Jason had been one step behind a trail of murders in the financial district – very messy, very precise murders, carefully planed and efficiently executed. He'd had his suspicions about the perpetrator and the sight of the orange and blue armor was not a surprise. Nightwing was unexpected though, and it appeared Jason was a bit late to the party.
Deathstroke had Dick pressed bodily against the wall, his one-eyed mask against Nightwing's face in a parody of a kiss. There was a long moment where Jason took in all the details with bat-trained speed; Dick's body was tense, but the fingers of his pinned wrist were limp – he wasn't struggling. There were scuffs on his suit – they had fought, but the damage was minimal, His head was tipped slightly sideways, exposing his neck and his hips were canted slightly forward, one leg leaning flush against Deathstroke's enormous, armor clad thigh.
So maybe he was a bit biased in the details he was noticing, but it had been weeks since he had last seen Dick, a long month of carefully not thinking about Nightwing and the dark, sticky, wrong things his mind whispered at him. But now it seemed his brain had been mounting a secret rebellion, and the sight of Dick here, with Slade Fucking Wilson filled him with a feeling of hate so encompassing he was not even sure who it was directed at. His mind felt like fire and the rage that coursed through his body was hot and fierce. It took a moment or two to realize the bitter copper taste in his mouth was because he had bitten through his own lip.
He had always suspected Dick was a bit of a kinky bastard, had always sensed a sort of kinship in that department – although he suspected they were at opposite ends of the spectrum. He couldn't help feeling he had lost something here, lost it because he was a coward.
And he was a coward; he was truthful enough to himself to admit it. Those dark sinful things he imagined them doing, they trod to close to the anger that curled so easily in his belly – he had never acted on those temptations – what if he couldn't stop? What if he ended up the despicable person Bruce and the rest of the holier-than-thou justice freaks thought he was? He could over step that boundary with such ease – he'd been close before, when his rage had seared though his common sense.
Rage like he was feeling burning though his veins at that moment, as he watched Deathstroke touch his brother, his hand sliding across Nightwing's chest, running down to cup his hip. Dicks face seemed impassive, but it was hard to tell what he was feeling with out being able to see his eyes.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he stepped forward, gun in hand.
When Deathstroke turned to him, the weight of his gaze was almost stunning - just the force of his contemplation was painfully intense. There was no clue what the man was thinking as he examined Jason from head to foot.
Dick made a noise, deep in his throat and Slade turned almost imperceptibly to look at him. Jason didn't hesitate; he leapt forward, crashing into Deathstroke with all his might. As they struck the wall beside him, Dick reached out a hand, glove almost skimming Slade's cheek.
It hurt more than if he had taken a punch and Jason realized he himself was a liar. This wasn't about sex or kink or one-upmanship this was about something much scarier, something he wanted and had not let himself have, not since the bitter agony of loss he felt after his 'death'.
His fury - with Slade, with himself, with Dick - carried him through a flurry of blows, but fighting against a meta human with nothing but anger, and a lack of forward planning was never going to be a winning game and Deathstroke spun him to the floor, pinning his chest with one heavy foot.
It was embarrassing, - he couldn't shake the feeling the bastard was laughing at him. He probably would have laughed at him too. With the right moves and a cool head he could have at least held his own.
Then a dark shape flew out of the dark and struck the side of Deathstroke's helmet. An escrima stick. Jason used the split second distraction to twist out from under Slade's boot, leaving behind some of his jacket and a large amount of his pride. He dove for his gun before backing up towards Nightwing.
He cast a quick glance at his brother, unnerved by his silence. There was something dark sliding down his cheekbone, and then Jason saw; it wasn't just Dick's stupid overlong hair falling across his face, it was blood. He had a head wound; he was injured and was not in fact planning to have hot kinky sex with Deathstroke on a rooftop.
And all of those uncomfortable thoughts that had swum through Jason's brain needn't have left his subconscious.
He was momentarily overwhelmed by the weight of what he had just admitted to himself, and he barely registered Deathstroke drawing his sword. The first blow nearly took his head off, but despite his confused and almost stupefied state, he had been trained by the best and he dodged the strike almost on autopilot.
He wouldn't let the bastard get that close again. He was suddenly full of a new anger; Slade had been pawing at Nightwing and whether the display had been for his benefit or in earnest, the very idea of the bastard touching his brother when he was to weak to defend himself threatened to over take Jason's senses.
But it didn't, only one fuckup per evening allowed, he shock off his confusion and focused on his enemy. Deathstroke had all the advantage in terms of size and strength but Jason, like Dick, had unpredictability on his side - he wasn't afraid to fly by the seat of his pants or cheat whenever he could. He figured that was why Slade liked fighting his brother so much, it was why Jason liked fighting Nightwing too – they had a physical chemistry, something fast paced and exciting.
And now he would concentrate on the assassin about to kill him, and not his stupid, concussed brother.
Dick wasn't going to stay out of things though, and he took hold of Jason's arm in an iron grip, surprisingly strong for a guy who was bleeding from the head. There was a long moment of silence, where neither Deathstroke nor Jason moved, then the assassin stepped back, sheathed his sword and moved towards the roof edge. Jason waited; Deathstroke gave a nod towards Dick. "Another time kiddo," he said, before diving from the building. Jason didn't pretend to understand what had just silently transpired between Nightwing and his occasional nemesis, but he didn't like it.
He turned towards Dick, to punch him, give him a piece of his mind or just to try and get a handle on what had just happened. Before he could even say a word, Dick slid slowly to the floor.
Oh, Awesome.
Time was ticking, and the longer they were exposed on the rooftop the more likely it was someone would turn up to make trouble. They had to move.
"You are one heavy motherfucker." Jason grunted as he tried to lift his brother's dead weight. "You want to walk on your own or would you rather I slung you over my shoulder like a sack of grain?" he asked.
"Walk." Dick muttered unconvincingly.
"Well get to it, I'm running out of patience." Jason grabbed him under one arm, and dragged him to his feet – perhaps a bit rougher than he should have, Dick's exposed skin turned a sickly shade of green. Perfect. "Don't you dare throw up on me!" He really wasn't in the mood for this shit.
Dick sneered up at him, the effect slightly ruined by the blood dribbling down his chin. "You threw up on me, fair's fair."
Jason was not afraid to pull his trump card, as often as he needed to – and sometimes when he didn't. "I'm not the one who was so sex-addled and stupid that I electrocuted myself whilst trying to undress."
Dick faltered slightly "We agreed never to speak of that again" he muttered plaintively.
"No, you begged me not to speak of it again and I laughed at you."
Dick tried to jab him with a elbow and nearly over balanced them "Yeah? Well I stayed with you all night to make sure you didn't drown on your own vomit – and you didn't exactly smell like roses." He paused "and I might be about to get revenge for the vomiting thing any minuet now" he scrubbed his hand over his mouth.
Jason considered chucking him off the building, but to be honest he would probably miss the bastard. "I hate you." He said instead, keeping his grip firm and making for the partial shelter of the heating vent.
They shuffled awkwardly across the rooftop, Jason really hoped Deathstroke had left the vicinity and wasn't lurking around, laughing and waiting to kill them - or him at least, he hadn't looked much like he was planning to kill Dick. Quite the opposite in fact. Jason's grip tightened and Dick squeaked in pain.
"That was an interesting noise" Jason couldn't help snaking a look at him, casting a wary eye over the stark, gray rooftops.
"Shut up" Dick sighed without rancor – his weight suddenly increased in Jason's arms. "Need to sit down, Red" He didn't wait for Jason's assent, but slid down to the floor, wiping blood off his mask as he did so. "That was fun" he wrinkled his nose in a way that was definitely not cute.
Jason sunk to his haunches, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings. They both spent a moment breathing in the cool night air. Suddenly Dick grinned. "So did I make a convincing damsel in distress?"
"Not really" Jason said, not trusting Dicks smirk in the least. "I'm pretty sure Disney princesses aren't usually bleeding from the head and slurring their words."
"You watch Disney movies? Guess what my favorite is?"
"Nightwing, shut up before I'm forced to kill you"
"Should I guess what yours is?" Dick's voice was mischievous, but the blood smeared all over his face made him look more creepy than coy.
"No" Jason sighed in exasperation. "What did you mean by convincing? Who were you trying to persuade of your… distressed status?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"I was distracting him, the targets should be safe by now"
Jason sucked in a breath – he was going to…
Dick tapped a finger against his helmet. "I hate this, take it off"
Little fucker. But instead of giving him a piece of his mind Jason just muttered, "Its not safe."
Dick scoffed "He's gone, take it off"
Jason reluctantly removed his 'hood' leaving the domino in place. What the fuck was happening to him he was even responding to stupid shit like this?
Dick leaned his head against him, inky black hair against his face. He could smell him with every breath; sweat, Kevlar, blood and something spicy like baked apples. He must have been cooking before he went on patrol, or someone else had been – Alfred maybe. It was a strangely homey scent, considering the situation.
Dick's fingers reached up to his face, running over his cheekbones and gently scraping across his chapped lips. When their mouths met, it didn't feel weird. It was surprisingly natural – if kissing your brother could ever be considered such.
Did it still count as incest if both of you were adopted and one of you was legally dead?
He really didn't care either way; it was a seriously hot kiss, hotter than the time with the Burn, because it was just Dick sucking on his bottom lip, sighing in pleasure - no drugs, no mind altering substances. Ok, so he was probably slightly concussed, but that was totally not the same thing.
Dick's gloves were cool against his neck, and he wished he could feel the warmth of his fingers, instead he settled for nipping at Nightwing's lips, drawing the tender flesh into his mouth and licking the blood from his skin.
Yeah, that should have been gross, and it was pretty stupid to swap bodily fluids with someone who was exposed to other peoples splatter as often they were during fights. But the bitter copper, wrong, taste of Dick's blood was driving him wild, and his brother was making that whining noise in the back of his throat, the one he made when high on Burn and the sound of it shot straight to Jason's cock.
It would have been perfect, if not for the fact Dick was being difficult, all efforts to deepen the kiss were met with teeth. Dick was clearly enjoying himself so that wasn't the problem, it took him a moment to catch on – ok, he was slow, but he was distracted by the kissing.
He had always had this fantasy; he would overwhelm Nightwing's defenses and his brother would submit to him completely, baring his throat, belly up like a dog. It was a good fantasy, but it was easy to forget Dick's bossy annoying nature when he was not actually there.
Jason decided not to bother with subtlety. He gripped Dick's hair in one gloved hand, and pulled his head sharply to the side, biting at the soft skin of his lips. Dick shuddered and his mouth opened under Jason's, warm and inviting.
It didn't end there; Jason had to fight damn hard to dominate the kiss, but the fight? Hotter than he could have imagined. Screw 'submissive fantasy Dick', this was so much better, every inch of control Nightwing gave him was a victory and each victory was like a shot of lust laden adrenaline.
With every battle Jason won, Dick's whimpers and questing hands became more frantic. He wanted to be beaten - to be dominated but he wasn't just going to give it up to just anybody.
It was too much.
Jason pulled his mouth from Dick's lips, slowly withdrawing his tongue and staring into the white lenses of his brother's mask.
Too much.
And this was just a kiss. Sex was going to be mind blowing – or possibly end in bloodshed. Jason shuddered with the thought and pushed his face into the crook of Dick's neck, worrying the tender flesh with his teeth.
"Robin…" Dick breathed.
Jason was not expecting that. He wasn't sure what the shocking, acid feeling in his belly was, but unless he got some clarification, he was going to remove Nightwing's head from his body.
"Robin… " Dick's voice was a bit strained but he was trying to sound coherent "Robin, are the targets safe?"
Oh. He was talking into his com link. Part of Jason was embarrassingly pleased about that, the rest of him was pissed about the pleased part. He bit down so hard on the skin of Dick's jaw, he drew blood and he sucked, surrounding his tooth marks with a halo of reddened flesh. Dick groaned and finally the fight went out of him, he arched up into Jason's embrace, an almost tortured moan making its way out of his mouth. It was worth all the emotional trauma of the night's events, worth every humiliation. And that? That was more frightening than the threat of Deathstroke's sword.
"Fuck Jay, fuck." Dicks voice was low and full of longing.
Jason sucked in a breath "How long?" he asked, before nuzzling at Dick's ear, making his brother shiver and grip his hair with frantic fingers.
"About two and a half minutes till Robin arrives and skins you alive." Dick managed between harsh breaths. "You should probably not be here by then." He didn't sound very convincing, especially not with his fingers tight in Jason's hair, and his body rocking upwards, taunt and trembling.
It was ridiculously hot, but Jason knew he has to leave, both of them had responsibilities and the freaks of Gotham were just waiting for a lull in vigilantly action.
He drew back an looked at Dick "We are not done discussing this"
"Is that what we were doing?" Dick was shivering slightly
"Were not done, Golden Boy." Jason growled. He was pleased by the ghost of a smile on Dick's lips, but a few streets away he could make out a small shadow moving from rooftop to rooftop.
Time to go.
He pulled back Dick's hair, exposing his throat and stole a last bruising kiss. Then he walked to the edge of the building, gave a quick, mocking salute and jumped into the city night.
There would be a next time, Jason would make it happen, and no one would puke, bleed or be under the influence of narcotics. The sex would be incredible, and he could get this stupid shit out of his system.
His jump line found purchase and the wind that rushed through his hair as he leapt was like something wild, visceral and alive.