Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oldest Brother Privilege is bullshit. Dick says it’s “fair” under the guise that he’s suffered Bruce the longest and each mal-adjusted child that has come through Wayne Manor. In Jason’s opinion, Younger Sibling Privilege should be observed because each of them have not only suffered Bruce but Dick as well.

They’re at an impasse.

“Come on, Little Wing!” Dick has a bruise on his face. It makes the whining only slightly more effective. “I have to go back to Bludhaven in a few days, and you promised to come to the movies.”

Jason rolls his head onto the back of the couch. Tim is crawling on top of something in the kitchen and he is Not Looking. He thought Damian was supposed to be the gremlin. Nah, nah, he’s been lied to. In fact, Damian is curled up in the corner of the couch, sketchbook abandoned in his lap to stare into the middle distance. Jason isn’t even sure the kid is seeing anything as he blinks slowly.

“You’re a freak. Look how tired the brat is. When’s the last time he slept? I thought Bruce had him on a sleep schedule. Tim, get off the fucking fridge.”

The little shit glances over his shoulder. “There’s a lot of dust up here.”

Of course…. Of course there is! Jason resists rubbing his face. “The coffee isn’t up there.”

“That isn’t what I was looking for,” he grumbles. “I wanted a snack.”

Oh, dear Lord. “They’re in the pantry. Are you fucking kidding me, they’ve been in the pantry since I moved here. Why would I put them on top of the fridge when I have a whole ass pantry?”

Dick has been watching them like this is the finals of the World Tennis Cup. The fucker probably thinks Jason’s forgot why they’re were arguing in the first place. Turns out, Jason does have a superpower and it’s holding grudges. He can multitask.

Tim squints at him. “I thought you might be hiding the good stuff. You used to have that stash in your room.”

“Wow, wow! Really, calling out my food insecurity from being homeless as a kid? Jesus christ, Timmy. Got any other deep cuts? You know what, get the fuck off my fridge and get out of my kitchen. You don’t deserve fruit snacks.”

Dick perks up, drapes himself over the back of the couch like a limpet. “Can I have a fruit snack?”

“No,” Jason snaps, just to be mean. “None of you. Except maybe Damian and that’s only because he’s so tired I don’t think he has higher brain function right now.”

“Todd,” the kid in question snaps. But it comes out more as a huffy whine.

“See? Look, you’ve ruined a perfectly good child.”

Tim snorts from where he’s still sitting on top of the fridge, kicking his legs and playing with his phone. “A perfectly good child…”

Oh, like you're one to talk, Jason gets ready to say only to be cut off by the chime of a text alert. The chime he set for Siren.

“Whose that?” Dick tilts to get an angle to catch a glimpse of the notification bar before Jason can lock the screen. Rookie mistake. God, he can't believe he –. “Are you seeing someone? Who would ask you for – Jason!”

Fuck, fuck, shit. Dammit, Siren couldn’t have picked a worst time to ask for… well.

There’s only one way Jason is getting out of this with his dignity. And maybe his life.

“One, fuck all the way off, this is why I don’t tell you anything. Second, I am a whole ass adult and can have an adult relationship. And, stop assuming, DIckwad, I’m not dating anyone.” The denial only makes Dick suspicious, eyes narrowing. “Before you say anything! Tim went on a date and stayed the night with Bernard last week. He bailed on you to get some.”

Dick gasps.

“Bastard! Jason, you –!”

“Timmy?!” Dick shouts over him. “You – but I thought – when?”

If looks could kill. Jason smirks, enjoying Tim seething at him. Mission success. Dick is entirely distracted.

“Baby bird! You said you had a project.”

“I did… kind of.” Tim cringes.

Damian closes his sketchbook. “Disgusting. Unbecoming, Drake.”

“With the steel chair!” Jason crows.

Dick whirls on him. “Don’t think I forgot about you!” He points dramatically. Shit, not a mission success. “You’re just as bad as B! And with a known suspect! Did you think I didn’t notice? Making eyes.”

“Hey!” Ok, Jason definitely didn’t hide it as well as he should have. “Siren has been cleared of any criminal schemes. Even B agreed. Tim!” The brother in question turns, caught in the act slinking down the hall. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom?”

Dick points at him too. “Did you two plan this? We were supposed to go to the movies!”

“Death would be kinder,” Damian mutters.

••☆••

“Hey,” Jason murmurs. Siren’s eyes flutter for a moment before they manage to focus on him.

“Oh,” they breathe. “Hi, puppy.” The way their eyebrows scrunch is absolutely not adorable. “What happened?”

“You fainted after the Sending. I already called Carmilla and she’s going to meet us at the house. No rush, we can relax a bit before you try to stand.” His hands hover over their hair, not quite touching from where he’s crouched by their side. Siren contemplates the couch Jason laid them on. Thankfully, the client was happy to give them both some space, probably because Siren convinced their poltergeist to finally rest.

It hadn’t even been a poltergeist. Just the ghost of their very opinionated siamese cat.

“Oh no. How worried is she?” When Jason winces, Siren’s shoulders hitch up. “Great.”

They roll their head to the side, pouting at Jason. He gets a little lost in their eyes for a moment, admiring the brightness of them. “I wasn’t going to not call her.”

“Narc,” they grouse and Jason snorts. “I don’t want to walk. Carry me?”

If it was anyone else, Jason would probably complain, but he always cherishes getting to have Siren in his arms. It isn’t even that they aren’t tactile - they’re constantly leaning on Horus or Carmilla, draping themselves over his shoulders. They’re just very selective who they’re tactile with.

It makes Jason feel special. Chosen.

“Now I understand why you asked me to come along. This was your ploy all along, you only want me for my muscles.”

“Not true.” Obligingly, Siren tucks their limbs in so Jason can bundle them up as he lifts. Jason knows now isn’t the time, but he can’t resist appreciating Siren in his arms. The firmness of their muscles, the unassuming weight of their body, the way they trust him. “I want you, and your muscles.”

His step falters only a little bit. Really, Jason should be used to it. Siren laughs, delighted to have caught him up again.

••☆••

Doing an internet search “How to take a nude” is not Jason's proudest moment. First, smart phones? Something he missed while dead then with the League, with Ducra, and running around with the Outlaws. Sue him, technology moved on when he moved on.

Fucking front facing cameras. Shit's weird.

And it isn't like Jason's ever been with someone who would appreciate a nude or dick pic. Or even had a need to send one when everyone he dated, vaguely at that, had always been easy access if either of them had an itch. So color him every shade of surprised to get a text from Siren saying “Tit pic pls”.

If only Dick hadn't seen the notification.

Great news, Jason's bathroom has fantastic lighting for selfies. Apparently. He'd considered it when apartment hunting, more for rendering first aid and not for… this. Doing stitches in low light was awful.

He quick snaps off a couple pictures using the mirror, standing awkwardly in front of it and looking mostly into the screen. They're awful. So Jason switches gears. Siren likes his muscles, right? He flips the phone around, carefully arranges himself and… blurry.

How the fuck do people do this? Do they get help?

But Siren said please. And as long as he keeps his face out of it, it'll be ok. He tries again, finds a less stiff pose and manages to get a decent hold on the phone so it doesn't shake. Feeling a little better, he takes a few more. Jason looks away from the mirror, carefully not meeting his own eyes or letting himself dwell too long.

If it was up to him, he wouldn't even have a mirror.

Scrolling through the pictures is… cruel. Cruel to himself, really. Jason takes in his scars. ‘Beautiful’ they call him, and Jason's lips twist.

He knows what he looks like. Intimidating, scary, scarred and calloused and… people shy away from him on the sidewalks, cross streets to avoid walking past him.

Beautiful. What a joke. He deletes the pictures.

••☆••

The living room is a battlefield of glitter, fabric, sequins, beads, and endless bits for sewing. Siren sits in the middle of it. Somehow, Jason had managed to avoid every single one of Steph’s glitter bombs. Both in his apartment and in the field.

By threat of violence and dirty socks.

Which is why he's a bit… confused how this happened. There was a strict ‘no glitter’ rule here at Casa de Red Hood. And yet…

Siren hums and hand sews another bead. Something about being barred from their house to socialize and needing room to modify the dress. When Siren held the gown up, Jason agreed it was gorgeous. So deeply red it was almost black, a wide boat style neckline that Jason knew will show off Siren's narrow shoulders. The sleeves end in loops for their middle fingers.

But he agrees. It is definitely missing something uniquely Siren.

Somehow that means large amounts of shiny things. Glitter included, to Jason’s dismay. What had he been thinking to invite Siren over?

It’s all performative annoyance anyways - Jason is putty in Siren’s hands. Wrapped around their little finger. Glitter in his carpets for the unforeseeable future is a great trade off to have Siren sitting on his living room floor in an oversized sweater that falls off one shoulder. Paired with the tiniest fucking shorts Jason has ever seen and knee high socks? Yeah, Jason can’t complain too much.

“Puppy,” Siren sing-songs. “Where oh where could my puppy be?” Obligingly, he trots over from where he had been cleaning a rifle at the dining room table, just far away enough to be out of the way but close enough to watch Siren work.

Even in his simple lounge clothes, Siren makes a point to ogle him. When he nears, they point to the corner of their mouth, tilting their head. Jason obeys, kissing exactly where he’s been directed.

“Thank you. Sit with me.” Finding a spot to sit on the floor that doesn’t land his ass in fabric or glitter is a challenge, but somehow Jason manages it. He folds his legs to sit criss-cross and looks over the changes to the dress. He likes them. Especially the large swirling shapes at the hips.

Jason gets a little lost in his head imagining Siren in the dress – how the details will accentuate their figure, how it’ll shimmer in the low faux gas lamp light of the Lounge. He’ll have to make a point to visit when Siren wears it. It’ll be a feast for his eyes, for sure.

“Puppy,” they draw him out of his musing, with a pleased smile. “You like it so far?” And hum happily when he nods. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure.” Jason picks up an applique flower. Cass would love it, and he thinks it would like look nice on the butt pocket of a pair of jeans.

“Why didn’t you send me any pictures the other night? Did I make you uncomfortable asking for a risque selfie?”

Jason tenses. To distract himself, he fussily puts the flower back where it belongs, rubs the glitter off his hands on the thighs of his sweatpants. When he finally looks up, Siren has their head tilted towards him, eyes down on their work.

“Words, please.”

That’s the problem. Jason isn’t sure he has the words for this. But he tries anyways.

“I’ve… never taken a selfie.” And definitely not one like that before I tried after you asked, he keeps to himself.

Siren’s eyebrows rise. “Huh, no shit.”

“I missed the whole cell phone thing while I was… hurt.” Jason pauses. Then barrels on when they nod. “Never got into it. I’m still legally dead, don’t have social media and never saw the point.”

“Every guy takes dick pics, it’s in the genetic coding.” Siren holds up the dress again, slants a look at Jason.

Shaking his head, Jason’s quick to deny it. “Never had a reason, never been with someone who wanted one. You know my rules for the working girls, I’d be a hypocrite if I was ‘one of those guys’.”

“You’re so sweet, puppy.” Jason thinks he’s convinced them that's all it is and Siren sets the dress aside to focus on him fully. “And you’re not being completely honest. Did I make you uncomfortable asking?”

He looks away, down at his hands. They’re covered in scars. All manner of small knicks and cuts just from day to day life. A gash on his wrist from a bad training hit in Nanda Parbat. Scars from when he’d busted a few knuckles beating a man almost to death that worked for a child trafficking ring. He knows the scars get worse the further up. Stabbings, gunshot wounds, burn marks. The scar that stretches from his eyebrow into his hairline.

There’s an expectation to answer. But Jason knows Siren will back off if he sets a boundary.

Jason thinks Siren will understand if he opens up. Call it a gut feeling.

“I don’t know why you’d want a picture. Of this,” he clarifies, gesturing to himself, his body.

Siren scoots towards him, leaning down to make eye contact, searches his face. Jason can’t look away, feeling caught in the bright blue of their eyes. He’s always getting caught by them.

“Why wouldn’t I? I like the way you look.”

Jason’s face twists. He hates when he does it. Knows how ugly of an expression it is, how it makes Tim freeze in fear, calls attention to his scars. It takes a long moment for him to wipe his face clean of it.

“I know what I look like,” he finally manages, voice rough.

“Fucking hot? Stacked with a dick to match? Pretty eyes and even prettier when you’re begging?” Siren says it easily, as if they aren’t speaking filth in broad daylight. Jason flushes. “Did you take pictures?”

“Yes.” Jason watches as Siren pushes up onto their knees.

“And?” They shuffle forward until they can drape their arms over his shoulders. When Siren puts a finger under his chin, Jason tilts his head up.

Tries to shrug, but Jason probably misses nonchalant by a mile. “None of them were any good.”

“Can I see them, or did you delete them all?”

Jason shakes his head. “Deleted.” Words are getting harder. Siren makes a thoughtful noise, carding hands through his hair.

“Were they blurry?” A shake of his head. “Was the lighting bad?” Another shake. “Did you hate them because you think you’re ugly? That I’d change my mind about you if I saw them?”

Throat dry, Jason nods. Cold hands frame his face. His chest feels tight, like he’s in trouble. Even though he knows Siren isn’t like… that.

Their punishments never hurt. Even when they push, or Jason hesitates, Siren never hurts him. Never hits him. Never takes more than he’s willing to give. It probably can't even be called punishment, what Siren does.

Siren's practically in his lap now. “A picture isn’t going to be enough to make me change my mind. I like the way you look. I like your muscles, I like how tall you are, I like your scars.” The surety of their words makes Jason almost believe it. But they don’t stop there. “I like you on your knees. I like that you want to be there. I like putting a collar on you and making you beg. I like that the big mean Red Hood squirms for me to fuck him.”

Jason goes when Siren pushes him onto his back. Silk and tulle and all sorts of shimmering, glittering things rustle under him. They clamber onto his lap in slow movements, giving him time to protest. Jason holds his hands over their hips, hovering and not quite touching.

The kiss is slow. Like Siren is trying to show Jason something. Their tongue explores his mouth and Jason can barely keep up. They guide his hand to their hips, slipping it under the sweater. He holds on for dear life when Siren bites his bottom lip, moving to trail nips and kisses along his jaw. Then neck and throat with a hand in his hair.

They pull away, sitting up on his thighs. Jason pants. “Look at you, so pretty.”

It’s a little easier to hear this time. Maybe he is, laying in the middle of Siren’s fabrics, probably half covered in glitter and bite marks. A weed among roses, or something like that.

“How about,” they start, sitting more fully in his lap. A wicked smile when they feel he’s half hard. “We go to the bedroom, I get you in your collar, and I take a few pictures of you.”

That sounds… fuck, Jason’s dick twitches. “Ok.”

Scrambling from his lap, Siren pulls Jason to his feet. There’s something amusing in how excitedly they lead him down the hall with a little hop in their step. Despite their height, Siren bodily herds Jason until he’s sitting on the bed.

Jason’s already mush when Siren unlocks the drawer. The collar is a familiar weight at his throat. Siren’s ritual to check it for tightness, murmuring while they trace fingers over the leather and spikes has Jason breathing deep and quick. One last tug and Siren stands back to admire.

“Beautiful.”

Jason closes his eyes, the praise going right to his gut.

“Look at me, puppy.” Siren waits for Jason, only continuing once he makes eye contact. “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. Do you want me to fuck you now?”

Shit, god damn, Jason can’t answer quickly enough. “Yes. Please,” he adds.

“You can touch my hips and hands, baby. Let's get you undressed.” There's a sweetness in how Siren helps him out of his clothes. They rub circles over his back, leave a line of kisses over his ribs, ghost fingertips over the line of his hip bones, and kneel for a moment to pull off his sweats.

Jason's breathless.

Stepping back, Siren lets Jason take a moment. Their sweater follows Jason’s clothes onto the floor. When they unbutton and shove down their daisy dukes, Jason gets an eyeful of white cotton panties. There’s even a little bow. Holy fuck, he’s going to die.

Siren leaves the knee high socks on. Precum beads on Jason’s dick and he swallows hard. Is the room warm? It feels warm.

The texture of the socks against his bare skin makes it feel obscene when Siren manhandles him into the position they want. “Come here, I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

The flush along his face and down his chest deepens. Siren taps the top of his pecs, calling attention to it. “This? Very cute.”

God dammit, it feels like his face is on fire. Siren seems to notice and backs off, focusing on getting Jason settled with a pillow under the small of his back and grabbing the lube. The sound of the bottle opening is probably Jason's personal Pavlov's bell.

A kiss to the inside of his knee as Siren puts his leg over their shoulder makes Jason tremble. “What a sight. And you've been so good. Would you agree? You deserve a prize?”

The mumbled affirmation is thankfully enough for Siren, then a slicked finger is rubbing against his hole. Jason tenses for a moment, balls drawing up. But Siren takes their sweet time, taking what feels like ages to even insert one finger.

It's a prize, for sure. Jason will probably feel a bit ashamed later how much he soaks up the attention, the gentle care. Siren focuses single mindedly in their actions, watching closely for every reaction they pull out of Jason. When he sighs, Siren gives him more. The second finger has Jason arching, and fisting hands into the sheets.

“Wow, puppy. Right there? Again?” Siren holds his hip with the hand not working him open, keeping him in place when he squirms. Unrepentantly, Siren repeats the scissoring of their fingers a few times. Stops when Jason is about to sob.

“Shh, it's ok. I got you, gorgeous.” They rub their knuckles down his flank. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they pump fingers in and out. “God, I love the sounds you make.”

Jason throws an arm over his face, groaning into his bicep.

Gasps when the fingers begin to withdraw. “Don’t hide, baby.” He throws his arm away, trying to glare at Siren. “There you are.”

But then Siren is fingering him again and he can’t complain. Well, he can. Jason’s talented like that.

“I’m ready. Siren.” He gasps, mostly because Siren crooks a finger just so. “Please, please fuck me.”

Humming, Siren doesn’t stop the slow slide of their fingers, eyes only for where they disappear into his ass. “Not yet, puppy. You’re so pretty like this.” Frustrated, Jason twists to try to make them give him more. In retaliation, Siren stops entirely but presses a finger against his taint. It sends a deep thrum of pleasure coursing through his lower spine and belly - a hint of sensation against his prostate.

“Not yet,” they repeat, watching Jason pant and tremble as they press in slow pulses over and over. “It’s going to be so good. Patience, puppy.”

“Ok,” he manages to breathe out. The sudden stop, start, stop is killing him. He bites his lip when Siren adds a third finger, working it in slowly with another generous dibble of lube.

“You’re perfect, so fucking perfect. What a fucking gift that I get to do this for you. You’re so responsive. Look at you, I’ve barely touched your cock and you’re so hard. Are you going to come like this if I keep going? Can you hold on until I fuck you?”

Jason nods. Thankfully, SIren doesn’t demand ‘words’ for once, more pleased they’ve managed to make him speechless. They grin, and then put Jason through his paces to keep the promise. He shouts wordlessly when Siren fingers him in earnest. It’s only by the hand holding Jason’s hip down that he doesn’t squirm away.

“Don’t come. Not yet.”

Those words are starting to piss him off. But Jason obeys anyway, focusing on Siren’s face and breathing deeply.

“I - ah, I can’t,” he whines. “I’m close.”

Finally, Siren slows. “Good boy. Such a good boy you are. Thank you for waiting. You deserve it now, huh? Deserve my cock.”

Sadly, that means Siren pulls their hands away. With a whimper, Jason closes his eyes. He’s going to come the second Siren touches him again. It’s a couple long moments while Siren slicks their cock up. And thank god, Jason needs them to back down off the edge. His breathing is labored so he focuses on counting inhales and exhales, feeling drunk and overwhelmed.

The press of their cock shocks Jason from his meditation. “Ready for me, gorgeous?”

“Yes.”

Fuck, it feels so good. Siren expertly lifts his leg a little higher. The angle has Jason alight with pleasure, his mouth parting in surprise. By the time their hips are fully flush with his ass, he’s practically mewling.

New sound unlocked. Jason’s never heard himself like this before.

“Oh, puppy. I should have fucked you sooner. The noises you’re making, you’re going to ruin me.” A small experimental thrust, just the slightest twitch of their hips and Jason gasps. “Beautiful, absolutely stunning. You have no clue how good you feel.”

It’s funny. Siren is going to be ruined? Jason already is.

The first full thrust is so deep, he can practically feel it in his fucking throat. Siren smirks, as if they know and set a pace that drives Jason wild. Long and steady thrusts, just the edge of too slow to put him over the cusp into oblivion. Then Siren shifts, their thrusts somehow deeper.

Jason gets lost in the pleasure. His world reduces to just Siren, their hands on him like anchors keeping him from floating away entirely. Their voice draws him back in, keeping him present.

“So fucking good, puppy. You look so pretty on my cock, you take it beautifully. Perfect, you’re my perfect puppy. You’re going to feel so good when you come for me. You wanna come for me, don’t you?”

But he can’t come. He needs just a little bit more. Wildly, Jason remembers Siren likes words. Sure, he can words and summons the last edges of his sanity. “Yes, yes, please. I wanna come, wanna be good. Touch me, please. Wanna come for you. Siren!”

“There that’s sweet begging. Thank you, puppy. Where do you want me to touch you?” They tilt their head, only slightly flushed. How the fuck can they look so put together while Jason feels like he’s about to die again?

“My cock, your hand on my cock. Please, please, please.”

Siren obliges. Their tongue peeks out while they fuck into him, timing their hand to match. It’s over in moments, Jason throwing back his head while he comes. It’s toe curling good, mind blanking good. He can’t help but clench down on Siren’s cock, pulling a low groan from them.

“Holy shit. Puppy.” Their voice lilts, almost breaking. “You’re going to make me come, you’re incredible. Want to fill you up, pretty boy. So good, so good for me.”

Jason puts his hand over Siren’s, watching in awe as they keep fucking him. Even fucked out and totally spent, every thrust sends a spark, a throb, a shoot of pleasure until he’s shaking with over-stimulation. Jason’s about to tap out, their hips stutter.

Suddenly, Siren is kissing him. Moans into his mouth with a smile, Jason feeling warm and full with their come. Siren pulls out and Jason nearly begs for their dick back, intensely aware of the loss, asshole spasms on nothing.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re a masterpiece.” They brush knuckles over his hole, pushing the leaking come back in. “Can’t believe you, unreal.” A kiss to the hinge of his jaw, collarbone, the skin just below the collar. “You spoil me rotten, puppy. Thank you for being so good.”

Siren stands. “Stay put, ok? You’re a vision. Are you still alright with a few pictures? No face, promise.”

Vaguely, Jason nods. He’s aware of Siren moving around, taking pictures with their phone. A close up of the collar, fingers guiding him to bare his throat. A picture of the come on his belly, then their hand wrapped around his ribs, even one of the come slowly dribbling from his ass even though he blushes fiercely when Siren spreads his legs to get a good shot. Then because he flushed, a picture of his chest ruddy with it.

“Beautiful. I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me. And now I have pictures so I’ll never forget how pretty my puppy is.”

As soon as they’re done, Siren trots off for a damp cloth. Jason marvels as Siren cleans him up, pressing lips against heated flesh as they go. Slowly, he realizes SIren is mapping his scars, kissing their edges. Tears threaten, and Jason hides his face in his hands.

He can’t. It’s too much. What are they even doing? This is so intense for something casual. Jason’s only ever done casual, when needs must, when the itch needs scratched. But Siren lavishes him in affection and tenderness until he feels steeped in it.

Siren coos when he finally peeks out behind his fingers. “Hi, handsome.”

God, he wants to hide again. It helps when Siren sets aside the towel to lean against his side. Their cool skin is heaven against his overwarm body.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.” Jason’s voice is full of wonder, staring blankly at the ceiling. Siren snorts against his shoulder.

••☆••

“So uh,” Jason starts. He shifts the phone so he can cradle it better between his ear and shoulder, keeps rapidly stirring the roux. “What are we doing?”

“You’re making ‘authentic’ gumbo for me because you said it was a shame I haven’t had real cajun food. And I’m painting my nails.”

Siren isn't wrong. But that's Jason's fault for not asking the right question.

To be honest, asking a heavy question while he's making roux is probably not the best idea. Jason has been stirring for twenty minutes and it's just turning a light brown and picking up a weird popcorn smell.

They've been on the phone for a solid few hours. He feels like he’s back in high school, like someone should be picking up the landline to tell him to stop hogging the phone. God bless cell phones and modern technology. And god bless no one can pick up the landline to listen in on Jason jerking off with Siren directly in his ear, speaking absolute filth.

Well, except maybe Oracle if she decided. But Babs would just have to accept her own auditory trauma for violating his privacy. Teach her to be nosy.

Too bad not a single one of the Bats had an ounce of shame left. Jason is a rare breed apparently.

Aaaand he’s deflecting.

The roux turns the lovely dark brown shade he’s looking for. Jason turns off the burner, then stares at the cutting board piled with the Holy Trinity. The kitchen is quiet, Crime Alley’s ambient noise filtering in all while Siren hums in Jason’s ear. His mind’s eye dredges up some sort of fantasy.

He already knows the noises of Siren in his apartment. Shouting from down the hall, humming and sitting on the floor, the way they silently mouth words as they talk to themselves. It’s a little too easy to imagine them cluttering his home with plants and nail polish, having them underfoot and crowding him as he cooks. Or maybe he could convince Siren to actually sit still long enough for a movie, or for Jason to read to them.

Jesus Christ. Jason needs a reality check. Perfect timing since he’s about to get one.

“I was wondering what we’re doing. You and me, seeing each other. Are we… are we dating?” Regret, dread, whatever nameless emotion floods in his belly. “If it’s just casual, we can leave it there. But I just thought this wasn’t really casual territory anymore. Fuck me, I’m sorry to bring it up.”

Siren interrupts his terrible rambling with a soft cooing sound. “Hey, hey, hey, shhh, puppy, it’s ok.” Their voice is pitched low. And it probably says something very damning that Jason immediately settles. “Yeah, I definitely agree. We aren’t treating this like a casual thing. I’d like to call it dating. Do you want it to be dating?”

The thing is… the thing is that Jason really would like it to be dating. But there’s an issue.

“Me too.” Whispers, because it feels too big to say out loud. Which is, objectively, stupid in Jason’s opinion. “But.”

“But?” Siren prompts. It almost sounds like the line has gone dead with how quiet, how patient, they’re being.

“It wouldn’t be fair. To you, I mean.” He searches for the words. “I want to be myself with you. Truly myself. Not Red Hood or just ‘Todd’. Because I trust you. With myself, and to take care of me. And it feels wrong to ask to date when you don’t know my name. And because of how we met. I want to be honest.”

“Is this because I won’t tell you mine? That I changed my name to ‘Siren’?” Their voice is small. “Or because I told you once I didn’t want to know your name?”

Jason practically falls over himself to explain. “No! No, I’m sorry. No. It isn’t you, I don’t need whatever name you used before. It’s me. And a little bit? I mean, I considered it. For my safety and yours. But you’ve been with both Red Hood and just me in public. So.”

“So. We both want to date. But.”

The green pepper stares at him. Jason scowls at it, picks up the knife and gets to chopping. “But my name.”

Siren sighs, and he can hear rustling over the line. Jason wonders what they’re up to. “Whenever you’re ready, puppy. I want to keep seeing you. And. I’m not interested in seeing anyone else. It doesn’t have to change and we don’t have to put a label on it.”

“Thank you.” If Jason sounds a little teary, it’s the onion’s fault. “Wanna come over for dinner tomorrow? After we’re both done with work? Gumbo is always better after it sits for a day.”

The rustling stops. “Yes. I might have another ghost that needs help. And I want to play with your tits. Are you ok with hickies? I wanna leave you with some hickies.”

Jesus Christ. Leave it to Siren to give Jason a boner in the kitchen. But he definitely isn’t upset about it.

••☆••

Jason adds note after note to the drone imaging of Crime Alley. He isn’t entirely sure how Horus got it. A part of him bets Horus got the imaging with his own drone, though Jason would be surprised if he did. Oracle keeps a pretty close eye on unidentified small crafts.

It just cements Jason’s opinion that Horus and Tim can never meet. It’ll either be the greatest advancement to Batman’s mission, or Tim will be their newest rogue by the end of the week.

The sound of boots briefly draws his attention, but Jason only keeps making notes. He subtly braces his stance, not surprised at all when Siren leans most of their weight against him.

“Hey, handsome.” And Jason does pause then, their voice close to his ear, hand roaming down his back. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“It’s almost like I was invited.” Jason leans into it, just the slightest shift. “When are Horus and Carmilla getting here?”

“Not long enough for what you’re thinking.” He can hear the smile in their voice, but keeps at his task. “Excited for your first ghost hunt?”

“You promised that I get to shoot things and maybe blow something up. Of course I’m excited. Still not entirely sure what exactly will make it different from other ops I've been on.”

Siren peels themselves off his side, but not before they pinch his ass. He yelps which only feeds their smug smile.

“Oh, that's a lot of ground to cover.” Siren balks a bit, finally turning to the map. They tilt their head. “I don't think the four of us are going to be enough to herd a ghost over that much distance.”

Jason adds a last mark. Then stands and finally lets himself look over Siren. For once, they’re not in towering heels but thick-soled combat boots that come up to their knees. Jason’s only a little sad Siren is in sensible padded cargo pants but the looseness accentuates their slim waist. The fitted skin tight top with a high neck and long sleeves highlights their toned muscles, making them look more lithe than ever.

While he’s glad for the appropriate clothing, Jason does mourn Siren’s usual glittering untouchable attire. What a fucking simp he’s become that he likes this Siren too.

They catch him looking and smirk. As they step into his space, Siren grabs him by a belt loop. “Well, any ideas? Think the Bat will be down for a joint operation?”

Jason has no thoughts, looking down at the terror that has him collared. Literally and metaphorically. He’s been a rabid dog for a long time. But Jason always slipped his collar. Siren has somehow managed to pin him.

“Puppy?” they prompt when Jason doesn’t answer. He forces his thoughts in order.

“I can do you better than Batman. What do you feel about working with some Robins?” Siren raises their eyebrows at his suggestion and Jason can’t keep the grin off his face. He knows the temptation of a new weapon will be just the bait he needs.

Luckily, Damian answers on the second ring.

“Todd,” he snaps, and Jason picks out the sound of traffic in the background. Whoops, kid must be getting out of school and on his way to the Manor.

“Demon Brat. You’re on speaker and Siren is here. Where’s the sleepless one?” Jason ignores Siren’s exceedingly articulate raised eyebrow. He’s a little worried how well Siren would fit perfectly in with his family.

Damian clicks his tongue, obviously annoyed. “I am not your errand boy.”

“Fuck off, I have a proposal for you two and I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“I highly doubt you would have a proposal worth even a moment of my time, Todd.” The sneer is clear in his voice and Jason rolls his eyes.

“I’ll tell Mom on you.”

Damian bristles, his words coming fast. “She’s my mother, not yours!”

“Yeah, and she pretty much adopted me. Straight up stole me from B and trained me. C’mon, don’t tell me you forgot. One too many hits to the head? Should we get you checked for CTE, Robin?” Jason can’t resist teasing the kid. He’s far too serious, and so easy to piss off. And the look on Siren’s face - deeply amused - is worth it too.

There’s a frustrated grunt and rustling. “Red Robin picked me up from school,” Damina mutters. “You’re on speaker, he’s driving.”

“Red Hood?” Tim sounds further away than Damian.

“Nice, my two least favorite Robins in one place, what a coincidence.” Jason continues over Tim’s shout and Damian’s scoff. “I have a mission you can’t tell B about. In return, you get to play with some tech and weapons we’ve never seen before.”

“I’ve literally been to space, Hood.” Siren tilts their head, looking at Jason with wide eyes. But Tim continues. “It’ll have to be pretty impressive.”

“Could I interest you in ectoplasm powered rifles and a personal force field belt?” Siren leans in close to the phone, hand wrapped around Jason’s wrist. It shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but Jason loves the feeling of their hands on him. “I might even give you a blueprint.”

A silence stretches. Jason bets his brothers are having an entire conversation in hand gestures and facial expressions. He smiles. Timmy is the easiest to bait than any of the Robins. When Siren opens their mouth again, he gestures for them to stop. Then tilts his head towards the phone.

“I’m in,” Tim says, the excitement obvious in his voice.

“What!” Damian squawks. “You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to!”

“Ghost hunt,” is all Jason says. Another long silence. Gotcha, he thinks, knowing Damian is probably vibrating in his seat at the prospect of a chance at taking on an entirely new type of enemy. And it isn’t a shock at all when the two show up at the Lounge in less than an hour, completely kitted up.

Red Robin, the eternal dweeb, waves.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason mutters, especially because Carmila raises an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. Pointing, Jason speeds through introductions. “Red Robin, Robin, Horus, Carmilla, you already know Siren.”

And as awkward as Tim is, Damian has that little smirk on his face as he glances over the frankly alarming number of guns on the table. Jason knows that smirk well - it heralds violence and pain.

Jason's half tempted to shoo his littlest brother away from the table like a misbehaving pet.

Debrief is the world's simplest - herd the ghost towards the sigil. Siren will draw the sigil. But they spend too long debating where Siren should deface property. And Tim starts oogling Horus.

What a fool he's been, thinking Tim's wouldn't be interested in Horus because of his thing with Bernard. Fuck, they must be poly or something.

Funnily, he’s enjoying verbally sparring with Horus about ‘defensible positions’. It doesn’t help they are being encouraged by Siren, egging them both on in turn.

“No, last time I’ll fucking say it. I grew up in Crime Alley and I patrol it almost every day.” Jason emphasizes it with a jab of the imaging. “This is the safest place for the sigil.”

“But the leylines --.”

“Dude, fuck your leylines.”

Carmilla sighs explosively. “There will be no fucking.” Jason’s eyebrow twitches. Too late. “Siren, stop encouraging them, do the leylines matter?”

They look up and shrug a single shoulder. “It helps, but it isn’t a big deal. We only picked Crime Alley because the ghost is feeding on the shades there.”

Jason should be annoyed and he’s decidedly not - stupid and soft because… it’s Siren. That’s just how they are, always finding new ways to tease him. Horus and Carmilla level Siren with twin looks of exasperation, Tim glancing between the three. Jason raises an eyebrow when Tim turns in his direction, a slow dangerous grin spreading on his face. Shit, kid must have caught him looking gooey. Jason has a reputation to maintain.

If Tim figures out he’s gone soft, then he’ll stop believing Jason’s threats. Or he’ll tell Dick. Or both and Jason’s life will truly be over. The only saving grace he has is that Damian looks ready to cut someone. And the sun starting to dip low.

“If we don’t want to lose the light, we better get moving,” Jason cuts in, ending the three-way glaring match.

“Sure, as soon as Siren is done being a brat.” Carmilla shrugs, standing and grabbing all sorts of odds and ends to shove in her own tactical vest. It’s cute how she matches with Siren, even if Jason thinks SIren pulls it off better. For some absurd reason, Carmilla’s odds and ends includes a fucking mace.

Damian looks too interested in that, so Jason herds his brothers out of the room as quickly as possible. He thinks he’s escaped every worst case scenario. Until Tim opens his mouth.

The comm line crackles slightly with the wind that whips past his helmet as they weave on motorcycles through late afternoon traffic. Tim’s a menace to the general populace with his over-souped Ducati. Jason is half distracted, about to tell him to cool it, and almost misses what he says.

“So, Siren, huh? Have something you’re keeping secret?”

“I will maim you if you don’t crash first.”

Damian, riding pillion with Jason, mutters. The usual complaint - no chatter on comms. Too bad for him, B is probably asleep hanging from the Cave ceiling and can’t tell them off. And they’re on Jason’s lines that Babs promised to not hack.

“You’re a huge hypocrite, you know that right?”

“And you’re dating the kid from the death cult. Pot, kettle, et cetera, et cetera.” But before Tim can get a good Robin Trademarked Quip in, they’re coming up on the first rendezvous point, right on the edge of Crime Alley. The mood shifts quickly as they stash the bikes. They quickly fly through a final mission check and confirm the objectives. Robin dutifully outlines it.

Herd the ghost, pot shots at it as necessary. Once it’s to Siren, fallback. Siren is on their way to the abandoned apartment roof - how they’ll get there, Jason has no fucking clue. Robin, Horus, Carmilla, Red Robin and Hood will form a loose perimeter to push the ghost towards Siren.

Easy enough. Jason hoists the shockingly light long rifle and eyes the settings. The number dial makes sense - power settings, obviously. But what the actual fuck does the star mean?

Robin does the same, testing the weight of his pistols then the short wickedly curved sword that glows a too familiar green. The scratched off labels and manufacturers’ marks are slightly concerning, Jason sets the thought aside but it seems like Tim can’t as he closely inspects the staff he’s being lent.

“So uh, we gonna talk about –?”

“Nope.” Jason turns, planning the best way to the roofs. “We’re not.”

“Hood, this is pretty suspicious. Weapons, expansive collection of tech, the green glow, we don’t even know who made them or how –.”

“Drop it.”

“But –.”

“I said drop it. We have to get moving.”

“Todd,” Damian chimes in, the sword sheathed and pistol holstered. “You are compromised.”

Fine, he is. Very compromised. Jason pushes back the hood to scrub a hand through his hair. Let the record state that Tim is the worst, especially because he adds, “Just because you’re getting your dick wet, doesn’t mean you can ignore the evidence. Come on, don’t be like Batman.”

Disgusting, who taught him that? Getting his dick wet. Jesus Christ. Probably Jason and in another circumstance, he’d grin. Uptight Bougie Timmy being uncouth, how scandalous! It sucks to have it aimed his way.

“After, ok?” He raises his eyebrows, pulls the hood back up. “Let’s get this done, and then after.”

The eyeroll is a bit much, bordering on excessive when Tim throws his head back with it. “Fine, switching comms to Horus’ line. Keep your anti-ghost belts on.”

“Yes, Mom,” Jason snarks at his back, hand on hip and half turns towards Robin. “Any other complaints?”

Damian mean-mugs him. Oh yeah, Bruce is definitely going to hear about this later. Jason is a dead man (hah) walking. But at least the brat doesn’t say anything, just takes off on foot. Fine, fine. Just… fine. It’ll be a problem for Future Jason, but right now he has something to focus on.

Carmilla and Horus are cycling through an equipment check of their own when he tunes into the comm line. It feels oddly familiar as he swings through his turf. He half expects Steph to chime in with an ill-timed joke to make Bruce snap ‘no chatter on comms’. Hell, he half expects Damian to say it.

“When should we expect the spirit?” Red Robin prompts some ten minutes later and interrupts Siren as they’re trying to goad Carmilla into a rant about carbon emissions.

“Ghost, or ecto-entity. We’re not sure this one is a spirit,” Horus corrects. Jason almost snickers but somehow manages to keep it to himself. He can practically see the pinched look Tim gets when corrected. “Let’s give it another ten, then we’ll draw it out.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Ah Timmy, you aren’t subtle at all, he thinks while peering into an alley. A few of the girls are out.

Carmilla smoothly cuts off the line of questioning. “Don’t worry about that. Proprietary tech, like all your Bat shit except our tech can’t hurt people.”

That trips Red Robin up. He has his negotiation voice on when he finally replies. “We don’t kill people.”

Bzzt, wrong answer.

“But you still hurt people. I won’t even start on Red Hood –.”

“Not a Bat.” It’s the principal. Jason says it out of habit alone.

“Shut up, buckethead. Don’t interrupt me. I won’t even start on Red Hood even though I really should but then I’d be a hypocrite. So drop the topic, hm?” Carmila speaks with the edge of a snarl in her voice.

“Ooooooh. Sucks to suck,” Jason chimes in.

“I didn’t say you could speak again, meathead.”

Damian snaps, finally fed up with their heaps of bullshit. “No chatter on comms.”

Jason nearly trips. A shiver wracks its way through his body and then a pull, insistent and almost burning in his gut. He turns on his heel, searching the rooftops and peering down at the street. But nothing’s there and he turns again. Then again. “What the fuck,” Jason breathes.

“Whoops.” Siren sounds the tiniest bit guilty. “Sorry about that, stud. Forgot you’d feel it too.”

“Feel what? What was –.”

“Visual,” Robin reports. “On me, corner of Plum and Fifth.” Red Robin and Jason quickly call out confirmations, and their ETAs to Robin’s location.

“Remember, do not engage directly. Just get it to us. This is a dangerous ghost, report any powers it uses. As soon as Siren has it in the sigil, stand down. We’ll handle the rest from there.” Oh, Jason bets Tim is swooning. Horus’ commands and directions are sharp, competent. Obviously experienced directing vigilantes in the field.

Shit, they’re all doomed. Horus and Tim are going to take over the world together. But Jason can’t afford to be distracted. He swings to the roof of a taller apartment building across the street from Robin. When he presses the short scope of the rifle against his eye, he’s glad he swapped from the helmet to a domino and lines up the sight.

The ghost is unlike any of the ones he saw at the Lounge. It’s only vaguely human shaped, bright green, and very angry looking. Or it seems angry, given the bright and glowing red eyes. Robin and the ghost seem to be in a stand-off with the ghost glancing in the direction of the pull. It starts edging away from Robin.

“Back off a little, Robin, let it past you.” Jason keeps the crosshairs on it. He has a vague idea what to expect for the drop and angle of the trajectory. Energy rifles still throw him a little, so used to calculating for the weight of a bullet. “I got eyes on you.”

Right as he says it, the ghost pitches forward. It becomes concerningly goopy looking, forcing Robin back further to avoid the spray as –.

“Shapeshifting capabilities.” Damian’s voice comes through a little distorted from proximity to the ghost. Wings and a thorax spring from the ghost’s body until it’s the largest bug Jason’s ever seen.

“It’s a fucking wasp now, not a blob. Robin, retreat.”

But the cocky fucking kid stands his ground, batarang in one hand as his other rests on the handle of his ghost-pistol. Then, of course, Red Robin drops onto the roof. He walks a wide circle, closing off the line of escape.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of there, both of you.” Whatever small part of Jason that has brotherly instincts snarls. He’s baring his teeth and doesn’t even notice. “What part of ‘do not engage’ are you two missing?”

“I have a short range weapon,” Tim protests. He shifts into a lower fighting stance, as if proving a point. “Robin, fall back. Your pistols have range.”

“I am aware –.”

Jason squeezes off a shot at Robin’s feet. He instinctively leaps back, glares up at Jason. “Less bickering, more running away. Or I’ll shoot you.”

“Maybe don’t do that,” Siren chimes in. “Death clings to him. The ecto-rifle might actually hurt.”

Fuck. Foiled. But Robin seems to actually take the threat seriously for once and finally gets off the damned roof. Between Tim harassing the ghost with the staff, and Jason shooting at its feet, it begins to move towards the bait signal.

Though, there’s a couple hairy moments where it takes flight. Thankfully, both Robins and Red Hood have experience being the squishy human against flying metas. They settle into a push-pull, subtly aggressing on the ghost to herd it in.

“It keeps talking to me,” Red Robin mutters.

“What’s it saying?” Horus asks. “Any declarations or specific speech patterns?”

“It’s being an asshole. Keeps telling me everyone secretly hates me.”

“Oh, babybird. I don’t secretly hate you,” Jason sing-songs. But the way Horus mutters piques his interest. Do they know the ghost?

The sigil is more complicated than the Sending circle Jason has seen Siren use before. He doesn’t spare too much time taking in the looping lines or runes. And there’s Siren, standing nearly out of sight but eyes sharp. That wonderful violence that hides beneath their skin simmers to the surface and –.

Oh wow. That’s a good look on them. The low stance makes them look dangerous, an animalistic gleam to their eyes. Jason’s almost distracted by the sleek lines of their body, intensely aware of how strong Siren is but savoring seeing the visible shift.

As soon as the ghost lands, Robin fires off a volley of pistol blasts. It stumbles towards the circle - still just outside of it.

“We need –,” Carmilla trains her own pistol on it, but she’s at a bad angle to be effective.

“Yup, on it.” Jason doesn’t think twice about getting closer to the ghost. Dead thing versus dead thing, he’s ready to rock. He feints to one side, then throws a haymaker the ghost practically walks into. Shockingly, his fist actually makes contact and sends it sprawling back. Landing perfectly inside the circle.

“Huh.” He looks at his fist, still surprised. It was very… solid. Solid and somehow still with a lot of give. Like punching a bag of jell-o. “I punched a ghost. Didn’t think that was possible.”

Horus wheezes out a laugh. “Oh my god, you two are meant for each other.”

“Laugh at me later, please,” Siren snarks. “Get the peeler.”

That doesn’t sound good. Jason sprints away from the circle, scooping up Damian on his way.

“The what?” Tim starts. He doesn’t get very far, mostly because Jason is tugging him away by his cape which has the added benefit of cutting off his next words. Damian squirms like an angry weasel in Jason’s other arm. Jason almost misses Siren stepping up the edge of the circle, singing urgently and softly enough the comms barely pick it up.

The ghost rights itself. It spots Siren and weirdly relaxes. The wasp smiles - Jason also didn’t know wasps could smile - and leans forward. “Should have known it was you. Freaky little ghostboy needs help from the real heroes. What’s next, going to have Batman fighting all your –!”

Jason’s really glad he got them all back. Especially as Carmilla points a different weapon at the ghost. The ghost’s little monologue turns into an ear piercing scream. The sound continues, even as it sheds its wasp skin, then the green blobby layer, and finally reveals a shriveled inner creature. Like a matryoshka doll of ick.

A bright blue beam cuts across the ghost, pulling it in like a UFO tractor light. Still it screams, until it finally cuts off suddenly. The light dissipates, revealing Horus holding a cylindrical device.

“Hi, Bertrand. Bye, Bertrand,” he says dryly.

As soon as the cap is on the device, Siren’s voice fades. They sway worryingly but Jason is already moving, catching them around the waist.

“Gotcha,” he murmurs and guides them to sit. Then thinking of the gross weather-proofing tar, shoulders off his vest and folds it. “Here, sit on this.”

“My hero,” Siren warbles, shifting to allow him to get it under their ass.

“Bend your legs, head between your knees, deep breaths.” Carmilla looms just behind Jason, hands on her hips and frowning.

“Yes, Mom.” Siren sighs, hanging their head.

Robin in all his stunning social elegance decides that now is a good time to ask about the weapons. While still holding his sword. “I demand to know the origin of these devices, who created them, and how they traveled to Gotham without proper documentation.”

“Shut up, Little D,” Jason quickly interrupts. Robin snarls at him, already starting on his usual rant about stupid nicknames. “Worst nickname in the world, honestly. Who the fuck calls a kid ‘Little D’? It was a set-up.”

Tim tilts his head, ignoring the old tirade, to say “What about Big D?”

“Oh, he wishes he was the ‘Big D’.”

Siren snorts. “Wait, wait, they’ll both get it in a minute,” Jason stage-whispers, not at all trying to stop anyone from hearing him.

“I see why you were nervous to introduce me to your family.” There’s an odd wonder in Siren’s voice. “Dear lord, and I thought my family was insane.”

“You’re telling me.”

Then, like the sun clearing, Tim and Damian get it at the same time. Delighted, Tim laughs while Damian manages to look even angrier. “These childish nicknames are insulting and unbecoming! It’s a disrespect to compare the true blood heir to a phallus and –!”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me on the way back to the Cave.” Shit, it’s gotten late. Bruce is going to flip, and Jason knows he has to get the Robins moving. “Come on, hup to, hup to. Get your asses moving.”

“But,” Tim immediately protests, holding the ghost-tech staff possessively. “Siren said they had a blueprint and I still –.”

“Nope, I’ll get it for you tomorrow.” He glances at Siren, and they shoo him off with a dismissive wave. Great, feeling better then. Jason points at Tim and then Damian. “Terrorist two, Terrorist three, with a sense of urgency. Schnell, vamoose, undele.”

“If I’m two, and Robin is three, then who’s one?” Tim bounces in place in a very DIck Grayson type of behavior. “Also, I’m not a terrorist.”

“Me, obviously. What did you think I was doing with the Outlaws? Backpacking across Europe?” Like all decent Batkids, Damian’s eye roll behind his domino is unmistakable. “Don’t front, shitheel. Like you haven’t blown up your fair share of assassin compounds.”

“I think I like Red Robin,” Horus says to no one. Validated, and also with sneaking terror, Jason wants Tim the fuck out of here even faster. Before Horus decides to blow something up in some sort of fucked up courting ritual. As Jason makes to stand, Siren presses a kiss into his cheek and pats his bicep.

“You guys got a way down?” Jason pauses, still half crouched.

Carmilla flicks her fingers at him. “Yeah, yeah, we got up here just fine. We can get down on our own. Get your little dumbasses home before Batman shows up.” With a lazy salute to Carmilla and the starry-eyed nerd, Jason trots across the roof.

“Go, a little pep in your step before Batman puts out a fucking APB for his missing birdies. You’re worse than cats.” He takes to bodily moving Tim towards the edge of the roof. The little shit digs in his heels, as if Jason isn’t above picking him up.

“B isn’t that paranoid. And I made an excuse. He thinks Robin and I are helping you with surveillance.”

“Great, and he’s going to surveillance your ass until you’re 35 when he finds out you lied.”

“You’re assuming this is my first time lying to B.” Tim’s grin is feral, a little unhinged. Great! Now Jason is an accessory. Wait… he’s the main perp here, actually. But at least he doesn’t lie to Batman, Tim’s insane.

Well, guess they all have to be a little insane for the job. Jason likes to think he’s the least unhinged. The most currently hinged. “I’d say you signed your own death warrant, but B doesn’t believe in killing. Or Santa.”

Tim snorts. “Of course he doesn’t, he’s jewish. Also, Santa isn’t real, but murder definitely is.”

Jason gasps, feigning a scandalized tone. “How could you! Little ears are listening,” and pointedly looks at Robin. Damian ignores them, jumping off the roof.

“You know you’re still on our comms, right?” Horus asks.

••☆••

“Hey, handsome.”

Jason flushes only a little bit at Siren’s greeting. Progress. Ignoring how shy he feels, Jason obligingly kisses their cheek. “Hi.”

Siren’s eyebrow twitches from where they sprawl prettily on the fainting couch of the Purple Room. Obviously, he’s amusing.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing.” They smile sweetly. “You’re cute is all.”

Am not. Jason resists the childish response. It’s late. Really late, even for them. Siren looks absolutely wiped out, paler than usual and hair hanging limply around their face. And despite it all, Jason can’t stop his eyes from lingering. The sheer blouse gives glimpses and hints that tease. He’s drawn to the neckline where Jaosn knows he’ll taste sweat if he’s allowed. Where he knows their perfume mingles with the scent of their own body. Where the skin is soft and sensitive.

They’re both tired. Siren from too many Sendings and seances and Jason from an exhausting patrol with Bruce.

Still, they open their arms to him. Jason carefully shucks off all the pointy parts of his gear. After a moment of contemplation, he peels off the vest, shirt and armor. It’ll be a pain in the ass to put on again, but he knows how uncomfortable it will be for Siren if he leaves it on.

“Better,” Siren murmurs when he finally folds himself into the space between their thighs. Despite the size difference, Siren makes a great big spoon. They card fingers through Jason’s sweaty hair.

He would have stopped for a shower first. There were a few safehouses on the way. But…

Jason sighs.

“Long day in the office?” Siren jostles him a little. “Couldn’t have been too long. I saw you looking.”

“Hard not to,” he says into their chest. Closes his eyes against the vibration of their laugh and preens a little. “Can’t be mad. You put in the effort, it would be a shame not to look.”

They hum. “Think I could wear this top the next time I have to go meet one of the suppliers?” Jason snorts; Siren continues. “Could pair it with a pencil skirt, the one with the high slit. It’d work.”

It would work. Jason shifts a little to look up at them. “With the Jimmy Choo’s.”

All he can see is Siren’s pale blue eyes, bright with humor, their little tired smirk. They lean in close. “Oh, you think?” They’re so close, Jason can feel Siren’s lips brushing his as they speak. “What if I had other plans?”

Jason does have other plans. Why he wanted to see Siren tonight before he chickened out.

Still, it takes him a bit to find the words. And longer yet to gather his concentration mostly because Siren keeps teasing him. Their hands wander, smoothing over his shoulders, ghosting down his back, tracing the lines of his collarbone. They even rub his earlobe and –.

What the fuck. That’s so… erogenous? Jason blinks after he shivers, Siren giggling. They do it again just to watch his reaction again.

“Stop that, I wanted to talk.” Jason flaps his hands at them.

Siren grins. “So talk.” Their hands come to rest on his hips, tracing patterns into the skin. “Or am I too distracting?”

“Yes, you menace.” Sucking in a big breath, Jason tries to calm himself. Down, boy. “I wanted to talk about dating officially.”

“Alright.” Siren sounds remarkably calm, even though Jason can hear their heartbeat from where he’s pressed against their chest. He listens to it speed up a little, unexpectedly comforting. Comforting to know they’re nervous too.

“Jason Todd.”

“You know, I teased you about white boy names. You just had to double down, didn’t you?”

Spluttering a little, Jason turns to look up at Siren. He just revealed his name and they’re joking. But Siren’s expression is soft, eyes crinkling with their smile.

They press their face into his hair. Regardless that he’s sweaty and probably smelly from patrol. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Yeah.” His chest feels tight. Feelings are dumb, Jason decides. “Thanks. For being patient with me.”

Siren is quiet for a long time. Long enough that Jason drifts a bit, basking in their quiet attention and feeling safe. It’s so easy with Siren. Their ragged edge match.

“I just realized,” they start, speaking slowly. A tinge of nervousness in their tone. Jason doesn’t move. “It might be unfair for me to tease you about having a white boy name when my birth name is also a white boy name.”

Oh, to be trusted. To be trusted with the parts of Siren they hide behind a finely crafted armor of snark and untouchable beauty.

Jason rolls his head, accidentally hitting Siren’s chin. “I like SIren better.”

“You don’t even know my birth name,” they point out.

“Don’t need to.” He shakes his head. “I like Siren better.”

They tighten their arms around him, and press a smile into his temple. “Me too. Hey, so I know you said you would drive me home. But how about you take me to your place? We’re officially dating, Jason. Maybe I should get you a tag for the collar. Jason, property of Siren.”

All the blood in his brain rushes south, and Jason struggles to form a coherent thought. Well, a coherent thought beyond ‘yes’ and ‘please’.

“Do,” he licks his lips. “Do you want to stay the night? I can make us breakfast.”

“Sweet talker. Let’s go.”

••☆••

Tim barely responds when he drops the casefile by his elbow. The kid glances at it, but doesn’t stop typing a long line of code. When Jason opens his mouth, Tim practically hisses and types faster.

What a fucking weirdo. It only makes Jason want to fuck with him.

He resists. Jason is such a benevolent brother. Dick should learn from him.

“Thanks. What's the file?” Tim finishes the line, already pulling the folder and flipping it open before Jason can reply.

"Remember our wasp-y friend, Bertrand?" Jason starts, ignoring that Bruce or Oracle are definitely eavesdropping right now. The cat's already out of the bag, thanks to the snitch formerly known as Damian. Otherwise, Jason wouldn't be having this conversation in the Cave. But, it's a conversation he needs to have with Tim.

And Tim... Timmy is only ever one of three places. Wayne Enterprises, the Cave, or on patrol.

Honestly. Bruce should do a DNA test. Tim is more a chip off the old block than Damian.

"Bertrand, sure. The ghost you punched," Tim notes vaguely, turning through the pages of the folder. "What about him?"

"According to Horus," and aha! Tim finally looks up to fully focus on the conversation. "Bertrand doesn't work alone. He pairs up with another ghost called Spectra."

"I still don't know what this has to do with me." He closes the folder, and shoves it back towards Jason.

“Sheesh, look at that ego. Nothing to do with you. They go after people that can be taken advantage of, Siren said they tend to use therapy to get under a victim’s skin. I remembered Wayne Enterprises brought in that therapy group after the last Scarecrow terror attack. Just need the WE records on the firm you brought in.”

Tim full body twitches. “Are you blaming me for this?”

An alarm blares in the back of Jason’s head. Tim hunches in on himself, scowling down at the folder.

“I didn’t say–,”

“Look, I know you don’t like me but this is low even for you. The files are confidential anyways. Healthcare compliance laws and patient confidentiality. We don’t even have access to anything. No patient names, no session records, nothing.”

“I don’t want patient details,” Jason says slowly, a little confused about the direction Tim is taking the conversation. “Just need the name of the shrink firm to dig up their employee records.”

“And you’ll need my help on that, right?” His mouth works for a bit, like he’s chewing on his words. “Because that’s what I’m good for. Not a good enough Robin, but good enough for the detective work. Whatever, I don’t have enough time for another case. B already has me on that missing person thing and Dick needs cross reference on an old mafia case that isn’t digitized, and the new carbon net zero factory in Japan is breaking ground next week. But you know, Jason? You’re right, this is my fault. I’ll make time for you. ”

What? Jason blinks, stunned, in the silence that practically echoes after Tim’s rant. Tim turns in his chair, signaling he’s done with the conversation as he dives back into typing.

“What?”

“I said I’d do it. Don’t you have – I don’t even know what you do on patrol, isn’t there a thug or someone to behead?” Tim says to the monitor. He typos, backspaces by pounding on the keyboard with prejudice.

“I didn’t ask for you to do it. Jesus, lay off. You’re going to break it.” Jason grabs the back of the chair, aiming to pull Tim away from the keyboard.

He elbows Jason in the solar plexus. Before Tim can withdraw his arm, Jason grabs him by the bicep. Which earns him a fist to the same spot. Maybe to someone else, it would be enough to have them gasping. But Jason’s fully armored. And a human tank.

“It’s my keyboard, fuck off.” Tim’s practically feral now. And Jason is still confused what the fuck is going on. “I said I’d do it. I’ll have Oracle upload my findings to your server.”

Without thinking, Jason catches Tim’s other wrist when he tries for a throat jab. Immediately, he knows it’s a mistake. Tim yanks hard, trying to break Jason’s grasp. He’s panting with the strain of it, but there’s a gleam of real fear in his eyes.

He remembers. Jason remembers Tim has a good reason to be scared of him. And releases Tim with a stumble back. They stare at each other but then Tim jerks to look away.

Staring at the screen, TIm sounds remote. Emotionless. “I know I’m just a pretender and a subpar replacement. I know what you think of me and that is somehow my fault and it probably is. So. I’ll do what you asked.”

All Jason knows is he fucked up. Fucked up in such a huge way that he isn’t sure there’s a way forward. He doesn’t even know what he said. But maybe it doesn’t matter when… when he tried to break Tim in the Tower. Or when he tried to force Bruce to kill the joker.

Or… Just pick. Jason’s fucked up a lot of things.

“Don’t worry about it, Timmy.” His voice is gruff. “Just the firm name, that’s all I need. Horus wants to pull the employee records and backtrace them himself.”

Tim finally looks at him. Mouth open in a small ‘o’ like he’s surprised. “I thought you needed…” he trails off.

“I don’t need anything from you.” That definitely comes out wrong. Jason can’t bring himself to care. “This is my case. Just the name and I’ll fuck off. Text it to Dick or Babs.”

He turns on his heel, intent on getting out of the Cave as quickly as possible. Even when Tim stammers, and then shouts, Jason doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until he’s run the loop for his Crime Alley patrol five times.

“Wanna talk about it?” Oracle says suddenly. Probably watching his tracker and had waited for a pause.

Jason turns off his comm.

It immediately boots back up. “I take that as a no.” Babs sounds a little amused.

It is emphatically a ‘no’. So Jason doesn’t respond. Just kicks himself into another lap, and kicks the teeth in on an asshole harassing a woman on her way home from a shift at the clinic.

“You know, there’s better ways to blow off steam. You should get laid, Hood.” Oracle must think she’s real funny. “There’s no shame in it. We all need an outlet sometimes.”

Like anyone in this family knows what a healthy outlet it, Jason keeps himself from snarking. They all dress up in kevlar and masks to dole out justice. Yeah, well adjusted with healthy outlets. At least Damian has an excuse. He had no say in his upbringing. Double fucked on both sides of the family. Kid never stood a chance.

“Honestly, even a hobby would be good. When’s the last time you took a day off?” Oracle continues. He can hear typing in the background, and Jason rolls his eyes. Pot, kettle. Who cares.

He tunes her out. Maybe Oracle’s lonely in her tower and needs someone to talk to. Maybe. Jason doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth for Babs today. Patrol goes on. Jason only takes a break once to watch one of the working girls as she administers NARCAN to a kid. The ambulance lights are lurid. A reminder.

He points his feet back to his usual route. There’s still a lot of dark before it’s morning. Red Hood’s built for violence. He can’t save a kid. But he can kill a dealer who sold to a kid on his turf. He can break a Robin though. Broke a Robin.

How’s that for a line on a resume? Jason thinks sickly to himself.

••☆••

“Come here. Sit. Wait.” Siren doesn’t even look at him. They continue leaning into a vanity, gluing star shaped glitter around their eyes. It’s a reward, Jason knows, to see Siren before they’re all done up. To see this vulnerable side of Siren, before their armor of sharp winged liner and layers of shapewear, expensive fabrics go on. He takes a moment to relish the sheer robe, slip and stockings.

It’s the first time Jason has been in their home, nevertheless their room. The investigator in him wants to poke around, taken in by the droves of clothes, shoes and costumes. There’s a father boa draped over a chair and weirdly, a large metal gauntlet half sticking out from under a loveseat couch. There’s nowhere to sit, but Jason knows the game they’re playing tonight.

He sits cross legged at their feet. Siren immediately puts their feet on his thighs. “Puppy,” they greet. Jason doesn’t answer and looks up at them. They still haven’t looked his way, but Jason can be good. Patience is easy when he knows the reward.

Finally, Siren glances at him. They reward him by sliding a foot towards his inner thigh, pressing. “Good. What do you need tonight, Jason? I thought I was going to see you tomorrow, puppy. Couldn’t wait?”

“For the debrief with Batman. Not like this.” Siren goes back to their vanity, considering multiple shades of red lipstick and stains.

“You didn’t answer. What do you need tonight?” They gift him a finger crooked under his chin for a moment.

Siren offers him something no one else has in a long time. He isn’t the Jason they want him to be. He can be the fun older brother, but he can’t… Jason has left a swathe of hurt a mile wide to match the canyon of grief in his chest.

“I don’t want to think. I want to be good.”

Siren stills at his words. Sets aside the tube of lip stain, and looks at him fully for the first time. Impassively, they search his face. Jason knows he’s a mess. Hasn’t shaved recently enough, too restless to truly sleep, a shade of the Pit stirring somewhere inside him. His sight hasn’t bled green once, but he feels raw and tender the same way he did with that first gasp of sanity after the Lazarus Waters.

Their expression remains neutral. Jason appreciates it. It isn’t for lack of caring. A shared penchant to not poke the monsters beneath skin. It’s probably a little toxic.They’ll have to talk about it someday. But today –.

“Cute,” they coo. “Your same rules? Or something different tonight?”

“Yes, same,” he breathes. Already hopelessly turned on in anticipation.

“Anything a hard no tonight? Or do you just want me to direct you?” Their tone is light as they move to swipe highlighter over their cheek bones.

“No hard no’s, Siren. I remember our rules. I want to be a good boy. I want to wear a collar.” Jason dutifully reports. They roll their lips in, stilling for a moment before continuing to blend out the highlight.

Jason loves this. Loves sitting at Siren's feet and watching them turn into a glittering untouchable art piece. The fact he's allowed to see it makes him almost want to preen, holding it close that Siren is letting him be here. He was a good boy, so Siren lets him ask for things.

“I'm not making a mess of myself. Are you ok playing by yourself?” Siren shows him two pairs of earrings. “I'm wearing the shimmery blue dress.”

“The one that looks like raven wings.” Siren hums appreciatively. Both pairs would look good with it. Arbitrarily, Jason picks the dangling pair because he likes how they'll bring attention to Siren's neck.

“Thank you, puppy. There's a present for you on the couch.” They turn to put on the earrings and simultaneously lift their feet away. “Go look, baby. The black case.”

He nearly gives into the need to investigate, but instead nudges the metal gauntlet further under the couch when he nears. Out of sight, out of mind. Siren is giving him a lot of trust right now.

And anyways, the small black box is more interesting.

There's no discernable place to sit on the couch, so in a moment of boldness, Jason lowers himself onto the bed. “I can open it?”

Siren nods, leaning close to the mirror. “Yeah, tell me what you think.”

He takes a moment to admire the case, the bezels on the lid. And inside, a new collar. Thick leather stained a deep burgundy red, and a ring on the front. Like he asked for. He's so engrossed in admiring it that he doesn't notice Siren leaving the vanity. They drop onto the bed next to him with a bounce, finally breaking Jason's reverie. The burgundy looks dark against the pale of their hand.

“Let's try it on. Turn.”

Jason shifts to put his back to Siren so they can do the buckle on the back. They push the hair at the nape of his neck out of the way, movements slow. It feels like it takes ages for them to do it, all the while checking the tightness. Once satisfied, they kiss the very top knob of his spine.

“There, let me see.” He turns back, and immediately Siren smoothes hands over his shoulders, cups his chin to angle his head up and side to side. “Beautiful. What do you think? Do you like it?”

“It's heavier than the other.”

“Good though? Good heavy?” They press, casually flicking the ring.

“Good.”

“Good,” they echo. “Puppy, are words hard today? Yeah? That's ok, as long as you can say no if you need. Can you do that?” Siren seeks out his eyes when he ducks his head.

“Yes, I can say no.”

A finger to the hinge of his jaw encourages Jason to raise his head again. "Don’t hide. It looks great on you. Too bad you won't wear a collar all the time. Get undressed, puppy.”

Jason undresses on a thoughtless auto-pilot, adding his clothes to the piles of Siren's. As soon as his socks join his boots on the floor, Siren pulls him onto the bed. He feels a little breathless as they manhandle him easily into the position they want.

Siren smooths hands over his sides, down his flanks, to the back of his thighs. The position isn't what Jason expected, laid back on the pillows, his ass in Siren's lap, legs spread to either side on their hips.

“Absolutely beautiful. Look at you, puppy. My pillow queen. Touch yourself, show me how you make yourself come. No touching me, or mussing my makeup.”

His abs tighten for a moment as Jason works hard to control his breathing. Any shyness he had disappears under Siren's instructions, his dick half hardening. A handful of strokes get him to fully erect all under Siren's supervision.

Jason doesn't know if he could handle touching another person right now. Not with his dark thoughts. But Siren watching him? Jason's aware he's a dramatic asshole. Somehow he never considered how hot he'd find it to be watched jerking himself.

“Is this all you do? Don't front with me, puppy. Or just taking your time?” Siren bounces their legs, jostling Jason midstroke. He hums in response, stopping for a moment to grip just the head. Relishes the spike of pleasure. “Do you need anything, lube? A toy?”

What does he want today? “Lube.”

Siren easily half lifts him, startling Jason. He reaches for the headboard to keep himself steady, following Siren's hand as they produce a bottle of lube from a nightstand. “All you, puppy. I can't go to the lounge smelling like lube”, they say as they press the bottle into his hand.

Jason takes a little risk. He wiggles to resettle himself on Siren's lap, then plants one heel to further spread his thighs. He wants to feel full. Fingers aren't going to do that, but Siren's attentive gaze will bridge the gap.

Precum gathers at his tip, so he adjusts his strokes to smear it fully along his shaft. When Jason fumbles with the lid of the lube, Siren deftly opens it for him. “Let me help a little, there you go, sweetheart.”

They squeeze out more into his hand than he usually needs. Jason grips the base of his cock while he worms his arm under his thigh. He takes special care to thoroughly smear the lube over his hole. Makes sure his fingers get coated in the process.

Siren watches him, hands resting on the outside of his thighs and thumbs rubbing circles into the flexing muscles. “You look like you know what you’re doing, puppy. How often have you done this and thought about me? Oh, don’t let me distract you,” they add when he pauses, presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. “This is all about you right now.”

Not getting distracted is hard - hah - with all the sensory input. Siren’s roving hands, the collar, the texture of the sheer robe underneath his ass. But Siren’s urging has him greedy for more. Satisfied with the lube, he starts with one finger.

Siren watches him slowly pump just his middle finger in and out. Their eyes follow the movement closely, and Jason neglects his cock a bit to focus on what he’s doing. When he adds a second finger, he closes his eyes and lets the pleasure pool in his belly. He squeezes the tip of his cock, starting to stroke slowly while he keeps his other hand working slowly.

“Absolutely beautiful. You feel good now, huh, puppy? You’re loving this.” They shift Jason’s leg, opening his thighs further. His eyes fly open, meets Siren’s heated gaze. “You’re such a good boy, look how well you take it. Keep stroking your cock for me.”

He obeys, almost as if compelled. A part of him considers adding a third finger, but Jason wants to draw it out. Pleasure ebbs and spikes in time with the strokes of his cock he matches to the pace of his fingers in his ass. He pants through it under Siren's watchful gaze.

Apparently, that won't do. Not for Siren. “Puppy, add another finger.” Jason's breath hitches. “Show me, show me how you fuck yourself while you think about me. Is that what you want, wish your fingers were my cock?”

He works the third finger in, scissoring his hole and trembling. “Doesn't that feel better? You're so beautiful, puppy. Come on, fuck yourself. make yourself feel good.”

Siren's words hit a nerve. “Wanna be good,” Jason gasps.

They surge forward. The movement lifts Jason's hips. He doesn't even have time to adjust to the new position when Siren curls their fingers into the ring on the collar. “Keep fucking yourself. You are good. So good. Pretty puppy, you take it beautifully. Keep going until you come.”

Then Siren tugs on the ring. Voice low. “Look me in the eye. Come, puppy.”

He comes, shaking apart with, clenching on his fingers and spilling over his belly and chest. Siren kisses him through it, hand still curled in the ring. There's a bit of a gross squelch when Jason pulls out his fingers, dick twitching from the aftershocks of pleasure it causes.

Patting his flank, Siren shuffles him off their lap to stand. “Stay right there.” There's the sound of their stocking-feet padding across the room, the door, and distantly water. Jason doesn't worry about it, or move, still trying to catch his breath and eyes drifting close.

“Sorry, baby,” Siren murmurs when Jason flinches at the touch of a damp cloth on his belly. “Lift a little for me, thank you. There you go, puppy, all clean.”

Before they can stand, Jason grabs Siren's wrist. “I wasn't going far, just setting the towel down. Here, scooch a little.” They lean away, then slide into the bed, back braced on the headboard. The opened arms are all the invitation he needs, worming his way up to get his head on their thighs, draping his torso over their legs.

Hands cards through his hair. He can't help but lean into it.

“Do you know how badly I want to make you cry while I fuck you? Hm, soon.” Jason doesn't groan, but he does lift his head enough glare. “Oh, don't be like that, puppy. You fucked yourself like a pro.”

They scratch slightly at his scalp, knead the muscles at the base of his head. Jason melts. “You're incredibly flexible, most guys your size aren't. I'm excited.”

“Assassin training. Finally good for something,” he mutters into the fabric of Siren's dressing gown.

“What, no shit?” He nods. “Wild. You're feeding my ego and you don't even know it. If I bring you water, will you drink it for me?”

Another nod, but Jason huffs when Siren makes to stand. “Aw, baby. Ok. But only a little longer. Then water and I have to finish getting ready.

And that's right. Jason was selfish. Demanded Siren see him despite their own life and plans.

Just another thing for Jason to ruin.

“Puppy? Look at me? There you are, gorgeous. Your eyes are so pretty.” They stroke long lines along his shoulders, then down his spine. As they repeat it, Jason relaxes. He didn't even realize he'd tensed up. “You were very good today, and I hope you felt good too.”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“Perfect. I'm really happy we did this. You deserve to feel good.” A kiss pressed to his knuckles makes him blush. Cherished. That's what you do for people you cherish.

Jason has never felt that, too tall and muscled, too scarred.

“And you got a new collar today. Here, that can't be comfy with how you're laying.” At their urging, he rolls just enough so they can undo the buckle. “Better. Ok, I'm getting up now, puppy. You stay here as long as you need.”

“Even when you leave?”

They slide out from under him, and shuffle a few pillows closer to his head. It allows Jason to worm around a little, hugging a pillow close while he lays mostly on his belly. He presses his face into the fabric.

Siren's distinct scent of their shampoo, make-up and perfume fills his nose. Sue him, Jason loves the way they smell.

He forgot they were here, and definitely saw him acting like a dog rolling in a good scent. They laugh lightly at him, petting his hair after he settles. “Yeah, even when I leave. As long as you need.”

Jason promises himself he'll leave as soon as Siren finishes getting ready. Maybe he should pull a B and disappear while they're turned. Instead, he grows roots, encouraged to bonelessly doze while Siren moves around the room. Everytime they near the bed, Siren trails fingers over the closest body part, ruffles his hair, presses kisses into his back.

He stays all evening, the anxiety and mess of emotions finally letting up enough he rests, napping.

“Sshh honey, I'm sorry I woke you,” Siren murmurs. The feelings of their body sliding into the bed has him stirring, looking for the assailant in an unfamiliar room. “Just me. Go back to sleep.”

Jason is a good boy. He goes back to sleep.

••☆••

Siren bustles around the Purple Lounge, the train of their hi-lo dress trailing behind them. Their long sleeves flair outward as they move around the room, heels clicking with every step. Fussily, they straighten the pillows on the fainting couch, shake out the curtains until they fall just so. Even rearrange the small wooden box of chalk.

“Ok, what’s up?” Jason asks from his strategic place by the wall. Familiar with Dick’s stress cleaning, he immediately stood out of the way. They were supposed to leave ten minutes ago, but he was loath to interrupt. Sometimes the thing just needed done. Clean out the brain. Jason could understand that.

But Jason also knows sometimes the best thing to do is stop. And the Lounge is long empty. It’d probably serve Siren to get out of here and decompress a bit.

“Nothing, I just.” Siren cuts themself off. Stamps their foot, then angrily pulls the comb from their french twist. It was already obvious they were unhappy, with the cleaning, every tense line of their body.

“Nothing,” Siren repeats, but sighing the word while they ruffle their hair. “I almost told you my name once. And you never asked. Or demanded. Or pressed.”

Before Jason can respond, they launch into what’s really bothering them.

“You just never ask. My past, the death magic, my name. Or even who we all are, where we’re from. You’ve just never pressed. And like, I’m not great at secrets. There’s been plenty of times I’ve slipped up. Or left something out you definitely saw.” Siren pauses, slightly breathless. Turning on Jason, their eyes are wide. Searching as if they expect to see him angry. “Anyone else would prod, or poke. Do a full scale operation to find everything on me. But you haven’t. And you stop when your family tries.”

Siren pants. Jason holds himself back from going to them.

“Why?” Plaintive, Siren tilts their head. And he can’t not rush to them. His hands flutter, unsure if it’s ok to touch.

“You don’t have to.” Jason curls his fingers around Siren’s when they grab his hands. “It doesn’t matter to me. If you don’t want to talk about all that stuff, I’m never going to ask you. Like you never ask me to talk about things I don’t want to. I like all the versions of you, but I think I love Siren the most.”

Love?

That’s a big word. Actually, it isn’t. One syllable. Four letters. Objectively, it’s small. But holy fuck, is it big and Jason didn’t mean to say it. Regardless that it’s totally true. And that Jason’s been pussy footing around it for a while.

“You dweeb. I can’t believe the first time you’re telling me you love me when I’m a mess.” Siren pulls on his hands. “You are a romantic. I knew it! I knew it since we got locked in that coffin together!”

“I wasn’t hiding it from you. Not my fault you didn’t notice”

They hum, putting his hands on their hips so Siren can lean towards him, hands on his chest. Siren taps his chest with one sparkly nail. Alluringly tilt their head back. Jason can’t look away from their lips.

“Great, because I think I love this Jason the most too. Stop staring at me. Kiss me and take me to your place.”

He does. When he comes up for air, Jason realizes something. “My place might not be the best. Nightwing is in town and he has a habit of breaking in.”

Siren smiles slyly. “Then I say we have sex on the couch and teach him a lesson.”