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Let it be known that no one in the Batfamily was ever allowed to take any sort of vacation without it being interrupted. This was an established fact, documented through years of meticulously ruined getaways: Dick’s beach trip to the Maldives (interrupted by a supervillain with a grudge against marine life), Tim’s carefully planned research expedition to the Himalayas (cut short when Ra’s al Ghul decided to blow up three mountains), and Damian’s first and last attempt at summer camp (which ended with the entire facility being relocated to another dimension for everyone’s safety).
The family had a running tally. Barbara maintained a spreadsheet. Alfred kept backup documentation in three separate locations.
But Jason and Dick had been optimistic about their cabin retreat. Foolishly, catastrophically optimistic.
They’d chosen a location four hours from Gotham, deliberately remote, with no cell towers within a fifteen-mile radius and absolutely no supervillain activity on record. Jason had done the research himself, cross-referencing crime databases, supernatural incident reports, and even checking for nearby archaeological sites that might attract the kind of trouble that seemed to follow them. Dick had triple-checked his work.
The cabin was perfect: isolated, well-stocked, and equipped with exactly two pieces of technology- a landline for genuine emergencies and Jason’s satellite phone, which he’d promised to keep on silent unless the world was literally ending.
They’d been at the cabin for exactly eighteen hours when Jason’s phone started buzzing with increasingly frantic text messages. He was currently buried between Dick’s thighs, working his boyfriend toward what would be his second orgasm of the morning, so he ignored the buzzing in favor of more important priorities.
This was their vacation, damn it. Their first real uninterrupted time together in three months. Between Nightwing’s obligations in Blüdhaven and Red Hood’s territorial disputes with various crime families, they’d barely managed stolen moments. Hurried encounters in safe houses, brief interludes between patrols, one memorable incident in the Cave that they’d sworn never to mention again (but which had definitely happened right there on Bruce’s computer chair, and Jason regretted absolutely nothing).
Dick was a writhing, gorgeous mess beneath him, all flushed skin and desperate sounds, exactly the way Jason liked him best. They’d spent most of the previous day and night making up for weeks of interrupted intimacy, and Jason was planning to spend the rest of their vacation doing more of the same. His careful mental schedule involved approximately seventy percent sex, twenty percent sleeping, and ten percent eating- and only that much eating because Dick got cranky when he forgot to maintain his blood sugar.
His phone buzzed again, more insistently this time.
“Jay,” Dick gasped, his voice rough from the sounds Jason had been drawing out of him all morning. His fingernails were digging into Jason’s shoulders, leaving marks that would fade once they returned to their regular lives, and Jason found himself wishing they’d last longer. “Your phone-”
“Don’t care,” Jason mumbled against Dick’s inner thigh, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there before getting back to work doing his best to bury his tongue as deep as it could go inside of him. Dick’s skin was salt-musk under his tongue, and he was making those small, breathless sounds that went straight to Jason’s dick. This was exactly where Jason wanted to be, exactly what he wanted to be doing, and whoever was calling could wait.
“Fucking love eating you out.” Jason said, pulling away for only a brief moment to speak the words while he nuzzled against Dick’s thigh. “Would do it all fucking day if you let me.” With that said, he drew the skin under his lips into his mouth with a soft bite that caused Dick’s legs to spasm.
The Batfamily had managed without them for eighteen whole hours. They could manage a little longer.
The phone buzzed again. And again.
“It might be important,” Dick tried to argue, though his heart clearly wasn’t in it. His hands were buried in Jason’s hair, holding him exactly where he wanted him, and his hips were moving in the rhythm Jason had established. Dick’s body was telling a very different story than his mouth, arching into Jason’s touch with desperate need.
“Nothing’s more important than this,” Jason said firmly, and proved his point by doing something with his tongue that made Dick arch off the bed with a sound that was barely human.
The phone stopped buzzing.
Jason smirked against Dick’s skin and got back to the business of making his boyfriend fall apart completely. This was what vacation was supposed to be: just the two of them, no costumes, no responsibilities, no crises demanding immediate attention. Just Dick beneath him, responding to every touch like he’d been starving for it, which he had been, because they had both been starving for normalcy and peace and the simple luxury of time.
Dick came with a shuddering gasp, his body tightening around Jason’s tongue before going boneless against the sheets, muscles going slack with satisfaction. Jason took his time pulling back, savoring the way Dick trembled under him, aftershocks making his thighs twitch when Jason pressed one last kiss to the inside of his knee, gentle and reverent.
“Fuck,” Dick panted, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His skin was flushed pink from his collarbones to the tips of his ears, sweat glistening along the graceful line of his throat, his hair a complete disaster from where Jason’s fingers had been tangled in it. “You’re- fuck- you’re gonna kill me.”
Jason grinned, crawling up Dick’s body with predatory satisfaction to kiss him slow and filthy, letting him taste himself on Jason’s tongue. Dick groaned into it, his hands sliding down Jason’s back to grip his ass, pulling him closer with renewed energy despite his recent orgasm.
“You love it,” Jason murmured against his lips, nipping at Dick’s bottom lip until he gasped.
“Yeah,” Dick admitted, breathless and shameless. “I really fucking do.”
Jason rolled his hips, grinding down against Dick’s thigh, letting him feel just how hard he still was, how much he needed this. Dick’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with renewed interest, his grip tightening possessively.
“You gonna do something about that?” Dick asked, voice rough with promise and challenge.
Jason didn’t answer with words.
He reached for the lube on the nightstand, slicking his fingers with more urgency than finesse before pressing two inside Dick without warning. Dick gasped, his back arching beautifully, but Jason didn’t give him time to adjust. He worked him open fast, rough, knowing Dick could take it, knowing he liked it like this- just on the edge of too much, overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Jay-” Dick choked out, his fingers digging into the sheets, knuckles white with tension.
“I got you,” Jason growled, curling his fingers just right, finding that spot that made Dick’s eyes roll back and his mouth drop open in a silent cry. Even though he’d just come again for the second time that morning, Dick’s cock was slowly filling again, twitching weakly as Jason slowly worked it to hardness with every press of his fingers. “Always got you.”
When he was sure Dick was ready, Jason pulled his fingers free and slicked himself up with hands that were barely steady, lining his cock up with slow, deliberate precision. Dick’s breath hitched, his legs wrapping around Jason’s waist, pulling him in deeper with desperate strength.
“Fuck,” Jason hissed as he bottomed out. “Damnit, every single time you feel perfect, pretty bird. You make me want to just stay inside you forever, keep you in my bed even if the world goes to hell without us.”
“Maybe if you’re convincing enough.” Dick gasped, cock still twitching with overstimulation as his thighs flexed like they weren’t sure whether to let him move or keep him still. “I might be willing to agree to that.”
Jason didn’t need to be told twice.
He set a punishing pace from the start, fucking into Dick with deep, relentless strokes, the bed creaking beneath them in a rhythm that would have been embarrassing if there had been anyone else within miles to hear it. Dick met him thrust for thrust, his nails raking down Jason’s back in lines, his breath coming in ragged gasps that sounded like prayers.
“Harder,” Dick demanded, his voice wrecked and desperate.
Jason obeyed, slamming into him with enough force to make Dick cry out, his head tipping back against the pillows to expose the long line of his throat. Jason leaned down, biting at the tender skin there, marking him up, claiming him in every way he could think of.
“Mine,” Jason growled against his skin, tasting salt and satisfaction.
Dick laughed, breathless and delighted. “Yours.”
Jason kissed him again, swallowing his moans as he fucked him harder, faster, chasing his own release with single-minded determination. Dick’s legs tightened around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and Jason knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Dick- fuck- “
Dick’s hand slid between them, stroking himself in time with Jason’s thrusts, and when he came, it was with Jason’s name on his lips, his body clenching around Jason’s cock in a way that sent him over the edge too, like falling off a cliff into something warm and perfect.
Jason buried himself deep, his vision whiting out for a second as he spilled inside Dick, claiming him completely.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing and the soft whisper of wind through the trees outside before Jason pulled Dick close and whispered endearments into his skin as he savored the afterglow.
This was definitely the best vacation he’d ever had.
***
Two hours later, when Dick had been fucked so well he was boneless and satisfied and making the kind of soft, happy sounds that made Jason’s chest feel warm and tight, the phone started buzzing again.
This time, it didn’t stop.
“Fuck,” Jason muttered, reluctantly extracting himself from the bed to grab his phone from the nightstand. Dick made a soft sound of protest at the loss of contact, reaching for him with grasping fingers, and Jason felt his resolve waver. Maybe he could just turn the phone off. Maybe whatever crisis was happening could wait another hour, or six, or until they were ready to return to reality.
But the buzzing was insistent, almost frantic, and Jason had been part of this family long enough to recognize the difference between “we need you eventually” and “we need you now before everything burns down.”
He had seventeen missed calls from Tim, twelve from Barbara, and forty-three text messages from various family members. The progression was telling: Tim’s messages started professional and grew increasingly unhinged. Barbara’s maintained their usual crisp efficiency until the last three, which consisted entirely of profanity. Stephanie had sent a series of photos that appeared to show the Manor covered in what looked like glitter, but the satellite phone’s screen was too small to make out the details.
The most recent message was from Alfred, which was concerning enough that Jason actually opened it.
Master Jason, I do hope you and Master Dick are enjoying your holiday. When you return, you may find that the Manor has undergone some... minor renovations. Please do not be alarmed. Everything is under control.
Alfred’s diplomatic language was legendary throughout the superhero community. ‘Minor difficulties’ could mean someone had died. ‘Slight complications’ usually meant interdimensional incursions. ‘Renovations’ was anything from a complete structural collapse to the house being temporarily transformed into a sentient organism with opinions about the décor.
“Oh, fuck,” Jason said with significantly more feeling.
“What?” Dick asked, suddenly alert despite his post-orgasmic haze. He was sitting up in bed, and Jason could see him shifting into crisis mode, that subtle straightening of shoulders and sharpening of focus that meant Nightwing was surfacing through Dick Grayson’s satisfied contentment.
Jason handed him the phone, watching as Dick’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm to resignation in the space of about thirty seconds. Dick’s face was an open book when he wasn’t actively performing, and Jason could read every stage of his internal process: the hope that it wasn’t serious, the recognition that it absolutely was serious, and the weary acceptance that their vacation was officially over.
“They burned down the Manor, didn’t they?” Dick asked wearily.
“Unclear,” Jason replied, already reaching for his clothes. The resignation in Dick’s voice made Jason’s chest tight with frustration. This was supposed to be their time. Dick deserved better than having every moment of peace interrupted by family crisis. They all did, but Dick especially, because Dick gave everything to everyone and rarely took anything for himself. “But Alfred’s being diplomatic, which usually means something catastrophic happened and he’s trying to minimize panic.”
Dick was already out of bed and getting dressed with the kind of efficient speed that came from years of emergency response training. His movements were sharp, economical, and Jason hated seeing the easy contentment drain out of his body language. “How fast can we get back?”
“Two and a half hours if I ignore most traffic laws,” Jason said, pulling on his jeans and grabbing his keys. He was already mentally mapping the route, calculating which highways would have the least patrol presence and which speed limits were more like suggestions.
“Do it,” Dick said grimly.
***
Wayne Manor was still standing when they arrived, which was honestly more than Jason had been expecting. The building appeared structurally sound, with all its windows intact and no visible signs of fire damage or interdimensional rifts. This was already better than at least forty percent of Batfamily crisis scenarios.
What he hadn’t been expecting was the color.
“Why is it pink?” Jason asked with the kind of utter blankness that came from genuine cognitive overload.
The Manor wasn’t just pink. It was aggressively, violently pink- the kind of hot magenta that seemed to pulse with its own internal light source. The entire Gothic structure had been transformed into something that belonged in a fairy tale written by someone with a serious grudge against subtlety. The gargoyles were pink. The ivy was pink. Even the gravel in the driveway had taken on a distinctly rosy hue.
Tim appeared from behind one of the pink topiaries, sporting his own neon-colored hair that seemed to shift between electric blue and poison green depending on the angle of the light. He looked like he was strongly considering quitting this entire family, which was Tim’s default expression during most crises, but with an added layer of existential exhaustion.
“The latest result of Brucie Wayne’s parade of broken hearts,” Tim said, his voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone who had moved beyond anger into a state of transcendent acceptance. “He pissed off a mage this time. You missed the vampiric unicorns, so count yourselves lucky.”
Jason felt Dick go very still beside him. Dick’s crisis management instincts were excellent, but they were calibrated for normal superhero problems. Supervillains, alien invasions, the occasional evil robot uprising. Magical revenge plots against Bruce’s dating life fell into a category of chaos that even Dick’s extensive experience hadn’t prepared him for.
“We missed the what?” Dick asked, his voice climbing toward the register he usually reserved for discovering that Damian had smuggled exotic animals into the Manor.
Tim’s smile was the vague, disconnected expression of someone who had finally seen Too Much and had achieved a state of philosophical detachment. “Vampiric. Unicorns.” He enunciated each word carefully, as if speaking to someone with a head injury. “They were sparkly. And they wanted to drain everyone’s life force through their horns. Alfred handled it.”
“Alfred handled vampiric unicorns,” Dick repeated slowly.
“With a silver tea service and what I can only assume was blessed Earl Grey,” Tim confirmed. “Don’t ask me for details. I was dealing with the time loop in the library.”
“There was a time loop in the library?”
“Brief one. Only lasted about six hours, subjective time. I lived through the same conversation with Damian thirty-seven times before I figured out how to break it.” Tim’s eye twitched slightly. “He was explaining about the proper dietary needs of rabbits. In detail. Every. Single. Time.”
Jason looked at Dick. Dick looked at Jason. They both looked at the aggressively pink Manor, where they could now see Barbara leaning out of a second-story window, apparently trying to coax what looked like a small dragon off the roof using what appeared to be a butterfly net and a megaphone.
“Tim,” Jason said carefully, “what exactly happened while we were gone?”
“Bruce went on a date,” Tim replied with the weary patience of someone explaining basic math to a particularly slow child. “With someone calling herself ‘Madame Mystique.’ Which should have been a red flag, obviously, but Bruce apparently thought it was charming. Turns out she was actually who she said she was, and she’s been holding a grudge against the Wayne family since 1847.”
“What did we do in 1847?” Dick asked.
“Great-great-grandfather Wayne apparently broke up with her via telegram,” Tim said. “She’s been planning her revenge ever since. Apparently time moves differently in whatever dimension she’s been living in, so from her perspective, it was only about six months ago.”
Jason processed this information. “So she cursed the Manor because Bruce’s great-great-grandfather was a dick?”
“Essentially.” Tim gestured vaguely at the pink edifice looming behind them. “The curse is designed to make everything ‘as frivolous and ridiculous as the Wayne family’s treatment of true love.’ Her words, not mine. Hence the décor, the vampiric unicorns, the time loops, and...” He paused, looking upward with the expression of someone who had given up trying to understand his life.
Damian flew over their heads on a flying broomstick, cackling with maniacal glee as he chased what appeared to be a flock of animate origami cranes. He was wearing a witch’s hat that was also, predictably, bright pink, and appeared to be having the time of his life.
“...and that,” Tim finished with resignation.
They stared up after Damian for several long moments of silence. The origami cranes were putting up a good fight, dive-bombing him with surprising coordination, but Damian was clearly winning. His laughter echoed across the grounds, wild and delighted in a way that Jason rarely heard from their youngest brother.
“How long is the curse supposed to last?” Dick asked eventually.
“Until Bruce learns the true meaning of love,” Tim said in the tone of someone quoting something particularly ridiculous. “Or until Madame Mystique gets bored. Whichever comes first.”
“And Bruce is...”
“Hiding in the Cave, trying to research counter-curses and pretending this is all a very serious magical emergency that requires research rather than doing what the Madame says,” Tim said. “He’s been down there for seven hours. Alfred brought him a sandwich, but I don’t think he’s eating it.”
Jason felt a familiar surge of frustration with their patriarch’s emotional constipation, followed immediately by the exhausted recognition that this was absolutely typical. Bruce could face down cosmic threats and interdimensional horrors, but the moment anything involved feelings or relationships or the consequences of his own romantic disasters, he retreated into work and research and anything that let him avoid actually dealing with the human elements of the situation.
“You know what, pretty bird,” Jason said, turning to Dick and wrapping an arm around his waist. Dick was still staring at the pink Manor with the expression of someone trying to process too much information at once, but he leaned into Jason’s touch automatically. “Why don’t we get back to our vacation? I’m pretty sure the rest of the Bats can handle whatever this is.”
It was a calculated risk. Dick’s protective instincts ran deep, and his need to fix things and take care of everyone was hardwired into his DNA. But Jason could see the exhaustion in the line of his shoulders, the way he was already mentally cataloging everything that needed to be managed and organized and solved. Dick had been looking forward to this vacation for months, and Jason was damned if he was going to let Bruce’s dating disasters cut it short.
As if summoned by Jason’s thoughts, Damian executed a particularly impressive aerial maneuver overhead, whooping with delight as he caught one of the origami cranes and held it aloft like a trophy. The crane seemed to accept defeat gracefully, folding itself into what looked like a small paper flower.
“You know what, Jason?” Dick said slowly, his voice carrying a note of dawning realization. “I think you’re right.”
Tim blinked at them with surprise. “You’re leaving? But what about-” He gestured vaguely at the chaos surrounding them.
“Alfred’s here,” Dick said firmly. “Barbara’s here. You’re here. Damian appears to be having the time of his life, and Bruce...” Dick shrugged. “Bruce created this problem. He can figure out how to solve it.”
“But the Manor-”
“Will still be pink when we get back,” Jason interrupted. “And if it’s not, great. If it is, we’ll deal with it then. But right now, we’re going back to our cabin, and we’re going to finish our vacation.”
Dick was nodding, and Jason could see him making the same mental calculation that Jason had made: this crisis was chaotic and ridiculous, but it wasn’t actually dangerous. Inconvenient, embarrassing, and completely absurd, but not life-threatening. The kind of magical mishap that the family could handle without calling in backup.
“Are you sure?” Tim asked, but there was something almost wistful in his voice, as if the idea of just walking away from a family crisis was so foreign he couldn’t quite believe it was possible.
“We’re sure,” Dick said, and Jason could hear the decision solidifying in his voice. “Call us if someone’s actually dying or if the curse spreads beyond the Manor grounds. Otherwise, we’ll see you in four days.”
They were already walking back toward the car when Stephanie’s voice carried across the grounds from somewhere near the pink rose garden: “Has anyone seen my- oh, never mind, found it! Why is it orange now?”
Jason grinned and opened the car door for Dick. “Four days,” he said firmly. “No crises, no family emergencies, no magical revenge plots.”
“What if-” Dick started.
“No,” Jason said, cutting him off with a kiss that tasted like morning coffee and promises. “Four days. Just us.”
Dick smiled against his mouth, and Jason could feel the tension finally draining out of his shoulders. “Four days,” Dick agreed.
They drove away from Wayne Manor as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pink landscape. In the rearview mirror, Jason could see Damian still circling the grounds on his broomstick, now apparently racing Barbara, who had acquired her own flying implement- what looked like a motorized office chair with wings.
Their vacation was interrupted, but not over. And maybe that was the most important distinction of all.
Four hours later, they were back at the cabin, and Jason’s phone was definitively turned off. Whatever magical chaos was unfolding at the Manor would have to unfold without them. They had the landline for true emergencies.
Dick was already pulling Jason toward the bedroom, grinning with the kind of wicked anticipation that made Jason’s heart race.
“Now,” Dick said, backing Jason toward the bed with deliberate purpose, “where were we?”
Jason grinned back and was glad that maybe, just maybe, the Batfamily could handle one crisis without them.
They had four days to find out.