Title: Keep my mind on my duties (4700 words) Fandom: DCU (Nightwing: Year One) Summary: How many more times do we have to play this kind of game before I get to be Robin for real? Pairing: Bruce/Jason Rating: Adult. Content some readers may find disturbing. Notes: For Mary, whom I promised I'd think about Jason, and Te who made me believe in Bruce/Jason. Love to LC for beta reading and Zee and Chevauchee for listening. "God, sometimes I forget how great breakfast is," Jason says. He scrapes up the drips of orange marmalade that fell off his toast with his finger and licks it off. Alfred doesn't make a sniff sound, and Bruce watches him. Bruce spends a lot of time watching him, really, but this is a little more intent than normal over breakfast. It's more like the look he gets while they're training, the one that comes right before, "You can handle another ten pounds," or "Come back to the ready stance. To throw this new kick, you chamber it like this." The next level above orange marmalade -- Jason's not so naive he doesn't know what it would be. It's just he stopped thinking out loud about Bruce that way, somewhere between Batman untying him and signing papers that say he's Bruce's son. Maybe he was wrong about that. "In three minutes, we should leave," Bruce says, getting up from the table. Jason gives him a once-over like they're on the street and sees him -- a little differently. There's something not-Batman, and not-Bruce Wayne, in his stance. More like Matches Malone. He knew Matches, back before, and it makes him feel itchy to know that he's not a real guy, except in the way he is. Jason brushes the crumbs off his lap and grabs another couple of pieces of toast. "Ready when you are." Bruce nods at him. "On the way out, I want you to find five things I've changed since yesterday." Another training exercise. Jason groans. "How many more times do we have to play this kind of game before I get to be Robin for real?" "Training never stops," Bruce says, and that's not an answer, but it's all Jason gets out of him. He spots the turned abstract statue by a guy whose name he can never remember and notices that the Persian carpet's been turned around because the fringe on one side is a little more worn than the other. And then there's Jason's backpack, which is a little heavier than it was yesterday. The fourth and fifth things are too subtle for him, or he's not thinking the right way. "So -- what else was there?" he asks in the car. Bruce just frowns a little. "You'll find them later." It'd be easier to take if he yelled instead of being quietly disappointed. Jason compensates by deliberately getting his thumb all sticky on his last piece of toast and dragging the pad over his tongue to clean it off. He can see Bruce's eyes narrow and it's hard not to grin. He can't be the world's greatest detective, but at least he can get under Bruce's guard. "I'll look again." "Yes. It's a very limited area, and it should be familiar by now." Jason shrugs and looks out the window. "I haven't lived there my whole life. I don't know what you can do with things I haven't even seen." Bruce puts his hand on Jason's knee to get his attention again and he shivers before he remembers it's not, really not like that. "In the field, you'll be places you've never been before, and you'll have to find much more subtle changes than the ones I've made." Jason wrinkles his nose. "Bloodstains aren't that hard to see." "That would be the most obvious sign possible," Bruce says. Jason's heard this speech before. "I know. I know. Even the p -- the cops can find blood, most of the time. But I don't know how I'm supposed to know that somebody's picture got knocked sideways or anything." The time Bruce decided that turning the Rothko in the library upside down was obvious still pisses Jason off. Like he's supposed to notice the subtle shadings of grey on grey that well. Bruce raises his eyebrows a tiny amount. It's a shrug, from him, and Jason knows he's getting better at seeing the subtle stuff because he wouldn't have noticed it when he first met Bruce. "Practice." "Yeah." Jason leans back against the seat and remembers his old mattress without meaning to. The car seat is way more comfortable than it ever was. He's so damn lucky. And when he lounges a little and lets his calf brush against Bruce's, Bruce doesn't move away. "After dinner, I won't tell you how many things I've changed," Bruce says. Jason can't hear any change in his tone at all, but he smiles anyhow. "Real crime scenes don't come with cheat sheets." "Mm." * It doesn't take a special effort to be in Bruce's space when they're sparring. That's totally the point, but trading blows without armor is one of those artforms he's not good at yet. "Precision is the most important skill that you lack," Bruce says, and he's not even out of breath. Jason can feel his t-shirt sticking to his chest and back already. "Anyone can punch hard. If you want to be successful --" Jason throws a couple of kicks and doesn't land either of them. "I'm working on it," he says, and if he wasn't panting a little, he wouldn't feel so whiny. "Again," Bruce says, and Jason tries, but he can't even touch Bruce. Not with the punch-kick combinations he's practiced, not with any of the leg sweeps, not even when he knows Bruce is slowing down for him. He backs off after not long enough and peels his shirt off. "I can do this," he says. "I'm not fucking useless. Dammit --" Bruce smiles at him with a tight Batman smile. "If you could reliably land many blows after this much training, I would want to know who you'd trained with before." Jason tosses his t-shirt aside. "I just want to hit you once." He tries again, again, closing and getting tapped -- Bruce's toes, his fingertips, enough that he knows he'd be on the ground dying if this was a real fight. "Call time when you need to," Bruce says, but Jason doesn't back off, even though he knows he's dripping sweat from his nose and his hair and it's running down his chest. Going fast doesn't get him anywhere. He gets close enough to take four hits and -- there -- touches Bruce's side. "Yes!" he shouts, and he's expecting to get knocked out. If Bruce was a goddamn human being, he'd do more than trip Jason and pin him to the mats. "You would have been dead. Stop leaving your left side open," Bruce says, close enough that Jason can feel his breath. Jason arches his hips up, wriggling like he wants to get free or get laid. "It was worth it." Bruce lets him up, faster than normal, faster than anything, and offers him a hand back to his feet. "Even with the armor, you would've had broken bones." "Still." Jason scratches his bare stomach. "I got you." "That's not going to work on the streets," Bruce says, frowning at him. "Hit the shower." Jason blinks. "What, already?" Bruce turns away, heading for his equipment locker. "I have to patrol." Jason's not learning how to be a detective for nothing. Like he would ever have missed that he turned Bruce on. "Okay, okay," Jason says, following a little too close. "What do you want me to work on while you're out?" He feels like an apple-polisher, but if he's ever going to get out there in the suit, he's got to get it together. "Work on your upper blocks and the speed of the hook kick," Bruce says, only glancing back at him, like that's going to hide what Jason already saw, already felt. "And roundhouse kicks. As slow as you can do them. Also, there may be some changes in the estate." Jason wrinkles his nose, more at the orders to exercise than at the ones to think. He knows he's not good enough at thinking like a detective yet. "Slow kicks." Bruce gets out a Batsuit and starts putting on the top half. "Do you want to kick someone in the collarbone or the nose?" "Slow it is." Jason shakes his head. "Precision just -- it doesn't seem worth all the work." "It will be," Bruce says, pulling on the cowl. * "You can get your leg higher than that," Bruce says, and Jason checks the wall. The only plus to stretching against actual cave surface instead of something smoother is it means he has visible landmarks. He's got about a quarter inch up in the last three days, and that feels like a hell of a lot. "You sure?" "Come here." It takes Jason a moment to get out of the split-against-the-wall. He picks his foot up again. "Okay. How do I --" "Lift -- and balance." Bruce pushes his calf up -- and farther, way farther than Jason can make it go alone. He tightens his hands into fists, but it doesn't hurt -- and then it starts. "Ow. Oh shit, you're sure this is a good idea?" Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't expect you to equal Dick's flexibility, but you need greater range in your kicks." Usually when it's a 'come on, new kid,' speech, Bruce is smoother about it. Maybe Jason doesn't know as many languages but he can lift like anything; maybe Jason isn't as good at spotting snipers in simulations but he can pick the best guy to start with to demoralize a group. This just hurts, more than the stretch. He tries to breathe into it, through it, and pushes it a little farther. "Okay." "Switch sides." The other side hurts more, and isn't as good. Jason pushes it farther until he's using every breath to not say ow, but his foot's over his head and it feels like progress. "Is that enough?" he says through gritted teeth. "For those muscles." Bruce lets him down. "Show me a side split." From his frown, it's not good enough. "Okay, give me a push," Jason says, even though his calves are already on fire and his thighs are going to hate him tomorrow. "Sit -- lean forward. There -- push yourself, first." "I am," Jason says, trying not to yell at him. "Shove me already." "Never a shove," Bruce says, adding a little weight to Jason's shoulders -- and he can go further, and it doesn't hurt. "Steady pressure is much more effective." "God, ow," Jason says, and throws himself into it more. "Good," Bruce says. * "The paint's chipped on the left hand side of the gate -- new since yesterday --" Jason says, ducking Bruce's kick. "By what vehicle?" Bruce is a bit out of breath. Jason's worse off, but he feels triumphant about it. "Delivery van. Fed Ex." Jason rolls to avoid another punch and comes up with a pair of kicks that trip him. "Brought Alfred a delivery." He gets Bruce to his knees with an armlock. "He got you books for your birthday. And -- stop leaving your left side open." Bruce laughs and nods. "Well done." "And I don't know how you convinced Alfred to let you wreck that shirt you wore earlier by washing it with a blue sock, but you did." Jason lets him go and Bruce takes him down, but now he knows how to fall and roll right back up again with it. They fall right back into sparring, even though Jason's still trying to get his breath back. He can tap Bruce one time out of ten now, and it gets faster as they go. He's moving light on his feet and feeling like he's flying. "Got you," he says, and Bruce knocks the wind out of him and he's still standing, dodging backward, coughing. "Robin --" Bruce says, reaching out to him. Jason goes with it and leans on him. "I --" He puts an arm around Bruce's waist, bracing himself more than he needs to, really. Bruce is solid and just as sticky-sweaty as he is. And they're both hard. Bruce gets him on his feet and backs away a little, and Jason fakes a sway. "Oh --" They've been sparring long enough that he really is tingly in the knees, even if he's not falling over. Bruce catches him again and holds him a little farther away, then helps him sit on the mats. "You need to drink water," he says. "I'll be right back." "I'll be okay," Jason says, and puts his head between his knees to catch his breath. Bruce comes back with a bottle of water and an icepack and kneels beside Jason to hand them to him. "Drink slowly." Jason nods and puts the ice on the back of his neck. "I know. I -- I'll be careful." "You're not injured?" "No." He takes a deep breath, and he might have a bruise tomorrow but it's no worse than that. "I'm good to go." "Friday, then," Bruce says, getting up. Jason blinks at him. "Friday what?" "The uniform is ready. And so are you." He bounces to his feet and punches the air. "Finally!" Bruce smiles again. "Drink your water. Robin." * He's worn pieces of the uniform before he puts it all on, today, but it didn't count before. The armoring in the various panels makes him feel dangerous, not vulnerable. Having his legs bare, well. That's another issue. He keeps catching Bruce looking at him. Waiting for the runner to get back to the dealer so they can drop and really know where the power in the system goes. Jason's not posing -- Jason wasn't posing until he saw it happen. After the dealer is tied up, there are gunshots down the street, and they're the only guys in town dumb enough to run toward the action. In the middle of the fight, Jason gets on the last guy's shoulders and whacks his ears but hard, and he goes down. And Bruce is watching him do it. It makes him use his best kicks on the idiots trying to hold up the liquor store even though it has bulletproof glass, and he doesn't catch Bruce looking that time, but he can feel it anyway. The car is only about a block away afterward, and it's three in the morning. "Where are we headed?" Jason asks, bouncing a little between steps. He's not going to sleep for a month with the adrenaline and the sheer high of finally being able to do this. "To the car." "I know that," Jason says, going a little faster so he can glower at Bruce. "But where from there?" "You need to get home," Bruce says, not looking at him for what feels like the first time all night. Jason gets in his way. "No, it's early. I've stayed up way later than this training, you know it, and I don't have school tomorrow. Come on, there's no reason to go home, Batman." They're at the car now, and Jason blocks him from getting to the driver's seat the only way he can, by stepping right in front of him. "Not yet." Batman frowns at him. "Robin, get in the car." He leans up to kiss Batman -- to kiss Bruce -- to make him stop, to make him back off. It doesn't work. Batman's hands tighten on his shoulders and Batman leans against him and presses him against the car. Even if he could breathe in the middle of this kiss, with Bruce's tongue hot and everywhere in his mouth, he couldn't breathe with Bruce's weight on him, plus the armor. "Oh god," Jason says, and then Batman kisses him again, more insistent, and he can't even see the alleyway anymore. It's too dark and he's tangled up in both their capes. "Robin," Batman says, and it makes Jason's stomach twist with wanting to hear it again, in that voice. And he wonders how many times the Other Guy heard it like that until Batman kisses him again, and then he can't think. He's got his legs wrapped around Batman's waist -- when did that happen? he doesn't even know -- and he's rubbing himself off. Wearing a jock, and it hurts, but he's too crazy with it to care and he's clinging to Batman's shoulders. He was waiting for this -- and Batman was, he can tell, and he wants it, every time they go out should be just like this and he's thrusting his hips against Batman's, again and again. Batman's still leaning on him and he can't get enough breath, but he can't care about that. He's breathing in little high-pitched gasps and maybe later it'll be embarrassing but right now Batman shuts him up with another kiss and then he can't breathe at all and he's coming. "Fuck, Batman," Jason says, laughing for half a second until Batman puts a gloved hand over his mouth. "Get in the car," he says, his voice as cold as it is when he's threatening crooks. He holds Jason up for a second, long enough for him to get his feet under himself -- with shaky knees, but he can stand. "On the car's good enough for me," Jason says, and Batman swings into the driver's seat, ignoring him. He keeps ignoring Jason when he gets in the car and says, "Seriously, if this neighborhood's too busy for you, we could -- well -- it's not like anyone's going to notice if the windows get steamed." And he doesn't say anything when Jason says, "Bruce, come on." When Jason gives up for ten blocks -- he counts them to have a measure of the time -- Bruce doesn't even start to relax. He's tense all over and gripping the steering wheel like the car couldn't drive itself anyway. "I don't get it," Jason says, leaning back in his seat. "You were -- you wanted that, dammit. And so did I." "We are not discussing this," Bruce says in a command voice. "Fine." Jason puts his feet up on the dashboard in their stupid green booties. Bruce is too distracted to even yell at him. When they get back to the Cave, Jason gets out of the car as fast as he can, but he's not faster than Bruce. "Stop beating yourself up, dammit," he says, catching Bruce's cape. Bruce turns on him, still in full cowl and trying to be scary as hell. "That was completely --" "What I wanted," Jason interrupts him. "What you wanted." He tightens his fist around the handful of Bruce's cape and closes in on him, glaring up and trying to keep his attention. "I'm not a fucking idiot, Bruce. Don't try this 'we're never going to talk about it' shit. We don't have to talk about it. Just --" Jason grabs his shoulder and stretches up to kiss him. "Jason --" It's Bruce's voice, not Batman's, choked. "Yes, dammit." Jason kisses him as hard as Bruce kissed him before. He can still feel the tingle in his lips, same as the way his arms are telling him he did a lot more than normal tonight. Bruce bearhugs him and it feels like he should slam against something, but the car is back there, somewhere, and the mats are over -- and Bruce is kissing him. Jason's kissed a lot of people but hardly any of them made him feel like he was going to lose something vital. Or like he already has. If Bruce stops kissing him again now, he's going to fall down and then he'll get benched for another forever because the Old Guy would never fall down. "Jason," Bruce says again. "Jesus, Bruce --" Jason tries to get a good grip on his shoulders, but the armor's slippery. "I'm gonna fall," he says, and then he realizes he sounds like an idiot, but Bruce is hugging him tighter, picking him up, and he doesn't care anymore. "I've got you." Bruce sets him down, and he's dizzy enough that he's expecting the mats. But it's the car, and he lets himself lean back, laughing. "Oh, god. Batman -- I --" Jason can't make himself stop laughing, but Bruce does it for him with another kiss. Jason starts fighting with his armored shorts, and he knows exactly how gross they are on the inside. When Bruce starts peels off his gloves and tosses them aside, then starts helping, Jason tries to push his hand away. Bruce laughs and nips his ear. Getting under his guard, like always. "It's all right, Robin." "I need a fucking -- shower." The last word comes out in a gasp as Bruce wraps his fingers around Jason's dick. "Oh Jesus." "Later." Bruce licks his neck and rubs him in short, quick strokes, just what Jason usually does to himself when he's tired and he wants to get off fast. It makes Jason shiver and grab at his wrist. "Bruce -- I --" "Too fast?" Bruce asks against his ear, slowing down enough to make it a tease. "N-no. Just --" Jason can't stand hearing himself beg. He makes himself shut up by kissing Bruce again, again, remembering the way Bruce felt leaning against him earlier. He lets his hands clench into fists, and he's whimpering loud enough that it's echoing off the walls. "Bruce --" he scrabbles at the armor again, not finding any purchase. The way his hand is moving is almost enough, almost -- Bruce pins his wrist to the hood of the car with his free hand and that's just what Jason needs. "Robin," Bruce says in his ear, and Jason moans too goddamn loud. But there's no one to hear. "Fuck me," he says, shuddering, and it's not -- Not something he doesn't mean. Just something he didn't know he meant, that much, until he said it out loud and that thought's there with the weight of a hundred fantasies plus the sound of Bruce groaning. Jason makes himself kiss Bruce instead of starting to beg, and he lets his hips arch up, again -- again -- until he's got everything he needs to come. Again. It's messier this time, and until he opens his eyes he's forgotten that Bruce is still wearing the cowl, which reminds him he's still wearing the mask. He's still Robin, all except the shorts, and the thought's enough to get him to practice that flexibility he's fought for and swing his leg over Bruce's shoulder. "Please." He can feel Bruce shiver even through the armor. "Jason." "God, please." Jason pulls his own mask off, too impatient to mess with the solvent. Bruce's hand is shaking on Jason's thigh. He shakes his head a little and then peels back the cowl, letting it hang. He's flushed and he looks startlingly vulnerable without it. "Are you -- are you sure?" "How many fucking buildings did we jump off tonight?" Jason asks, laughing, and he puts his hand over Bruce's on his thigh, then moves it in and down and right where he wants it. "Do it." It's the first time he's surprised Bruce in weeks. "Jay --" "I mean it, dammit." He pushes his ass against Bruce's hand. Bruce fumbles -- actually fumbles -- with his belt with his other hand, then undoes his jock. "How many people's blood were you in contact with tonight?" Jason closes his eyes. He was trying not to think about it, but that's just stupid. "Point." Part of him doesn't want Bruce to be undressed at all, like he'll be someone different if he's wearing the cowl. Like Batman isn't quite Bruce, and Bruce is the guy who's got a condom in his hand, safe, sane, and all that shit. "God, Jason." Bruce is staring at him -- frozen with his fingers in another compartment of the belt -- like he's not all that safe or sane, so that's okay. Jason wriggles a little on the hood of the car. It's not the most comfortable place he's ever been, but he wants this too much to go somewhere else now. "Yeah?" Bruce is on him again in a heartbeat, pressing his finger into Jason, thick, hard, and slick. "Robin." "Jesus." Jason arches back so hard he hits his head on the car and he doesn't give a shit. He's digging his heel into Bruce's shoulder and it doesn't matter. "God, Batman, more." "Jay --" Bruce stops -- he's not listening, not at all. "You've never stopped pushing me," Jason says, biting his lip. "Don't fucking stop now." "Jay," Bruce says again, into his neck. Jason feels it more than hears him. The pressure of another finger makes him buck and wail, shuddering with it. "Yes. Please -- god, I need you now, now --" Bruce shudders and pulls away a little. Jason whimpers. "Dammit --" Bruce kisses him, lingering almost like it's a goodbye, and it makes him scared. "You missed the lesson on patience," Bruce says against his mouth, and there's a little crinkling noise. It takes Jason a second to remember the condom, and by then he's already laughing. Jason puts his arms around Bruce's neck and pulls him down. "Tell me something I don't fucking know." "This is what I want," Bruce says, biting at his neck and pushing into him, his hands holding Jay's wrists above his head, going slow enough to drive Jason crazy and fast enough that it hurts just right. "Oh god, I know, I -- I knew that, god --" "You feel so good." Bruce kisses him again, letting his hands go, and he can't hear himself moan this time, but he can hear Bruce groan. He's getting lost in this. It doesn't hurt anymore, but he can feel the stretch and the ways he's going to have to get used to it again, and who he is now. It's not a question that takes thought. Spread wide on the hood of the Batmobile, losing his grip on Bruce's shoulder for the hundredth time, he knows exactly who he is. "Jesus, Batman. Bruce -- god, yes, fuck me --" Bruce strokes him again, less of a tease this time. "Jay." He's shaking and his breathing is ragged, already. Jason thrusts into his hand and whimpers when Bruce speeds up, losing the synchrony. The imperfection of it gets him more than anything. It's Bruce without his perfect control, Bruce gasping for breath and slamming into him. "You're gonna kill me. I -- god, I --" He bites his own knuckles, trying not to scream. "Just -- do whatever you want, fuck, fuck --" "Robin -- Robin --" Bruce squeezes his hip hard and buries his face in Jason's neck, shuddering. After a few deep, ragged breaths, Bruce shows him exactly what it feels like when Batman decides he wants to get somebody off as fast as possible. Jason comes before he can even take a breath to scream. "Oh man," Jason says, gulping for air. "Is it bad I could fall asleep here?" Bruce laughs and tousles his hair lightly with his less totally sticky hand. "You'd fall off pretty quickly." "I guess." Jason yawns. "But it'd be worth it." "No," Bruce says, "it wouldn't." He helps Jason not slide off the car, then gives him a hand up. Jason leans on him harder than he wants to, but he's in no condition to do anything but pass out. Bruce holds him up for most of the shower and keeps him from drowning. Jason has the vague feeling that that's what partners are for, but everything's pretty vague right now. He's just about awake enough to stumble up the stairs in a bathrobe when Bruce stops holding him up and find his way to his room with Bruce right next to him in case he needs help balancing. "'night," he says, pushing the door open. "Sleep well," Bruce says, and Jason's asleep before he hears the door shut again. Arcana: I read 'Batman: Under the Hood volume 2' and it defragmented my brain, putting all the vague "Of course Bruce and Jason are obsessed with each other!" thoughts in one place. Take this as a recommendation of the trade paperback. This is an experiment in writing while listening to appropriate music. I suspect that everyone in my house, including my cat and the spiderplant, is now tired of Liz Phair's 'Exile in Guyville.' My choice to title it instead from Cole Porter is merely indicative of my mental disturbances.
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