Whenever Jason is particularly angry and pent up, he drops by the batcave right after one of Bruce’s patrols. He doesn’t say anything, simply walks up to Bruce while he’s in the middle of using the Batcomputer, swivels his seat around, and swings his leg over Bruce’s lap to sit down.
Jason may be just as large and heavy as Bruce, but he still fits perfectly in his father’s lap. Bruce always sighs at the intrusion, saying something gruffly to try to get Jason off. He uses a voice that sits between Batman and Bruce—something raw but unsure.
Jason still doesn’t speak. He never does. Perhaps it’s out of annoyance, perhaps it’s out of fear. Either way, he prefers his stress relief to be free of tedious words.
Jason always grabs Bruce by the throat. Not harsh enough to choke, but firm enough to keep Bruce’s mouth shut. He loves the steady drum of his father’s heartbeat against his palm.
Jason then looks down between them, where he straddles Bruce’s lap, before using his free hand to fish out his cock. He always lets out a grunt when he fists the base, his entire body tense as he starts stroking.
Bruce remains as stoic as ever, as if he’s waiting for a child to come down from a temper tantrum. He knows this is wrong, which is why he never moves or speak during it. And yet, he can’t bring himself to push Jason away either. He’s a young man. And based on their lifestyle, perhaps this isn’t the worst way to seek a little relief.
As Jason continues to pleasure himself, his body becomes lax, and he sinks against Bruce. His forehead tends to wind up on the armor plating of Bruce’s shoulder, but sometimes his face presses against Bruce’s cheek. Their stubble rubs together as Jason breaths at an unsteady rhythm, tiny wounded sounds escaping his lips.
The small gasps and moans brush against the sensitive shell of Bruce’s ear, making his goosebumps sprout across his skin—though of course he doesn’t let Jason know. He can’t be weak and show any reaction. That would only encourage Jason’s… uncouth behavior.
When Jason finally does cum, he moans high and broken, his entire body curving in on itself as ropes of spunk shoot between the two bodies. As Jason slowly comes down from his high, his body deflates into Bruce’s arms, practically snuggling against him. He lets his mess dry between their bodies. The cum stands out against the black of Batman’s armour and the gray of Jason’s shirt. But when they’re pressed together like this, it’s impossible to tell what sort of degeneracy just occurred. Because from an outside perspective, it simply appears like a relaxed son dozing off in the comfort of his father’s embrace.
