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“Enjoying yourself?”
“Mhm,” Jason grunts, pawing at Dick’s hips. Dick laughs breathlessly and sinks back down, sighs. His hands splay across Jason’s bruised stomach and chest.
Sometimes if Jason is trying to keep the world away, Dick promises him that if Jason fights and wins he can have whatever he wants afterwards. It always gets Jason up and going and it’s always worth it.
Jason won all his fights of the night, and they were all good ones. The audience screamed and pounded the floor for each. There were moments Jason wasn’t sure he would win, but that only added to the excitement, the challenge, the chase.
After everyone had gone, Jason went to the bar and told Dick the stories of the night and eye-fucked him for an hour or so while he worked. Dick slipped him free drinks until his shift was over.
The click of Dick’s keys in his apartment door was like the ring of the bell. Victory had painted the night scarlet. That was just after 2 AM.
The sun would be up soon.
Jason bucks as Dick’s ass meets his upper thighs again, which makes Dick’s breath hitch. His eyes close, his brow furrows, his mouth falls open. His hands curl at Jason’s abdomen. He is a sight to see.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Jason groans and rubs Dick’s waist. That always gets him. Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. Jason’s giant hands always get him, too.
“You’re… so fucking…” Dick replies, which makes Jason grin and roll them over so Dick is underneath him. He brings Dick’s legs up and around his back, kisses him, cages him in protectively.
“There’s no one like you, Dickie,” he whispers against his lips, and then shuts his mouth and sets to work.
Jason wakes up wrapped around Dick. His arm is asleep, his mouth is dry and his eyes are crusty, and he really fucking wants to shower. Dick’s face is buried in Jason’s clavicle but his breathing is irregular enough that Jason can tell he’s awake.
They shower slowly. Most of their shower is Jason cleaning them up and Dick being distracting. Jason has a toothbrush in the cup by Dick’s sink and a few pairs of boxers and tee shirts in Dick’s closet.
Afterwards, Jason sits on the couch. Dick sits on the floor between his bare legs, oils his hands and sets to his own work. This exchange they have has evolved—it started as occasional and somehow Jason is sitting in Dick’s apartment now, at 10 AM on a Sunday as Dick massages his legs and bandages any cuts, applying salve to any bruises.
When he finishes with Jason’s legs, Dick reclines him so his head is on the armrest with gentle pushes, moving to sit on Jason’s thighs, working in silence. Jason has a nasty bruise all up his left side from a tackle, which is currently occupying his nursemaid’s attention. Jason hisses as he first touches it, but quickly melts after the initial shock is over.
“Gently massaging a bruise can increase blood flow and aid in the healing process,” Dick had told him after the first time he did this, standing in the kitchen making coffee. Jason was sitting at the table watching him, the way the light came through the window and hit his skin and hair. Then Dick came over and handed him a mug and smiled, and Jason set it down on the counter and picked Dick up and they made out on the dining table.
Dick throws the bottle of oil onto the floor somewhere and lays down on top of Jason.
“Done?” Jason asks, smiling, raising his eyebrows.
“Mm.”
Jason scratches at Dick’s nape, behind his ears. Kisses his temple. “Thanks.”
“Mhm.”
The city is relatively quiet around them now. Distant honking and the quiet sound of people, but no yelling or banging or music or gunfire. Just skin and hair and breathing. Light streams in through the windows. Jason watches their coats together on the hooks by the door. He thinks about how good they look.
Jason thinks a lot. How what they’re doing right now is terribly like cuddling. How Dick feels against him. How if anyone found out about them it would jeopardize everything Jason had worked for. Jason thinks about how he wants to do this all the time.
“Love you,” Jason murmurs experimentally to the room. To their coats, their toothbrushes, the mug that isn’t Jason’s but is the one he always uses. There is no answer; Dick is sleeping.