Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last thing Danny Fenton expected when visiting Gotham was to find himself on a rooftop, ass up and being run a train on.

...oh, he’s not complaining.

That would require the use of both words and his brain, and neither of those things are available at the moment. Not with the cock so deep in his throat he’s sniffing pubic hair and the one in his ass that he’s pretty certain reaches into his stomach.

...a cock that has, at minimum, pushed two loads prior to this latest round into his lower intestines and is still going strong.

But then there’s the other ones too.

The slim, slightly smaller cock that has to belong to the shortest one. The fair sized, almost uncertain one that definitely prefers humping his mouth to his ass. The... definitely the girthiest one, that’s currently in his mouth because yeah, that porn star dick in his colon is the star of tonight’s impromptu show.

Round four?

Not sure, honestly, he lost count what feels like ages ago. His own cock is soft, flaccid and soaked in his own cum inside his briefs. Twitching every time his prostate takes another hit from that fucking PERFECT dick in his ass. Hell, he’d put up a fuss if they stopped now, and he couldn’t even tell anyone who the fuck they were.

The masks made that hard, sure, but so does lack of blood to the brain.

All he really knows is that once every round they kind of ask him if he’s done and he shakes his head because who in their right damn mind would refuse the kind of muscle they’re all packing? Not him. He’s been salivating over gym bro bods since he turned 17 and realized that dicks? Oh they did a lot more for him than he’d thought they did. The peak fit these four have?

He’ll let them fuck him until he’s a puddle.

Which is kind of almost what he is, now.

Except a puddle that protests when he feels cum in his throat because that means that soon the dick is going to pull out. A puddle that feels the heat wash a tiny bit further inside him and arches his back to invite the next one in.

...if he didn’t have a hell of a healing factor he knows he’d be skirting real danger, but he does and he isn’t and he’s opening his mouth to show them the streaks of semen still on his tongue. Hazy eyes looking up expectantly as he feels slim but confident push back into his sloppy, loose hole. Immediately setting a brutal, punishing pace that definitely is self serving but oh, that does it for him pretty damn well too. A murmur of voices before the less confident one grips his head and presses just into his mouth with a low moan. Letting Danny suck the soft, spongy head of his cock, tongue playing along the underside to fatten it up again. Letting it fill out before he hollows his cheeks and gets a curse and an almost yelp for his trouble. The cock pushing in deep enough to knock his throat and make him choke.

But he’s held there, and he doesn’t fight to get off. No he clenches over the cock in his ass and chokes on the dick in his mouth and just, just before he goes to push at the guy he pulls out, coming on dark hair and pale skin as the halfa gasps for breath. His own cock finally starting to chub back up, though he has no idea if he can actually cum again any time soon.

His hips are held tight and he’s slammed into, a grunt as the person fucking him comes, his hips tilting shakily. Breathing ragged, raw and just a little raspy from the amount of abuse to his throat but even still, he opens bleary eyes to look at the three in front of him.

“Damn, you still aren’t done? Might just have to keep him, eh, ‘Wing?”

The voice is far away, and he doesn’t have enough brainpower to answer when another voice responds and they start sniping at each other. All Danny can do is wait until the shortest one comes into view, costume perfectly in place, his own ass still bare to the wind.

“M...mmmm...”

The sounds are raspy, and he has to swallow to wet his lips and tongue again.

“...Mmmm, what? You done?”

Danny makes an indignant noise, one blue eye, then two looking up at the four masked figures.

“More.”

There’s a pause, all of them looking at each other before the two bigger men shrug and the one in black and blue grins. A conversation without words being held in a scant few seconds, then hands reach for him and tug his pants up. Hefting him up and over a shoulder.

“We found a winner, boys, closest apartment gets first dibs on morning sex!”

“Your apartment is closest, you cheating fuck.”

“Exactly, now come on, we’ve got some blankets to ruin.”

He’s moving and he has no idea where they’re taking him but he figures it’s going to be worth it.

After all, it isn’t like he can die from too much dick

Chapter Text

The next morning?

He’s almost ready to eat those words. Kind of. Maybe. Ish.

But he’s currently been on *someone’s* dick for what feels like hours now and there are two halves of his brain warring that he didn’t think existed. The half that says it’s too much cheese and the half that swears he’s never leaving this apartment.

Then Girthy hits his prostate again and he decides the second is exactly where he wants to be.

He even moans that out, between bounces, to the delight of the man he’s on. Still doesn’t know his name, but that’s also not important. Hauling himself up and dropping down like he’s trying to get the man’s balls into him along with that cock and honestly, that’s a decent assumption.

And so it goes.

One cock is replaced by another, by another, and the boys? Men? All cycle out when they’re finished with him, eating and relaxing while he’s being facefucked. Chatting about a television show as two of them are scroat deep in his ass.

The sheer amount of lubricant in him alone would be concerning if he cared, but every single time they ask if he’s done? He shakes his head, looks at whoever it is and demands, ‘More’.

So more it is. Until it’s well past lunchtime and they all collectively put a pause on the activity. Leaving Danny tucked into the bed but drooling and blissfully warm and full of cum. He’d estimate gallons, though realistically it’s probably less than a cup, but the way it feels is just...

Well, it makes him make a very syrupy, happy, almost warbly noise as he drifts into a nap.

...when he wakes up god knows when later, though, he realizes two things.

One? He has no fucking idea where he is. Sure, that isn’t a terribly big problem, he could just fly up and out of the house, but it means he was dick blissed out enough to not notice he was being moved, let alone where to.

Two?

He is hungry as a motherfucker.

Getting up proves the tiniest bit difficult, and he ends up admitting to himself that maybe he went a little overboard. A tad. Enough that his healing factor hasn’t quite gotten rid of the ache in his back, or the... more insistent pain in his ass.

He must have made a noise because suddenly there’s Perfect Dick standing in the doorway, asking if he’s doing alright.

...Danny squints up at him and nods, but when he tries to stand up by himself he finds out quickly enough he is not in fact doing alright.

Which makes Perfect laugh, and oh, oh the halfa’s heart is beating a mile a minute.

“-room?”

Staring interrupted, he shakes his head and says, “...what?” The man laughing again and leaning over to help him upright.

“I said do you need to use the bathroom. Clean up and all that shit.”

It’s impolite to stare but here he is, wide-eyed and deer-like, looking at a mountain of a man with a jawline that could cut glass and an artsy thatch of white hair that’s tousled in just the right way to make it casual instead of messy and Danny’s mouth works for a second without sound before he can shake his fucking brain cells back into their holes.

“...uh, yeah. Yes. Definitely need to piss.”

That makes Perfect laugh again and god, at this point he’s not sure if he’s got a crush or a smash but it is RIGHT THERE in his gut.

“I’ll help you there then, you gonna be good on your own?”

Which is a valid question considering his legs are indeed still jello, but Danny’s pride rears its ectoplasmic head and he nods, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other because he’s definitely been in more pain than this and walked it off.

...well flown, usually, but the point is he’s a man and capable of-

“Hey, hey, careful. If you have to go that bad I can carry you so you don’t fall.”

-falling. He’s capable of falling. And nearly does so before he’s held upright by frankly massive arms. He feels like he’s looking up at Hercules, this guy is so buff. Shit.

He grumbles, but lets himself be helped to the bathroom. Politely refusing help as he closes the door and limps to the toilet to sit down. No way he’s gonna stand to piss without making a *mess*, so...

There’s an audible sigh of relief once he’s done, and he sits a few more moments before he looks at the shower and eyes the rack of cleaning products over the temperature handle. He doesn’t recognize anything he uses normally, but he does from staying over with Sam. Whoever these men are? This apartment belongs to someone kinda bougie.

...a hair mask?

No, not... he hobbles to the shower and turns it on, the cold water at the start not bothering him in the slightest.

A fucking gold dust infused hair mask.

Rich bougie.

Which he supposes makes a little bit of sense. It’s hard to roam the city at night in what he assumes is at the very least some sort of kevlar? He’s been in Gotham just long enough to know that guns and knives are accessories, not exceptions. Someone working your standard 9-5 isn’t going to have the cash to do that.

His hand absentmindedly swipes inside his lower body, and there’s a large, wet splat as the mess and lube from the night before...morning... from all the sex, is splattered on the floor of the shower to be washed away. It leaves him feeling empty, and very slightly sore, but he’s not going to bother with the normal way. Way too much work.

...he is very gentle as he soaps his hands and washes his ass and groin though, even though he can feel that his healing factor is working enough that he’s already less sore.

It’s only after he washes his hair with the least expensive stuff in the shower that he realizes that he has no clothing and he was definitely naked when he was brought to the bathroom. Hell, at this point he can’t even remember when he got naked.

So towel it is, after he’s ruffled it through his hair enough to take out most of the water he wraps the very soft, very fluffy fabric around him and luxuriates in just how nice it is as he walks out back into the bedroom... and finds Girthy stripping the bed and piling the sheets and blankets on the floor.

It kind of makes him laugh, but at the same time he’s also too busy appreciating the bent over ass. Rich bougie, knows how to do the basics. Clearly not someone who relies on housekeepers for everything.

Honestly, it’s both interesting and kind of a mystery and he’s always been too nosy for his own good on both those fronts.

“Want some help?”

Nevermind that he’s still mostly limping and it hurts a bit to extend his body forward, he’s polite, dammit. Especially after having his mind and his back blown. Common courtesy.

“Nah, I’ve got this. Food in the kitchen though, you have to be starving.”

There’s a sparkling white, very hot boy grin that knows exactly what it is directed at him and he reacts rather predictably. Flushing just slightly, but nodding and limping to the door to find food because the shower really only made him hungrier and if he could eat a bear before, he’s up to a zoo now.

Short stack is on one of the chairs, sitting criss cross applesauce with a drawing pad in hand and ignoring everything else, but when Danny walks in he nods at him and it’s absolutely adorable to see the blush that dusts just across the tan cheeks. He’s decidedly not thinking about how much of a switch that is from the night before.

Oh, and there’s Boy Band. He’s on a laptop and typing rather furiously, checking a tablet by his side every few moments and utterly engrossed in whatever he’s doing.

So it’s Perfect that greets him and motions to the table, where there’s a covered plate waiting.

“There’s more, but we kept a plate out for you so you can eat while I heat something else up. Figured you’d be hungry after all that.”

The roguish grin is almost too much for his heart and who in the Infinite Realms gave all of these people the permission to be as gorgeous as they are? He does however gratefully ease himself into the chair with only a small hiss, and immediately start chowing down.

“Appreciate it. Wasn’t really interested in food earlier.”

He gives his own grin back, knowing that when he tilts his head his hair drops just over his eyes just right. Sam had helped him perfect the move, so he’s pleased to see the immediate affect it has on the big guy. Smile dipping into something a little less than friendly and a little more hungry, eyes juuuuust starting to darken. Makes him wink before he goes back to the food, practically shoveling it into his mouth.

“We figured, seeing as you kinda refused to let us go.”

As if HE was the one keeping THEM hostage.

Fork stops mid bite as he questions if that was actually the case, but then continues so he can chew and think at the same time. Did he? No, it wasn’t like he made them have sex for hours, that clearly was their decision. He just gave them permission to keep going, and going...

So he eyes the guy, one brow lifted.

“Refused? From where I’m sitting, ahem, it feels like you were fully invested in the activities.”

Short stack stifles a laugh, turning it into a snort. So he was listening, huh.

“Okay, but hey, not like you come across a guy willing to be a cum dumpster all that often.”

“Peter?! You can’t just call people cum dumpsters!”

Apparently that’s what broke Boy Band out of his laptop induced concentration. Cum dumpster. Peter laughs, and honestly? Danny can’t help but join in, though he chokes the food in his mouth down first before he answers.

“Nah, it’s fine. I was definitely your cum dumpster last night. This morning. How long exactly did we go? That’s all a little fuzzy.”

“Between last night and this morning? Almost a solid five hours. Impressive, most people can’t keep up with us, let alone ask for more.” The man crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter in the kitchen. “Which kinda makes me wonder what the heck you were doing up there, and if you planned that.”

Danny can feel Short stack looking at him, because that’s the same feeling he gets when a ghost is watching him, ready to attack and oooooh boy things have gotten a tiny bit spicier. He stays loose though, shoving more food into his mouth.

“Well, no, actually. I mean, yes, kinda, but no because I didn’t expect that to be the outcome. If I’m being honest with you, I kinda just wanted to introduce myself? New to Gotham, ish, and was directed your way by some of the locals.”

...which isn’t a lie, the ghosts had either gushed over the vigilantes or angrily denounced everything they stood for. Pretty standard for his brand of undead, but it’d brought up the need to meet them and let them know he’d be around for the near future. What he hadn’t done was actually any of the introducing, because once he’d pushed open the door to the roof and had all four sets of eyes swivel his way he’d seen the muscles and the thighs and his gay ass had blurted out, ‘oh fuck, you’re hot’ before ANYTHING else.

Lucky for him, Girthy had started laughing, breaking the tension his entrance had made and really just encouraging his mouth to keep going without his permission to say, ‘I’m so DTF right now, how are you real.’

Sam would have been proud with the results, if not with the method.

But it’d worked well enough that less than ten minutes after that he’d been bent over, so he really wasn’t complaining.

Still, it brings it back to the fact that they, the Batman people, did not know that he, the Ghost King, was in fact the Ghost King. Or anything but a random dude who’d offered to fuck them on a rooftop.

...but he’s not ready to give up the atmosphere, the food or the genuine amusement and heat he can feel. Selfish, he’s very aware, but...

He’d left Amity Park to find somewhere to feel normal and anonymous and yeah, this wasn’t Cali like he’d planned, but it was somewhere new where not every person knew his name. He was pretty sure. The ghosts hadn’t really made that part very clear, but they had recognized that he was the GK, so he figured there was just a delay in the living information highways.

Maybe he’d been here for a week or so. Maybe that week had been chasing a little lead on why there were so many ghosts here. Maybe he’d decided that this was a decent place to kinda lay low for a while to keep the paps out of his face.

Hell, maybe he’d look into finishing his degree. There was a college here, he could do it.

It’s only once he realizes that his fork hasn’t moved and both Peter and Boy band are giving him odd looks that he shakes himself out of his thoughts and tries the sympathy approach.

“Sorry, running away from some stuff and you all just, looked like a good time. Didn’t expect it to be so good you’d actually wipe my mind though. That? An excellent surprise.”

There’s a look passed between the two men, but it’s obvious that whatever was on his face while he was thinking was enough to make them accept it for the moment. He isn’t deluding himself into thinking they believe him, or trust him at all, but the fantasy is safe for the moment.

So he digs back into the food. Finishing the plate and damn near licking it clean before it’s stacked with a second, full one.

“Told you we had more, I won’t make you lick your plate clean.”

Honestly the way he says it should ring a little more of that bell in his mind that says something isn’t quite right, but it smells so freaking good that he’s instead eating with fork in one hand and spoon in the other. Only slowing down towards the end of the plate because it’d been stacked high, though he finishes it with a last, slow, savoring bite. He hasn’t had food this good... well in a long time. It’s a welcome change to fast food, pizza and his own feeble attempts at something that isn’t a sandwich.

Perfect... Peter, is watching with something in his eyes, but it hides itself a second after Danny looks up at him.

“Thanks. You all definitely had me work up an appetite. You need help cleaning anything up? ‘Cuz I’ll be honest, I’m going to probably luxuriate in being full until I fall asleep and if you don’t want that to be here I should get going pretty soon. Sleeping in alleys sucks.”

He means that as a joke, he swears, but the flash of something in Peter’s eyes says that he’s not helping whatever the fuck he’s made them think of him. Before he can say anything though? Girthy comes out of wherever the laundry machines are and gives a half look around that seems to pick up on everything.

Danny’s not jealous. He can do that too. If there are ghosts hiding.

“Well the bed is clean and your clothes are in the dryer, you going to be good? We did a number on you.”

That disarmingly roguish smile is flashed his way again and his cheeks flush because right, he’s just been sitting out here in a towel this whole time. Not that he gets to answer, because as his mouth opens Short Stack pipes up.

“He is staying another night. Perhaps some of Jack’s extra clothes would be useful, so he doesn’t have to walk around nude the entire time.”

If any of them are surprised at that, they don’t seem to show it. Him, on the other hand? His eyebrows shoot up and he looks at the older men first, then the younger two. Like he’s waiting for someone to speak up and say no, or fuck, to question why.

They don’t though, they just accept it with nods and shrugs and Boy Band... Jack? Stands up to go presumably to get clothing for him.

The confusion must be visible, because Girthy shakes his head and gives him a hopeless smile.

“Guess we have you for another night. I can’t promise we’ll be as active this time though~ I’m Mark, by the way. We never did get around to names.”

The halfa isn’t sure if this is karma or retribution, but he figures if he can get another meal (and potentially another gangbang) out of it, he won’t complain.

“Danny. Nice to meet you. I’d say properly but not sure that applies here.”

Jack comes back with a full set of clothing rolled neatly together and hands it to him. “Might be a little big on you, but I think John’s would be too small anyway.”

He takes them with a word of thanks, clutching the towel as he stands and moves back into the bedroom. Feeling both strangely exposed and horribly unconfident now that no one else’s dicks are out. The food has done its job, kicking his healing factor into overdrive, so he barely has a limp at all as he slips into the room and shuts the door.

“Good going, Danny, now they’re either going to pet project you or call the fucking police. Running from something? Really?”

Because it’s true, but he fucking knows better than to just tell random strangers that. Sure, he doesn’t tend to sleep with all the random strangers he meets, but that should have made it doubly important in this instance to keep his trap shut and here he is, mouth very much not shut.

...on the other hand?

It’s been a long time since he’s been taken care of and a part of him craves that so badly he’s willing to damn near let them do what they want so long as they keep doing it.

That’s the part that wins out as he pulls the shirt on. The part of him that wants to be pressed against something and used. Burned from the inside out until he can’t feel anything else but the beating of his heart and the pulse of blood in his veins.

And yeah, sure, he’s a little ashamed of that. It’d always been someone else taking care of him, whether that was making sure he ate? Danny, you can’t live off of the sunlight, you fucker, eat something. To cuddling up with him just because they KNEW he wanted to be close. You’re as soft as a rock, ghost boy, it’s a good thing I come with built in pillows.

He doesn’t realize he’s sunk to the floor crying quietly until the door opens and Mark walks in, startling at the sight but immediately kneeling down and pulling Danny in for a hug.

This man that doesn’t know him from a cashier at Nasty Burger, is comforting him.

Even through the sheer shame of it all he latches on, hugging tight. Burying his face into the firm chest and riding out the waves of homesick and ache and god what is he doing here and lonely and...

...and he wakes up. Once again wrapped in blankets, though this time he’s not alone and naked. He’s fully clothed and sandwiched between the two older men, who are talking much too quietly for them to have realized he’s woken up.

“He looked fucking terrified when I caught him crying, it was...”

“...yeah, when he was eating too. He’s definitely not here with anyone, he was telling the truth. Whatever he’s running from isn’t something we’re involved in on either side of things.”

There’s a pause, and he focuses on keeping his breathing steady. His heart barely beats, so that won’t give him away. If anything it’d be the lack of it from him concentrating too hard.

“I know that look, Little Wing, you can’t-”

There’s a shift that feels like a hand being waved over him.

“And I won’t, but what’s the harm in keeping him fed and in a bed for a few more days? Sleeping in an alley? Come on. Look at him, he’s practically skin and bones. A few nights of safety is something they’d give to anyone who needed it. You know I already have that set up in Crime Alley anyway.”

Mark sighs and Danny takes that opportunity to shift slightly, because the lump that’s starting in his throat is real and won’t be hidden for much longer if they keep talking like this. Breathing in deep, like he’s coming out of a heavy sleep, and the body he’s closest to, Peter? Peter. Perfect Peter. Him. He’s pulled into the broad chest with a firm arm across his own.

“Hey Danny, you doing alright?”

He doesn’t even need to pretend he can’t answer right away, because the heat of the body holding him has him struggling not to just burrow into it. Conceding to leaning, because surely that’s not taking advantage too badly, right?

Blue eyes glance up to see Mark looking at him in concern, barely a foot away from him on the bed.

Now isn’t the time to feel Very Gay(tm), but he feels the flush rising anyway.

“...y-yeah, sorry. Don’t know what came over me, I swear that’s not how I...”

Not how he what, does things with random fucks he meets on rooftops? Does things with vigilantes who clearly have their lives in order? Does things with rich, bougie men who look at him like they actually care about his mental wellbeing and oh fuck he’s definitely crushing.

“I can go, you totally didn’t sign up for a rando’s panic attacks and I don’t blame you if you want me out of here. Not usually my m.o. for hookups, I promise. I must... must have just been a little more tired than I thought, you’re that good.”

He means it as both compliment and humorous self depreciation, trying to get them to push him away so he can use that as an excuse as to why he has to leave. The apartment, Gotham, all of it. As much as he wants to stay, he’s not stupid enough to think they’re the ones interested in him personally enough to go that far out of their way. Rooftop fuck. He really needs to remember that.

...but oh that arm is pulling him in tighter and Mark is reaching to brush his hair out of his face and god, he’s living in a dream that his younger self would have splooged instantly for.

“Not a problem. We probably should have cut ourselves off sooner too. You’re a hard one to resist.”

That... kinda makes him feel warm and fuzzy, honestly. He can feel his face go through a myriad of different emotions but all of them good and okay, it’s clearly not a bad thing because Girthy Mark looks amused and he’ll take that over pity any day of the week.

It’s mostly the shock of how someone with an Olympian physique, and he’s talking Gods here, not the already impressive world sport games, is calling him attractive. Hard to resist.

He knows he’s a stick. Food and fat don’t pad him out, he barely eats enough to do more than fuel his healing factor most days because, well, eating is kinda boring. A man can only have sandwiches so many times a week before he just kinda forgets to eat for a few days.

Aaaand he’s lost in his own mental sauce again. What IS it about these guys that just makes him introspective and an idiot all in one go? The arm shifts and his breath catches and oh, right. It’s mostly the muscles, though now it’s topped with a very healthy crush for them being decent human beings.

“I don’t mind, it's been a while since I was in the company of this kind of prime beef. Makes a man put his priorities into perspective.”

Peter snorts at that and thank god, the mood lifts. Comedy wins again.

“Prime beef? Really?”

The voice practically thrums through his back and it makes him shiver again. This time though, he has a little leverage. Not to mention that he’s very firmly pressed up against the front of what has to be thousands of hours in the gym.

Mark gives him an appraising look, clearly feeling the shift as well. Looking over black hair to the other man and kind of shrugging one shoulder.

Danny chooses to interpret that as, ‘might as well’. It’s not a no, or even a hesitation, and that’s really all he needs to keep going.

“Absolutely. You’ve seen yourself in the mirror, don’t pretend you don’t know that you’re Wagyu in a world of dairy cows.”

He punctuates that with a wiggle that’s deliberate as it is hopeful, even as Mark bursts out in a laugh.

“All of you, alright. Finest steaks on the market and yeah I am definitely shopping for a little dinner.”

Girthy, because he likes that better in his head than Mark, has rolled over and shoved his face into a pillow. Laughing hard enough to make himself shake just a little. Peter has a smile on, he can hear it, but reaches over and shoves Mark in the shoulder with a grumble of, “Fuck off, asshole,” even as he shifts to tuck Danny under him. Levering himself on one arm to tug the slightly oversized sweatpants down, clearly on board with the plan here.

His hips tilt up, but the pants are only tugged down over his ass before a thick finger is rubbing at his hole. Pausing, and there’s a shuffle before it pulls away and returns with a healthy glob of lubricant and he’s clearly expecting Danny to be a lot more loose than he is, because that first finger goes right in up to the knuckle and he chokes on air as he’s spread on it.

“How the fuck are you so tight again?”

Right, healing factor. Fuck. He has zero actual idea how to explain that.

“...kegels?”

There’s a pause, and a grunt that either says he doesn’t believe it and doesn’t care, or has accepted the answer and that’s totally fine with Danny.

So the finger is slightly more gentle as it works in and out of him, but much like the night before not so much that he’s fully open by the time the second finger is pushed in. Not that he cares, because the burn is so fucking good and he’s biting down on his lip, eyes closed when the bed shifts again.

“Hey Pete, shift down.”

One eye opens, then the other when he realizes that Mark is settling down right in front of his face and immediately they zero in on the crotch of those soft looking sleep shorts the other is wearing. Heat immediately flooding his face, blue darkening to match how that cock is filling those out... very, very nicely.

He’s tugged just a little, maneuvered so he’s nose into those shorts and has his head pressed firmly down against them. There’s no way he’d be able to stop the moan that came out of him, let alone how his own dick is rock hard from all of this and trapped in the pants he’s still wearing.

...the chuckle behind him as he squirms says that it was planned that way.

Bastard.

Mark’s hand strokes over his hair as he nuzzles the fabric. Content to let him take his time as he’s being stretched out. Peter though? He pushes that pace, fingers curling into Danny’s prostate to make him clench and shiver.

It’s a struggle to hold himself up and get the shorts off, but Mark doesn’t help him in the slightest. Just stays there, lounging and grinning as he curses breathily and finally gets them down to mid thigh. That’s all he needs anyway, his face going back into the soft, exceptionally distinctive stink of balls. Inhaling with a groan, his mouth working around the testes softly. Using his tongue to lap at the skin.

“...Jesus, look at him....”

He knows they’re talking about him but he’s involved. Especially once the head of that perfect cock presses up against his stretched hole and sinks in so slow he thinks the Titanic would be jealous.

His eyelids flutter closed and his mouth is slack for all of the time it takes for Perfect Peter to bottom out. Then he’s giving soft, breathy sounds as he buries his face between sack and shaft and sucks on the vein he can feel pulsing there. Getting a moan as his reward, the hand still stroking through his hair. Letting him ignore the soft head to do whatever he wants for the moment.

Brain cells are just starting to slip away. He can feel it, it always happens when he’s got a good cock sunk deep. Sam discovered it first, sure, but he’s cultivated that feeling so that he knows with a grope if he’s going to get put down.

Boy howdy do these men have it to put him down.

That floaty, hungry, needy space that every fiber of his ghostly being craves. It’s not even just the human side digging their nails in for physical comfort and companionship, no, it’s his core that craves this just as much. The sounds of sex, the moans and wet noises and panting and no, fuck, his eyes are glimmering green so they stay shut and he lets his head be maneuvered so he can slide the fat cock over his tongue. Lapping at the underside as that first, rough thrust forces it into the back of his throat and he moans so loudly he hears Mark curse under his breath when the vibrations hit the head of his dick. Gripping his head so it doesn’t move, because now the thrusts are coming in slow, deep movements that threaten to fuck into his soul, he swears.

It’s deep. Oh fucking fuck it’s so deep.

Hands grip at the shorts like they can ground him. They can’t. The hand still on his head does, so does the cock in his mouth. He focuses on them instead of the overwhelming pressure and pleasure rocking his lower half.

They’ve done this before, share someone. No way they haven’t, with how in sync they are. Mark holding his head just shy of cutting off his airway, Peter rocking him forward until it chokes him every few thrusts. Using him, but not neglecting him.

He gives a full body shudder, and has to stop himself from phasing the shorts off the man in front of him. Truly has to focus on it, because otherwise he’s going to blow his anonymity and cover and no, no he doesn’t want to do that. Not right now. Right now he’s focusing on how he’s definitely going to come without a goddamn hand on his dick. On how the hands bracketing his hips are warm and calloused and the thumbs are keeping his cheeks spread nice and wide. On how when the dick grinds in he can feel the balls smack his taint and pubic hair scrape his crack.

A muffled cry accompanies the clench that says yeah, he’s come untouched. The man behind him cursing and shoving in deep through it, which makes him choke on Mark hard enough to gag, swallowing and spasming around the head as his hair is gripped tight.

“Fuck, you feel that? How is he tighter.”

“Dunno, but if you don’t pull him...!”

Whatever Girthy was going to say is lost in a low groan as spunk hits his throat in streams. Hot, thick ones he can feel as they start to slip down his esophagus. All while he’s begging himself not to open his eyes, nails digging into a pale thigh and coughing roughly as he’s let go to breathe.

But the thrusts don’t stop, and he’s still coming and fuck, he can’t, it’s so good that his raw, hoarse moan rises into a keen. His own dick pulsing and throbbing and nothing else is coming out but the feeling of pleasure doesn’t stop rising and no, no that’s a Wail that’s not a keen so his hand slaps over his own mouth to keep it in.

Mark is breathing just as hard, scooted a foot back where Danny can’t really reach him. Panting through a chuckle that’s low and sinful sounding. “You’re wrecking the guy, Pete, give him a second to come down.”

The thumbs pull wider, until his rim feels the stretch of it, but the thrusts ease back. No longer hammering down against his prostate with the force of a mac truck. Danny nearly collapses, but the hands on his hips hold them up even as his face presses into the blankets and he’s able to let go of his mouth. No wail, just a breathless whimper.

It takes a moment to get himself together, partly because the dick is still moving even if it isn’t driving into him. Gliding through his hole and setting off nerve endings that make his taint tighten and his dick twitch.

His blurry thoughts say it can’t be like this every time. Surely it’ll stop being so intense if they keep going.

“-ou good?”

He hums, making a questioning sound.

“Are you good, you want to stop?”

Danny shakes his head, or at least rubs it along the blanket. “No. Don’t you fucking dare,” and shifts so he can reach back and shove his hands underneath the big ones to keep his ass spread nice and wide. “Could take all of you again, easy.”

There’s a bark of laughter, the hands shifting to hips and lower back and oh, yeah, he knows he’s about to get the signature rough and rowdy. Shifting his legs a little wider, still hobbled as they are by his pants, in invitation.

“You sure about that? Seems to me all that’s going to happen here is you get put to sleep again because this dick is that good.”

He makes an indignant noise, pushing back as the big body behind him stops moving and grinds in instead. Still can’t open his eyes, though he feels them easing back to blue, so he doesn’t turn to eye the man like he wants to.

“Or you’re putting me to sleep because it’s that boring, duh.”

Peter goes, “Fuck me, he’s a brat,” at the same time Mark rather gleefully says, “Ooooh, he’s a brat.”

Not that he has a chance to dwell on the fact that that makes him feel, frankly, way too warm and fuzzy on his insides, because he’s suddenly hauled back and upright and his eyes fly open in surprise. They must look normal enough, because there’s no stopping or accusing words thrown out, but he makes a noise he isn’t proud of when he’s sat very firmly down on Peter’s cock. Pants pulled down and tossed somewhere so his legs can be spread over thick, scarred thighs.

“Alright, brat, I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for then.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s being maneuvered, because it isn’t like he’s forgotten the muscles they both have packed on, but he hadn’t expected to be lifted and slammed down like he weighs nothing. A brutal pace from ground zero, where he has very little say in just how deep... hard... anything about this is going. It’s good though. His hands reaching up and back to grip hair, a clawing tug whenever one of those rough thrusts knocks his breath out that makes the older man groan. The stretch of his thighs over what are the thickest things ever to have been between his legs is almost painful but in a way that he doesn’t want to stop.

Once again he thanks whatever god is listening for healing factors and ignores the little voice that snipes about it being the opposite side’s fault.

Head in the game, Fenton.

The fucking amazing game of how long can he not breathe before one of them gets concerned.

Turns out it’s a while, honestly. Either because they aren’t paying attention to it or he’s making noises enough that they’re assuming he IS breathing. He has to remind himself, when the edges of the room just start to fuzz up, that this is required even if the punch of a dick into his gut says it isn’t.

He’s come twice more by the time Peter pulls him down and empties himself. Lolling back against his chest, head tipped into the space between shoulder and neck and just whimpering. Gripping his stomach like he can feel the bulge pressing against his hands and trying not to move because if he moves, he’ll set off oversensitive nerve endings.

“...m’stayin’ another night.”

Neither of them argue with him, so he’s definitely sure he won this round.

Chapter Text

He isn’t part of the meeting they have, understandably. In fact they ask him to stay in the bedroom while they talk and he agrees readily. Going back to the king size bed and stretching out on it with a low sigh. Hands tucked behind his head and steadfastly ignoring the desire to sneak out there and find out what they’re planning.

Well, he resists for like, five minutes but that’s a whole five minutes.

Then he’s tucking the blanket over himself and scrunching a pillow into place before going invisible and intangible and slipping out through the closed door to hover along the edge of the kitchen where they’re all huddled.

“Well we can’t leave him here alone, so either we find him somewhere else to be, kick him out and be done with it, or we rotate who stays. It isn’t that hard.”

...Danny feels his heart sink in his chest just a little, even if he understands *why* they’re doing this. It still hurts to be talked about as if he’s a stray animal. Even if... he kind of is a stray animal at the moment.

“I’m not kicking him out, Jason, that’d be cruel. It’s clear he doesn’t have anywhere to stay and honestly, it isn’t like he’s just taking advantage of us. He doesn’t even know who we are.”

Jason. Not Peter. He hadn’t thought about a fake name but honestly it makes more sense. He thinks he likes ‘Jason’ better than Peter thought, it’s a nicer name. Fits him better.

“That is correct. He has not deceived us as to his reasons for propositioning us and it is clear he does not know who we are. I don’t believe he is a threat to our personal identities.”

That’s Short stack. Probably not John, then.

“You just want to fuck him again before he leaves.” Danny doesn’t choke, but it’s a near thing. Especially when Shortie’s face flushes up and he throws a fork at Boy band, who catches it easily. “Look, I’m all for doing whatever you want with him, okay, I just think we need to be more careful. The safehouse is already a write off, so...”

“That’s why I brought him to *this* one, because it was one I didn’t care much about losing. Come on, Tim, you should know by now I have this kind of stuff covered."

Well that’s two names. He edges just a step further, peeking to see Tim’s face fold into a pout.

“Right, so what are we doing then? Because if he’s staying here, we rotate out on patrol. Downside, we’re one short if anything goes down outside of a full on emergency. Upside? This guy... is probably a nympho with as much as he wants to get it on.” Jason gives them all an annoyed look as he says it, but Mark just grins back. “Dick, I swear to god I’ll punch you in the face if you don’t stop grinning like a moron.”

Okay, both hands are over his mouth to keep the noise in there. He’d be laughing if it wasn’t so important he keep quiet. Nympho? He liked sex, sure, definitely liked it with these guys but addicted? Uncontrollable?

...he’s not looking into that right now.

Dick, and he... isn’t sure if that’s a name or a nickname, waves his hands around and leans back in his chair as if it’s already decided. And maybe it is? He can’t quite make out all the nonverbal communication that’s going on between them.

“Calm down, Jaybird, it’s easy. We rotate patrols, put him up somewhere if we need to, and leave the option open to help him go where he needs to go. Meanwhile we get some fantastic sex and don’t have to find other ways to blow off steam. Unless you want to, obviously. It’s a fine plan!”

Boy band, Tim, grumbles but doesn’t argue and Jason just rolls his eyes with a grunt of ‘fine’.

The short king pipes up and the blush on his cheeks is just a little more visible. “I will take the first watch.”

It looks like he’s going to say more, but Dick and Tim erupt into both cheering and vicious teasing in turn, and Danny decides he’s seen enough. Slipping back through the door and down into the bed where he squishes the pillow to his front and wiggles up so his head peeks out. It really is a comfortable bed, honestly. One he could get used to instead of a hotel slab or a cot somewhere hidden. Hostels were fine, but comfortable? Not so much.

So he just kind of lays there, enjoying the comfort and warmth until the door is opened and yeah, there’s Short stack.

“One of us will be... keeping you company while you are here. The others are preparing to leave, but I am responsible for us this evening. If you require anything, do not hesitate to let me know."

Danny stretches, knowing that at the very least the lines of his body work for him here. That and the fact that the teen still has a faint blush on his cheeks says a lot about what he’d like to happen while the older men are away.

And fuck, he heard them. He understands why they aren’t leaving him alone in a rich man’s apartment unsupervised. It’s not worth the effort to be upset about, especially when he’s warm from the blankets and still mostly full from dinner.

“Come on up here then, I think I need company more than anything else right now.”

He pats the bed, but doesn’t make a move to sit up. The kid can decide whether or not to take the bait he’s putting down.

It takes a moment where Danny isn’t sure he’ll climb up, but hesitantly he does so and the halfa gets the feeling that anything outside of that first night is pretty much new territory for him. Which is... actually really cute? Definitely more so than he thought it’d be.

“Is there... anything you wish to do?”

The uncomfortable cadence is almost palpable. Danny doesn’t let him suffer, because that’s no fun at all and he’s here for a good time, not a long time. He scratches his stomach, letting the clothing ride up so skin is on display. Obviously Short stack isn’t going to make the overture, so he has to figure out what he even wants.

“Mmm, well we probably can’t fuck all night, but I’m down to try anyway. Oh, and probably also leftovers. I can’t lie, Peter’s cooking is actually to die for. Best meal I’ve had in years.”

There goes the blush, rising up like a tide into the tan cheeks.

Fucking adorable.

“I... would be amenable to both of those ideas.”

Well that’s consent, at least. Not like he’s pulling teeth or hairs here to get it, damn.

“So, you want me to blow you? Eat you out?” He rolls over onto his side, arm propping up his head and looking at the shorter man with a grin on. “Or, I could fuck you~”

Interesting. The blush goes full bore on that one, even as he shakes his head.

“No, I prefer to take the penetrating position with my partners.”

Danny calls bullshit. He calls it so damn hard it’s going to still be grass and hay, but he’s not going to press it if he doesn’t want it, either. Could just be HIM that Shortie doesn’t want to be fucked by and that’s totally alright. They’re day 3 into this tete-a-tete, not month 3. Could be he’s uncomfortable giving anyone that power in that short amount of time.

“Not a problem, I’m a sucker for a good dick.”

Is he laughing at his own joke? Yes. Yes he is. Giggling almost, in fact. It even has the unexpected side effect of taming down the blush as Short stack sighs.

“...I see why you and Mark get along so well.”

Like bread and butter so far, because DickMark is smooth and seems to pair well with everyone, even the day-old stale bread that’s destined to become french toast. Jason. That’s Jason. He’s calling it now. Jason is potential french toast.

The giggles subside and he shrugs, “I like a good joke. And most of the bad ones, what can I say? It’s a character trait.” He shifts back to his back, pulling off his sweatpants and shirt to toss over the side of the bed. ‘You mind? I’m kinda hot... and you look pretty hot too.”

A door shuts just outside and he figures if they weren’t gone before, they are now. The slight relaxation from Shortie confirms that, and he wonders if the teen hadn’t wanted to do anything with them all still here.

Shortie, who squares up his shoulders and strips himself rather... perfunctorily. There’s no show boating, no teasing, just stripping as if he has a set amount of time to do it in. Militant.

Damn, they just get more and more interesting the longer he stays.

Wouldn’t do to scare the kid after he’s naked though, so instead he shifts his legs open and gets the pillow tucked firmly up under the back of his shoulders and head. Watching as slender hands pluck the lube from the bedside table where it wasn’t put away and coat fingers in it. Clearly not interested in wasting time.

...well he knows what he wants, and he’s willing to go for it straight out so yeah, Danny obliges by hiking up his legs and gripping them behind the knees.

“I’m definitely going to play with your hair, it looks soft and silky and, uh, you’re okay with a little hair pulling, yeah? Not gonna be able to resist that mop, calling it now.”

Fingers deftly sink into his ass, scissoring as they glide in and out. He has some kind of experience then, because that movement is precise and efficient and definitely takes no shortcuts. He’s gonna get the full three here, he can feel it.

But that’s alright with him, taking longer isn’t a bad thing and he already knows Shortie can drive it home.

“...that is acceptable.”

Oh-hoh, he can hear the arousal in that voice. The slight husky quality that’s just starting to fill it out and he definitely wants to hear more of it. Hiking his legs wider, his cock starting to fill out where it lays against his stomach. Watching the expression of concentration, the deliberate way the touches are only where they mean to be, no meandering or exploring.

...if he’s honest, he wants to ruin that concentration. To dig his claws in and find out what noises the guy can make. Which is a... distinctly bad idea. Not only for the guy in question, but also for his own cover.

So he lets him finger, stretch and follow whatever script is running through his head for the moment. Already planning the second round in his head.

“Promise you I’m ready now, hot stuff. Come dip your toes in...”

There’s a slightly confused look, but Danny ignores that. Letting go of his legs to reach for the slim frame and tugging him down until they’re flush and his legs are settling instead around the tan waist. He doesn’t have to guide the cock in, though, because it’s being done already with a slow shudder and he has to revise his opinions on the teen’s experience.

It’s not a lot, that much is certain, but there’s this... innocent and determined quality to him that says he’s going to figure it out or blow Danny’s mind.

“Oooohmmmmm, that’s good, fuck...”

It’s not as thick as the older men, but it’s still got a good size and surprising length because he doesn’t remember it hitting that deep before. It’s enough to make him arch, pressing his chest up and dragging his heels down and the moan that he hears makes him shiver.

What really sends him rock hard and revved up though? When he looks at those green, arousal dark eyes and sees a hunger there. His arms wrapping themselves around shoulders and holding on as he tilts his head to whisper into the teen’s ear...

“Take what you want, Johnny boy.”

The name gets a grunt of distaste that further cements it’s not his (not like he needed any real proof after eavesdropping), but it doesn’t really seem to deter ‘John’ in the slightest. Hips pulling back and striking forward and making Danny sigh and wiggle down into the bed. Setting a firm, driving pace from the get go that definitely comes off as familiar... but almost perfunctory as well.

Not to say it doesn’t do anything for him, he definitely enjoys being used and it’s easy to tip his head back and let the muscled, tan form go at it. Eyes even closing as he bites down on his lower lip, drinking in the pleasure of each thrust. He’d told the guy to go for it, and he definitely is.

Though... it’s a few moments at best before he feels hot and sticky and the barely there grunt of orgasm.

...goading the kid is probably a bad idea, he’s chalking this up to inexperience. Instead, he lets him rock until he’s finished, then pulls him in for a slow kiss. Running hands over tan skin from shoulders to ass and back, but every time he tries to pull away, Danny humps up against him and pulls him back in.

Well, until he decides to take matters into his own hands and rolls them over much to the shock of Short stack who very clearly hadn’t expected him to be able to do that. It makes Danny grin down at him cheekily, rolling his hips as he takes himself in hand to stroke firmly.

Something that gets both the hint of shame and arousal back into green eyes, and a hand overtop his that takes over the pace.

Oh, oh yeah that’s better. He even lets go so Shortie can take over completely, though he’s more enjoying the pleasure than being worked up to orgasm. At least until a thumb starts rubbing just underneath the head, along the edge of the vein there and fuck his hips start rocking firmly into it.

“Ooooh, don’t you dare stop, shit!”

It emboldens John enough to prop himself up with his other hand. Watching Danny with those intense eyes of his as face contorts into rising pleasure. The halfa’s own hands reaching back to brace himself on thighs, hips rolling almost furiously until the bubble bursts and he’s moaning out, “Fuck, Short stack, keep... keep fucking PLEASE keep going fuck-”

And he hears the noise of surprise and distaste at the name but he also has most of his brain cells in the head of his dick at the moment and can’t be assed to be apologetic just yet. Not until pleasure starts to skirt into pain and he’s shuddering and the cock in his ass is no longer soft in the slightest but he has to grab the hand and stop it from moving. Panting heavy and making breathy, hurt noises because the air keeps setting off those oversensitive nerve endings.

So really all he can do is curse, a litany of profane language as he struggles to figure out if he’s moving or not. His whole body is alight, primed and at the same time absolutely overwhelmed and yeah, he likes that but he can’t get his hand to move them off his dick or himself off the teen’s.

“I... “

Whatever John was going to say fades off into static, because all of the sudden he’s got his hands on Danny’s hips and has lifted him just enough to plant his feet and fuck up into a very, very sensitive hole.

...which means all the halfa can do is brace himself and whimper, eyes just starting to glaze over as his prostate is hit relentlessly. Like the guy somehow has a homing missile of a dick because every thrust is spot on and the molten lava in his gut from the orgasm just keeps growing and he’s pretty sure he never stopped but he couldn’t stop now if he tried the only thing he can do is hold himself up with shaking arms and even more shaky legs until he’s coming soft and gasping out ‘John, JohnJohnpleasefuckpleaseohOHhhhh’...

He thinks he’s whited out, because when he finally comes back to his senses he’s on his back again and being humped. Not just humped, but humped. Both hands holding his ass close even though his legs are practically limp around John.

Nose in Danny’s neck and breathing harshly as he grinds and grunts and uses the ghost king’s body to satisfy whatever need he has.

It’s fucking hot. Stoic Shortie losing his senses during sex? Sign him up for another round of that.

...well maybe in a bit, he isn’t getting hard until his legs stop buzzing. Not that he minds being used as a sex toy, definitely the opposite of that one. It’s... it feels good. Makes his human half feel warm and fuzzy, because well, sex chemicals, and makes his ghost half feel sated and sleepy because, well, emotional transference. Everything that good sex is? It feeds parts of Danny that need to be fed.

So he lets his hands scrape nails up and down Short stack’s back. Urging him on with low, almost sleepy, sated noises. Encouraging him to keep going, little sighs and moans when it all hits just right to set the fuzzies off again.

“‘S good. Could do this all night...” It’s murmured against John’s ear, and the hands tighten on him briefly, like he likes that idea too. “Gonna fuck us both to sleep, Sandman?”

Now that he has more control over his body he hikes his legs up to tuck them around John’s hips. Loosely, he’s too hazy to make them tight, but it gives enough resistance that the hands on his ass pull away to wrap around his torso instead. Keeping Danny in bed, or so it feels like.

“If you wish, I will try my best to do so.”

The words are pressed to his skin, still, but he hears them just fine all the same. Clearly he’s enjoying the touch, the... well it’s a hug, no two ways about it. A slightly awkward one, like Shortie can’t figure out how to stop being anxious about it.

And that just won’t do, at all.

Danny pulls him in a little closer, cementing their position for the moment. “Heh... I want to, but if you don’t I won’t make you, silly pickle. That’d be rude. And against the Code.”

The teen tenses, then relaxes, then tenses up again like the whole sentence has alternatively upset and confused him. Before he can ask what that means, though, Danny just ruffles his hair and gets to explaining.

“You know, safe, sane and consensual? We’re safe, probably mostly sane, and I am giving you my enthusiastic consent here. Which means that you also have to have enthusiastic consent, and want to do it because I’m definitely not gonna lay back and think of Paris if you’re just doing this for me.”

The brunette lifts his head, green eyes a little wary but searching to see what the fuck Danny’s going on about. That’s his interpretation, anyway. He must either find it or make a decision of his own though, because he purses his lips and nods.

“Then I am giving you my... enthusiastic consent. I... wish to... enjoy our coupling for a while longer.”

A huge grin spreads over Danny’s face and he drags his hands up John’s back to his head. Pulling him into a firm, filthy kiss that sends a shiver down the guy’s spine and has him panting once it’s broken.

“Sounds amazing. Give me whatever you want, as long as you want, then. I’m all yours tonight, right?”

Oh, yeah. Those are the sounds of someone who definitely is on board with this plan.

The grind starting up again is a good indicator too.

Chapter Text

After three very solid days of food and sex, he’s feeling... off.

His body isn’t fighting him for resources, there’s color on his cheeks that hasn’t been there in years. It’s... well it’s enough that he broke down a little in the shower that morning. Not that he’d mention that, ever.

It’s pretty obvious that the bats prefer to work at night, but he was surprised to learn they also did shit during the day. Tim had headphones in and was in... what really seemed like meetings. Scratch that, he KNEW they were meetings, but financial ones? The grossest of meetings.

Jason had left after breakfast with a grunt that he’d be back later, so who knew.

Short stack, because he still hadn’t gotten his name, had disappeared that morning and his gentle inquiries had been brushed off so he’d left it alone.

Dick... he had no idea. If he did work, he wasn’t at the moment. He seemed to be invested in making sure Danny took care of himself though, and it felt enough like Jazz that he’d cried into a goddamn bowl of cereal. Something he’d though he was hiding rather well until hands took the bowl and he was pressed to a soft shirt and warm body and fuck, he really needed to get himself together.

Except... he can’t.

And that isn’t even that he’s physically capable and isn’t able to... it’s more that he is recognizing his own emotional dysregulation evening out and that’s a trip in and of itself.

Ghost are emotion. All. Only. Becoming a true ghost in the first place is the presence of an emotion so strong it forms a connection that keeps them from passing on. Good, bad, honestly it doesn’t matter. If it’s strong enough, the soul anchors into the world and doesn’t slip into the peace of the Elsewhereness.

He’s half ghost, half human.

Everything just... feels. All of it.

Right now his ghost half is feeling everything he’s been trying to keep under wraps, and has managed because being half alive is more important than being emotionally healthy. Now that he’s getting food, sleep... warm bodies pressed against him?

It’s too much.

Yet, he doesn’t think it can ever be enough.

That alone makes him need to leave. He shouldn’t have stayed this long, let alone while his other half is definitively freaking out, but...

They’re so warm.

They’re so, so warm.

His fingers curl into Dick’s shirt and he holds tight. Crying because he can’t stop, because if he stops he doesn’t know if he’ll ever start again. It’s all too much.

Brain heavy, body exhausted, soul... hungry.

A frustrated, angry noise that’s just edging on something a human shouldn’t be able to make rips from his throat and he pushes up into a kiss. Demanding his own body focus elsewhere. On the good things that come when he stops being a fucking baby and deals with his shit like an adult.

He ends up riding Dick right there on the kitchen floor, head in his own hands and a slightly manic expression on his face.

...later he’ll reflect on how kinky that makes the both of them, but right now he’s trying his hardest to fuck the feelings away and not doing too badly at it. Relaxing the longer they move together until he’s droopy eyed and Dick is gently pulling him in to rock them to a final orgasm. Or... a final one for himself. Danny is barely fully hard and complains when he’s nudged off. Eyes mostly closed, so he doesn’t think much of the ectoplasm that flickers through them.

“Sorry, Danny, I’m tapped out for the moment. I think Peter will be back soon, he’ll probably be down to do something then, okay?”

It’s not. It’s not okay.

But he doesn’t say that. He nods and pulls on his borrowed sweatpants. Letting them ride low on his hips and ignoring the shirt. Stretching when he feels eyes on him still.

“...you make it very hard to say no, by the way.”

That mollifies him, slightly. Turning to smirk as he walks purposefully to where Tim is tucked into the corner with a pull up desk and at least two different tablets in his hands as he talks. Frowning as he catches sight of Danny over the laptop, even though his eyes flick down and up and darken just a little.

So Danny stands behind the laptop and mouths giving a blow job.

To which Tim blushes furiously and mouths ‘On a call’.

Yeah, like he cares about that. He shrugs disarmingly, he knows Tim likes his mouth already, he’s not bothered by the pseudo audience either.

He makes the motion again, this time sinking to his knees and shuffling forward under the frankly way too tiny for that shit desk. Peeking up to let matching blue eyes meet with a grin that feels much more secure than he does at the moment. He’s leaking into his sweatpants, his own erection has started to flag hard and he really, really wants a dick in his mouth at the moment.

There’s a brief pause, then slowly, Tim nods at him and goes back to his meeting.

Perfect.

His head bumps the table when he leans in, so instead of trying that again he reaches for Tim’s pants. An identical pair to the ones he’s currently wearing, definitely loungewear, and undoes the button fly. He has to shuffle things around a little, push legs wider and tug at hips until they slide down a few inches, but in the end it’s the perfect position to wrap his lips around the head of Tim’s half hard cock. Working it nice and slow, though the young man does have to clear his throat and pause for a second as he talks.

It’s a good sound. One that makes Danny sink lower with a barely audible sigh.

He takes far longer to work Tim up than he needs to. The man never really relaxing but the tension slowly leaving his legs until they’ve fallen open that much more. One hand sneaking down under the desk to thumb at Danny’s lips, even cupping his chin once he’s nose to skin and milking the cock more than bobbing over it.

Not quite cockwarming, he’s active and swallowing over the cock. Working it with his tongue and cheeks in little movements that keep it from being sedentary.

Tim is confident here. Talking to whomever he’s in the meeting with, spitting numbers and facts, asking them questions Danny couldn’t be assed to pay attention to at the moment and getting answers he responds to. It makes him chuckle, deep in his throat, and that has the other man clearing his throat again to cover up the noise he makes.

Surely the meeting won’t take all day, right?

Though as he stays kneeled there he starts slipping. Clearly Tim isn’t bothered by the lack of orgasm at the moment and he’s just... he’s so warm and calm and floaty... Finally calmed down and he must have made a soft sound because the hand on his chin squeezes gently before pulling back.

And at first he thinks he’s going to be pushed off, but instead he hears Tim telling everyone on the call that he’ll talk to them at the next meeting, the laptop closing and making the little desk shake just a bit.

Then it’s being pushed back away and Danny can see Tim looking down at him with a very red flush over his cheeks and aroused, dark blue eyes.

“...I’m never living this down.”

He says it like he’s trying to push the mouth off his dick, like he’s upset about it, but the hands are stroking through Danny’s hair and tugging at it just slightly, like he’s trying to wake the halfa up.

Considering that he is... well, he’s down. It doesn’t work.

It’s too floaty, too content, too much of the good for him to rise up out of it so quickly so instead he just blinks up at Tim, swallowing over his cock as their eyes stay locked together.

“Fuck, okay just...”

The hands tighten on his hair again, pulling him in just that much more. Maneuvering them both so Danny’s up on his knees instead of sitting on his heels. Hands planting on either side of Boy band’s legs when prompted so he can ease back out of Danny’s mouth.

So he whimpers. He doesn’t WANT Tim to pull out.

But then it’s back and oh, okay this is just as good. The hands on his head pull him down as hips rise up, Tim fucking his mouth in what should be an awkward position but doesn’t seem to bother him all that much.

Definitely isn’t bothering him, either.

He’s pushing his tongue over his bottom teeth, opening up his throat just a little by shifting his shoulders back. Letting Tim use his mouth and throat however he wants. Eyes just starting to go glassy as a dark chuckle behind him tells him that mister PeterJason has come home.

“Damn, you been at this long? Look like you’re a little desperate there, Jacky-boy.”

Tim, right, Jack, groans out a ‘fuck you, bastard’ but doesn’t stop moving. He’s close to coming, Danny can feel it on his tongue, the way his cock is pulsing and the head leaking so much. Precum is smeared on his lips, dripping down the corner of his mouth but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. He’s so, so very warm still...

There it is. The flood of bitter, salty fluid into his mouth makes him moan. Tongue trying to clean the mess up before the cock is even out of his mouth. Even batting Tim’s hands away from his head as he dives back in to suckle on the softening cock with needy sounds that accent the swearing and whimpers coming from the other brunette.

Until he’s pulled all the way back, anyway, and the hands on him tell him that’s Jason, yep.

...he still whines, licking at his lips and turning accusing blues to meet amused ones. Tim has collapsed into his chair, breathing heavy and hissing through his teeth as he tucks himself away.

“You want another dick? Behave.”

Danny’s eyes just ever so slightly start to glow. A deep, almost invisible thrum of ectoplasm running hungry through him. Rising out of the soft space he’d been in to sass Jason... until he sees the glimmer, the hint of green reflected back at him.

No. No fucking way.

How had his ghost sense not gone off? How the fuck had he missed the fact that Perfect dick Peter Jason whoever the fuck Bat he was was at least partially imbued with ecto? It was reacting to him, to his call of hunger, but Jason himself doesn’t even seem like he recognizes what that is, let alone answering it on purpose.

And it’s fucked, he knows it is, but that doesn’t raise his hackles. No, if anything he’s more turned on right now than he was a few minutes ago when his mouth was being used like a fleshlight.

There’s a challenge laid out for him. Behave.

...Danny’s never been one to behave. Not in sex, not in challenges.

So he flicks the barest hint of his energy out. Arching his back and lifting his chin to look Jason dead in the eyes again. He knows Jason will take the bait, knows it in his core.

“How about you make me, big boy.”

It’s not fully out of his mouth before Jason is pushing his chest down, face to the rug, and holding him there with weight between shoulder blades. It sends a shiver down his spine so strong that it startles a laugh out of the bigger man.

“Guess that answers the question of, ‘do you really want this’, doesn’t it? You want someone to pin you down? Fuck you until you can’t stand?”

It seems prudent to mention that they’ve already tried that and he was still standing. He can’t get his mouth to make all of those words though, so instead he just makes a very indignant noise.

As he struggles to spread his legs wider in invitation of the attempt, of course.

There’s a thread of green in Jason’s eyes, the last thing he sees before his pants are pulled down and a thumb is digging into his ass almost cruelly. Wiping away the smears and dragging over the crust of cum Dick had left there already today as he stretches Danny’s hole back out.

“Of course you’re slick and used already, aren’t you. Bet you wore Mark out, couldn’t wait for someone else to get back to use your sloppy hole.”

Mark makes a noise that’s half grumble, half amusement, so Danny knows he’s nearby enough to have heard (and probably see) what’s happening. He doesn’t deny it though, and Jason laughs. It’s rough, deep and just a hint cruel in the best way possible.

...yep, there’s that deep, almost convulsive shiver again.

He’s harder now than he’s been all day. His core is clawing, rattling inside his skeleton like a caged bird and he hides the fact that his fingers have clawed up by fisting them into the carpet.

“Then fucking use it,” he bites it out, panting harshly at the threat behind him. “It isn’t sloppy seconds without the second dick, is it?”

Jason’s eyes have gone from a glimmer to a flood. Green, vibrant and toxic and holy shit he’s so fucking hard. It takes a solid second for him to line up, but then the bastard takes his time sinking into Danny. So slow it physically hurts, and he hisses as the warm, raw friction keeps going until that perfect dick is nuts to butt and not moving.

In the back of his mind he’s already mourning the loss of this. The comfort and easy physical intimacy they’ve allowed him in their space.

Going back now though... no, there is no going back now.

As much as he’d love to sink back into that pliant tranquility he’d had on Tim’s cock? The sheer audacity Jason is showing him right now is enough to get him riled to the point of a fight now that he knows that somehow, he’s one of his. Lucky they’re already connected, already engaged physically because he can’t control the snarl that comes out of him now.

“Ṁ̴̡̘̲͚͈̰̯̞̤̖͎̰̮̈͑͗̈́͒̈́́̒̓̀̂̕͘͘͝͝ơ̸̧͉̼͈̼͈͍̣̭͊́̌̅͌̅̽̂́̃͗̀̆̎̕ͅv̵̨̲͕̱̙̻͇̟̠̮͇͙̖͔̊̇̀̌̐̏͒͘̚͘͜͜ë̷̡̧̨̩̜̱͓̫͓͓́̍̃̿̓̅̎̕.”

It’s thick with hunger and miasma. Danny’s own eyes finally lighting up green to match, staring up at Jason from where he’s pinned on the carpet.

Someone is yelling, he can hear that, and someone else is... no, they’re trying to pull Jason away? Except it’s definitely not working and there, finally he’s being fucked and he moans so viscerally it feels like it comes from his toes.

Not once does he close his eyes, not once does he look away and Jason does the same. Both of them locked in a battle of wills and flesh. Even pinned down as he is, he refuses to give the older man the satisfaction of looking away. Sure, his lids are heavy and hungry over that green, but they stare and goad and coax and something is happening here but fuck if he actually knows what it is at the moment because all of the sudden they’re both coming with a SNAP of power that kills the lights and soaks his pants. Gasping as he feels spunk hit so hard it actually stings and hears a pained, raw groan from behind him.

Then it’s just... over.

His eyes blink back blue and he tucks his forehead to the floor, trembling as the weight of every emotion he has crashes back down onto him from where it’d been riding high.

He doesn’t see Jason’s own eyes do the same, though he feels him pull back and sit heavily on the floor. Breathing harsh, angry.

“Who the fuck are you!”

Chapter Text

The mood in the apartment is... awful.

It’s cold, it’s angry. Achingly segregated and he can hear his own thoughts like needles driven into his skull.

“Who the fuck are you.”

That’s Jason, again, now fully zipped up and standing with his arms crossed. Menacing, but there’s a hint of... something that now that Danny’s looking for it, he can see.

...Protection. Figures his Obsession would be Protection. That makes this both a little easier and a little harder.

All of them have weapons out, not pointed at him but certainly at the ready and have had them out since he pulled up his pants and turned to tuck his knees up to his chest. Does he blame them for the reaction?

No.

But that doesn’t make the hurt any less.

“...I told you, Danny.” He sighs, head thumping into his forearms. “Danny Fenton.”

“That doesn’t tell us a fuckin’ thing-” Jason grips his gun tighter, but it’s Tim that interrupts.

“From where.”

The intensity of the question makes him well aware that Tim knows who he is, at least by name, so he doesn’t lift his head at all. Ignores the play by play he knows is happening between everyone above his head.

“Amity. Amity Park.”

“No... no way dude.”

There’s a sudden clatter and he peeks up to see Tim practically throwing open his laptop, typing furiously on it. Dick gives him an assessing look, but with the interruption he’s relaxed a little. Clearly whatever Tim knows, it’s not bad. That alone doesn’t give him too much hope, but it’s something.

“Danny Fenton. Of Fentonworks. Son of Maddie and Jack Fenton and... yeah, knew that name was familiar! Danny Phantom!”

Well, he might as well face the music, right? He sighs and lifts his head to give Tim a crooked grin. “Yep. That’s me. Resident ghostly hero of Amity Park.”

“Nuh uh, dude, you’re famous practically worldwide. Well, half urban myth, half true believers sort of thing but wow, I never expected to meet you in Gotham!”

“...I told you I was directed your way by the locals.”

Tim finally looks up from the laptop, “Yeah but who in their right mind assumes that you’re not referring to the living citizens of the city, I mean come on.”

Jason’s gun hand cuts through the air. A little less angry and a little more wary. “So you’re a cape in your own town and decided to what, come out to Gotham on a joyride? That’s pretty convenient, that you found us and decided to offer a fuck.”

Danny’s mouth turns down so sharply it cramps his cheek a little.

“I didn’t come here to fuck you, get any information on you or honestly, even do more than ask a few questions, alright? I just... was over the city and I noticed you have a ton of ghosts, way more than I’d prefer in such a dense area. I was HERE to see if I could get some of them to just, pass on, but they kept mentioning you all and I figured I’d introduce myself.”

Dick lifts an eyebrow, finally interjecting. “You introduce yourself to everyone like that? That’s a hell of a hello.”

A real and ready blush rises up his pale cheeks to flood them in color.

“...no, you, you just were really... look you know you’re hot, no one in here is pretending otherwise. I just... fuck, Sam always said my mouth and dick were connected and I guess I owe her fifty bucks.”

The last part is mumbled, but they all hear it anyway because there’s a soft snort and a low chuckle.

“I know you don’t know me from Joe down the street, but I swear I wasn’t here to do anything to you.”

Tim is still clicking away, looking both thoughtful and delighted in turn at whatever he finds. Finally beckoning Jason over, shoving the laptop around to show him something.

Dick, his hands deceptively empty, crouches down next to Danny on the floor.

“...so, you’re a... meta? What does ‘ghost powers’ mean?”

“Not sure exactly what a meta is, I’m just... half dead.” He shrugs at Dick kind of helplessly. “You know, one fun accident leads you to kinda die, bam, you wake up with ghost powers.”

It’s simplified enough to get the other eyebrow to raise and he knows they know there’s more than that, but he really doesn’t want to relive the moment right now so simple it is.

“...probably easier to just... here.”

He sighs again, but he’s made his bed and so he’s laying in it. Rings splitting his torso and disappearing over head and feet even though he doesn’t move off the floor. Leaving him in his ghost form, green eyes looking passively at the oldest of the men.

“Well... that’s unexpected.” Dick doesn’t move, it’s clear he either doesn’t think Danny is going to do anything or he’s confident he won’t be able to. Not that the halfa is interested in making them more upset, that’s... he really has enjoyed the past few days.

The door opens and the last of the group, Short stack, walks in a freezes at the scene before him.

“...heya, probably-not-John. I’m Danny Phantom.”

Might as well, right?

Well, shortie takes one look at all of them and suddenly there are is a ninja star, dagger and butter knife flying at him. He lets them pass through him, intangible for the second they should have hit and pass through, then scoots just to the side so he doesn’t end up sitting on them when he phases back.

“Why are your eyes pit green and what is happening.” It’s demanded, furious and a hint hurt and god, he’s really, really never going to fuck anyone again at this rate because he can’t take that sound.

“Ectoplasm, not sure what a pit green is.”

Tim’s voice is soft, hesitant as he draws Danny’s attention back to him and Jason. “...that, that’s pit green.”

Jason’s eyes are starting to glow again, and it’s... so strange how solidly he can feel him now. The anger under his skin is a tangible, physical thing that probably would try to rip Danny apart if he made a wrong move.

“...that’s ectoplasm green.”

Danny isn’t anywhere close to stupid. Something happened with this ‘Pit’ that changed Jason, potentially Shortie, and it’s a thing to fear. Tim is... very carefully not making any sudden moves, and Jason is watching him like a hawk.

“Kinda wondering why my ghost sense didn’t work on you though... Usually I can tell when I’m near another spirit. You? I couldn’t tell until your eyes went day-glo.” He frowns and finally stands up, deliberately ignoring how two of them are tracking him with weapons. A white hand waves at Shortie, “You though, liminal the first day. You taste just a little like...”

The eyes watching him get even more wary and he trails off, looking from one of them to another.

“...I can just go, I really am sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t mean to...” There’s a lump in his throat, but he manages to keep it together for the moment. It’s not their fault he’d hidden his shit from the start, they’re justified in how they feel right now.

“No no, wait, hold on.”

That’s Tim again, scrambling to put his laptop down and hurry over to where Danny is now floating a foot-ish over the floor.

“There are reports that you saved the world. Well, and reports that you destroyed a lot of property and all that but, I’m more interested in the first thing. Did you actually? And why can’t we get all the info from Amity? The whole city has a firewall around it that no one can seem to get through.”

If anything was going to distract and disarm, it would be that, now. He kind of looks at Tim with a deer in the headlights look for a long moment. Forgetting he’s about to cry does wonders for making it so he doesn’t cry.

“...um, I guess, yeah? It wasn’t just me, the whole Zone kind of came together... and that would be Tuck. We really didn’t want Amity turning into a tourist attraction given how thin the planes are there...?" He shrugs at Tim, “Bad enough the usuals figured out how to break it open, which was shitty when I first started sending them back but doesn’t matter much now. They know the rules, but people from out of town? Not so much.”

The youngest bat breaks in, those intense eyes on him.

“What do you mean, liminal.”

“I mean you... you taste like death, but you aren’t dead. Happens sometimes when you’re near the shifting planes? Or... where they’re thin. A lot of people in Amity are some level of between, just because of how thin the... okay this is kind of hard to explain, hold on.”

Danny reaches into his own chest, rummaging around for a moment before he pulls his phone out. “Here, this has an app to test your... well my parents call them ‘death levels’ but that’s kinda macabre for most living so I just call it the Ghost Touch. Basically shows if...” He looks around to three expressions of slight horror and one of incredulousness. “What?”

“Dude. You pulled your phone out of your chest.”

“...no pockets in ghost form and I lose it all the time as a human?”

He fishes out his wallet too, and a candy bar from his arm.

“Listen how about this, how about we just... start over kinda. Like I introduce myself, you tell me if you want me to get out or not and I pretend I didn’t make you all upset. Cool? Cool. Hi, I’m Danny. Fenton, Phantom, halfa extraordinaire. Nice to meet you.”

Judging by the even more horrified expressions Tim and Dick are giving him, that’s not happening and he just droops.

“We’re getting off topic.” Jason interjects it with a grunt, but holsters his gun so at least there’s that. “As fuckin’ weird as that is, it doesn’t explain why you’re here in Gotham or what you mean by ectoplasm and not pit. You really expect us to believe you just... dropped down here to play psychopomp?”

“...it’s true though. That’s... it’s kinda what I do, mostly, now. Kinda. The goal is to help as many spirits pass on as I can. The less spirits that stay over here, the less likely it is the planes break open. Plus it’s just... who wouldn’t want to go somewhere warm and happy for the rest of their afterlife?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Jason’s face not only shuts down, it darkens. Which has the added effect of putting everyone else in the room back on edge and god, the green really is there, isn’t it.

“...hey, hey, not trying to send you over, I promise. Please don’t make me order you to stand down. I don’t like doing it, but I really don’t want to be attacked either.”

He hated doing it, because it took away free will and he was all about that shit. If it came down to being attacked or telling him to knock it off though, he’d choose the latter. If only to keep him from collateral damaging the apartment.

Apparently, however, telling someone who is on edge to ‘calm down’, is something he once again should have remembered was the least effective way to get them to do so.

So Jason snarls at him, hand moving to the gun again and Danny... he’s had enough. He knows they’re upset with him. He knows he’s to blame here but fuck he’s trying and the anger in the room is starting to get to HIM and that’s a Very Bad Thing.

His hand cuts through the air and he rumbles right back at the older man, looking him dead in the eyes and demanding that he-

“Ş̵͈̟̥̞̝͓̱̞͓̳̦̣̜̜̔̉́̀́̍̋͗̃̐̑̓̎̎̓͑̂̐̓͂̽̂͝t̴̘̳͕̲̥͈̱̟̬̜̐̅̂̾̀͊̂̈́͊̌̀͛͌͑̐͒̅͘͘͘ǫ̴̨̨̛͇͙͔̭̺̖̹̰͚͍̹̪̼̖̯̩͓̙̰͔͙͕͎̙̼̲̫̞̋̓̂̅̿́͛p̸̡͉̼̜͇͔̟͚̗̜̣̟̫̝͈͉͔͚͕̪̜͕͆̂̓̍̆͋͂̋̚̚͜͠͠,̴̧̛̛̥̟̦͎̱̲̭̰̻̫̯͎͙̪͕̇̓̑͗͗̽̀̊͊̆͘͠ ̸̡̢͓̜̮̦̱͕͉̲̌͜n̶̛̥̹̲̯̓̀̓̓̾̑̌̎̆͂͋̀̆̀͆́̂̀̔̃͗̀̂̍̽͗̑́̋̍̃̈́̊̕ơ̴̡̧̧̢̛̦̯̻̥͇̩͉̗̥̮̌̉͆̓͌̿̑͑͂̌̈́̒̎̉͊̓̎͛͆̾͆̅̄́̒͌̓͋̀̍͘͝w̶̡̢̧̛͈̦̩͙̺̹͙̝̺̤͇͎͎̖̬͈̻̥͈̬͉͓̙̩̖̖̝͔͍̘̋̓̂̎̂̉̀̓̏́̈́͋̉̇̽̿̈́̎̀̎̂̒͆̄́̍͊ͅ.̷̛̜̗̪̹̜̩̻̱͖̪̩͎̳̘̠̀̅͑͊̎͗͆͋̐̚”

And Jason does. He freezes in place, struggling against the order as Shortie comes up to poke him in the chest roughly.

“What have you done to him! Release him immediately!”

“Oh, oh that’s probably not good that’s going to be bad.”

“...what the hell kind of powers do you have!?”

They’re all talking at once and he honest to god tries to let them work it out amongst themselves for a second as he collects his own mind. Hands up, eyebrows furrowed deep and mouth twisting until he just, he needs his brain empty for a second. Not to mention Jason is fighting hard against his order and if he doesn’t concentrate then willpower is definitely going to win out over his order.

“Stop.”

They don’t, they keep asking questions. Finger in his chest, angry, hurt, excited, wary.

“Stop, please”

No dice, they push, crowding him with their words as much as their bodies even from over a foot away.

His head is throbbing, too much emotion. Too much bad emotion. It coils into his throat and suddenly he’s in a restaurant with Sam, sitting in a corner booth and being bombarded by cameras. Phones. People in their space, so close that they can touch and Danny just wants them gone.

He wants them gone. He wants to be with Sam, alone. She grips his hand tight and tries to say something to him, but all he can hear is cameras and questions and threats and expectations and his eyes start to water because he can’t deal with them any more he’s only 18 he’s tired of never being alone tired of the lights in his eyes the fingers in his chest the mics against his mouth speachspeachspeach tell us how you did it tell us what your plans are tell us if you’re getting married going to school studying x and y and yes and no and--

The fall from a foot up isn’t much, it’s barely anything, but he’s suddenly human again and hyperventilating. Holding his chest, unseeing, as the panic rises up like bile in his throat. Hot and acid and a trash can is shoved under his mouth just in time to catch most of the vomit but not all of it. Gagging as the last of it drips over his tongue, spitting just in time to be scruffed and pulled up by a very, very angry Jason who is breathing heavy and rough.

Danny feels hands trying to pull him away but he’s done. He’s done and with a sob that rips itself out of his chest he just lets himself drop. Out of the hands, out of the apartment. Straight down until he’s passing through concrete and dirt that opens into a small, half buried dead end to what is probably water main access long forgotten.

It doesn’t matter. No one will find him here.

So he curls up, spitting out the taste of puke and ignoring the way the tunnel seems to cradle him because he has no spoons left for anyone, or anything, else.

No clothing but the dirty pair of sweatpants, cum still in his ass, and he puts his head down and cries himself into the sleep of someone who has nothing left to give in the moment.

Chapter Text

He sees the second it goes too far.

He's too late to stop it, but he tries anyway. Watching as Danny's face morphs through a dozen emotions and he crumples, snatching a garbage can to catch the worst of the mess but can't stop Jason from reaching to grab the slimmer man by the neck.

"Jason! Put him down, this isn’t-"

There's a heart wrenching sob that pulls so hard at Dick's heartstrings it thrums a chord and he watches Danny just... disappear.

But there’s no time to figure out where because he’s still got a very angry Jason and that takes priority over anything else at the moment. Doubly so because now that the target of his anger is gone he turns on the rest of them with those vibrant eyes and Tim swallows audibly, just starting to shake even though it’s clear he’s trying to control himself.

“...we’ve got strawberries and cream in the kitchen, c’mon, Jaybird.”

Dick maneuvers himself between Tim and Jason and nudges the younger man forward. Cutting off the protest that comes with it with a squeeze to the shoulder.

Damian’s face is a mask, settled in cold fury that he knows from experience will last just as long as he wants it to, but he follows as well. Putting out bowls without being asked and sitting down in stony silence.

Dick presses Tim into another chair and gets the strawberries out. Tossing the whipped cream over his shoulder, knowing one of them will catch it, and setting to work rinsing and slicing the tops off of them.

By the time he’s gone through two pounds, Jason has come into the kitchen and thumped himself down into one of the two remaining chairs. Legs wide, leaning back. His body language is... less aggressive, more upset. If Dick had to guess, it’d be that part of the reaction being as strong as it was was less the reveal and more the... he’s still not sure what it was. Order? Spell? Binding?

Either way, he sets the strawberries down, hands Jason the napkins and then sits in his own chair.

There’s no easy way to start talking, so instead he just takes a strawberry and tops it with an absurd amount of whipped cream.

Which bothers Jason, so he knows that sooner or later he’ll say something snarky about it and they can relax.

It’s not the first, or the second, but Dick likes his strawberries this way so he’s content to keep eating them covered and dripping in whipped cream. Making little, pleased noises whenever he has to lick up the mess on his fingers.

“...you’re a prick, Dickhead, eat them properly.”

There it is.

He pops his fingers into his mouth one at a time and smacks them clean, grinning at Jason, then snatches a napkin to wipe them off.

“Nah, they taste better this way.” Because he knows that’ll tick him off more, but this is the normal kind, not the deadly spooky pit eyes kind. “You should try it, might make you a little sweeter~.”

The familiar teasing has the table relaxing.

“We don’t all need Tim’s taste buds, thanks.”

“Hey!”

Tim throws a balled up napkin at Jason, whose eyes have faded into their familiar blue now, and sticks his tongue out.

Damian hasn’t said anything, he’s still toying with the fruit on his plate. The frown, though... it’s more thoughtful than upset and Dick can tell he’s going to be the one to open up the topic. At least, in a bit.

For now he pops another berry, with appropriate amounts of cream, into his mouth and does his own little moment of thinking.

He’d been so sure that Danny hadn’t been a threat. Well, he’s still sure, he doesn’t think the guy came in to do anything but have a frankly absurd amount of sex. He was too... honest. Not with his secrets, perhaps, but definitely with his body. He wore emotions on his sleeve, hadn’t once tried to do anything even when he’d had the chance and had broken down what, four, five times in less days?

No, he didn’t think Danny was a threat. He’d been honest again that first full day, something made exceptionally clear by the panic attack he’d had before disappearing. He was running from something. Someone. Somewhere? Likely Amity Park, if that’s where he was from.

“...he left his phone, he’ll be back to get it.”

Okay, he’d been wrong. That was Tim, looking down at his bowl and cream and tapping his leg like he’s running somewhere.

“Definitely. And his wallet. He’ll be back.”

It’s kind of... funny, endearing? How quickly this slim, almost wisp of a man has inserted himself into their lives. For better or worse, it’s not something they’ll forget anytime soon, no matter if they do see him again or not.

“...we... caused him distress.”

That was Damian, and his eyebrows climb into his hairline at the admission. Not because it’s wrong, but because the youngest was the first to voice it.

“We did.” Dick breathes out a heavy sigh, because now it’s clear that they’ve entered into the discussion and everyone’s... at least ready to entertain it. “And yeah, he didn’t tell us who he was, but... I don’t think he lied about anything that happened here, either.”

Tim shakes his head. “He even gave us his real name, he really IS Danny Fenton, even if we didn’t know the last part at first.”

Dick wonders if he’d given a surname when he introduced himself as Mark if Danny would have responded in kind. Too little too late, but it can’t help but stick out as a mistake. It would certainly have made the realization of who he was happen sooner.

“So... what is he, then?” Jason is still eating strawberries, fingers stained red from them now. “Because whatever the fuck he did, I couldn’t move.”

“...well they call him a ghost. Ghost boy, Invis-o-Bill, Phantom, a whole lot of stuff. From what I know, Amity is like a ghost hunter’s wet dream. Any paranormal enthusiast worth their salt makes it a point to go there, has for decades now, so it kinda makes sense if he IS a ghost.”

This time it’s Jason’s eyebrows that shoot up.

“How the fuck does that ‘make sense’. You have to be dead to be a ghost.” He grimaces at his plate. “Otherwise you’re just a zombie.”

“That’s the thing, right? He said he was ‘half’ dead. I don’t know how that’s possible, obviously, because he doesn’t know what the Pit is and with what we know about those... so clearly whatever happened wasn’t Pit related.” Tim waves his hands, as if the gestures will help elaborate what his words aren’t. “...didn’t he say Amity was like, thin between planes or something?”
Dick pushes his hair back off his forehead, breathing out in a huff.

“Yeah, which was why they were... death touched? Ghost touched, smelled like death. It’s a weird way to say that, because I... well, no one here smells like death to me.”

They all shake their heads, so that means that whatever the ‘smell’ is, it’s not one they can catch.

“I have so many questions. Seriously, their firewall is god tier, I can’t get into anything more than like, basic news. Has been for years, too. That’s part of the mystery, because unless you go to Amity, you don’t get to see local. It’s crazy how locked down they’ve got it.”

“So if we can’t get it from the internet, then we either wait for him to come back to ask questions or we go there.”

Tim shrugs at Dick, “Seems like it. I’ll ask Babs if she can get in?”

“No, hold off for now. That’ll bring up more questions and I think... I think he came out here to get away from Amity Park. He said so, right? He’s running?”

Jason snorts. “Sure, running from something.”

“...come on, Jason, you saw him just like I did. He wasn’t lying about that. Or probably anything he said here.”

There’s a quiet pause, because each of them had caught or seen the flashes of panic, the attempts to hide distress. Jason concedes the point with a frown, finishing the last of the berries and pushing his bowl away.

“Okay so he wasn’t lying. That still doesn’t tell us anything but he needs to see a therapist.”

“Jason-”

“No. Look, we brought him here because he was a fantastic fuck. Should have cut him loose that next day with a pat on the back and some cash.”

“Jason!”

“What! He was a fuck, Dick! He was a fun, enthusiastic FUCK. What part of that are you missing here!?”

Damian is the one who answers, eyes steely as he looks at Jason. “He is a person, Todd. Do not pretend that you also did not feel sympathy.”

Jason looks like he’s about to argue, but it’s clear that whether or not he wants to admit it to himself, it’s true so he just flicks them off and slouches down in his chair. “Yeah, well, he lost the sympathy when he fuckin’ cemented my body to the floor with a goddamn word.”

“...you know it...kinda makes sense.”

“Nothing about this ‘makes sense’, Tim.”

“No, it really does. Look, Danny is some kind of dead, right? So chances are the reason he could do that to you is because you’re also... um...” He trails off, making hand movements to substitute the words.

There’s a moment of quiet before Dick speaks up again.

“I think we all fucked up a little here. Yes, Jason, we brought him, okay I brought him home for a little fun and we had that. That doesn’t mean I think that he deserves less than the common courtesy you’d offer the working girls in Park Row.”

That seems to hit home, at least, and Jason throws up his hands in surrender of that point, if nothing else.

“Fine, that’s one, ONE argument resolved. He’s a person, great. Now how about we actually decide what the fuck we’re going to do about the fact that he’s currently who knows where with all of our identities in his back pocket and he can apparently stop me in my goddamn tracks with a wave of his hand.”

“...we can’t do anything about the fact that he knows what we look like, obviously, but... I really don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”

Dick liked to think he was a decent judge of both character and people in general, not only because it came with the territory but because of his own gut. He truly didn’t think that Danny would expose them. Not to say it wasn’t potentially dangerous, sure, but... he’d seen the younger man break down over cereal when he thought no one was looking. It was clear to him that this had likely been just as much of an escape for him as it’d been for them.

“Look, what are our options here? We lay those out, decide what makes sense. Just like we’d do for anything else.”

There are nods all around, so he turns to Tim.

“You’re up, Tim. Tell us everything you’ve got about Danny Phantom.”

Chapter Text

He isn’t cold.

He can’t be cold, not really.

His core is ice, so there’s no chill that cuts into his human side, not really. It’s more a state of recognition, like oh, the temperature is low, more than an urgency to do anything about it.

That’s the only reason he’s still down here, he knows. There’s no need to leave, to get warm, to do anything but curl up and drip tears into the dirt and sludge around him. Covering him, at this point. Any movement making him a little dirtier.

It doesn’t matter.

His heart is roiling. The hurt they’d poured out, the anger Jason had practically bled still sticky and cloying.

Tears keep dripping, dripping, dripping.

“...I just... I just wanted to feel normal.”

No one down here to hear that. No one to berate him for wishing his powers were gone or to tell him how amazing it is to see all he’s done. No one to make him feel better. It’s... a pro, and a con.

Intangibility flickers through him and the mess drops back to the ground, the same as it’s done several times now. Not that he moves to get up out of it, just to... keep the worst of it off, he supposes.

A sob breaks through his tightly clenched lips and he wishes he were back home curled up to Sam. Head pillowed on her stomach as she brushes soft fingers through his hair and talks to him about something. Anything. He could lay there for hours, listening to her talk. Feeling the warmth of her body against his skin.

Fresh tears come, now, and he pulls his knees closer to his chest. He wants to go home.

But home isn’t a place that he can be himself. Be vulnerable. Home is... gone. The safety of it was stolen away by camera flashes and news journalists.

Danny feels a Wail building and presses his hands to his mouth.

...it makes sense, now. How off he is. How...he feels like he’s adrift.

Because he is.

He’s lost his home, his haunt. No place to settle or feel secure in and for those few scant days he’d felt like this could be.

And it’s gone, because he didn’t say from the start who he was.

The Wail echoes through the ground, the pipes and sewers and subways of the city, mournful and pain filled and ghosts respond to it. Surrounding their King as he grieves the loss of his safety net. Pressing close, spirits offering what little stability they can to keep him from shattering further and rattling their city apart at its center.

There’s no resistance from him either. He leans on them as much as he can, body sagging with the weight of his sins and mistakes, Wail growing and growing until it breaks in a sob and he covers his face with his hands.

By the time he’s gathered himself up enough to lift his head, it feels as though it’s been hours.

Down here there’s no way to tell, but his body aches slightly from being curled so tightly for so long and he knows that means it’s been a bit. Around him are dim, glowing forms. Some clearer than others, some barely even wisps, all of them pressed together and close, giving him everything they can to keep him stable.

It says something about their success that he doesn’t feel the need to push them away, or fall back down. They... well, gave him what he needed, but he knows it’s not a permanent solution. None of them are strong enough to keep this up for that much longer, and he knows that if he keeps draining them then eventually... they fade from existence.

“...thank you.”

Hoarse, raw, but sincere. He appreciates their support. Offers them gentle touches and transforms to give them their choice. His duty calls him, gives him purpose and he answers. Carefully untangling the wisps, the shreds of souls left behind from each other and nudging them on their way into the Elsewhereness, if they’re inclined.

This part of things is peaceful.

He can feel the tug of the Elsewhereness, all ghosts can, but as King he can nudge them closer than even he can get himself. Pushing souls into the soft release of warmth and comfort until they disperse.

All around him are little pockets of emotion, ghosts strong and weak projecting as they press close to their King. They aren’t like the ghosts of Amity, though he can tell the film between planes is thinner here than it should be, in fact most of them aren’t really true ghosts at all. Spirits, soul shards, the remnants of emotion that haunt the space they died in. Those he sends on, nudging them out of Gotham.

By the time he’s done, he’s much calmer. There’s a peace in working, doing what he’s tasked to do.

He thinks... even if this wasn’t his duty, he’d do it anyway. Give peace to those who want it.

But eventually it’s over, and he’s not alone so much as just... left alone.

The halfa takes a giant breath he doesn’t need, letting out a long, rough sigh. He has to go back, he knows that. Not the least because he has to get his phone and wallet, he certainly hadn’t grabbed them as he fell, but also to try to offer an apology one more time. Hopefully one at a time, but he feels like his luck has run out for the moment so he’s not counting on it.

Ectoplasm blooms in one palm, and he smears it in a burning arc over the concrete of the wall. Creating an arch, runes imbued with peace pressed below it.

A permanent place to pass. He knows the ghosts that stayed will relay the message he’s left, so he doesn’t bother to do anything else before he drifts up and into the ground of Gotham.

...they call her a Lady, he doesn’t disrespect them by asking why. Just nods and pays his own respect to her for the hand she’d given him to rest in.

Chapter Text

He feels better.

Not just less overwhelmed, but more clear minded.

Going back isn’t optional, because he needs to get his phone and wallet back. The least of which because that’s Fentonworks tech and he’d prefer it not be picked apart if he can help it.

It’d be nice to have his ID back so he can get a cheap hotel room too, honestly.

But this is nice too, drifting through the city.

There’s too much pollution to see any of the stars, but the city itself lends itself to a beautiful skyline. The buildings themselves beacons in the dark, with nearly as much activity as he’d seen during the day moving along streets and sidewalks.

Gotham is a vibrant city, soaked in shadow and blood. The more he drifts through the smog, the more he feels the center of it pulsing.

The Lady laughs at him, he can hear it like the rasp of a cat’s tongue against his ears.

She doesn’t prod or push though, and he gets the feeling that she’s just as interested in him as he is in her. It’s an odd feeling, she’s neither alive nor dead, so he has no sense of her, but even so he can feel what she is in every pulse of lifeblood around him.

...interesting, curious.

She doesn’t convince him to stay, but... he won’t deny that she settles him enough to realize he needs to.

So he dips around and finds his way back through ectoplasmic trails and a lot of flying through buildings. So much so that it’s early morning by the time he finds the one he’s looking for. Slipping through the brick and into the kitchen to find empty, red stained bowls on the table and an empty container of whipped cream on its side.

His phone isn’t visible, but he figures he might as well make himself known before snatching anything and running. He’s aware enough to realize that he owes all of them an apology, Jason most of all.

He takes the bowls first, feet touching the floor as he cleans up the table. Tossing the metal can into the recycling bin and turning the water on to wash the bowls up. Making enough noise that someone can hear, if they’re still there.

Someone will be, he thinks.

Turns out it’s Dick.

It makes sense, he’s definitely the older brother type. Danny can see a little of that intense protective drive in him that Jazz had, once she’d found out about him.

A half smile doesn’t quite make it onto his face, but he tries anyway.

“...hey. Just thought I’d clean up a little, least I can do.”

Dick leans on the doorframe for a long moment, watching. Danny just turns back and finishes the bowls, tucking them into the drying rack before he turns with a sigh.

“You’re... an interesting person.”

That is definitely not what he expected to hear, but he doesn’t interrupt. He shifts to tilt his head, looking the older man full in the face.

“Not usually one of the adjectives used to describe me. I’ll take it though. Makes me sound like I’m the weird kind of normal. Like your weird, witchy wine aunt that refuses to get married because the Earth is her lover.”

The look that he gets is half exasperation, half amusement and half confusion.

“Well I guess I’ll be the first then. You’re interesting, in the non-witchy, wine aunt Earth lover way. More in the apparently kind of dead, actually a hero, propositioned strangers on a roof, kind of way.”

Danny relaxes.

“Yeah, okay that does sound more interesting, I suppose.”

The brunette pushes off of the doorframe and tucks his hands into his pockets, casually offering out trust just like that.

“You hungry? We still have some spaghetti left, and I can microwave a few meatballs.”

“Yes and yes, please. Thank god for non ecto-infused microwaves.”

“I’m... not going to ask about what that means.”

He takes two of the still damp, freshly washed bowls off the rack as Dick gets the container out of the fridge and puts it on the table. A bag of frozen meatballs comes out next, and he gets the feeling that this is what Dick normally eats when he’s here alone. Especially since he doesn’t even look at the package before popping them into a bowl and setting the defrost timer.

Spaghetti is portioned into the bowls and he nibbles on his cold while they wait for the microwave to finish.

“Since you came back... I’m assuming that wasn’t planned.”

It’s said so casually, yet it makes Danny shrink in on himself. Tucking his knees to his chest and since he’s still Phantom, his hair flickers uneasily.

“No, definitely wasn’t. I um...got a little too comfortable, kinda...”

Simplicity is too simple, but explaining in depth about ghosts and emotion is... a little more daunting at the moment than he cares to get into. He does give Dick full eye contact, even though he wants to look away, because he doesn’t know how else to explain without deep diving even if he is being honest here.

Even if Dick is giving him a slightly confused and unsure look back.

“You got... too comfortable? That’s why you ended up with green eyes and a voice that sounded like a bag of chips under a rolling pin?”

The microwave beeps and he dumps half the meatballs into each of their bowls before returning them to heat up again. His description... it makes Danny laugh a little, flush just slightly green across his cheeks.

“Kinda, yeah.” He chews on his bottom lip, one fang digging in until ectoplasm wells up and wisps away. “Look, emotions are... kinda like food, kinda? I need to... well I need to feel them, but also like, use them?”

Dick is very quiet for a long time. Long enough that the food goes off and he sits down with it, starting to eat before he says anything else.

“Right, so... I’m still confused. How... is that a bad thing?”

“It’s... it’s not, technically a bad thing. It’s actually a good thing, or at least Frostbite would be pretty freaking happy about it but he’s not here and neither is Clocky so right now it’s more... I didn’t realize it was happening and it became a bad thing?”

Danny plays with one of the meatballs, rolling it around his bowl.

“Which... means I need to apologize. I didn’t realize I was using you to... well, make me not so hungry, kind of. Food food, but also ghost core food. That’s like... my ghost stomach. And other organs, all of them. It’s complicated?”

He’s clearly not making this any easier for Dick to understand, but to the guy’s credit it does look like he’s trying to follow.

“...so you were hungry, sex made you full and because of that you got the warm ghostly equivalent of a meat coma?”

...okay so maybe he was following.

“Yeah, uh, pretty much? Food for the ass, food for the soul, that sort of thing.”

There’s another lengthy pause, and this time Danny takes the time to start eating.

“...so if I’m honest? That’s not what I was expecting to hear. Kinda neat though. Definitely still think you’re kind of a concubi.”

It makes him laugh just a little. “I guess that’s not entirely wrong, just... not entirely right. Mostly because it’s hard to feel... well, I think part of the reason you all were able to do it so well is because half your squad is death touched. It makes... everything more intense, in a good way. Not the sex good way... well also in the sex good way...fuck okay, hold on.”

The halfa takes a deep breath and holds his hands out like he’s ticking off items on a shopping list.

“Sorry, I’m still kind of figuring out how to say this without sounding like an idiot. Sex feels good, makes the body happy. Sex feels good, makes the brain happy. Body and brain are... different happy. Brain happy is the food. Body happy is just... extra? It’s like, the dopamine and shit that help transfer the other emotions over and that’s really what makes it food.”

Dick ends up shrugging.

“Well, then that’s good enough for me.”

“...just like that?”

“Sure. Why the hell would you lie about that?”

Danny opens his mouth, then closes it. “I didn’t... think about that? I dunno, I just figured you’d... not believe me...?”

“Considering that you definitely are who you say you are? I don’t think there’s much I can do even if you are lying, but...”

“...not quite how I prefer to get trust, I’ll be honest.”

“But, I also just believe you.” Dick points his forked meatball at Danny, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve been doing this long enough that I have a pretty good handle on people who want to hurt me and who don’t, and listen, you gave up your identity with the confidence of someone who’s accepted what they are. Most supers we know don’t tend to do that. In our world that’s stupid, damn near suicidal. You don’t seem either of those things. So, yeah. I trust that you aren’t lying to us about this.”

His mouth opens and closes as he watches Dick eat the meatball, both a little flabbergasted and a little in awe. Green rising in his cheeks because he both really hadn’t expected this and okay, sure, is... very turned on by the brutal honesty and that’s something he should look at with a therapist later, but right now?

“...I really, really want to blow you right now.”

Dick chokes on his meatball, but once he’s got himself under control he points at Danny’s barely touched spaghetti.

“Eat first. I’m not going to reheat this again.”

Chapter Text

He did in fact eat his spaghetti.

After his eyebrows had shot up into his hair, he’d dropped the transformation and started in on the food with gusto. Because he was actually hungry, and now that he actually believes that Dick isn’t going to try to beat the shit out of him or kick him out?

Ravenous.

For more than food.

He’s also not looking at that too closely.

But then he’s finished with the food and okay, sure, he can clean up again. A few more minutes, a glass of water, he’s fine with waiting. Really.

Except Dick is taking way too fucking long eating his own food.

Not really, he’s eating at a normal, decent human pace, but at the moment Danny’s desperate need for both dick and Dick is trumping his understanding at not wanting to scarf and be done with it.

So he tries. He tries.

Squirming in his seat, eyes dark blue and bottom lip between his teeth as he watches the older man eat his food. It isn’t even until the third or so glance that he realizes Dick is doing this on purpose. He’s teasing.

The look on his face must be doing something for the other brunette, because the next time he looks up, his own eyes are tipping into dark and heavy.

And he takes another bite, still looking at Danny.

“...oh fuck.”

It’s whispered, barely audible under his breath and he slides down under the table. This time though? He makes no effort to hide using his powers. Nope, he pulls Dick through his pants, ignoring the yelp as intangibility coats his hand and lets him hold it out. Kitten licking the head before he just nuzzles in and starts to bob over the half chub.

Top quarter of his head? Also intangible. Also unimportant. What IS important is that he keeps this dick in his mouth until he either gets the good good or he gets a salty dessert. He doesn’t care which happens, either, so long as the end result is an orgasm.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh”

It’s a long, low groan as he sinks down that first time, thigh tensing beneath his other hand. They try to spread wider, but there’s only so much room under the table and Danny hears a soft curse as Dick’s knee knocks against a wooden leg.

Which only makes him want to hear more, get more, have more.

There’s less of a disconnect now that Dick knows, too, and he can feel how much more... intense his hunger for this is. He wants this, but the fact that the other man does too? Knowing who and what he is?

Danny feels ravenous. Dangerously hungry.

The dick in the back of his throat is ambrosia, cutting off his air supply and making him feel like he’s floating. His own cock is hard, a secondary thought to the arousal in his gut for something he can’t get on his own. The need to make Girthy McMark nut so much he feels that pain in his balls, that twinge of too much before he taps out.

His eyes are glowing green, he knows. Fingertips just starting to claw up as he swallows and bobs and slurps and gives Dick the sloppiest blow job he’s ever given to anyone. Drool on his chin, his neck, his hand, pants, eyes wet and he gags, but swallows harder and feels the table being shoved back so hands can find somewhere to hold. Keeping him there as yeah, the hot rush of semen spits into his throat and makes him moan low and muffled.

Which gets him a second curse, and hands gripping him tighter still. Keeping him nose to pubes, not that he wants to pull back, until those thighs are shaking and his throat won’t stop spasming, trying to pull in air that isn’t there.

Noise gurgles around the cock, a whine that’s stopped before it really gets any air. That’s when Dick lets go and he pulls back and coughs, gasping between them as he finally starts breathing again.

It isn’t until he has his breath back that he realizes he’s come in his pants, cheeks flushed deep red as he looks up at a similarly flushed older man. Hand still around him, keeping him held through his pants.

“You... you really...” DickMark is having a hell of a time breathing too, apparently, and that makes Danny feel way better about having come untouched. “...so I’m seeing that you really do enjoy this.”

He looks down at his own very messy pants, then back up at the matching red cheeked face and gives a ragged grin. Tucking the rapidly softening cock back into Dick’s trousers and briefs carefully.

“Yeah. Really, really do.”

“...okay.”

That catches him off guard a little, and he goes about 90% deer in headlights, 10% wary.

“...okay? Okay... what?”

“Okay, you can chill here as long as you want. And not because of the sex, by the way, I’m considering that a happy bonus. You said you were doing something here, right? Go for it. You can use this place as a home base, place to sleep, whatever you need.”

His expression morphs a little, from the wary deer to slight consternation to a little bit of confusion.

“...you’re okay with me just... living here for a bit? That’s what I’m hearing here.”

“Yep. You seem like you need a place to stay while you do your thing, I happen to have a place you can stay.”

He sits back on his heels, ignoring the sticky feeling that’s now rapidly starting to cool in his boxer briefs. It doesn’t feel like this is pity, and honestly, even if it is he’s... not opposed to staying here anyway.

“Well... just to be clear, I’m not paying you with sexual favors for the space, right? This isn’t... some weird trade just...?”

If nothing else has gotten a reaction like he expected, him clarifying that he is not in fact being ‘charged rent’ in the form of sex does. It gets a big reaction. With Dick’s hands coming up and him looking fairly disgusted at the idea.

“No. No no, nuh uh. Anything that happens better be mutual, I’m not interested in payment sex, or sex at all if that’s going to be an issue. I... look, you know that we, I, find you attractive. Anything that happens needs to happen with full consent, period. I... no. If you think that at all, we stop now.”

He definitely hadn’t expected that reaction, eyes practically going into his hair as he watches Dick practically pull back entirely from everything that just happened.

...which is a little humorous, to Danny anyway.

“Nah, I don’t think that. Just... needed to make sure, you know?” He finally stands up, grimacing at the slick mess he’s made of himself. “I’ve enjoyed every second of all of that, but it’s definitely mutual and full consent given.”

There’s a definite look of relief on MarkyMoo’s face, so Danny gives him a break and pats him on the arm.

“And to make it even clearer? I really like your cock. Both in the, ‘I want it in my mouth’ and the ‘I want it in my ass’ variety. Very nice, a solid nine out of ten.”

“...I... wait, a nine?”

Danny snorts. “All of that and you get hung up on the nine?”

“Is there a ten...?” He grins, and Dick holds a hand up. “You know what, no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know who the ten is.”

“Cool, then I’m going to go wash my... everything.”

Dick stands up a bit gingerly, like his own groin is sore. “Good plan. I’m, uh, going to let the rest of us know you’re staying. If... you’re okay with that?”

It feels like a double edged question, so he answers it like it is.

“Yeah. I’m down for... whatever, you know? Helps me, so if you want something...”

The look he gives back brooks no real argument as to what he means by that, and Dick nods and grins.

“Got it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower Danny takes feels amazing, but the boost from the conversation itself?

That has his soul and his core warm and fuzzy. Like... kittens have taken up residence where his heart should be and are purring away inside of him. Comforting, relaxing.

He feels good.

Which means that of course when he comes out of the shower, clean and warm and fresh, it makes sense that someone else would have come back to challenge that. At this point he’s pretty sure it’s some sort of karma for pretending he got rid of Pariah for his own personal gain or something, fuck if he knows.

...maybe it’s for crimes he hasn’t even committed yet, but the universe knows about.

Either way, he comes out of the shower to a heated, if low toned, argument and sighs to himself before just phasing through the wall to get to Dick and ah, Short stack. The one he doesn’t actually know the name of, yet.

“Hey, sorry, bad time?”

Dick doesn’t jump, but the twitch of his cheek says that he’s hiding a smile even through his exasperation.

The teen though?

He does the whole jump and throw random things again, which Danny is realizing is a definite automatic defense mechanism. Not one that works here per se, but in a normal situation is probably pretty effective.

“...where do you even keep that many daggers...?”

“We don’t need to worry about-”

“Nowhere you need to be looking, or touching.”

...ouch, he hears the accusation and hurt in that voice and immediately his hands go up in front of him.

“Hey, I’m not touching anyone that doesn’t want me to. We had that discussion about consent, remember? I’m all in on that shit. Enthusiastic consent or bust, my guy.”

“I am not ‘your guy’, refer to me as John or not at all.”

The haughty, cold anger that seeps into his voice is chilling, but more than that what catches Danny’s attention is the way he forms the words. It’s almost at the edge of an Order, or what could be one with enough training, and there’s a layer of tingly, crispy edges to the words that tickle the icy core in his chest.

And yep, there’s the wisp of blue from his mouth that stops the whole conversation in its tracks.

“...what in the... it’s not cold in here at all?”

“No, but Short King here, sorry, John, is touching his words with death. Kind of. Technically it’s infusing them with the power of the soul, you know, using your life force to...”

He makes a hand gesture similar to the one he made the day before, with Jason, and both of them immediately react, even as his hand goes back up in front of him.

“That’s what you did? Whoa whoa, hold on...” Dick pulls out his phone and calls up someone, turning away to talk as John steps in closer.

“You are saying I am using my soul to speak?” The look is still intense, but the kind of intense that comes from the hunger of understanding rather than just pure anger.

“Yeah, that’s... ghosts and spirits are all emotions, so you’re... using your soul, right? Because I’m 99% sure you don’t have a core, so... soul, to influence anyone who hears you speak. Like... commanding without commanding?” Danny’s towel starts to slip but when he reaches to snatch it back another dagger comes out so he just sighs and lets it drop, not like they haven’t seen it before. “Like that, yep. Your words are coming out with a little tiny invisible dagger in them saying ‘do what I say or else’.”

He doesn’t get a kick out of the immediate blush, or the way the green eyes drop to his crotch before going back to his face.

“...a dagger with my words... that seems highly useful.”

...okay yeah he snorts. “Only if you’re talking to another of the Unalive Club or death touched. Otherwise all you’re doing is sounding real frosty. Believe me, I know.

“And how do you know if someone is death touched? Is that what your breath is for? Can I acquire this for myself?”

“AH, okay okay hold on. One because I’m... you know, half dead and can see the dead and deal with the dead, but like, anyone vaguely liminal can probably tell you if there’s a ghost nearby? You probably already do know, you just don’t KNOW, you know?”

The bland and yet somehow accusatory look tells him that no, no Shortie does not know.

“...right. Different for everyone, kinda. Feelings, tingles, could be a light, could be a shape, honestly I can’t give that to you, you have to figure that out. Just pay more attention to shadows and lights, feelings of unease or extreme ease, anything that isn’t ‘normal’. Also yes, kind of, because my core is ice? So it activates when another spirit is doing something funky, spooky or generally in my business. Third? Um, no... Like probably not without some life events you don’t want to happen.” His hands gesture wide, and he shrugs at the teen.

Which is when Dick turns back around and does a double take at Danny standing there palms forward with the towel at his feet.

“...okay so, you know what, we’re ordering in Thai. This is gonna be a long conversation.”

The dagger is neatly hidden away so Danny can’t even tell where it was or came from, and he picks up the towel gingerly, like he’s not sure it’ll be pulled out again. More for the kid’s sake rather than any fear of dismemberment, honestly, he seems a little more than on edge.

“Can I at least put on pants first?”

Chapter Text

It’d been Tim on the phone, apparently Jason was incommunicado by ‘regular’ means but none of them seemed particularly worried about that so Danny figured he shouldn’t be either. He still needed to apologize, but until the guy was ready to listen it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference anyway.

So back to the conversation.

Which had taken about three solid hours and a frankly absurd amount of take out to get through.

The good news was that all three of the Bats in the room now understood a few things.

One, he was actually half dead.

Two, he ate their emotions, kind of.

Three, he was in Gotham on ‘business’.

And finally, four, that he did in fact still want to bang them and doing so wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they wanted it to.

God help him, he’d never talked so much about his sex life with anyone like that before, Sam included. She’d be laughing at him now, but since he was technically not talking to anyone in Amity, there was no laugh to be shared.

Tim had grilled him to within an inch of his life about his powers. Shortie had grilled him to within a half inch of his life about influencing his words with soul power. Dick? Dick had sat back and eaten more food than he’d seen anyone put away (and that included Dash at a potluck), and basically grinned the whole time they’d been talking like he had some magical insight into all of this that no one else did.

...which, fuck, maybe he did. Danny was tired, okay, he wasn’t interested in mind games and all these people seemed to play was mind games.

Finally he just puts a stop to it, because he can tell they’ll be there forever if he doesn’t.

They have time, he tells them. Not like he’s leaving for a while and since Dick has offered up his spacious and comfortable abode, they know where he’ll be most of the time.

Besides that, his belly is currently full and he’s very frank with the fact that he’d like fuckies and bed-bye time.

He even tells them, exactly like that.

“Look, I know you’re all up and giddy about me answering everything and I totally am down to do it, but I’m full, I’m kinda tired and I really want fuckies for bed-bye time, alright?”

It’s punctuated with a slight pout, and because he only has a pair of ratty and extremely too big sweatpants on at the moment, he has very little in his way from getting both of those things. Well, except the discussion slash argument that goes on silently between J’s one and two.

Dick stays out of it, probably because he was already in it earlier.

...Danny laughs at his own joke, a chuckle that’s kinda giggly but totally not actually a giggle. He’ll fight anyone who calls it that.

In the end though, Short stack wins with a raised eyebrow and he has no idea what that means between them, but he knows what that means for him so he stands up and reaches for the younger’s hand.

His other hand is keeping the sweatpants up, but he’s trying to be sexy alright.

John eyes the hand, but he DID win and it’s clear he’s still very, very interested in Danny’s booty if nothing else, so he takes it and follows along when he’s dragged away with a ‘Finally, thank baby Jesus.’

There’s a snorted laugh behind him, but he’s very interested in the bed and a healthy serving of dick right now and he refuses to be deterred.

“You want me on my back or my front? Low key chance I fall asleep after round like, two but, you are more than welcome to fuck my sleeping body to your heart’s content, okay?” Danny’s rather through beating around bushes and he is really, really tired and horny. And apparently both earnest and honest sounding enough that the teen doesn’t argue so much as make a decisive noise.

“Front.”

Perfect. He gets a towel and plops it down, shimmying out of his sweatpants and stretching out over the bed with a low groan and long sigh. Frogging his legs out comfortably and pillowing his head into his arms. So he’s muffled, ass exposed and content to stay that way.

Then? He just relaxes. Comfortable enough to let his cock chub up slowly as Shortie takes his time getting undressed.

Only when he feels the weight of eyes on him does he turn his head, looking back over his shoulder to see red flushed cheeks and heavy eyes, but hesitation is written on his face even so.

“...c’mon, not having second thoughts, are you?”

John shakes his head and walks over to get the bottle of lube from the side table, climbing up onto the bed to start the process of stretching Danny out. Which he relaxes and enjoys, honestly. Sighing into his arms, little noises of pleasure at the pressure once the third finger presses into his hole.

“You’re really good at that, by the way.”

“...any skill worth having is one that should be done well.”

It sounds like something beaten into him long ago, repeated by rote and internalized to hell and back, but at the cost of a lot of other things. He isn’t digging into that, not today. Kid already doesn’t fully trust him, regardless of his dick’s decision to be right here, right now.

So he stretches, arching his back just a little more to entice him out of fingering and into the rest of it. Pleased when the hand retreats and he hears soft noises that, yep, there it is. The slicked erection pressing into him with no hesitation. Moaning softly, the heat in his belly solidifying into that tangible hunger that comes with sex and hearing an even softer one in return as Shortie responds to it.

Much, much better.

The pace isn’t the rough, urgent one he’s familiar with but he doesn’t mind. What’s more important is that there IS one. He truly isn’t picky about his dick at the moment.

Slow, deep, and he gets the feeling that it’s more John trying to find what he wants so he just lets it happen. Riding the waves of pleasure that come when friction rubs his rim and sets off nerve endings. One of his hands pushing under him to just cup the head of his own cock, rubbing it just as slowly.

To the melting halfa, it’s kind of perfect.

There’s a push and pull that evens out, stays steady enough that his hand on his own erection just goes limp. Squeezing every now and then but not moving, not needing to. The way John is focusing... Thrusting deep and then dragging back out... He realizes in his haze that he wasn’t just talking about the fingering. That this was some... kind of exhibition of his skill?

Danny makes a noise, a guttural groan that claws its way up and out of his throat as finally, finally the head of the cock knocks against his prostate. Grinding back against the next thrust firmly.

“God... just like that...”

Fingers tighten on his hips, holding him firmly but when he has his brain back he’ll be impressed at the restraint. He’d expect this from Mark, Peter, but... apparently John has something to prove and he’s involved in doing it.

And yeah, okay, he’s definitely doing it.

The heat in Danny’s belly is lava. Burning from the inside out in needy, hungry sounds now that it’s gone from comfortable and pleasant to good. He doesn’t even need his hand on himself, so he reaches up and pillows his head again. He’ll get off from this, hands off and oh, oh yeah...

So his first orgasm is a wave that doesn’t surprise him, but certainly comes before he thinks it will. Rising up and cresting with a loud cry he doesn’t bother to muffle, balls pulling tight up against his body. John grunting and thrusting through it, picking up speed until he’s fucking short and quick and that’s... it’s much more like that first night, so he shudders as he feels the mess that gets pushed into his body. Relaxing only after he feels the hands on his hips loosen.

For a moment it’s just harsh breathing and soft noises, the aftermath of a good nut.

What does surprise him is how the hands pull his thighs back out of that tucked position and into a more natural one, John laying on top of him still fully seated.

“...you said you had two orgasms before you slept, correct?”

He’s syrupy, languid as he hums out an affirmative sound. Thoroughly enjoying the unexpected weight of the younger man on top of him. Makes sense, all those muscles have mass, but... he didn’t think about how heavy that would be.

Even more surprising is the tentative mouth on his shoulder. Not really a kiss but something that could be. Danny is very much into encouraging it, though.

“Can mark me up, if you want...”

Because he’s pretty sure Shortie does want, or he wouldn’t be back there like that in the first place.

When he wakes up he’ll lament that he wasn’t quite able to make it to that second orgasm fully aware. It was more of a hazy feeling within the doze that he’s put into by the... everything. The heat of the body against him, and in him, mostly, sure, but also the lack of any sort of urgency.

He drifts for a while, only voicing his discontent in grumbles and whines when John pulls back. It doesn’t stop him from slipping back into actual sleep, though, and tucking a pillow to his chest in lieu of a body.

Then, yeah, the weight on his mind slowly lifts and he finds himself bundled up in a blanket and cleaned up. Lifting his head with squinty eyes and hair that’s every-fucking-where to see a shape in the corner.

“...you babysitting or here to punch me.”

The shape shrugs.

“Depends on you. You gonna try some shit like earlier again?”

Well, he was right about the who, at least. Then again, those shoulders aren’t really easy to mistake.

“No. Shouldn’t have done it earlier either, I just... got overwhelmed.”

Jason looks up and his eyes are still faintly glowing that slightly off color ecto green. Just barely, but Danny sighs and scrubs the sleep from his eyes. Letting the blanket fall to his waist and yawning to get a little oxygen into his mush brain.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you need from me to believe that, but I am.”

There’s a snort, which is... both a good and bad sign, he thinks.

“So what, you can just order me to do anything? Pretty neat set of powers you’ve got there. On top of... going invisible, letting shit pass through you, a laundry list of other nonsense according to Jack.”

“...Intangible.”

That stops the building tirade for a second, Jason putting up a single hand. “Right, my bad. intangible”

“I really am sorry, man, I don’t know how else to say it. I can’t take back what happened, I can’t tell you it won’t ever ever happen again. I can tell you I won’t do it to you on purpose if I can help it but... you have your shit to do, and I do too.”

“...okay, we’ll pretend I understand what you’re doing here. How long are you in Gotham?”

Danny sighs, scrubbing his face again.

“...I don’t know. I placed a rune gate earlier, but this city is...”

He trails off, looking down at his hands. Turning them over and over as if he can see the answer in his skin.

“This city is dying, and I was gonna try to find out why.”

That sharpens Jason’s gaze like nothing so far has. Immediately. He’s up and looming at the side of the bed, thunder written on his face and oh, well that... definitely also explains a few things. Protection, but not just to the other bats.

Danny looks up and feels the rage, the fear. Not at him, but at the threat to his city.

His Haunt.

“What do you mean, Gotham is dying.”

Chapter Text

This is also not a conversation he wants to have naked.

So he sighs and scoots off the bed, holding both hands up to Jason when he makes a noise.

“No, hold on. I’ll tell you, I just want to piss and put on pants.”

Which he does without a chaperone to his relief. Cleaning himself out in the process because he’s in there, he might as well, and coming out unashamed of his nakedness to pick up the clothes that are mostly his size and step into the pants. Dragging the sweatshirt on with a sigh at the soft, worn fabric on his skin.

It feels good, which he needs at the moment.

“Kay, we’re good.”

The looming hasn’t stopped so much as it’s been... postponed by his words, so this reactivates ‘Gargoyle’ mode and he can see where the shadows definitely are doing a little more bidding than they would for a normal person.

“So, dying. Which is what I’m gonna try to figure out. There’s... a fuck ton of ghosts here, that’s why I came down in the first place. I didn’t know there was something else going on until I was under the city.”

He rolls up the blanket and tosses it into the hamper that’s been installed at the foot of the bed mostly for that reason.

“I put a rune gate in... I’m pretty sure it was old subway or water access tunnels? But the only thing that does is guide souls to the Elsewhereness.”

"You're spitting out a whole lot of words that don't mean a hell of a lot."

That gets Jason a flat look.

"I totally get you're not happy with me, okay, but technically it isn't my job to make you understand. I've talked and talked and fucking talked about shit and you all need to just... hoooookay Fenton, breathing. Do that."

Danny takes a deep breath and settles back down cross legged.

"Words aren't my usual weapons. Usually I mostly just hit stuff, okay. This is... I put in a door for souls to pass on. That's what I did."

There’s a long pause where he doesn’t look up at all. Just lets PeterJason do whatever he’s going to do because hell if he really can stop him anyway. Instead, he digs at a little dirt from under his nails and just... waits.

“...alright.”

He looks up, a little surprised at the... succinct response.

“Alright?”

Jason looks agitated, it’s obvious that he’s still not really happy with any of this, but he’s pulled the dining room chair he’d been sitting on closer to the bed and sat back down on it.

“Yeah. Alright.”

He didn’t expect that, honestly, so his eyes go wide for a second.

“...okay. Alright. I... I’m gonna find out why, I just... I don’t know yet. This city...”

Jason stares at him almost placidly, waiting for him to finish that sentence.

“...it’s... sad. There’s so many ghosts here...I didn’t expect...”

Danny trails off again. It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, if he’s being honest. Gotham is huge. A giant metropolitan city with a population to match, of course there are a lot of ghosts.

...of course there are a lot of ghosts.

Except it still feels like too many. Even coming from Amity, a place where there DEFINITELY are too many, this place feels... hurt. The presence he felt before was amused, kind, intrigued... but not remotely as strong as he’d expect from what should be a protector of a realm.

Though it does frustrate him a little that he hadn’t recognized it right away, he’s not so delusional as to deny that his own state absolutely prevented him from being empathetic to her energy levels.

What frustrates him more is that even as he was below the city, within the veins of ectoplasm, and it never occurred to him to look further into their source.

He only realizes he’s been silent for a bit when Jason prompts him.

“...didn’t expect...?”

“Sorry... I... I’m not from around here, obviously, right? But... like... something doesn’t feel right. Like there’s too many souls, spirits, ghosts in general hanging around even though they don’t need to.”

That gets a little bit of a grunt, leather covered arms crossing over the broad chest.

“It’s Gotham. There’s a lot of dead people around here.”

“...not arguing with that, but it’s...” he brings a hand up, scrubbing over the stubble just starting to make itself known. “It’s less that there’s a lot of dead, more that there’s a lot of... it’s like they didn’t know they could pass on. Fragments, souls that have been here for a long time, and something just... it’s not quite right.”

He shrugs, helplessly. Unable to fully explain himself because he doesn’t even fucking know himself exactly what’s going on. He certainly isn’t able to explain that his core says ‘something bad wrong’ and that’s all he needs to know.

...or maybe he could but he gets the feeling this crowd doesn’t necessarily trust just his ghost gut, yet.

When he looks up, Jason is giving him a long, searching look and he’s not sure what exactly he’s looking for or if he’ll find it, but he looks back. He’s not lied, not really once since being here. Omission, yes, but that’s a circle they’ve all been dancing around.

“...Look...”

There’s a gusty sigh, half growled out in what he definitely recognizes as frustration.

“You know by now I don’t trust you. I’d rather you were out of here and on your way to wherever the fuck you were going, but I’m also not going to just sit here and ignore you saying Gotham is dying. So... just, how about this. You keep me in the know. I want to know exactly what’s happening, what you’re doing, and I’ll do what I can to help.”

To say Danny’s surprised? Absolutely understatement. He hadn’t expected Jason to... well, any of that.

“...yeah... I mean that’s fine, I can do that.”

It feels so... bland, blasé the way he answers. As if all he knows how to do is agree even if evidence starkly says otherwise, so the way Jason nods doesn’t seem like it’s enough.

“I mean... I can’t... you probably can’t see...” He trails off, finger to his pursed lips. “You can’t see ghosts, can you?”

“...kind of. Sometimes. When I’m...” Jason pauses on the words, chewing as if they’re unpleasant to say. “When I’m angry, I can. Kind of. Sometimes it’s... a shape or... ”

Which means it has something to do with the green eyes and if Danny had to guess? He’d put cash money on enhanced vision when they’re ecto-charged. He can imagine that’s not a pleasant experience, either, given how damn angry Jason had felt.

“...so functionally, no. I’m not gonna make you angry so you can see the Otherworld, that’d be stupid.”

There’s a sound that almost could be a snicker at that, so quick he nearly misses it.

“But... I might be able to like, force it. Not like force it but like, um... well, okay yeah force it but not the hurting kind of forcing it.” He holds up one hand, green coating it and fingers wiggling ‘enticingly’. Something that’s clearly subjective, since Jason’s expression is... less than impressed.

“No.”

That’s not even a gentle let down, that’s a flat out fist to the face in terms of refusals. He shrugs though because again, technically not his chair, not his problem.

“‘Kay, well I’m outta ideas on that front then. How about I just do what I do and let you know the deets when I figure things out?”

There’s that grunt again. The one that’s words, but definitely not nice ones. Jason has a whole vocabulary of grunts he swears he’s going to be able to tell apart by the time he leaves here. What makes that worse is that he can’t say he’s upset by the idea. As much as this is... not the best situation... he likes the guy. Hell, there’s no denying he’s solidly still in lust with him, even now.

“Fine. You find out anything, you let me know.”

Which is probably a huge concession, honestly, and Danny can appreciate that he’s being mostly non murdery with those words of his. He definitely doesn’t or can’t put his... ecto insides where his mouth is, not even like Shortie, but there’s that tinge of rage and a whole lot of promised harm that comes through.

“Cross my heart, totally.” He makes the motions over his chest, “And I’m staying here for now so... you can come check in whenever you want.”

That gets him eyed up, suspicious all over again.

“...check in, huh. Is that literal or are you just here for the food.”

It’s accusatory, harsh, hurt and untrusting. Plastered on the walls of his soul and written on his face and in his voice no matter how much he’s trying to keep it out. Danny very nearly shifts to reach out with his aura before he reels it in, compressing it tight to his body and core so he doesn’t make it worse.

...his expression isn’t quite as quick to shift, and the scowl that now always seems present on the bigger man’s face gets deeper.

“Don’t.”

“...I wasn’t going to, but I can’t help how I react, alright.” Danny tucks his fingertips in the sleeves of the sweatshirt, folding his arms to his body. “Part of the King gig. Not trying to be yours, okay, just... can’t help the reaction to all of... that.”

He makes a motion with his chin, a circle to indicate ‘that’ is Jason. Whether or not that clarifies anything... well he doesn’t get a chance to figure that out. The other man is standing up and those shadows settle back into his dark spaces.

“Whatever, just don’t. You might have the rest of them by the dick, but there’s no way in hell I’m-”

A noise from a hidden phone cuts him off and there’s a grunt as he turns away to pull it out, leaving Danny to sigh and flop back down fully on the bed. All things considered? This went better than he expected so... he’s calling it a win.

“Anything, ghost king. You call me.”

The words are... sticky, smeared and sharp all at once, but he doesn’t look over as he nods his agreement.

“Anything, I promise, man.”

Boots hit the floor with purpose as Jason stalks off and Danny feels... drained, on edge, hungry. He can recognize that, now, and how the conversation has pulled any energy he’s worked up with the nap away and severed it at the root.

So he stares up at the ceiling for... a while. He doesn’t know how long, really, because time is stupid anyway.

Clockwork would be exasperated with him for that, but he isn’t here so... fuck him.

Except... laying there is doing nothing. No energy to move, but no energy gained from not moving. Which makes him frustrated, because sure, the rational, intelligent man that wears his skin says he understands the why.

But the emotional roller coaster that is his core says he doesn’t care.

Not that he just doesn’t care, actually, but that he cares so much about what this man says and does that he’s a fingertip shy of following him and demanding he-

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And that’s... well it’s not bad, per se because Jason IS one of his in the most technical sense but yeah, the human head on his shoulders knows it’s a very bad idea at the moment to chase the man who is Very Upset with him and demand that he ‘be his’, no matter the context.

Hell, he doesn’t even realize he’s partway transformed until he hears a voice at the door of the bedroom and a sharp intake of air following. Eyes virulent, green as toxic waste and fangs and claws and pointed ears and-

No, no no no, he’s a good boy. He’s a good fucking boy. He’s not going to go Dan on anyone, he’s just... going to... well the shirt is ruined, shredded and that’s okay he’ll just replace that it’s fine.

“...hey, you’re alright...”

Dick. That’s Dick. Who sounds cautious but not scared even as his gaze snaps over to the brunette and rakes over his body. Dick, who has so far been brother, protector, emotional caretaker, gentle, sturdy, willing, open, his? Not his. Not his.

“...Danny, hey, do I need to get someone...?”

The voice is close, so close, and his claws rake down over his own face. Covering his eyes, his mouth, all of it.

“...no, no, ‘s fine just...”

It’s just his voice, husky and gutteral and thick with the crackle and crisp of static as he argues with himself and the damn Lady of the city for some damn reason. He doesn’t, it’s NOT his and he can feel the pull that could make it, the touch of ethereal fingers he rebukes with a plea. None of this anything Dick can feel, let alone see.

But then his hands are pulled away and pinned to the bed and he looks up to see the muscular, toned chest of the oldest Bat right at eye level.

“Okay?”

The permission is for sex, he knows that. The fact that it’s... so clearly a need is...

He nods anyway, swallowing around the lump in his throat and he knows, he knows in this fraction of a second that Dick is creeping into the jagged hole in his core. Whether or not it’s for good, well...

“...okay.”

The flow of his hair is snapping, white icy fire that’s as uncontrolled as his heart. The fingers curled around his wrists soften just enough to hold, not contain, and Danny knows, because he’s seen it, that Dick is the one who takes care of all of the rest of them. He’s the mediator, the peacekeeper, the Big Brother, the caretaker.

It’s not fair of him to take advantage of that, but god...

Transforming is a struggle, but the weight of the older man makes it less so. Makes him sink into the mattress and tuck his face into the dark space between neck and shoulder where he smells sweat and salt and the tang of everything human. Dragging his hands out of their hold to grip him around the torso, up over the shoulders as he’s given exactly what he needs.

His groan is... still staticy, laced with frost and the tearing of lace, but...

Dick returns it as he hits cheeks and the pace goes from slow to a snail pace. Dragging, no thought of a climax. Nothing but full sensation and nerve endings set into blissful feedback loops.

...and later, when he’s warmed inside and out and they’re resting on the sheet...

The Ghost King realizes this place, these people...

It feels like a warm bath.

Like a nap in the sun.

...like home.

Like... Haunt.

Chapter Text

Danny dangles his legs over the side of the rooftop and sighs.

It’s dark, somewhere near midnight, and the air has a comfortable chill in it.

Below him there are people, still out and about even at this hour, tucked in coats and scarves and beanies. Shielded from the weather that he’s embracing in a pair of shorts and light tank top.

Dick had taken him shopping the day before, even when he’d made sure to clarify that he couldn’t pay them back. Not now, possibly not ever.

That’d gotten a laugh from Dick and Tim, and they WERE actually Dick and Tim now. He’d gotten that introduction the next morning after his, what, third fucking breakdown?

...he appreciated it, even so. Obviously their names held some sort of identity they didn’t want known, but coming from Amity Park, where outside news and traffic were non-fucking-existant unless you were Tucker tech savvy?

No idea who they were besides ‘hot bat guys’.

Tim had nearly broken into wheezing laughter when he’d called them that, air quotes and all. It’d made him so tickled he’d blown him right there on the floor.

Which... was kinda why he was now up on the roof in his new clothes. Watching the smog and ecto trails slip around in the sky.

They were... too nice. So much so that it’s now a week... at least a week into his detour here.

Shouldn’t have come down, dumb ass... Now how the fuck you gonna leave? Should have kept on to Cali, ignored this pithole of a city and gone to wither away in the sun like you’d planned.

His jaw sets, that voice definitely not his.

...well it is, but not him his... his...

We both know you’re a loser, don’t we? Heh. Shame they can’t see it yet. Don’t worry though, big dog has it right. All you have to do is push the right buttons and watch every one of those boys explode at you.

And if he listens, he agrees.

The momentary lapse in judgment, his stop on that rooftop? They should have just told him to get lost. The more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t make sense. Sure, a cum dumpster is alluring but... they’re professionals in their own right.

So now he has to wonder why. Why did they, why did he, why any of it DID.

There is an uncomfortable twinge in his brain that says it was engineered. Organized. What he doesn’t know is how.

Who or what would be powerful enough to influence all of them into a weird orgy with the intent for... hell, he doesn’t even know?

Again, that soft rasp against his core laughs, gentle in a way that he isn’t familiar with, and the voice in his head eases back with a pointed sound. Like it’s somehow being justified.

Danny sighs, laying back on the roof.

None of that even matters at this point, if he’s honest with himself. He’s already tasked himself with finding out what the heck is going on with Gotham and it’d go against his duty and personal beliefs to abandon it now.

Fuck being a hero, sometimes.

He rolls, curling up on his side to stare at the bleak, worn looking brick all around the edges. What he needs to do is go find someone to talk to about the underground. Potentially figure out why so many fragmented souls are stuck in the channels below.

...that would involve actually talking to people he’s actively avoiding, though. As much as he knows he can’t run forever, especially not from the Realms themselves, he just...

He isn’t ready.

Even thinking about it has his stomach tightening, anxiety rising.

So ultimately, he can’t. Not yet. Maybe never, depending on when he leaves. The fact that he’s so comfortable here is and has been both a blessing and a curse. Dick and Tim... are the forefront reasons. They weren’t open at the start, but they were all the same. The casual, free sexual intimacy... he didn’t, and still doesn’t, need them to be open about anything. Hell, if they didn’t reveal anything more than they have to him he’d probably still keep on this path his core has decided to roll on.

The halfa groans, flopping to the other side.

...he misses Sam. He misses Tucker. He misses talking to them, misses the casual piles they’d get into when one of them needed the others. He misses just talking about bullshit, about the Zone, about his parents' crazy newest invention.

But when he pulls out his phone...

All he can see is flashing lights, faces in the windows and people rattling their door. His window. Pestering, bothering, trying to get answers to some inane question, to find out just a little more about his life. To take away that last shred of privacy he has left.

...no, he can’t call. He can’t go back. He won’t put them into that position, not now or ever again. They’re better off without him there and he... he can’t even take a selfie without shaking when the flash goes off.

So he’s back to the issue of leaving. When, not IF, because he knows as soon as people find out he’s here, it’ll start all over again. So all he has to do is figure out what’s going on, fix it, and... and then he can leave. Needs to leave. No matter what his stupid core and the stupid ladynot stupid he’s sorry he thought that, she’s not stupid at all think.

There’s the soft raspy laugh again, the feeling that he’s associating with the Lady herself. It’s like... a cat licking at his core, rough and soothing. Powerful in its own right.

...definitely not stupid, though he has to wonder why she thinks he can help her enough to nudge him the way she’s doing. It’s clear at this point that of all the things that have happened here, that is certain.

He sighs yet again.

...which makes it gameplan time.

Coming up with at least an outline of what he wants to do is easy. There’s only really the two points to start with.

One, figure out why there are so many fragments around
Two, figure out what’s draining the city’s energy.

They seem connected enough even by his own limited look into things, so putting them together makes sense. It’s obvious even from the little work he did down there that Gotham hasn’t had any sort of Psychopomp in a long, long time.

Which brings him to the next set of things he wants to do, if he can.

There are plenty of ghosts around. Beyond the malicious and the terrifying, there’s ghosts that simply aren’t ready to pass on, or don’t want to. He’s seen a hell of alot of Protection Obsessions already, and if he’d had to bet that those are probably the most common around here he would. Not surprising either, given the seemingly daily attacks by the local villain groups...

(And hadn’t that been a shock and a half to learn about. Definitely not his scene.)

Either way, it’d make it easy to find ghosts to train and teach. Gotham herself deserved some helping hands and the locals were mostly more than happy to lend them.

Cool, this was good. He could figure this out and it wasn’t like a plan ever hurt anyone. Mostly.

The longer he sits up there making plans; the more his core settles. Soothed by his action, even if it’s still in the planning stage, and his eyes track the constellations he can’t see as he thinks. Creating the stars in his mind’s eye, fingers tapping on concrete and the thrum of energy and content just starting to rumble in his very innermost being.

When he drops back into the apartment an hour or so later, it’s with wind tousled hair and a peace that permeates his aura. Humming a little as he digs around in one of the drawers of the desk in the corner and pulling out a half ripped up notepad. It’ll work, and the sharpie is overkill but apparently none of them believe in pens so... sharpie it is.

He kicks up on the couch and settles the paper in his lap. Fingers flipping the marker around deftly as he jots down his growing gameplan. Writing, but drawing too. Lines and shapes and the diagrams, his ideas made shapes on the paper.

The gate he’d put in is temporary, here's his plans for a better one. A more permanent solution for when he’s gone.

A few reinforcements won’t hurt, here... here... make sure it makes the full circle, so there and there...

It’s nearly an hour later when he drops the paper and leans back, satisfied with everything. At least for the moment, this is more than enough to keep him busy and get a good amount of work done in the process.

...and only then does he realize that he’s being watched.

The notebook goes flying with a swallowed yelp, and his attempts to catch it only send it bobbing further away from himself. Much to the amusement of the man who looks comfortable enough in that chair to have been there more than a moment.

“C’mon, rude, I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

Danny grumbles it as he stands up to get the notebook, only to find it’s already been scooped up and eyed with a critical look.

“Some sort of engineer too, huh? Those are pretty decent diagrams.”

He holds out his hand for the notebook with a raised eyebrow at Dick. “What, you didn’t think I was just a pretty face and a fantastic ass, right? And nah, my mom is the engineer. I just doodle what I think it should be.”

An eyebrow is raised right back as the notebook comes sailing through the air towards him.

“If that’s doodling, I’m scared to see your mom’s work.”

Which gets a snicker as the halfa catches the paper.

“Don’t worry, everyone is. Even the factories back home...” ‘Wont’ work with her’ is on his tongue, but he stops it and shakes his head. “Anyway, it just helps when I’m thinking things out. That’s all.”

There’s that searching look again. It’s brief, curiosity in those piercing blue eyes that pins him for the fraction of a second before Dick blinks and leans back in the chair again. Nonchalant, as if it’d never happened. The Bat boys all do that, and he isn’t really sure that it’s on purpose so much as reactionary the way it happens without fail.

Dick is polite enough not to follow through on it, or has been ever since... well whatever number breakdown it was after what he generously is referring to as a question session.

What, all of 6-7 minutes? Longer than he’d have lasted a few weeks ago, but still.

Danny is really getting tired of having those. Seriously.

Either way, he doesn’t push and doesn’t ask. Just redirects so smoothly he wouldn’t notice it at all if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Well, looks like you did a lot of thinking then. Figure out a few things? You were up there a while.”

The halfa traces a finger over the lines on the paper with a soft, crooked little smile. Pleased.

“Yeah, I think I did. Gonna take to the sewers again, do a little green voodoo, you know. Have a little party for the ages down there. I... think it’s already making a difference, honestly. There’s, you can’t feel it but... it’s like a sensation when it’s working properly. I can feel how many souls, spirits, ghosts, pass on. Not like feel, right? Obviously that’d be a lot, but since they’re under my, well the Realms...”

He trails off, because he isn’t sure how to describe it but he actually wants Dick to understand.

“I can just tell, I guess. That they’re choosing to pass on and out of the city. A lot of the latent energy and ectoplasm that’s supporting them is starting to even out. It’s not a LOT, like we’re talking tip of the iceberg shit here, but it’s working how it’s supposed to so, yeah.”

When he looks up again, Dick is sitting forward with his chin in his hand.

“You’re cute when you talk about stuff. And I’m not saying that to patronize you, by the way, it’s seriously adorable how you look right now.”

A rosy red flush very quickly works its way up his neck and onto his cheeks. Genuine fluster. This... isn’t how they interact. It wasn’t.

...but he can’t deny that he likes how that feels. One to just... talk ‘shop’ with someone again. Two, to have that kind of attention directed towards him. Gentle teasing, or as Sam used to call it, ‘Bully Danny Time’.

So he does the most logical thing he can think of at the time.

He throws a pillow at Dick. Then another. Then bounces up with a third because he can’t take that look directed at him any longer or he’ll crack again.

When Damian walks in a little later, it’s to several destroyed pillows and stuffing strewn all over the floor. Promptly intoning to them both that he isn’t helping clean up before he turns to head into the kitchen.

Dick just laughs and throws an empty pillow after him, grinning as he goes to get a trash bag.

And Danny?

Danny can’t help but feel like he wants to keep this moment close to his core for the rest of his existence.

Chapter Text

He’s upset, he’s not having a good day and he can’t get his fucking mind off of certain persons.

When he leaves, he doesn’t have anywhere in particular he’s going.

Away, is his first thought.

Except, it isn’t.

His first thought is stay, get closer, don’t leave. The pull of... whatever Danny did was hard, so fucking hard to ignore.

And if he’s honest with himself, he’s terrified of that.

Terrified of the first moment where he was frozen in place. Where his limbs didn’t listen to him, where he was fucking choking on his own breath trying not to panic.

Then, of course, the rage sets in and there’s no terror left, only anger and vengeance.

Except in this case, there IS no vengeance. It’s a scrawny kid who threw up, looked just as scared as he was, and fell through the goddamn floor. So no, no vengeance. As much as his body wanted to tear him into pieces, there was a split second where he saw something in those eyes he recognized.

Maybe the terror was for a different reason, but the intensity of it... the reaction... it was genuine.

Not to say he hadn’t believed him before. Honestly the trauma response the guy had given nearly every time they’d looked at him funny had tickled more than a few heartstrings. The issue had never been HIM, so much as... them.

Well, if he’s honest-honest, it was a lot more than ‘them’. Not just the Bat, not just them as Bat adjacent, not even just vigilante shit.

...okay so there were several issues.

Chapter Text

Tim is the first to let him top.

To be fair, it’s pretty fucking obvious that while he enjoys using his dick he’s a bottom at heart and Danny can appreciate that. Hell, has appreciated that many times since he’d gotten here. This was just him returning the favor.

...it’s also the reason they find out that a refractory period is... not really a thing when he’s feeling really spicy.

He prefers to take dick, it’s not a secret; but when Tim tells him he’s welcome to top, well...

That ends up with them on the bed, Danny balls deep and stroking slow and steady. Running his fingers along the musculature of the lithe back. Keeping those hips tilted just right so every few strokes he knocks against Tim’s prostate so hard he keens into the pillow.

One orgasm?

Two?

It isn’t like Danny cares to count, not when Tim doesn’t seem interested in telling him to fuck off.

A rough, wrecked groan brings him back to the present, where the body he’s in shakes. Clawing at the sheets with white knuckled hands as he orgasms again.

“Can’t... I’m... oh fuck...”

What exactly that means the Ghost King can really only guess. He’d think it means Tim’s done, but the way the pale body pushes back against him says otherwise.

“Can’t...? You okay there, Timberly?”

His own voice is rough and husky, but he pauses just long enough to get the shaky, jerky nod before he keeps fucking into the soft body below him. Hands smoothing down along the sides of that lithe, trim, but much more muscular than his own, back to end up around hips. Gripping firmly as he shifts to his own favorite rhythm, the one that he uses to get off fast and nut-twingingly hard.

It becomes a habit, after that first time.

Where Tim uses him to relax and get off just as much as he uses Tim for the satiation that comes from getting him off.

In fact in some ways, he thinks this works better. Tim likes it until it almost hurts. Likes to ride Danny until he’s limp and sweaty and a mess of cum and spit and lube. Thigh muscles straining to lift him up again and again until he can’t anymore. Eyes bleary and watery as he lets himself be rolled over onto his back so the halfa can hike his legs high and fuck him until he shakes. Dripping with mess and overstimulated because even when he’s like this, Danny can’t leave his dick alone. One hand rubbing and stroking, the tip of his thumb pressing against the soft, spongy slit until he writhes in dry orgasm and damn near shakes apart on the bed.

Yeah, Danny likes that. Doesn’t even get off again at the end because Tim is about as done as done can be. Falling asleep before he can even get the guy cleaned up.

...which he feels like is probably the point, but he doesn’t mind it.

He just makes sure he’s settled under covers, wiped down and clean, and goes out to see if anyone else is around.

Usually, someone is.

Damian is still slightly distant, but whatever he’s decided about the halfa’s morphology has apparently been positive enough that he’s still willing to enjoy sex regularly. Personal information? No. Pubes deep and hunched over? Yes.

Which he uses to his advantage because as much as Shorty doesn’t seem to care, his baby ghost aura says he does at least a little and Danny’s already said he’s down so long as everyone agrees, so...

...and it seems like he likes seeing Tim wrecked too, given how much he stands around and looks at him after Danny’s sent him into sleep sauce town.

He’s also the one who prefers the deed in ‘private’. Which means at least one door between them and the (awake) others but only when he’s the one performing.

Danny’s going to go with ‘unspoken kinks’ and leave that alone, honestly. He’s doing enough mental work here for his own business. He doesn’t need to be doing it for anyone else.

Either way it means that often, Danny gets himself fucked to sleep in the same bed Tim is sleeping in. Exhausted enough that even the rough movements don’t wake him to do more than grumble and turn over. Stripping his cock in rough, quick movements as the youngest of the four shows off just how precise he can be in finding Danny’s prostate.

It’d be cruel if it wasn’t toe-curlingly good.

Strike that, it IS cruel. AND toe-curlingly good.

Enough that he protests when a phone buzz pulls the warm body off of him because he knows that sound means it won’t come back. Settling into a grumble that turns back into a groan as fingers push back into him and press unerringly against... fuck...

It’s seconds, really, can’t be more than that, and then the fingers withdraw again and leave Danny panting into the pillow as he hears that mild, satisfied voice tell Dick that he is ‘ready for him’.

...fucking brat.

And that’s not a complaint.

Especially with the accompanying laugh and footsteps towards him, a shirt tossed to land on Danny’s head while hands grab feet and yank. Making him yelp and slide to the edge of the bed, Dick’s grinning face over him.

...the pants don’t even come off, nope, they’re just unzipped and suddenly Danny’s full again and arching hard enough to feel his sternum pop. Jolting enough that pre oozes up and beads on the tip of his cock and god, he feels fingers swipe it off and hears the sound Dick makes around his own fingers.

“You know, I’m calling it. Next blow job I’m going to give.”

It gets a wobbly whine out of the halfa, because it’s being accompanied by a few easy thrusts and he can’t concentrate enough to answer that properly. How could he? How is he supposed to concentrate at all when he can feel that solid, wonderful stretch still giving him just enough of a burn. Using the lube from Damian to fuck into his soft insides so it’s just a little warmer, a little rougher...

Danny shudders, finally in charge of his limbs enough to reach up and grab onto Dick’s arms, pulling him down flush with a hoarse, “Sixty-Nine, final offer.”

That gets another laugh, but Dick takes a second to drag them up the bed enough that Danny isn’t hanging off of it. Gripping the black hair in a soft fist to pull his head to the side, even as those slim legs wrap around his waist.

“Brat~”

He wants to retort again, he really does, but the hips are moving again and the warm fuzzies in his stomach are melting him into a pleasure full soup. Until his mouth opens and all that comes out are breathy, hungry noises. Until his hands palm traps and he’s hanging on for the ride.

Dick has not once, never, not provided a ride.

So the noises gradually turn punched out and hurt, and his hands end up dragging nails down the pale skin. Adding stripes of color to the expanse of it, bisecting scars only to follow others. Feeling the groan under his palms for it.

Hips snap forward more firmly, sending him arching again but this time there’s nowhere to go. He just presses up against the bare chest and there’s a soft curse as Dick does it again.

It’s not slow, but the way Dick fucks just makes him feel every inch of that girthy member. How his rim, still hot and swollen from Damian, feels around the extra width. How it presses against his insides and makes them spread until they remember the shape. Dick fucks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to every inch of Danny and hell, he probably does. It’s unrelenting and smug and his toes keep curling without his permission because of how good it feels.

There’s a moan of the man’s name, interspersed between the now continuous vowel movement he’s having. It does something, if none of the rest of it is, to spur Dick on a little more. Make him let go of Danny’s hair to bracket his arm around his head instead.

Kissing the younger man, with lips that take just as much of his attention as the way the other hand grips one thigh. Keeping it around him at an angle that must give him the friction he needs to blow, because the thrusts get faster and rougher and Danny’s already come, he thinks, because it’s wet between them and the pleasure is edging into too much... not enough to stop, though, never enough to stop, and then there’s heat in his ass and Dick is frozen, groaning against him as his hips hump and grind every drop of cum out of that fat dick.

Only then is there the collapse, the pause, where their muscles don’t hold them and they’re loose and panting.

“...’s always so good, fuck.” Danny mumbles it when he gets his voice back, even if his lips are still pressed mostly into Dick’s jaw.

“Mmm, I’d say practice but...”

It gets a chuckle, but neither of them are moving for a bit. Not even to pull back, or out, which is a great case for exactly how good it was.

“You’re telling me you’ve fucked every twink in Gotham into a mattress? Kinky.”

Danny noses into a more comfortable position, his hands relaxed but slowly starting to smooth up and down Dick’s spine. Gentle touch that isn’t meant to arouse so much as just be enjoyed.

“Only half of them, c’mon. Give me a little credit for subtlety.”

There’s a grumble next to them.

“Go flirt in the living room, I’m trying to sleep, you jerks.”

Danny grins, and just enough of the lassitude has worn off for him to reach over and pat Tim. He’s feeling too good to tease, honestly, and has come what, four, five times in the last couple of hours? Every part of him is humming with good things.

Dick yawns a little, but after a few moments of cuddling he pulls back and Danny lets his legs fall away from the man’s trim waist. Breathing in and out in a hitch as the soft cock is eased out of him and the cum starts to follow.

The oldest looks at him for a long moment, eyes following the lines of his body from top down. Pausing as he watches his spend oozing from the loose hole.

“...well, I still have a few minutes...”

It’s mumbled just on the edge of Danny’s awareness, so he isn’t quite sure what Dick means by that until the man kneels and he’s once again pulled to the edge of the bed. This time though? It isn’t to feel a cock against his ass, no, it’s to feel a tongue there.

“Oh, fuck-”

It’s not gasped so much as blurted out, because this was definitely not the status quo. Fuck, this hadn’t happened to or by any of them up until now and even as Danny finds himself being folded to give Dick the perfect access or whatever, his head is spinning with the hows whys and oh fuck that’s good.

Not that he... but fuck, Sam wasn’t this eager and it’d been so long anyway and oh god, he can feel the texture of it along his rim. Ignoring the fact that it’s almost gaping, until it is and thumbs are being hooked into it and spreading it open so more of that tongue can go into him.

He’s shaking, but in the best way possible. The kind where he’s trying not to squirm and wriggle and writhe all over the place because it feels very good right there and that’s where he’d like to keep it.

In fact he’s focusing so much on it that he doesn’t notice Tim until the exasperated groan is way closer than he remembers and when he turns it’s to see him pushing off the blankets.

“You’re both assholes, how am I supposed to sleep with this going on?”

Whether he’s actually upset or not isn’t quite clear, but the amusement that he catches in those blue eyes as Tim scoots out of the bed and into the living room says probably no? Once he’s gone though, door shut with a definitive ‘click’, Dick apparently stops holding back and Danny stops being able to care if he’s being loud or not.

Which is very.

By the end of it he’s pretty sure he’s gonna beg for this to happen again, and absolutely sure that he’s going to ask to do it back because fuck. His cock is dripping onto his own belly again, just adding to the mess that’s already there, really. He’s covered in so much of his own cum he’s thinking of starting a lotion company, honestly.

At one point he looks down, and fuck if Dick isn’t looking right back up at him. Watching him as he plays ring around the rosie with Danny’s sphincter. As if it’s HIM that’s entertaining. Interesting. Something. Fuck he can’t think. He doesn’t even need a hand on him before he’s ‘please please fuck please’ing Dick and once again shaking into an orgasm. Held in place with those strong hands and greedy mouth until he’s keening a high pitched noise and gripping the sheets tight enough to tear.

...the ripping noise says he does, in fact tear them, and only then does Dick pull back and let him drop back down to the bed. Spots dancing in front of his eyes as he stares at the ceiling, breathing in deep, raspy breaths in between trying to figure out if he’s still human or he accidentally transformed because of how floaty he’s feeling.

It takes him long enough to get his senses that Dick leaves, comes back, and leans down to kiss him with a minty fresh mouth.

“I’ve gotta go get some work stuff done. Enjoy yourself~.”

He doesn’t make much of a noise, honestly, but his hand comes up and catches the collar of the new shirt Dick’s put on so the kiss lasts a few seconds longer. Then he lets it fall back to the bed and watches as the other man runs hands through his hair to style it and walks out.

...then he lasts a few minutes at most before he’s out, cold.

Chapter Text

Two weeks have gone by in... a relative flash. Quick enough that.. God, it’s really only been two weeks? But also, it’s been two weeks since he landed here.

From rooftop to suddenly semi-perma (two weeks is probably semi-kinda-ish, right?) dicking it with apparently THE superheroes of the city, it’s kinda... surreal.

...though, he supposes on their end semi-perma-kinda-ish dicking it with a half dead dude is probably also a little surreal.

Then again, with the kind of shit he sees around Gotham...

Danny shakes his head, going back to his little notebook of, well, notes.

He’s been doodling and jotting things down all afternoon, comfortable where he’s been basically swaddled up in a blanket for a few hours now. Pen catching his thoughts in shorthand, English, Esperanto, whatever feels right in the moment.

It’s more intimate now, too.

Not even because of personal information because god knows they aren’t into talking about themselves and they already probably know about everything there is to know about him. He’d call that unfair, but... he doesn’t feel upset about it. At all. There should be, according to all of the shit Jazz used to talk to him about, Intimacy disconnection? Power imbalance, or some shit?

Except he hasn’t felt that way since the last talk. In fact, he feels so connected right now. So. Connected.

It’s a ghost thing, it has to be.

He considers talking to Clockwork, or even Frostbite, but ultimately he doesn’t think this is something they’d really be able to help with. Even if this is a ghost thing, it’s Danny’s ghost thing. It feels... good. The best he’s felt in weeks. Fuck, months. He isn’t ready to have it picked apart and explained away.

...it’s selfish of him and he knows that, but...

The doodles slow down, and he sighs and just tucks further into the blanket. Staring at the furthest wall for more than a few minutes before he shakes himself and transforms with a snap of white light. Being maudlin isn’t gonna help anyone, and he has shit to do.

Though, just as he goes to drop downward, Shorty comes in and does the slightest double take.

“You are leaving.”

Danny’s pretty sure he gets the tiniest bit of disappointment in that, so he shrugs and gives a nod.

“Yeah, you wanna come? Just have to check a few things out and make sure all the work I’ve done is still there.”

There’s a hint of that ever present suspicion, where Damian looks at him with the glint in his eyes that says he really can’t quite believe Danny is so open with any of this, but in the end he gives a tight nod. Walking into one of the other bedrooms with a quiet, “I will be a moment.”

A guess of ‘costume’ proves right when a few moments later he comes out with his on and the little mask thing in his hand. Carefully dabbing on what looks to Danny like watery... gelly... stuff.

His eyes must ask the question for him, because the younger man gives him a slightly reproving look back.

“It is glue, to keep it in place.”

...WELL, that answers a few questions he hasn’t asked. The why he supposes is the obvious part of that, but it’s still a reminder that this is not his scene at all. It makes him give a little shrug and helpless grin. Waiting for the mask to be set into place before he offers out his hand.

“You’ll feel a little cool, weird at first, but I promise it’s nothing to be worried about.”

That gets another suspicious look, but the gloved hand presses into his and Danny closes his eyes for a second. Gripping the hand, letting himself expand his intangibility from that point of contact.

It’s always fun, learning someone through his powers like this. Intangibility on others is... in some respects, a form of possession. Taking over another person’s atoms, ejecting their mass into some sub-spacial pocket for moments in time only to return it to them... The feeling of creating a space where they don’t physically exist, not in this world anyway, is almost more natural to him now than being fully present.

The hand grips his just a hint more firmly as the chill pushes forward, and Danny closes his eyes to feel out the tech and gadgets that the youngest bat carries on him.

...he’s definitely surprised at the amount, but it’s still easy enough to encompass it in seconds. Until they’re both fully intangible from hair to boot.

There’s a buzz that says he isn’t mixing perfectly with the tech, but well, he’ll apologize later. Now he’s grinning and his green eyes snap open. Winking a split-second before he’s pulling and pushing at the same time and they’re dropping down through the floor much faster than gravity would take them.

Danny hears a soft intake of breath, but he isn’t letting go and Shortie has more than enough intelligence to not fight to be let go of. It’s seconds, really, half a minute at most from the clasp of hands to being birthed into an underground tunnel, and then Danny changes direction and zips them away. Keeping track of where he is, ish, and making sure that they don’t end up somewhere without breathable air.

The first gate he’d put in is still softly glowing when they get there. Surrounded by small, gentle lights that seem to drift in one direction, pulled by the energy within the runes to dissipate within the Elsewhereness.

Damian’s quick, quiet breath tells Danny that he can see something, though the What he isn’t entirely sure on yet.

“...what is this?”

He carefully lights them both to the ‘ground’. It’s covered in dirt, anyway.

“Runic gate. Spirit gateway. Portal to the Other Place. It’s got lots of names, I think. Never remember which is the official one even though that pisses Clocky off.” Danny shrugs, drifting over to carefully clean up a few of the lines that had started to smudge away from wear. It’s a testament to just how many spirit or soul fragments have passed through that the magic is already starting to thin and honestly? He’s pretty happy with that. It means that it’s working.

“It... looks in some ways similar to something I am familiar with.”

That gets a little double take on the halfa’s part, and he makes a questioning noise as he works.

“We call them Lazarus Pits. Only... it is not a place of peace, or passing.”

...okay that gets him actually turning back to Damian. Seeing the dark hint on his face, not at Danny but at... something else? He doesn’t think it’s the actual gate here.

“It is a place of renewal, if one is a hair’s breadth from death. Death itself, if they are not. That is why...”

The younger face closes off a little more and he presses lips together with a sound of displeasure. Arms crossing in front of his chest as if that motion alone will stop him from talking about this any longer.

Danny goes back to his work, letting him have his moment to do what he needs to do. Thinking on his own, because Pits... wasn’t that what they called the thing that Jason had? He’d already determined it wasn’t a good thing, AND that it was ecto related. So now he’s got... semi revival powers, because Lazarus, duh, and Pit. It sounded like a hole filled with something and he’s gonna bet his left nut that it’s green, goopy, and is definitely not good for the living inclined.

...well apparently unless they’re almost dead. Coming back to that one later.

......no...wait, not later.

It’s a movement that almost makes him wreck the marks he’s making, a jerk as he suddenly realizes exactly what’s being said here. Turning sharply to look at the other brunette, his fist closing with a pulse of angry, protective power.

Damian’s face is stoic, contained. It gives away nothing more than it already has, but even so?

“...someone tossed... it’s, that’s why you, with...”

He isn’t making full sentences, the thoughts coming too quickly for his mouth to keep up, but
Damian seems to understand even so. There’s a slight inclination of his head, the briefest of nods.

Someone had thrown Jason into this Lazarus Pit. That’s why he feels like death. That’s why he’s damn near coated in it. That’s why he exudes vengeance almost like a Revenant when he’s angry.

That’s why his eyes go green.

That’s why Jason’s one of his.

Danny doesn’t notice at first just how angry he’s gotten until the Lady’s presence brushes against him. How the shadows have started twitching and the wind picking up underground where no wind should be. His body blurring at the edges, a hint of static coming from the communicator in Damian’s ear.

Protect.

It thrums within his core. His ecto. His very being.

Protect.

From the unknown that had turned him into something in between, like Danny. Not dead enough to die, not alive enough to live. Stuck as something that hurts as it exists because it can’t fit into either world fully so it manages in both.

The brush against his core comes again, and centers him enough to realize that this isn’t the time or the place. He can be angry for Jason, but he can’t be overwhelmed by it either.

...and the white, tightness around Damian’s mouth says that he probably doesn’t look very safe at the moment and he refuses to do that to the younger man.

So he pauses, closing his eyes and running through whatever he can remember. Times tables, equations, chemical formulas, that poem Sam made him memorize in their senior year. Slowly bringing his focus back to the here , the now, and making a note to himself to learn more about that later.

“...sorry. I...”

Danny shakes his head, looking up at Damian. The tightness has lessened, but he can still see the wariness front and center. Probably because he’s the only way up and out of here and just pulled some Cryptid From The After kind of bullshit.

“Thank you. I needed to know that.”

Slowly he reaches out, telegraphing his movements to put his hand on Damian’s arm and squeezing it gently.

“Hn.”

That gets the teen a half smile, and he feels the rest of the arm relax against his touch as the cold of intangibility flows back through them.

“C’mon then, let’s get back up to the streets.”

It’s as quick of a trip up as it was down, though he takes them to a rooftop instead of just the sidewalk. Lighting down and releasing his passenger before floating a little bit away to give him space if he wants it. At least here they’re on more or less equal ground. Damian knows the city way more than Danny does, and isn’t being kept in place by, well, walls of dirt on all sides.

He plops down, resting his arms on his knees and looking at the cityline around them. It’s not pretty, but it isn’t worn down either. Something he now knows is because Dick lives in a ‘nice’ part of Gotham. Kind of. It’s abundantly clear to him now that none of them live around here for realsies. This is... just an apartment to crash at when they need it. Or it was until he came around.

“...you are upset.”

The silence between them is broken but in a quiet way that doesn’t really... disturb the energy of it.

“Yeah. A lot upset. It’s... my job to protect my people from stuff like that.”

There’s another moment of quiet, Damian bringing his gloved hands together in front of himself, as if checking they’re on perfectly. “You told us that you are the king of ghosts. He... does not fit into that category. You should not berate yourself for something that is not your responsibility.”

“...I suppose technically, no, he isn’t but... I’m... It’s... I’m the Ghost King, yeah, but also the King of the Infinite Realms themselves. He doesn’t have a core, yet, kind of... but he’s still mine.”

Ignore the fact that he didn’t have an idea that Pits were a thing at all until a few moments ago. Ignore the fact that he didn’t have a roster of undead that weren’t dead because fuck, why would he think he needed one? Ignore the fact that he hasn’t fully been imbued with the knowledge of the Kings before him because that would require him to go to Clockwork and WORK for a few centuries and be crowned...

...he still should have known. His core isn’t relenting on that, and the voice in his head that says he should have isn’t either.

“...is that why you acted the way you did?”

There is some masterful sidestepping going on here. Damian carefully edging around saying anything while asking exactly what he wants. Not even mentioning that the explanation doesn’t actually make sense.

“Yeah. My core wanted... well more than one thing, but I guess it wanted some good old fashioned vengeance first.”

The uptick he gets at the corner of Damian’s mouth is reassuring.

“We share this in common. With him, as well.”

It makes him laugh softly, and his arms drop from his knees to brace himself on the roof so he’s looking up at the smoggy streaked sky. The perpetual film of god-knew-what that seemed to cover the city in a layer of unnatural sunscreen and hid all the stars from view at night.

And they stay quiet for a long few moments. He has no idea what Damian is thinking, but... he makes himself a little promise that before he leaves? He’ll try to fix this. He has to try.

The tightness in his core eases at that. The promise of action. Whether or not he’s able to do anything that matters is another thing but he’s going to try.

“...so, you feeling up to telling me about what these Pits are?”

Damian presses his lips tight to his teeth, but looks over at him and nods.

“Yes. I will tell you what you need to know.”

Chapter Text

Danny is using Damian’s thighs as earmuffs when Dick comes home later. Driving the young man to curses under his breath, fingers clenched tight in the scruffy black hair as if that can hold him still.

It can’t.

He’s bobbing up and down at an almost lazy pace... and the roughed up, rouge red cheeks say it’s been a minute and change at least.

There’s an almost strangled noise, and his eyes flick up to see Damian look over at Dick and then away again in an instant. Thighs trembling against his face as he struggles to gain some control over himself.

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen if he can manage it.

His tongue presses against the spongy slit the next time he pulls back, his hand adjusting to grip the base of the slim cock firmly. Making sure he’s paying attention to the soft crown and glans, sucking on the vein to a jolt that says he should do that again.

Not that he’s trying to toot his own horn here, but he thinks he’s gotten pretty good at blow jobs in the last couple weeks. Granted, he doesn’t think blow jobs are hard to give considering that most cocks enjoy warm heat and friction no matter where it comes from, but getting those kinds of reactions? Well, he had practice with his tongue and a lot of it.

Different button, same hunger.

Same focused attention.

Same need to hit the limit.

Yeah, god he thinks he loves dick just as much as vaj. Maybe more, because feeling the weight of it on his tongue... the pressure of it against the back of his throat...

A second hand on his back brings him front and center to find Dick kneeling next to them. Damian practically shaking, eyes clenched tight and stomach heaving as his erection leaks the last drops of cum from an orgasm Danny’d apparently pushed right through.

“Might want to give him a minute, Danny.”

It’s said with amusement, but even as he slowly backs off the softening cock he can hear the redirection. Slowly leaning back to deliberately swallow, enjoying the darkening of the older’s eyes as they watch him.

Then surprising him by leaning in and kissing the last of the taste of Damian out of his mouth.

Surprising the youngest too, if that noise is anything to go by, and apparently not in a bad way.

Danny’s hand eases off the softening cock but doesn’t move very far. Only really enough to turn his body towards Dick, instead gripping the inside of Damian’s thigh to keep him from moving. Tongue tangling with the older man’s until the taste of semen is faint and more of a memory than reality.

His blunt nails are leaving little marks in the tan skin. The grip eases and strengthens as the kiss pulls his attention like marionette strings and teases him away until he has to let go or be left bereft. It’s masterful movement, teasing and taunting and sweet and savory all at once. Drawing the halfa further from the youngest so he can recover in peace.

Not that he really notices until he’s hefted up and pressed against a wall, arching into the muscled chest with a groan of disappointment at himself for letting Dick catch him. Again.

“...you won’t get away with that every time, dude...”

Dick laughs at him, using his heavier weight to press Danny’s slim body against the wall. One hand undoing button and zipper in a practiced movement before there’s something hot and firm against his ass.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that and maybe it’ll come true one day, cutie.”

“Nuh uh, fuck you.”

It’s meant as a grumble but is turned into a groan halfway through when the blunt pressure, the familiar blunt pressure, nestles against his asshole. There’s no lube, but the promise of penetration is doing enough as it is to make him squirm.

“Sooooo, I shouldn’t follow through and give you what I promised?”

The older man shrugs and makes the barest hint of motion to pull away... which Danny reacts to in a way that definitely rings as predictable even to his own mind.

Well, it would if he was paying attention.

He isn’t.

He’s growling, clutching Dick’s shoulders and doing a little bit of resource guarding. Definitely not paying attention.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Danny shoves one hand down between them, green coating his hand first, then Dick’s dick, second. Holding it right up against his hole and hissing just slightly as the... threat encouragement is taken as it’s meant. Spreading him unprepped over the girthy head until it presses through the ring of muscle and he can let go.

There’s another sound in the background but Danny’s focused in on the feeling of burning and stinging and fuck, Dick’s pulled his hand out and pinned it to the wall alongside his head. Meeting the kiss voraciously, because when that cock finally bottoms out and starts moving it’s less about distraction and more about losing whatever control he’d taken five minutes ago.

Dick’s good at that.

So even though his legs are wrapped around the trim waist and his mouth is being devoured Danny doesn’t need to move. Couldn’t, really, without some force and energy behind it and this is so much better. Each thrust slapping skin to skin, not rough but definitely with more than enough weight behind them to make him feel each one. That, and how the thickest part of the cock spreads his intestines around it. Makes them fucking quiver.

“There you go, cutie, that’s a much better look on you.”

It’s said with the sort of teasing condescension that’s done in familiar form. Affectionate. Where his indignant noises don’t mean stop so much as, ‘when I’m able to think I’m going to get you back for that’, even if it hasn’t really happened yet. Especially when said indignant noises melt into moans and the hands holding his wrists to the wall drop to instead hold his hips. A firm hold that gives Dick even more leverage to fuck Danny into the bedroom from the other side of the wall and has the halfa’s arms curling around the pale neck to just, hold on. Really, at this point there isn’t much he can do but enjoy the ride and god, he’s enjoying the ride.

It’s heavy. The weight behind those thrusts that says Dick knows Danny can take it. The way he’s not holding back, so he’s balls deep and smacking ass with each movement and it stings but if the oldest stopped now he’d fight him.

“Fuck... Fuck, Dick...”

Danny’s nails drag against skin, curling further with each sledgehammer to his prostate. No room to arch, but he tries anyway. Doesn’t get any further than a scant inch at best and that makes it even hotter.

There’s a pulse of arousal that isn’t his in the air, the shaky-weak aura of an unformed, barely there core. It makes Danny look over with bleary eyes to see Damian still on the floor, hand clenching against the carpet but a hungry look on his face as he watches them.

Feeling that makes it all hotter, though he isn’t sure if Damian wants to be in his place or Dick’s.

But the thought is driven from his mind with the next thrust as his head thumps back to the wall. He doesn’t have the focus right now to think, let alone extrapolate the whys and whos. Right now all he wants is...

“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing, silly.”

It gets another snortlaughgroan from Danny but doesn’t stop him from pulling the older man back into the kiss. Sloppy, with both of his hands in the dark hair and scrunching it with the ebb and flow of pleasure. Dick pushing up against his chest and bracing him against the wall. Making him forget his own name with a shift of his hips and a hint of teeth so that within a moment or so his eyes are going hazy and his throat is constricting around nothing in a mirror image of what his ass is doing.

Dick doesn’t let him down, though. They’ve done this enough now that he takes the slack as a compliment, not a concern, and puts a little more force into his thrusts. Listening to the pained, hurt groan that comes out of Danny’s mouth and murmuring, ‘That’s a good boy...’ at him as he moves.

Slim, pale fingers go slack as Danny’s fucked up against the wall. No more bracing, no more pushing against the weight of the bigger man, no more quips, nothing. Just the soft, low, well fucked noises that start to come out of him with each rough thrust. Some of them punched out like a hit to the solar plexus, others coaxed like the last drops of cum from a well sucked dick. Danny is played like a harp with Dick as the musician, self satisfied and hungry expression focused entirely on the young man in his arms.

And it’s so fucking good.

He makes the voices and the hunger and the guilt just melt away from the halfa’s mind in liquid rivulets that pool somewhere near the base of his spine instead. Blanking out the need for anything but the thick push and pull, the drag of skin and heat and friction and Danny moans, breathy and hurt as the blunt head hits his prostate full on. Hands clenching reflexively against it before he’s loose again.

It can’t be that long, really, before the rise in his gut disturbs it all, but it feels like it’s been hours? Days? His eyes fluttering open to see intense green watching as if he hadn’t just sucked the teen dry before this started. Hands fisted in the carpet, he thinks to keep them off of the dick that’s very clearly interested in something again.

Dick’s mouth is sucking dark marks into his neck, hips speeding up as those staccato thrusts say he’s nearing his own orgasm in a way that makes him moan again. Knowing, anticipating the rush of heat and mess that will paint his colon. Again.

More. Always more. Always again.

His prostate is hit again, too, and this time it’s making him try to arch again. Close enough that he can’t help how his body starts to shake just a little, pleasure rising up into his throat so that the next sound he makes is a whine, high and long and fuck, he’s coming between them and clenching over Dick’s girth and his head knocks against the wall-

When he comes back to himself he’s gasping, dragging in air to lungs that don’t need much, but need more than he’d had apparently. Back to Dick biting down as he slams back into Danny, cock twitching as ropes of semen coat the soft insides of his body. Holding himself there for a long, aching second before they both relax. Well, Danny does. He can feel the tension in the older man’s thighs as he’s kept up against the wall.

But before he can say anything, hell, before he really even has a chance to come fully back to himself he’s being shifted. The warm, just starting to soften member in his ass retreating to a protest as he’s somehow handed off and hell, he couldn’t tell anyone how it happened so much as blearily look at Damian in confusion once his eyes open back up.

Except there’s a full, firm cock back inside him and you know what... he doesn’t need to know the hows. Instead he’s going to... oh, no, he can’t move his legs, they’re held under the knee, open much wider... spread so he’s just at the right height for the younger of the two... and suddenly the motion of sex is back and it really doesn’t matter, not at all. His arms sliding around the tan neck and holding on as he’s fucked sloppy and soft and without a single thought for how overstimulated he is.

Perfect, god, it’s perfect.

“...m...mmm... can... can go fas’er...”

It’s that bit of reassurance Damian seems to need that he’s fine, no matter how his stomach clenches and his voice cracks. That edge of too much is riding high, especially with the- god how did he have such unerring aim- knocks to his... no, no he can’t get hard again he’s pretty sure of it but a dozen or so thrusts in and he’s coming soft anyway. Cum dripping from his cock and smearing between them as he gasps and writhes in a way he can’t when Dick holds him. Too much, not enough but it’s a few more thrusts and more warmth joins the mess already inside of him and the assault stops. Rests. Leans against him with rough breaths and hissed curses that are so soft they’re almost inaudible.

It’s perfect. He can’t stop thinking that.

Even when he’s let down and sinks to the floor because no, his legs aren’t going to hold him up for a few more minutes. Even when the tear streaks are wiped off his cheeks and he’s given a very thorough kiss by Dick. Followed by the most chaste, uncertain one from Damian. A first, though he doesn’t call that into attention so much as gather up his brain cells enough to give them both a lazy, well fucked grin.

Dick is the first one moving, shucking his shirt as he moves towards the main bedroom and toeing off his shoes by the couch. Leaving a trail of clothing that Damian clucks at when he also stands up.

Though Danny is rather pleased to see that his legs are just the tiniest bit shaky. It makes him rather proud, honestly.

He doesn’t move for another few moments, just enjoying the stink and sting of being sore for as long as it lasts. Only getting up reluctantly when his healing factor has kicked in and the pleasant ache starts to disappear. Arching to crack his back with a groan, then shaking his limbs out to a covert (but not quite covert enough) glance of jealousy from Damian at how quickly he’s moving at ease again.

Which is why he makes sure to stretch again where the visible streaks of cum starting to drip down his legs are facing the teen for a second. Only turning when he hears the rough exhale of someone who wants to be interested but can’t quite manage it in the moment.

“You are insatiable.”

It’s grumbled, exasperated at Danny as Damian collects his own clothing from where it’d been tossed when he’d walked in earlier. Taking it with him to one of the other bedrooms to put in a hamper, Danny assumes. He hasn’t been in any of the other rooms outside of the main bed and living spaces. The least he can do when he’s inserted himself here.

That leaves him to do his own clean up though, so he meanders around naked and picks up his own clothing. Starting to hum a cheery little tune that take him into the master bath where Dick is under the spray. An eyebrow lifted at him as he doesn’t even ask before stepping into the shower to join in.

But Danny just reaches for the body wash he knows is Dick’s and flashes him a grin before starting to wash up, so with a shrug and a shake of his head, the older man does the same.

And if Tim comes back to the sound of a certain Ghost King being dicked down in the shower, well...

He’ll be ready for fourths. Or fifths. Or a warm mass of bodies that shares him around until they all can barely move, sticky and sweaty and sated and being treated to the warm, rumbling purr of a very, very satisfied core.

Chapter Text

It is hard not to feel a semblance of camaraderie with this man.

Trust is hard won in his world and Danny gives it much too easily. As if it is worth nothing, merely a burden to hold away from others.

Or... that is what he thinks at first.

He is an excellent judge of physical competency.

An excellent judge of dishonesty.

This man is not one of their capes, not one of their kind, but he is also no liar. Even after learning of his true nature it is easy to see that it is worn on his sleeve to anyone who knows how to look.

In truth, he is more ashamed at himself for not seeing it sooner than at Danny for the way things have ended up.

What cements his trust, though, is the moment underground. Where he watches green be so carefully written along an arch meant for those long forgotten. Where he sees the moment shift from casual and easy to dangerous, angry and hungry for justice.

Damian has learned much from Gotham. From his brothers. From his father.

He has seen aliens, superheroes that exist outside of time itself, cryptids of indeterminate origin, magic, demons and more.

In each of them, those that hail to the calling of ‘hero’, there is a hunger for what is right. It matters not that ‘right’ is not a firmly defined term or comes from the heart within, either. They all gravitate towards the truth of it.

It is what defines a hero from a villain. He is very well versed in this.

Danny... he looks at them with clear intentions. He does not use them, has not coerced them or changed the status quo from that first night. Not really. It is purity in a world where truth is never free, and yet...

The youngest Wayne finds himself watching. A smile in the corner of his mouth when the older man drops yet another dish. Finds himself reaching to turn the pages of the journals he leaves laying around without a care that someone will steal them. Watches with hungry eyes as he gives his all to the pleasure they take in him and he in them. His yelp of surprise when Dick surprises him, his cry of joy when Tim shows him the latest space tech magazine, and his sigh of soft contemplation as he weaves his hands through their city.

...Damian is an excellent judge of dishonesty.

And that is why he knows that now, without a doubt he would trust this man with his life.

Just... perhaps not his breakables.

Chapter Text

He’s feeling good.

Not just good, really, but he feels... full. Warm. Happy.

So he’s flying around with Dick on a patrol, just spiraling through the air and enjoying himself. Watching as the black and blue leaps and twists and falls with style across the rooftops. Laughing when he puts his fingers in his ears and flaps fingers at Danny in the middle of a vault, and laughing even more when he makes Dick, er... Nightwing, that’s who he is right now, Nightwing, yelp because he snags up his hand and gives him an extra bit of oomph on one of his jumps. Flickering forward to catch him, but being outmaneuvered midair and instead watching as the vigilante instead twists and lands on his own.

“Daaaaamn. Catch me being very impressed, mister birdman. Very jungle, very spider monkey.”

Danny gives a polite golf clap to the sound of a snort from Tim as he joins them on the roof. Nightwing bowing left and right in exaggerated movements.

No, Red. Red Robin. He was going to remember this first night.

“You’re easily impressed then.”

That gets a sound of indignation from Nightwing. “Hey now, just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean you should be rude. It is impressive!”

Red shakes his head again, leaning on his bo staff and making a raspberry at the older man. Danny shrugs, his tail flicking left and right as he circles them both with a wide grin.

“I dunno man, I think I’m allowed to be impressed. The only thing I can do is big punchies and bigger green tinted punchies. I’ve never been good at the flippy stuff.”

He punctuates this by letting his legs reform and slowly cartwheeling through the air like a gingerbread man. Stiff, arms and legs straight out. Sticking out his tongue at them both as he spins past.

“...I will not ask why Phantom is behaving like a wheel in the sky.”

The third of the group stands up from his landing, attaching his grapple back into his belt and letting his cape settle back over his shoulders. Even if he IS shaking his head at them all for, Danny assumes, his correct assumption that this is one of their faults.

Honestly he thinks it’s cute that he isn’t automatically pointed out, so he stops and flaps his hand at Robin in an ‘oh you’ gesture. That gets a moderate look of exasperation before it’s ignored.

Ah well.

“That’s something I wanted to ask you about, actually.” Red Robin flicks his bo back into a small cylinder and tucks it away, “Rundown aside, how cool are you with showing off some of your powers? Because I personally think we need to see things to know what they are and also, I really want to see you shoot your ‘ghost ray’. Like how literal is that, exactly.”

This time it’s Danny who lets out the snort.

“I mean... You’ve seen some of it, but here...”

He powers up his hand, green and virulent and neon, then shoots the tiniest beam he can... about the circumference of a pencil, really, at Tim. Who ducks, looking shocked that he’d done it in the first place.

“Hey!”

“Don’t move, dummy, it won’t hurt you unless I WANT it to hurt you, which I don’t, so, it’ll just feel kinda... well, probably different to you than... just here.”

His hand powers up and shoots again towards a very, very wary Red Robin. He doesn’t move, though, and it hits him in the chest to a slight flinch, but not much else.

“...that kinda... felt like you were tapping me, honestly.” Gloved fingers prod at his armor, tapping twice in the same spot he’d been hit. “So if you WANT to hurt something, what happens to whatever you shoot?”

Danny shrugs a little.

“It usually ends up with holes in it, or just gone. Depends on the want, I guess?”

Green eyes flash around the rooftop until they find a box left there, probably by maintenance or something, and he picks it up and flattens it out as best he can. Tossing it up into the air higher than he is and firing three quick little bursts at it before it falls to the rooftop. Damian walking to pick it up and finding three holes, each bigger than the other clean through the material.

“I mean if you want a building demolished? I’m your guy. It’ll take... five minutes, give or take? Oh, and if you don’t want a city on the map anymore? Probably like, oh, um, 17, for a smallish midwestern town. You know, if I was ballparking it.”

Three sets of incredulous eyes turn to look at him. Or, he’s assuming they’re looking at him. Those white lens things make it a little hard to pinpoint exactly.

“...do I win or lose points if it was mostly an accident.”

Damian’s eyebrow goes up and Tim shakes his head, but it’s Dick that answers the actual question. “Lose points. Own your destruction like a man.”

The grin that comes along with that is perhaps a little more knowing than he’d expect it to be and Danny gives Dick a once over. Squinting like he’s trying to imagine what destruction said man has caused to be qualified to offer that statement.

All he gets in return is a waggle of eyebrows and a kiss blown at him though, which gives him nothing but more questions, really.

“Well, um, either way, the ghost ray is kinda just, ectoplasmic energy right? But that’s why it’s Big Punchies. Then there’s this...”

He imbues his hands again, but this time it’s a fireball in one hand and an ice crystal in the other, palm up, palm down and it’s gone, then a ball of green tinted wind that he flicks at Dick to muss up his hair even as the same bo staff Tim had just put away was pulled out and handed back to him. Snapping again, palm down, palm up, a beam of light that pulses upward like a flashlight, brighter for a second before it’s pulled back down into his hand and the absence takes it’s place. Dark, his hand fully consumed in it, but then snap, again, palm down, palm up, and he’s got a ball of energy that very quickly assumes the form of a little space shuttle. Flying from one hand to the other before up a foot or so and exploding into little sparkles of ectoplasm that vanish before they fall below his waist.

Then he really grins, because this, this is fun. This is no stakes, no pressure. It’s for fun and that means he might just... start showing off, a little. Not thinking of any repercussions or danger or anything, just, wow, yeah, it’s been a while since he flexed some of these powers just because.

So he splits. Two, then four, then six, then eight. All of them doing the wave into a little, dorky boogie before Danny himself claps and they all get sucked back into him with a schloooooooooorp sound. Lengthening, tying himself into a knot and puffing up with big, fake looking muscles that he flexes before sauntering over to Dick and bowing, then hefting the man up onto his shoulder with a flick of his hand and to the man’s credit, he adapts in seconds. Perching up on the shoulder like a pin up girl until Phantom lets him down because he’s laughing.

It’s even a few more seconds before he can untie himself and touch down on the roof. Doing a little tap dance and ‘ta daaah’, complete with wavy jazzy hands.

What he isn’t expecting is to get an impressed but somewhat in his opinion mild reaction. It makes him once again rethink shit about Gotham because how was that not cool as fuck??? At least Dick is clapping for him, but Tim is just nodding and Damian has more of an interested expression on his face than an impressed one.

“Okay so it’s more impressive in a fight but I’m trying not to do that much these days okay. I’m fine being Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Dead, it’s honestly more satisfying than hitting the same three people over and over.”

They must catch on that he thought it’d be received a little more exuberantly, with Tim holding up a hand to him. “No, no it was definitely impressive. We just know a lot more people with powers than you do, I think. Metas, not that there are any,” he coughs twice, purposefully, “in Gotham, but definitely worldwide there are. That’s probably what most people think you are.”

Danny’s definitely pouting just a little. The fact that powers are so commonplace that they’re not cool? Talk about a blow to the ego. It’s another little reminder that this isn’t his scene and definitely not his world. Anyone back home would have...

...that sombers him up. Yeah. Anyone back home would have been cheering. Egging him on, even. Now he’s wondering if it wasn’t just because of where he was.

Fuck.

The cardboard hitting him breaks him out of that train of thought and he looks up, startled. Looking at three bats with their eyebrows raised at him and realizing he’s sunk down to the roof. And shrunk down as well. Half his normal size like it’s attached to his sense of...

Okay well, it IS attached to his sense of self, so, no, not going to think about that right now. Later. Later later. Right now he’s coughing into his hand and popping back up. Rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah, suppose that ‘dead’ isn’t the first thing that crosses people’s minds when they see someone who’s moving.”

“No, not typically.” Red Robin grins at him, “We deal in a little of the reanimated, but I’d say like eighty percent are living. We don’t count the ones who only act brain dead. The thing you did with the little shuttle was pretty neat, by the way. Was that energy? A construct?”

That perks Danny back up. He not so secretly loves to talk about some of his other powers. The stuff like that, actually.

“Yep, and uh, I dunno? I make it out of ecto-energy. Chances are if you’re asking what it is, it’s that. Clones, stuff, even me when I’m not me looking, all just ecto-energy. It’s kinda my thing, thought it’s also kind of just a ghost thing. Most ghosts can’t do all that, they’re kinda limited based on what kind of entity they are. You know, your spirits, revenants, banshees, spectres, wraiths and all that. It also matters how they were formed, if it was immediate or gradual... there’s a long ass list I have somewhere on it but the long and short of it is, uh, yes. Energy. That all ghosts can use.”

He shrugs a little, because that discussion would take far longer than they have out on the rooftop tonight. Another little shape appears in his hand though, this time a mini replica of a batarang that he grasps and sends flying at the metal vent piping. It embeds itself with a clang and a thunk all in one, but when he waves it away there’s no damage to the surface. Recalling it back to his hand and flipping it over the back of his knuckles absentmindedly like a coin before it vanishes.

...what he doesn’t expect is for that to be the thing that gets an impressed reaction. With a ‘cool’ under Tim’s breath and Damian perking up like he’s about to ask a million follow up questions so he holds up a hand with a grin of his own. “Yes. It can do exactly what you think it can. No, I haven’t done it to you. Yet. Yes, I can feel it, kind of. No, I don’t whip that out until way later because most people think it’s a little too kinky for one night stands. I have that on good authority.”

Which derails Robin into a blush and sends Nightwing into a laughing fit. Red Robin rolling his eyes but Danny can see the little tiny baby blush on his cheeks as well, so... he’s about to continue when they all do that thing where they just very slightly tilt their heads. Something he’s learned comes from someone he hasn’t met talking in their ears.

“Shame, we won’t get a demonstration till later.” Dick shakes out his arms and hops up and down a few times. “Keep up, ghost boy!” And with that, takes off at a run to vault over the edge of the roof with a whoop. Damian sighing and shaking his head, but taking out his own grapple to follow with a neat twist of his own. Something he supposes doesn’t actually happen that often from the noise Red Robin makes. Something between derision and an eyeroll all in one sound.

“...so, uh, you want a ride? We’ll get there first if you tell me where to go.”

Red snorts and shakes his head. “You know what, sure. And on the way I can tell you what’s going on.”

Danny zips over and offers his back, a second set of arms coming out to loop around Red’s legs when he climbs on. “Bet. Talk to him, hot stuff, where they going.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Turns out where they’re going is a warehouse full of... stuff.

Granted, it’s some not very specific stuff that makes Danny uneasy the second he lays eyes on it all, but still. Just stuff. No people. He supposes it makes sense, none of the bats were worried when they left the roof.

Currently they’re taking stock of the... stuff. Cataloging, he supposes, and not in need of his help so he starts poking around instead. Dipping around boxes and storage crates, peeking his head through the sides to see what’s inside.

And mostly? It’s... well it’s stuff. Again.

There’s duffle bags full of clothes and shoes, junk and half used hygiene products. Boxes with odds and ends in them, handfuls of screws, allen wrenches, dirty nuts and bolts, rubber bands... It’s like a junk drawer. Or several junk drawers.

Books... There's stacks of unbuilt furniture still in flat packs up against one of the walls. Shelving, a desk and chair...

It’s weird. Why in the world would this be suspicious. Except his gut says it is. It IS suspicious.

He drifts to another side of the place, passing by a tarp that’s pulled up like a lean-to. There’s a sleeping bag inside of the space underneath, a little lantern... still nothing but...

Man, the bad vibes are growing legs and standing up. In the room with them, he’d say.

“Yo, Phantom, you alright?” Red Robin tilts his head, like he’s seeing Danny’s unease. “We’re all set here if you’re done.”

...Danny sighs. He doesn’t really have a reason to have the heebies. There’s nothing here that’s out of place. Nothing. At all. There should be no reason that his own personal WTF needle is tipping more into fuck than not. That something in here is wrong.

And he’s reluctant to say anything, if he’s being honest, because he doesn’t have proof. Doesn’t have anything tangible. It’s his gut saying that something here is down shnasty. So he debates for a second, eyes tracking around the space to try to find out what’s got his core posting up. A hand reaching in front of him into nothing. Gauging, tipping as he turns to see if something comes at him more than normal. They’re watching him now, frowns all around and he doesn’t know what to tell them.

“...gonna take that as a no.”

The halfa glances up, floating higher into the beams and rafters of the place. He isn’t ignoring them... just... something’s... god, why can’t he figure out what it is. The kind of thing that’s now got his skin crawling and there’s like two things in the history of EVER that do that.

Blood Blossoms, which... he doesn’t think they have those in Gotham. Surely not, right? And even if they did, how would they know his weakness to them? He’s still an unknown here.

Or GIW weapons and by proxy, non Fenton produced anti-ghost paraphernalia.

So now he’s focused and now he’s willing to admit that no, it’s really not time to go. Except before he even gets a chance to do that he finds what’s giving him the jeebs and... and it’s... a book?

Touching it is out of the question, he doesn’t know what that shit is but he knows what Bad Bad feels like and this is it.

“...any of you have any anti-magic stuff on you?”

It’s called out as the first thing he says since he’s entered the warehouse and felt the unease of it all, so they take it as seriously as he says it. Dick shaking his head. “No. We don’t tend to deal with that directly. We can call someone who does though, if you think it’s warranted.”

“I... I don’t know, exactly. It’s nothing I’m familiar with explicitly, just... kind of... really bad juju coming from it. Feels like... fuck, what is this...”

Danny crosses his arms and stares at the book. Narrowing his eyes at it, working out the feeling of the magic imbued within each page. Has to be, it’s so saturated that now that he’s seeing it he can’t imagine how he missed it. Which means that in addition to what’s IN it, there’s probably something ON it as well to keep it hidden. All things that point to this being something that someone wants hidden. He’s just about ready to make the decision to grab it when grapples zip up and he’s snagged on the way by a black and blue clad arm. Pulled up and out of the hatch on the roof in a few seconds before they nod at each other and each break off. Taking off with speed and stealth that has him going invisible and patting the arm to show he’s following Nightwing as he vaults away.

They don’t meet up again, but only once he gets the okay does he return to visibility.

“...someone was coming back, but we’ll make sure the right people know there’s something in there. We weren’t equipped to do more than scout it out, sorry Phantom.”

It’s apologetic and Danny shakes his head. He understands. And it isn’t like he can tell them what it is anyway, just that he had a feeling and said feeling was ‘bad’. Honestly that’s probably not enough to call in anyone and he gets that.

“You’re fine. It was probably just something weird anyway. No worries.”

Which is a lie. Nothing that coagulated in magic is ‘just weird’. But he waves it off as if it isn’t important and tries not to think about it. At least until they get back to the apartment and he’s distracted very thoroughly. Very. Very thoroughly.

Yeah he’ll think about all that later. When he’s not full of thick cock and warm feelings driving his last coherent words from his mouth.

Chapter Text

He’s frustrated.

Not just frustrated in the way he might be with a case that’s taking longer than normal. Not just frustrated in the way he would be if a rogue was evading him with a little more skill than normal. No. He’s frustrated in the way any of them would be with waiting and not knowing. A lack of information.

...it’s a fault, sure, but a Bat derived one.

There’s a low, rough sigh as he kicks back in his chair, boots up on an ottoman that’s seen better days. Leather, worn and comfortable and one of the only things in this safehouse that’s stayed constant. Mismatched from the chair but it’s hardly a concern when half the time they’re bleeding all over the thing. It’s still leather, because Jason finds it easier to clean blood off of leather and hey, this is his safehouse. Plus, it smells warm and rich and alright, he’s a little less frustrated than he was a second ago.

Which means he gets to do a little thinking, and he knows it’ll be about things he doesn’t really want to think about. Yippee.

The kid.

...not a kid. He’s over 18, though Jason couldn’t tell by how much. All he knew was what Tim’d shared. Graduated from Amity’s single high school. Casper High. That’s too on the damn nose for his liking but he supposes that’s what they get for being somewhere apparently called a ‘ghost hunter’s wet dream’.

Whatever. Not his monkey, not his circus.

What IS his circus is Danny’s statement of what he’s assuming is self-assured fact. That Gotham is dying. It makes him uneasy to think about on purpose, but they all know that the city itself has something... extra. Always has. Every Gothamite born here could tell you when something was wrong wrong, it was a feeling they all got.

So that either means that Gotham is fine, as good as it ever was, or... the status quo here, what they consider to be ‘fine’... isn’t. Which brings up the fact once again that the kid doesn’t know the status quo. How could he know if something is wrong?

...then again, how would they know if something had always been wrong?

Fuck.

That puts him right back where he’s started.

Fingers come up and drag over his eyes, digging in and making static grey appear behind eyelids. Jason letting his head thump against the chair twice, three times before he pulls out his phone. Fiddling with the side button, watching his lock screen appear and disappear over and over again.

Then there was the whole... Thing. That had happened. He can’t ignore that he was verbally harnessed and told to sit and stay. A mutt on a leash with a muzzle.

What’s worse is that before that moment the Pit rage had been the quietest it’d been in fucking ages.

He hadn’t recognized it at first, but looking back it’s easy as shit to see. Sure, he can make the argument that he’d been dick drained enough that he hadn’t needed to be angry but he knew, they all knew that’s not how that worked. He’d gotten off before and been angry enough to kill moments later. The rage itself wasn’t temperate. It wasn’t malleable like that. It erupted like a fire from sometimes nothing at all, whenever it wanted to regardless of how his rational mind thought things should be handled. That was the fucking point of it. Rage. Uninhibited, violent rage.

Rage that is... resting more on the edges of his mind the longer he stays away from Dick’s apartment.

From Danny. As loathe as he is to admit that because fuck, that admits that he isn’t entirely alive and even if he knew that the reinforcement of it... yeah. Fuck..

Jason groans and unlocks his phone. First thing’s first, he needs to contact Tim and get caught up with everything that’s happened. Second, he needs to apologize. It’s a non-negotiable. He was an asshole even if it felt deserved in the moment, he can’t deny that looking back he sees the break in the kid’s eyes before he disappeared and Dick was right. Danny was a person first. It’s... definitely a flush of shame over his cheeks he’s glad no one is there to see now.

It’s fine. He’ll make it up.

So he thumbs his contacts and waits for Tim to pick up.

“...we need to talk.”