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For all the jokes he’s heard about ‘boy hostage’, Jason did spend quite a bit of his childhood tied up under duress.
Dick always had it worse, of course-- villains used to be campier, back in the day-- dangling the kid sidekick upside down over a boiling vat of water filled with robot sharks, strapping Robin to railroad tracks and cackling over the sound of the train horn, the works. The worst Jason ever got was rope burns from hanging from a factory conveyor too long, and they healed the day after with some calamine. Even still, by the time Jason was sixteen, he could squirm his way out of every sailor’s knot under the sun-- even the ones that Bruce made up on the fly, even ones that Alfred did. No more boy wonder, damsel in duress. No more boy hostage.
But jesus is he out of practice -- 6 feet tall and most of him muscle mass, he’s definitely not as flexible. Waking up chained to the ceiling of a warehouse, front to front with Dick Grayson isn’t exactly his idea of a good time, experienced with this particular sort of tragedy though he might be-- not to mention the jokes. God, the jokes .
Jason’s never gonna live this shit down.
“Fuck,” he starts, angry and groggy from the sucker punch he took to the face with a chair. He can feel the rise and fall of Dick’s chest through his kevlar, warm and solid. He’s not moving, which isn’t great-- Dick never stills, not ever. Jason lets himself speak to fill the silence, to hear his own voice. “When we get out of this, I’m gonna kill you myself.”
Dick doesn’t say anything, so Jason kicks him, rattling their chains. Dick swings with the brunt of it, tutting like an irritated cat.
So he is conscious.
As reality seeps back into him like a head wound, Jason feels the anger return to his gut like fingers pulling out of sleep, sharp and prickly. This job was supposed to be an easy takedown-- Jason’s been planning it for weeks, neat and organized. Dick showed up last minute, caused a scene, blew his cover, and got them stowed away here, some warehouse in the middle of nowhere. “You know something? Next time I tell you to mind your fucking business, mind your fucking business.”
“Not now, Jason.” Dick mutters, but Jason’s already here, already fucking mad, and he’s already chained to the ceiling.
“No, you know what, I had this under control, but you had to be the big hero, like always-- had to get all those rapists and child murderers settled in their little chains to be carried off to jail, making daddy proud. Think he’d be proud now, you self righteous prick?”
“God, will you shut up?” Dick snaps, voice tense in a way that it rarely ever is. Good. “I’m trying to think.”
“Well, by all means, do your thing, boy blunder.” Jason bites back, always just that much harder. “Snap your spine in half and circus us the hell outta here.”
Dick pulls hard against the binds, testing the weight of the chains. Then, he swings forward, using Jason’s chest as a grappling point-- no warning, squeezing both thighs tight around him and pulling himself up to grab ahold of the cuffs. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, given how they’re chained together , and Dick certainly isn’t the lightest person. Still, Jason’s body is used to working like this, working together with someone, as much as he hates it-- when Dick pulls forward, Jason adjusts his movements, following with ease, barely a grunt out of him.
“There’s a corrosion agent in my boot.” Dick says, sliding one thigh up and forward, over Jason’s shoulder to relieve the pressure on his chest. Angled this way, Jason’s got nothing but a full, unashamed, frontal view of Dick’s crotch, and cup or no cup, he’s--
Well, he’s hard, is what he is.
Jason lets out a low whistle of a breath, soft in his throat. Dick full tenses above him, swallowing, and Jason feels it, the forced exhale of relax that runs through him, all the way down to his thighs, to Jason’s shoulders. And-- the thing is, Jason knows he’s staring, staring like he’s fifteen again and trying not to adjust himself in his little green underoos in front of the entire Justice League of America, but it’s not like he can stop.
“Jason.” Dick grinds out, barely audible. “My boot.”
Jason swallows around the dry in his mouth and rocks the both of them forward, shifting up onto the tips of his toes, drawing Dick’s hips just that much closer, one, single breath away from being able to full press his nose, his mouth into the part of Dick’s hip that meets his thigh. After a few embarrassing, blind fumbles, Jason finally manages to grab ahold of it -- a tiny vial of a thing-- handing it up to Dick who is quick to dribble it over the metal of their clasps.
There’s a moment when Jason knows they’re going to fall into a heap, but there’s certainly no way to prepare for it-- for any of this-- the anger, the shock, the hilarity, the blood flowing from his arms straight to his fucking dick. Jason’s back hits the concrete of the warehouse floor, and he just laughs, full and biting, as Dick topples down on top of him, infinitely more graceful. Dick’s fast, but Jason’s got the advantage of surprise, flipping them easily with the full of his weight.
For just a moment, for just a handful of seconds, Dick doesn’t struggle.
“Really?” Jason teases, mean because he can, mean because he wants to be. “After everything, bondage is what gets you all hot and bothered? And here I thought I had a couple doozies up my sleeve.”
“So get off.” He edges, no heat it in-- Dick’s blushing, red spreading pretty behind the outlines of the domino on his face, and Jason could put on this bravado forever, for forever and a day, but there’s no lie in the world that he could tell to convince himself that he doesn’t want to lick a stripe right down Dick’s perfect fucking cheekbone.
So he does.
Dick whines with it, a tense, vibrating thing that sounds like it was ripped out of him. He grabs ahold of Jason’s curls, dragging his head back with a genuine force. “Not here.” He says, voice still coiled tight like a spring, tangled like a string. Jason wants to pull it apart, wants to tear into it with his teeth.
“ Here ,” He insists, pressing a thigh between Dick’s legs, forcing all his weight into the grind against Dick’s cock. This time, Dick moans, full on, and Jason watches every minute stretch of it that pulls over his face, eyes wide behind his own mask. Dick’s got words on his tongue, in his mouth, ready to protest, and maybe he’s fast, but Jason’s got the advantage of-- whatever this is-- confidence, assurance, pent up gay aggression-- so he catches them on his tongue, pressing kisses into Dick’s mouth like a wildfire spreading.
“Take the suit off,” Jason half-slurs against Dick’s mouth, not about to get zapped to hell and back by some bat-induced literal thirst trap Bruce configured into the Nightwing suit. For all his protesting, Dick folds with ease, tugging one of his gloves off with his mouth. It’s-- hot-- hotter than it should be anyway, but there goes another battle between Jason’s pride and his sex drive, watching the blue of the fingerstripes dip between Dick’s teeth.
Woof.
Dick presses the pad of his thumb to the center point of the barely-there utility belt slung across his waist and a wave of energy rolls through the atmosphere, charged. Dick doesn’t leave any time for Jason to wonder about it before he’s making a half-hearted attempt to pull his suit down by the bottom half, one-handed. Jason smacks it away, grabbing ahold of Dick’s hips, peeling the suit down. It goes slow, rolling over itself like latex, like liquid, and not for the first time, he wonders how Dick gets it on at all. Not that he needs it down very far, just over the bulge of Dick’s cup, the stretch of his thighs.
Jason moans full in his throat at the sight of him, flushed. “Jesus,” He starts, but the end of it croons into a whine. “Look at you. Always so fucking pretty.”
Dick shifts like a centerfold model, and Jason wants to bite him in half. “So do something about it.” He goads, still looking prissy as hell, and Jason laughs again.
He shifts his weight across Dick’s legs, locking them down beneath him, one hand going to splay hard across his wrists, holding them down above Dick’s head. It’s hardly a hypothesis at this point, but it’s nice to see the way Dick relaxes in his hold, breathing shallow. “I’m gonna suck your dick,” Jason says. “And then we’re wrap this gang shit up before it gets embarrassing. My way.”
“So, what? Guns? Murder? Yeah, I don’t think so, Jason.”
Jason grinds the brunt of his palm against Dick’s cup for the way discomfort flutters against Dick’s face, brief.
“No killing.” He grinds out, and Jason huffs, already slipping down Dick’s body.
“Just don’t get in my way, flyboy.” Is all the warning he gives before taking Dick’s cock into his mouth, no hesitation. It’s a bit of a dirty play, but the truth is, Jason really loves doing this-- always has, and he’s getting off on this as much as Dick is. Dick is hot and heavy in his mouth, salty with sweat, city grime, and Jason sinks lower, inhaling heavily through his nose as his throat flutters around his lack of practice. Dick is nothing if not responsive underneath him, full-body shuddering, testing his weight against Jason’s hands.
“Yeah,” Dick sighs, calm, like it slipped out. “Like that, come on.”
Jason makes it maybe a minute before slipping his free hand to cup Dick’s ass, pulling him further into his mouth. He teases a gloved thumb against the cleft, a question, and drags his teeth none too gentle over the head of Dick’s cock. Dick goes from turned on to overwhelmed in seconds, squirming like a stripped wire. “ Fuck ,” his voice is guttural, heavy. “Little wing.”
Jason kind of hates that, kind of loves that, the way Dick always goes from angry to syrupy sweet when it comes to this, this thing between them, whatever it is-- like they know each other at all anymore, when they really fucking don’t. He pulls off Dick’s cock with an obscene noise, voice ragged. “You want it?”
Dick nods, and Jason doesn’t have to see his eyes to know that they’re squeezed shut. He grins all the same, pressing two fingers into Dick’s mouth as it falls open on an ‘oh’, dragging them back against his tongue, his teeth. Jason presses a kiss, chaste, against the tip of Dick’s cock. “Alright, but you gotta ask me real nice first.”
Dick bites down hard on Jason’s fingers, hard enough for Jason to feel it through the leather of his glove, but Jason only laughs. “Come on, baby, I wanna hear you whine for it.”
It’s an easy thing to switch from wounded pride to full-on cum-goon brain, god knows Jason understands. Dick shakes as Jason takes him back into his mouth, all the way down, spilling saliva messy down his chin as Jason slips his fingers in and out of his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” Half-slurred around Jason’s fingers. “ Please, Jay, give it to me, I want it.”
“Yeah, that’s sweet.” Jason coos, letting Dick’s hands go free to spread him open, sinking one finger into him. There’s friction, still-- it’s too dry, the material not soaking in the spit like his bare fingers would, but Dick grinds back against it, and Jason moans, pushing him back down to the ground as he takes him back into his mouth.
Jason fingers Dick until his wrist aches, sucks him off until his jaw does, adding a second finger in alongside the first, even when it’s too tight. Dick squirms the whole time, dragging his hands down into Jason’s hair, squeezing tight around his helmet-matted curls. Jason’s so hard it hurts.
“Shit, Jay, I’m gonna--” Dick sucks his lip into his mouth, and Jason watches it happen, bottom lip already bitten red, puffy. “ Shit-- ” He pushes down against Jason’s head, and Jason kind of hate-loves that too, grunting with the aggression of it. There’s no real warning other than the way Dick goes silent mid-cry, spilling hot down Jason’s throat. Jason holds him down through it, pressure heavy so Dick’s hips stay right where he wants them. “Oh my god.” He whines, slumping.
Jason keeps a hand on Dick’s hip as he pulls his own pants open, underwear down, stripping his cock with nothing but whatever spit’s still left on his fingers--it’s rough, but not rough enough, and Jason wishes for the pressure-catch of his callouses, squeezing his eyes tight. Dick moans like he’s comfortable with the view, and Jason growls, falling forward, half-bent over Dick’s chest. It’s not gonna take long, which he has time to be embarrassed over later-- Dick wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, drawing him forward for a kiss. It’s a bad one-- Jason’s all desperation to Dick’s post-orgasm bliss, but fuck, it’s what he needs, that little bit of calm in the storm. Jason spills over his own hand, all over Dick’s chest, some ugly, guttural sound pouring out of him.
“Fuck.” he cries, and lets Dick hold him in the circle of his arms for just-- just that handful of seconds he needs to pull it together.
They pull apart gradually, silently-- Jason wants to say something but all that's in his mouth are jokes, biting because it's always easier to keep Dick at arm's length than to risk anything. Jason pulls the safety off his gun, and Dick sighs, pulling the escrima sticks off his back. "No killing." Is all he says, firm, before heading out the door.