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Come Running

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Jason snuck out of the Manor the day he was sure Dick had truly left.

Apparently he’d fucked off to go mope with one of his many Bruce-replacements. Or something. Jason still didn’t know how to feel about those eyes on him. Wide and shocked whenever he caught them together. Hurt and confused and aroused and so so jealous. Jason would be a lot more pissed if he didn’t understand a little bit too well. 

Because one of these days, Bruce was going to come to his senses. 

Jason didn’t know when it’d happened: when his torment of Bruce had turned into addiction he couldn't seem to let go of. Falling into bed with Jason was a little sin for Bruce to brood about on dark nights. But Batman never indulged in weakness for very long. Even Catwoman was sent to jail sometimes. One of these days, Bruce was going to efficiently cut Jason out of his life again. 

But Jason wasn’t going to wait around to be thrown away. Not again. Jason left on his own terms, nobody else's. He’d had his fun, now it was time to go before he could be cast aside for something much more appropriate. 

He wasn’t running away. He was taking control. 

It was hard to convince himself that when he was sitting alone in a new safehouse absently pressing against the finger shaped bruises on his wrists. Jason had barely been gone a day and he already wanted to go back. But that’s how addictions were, he reminded himself. It was good that he was putting a stop it now, before the feeling and emotional dependency got any worse. 

The game had seemed so simple at first; torment Bruce, make him hard for his former ward, and then leave him high and dry with his guilt.  Somewhere along the way, control had slipped out of his hands and into Bruce’s. It always fucking did. It made him feel small and cheap… never the first choice.

Well fuck Bruce. And fuck Dick Grayson too.

As if summoned by the thoughts, Jason felt a presence loom up behind him. 

“Get the fuck out,” Jason snarled, whipping around swinging. 

Surprisingly, it was Matches Malone- not Batman- who caught his punch. However, it was Bruce who was looking at him from behind tinted glasses. 

“We should talk,” he said gravely.

“What’s there to talk about?” Jason snapped, “You weren’t invited, now get out.”

“You didn’t even leave a note,” Bruce said stepping a little closer. 

“I never left a note before,” Jason said defensively, “Why should I have started now?”

Truthfully they both knew why; things had been different between them lately, but Jason sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to that now. 

“Are you coming back?” Bruce pressed.

“And why the fuck should I do that?”

“Your clothes are still in our closet.”

Jason knew. It had been haunting him a bit.

“Burn them.”

“Jason…” Bruce scolded him. 

“Maybe I got bored of you, Old Man, ever consider that?” Jason said, even as he was backed up against the wall. 

“Never,” Bruce said and kissed him. Jason snarled and bit him for his troubled but also pressed forward against his body instantly. He was so fucking trained at this point it made him hate himself a little more. 

Or maybe he just hated Bruce.

He wrinkled his nose at the scratch of the fake mustache against his mouth and took a moment to rip it off. That gaudy hideous suit had to go too, he thought as he kissed and worked on clumsily clawing it off. Bruce was making a quick work of Jason’s belt too, reaching those big big hands underneath to grip his ass just the way Jason liked. Jason moaned, his legs spreading just a bit automatically. 

In just a moment, Bruce was probably going to fuck him against the wall until Jason couldn’t think anymore and then find some way to bring him back to the Manor with him while Jason was stoned on his own endorphins. He’d fuck Jason over, just like he always did. Jason didn’t even know why he bothered if beautiful people like Dick would warm his bed in an instant. Maybe Jason was already too ruined for him to worry about. 

The thought was ugly and brought with it the comforting edge of anger that let him trip Bruce up and pin him to the floor instead. 

“Not this time, Old Man,” Jason hissed. He held Bruce’s arm behind his back, pulling his pants just far enough down to rub his cock along the crease of his ass. He felt Bruce tense and deliberately relax again.

It would feel so good to just push in, not just physically but emotionally. To hurt Bruce back for all the ways he hurt Jason. To punish them both a bit for… everything.

Bruce would let him do it. As usual that quiet acceptance and apathy hurt more than anything. In this moment, Bruce expected Jason to forcefully take him. To hurt him sexually and was prepared for just that. It brought up too many memories of his parents and that resigned look in his mother’s eyes when his father was working up to one of his rages. That he was going to hurt her but it was all okay because she loved him and he had permission- the right - to hurt her any way he liked. 

No one had that right.

Jason pulled away feeling sick to his stomach. 

“Jason…?”

“Stay away from me,” Jason said hoarsely as he tucked himself away. He saw Bruce turning over in the corner of his eye, but Jason couldn’t look at him. Instead, he grabbed his helmet and walked out the door. 

He’d have to find a better hiding place next time.