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The kid's made it a habit, finding a way into Jason's safe houses and taking his shit. It's some sort of power play, a way of asserting that he's better without saying as much. Implying that he's more skilled than he actually is. Simply because he can.
Damian's grown lax, though. Comfortable. He’s lingering longer lately, and Jason watches on the cameras he's had set up long before Damian's little thefts even began. He lays curled up in the middle of Jason's bed, arms slipped through the sleeves of one of Jason's jackets, face buried in the inner lining.
That is normal for Damian. Or, as normal enough as something like that can be considered. Jason flips back through the past couple instances, spanning the time frame of several months—a different article of clothing pressed to his face each time, not always on the bed, but often enough to be noteworthy. Jason hums, flips back to the live feed, only to be greeted by Damian having pulled his dick out.
This could also be a power play, of course. It’d be very locker room of him, though, and that doesn’t quite fit his motivations up to this point. If he wanted to jerk off onto Jason’s bed, he’d have been doing it from the beginning. If he was just looking for a place to jerk off, not under the watchful eye of the Bat, there are definitely better places. Easier places to break into that are definitively more private.
Jason leans back in his seat, rubbing a hand across his cheek and the stubble he still can’t stand having.
This really only leaves the one possibility. It’d been Jason’s first thought, but he’d wanted to give Damian the benefit of the doubt in the beginning of all this. The kid’s got a big fat crush on him, and he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal human being, on account of the raised by assassins thing, then raised further by a man with the emotional range of a brick wall. So he's doing… this.
Not that Jason’s doing much better. Watching Damian do what he’s doing. Take himself in hand and frantically jerk off, as if he’s on a time limit. Or just really fucking desperate for it. Jason can hear the little puffs of air through the speakers, can see the shine of sweat forming on the back of his neck—and yeah, alright, maybe he can see the appeal.
Jason presses the heel of his palm to his crotch, his filling erection, and spreads his legs to pull his zipper down. Just this once he can indulge.
The next two times it happens Jason does nothing. He records it, because of course he does. He records everything. Then saves the files, encrypts them, and buries them beneath several more layers of security with everything else. He doesn’t need Oracle or Batman or Red Robin digging through his shit on a whim and finding videos of a baby Robin moaning in his bed.
He doesn’t actually need said baby Robin moaning in his bed, full stop. Period.
Yet he has it anyway. And it's… enticing.
What Jason sets up isn't so much a trap as it is letting Damian keep doing what he's been. He just ensures that the next time he's alerted to someone entering his safe house, he's within distance to respond. Ensures the cameras are still clear, the gain on the mics are perfect, one of his jackets is tossed over a chair and within easy reach for Damian to nab. And of course, give him just enough time to get going, get distracted and comfortable so he can't immediately bolt.
He's predictable. Easy. It happens like clockwork.
Jason slips through the door silently, engages the locks, and makes his way to the bedroom. He'd entertained the idea of taking his helmet off early on in the planning of this—letting Damian have the full experience, but he’s also pretty certain the kid would get off regardless. So he'll get what Jason gives him.
A hand shoving into his shoulder, pushing him over, pressing his chest into the mattress to the tune of a startled squawk and some undignified flailing.
“Hood! This isn't— it's not..!”
“It's not you sneaking into my place to jerk off?” His voice is modulated through the helmet, lower, almost robotic and entirely unrecognizable to his own ears. Fingers spreading wide over the worn leather of his own jacket, warmed by the body heat of Damian's back, he presses harder, using him as leverage to climb into the bed. Weight settling heavily on the backs of Damian’s slim thighs. “Got a couple home movies that'll say otherwise.”
The choked noise that comes from him is almost cute. Almost endearing. Damian squirms, fisting the red sheets and pushing against them in an attempt to escape.
“Aw, don't get all camera shy now. Need some incentive to stick around?”
Jason pulls one of his pistols from its holster at his thigh. Safety's still on, his finger's off the trigger, but the kid doesn't know that. He just hears the clatter of it and goes still. Much better.
“You wouldn't,” Damian says through gritted teeth.
“Gonna tell your daddy?” He shifts his weight, using the muzzle to flip the back of the jacket up. “Better tell him how you ended up in this situation first.” Trailing it down Damian's spine, the scar he knows lines it from surgery, the mess of scarring at his tailbone from having half a magazine dumped into his body. “Panting my name like you’re being fucked. Huffing my clothes. Do I smell that good, baby?”
“Get the gun off me, Todd.”
“You think you're in a position to make demands? Kid, you've still got your dick out.” His utility belt has long been cast aside, so it's easy to wiggle the gun in between the loosened layers of the Robin uniform. To press it against the swell of his ass, slide it between his cheeks.
Damian hisses at the cold metal pressing into his heated skin. But his hips twitch, flex back against it, legs parting just the barest bit. Asking for it despite the protests. God.
Jason slips his hand from between Damian's shoulder blades, digging around in the pocket of the jacket he's still wearing for the packet of lube Jason put there just for this. He doesn't move to run, just adjusts his position further, making himself more comfortable to take it. Take whatever Jason's willing to give, without even questioning it.
Should've guessed that he'd actually be into this. Kinky bastard’s just like his dad, surprised he's not jerking off on rooftops instead. Or, maybe he is, Jason's not always watching him.
Jason tugs the tights down so his ass is out fully and squeezes the packet out so it drips down his crack. “I'm gonna fuck you with this first.” He presses the muzzle into the slick, smearing it around, pushing it against his hole, feeling the give of him bearing down against it— “If you're good, you can have my cock after. That enough for you?”
“S'good… yes. Please.” The words come out slurred and muffled, his face pressed into the bed sheets, but clear enough. From no to please, as easy as that. Oh, he’s really wanted this.
“Who knew you had any manners. Let's hear some more of that, huh?”
It takes some maneuvering, some push and pull, his palm pressed to the base of Damian's spine, thumb and forefinger spreading his cheeks wider, but the tip of the muzzle pushes inside him—the noises he makes as a result are glorious. A whine like a wounded animal, something between discomfort and pleasure, a pit stop made at disbelief. Panted breaths amplified in the speakers of his helmet. Jason can't wait to play it all back later, zoom in and really watch the way his body jerks at the intrusion.
He pushes inside deeper, slowly, he's not trying to tear the kid up, as much as it might seem that way.
“Think your next line is ‘thank you, Jason.’”
Damian mumbles something unintelligible. A gasp. Flexing fingers. Jason can see the damp forming on his exposed skin, his neck, his temple. Can practically see the heat pouring off the sliver of his exposed back. “Thank… thank you–” He peters off, hips jerking, pressing back, ass pushing against the finger guard. Damian exhales his name as a breath, soft as silk, pretty as anything. “Jason.”
“Cute. Can really tell you’ve been practicing.” Jason pulls the gun back, Damian clenches and releases around the abnormal shape. With just the tip of the muzzle still inside, he pushes back in with a bit more force, fucking Damian in earnest.
His breathing kicks up, punched out exhales that pair with every forward thrust, a whine that matches the withdraw.
If nothing else, it does get his dick hard. If nothing else, knowing that he’s ruining Bruce’s newest kid, that he’ll have to limp his way back home after Jason’s done with him, that’ll keep him nice and toasty for days.
And perhaps he does let it go for too long for that simple fact. It is also horribly enthralling, watching every twitch of muscle, listening to every ragged draw of air. His eyes itch for how little he's blinking beneath the helmet. Damian's hips flex, rutting down against the sheets while trying to take the barrel deeper.
He’s a fucking natural.
The Robin trembles, stutters. His breath hitches. Catches on a sob as his body stiffens, orgasm hitting harder than Jason’s ever seen it through the cameras. He lets the kid ride it out, slowly fuck himself on the gun with halfhearted jerks of his hips — until he slows further, and Jason pulls the gun free from Damian with a slick, messy noise.
He tosses it behind them, hears it bounce and settle at the foot of the mattress. Knows that cleaning it later will be absolute hell, but well worth it. He’s already taken all this time, what’s a little more?
Jason adjusts his weight, shifts a little further back and rises to his knees. Belt undone, zipper down, he pulls his own cock free. It’s an instant relief, getting himself in hand. He strokes it once, twice, eyes never once leaving the curve of Damian’s ass.
“Hands and knees, kid.”
There’s only more of that muffled nonsense in response. Jason watches him try. Damian’s hands clench, his shoulders shift, flex. Unfortunately, all he manages is to turn his head and squeeze out another downy, “Jason…”
Damian’s lucky that his big brother’s so kind. He doesn’t demand compliance, he’s considerate enough to help even. Callused hands grip onto Damian’s thin hips, dragging them up and back. Thumbs dig into the meat of his ass, parting his cheeks enough for Jason to see the inflamed red of his hole, the small gape of him trying to clench down.
Fucking Christ.
Maybe he’s starting to regret not doing this a little bit sooner. And maybe, the thought crosses his mind that he could’ve had Bruce’s blood son leaking with his come on the regular, prancing around in his little Robin uniform, for going on four months now. That— shit. What a wasted opportunity.
Jason lets go with one hand to line himself up with Damian’s hole. He presses the mushroom head of his cock right up against it, lets it slowly, surely, spread to accommodate him as he sinks into what has to be the tightest body he’s ever been inside of. Even after being stretched out around the barrel of a gun, Damian clenches like a vise around Jason. It damn near punches the breath from his lungs; every inch a hard won battle.
Until, blessedly, fully seated inside, hips pressed snug to Damian’s ass, Jason curls around him, blanketing that much smaller body.
Jason slips a hand from Damian’s hips to rest low on his stomach, pushing under the dense fabric of his uniform top. Ignoring his limp, spent cock, the wet of his release smeared upward, Jason presses up, trying to see if he can feel himself inside.
It forces a strained groan from an otherwise pliant Damian.
Jason’s mouth immediately fills with saliva, his cock pulses. He can feel his own damn heartbeat thrumming beneath his skin—
“Can’t believe you took all of it...” He breathes, incredulous, picking up a shallow pace, a deliberate rock of his hips that lets him stay right up against Damian for the moment. He keeps his hand in place, fingers digging into the soft skin of his stomach, reveling in every translated movement. He can fucking feel himself inside and out.
This position, as close as he is, Jason can lean down that little more, get right against his ear. “You ever been fucked before this?” Damian chokes. Jason continues with an involuntary grin, “Dick have you? You let your daddy fuck you?”
The immediate moan that rips from between those bitten red lips tells Jason no, as much as it tells Jason that he would love nothing more.
And that makes sense; lines up perfectly with the image of Damian that Jason has pieced together bit by bit since learning of his existence.
His thrusts get harder, more forceful. He pushes up from Damian’s back, hand sliding from stomach to hip, the other unforgiving at the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place while the other grips at his narrow hip. There’s no reason to be gentle. He’s a Robin, after all. He grew up in the League. He’s taken worse beatings, and Jason himself has given him worse.
He put a bullet in this body himself, and still Damian came to his bed.
“That why you started coming here? First two choices wouldn’t entertain you?” Jason’s breathing rattles in his ears, echoing inside the hood right alongside Damian’s increasingly erratic pitch. He’s breathing in his own heated exhales, swimming in the humid soup of it all.
He can’t stop himself from pushing further. An unignorable itch under his skin. “You thought I might if you kept pushing? Next best thing for a baby with daddy issues. The black sheep big brother.”
Fingers tighten around Damian’s neck, tips digging into the softer flesh on either side. Jason jerks Damian’s slackened hips back, forcing a deeper arch into his back as he fucks into him. “Answer me,” voice thin in his own ears, but distorted through the modulator to sound demanding.
It almost sounds like he’s entirely unaffected by this. The slick slide of his cock into Damian’s body, his pulsating clenches that feel like a dream; he’s maybe too affected.
More than he thought he’d ever be before following through on this.
“I— hah.” The stumble is cute. The way he tries and fails to work through a response in the middle of all his panting is better. “No— yes. I don’t— Jas’nnn— Please.”
The heat that’s been pooling low in his gut, at the base of his spine, fuzzy behind his eyes, solidifies into something much more urgent. Jason’s sure it’s something to do with the broken pleas of someone who plays at being better than everyone around him. He’s certain it has everything to do with hearing his name broken off on this Robin’s teeth. Everything to do with that stupid fucking mask, the bright yellow and green—
He slips his hand from Damian’s hip to his front, his cock, hardened back up between that first orgasm and the second one Jason’s about to pull from him, fits easily in his hand. A small little thing, just like the rest of him.
Damian comes quickly. It only takes a few rough jerks of his hand, and he’s spilling between Jason’s fingers with a cry.
The involuntary spasms of muscle after, have his ass clenching around Jason’s cock, sucking him in. It sends him careening over that precipice, coming deep inside, as deep as he physically can, with a heaving chest and a broken off moan of his own.
He’s left his mark, his claim on Bruce's blood.
He was the first.
Jason stays there for a moment longer, catching his breath, blinking back into focus. His hand still holds tight to Damian’s neck, pressing his face into the sheets. Shifting off, Jason lets him go as he slips free from the sloppy heat of his abused hole.
There’s no real reaction, just a catch of breath, a small noise at the back of his throat. Damian doesn’t move himself immediately, his ass still presented to the room. Jason can see his own spend leaking out, the clench and release of muscle — the vision shoots hot sparks through his gut, straight to his cock, making it twitch with attempted renewal. His heart thuds loudly, raring to go again, fuck even more come into him, again and again, until he can’t anymore — leave him god damn ruined.
Jason yanks the tights up instead, disregarding the mess beneath entirely. He pushes Damian down onto his stomach, rolling him over to get a good look before he’s got to send him out.
He tucks himself away while taking in bitten lips and flushed brown skin. Pupils so blown his eyes might as well be black, hair spiked and damp with sweat. He does make a pretty picture. Jason grabs his face, hand still smeared with the kid’s own release, directing his attention towards one of the hidden cameras.
There’s a moment of resistance, a performatively disgruntled, “let go. That’s— disgusting.” He’s not even trying, his fingers barely even twitch to grab back. So much for being a trained assassin. He’s soft as a kitten after two orgasms.
“Next time you wanna come here to jerk off, I want you looking into that one. Deal?”
Those plush, pink lips press together, then part in preparation to speak. Jason pushes his thumb between them before any more little lies can spill. Rather than words, it’s a surprised choke. Jason presses the digit down against the back of his tongue, the remainder of his fingers curl under his chin, holding his jaw. He tilts his own head to the side, dragging the pliant boy back into looking at him.
Maybe it’s intimidating, or maybe the kid really does like it.
Either way, it doesn’t matter in the end, because he looks up at Jason, eyes wide, lips closing around his thumb, and whines his agreement.