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Kill Me Romantically

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“You look much better like this.”

Tim presses his bare thighs together. He has no idea how Dick and Jason used to go out in their Robin uniforms, the ones that consisted of little more than a t-shirt, tunic, and hotpants. He feels absolutely ridiculous in the get-up now, but the way that Jason leers at him from across the room tells him he must not be lying too much.

He shifts a little where he sits, hands cuffed to the headboard behind his back. Jason arranged them so that the metal sits underneath the edges of his gloves, in the perfect place to cut into his skin.

“The real Batman was a little more hospitable when he was trying to recruit people,” Tim says matter-of-factly.

“I am the real Batman,” Jason says, voice rougher than usual, taking a step toward the bed.

As far as costumes go, he’s certainly gone all-out for their little “game.” If Jason were to leave the apartment right now, the only difference between him and Bruce would be the rounds of ammunition looped around his torso, and the belt sporting a range of guns that (he hopes) are unloaded.

No, of course they are. Jason likes guns enough to not be stupid about them. But the idea that they might be armed and dangerous is enough to set Tim’s heart racing.

( Like it wasn’t before. Come on, Tim, you’re not fooling anyone alone in your own head, he thinks.)

Jason’s cape trails behind him as he closes the distance, like a billowing void set to trap the two of them together in their own little world. Tim stares at it and not Jason’s face when he slows to a stop next to the bed.

Jason doesn’t seem to like that. He snatches Tim by the hair and wrenches his neck back almost to the point of pain.

“Alright, little bird,” he says, in a tone that sounds about as reassuring as the nearby growl of a tiger. “You have two choices: say yes right now. Be my Robin. Agree to fight by my side, I’ll unlock the cuffs, and we can go save the city.”

Tim scoffs. “But then who’ll save it from the resulting ammo shortage?”

It might hit a little close to home. If Jason thinks that way, though, he doesn’t show it.

Or, ” he says, “you can keep being stubborn, and I can take my sweet old time to convince you. Either way, you’re not getting out of here until you’re mine.”

Tim shudders. He covers up for it by sitting up, squaring his shoulders, and spitting in Jason’s face.

“Option two, then,” Jason says, and backhands him so hard he sees stars.

By the time he blinks them out of his eyes, Jason’s considerable weight has settled onto the bed. Tim is reminded of his unfortunate state of dress when a pair of big, gloved hands grab at his thighs. He struggles to keep his legs closed, but Jason forces them open with hardly any strain on his part, and Tim is left feeling suddenly, intimately exposed.

“What are you doing,” he asks, although he fails to make it sound like a proper question. His mouth feels dry with anticipation, so he swallows to try and make up for it.

“The old man doesn’t know what he missed out on,” Jason says, “seeing you like this.”

Even through the cowl, Tim can feel his hungry eyes roam over his legs, his crotch. There’s got to be something inherently wrong about the both of them getting off on this outfit, but Tim doesn’t dwell on it. That is, it’s hard for him to dwell on it when Jason leans down to press hot kisses to the insides of his thighs.

“W-wait,” Tim says, ticklish legs jumping when Jason’s stubble brushes up against thin skin. “Stop…!”

He doesn’t say their safe word, so Jason doesn’t. He just holds Tim steady through his struggling, until he’s close enough to his crotch to nip at the edge of the green panties. He catches a bit of Tim’s skin between his teeth when he does it, and Tim tosses his head back and gasps.

“If you were my Robin,” Jason breathes against the sensitive junction between thigh and pelvis, “you wouldn’t go a day without getting just what you need. I’d reward you for risking your life for me. I would never take you for granted.”

Again, Tim wonders just how much of this act is based in truth. He wishes he could shut his damn brain off for just a little while, to feel instead of think, and so he decides he needs to change things up a bit.

He plants his foot against Jason’s collarbone and kicks as hard as he can.

There’s enough armor and padding in Jason’s suit to take the brunt of the blow, so he isn’t injured (aside from the possibility of a few bruises). He’s distracted enough that the kick forces him back, though, and he rubs at his shoulder with wide eyes, perched up high on his knees at the edge of the bed.

Tim sucks in a breath and deliberately shuts his legs. “I’d rather die,” he says.

Jason starts to say something, but stops himself short by sinking his teeth into his lip. Something dangerous quirks at the corners of his mouth, a feeling that’s only amplified by the fact that the lenses in his cowl white out his eyes.

“Yeah? That right?” he asks, head bobbing like he’s nodding along with some joke. A dark pink tongue sneaks out to wet his lips. “Have it your way, then.”

And all at once, Jason’s on top of him again, heavy body weighing him down. Instead of going for his thighs, though, this time Jason’s huge hand closes around Tim’s neck. His fingers squeeze from the sides rather than the front. It cuts off Tim’s airway, but, like this, there’s no chance he might collapse his windpipe.

Strangely, the thought reassures Tim enough that some of the tension eases out of his shoulders.

“This is what you want, huh?” Jason asks — no, snarls — mere centimeters from his face. “Noble little Robin, ready to die for his cause?”

Tim gapes, but, of course, doesn’t say anything. It’s terrifying to be pinned down like this, cuffed hands aching where they’re trapped behind his back, vision swimming from oxygen deprivation. He’s been in situations like this often enough to be wary.

But no other attacker has ever gotten him this hard before.

Even though Tim swears the panties are squeezing the life out of him, Jason somehow feels his erection through them when he struggles. He loosens his grip just long enough for Tim to suck down a few scratchy breaths, free hand palming him roughly through his shorts.

“Oh… Or is this what you need?” Jason asks. He grins in a way that sends chills down Tim’s spine, swiping a thumb over his lower lip. “Need to feel like you’re doing the right thing, when all you really want is to give it up for me?”

Before Tim can reply, Jason chokes him off again. He presses a kiss to Tim’s slack mouth, then smiles against his lips.

“Don’t worry, baby bird. You can be my martyr.”

Tim’s head is fuzzy, so he doesn’t know when Jason removes one of his gauntlets or lubes up his fingers. He just feels him yank down his shorts, and then, the next thing he knows, two thick fingers are pressing up inside him. He wants to gasp, but the inability to do so makes his blood throb in his cock.

Jason moves hard and fast, rocking Tim’s whole body back with every single thrust. It’s too much too soon, painful and overwhelming, but then Jason rubs circles into his prostate and Tim swears he could die happy like this despite the discomfort. He drools down the side of his face and leaks precum onto his stomach, and figures he must look a mess. It almost makes him more self-conscious than the silly outfit.

But then Jason lets up, and his face swims into view. Even with only his mouth and jaw uncovered, his expression is so intense — lips parted, brow creasing the cowl — that Tim knows he wouldn’t have him look any other way. That in mind, he doesn’t bother to suck up the string of saliva that trails down his cheek.

“Jason,” he rasps, every syllable painful. “ Please.

“I’m gonna fuck you, baby,” Jason whispers against the outside of Tim’s sore throat. He pulls his fingers out and rocks his hips forward, and there’s his cock, somehow already bare and wet against Tim’s entrance. “You’re mine, y’know that? Mine.”

Tim whimpers and nods, and says something that makes the both of them falter: “ Batman.

Jason puffs out a shuddering exhale against his neck. “...Robin.”

It takes Tim a second to realize the whining noise in the room is coming from his own throat. He rocks up against Jason’s cock, smearing lube over his cheeks and his own throbbing length. The damned panties are still caught around his knees, so he can’t wrap his legs around Jason no matter how badly he wants to. The extra layer of resistance only serves to set his nerves on fire even more.

“I got you, Robin,” Jason says, holding his hips steady. “My pretty li’l Robin. C’mon…”

Both he and Jason stare down between Tim’s legs as Jason presses inside. He’s so big, always a tight fit even when they take extra time to prepare. By the time he’s halfway inside, Tim already feels impossibly full, the pressure inside of him threatening to explode. More precum drips out of his cock, soaking the heavy fabric of his tunic. He feels like he’s defiling the outfit, the legacy, but right now, that only serves to tear a shivering moan from his throat.

Jason starts to move, filling the room with the obscene, slick sounds of their coupling. His strong fingers feel wonderful where they dig into the meat of Tim’s thighs to hold him steady, but it’s not enough. Not after what he felt earlier.

“Bahh-Batman, ngh,” Tim gasps. He tilts his head back, showing off the pale expanse of his neck. He wonders if it’s bruised, and the thought rips another moan out of him. “ Bat— Batman, Jason, yes, you w-win, ah— Y-you were right, that’s h-how I… Please…

Luckily, he doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Jason knows him well enough by now that, even in this new and intense situation, he’s able to piece together what Tim wants, what he needs. He strokes the side of Tim’s face with his knuckles.

“Good Robin,” he says, then grabs him by the throat again.

And that’s it, that’s what Tim has been after for longer than he’d care to admit. He feels like a ragdoll under Jason as he’s held steady and fucked, unable to move or cry out or even breathe. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he lets his eyes slide shut, blissfully aware of how much he’s not thinking about. How can he pull together complex worries about the past and the future and Jason’s relationship with all of them, when he can barely remember to breathe on those rare occasions Jason lets his neck go? What else is there to think about, aside from Jason’s heavy hands holding him steady, his thick cock threatening to milk him dry?

“Want you to come like this,” Jason says, his own voice trembling with what must be effort to keep himself from dissolving into moans. “Come like you’re dying, little Robin. Just for me.”

Now that’s an interesting way to put it. But Tim doesn’t have time to think it through, because all he can do is obey. Jason holds onto his throat and cuts off his air and everything else in his world, and Tim comes to the sound of his blood rushing through his ears.