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You who know my heart

by Te

[Story Headers]

You who know my heart
May 16, 2004

*

Bruce is looking at him in kind of a weird way. Or...

It's not weird. There's a lot in that look he's used to, a lot that he remembers from back when... back then. Three years. And Jason knows Tim wasn't lying about that, and he knows that it couldn't have been any longer than that -- Bruce doesn't look a day older.

But he also knows that time stops meaning much of anything at all on the other side of things.

And the look in Bruce's eyes says he knows that, too.

Not that it's a surprise.

Bruce and death. Bruce is... it's hard to put into words.

Bruce knows about that, too.

He isn't touching Jason -- yet -- but Jason can feel him looking, even with his back turned. Feel him wanting. And that makes him feel the way it always did. Like there's something he needs to do, something he can do, that he has to do because... because.

What he's here for, right? Sort of. Maybe.

He wishes he knew how to ask.

Somehow it seems like all that time dead should've counted for something like a clue. Though you probably only got clues if you... left.

He can't leave. He won't.

He's home now, in the Cave, and it feels like it's been forever and it feels like...

Like if he turned around and looked over there, he could see the grinning kid he was forever and ever ago, asking Bruce how he looked. In the suit.

That's in... no. He'd grown out of the first suit. The one in that... that freaking case was actually his third and... he shakes his head, and there's a sound -- Bruce wants him to know that he's coming
closer. "Don't."

"Jay."

Don't say my name like that. Not. Not. Jason doesn't turn around. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"My first suit. The one I grew out of."

It isn't really the question he wants to ask. It's not even in the first twenty. But... it'll do for a start.

"I mean..." He turns his head. A little. Enough to see Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He tries a smile. "You keep everything, right?"

"There is... behind the suits. My suits."

"There's nothing..." Jason blinks. "You have a hidden room in here? Just for the suits we all grew out of? Wait, of course you do. You're..."

"They aren't trophies. They aren't memorials. They're..." Bruce's voice is matter-of-fact, and a little... Maybe embarrassed.

"They're yours." In their old house, when he was little, before it had all gone to shit, they'd had an attic. And his mother -- the woman he'd thought was his mother -- had kept boxes of his things.

"No. Yes."

Bruce's hand is on his shoulder, and it's another one of the things he remembers, even in this body. The gentle touch that would make Bruce Wayne snort, or be
horrified, because it isn't gentle at all.

Not with hands like that.

Batman isn't good at being gentle.

"Jay. Please look at me."

Maybe Tim knows this touch, too. In some way. In... he could ask. He could... if he looks, kind of with the edges of this vision that isn't like vision at all, because he can't actually make his eyes turn around that way, and anyway it isn't --

If he looks, he can see Tim curled up like a baby in that freaky black pearl that is and isn't Tim's mind. Their mind.

He knows that if he looks too closely, Tim will wake up again, and --

"Jay..."

He isn't actually ready for that, yet. He turns around, and Bruce's hands are on his face and he flinches. And Bruce looks like
somebody punched him. Somebody really
big, because, well, people punch Bruce all the time.

"I'm. I --"

"Bruce. Um. It's... I don't think --"

"I'm sorry."

Jason can see him steeling himself, and it's just another... he shouldn't be able to see that. He'd never been able to see that kind of thing before. Like having a voice in his head with all the answers, only not. Jason stares at the floor.

"You're right, of course. I shouldn't... I..."

It's hard to listen to Bruce practically stammer, and that little not-voice wants to tell him about embarrassment, and how
emotional stuff is hard for Bruce, and it feels like remembering and it feels like learning and... he gets it. "Oh," he
manages. And tries to figure out how to put it into words. Because...

Tim's little pearl has a few cracks now. Jason's pretty sure they're his fault. He catches Bruce's hands in his own and looks at them. The gauntlets on his hands are almost the same as Jason's had been.

Tim's hands are smaller, though, and Jason had already known that they weren't really used to doing the kinds of things he'd used his hands for. He just hadn't really thought of all the ways that was true. He can feel a laugh bubbling up the back of his throat and he swallows it back. "Bruce, I think. I think..." He takes a breath and forces himself to look up into Bruce's eyes.

Searching eyes, hungry, hopeful eyes.

And Jason can feel parts of his mind that probably aren't his at all making guesses. Making judgments. It's probably wrong that it makes this much sense. "I'm here. I'm me --"

"I know." And Bruce doesn't move his hands so much as really feel like he's about to move his hands.

"But this isn't my body --"

"I know that, too." And Bruce smiles at him in a way that makes his heart twist and his body... flinch. And Bruce isn't smiling anymore. "Jay...?"

"Uh. I think." He really needs to spit this out. "I think Tim's not really used to... this. You."

Bruce's eyes widen, and it's almost funny. Almost.

"I think..." And if he wasn't dead sure Bruce hadn't been fucking Tim before, he would be now.

Bruce backs off a step, letting go of Jason's hands, and he's got his thinking face on.

"Er..." Jason pushes a hand through his hair, and has to stop, because, really, how much gel does one kid need?

And Bruce is looking at him with another faintly amused smile, and Jason knows he'd seen all of that.

His own move. Tim's body. His reactions, Tim's body.

"Jason."

"Yeah -- whoa --"

He doesn't see the strike coming at all. By the time he sees anything, he's about four feet away from Bruce, on an angle, and... holding Tim's staff. He blinks.

"What the fuck, Bruce?"

"Testing a theory. That's one of the first attacks I trained Tim with. He knows it so well that his reactions are..." Another smile, and Jason stares down at his hand -- Tim's hand.

He's spinning the staff.

"Reflexive," Bruce says.

"Well, that's..." Not even remotely more fucked up than any of the rest of this. Jason laughs and pokes at the staff until he can figure out how to make it retract again. And tucks it away. "So... you see the problem."

"Tim's body doesn't... want the same things you do."

Jason breathes and stares at the floor. They'd never really talked about that. This. Any of it. They'd never said it baldly.

"Jay."

Maybe they should've. "I don't. I don't even know what I was to you, Bruce. I mean, I thought --"

Bruce grabs him by the chin, and his body itches with the need to do... something. Even more when Jason can see that Bruce's eyes are just... naked. Full of raw feeling.

"Bruce..."

"I loved you. I will always love you."

"I'm not --" Alive. In the right body. Who you think I am.

"You are," Bruce says, and kisses him, and it's... it's the battle of the reflexes. Tim curling and shifting inside him -- fighting, even though he's still asleep -- and Jason...

Bruce always kisses so seriously. Even when he was playing, when he was happy and just wanted... whatever he wanted. Only that's a lie, because he gets it now. Or Tim gets it and is letting him in on the secret.

Nobody loves like Bruce.

Jason pants into Bruce's mouth and Bruce slips his tongue in, and he really wants to know what Tim's deal is. It's just a kiss -- a really good, hot, kiss, and it's exactly the kind he likes the best, where Bruce is holding on to his face and just licking in, tasting him and holding him still, like he can't get enough.

Only, one, he's not going to ask Tim, or even think too much about it, because the last thing he needs is for Tim to wake up to this, and, two, if Bruce is tasting anything at all... it isn't him.

Fuck.

He works his hands up between them and pushes, and Bruce groans into his mouth and bites his lip and Jason's knees don't feel half as steady as they did a minute ago. God, how had he ever...

Bruce's need is something palpable,
physical. Like he's being touched even more than he is. Like he's --

"Jay. Don't make me stop. Please."

"Oh God --"

Bruce's hand in his hair, and the other pushing his hands aside and reaching down between them. Not even the feel of all that gel cracking and all of that new, different, wrong armor on this Robin suit is enough to make it feel like anything but Bruce touching him.

"Bruce --"

He feels the cape go, and Bruce's mouth is on his throat, sucking above the collar of Tim's -- his -- above the tunic --

"I missed you, Bruce," and it's the truth and they're the only words that will come out coherently, anyway, and Bruce growls
against his skin and tightens his hand in Jason's hair.

And pulls back, stripping down fast and efficiently.

The way he always does. For anything that voice-that-isn't says, or maybe thinks. All the missing time is on Bruce's body -- more new scars than anyone should be able to get in three years. Jason doesn't think the man's nudity has ever felt this comforting before, this validating, as if the cold dark eternity that Jason's been trying to fight his way out of is just as real as it always felt. "Too long," he says, and Bruce looks at him like he's just said the most painfully obvious thing ever.

He laughs and feels Tim shifting and reaching for it, for sound and meaning (life) and uses it, pulling Bruce back to him and down into another kiss. This makes sense. Everything he'd ever done with his body had always made sense, because Bruce was always right there with him, or mirroring him, or, God, tasting him. Like he can't get enough.

Tim's pulling back again, making Jason cold, or empty, or... no. No, it doesn't matter. Mine, he thinks, and sucks Bruce's tongue, and rubs himself against all that skin. Heat and life and pain.

Mine, he thinks, and the feel of it rolls silently down and in, swallowing all the black down and down where it should be.

Where Jason needs it to be.

Bruce breathes fast and hot against his mouth and tugs on the suit the way he always did, and... it doesn't work. Jason blinks and remembers that it isn't his suit, and feels another crack, another moment of -- no.

Bruce knows what he's doing, and gets him out of the wrong, wrong suit, and the way his fingers fumble -- a little -- is almost as comforting as the feel of his scars under Jason's fingers.

"You see me," he says, and Bruce growls and stops, one hand cupping Jason's ass and the other on his face bruisingly hard, bruisingly perfect, perfect as the way his eyes pin Jason to the world.

"I won't let you go."

Jason's knees try to buckle and Bruce lifts him, holding him against his body and yanking at the tights and shorts and everything else until Jason can kick them away and wrap his legs around Bruce's waist.

Bruce is hard, his dick a slick, hot inevitability against Jason's stomach. Jason rocks against it and Bruce says "Jay," and shoves a hand into his hair again, yanking his head back and licking his throat,
dragging his teeth along the skin and biting when Jason moans.

"I missed you," he says again. "I need you -- unh --"

Fast, moving fast, and he's up against a wall, his back is cold and Bruce is pushing against him so hard that he can't breathe, biting him --

"Bruce, yes don't stop --"

"I won't," Bruce says, and there's a wintry laugh in his voice that isn't quite right, or the same.

Bruce had always been so happy when
Jason liked it, but this seems less happy than... he isn't sure.

And then he is. Bruce is mocking himself, says that little not-voice.

Bruce is scared, Bruce couldn't stop if he tried, what are you doing to us, what are you --

Jason ignores the shifting, the twisting in the black. "I won't leave."

"No," Bruce says, and bites the other side of Jason's throat, thrusting against him and scraping Jason's back against the wall.

"I won't -- I won't -- oh God --"

Bruce's fingers in his cleft, and Jason shoves his hips forward and hears himself whine and no, okay, Tim doesn't, he hasn't, and it burns like the first time, but that's okay, too.

Jason remembers the first time, and the way Bruce had kissed him while he pushed in, the way he always did, the way he's doing right now. Licking his tongue and kissing him hard, again and again, like distracting Jason from the discomfort is an afterthought, and nowhere near as important as just kissing him.

He moans into Bruce's mouth, he pants and he takes it, and his mind knows what to make this body do.

"Mine," he breathes against Bruce's mouth, and --

Groans, because Bruce pulls out and pushes in again, one finger, big and hard enough and fucking him, fast and hard and --

"Fuck yes --"

And Bruce holds Jason's body against the wall with his own and looks at him and the smile is right, it's just right. Wide and white and fierce and hungry and Jason stares at it, into it until his eyes start to burn, until he has to throw his head back and dig his fingers into Bruce's shoulders, until he has to just ride it.

It's not enough friction for his dick, but it also doesn't really matter. It's too good.

It's everything he hasn't had in so long. A body and feeling. Sweat on his skin and teeth on his throat and the way he can't get his lungs full and --

"Everything -- Bruce..."

Bruce pauses and shifts and drives against Jason, knocking a breathless moan out of him with every thrust and fucking him in time and Jason gives up and lets himself sink a little, lets himself feel it, and even though his real back is against the cold, cave wall, his mind wants him to feel the black, the shattering, trembling (wrong) sweetness of Tim's
consciousness.

And he knows that the fact that Tim's still 'sleeping' has as much to do with what Tim needs as what he does.

I'm sorry, he thinks, and comes groaning, all over Bruce's dick and his own stomach.

Bruce shudders like some kind of localized earthquake and doesn't stop fucking him, doesn't stop thrusting against him, and his dick slides through the come between them and the smell of it --

Sex and sweat and Bruce and --

Tim, he doesn't say, he doesn't even want to think, and he feels like he's going to be sick and he feels like he's going to need to come again soon.

"Jason --"

And he knows he will.

"Oh God, Jay..."

Jason holds on tight and moves with it, takes it.

And doesn't think about the black.

end.

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Fandom:  Batman
Title:  You who know my heart
Series Name:  Drowners
Author:  Te   [email]   [website]
Details:  Series  |  NC-17  |  *slash*  |  14k  |  05/17/04
Characters:  Jason, Bruce, Tim
Pairings:  Jason/Bruce
Summary:  Jason doesn't know what he's doing, but he knows what he wants.
Notes:  Content some readers may find disturbing.
Disclaimer/Other:  Not mine by any stretch of the imagination.
Title, again, from "An Exequy" by Peter Porter.
Sequel to:  At last our starving eyes

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