A rare sunny afternoon in Gotham
did a thing because this is too beautiful to be without some writing 😭 (Related to ECM, but like, a loooong time after.
“Okay, I’ll admit, this was a nice idea.”
“Thank you!” Peter huffed, but his exasperation was quickly supplanted by a broad, smug grin. “I told you it’d be fun! And the music is…” he pulled a face, then shrugged. “Okay.”
The music was terrible, but Jason kept that opinion to himself. Some kind of waily, folksy shit with banjos that definitely thought itself too important for a Gotham audience. Hopefully, the next few acts would prove themselves better suited for the city or folks might get restless. And a restless Gotham was a far cry from gracious.
Even so, the summer day was actually summery: warm sun, clear skies and a gentle breeze that had wandered its way in from the ocean, blissfully unaware of Gotham’s hostility to anything resembling ‘pleasant’. It brought with it a rare touch of cool, even as Jason’s back felt as if it glowed with the banking heat.
The freshly erected garden stage in Robinson Park — which Jason suspected was half full of people who hadn’t paid tickets — was packed and many had the same idea as Jason and Peter, camping out with picnic blankets or towels, and coolers full of beer and food.
Security for the festival had been shockingly lax for something hosted in Gotham. Fucking rookie mistake. Over everything hung a slow-growing, sweet haze of weed, smuggled in or exchanged through the poorly supervised fencing around the festival. Fortunately for everyone, it kept the locals sedated despite the shit music. Most folks lazed about, barely upright as they ate and drank and smoked. Though Jason had no interest in the weed — not out in public — he did regret not bringing along some beer. Maybe between acts, he could jump the fence and buy some. Or bribe one of the dealers into getting him a sixpack…
Peter, too, had gone sluggish with rapture, although Jason hoped that had more to do with the heat than secondhand smoke. Peter basked in the sun; a lizard soaking up the rays. Stretched across the checkered blanket, Peter was an endless expanse of golden skin and faint, half-gone scars. His light shorts rode high up his thighs and his oversized tee (which Jason was certain used to be his) had at some point crawled up to expose his toned stomach. Even his bruises seemed like the painted touch of an aesthete. Creeping along Peter’s side, from thigh to waist — courtesy of a wall Bane had thrown him through last night — the faded mottling of green and yellow made Jason think it could have been a tattooed sign of Pamela’s affections, rather than the remnants of violence they really were.
The image of him was obscene and Jason wasn’t the only one to notice. Several women — and a healthy dose of men, along with a handful of folks whom Jason wasn’t confident enough to gender — stared or did double takes as they passed. Jason tried not to glare: there was just something magnetic about a sun-warmed Peter. Jason’s guts churned with pride and possession, torn between wanting to cover Peter up — shield him from the public’s appreciative gaze — and laying claim upon the beautiful man with his hands, his mouth, his —
Well.
Jason, the paler of the two, was a crow in comparison. He’d gone for his usual affair: dark jeans, boots and a light-coloured henley to hide away the most conspicuous of his scars. His denim jacket had been quickly discarded as the sun carried on, and Jason was certain he could feel the beginnings of sunburn on the back of his neck and the bridge of his nose (what he would do for some shade right about now…). There was nothing special about Jason compared to the glossy beacon of bliss laid out beside him, which was perfectly alright with him. Jason Todd might enjoy stealing the spotlight (from the Waynes, at least), but Jason did not.
Look all you want, he couldn’t help thinking uncharitably as yet another person walked past and laid eyes on Peter. He’ll never be yours to touch.
“Feed me,” Peter suddenly demanded, breaking Jason from his reverie.
“We just ate.”
Evidence of their lunch — a plastic bag full of trash tucked under their picnic basket — was barely a foot from Peter’s splayed arms. Even so, he turned his head and opened his eyes to glare.
“Feed me,” he said again. “I require sustenance.”
A smile crept up on Jason despite the bossiness. “And what does your heart desire, your highness?”
“Mm…” Peter’s face scrunched up with thought. “The grapes.”
Jason did laugh then. “And shall I de-seed them, too?”
“Naw.” Peter’s grin zinged right through Jason. “They’re seedless. You could skin them for me?”
“Don’t try your luck,” he said, voice turned low with toothless threat that succeeded only in Peter twisting sinuously so his thighs cupped Jason’s back.
“Pretty please?”
Jason attempted to ignore both the plea and the pleading eyes and failed miserably on both accounts. That look was dangerous and Peter used it to his advantage far too often.
He had to lean over Peter to get to their basket and Jason couldn’t resist laying a hand on Peter’s side as he did so. Peter’s skin was molten-hot under Jason’s palm, soft to the touch as he ran his hand daringly up beneath Peter’s shirt, fingertips grazing over the gentle swell of his pecs. Peter shivered, breath stuttering, stomach clenching. Jason felt smug all over again when he withdrew, clamshell tray of grapes in hand.
Expectantly, Peter opened his mouth. His eyes crinkled, half from the sun’s glare, half with a smile. Jason was lost for a moment in the shadows his thick lashes cast across the bridge of his nose and the crest of his cheek. But the burnished pink inside of his mouth proved too strong a spell. With a huff of embarrassed laughter, he broke off a grape and held it to the chapped pillow of Peter’s lips.
Obscene, the way Peter plucked the grape, lips brushing gently over Jason’s fingertips. He hummed with pleasure as he chewed: the grapes were still a little cool despite the summer heat. The crisp slice as Peter’s incisors bit through the thin skin was audible.
The back of Jason’s neck flushed hot. Be it from desire, embarrassment or the weight of the thousand concert-goers that were surely watching them. Only, when Jason glanced up, he saw that no one was paying them any mind. The band on the stage was saying something about this being their last song that people should sing along to — fat fucking chance of that in Gotham, but kudos to them for trying.
Abruptly, Jason was reminded of that line from The Great Gatsby. How did it go? Something about large parties… They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy. He understood the appeal. All those people around, but they were all focused on the stage or each other, not the little bubble of closeness Peter and Jason existed in.
When he looked back at Peter, it was to see that sinful mouth open with expectation once more. He’d closed his eyes, probably to shield them from the sun. Feeling daring, Jason pressed the grape a little deeper into Peter’s waiting mouth. Let his thumb rub deliberately against Peter’s lower lip. Felt the catlike purr vibrate through his bones and memorised the motions of Peter’s jaw as he chewed.
In a daze, he gave Peter another grape. Then another. And another, and another… until there were almost none left. Peter took each grape from Jason’s eager fingers with a lazy entitlement and self-assured dignity that Jason had no defence against. A fire stoked slowly in his gut, cheeks warmer than even sunburn could allow.
I want to kiss him, he thought. Bend right down and taste the sweetness from Peter’s tongue. Dig his hands into Peter’s soft hair, spread in a tangle of golden-brown curls over the blanket. Feel the honeyed heat pressed welcomely against his own mouth. He wanted it so badly that it became hard to breathe.
Later, Jason would blame it on the secondhand weed smoke, but if he were honest with himself, he did it for no other reason than he wanted to. There had been so few things in Jason’s life he’d felt he was allowed to take for the simple reason that he desired it. Why stop himself here?
Stomach pitching like he was at sea, Jason took the last grape for himself. Then he curled over Peter, hand resting open beside his shoulder, Jason’s head shadowing Peter’s face from the sun. Puzzled by the shift in light, Peter opened his eyes. They widened with surprise at Jason’s closeness, only for his lids to lower, pupils dilating.
His brows twitched minutely. What are you waiting for? they dared.
And Jason was never one to back down from a dare.
He dipped low, other hand falling naturally on the feverish skin over Peter’s exposed ribcage, so he felt and heard Peter’s stuttered intake of breath. Then he pressed his lips to Peter’s. Soft. A glancing pressure at first, testing the waters. Then again, harder. Peter sighed into the kiss, and Jason used the opening to pass the final grape from his mouth to Peter’s.
Peter twitched with surprise beneath his hand and lips. Jason pulled back just enough to watch Peter eat.
“Had enough now, princess?” he murmured, breath pillowing across Peter’s pinked cheek.
“Hmm…” Peter’s mouth curled slowly into his familiar teasing smile. “No, I don’t think I’ve had my fill just yet.”
Ever obliging, Jason kissed him again and Peter shuddered beneath his touch. No teasing this time, Jason pressed for the advantage, tongue dipping into Peter’s mouth to taste the sweet remnants of grape. Peter flushed upwards, the soft sound of pleasure spurring Jason on. The kiss quickly heated. That simmering fire in his gut gorged itself on Peter’s sugared tongue until Jason was loopy and drunken with the heat blazing between them. The hand on Peter’s ribs crept upwards, seeking out the source of him, the furnace that pulsed with life and Peter writhed up into Jason’s questing hand—
A wolf-whistle broke them apart, but a woman’s cry of dismay had them sharing rueful grins.
“How scandalous, Mr Todd,” Peter whispered, for Jason’s ears only. His face was as red as Jason’s felt.
“My humblest apologies, Mr Parker. I don’t know what came over me.”
A pause. Then they both burst into soft snickers. With great reluctance, Jason withdrew. His hand and mouth felt like ice without Peter’s skin against them. But he wouldn’t give into temptation again so soon. Not until they got home…
Of course… Peter’s sinuous stretching, as if he were waking from a leisurely nap, tried his patience… and Jason was, despite everything… just a man…
