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It occurs to him in the middle of sending Bruce 32 lines of the middle finger emoji, that maybe Bruce doesn’t actually know. He dismisses it as ridiculous, because Bruce knows everything, but once the thought is there it won’t leave him alone. Bruce never uses emojis, but the follow up text is a single knife and an angry face, which means Cass stole his phone and is going to delete Jason’s reply because she thinks it would hurt Bruce’s feelings. He sends back a much more subdued three middle fingers, which earns him a thumbs up, and then the offending texts disappear from the chat. Great. He puts his phone on the charger before he can give into the urge to smash it into the wall, and goes back to work.
He’s finished folding the last t-shirt when his phone starts to ring, and he lets it ring all the way through to voicemail twice out of spite. When it starts to ring a third time, he gives up, because it might actually be important and he is trying to be a team player these days. His cooperative attitude is immediately punished.
“Falling back into an emo loner phase again are we?” Tim snarks. “Mind penciling that in for next week instead? We could use your unique expertise on this.” Normally flattery might actually work. If it weren’t for the fact Tim is trying bargain with fucking biology right now. Jason is starting to get the impression that maybe all of them don’t know and that’s almost as hilarious as it is infuriating. While he’s still caught up in the revelation that the world’s two nosiest busybodies are complete idiots, Tim takes his silence as an invitation to keep talking. “Seriously, I don’t even know why you’re saying no. You love blowing stuff up, I thought that breaking into a federal prison would be your bread and butter.”
“Busy.” Jason grunts, still reeling.
“Jason come on, we both know you don’t have any-” Jason hangs up on him before he can finish. Even if he wasn’t going to be nesting, who plans a prison break-in on a freaking Thursday? His phone vibrates in his hand, no doubt Tim threatening the livelihood of his balls or his TV for hanging up. Neither are empty threats per se, but he can’t really bring himself to care at the moment. He stares blankly at the laundry hamper. If both Tim and Bruce don’t know, who else doesn’t know? Is it literally all of them? He presented a few months before he died, so he’d assumed that Alfred had informed Bruce after his death, or that at some point it would have come up. He racks his brain for some kind of evidence that Bruce would have known but comes up empty. He’d only had the one heat, and Alfred had given him a kind and gentle promise, that Jason wouldn’t have to say until he was ready. Has Alfred kept that promise this whole time?
The laundry doesn’t offer him any answers.
His phone buzzes again and he switches it off without looking at it, jamming his wallet and car keys into his pocket and hitching the hamper onto his hip.
A laundry exchange had been Alfred’s idea, after he’d caught Jason pawing through the laundry room like a particularly brazen lecher. Now, instead of being a complete creep, Jason meets Alfred at a diner halfway between his apartment and the manor, and they exchange a washed basket for an unwashed one, each with one piece of clothing or bedding from every member of the house.
He’s just closed the trunk of his car when Alfred sniffs like he does when he has something to say, and Jason turns expectantly. “Master Richard hasn’t visited the manor in the past three months,” He says with an air of deep disappointment, “nor has he allowed me inside his apartment to tidy.”
Jason shrugs it off, and Alfred declines lunch, though he does sip on a cup of coffee while Jason eats a sandwich and they trade light quips about the quality of the food. The tea on offer at a diner is atrocious, but diner coffee tastes about the same the world over. They spend a good fifteen minutes in polite one-upmanship about the strangest places they’ve had a cup of reassuringly familiar bad coffee before Jason starts feeling restless. He finishes his food in a few neat bites and puts some bills on the table. They trade an appropriately stoic clap on the shoulder before they part ways.
He convinces himself on the drive home that one missing scent won’t really make a difference. He’s spent heats in way worse conditions, with way fewer comforts than he has right now. He’s spent them alone in freakin’ space. The fact that he has an apartment with frankly absurd amounts of security and running water is downright luxurious compared to getting whammied in the middle of the desert.
The state of denial lasts through the rest of the day and well into the evening before it hits him that it’s really not fine.
He’s set everything up the way he knows he likes, the clothing bundled neatly into pillowcases, the bedding incorporated into the rest of the nest so there are no lumps. His security system is running without bugs, his fridge is stocked with pre-portioned meals, his mini fridge stocked with water and electrolyte drinks. Loathe as he is to admit it, the missing scent rankles.
He likes nesting. It’s something he likes to do correctly. He’s good at it, and building a proper nest is satisfying, confers the same satisfaction of closing a difficult case. It’s one of the rare activities he does solely for himself, by himself, and he’s the only one who has to be satisfied with the outcome. That doesn’t change the fact that Jason is an aggressive person with a habit of perhaps being a little over dramatic. Not getting what he wants, how he wants, when he wants drives him just a little crazy. So when he flops down on his couch to angrily scroll through his phone and sees that Tim messaged Dick on the group chat a couple hours ago, and that text resulted in a phone call, it gets the wheels turning in his head. It’s not an idea he’d ever entertain if Nightwing were in town. Hell, any idea that puts Nightwing within twenty yards of him before his heat is a bad one if he’s being honest. Again, his impulse control is poor, and he gets intense when he wants something. But Nightwing is notoriously weak-willed about turning down missions from other Bats, and that presents a window of opportunity. He sits on the idea for a solid thirty minutes, doesn’t even get up from the couch when he checks on the status of the Batplane and it’s in pre-flight check. There are about a million reasons not to do it. For one, he’s about two hours from his heat hitting him, the fever has already started to set in. Another is that if Dick finds out he’ll be suspicious as hell, and he’ll probably earn himself yet another lecture on sharing and caring and the importance of shitting rainbows.
The missing scent is noxious .
Where he enjoys nesting, and the heat itself, there are other parts of being an omega he doesn’t enjoy. Like this one, the frantic anxiety that builds in his gut when he thinks about a pack mate being missing. All he can think about is how Tim has been really quiet about how the Titans have been, and how Damian didn’t try to stab anyone during the last patrol, and how long it took Bruce to get up the last time a villain knocked him to the ground. How Dick’s smell isn’t here which means he can’t quite throw off the anxiety the same way he can with the others.
It does not help that there’s a part of him that thinks Dick less as just another pack-mate and more potential mate and that part gets very insistent about his presence.
His phone pings that the Batplane will be leaving Gotham airspace in three minutes, and he rolls off his couch.
By the time his phone pings again he’s in his car and on his way to Bludhaven for some casual breaking and entering.
*
Apartment buildings are inherently terrible options for safe houses. Neighbors can’t be trusted not to put a brick at the lobby door, or to casually hold the door for someone behind them, to feel too awkward to say ‘no’ if a stranger bemoaned forgetting their access card. Jason has utilized laziness and social pressure to piggyback into no less than five different ‘secure’ locations, and Dick’s apartment building is added to that tally when he makes a hopeful expression at a passing resident and they don’t slam the door in his face when he slips in behind them. He follows them up a flight of stairs, gives a friendly wave when they disappear down a different hallway, before he drops to his knees in front of the right door and picks the lock.
Dick’s security is top notch, or it would have been if Alfred hadn’t given Jason the stand down code when he called during the drive. Which means Jason just has to jimmy a shitty, physical lock to let himself inside, and punch a 16 digit code into a wall panel and he has full access to casa de Dickwing. His intent is just to grab something at random. Dick isn’t exactly a paragon of housekeeping, and if he accidentally picks something he’ll miss, it’s not like Dick will assume theft. His intent takes a sharp ninety degree turn when he slips silently into the bedroom and is confronted with the sight of Dick himself, fast asleep. He’d gambled on this trip being a straightforward and distraction-free endeavor. He’d gambled on not really having access to Dick. He was not planning on confronting the mess of feelings he’d been harboring for the past several years. The sight of Dick’s t-shirt riding up his stomach to show just a hint of hip bone is a sharp knife against the threads of his remaining common sense.
He could probably just ride his heat out here, he thinks desperately. What would Dick do, kick him out? Even if he hates it, Dick doesn’t exactly have a heart of stone. Hell, if Jason just climbed into bed with him, Dick would probably be ecstatic about the free cuddles. At least, for the few hours he could afford before he had to patrol again, or go help with some crisis on another planet. And then he’d be alone in Dick’s apartment without Dick, or any of the other smells he can’t deny he really kind of wants to get back to. Also, it would drive Jason absolutely bonkers to know that all it takes to break in is a polite smile and a lockpick.
So it makes perfect sense in the moment to pull the hypodermic needle full of tranquilizer out of his jacket, and jab it into Dick’s thigh.
Dick startles awake, but Jason’s already straddling him and parries what would have been a really painful jab to the throat before Dick realizes who exactly it is that’s broken into his apartment and stabbed him.
“Jason?” Dick asks. His voice isn’t even muzzy. Jason either got here right after he fell asleep or he just gave him a hell of an adrenaline buzz.
“Just me Dickie.” Jason pats his cheek in open-palmed affection. Maybe a hint of patronization.
Dick slaps his hand away, glaring. “How the heck are you in here?” His eyes widen as he finally registers the full situation, “Is that a needle? What the heck Jason?”
“Maybe I’m just better than you,” Jason muses. That remark earns him a knee to the back of his ribs. “I thought you were in prison.” He wheezes once his lungs reinflate.
“Why would I be in prison?”
“Because explosions are cathartic and relaxing.” Is Jason the only one who reads the group chat? Why bother having one at all?
“I haven’t blown anything up recently.” Dick says slowly.
“Clearly.” Jason snorts. Dick is the worst at pursuing cathartic activities out of all of them, “What does that have to do with why you’re home?”
“I am so confused.” Dick mumbles, the tranquilizer finally starting to do its work. His fists loosen, and after a few more long seconds, drop away from Jason entirely. Jason waits a bit longer just to be sure Dick’s isn’t faking him out before sliding off the bed and slinging him across his shoulders. He makes sure to reset the security on the way out.
When they finally get back to Gotham, he’s about ready to claw his own skin off from needing to be back inside, and he damn near runs up the stairs with Dick slung over his back. Once they’re inside Jason dumps Dick into the nest, doing his best to arrange Dick’s limbs in such a way that they won’t cramp when he finally wakes up. He was absolutely right that all he needed to make his nest perfect was a bit of Dick (he aggressively shames himself for his wording, and the mental image it evokes) and the niggling self-doubt that this maybe wasn’t his best idea is summarily ignored. His ego is maybe not the best at the moment, and he doesn’t feel like making it worse.
He putters for a bit longer, re-checking his security and putting his phone on its charger before he gives in and strips down to his pajamas and curls up into bed beside Dick. Their combined body heat makes the whole nest warm, a pleasant contrast to the cool room. Dick’s breathing is deep and even. Artificially relaxed for a good while longer. His intention is to come up with a good excuse for what the hell he’s done before fever intensifies enough to stifle his creativity, but his body decides that being awake is a definitive, ‘no’, and he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows.
*
He wakes up sometime later with his stomach cramping like the devil is trying to crawl out of him through his intestines, and Dick leaning over him with a murderous expression. Only one of those things is something he knows how to fix, so he ignores Dick, rolls over and starts digging through his bedside table. He’s popped two ibuprofen and a half bottle of water before Dick snaps.
“What the fuck Jason!”
“Chill out Dick, kidnapping is hardly the most offensive thing I’ve done.”
“Oh, right, because breaking into my house and violating my sense of privacy and safety not being the worst thing you’ve ever done just makes it something I should gloss over huh? What happened to a phone call? A text?” Dick hisses, snatching the water bottle from Jason’s hand and taking a swig for himself. “Not to mention that you are in heat.” He points accusingly with the water bottle, “Is this a magic thing? Or a poison thing?”
“Nope.” Jason says lightly.
“Fudge.” Only Dick could make that sound like he was actually swearing, and his face darkens even further. He stands, hands swiping through his pockets furiously, and Jason tries not to let the feeling of rejection curdle in his stomach. He knows that Dick wouldn’t want to stick around, that’s why he has the laundry system with Alfred. There’s no point getting his feelings hurt. Still, when Dick pulls out his cell phone and starts jabbing at the screen, the back of his throat feels tight.
There are a few long seconds of silence interrupted only by Dick’s furious typing.
“If you’re leaving, could you lend me your jacket at least?” Jason finally manages. His voice doesn’t even wobble, he sounds appropriately groggy and grumpy. Dick leaves him in silence for a few seconds longer, and Jason contemplates throwing him out the window to save them both the humiliation of asking twice.
Before he can finish calculating how fast he would be able to open the window and heave Dick out of it while his stomach isn’t cooperating, Dick sighs heavily and sits back down hard enough to make the springs groan. He falls back, his head hitting Jason hard in the stomach. The blow sets off his cramps to the point of making him slightly nauseous, but he’d strongly prefer being nauseated than being alone, so he says nothing aside from a grunt of pain. Dick hasn’t stopped looking at his phone, and after a few careful seconds Jason reaches down to rest a hand on top of his head. When Dick ignores him, Jason cautiously accepts the tacit permission and gently starts petting his hair.
The tension makes the room feel smaller than it did, and Dick’s stone wall of silence doesn’t do much to help Jason’s gnawing anxiety. Despite that, having him here is so much better than just having a stupid t-shirt, and Jason is’t quite willing to break the silence with a bad joke like he desperately wants to. Or to break contact and grab a Tylenol, because the ibuprofen isn’t doing shit.
He’s mired in the unpleasant in-between of not wanting to snap Dick’s patience while also losing the battle of ignoring the pain when Dick finally turns away from his phone and lets his arms drop to his sides. “So this has just…always been a thing.” Dick says, clearly still irritated. Jason is almost certain that irritation is aimed directly at him, so he bites back his first three responses and tries to settle on something a little more peaceable.
“What, me being an asshole? Not sure why you’re surprised.” So it’s not entirely peaceable, but he gives himself a solid ‘B’ for effort.
“No, that’s never been in question.” Dick rolls over, and Jason reluctantly lets him move away. “I was texting with Tim, about the prison thing, since I couldn’t figure out what the hell you were on about. He called you a snitch by the way, so you can look forward to not being able to use any of the printers for the next three months.” He shrugs off his jacket, dropping it on the floor, and Jason resists the urge to smack him for it. “Then I was texting Alfred, because I didn’t…” He pauses, seemingly lost for words. “Have you really been having your heats alone this whole time?”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.”
Dick makes a frustrated noise. “Obviously since you’ve been doing the whole ‘big scary loner’ Red Hood thing, but I…I don’t remember Batman mentioning anything about it? Or him asking me to cover for him while he helped you through it?”
Jason raises his brow further. “You’re almost there, detective, I can feel it.”
“You can't seriously be saying you’ve been having them alone since you were a kid.”
Jason does a victorious set of jazz hands and Dick makes a pissed off sound, tossing his phone onto the nightstand. Jason rolls his eyes. It’s not like it’s something he could control Christ. He sits up finally, digging through his nightstand and taking the longed-for Tylenol. If he’s going to have to sit around with the lump of lead in his gut that’s preparing him for when Dick walks, he might as well deaden the pain that he can.
“I presented late. I think Bruce missed exactly one whole opportunity to have family bonding time. And I wasn’t exactly missing out on much by going solo while I was at the League.” More like, he’s damn lucky Talia was attached enough they didn’t just use his body like a sex toy when he wasn’t aware enough to defend himself. He’s not about to say that, because Dick will somehow manage to turn that into a dig against Talia, and if he did that right now Jason isn’t sure he’ll be able to resist resorting to violence. No matter how good of a point Dick might make.
Dick doesn’t seem to know how to respond, twisting the sheets between his fingers like if he stares hard enough they’ll give up some hidden truth about the universe.
The silence itches, and Jason himself talking again without really meaning to.
“It’s really not a big deal. I get that you’re mad about me drugging you, I’d be pissed too. But do we really have to do… this?” Jason makes a face, waving to where Dick is settled on the very edge of the mattress. “If you’re gonna leave you can just do it, you don’t have to throw me a pity party about it first. I get it, it’s weird, it’s not how you wanted to spend your weekend, but I don’t really need to see you guilt trip yourself about not staying.”
He refuses to meet Dick’s eyes from across the bed. He doesn’t care if he’s pissed, or flashing him pitying doe eyes, or something in between. He wants him to just rip the bandaid off already, because he knows how to spend his heats alone, and it’s really not that bad, but this? The possibility of company, knowing it’s not going to last? It's awful. ‘Maybe’ has always felt worse than no. This is exactly why he doesn’t fucking ask for help.
“You make it so easy to care, don’t you.” Dick hisses. “Don’t act like I’m the bad guy because I’m not falling over myself to make you comfortable.” Jason refuses to look at him still. He presses the heel of his hand to one burning eye, furious with himself for caring so God-damned much, and furious with his stupid hormones for cracking the lid on feelings he really should have learned to let go already. Furious with himself that he could think, even in the hormone fueled haze of pre-heat, that Dick Grayson might give a singular shit. Stupid. Not to mention arrogant.
Damn, he thought the shiver of his jaw was anxiety, but apparently the two blows to his abdomen when he was already cramping have had their consequences. He stands, and tries to ignore the sweat prickling up the back of his neck. “Get the fuck out then.”
Then he stomps his way to the bathroom and pukes.
He sits on the cold bathroom tile, resting his head against the edge of the bathtub while he waits for his body to resettle. After a few minutes, footsteps move past the bathroom door, and the front door opens and closes. Dick must have finally finished his guilt trip. Jason rinses his mouth half heartedly with water from the tub faucet, not feeling any better for the petty victory. What he should do is get back into his nest, and hope that Dick left the stupid jacket behind like he asked. The nest will help settle the unease that has bloomed into a black pit in the back of his head.
Getting up just seems a bit more monumental of a task than he can handle at the moment. The emotional whiplash doesn’t help with the way his stomach turns or head spins. He’s ruined a perfectly fine heat by getting greedy, like he always does. The idea of crawling back into the nest he and Dick had just been napping together in is almost enough to make his stomach turn again.
He doesn’t get up. He’s so far in his own head of how badly he’s fucked it up that he doesn’t register the sound of the bathroom door being pushed open until Dick is suddenly there, crouched down beside him, pushing a cool hand against Jason’s forehead. Dick clucks his tongue against the back of his molars, a sympathetic pained noise he’s heard a million times, just never aimed at him. As if he didn’t feel pathetic enough. He peels an eye open to glare halfheartedly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dick grumbles, “you’re a big tough guy who doesn’t know how to ask for help, I’m starting to get the picture. Come on, you can’t sleep in the bathroom.”
He very nearly bites back with ‘I’ll do what I want’, but he doesn’t actually want to sleep in the bathroom, and so he silently accepts Dick hand and lets himself get pulled upright. He shakes off Dick’s guiding hand as soon as he’s upright, earning himself an eye roll, but he successfully brushes his teeth and staggers back to bed under his own power. Falling into bed is both more satisfying and far less work than slowly setting himself down, but he immediately regrets the decision when it jars his ribs and he can’t withhold the grunt of discomfort.
Dick, unfortunately, immediately notices.
“Stop it.” Jason grumbles, but Dick has already started tugging up the side of his shirt to investigate. “Just a bruise, fuck off.”
“Hell of a bruise.” Dick mutters, not stopping. “Don’t you wear body armor?”
“Not this time. Some asshole got me when I was in the middle of breaking into his apartment and kidnapping him.” Jason grumbles. He should really shove Dick’s hand away, but he’s enjoying the feeling of his wide palm spanning against his rib cage too much. Dick pauses, his fingers tapping gently against Jason’s skin in rhythmic succession.
“Should I be sorry?” Dick finally asks. “Because I’m not really sorry right this second, but if anything’s broken I’ll probably feel bad later.” Jason snorts, glad that his grin is hidden in the pile of blankets.
“Nah.” They sit in silence for a few seconds, when Dick finally seems to realize that he’s basically groping Jason and tugs his shirt back down.
“I have to ask-” Dick starts, and Jason interrupts him with a groan, rolling away towards the center of the bed.
“You really fucking don’t.” Dick clambers into the bed, blocking Jason from rolling away further by grabbing his hip, and it’s a move that would normally put him on the defensive, but right now sends his brain into a lust-filled panic, so he fails to react in any meaningful way other than to stare at the point of contact for a few seconds too long. Dick presses the obvious advantage, slinging a leg over Jason and settling down to sit on his thighs, effectively anchoring him in place, not with bodyweight but rather sheer mortification.
“I have to ask,” Dick stresses, as if he weren’t actively blowing Jason’s mind and simultaneously filling a vault's worth of spank bank material, “why didn’t I know you were an omega. Why didn’t you say anything, why didn’t Bruce?”
“There should be some kind of law against sitting in a guy's lap and then interrogating him about his daddy issues.” Jason croaks.
Dick smiles faintly, conceding to the joke but not letting him avoid the question. The point of contact between them muddles Jason’s good sense. What he should do is toss him off. There’s nothing really that would prevent Jason from bucking up to get his knees under him and dumping Dick off the side of the bed. Nothing except the pleased hum in the back of his head that is normally a screech of malcontent.
He looks to the side, out the window. He can’t meet Dick’s eye, not with him so close, not while he’s asking about something so intimate. The sun hasn’t quite gotten around to setting yet, though he can’t see it with the tall building across the road blocking his view. The view isn’t anywhere near exciting enough to jar him away from the startling intimacy that is Dick staring down at him from above while the scent of a familiar alpha permeates his bedroom. He throws an arm over his eyes, and it stifles the burning heat of Dick’s stare enough that he can finally think.
“I dunno.” He finally mumbles from the safety of his elbow. Dick makes a noise of disbelief. “No, really. Bruce never figured it out, and I never really thought to bring up because…” he has to think for a second. He’s never had to say it out loud before, and organizing the indistinct series of feelings that’s led to chronic avoidance is a hard task. “I assumed you guys knew, I guess.”
“You just thought we were letting you go through heats alone.” Dick’s voice is hard, “That we didn’t care.”
“Didn’t care is a strong way to put it,” Jason hedges, “it’s just status quo. Like when you got sick and didn’t tell anyone about it until it was over. There’s no reason to ask for help if you don’t need it, and I really don’t. And don’t give me some shit about this being different, because it’s really not, and it’ll just make you sound like a hypocrite.”
Jason swallows. He should really stop there, but his traitorous mouth is moving before his brain again, “I got so used to it, I didn’t really see the point. When I was in the League they mostly shoved me in a room and told me to use the time for meditative solitude. Never really got the hang of it, but I didn’t have a reason to break the habit once I was out ya know? Sex is one thing, that’s easy, knots are a dime a dozen if you go looking, but a heat partner?” Jason snorts. “I’m way too fuckin’ paranoid.”
Dick lets his rant sit for a second, thinking. “And yet here I am.” He says softly.
“Yet here you are.” Jason agrees, resigned. His entire hand has been shown, and what he hasn’t said might as well be laid bare in front of one of the world's greatest detectives.
“One last question.”
“No.” He grumbles. Dick’s laughter comes out as a surprised snort, and his hands come up to settle against his hips again.
“It’s an easier one this time I promise.” Warm palms slide up under the edge of his shirt, and Jason garners the strength to peek out from behind his arm. “Am I here as friendly company? Or as a partner? ”
“That is not a fucking easier question, asshole.” Thumbs dig in right above his hip bones in mild rebuke, and Jason barely resists the urge to melt. He’s in dangerous territory, and it’s still his own damn fault. He pulls his arm back up. “Counter question,” he croaks out, “Which one makes you stay?”
“Oh little wing,” Dick’s voice goes gooey and Jason presses further into his own arm, he can feel the blush crawling up his neck, and he damns himself for knowing it comes in two parts. One part of him is the little brother that couldn’t ever quite get as much attention as he wanted, and the second part is an omega who needs the attention now. “I’m staying. Either way, even if you change your mind. You don’t have to be alone this time.”
Jason’s breath hitches, and Dick grabs his wrist, pulling it away from his face so that he’s forced to look him in the eyes. He can’t do this anymore, the heart wrenching speeches and the hope that maybe this won’t come back to bite him in the ass. He sits upright, Dick leans back, but Jason doesn’t let him go far, gripping the hair by the base of Dick’s skull and hauling him in close. “Prove it.” He hisses.
The feeling of Dick’s lips pressing against his own almost comes as a surprise. Dick is confident in his movements, pressing in close and grinding down all in one motion. It’s all Jason can do to keep up, twisting his fist into the back of Dick’s shirt, and drowning in sensation. Dick pulls at the hem of his shirt, and breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, and quickly divests his own. Jason watches the reveal of skin with rapt adoration, and doesn’t bother resisting the urge to lave open mouthed kisses along the sleek line of collarbone.
“Jason,” Dick whispers. He seems to almost curl around him, even though he’s supposed to be the smaller one, his legs wrapped around him, his arms ensnared around his shoulders, like he’s hiding them from the outside world. He doesn’t make him feel small, just protected, and Jason shivers at the feeling of Dick speaking against his ear, and sucks a hickey into his neck. “Jason,” he whispers again, protective and soft all at once, “let me see you.”
There’s nothing he has that Dick hasn’t seen before. Just scars and mottled skin. Still, when Dick pulls back, holding Jason at arms length to look over his body it makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in years. At least Dick seems to like what he sees, running a hand down between them, fingers trailing the long line that cuts across his chest and bisects his stomach.
Jason has had his fair share of sex. More than fair share, probably, but none of it has prepared him for this. Dick is handsy and confident, all smiles while he tugs him around and wincing in sympathy over how feverish Jason’s skin has grown. The room spins a little, and Dick pushes his advantage, pressing him down into the sheets with a firm hand.
Dick’s mouth feels cherry hot on his skin as he bites up his neck, and Jason can feel the spots where he settles and sucks that will be bruised up in the morning. It’s hot as hell, and he craves to return the favor, but twisting his mouth down would mean pulling Dick away from his neck and he simply can’t. His only recourse is to grab at Dick’s hips and moan, and Dick shudders satisfyingly under his fingers.
It’s not enough to make him pick up the pace, but it is enough to get Dick’s hips moving in involuntary little rolls, making his head hazy with desire.
“You wanna breed me Dickie?” He says in a whisper right against Dick’s ear, gripping tighter when Dick moans in response. “You wanna fill up your little brother, show him who’s boss?”
“Christ Jason,” Wrecked and disbelieving.
“I’m your little wing aren’t I?” Jason whispers, “gonna remind me what that means Dickie?”
That seems to finally break Dick’s control, and he snarls, pulling away from Jason’s throat, fingers scrambling between their bodies to push into the heat of his cunt. It’s glorious, and not enough.
“You’re such a little shit,” Dick whispers. He’s staring down at him. Riveted, like the sweat gathering between his freckles contains the answers of the universe. “You rile me up on purpose. Precocious little brat. You just need me to take care of you don’t you? My little wing.” Jason moans in response, and Dick’s fingers pull away far enough away he can adjust, presses the head of his cock against the folds of Jason’s opening.
“I’ll take care of you,” Dick murmurs, “make you feel so good.” It’s sappy, and cliche but it makes the hairs on the back of his arms stand up anyway. The first press in is intense. Enough pressure Jason has to squeeze his eyes shut just for a second before he relaxes and the sensation fades into a slick slide of pleasure.
“Dickie,” Jason gasps. His nails drag long lines against Dick’s back, and he’ll be feeling it in the morning, but for now all Dick does is laugh, ducking down to capture Jason’s lips with his own. It’s not coordinated, just wet heat driving in between Jason’s lips, chasing him down with his tongue. Jason can barely withhold the whimper building in the back of his throat.
“Little Wing,” Dick whispers into his skin, “you feel so good.” He nuzzles past Jason’s mouth, his forehead tucking into the curve between his neck and shoulder. He’s pushing his hips up almost lazily. Jason writhes down, unsure of what he's even trying to do, and Dick doesn’t change his tempo, just slowly rocking into him. Tension builds up in Jason’s core, a constant ride up towards his climax, and he can’t do anything but cling tightly and let it happen.
His first orgasm of the night isn’t life changing, too pent up to really enjoy the ride, or build it up into something mind shattering. He’s not totally ready to give into the fuzzy clutches of heat. Not ready to give up his weak grip of control. Dick seems to understand, slows his hips to almost a stop, keeping his hands still on Jason’s sides and letting him adjust to the decline. It takes Jason a second to realize he’s shut his eyes, and when he opens them again, it’s to Dick regarding his face with a soft grin, his pupils blown wide and dark.
He strokes an errant white hair out of his face, and Jason feels…lost. He’s almost convinced that this is somehow a cruel joke. That this couldn’t possibly be happening to him. Then when his breath has slowed down to a normal rhythm, Dick starts moving again, harder thrusts, and a finger moves down to circle around his cock. The heat that’s been humming in his veins rises to a scream, and he throws his head back and moans, loud and open mouthed as Dick starts to ride him in earnest. Their skin slaps together, a crude, lovely melody, and Jason knows the noises he’s making are unbearably embarrassing, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he can feel the beginning of a knot tugging on the edge of him.
“Dickie,” It’s begging, couldn’t be anything else, “Dickie, Dickie, please, please, please,”
“I’ve got you,” Dick’s voice is somehow clear in the misty haze of lust that’s clouding up everything in his head. A beacon. “I’ve got you.” His knot swells, and Jason lets go.
*
His next solid stint of awareness is during the slow building of another orgasm. The whine that escapes his throat is involuntary. He doesn’t even realize he’s been moved until he’s being pinned down again, Dick murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear. His fingers feel like magic, and lazy confusion is quickly replaced by heated pleasure when Dick’s fingers slide into his mouth, at the same moment his cock slides into his pussy. He’s pinned belly down on the bed, and only by craning his neck can he catch a glimpse of Dick’s face as he rocks on top of him. Dick has one hand pressing him down firmly between his shoulder blades, the other, keeping him down by the jaw.
Dick yanks on his hip, and Jason does his best to oblige, letting his chest sink further into the pillows, and arching his back up as far as he’s able. Lets his jaw go slack to the thumb underneath it and the fingers hooked on his cheek. He’s rewarded by a better angle, and Dick’s pace slows just enough to add heavy weight to each thrust, pushing him further down into the bed.
He comes with a groan, more from the psychological sensation of being used, of his purpose being fulfilled, than the physicality of it. His cunt grips in bursts of pleasure, and Dick’s grip changes, fingers leaving his mouth so both his hands can press him down by the shoulders now as he rocks into Jason pursuing his knot in short furious thrusts that leave Jason breathless.
This time when his knot pops, when warm cum fills him so full he can feel it sliding hot down between his thighs, Dick doesn’t let him up. He just presses down harder, and Jason whimpers, overwhelmed and warm. He feels safe, he realizes distantly. The possessive bites that Dick presses into his spine make his skin jump, but his mind seems to stretch out and relax. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.
*
He wakes when Dick rolls off the bed, but doesn’t open his eyes, pushing his head further into his pillow. The heat’s retreated enough that he feels somewhat human, but that doesn’t mean he has to do things like think or form sentences. Dick has the audacity to laugh at him before he wanders to the bathroom. When he returns there’s an unmistakable click of a phone camera. “I’ll murder you.” Jason threatens idly.
“Maybe after breakfast.” Dick hums. “What do you want?”
“There’s a quiche.” Jason grumbles. The thought of food is enticing enough to make him sit up. Dick is looking at him with a fond expression, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes, pulling himself upright. “Oven at 350.” Jason orders, and staggers towards the shower with as much dignity as he can manage with a limp and cum dripping down his thighs.
The shower does wonders for his sore muscles, though he still aches pleasantly, and he immediately wants to crawl back into the nest despite his rumbling stomach. He forces himself to at least pull off the top layer of sheets and put on a new one, because while he might manage to fall asleep on the wet spot, he can’t quite make himself crawl back into it.
Then the smell of food starts to waft through the apartment and he forces himself away from the nest again. Dick has arranged plates with 2 generous slices, and he’s digging through the fridge when Jason presses up behind him, unable to resist the long planes of muscles on display. Dick does a satisfying full body shiver when Jason runs his hands up his sides, fingers lingering on the scratches running down his back.
“Wow,” Jason rumbles, “bedded down with a real tiger there didn’t you.” It’s half joking. A piece of him likes leaving a mark on the untouchable Nightwing, but another resents that he can’t seem to cause him anything but pain. His brain is going places he’d normally never allow and it's making him maudlin. Dick shuts the fridge, spinning in Jason’s arms, neatly setting aside a carton of juice as he goes.
“No pants?” Dick asks, immediately distracted. Jason shrugs, can’t help the self satisfied smirk at the obvious interest.
“Nah.” If this were a casual hookup, he would know what to do with the body leaning against him. This, he’s afraid to fuck up. There’s a certain amount of patience he’s earned now that they’ve tumbled into bed together, but he’s not quite sure how far he’s allowed to push, here in the brightly lit kitchen. Dick doesn’t seem to share his hesitation, coiling his arms up to wrap around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss.
It’s soft and sweet, and he relaxes into Dick guiding his mouth, letting himself be pulled down further so Dick can get a better angle.
He’s forgotten the purpose of being in the kitchen when his stomach rumbles loudly enough that Dick pulls away in surprise, before dissolving into giggles. Jason lets himself get bullied into one of the kitchen chairs, and Dick presents him with a plate and a glass of juice with a flourish. They eat mostly in silence, Dick seemingly glued to his phone, texting rapidly between bites.
“Something going on?” Jason asks after he’s finished a second slice and Dick still hasn’t put down the phone.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Tim just had some questions about Bludhaven’s police department policies.” He sends another text. “And he’s complaining about how many loopholes there are, which I’m very aware of.”
“He’s asking you about this, why exactly?”
“He’s just as anal-retentive as the rest of us. I would be shocked if he didn’t.” Dick replies idly.
“No,” Jason says slowly, “why’s he asking about Bludhaven? Last I checked you were pretty territorial.”
“I do actually have active cases that need follow-up if I’m not around.” Dick says amused, glancing at Jason from the corner of his eye. “But you know that. What are you actually trying to ask me, little wing?”
Jason stands from the table, gathering up the plates and glasses as he goes. “Doesn’t matter.” He addresses it to the sink, looking anywhere but towards Dick. The stupid fluttering hope has started up in his chest again.
The cheery tile of the kitchen is suddenly unbearable, and he turns on his heel, back towards the bedroom, leaving Dick watching with a steely gaze from the table.
He burrows into a mound of pillows, and doesn’t even bother pretending that he isn’t just going to wrap himself around the one Dick had slept on.
There’s muffled noise from the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening and closing again, and Jason feels bad for not helping, but the idea of getting up again is even worse so he lets it lie. The amount of things he should be doing, only starts to snowball. Should get another bottle of water, should brush his teeth again, should put on pants, should tell Dick to get back to his life being the savior of fucking everything.
Instead he wiggles across the nest with all the grace of a sea cucumber and pulls Dick’s discarded shirt from off the floor and jams his face into it.
It’s enough of a comfort to get his thoughts to slow at least. Enough to conclude that he’s being hormonal and overdramatic, but not enough to escape those emotions. He raises his head to glare at Dick when he finally re-enters the bedroom. Dick lingers a moment too long at the edge of the bed.
“You know I feel a bit dumb for misunderstanding something so fundamental about you for so long.” Dick says with a smile. Jason’s glare deepens.
“What.”
“I’ll never be able to take your mean mugging seriously ever again. Look at you. You’re so cute it’s unreal.”
Jason huffs in irritation, hooking a leg around the back of Dick’s knees and pulling him forward. There’s nothing he can do to hide the blush that’s crawled up his chest and stained his cheeks but glare harder. Once Dick has rebalanced and crawled up the length of Jason’s body to settle his weight on top of him he only grins.
“See that’s exactly what I mean,” He says, cupping a hand on Jason’s cheek, “you glare because you care. It’s cute.” Jason doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he settles on sullen silence, letting the heat of Dick’s body across his soothe the worry buzzing under his skin. “Seriously,” Dick whispers, “when I said I’m staying, I meant for all of it. I’m not the type of guy to just fuck and leave.”
“I know.” Jason admits. There’s more he should say, that he was just expecting to be the exception. That he didn’t really think he’d be worth it. That Dick would have freaked out about it and left by now. The words get stuck in his throat, so he leaves them unsaid. Dick will figure it out. He’s proven more than capable of filling in the gaps.
The question of how long is still unanswered, but he’ll hold onto what he can get, for as long as he can.
*
It’s the second morning (he thinks it’s morning anyway, the middle is always a marathon, and Dick talked him into trying some new things and he’s lost time). Dick has just blown his mind, and Jason might have returned the favor by blowing out his eardrums. Bruises wander in watercolor splotches around his wrists and across his ass, and he’s definitely going to have to move. He’s never going to be able to look his neighbors in the eyes again. There’s no way he’ll ever be able to look at Dick while he’s wearing a belt without instantly going weak in the knees.
“Nobody ever believes that you’re just as fucked up as I am.” Jason grouses. Dick laughs with his lips still pressed up under his ear, and the buzz makes him shiver, and bats him away to rub the odd sensation out of his ear.
“Some of them do.” Dick assures him, redirecting his mouth lower. His teeth skate across skin with his words, “people don’t generally want to think about how fucked up I am, so they forget until I accidentally remind them. Unlike some people.”
“You sayin’ I constantly advertise my crazy?” The offense in his tone is entirely faked.
“I feel like ‘advertising’ is the opposite of whatever you’re doing. You throw up giant red flags that scream ‘Warning, keep out! Will explode if Daddy issues are not mentioned every 3 minutes’.” He dodges the snap of Jason’s teeth, but only barely.
“You’re the one who’s basically a poison dart frog.” Jason mutters.
Dick throws his head back and laughs. The motion jostles the point of connection between them, and Jason isn’t quick enough to stifle his gasp of pleasure. “You calling me pretty?” Dick flutters his lashes, punctuating with a roll of his hips that has Jason losing his train of thought.
“I’m sayin’...” he stutters, Dick’s knot is nowhere near down, and it’s pushing the thoughts out of his head. What he means is Dick causes a permanent type of problem, if you ignore the warning. That his flashiness is irresistible, that it’s going to catch your eye but as soon as you actually get to touch you’re going to go down, and you’ll have no chance of getting up again.
“Fuck, yeah you’re real fucking pretty.” He whispers, and Dick smiles, beautiful and neon and Jason opens his mouth and kisses him for all he's worth, swallowing the consequences with relish.
*
He’s never really understood the romance novel idea that the last day of heat is the best one. He agreed that it was the best because it meant it was almost over, but he’d never clicked with the sappy descriptions of feeling fulfilled or cared for. With Dick pressed up against his back, his head on the pleasant side of fuzzy, he thinks he might finally get it.
*
“Are you going on suppressants?” Dick asks casually as he heats up dinner. Both of them have managed to put on pants, though Dick has ended up in a pair of Jason’s sweats that hang teasingly low on his hips. It takes Jason a second to stop ogling his hip bones and answer the question.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Really?” Dick seems surprised.
“What, you think I’m the type to find getting horny for a few days every couple months to be too inconvenient?” Jason snorts, “I’ve taken suppressants before. You think I’m pissy now, it’s even worse when I’m hopped up on extra hormones. Besides,” he aims a leer at Dick, makes sure his look up and down his body is as obvious as possible, “it can be fun.”
Dick hums, doesn’t quip back quite like Jason expects, and suddenly the moment feels a lot more delicate than he was prepared for. Dick gets no less cagey as they sit down to eat, and Jason racks his brain as to what could possibly have gotten him into such a funk. The only answer he can think of feels egotistical. Still, after a subdued dinner conversation, he decides he might as well try his luck.
“If you’re open to it,” Jason clears his throat, the rest stumbles out too quickly, before he loses his nerve, “and if you’ll be in town, you could come over again.”
“Shit-” Dick laughs once, breathlessly like the air has been punched out of him, “yeah, of course.” He reaches across the table, twines their fingers together. There’s a look on his face that’s…Jason doesn’t think anyone’s ever looked at him like Dick does. Like he loves him. Maybe, if he keeps looking at him like that, he’ll start to believe it.
Maybe, he thinks, he already does.