“If I’m a good boy do I get a lollipop when we’re done?”
“Hey,” Jason yanks at Roy’s hair, tilting his head to the side, pulling his face against his arm. Roy pants against the blood-stained cuff of Jason’s jacket. It smells metallic, like iron and gunpowder. Roy bites down the urge to lick the soft, well-worn leather. “Don’t fucking make me shake.”
“I’ll make you shake Jaybird.” Roy grins, toothy and wild, his teeth glistening red from where his mouth is still bleeding somewhere. They’ve only just stumbled into their safehouse (no, their apartment, Roy corrects himself. A safehouse doesn’t have three bookshelves of classic literature. A safehouse doesn’t have pictures of their families pinned mixed together on a corkboard. A safehouse doesn’t have mis-matched dishes that they picked out together from a thrift store a few blocks away), and they’re battered and beaten from a job gone a little more pear-shaped than they’d have liked. Whatever, their target’s out of commission as required and there’ll be a fat deposit in their account by morning. Roy’s sitting on the kitchen counter in nothing but his threadbare boxers while Jason stitches up a nasty fucking wound on his thigh courtesy of a goon with a hunting knife. Jason’s already bandaged up another gash beneath his ribs, one that luckily wasn’t as deep.
Roy tongues the chip in his front tooth and looks up at Jason, catches his gaze, leans in against where Jason’s fingers are still tangled in his lanky red strands. He doesn’t miss the way Jason’s eyes darken before he looks away. Jason lets go, pushes him back gently, leaves Roy fidgeting on the counter as he reaches for more gauze.
“Roy shut the fuck up for five minutes.” Jason starts stitching through the gash in Roy’s thigh again. He’s between Roy’s legs, bracketed on either side, so he can get at the wide gouge just above his knee on his inner thigh.
The hooked suture needle stings as it pierces him (anesthetic a luxury neither has time for), the wound burns as its pulled closed. Roy lets himself drift on the pain for a moment, lets himself float with it. It burns the way tattoo feels when the artist drags the fat row of shading needles over a part that’s already been outlined, grinds the colors in as a reminder that anything worth having is worth hurting for.
“I can think of a few ways to keep my mouth occupied.” Roy parts his lips, peeks the wet, pink tip of his tongue past them. Jason inhales, makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. He hooks the curved needle through Roy’s thigh in quick, jerky motions.
“This is gonna look like shit and leave a scar if you don’t shut up.” Jason tugs the last of the stitches through in fast, messy rows, barely tying them closed. The nylon is already unspooling from the middle of some of the stitches. Roy’s still bleeding a little and the skin around the gash is starting to bruise, the pale, freckled flesh surrounding it turning a swollen red, sure to be purple by morning.
“Maybe I want it to. Maybe I don’t wanna leave all the fancy marks to you, handsome.” Roy catches Jason’s eyes again and there—there it is—Jason’s hands still as he snaps off the end of the last suture with a rough tug. Roy reaches up and brushes his thumb at Jason’s jaw, rasps his nails into the stubble there.
“Roy.” Jason is the only person he’s ever known to say his name with both annoyance and reverence at the same time. Jason puts down the suture kit, grabs Roy’s hand at the wrist, leans down so their foreheads are touching.
“I’m peachy, baby.” Roy answers a question unasked. “I’m fine, you got me stitched up so good.”
Jason lets go of Roy’s wrist, reaches up to grab him by the hair again, this time yanking Roy forward to get their mouths lined up. Their kiss is messy, a clack of teeth, dry lips scraping against one another. Roy runs his tongue over his teeth, licks the taste of his own blood out of Jason’s mouth. Jason shudders and hums something against his lips. Roy doesn’t need to know what it is. The kiss deepens, Jason’s tongue slips into his mouth, and Roy makes a needy sound in the back of his throat he wishes he could be embarrassed about. Roy bucks his hips up, seeking friction that’s just not there. Jason pulls back, keeps his forehead resting against Roy’s. He looks down at Roy’s boxers, at the thick line of his dick pressing against the frayed fabric.
“You gonna do something about that?” Roy’s voice rasps in his throat, caught as Jason traces his hard length through the cloth.
“I’ve got something else in mind.” Jason says thoughtfully, rummaging through the medical kit still tossed haphazardly on the counter. Finding what he wants, Jason takes a moment to shuck off his jacket, to pull his shirt off over his head and unlatch the remnants of his Kevlar. It all falls to the floor in a pile, like Roy’s own gear by the front door, revealing the hard, scarred planes of Jason’s torso
Jason grabs the medical lube from the medkit, rips the top off the packet and oozes out a thick smear of basically Vaseline, and rubs it against his fingers. Roy slides forward to the edge, pushes himself off he counter just a bit, hooks his legs behind Jason’s back. The position is a little awkward, makes Roy feel prone in all the right ways. Jason slips his hand up the loose leg of his boxers, rubs at Roy’s entrance, teases the tense muscle with slicked fingers until it’s pliant, welcoming. He presses in with two fingers with no preamble. The burn of it makes Roy moan, makes him feel hot all over. Roy leans forward and bites down at the joint of Jason’s neck, where his shoulder meets the hollow dip of his throat. He groans against Jason’s sweat-salt skin, worries a deep bruise there as he’s breeched. Jason pumps his fingers in and out of Roy’s body, reaches down with his left hand to pull Roy’s flushed cock out of his boxers.
Roy mumbles something like please please please against Jason’s skin.
Jason’s thumbs the wet slit of Roy’s cock, pushes a bead of precome down the shaft. Roy bucks up into the touch, snarling.
“Get on with it Jay, or I will.” Roy pants, reaching back to scramble at the countertop, palms flat against the cheap Formica, trying to fuck into Jason’s hand around his dick. Jason’s grip is too loose, not the right angle, not with all of Jason’s efforts being put into what his other hand is doing. Jason scissors his fingers, slides them against Roy’s walls before curling them and circles the pads of his fingers against Roy’s prostate. “Jason.” Roy huffs out his name, little more than a whine. He lifts himself off the counter as best he can to allow more access, to let those thick digits press deeper but it’s no use. Roy feels trapped, doesn’t know which way to move. Either direction feels like nowhere near enough. “Please baby I gotta- hhgnh—please.”
“You’ll do what? Baby you’re a mess.” Jason spreads more of Roy’s slick down his hard length, his hand moving slowly, his touch light. “You’re barely coherent.” Jason leans down, kisses Roy, presses up against that spot inside again that has Roy seeing sparks at the edge of his vision. When Jason pulls away, Roy is panting, saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth.
When he speaks, Roy’s voice is thick with sex and need. “You wanna see a mess?”
Jason laughs, a low rumble that bubbles up from his chest. He gives Roy’s dick a tight squeeze at the base then leans back on his heels, withdraws his fingers from Roy and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Sure, show me.”
Roy leans up, noses at the underside of Jason’s jaw, laps at the hollow of his throat. He slides off the counter as fluid as he can as Jason steps back to make space, hissing a bit as he folds his torso to hop off, the stitches at his side tugging with the motion. He pulls Jason down into a searing kiss then drops his boxers. Jason watches him walk over to their large, leather couch, watches as Roy tosses himself over the armrest to land on his knees, looking back at Jason the perfect picture of wanton desire. Or as close as one gets covered in bruises and cuts, a little blood seeping down his side from the gauze at his ribs. Roy won’t judge what Jason’s into.
Jason bends down to unlace his boots, kicks them off before pulling down his pants and jock in one go.
On the couch, Roy reaches back, slips two fingers back inside himself. He lets his eyes fall shut and his head tilt back, his lanky red hair dancing across his shoulder blades. He pumps his fingers in slowly, like Jason had done, relishing the stretch and burn of it.
“You gonna come over here or ya gonna watch me all night?”
“I could watch you all night.” Jason exhales, deep and slow, and Roy knows he’s not lying. Jason flops down on the couch beside him, sideways, his head lolling over the edge as he watches Roy’s fingers slip inside himself.
Roy gets an idea.
“Babe, put your legs over the back of the couch and lay down on the cushion.”
Jason leans back on the couch, his back flat against the wide cushions, his legs hooked over the back of the couch itself, his head hanging a bit towards the floor. Roy clambers over his thick torso, facing him, and sinks down onto Jason’s dick in one smooth go. Jason makes a noise like the air’s been kicked out of him. Roy smirks as he looks down at Jason, who clearly did not expect the move. He feels Jason’s abs tense as he lets out a shaky breath. Roy plants his heels into the couch, pushes himself up a bit and starts working himself up and down onto Jason.
“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock Roy.” Jason’s hands go to Roy’s waist, but they do little more than dig into the hard flesh there—Roy is bouncing himself onto Jason with reckless abandon.
“A little stating the obvious Jaybird.” Roy grins and speaks through gritted teeth, circling his hips, really grinding down in Jason’s lap, taking him to the hilt with every wet slide down. He can feel sweat starting to bead at his hairline and his bangs flop into his face, damp against his heated forehead. He flips his head back, flicking his hair away, arching his back a bit as he moves, deliberate, obscene. He can feel the stitches on his leg pull as he moves, can feel the cut at his ribs sting as he arches his back a bit too far. He grits his teeth and ignores it, puts everything he has into riding Jason.
“Stop being annoying.” The last word is cut off by a groan, Jason tips his head forward, watching the slide of his dick in and out of Roy with a mesmerized admiration.
“You like me annoying.” Roy bends forward, licks Jason’s jaw, and pushes some of his own dark, sweaty hair off his brow. He pushes down onto Jason with shallow rolls of his hip, lets himself make soft, shameless noises of pleasure.
Jason leans in and captures Roy’s mouth, canting his hips up to meet Roy’s every move. The angle is deep and the movement is slow, pushing stars into the fringes of Roy’s vision. Roy’s cock hangs heavy between them, drags against the hard planes of Jason’s abs as they make out.
Roy sits back, raises his arms up, arching his back as far as he can really rolling his hips forward to press as far down on Jason’s cock as he can manage in this position. There’s static hissing its way through his brain, a crackle of something at the base of his spine and he rolls his hips to meet Jason’s thrusts as deftly as he can. Jason grins up at him, affection crinkling in the corners of his eyes. Roy comes with a gasp, like he’s been punched with it, eyes wide and fingers clenching and unclenching into fists as he keeps his arms up near his shoulders as if he’s trying to grab something to hold onto out of thin air.
It’s so much, so fucking much. His come paints his abs, drips down through the ruddy thatch of hair around his dick. Roy feels like he can’t catch his breath. Jason is still punching out soft little noises, still pistoning up into Roy chasing his own release, his hands on his hips, nails biting little half-moons into his skin. Roy drops his arms down, pushes against Jason’s torso, trying to balance. Jason comes with a growl, with a snarl. The angle is awkward and Roy feels like he’s about to get bucked off. Jason doesn’t wait for much of an afterglow before sliding back and out, turning Roy to slump on his side against the couch. There’ll be a mess they can fight over cleaning later.
Jason slips an arm around Roy’s shoulders and pulls him down against his still heaving chest. His hand drops down, skims the edge of the bandage on Roy’s thigh.
“How are you doing?” Jason asks with a clarity that is frankly stunning in the aftermath of what just transpired.
“Mmfine” is all Roy can manage. He turns, pressing his face into the crook of Jason’s neck. Jason reaches up, pets through Roy’s slick hair. He kisses the top of his head and Roy shudders, a full body motion that has Jason huffing a laugh against his scalp.
“You sure you’re alright there?” Jason presses another kiss into Roy’s hair.
“Mmmgood.” Roy smiles against Jason’s skin, the warmth in his body settling somewhere in his chest, somewhere in his heart.
They’re out on the fire escape. After a hasty clean-up, they tossed on the bare minimum clothing to allow for a quick smoke. For Jason, a pair of dark boxer-briefs that cling to his thighs like they’re ready to burst at the seams. For Roy, the same frayed boxers from earlier, with a hole right at the top of his thigh that allows a nice swath of creamy skin to peep through.
The space is a tight fit for the two of them, neither of them small men. Roy sits with his shoulder pressed against Jason’s, his legs dangling over the side of the metal grating. Jason’s cross-legged, his knee resting against Roy’s thigh.
“You don’t ever have to be alone again.” Jason says, like it’s nothing. Jason exhales a cloud of smoke, thick and slow. It ghosts over his face, obscuring his features for just a second. It makes Roy think of the moon, the way it hangs over Star City obscured by the thick, wet clouds that drift in from the shoreline. He feels his cheeks heat up just looking at Jason, and maybe Roy’s the moon. Maybe Roy’s the one forever coldly reflecting Jason’s fiery light.
“Huh? What?” Roy’s snapped out of his reverie by Jason’s hand on the bandages at his ribs, he’s vaguely aware that Jason was speaking.
“I said you don’t ever have to be alone again.” Jason takes another drag, blows his smoke out into the night air. His thumb rubs at the edges of the medical tape. And the heat in Roy’s body slips lower, pools in his belly, drops down. “I’ll be there to stitch you up. I promise.”
“You and I both know that ain’t true, not in our line of work anyway,” Roy breathes in deeply, tasting the tang of Jason’s cigarette as he does, “but it’s awful nice of you to say it.”
Roy looks out over the rows of apartments beside their own, at the glimmering skyline that lies beyond in the distance. This is home. This is home. His beat-up sneakers are in a row by the front door beside Jason’s boots. His denim jacket is tossed on top of a leather one across the back of the couch. He has a crumpled gossip magazine next to the toilet in the bathroom. He knows what kinds of snacks the bodega at the corner carries, and that they only ever have pineapple juice in stock sometimes. He does laundry half a block over and the older Korean woman who owns the shop calls him jagi as Roy dumps his and Jason’s clothes into the washer, unsorted. He doesn’t have to leave. Jason doesn’t want him to leave.
Jason reaches up and cups the side of Roy’s face, runs his thumb along his bottom lip. Roy can feel Jason’s calluses as he swipes the sensitive skin.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, red?” Jason’s voice is soft and fond as a kiss.
Roy slips out his tongue and laps at the pad of Jason’s finger, looks up at Jason through his ruddy lashes. There’s so much in Roy’s life that doesn’t make sense but this—them together—sex makes sense.
Jason looks at him with dark eyes, motions his head towards their open bedroom window. “Let’s take this to bed.”
“You’re gonna kill me Jaybird.” Roy says to Jason’s back as they slip back inside from the fire escape.
“Well, someone’s gonna someday.” Jason leans in and grabs Roy by the hair, yanking him forward. He kisses Roy hard, almost shockingly so, knocking his head back just a bit, raking his nails against Roy's scalp. When he pulls back, Roy is breathless and panting. “May as well be for a good reason.”
“You know what they say," Roy huffs out, feeling giddy, "reason and love keep little company.”
“I think that was just Shakespeare.” Jason’s already sliding his boxers off, hopping a bit to step out of them. “Didn’t know there was room for any literature in that skull of yours.”
Roy slides out of his own underwear and tosses it at Jason’s head with deadly accuracy. “You’re lucky I love you, you absolute piece of shit.”
It’s less than an hour later and Roy is fucking undone.
“Come on baby, you can take a bit more,” Jason slides his fingers in and out of Roy, curling them up just so, pressing against his prostate. “C’mon c’mon beautiful give it up.”
Roy’s so gone already, tears streaming down his face as freely as the fluid leaking from his already spent cock. Jason had swallowed him down nearly as soon as they hit the bed, left him gasping for air as if he were the one with a dick down his throat. Now, Jason twists his fingers, dragging a moan from him, the sound of lubed digits squelching loud in their bedroom. Roy leans forward to press his face against the mattress, reveling in the feel of the cool sheets against his hot cheek, even as he rocks back against Jason’s fingers on his hands and knees.
Jason reaches down and swipes his hand through Roy’s sweat-soaked hair. He scratches a bit on Roy’s scalp before moving his hand to the back of his head, pushing his face harder against the mattress, holding it there, and before Roy can stop himself, something akin to a purr slips out of his throat. Jason fists into Roy’s hair and snaps his head back as he slides a third finger in. The burn is almost too much—he’s so, so sensitive already—but he mewls all the same, pushes back against Jason’s hand.
“Ah- ah ah…hhah…” Roy can’t form words, can barely form thoughts. Everything is Jason. His hand in his hair gripping him just this side of painful, the drag of his fingers in and out of him, the feel of himself rutting back against Jason’s efforts, chasing the delicious ghost of pain as Jason’s fingers push inside where he’s already fucked Roy sloppy and loose. Every pain has an equal and opposite pleasure, and every action has a purpose. And Roy knows he’s traded one craving for another, knows that the sweet spot between oh yes and too much too much too much is where he thrives. But he doesn’t care. It’s like Jason said—something’s going to kill him, one way or another. For once he hopes to be lucky enough that it’s this. He lets himself go, lets himself fall into that warm nothing space of pleasure and not-pleasure and whatever the fuck euphoria his body is exploding each time Jason presses just right. The pain in his ribs and his thigh are a distant memory even as he can feel the pull of the stitches every time he grinds himself down against the bed, every time he widens his legs just a little bit to let Jason in more. Roy can tell he’s getting loud, can feel the vibration of his voice spilling from his own throat but he can’t hear it over the roar of blood in his ears. His heart is pounding in his chest, a rough staccato mirroring the way his cock is leaking in short bursts.
Jason presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Come on darling, you can give me one more.” Jason crooks his fingers hard against Roy’s prostate, rubs up into the sensitive nerves.
Roy feels like he’s on fire, like he's completely alight with how much he needs Jason. The thought scares him, just for a moment, how willing and pliant he is, how fully he gives himself to this other man.
“I got you, love.” And Roy knows that he does, insofar as anyone can have anyone else in this life. Jason repeats himself, presses once more against that sweet-spot. “I got you, Roy.”
Roy comes again, his whole body shaking from toe to tip. He can feel hot tears sliding down his face, settling into the sheets below his face. He cries out into the bedding, more a scream than a moan, as he pulses helplessly with his release. His legs give out, and true to his word, Jason catches him, a strong arm wrapped around his abdomen as he pushes his fingers inside of Roy crooked up just right, just so, and rubs unrelenting.
“P-please, I can’t.” Roy is panting, gasping for air against the mattress. “You said one more.”
Jason keeps rubbing and worrying against his prostate, says nothing, just leans down to press another tender kiss at the base of Roy’s neck. Roy’s still hard, achingly hard in stark contrast to how utterly spent Roy already feels. Jason’s ministrations are unyielding, and he reaches around to stroke Roy’s length. He shudders again and spreads his legs, feels the tear of some of his stitches as he sinks low too quickly. Blood dribbles down his leg, mingling with his sweat, stinging into the now-open wound. He chokes back a sob as Jason doesn’t let him go, picks up the pace of his hand around his dick. He can feel his firm length twitch against Jason’s palm, can feel his cock weep over Jason’s thick fingers, can feel the trickle of blood from his leg running down to the mattress. The juxtaposition makes something inside him snap and he comes again, spurting weakly, just as Jason rubs his fingers inside him at an angle that has him seeing stars, seeing whole galaxies, fading to black.
When he comes to, it’s to Jason tenderly taping gauze to his thigh. He’s on his back, head against the pillows.
“You back with me, babe?” Jason looks smug, pleased with himself, as he finishes taping over the re-opened wound. He reaches up and checks the one at Roy’s ribs for good measure, brushes his thumb there again.
“Needy.” Jason does as he’s asked, and they fall into an easy makeout. Jason swings himself over Roy, crowding his body with his thighs on either side of his legs, his arms bracketing Roy’s torso. Roy reaches up, tangles his fingers into Jason’s curls. They kiss unhurried, grounding Roy, dragging him back to the present. After a while, Roy shoves at Jason, who drops down next to him on the bed.
“Get offa me, you stink.”
“And whose fault is that?” Jason turns on his side, smirks at Roy. “Made me do most of the work here. Needy.”
“I did some of the work, Jaybird.” Roy tilts his head up, bites Jason on his lower lip before wrinkling his nose. “We should shower. And uh, you may have to patch me up again properly.” Roy can feel the blood on leg matting into a red crust in the hair there, the sting beneath the gauze that says the stitches are still open.
“Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.” Jason brushes Roy’s hair off his face, brushes the rough pad of his thumb against the shell of Roy’s freckled ear.
Roy swings his leg over Jason and clamors on top of him. He grabs the closest pillow and holds it over Jason’s face.
“I love you too,” comes a muffled reply.
we were wrecks before we crashed into each other