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"So your little brother," Roy says once, licking a joint closed and reaching for his lighter, "is growing up to be a little hottie."
Dick laughs at the time, already high on the first joint they smoked earlier, but he says, "Harper, stay away from my brother. He's gonna go places."
Roy smirks, and Dick punches him in the arm. "I mean it," he says. "Don't you have the rest of the population to fuck before you mess around with him?"
"Maybe," Roy says. He gets his joint lit, takes a hit and leans down to catch Dick's mouth with his. Dick sucks in the smoke, then kind of forgets what he's doing and sucks on Roy's tongue for a while, too. "Or maybe just you," Roy says.
*
Everyone grows up, Roy guesses. It's only, he didn't expect Dick to do it before he did, to leave him behind for friends who don't get you arrested – who don't know how to have any fucking fun.
The thing is, Dick doesn't even tell him he doesn't want to hang out anymore. Gradually, he doesn't answer his phone, doesn't have time for Roy, is always too fucking busy to hang out. "It's a school night," Dick tells him once, when Roy calls to tell him he has a gram of coke and a case of beer courtesy of Ollie's credit card. Roy nearly loses his fucking mind.
Too late for that though, really, so instead after class (the only class he bothers attending that day), he heads over to Dick's house, rings the bell three or four times before he hears, "All right, I'm coming, fuck, Dick, would it kill you to take your keys once – oh," Jason finishes when he opens the door. He's barefoot in ripped up jeans and a t-shirt, the same one Roy made Dick get when they went to see Springsteen a couple years ago.
"Hey, Roy," Jason says. "Dick's not here."
"That's okay," Roy says. "Can I hang out for a while and wait for him?"
"Uh," Jason says. He rubs his neck, and Roy sees little flecks of paint on his knuckles, blue and green and gray. "Yeah, if you want I guess. I'm kinda working on something, but you can sit with me for a while."
"Sounds good," Roy says. "You got a pack of crayons or something for me?"
Jason snorts, and Roy follows him up the stairs, checking out Jason's ass as he goes. Kid's got to be sixteen or so by now, not so much younger than Roy, and he was always a cute kid, but – shit.
They reach Jason's studio, and Jason pulls a pack of markers out of one of the drawers in his desk and tosses them to Roy. "There you go," Jason says. "Floor's covered. Knock yourself out."
For a while, Jason seems to ignore him. He starts mixing paints, turns his music back up, but when Roy looks back over at him from the floor, Jason's staring at him. He blinks and turns back to his work, but a few minutes later Jason says, "I like your ink."
"Yeah?" Roy asks. He's tattooed from his elbows to his shoulders, and he has some on his chest and back, too.
"Yeah," Jason says. He cleans his brush, picks up another one. "I've been thinking about getting one in a few years, when I'm old enough."
"Why wait?" Roy asks. He stands up, pulls back the collar of his shirt to show Jason the tattoo on his chest, the Arabic word for "liberty" in deep black ink. "I got this one when I was your age. A friend of mine did it for me."
Jason reaches out, traces the lines on Roy's chest then looks up at him. "You have some on your back too, right? I saw something once when you guys went swimming here."
"Yeah," Roy says. "Here, I'll show you." He pulls his shirt up over his head and turns around so Jason can see the anchor that runs across the back, a red robin sitting at the top of it.
"I could do this," Jason says. He's touches Roy again, traces the tattoo and then runs his fingers all the way down Roy's spine. "Hey," Jason says. "Why'd you really come here?"
Roy swallows, turns back around. "No offense," he says, "but your brother's kind of a fucker, you know?"
Jason laughs, and Roy follows his tongue when it swipes across his lips. "Yeah," he says, "I know. So what?" Jason asks. "You're here waiting around hoping he'll come home and ask if you guys can be BFF again?"
Yes. No. Roy doesn't really know, only –
"Maybe I came to see you," Roy says, and it's half a tease and half – something else. Dick used to tell Roy all the time that he thought Jason had a little crush on him, until the last year or so when that would've meant anything.
"Sure you did, Harper," Jason says. He brushes his fingers over Roy's abs, tweaks the silver barbell in Roy's nipple, and Roy bites his lip. This isn't exactly going how he planned it. Jason is –
"I'm guessing," Jason says, "you thought you'd come over and try to get to Dick through me. Thing of it is," Jason says, "is it worth Dick kicking your ass just so you can get in my pants?"
Roy's mouth is dry – Jason is so fucking hot, stupid hot, pretty mouth and long lashes and cheekbones to cut yourself on – and he means to deny everything, but then Jason lowers his hand, cups Roy's dick through his jeans and fuck, fuck it, he's not going anywhere.
"Yes," Roy says, and Jason's eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"
Roy shivers. He touches Jason's face, the lines of his jaw, and then he drops to his knees. "Really," Roy says.
"Oh, fuck," Jason says. "Harper - Roy -"
"Ssh," Roy says, grinning up at him while he slides Jason's jeans and boxers down his hips, cups his ass in his hands to push him closer. "Trust me, I am good at this."
Jason doesn't disagree. Jason doesn't say anything, just whines and jerks his hips sharply when Roy gets his mouth around him, gets spit all over his dick so everything is warm and wet.
"Little Jaybird," Roy pulls off to ask, "you ever had anyone do this for you?"
Jason shakes his head, and all of that street smart confidence is gone for a minute while he just stares down at Roy, eyes rolling back in his head when Roy takes him all the way in.
"Oh my god," Jason says. "Oh my god, your mouth, fuck." Roy chuckles around Jason's dick, tightens the suction around him until his cheeks are hollow with it, thinks about all the times he did this for Dick, all the times –
"God, that's – you're amazing," Jason says, and then he says, "Fuck, I'm gonna –" but Roy keeps his mouth tight around him, swallows his come and then pulls his jeans and boxers back up for him.
Jason's still panting when he kneels down next to Roy. He rubs his thumb over Roy's mouth, and Roy takes Jason's thumb into his mouth, quirks an eyebrow at him.
"Teach me how to do that?" Jason asks, and Roy releases his thumb with a little pop, says, "It's all about practice."
When Dick finally gets home, there's no mistaking what they've been up to, no mistaking the hickey on Jason's neck and Roy's inside-out shirt, the smell of weed leaking out of Jason's bedroom.
Dick doesn't say anything, but later that night Roy gets a text from Jason. Dick says I could do so much better. how's it feel to be a bad influence?
It hurts, but it hurts a little less when Roy remembers the taste of Jason in his mouth, the feel of Jason sucking him off all messy and perfect.
pretty fucking good, Roy texts back. It's hardly even a lie.