Chapter Text
Roy hunkered down into a deeper squat from his perch on the fire escape, eyes trained on the bodega across the street, his bow in his hand.
This was stupid. Of course, with the life he’d led, it didn’t rank as even in the top ten stupidest things he’d done, but it was still stupid. This was Gotham. You couldn’t go three blocks without tripping over a vigilante. Roy didn’t need to be out here.
But he’d stopped in that bodega on his way home earlier to pick up a couple of odds and ends and immediately clocked the two teenagers lurking very unsubtly in the corner of the store and staring at the cashier. Roy had drifted over to the Hostess display a few feet away from them and pretending to be agonizing over his choice of fruit pie while he listened to their murmured conversation.
“You got it?” one of them murmured.
“Yeah,” the other one said, nodding his head towards the cashier. “Old dude’s gonna shit his pants when we come back here with a gun.”
The first kid elbowed him. “Man, shut the fuck up!” he said, looking at Roy, who of course had heard absolutely nothing while he changed his mind and grabbed a pack of Ding Dongs instead.
He should have called Dick. Or Oracle. Hell, he was perfectly capable of calling Batman. There were plenty of people in this city who could handle a little corner store burglary.
But instead he’d gone home, asked the babysitter if she could stay a couple more hours at a doubled rate, and grabbed his gear. And now he was on this fire escape, microflexing every few seconds so that his blood didn’t pool in his feet and his hands didn’t go numb from the cold. Trust Gotham to have winters that were somehow bitterly cold and damp, yet never managed to snow and make things look pretty for at least an hour or two.
God, he didn’t want to be in Gotham. But after the Outsiders had imploded and he’d lost his steady paycheck, it had made more sense to cross the river from New York to Jersey, where the cost of living—and raising a child—was lower. He had some irons in the fire back in DC, but one of the many problems with working for the Feds was how long it took for anything to get approved, even re-hiring a former contractor. Which left him living in this freezing armpit of a city and trying not to burn through his savings too fast, and that meant a shitty apartment where he slept on a pull-out couch so Lian could have the single bedroom, in a neighborhood where idiot kids planned to knock off bodegas out loud, in the bodega itself.
Ollie would have helped, money-wise. Roy knew Ollie would have helped. But Ollie had seemed so proud of Roy ever since he came back from the dead, of how he was doing as a leader and a hero and a father. Roy didn’t want to have to go to him with his hand out, especially when it was just a temporary setback. A few months and he’d be settled in DC.
But maybe that had something to do with why he was out here on a cold rainy night, instead of checking to make sure that his daughter was asleep and then heading to bed himself. He couldn’t do much right now, but he could at least stop these kids from fucking up a bunch of lives, including their own.
Three customers went in. Four minutes later, one customer came out.
Less than a minute after that, Roy saw the cashier put his hands over his head.
“Bingo,” he muttered, and loosed a grappling arrow.
It embedded itself just above the bodega door. Roy rode the line down across the street, using his momentum to kick the door open with both feet. “Freeze!” he shouted, already rolling and drawing a second arrow, a plain broadhead this time.
He took in the scene in a split second: the cashier looking terrified with his hands up, the kids nearly as scared. And sure enough, one of them had a gun. Roy shot it out of his hand, sending it spinning across the floor.
That pretty much dealt with any threat these kids were going to pose, so Roy straightened up and let his bow hang by his side. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” he said. “Can we consider the ‘scared straight’ portion of the evening done, or do I need to call—”
Gunfire rang out, shattering the glass windows and door.
“Shit, shit!” Roy hissed, dropping to the ground. The cashier and the kids did the same. What the fuck? This was just a stupid corner bodega, who the hell was bringing this kind of firepower?
The gunshots slowed, becoming more scattered, and the kid who’d been holding the gun scrambled for his dropped weapon. “Kid, stay down!” Roy snapped.
But the idiot grabbed the gun and turned it on Roy with shaking hands. Shit.
“Shouldn’t have gotten involved, hero,” he said, but he sounded more petrified than intimidating.
“Do it, Eric!” his friend said. “You know how it works. Waste a cape and you’re made for life!”
“Okay, first, let the record show that I have never worn a cape,” Roy said, holding up his hands as pacifyingly as he could from his prone position. “Second, waste anyone and you’ve got a murder charge on your rap sheet. You think that’s a good idea?”
“Shut up!” Eric said. “Just...just fucking shut up, okay, and—”
Wonk! A Batarang came whizzing in from the opposite side of the store from the windows and hit him on the side of the head. He crumpled to the ground.
Oh, thank god. “You Bats always have impeccable timing,” Roy said, turning toward the direction it had come from, expecting to see Dick, or Bruce, or any of his gaggle of teen sidekicks. Hell, maybe even Helena.
It was none of those people.
His rescuer was a big man, taller and broader than Roy. He didn’t have a uniform, just a leather jacket over a kevlar shirt and tactical pants. His face was completely hidden by a red helmet, but Dick had filled Roy in on Gotham’s newest villain. Roy knew who the Red Hood was.
“J—” he started, and caught himself. “Hood. Thanks. What the hell’s going on outside?” The gunshots had stopped entirely, and he had a feeling Red Hood had something to do with that.
“Nothing, at the moment.” Red Hood’s voice was deep and yet somehow tinny, computerized by the helmet. “These two chucklefucks were hitting up the store as part of a gang initiation. Some of the gang members were watching to make sure they did it, so when you crashed the party, they started shooting.”
It shouldn’t have been possible to pick up on Red Hood’s tone with that voice modulator. Roy could still tell when he was being called an idiot. “Well. Thanks again.”
He had more questions, but they were less important than dealing with the current situation. He ziptied the still-conscious kid, who had seemed scared before but was clearly on the verge of pissing himself now that the Red Hood was here, and turned to the cashier. “I’m going to call this in,” he told him. “I can stay until the police get here.”
Red Hood seemed to take that as his cue, or maybe he’d just spent too many of his formative years around Batman, because when Roy turned around, he was gone. Roy gnawed at his lip. Maybe he should have asked those questions after all.
The quickest way to get help in Gotham was to call Oracle. He tipped her off to the situation without mentioning Red Hood, then checked to make sure the coast was clear outside. The two gangsters Red Hood had taken out were slumped on the sidewalk across the street, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding. Huh.
Once the cops had arrived and taken Roy’s statement, there was nothing left to do but go back to his own apartment. He decided to travel by roof—he still had some adrenalin to burn off. Not to mention that after over a decade in the business, he could tell when he was being followed.
Sure enough, a few blocks from the bodega, his tail came out of the shadows. Roy had been about to gather up speed to jump the next roof, but instead he let himself come to a stop.
“Jason,” he said. “Been a while.”
Red Hood paused. Then he reached up and pulled the helmet off.
And there in a red domino mask was Jason Todd, who Roy had last seen over six years ago. Roy had still been Speedy, then. Jason had been Robin, fifteen years old and excited by everything. Intellectually, Roy had known that this man and that boy were the same person, but it hadn’t seemed real until now. But there was the full red mouth Roy remembered, the dark locks hanging in heavy curls across his forehead.
Young Jason hadn’t had that sharp line to his jaw, though, or the dark stubble dusting it, or the bump in his nose that said it had been broken at one point and probably more than once. He hadn’t been this big, either, a couple inches taller than Roy with broad shoulders and thighs like tree trunks.
He hadn’t been carrying guns.
“Dick told you,” he said. His voice was different too, of course, a bass rumble without the helmet. Roy’s skin prickled.
“It came up,” he admitted. “He made you out to be a bit more bloodthirsty, though.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “I don’t kill kids,” he said.
“And the guys outside?”
An easy shrug. “Knocked ‘em out and bugged ‘em. If they managed to wake up before the GCPD gets to the scene I’ll have ears inside wherever they’re holing up. Did they?”
“Nah, but it’s a smart play,” Roy said. “Okay, cool.”
Jason’s pause before he answered felt distinctly confused. “That’s it?”
“Sorry?”
“You’re not gonna try to take me in?” Jason asked. He gestured to himself. “Crime lord.” He pointed to Roy. “Superhero. It’s kind of what you do.”
“Crime lord? Really?” Roy asked. “Because you just saved my life, and I didn’t see you kill anyone.”
“You said Dick talked to you,” Jason said, and now he sounded vaguely annoyed.
“He did,” Roy agreed. “I’m still not gonna jump a guy who just saved my ass because you two got into it last year. Why, did you want me to try to take you in?”
Jason shrugged. “It seems to be the go-to move for most people,” he said. “Wouldn’t recommend it, though. It won’t end very well for you.”
Roy’s skin prickled with heat again at the unsubtle threat. “Well, lucky for you I’m not most people,” he said. “Plus I have some experience with being the guy everyone in the capes and tights set is talking about. I heard Dick’s side of the story. I didn’t hear yours.”
He paused. He should probably go home. The babysitter’s fee was going to be astronomical. Plus, it wasn’t like he didn’t believe Dick that Jason was a killer. The man had just threatened him, after all.
He just...wanted to believe he was more than just a killer. If only for the sake of the fifteen-year-old boy he remembered.
“You want to get a drink and tell me your side?” he asked.
This time the pause was much longer. Roy was starting to wonder if he should be reaching for his bow when Jason finally tilted his head and said, “Yeah, okay.”
Okay, then.
*
Roy had not remembered Jason’s eyes correctly. He’d vaguely categorized them as blue, mostly because Dick’s were, but that turned out to be overly simplistic. They were blue, but even in the dim, reddish light of the bar, he could pick out more complicated notes: flecks of gray and green under dark, heavy lashes. Tilted down at the outside corners, giving them a slightly mournful, appealing expression.
Watch it, Harper, he told himself sternly. This was Dick’s kid brother, after all, not to mention a self-proclaimed crime lord.
But shit, those eyes were something.
The bar was a shitty hole in the wall that looked like it might have had pretensions of being an Irish pub several decades back before giving in to ennui. It was a weeknight, after happy hour but before the less-than-legal jobs ended, so there were only maybe half a dozen hardened regulars there, slumped over the bar or sitting in booths and staring vacantly at the MMA playing on the TV.
Roy bought them a couple of beers, then pointed at the shabby pool table in the back, where a couple of men were finishing up a game. “Wanna play when they’re done?”
Jason gave him a curious look but shrugged. What, had he expected Roy to start grilling him on his philosophy toward violence the minute they walked in the door? “Sure,” he said.
Roy bit back a grin and leaned against a nearby booth to watch the current game wrap up. He nursed his beer slowly while he did. He didn’t mind the occasional social drink, but he knew better than to come anywhere close to getting fucked up, not with his history. Jason wasn’t drinking particularly quickly either, and something about the way his mouth twisted after each sip made Roy think maybe Jason hadn’t had beer very frequently in the past. He would only be about twenty-one, after all, and who knew what the fuck he’d been doing all these years?
It was sort of adorable. It also reminded Roy that he shouldn’t be watching Jason’s mouth as closely as he was.
The other men finished their game in silence, and Roy stepped forward to rack the balls. “You can break,” he told Jason magnanimously. It had been years since he’d found someone who was willing to play with him. He didn’t need to be an asshole right away.
“Okay.” Jason picked up a cue and lined up his shot. Roy’s eyes lingered on the way his pants stretched over the curve of his ass as he bent forward.
Fuck. Eyes up, Harper, he reminded himself, and watched as Jason’s break sank two striped balls.
“Not bad,” he said. Jason’s second shot missed, and Roy snagged a cue of his own off the rack and sent a solid ball into a corner pocket.
“So, what, are we just gonna fucking play pool?” Jason asked abruptly, sounding annoyed.
Roy peeked at him over his shoulder. “Did you have another item for the agenda?”
“You said you wanted to hear my side.”
Roy sank the red ball. “So talk.”
Jason scowled, then took a swig of his beer and made another face at it. “What’s the fucking point? You telling me you’re not gonna be like Dick and the rest of them? Superheroes don’t kill, right?”
“Preferably not,” Roy said, and Jason rolled his eyes. “I have, though.”
Jason choked on his next sip. “What?”
“When I worked for Checkmate, when I—oh, right. You were…away,” Roy said, and Jason snorted at the clumsy euphemism. “You know I did government work though, right? Last time I saw you it was the CBI. After that it was Checkmate, and I was mostly a sniper, and…” He shrugged again. “They usually weren’t interested in non-lethal methods for taking down targets.”
“Does Dick know?”
“Ohhh yeah,” Roy said, sinking the blue ball. Dick had been the recipient of about a third of Roy’s guilt-stricken three a.m. phone calls when his mind hadn’t been able to stop looping endlessly over what he’d done; Donna and Dinah had gotten the rest. All three of them had always stayed on the phone with him until the panicked half-sobs, muffled so as not to wake Lian, had subsided. He would always be grateful.
“What a fucking hypocrite,” Jason spat. “But then, the rules always were different for me, weren’t they?”
“Well, yeah,” Roy said, sinking the orange ball, and Jason looked surprised again. “You’re his kid brother. Of course he thinks he can tell you what to do. Of course he wants to think of you as the sweet, innocent kid you used to be.”
Jason snorted. “I stopped being innocent long before I became Robin.”
“Yeah, but you were still sweet,” Roy said, with a little smile. “I remember. Anyway, I’m not saying it’s the only reason, and I’m not saying he’s right. But maybe Dick’s just having a hard time seeing that you’ve grown up.”
“But you’re not?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m very aware that you’ve grown,” Roy said, and then realized how that sounded. Well, fuck it. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true, and if Jason was going to shoot him, he would’ve done so already.
But Jason just paused, and then raised an eyebrow. “You know, you could get in trouble talking like that in a place like this,” he said.
Roy met his eyes over the table. “Maybe I like trouble,” he replied. He didn’t think he imagined the way Jason’s breathing hitched slightly at that.
Then Roy sank the eight ball and straightened up. “And that’s the game,” he said.
Jason blinked at him, then the table. “Did you—did you just hustle me?” he spluttered.
Roy cracked up. “Shouldn’t play pool with an archer, Jay! It’s not gonna work out well for you.” This was why no one would ever play him anymore. He couldn’t even play Ollie, because whoever broke would just sweep the whole table and the game would be over. The look of shocked indignation on Jason’s face was well worth the price of one beer.
“You fucking asshole,” Jason said, but for the first time there was something approaching a smile on his face. Roy grinned back, feeling unreasonably pleased with himself.
“Hey!” said a voice behind him. “You two nancies wanna wrap it up so someone else can play?”
Roy turned around to see one of the regulars who’d been playing before them scowling at him. His bleary eyes told Roy he wasn’t sober; the broken capillaries in his red nose told Roy that this was his usual state.
“You just played, and we’ve had the table for two minutes,” he said. “I didn’t realize the demand was so high at one a.m. on a Thursday.”
“Maybe I just don’t like you uptown pricks coming down here and slumming it in the Narrows,” the regular said.
“Fuck you, I was born in Park Row,” Jason said, looking highly offended.
Roy shrugged. “I’m from Arizona. Is that uptown? I can never remember.”
“Oh, fancy boy here thinks he’s funny,” the regular said.
“I do, but I didn’t know I was fancy,” Roy said. “That’s going on the resume.” Jason snorted.
“Yo, Carl, these guys giving you trouble?” another regular asked, coming up on the other side of them. Roy caught Jason’s quick eye movement and knew he’d noticed they were being flanked, very inexpertly.
“Just pissin’ me off,” said the first regular—Carl, apparently. “But if they get the fuck out of our bar—and you know what, hand over that expensive-ass jacket—I’ll find a way to be magnanimous.”
Jason’s eyebrows went up. “You’re trying to roll me for my jacket?” He looked at Roy. “This is hilarious, right?”
“It’s pretty fucking funny,” Roy agreed. A couple of the other regulars had started to approach, and he wondered idly if this was a frequent occurrence when strangers wandered in. “Boys. Seriously. Go sit down. You don’t want any of this.”
“Trying to protect your boyfriend?” Carl asked.
“Oh no, I’m trying to protect you from him,” Roy said. “I’m the nice one. I’m so nice that I’ll even buy you all a round if you just walk away.”
“We don’t want your fucking craft beer, you hipster piece of shit,” said Not-Carl.
“I’m extremely positive they don’t serve craft beer here.”
“Enough of this,” Carl said, rolling his eyes and drawing back his fist to take a swing at Roy. “Let’s just kick their asses, the fucking—”
Crack! Jason hit him in the head with his pool cue and he went down like a sack of wet cement.
Roy shrugged. “Told you you didn’t want this.”
There was a moment of stunned silence from the bar’s regulars. Then someone yelled “Get them!” and every drunk still standing hurled themselves at Roy and Jason.
It was...not much of a fight. There were only about half a dozen opponents and they weren’t exactly trained fighters, not to mention they’d all probably been drinking for at least the past four hours. Roy got close to Jason, just in case, and Jason swung the cue at another regular and shot Roy a wild, feral grin.
“When you ask someone out for a drink, you don’t make it boring, do you?” he asked.
Roy couldn’t help grinning back. “Hey, you’re the one who hit him with a pool cue.”
He ducked under a thrown beer bottle and socked the thrower in the eye. Jason hit another one in the teeth and that was it—everyone was down except the couple of drunks slumped at the bar who had never gotten up in the first place.
“Well, that was invigorating,” Roy said. He glanced at the bartender, who was still wiping glasses behind the bar and looking bored. “We have a problem?”
The bartender shrugged. “You paid cash. I don’t care what you do.”
Jason was inspecting his knuckles, which were bleeding. “Fuck.”
“You okay?” Roy asked.
“Yeah, just sliced them open on that asshole’s teeth,” Jason said. “I’m gonna go wash this out, he probably had rabies.” He headed for the back of the bar, where a sign said “RESTROO” in what was left of its neon. Roy’s eyes drifted downward again as he walked away. Tactical pants didn’t do much for most men, but clearly Jason Todd wasn’t most men.
...Of course he wasn’t. What the fuck was Roy thinking? He was supposed to be home with his kid, not getting into bar fights and flirting with a confirmed murderer—who, not incidentally, was his best friend’s little brother. Maybe he could have made the case when this started, at least to himself, that he’d asked Jason out for a drink to try to get inside the guy’s head, show him that not every superhero was against him. Nudge him back toward the side of the angels a little.
But now? Now Roy’s blood was singing in his veins and the wild grin on Jason’s face was all he could see, and he wanted.
Roy knew what people said about him, but he did actually possess self-control. Enough to keep his head from being turned by a nice ass or a pair of captivating eyes or an unmistakable aura of danger. Or even all three at once.
The right thing to do here was ease way, way back on the double entendres, finish his beer, and go home to Lian. Maybe give Jason his number for purely potential team-up-related reasons, just to let the guy know he wasn’t alone. Roy knew well enough how feeling alone could send someone down a path they’d wind up regretting.
Yeah. That was what he should do. That was the right choice.
“Fuck it,” he said, and headed for the restrooms.
The men’s room was even more of a shithole than the rest of the bar, with the doors hanging at wonky angles on both stalls and graffiti everywhere. All it needed was a gloryhole to complete the aesthetic, and Roy figured the only reason there wasn’t one was related to the unconscious homophobes on the floor outside. Clearly this was not exactly the center of Gotham’s gay nightlife.
Jason was washing the blood out of his knuckles, which might have been the first time the tiny sink had ever been used. He met Roy’s eyes in the dingy mirror. “You need to go?” he asked.
Yeah, Roy knew all about how feeling alone could send someone down the wrong path.
“Not really,” he admitted.
Jason turned off the tap and flicked water from his hands before turning around. “So, what, you just missed my company?”
“Something like that.”
Jason walked toward Roy, who stayed where he was, in front of the door. Up close, Jason was definitely taller, even without the helmet, and almost certainly heavier, and Roy had just gotten ample evidence of how fast and vicious he could be. Roy wasn’t sure which of them would win in a fight if it came down to it, but it would be nasty, and it would hurt.
His dick twitched in his pants.
“You gonna move?” Jason asked.
Roy let his eyes drag all the way up the absolutely luxurious length of Jason, from his shitkicking boots to those fucking eyes, and he let Jason see him do it. “Do you want me to?”
Jason laughed and glanced away, but the movement of his chest told Roy he was breathing hard. “You weren’t kidding about liking trouble, huh?”
“God’s honest truth,” Roy said. “The only question is, does trouble like me?”
Jason kissed him.
Jason kissed him hard, slamming him against the door and licking into Roy’s mouth the second their lips made contact. Roy gave as good as he got, though, arching against that firm, heavy body, sliding his hands into Jason’s thick curls and tugging.
See, Dick, he caught himself thinking. He kissed me first. It wasn’t my fault. Then Jason nipped at his bottom lip and he stopped thinking anything at all.
Jason pressed him into the door hard enough to bruise, one thick thigh wedged between Roy’s. Roy let his hands drop from those curls to that ass, squeezing firmly and swallowing Jason’s startled moan.
“Fuck,” he managed, breaking away with a gasp. “Fuck, Jason, you’re so goddamn hot.”
“Shut up,” Jason grumbled, and kissed him again.
Roy kissed him back, grinding down on the thigh between his own. This was insane, this was so stupid, but god, he wanted to take Jason home. He wanted to see that big gorgeous body naked in his bed—except his bed was a shitty pull-out couch and Lian was asleep in the next room. He almost asked Jason if he lived nearby, but fuck if grinding on him in a disgusting men’s room after a fight wasn’t doing it for Roy almost as much as having Jason in a bed would. Maybe more.
He used his grip on Jason’s ass to pull him even closer. Jason was getting hard, Roy could feel it even through all of their clothes, and it made Roy wild.
“Can I jerk you off?” he asked. “Please, Jay, let me touch you, I want to do it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jason said. “Is this how all superhero team-ups end?”
Roy laughed, knowing he sounded a little unhinged. “Only if I’m lucky,” he said. “Can I?”
Jason shuddered against him. “Fuck, yeah, do it,” he breathed.
Roy fumbled Jason’s pants open, reaching in and giving Jason’s dick a friendly squeeze before pulling him free. Jason was just as satisfyingly thick here as the rest of him, and the punched-out noise he made when Roy spat into his palm, got his hand around him properly, and stroked was something worth remembering.
“Yeah, fuck, let me hear you,” Roy said.
“We’re in a men’s room,” Jason replied with a shaky laugh.
“And everyone out there who got a good look at you and is still conscious is gonna be real jealous of me,” Roy said, grinning up at Jason and loving the way his face crumpled when Roy rubbed his thumb under the head of his cock.
“Are you always—fuck—this full of shit?” Jason asked.
“Does this feel like I’m lying?” Roy asked, using his free hand to grab Jason’s and press it against his still-clothed erection.
Jason’s eyes went wide, which was both surprising and strangely adorable. “Shit, Spee—Arsenal.”
“Roy,” Roy corrected him, rocking into Jason’s broad palm, his own hand still working Jason’s dick. “Once I’ve put my hand down your pants, you can call me by my first name.”
Jason’s breath hitched as Roy twisted his wrist. “Roy. Do you...do you want me to…?”
“Yeah,” Roy said. “God, yeah, Jay, please.”
Jason was clumsy getting Roy’s pants undone, but Roy couldn’t care less, especially when he was no longer uncomfortably trapped inside them and Jason’s callused fingers were on his sensitive skin. His hand was still bleeding. Fuck.
“Wait, hang on,” he said as Jason started to reciprocate, lifting Jason’s hand to his mouth. He dragged his tongue across the palm, as wet as he could make it, and felt Jason pulse precome into his fist. “There you go.”
“Jesus,” Jason breathed, but he folded his hand around Roy’s dick, matching Roy’s rhythm until they were rocking against each other, Jason panting hot breaths against the side of Roy’s face. Roy tugged him down into another kiss, bumping noses and missing his mouth before he managed it, then broke away to kiss down the stubbled line of Jason’s jaw and over his throat.
Jason let out a low whine that vibrated against Roy’s lips, and Roy’s blood fizzed in his veins like champagne. The Red Hood might be a name to fear on the streets, but he was a dream to touch, responding to every press of Roy’s mouth or change in his grip with barely muffled eager little sounds, like he couldn’t believe this was happening and never wanted it to stop. It just made Roy greedier, impatient to hear what other noises he could draw out of Jason, to watch him fall apart.
“Yeah,” Roy panted against Jason’s mouth, nonsensically. “Yeah, come on.”
“Roy,” Jason said again, sending a shock of pleasure down Roy’s spine. “Roy, fuck—!” and he muffled a groan in the curve of Roy’s neck as he spilled into his fist.
Roy bit his lip as he stroked Jason through it, his other hand coming up to pet Jason’s broad back. “Holy shit, that was so hot,” he said as Jason’s dick twitched a final time in his hand. “Holy shit, Jay.”
Jason slumped against him, his forehead resting on Roy’s shoulder, his hand loose around Roy’s dick. Roy pushed his hips into it, a gentle nudge. It wasn’t like he didn’t really, really enjoy Jason’s body weight pressing him to the door, but he needed a little more than that right now.
“Shit, sorry,” Jason mumbled, tightening his grip, leaving Roy free to clutch at him with his clean hand and rock into his fist.
“Fuck, yeah, Jay, that’s so good, you’re so good,” he babbled into Jason’s ear. “Yeah, like that, just like that, your hand looks so fucking good on me, you sounded so fucking sweet when you came…”
“Jesus, do you ever shut up?” Jason asked, capturing Roy’s mouth again, and when he nipped at Roy’s bottom lip hard enough to hurt, Roy came.
When Roy blinked the stars from his eyes, he was still sagging against the door, and Jason was back at the sink and washing his hands again. His cheeks were still very pink.
“I guess the romance is dead,” Roy said, with a grin and a wink so that Jason would know he was kidding.
Jason snorted. “Blame it on the ambiance,” he replied, nodding at their filthy surroundings.
Roy shuffled over to the sink and nudged Jason over with his hip so they could share the faucet, washing his own hands before tucking himself away and doing up his fly. Jason turned off the water, and then Roy was just...standing in a disgusting men’s room with his best friend’s little brother after they’d exchanged mutual handjobs.
Cool.
“I should head home,” he said. This was the part he was no good at, the part where he had to remind himself not to cling. “But hey, I’m gonna be in Gotham for the next few months or so. I can give you my number if you want to, uh, team up again. Euphemistically or otherwise.”
Well, so much for not clinging.
Jason glanced away, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t need it,” he said. “This is Red Hood’s turf. If I need you, I’ll find you.”
If Roy couldn’t seem to resist setting himself up for rejection, he at least knew it when he heard it. “Cool, cool. Well, thanks again for the save tonight.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Bye, Arsenal.”
Not Roy. Roy bit the inside of his cheek.
“Bye,” he said, and walked out of the bathroom.