Spoilers: AU for "Countdown: Search for Ray Palmer"
Warnings: violence, language, vampirism, masturbation, Jason Todd/Dick Grayson pairing
Word Count: 1637
Summary: Reason takes a holiday.
Word of the Day: deucedly - adverb:
(Deucedly is related to the word deuce which refers to the face of a die with one dot, as in "to roll deuces." It comes from the Latin word for two, duos. In the mid-1600s, it became associated with bad luck, probably because it was the lowest score you could get when playing dice.)
Part Two of the "No Fate" alternate ending. Part one here
Jason keep his eyes shut tight, tucks his chin to his chest -- turning away really just exposes the important blood vessels to seeking vampire claws or fangs, and even though he's wearing protective body armor that covers his neck, he doesn't want to risk anything -- and wishes he had a way to block out their voices. Or at least, a way to block out the voices without sacrificing his sense of hearing.
"They called you Jason." The vampire leans closer, his pale, yellowish wings fluttering a moment before they fold on his back. He draws in a deep breath, tasting Jason's scent. "I remember."
His big hands pin Jason down at the wrists, and his body is heavy enough to keep Jason down. It's wrong. For a moment, Jason's memories cloud his mind -- Dick's arm around his shoulders and Dick's smile, bright and fond and no longer forced, at the forefront; it's an old memory, a before-I-died memory, a thing long lost -- and he doesn't answer the creature who has him restrained.
It's been a month since he left the others, since the others left him here. Maybe Donna will convince them to come back when (if) they find their world's Ray Palmer. Maybe Bob will just come back and kill him, like his brother did with Duela. Jason doesn't care either way -- hasn't cared. He's spent the month hunting the other vampires and tracking "The Bat-Man".
Not that he's faced off with Bruce very much. Dick, though... Dick has been skulking around as Jason cuts a path through the vampire scum that hold Gotham in their sway. Jason's training as Robin, his years preparing to be the Red Hood, have definitely made him better at vampire killing that this world's Dick ever was. They've fought a couple times.
They've been here before.
Jason twists and tries to get purchase with his feet to help shove off the vampire. Dick growls and tightens his grip on Jason's wrists, drawing a low whine of pain from Jason that he can't suppress.
"You've been killing the others. Putting down every vampire in the city limits that you can get your hands on."
"No shit, Fang Wonder." It's not the most inspired wordplay, but Jason figures it's better than nothing. He can't get free, and he's pretty sure he's going to die.
Dick laughs. He hasn't been a vampire as long as Bruce has -- just a few weeks, in comparison to Bruce's years as a bloodsucker -- so his voice still sounds like his own. His enhanced hearing clues him in to the way Jason's heart speeds up when he laughs, and Dick wonders once again why he has this effect on the man. He can't remember ever meeting Jason before the disaster of trying to kill the Bat-Man. He kind of wishes that he had. He leans close, flicking his tongue against the curve of Jason's ear and relishing the flinch that gets him.
"Thank you..." he breathes.
Jason startles once more, blue-green eyes wide as he turns his head to look at Dick. Dick laughs again, softly, and runs a clawed hand along the side of Jason's face, caressing his neck. Jason shivers at his touch, and Dick can't resist digging a sharp, curved claw against his jaw, opening a long, shallow cut that wells with blood.
Jason gasps. Dick wants to kiss those parted lips -- a purely human impulse, overriding the bloodlust that shrieks hunger in his brain -- but his twisted, fanged mouth makes that impossible. Instead, he runs his tongue along the thin cut, shuddering as he finally tastes...
"Oh shit, oh god..." Jason whimpers. This time, when he bucks against Dick, it's not to break the vampire's hold.
Dick moans quietly, knowing that he has to get Jason away before they're both too far gone. "Fuck-- hit me."
"What..?" Jason blinks stupidly at him.
Dick huffs, an annoyed sound that Jason is terribly familiar with.
Then Dick lets go of his right wrist, and Jason reacts -- more the muscle-memory than conscious thought -- with a punch to Dick's neck.
Dick grunts with half-startled pain and recoils. Jason lashes out with one booted foot, hearing a faint crunch from Dick's knee as the strike connects. He's not entirely sure what's going on, too lightheaded to think this through. He's just reacting, defaulting to 'survive this, you dumbass' mode.
Dick howls again, and he throws a punch of his own. If Jason were at all 'all there', he'd realize that Dick is actually still smiling despite gritted teeth. Pleased that the vampire-hunter is fighting. Pleased that he doesn't have to give in and kill Jason...
Jason hisses with pain as Dick's fist impacts his shoulder, but keeps moving, into a stumbling run toward his dropped weapon belt. His fingers scrabble for something, anything -- and he finds an ampule of holy water, then lobs the glass container at the vampire. Dick leaps back, spreading his wings, and only a faint splatter of the blessed water hits him. But rather than attack, the young vampire flies away, leaving Jason standing on unsteady feet, hand pressed to his bleeding face, staring after him in confusion.
He's back in his safehouse, bootless, pacing in the bedroom, swabbing disinfectant over the cut for the fifth time, and seriously considering cauterizing the wound. The bleeding has stopped, but he's afraid of what a vampire's claws might do. Jason runs his fingers over his throat and resolves, once again, to find a tattoo artist to get a crucifix inked into his flesh. He's been meaning to do it for weeks now...
Jason groans and flops onto the bed. It's been almost three days in this place -- he really ought to move, especially since he just tangled with the Bat-Man's second.
He doesn't question why that thought makes his body flush with heat -- even though this Dick is an inhuman monster when gripped with the need to feed, he's still Dick Grayson, and Jason's traitorous body has its own ideas on what to do with Dick Grayson. There are enough flashes of Dick's humanity left to keep Jason all... uselessly, hopelessly wanting. It's so fucking stupid -- Jason knows it's stupid, but that doesn't stop him from squirming out of his pants and rolling onto his back on the unmade bed.
He's used to stupid.
Memory and fantasy merge in his mind, and Jason sighs deeply as he slides a hand into his boxers, not gripping or stroking, just touching. He whimpers and rocks his hips slightly, and he imagines Dick's mouth back at his jawline, trailing soft, warm little kisses along his skin. ("It's okay, Jay. It's all right...")
"Dick..." he whispers aloud, swallowing down the 'please' out of habit -- his hand inches lower and he cups his balls against his palm, curling his fingers and feeling his nails mark his thighs, a rougher touch than he thinks Dick would use. He bites his lip and pushes into the contact. That's not exactly right... Dick would probably tear into him with his claws again, drawing more blood and why does that make him even harder? Jason lets his teeth clench tighter as he rocks his hips upward again.
("Promise I've got you..." Dick laughs in his memory, and Jason feels kind of dirty because he's pretty sure sex was the furthest thing from Dick's mind when he said that.)
He tastes a faint hint of copper at the tip of his tongue and lets his breath out in a rush, dropping his hips back to the mattress and panting for breath. Now his hand is wrapped tight around his erection and he strokes, slow... as slow as he can manage, wanting to draw this out.
Good as it feels, he still wants -- the wanting burns in him, the cherry end of a cigarette, slow and consuming -- he wants to not be alone, he wants the warmth and the weight of Dick beside him, astride him --
He brushes his thumb over the head of his cock, and there's a moment that his mind flashes to this world's Dick, pinning him down to that rooftop --
"Oh!" Jason cries, unable to stop it. God, he wants. It's stupid, so stupid, practically suicidal stupid, but he wants.
("Jason..." -- and that was definitely not Dick from his world, oh fuck... it makes no sense but there's no room for sense here, now...)
He's an idiot, he's an idiot, he knows -- his other hand tugs at the fabric of his boxers, because they're suddenly too confining. He lets go, swipes his tongue over his palm once, twice -- not wanting to waste time looking for anything else -- and grabs for his cock again, stroking harder. The fingers of his other hand splay wide as they brush up his belly and toward his chest. "Nngh," he groans, "god, Dick..."
And for a while that's all there is, muffled sounds and the growing heat of his body, the desperate, needy motion of his hands, his hips...
The first jolt of his orgasm hits, and he claps his free hand over his mouth (pure habit, pure fourteen-year-old panic at getting caught) as his spine curls with the rapidly building tension. "Mmn!" is all all that makes it past his hand, not that it would be a word otherwise anyway, as the second, third -- he feels his head hit the pillow again, feels his hips jerk and shudder -- then his body just goes away for a while. And the next thing he's aware of, he's softly panting and trying to remember how to move. Or even if he wants to.
"Damn..." Jason says to the empty room, "I'm so messed up."