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The difference between this Clark Kent and the Clark Kent is only really age. One in his 20s, the other his 40s. They look the same, freakishly so. But there is one thing, and it changes everything. You look at Superman and feel safe, there’s a warmth to him that just screams hope. You look at Prime and, well… There’s something colder about Superboy-Prime, something meaner. He tries to hide it but there’s a cruelty in his eyes that doesn’t exist in Superman’s. Maybe it’s only Jason that sees it, but he understands it all too well.
Anger is fire and grief is gasoline; combined you get one hell of a blaze. Prime lost everything and Alex turned that sorrow to rage and used it to torch the whole damn world.
Jason had felt the same when he first came back. When he died he was reduced to a warning for the next kid dumb enough to fill the suit. Nobody cared that he was dead, only that he had died.
It felt like he’d never been real.
What he wanted, what Prime wanted, was to feel that it mattered. Someone to acknowledge what had happened and to care that it hurt. But no one likes a martyr who wants recognition.
The problem is, anger doesn’t starve without oxygen, it grows. The longer you sit in it the hotter it gets. He’s not sure how they could lock him up and expect anything but scorched earth when he escapes.
“It’s still kinda crazy to see you, like, for real,” Prime circles around him like he’s a piece of meat. It’s strange how disposition can affect a face; he’d never noticed just how sharp kryptonian teeth are, “I did feel bad for killing you but you’re so much cooler as Red Hood.”
“You didn’t kill me,” Jason knows very well who did, he dreams about it often enough.
“Yeah, guess so,” He smirks like he knows something Jason doesn’t, “I brought you back though.”
“I’m not thanking you for that,” Jason doesn’t think there’s a second he’s been glad to be alive again. He’s not mad about it anymore but nothing good came from crawling out the grave.
“Aw, c’mon,” Prime leers. He doesn’t sound like the real Clark, thank god. That Kansas drawl is replaced by something a little more east coast. Still deep but not so soft, “You could stand to be a little nicer, I could kill you again.”
Jason isn’t so naive to doubt that. Prime could kill him in an instant if he felt like it. He’s bested much stronger men than Jason with one hit. Superboy for example. Hell, he has Superman’s powers but none of his vulnerabilities or restraint. It’s unnerving. It’s not the killing that bothers him, but the lack of discretion with which he does it. Prime’s mood changes with the breeze, he’s not averse to killing on a whim.
“You’re not gonna,” Jason’s pretty certain of that. Almost no one else will talk to Prime, if he kills Jason he loses his audience.
“I’m sure a lot of readers would like it if I did,” His eyes cast to the space behind Jason, as if he’s talking to someone else, “But it’s not your fault they won’t give you a good writer. You were at your best with Winick, though Snyder didn’t do a bad job.”
“Do you ever shut up? I’m trying to work,” He’s not sure if Prime sought him out or if he stumbled upon him but he doesn’t much care, he’d rather he left. Probably best that he gets out of Gotham before Tim finds out and throws a hissy fit. As far as Jason’s concerned, Conner’s alive again so who cares. Tim does not share that sentiment.
Jason tries to ignore him. He stares down the barrel of his binoculars and into the adjacent office building. Jason’s good at gathering intel like this. With an aim in sight he can be very patient. But his focus is slipping with every passing second.
“The muzzle had a certain psychosexual appeal but I really do prefer the full helmet,” Prime floats into his line of sight. His vision fills up with blue and when he moves the binoculars away he’s face to face with Prime’s stomach. When he looks up, Prime’s staring down at him. His face is cast in shadow and his too blue eyes seem to glow. He smiles. He must be able to hear the spike in Jason’s heart rate. Now is really not the time for this, “Very, um, motorcycle fetish.”
“Fuck off,” Ordinarily he’d thank the mask and the modulator for hiding his emotions, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Prime knows exactly what he’s thinking.
“You know I was thinking; every Super needs a Bat, right?” It sounds more like a proposition than it does a friendship offering, “And you’re by far the least boring of Bruce Wayne’s orphans.”
Not a hard list to top, honestly. Not when it comes to Prime- the others have too many rules.
Prime is the only metahuman Jason would consider a god. A vengeful one, yeah, but a god nonetheless. Omnipotent. Omniscient. Capable of fucking shit up on a universal scale and willing to do so too. Jason’s been to church enough times to know what that amounts to. Jason should probably be glad that he spends so much of his time bitching and moaning that he hasn’t seemed to realise this. He’s already an egotistical freak, his head doesn’t need to get any bigger.
“I don’t wanna be your little buddy, Prime, you’re nuts.”
“Call me Clark,” He floats down to Jason’s level, no longer towering above him.
“Why?”
“Cus it’s my name too!” He pouts. There’s that whine in his voice that Jason’s become familiar with. He’s only capable of sounding apathetic or petulant. He seems to favour the latter, “It’s just as much mine as it is his but no one will use it, like I’m not worthy of it or something.”
Jason, God help him, finds it oddly cute. Not the voice- the voice is impossibly grating. But the pout. It only serves to irritate him further.
He can’t argue with Prime on this one, though, it is his name. It doesn’t feel fair to strip it from him.
“Fine, Clark, get lost,” It feels strange on his tongue.
“Do they just write you without manners? It’s not very cool,” He doesn’t sound like he really cares as he takes a seat next to Jason on the ledge, “You really are ungrateful. Y’know you’re probably the only person whose life I didn’t mess up- you wouldn’t even be alive without me.”
“You make it sound like you meant to do it,” Jason’s giving up for the night, Prime won’t leave, he’s made that clear enough, “Like I’m your little Frankenstein’s monster.”
“Yeah!” Prime laughs. It’s a comforting sound; incongruous with the rest of him, “So what? it was a happy accident, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Jason can’t say he’s ever heard that sentiment before. There’s a tiny flicker of light that sparks in his chest at the thought but it snuffs itself out quickly. He’d do it again because it made a good story, as suffering often does, not because he cares. Jason’s about 85% sure Prime can’t care about anything but himself.
“Y’know what they call us online?” He doesn’t wait for Jason to answer, “World’s Foulest.”
“You are pretty foul,” He grumbles, getting to his feet. As far as Jason’s concerned there is no ‘us’ when it comes to them. No matter what ideas Prime has on the matter.
Jason’s only just standing when Prime shoves him over the ledge. There’s a lurch in his stomach as his body realises it’s falling but his brain hardly has time to register it by the time Prime’s caught him.
“Whoops,” Prime laughs. His hands are clasped tight across Jason’s chest as he hovers them high above Gotham’s streets. Jason thinks he might throw up.
“What the fuck?!” Jason digs his fingers into Prime’s arms, desperate for something to cling on to. It’s not the first time he’s flown like this but he usually has time to process before his feet are off the ground.
“Sheesh, your hearts beating like crazy, did I scare ya?”
“You’re not well,” Jason groans, “They’re right about you.”
This has to be some kind of exposure therapy. He’s not scared of Supes anymore, but Prime is exactly the reason he had been when he was a kid.
“Careful,” Prime purrs, his grip on Jason loosens ever so slightly, “Might make me angry and historically that has never ended well.”
They’re moving now but Jason couldn’t say where to. He tries to focus on the feeling of Prime’s body against his. He has to ground himself somehow, and with nothing under his feet it seems like the best option. If he ignores the context it’s almost nice. He can admit that he’s more than a little touch starved. If he closes his eyes it’s sort of like a hug. How sad is that?
As it turns out, it’s one of Jason’s places. How Prime knew where to find it, he’s not sure, but he’s too glad to have feet on the ground to care. The fire escape groans beneath their combined weight.
He crawls in through the window and Prime follows close behind.
The air in the room displaces and for one blissful moment it seems like Prime has left. Until he’s walking through the front door in civilian clothes with a pizza box in his hands.
“Where’d you-“
“Doesn’t matter.”
He’s never seen Prime out of uniform before. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. It’s verging on 80s; his jeans tucked into his hightop sneakers and a henley under a very well-worn flannel shirt. His glasses are dorky, square, and definitely unnecessary. He peers at Jason over the top of them. It’s hard to believe the guy standing in front of him is a mass murderer. Or was- does it still count if they aren’t dead anymore?
He makes himself at home on the couch, even kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
“Take your helmet off at least,” He acts like Jason’s the weird one for still being in uniform. It’s been less than five minutes since he slipped through the window.
If this Clark is anything like the real one, he’s not going to give up on this whole friendship idea. The issue is, Prime’s not exactly the kind of person you want to be friends with. He can suck it up for one night, hopefully Prime will get bored and move on.
Jason finds a pair of sweatpants and a worn out band tee in the bedroom dresser. He sorts through his messages as he makes his way back to the living room. There’s a text from Tim and it sparks an idea. One that’s definitely too mean. There’s a 50/50 chance Tim will either find it funny or hunt Jason down. But what are brothers for if not toeing the line?
“You can stay, but I have one condition.”
“What?” Prime tilts his head toward Jason.
“Wanna send Tim a pic,” Jason’s already lifting his phone camera. He’s going to do it anyway, just like Prime is going to stay anyway.
“Sure,” He smiles wide enough that his cheeks dimple and the corners of his eyes crease. He’s pushed his glasses up onto his head since Jason’s been gone and his hairs sticking out at odd angles. He looks comfortable; perfectly in place.
The reply is instant. Jason assumes Tim’s cursing him out but he can’t stop looking at the picture. He’s fucked. He tells himself he’s just lonely, or starved for attention. Surely that’s the only possible reason he finds Prime attractive. He’s not that pathetic.
“What’d he say?” Prime’s voice snaps Jason out of it. He’s been right in his assumption.
“He said ‘why the fuck is that thing in your home?’,” Jason scrolls down, “And about a hundred other things that aren’t half as nice.”
He types out a reply, remembering what Prime had said earlier; every bat needs a super.
“Are we sure he’s not the angry Robin?”
Jason’s about to sit down when Prime yanks the phone from his hand. He gives it back about a minute later.
He changed the lock screen. It had been the default, now it’s a low angle selfie of Prime. The slice of pizza in his free hand flops precariously by his head and he looks insufferably smug. He sent the same picture to Tim with the caption ‘eating pizza :P’.
“Why is he still mad anyway? It was like two reboots ago and that flop is alive and well. Infinite Crisis was such a mess.”
“Not sure how happy I’d be if you killed my best friend.”
“You don’t have one,” Prime sighs, “And don’t say Roy ‘cause everybody hated that run- it made no sense. Do you even have the all-blades anymore?”
“Would you quit talking like that?” Prime’s knowledge of his life already creeps Jason out, but it’s worse when he acts like Jason has no agency in it.
“Right, yeah, my redemption arc- I should stop being mean and freaky,” He taps his temple as if making a mental note, “Got it.”
Prime leans into his space, just close enough to feel it. He’s so objectively beautiful. Fuck it- subjectively too. His skin is warm gold and flawless save a few scattered freckles. It’s as if there’s a sun burning hot and bright just under the surface. Offset perfectly by night sky coloured curls. Like all Kents, he looks the very definition of heroic. It’d be too much if not for the cold glint of apathy in his eyes.
“Clark,” The name is clunky in his mouth. Familiarly foreign. Maybe if he says it enough it’ll sound right. Prime’s eyes soften slightly and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He stares at Jason’s mouth like he’s just said something sacred.
“Can you say it again?” His voice is raw in a way Jason hasn’t heard from him before. Just shy of desperate.
“Clark-“ He knows it’s barely audible, “Why’d you come here?”
“Because,” He smirks, “I wanted to.”
Prime smells of ozone and detergent. Sharp and electric like the air after a thunderstorm. Comforting and warm like fresh laundry. He seems to thrive in that dichotomy. The term ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ springs to mind. It definitely says something about Jason that he finds it attractive. There’s a certain thrill to being watched by eyes that could burn right through you.
“C’mon, get black label with me,” Jason might not understand his words but his tone is clear. It makes his cheeks feel hot. It’d be so easy to let whatever this is happen. From a moral point of view, he probably shouldn’t, but for some godforsaken reason he wants to. Maybe he’s just desperate for attention but Prime is really, really pretty when he shuts up. It's fine, it’s not like you have to like someone to sleep with them.
Jason lifts his hand to the back of Prime’s head and leans in for a kiss. The curls are like silk under his fingertips and his lips are soft.
“Wuh- what?” Prime startles and the brief flash of confusion on his face is enough to make Jason laugh. Had he really not been expecting Jason to engage?
“What do you mean ‘what’?” Jason rolls his eyes.
“You like me? Like you actually want to kiss me,” He seems surprised by it but his tone quickly turns teasing, “Ha! You want me! Cringe.”
“Fine, I retract it,” Jason huffs, leaning back against the couch. It’s kind of sad that Prime’s surprised, even more so that he thinks it’s embarrassing. But Jason can’t feel bad for him when he’s so obnoxious about everything.
“No, no,” Prime slides into Jason’s lap, boxing him in with a hand either side of his head, “Unretract it.”
“No chance,” Jason tilts his head to avoid Prime’s gaze but he ends up with a faceful of perfectly muscled forearm instead.
“Do it.”
“You could stand to be a bit nicer,” Jason uses Prime's own words against him.
“Please?” Prime whines and Jason shakes his head, “I, Clark Kent of earth prime, would like to formally apologise for not appreciating your kiss and humbly request another one so that I might fully enjoy it… Please.”
“That’s really embarrassing.”
“Yeah, it is. So would you please kiss me now.”
Jason concedes. He pulls Prime down and kisses him again. This time with more purpose. He tastes like pizza and soda and it’s kind of gross but Jason couldn’t care less. He hadn’t thought he missed this but there’s something to be said for another warm body against your own.
“Awesomesauce,” Prime grins when they break apart. His voice is breathy and low and it would be hot if not for the truly awful choice of words.
“Jesus Christ, you’re not making this easy,” Jason groans. Killing the mood has to be high up on the list of Prime’s superpowers.
“Sorry, sorry,” He doesn’t sound sorry at all, “You’re really hot. The second I first saw Red Hood I knew it was all worth it- I knew you were special. I knew you were like me.”
Jason wants to deny it. He doesn’t want to be lumped into a category with someone like Prime. But he’d thought it himself, hadn’t he? On some fundamental level they are the same. So maybe Jason’s self-worth is non-existent and Prime’s ego is so big it took a pocket universe to contain it. But it’s the same anger and jealousy that burns through the both of them. Bitter and childish.
Prime pulls Jason’s necklace from his shirt; the little silver cross dangles where his finger hooks the chain.
Jason was raised Catholic- at least until Bruce. He’s not sure what he believes now but he clings to it anyway. His mother bought him the cross and it’s been with him ever since. He was buried with it. Just like she was with hers. Prime studies it with an amused gaze.
“Should replace it with a little Superboy-Prime logo… or a ‘C’,” He tucks in back in gently.
“Why on God’s earth would I do that?”
“Oh, Y’know, false idols and all that jazz,” He holds his hand over for a moment, the warmth of his palm seeping through Jason’s shirt, “I’ve done more for you than he ever could.”
Jason smushes his hand into Prime’s face, shoving him backward slightly. For his efforts he’s rewarded with Prime’s tongue against his palm.
“Fuck off,” Jason couldn’t push him off even if he wanted to but he makes a show of it anyway. Prime slumps forward and Jason’s crushed under a couple hundred pounds of Kryptonian. It knocks the breath out of him, “Jeez, how heavy are you?”
“Resistance is futile,” Prime mumbles into the crook of Jason’s neck. Of course he’s quoting Star Trek. Jason must have a thing for nerds. Or losers. Or the clinically insane. Because he’s starting to find it all kinda cute. He knocks the glasses off Prime’s head in favour of running his hands through his hair again. It really is soft. It reminds him of petting a cat. He purrs like one too; a low hum of content against Jason’s skin. He can feel it resonate in his chest where they’re pressed together.
“Can you take this shit off?” Jason tugs at Prime’s flannel where it’s tucked into his jeans.
“Needy,” Prime teases as if he’s not the one pressed as close as humanly possible to Jason. He leans back, fingers shaking slightly as he undoes his belt. He tugs his shirts free when it’s loose enough and pulls them over his head. The super suit leaves very little to the imagination but Jason hadn’t been expecting the scar. Ugly and red right across the centre of his chest. The same logo that adorns his costume.
“What? Oh- yeah,” Prime catches onto Jason’s staring. He looks down, tracing it with his finger, “I did that to myself, haha, I was really mad.”
He curls in on himself, just a fraction, but Jason notices. The thing is, Jason likes it. It’s so jarring compared to the rest of him. Very human. Even if he didn’t he’s got no room to speak when it comes to garish scars.
“It’s… impressive,” He can’t find a better word. It’s roughly the size of the real thing and the lines are neat and even; only jagged where it’s healed too tight. It had to have hurt. He doesn’t dare ask how it scarred- from what he knows about Kryptonian biology it should’ve healed almost immediately. He presses a kiss to the middle of Prime’s chest, he can feel the raised skin under his lips.
“You could at least ask before you motorboat me.”
“My bad, you have nice tits,” He pulls his head back, moving to get a hand on one of Prime’s pecs. It’s only half a joke.
“You’re a pervert,” Prime chides, but he places his hand over Jason’s. He can feel Prime’s heartbeat. It’s faster than normal but it could just be the resting Kryptonian heart rate, “I wanna do things to you.”
That makes Jason laugh. It’s such an odd way to phrase it. Deliberately skirting around any vulgar words only for it to sound more dirty.
“What things, Clark?” He lets his hand run down Prime’s ribs to settle on his waist.
“I wanna f-“ He catches himself, pressing his mouth into a polite smile, he rephrases, “I would like to have s-e-x with you.”
“You can say ‘fuck’, I won’t tell on you,” He moves his free hand to Prime’s crotch. He’s not hard, but he’s getting there. A choked off moan escapes him when Jason applies a little pressure. It’s a pretty noise. Jason has to wonder what other sounds he might make. He pulls Prime’s fly down slowly, “C’mon, just once.”
“Nh… nope,” He shakes his head dramatically, “No way, I’m not a potty mouth like you. I have class.”
“You absolutely do not,” It’s such a funny hill to die on, Jason resolves to get at least one out of him by the end of the night. He palms Prime through his underwear, thoroughly enjoying the way his lips part and his eyebrows furrow, “If you had class you wouldn’t be sat on my lap like a cheap whore.”
“Should I get up?” He might've meant it to be snarky but it comes out sort of dazed. Like he’s one foot out of the conversation. He stares down at Jason with almost freakish intensity. He can only describe it as wolfish; there’s a perverse hunger in it that makes Jason feel like prey.
“Course not,” Jason mouths across Prime’s chest. The muscle there is relaxed and soft, he sinks his teeth in. It’s not a real bite, just enough for Prime to feel it. He’s not sure he could break skin anyway, but he’d like to try. He does the same to Prime’s nipple, soothing over it with his tongue afterward. It must be sensitive if his reaction is anything to go by. He claws at Jason’s back so hard he doesn’t doubt there’ll be scratches even through his t-shirt.
Jason keeps at it, alternating between his teeth and his tongue wherever he can reach. His hand on Prime’s dick is a steady pressure, moving just enough to keep him wanting more. He moves up Prime’s neck, sucking a hickey by his pulse point. It won’t last, but it draws a very pleasant sound from him.
He could do this for hours he thinks; watching this ridiculous, beautiful, god of a man come undone under his touch.
“Frick,” Prime groans, clamping his hand around Jason’s arm, “I need-“
“Say it,” Jason’s not sure why he wants Prime to curse so badly, maybe just to prove a point. He likes the idea of Prime wanting it bad enough that he’ll forget his self-imposed PG rating.
“What?” Prime huffs in confusion but he soon catches the meaning, “No.”
Jason stops moving his hand.
“Ok fine, oh my god- f-fuck,” His grip on Jason’s forearm tightens when he starts up again, enough that it hurts, “Ah.. fuck, sh..shit-jesus-fuck-fuck- fuck can you please just-“
It’s stupidly hot. Not the words per se, but the way they run together in that desperate little stutter.
“Please what?”
“I wanna come, quit being mean,” He whines and it goes straight to Jason’s dick.
“Clark,” He whispers into Prime’s ear, “Be good and take it just a little longer, yeah?”
“You’re so m… so mean,” Prime’s head tucks into the side of Jason’s neck; hot breath panting against sensitive skin. It sends a pleasant shiver down Jason’s spine. Prime’s body is blocking everything from sight but the angle gives Jason a good view down his back. His shoulders are perfectly broad and his waist is so slim. He really is far too beautiful to have fallen into Jason’s lap, he doesn’t intend to squander the opportunity.
“I’d argue I’m being quite nice to you right now, Kent,” At this rate, Prime’s going to shoot off in his boxers before Jason properly gets a hand on him. He can’t say he’s particularly averse to that image.
“Hey, sit up, pretty boy,” He pushes his free hand against Prime’s chest, “Wanna see your face when you come.”
His cheeks are flushed a particularly lovely shade of pink and his eyes are damp. He looks like he might cry. Jason would like to see that.
“You’re such a baby,” Jason knows it’s probably frustrating, he’s been teetering on the edge for a while now, “That why you were trying to hide? Cause you’re crying?”
“Am not,” He huffs in a deep breath and glares daggers at Jason. It’s not intimidating when he looks the way he does. Not even the red flash in his eyes. Jason presses down and the whine he lets out is entirely pathetic.
“Look, if you want it so bad, take it.”
Prime looks at him suspiciously, but the hand on his forearm creeps down to cover Jason’s; holding it in place as he rolls his hips against it. It’s awkward at first, he can’t seem to focus on finding a rhythm, just chasing the feeling.
“Slow down,” Jason coaxes, one hand now resting on the small of Prime’s back, “I’ve got you.”
It doesn’t take him much longer but it seems to surprise him. The sound he makes is somewhere between a moan and a sob, his eyes screw shut, and his fingers dig into Jason’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“Ah- I- I didn’t mean to do that,” Prime groans. The now damp and sticky fabric of his boxers clinging to his over sensitive dick is definitely uncomfortable. Especially with Jason’s hand still cupping it. But the discomfort looks pretty on him, “Yeesh, what was that? I mean I know what it was but- huh.”
“Like I said, no class,” Jason wipes his hand on Prime’s denim clad thigh, “Now get off, fat ass, my legs are going numb.”
“Had to go and ruin it didn’t you,” Prime grumbles, but he does as he’s told.
He’s expecting Prime to return to the other side of the couch, but he finds the floor instead, settling on his knees in front of Jason. He parts his legs to make room for Prime.
“You can um… I don’t have a gag reflex.”
He’s starting to understand the Kryptonian hype. It’s hard not to see it when Prime’s boxed between his thighs all but asking Jason to fuck his throat. His irises are a thin ring of electric blue around his blown out pupils, peering up at him through dark eyelashes.
“If you weren’t such a freak you’d be perfect,” Jason brushes his thumb across Prime’s lower lip.
“Physiologically speaking, I am,” Prime parts his mouth, and it’s permission enough for Jason to push his thumb inside. The next half of his sentence comes out muffled, “Psychologically, I think you like me this way.”
“When have I ever said I like you?” He pushes down on Prime’s tongue and he makes a rather undignified noise. He follows it up with something that sounds vaguely like ‘you do’.
Jason replaces his thumb with two fingers, sliding them slowly to the back of his mouth. He hadn’t been lying about the gag reflex; the fingers are almost in his throat and he doesn’t even flinch. Spit starts to pool in his mouth and Jason can feel it getting wetter but he doesn’t try to swallow. Not even when it starts to spill down his chin.
He tries to speak again but it comes out garbled and Jason can figure out what he’s trying to say. He pulls his hand back, wiping it on his sweats.
“I said; that all you got?”
“Tell me what you want,” It’s pretty obvious, but Jason wants to hear him say it. It’s trippy enough to have a god on his knees, better still to hear him beg for it.
“I’m not saying it,” Prime frowns, “You know what I want.”
“You’re such a brat,” It had been annoying not that long ago, but it’s steadily growing on him. He’s needy and weird and prone to mood swings. But some part of him wants Jason, and Jason craves nothing more than to be wanted. Prime pinches the back of Jason’s leg in retort. Cheap shot considering Jason couldn’t hurt Prime even if he wanted to.
“Hurry up,” He tugs at the waistband of Jason’s sweatpants impatiently. They’re gone quickly, tossed off to the side somewhere. Prime nudges his legs further apart. His focus turns immediately to Jason’s inner thigh. He bites. Of course he does. And not the half-hearted ones Jason had given him. The pain is sharp and perfect. He knows it wasn’t even a fraction of Prime’s strength. He has to wonder exactly how much Prime is holding back, and what would happen if he stopped. It must take a lot of effort.
“Do that again,” He presses Prime against him with a hand to the back of his head. Fingers grabbing at his hair when Prime complies. The skin hasn’t broken, but it’ll be black come morning. It’ll ache every time he moves. For now it has him buzzing like a livewire, “Harder.”
Prime bites down slower this time- Jason’s not sure if he’s teasing or just giving Jason time to tell him to stop, but it’s maddening. It seems like a lifetime before it gives; there’s a delightful sting when Prime’s canine teeth finally break skin, and then that rush of relief when he relaxes his jaw. He laps at the blood where it spills from Jason’s thigh. It’s not deep and it won’t bleed for long, but it’s red and raw for now.
Primes stares up at Jason like a man possessed, he wipes the blood and spit from his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked to Jason’s the whole time.
“You’re nuts…” He mumbles, “You’re just as bad as I am.”
“You started it,” Jason winces when Prime digs his fingers into the tender part of Jason’s thigh. He’s not wrong.
“Did not!” Prime counters, “You bit me first!”
“Oh my god, who cares,” It’s just arguing for arguings sake. Maybe that’s their love language.
“Whatever,” Prime shoots him a glare, turning his attention to Jason’s briefs instead. He pulls them down just enough to free Jason’s dick. He stares at it long enough that Jason starts to feel self conscious.
“You good?”
“Oh yeah,” Prime blinks at him slowly. And then, in a tone that is far too serious to be serious, he says; “You think it’ll fit? Or am I gonna have to unhinge my jaw like a snake? I probably could, to be honest-“
“You cannot be a real person,” Jason wishes he weren’t so turned on by Prime but his body does not get the memo. In fact, as far as his dick is concerned, the more obnoxious Prime is the better. It has to be some kind of advanced level masochism.
“If I’m not real then you’re having a pretty good dream, huh?” He holds the base of Jason’s cock with one hand and takes the head into his mouth. Jason doesn’t think he’ll last long; he’s been painfully hard since he had Prime in his lap.
Jason screws his eyes shut as Prime sinks down and doesn’t open them again until he feels Prime’s nose press against him. Jason’s so focused on keeping his hips still that he doesn’t notice Prime’s hand moving until it locks onto his own. He’d almost forgotten what the point of this was.
Jason places a hand either side of Prime’s skull, his fingers just touching at the back. It’s easy to move Prime how he wants this way, especially when he puts up no resistance. He loses himself in the tight, wet heat of Prime’s mouth. There’s nothing stopping him from taking what he wants. No pause for breath needed. Just Prime’s mouth- his throat. It’s intoxicating.
He pulls Prime’s head back far enough to get a good look at him. He looks awfully beautiful with the tip of Jason’s dick resting on his tongue. He likes the way Prime’s cheeks flush. He likes the tear tracks that cut down them. Most of all he likes the way his wet eyes catch the light- the irritation around them makes the blue impossibly brighter.
He’s not crying, per se. It seems to be something that is happening to him, rather than something he’s doing. While it might be blasphemous, the catholic in Jason can’t help but make connections. Guiltily, it reminds him of church; the statues of Mary, overcome by emotion. Perpetual sorrow. Or perhaps that painting of Lucifer, fresh out of heaven and suffering for it. There’s something wonderfully raw about it. The urge to defile creeps up inside him.
“God, you really are a crybaby,” There is an awe in Jason’s voice that he doesn’t intend. Confusion flits across Prime’s face and he swipes a hand under his eye, he wrinkles up his nose when he feels the wetness. How funny, he hadn’t even realised he was doing it, “Stay still would you?”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t complain as Jason jerks off over him.
When Jason comes, he comes hard. Some of it lands on Prime’s tongue, most of it makes its way to the top half of his face. It catches on his eyelashes and his hairline, stark white against the black. Desire curls low in Jason’s gut.
“Ew- icky,” Prime groans, swiping at it with his fingers. He smears it onto Jason’s leg. At any other point in time Jason would be disgusted, but a pleasant haze has settled over him and he can’t find it in him to care. They’ll need to shower. Jason’s definitely isn’t big enough for the both of them but he’ll make it work. He tucks himself back into his underwear and flops his head against the backrest.
Prime hauls himself back onto the couch, laying down so that his head rests across Jason’s thighs. His hair is itchy against Jason’s bare skin but the weight and the warmth is nice. He places a hand on Prime’s chest, appreciating the steady rise and fall of it. How nice it is to be alive with someone else.
For a few blissful minutes the room is quiet and his head is empty. But, as he does so many things, Prime breaks through it.
“Hey, do you think I’m bad?”
“Why?” Jason can’t answer that. He looks down at Prime’s head in his lap. His eyes don’t look so cold anymore.
“Superman’s not just a hero- he’s hope, he’s goodness. He’s proof of a better tomorrow,” There’s an honesty in Prime’s voice that isn’t usually present, “I want to be like that too, but I don’t think it’s in me. It’s like he said; good is hard, bad is always easy. It’s way too easy.”
“I think wanting that proves that you’re capable of it,” Jason gets the feeling, he knows it well, “Bad people don’t want to be good.”
“But it’s your choices that define you, right? If I chose to do bad things, is there any number of good things I can do to fix it?” Prime looks away, “I guess I’ve got this clean slate and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You follow your gut, do what you think is right. You do what Superman can’t.”
“Like you do what Batman can’t?” The corner of Prime’s mouth quirks up, he holds his pinky out, “World’s foulest?”
As he looks at Prime now, he gets the sudden unshakeable feeling that this was meant to be. Not this specific moment, but them. From an outside perspective it probably looks like a nightmare. But he has this nagging thought that Prime is the only person who could ever truly tolerate him, flaws and all. Their faults reflect each other like funhouse mirrors; distortions of the same base pain. Maybe all that bullshit about ‘twin flames’ and ‘mirror souls’ is true, maybe the red string of fate shattered timelines and destroyed earths just to pull them together. Frankly, it’s a horrifying thought, but it feels too cosmic to ignore. It’s a never ending line of whys to which the only answer is because. It makes his head hurt.
“World’s foulest,” Jason hooks it with his own, shaking it gently.