This deepest of blue nights
by Te
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 this.

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 pain-is-irrelevant grunts.

Maybe --

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 -- *soon*.

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 other thoughts.

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 memorize.

"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 Jason.

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 --

Clark --

"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 quietly.

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* --

"*Fuck* --"

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 going to...

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 --

"Yeah, Bruce?"

"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 anywhere.

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, but --

"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 Bruce...

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 soon.

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 --

Get --

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 last.

"My fingers...?"

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*, please."

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 outfit.

"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.

Better --

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 Jason's complaining.

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 to --

*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, focus.

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 closed again.

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 *inside* --

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 *is* --

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 can't --

"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 an interest.

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 --

"Perhaps." Bruce.

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 *know*, Bruce."

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 kiss.

"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.

"I mean..."

"Yes, Jason...?"

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 just --

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 together *here*.

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 in.

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 wants.

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 morning.

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 --

"*Jay* --"

He knows he isn't shooting out his entire life in Clark's mouth, but he can't really believe it, can't --

*Fuck* --

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.

"Oh, Robin..."

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 *shake*.

"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 right here...

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 did?

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 touched --

"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.