Jason's cackling scatters bats all over the batcave. His joyous hoots like booming thunder thanks to the acoustics of the cave.
Bruce feels the jovial mood of the younger boy infect his typing, giving it an upbeat rhythm he hasn't felt in years.
"Did'ja see how I whooped that guy's ass?" Jason hops, twirls himself on the uneven bars, launching into a midair twisting jump "I owned him so bad!"
"Robin," Bruce intones with no force behind his voice.
"Come on, B," Jason jumps up the bars again, "I did awesome!"
"Quite," Bruce aims a smile at him, which makes the boy hoot again, "But that has nothing to do with vulgarity."
"How can you be so calm," Jason hangs on the bar with his knees, arms crossed and cape nearly touching the floor, "we just kicked Riddler back to Arkham."
"He's getting predictable."
"Or," Jason twists, returning back to aerobatics, "You just have the greatest partner ever."
"Don't kid yourself, kid."
Jason cracks up, misses the jump, and falls with a dull thud against the practice mat. "Mother f-,"
"Jay."
"What." Jason glares at him from the floor.
"Do be careful," Bruce laughs once and continues typing.
"Jerk," Jason mumbles under his breath, pats himself and walks to join Bruce at the batcomputers. "What's so important you're not celebrating?"
"Writing a successful report is celebration enough," he pushes wandering fingers away from the keyboard, "I'll be done in a minute."
"Minute," Jason flicks Bruce's hand and takes the seat adjacent, "More like hours."
"Patience is an attractive virtue, Jay."
"...Fine," Jason huffs, twirling the chair he's on once.
Bruce loses himself to the repetitive motions of his hands and the lulling scroll of text before him. Forgets the body of energy sitting beside him until a set of legs joins his hands on the console.
"Jay," Bruce sighs and grabs at them.
"What?" Jason moves them as far away as he can without falling off his chair.
"I'm working," Bruce catches one daring leg and holds it off the keyboard.
"We've been working for hours," Jason whines, exasperated.
"And we'll keep working until it's done for the day." Bruce lightly pinches the calf in his hand once before letting it rest on his lap.
Bruce hears an irritated sigh beside him.
He's almost done with the report, with only minor details to fix and revise, when the leg in his lap twitches, wiggles against Bruce's abs.
"Jason," Bruce feels a headache developing.
"Come on, B," Jason begs, the first he's heard in months, "We can be doing better, fun things right now."
"Fun things can wait," Bruce stills the foot now drifting where it shouldn't be drifting, pushing it to the ground.
Jason snorts before standing and wandering off to another recess of the cave.
Bruce has a moment of quiet by himself, to think and reflect on their performance together and apart while apprehending their prey, before he finds himself with a lap full of Robin. Thin, but powerful legs resting around his thighs.
"Jason I told you-"
The kiss is brief, chaste. A mere peck on surprised lips.
"I'm bored," Jason throws a towel around the older man's neck.
Bruce doesn't know where to place his hands, settles on the outer edge of the armrest, "Then amuse yourself."
"I am," Jason pulls on the towel and reels him in for another kiss, "I'm having quite a lot of fun."
Bruce humors him with a kiss on the cheek, grabs a thin wrist to pull away from him, "Not what I had in mind."
"Well, sure was in mine," Jason shoots him a leery look, way too inappropriate for their positions.
"Off." Bruce takes a hold of bony hips, to pull Jason up and off of him.
"Nope," Jason's lean arms rise above his neck and rests on Bruce's hair, pushing him closer to the younger boy.
This time the kiss is less innocent. More tongue than lips, more knowing than curious.
Sometimes Bruce forgets Jason's time on the streets.
Jason likes to remind him.
With each touch of Jason's tongue against his teeth. With each dance their tongues invariably follow.
Jason pulls his hair a little, asking for air when Bruce remembers what they're doing.
What he's doing.
Who he's d-
No.
Bruce pushes a little harder against a red vested chest. Ignores the protest until a sure, firm grip takes him inhand. Squeezes him through the outer briefs.
So hard he sees starbursts swim across his vision.
He's never been so hard.
Jason chuckles with pride, finding a rhythm with his hand, rubbing his cockhead against the tough fabric of the suit.
Bruce's hands spasm, his brief hesitation plenty for Jason to take his right hand within his own, to bring it to his lips.
He's dazed enough to watch a neat row of teeth bite a tip of a gloved finger, laving it with wet hot licks, as if Bruce had felt pain from the action.
"Jay," Bruce hates the amazed tone of his voice, breathes in before speaking, "we shouldn't."
"And we are," Jason gives him a devilish grin before popping a finger into his mouth, sucking, pulling, biting, licking. That black covered finger moving back and forth between impish lips.
Bruce hates the answering pulse of his cock in the small fist now touching bare skin.
"Consider it your birthday present," Jason lets his finger go with a parting lick, kisses his chest instead, "From you to me."
Jason's fist feels burning hot against his cock, made worse by the sweet, fast friction of his pace, and his open mouthed pants.
Bruce needs to stop this.
Wants to stop this.
The top of Jason's head as he spits on his hands and bows in concentration. Watching Bruce cock slip in and out of his clenched fists as he jacks the older man faster and faster.
The sound of his own pained groans...
The rolling movement of Jason's hips...
The answering, "Bruce," for every shaky "Jay," he can't stop from escaping.
Burns pitch black guilt in his chest.
Their so close to the brink he can taste it.
And Jason looks up at him, stares at his face with slack jaws and red cheeks, looking almost pained in the pleasure of pleasuring him. Blue eyes darker, smart mouth quiet.
He comes with Jay's name on his lips and a different in his heart.
Kisses the costumed boy riding him as the hand holding him spasms.
The blackest guilt.
Jason breathes against his chest, lets out a throaty laugh, "That was fun."
Bruce can't trust himself to speak and kisses the top of the young boy's head with care and bone weary affection.
"Can we do that again?" Jason looks up at him and beams, a crooked happy grin on his face, "Properly this time?"
Bruce swallows the name, names, clawing their way out. "Not now," he says, kissing Jason's ruddy cheeks and furrowed brows, "I have work to do."
Bruce sounds hollow, tired to his own ears.
Jason is precocious, but young.
Much too young.
Mistakes the tone it for what it wasn't.
A sated promise for an encore.
And laughs, triumphant, with a parting, searing kiss to Bruce's lips before running -skipping- up the staircase.
Bruce's mouth opens and closes, to deny, refuse, apologize.
But nothing comes out.
Only the bats utter a sound.
Only the bat.