Chapter Text
Jason isn’t sure how it happened, but somehow—against all odds—he lives. He grows old.
Well, not old because forty-five isn’t old, but older than he thought he’d ever grow to be.
Jason had always envisioned himself looking young in his grave. Even as a kid, he’d been sure he wasn’t meant to survive past twenty. It was why, when he’d died as a teen, he hadn’t even been surprised. He was born an Alley kid, and all Alley kids know they either die young or grow cold (and Jason’s never wanted to grow cold).
But here he is: (not) old, alive, and somehow happy.
He’s gone white, not all the way but enough that his skunk stripe doesn’t stand out anymore. His body aches, sure, but whose doesn’t? The reading glasses are… not ideal, but Roy insists they make him look distinguished. He’s even earned some laugh lines, not just frown lines like he’d always expected.
Jason looks at these changes as what they are: gifts. He doesn’t know what deity smiled down on him and decided to bless his miserable ass, but fuck, he’s taking it.
Rain trails down the windowpane of his shared apartment with Roy. Little patters drip against the glass. He’s chilled from the walk back from tea with Damian, and all he wants to do is curl up on the couch with a book. He grabs the heavy quilt Diana made him to celebrate when he earned his degree in literature, turns on their electric fireplace, and tucks himself in on the loveseat. As soon as he sits down, he wishes that he brewed some tea first, but the thought of leaving the couch is unthinkable.
Maybe Roy will bring him some when he wakes up from his nap.
(Wishful thinking—Roy’s tea is terrible no matter how many times he’s shown him how to make it.)
Being careful not to break the clearly never-been-opened spine, he removes the thin velvet ribbon and reads. The previous owner must have had it for decoration on a bookshelf because the pages feel stiff in his hands.
Jason has always wanted to read A Canterbury Tales (he’d actually hoped it would be on the syllabus when he’d been working on his degree). Finding the olive green fabric-bound Penguins Classics edition at the used bookshop he frequented was an obvious sign that he should finally indulge. He’s a mood reader though—always has been—so it still ends up collecting dust with his TBR for a month before he decides to pop his Chaucer cherry.
The prose is beautiful and poetic. He loves it instantly. In the gray of Gotham, he finds himself longing for April to “pierce the drought of March to the root.” The rhyming couplets lull him into the story, and he can almost forget the cold of his toes beneath his thick wool socks. Almost.
Jason has hardly made any headway into “The Prologue” when Roy wanders in from their bedroom, a yawn on his lips. He blinks his eyes to clear the sleep away, giving Jason a lazy smile in the process. He’s beautiful, and Jason has to fight himself from staring too hard. At least he’s practiced.
“Sleep well?” he asks dryly, noting the time. “You must have needed it.”
“Mmm,” Roy hums. “Got tired while you were out. Missed you.” Roy plops himself down on the loveseat next to Jason and settles under the blanket where he belongs. Somehow they always end up pressed together at the end of the day—a day doesn’t feel complete without their time together spent in near silence, just the two of them existing in the same space. “Felt like you were gone for ages.”
Jason chuckles and tucks his book and reading glasses onto the coffee table. “I was only gone for a few hours.”
“Felt like years.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one.”
Rather than responding to his jibes, Roy turns to Jason with all-too-familiar puppy dog eyes. “Please?” Roy asks, pulling all the stops—as if he even has to—with an offer. “I’ll make dinner tonight.”
With a deep sigh that he doesn’t mean, Jason nods and pats his lap. “Alright, put it here. Maybe you’ll finally warm me up. It’s ass outside.”
“It’s Gotham in March.” Roy chuckles. “If only you and Lian had let me convince you both to settle in Star…”
“Yeah, yeah...” Familiar banter, the script comes by rote. “We could’ve had sunshine in Star.”
“We could’ve had sunshine!” complains Roy, but he’s smiling. Gotham’s grown on him too—like a fungus or maybe a mould. “Sun, and daylight, and warm weather, and did I mention the sun?”
“Probably once or twice.” Jason lifts the blanket to make room for a lapful of Roy’s chest, the perfect position for Jason to work the knots out in his back. They both feel the hard life they've lived in their muscles and joints. He carefully shifts Roy’s long red and silver waves out of the way, draping it over his shoulder like fine silk. He lifts his shirt to dig deeper, feeling the softness over Roy’s muscled back, a legacy of a lifetime of archery covered by a welcome serving of Jason’s cooking. Gentle kneading in his shoulder blades and thumbs press into familiar knots. When Roy moans into the cushions, he feels the heat in his chest—an always present warmth, sometimes an ember, other times a flame. A familiar burning, comfortable now.
He’d stumbled into life with Roy as easily as breathing, from partners in heroics to partners in parenthood. His best friend.
When Roy reunited with Lian, Jason had offered to stay, to help. He knew what it was like to survive in the Alley, and he knew what it was like to have gaps in his past, and he knew how hard single parenthood could be. Then he met Lian, and he knew—he just knew—there was something incredibly special about her. So he offered. Just while they were getting settled.
“Just while they were getting settled” became “just until Lian turned eighteen” became “just until Lian moved out” became “Lian is an adult now, and a successful ornithologist at that, but I don’t know how to live my life without you.”
So here is Jason: forty-five years old, retired from vigilantism, and living with his best friend.
(Except “best friend” doesn’t quite capture what Roy is to him. His partner. His co-parent. His better half. The man he comes home to every night. Hidden glances and casual touches. The unrequited love of his life. The one person he feels truly safe with. The one person he can’t live without.)
Retirement suits them.
Jason’s gotten good at working the stress out of Roy’s back—any extra excuse to map out the constellation of scars that pattern his skin. He wants to look, to trace them delicately with his fingers. When he digs into an especially taught tendon, Roy grips Jason’s thigh with one hand and calf with the other—squeezes—and Jason has to balance his focus between the massage and not getting hard (he’s gotten good at that too).
Eventually, he softens his kneading. He brings his hands out from under Roy’s shirt and allows himself to rub soft even strokes, down his neck, along his spine, not quite reaching the curve of his ass, but oh so close. His fingers glance against the top seem of Roy’s loose sweatpants. He allows his pinky to graze the sliver of bare skin where his shirt rose up for just a second (he swears he hears Roy’s breath catch, but it’s probably in his head). Then they work their way up again.
Careful and even. Relaxed and respectful. Steady, up and down.
He controls his breathing but mostly his heart.
Against him, Roy suddenly shifts his body off Jason’s lap—Jason’s hands quickly finding a respectful place on his knees—so he can face him properly on the cushion next to him. His face is slightly flushed from lying down, and seemingly out of no where with some incredulity, wonders aloud, “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”
Jason turns to look at him properly, notes the soft smile on his lips, the gentle set to his gaze, and something just below the surface. “What do you mean it’s been a year?”
“It’s been a year since we retired; since it’s been just us, without Lian or capes.”
“Huh. Has it?” Jason counts the months in his head since he put away the suit for good, tucked in a locked safe only to be accessed in apocalypse scenarios. Roy’s right. Exactly twelve months. Twelve months that feel like a lifetime and a single moment. Just the two of them in the life they’ve built.
Roy volunteers at the addictions centre, and Jason reads to kids at the library. They both work at the soup kitchen on Saturdays, and they’ve fostered two litters of kittens (despite Jason being slightly allergic). Lian visits from New York once a month, and her room in their little two-bedroom brownstone welcomes her back each time.
Sometimes Jason reflects that it’s a little strange they still share a bed, what with Lian’s room empty next door. At first, it had been a kindness, a gesture from Roy to save Jason’s back from their shitty pullout couch after one spring too many. If they woke up in each other’s arms most days, morning wood a familiar friend, it didn’t have to mean anything. Twenty years together, and Jason can’t sleep without the sound of Roy’s soft snores beside him.
When Lian moved out, he’d been worried Roy might say something, but that night, Roy had held him a little closer, intentional. A promise that nothing had to change.
There hadn’t been a question since.
Twelve months of peace and warm nights; twelve months with just the two of them.
Jason takes a deep breath and allows himself to smile—he’s been smiling a lot these days. “I guess it has.”
With his hands no longer massaging Roy’s back, he can go back to his book, figuring that was it for the conversation. He places his reading glasses back on the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar slide as they slip down to the tip, barely hanging on. Just as he’s taking his book off the table, Roy’s voice makes him pause.
“Are you happy?”
He puts the book down, slides his glasses off, turns to Roy. Open eyes meet his, curious and soft. Questioning. Searching. Hunting. For what, he doesn’t know.
Jason searches back, finding more mysteries. Normally, he can read Roy as easily as breathing, but there’s something imperceptible in his gaze. He tries not to sound too affronted. “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m happy.”
“Good.” Roy smiles. “Because I’m happy.”
Jason raises an eyebrow to show he notices the weirdness. “Good. I mean— You seem happy? After the massage, I should hope you’re happy. I should be getting paid at this point.”
He goes to pick up his book again, but Roy is clearly not done.
“You make me happy.”
Oh.
Roy’s looking at him meaningfully, still searching, asking. There’s still a faint blush to his cheeks. He swallows, looking nervous—glances purposefully at Jason’s mouth, just for a second…
Oh.
Jason had always figured that, if Roy was interested, he’d have done something about it by now, said something on one of their many evenings alone cuddled up together or huddled close on a mission—maybe during a near death experience. There’s a reason Jason had chosen to wear a full mask as Red Hood: His emotions are always written all over his face. Ten minutes in a room with Roy and Jason, and anyone can tell Jason’s in love. Dick doesn’t even bother to make fun of him for it anymore (says it’s too boring now).
The seasons change, the moon goes around the sun, and Jason loves Roy.
Who wouldn’t love Roy?
(It’s Jason that’s always been hard to love—he knows that.)
Except here Roy is, hopeful and asking, after all this time. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one too worried to risk what they had. Maybe he’s finally become a man Roy can care about in that way. Maybe he’d just been waiting. Too many maybes run through his head.
Jason feels his face heating, purses his lips to try to control his face. He can’t risk fucking this up. Tentatively, he prompts, “Yeah?”
“Of course you make me happy, darlin’” Roy replies, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world; as if all he had to do was ask this whole time; as if his hand isn’t reaching out to cup Jason’s face as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. The pet name goes right to his heart. “These years as your partner have made me the happiest guy around. There’s… There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with.”
Like the moment before battle, Jason steals himself and decides to be brave. If Roy is taking a chance, they’ll take a chance together. He’s never let Roy go into battle alone, and he doesn’t plan to start now.
“You make me happy too,” Jason says in the greatest understatement known to man.
The warmth behind Roy’s eyes could have melted the sun, and his hands continue up, carding through Jason’s hair. Carefully, still asking, giving him every opportunity to pull away, Roy brings their foreheads together. They’re breathing each other’s air, almost a kiss—decades of distance and a moment's notice between them.
Jason feels a flutter in his chest, and for once, he doesn’t look away. He’s always looking away, but… maybe Roy had been looking back this whole time.
“What are we doing here, Roy?”
“Well, I think it’s called having a conversation, Jaybird. Some people have those when they use words to communicate their thoughts and feelings.” There’s an easy smile on Roy’s face, some uncertainty in his eyes, but his hands—
The sarcastic reply catches in his throat. It would be so easy to pull away, and Jason knows that Roy would let him laugh the whole thing off, pretend it had never happened—like years of heated glances, hands on chests a beat too long, morning wood, and jerking off a little too loud in the shower—but maybe just this once, after all these years, he could let himself have this. Maybe he is allowed.
Slowly, carefully, world-changingly, Jason threads his hands through Roy’s waves, and he feels Roy’s answering gasp. The softness is familiar—he’s been braiding Roy’s hair for over a decade now—but just letting himself touch, letting himself feel is a gift. He’s touching just to touch because he can.
Roy’s eyes burn into his, and in the softest whisper, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”
“You can do whatever you want to me,” Jason answers honestly.
Roy groans. “I might just take you up on that.”
Then, like he’s dreamed about for most of his life, Roy’s lips are gently pressed to his, tenderly slotting into place as if they were made to be there. Carefully, Jason parts his lips, dragging his bottom lip against Roy’s to hear him gasp, force him to press closer. There's a hint of tongue from Roy, and Jason answers by carefully biting Roy’s bottom lip in response. They’re savouring the moment, learning the sounds each other makes.
Careful. Chasing kisses. Fleeting.
Roy grips Jason’s hair and tugs, and all his control is lost.
He flips himself over to straddle Roy, grinding against him to feel his hardness. Their mouths are moving against each other now with unrestrained passion. Lips, and teeth, and tongue. Roy has one hand clutching at Jason’s back, the other has returned to grip his hair, as they move together.
There’s been so much build up to this moment, and for just a moment, he wonders why—
Suddenly, he’s too in his head. Jason breaks from Roy, placing two hands on his shoulders. “Why now?” he asks with a desperation. “What’s different about now?”
“Why not now?” insists Roy. Jason doesn’t think he imagines the insecurity there. “Why can’t it be now?”
“Did something change?” Jason continues, needing to know. “Did I—”
“No, darlin’. It’s—” For a moment, Roy looks away. The hesitancy is back in full force. Then a quiet determination. He swallows, takes a deep breath, leans a little back into their couch, and meets Jason with open eyes. “It’s been always for me.”
“Oh,” says Jason stupidly. The warmth returns to his chest. The hint of tears spring in the corner of his eyes, and the words catch in his throat. “It’s… It’s been always for me too.”
“I didn’t want to rush you,” Roy explains.
A laugh escapes Jason. “I’d hardly call twenty years rushing me.”
He expects Roy to laugh with him, but instead, a sad smile forms on his lips instead, full of honesty and the remnants of his abandonment issues. “I’m not the guy people stay for, Jay. I’m the loved and left type. And you can’t really call this—” He gestures between them before placing a warm hand over Jason’s heart. “—loving from afar. The stakes were too high, and it just never seemed like the right time. Sometimes, I’d think you were looking—”
“I was definitely looking.”
“—And I’d think about kissing you then and there—”
“I’d have let you. Any time, anywhere, I’d have let you.”
“—But I’d imagine it not working out, you leaving, and I just… I couldn’t risk it. Not unless I was sure, darlin’. You’re too important to me.”
“You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me now, Harper.” He quirks a smile, hoping the easy banter will help Roy get out of his head. “Have you seen the price of fuckin’ real-estate lately? You can’t buy an apartment like this without selling an organ, and I’m pretty sure the bank doesn’t take recycled materials.”
At this, Roy does smile. “I’d hardly call you used goods. Now, me on the other hand—”
“You’d better not be about to slut shame my—”
“Your what?”
There’s joking, but there’s hope there too in the inches between their faces, his arms still holding Roy a short distance away.
“My…” What were they now? Still roommates, best friends, and Jason hopes, something more, but… there isn’t exactly a label that fits their situation, and what if Roy doesn’t want to label it or— Jason swallows, and lands on the only word that fits. “My Roy.”
“Oh, your Roy?”
The smile in his voice tells him he hasn’t fucked up, so he doubles down. He’s too fucking old for insecurities.
“Yeah. Mine.” His heart is beating a mile a minute. Brave. He’s being brave. Jason looks down at Roy’s lips, wets his own, and challenges, “What are you gonna do about it?”
There has never been a challenge Roy has backed down from. There’s a glint in his eye—he’s playing Jason’s game. “What I should have done twenty goddamned years ago.”
“Took you long enough.”
“You’re worth every moment.”
Roy kisses him again, and this time, there’s fire, but they aren’t burning themselves in it. They have the time to explore each other, to learn what they like. There’s a back and forth, a dance that they’re learning the steps to.
It takes no time to realize Roy likes him loud, likes to hear the noises he makes, and Roy is a quick study, finding the sensitive spot on his neck to mouth at, suck on. He’ll have a hickey in the morning, and he’ll wear it with pride. They both like to feel each other. Roy’s body is as familiar to him as his own, but he wants to explore it in this new way. He's burning for that closeness. He runs his hands along the bare of Roy’s back, and it’s so different than it had been only moments before. He feels his softness and his hardness, and it's all Roy.
It’s just kissing, but the fact that it’s Roy makes every sensation feel like burning under his skin. He feels dizzy with it. Light-headed.
When they finally part, breathing heavy against each other, Jason slides off Roy’s lap to sit next to him on the couch as they’ve done hundreds of times, except this time, he slots himself under Roy’s arm, laying his head on his chest. He smiles when he feels him press a light kiss to the top of his head.
Jason reflects again how they always end up pressed together at the end of the day; how a day doesn’t feel complete without their time together spent in near silence, just the two of them existing in the same space. This time, there’s a new weight to the air. A lightness to his chest and a heaviness to the space between them. Potential.
Thinking back to Roy’s hesitancy from early, he takes the hand that’s not around his shoulder in his own. He squeezes it and feels Roy’s answering squeeze in return.
He sees Roy stare at their hands for a moment. To the promise of their interlocked fingers, Roy asks, “You know I love you, right?”
Even though he suspected it, the words still take him by surprise. Of course Roy loves him—but that he’s in love with him?—that’s still so close to his dreams that he wants to pinch himself. But Roy wouldn’t say the words if he didn’t mean them. Somehow, this really is happening. He gets to have this.
Not a dream, but it feels like one all the same.
“I guess I do, yeah.” Jason feels himself choking up, but he still manages to say, “I love you too, Roy. Always.”
The words he’s been holding onto for too long, finally in the air. He feels them leave leave his mouth and a weight leaves his chest.
Instant relief.
Until Roy, still the faintest hint of insecurity in his voice asks, “Are you sure?”
And Jason explodes.
“Fuck, Roy, of course I’m sure!” and Jason’s maybe shouting it, but he can’t have Roy not believe him when he’s felt this way for so long. He stands up, throws his hands in the air. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was a teenager, and I’ve loved you since Qurac. I’ve been in love with you since I saw you with Lian the first time, and I’ve loved you more every fucking day of my life. You’re the best goddamned man I know, you and Lian are the best goddamned things to happen to me, and I can’t imagine my life without your stupid, beautiful face in it. So yeah, I’m fucking sure, Roy. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure.”
“Marry me,” Roy blurts out.
Jason’s mouth drops open. He looks for the lie; still can’t believe this is really happening. There isn’t one.
And frankly, Roy looks just as shocked, but he doubles down. “Jason Peter Todd, I’ve fought against my better judgment, my family’s dislike of yours, your family’s dislike of mine, your ex Kori, my ex Kori… your morning breath… but I’m willing to put them aside and ask you to end my agony.” Roy drops from the couch to one knee. “I love you. Most ardently. Please do me the honour of accepting my hand.”
“You did not just quote Pride and Prejudice to me,” Jason laughs, pulling Roy onto his feet. “When did you even memorize that?”
“You’ve made me watch it about a hundred times.” Roy still looks shocked at himself. “Sorry, maybe that was too fast—”
Jason comes unfrozen and cuts him off with a kiss. It’s the first time he’s kissed Roy, and he throws his whole self into it. He’s chasing Roy’s insecurities away with his lips. He grabs Roy’s ass and pulls it flush against himself; feels Roy gasp into his mouth; wishes he could somehow merge their two bodies into one by sheer power of will.
They’re standing now in their living room, making out like men half their age, and when they finally separate, it’s Jason now who brings their foreheads together.
“Of course I’ll marry you, you stupid beautiful man. Of course, I will.”
Roy flushes a pleasant pink underneath his freckles, and because he’s allowed, Jason kisses his cheek and leans in to whisper in his ear. “Since we’re engaged now… take me to bed?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
In a show of strength that goes straight to his dick, Roy scoops him up under the ass, and Jason loops his arms and legs around him to help, both of them laughing when Roy stumbles on their way to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Their bed.
In a night full of laughter, love, and fulfilled fantasies, Jason and Roy begin their always, together.