Uh. So. Videotape wanted a sequel (and so did Jess), and Videotape (and Jess) generally get what is desired. So, here is the sequel to Videotape, titled Fragments. And, like its predecessor, Spinelli is depicted as wildly out of character - vulgar, unhappy, argumentative - and not at all like the kid we know from the show. Also, like Videotape, this is a slash fic. THIS IS A SLASH FIC. That means there is gay sex and gay relationships going on between two men - Damian Spinelli and Jason Morgan. Yes, this is a JaSpin fic. Not your thing? S'all good. No harm, no foul. And what not. Also, be warned: sexual abuse is discussed in a mildly upsetting form. And, the f-word count is up to 142. Beat my record!
As always, many thanks to Jess (aka csi_sanders1129 and animegirl1129) for being fabulous. She's fabulous. What can I say?
Annnnnd now, without further ado.
Fragments
By: Bee
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to end like this."
Fast forward
Standing on the street corner, Damian Spinelli shivers in the frigid, invasive cold. He hunches his shoulders and tucks his chin against his chest as he jams his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket. It's warm, in that expensive way (Jason bought it for him), but it still doesn't entirely protect him from the deep, deep chill of the night. Fucking fuck, he thinks to himself as a particularly bitter blast of wind wracks his still, despite his best efforts to slim down, slightly soft body. Where the fuck am I gonna go?
He tilts his head back, despite the new weaknesses this reveals to the unrelenting gusts, and stares up at the surprisingly clear sky. Wouldn't even know it was raining two hours ago, Spinelli sighs and exhales in a loud sigh. His breath fogs up in the winter air.
He realizes, as he stares up at the glistening sky, that it's been almost one year exactly since he moved in with Jason. Fucking fuck, he curses mentally with a sardonic grin, one whole fucking year. Who'd a thunk it? Shaking his head, he doubles over in an effort to generate warmth. He wraps his arms around his waist and shudders.
What am I gonna do? He grunts and sits down on the curb. The cement is freezing under his ass, but it feels better to sit and curl around his knees. Warmer, almost. He doesn't have much money – maybe barely enough to get a bus ticket. But where the fuck would I go? "Fucking fuck," he mutters as he buries his face in the sleeve of his jacket.
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In the darkness of their bedroom – as it is still their bedroom, for the time being, even though Jason isn't talking to him (or is it the other way around?) – Spinelli lies awake with his eyes on the ceiling. Jason is sleeping with his back turned to him, but he is most definitely asleep. Spinelli can't help but look at him, at the shadowed curve of his shoulder, and feel ridiculously cold.
The rain outside has finally petered off, and he sighs, rubbing at his surprisingly dry eyes with the heels of his palms. Fucking fuck, he groans with a secondary sigh, deeper and softer than the first. It's inevitable, he tells himself. Either he leaves or Jason kicks him out. Inevitable. It makes it no less painful, he realizes, cocooned in blankets that smell so much like Jason mixed with a little bit of his own scent.
Biting down hard on his knuckle, Spinelli tries not to cry. Ridiculous. Ri-fucking-diculous. His shoulders shake and he struggles to calm his breathing. He rolls onto his side, curling protectively around himself, as he shivers and gasps silently. Don't wake up Jason, don't wake up Jason. For fuck's sake, do not wake up Jason. Chewing his hand practically to the bone, Spinelli manages to settle down enough to regain coherency. He misses the change in Jason's breathing entirely.
He rolls out of bed, moving with a silent grace previously dormant, and watches as Jason settles down but does not wake. "I'm sorry," Spinelli whispers as he grabs a pair of pants from the floor. "I didn't mean for it to end like this." He creeps out into the hallway, and does not look back. Fucking fuck.
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Fast forward
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Spinelli groans loudly into the fabric of his jacket. Fucking fuck fucking fuck fuck fuck, he chants, biting down hard on his lower lip. He pulls tighter into himself, starting with pigeon toeing his feet and ending with tangling his fingers brutally in his shaggy hair. "Fffffffffuuuck," he moans aloud in a brokenly cracking voice. The air changes, drops a few more degrees, and Spinelli shivers. A far off rumble makes him tighten his grip and dig his nails into his scalp. "Fuck my life," he curses. "Just fucking fuck it."
Not seconds later, a sickeningly obese raindrop lands on his head, soaking through his hair into his skull. He can't suppress the shudder and he scratches at the damp spot left by the rain almost obsessively. Another drop lands on his knee, then another on his shoulder, and another on his head that soaks down into the collar of his shirt. In minutes, he is drenched and shivering in a very unimpressive way.
Fucking cliché, he rolls his eyes, and huddles deeper into himself. A shock of light cracks the sky, illuminating the clouds in a very macabre way, and Spinelli can't help but clench his eyes shut. Ever since he was a child, he found storms to be a source of terror.
Thunder booms, a bomb going off inches from his face, and he almost swallows his tongue. As he shivers and shudders, near to tears, Spinelli worries, briefly, about what this will do to his jacket. It really is a nice jacket – way too expensive, if he's being honest. But that was Jason's style.
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"No," Spinelli asserts firmly with his arms full of random articles of clothing. Jason raises an eyebrow at him, and Spinelli can't help but whine in response. "Way too much fucking money, Jason. Really. I don't need it. Besides, I'm enough a freeloader as it is. I mean, fuck man. I'm never gonna be able to pay you back for any of this shit."
"Two quarters," Jason says, completely disregarding the comment on cost, and holds out his hand. "Come on, give me fifty cents or get in the dressing room." Spinelli declines to respond, just stares down at the pile of clothes he's cradling. Lots of shirts, and some jeans, and a jacket or two. All with very impressive price tags. His face floods with color, and not the good kind.
"Seriously, Jason," he begins in a softer voice, "I don't feel comfortable with this. You've done so much for me as it is, and... I don't want you to waste more money on me. I'm okay with the stuff that I have." Which is a lie, as the jeans he's wearing are the same pair he's been wearing for about two weeks now, and the faded long-sleeve t-shirt he's sporting has a hole in one elbow. He drops his gaze to the floor, utterly embarrassed by his honesty.
"Did it ever occur to you," Jason takes a step forward and threads his fingers through Spinelli's hair, "that I actually enjoy giving you presents like this?" He presses a quick kiss to the youth's indignant frown of a mouth. "I like dressing you up. Now go. I want to see what those pinstripe pants look like on you." Spinelli stares up at him through his eyelashes, and Jason swallows. "Don't give me that, Damian. Just let me spoil you." He kisses him again, "please?"
Pause
Fast forward
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Teeth chattering, Spinelli gets jerkily to his feet. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he can't think past the cold. He can't ever recall rain being this cutting, but here it is, slicing his clothes to ribbons to seep directly into his veins. His blood freezes, stops moving, and he can almost hear his limbs cracking in protest as he tries to move.
With a muted groan, he doubles over again, fucking fuck!, and hisses between clenched teeth. His face burns and he can't swallow the whimper itching up his throat. His hands are frozen into fists and his knuckles are well on their way to cracked and bleeding. He continues moving, persists in his destinationless journey. Where the fuck am I going? He wonders and wanders up the slick sidewalk a little ways, feet stumbling and catching on the uneven pavement.
He bumps into something living, something breathing, something warm, and he opens his frost bitten eyes. "Come here often?" Jason rumbles down at him, and Spinelli chokes on a chattering sob and resists the urge to throw his arms around his waist. "Let's go home," Jason suggests and tries to put an arm around Spinelli's shoulder.
"N-no," Spinelli shivers and tries to dodge out of the way. "Lemme go. I'm l-leaving you." He's stuttering and he isn't entirely sure what he's saying. All he knows is that there are icicles in his hair and he can't feel his toes anymore. "This isn't w-working out."
"Says who?" Jason asks with a mild smile as he easily scoops Spinelli up in his arms. Naturally, the teen struggles and nearly succeeds, almost cracking his head open on the sidewalk, but Jason is persistent in the way that one is with a petulant child. He holds him tightly, with one arm under his knees and the other around his back. "Just come home and stay until it's morning. Then I will take you where ever you want to go."
Spinelli falls silent – not even a fucking fuck for his troubles – and wonders why this news does not make him feel better. He sniffs loudly and curls up in Jason's arms, unconsciously fisting his hand in the material of his shirt as he tries to enjoy what little time he has left with the man who has, and will forever have, his heart.
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Spinelli stands in the kitchen, singing quietly to himself as he loads the dishwasher. "It goes like this, the fourth the fifth," he reaches down to replace the box of soap from underneath the sink, "the minor fall, the major lift..." Bumping the dishwasher closed with his hip, he rubs his hands together and grabs a dishtowel. "...The baffled king composing hallelujah." His voice tapers off to simple humming as he turns around, drying his hands, only to see Jason studying him from the across the room. "Hello," Spinelli greets shyly. "I, uh, wasn't bothering you, was I?"
"Not at all," Jason answers with plain conviction. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. "How long have you been able to sing?"
"Oh, um." Spinelli rubs his elbow awkwardly, looking awfully small in the ill-fitting t-shirt (that Jason recognizes as his own) and baggy, plaid sleep pants. "Since I was a kid. Fucking waste of time, though." His laugh is bitter, but he shrugs it off easily. "Did you just get home from work?"
"Not too long ago, yeah," Jason nods and flicks his eyes up and down over Spinelli's figure. The teen swallows thickly and makes a move to slink out of the kitchen. "Nope," Jason catches him easily around the waist and slings him over his shoulder. "You are going nowhere."
"Nowhere?" Spinelli asks. Being flung upside down so suddenly is giving him a headache, but also a really great look at Jason's ass. So he tries not to complain. "Fucking fuck man, this is making me sick." But that doesn't necessarily mean that he succeeds. "Lemme go." He struggles a little, laughing and prodding at Jason's back.
Honoring his request, Jason drops him down on their bed. Spinelli flops among the pillows, red-faced and laughing, and watches as Jason pulls his black t-shirt over his head. With very little warning, Jason pounces. Spinelli accepts him with open arms.
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His clothes are left in a wet heap on the bathroom floor. The mirror is fogged with steam. Spinelli sits, with his hands clutched around his knees, in the bathtub. The tub is almost full of hot water, but he's still shivering. With a whimper, he ducks under the water, so that everything sounds muted and distorted. He exhales in a trail of bubbles and reemerges, gasping, with his eyes shut tightly. Droplets cling to his lashes, giving him a very feminine appearance.
Rubbing at his face with his arm, Spinelli stretches out in the tub, as if to absorb the liquid heat directly through his skin. His hair floats around his head, an ethereal cloud of muddled brown, and he stares up at the ceiling. The cracks make no discernible shape and, the longer he studies them, the more Spinelli feels alone.
It's going to cave in, collapse, and he'll be covered by rubble and debris and dust. He'd be left broken with drywall and water in his lungs. It's a fucking disturbing image, but he can't get it out of his head. He'll be dead and Jason won't ever know. No one will ever know, besides his mother and the man who did it, he realizes, and that's just too much of a burden to bare.
Spinelli sits up suddenly and draws his knees back to his chest. Fucking fuck. The shivering returns in full force and his teeth chatter as he calls out, in a shuddering voice, "Jason?" His panic grows when there isn't an immediate response, so he starts shouting, yelling, for all of whatever petty price he's worth. "Jason, where the fuck are you, man? Jason!"
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They're cuddled up on the couch as they read over vocabulary; Spinelli sits in Jason's lap and Jason studies the workbook over his shoulder. Jason's operating under this bizarre idea that Spinelli is going to take the SAT, get a perfect score, and go off to Harvard. Spinelli still maintains that he doesn't care about Harvard – fuck that Ivy League shit – and he's fine with community college, where one doesn't need to take the SAT. It's an unresolved argument that perpetually hangs over their heads.
"Obfuscate," Jason reads and Spinelli sighs. "And use it in a sentence." He adds, prodding Spinelli gently in the side.
"Uh... to, um. Make something hard to understand?" Jason says nothing and Spinelli rolls his eyes. "Sentence. Right. Uh. This is fucking obfuscating?" It's Jason's turn to roll his eyes – Spinelli can almost feel the amusement under his frustration. "Fine, fine. Er, by trying to teach his students geography... um. No, hold on." He frowns and Jason rubs his thigh encouragingly. "The teacher only obfuscated the math problem when he tried to answer a student's question?"
"Not bad," Jason compliments and Spinelli shrugs. "Next is... Impecunious."
"Broke as fuck," he laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "And... the impecunious youth was reluctant to accept gifts from his sexy-as-fuck benefactor."
"Not sure that would work on the SAT, Damian," Jason comments, "but did the impecunious youth ever considered repaying his sexy-as-fuck benefactor with means other than monetary?" Spinelli twists around in his lap to grant him an incredulous stare. "Just a thought."
"Are we role-playing?" He asks with a quirked eyebrow.
"Later," he promises with a quick kiss. "After studying. Malingerer."
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Fast forward
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Spinelli's thrashing, crying, screaming and spilling a ridiculous amount of bathwater all over the faux-tile linoleum. The floor mat is soaked and darkening. He can't breathe for the panic constricting his lungs. There's soap and tears in his eyes and he slips as he tries to get up on his knees. Suddenly, his head is under water and everything makes sense but really nothing makes sense.
He's still choking, coughing, only it isn't just panic impeding his breath now. By mistake – he swears it's a fucking mistake, Jason, he swears – he inhales a mouthful of two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen but he can't grab a solid enough grip on anything to pull himself up. His chest seizes, spasms, he can feel it in the buckling of his ribs and his lungs and his heart and Jason, he swears, it was an accident. Okay, Jason?
He needs you to know that, that he didn't mean for it to happen like this. Fucking fuck, he promises, even though he generally sucks at keeping promises – really, fucking, sucks at it. But this time, this time, he promises that he didn't mean to die before he got the chance to tell you. So, look, Jason, you need to listen. You need to tear your eyes away from his blue, blue, blue as fuck, lips and his open, glass marble green stare. It's hard, but you need to listen. Why?
Because he loves you.
Jason, he loves you. He loves you and he doesn't want to leave you, but he doesn't think you want him anymore. He still loves you though, loves you too fucking much. Too fucking much for this world. He loves when you hold him, when you're inside him, when you let him inside you, when you just watch him when you think he won't notice. He loves the warmth, the touch, the smell of you. He loves you, okay? The boy drowning in your bathtub loves you.
I just thought you should know.
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"Damian," comes the ever so slightly reproachful voice near his ear, "it's past noon. You need to wake up now." In response, Spinelli scrunches up his nose and burrows deeper into the pillows and blankets. "Come on," there's a hand on his head, ruffling his already ruffled hair. "Wake up, kiddo."
"Not a fucking kid," Spinelli groans as he rolls over onto his back, "how many times do I have to tell you that?" He rubs at his eye with a fist and yawns widely. Finally, he blinks slowly to grant Jason with a tousled, slept-in smile. "Hi," he drawls with another yawn and full body stretch.
"Good afternoon," Jason returns with a charming grin. He cups Spinelli's face in one hand and traces the swell of his lower lip with his thumb. "How'd you sleep?" Spinelli smirks and covers Jason's hand with his own.
"You should know the answer to that. Kept me up half the fucking night," he retorts and tugs on Jason's arm in an attempt to pull him back into bed.
"Don't act like you didn't like it," Jason points out as he acquiesces to the youth's demands and kicks off his shoes before crawling back into bed. He curls around Spinelli, wrapping one arm around his waist and burying his face in his deviously soft hair. "Just for a little while," he promises. Spinelli only hums sleepily in reply.
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Fast forward
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The first breath nearly kills him. His whole chest spasms with the force of it and he rolls onto his side to cough up the water in his lungs. He's naked, shivering, and a little fucking embarrassed, as he lies on the bathroom floor. Jason is hovering over him, his black t-shirt soaked, with an unfathomable look in his eyes – a distant cousin to desperately relieved, perhaps – but Spinelli is a little too suffocated to appreciate the view. The first words out of his mouth, as he lies down on his back, are, "fucking fuck."
Jason laughs, a bitter sob of a sound, and shakes his head. "You would say that," he comments and sits back a little with his hands braced on his knees. He pinches at the bridge of his nose and laughs again. "Jesus Christ, Spinelli. Only you would find a way to drown in a bathtub."
"Wasn't fucking trying to drown myself." He coughs again and struggles to sit up. Suddenly aware of his nakedness, he blushes and grabs for a towel.
"Here," Jason hands it to him, and Spinelli just drapes it awkwardly over his lap. "Are you all right?" He asks, reaching out and rubbing at his pale shoulder. "I heard you screaming from the guest room. I'm sorry it took me so long to get down here."
"What were you doing upstairs?" Spinelli asks in a surprisingly steady voice, completely disregarding his question. The underlying meaning being, am I staying in the guest room now? Are we not even allowed to sleep together now? Please don't kick me out of our bed. Don't kick me out of our room. Fucking fuck, he bites down hard on his lower lip. All of this – his internal monologue – goes unnoticed.
"I figured you... didn't want to share a bed with me," Jason mutters and looks away, retracting his comforting hand in favor of letting it rest limply in his lap. "I'll take the guest room until we can figure something else out." Spinelli's heart breaks a little bit, but he can't think of anything to say in response. "Come on," Jason presses a painfully chaste kiss to his forehead and gets up from the floor, "let's get you dressed."
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"Jason," a poke at his shoulder, "Jason, wake up." He swats at the hand but its owner, presumably Spinelli, does not relent. There's another prod and a whisper, "wake up. I have to tell you something." With a tired grunt, he opens his eyes to face the inky shadows of their bedroom. "C'mon man. You fucking awake yet?"
"Yes," he deadpans and rubs at his face with one hand. A quick glance at the bedside alarm clock tells him that it's barely past three. And he distinctly remembers falling into bed, next to an already sleeping Spinelli, around one. Two hours. Awesome. Fucking beautiful. "What do you want?" He asks the adorably warm mass of man child cuddled against his chest.
Spinelli scoots closer so that their noses are almost touching. "I didn't get to tell you, cause I was already passed out when you got home," he kisses the corner of Jason's mouth softly as he snuggles deeper into Jason's embrace, "but I love you." Jason smiles and reaches up to rub his hand through Spinelli's hair.
"Love you too," he murmurs back and kisses him gently before wrapping an arm tightly around his waist. Spinelli smiles quietly, almost obscenely happy with himself, and settles down to get some rest. It's almost impossible for him to fall asleep and stay asleep without Jason next to him.
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Spinelli sits on their bed, wearing a worn pair of pajama pants and an over-sized gray t-shirt and black sweatshirt. His hair is still damp and sticking up in the back, but at least he's warm. He hasn't said anything to Jason since they've left the bathroom, but not for lack of trying. He's tried to think of a dozen and a half things to say to him. I'm sorry. Forgive me. Take me back. I didn't mean it. In Soviet Russia, you don't end relationships, relationships end you. Instead, he gives a great sniff and rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
Out of reflex, Jason retrieves the tissue box from the dresser and offers it to him. Spinelli accepts it with a blank sort of gratitude on his face and sets it down on the bed beside him. He plays with the sleeve of his hoodie and bites his lip. "Thanks," he blurts suddenly in a hoarse voice. "For, um. Saving me."
"Which time?" Jason asks mildly as he rifles through his dresser drawer for a dry shirt. Spinelli winces but doesn't rebuke the slight jab. He deserves it, fucking fuck, does he deserve it.
"Both. I guess," he shrugs and rubs his cheek against his shoulder. "And. I'm sorry." The apology comes out as a whisper as he hugs his legs to his chest. "I really, really am." He buries his face in his knees, "I just really want you to know that, okay?"
"Damian," and Jason is right in front of him, laying a heavy, gentle hand on the crown of his head. "We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? Just get some sleep." He's gone before Spinelli can think of a coherent response – probably something along the lines of just stay the fucking night with me please.
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Neither of them knows how it really happens, but it starts off simply enough. Jason asks innocuously, as he hands Spinelli the last plate to load in the dishwasher, whether or not he's looked into this college and what's the deadline for the application? Maybe they can look it over later. Spinelli informs him, very plainly, that he isn't looking at that school as it's in another state and he's fine with going to community college here in the city. Jason just stares at him.
"What?"
And it all goes down hill from there.
"You just don't fucking get it, do you? I don't want to go there. Man, I don't even want to got college, for fuck's sake. That's all you." He tangles his hands in his hair as he rants. "I mean, fuck. I wouldn't even fit in there. You know what kind of people go to colleges like that?" Jason rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against the counter.
"I can't possibly imagine." He mocks, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"Fuck right I am!" Spinelli bursts out. "They're all bastards – every single one of them – and they're fake as fuck can be. They just sit around feeding each other bullshit about how my father does this for a living and really it's a shame the country club will be closed this summer. Bull. Fucking. Shit. I can't stand to be around people so fucking fake."
"All right Holden Caulfield," Jason laughs without humor. "What would you like to do? Save children from running off cliffs?"
"Don't fuck with me," Spinelli hisses. "Do not fuck with me on this. I'm serious Jason. I don't want to go to college. Just let it go."
"No, Spinelli, I won't." He shakes his head in disbelief as he regards the stubborn youth in front of him. "I don't understand what your problem is. Don't you know what you could do with a college education – where that would take you?"
"I don't care about that shit!" And he's practically screaming at this point, "I don't know how else to tell you. I don't fucking care about that. Opportunity? Fuck that shit. I'm happy with where I am right now."
"Oh yeah," Jason observes coolly. "You look real fucking cheery."
"Fuck you, man," Spinelli fixes him with an icy glare as he stalks out of the kitchen. "Just... Fuck you."
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It's like four in the morning, and Spinelli is lying in bed with the lights on and the door shut. His legs are drawn up to his chest and his hands are sandwiched between his thighs. He didn't even bother to get under the covers. Sleep is irrelevant. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels the pull of the water on his lungs or the shock of the rain on his face.
He's back in the place where he was before he met Jason. Fucked up. Hopeless. Angry. Misunderstood. Misplaced. With a sigh, he brings his hands up to rub at his face. He grinds the heels of his palms into his dry eyes and groans. Even though this is their bedroom – full of memories and familiarity and warmth – it feels like a motel room. He's miles away from anything he recognizes, in the middle of face fuck nowhere. He's suffocating with the isolation of it.
Blinking slowly, Spinelli unfolds himself and sits up with a grimace. He instantly shivers as pockets of cold settle in the caverns behind his knees and the hollows of his elbows. There's only one place he can go at this point. Wrapping his arms around his middle, Spinelli begins shuffling out of their room and into the hall. The floor is freezing under his bare feet. With a full body shudder, he stumbles through the living room, practically killing himself on the coffee table in the process.
It's completely, utterly a-fucking-stounding that Jason doesn't wake up with all the racket he's making.
Still hugging himself, Spinelli makes his way upstairs and, finally, reaches his destination at the guest room's door. He hovers there for a few seconds, trembling and debating whether to knock or not, when the door opens in front of him. Jason stares down at him, and it's clear that he wasn't asleep at all.
"I don't want to be alone. I just... Fuck," Spinelli confesses brokenly. "I need to be with you."
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"I need to be with you."
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"I need to be with you."
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"I need to be with you."
Jason regards him silently and moves out of the way so Spinelli can shuffle past him into the room. They stand, facing each other, and Spinelli shifts awkwardly on his feet. He swallows, about to say something, when Jason takes a hold of his face and kisses him, roughly and thoroughly. Spinelli brings his hands up to grasp weakly at Jason's wrists as tears start to leak out from the corners of his eyes.
They separate and Jason wipes the moisture away with his thumbs. "You okay?" He asks and Spinelli nods, still crying, and Jason hugs him close. "Come on," he whispers, trying to sooth him by rubbing his back. Even through his layers, Jason can feel the notches of his spine. "How are you so skinny?"
"I'm not. I have a tummy, remember?" Spinelli murmurs into the fabric of Jason's t-shirt. They stay that way, cuddled close into one being, for a long many moments, until Spinelli breaks the silence. "Jason?" He asks hesitantly and gets an acknowledging hum in response. "I really am sorry. For... for everything. The argument – even though I think it's fucking crazy that you want me to go to college – and, and for leaving. Fuck, man. Especially for leaving. I'm really fucking sorry for leaving."
Jason sighs – Spinelli can feel his chest expanding and contracting – and disentangles himself from the youth. "Damian," he begins, cupping Spinelli's face in one hand, "an apology isn't going to fix everything. We need to talk about this. Really talk," he explains, "with minimal fighting and cursing."
"Jason," Spinelli counters, pressing a kiss to the palm on his cheek, "I don't think I can do minimal cursing. It goes against my fucking nature." Jason laughs and Spinelli pouts. "It does – it really fucking does."
"Oh, now you're trying too hard," Jason points out, embracing him tightly again. Spinelli smiles, snuggling into Jason's soft t-shirt, and winds his arms around his waist. "I love you," he admits not so suddenly and Spinelli stiffens in his arms.
"Wha... You do?" He says in a brokenly small voice, all colored with questioning uncertainty. "How?" Jason doesn't answer him immediately, perhaps because he has no prepared explanation, and Spinelli plows right on. "I'm serious, man. I put you through fucking hell tonight. How do you still love me? Fuck, it's never been easy with me. I'm always up in your space, fucking with shit... Fuck man." He pauses and grants Jason with a hard stare. "You really love me?"
"Yup," Jason supplies simply. "Hard to believe, huh? That someone can keep loving you, even after you've put them through fucking hell." He smiles an almost bitter smile as he shakes his head and starts pacing the length of the room.
"I don't know why it's so difficult for you to understand, Spinelli, but I'm in this for the long haul. This past year hasn't been easy. There are still a lot of unsaid things between us... A lot of secrets. I still don't know what happened to you the day we met." Spinelli winces at the not-so-subtle hint. "But I'm in love with you."
"But why?" Spinelli can't help but ask.
"Not sure. Maybe that's why I'm letting you stay, so I can figure you out." He smirks at Spinelli's incredulous stare and opens his arms wide. "I'm serious, if you don't get over here, I'm kicking you out of bed." Finally Spinelli catches on and launches himself at Jason, in a parody of the maneuver he pulled almost a year ago. Jason catches him easily around the waist and Spinelli hooks his ankles behind Jason's back. "I think it's time for bed, okay?"
"Okay," Spinelli agrees, pressing his mouth soundly against Jason's. "And I love you too. I just thought you should know." He rests his head on Jason's shoulder, suddenly exhausted. "Can we talk in the morning?" He asks, interrupting his own question with a sleepy yawn. "I need to tell you some stuff."
"Yeah. I'd like that," Jason murmurs, depositing his load on the bed and lying down next to him. "We'll talk in the morning." Spinelli nods, shifting around to allow Jason to pull the covers up over them, and cuddles close in the warmth of him.
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They sleep until noon, and wake up feeling groggy. True to form, Jason opens his eyes before Spinelli does, and he uses the extra time to study the youth. His hair is sticking up in random odd directions, but his face is so completely, heart breakingly relaxed. It's an expression Jason has not seen him wear in a very long time. Gently, he trails the tips of his fingers over the soft curve of his cheek and watches, utterly enraptured, as Spinelli stirs and scrunches his nose in response.
"Wh't?" He grumbles, trying to turn his face away, "'m fucking sleeping." Jason laughs and blows air across his ear. "Jason," he whines without opening his eyes, "geroff me. I'm tryin'a sleep." Finally fed up with his antics, Spinelli makes a valiant attempt to escape to an undisturbed portion of the bed. Jason captures him easily enough and pulls him tightly to his chest. "Jasonnnnn," he complains again and tries half-heartedly to break free. "You're not fair."
"Nope," Jason agrees and presses a quick kiss to Spinelli's temple. "Want to get some breakfast?"
"No." Spinelli declines flat out. "Not hungry. I'm sleepy." He burrows close to Jason, entangling their legs together, as he nuzzles his chest. "I'm goin' back to sleep."
"What about me?" Jason asks the ceiling, petting Spinelli's hair absentmindedly. "I'm not tired anymore. Now you're the one being unfair. Maybe I don't want to be your pillow."
"Impossible," Spinelli counters and raises his head a little, "you love being my pillow." And to prove his point, he rubs up against Jason in such a way that brings certain parts of their anatomies, that fit oh so deviously deliciously well together, in contact. Jason inhales sharply between his teeth and Spinelli grins.
"You fight dirty," he informs the teen with a shaky exhale.
"Ah, but you love me for it," Spinelli comments and lays his head back down. "Just give me an hour, okay? Then," and he pauses to yawn, "then, we'll have that talk." Jason just watches as he closes his eyes and falls back asleep in mere seconds.
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"My dad left when I was a little kid," Spinelli tells him almost two hours later (Jason was generous and let him sleep for a long, long while) as they're lounging in bed. "And... my mom always had this idea that she had to be with someone. All the fucking time, she needed a boyfriend – a man around the house – to take care of us." He sighs and clears his throat. Jason rubs his stomach comfortingly and Spinelli captures the hand and brings it up to his mouth. He kisses the fingers absently as he continues.
"Most of them were losers – fucking deadbeats – but they left me alone. Called me kid, asked me to get them a beer from the kitchen, that kind of shit. But they left me alone. Harmless deadbeats. A few of them, though, they were assholes. Cussed at my mom, cussed at me. Tried to break down the door when she locked them out for knocking her around." He swallows and blinks hard.
"She had this one boyfriend when I was... Fuck. I guess I was about nine. Nine or ten. Somewhere around there. Anyway. He seemed like a great guy – took real good care of my mom, and he was nice to me. Brought me a toy or something when he brought her flowers. Real stand up fucker," he laughs bitterly, "what a fucking joke."
"This one night," and his voice changes, turns high pitched and brittle, "he comes over and my mom's not done getting ready. And, so, we're sitting on the couch. And he starts talking to me. And I can just tell – I just fucking know – that there's something off about this. He's saying all this awful shit... Calling my mom a whore, but doing it in this conversational voice, like it's the weather he's shit talking. And then he's reaching for me..."
Jason wants to stop him, because he knows what's coming next. He's heard this story countless times before on the radio, on the news, and he knows how it's going to end. But he doesn't, he just holds Spinelli tightly and lets him tell his story.
"And he's reaching for me, and he... he pulls me into his lap. And I'm so confused, so fucking terrified, that I don't know what to do. I... I just sit there, and he's trying to unbutton my pants, but he can't. And, I mean. What was he planning to do? My mom was in the next room over. It's not like he'd be able to do much before she walked in." He laughs again, in that hollow voice.
"Anyway, he's trying to unbutton my fucking pants, and he's asking me to help him. But I won't. And, I'm telling him to stop, and let me go, and that I don't want to. I need you to know that, Jason, even now." Spinelli turns and fixes him with this piercing stare, "I didn't want to."
"I know," Jason whispers hoarsely and kisses him on the temple, brushing his hair back. "We can stop, if you want."
"No. I... I need to do this." Spinelli takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I love you, by the way," he tells Jason before continuing. He sniffs once and plods on. "So, um. My mom comes out of the bathroom before he can really do anything besides terrify the fuck out of me. And it took me two years to get the courage to tell her about what happened. And I couldn't even get the words out right."
He runs a hand through his hair, "my mom... She had to guess what I meant. And I don't know if she guessed too much, or too little but she got the gist of it. What's great is that her, uh, solution to her boyfriend trying to molest her son was to settle down. And get married. Thankfully the guy she married was one of those deadbeats. He really couldn't have cared less what I was up to, as long as I stayed out of his way."
Spinelli stops and blinks. "That's the first time I've said it out loud. Jason," he says in this incredulous voice, "I was molested by my mother's boyfriend when I was nine years old. And I've kept it to myself for a fucking decade." He blinks again. "I was molested. Holy shit. I was fucking molested." He starts laughing, and it's hysterical and it's broken and Jason can't think of anything to do but hold him.
"I'm here," he whispers over and over as he pets Spinelli's hair. He makes a conscious effort not to say it's going to be okay because he doesn't know if it will be. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, I promise, Damian. I'm not going to leave you, okay?" Through his tears, Spinelli recognizes the murmurs and the comfort and he does his best to focus on that. Focus on Jason. Focus. On. Jason.
Finally, he calms down enough to finish the story of his tormented past, but Jason refuses to relinquish his hold on the youth."And... that brings us to the day we met. One of the best fucking days of my life," he observes idly before glancing at Jason from the corner of his eye, "just thought you should know that too. Anyway. Um. That day, my mom left for work – left early, so she could get some extra money – and I stayed up in my room. I knew my stepdad was around, and I generally like to avoid his sorry ass."
"And then, I don't know why... But I decided it would be a brilliant fucking idea to leave the house. I told my stepdad that I was going to the library, but I don't actually remember where I was planning to go. And then, I don't know... we just got into a fight. He started cussing at me and grabbing at me. I don't even think it was sexual, now that I look back on it."
Spinelli shrugs and purses his lips as he ponders, "he called me a whore, I think. But, I mean, he might not have noticed what he was really yelling at me. He was pretty pissed. So, he's grabbing at me and spitting like fucking mad, and I just bolt. I get the fuck out of there. And I remember running, lots of running. And I came back to myself when I was standing on this street corner. I wasn't really paying all that much attention, so I started to cross the street. And, this guy," Spinelli gives Jason a pointedly coy glance, "saves me from walking into traffic." He smiles and laces their fingers together, "and the rest, I guess, is history."
Jason sighs and stares down at him with a soft sort of reverence. "There's still one thing I don't understand," he admits at length. "When we first met, you said you didn't like the name Damian. Why is that?"
"Actually," Spinelli corrects him cheekily, "what I said is that I prefer Spinelli. And, the reason for that, goes back to my mom's boyfriend. He kept calling me Damian, repeating it over and over in this fucked up cooing voice. Ever since then, I couldn't stand being called Damian. It made me feel sick. Fucking sick."
"You should have told me," Jason says, feeling all sorts of ill and uneasy. "I would... I would have stopped calling you that." He swallows, trying to not to think of all the times he's used the name – in arguments, in passing conversation, in their bed... Every single time, he managed to bring back that disgusting memory. Every single time, he was unconsciously hurting him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to the youth's forehead. "I'll stop calling you Damian."
"No," Spinelli interrupts firmly, "don't. I... I like it... When you call me Damian. It... I just like it, okay? It helps me... Deal with what happened." He blushes and angles his head to deliver a firm kiss to Jason's mouth. "So don't stop," he murmurs against his lips with a slight smirk. "Don't fucking stop," he repeats and deepens the kiss. Don't stop loving me, don't stop taking care of me, don't stop saving me... Jason responds, sliding one hand under Spinelli's over sized t-shirt to settle on the small of his back.
"I love you," he whispers as he settles himself on top of Spinelli, in the cradle of his thighs, and buries his face in his neck. "Love you so fucking much."
"I love you too," Spinelli replies with an unusual gentleness in his voice and runs his fingers through Jason's hair in a soothing motion. "Maybe a little too much, but that's okay." He sighs as Jason tightens his grip around his squishy middle.
"Promise me something," Jason murmurs against his neck; Spinelli makes a questioning humming noise in the back of his throat. "Talk to me, before you go wandering off in the middle of the night, okay?" Spinelli nods and bites his lip as tears prick behind his eyes. "I'm serious," he continues as he raises himself up on his elbows, "if you want to... to end this, just talk to me, let me know."
Spinelli stares up at him, face flushed and eyes glittering, "do you want to end this?" He asks in a voice akin to choking.
"No," Jason denies before the question even leaves his lips. "I... don't want to scare you off, but I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, kiddo."
"I'm not a fucking kid," Spinelli answers without venom, on absentminded reflex. Jason's mouth twitches into a half-hearted smile, and Spinelli reaches up to frame his face in his small hands. "And I'm not going anywhere either," he pulls Jason's head down and kisses him firmly, happily, reverently. "I love you," he murmurs, arching into Jason's embrace.
"Love you too," Jason whispers, trailing a line of kisses down his jawline. Spinelli inhales sharply and digs his fingers into Jason's shoulders. "Easy," he chides and slides his hand up along Spinelli's back, just taking the time to enjoy the warmth of the boy in his bed. "I've got you."
Spinelli bites his lower lip as he tips his head back, effectively giving Jason greater access to his neck. He whimpers, unabashedly loud, at the rasp of unshaven stubble against his skin. He takes a steadying breath as he stretches out underneath him, rubbing against Jason wantonly.
"Trust me?" Jason asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Always," Spinelli replies with a breathless smile.
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"Ah, ah. Shiiiit," Spinelli gasps out, grabbing blindly at the sheets, pillows, his own hair – anything to ground him – as Jason moves above, against and in him. "Shit. Fuck." He settles for looping his arms around Jason's neck as he catches his lower lip between his teeth. "Holy Jesus."
"Likewise," Jason responds breathlessly, an uncharacteristic blush on his face. Spinelli laughs and lets his head fall back against the pillow. His babbling train of vulgarity has died off into a strained sort of gasping. "Still with me?" Jason struggles to ask as he ducks down to kiss the subtle dip between Spinelli's collar bones.
"Uh. Huh." He replies in a daze. One hand reaches up to pet weakly through Jason's hair. "Still with you..." His breath hitches and he arches his back in a perfect curve as Jason pushes against him. "Fuuuck," he gasps in a winded exhale. "Oh fuck."
Jason laughs, bracing himself on his elbows, as he strives to get as close as physically, humanly, astronomically possible to Spinelli. "Likewise," he repeats.
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Spinelli's shirt goes first and, even after being together for a year, he's still ridiculously shy about his tummy. Jason's accepted it, loved it, lavished it with kisses, and Spinelli still refuses to acknowledge the appeal of his slightly rounded stomach. He crosses his arms over it, and stubbornly turns his head away, when Jason finally tosses his baggy sleep pants to the floor.
"No," he whines. "It's gross. I hate my stomach." Jason rolls his eyes, but Spinelli doesn't relent. "Seriously, I don't get why you like it so much. Fucking mystery."
"It's not so much that I like it," Jason ponders, trailing a finger along the gentle curve of his squishy middle. "But I am rather fond of you, and as your stomach comes along as the whole Damian Spinelli package, I'm rather fond of it, by proxy." To prove his point, he lowers his head and presses an exaggerated kiss to right above Spinelli's navel.
"Creep," Spinelli admonishes fondly. He opens his mouth, about to say something else – something very witting and insulting – but he settles for swallowing dryly. "Um." He mutters intelligently as Jason begins leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.
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Jason has his eyes shut tightly as Spinelli pulls him in deeper. "Please, please, please," the teen begs, clawing at him, scratching at his shoulders and scrabbling helplessly at his back. "More, please. Fuck. I just... I fucking..." He's doing his best to maintain control, to not slip up.
"C'mon," Jason prompts as he opens his eyes, "tell me what you want, baby." The feel of this – being inside Spinelli, bringing him to the very brink of existence – is astonishing. The kid doesn't even know; he isn't even aware of how sexy he can be. "Damian. Baby, please, what..."
"Want you," Spinelli offers uselessly, "just... Want you, please. So fucking much. Please. Jason, please." He clenches his eyes shut as he wraps his legs tighter around Jason's waist. "Fuck!" The obscenity comes out like an oath, like a prayer, as Jason reaches between their bodies and wraps his talented fingers around Spinelli's otherwise neglected cock.
"This what you wanted?" He asks and Spinelli nods wordlessly. "Just want to take care of you, baby," he whispers as he twists his hand and strokes up and down and up and down as he moves in and out and in and out and he'll never get enough of seeing Damian like this.
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Spinelli comes out of his stupor gradually, with a smile of catlike satisfaction on his face. It doesn't take him long to notice, however, that Jason is still very much fully-clothed. This does not stand well with the very naked Spinelli, and he voices his complaints succinctly.
"Why the fuck are you still dressed?" His words are only slightly slurred as he tangles his uncoordinated fingers in the hem of Jason's t-shirt. Jason laughs and tucks an errant piece of hair behind Spinelli's ear.
"Because I've been busy taking care of you," he kisses him briefly, "and I haven't had the chance to undress."
"Oh. Well. I'll help you." And he does, easily tugging the black t-shirt over Jason's head. The sweatpants are a little bit more of a challenge, but they work together and it's not long before Jason is just as naked as Spinelli. "I like you like this," Spinelli observes shyly, trailing his hand up the back of Jason's thigh and the curve of his ass.
"Glad to hear it," Jason smiles and kisses him deeply as Spinelli hitches a leg over his hips. "I like you like this too."
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They reach their peaks together. Spinelli throws his head back and announces his release – fuck Jason love you – with a choked breath and an open mouth. The fronts of their bodies, already slick with sweat, are painted with the pearly white evidence of his climax.
Jason groans as he slams into Spinelli one final time, his name tumbling from his lips in a jumbled prayer – Damian baby love you – as he clenches his eyes shut. He gasps, his chest heaving, and drops his head to rest on Spinelli's shoulder as he spills his seed deep within him. "Love you," he repeats.
Spinelli nods, all coherent thought vacant from his thoroughly well-fucked brain, and swallows weakly. He brings one hand up to run up and down Jason's bare back in shy, hardly there, sweeps. Jason shivers at the tentative touch but does nothing to stop him.
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Spinelli squints his eyes up at the ceiling in a poor imitation of restraint; his faltering grip on self-control is betrayed in the bloodless white cresting his knuckles, as he tightens his fists in the bedsheets, and the swollen flush of his lower lip, caught between his teeth. "Ffffuck," he gasps out as Jason takes his cock in his mouth. "Oh, fuck."
Rubbing his calf comfortingly, Jason hums around him. Spinelli whimpers, a high-pitched keen from the back of his mouth, and tries to resist the urge to tangle his hands in Jason's hair. "Shit," he whimpers and does his best not to buck. Jason lays a steadying hand on his hip, effectively pinning him to the mattress, and tongues the thick vein tracing the underside of his cock. "N-not fucking fair," he moans and throws an arm over his eyes.
Jason pulls back, releasing him with an audible, wet pop, and fixes him with a stare. "Look at me," he commands, and Spinelli peeks at him from underneath the cover of his elbow, "I want to watch you." He nuzzles against Spinelli's inner thigh, and raises his eyes to stare at him through his lashes. "Baby?"
With an unsteady swallow, Spinelli lets his arm fall to rest limply on the bed and nods. Jason presses a kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside of his leg. "Love you," Spinelli all but whimpers as Jason licks a bold stripe up the length of his cock. "Guh."
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They lie next to each other, basking in the after glow of everything. Spinelli is breathing shallowly with his eyes shut and Jason props himself up on his elbow to watch the youth. He scoots closer, slinging one arm over his love bite adorned tummy, and kisses his ear gently. Spinelli cracks open one eye in response. "Hey," Jason greets him, settling down to press his cheek to the crown of his head.
"Wh't time s'it?" He mumbles, burrowing closer to the warmth that Jason so naturally supplies. "Y're not gon' be late f'r work, are you?"
"It's a little past five," Jason tells him, idly walking his fingers up Spinelli's exposed ribcage. "And I don't have to work until tomorrow night."
"Late shift?" Spinelli sniffs, reaching over to capture Jason's roving hand. He kisses the inside of his wrist and Jason shivers a little as he nods in affirmation. "Mmkay. I'll come eat with you during your break." He inhales and exhales deeply before frowning. "I feel sticky."
"Come on," Jason pats him on the chest, "let's go take a shower."
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There's sweat beading on Jason's forehead as he kneels awkwardly between Spinelli's widely spread legs. Spinelli bites down on his knuckle as Jason easily slides a finger inside him. He takes a steadying breath when he adds another. "Fuck," he gasps at the stretch.
"You okay?" Jason asks, like he always asks, and gives Spinelli a chance to adjust. When he nods, Jason starts working his fingers – stretching and seeking – and gets a tight whimper in response. "Does that feel good?" He says needlessly as he crooks his fingers in just the right way. Spinelli arches off the bed and his eyes roll back into his head; Jason swallows thickly at the sight. "You're so tight, kid."
"Not a fucking kid," Spinelli pants, "come on, hurry up. Want you... So fucking bad."
"You too, Damian." Jason adds another finger, thoroughly enjoying how Spinelli squirms under his touch. "Holy Christ," he murmurs, taking in the sight of the youth sprawled open and yearning on the bed; there's a sheen of perspiration covering his pale, naked body. "You're beautiful."
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Jason supports him with one arm around his waist as they stand under the spray of the shower. Spinelli scowls and blinks as water collects on his eyelashes, but Jason just stares at him, utterly mesmerized by one thing or another. His frown deepens as a heated blush works its way up his neck and ears.
"What?" He grumbles, turning his reddened face away to stare harshly at the tiled wall. He resists the urge to cross his hands over his chest as the well-sated calmness he discovered in the spare bedroom dissipates. A feeling of unease settles over him as he stares down at his feet and the collection of water swirling down the drain. Despite the warmth of the water and steam billowing up around them, Spinelli wraps his arms around his middle and shivers.
Jason easily turns him around, so that his back is pressed against his chest, and embraces him completely with one arm around his shoulders and the other around his hips. "What's wrong?" He asks, his breath ghosting over the soft shell of his ear. Spinelli's trembling intensifies; he can feel Jason's voice rumbling through his whole body.
"Ngh. Nothing," he groans, letting his head fall back to rest against Jason's shoulder. Jason, of course, isn't buying it; he slides his hand down from Spinelli's hip to cup him directly. Spinelli inhales sharply in a biting hiss and exhales in a prolonged whimper. "Ffffuck," he whines, reaching up to grasp at the arm Jason has around his shoulders.
"What's wrong?" Jason repeats, working Spinelli as he tries to coax an explanation out of him. "Talk to me, Damian," he mutters, his voice barely above a seductive whisper.
"I. Um. The bathroom? Um. Water. Drowning? Fuck, don't stop. Nngh." He bites down on his lower lip as he digs his fingers into Jason's arm. He can't help but grind his ass against Jason's lap. "Shhhit." Jason loosens his hold and Spinelli can't help the disappointed whine. "Why'd you stop?
"Being in here reminds you of drowning," Jason surmises as he takes a step back. Spinelli turns around, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright, and Jason gathers him up, pressing his face in his wet hair. "I'm sorry, Damian. Baby, I'm sorry."
"S'okay," Spinelli murmurs against Jason's bare chest. "This is as good a time as any to get over it. And, you make for a grand fucking distraction," he adds, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his wet, golden skin. He raises his eyes, staring pleadingly up trough his lashes, as his mouth curves into a small smile. "Shower sex now?" Jason laughs haltingly and cups the back of Spinelli's head.
"Shower sex later," he promises vaguely, "let's get you clean first."
"I'm the dirty one," Spinelli muses as Jason reaches for a nondescript bottle of shampoo. "I'm the dirty one? Who was just trying to jack me off?" He tries to take the bottle from Jason, but is dismissed as his hand is batted away. "I can't even wash my own hair now?"
"Just let me take care of you, baby," Jason murmurs, disentangling himself from Spinelli, "come on, turn around." Spinelli grants him with a saucy grin as he complies, and Jason rolls his eyes and squeezes a liberal amount of shampoo into his hands. "You might want to close your eyes," he suggests as he works his hands through Spinelli's hair, turning the slightly viscous gel into a thick, white lather.
"Ngh." Spinelli grunts as his eyes slide shut. "Holy fuck," he mutters and reaches around blindly to grasp at Jason's bicep, "you are really, really good at this." Jason smiles and massages the teen's scalp, running his fingers through his hair and working the soak down to the roots. Spinelli sways on his feet, very nearly purring under Jason's spell, as blood flows south in leisurely arousal. A slow, drunken smile grows on his face. "Love you," he slurs with half-lidded eyes.
"Love you too," Jason replies, kissing him softly on the shoulder. "Now step forward a little bit – and keep your eyes closed, okay?" Spinelli only hums in response and allows Jason to nudge him forward to stand under the spray of the shower head. He drops his chin to his chest as the water pounds over his head and neck, washing the shampoo down his back in rivulets. Jason keeps massaging through his hair with both hands, rinsing out all the suds until there's no soap left.
Spinelli shivers under the fingers tangling and tugging on his hair, and Jason winds one arm around his waist to support him. "Easy," he rumbles as Spinelli's head tilts back and rests against his chest. "I've got you," he promises and curls his other arm around the teen's pale shoulders.
"I know," Spinelli rasps in response, shifting slightly to slant a kiss against his jaw, "you always do." Jason smiles and drops his hand to make the slow trip from Spinelli's waist to his groin. "Yesssss," Spinelli hisses, arching into the touch and shamelessly rolling his hips. "Fuckfuckfuck, yes."
"You're insatiable," Jason teases, twisting his hand lazily. Spinelli jerks, digging the fingers of his left hand into Jason's forearm and reaching back with his right to grasp at Jason's neck, clenching his fingers in his damp hair.
"Would you have me any other way?" He asks breathlessly, bucking into the firm warmth wrapped around his cock. Jason laughs and pumps him solidly as he drops his head, sinking his teeth into the pale flesh of Spinelli's shoulder. Spinelli whines, a wanton kittenish keening, and scratches at Jason's scalp.
"Ffffuck," he gasps in a torrid babble, "I love you, Jason. Love you love you love you." His mantra reaches a fevered pitch and he spasms, a vulgar arch against Jason's body, and his release coats Jason's hand in pearly white.
"Love you too," Jason replies at length and adjusts his grip on the now boneless Spinelli so he can wash his hand off. Spinelli hums and opens his dazed, green eyes as he turns to face him. Instead of making some clever, crass remark, he takes Jason's head in his hands and rubs their noses together. He winds his arms around his neck and grins.
"My turn," he sing-songs.
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Jason finds him walking on the sidewalk outside the apartment, drenched to the bone like some kind of stray animal. The kid – he can hear Spinelli's snippy response of not a fucking kid very clearly in his head – isn't even looking where he's wandering; he has his stubborn eyes shut and everything. Jason rolls his eyes and puts himself directly in his path. True to form, Spinelli walks straight into his chest.
"Come here often?" He asks gently, and Spinelli makes some sort of broken noise in the back of his throat. It's heart wrenching, really, and Jason has a hard time not kissing him on the spot. "Let's go home," he offers instead, attempting to lay a friendly arm on his shoulders.
"N-no," the kid – not a fucking kid, he hears again – makes a poor parody of dodging as he tries to escape. "Lemme go. I'm l-leaving you. This isn't w-working out." He's stuttering and shivering and spilling all the clichés he can think of at Jason's feet.
"Says who?" Jason jokes and easily scoops him up in his arms. Spinelli – idiot that he is – writhes and flails, almost tumbling to the ground and cracking his stupid head open. Jason, thankfully, is more than used to his antics and he holds him fast.
"Just come home and stay until it's morning. Then I will take you where ever you want to go." Spinelli ceases in his struggles and goes quiet, though Jason can't help but notice how he cuddles closer, sniffing childishly, and tangling his fingers in the material of his shirt. Still mine, Jason thinks in a poor attempt at reassurance. Still mine.