#secondhand name

"Willis couldn't decide a name for you," she had said, "and allowed me to choose when none of the ones he picked felt right. You came to us at a fragile time, Jay, but your arrival made your father wise up. You healed something in him, so I decided to name you Jason. It means healer, a name you continue to live up to, baby."

She stroked his curls gently, pressing her lips against the crown of his head. "You're such a good boy—my own personal healer. I don't know where I'd be without you. Maybe one day, you'll be a doctor. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Of course, as luck would have it, he becomes nothing of the sort.

Still, there is a part of Jason that wonders if she cursed him with this name because all Jason does is bring out the worst in people.

-

It begins innocuously enough.

Jason brushes it off at first because he doesn't suspect it.

Why would he? Bruce already proved trustworthy, and surely, a hero wouldn't associate, let alone take on as a ward, with someone who was depraved.

He can take Dick's immature tendencies, such as when he's excessively brutal during a spar, when he argues with Bruce about Jason loud enough to shake the walls, or even just how frigid he is with Jason. It's understandable, given how Jason kinda slipped into his old place at Bruce's side, uniform and all. Jason reasons that Dick is just jealous, and Bruce assures him that his behavior will change and that he needs time to adjust. He wants to believe that's true, but it's been a year, and Dick is still the same as ever, abrasive and cold.

Most of the time, he pretends Jason doesn't even exist, which suits Jason fine, but when they do have to interact, Dick swings between two extremes: watching Jason intently like he's just waiting for Jason to fuck up to prove a point, or he's downright mean. They're both bad in Jason's opinion, but he thinks the first is worse.

Dick's stare sends shivers down his back, and Jason always notices when his eyes are on him, because there is a certain weight to the older boy's gaze. It drapes around his shoulders like a heavy coat during the height of summer, oppressive and scorching.

Whenever Jason turns to look back, Dick has an eerily blank expression, and it creeps Jason out so much that he breaks eye contact and leaves the room.

On the other hand, when Dick does deign to interact with him, he's a complete and utter asshole. It's like he can't get enough of tormenting Jason, always shamelessly insulting him through backhanded compliments, jokes, and passively-aggressive remarks, pinching, hitting, and pushing him too hard, pretending like those incidents are for his own good, and implying that he's not worthy to be Bruce's son, let alone partner, which stings the most.

Somehow, Bruce doesn't see it; maybe he doesn't want to, since Dick is his darling Robin.

It goes on like this for the longest, but then, Dick grows both bolder and less violent. He still likes to stare at Jason, but he's less overt about it, too. His touches start to become more casual, almost brotherly, a pat on his shoulder after a rare, shared patrol, his arm linked with Jason's own as he guides them to the Batcave, a grasp on Jason's hips as he moves behind and away from Jason in the bathroom, a gentle but firm lock of his hand around Jason's wrist when they spar—he's even nice now, which is such a trip.

However, Dick is always touching him whenever he's home, which is more often than he has since Jason first arrived at the Manor.

So, really, this is all Jason's fault because he has to ask what prompted the change of heart. He couldn't just accept it the way anyone else would have.

There must always be a catch, and he's right, of course.

Dick locks the door behind him as he enters Jason's room.

He hadn't changed at all.

He'd merely hidden his true feelings behind a veil of kindness, ever the performer, and Jason, ever the fool, had fallen for it.

-

The next morning, Bruce comes home just in time for breakfast, merely shakes his head at the faint limp Jason tries to hide, and scolds Dick for being excessively rough with Jason again.

It's not like this isn't the first time Dick has left Jason with some sorta ache, but it is the most significant one to date.

He moves his food around the plate, bringing an empty fork to his mouth; he needs to do something.

Jason thinks about just saying it out in the open, but he can't speak past the lump in his throat.

Dick knocks his knee against Jason's, his hand settling high on Jason's thigh; Bruce doesn't notice that either.

He glares at Dick, who smiles at him, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

It's genuine, and all due to Jason's misery.

Bruce tops Jason's barely-sipped glass of orange before he leaves for the office, kissing Jason's forehead as he goes.

Such an innocent gesture, but it makes Jason's stomach turn.

He doesn't manage to get anything down, but he's grateful for that when Dick finishes his food, shoves Jason to his knees, and demands that Jason open up.

This, at least, is familiar.

-

When he wakes up the next day, there is a pack of pills and a glass of water waiting on his nightstand, and he’s blessedly alone. He pops the first one out of the foil and swallows it dry, unwilling to risk it coming back up again. He stares at the ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that Bruce insisted were a staple of a child's bedroom decor, the ones Jason liked the night before, and decides that they need to go. It's difficult to reach some of them without a ladder, but once Jason has set his mind on something, he always follows through.

Later on, after a patrol with only the two of them, when Bruce comes in for their nighttime routine, Jason knows he's acting suspicious, bundled in warm clothing during a sweltering summer and putting himself just out of reach of Bruce's grip—like that would stop him if he really wanted to—

Bruce notices and keeps his distance.

Jason is sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at Bruce's nose bridge rather than his eyes, swinging his feet nervously as he waits.

For what? He doesn't know.

Eventually, Bruce speaks up, "I suppose you've reached the age where you don't want goodnight kisses anymore."

Jason blinks. He nods after a moment, wanting to see what he does.

Bruce sighs, hesitantly taking a step forward and continuing when Jason doesn't stop him. He kneels on the plush carpet that Jason dreads to know the price of, cradling Jason's face between his steady, warm hands. He smiles weakly at Jason, his thumbs rubbing his cheek soothingly. His touch is shockingly welcome, gentle without hidden deception—at least for now.

"You're growing up so fast, Jay," Bruce says, a hint of sadness bleeding through.

"I've an old soul, B," Jason reminds him, "and besides, I'm a teenager now. I don't need any of those childish things anymore."

Bruce is a grown man, but he still pouts like a child. Jason has always found it endearing, mostly because it allows Jason a view into a younger Bruce. He doesn't like knowing there are things from Bruce's past that he will never get to experience, things that are permanently locked away from him, versions of himself that he has outgrown. He thinks he could forgive Dick for what he's done—will continue to do, going by the sleeve of birth control he gave him—but not for that.

"If you're sure…" Bruce trails off.

"I am," Jason replies, his stomach in knots because he knows that by doing this, Bruce will have no reason to visit him after patrol—that when Dick is over, he won't have to worry about Bruce lingering at his door for permission to come in.

"Okay, Jason. Whatever you want."

He leans forward but stops after a second and asks, " One last time, then?"

"Just this once," Jason permits, waiting for his spark of hope to be doused by the cold reality of life.

Bruce picks Jason up as if he weighs nothing, tucks him under the covers, the way he has most nights at the Manor, and brushes his curls aside to kiss him tenderly on the forehead, lingering there before he leaves.

Jason waits in the dark for a long, long time before he eventually falls asleep. Not once does Bruce come in, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he wakes in the morning to find no new bruises or aches.

-

Dick becomes a new fixture in the household, and it keeps happening; Jason doesn't say a word to Bruce about what Dick does to him.

Maybe he should have; it probably would save him a lot of grief, but he never takes things the easy way—can't trust it after being burned so many times.

In the grand scheme of things, Jason can admit that Dick is not so bad. Jason has suffered worse, even if what Dick does makes his heart splinter every time he comes around.

Like all other things in his life, this, too, shall pass.

Eventually.

Jason likes his life as he currently lives it. One small burden isn't the end of the world; it's just another facet of his life.

So what if he has to fuck his adoptive brother? At least, it's not a long list of strangers—people he sometimes recognizes at Bruce's galas. His life could be so much worse. It's only Dick he has to deal with, which is infinitely better than what Jason imagined for himself.

(Even if, before he met Dick, Bruce had taken Jason's hands into his own and solemnly swore that Jason wouldn't have to do that anymore, when he found Jason nervously waiting for him in a robe and nothing else in Bruce's room one night. He had sobbed harder than he ever had in Bruce's arms, feeling safer than he ever had, too.

He always feels the extremes with Bruce.

This will continue to be true; he just doesn't know it yet.)

It's always just Dick.

-

Bruce doesn't question the way Dick begins coming to the Manor more often, only accepts it gratefully, clasping Jason's shoulder gently as he leans down to kiss the crown of his head in silent thanks before he walks to Dick, pulling him into a hug with a huge smile. Dick returns it, animatedly talking to Bruce about one thing or another as Bruce responds at the right moments as they make their way down to the cave.

Jason goes up the stairs to his room, claiming a stomachache when Bruce notices his change in direction. It's not inaccurate—he feels sick. It's just not the kind of stomachache Bruce believes it to be.

He enters his room, leaves the door unlocked—knowing to do otherwise would be futile—and flops onto his bed, closing his eyes and entering the sweet embrace of sleep.

He is awoken by hands spreading his thighs apart, and the action and touch are so familiar that he doesn't bother fighting it. He clenches his pillow, keeping his eyes closed as Dick's fingers tease his entrance. He's already wet, which is a horrifying realization and simultaneously a glad one; just one less thing that Dick doesn't have to do, equating to less time spent under his thumb—or really, his body.

"It's not time for your period yet, so what's the deal?" Dick asks casually, as though his words don't send a shiver of disgust through Jason. He shouldn't know that information, but if anyone would, it'd be him.

Dick notices, of course, and merely kisses up his spine in appeasement. His lips eventually latch onto one of his ears, his bulge pressing against Jason's clit in a way that makes him want to squirm, and he whispers, "It's me, isn't it? Am I making you feel sick, Jason? Does my mere presence induce nausea in you to the point that you beg off patrol? Robins are meant to push past discomfort, you know." He pauses, snorting. "Well, of course you do." His teeth dig into the cartilage of his ear; a warning. "Don't do it again, or you won't like the consequences."

"Yes, Dickie," he replies meekly as Dick pushes in, moaning into Jason's neck to muffle the sound as Jason whimpers into his pillow.

Dick slides in easily enough, as if he belongs there. He might as well, considering how often they do this.

For obvious reasons that won't be true tonight, not this early, and so Dick isn't surprised when Jason heads to the second bedroom as soon as they arrive at his apartment. He is quick to grab a pair of clothes and doesn't look at Dick once he leaves the bedroom to enter the bathroom. He doesn't slam the door, but the click of the lock may as well have echoed just as loudly if he had. He usually joins Jason for a post-patrol shower, but that's definitely not happening tonight.

Dick sighs, turning to look out the window to see Robin on the fire escape, slipping in through the window the same way he had only a few minutes before. He, too, is silent, fuming at the injustice of having his name stolen by someone he perceives to be an interloper. Never mind that Dick already told him that he was the one to give it to Jason. He's young and doesn't understand yet, but he will; Dick will make sure of it.

Robin stares at Dick intently, searching for an explanation on his face that he won't find. He looks devastated, or rather betrayed. Dick can understand his position, seeing as he was once in it, but it's been years since then. Jason was more than worthy of the Robin mantle, even if he didn't know the weight of it. His mother would have loved Jason if she had known him. He can perfectly imagine how quickly she would have been endeared to him, the same way Dick was.

It hurts to think of her, but it is an old hurt, one he has learned to live with. The Robin before him still feels the absence of her presence like a barely scabbed-over wound, freshly opened due to the revelation that his future self abandoned the namesake given to him.

My Robin, his mother would call him, but what she really meant was my beloved.

To hear someone else with that epithet feels like betrayal because, before anything else, Dick will always be Robin. What he wants to tell his younger self is that he still is, even with his new identity as Nightwing. Robin will always belong to Dick, and that remains true.

He understands Robin's hurts well, but he doesn't understand that to Dick, Jason is beloved. Robin is now an endearment shared between the two of them.

"You're my Robin," Dick sometimes breathes into Jason's mouth.

Jason always responds in kind, heart beating out of his chest, eyes shiny, and cheeks flushed, "And you're mine. My Robin."

He hides his face in Jason's neck each time he says as such, eyes just as shiny for reasons Jason doesn't yet comprehend. Even so, there is a weight to his words, as though he knows how much Robin means to Dick, how Robin isn't simply a name to Dick. He's smart like that, picking up on things left unsaid.

"So, do you have anything I can wear for the night? Assuming I don't get beamed back to my time in the next few hours?" Robin suddenly asks, arms crossed and leaning against the kitchen island.

"Yeah, you can borrow something of mine since you're too big to wear something of Jason's," Dick says, beckoning Robin to follow him to his bedroom. He chooses some plain boxers, a graphic tee, and a pair of sweats that are all a few years old from his drawers, an outfit Jason frequently wears when he's lounging around Dick's apartment.

As he picks up a folded, clean towel from his closet, his ears pick up Jason leaving the bathroom, his near-silent footsteps going on too long for him to be going to his bedroom. He hears the fridge open, and a flame starts.

"The bathroom's open now," Dick says, and Robin nods, keeping his head down as he does so.

Dick creeps behind Jason, hooking his chin on the boy's head and wrapping his arms around his waist. Jason doesn't fight the hold, leaning back into Dick with a soft sigh, as he prepares warm milk the way Mary Grayson once did for Dick when he had a bad night. There's enough for the three of them, and his heart aches some more, yet his fondness for Jason eclipses any lingering sadness.

Jason moves to get three glasses, and Dick clings to him in his endeavor. He still does not shrug him off, which means Jason isn't too mad at him. Irritated, undoubtedly, but nowhere near harboring the amount of ire that Robin is.

Sweet boy, Dick can't help but think fondly, pressing the kiss he wished to give him earlier into his damp curls.

They move back to the stove, and Jason gives the concoction a few more stirs and turns the flame off when little bubbles line the pot. He pours the honeyed milk into two glasses, puts the pot back on the stove, and covers it with a lid. Dick extricates himself from Jason's back and grabs the glass Jason passes him, leaning against the fridge as Jason leans against the stove.

Jason stares at him, face blank, as he sips his milk, so Dick does the same as he awaits judgment from the most important person in his life.

Eventually, Jason says, "I hadn't realized you hit your growth spurt so early."

Dick, not expecting him to say that at all, sputters, "That's all you have to say?"

Jason huffs. "Of course not, but we can't really talk right now, can we? Anyway, your younger self is like my age, right?"

"Yes," Dick answers. "In fact, he's exactly a month younger than you right now."

"Wow, a whole month," Jason says dryly. He gulps the rest of his milk down, turns away, and starts to wash the glass in the sink. "You—he wasn't what I expected. I—"

Robin, with terrible timing, walks in, nose tilted slightly up, undoubtedly summoned by the aroma of cinnamon and cardamom. At that age, Dick only made milk like this for himself on particularly difficult nights, something Jason has unknowingly taken the burden from him.

"Is that mom's recipe?"

Jason flushes, turning around as his eyes widen, his head swinging back and forth between the two of them, looking much like a deer in headlights. It's a cute look on him. He clears his throat and replies, "Um, I actually got it from my ma. Though this was usually added to coffee instead of creamer."

Robin's features soften for a moment before they tighten again.

Mary Grayson had mainly made it that way, after all.

"Oh, that's nice," Robin says blandly.

"Do you—would you like some?"

"No thanks," he answers coolly.

Jason nods and then blanches, reaching his hand out politely. "I never properly introduced myself earlier. I'm Jason Todd-Wayne."

Yikes, Dick thinks, wishing Jason had kept that second part to himself.

Robin's face scrunches up as he completely ignores Jason's outstretched hand, and Jason lets his hand drop.

"Bruce adopted you?" He asks incredulously. He turns to Dick. "When do we get adopted?"

Dick chuckles a laugh that's a little too nervous because Robin's eyes begin to water.

"We don't? Are you serious? What makes him so special that Bruce wanted to adopt him?

And not me? Dick hears because he's been there.

This is a fresh hurt for Robin, one that Dick laid to rest long ago. It suits him to be Bruce Wayne's ward only, rather than his legal son. There are a lot of things the media can forgive, but incest, even if not my blood, would be a scandal too big to ignore. His and Jason's relationship will fall under censure for a while when they inevitably come out, but it will be swept under the rug because, publicly, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd-Wayne almost never cross paths.

"Well," Dick begins before Robin cuts him off with a scuff.

"How long am I staying here?"

"Two weeks," Dick answers.

"Two weeks?! You know what? I'm not dealing with this at the moment. I'm going to bed."

Robin stomps to Dick's bedroom and locks himself in.

"Tell me how you really feel. Why don't you?" Jason mutters beneath his breath, but speaks louder when he tells Dick, "I'm gonna head to bed, too. He has the right idea. Goodnight, Dick."

He puts the glasses he dried with a dish rag away and walks up to Dick, standing on his tippy toes to kiss the corner of Dick's mouth. He stiffens as one of his hands caresses Dick's jaw, blushing a furious red from his ears to his cheeks, suddenly shy as he speed-walks to the guest bedroom.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Dick asks quietly as he follows.

"No. Yes. I'm not sure." Jason pauses at his door, keeping his body forward and away from Dick. "You could have at least warned me, Dickie."

"I know. I'm sorry, little wing."

"I'm sure. Now go, the shower is calling your name, and then the couch is, too."

"What? You're kicking me out?" He whispers into Jason's ear, who shivers in response.

His ears are bright red as he scolds Dick.

"Don't joke like that with our—our guest around. You're gonna get us in trouble."

What a trip that had been the first time she heard it, and from a argument loud enough to scare the bats, to boot!

Of course, Dick doesn't argue with Bruce about that anymore—just other things—because now he argues with Jay about it, which always end in a brutal, vicious spar. She always makes sure to mark that pretty face of his, so he can leave and lick his wounds away from her.

If she were more of a coward, Jay would have told Bruce that Robin should remain a boy, but she owns so little as it is, and her identity isn't one she wants to give up, not even for Robin. Kind as he is, he had let her do so, and now she's paying the consequences, but so are the goons—and Dick—who belittle her. It's not fair compensation, but it makes her feel better in the end.

Sometimes, though, being a girl is useful for those same reasons people underestimate her. She doesn't look like much of a threat, which is perfect for undercover work. It's something Batman exploits to its fullest potential, just as he's doing tonight.

Alexei Sokolov, the little brother and likely right-hand of the new gang set up in the Bowery, has a thing for underage girls, so Bruce helps her get dolled up as he informs her about him.

As she flits through the clothing Bruce has selected for missions like these, he pins all her hair down and covers it up with a bald cap before securing a wig nearly identical to her own, but longer and with a more auburn tint, on top of that. Bruce helps her slip out of her clothes and into the new ones, zipping up her skirt as she untwists the chains of her halter top. Once that's done, he goes over the information she needs to pull from Alexei as she applies her makeup with a heavy hand, and it ages her some, but not enough to hide her youthfulness.

"How do I look, B?" Jay asks once she's almost done.

"Almost perfect. You need a red lip," he says, beckoning her forward.

She goes, and he holds her by her chin gently before lining her lips and filling them in carefully. He smiles once he's done, his eyes looking her up and down, and her stomach swoops.

"There we go. Let's go now."

Then, they're off.

-

As expected, Alexei is quick to take her bait and even quicker to spill his secrets. It's like he can't help but boast about his so-called accomplishments, dropping detail after detail that Bruce is definitely recording through her comm that's disguised as an earring.

"Ask about his whereabouts throughout the week," Bruce reminds her.

She does as asked, leading Alexei like a dog on a leash.

God, men are so easy. Stupid, too, but that's a given.

Jay twirls the hair of her wig around her finger and nods along to whatever prattle he's spitting.

Suddenly, cutting through the noise of the club, she hears, "Jay, is that you?"

Goddammit, she didn't expect anyone to recognize her like this, but then, her hair had been more this color back then, so it wasn't smart on her part. She should have gone blonde.

From an outside perspective, she looks like she's working a client, so they'll fuck off and leave her alone once they realize that. There's something to be said about the solidarity between prostitutes, after all. Unless they're old and bitter, then all bets are off, but the person had sounded young, so she focuses her attention back on her target, leaning in and squeezing Alexei's bicep with fake rapt amazement.

"You're so buff. How often do you work out to have such a nice build? I bet it's gotta be a few hours a day, huh?" She says in an empty-headed manner, looking up at her mark through her lashes.

Alexei puffs his chest, staring shamelessly down her cleavage, and replies, "Nah, just a few days a week, but I manage the gym my brother owns, so technically, I am there quite a bit."

Gotcha, Jay thinks.

"Jay, isn't it past your bedtime?" Someone asks right behind her, hand resting on her shoulder, and she nearly flips them before she remembers herself.

She turns to look and sees Dick, who is supposed to be in New York with his little group right now. He has a tight smile on his face, and she scowls at him. He doesn't get to ruin her op with Bruce just because he doesn't like it.

"Ignore him and focus back on Alexei, Jay," Bruce whispers in her ear. "I'll call Dick."

"Aren't you supposed to be in another state, Dickhead?" Jay pries his fingers off her shoulder and turns back to her mark. "Sorry about my brother. He can be a bit overprotective. Let's just go over there," she says, pointing to an empty booth just as Dick's phone rings.

As she moves, Dick pulls her back, and she fights the urge to deck him.

"I don't think so, little sister. I bet Dad doesn't even know you're out."

God, he's so stubborn, as if Jay would ever go out like this without B's permission.

"He knows, alright. Now, go away—back to New York, even."

"I don't believe you. Sorry, dude," Dick says, looking at Alexei. "Find another girl, because you're not going home with this one."

"Go with him before he starts to make more of a scene," Bruce tells her, as the ringing finally stops.

Dick begins to drag her away, and she doesn't fight it.

Instead, she turns her head back to smile at her mark and shouts over the music, "I'll find you later, Alexei!"

He smiles back at her, and she's tugged even harder by the wrist.

Dick drags her all the way to an unoccupied bathroom, crowding her against the sink with a crazed look in his eyes. He rips the comm from her ear and the bug from her blouse, leaving Jay all alone with him.

"I don't like it when you agree to go undercover like this, Jay. You're too young, and you shouldn't have to. You could have easily gotten this information if you had done some more surveillance on whoever that guy was," Dick manages to say condescendingly and with care; he comes by it naturally.

"You don't get a choice in what I do or don't do, Dick. Besides, you went on ops like this all the time when you were my age, too, didn't you? I've read the reports," she replies heatedly.

"Yes, but that's different. You're more vulnerable than I was—"

"Oh, because I'm a girl and you're not? Fuck off. I'm capable of taking care of myself, be it with my fists or a weapon, and even if I wasn't, it's not like I was alone."

"That's not what I meant! Stop twisting my words, Jay," Dick hisses.

"I'm not, though," she replies, attempting to jerk out of his hold, but he's holding onto for dear life; it's not that serious.

"You really are, and you know what? Bruce won't always be there for you. What happens then?"

She wants to deny that, but she knows that Bruce isn't infallible. Nobody is.

"I'll figure it out. I always do."

"You shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to do any of this!"

Jay leans forward, incensed, and pulls him down by the collar of his shirt. "You don't get to make decisions for me, Dick! It's my choice to be Robin, just like it was my choice to talk to this idiot, so time isn't wasted on useless shit instead of being spent on saving people! Just because you don't like it doesn't mean you can stop me!"

Her chest is heaving after her little rant, and Dick is staring at her with something heavy in his gaze.

"Why can't you understand I don't want you to hurt yourself without realizing it? I want you to be safe," he snaps after a moment. "You're my little sister, emphasis on the little. You're so young, Jay, and you've already been so hurt. I don't want to add to that.”

Tears spring in her eyes, and her jaw quivers, nails curling into the skin of her palms. She blinks them away and swallows her discomfort.

He says that so easily, like it matters. To him, it does.

Jay isn't one for softness—doesn't know what to do with it, so she snarls, "Treating me like I'm fragile won't help me heal, Dick. I'm not some delicate doll to be put on the shelf."

"I know that!"

"Do you? Because you act like you don't! Now let go of me, so I can go back out there," she yells, trying once more to shake him.

When that doesn't work, she kicks his knee, but it's still not enough to deter him. She cups his face and drags her nails down his face.

He grabs her wrists in a single hand and pins them to the mirror behind and above her. She wraps her legs around his waist, ass barely touching the rim of the sink as she bucks her hips to dislodge his hold.

"Goddammit, Jay! Would you stop that?" He asks, grabbing her by the chin to force her to stare at him instead of attempting to gnaw on the arm holding her up.

They're face to face now, and she can see a slight scar on the bridge of his nose she'd never notice before.

"Only if you let me go," she says, still fighting him.

"Please, Jay," Dick grunts, a familiar quality to his breathing, almost as if he were…

Her eyes are drawn downward.

"Oh," Jay coos, looking back up. "I see how it is, Dickie."

"That's not—ignore that. It's just a bodily reaction, nothing more."

Dick blushes, then, turning him the most becoming shade of red, and she'd pinch his cheeks if she could.

"I don't see how I could. You really are my big brother, huh."

His hips buck at the title, perhaps involuntarily, given the look on his face.

Jay leans forward to whisper in his ear, "You wanted to keep me safe from all those creeps for yourself, isn't that right, big brother?"

"Jay…"

"Shh, Dickie," Jay hushes, pressing a kiss just below his jaw and more over his neck, sucking every so often to leave her mark on him. He shudders, his grip tightening on her wrists; she likes the sting, but even more than that, she will like the bruises that'll linger after. "Let little sister take care of you, okay?"

He brings her face back up and kisses her deeply. He's good at it, too. He doesn't just shove his tongue down her throat or nip at her lips like a lost little puppy. He takes her breath away, so she decides to return the favor by grinding her hips into his bulge. He moans into her mouth, and she eats every little noise of his up. He lets go of her wrists, so she wraps her arms around his neck.

His hands are free to grip her hips, and he begins to fuck her like this, over their clothes and in a dirty bathroom. She can't believe that her brother's resolve finally broke in a place like this. She would have taken a rooftop over a club, but oh well. He'll have to make up for it later.

His thrusts end up pushing her panties to the side, and the heat and friction of his slacks feel fantastic against her clit. She likes it rough, and Dick is delivering.

"You close, Dickie?" She pants into his mouth, and he nods his head rapidly. "Me too.”

And for once, Jay isn't lying.

"Jay," he whines so prettily.

"Cum for me, big brother," she demands, and he obeys immediately, spilling in his briefs and staining his slacks. He doesn't stop grinding exactly, but he moves her to one of his thighs that he brings up. She gets with the program and begins to rock her hips against his flexed thigh.

"There we go, little sister, just a bit more," he coos, as she had done not so long before. She can't even be mad at him for it. One of his hands reaches under her skirt and finds her clit in a few moments, pressing down on it.

Jay cums with a shout muffled into his neck, vision blacking out.

Oh, yeah, she's never letting him go after this.

She opens her eyes to see Dick staring at her as he chews on his lip.

Before he can ruin her post-orgasm glow and say something stupid, she leans forward and kisses him again, wrapping her legs around his waist again. He doesn't hesitate to return it, so maybe he won't be a pussy about what he just did. She could never stand the guilty ones. He murmurs praise against her neck, calling her all sorts of pretty nothings, but mostly little sister, her cunt clenching in anticipation each time.