Work Text:
Sometimes, it goes like this:
They talk about the honeymoon phase. Jason never believed in it, though. Thought he was even-tempered enough – pit madness aside – that he didn’t get giddy, didn’t get bored when he was in relationship. It’s not that Jason doesn’t know his own mind – again, pit madness aside – but he supposes; he’s never done this before.
This being, coming home from an op he conducted alone, something only Red Hood could be involved in. He’s been undercover for three weeks, working in his own organization. Something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk either of his boyfriends with. Besides, Blüdhaven and Star City needed their own heroes.
So, when Jason walks into his own safe house bedroom, the nice penthouse one he keeps in Gotham, he’s looking for relief, for a nice shower, and maybe a blowjob. What greets him, though, is a sick churn to his stomach when he walks into his own bedroom and sees Dick’s dark skin tangled with Roy’s freckled, the sheets slid down to pool around both their waists. He doesn’t know, but he’s certain they’re both naked; Roy’s hip is bare, his tattoo normally covered by his briefs completely visible but for the bit under the sheet. Dick is drooling into the pillow and Roy’s face is buried in his hair. It’s the epitome of domestic.
Jason knows, knows, he can’t dictate how they sleep. That everyone is allowed to have sex with each other when they want. It’s all part of the negotiations, how they juggle this relationship, the same way that using condoms is required outside of the three of them.
But Jason, Jason doesn’t keep condoms anymore. He doesn’t sleep with anyone else, hasn’t wanted to since they negotiated this strange thing between them. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to even previous to them getting together, no matter how attracted to others he’s been. It’s been them, no one but Roy and Dick, that he’s had any romantic interest in since he was sixteen.
Now, though, he stares at them, and wonders. Was it easier without him? Without him taking up space in the bed, in the apartment; if maybe sex was easier and better without the extra limbs or Jason’s trauma.
He shoves a hand into his cropped hair, staring at the two men, cuddled and serene in sleep. His hand catches on hair that’s stiff with sweat and tangles and probably a little blood. Jason sighs and backs out of the room they share and into the guest bedroom, the one that’s smaller and mostly used for the occasional additional Bat who needs to escape the Manor, or Arrow family member who needs to stay in Gotham.
He dumps his equipment on the bathroom floor, heedless of his usual tidiness and gets straight into the shower. He lets the hot water wash him clean from backroom deals and hunting down the men who thought they could swindle Red Hood, who thought they could take and give drugs to children.
They never would again.
He half-heartedly coaxes himself to hardness, nothing playing in his mind, simply letting his body take over, needing a release he hasn’t had in weeks, too focused on the case, too busy missing his boyfriends.
The thought sours his orgasm and it is less than great. Still, it leaves a looseness in his groin, in his back, his muscles, and he steps out, hunting in the closet for an old pair of sweats. He puts them on and collapses face-first into pillows he probably should have plumped first. Jason slides into sleep, bone-tired and grateful for it, as the image of Roy and Dick with no space left for him flashes like a video projector behind his eyelids; an image, that, if he weren’t so exhausted, would keep him up all night.
And occasionally, it’s all bad and it feels like this:
Roy wakes up to sunlight weakly brightening the room with a cold grey wash. He spits out a mouthful of Dick’s hair and slowly unsticks himself from where they’ve grown sweaty over the night. His hand caresses the curve of Dick’s hip before reaching back, intent on finding Jason. He was supposed to be back the night before; Roy thought he heard him come in, too sleepy to do much beyond hear the door and mumble his name.
His hand meets nothing but cold sheets though, and he pulls himself up blearily. He reaches over Dick to look at his phone. No messages from Jason, which could be good or bad. Roy climbs out of bed, adjusts the sheet and blanket so that Dick is covered, and sets about finding underwear and a tee. Dick looks soft and sweet in his sleep, younger, and Roy wants to kiss him, to wake him up just as soft, but something in his gut is telling him to get up, to find Jason. It’s been three weeks; Roy misses Jason like a limb.
He stumbles out of the bedroom, making his way to the coffee maker to start it brewing. He’s about to go back for his phone, to call Jason, when the man walks out of the guest bedroom, covered in a too-tight sweatshirt that Roy thinks is one of Dick’s, and loose sweatpants. His feet are bare, and the small details – the curve of his arch, his surprisingly well-kept toenails – has Roy breaking into a smile.
“Jaybird. You’re alive. Why didn’t you come to bed?” he asks, grabbing a second mug down from the cupboard.
When he looks up, he sees only the top of Jason’s head, the brown hair beginning to curl where it has grown out these past few weeks. He grabs the first cup of coffee out from under Roy and the Keurig, and Roy smiles harder, shaking his head.
“Jay. Babe. We were up half the night waiting for you to come home.”
When Jason looks up, he looks exhausted, lines drawn down around his mouth, purple circles under his eyes. He’s got a scruffy almost-beard going on, too. But most noticeably, is how his eyes are cold, more peridot than their usual emerald, and how he dodges Roy’s attempt at a kiss as he moves back under Roy’s arm to sit down at the table.
“You guys looked cozy. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Jason,” Roy admonishes, as he sets the second mug under the machine, swapping out the K-cup for a new one. “You wouldn’t have been disturbing us. Like I said, we waited.”
Jason shrugs, a smile wan across his face. “I was tired anyway. Needed sleep more than anything.”
“You look like you still do,” Roy says, moving over to place a kiss on top of Jason’s head, then pulling up his chin with his fingers. He traces his thumb gently under one eye. The action nets him a real smile, even if it’s small. “Let me make you breakfast – real food. I bet you haven’t eaten a proper Harper breakfast all the time you were gone.”
“Well, is it a Harper breakfast if it’s not made by a Harper?”
“Definitely not,” Roy responds, and this time is able to steal a peck to the side of Jason’s mouth before he turns away, cheeks turning delightfully pink.
Roy’s halfway through omelets and pancakes when Dick comes out to the kitchen, dressed in nothing but a long midnight blue robe that gives him the air of a nineteen fifties movie star. He slinks – yes, slinks – up behind Jason and if he were a woman – or Superman – he’d be smothering Jason in between his boobs. As it is, the fabric of his robe falls open around Jason’s head as his own raven haired one leans down to capture Jason’s nose then mouth, all upside down. It’s very Spiderman-esque.
Then Dick swings down into Jason’s lap, who lifts a hand to hold Dick out of instinct, while the other stays on his Star City coffee cup. Roy turns back to the stove, feeling the bitter sting of something in his throat at how Jason so easily accepted Dick’s affections this morning. Had Roy done something wrong?
Throughout breakfast, Roy is faced with the image of Dick casually contained in Jason’s lap, each of them reminiscing and occasionally bantering in that biting way they have. But instead of being cute, like Roy normally found it, it echoed flat, Jason turning his face from Roy’s kiss looming large in his mind. Dick’s hair swings around his face, helping to outline his sharp nose and chin, his plush lips, the blue of his eyes.
Roy smiles but doesn’t cut in, afraid of ruining a moment between Dick and Jay, who don’t always get along given their history. He finds himself mostly pushing his food around his plate, watching as Dick slips his hand up and under the sweatshirt that’s his.
By the time Roy has cleaned the kitchen, Dick is giving Jason a nice welcome back hand job, licking and sucking at his neck. Jason, who had seemed distracted earlier, melts into Dick, passion igniting him, a possessive curl to his hands that Roy swears he doesn’t get. Hell, it’s like he’s not even in the room, until Dick tosses his head back, separating his lips from Jason’s with a smacking noise, and flirtatiously asks, “Want to join in? Or just watch?”
And boy, does Roy want. But he still feels frigid after Jason’s cold shoulder and so he handwaves at them before slipping back into the bedroom to grab a change of clothes and his wallet. “Nah. You two kids have fun. I need to see Lian anyway. We’re going to do some back-to-school shopping with Grandpa Ollie.”
On his way out, he swears Jason’s eyes catch on him – heavy and sad – even from where Dick is sucking him off, knees on the floor, slick sounds loud as he chokes on Jason’s thick cock. When Roy turns back, though, Jason’s fisting one hand in Dick’s hair, the other holding up his body weight so he can thrust shallow down Dick’s throat, and his head is leaned back, eyes squeezed shut.
Closing the front door behind him, Roy lets his head rest on the doorframe before pulling his phone out of his pocket, determined to shake off the feeling that Jason was slipping away from him. He rubs his hand over his undercut as he walks to the elevator, feeling it prickle his palm.
“Hey, Ollie…”
From time to time, it hurts like this:
Dick lands on a bank roof in Star City, content to watch at first. What he sees is a symphony of choreography and coordination he hasn’t seen outside of the circus. Or, maybe, outside of him and Bruce, when he was smaller and went by Robin.
There’s twenty dudes of varying shapes and sizes, and most of them have guns. So does Jason, but Roy’s as effective with his arrows, never once missing a mark, even when he seems to veer wildly off course; somehow, the arrow bounces or seems to move like Raven is directing it and it still strikes home. The two vigilantes dance like they’re doing the tango with invisible partners when all they want is each other. Their steps are in sync, their backs together, one letting off a slew of bullets, the other catching a trigger finger before it can pull and hit either of them.
Dick’s so distracted by the slow burn of something in his heart, watching his former best friend and brother, now turned lovers both, that he nearly misses the twenty-first guy and only belatedly swings down the side of the building and into the fray. By the time he’s tied up the guy he crash-landed on, Jason and Roy are done, all the other men down.
He’s fascinated by how they breathe in time and lower their weapons at the same moment. Something aches inside of him; he’ll never be part of that. Jason and Roy made their own thing, after the Batfamily rejected Jason. After Dick rejected him, even as it broke his heart to send his once ‘little wing’ away. Roy and Jason helped heal each other, and whatever they have now, Dick will always be an outsider to that.
The ache is so unbearable for a moment, Dick wants to fall to his knees, bury his head in their arms and laps and beg forgiveness. It’s only because they’ve both turned to him that he keeps from running away.
“Thanks for the assist, ‘Wing,” Hood says, deep mechanical voice cracking. It seems someone got a good attempt at the helmet with a gun; the metal shows a tiny crack.
He shrugs, cool and casual as always. “Always happy to help, Outlaws,” Dick says, a smirk to his lips and tone.
The three of them begin to corral all the bodies, tying them up for Star City police, whose sirens are starting up a half mile away. They all work quietly, though Dick notices the glances Arsenal sends Red Hood’s way. If Jason weren’t wearing his helmet, he thinks the night air would be crackling with the tension.
One of the crooks shoots Nightwing a strangely thankful look. “You should stop by more often, Nightwing.”
“Yeah, didn’t have to listen to those two fags flirt it out this time.”
The second guy’s comment stops Dick in his tracks. “Excuse me?” he responds, coolly.
“Your pals,” the guy drawls, a weird west coast kind of mafia accent. “They’re gay. Married, even. They don’t like us to forget it.”
“You won’t forget it,” Hood says, stepping forward and throwing a punch that sends the asshole into unconsciousness.
“Fucking libtards,” murmurs another but before he even finishes, Arsenal is stepping in front of Hood and Nightwing, smooth and swift.
“You’re very lucky Nightwing decided to drop in, or you might have found yourself in traction,” Roy states, calm enough to bely the threat it is.
The cops show up then, tires screeching, horns wailing, and the three vigilantes leave the men to their criminal justice system. When they’re several rooftops away, Jason stops and unlatches his helmet, revealing his eye mask and sweaty, dark hair. There’s a grin on his face that’s vicious and sharp and he grabs ahold of Roy, pulling the redhead in for a kiss. The two battle it out, adrenaline likely crashing through their systems while Dick watches.
Dick eventually clears his throat. When they finally part, breathing hard, it’s like the two of them only then recall they have an observer. Jason’s cheeks turn pink, visible in the soft moonlight, while Roy smiles like the cat with the canary.
“Married?” Dick asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Not really,” Roy says, his words overlapping Jason’s snort. “They just have big imaginations for such small-minded people.”
Dick smiles, bright, knowing that if anyone looked closely, they’d see the brittle edge of it; but it’s dark, despite the moon, and Jason and Roy aren’t really focused on him. “I mean, yeah. You wouldn’t get married without me, right?”
“Never,” Jason says with a huge, teasing grin. “Us against the world, right?”
The words echo hollow in Dick’s chest. He watches Jason’s hand on Roy’s hip, the possessive grip to his fingers where they trace the hint of skin in between compression top and pants, looking adoringly at his boyfriend, eyes only for Roy.
Roy pulls away, mischievous smirk in place. “Race you back to the Arrowcave,” he says, and immediately takes off, knocking an arrow as he goes, letting it fly loose with a line that he hooks his bow to, sliding down the side of the building and across the street.
Dick watches Jason take off after, letting them go while he ponders before pursuing, doing his best to shove down the jealousy that threatens to choke him. Then, he follows.
But when it’s good, it goes like this:
Jason fucks into Dick who is busy eating out Roy, his face covered in drying cum from previous rounds, slick with his saliva as he gets that pretty, freckled ass wet. Roy’s toes curl into the mattress, his bony knees in the air as he fists himself with one hand while the other clutches the base of his cock because he doesn’t want to come yet.
Jason is mesmerized by the way Dick’s back muscles flex, how his ass shakes with each rough thrust, the way his moles seems to draw Jason’s eyes further down, down, down, until he’s caught, looking at the spot where his cock enters Dick’s tight hole. He sees how it clenches, feels the way Dick drags a moan out of him that way, how he arches and presents himself, even as his actions are tearing moans from Roy.
Roy, who stares down and up, one view Dick’s pretty face shoving itself into his ass, like Dick will starve without Roy; the other filled with Jason’s sparkling green eyes, highlighted by thick brows and the white stripe of hair that flops into his eyes. Jason adds one thumb to his cock in Dick’s hole and his eyes flick up to Roy’s, licking his lips as he does and it makes Roy keen, desperately wishing he were close enough to kiss Jason. Sweat adorns them both, lending to the masculine, sex-filled scent of the room and Roy inhales it – a hit that doesn’t hurt him.
Dick, being used in the middle, does something wicked with his tongue, even as Jason stuffs him fuller, adding a finger inside along his fat cock, and Dick comes, breathing in the freshly-washed but heavy scent of Roy as he does, his hands clawing on freckled hips.
The sensation of Dick moaning against his hole is enough to send Roy into orgasm, striping his cock faster, letting go of its base, his own cum hitting the underneath of his chin. Then Jason slips and slides on top of Dick, pushing in faster, harder, more of a grind than anything, reveling in the feel of Dick tight around him and he too comes, calling out their names.
And when it’s the best, it feels like this:
All three lay panting, limbs tangled, barely knowing where one of them starts and the third one ends. They exchange slow kisses: soft and sweet, hard and passionate, open-mouthed and dirty. There are little teases, a finger tracing a vein here, two fingers playing with cum dripping from there, a hint of clenching and grinding. But mostly, it is quiet sighs and gentle caresses. Hushed whispers of I love you and my pretty birds and thank you.
When their day and night jobs fade away and there’s nothing but touch and faith and something far deeper. It’s stronger than jealousy, bigger than insecurities, and more giving than possessiveness.
It doesn’t mean the trauma or the urge to find a hit or to run back to Gotham and hide away alone is gone. They all have their own shit and every day, the world throws something new at them. But in this room of whoever’s safe house – where the shower has three kinds of body wash and everyone has a drawer – it slips away, nothing more serious than a gentle hum. Lips and hands find each other in the darkness and it’s enough, for a while.