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Jason lay very still in his too-large bed. There was someone in it with him—someone who hadn’t been there when he went to sleep.
Jason could feel him: the velvet of his skin and its terrible heat. The weight of the man’s arm was a firm thing over his waist. Jason tested it once—carefully, barely shifting, afraid of waking the stranger who had crept into his bed—and didn’t try again. The man was immovable, and the small shift had only tightened his hold.
It couldn’t be Bruce: the shape of the man behind him wasn’t right. Shoulders not wide enough, arm not heavy enough, face pressed into his neck not hairy enough. Hand, splayed over his bare stomach, not large enough.
And it couldn’t be Alfred because it just couldn’t.
Besides any of that, though, it was the man’s hair that confused Jason. It was too long to be anyone Jason knew—almost long enough to be a girl’s, but Jason knew it wasn’t a girl because—
The man’s breathing hitched, smooth face burrowing further into Jason’s neck with it. His lips parted around the knot of Jason’s spine: wet and warm, almost a kiss.
It tickled.
Jason held his breath and waited for the man to settle.
“Roll over,” he prayed to himself very softly. “Roll over.”
Jason whispered because he didn’t want to wake the man up. Who knew who he was, how he had gotten past Bruce’s security, into Jason’s room, into Jason’s bed? More importantly, who knew why? It was safer, maybe, with the man still asleep. Even if the weight of his arm was suffocating and the heat of his body burning and his hand creeping up Jason’s chest and—
And his cock, hot and hard and wet, making a mess between the bare skin of Jason’s thighs.
That was how Jason knew it was a man. That was why Jason had woken up: the minute, rocking movement of the man fucking into his thighs. Every time the man shifted, his shaft rubbed over Jason’s balls in a barely-there caress.
Embarrassingly, awfully, shamefully, it felt good.
Jason didn’t want it to, though. He didn’t want it, period. Which was why he had to wiggle his way out now, had to find a weakness in the man’s grip or get him to roll over or something before he started those embarrassing, awful, shameful rolls of his hips again.
The man muttered against his neck—something nonsensical, a string of garbled noise—and it made his lips move in that not-kiss again.
Jason shivered. The man groaned, squeezing him tighter, as the shiver traveled down Jason’s body and made his thighs tense.
“Shit.” Jason did his best to hold still, to stop the inadvertent pulsating of his thighs around the stranger’s cock, but it was too late: the man started moving again. “Fuck.”
It was more this time than it had before—not the same lazy, sleepy fuck it had been. The fingers on his stomach had crept high to cup Jason’s pec, and squeezed in tight enough to bruise.
He’s getting a better grip so he has better leverage, Jason realized dazedly. So he can fuck me harder.
“Hey,” Jason hissed. Forget trying not to wake the man, forget worrying about who he was or how he had gotten in—Jason needed to get out. “Hey, wake up.”
Jason gripped the arm around his waist and dug his fingernails in hard, hoping the pain would wake the man up. It didn’t. If anything, it had the opposite effect: the man groaned, mouth open wide and sloppy, saliva wetting the back of Jason’s neck, and pistoned his hips harder.
It might have been painful—chafing—to have the man’s thick cock rubbing between his thighs so roughly, but it wasn’t. The man’s cock was leaking enough to ease the way, and the heat of his body was making Jason sweat enough to truly slick it. Combined, the two were probably producing enough wetness to make Jason’s thighs indistinguishable from any pussy.
The thought made Jason’s cock twitch. He whimpered, and dug his nails into the man’s arm again.
“H-hey,” he panted. “Please wake up, I—ah!”
The stranger wasn’t just gripping Jason’s chest now. His clever, calloused fingers had found their way to one of Jason’s nipples and were rolling it between them, pinching ever so slightly.
“Fuck!”
Jason whimpered and tried to keep his voice down. If someone else came in and saw him like this—God, they’d probably kick him right back out on the streets. They’d probably say he was no better than a ten-dollar whore. Jason liked the manor, liked being Robin, liked Bruce and Alfred, even with all their weird formalities. He didn’t want to get kicked out.
So Jason would have to stay silent and the man would have to stay asleep: Jason couldn’t afford to cause a scene.
The stranger might have been a mind reader because he hummed happily as if he could hear Jason’s thoughts and gave his chest one firm, fond squeeze before his hand drifted lower again.
And lower.
And lower.
Jason’s breath caught in his throat as those fingers—those clever, calloused fingers—brushed over the wet head of his cock.
“No,” he whispered. “Wait, please, I don’t want—”
He bit down hard on his tongue to stifle a cry, a moan, a something, as the man’s palm wrapped around his cock. It began to pump leisurely in time with the jerking of the man’s hips.
Helplessly, Jason turned his head to the side and pressed his face into the pillow. He couldn’t stop the noises from spilling out of his mouth—not when the man’s cock fucked so smoothly into him, when every thrust rubbed his balls perfectly, when the man’s hand was so tight around him.
Nobody had ever touched Jason like this before.
It was too much, too much, too much, all building up and spiraling higher and higher until it crashed down, suddenly and without warning, over him.
Jason blinked, and his eyelashes were wet. His pillowcase was a thick clump of cotton in his mouth and against his tongue. His cock was limp and twitching in the man’s sticky, sticky fist.
“Fuck.” Jason turned his head back to the side, taking a deep, gasping breath as his body shook from the force of his orgasm.
The man in his bed hummed happily and pressed his lips against Jason’s spine. A real kiss this time. Almost sweet.
It didn’t stay sweet for long.
Jason’s orgasm must have been what the man was waiting for because he started fucking him in earnest now, every thrust bouncing Jason against the cradle of his hips. His hand—sticky, covered in Jason’s own cum—settled over Jason’s stomach again to keep him in place.
Again, it was too much: the ache of the man’s cock against his over-sensitive skin and the burning heat of his body.
Jason twitched and gasped, helpless to do much else, hands scrabbling against the man’s arm again.
“Wait, please!” He gasped out. “Just, just give me a minute and you can—”
The man’s fingers splayed wide over Jason’s chest, digging in, as his hips jerked once, twice, three times, and then there was something warm spilling between Jason’s thighs, seeping down onto his sheets.
The stranger sighed and pulled Jason in tighter, planting another firm kiss on his skin. For a moment, Jason held his breath, afraid the man wouldn’t let him go and that it would start all over again.
But slowly, glacially, the man’s grip eased. Jason felt the face pressed against his neck go slack and his breathing even out: the man had dropped into a deeper, truer sleep.
He was free.
Slowly, Jason untangled himself from the man. He stood up gingerly and whimpered at the feeling of cum, sticky and gradually drying, over his stomach and between his legs. He walked to his bedroom door and opened it carefully—you had to do it slow to avoid the creaks—and slipped out.
There was a guest room not far down the hall. It had an en suite bathroom. Jason could go there, and he could clean up, and go back to sleep. No one would ever even know what happened tonight. No one had to know.
Jason did not look back at the man sleeping in his bed. Like everyone else, he figured he was better not knowing.
“Master Richard!”
Jason’s head whipped up from his bowl at the sound of Alfred’s voice. Who was—
“If I had known you were here, I would have prepared you a plate.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Alfred. I’m on my way back out—just needed a place to crash for the night.”
They were in the kitchen; it was a man Alfred was talking to; his voice was dark and rich and deep.
Jason swallowed heavily.
“Hey—what’d you guys do to my room? Redecorate?”
There was a weighty pause in the conversation. Jason’s hand tightened around his spoon.
“Your room?” He heard Alfred ask, voice strange. “Why, that’s Master Jason’s room now. Are you sure you slept—”
“Master Jason? Who the hell is that?”