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Jason can hear the crowd bidding for him.
He is the one on stage—the one being auctioned. And he has no say in the matter, having made one tiny mistake during a run-in with his family and bested by the one he hates the most. The great Red Hood, now an arrested prisoner, is free to be sold into slavery and bought by anyone with enough money.
Jason can’t see the bidders because not only is he bound—his arms splayed and suspended with metallic, cushioned wristbands chained to the bars of the small cage he’s forced to kneel in—but he is also gagged and blindfolded, still in his Red Hood attire, though stripped of his mask and guns.
He heard the crowd growing silent when they wheeled his cage into the center of the round stage, then hushed whispers.
No one knew what Red Hood looked like under the helmet before now. They assumed he looked just as intimidating as the mask itself—perhaps with an unkempt beard and a tattooed face, head shaven or styled in a ridiculous mohawk, eyes eagle-like with darkened sclerae, lips drew downward into a permanent scowl to hide his sharp, werewolf teeth—little did they know the Red Hood was only a cover, nothing more than a crafted front. Jason would never have needed the hood if he looked half as scary as he wanted to.
The real Jason is baby-faced, pretty, and young. Only turned twenty not two full summers ago, he hasn’t shaken off all the baby fat in his cheeks. He is clean-shaven, his plump, doll-like lips are glossy as they stretch around the ball gag in his mouth, the Cupid’s bow is arched, and saliva drips onto the cage’s bottom grates. The legal bidding started without abandon as soon as the potential buyers realized how deliciously nice-looking the Red Hood was. None seemed to remember just how dangerous the vigilante was, and how he could break free and cut their dicks off in an instant if he wanted to.
Fools. Jason would be no one’s slave. He is merely playing along, biding his time, letting them believe they’ve won, and that he’s going to accept his sentencing. The winning buyer, probably some old, balding, obese rich man, will get a nasty surprise after he pays for his “new pretty slave.”
The bid has risen to the tens of thousands before climbing up toward the hundreds. It started low—only a few hundred US dollars, too low to “buy” a human being, but perhaps just the right amount for a lowly criminal. The law allows slave auctions like these to recycle convicted felons and make them into useful members of society—by making them into workhorses for organizations and individuals who can afford them.
Most bidders would want hardy criminals for hard labor, but Jason suspects these want something different. They either desire a prize to own, to show off, or something even more sinister. The criminal, after being turned into a slave, will be injected with a chip that tracks their location and delivers punishments when they step out of line. The dehumanizing price tag is meant to both humiliate and make the market accessible to all buyers… not that it matters in this case. It seems Jason is a highly desirable conquest, and his price tag is rising fast.
Jason stays silent, waiting as bids happen all around him, scoffing inside. The price is now eighty-five thousand, and it will only take a few more bids for—
Jason hears a voice calling out for ninety. Loud, confident, and surprisingly young, using a resonating deep voice to carry his bid instead of screaming like banshees like the rest of the buyers. A very self-assured voice Jason recognizes immediately.
If Jason was motionless before, now he is a statue. He stills to listen as someone carries the price to ninety-thousand and five hundred, then another that raises it to ninety-one, as Jason waits for that recognizable voice to strike again, hoping he’s misheard.
The price goes to ninety-five, then ninety-six, ninety-eight thousand and one hundred. The familiar voice finally barges in at ninety-nine thousand, carrying the price over the one million mark.
And Jason freezes with anger.
He is certain now. There is no denying who the voice belongs to. Jason trembles with rage, hands balling up and straining against the cuffs as the price grows yet higher.
Jason’s brain flashes back to how he was caught. The motherfucker who arrested him and put him in this predicament, with a bright smile and muscles rippling underneath a black suit and a bluebird looking vibrant on his chest, turned Jason’s weakness against him until the vigilante had him pinned, helmet smashed and weapons disarmed, Jason’s own gun shoved into his mouth.
Had enough yet, Hood? You have the right to remain silent.
The auction has turned into a battle between the last two parties. One sounds old, impatient, and breathless, like the rest of the dumb rich old men; the other, younger and as confident as ever.
Jason listens to the price increase. Two hundred, three, five…
That bastard. Just because Alfred wrote him into his will, making him richer than King Midas—
His brother delivers his blow. One million. The price fitting for the perfect war trophy to show off to their family. To show off to Bruce.
The crowd hushes, and the youthful voice’s bidding adversary remains silent this time.
The auctioneer starts the closing chant.
Going once… Going twice…
“Sold!” the auctioneer cries. “Sold to the dashing young man in the front row!”
The crowd hoots and claps, and Jason thinks, shit.
⁂
Jason growls when he hears footsteps on the polished tile floor. The fucking pretend wears leather dress shoes with hard heels that make obnoxious tapping noises, sauntering forward before stopping in front of Jason.
“Well, well,” that familiar voice says. “The famous Red Hood.”
Leather-gloved fingers snake between Jason’s hair, curling near the roots before yanking backward, forcing Jason to lift his chin.
Jason moves his lips around the ball in his mouth, drizzling saliva while making a slurred noise that sounds vaguely like “fuck off, Dickface.”
There is a pause, then another hand raises as if to slap Jason in the face for his impudence. Before Jason can cower, though, it rips off his blindfold with one harsh movement.
Jason huffs and stares daggers when he sees his brother standing before him. Dick is dressed to the nines—perhaps still wearing the same attire he wore to attend the auction—with neat trousers and a dress shirt, top button undone and tie missing, sleeves rolled up, and one hand in his pocket.
“Hello, Hood,” Dick says with a charming wink, tracing Jason’s cheek with his knuckles. Jason yanks his head away and grunts through his gag—he would’ve bitten the idiot’s finger off if he could.
After the auction, they injected Jason with his personal subdermal chip and shoved him into a transport van. They bound him after his arrival at his new master’s home, his arms suspended and hanging from the apartment’s ceiling (since when did the dumbass get himself such a nice apartment anyway?) his gag still in place, boot-less and standing on the cold, hard floor on barefoot.
Dick removes his hand and rounds to the back. Jason jumps when he feels a palm landing on his ass, kneading the flesh over his pants.
“Told you we’d meet again, didn’t I?”
Jason twists his head back and headbutts Dick in the face—only Dick moves away too fast, doing something with whatever is inside his pocket.
An electric current courses through Jason’s body, starting from that injection site just behind his neck. Pain invades every inch of his body rather than radiating from a single spot. Jason spasms under the torture, groaning.
It seems Jason has lost some time, because when he comes to, he is on all fours; the chains holding his arms up now settling on the floor in a loose pile, winding like snakes. Dick is crouched over him, a hand poking the chip’s injection site.
“Hm. Guess the Wayne tech does work on you, after all—you just needed a little more convincing.”
Hands now free, Jason reaches up to pull the gag off, but Dick just slaps his hands away before firing the chip again.
Jason twitches from the pain. His limbs go rigid and shake.
Then, without a second to waste, Dick somehow forces a leather collar around Jason’s neck with little trouble, tightening the buckle. It’s attached to a long chain, which Dick hooks up to a ring nailed to the floor. When Jason tries to stand up, the chain pulls him down. It forces him on all fours, too short for him to rise above this position.
“Now, you listen to me,” Dick says as he winds another chain—the one bound to Jason’s left wrist—around his hand. Just like with the collar, there are four more hooks on the floor, arranged into a rectangle. Dick casually locks Jason’s hand down so he can’t move it away. “I’ve paid good money for you, little brother, and I mean to have my investment paid off. You better get used to the treatment.”
Dick binds Jason’s other limbs. He chains Jason’s other hand the same way, not without a struggle, and attaches shackles to Jason’s ankles. The hooks meant for the legs are wider apart, designed that way to put the slave on display, and when Dick yanks Jason’s legs open Jason fights back—he might be stunned, but he isn’t vulnerable, and to hell, if he gives in.
Dick shakes his head and takes out a tiny little remote from his pocket. Jason shudders when the chip zaps him again. Dick waves the remote in front of him.
“Don’t fight me, slave. Remember, I won you fair and square.”
Yeah, right. He “won” him. By sneaking up on Jason and arresting him, then waiting in the buyers’ seats, knowing he will have the best chance at an unfair game when the Red Hood is auctioned into slavery. Dick knew exactly what he was doing.
Dick pulls the chains tight, forcing Jason’s legs apart and his knees planted on the floor, his bottom jugging out as he is forced on all fours like a dog. Clicking the last lock in place, Dick stands and steps back to admire his work.
Jason is truly at his mercy—gagged, chipped, collared, and bound like a dog—just the way Dick likes him. Happy now? You gross, smug little fuck.
Dick steps up to rip off the gag in Jason’s mouth, ignoring the profanity spitting out of his brother’s mouth.
Turning around, Dick pulls up an expensive black leather armchair and sits in it, leaning back as he looks Jason over again. Forced on all fours like a bitch.
“Sick pervert,” Jason hisses. “What the fuck are you doing? Trying to show off to that pathetic little clique you call a family? Release me at this instant or I’ll give you hell later.”
“Are you trying to threaten me, Hood?”
“Stop calling me that. It’s pretentious and annoying as fuck.”
“Do I need a reason to catch up with my little brother?” Dick says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “As your family, I am sad you never came around on your own. Now? Now, that’s about to change.”
“Sick bastard. What’s the real reason you arrested me?”
“I’ve always wanted a slave,” Dick says without humor. “Now shut up and be a good boy.”
“Fuck you.” Jason takes the newfound freedom to curse before Dick shoves the ball gag back into place, fixing it behind Jason’s neck.
“I’d love to.” Dick pats Jason’s face like one would pet a puppy. “But I can’t do it today. Daddy’s busy.”
⁂
If it were anyone else, Jason would’ve bid his time, letting his new “master” think he’s given up and ready to be broken before the “master”’s alertness inevitably fades. Then, Jason would’ve hacked the chip in his neck in record time, shot the bastard in his balls, and leaped through their rich, fancy large windows as a free man.
But this is not one of those idiots. This is Nightwing—Dick Grayson—Batman’s protégé just as Jason was, except older and even more experienced. Dick is cunning and ambitious, and for once, Jason is truly worried.
Jason has slept on the floor that night, gagged and chained to the floor like an untamed animal. Sometime during the night, Dick woke him up drizzling a glass of wine onto his face.
Jason shudders awake to the liquid dripping down his hair, turning his vision a dark burgundy, a rich, fruity alcoholic scent invading his nose.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
Jason blinks. He shakes his head, trying to understand his situation and how he got here. Instinctively, he tries to move his hand and wipe the wine from his face and hair, only to realize his wrists are tightly chained to the floor, unable to drift an inch.
Dick hunkers before Jason and helps him out of the gag. He is in full Nightwing suit, mask and everything, evidently ready to go out for the night’s patrol.
“Listen to me closely,” with a finger playing with the spit-soaked ball gag, Dick says, his voice authoritative and without jest. “I am going to strip you. I will cut away your uniform and leave you naked. Then, I will whip you. You will not fight, and you will endure without complaint or profanity. Every time you swear or speak out of line, that’s one single-handed slap on your pretty little face—I will not have an unruly, undisciplined slave. After all this, you will thank me for hurting you. If you are good, I will take you gently. If not, I will take you dry. Is that understood?”
Jason is shocked. He stays wide-eyed for a long while before coming to his senses, baring his teeth, and says, “Fuck you.”
The slap on his face comes suddenly and without warning. Dick wears gloves, just like yesterday, except the palm is lined with blue rubber pads that sting the face, and when he slapped Jason, he wasn’t playing around. It fucking hurt like a bitch, and a shade of pink is already spreading on Jason’s cheek.
“Are we understood?” Dicks asks again.
Jason is too stunned to talk. Then, when Dick repeats the question, he says, “Never, you moron.”
The second slap comes quicker than he can blink. The sound reverberates sharply, and that same cheek burns.
“Are. We. Clear?”
There is something in Dick’s voice that allows no objection. And even though Jason wants to keep fighting, he is smart enough to recognize a fight he can’t win.
So Jason keeps his mouth shut this time and gives a tiny, reluctant nod.
Dick raises an eyebrow, smiling.
“Good.”
Without another word, he stands up. He circles behind Jason, produces scissors, and starts cutting away Jason’s jacket. For a minute, the only sounds in the room are the snap of the scissors and Jason’s heavy breathing.
“Now, keep still,” Dick says as he rips the pieces off. “If you move as I cut your suit, I will hurt you, and it’ll be your own fault.”
Dick removes the tight bodysuit slowly as if to torment Jason. Jason’s skin slips out as the suit turns into strips of kevlar—the material all Bats wear, and the only people who know how to cut one into pieces are Bats themselves.
Then, Dick moves on to the pants.
“In other times, I would insist you answer me with a ‘yes, master.’ But I suppose your training as a slave will have to start somewhere.” A sharp rip indicates Dick is tearing his damaged pants off of him. “Next time, I will not be so lenient. If you don’t address me with the proper title, I will punish as I see fit.”
Fuck you, Jason thinks bitterly. But on the outside, he stays silent and pliant.
Finally, Dick strips away the last pieces of fabric covering Jason’s skin. His full body is now on display, gracefully tall and elegantly muscled, broad chest tapering into a slim waist before flaring out again to powerful thighs. His pale skin sports a sheen beneath the orange light.
Behind him, Dick has taken out something made of leather, tapping it against his palm. Jason hears the material slapping skin—a belt, probably.
It takes forever. Jason’s skin tightens and contracts, waiting for a blow that never comes.
“Are you nervous, Jason?” the asshole asks.
Jason doesn’t grace him with an answer. He keeps his head down and his body rigid.
Eventually, he relaxes, and it’s just then, when he least expects it, that the belt rains a hard blow down on him, landing somewhere on his bare ass.
Jason gasps, letting out shortened breaths as he takes in the sudden and piercing pain. He has no time to brace before Dick whips him again, layering the blow over the first welt.
“What do you say, Puppy?”
“Fuck you.”
Jason hears footsteps rounding his body. A hand seizes his hair and jerks his head up, and Jason makes a toothy laugh in Dick’s face when he sees the anger plastered there.
“What. Do. You. Say?” Dick asks again.
“I said ‘fuck you.’”
The slap he receives this time is expected. Jason laughs to dull the pain and to make it seem like he has more ground than he actually does.
When Dick drags Jason’s head up this time, his darkened expression has eased.
“Say that again, Jason. I enjoy slapping you.”
This time, Jason presses his lips together.
“Say it, Jason… Say that again.”
“Fuck off, Dick!”
A sharp pain explodes on the same cheek. Then, Dick’s words, “Again.”
Jason stays silent, but this doesn’t save him either.
Dick might tell the truth. He enjoys slapping Jason too much.
Jason’s cheeks are swollen, and red, blooming with clear palm prints. Dick lifts Jason’s chin with a finger and admires his work, running a fingertip over the bruise that makes Jason wince in pain.
“The correct answer, next time,” Dick says evenly, “is ‘thank you, Sir.’ Do I make myself clear?”
Jason doesn’t respond, so Dick pats his face, and with a “Good boy,” he stands back up, pulling the long, black leather belt with him.
The next blow comes down on Jason’s shoulder. Jason shudders under the leather and at the sharp sound of it hitting skin. Dick waits only a moment before striking again.
Soon enough, Jason’s skin is covered in welts and bruises, up from his shoulder blades down to his thighs. Even his calves aren’t spared, both having sported a few welts where Dick found it amusing to hit Jason.
Other than the pauses following every few blows and the demands for Jason to display gratitude, Jason has lost count, only groaning whenever the belt hits him and biting into his lip to stop his whimpers and sobs.
Finally, Dick pauses and runs his hand over the welt on Jason’s flank. His finger stings as his pad wipes something off the skin.
“The enjoyable thing about punishing you is,” Dick says, “I won’t have to worry about damaging you. Unlike others, you’ve encountered much worse things than this, haven’t you?”
Jason weakly shakes his head, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the tiled floor.
He then moans when a hand jerks his head upward by grabbing his hair. Dick bends down and inspects his tear-soaked face, enjoying Jason’s peril for a moment before thrusting his finger in front of Jason, showing him the blood it picked up from his wound.
“First blood.” Dick licks the scarlet from his finger, making a show of it. “Thank me, baby brother.”
Jason grits his teeth. His snark has died down by now, but his pride forbids him to comply.
The next moment, Jason drops back to the sweat-covered floor, and Dick is kneeling behind him, a hand grabbing his left ass cheek, pulling it away from his center. Jason shudders and whimpers when he feels the cool touch of the leather scraping against his hole.
“I should spank you here,” Dick ruminates, talking to himself more than anything. “A good spank. So you and your pussy know who you belong to.”
A sob finally escapes Jason as panic rattles through him. His voice catches in his chest, gurgling as he tries to swallow the pit in his throat.
“No, wait,” he pleads. “Don’t, please.”
“Oh?” The folded leather taps against his hole, mimicking the motion it would take if Dick spanked him there. “What are you offering, Puppy?”
“I’m sorry,” Jason says, voice choked out with a sob.
The tapping pauses for a moment before it resumes. Jason jumps, entire body tense from anticipation.
“I’m afraid ‘sorry’ won’t be good enough, Slave.”
Then Jason’s air is knocked out when the belt lands directly on that sensitive spot. Jason chokes out a cry, his shoulders trembling from a full-on sob.
“I’m sorry, Dick—Sir—” Jason forces out. “Fuck.”
“Didn’t I order you not to swear?”
“No, wait, I’m sorr—”
But Jason doesn’t get to finish before the belt lands on the same spot again.
The blows that follow knock the breath out of Jason. Dick uses a steady hand, slapping the belt directly on Jason’s hole each time. The smacks are loud, though perhaps not as hard as they might have been. They still make Jason twitch and groan, his sobs ringing over the sound of his punishment.
Dick hits Jason repeatedly ten… twelve… fifteen times, all on the same spot over Jason’s rim. Then Dick pauses, running his fingers over the abused, swollen entrance as Jason sniffles, sweat dripping onto the floor.
“How does it feel, Jason?”
Without speaking, Jason shakes his head weakly.
The fingers rub circles around the rim. They leave for a moment, then come back with a cool gel that soothes Jason’s abused entrance when Dick rubs it into the rim, massaging it before he finally sinks a finger inside.
Jason tenses and holds his breath. He groans a few seconds later when Dick’s finger rubs over a tender spot on his front wall, adding a second and a third.
“That’s it, good boy,” Dick coos as he thrusts his fingers, fanning them out and stretching the tight entrance. He then removes them and pushes something else into Jason’s body.
Jason’s body burns when he realizes it’s a silicone dildo, shaped like a real cock, and it fills him up, brushing against his prostate as Dick thrusts it in and out, the motion producing wet sounds.
Jason throws his head down and tries unsuccessfully to suppress a moan. His cock fills out, pleasure flows beneath his skin.
“I will leave this in you,” Dick says as he works. “Then I will gag you again and leave for patrol. You’ll stay like this until I come back, obediently waiting for me to use you. Is that clear, Puppy?”
Jason looks down at the floor and nods weakly.
Dick’s motion pauses.
“Are we clear?” he repeats.
Jason swallows, “Yes.”
“Good.”
One last thrust settles the dildo into the depth of Jason’s passage, so rough it makes Jason gasp and jump. Dick fixes the toy in place with a locked harness.
Dick moves, and Jason feels something nudging against his bottom lip. On instinct, he opens up, and a dildo-shaped gag pushes in, compressing against his tongue and going so deep Jason can feel it at the back of his throat. Dick fuck it into his throat a few times before thrusting it into place, locking the strap behind Jason’s neck.
Dick straightens up and walks around Jason, looking down at his glassy eyes, smiling.
“I knew you’d be perfect for this.” He tilts his head. “No gag reflex, huh? How many dicks have you sucked before, slut?”
Jason’s pupils shrink when he sees Dick pulling out something. A remote control.
The dildo in his ass starts vibrating to an uneven beat, and pleasure racks through Jason’s body, his moans muffled by the deep-throat gag.
Dick’s hand drops to his side, placing the remote on a counter too far for Jason to reach.
“See you after patrol, Puppy. Enjoy it while I’m gone.”
⁂
Jason is hardly himself when Dick returns.
He has orgasmed exactly once, early on during his torture. It was so unbearably stimulating; the vibration pressed against his prostate tormented him that he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Jason’s cock gave in quickly, spilling his seed onto the floor.
After that, the torture continued to hurt, but Jason could no longer reach his climax with the low intensity. It stimulated and teased, making his cock fill out, but never gave Jason enough to come again.
Jason’s body is shaking, cold sweat adorning his torso and face, low, wanton moans undulating from his gagged mouth, sounding not unlike desperate pleas. He doesn’t notice it when his brother returns.
Dick lands quietly from the windows—acrobat powers—and sneaks up behind Jason. When Jason feels those textured rubber pads of Nightwing’s gauntlet touching his bruised ass—gentle and careful—he almost cries in relief.
Jason is glad Dick is back. He doesn’t think it was possible, but he’s so very glad.
The first thing Dick does is pull out the dildo-shaped gag, unlocking the strap and dragging it slowly from his brother’s throat, leaving a long string of saliva dripping to the floor.
“Please,” Jason says with a sniffle. “Please—”
A gloved hand caresses his ass cheek.
“Please do what, Puppy?”
“Please, take it out—”
“And why should I do that?”
Jason whimpers and sobs into his chest, breaking and coming undone in front of his most hated rival.
“I-I have to cum.”
“And why should I care, little wing?”
The bastard’s tone is too smooth. He knows exactly which button to push.
“F-fuck me,” Jason says. “Use me so I can cum.”
“Hm.” Dick shifts. Jason hears a zipper sliding down, then the weight of Dick’s cock slapping over his ass, hard as a rock. The textured glove pads land on his welts again. “Say ‘thank you,’ Puppy, or I won’t do it.”
Jason suppresses a whine and the need to curse the asshole.
“Thank you,” he says in a voice almost too low to hear. It sounds more like a hiss. “Thank you, master. Please fuck me.”
A hand comes up and slaps Jason’s bruised cheek, making him jump. Dick squeezes out some more lube and strokes the gel over his length.
“As you wish, insatiable Slave.”
Jason moans when Dick slides into him. The head of his cock separates Jason’s cheeks, pushes, and sheathes deeply into his hole in one fell swoop. Jason hasn’t seen the size of it, but he can feel how big Dick is when his girth stretches him, filling him up in such a fulfilling way Jason never thought was possible.
When Dick thrusts, Jason can’t help but rock his hips to Dick’s rhythm. He pushes back when Dick pushes. When Dick retreats, he pulls and tilts his hips for better access. Jason’s waist arches in opposite directions as Dick smacks his hips into his.
Soon, they set a coordinated rhythm, moving in tandem.
“That’s it, you are doing so well,” Dick says as he speeds. “Made for this, aren’t you, Jay? You’re taking it so well, making big brother proud.”
Jason’s moans turn into wet huffs. He uses the only way he can to retort, cursing back, little “fuck you”s and “you’ll pay”s shudder out of his mouth. But they hitch and undulate, tremble and squeak, sounding more like puppy whimpers than genuine threats.
Dick chuckles, kneading Jason’s ass with his hands. He hasn’t touched Jason’s cock once, but it’s already leaking like a pipe, dripping pre-cum from its reddened, congested head.
Jason drops his head and moans, shoulder trembling when Dick fucks into him, fingers digging into his cheeks, hips snapping forward so hard they break Jason’s moans into pieces.
Jason feels himself getting close, but he curses that his hands are chained, unable to satisfy himself.
“T-touch me, Dick—”
Dick smacks his hips forward, cutting off Jason’s words. He thrusts a few more times without answering.
“No.”
“Dick—”
“Here’s what’s going to happen—” another fast smack causes Jason’s body to arch and his knees to slide—“I’m going to keep fucking you while you make yourself cum. I’m going to give you the order, and you’re going to do it on cue. If you can’t, or if you do it too soon, then you will be punished. But if you can do it the way I like, I will reward you, and allow you to sleep at the foot of my bed tonight.”
Jason’s breathing hikes.
“F-fuck you!”
He cries out when Dick’s next plunge makes him tremble.
“The more you protest, the more punishment you’ll receive.” Dick’s hands caress Jason’s marked ass cheek, pinching the abused skin, taking pleasure in the way his brother gasps. “Ready? I’m about to give the cue.”
“What? Wait—”
“Cum now, Puppy,” Dick orders. “Just do what I say.”
There is something magnetic about the way he says those words, something about the authority in Dick’s command. Jason shudders when he hears it, his shoulders tense when he squeezes his eyes shut and curses under his breath, his mind going white as the pressure gathering at the head of his cock releases. His cum spills over the floor.
Jason’s head is filled with a post-orgasm buzz, and he is vaguely aware of Dick clutching his hips and using his sacked body like a fleshlight through the haze.
When Jason’s head clears enough to hear, Dick is praising him.
“Well done, Slave,” Dick says breathlessly as he approaches his own climax. “You are a wonderful investment, Hood, and I have so much training waiting for you…”
Jason groans when Dick releases into him.
⁂
Dick sits back in the comfy office chair he has in his studio, opening up the group call B has set up over the Bat’s secure network.
Jason bounces over his lap. The slave is completely naked, his back to the screen, arms splayed and suspended from the ceiling on each side by blue and black (Nightwing-colored) ropes. Blindfolded and gagged, Jason’s cheeks clench down on Dick’s length, working hard in getting his master to come.
Two months have passed since Dick won his new slave in an auction. Most of the Bats don’t like it, but they seem to have reached a mutual agreement to let Dick have his fun. The prize rightly belongs to him since he is the one who captured Jason, plus, he’s gotten Jason in check in these first two months of his incarceration and seemed to have trained him well.
When the video connects, the group immediately sees Red Hood’s freshly spanked, red-welted ass bouncing over Nightwing’s cock on their screen.
Dick smirks into the camera and gives the family a two-finger salute as if his naked brother isn’t currently rocking over his cock.
Batman’s expression is grim. Red Robin hides his face behind his palm, fingering the handle of his coffee mug, and Spoiler is looking overly amused at what she is seeing.
Robin? Robin is forbidden from the meeting. At least, that part everyone has agreed on.
“You think Riddler is working with Hush again?” Dick asks, taking his cup and sipping water.
Bruce’s frown deepens.
“...Could you please… take Hood to a different room, Nightwing?”
Dick smiles into the camera. He’s successfully caught everyone’s attention, just as he has hoped. And now, Jason’s training is almost complete. You can’t find a better puppy than his perfect little brother.
He cups the back of Jason’s neck, petting his hair like a beloved pet, using his gloved hand to knead the rippling muscles on Jason’s back. He drags Jason’s head to the side by his hair, leans over, and plants a kiss on the nape of the neck.
“Don’t mind us.” He kisses Jason’s hair this time. His brother moans and slows down. Dick smacks his ass as a warning for him to keep moving those hips. “We’re just doing our daily training routine. Don’t let us interrupt the meeting.”
There’s a collective sigh. Tim looks the other way, and Bruce keeps his poker face as he tries to carry on the meeting without being distracted by his son’s moans and the wet squelches. Steph looks like she is on the verge of laughter.
They talk about the theories and discuss the plan. New meetings to come, and how to draw Hush out this time. The meeting continues for another fifteen minutes before Dick’s time is up. He comes into Jason with a grunt, thrusting his hips upward voluntarily to get those last moments of stimulation. White leaks between Jason’s cheeks, captured clearly on camera. Bruce’s face is pale, lips pulled down in disapproval.
Jason drops his head onto Dick’s shoulder and groans through his deepthroat gag. He doesn’t get to cum himself with his cock locked in a chastity cage. He just… drips cum continuously in an adorable way.
“What’s the next item on the list?” Dick asks casually as if he hasn’t just released inside his brother. He keeps petting Jason’s hair as he enjoys the warmness and tightness of his dick’s sheath, waiting to get hard so they could do it again. “Let us move on to the next thing, shall we?”
It’s totally worth it, just to see the expression on Bruce’s face.
And, oh, they still have so much time. So much more training to go through.
And Dick has so much more to enjoy from his new, permanent slave.
Tim breaks the awkward silence and moves on to the next thing, reading from his printed list of items instead of looking at the screen. The meeting goes on.
As Bruce tries to keep his calm and the rest try their best to ignore Jason’s presence, Dick already makes plans for the things that will come next.
He will get some investigative homework from Bruce, no doubt, and that’d be a perfect opportunity to use his slave as a cockwarmer under the desk when he has to sort through that paperwork. Obviously, he can’t take Jason with him on missions, so he will just have to restrain him well and keep him locked in a chastity cage and stuffed with a vibrating dildo when Dick goes to work.
When Jason is ready for it, Dick will take him to family gatherings, parties, and even galas. He will get jewelry for his slave—has to be a caring master, and can’t let the other snobs of Gotham’s higher class think Dick Grayson is a stingy cheapskate who doesn’t want to buy luxuries for his pet with all the riches he inherited.
Of course, that’s just for jewelry and decorations. His slave will have to remain naked and collared. A slave is still a slave, after all.
With his hand petting Jason’s hair, his dick hardening once more inside its sheath, Dick starts bouncing his brother over his lap as the meeting continues.
The coming weeks are going to be very, very interesting. Dick is already looking forward to them.