Work Text:
Jason shoves his heavy book to the side of the counter when he hears the bell over the door ring. He puts his best customer service face on before letting it fall, heaving a heavy sigh.
"Please, don't tell me there's a rogue attack going on?" He asks the vigilante making its way towards the counter.
Red Robin scrunches his nose apologetically. "No, I— uh— have a bit of a car problem that I was hoping you could help me with?"
Jason pointedly looks around at the various car parts, mountains of old tires, screws and bolts, his own oil stained clothes, and then finally back to the man in front of him with a smug smile and winks. "I'm sure we can figure something out."
His rugged charm doesn't seem to affect Red Robin in the slightest.
"Normally I would do it myself, but my brother has threatened to snap my computers in half if I so much as change a tire with my sprained wrist so…" The vigilante looks both annoyed and embarrassed by the fact. It's sweet.
"And he doesn't know you're a vigilante?"
"No, he knows."
"O-kay," Jason says, dragging the word out. "Not opening that can of worms. Do you have the car here or do you need to go fetch it?"
"Yeah so, see, that's another issue. I don't actually have a license, and there's no way I won't get stopped if I drive that car now."
"You don't have a license?"
"Well I do, but Red Robin doesn't."
"So… how are we solving this?"
"Do you mind— uh— coming with me to take a look?"
Jason stares at him, dumbfounded. "Is it close by?"
"Uhm," The vigilante turns his head slightly, revealing the tip of a very pink ear. "Maybe a twenty minute walk?"
Jason checks his watch. His shift ends in 30 minutes. He could argue that this is work, when his manager inevitably scolds him for leaving. Although, his manager isn't in today, and Shawn, his co-worker, does owe him a favour.
"Hey, Shawn," he calls out in the general vicinity of the guy. "Clock me out in thirty, would you? Code's 347902."
"Sure thing, dude!" Shawn's long legs slide him out from his hiding spot underneath a truck. Jason's first weeks working at the shop had been agonising because of the guy's physique. Biceps that Jason wanted to take a bite of, a wolfcut that always smelled of argan oil, and a tongue piercing that glistens with saliva whenever he speaks. Jason's used to it now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice it anymore. Boy, does he notice it. Shawn blows a low whistle when his eyes land on Red Robin and grins. "Have fun, Jay, don't forget to use protection!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Shawn, I'm taking a look at his car." Jason groans, too used to his coworker's antics to be embarrassed. He doesn't necessarily like it, however.
"Uh huh, bet you'll be taking a good, long look under that hood," Jason throws an old bolt from his pocket at him, which Shawn dodges swiftly. "And remember, a gentleman never skips foreplay!" He adds with a wink.
"We're leaving!" Jason calls over his shoulder as he hurries to grab his book and overstuffed bag, so he can get the hell out of here.
Once out of the shop and on the rowdy streets of Gotham, he exhales. "Ignore him, I think he was dropped on his head a lot as a baby," he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, hoping he's not coming across as a complete asshole in front of the only vigilante he respects. Or, well, he respects most of them, but Red Robin actually seems to care for the small guy, the misfits and hoodlums. Jason's seen him hand out bags of food to prostitutes, kids, and drunkards alike. Jason fucks with that.
"It's fine, my friends are worse," Red Robin shrugs. "They've made a game out of who can say the most outlandish shit when I'm on the phone with my brother. I think you get an extra point if it's Batman I'm talking to."
Jason barks out a laugh. "That's so fucking funny," he says, and laughs even more when he realises it's big, bad, brooding Batman having to be exposed to this. "What's the worst one?"
"Oh, they have a list, hold on," the vigilante gets his phone out from one of many pockets on his person, scrolls a bit, winces, and carries on. "Placing third is: Hey, Rob, do you have cash for the stripper?"
Jason nods tentatively, fully acting as if Red Robin is reading him a list of suspects in one of his cases. "Good one," he says, desperately fighting a laugh to not ruin his brilliant theatrics.
The vigilante continues as he sidesteps a pile of dog shit smoothly. "Coming in hot on second place is…" he squints and rolls his eyes. "Just a bunch of lewd moaning apparently."
Jason hums. "A classic."
"And, finally, what they consider to be the best one yet: 'uh, Rob? Why do you have art of Batman and you spooning?'" Red Robin shakes his head, but Jason can see the faint smile on his face. "It's not as sexual as the others, but trying to explain that to the Batman was not a comfortable conversation."
—
Jason nearly drools, once the car—the Redbird, he was told—is in his sights. It's a vibrant red, and Jason has to stop himself from stroking the hood tenderly when they step up to it. The vigilante doesn't seem to have any qualms about that though, based on how he walks up to it, caresses its sides and… talks to it?
Honestly, Jason can't judge. He talks to the bikes at work all the time. But maybe not with such adoration.
He lets out a low whistle.
"She's a stunner," he says honestly. Red Robin lights up at the comment, taking his eyes of the vehicle to look at Jason. At least Jason thinks that's where he's looking, since the white lenses covering his eyes won't let him see them. He wonders what colour they are. Statistically, they should be brown. The kid has black hair, but so does Jason, and his eyes are a greyish blue. Maybe he could convince the guy to take the mask off. Or he could just ask. Asking is probably the better idea. It's a problem for another day, he thinks and focuses back on the task at hand instead. "So what's wrong with her?"
The vigilante scrunches his nose at Jason's clumsy phrasing. "Nothing's wrong with her," he mutters. "But the engine rattles whenever I go over forty miles an hour."
Jason hums. "Yeah, that's not good," he pats the roof of the car and directs his gaze to Red Robin (not for the first time, he wishes he knew this kid's actual name. Red Robin is a mouthful). "Do you mind showing me?"
Red Robin—maybe he'd be okay with just Red?—pressed his lips together and switched between watching his car and Jason. "Maybe you should try it yourself?" he says after a beat. "Like I said, I don't have a license and I don't really want to risk anything."
Jason huffs a laugh and smiles. "You break the law on a daily basis, but driving without a license is where you draw the line?"
"No, there are lots of crimes I don't condone," he corrects. "But you know… you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes," he shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.
Not arguing with that, because god knows Jason hasn't always lived on the right side of the law, he rounds the car and holds his hand out in silent request for the keys. Red drops them in his hand, and he can't help noticing the structure on the guy's gloves when his hand grazes Jason's. It's ribbed, he notes, maybe for her pleasure?
"What's so funny?" The vigilante in front of him asks, brows furrowed. Jason hadn't even realised he was snickering at the idea of Red Robin customising his gloves for sex purposes.
And that's definitely not a road he should go down because, well, it's an… interesting thought.
"Nothing, sorry, just a stupid thought I had," he shakes his head to clear the thought away and opens the door. He's too focused on the car to notice Red's sharp intake of breath when he gets situated in the drivers seat. The vigilante bites his lip when Jason revs the engine, and this Jason does see. He wishes he hadn't, because that and the gloves combined are giving him super silly ideas. Silly and very inappropriate. But he is a professional, goddamn it, he can interact with attractive men without salivating. Probably.
The passenger door opens, and in comes the object of Jason's newfound fantasy. This is ridiculous, he chastises himself; out of everyone to get a small crush on, he picks a fucking vigilante. God, that's so embarrassing.
"Okay, so, do you want me to just— like— take her for a spin?" He looks out the window. "There's the highway not too far, but there's also the abandoned parking lot on Amusement Mile," turning his head questioningly towards the other, he waits for him to make the decision.
"Not Amusement Mile," another nose scrunch. "No one's seen the Joker in weeks and I'm not putting my baby in harms way."
"Whoa, we just met, I don't know if I qualify for the role of your baby yet," Jason can't help but tease, and to his utter delight, it brings a soft flush to the vigilante's cheeks and ears.
Interesting.
It also earns him a shove to the shoulder.
"Shut up, just go for the highway."
Driving out of the Bowery and into the Upper East Side never fails to put a sour taste in Jason's mouth. It's just a few miles between the two places, but the distance makes all the difference. Where the Bowery is broken-down buildings, the Upper East Side is new productions and refurbished townhouses. If the Bowery is blue collar workers, the Upper East Side is work-from-home-and-clock-out-at-three.
The Redbird is a joy to ride, though, and it takes his mind of the injustices of capitalism just a little (don't tell anyone, he'll lose his street cred). But the car doesn't make a single sound when it goes over 40 miles per hour, or 50, or even 60. He slows down, and takes the first turn he can to get back on the highway, this time in the opposite direction.
The ride is quiet, Jason actively listening for any weird noises and Red Robin… well, he seems more interested in watching Jason drive his car.
"You said it was when you went over forty, right?" Jason asks once slowing the car down to park, taking a quick glance at the still slightly flushed vigilante.
The material of Red Robin's glove squeals slightly where he's dragging his thumb up and down his wrist. "Yeah," he confirms. "Maybe she just decided to stop being a brat."
Jason chuckles and lightly taps the wheel. "You hear that, Redbird? I think he just called you a good girl," he turns his head back towards the passenger seat, a teasing smile on his face. He watches as the tip of a pink tongue escapes to lick Red's bottom lip, pulling it in as it retreats back into his mouth before letting it go. It all takes less than a second, but Jason swears he sees it in slow motion. He brings his eyes back to the white lenses in front of him far too late, because there's no way the guy missed how Jason was just staring at his lips.
Get a grip.
"Guess you didn't need me after all, huh?" he chuckles, trying desperately to not let his attraction show. So he goes to reach for the handle to get out of the magnificent, quite frankly magic, car to save himself the embarrassment, but a deft hand grabs hold of his wrist.
"Wait," the hero says, and when Jason turns to look at him, he sees he practically catapulted himself over the centre consol. The grip eases up before the hand is removed fully. The mouth that had occupied Jason's vision a second ago was parted slightly, with a frown threatening to break out. "I— uh—" he takes a breath and slumps back in his seat, staring straight ahead. "There's nothing wrong with my car."
"Yes, this has been established," Jason responds, his voice tinted with laughter. "Are you disappointed?"
Red Robin groans. "No, I mean, there never was anything wrong with my car. I made it up."
These vigilantes are… so weird. "Okay…" he trails off, before asking the obvious question. "Why?"
"I— God this is so fucking embarrassing—" he mutters. "I've kind of… been keeping an eye on you? And I know you like cars, and I have a car—a pretty cool one, at that—and I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't really know how to so I figured an easy way to do it was to use something we both like," he waves his hand around the space. "Hence, the car."
Jason is, for once in his life, speechless. But the poor kid looks like he's about to die from embarrassment so he desperately tries to find something to say. "I— okay, wait, hold on, back up," he starts. "You wanted to talk to me?"
"Yeah."
"Why not just… come in to the shop?"
"Because!" Red Robin throws his hands in the air. "Then I would've come in as— as me, and it would've been weird if I came in with Red Robin's car."
"Maybe I wouldn't have known this was Red Robin's car?"
"Everyone knows this is my car," he huffs. "Besides, how would I explain the thirteen gears?"
"Yeah, actually, what the hell is up with that?"
"Don't worry about it."
Jason huffs a laugh, because, honestly? Fair enough. They sit in silence for a minute or two, during which Jason tries to collect his thoughts.
"Why did you want to talk to me?" He asks.
"I like watching you tinker with the bikes." Jason lowers his head slightly and raises an eyebrow in response, hoping the guy will take the hint and elaborate. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he sighs and continues. "It's really hot."
He feels his own face heat up now, because how has he not noticed a mask watching him at work only because it's hot? And, also, how long has this been going on? How long has Jason been deprived of this pretty vigilante ogling him? He would've put on a show, had he known.
Maybe this means he'll get to see the guy's eyes at some point. And possibly know his name?
"You know most people would find this insane, right?"
Red looks sheepish when he responds. "Are you most people?"
"Well, most people would probably tell you I'm not."
"So you don't think I'm insane?" the white of the mask's lenses stare at him, and not for the first time, Jason curses them for making the guy fucking impossible to read
"Oh, I think you're nuts," he stresses. "But I must be too, because it's honestly kind of working for me."
The vigilante smiles in response and lets Jason's confession rest between them for a solid minute. He eventually lowers his head and fiddles with his hands in his lap. "I also don't have a sprained wrist."