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Jason swirls his champagne idly, wondering for the third time that night why the hell he’d let Dick drag him here.
The venue’s admittedly not bad. Jason actually doesn’t mind the way the chandelier—which is probably larger than his entire freaking apartment—keeps drawing his eye, a mess of glinting rainbows reflecting off each other a hundred-thousand times over.
But the gala itself is gaudy and ridiculous, and its guests are as dull as Jason expected, despite their elaborate masquerade-themed attire.
The whole thing’s trite. And Jason has long grown tired of this scene—he thought he was done with all things ‘Billionaire Club’ when he took up the hood.
He eyes the patrons, noting how absurd they all look—mingling about in their garish outfits, each clearly only aiming to find the next rung up the social ladder they can potentially step on. It’s irritating to watch.
Not that he’s one to talk. He looks just as douchey as the next pretentious a-hole here, dressed in whatever the hell designer suit he’s wearing that probably cost more than a few months the average person’s rent.
Don’t get him wrong, Jason had protested. Especially when Dick insisted he allow Alfred to temporarily dye his bangs—for ‘undercover purposes,’ Dick had explained.
Which, fine, whatever. Jason did owe Dick a pretty big favor for his help in Cape Carmine a few weeks ago. So, he’d reluctantly let Dick dress him up and drag him along, only to abandon him to boredom over an hour ago.
And here Jason is, sipping champagne like a moron, not entirely sure what his role is supposed to be here. Dick had simply said he might possibly need him for backup. Dick’s the one with the details, the one with the plan, the one currently trailing their mark.
Granted, Dick had shared several of the details, and offered to share all of them, but Jason had either declined or simply tuned Dick out, he couldn’t recall which. It didn’t really matter though, Jason’s rarely had a problem with simply following Dick’s lead.
He just didn’t particularly care to hear all the business-related intricacies behind their task at hand. All he needs to know is they’re there to gather intel. Extremely vital intel, Dick had stressed.
The heads of Wayne Enterprise’s two largest rival companies—one significantly more threatening than the other—were supposedly going to be meeting at this event. And apparently it was absolutely crucial that Dick capture their conversation.
Simple. Straightforward. Jason has no doubt Dick will pull it off smoothly.
Despite being undercover, Jason had still found it necessary to discard his frilly mask a while ago. It felt as stupid as he was certain it must have looked on him. But he’d noticed Dick—the more likely of the two of them to potentially be recognized—has been keeping his carefully in place. And somehow with a straight face, too.
Jason can see him across the way, seated, casually observing. A glass of nearly-untouched champagne sitting next to him. He has to admit Dick looks pretty sharp in that suit, and he vaguely wonders if he’s also been drawing eyes the way Dick has; he hasn’t cared enough to notice.
He’s just about to wonder when the hell Dick will finally make a move when Dick draws to his feet, his voice suddenly in Jason’s ear.
“I need you. Meet me at the stairs.”
Finally a hint of action at this snoozefest. “Be right there,” Jason replies, gulping down the last remaining swallows of champagne and setting the glass aside.
He tugs at his sleeve, straightening a cuff link, and strides for the stairs.
Dick greets him with an…oddly warm smile and motions for him to join him. And, a little hesitant now, Jason does.
He’s just about at Dick’s side when Dick suddenly reaches for him, grasping his hand. Jason instinctively jerks back, wondering what the hell’s got into the idiot’s mind, but Dick’s grip is firm, clearly intentional, and he’s refusing to let go.
“The hell—?” Jason whispers, but Dick only offers the subtlest shake of his head, that unnerving grin still on his face. And for some inexplicable reason, he decides it’s a good idea to intertwine his fingers with Jason’s next.
Jason merely gapes at him a split second before it suddenly clicks.
Oh, no. Oh God, no.
Jason did not sign up for this.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me, Dick. This is your contingency plan?!” He’s more than struggling to keep his voice at a whisper. “Absolutely fucking not, Dick. No.”
Dick only continues to draw him up the stairs, that infuriating smile making it very difficult for Jason not to throw a solid right-hook at the side of his head. He knows Dick’s playing a part and can’t afford any slip-ups since people are watching, but he already hates this. Oh God, does he already hate this.
“Come on, Jay, we have to sell this,” Dick whispers smoothly, tugging Jason along and keeping him from tripping over his own bewildered feet.
“You asshole, couldn’t you have at least brought one of the girls along?” But as soon as he says it he already knows that was never a possibility for Dick. He’s too much of a gentleman to ever put one of the girls in such an awkward and potentially compromising or embarrassing situation.
So, of course, Jason was chosen as the expendable one.
Dick gives his hand a tight squeeze, and Jason understands the silent request behind it: please don’t cause a scene and just go with it.
“Couldn’t you have at least warned me?”
“You wouldn’t have come.”
“You’re goddamn right I wouldn’t have!”
“Sorry, Jay, you were the only one I could bring in the event of this scenario.”
Jason wants to spit out then why don’t you just commit to an effing girlfriend already?! But he doesn’t. Because, firstly, Jason’s not exactly one to talk. Secondly, he knows their line of work isn’t conducive to normal, healthy relationships. And lastly, if Dick had a girlfriend, this would be the last scenario he’d ever let her wind up in.
…Ugh, there really isn’t anyone else Dick would put in this position, Jason realizes.
He supposes it’s a sign of how much Dick has come to trust him over the years—how much they’ve come to trust each other. Which, fine, yeah, true. But what a way to shit on a solid friendship. Dick might possibly be in Jason’s debt for life after tonight.
He’s about to tell Dick that when Dick says, “Shh, this way. Just follow my lead.”
Jason really doesn’t want to know where Dick’s leading him. They continue up the stairs, past the second floor and on up to the third-floor mezzanine.
It’s dark up there. The third floor is really more of an open corridor, lined by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows occasionally interrupted by French doors that lead to an expansive balcony. The city glitters beyond it, and Jason might normally consider the setting something worth looking at, but currently, he’d rather be anywhere else.
This is clearly where couples come to retreat from prying eyes, Jason realizes, his stomach twinging. There are velvet couches spaced along the floor, several of them currently occupied. There’s even a few private booths lining the wall, offering further privacy with the option of curtains.
Jason feels like he’s already starting to sweat, and he has half a mind to use that to his advantage and slip free from Dick’s unyielding grip.
He doesn’t try it though. Despite Jason only extending a portion of his attention to Dick’s briefing the other night, Dick had still made it very clear this mission held significant importance for WE’s welfare.
And he does owe Dick.
Right?
How much does he really owe him though?
He’s out of time, and his thoughts scatter as Dick pulls him up to one of the ominous divans and starts reaching for his jacket.
There’s an eagerness behind Dick’s movements that’s quickly making Jason queasy, and even though he knows it’s pretended, he still feels like there’s a good chance he might hurl before this is over. There’s no way he’ll be able to fake this to Dick’s satisfaction.
Dick’s tugging Jason’s blazer free now, letting it drop to the floor, and, seeing no other choice, Jason actually lets him.
They’re at the divan before Jason realizes it, Dick backing him right up to it and pushing him down flat. Jason’s gaze flares with lively anger as he meets Dick’s eyes, just daring him to continue. And continue he does—without hesitation. The bastard.
Dick tosses his stupid mask away and leans his weight into the cushion, knee between Jason’s legs, arm at his ear. He’s not even touching Jason yet, but for some reason, Jason feels more solidly pinned down than he ever has before.
And does the asshole really have to keep looking at him like that?
Dick’s tearing at his own jacket now, apparently not able to get it off fast enough. He appears to throw it away carelessly, but Jason knows this move is calculated.
The jacket lands several yards away, too close to the nearest booth for it to be accidental. Jason realizes the targets must be in that booth, and whatever tech the jacket is bugged with will be sufficient to relay their conversation back to Oracle.
Perfect, mission complete.
He’s about to push Dick off of him, but Dick has other plans. He catches Jason’s wrists, gripping them with one hand and pushing them back above Jason’s head, leaning in way too closely against him. Jason’s pulse kicks up, his teeth clenching.
“You realize I’m going to fucking kill you for this, right?” he grits out.
Dick’s breath is at his ear now and Jason hates the way it immediately draws goosebumps. “Sorry, Jay, hang in there. Can’t risk raising suspicions yet.”
Jason silently berates himself for wishing for action earlier—this is so far from what he had in mind.
“They’re in that booth,” Dick whispers, sending another goddamn shiver down Jason’s spine. He really doesn’t like noticing how not-terrible Dick smells. “With only the one curtain drawn. Keep a subtle eye on them, would you?”
Dick reaches up to grasp Jason’s jaw, turning his face to the right so the booth is in his view. Jason knows he should be expecting any and all bullshit at this point, but he still isn’t prepared for Dick’s mouth finding his neck. He jolts with such surprise, he damn near knocks Dick right off him.
“What the hell do you think you’re—“
Dick tightens his grip on his wrists as he shushes him, and Jason is one-hundred percent certain he’s going to be dealing with Dick’s corpse before the night is through.
Thoughts hazy with anger, Jason can somewhat tell Dick’s at least still trying to mostly fake it. He’s not exactly sucking on his neck, he’s more just kind of licking it for the sake of the witnesses around them, and Jason feels his insides coil up in the most aggravating mixture of revulsion and pleasure.
It seems to take all of Jason’s focus to keep his breathing steady—he refuses to allow it to deepen or stutter. He can feel himself already flushing enough as it is, and it’s infuriating as hell.
Nerves heightened, Jason keeps his gaze trained on the booth, willing his vision not to blur as he counts slowly to himself, pacing his breathing and wishing his pulse would calm down. He contemplates all the ways he’s going to make Dick pay for this.
Dick’s breath is still tickling him, and his tongue is still touching him, and Jason swears to God, if he can just get through tonight, he’ll never ask anyone—Dick especially—for help again as long as he lives.
“Everyone’s fucking staring,” Jason whispers, jaw clenched, a new heat rising to his cheeks. He can’t help noticing most of the other shitheads on the third level have paused their lascivious activities to watch them.
Dick finally lifts his weight off Jason, grinning down at him. As if he hadn’t literally been at Jason’s throat two seconds before. As if nothing embarrassing has ever happened to him in his entire life before. Jason just stares at him.
“Can you blame them?” Dick lets out a dismissive laugh. “Have you seen us in these suits?”
Jason almost scoffs at him, completely appalled, but he’s grateful for the distraction and even more grateful their asshole targets have finally emerged and are making their way back towards the stairs, hardly a sideways glance at them.
He shoves Dick off of him and immediately pushes himself to his seat, rubbing at his tingling neck. The bystanders can take it as a lover’s quarrel or whatever the hell they want to—he doesn’t give a shit.
“Thanks for being a good sport, buddy,” Dick says, straightening his shirt and offering Jason a hand up.
Jason immediately smacks it away, determined not to make physical contact with Dick again for at least the next ten years.
“Fuck you, Grayson.” He helps himself to his feet and snatches his blazer off the floor. He turns, aiming to get out of there as fast as possible while Dick’s collecting his own jacket, but Dick still manages to catch up to him at the stairs.
“Hey, Jay?” Dick asks, at his side once more, the subtlest of grins tugging at him. “How was I, though?”
“Get the hell away from me.”
Jason had to revisit the gala’s bar for the harder stuff after his ‘incident’ with Dick, and as such, he wasn’t in the most comfortable state to drive himself home after returning to the manor later that evening. And it was late.
And that’s why, the following morning, Jason finds himself still at the manor, making his way to the kitchen in a fairly desperate search for food.
He’s more dismayed than surprised to find Dick and Tim there—Dick way too cheerful and friendly for the shit show they’d experienced the previous night.
“Hey,” one of them greets him—he’s not sure which, as he’s not paying either of them any attention.
He bypasses Alfred’s impressive buffet-style breakfast spread and heads straight for the cereal cabinet.
He picks a box at random and grabs a bowl.
Tim’s eyeing him from the counter as Jason pours his milk. “So, did you have a good time at the gala last night?” Tim asks, and Jason honestly can’t tell if he’s taking a dig at him or making polite conversation.
He ignores him, but of course Dick is quick to cut in. “He sure did.” Yeah, Jason’s not so hung over that he can’t recognize that as a dig. He refuses to look over at the shit-eating grin he just knows Dick is wearing.
“Kiss my ass, Dick,” he says, brushing past both of them and heading back to his guest room, cereal in hand.
“Psh, that’s nothing when I’ve already been to second base with you,” Dick calls after him.
Jason doesn’t need to be looking at them to know Tim’s eyebrows have just shot sky-high at that. He’s just out the door when he hears a snickering Dick tell Tim, “Yeah, you…might not ever want to ask him about that one.”