Jason's been up for days. The Joker's dead – the Joker's dead – the Joker's dead, and Jason didn't kill him, wasn't even anywhere near Gotham when it happened.
One of his idiot thugs did it. Two shots to the head, and then nothing, just a corpse of a clown left in some alleyway.
He's in Denmark when it happens, and when his phone flashes with the news, he can't decide whether to laugh or cry or hit somebody, so he flies home instead.
Bruce is waiting for him when he gets there. Jason's spent hours trying to figure out what he's going to say, how he's supposed to feel, but as soon as he sees Bruce, standing tall in an old grey v-neck and jeans even though it's after dark and Bruce should be out all ready, Jason just barrels into him and breathes.
"You're sure?" Jason asks. Bruce smells like laundry soap and aftershave, and he cups the back of Jason's head and holds him there. Jason can feel himself shake like he hasn't in years, not since –
He was so scared to die. Never wanted to let anyone see it, never said it, but there at the end, when he knew Batman wasn't coming for him –
"I'm sure," Bruce says. He smoothes Jason's hair back from his forehead, and Jason knows he smells like sweat and ten thousand cigarettes but Bruce doesn't care, just tucks Jason's head under his chin, rubs the small of Jason's back.
They stay like that for a while, until Jason tilts his head back to look at Bruce, and there's this hopeful spark of something in Bruce's eyes like Jason hasn't seen in years.
He pushes Bruce back onto the stairway, climbs on top of Bruce and just looks for a while, relearning the wrinkles around Bruce's eyes, the gray at his temples, the scar on his chin.
Then he reaches for Bruce and kisses him, not violent like on rooftops, not desperate like they're at some party, but slow, easy, like they used to before – before.
Bruce holds his face in his hands, and Jason's so much older, so much bigger, but he still drowns under Bruce's touch, still whines like a teenager when Bruce squeezes his ass and thighs.
Eventually Bruce gets them upstairs, gets Jason on his bed and fucks him slow, then bends him over the bed and digs his teeth into Jason's shoulder when they go again.
Jason says, "Please," and Bruce gives him everything he asks for, everything he needs. For the first time in years, there's nothing Bruce could deny him.
For the first time in years, Jason sleeps like a baby.
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bruce/jason. idk about this one.
Date: 2015-06-11 12:57 am (UTC)One of his idiot thugs did it. Two shots to the head, and then nothing, just a corpse of a clown left in some alleyway.
He's in Denmark when it happens, and when his phone flashes with the news, he can't decide whether to laugh or cry or hit somebody, so he flies home instead.
Bruce is waiting for him when he gets there. Jason's spent hours trying to figure out what he's going to say, how he's supposed to feel, but as soon as he sees Bruce, standing tall in an old grey v-neck and jeans even though it's after dark and Bruce should be out all ready, Jason just barrels into him and breathes.
"You're sure?" Jason asks. Bruce smells like laundry soap and aftershave, and he cups the back of Jason's head and holds him there. Jason can feel himself shake like he hasn't in years, not since –
He was so scared to die. Never wanted to let anyone see it, never said it, but there at the end, when he knew Batman wasn't coming for him –
"I'm sure," Bruce says. He smoothes Jason's hair back from his forehead, and Jason knows he smells like sweat and ten thousand cigarettes but Bruce doesn't care, just tucks Jason's head under his chin, rubs the small of Jason's back.
They stay like that for a while, until Jason tilts his head back to look at Bruce, and there's this hopeful spark of something in Bruce's eyes like Jason hasn't seen in years.
He pushes Bruce back onto the stairway, climbs on top of Bruce and just looks for a while, relearning the wrinkles around Bruce's eyes, the gray at his temples, the scar on his chin.
Then he reaches for Bruce and kisses him, not violent like on rooftops, not desperate like they're at some party, but slow, easy, like they used to before – before.
Bruce holds his face in his hands, and Jason's so much older, so much bigger, but he still drowns under Bruce's touch, still whines like a teenager when Bruce squeezes his ass and thighs.
Eventually Bruce gets them upstairs, gets Jason on his bed and fucks him slow, then bends him over the bed and digs his teeth into Jason's shoulder when they go again.
Jason says, "Please," and Bruce gives him everything he asks for, everything he needs. For the first time in years, there's nothing Bruce could deny him.
For the first time in years, Jason sleeps like a baby.