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“Drake,” Damian shouted, chasing after the other, running circles in the cave much to Bruce’s irritation.
“I wasn’t sabotaging you, Damian,” Tim answers, tapping away on the screen the device on his wrist something. What it is is a mystery for Bruce and he briefly wonders if it’s something that he should be worried about.
“Then I demand to know the cause of you following me around during patrol today!”
Tim rolled his eyes with no hint of modesty. It made Bruce sigh internally, less is enough to tick Damian let alone a direct display of annoyance.
“I wasn’t—”
Between one moment to the other, while Bruce filled in a report for the night he had managed to lose track of the discussion, only having his attention back to them the moment it escalated.
“Boys,” Bruce reprimanded, voice as stern as he could without prying his eyes off the batcomputer’s monitor.
“Bruce,” Jason said, annoyance was present in his voice, entering Bruce’s vision at the corner of his eye, “Did you meddle with my helmet again?”
Bruce opened his mouth to reply, a negative on the tip of his tongue before commotion from the other boys beating him to it—
Damian is rushing behind Tim, who’s raising his wrist to avoid Damian from interfering with whatever he’s doing with it.
Jason is at the wrong place at the worst moment.
Damian raises his leg in a purposeful kick to Tim’s stomach, except Tim jumps out of the way, and Jason’s attention is on Bruce to avoid it fully, Jason stumbles back but the kick lands.
Right between his legs.
Jason stares back at Damian incredulously.
Damian stares back just the same. The kick landed too softly, and Jason wasn’t writhing in pain. Tim is frozen to the side, waiting for the bomb to explode.
Jason slowly looks down at Damian’s boot. Pink dust spread over the sole of his boot, now smeared and some of the dusty material falling to the floor innocently.
“Damian,” Jason says slowly, “Was…was that Ivy’s pollen?”
Bruce’s eyes widen, he jumps from his seat, to go to Jason’s side who had paralyzed as he understood the situation.
“Let’s go to the showers,” Bruce said, taking Jason’s arm and leading him to the decontamination chambers, a thing the other boys should have done as soon as they arrived at the batcave, Bruce thinks bitterly.
For once, Jason doesn’t say anything and silently follows Bruce, stance stiff and moving mechanically.
Then Jason speaks, with a trembling voice, a faux blasé attitude shining through in a way that Bruce had forgotten. Flashes of a younger Jason babbling away in a strained voice to avoid the elephant in the room invaded his brain. It was melancholy that accompanied the memories, Jason never let himself be exposed to his discomfort in a way he couldn’t control if he could.
Jason would rather pull the strings himself and deliberately torment Bruce if he could. Sex seemed to be the exception here. Jason, like Bruce himself and his siblings, had learned to metabolize any concoction through their body as fast as they could. It was a challenge even, to be able to walk it off and hunt down the rogue who caused it in the first place.
In the privacy of the batcave, and with the villain taken care of, about an intimate, sexual reaction like Ivy’s pollen could recreate, the circumstances changed.
Bruce wasn’t ignorant about the things an innocent child could experience alone in the streets as Jason once had been, much deservedly of the shame, Bruce had let the topic hover whenever Jason would lash out about any topic regarding assault or sexual violence, when he’d hide the shrink in his own little frame whenever a goon made a dirty remark about his small shorts or the shameless guests in the few galas Bruce let him attend. The obscure letters Jason wrote, dedicated to Bruce and speaking about his own desires and feelings, hidden under his bed’s mattress.
Bruce never brought it up, never encouraged or soothed Jason about it.
Like then, he doesn’t say anything as he lets go of Jason’s hand in front of one of the chambers.
“You remember how they work, don’t you?” Bruce says, instead of voicing the many worries infesting his chest.
“Yeah,” Jason says, jaw tight and voice strained “It’s been a few weeks since I used it, old man,” Jason reminds him with an odd chirp at the end of his voice.
“Alright,” Bruce says, brown knitting together, “I’ll give you some privacy then.”
“Wait!” Jason says.
It’s sudden and unexpected, and he doesn’t know how much surprise slips in his face when he turns, but Jason’s mouth thins into a line.
“I uh…”
“It won’t hurt.” Bruce says, “With how used your metabolism is used to it you won’t suffer from anything serious, nor will she control you.” Bruce reassures.
Jason purses his lips, biting into them until they’re white, in his hesitation Bruce has the irrational need to snap at him to hurry up and initiate the cleaning sequence, he can’t stand the thought of the situation worsening and causing Jason any more discomfort than he’ll already have to endure, if he could do something about it. He holds himself from speaking until Jason does.
“Could you stay?” Jason blurts, voice tight and like it pains him to say it.
Bruce pauses, blinks. A quick intake of air is sipped into his lungs so fast it almost hurts.
“You have to undress.” Bruce reminds. The crystal clear door of the shower would leave nothing to the imagination.
“I know,” Jason says, his breathing has quickened just the slightest, his pupils dilated. It doesn’t escape him, it makes him tighten his fists until they’re shaking. “Turn around?”
Bruce swallows thickly, afraid for a moment it’s audible. He turns. Almost immediately, he hears the rustle of Jason’s heavy clothes being discarded.
“At least I was still wearing the cup,” Jason says, his voice sounds like it comes from lower as if he was bending over or crouching.
“Hn.” Bruce says in acknowledgement, unable to say anything else.
The sound of the shower starts.
Jason hisses and Bruce almost makes the mistake of fully turning around. He catches a glimpse of his son’s bare body.
“Did you check the temperature before turning it?” Bruce snaps, harsher than he meant to.
“Yes,” Jason breathes out, “It’s hot.”
Bruce has to swallow again, his mouth is filled with saliva.
He shifts in place, his own armor feels hot.
“Bruce,” Jason calls.
And Bruce has to look up, breathing heavy and slow before answering.
“Bruce,” Jason says again, a tiny shake and whine in his voice.
“What?” Bruce says, quiet and defeated.
“I uh… I think it already seeped into my skin,” Jason says.
Bruce opens his mouth, unsticking his lips before talking.
“How do you feel?” he says quietly.
Jason doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t hear a sound coming from him apart from the blood rushing in his ears, and again, he makes the mistake of turning around.
Bruce doesn’t know how he managed not to hear him, Jason is openly panting, uncovered chest heaving with the pattern of his breathing, his arms on his front and fully leaning his weight on the plastered palms into the glass door. Wet hair sticking into his forehead and cheeks, it looks curlier when wet, but Bruce already knew that.
He keeps his eyes firmly attached to Jason’s upper body, the steam is doing him a favor and it’s keeping some modesty on Jason’s behalf but not by a lot.
“Dad… it hurts.”
Bruce startles, the word, the— it hurts. It shouldn’t hurt.
“What do you mean it hurts?”
Again, Jason doesn’t respond, but he keeps panting and his eyes, now fully submerged into his own daze, look entirely black.
“Jason,” Bruce presses, his chest coiling tight.
“Inside,” Jason whimpers.
Bruce’s racing thoughts pause, did the pollen get inside? Into Jason?
“Should I— Should I clean inside too?” Jason says breathlessly.
Bruce knows that wouldn’t be safe.
“No,” Bruce says, quietly. Silent but with acceptance thrumming inside his skin. “No, that…wouldn’t be right.”
Jason breathing fills the silence once more.
Then a loud whine makes Bruce forcefully come back to himself.
“It fucking hurts,” Jason cries.
It shouldn’t hurt.
Bruce is a direct witness of Jason turning, taking a showerhead seated to the internal side of the chamber. It makes Bruce react quickly, he deactivates the sliding door, slipping inside and water spraying onto him as well in the process. He takes Jason’s wrist and keeps it from moving.
“Don’t.”
“Why the fuck not?” Jason growls in his face.
“The best course of action is letting your PH handle it on its own, do not get water inside. You know there’s disinfectant and antibiotics and more in this water!”
The chide makes Jason stop struggling, he swallows, and his blown eyes track Bruce’s face unabashedly, focusing on his eyes to then land on his lips. One of Jason’s hands had ended up in Bruce’s bicep, the boy squeezes experimentally on the tense muscle.
“Jason,” Bruce warns gently.
“Why don’t you help me ride it out, huh?” Jason says heavily, his breath damp and hot against Bruce’s skin.
Bruce leans back just the slightest.
“It’d work wouldn’t it?” Jason says, “The wetter I get—”
“Enough.” Bruce snarls.
It makes Jason’s mouth snap shut. Some clarity comes back to his eyes, slowly but eventually he lets go of Bruce’s arms, stumbling back in his haste. Bruce’s arms feel cold and bruised in the absence of the touch, he didn’t think Jason had gripped him that hard.
“I…I should go.”
Bruce doesn’t answer, not for a moment. Then…
“There’s a change of clothes for you in your locker.”
Jason takes about three seconds to move, his naked and damp body walks out of the chamber, steps clumsy and uncoordinated while Bruce’s own feet are bolted to the spot.
It’s not until Jason is out of hearing range does he move. A sudden spike of frustration escapes from him, his fist lands on one of the cave’s walls, particles of the rock bedding fall beside his fist.
He didn’t even bother to hand his son a clean towel, he recriminates himself in his self hatred.
…
He gives Jason some moments of privacy before he follows him, they’re the only ones left in the cave, the rest must have decided the day concluded.
Jason is dressed, sans his signature leather jacket; jeans and a simple t-shirt, walking measuredly towards his bike.
“Jason,” Bruce calls.
Jason looks up as he settles onto his bike’s seat.
“You forgot your helmet.” Bruce says as he hands it to him. A clean one, one of the many spare pieces Bruce has in the cave. An important thing for Jason to have when he’s out on his bike, for the safety of his integrity, his identity and the vital fact that it’s essentially the key to his vehicle.
Jason looks at him, a haze remaining in his eyes. He takes the helmet with trembling hands and dutifully puts it on, perhaps only managing so with pure muscle memory. Bruce frowns as he observes Jason’s movements as he gets ready to leave.
Jason’s right hand moves over to start the motorcycle, the engine purrs pleasantly, a smooth sound of a healthy motor. But Jason’s hips jump and the sound he makes inside the helmet due the stimulating vibration sounds hunting and pitiful despite his distortioner.
“Alright,” Bruce says, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
…
Jason is silent during the ride, and Bruce is both thankful and uneasy about it. The boy is subtly squirming in place, pressing his thighs together and leaving deep sighs every few seconds.
Surprisingly, Bruce is the one to break the silence.
“If the pain bears too much,” he says, “I have some pain killers in my belt.”
Jason is looking outside the tinted window. Bruce’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter, wondering if Jason was hurt by the rejection from before and giving him the silent treatment in response, one of Jason’s preferred methods to torment him if not the most peaceful one.
“It’s not… It’s not that type of pain, B.” Jason says through gritted teeth, not looking at him.
He thinks he knows what Jason means.
“Cramping?” Bruce blurts out.
Jason does turn this time. “I’m not menstruating, Bruce.” He snaps.
The blunt way he says it makes Bruce shift slightly.
“Or ovulating for that matter,” Jason says.
Silence.
“...Probably.”
A few seconds pass.
“If you have someone in mind you’d want to—”
“I’m not spending the night with someone while I’m drugged on Ivy’s crap.” Jason growls, “Shit’s embarrassing enough,” he says, quieter, crossing his arms over his chest in defense.
Bruce doesn’t know why he asks, “Then why did you—” then he thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut, it’s too late now though.
“I’m still high,” Jason hisses, “Don’t nag me on this.”
Bruce doesn’t.
They’re heading to one of Jason’s civil apartments, if they can really call them as such. It wasn’t a spontaneous choice, if Jason had less access to his Red Hood equipment it was more likely he’d choose to take more time to recover. Which is something Bruce would have him rather do.
Less didn’t mean zero, Bruce knew this as he had Jason’s zoned self type out the code to enter.
Jason looks at him quizzically, it takes an embarrassingly long moment for Bruce to realize it’s because he closed the door behind himself after he entered Jason’s apartment.
“Whatever,” Jason says, “Make yourself at home I guess,” He snides before he makes way inside.
Bruce follows him with his gaze, unable to tear his eyes from the uncertain movement of Jason’s legs. He squeezes his fists shut, he doesn’t know why he’s there. It was one thing to offer to get Jason home, the boy wasn’t in his right mind.
Why is he there still?
He’s brought out of his mind when he catches something Jason threw at him.
He looks down. He looks at Jason with a question in his eyes.
“What?” Jason says, “That badly not a beer guy?”
Bruce figures, if Jason was about to get drunk to deal with this, he’d have to stay to make sure the boy didn’t do something he’d regret in the morning.
It wasn’t often Jason would drink, not in Bruce’s presence but the boy was always more inclined to take a swing at a bottle of liquor over taking anything from the many cabinets in the batcave, when any of them needed the painkillers thought, a sip of alcohol would barely do a thing.
“It numbs me down,” Jason had explained when Bruce inquired about the topic.
Rationally, Bruce knows the way Jason is downing cans of beers one right after the other had its reason, it’s still worrying for him. It didn’t matter how much endurance his son had against alcohol.
“Slow down, Jase,” Bruce said. His own can lukewarm from the warmth of his hand.
Jason turns to look at him.
“Believe me,” he says, “I’m going to need this.”
Jason’s fidgeting lessens as time passes, his body relaxes despite Bruce’s presence, and something eases within Bruce as well.
Both of their gazes are nailed forward, none of them speaks as Jason drinks his own weight in alcohol. But Bruce’s patience runs thin, Jason has the particular trait of making it spill like sand between his fingers.
His hand catches Jason’s wrist, can tilted towards his mouth, a bit of the liquid running down Jason’s chin.
“I know you can manage your alcohol,” Bruce says, “But have some consideration.”
“Consideration?” Jason says, a pull at the corner of his mouth with a mirthless grin, “If you can’t help me out then I can cope with it how I see fit.”
“You want me to help you out,” he says, “By having sex with you?”
Jason’s eyes swipe over Bruce’s face, desire flashing through for less than a second.
“That’d be it, yeah.”
“You’re my son.” Bruce says, and it pains him to say it.
It pains him that he’s bringing up the fact at the face of such a situation.
Jason’s eyebrows knit together, his frustration and confusion is plain. Anything Jason is feeling always shows in his face. Bruce had forgotten how relieved he was by Jason’s Red Hood sometimes.
When Jason speaks his volume is barely above a whisper.
“So?”
“Jason…I can't touch you.”
“I want you to, I need you to, please.”
Bruce breathes in. Slow and steady, a practiced thing to wrestle down the amalgamation of conflict he feels within, it’s not unlike the same desire he has felt for people no good for him or the satisfaction that has painted red the streets of Gotham since Bruce’s soul begged for justice, and it’s a terrifying thought.
Jason should never have to deal with Bruce’s inner demons more than he already has to, more than he has to by being associated with him. He didn’t wish to pull anyone down with him.
But he’s a selfish man.
Bruce leans back.
“Come here.”
Jason looks unblinking at him for a moment, then to Bruce's slight surprise Jason scrambles to obey, when he's close enough Bruce's hands circle around his waist, hoisting him up his lap. Jason is quick to rub himself against him, insistent and desperate. And to Bruce's chagrin, his cock twitches in his pants.
“Spread your legs.” He commands.
It’s a wonder how easily Jason complies, it’s always push and pull with him but then he simply does, leaning his back against him right after.
“What…what are you going to…?” Jason asks, tentative.
Bruce shushes him, “I'll take care of it, alright?”
Jason nods minutely, relaxing his frame against him. Bruce takes one hand between Jason's legs, his hips buck up at the minimal contact. The boy curses and hisses.
“It's okay,” Bruce reassures, unbuttoning Jason's jeans and slipping his hand in his underwear, then wiggles his way past the bush of hair and gets in contact with the sticky mess coming out of Jason's hole.
Jason moans, loud and short. Probably without meaning to.
Jason's clit is erect and moist, it's not difficult to stimulate the little bundle of nerves. Bruce rubs tiny circles on him, soon Jason's moans slip freely, hips thrusting up to meet his touch.
“Ah…” Jason sighs, again and again with each touch. “B, please— put them inside…! It hurts inside.”
Bruce frowns, that's been bothering him, this time he complies, he dips his middle finger gently into Jason's lubricated hole. Jason's thighs shudder and try to close in response in a single, aborted movement, only stopped by Bruce's left hand.
“Please, please, please…!” Jason whimpers nonsensically until Bruce is pumping his ring and middle finger into his pussy, rubbing at the spongy front on his inner walls until he feels Jason gushing freely onto his fingers.
Jason’s walls are incredibly swollen inside, his pussy clenches around Bruce's digits with a vice grip. Bruce's cock pulses inside his pants.
The noises are lewd and lascivious, loud squelches, audible even past the thick fabric of Jason's jeans. It can't be comfortable for Jason, Bruce thinks, the restrain. Before he can fix his mistake Jason startles when he tries to remove his hand, “No! Don't stop, please!” His son cries out.
“I was only going to take your pants off, Jase,” Bruce tells him gently, easing his boy off him.
Jason moves clumsy and uncoordinated, hurrying to undress, it's honestly a sorry sight, one that perhaps misplacedly, Bruce wants to savor for himself as much as he could. Having his boy so dependent on him, so desperate to be touched by him makes something dark burn in the deepest parts of Bruce, the ones he likes buried.
He's hardly gentle when he pulls Jason's half naked body towards himself again, a hunger within him dropping to worrying levels. His fingers enter Jason once again, and instead of the steady pace from before, he fingerfucks Jason's cunt vicious and quick, aggressive and eager, hitting his sweet spot without mercy until Jason's fluids are flying onto the carpet and staining the coffee table and TV screen. Jason screams, his hands latching to Bruce's arms in a desperate way, all animal and unthinking. Just needing.
It's enough, Bruce tells himself, after expelling so much cum Jason will surely feel sated and any pollen that might have gotten into him will have come out already.
But Bruce can't stop.
“Jay,” Bruce calls, almost breathlessly himself, “Can you keep going?”
“Huh?” Jason says, dumb with the aftershocks of his orgasms, his hole is still closing and loosening around Bruce's fingers as he comes back around himself.
Bruce's fingers ease out of him, slick with his pussy juice. Jason groans weakly in response. His body shaking and trembling atop Bruce's.
Jason just orgasmed, Bruce reminds himself sternly. He was in contact with Poison Ivy’s pollen, he really shouldn't—
His thoughts are interrupted by Jason's hips moving again, this time his ass directly rubbing against the tent of Bruce's pants.
“Again?” Jason prompts with a teasing voice, as breathless as he is, the curve of his ass provoking.
Bruce's hands take Jason's hips once again, turning him over so the boy is facing him. Jason's hands land on Bruce's shoulders. He looks mesmerizing, all fucked out and beautiful, face flushed and red.
His slick crotch humps over Bruce's hard cock.
“Tell me to stop,” Bruce says, almost pleading.
Jason shakes his head, then quietly, “Please don't.” Jason begs, “I want to feel you inside,” he breathes out, desperate, as if he was confessing a dirty secret.
He holds Jason's body closer, a warm and steady presence. Then almost as though it pains him, he frees his throbbing cock, Jason aligns his hips to his, chasing and eager, so much in fact Bruce has to hold him still to slide the head of his cock into his slippery hole.
“Oh” Jason exclaims, a long and throaty noise, throwing his head back, exposing his neck, vulnerable for the predator Bruce feels at the moment.
Jason's hole is tight and warm, slick and heavenly.
It's not until Bruce's hips buck up to chase his pleasure, to fully enter Jason's cunt that Jason jumps away from the intrusion.
“Dad! Too big!”
Bruce stops, “Does it hurt?” He asks, he thought he had loosened Jason enough with his fingers before, and the boy wasn't complaining then.
“No,” Jason whines, his forehead resting on Bruce's shoulder “It's too much, I feel like I'm gonna come again.”
Bruce doesn't move, but Jason's hips tentatively sway in shy circles, the teasing rim of his hole massages his tip in a delicious way, clenching in maddening increments, warming his cock in the best of ways.
He grabs Jason's hips, and slowly impales him further into his cock.
Jason's head flies up, his mouth a perfect circle with a noiseless cry. Bruce's cock had tapped into the limit of his passage. His cunt tight and perfect.
“Bruce—”
But Bruce cannot stop, not after Jason said that.
He brings his son's hips up and down fucking up into his squelching hole, kissing at his cervix with one poweful trust. Jason whines and wails, arms wrapped Bruce's shoulders firmly as he comes undone around him. Cunt gushing and spasming around him.
It's exhilarating, how much of a mess he can turn Jason into.
Jason’s cunt trembles, squeezing him tight with a strength that makes Bruce grunt and sigh with pleasure, Jason’s thighs are quivering besides his, he’s openly panting in short, quick breaths beside Bruce’s face. His arms clinging to Bruce like a scared child.
“B–Bruce…” Jason says, voice incoherent and dumb.
“Want me to finish inside?” Bruce growls.
Words are beyond Jason’s capacity as it is, but he nods frantically besides him.
Poison Ivy’s pollen was too acidic, getting Jason pregnant is not something to worry about considering the substance essentially acted as a spermicide. It’s not like Ivy wanted mankind spreading any more.
Bruce doesn’t think he’d have been able to stop himself either way.
His boy makes a broken sound when he lifts his hips once again, his pussy lips gripping around Bruce’s girth as he pushes Jason up to bring him back once again, gravity doing his work and making Jason drop onto his cock with an undignified cry.
“Too much!” Jason cries again.
This time, Bruce’s hands go down, supporting Jason’s ass, fully controlling the pace at which his son is impaled by his cock.
“Good boy,” Bruce says, “I got you.”
Jason whines weakly, but his arms tighten around Bruce's neck. It's trust, Bruce realizes. The notion is for Bruce as overwhelming as Jason must be feeling.
He takes Jason's ass and moves him up and down, angling his hips to stimulate all of Jason's sensitive spots. For his hole to truly feel him inside. Jason mewls. Nails digging into Bruce's shoulder blades.
“Feels…! So…! Good…! Daddy…!” Jason moans, hazed and silly. Each word punched out of his hoarse throat with his every thrust.
He quickens his pace, unable to keep his own pleasure as a second thought any longer. Jason's noises change immediately, growing more high pitched and desperate as Bruce fucked into his sweet little hole.
Moans turns into wails, wails into sobs and then Bruce finally feels the heat in his pelvis release, his balls draw tight and with a growl he unloads his cum into Jason's welcoming pussy.
When Bruce comes down to himself, he has Jason fully seated on his cock, he's still pulsing and spurting cum into his baby. His son is shaking and whining, sobbing lightly, legs crossed around Bruce's waist as much as the little space allows him to. Two grown men seating the way they are isn't exactly conventional.
With his cock still being assaulted by Jason's tight grip and becoming oversensitive, he lightly nudges Jason to raise off of him.
But Jason's legs and arms wrap impossibly tighter around him.
“Jase—”
“Wait,” Jason sobs, “Can't we stay like this some more?” Jason says, voice a wreck and painfully vulnerable.
Bruce wants to ask if Jason still feels the symptoms of the pollen, if he's in pain or emotionally unwell. But he figures, if Jason wants him to know, only then, he must tell him.
“Okay.” Bruce says, a thumb wiping clean one of Jason’s spilled tears and the drool falling from the corner of his mouth, Bruce leans back and hugs his son back like he hasn't for a long time.