Boredom is like a slow acting poison that gradually rots the mind. Black Mask is currently very bored.
That alone is impressive, really, considering that merely weeks ago he was stuck in a half-vegetative state and had to be spoon-fed by a geriatric bitch. Back then, he occupied his time with productive, incremental tasks starting with wiggling his toes to eventually regaining enough control to crawl out of Ma Gunn’s Home for the Criminally Impaired after that ol’ bag of bones disappeared...Now he finds himself locked up in yet another secret prison.
Some people just can’t get a break.
To keep his mind busy, he runs through a list of things he dislikes about his current living condition and ranks them from awful to god-awful. Eh, he’s a businessman, he likes his lists.
Off the top of his head, or rather, just above his head are his wrists in shackles. They allow him to sit on the ground and not much else. He rotates his joints and ignores the unpleasant feeling of needles and pins as blood rushes back to the area. Chained up like this, he can’t even sleep on his side like a dog. Then, of course, there’s the soggy beige slop that counts for food twice a day...which he can only manage to eat from a metal tray like a dog.
Well, Blackgate Penitentiary this is not.
Roman can bluff all he likes about his past familiarity with inhumane prison conditions, but the truth is, he was treated like a king at Blackgate. Shit, he knows he’s hit rock bottom when he’s actually reminiscing about the good o’days when the guards were bribeable and knew their place. And the few that weren’t susceptible to bribery? Well, he’d go after their families if they so much as looked at him without the respect he’s owed...so, it was all “Sir” and “Mister Sionis”, and even the occasional “Mr.Black Mask, sir ” when the guards were asking him for favors beyond the walls of prison.
Yeah, except there’s no threatening or bribing his current warden now. Between Ma Gunn and this Robin, Roman has been falsely imprisoned by people on the opposite ends of the age spectrum--that’s gotta count for something, right?
This latest iteration of Batman’s sidekick (the 4th one now? 5th? Eh, who can keep track?) is a sour-faced kid with spiky short hair clad in the traditional Robin colors of red, green, and yellow...the combination of the brat with the happy, vibrant colors reminds Roman of a pixie devil straight out of a fucked-up children’s fairytale.
But the colors are the only thing the kid shares with his predecessors. Even Jason, during his run as the Boy Wonder, trailed after the Dark Knight across the rooftops of Gotham with something akin to bloody glee. Perhaps teenage angst occurs at a younger age after each subsequent Robin.
Speaking of Jason, Black Mask’s pulse quickens. That sonuvabitch is the reason his plan to rule Gotham via mind-control and brute force failed. He is still on the very top of Roman’s shit list.
The last time he thought about Red Hood for an extended period of time, the fucking pest managed to invade even his dreams. In that red-tinged dream, they were trading blows and quips in a rundown sports bar of all places. Roman had the upper-hand as he slammed the crime-lord-wannabe against a pool table and stabbed him in the shoulder blade with the sharp-end of a broken pool stick. The little shit then set his trenchcoat on fire but he managed to twist Jason’s own dagger against him, thrusting it deep into his heart.
Dark red blood formed a reflective pool beneath them but he woke up before he could remove the red helmet and claim it as a trophy. Now that was a pleasant dream...perhaps too pleasant. Roman rose from his sleep with painful chafings on his wrists from trashing against the shackles...and a raging hard-on, one he couldn’t relieve while chained up.
Well, he’s not about to get all worked up again and have the wounds on his wrists fester. It’ll just be his luck to get sepsis from the unsanitary condition in this prison. He shoves the young man out of his mind and directs his attention back towards the list.
Okay, let’s see...he can really do with a shave. His face itches like hell as the edges of his broken mask scrapes against the stubbles underneath. He can only alleviate the itch by rubbing his cheeks on his shoulders; how pathetic. Roman continues to ponder over his list and decides that yep, boredom is the worst thing about his current predicament.
The sound of a soft step breaks Roman out of his thoughts of the list and he looks up as a figure emerges from the shadows. A man donned in urban tactical gear steps forward, no longer bothering to conceal their presence. A red face guard covers the lower half of the trespasser’s face while a hoodie and the shadow it casts obscures the rest of it. There is also an unfamiliar red emblem splashed across the center of his black top.
Black Mask watches warily as the stranger approaches, easily unlocking the door of the cell with a set of lockpicks and stepping into his personal space; definitely an unauthorized visit. Roman hasn’t seen anyone besides his captor and his fellow inmates since stepping into this prison. This could be a rescue, but it could just as easily be a massacre as this unknown lunatic slaughters everyone here.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The intruder pulls back his hoodie and removes the protective mask to reveal a cocky grin, one that Roman recognizes instantly. Honestly, he should’ve known just from the copious amount of red in his gear. Jason. Oh, fucking hell .
“Aww, you didn’t recognize me in my new getup?” Jason cocks his head and asks in mock-hurt. He advances towards the sitting man and crouches down onto the balls of his feet. “Well, I think your current look is a vast improvement. Seriously, Roman, desolation suits you.”
The prisoner ignores the jab and scowls. “I figured this little underground clubhouse wasn’t sanctioned by the Bat--should’ve known you were involved somehow.”
“Oh, I can’t take credit for this . ‘Though, I did point Robin in your direction. Thanks for the info on the Commissioner, by the way, very helpful.”
“Fuck you! You really think I belong down here with these other freaks? This your idea of protecting Gotham, huh? Falsely imprisoning people in this inhumane shithole without due pro--”
Jason rolls his eyes and interrupts him. “Oh please, send your complaints to the warden; I’m just a visitor. And yes, Black Mask , I do think you belong down here with these other monsters.”
“So why are you here? Other than to gloat, I mean.”
“Well, I really appreciate you clearing up your extremely busy schedule to allow for this meeting,” Jason mocks, gesturing to the small cell they occupy. Then the smile disappears from his face as he gets to the purpose of his visit. “Ma Gunn hasn’t resurfaced yet and I’m starting to suspect foul play. You have made attempts on her life before and now with your new grudge, you have even more motivation. Convince me you have nothing to do with this, Black Mask.”
Interesting. Roman notes the tone of genuine concern behind the small cracks of his interrogator’s “intimidating” facade and files that information into the back of his mind. Always useful to know who and what someone holds close to their chest. He ponders for a moment and decides there’s no harm in answering the question.
“Heh, old cunt like that could’ve knelt over any second...And while I would’ve loved to crumble every bone in her shriveled-up body into dust, I have nothing to do with her disappearance. You’d know if I did, ‘cause I’d announce it to the world in giant neon letters...since you dragged her back into this mess, her blood would’ve been on your hands.”
Red Hood shoots out his arm and digs his fingers into Roman’s shoulder before growling, “Don’t provoke me, Black Mask. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Despite the pain, Roman throws his head back and laughs, the echo of the harsh sound rings throughout the bleak cell. “ Still playing at being a bad guy? Save your empty threats for someone else, you don’t scare me. Yeah, rough me up a bit, but I know you Bat Brats don’t kill... can’t kill.”
“Oh, so you haven’t heard,” the younger man sneers and claws his fingers deeper into his shoulder, and Roman grits his teeth to avoid giving him the satisfaction of reacting to the pain. “I shot the Penguin point blank in the head, right in front of cops and cameras and everything...So maybe you should reevaluate what you think you know about me.”
Black Mask chuckles. “Well then, that explains the change in your wardrobe.”
There is a sudden flash of raw hurt in Jason’s eyes that’s is quickly replaced by cold rage, but it’s too late, Roman saw it and presses forward with this advantage. “Figure it’s ‘bout time daddy exiled you from the Bat Club for crossing the line.”
Pain explodes across his face as Red Hood lands a punch squarely across his jaw and Roman’s head slams against the tiled wall behind him. The violent retaliation from the bastard is a fair exchange for the satisfaction; it just means his words were right on target. Yeah, he expected the punch...but not the kiss that followed.
Jason grabs him by his collar and smashes their lips together in a bruising kiss, and Roman can feel more of his mask cracking from the pressure against the wall. After the initial shock, he returns the kiss with a ferocity that matches Jason’s. He slides his tongue in between soft lips in an effort to try and regain his footing and wrestle a semblance of control back.
To protest the intrusion of his tongue, the younger man sinks his incisors into his bottom lip and Roman tastes a sudden surge of his own blood. Even then, it’s been so long since he’s felt the touch of another person that Black Mask can’t help but moan into the feverish contact.
When Jason finally leans back from the kiss, he utters a sound of disgust and spits onto the floor of the cell. “You taste vile.”
“Well, fuck you too, sweetheart.”
Black Mask knows that the occasional cold spray from a high powered hose isn’t enough to wash away the unpleasant scent from his sedentary stay in prison, so never mind his oral hygiene. But while Red Hood’s words conveyed revulsion, the small tug on the corner of his lips suggests a certain playfulness. The little shit is enjoying this.
“Aww really, Roman? It was only a kiss.”
The bound man curses as he drops his gaze towards his own crotch where the fabric of his trousers is forming an unmistakable tent. It can’t be helped, he tries to reason, even as he feels heat rising to his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s even touched himself that he would’ve had this reaction from kissing anyone, let alone him .
“I had no idea you missed me this much,” Jason muses and reaches down to unbuckle Roman’s belt in one rough tug.
“Oh yeah, it’s definitely you and not because I haven’t gotten off in god knows how long,” Black Mask replies flippantly. “I think about you all the time. All the different ways of torturing you before you’d beg for the sweet release of death. Even had a dream where I thrust a wavy dagger through your heart.”
“Yeah, that’s very sweet and all,” Jason mocks, even as he pulls down Roman’s zipper and frees his erection from its tight confines. “But I’m afraid I can’t say the same. I honestly haven’t thought about you...At. All.”
Roman sucks in a breath sharply as he’s exposed to the drafty air of the chilly underground, but despite that, his cock only grows harder. His heart misses a beat when he sees Jason reaching for the weapons latched onto his back, but the young man only unsheathes them before discarding them off to the side. He proceeds to remove his vest and retrieve a single packet of lube from one of the inner pockets.
“Well, you came prepared.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Roman, I always have an assortment of gadgets and supplies on me.”
The older man snorts and is about to respond with a cutting remark when the other continues to undress. He swallows his words as Jason lowers his unfastened pants, revealing an arousal that matches his. Pfft, what a fucking hypocrite.
He continues to watch as the young man strips bare, his clothes and gear thrown haphazardly off to the side of the cell along with his weapons. The juxtaposition of Jason’s nudity to the almost fully-clothed prisoner is jarring, but the power dynamic is clear. Black Mask feels somewhat insulted that his enemy clearly doesn’t see him as a threat right now. Yet, with this view, he supposes he can overlook it just this once.
Jason leans down and straddles over him, knees on either side of his lap, with one hand braced against the wall for stability. He tears open the packet of lube with his teeth and smears it over his free hand, slicking his fingers. Without another word, he reaches behind spread thighs and starts to stretch himself.
With him leaning so close, Roman can see every subtle shift on his feature--the way Jason furrows his brows ever so slightly in concentration; or how a flush begins to flourish at tip of his ears before spreading to his cheeks, deepening in color; the way his adam’s apple bobs once as he adds another digit; and how his dilating pupils threatening to cover up more of the brilliant aquamarine of his eyes, even as they seem to lose focus temporarily. Roman doubts he can move a muscle just now even without the chains.
A disturbing thought enters his mind.
Red Hood, the perpetual thorn in his side, is leaning over his lap getting ready to ride his cock, seriously? Okay, maybe the boredom finally got to him and this whole thing is just the vivid imagination of a cracked mind...that or a feverish dream from infections settling into his wrists? He can suffer the temporary loss of motor functions, but to lose his mind like this, he’d rather die. Roman supposes he can kill himself if he smashes his head backward with enough force to cause internal bleeding.
But then Jason begins to rock slightly and the motion causes his cock to brush up against his in a shot of electrifying pleasure and Roman almost loses it. He feels like he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. He needs to do something or he will drown in these sensations.
With barely enough breath in him to finish the sentence, he spits out, “You know, there’s a very ugly word for what’s going on here.”
“Wow, that’s rich coming from you, considering what you did to me while I was working for you, boss ,” Jason sneers without stopping the movement of his fingers. If he notices the way Roman’s cock twitched when he heard that word, he ignored it and continued to speak. “Not to mention doing it while I was unconscious.”
“And what exactly are you accusing me of?” Roman lets in just enough cruel delight into his voice without admitting anything. There, much better, he can breathe again.
“Let’s see, I wake up after being drugged and find myself tucked in an unfamiliar bed, half-naked and sore all over...but that’s ‘cause I was stupid enough fight an Amazon by myself, right? Tell me, do you actually have a somnophilia fetish or were you just opportunistic?”
“Heh, okay, I think you might be projecting a little…’cause I’m definitely not the opportunistic one here.”
The young man glares at him with narrowed eyes and for a second he thought he was going to be punched again. But then calloused fingers wrap themselves around his shaft and he chokes back a groan.
Jason lifts his hips to aligns the head of the cock with his entrance and sinks down slowly, impaling himself one inch at a time.
Oh, fuck . The sensation is overwhelming and Roman almost whimpers as tight, silken heat envelopes him tightly. How could he have thought this was just the imagination of a cracked mind? There is nothing more real, more alive than the body he’s sinking into. He shuts his eyes as his mind wanders back to another day with a very different scenario.
The gas trap in the clone chamber was enough to knock out an Amazon warrior, nevermind a mere human. Jason didn’t even stir from his artificially induced sleep as Roman penetrates his undercover subordinate before their game of subterfuge comes to an inevitable end. Can’t fault him for sampling the goods to see just how far that offer to “rule Gotham together” should extend.
Oh, but he was so careful, even gentle. He enjoyed their play-pretend too much to spoil the ending prematurely, so he took his damn time coaxing the sleeping figure to yield, leaving no evidence and minimal discomfort. And even when he pulled out and came all over his face, Jason still looked pliable and serene with cum dripping down his cheeks...nothing like the lust-drunk slut currently riding in his lap.
“Just admit it, Black Mask,” Jason pants as he picks up the pace. “After your humiliating defeat, I had some time before GCPD arrived to wipe surveillance videos of my involvement with you, and I got curious. Yeah, there wasn’t a camera in that room, but there was one in the corridor leading to that bedroom door. And I’m guessing it didn’t take an hour to scan my iris for my identity?”
Roman’s grin grows wider. Lord, what makes this whole thing even more delicious is how obviously unsettled Jason is by that particular encounter despite any hard evidence. Well, he’s not about to be baited into revealing that information. Let the kid keep on being paranoid and imagine the worst, he deserves it. And if Roman knew just how that whole Superman clone fiasco would’ve ended, he’d probably fuck Jason so hard when he had the chance so that he would’ve had to break his cover prematurely and call his bluff or just continued to play the obedient underling while knowing that he was thoroughly fucked.
“My humiliating defeat? Please, I had you completely outmaneuvered and you only got your way because that Amazon returned to rescue you,” Roman hisses. “Whatever happened to them anyway, your teammates ?”
Even before the final word left his lips, Roman can feel a faint tremor through the body in his lap. But Jason doesn't slow down, in fact, his movements only grow more frantic as he slams himself down hard.
Well, Roman’s never one to deprive himself of satisfaction and he can’t let the kid think he’s calling the shots, so he follows up his previous question with, “Don’t tell me they called it quits or kicked you out after realizing how messed up you are? Or did you lead them to their deaths?”
Roman chokes in pain as Jason squeezes a hand around his throat and slams him back against the wall by his neck. He growls hoarsely into his ear like a wounded beast, “Shut up or I swear I will smash your mask in so hard they’ll have trouble removing the shards from what’s left of your fucking brain.”
So, teammates, obviously a sore spot, Roman notes. While it’s nice that his overly emotional nemesis is providing all sorts of useful intel, his current position puts additional weight and strain onto his shoulders and arms. He grabs onto the chains of the shackles with his hands to try and gain leverage to alleviate the pain. Despite that, his shoulders burn like they’ll be ripped out of its sockets. A sore spot indeed.
Jason still has his face merely inches away in what he guesses is an attempt at a menacing posture. Black Mask can’t see his expression clearly through his peripherals, but he can see the fast throbbing of his jugular. He wonders if he can tear a chunk of his neck off with his bare teeth and have him bleed to death in his lap.
Well, the idea has some potential, but there’s no guarantee the little shit won’t just snap his neck before he bleeds out. Even if he doesn’t, he will still have no way of getting out of the shackles, and Red Hood’s vest of gadgets and tools are just out of reach. Also, he’s guessing Robin will be pretty upset at finding his predecessor’s naked corpse next to a prisoner...but the last point’s just a guess, who knows what the new dynamic is in the cult of the bat, especially involving ex-members.
The next option, he supposes, is to just enjoy the ride...so to speak. Instead of gashing the neck in front him, Roman leans forward and kisses it, feeling the strong pulse underneath. He half hears, half feels a gasp followed by a moan, which he’ll take as positive feedback, so he continues to kiss a wet trail up to his jaw.
The body on his lap loses some of its tension. The fool obviously takes the action as signs of him conceding the round. Fine, let him. It’s a fair enough of an exchange, especially as the younger man starts lifting his hips again and sinking down so agonizingly sweet. Roman tries to thrust upwards for a deeper penetration, but with the better leverage, the pain on his shoulders’ just too much. He groans in frustration as the other man dictates their pace.
Jason intercepts one of those kisses on his neck to press their lips together. It is nothing like their first kiss with teeth and blood. It is urgent, yet soft. If not for the shackles and the setting, one might even misassign some sort of positive feeling to the scene.
Not for the first time during this encounter Black Mask wants to rip his hands free of their confines. More than anything, he wants to grab a fistful of hair and shove that cocky grin into the ground. He wants to fuck him from behind in a brutal pace, just completely wreck him; imbed his presence so deep into him that Jason won’t help but think of him even when he leaves this place. Perhaps he will even dream of him.
Instead, Roman can only dig his fingers into the palms of his helpless hands hard enough to draw blood. This isn’t enough. Right now, he’d settle just having his hands be free so he can hold onto Jason’s waist to increase their speed; so he can adjust his angle and thrust in deeper. He’d even run his fingers through his hair, pulling back gently so he can kiss more of that exposed throat. And he’d run his hands over those powerful thighs, his strong back, and hold his face between his palms and kiss him like he’s something precious...only letting his lips leave when he wants them to.
This... this isn’t enough.
He watches as Jason rocks himself in his lap, sweat dripping down an expression almost like pained pleasure and he wonders if Ma Gunn’s whereabout isn’t the only reason why Jason paid him a visit.
It’s obvious with his refusal to answer the question about his teammates that they’ve somehow parted their ways. Add that on top of a recent banishment from the Bat, perhaps the kid is just lonely . Maybe even without knowing or understanding it, maybe he just wanted to be in the presence of someone who knows him...and oddly enough, Roman considers himself as a person who does.
Seeking comfort from an enemy, how utterly pathetic . Roman wants to laugh but his mouth is occupied as Jason captures him in a kiss again.
Finally, they pick up the pace as Jason leans back with a hand on Roman’s knee to prop himself up. With the other hand, he grips his own cock and starts pumping fast and hard, in time with him rocking down onto his lap. The view is stunningly obscene and Roman can’t look away from the speed in which his shaft is getting taken in by and reemerges from a tight, welcoming hole.
“Yeah, oh my god, take it!” he moans in appreciation. “Ride my cock, you fucking slut!”
“Told you to shut the fuck up,” Jason hisses through clenched teeth, but without the heat of his earlier threat.
Whatever this is, it doesn’t matter anymore. Roman just wants to cum. He wants to shoot his cum deep into this smug young man who spurned his offer to join him...Who humiliated him and haunts him both when he’s awake and asleep. He just wants to cum and he is so fucking close.
The body in his lap stiffens and stills.
Jason arches his back and comes with a muffled groan. A spurt of cum hits the prisoner’s still clothed chest and a few drops onto his lips. Roman laps it up with his tongue, licks it almost instinctively. Strong muscles spasm and contract around his erection, milking him so hard he’s about to finish.
But then Jason pushes himself up and off the still hard cock with a lewd wet pop. His face flush from the afterglow and something like malicious victory.
“What the fuck,” Roman stares at him. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh, I’m done,” Jason pants slightly out of breath, but with a smile nonetheless. He stands up and stretches his back almost cat-like, and walks over to collect his discarded clothing.
“No, no...You can’t fucking leave me like this!” Black Mask roars. His balls ache like they’re about to burst.
Jason takes his sweet time to clean and dress himself all the while staring down at the other man’s dejected erection, still hard and dripping with pre-come.
“Yeah, I suppose I can’t leave you like that …” He crouches down and takes a hold of the shaft and tries to bury it back under Roman’s trousers. “Don’t want to traumatize any of the Kiddie Titans, am I right?”
“You little bitch! You can’t—”
“Oh, you know full well I can and would.”
Shit. “C’mon, finish what you started. You wanna hear me beg you, is that it?”
Red Hood shrugs nonchalantly, not even looking him in the face. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to try, I ‘spose.”
Roman curses some more under his breath. He swears to himself that if, no, when he gets out of this fucking hellhole, he will return this humiliation ten-fold.
“Please, let me cum. I’m begging you. Please, please…” He wonders if the bastard would walk away even after he begs, and his entire body vibrates with frustration and need.
“Hmm not bad…”
There’s still lube on his cock but Jason spits onto his palm to make it extra slick before grabbing him again and stroking the full length rapidly.
Roman shuts his eyes and lets the torturous pleasure built through him like acid in the pit of his stomach. He knows if he opens his eyes now, he will see that satisfied smirk, so he doesn’t...So it was a complete surprise when he feels warm lips claiming his again.
He comes and comes. Calloused fingers continue to pump him until the last drop of cum leaves him and all he feels is a pleasant glow and a bone-deep resentment.
At that moment it dawns on him. He understands now that Jason will continue to haunt him long after he leaves this godforsaken place. There’s no escape. The realization makes him want to grab the younger man and tear him apart.
With a voice dripping with malice and yearning, Black Mask growls, “Watch your back. When I’m free, I’m coming after you with everythin’ I’ve got.”
Jason stands up and wipes his dirtied hand dismissively. He looks down at the shackled man with the cracked mask and says, “Good. I’m counting on it.”