongue feels huge and heavy, like something *designed* to fuck,
and the little sound at the back of his throat --
His body wants Jason to know that it was a growl, and that it's time to shake more, jerk more --
Get held *still* by Bruce, who's fucking his face on Jason's dick, and
Jason can feel it, but he can't *see* it, and it's making him whimper
and grab at the air --
He can't seem to make his arms *work* well enough to get his hands to
Bruce, but it's a pretty decent consolation prize to be able to reach
up and grab Clark's arm -- fucking *guns* on him, and that's just weird
-- he's powerful enough to not *need* all the muscle, but it's not like
Or really doing anything --
Bruce hums --
*Clark* hums --
And Jason knows he's *fighting* the grip Bruce has on his hips, and he
wants to fucking *stop*, but he can't. It's too hard to breathe, too
hard to not *feel* this, and the salty and kind of *burning* sweat on
his back isn't making anything -- anything --
Jason hears himself groaning, whining, trying to beg into Clark's mouth --
And then Clark's other hand cups his ass, squeezes, and Jason is coming
before Clark's finger is even all the way between his cheeks, spasming
and shooting, fuck, right into Bruce's mouth, and that's never going to
be anything but exactly what it is, and if he wasn't already kissing
Clark, he'd do it just for not having to look at that again, not having
*Bruce*, he thinks, and it isn't Bruce's thumb inside him, but it's
that same burn, same *need*, and the only thing that stops him from
falling to his hands and knees when Bruce pulls off is the fact that
Clark's still holding him up and kissing.
It's a weird kind of cooling down to just keep *taking* this from
Clark, but his body isn't complaining so much as periodically spasming
and making him groan.
When Clark *does* pull out of the kiss, his lips are slick and his eyes are wide and just -- hungry.
Jason shivers and looks at Bruce...
Looks at Bruce *watching*, and then Jason can't really keep his eyes
all the way open -- that thumb is still *inside* him, twisting and
push-pushing and --
"I -- really want to be fucked," Jason says, and congratulates himself for making a sentence.
And then congratulates himself for not whining *too* high in his throat when Clark twists again --
"I -- you feel wonderful, Jason --"
But he still has to get up on his toes, shake his head -- "Yeah, I -- Jesus, Clark, you want --"
"*Yes*," he says, and kisses Jason quick and soft all over his face,
and that -- yeah, Jason can absolutely *go* with that, except that he
really needs to know that Bruce is still with the plan, or if there
*is* a plan.
Sometimes Bruce's plans are a little on the stupid side -- like the
ones which involve trying to make sure Jason gets enough sleep for
fucking *school* -- but he also has good ideas, sometimes, so -- yeah,
Tear himself away *enough* from the feel of Clark's thumb twisting him up, heating him up, giving him *almost* --
Focus, and Bruce is just -- there, sitting back on his heels and
watching him -- them. "So... are you going to come up here, or is this
just about -- oh, shit, Clark, that -- about -- about you getting a
good *show*," Jason says, and yeah, he got that *out*, but his eyes are
It's too soon for him to get hard again, but it's a weird kind of
better this way. He can focus on *every* feeling, from the pull and
clench in his gut to the heat all over his skin --
"You could," Bruce says, "come down here."
Also a really good idea, especially since Bruce's *dick* is down there. And --
Okay, not *really* a surprise that there's a moment when tugging
against Clark's hold on him gets him exactly *nowhere*, but he doesn't
have time to say a word before Bruce is narrowing his eyes --
And Clark is lowering them to the floor, still with his thumb inside,
and it's really pretty tempting to get down on his *hands* and knees,
but -- nope. Bruce is holding him upright, and his breath smells like
Jason's come, and the kiss is just as slick and dirty as the ones
*Jason* likes best.
Of course, he prefers to be the one with the dirty, swollen, *sore*
mouth, but he can go with being fair -- especially since there's a part
of Jason's *spine* which is still humming from that orgasm, and it's
setting up an interesting kind of -- of --
When Clark's fingers kind of *curl* around Jason's hip, it feels almost
sneaky, too slow and too cautious for what he's doing, and almost like
Jason needs to watch for something else, something different. But all
Clark does is push a little deeper, *squeeze* Jason's hip, and then he
lets go and reaches past Jason's head to stroke Bruce's face and push
back into his hair.
Bruce breaks the kiss, turns a little, and -- it's a little
embarrassing, or maybe he means something like 'intimate,' to watch
Bruce kiss Clark's hand, especially since Bruce is kissing it like it's
Clark's mouth. Wet, tongue-action --
Jason honestly isn't *sure*, but it feels right to turn his head and
get in on some of it himself, try some of those long, flat licks Clark
was using in his mouth, taste all the *weird* in Clark's sweat --
"Oh. You -- both of you. Please. Is it wrong that your kisses feel like permission?"
Not for *him*, and the expression on Bruce's face looks like a request for confirmation, so Jason nods, and --
"You should get the lubricant from my belt, Clark."
And that's -- that. Is that what Jason had said? It -- it *was*, but
something about Bruce just putting it out there like that --
"Bruce," Clark says, and -- "Jason, I want your pleasure very -- very
badly," and Jason knows he was thinking something, or *of* something,
but Clark's tongue is hard and hot and wet on the back of Jason's neck,
on his shoulders, just *above* the bandage, and his thumb is still
And Bruce is sliding one hand between Jason's legs, behind his balls, and --
"*Fuck*, you -- Jesus, no fucking -- fucking *fair*," Jason says,
because it's *that* spot, and they might as well both be fucking him.
The fact that he knows everything would feel *different* if they did
doesn't mean *anything*, because Clark is still saying -- something --
and working his thumb, grinding it *in*, and Bruce won't let him get
down on his hands --
And it's way too soon for his dick to be getting into the action, but it *is*, and Jason can't fucking blame it.
"God, you -- come on, then, give me *more* --"
And Bruce cuts him off with a kiss, gives Jason something to whimper into when Clark pulls out --
But then he's *right* back, and slick, and Jason's hands kind of *snap*
into fists until he remembers that he can be grabbing Bruce. It may be
the best idea he's ever had, because it's *not* Clark's thumb anymore.
Too deep for that, too --
He's squeezing Bruce's arms and trying not to cry out, because they're both fucking with that spot, now, and --
"Jason, you... oh, you're shaking --"
"Fuck *yeah*, I am, I -- Jesus, Clark, don't -- don't tease me --"
And he was expecting harder, but what he gets is harder and *two* fingers, stretching him open, and --
"*Please*," he says, because it's not Bruce even though Bruce is right
there, because every fucking cell of his body knows that he's about to
get fucked, that he *is* getting fucked --
"It's not too much," Bruce says, and he sounds so sure --
But he knows how much Jason will beg for, reach for, but this is --
it's *Superman*, and Batman's nowhere to be seen, and the Robin he
is... he's not sure, and he's burning inside, empty and hungry every
time Clark pulls almost all the way out, and --
It's not too much. It -- isn't. It's just that Jason has to rest his head on Bruce's shoulder, has to just --
"So generous," Bruce says, stroking his sides and back, and --
"Yes -- oh, I. *Robin*," Clark says, crooking his fingers, and -- yeah,
he's getting hard again, *needing* to, and if Jason's not careful this
is going to hurt a little. Except that 'being careful' at this point
would mean telling Clark to pull out, maybe backing away from Bruce --
God, Bruce is holding him, petting him like -- like a kid, only he
*gets* that Bruce never thought of him that way, and he's kind of
really *showing* it right now, but --
Bruce wants Clark to fuck him, wants to *see* it and just --
Jason doesn't know, and Clark isn't helping in the best possible way.
If Clark hadn't known before he got here that Bruce had been fucking
him for months -- if he hadn't known that ten *minutes* ago -- he has
to be able to feel it, has to notice how easy it is to make Jason open
*up* for this --
"Oh. I wish I could see your face," Clark says, when his hand slides
into Jason's hair, when he pushes Jason's face *against* Bruce --
"Perhaps," Bruce says, "another time."
And Jason is gasping now, afraid to reach down and grab his dick
because the feeling might kill him, because *Bruce* is going to kill
him. And Clark has a hand on his hip again. Just -- okay, he can go
with the idea that Clark is Bruce's best friend, and he *is* going with
it, but it feels like they're sharing him, getting off on the way
they're getting *him* off, and.
It's just that Bruce almost never makes *him* feel young.
This is different, and maybe a little fucked-up --
Or maybe just *fucked*, because Clark's fingers are impossibly hard in
him, and there's another one now, and Jason can't even begin to make
himself straighten up anymore than just enough to at least feel Bruce's
throat, confuse himself with the feel of the pulse there as opposed to
the pound of his own heart --
"Jay," Bruce says, and it's an order for more reason than just the hunger in Bruce's voice. He's supposed to --
"I -- fuck, Bruce, his fingers -- they're not even -- I can't --"
"It's all right," and Bruce's hands are on his hips, his right sliding
under Clark's free hand until he *has* Jason, and it's such a relief to
feel that, to have that *solidity*, that he winds up screaming when
Bruce starts to move him.
And that makes Clark *stop*, but he doesn't pull out.
Bruce is making Jason work himself on Clark's fingers, and --
"Oh. Oh, yes, I see," Clark says, and gives Jason the rhythm Bruce is
using on his hips. The *right* rhythm, the one that always means Bruce
is planning to stay awhile, hold him right at the point where Jason has
to cry out for every thrust, because it's hard, but it's *slow*, and --
"You should..." Bruce's voice is low and *rough*, and -- yeah.
He knows *exactly* what he's doing to Jason --
"You shouldn't make him wait any longer, Clark."
"No, oh -- beautiful," Clark says, squeezing Jason's hip again,
stroking all over his back *lightly* -- the sound of his hand on the
bandage isn't rough enough, loud enough -- and it's enough warning, it
It's just that he can't keep himself from shuddering *hard* when Clark
pulls his fingers out, can't keep himself from -- Jason thinks he might
be begging again, but the only thing he can be *sure* of is the feel of
himself almost grinding his face against Bruce's shoulder --
And the feel of Bruce holding him fucking *brutally* steady when Clark starts to --
"Oh -- Jesus, please, he's so *hot*, I can feel -- I -- fuck, *please* --"
And the rest of that spills right into Bruce's mouth --
Or maybe Clark is pushing it out of him, pushing everything out of the
way to make *room* for himself, solid and impossibly fucking *hot*, and
-- it stops, and Jason pulls away from Bruce's kiss to breathe, think,
make himself --
"Jason," Clark says, and starts to rock, push -- there's *more* of him,
and Jason should've maybe known that, but Bruce always goes in with one
long thrust, and this --
"Fuck -- fuck fuck -- oh -- Jesus fucking --"
"Does it feel this way with Bruce, Jason? Does he make you -- oh, is this the best way?"
He really *wants* to answer that, wants to be coherent, solid, someone Clark can -- can fucking *talk* to, or --
"Bruce, I'd like to -- I want to hold him against myself..."
It feels like an incredible victory against everything when Jason opens
his eyes, but Bruce's expression makes him want to close them again.
*His* eyes are a little too wide, sharp and so hungry, so -- "Bruce,
Bruce *please* --"
But Bruce just kisses the begging away again, sharp and -- teeth in
Jason's lip and the feel of the pull shifting and changing every time
Clark *bucks*, fucking -- *fucking* him --
"Please *what*," someone says -- no, it has to be Bruce, and he has to
*answer*, but the only thing that comes out when Jason opens his mouth
is a fucked little gasp, quiet and almost airless --
Big, hot -- *smooth* -- hand on his chest -- "Please keep breathing, Jason. I want -- I *must* hear you --"
Breathing in deep feels like it's going to knock all the other feelings
out of the way, cold and hot and fucking -- not full, not anymore,
because this thrust was harder, or maybe just deeper, deep enough to
make Jason *yell*. Clark is all the way *in*, and Jason can't squeeze
Bruce's arms any harder than he already is, and it's not enough, but.
Letting go gets his wrists caught, pushed aside -- held --
"Jason. Would you like to be on your hands and knees?"
He's pretty sure he was nodding before the question made any sense, but
he's only halfway sure it wasn't really some algebra problem. Clark is
just so -- it's still that same *rhythm*, now that he can think a
little. Just exactly --
Bruce told Clark *how* to fuck Jason, and Clark is following *orders* --
And he usually prefers being bent over something than just being like *this*, but there's something --
Bruce strokes his arms to make sure he's steady, planted right, not locking his fucking *elbows* -- "*Bruce*, I -- I can't --"
"You can." Hands on his face, tilting his head up enough that Jason can
*see* Bruce, fucking *obscenely* closer every time one of Clark's
thrust *moves* him, staring down at him and -- God, it looks like -- he
"Bruce," he says, maybe whimpers, and --
There's something like *relief* in just dropping his head and letting
himself feel all of it. The way Clark is moving him, the way he knows
Bruce is *looking*, seeing everything and knowing with more than just
his body, maybe, that Jason fucking loves it just like *this* --
"You... oh, God, Clark --"
"Yes, I -- I won't stop," Clark says, and Clark can hold him with one
hip easily, so maybe that's why his other hand is just kind of
wandering all over Jason, whispering over the bandage and screaming all
over his skin. It feels like Clark should be fucking *burning* him, and
Jason can't smell anything but his own sweat.
He can't *see* anything but the backs of his own eyelids, he thinks
maybe his eyes are screwed shut, and he knows Clark's seeing all of
this, too, that Clark's maybe not going to be thinking of anything else
the next time he sees Jason, that --
It feels like maybe a part of him is always going to be on his knees
for Clark, but not like the way it is with Bruce. Part of him is always
*flying* for Bruce, he knows, but he's getting that Robin means
something different for both of them. Clark --
"You are -- I feel held, cradled inside you. You're so very beautiful --"
Clark is maybe fucking Robin as much as he's fucking *Jason* -- more,
maybe, and Bruce -- he can't see Bruce, and he can't make himself
*work* well enough to call for him again, but.
Jason knows he's right there, just like he knows that this is maybe
killing Bruce a little, even though he's loving it, loving -- them?
It's not something he can hold *on* to, because Jason can barely hold
on to the mats, because the rhythm is getting a little too fast, a
little too *off* to be anything but hot. "Please," he says, and he
doesn't know who he's talking to, or what he wants other than to stay
this full, this -- this *used*.
On his hands and knees and taking it, just like he wants to, just like there was never any real choice, because --
"Oh, Robin, Robin, I...."
No, it's not Bruce, but maybe it's all of *him*, everything he can have
and everything he is, now, because Bruce saw something he wanted and
*took* it --
"Robin -- *Jason* --"
He's not breathing enough to get any of the yells out that are building
at the back of his throat, and this -- he doesn't think he's going to
come from this, but it still just means that he gets all of it --
stretched wide open and moving every way Clark wants him to, Bruce
needs him to --
And then he *is* yelling a little again, because both of Clark's hands
are on his hips, and it's just one thrust after another after
*another*, and Clark -- it doesn't feel like a rhythm at all, anymore.
It's too quick and kind of jagged, like maybe if Jason finds just the
right thing, Clark will come *immediately*, as opposed to just soon.
If it was Bruce, he'd reach back enough that he could trail his fingers
over Bruce's dick on every back-thrust, feel him, but Clark's going
just a little too hard -- fucking *good* -- for that. It's maybe enough
just to reach back and feel *himself*, stretched and slick and fucking
begging for it, dropping down onto his elbow for a little more
foundation, balance -- something --
Maybe a kind of everything when Clark catches his wrist and so-fucking-gently pushes it up Jason's back and holds it there --
"Is this -- oh, Jason, tell me this is -- all right. The way Bruce moves you --"
Bruce never did *anything* like that, but -- "Oh, I -- *fuck* --"
"*Yes*," Clark says, "oh, so -- so *dangerous* --"
"Don't -- *harder*," Jason says, and knows he means it when he hears
himself screaming, when his shoulder sends up a soft little twinge of
warning, when the bandage whispers at him -- "Oh -- oh please fuck, you
-- *please* --"
Bruce, he thinks, as loud as he can, because Jason thinks he maybe
needs to be *saved* from this, even though he'd fight if Bruce actually
tried. Clark is just fucking pounding him now, and none of the sounds
are more important than the slap of Clark's balls against him, harsh
and obvious --
"*Please*," he says again, and --
"Jay," Bruce says, so quiet and just -- all that feeling, and --
Flexing inside makes him scream again, and maybe makes Clark *stop* --
No, Clark's coming, groaning low and loud and long, squeezing Jason's
wrist a little *too* hard for a second, another -- and then Clark lets
go entirely and just pumps into him, and Jason thinks, maybe, the best
thing he can do is just stay right here and take it, and think really
kind of seriously about the way his dick is starting to *really* take
He needs -- he needs *something*, but the stroke of Clark's hands up over his hips and sides is enough of it for right now.
"Beautiful, I... I suppose I should probably pull out," Clark says, patting Jason's obliques, and --
Nope, Clark wasn't talking to *him*, so he's just going to stay here, and breathe -- maybe whimper a little.
"He feels..." Clark's hands make it to his back, fingers tracing
lightly *just* beyond the edge of the tape. "You know. You -- you
It's a little ticklish, but not too bad.
"Yes," Bruce says. "I know."
Definitely not talking to *him*, but -- "You should probably know --
better," Jason says, and pushes back up onto his hands, stretches a
little -- shakes a little at the feel of Clark shifting inside him and
then breathes his way through kneeling up. "I mean -- oh, man, wow.
Clark just slipped *mostly* out. And I was saying --"
He was saying *kiss*, apparently, because wherever Bruce was when Clark
was fucking him, he's right back in front of Jason, now. Still, it's a
good question, and when Bruce stops licking his mouth and pulls back --
"Where'd you go?"
"Not far," Bruce says, and turns Jason's head so he's looking back over
his shoulder -- and at Clark staring at both of them. He looks --
actually a little stressed.
It's probably a bad idea for Superman to be stressed. Jason grins at him. "That was pretty fucking great, Big Blue."
"I'm glad," he says, right over the sound of Bruce humming a laugh, and --
"He doesn't want to let you go, Jason."
Clark is, in fact, holding still halfway inside Jason, which is kind of
impressive, considering the angle, but -- "You -- kinda have to," Jason
says, and reaches back --
Clark grabs his wrist -- and lets go. And smiles, a little tightly. "You're right, of course. I --"
Kissing over your own shoulder is a little awkward, but Clark shifts
them just enough that he can support Jason's head a little -- and he
slips all the way out, and they both wind up shivering through the
"Robin," Clark says against his lips. It sounds like 'Jay.'
"Uh, huh, that's me," and that's come running down his thighs. Nothing
really *new*, there, but the sudden image of Supersperm is gonna make
him snicker really kind of a lot if he doesn't --
If Bruce doesn't tug him back around and kiss him again. He still winds up snickering a *little* --
But *only* a little, because Bruce's hand slides fast and *thoroughly*
through the come on Jason's thighs and then -- in. Jason grunts into
the kiss, flexes and pumps, a little --
"Not too sore," Bruce says, and he sounds -- 'happy' is pretty much
never the right word for Bruce. When it isn't completely wrong, it's --
like now -- just too small.
"Super-sloppy seconds, B?" Jason waggles his eyebrows a little, grins --
And groans when Bruce pushes in *deep*, hard and fast -- and when Jason
reaches back, he can feel Clark's hand *covering* Bruce's. The look on
Bruce's face is -- wow.
"You should probably already be inside me. I mean -- that look --"
"Would either of you mind if I... stayed?" And Clark's other hand is
back on Jason's hip, but that's really not as important as -- Jesus,
Clark *making* Bruce fuck him. That's --
"Uh, no, I think -- I think I'm -- good," and Jason bites his lip and
tries to get a little more, find the spots and angles where he is a
little too sore, just to... kind of *map* himself, a little.
"Do you think you can control yourself, Clark?"
"I -- Bruce..."
"Jesus, Bruce, he just fucked me *stupid*. Be nice," Jason says, taking
another kiss or two as the price of leaning toward Bruce so he can fuck
himself a little better.
So *they* can fuck him a little better.
That's Bruce, but if he wanted an answer, he wouldn't have moved his
hand enough that *Clark* could get a finger inside him. It's a little
scary how easy it is to tell the difference. Clark's finger doesn't
even feel *real*, as opposed to hot and good and kind of *greedy*.
Jason waves a hand, nearly tips over, and grabs Bruce to keep himself
steady, and kisses the nearest skin he can reach. Collarbone, scars.
His hands are telling him about the aging tape around Bruce's chest,
but if it wasn't still supporting Bruce's ribs well *enough*, Jason's
pretty sure *this* would be a little different, and --
If he supports himself with one hand, he can make a grab for his own dick, make this *better* --
Except that Clark's other hand is around him now, stroking him slow and *hard* --
"Jesus, I -- wait, I want -- I want Bruce --"
"Of course," Clark says, and he sounds a lot more polite than his finger *feels*, but he still slips out --
Bruce slips out, *too* -- "Hey, no, c'mon --"
And then he's being moved like he's still the starving little *kid* in that alley, which --
Okay, it would be a lot more annoying if it didn't end with him
straddling Bruce's thighs and staring at a Clark who probably couldn't
look less like Superman if he tried. It's honestly a surprise that he's
naked, but he *is* super. He probably had enough time to do it while he
was finding Bruce's lubricant and slicking himself up. The important
thing is that he's -- really naked, and staring, and --
"Would you tell me what it feels like when he's inside you, Jason?"
He makes 'Jason' sound like Robin, and that -- okay, he can suddenly
really *see* Clark with Dick. Dick had *said* Clark had helped him
decide to be Nightwing, but...
Jason's thinking that you kind of have to know Robin really *well*
before something like that can happen. And -- he's kind of wondering
what Clark wants to do with *him* -- the part that doesn't include more
fucking, at least --
"What are you thinking?" And that's Bruce, breathing against his ear and sliding his arms up under Jason's own.
"Other than wondering if I'm going to spend the rest of my life finding this pin *hot*?"
Clark is smiling. Bruce -- Bruce is licking him, slow and messy, slick
and slow -- and it just winds up feeling like a weird kind of laughter
when Bruce actually *does* pin Jason's arms, that way, but --
"You were gonna fuck me --"
"You were going to share your thoughts with him, Jason," Clark says,
*crawling* closer and kneeling up, being huge -- all of that *muscle*
"God, you don't even look *real*, Clark --"
"Perhaps I could find some way to help convince you that I am," he
says, and Bruce doesn't bite Jason's arm at *exactly* the same moment
that Clark cups Jason's face and kisses him, but it's close enough to
make his hips pump, make his fists clench in the air because Bruce is
still holding his arms *up* -- Clark pulls back.
"That could -- help, uh --"
Bruce licks the bite. "Tell me."
Right, okay -- "Dick," Jason says. "I was just -- uh."
Clark's smile is bright and actually a little *less* hungry. There's
too much *happy* there. "Oh, have the two of you made love?"
"I -- no," Jason says, but he can't really concentrate on saying
anything more than that, because Bruce shudders hard, makes a sound
like a *growl* against Jason's skin, and it's not like Jason hadn't
*thought* about it, but now he really is. What Dick would *look* like
where he is right now, and if Jason would get to stick around, *touch*
-- "It's just -- he's -- perfect. Always," and the rest of that is just
curses and noise, because Bruce is kissing him like punches, strikes --
They've just *started* to spar like that, where it's mostly real, and
maybe it's a little ridiculous, but the look on Clark's face makes it
seems like he knows that now, *too*, like he's just -- taking
everything about them *in*, memorizing it like hundreds of images and
files fucking *ripping* by at speed.
He's probably never going to *get* exactly why Bruce wanted them --
needed them -- to do it this way, but Jason thinks it will maybe make
things easier. Now there's *someone* else in on things, on the secrets
on top of the other secrets.
It's not that he doesn't think *Dick* isn't, but, well, it also kinda
seems that Dick doesn't want to be, like he's doing everything he can
to get *away* from being Robin, being -- this.
More than a little useless when Bruce finally lets him out of the pin,
leaning on Clark, now, and maybe also feeling him up a little. It's
His hands are *sure* that if he just keeps looking, keeps stroking and feeling, he'll find --"
"You make me regret my lack of -- ah. Scars," Clark says, and Bruce has
Jason's hips, but Clark has his face, and the kiss is soft and deep,
and -- deep, because Bruce knows he's ready, or ready *enough*, and --
He's learned how to take this silently, how to keep Bruce from doing anything but getting in, sliding in --
It's just that Clark wants to hear him talk about how it *feels*, and
Jason wants to *tell* him, wants to just have somebody who gets it and
likes it, understands why he has to do everything he can *to* get it,
more of it --
Fucking always --
"Please, oh fuck, oh God, Bruce, I want --"
"I *know*," Bruce says, and it's the same as it always is, the same
edge of anger and confusion that lets him know that they're both right
here, together like they should be, even if they're not supposed to be
It's what lets him throw an arm around Clark's neck and work his hips,
press his forehead against all that solid, too-perfect *alien* and just
"He never -- Clark, he never lets *up*."
"No, he -- I don't think he can. You --" Clark's kiss feels like a
message, but Jason can't even begin to figure out what it is. Bruce
isn't bothering with letting Jason get used to it, this time, not even
that little bit he does when Jason's not *rock* hard before Bruce slips
He's on that rhythm, and -- "Never want him to stop, never want him to let *go* --"
"No, never," Clark says, and the way his hand slides down Jason's back
isn't exactly gentle, but it's a lot more gentle than Bruce's hands on
his hips. Not really holding him, or making him change the rhythm. More
like *promising*, as if Jason needs to be aware of something more than
he's aware of Bruce's dick, of the burn and the way it feels like parts
of him are just kind of shocked inside.
Like pain is too *advanced* for his ass right now, and he'll have to get in touch later --
Laughing makes Clark kiss him again, makes Bruce tighten his fucking
grip, makes Jason's dick twitch and get itself a little slicker --
pre-come on his belly, maybe giving the mats more than blood and sweat
for once, and he really needs a hand on his dick, but --
"I -- I'm gonna come. Pretty soon, Clark."
"Oh. Yes, you're very close. Would you like me to -- oh. Bruce."
And he honestly does get a little sick of Bruce manhandling him --
*always* feels too much like being lifted by the fucking scruff and
*dangled* -- but maybe especially now, because the way Bruce is holding
him won't really *let* him get his hips into the action as much as he
It's all about the grind and push of *Bruce's* hips, short little
thrusts that are gonna drive him *crazy* -- "Dammit, *Bruce* --"
"Forgive me," he says, and slides the hand which *isn't* attached to
the arm *locked* around Jason's chest down to Jason's dick, and --
"Okay. Maybe -- nn, you -- not *hard* enough --"
"I'll need you tomorrow," Bruce says, and see, the fact that that was
coherent is *proof* that it's not hard enough, but struggling just
makes Bruce hold him tighter, make it hard to breathe --
Makes the gasp *hurt* when Bruce squeezes the base of Jason's dick and strokes up hard -- "Dammit, *more* --"
"Clark," and Jason has this little moment where he realizes that Bruce
is kind of *presenting* Jason's dick, and it actually lasts long enough
that Jason can ask himself how he *feels* about that --
But Clark's fucking *on* him long before he can come up with an answer.
His mouth is insanely hot on Jason's dick, dangerous-feeling and so
good Jason has to squeeze his eyes shut and jerk --
And then Bruce slams in so hard that Jason thrusts in that last inch, and it's --
Hot, wet --
Burning him inside --
And he thinks he might want to fucking *cry* a little at the way Clark's hair feels between his fingers --
He *realizes* that he's grabbing Clark by the hair, and it makes him tense up, fight --
"Please," Bruce says, and "Jay," and Jason feels like he's going to
shake himself to pieces. He can't make himself open his eyes, and he
can't feel anything but *everything*, all at once. He feels like he's
burning out important parts of his brain, and that maybe at least one
of those parts is the difference between him being alive and him being
a twitching puddle Alfred will have to hose off the mats in the
He can't move *much*, but every time he does he's either shoving
himself back on Bruce or *into* Clark. It feels like he's doing it
every time he *breathes*. It feels --
He's still *shaking*, and he doesn't know how to stop, and he doesn't
know how to figure out if it's exactly what they want from him, or...
something. He's used to making a better *showing*, and this is --
"I believe -- mm. You'll make Clark very happy if you ejaculate in his mouth. Jason -- Jay..."
Okay, *this* is the rumbling sound Bruce makes which doesn't really
seem to have anything to do with the way he's thrusting, as opposed to
however it makes him feel. It always makes Jason flush all over, and it
feels like Clark's chasing the heat with his searching fingers, light
touches all over Jason's thighs and abdomen --
Jason opens his eyes, and watches Clark watching him, eyes narrowing in
a smile, and Jason realizes that Clark hadn't really been sucking about
half a second before Clark *starts*. Jason can't stop himself from
*yanking* at Clark's hair, and he can't stop himself from trying to get
less of this, or more of it, and he can't make sense of any of the
noise, beyond figuring out that *he's* the one screaming.
Just like he's the one clawing at Clark --
At the arm Bruce has around him --
And coming hits so hard that he feels choked, burned, frozen --
something. Clark's still *looking* at him, and Jason's fucking
terrified that he won't pull off before Jason starts screaming -- more,
again, and Bruce is just fucking riding him *through* it, arm shifted
until Bruce is holding on to his shoulder --
He knows he isn't shooting out his entire life in Clark's mouth, but he can't really believe it, can't --
He's whimpering now, shivering and twisting -- "Clark, *please* --"
Clark pulls off --
But he's right there, kissing him hard, and his mouth finally tastes
human, but it feels a little like cannibalism to lick his tongue, to
open up for that tongue and taste himself, take himself like Bruce is
-- and he doesn't mean to fucking *sob* into Clark's mouth, but every
thrust is deadly now, reminding him of the way Clark had fucked him, of
how sore and *wiped* he is...
How *relieved* when Clark stops kissing him and just holds his head,
pressing Jason's face against his own shoulder and maybe kind of
*helping* him take it.
Or just... reminding him that there's another side to this, that
there's a world beyond the feel of Bruce holding him, the sound of him
growling and panting because it's just that good, because this is what
Bruce *needs* from him, right now.
Jason's hands aren't anything like steady, but he can still reach back,
push in between his back and Bruce, reach down and feel the way Bruce
is fucking him, the speed and slick, and the way he's making Bruce
"I -- need this," Jason says, and he doesn't know who he's talking to.
"Of course," Clark says. "I -- you make him let *go*."
And those are good words, humming and buzzing inside him almost as much
as the fuck. Bruce isn't holding anything back, and the fact that he
never does when they're like this doesn't mean that *this* time isn't
bigger, isn't *more*. It's always more, every time, and Clark being
Bruce had wanted Clark to see this, too, so...
It feels *right* to reach back with his other arm, reach for Bruce's
shoulders, open himself up for more of this, the look on Clark's face,
the growl in Bruce's voice --
And the way Jason has to gasp and shudder just a little bit more when
Bruce finally comes. The sounds Bruce is making strangle themselves
down to nothing but air, and then nothing as Bruce stills all over and
just -- gives it up. It takes a little work for Jason to finally get
both of his arms back and up and around Bruce's neck -- Bruce is
pressed too close for it to really work, but it feels good once he's
got it *enough*.
Something to go with the thrumming *sting* in Jason's ass and the smell
of sweat and sex and that weird *something* which probably has more to
do with Clark being turned on than with anything else.
And Clark -- he's watching, yeah, but he's also standing up. Jason pats
the back of Bruce's head, feels him shift, winces a little, gets petted
-- and then Bruce's cheek is against his temple.
Rubbing against Jason's temple -- "Time to go, Clark?"
"Yes, I... yes," he says, and he's not quite staring into the distance, but it looks like he's *listening* into it.
It's a little tempting to just *stay* right here and see if a
stubble-burn on the forehead will look as fucked-up as he thinks it
will, but... "Job for Superman, hunh? Of course, I probably wouldn't
have noticed if you'd zipped out a few times to save the *earth*."
"I would've," Clark says, smiling and generally looking really damned possessive.
Bruce kisses Jason's forehead. "Go. We'll finish going over my records another time."
"Yes, I -- soon, I hope?"
"Soon," Bruce says, and it feels like Jason can breathe a little better
once he does, or maybe like something opens up in the Cave -- he isn't
sure, and Clark is gone. How long would it take him to fly far enough
away that he couldn't hear every word they said and every thing they
Jason shivers --
"If I hadn't waited to slip out, I would've assumed that was for me, Jason."
"Yeah, well. You know what they say about assumptions," Jason says,
unwrapping himself, straightening out enough to straighten up, pull
away, stand -- man, he needs another shower. Jason shakes out his legs
a little and reaches down to give Bruce a hand up.
"Did you plan on telling me what the shiver *was* for?"
Heh, well. "Did you plan on telling me when you decided that it was time for us to start screwing other superheroes?"
Bruce's smile feels a lot like those seconds of weightlessness before
the mats come up to meet all sorts of tender places on your body. "Did
it bother you?"
And Bruce still has his *hand*, so it's as good a time as any to start
dragging him toward the showers. Also -- "Did you get what you wanted?"
"Hm," and Bruce steers them a little -- Jason was about to bump into
the wall just *outside* of the shower. Better to bump into tile, even
though it feels ice-cold after (Clark) everything.
"I always," Bruce says, letting Jason go and turning on the water. "Get exactly what I want with you."
That -- yeah. Just. "Uh, good to know," and getting close also means
getting under the spray, so it's pretty much everything good, except --
crap. "My bandage --"
"I'll fix it," Bruce says, and holds them under the spray until they can both feel the tape loosening up.
Stripping each other *this* way probably shouldn't feel as important as
it does, but there's always something about the bruises, scrapes, new
scars, wounds -- They aren't always *together* on the street, but all
of it belongs to both of them, just the same.
Bruce has a yellowing bruise over his ribs that Jason can just cover
with his hand, and, once Jason turns around, Bruce's fingers are light
and perfect over everywhere on Jason's back he still wants to be
"I -- it's maybe kinda weird, but I think I was waiting for this all night."
Bruce strokes the soap over Jason's chest. "It's not strange," he says, and pulls Jason a little closer.