Chapter Text
Jason doesn’t think about Dick Grayson.
Jason doesn’t think about Dick when Roy hits him with A Look after a successful Outlaws mission. He knows that Dick and Roy used to be close, but he doesn’t want to know if their dynamic ever extended to this. He definitely doesn’t wonder if Roy ever ate Dick out with the same enthusiasm.
Jason also doesn’t think about Dick when Deathstroke propositions him. He knows that Nightwing is the frequent object of Slade’s obsession, but that doesn’t mean Jason can’t have his own fun with the man. When he’s biting his lip bloody and clawing up the mercenary’s back, Jason surely isn’t imagining how Dick would act. Slade pats his thigh and calls him a good boy, and not once does Jason consider those words being spoken to him by a much warmer voice.
When a night on patrol ends in a close call and a desperate need to get trashed, Jason doesn’t question himself eyeing up a toned, handsome stranger at the bar. He’s not mentally substituting brown eyes with blue, or russet hair with black, or thinking that the hands on him are too soft and not nearly calloused enough. The guy calls him pretty and Jason scoffs in his face and the hurt that flashes across the man’s expression does not remind him of anyone at all.
In fact, Jason is so good at not thinking about Dick Grayson that it takes him by genuine surprise when the man himself shows up in Crime Alley.
One moment Jason is cleaning his gun, the next he’s cussing at a knock on the bedroom window. Only bats ever know where to find him, and only one ever announces his presence.
“No one’s home, leave a message!”
It isn’t a deterrent in the slightest to the lithe figure that slips into the room. “Hey, Little Wing. Been a while.”
Dick is fully dressed for patrol, masked and finger-striped. Not that Jason ever notices things like the little variances in his suits or the way they accent any assets.
“The hell do you want,” is a very normal, I-never-dream-about-you response, so that’s what Jason says.
“I was hoping for your help on a case, actually.”
“Phones exist.”
“You never text back.”
“Take the hint?”
“Jay.” Dick flashes a brief smile, leaning against the window frame. “I promise I won’t take up much time.”
Please do, says a tiny voice in Jason’s head. Easy enough to drown out. He only actually verbalizes a grunt, but Dick takes it for the permission it is.
The thing is, Jason knows. He knows how insecure jealousy then hero worship then incandescent rage has twisted form yet again into this current Dick Grayson fixation. He knows that something like his shame died in The Pit and that Dick will absolutely hate him forever if he finds out, so Jason has committed himself to a life of substitutions. He’ll fuck his way through old friends, current enemies and convenient strangers before telling Dick a thing.
Which is why, when Dick asked for his assistance in tracking down a new street drug, the nature of its effects should have been the first question on Jason’s list. Because now, he is possibly dying in a dingy back alley. Dosed up to his gills on truth serum.
“Hood, come in!”
Dick has been trying to reach him on comms for the last five minutes. Approximately four minutes and fifty three seconds ago, Jason muted his own mic when Dick’s question of “how’s it going over there?” had forced the words “painful without you” out of his traitorous throat. Turns out his helmet cannot filter this particular substance, and he should have been a lot less pleasant to the goon who smashed the vial over his head in their tussle.
If the stab wound from earlier doesn’t kill him, Jason might try for another one.
Oracle chimes in first. “Hood, why is your mic muted?”
And hell, a concerned Dick has nothing on a concerned Babs, but Jason has been stubborn through both his lives and doesn’t plan on stopping today.
“I’m in love with Dick and completely incapable of lying about it,” Jason says to no one, because he’s not unmuting that mic for anything.
“O, send me his coordinates.”
“I want to kiss him, and suck his dick. Or just hold his hand forever if that’s all he wanted.”
“Sending now, N. His tracker says he hasn’t moved in a few minutes.”
Jason is so screwed, but the words keep bubbling up. “I want him to fuck me. I want him to hold me down and look at me with those stupid baby blues like I’m the only one in the world, and then I want to-”
Turns out he can definitely still punch himself, so that’s what Jason does. He should have crushed the tracker the moment Dick slipped it into his jacket, but in all his infinite dumbassery, Jason had complied at a flash puppy dog eyes. He spits away a glob of blood, licks over his freshly busted lip, and tries to clear his head.
Getting his feet under him only aggravates the slash in his side, but it beats sitting here waiting for certain doom. He doesn’t know how close Nightwing might already be, so Jason drops his helmet and tracker before stumbling out of the alley.
And right into another nightmare.
“Hoodie,” Roman Sionis smiles. “Was wondering where you’d made it off to.”
Jason groans, because if Black Mask has been involved the whole time, he’s really been off his game.
The two goons flanking Roman brace for an altercation, but he waves them off. He glances over Jason’s helmetless state, hunched posture, and obvious disorientation. He nods.
“Did you mean it when you said I wasn’t your type?”
The goons look taken aback, and Jason almost wants to laugh, because of course this is happening right now. He’s still compelled to answer, but it’s at least a resounding “fuck yes.”
Roman frowns. He twists a gloved finger in his ear and tries again. “What’s your full name, kid?”
“Jas-” Jason punches himself in the face again and immediately swears up a storm about it.
“Alright, so you did get a dose.” Roman shrugs as if he never gave a fuck in the first place. “Then why the hell did you go down on me last week?”
“I’ve been desperate,” Jason grumbles without much of a choice. One of the goons raises both eyebrows, and there goes his street cred.
“Well, I always knew you were a slut.” Black Mask nods. “But really, our little rendezvous meant nothing to you?”
“Really,” Jason grits through an oncoming headache.
“That hurts, baby. Cause I gotta say, you looked great on your knees-”
“Sionis,” a curt voice interrupts from above.
And this is the exact thing Jason was afraid of. Well, not exactly, because Jason really didn’t expect to see Black Mask in Bludhaven tonight, but it’s close enough. Dick is on the ground between them in a moment, glancing over Jason with clear worry but not turning away from Roman. There’s a steely look in his eyes that all but guarantees he heard that last sentence.
“If you touched him-”
“Ah, Nitwing. If you don’t mind waiting, Red and I here are having a little lover’s spat.”
“We’re not,” Jason hisses. “I told you it was a one time thing!”
“I just can’t bring myself to believe that, not when Dear Ole Deathstroke was telling me about your new fuck appointment next week. You’re telling me domineering men don’t do it for you?”
At that particular overload of information, Dick looks like someone just pissed in his cereal. The goons are glancing at each other like they might actually try to book it, and Jason is so distracted by his imminent panic that he forgets to shut himself up.
“It’s not domineering men, not really, it’s people that remind me of Nightwing.”
There is absolute silence for the span of several moments, then one of the goons murmurs “I’m out.” Black Mask looks so stunned, he doesn’t even try to shoot the guy running in the back.
“What the fuck do I have to do with Nightwing?”
“Nothing, asshole! That’s why I told you it was a one time thing!”
“Excuse me,” Dick chokes out. “Could we rewind-”
“No!” Jason shouts, only just realizing how deeply he’s digging himself. He moves to take a step backwards and oh, there’s the bloodloss. He staggers into the alley wall and plants a hand on the bricks, almost positive he’s about to throw up.
“Hood!” Dick rushes to brace him, peering at his side. “Are you alright?”
“No,” Jason gasps. “But at this point I’d rather be left to die.”
Ever the professional when he wants to be, Dick ignores him. He turns back to Roman, a hand now on one of his escrima sticks. The other taps at his comms, and Jason would be surprised if Barbara hasn’t already sent half the precinct in their direction. “I’ll deal with you later, Sionis.”
Roman throws both hands up. “Unbelievable. I came out tonight for a simple honest conversation and it turns out you’re the reason Red’s so good at giving head. You bat brats really are something else.”
Dick makes a sound like he might be dying and Jason strongly considers the merits of biting through his own tongue.
Black Mask narrows his eyes, suddenly looking between them with renewed interest. “Wait a minute, are you two like, actually related? Because I could be into that-”
“No. Nope, I’m out.”
And with that, Jason knocks his skull into the wall hard enough to collapse.
He wakes up like three minutes later, because no god was merciful enough to grant him permanent brain damage, but at least Roman is gone. The alleyway is gone too, he notices, because all he can see when he looks up is Dick’s concerned face hovering above him.
“Jason?”
Dick has him cradled in his lap, a gentle hand carding through his bangs. The other is wrapped around his shoulder, pressing a strip of gauze to his stab wound. It’s all very soft and caring, so Jason reevaluates the potential head trauma. No way in hell after everything.
“Tim will be here with the Batmobile soon.”
“No thank you,” Jason mumbles.
“I don’t think that wound is as bad as it looks, but I’d still like you to come back to the cave for stitches and a transfusion. We can also take a sample of whatever they dosed you with,” Dick pauses, “and check for a concussion.”
“Too late. Inoperable brain tumor,” Jason insists.
Dick stops petting him for a moment, meeting his eyes. “Really?”
“No,” Jason concedes, the words still drawn from him. “And no more questions please.”
Dick hums but doesn’t press it. Jason has enough time to think that it’s an impressive amount of restraint from his chatty predecessor, before Dick holds true to form.
“So, Black Mask?”
“Blame the tequila, not me.”
“Please don’t sleep with any more villains.”
“‘S not just villains. Also, none of your business.”
“Sounds like it might be,” Dick disagrees.
“It might be,” Jason agrees. He can’t even punch himself in the face because Dick is cradling his cheek. He doesn’t want to bust up Nightwing’s pretty fingers. “I’m sorry. You can leave.”
“I’d rather not,” Dick murmurs. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Jason’s head. Brotherly, surely. Pitying.
Jason’s been so sure that Dick wouldn’t even be able to look at him after finding out, but he’d underestimated the man’s bleeding heart and naturally forgiving nature. Of course Dick would rather sweep things under the rug and carry on as always, it’s what they all excel at, and Jason will take that over never speaking to him again-
“How long have I been your type?”
Jason chokes on his next breath. “Since I could have a type, I think.”
“Hm.” Dick smiles down at him. “What if I said you’re my type too?”
“What.”
“What if I said strong, sarcastic men with a slightly tarnished heart of gold really do it for me.”
“I’d say see a therapist? You just described the whole family.”
Dick laughs. “I hooked up with Roy last week. Said it was for old time’s sake but really it’s because he’s your best friend.”
“I fucking knew it!” Jason exclaims, before the words catch up to him. “Wait, what? Last week? Hold on-”
“Tim has threatened to leak drunk photos of me in the Discowing costume if I don’t stop moping about my crush on you. Babs has seconded this and offered her own stash of blackmail.”
“What the fuck.”
“Bruce tried to give me the sex talk and the shovel talk at the same time.”
“No. No, no, no, no, no. You’re lying. You’re making fun of me because you’re an asshole, and oh my god how could I forget that. I don’t hate you but I wish so much right now that I could-”
“Jason.”
“Shut up.”
“Can I kiss you? You can say no if you don’t want to.”
“Yes,” Jason says, because it’s the truth. “I want to.”
Dick leans down and presses their lips together, so gently it makes Jason want to cry, so maybe he does a little. Dick smiles into the kiss, and holy shit, Nightwing’s mouth really is that soft.
“I’d like to do that again, and even more if you’ll have me.” Dick says, before dipping back in. Jason whines and opens up easily, losing track of time until Dick starts mumbling against him. “Also that tongue thing Roy told me you love.”
“Mh?” Jason is pretty sure Dick is already doing some incredible tongue things, but he pulls enough of himself together to ask. “Which one?”
“The one with your assho-”
“Alright, great stopping point.” Tim huffs from above them, arms crossed, and Jason nearly jumps out of his skin. “Now could you both get in the car so I can go home and wash my eyes out? Maybe puncture an eardrum?”
“Don’t be jealous, baby bird.” Dick grins.
“In what world,” Tim grumbles, but he turns away.
Jason blinks, glancing between them. “Is there something I should know-“
“You’re popular, Little Wing.” Dick runs his fingers through Jason’s hair, lingering at the nape of his neck. He leans in and breathes over Jason’s lips again. “Really popular.”
“O says to stop molesting Hood and get in the car,” Tim informs them. Whatever’s left of Jason vacates his mortal shell.
“No fun, any of you,” Dick accuses, but the smile he directs down to Jason is soft. Sweet, even. “Though we have plenty of time to catch up.”
Jason, quietly, thinks that doesn’t sound half bad.