The Fever
It was a dark and stormy night.
No, really.
It was 1:00 Antemediodia.
There was even a severe thunderstorm warning.
So yeah, an average Sunday night in Gotham.
Jason Todd is used to getting shot. Getting stabbed. Getting tased.
That's what his armor is for. It's bulletproof. It's blade-proof. It's shockproof.
He's not used to getting shot or stabbed and it not hurting. Sure, his bulletproof armor blocks bullets, but it's not like that never leaves a bruise. Knives don't usually get through his armor, but it has weak spots and it's not unusual to get a new scar or two every few weeks. The shockproofing is WayneTech though – and personally customized. He's never had a problem with that ever since he got those upgrades.
Needless to say, he wasn't expecting to be overpowered and have the barrel of an assault rifle emptied against his throat while barely feeling it – or for his vision to be clear through the rush of green and the mob brutes to practically stand still while he tore them limb from limb.
It's Monday afternoon now.
He's given up on repairing his body armor – it's pretty flexible, but he'd sacrificed a moderate amount of mobility for extra protection. In his apparent burst of pit rage, he moved a little too freely and shredded some of his armor simply by using his full range of motion a bit too quickly.
He's laying on his couch trying to focus on his breathing to make sure he keeps the unusually mild pit rage at bay when his kitchen window opens. He silences his silent alarms with the press of a button and shuts his eyes in frustration, preparing to deal with his current intruder.
This isn't the first time a half-Kryptonian has broken into his safehouse and it won't be the last.
But as he closes his eyes, he hears the intricate details of a slightly elevated bass heartbeat and a muffled frustrated huff.
How cute. Superboy's come over to beg him for a hate-fuck.
Again.
In his defense, it works about half the time.
"Hey, are you okay? You look like you're running a fever."
Deeper voice than Kon's.
A glance up shows Jason the visage of a hulking blonde with black sclerae and a masculine supermodel face.
"What are you doing here, Match?" Jason says lazily. "If you're aching for a twinsies threesome, go find Zar."
Match pouts and glances to the side. "I'm not in the mood. Kon and I had another fight." Then Match zeros in on Jason again and narrows his eyes, almost suspiciously. "You have a fever. A bad one. How are you even conscious?"
Jason blinks at him. "I feel fine. It's probably just my Lazarus Syndrome acting up. I had a pretty bad episode. I tore sixteen assholes apart last night. I even ripped their heads from their bodies with my bare hands."
Match snorts.
"Bet you wish you'd had a duffle bag."
Jason closes his eyes as if in pain.
He kind of is.
"It wasn't intentional. Some of them prob'ly deserved it. Most of them didn't. And I didn't mean to kill any of them. I haven't completely lost it like that in two years. It just happened so fast…. The pit rage was different this time. I remember it clear as day. I was definitely seeing green, but… it was just… different."
Match nods solemnly. "Sorry for being a dick about it. I'm still getting used to this whole… everything."
Jason looks at him sympathetically. "I know."
He does know. It's only been a month since Match was cured of his Bizzaro Syndrome, and before that, he'd spent the first two years of his life as a brainwashed assassin.
Then Jason opens his arms in invitation for Match to lie down with him and says, "Wanna crash here tonight? I hafta work later so I'm up for a nap if—"
Suddenly, Match has cradled him against his chest and is carefully laying him down in bed.
Kon, Match and Zar superspeed him around enough that his stomach lurching and head spinning barely bothers him anymore.
It doesn't bother him at all this time.
He doesn't even feel it.
The next thing he knows, a nude, six-foot-five Kryptonian bodybuilder is snuggled on top of him with his face buried in his neck.
Usually, Match's skin feels hot against him.
Right now…
…it doesn't.
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Jason wakes up to cool hands on his side, a cool leg wrapped over his own and Match still cuddled on top of him and snoring. It makes him smile. Roy calls him a clone-slut, but Jason wouldn't change it for the world.
Roy sleeps with all four clones Jason does so it's not like he has a leg to stand on.
"Mmm, there's our pretty boy," says Kaine.
Jason grins and turns his head to kiss Kaine on the mouth. "I'm the brute. Match is the hunk, Roy's the ruffian and you're the bad boy. Kon's the prettyboy."
"We're exactly the same size and have the same face," Match mutters sleepily.
"It's about attitude," says Jason. "Kon's a fuckboy himbo. You're—"
"—a mean fuckboy himbo," Kaine says emphatically. "And you, Jase, need to get your head out of your ass and realize you're a pretty brute. And brilliant tactician or not, you're a fuckin' gym bro."
"Yeah, if I didn't own my own gym equipment and work out at home. Aren't you supposed to patrol in Houston this week?"
"Hummingbird's got it covered," Kaine explains.
"Finally letting her out of the nest?" asks Match.
"Pshh. I couldn't keep her 'in the nest' if I tried. Justice is watching her back. They're trying to coach each other with psionics or something. Her telekinesis is getting better and he's started showing signs of telepathy."
"Hence, you staying across the continent from him," Match mumbles smugly.
Jason laughs. "I bet he'd see one thought in your mind and nope right out of that."
"Not gonna risk it," says Kaine.
"Just imagine him in lingerie when you see him," Match says with a laugh.
"Not risking that either. The asshole would probably start buying me roses. Hey, Jason? Why are you the same temperature as a Kryptonian?"
"Lazarus syndrome. It usually improves my senses, reflexes, speed and strength and gives me a fever, but this time, it's insane. Episode's over but I swear I can hear a million conversations at once right now. I've never been able to hear this well before."
"X-K exposure, maybe?" Kaine asks as he shoves Match over and slides his cool skin over Jason, kissing his jaw.
"X-Kryptonite doesn't change your body heat this drastically," Match says in confusion.
"You should probably get checked out before you do your thing tonight," says Kaine. "If you've got a power boost or pit rage changes or something—"
"He's right," Match says firmly. "I'll drag you to the Fortress myself and get gramps to check you out."
Jason groans.
"Jor-El's an asshole," Jason says in distaste. "We'll sneak into the Batcave while Bruce is out. Alfie made sure my credentials still work. And for some goddamn reason, the Replacement's got my back."
Kaine huffs a laugh. "You know he's got a total man-crush on you, right?"
"Whatever,"Jason says dismissively. "He's dating Spoiler or Kon or someone, right?"
"Man-crushes aren't usually sexual," says Kaine. "They're usually about admiration or hero-worship."
"Nah, some civvie," Match says fondly, answering Jason while ignoring Kaine. "Complete wuss, but the dude's a doll. Prettier than Starfire."
"That's impossible," Kaine says as he starts worshipping Jason's pecs with his mouth. "No male could ever out-pretty Starfire — except Kon."
"Hey!" Match says indignantly, finally waking up fully.
"Truth, bro," Kon says from the doorway. He's got egotistical, suave charm written all over him as he poses leaning against the doorway.
"Shut up, strip and get your ass in the air," Jason snaps. "If I have to deal with Bruce later, I need to bust a nut now, and I'm not gonna deal with your bullshit, Clone-Boy."
Kaine and Match snicker as Kon's jaw drops. He doesn't get why he's the only one with that stupid nickname. Then his brain catches up to the fact that he's just been ordered to bend over in a bed with his three favorite dom tops and he smiles gleefully, a whirlwind later having followed Jason's demand to a T.
An hour later, he's wondering why Jason made his ass more sore than the other two combined.
A few moments after that, he's begging Jason for another hate-fuck.
Match happily obliges him while Kaine and Jason get ready to head to the Batcave.