"Is this part of training too?"
Dick knows the kid likes to run his mouth but this is something else when he just can't seem to stop, that deliberate lilt to his voice as his mouth curves into a shit-eating grin. Dick presses his lips together into a thin flat line, reaching for patience that has run dry. Not that Jason can see, not when he has a blindfold tied around his eyes. He isn't naked but the t-shirt soaked through with sweat from the brutal set of katas that Dick had put everyone through earlier leaves very little to the imagination.
"Or, are we calling it private lessons?"
Dick has to wonder if it would be a little too much if he gagged the kid up too. He is pretty sure he would be doing the world a favour for it.
He doesn't, only because Jason still hasn't moved an inch from where he is kneeling on the ground of Dick's bedroom. Arms bound loosely behind his back, spine ramrod straight while his gym shorts sit loose and low over his hips.
"I figure it's better than calling it extra-curricular, or would you like it better if I called you sensei."
When Dick cards his fingers through that head of mused and messy hair curling each and every way, he doesn't pull his punches (like he did on the training mats in the dojo of the Titans headquarter), he pulls until he renders all of those words falling from Jason's mouth into one long, low moan.
"I'd have you know, you won't be calling anyone anything if you keep this up."
It's a warning. It's a threat. It's also a promise. And Dick knows Jason knows this all too well. It's why he lets him in at all. Jason isn't just Bruce's one condition, he is Dick's exception.
"That's fucked up, bro."
Is what Jason says when Dick slaps him across the face with his cock. A streak of precum smearing across his cheek. The blindfold still tied tightly over his eyes, the material black and thick enough that Dick knows he can't even make out a silhouette with full spotlights. But the kid still manages to move in just the wrong direction as Dick sits down at the end of his bed while he takes himself out, catches the kid right in the face instead of the way Dick originally intended.
Which was probably something a little more along the lines of rubbing the head of his cock along the seam of Jason's mouth to coax him to open up wider.
"You've got to stop calling me that, Jason."
"It makes B happy."
It also makes the situation infinitely worse. Because Jason isn't moving away from where he stays down on his knees between Dick's thighs, mouth barely inches from Dick's cock. And Dick most definitely isn't about to get up and leave the room, not when he is hard to hurting and the death grip he still has in Jason's hair hasn't tempered down one single bit.
He's got all of this darkness, and he's got all of these rough edges. And it would be a whole lot of bullshit if they say they are meant to be together like this. But Dick is not known for his good decisions, and Jason most definitely isn't either.
"Please don't bring up Bruce when you're about to give me a blowjob."
"Does that mean you're going to slap me again?"
Jason leans forward, bottom lip grazing up along the length of Dick's cock following just that bit of tongue, a dart of pink, a lap of heat, he mouths hot kisses all the way up until he reaches the head to murmur.
"I said that's fucked up, doesn't mean I didn't like it."
His words going muffled there are the end for a very pointed reason, obscene down to the way the blindfold slips down by just an inch in his enthusiasm, spit shining his lips as he sinks down, swallowing hard. Jason keeps his eyes closed, just as Dick has him practicing both inside and outside of this room. It's a test in patience, in a lesson Jason is barely beginning to learn.
A teaching opportunity for Dick that unravels just as quickly with Jason's last words settling like a well-aimed swing that lands with solid weight behind it, especially so when he is bottoming out, the head of his cock hitting the back of Jason's throat, keenly feeling the way he constricts around him with every swallow and the tiniest shift of his tongue along the underside. Dick registers just how far out of his depths he is when he can only groan deeply in response.
Oh, brother. He thinks.
Or as Jason will later tell him when he is completely naked and sprawled across a good majority of Dick's bed with no intention of moving a muscle, that's Winnie the Pooh's equivalent to mother fucking shit if they're going with the urban dictionary definition. That same shit-eating grin, only now with the kind of heavy lidded gaze to match when he leaves the blindfold tied at the back to hang from his neck, dangling down over his collarbones as he tips his head back.
Drawing Dick's eyes over his bare throat.
It's a dare.