#thomasjay

-

Now.

When he meets him again, it feels like it should be some kind of alternate realities or the parallel kind, like he’s read in those sci-fy novels.

Because it hasn’t just been years, it’s been a decade. 

The kind where he really hasn’t been thinking of the other man at all. 

The last time Jason had the man cross his mind, well, the man’s kid was gunned down in an alleyway much like where they first met. The news latched on like a dog with a bone, and the reports went on and on of a little boy murdered. Like kids didn’t die every day in the Narrows. But Jason guesses all those other boys and girls didn’t have all the prospects a shithole like Gotham could offer placed upon a single silver spoon.

Jason isn’t Jay or whatever name his client wanted to groan out loud when they grabbed his hair and jerked his head back just so they could come messily across his face. 

Jason is Father Todd with a parish of his own, and has been for years too.

He is blinking his eyes at him because when the cowl comes off, it’s—

“Doc?”

It’s a second life here they are living when they meet each other once more. A hooker turned priest staring down at a surgeon turned vigilante. It all sounds a bit surreal, made up really, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Jason.”

Thomas brings down the gun he had levelled at the Father, shoulders sloping down, heavily.

-

Then.

Jason has himself draped over the middle console, the stick shift digging into the side of his hip as he finally pops open the buckle of Thomas’ belt. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”

He turns to look at the man, sees how he glances at everything in the interior of the car except for Jason, and really, he can’t have that. He isn’t proud of this job, but he takes a bit of pride in how he does it.

Jason lets out a soft little sigh that catches the man’s attention, waits until Thomas is finally looking before he reaches over, takes Thomas’ hand into his so he can drag it to cup his own groin. A flutter of his lashes, and he is rocking his hips, pushing his hard-on inside of his tight jeans into Thomas’ palm. 

“Now, I’m going to suck you off.” Jason tells him, and hopes a little bit of clear instructions will bring the man back to focus on him. 

Thomas nods, squeezes him gently through his jeans and Jason breathes hard. “Can I do something for you?”

It’s a weird fucking thing for a john to ask him that, and Jason nearly gets taken aback by it. But he thinks on it, settles on it, and tells Thomas with a smile. “You can finger me if you want but if you wanna fuck, that’s gonna be extra.”

Sways his ass in the passenger seat too as encouragement.

Even in the shitty lighting of the alleyway they’ve pulled into, Thomas’ face is still terribly handsome even as it is half shrouded in the shadows. His voice too sounds warm and kind. “I just want to make you feel good too.”

“You’re sweet, doc.” Jason tells him as his fingers work the button of the man’s slacks open and then the zipper down. 

Thomas freezes up, and Jason laughs, tips his chin to the Gotham General lanyard still around the man’s neck ending at an ID card for one Dr. Thomas Wayne before he swallows him down.

-

Now.

He stands just before the altar, looking down at the man he thought he knew. 

Time passes, people change. Some more extreme than others, he reminds himself. Thomas Wayne is older, eye weary, dangerous even, and he carries himself like he’s been fighting a losing war for far too long.

Jason isn’t sure what Thomas sees in him now, isn’t sure he wants to know. He’s died, he’s come back to life. He’s seen all of the truly awful things in life and learned that the world can be beautiful and good too. Jason has taken his second chance.

It seems like Thomas Wayne has too.

“My church can be a sanctuary if you want it to be.” Father Todd says to him. His voice kept even, an invitation but one with conditions. “But I won’t have you bringing any of your troubles here where people will get hurt.”

“People already got hurt.”

There is steel edge to Thomas’ voice, he’s a man standing on the ledge no matter how metaphorical, finger itching and Jason doesn’t need to look closely to know the kind of weaponry Thomas is packing beneath the armour he’s got on.

That’s Batman, and he’s never not been ruthless. Blood could be dripping off of the black Kevlar and Father Todd really shouldn’t be fazed.

“Are you here to talk, or are you here to fight?” Jason asks, trying not to bring his arms up to cross them over his chest in defense.

“Why?“ Thomas chuckles, the sound low and deep, feels like the slow crawling seep of heat beneath his skin, and there’s no reason why Jason should feel it at the distance that they’re at. "You gonna fight me, Father?”

“Not even if you asked for old time’s sake.” 

Jason feels like he’s here trying to talk a man off from that ledge. 

“You’ve come a long way from turning tricks in Crime Alley, Father.”

Jason knows this game. Knows Thomas only dredges up the past if just to bring Jason down to where he’s stuck at. It stays, it sticks, like a bad taste at the back of his throat migrating forward. Death has a funny way of changing people. Jason tries to let Thomas down, gently, for all the times the man had shown him some resemblance of kindness even when he didn’t have to.

“Not really, doc. It’s only three blocks.”

-

Then.

When Thomas Wayne comes inside of his mouth, Jason drinks it all down.

He drags his lips along the softening shaft to catch the stray drops he couldn’t swallow on the first try, runs the tip of his tongue over the sensitive head until he’s cleaned the man up. 

Jason lets Thomas drag his fingers in and out of his hole a few more times before he whines for him not to make him come, murmurs with his tongue still bitter from the taste of the man’s release that he doesn’t want a mess inside of his pants the rest of the night. Jason is panting softly, clenching down out of reflex, hole squeezing in rhythm around two of Thomas’ fingers buried to the last knuckle inside of him. 

His breathing hitches at the graze of the pads of those fingertips across his prostate when he does. And it’s like they are almost reluctant when Thomas gently withdraws them from the tight hot clutch of his body, leaving them both a bit breathless from it.

Jason makes a noise, and it catches himself off guard. 

Either Thomas doesn’t notice or he doesn’t mind it, because the man is zipping up, tipping his head back until he is staring at the ceiling of his Bentley to confess.

“Christ, you’re barely older than my kid.”

It’s not true, Jason is at least a good five years older than Thomas’ little boy but that’s not the fantasy he is selling here even if plenty of other men would buy him up for the night just for that. 

Jason laughs, and there’s still innocence in the way he lets it settle inside of the car before he tells him. “I’m eighteen.”

Thomas looks over at him, gives him a look that’s entirely fatherly when he replies, deadpanned. “And I’m husband of the year.”

Jason shrugs, doesn’t tell him his real age and they call it even.

“I’d say don’t do it again, but I’m not that good of a guy.” He takes what Thomas hands him and it’s more than double of his usual fees even when he takes Brother Blood’s cut out of it. “If you come back around, I’d love to see you again, doc.”

Thomas laughs, and it’s a tad bit hollow. Jason knows that kind of laughter, it’s of a man coming into the full understanding of his own actions.

“We’ll see, Jason.” 

He separates the cash into two piles, tucks each one into a respective backpocket, buttons up his jeans, and opens the door. There is the rush of a late night Gotham chill rushing in, making the stark stench of sex from the interior of the car that much sharper.