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This is how Jason remembers the first day: he hadn’t had a single clue as to how much time had passed been since the blowback of the curse’s energy had knocked him out, but when he drifts back into consciousness, the first thing he registers is Dick, peering down at him, face creased with worry.
“Jason, hey, you’re finally up…”
It’s the same face that Jason has kept in his memories, if only somewhat older, and for a terrible second, he thinks he might’ve died a second time.
“We weren’t sure if you were—woah—!”
Dick cuts himself off with a surprised yelp as he jumps back, narrowly missing the arm that Jason reflexively swings out when he realises he’s not wearing his mask, fuck, this isn’t how he’d planned on revealing his return from death. He hasn’t even gotten to the step in his plan where he’s supposed to confront Batman first.
His head pounds, heavy and full of cotton. Not unlike a hangover, but even that’d be preferable to whatever the hell has happened to him. He forces himself upright, swinging his legs off to the side—he’s not laid on the floor of a dingy warehouse, but an honest-to-god bed, with proper blankets and all—and tries to get up on unsteady feet, powering through a wave of nausea. “How the fuck did you find me?”
With a tight frown marring his features, Dick hovers close by with both hands raised as if to show that he’s unarmed. It could also be that he’s poised to catch Jason in the case he trips over his own feet and falls face-first to the floor. Either way, Dick is standing way too close for comfort.
Jason doesn’t even think about what he does next—he pulls back an arm and throws a pathetic excuse of a punch, hoping it’ll somehow land, but someone swoops in from the side and redirects his sloppy hit.
He can’t stop the momentum. Disoriented as he is, he only just manages to avoid braining himself on the edge of a nightstand, but then ends up stumbling back onto the bed.
“Take it easy on him! He doesn’t know where he is, Jay,” Dick cries out, calling his name for some reason. Jason wonders if the curse has trapped him in some sort of vivid hallucination, or if he’s somehow unlocked the ability to lucid dream.
“He tried to hit you,” the other person says, and. That voice. It’s eerily familiar.
Jason blinks away the white spots dotting his vision and sees… himself?
No fucking way.
He recognises the guarded look in other-Jason’s eyes. It feels so fucking wrong to have it directed at him, though. Especially since it has to do with the way his counterpart has his body angled protectively in front of Dick, who’s looking very concerned for someone who didn’t even bother to make an appearance at his funeral.
Other-Jason—alien, imposter, doppelganger, whatever the fuck he really is—shifts into a less defensive stance, but keeps himself between Dick and Jason. “Relax, kid. I’m you, you’re me, except I’m the person you’ll be a decade from your time. That clear it up enough?”
What.
“You’re still in the same dimension, but you’ve been displaced from your time,” Dick elaborates, head poking out from behind other-Jason’s side. “You got tangled up in some nasty spellwork, but don’t worry—it’s nothing permanent! Constantine says you’ll be able to go back in a week.”
A sickening lurch in his stomach tells him that this is neither a joke nor an illusion, and the world begins to spin dizzyingly at his feet. Before he can even think of saying something in response to all that, his body decides that it’s the perfect time to fall unconscious once more.
The next time he comes to, it’s just him and other-Jason in the room.
“Here, drink this.” Other-Jason holds out a sealed bottle of water. “Your body was still trying to adjust to the time displacement the first time you woke up, but since you managed to sleep through the night, you should be feeling better, at least.”
Jason does feel better, but he’s not about to start telling him that. He’d refuse the water out of spite, but he knows dehydration will just make him feel like shit, so. He pulls himself upright, and then accepts the bottle from other-Jason without complaint.
“Good, you’re not gonna fight,” other-Jason comments. Jason inwardly bristles, but remains seated. In his current condition, it’d be foolish of him to even try another pathetic attempt at a confrontation.
After a few short sips of water, Jason asks, “What’s gonna happen now?”
“Like I said, you’re currently ten years in the future from your present standpoint. Constantine told us that your presence here won’t be fucking up the continuity or whatever, but we should still minimise any risks. Only three people are aware of your existence—and we’re gonna keep it that way—so until the curse breaks and shifts you back to your proper time, you’ll have to stay here with us.”
“Us?” It’s a lot to take in. The only reason he’s not having a complete freakout can be mainly attributed to the sluggish rate at which his half-awake brain is trying to process all that information.
“Yeah, s’just me and Dick,” other-Jason says easily, ignoring the way Jason turns to him in bewilderment. “This guest room’s all yours. Don’t even think about causing any trouble, because I most definitely know how to kick your ass. Go ahead and familiarise yourself with the environment, and then freshen up a bit. You can come out for breakfast when you’re ready.” He gets up from the bedside chair and walks out the room without another word, leaving Jason with some time and space alone to try and make sense of everything.
Breakfast. He mouths the word to himself, still not fully comprehending the situation. Just what the hell happens to him in ten years?
This is what everyone eventually learns about living in Gotham: you grow used to the weird, because it’s guaranteed that your baseline for normality gets fucked with on a daily basis.
But this… This has got to be the weirdest situation Jason’s ever faced (in the short time he’s been alive since his resurrection, at least).
Let’s try this again.
He’s in a house. His house. The house that belongs to his alternate self, to be exact. Or is the term ‘counterpart’ more accurate?
In any case, other-Jason had been the one to inform him that he’s currently displaced from his own time due to some sort of curse. To make a long story short: the magical signature that brought him here had been a familiar one, so Constantine had been called in, and he’d managed to unravel the curse enough so that it would wear off by the end of the week.
Other-Jason—Todd, that’s the name he’ll settle on, because it unnerves him every time he remembers that he’s actually interacting with his future self, and the whole situation is disturbing enough to make his head fucking hurt—
Todd had been the one who found him. And then he’d promptly taken Jason to his place, because they couldn’t possibly leave him unsupervised on the off-chance that he triggers an undesirable and irreparable deviation to this particular timeline.
He won’t, now that he’s been imprisoned in Todd’s house. And the weirdness doesn’t stop there. No, the thing he can’t wrap his head around is the fact that apparently, years into the future, Dick Grayson lives with him.
Not him-Jason. The older, other-Jason. Todd. Who is technically him? Fuck.
He’s stuck to his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from Todd-and-Dick. Dick is in a sweatshirt two sizes too big, leaning against the sink as he munches away at his kaya toast, while Todd, who hasn’t quite shaken off his sleepiness, yawns into his coffee, free hand absently scratching at the ear of a dark-brown fluff of a cat named Mars (“…Like the chocolate bar?” “…No…”). She’s purring away contentedly where she’s laid over his thigh. (And hadn’t that been another surprise. Jason had always thought he’d end up with a dog if he were to ever get a pet.)
It’s an oddly domestic scene. Todd is practically boneless in his chair—a marked difference from the slight unease and guarded demeanour when he first had to interact with the weird time-displaced younger version of himself. Jason doesn’t get it, because even after he’s had some time to process what’s happened, he’s still kind of high-strung, unused to sharing a space with other people—even if one is technically himself, and the other is his—his something.
His gaze strays to the cluster of hickeys on Dick’s inner thighs, barely hidden away from view under the hem of his top. If the single master bedroom isn’t proof enough that Dick is sleeping with Todd, then the matching hickeys peeking out of Todd’s collar is indisputable evidence.
The back of his neck feels hot, and it’s only through the force of sheer will that his face isn’t a bright red. He hadn’t expected to have his fundamental understanding of the world thrown into disarray in a cream-tiled kitchen on a perfectly mundane morning.
His relationship with Dick has been undefined, with too many variables within that nebulous, shifting space of idol/brother/mentor/enemy.
He feels the need to—to re-evaluate himself, or something. He’s got enough self-awareness to acknowledge the raging crush he’s had on Dick since those early days, when he’d trail after him in that godforsaken Discowing suit, flashing his chest all over the place.
This older Dick is foreign to him, so at odds with his memories of the Dick that had been around during his short-lived career as Robin. Not a complete stranger, but unfamiliar—like the pages of a story in a book that he hasn’t properly learned to decipher. And it’s not as if he’s really gotten to know the current Dick in his present timeline, either, because he’s still full of resentment towards Bruce and it hurts to be anywhere near them.
(He knows, somewhere, someplace in the back of his mind, that he does have good memories of Jason-and-Dick. The ones that belong to them, safely stored away and untouched by any destructive emotions in his post-resurrection madness.)
And now Todd, the person that Jason will become a decade later, has somehow managed to make a home with Dick. The tender core of his heart yearns so bad. He hadn’t even known that this is a life he could have. Will have. The very promise of inevitability stupefies him.
Dick drops a kiss on the top of Todd’s head as he walks by the breakfast nook. The action must be habitual, because Todd doesn’t even blink an eye. Just brushes the back of his hand along Dick’s hip, casually affectionate. A twinge of envy starts to gnaw at the pit of his stomach, and Jason has to look away from the private moment.
“I’ve got a bunch of people to meet on-site today,” Dick informs them as he roots through the designated snack drawers in the pantry. Oh, great. That means he’s going to have to spend the rest of the morning with Todd. Maybe Mars will keep him distracted long enough for Jason to retreat into his room so he can avoid any more interactions with his older self. “I’ll leave it to you two to figure out what younger-Jason here can do for the rest of the week. I don’t wanna come home to a crime scene, so try not to kill each other if you both decide to talk, alright?”
“Do I get a free pass on the fighting rule?” Todd asks, joking easily.
One pack of biscuits procured and in hand, Dick turns to him with a deadpan look. “If it gets to that, avoid inflicting any serious injuries, please. Blood is a bitch to clean and we’re out of hydrogen peroxide.” And then, with a quick scratch under the cat’s chin, he’s gone, flitting away to get properly dressed for work.
Todd watches him go with a besotted sigh. Jason gags in the privacy of his mind.
He straightens up in his seat when Todd looks at him consideringly. “Well, you heard him. We’ll have to figure out how to keep you occupied in the meantime, since we can’t have you going outside.”
“What, you’re just gonna listen to what the golden boy told you to do?” Jason asks, tone sharp with an emotion he doesn’t want to identify. He can’t quite stop the sneer from twisting his lips. “I know you’re both living together, but I can’t believe you let him domesticate you.”
“’S nothing like that, asshole,” Todd replies cheerily. He doesn’t even bristle at the jab. “I don’t ‘let’ him do anything. We talk about it, because we’re partners.”
He gets stuck on that word. Partners. What’s it like, to be able to trust someone again, to that extent? With such an unshakeable conviction?
On the third day, Todd leaves the house at early morning, with a warning that he’d be out ’til the evening since he’ll be busy dealing with a troublesome case of some sort. No details, because he ‘doesn’t want Jason messing around with it before it’s supposed to happen’. Jason gets it, damn. He’s sick of hearing the same thing over and over again. At this point, he’ll be the only person in the universe with the most unexciting personal anecdote about time travelling because his future self turned out to be such a stickler for the arbitrary rules of the space-time continuum.
He ends up spending most of the day away in the corner of the living room that’s dedicated to Todd’s extensive collection of classic literature. It seems that since Todd has settled down in a permanent place, he’s found a reason to comfortably splurge on collector’s editions of some of his favourite titles. It’s pretty damn neat, Jason thinks, a little wistfully, thumbing through an illustrated edition of The Odyssey. He’s always dreamt about being able to indulge in his hobby like this.
A little later in the afternoon, a faint clatter from the kitchen finally gets him moving off of the couch. He sticks his head out the open doorway to check. There’s the slightest shuffle of feet against the tiles, along with the muffled clinking of cookware being moved about.
Jason hesitates for a second. This is the first time he’s alone at home with this older Dick, and truth be told, he’s been waiting for a chance to talk to him.
Mind made up, he trods down the hallway, past where Mars is stretched out on a warm patch of sunlight, slowing as he turns the corner.
His ears pick up the rapid chop of a knife against a heavy cutting board as he steps into the kitchen. He considers making a deliberate noise to announce his presence, but Mars beats him to it, meowing loudly as she darts past him and towards Dick, weaving around his feet in greeting.
“Hello, sweetness,” Dick coos at her, briefly glancing downwards. “Please don’t trip me up. I’ve already exceeded my quota for kitchen accidents this year, and I really don’t want to get scolded.”
Mars’s answering chirrup sounds like she’s in agreement. She pads away to the edge of the breakfast nook, then settles down on the floor cushion that’s shaped like a slice of toast. Knowing Dick, there’s a joke in there somewhere, probably.
Dick pauses in his chopping and turns to look at Jason over his shoulder. “You hungry yet?” At the shake of his head, Dick beckons him closer with a wave of his hand. “C’mere, then. You can help me with dinner.”
It gives him a reason to hang around the kitchen, so he complies, stepping up to the counter as Dick scrapes the freshly chopped and seeded serrano peppers into the blender. He picks up a bowl of cooked chicken breasts and transfers them onto a different board, which he then sets down in front of Jason. “There, why don’t you shred those for me.”
Jason dutifully takes a fork in each hand and starts doing just that, grateful for the mindless task as he gathers his thoughts.
At his side, Dick starts to measure out some smaller ingredients. When he tosses in a cup of toasted pumpkin seeds into the blender, Jason’s hit with a sudden flash of recognition of the dish they’re making. Pumpkin seeds and epazote had been staples from his mom’s recipe. It’s a dish he hasn’t eaten in so long. Not since Bruce had adopted him.
The fact that Dick knows such an intimate memory—the mundanity of it, of having someone else who knows how to cook his favourite meal, who remembers his preferences…
Suddenly it’s just too much. He has to ask. “How did we get here?”
Dick blinks up at him at the outburst, but there’s no surprise on his face—just an easy smile and crinkled eyes. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever end up asking about that.”
“Yeah, well. We’re not exactly on speaking terms back in my time. I’m still very much dead to you.” And you didn’t come to my funeral, Jason doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to sound like a petulant child, because if Dick’s still here a decade later, then clearly they’ve moved past the issue, right? (Besides, he doesn’t think he’s actually ready to talk about it. Judging by the faraway look in Dick’s eyes, it seems to be a topic that’s just as difficult for him to get into.)
“I can’t spoil you the whole story,” Dick starts, a trace of apology in his tone, “but I’ll tell you this much: even with all the planning you did, things didn’t completely play out the way you hoped it would. What happened afterwards… I think they reframed your expectations, and you started considering other things, and—oh, I’m being super vague, aren’t I? But you—the older you—told me later on that you were starting to figure out a future for yourself. That you wanted to give your life meaning beyond the vigilantism.”
Jason is struck silent. It’s discomfiting, to hear the way Dick talks about the aftermath of the plans he hasn’t even carried out yet. It’s almost more terrifying to have the knowledge that there will be a resolution—he just won’t know exactly how different the outcome will be in comparison to what he’s hoping for.
“As for our relationship… let’s just say it took an insane amount of work.” And because Dick never lets a conversation end on a low note, he jokes, “We weren’t exactly living a slice-of-life romance. It was a good deal of chasing on my part and running away on yours.” Dick sidles up to him, leaning sideways and looking up to catch his gaze. Jason spares a second to marvel at the difference in their height. “Things will turn out all right, you know.” His voice rings with conviction, but Jason can’t quite stop the disbelieving scoff that tears out of him. In true Dick fashion, he chooses to ignore it. “It wasn’t always easy, obviously. But it’s nothing impossible. You stopped running away less. Started letting me catch you, a few times. And then you learned how to stay.”
It’s those last few sentences in particular that remind him just how far removed he is from his present life. Ten years; a whole decade. It’s a long time for anyone to keep holding on to anger.
Now that he’s gotten an answer, he doesn’t really know how to respond, even if he had been the one to ask the question. It’s a lot to be confronted with. He’s still not fully convinced he hadn’t landed himself in a far-off alternate dimension.
In a clumsy attempt to deflect Dick’s attention off him, he turns back to his task. It’s not like his throat is dry with discomfort or anything. He’s just making sure that the remaining chicken is shredded evenly so dinner isn’t spoiled.
Perceptive as always, Dick follows his cue, humming in understanding as he shifts back towards the stove to get the pan preheated, more than content to let the quiet reign.
Throughout it all, he wonders why it makes him feel like he’s missing something he’s never had.
Ever since the talk in the kitchen with Dick, Jason wants, more than ever, to go home and resume his life. He’s getting antsy. He doesn’t belong here; he needs to get back to his mission. He can’t afford to be derailed, because how else is he supposed to make sense of why he’d been brought back from the dead?
It chafes to be grounded, but it’s not like they have a better solution. Fucking curses. He’s only got two days left to go, so he tries to stay unobtrusive, keeping to himself in his room with a book, if only so he doesn’t dwell on certain thoughts that make his head hurt. It also means that he doesn’t have to be an audience to Todd and Dick and the uncomplicated warmth and affection that permeates the house.
(And therein lies the wonders and challenges of cohabitation.)
There’d been that one night he’d lurked into the kitchen in the dead of the night to grab a fresh cup of water. Just as he was about to take it back to his room, he’d heard the click of a window sliding open, and then the heavy thud of a body hitting the couch, before silence once again settled over the house.
Dick must have just wrapped up his patrol. A pang of concern had shot through him, and Jason briefly wondered if he should check in on him. Before he could take another step, though, Todd had walked out of the bedroom with a first-aid kit in hand. Jason had stayed standing where he was, listening to the murmur of low conversation that drifted down the hallway.
He’d moved past the living room, catching a glimpse of the two—Dick laid out with his legs resting over Todd’s lap as Todd applied a cold compress to his knee—before he hurried back to the guest room. It had felt a little too intrusive to stay in the vicinity.
Jason had never thought he’d be the type to soften with age, but it’s hard to miss the way they look after each other. That’s how they are together: inexplicably caught up in each other’s orbits, every simple gesture of care and support turned into something commonplace.
Love blooms easily here, in the home they’ve built together.
It’s there, every time they sit down for a meal. In the way they move around each other, with each other, in their shared space.
Things have changed. They’ll continue to change. It burns in the best way, to see that his life isn’t forfeit. The reality of it is maddening, and more than anything, his heart aches with the longing.
Todd also keeps looking at him with all-too-knowing eyes when he can’t stop his gaze from straying to Dick every so often, which is. Unfair. He knows about the feelings that Jason keeps secret, buried somewhere deep inside, because he never thought he’d ever have a chance.
Now that he’s seen it for himself—the reality of that future—?
It already fucks him up to know that he’ll come to love Dick like that. It’s an entirely different, more terrifying realisation, to know that Dick will come to love him just as much.
It all comes to a head the night before Jason is expected to return to his original point in the timeline.
Both Todd and Dick had come home early. They must either think he’s fallen dead asleep after the big dinner they had, or have completely forgotten about his presence, because they’re in their bedroom—and god, fuck, he wishes this was all a bad dream, but he’s checked, he’s very much awake—and he can hear the way their bed is creaking like crazy.
What is his life.
His indignance propels him out and down the hallway, where he can see that the door to their bedroom is ajar. Adrenaline buzzes in his veins. There’s no point in keeping his footsteps quiet. He starts to yell out, “It already sucks to be trapped in here, okay. But you know what sucks more? When your hosts decide to have loud sex! D’you guys think you’re being discreet? I can hear you through the goddamn walls—”
Jason doesn’t know what possesses him, but he throws the door wide open, all worked up, and immediately stops in his tracks.
(When he thinks back on this moment much, much later, he’ll realise just how deliberately they’d positioned themselves. With Todd propped up against the headboard and Dick seated right over his lap, the two of them facing him as he entered the room—there’s no doubt they’d been expecting Jason to find them that way.)
It’s unbelievable. Not even fifteen-year-old Jason could’ve dreamt up a fantasy that measures up to the reality of the sight that the older versions of him and Dick make together.
Dick gasps out his name in a breathless voice he’s never heard before. His head drops downwards with a flustered whine, trying to curl into himself, but in his kneeled position, legs splayed open over Todd’s muscled thighs, it’s too easy for Todd to keep him fully exposed.
His older self shoots him a wicked grin. “What, you jealous? There’s no use in trying to deny it. I’m you, kiddo. ’Sides, if you hate listening to us that much, you could just join in.”
“What.” The word comes out of his mouth in a strangled note.
Todd slows down to a grind, but he doesn’t completely stop his movements, not even with Dick steadily flushing all over, probably embarrassed with how he’s being displayed like that. Jason’s not complaining. Can’t, really. He watches on, transfixed, gaze dropping down their naked figures to the spot where they’re joined. His face feels like it’s been set aflame.
Tearing his gaze away takes more effort than it should. “Don’t even fucking joke about that.”
“I’m not,” Todd calls out to him. “We’re both offering. Your week here’s almost up, so why not make the most of it. Bring home a souvenir, or something. You want him, don’t you.”
“He’s not my Dick Grayson.” Something in Jason’s chest pangs at having to voice that declaration.
“No, he’s mine,” Todd agrees, “but I’m a generous man.” And that’s all he needs to say. Their eyes meet over the slope of Dick’s shoulder, and Jason recognises the raw desire there that mirrors his own. “I’ve been keeping him on edge, and I’m sure he’d love to have another cock inside him—you would, wouldn’t you, sweet thing?” Todd turns to address Dick, who’s watching him through teary eyes, slumped back against Todd’s bare chest. He squeezes hard around the underside of Dick’s thighs, dimpling the flesh with each finger. “You’re always hungry for more. We could both slide right in. How’s that, hm? We’ll make it fit.”
A stronger man would’ve resisted. Walked away, even. As it is, Jason’s never been a saint. Ah, why the hell not. He steps towards bed, making quick work of his pants, and sheds the last of his hesitation along with his shirt. Since Todd and Dick have no qualms with inviting him into their bed, he might as well sate his curiosity. He’s already come this far. He doesn’t know for sure he’ll get another chance like this.
“Look, I’ve already opened him up nicely.” Todd wedges in a finger alongside his cock, eliciting a small, sweet sound from Dick. He tries to wriggle away from the sensation, but Todd tugs him back by the waist with his other hand. “Don’t be shy, baby. Show him how well you take my cock.”
Lightheaded with lust, Jason crawls onto the bed, helplessly drawn to their bodies. Once he’s settled over Todd’s outstretched legs, he dares to reach out, pushing back Dick’s legs to reveal the lewd state he’s in—hole opening up to more of Todd’s cock and finger, inner thighs coated with slippery, sticky substances.
Jason works another finger inside, stretching his rim even further, and the eagerness with which Dick instinctively clenches around it sets his nerves alight. He’s so slick inside, with more than just lube. “You’re so wet,” Jason hisses, tentatively adding his middle finger to loosen him up some more.
He’s going to fuck Dick while he can, because they offered. He’s not going to stop. Not when his cock throbs with the anticipation, already so sticky with precum and painfully erect. He reaches down and takes hold of himself, scooting closer, and then lines the head of his cock up against Dick’s entrance.
Dick is—Dick is perfect. He’s hot and pliant inside, somehow managing to make space for Jason as he keeps pushing forward, past that initial resistance. Dick lets out a gasping breath at the breach, and Todd pets his flank with a soothing hand. “Relax, gorgeous. You can take him.”
“You’re big,” Dick moans out. It’s not quite a complaint, and damn if hearing that doesn’t make him twitch with smugness.
“’Course I am, baby,” Todd answers on his behalf.
Jason’s head drops with a choked groan. Fuck, how does he just say things like that. He’s pretty sure the red-hot blush that’s stained his cheeks has barely receded, and it feels like his ears are getting hotter.
“Jason, please.” He doesn’t know which of them Dick is referring to, but he thinks he could get addicted to the way the syllables of his name fall from red, swollen lips in a soft plea. “Please, touch me—”
Todd gets there first. His hand slips from Dick’s waist and slides across his navel, and then reaches downwards, around his cock, thumb and fingers curling into a snug ring right under his crown.
Not one to be shown up, Jason skirts a hand up Dick’s torso to squeeze at the meat of his chest, kneading and pinching his nipples. There’s no escape for Dick, sandwiched between the bulk of their bodies and crying out from the overload of stimulation. He can only lie there and take their ministrations, every tug and twist and gentle stroke.
“C’mon,” Todd tells Jason, “you can start fucking him for the both of us.”
Jason settles his hands on Dick’s hips, using them as an anchor as he slowly pushes in all the way to the hilt. It feels like he’s been set ablaze, the way desire burns freely through his body. With Dick completely bared before him, he gets a perfect view of every minute reaction. His heart beats loud and wild, obsessed with what he’s seeing.
One of Dick’s arms reaches up behind him, tangling his fingers in Todd’s hair for something to hold on to as Todd continues to gently rub the underside of his length. He lands a kiss on Dick’s sweaty temple and murmurs praises into his skin. “See? You were made for us, Dickie.”
It feels like too much at once, the heat and friction of another slick cock pressing against his own. His pace falters at the sensation of Dick contracting erratically around both him and Todd, but he quickly finds his bearings, building up an increasingly steady rhythm.
Todd, in contrast, takes his time, grinding slow and sweet. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”
Dick’s head falls back onto his shoulder, and whatever words he might’ve said in reply rushes out of him in a sharp exhale when Jason thrusts in particularly deep. Dick clenches down harder, and that endless amount of tight, tense pleasure has him groaning aloud.
He and Todd begin to move in tandem with instinctive ease. The back-and-forth of their movements forms a perpetual feedback loop of pleasure as they relentlessly echo each other’s desperation and desire, a give-and-take in equal measures.
Their combined efforts easily sends Dick tumbling towards a second orgasm, and his hands fly up to cling onto Jason’s shoulders for support, pretty lips going slack with the pleasure of his release. Jason sees where the gentle pink turns damp, and he wants nothing more than to taste it—and so he does, slotting his mouth over Dick’s and swallowing his cry as he comes, nails raking across his upper back. Jason groans against his lips, pleased that he’ll be left with a physical memento of tonight’s affair.
It’s not the only marking he gets. Dick kisses along the curve of his jaw, then bites a sensitive spot under the hinge of it that Jason hadn’t even known was a direct line to his cock. His orgasm catches him entirely unawares, fast and tearing through him, wringing him dry, coming and coming until there’s nothing left.
When he manages to get his brain back in working order, he’s nestled against Dick’s chest, limp and relaxed, and Dick pets his hair as he gets his breathing under control. Once he manages to move his limbs, he holds Dick’s hips still to keep him from squirming as he pulls out.
Todd, still buried inside, catches Dick as he collapses backwards. “You really spoiled us tonight, pretty bird.” Without looking, he swipes through the generous amount of cum that’s spilling out, dripping out of him in thick globs, calloused fingers skillfully petting around his swollen rim to avoid overstimulation.
Jason watches as Todd leans down for a kiss, and Dick makes a tired, happy noise that has his heart singing with delight. God, who is Jason fooling. He wants this. Wants what they have. Wants it for himself, that easy devotion and understanding.
He wants nothing more than to share that sort of intimacy with his own Dick Grayson.
The three of them spend a quiet morning together as the final, lingering traces of the curse dissipate.
Dick sends him off with a chaste kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry, little wing,” he says, eyes glowing with reassurance. “I told you, didn’t I? You’ll make it work.”
It’s a secret and a promise, all at once. Jason believes him.