[DC] Sweet as the night is long
Aug. 28th, 2009 04:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runespoorTitle: Sweet as the night is long
Fandom: DC
Pairing: Bruce/Jason
Rating: NC-17. Content some readers may find disturbing.
Summary: It's been a good night.
Notes: the request on the kink meme was for Bruce/Jason. Answering it... seemed like a good idea at the time.
It's been a good night; Batman can hear it in the bounce of Robin's steps as they return to the Batmobile.
Can hear it again in the boy's humming, tapping the rhythm of some song on his naked leg, as the car glides back on the road to Wayne Manor. Can see it, out of the corner of his cowl, in the faint, reddish trails Robin's gauntlets leave on his skin.
Can picture it in the spatter of dried blood on Robin's thighs, the scrapes on Robin's knuckles through his gauntlets, the bruises which he knows are forming, even if Robin has forgotten about them – one above his right knee, when a thug has taken a swipe at Robin's legs, and another on his left arm, when he'd protected himself against a thug using a steel bar as a club.
The shout of glee Robin had let out when he'd kicked the weapon out of his attacker's hands still echoes in Batman's ears.
Batman knows he should say something. He knows Robin could still improve, should improve, knows that Robin got hit twice tonight hard enough to leave a mark, knows that Robin's cape took three bullet holes when Robin was leaping between the shots, that there's more blood on the Robin suit than there once used to be, but... It's been a good night.
Next to him Robin is still humming, legs stretched out in front of him, lips curved into an unconscious smirk.
He stretches when the car pulls up and the roof opens. “Man, I'm beat.”
Getting out of the car, for him, involves pushing on his arms and flipping his cape over his shoulder. The yellow slips to the side, showing the red of the tunic, the muscles of his back and legs tensing. The armor in Robin's suit is light enough, thin enough, that if he touched he could feel them clench, it has to be thin and light because Robin likes the flips, and Jason hates feeling impeded by his equipment.
He'd only have to reach out; close the two feet between the wheel and Jason. Robin. Who makes a small, unnecessary grunt as he takes his legs over the side of the car; there's a flash of green underneath the red.
Batman doesn't let go of the wheel, and doesn't allow his fingers to tighten.
He doesn't look up until Jason's landed. “Bruce, you coming? Let's take a shower and hit the sack.”
It's no use pretending it's not Jason now; he may still be wearing every part of the suit, and he hasn't yet removed the domino mask, but as soon as they're off the streets Bruce knows he'd be fighting a lost battle if he tried to hide behind Batman. In the Cave, Bruce can't trick himself into thinking Jason isn't calling him every time Robin says Batman's name.
There isn't-- Bruce doesn't think there's much of a difference at all between the two, to Jason. Wherever they go Jason acts the same. And here...
“I have files to complete,” Bruce says, in as level a voice as he can project from behind the cowl. The sudden heaviness of the mask makes the body armor in his uniform into a restricting barrier. It gets in the way of his breathing, of his moves, censure or warning.
“That can wait tomorrow,” Jason says easily as he undoes the clasp and flings the cape at the pommel horse, grinning with satisfaction as it catches and doesn't fall. “C'mon, Bruce.”
He's taken the solvent from the nearby tray and is now stripping his mask, not waiting for an answer. Not doubting which it will be.
Bruce could do otherwise. He could remind Jason that updating their files is never an option, and doing so tonight, with the memory of their patrol still crystal clear, will save time tomorrow. He could occupy himself until Jason's gone to the shower, and then upstairs; he could send him off if Jason looked like he wanted to wait for him. He could stay alone, in the Cave, go to his business with precisely the care and the time required, with no rush and no other thoughts on his mind, and then he'd go to bed.
And find Jason there.
Jason, who might be naked and awake and cranky that Bruce was so long, or asleep on his side of the bed, facing the door with a hand under his pillow and the wet curls of his hair over it. But he'll be there.
Jason's room hasn't been slept in for five months.
Jason, who whips the tunic above his head and kicks the boots off, and looks at Bruce with an eyebrow raised and a spark in his eyes, challenging on purpose and lovely without trying to. He stands naked except for the shorts, bright green over his skin, too pale under the lights of the Cave, and Bruce can't keep his eyes from slipping down.
Skin that the sun doesn't graze enough. A broader frame than Bruce would've expected when he took Jason in, and the promise to grow stronger and taller still.
Legs Jason shaves, Bruce suspects, purely for the pleasure to smirk at Bruce when Bruce's hands run of their own accord on them, and for the pleasure Bruce's responses bring them both. Purpling bruises and raised scars, which Bruce has watched multiply over time, those that have always been there since Bruce met Jason, testament of his earlier life, and the ones which emergence he's counted, one by one, since then.
Some bruises are repeated on the boy's body, all on skin that would always be covered; several bear the outline of teeth. Most are fresh; it's rare that Bruce forgoes renewing the fading ones, or fails to act on the whim of adding another. Jason shivers sometimes when Bruce caresses one with the tip of a finger.
Jason has school tomorrow. In the beginning Bruce would only let Robin go on patrol on week-end nights, but... it's been a long time since Jason started going out more often than that. He would say he has earned the right, and Bruce... Bruce is grateful.
It's only logical to get out of the car and push the cowl down.
Jason grins and takes a step closer. Close enough, again, that Bruce could reach out. Reach out and touch him, all that skin Jason's never been ashamed to show him.
He'll be warm, the summer heating even the Cave, and the pommel horse is only a few meters away, or the mats, or-- the car, just behind them, like that first time. Jason's lopsided grin whenever he's going to try something around the Batmobile, which fills Bruce with pleasant warmth whenever he guesses its shape from the tilt of Jason's head and hips. The stiffness in Jason's moves, too often, afterwards.
School.
Bruce tears his eyes away and takes the gauntlets off, pressing the clasp that secures the armor to his forearms and pulling on each of the fingers, quick and precise, so he has something to do with his hands, so he can stave off the image of hard black gauntlets on Jason's rising chest from becoming true. The rest of the uniform follows; by the time he's entirely removed the pieces of Batman's armor, Jason's gone to run the showers. The sound of cascading water carries through the Cave.
In the shower he settles his hands on Jason's shoulders and Jason closes the distance between them, his body slick with water. He leans up on his toes, Bruce leans down and Jason rubs his lips against Bruce's. Bruce's arms tighten to enfold Jason more fully, keeping him closer.
When Bruce feels Jason giving small licks to his lips he opens them. Buries the fingers of one hand in Jason's thick hair and curls the others on his nape, his thumb on the pulse point beneath his ear, arranges Jason's head at the right angle – Jason crushed against him, Jason sucking on his tongue, and the hot spray of the shower over them both.
He nips playfully at Jason's lower lip. Jason's shoulders twitch as he exhales a gasp, breaking the kiss, and Bruce isn't quite surprised to find himself laughing softly, eyes open again. Looking into Jason's deceptively tender eyes, wide and his pupils blown.
They're breathing into each other's space, almost silent except to one other, shallow sounds that don't cross the curtain of rushing water. For a moment they're not moving.
Then Jason works his hand between them, makes a fist around Bruce's erection and Bruce presses Jason against the tiled wall of the shower and Jason's hips jerk when Bruce's rock against him.
“We should-- take this to bed,” Jason says, a little breathless, lips shining wet.
Jason's thighs are clamped around Bruce's hips and his hand is wrapped around Bruce's cock, wet and hot against him. His shoulders and his legs are tense, on the verge of breaking into trembles.
It would take almost nothing for Bruce to obtain that. The image is potent as it burns through his mind. Jason writhing heedlessly, cut-off sounds when Bruce pushed a finger into his cleft, Jason's hand squeezing him to urge him on...
Bruce places a kiss on Jason's collarbone.
“You're right.” His breath brings shivers to Jason's skin.
He tears his hands from the boy's body to put them on the wall on each side of Jason's head, not pinning him any longer. He can't stop looking at Jason's beautiful, beautiful eyes, and the way his lips are parted on uneven breathing. Red and slick like he's been sucking Bruce off.
Jason licks his lips as he unhooks his legs and puts a hand on Bruce's chest, pushing him away. Force the muscles in his legs to let go, clumsy. His thighs catch on Bruce's skin, sticky with new sweat; he has to grab Bruce's arms, wobbling onto him as he gets back onto his feet. Bruce is reminded of how Jason clings to him after sex. Sometimes, if the shower developed in that direction, he has to maneuver Jay upstairs. Jason's body then is soft and pliant; receptive to Bruce's wordless suggestions.
There's nothing lax about Jason right now; a simple glance downward would be enough to make sure of that. For a moment his head rests on Bruce's chest, the entire length of his body in contact with Bruce.
Then he slips out from between Bruce and the wall. Not stopping him is the hardest thing Bruce has had to do all night. When he's made no move to snatch Jason back, he turns to watch him grab the bottle of liquid soap.
Jason looks at him, sweet and sly. “Wash my back?”
Washing is ultimately useless, weighted against the certainty that they will make themselves as sweaty and dirty as they were to start with. That knowledge doesn't keep Bruce from taking the bottle and pouring some of the soap into his hand, cool and thick. Jason grins wider, and he turns away to give his back to Bruce.
They don't talk for the rest of the shower; they don't kiss, either.
Bruce rubs the soap on Jason's back slowly, methodically. Feeling Jason's muscles rolling under the skin, in a manner that has less to do with feeling him up than with comparing it with training sessions, when he corrects Jason's position, pushes him more deeply into an split. Professionally attentive, but not unaware of how the same potential he's inspecting could be employed in other situations. Not unaware that Jason's warmth, the quivers that are his instinctive reaction to Bruce's hands moving him, the strength in his limbs, are pleasing for more than... practical reasons.
He enjoys the sensation of teaching Jason with his hands to guide him, and Jason responds well to that approach. The boy is an eager student on the mats, gamely meeting the challenges Bruce sets him, never sparing himself from exertion. He will, sometimes, groan and curse softly as he performs a task, and if Bruce reminds him to watch his language--
Working with Jason on the mats is rewarding for both of them and for many reasons, not all of which Batman would label practical.
They bump against each other a few times more before leaving the showers. Bruce turned away as soon as he'd finished washing Jason's back, before he had a chance to see if Jason was as excited as he was, and be tempted again.
There are always a couple of bathrobes for Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, left in the Cave's showers. On Jason, whom they cover more than his costume, they're still too big to be anything else than obscene; as much as the skimpier ones Bruce Wayne keeps for his conquests. Jason tried one on, once, to play.
The house is empty and silent, except for Jason's footsteps, muffled by the thick carpets. Bruce has his hand on Jason's nape, playing with Jason's damp locks. A bit too long. Alfred hasn't mentioned that Jay is in need of a haircut, and Bruce had ignored, blissfully, Alfred's pointed silence. If asked he could point out that Jason has made no request, though he would be lying by omission. That Jason's hair falls long enough to obscure the flesh behind his jaw, high on his neck, serves their purposes.
As they make their way through the corridors, sometimes Bruce steals a kiss. Dives down to peck on Jason's lips, and retreats when Jason tries to deepen it. Bruce doesn't let his eyes close, and he can see Jason be surprised into closing his every time, lashes fluttering uncertainly against his cheeks, and the tiny, disappointed keens when his lips flutter open at the same time as his eyes, and his tongue flicks out.
“God, Bruce, you're a tease,” Jason accuses, moving away and shifting his hips like he wants to grind against something. The robe doesn't conceal anything.
Neither does the fire in his eyes, Jason getting worked up, the flare when Bruce laughs quietly – dives down again, just for a feel of Jason's lips. He's teasing himself as much as Jason, stopping himself from the taste, when he could have it any second he wants. And Bruce always wants it.
Jason's lips open with a smacking sound, again a moment too late. He glares, his cheeks reddening.
“Come on.”
He tugs on Bruce's sleeve, impatient. Strong; he knows how to use his training. Each of his holds, of his steps, painstakingly rehearsed for countless hours in the Cave, has been honed into an instinct, skills and weapons Jay doesn't need to think about to call upon. For a few feet Bruce is dragged behind his forceful boy, until he takes control of his steps again.
Jason doesn't like it; doesn't like being denied, for a few meaningless minutes, the imminent. “Bruce!--”
And it's a whine, or as close as Jason gets when they're still clothed. Bruce only smiles, and fondles Jason's nape, not taking his hold away, just moving his fingers. He can read the frustration on Jason's face, can read in the taut muscles of Jason's neck the efforts it takes not to butt his head back.
“Such a fuckin' tease,” Jason grumbles.
“Language,” Bruce chides mildly. He doesn't stop stroking.
Jason lets out a short bark of a laugh, and starts saying something else – doubtless full of expletives – but Bruce interrupts him by digging his fingers into the sides of his neck. The boy throws his head back, his lips moving silently, eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle locked. His pulse runs under Bruce's fingers like a mad horse, his throat works, pressure and lack of air combined. Exposed, vulnerable.
Tempting.
Carefully, Bruce runs the knuckles of his other hand on Jason's throat. Follows the shivers breaking on the thin skin, the faint shadows of uncontrolled kisses. The heartbeat he can feel pounding could be Jason's, or his. His hand is quaking, and he lets it fall again, loosening his grip.
Jason's body sags, panting. Bruce can feel him shaking a little, and wants nothing more than to kiss him until Jason comes. His willful, beautiful boy.
Jason glances at him from under his lashes, wetting his lips in a reflex. Cautious.
He's not trying to be seductive; Bruce knows enough of Jason's type of seduction by now to be aware that anything subtler than-- blinding, white-hot obscenities (loud moans calling Bruce's name; spread, naked thighs and Jason cupping himself; footage of Jason alone in the Cave, twisting on the mats, two fingers inside himself; Robin offering him a blow-job, Jay offering him a blow-job) would not be done on purpose. But Jason's hair falls in front of his eyes in a pair of heavy, perfect curls, and Bruce-- Bruce isn't sure he could deny Jason anything.
He settles for smoothing Jason's hair.
Jason eyes him almost warily, and glances away when Bruce halts. They're in front of Bruce's bedroom.
“Finally,” he says, with enough feeling that Bruce would feel like chuckling, again, if his throat wasn't suddenly dry, because Jason is opening the door, and they're walking into the room, and--
It never stops seeming huge, having Jason in this room. Having Jason.
Shutting the door behind them and Jason's hand is already on him, his thumb over the head of Bruce's cock, unhesitant and self-assured. Bruce groans.
They walk – stagger – to the bed, Bruce lost in the sweetness of Jason's palm working him, grasping Jason's hips when the back of his knees hits the mattress.
Jason lets go to brace his hands on Bruce's shoulders, plants one knee on the bed, and straddles him, shifting until they're pressed together. With one hand Bruce tangles his fingers in the curls of the back of Jason's head, with the other he rucks up the back of Jason's robe, fondling the round, perfect ass-cheek. It makes Jason thrash and mewl, his dick poking into Bruce's stomach.
And grind while Bruce is still just-- riding the course of Jason's reactions. The obvious ones, and the tiny tells that Bruce files away, precious gifts Jason doesn't know Bruce is taking.
“God, Bruce--”
He yanks Jason down by the hair and catches him into a kiss. Jason sighs and slides, boneless, against Bruce, sitting on his lap close enough that Bruce can feel his weight against his cock, his trembling thighs through the fabric, and lets Bruce do as he pleases with Jason's mouth.
And Bruce-- takes.
Cradles Jason's head as well as he can, his fingers splayed over Jason's skull to keep him in place, and licks Jason's tongue, unhurriedly. Strokes the roof of Jason's mouth, unfazed by Jason's whimpers. Jason's responses are almost clumsy, groggy, like he wants to but doesn't manage how. As if he was inexperienced – Bruce knows how much of a lie that is – or overwhelmed. Jason shudders, hands clasping, body tensing, and it's lovely to feel, but an afterthought.
Bruce pays less attention to it than he does to how Jason tastes.
To the simple fact of Jason, heated body sprawled in Bruce's lap. Intoxicating, making Bruce dizzy with how easy it would be to keep Jason like this, forever. Lift his hips and keep his thighs parted and make him sink onto Bruce's cock. Let him have his pleasure through the daze, and kiss him all the way.
It's a powerful image.
They can't do it tonight, Jason has school tomorrow, Jason must be able to sit and walk an entire day, so to prevent it Bruce grips harder Jason's hip and head. Jason jolts, whimpering loud enough that Bruce feels the vibrations through his tongue and groans in answer.
Keeps fucking Jason's mouth, slow and thorough and hard.
When he drags his hand between them, a rhythmical, focused pressure, Jason's back arches violently, splitting the kiss with a hitched cry. He thrusts against Bruce, abandoned to his need, a kind of generous frenzy that Bruce feeds upon.
Fresh, clean sweat slicking their skin, Jason's panting filling the air.
“God, Bruce – Bruce – fuck me --”
Blindly Bruce lays an open-mouthed kiss to Jason's throat. The proposition sizzles against his tongue. It is unwise, and-- beautiful--
Jason grinds against Bruce as though unaware of how moving Bruce finds him. As though Bruce was stone. And blind, and deaf to Jason's grunts. Harsh and frustrated, leagues from the pleasure he knows he can grant the boy.
“You have school tomorrow,” Bruce feels obligated to remind. If only to sate the part of himself that sees Alfred watching them over the breakfast table, and feels his unreadable looks like a stab and the almost imperceptible slump of his shoulders like a penance.
He deposits butterfly kisses on Jason's jaw between each word. Pets him with barely an attempt to regulate his wriggling.
Jason twists to meet Bruce's caresses, and doesn't laugh. Not this time, though he never fails to counter Bruce's attempts at responsibility in bed with contempt.
“Let – let me worry about school and – fuck – me--” The words are gasped, thrust for emphasis.
Jason's sentence ends in a moan when Bruce flips them over and back on the bed, over and on Jason and between his legs, and Jason's lust-dimmed eyes gleaming up at him.
In the end, Jason is wholly undeniable.
He smiles, and Bruce bends down to kiss him, starting from the corner of his lips, his ear, each of his eyelids when they drop closed, eyelashes brushing against Bruce, and he pushes his hand forward between Jason's thighs, past his sac and Jason's groans when Bruce gives it a little rub with his thumb, and inside-- he pushes the tip of his finger, startling a gasp out of Jason. Bruce feels the smile tugging at his own lips.
“Ah – lube --”
It's not the first time Bruce forgets to take the time to lean over Jay, reach for the drawer in the bedside table that has the lubricant in it, and coat himself.
It means no longer touching Jason, shifting his attention, if only for a moment, from the boy, from Jay beneath him; being unable to undress him. He can only hear Jason wiggling out of the bathrobe, feel Jason's weight shift on the mattress. He'd like to let his hands roam over Jason's skin – he could never tire of this. He wonders if the impatience that seizes him then is anything like Jason's, when the boy is whining and writhing against him as Bruce purposefully teases him; brings him to the edge and keeps him there, delighting in the sounds and the sight of Jason.
His hands are shaking.
He drops the tube of lubricant, letting it get lost on the bed, shifts so he's again positioned between Jason's legs, and pushes a finger inside. Jason jerks and hisses, was that too rough-- Bruce refrains from pushing again, adding another finger right away, fast and-- suddenly the thought of waiting is intolerable. And that-- He forces himself to retract his finger slightly, withdrawing from the tight, flexing heat so he won't force himself into Jason.
Jason throws himself up, clutching Bruce's arm, pushing him back into himself.
“Don't stop, just cold – don't fucking stop,” he-- threatens? demands?
He's pumping his hips in tiny, unsteady circles, his feet braced on the bed, his breath rasping, and Bruce – gives in.
Pushes Jason's hands out of the way, pushes two other fingers into him, and pushes his weight onto Jason. Exactly like he's thought about since Jason tilted his hips and inched his feet apart back in the shower. Grips one thigh and spreads it farther apart, fast, driving down – in the crook between Jason's thigh and his ass, over his own hand, against Jason's hard cock. Pays no attention to the initial resistance of Jason's muscles until they give in, go with it and Jason squalls.
He's shaking so badly it takes him two tries before he manages to fling his leg over Bruce's shoulder, to get him closer. Bruce thrusts again. It twists Jason's body into a convulsion, and makes Jason bite down on his lip to swallow his scream. Bruce can hear the high, loud whine behind it.
He can still hear it when he pulls out of Jason, braces himself on Jason's thigh, and shoves himself into place. Into Jason. Knocking another wail out of him before the first is even finished.
“Oh, fuck--”
The vulgarity breaks as Bruce finally lets himself slam into the sweet familiarity of Jason's body, then turns into a succession of moans and pleading. Reckless. Impassioned. Like nothing matters to Jason as much as what they're doing together. Nothing does.
“Fuck, harder --”
The boy is gasping, his throat arched tautly, shaking, and still he asks – he demands – more.
Jason is never content with just – what is. Robin never stops testing limits, testing himself, pushing and pushing and making himself better – and making the world better. He always questions, goes straight in the face of – everything that stands in the way of what they do. And Bruce, though he has to rein in Jason's enthusiasm, can't entirely deny Jason's belief that he fights against everything that stands in the way of true justice. He can't, he doesn't want to. Jason is his partner.
It means just as much here as it does on the streets. Jason smiles the same; and the sharp exhilaration in his face sends the same thrills through Bruce. Jason is no less desirable spread and gasping on Bruce's bed than he is punching a rapist's teeth out; no less essential when they're making love than when he catches Bruce's hand to launch into a flip.
Refusing him would be no more bearable than being deprived of Robin's laughter. No more possible than stopping the smile and the surge of happiness when Jason moans again.
“Harder, Bruce – yes --”
Jason is spasming in a way that means he's close. The sounds he makes are getting increasingly desperate, short and pained. Jason never looks as vulnerable as when he wants Bruce to show him he loves him.
“Fuck me-- please, Bruce--”
As gently as he can manage, Bruce puts a hand on Jason's throat. Jason's eyes widen and he nods breathlessly.
“Yes – do it--”
Bruce squeezes. Beneath his hold, Jason's pleading is cut along with his air. His spasms are getting closer, compelling Bruce's body to earn every vibration, to go deeper for them, and Bruce does, not taking his eyes away from Jason's face, his lips swollen and parted, all of him an invitation for Bruce to take, until Jason's eyes roll back, his back arches off the bed, and he comes with a choked scream.
Bruce releases the pressure on Jason's neck to let him take deep, coughing breaths, and laugh.
“Fuck, Bruce – oh, man – that was--”
He doesn't let him complete the sentence. When he closes his fingers over Jason's neck again and leans in, Jason tips his head to meet his lips and his eyelids slide closed.
His body is mellow, sated, and warm. His leg gives way and folds immediately when Bruce clutches it harder, nails scraping through the sheen of sweat, and spreads it wider again, drawing their bodies closer together. Bruce pushes into Jason like he's trying to meld them, and he grinds and thrusts and feels Jason's hips rolling with the motions he imposes on them. Lets him use it-- him however he needs to.
Fifty seconds-- Jason's eyes are turning wild, he's going to need to breathe soon, clenching harder around Bruce with every breath he misses--
Bruce pushes his tongue into Jason's mouth, inciting Jason to respond. Distract him from the lack of air, letting small moans pour into the boy's mouth.
When Jason's teeth bite into his lip, everything becomes white. Maybe he shouts something; he only hears, from far away, Robin laughing in Jason's raucous voice.
For several golden minutes they're as silent as their ragged breathing lets them be. When Jason's chest has stopped wheezing, he lifts his eyes to Jason's neck. He's been stroking it since the aftershock of the orgasm left him aware of more than the shattering bliss to be attained in Jason's body. Tender without thinking.
“Oh,” Bruce says faintly. The shape of his fingers can still be made out on the reddened skin. “I-- there'll be a mark.”
Wordlessly, Jason grabs Bruce's other hand and brings it to his waist, and smiles sharply behind his lashes.
“Don't worry about the marks.”
Jason's voice sounds raw.
And even though Bruce isn't convinced, he doesn't reply. Just curls his hand over Jason's hip and keeps on petting him.
Fandom: DC
Pairing: Bruce/Jason
Rating: NC-17. Content some readers may find disturbing.
Summary: It's been a good night.
Notes: the request on the kink meme was for Bruce/Jason. Answering it... seemed like a good idea at the time.
It's been a good night; Batman can hear it in the bounce of Robin's steps as they return to the Batmobile.
Can hear it again in the boy's humming, tapping the rhythm of some song on his naked leg, as the car glides back on the road to Wayne Manor. Can see it, out of the corner of his cowl, in the faint, reddish trails Robin's gauntlets leave on his skin.
Can picture it in the spatter of dried blood on Robin's thighs, the scrapes on Robin's knuckles through his gauntlets, the bruises which he knows are forming, even if Robin has forgotten about them – one above his right knee, when a thug has taken a swipe at Robin's legs, and another on his left arm, when he'd protected himself against a thug using a steel bar as a club.
The shout of glee Robin had let out when he'd kicked the weapon out of his attacker's hands still echoes in Batman's ears.
Batman knows he should say something. He knows Robin could still improve, should improve, knows that Robin got hit twice tonight hard enough to leave a mark, knows that Robin's cape took three bullet holes when Robin was leaping between the shots, that there's more blood on the Robin suit than there once used to be, but... It's been a good night.
Next to him Robin is still humming, legs stretched out in front of him, lips curved into an unconscious smirk.
He stretches when the car pulls up and the roof opens. “Man, I'm beat.”
Getting out of the car, for him, involves pushing on his arms and flipping his cape over his shoulder. The yellow slips to the side, showing the red of the tunic, the muscles of his back and legs tensing. The armor in Robin's suit is light enough, thin enough, that if he touched he could feel them clench, it has to be thin and light because Robin likes the flips, and Jason hates feeling impeded by his equipment.
He'd only have to reach out; close the two feet between the wheel and Jason. Robin. Who makes a small, unnecessary grunt as he takes his legs over the side of the car; there's a flash of green underneath the red.
Batman doesn't let go of the wheel, and doesn't allow his fingers to tighten.
He doesn't look up until Jason's landed. “Bruce, you coming? Let's take a shower and hit the sack.”
It's no use pretending it's not Jason now; he may still be wearing every part of the suit, and he hasn't yet removed the domino mask, but as soon as they're off the streets Bruce knows he'd be fighting a lost battle if he tried to hide behind Batman. In the Cave, Bruce can't trick himself into thinking Jason isn't calling him every time Robin says Batman's name.
There isn't-- Bruce doesn't think there's much of a difference at all between the two, to Jason. Wherever they go Jason acts the same. And here...
“I have files to complete,” Bruce says, in as level a voice as he can project from behind the cowl. The sudden heaviness of the mask makes the body armor in his uniform into a restricting barrier. It gets in the way of his breathing, of his moves, censure or warning.
“That can wait tomorrow,” Jason says easily as he undoes the clasp and flings the cape at the pommel horse, grinning with satisfaction as it catches and doesn't fall. “C'mon, Bruce.”
He's taken the solvent from the nearby tray and is now stripping his mask, not waiting for an answer. Not doubting which it will be.
Bruce could do otherwise. He could remind Jason that updating their files is never an option, and doing so tonight, with the memory of their patrol still crystal clear, will save time tomorrow. He could occupy himself until Jason's gone to the shower, and then upstairs; he could send him off if Jason looked like he wanted to wait for him. He could stay alone, in the Cave, go to his business with precisely the care and the time required, with no rush and no other thoughts on his mind, and then he'd go to bed.
And find Jason there.
Jason, who might be naked and awake and cranky that Bruce was so long, or asleep on his side of the bed, facing the door with a hand under his pillow and the wet curls of his hair over it. But he'll be there.
Jason's room hasn't been slept in for five months.
Jason, who whips the tunic above his head and kicks the boots off, and looks at Bruce with an eyebrow raised and a spark in his eyes, challenging on purpose and lovely without trying to. He stands naked except for the shorts, bright green over his skin, too pale under the lights of the Cave, and Bruce can't keep his eyes from slipping down.
Skin that the sun doesn't graze enough. A broader frame than Bruce would've expected when he took Jason in, and the promise to grow stronger and taller still.
Legs Jason shaves, Bruce suspects, purely for the pleasure to smirk at Bruce when Bruce's hands run of their own accord on them, and for the pleasure Bruce's responses bring them both. Purpling bruises and raised scars, which Bruce has watched multiply over time, those that have always been there since Bruce met Jason, testament of his earlier life, and the ones which emergence he's counted, one by one, since then.
Some bruises are repeated on the boy's body, all on skin that would always be covered; several bear the outline of teeth. Most are fresh; it's rare that Bruce forgoes renewing the fading ones, or fails to act on the whim of adding another. Jason shivers sometimes when Bruce caresses one with the tip of a finger.
Jason has school tomorrow. In the beginning Bruce would only let Robin go on patrol on week-end nights, but... it's been a long time since Jason started going out more often than that. He would say he has earned the right, and Bruce... Bruce is grateful.
It's only logical to get out of the car and push the cowl down.
Jason grins and takes a step closer. Close enough, again, that Bruce could reach out. Reach out and touch him, all that skin Jason's never been ashamed to show him.
He'll be warm, the summer heating even the Cave, and the pommel horse is only a few meters away, or the mats, or-- the car, just behind them, like that first time. Jason's lopsided grin whenever he's going to try something around the Batmobile, which fills Bruce with pleasant warmth whenever he guesses its shape from the tilt of Jason's head and hips. The stiffness in Jason's moves, too often, afterwards.
School.
Bruce tears his eyes away and takes the gauntlets off, pressing the clasp that secures the armor to his forearms and pulling on each of the fingers, quick and precise, so he has something to do with his hands, so he can stave off the image of hard black gauntlets on Jason's rising chest from becoming true. The rest of the uniform follows; by the time he's entirely removed the pieces of Batman's armor, Jason's gone to run the showers. The sound of cascading water carries through the Cave.
In the shower he settles his hands on Jason's shoulders and Jason closes the distance between them, his body slick with water. He leans up on his toes, Bruce leans down and Jason rubs his lips against Bruce's. Bruce's arms tighten to enfold Jason more fully, keeping him closer.
When Bruce feels Jason giving small licks to his lips he opens them. Buries the fingers of one hand in Jason's thick hair and curls the others on his nape, his thumb on the pulse point beneath his ear, arranges Jason's head at the right angle – Jason crushed against him, Jason sucking on his tongue, and the hot spray of the shower over them both.
He nips playfully at Jason's lower lip. Jason's shoulders twitch as he exhales a gasp, breaking the kiss, and Bruce isn't quite surprised to find himself laughing softly, eyes open again. Looking into Jason's deceptively tender eyes, wide and his pupils blown.
They're breathing into each other's space, almost silent except to one other, shallow sounds that don't cross the curtain of rushing water. For a moment they're not moving.
Then Jason works his hand between them, makes a fist around Bruce's erection and Bruce presses Jason against the tiled wall of the shower and Jason's hips jerk when Bruce's rock against him.
“We should-- take this to bed,” Jason says, a little breathless, lips shining wet.
Jason's thighs are clamped around Bruce's hips and his hand is wrapped around Bruce's cock, wet and hot against him. His shoulders and his legs are tense, on the verge of breaking into trembles.
It would take almost nothing for Bruce to obtain that. The image is potent as it burns through his mind. Jason writhing heedlessly, cut-off sounds when Bruce pushed a finger into his cleft, Jason's hand squeezing him to urge him on...
Bruce places a kiss on Jason's collarbone.
“You're right.” His breath brings shivers to Jason's skin.
He tears his hands from the boy's body to put them on the wall on each side of Jason's head, not pinning him any longer. He can't stop looking at Jason's beautiful, beautiful eyes, and the way his lips are parted on uneven breathing. Red and slick like he's been sucking Bruce off.
Jason licks his lips as he unhooks his legs and puts a hand on Bruce's chest, pushing him away. Force the muscles in his legs to let go, clumsy. His thighs catch on Bruce's skin, sticky with new sweat; he has to grab Bruce's arms, wobbling onto him as he gets back onto his feet. Bruce is reminded of how Jason clings to him after sex. Sometimes, if the shower developed in that direction, he has to maneuver Jay upstairs. Jason's body then is soft and pliant; receptive to Bruce's wordless suggestions.
There's nothing lax about Jason right now; a simple glance downward would be enough to make sure of that. For a moment his head rests on Bruce's chest, the entire length of his body in contact with Bruce.
Then he slips out from between Bruce and the wall. Not stopping him is the hardest thing Bruce has had to do all night. When he's made no move to snatch Jason back, he turns to watch him grab the bottle of liquid soap.
Jason looks at him, sweet and sly. “Wash my back?”
Washing is ultimately useless, weighted against the certainty that they will make themselves as sweaty and dirty as they were to start with. That knowledge doesn't keep Bruce from taking the bottle and pouring some of the soap into his hand, cool and thick. Jason grins wider, and he turns away to give his back to Bruce.
They don't talk for the rest of the shower; they don't kiss, either.
Bruce rubs the soap on Jason's back slowly, methodically. Feeling Jason's muscles rolling under the skin, in a manner that has less to do with feeling him up than with comparing it with training sessions, when he corrects Jason's position, pushes him more deeply into an split. Professionally attentive, but not unaware of how the same potential he's inspecting could be employed in other situations. Not unaware that Jason's warmth, the quivers that are his instinctive reaction to Bruce's hands moving him, the strength in his limbs, are pleasing for more than... practical reasons.
He enjoys the sensation of teaching Jason with his hands to guide him, and Jason responds well to that approach. The boy is an eager student on the mats, gamely meeting the challenges Bruce sets him, never sparing himself from exertion. He will, sometimes, groan and curse softly as he performs a task, and if Bruce reminds him to watch his language--
Working with Jason on the mats is rewarding for both of them and for many reasons, not all of which Batman would label practical.
They bump against each other a few times more before leaving the showers. Bruce turned away as soon as he'd finished washing Jason's back, before he had a chance to see if Jason was as excited as he was, and be tempted again.
There are always a couple of bathrobes for Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, left in the Cave's showers. On Jason, whom they cover more than his costume, they're still too big to be anything else than obscene; as much as the skimpier ones Bruce Wayne keeps for his conquests. Jason tried one on, once, to play.
The house is empty and silent, except for Jason's footsteps, muffled by the thick carpets. Bruce has his hand on Jason's nape, playing with Jason's damp locks. A bit too long. Alfred hasn't mentioned that Jay is in need of a haircut, and Bruce had ignored, blissfully, Alfred's pointed silence. If asked he could point out that Jason has made no request, though he would be lying by omission. That Jason's hair falls long enough to obscure the flesh behind his jaw, high on his neck, serves their purposes.
As they make their way through the corridors, sometimes Bruce steals a kiss. Dives down to peck on Jason's lips, and retreats when Jason tries to deepen it. Bruce doesn't let his eyes close, and he can see Jason be surprised into closing his every time, lashes fluttering uncertainly against his cheeks, and the tiny, disappointed keens when his lips flutter open at the same time as his eyes, and his tongue flicks out.
“God, Bruce, you're a tease,” Jason accuses, moving away and shifting his hips like he wants to grind against something. The robe doesn't conceal anything.
Neither does the fire in his eyes, Jason getting worked up, the flare when Bruce laughs quietly – dives down again, just for a feel of Jason's lips. He's teasing himself as much as Jason, stopping himself from the taste, when he could have it any second he wants. And Bruce always wants it.
Jason's lips open with a smacking sound, again a moment too late. He glares, his cheeks reddening.
“Come on.”
He tugs on Bruce's sleeve, impatient. Strong; he knows how to use his training. Each of his holds, of his steps, painstakingly rehearsed for countless hours in the Cave, has been honed into an instinct, skills and weapons Jay doesn't need to think about to call upon. For a few feet Bruce is dragged behind his forceful boy, until he takes control of his steps again.
Jason doesn't like it; doesn't like being denied, for a few meaningless minutes, the imminent. “Bruce!--”
And it's a whine, or as close as Jason gets when they're still clothed. Bruce only smiles, and fondles Jason's nape, not taking his hold away, just moving his fingers. He can read the frustration on Jason's face, can read in the taut muscles of Jason's neck the efforts it takes not to butt his head back.
“Such a fuckin' tease,” Jason grumbles.
“Language,” Bruce chides mildly. He doesn't stop stroking.
Jason lets out a short bark of a laugh, and starts saying something else – doubtless full of expletives – but Bruce interrupts him by digging his fingers into the sides of his neck. The boy throws his head back, his lips moving silently, eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle locked. His pulse runs under Bruce's fingers like a mad horse, his throat works, pressure and lack of air combined. Exposed, vulnerable.
Tempting.
Carefully, Bruce runs the knuckles of his other hand on Jason's throat. Follows the shivers breaking on the thin skin, the faint shadows of uncontrolled kisses. The heartbeat he can feel pounding could be Jason's, or his. His hand is quaking, and he lets it fall again, loosening his grip.
Jason's body sags, panting. Bruce can feel him shaking a little, and wants nothing more than to kiss him until Jason comes. His willful, beautiful boy.
Jason glances at him from under his lashes, wetting his lips in a reflex. Cautious.
He's not trying to be seductive; Bruce knows enough of Jason's type of seduction by now to be aware that anything subtler than-- blinding, white-hot obscenities (loud moans calling Bruce's name; spread, naked thighs and Jason cupping himself; footage of Jason alone in the Cave, twisting on the mats, two fingers inside himself; Robin offering him a blow-job, Jay offering him a blow-job) would not be done on purpose. But Jason's hair falls in front of his eyes in a pair of heavy, perfect curls, and Bruce-- Bruce isn't sure he could deny Jason anything.
He settles for smoothing Jason's hair.
Jason eyes him almost warily, and glances away when Bruce halts. They're in front of Bruce's bedroom.
“Finally,” he says, with enough feeling that Bruce would feel like chuckling, again, if his throat wasn't suddenly dry, because Jason is opening the door, and they're walking into the room, and--
It never stops seeming huge, having Jason in this room. Having Jason.
Shutting the door behind them and Jason's hand is already on him, his thumb over the head of Bruce's cock, unhesitant and self-assured. Bruce groans.
They walk – stagger – to the bed, Bruce lost in the sweetness of Jason's palm working him, grasping Jason's hips when the back of his knees hits the mattress.
Jason lets go to brace his hands on Bruce's shoulders, plants one knee on the bed, and straddles him, shifting until they're pressed together. With one hand Bruce tangles his fingers in the curls of the back of Jason's head, with the other he rucks up the back of Jason's robe, fondling the round, perfect ass-cheek. It makes Jason thrash and mewl, his dick poking into Bruce's stomach.
And grind while Bruce is still just-- riding the course of Jason's reactions. The obvious ones, and the tiny tells that Bruce files away, precious gifts Jason doesn't know Bruce is taking.
“God, Bruce--”
He yanks Jason down by the hair and catches him into a kiss. Jason sighs and slides, boneless, against Bruce, sitting on his lap close enough that Bruce can feel his weight against his cock, his trembling thighs through the fabric, and lets Bruce do as he pleases with Jason's mouth.
And Bruce-- takes.
Cradles Jason's head as well as he can, his fingers splayed over Jason's skull to keep him in place, and licks Jason's tongue, unhurriedly. Strokes the roof of Jason's mouth, unfazed by Jason's whimpers. Jason's responses are almost clumsy, groggy, like he wants to but doesn't manage how. As if he was inexperienced – Bruce knows how much of a lie that is – or overwhelmed. Jason shudders, hands clasping, body tensing, and it's lovely to feel, but an afterthought.
Bruce pays less attention to it than he does to how Jason tastes.
To the simple fact of Jason, heated body sprawled in Bruce's lap. Intoxicating, making Bruce dizzy with how easy it would be to keep Jason like this, forever. Lift his hips and keep his thighs parted and make him sink onto Bruce's cock. Let him have his pleasure through the daze, and kiss him all the way.
It's a powerful image.
They can't do it tonight, Jason has school tomorrow, Jason must be able to sit and walk an entire day, so to prevent it Bruce grips harder Jason's hip and head. Jason jolts, whimpering loud enough that Bruce feels the vibrations through his tongue and groans in answer.
Keeps fucking Jason's mouth, slow and thorough and hard.
When he drags his hand between them, a rhythmical, focused pressure, Jason's back arches violently, splitting the kiss with a hitched cry. He thrusts against Bruce, abandoned to his need, a kind of generous frenzy that Bruce feeds upon.
Fresh, clean sweat slicking their skin, Jason's panting filling the air.
“God, Bruce – Bruce – fuck me --”
Blindly Bruce lays an open-mouthed kiss to Jason's throat. The proposition sizzles against his tongue. It is unwise, and-- beautiful--
Jason grinds against Bruce as though unaware of how moving Bruce finds him. As though Bruce was stone. And blind, and deaf to Jason's grunts. Harsh and frustrated, leagues from the pleasure he knows he can grant the boy.
“You have school tomorrow,” Bruce feels obligated to remind. If only to sate the part of himself that sees Alfred watching them over the breakfast table, and feels his unreadable looks like a stab and the almost imperceptible slump of his shoulders like a penance.
He deposits butterfly kisses on Jason's jaw between each word. Pets him with barely an attempt to regulate his wriggling.
Jason twists to meet Bruce's caresses, and doesn't laugh. Not this time, though he never fails to counter Bruce's attempts at responsibility in bed with contempt.
“Let – let me worry about school and – fuck – me--” The words are gasped, thrust for emphasis.
Jason's sentence ends in a moan when Bruce flips them over and back on the bed, over and on Jason and between his legs, and Jason's lust-dimmed eyes gleaming up at him.
In the end, Jason is wholly undeniable.
He smiles, and Bruce bends down to kiss him, starting from the corner of his lips, his ear, each of his eyelids when they drop closed, eyelashes brushing against Bruce, and he pushes his hand forward between Jason's thighs, past his sac and Jason's groans when Bruce gives it a little rub with his thumb, and inside-- he pushes the tip of his finger, startling a gasp out of Jason. Bruce feels the smile tugging at his own lips.
“Ah – lube --”
It's not the first time Bruce forgets to take the time to lean over Jay, reach for the drawer in the bedside table that has the lubricant in it, and coat himself.
It means no longer touching Jason, shifting his attention, if only for a moment, from the boy, from Jay beneath him; being unable to undress him. He can only hear Jason wiggling out of the bathrobe, feel Jason's weight shift on the mattress. He'd like to let his hands roam over Jason's skin – he could never tire of this. He wonders if the impatience that seizes him then is anything like Jason's, when the boy is whining and writhing against him as Bruce purposefully teases him; brings him to the edge and keeps him there, delighting in the sounds and the sight of Jason.
His hands are shaking.
He drops the tube of lubricant, letting it get lost on the bed, shifts so he's again positioned between Jason's legs, and pushes a finger inside. Jason jerks and hisses, was that too rough-- Bruce refrains from pushing again, adding another finger right away, fast and-- suddenly the thought of waiting is intolerable. And that-- He forces himself to retract his finger slightly, withdrawing from the tight, flexing heat so he won't force himself into Jason.
Jason throws himself up, clutching Bruce's arm, pushing him back into himself.
“Don't stop, just cold – don't fucking stop,” he-- threatens? demands?
He's pumping his hips in tiny, unsteady circles, his feet braced on the bed, his breath rasping, and Bruce – gives in.
Pushes Jason's hands out of the way, pushes two other fingers into him, and pushes his weight onto Jason. Exactly like he's thought about since Jason tilted his hips and inched his feet apart back in the shower. Grips one thigh and spreads it farther apart, fast, driving down – in the crook between Jason's thigh and his ass, over his own hand, against Jason's hard cock. Pays no attention to the initial resistance of Jason's muscles until they give in, go with it and Jason squalls.
He's shaking so badly it takes him two tries before he manages to fling his leg over Bruce's shoulder, to get him closer. Bruce thrusts again. It twists Jason's body into a convulsion, and makes Jason bite down on his lip to swallow his scream. Bruce can hear the high, loud whine behind it.
He can still hear it when he pulls out of Jason, braces himself on Jason's thigh, and shoves himself into place. Into Jason. Knocking another wail out of him before the first is even finished.
“Oh, fuck--”
The vulgarity breaks as Bruce finally lets himself slam into the sweet familiarity of Jason's body, then turns into a succession of moans and pleading. Reckless. Impassioned. Like nothing matters to Jason as much as what they're doing together. Nothing does.
“Fuck, harder --”
The boy is gasping, his throat arched tautly, shaking, and still he asks – he demands – more.
Jason is never content with just – what is. Robin never stops testing limits, testing himself, pushing and pushing and making himself better – and making the world better. He always questions, goes straight in the face of – everything that stands in the way of what they do. And Bruce, though he has to rein in Jason's enthusiasm, can't entirely deny Jason's belief that he fights against everything that stands in the way of true justice. He can't, he doesn't want to. Jason is his partner.
It means just as much here as it does on the streets. Jason smiles the same; and the sharp exhilaration in his face sends the same thrills through Bruce. Jason is no less desirable spread and gasping on Bruce's bed than he is punching a rapist's teeth out; no less essential when they're making love than when he catches Bruce's hand to launch into a flip.
Refusing him would be no more bearable than being deprived of Robin's laughter. No more possible than stopping the smile and the surge of happiness when Jason moans again.
“Harder, Bruce – yes --”
Jason is spasming in a way that means he's close. The sounds he makes are getting increasingly desperate, short and pained. Jason never looks as vulnerable as when he wants Bruce to show him he loves him.
“Fuck me-- please, Bruce--”
As gently as he can manage, Bruce puts a hand on Jason's throat. Jason's eyes widen and he nods breathlessly.
“Yes – do it--”
Bruce squeezes. Beneath his hold, Jason's pleading is cut along with his air. His spasms are getting closer, compelling Bruce's body to earn every vibration, to go deeper for them, and Bruce does, not taking his eyes away from Jason's face, his lips swollen and parted, all of him an invitation for Bruce to take, until Jason's eyes roll back, his back arches off the bed, and he comes with a choked scream.
Bruce releases the pressure on Jason's neck to let him take deep, coughing breaths, and laugh.
“Fuck, Bruce – oh, man – that was--”
He doesn't let him complete the sentence. When he closes his fingers over Jason's neck again and leans in, Jason tips his head to meet his lips and his eyelids slide closed.
His body is mellow, sated, and warm. His leg gives way and folds immediately when Bruce clutches it harder, nails scraping through the sheen of sweat, and spreads it wider again, drawing their bodies closer together. Bruce pushes into Jason like he's trying to meld them, and he grinds and thrusts and feels Jason's hips rolling with the motions he imposes on them. Lets him use it-- him however he needs to.
Fifty seconds-- Jason's eyes are turning wild, he's going to need to breathe soon, clenching harder around Bruce with every breath he misses--
Bruce pushes his tongue into Jason's mouth, inciting Jason to respond. Distract him from the lack of air, letting small moans pour into the boy's mouth.
When Jason's teeth bite into his lip, everything becomes white. Maybe he shouts something; he only hears, from far away, Robin laughing in Jason's raucous voice.
For several golden minutes they're as silent as their ragged breathing lets them be. When Jason's chest has stopped wheezing, he lifts his eyes to Jason's neck. He's been stroking it since the aftershock of the orgasm left him aware of more than the shattering bliss to be attained in Jason's body. Tender without thinking.
“Oh,” Bruce says faintly. The shape of his fingers can still be made out on the reddened skin. “I-- there'll be a mark.”
Wordlessly, Jason grabs Bruce's other hand and brings it to his waist, and smiles sharply behind his lashes.
“Don't worry about the marks.”
Jason's voice sounds raw.
And even though Bruce isn't convinced, he doesn't reply. Just curls his hand over Jason's hip and keeps on petting him.
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Date: 2009-08-28 11:47 am (UTC)That was really hot!
Really well done!
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Date: 2009-08-31 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 09:30 pm (UTC)I'm glad that the wrong comes through a little. Bruce tries so hard to be a good man. He's concerned about Jason going to school on too little sleep! He's a good man, really! He tries to convince himself he is! (He only manages to do the self-flagellating when Jason's not there. His good intentions don't last long in Jason's company.)
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Date: 2010-06-15 05:44 pm (UTC)It helps that Bruce/Jason is my all-time OTP, and the way you wrote their dynamic here is PERFECTION - with Jason being ever-strong and open and
pushing, no, brave, and Bruce ever-controlled and desiring and unable to resist and yet always aware.Details like: Bruce's concerns about marking Jason and yet how at the same time it is obvs a fetish for him; the full stop when responsibilities remind Bruce, and then the fall back into getting pulled down again; the Robin into Jason into Robin that goes through Bruce's mind; Jason's Robin-ness and bounciness - but beyond that his skill (as purely Jason) at undoing Bruce. And that line about them fighting for true justice in bed just kind of blew my mind. If anything can justify them, that can, and it always makes sense to me with Batman/Robin.
Plus this fic is pure porn for me, and so incredibly hot - the hottest thing I've read in a long, long while. I keep wanting to go back and quote my fave things, but I would quote the whole fic. There's not a word out of place. But little kinky things like the bite marks and the choking and Bruce almost forgetting lube and Jason's sounds and shaking and the green shorts and black gloves, and god, even the robes, and the showers and Bruce's bed - okay, so it helps that I find most things about them kinky, but you managed to hint at or include so much.
A friend rec'd this to me and I think I will return the favor at my own LJ if you don't mind, and I've already memoried it, and I'll probably just keep it open to read it even more, and go read your other Bruce/Jason fics and spam you some more, and if there's anything else I can think of, do that too. THANK YOU!
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Date: 2010-06-16 08:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-18 05:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-11 03:02 am (UTC)BTW, can i friend you?
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Date: 2010-08-11 06:32 pm (UTC)Of course! I have an open friending policy.
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Date: 2010-08-20 05:27 am (UTC)*bows*
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Date: 2011-04-17 05:26 pm (UTC)♥
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Date: 2011-07-30 08:01 pm (UTC)