Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13994853.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Jason_Todd, Roman_Sionis/Jason_Todd, Dick_Grayson/Roman_Sionis,
      Dick_Grayson/Roman_Sionis/Jason_Todd
  Character:
      Jason_Todd, Roman_Sionis, Dick_Grayson, Tim_Drake, Bruce_Wayne, Alfred
      Pennyworth
  Additional Tags:
      Past_Child_Abuse, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Physical_Abuse, Drug
      Abuse, Sexual_Abuse, Verbal_Abuse, Substance_Abuse, Past_Sexual_Abuse,
      Smoking, Blood_and_Gore, Violence, Torture, Slow_Burn, Heavy_Angst, Daddy
      Issues, Daddy_Kink, Sugar_Daddy, Canonical_Character_Death, Past
      Character_Death, Abusive_Parents, Prostitution, Underage_Prostitution,
      Past_Underage_Sex, Underage_Drinking, Emotional_Manipulation, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Eating_Disorders, Fat_Shaming, Drowning,
      Rimming, Dirty_Talk, Face-Sitting, Spanking, Humiliation, Other
      Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-17 Updated: 2018-03-30 Chapters: 3/? Words: 11521
****** Through a Mirror, Darkly ******
by MissNaya
Summary
     Black Mask's sons aren't allowed to love. Jason has known that since
     he was first adopted; Dick's known it even longer. But when Jason
     meets someone who makes the world feel a little less heavy, will he
     be able to go back to how things used to be?
     An alternate universe where Roman Sionis adopts both Dick and Jason
     after their parents die. Also known as the "Mirror Mask AU."
Notes
     it's here! it's here! it's finally here! if you follow me on tumblr,
     you're probably already familiar with my Mirror Mask AU. I changed
     the title to be more ~official,~ but that's what this is. I'm so
     excited to finally take this long-time jumble of ideas and plotlines
     and try to assemble it into a coherent thing.
     for those of you just tuning in, be warned that more tags will be
     added as the story progresses, so check it often to make sure you
     don't accidentally stumble into anything you can't handle. basically,
     just assume that if it could possibly trigger someone, it'll
     prrrrobably show up at some point. this is by no means a happy AU.
     alright! that should do it. I really, really hope this lives up to
     expectations, and I hope you all enjoy!
***** Chapter 1 *****
The party is bright and elegant and filled with the serene sounds of violin
music, and Jason feels terribly out of place.
It’s not often that the Sionis family attends gatherings like this one. Their
patriarch, Roman, is well-known among the Gotham elite as a shady businessman
at best and a crime lord at worst. Despite it all, he’s never been nailed with
a conviction that sticks; technically, he’s no guiltier than anyone else there.
“ Nobody with that much money is ever truly innocent, ” he’d said to Jason
once. “ Most people just don’t wear their sins with pride. ”
And Roman Sionis has no shortage of pride. He walks into the ballroom with all
the poise and class of a celebrity, with a $2,000 suit to match. His black
leather mask would be more at home in an S&M club than a gala, but people’s
funny looks and hushed whispers don’t faze him.
Jason wishes he could say the same about himself.
Everything, from the glittering chandeliers to the delicate appetizers to the
shine of Louis Vuitton shoes, feels like an attack on who he is as a person.
He’s almost 20 now, but he can still remember sleeping on damp cardboard and
swiping other people’s leftovers out of the trash. Inside, he still feels like
that same scrawny 12-year-old, except now he’s playing dress-up in a fancy
suit.
“Look alive, little bro.”
The voice, along with the hand on his arm, startles him. Jason jumps, until he
realizes it’s just Dick needling him.
“I’m as alive as I’ll ever be,” he mutters in response.
Dick smiles. “Not quite.”
It’s an infuriating smile. Dick looks so at ease with the situation, even
though he looks out of place, too. Sure, he’s got on a suit like Jason and
Roman, but his dress shirt is only half-buttoned underneath, and he’s foregone
a tie. His slacks are practically skin-tight, as Dick demands of all his
clothes. But, perhaps most embarrassing of all, he’s wearing a  collar.  It’s
so thin it could pass for a choker, if it weren’t for the very obvious mini
padlock holding it shut. The damn thing glitters, too, like pulverized glass,
reflecting every light a thousand times over.
Jason’s never been one for the spotlight. Dick goes out of his way to attract
it.
While they stand together at the edge of the room, Dick reaches into his
pocket. Then, casually, he offers Jason his hand, two fingers now dusted with a
fine white powder. He meets Jason’s gaze with a devious grin and an arched
brow.
“Wh-- No,” Jason says, hackles rising. “And cut that out. You can’t be doing
that shit in a place like this, dumbass, you’ll get caught.”
Dick rolls his eyes like he always does and sniffs the powder off his fingers
with a practiced swipe under the nose. “Chill. It’s just a little to make it
through this snore-fest.”
Already, Jason can feel his blood pressure start to rise.
“You know how I feel about that stuff,” he says. “Could you  please  take your
drug-addicted ass somewhere else if you’re gonna coke up?”
“Whatever,” Dick says. “I know how to handle myself. Don’t worry; I’m not gonna
drop dead like your junkie mom.”
Something inside Jason snaps. Dick is normally an asshole, but going for his
mom? That’s low. He doesn’t know if it’s the stress of going to a non-
underworld party or if Dick’s just extra drugged-up and careless tonight, but
it doesn’t matter. He straightens up to his full height — a few inches taller
than Dick by now — and rounds on him.
“What’d you say?” His voice comes out loud enough to turn some heads. In the
moment, he finds he doesn’t care. “Huh? What was that? Say it again,  Dick! ”
Jason shoves him with both hands. Dick stumbles, but even then, he looks so
lackadaisical that it almost hurts. Or maybe that’s just Jason’s soon-to-be-
burst blood vessels talking. Dick steadies himself and meets Jason’s bared
teeth with an easy smile.
“Baby brother, people are staring.”
“I don’t care!” Jason says.  Shouts,  more like. “Say it again! Say that shit
again, you fucking—”
“ Boys, ” comes a voice from behind him. “Enough.”
Jason spins on his heel and comes face-to-mask with his adoptive father. The
leather makes him look impassive, but Jason can tell he’s not pleased. It makes
him falter for just a moment, long enough to realize his hands are balled into
tight fists. He consciously tries to relax them.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Dick says, and Jason tenses up all over again.
In the resulting silence, he can feel all eyes on them. Even the band has
stopped playing. And there it is: proof that he doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t
belong around soft conversations about lake houses and yachts, around pretty
women in pearls and men who only raise their voices after too much evening
brandy. All over again, he sticks out, just like he used to as a smelly little
kid in ripped clothes huddled in the corner of the public library.
You can take the kid out of Crime Alley, but one way or another, he’ll find his
way back.
Jason turns and stiffly walks out of the room.

The walls outside the mansion are made of nice, sturdy brick. Jason punches
them until his knuckles start bleeding. It’s hardly enough to calm his racing
heart. No, the only thing that’d do that right now would be pummeling Dick’s
pretty face. Since he can’t have that, he fishes a cigarette out of his pocket.
He holds it up to his lips, but when it comes time to strike the lighter, he
can’t manage to make a flame. He doesn’t know if it’s because his injured hands
are shaking so much or if the frigid March winds are responsible for snuffing
it out, but after about twenty unsuccessful attempts, he decides he’s never
getting it lit. Figures. Just another way for life to fuck him over. In a bout
of frustration, he curses, whipping around to chuck the lighter as far as it’ll
go—
—right at someone’s head. By the time Jason registers their presence, it’s
already too late, and he heats up with shame at the thought of dragging some
poor, unrelated bastard into his fit. Much to his surprise, though, the person
catches it just before it hits his face. When he lowers his hand, Jason is
greeted with the sight of someone closer to his age than the wrinkled old
tycoons upstairs.
The boy has a soft face. Almost pretty. He’s short, too, over a full head
shorter than Jason himself. Probably a teenager. God, did he almost hit a kid?
Jason shuffles his feet. “Uh.”
Eloquent. He chides himself for his idiocy and tries to think of something
clever to say. Luckily, the kid beats him to it.
“They made me umpire in sophomore year,” he says with a sheepish smile. “I was
better at that than any of the other positions.”
“Hunh? Uh— Oh.” Jason lowers the cigarette away from his mouth and kicks at
some dirt on the ground. “Yeah. That makes sense. Right. Er, sorry, I—”
The kid steps closer, and Jason glances up to see a sympathetic gleam in his
eye. “It’s okay. Family, huh?” he says, in an I-know-the-feeling sort of way.
“...Yeah,” Jason says. “Family.”
An easy silence passes between the two of them, during which the kid offers up
the lighter, thumb on the sparkwheel. Jason leans forward, and the kid cups one
hand around his cigarette to shield it from the wind, sparking a light with the
other. The flame lights on the first try, and Jason sucks in a few quick
mouthfuls of smoke.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He has to take a few more drags to properly come back to himself. He lets the
smoke drip up out of his mouth of its own accord; it helps to watch the
patterns it makes as it floats up to join the rest of Gotham’s nighttime smog.
When he feels a little calmer, he says, “Jason.”
“Tim,” the kid answers.
Jason likes it that way, with no last names, so he doesn’t ask for Tim’s. Last
names are what the people at the gala ask for when all they care about is how
many zeroes are in each of your paychecks.
“Want one, Tim?” he asks, fishing another cigarette halfway out of his pocket.
He doesn’t really want to give one up, but he feels it’s a proper apology for
almost hitting someone in the face.
To his relief, Tim shakes his head. “I don’t smoke. Thanks, though.”
Instead, he holds out the lighter. Jason takes it, and notices the way Tim’s
eyes linger on his battered, bloody knuckles. He pulls his hand back and stuffs
the lighter into his pocket as quickly as he can.
“You should wrap that hand up.”
Jason shuts his eyes to keep from rolling them. “It’s fine. Probably the guy
that owns this place cares more that I bloodied up his wall.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Tim says. “Bruce gets a bad rap sometimes, but he’s
actually a pretty compassionate guy. To more than just models, I mean.”
Jason blinks. Bruce…? Shit, that’s right. This is Bruce Wayne’s shindig.
Focused as he was on other things, Jason had forgotten all about who was
hosting the party.
“Bruce Wayne?” he asks. “You know  Bruce Wayne?  Like, personally?”
Tim shrugs. “My dad goes away a lot, and ever since mom died, he’s been weird
about me being home alone. Bruce is sort of a family friend, so…”
“Shit.” Jason shakes his head. “I can’t imagine  the  Bruce Wayne taking care
of a kid. Uh— No offense.”
“None taken. But I’m seventeen, just so you know,” Tim says. “It’s more for
dad’s peace of mind than anything. Normally I just do my own thing while I’m
here.”
“Huh…” Jason mouths around his cigarette like it’ll help him gnaw on this new
bit of info. “That’s… pretty cool, I guess. For him to do that.”
“Yeah.” Tim turns around, looking over his shoulder to nod at Jason. “And I
know he wouldn’t mind if we poked around in his first-aid kit, so c’mon.”
“Seriously, I’m  fine— ”
“Your knuckles look like raw hamburger meat. You’re not fine. Stop being a
baby.”
“I’m not a baby—”
“Afraid of a little antiseptic sting?”
Jason catches the mischievous grin on Tim’s face, but by then, it’s too late.
He knows he’s already hooked.
“Ugh. I’ll show you who’s afraid, brat…”
And he follows Tim inside.

It doesn’t actually take long for Tim to clean and wrap his hands, but they end
up lingering in a little side room by one of the kitchens for a while after
that. It’s far enough from the party that none of the sound leaks through the
walls, leaving them comfortably surrounded by nothing more than their own
voices.
Jason learns a lot about Tim while they sit there, side-by-side on a tasteful
floral print couch. He learns that he’s about to graduate early from Gotham
High — not because he’s some super-genius who’s had a 4.0 GPA since
kindergarten, but because he works better at his own pace than on the school’s
schedule. He learns that Tim’s hobby is photography, and scrolls through his
Instagram account for ten minutes straight, marveling over pictures of flowers
and sunsets and a billion other things Jason never quite saw the beauty in
before. He learns about his parents (dead mother and disabled father),
religious views (atheist), his summer studying abroad (Paris, on Bruce Wayne’s
dime), and so much more that he can hardly keep track of it all.
But more than anything else, Jason learns that he likes having someone to talk
to.
He doesn’t reveal much about himself in turn. “Not much to know,” he assures
Tim. He tells him the truth, more or less: that he’s been living with Roman
Sionis since age 12, after being orphaned. That he’s never been to a real
middle  or  high school, instead homeschooled by Roman’s extensive network of
tutors. That he and his brother — also adopted — don’t get along. Every time
Tim seems to want to know more, he turns the question around with a smirk and a
joke.
“Come  on, ” Tim says with a roll of his eyes. “So now you’re the world’s
youngest pro-wrestler, you can juggle chainsaws,  and  you have the record for
largest piece of game ever taken down with a single shot?”
Jason grins. “Naw, Timmy, don’t be stupid. I  used to be  the world’s youngest
pro-wrestler. But then those child labor laws made it so I didn’t qualify, and
now it’s that Duprée bastard with the title. Keep up, will ya?”
Tim visibly bites back a smile and looks like he’s going to respond, but then
his eyes shift to the left and widen by a fraction. Jason turns to look over
his shoulder and immediately bolts to his feet.
“There you are,” Dick says from the doorway. He practically bounces into the
room with long, light steps, and wastes no time in grabbing Jason by the arm.
“I’ve been looking  everywhere  for you, baby brother. Daddy wants to leave
now. I know, right? But it’s late, he says. Late for an old man, maybe!”
He starts to laugh, and Jason frowns. He recognizes this level of excitability
in Dick. Doubtless, he’s had more than just one snort of coke, especially if it
really is late. His priority becomes getting as far away from Tim as possible
before Dick says something too weird. So dedicated to his mission, he doesn’t
even look back before he starts to steer Dick toward the door.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I’m coming. Let’s go.”
But Dick, god damn him, squirms in Jason’s hold, craning his neck to look back
at Tim. With his head turned that way, Jason can practically look right up his
angry red nostrils.
“Wait, who’s the kid? You got a  frieeend,  little bro?” Dick’s mouth curls
into an evil sort of grin. Jason tries not to shiver. “Finally busting outta
that shell of yours? He’s cute. Hey, sweetie. What’s your name?”
Dick turns all the way around, and Jason scrambles to grab him by the shoulders
to try and force him back. A quick glance at Tim’s expression fills Jason with
nausea; his eyes are wide, lips parted, all the color seeming to have drained
from his face. Uptown kid’s probably never seen a druggie anywhere but on the
street panhandling. Jason can practically hear the judgment start to roil
around in his head.
“Dick,” he says through gritted teeth. “He doesn’t wanna talk to you. Let’s
just  go. ”
That was the wrong thing to say. Dick pouts, placing a hand on his hip. “He
doesn’t? Why?”
Tim averts his eyes. “Er, no, it’s just— I’m… I’m Tim. Nice to meet you.”
Dick catches Jason’s eyes with a sidelong glance. His smirk says more than his
words ever could. It’s cocky. Prideful. It says,  I win, again.
“It’s  so  nice to meet you, too,” he drawls. Bending over, he tips Tim’s face
up with a finger under his chin. “My name’s Dick. I hope my brother didn’t bore
you too bad.”
“Dick…?” Tim’s brow furrows. He gently pushes Dick’s hand away. “You mean Dick,
like—”
“ Boys. ”
The call is distant, calm, but it still makes both Dick and Jason instantly
stand at attention. They look toward the door, but nobody else is there. Not
Roman. Not yet. But he’s close.
“...I’ll catch you later, cutie,” Dick says without looking back. He starts off
toward the door, hips sashaying as he goes.
Jason risks one more glance at Tim. His expression is unreadable. Something
hangs unsaid, but Jason doesn’t have the time or desire to puzzle out what it
is. Roman calls out for them again, and he backs up a few steps toward the
walkway Dick’s already disappeared down.
“Bye,” he says on dry lips.
Tim stands up. “Can I see you again…?”
Jason’s heart pounds. He feels his veins throb with the force of it behind his
injured knuckles.
Without giving Tim an answer, he turns and runs off.

During the limo ride back home, Jason stays quiet. It’s not like there are any
gaps in the conversation, anyway; Roman fills them in on all the important
conversations he’s had (not many) and then bitches about all the people he
doesn’t like (many more). Dick chimes in whenever there’s a space and sometimes
when there isn’t, coked up enough that he could talk to a brick wall and still
find ways to keep things moving. They play off of each other like one of those
high-speed tennis matches.
“—And then there was Garret and his wife. Pigs, the both of them, and only
getting fatter. I’m not just talking about those investments he kept prattling
on about.”
“Ugh, I  know,  right? You gotta wonder how they even  do it  anymore with
those guts. You think he’s got a really long prick? Maybe that’d make the
potato face worth it.”
“I shudder to imagine. I remember when he used to fund Maroni on the side, get
in his good graces. Always waved six figures around like he was trying to
compensate for something.”
“Eww, that’s hilarious! Is he giving you anything?”
“Little more than a headache. Not that he’s worth much these days, anyway. I’ve
got more loyal donors that don’t sweat as much when I come around.”
“So he’s a scared little piggy? Gross. Glad I don’t have to fuck him.”
“Oh, I’d never put you through a hell like that, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”
Jason frowns toward the window and tries to tune them out. He hates
conversations like this. Roman calls it “business politics,” but it all seems
like one great, big meat market to him.  So-and-so’s a pig  and  he brings in
the big bucks  and  we’ll get rid of him next Thursday, cull the herd a little.
And even that doesn’t even get into the sorts of things Dick does with his body
to smooth over deals…
Soon, Jason settles into his normal rhythm of counting how many people they
pass.  Two at the bus stop. One unlocking a door. Two more around the burning
barrel. Group of prostitutes, maybe four, too fast to tell — one of ‘em's
Maryana, though, for sure. Must be getting close to home…
Sure enough, the buildings start to get taller, the streets emptier. The few
people he does see tend to be False Facers, doing deals and lifting their masks
to smoke and just generally hanging around to be an intimidating presence near
their boss’s HQ. Normal people walk fast, with their heads down, trying not to
look anyone in the eye.
They pull up to one of the tallest buildings around, all dark metal and glass.
No name on the front. No logos. No identifying features at all, save for the
two masked men on either side of the garage door who wave them in. The security
check consists of sweeping the vehicle for any unnoticed bugs or explosives,
then giving the all-clear to Roman through a cracked window. Dick winks at one
of them. Jason rolls his eyes.
Home sweet home.

By the time they get inside the elevator, even Dick has quieted down. They
stand shoulder-to-shoulder in silence the whole way up. Jason counts the floor
numbers as they light up.
Forty-seven.
(Look straight ahead.)
Forty-eight.
(Deep breaths.)
Forty-nine.
(But not too loud.)
...Fifty.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal their tidy penthouse,
with its floor-to-ceiling windows and open concept layout. Roman steps inside
first, a dark silhouette against the light decor. Dick follows closely as
always. Jason wants to stay in the elevator until it shuts, let it take him all
the way back down again.
Of course he doesn’t. He clears the threshold just before the doors slide
closed behind him.
Roman spins on his heel and slaps Jason hard across the face.
“Do you have  any idea, ” he starts, “how embarrassing that was? To have my son
act like some— some common thug, right there in the middle of everything?”
Jason wants to point out that they were at the edge of the room, not the
middle, and that Roman’s never been above hanging around “common thugs” before.
Instead, he just prods his tongue at the newly-formed cut on the inside of his
cheek and keeps his head down.
“I mean,  honestly. ” Roman sighs in exasperation. “You whine all the time that
you don’t get to go out much, but do you think that behavior is in any way
acceptable?”
Jason grits his teeth.
“Jason. I’m talking to you.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” he snaps, and jabs a finger over Roman’s shoulder at
Dick’s stupid, smug face. “He talked about my mother! My  mother! ”
“I didn’t even say anything that wasn’t true,” Dick says with a roll of his
eyes. “Your mom was a junkie. She OD’d. Get  over  it. I did.”
Again, Jason feels the hot, clammy rush of anger take over his system. He balls
his hands into fists to the point where his bandages pull too taut over his
battered knuckles, but the pain only instills in him a renewed desire to beat
Dick’s face in.
“Just because you’re some psycho who doesn’t care about his dead parents,” he
says, “doesn’t mean  I  am! I’ve fucking warned you before, asshole, do  not
talk about them!”
He doesn’t even realize how close he’s gotten to Dick, pointer finger barely an
inch from his face, until Roman steps between them. Though Jason is the most
muscular out of all of them, Roman still has him beat in height. But the crazy
thing is, it isn’t his size that makes Jason back down. It’s the way he lays
his hand on his shoulder. That one calm, precise touch hits Jason like a tub of
ice down his back.
“Alright, alright,” Roman says. “Jason, stand down. Dick, don’t talk about his
parents. You know how he gets.”
How I get,  Jason thinks derisively. Jaw set, he forces himself to take a step
back.
Dick just tosses his perfectly-done bangs out of his face and rubs under his
cherry red nose. He stares at Jason with a pair of eyes that, under the mascara
and the body glitter and the plucked brows, look positively dead.
“One day, little brother,” he says, “you’re gonna have to accept that  we’re
your family now.”
Jason scoffs and turns away, stalking as fast as possible toward his room.
Before he slams his door shut, he hears Roman — Dad — call one last thing after
him.
“When you two have cooled down, we’ll discuss a proper punishment.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
As soon as Jason gets to his room, he undoes his tie and chucks it to the
floor. His suit jacket comes off next, then his shirt, which he tugs open so
fast that some of the buttons come loose. He throws it all into a big heap on
the floor, the way he knows Roman hates. He’ll probably regret it later. For
now, though, he needs the small bit of control that comes with trashing his
stupid formal outfit.
He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to laugh. Roman walks into the party in
a fucking leather gimp mask, and Jason’s the one who made him look bad? What a
joke.
“Maybe if you controlled your drug addict son,” he wants to say, “we wouldn’t
be in this situation.”
He won’t say it. He knows he never will. But it’s nice to think about it
anyway, to stew in the exhilaration of his made-up argument.
Jason whips around and punches his own wall this time, right on the spot next
to his door that’s covered in old blood and warped, discolored wallpaper. It’s
a nice, solid bit of wall, one of the few places in the penthouse where he can
do that without bursting through plaster. Solid enough that it sends a whole
new wave of pain up his arm when he strikes it; cursing, he steps back and
shakes his hand out a few times to ease the sting.
It doesn’t take long for the pain to melt away, and with it drains his resolve.
He shucks off the rest of his suit in silence and dresses in tattered old
bedclothes. He has nicer pajamas to wear, but he’ll change into those later,
after he washes away the sweat and blood and whatever else awaits him.
He could leave his room now, without being called. Try to make it seem like he
“cooled down” quickly, maturely; hope that shows good faith. It’s tempting to
get his punishment over with as soon as possible. But then, if Roman doesn’t
want to do things fast, he won’t. Jason knows that well enough by now.
No, better to kill some time, draw out this small bit of privacy while it
lasts. To that end, he fishes his phone out of the pocket of his discarded
slacks and flops down into bed with it. Strangely enough, the notification
light is flashing. He unlocks the screen with a flick of his thumb — no
passcodes allowed, Roman’s rule — and reads it.
@tjdrake is now following you!
Jesus. It can’t have been more than 45 minutes since he was with Tim, but it
already seems like their conversation took place a lifetime ago. Jason opens up
Instagram and goes to Tim’s page again. Suddenly, he finds himself wishing
there was a good picture of Tim himself on there. Sure, the landscapes and all
are pretty, but Jason may never get to see him again. He’d like to remember
what his face looks like. He wonders if Tim thinks the same about his profile,
though it’s not like Jason has many posts of his own either way. He only has an
account in the first place because Dick made it for him (and forced him to
follow his account, of course).
It’ll be nice to see something other than Dick’s pouting face and exposed skin
on his feed for once.
A knock on the door, and Jason thinks speak of the devil when Dick calls for
him from the other side. “Daddy wants to see us,” he says in an annoyingly calm
voice.
Jason locks his phone and sets it face-down on the bed. After a second’s
thought, he opens it again, closes out of the app, and puts the phone in his
bedside drawer. He wipes his suddenly-sweaty palms on his pants and steps out
of his room.
Dick hasn’t changed much; he’s shirtless, but otherwise still dressed in his
nice slacks, shiny shoes, and dumb little collar. What’s more, he makes a
pointed effort of looking Jason up and down, at the holes in his clothes and
the little rough patches where he hasn’t been able to get the blood out of the
dark fabric. Then, wordlessly, he turns and starts to walk down the hall.
Jason follows a few steps behind. Normally, he’d be content to walk in silence,
but with Tim’s Instagram still at the forefront of his mind, he realizes
something.
Dick knows. He saw.
Jason has to bite his tongue to keep from cursing.
“…Dick,” he says after they turn a corner or two. Even though they’re alone, he
doesn’t dare speak louder than a whisper. “Could you just… Could you not tell
Dad? About… you know?”
Dick only glances back at him for a second, but that’s long enough to see the
way his face pinches up in delight. “About your friend?”
“He’s not— We were just talking. Seriously,” Jason says. “I just don’t want him
to flip out more, okay? Please.”
Dick stays quiet for so long that Jason starts to wonder if he heard him at
all. His heart speeds up, and he clenches his clammy hands into fists so hard
that it threatens to displace his bandages. Right before they make it to their
destination, Dick turns to him and mouths a silent reply.
“You owe me.”
And he pushes the door open.
 
Roman has one very large room tucked deep into their penthouse that Jason is
sure is not a normal fixture in most households. It’s lit entirely by dim
lights, most of which are tinted red; all of them cast eerie shadows that drag
like ink stains. The floor feels cold even through Jason’s socks. It’s made of
a rough, unfinished concrete, and dips inward toward a drain near the middle of
the room. But that’s not why it’s abnormal.
No, that honor goes to the furniture arranged lovingly across every free space:
racks. Medical tables. St. Andrew’s crosses. And, on the walls and on shelves
and tucked into big, sturdy dressers, weapons of all kinds. There are saws and
drills and scalpels and pliers, wrenches and whips and gags and shears. Nothing
fast like a gun, nothing merciful; just endless ways to cause agony.
Jason’s never quite agreed with his father’s hobbies.
His stomach turns when he steps inside. No matter how often he’s in here, his
reaction never changes. He doesn’t want to look at Roman, not while he’s mad,
but the alternative leaves him staring at a gently-swaying set of shackles that
hangs from the ceiling, which does little to placate him.
Dick, in sharp contrast, walks right up to Roman and loops his arms around his
shoulders.
“Get the door, Jason,” Roman says while Dick kisses him on the cheek.
Jason does, and lingers there for a moment with his hand on the knob. He thinks
about running. He always thinks about running. But he remembers what happened
the last time he tried that, and instead slides the deadbolt without complaint.
“Thank you.” Jason turns to look just in time to see Roman shove Dick back a
few steps. He gestures toward the space in front of him. “Please.”
Jason walks across the room to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Dick. He tries
to get a feel for Roman’s mood as he looks the two of them up and down, but now
that he’s had time to calm himself down, that’s damn near impossible.
After a moment of silent inspection, Roman steps forward and takes Jason by the
hand. He jumps, but forces himself to be still as his hand is lifted and turned
over. The bandages were clean before, but after that last blow in his room, a
few droplets of blood have oozed out to stick them to his skin.
“You’re hurt?” Roman asks.
Jason hums in reply. Roman lifts his head, and he quickly amends, “Yes, Sir.”
“Punching walls again?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Jesus.” Roman sighs. “Anyone hear you making all that fuss?”
Jason stiffens and somehow manages not to glance over at Dick. “No, Sir.”
“You steal their bandages to do this?”
“The— The butler gave them to me. Sir.”
The few seconds after that are tense, stretching out for entire minutes in
Jason’s mind, but Dick doesn’t correct him. Roman sighs again.
“What a pity that his kindness will go to waste. You’re such an inconsiderate
child, Jason.”
Jason doesn’t say anything to that. He just stands stock-still while Roman
yanks the bandages off of first one hand, then the other, tearing off newly-
formed scabs as he does. He drops the bandages carelessly to the floor, and
Jason, strangely, feels bad about that. Evidence of Tim’s generosity, discarded
and useless under his father’s feet.
“Hold out your hands,” Roman says, turning around to grab something that sits
on a barrel behind him. “You want to hurt yourself so bad, you may as well go
all-out with it. Honestly, I’m sick of these tantrums of yours…”
He turns back with a thin, smooth piece of wood in his hands. A cane? A switch?
Jason doesn’t know what to call it, but he does know what it’s for. Hands held
out in front of him, he can’t stop himself from cringing. He can feel Dick’s
eyes on the side of his face, but doesn’t dare turn to catch what he’s sure is
a self-satisfied smirk.
“We’ll do five. Count.”
That’s all the warning Jason gets before the switch comes down across both of
his knuckles. It’s a harsh blow for such thin skin, and Jason feels the impact
in his bones. He can’t do much more than yelp at first, but as soon as he can
force his jaw shut, he croaks out a, “One.”
Crack. Yelp. “Two.”
Crack. Yelp. “Th-three.”
Crack. No sound, but he switches his weight to one leg and nearly doubles over.
The force it takes to stand up straight again and keep his hands in place makes
Jason’s knees shake. “Ffffour.”
Crack. The noise he suppressed a second before comes out this time as a long
howl. His knees buckle, and “Five” is little more than a strained whimper.
Roman catches him by the shoulder and forces him upright. A bead of blood drips
off the end of the switch and onto the floor. More, larger drops splash down
from Jason’s hands, which look now like they’ve been torn open by a wildcat.
Roman may as well have just carved him up with a knife. He wrinkles his nose
and manages to choke back a sob, but can do nothing about the tears gathered in
his eyes.
“Oh, hush,” Roman says. “If you can do it to yourself, you can take it from
someone else. Now, hold them out again. Palms up.”
Jason blinks through his tears. “Wh-what…? I th-thought you said—”
“That was your punishment for punching walls,” Roman says without missing a
beat. “You still need your punishment for making a spectacle of yourself in
front of everyone.”
Jason lowers his head and bites his lip, trying hard not to show off how
terrified he is. Dick giggles.
“Don’t be too happy; you’ll still get yours,” Roman tells him. “Now. Jason.
Up.”
The simple act of opening his hands sets Jason’s nerves on fire with pain. He
starts to breathe faster. If the backs of his hands hurt that bad, how much
worse will his palms be? He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to hug his hands
to his chest and mutter “no, no, no” until everything stops. But he knows that
won’t happen. If Roman has to force him, things will be ten times worse, so he
makes himself keep still despite all of his instincts begging him otherwise.
When the first blow lands on his outstretched palms, he screams. He lowers
himself almost all the way to the floor, then straightens up again, tears
spilling over his cheeks.
“Jason.” Roman is calm. Collected. Like he’s speaking to an unruly toddler.
“Count.”
“One!” Jason cries. “God, fuck.”
“Language.”
Crack. Another scream. “Two!”
Crack. He sobs. “Please. Please, Daddy, please—”
“Do not test me right now, Jason.”
Jason sucks in a shaky lungful of air and tries not to hyperventilate. “Three.
I’m sorry, I—”
Crack. Another scream. “—Daddy! Four! Sorry!”
Roman doesn’t even seem to bat an eye. “Open your hands, son,” he says.
Jason hadn’t realized they were closed. His arms tremble in protest when he
tries to force his fingers open, and each centimeter they move feels like he’s
breaking himself apart. By now, the blood streaks in long rivers all the way
down to his elbows.
Crack. He falls to his knees.
“Five,” he sobs. “Five, f-five, god, oh my god, oh—”
Roman steps forward. Jason hugs his hands to his body, shaking like he’s just
been plucked out of a frozen lake. He expects another blow, a scolding, a third
surprise punishment, but all he gets is Roman ruffling his hair.
“Good boy. There, all done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Jason bites his lips to keep from saying something he regrets. He sniffs hard
to try and get some of the snot off his face. It doesn’t do much good.
Blessedly, Roman lets him slide without answering. He practically coos at
Jason, petting his head. “Now, you just have to stay while I punish your
brother. Then you can go get cleaned up. Alright?”
It’s sickening. It’s god damn sickening, the way he switches from cold to
fatherly at the drop of a hat. Like he just washed Jason’s mouth out with soap,
or gave him a few smacks across the bottom, or something. Like Jason’s the one
being a baby for crying about it.
He nods anyway. “Ye-yes, Sir.”
Roman pats his head twice more, then steps away. “Watch, please,” he says.
Jason doesn’t like Dick. Sometimes he thinks he hates him. But, vindictive as
he can get, he still doesn’t like to see him get punished. If it were up to
him, he’d squeeze his eyes shut and try to block out the rest of the world.
That’s why Roman makes him watch, he figures. Keep him in the moment. It’s just
as much a part of his punishment as anything physical.
Blinking away tears, Jason looks up.
Roman puts the switch away on a rack, then turns to the barrel he’d been
standing beside when Jason and Dick came in. He takes off the lid, and Jason
doesn’t need to stand up to know what’s inside. Dick’s expression, which
changes from calm to upset in half a second, tells him everything.
Dick hates the drowning punishment.
“Daddy, no,” he whines, shuffling from foot to foot with his arms folded across
his chest. “It was Jason’s fault. This isn’t fair!”
“Life’s not fair, pumpkin.” Roman beckons for him with two curled fingers.
“C’mere.”
“I didn’t even do anything!”
“You know damn well what upsets your brother, and you did it anyway,” Roman
says. There’s an edge to his voice that makes Jason shrink in on himself even
though he’s no longer the target. “Don’t make me walk over there.”
Dick huffs, looking around the room like an out might present itself. It
doesn’t. It never does. He settles on glaring at Jason while he closes the
short distance between himself and their father.
Roman snatches him up by the back of his hair. “Don’t look at him. This is
about you. You understand me?”
Dick huffs again. He looks away and refuses to answer, like a particularly
petulant child. Jason wants to tell him to cut it out, just get it over with so
they can both leave, but he doesn’t dare speak.
“Hey.” Roman tugs harder. Dick screws his eyes shut. “Hey. You know what you
did wrong. Say it.”
Dick mumbles something. Roman slaps him upside the head, then grabs his hair
again. Finally, Dick speaks. “I talked about his dumb whore mother.”
Any feelings of sympathy that might have been developing in Jason’s gut fly out
the window. He and Dick fix each other with a mutual glare all the way up until
Roman shoves Dick’s head down into the barrel.
The reaction is instantaneous. Dick struggles so hard that water starts to
slosh out of the over-full barrel. A few droplets land on Jason; it’s cold.
Dick’s arms move from his chest to the mouth of the barrel, but no matter how
hard he grabs and yanks and slaps at it, it makes no difference. Roman is
stronger than he is. He keeps Dick there, not giving an inch, until Dick’s body
twists and he starts to stomp at the ground with one foot.
As soon as he yanks him back up, Dick gasps for air. Coughing and spluttering,
mascara running in ugly rivulets down his face, perfect hairdo wet and ruined,
he looks a mess. Jason almost feels bad for him, but his residual anger stamps
that feeling out.
Serves you right, he thinks to himself like a mantra. Serves you right. You
deserve it. Serves you right…
“Now,” Roman says, voice oozing a measured kind of patience. “Would you like to
try that again?”
“Daddy—”
Roman dunks him back down. Dick redoubles his efforts this time, kicking the
barrel with a pointed shoe, but it doesn’t do any good. He stays underwater so
long that Jason starts to think he might pass out, but right when it edges on
“too long,” Roman pulls him up again. Dick’s gargling breaths are interspersed
with sobs.
“Why are you in trouble?” Roman asks, unmoved.
“—Sorry! I’m sorry, okay?!”
From his position on the floor, Jason can see Dick’s arm muscles tense as he
holds himself up with the edge of the barrel. His knuckles are stark white.
“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to,” Roman says.
Dick frowns and kicks the barrel so hard that some water splashes out over the
side. Jason wants to tell him he’s being an idiot who’s making things harder on
himself, but before he can speak, Roman does.
“Hands behind your back.”
Dick’s nails dig in to the wood of the barrel. He shakes his head.
“Hands behind your back,” Roman repeats, “or I’ll cuff them there.”
Sobbing, Dick does what he’s told. Jason can see him trembling from head to
toe.
Roman dunks him again. He holds Dick down for almost a minute, lifts him for a
few seconds, then repeats the process. He must do it almost five times before
Dick speaks — shouts, so loud that the echo makes Jason’s ears ring.
“Sorry, Jason, I’m sorry, Jason, I’m sorry!” He heaves a few ugly, shaking
sobs, eyes closed, positively drenched all down his front. The water trails
down his bare chest and soaks into his pants like he’s pissed himself.
(Jason shouldn’t like the sight of Dick broken down for once. His mother would
be disappointed in him. But she’s not here now.)
“For what?” Roman asks.
“For talking about your mom! I won’t do it again!” His shoulders bounce up and
down with the force of his crying fit. “I’m sorry, please stop…!”
Jason stares. Roman turns to look at him. “Well?”
He could refuse to accept the apology. Let him suffer for a little while
longer, or a lot of a while. Roman would keep it up for as long as Jason told
him to. It’d be only fair. It’d hardly scratch the surface of fixing what
Dick’s done to him all these years, hardly be half of what he deserves for
bringing his late mother into things.
He remembers Tim’s smile. The Instagram account without any pictures of his
face.
“…’Kay,” he says. “Okay. It’s fine. Apology accepted.”
Roman releases Dick and lets him fall to his knees.
 
===============================================================================
 
Long past the end of the party, when the driveway empties of limos and the
manor’s lights go out, Tim stays awake, bathing in the glow of the Batcomputer.
For hours, he assembles his newest collage, countless articles and newspaper
clippings all centered around one bold front page:
TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT HALY’S CIRCUS: TWO PERFORMERS DEAD
Pictured: Dick Grayson, age 8, son of the deceased, shortly before being taken
into police custody.
The black and white photograph sandwiched between the two lines shows a scene
captured from outside of the big top. The foreground shows a crying child
wrapped in a blanket, being guided toward a cop car by an officer. In the
background, police tape blocks off the path to the tent, but crowds of people
still mill around as closely to the scene as possible, while an officer
shuffles them back.
There’s not much else to see. Not unless you know where to look.
Tim himself misses it the first few times, but eventually he catches the way
the second cop stands slightly apart from the onlookers. He realizes then that
he’s not lifting his arm to keep people clear of the scene; he’s taking
something from someone.
Someone in a fancy black suit.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     chapter 3, everybody! give it up for chapter 3!
     time for our first taste of smut in this story. be warned: it's very
     non-consensual.
Jason procrastinates on leaving his room the next day. From the sound of it, so
does Dick. It’s usually easy to hear him chattering from almost anywhere in the
penthouse, but today, he only hears doors open and close as Roman gets ready by
himself. He leaves early, departure signaled by the soft whirr of the elevator.
For hours afterward, the penthouse sits in still silence.
It’s oppressive, that silence. Normally Jason doesn’t mind the quiet, but
today, all it does is give him more time to think. As if he needs that.
Dick actually kept his secret. He’s not sure what to make of that small bit of
kindness. It’s not like it was a selfless act — Dick made that clear enough —
but then, if he didn’t cash in on it to get himself out of his least favorite
punishment, what else will he have Jason do? He hates being indebted to Dick
for that very reason. It was stupid to allow himself to get into this situation
in the first place.
But… But it was nice. Dangerouslynice, having someone like Tim to talk to,
someone who doesn’t spend half his life in a mask. For a little while when they
were together, Jason had almost been able to pretend he was a normal teen with
a normal life. Thinking about Tim stirs in him a feeling similar to the
beginning stages of addiction. And he’s spent his whole life fighting addiction
in all its forms, but maybe…
Maybe just this once, he can give in.
His sore, bandaged hands shake when he picks up his phone, but Jason persists.
He holds it long enough to navigate back to Tim’s page and send one small DM.
jaybae666: Hey.
He’s tempted to add something like “It’s Jason from the party,” but he’s sure
Tim remembers his username. It’s embarrassing enough. He’d been quick to let
Tim know that Dick had picked it out for him when he made his account — all
Jason’s ideas had been “too boring,” apparently — but that didn’t stop Tim from
shooting him an absolutely shit-eating grin.
“Jaybae, huh? Can I call you that?”
Jason’s face flooded red. “You better fucking not.”
“I dunno. It has a nice ring to it. And the number of the beast? I think I cut
myself on that edge.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. What’s the J in yours stand for? Jackass?”
“The one and only Timothy Jackass Drake.”
A beat. They stared at each other: Tim still faintly smiling, and Jason, with
one corner of his mouth quirked upward if you squint.
“Okay,” Tim said after a long moment. “No ‘bae.’ But how about just Jay?”
“...Yeah,” Jason said. “Just Jay is fine.”
The memory knots something up inside of Jason’s chest in a way he doesn’t quite
understand. There was something about how genuine Tim seemed, like there really
was nothing malicious behind his teasing, that had been… refreshing.
Surprisingly so.
He lies in bed next to his phone until it buzzes beside his head. Too quick, he
snatches it back up.
tjdrake: Hey, Just Jay. :)
Jason bites his lip. Despite himself, he smiles.
jaybae666: Good to know you remembered.
jaybae666: Timothy Jackass.
He sits up against his headboard while he waits for a reply, phone held up by
his folded knees. Tim only takes a minute to send another message.
tjdrake: Sorry, sorry! I promise I’m not still laughing at your username.
jaybae666: Suuure.
jaybae666: Not like it matters. My brother’s the one who takes this app
seriously, not me.
Jason pauses and frowns. He really doesn’t want to address that coked-up
elephant in the room, but better sooner than later, he figures. Let Tim know
it’s alright to blow him off if he doesn’t want to deal with the kid from the
crazy family.
jaybae666: Speaking of him. Sorry about last night.
jaybae666: I told him to cut it out. But he never listens.
jaybae666: I’d say “I promise we’re not like that all the time,” but tbh I’d be
lying.
jaybae666: Not that I do that crap! I’m no addict.
jaybae666: Ugh what I’m trying to say is you don’t gotta pretend to be nice to
me if that freaked you out. I’m a big boy. I can take it.
He stops himself before he can vomit anything else onto the screen. Normal
people don’t have to worry about this kind of shit, he’s sure of it. And Tim,
no offense to him, is a dude that looks nothing short of perfectly normal.
Which is why his reply surprises Jason.
tjdrake: Jason, I wouldn’t pretend to be nice to you. I had fun last night.
tjdrake: We all have crazy family members — trust me, LOL. I am the LAST person
who can judge you for that.
Again, it sounds disarmingly sincere. Jason is used to lies and duplicity from
the people around him, not… that. Granted, Tim could just be a better liar than
he seems, but…
God. Normal people probably also don’t worry constantly about who’s scheming
behind their back. Jason rolls his eyes and gets back to typing, pecking at the
keyboard with his fingers to avoid cradling the phone in his injured palms.
jaybae666: Oh yeah? You’re gonna have to tell me some stories.
tjdrake: Well, I used to have this aunt…
Time passes in an easy way after that, just like it did last night. Their
conversation comes just as smoothly via text as it did face-to-face. It’s a
Saturday, so Tim doesn’t have school to distract him, and Jason, well. Jason
doesn’t do much unless his father tells him to. With all that free time between
the two of them, minutes stretch into hours, all the way until morning melts
into afternoon. Jason only realizes how late it’s gotten when a loud growl
erupts from his stomach.
tjdrake: And I never even got the chance to tell him what the right answer was.
He just ran off hooting and hollering like he won the lottery. Over a D+!
jaybae666: Hey, let the kid live his dreams, lol.
jaybae666: But hold that thought. Gonna grab something to eat.
tjdrake: Kk.
Again, Jason closes the app entirely and shuts his phone in his bedside table
before leaving the room. He pads through the penthouse, too absorbed in his
thoughts about his conversation with Tim to notice much of anything around him.
That is, until Dick calls out for him from the living area.
“Baby brother, you’re finally awake.”
Jason stops dead in his tracks. He turns to see little more than one of Dick’s
arms slung over the back of a couch, a few glittery silver bracelets dangling
off his wrist. He gulps.
When he doesn’t speak fast enough, Dick lifts a slender finger and beckons him
forward. “C’mere. Come sit with me.”
Mechanically, Jason walks forward and rounds on the couch. Dick is sprawled out
over it, head on one armrest, feet on the other. Today, he has on a crop top
that rides up high enough that Jason can see most of his chest, as well as a
pair of denim shorts that are a size or two too big. It makes the rest of him
look much leaner in comparison; while Dick has well-defined abs, it’s also easy
to count each of his ribs.
He stares up at Jason with half-lidded eyes. If he’s drugged-up, it’s not coke
this time. The way he moves is languid, pulling himself up limb by long limb
until he’s sitting upright. He pats the cushion next to him. Jason hesitates
for a moment before sitting down.
Immediately, Dick pushes him against the back of the couch, clinging to his
right side. One hand rests on his shoulder, while the other traces little
patterns onto Jason’s chest. It sets his heart racing right away, and he feels
his empty stomach turn.
“Dick—”
“Baby brother,” Dick mutters into his shoulder, “I want you.”
So this is how today is going to go. With a sinking feeling, Jason realizes
he’s not going to get back to his room any time soon — not alone, at least.
“Dick,” he tries anyway. “I’m hungry. C’mon.”
He wiggles his shoulder to try to dislodge Dick, but it does no good. If
anything, it makes Dick hold onto him even tighter. It makes sense that he’d be
craving affection after last night—
“Not tonight, sweet pea,” Roman said, shaking Dick loose from his pant leg.
“Daddy’s tired.”
“Please,” Dick gulped through thick tears. “Please, Daddy, I’ll make it up to
you, I’ll make it so good, I—”
“Good night, Dick.”
The door shut behind him, leaving Dick and Jason alone in the red light of the
torture chamber.
—but that doesn’t mean Jason wants to be the one to give it. That’s never what
he wanted.
Heedless of his reservations, Dick leans in to pepper Jason’s neck with kisses.
They start out quick, chaste, but morph into more passionate things with teeth
and tongue. Dick slings one leg over both of Jason’s, trailing a hand down his
chest. Jason shuts his eyes and grits his teeth.
“Not today,” he says, moving to grab Dick’s wrist just as he reaches his
waistband. “Please. My hands—”
In the blink of an eye, Dick snatches Jason’s chin up so hard that his nails
leave little indents in his skin. He lifts his head to meet Jason’s gaze, and
for a second, there’s nothing but raw, unbridled rage there. Just as quickly as
it appeared, it melts, and then he’s left with Dick’s usual sharp-toothed
smirk.
“You’re gonna fuck me,” he says, “or I’m gonna tell Daddy about your new fuck-
buddy.”
Jason’s mouth opens as far as possible with Dick holding him so hard. He wants
to say something like “things aren’t like that with Tim,” or “why is it always
about sex with you,” or “leave me the fuck alone, you creep,” but nothing comes
out.
Nobody ever says no to Dick Sionis.
When he clamps his lips shut, Dick takes that as the victory it is. Smiling, he
leans forward to press their mouths together.
They’re not really brothers in anything but the most legal sense. Jason’s known
Dick for less than a decade, and with their age difference, it’s not like they
grew up together. But, still, kissing him feels wrong, like he’s on the side of
a line that should never have been crossed. Maybe it’s Dick’s insistence on
calling him a brother, or maybe Jason’s broken in some way he’s too stupid to
figure out, but he doesn’t understand how Dick can kiss him so shamelessly.
He kisses back, though. He always does. Right now, he has even less of a choice
than usual. His hands lay immobile in his lap, and he’s not half as passionate
or skilled as Dick, but he moves his lips and tongue anyway, playing off of his
older brother’s direction.
Dick sinks into the kiss, throwing himself over Jason until he’s straddling him
properly. He cups Jason’s head in both hands and pecks a sloppy trail over his
cheek and to his ear.
“Touch me,” he whispers.
Jason lets out a breath through his nose and ducks his head down. He doesn’t
move fast enough, so Dick takes his hands and pulls them around to press
against his backside. It hurts so bad that Jason can’t help but hiss in pain;
Dick just grinds down against him like nothing’s wrong.
“Touch me, little brother,” he says again, rolling his hips in a slow, steady
motion. “I know you want to. You’re getting hard already. I can tell.”
Despite himself, Jason knows Dick is right. His body reacts far better than his
brain to the idea of a warm body bouncing around in his lap. He feels himself
harden in his too-thin pajama pants. Carefully, more to take his mind off of
his own body than anything, Jason squeezes Dick’s ass, using his fingers
instead of his sore palms.
“That’s right,” Dick sighs, head drifting down to Jason’s neck now. His hot
breaths make it feel like Jason’s sweating. “You can do whatever you want. Big
brother understands. You’re so horny, little bro…”
The way Dick talks when they sleep together is Jason’s least favorite part.
Somehow, no matter how hard Dick comes onto him or how many times Jason says
no, it’s always his fault in the end. What does Dick see in him that he can’t
see in himself? It’s not like he’s lying. Dick’s hand, cupping his hard cock
through his pants, proves that much. Jason tosses his head back, nostrils
flaring, and Dick takes that opportunity to yank his clothes down and expose
his erection to the air.
“Ooh…” He presses the very tip of his index finger to the slit in Jason’s
cockhead. “Look how happy you are to see me already! My cute little brother has
such a nice, chubby cock…”
Jason flushes, glaring down at Dick. “Do you have to talk like that?”
Dick ignores him, rubbing at the tip of his cock until it throbs. The way he
giggles should make Jason’s length shrink in shame, but, traitorously, it stays
rigid and upright.
“Look, it’s twitching for me! Hey, does your new friend know you’re a sick fuck
who gets off to his own brother?”
Jesus. The mood whiplash hits Jason like a slap in the face. Sometimes he
wonders whether Dick means to insult him or if he just doesn’t know the
difference, but today, his intent is clearly malicious. He wishes he’d just
shut up and get on with it, but of course things can’t be that easy. Not for
him. Never for him.
He shuts his eyes and looks away, which only serves to make Dick laugh some
more.
“He doesn’t! No wonder he’s still talking to you.” Dick nuzzles his neck and
grips his cock properly, giving it a few skillful strokes. The worst part about
it is how genuinely good it feels. “You know he’s gonna find out eventually,
right? Maybe I’ll tell him. I can post a picture of us together, wouldn’t that
be fun?”
Jason can’t relax, even with Dick jerking him off with all the expertise of
someone who’s been fucking around practically their whole life. He knows he’s
right. He can’t keep talking to Tim and expect to hide his family from him
forever, but god, he just wants to pretend for a little while longer. Is that
so bad?
“I— I don’t even have his number,” he lies. “I don’t know how to get in touch
with him. It was just a one-night thing.”
“Oh, so his Insta isn’t…” Dick pulls back, fishes his rose gold phone out of
his shorts, and flicks on the screen. “...tjdrake?He followed me last night,
and it’s funny, ‘cause that account’s following you, too…”
Fuck. God fucking damn it. When the hell did Tim follow Dick? And why? The way
he was looking at him last night, Jason figured he was intimidated by him, but
did he just miss the signs of attraction there? That’d figure. Why care about
Jason when he could upgrade to the skinnier, prettier model?
The look on his face must say it all. Dick grins in that “checkmate” kind of
way.
“So,” he says. “Whaddya say? Selfie time?”
“What do you want? ” Jason snaps. “Obviously you want something or else you’d
have done it already, so stop beating around the bush and just tell me!”
Dick keeps smiling, but fixes him with that dead-eyed stare again. “Oh, little
bro. It’s just fun to see you squirm.”
 
“Look at him, look— Check out his eyes!”
“Christ. So he’s not knocked out?”
“Oh, nah. He can feel everything. He just can’t move — well, anything but his
eyes, obviously.”
Pressure. Deep, all-encompassing pressure, keeping him tethered flat on his
back. No way to sit up. No way to shrink away from the hands roaming over his
body, under his clothes and down his pants.
No way, even, to speak.
“That’s kinda fucked up, Dickie. I mean, isn’t he your brother?”
“What can I say?” A smile, pearly white with too-sharp canines. The smile of a
wolf in sheep’s clothing. “He’s cute when he squirms.”
 
The memory leaves Jason cold and immobile. He hardly reacts when Dick kisses
him. Like usual, he kisses back just enough to avoid being called noncompliant,
but he can hardly match his brother’s pace and passion. Dick sighs happily into
his mouth, shifting them until they’re lying down with Jason on the bottom.
No. No. I don’t want this. Stop.
There’s nothing to keep him from talking this time, but he still can’t bring
himself to. It takes all of his focus just to keep his head above water, to
push the unwanted flashback away and lock it up where it belongs.
You want it. You’re hard. Stop being overdramatic.
Dick pulls away just as Jason starts kissing with more enthusiasm. “Ah, ah,
ah,” he says, pressing a finger to Jason’s lips. “I know what you can do for me
if you don’t want me to snitch.”
Jason swallows. His mouth feels dry, despite everything. “What.”
“Here…”
Dick sits up on his knees and turns around to undo his shorts. He pushes them
down as far as they’ll go, then bends forward, face level with Jason’s crotch,
ass sticking out in his direction. He fixes him with a coy little smirk over
his shoulder.
“You said you were hungry, so why don’t you eat me out? Maybe, if you’re really
good, I’ll even give you a kiss.” He taps Jason’s cockhead so there’s no
confusion as to where that “kiss” will land. “Or maybe you could even fuck me!
Wouldn’t you like that, little brother?”
Jason sucks in a shaky breath, holds it, and then answers, “...Yeah.”
“Knew you would. Now, c’mon, I’m so hot for you…”
Dick wiggles his ass, and Jason shifts position to get his arms under him so
that he can sit up a bit. Dick’s hole is pink and puckered and twitches when
his breath ghosts over it. Not for the first time, Jason leans forward and
licks him.
That gets him a contented sigh, Dick’s breath warm on his cock. Jason doesn’t
like this — can’t help but think of all the people who’ve stuck their fingers
and tongues and dicks where his face is now — but he knows what his brother
likes, so he sets off to do that. He moves his tongue in tiny little circles,
feeling the flutter of Dick’s muscles underneath. With caution, he raises one
hand to pull Dick’s cheeks apart and give himself better access. It hurts, but
he ignores it, pressing his tongue inside and fucking Dick with short, quick
motions.
“Ahh.” Dick presses back against his face, urging Jason’s tongue in deeper.
“There you go, baby brother. So good at this. Get me nice and wet, c’mon…”
Jason hardly has the space to breathe. He manages to pull back for just long
enough to gasp and wet his lips, and then he resumes what he was doing with
double the intensity. Whatever it takes to get this over with as fast as
possible. Dick rocks back and forth, making delicate little noises that
occasionally give way to growls. The latter are a rarity; usually, he lays on
the porno moans thick, whiny and feminine like he gets all his practice from
Catholic School Sluts XXX. With Jason, though… With Jason, he’s more
comfortable. Jason gets to see the cracks in his facade that nobody else ever
gets close enough to look at.
He’s not sure that’s a good thing.
Dick wraps a hand around him and starts to stroke his cock hard enough to hurt,
ignoring Jason’s muffled noises of protests. If anything, they only seem to
rile him up more, until he sits up and reaches back to grab a fistful of
Jason’s hair.
“Oh fuck, just like that,” he says in a low, harsh voice. He forces Jason’s
head closer, painfully so, grinding down hard against his face. “I can’t
believe you’re getting off on this, you fucking freak. Unghhh,just like that,
just like that…!”
Jaw screaming in pain, neck forced at an odd angle, Jason tries hard to keep up
with his brother’s pace. Just come, he thinks, just come, kicking out at the
armrest, toes curling in his socks.
But of course, Dick would never make things easy on him. Keeping hold of
Jason’s hair, he lifts his hips and barks, “Tell me how much you love it.”
Jason gasps for breath, drool streaking down his face. He hates dirty talk,
especially with Dick. All he can manage is a strained, “I— I love it.”
“Boring.” Dick lowers his hips, and Jason obediently licks him before he pulls
up again. “You love eating your older brother’s ass. Say it.”
“I…”
Even though they’ve done this so many times before, it never gets any easier.
Jason’s face flushes a deeper red. When he doesn’t answer, Dick twists his cock
hard enough to make Jason arch in pain.
“You love eating your older brother’s ass. Say it.”
“D-Dick, please, fuck, it hurts—”
“It’s supposed to. Say it!”
“I love eating your ass! God!”
Dick lets up a little bit. “Whose ass?”
“M-my older brother’s.” Jason squeezes his eyes shut and wills his tears of
pain away. “I love eating my older brother’s ass. Happy?!”
With a pleased sigh, Dick starts to stroke him again. His grip remains firm,
but only to the point where, maddeningly, it feels good. Heat coils up in
Jason’s gut with every jerk of Dick’s wrist, every twisting pass of his palm
over his cockhead. He wishes Dick would sit back down and let him keep tonguing
his asshole, but the way he stays poised just a couple of inches too high tells
him he’s expecting to hear more.
Jason tries to put his rational brain to rest and let his baser instincts take
over. He needs to stop thinking for a while. It’s the only way he can do this.
“Y-you’re so… hot,” he starts. Just tell him what he wants to hear. “I’ve— I’ve
been thinking about your ass all day, big brother. Please, please let me fff…
fuck you with my tongue. I… I wanna make you come. Please.”
Dick giggles, reaching down to fondle Jason’s balls. “Don’t you wanna shoot off
in me?”
Jason shakes his head. His lips brush against Dick’s thigh when he does.
“No. Not unless you want it.”
“And why’s that?”
They’ve played this game before. Jason knows exactly what to say. He mumbles
into Dick’s skin.
“What was that, baby bro?”
“Don’t deserve it,” he says, louder. “Just your stupid, fat, ugly fucktoy.”
He can hear Dick’s grin, even though he can’t see his face. “You’re lucky I let
you do this much, huh? And you’re leaking because of it. So fucking disgusting,
Jay.”
Right on time, Jason feels Dick spread his precum down his shaft, using it as
lube. This is the part he hates maybe even more than the dirty talk itself: the
part where he starts to accept all over again that it’s true.
“I’m— I’m lucky,” he says. “Just, please, lemme put my tongue in you, big
brother. Lemme lick your ass. I want it, god, I want it so bad, I—”
“Okay, okay!” Abruptly, Dick sits down, grinding against Jason’s mouth. “Shut
up and put your money where your— Well, you know.”
Thank god. Jason immediately goes at Dick with all he’s got, years of
experience guiding the way. Dick laughs at his enthusiasm right up until
Jason’s tongue catches just right on the rim of his hole, at which point he
stutters and moans. A few repeats of the motion has Dick lost in pleasure,
Jason’s cock forgotten in his loose fist. Cautiously, Jason lifts both hands to
hold Dick’s hips, fighting his way through the strain it puts on his injuries.
“I’m— Ohh. ” Dick runs a hand through the sweat and trail of hair leading up
from Jason’s cock to his stomach. It’s almost tender, until he starts to scrape
at the skin with his nails. “So… So glad you remember how, baby brother… My
best baby brother ever, mmn, like that, like that…”
Dick’s muscles flutter around his tongue, but it’s not enough, not fast enough.
Bracing himself for the sting, he lifts a hand and slaps it against Dick’s ass.
Dick howls, arching his back and grinding down hard against Jason’s face. He
hears the telltale slap-slap-slap of Dick jerking himself off.
“Again. Again!”
Jason complies. Dick whines, high-pitched and loud.
“Daddy,” he sighs. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—!”
“Yes?”
The new voice makes Jason freeze. Dick does, too, but only for a second. Then
he doubles up on his efforts, bouncing up and down so hard it feels like he
might break Jason’s nose. He can’t see over the back of the couch, but that’s
Roman’s voice, their father’s voice, when did he get home—
Dick throws his head back, cries out, and comes.
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