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It's one more secret to be buried within Gotham city.
It's a safehouse that only they know about.
Its existence always feels a bit precarious, especially when their fights outside of these walls get so destructive that they might not come back from it at all. But then Bruce will receive a silent notification on his phone indicating that Jason has made entry, and he will remember to breathe again. It's hardly truce being called, that much Bruce knows the same way he's figured it is far from forgiveness too.
He knows that better than anyone else.
There is no forgiving the things that Bruce has done.
Except, this is some form of concession that he will never get in any other aspect of their lives. To think he can still have this even if he cannot have anything else, and Bruce has always known he will settle for whatever Jason gives him in this place.
They never really talk about it, not in any real terms. They probably should, at least maybe discuss a safe word or two, but there has never been any negotiation or even a single question asked about hard limits. Instead, they rely on instincts. And their instinctual reactions keep them coming back to this one safehouse like it's some kind of home.
Where the door unlocks with a key that they both own.
Where the security system is disarmed with a code shared between just the two of them.
They don't call this thing between them anything special. They don't give it a label. They don't dare to. But when Jason shows up, Bruce will ultimately follow like a man on a leash. And the long line should be choking but it never does, it just draws closer then closer until the distance is drawn to zero. Because there's just one absolute rule that holds true here.
Bruce gets free reign over Jason within these four walls.
Whenever he wants it and however he wants it, Jason is Bruce's to do with, whatever he wants.
On most days, it's nowhere as deprived as it sounds. On other days, it takes about every ounce of willpower to keep themselves in check. They inspire a lot of things in one another, not all of it good or even remotely close to it. But there is always an open invitation for Jason to step inside of this safehouse. An invitation that is extended to Bruce when Jason is a willing participant in this game of theirs.
Jason is reading on the sofa when Bruce shows up.
Jason hasn't been here long. Bruce knows this from the entry notification he received on his phone barely forty-five minutes ago. But lying sprawled out across the couch and leaning back so comfortably against a cushion, Jason looks thoroughly settled in, complete with a worn paperback novel in hand and the heat turned up high.
Bruce locks the door behind him and goes through the familiar motions of resetting the Bat-grade alarm system, fortifying the safehouse once more. Walking in, he pauses to admire the view. Not through the window from one of the best vantage points in midtown where the skyline is reflecting across the still waters of Gotham Bay. Not even close, Bruce only has eyes for the living room where it is drenched in the most vivid light.
The sunset spilling through the glass to paint everything in a soft brilliant glow with Jason on the centerfold.
All of Bruce's attention is drawn to just him. Jason is in a hoodie in that signature red and a simple pair of briefs. Given everything that he's worn for Bruce before (risqué and with lace, more ropes and knots than sense, a collar with nothing else), this is not particularly revealing even if his legs are bare, stretching out against the length of the couch and on full display.
The setting orange warmth keeps Jason languid, pinning him right where he is as he flips to the next page. He feels Bruce's eyes on him, hard not to when his gaze is heavy with intent of a very specific kind.
Here, Bruce doesn't have to hold back.
Jason is all for Bruce's eyes to undress. All of him for Bruce's hands to touch and grope, and Bruce doesn't waste his time with anything else.
He gives in with ease and reaches for skin, hands going from the jutting bone of Jason's ankles to the curve of his calves. He is not smooth shaven, but that only adds to the appeal when he is so comfortable in his own skin for Bruce like this. There is a long enduring moment where Bruce just digs his fingers into the muscles. He waits to hear the soft hitch in Jason's next breath before he is sliding his calloused palms from each of Jason's knees up to his inner thighs.
“Bad day?” Jason peeks at him from over the top of his book, still wearing his reading glasses, and Bruce can't look away.
Bruce nods, letting out a deep groan as he works out the tension in his own shoulders, hands just feeling Jason up. He doesn't hold back on his strength because he's seen what Jason can take. It is particularly telling on the days where Bruce comes close to breaking while Jason barely even bends.
On any other day, Bruce would be ripping Jason's underwear off before he is pushing apart those thighs to expose Jason's most intimate parts. He would hastily work three fingers in to test the give of Jason's passage, soft and wet with prep, and listen for the lovely sigh that marks the fact he's found Jason's most sensitive spot. A thumb to keep Jason's entrance spread before Bruce is bullying his way inside, tip and cock and girth and all, bottoming out easily when Jason is made to take and take and take some more.
Every last bit of that still sounds just as good as it always does but Bruce has an appetite for something different.
Something quick. Something easy. Something right this moment that will have him working this initial edge off before he allows himself the indulgence of putting Jason through his paces. Eyes on the prize, and all that. And Bruce has never once looked away.
Bruce wants to get off with just Jason's thighs.
He wants to come fucking into the tight slit between these thighs. Bruce wants to have the soft skin of Jason's inner thighs tender and burning a brilliant red from the friction alone, back of those thighs the same matching shade from the brutal impact of every single one of his thrusts. The identical indents running horizontal around each thigh from the long hours that Jason wears his gun holsters only serve to make them all the more tantalizing when Bruce intends to leave Jason drenched in his spend so he can be claimed in debauchery. He wants to push Jason's legs apart to see him looking so thoroughly used by Bruce before he ever even dips the crown of his cock inside of that hole.
Bruce drags Jason down the length of the couch by the waist, yanking Jason's underwear down with him until it is tangled at his ankles.
Jason doesn't protest.
Jason never does, not within these four walls.
He just goes from sitting reclined to lying flat on his back, head pillowed against the cushion behind him while he is completely naked past his hips. With the hem of his hoodie riding up, it shows off Jason's navel and the treasure trail that leads right down to his soft cock.
“Good book?” Bruce asks, catching the unfamiliar title in German. He folds Jason's legs at the knees with one hand gripping the underside, bending him nearly in half at the hips, putting the curve of his ass into an obscene display. The shift is sudden but Jason moves into the position so easily, same degree of flexibility as his Robin days even so many years later.
“Very.” Jason murmurs absentmindedly, eyes not straying from the page.
“At the best part yet?” Bruce has to wonder, seeing the rapt attention Jason has in his paperback novel and it's hard not to be roped right in with him.
Bruce has one hand under Jason's knees, an easy enough hoist and he has both of Jason's legs resting over one shoulder. He gets his belt undone with the other hand, pants unbuttoned and the waistband shoved down just low enough for him to get his cock out. He spits against the underside of Jason's thighs, letting it drip thickly down the curve of the muscle before he is rubbing his cockhead against the saliva to smear the mess all around. Even with Jason's thighs pressing so tightly together like this, a push of his cock in between is still easy enough.
The pressure is incredible and the slide of Jason's bare skin against his erection burns hot.
They hold a normal conversation while Bruce ruts against him, the crown of his cock peeking through the top of Jason's thighs each time he bottoms out. Every thrust between those thighs has him rubbing over and over Jason's perineum before nudging at the soft crush of his balls where he is still folded neatly into two.
“Nearly.” Jason blinks up at Bruce from behind his reading glasses, they slip down the bridge of his nose a little before he is pushing them back up. Eyes some shade between blue and green, looking more amused by Bruce than affected even while the man keeps up with that same steady pace.
“Don't mind me.” Bruce smiles down at him, eyes following the absent way Jason's fingers trace the edges of his page. He finds it so endearing that his next thrust is hard enough to physically jostle Jason up against the couch by a good few inches.
Jason shakes his head, settling deeper into the couch before flipping to the next page. “I don't.”
Jason doesn't breathe any harder even as Bruce begins to pant above him, but his own cock is starting to stir. His body gets worked up easily with just the stimulation from this constant friction between his legs. But so much more than that, it's the simple smile that Bruce gives him. Bruce always looks at him with such lovesick eyes in the safety of these four walls. It's the indulgence that gets the flush to rise, cheeks beginning to turn pink. Jason doesn't let that change anything.
Bruce keeps it up, he also keeps it quiet for Jason to keep enjoying his story.
And Jason does, but they both know the thigh fucking is as distracting as it is good.
Jason's ass must be bright red if the burning sensation is any indication at all, the top of Bruce's thighs slamming down against the back of his own thighs on every hammering thrust. The metal from the open zipper of Bruce's pants and the hard edges of his belt both dig into the tender flesh, making it hurt as much as it feels good. Jason is so close to finishing the chapter but he is also entirely hard and leaking now, his own cock dribbling a mess of precum across his navel each time Bruce bottoms out between them.
"Almost there?" Bruce asks, catching Jason's half-lidded eyes over the top of his book. And it's a downright tease when he full well knows that Jason can't quite pay attention to any of the words on the page with a pace like this, set without pause.
"Almost done?" Jason snarks back, flexing his thighs, pressing them tighter together. He knows it must feel good when Bruce's pace stutters at that, makes him do it again and then once more before Jason is wondering if it might even feel better (or at least tighter) than his hole would after hours and hours of being kept on Bruce's cock.
There is a lamp behind Jason's head that keeps the living room from becoming pitch black with the sun completely down. But it's still dim and it makes it hard to see the space between them. There is a few near misses where Bruce pulls out in the low light and nearly fucks into Jason's hole instead.
It gets Jason's breath to hitch every time because he knows Bruce is so close to getting off that it almost doesn't even matter to him.
The blunt head of his thick cock is kissing at Jason's entrance, rubbing then nudging and almost dipping inside his passage where Jason is entirely unprepped. It doesn't help that he's so wet, a lot of it from Bruce's precum with a fair amount of Jason's own sweat when the hoodie stays on and the temperature of the safehouse remains the same. But before Bruce can fuck into his hole, forcing him open on a single thrust, the man is angling a little higher and fucking into the softness of Jason's thighs once more.
It almost gets Jason to whine at the loss because Jason never minds it when it hurts. Most times, it gets him harder. But Bruce isn't into making the sex between them hurt, and isn't that ironic given their history together.
"I'm going to come now," Bruce grits out from above him. Jason doesn't protest as Bruce takes his book away, only groans a little when Bruce closes it without marking his spot. But Bruce makes up for it by leaning down, bending Jason even further until he feels that straining pull in the back of his thighs as he is made to really stretch. A kiss is pressed to the corner of Jason's lips, and Bruce keeps it chaste even though he really doesn't need to, not with the way Jason's tongue is darting out to catch a better taste. "But you are going to hold off, Jason. You don't come until you're on my cock."
Jason bites back on another groan and then a few choice words too because he wants to get off earlier rather than later instead of not at all. Jason can be good, so he nods, murmuring a yes, boss against Bruce's mouth before he is being properly kissed. Jason isn't above admitting that he melts into it.
Bruce's pace picks up, and it barely takes a few more minutes for him to chase his completion between Jason's thighs, grinding against the tight pressure and the heat of his skin. He comes, groaning into Jason's awaiting mouth and the next few kisses exchanged are even messier than before.
His spend is a warm wet spill across Jason's skin, and there's so much of it too even after it gets rubbed in. Bruce is slow to pull back, considerate as he slides Jason's legs off his shoulder and sets his feet back down on the couch. He moves to give Jason the room to stretch out, letting his blood flow properly into his extremities after being held up for so long. But Jason doesn't need or want that.
Instead, he craves for this numbing tingly sensation that keeps his whole body buzzed.
Here in this safehouse, Jason gets to be just an object of desire for Bruce. And there is so much comfort in that.
Thighs already dropping open to splay wide apart, showing off the mess that he's made of him, Jason spreads his legs so easily for Bruce. And with his hoodie sitting all askew, rucking up past his ribs to show off his hard dark nipples, he remains the centerfold. Except it's the most pornographic of fetish magazines when Jason still has those reading glasses on. Like this, he is the furthest thing from being Red Hood. The black frames look far more fitting for a university student that does amateur porn on the side.
"I don't come until I have your cock inside of me." Jason repeats like it's a matter of fact, and it really is when they are here together within this safehouse. His tender inner thighs are rubbed raw, fever red to the touch. The rest of him is absolutely dripping in Bruce's seed, his own erection straining for attention underneath Bruce's mess while his hole is twitching cutely where it remains untouched.
"That's correct." Bruce replies, just as stern. But he is swallowing hard, mouth all dry as his eyes follow where Jason is reaching down between those thighs to hold himself open for Bruce to see his most intimate parts.
Jason brings one fingertip to trace his rim, rubbing round and round the furrow like he is working himself up to it, like he has never once taken Bruce's cock in the ass with no prep and some spit for lube. His breath hitches when he presses inside, he only slips his finger in to the very first knuckle, pushing and prodding against his walls, testing the give of his entrance. His other hand goes to swipe at the splatter of white across his navel, gathering Bruce's seed before he is working that too inside of his hole.
With every spread of his fingers, Jason scissors himself open in anticipation for what's to come.
The tips of his ears are burning at the slick lewd sounds each time he is fucking Bruce's mess in and out of himself. But it doesn't do anything to deter him from it. He doesn't stop, he hardly even slows down when he can feel Bruce's gaze on him like this. He shudders at the attention, weak to it, feeling shameless and greedy with it when he is holding himself open for Bruce to peer in. His passage is all pink and soft, now even wetter from Bruce's seed that he's worked deep inside.
Jason tries for a question, but it comes out sounding like he could just about beg for it when his voice is all low and scratchy. His reading glasses are sitting slightly crooked, eyes behind the lenses looking blown out and dazed, sole focus on Bruce's cock and wanting it buried to the hilt inside. "B, how much more of an invitation can I be?"
Bruce can have Jason on his knees for him afterwards, when he's had him thrice over and coming dry on his cock. Maybe then he'll get Jason to sit back on his heels at Bruce's feet, couch cushion under his knees, eyes fluttering shut the same way his throat goes all tight around him as he keeps Bruce's cock nice and warm and wet until he is ready to go again.
Bruce moves at long last, finally taking Jason up on his offer.
Jason doesn't whimper as Bruce sinks inside of him, but it's close when Bruce buries his cock deeper than he thought possible on the very first thrust. He doesn't even get a grunt from Bruce in response to his invitation but it's not like Jason still has the capacity to protest. He's too busy losing what remains of his voice when Bruce just keeps on going, using Jason to his heart's content, and his heart craves to own Jason through and through.
Bruce has a possessive streak, practically known for it when he's claimed a whole city just for himself. But Jason never really thinks about that until it's turned on him, and Bruce's full focus is intense, almost unnerving. It should be suffocating but Jason needs it like this, given freely and in excess. Anything less, and it feels as though he's an afterthought to the man. And he can't have that. Not here anyways.
Jason ends up shouting himself hoarse.
Three orgasms and then an impending fourth one on the horizon when the literal sun is about to come back up will do that to you.
Even with a few hours of reprieve in between when Bruce left the safehouse as Batman for a cursory patrol of the worst parts of Gotham, it's still barely enough to recover when Jason is woken up in bed by Bruce's erection being tapped against his cheek. A press of the crown against his parted mouth, and the man is grabbing his hair and sinking it in past his lips to the depths of his throat.
He tastes the leather and the Kevlar first like it's Bruce's skin.
Next, he breathes in deeply for the clinging musk of a night out in Gotham no matter how brief.
Jason doesn't actually recall how he made it to bed. Because his last coherent memory of the evening is being manhandled from the couch and made to stand on shaky legs, underwear still tangled at his ankles. His arms are pulled behind him with a tight firm grip at each wrist, and he is barely standing steady before he's already being yanked backwards to sit on Bruce's cock. Again then again, and it's a brutal pace to set and one even harder to keep. But Bruce made sure of it, keeping to it even when Jason couldn't, losing track with the way Bruce's cock is hammering against his prostate on every thrust.
Even if he's been fucked stupid, Jason figures Bruce must have had to carry him to bed after that. Maybe even cleaned him up if his missing hoodie is any indication at all.
Waking up naked and with Bruce fucking his face is not quite good morning but it isn't like he's in any shape to leave the bed even without the taste of Bruce's release filling up the back of his throat. Because when Bruce pulls out, he just forces Jason on his hands and knees. He's been made pliant from being fucked into passing out altogether and then made softer still with sleep, Jason stays right where Bruce puts him without ever being told.
His body might have every intention of tapping out but Jason is still here. And that says far more.
Jason doesn't yelp or even whimper when Bruce presses inside of him once more. He just twitches weakly around the intrusion where the stimulation is overwhelming. As Bruce slides home, bottoming out into Jason's fucked out hole again, they can both feel the way Bruce's previous loads are being forced out from around the thick girth of his cock. It's a slow steady drip of semen down the inside of Jason's thighs, rivulets of viscous white that will soak into the ruined sheets under them.
And as Bruce slips three fingers between Jason's lips, he will suck on the calloused pads of those digits until Bruce is fucking them in and out of him just as his cock is doing. Moving to press down against his tongue, pushing them in deeper until Bruce can caress his soft palate, feeling out every corner of Jason's open mouth. Jason doesn't choke around them, he wishes he would. But he will settle for this when it stoppers all the words that he wants to say, keeping every last secret in the confines of his chest.
Jason thinks he is going to come dry. He also thinks if there's any wetness, it might not even be cum at this point. It's not like this is the first time Bruce has fucked him until he pisses all over himself, but it still shocks him every single time that he allows Bruce to get him to this point.
Jason doesn't live his life in this safehouse.
He will stay the night, maybe two. But never more than three because otherwise, he knows he might never leave.
When he's gone off-world for weeks on end, runs himself ragged in the depths of Gotham's truly deprived for months and then puts himself through the wringer for longer, he will show up here because he doesn't think he can go another day. He is not looking for forgiveness because he doesn't regret a single thing. He puts himself in Bruce's hands and wonders if this will kill him softly and soundly and for good. It's not so much a solution as it is a band-aid to stop the bleeding that comes with being in love with Bruce.
Jason doesn't see it for the double-edged knife that it is.
He doesn't see the matching scars being carved into Bruce's heart.