Anything you want to share from “the color of hope (canary yellow)”? I love the idea of Reverse Robins where Tim comes back from the dead, sees sweet Jaybin, realizes he’s the perfect Robin for Gotham, and somehow becomes obsessively unhinged about him. He’s definitely got a true stalker room full pictures of Jason in and out of costume that he jacks off in.
oh absolutely xD he spends more time than he would like to admit just adding to his collection--following jason around with his camera, tapping into live feeds to watch him, stalking him on patrol... and when/if he finds out, jason is not as against it as he'd like to be
i do have something to share! not a lot, but something. this ask also inspired me to start picking at it again, so hopefully there will be more to share eventually, lmao
for now, have a little but from the second scene:
Jason can't stop thinking about it. About him.
He feels eyes on him everywhere, even in his most private of spaces. He should feel uncomfortable. Violated.
He doesn't.
Instead he feels… something else. Something strange, uncurling in his belly, making his fingers tingle and his heart race. He doesn't have a name for the feeling—or, perhaps more accurately, he doesn't put a name to the feeling, doesn’t dare—until one night, when his mind no longer leaves him any allusions to hide behind.
He's only half-awake. His eyes are barely open. Sleep clings to him, making him feel paradoxically weighed down and weightless. The world around him is slow, syrupy; intruded on ever so gently by the realm of dreams.
Their meeting plays again.
This time, it's not Jason hunting down Tim—it's Tim who hunts down Jason, climbing into his bedroom in the dead of night, while Jason is tucked safely in his bed. He stands near the foot of Jason's bed, his form wreathed in shadow. The window is open behind him; the curtains flutter in the breeze.
“I’ve been watching you.”
The words send a thrill up Jason's spine. He doesn't sit up. Instead, he turns slightly, positioning himself so he has a better view of Tim. “Stalking me, sneaking into my bedroom… You're a real fucking creep, you know that?”
“Does that scare you, Robin?” The bed dips. There's a hand on his calf, trailing up toward his thigh.
Jason's belly flips. "Of course not." Even in this half-memory, half-fantasy, his heart picks up the pace. He feels phantom eyes on him. Under them, he feels naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. His skin tingles, prickles—at his fingers, his toes. His nipples.
He hears Tim's laugh. “Maybe it should.”
Slade in arranged marriage sladejay after Jason tries to kill him: attaboy. my husband everyone. almost got me, too.
(you never shared how exactly jay tries to kill him and why just that he does try to but after everything is hushed down slade should react just like that everytime he thinks about it or im taking jason away from him)
pfff yes dont worry, slade is very into the whole attempted murder thing <3 extremely sexy that his new husband is more than wiling to stab him if he feels like it's called for
i probably shouldnttt share any more snippets considering i haven't worked on the fic in a bit, but... the attempted murder scene is one of my favorites <3
this is a first draft so things might change from now and posting, especially if i end up revising the timeline any.
warnings for (technically non or dubiously consensual) breathplay and also a somewhat graphic* attempted murder.
* as graphic as this squeamish writer can handle
The memory of Slade’s hands on his skin is still fresh in his mind. He’d been… unexpectedly gentle. Jason had expected a quick, rough tumble in the sheets, but Slade had been… thorough. Considerate. Like maybe he actually valued Jason as more than just a tool he could use.
It leaves him wrong-footed, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he’s being overly paranoid and there’s some other benefit to this that Jason has missed.
It’s a foolish, dangerous thing to dwell on.
Jason tightens his grip on the hilt of his kris.
So he won’t.
Maybe if it was his life alone that was on the line, he would. But it isn’t. He has people to protect.
Up through the ribs, straight through his heart, Jason thinks. Surely even Slade can’t survive that.
He takes a deep breath—
—and then he strikes.
Slade gasps, his eye snapping open as his body arches, twisting, trying to get away from the knife. Jason pursues. His heart is in his throat—the hilt is growing slick with blood. He can feel it seeping into his shirt, between his fingers. Death is such a messy, brutal thing. Slade chokes, blood bubbling between his lips and dripping down his chin. His eyes dart around wildly before landing on Jason. The way his eye widens makes Jason want to puke.
He keeps his face expressionless. “I’m sorry.”
Slade convulses again, and Jason lets go of the knife, backing away. He collapses into the other seat, the one opposite of Slade.
A terrible gurgling sound comes from Slade’s throat as his mouth twitches. It takes Jason a moment to realize that Slade is—laughing?
One of Slade’s hands come up to grip the hilt of the kris. With a sickening, wet sound, he pulls the blade from his chest. Blood splatters over the seat. It keeps gushing—but then it starts to slow, bit by bit. Healing, Jason thinks.
Well… fuck. He should have stabbed him through the eye after all.
Slade spits more blood from his mouth.
He spins Jason’s kris in his hand; twirling it over his knuckles before holding it properly. Then he moves, faster than Jason expected—fast enough he has no time to move, to counter, to even blink before Slade is looming over him.
The knife sinks into the cushion between Jason’s legs, centimeters away from his manhood—and then Slade’s hand is around his neck. It’s a tight, steady grip; Jason can still breathe, but his breaths are strangled. He grabs Slade’s hand on reflex, trying to pull it away.
It doesn’t work. He might as well be trying to bend iron.
Jason swears his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. His mouth is dry—his skin clammy. It’s been years since he felt fear like this.
He doesn’t remember that fear causing his cock to swell in his pants, though. He hopes Slade doesn’t notice.
Slade’s face is inches from his. “You get one free attempt, boy. Try anything like that again, and next time… I won’t be so friendly.” His low voice is full of dark promise.
Jason swallows—the pressure of Slade’s hand makes it difficult. “Yes,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Yes, I— I understand.”
Slade’s grip tightens. Jason can’t breathe—his mouth gapes uselessly—and then Slade lets go, pulling away from him entirely to sit on the opposite bench. Jason couldn’t have been without air for more than second but he gasps like it had been minutes instead. His head spins.
When he meets Slade’s eyes again, the man smirks at him, and nods towards his crotch. “Aren’t you going to take care of that?”
“Wh—” Jason’s face burns, only to burn even hotter when his eyes land on the kris still sticking out between his legs.
Oh, right.
That.
Slade just laughs.
I also really like this bit that takes place a couple scenes after. (Theoretically. I've written this one but have not written all of the stuff before it yet, so again, details might change.)
“You’ve been eyeing me like I’m going to eat you all night.” Slade’s body brackets Jason in. Jason’s heart races—but under the fear is something else. Something… hungry.
“I did try to kill you,” Jason points out.
“Mm. You did.” Quicker than Jason can track, Slade moves, grabbing his jaw with a grip like iron. Jason’s breathing stops. He thinks his heart does too, his eyes wide, mouth open. “Marrying a man, only to try and kill him while he sleeps… I didn't realize you had it in you to be so ruthless, princeling.”
Jason swallows. He can feel the pressure of Slade’s hand on his throat. . It sounds… cruel, when Slade puts it like that. Like it had been intentional, deliberate from the start. “There's a lot you don’t know about me,” he says softly, proud when his words come out even—if a little strangled.
Slade laughs, low and dark. Jason’s eyes flutter. His body sings with arousal. “True enough.” He squeezes a little tighter, completely cutting off Jason’s air, making his vision swim. Then his grip loosens. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too.” His thumb strokes the side of Jason’s throat. The gesture is tender, gentle, and so utterly out of place for the intensity of Slade’s gaze, the tension singing between them. That makes it all the more intoxicating. “Do you want to know something, little prince?”
“Yes,” he breathes—the only answer he can give.
“I like my boys dangerous,” Slade breathes, his breath fanning out over Jason’s mouth like the ghost of a kiss.
Boys. Jason’s a grown man, in his twenties. Far from a mere boy. He isn’t little, either. He’s nearly of a height with Slade, give or take an inch or so.
But then, he’s having a hard time focusing right now, so… maybe those are arguments for later.
“Makes life a hell of a lot more interesting,” Slade continues. “Though, like I told you earlier. The next time you try to kill me, I won’t be so lenient.” He gives Jason’s neck another squeeze before letting go.
Jason sways, caught off balance by the loss, and even more at how bereft he feels. When he meets Slade’s eye again, there’s a knowing glint there. Unwillingly, heat rises to his cheeks.
“You look like I’m going to eat you,” Slade says—and then his nostrils flare as he takes a slow, deliberate breath, “but you smell like you might not mind at all.”
Dick knows he’s a bad person, but if tricking Tim into spending a heat with him lets him keep the alpha for himself, then he thinks he can live with that.
Tim might be a bad person, but Dick smells like the beginnings of heat, and if playing the virginal young alpha makes him look at him like he wants to eat him then, he thinks he’s okay with that.
Or, both alpha Tim and omega Dick think that they’re manipulating the other into sharing Dick’s heat.
@dicktimweek Day Two — Seduction: Camboy Tim | Sex Pollen | Hands-On Sex Ed
i actually started this for last year's dicktim week, but i didn't finish it in time... redeeming myself now, lol.
also not sure where in the timeline this takes place, just that it's before jason came back
>>> AO3 <<<
Dick is a bad person.
He’s spent a long time trying to deny it—to believe it when his friends tell him he’s being too hard on himself, that he’s holding himself to ridiculous standards—but he just can’t any more. Maybe he could believe it, almost, when he’s beating himself up for being stretched thin across cases and civilian obligations, but not with the insistent tug of pre-heat building in his core—a preheat his suppressants should have prevented.
It’s been two months since he took his last dose. The pharmacy auto-prompter texted him three times last month, reminding him to pick them up. He never did. If anyone asks—he knows they won’t—Dick will tell them that he forgot.
That he bought condoms during his last grocery run was just a coincidence. So was inviting Tim over shortly after he started to feel the tell-tale cramps in his gut and thighs. They’re so innocuous, you know. Easy enough to ignore, to miss. A little harder with Bat-training, but… Well. Aches and pains are common enough in their profession. And he’s so used to taking suppressants, to not having proper heats. No one would have reason to doubt him if he said that he just didn’t connect the dots.
The only person who will know the truth is Dick, and he’s become accustomed to living with guilt over the years. What’s one more thing?
Tim shows up five minutes earlier than they agreed, letting himself in through the front door. Dick sees him pause for a moment, eyes darting around warily, anticipation clear in the lines of his body.
The trap he’s waiting for never comes. As fun as their little game is, Dick had disabled most of them. He’d kept up his usual security, of course, but that was all. He feels a little bad about it when Tim’s brow furrows. Not too bad about it, though, because the expression is adorable.
Before Tim can comment, Dick swoops in to greet him. “Hey there, baby bird.” His voice is a touch softer than usual.
Used to be he had to tilt Tim’s face up on his own. Now, though, his baby alpha knows exactly what Dick wants. He tilts his head back, face already flushing pink. Dick doesn't keep him waiting. He rubs noses with him first, lingering a little longer than is strictly necessary for a platonic scenting, before rubbing their cheeks together—first one side, than the other. At the same time, he smooths his wrists down the sides of Tim’s neck and over his shoulders.
It’s not enough to smother Tim’s scent—though it does let Dick breathe him in. The milky scent of puphood is nearly drowned out by Tim’s newly presented alpha scent; something warm and nutty, with a hint of alpha musk beneath.
It makes Dick’s mouth water.
It’s tempting to chase the scent to the source; to coax more of it out, and wrap himself in it until it’s impossible to tell where one scent ends and the other begins. Dick makes himself pull away instead. His belly cramps as if in protest, but he ignores it.
By now, Tim should have gotten a lungful of Dick’s own scent and the tinge of preheat in it—not enough to be noticeable, not yet, but enough for an alpha’s own instincts to start responding.
After a scenting, Tim usually ducks away, adorably pink-cheeked as he excused himself to put away his things, or whatever other task he makes up for himself.
Not today.
Today, Tim’s lashes flutter. He looks… almost dazed, the blue of his eyes hazy. His blush darkens. He steps forward, into Dick’s space, putting them so close they’re almost touching. Dick can feel the warmth radiating off of Tim. He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He thinks Tim watches it, thinks his gaze lingers on his lips, but he can’t be sure.
It might just be a desperate, foolish hope.
Tim scents him, dragging his wrists slowly over Dick’s cheeks, hovering them over his neck, and then smoothing them down his shoulders. He does it twice; thorough and deliberate in the way he lingers, making sure that Dick is coated in his scent. It’s nearly enough to drown out Dick’s omega scent. Definitely enough to cover up the scent of preheat.
It feels wonderfully possessive, like Tim wants to leave no room for doubt as to who Dick belongs to.
More wishful thinking.
Most likely it’s the mark of an inexperienced alpha. Tim is a pup still. He’s had, what, two ruts? He’s still far more likely to be scented than to do any scenting of his own.
Still… Dick clings to the fantasy.
If all goes well, after all, it might just become reality.
Tim steps back finally. His face is more red than pink now—and whatever boldness had carried him forward leaves him. “I’m thirsty. Hope you went shopping this week,”” he says, turning and walking quickly toward the kitchen. It’s just shy of a run, and Dick has to work to keep his mouth from twitching.
Tim’s bags stay where they are, dropped haphazardly by the front door.
Dick doesn’t bother moving them, instead trailing a few paces behind Tim. “A guy forgets to go grocery shopping one time and no one ever lets him forget it…”
Tim throws him a capital-L Look over his shoulder. It’s ruined slightly by the blush still on his face. “It wasn’t just one time and you know it,” he scolds. Baby alpha or no, he really does have the chastising tone down. Bruce gives him plenty of practice, Dick thinks, suppressing a smile.
“I’m a busy guy.”
Tim sighs, put-upon, and opens Dick’s fridge. He scrutinizes it a lot longer than it should take to get out a bottle of water, and doesn’t even bother to open it before he starts rummaging through Dick’s cabinets.
Dick leans against the doorway to the kitchen, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.
He knows exactly where this is going.
Sure enough—
“We need to go shopping,” Tim announces.
“I just went,” Dick says, mostly because he knows Tim expects it of him. Inwardly, he purrs in satisfaction. Tim is reacting just as Dick had hoped he would.
“Well, we need to go again. Go put your shoes on.”
Dick’s mouth twitches. “You’re so bossy, baby bird.”
“Dick.”
He thinks about dragging his feet a little longer, testing the boundaries of Tim’s patience. Trying to cajole him into waiting and relaxing a little. But… he’s curious. Besides—the sooner they go and come home the better. It won’t be long before Dick will be reluctant to leave his den let alone his apartment, and on top of that… He’s a tactile person already. During a heat, all he wants to do is wrap himself around the closest pack member and stay there. He can already feel the urge to bundle Tim off into his nest.
Still—he can’t help dragging his feet a little, amused at the way Tim huffs at him before finally, finally, he allows Tim to drag him out the door.
Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Rating: Explicit
Words: 2.6k
Warnings: References to / Fantasies of Underage Sex
In which Tim tells Jason about one of his oldest fantasies.
my first fic of Kinktober~
i’ve had this in my drafts for a long time, but i didn’t want to post it without also finishing its companion story… which took me a lot longer to write, and not just because of the word count difference, lol. still! i’m glad to finally be posting this one~ i hope you enjoy!
>> AO3 <<
“So, uh… I’ve been thinkin’.”
It’s a slow, lazy morning—afternoon, technically, but they only just got up. They’re lying in bed, still naked. Jason on his back, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped loosely around Tim. Tim lies on his side, head pillowed on his shoulder; one hand toying with the wiry curls on Jason’s chest.
It stills, now; coming to rest loosely against his skin. “Hm?” Tim hums interestedly.
Jason swallows. “About, uh— Your crush. On me. Robin me, I mean.” The words stumble out of his mouth, graceless and inelegant. He shouldn’t be so nervous; Tim has had him saying a lot filthier than this. But… Jason’s not good at this. Not when his inhibitions are still intact, not when it’s someone, or something, he cares about.
Tim presses a kiss to his shoulder. “What about it?” He stays relaxed, at ease in Jason’s arms. It’s a stark difference from the way he had reacted when it had first been brought up. They’d only been official—and public—for a short time. Bruce hadn’t even caught on yet. (Jason still isn’t sure if he has or not, honestly.) Steph had, though, and there’d been a teasing glint in her eye when Tim had taken Jason’s hand under the table.
It wasn’t Tim she’d spoken to, though.
“So, Jason,” she’d said sweetly—which was all the warning they’d needed, really. “Has Tim told you about the big, fat crush he had on you as a kid yet?”
Tim had turned red to his ears—redder than Jason had ever seen up to that point—clearly embarrassed. “Steph,” he’d hissed. He hadn’t let go of Jason’s hand, but he’d squirmed in his seat.
Jason had wanted nothing more than to kiss the breath from him, but he’d held back, letting the matter drop. Well. After some light teasing, anyway.
But the comment had never left his mind.
See, the thing is… Jason doesn’t think most people realize how many Robins there have actually been.
In fact, he knows they don’t.
There’s a lot of speculation—at least among those who actually care about vigilantes and superheroes—with assumptions ranging anywhere from three to ten. (Or more, but that’s not a conspiracy Jason looks that deeply into.) But, even among other heroes, he’s not sure how many of them realize that Tim is the third Robin, and not the second.
He doesn’t blame them, really. He didn’t patrol nearly as often as the others, limited to weekends and school breaks. He pretty much never patrolled solo, or worked any cases on his own—and none of the cases he did work, alone or not, were very high profile. He was only tangentially involved with the Teen Titans… and on top of all of that, he did everything he could to try and emulate Dick.
Which, in hindsight, he was really too small to pull that off. But, it lines up perfectly with Tim—who was already taller than him even at just twelve years old. He was so tiny when he died. It would be easy to conflate his time with Tim’s, assuming they were one and the same.
Jason had been forgotten; his only legacy a case in the Batcave and his name used as a cautionary tale for new sidekicks—if it was brought up at all.
Knowing that, somehow, Tim had wanted him back then—had known enough about him, had seen him… It was exhilarating. He’d wanted, desperately, to know more, but he’d swallowed his curiosity for fear of making Tim uncomfortable. Just knowing it was true, or could be true, had been enough to warm him.
But then it had been brought up again. Damian, this time, after some ribbing about his new crush: “Not everyone is fortunate enough to date our boyhood heroes, Drake.”
Tim had just rolled his eyes, barely fazed by the comments. They’ve been together months now—long enough, it seemed, for Tim’s embarrassment to have faded.
Jason’s interest had been renewed. He hadn’t brought it up immediately, letting a few days pass as he both gathered his nerves and waited for the right moment.
when i was brainstorming for your prompts, the scenario i came up with for the second prompt ended up working really well for the first one too so i combined them into one ;) i hope you enjoy!
>> AO3 <<
[Steph] You have Saturday night off, don’t you? 💜🔑
[Jay] Yeah ❤🔒
[Steph] Good. I’ll see you at seven💜🔑
Jason re-reads their messages for the nth time before glancing at the clock. It’s ten past seven. He has food sitting on the stove, burners turned low to keep it warm. The smell permeates his apartment, but he’s too keyed up to feel the hunger he knows is building in his gut.
Steph would have texted him if something came up, he assures himself.
The knob turns.
Jason’s ears prick. His body reacts before his mind catches up, leaving him standing at attention as Steph steps inside. A flush heats the back of his neck. Steph only smiles as she closes the door behind her. “Hey handsome,” she greets warmly. “Sorry I’m late. I’m pretty sure my Uber driver just moved here; he got turned around twice.” She rolls her eyes.
“If only you’d waited five more minutes,” he says with a sigh. He moves to take Steph’s jacket at the same time as she turns her back to him; the two of them perfectly in sync as he slips it off her shoulders. The heat of her body through her clothes feels more intense than normal. “Then you’d be fashionably late instead of just late.”
Steph snorts, swatting him lightly. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” She’s wearing a purple turtleneck and black skinny jeans tonight, both tight enough to emphasize her curves, and her hair is braided, falling down her back in a single golden rope. Her only accessory, at least that he can see, is a necklace: a silver key, dangling from a leather cord. Just the sight of it makes his stomach fluter. She takes off her shoes before heading further into the apartment; her purse left by the door, but a bag still slung over her shoulders.
Jason approaches to take it—but she stops him. “Have you eaten yet?” she asks lightly.
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Steph doesn’t look surprised. “Is it done?” she inclines her head toward the kitchen. At his nod, she says, “Plate us up some food, then. And don’t forget the water… you’re going to need it.” His face heats, and she grins like the wicked thing she is.
His cock also twitches, traitorous thing that it is.
Steph laughs at him. “I’m going to go put my stuff in your room. I’ll join you at the table when I’m done.” Her tone is gentle, polite, but her words are unmistakably orders—the same way her text about tonight had been. Rather than rankle him, though, it settles him; something in his shoulders loosening as he nods again.
“Okay.”
Steph kisses him briefly before she leaves to head upstairs, to his bedroom. Jason catches himself smiling on his way to the kitchen… but for once feels no reason to wipe it away.
He makes two plates and brings them to his small dining room table. It’s lighter fare than he's used to, and vegetarian for Steph. Stuffed portobello mushrooms and spinach, slightly wilted with a bit of lemon zest. Plus a side of garlic bread, because he tends to bake when he’s nervous.
He pours them both a glass of water, too; the nice stuff he keeps in the fridge in a pitcher, infused with strawberries, lemon, and a little mint.
Steph comes down just as he’s lit a couple of candles. He hears her coming, but the kiss she lays on him still surprises him. It’s not as brief—or chaste—as the first one. “It looks great, Jay,” she says. She’s got that starry-eyed look—the look that says How did I get so lucky? more clearly than words ever could. Jason has to turn away from it. His blush is back, and deeper than before.
“It was nothin’,” he says… and knows his mistake as soon as the words have left his mouth.
She clicks her tongue, and tugs him to face her again. The stars in her eyes are softer now; not so hard to look at, but still overwhelming. “It wasn’t. You put together a romantic dinner for us, and I appreciate it.”
His stomach squirms. The muscles feel tight. But there’s warmth, too, prickling under his skin. He doesn’t know what to do with praise, never has. As a little kid he could snap off a retort and it was still cute, but the older he got the less that was an acceptable option. Not that it stopped him, usually, but Steph is… different.
And also determined to undo him in as many different ways as she’s able.
“It really wasn’t…” He lets the sentence trail off when he sees her mouth twitch. “I was happy to do it,” he tries instead. “I—like when we can stay in. Have a nice night.”
Her face softens further, somehow, and it gets him another kiss. Kissing, he can do. It’s so much easier than talking.
Steph pulls away first—reluctantly, judging by the way she lingers in his airspace; her breath warm on his mouth. “The food’s gonna get cold.”
Jason hums. “We’ve uh. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
She grins at that, the wicked glint back in her eye. It makes him squirm in a different way than the stars—but he prefers this. This kind of heat is so much less embarrassing to get worked up to. “Hell yeah we do.”
They sit at the table. Steph moans at her first bite of mushroom. Jason shifts, adjusting himself surreptitiously under the table. Every shift of his clothes against his skin sends a tingle up his spine. “God, so good,” she says, one hand half-covering her mouth, still full of food. “Seriously, I cannot believe someone didn’t snap you up before me. Good looks and you can cook?”
Aaaaand that terrible, wonderful squirming feeling is back again, feeding into his arousal in a way that make him want to duck and hide. He settles for taking a bite of spinach before drawling, “Yeah, that was probably because of all the murders.”
Steph pauses halfway through raising her drink to her mouth, cocking her head. “Hm. Well.” She shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect.” She shoots him a cheeky smile and a wink before taking a drink—and then making a bright, delighted noise. “You spoil me.”
He gets another compliment on the spinach, and the garlic bread too, and then, blessedly, Steph makes a comment about how long it all must have taken, and he’s able to shift the conversation onto one of his favorite subjects: cooking. And then, to further distract them both, he prods Steph about her day, and then vice versa, until, suddenly, there’s no more food in front of them.
The conversation keeps on for a while after that; they chat about everything and nothing at all. It’s not enough to distract Jason from the night ahead of them, his cock staying half-hard the entire time, but it’s… peaceful. Domestic, in a way he never really thought he would have.
Eventually, though, the conversation does trail off, and a content silent reigns before Jason stands up to gather the dishes. Steph helps him pile them up, but when he turns the water on, she presses herself against his back. She’s tall enough that she doesn’t have to rise to her toes to press a kiss behind his ear. “I’m going to go get things ready upstairs,” she whispers, her breath hot on his neck. “Come up whenever you’re ready.”
He shivers, bites his lip, and nods. “Yeah. Alright.” He turns, just enough that she can kiss him properly before she leaves—and so that he can watch her leave.
Then he turns back to the task at hand, trying not to lose himself in thoughts of what’s to come.
Pairing: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Rating: Explicit
Words: 5.2k
Warnings: None
Slade is not a gentle man. He’s a weapon in a man’s body; a creature made to hurt, to kill. The way he says Jason’s name belies that. It scares him, this tenderness. He thought he’d carved it all out of himself years ago.
this isn’t quite the fic I originally imagined, but I like it anyway. you may see a similar concept from me again lmao
i originally started writing this for SladeJay Week, but i didn’t get it finished in time. i started writing it at the same time as with whom can you sit in water? so you may see some similarities, especially in the opening, pre-sex bit because i was in a very warm, domestic mood at the time, lol.
>> AO3 <<
One look at Jason is all Slade needs to know he’s been having a bad day—or few days, more likely. There’s a certain hollowness in his eyes, a pallor to his skin, and the smile he greets Slade with is genuine, but a shadow of its normal self.
Slade bypasses the pleasantries, pulling him in by the waist to kiss him softly. He hums approvingly when Jason melts against him—though that, too, is another sign of something being wrong. Jason is rarely ever so pliant. His submission is something Slade has to earn, to take, and Slade would never ask him to change. He relishes the challenge of it; the beauty of Jason’s ferocity and defiance.
But…
There is something sweet about his willing submission, too; given freely from the start instead of being painstakingly pulled from him.
It’s just a pity Slade only ever gets to see it on nights like this, when Jason is worn thin and aching.
Slade pulls away slowly, only to press his mouth to Jason’s temple. “Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, unsurprised when Jason shakes his head in reply. He doesn’t press, only nods. Jason will tell him when he’s ready, when things aren’t as raw. Or Slade will find out some other way what’s bothering his bird. Until then… “Alright. I’m gonna change into something more comfortable. You got anything you need to wrap up?”
It takes a moment for Jason to respond. Slade waits him out, patient.
“The dishes,” he says finally, and Slade nods again. He kisses Jason again, more briefly this time, and then loosens the circle of his arms. He lets Jason be the one to step away first—and doesn’t resist the urge to squeeze his ass when he walks by, grinning at the irritated-amused look Jason throws at him. It pairs so well with his blush.
After he changes, he joins Jason at the sink. There aren’t many dishes. Jason is fastidious, even when he’s stressed. Maybe especially when he’s stressed. Still, Slade slots in next to him to rinse and dry the last few pieces.
When they’re done, Slade dries his hands—barely—before pulling Jason in again to kiss him with a tenderness that, until recently, he’d thought he was no longer capable of. Like before, Jason’s arms wind around his neck as he melts against him, letting Slade take his weight. This time, he’s trembling; coming apart now that there’s someone here to hold him together.
Slade hums against his mouth; one hand splaying protectively over his lower back while the other grips the back of his neck, steady, comforting.
Bit by bit, Jason’s trembling eases.
Slade doesn’t break the kiss until it ceases entirely—and even then, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he guides Jason’s head down to the cradle of his neck and shoulder. The boy sighs and relaxes even more, until Slade is more or less all that’s keeping him standing.
He doesn’t mind.
He slips a hand under Jason’s shirt—splaying it again, touching every inch of his skin that he can. “When was the last time you slept?” he asks. His voice has softened without his permission.
Jason tenses, ever so slightly. “I’ve napped,” he offers. “But… It’s probably been a couple of days.” The admission is quiet.
Unsurprising.
Slade doesn’t permit himself to frown, even if Jason can’t see his expression. He hums instead, and presses a kiss to Jason’s crown—a reward for his honesty. “Bed, then. I’ll make sure you get some sleep tonight.”
Jason doesn’t argue. He nods into Slade’s shoulder instead. He doesn’t make any moves to pull away, though, not until Slade laughs once and nudges him gently. He grumbles, pulling back to squint in the light of the kitchen, and rub at one tired eye. Something horribly soft and squishy fills Slade’s chest—another one of those feelings he thought he left behind years ago.
Jason is content to allow Slade to steer him to the bathroom, where they brush their teeth side-by-side. Slade rinses his mouth, then gives Jason free reign of the bathroom while he heads to the bedroom. It’s just as neat as the rest of the apartment; the bed made with military precision. He shuts off the overhead light in favor of turning on the bedside lamp. It lights the room with a soft, warm glow, made even fuzzier by the thick shade obscuring the bulb. A small nightlight on the other side of the room turns on—something Jason had plugged in when Slade first started coming here on a more permanent basis, a defiant stare daring Slade to say something about it.
He hadn’t.
He turns the blankets down, too, and double checks that the blackout curtains are closed tight and the security system active before opening the bedside drawer to fish out a bottle of lube and a pair of condoms.
Neither of them are any stranger to nightmares. Slade dreams of cold hospital walls, of slit throats and blood seeping across the floor and almost too lates, of a body turning to ash in his arms and knowing he’d failed, of a bloody hole in a girl’s head and the certainty that it was his fault even if his hands hadn’t been the ones to hold the knife. Slade’s hands have always been too rough with the things most precious to him.
Jason hasn't shared the contents of his nightmares any more than Slade has, but he can guess at some of them. The sound of a clown’s mad laughter, the rough timber of a father you’ll never be enough for, the ghosts of those he’s failed to save.
Nightmares can come at any time, but when Jason gets like this—worn, spread thin—he’s more vulnerable to them. Sometimes all Jason wants, all he needs, is to be held. To be reminded that someone is there. But some nights he needs a little more. Slade likes to be prepared for both.
Then it’s his turn in the bathroom. He doesn’t take long, coming back just as Jason is settling into bed—wearing absolutely nothing at all. It has Slade pausing in the doorway to just look, despite the way Jason pinks and scowls at him.
The scowl’s only halfhearted anyway.
Jason’s gorgeous. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, thick thighs made for biting. He’s not hard, not yet, but even flaccid his cock is well-sized. Slade’s mouth waters slightly. He knows from experience how nicely it fits in his mouth; how it feels to have Jason harden as he sucks him. Slade doesn’t think he’ll be blowing him tonight, but the memory still has his cock stirring in his sweats.
He pulls the door shut—locking it, even if they aren’t expecting any visitors, just for the way it makes Jason’s pulse jump. He toward the bed, leaving his clothes in a trail behind him. He crawls over Jason—Jason’s legs part for him automatically, arms coming up to wind around Slade’s neck and shoulders. The scowl slips from his mouth, and the sound he makes when Slade locks their mouths together is tinged with desperation. It has Slade kissing him just a little harder in response, sucking Jason’s bottom lip into his mouth so he can roll it between his teeth.
Jason moans again. His fingers tangle in Slade’s hair. He keeps it longer these days just for that; the sweet ache that comes as Jason pulls at it. He arches, pressing their chests together. It’s an obvious request for touch. Slade doesn’t even consider denying him. He lets his hands wander, stroking and squeezing Jason’s sides, his chest, his back. Jason makes such soft, sweet noises. Slade swallows all of them.
The arousal builds slowly. Slade can feel it pooling in his gut and dripping down to his groin, his cock growing harder. Jason shifts, and it brushes against his abdomen. Slade moans. Jason’s fingers tighten in his hair before they pull, and Slade moans again, deeper this time. Jason shudders, and rolls his hips. Their cocks brush, and they moan as one, their kiss breaking. Jason’s breathing has turned ragged, so Slade trails a path of kisses down his neck instead.
“Slade,” Jason says, sighs, and it’s such a sweet sound that Slade rewards him for it by sinking his teeth into Jason’s skin and sucking a bruise there. That gets him another sweet noise; this one lower, deeper, pulled from the depths of Jason’s chest.
“What do you need tonight, little bird?” Slade asks, his voice rough from their kiss but still so much softer than he would use for anyone else.
“You,” Jason replies, like he always does. Before Slade can remind him to be more specific, he adds, “Your cock, in me. Want you to… to make it so you’re all I can think about.”
this one is pretty much exactly what it sounds like uwu slade fucking jason on a rooftop with his own gun <3
fun fact! it was actually a line from this fic (not shown here though sadly) that ended up inspiring me to write 'taking a bird in hand'... though i'm not sure if this will end up working thematically as a sequel lmao
“Are you really that desperate?” The sneer dripping from Slade’s words shouldn’t turn Jason on, but it does. “Can’t even wait till we get home for me to fuck you?” His hand tightens around Jason’s throat with the words.
Jason gasps, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.
Slade understands anyway. “Fine,” he growls. He bypasses the traps on Jason’s tac pants. Normally, that wouldn’t be very impressive—except, Slade does it one-handed; the other still gripping Jason’s neck, holding him in place.
Jason’s cock throbs.
Slade yanks his pants down, over the swell of his ass, down to the thickest point of Jason’s thigh where they catch. Jason’s ears burn. Slade leaves them there. He also leaves Jason’s jockstrap, and it’s built in cup. “Lube,” he demands, before tearing one of his gloves off with his teeth.
Jason’s stomach swoops. His hands hands shake, fumble, as he retrieves one of the packets he keeps in his inner jacket pocket. Slade snatches it from him, and tears it open. Lube splatters onto Jason’s exposed thighs—he cries out at the chill of it. There’s just enough left to coat Slade’s fingers.
Slade doesn’t bother with any build up. He smears the lube over Jason’s hole. He gasps, muscles clenching, fluttering—only to damn near shriek when Slade spears him with two fingers at once. There isn’t nearly enough lube to help with the burn. Not that Jason cares; planting his heels on the the concrete and working his hips, riding Slade’s fingers as best he can.
Slade completely ignores Jason’s prostate. He pumps his fingers hard and fast, scissoring them every couple of seconds. The message couldn’t be clearer: Slade doesn’t give a damn if Jason gets off on this or not.
He is, though. His cock strains in the confines of his cup. He has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle the sounds in his chest, to stop himself from begging. The last thing he wants is for someone to come running and find the Red Hood, fucking himself onto Deathstroke’s fingers like a whore.
Or—
Fuck.
The way his cock throbs—
Maybe part of him does want that.
He shudders, tucking the thought away for later. (Or never.) It’s not like he can examine it now, with his brain steadily dribbling out of his ears as Slade preps him.
Until—
He stops, pulling his fingers out of Jason’s hole and wiping them off on his inner thigh. Jason whines into his fist. The whine turns into a yelp when Slade slaps his thigh—the sound of the impact echoes over the rooftop, even before the sting hits.
Jason barely has time to feel it, because at the same time, something presses against his hole. Cold—hard—not bigger than the circumference of Slade’s fingers. He looks down as best he can with Slade’s hand still around his neck, and just barely catches a the glint of metal.
His eyes go wide.
A gun.
Slade’s pushing the muzzle of a pistol past Jason’s rim—the muscle gives easily, swallowing it as greedily as it would Slade’s cock. Jason whimpers. It’s not a sound of protest.
His gaze runs over Slade’s body, but— All of his weapons are still in place. So where—
His thigh holster.
That’s his gun. And not just— That’s his favorite gun.
Fuck. Jason tosses his head back. It hits the cold, hard rooftop, sending a dull pain through his skull. He hardly registers it; focusing instead on relaxing his muscles to accommodate the pistol barrel being slowly pushed inside of him.
TAUUURRRIIIAAAA the smut prompt #1 has me by the throat I'm thinking about Jason swallowing Kon down in the backseat at the lookout point Tim drove them to ahhhhhHHHHHHHH
the prompt list
yeah i got this prompt and immediately was hit with a little snippet of prose, so i was like. "i'll just write that down real quick and go back to working on my other fic" and then i didn't stop <3
((and that snippet actually was part of a DIFFERENT take on this idea, which i wrote like half of and then stole quite a bit of for THIS fic so. idk if i will finish it. but ALSO there were a few things i didn't steal that i would hate to leave in my drafts forever so. if you see a fic pop up that's basically this one with a few details change then <3))
ANYWAY hi jax thank you so much for the prompt, it made my brain go brrrr
Content Notes:
Mild alien biology for Kon
Using your trans!Jason + ally Lazarus Pit AU, with a side of bottom growth for Jason (IDK if that's usually part of your AU or not <3)
I took some potential liberties with TTK. It's been a while since I read YJ & I didn't want to look up the power just in case I got too in my head about it. So. If it's not plausible via the power as written, then it was a change made for smut purposes <3 If it is plausible, then fantastic xD
hot and heavy at lookout point (rite of passage)
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd/Conner Kent
Words: 3.6k
>> AO3 <<
Jason feels helplessly, hopelessly awkward as he sinks to his knees in the cramped back seat of Tim’s car. It’s one of the most spacious one he owns, but still. It’s a sedan. Even with the passenger seat pushed all the way up, Jason isn’t going to fit comfortably in the floorboards. He does fit, though; and it’s at least more snug than tight.
The air already smells like arousal—human musk and sweat and the sharp lightning-storm of Kryptonian. Sun streams through the windows. Lookout Point isn’t the most crowded location; it’s a little less than half an hour out of Gotham, and even with the advent of technology, still a popular place for teenagers to come and do a little necking. It’s too early for teenagers now, leaving them alone save for one other car. It looked empty at a glance, but Jason is all-too-conscious of the fact that the driver could return at any moment.
Anyone could pull up at any moment.
It makes his heart race, his palms sweat… and his cunt throb. It’s been achy since they left city limits and he realized that oh yeah, they were really doing this. Tim and Kon aren’t any better. Kon’s been tenting his jeans for almost as long as Jason’s been wet, and though Jason hasn’t been able to get a proper look at Tim’s crotch, he’s willing to bet he is, too.
The sound of a zipper brings him back to reality. Kon’s already popped the button on his jeans, and as soon as the zipper is out of the way, he lifts up, shimmying them down his legs just far enough to free his cock. It springs out of his underwear; thinner and shorter than Tim’s, but with a deeper curve that drags against Jason’s walls and makes him see stars. He gets wetter, too; his slit already dripping, making flushed skin glisten.
Jason’s legs try to spread automatically, but there’s no room. He bites back a pathetic whine, and feels his flush get darker. He doesn’t have permission to touch himself, so he curls his hands around Kon’s ankles instead.
“Is he drooling already?” Tim asks, above his head.
“You know he is,” Kon says.
Jason squirms. He loves-hates when they talk about him like he’s not here; like he only exists for their entertainment, their pleasure.
Tim laughs, warm and rich. “Cockslut,” he says affectionately, and oh—Jason’s cunt throbs again. His face warms even more. There’s a light touch on the back of his head. “Go on, sweetheart. We know you’re dying to.”
He does whine this time—but he doesn’t try to deny it any more than that. He is dying to. His mouth is full of spit in anticipation. He has to swallow it down so he can mind his manners first, though, greeting Kon’s cock with a soft kiss to the head. It smears pre on his lips, and he licks it off, humming at the taste. Kon always tastes sharp. It’s even better when licked directly off the skin; there’s an added tingle, like mild static electricity. It makes it both extra fun, and extra challenging, to swallow him down.
Kon tangles his fingers in Jason’s hair. He doesn’t pull, not yet, but Jason nudges up into the weight of his palm before he presses more kisses down the side of him, following it all the way to the root. Thick, coarse hair tickles his cheeks, his nose. Kon smells strongest here. He inhales deeply, and lets it sit on his tongue for a moment. Then he kisses and licks his way back up. This time he pauses every so often to suckle on a vein—and then, at that spot just below the head of his cock. He teases it with his tongue, too; prodding it with the tip, flicking it.
Kon’s hand tightens in his hair. The tug at his roots always feels like it shoots straight to his pussy, his nipples. His skin tingles. He stops teasing, moving up to the spongy head of him again. Then he presses his tongue directly against Kon’s slit, lapping the pre from the source of him. His tongue tingles.
“Fuck, Jason—” Kon moans, throwing his head back. Jason doesn’t get to appreciate the column of his throat because at the same time, Kon pulls his hair and makes his toes curl, his eyes roll back. He has to swallow before he can start again; spit pooling in his mouth. He nuzzles Kon’s cock, flicks his tongue against the underside. Then he kisses and licks his way down again. If he had more room, he’d mouth at Kon’s balls—take them in his mouth one at a time to suck and prod; maybe use his hand to tease at his perineum. But he can’t, not like this.
He can cup them with his hand, though, so when he makes his way back up to the tip, that’s what he does. He takes the head of him into his mouth to suckle, and with his hand, cups his balls in his hands. Here, Kon is larger than Tim. He’d never be able to pick a favorite cock between the two of them, but he does love the way Kon fills him, whether he’s swallowing it down or being filled by it.
It’s nice, he thinks, to go slow. He doesn’t always, with Kon. Kon likes it fast, likes it hard. (So does Jason.) But getting to worship him like this—to feel the softness of his cock against his cheek, his lips, to suckle at him while watching the play of pleasure on his face… It’s good.
He’s good. He hopes. But the only one who can decide that is Tim. His eyes are heavy on him. On them. He likes to watch—and god, but Jason hopes they’re giving him a good show.
He bobs his head, taking more of Kon. The tingling spreads over his cheeks, his tongue, his gums. It’s a lovely, bright sensation; not painful, just… present. He wants it in his throat. Wants to gag himself on Kon’s cock—wants Kon to grip his head and fuck him.
But he has to earn that, first.
He bobs his head again, taking a little more as he rolls Kon’s balls in his hand; fingers rubbing at the base of them. Once more—and then he’s a little over halfway there. Drool is starting to slip around his lips. He tightens them, swallows; a wet, slurping sound that makes him want to hide his face and also wish he had something, anything, he could clench around. Kon’s fingers tighten in his hair again, tugging.
“How does he feel?” he hears Tim ask.
“Unh— Hot,” Kon manages. “Wet. Soft.”
Fingers trail over his spine. Tim, he thinks. “Swallow around him again.” His voice is so soft it sounds like a suggestion. Jason knows better. He obeys, and Kon’s hips twitch. His moan is muffled. Jason looks up, finds his other hand pressed hard against his mouth. Tim twirls his fingers in a heart shape on his back. “Good.”
Jason gives Kon’s balls a final squeeze, then pulls back until just the tip is in his mouth again. He swirls his tongue around it, suckles at it. Then he lets his jaw loosen, his throat lax, and sinks down. He manages to nearly swallow him whole before he gags, tears springing to his eyes, and has to pull back up.
“Greedy,” Kon says, breathless. His voice is already starting to roughen.
“Gagging for it,” Tim agrees slyly. Jason would flip him off if he didn’t think Tim would pull him off. He doesn’t know how he’d be punished, but Tim’s creative. He just knows he wouldn’t get to finish sucking Kon’s dick until he’d properly repented, and right now, that’s all he cares about.
One more try. Jason lifts up, bobs his head, and then— He moans. His throat vibrates around Kon’s cock, making him moan too. His knees press hard against Jason’s shoulders as legs try to clamp shut and he pulls hard at Jason’s hair. Tim grips the back of Jason’s neck.
“Stay.”
Jason stays. He breathes through his nose—slow, careful breaths. Soon, he relaxes. His shoulders loosen. More of his weight settles against Kon’s legs, the backseat. Kon settles too. His legs fall open again, as much as they can, and his fingers uncurl. He cards them through Jason’s hair; blunt nails scratching his scalp in a way that makes him want to purr.
He floats there for a while, unable to do much else but breathe and drool and swallow every now and then.
“Okay,” Tim says—still in that soft voice. “You can give him what he wants, now. I think he’s ready.”
Yes, Jason thinks—and then Kon grips his hair again, pulling his head up and off his cock; the head resting against his bottom lip. He only has a moment to mourn the loss before Kon yanks him back down, his hips lifting to meet him halfway. Jason grips his ankles so tightly he’d bruise a human man; moaning low in his chest. Kon’s breath hitches, his hips stutter, but he doesn’t stop. He sets a brutal, punishing pace. It doesn’t take long for tears and snot to start dripping down his face. It’s hard to breathe. Jason sucks in air whenever he can, but still, he feels light-headed. Dizzy.
It’s euphoric.
He wants, so badly, to rub his cock. Like this, it’s hard to remember why he shouldn’t. His arm twitches, but Tim, eagle-eyed, sees everything. He grabs it. “No.”
Jason whines, or tries to. He tangles his fingers in Kon’s pant leg.
Kon’s thrusts start to stutter. It’s the only warning Jason has—and then Kon buries himself in Jason’s throat and comes with a shout. Despite his best efforts, Jason doesn’t manage to swallow all of it. He chokes, sputters, gags; making even more of a mess of himself than he already is. Kon holds him there until he’s done; one hand on the back of Jason’s neck, the other gripping his balls. Jason takes it; too far gone to even be embarrassed about the awful, lewd sounds he’s making.
Eventually, Kon slumps against the seat, his cock going soft in Jason’s mouth. Jason keeps sucking on it until someone pulls him off. He huffs despite his aching throat, and goes to pillow his head on Kon’s thigh, but the hand in his hair stops him.
“Shh—let me look at you.”
Tim’s other hand—wet—cups his jaw, tilting his face up into the sunlight. Jason wrinkles his nose, but allows it, shutting his eyes against the light. Tim likes him like this; ruined, his face splotchy, his eyes rimmed red, and his face wet with cum and snot and tears. He likes it even more when they’re real tears. Sure enough— “So pretty,” Tim says. “Alright, sweetheart. You can rest now.” He helps guide Jason’s head down to Kon’s thigh. “You did well. Both of you.” He pets Jason’s hair, and then he hears the seat creak, feels Kon shift. He doesn’t have to look to know they’re kissing above him, though he does despite how his eyelids droop.
Kon and Tim kiss like they do most things: in sync, always anticipating the way the other moves, always aware of what the other wants. Jason and Kon kiss like fighting; a battle of dominance Kon almost always wins eventually, because Jason lets him, because he wants him to, even if he could only recently admit that out loud. Tim and Jason kiss both ways, but more often Tim kisses Jason like he wants to eat him; like he can lick into his mouth and devour him. All good kisses. But Jason only gets to watch one of them.
They pull away when Tim starts to get breathless—mostly because Kon never does, even if he sounds like it. He doesn’t need to breathe.
Then Tim looks down at Jason. “Ten minutes,” he tells him. “And then it’s my turn.”
Jason’s thighs clench. “Yeah,” he croaks.
“Wait,” Kon says. His hand settles on Jason’s shoulder. “I wanna see how wet he got from my cock first.”
Jason would blush if his face wasn’t already red. As it is, he turns his face into Kon’s thigh.
“Oh, good idea,” Tim says as the gentle grip of Kon’s TTK wraps around his body, pulling him back up onto the seat. “I bet he’s soaked.”
Jason squirms, but doesn’t make any real effort to pull away while Kon pops the button on his pants, using a mixture of his hands and TTK to get them open. Then he slips his hand inside. His fingers are rough, dry, and just on the edge of too much as they drag against his folds.
“Oh yeah,” Kon says roughly, pulling his hand out. Jason whines, canting his hips like that might bring his hand back. He’s ignored. “Look.”
Jason can’t help but peek out. Kon holds his hand up to the light; the sun catching a thick strand of slick stretching between his fingers as he spreads them. Tim grabs his wrist, examining them—and then he pulls them into his mouth. Jason whimpers, and Kon laughs.
“I don’t think someone wants to wait for ten minutes,” he teases.
Tim’s cheeks hollow, and then he pulls off of Kon’s hand with a soft ‘pop’. “That so?”
Jason squeezes his thighs together and nods. He’d finally managed to ignore the pulsing in his cunt, but Kon’s touch had brought it back.
Tim’s eyes meet Kon’s for a second, and then he says—”Tell us what you are first.”
He whines. Tim just looks even more amused. Jason tries his best pleading eyes next. About… 70/30 chance they work, odds not in his favor. Tim’s eyes flick to Kon again. There’s no verbal exchange but clearly something passed between them because a second later Kon pinches his nipple, hard. He yelps, arching. Kon holds it for 1—2—3 seconds, and then lets go. His dick throbs in time with his nipple.
“What are you?” Tim asks again, more firmly this time.
He squirms, then finally mumbles, “A cockslut.”
“Louder.”
Jason scowls—though Tim and Kon would call it a pout. Assholes. “A cockslut,” he says. It doesn’t sound as begrudging as he’d like. He pretends that’s because his voice sounds like he swallowed gravel.
“Better,” Tim says. No good boy. Jason pouts scowls harder. Tim catches his eye. “Do what you’re told the first time. Pants off, baby. Underwear too. Then you can come up here and ride me.”
Ugh, and Jason thought he was going to get fucked. He listens anyway. Kon helps him strip. Slick drenches his thighs, and his cock sticks out proudly; a whole two inches of growth. Kon brushes his fingers against it ‘accidentally’ when they’re working his pants down his thighs and he shudders, biting his lip to stifle a moan.
“Don’t tease,” he begs.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry, but he kisses Jason’s shoulder, and there are no more incidents, so he’ll let it slide for now. He uses one hand to tug his t-shirt down and hold it there as he makes the precarious climb into the passenger seat, not trusting in the strength of Tim’s tinted windows to keep him from flashing any unlikely passerby. The passenger seat isn’t much more comfortable than the floorboards pressed all the way forward like this, but he only has to stay long enough for Kon to scoot over and Tim to push his seat back.
Hi cock is already out, Jason sees, and slicked up with lube. Tim adds more anyway; saliva pools in Jason’s mouth as he watches him stroke it. It’s two or so inches longer than Kon’s, and a bit girthier too. If he loves how much cum Kon fills him with, then he loves how Tim just fills him. A little more slick dribbles out of his pussy.
When Tim is good and slick, he beckons him over. “Wait— No, facing the other way.”
Jason thought he couldn’t blush anymore. Turns out he was wrong. “What?”
Tim smiles beatifically. “C’mon, sweetheart. It’s a lovely view.”
It is a nice view, albeit not one that gets appreciated often. Gotham is splayed out before them; an isle surrounded by glittering bay. Despite everything she’s done to clean up her smog, a miasma still hangs over her—but that’s beautiful too, in it’s strange way.
“Fine,” he says, and shifts until he’s hovering over Tim’s lap—not an easy task!—, his hands braced on the steering wheel. Tim settles one hand on his hip, and wraps the other around his cock, holding himself steady as Jason sinks down.
The last time he was fucked was last night—Kon in his pussy, Tim in his ass. Still. His muscles have tightened up again since then, and without any fingers to stretch him first, he’s forced to go slow. Sweat beads around his hairline, the small of his back. His thighs shake. He’s panting with effort. It would be so easy to just. Drop down. They’re both slick enough.
Finally, the trembles spreading to his arms, he thinks, Fuck it, and lets go.
Tim shouts, barely raising his hand to muffle it in time. Jason’s not so lucky. He shrieks, gripping the wheel so tightly it creaks. He’s so— He doesn’t think he’s ever been so fucking full in his life. His cunt twitches, spasms, trying to adjust around the hard, pulsing length spearing him open. Tim lays a hand on Jason’s belly and presses, guiding him back to rest against his chest. Tim is barely able to hook his chin over Jason’s shoulder.
He doesn’t move his hand. He keeps pressing instead, making that feeling of fullness grow until Jason twitches, moaning weakly.
Tim laughs low in his ear. “Too much?” he asks, rubbing slow circles against his abdomen. (Over his womb, Jason thinks, and clenches around Tim’s cock again.) “Too bad. You shouldn’t have been such a greedy cockslut.”
He whines.
“Shh,” Tim hushes him. He presses two fingers against Jason’s lips. Jason doesn’t hesitate to swallow them. “There you go.” Maybe later he’ll be embarrassed by how quickly having something to suck on soothes him, but right now he just lets it happen.
Slowly, his body opens to Tim; his passage re-learning the shape of his cock, the way they fit together. Kon is watching them openly, having pushed the passenger seat until it was folded forward as far as it could go. When he notices Jason looking at him, he offers his hand. Jason tangles their fingers together.
“Want me to rub his cock?” Kon offers.
“When I start moving,” Tim agrees.
Kon kisses his hand, right over the ring on his thumb.
Tim, the asshole, doesn’t wait until he’s fully ready to start moving. It doesn’t hurt, but Jason would have been content to sit a little longer, basking. Not that he’s going to complain. Not when Tim knows just how to angle his hips, even like this—and definitely not when Kon envelops his cock with his TTK.
The touch is light at first; moving in gentle circles around the base of it, teasing him until he squeezes Kon’s hand and begs, “Please.” Then it starts to pump, stroking him from root to tip, focusing most of the sensation on the underside. Jason’s head tips back, Tim’s fingers slipping from between his mouth. It’s just as well. He can’t close it anymore—it hangs open, slack, low, broken moans escaping his ruined throat.
Tim’s hand wraps around it; fingers still wet against his skin. He doesn’t squeeze. Just rests it there, his other hand on Jason’s belly. Claiming. Possessive as he rocks up into him, grinding against that spot somewhere deep inside him.
His thighs shake. He’s not going to last long like this. He tries to warn them, but all that comes out is a low, strangled sound.
“I know,” Tim tells him, lips against his neck. “Come whenever you want. But I’m not going to stop until I do.”
He nods, and Tim kisses him—then sucks a bruise there, in the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Then he trails his hand up his belly to his chest. He cups his pec, squeezing it, rolling it in his hand. Then he pinches his nipple, tugging it the way Kon had earlier. He holds it longer. 1—2—3—4—5— and as soon as he lets go, he sinks his teeth into Jason’s shoulder. At the same time, Kon does… something… with his TTK and—
Jason comes open-mouthed and gasping.
As promised, Tim doesn’t stop. He fucks him through it. Kon keeps stroking his dick, too, and between the two of them they prolong his orgasm for what feels like forever before it stops. His dick is throbbing somehow worse than before. He can feel every beat of his racing heart between his legs, even after Kon stops touching him.
Tim is still going. Every drag of his cock has Jason shivering. His nerves feel like they’re on fire. It’s awful. It’s perfect. Especially when Tim slows down, his thrusts turning harder, making Jason clench and shudder. With that slow, maddening, wonderful pace, he wrings a second orgasm out of Jason before—finally—he spills inside him.
This time it’s Kon who murmurs, “Good boy.” He kisses the back of Jason’s hand again.
“Rest now,” Tim mumbles, his hand fumbling until it finds theirs’. With the ease of practice, Kon and Jason part their palms, capturing Tim’s hand between them. His fingers wind around Jason’s wrist to anchor him there, and then, so conjoined, they rest them on the center console. Together.
Outside, behind Lookout Point, the sun burns, painting them in gold.
