Chapter Text
Bruce Wayne’s galas are boring. There’s really no other word for it. Already, Roman is feeling antsy, surrounded by snobby old money types and businessmen that Roman has already cheated out of deals. The only reason he even bothers to turn up is propriety, and, like most everyone else there - because he likes to get the gossip on the, sometimes elusive, Wayne children.
There are so many now that it’s almost impossible to keep track - and they always attend these galas, mingle with Wayne’s friends and enemies. Not that Roman’s really had a chance to speak to any of them yet. He had seen the sickly-looking one and the little blonde girl with their heads together in the garden, scheming no doubt. Apparently Tim is pegged to take over the business. He looks far too young and fragile for that, but there’s certainly something sharp in those eyes. Richard Grayson-Wayne is impossible to miss, sliding between people with natural charisma, laughing too loudly, touching everyone he passes like he can’t seem to help it. Roman’s seen less of the Asian girl. She seems to appear and disappear like a fucking ninja. Roman can’t keep track of her.
The less reputable papers have a field day every time a new one gets added to the brood - Bruce Wayne expanding his harem. Roman gets a little kick out of headlines like that, but he doubts there’s any truth behind them. Still, the kids are pretty, he’ll give Wayne that. And they’re entertaining at an event that would otherwise be dry as assholes.
With the exception, perhaps, of the little brat that’s been annoying him for the past thirty minutes.
“If you hadn’t done that you might not have lost the deal. Although, against father you never really had a chance.”
Roman grits his teeth. It’s certainly tempting to shut the kid up with a good punch. His hand twitches with the urge to lash out, to close strong fingers around the kid’s throat and squeeze and squeeze until the little brat can’t say another word ever again.
But even the rich can’t get away with murdering children in the middle of a party. Although that would definitely liven this snoozefest up a little.
So he clenches his fist to stem the twitching. Reaches out as one of the waiters glides past and snatches a glass of champagne from the tray. Downs it in one gulp. He had intended to stay sober, to keep his mind sharp, but he can’t get through another second of this without the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his veins.
The kid frowns disapprovingly. “You probably shouldn’t drink so much either, maybe then-“
“Damian!” Another one of Bruce’s kids appears from nowhere, suddenly right beside the little brat, although Damian doesn’t seem startled or even surprised. Roman jumps though, splashing the dregs of the champagne over the arm of his suit with the force of it. He immediately curses himself - it’s never a good idea to show weakness like that.
And the kid catches it. There’s definitely amusement in those bright green eyes. Roman’s fist clenches so hard it creaks.
“I’m sorry Mr. Sionis, my brother will leave you in peace now.” The words are stilted, awkward on the boy’s tongue, as if he’s not used to the formality. Roman wonders if Wayne had sent him over. Maybe he had sensed the danger his youngest son was in.
The kid sounds much more natural when he says, “No one wants to listen to you run your mouth Damian.”
Jason Todd-Wayne. Roman lets his eyes roam over the kid with undisguised interest; although it’s probably wrong to say kid now - Jason has grown into adulthood with grace. Roman remembers him as a scrawny, angry brat, all sharp elbows and skinned knees. But Jason is much taller now, and he’s filled out, lean, hard muscles beneath the fine material of his suit, tapering into a slim waist. Roman wonders if he would be able to take him in a fight - probably not, Roman is still a lot bigger than him - but he could probably put up a good effort.
The thought has something hot curling low in Roman’s belly. Jason always was his favourite.
Maybe he’s been a bit too obvious in his interest though, because Jason goes tense, and the little brat glances suspiciously between them, eyes sharp in a way no thirteen year old’s have any right to be.
“It’s no bother Jason,” Roman says, dropping his voice as he says the boy’s name and watching the unhappy twitch that elicits. “Your brother has been delightful company.”
Jason snorts. His grip on Damian’s arm is tight enough that his knuckles are white, but surprisingly the brat hasn’t complained. “I’m sure, but I’ll take him off your hands now anyway.”
Then he disappears back into the crowd, as fast as he can without being impolite, dragging his younger brother with him. Roman watches him go, eyes on the sweet curve of his ass in his slacks. The whole encounter has given Roman an idea.
The kid hadn’t seemed particularly interested in him, but that’s never bothered Roman before. Roman wants. And what Roman wants, he gets.
The thought sends heat prickling across his skin, a flush of desire warm across the back of his neck and cheeks, mingling pleasantly with the alcohol. It makes his slacks feel a little too tight. Part of him wants to risk another glass of champagne, but Roman should probably keep all his faculties intact. He has to figure out how to get Jason alone, and he hardly needs the embarrassment of being overpowered by a nineteen year old when he does.
Roman mills about for a bit, engaging in idle conversation, clutching his empty champagne flute in one hand and keeping a careful eye out for Jason. Now that the kid’s caught his eye, it seems like he’s all Roman can see: laughing loudly at some old bitch’s joke, ruffling his younger brother’s hair as they slide past each other, bending over to help untangle something from the wheels of Barbara Gordon’s wheelchair and giving the whole fucking party a tantalising glimpse of that sweet ass.
Roman is talking to Bruce Wayne, of all people, about some dry business deal Wayne had won over him a few days earlier, when Roman catches sight of Jason slipping into the house, away from the noise and the press of the party. Alone. Its perfect. And if Roman gets a little kick out of imagining exactly what he’s going to do to Jason whilst the kid’s dad is standing right there, well, Wayne never has to know.
Roman excuses himself. Sets his glass down on one of the bougie little garden tables and follows Jason inside. The house is big, but Roman guesses there are only a few places Jason would retreat to: the kitchen, maybe, although he doubts that stuck-up butler would appreciate the kid hanging around; his room seems too obvious; the library, perhaps - apparently Todd is into books.
In the end, it’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to get Jason alone. Honestly, it’s almost as if the kid wants Roman to find him, hiding away in literally the first place Roman looks.
The library is huge, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that circle the entire room. In the centre is a polished mahogany desk and a little circle of plush armchairs. There’s a wide oil painting hung on the far wall, a posh couple and their kid. It’s everything Roman hates about Bruce Wayne.
Jason is curled up in one of the chairs, a book balanced on his knees. The soft light casts the shadow of his lashes across his cheeks and glistens on the pink of his mouth. It’s the sort of mouth you can’t help but imagine wrapped around your cock - at least, Roman can’t. He’s so hard that the friction of his pants is painful.
He steps into the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. Jason’s head comes up. For a second there’s confusion on his face, then suspicious recognition. Roman offers him a smile.
“Taking a break from the party?” He keeps his voice casual as he saunters forward, but there’s tension in the set of Jason’s shoulders, the way his eyes flicker between Roman and the door like a rat caught in a trap. A closed door means a slower exit, even if it isn’t locked. Roman’s sure that Jason learnt that during his time in crime alley.
But Jason just shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance and lets his eyes drop back to the book. He’s still watching Roman out of his periphery though, Roman is sure. “Mingling isn’t really my thing.”
“Mine neither.”
Jason’s fingers are tight around the book in his lap as Roman settles on the arm of the chair. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want Roman so close to him. Doesn’t want him in the library at all, in fact. But there’s not much he can really do about it without seeming rude, and Roman relishes his discomfort.
“You’re all grown up now,” he murmurs, then leans over the back of the chair, letting his fingers brush against the back of Jason’s neck. Jason flinches and the book creaks as his fingers flex around it. “Why do you still bother showing up?”
Jason shrugs, shoulders tight under Roman’s hand. Then he looks up - and damn he looks good at that angle. It’s all too easy to imagine him on his knees, those bright eyes shiny with tears, mouth smeared with spit and cum. Roman’s cock throbs in its confines.
Something must show on his face, because suddenly Jason is scrambling out of the chair, the book dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
“I-I think I should go. Bruce probably…” he trails off. His eyes are fixed longingly on the door.
Roman strikes, fast and hard. One moment he’s lounging against the arm of the chair, the next, he’s hit Jason across the face hard enough to stun him.
Jason’s head whips to the side and he crumples like a sack of potatoes. Barely manages to fling his arm out in time to catch himself against the desk. Roman follows him, crowding up behind him, dealing a swift blow to his ribs that has him choking. Then, before he can recover, he twists his fingers into his hair and forces his face against the desk, hauling him forward and pinning him in place with his hips. Just that small amount of friction is exquisite. His cock is hard as a rock against the plump curve of Jason’s ass.
The kid must feel it too because he lets out a high strangled noise and kicks out like a mule. The hit catches Roman hard on the shin. Then a foot hooks around his ankle as he reflexively lifts his leg, whilst, at the same time, Jason’s elbow jerks up and connects with the soft tissue under Roman’s chin. It knocks him off-balance. Tightens his throat and rocks him backwards. It hurts. Jason uses the opportunity to scramble upwards, pushing away from the desk with a snarl. But Roman still has a hand in his hair and he recovers quickly, slamming him back against the desk with such force that it shakes.
The struggle has adrenaline and lust shooting through Roman’s veins in equal measure. He pants against the back of Jason’s neck. Breathes in the smell of the boy’s fear. He’s trembling underneath him. Roman was right, the kid is strong enough to put up a good fight, but even with the muscles bunching under his skin, he’s still enveloped by Roman’s body as he presses his chest against the kid’s back. He still feels small and fragile under Roman’s hands.
Roman punches him hard in the ribs again. Someone obviously taught the kid how to fight - Bruce probably. Everyone in Gotham has heard the rumours that Wayne trained in hand-to-hand with monks in Tibet or some shit. Roman doesn’t believe anything as far-fetched as that, but he has no doubts that Bruce has taught his kids a little self-defence. Being one of the richest men in Gotham has its downsides and kidnap for ransom is a big one.
Roman presses himself closer, grinding his hips against the boy with a groan and Jason whimpers beneath him, small and airless. The sound shoots through his gut, pulsing heat straight to his groin. Has anyone else had their fun with the kid? Roman wouldn’t be surprised. With a pretty little hostage and time on their hands lots of criminals have no doubt thought about it.
The image that conjures is enticing but he doubts it. Roman knows enough about Bruce Wayne to know that something like that - something like this - would devastate him. It would probably be stamped across his face for weeks. That sends another delicious tingle through him. Knowing that what he’s about to do will ruin Wayne is like sex all by itself.
And Roman hopes he is the first. There’s just something about a sweet little virgin that gets his blood pumping. That innocence is intoxicating. He can’t wait to shatter it. Shatter Jason. Shatter Bruce.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason growls, and it’s obviously meant to be threatening but it’s edged with too much fear. He bucks. The movement only presses him closer. “Get the fuck off me.”
Roman likes a bit of fight. A bit of fire. It makes the inevitable surrender so much sweeter.
“Didn’t daddy teach you the birds and the bees, darling?” He drips the words right into Jason’s ear. Is pressed so close that he feels the ripple of fear through his own skin. Beautiful.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Roman grips one narrow hip. Untangles the fingers of his other hand from those thick curls and drags his fingers across Jason’s face, over the tender skin of his neck. Jason’s pulse flutters beneath his fingers, a desperate bird, rattling against its cage.
Then Jason whips his head back. Roman lifts his chin quickly enough to avoid a broken nose, but the blow still stuns him and his hands go lax on Jason’s hip, against his throat. Jason writhes. Screams.
“Help!” High and shrill. “Help me!”
Roman is still lying heavily across Jason’s back. It’s easy to reach up and wrap both hands around that slim neck. To squeeze until his eyes bug and his mouth gapes, desperately working around air he can’t reach. Until Roman feels better about his throbbing chin.
“Don’t do that again,” Roman snarls, squeezing tighter for good measure. Jason shakes, fingers clawing at Roman’s hands with terrified desperation. “You’re going to lie still and take whatever I give you. Got it?”
The kid can’t answer, of course, but Roman thinks he got his message across. Satisfied, he peels his fingers from his neck one by one. Rubs across the redness left behind. It’ll bruise so pretty.
Jason lets his head drop. Drags in a shaky breath, then lets it out with a with a sound like a sob, wet and breathless. Another delicious shiver trembles over Roman at the sound. Crying always did it for him.
Roman ducks his head and presses his lips against the spot his fingers had just vacated. Sucks sloppily against the kid’s neck. Tests his teeth against the soft skin. One hand curls around Jason’s chin, fingers resting against those plump lips. The other tears open the boy’s pants. Jason sobs again.
“Please,” he begs as Roman tugs his pants and underwear over the curve of his ass. The material is soft as silk and slides all the way down Jason’s thighs without resistance. Roman palms over the suddenly bare skin, warm and smooth, and Jason jolts like he’s been electrocuted. “Please don’t.”
“Shh baby, it’s OK. I’ll take good care of you.” His fingers are damp with the tears dripping down Jason’s face. He’s so hard it’s almost painful and he fumbles at his own pants. Tugs them open far enough that his cock can spring free. The cool air against his overheated flesh makes him groan. When he pries Jason’s cheeks apart and rubs his cock over that tight little hole he groans again, biting hard against Jason’s neck to muffle the sound.
Jason’s sob sounds like it’s been torn out of him. “No, please - I - I can’t -“
This is always Roman’s favourite part: when they realise it’s hopeless, that no one is going to rescue them. That they’re about to be raped and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.
“Shh,” he says again. He presses his fingers harder against Jason’s lips and they part obediently beneath the pressure. Then he’s in the warm cavern of that mouth, Jason’s tongue slick and wet against the pads of his fingers. “Suck.” Then, in a growl, “If you bite me you’ll regret it.”
For a moment, Roman thinks he’s going to do just that, but then there’s a tentative pressure, the kid’s throat working as he follows the command. It’s like heroin, this control. Roman could do anything he wanted. Could kill him as easily as crushing an ant.
But that isn’t what he wants. Roman shifts, clutches tight at Jason’s hip, presses his cock against him. The boy tenses and a pleading little whine slips out of his throat.
Roman grins. Then he presses in.
For a long moment Jason’s body fights against him, a tight ring of muscle desperate to keep him out. Then something gives and Roman sinks to the hilt in one long thrust.
Jason howls.
It’s muffled by the fingers in his mouth but it still rattles through Roman, reverberates in his stomach in the best way. The clench of his body around him is exquisite, all tight, dry heat, the friction on the verge of painful. Jason’s clenched so tight that Roman thinks he might be trying to squeeze his dick off, and his back is bowed in agony. Roman presses another bite against the pulse pounding beneath his jaw. Forces his fingers deep enough to choke him.
“That’s it. Good boy. You’re so tight for me.”
Jason shudders. Sobs. Roman strokes over his hip, drags himself out and forces his way in again. Something tears deep inside, delicate flesh splitting like tissue, and heat floods around him.
One arm flies out, scrabbling against the wood of the desk, jerking backwards, as if the kid is going to elbow him again. Roman catches his wrist before he can do any damage, spit-slick fingers sliding against his skin, clutching hard enough that he feels bone grind beneath his palm. The groan of pain spears right through Roman’s gut.
“Fuck!” Jason makes a sound like he’s dying. “Get it the fuck out. It hurts. Please, please, stop.”
Roman only gives a thick groan in response.
It’s easier, after that, to thrust in and out, hot blood slicking his way. He ruts desperately, fingers pressed so hard against Jason’s hip that he might be drawing more blood, painting livid bruises across the thin skin of his wrist. Bites mindlessly at Jason’s neck and shoulders, drags Jason’s shirt open with his teeth to get at his skin. It’s stained with blood and sweat: filthy and ruined, just like the boy wearing it.
God. Roman can’t stop the moans slipping out of his throat. If anyone walked past the library right now, they couldn’t miss the sound of his pleasure, or the sobbing, stuttering noises Jason is making in return. The thought has heat winding low in Roman’s pelvis. He grinds in close. Thrusts as deep as he can with the hot, slick slide of blood, and Jason tight around him. Beneath him, Jason moans, then immediately tries to cut off the sound - biting his lip to muffle it - but he can’t hide the clench of his muscles around Roman’s cock.
Oh - that’s interesting.
Roman forces his fingers to uncurl from the boy’s hip. Slides them over the jut of bone and the tight span of his stomach. Feels the twitch of muscles contracting as Jason tries to flinch away. His cock is still limp when Roman finally closes his fingers around it, soft and satin-smooth in his grip, but it twitches promisingly at the contact. Roman grins. Pumps his hand in a loose, dry fist, and Jason writhes like he’s having a seizure.
“Don’t.” It’s a small, cracked protest. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Do you like that baby?” Roman punctuates that with a hard thrust, pumping his hand in time with the rhythm. “What would daddy think? Knowing his son is such a slut?”
Jason whimpers, a helpless, desperate sound that sends tingly pleasure shooting all the way through Roman. He’s so hard he can feel it in his bones, and that little noise has his stomach tightening in anticipation. He buries himself deep. Tugs faster at the thick weight between Jason’s legs. It’s already hard and blood-hot in Roman’s hand. Slick with precum. Each thrust punches sharp, strangled sounds out of Jason that have Roman’s cock throbbing.
It’s a surprisingly short time before Jason comes. The only warning Roman gets is a gasped “No!” and Jason’s cock pulsing in his grip. Then he’s screaming, arching against the desk, clenching so tight that Roman almost loses it right along with him. Wet heat spills across Roman’s hand, but he doesn’t stop moving. Presses teeth to the soft skin at the join of Jason’s neck until blood bursts over his tongue. Thrusts shallowly as Jason shakes through his orgasm.
Finally, Jason falls limp. He’s still shaking, fine tremors shivering over the skin beneath Roman’s hands, and Roman can hear the hitch of sobs as he pants against the slick wood of his father’s desk.
“Beautiful.” A vicious thrust that Jason whimpers through. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I baby.”
Roman presses his fingers, wet with the kid’s release, against Jason’s mouth again. Jason jerks away with a snarl.
“Looks like you enjoyed yourself after all.”
“Fuck you.”
There’s several witty replies on the tip of Roman’s tongue. Instead, he twists his fingers through Jason’s hair and uses the grip to slam his head hard against the table. Steps back as the boy slides limply to the ground, a groan of pain trapped in his throat. Roman hasn’t come yet, and he can’t shake that delightful image of Jason on his knees, lips red and wrecked and painted with his semen.
When he uses his grip to crane Jason’s head back, a bolt of arousal shoots through him so suddenly that Roman nearly comes untouched. There’s blood on the kid’s mouth where he’s bitten through his lip in an effort to keep quiet, silvery tear tracks cutting across his cheeks, a purple bruise stained at the corner of his jaw. There are more bruises pressed into his neck. Roman’s eyes are drawn straight to them when Jason’s throat works with a wet swallow.
The eyes are the best part - shiny with tears, a hazed, distant look to them, even as he blinks up at Roman.
Roman brushes his thumb over the curve of Jason’s cheekbone. Jason shudders, and those threatened tears slip over his cheek and wet Roman’s skin.
“You’re not done yet, beautiful.” Roman’s cock is hot and heavy in his hand as he guides it towards Jason’s mouth. The spark of fear in those green eyes as he tries to lean away has a moan sliding out of Roman’s throat. “You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you baby?”
There’s blood coating Roman’s cock. It smears across Jason’s tightly clamped lips as he presses his hips inexorably forward. Slashes more red across Jason’s mouth. The boy gags, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim light, but he still doesn’t let Roman in.
Not that Roman needs his permission.
He hits him, hard, and Jason cries out, a sweet, sharp sound. Roman grips his jaw, forcing his mouth wide. Then, before Jason can protest, sheathes himself in that wet heat, sliding deep in one long thrust. There’s resistance. A muffled, protesting moan. Roman can feel the flutter of Jason’s throat as he gags, clasping around the head of Roman’s cock as he tries to sink deeper.
Dark bruises bloom beneath his fingers. “Remember what I said about biting,” Roman snarls, twisting his other hand through those thick curls.
He pulls out. Forces his way back in again, past the automatic contraction of that slick throat. Presses Jason’s head hard against him. The boy’s hands scrabble desperately at Roman’s thighs, trying to push him away, or maybe just holding on as Roman fucks into his mouth.
Roman watches his cock slide through the obscene stretch of Jason’s lips. That’s Bruce Wayne’s son, Roman thinks, with a sharp thrill of lust. It’s Bruce Wayne’s son, kneeling at Roman’s feet. It’s Bruce Wayne’s son covered in blood and spit and tears. It’s Bruce Wayne’s son that’s choking on Roman’s cock.
God. His hips jerk and Jason cries out around the obstruction in his throat. It’ll be obvious, exactly what happened, with the blood and the bruises and the ruined clothes. As soon as he sees his son, Wayne will know what he’s done.
Roman’s orgasm hits him like a truck. White bursts across his vision and he shoves deep into Jason’s throat. Jason chokes as he spills his seed deep, tries to jerk his head away as Roman drags his cock back, spurting across his tongue, then over his lips, streaking his mouth and cheek. But Roman’s hold is firm, keeping him still as he rubs his pulsing cock over his lips, staining them with the last spurts of come.
Fuck, that was - that was the best sex Roman has had in a long time. He gentles his hands where they’re clutching Jason, but doesn’t step back, or let the kid drop his head. Jason pants, wet and open-mouthed and Roman can feel the heat of it against his softening cock. The boy’s lips are dark and swollen and the muscles of his jaw work as he swallows. Roman runs a thumb over his bottom lip, smearing blood and come and Jason flinches, dropping his eyes to avoid Roman’s gaze. Roman lets him.
“Good boy.” He strokes fingers across Jason’s scalp. Enjoys the hard shudder. “Teasing me all night. Bet you loved taking my cock, hmm?”
A small, wounded sound. A snarl. “No. Fuck you, no.”
Roman just shrugs, feeling loose and languid the way he does after a good fuck. “Whatever you say sweetheart. If that’s what you want daddy to think.” His fingers tighten in Jason’s hair, hard enough to draw another whimper out of his abused throat. “Not that he’ll believe you.”