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Jason's leaning against a pillar in the Batcave when his phone buzzes, listening to Bruce lay out the information the rest of the family have gathered about the newest Bludhaven-to-Gotham weapons trafficking situation. Some big Bludhaven name, using the old whaling ports to smuggle in the shipments from fuck knows where and then send them to what seems like half the gangs in Gotham. Naturally.
It's all news to him. Dick's the one that looped him in; they nearly collided midair when they were both following a truck with enough grenades in it to take out an army, and about ten minutes and five idiot henchmen with new concussions later, it's where they both found out that Jason's annoyance about the increased quality of weaponry that Sionis' goons have been flinging about was directly related to the packed cargo containers Dick had been trying to track down the delivery points for. Apparently what he's been doing all week, but this is the first shipment that he's followed into Jason's part of Gotham.
(Obviously not the first that's gone there, though. Jason can pinpoint that to at least fifteen days; put holes in his jacket and almost through his thigh, too, first time he ran into a group of the newly armed ones. That was fun.)
So here he is. Annoyance officially redirected at the rest of his family instead, because it sure would have been nice to know about all this when they first found out. He could have been on the lookout for it from the start, not piecing things together now that he's finally finding out. Nothing like finding out someone else is holding half the pieces to your puzzle.
The map on the computer isn't pretty. A lot of spread; not many pinned down connections. His additions make it worse.
"Dick and I ran into the truck two blocks north of the river," Jason offers, as he pulls his phone out. "I've been keeping an eye on the ports in my territory since I noticed the weapons change, but I haven't seen anything but the usual shipments come in. Only so many coming over from Bludhaven; shouldn't be that hard to take a look for any unusual discrepancies."
The books are never clean, but they can at least look for anything matching the right time period.
He looks down as Dick starts to speak. "I've already checked the major companies. It's something smaller. Private, maybe?"
It's a text from Slade. 'Fill this out.' with a file attachment that looks like a standard text document.
Tim starts to add something as Jason taps open the file, frowning slightly. What would Slade be sending him? He didn't mention anything when he left a few days ago. Hasn't texted since, but Jason wasn't really expecting him to; hasn't been the pattern. Not that he didn't want a text, but he— Jason got by just fine without sex being a major part of his life for the whole time he's been an adult. He didn't need it before and he doesn't need it now. It's fine. He doesn't need Slade checking in with him like some kind of nanny.
The file pops open, and Jason's eyes go wide.
It's a list of— Jesus. It's kinks, he thinks. Kink activities? There's some header at the top but Jason's having kind of a hard time tearing his eyes away from 'Age play' and 'Anal plugs' and 'Ball stretching'.
"Jason?"
His gaze snaps up.
Everyone's looking at him. It's silent.
"What?" he manages, mostly steadily. He thinks. Fuck. What was he thinking, opening something from Slade anywhere but in his own home and alone?
Dick's brow creases in something that looks like concern. "You alright, Jay?"
He very belatedly realizes that he's still standing there with his phone on and that list staring him in the face. He quickly shuts it off and tucks it back in his pocket, and curses the flush that he can feel burning his cheeks. "Yeah, fine. Was there a question?"
Not a one of them believes it, so obviously it makes Jason have to suppress a wince, but it's Damian that scoffs from his ramrod-straight position right next to Bruce and says, "It's probably just explicit photos from Todd's newest paramour. Who cares?"
Jason feels the words like a kick to the solar plexus. He's amazed he doesn't outright wheeze.
Dick aims his now confused frown at Damian. "What are you talking about?"
Damian squints, arms crossed over his chest and expression a little sneer. "His paramour. Todd has repeatedly had marks on his neck and has been using scarves and concealer to disguise them. It's been exceedingly obvious. I assume, by his expression and the color he turned, that the message was unexpected, degenerate photos. I don't see why it matters."
Tim is staring at him with a very off-putting, studying look, now. Bruce hasn't moved, but he's got the same tiny frown that Dick did.
Jason tries to hold his ground and not give anything away as Dick looks back at him. "You're dating someone?" he asks, and it actually sounds just a little wounded. Like Dick thinks he's been hiding things or is even entitled to know if he were.
"No," he answers, almost truthfully. He's not dating Slade. That is definitely not what's happening.
"But—"
"The little gremlin is wrong," he says, over whatever Dick was going to try and say, "and my texts are not your business. Can we get back to the truck-full of grenades?"
Damian glares at him, puffed up like it's the single greatest outrage of the century to suggest he might be wrong, but Bruce's hand clasps over his shoulder before he can actually start shrieking. He settles, clearly reluctantly. Dick takes a glance between them and then sighs and nods.
Jason crosses his arms over his chest as Dick launches back into what he was apparently talking about: a division of duties that leaves Jason doubling with Tim down at the piers. Fine. Tim's alright, most times; not as bitchy about Jason using guns as Dick and Bruce tend to be, and not as likely to try and stab him as Damian. (He's a little better about the stabbing, now. Only does it when he's deliberately provoked. Or irritated enough. Or maybe that's just because it's Jason.)
He very carefully does not think about the file, or the rest of what might be on it. He can't deal with that right now. He can't deal with that at all, tonight. Grenades and military-grade weaponry do not go well with distraction.
Later, when Roman has his shiny new toys taken away, and they've stopped this new shipping route, he can think about taking a look at whatever the fuck Slade is telling him to do. Alone. At home. Probably under the sheets.
Fuck.
Jason maintains that it was a good plan.
But it doesn't stop Tim, crouched next to him behind the lip of the tallest building around with a decent view of the main docks, from very blatantly turning off his comm and then saying, "You are wearing concealer."
Shit.
He glances over.
Tim apparently reads the scowl under his helmet in just his body language because he shrugs minutely and adds, "It's rubbing off on the collar of your armor, a little bit," without any additional prompting. "If it was just bruising, you wouldn't be hiding it in costume. What's going on?"
Jason knew he'd have to play damage control around something sooner or later — a family full of detectives that are pretty much physically incapable of letting things go practically guaranteed it — he just wasn't really expecting to have to do it with Slade's handprint still on his throat. At least everything else is firmly beneath his clothes, even if the ring of teeth marks in his shoulder is still a little sore every time he moves.
(The handprint might be helpful, actually. The only bite on his neck is at the back; he should be able to show the handprint as 'proof' without letting the collar of his armor open wide enough for Tim to get a look at anything else.)
Jason thinks about it for a few seconds, spinning the story in his head. "I got grabbed by someone, alright? It's a nasty bruise, and I didn't feel like dealing with the third degree about how I let it happen, or how it wouldn't have if I had 'backup,' or any of the rest of the bullshit." He gives a small growl, counting on the metallic filter of the helmet to keep it from sounding recognizably fake. "I get enough sanctimonious speeches from the rest of you without offering any excuses for more."
Tim frowns, slightly. "You don't sound any different."
"I sure did a few days ago. Should have heard how raspy I was."
Still, the frown stays.
"What? You think I'd rather pretend I got my ass handed to me than admit I was dating someone?" He doesn't have to fake the irritation, now. "I'm thrilled you think so highly of my emotional maturity. Fuck you, too."
Tim shifts his weight and looks back out over the docks, lips pressing together. Jason can only barely hear the muttered, “Not historically your biggest strength, no.” He probably wasn’t supposed to.
"Okay," he snaps, lifting both hands to the zipper at his neck to pull it down. "For the record, you don't get to talk about hiding things or having measured, reasonable reactions, globe-trotter. But if it gets you the fuck off my back…"
He tilts to face Tim, flashing the open gap of his armor and showing off the yellowing, very hand-shaped bruise.
"Alright? Satisfied?"
Tim is definitely looking at it. Hard to pin down exactly what he's thinking, though. "The scarves?"
"It's been chilly, and yeah, I don't show off bruises that look like that to civilians." He zips his armor back up, bracing his arms back across each knee to get back to waiting. "If the brat hadn't already decided his stupid theory was right, it might have occurred to him that I always wear scarves when it's cold. I like them. If he wants to invent some secret dating life for me, that's his little puberty problem, not mine."
Tim's weight shifts back and forth on his heels, to one side and then the other. "Alright," he says, finally. Noncommittally.
Awesome.
(He has to drop it. Being too defensive is just as much of a tell. Just let it go.)
"Alright. Cool. Glad we're past that, then."
Tim turns his comm back on.
He bares his teeth behind the helmet, annoyed now on top of embarrassed, and settles in with a huff.
Slade's sitting on his couch when he gets home, five hours and way too much gunfire later (even by his standards).
He's tired. Exhausted, actually. Apparently Sionis and friends had caught word that they might try to intercept the new ship coming in, so 'surveillance' took a pretty hard right turn into open combat. No real injuries on their side except a sprained ankle on one very grumpy little gremlin, but Jason's a little bloody and a little bruised and very much looking forward to his bed.
He climbs through the window and drops his helmet on the bed with a sigh. Starts to step out of the bedroom, and finds the TV on but muted, flickering light across the darkness of the living room. Curtains are drawn and lights are off, just like he left them. The security on his window was still locked. There's the back of a white-haired head sticking up at one end.
"Hey, kid," Slade says, without moving from where he's sprawled into the corner of the couch, one big arm hooked over the back of it.
Right. The text. The form… thing. Whatever it was. Damian being an asshole and Tim being a nosy jerk and Dick giving him glances all night like he was trying to figure something out.
"You didn't say you were coming," is what ends up coming out of Jason's mouth, as his brain struggles to wrap itself around all that. Right now. Right now at like five AM.
He should take another look at whatever the document was. Maybe there was something in there about Slade coming by, or—
"No," Slade agrees.
Oh. Okay.
Yeah, he doesn't have the brain for this.
Jason heads for his kitchen. Water, something like a protein bar, maybe a shower, and he's going to sleep. He doesn't know what Slade might have had planned, but he's tired and he doesn't have the spare energy to figure it out right now. Or deal with the looming specter of his family maybe noticing something is happening with him. Or whatever the 'fill this out' thing Slade sent him actually was.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be fine.
He doesn't hear Slade get up. There's just a hand suddenly brushing down his arm when he lifts it to open the fridge, near the new, torn hole in his jacket.
"Your blood?" Slade asks, voice low and smooth.
Jason doesn't have it in him to be embarrassed about how he sways a fraction towards that voice. "A little bit."
"Mm."
Slade's other arm wraps around his waist, loosely holding him, and Jason finds himself leaning back into it without thinking about it. Slade's warm, solid, and it's so, so easy to tilt his head over and rest it against the breadth of that chest. He's been breathing smoke on and off all night, but Slade's scent still somehow smells good when he takes a deep breath of it, tucking his head under Slade's chin. It's a… campfire kind of smoke, not a chemical smoke. Even if it were, it's just not the same. Slade is safe. Slade smells… safe.
"Rough night, huh, kid?" Slade murmurs.
Jason gives a small mumble of agreement, letting his eyes close as Slade's fingers come up to comb gently through his hair. The weight he leans into Slade would probably knock over almost anyone else, but there's no waver, no bracing shift, no huffed exhale of strain.
Slade just holds him.
Jason's pretty sure he could fall asleep just like this.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
He protests Slade's movement with a grumble, but doesn't fight being turned to lean against the kitchen's island, Slade boxing him in against it with long arms and enough height to lean over him and still be just a little taller. The brush of lips over his is gentle. Soft, where his are dry. There's a spark of interest in him, the same one that Slade just being around always manages to light, but he just—
"I—"
"I know," Slade says, before he has to voice it. There's a last, lingering kiss, still just as soft, before he pulls back. "Stay."
Jason blinks his eyes open, watching Slade go to the fridge. He pours a glass of water, collects a protein bar from the basket of them on the counter, and comes back.
"Drink that," comes the first order, as Slade presses the glass into his hand. The wrapper gets stripped off the bar in one easy pull, pushed into his other hand. "Eat this."
Yeah, that sounds good.
Even better with Slade leaning against the counter next to him, an arm wrapped around his back and his side a very comfortable place to rest against. The water's cold. The protein bar is— Well, it's a protein bar, but it's not bad. It's… nice. Comfortable.
Fuck, he's tired. He didn't think tonight took that much out of him, but apparently he was wrong. (Or maybe he's just… letting himself actually slow down. For once. Since Slade is here.)
"Come on," Slade murmurs, taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. "Shower."
Jason sighs, and lets himself be shepherded through his apartment, feet dragging a little as Slade takes him to his bathroom. The light is bright, but it's easy enough to just close his eyes and lean against the wall, listening to the squeak of his shower's handle and the rush of water down against the floor of it. Walk-in shower. More than big enough for him and tall enough he doesn't have to crouch under the showerhead. Ninety percent of the reason he picked this apartment.
Slade's hands pull him towards that sound. Three steps, enough to cross the bathroom almost entirely, but instead of water there's a light squeeze to his waist.
"Stay."
Jason blinks his eyes open, wavering slightly on his feet when Slade's hands leave him. Slade's… stripping. Pulling his shirt off to toss on the ground, popping the button on his jeans. No shoes in sight. Was he barefoot the whole time or did Jason just miss him taking them off?
It feels like just a blink before Slade's naked, kicking the jeans free with a flick of his foot. One long stretch of pale skin dusted with white hair, oddly free of scars. Carved like a statue; all hard, rounded lines and indentations.
Fuck.
He almost doesn't hear the amused huff, but he definitely hears the, "I can stand here a while if you want to keep looking," that follows it.
Jason can feel himself flush as he tilts his head back, looking up to the small, lazy curl of Slade's mouth. A hand touches the side of his head, strong fingers cradling the back of it as Slade steps in close to him, leaning down to kiss him. Still soft, pressing but not demanding as Slade hums, deep and steady. He didn't know Slade could be this soft.
"Let me get you out of all this," is the murmur against his lips, as a hand pushes his jacket back off one shoulder, then the other.
Slade doesn't step away even when the kiss comes apart, pressing gentle lips to the edge of his jaw, down near his ear. Jason keeps his eyes closed and stands still, letting the easy familiarity of Slade's hands undress him, one piece at a time. The rub of Slade's jaw against his almost feels like an accident, at first. Just a gentle scrape of the beard, the ends of Slade's hair tickling his cheek as his belt falls to the ground, undone by confident fingers.
He tilts his head away without thinking about it. Bares his neck, before his brain catches up with what the movement even is.
Wait—
The second, more deliberate slide of Slade's jaw over his skin, near his ear, pulls a sharp breath from him. He stares blindly up over Slade's shoulder, feeling the scrape of the beard, the heavy exhale just below his ear.
Scenting. Slade's scenting him, like he's— Like a claim. Like pack. He's—
"Okay, kid?" Slade asks, voice a low rumble, hands pausing to rest on either side of his waist.
Jason squeezes his eyes shut.
No one's scented him since he was a kid. Not since he was Robin. Maybe Roy or Kori swiped him once or twice while they were living together, but not like this… Not intentional. Not like it mattered.
He finds he's gripping Slade's biceps. Digging his nails in tight enough it has to hurt, even though there hasn't been any sort of complaint. He can't seem to force himself to let go.
Jason swallows, thickly. What comes out of his mouth is, "Do it again?" Cracking in the middle, a quiet plea he can't turn into anything else.
Slade's arm slides around his waist, hand warm and broad on his low back. His head tilts, and Jason can't help whining in the back of his throat as Slade's jaw rubs, steady and deliberate, across his neck. Near his scent gland, and Slade's is near his skin, and he— He thinks he might be crying. A little. His throat feels tight, anyway, and his chest aches, and there's a wet warmth on his cheek, sliding down towards the corner of his mouth. Slade is giving a low, soothing rumble of sound almost directly into his ear.
It's only slowly that Slade pulls back, holding him close as he presses their foreheads together, a thumb sliding over his cheek and brushing that spot of damp away. "Anytime," he murmurs. “You're mine, kid.”
Jason keeps his eyes closed, exhaling a little shakily. Slade's scent soaks into his lungs when he breathes in, warm and comforting and safe. The tension in his back eases, bit by bit. His grip relaxes. (Okay… Yeah, okay.)
Slade's hands strip the rest of his clothes off, barely leaving his skin for more than a moment at a time, and Slade's mouth follows suit. Kisses brush across his lips and his neck, breaths warm and heavy on each exhale. Jason only opens his eyes again when Slade kneels down in front of him, hands trailing down either side of his legs. The soft kiss to the outside of his thigh makes his breath shake for an entirely different reason, even though he knows he doesn't have the energy for anything. Even though Slade knows he doesn't have the energy for anything. It doesn't stop Slade — on his knees in front of him, hands wrapped around the back of his calves — from being a sight he can't look away from.
Slade lifts his legs one at a time, easing his pants and boots off and adding them to the pile of the rest of his armor and gear. It's the last of his stuff, and when Slade gets back up his fingers trail across skin the whole way, from his knees up past his waist, all the way to frame either side of his face and pull him into a deeper, lingering kiss.
Jason can't put a name to the sound he makes — something soft and wanting, in the back of his throat — but it feels instinctive. Slade's louder, deep-chested rumble is just the same.
There's a slight scrape of teeth against his lip when Slade pulls back, and a low groan. "You make noises like that, I'll end up taking you to bed anyway, kid."
Wouldn't be so bad, he doesn't think. Slade just doing whatever he wants, while he gets to just lie there and enjoy it…
Slade shakes his head and nudges him towards the shower. "Shower first, brat. If you're not asleep by then, we'll talk about it."
Jason follows the push with only a small grumble of protest, Slade's hand staying solid on his shoulder and steering him in the direction of the shower.
The water is heaven.
Hot, pounding down across his skin as he tilts his head back with a sigh.
Slade presses up against his back, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other reaching for the shelf. Jason closes his eyes, and surrenders to it.
How, exactly, Slade ends up managing to scrub him down, wash his hair, and not let him fall over as he drifts in and out, he has no idea, but it happens. Between blinks he's being pulled away from the water. Toweled off. Lifted up into strong arms, his head cushioned against a shoulder.
The familiar give of the bed under his back makes him open his eyes, hazily, but it's dark, and the bed's already dipping to his side. An arm wraps over his side, blankets being pulled up over his shoulders. Slade's skin is still slightly damp, pressing up against his, but it's a warm, pleasant kind of damp in a way Jason doesn't fully understand, but doesn't want to think about too deeply, anyway. He doesn't have the energy, and his bed is comfortable, and familiar, and Slade is wrapped around him…
"Sleep, kid," Slade murmurs into the back of his neck, pulling him a little closer. "I've got you."
Yeah… that sounds good.
Jason's still warm when he wakes up. There's still an arm draped heavy over his waist, and skin pressed to his from calves to shoulders.
There's light filtering in from behind his curtains, slivering across the wall in front of him right where it usually falls around twelve or so. The house is quiet, otherwise. Silent, and calm, with only the steady, deep breaths of Slade from behind him as background noise. The smoke and steel isn't overpowering, just… comfortable. There, in his nose and at the back of his tongue, like the lingering taste of a drink.
He's never— Slade's never still been there, in the morning. He's stuck around a couple times, but he's always been up and dressed by the time Jason comes to, and he's never… lingered.
It's nice.
Jason shifts a little, stretching a leg out under the covers and twisting his hips towards the bed. It stretches the slight cramp of his low back, from all the nonsense last night, and something in his spine clicks back into place with a slight pop. He breathes out with the ease of muscle, settling back down into the bed. He's going to need to do some stretching today. Check to see if Bruce or Dick made any more connections in the case after the fight last night. Restock his gear. Clean it.
Did he get grazed by something last night? Nothing really hurts, but he kind of remembers there being a tear in his jacket, and Slade asking about—
Right, and Slade. He needs to look at that form, whatever it is. Figure out why Slade is here, when he didn't give any warning. Deal with his family maybe—
Did Slade…? Did he… scent him? Did that actually happen, or was it part of a dream? That can't have actually happened, right? Jason's not— This whole thing isn't that kind of relationship. It's not a relationship at all. It's just sex, and okay, maybe Jason is not the most experienced at having what amounts to a fuck-buddy, but he's pretty sure scenting is not usually part of the description. That's a claim, and Slade's not— Slade's not interested in claiming him.
Maybe it was just possessive? Slade's big on biting, and bruises; maybe he just wanted to leave his mark another way. Make sure everyone knows that Jason is his. Not that he is. Slade's, that is.
Well, he's kind of Slade's. In so far as that Jason doesn't think he's going to be interested in much of anyone else as long as Slade's around, and even if he was he's not sure that Slade wouldn't just scare them off to not have to share. Which would arguably be better than beating the shit out of them. Also possible.
Fuck.
If it was a dream, why the fuck would he be dreaming that? It's not like he wants Slade to claim him. The fallout would be unbelievable, to start with, and Slade's… He's not exactly the kind of partner Jason ever imagined being with, or even remotely in the ballpark of it, for that matter. Was it just some stupid loneliness thing? Yeah, sure, it stings sometimes that his pack isn't as touchy with him, but he's not fucking lonely. He's got friends. He's got work. He doesn't need any of them to be getting up in his personal space like that. He doesn't want it, and he doesn't need it. Whatever instincts could have made him dream it up, they can kiss his ass.
If it was a dream.
"Knock it off, kid," Slade suddenly grumbles into the back of his neck, low and rough with sleep.
Jason maybe flinches just a little.
He clears his throat. Feels Slade's hand slide upwards across his stomach towards his sternum as Slade stirs. "What uh— What do you mean?"
Slade grunts. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. I can smell it."
"You can smell it?" Jason blinks, turning his head to crane over his shoulder. He still can't see Slade's face at this angle. "What do you mean you can smell it? Mind-reading through smell is not a— Ah!"
The sharp sting of the bite fades almost immediately. Jason has to take a second to remember how to get his lungs to inhale.
Slade hums, lips soft against the back of his neck where his teeth definitely weren't. "Do I need to tire you out, kid?" he asks, voice a low rumble and mostly void of the sleep roughness, now. The hand resting on his chest shifts just far enough for a thumb to pass, teasing and light, over Jason's nipple. "I can do that, if you need something to shut that brain of yours off."
Jason's lips press together at the shock of pleasure, his chest pushing forward just a little to chase that touch before he can stop it. "No, I— I'm fine."
Slade's arm tightens, pulling him inescapably back against his chest. "Mm. No, I think I'm invested now," he says, tone dipping towards the low, amused drawl that Jason can't help but shiver for. "We can have a nice, slow, morning fuck. Get you whining for me… Fill you up so you're all wet and loose, my come dripping out of you…"
"Jesus fuck," Jason breathes, feeling the flush burn where it's spreading across his face. "Slade—"
"Doesn't that sound good, little alpha?"
There's no getting out of Slade's grip unless he really fights it. No escaping the way Slade's hips press his into the bed, pressing the slightly growing hardness of his cock into the mattress and trapping him there, unable to do more than wiggle slightly against the hold. Jason swallows, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead into the pillow as he takes a deep breath and tries not to grind his hips into the bed. Slade fucking him, right here? Starting his morning like that?
"Yeah," he admits. "Yeah, okay."
Slade gives a low, rumbling sound of approval, teeth pressing lightly over his spine for a moment. "Good boy. Face down, then."
Jason shivers as Slade's arm pulls back, hand pressing down on his shoulder and almost idly pinning him down to the bed as Slade shifts partially on top of him. There's the rattle of his bedside table's drawer being pulled open as Slade reaches for the bottle of lube, and then the distinctive click of its cap opening as Slade's weight pulls slightly off of him, one thigh pressing in between his and forcing them apart just from the width. Jason crosses his arms under the pillow, keeping them out of the way as Slade's fingers delve between his cheeks, tracing around the edge of his hole, slick and teasing.
He buries his face, parting his legs a little more to try and urge them to actually sink in. Slade chuckles.
"Patience, kid. Slow, remember?"
"Slow doesn't have to mean nothing," he complains, muffled against the pillow. "Slade, just—”
A finger breaches him. He groans, pressing back into it, arching his back so he can tilt his pelvis back into the slide of it into him. Somehow, he always forgets how big Slade's hands are. He thinks about fingers in terms of his own, and Slade's fingers are definitely, noticeably bigger than his. Jason's pretty much worked up to just starting with two of his own, when he's alone, but fuck.
Slade's mouth presses to his shoulders, teeth nipping just hard enough to sting in between soft presses of his lips. "Hush, kid. Just take what I give you; there's no rush."
Jason's pretty sure the rush is going to be his own desperation, but he's not going to say that out loud. His cock is definitely awake now, and those little biting kisses aren't doing anything to dissuade it from getting harder, pinned against the bed like it is. Every push of Slade's finger rocks him against the sheets just a little bit, just enough to spark pleasure down his spine and make him bite at his own lip not to moan.
"Pretty little alpha," Slade murmurs, weight resting lightly enough over his back that it just feels solid instead of crushing. "You're going to behave for me, aren't you?"
Jason can't quite help squirming for a second. But he takes a breath, forces himself still, and manages to answer, "Yes."
Slade kisses the back of his neck. "Good. Then how about you tell me what was getting you all twisted up, kid?"
It completely blindsides him.
He blinks his eyes open, turning his head just enough to ask, "What?" and have it not be voiced directly into the pillow.
Slade's teeth press down over the meat of his shoulder, hard enough it forces a groan out of him before they release. "What made you tense up, before I fixed it?"
Jason takes a hard breath. "You— You want to talk? Now?"
The hum is deep enough to vibrate right through into his back. "You said you were going to behave for me," Slade points out, as if Jason should have somehow known that agreeing to that would mean answering prying questions instead of just, say, spreading his legs and not trying to get off before Slade wanted him to.
It's hard to really think with Slade pressed over him, finger still sliding into him in the same unhurried, slow pattern. "This feels like entrapment," he manages to complain.
Slade laughs. And then bites him again. "Tell me," he orders, as Jason shakes off the flash of instinctive submission. Slowly.
Fuck. Really? Slade really wants him to talk about it like this? Pinned under him with a finger in his ass? Really? It's not like it was even really important; it's just a question, and he doesn't even really need an answer to it. If it was a dream, bringing it up is just going to get him mocked. If it wasn't… Fuck, he doesn't even know what will happen if it wasn't.
(Well, why would anything need to happen? Slade either did it or he didn't; it's not like there's some kind of next-step or something they're locked into, even if he did. It's not like a little scenting means they need to start talking about whether they want kids or who makes the claiming bite or anything. It doesn't have to mean anything. It didn't mean anything.)
"Did you—?" Jason clears his throat. "Last night, did you…?" Fuck.
"Did I what, kid?" Slade prompts, mouth warm between his shoulder blades.
It's just fucking words, he doesn't have to— "Did you scent me?"
It is totally unfair how easily Slade seems to be able to say, "Yes." No hesitation, no pause. No change in the lips pressing against his skin.
Just like that? Slade just straight up admits to it?
"Why?"
Slade hums noncommittally. "I wanted to."
"But we're not—" Jason doesn't even know what the end of the denial would have been, honestly. Not in a relationship? Not partners? Not pack? Not… Like that? Why would Slade want to scent him?
Slade lays a little more weight onto him, mouth shifting up to press against his neck, up near the corner of his jaw. The low rumble in his chest isn't quite a growl, but it makes Jason feel like he should tense up anyway, and actually results in him melting a little bit more into the sheets. Fuck, his instincts are so fucked.
"Handsome boy like you should smell owned," Slade murmurs, dragging a shiver out of him at just the proximity. "Everyone should know it."
Jason's fingers tighten on twin handfuls of the sheets, something in his chest twisting tight. "You don't own me," he protests, but he doesn't— Maybe… Maybe he might—
Slade hums, and nips hard enough at the edge of his jaw he sucks in a sharp breath. "Not yet. But you're mine, kid. I want every alpha that looks at you to know they don't have a chance. I want them to smell that you're taken before they even open their mouths to take a shot." The lips that press against the nipped-at spot on his jaw are almost soothing. "Does that bother you?"
Jason feels like it should. This is just sex, and Slade shouldn't get the right to try and scare off other people from him, if they're interested. Not that he thinks anyone else is going to be interested, but that's not the point. It should bother him that Slade took advantage of him being exhausted last night to do that. It should bother him that Slade's basically pushing him into being exclusive without actually like, talking about that, or making any kind of promises himself. (He's not an idiot. He's sure that Slade's still fucking other people. That's just how it's going to be.)
Mostly he's just kind of… pleased.
"No," he admits, quietly. It's easier to add on, "You know, you're kind of a possessive asshole."
It really shouldn't be surprising that Slade's only response is to say, "And?" in the most unconcerned tone Jason can imagine.
Jason just snorts.
Yeah, that's not a surprise. Jason has a massive fucking healing bitemark on the back of his neck attesting to Slade being… a lot. Fuck that was a good time. Intense, but good. Maybe he shouldn't have enjoyed being fucked up that much but, well, he's probably past the point of worrying about enjoying stuff like that, considering the first two times Slade and him did anything it was after he literally got his ass handed to him.
Slade presses a second finger into him without even slowing the rhythm, and Jason bites back a swear to groan instead, trying to press his hips back into it. Slade's weight keeps him exactly where he is.
"Anything else?" Slade asks, teeth a bright spark of pain back close to his shoulder blade.
It takes him a second to parse that.
"What—? Is this 'one finger per problem' or something?" Jason asks incredulously, a little mortified at the fact that he's not even really any softer than he was.
Slade hums. "No. Could be."
Fuck, it wasn't a suggestion.
Jason groans, burying his head into the pillow. "Why?"
Slade's fingers pull apart inside him, stretching him open even as Slade says, as if it could really be the answer, "I like my sleep."
Jesus.
"You're going to make me tell you my problems because I woke you up?" he asks, absolutely refusing to admit that it's almost a whine. "Can't you just—?" The words die in his chest under an embarrassed swell, his cheeks burning.
"'Just' what, kid?" Slade asks. Of course.
Jason squeezes his eyes shut, and speaks directly into the pillow. His, "Can't you just fuck me?" is definitely muffled, but he's a hundred percent sure that Slade still understands it, given the amused snort.
"Sure, kid." There's a biting nip to the back of his neck, and then a still amused, "When you answer me."
Fuck.
Jason groans. And then groans again, for entirely different reasons, as Slade's fingers rub very deliberately over his prostate.
"Slade." He takes a hitching breath, pushing his toes into the bed and pressing his shoulders back into Slade's weight. "Fuck, come on. It's not important right now."
"So spit it out and let's get back to the fun." He can feel Slade's grin on the back of his neck. "Or don't. I'm enjoying myself."
Shit. There's no way that he can outlast Slade's patience; he's never even seen it crack, let alone break, and Jason's the desperate one right now. If he doesn't just say it, he's sure Slade will keep him right here, right on the edge, for as long as it takes for him to give in. All Slade has to do is wait him out.
(Does he have anything planned today? Is Dick supposed to be checking in about last night? Is anyone else? Is he going to get a call? Oh god he cannot get a call while Slade is fingering him.)
The horror at the thought of that, more than anything else, is what pushes him to give in.
"Alright, alright." Jason groans, and debates for just a second the merits of just smothering himself with the pillow instead. He'd lose out on the sex, then. Fuck. "Robin just… He made a comment about me seeing someone, in front of everybody. I played it off, but…" Jason takes a steadying breath. "They're probably going to look into me, so you should… You should stay out of Gotham for a while. Probably."
Slade hums. "Would them knowing about this bother you?"
Jason twists his head back; he can't get it at a sharp enough angle to see Slade. "Yes!" is the first thing out of his mouth, a little incredulous.
Bruce and Dick knowing that he's— That he likes— No. Absolutely not. He can't imagine trying to explain Slade, or the bruises, or bites, or any of it. Or trying to explain that no, it's not dating, it's just… Just whatever the hell this is. (Casual? It feels weird to call it that, given how his neck looks right now. Feels kind of weird to call it that in general, actually.) Whatever you call someone that you let choke you out while you both get off on it, because there's totally a neat little word that encompasses that, no problem.
Not that it's their business. He's— Jason's an adult. He's capable of consenting to whatever weird sex he wants to, and his pack doesn't get a say in that. Right? Yeah. Why should he be hiding it?
(Because Slade is not just some random civilian. He's an assassin, a mercenary, a killer for hire, and Jason's got the sneaking suspicion that Bruce isn't going to be happy about any of that, even if he's miraculously fine with the gay thing, and the kink thing, and the much-older-alpha thing.)
"Wouldn't it bother you?" he asks, a little desperate to get his head away from all the ways that would definitely go wrong.
Slade sounds completely unconcerned. "No. I'm not fucking any of them; don't see why their opinion matters."
"Their opinions kind of affect my life," Jason points out, grumbling it towards his shoulder. "If they find out, I… I don't know what would happen."
It wouldn't be pretty, he's sure of that, and he doesn't think… He doesn't think he's ready to give Slade up if Bruce pushes him to. Not yet. Which is so massively fucked up, because Slade's not even his. Slade could get tired of him at any point and just never come back. Fuck knows Jason has more problems than Slade probably wants to deal with long term; it's practically an inevitability.
"Leave Gotham with me."
Jason blinks. "What?"
Slade's lips press to his shoulder blade. "I have a cabin, out in the woods. Come there with me for a couple days. No Bats, no jobs; no one but us for at least ten miles." Teeth scrape over his skin as Slade rumbles, low and almost threatening. "I can make you scream as loud as I want."
Definitely threatening. Jesus. (But fuck, that sounds… so nice. No responsibilities, no neighbors, no chance of a sudden phone call flipping all his plans on their head. Just quiet, and Slade.)
It's a stupid idea. Of all the ways to practically confirm that he's hiding something from his pack, flying out of town with Deathstroke is definitely up there on the list of blazing neon signs.
“I just told you they suspect something, and you want to fly me off to some remote cabin for a vacation?" Jason buries his head back in the pillow. "Might as well just invite my whole pack along."
Slade's rumble just sounds amused; he's not taking this at all seriously, which Jason feels is a little unfair. His fears are not unfounded; Bruce will track him if he thinks anything is even slightly off. "I can dodge your pack, kid. No one will know where you are unless you tell them."
Jason takes in a breath to refute that, and then his brain catches up.
He's talking to Deathstroke. The Deathstroke. One of the deadliest sort-of human alphas in the world, with a career record of more decades than Jason really wants to think about. If he was easy to catch, he would have been caught by now. If he could be easily tracked, he would have been. If he's sure that he can get around whatever surveillance there might be and get both of them out of the city and to wherever this cabin is, without Jason's pack knowing? He probably can. Maybe Jason wouldn't believe that if anyone else said it, but Slade… Yeah. Okay. Which means all Jason has to do is send a very brief, very non-specific notice that he'll be gone for a few days, and then get the fuck out of town before anyone tries to get a hold of him and get specifics. No big deal, right?
Not like it's the first time he's ever gone off-grid before, just the first time he's ever done it for something selfish, and nobody needs to know that, right? It's an… undercover thing. Something international and off-grid. Something Red Hood related he doesn't want to involve anyone else with. He's got plenty of excuses.
"So you— You'd what, fly me out? Drive me?"
"Flight," Slade confirms. Jason realizes, extremely belatedly, that his fingers have stopped moving. He's not sure how long they've been still. "Then a drive. We can stay for a few days; however long your city boy nerves can take it."
By the drawl, Slade clearly doesn't think it will be that long. "I can handle wilderness," Jason protests. He's spent plenty of time all over the world, cities and wilderness alike; just because he's in cities the most doesn't mean he can't handle anything else.
Slade's hum is entirely unconvinced.
"Alright, fine, so that'd be like, what? Now?" Just, fly off with no warning? Drop everything just like that?
"If you want. Won't take much time to set up."
It sounds entirely sincere, like it's a real offer and Slade actually would just pack up and take off with him right now, if he wanted to. That's… That's sure something. Jason has to stop and really think about that for a few seconds, picking apart what that would actually mean.
It would mean leaving the clean-up of last night to the others, and offloading all the responsibility of continuing to work on it to them, at least for a few days. And… Well, that's it, isn't it? He doesn't have anything else actively on his plate; it's all cold cases and basic oversight of his territories, and none of that is going to suffer from him taking a couple days off. All he has to do is let the other Bats know he'll be gone, and they'll adjust to cover him till he's back; it's nothing all of them haven't done for each other before.
He could really just… go.
Jason breathes in, and says, "Alright," before he can talk himself out of it. "Let's do it."
This time, the rumble sounds particularly pleased. Jason gasps as the fingers in him resume their stretching, and Slade's weight settles more firmly on top of him, all but crushing him into the bed. He can feel the hard curve of Slade's dick against his low back, just above the thrust and twist of his fingers. He presses back into it more to feel it against him than to give himself a little more room to breathe, which is good, because Slade doesn't give him more than a couple inches. (And Jason's not sure he wants more than that, anyway; he likes the weight, and the feeling of being so completely pinned. He can breathe a little shallower to feel that.)
Slade's teeth tease at the edge of his neck as he makes a deep, satisfied sound. "I've got a promise to keep first, kid. Remember? I think you earned that fuck."
Yeah, Jason's definitely not going to argue with that.