Work Text:
"Sweet Jesus," is all Dick can manage to croak out before trying to get himself engaged enough to turn right back around and stumble back out into the hallway. Somewhere in the steps he makes toward the door and the hallway, Jason lets out an undignified sound of terror, presumably at being found in such a compromising position.
And, really, it is compromising. There's little else the situation could be read as, if Dick's being honest with himself. Jason was… he was…
Dick swallows, holds the knob of the closed door tight in his hand, and has to take a damn minute to center himself. The image of Jason, one leg up on the bed, the other on top of the large trunk at the foot of his bed, bedpost inside him, is not one Dick is likely to erase from his brain anytime soon.
His vision is hazy, distant, the buzzing in his ears tells him he's racking up trauma by the second here. But he cannot stop thinking about it. Jason's cock, hard and leaking. Jason's ass stretched wide to accommodate the rather girthy knob of the bedpost.
He finally peels his fingers off the doorknob, breathes as he forces one foot in front of the other, leading himself down the hallway and away from the torrid scene he definitely shouldn't have walked in on.
Dick leaves because he doesn't know what else to do. Leaves because his mind is replaying the scene again and again, refusing to let him forget it like he wants to. It's wrong on every level. He's nearly Jason's brother, damn it!
Even as he puts the car in gear and gets the hell out of there, his mind is a constant rotation of wrong, wrong, wrong, gilded and hedged with images of what Jason was doing. Not wrong because he was engaging in a way that implies his sexuality is something beyond straight. Wrong because Dick should not be looking at someone he's nearly related to like that.
It takes effort to pack the incident away and the only thing that actually works is buying Jason a real dildo and a plug. A nice wide plug and a slightly slimmer dildo. He tells himself he's giving Jason options that aren't liable to get him into trouble. He knows he's lying to himself.
It's with the utmost stealth that he leaves them in Jason's room, tucks them in the drawer he knows Jason opens every evening to get his book out of, and vacates premises. No way in hell he's going to be caught in here, leaving sex toys for his little brother.
Leaving them helps though. Instead, he imagines incidents that haven't happened, scenes his mind is making up instead of the real one. It's still shades of fucked up, but it's somehow the lesser of two evils, and Dick takes it.
----
It doesn't happen again until Jason's returned from the dead, until they're actively working with one another again. It's a fragile alliance, but Dick finds himself happy to have Jason around. Memories he never wanted in the first place have been burned away by time and grief. When he looks at Jason, he sees a miracle and it leaves him in somewhat of a different mindset than he ever was before.
So it's entirely unexpected when he's confronted with it a second time. It's not Jason's room because Jason doesn't live here anymore. Rather, it's the communal showers in the cave. It becomes obvious in seconds to Dick that Jason has a thing or else he wouldn't be here, like this.
He's crouched against the wall, shower spraying down harshly, steam billowing up around him though it does nothing to hide away the truth of what he's doing. He's got three fingers buried in his ass, plunging them in and out with a vigor only built of a man too turned on to bother with discretion. Dick stands there in the doorway, forgotten towel falling from his fingertips to the tiles. He's staring. He knows he is. He's also not leaving, which he knows he should be. It's just… Jason wouldn't do this here if he weren't interested in being caught. He'd also be stopping if he were angry at being watched.
Jason has to know he's here. He wasn't exactly quiet and he's not hidden. He's standing in the entryway gaping like a fucking fish, is what he's doing.
Dick swallows, regulates, takes stock of his body and his reactions, and well… yeah, it's more than obvious he's into what he's seeing. All Jason has to do is look down.
His next breath is rough, hard to get down into his lungs. It feels like it gets stuck halfway down. Jason's still railing himself on his fingers. His cock is hard and leaking, ruddy at the tip, foreskin pulled back halfway over the head. He's thicker than Dick remembers, thinks age and rebirth has done Jason well.
Thing is, he shouldn't be thinking any of that. Should be regulating himself. Backing away. Leaving.
He's not. He's not leaving, not even trying to. The thoughts fall away like water down the drain and he stands there like a damn moron, watching his brother pleasure himself.
Jason never touches his cock. Not once. One moment he's fucking himself hard and fast, and then he's grunting, shooting across the tiles between his legs, entire body bucking with the force of his orgasm.
Dick nearly cums at the sight. His balls are tight, drawn up to close to his body that he's certain any movement will trigger it. If there's an image he'll never ever forget, it's this one. He's mostly thankful it's not the prior one. Thankful Jason's a proper adult this time.
He retreats, makes it just beyond the entryway, has to catch himself with one hand against the bricks as he's wracked with his completion. His hips jerk and his cock twitches, emptying across the cool stone of the floor. He's helpless in it, just standing there, letting it happen, knowing very well that out here they're monitored. That someone will see his shame and judge him for it.
It takes effort to take the necessary steps to get his towel to clean up his mess. Even more to glance in at Jason, finding him with his back to him, showering like nothing at all has happened.
Dick thinks he'll never be able to pretend this was nothing. He has no idea if Jason will be able to or not.
This time, he doesn't run. He tosses the towel in the bin and waits Jason out. When he leaves the showers, Dick goes in, avoiding eye contact, and Jason lets him be, as if he understands he needs to sort this out himself.
He showers and he hopes like hell he's capable of sorting this out. Hopes he'll make the right decisions. He doesn't know if he will.
----
Nothing changes outwardly between them. Internally, Dick knows he's extremely attracted to Jason. He becomes aware of the way he responds to him, aware of how close his words have started to come to flirting. It's a weird place for him, because he tried so hard to deny his reactions when they were younger that he repressed everything else about the situation. Everything that should have been obvious… just wasn't. But now, it's impossible to deny the truth. He's not entirely certain if he's bisexual or pansexual, but he knows he's one of them. Being unable to forget what he saw, how he reacted is one thing. Finding himself actively searching out ways to explore this part of himself is another.
Porn is his first foray. He consumes it like a teenager who has just found out what the internet can provide. Hedges deeper and deeper into seeing everything there is to be offered. He finds a few things he definitely does not like and finds a surprise few he had no idea he'd be into if only the people had the right equipment. It's interesting to him how he reacts differently to different kinks depending on the equipment of the two participants. But he likes knowing.
It's after that, that he finds himself flirting with Jason. He brings him things. Coffee when he grabs some for himself. Leaves a box of pastries he knows Jason likes at his safe house and asks him to go by after patrol. There's the random things for Jason's apartment. A new comforter because Jason's looks threadbare, a new blender because Jason laments how the motor burnt out on his good one. Then there's the way he speaks to him, the way he always cocks his hip against a counter or intentionally puts himself on better display for him.
Jason doesn't brush him off, but he doesn't really respond either. Dick wonders if he's oblivious or brushing him off. He figures oblivious because Jason doesn't beat around the bush.
So when the third time happens, Dick just stands there and analyses the situation.
Jason knew he was coming over, though he didn't know exactly when. He invited Dick himself, said anytime was fine. The door was unlocked and the music is loud, like Jason didn't want to hear anyone coming in.
Then there's the fact that Jason's straddling the fancy pillow Dick gave him a few weeks ago, a dildo that looks very similar to the one Dick gave him so many years ago strapped to it. The tip is buried inside him. And Jason… Jason's got his thigh holsters on and a ripped black tank top that is far too tight, and absolutely nothing else. It's obscene. Intentional. It has to be.
No one just does this. Not when guests are coming over. The only issue now is if Jason's doing it because he gets off on the exhibitionism or if he's doing it because it's Dick. Those are two very different things and should garner two very different reactions, Dick thinks.
Still, it doesn't make him walk away. He stands there, watching Jason rock his hips, watching him fuck himself down on the dildo and hunch forward to drag his cock along the Nightwing blue fabric of the pillow. His own cock is absolutely straining the front of his tight black jeans. A glance tells him it's incredibly obvious. Achingly so. He moves his hand down and gropes at himself, squeezes his prick until he groans, desperately wanting to jack off while watching Jason do this.
It's that rather than anything else that encourages words from Jason's lips. He grunts, jerks his hips harshly, and grits out, "Either take the invitation or don't, man."
And… well. Well. Dick almost wants to laugh. If it's been an invitation this whole time, he's been an oblivious idiot. There's always the possibility it's only just now an invitation, just this time, not the others. Given he's been trying to woo Jason for the better part of two months, he's going with it has only just changed.
He takes the necessary steps, comes to stand over Jason, watches as he fucks himself down on the dildo, watches his cock rub a dark spot on the fancy blue pillow. His voice is choked when he says, "It looks like the one I gave you."
Jason moans at that, lifts up, leaves just the tip in and clearly shows off to Dick, his hips wiggling. "It is the one you gave me. Lucky me, B never went through my drawers."
"Fuck," Dick manages. It's not eloquent. It's not even really a response, but Dick's brain is rapidly short circuiting. Jason's humping his pillow, using his dildo to fuck his ass open with. Jason… fuck.
Any hesitation Dick's brain might have managed to dredge up falls away abruptly, cascades into his actions, and before he can even debate if what he's doing is wise, he climbs up on the bed behind Jason, settles astride his calves, and pushes him forward until he comes up off the dildo. Dick unstraps it, leaves the pillow between Jason's thighs for him to ruin with his cum, and then reaches for his own pants. He grips the zipper and waits, takes in a steady breath and checks in with himself. He wants this. Really really wants this. Jason wants it. The only thing is…
"You know this is more than sex to me, right?"
"Kind of obvious, bud. You've been courting me for months. Consider it mission accomplished."
Dick breathes a sigh of relief, drags his zipper down, and frees his cock to the air of the room. This is it. This is him giving in. Fully and completely. No going back.
He moves Jason into the best position and presses tight up against his back, curls one arm protectively around him, and guides his cock into Jason's body.
Beneath him, Jason groans, grinds his hips back against him, and Dick can't help but answer it with his own noises. His hips snap forward, sinking him all the way in, and then he's done for, his brain fritzes out, and all he can do is hang on for the ride.
It's a strange juxtaposition. His mind and heart so utterly full in regards to Jason. His hips and cock so utterly in lust with him that it makes his movements seem like pure fucking no matter how he's cupping Jason close to himself. He hangs on like the world will end if he lets go, fucks him like a man completely starved of any sexual interaction, which is so far from the truth it's objectively hilarious.
Beneath him Jason is the easiest lover Dick's ever had to read before. He makes it known when he loves where Dick's at, the angle he's chosen, the pace he's using. His body is pliant, needy, but also a guidebook open for Dick's discovery. It's so easy to slip his hand around Jason's hip and grasp his cock, even easier to fall into a rhythm that brings them both to the stage of gasping, panting mess in under a minute. Dick's falling apart, but so is Jason, and that makes it all that much more beautiful.
The instant Jason starts to clench under him, his muscles go taut and his thighs almost seem to spread more, is the moment Dick knows it's about to happen. Jason's about to cum on his fucking cock. He gasps out, "Fuck, do it, do it for me, Jay," and that's it. That's all it takes for Jason to buck under him, grunting his way through his orgasm. His hole spasms around Dick, his cock twitches against his palm, and Jason utterly ruins the gorgeous blue cushion, a fact that Dick absolutely revels in. He'll buy him a hundred more if only he keeps ruining them like this.
Dick plunges in tight, goes in so deep he can't see anything between them, and stills there, just feeling the aftershocks of Jason's orgasm, the faint twitching of his hole as he finishes. His hand stills on Jason's cock, slides the mess up and over his hip, and holds on as he slowly draws out and sinks back in. It takes twice. Only twice before he flies over the edge, cums curled over Jason's body, holding him so close, so tight. He fills him and lives in the fact that there's nothing between them, that he's making Jason his own in a way he's never done with anyone else before.
It's so easy after that. Easy to pull out and marvel at what he's done. Easy to roll Jason onto his back and crawl over him and kiss him until they're rutting against each other like teenagers, filled to the brim with desire that one time will never ease. Easy to lay curled against his side afterward and easy not to run away.
They lay there, hands linked, the buzz of florescent lights over them, the water stain on Jason's ceiling obvious and ugly, and Dick thinks he finally knows what home feels like. It's not a place. It's not a family. It's a person.
It's Jason.