Chapter Text
When Roy heard of Jason’s return to the land of the living, he ran to him.
He ran out of the crack house he was hosting, his bewildered men stumbling over themselves to fulfill his commands, broke into Ollie’s plane at the private airbase and flew straight from Star City to Gotham through the darkness and night fog. He didn’t think through the landing-just kind of crashed it in an abandoned tenement lot, but at that moment, Roy wasn’t thinking. Hadn’t been thinking. He just wanted to see him again.
As he’d come to know, he’d landed right in Jason’s hidden garage of sorts, where Jason and his newly formed gang, the Red Hoods, tinkered away on their rides. But Roy didn’t care. For when he stepped out of the plane to see Jason’s bewildered face right in front of him, he felt like fate had united them.
It wasn’t too hard to fall back into habits.
Roy’s cheek rested on the chalky concrete ground, fingers stroking up and down Jason’s perfect set of abs. They’ve both grown up, and Jason came back with a thick physique Roy could only worship. Jason was on his back, lighting a cigarette.
Smoke blew into the perfect night air.
“We need to establish a trade route, you know,” Jason rambled, and there was that genius mind, working overdrive to work out the future.
“A trade route?” Roy questioned, voice amused. And a bit confused at what Jay was on about.
“A trade route,” and Jay rolled to his side to press his chest against Roy, Jay’s hand clasping on his hip.
“From your drug deals in Star City,” and Jason’s finger trailed up from his hip to his arm, before booping his nose. Roy blinked. Perhaps the coke on his teeth transferred.
“To my arms trade in Gotham,” Jason finished and booped himself.
“Get it?” Jason asked, and honestly, Roy thought, Jason could ask anything of him, and Roy would deliver.
With a light press of the heel of his syringe, liquid spurted, spilling drops onto his dress pants.
It was no different, teeth clenching tight on tied fabric, finger feeling for previous holes at the vein.
Prick.
Roy regarded heroin as his liquid diamond, the claim to his fame, the slosh of priceless sensations unfurling in the brain. Roy’s cartels ravaged Washington state almost entirely dependant on these diamonds, building a reputation for selling good H for cheap. Cutting corners, but never cutting.
However, addiction was a curse of relativity. After a while, diamonds got boring. Now, they wanted platinum.
And this new strain in town now coursing through his veins, gave him platinum.
It wasn’t hard to understand now, why wife beaters and prostitutes of Star City were stumbling stupid on cold streets, begging for mercy, screaming in inexplicable delight. It had yet to touch the news, cops hushed by Feds now bent on infiltrating neighbourhood, his neighbourhoods. Feds, because Star City was a mark of a nationwide spread. The drug was supposedly Gotham-born, making it’s way to Central City, Coast City, all the damn cities across the countries.
Roy could understand why. This hit hard.
Roy’s head swung back, hitting the wall. His men were rushing to him, shaking his arm and softly pulling his head from the hole in the drywall. In retrospect, it was all so sweet, but in the moment the press of callous on his bare skin, nails scraping at his suit, collective breaths huddling over and crowding him only bore a primal need to squirm, move, run get away from me get away from me GET AWAY FROM ME–
Fear.
Roy held up the now empty syringe, slightly rocking back and forth, pupils focusing on the bits of liquid left in his instrument. One of his men coaxed it out of his hands as the lights turned to full brightness. Another checked his pulse and lifted his eyelids, shining a torch near them, and Roy’s pupils barely constricted, still stuck somewhere in hazy panic.
The next morning, Roy stepped on the chrome-lined steps up a plane, letting inevitable nostalgia begin to seep through his abused veins.
If there was a reason compelling him to make the fateful trip to Gotham all over again, he didn’t think it would be because of this. This time, he flew in his own plane, bringing a few men along, snarking, guffawing, smoking the plane with the piss smell of weed in what Roy considered peak ambience. It’s what he’s aimed for, all those years ago. But up in the air, feeling his ears pop under pressure, watching clouds fall behind to reveal the clear skies above, Roy felt a numbness settle over his emotions. Roy took some normal H to add.
He watched the plane plow through sunrise and touch down on legal airspace, got up and out on the smooth cement, the rhythmic thudding of his suitcase against his calf synched to his fitful heart. He didn’t know what he was doing-well, that was inaccurate. He had a few reasonable circumstances, all that ironically made him more unsure. One thing was certain though.
Gotham was nothing like home.
Star City was made of wet cement and sea foam, of soft pattering of raindrops on your skin. Of warm sunshine parting through heavy rain. An ocean to one side, mountains on the other. A bustling city with a country soul. And at night, Star City shone.
Gotham, however, was a dense dredge. Roy could feel a trapping heat and smell a musty scent secrete from the many alleys he walked past, and his feet had to dodge trash at every few paces. His eyes were strictly off the ground, but he could still see the quicksilver movement of rats scuffling through metal fences.
To be fair though, when Roy climbed up onto a rooftop, 15-floors in the air, he could see Gotham shine too.
Roy took a deep breath, eyes averting the winding view before him. Fear still coursed through his veins, and he had to be careful not to let the outlines of window frames warp into razor-sharp brambles;the gothic spired-rooftops into long, grasping tentacles;the gargoyles into blinking, living demons of the night.
He silently signalled his men to keep watch on the other three corners. He kneeled on the fourth and pulled out his bow, his chosen view giving him direct line of sight to a ground-level warehouse door.
It was more of a shutter-rusty corrugated metal with several damp, torn flyers and posters taped all over. Any onlooker would think it was rusted shut-a factory that’s moved out, now useless, lost to time. But Roy knew better. What he couldn’t believe, however, that the Red Hood didn’t.
There was a small gap in one of the metal folds, a peep of a hole that wouldn’t be noticeable by someone on ground level. But 15 floors in the air with a scope on his bow, Roy could spot pulsating fluorescent reds, purples and blues emerge from it like firefly to light. Roy would usually take that as the universe parting the sea for him and knock on the door, maybe stake out a bit, but Roy had a better idea.
Bow steady, Roy pulled out an arrow, twirling it a few times before nocking it. He steadied his breath and pulled, watching the slightly moving arrowhead line up to the bulls-eyed gap.
If someone’s going to tell a paranoid homicidal maniac to be paranoid, it’s going to be Roy.
~
Jason watched that gap with the steely glare of a disgruntled mechanic.
This was a new location, one he’d snatched from Roman’s hands to purely piss him off. But the practicality of the location pleased him, so here they were, house-warming, before hitting up their favourite and his recently acquired night club to watch suited men grind on girls. The Red Hood technically didn’t mingle with his captives businessmen, but there was value in rubbing shoulders. Or the equivalent of it while maintaining his mystique, which was him lording at his perch on the high kitchen countertop while intra-gang leaders drank the first half of the night away.
But his position unfortunately, or he supposed really was fortunately, revealed a flaw that sounded every alarm in his riddled, paranoid brain. He had half a mind to grab some junkyard materials and hammer that hole shut pronto, but, well. This was technically a party, and he was technically the host.
Jason gulped his bourbon down in both irritation and the intention to forget this boring ass night.
But as the bottle was raised, he felt himself blink, followed by the distinct, echoing sound of metal piercing wood.
Jason aimed his guns at the gap faster than his brain could process-that useless noggin, by the way, enraptured in the sheer familiarity of the sound. He knew it was an arrow even before he saw it, and its distinct crimson red threw Jason so off his game that he’d fell off the counter–recovered in time to make it look like an intentional slip, but he had the advantage of a distracted audience. He looked back at the gap, so small that he could barely make a single shape though it, and holstered his guns. He walked to the arrow, carefully trailing an area that an arrow could certainly not hit, stepping over his frightened, squirming men to carefully reach for it.
He pulled it out the table-a feat that uprooted the area completely-and twirled that red thing between his fingers.
Roy. The dramatic bastard. Jason closed his eyes, feeling a numbness settle over his emotions.
“Lift the door,” Jason spoke to a mook, voice thunderous through the modulator. The man looked hesitant, as he should, hands hovering at the wheel.
“What?” One of the suited pansies squealed, and Jason tuned it out-his own mind was filling with equal parts screeching paranoia and sheer joy. The rusty thing started to lift-and Jason made the mental note to oil their side clean-and viola, the Gotham Night Skyline revealed. To display gargoyle-like figures perched on a sky-high rooftop.
But in the dim moonlight did an outline form, painting a shadow-shrouded figure in stark red highlight.
Jason’s heart sang all over again.
~
Dick pressed a hand on his chest.
Closing his eyes, he felt his heart thud faster by the second. He took controlled, measured breaths, letting his body ride through the anxiety. Girls in rustling skirts and jingling bells rushed by him, some stopping to look, and if Dick opened his eyes he’d see jealous looks and pursed lips. And Dick could do none to clench his eyes tighter and remember one very crucial fact.
Dick was born to perform.
When his mouth ached with bright smiles, when his vision was spotty from bright lights, when his ears were blocked from the sheer sound of uproar and applause did he feel truly alive. He was made for it.
He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath, lungs filling alongside his swelling confidence-for now, at least. Reasserting his priorities, he looked at himself in the mirror, and picked up a tube of lipstick.
Dick dragged the lipstick wand over his lower lip, tasting its fragrance of cotton candy. He pressed and puckered his lips a few times, watching the gold glitter of his lip gloss merge into his cobalt lipstick, slightly mattifying. Dick frowned. He applied another layer, ensuring the gloss looked like a gold-flake glass enclosure on his lips.
Satisfied, he smiled, eyes drinking in his look. He’d dripped liquid gold eyeshadow (a miracle creation blessed by the gods) on his eyelids, with the same cobalt eyeshadow framing the glitter and brought above the crease to fade into the tail of his eyebrows. He’d managed to somehow scrounge dark blue eyeliner and made full use of it, with bold cat eyes and thickly lined waterlines. His cheeks were practically smothered in gold highlight, and dabbed his chin and nose with some too. He skipped the blush to maintain a supernatural look-bare highlight blending into contour made him look like a golden creature of the night.
Taking a step back, he messed with the bobby pins in his hair, and ran a hand down his dress. It looked like armour, the kind of lady armour video games at least, long flowing blue sleeves with metallic gold patterns on his chest, cutting of right where his belly started. A v-shaped gold girdle framed his hips, and blue fabric fell from it, a high slit positioned at his left leg. The fabric was transparent of course, and his form ghosted behind the translucent blue, gold and glitter. The perfect tease.
If his mother ever found out he’d modeled this outfit after her wedding dress, she’d have a damn fit. Or cheer him on to fuck with the gadjo. Or do something animated or wacky that his weird, wonderfully strange mother would do. Would have done. His mind conjured an image of their family photo-a few polaroids with Pa and him smiling performer’s smiles, while his mother stuck her tongue out, waved her hands around her face and crossed her eyes.
(Another candid photo depicted them all similarly tongue lolled and cross-eyed. She was infectious.)
But that photo was locked away now, along with everything that identified him. Tonight, he was not Dick.
He was a performer.
~
With a yawn and a stretch, Roy’s arm finally settled onto Jason’s shoulders.
This close to him, Roy could see Jason roll his eyes behind the whites of his domino mask, but a ghost of a smile form in the tilt of his lips. The feisty man said or did nothing, so Roy presumed success.
That is, until Jason yawned, then snuck a hand between his back and the couch, settling on Roy’s hip. Roy contemplated the score-point system relevant to cheesy-first-date-shenanigans until Jason softly tickled his side, and he realised he might have lost this round.
It was obvious to Roy that Jason brought them to a strip club on purpose, though why exactly eluded him. This wasn’t the usual musty affair though-the lounge was lit in neon lines of lights, blues and purples and reds lighting the dark walls with mystical intrigue. A small stage with a lone pole stood before them, while girls in 6-inch glass heels danced around poles placed in little islands surrounding the stage, twirling with the kind of strength and grace reserved to actual pole dancers. They were stripping, of course, slowly untying the strings of their bras and panties with deliciously lazy grace. Roy didn’t think strict, disciplined Jason would be all too into this kind of thing, but he supposed the Red Hood’s sudden epidemic-like acquisition of several gangs in Gotham would provide Jason side-assets with unforeseen benefits.
Jason motioned for drinks-which immediately brought upon an entourage of pretty waiters and waitresses placing drinks on the glass table and sliding in beside them, smiling coyly as they poured them drinks. This one girl practically curled up into Jason-black hair, blue eyes, and Roy could see from the look in her eyes, she knew him. Intimately, probably. No, definitely, Roy thought, as she tipped Jason’s head up to pour a shot in his mouth, Jason complying without a shred of protest. Clearly, Jason owned this club. Knew it in and out from the glass tables to the glassy eyed girls.
It finally clicked, the answer embarrassingly obvious. Jason was flexing, like Roy did with his arrow.
It was all incredibly hot.
“I think I know why you’re here, Roy,” Jason grunted between puffs of smoke, and just like that, the casual veil of mutual ignorance slipped. Roy sighed.
“Oh? Tell me,” Roy gave a lazy smile, watching Jason smirk in kind.
“Well,” Jason moved to stub out his cigarette, then leaned back on the seat to give Roy his full attention. Roy couldn’t see through the domino but felt watched all the same, and Roy could only respond in kind, turning his body towards the other. They looked at each other, eyes searching for everything familiar and everything different in the lines of their faces.
Roy leaned in to kiss Jason.
That smokey taste of tobacco greeted his tongue, and Roy melted into it, ticking and adding to his ever growing list of “what Jason likes” as he nipped and bit into the other’s mouth. Jason gripped his face in kind to give slow, long, languid kisses.
“Well,” Jason’s breath was hot, his thumb softly stroking his jaw. “From that, I think you came all the way for me,” Jason’s sleazily grinned, likely enjoying how Roy’s cheeks were dusting pink. Roy merely smiled, their faces still in each other’s spaces.
“Sir,” a voice behind them cleared their throat, and Jason begrudgingly pulled back. Roy settled back into his seat, feeling the hands of some pretty girl softly grip on his forearm. Roy didn’t even know what she looked like, didn’t bother to turn his head to discern through the dark. His priorities were much rather on the rippling lengths of Jason’s thighs tightly clasped by gun holsters.
“We brought the big guns out tonight,” said a burly man to Jason’s right, standing straight and eyes avoiding Jason. Like a good little soldier.
“That’s what I like to see,” Jason spoke, before placing another cigarette between his teeth.
“Oh,” said the man, coughing slightly, and some of the girls collectively smiled slightly. Roy could feel his hackles raise, but Jason seemed calm. “You’ll see, sir,” the man finished, as the lights of the stripping girls’ islands went out. The main stage was lit.
And a beauty slinked on stage.
Curled black hair, framed in blue silks and gold chiffon. Thunderous blue eyes. The beauty touched the pole and slowly danced around it, toes on their tips as he twirled, finger lightly touching the pole. His eyes were focused on Roy and Jason-and if not, Roy’s mind must be compelling his mental image to.
The beauty lifted up, and Roy oh so badly wanted to know his name, watching as he made slow spins around the pole, skirts and sleeves rippling slowly along. He touched down for a moment to gyrate against the pole, pressing and rotating his hips against the pole as he slowly leaned back, positioning himself as to show how his abs responded to the slow rolling waves. Roy felt his back thump into the couch, body uselessly numb, except for that crawling desire curling beneath.
The beauty took up again, climbing further up before kicking his legs off to twirl around, those flowing sleeves falling to reveal thick, strong biceps curling with effort as he turned. Beauty placed his left bare foot-which Roy finally noticed-on his right knee, twirling in a kind of superhero pose. Beauty pulled himself up, arms maneuvering him as he raised his legs, spreading them open in an upside-down split. Roy registered Jason gasping next to him, and Roy turned his head to see the Red Hood just as enraptured. The girls were leaning back, barely touching Jason-barely touching Roy too, on his end, all of them possibly just as horny.
When Roy looked back, he could see, feel Beauty’s eyes on him, pulling every bit of his attention in again, and Roy was more than sorry for thinking he could ever look away. Something about that gaze was curtailed to enrapture them, tell them to look, look at me. Let me show you what you want. Roy wanted it, wanted everything Beauty could offer, watching as he intensified every turn and twirl, performing feat after feat with pure grace.
Beauty began to climb further up now, midway on the pole, and turned a few times, the gap between the pole and him jetting wider and wider with every turn. Then suddenly, with no warning, he kicked his legs up-first to side and away from the pole, skirts flying up and pleats spreading like a fan, and made a split parallel to the pole, skirts slowly sliding down. He then cycled his body around to the other side of the pole while maintaining the split, arms switching as he twirled, and brought his legs to face the audience, and through the lifted skirts both men witnessed for the first time that night, a peek of his gold thong.
Roy gasped. He heard Jason swallow beside him.
Beauty bent into a backbend as his hands reached behind to unclasp that decorative metal cage on his chest, pulling it off and letting it clunk on the ground. He did a slow somersault, one arm gripping back on the pole as his body straightened, the other unzipping the blue fabric and peeling it off his skin. It revealed more of his beautiful golden tan skin, and his chest was bare-good, Roy thought, ingraining the pinkness of his nipples into his brain.
Beauty slid down to the ground, stepping in front of the pole to roll his body, and god, Roy had never been more bi in his life. Beauty’s slim waist and wide hips juxtaposed with his slopes of muscle was, undoubtedly, absolute perfection.
Beauty climbed back up again, and he let one arm sway to his side as he twirled, and Roy watched that delicate hand tug at his skirts, and both Roy and Jason leaned forward, at the edge of their seats. Roy watched, unblinkingly, as they came off in one fell swoop. The fabric floated away as he turned, pausing deliberately when his back face the audience, and posed.
Dear god, Roy thought, as he witnessed that godly ass. So impossibly round, so fucking plump, all Roy wanted to do was eat it all up. Beauty slowly turned, showing all angles of that perfect ass. That barely-there excuse of underwear covered the one thing left, and Roy wanted it gone so bad he could climb on stage and get rid of it himself.
Beauty began climbing-but this time, with a level of intensity those showcased focus more than tease. He passed the midway point, going up and up the very top. Wrapping his thighs around the pole, Beauty’s body drawing itself inwards, seeming like he was preparing. Roy watched uselessly, feeling as if he knew what was coming. And in that moment, Beauty looked at them, and smiled.
Beauty released his grip.
Beauty’s body dead dropped down the pole, everyone gasping from the sheer shock of movement. Hands free, he tilted back, arms stretched wide as if asking the heavens to take his soul. Roy could see the skin of his bare heel skidding against the glass, shrieking as the spot lights flickered and freaked it hot reds, yellows and pinks. Beauty fell and fell till the ground was inches beneath his feet when his thighs clenched, and his descent stopped.
Beauty’s body, now back-bent, jerked up in the whiplash. His arms caught the pole, turning his head to looking at Roy and Jason, mouths gaping. The music crept back up, and Beauty climbed up a pace, stepped in front of the pole and turned himself upside down, body completely pressed against the pole, facing the audience. Legs clasped, he released his hands to tugs at the strings of his thong.
“Stop.”
~
Jason barked before he could process what we was saying. As he’d been doing as of late. Roy’s head snapped to look at him, eyes heavily dilated, looking at him pointedly like he was crazy. His man, the club owner stepped into his line of sight, looking just as confuddled.
“Private room,” Jason breathed, composing himself as much as he could. “Get him to a private room.”
“Yessir,” the man quickly resumed professionalism as he beckoned the beauty’s attention-he was still upside down, fingers still interlaced with the string. No, anything beneath was for his and Roy’s eyes only. Jason was stupidly possessive like that, and he didn’t care.
He turned to beckon Roy with a tilt of his head, and Roy got the message a while back-slowly rising from his seat, hunger crawling in those intense green eyes. He was biting his lip-and fuck, Roy knew Jason loved that. Jason was still processing his presence, and he had a few ideas why he was around, but that was for later. For now, there was a change in plans, and he dealt with it by practically pulling Roy to fall into step, walking swiftly to a set of doors.
The room was just a smaller lounge, that same blue-purple-red lighting, with plush seats and a glass table with a pole running through its middle. Jason sat down, beckoning Roy to sit right next to him. The Beauty-
“What’s your name,” Jason asked, pitching his voice up a bit to seem less threatening, if that was possible.
“Which?” Beauty asked, clutching onto his drapes of skirts, entirely covering the front of his body. Everything about his body language was demure and graceful, but his eyes watched Jason’s like a hawk.
“Whichever.” Beauty made slow, careful steps towards the both of them, head slightly lowered. Jason wasn’t sure if it was anxiety, or if this raven siren was a product of the streets, keeping their wits about under a veil of submissiveness. The girls in this club were encouraged to be raunchy, as witnessed by how one saddled up so close to Roy without reprove, so Jason reckoned there was a history behind–
“Dick,” he spoke as he one by one dropped his heap of clothing to reveal that golden toned body. Jason wanted to lick all over it, bite and drink every last inch of him. But no, Jason had to hold back, clutching the vinyl of the couch to better evoke self-control. No touching strippers. Furthermore, Jason knew every prostitute that worked this district, and this ‘Dick’ wasn’t one. Even if he was new, Jason was not about to cross any lines.
“Oh?” Roy finally spoke up, his signature sleazy amusement seeping back into his voice. Jason excused his lack of chattiness by Roy giving him the right of authority, and generally being bamboozled by this ‘Dick’.
Dick merely rolled his eyes at Roy’s suggestiveness, likely having been teased for his name thousands of times before, before backing up to rest a hand on the pole. Dick lifted and placed a bare foot on the top of the table, then pushed down, letting the round glass sink to the floor, leaving a clear dance floor.
“What would you like, sirs?” Dick asked, that soft voice too innocent for the way he experimentally moved his body, slowly rotating his hips as he arched into the pole.
“I say he puts those hips to use, huh, Red?” Roy’s voice was husky and low, and Jason could see Roy clutch his knee at the corner of his eye.
“Damn right,” Jason grinned devilishly, and beckoned Dick forward. Recognition sparked off in Dick’s eyes-and Jason had to commend his intelligence, the way he could pick up a cue and deliver exactly what they wanted
Dick walked towards them, stopping before the both of them to pose, tracing his delicate fingers from the tip of his collarbone and down the planes of his abs, rotating his hips as he slowly stepped to Roy, keeping his eyes trained on Jason. Flickering back to Roy for a moment, Dick traced a finger along Roy’s jaw, tipping his head up with a finger. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Jason found it impossible to abstain from palming himself.
Dick then turned around to grind that gorgeous ass on Roy’s lap.
Roy groaned, visibly straining to clutch the couch and sit still, letting Dick grind and twist and slowly twerk in his lap. Dick let a finger slide to his thong, and slowly pulled at it, both Jay and Roy going stock still as he did so-before snapping it back in place. Both men panted, realising they were holding in their breaths.
Dick cast his head over his shoulder, only for a moment, to wink. Both bewildered men just blinked. Dick threw his head back in laughter, and Jason felt the corners of his mouth inevitably turn up, watching the man eye them in amusement before resuming his twerk, bouncing his ass on Roy’s lap.
Jason reached to grab Roy by the back of his head, gripping those fiery locks, watching those stark green eyes roll back in pleasure. Dick threw his arms up as he grinded side to side, pressing back further and further onto Roy, and Jason looked up to drink in the sight as he bit into Roy’s shoulder, indulging the ginger in his pain kink.
Dick turned and climbed onto Jason’s lap in one quick motion, taking Jason by rare surprise as he began to grind into his lap, those gorgeous curves moving to the faint music seeping through the doorway. Dick got closer and closer, much too close than any stripper would dare, trailing his hands down Jason’s arms to his wrists, picking them up and pulling them to Dick’s body. Jason’s eyes widened, her fingertips ghosting Dick’s hips.
~
“Wait,” the Red Hood spoke, jerking back slightly to release himself from Dick’s grasp. The expression on his face was hard to read, considering the domino plastered over his eyes, but Dick could interpret that grimly set jaw all the same.
Dick huffed. They were being more than courteous, following rules that strip clubs themselves considered a guideline. No touching? Men would smack his ass if he danced too close to the stage.
Oh, and small note, this was his boss here. The Big Boss. As far as Dick was concerned, the Red Hood and the Arsenal could dig their fingers into his skin till it bled. As long as Dick could make like a groupie and...leave an impression on the Bosses.
“Are you sure?” Red asked, and Dick found himself going slack in surprise. Dick didn’t know why–from both their behaviours tonight, Dick half expected to sign a sheet of consent. But here the Red Hood was, below him, and the insanely unexpected bonus of the Arsenal beside him, asking if he wanted this.
Dick had a decision to make.
To climb a tall ladder, you must make peace with the burn of its rungs.
Dick gripped Red’s hands again and pulled it to his abs, leading them down his torso to rest them on his hips. Red gripped-and god, he gripped, an undeniable strength channeling through his thumbs as he massaged Dick. Red ran his hands across his thighs, up his torso, then lightly brushed across his nipples. Dick moaned.
Arsenal got up to stand beside him, breath hot down his neck and hands hovering around his hips. Dick took a few seconds to understand he too was asking for consent, and with a roll of his eyes, he grabbed the redhead’s hands to make them cup his pecs. Red must have caught his expression, for he chuckled and hooked a leg around Arsenal’s, pulling him in closer.
“Let him know how you feel, babe,” Red growled, and Arsenal finally mobilised, groping his pecs as he pressed his hips into Dick’s. Dick felt a long, hard cock press against his ass, rubbing against him through the fabric. Both men hooked their fingers under Dick’s gold thong, slowly pulling it down. As Red pushed it to his knees, Arsenal cupped his hands under his ass, then groaned.
“Oooh, god. Jay,” Arsenal moaned, running feather-light fingers along the curves of his ass. “Jay, feel this,” Arsenal guided Red-now Dick supposed, Jay’s hands to it.
“God,” Jay groaned, pinching the underside of his cheeks as Arsenal rubbed circles into them, and Dick leaned into the attention, the two sets of hands exploring his every inch, looking and treating him like he was Aphrodite incarnate, rising from the sea foam and inexplicably into their arms.
If Dick was perfectly honest, he’d say the burn of rungs was obsolete when banging two extremely hot drug lords.
~
Roy liked to end nights like these with a hit.
Technically, it was morning, dawnlight casting through the curtains and reflecting on the surface of his syringe. Tie, pull, prick. Roy slowly put the instrument down, then slammed his back on the hotel bed. The lull of television news drifting in the background, the punchy words and quickening chatter kept him somewhat anchored and receptive as the world around him slowed to a halt.
“I’m a little high,” Dick murmured, eyes peeking between folds of sheets.
“Yup. Fucker brushes his teeth with coke,” Jason spoke as he emerged from the complementary coffee setup buck naked (and that damn mask), with a glass of water in one hand, and black coffee in another. Jason hiked a knee on the bed, leaning to press the glass of water on Dick’s cheek.
“Just...how much?” Dick received the water with quiet gratitude, sitting up to rest those plush lips on the edge of the glass.
“Enough,” Roy grinned, then looked at the slightly disoriented beauty attempt to coordinate himself, brushing back aftersex hair and blinking wide, dark eyes.
“Sorry,” Roy murmured, wondering the effectiveness of nicotine patches against uppers. In retrospect, that sounded delightfully counteractive. Dick simply shook his head, and sipped on water. Jason settled beside him, drinking his coffee in one hand and slowly brushing the bangs off his face with another. Always keeping those hands busy.
“Breaking News” coloured the screen before them, as it had been doing every 15 minutes or so, and the anchor with her grim set jaw and barely restrained shock read the copy she was given. The screen flashed with video from rich showboating Gothamites thrashing their bodies in the middle of parties to junkies dragging their legs across the street and foaming at the mouth, words “Gotham,” “Star City,” and “Epidemic” flashing by.
Jason took a last sip, and settled his cup on the carpet.
“Gotham’s been calling it ‘Hysteria’,” Jason spoke, still stroking back his bangs. “Yours?”
“...Holy Terror,” Roy spoke, immediately blushing. Jason snorted.
“Hah. Your whole state thinks it’s country.”
“Might as well be. Sea to one side, mountains on the other, the country below-”
“Pfft. I’m sure you hate it here,” Jason grinned, looking down at him with those white covered eyes.
“Not as much as I hate that thing,” Roy gestured at the mask, and Jason only smirked. Roy had yet to see Jason’s eyes, hadn’t for years, and Roy was this close to changing that. Back him into the bathroom, rip that fucking thing off and drink his fill. Make it his next addiction.
Jason ghosting a finger across his jawline, looking at him expectantly. Roy leaned into his touches, racking his mind for many-practiced lines.
“So, I came here on a hunch. Scarecrow,” Roy spoke, looking up at Jason pointedly.
“He’s out of Arkham,” Jason grunted, and Roy could make out faint guilt. “So yeah. The obvious suspect.”
“I was thinkin’. This new H could make us mad bank,” Roy started, tracing a finger up Jason’s rippling biceps.
“Remember. When you said, you wanted a trade route,” Roy reached up to boop Jason’s nose. Jason went still, finger pressed at his jawline. Roy breathed, deep and fast.
Jason leaned down to eat his mouth.
Roy dragged them up the bed, resting Jason’s head in the pillows as they kissed, teeth sinking and tongues lashing in lusty violence. They rolled around, thrashing in the sheets till Roy’s back met Dick, who placed a measured hand on his lower back, and smiled into his shoulders. Roy’s fingers brushed his thighs in apology.
“Finally,” Jason breathed, keeping a vice grip at the back of his head. The edge of his domino mask curled in, and Roy could be courteous enough to press it back. Could.
“So?” Roy lazily smirked, as if he himself wasn’t equally wrought in elation. “You wanna have a go at it?”
“Roy. I’ll go anywhere with you,” The husky rawness of Jason’s admission had Roy gently pulling him in for a slow, soft kiss.
Dick murmured something into his shoulder, and Jason’s body jolted forward, clicking their teeth, and drew back slightly to stare at Dick.
“Hey-” Roy started to complain, tongue running along a scraped lip, but stopped as soon as he registered Jason’s demeanor. Roy turned to look at Dick, who’s eyes were still closed, completely unaware.
“Wait. What did you just say, Dick?” Roy slowly asked, eyes darting between the two. Dick’s lips formed a sweet smile, eyes blinking awake.
“Joy. Jay and Roy,” Dick started, and Roy felt his blood freeze.
“Put it together, and it makes Joy,” Dick blinked up and both Roy and Jason, smile slowly fading at the recognition of their shock. Dick quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting between the two.
“Um. Ah,” Jason spoke, and Roy got a taste of what astonishment sounded from his mouth. Jason sat up, blinking at Dick, at Roy and back. He absently touched the mask, sitting straighter once his fingertips touched the peeling edges.
“This is an issue.”