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“Hair’s getting long,” Jason murmurs against Slade’s mouth.
Slade hums his acknowledgment. “Gonna cut it tomorrow.”
I like it, Jason doesn’t say—because what does his opinion matter? It’s Slade’s hair. He just tangles his fingers a little further in Slade’s hair, determined to enjoy the length while it lasts. Slade hums again, this one sounding distinctively appreciative, and captures Jason’s mouth in another kiss.
It’s only been a few weeks since Slade left, but it feels like he’s been gone for months. He wonders if Slade felt the distance as keenly as Jason did—if he missed this as much as he did. A small, hopeful part of him thinks that he might have, the way Slade doesn’t pull away, not yet. It’s easy to lose track of time as they stand there, trading kisses back and forth, breathing the same air after so much time apart.
Finally, Slade pulls away. He doesn’t go far, his hands still on Jason’s hips, his face close enough that Jason could bridge the distance easily. “I need a shower,” he murmurs.
“Want company?” Clingy. He’s being clingy, he thinks—but Slade doesn’t seem to mind, something amused in the curve of his mouth. There’s something else, too; something a little worn around the edges of him.
“I’m never going to turn down the opportunity to see you wet and naked, kid.”
Jason’s face heats. He swats Slade’s chest and pulls away, Slade laughing quietly. His body feels cold without Slade to warm it. “I’ll go start the water.”
Slade goes to drop his bags in the bedroom while Jason gets the water started. He turns the dial slightly colder than he prefers, then lets it warm up while he gets out the towels. He chooses the softest, fluffiest ones he owns—the ones that ‘mysteriously’ turned up in his linen closet after he’d made an idle comment, once, about how the towels at home couldn’t compare to hotel towels.
Slade joins him a moment later, and they strip together.
It’s strange, almost, to strip with someone else without feeling the heat of desire coursing through his veins. (Or, well, without desire being the main motivation, because Jason can hardly help the low curl of want he feels just being in Slade’s presence.) Jason is no stranger to locker rooms, but this is different. There’s intimacy to it, and that leaves him feeling entirely out of his depth. But… as terrifying as it is, it’s thrilling too. He’s one of the few people who get to see Slade like this; naked and bare-faced, his eyepatch left on the sink counter.
Slade reaches a hand to test the water, and huffs a quiet laugh. “Not trying to boil us alive this time, huh, kid?” he teases as he steps under the spray.
Jason scowls at him—an expression he’s sure is ruined by the way his face has started to heat up again. He follows him inside, pulling the curtain shut behind him. “I run cold. Sue me.”
Slade laughs, his hands finding Jason’s waist and pulling him in. “I can think of more fun things to do to you,” he murmurs. “They’d probably warm you up a lot better than scalding yourself with hot water, too.”
Jason swats him again, and leaves his hand there, resting on Slade’s chest. Slade is warm under his touch; his skin firm, and covered in a layer of dark gray hair. “Shut up.” Hardly his most inspired comeback, but that’s fine, because Slade just laughs again, his hands tightening slightly on Jason’s hips.
“Make me,” he whispers.
Jason doesn’t hesitate to accept the invitation, stepping further into Slade’s space, sliding his fingers into Slade’s now-damp hair as he slots their mouths together. He half-expects Slade to take control of the kiss, to turn it into something more intense and fierce—but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls Jason closer, until they’re standing chest-to-chest, and kisses him slowly, sweetly. The gentleness of it sends a prickling warmth spreading through Jason’s chest. He hums softly.
This time it’s Jason who breaks the kiss—Slade nips his lip as he pulls away, hard enough to make him gasp.
Slade shifts, moving until Jason is the one with his back to the spray, and reaches for the soap. Jason washes his hair while Slade lathers up. Normally Slade would tease him about the way he watches him, but this time, all Jason gets is a brief, teasing smile. It doesn’t make him frown, exactly, but it does make him wonder.
Jason wouldn’t say something feels off, but there is… something, like he’d noticed earlier. Something about the way Slade is carrying himself, something about the fatigue in his eyes. Slade had told him before leaving that this contract was a little more challenging than his usual fare; one of the rare jobs that could actually test his talents.
Seems he was right.
It’s not very often that Jason sees Slade worn down. It makes him want to do something. To… help, if he can, the way Slade does for him.
Which is why, when it’s Slade’s turn to reach for the shampoo, Jason blurts: “You should— let me.” The sentences lurch their way out of Jason’s mouth; broken, fragmented, the rest of their pieces left to die in his throat.
There’s an incredulous look in Slade’s eye. “Wash my hair?” he asks, like Jason’s asked something nonsensical.
Jason’s face burns, his stomach twisting with the kind of embarrassment that could easily turn to humiliation. It’s tempting to play it off as a joke, but he forces himself not to; forces himself to press forward with all the courage he has and say: “Yeah. It’ll be nice.”
Nice. God, how much lamer can he get?
Slade is quiet for long enough that Jason really is about to brush it off this time, but then he shrugs, offering the shampoo to Jason. “If you want to.”
Jason takes it with a tentative smile. “I do.”
He can tell Slade doesn’t get it, but that’s hardly a first in their relationship. They don’t have to understand every little eccentricity or quirk.
Jason squirts a little shampoo into his palm, and rubs his hands together. As he does, Slade opens the shower curtain and grabs the shower chair, folding it out so he can sit in front of Jason. Smart. Jason kisses his temple in thanks before he starts running his fingers through Slade’s hair, massaging the shampoo into it. Occasionally, he lets his nails scrape against Slade’s scalp. Slade hums, leaning into the touch. It’s a soft, contented sound, but even more rewarding is the way Slade’s shoulders loosen; the way his face slackens.
Jason feels himself smile.
He works the shampoo into a lather before rinsing it out, careful not to let any run down Slade’s face. He cards his fingers through the strands a few times, just to make sure he’s gotten everything, and then he reaches for the conditioner. It leaves his hair soft and slippery, the strands quickly sliding through his fingers.
When he’s finished applying it, it’s easy to let his hands fall down to Slade’s neck. Even easier when Slade drops his head head forward obligingly. The move almost takes Jason’s breath away. There are people who would kill to be in his current position for one reason or another, but Jason is the one who’s here. Jason is the one who Slade trusts at his back, to have his hands on his neck. It’s a powerful, heady feeling.
One that makes his touch tentative at first, until he realizes just how much tension has gathered there. Jason presses harder, then, feeling around until he finds a spot that makes Slade groan. He bites his lip, a flush creeping under his skin, but keeps working at it, moving his thumb in slow, small circles while applying pressure until, finally, it loosens. The sound Slade makes leaves Jason’s skin tingling.
He follows the tension in Slade’s neck down to his shoulders, avoiding the larger, more troublesome knots in favor of smaller ones. For now, at least. Later, maybe, he can convince Slade to stretch out in bed and let Jason work out those larger spots, but right now… Right now, he only has as much time as the water heater will give him.
Slade is quiet as he works, save for the low, appreciative grunts and groans that leave Jason feeling warm all over. Eventually, though, the water does start to cool. It’s tempting to simply turn the dial up; try to extend their time as much as he can. Instead, Jason sweeps his palms over Slade’s neck, his shoulders, a silent cue that the massage is done for now. Slade takes it, rolling his shoulders and his neck before he straightens back up, and allows Jason to rinse the conditioner from his hair. He lingers as long as he can, running his fingers through Slade’s hair until the water runs clear. Then, finally, he steps away—back into the spray himself, to rinse out his own hair.
It takes a moment for Slade to rise. He rolls his shoulders again as he does, and Jason watches the interplay of his back muscles; the way they flex and twitch under Slade’s skin. There’s a hunger in his belly, but it’s quiet. Easily ignored.
Slade folds the chair away, and then faces him. There’s something—hazy in his eye, almost; something soft and quiet that Jason has only ever glimpsed before.
He turns, cutting off the shower and watching as the last suds of soap vanish down the drain. Then he steps out of the shower, passing Slade a towel before reaching for his own.
The silence between them is comfortable. There’s something contemplative about it, too, though; something that leaves Jason almost hesitant to break it. He does anyway. “You need to shave?”
Slade hums, running a hand over his jaw. “It’ll keep till tomorrow.”
Jason nods, and the silence falls again. He ties the towel around his waist. Slade doesn’t bother with such modesty, throwing his own towel over the curtain rod to hang dry—he never has. It doesn’t make Jason blush quite as much as it used to now. They brush their teeth together, side-by-side. The space in front of the sink wasn’t really made for two grown men to share, but they make it work.
Jason technically still has patrol in a few hours—though he’ll probably stick to a light run tonight; there’s nothing pressing to do that he’s aware of—but… There’s something about the mundanity of getting ready for bed with Slade that he can’t help but indulge in.
Besides, it won’t hurt him to brush his teeth now, or to take a short nap before he goes out. Unlike the rest of the bats, he’s not beholden to a strict schedule. If anything, being late just makes him that much more unpredictable.
Slade lets Jason have the bathroom first. Then Jason heads to the bedroom, where he throws on a pair of boxers. He hesitates before fishing out the oil. Slade might be too tired for this tonight, but… Jason wants to offer. If nothing else, he wants him to know that it’s on the table.
Not that Slade has ever hesitated to ask for what he wants before, but that’s— That’s different.
Slade, Jason has come to realize, is very forward, except for all the ways he isn’t. He’s so… secure in who he is as a person, and all of the good and bad that comes with it. So much so that for a long time, Jason never really doubted Slade’s assessment of himself.
He does doubt now.
Not because Slade is wrong, per se, but— Jason thinks there’s more to him than he lets himself see. Slade thinks he’s not capable of softness, of tenderness, but Jason has been on the receiving end of too much of it to agree. Slade takes care of him in a way that he never would have expected.
But it’s not just that. Slade also doesn’t… ask for softness. At first Jason had figured he just didn’t care for it, but… after waking up in Slade’s arms a few times, he figured that was probably wrong. The times they’ve had slower, gentler sex, or soft kisses would suggest otherwise, too. So it's not that he doesn’t like it. He just won’t ask for it.
Jason can speculate on why. He doesn’t think himself capable of giving it back, so he won’t ask for it first, or maybe he doesn't think he deserves it, or maybe he doesn't think anyone would want to— There are so many possibilities. None of them matter, really. What matters is: it’s one of the few things Slade won’t ask for.
Jason can—will—give it to him anyway.
A few moments after Jason settles in bed, leaning back against the pillows, Slade appears in the doorway. He doesn't say anything—doesn’t come in yet, either, just lingers there for a moment, eye on Jason. Admiring. Jason can feel himself flushing again.
Unlike Jason, Slade doesn’t bother putting anything on. He didn’t put his eyepatch back on either, Jason notes, and the thought warms him. He climbs over Jason, bracketing his body with his. Jason wraps his arms around him and shifts, welcoming the touch of Slade’s skin against his.
“Hi,” Jason murmurs, toying with the hair at Slade’s nape. “You know, I’m starting to think you might’ve missed me, or somethin’.”
Slade laughs, low and raspy. “I might’ve,” he says, and kisses him softly. Jason sighs into it.
“Might’ve missed you too.” He scratches lightly at Slade’s scalp—watches the way his eyelid flutters. “Mm… y’know. I started something in the shower.” He drags his fingers down the back of Slade’s neck. “I’d uh… be interested in continuing, if you want.”
Slade pulls back a little, studying him. His face has shuttered. Jason prides himself on being able to read Slade, but right now… He can’t.
He has to fight the urge to squirm. He makes himself stare back, as openly as he can.
“Sure,” Slade says, just as the silence is starting to stretch a little bit too long. “Might fall asleep on you.”
“I don’t mind.” Jason kisses the corner of his mouth, and then shoves at him. “Lie on your stomach.”
When Slade slides off of him, he takes his warmth with him and leaves Jason feeling a little colder in his absence. Slade takes one of the pillows and lays it flat before he lies down and crosses his arms under it. Jason grabs the oil off the nightstand, and hesitates for only a moment before straddling Slade’s hips and settles down.
The oil is something Slade brought over, ages ago. It smells like sandalwood, and warms up easily when Jason pours it into his hand. He rubs his hands together before smoothing his palms over Slade’s shoulders and down his back, spreading the oil over his skin. Slade’s skin is warm under his hands. The oil helps them almost glide over his skin, and he just barely hears Slade’s soft sigh under him, something in his shoulders already starting to loosen.
Again, Jason is almost overwhelmed by the trust; something swelling in his chest, feeling almost too big for the confines of his body. This time, Jason doesn’t apply all of his focus on any one particular spot. He starts at Slade’s waist and works his way upward, moving his hands in tight circles. Even knowing what to expect, there’s still something almost surprising at how much tension Slade is carrying. He feels as if he’s been sculpted from marble.
He goes over Slade’s back a few times, slowly increasing the pressure. Slade makes soft, pleased sounds under him—most of them are more breath than anything, sighs intermingled with the occasional quiet moan. Each one feels like a reward.
Eventually, he switches tactics—hunting down those knots again, using his knuckles and fingers to dig into them. Slade is louder, now; his low groans tinged with pain. When Jason checks in, though, he gets a rough, “Feels good, little bird,” that definitely doesn’t shoot straight to his core.
“Okay,” he says, and he’s sure Slade can tell by the waver in his voice that Jason is affected—but for once, he doesn’t tease him.
It’s easy for Jason to lose himself in it; his world narrows to the movement of his hands and the cues of Slade’s body. Nothing matters except the high that comes with the way Slade sounds when those knots finally loosen under Jason’s touch.
Before he knows it, nearly an hour has passed. Slade has nearly melted under him. His breaths come soft and slow, and there’s an ease to him that wasn’t there before. That hasn’t been in… a month at least, if not longer. Jason hums his own satisfaction, smoothing his hands down Slade’s back again, repeating those same circular motions as before. He only does one pass this time before stilling.
He goes to slide off of him—to get them some water, maybe, or just lie down beside him—but before he can get too far, Slade’s hand shoots out, faster than Jason can see even despite the laxness in his body, and grips his thigh. “Stay,” he says, the word half-swallowed by the pillow under his cheek.
“I’m not going far,” Jason tries, but Slade doesn’t budge. Jason sighs softly, but without heat. He bends instead, biting his lip as he slowly, carefully, drapes himself over Slade’s back. Slade hums, satisfied, and relaxes a little more under the weight of Jason’s body. His fingers slip from Jason’s thigh, allowing Jason to adjust himself slightly; shifting some of his weight off of Slade. Then he settles, his cheek resting against Slade’s shoulder.
It’s… nice. Slade radiates warmth under him. His skin is soft from the shower and the oil, and he smells fresh and clean and like something uniquely Slade. Something in Jason loosens, and he relaxes even more against Slade’s back, turning his face until his nose is pressed to Slade's skin.
Slade hums softly, content, his hand finding Jason’s and slotting their fingers together. He raises it to his mouth and kisses the backs of Jason's knuckles; gentle, tender, leaving Jason’s fingertips tingling. “So good to me,” he murmurs.
Jason shivers. The praise settles over him, leaving him feeling warm and pleased; a smile tugging at his lips. “Just returning the favor.” His voice comes out softer than he means.
Slade kisses Jason's knuckles again before resting their joined hands on the pillow beside him. Jason’s stomach does—something weird and pleasant.
“We really should drink something,” Jason tries—though by “we” he mostly means Slade. He doesn’t even attempt to move, though.
Slade hums his acknowledgment, but he doesn’t move either, apparently content to lie there, Jason draped over him like a blanket. Jason huffs, but it’s more from amusement than annoyance. It’s not the worst position to be in. Slade is a furnace under him, keeping him warm despite the chill at his back. He’ll have to move eventually—just enough to turn out the bedside light and pull the blankets up—but for now… he’s loose-limbed, comfortable. He doesn’t mind staying here for a while.