I have no honest explanation for this fic; it was born out of a bizarre idea of Spinelli being a street kid runaway and Jason being...well, Jason. This is an AU fic, meaning the characters are not themselves, specifically Spinelli. DAMIAN SPINELLI IS OOC. This is also a slash fic, meaning there is romance between two men in this fic. Do. Not. Flame. Me. For. This. I have warned you. THERE IS SLASH IN THIS FIC. There is also a lot of cursing; the f-word count is up to 130. Be warned.
Many thanks to my love, Jess, also known as csi_sanders1129 on lj and animegirl1129 on . She's the one who bombarded me with JaSpin youtube clips and basically sucked me in the GH fandom against me will. Awesome. :D
Videotape
By: Bee
"Catch me first."
Fast forward
Standing on the street corner, he touches his lip with his finger. It's busted, he can tell from the burning pulse and the thick, dark blood. It's almost purple, almost black. Fuck, he thinks and shakes his head, fucking fuck. He wipes his hands on his jeans and exhales. The entire left side of his face is throbbing and hot. Fucking fuck, he thinks again and, without looking at traffic, steps off the curb.
"Holy shit," is the harsh exclamation echoing in his ears, underneath the squealing tires, honking horns and yelling, irate drivers, "holy fucking shit, kid." And he's yanked, rather roughly, back onto the curb. "Don't you watch..." And his rescuer, his knight in shining armor, trails off when he gets a good look at his face. "Are you all right?"
A million and a half excuses fly through his brain. A million and a half more explanations tumble after them. Yeah, I'm fine. What's it fucking to ya? It's nothing. I fell down the stairs and through a window. Don't worry about it. I ran into a wall. A wall ran into me. In Soviet Russia, you don't wrap car around tree, car wraps tree around you. Instead, he sighs and, looking for all the world like someone twice, thrice, his age, he shrugs. "No. But who is?"
Pause
Rewind
Play
"Get off me! GET OFF ME!"
"Shut up, you little slut."
"No, no! Get- DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Fist hitting flesh, cracking bones, down on the floor, blood gushing, a foot lashes out, a foot lashes out a foot lashes
"I'll teach you to fucking hit me, you stupid fucking whore."
"Catch me first."
Door flying open, feet hitting the pavement feet taking off feet running backpack thudding against spine with every step feet running feet flee fleeting feet fleeing keep running.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
"Jesus kid," the stranger sighs and maintains his grip on his collar, "what the hell happened to you?" And he shrugs, trying to covertly dislodge the hand on his jacket so he can just as covertly slip back into the crowds of people wandering this Godforsaken limbo charading as a city. The stranger peers at his face, as if trying to look beyond the bloody bruises to figure out just what kind of kid wanders into oncoming traffic.
"What?" He asks in a dull, defeated voice. He's tired, he realizes. And a little bit hungry. Most of all, though, he's bored. He's bored with deadbeats wandering in and out of his life, and he's bored with his life in general.
"I don't... What's your name, kid?"
"Damian," he mutters and kicks at the ground. "Damian Spinelli. Who are you?" He looks up from the grungy sidewalk and meets his rescuer's eyes. They're blue, stunning and cutting, and he shifts uncomfortably and rubs at his mouth.
"Don't," the stranger grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from his bleeding lip, "you'll just make it worse. And my name's Jason." Spinelli nods and yanks free of Jason's hold, both on his arm and his jacket, and stuffs his hands in his jean pockets. "So, Damian – "
"Spinelli, actually," he corrects. "I prefer Spinelli."
Pause
Rewind
Play
"Damian," croons his mom's latest flavor of the week, and nine-year-old Damian, because he went by his first name back then, sinks back against the arm of the couch. "Do you know what that means?" He shakes his head, eyes wide with unrecognized apprehension. "It means to tame, or to subdue."
The latest flavor of the week smiles, and it's anything but kind, as he reaches for one skinny ankle. He strokes the little foot and continues talking, "I wonder what's taking your mommy so long, hm?" And the hand on his leg creeps higher, until the tips of the man's fingers are under the hem of his khaki shorts. "It's not very nice of her to keep me waiting, is it?" Because it's expected of him, nine-year-old Damian shakes his head. "What was that? Let me hear your voice, Damian."
"No," and he's barely whispering when the man pulls him into his lap. "No," he repeats, "I don't wanna."
"Shh," murmurs the man, "it's your mother's fault. She's taking so fucking long putting her fake tits on. Her fault, don't you see, Damian?"
"No," he says again, "lemme go. Lemmegolemmegolemmego."
"Your mother really is a whore, isn't she, Damian?" The man says thoughtfully, as he starts trying to unbutton Damian's khakis. But the button is small, like Damian is small, and he's having trouble with it. "Why don't you help me, Damian?"
"I don't want to. Lemme go." And he hears his mother calling from her bedroom that she'll be out in just a second, darling, and the man lets him go and Damian runs. He runs up the stairs and up to his room and he shuts the door. And he's so scared that he doesn't know if he's allowed to cry yet.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
"Spinelli," Jason amends. "Okay, Spinelli, what happened to your face? That's a pretty impressive fat lip." He pauses and Spinelli takes the chance to glance up and down the sidewalk. What are his chances of being able to run, and actually make it? "Don't think about it, kid." Jason smirks and Spinelli slowly blinks at him. "You don't have anywhere to run to, anyway."
"You don't know that," he counters easily enough in his quiet, detached voice.
"I know what the look on your face means. I've seen it way too many times before. Trust me, kid, you don't have anywhere to run." Jason isn't being smug, but something about his easy dissection is annoying and all Spinelli can do is roll his eyes.
"Stop calling me that. I'm not a fucking kid. I'm eighteen." Jason scoffs and Spinelli sighs. "And you've done your good deed for the day. So you can leave me alone now." He turns to leave, slouching slightly to blend in with the disaffected youth roaming the streets.
"Not even gonna say thanks, huh?" Jason calls after him, a hint of laughter in his otherwise gruff voice. "I did save your life, you know. Fucking punk." He adds the insult as an after-thought, and it sounds almost affectionate.
"Not really my style." Spinelli says in response, almost under his breath. "Fine," he shouts back and glances over his shoulder, "thanks for saving me from getting hit by a taxi. That shit'll fucking kill you." He shakes his head as he resumes walking away from Jason No-last-name. Fucking fuck, Spinelli thinks, he wasn't that bad of a guy, really.
Pause
Rewind
Play
He makes the mistake of leaving his room while the stepfather is still at home. He freezes at the foot of the stairs with his backpack hanging limply from his hand, and tries to swallow.
"Where's your mother?" The stepfather demands; it's more of a barking accusation than a question and Spinelli shrugs. "Asked you a question, kid."
Not a fucking kid, he thinks and almost rolls his eyes in exasperation, fucking fuck, I am not a kid."I don't know where she is." He does his best to keep the sarcasm and disgust out of his voice, at least this one doesn't drink, and shrugs to punctuate his ignorance. "She might be working."
"Dumb bitch is always working," the stepfather mutters and Spinelli decides that he doesn't need to respond to that, so he doesn't. He bites on his lower lip, wondering if this is the point in the conversation when he edges out the door and doesn't reappear in the house until past midnight. "What are you doing?" The stepfather suddenly asks, and zeros in on the backpack in Spinelli's hand.
"Nothing," he mutters with a shrug. Fucking fuck, he thinks and tries to hide his backpack behind himself.
"You going somewhere?" He says in that same demanding tone.
"No. Just the library." Spinelli looks at the stained, worn carpet and tries to will himself out of this situation.
"Hm," the stepfather grunts and Spinelli says nothings. Perhaps this is the point where he can escape. "What's in the backpack? Give it to me."
"What?" Fucking fuck, I am not a kid, Spinelli exhales a shaky breath and starts to back up the stairs. If I can get to my room, I will be safe. I will be safe and I will be safe.
"Where you going?" And the stepfather reaches for him, grabs his arm and starts dragging him down the stairs. "Come and talk to me, Damian."
Damian. Damian. Do you know what that means? To tame or subdue. Damian.
"Get off me!" And his voice is crisp and clear and loud enough for the nine-year-old inside him to know that it's okay to start crying. It is finally okay to start crying. "GET OFF ME!"
Pause
Fast forward
Play
He's been wandering around for a few good hours. Blood is caked all along his lower lip and the pounding has centralized to around his ear. Where the stepfather kicked him in the head, after punching him in the mouth. At least the bastard split his knuckles open on his teeth. Fucking fuck, Spinelli thinks. "Fucking fuck," he repeats aloud in a bitter mutter. It's cold, and his jacket doesn't do much for warmth. "Shit, fucking cold," he curses to himself and ducks into a little bar-slash-restaurant combination.
"If it isn't Spinelli," is the oddly personalized greeting he receives upon crossing the threshold, "back from his brush with death."
"You." He can't help the less than enthusiastic reaction to seeing Jason No-last-name standing behind the sparsely populated bar. "This was a mistake," he decides out loud and turns on his heel to brave the chilling streets. Fucking fuck, now what do I do? He thinks as he pauses, staring out into the bitterly cold darkness.
"Hold up, kid," Jason is saying as he walks out from behind the counter. "Not so fast." He crosses the room quickly and puts a hand on Spinelli's shoulder.
"Not a fucking kid!" Spinelli growls and spins around rather fast to jab Jason in the chest. "Not. A. Fucking. Kid. I'm not a fucking kid, okay? Not a fucking kid."
"You wanna say that one more time?" Jason teases and easily bats away Spinelli's finger. He scowls but says nothing. "Look, it's cold out," Jason points out earnestly. "At least get something decent to eat. Do you know where you're staying tonight?"
"No. And why the fuck do you care?" Spinelli all but snarls as he tries to twist out of Jason's grip. "Hey, what are you doing? Put me down!" Jason, rather easily, picks up the struggling teen by the waist and bodily carries him to a booth. "Fucking kidnapped," he curses with a glare.
"You're a victim," Jason sighs in mock sympathy and slides into the seat, effectively blocking him in. "Such a victim."
"You don't know the fucking half of it." He spits. "Now let me go." He tries pushing against Jason's shoulder but that accomplishes less than nothing. "Let. Me. Go." He punctuates each syllable with a full-bodied shove against his rescuer-turned-captor.
"No," Jason says simply and signals for a waitress. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?" He mutters as she walks up to the table and Spinelli shakes his head, looking all the while like a petulant child.
"Hi Jason," smiles the waitress. It's a friendly, open smile and there's a wedding ring on her finger. "You on break?"
"Just got off, actually. Wanted to grab something to eat before I headed home," he nudges Spinelli, almost but not nearly bringing him out of his sulky mood. "This is Spinelli, by the way. Say hi, Spinelli."
"Hi, Spinelli," he can't help it but he's in a very sore spot. He doesn't really get why Jason is doing what he is doing and he really just wants to go somewhere. The waitress laughs and it's honest, not a giggle, and she shakes her head.
"My four year old does that. Guess it never stops being cute," she murmurs thoughtfully and taps her pen against the back of her hand. "Now, what can I get you boys?"
"Two burgers, if that's all right," Jason barely spares a glance at his captive, "and two Cokes. Coke okay with you, Spinelli?"
"I prefer heroin, actually," he shoots back with a rather nasty grin. Neither of the adults react and he rolls his eyes. Fucking fuck, he grumbles mentally, fucking fuck fuck fucking shit. The waitress nods, mostly to herself, and tears the slip of paper off the notepad as she walks away.
"You're being cute, you know." Jason tells him. "This whole don't fuck with me, I'm a bad ass image you've got going. It's working really well."
"Don't fucking talk to me," Spinelli all but growls and slouches down further. "I'm angry and I'm misunderstood."
"Oh, I can tell," Jason assures him. "When are you going to tell me what happened? You really do look like a mess, kid." Spinelli inhales deeply, but Jason beats him to the punch. "Not a fucking kid, I know, I know. You don't need to tell me again. Personally, I think you just like saying the word fuck. Seriously," he twists a little so he's facing Spinelli, who has all but burrowed into the wall at this point. "What happened to you?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he mutters into the sleeve of his jacket, and closes his eyes. He doesn't say anything else until the waitress brings them their food.
Pause
Rewind
Play
"Mom," he's eleven now, and sitting at the kitchen table as his mother is doing something with the frying pan. She calls it making dinner, Spinelli calls it culinary experimentation. It's one of the rare times in their lives when there isn't a man walking and out of the house. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure hon," she says without really looking at or listening to him.
"It's kinda serious," he mutters and plays with the hem of his gray t-shirt. "Something I haven't told anybody."
"I'm listening, Damian," she assures him and turns her back to the stove. He winces but doesn't bother correcting her. "What's wrong?"
"Do you remember your boyfriend from two years ago?" He asks cautiously, and rotates his ankle nervously.
"I had a lot of boyfriends two years ago," she points out with a hint of regret in her voice. Spinelli almost feels sorry for her.
He licks his lips nervously. "The salesman guy? He tried to sell you carpet samples." His voice is gaining a little bit of strength.
"Oh, yes," she nods and turns back to poke at the frying pan contents with a spatula. "What about him, honey?" Spinelli bites his lip and wraps his arms around himself. "Damian, hon, what about him? Did you see him in town?" She asks with venom seeping into her otherwise neutral tone. He had run out just a week after... that night.
"No," Spinelli negates with a silent thankfully, "it... Do you remember that time he came to the house and you were still getting ready?"
"He said you two had a lovely chat," she supplies her version of the events. "What'd you two talk about, anyway? I always meant to ask."
"We... we didn't talk, Mom. He tried to... He um." He brings his shaking hands up to his face and scrubs them through his hair. He's had a lot of baths and showers since that night, but he can still feel the phantom touches sometimes.
"What happened?" She's facing him again, with motherly concern on her worn, beautiful face. "Baby, what happened?" He starts shaking, so hard that he can't speak, because he hasn't even admitted this to himself. He doesn't even know if he has the words to express the tragedy of what happened. His mother, his mom, his momma, kneels on the floor in front of him, and takes his young face in her hands. "Baby, what did he do to you?"
"He... He... He..." The confession is swallowed by hiccups and Spinelli gives into his panic attack. His mother gathers him up, a bawling eleven year old bundle, and rocks him back and forth in her arms on the kitchen floor. She smooths his hair back from his fevered forehead and presses his face into her neck. His arms wind around her shoulders and he clings to her.
"Never again, baby, never again," she whispers, "I'll find a good man, a decent man, who doesn't drink, who won't hurt either of us. And we'll be safe again. Okay, baby? We'll be safe."
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Jason refuses to let him pay for his dinner. Spinelli shrugs and doesn't put up that much of a fight. It's just more money he can use for a motel. Or a bus ticket. Whichever he finds first. He runs a hand through his hair, fucking fuck, and waits for Jason to slide out of the booth. He'll bolt, he decides, he will fling himself out of his seat and fucking run like hell to the door. Run like hell. Jason stares at him with his arms crossed over his chest.
"You coming?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"Don't you have to pay?" Spinelli asks, oddly devoid of any nastiness. He sounds almost polite, he realizes with a start.
"I work here. They'll put it on a tab. Or just forget about it," he shrugs easily, "doesn't matter. Come on. Let's get outta here." He ducks behind the bar to grab a rather impressive leather jacket. Spinelli watches him put it on with wide eyes.
Fucking fuck, he thinks, I need a jacket like that. Jason waits for him at the door, with an expectant look on his face. Spinelli blinks, hunching into himself and managing to look nearly half his usual size. "What?" He mutters, glaring at Jason through his eyelashes.
"Come on." He dutifully follows his benefactor outside. "Where are you staying tonight?" Jason asks with an open smile on his face.
"Don't know," Spinelli mumbles. It's gotten colder on the sidewalk, by at least ten degrees. They're barely outside and he's already shivering. Fucking fuck, he closes his eyes, what the fuck am I going to do tonight? Unthinkingly, he rubs his mouth against his shoulder. Fuuucking fuck.
"Hey, hey." Jason takes a hold of his chin, "don't do that. You're going to make it worse." He tilts Spinelli's face and scowls, "shit, kid. That's a helluva bruise you've got."
"Not a fucking kid," Spinelli points out tiredly and shakes Jason's hand off him, "and thanks. Like I can't feel it on my face." He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air as he rants. "What's your fucking deal, man? Why can't you just leave me and my plethora of problems the fuck alone? When did looking after dead end kids become your fucking job?"
"I think," Jason says slowly, "that you said the words fuck and fucking four times in two sentences and three questions. Impressive. Plethora, though. That's a new one. You should use words like that more often, and try saying fuck less." Spinelli looks at him, just stares at him, in blank disbelief, and very nearly screams. "Come on," he puts his hand on Spinelli's shoulder and tries to guide him down the street a little ways. "You can stay with me tonight and we'll figure something out tomorrow."
"No." Spinelli replies instantly, frozen under Jason's touch. "No, I won't." His voice is empty of sarcasm, of anger. "I'm not going anywhere with you." A hint of panic worms its way into his words as he starts babbling to himself. "I won't and you can't make me, okay? You can't fucking make me. Let me go, okay? Just let me the fuck go, I don't want... Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me you have to let go now. Let go let go let go let go."
Even as he screams this, babbling and crying and spitting, Jason holds on tightly, one arm wrapped securely around his waist and the other around Spinelli's shoulder. He cradles the back of his head, fingers threading through his fine, brown hair, and breathes in the generically clean scent of his shampoo. Spinelli buries his head in Jason's neck and grips spastic handfuls of his shirt.
"You're okay," Jason whispers, "you're going to be okay." He caresses Spinelli's back with long, even strokes and, slowly, he calms down. "You're all right, kiddo."
"Not a fucking kid," Spinelli manages to get out between hiccups. Jason laughs a little sadly and keeps Spinelli in his embrace until he's finally quieted. The teen steps back, swipes under his nose with a humiliated flush on his face. "I... I'm sorry," he apologizes in embarrassment. "Fucking fuck," he mutters under his breath in a broken tone.
Jason laughs and ruffles Spinelli's hair affectionately, "you have to start improving your vocabulary, Spinelli. This preoccupation with the word 'fuck'? We need to work on that." Spinelli rubs his face again, "seriously," Jason takes a hold of his hands, "you are going to mess up your lip." He drops Spinelli's wrists and cups his face in both hands. "It's too dark here, I'll take a look at it back at my place. Okay?" He searches his wide, watery eyes. "You can trust me."
Pause
Rewind
Play
"You can trust me."
Pause
Rewind
Play
"You can trust me."
Pause
Rewind
Play
"You can trust me."
Spinelli takes a hold of Jason's wrists in his small, pale hands. "Okay," he whispers. "I'll stay with you. Just for tonight." And Jason smiles, stroking at the soft skin of his cheek, before dropping his hands and breaking Spinelli's cautious hold on him.
"Just for tonight," he agrees and starts walking to the employee parking lot next to the restaurant. Spinelli hurries after him and catches one of his big hands between his littler ones. Jason glances at their intertwined fingers and says nothing.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Spinelli sits on the bathroom counter, his back to the mirror, clutching a plastic bag filled with ice to the side of his head. There's a pair of dark pajama pants folded on next to him. Jason stands in front of him, between his loosely parted legs, and dabs at his lip with a damp washcloth. Spinelli grimaces and tries to twist away.
"Ah, no. Let me clean it," Jason chides him easily. "Stop pouting."
"Fucking fuck," Spinelli replies sullenly, earning an amused snort from Jason, and rolls his eyes. "I don't pout, either. So fuck you," he defends himself. His petulant tone takes the sting out of his vulgarity and Jason quirks an eyebrow at him before wiping at his busted lip one final time.
"I think you're good." He steps back so Spinelli can hop off the counter. "How's your head?" Jason asks, taking the hastily made ice pack and inspecting the area himself.
"S'all right. Hey – get off me man!" Spinelli ducks out from under him and swats off any further doctoring. "I'm good. Jesus." He laughs nervously and rubs at his elbow. "Look, Jason." And that's possibly the first time he's used his real name. "Thanks. For all this."
"Don't worry about it," Jason replies, moving towards the bathroom door, "I'll go set up a bed for you and you can change, okay?" Spinelli nods, still holding himself like he's expecting to get punched in the face or something. "You can relax now," Jason tells him with a hint of a smile on his face. "You're safe here. Promise." And the door closes behind him.
Spinelli releases a shuddering breath and turns to face his pale reflection in the mirror. His lip, while swollen and purple, looks like it's on its way to healing. There's a bruise covering his right temple, and it looks sexy as fuck, but that can't be helped.
Sighing again, he shucks off his jacket. He sits down on the edge of the tub and takes off his sneakers without untying the laces and tucks his socks inside them. With shaking fingers, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans and changes into the black sleep pants Jason left him. He folds up his clothes and sets them on the counter.
"You can do this," he whispers to himself and runs his hands through his hair. "You can do this. Don't even think about it. Just do it." He meets his reflection's wide, terrified, eyes and whimpers. "Fucking fuck. Fucking fuck!" His voice cracks and he turns on the tap to splash cold water on his face. As he dries off, he mumbles, "fucking fuck" into the towel, and then, "awesome." But all the comes out is a muffled sort of grumble.
Knowing that he can't keep Jason waiting forever, and that if he spends one more second in the bathroom, he'll lose his nerve, Spinelli edges out into the hallway to look for his host. He finds him straightening the sheets on a pull-out couch bed in the living room. Spinelli freezes and just watches as Jason looks up from his domestic chore.
"Hey, I know it's not much, but it's comfortable. I've spent a few nights on this-" and that's as far as he gets before he's interrupted by an armful and a mouthful of Damian Spinelli. It's very much a sneak attack of seduction, when Spinelli literally launches himself at Jason, but it manages to work. Jason catches him, almost on automatic reflex, around the waist and Spinelli wraps his legs around Jason's hips. The momentum of the attack sends them sprawling backwards on the bed, but Spinelli does not relent.
His kisses are clumsy and he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, but he's really fucking trying.
When it becomes clear that the object of his misguided affections is neither enjoying nor responding to his advances, Spinelli sits back. He braces his hands on Jason's shoulders and stares at him, chest heaving with what can only be described as exertion.
"What was that?" Jason finally asks in a scarily neutral voice.
Fucking fuck, Spinelli thinks and swallows. "I don't... I don't know." He answers at last, still staring at Jason, who is staring back at him just as intensely. "I just. I think I want you." There's a pause and neither of them say anything until Spinelli licks his lips. "Is that okay?" Jason has no answer to that, and Spinelli whimpers. "Fucking fuck," he exclaims, five seconds from breaking, and his arms give out. He buries his head in Jason's chest, inhaling the scent of him. Smoke, from the bar, the crisp cold of the city air, and something inherently unnameable. "Fucking fuck," he repeats with tears in his voice.
"It's okay," Jason whispers finally, "and please stop saying the word fuck so much. Do I need to set up a jar for you?"
"A jar?" Spinelli asks, raising his head. "What do you mean?" Jason smiles at him affectionately, and cups the back of his head.
"A jar. Every time you say the word fuck, you put a quarter in the jar." Spinelli rolls his eyes and lays his head back down on Jason's chest. "And every time you use words like plethora, you can take a quarter back."
"Fucking try it," Spinelli tells him with a soft smile. "And what if I say fucking plethora?" He sits back up, straddling Jason's hip with a curious little look on his face. "Hmm?" He asks, rocking a bit.
"You get nothing. But you don't lose anything either. What, exactly," Jason pauses and puts his hands on Spinelli's hips, effectively stopping his movements, "are you trying to do, Spinelli?" Spinelli pouts, a fake little frown, and tries to move against Jason again. "No, stop. Look at me Spinelli. What are you doing?"
"Trying to seduce you?" He answers, unsure, so it sounds more like a question. "Guess I fucking suck at it though." Jason sighs and rubs Spinelli's thigh comfortingly. Spinelli makes a sort of disappointed humming noise and covers Jason's hand with his own.
"It's not that you suck at it, per se. It's just," Jason brings Spinelli's hand up to his mouth and kisses his fingers and knuckles as he tries to work out what he wants to say. "I just I wish I understood what was going on in your head. Thirty minutes ago, you were trying to cuss me into oblivion, and thirty seconds ago, you were trying to kiss me into submission." Jason releases his hand and brushes away a piece of hair hanging in front of Spinelli's eyes. "Talk to me."
"You're nice," Spinelli points out, almost needlessly, and Jason rolls his eyes. "I mean it, you're the first guy who's been nice to me. Who hasn't wanted something from me. And. I don't know what's going to happen to me, in the next few weeks. Fuck," he sighs and sits back, "I don't know what's going to happen to me tomorrow. But, I know that... that this, that you, are a good thing. You're one of the few …one of the only, actually, good things that's happened to me. And I just want this to be as good as possible."
He leans forward, nearly chest to chest with Jason, and whispers, "I want you to be my one, good memory." He keeps his eyes open as he presses his mouth tentatively, against Jason's. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah," Jason says thickly, reaching up to cradle the back of Spinelli's head. "That's okay." He wraps his arm around Spinelli's back, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt and pulling him up a little farther to ease the awkwardness of the angle.
"Oof. Hi." Spinelli smiles, and a very pretty blush blooms across his cheeks.
"Hello, hello," Jason grins back and runs his hand through Spinelli's hair. "Come here often?" He quips and, before Spinelli can get in an eye roll, he pulls him down for a kiss.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Spinelli is on top of him, bracing one hand on his chest, and breathing heavily through his mouth. Jason can't stop staring at him, taking in the glazed desire in his eyes and the delicate flush of his cheeks. The teen swallows, "fucking fuck," he exhales and Jason laughs shakily.
"You okay?" He asks needlessly and, in response, Spinelli shifts experimentally with a saucy grin on his face. Jason's breath gets caught in his throat and Spinelli laughs.
"What do you think?" He pants back and rocks back with a hiss. "Ah, fuck. This is. Ffffuck. You can... Move, fuck damn it, please." And Jason swallows thickly and nods. "Jason, please, fucking oh please, Jason. Ngh, please. Fucking fuck, oh." Jason grabs a hold of Spinelli's hips and starts moving with him. The vulgarity spilling from Spinelli's lips reaches a new pitch.
Pause
Rewind
Play
Jason sits up with Spinelli still on his hips. Keeping his eyes on the teen's face, he undresses him slowly, first with his shirt. He has to get up take off his sweatpants and boxers and suddenly, there's a very naked Spinelli standing in his living room. He blushes; it starts with the tips of his ears and works its way down his chest. He clenches and unclenches his hands, clearly nervous. Finally, he meets Jason's eyes.
"I'm... I know that I, um." He looks down at his feet and curls his hands protectively around his slightly rounded tummy. "Sorry," he finally whispers with his eyes clenched shut. "Fucking fuck. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Jason says simply, sitting down on the couch-bed and running one hand through his hair. "You're fucking beautiful, Damian." He pulls Spinelli's hands away from his stomach and brings them up to cup his face. He presses a kiss to both palms. "Come here?" He asks and Spinelli nods.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Spinelli has given up coherent sentences. He's practically crying as he rides each one of Jason's thrusts, his eyes shut tightly and his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Jason isn't much better off, panting and just trying to hold on for a little bit longer. He has one hand fisted in the sheets and the other gripping Spinelli's hip to the point of bruises.
"Spi... Damian," he grunts, "Damian, it's... fuck. I can't." And Spinelli nods, using his hands to brace himself against Jason's stomach so he can ride him harder, feel him deeper. "Jesus Christ, kid."
"Not a fucking kid," he grinds out and Jason laughs breathlessly. He shifts under him, and Spinelli arches his spine beautifully and he throws his head back.
"Not like this you're not," Jason agrees and brings both his hands up to cradle Spinelli's hips. "Not like this," he repeats and takes a hold of Spinelli's neglected cock, earning himself a surprised exclamation of fucking fuck in response.
Pause
Rewind
Play
They're back on the bed; Jason is taking his time exploring and enjoying Spinelli's naked body. He nuzzles against his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin and his hair. Spinelli almost giggles, almost fucking giggles, when Jason delivers an open mouth kiss behind his ear.
Jason seems especially fascinated with the small swell of his tummy.
"No, no," Spinelli tries to fight him as he laves kisses on the slightly rounded flesh. "I don't like my stomach. Come on, Jason, please... oh. Um. Oh." His complaints die off as Jason dips his tongue in his navel. "I guess that's okay."
"Just okay?" Jason asks smugly, pressing one more kiss above his belly button, which quickly turns into a reddened love bite. Spinelli's fluttering sigh is his only answer. "Thought so."
Pause
Fast forward
Play
"Can't, I. Jason. Jason, I can't... I'm. Oh. I mean." He grabs weakly at Jason's wrist and sobs. "I can't last..."
"It's okay," Jason assures him, twisting and pumping his hand in time with his thrusts. "I got you, baby. I... I got you, you're okay." Spinelli nods, wordlessly crying and fisting in the sheets. Spinelli nods and Jason uses his free hand to tangle their fingers together. "It's okay, come on, babe. Come on. I want to watch you, baby."
And Spinelli arches his back, clenching his muscles around Jason, and his breath catches in a high-pitched mewl. Jason keeps murmuring and watches as he rides out his release, watches as his head falls back, exposing his throat decorated with Jason's love bites. It's too much, too much to take in at all once, and Jason grabs a hold of Spinelli's hips, for one more thrust and then he's gone.
Pause
Rewind
Play
Spinelli's hands are tugging insistently at the hem of Jason's black t-shirt. "Off," he demands with a threatening glare. It doesn't do much for him, as he's sitting flushed and naked on Jason's knees. But he's cute, so Jason indulges him.
"Only because you asked so nicely," Jason replies dryly and pulls his shirt over his head. "Pants too, I imagine." Spinelli gets up and stands in front of him as he unbuttons his jeans, watching curiously as Jason takes them and his boxers off in one swift motion. He runs a curious finger down Jason's chest, stopping just below his navel with wide eyes. "What?" Jason asks.
"Fucking fuck, man." Spinelli comments breathlessly. "And you said I was beautiful?" Jason laughs and Spinelli pushes him back onto the bed. "Now. Where were we?" He asks needlessly and crawls over Jason's very naked, very sculpted body.
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Jason sighs, and open his eyes to see Spinelli gazing at him with a dazed stare. A very sated smile blooms on his face and he brings shaking hands up to touch Jason's cheeks. "You broke me," he whispers in a giddy voice. "You've fucking broken me."
"Is that a good thing?" Jason asks as he helps Spinelli slump to one side and eventually slide off his lap and onto the bed. The teen smiles and rolls around a bit until he's completely cocooned in sheets. He scoots closer to Jason, and rests his head on his shoulder with a happy, contented sigh. Jason wraps an arm around him warily. "Spinelli?"
"A very good thing," he clarifies and glances up to look Jason in the eye. "I wish I could stay for more than one night. I think I'm in love with you." Jason smiles sadly at him, and tucks a piece of loose hair, behind his ear.
"You can stay for as long as you want," he tells him as Spinelli's eyes flutter shut.
Pause
Rewind
Play
"You're okay," Jason reminds the teen straddling his lap as he adds another finger, twisting and curling them slightly. "You are okay, right?" He asks for reassurance, when Spinelli flinches and gasps.
"I. Oh. I'm okay." He tries to laugh, but it dies in a sudden, hitched inhale as Jason curls his fingers just the right way. "Fucking fuck, I am so fucking okay. Please, dear God, do that again." He makes a whimpering noise and digs his fingers into Jason's shoulders. He slumps forward, utterly boneless, to drop his head to rest against Jason's collar bone. "Oh. Wow."
"You think you're ready?" Jason breathes in his ear and Spinelli nods. "Easy, okay? Just relax and trust me."
"I trust you," Spinelli tells him, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Jason's mouth, "I trust you."
Pause
Fast forward
Play
Spinelli sits up very suddenly on the pull-out couch bed. Jason is already gone but, judging from the radio playing in the kitchen and the soft clink of plates being moved, he is not completely gone. Spinelli exhales and looks around the room, a little panicked.
"Fucking fuck," he whispers, "I need to get out of here." He locates his boxers half-hidden under the couch, and pulls them on hurriedly. "Need to get out of here... where are my pants?" He looks down, catches sight of the bite mark on his tummy, and whimpers. "Where is my shirt?" He amends and grabs a random t-shirt from the the floor. Judging by the smell, it's Jason's.
"Talking to yourself," comes a gently mocking voice from the hallway, "is not such a good sign." Spinelli looks up from his frantic search and whimpers again. Jason's leaning against the wall in a pair of dark gray pajama pants and nothing else. They rest low on his hips and Spinelli has to bite his lip and look away. "Hey," Jason cocks his head, "what's wrong?"
"I don't want to go," Spinelli admits and closes his eyes. "Fucking fuck. I don't want to go, but I can't stay here. I... I can't." Jason raises his eyebrows in surprise and crosses the room easily to stand in front of the shaking teen. "I can't stay here, but I want to. I need you to know that, okay?"
"Spinelli," Jason says his name gently and tilts his face up with a finger under his chin. "Why can't you stay here?"
"I can't, I... I think I love you, Jason. And. You don't want that. You can't want that. Who would want that from me? I... I'm a fuck up and you can't possibly... You don't want that." His stream of illogical babble is cut off when Jason picks him up and presses their mouths together. Spinelli makes a helpless whine in the back of his throat and winds his arms around Jason's neck.
"Don't tell me," he growls against Spinelli's lips, "what I can't and don't want. All right? If this thing is going to work, you're going to have to trust me. Trust yourself. Think you can do that?" Spinelli nods wordlessly and Jason kisses him once more for good measure. "Now get dressed, we're going out."
"I thought you were cooking something," Spinelli protests once he's back on his feet. Jason laughs, and starts picking up discarded clothes. Spinelli sits down on the bed and watches him.
"Go, get dressed," Jason makes a shooing motion with his hand. "And I was doing dishes from yesterday, actually. They don't usually pile up, but someone distracted me from cleaning up the house." Spinelli has the good graces to look embarrassed, before Jason swats at him again. "Go. Dressed. Now."
"Fucking fuck man." Spinelli swears as he hops off the bed and shuffles back to the bathroom where he left his jeans and jacket. "Get off my back."
"That's another quarter, Spinelli. Two actually. Fifty cents." Jason called after him and Spinelli rolled his eyes. His reflection is significantly happier this morning than it was last night and he spares the mirror a smile as he buttons and zips up his jeans. It isn't until he's standing naked from the waist up that he realizes his shirt is in the other room.
"Um. Jason?" He sticks his head out into the hallway, suddenly shy. Jason appears almost instantly, already dressed in jeans on his own. He's wearing a formfitting sweater that distracts Spinelli from his question. "Um."
"Something you needed, Spinelli?" Jason asks, a smug look on his face, and watches as the teen fidgets slightly.
"Where's my shirt?" He says at length. "I was, uh. Wearing yours earlier."
"I noticed," Jason responds with an appreciative grin that makes Spinelli blush. "And here," he offers the folded t-shirt, like it's a peace token. Spinelli takes it with muttered gratuities. "By the way," Jason says as the door shuts, "that's a nice hickey on your shoulder."
"Fuck you man!" Spinelli's response is muffled by the door and Jason laughs outright at him. Spinelli tugs the shirt over his head and pulls his jacket on roughly. His hair is a rumpled mess, but it almost aways is. He tries to flatten it and fails miserably. Rolling his eyes and flipping off the mirror, Spinelli ducks out of the bathroom and smacks directly into Jason's chest. "Uh. Ow?"
"Here," Jason holds out the black leather jacket he was wearing yesterday. "It's cold outside. You'll need something warmer than that track jacket you've got on." Spinelli takes it wordlessly and stares at it with a sort of reverence. "Spinelli, it's just a jacket. Come on."
"All right, all right. Chill out, man. Fuck." He puts on the jacket and spreads his arms. "Approval?" And Jason just stares at him with a sort of naked hunger in his eyes. "Um." He barely has time to react before Jason is on him, pushing him up against the wall and sucking on his neck with a desperate urgency. "Oh. Fucking fuck, Jason. Holy shit," Spinelli's mouth falls open and he tangles his fingers in Jason's hair, encouraging him the best he can. "Jesus fucking Christ." Jason laughs, licking a stripe up Spinelli's throat, and working his hands under the teen's many layers.
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you, kid?" Jason exhales against his neck and Spinelli snorts, resting his hands on Jason's shoulders.
"I'm not a fucking kid," he whispers, "when are you going to learn that?" Jason makes a humming noise and rests against him for a little bit longer, until Spinelli prompts him. "Come on, breakfast. I'm hungry. Then you can fuck me into the wall."
"Fine, fine." Jason sighs and shakes his head before releasing Spinelli. He takes in the disheveled look of the kid with a proud protectiveness coiling in his belly. He offers his hand, which Spinelli takes with a coy little smile. "Breakfast?"
"Yes please," Spinelli smiles and takes his big hand between his littler ones. "Let's go."
Pause
Rewind
Play
Jason stands on the street corner and stamps his feet to rid them of the bitter, chilling cold. He glances up at the gray sky and doesn't pay much attention to the world around him. People are boring anyway. He sighs and jams his hands in his pockets, when some kid next to him starts stepping off the curb.
"Holy shit," he hisses and grabs a hold of the kid's collar before he can get flattened by a taxi. Horns go off and drivers lean out their windows to yell profanities, but Jason just stares at the kid in front of him. "Holy fucking shit, kid," he pulls him back out of traffic. "Don't you watch..." And he stops, taking in the vacant stare and the blood smeared across the kid's mouth. There's a bruise blooming on the side of his face, too. "Are you all right?"