Family Reunion

by scandalsavage (ao3)

It took surprisingly little time to track down the remnants of Black Mask's neurotoxin after returning to Gotham. Jason probably thought Wayne had destroyed it all. Kid was still, after everything he'd been through, far too trusting.

Willis had tried to teach him, tried to beat it into the thick-headed little brat, tried to show him... you can't rely on anyone but yourself. Everyone betrays you eventually.

Even family.

Especially family.

If his boy had learned that lesson, he wouldn't be in this predicament.

Jason hadn't even asked Wingman's name. Didn't know anything about him. Just... let him join up, no questions.

To be fair, Jason never trusted him, not really. Not the way he did the Miguel kid. But even Batman gets captured by his enemies, despite all his preparation. And the... close relationship between Miguel and Jason was why the kid was dismissed the moment Penguin reappeared.

Willis is sure the kid is still out there, looking for any sign of what Cobblepot did with the Red Hood. They'll cross that bridge if and when they come to it. Even if Miguel tries to go to Batman, Willis doesn't think Wayne will actually care that Jason is missing. He's watched closely since the billionaire scooped his son off the street, dressed the boy in green panties, and threw him at Gotham's worst. Watched Wayne nearly kill Jason when he first came back. Watched him nearly beat the kid to death for shooting Oz. He's sure Jason served a similar purpose for Wayne as he did for Willis himself. And Wayne has gotten himself new tools, leaving Willis to reclaim his old ones.

However, the Bat is moody, territorial, and possessive. He may come for Jason one day anyway.

For now, Willis sits with Cobblepot, his employer for the last two decades, in the spot reserved for him, for Penguin's top man, and enjoys the show.

His death had been a ruse that had paid off over and over again in the interim.

"Your boy always did look good tied up," Penguin squawks. "Even better now he's got a little more meat on his bones. Somethin’ ‘bout a big, macho, muscle man, oiled up and shoved into some shiny latex 'til his tits look like they're gonna pop is even better than throwing around some scrawny, crying kid."

Willis doesn't know if he agrees with that assessment. But he's aware of his own bias. He's not an enforcer. He's a behind the scenes kind of guy. He doesn't pick fights he can't win. Which means, on the rare occasions he has to get his hands dirty--or wants to--he prefers to pick them with smaller opponents. His own kid had been a convenient outlet, and Willis had developed a taste for it.

But then... Willis hasn't taken his turn yet. He's responsible for keeping an eye on Penguin's new pet and while he's more than welcome, he wants his official reunion with his son to be a little more... intimate. And he has to admit... the kid does look good out there.

Oswald's eyes are dark and hungry as they watch Jason get passed around the room, manhandled to his knees to suck a new cock or bent over a lap or a chair or a table to have his ass beat cherry red. His cock is caged up in a painful looking device that some of the men pause to twist tighter, his balls are bulging in the vice clamped around them. Swollen and angry, they've made an irresistible target for vicious slapping.

Jason doesn't need to be bound, the neurotoxin makes him Penguin's plaything. But the latex "bodysuit" allows for his arms to be bound together with built in buckles. Or to his legs. And right now, the wrists are connected to his ankles, pushing his obscene chest out so that the men can pinch and slap at his shiny new, sensitive nipple piercings.

Willis eyes the so-called "bodysuit". Everything from Jason's clavicle to his groin is cut out. Only his legs up to the v of his Adonis belt in front, and the curve of his ass in back, are covered, leaving his caged cock and balls exposed as well as his slick, hole stuff with a fat plug that traps Oz's first load inside him (the other men aren't allowed to remove it but they've been mercilessly tugging and smacking at it all evening). Then the material clings up his sides before it turns into a strap under his chest, goes around his pecs, leaving them exposed, before covering from the collarbone up to his jaw and down his arms. The sleeves and legs are closed off at the ends, making Jason's hands and feet useless. Around Jason's throat is a thick leather collar with tacky little penguins stamped marching around the surface, and attached to a matching leather leash that the men use to tug him around.

Finally, strapped over his face, is a leather harness with a large spider ring gag forcing his mouth wide enough for even the more... blessed men to comfortably fit through.

That big body, rippling with muscles and glistening in the dim neon pink and purple lighting of Cobblepot's private entertaining rooms deep under the Iceberg Lounge, is covered in splashes of thick, translucent white. So it's unsurprising, given the copious amount of come clinging to his eyelashes, caked in his hair, dripping down his face and chest, the men seem to have finally run out of steam. Jason stays obediently on his knees, mouth pried open, as one of the men ashes a cigarette on his tongue.

It's been a long time since Willis has seen his boy this wrecked. Though not as long as Jason might think. Willis remembers the first time, after he got his new face, that he picked up a starving little street whore, promising him a meal and good amount of cash. He didn't say the meal was 8 of Penguins goons coming down his throat or that he'd spend six hours getting the life fucked out of him only to be thrown out the alley entrance, still wet and leaking before having $300 tossed at him. Willis had become a regular after that, even if Jason had tried to avoid him the first few times before accepting the inevitable. Until Wayne picked him up.

"I think that's enough for now," Oswald chirps, getting to his feet. The men leap to their feet, tucking their empty balls and flaccid dicks back into their slacks. "Continue doing stand up work, gentlemen, and you can count on further rewards."

A couple of the men throw a mean smirk filled with filthy, cruel promises at the boy on the floor. But his eyes are glazed over, vague purple hue to the whites.

Penguin stares down at Jason until the door closes behind the hired muscle. Then he slaps the bound man's face hard. "Snap out of it," Oz barks and immediately Jason looks more alert even if he doesn't even twitch to try to get off his feet. With both Cobblepot's and Willis' will forcing his submission through technovirus, Jason doesn't stand a chance.

He looks like a kicked puppy, glaring up at them with his tear-streaked face spotted with thick globs of come.

Taking a leaf from the goons playbook, Oswald taps his cigar against Jason's teeth until the little block of ash falls into the kid's mouth.

"Thought you'd fuck me over, huh kid? Didn't know about my secret weapon here, did ya?" Oz nods toward Willis, Wingman, as Jason knows him. Bright teal eyes meet Willis' pale blues, and the fire there says he'd peel their skin from their flesh if he was able.

"He's yours for the next few hours," Oz says, smacking Jason again before turning for the door. "Just bring him to me cleaned up when you're through."

When they're alone, Willis detaches the wrists of the latex... outfit, from the ankles, removes the harness from around Jason's head, then helps him stand.

For all that he's grown, he's still smaller than his old man. Good.

"Follow me," he commands and smiles when Jason's body jerks to do his bidding despite the scowl. "Feel free to run your mouth, if you wa--"

"I'm going to put a bullet in the head of every single person who touches me," Jason snarls immediately. "A real one. Actually aimed to kill."

Ah. Well, that answers that question. Willis knew his son wasn't so incompetent that he'd not kill a person at point blank range if he really wanted to.

"What's the goal here, exactly?" Jason asks as they turn a corner leading from the private club room to the large suite that functions as Willis' home. Oz has a separate house in a respectable part of Gotham, but he prefers staying at the casino when he can help it, and his lieutenants live there too. "You wormed your way in with me to get me back for shooting your boss?"

"Something like that."

Jason's lip curls. "Penguin is scum," he snarls, voice rough and cracking from the abuse his throat just took.

Wills grins. "He is. But he's my kind of scum."

With just his mind, Willis makes Jason fill the giant tub that has never been used. Then he nudges the boy back to the floor.

For all his bluster, once Jason is on his knees he won't meet Willis' gaze and his breathing increases.

"It's obvious you don't remember me," he says softly, taking Jason's by the chin and tilting his head back until he has no choice but to look up. "You wouldn't have let me worm my way in if you had. Have I really changed so much?"

The kid's eyes narrow. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Despite everything he just did under the spell of the technovirus, Jason's cheeks bloom red when he gets the unspoken order to lean in and use his teeth to pull down the zipper of Willis' slacks.

"Let's see," he says, playing with a dry strand of the boy's hair as hot breath pants over the cotton of his boxers. He reaches down to pull himself out. "You were probably 10 or 11 the first time you met me in this face."

He lets his cock, hard and heavy, flop against his son's face. Savors the way his boy sneers up at him without recognition before squinting and tentative familiarity dawns on his still youthful features, falling in horror.

"You... how do you... how do you even recognize me?"

That makes Willis smile as he takes his cock in hand and smears the precome on the tip over Jason's lips before making him open that well-used mouth with a silent command.

"My sweet, stupid boy," he rumbles, Jason unwillingly beginning to lick along his shaft and around the head. Willis doesn't let him break eye contact. "I've always kept an eye on you. That was just the first time you saw me after you thought I'd died, after Catherine died. My face may have changed, but you've known me your whole life."

At the mention of Catherine, Jason's face twists in anger.

"What's the matter, son," he taunts, pushing his dick past the kid's lips, forcing the brat to moan and suck on it like he really wants it. Like he used to when he thought getting Willis off with his mouth would spare his cute little ass. "You don't recognize the cock that made you?"

Jason's eyes go wide as saucers and he manages to jerk back a little, overriding the mind control for a fraction of a heartbeat. The concentrated will that must have taken is pretty impressive. Willis doubts he'll be able to do it again but still, better staff than sorry. He presses into Jason's mind even more completely, taking a tighter grip. Then, without a word, bucks his hips forward and buries his cock down his son's throat.

Jason sputters and gags the way he used to when he was little and first learning how to swallow a dick. It's so different from the practiced whore that Willis had gotten used to before Wayne snatched Jason away, so different from the show Jason put on earlier, that Willis thinks his nostalgia may have sent an unconscious order to the younger man through the link of the virus.

After a moment though, the kid takes it like a champ. Willis pumps in and out of those sweet, plump lips and the tight, wet heat of his son's throat, getting a little lost in the memories. It really has been too long since he's had his boy. Still gives the best head north of the Sprang. Still sucks his cock just right, just the way he was taught.

It's so fucking hard to pull out before he pops. But as much as he wants to watch his son gulp down all the little siblings that will never be, he wants to do this right. So he gives a few rough thrusts then pushes Jason away from him, lets him tumble back against the side of the tub, panting heavily.

"Y-your ly-lying," Jason chokes out, silent tears running down his cheeks, after he catches a bit of his breath. His voice is utterly demolished, every word sounds like it's been dragged across sandpaper.

This time, Willis doesn't bother with ordering Jason to do anything, he pulls the kid off the floor and manhandles to the counter, bending him over the marble top. With one hand, he tangles his fingers in the boy's messed hair, and jerks his face up to look in the mirror. With the other, he toys with the plug holding his boy open for him, pushes it in, pulls back just far enough for it to tug at the tight ring of muscle, rolls it up and down until Jason's knees start to shake.

"It's sweet you wanna avenge me, all things considered," Willis says quietly, directly into Jason's ear, lips brushing at the shell. "I figured after that time with Roland and his boy you wanted me to drop dead."

Jason chokes on air. Willis makes him meet his gaze in the mirror. "N-no..."

"I double-crossed Two-Face for Oswald," Willis explains. Jason yelps when he rips the plug out, screams when Willis squeezes his aching, squashed balls, before sliding his belt out of their loops. "I needed to disappear. Oz faked my death, sent me to this top secret lab for special experiments. And here I am--"

He folds the belt in half and whips is down over Jason's already bruised, red ass. It gets him lovely shout, even if the register is deeper and less youthful than his memories tell him it should be.

"--right where I started--"

He hits him again, watching in the mirror as tears spring to the younger man's eyes. Eyes that can't look away from Willis' own thanks to the mind control virus. Black Mask sure knew his shit.

"--beating my ungrateful slut of a son."

Leaning back a little farther to really get his weight behind it, Willis brings the belt down over his boy's balls, bulging out from their metal vice, already so sensitive and throbbing from extended torture, three more times in quick succession.

Jason shrieks in agony. Tears pour down his ruddy cheeks like little fountains and his mouth hangs open well after the sound of his screams give way to ragged, desperate gasps for air.

And still Jason is forced to look at him in the mirror.

"St-stop," he whispers, pleads, "Please..."

Willis drags the leather strap over the inflamed skin of his son's backside, careful to trail lightly over his brutalized sack just to hear the shrill whine that rips free of the kid's ruined throat.

That sounds more like the boy he remembers.

"I know you haven't forgotten how to ask properly," Willis leers at Jason's reflection.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut for the moment Willis allows it before forcing those teal eyes back up. He'll never forgive Wayne for getting his kid murdered, for the green that taints the blue that once matched Willis' own.

The boy swallows, trying to work moisture back into his abused throat. "You... it... it's r-really you. You're... you're alive. A-all that t-time I was on the streets... and you... you..."

Left him there. Stalked the corner his son worked, paid a pittance to fuck his own kid, to watch others fuck his own kid, paid a measly extra $20 when they were so brutal he could barely walk out.

There's rage and hate in Jason's eyes, as there should be. But there's also betrayal and heartache.

Like the kid somehow expected more from him.

Willis raises his arm, high enough Jason can see the belt in the mirror. "If you can't remember, I'm happy to beat you 'til you do. Just like old times."

"No!" Jason chokes. "No, please... p-please..."

Willis waits, gives him a second to collect himself. Yanks harshly on his pretty, ruined black curls when it takes too long.

"D... d-dad... please st-stop," Jason manages to blubber through thick sobs.

Dropping the belt, Willis presses his hand between the boy's asscheeks, spreads him open and presses the head of his cock to his son's slick hole.

"You want me to stop beating you, boy, you better give me something better to do."

Another prolonged moment of noisy, guttural weeping. Sighing, Willis rolls his hips forward, prodding insistently at Jason's entrance. The kid had always been kind of thick. Needed the encouraging nudge.

"A-anything," he finally gasps. "P-please, dad, any-anything else."

Willis frowns. Before he "died" he had Jason trained up. The boy knew to ask to be fucked. Specifically. But it has been a long time and he's pretty eager to feel the clench of that slutty little hole around him again.

"Good enough for now," he growls, spearing into his son's body all the way to the root, in one harsh shove. It drives the air out of Jason, and Willis uses the hand in the boy's hair to shove his face into the marble counter while he sets a pace brutal enough to keep Jason from catching his breath.

He hadn't really expected everything to work out this well.

But it is good to finally, truly, be home.