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Now, listen, he hadn’t initially taken up yoga because of sex. He and Jason had agreed that, as aging vigilantes, it was important to make the effort to preserve and repair their bodies. Years of close calls and narrow escapes are evidenced on their skin already, they don’t need to pile on unnecessary muscles aches and strains. Between Jason’s knees and Roy’s arm, they’ve only got so long before they can’t carry Lian to bed anymore–and Roy would sooner die than admit he can’t pick up his little girl, no matter how big she gets. So, all this to say, yoga was supposed to ease him into semi-retirement while also serving as an outlet for restlessness. Maybe, possibly, with the added benefits of hip flexibility (for Roy) and Roy’s ass in running shorts (for Jason).
He didn’t expect he’d find himself thinking of breathing techniques while deepthroating his fiance.
Inhale. Pull back. And exhale–
Roy pushes forward, taking Jason deeper into his throat, and the man above him curses and loosens his grip on Roy’s hair in a spastic flex. They’re lucky it’s a weekday and they have the place to themselves before school’s out. He’s on his knees in the hallway, and as he swallows, he’s reminded that Jason’s never been good at staying quiet.
“Fucking shit Roy Boy, been practicing without me?”
His words sound jealous, but his tone gives him away, as does the gooey-eyed-gaze he casts down at Roy. Jason has always been soft for the Harpers, a melted marshmallow core wrapped in the gritty Crime Lord exterior. Lian is his princess, and every spare dollar goes towards her whims. He’d buy her the sun if she asked. At this point, Roy is lucky she hasn’t realized the power she wields in their household–he’s not sure who Jason would side with if it came down to it (and he’s not eager to find out).
Not that he isn’t whipped for Roy–or that the feelings aren’t mutual. Roy has come home from many an Arrow Family mission weary and worn to find new renovations to the apartment, enhanced computer setups, and on one very memorable occasion, a gorgeous osage orange longbow (which Roy thoroughly thanked Jason for). And whenever Jason spends long nights with the Bats, Roy is sure to welcome him home with gentle words and hands that heal rather than hurt. They’ve built a home here, fought tooth and nail for some semblance of peace, a family fed on love with no limits. It’s within these walls that they can both let their guards down, strip themselves of expectation, ditch the archetypes of ‘prodigal son returned’ or ‘misguided black sheep,’ and here they just breathe.
Breathe. Through Roy’s well-practiced inhales, measured exhales, he’s taken all of Jason. Only by keeping his breaths steady does he fight the urge to gag. He doesn’t know how far Jason’s dick pushes down his throat, but it’s certainly an obscene sight. Jason sure seems to think so; his hands tremble from both sides of Roy’s head, hesitant to place them anywhere without hurting Roy. It’s sweet, his sweet boy.
Afterwards, he’ll tell Jason how stunning he looks, wrecked and panting above him, mouth swollen, red, and wet. It’s a sight he’ll never tire of: the love of his life letting pleasure wash over, letting tension slide from his shoulders. He feels blessed to know Jason in this way like no one else.
Taking pity on the man, he finally reaches up to grab his fluttering hands, and presses them to the back of his head. It startles Jason, who looks down in awe. “Are you sure?”
Obviously, Roy can’t speak, so he just winks in reply. Jason’s breath shutters, before he firms his hold on Roy, tangling fingers in his hair, leans back against the wall, and pulls him in.
It does more for Jason, the gun, but he knows Roy will enjoy whatever if it lands them here.
It’s something about power and ownership, maybe. It’s Jason’s pistol in Roy’s hands, unloaded and empty chamber, of course. They’re kinky, not stupid. But the imagery is there: Roy, naked, laid back on their Texas king bed, hair a tangled copper mess, because Jason likes having something to grab. He’s no damsel, though, training the barrel on its owner as the man in question leans over Roy, pushing his hands up, pressing wrists to sheets. It’s not easy, when Roy bucks and writhes, trying to shake Jason off. The struggle, the ebb and flow, that’s what does it for them. Roy knows his way around a firearm, has used one before and will again if needs must. His arms are corded muscle, subtle strength that leaves Jason just as breathless as their first mission together. When Roy eventually gives in, because he always does, it won’t be because he’s exhausted, or resigned. When Jason presses his arms up and pins him, when Roy’s grip relaxes and the gun falls from his hands, it will only happen because Roy chooses it.
That is what Jason loves, what gives him that overwhelmed, heady feeling. The sight of Roy, dangerous and lethal with Jason’s gun in hand, letting go. Sure, there’s gotta be some psychoanalysis there, something that says they’re both traumatized and codependent. But as he stretches Roy so nicely, as his thick, crooked fingers press deeper, and deeper, and just right, and as Roy arches his spine in a crescent, as his lips part to let slip little gasps, sighs, and whines, and his eyes squeeze shut, and his entire body flexes like a bowstring pulled taught…
There’s no place in the world Jason would rather be, and he’d cut down anyone who tried to pull them apart.
“Jay, Jay, Jay Baby please pleasepleaseplease I can’t–”
“Shhh, Doll, I’ve got you. It’s alright.” Jason barely finishes speaking before Roy cries out, sounding as much like pleasure as it does pain. He makes a mess of his stomach, not much yet, but Jason is determined to make the most of the evening. Roy’s wrists roll in his tight grip, and his heels begin to push at the mattress again, sliding against the silk sheets. It seems Roy has more in store as well. Stroking a thumb over his pulse point, Jason removes his opposite hand from where he had been fingering Roy open, who has his own opinions about this, if the way he whines is any indication.
“Hush, darling. I’m far from finished with you.”
“Well act like it, maybe.” Roy is in top form tonight, pushing all of the right buttons to get the rough fucking he’s so clearly after.
“Seems I’ve not done my job right, if you’re still mouthing off.” The brat merely raises a single judgmental eyebrow. “If you’ll allow me to continue, toy…” His hand finishes its journey to rest against his throat, and Jason can feel the moment Roy realizes what’s coming. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple presses against Jason’s palm, close but just out of touch. Eyes wide, Roy shivers, and Jason’s vision nearly blacks out. He’s harder than he’s ever been, and Roy is quickly catching up with the program.
Fingers leave wrists, slide into palms and entwine with a smaller grip. Jason’s voice is hushed now, softer than he’s been all evening. “You remember what to do? If you need me?” The archer doesn’t speak, just squeezes his hand twice. Their eyes meet, and Jason holds until he’s certain Roy is clear and present. He climbs higher on the bed, covering Roy’s body with his own, shielding him from the world. Regretfully, Jason’s hand leaves the redhead’s throat in order to line himself up with Roy’s hole. If he had more time, Jason would press his tongue into the other, devote hours to eating him out and leave him bereft and trembling. Another time, then. Tonight, he presses in, carving a space for himself inside his fiance, his lover, his best friend and other half. They’ve had sex before, but each time feels like the first and Jason has to breathe to keep himself from getting overwhelmed. He’s still choked up when he speaks.
“Fuck, baby, you’re made for me. I don’t tell you enough, but you’re so fucking perfect, you take me so goddamn well, like you need me.” He thinks he’s managed to do a good job holding it together, until he feels Roy clench like a vice around him, and he lifts his gaze.
Roy is wrecked. His eyes are misty, and he’s nodding frantically, making all these desperate, raw sounds. Rather than let him adjust any more, Jason thrusts fully, seating himself entirely inside Roy, who squeezes his hands only once, until his knuckles are bloodless and white.
“I know, Doll, I know. I can feel you, I’ve got you.” He can feel where they’re connected, but he moves his hand to where it’s promised, and wraps his fingers around Roy’s throat. “I know what you need, I’m right here.” With studied, practiced motions, Jason triple-checks that his hold is correct, before he closes his grip on Roy’s fragile neck. The response is immediate: the man below him whines sharply, muscles lock, hole tighttighttight around Jason, who can barely catch his own breath through the onslaught of pleasure that warms his blood. He’s gasping for air, they both are, and Roy is simply a vision underneath him. Jason falls into a pattern, squeezing, relaxing, thrusting, forcing all the air from his lungs to make more room for himself. Taking it all so well, Roy’s eyes cross and his smile is radiant. His flushed face is turning darker, deeper, almost purple in places, yet he makes no move to tap out. If necessary, he could flip Jason in an instant. But he doesn’t; he allows this, and it doesn’t take much before Jason reaches his peak, presses their hips flush together, finishes inside Roy.
Roy, who currently seems to be orbiting another planet, and has no interest in coming down any time soon. It’s clear he came more than once, lost in the pleasure and oxygen-deprived haze. As Jason finds a towel and some fruit he had prepared in advance, Roy catches his breath and takes stock as his mind clears. Tender neck, definitely going to bruise. His fingers are sore from holding so tightly, his ass hurts, of course. By the time Jason returns, Roy has pulled himself to sit at the head of the bed. Catching sight of Jason, he reaches his hands out in a gimme gesture, and Jason knows he’s so gone for this man. He finishes his stride, setting the cold bowl in Roy’s lap, who moves it to the side before pulling Jason on top of him.
“Hey!” Startled, he pulls back to assess. “What’s wrong Roy? Does anything hurt?”
“I’m fine, dork, give me your hands.” His voice is rough, but could be worse if Jason hadn’t taken precautions. Still confused, he offers the other the towel and both hands. Roy takes them carefully, uses the towel to gently smooth over what Jason now sees are eight crescent-shaped divots in the backs of his hands.
“Oh.”
Roy snorts a laugh, and has to clear his throat. “Yeah, oh. Thank you, by the way.”
Before he can refuse the gratitude, Roy has barrelled on. “It was good, Jay Baby. Thank you. You did an amazing job.” Once Jason’s hands are tended to, Roy cleans the mess off his stomach and tosses the cloth in the vague direction of their en suite. He collapses on their bed with a flourish. “Lay down with me, Baby. Feed me fruit like Cleopatra, I need to be lavished after you handled me like such a brute.”
Rolling his eyes, Jason takes the bowl and climbs over Roy. “Does this make me Mark Antony?”
“Depends. Are they happy?”
Jason hums, thinking for a moment. “They’re buried together. Mark Antony stabbed himself, thinking that Cleopatra had already killed herself. In his final moments, they brought him to where she was hiding so he could die in her arms. She poisoned herself not long after. Their tomb hasn’t been found.”
When Roy is quiet, Jason reaches for one of his hands, rubbing his thumb across the archer’s scarred knuckles. Eventually, Roy replies softly. “They found a place, somewhere only the two of them will ever know. Untouchable.”
Jason plucks a grape from the bowl, placing it against Roy’s lips and waits for them to part. “Yeah, they did.”
Roy chews and swallows the offered fruit before he speaks again. “You know what else we have in common, Jaybird?”
With closed eyes, he can almost hear the mischievous grin on his fiance’s face. He’s reluctant to encourage him. “What?”
“Our men really take our breath away!”
Roy’s laughter lights up the room, and he continues giggling even after Jason aims a second grape at his forehead.