Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a difference between seeing and looking, and the first time Dick really looked at Jason, it was in Blüdhaven.

It happened, or started, at least, like this: Red Hood was working a case in Gotham and ended up in Blüdhaven chasing a lead. Nightwing tailed and shadowed him for a while, before confronting him. They didn’t get physical, but it was a near thing, because Jason was tight-lipped about whatever the hell he was doing there until it became clear that Dick would do his best to chase him out of the city if he didn’t start talking—and saying more than his usual taunts and barbs.

Dick heard Jason out, but still intended to follow on with his initial idea of just making him go the fuck away, until it became clear that Jason knew more about something going in Blüdhaven than Dick did, and it was obvious that he wouldn’t say exactly what it was if Dick got confrontational. He had the posture of someone who was promising to take secrets to the grave, and considering that this was Jason, well…

So Dick endured his irritation, swallowed down his pride, and much against his will, proposed that they worked together. He had home advantage, and something told him that he had other things over Jason, too. After all, there had to be a reason why Jason went after him in New York when he was fresh out of the grave. All in all, it shouldn’t have taken long for Dick to wrench more information out of him, make him leave, by force if needed, and then finish whatever brought Jason there in the first place. 

The offer of a team-up was met with less resistance than he’d predicted, but still, he was sure that Jason wasn’t happy about the situation either, and that was about the only thing that brought him some limited satisfaction.

He watched Jason like a hawk the whole time they worked together. In Dick’s defense, that was exactly what he should be doing, and it was also where the road to perdition began, but he would only notice that much later, and by then, it would be too late.

They worked together, and the thing was that they worked together, like partners should. The first hours were just a little bit clumsy, but that soon got cleared up. Dick recognized his own moves in Jason’s, and sometimes both of them were a reflection of Bruce. It was unbearable to look at. More than that, it was unfair, because between them there was nothing that should exist between partners. In the place of trust and companionship, there was an insurmountable chasm. Jason still wouldn’t tell him everything he knew—just that they were after a group that dealt in everything: drugs, guns, people —still, when they were outside, leaping through the city in the night, it all felt just natural, sliding into place like the pieces of an uncomplicated puzzle. And still Dick followed Jason, even if he was suspicious.

Dick hated it, even if something inside him that he couldn’t name felt relieved by it. Maybe it was that hopeful little thing that yearned to save others… even those who, like Jason, didn’t want to be saved.

Even those who, for all intentions and purposes, could not be saved.

At one point their stakeouts and rooftop watches made Dick perceive more about Jason than he ever wanted to. Like the way his movements were still reminiscent of Robin, despite his very different body, all grown-up in the blink of an eye, and all the other things he’d incorporated into his fighting technique, or the way he sometimes waited for the very last moment to fire his grapple after jumping from a building. Dick wasn’t sure what that last fact meant, but he could hazard a guess—been there, done that—and he needed it to not be true, because here was the thing: once upon a time, Dick Grayson had to learn that yet another person died wearing the Graysons’ colors, and there was a part of him that would never grant himself forgiveness for letting that happen. But if Jason wasn’t too far gone, then maybe there was nothing to forgive to begin with.

It was a nice thought, but the problem was that, of course, Jason was too far gone, Dick had always known that, it was just that it was in his blood to try and believe otherwise. That Jason was too far gone became clear once they started to wrap up the case and their ill-advised, if effective, partnership, ended with the sound of a bullet going into the head of the gang leader and Dick’s hand with bruises from punching Jason—not that he took it without giving back, like he had any right to, after what he’d done.

Dick should’ve put Jason in jail after that, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t done that. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit defeat.

Nightwing avoided Red Hood after that, because it might not look like that, but Jason Todd was one of Dick Grayson’s many weaknesses. As much as he’d always resent Jason for choosing not to come home and for tarnishing the Robin legacy, he would also always ask himself “what if I’d been around more,” or “what if I’d been on Earth to pick up his call?” and wonder if he could have changed anything. Logic had no place in those wonderings.

Weeks, then months, passed, and Dick didn’t think a lot about Jason, but he still avoided him anyway. It wasn’t difficult, with how busy he was in Blüdhaven and how absent Jason was from the Manor and the Cave, in the few times Dick went there. If the thought of his first brother—if Jason could even be called that—crossed his mind, he reminded himself that it was all Jason’s choice. If Bruce saying that all his children were there when he looked at Dick , Tim, Cass and Damian made him feel weird, he didn’t say anything. He also didn’t want to investigate the part of himself that didn’t feel weird hearing that.

Things changed when Dick got the news that Batman got dosed with fear toxin and almost captured by Scarecrow. Apparently, who saved the day was Red Hood. It was not something serious to merit a visit to Gotham, and Dick didn’t go there, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from wandering.

There was a horrible part of him that wished Jason would stop giving them all mixed signals like that. It would be easier if Dick could simply snuff out any hope that Jason would leave the self-destructive path he was on. Dick couldn’t stop thinking about why Jason didn’t decide—he was either with them, or not with them. 

Why did he keep trading occasional favors and trying to coexist, even if that was an extremely complicated situation? Last Dick heard, Jason had managed to wrench an agreement from Bruce that whatever goes on in Crime Alley was his business. Dick had disagreed back then, and still did, but he had his hands full with things in Blüdhaven, it wasn’t like he had time to go to Gotham and deal with Bruce’s blindspots—that’s what Jason was, for Bruce. Dick was a hundred percent sure that he wouldn’t be allowed to go around killing people, but for some reason, Jason got a pass… It just wasn’t fair.

When he did see Jason again, it was all in a civilian environment—sort of, because it was still on Wayne manor grounds on a gala that Jason was invited to—Dick presumed that it was to keep the rumors about the Wayne kid who “came back” down. Their identities were tight and would hold under scrutiny, but it was never good to have eyes on them anyway.

Dick found Jason far away from the crowd, sitting on the grass near the garden and looking up at the sky.

“He was too dangerous to be left alive,” Jason said, without looking away from whatever he was watching. There was no apology in his tone, nor in his posture, but Dick recognized the explanation as the olive branch it was.

He trampled over it anyway, confused as to why Jason would even be doing shit like that, and said, “the same could be said of you. Should someone kill you?”

Jason didn’t reply immediately, just smiled sardonically and huffed, eyes shining like he knew some delicious secret. Dick expected that there would be some morbid joke, but instead, Jason said, “you could try. More capable men have tried and failed.” As he said that, his hands scratched at the silvery patch of raised tissue on his neck, the gesture seemingly involuntary. Dick would be lying if he said that the scar didn’t make him curious. From what he understood, Jason had been in a Lazarus Pit, so that scar was from after.

Dick wasn’t sure what he hated more: the way Jason sounded serious about dying, about being killed, or the way there seemed to be a flirtatious quality to the way his face was unusually open. Or maybe it was just the fact that he could tell there was a secret, though he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that Jason wasn’t just giving off that vibe to fuck with him.

There was a time, right after Bruce had told him everything that happened—about how Jason had tried to get him to kill, and then tried to kill himself and Bruce and the Joker once his ask was denied—that Dick used to think that it would have been better if Jason had died right there and then. God knew how he escaped the explosion, anyway.

Jason dead, not being a hopeful temptation, was easier, and it would have been even easier if he’d never come back to life at all.

(Maybe the part that Dick hated more was that the flirtatious tone was about to dig out a part of him that he’d buried six feet under.)

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jason says, a mocking smile on his lips that makes Dick want to bite them—Dick would only understand the true extent of that thought months later. “You’ve thought about it, big bird. Wanted to kill me, didn’t you? Or at least to see me dead.” Jason paused, and then added in a lower voice. “I know the look when someone wants me dead. It doesn’t make you special.”

As self-righteous as that want had been, back when he’d been burning with it, self-recrimination had always burned brighter inside him once he caught wind of the thought. Seeing it being revealed, almost dissected by someone else—by Jason, no less—made it burn even hotter. It scorched, blistered. It hurt.

“Maybe someday soon.”

Dick knew mockery and provocation, and though he was convinced that Jason had chosen those words just to fuck with him, there was something else, deeper and boiling, maybe not in the words themselves but in the tone or perhaps the faraway look his brother’s eyes had, that left him reeling.

The thing was: Jason being dead used to be some sort of reminder of failure and an incentive to be better. Jason being alive meant that, out of the three people who’d died in the Flying Graysons colors, two would remain dead forever, and the one who’d come back was wasting away the opportunity at life.

“You don’t even feel guilty—”

Jason sighed. “I wouldn’t be killing people if I thought I’d feel guilty afterwards, Dickie. I don’t do things like that—that would be like… Bruce’s thing. If he killed, obviously,” he said with a roll of his eyes when Dick opened his mouth to protest. It made him look strikingly young, and the guilt for not being there to stop the tragedy that happened ate at Dick, it was almost as strong as the anger at Jason for doing all the things he’d done.

He’d tried to reach out, and Dick thought that the attempt in this conversation hadn’t been too bad, but Jason wouldn’t meet half-way… And it felt like he couldn’t get through Jason, but he still tried again. It wasn’t only Jason and Dick and Bruce on the line, but lives that would be spared if anyone managed to get through Jason.

“You could come back to the fold if you would just—”

Jason laughed, the sound deep but his smile almost boyish.

“Nah, Dickie, I don’t think I’ll bend backwards and just be the good boy you people want me to. You know how it is, better to reign in hell and all that…”

He stared at Dick while talking, and for a second, there was something that Dick couldn’t quite parse in his face, and it was all lost as a combination of smugness and playfulness settled over again. God, Jason was like an open book, but some parts were written in a language Dick couldn’t understand. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to—he wanted to know what the faraway look, the frowns, and the other expressions meant, and he hated that desire. 

Jason like this, without his helmet and maskless, was dangerous. 

“You’re staring.”

Dick didn’t say anything, and it was only when he noticed that his eyes were focused on Jason’s mouth that he did think of looking away—too late, not before he saw Jason’s pink tongue licking his lips, and a wicked smile reaching his eyes.

Inevitably, Dick’s thoughts went to one of the things he had refused to acknowledge until now: how undeniably attractive Jason was, how he is the kind of danger that Dick liked to tame. Wanted to tame.

If Jason expected Dick to back down, well, he would be sorely disappointed. He kept staring, pinning Jason in place with a look, regardless of the distance between them, and the control was something that made Dick feel powerful, it got to his head to see Jason under his spell like that—presumably, it was something not even Bruce had managed so far.

The smile Jason had was gone, replaced by lips parted in surprise, his eyes wide and bright. The image was almost like a flashback to a younger Jason, who’d seemed awed and dazzled to meet Dick.

Dick had to swallow at the image and the unnamable things it provoked.

Jason’s lower lip was wet, shining, and Dick had a sudden urge to bite it. He thought about what it would be like to have Jason underneath him, to explore his body slowly—oh so slowly—until his little brother was a writhing, trembling mess in his arms. Neither of them had telepathic powers, but Dick was sure that somehow his thoughts got across, because suddenly Jason was flushing, the skin of his face and neck going a pretty pink color.

Dick was a goner. 

It was not like he hadn’t fucked morally ambiguous people before, but that wasn’t what made him hesitate. No, he hesitated because this was Jason, who was not only a killer, near one of Batman’s new rogues, but he had also, once upon a time, been Dick’s first little brother, and he shouldn’t be thinking about him that way. 

Maybe that didn’t even matter, because he wasn’t sure that that boy, Dick’s little brother, who used to love Bruce and the yellow cape, wasn’t still dead, and had been all along. Maybe he was not coming back, and telling himself differently was useless. That boy from before was gone, just like his old bedroom had been emptied, all traces of him forgotten and buried. Jason wasn’t his first little brother, not anymore. 

Dick wished he could internalize that fact, and everything would have been easier. Except… doing that would be too much like giving up, and so he didn’t.

It was obvious that Jason wasn’t completely uninterested in the kind of look Dick had directed his way. The flush on his cheeks was something that didn’t lie, and Dick saw an opportunity. Maybe he was wrong, and underneath all of that anger and violence was still someone who could be salvaged, after all. If not that, then perhaps someone moldable—although the notion that Jason of all people would be that was laughable, there was that idea, once again, that Dick might have advantages over him.

The thing was, Dick could use this newfound angle to save Jason.

He would just have to dig to see what went on beneath that outer layer first.

Chapter Text

Dick had spent a long night chasing bank robbers through the streets of Bludhaven, and tiredness was deep in his bones when he got home. But when he was about to change and collapse in bed, he got the news from Tim that there was an Arkham breakout, and that it was a big one, requiring all the help they could get. It was a good thing he hadn’t even got to take off his suit. He looked longingly at his bed for just a second before going to the kitchen to grab a protein bar that he ate in two bites on the way to get his bike.

He blamed the exhaustion for the way his thoughts went to the question of whether or not he—they—would be counting with Jason’s help tonight. Was Red Hood even included in the groups of vigilantes who helped with serious things? Could they even trust him to have their backs, anyway?

One of these days, Dick feared, Jason would end up in Arkham himself. 

At least that way there would be no doubt about where they stood. 

Dick shook his head and snorted. He’d been doing a good job of keeping Jason out of his thoughts, chalking up the insanity he’d thought the last time they were together to the fact that he hadn’t really spent a lot of time around Jason ever since New York.

As far as Arkham-related problems went, this wasn’t the worst, objectively speaking. The problem was that Red Hood was there helping. He was still fine with Batman, then—probably still surfing Bruce’s goodwill from helping him with Scarecrow. Or, just abusing Bruce’s goodwill in general—the man had a huge blindspot where Jason was concerned, even in the extreme case that it was.

Jason simply acted professionally, a far cry from New York, and also different from his provocative self at the gala. It almost left Dick  uncertain on how to deal with him.

The biggest problem, though, was that Dick couldn’t keep his eyes off Jason, fascinated by the way the man moved—it was like all of them, one way or another, did. 

So much for saying that his baby brother was gone forever.

Dick could see himself, and Bruce, in Jason’s moves. He could also see influences that he didn’t recognize, and that part was infuriating. He wanted to remove those outsider parts from Jason, make him right again… in fact, even seeing Bruce in Jason didn’t sit well with him, not completely. Jason had been Robin, one day, and Robin was something that Dick had created—

Maybe it was that feeling what drove him to follow Jason after everything was done, but Dick told himself that doing so wasn’t that unreasonable—it had more to do with the practicality of getting more information on Jason than whatever else. If Jason was going to be around Dick’s family, he had to make sure he was still part of it.

After they had wrapped things up—it was almost morning, and Dick honestly should have gone home instead—he went after Jason. It was a thing that he simply couldn’t avoid, following Jason across rooftops, until Jason had finally arrived at the place where he had parked his bike.

Part of Dick felt good about it all, that Jason was letting him, but another part wanted his brother to make it real, to make Dick really chase after him. In a way, it maybe would have avoided all the rest that would happen.

Dick dropped in front of Jason, casually. 

“What do you want, Nightwing?” Jason asked as he climbed on the bike. He was still wearing his helmet, but Dick could see tension bleed through his movements. Still, Dick wanted that thing off, he wanted to see Jason’s face.

“Nothing, just wanted to chat.” It sounded truthful enough, like Dick was used to saying that kind of thing to him, but they both knew it was a lie. 

Jason stared at him, the damned helmet hiding his face. Dick hated the thing. He focused on Jason’s body, and what it told him: his brother wasn’t exactly relaxed, but Dick couldn’t tell exactly why. Maybe he was just tense from the fight earlier, maybe it was because Dick was there.

“Chat. That’s new.”

“What, can’t I just want to talk with my brother?”

Dick’s tongue burned as he said that. The word felt right, but also so, so wrong, especially when he remembered Jason’s face back that day at the gala, the way his lips had been soft and red and inviting.

In a way, it was for the best that Jason wore the helmet. It didn’t conceal the rest, though. Although Jason opted for a less revealing attire, he did wear things that did nothing to hide his body, and that invited imagination. Dick couldn’t help but focus on just how attractive Jason was. Full chest in evidence, thanks to his leather jacket that wasn’t zipped up over the tight shirt he wore underneath, the slim waist…

And then there were the thigh holsters which looked like garters. Dick swallowed dryly,  wondering for a fleeting moment how he would look wearing only them and nothing else.

“It wasn’t your priority before, was it?” Jason said, pulling Dick out of his thoughts, which was a good thing. Jason crossed his arms over his chest and went on, “so. Talk.”

One of Jason’s fingers tapped against his biceps, a flagrant overflow of tension, and Dick stared some more, letting his eyes roam over Jason, head to toe, remembering how Jason had blushed back when he’d noticed Dick’s interest. Was Jason shy? That was hard to believe. No matter, Dick enjoyed the thought that he could have that kind of control over Jason.

Was he blushing right now? How would his eyes look if Dick actually told him?

“So?” Jason prompted.

“Heard you helped B some time ago.”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“I was just wondering if that’s what we can expect of you now.”

Jason let out a chuckle, an unnerving thing through the emotionless modulated voice. “You could have always expected that of me, you know—”

“That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it!”

All the reply he got was a shrug—there he was, looking for Jason, making an effort, and all he got was complete disinterest, even though some time ago it was Jason looking for attention. 

“I don’t know that, and you don’t either, and I guess we’ll never know, right?”

“We do know, Hood,” Dick hissed. “We know you came back a murderer, and you want everyone to see things your way, and you attacked Bruce, and you tried to make him—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason cut him off. He sounded bored, or that was how the modulator made him sound. “Killing is always bad, no matter what, bla bla bla, and therefore I’m the evilest son of a bitch on this Earth. Did you get your head stuck in the Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals, perhaps?”

“I didn’t come here to discuss philosophy!”

“Of course not. You got your morals ready and packaged for easy consumption from B. A very good vigilante, aren’t you?” And with that, he stared down and started the bike.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Dick said, grabbing Jason’s arm. “Where the fuck did you get the idea that I’m Batman’s minion?”

Jason still said nothing. It was infuriating the way Jason knew nothing about him, and just assumed things, conflating Dick with Bruce. 

“Hey!” Dick called again pulling on Jason’s arm. “I’m talking to you!”

“A bit late for that, Nightwing.”

And then Jason pushed Dick away, and then he was gone, the engine of the bike making a deafening sound, muffling Dick’s calls. 

After his failed attempt at conversation, Dick tried to put the subject of Jason out of his mind entirely. He was mostly successful, although part of it was mostly attributed to the fact that he was extremely busy, it was easy to focus his attention on cases and not to think about anything else.

The problem was when Dick had time to relax. The even worse problem was when he caught himself seeing flashes of Jason while he jerked off. Trying to think of something else only worked half of the time, and even then, that he needed to redirect his thoughts at all left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He might as well not even try—besides, it wasn’t like anyone would know, and no one was getting hurt…

No. It was still wrong. 

Leaning against the bathroom tile, Dick did his best to push those thoughts away as he stroked himself, but it was no use. He came with the image of Jason’s lips on his mind.

It was still mostly fine, though. Look, Jason was an attractive man, and Dick’s body reacted to that, it had nothing to do with their history. He’d been thinking too much about Jason, lately, that was why his thoughts ended up there. Dick most definitely didn’t look at Tim or Dami or whoever else in their family like that, so Jason wasn’t any different. 

No reason to worry.

Things came to a turning point when Dick, in a late night episode of trying to get Jason out of his mind, ended up reading the information he had on Jason. It was part of the files and reports compiled by Bruce right after Jason came back, and although incomplete, they gave him a good idea of everything Jason had done. He’d kept that copy of the files as a reminder to never lose sight of just who Jason had become—and lately, of just how much work there would be if he really wanted to help Jay.

He’d known a lot about what Jason had done, of course, but he’d never before put on dedication to reading it all in a list form and in the meticulous details Bruce was capable of writing down. 

Severed heads in a duffle bag. That alone turned his stomach. He tried to picture Jason going on about decapitating people, the mess it must have been, not to mention… the logistics of it all. How had Jason gone through all of that? Dick shivered just thinking about the weight of the heads in the bag. It was horrifying, and even worse was the fact that Dick could be contemplating sleeping with him. It was so, so wrong, and it made him feel dirty. He shouldn’t—

Dick continued reading until he got to the main thing—Jason trying to make Bruce kill the Joker. Uncharacteristically, this part of the files wasn’t as detailed as the rest, and the cowl footage was missing—Dick might have made something wrong when he’d got the files, and he would have to go to the batcave to get it, one of these days. If he wanted to help Jason, he knew he had to get things about that night just right.

Uncomfortably, the fact that Dick had once killed the same person Jason wanted dead, came to the surface. He wondered if he could use that. Sure, he’d beaten the Joker for other reasons, and he regretted losing control like that and letting him win, however fleeting his victory had been, but… 

No. Dick could’ve spun a story around that, if not for the fact that the Joker was, well, alive. Unless…

It occurred, then, that Jason would have several issues with what Dick did or didn’t do, but he certainly would find even more fault in the fact that Bruce was the one to resuscitate the clown.

Dick didn’t like how the entire event might make Jason think himself too alike Dick—they were nothing alike, beyond the surface of physical similarity—but the whole thing wasn’t entirely without merit. After all, Jason thinking that Dick was similar to him didn’t make it true. He could work with Jason’s delusions, if they helped him—more importantly, if they helped his brother.

Getting acquainted with Jason’s crimes didn’t make Dick think less about his brother, and coming to glimpses of his face didn’t become a less usual thing for him. Every time it happened, it left him hating what he’d done and trying to clear his mind. That he wanted Jason was undeniable, but that wasn’t something that should happen, and Dick shouldn’t indulge. 

Just because Dick knew that, it didn’t mean that his body got the message, or that his brain stopped throwing inappropriate and senseless associations at him. Not even when Dick was trying to distract himself, did it work for him.

It was late at night, and he was still agitated from patrolling—it had been too calm a night, and there had been no outlet for pent-up energy, which meant he couldn’t sleep, so Dick ended up zapping through the channels on the TV. He wasn’t really paying much attention to the movie that was on, but he’d watched it before, so he didn’t need to concentrate on it to follow the story about a girl whose entire family was murdered and had to be helped by an assassin. 

It kind of reminded him of Jay, when he was new in their lives. It had been quite obvious how vulnerable Jason was, back then. Or was it in hindsight? Dick hadn’t been much present, beyond a dozen of times they’d patrolled together and a few visits and outings. He hadn’t paid as much attention as he should’ve, but in retrospect—and with the wisdom of Bruce’s meticulous files—a lot of things were clear.

Except, Jason wasn’t the vulnerable kid he’d been, right? He’d got over his death, he could get over anything. And he didn’t want help from anyone. Did he even want to be part of their family? It had seemed that way, in New York, but now Dick wondered that maybe Jason had been manipulating him then. 

Dick shuddered thinking of what Jason could do if he knew that Dick used to hallucinate him. No, Jason wasn’t vulnerable, not anymore.

When his thoughts strayed to Jason, this time, he didn’t redirect them elsewhere. Instead, he let the fantasy develop, and go where he’d never gone, in those flashes of before. It wasn’t just rapid images of Jason’s body, it was a semi intricate scenario, it wasn’t just wanting and needing, but wondering. It was the first time Dick let himself think about it in full: Jason kneeling before him, his gorgeous eyes not leaving Dick’s as he took him into his mouth. What noises would he make if Dick choked him? Would he let Dick fuck his throat with abandon, take it—take whatever was given to him? What would Jason sound like when he was coming?

Dick closed his eyes, letting it all go further, indulging in the images of Jason as he stroked himself. At first, Dick would hold Jason by his hair, keeping his cock down Jason’s throat, just letting him breathe when strictly necessary—he sometimes hated when Jason talked too much, it was often what pushed Dick into mindless anger when they were in the same place. A quiet Jason was much better. 

How much cock had Jason sucked in his life? Maybe Dick could still get to fuck the gag reflex out of him, teach him things. Dick imagined Jason gasping and gagging on him. There’d be tear tracks running down his face and making his pretty eyes shine. Dick would press his thumbs to wipe away the tears.  Right now, at least the idea of it was so fucking hot, it had Dick speeding up, fucking his fist as he imagined how he would fuck Jason’s throat until he started coming, and then pull out and come on his baby brother’s face, on his chest, thighs. In the fantasy, Jason looked mad about it, but Dick made him shut up, and Dick came to the idea of fucking the rebelliousness out of Jason. He turned to the side to muffle a groan against the armrest of the couch. Fuck. 

The images didn’t stop there. Jason would want to clean his face, and he’d want to come too, and Dick wouldn’t allow him to do either. Dick would leave him there, on the floor, kneeling or maybe even lying down and looking up at Dick with pleading eyes, vulnerable and exposed—all the things he was not.

Dick sighed. The shame he’d expected at the elaborate fantasy was muted by a question: would Jason do it? And that was followed by another one: if Jason did let Dick take him to bed, would he be as good for him as he was in the fantasy? Probably not… although, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Jason could be agreeable when he wanted to, when he wanted something. 

(And what did he want? What was Bruce giving him?)

Subsequently, his mind was taken over by planning. What could be done to make those images a reality? 

For all the madness that Jason carried within him, he was blunt and didn’t really avoid speaking what he wanted. Well, Dick had deduced that from both his interactions with Jason and Bruce’s account of Jason’s acts when he’d just come back.

Maybe being direct with Jason would work. Dick wasn’t sure that Bruce was direct with him, so maybe that would put Dick in advantage, give Jason something he wanted.