Chapter Text
The mission had been a disaster from the start.
Peter landed on the safehouse roof with more force than necessary, cracking the tiles beneath his feet. His Spider-Man lenses reflected the neon lights of this alternate universe's unfamiliar city, but they didn't hide the tension in his jaw. Behind him, Red Hood arrived with a grappling hook, his boots hitting the concrete with a dry, definitive sound that fell like a period at the end of an argument that was only just beginning.
"I can't believe you let him go," Jason spat, ripping off his helmet and hurling it against the ground with such force it bounced twice before rolling toward the roof's edge. His dark hair was soaked with sweat, strands plastered to his forehead. Blood was splattered across his red leather jacket, staining the bat symbol on his chest—droplets forming an arterial spray pattern. It wasn't his. It never was.
"That I let him go?" Peter spun around so abruptly the movement should have broken a normal human's neck. His voice didn't just rise in volume—it cracked, it split at the edges with a raw fury he rarely let out. He tore off his mask and crushed it in his fist until the seams creaked. His brown eyes blazed with something wild and desperate, the vein in his temple pulsing so hard it seemed about to burst. "You were going to blow his brains out right there! In front of those civilians! There was a girl, Jason! A six-year-old girl watching through the window! Did you want her to see that?"
"He was a mass murderer, Spider. Twenty-seven dead in this universe just this week." Jason took a threatening step forward, then another, and another, backing Peter against the ventilation shaft. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from barely contained rage. "Fifty-three bodies total across dimensions. Fifty. And. Three. How many more people have to be gutted, dismembered, and murdered before you understand that guys like him don't rehabilitate? How many more children have to find their parents' bodies before you take off those damn rose-colored glasses?"
"We're not judge, jury, and executioner." Peter closed the distance between them in a blink, so fast the air whistled, shoving Jason in the chest with enough force to make him stagger back three steps and leave shoe prints in the concrete. For someone without super strength, it would have been like being hit by a truck at full speed. "That's exactly what makes us different from them! That's what separates us from them! The moment we start deciding who lives and who dies, the second we pull that trigger, we become exactly what we're fighting against."
Jason spat blood—he'd bitten the inside of his cheek from the impact. "Different," he repeated, his voice dripping venom. "Right. Because it really matters to be 'different' when there's a mother crying over her son's closed casket because what was left of him wasn't enough for an open-casket funeral."
This was the fifth mission the Multiversal Temporal Authority had assigned them together in barely two months. They'd coincided on other operations before, but never as an official pair. Five missions were enough to make it clear the partnership wasn't exactly harmonious: the first was tense, though still professional; the second ended with cutting words that left scars; the third with shoves that broke ribs; and in the fourth, they almost killed each other before being forcibly separated.
This was the fifth, and there was no one here to stop them.
The tension between them had been building like an electrical storm about to break, ozone burning the air and static electricity making every hair on their arms stand up, tingling with warning. And tonight, with adrenaline still burning through their veins like acid and the frustration of weeks—of years, of entire lifetimes—accumulating until unbearable, it had finally reached its limit.
"We're not executioners," Peter repeated, his voice trembling dangerously. He jabbed his index finger into Jason's chest with each word, pressing hard enough to have broken a normal person's sternum. "That. Is. Not. Our. Job. We capture. We stop. We save. We don't kill. WE DON'T KILL!"
Jason laughed, and it was the most horrible sound Peter had ever heard—harsh, broken, without a trace of humor, coming from deep in his throat like ground glass. He grabbed Peter's wrist and twisted it, squeezing hard enough to pulverize bones in anyone else. "You're so goddamn naive it hurts to look at you. It physically pains me to be near this much concentrated stupidity. How many times do these guys have to escape from prison? Fifty? A hundred? How many times does he have to kill before you understand that your moral code isn't noble? It's stupid, it's selfish, and it's stained with the blood of every person who dies because you didn't have the guts to do what's necessary!"
"Selfish?" Peter's voice rose almost to a shout, something wild and broken climbing up his throat. He freed his wrist with a jerk so violent it should have dislocated Jason's shoulder, shoving him again, harder, rage vibrating in every muscle. "Are you calling me selfish for not wanting to be a fucking murderer?"
"I'm calling you selfish for putting your clean conscience, your pure soul, your intact morals above the lives that are lost every time these bastards escape!" Jason shoved back, brutally, making Peter stumble and almost fall off the roof's edge. The air between them crackled with violence. "You sleep well at night knowing you 'did the right thing,' you lie down like a saint, but what about the families of their victims? The widows? The orphans? Do they sleep well too? Or are they awake in the darkness wondering why their 'Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man' couldn't do what any person with two brain cells would have done?"
"Don't talk about things you don't understand!" Peter's voice became dangerously low, descending to a growl that didn't sound human at all, that sounded like something that had forgotten it once was. His fists trembled at his sides, knuckles white, nails digging into his own palms hard enough to draw blood. "You have no fucking idea what it's like to carry every death, every failure, every person I couldn't save!"
"That I don't understand?" Jason lunged forward, completely invading Peter's personal space, so close their noses almost touched. His breath was hot and erratic against the other's face, smelling of blood and rage. He could see every microscopic detail—the small drops of sweat running down Peter's temples, the way his pupils dilated until they swallowed the brown of his irises, the almost imperceptible tremor in his lips. "THAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND? I know EXACTLY what it's like to lose someone because of the stupidity of 'being better than them.' I know EXACTLY what it's like to be the person who pays the price for that shitty moral code while the 'heroes' pat themselves on the back for being so noble. I died for that, Parker! LITERALLY DIED! Beaten to death, every bone broken, every organ ruptured, drowning in my own blood while Batman—my FATHER—clung to his fucking code because killing the Joker would make him 'just like him'! And you know what the Joker did after? After killing me? HE KEPT KILLING!"
Something broke in Peter's eyes—maybe recognition, maybe guilt, maybe horror. His mouth opened slightly. "Jason, I—"
"NO!" Jason cut him off, grabbing him by the front of his suit and shaking him so violently his head moved like a doll's. His voice cracked, split, bled. "Don't give me that pitying look! I don't want your compassion! I don't want your fucking empathy! I want you to understand, to really understand, that there are REAL consequences for your shitty idealism. Every. Time. You let one of these monsters live, every death that comes after, every drop of blood spilled, every life destroyed—that's YOUR responsibility. YOURS! It's on your hands as much as if you'd killed them yourself!"
"And the lines you cross?" Peter fought back, his voice rising to match Jason's volume, regaining his fire with a ferocity that made the air vibrate. He grabbed Jason's wrists and pushed them away, shoving him backward. "WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU KILL THE WRONG GUY? What happens when the intel is wrong? When intelligence fails? When you execute an innocent? What happens when you become exactly like the men who killed your parents, who killed Uncle Ben, who murdered you?"
"I'm careful—"
"Liar!" Peter shoved him so hard Jason crashed through the roof access wall, metal twisting and tearing around him like paper. He was screaming now, completely out of control, all his composure shattered. "I've seen your file, Jason! I've seen every operation, every mission, every death! Heads in duffel bags left at police station doors! 'Accidental' explosions! Bodies tortured until they begged for death! IS THAT BEING CAREFUL? IS THAT JUSTICE?"
Jason recovered, launching forward like a wounded animal, taking Peter down with a tackle so brutal they both crashed through the roof railing and rolled dangerously close to the edge. His voice was pure liquid rage now, torn and bloody. "They were human traffickers! Scum, filth, monsters who don't deserve to breathe the same air as—"
"It's not your place to decide that!" Peter flipped him, ending up on top, using his full weight to pin Jason against the concrete hard enough to create spiderweb cracks. One hand closed around Jason's throat—still not squeezing enough to choke, but the threat was real, tangible, terrifying. Their faces were millimeters apart, so close he could count every eyelash. "It doesn't matter what they did! It doesn't matter how monstrous they were! The moment you give yourself permission to kill, the second you decide you know who deserves to live, you become the judge of everything! God, jury, and executioner all in one! Who the hell are you to play God?"
"And who the hell are you to let evil continue because it makes you feel morally superior?" Jason was screaming directly in his face now, his voice breaking at the edges, tears of pure frustration and rage burning in the corners of his eyes but refusing to fall. "I've seen the numbers, Parker, I've counted the bodies! I've reviewed every file, every report, every damn statistic! Four hundred twenty-seven people have died because you decided the Green Goblin's life was more valuable than his victims'! And that's just Norman! Every time you lock him up, every time he escapes, every time he kills again—that blood is on your hands! It's dripping from your fingers as much as from his! More, even, because you KNEW it would happen and did nothing!"
"Shut up!" Peter shoved him violently again, lifting him and throwing him against the access door hard enough to tear it completely off its hinges and send it flying six meters. "You know nothing! Nothing about my decisions, nothing about what I carry! Nothing about the nights I can't sleep because I see their faces!"
"I know you carry a martyr complex the size of Manhattan!" Jason recovered, blood dripping from his nose, from his split lip, and launched forward with a roar of pure rage. They collided in the middle of the roof, a tangle of fists and kicks and rage. "I know you prefer to flagellate yourself with guilt, wallow in your suffering, wear your pain like a badge of honor instead of getting your hands dirty and doing the hard thing! I know you're a coward hiding behind 'responsibility' when really you just don't have the guts, the strength, the stomach to do what needs to be done!"
Peter flipped him again, ending up on top, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. One hand closed around Jason's throat—still not squeezing, but trembling with the tension of holding back. "Take it back," he growled, his voice dangerously low. "Take it back right now or I swear to God I'll—"
"What?" Jason smiled, but there was no joy in it, only defiance and pain and something dark and self-destructive. "You gonna hurt me? Kill me? Come on, spider. Do it. Show me how noble you really are. Show me you're better than me. DO IT! Squeeze! Prove me right!"
Their faces were inches apart, Peter leaning over Jason, both panting from exertion and adrenaline and something else neither wanted to name. Peter could see every detail of Jason's face with brutal clarity—the barely visible scars marking his jaw like memories of past violence, the small birthmark near his left ear, the faded green in his eyes left over from the Lazarus Pit giving them an unnatural, unsettling tint under the city's neon light. He could feel the heat radiating from the larger body beneath his, muscles tense and vibrating ready to fight under his palm. He could feel Jason's pulse racing wildly under his fingers, erratic and desperate. He could smell his cologne mixed with sweat and gunpowder and blood and something else darker, more dangerous, more addictive.
Jason's breath was hot against his lips, irregular, defiant, provocative.
And suddenly—like lightning splitting the sky, like a revelation, like a condemnation—Peter realized it wasn't just rage making his heart beat so fast he thought it would explode. It wasn't just adrenaline making his skin feel too tight, too hot, too sensitive. The tension between them, that electricity that had been building for weeks, wasn't just antagonism.
It was something else entirely.
Something forbidden. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.
From the way Jason's eyes darkened—pupils dilating until they swallowed the unnatural green—from the way his breathing changed, became shallower, faster, Peter knew he'd realized it too.
The air between them didn't just crackle—it burned, sizzled, threatened to consume them both. Something more than rage. Something electric and dangerous and completely, totally inappropriate.
"This is a terrible idea," Peter murmured, his voice hoarse, destroyed, but he didn't move. His hand remained on Jason's throat, feeling his pulse hammer against his fingers. Their bodies were pressed together from chest to legs, every point of contact burning.
"The worst," Jason agreed, his voice barely a rough whisper, but his eyes—those dangerous green eyes—dared Peter to do something about it. They challenged him, provoked him, taunted him. "But you've never been able to resist bad decisions, have you, Parker?"
And then they were kissing.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't exploratory. It wasn't tentative or tender or gentle.
It was hard, it was desperate, it was violent in its intensity. It was a war, a battle, an extension of their fight by other means. Teeth clashing hard enough for both to feel the impact in their jaws. Tongues fighting for dominance as if even this was a competition they had to win. Peter bit Jason's lower lip hard enough to break the skin, hard enough to make him bleed, and the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth—copper and salt and something darker, more intoxicating.
And Jason groaned against his lips and pulled him closer, as if he wanted to consume him, as if he wanted to destroy him, as if he wanted to merge with him until there was no room left to breathe.
Jason growled against his mouth, a primitive, hungry sound that came from deep in his chest, and suddenly reversed their positions with brutal force, rolling them until Peter was beneath him, crushed against the cold concrete of the roof. His hands were everywhere at once—grabbing, demanding, possessing—pulling Peter's hair hard enough to draw a hiss of pain-pleasure and tilt his head at exactly the angle Jason wanted.
"Damn—" Jason broke the kiss only to attack Peter's neck like a hungry animal, biting and sucking marks into the pale skin with an intensity bordering on savage, on possessive. Peter gasped, his back arching off the ground involuntarily, electricity running down his spine as his fingers tangled in Jason's hair and pulled hard enough to draw a guttural groan of pleasure-pain.
"Shut up," Peter pulled him back for another punishing kiss. In a quick movement, he used his superhuman strength to flip them, lifting Jason with a momentum that brought them back to fighting as much as desire. He slammed him against the half-destroyed access door; the metal creaked, dented, twisted with the impact before giving way completely and falling into the stairwell with a crash that made the roof tremble.
Jason laughed against his lips, a dark, excited, dangerous sound, his chest vibrating deliciously with it. "You gonna use those spider powers of yours, Parker? You gonna show me how strong you really are? You gonna make me pay for every word I said?"
"Be careful what you wish for, Todd." Peter lowered his hand between their bodies with deliberate intent, squeezing the obvious erection pressing against Jason's tactical pants, making him hiss and curse under his breath. It was gratifying, even intoxicating, to know Jason was as affected as he was, to know he wasn't the only one completely losing his mind here.
"Son of a bitch," Jason grabbed Peter by the nape of his neck, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave crescent marks, while crushing their lips together again in a kiss that was more teeth and violence than anything else. His other hand went down to return the favor cruelly, palming the obvious bulge in Spider-Man's tight suit, pressing and rubbing with perfect, calculated pressure designed to make Peter moan against his mouth. "This doesn't change anything. I still think you're an idealistic idiot with your head in the clouds."
"Didn't expect it to." Peter pushed his hips forward shamelessly, rubbing unabashedly against Jason's hand while biting his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, leaving his own purple marks that would match the ones Jason was leaving on him as evidence of this madness. "You're still an idiot with a revenge complex and serious anger management issues."
Jason shoved Peter backward with renewed violence, grabbing him by the front of his suit and practically dragging him through the gap where the door had been, stumbling down the stairs toward the safehouse interior in a whirlwind of tangled limbs.
They barely made it down the first flight of stairs before need consumed them again. Peter pushed Jason against the landing wall, kissing him hard enough to make their lips swell and bleed, while Jason desperately pulled at the top of Spider-Man's suit, looking for the zipper or velcro or whatever the hell kept that thing on.
"Here," Peter gasped against his lips between kisses, guiding Jason's impatient hands to where the top peeled off. Jason pulled it unceremoniously, tearing it off with a satisfying sound of velcro ripping, and suddenly Jason's hands were on his bare skin—rough and hot and possessive and everywhere at once.
Peter returned the favor with equal urgency, fighting with Jason's leather jacket until he finally pushed it off his shoulders with more force than necessary. They let it drop in the middle of the stairwell without looking back as they kept moving downward, stumbling, shoving each other against walls and railings, completely unable to keep their hands or mouths away from each other for more than seconds.
By the time they reached the safehouse's main hallway, Peter was without his suit top and Jason without his jacket and shirt, both lost somewhere along the way along with the rest of their common sense. There were bite marks blooming like dark flowers on Jason's shoulder, red and angry scratches on Peter's back where Jason's nails had dug deep.
"Bedroom," Jason managed to say between hungry kisses, pushing Peter down the hallway until he found a door. He kicked it open brutally, revealing a spartan room with only a single bed, a nightstand, and nothing else. Perfect for a safehouse. Perfect for this. Perfect for completely losing their minds.
Peter pushed him onto the mattress without delicacy, immediately climbing over him and trapping him with his thighs on either side of Jason's hips in a clear position of dominance. He leaned down to kiss him again, hard and demanding and desperate, taking control while his hands worked on Jason's belt with fingers trembling slightly from anticipation and adrenaline still running through his veins.
"In a hurry, huh?" Jason mocked, though his own voice sounded broken and desperate, and his hands were already peeling the rest of Spider-Man's suit down Peter's hips with barely contained urgency, revealing pale skin inch by inch. He wore nothing underneath. Of course not. These tight suits left no room for underwear.
"Don't want you to change your mind and start talking again," Peter finally freed Jason's erection from the restrictive confines of his tactical pants, wrapping it with a firm, sure hand, stroking it from base to tip in a slow, deliberate, torturous movement that drew a hoarse, broken moan from Jason's throat.
"Shit—" Jason arched his hips up involuntarily, pushing into Peter's perfect fist, his head falling back against the pillow as his eyes closed in surrender. It was quite a sight to see him like this—Red Hood, Gotham's most feared vigilante, the one who made criminals tremble, completely undone by a simple touch.
"You like that, don't you?" Peter murmured, his voice dropping to that hoarse, dangerous tone he used when he was aroused, when he was on the edge of control. He tightened his grip slightly, twisting his wrist in the perfect, calculated way that made Jason curse. "You like it when I take control. You like not having to think for a moment, not having to be the tough guy. You like surrendering."
"Arrogant bastard," Jason managed to say, though the effect was completely ruined when his voice broke into a desperate moan at the end. His hands gripped the sheets at his sides, knuckles white from tension.
"Learned from the best." Peter slid down Jason's body with clear intent, kissing and biting his way over the scarred pale chest that told stories of violence. His lips paused briefly over the Y-shaped scar—the unmistakable mark of an autopsy, thick and pale against his skin, a brutal reminder that Jason had been dead once, opened on a cold metal table while someone methodically catalogued how the Joker had destroyed him.
Peter felt something tighten painfully in his chest, something that wasn't desire but something darker, deeper. He pressed his lips against the scar with a tenderness that violently contrasted with everything they'd been doing, tracing the vertical line down his sternum with soft, almost reverent kisses.
"Don't do that," Jason's voice sounded tense, vulnerable in a way it hadn't been even when Peter had him in his mouth. His hand flew to Peter's hair, not pulling but holding him there. "Don't make it into something—"
"Into something what?" Peter looked up, his eyes meeting Jason's. "Into something real? It's too late for that, Jason."
For a moment, something raw and exposed shone in Jason's eyes, something that looked dangerously like hope. But then he blinked and it disappeared, replaced by that dark, mocking smile.
"Sentimentality doesn't suit you, arachnid. Keep going down."
Peter held his gaze a second longer, something charged passing between them, before continuing his path downward, kissing over defined abs that contracted involuntarily under his lips, following the line of dark hair that disappeared seductively below his waistband. When he reached his destination, he stopped deliberately, looking up with a defiant, dark smile, his brown eyes darkened by desire meeting Jason's desperate green ones. "Last chance to back out, Todd. Say it now or forever hold your peace."
"Stop talking and get to work, Parker," Jason growled in a rough voice, but there was something vulnerable shining in his eyes, something exposed and raw that said this meant more than either of them was willing to admit out loud.
Peter maintained eye contact—intense, defiant, intimate—as he licked a slow, torturous line from base to tip of Jason's erection, savoring the salty taste of pre-cum already dripping. Jason hissed as if burned, his hips lifting involuntarily, and Peter had to use one hand on his hip to hold him down firmly.
"Stay still," Peter ordered, and it was almost comical—almost obscene—how the big bad Red Hood obeyed immediately without protest.
Then Peter wrapped his lips around the head and sucked with intent, and Jason let out a broken curse that sounded almost like a prayer, like a plea. Peter worked slowly at first, getting used to the weight and taste and sensation of having Jason so vulnerable, going down more and more with each movement until the tip hit the back of his throat and he had to briefly fight his gag reflex.
But Peter had good reflexes—excellent reflexes. Years of training and control over his body in ways most people couldn't imagine. Enhanced reflexes that let him dodge bullets, spider-sense that warned him of danger before it arrived, and yes, enough control over his bodily reflexes to do exactly this.
He breathed deep through his nose, consciously relaxed his throat, and went down further, taking Jason completely until his nose pressed against the dark hair at his base, until there was no space between them.
"Holy shit—" Jason's hand flew to his hair, tangling desperately in the brown curls, not pushing but holding on as if Peter were his only anchor to the world, as if he were the only thing keeping him sane. "How are you... fuck, Peter, how are you...?"
Peter hummed satisfied around him in response, and the vibration made Jason's hips jerk up involuntarily, pushing deeper into his throat. Peter let him, completely relaxing and letting Jason fuck his mouth with short, shallow thrusts at first, tears stinging the corners of his eyes from the effort but absolutely refusing to pull away.
This was power, he realized with crystal clarity. Seeing Jason Todd—someone who never surrendered, never showed weakness, never let himself be vulnerable—completely undone and exposed beneath him. Seeing Jason's carefully constructed defenses crumble with each suck, each lick, each time Peter took him to the base without hesitation.
"Fuck, fuck, Parker—" Jason was incoherent now, his grip on Peter's hair tightening painfully, pulling hard enough to make his scalp burn. "You have to— I'm gonna— you can't—"
Jason pulled his hair urgently, trying to pull him away before coming, but Peter resisted using his superior strength, staying exactly where he was. Instead, he sucked harder, more deliberately, one hand going down to massage his balls with perfect pressure while using the other to stroke what he couldn't take in his mouth.
"Peter, shit, I'm gonna—" Jason didn't even finish the warning before coming with a broken, desperate curse, spilling into Peter's throat in long, hot pulses.
Peter swallowed everything without hesitation, working him carefully through the orgasm until Jason was trembling violently from overstimulation, and only then did he slowly withdraw, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a gleam of pure, dark satisfaction in his eyes as he looked up at Jason, who looked like he'd been struck by lightning—completely destroyed and remade.
"God," Jason gasped breathlessly, one arm falling over his eyes as he desperately tried to regain something resembling composure. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his skin gleaming with sweat under the dim light. "That was... fuck. Where the hell did you learn to do that?"
"Secret spider skills," Peter mocked, but there was a pleased flush on his cheeks, evident dark satisfaction in his expression as he wiped the corner of his lips.
Jason laughed breathlessly, still trembling slightly, lowering his arm to look at him with bright, sated green eyes.
"Speaking of which..." Peter moved to get on top of Jason again, his own erection painful and demanding attention, pressing against Jason's stomach and leaving a wet trail on his skin.
But Jason had other plans before letting the arachnid come undone on him. His post-orgasm exhaustion lasted approximately ten seconds before his combat instincts returned. In a quick movement that reminded that he was also a vigilante trained by Batman, he flipped their positions, pinning Peter beneath him.
Peter could have stopped him easily with his superior strength, but he let himself be manipulated, curious to see what Jason would do.
"My turn," Jason growled, and Peter felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine at the dark, promising tone.
Jason kissed his way down Peter's body, stopping to bite his collarbone hard enough to leave perfect teeth marks. He licked over the mark, soothing the pain, before moving to suck dark marks on his pectorals, one and then the other. His tongue found a nipple, circling it before biting gently, and Peter arched his back with a moan.
"Sensitive," Jason noted with a dark smile, repeating the action on the other nipple until Peter was writhing beneath him.
"Jason," Peter moaned, and the sound of his name said like that, needy and desperate, sent a jolt of pleasure straight to Jason's cock, which was already showing renewed interest.
Jason continued his path downward, biting and licking Peter's abs, leaving a trail of red marks that would definitely be visible tomorrow. When he reached Peter's erection, he stopped to admire it. Peter was completely hard, the tip red and dripping, and Jason could see a pulse in the thick vein running along the side.
"Pretty," Jason commented casually, and Peter made a strangled sound.
"If you don't do something in the next five seconds, I'm gonna—"
Jason didn't let him finish. Without warning, he leaned down and licked from base to tip in one long, slow line, savoring the salty taste. Peter practically jumped off the mattress, one hand flying to grab the headboard, the other burying itself in Jason's hair.
"Ah, fuck—" Peter cursed when Jason wrapped his lips around the head and sucked, cheeks hollowing with effort.
Jason didn't have the advantage of Peter's superhuman reflexes, couldn't take it all without choking, but he made up for it with enthusiasm and technique. He worked Peter with lips and tongue and hand in a coordinated rhythm, one hand wrapped around the base stroking what he couldn't take in his mouth, the other caressing Peter's inner thighs, scratching gently with his nails.
"Jason, shit—" Peter was incoherent, his hips pushing up involuntarily, trying to get more of himself into Jason's hot, wet mouth. "That's— fuck, just like that—"
Jason looked at him from under his lashes, maintaining eye contact as he went down further, and something about the image—Red Hood, the assassin, the vigilante who killed without remorse, kneeling between his legs with his lips stretched around his cock—was so obscene and hot that Peter felt his orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast.
Too fast.
"Wait, wait—" he gasped, pulling his hair in a clumsy warning. "Jason, I'm gonna—"
The bastard Jason had the audacity to pull away just then, leaving him on the edge, trembling, breath broken. Peter looked at him uncomprehendingly, body still arched toward him, and Jason just smiled, with those eyes sunken in desire and mockery.
Instead of responding, he leaned back against the headboard, legs spread in a gesture of brazen invitation.
"Come here."
Peter crawled toward him, still breathing hard. Jason took him by the hips and guided him to sit astride one of his thighs. The contact was immediate: skin against skin, heat against heat. Jason's thigh, firm and tense, pressed right where Peter needed it, and a moan escaped before he could contain it.
"Ride me."
It wasn't a suggestion. Jason held him firmly, guiding his movements until Peter began to slide over him, the rhythm clumsy at first, until finding the exact angle that made him gasp.
"Ride your thigh like a desperate teenager?" he tried to say with sarcasm, but his voice came out shaky, betrayed by pleasure.
"Unless you're afraid of looking desperate," Jason replied, and his hands squeezed tighter, marking his hips as he made him move.
Peter bit his lip, the friction increasingly wet, more direct. He could feel Jason's muscle tensing beneath him, his breath hitting his neck. Each movement brought him closer, each rub drew out a lower sound. The friction was intense, Jason's hard muscle pressing against his half-hard cock.
"You're an asshole," Peter gasped, but started moving on his own, rolling his hips and rubbing against Jason's thigh. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure down his spine, awakening his body despite the recent orgasm.
"That's it," Jason murmured, his eyes darkening as he watched Peter ride him. One of his hands released Peter's hip to go down and stroke his own erection, pleasuring himself while watching the show. "Look at you. Spider-Man, the great hero of New York, rubbing against my leg like a cat in heat. So desperate to come again."
"Shut up," Peter leaned down to bite his shoulder, sinking his teeth hard enough to leave a deep, purple mark. Jason hissed, part pain and part pleasure, but pushed his thigh up, increasing the pressure, and Peter moaned against his skin.
"Make me shut up," Jason challenged him, his hand still working his own cock in slow, lazy movements as he watched Peter lose control little by little.
Peter accepted the challenge, capturing Jason's lips in a brutal kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and desperation, both fighting for dominance even now. Peter bit Jason's lower lip, pulling until it bled again, and Jason groaned inside his mouth, the sound vibrating between them.
Jason released his own cock to grab Peter's ass with both hands, squeezing the firm flesh and guiding his movements, making him grind harder, faster against his thigh. His fingers dug into the skin hard enough to leave finger marks, and Peter arched his back, changing the angle so each movement rubbed right where he needed it.
"Faster," Jason ordered against his lips, one hand leaving his ass to travel up his back, nails scratching the skin and leaving red lines in their wake. "I want to see you lose control. I want to see perfect Peter Parker completely undone, rubbing against me like a desperate whore."
"Fuck you," Peter gasped, but obeyed, moving faster, more desperate. His cock was completely hard again now, red and dripping pre-cum that made the slide easier, more slippery. Each movement of his hips was coordinated and desperate, chasing his orgasm with abandon.
"You already are," Jason mocked, his other hand coming up to tangle in Peter's hair, pulling his head back to expose the long line of his throat. He leaned in to bite Peter's neck, sucking dark marks over his pulse, moving down to bite his collarbone, his shoulder, any skin he could reach. He was marking Peter, claiming him in ways neither of them was ready to think too much about. Peter moaned, his head falling back as Jason marked him, letting him do whatever he wanted. The marks burned on his skin, a perfect mix of pain and pleasure that made him move faster, rub harder.
"Fuck, look at you," Jason murmured against his skin, his voice rough with desire. "All sweaty and desperate. Your cock dripping all over my leg. I bet you could come just like this, couldn't you? Without me even touching you. Just rubbing like an animal."
"Jason, shit—" Peter was close, so fucking close. Jason's dirty monologue wasn't helping, the obscene words sending jolts of heat straight to his cock.
"That's it, say my name," Jason demanded, biting Peter's earlobe before licking over the mark. "I want to hear you moan my name when you come. I want tomorrow, when you're in your universe doing your hero shit, to remember this. Remember how I made you lose your mind. How you rode my thigh until you couldn't think of anything but coming."
"Jason," Peter moaned, and it sounded like a plea, like a prayer. His movements became erratic, chasing his pleasure without rhythm or grace.
"Do it," Jason ordered, his voice low and authoritative. "Come for me, Parker. Show me how desperate you are."
And Peter did, his second orgasm hitting him like a freight train, more intense than the first. His body tensed completely, every muscle locked as he spilled between them with a broken moan that might have been Jason's name or might have just been an incoherent sound. Waves of pleasure washed over him, making him tremble and shudder as Jason held him, murmuring dirty, encouraging words in his ear.
"That's it, just like that, so beautiful when you come, fuck," Jason kept talking, and Peter could barely process the words through the fog of pleasure.
When he finally came down from the high, he collapsed against Jason's chest, breathless and trembling. He could feel his own cum sticky between them, probably ruining the sheets, but he couldn't find the energy to care.
After, when they were both sated and exhausted, Peter found himself collapsed against Jason's chest, their bodies sticky with sweat and other fluids, breathing heavily in the heavy silence of the room. The adrenaline from the mission, from the fight, from everything that had just happened, was finally abandoning him, leaving him empty and strangely vulnerable.
Jason held him, surprisingly gentle considering how brutal they'd been moments ago. His hands caressed Peter's back in soothing movements, tracing the lines of his muscles with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place. Peter allowed himself to melt into the touch for a moment, too exhausted to raise his defenses again.
They stayed like that in silence, both their breaths slowly normalizing, synchronizing without either of them consciously trying. Peter could feel Jason's heart beating against his cheek—strong and steady and surprisingly comforting. Jason's hand continued tracing lazy patterns on his back, circles and lines that meant nothing and meant everything, and it was so unexpectedly tender that Peter felt something tighten painfully in his chest.
"We should... probably clean up," Peter murmured eventually, though his voice sounded sleepy and unconvincing. He didn't move an inch.
"Probably," Jason agreed in a hoarse, worn voice, but he also made no effort to move, his fingers still tracing those hypnotic patterns on Peter's spine.
The silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt different—less tense, less charged with potential violence. More like two people simply existing in the same space, breathing the same air, not fighting for the first time in weeks.
"Is this going to make things weird?" Peter finally asked, his voice muffled against Jason's chest, the words vibrating between them.
"Things were already weird," Jason pointed out with implacable logic. "We can't be in the same room for more than five minutes without fighting or wanting to kill each other."
"Valid point." Peter laughed softly, the sound coming out tired but genuine. "I guess we just add 'violent casual sex' to our dysfunctional dynamic."
"Casual?" Jason arched an eyebrow, and Peter could hear the mocking smile in his voice though he couldn't see it from his position. "Parker, I hate to break it to you, but after that, there's no way this is casual. Not after what you just did to me."
Peter lifted his head to look at him, finding Jason's eyes—still with that unnatural green tint from the Lazarus—already watching him with an intensity that cut off his breath. There was something in his expression, something vulnerable and raw that didn't match his confident words, something exposed that Jason rarely let show.
"What exactly are you saying?"
Jason shrugged, trying to appear casual though Peter could feel the tension gradually returning to his muscles, preparing for rejection. "I'm saying the next mission is going to be just as frustrating. We're still going to fight about methods and morality. We're still going to want to strangle each other half the time." He paused, his fingers finding Peter's almost shyly and interlacing them carefully. "But maybe now we have a better way to... process that frustration. One that doesn't end with one of us bleeding in an alley."
Peter should say no. Should establish clear boundaries, keep this professional and distant. It was complicated enough working with someone you had fundamental philosophical differences with—differences that had resulted in screaming and fists this very night—without adding complicated sex to the mix. Without adding feelings.
But the way Jason was holding him, like he was something precious. The naked vulnerability in his green eyes. The raw, almost painful honesty of admitting this was more than just an adrenaline release, more than just once...
"I still think you're wrong," Peter said finally, but his voice was soft, without the sharp edge from before. "About killing. About justice. About all of that."
"I know." Jason squeezed his fingers. "And I still think you're an idealistic idiot who's going to get someone killed someday for being too soft."
"So nothing's really changed."
"No," Jason agreed, but there was a small smile playing on his lips. "Except now I know you kiss like it's the end of the world and that you have zero gag reflex, which is dangerous information for me to have."
Peter laughed—a real laugh this time, light and genuine—and hid his face against Jason's neck to hide the blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. "You're an asshole."
"Yeah," Jason murmured, pressing his lips to Peter's hair in something that could almost be called tender. "But now I'm your asshole. At least until the next time we argue about whether it's appropriate to shoot someone in the kneecaps."
Peter smiled against his skin, feeling how the tension of the last weeks was finally beginning to dissolve, replaced by something new, something terrifying and exciting at the same time. Maybe this was a disaster waiting to explode. Maybe they were making the biggest mistake of their lives.
But as Jason's fingers traced lazy patterns on his back and the steady rhythm of his heart resonated under his ear, Peter couldn't find the will to regret it.