Archive of Our Own ^beta

Being a social worker in Gotham is a special kind of hell; but today, it feels like you've found a secret eleventh bonus circle - after five back-to-back therapy sessions with clients who'd just been re-traumatized during last week's Arkham breakout, all you want is to get home to your bookcase and your cat, Mister Man.

Unfortunately, any hope of doing that uneventfully dies when, while walking to your apartment, you notice you're being followed by what can only be described as a hulking figure in a hoodie. You curse and duck into the nearest bar, both to lose the tail and grab a well-earned drink. Even if you can't shake him, you figure you can justify the cost of a rideshare once rush hour is over.

Last Call started off as a Narrows speakeasy in the 1920s, but these days it's a divey little thing with a thriving card shark population. Ordinarily, you might try your luck at the tables, but you're pretty sure that you're supposed to have luck before trying it - it's not that kind of night.

Glancing behind you, out the window, you see the bruiser from earlier trudge past the door without stopping. Great, now you just need to hurry up and wait, then you can head home at full gay power walk speed and apologize to Mister for delaying your reunion to avoid getting mugged (or worse - you never knew, in The Narrows).

Focused on plotting your next move, you zone out a little too long, and suddenly, there's a large hand on your shoulder. Gotham born-and-bred, you duck out of the hold with a hiss, bringing your hands up to block…an amused, over-grown twunk with a little streak of white in his hair. His right hand holds a half-empty lowball glass, while the other is raised similarly to yours - looks like he's also familiar with this city's "hit first, think never" policy.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to relax, smiling tightly. "Sorry, man. It's been one of those days. Let me get out of your way."

Avoiding eye contact, you don't wait around to gauge his reaction; you just square your shoulders and try to pass by him, aiming for the opening in the crowd on his left. You are disappointed, but almost not surprised when your boot catches on a gap in the floorboards - what startles you, hilariously enough, is the muscular arm that catches you before you can faceplant.

"Y'know, we really gotta' stop meeting like this." The taller man chuckles, cradling you against his warm chest.

Something about that laugh makes your throat clench and your dick twitch in interest. Feeling the heat in your cheeks, you right yourself, but make no effort to leave his embrace - it's the first thing that's felt good, today. Turning to look up at him through your lashes, you flirt back, "Is it really meeting if we don't trade names, stud?"

Reddening a bit, himself, he grins. "Jason. And you?"

"[Your name], human disaster. It's my pleasure." You reply cheekily, earning another throaty snicker that goes straight to your clit. Fuck.

"Well, Mr. Disaster, I was about to go out for a smoke. Wanna' come with?" He drawls, with the barest hint of a leer, before moving to finish his drink.

Somehow, you manage to keep a straight face when you reply, "I'd love to, but please - Mr. Disaster was my father."

Jason snorts and almost chokes on his drink. Coughing and cackling in equal measure, he places the glass on the bar. "Anyone ever tell you ya' got a shit sense of timing, [your name]?"

You shake your head with a smirk, lacing your fingers with his and leading him out to the patio behind the bar. His thumb rubs small circles on your hand and the seam of your skinny jeans starts to become a problem, like someone is stroking you harder with every step. Your breath hitches, but you keep walking until you reach a table, willing your legs not to tremble.

You pivot to sit down on a cushioned bench by the high fence surrounding the space, guiding him into the spot next to you. In June, you'd have had to fight for a spot out here, but the October wind seems to have chased everyone else inside: you have the place to yourselves, it seems.

His leg leans into yours and you decide to gamble a little tonight, after all, returning the pressure with interest as you tilt your head up to nuzzle into his chest. Jason rumbles in approval, and you can see the blush spread down his neck when you tease, "You know, for someone who said they wanted a smoke, you don't seem terribly interested in lighting one up."

He opens his mouth to reply, but you ante up, placing a hand on his jeans, near the crease of his thigh, and he bites his lip with a little whine. Looking up at him seriously, you murmur, "Stop me if I'm reading this wrong, but in case I'm not…I don't believe in starting anything I can't finish."

Meeting your eyes with raw want, Jason swallows hard. "Not wrong at all, handsome, there's just something -"

You palm his crotch, dragging a gasp out of him.

"Fuck, [your name] - there's something you should know - before we go any further." He rasps out.

"You mean this?" You smirk, deliberately teasing his folds through the wet denim. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a moan. "Relax, Jace - you're not the only bonus-hole boy, here."

He all but melts into your touch, looking down at you through a cloudy, half-lidded gaze. "Oh…okay."

"Just okay? I must not be doing this right." you quip, raising two fingers to his mouth. "Can you get these nice and wet for me, pet?"

Taking your index and middle finger into his mouth, Jason hollows his cheeks, suckling at them even as his tongue lathers every inch. He bobs his head up and down, and you let out a groan, wondering what those plump lips would look like around your cock. He smiles around you, humming and closing his eyes while he continues his ministrations. When you start to pull out of him, he whimpers and chases your hand, taking a third finger and laving it frantically.

"Such a good little pup, aren't you?" You purr, provoking a pleased hum out of the larger man. "However", you continue, "I'm going to need those back. Kiss me?"

Jason releases your fingers without a word, catching your mouth in his like he's welcoming you home. You blindly fumble your way through undoing his pants, focusing on deepening the kiss and licking into his mouth. You ease two wet fingers beneath his briefs, parting him gently and sliding them into his already-slick hole. Curling them in a 'come hither' motion, you grind them into his center while swallowing his moans and whimpers. He bucks into your hand, all modesty forgotten in pursuit of pleasure, and you feel your own cunt clench up in sympathy.

Your ring finger joins the other two and Jason wails into your mouth with a roll of his hips, his walls tensing around you. You break the kiss, pulling back to watch him fall apart - though he whines at first, your thumb swiping over his clit has him throwing his head back and rutting against your hand with little sobs, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. "That's it, pet, show me how much you want it - cum for me."

Eyes squeezed shut, his hips lose rhythm, gyrating harder and harder until he groans out, "Oh my fuck, yes, [your name], I -" and then he's spasming in a silent scream, jaw slack as slick floods his briefs.

You fuck him through it until his legs are too tired to shake, then lick him off of your fingers - and the sight of that has him biting back moans all over again, his eyes dark and hungry.

"This ain't over, handsome. Your place or mine?" He growls, zipping up his jeans.

"Depends on how we're getting there."

"Listen, I've got a motorcycle and a very fuckin' real need to get your cock in my mouth -" He starts impatiently.

Grinning smugly, you interrupt him. "Mine. Preferably in the next 5 minutes. Let's go."