Chapter Text
Jason shifts uncomfortably on his seat. The plug in his ass might’ve been Roy’s worst idea ever, and when you look at the big picture of Roy’s life, that’s really saying something.
Clint sends five darts into the target, one after another, barely glancing to make sure they hit the bullseye — they did, of course.
“I hate you so much,” Jason mutters to Roy, the moment Clint’s back is turned to retrieve the darts.
“No you don’t,” Roy says cheerfully. “You love me. Don’t you, sugarplum?” He bats his eyelashes.
“Not tonight, pumpkin,” Jason tosses back, just as saccharine, with a blatantly fake smile.
It’s a lie, obviously. He always loves Roy. But. It’s the principle of the thing.
The plug was Roy’s idea. Jason put up a token protest about coming to Dick’s birthday party tonight, even if he didn’t really mind the idea, mostly because it’s habit to bitch and moan about spending time with the rest of the Bats. Roy’s solution was a buttplug.
“Time flies when you’re having dirty thoughts,” Roy insisted. “And if you really hate it we can go have a quickie in the bathroom.”
“You just have a thing for leaving hickies when you know I’m gonna be around my family.”
“Yes,” Roy said promptly. “Yes I do.”
So that was the plan: make an appearance, hang out for half an hour, fuck in the bathroom, and leave. Like most of their plans, it went to shit within ten seconds.
Dick introduced them to Clint as soon as they arrived — ostensibly because of the archery thing, but also probably because Clint, like Roy and Jason, is on Team Sobriety, and the rest of the party is very much not. Clint was Dick’s childhood best friend, but they lost touch for a while, only reunited about six months ago; Jason had only seen Clint in a cloudy old Polaroid, taken when he and Dick were twelve, so he wasn’t even a little bit prepared for Clint to look like that, with the bright blue eyes and the bedhead and the fucking hands.
Clint gave them both a crooked, sheepish grin that showed a little dimple in one cheek, and it took all of two minutes for Jason and Roy to exchange a look behind his back to confirm that they were on the same page. And yeah, Jason can’t seem to stop thinking about sex tonight (wonder why?) so there's a chance it's just wishful thinking; there's a chance Clint's only staring at his mouth for lip-reading purposes. But Roy seems to be sure Clint’s flirting back, so Jason will take his word for it. When it comes to picking people up, Roy is very much the expert.
Roy is laughing at him again. He leans into Jason’s barstool and kisses him on the corner of the mouth, grinning.
“All yours,” Clint says, offering Roy the darts, and Jason can’t help but stare at Clint’s hands again — his forearms, the way the muscles twist when he holds out the darts, but also the size of his palms, the way they make everything in them look small.
Roy takes them, and somehow he does it slowly, deliberately, so that his fingers graze the inside of Clint’s wrist while he holds eye contact. “We should make it more interesting.”
“Oh yeah?” Clint asks, rubbing the back of his neck almost shyly.
Roy takes a sip of his seltzer while Clint and Jason both stare at him. The way he wraps his lips around his straw is really fucking uncalled for, let alone the way he hollows his cheeks, and Jason squirms on his stool. Roy sees it, because of course he does, and gives him a wicked smirk that doesn’t help matters.
Before he can reveal whatever the fuck he’s plotting, though, the karaoke announcer calls Roy’s name from the other side of the bar.
“Nooooo,” Jason groans, covering his eyes with one hand. “What have you done?”
“Aw, pookie, don’t be like that,” Roy says, grinning. He adjusts the brim of his hat and winks. “Let me sing you the song of my people!”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Clint asks bemusedly, as Roy leaps onto the stage.
“Says the deaf guy,” Jason mutters, and immediately wants to sink through the floor. “Holy shit, I’m sorry, that was —”
Clint laughs, loud and shocked, and spits a mouthful of his Coke all over Jason, which honestly serves Jason right.
This is why leaving Jason with Clint was a terrible idea. Maybe almost as bad as the plug. Jason is physically incapable of flirting, or like… keeping his foot out of his mouth for five whole seconds.
They’re busy with cleanup, so they both miss the title of Roy’s song choice flashing on the screen, but once it starts, it’s immediately recognizable.
“Nice,” Clint says, and wolf-whistles, while Jason covers his face with his hands.
“I think I did it again,” Roy sings, in his best breathy imitation of Britney. “I made you believe we’re more than just friends.”
Roy’s singing directly at Jason and Clint, cradling the mic in both hands and somehow making it look borderline obscene. He sways his hips and pouts and just generally commits, and like so many things Roy does, it should be absurd, but it’s just plain endearing. The entire bar is eating out of his hand right now.
“Not his worst karaoke choice ever,” Jason mutters, and Clint shifts closer, leaning in on the table to hear the story without taking his eyes off Roy. Jason’s stomach flips at the proximity and he blurts out, “The night he was planning to, uh, take my v-card, or whatever, we went out for karaoke first.” Clint gives him a blank look and a puppy-ish head-tilt, and Jason explains, “It was gonna be this whole romantic… thing? With like. A real, fancy dinner date.” God, his cheeks are burning. Why did he start telling this story? “But we both hated the restaurant so much we ended up leaving before the main course and going to a little hole-in-the-wall instead, and they were doing a random karaoke night, and. Um. He serenaded me.”
“Aw,” Clint says.
“With ‘The Bad Touch,’ by the Bloodhound Gang,” Jason finishes.
Clint laughs so hard he wheezes, and Jason looks back toward the stage, feeling sort of proud of himself. Roy is grinning right back at him, pulling out the fucking dance moves from the video.
God. Jason loves him so much it’s fucking stupid.
When he tears his gaze away from Roy and sneaks a sideways glance at Clint, Clint’s already watching him, eyes sparkling.
“What?” Jason asks, self-conscious.
“Nothing,” Clint says, with a soft, almost wistful smile. “You guys are cute, is all.”
Cute. Right.
Jason is so tempted to tell him about the goddamn plug in his ass.
The song ends; Roy takes an elaborate bow, to thunderous applause, and Clint wolf-whistles again.
“Did I lure you in with my siren song?” Roy asks, when he makes it back to the two of them.
“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Jason snarks. Roy leans close, brushing their noses together in an oddly intimate gesture before kissing him, and Jason’s acutely aware of Clint’s eyes on them. His dick twitches.
“I, uh,” Clint says, low and husky. They both turn to him, and he clears his throat. “I gotta piss, and then — I think we have some darts to play.” He gives them another of those sweet, sheepish smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets before he wanders off.
Jason and Roy both watch him go. Clint gets briefly waylaid by the birthday boy before he manages to escape Dick’s octopus-like hug.
“So?” Roy asks.
“I think if the pair of you keep playing darts my competence kink is gonna kill me before we even get him naked, and that would be a goddamn shame,” Jason says sulkily.
Roy chuckles. “Fucking same. I mean, fuck, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Jason kisses him, open-mouthed and eager, but then he has to pull away. He presses his forehead to Roy’s and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Also, I fucking hate you. Can you work your magic before I come in my pants, please?”
“Aw, you a little bit on edge?” Roy teases, heavy-lidded and suggestive. The tip of his tongue flicks over the pillowy curve of his lower lip, followed by a flash of white teeth denting the soft skin, and Jason shivers.
Then Roy turns around, leaning over to the bar to order a fresh round of sodas, and Jason exhales shakily, muttering, “Fucking asshole.”
When Clint returns, Roy hands him a glass of Coke, looking up at him through his lashes, and Jason’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the way Clint’s breath catches for a moment. He’s yet to meet anybody who’s really immune to Roy’s charm, when he turns it on, and it’s good to know Clint won’t be the first.
“Winner of the next round gets a kiss,” Roy suggests, eyes flicking pointedly over to Jason before meeting Clint’s again.
Clint’s eyebrows shoot up, and he turns to Jason. “You okay with that?”
Jason blinks at him a few times, somehow even more attracted to Clint now, and says, “Yeah.”
“Pretty confident in your man’s skills,” Clint says, giving him another of those crooked dimpled smiles.
“Jesus,” Jason says, huffing out a laugh, and Clint tilts his head, because he genuinely just… does not seem to understand how hot he is, maybe?
The world is a strange place.
“You first,” Roy says, smirking.
Clint hits the bullseye five times in a row, just like he has every round — just like Roy has every round — and ambles over to retrieve the darts.
This time, Roy hits four bullseyes, before sinking the last dart into the outermost ring of the target.
“Oops,” he says innocently, and gives Clint a slow, shark-like grin.
Clint looks from him to Jason and back again, wary and surprised for a moment, but Jason can see the moment it clicks. The corner of his mouth curls up slowly, and his cheeks go pink.
“To the victor go the spoils,” Jason says solemnly, and slides out of his stool to prowl over to Clint.
He’s not sure he’s ever made the first move on anybody taller than him before. He hesitates, biting his lip, closing the distance between them with one more measured step — giving Clint plenty of time to change his mind.
The first kiss is soft and chaste, a barely-there brush, testing the fit of Clint’s lower lip between his. Then Jason smooths his hands up the front of Clint’s worn Prince shirt, resting his palms there, before rocking up on his tiptoes to kiss him for real. It makes the plug in his ass shift in new, interesting ways, and he lets out a sharp little exhale against Clint’s mouth.
Clint’s response is to cup his jaw with one of those absurdly big hands — his fingers are so long that they curl around Jason’s entire face to slide under his ear — and to lick into Jason’s mouth, slick and teasing and molten hot. There’s nothing aggressive or overwhelming about it, but Jason finds himself melting, all pliant and willing, opening for Clint as he takes one taste of Jason’s mouth after another.
“God damn,” Roy says, blunt and fervent, and Jason can feel Clint smile before giving his lower lip one last nip.
Jason almost stumbles as he steps away. He lets out a shaky laugh and runs a hand through his curls.
“Was starting to wonder if this whole thing was wishful thinking on my part,” Clint admits. His mouth is pink and shiny, and Jason can’t stop staring at it. “So, uh…”
“This is us asking if you want to come home with us, yeah,” Roy says. His smile is wide and hopeful, and his freckles blend with the light blush on his cheekbones, and not for the first time tonight, Jason wonders how he got so lucky.
“Have you two, um. Done this before?” Clint asks hesitantly.
“We have hooked up a few times, yeah,” Jason deadpans.
“Don’t be a dick, snookums,” Roy says, and then he tells Clint, “He snarks when he’s nervous.”
“Yeah,” Jason chips in gruffly. “We’ve… invited other people in before. It’s not a regular thing, but it happens.”
Jason was a virgin when they got together, and once they realized they were in it for the long haul, Roy brought it up, pointing out that as much as he liked knowing he was Jason’s one and only, he didn’t want Jason to feel like he’d missed out on anything by not having his slutty twenty-somethings phase.
They’ve slept with Kori a few times, and Kyle Rayner twice, in addition to a couple one night stands, all of which were fun and easy and simple. The outlier is Slade Wilson; the three of them spent one weekend together, and it was a marathon event that culminated in Roy finally conceding that he might need therapy. Those memories also happen to be Jason’s go-to spank bank material.
He slides closer to Roy, reaching out to grab his hand, and squeezes it quietly.
“Yeah, okay, I’m in,” Clint says, eyes on their linked hands, and he smiles.
“We should say goodnight to the birthday boy,” Jason snickers.
Roy rolls his eyes. “Dick’s gonna kill me.”
“You? What do you think he’s gonna do to me?” Clint says, cringing.
They all look at Dick, who’s doing a bright pink shot with Steph, and Jason wonders what the odds are of Dick remembering any of this in the morning. Here’s to hoping.
“What, because you’re gonna defile his little brother?” Jason asks, and when Clint shoots him a “duh” sort of look, Jason says, “I’m not that innocent.”