Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5012278.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Jason_Todd/Bruce_Wayne
  Character:
      Jason_Todd, Bruce_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      undercover_porn, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-16 Words: 2041
****** we're made to love but you're dangerous ******
by ohmcgee
Summary
     Bruce follows his lead, even when Jason doesn’t quite know where he’s
     going with it.
Tonight Bruce is supposed to be some low-hanging gangster wannabe, finally
getting a meeting with one of the higher-ups to see if they think he’s worthy
of peddling their particular poison. Jason gets to tag along as his runner, his
lookout, his errand boy, and well, he thinks that’s kind of bullshit, but he
guesses he gets it. He’s too young to be taken seriously as another dealer just
yet and Bruce was even anxious to let him come along in this capacity but Jason
assured him he knew how these things worked, how the really serious thugs
always had some tweaked out junkie or some down on his luck kid chasing their
heels, practically begging to do whatever they wanted for a couple of bucks.
He’s just supposed to hang out in the bar keeping lookout while Bruce meets
with the ringleaders in the back. It’s the kind of place where he can order a
beer and the bartender won’t even glance at him twice, just pass the glass over
and take his money. Jason doesn’t drink it, can’t stand the taste, really, but
it’s just for show anyway. He kicks his legs up onto the stool across from him
and dead-eyes anyone who tries to sit next to him, cleaning out the dirt from
beneath his nails while he waits, whistling some jingle from a commercial he
heard on tv before they headed out tonight.
After about an hour Jason gets a little bored and a little worried, but mostly
just bored. His ass hurts from sitting on that fucking stool for so long and no
one even tried to fight him once -- what kind of dive is this? He knows Bruce
is going to seriously chew him out for it later, but Jason pops a couple of
peanuts in his mouth and hops down from the stool, waits until the bartender is
busy with a couple of busty redheads, then slips into the back.
Sure, it’s a little dangerous. He could probably get his head blown off just
strolling into a room full of gangsters and drug dealers, but the thing is,
Jason’s got years of experience of dealing with these pricks and well, maybe
they pull a few guns on him. He could use the excitement.
Lucky for him that’s exactly what happens as soon as he pushes the door open,
right after he fucks his hair up a little and grinds his knuckles into his eyes
for a few minutes, getting them good and red.
“There you are,” he grins, loose and a little crooked, pretending like he
doesn’t notice the fire power pointed at the back of his head as he stumbles
over his own feet and makes his way across the room into Bruce’s lap, throwing
his arms around his neck.
Bruce -- because Bruce is perfect, doesn’t break character, not even one flinch
of a jaw or twitch of an eyebrow. Bruce follows his lead, even when Jason
doesn’t quite know where he’s going with it, just laughs too loud and throaty,
slides his hand up high on Jason’s thigh.
“Don’t mind this one,” Bruce says, dragging one ringed-knuckle down the column
of Jason’s spine, making him shiver. “Tweaked out of his pretty little head,
ain’t you, sweetheart?”
Jason’s doesn’t say anything, just squirms in Bruce’s lap and mouths at his
throat, tongues the silvery scar that goes from his ear down to his adam’s
apple.
“Now, as we was saying,” Bruce says and Jason -- it’s dumb that that gets him
so hard, but what can you do? There’s just something about Bruce, about knowing
how educated and cultured and fuckiing amazing he is, how he admonishes Jason
for cursing and wearing his shoes in the house -- there’s something about
seeing him in ragged clothes and a second hand leather jacket with his hair all
greasy and some cheap, fake gold chain around his neck just butchering the
english language that makes Jason crazy, makes him want to wrap his legs around
him and see just how rough and dirty Bruce can get.
Slowly, Jason hears the rest of the goons put their guns away and sit back down
in their chairs and he grins smugly into Bruce’s shoulder. He knew this was a
good idea.
They talk about -- honestly, Jason has no idea what they’re talking about, he’s
too busy tasting the salt on Bruce’s throat, feeling Bruce’s hand squeeze hard
on his thigh when he puts his tongue in his ear. He squirms and licks, gets his
hand under Bruce’s shirt as he sweet talks the scumbags into telling him who
their supplier is and it just gets Jason harder, makes him wish Bruce would
just spread him out over the table and fuck him right here, right in front of
everybody.
Jason shudders all over at the thought and feels Bruce’s hand squeeze his thigh
again, move up until it’s between his legs, the heel of his hand pressing
against Jason’s dick. He keeps it right where it is, no higher, no more
pressure, and it drives Jason wild, tries to shift to rub himself off against
Jason’s hand but Bruce squeezes his wrist with his other hand as a warning, so
Jason tries to be still.
The next thing Jason’s aware of Bruce is spilling him out of his lap, but
immediately slipping his arm around his waist, tugging Jason to his side as he
shakes hands with one of the men who pointed at a gun at Jason earlier,
confirming their next meet-up time that Jason knows isn’t going to happen, not
with the intel they just got.
“See ya, fellas,” Bruce says in that heavy, Jersey slash Boston accent he came
up with for Lyle Pecante, small time drug dealer with dreams of making it big
time.
He leads Jason out of the bar with an arm around his shoulder, Jason tucked up
against him until they get outside and Bruce drags him into one of the side
alleys, stares at a couple of bums until they almost piss their pants trying to
get away from him, pins Jason to the gritty, grimey wall with one hand to his
chest, nothing but Batman in his eyes.
“You could have ruined this entire mission,” he growls out and Jason’s knees
wobble and he licks his lips. “You could have gotten killed.”
“Yeah, but,” Jason says, his eyes blown wide like he’d actually been doing the
drugs he’d pretending to be so high on. “Didn’t.”
Bruce growls and crushes his mouth against Jason’s and it’s bruising and
unforgiving and everything Jason’s been wanting and waiting for all fucking
night. He bites back at Bruce’s mouth, catches his bottom lip between his teeth
and Bruce makes another rough, dark sound, buries his hand in Jason’s hair and
pulls his head back.
“No,” he says, breathing raggedly.
Jason’s brain tries to catch up, tries to do anything. “N-no?”
“Not like this,” Bruce says and he’s come down a little bit now, less Batman in
his eyes and Lyle Pecante on his face and more Bruce -- Jason’s Bruce, soft
eyes and steady hands and strong everything. “Not -- not in these clothes, not
in some dirty alley like --”
“Bruce,” Jason says, gets his hands around Bruce’s middle and tugs him forward,
grinds against Bruce’s thigh. “Don’t matter.”
Bruce heaves out a heavy, ragged breath and lets Jason just use him.
“Don’t matter what you’re wearing, how you talk, what name people call you,”
Jason says, slipping his hands under Bruce’s shirt, flattening his palms out
over a roadmap of scars. “I always see you.”
“Jay,” Bruce breathes out, tips forward and presses his forehead against
Jason’s, closes his eyes. “You were driving me crazy in there.”
“Ditto,” Jason laughs. “I wanted --”
He stops. Bruce -- Bruce probably doesn’t need to hear all of his crazy fucked
up fantasies.
“What?” Bruce asks, dragging his nose down the column of Jason’s throat,
stopping to suck a bruise into his skin. “What did you want, Jay?”
“Wanted you to fuck me,” Jason says and feels the stuttery gasp Bruce makes
against his skin. “Wanted you to lay me out and fuck me right there, right in
front of all those scumbags. Wanted --” he gasps, riding Bruce’s thigh now like
he’s riding him, clutching at Bruce’s shoulders, digging his nails into his
chest. “Wanted everyone to see, B. God, wanted them to see what you do to me.”
“God, Jay,” Bruce shakes against him. “Let me --”
“Yeah, yes,” Jason says. “Fuck, anything.”
“You shouldn’t,” Bruce says darkly, but also hot as fuck. “Shouldn’t say that
to me.”
“It’s true,” Jason says, staring him in the eye. “It’s true all the time,
everyday. All you have to do is say the word, B. That’s how it’s always been
and you --”
“Jason,” Bruce says sharply, like he can’t fucking bear to hear anymore, then
Jason’s opening up for him because Bruce is pushing his fingers into his mouth
for him to suck on while he yanks Jason’s pants open with his other hand and
Jason -- Jason gets the picture. He knows where this is going and god, thank
fuck. He sucks on Bruce’s fingers, goes down on them all the way past the
knuckle, slobbers on them and gets them good and wet even as he’s working
Bruce’s jeans open.
Bruce kisses him once, then grabs his hips and turns him around, kissing the
back of Jason’s neck as he spreads him open with his fingers. The brick is
disgusting, layers and layers of caked on filth and grime and Bruce is fucking
him with his fingers in this alley that smells like piss and garbage and it’s
perfect, so fucking perfect.
“I’m good, I’m good. Come on --” Jason says, his voice shaking with need, and
braces himself against the filthy wall when he feels the head of Bruce’s cock
press against him, bites his lip when Bruce grips his hips and pushes into him,
choking on a moan.
It’s good -- fuck, it’s always good, but somehow, in this dirty alley with
Bruce pounding into him from behind, Jason’s ratty jeans puddled around his
ankles and a couple of fake tattoos up and down his arms, somehow it’s almost
better.
Because it’s them.
It’s them when they’re in hundred dollar Italian suits and it’s them when Bruce
is covered in masks and kevlar and it’s them now, Jason dressed up like the kid
he was supposed to grow up as.
Jason comes with Bruce buried so deep inside of him he feels like he’s going to
burst, comes with his hand around his dick and Bruce’s name falling from his
mouth in a choked-off sob and Bruce follows him right over that edge, burying
his face in the crook of Jason’s neck, whispering I love you, I love you, as
his cock pulses inside of him, as his come drips down Jason’s thighs.
They get their pants back up as soon as Bruce pulls out of him, Jason’s thighs
a sticky mess until they get home, and Bruce kisses Jason soft and tender,
holds his face in one hand and just licks into his mouth, sucks on his tongue
until he pulls away and Jason looks in his eyes and Bruce is gone, suddenly
replaced by Batman.
“You disobeyed my direct order,” he says. “You went completely off script. You
were foolish, arrogant, and everything I’ve been working on could have been for
nothing because you couldn’t simply do as you were told and wait --”
“We,” Jason interrupts, way too fucked out to be giving a shit about Bruce’s
lectures right now, still slumped against the wall, wondering if there’s
somehow he could nap like this while Bruce yells at him.
“What?” Bruce asks sharply.
“What we’ve been working on,” Jason says, poking Bruce in the chest like he’s
not afraid of him. He’s not, never has been. That’s exactly why he drives Bruce
so crazy, in all the ways that count. “Partners, remember?”
Bruce lets out a long, heavy sigh. “You’re a menace,” he grumbles and Jason
just grins, makes a kissy face at him.
“You know it,” he says. “Now can we get something to eat? I’m fucking
starving.”
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