Brujay prompt: “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
Pt. 1
9:58PM [ Send me your location. ]
10:01PM [ seaside motel. couple miles outside the city. ] [ y? ]
10:05PM [ I'll be there in twenty. ]
The drive was uneventful. Somewhere halfway, he'd sent a text while waiting to slide through the tollbooth, asking for the room number. Jason gave it to him.
Bruce stepped out of the car and into the motel parking lot, heat thrumming in his veins.
He could still turn around. There was time for him to get back in his car and return to Gotham, pretend like this hadn't happened. If even one person crossed his path, he might. The presence of another person would break the tenuous, selfish thread he'd bound between himself and the object of his affections.
The door to room 212 opened after three rapid knocks.
Jason didn't seem surprised to see him. He stood there in nothing but a pair of cotton sleep pants, posture a lazy slouch. He'd dried his hair, left the shock of white to curl across his forehead. The motel air conditioning rattled, wafting the scent of cheap soap and gunmetal off of him.
Bruce found himself staring at the neat scar bisecting his chest. The Y-incision should have filled him with familiar, crushing guilt. More proof of his greatest failure, forever haunting him. Should have. All he wanted was to press his teeth to the raised skin and thank every god he knew that Jason was alive.
After several long moments, his eyes swept up and when he met Jason's gaze, it stole his breath away.
His eyes were blue fire, an inferno hot enough to put Hell to shame. The firestorm ringed pupils large with unabashed desire, want written plainly in his stare. There was a flush tinting the sharp arch of his cheekbones, threatening to spill down his neck.
"I take it that Harper isn't here."
Jason's tongue darted across his lips. His mouth turned up at the corner in a familiar, cheeky grin.
"Photos weren't for him anyway," he said all too casually, as if he hadn't just cut an artery before a starving predator.
Bruce physically felt his self-control snap.
He palmed Jason's nape, noting the tension in his shoulders appear and disappear just as quickly. Years of vigilance overpowered by a truly staggering amount of trust. That alone felt like enough to cripple him.
Bruce dragged him in close. Jason's breath stuttered. He grabbed at his forearms, calloused hands gripping wrinkles into the fine fabric of his suit. They were close enough Bruce could almost hear the rabbit-fast beat of his heart and smelled the mint of his toothpaste.
His free hand found Jason's hip, slotting his thumb into the space right above the bone like it was a pressure point made for him. His wayward disciple listed forward, mouth open and eyes lidded.
Bruce hummed.
"Have you kissed someone before?" he asked, equal parts curious and teasing.
Jason made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, squeezing his upper arms almost painfully hard.
"Course I have," he muttered gruffly. "Takes a guy a lotta courage t' try an' seduce Batman, y'know."
"Is that what this was?"
"Bruce."
Something in him fractured at the sound of his name in that desperate tone. He'd never heard Jason like this, breathless and needy.
Bruce kissed him like he meant to eat him alive.
