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“Daddy!”
The word was whispered against his ear, momentarily knocking something—sense, maybe—inside his brain, and it made Dick pull away from Jason.
In the low light of the cave, the hood of the Batmobile badly reflected his image, and Dick could only see his silhouette, the ears of the cowl the one thing that made him sure that it was his reflection.
Maybe he should put a stop to this—
Beneath, Jason was lying on his back. His chest and neck had a collection of red marks, some a deeper shade than others, some that Dick knew would bruise—prettily, he was sure of that—that made an ugly thing burn inside him.
His brother’s legs were spread open, and Dick watched the place where his fingers still disappeared into Jason. He’d stopped moving them, like that would somehow take back the last ten minutes.
Dick stood there, for a moment, frozen, just taking in the image, ignoring the thoughts that tried to be louder—even if he stopped now, he knew that he’d get off to this image countless times in the future.
Jason moved, planting his feet on the hood and moving, fucking himself on Dick’s fingers. “Come on,” he urged, clenching and taking Dick’s breath away with just the idea of how he’d feel around his cock. “Fuck me already.”
Ignoring that, Dick went back to thrusting his fingers into Jason, intent on making him go back to wordless moans and cries.
He still could stop it, he just needed to think—
Maybe it was already too late, even. That Jason would know where in the cave they kept lube—for incredibly unsexy uses—was one thing, but Dick should have stopped things when he realized that Jason knew his way around the clasps and zippers of the Batsuit to undo just a specific part of it.
Well, that was a lie. He should have stopped when Jason told him not to remove the cowl when they first kissed, when Jason’s hands touched the surface of it with reverence, and his eyes were closed, as if he were trying to commit it to memory…
Or as if he were comparing it to a memory. Maybe reliving one.
Dick had at first attributed the gesture to Jason’s peculiarities, to his obsession of becoming Batman, surpassing the original one—as if any of them, much less Jason, could ever live up to Bruce.
It figured that Jason would be fucked up like that about the Batsuit. Maybe it was a whole thing of tarnishing it, dancing upon Bruce’s metaphorical grave if he couldn’t do it over Batman’s. Who knew what went on in Jason’s mind—and it wasn’t like Dick even cared that much, beyond knowing how it could be a threat or something to use in his favor. But now… he wasn’t sure anymore, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be sure about anything.
A better person would’ve stopped there and then, and Dick didn’t want to put a name to whatever it meant that stopping had been the last thing on his mind the moment the tension between him and Jason had broken in their fight—the way he’d had Jason pinned with a look for one second of advantage had felt so intoxicating, that he couldn’t have stopped.
He hadn’t stopped then, and he didn’t stop now, not with Jason’s flushed cheeks reminding him just how alive his brother was, not when he was taking his fingers so well, and asking for it—begging for more.
Later, once jealousy wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, he would wonder just when Jason and Bruce had started fucking, and he would ask himself if there was even a small silver lining to the fact that Bruce was gone, but now… now he just reveled in the heat of Jason’s body, and worries about making Jason forget everything about Bruce.
(He’d never ask Jason those questions, and he’d do his best not to ask himself those things.)
Dick didn’t stop, didn’t back away from Jason, even though the same thing that had made him pause still protested at the latest word Jason had spoken—a “Daddy” that had been breathed against his ear, so quiet and, yet, at the same time, something like a shout, the furious battle cry of a ravenous thing that came to annihilate Dick’s worldview.
He felt equally appalled and turned on—but not because he wanted to hear that same thing directed at him, no. He wouldn’t call it jealousy, but Jason had tried to get his attention, and now he had it, it was only fair that he fucking stopped thinking of Bruce.
God, maybe Dick was making a whole thing out of nothing. It was just a word, and it was something that some people liked during sex, it didn’t have to mean anything in particular. Maybe it wasn’t about Bruce for Jason, maybe he called everyone that in bed, and Dick didn’t like it simply because it wasn’t his thing…
He’d been purposefully not focusing on Jason’s prostate, but the idea that at any time Jason could utter that word again compelled him to simply make his brother too senseless to put together a thought, much less speak. He sped up his movements, brushing over Jason’s prostate every so often, but without any rhythm that could make him guess a pattern. The effect was what he wanted: Jason opened his mouth in a soundless cry. Dick breathed heavily and pushed his cock against Jason’s thigh, the blessed friction both clearing his mind and making him want to bury his cock inside Jason even more. A part of his mind was already planning things, for if this happened again, while another one told him that he wouldn’t get another opportunity, and that he should make it linger, if only to torment Jason, if only because they weren’t fighting now.
This was just the situation talking, but that Jason was so enthusiastic about fucking, even thought he was always fighting them—fighting Dick—got to him.
Dick pulled his fingers out and stroked Jason’s cock, smiling as he squirmed in place with the unexpected touch. If things were good, maybe he could have it—this moment when they weren’t fighting.
Jason arched his throat in an offering and exposed a scar on the side of it.
It had to have been a serious injury, that one, and seeing it up close made an old feeling of protectiveness flare inside Dick. He’d thought he couldn’t feel that for Jay anymore.
Dick leaned down and kissed Jason’s jaw, then his neck, alternating kisses with scrapes of his teeth over the red bites he’d left there before. Then, he focused on that scar, and it was such a Jason thing that Dick could feel his brother’s pulse beneath a scar like that on his neck. Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate thing to call him a survivor, not when for a while he’d only existed in Dick’s hallucinations, but Dick didn’t know what else to call him.
For his part, Jason tensed beneath him, and his hands went from where they were splayed over the Batmobile, to press against Dick’s chest. He couldn’t feel it, over the layer of kevlar, but he knew Jason’s hands would be over the Batsymbol.
That wouldn’t do. Maybe this wasn’t about Bruce, maybe it was about Batman, but he wouldn’t further indulge Jason. Dick pulled away abruptly and removed the cowl. Jason made an unhappy little noise, and Dick hoped it was about the loss of stimulation rather than seeing his face. The wild, raging thing inside him flared again. Maybe before that would have been the final straw that would have made him stop everything, but now it only pushed him further. So what if this was about Batman, or even about Bruce, to Jason? Dick could deal with that—would deal with that, and he was past denying that the idea of it didn’t make his aching cock twitch.
Dick should have probably put on a condom instead of looking down at Jason and asking, “did he fuck you raw?” and not waiting for a response before pushing in, but it was a bunch of things coming together: the batsuit that felt too much like a prison and a second skin, Jason seeming to be more interested in some sort of twisted role-play, and the weight of it all.
He groaned as Jason opened around him, and it felt like the purest form of relief. In that moment, it was just that, the tight heat of Jason, and need. It didn’t last, though, not when his mind went back to thinking that he should have stopped before it wasn’t an option anymore. Only, he wasn’t sure what had been the point of no return. Bruce was gone, but his shadow was still a looming shadow over Dick, even—or perhaps especially—here and now. He knew he couldn’t really escape it, that becoming that same shadow instead was the best form of control.
He could be Batman—he would do it, and somehow the wires had got crossed, and he needed Jason to want him —Dick Grayson, not whatever facet of the man who was their mentor, and their father, and their bane he was seeing in him.
“Are you going to fuck me, or are you going to get lost in your head?” Jason’s mouth was curled down in annoyance, and somehow the casual expression on his face looked absurd and out of place. “What is it now? The guilt of it all, the shame?”
Maybe he should have stayed with the cowl on, though something in Jason’s words made Dick uneasy and told him that it would have been useless.
He didn’t want to think about Bruce fucking Jason, for reasons that were completely right, heroic even, but most of all he hated the thought that Bruce had done it first. Jason had been Robin, and that was Dick’s name, and it made him his. Now this was only another thing to get mad at a dead man. Except that wouldn’t have happened if Jason hadn’t provoked him and got them into this situation.
“Who am I, Jason?” Dick asked, pulling out most of his cock out, leaving just the head inside, before thrusting harshly, jostling Jason’s body. “What did you call me when you were pretending to be me in New York?”
Jason didn’t reply. Instead, he crossed his legs at Dick’s back, locking them together.
Dick moved on instinct, and it was the only reason he did it at all, without worrying that his action might lead back to a fight. He fisted his hand into Jason’s hair and shook his head—not violently, but with enough force that he knew Jason would feel a sharp pain in his scalp.
“Are you thinking about him?” When Jason didn’t reply, he pulled a little on his hair again. The reaction was instantaneous: Jason whined and moved his head in the other direction, as if chasing more of the hurt, and Dick had to strengthen his grip on those curls. Jason moaned, pushing his hips against Dick and meeting his thrusts. “I’ll ask again, are you thinking about him? Well, he’s not here,” and that hurt, burned something fierce, but it was also good to see the effect it had on Jason: the hitch of his breath, the way he blinked quickly and that did nothing to stop his eyes from going all shiny with whatever emotion it was that Jason had for Bruce. “What did you call him when you two did this? Bat? Bruce? Was he the one who told you to call him—that?”
Dick panted when Jason clenched around him. He pressed one of his hands against Jason’s hip, while with the other, he pulled on Jason’s hair again just as he thrust deeply again, his legs making an obscene noise against Jason’s ass. He hadn’t counted on Jason liking the rough treatment, but the way he groaned when Dick pulled at his hair was intoxicating, and Dick hated that the idea of dishing out pain wasn’t abhorrent enough to stop him from backhanding Jason, who still wouldn’t answer, or to make his cock not twitch when he stared at Jason’s reddening face.
Maybe Bruce had broken all of them, because Jason also seemed to enjoy it, or maybe, from the way he was smiling, he just enjoyed knowing how far Dick was falling.
“He’s not here. I am here,” Dick said, unable to articulate everything he had thought about on that subject. Why hadn’t Jason gone to him when he’d come back? Maybe Dick would have succeeded where Bruce had failed, maybe Jason wouldn’t be a lost cause, then. “Do you get that?”
“Well,” Jason said, “I was his biggest critic, but you’re not doing a good job of it, I have to say he was better at it.”
Dick had just enough of his wits to not let his hands wander around Jason’s neck. With the way his brother seemed to allow Dick to treat him, he might have let himself be choked to death. He grabbed Jason’s hips with both his hands and pulled him until half his ass was off the hood of the car. Then he let his grip slide to the back of Jason’s thighs and raised them in the air, and then pressed them down towards Jason, so he was entirely exposed and the position allowed Dick to go deeper. Somehow, Jason had ended up entirely naked, while Dick was still half clothed in the Batsuit, and the contrast only occurred to him now, and he fucking loved it.
“What did you call him when he was fucking you, hm?”
“D—” Jason stuttered, unable to finish the word, then moaned brokenly when Dick changed his angle and started to fuck him for real. Yeah, maybe that would teach him to stop comparing him to Bruce. “Di—” his voice was rough, and his words a garbled mess.
“Glad you know who’s fucking you right now, Jay, but I. Asked. You. A question,” he drove his hips, relishing in the way Jason gasped in synchrony with the thrusts.
“Dad!” Jason cried out, the word leaving his mouth like it was punched out of him. The realization that Jason hadn’t been trying to say his name also felt like a punch.
Dick tightened his grip on the back of Jason’s thighs, as if that somehow could undo what was happening. If not because of anything else, then this should have made him stop. It was so, so wrong, but the hunger and the need supplanted his awareness of that. He knew only two things: he needed to come inside Jason, and he needed Jason to see who was there.
Jason squirmed, one hand going to his cock, but Dick batted it away.
“Who am I to you, Jason?” He asked again.
Jason’s eyes fell to his chest, and Dick knew what he would say before he even opened his mouth. “Batman.”
He was, wasn’t he? Not by choice, but by duty. Except that he knew Jason thought he had the right to disapprove of Dick being Batman.
“That’s not it,” Dick said. He chased an angle that had Jason trembling and arching his back, and kept at it. He let go of one of Jason’s legs, which fell over the hood of the car, now unsupported. Then he started to stroke Jason’s cock in time with the fucking, until he could tell Jason was nearing the edge, little tremors wracking over his body, moving his hips in sharp movements, like he didn’t know whether he wanted Dick’s cock deeper in his hole, or to fuck Dick’s fist.
And then he closed his hand on the base of Jason’s cock. The wide-eyed, shocked expression that followed the denial was perhaps his favorite he’d ever seen on Jason’s face. It didn’t last though, with the assault of Dick’s cock. Jason’s mouth opened in a soundless scream, and he thrashed in Dick’s arms.
“You wanted me to be something to you, didn’t you? Call me that, then.”
Jason levelled him what he probably thought counted as a defiant look, but really, it just exposed how overwhelmed and desperate he was. Dick stroked Jason again, once, twice, and then went back to gripping the base of his cock.
They kept that game going for a short while, and with each repetition, Dick could see and savor Jason’s resolve crumbling, dissolving into the need to come. Yeah, he could understand that.
“What am I to you?” Dick tried again.
“Brother, you’re my brother,” Jason panted.
“Big brother,” Dick corrected.
This time, he kept stroking Jason when he saw the telltale signs of his orgasm. A string of moans left his brother’s mouth, and Dick leaned down to swallow those sounds with a kiss. Jason came between them, come splashing on both their bodies and on the Batmobile below. Jason’s ass tightened around Dick, and any grip he had on anything else but the two of them, and the heat around his cock, was gone.
Dick came with Jason repeating “Big Brother” close to his ear over and over again, thrusting into Jason, mindless, like an animal, and then finally emptying himself inside his brother as the world whited out around him. He didn’t know where those thoughts and even the words had come from, but he didn’t care, everything just felt good. Bruce was gone, and he wasn’t there, and Jason was calling for his brother, and it was Dick’s come inside him.
“My little brother,” Dick said, “my Robin.”
Perhaps the Batsuit wasn’t inappropriate for the occasion, after all.
When the high of his orgasm passed, Dick felt dizzy and worn out. He became hyper aware of Jason’s heavy breath beneath him. It wasn’t enough to drown out the worst thoughts he’d been keeping at bay and that had started to shout louder. The second thing he noticed was that his hand was drenched in Jason’s come.
Maybe this made him even more like Bruce, in all the ways that he didn’t want to be like the man, and Dick hated it, and yet, at the same time, there was a wild thing that felt maybe satiated in the knowledge.
If any of it was real, even. Now that his mind was clearer, he could think better about things. He knew Bruce very well, better than anyone else, and he would have known if anything between Jason and Bruce had happened. Of course it hadn’t.
Maybe it had never been about Bruce, except for Jason. Maybe it was all a lie—Jason would be the one to have that sort of fantasies, wouldn’t he? He’d just come while calling Dick his brother, and yeah, maybe it hadn’t been a one-sided thing on that front, but still… it wasn’t like he had stood his ground and refused to do it.
Because Bruce wouldn’t—especially not before Jason had died, right?
“Did you use to think about Bruce fucking you?” Dick asked, letting go of Jason and wiping his hand on Jason’s leg. He leaned against the car and tried not to think about doing all of this again and purposefully pulling out to come over Jason’s thigh, but couldn’t quite suppress the image of it. “Was that why you did this today, a way to get what you never had? Because I know he wouldn’t have done it—not after you came back, trying to kill him,” he pondered, looking at Jason, “and especially not before. He was a good man.”
Jason looked away, then. His chest trembled with a stuttered breath. He started to cross his arms over his chest but aborted the motion. When he looked at Dick again, whatever emotion he’d wanted to hide was gone.
“Yeah, this was some sort of sick roleplay,” Jason said, sliding down from the hood of the car and standing to pick up his clothes scattered around the floor of the cave. His voice was emotionless in a way it never was. He dressed himself with fast, jerky movements, not even bothering to clean himself first. “You’re like… the best guy cosplaying him around. But that’s just because you knew him for a long time. Doesn’t really mean anything. Like I said, for all my criticisms,” Jason shrugged, “he was the real thing, at least. You don’t even know who you are, and you sure as hell aren’t him.”
Yeah, Dick knew that.