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What have I done?
Jason lies suddenly awake on a strange bed, covered in cold sweat, naked and bruised.
The body sleeping next to him is breathing evenly. So strange a form belonging to a man he’d only met a day ago, yet someone he’d known for years. The touch of a bare muscled back against his skin is foreign, yet the haze inside Jason’s head placates him, convincing him that this is somehow alright, that this isn’t a kidnapping, that Jason had agreed to it somehow… and these aren’t chains around his wrists.
The attack comes back in pieces. Rose Wilson’s hilt smashing into his temple, Slade’s hypodermic needle piercing his skin, waking up bound on a St. Andrew’s Cross, Renegade — Dick Grayson — standing before him. The silky, dominant voice of the former Robin forcing him to submit. The calm order of On your knees, Robin, followed by a trance-like reply in his own obedient, adolescent voice: Yes, Sir.
Jason folds in on himself, choking back a sob.
What did I do when I was under… when he forced me… into subspace?
Jason’s panic might wake Dick, but he can’t stop the sobs wracking his torso at the horror and realization, of this crime that happened to him because of the curse of his designation. He’s a prisoner here.
“Something’s wrong?”
Jason tenses at the voice behind him. Dick is awake, his breath billowing across Jason’s back. His voice is a dominant’s voice, smooth like wine.
The hand brushing the side of Jason’s face makes Jason shiver; the lip on his neck wrenches a gasp from him.
“Talk to me, little wing.”
Punch him for what he did.
But there’s no way. Not with the fragments of subspace still spread throughout his mind, Dick’s voice vibrating his nerves, speaking that goddamn nickname with its power over him, holding him spellbound.
“Jason…”
Jason hunches his shoulders and bites off his whimper, swallowing his tears.
“Don’t—”
The fingers around his shoulder are like a vise. Dick swings him around firmly, almost roughly. Jason sees the bright eyes peering from an attractive face, brows knitted.
“Breathe, alright?”
“I can’t… This isn’t…”
“Robin.”
“You need to release me or—”
“Rest.”
Jason shudders, then stops.
The word is a trigger, something that has flipped a switch in his mind, casting through his head the unspoken things that the magnetic, chill, velvety voice holds under its surface. You’re exactly where you belong. This is the right place, the right thing. You’re here with me because it’s just how it’s meant to be. So just rest.
Something takes over Jason and holds him in place. Trembling, he raises his eyes to search Dick’s face, blushing from last night’s memories of this man ravishing him, thrusting into his limp, compliant body, wringing out his biological nature the way no one had done (the way Jason hadn’t allowed anyone to do). And Dick had done it by force.
You’re ready to be good, Robin? You’ll stay there like a good boy and let me do whatever I want to you?
Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. Anything you want, Sir…
Jason realizes his eyes are wet. A tear rolls down his cheek, caught by Dick’s firm thumb. Dick brings that wet thumb to his mouth, licks away the tear.
Dick tilts his head like a cat. His long hair falls like a cascade.
“How are you doing?” he asks. “Does it still hurt?”
Jason thinks he meant last night, but Dick reaches up, rubbing his thumb over the tender spot on his temple.
“I’m sorry they were so rough about getting you here. No successor of mine should be treated like that… I’ve already scolded Rose.”
“I—” it takes all of Jason’s concentration to force the words out of his mouth—“I want to leave.”
If his response aggravates his captor, Dick doesn’t show it.
“Rest, Robin,” he says gently.
A haze is cast over Jason’s mind, and his muscles unstitch themselves, a limpness spreading through him.
A hand drops behind Jason, massaging the small of Jason’s back, soothing the pain caused by last night’s rough intercourse.
“There. Isn’t that all better?”
Trembling, Jason closes his eyes in misery. It’s not. Nothing about this is “good.” He wants to go home to Bruce, wants the assault of last night to fade from his memory. Wants to be free of his predecessor’s saccharine, toxic hold on his mind.
Instead, he nods.
“Good.” Dick kisses Jason’s forehead; the kiss lingers. “You’ll do better as time goes on. Submission is easier each time… I promise.”
But my consent doesn’t matter. As long as you can find ways to put me under, then you can do anything to me.
And I can’t say no.
Despite the throbbing of his heart and the homesickness, Jason leans into Dick’s warmth when Dick takes him into his arms, hides his face in Dick’s shoulder, sobbing against him.
Dick traces up Jason’s spine, kind and tender. Then something leathery touches his nape, snaking around his neck. Dick closes the shiny black leather collar around Jason’s neck, adjusting the size.
That soothes Jason despite all the reasons in his head screaming for him to focus. In a second, Jason falls completely still and submissive, a puppet propped up against its master. It no longer hurts; he no longer remembers why he was stressed. The haze is lovely, and all Jason wants is to be a good Robin. Follow orders, make his master proud.
All that he knows is Dick is in command; Dick is his dom. Dick is Sir.
That’s all Jason can understand when Dick kisses him, touches him, runs a hand down his abdomen. It’s all Jason understands when Dick presses him back onto the bed and fucks him.
Jason’s face is one of intoxication, his body relaxed.
He will be devastated when he wakes up again. But that’s for the morning. Now, he just wants to be good.
He wants to be worthy of Sir’s kindness.