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Bruce has never enjoyed events, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy events that he has to go to away from Gotham. Even with Dick and Alfred keeping an eye on the city in he and Jason’s stead it leaves him with a crawling feeling in his chest. Two days and one night in California, clear across the country from Gotham, means that if there's an emergency the plane will take nearly five hours to get them home to help.
“Do you think it’s okay?”
Jason’s voice breaks him out of his train of thought and Bruce realizes he’s been messing with his cufflinks for much too long now. He grabs his suit jacket, throwing Jason a glance where the boy stands in the doorway to Bruce’s side of the suite. He’s wearing red, so dark it's nearly purple in some places. Well tailored suit pants, a very tight waistcoat to show how much he’s growing into his shoulders, a black bowtie over a black shirt.
He catches all of it with a glance from pearl cufflinks to shiny oxfords, and turns sharply to the mirror to pull his own pinstripe jacket over his shoulders. “Where’s your jacket?”
“Oh it’s an indoor event so Alfred said that this would be enough,” Jason says, voice a little less bright and sharp now that Bruce isn’t lost in his thoughts. “I didn’t want to overheat and embarrass you by being all sweaty.”
Bruce hums, noncommittal, and buttons his coat, fixing his black, silk tie to sit perfectly under it. He looks good, perfectly tailored in a custom suit rather than those flashy brands that the rest of the idiots downstairs will be throwing around. He luckily won’t be expected to be taking anyone home with him considering his teenage son has come as a plus one, but playing up Brucie Wayne is still a must for the public.
This is a green energy conference, something he’d been even more encouraged to go to after he and Jason’s last run in with Isley. Unfortunately, the idea of running into Stark or – god forbid – Musk isn’t enough for him to ignore one of Gotham’s citizens even if she’s currently also a resident of Arkham. He also has plenty of green energy devices to present that don’t rely on solar or nuclear energy, something becoming less and less popular as the world seems to evolve around them.
“B? We’re going to be late,” Jason hedges, still standing in the doorway.
“Fashionably,” Bruce corrects out of hand, but he’s already looking down at his watch and they’ll be going from fashionably late to Stark late soon which won’t fly, especially if he can’t get a good strong drink before his part of the presentation.
Five minutes later, they’re making their way out of the elevator to the event hall at the hotel. It’s nearly larger than the manor’s ballroom, but the stage takes up much more space than theirs. Tables litter the room around the dancefloor, glass reflectors standing proudly in the middle of them reading the places of each of the attendees. Bruce spots the bar, and immediately turns towards it. “Find our seats, Jason.”
If Jason says anything in response, Bruce doesn’t hear it, more than ready to get his one drink of the night into his system. An old fashioned sounds just right. By the time he’s got the drink in his hand and he’s managed to flirt and schmooze his way past some of the other attendees, he sees Jason again and his public face freezes, smile feeling brittle on his mouth.
Stark.
The asshole is standing next to Jason, too close to the boy really, so close that he has to tuck his head down a little to speak even though Jason is nearly his height. He’s wearing layers, more than he used to before his unfortunate stint in Afghanistan. Bruce has done enough research in the aftermath to know where his most pressing weak point is and his fingers itch to plant a batarang in it when Tony reaches out, trailing his fingers over the inside of Jason’s arm to pull his hand into a two-handed handshake.
It’s too familiar.
Bruce looms over them as he comes to a stop a foot behind Jason. “Stark.”
Stark’s iconic facial hair shifts as he dimples widely up at Bruce. If the man weren’t such a cocky asshole with a hard-on for weapons of mass destruction he would be handsome. If he weren’t preying on Bruce’s teenage son he might approach something close to human.
“Brucie!” Stark crows, letting go of Jason’s hand slow enough to be suspect before throwing his hands out, as if to welcome Bruce or hug him and he can’t decide what might be worse. “I was just greeting your charming ward.” His eyes flick down to Jason again, showing he hasn’t backed off at all. “Jay, was it?”
“Yes sir, Mister Stark,” Jason confirms, the perfect picture of a well-mannered chi– He’s leaning into Stark's orbit, stepping to Stark’s side rather than Bruce’s to pull them all into the circle of conversation. “It seems like we’ll be sharing a table for the night, Bruce.”
Bruce. Not B.
Bruce’s eyes flick to the reflector. Four names in a line down the little glass thing surrounded by classy tea lights and flower petals. Their names and then right under Stark’s is Pepper Potts, the more palatable of their usual duo. “I see that. And where might Madam Potts be?”
“Oh, tending to the masses,” Stark hums. “Gives me more time to speak to friends at these shindigs rather than getting pulled in every direction. Like Jay here.” Stark’s hand lands on Jason’s shoulder and Bruce has to take a liberal sip of his drink so that he doesn’t visibly clench his jaw. “Who I do believe is different from the blue eyed beauty you brought with you last time.”
Bruce had momentarily forgotten that he’d taken Dick with him on his last out-of-state event. A charity gala that Dick had spent more time eyeing up Miss Potts at than paying any attention to Stark’s showboating. Red heads, Dick had been obvious early on, but Jason is different. Half the time Bruce thinks he’d rather live in books and patrol rather than real life.
“Oh, Dick must have come with him the last time,” Jason says, tilting his head to look at Stark. He doesn’t pull away from the touch but he does seem to flutter his blue eyes up at Stark. “I suppose you’ll just have to settle for me, Mister Stark.”
Stark laughs, it’s warm and Bruce’s fingers flex around his glass. “Honey, I don’t think I’m settling at all. Your brother?” he drawls waiting for Jason’s answering nod before continuing; “Your brother barely said a word to me, too busy eyeing up Pep.”
“I’m surprised to see you here at all, Stark,” Bruce cuts in before Jason can respond, both of them looking back at him as if breaking from a daze. “I had heard you were trying to make reparations after all of the damage you caused, but this whole green energy business seems a far cry from the type of reparations that had you in front of congress.”
It’s no secret to everyone in the family how foolhardy he considers Stark to be running around in his tin can of a suit, publicly proclaiming himself the instrument of privatized world peace. Stark considers himself a superhero as if a couple big saves and a lot of property damage can make up for everything he and his father have done to this world. So the fact that Jason is being all buddy-buddy with the man has to be because Alfred told him to be on his best behavior not to embarrass Bruce.
Stark’s eyes don’t even do him the service of dimming. “Oh I think you’ll be impressed, Brucie. My portion of the panel is right before yours and I can assure you that even you will want a reactor in your dour little city.”
There’s a flicker of anger in Jason’s eyes. It’s tiny, barely there as Jason turns slightly to sweep a set of sparkling waters off a passing tray. He silently sips from one, tilting his hand out and without even looking Stark takes the drink from him as if it's nothing. As if Bruce hasn’t seen him turn down drinks handed to him nine-out-of-ten times no matter how beautiful the person on the other end of the glass is. Bruce mentally reasons that it must be because he watched Jason grab it, unknowing all of the training the boy has had.
Bruce opens his mouth to disagree but Stark only continues, gesturing with the glass in his one hand. His other hand is still on Jason’s shoulder, giving a slight squeeze and then dropping to rub at Jason’s shoulder blade.
“And while I’m there installing it, maybe I’ll take care of some of those silly criminals that your city is so famous for.”
“The locals and the police can handle the city just fine, Stark, nothing to worry your pretty head over,” Bruce says, sugar sweet. “Besides, we take care of our own in Gotham, I doubt anyone would welcome your technology. Too many things have happened to our fine city to risk being one of your lab rats. We all know what Stark Tech is for really.”
“All of that is in the past,” Stark breathes, about to go into some well-rounded but ad-libbed speech. He’s known for them after all. His glass wavers closer to Jason and Jason reaches up, tapping his own glass against Starks which immediately captures the other billionaires attention.
“And we are here to look towards the future, right, Mister Stark?” Jason has somehow inched his way even closer to the man, his lips slick from his drink, eyes gazing out from under his lashes. He’s acting as if this is some sort of honey pot mission and he’s whoring himself out for information.
“We are indeed, honey, we are indeed,” Stark practically purrs.
“Is there anything more about the future that you can share with us before your presentation, sir?” Jason asks, saccharine like he isn’t the same boy Bruce saw drop-kick a grown man in the head two nights ago.
Stark’s hand slips lower, low enough that Bruce is just about ready to start making a scene, dragging his adoptive son out of here right now. Stark pushes Jason lightly towards their table. “Let me pull your chair, dear, I think you’ll love this.”
Bruce goes to sip his drink and finds it already gone.
“Old fashioned, right?” A soft voice interrupts and there’s Virginia Potts, holding out a new drink. In her other hand is a martini. “I noticed you were running low, Mister Wayne.”
“Madam Potts, I was saddened to see your rejection letter for the position, but I must congratulate you on your recent raise.” Bruce pulls out her chair for her, the one on the other side of Stark and the other billionaire barely looks away from Jason as his hand slips under the table, squeezing the woman’s knee.
Bruce takes a seat, ditching his empty glass for his full one, and Virgina pulls him into a conversation that would normally make it easy to ignore her boss. Unfortunately for them both, Stark is chatting happily with Jason about a million and one things that Bruce knows the boy has no interest in. He lets Jason talk, too, something he seldom gives others the courtesy of, like Jason is a born member of the upper echelon and not the boy Bruce found taking his tires in crime alley.
Stark laughs at Jason’s literary jokes, he shows interest in the relief funds and the money versus availability speech that Jason has delivered to Bruce about nearly a hundred times. As they talk, the appetizer course is being brought out. Jason had chosen the salad like Bruce when they had pre-picked their menu, but Stark had picked the savory option, a cheese and meat spread on hand pressed crackers. He feeds Jason one of the treats, thumb sliding across the boy’s bottom lip, and Bruce nearly jumps across the table to strangle him then and there just before Stark is called up to the stage to begin his part of the panel.
Bruce is served another drink, a wine to go with his food which will be brought out after Stark's panel when all the plates are picked up.
While the man is showboating on stage, Virginia leans over to draw Jason into a quiet conversation. It’s quite obviously different from Stark’s. She focuses on asking about Jason’s interests, if he’s in any clubs or trains any sports. Jason has practiced the answers, more rote than his conversation from before, showing that he’s well-rounded and respectable. It would almost be true if he hadn’t spent the last half an hour flirting with a man more than twice his age like a common harlot.
Stark bequeaths the stage to a smaller name in green energy and settles back in his chair right as their main course is settled down. “What did you think?”
Jason gushes clearly having put his multitasking that Bruce trained into him to work having kept up the conversation with Madam Potts and paid attention to Stark’s panel. Something Bruce himself did not bother with in his anger.
“Stuffed chicken,” Stark observes, fork reaching over to tap Jason’s food. “Ever had it stuffed before?”
Virginia tenses next to Bruce and Bruce’s fork bends in his hand from the amount of force he’s gripping it with. Jason just hums, face flushing as he continues to neatly cut into his food. “Oh, I have,” he says almost quietly, side eyeing Stark as he pauses to chew a small piece of his food. “Alfred makes it much better, but I’m not much for seafood.”
Stark himself has gone for the seafood option of a fancy looking salmon pasta. “Oh, the water here is much cleaner, honey, you should really try it where it’s safe.”
And he’s hovering his own fork in front of Jason’s face, feeding the boy right here at the table. Jason manages not to make an overtly disgusted face, but he does grab his drink pretty quickly after he swallows.
Virginia groans softly under her breath, probably steps on Stark’s foot while Jason isn’t paying attention based on the way Stark throws a lazy, lecherous grin at her as he scoops up another bite and wraps his lips around the fork.
Bruce’s own fork isn’t going to make it out of this and he’s rapidly considering using the prongs of it to take Stark’s perverted eyes out of his skull rather than using it to feed himself. They’re all, thankfully, too distracted by trying to finish their food within the time limit to continue any conversation that doesn’t center around the presentations going on at the stage.
Bruce nearly forgets he has his own panel to present when he gets called up. His head is fuzzy with anger and drink, and he’s thankful to have ordered the water with his dessert to come back to after his presentation and selected a heavier main course. He’s practiced his speech so much that it doesn’t take much time at all to gather the attention and the applause of the room, charming as always and giving more than enough praise to his R&D team back home.
His dessert and water are at the table when he takes his seat again.
Bruce can’t even focus on the fancy cheesecake because as soon as he lowers his water from drinking half of it he sees Jason and Stark again. They’re leaning close, Stark’s arm draped over the back of the boy’s chair, showing him something on his smartphone. The back of his mind hooks on to the fact that Madam Potts looks more amused than annoyed now, but that’s the part of Bruce’s mind that is fogged up by anger and alcohol.
“No notes, Jason?” he asks after clearing his throat.
Jason looks up from the phone, gives a slow uninterested blink, and says, “You took my suggestion and started with the water purification part of the process before the tide collectors. It worked.”
And then he’s back to whatever Stark is showing him like nothing happened, like he didn’t gush over Stark’s own presentation less than an hour ago. Bruce has never wanted to kill a man more in his life. Criminals he wants to serve their time, but Tony Stark? Bruce wants Stark’s stupid tin can of a suit to fail at five thousand feet and leave him a billionaire pancake on the tarmac of this awful, sunny city he loves so much.
They need to leave, immediately, before Bruce rips into Jason right here in the middle of the green energy conference. His hands are practically shaking with anger and he clenches his fists under the table, trying to direct his gaze back to the stage. Only he sees Jason reach up, stroke over the back of Stark’s hand to stabilize the phone between them.
“Jason, it’s time for us to leave.” Bruce surges up and the three other people at the table look up at him, confused. Stark’s gaze flicks to the stage as if that’s what his indignation is about. A sneer crosses Stark’s face that actually makes Bruce pause, looking as well to find Musk stepping up on the stage.
Stark stands as well, holding his hand out to Jason as he slips his phone into his pocket. “Enjoy Malibu, Jay.” He brings Jason’s hand up to peck the back of it, and doesn't even linger as he lets go. “Looks like the fun is over, sweetheart.”
Bruce hardly notices the way the other billionaire drops his arm around Madam Potts’ waist as Bruce grasps Jason tightly around the back of the neck and starts towing him out of the room. They don’t speak in the lobby. They don’t speak in the elevator. They certainly don’t speak in the hall outside of their suite.
“Are you mad at me?” Jason asks softly when the door latches behind them.
“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it,” the snarl leaves his mouth before he can temper it, hand going tighter around the back of Jason’s neck as he drags the teen towards the master side of the suite. Jason smells like Stark, he’s practically soaked in the man’s cologne.
“Why? I thought that's what you wanted?” Jason protests, tugging against the hold as they make their way through Bruce’s room to his en-suite. Jason has his own bathroom on the other side of the suite but Bruce isn’t willing to let go of him right now.
The anger in Bruce burns hotter as he jerks the boy around to force him into the shower. “You thought I wanted you acting like a tramp all night? I strongly fucking doubt that, Jason.”
“Tramp?!” Jason cries out, smooth-bottomed shoes slipping against the tiles. He’d fall if not for his own reflexes and the bruising grip Bruce has on the back of his neck. “I was, I was doing what you guys wanted, being personable.”
“No,” Bruce growls, cranking the water on before letting go of Jason and slamming the glass door shut. The cold water hits the teen and he yelps loudly, backing himself into the corner away from the spray. “You weren’t being personable. You were down there throwing yourself at Tony fucking Stark!”
Jason’s wide blue eyes lock on his enraged face and his mouth falls open, pink and pretty. And all Bruce can think about is Stark feeding him and thumbing at his plush little mouth.
“Undress.”
“Wha- Bruce, what?” Jason startles.
“You’re going to get his smell off of you, and clearly I have to make sure you do so since you’ve been thinking with your cunt all night,” Bruce says harshly. “Undress.”
The teen swallows heavily. His hair has been mussed out of the combed neatness he had cultivated before the dinner and his clothes are half wet and sticking to him where the initial spray of water hit him. “Bruce, come on, that’s not what…”
“Speaking is a privilege you don’t have,” Bruce snaps. “Undress. Shower.”
Jason’s hands shake as he lifts them to his bowtie. He’s slow with each piece of clothing, eyes flicking back to Bruce with every button and every item that falls to the floor. His clothes will be ruined, shoes too, even though he’s shrunken away as far from the spray as he possibly could. He pulls his pants down last and the dark wetness on the crotch of his underwear is most certainly not from the shower spray.
A vindicated but angered sound escapes Bruce. “And you want to lie to me and tell me you weren’t trying to get him to, what was it, stuff you?”
Jason’s face is red down to his throat, and he shakes his head furiously. “That’s not what–”
“I didn't tell you to talk. Take those off and shower. Now.”
“It’s cold,” Jason whispers.
“Maybe it will cool off your fucking libido then,” the older man snaps causing the boy to flinch.
The teen whimpers when he steps under the water. There are goosebumps all over his shaved smooth body and he crosses his arms over his chest and squeezes his thighs together as if to hide from both Bruce and the cold water.
“The faster you get his stink off, the faster you can leave the cold water,” Bruce says, crossing his own arms.
“I don’t have my soap here,” Jason waffles, head hanging down, hair obscuring his face.
“You’ll use mine.”
A shaky breath escapes Jason as he reaches out for Bruce’s shampoo. He’s silent other than his teeth chattering while he makes his way through soaping and then conditioning his hair. Bruce is still fuzzy with anger, with drink, with adrenaline that he’s blaming his dry mouth and aching cock on. He tries to tell himself it’s not Jason soaping up his body under Bruce’s heavy gaze that’s getting to him.
Jason avoids his vagina. He doesn’t have any hair there to clean and Bruce doesn’t have any special soap for that area, but it needs to be clean. Bruce won’t stand for the idea of Jason walking around still slicked up because of fucking Stark.
“Detach the showerhead and clean yourself out.” His voice practically booms in the room and Jason curls into himself even as he leans up and grabs the detachable part of the showerhead like Bruce told him to. His free hand slides down, legs slipping apart as his fingers spread his pussy lips. Bruce looks away, grabbing a towel as Jason hisses and whines loudly over the cold water touching his most intimate place.
Jason is shaking heavily when the shower head is replaced and he looks up at Bruce with these big wet eyes. Eyes that don’t have an ounce of apology in them.
“Turn off the water and get out,” he commands.
The boy rushes to do so, escaping the cold confines of the shower right into the softness of the towel Bruce holds out. He tries to take it only to have Bruce push him back against the glass, towel sliding roughly over his cold skin. He scrubs the towel roughly over Jason’s hair and from there down, shoving his nose against the damp tangle of black to make sure all he can smell is his own soap and Jason’s natural scent. He continues like that, scenting the curve of the shivering teen’s neck and his shoulders where he allowed Stark to hang off of him.
“Bruce, what–”
“At least you can do something right,” Bruce growls.
“You’re acting crazy! I don’t get why you’re so pissed off,” Jason snaps, shoving uselessly at Bruce’s chest.
Dropping the towel, Bruce wrangles both of Jason’s wrists into one of his hands. “You wanted to come here! You told all these lies about being excited to go to one of my conferences, and then what did you do? You threw yourself at that death merchant, practically begging him to bend you over right there!”
Jason’s lip wobbles. “You weren’t even paying attention to me anyway! Why do you care about me talking to someone who actually wants to talk to me?”
“That wasn’t talking,” Bruce growls into Jason’s face, hand too tight around Jason’s wrists, only they won’t bend and warp like the fork, they’ll break. “That was flirting, overt flirting like a whore does when they’re trying for a big score.”
Jason is shaking, his pupils are dilated and his breaths are heavy, a far cry from the tiny pupils and shallow breathing of Jason when he gets scared. Unthinking, Bruce drops his hand, sliding over cold skin and then encountering hot, slick skin. A snarl leaves his throat. “You’re still thinking about him!”
“I’m not, I’m not!” Jason cries, jerking against the hold on his arms.
Bruce can’t carry a lot of equipment to these things. A batarang here and there, a couple of smoke pellets, and a roll of the non-adhesive capture tape they synthesized a few months ago. He yanks the roll of tape out of his coat pocket. “I’ll teach you to stop thinking with your cunt.”
“Wha– Bruce, what? Oh gosh!” Wrists liberally tied together with the tape, Bruce lets go of them and Jason stares in shock at his bound arms. He’s still staring when Bruce crouches down slightly to throw the boy over his shoulder. The teen oofs and squirms struggling on the shelf of Bruce’s shoulder. “Wait, wait what do you mean by that?!”
Slapping his hand down on the meat of Jason’s ass, he growls: “Be still.”
And with a sharp yelp, Jason goes slack over his shoulder just in time to be flung onto Bruce’s bed. Bruce crawls up after him, getting a firm handful of Jason’s thigh with his empty hand. He spreads the boy, eyes falling to the enticing, pink slit between his legs. It’s too enticing really, no wonder Stark couldn’t resist the little whore’s advances.
Ripping another length of the tape with his teeth, Bruce drops the roll and presses the strip of tape over Jason from the top of his pubic mound to his taint. The boy is shaking, thighs twitching around Bruce but he’s utterly silent and the man knows if he looks at Jason’s face he’ll either grow angrier or let the teen off too easily. Pulling his hand back, he flattens his fingers and swiftly slaps down against the tape. It’s not very hard, just enough to make sure the tape will stay, but it gets a reaction.
Jason cries out, his whole body thrashing, only kept still by Bruce’s tight grip around his thigh.
“Be still!” Bruce emphasizes the command with another light smack on Jason’s tape covered pussy. Jason’s whole body tenses up trying to follow the command but he still twitches, hips shifting in the air trying to get away.
“Please, Bruce!” Jason croaks, voice wet and heavy.
“No, sluts don’t get to speak unless they’re counting their licks.” He doesn’t even know where the sentiment comes from. When he taped Jason up he had half a mind to just leave him there all taped up until he apologized for his transgressions. Jason won’t apologize though, and if he does, he won’t mean it. If Madam Potts hadn’t been there then he would have followed Stark back to his suite and let the bastard have his sweet little pussy.
He pulls his hand back and slaps again, exactly the same as before. A whimper escapes Jason and then a shaky, “One.”
It’s his third slap, not his first and Bruce almost corrects him. “You get fifteen. Don’t lose count.”
Every slap follows a yelp or a whimper or a cry and then, wetly, the next number in the count. He’s on slap fourteen which is by Jason’s count twelve when the boy hesitates. He’s panting heavily, right on the cusp of full on sobbing, but when he opens his mouth he doesn’t say twelve he says: “One.”
Bruce’s jaw clenches. Jason’s tendency to test his limits and his anger has no place here just like it has no place in patrol. The next spank he lays on Jason’s taped over cunt is louder, harsher, and Jason’s body bucks up and he shouts.
Instead of thirteen, Jason whimpers out: “Two.”
Bruce keeps his slaps harder and Jason keeps counting. Slap! “Three.” Slap, slap, slap! “Four, five, six.”
Jason counts to twelve this time and Bruce has lost his original count. His own breathing is heavy and his pants are way too tight for any of this, nevermind the fact that he should have never taken it this far. But he’s too deep now, and he’s so angered by the way Jason was leaning all over another man that when he spanks again and Jason keens out another fucking ‘one’ he just keeps going.
The tape over Jason’s pussy is getting less and less stable with every slap, there’s bubbles of clear fluid escaping the edges of the tape. Surely with all of this Jason cannot still be thinking of Stark, surely this is just a bodily reaction to the abuse Bruce is laying into his cunt. His hits are hard, as hard as he will let himself go, even angry not wanting to permanently damage his boy, his son, his Robin.
Bruce swallows his own sob down at that thought, jaw flexing and clenching down on the noise.
Slap! “Twelve!” Slap! “Thirteen!”
Bruce is waiting for the numbers to reset, waiting for Jason to keep trying to test him, trying to call his bluff.
Slap! “Fourteen.”
Bruce raises his hand and brings it down hard almost so quickly that he doesn’t notice the way Jason’s hips buck up into the slap. Jason sobs loudly, his breathing an absolute mess. Bruce raises his hand again. “Fif- fifteen.”
Bruce lowers his hand immediately. It falls heavy and limp on Jason’s other thigh. His own palm is burning from the blows, slightly damp from the spillover around the tape. His fingers flex, trying to work the stiffness out, and the way they dig into the flesh of Jason’s leg has Bruce realizing just how hard he’s been grabbing Jason’s other thigh.
He lets go of both.
Jason’s thigh has the beginnings of bruises. So does his neck when Bruce looks up, so do his wrists peeking out of the tape. He’s bruised his boy outside of the parameters of training. His fingers have dug into Jason and left marks behind that will be dark and purple in an hour.
“Jason,” he breathes. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, it’s like his brain has finally pulled itself out from under the angry fog it was in and now all he’s left with is regret. “God, Jason.”
Jason is crying when he looks at his face finally. His face is sticky and red and his eyes are puffy and there's blood on his lip where he tried to bite it to keep quiet at some point. He’s crying, sobbing really, and he’s laughing, breathy and overwhelmed.
“Jay, I’m… I–” Bruce lifts his hand, covering his mouth, trying to drag something out of himself. Instead he’s hit with the slickness of his tingling palm and the scent of Jason’s sex, making his rock hard cock throb within the painful confines of his trousers.
“Please,” Jason gasps, “please don’t apologize.”
“Wha–”
“I mean really,” Jason says as another tiny sob leaves his mouth, “if I knew all it took to finally get your attention was to talk to some other rich guy…”
That anger bubbles back in Bruce’s chest and he has a name for it this time. Jealousy. As if Bruce is some little teenager with a crush who’s talked to someone else. Only he didn’t go off and brood or confess like a human, he brought his baby boy back to his room and humiliated him and beat him.
“...then I would have just called up Lex Luthor or something back home.”
“You did do it on purpose.” The growl in his voice isn’t meant to be there with the realization.
Jason’s face is still ruined when Bruce looks up to meet his gaze, his arms are still uncomfortably over his head where Bruce left them. Jason sniffles. “I mean, Tony Stark is fine and all, and you probably should look into his arc reactor doohickey, but he’s also taken and not Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce swallows heavily, anger and confusion and realization warring for dominance in his inhibited brain. “There are other ways… you should have talked to me about this.” Bruce can’t help but pause to clench his eyes shut and shake his head, voice coming out choked, “I hurt you, Jason.”
“Yeah you did,” the teen laughs breathily. “You liked it.”
Bruce’s thundering heart jerks to a complete stop in his chest. He did like it, he wanted to hurt Jason for his not quite imagined slight against him. His palms are itching with it, throat crawling at the truthfulness of it, and his cock is still desperately hard in his pants.
“I liked it too,” Jason admits.
Bruce looks up so fast it nearly bowls himself over, fingers clenching at Jason’s hip where he steadies himself so he won’t fall over the boy. “What?”
“Gosh it hurt so good,” the boy moans softly, hips rocking up in Bruce’s hold. “Why do you think I kept starting over, huh? Wanted you to keep going but I had to stop because I almost… almost came and I figured that might just upset you more.”
“You almost…” Bruce feels lost at sea. He feels like the rug has been ripped out from under him. This has to be a fever dream, maybe Madam Potts gave him too many drinks and he passed out drunk in the event hall downstairs. He swallows heavily. “You almost came? I was hitting your cunt, I hardly think–”
“Yeah, you weren’t thinking for once, or at least not with your head. Was nice.” Jason squirms, tries to squeeze his thighs around Bruce where he’s still kneeling between the boy’s legs. “B?”
He’s B again now, Jason is all wide eyed and squirmy and Bruce is B again.
“Yeah, Jason?” What can he do but wait for Jason to ask something of him. He’s done so much tonight without Jason’s input after all.
Jason drags his tongue over his bloody bottom lip. “Do I gotta make you mad again for you to keep going?”
If Bruce came up with a hundred different things that Jason could have said to him that wouldn’t have touched the list with a ten foot pole. Jason is still all spread out around him, body covered in bruises and trembling with strain. “What?”
Jason shivers. “I could talk about Mister Stark’s eyes, how they watched me, how dark they were, warm and brown and focused on me all night.”
“Jason.”
“Or I could talk about his hands and how he touched me so lightly and gently, how he kept squeezing my shoulder just a little.”
“Jason.” The breaths that are escaping Bruce are hard and loud.
“I could talk about all the sweet names he called me. Honey and dear and Jay.”
“Jason,” Bruce growls, practically launching himself forward over the boy to grab him by the jaw forcefully, “shut up!”
And Jason’s pretty blue eyes roll in pleasure, his whole naked body pressed up against Bruce’s clothed one, shivering with need. He doesn’t shut up, he continues, voice thin and needy. “I hated it. I kept looking up, trying to make sure these cold blue eyes were on me for once.”
Jason grinds his hips up against Bruce’s trapped erection. “And then you grabbed me and it was so rough and you called me those things and I–” he cuts himself off with a moan, hips arching up searching for precious friction. “I want it so bad, daddy, please.”
Bruce’s cock twitches so hard he knows Jason can feel it against him. The teen just moans, trying to close his thighs around Bruce’s hips. “You hit me so much, daddy,” he pants. “I’m so wet and tight for you.”
What is Bruce supposed to do with that but let go of Jason’s face and his hip to tear at his own belt and fly?
“Please take it all off, please, B. Wanna feel you so bad, daddy,” Jason croons and Bruce’s suit is just as ruined as Jason’s by the end of it. Wadded up on the floor with the zipper of his trousers jammed and half his buttons torn or missing. When he’s completely naked, batarang from his pocket in hand, he reaches up, cutting the tape from around his boy’s wrists to drop both the weapon and the tape over the side of the bed.
Jason lets out a relieved sound when he drops his arms to his sides, rolling his shoulders. Without all the tape in the way, Bruce can see the bruising on Jason’s arms. The mottled red and blooming purple of his fingers leaving bands and blots in Jason’s fair skin. He looks away, eyes tracking the red marks on Jason’s hip, the bruising marks on his thigh.
The tape across his slit is barely hanging on. When he pulls it off he’s met with the sight of Jason’s cunt, red and puffy, abused and fucking soaked with clear and slightly white slick from the amount of friction his spanks made. Jason’s hole twitches and flutters when Bruce carefully spreads his abused labia; his clit is red and engorged. Jason hisses at the touch and Bruce looks up.
“I need to prepare you, Jason,” he says carefully, waiting for Jason to say that it's overwhelming, it hurts too much to continue.
Jason is shaking his head furiously and Bruce is about to pull his hand away when the little minx hits him with those watery blue eyes. “Please don’t. Take me like this, daddy, you worked so hard at tightening me up.”
Bruce pulls his fingers away and slides up the bed, catching Jason’s jaw in his hand to finally pull him into a kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, tastes like salt from Jason’s tears and copper from his raw lip, and Bruce doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop doing it when they leave the hotel. He’ll have to kiss him again in the morning, and on the plane, and in the cave. He’ll have to kiss him on every rooftop in the city and refrain from fucking him in the nearest alley every time some lowlife manages to land a hit.
He pulls away from the kiss to grab Jason by the shoulder, right where that asshole kept touching, and turns him over on his side. The bruising on the back of his neck is much more visible this way and Bruce leans forward, setting his teeth to the marks to drag across the inflamed skin. Jason squirms back against him with a whine, lining their bodies up, and Bruce drops a hand, grabbing the boy’s unbruised thigh to haul it up and back, right over his hip. His thigh probably won’t stay unblemished for long.
“Oh gosh,” Jason breathes. Bruce figures out why a moment later when Jason wraps a hand around his aching cock where it's protruding between the teen’s spread legs. He gives it a long, lengthy pump with one hand and after another hitched breath and little hiss, there’s another hand spreading warm wetness across the length of his cock.
“Filthy slut,” Bruce mumbles against Jason’s throat, dragging a bit of clear skin between his teeth to roll some color into it. The boy keens, body trembling against Bruce’s.
He gets Bruce nice and wet with his own slick and then tilts his hips back a little more, lining Bruces’ cockhead up to press it against his fluttering hole. “Please, daddy?”
Jerking his hips up sharply, mostly as a test to feel the way his cockhead slides along Jason’s abused cunt, he doesn’t realize that Jason has a firm enough hold on him that he pops harshly inside of the boy. It’s sudden, sharp, and there's heat and overwhelming tightness around his cock.
“Fuuuck,” escapes the older man in a low groan against Jason’s wrecked neck.
Jason sobs and lets go of Bruce's cock to grab the wrist of the hand holding his thigh spread. He’s breathing heavily, little whimpers spilling out of his throat that make Bruce pretty hesitant to even keep himself inside. Finally, Jason’s hips rock as much as they can in this position and he lets out another sob, this one sounding more like a moan.
“God, daddy, please,” he whines softly. “Please fuck me.”
“Such a whore,” Bruce grunts, thrusting his hips. He works himself inside the tight, heat of his son in increments, not quite slow enough to be nice or let Jason get used to it, but with enough attention paid that he can stop or pull out if asked. Jason is right, though, he’s the tightest person Bruce has ever fucked and if he attributes it to the slapping then Bruce isn’t going to argue.
A litany of ‘please please please’ is all that’s falling out of Jason’s mouth when Bruce manages to bottom out. He allows himself a few seconds of just feeling the tight clutch of his boy around him, leaning up and tilting Jason’s face to kiss him. Jason is teary, eyes all foggy and distant but he responds to the kiss with sloppy abandon.
That’s all Bruce needs to start fucking the boy for real. Jason is tighter than sin, yes, but he’s also so wet it’s insane. The slide is easy and the rhythm Bruce finds keeps getting faster and faster until Jason is openly wailing and moaning with every inward thrust. It’s certainly a bump to Bruce’s ego, the way his boy is shaking and shouting and leaking in his arms like this is the best sex he’s ever had. It’s certainly the best that Bruce can remember himself having.
After everything that’s happened tonight, all the emotions and alcohol and how hard the older man was in his pants for that indeterminate amount of time, he’s approaching his peak pretty quickly. Shifting Jason in his hold to get his free arm under the boy, he drops his hand to drag his fingers over Jason’s abused clit, making the boy arch and keen for him. Jason’s hips jitter, grinding up against Bruce's hand and down over his dick like he can’t decide where to go for pleasure.
“Hit me ‘gain,” Jason slurs, voice thick and wrecked. “Pl’s, B. Hit me ‘gain?”
The angle isn’t as good, but Bruce doubts Jason is looking for all out hits, he wants just enough to get off and that’s what the man will give him. Tilting his wrist, the older man draws his hand back and slaps it down against Jason’s clit. Instantly the boy’s channel tightens around him and his grip on Jason’s thigh goes hard as he slams up into his cunt.
Jason’s not going to be able to talk tomorrow with the sounds he’s making. Bruce wouldn’t be surprised if he had to carry him to the car and the plane. He doesn’t find himself minding though, not a bit.
A second slap follows the first to the same reaction, then a third. Jason isn’t making any sense anymore and Bruce is a little too far gone himself. Slap four is what tips Bruce over the edge and slap five has Jason practically seizing against him, shaking apart in a truly spectacular orgasm that milks Bruce’s out of him in great heaving bursts.
The aftermath is a mess of stumbling to the bathroom to find the softest thing he can (Jason’s silk shirt) and soak it in warm water to wipe the teen up, face first and then the rest of him. In the morning, Bruce will get him back into the bathroom to assess the damage and give him a deeper clean, but for now he’d rather not move his new lover except to shuffle the duvet out from under him so that they have a dry place to sleep.
Jason is practically comatose when Bruce slips into the bed, curling around him after turning out the lights, but he still leans fully into Bruce. It helps to remind the older man that he didn’t fuck up irreparably, but they’ll need to talk once they’re in the privacy of a five hour flight tomorrow. Bruce will have to really apologize, because even if Jason wanted it, you’re never supposed to do that kind of thing without permission first, and they’ll have to figure out how to handle this secret because Jason is just so young.
He tries not to stay awake dwelling on it and mostly succeeds due to the warm, deeply breathing weight in his arms. He buries his nose in hair that smells like his own soap and Jason and just breathes until he’s out like a light.
[][][]
“Good morning, Mister Wayne,” Virginia Potts says, sliding up next to Bruce in the coffee line at the hotel’s cafe. She’s practically glowing, looking more than a little well-sexed and Bruce knows what that looks like because he has the same sort of glow.
“Good morning, Madam Potts.” Two sets of cups get put on the counter one after the other, showing that Virginia likely did the same as him and ordered from her room. “You’re looking refreshed this morning.”
“I could say the same about you.” She picks up her own to-go cups and turns with him. “Headed to the car bay?”
“Yes, Jason is there waiting for our driver,” Bruce confirms, sticking beside her. No more needs to be exchanged as they make their way through the short distance of the lobby to the carpool lane outside.
Jason is leaning against the wall, grinning madly up at Tony Stark and a curl of heated jealousy sparks in Bruce’s chest.
“I guess I don’t have to ask you if your plan worked.” Stark rocks on his feet, bending over to look over the tops of his sunglasses at Jason’s throat which is poorly concealed by his hoodie. The article is much more suited to Gotham weather than Malibu weather which makes it even more suspect but it’s all Jason had that would cover his arms as well. “If I knew Brucie Wayne could fuck like that I would have gone there years ago.”
Jason snorts and then speaks, voice rough. “It’s too bad you’re both taken then, isn’t it, Mister Stark?”
“My man!” Stark grins just as mad as Jason, all dimples and sharp facial hair to set them apart, and holds up a fist which Jason immediately bumps with his own.
Madam Potts clears her throat politely, holding out one of the cups to Stark. When he takes it she begins ushering him away from Jason’s leaning spot. “Where’s Happy?”
“It was a plan,” Bruce observes, “and he was in on it.”
“Yup,” Jason rasps.
A noncommittal hum escapes the older man and he holds out Jason’s cup. “Got you a chai latte, for your throat.”
The teen lets out a more pleased hum. “Love you, B.”
That curl of jealousy from before twists in on itself and diminishes into pure warmth. “Love you too, son.”