FIC: The Impossibility
FIC: The Impossibility (Bruce/Jason, 1/1)
by eggblue
Notes: Warnings for sex and dark stuff. AU for post-Crisis Jason, if he had survived the Joker. Batman and all owned by DC and not me. Slash itself made me think of this. Stories are usually the easiest to write when I don’t mind killing off the characters in my head. Not necessarily death fic, just going for the full kill and not holding back for future use. Very strange. Anyway, feedback is nice! I’m trying to get better, so any criticism is welcome. Actually, I’m trying to quit. Really hard to say at this point. My brain often doesn’t agree with me.
*
It was as if they’d been searching since the beginning. Searching for the thing, that horrible thing that would make them go to their heads and stay there.
Lonely boys, orphans. Two bodies - both damaged, strong, not quite right. City boys grown up in the dark. As dark as this Crime Alley. One wore a black suit that encased him hard against the rain. One wore the barest of sheets, sleepless in the humid night.
The older one in black did not want to think of his oldest, first son. He did not want to remember him cold in the ground. He was so close to the room…
He was already in the room in his mind. The room where the boy lived. He was an older boy now, and different. He’d heard he walked with just a limp now, the shrapnel pocks on his face not as deep as they’d once been. The seizures only rare. He’d heard his name on the lips of street people - his own people. Jason in room 1016 of that cheap motel. Jason never leaving that room for long. Jason making money he don’t need in that big bed. Jason waiting for his daddy to come and bring the real bucks back.
The Bat Man, the big man, knew his strays. The others were gone. Only the first had remained, struck down now. Tried to save the world. Always knew he would. Always knew he would try and one day… The rest of them would be proud. He had loved the boy. Pride was too hard to strangle sometimes. Now it strangled him like a nightmare strangles. Never erased. Just like this boy before him.
Jason was hiding from his killing pride, he knew. Scarred and wounded, hiding his own pride behind those eyes still beautiful. Such rare eyes. His soul sharp as a blade. So beautiful. Some images don’t go away. Some images burn deep holes, scorch and fallow. Don’t know why, don’t know…
When Jason saw his face again, the black curve the weak flesh of his face the blank eyes, he arched across the bed in a body scream. Silent frustration, wanting to grab hold of the ceiling, mentally throwing away the room, the world, in one motion. Taking Batman inside and fighting at the same… The familiar pleasure, he knew. The pain of hope. But why now, why now, why now…
Batman lifted his hands. Alright. Alright, I know, I know… (I die too) I know. It was the difference between the familiarity of Jason in his head and the boy (no, older now) in the room. Dick would have wanted him to find someone human. No, someone real. But that was unfair.
He brought the suit with him. That was all he needed to know. It was already known, decided. It was real.
He hadn’t spoken to the boy (the memory) in so long. Just watched. Just felt him in the safe place he goes. The place he needs, just one detail is all…
“Will you… put it on?”
The boy could choose a piece of it. It would be enough. He watched those soft eyes dissect him, harden and go soft again. Maybe he was deciding too which was more real.
Boys in the suit. Boys in their heads.
Boys in the real place. Boys in the safe place.
Either one, he wanted to stay here. Don’t make me go back. I just want to feel this. What you’re feeling right now. Now. Robin.
The mask? No, can’t don’t want to cover his eyes. White star in his hair over part of the scar. Holes over his cheek, left side of his body, all over his legs, those scars… Mouth full, gathered too tightly at the left corner. Still sweet to him. The sweetest, the most open, the curious…
Not the shorts. Never cover him up, never hide it again, the hard give of his skin, the paths of scars that lead inside, the veins under white turning pink and red, the reaching of him on a city boy who never leaves, who hasn’t seen the world outside of them. Not since the first moment he’d ever had to leave his own body and go to that place where Batman is, always is.
And Batman knows that place where the boy always is, green mask and soft lips, those legs that kick, smell of sharp sweat and new synthetics of the uniform. Release waits there, and familiarity and safety, only safety.
“Just… the gauntlets. This once.” He was pleading. The boy frowned. In his head, Batman didn’t plead. Make it stop then. He took the long, soft gloves. The old pair, with only knuckle guards. A perfect fit over his hands. Not his hands. Like putting on someone else’s dream. That turned into yours.
Batman growled. Stalked. Only Jason, only Robin, only boy left here. Only here hope was still painful. They wanted it because they wanted each other. Nothing else to believe in. Nothing else to be worth it. Hide from the rest up in this hotel room darker than the night of the city.
Will you always be this to my eyes? Will I ever forget this?
Robin’s eyes prayed for their ignorance. Batman revealed himself, removing his codpiece. He was a rusty nail on a black monolith. Robin bit at his weakness, his hard flesh, to bring forgetfulness. Forget how to be me. Remember how to be them.
Robin cried deep in his throat, vibrating, hitting the suit where his fists and head could reach. Bash his brain. Again. Make it work this time.
Batman crouched over his Robin and bucked back. Ramming each other, making it fit. He dug down between the boy tracing the scars between his hole, the soft skin just beneath, enjoying slowly, playing. Robin sucked in deep on the off-stroke, the silent moment before the next planned movement, and they froze together like a full-body whine and Batman dug two fingers in and grabbed and Robin pulsed his mouth there, more and more.
He let go of Robin and moved. In his mind he was already there. Robin beneath him, gauntlets on his back, feet pressing on his chin, his face, toes in his hair, catching the corner of his eyes, the unsmiling crow’s feet, the broken baby toe, arch of his foot between his teeth, crying out to hurry and finish it, childish impatience, frustrated whining and twisting and caught again… Too much. He left the mask on, knowing that his partner was seeing just the same. The look in his eyes of violence underneath him. Robin’s vision of the villain that saves. Robin’s need to be wise, to not be naïve, to not be young, to believe and not be punished.
But he was so hard and needful to the point of blindness. The one who was gone now would not stop him. The truths he believed about them all were buried away. This was no longer wrong. This was now plain truth.
Truth in the grip of flesh around his cock. Truth in the feet braced on the top of his cowl. Truth in the green gauntlet between the boy’s teeth, ripping out. Their bodies slipping together like greased plastic. All the way in, then thrust deeper, the shortest of strokes. The rawest kind of using, needing every tiny nerve to scream out the guilt and loss and pain in the hope of his hard-on. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to have in the world. Futile, needy, unconscionable.
Then he thrust hard and bit into an ankle like a hunter. Robin went taut then limp, his free leg floating in the air with his gasps. Batman came deep in him, eyes closed.
In the calm, he could remember.
Jason’s fault. A room like this one. A boy on a dirty mattress, whole place smelling like musty dogs and chemicals. Place piled with balled-up t-shirts and comics and death metal cassette bootlegs. Boy with all black hair and hard blue eyes that looked scared and laughed at him all at once. When he’d seen Robin and the possibility of what he’d just done join together in one single image. The first time this had seemed real. The first time he understood his own true reasoning. The way he’d laughed at the chaos and torture of his dreams. When he was so innocent as to doubt this, to think he was strong enough to resist the pull, the constant imagining of what it would be…
“What is your name, son?” he would say.
“It’s Jason,” he would answer.
“Jason,” he would repeat the name. “Jason…” Not Jason. Robin. Maybe what Robin had always meant to be...
Batman opened his eyes. He took a deep breath, felt his need melt down to a harmless nub, nudging at the back of his mind. “I have to go.”
Jason glanced at him with slitted eyes. He’d heard the stories. He knew about Dick. “Yeah.” Lit half a cigarette found on the table. Fanned the match dead. “The other guy ever coming back? You know, the one with the money and the last name and all.”
Batman looked down at him from the cowl unsympathetically. “I don’t think so.” He caught the hint and dropped several hundred beside the black-scarred ashtray. It would be put away under the floorboards with the rest. Never used.
Jason shrugged with a closed-eyed sneer. “He wasn’t that nice to me. Anyways…” Took a drag, tapped his leg. “Liked you better.”
“Hmm.” Batman preferred to let Jason’s implications rest. It was safer. “Do you know anything about the girls found on 49th Avenue?”
“Nope, not my part of town. I like to stay close to home, you know -- with the people I know.”
Crime alley. Home.
Jason took a last drag. “But you don’t need me anymore.” He ground it out hard, down to the filter and bent. “You got all the time you want now.”
Batman paused for countless seconds and listened to the open window. Then leapt down the fire escape to the rain and the perfect memory of the streets.
What the boy said wasn’t true. He needed Jason, only Jason, because Jason knew his secrets. All of them.
Jason knew Batman. Jason was the last, the only, Robin.
They both knew Bruce. Bruce without Batman would be something monstrous. Endless flow of drugs, stranger street boys, dark dreams, darker places.
”Put this on.”
Mask. Boots. Shorts. Gauntlets.
Never-Robins. Nether-Robins. Mockery. Then death. Non-stop sweetness.
Batman was an outlet for temptation made real. Robin was his receiver.
Bruce finally sat at the throne of it all. Waiting threat. Ruling the madhouse from inside.
The End
by eggblue
Notes: Warnings for sex and dark stuff. AU for post-Crisis Jason, if he had survived the Joker. Batman and all owned by DC and not me. Slash itself made me think of this. Stories are usually the easiest to write when I don’t mind killing off the characters in my head. Not necessarily death fic, just going for the full kill and not holding back for future use. Very strange. Anyway, feedback is nice! I’m trying to get better, so any criticism is welcome. Actually, I’m trying to quit. Really hard to say at this point. My brain often doesn’t agree with me.
*
It was as if they’d been searching since the beginning. Searching for the thing, that horrible thing that would make them go to their heads and stay there.
Lonely boys, orphans. Two bodies - both damaged, strong, not quite right. City boys grown up in the dark. As dark as this Crime Alley. One wore a black suit that encased him hard against the rain. One wore the barest of sheets, sleepless in the humid night.
The older one in black did not want to think of his oldest, first son. He did not want to remember him cold in the ground. He was so close to the room…
He was already in the room in his mind. The room where the boy lived. He was an older boy now, and different. He’d heard he walked with just a limp now, the shrapnel pocks on his face not as deep as they’d once been. The seizures only rare. He’d heard his name on the lips of street people - his own people. Jason in room 1016 of that cheap motel. Jason never leaving that room for long. Jason making money he don’t need in that big bed. Jason waiting for his daddy to come and bring the real bucks back.
The Bat Man, the big man, knew his strays. The others were gone. Only the first had remained, struck down now. Tried to save the world. Always knew he would. Always knew he would try and one day… The rest of them would be proud. He had loved the boy. Pride was too hard to strangle sometimes. Now it strangled him like a nightmare strangles. Never erased. Just like this boy before him.
Jason was hiding from his killing pride, he knew. Scarred and wounded, hiding his own pride behind those eyes still beautiful. Such rare eyes. His soul sharp as a blade. So beautiful. Some images don’t go away. Some images burn deep holes, scorch and fallow. Don’t know why, don’t know…
When Jason saw his face again, the black curve the weak flesh of his face the blank eyes, he arched across the bed in a body scream. Silent frustration, wanting to grab hold of the ceiling, mentally throwing away the room, the world, in one motion. Taking Batman inside and fighting at the same… The familiar pleasure, he knew. The pain of hope. But why now, why now, why now…
Batman lifted his hands. Alright. Alright, I know, I know… (I die too) I know. It was the difference between the familiarity of Jason in his head and the boy (no, older now) in the room. Dick would have wanted him to find someone human. No, someone real. But that was unfair.
He brought the suit with him. That was all he needed to know. It was already known, decided. It was real.
He hadn’t spoken to the boy (the memory) in so long. Just watched. Just felt him in the safe place he goes. The place he needs, just one detail is all…
“Will you… put it on?”
The boy could choose a piece of it. It would be enough. He watched those soft eyes dissect him, harden and go soft again. Maybe he was deciding too which was more real.
Boys in the suit. Boys in their heads.
Boys in the real place. Boys in the safe place.
Either one, he wanted to stay here. Don’t make me go back. I just want to feel this. What you’re feeling right now. Now. Robin.
The mask? No, can’t don’t want to cover his eyes. White star in his hair over part of the scar. Holes over his cheek, left side of his body, all over his legs, those scars… Mouth full, gathered too tightly at the left corner. Still sweet to him. The sweetest, the most open, the curious…
Not the shorts. Never cover him up, never hide it again, the hard give of his skin, the paths of scars that lead inside, the veins under white turning pink and red, the reaching of him on a city boy who never leaves, who hasn’t seen the world outside of them. Not since the first moment he’d ever had to leave his own body and go to that place where Batman is, always is.
And Batman knows that place where the boy always is, green mask and soft lips, those legs that kick, smell of sharp sweat and new synthetics of the uniform. Release waits there, and familiarity and safety, only safety.
“Just… the gauntlets. This once.” He was pleading. The boy frowned. In his head, Batman didn’t plead. Make it stop then. He took the long, soft gloves. The old pair, with only knuckle guards. A perfect fit over his hands. Not his hands. Like putting on someone else’s dream. That turned into yours.
Batman growled. Stalked. Only Jason, only Robin, only boy left here. Only here hope was still painful. They wanted it because they wanted each other. Nothing else to believe in. Nothing else to be worth it. Hide from the rest up in this hotel room darker than the night of the city.
Will you always be this to my eyes? Will I ever forget this?
Robin’s eyes prayed for their ignorance. Batman revealed himself, removing his codpiece. He was a rusty nail on a black monolith. Robin bit at his weakness, his hard flesh, to bring forgetfulness. Forget how to be me. Remember how to be them.
Robin cried deep in his throat, vibrating, hitting the suit where his fists and head could reach. Bash his brain. Again. Make it work this time.
Batman crouched over his Robin and bucked back. Ramming each other, making it fit. He dug down between the boy tracing the scars between his hole, the soft skin just beneath, enjoying slowly, playing. Robin sucked in deep on the off-stroke, the silent moment before the next planned movement, and they froze together like a full-body whine and Batman dug two fingers in and grabbed and Robin pulsed his mouth there, more and more.
He let go of Robin and moved. In his mind he was already there. Robin beneath him, gauntlets on his back, feet pressing on his chin, his face, toes in his hair, catching the corner of his eyes, the unsmiling crow’s feet, the broken baby toe, arch of his foot between his teeth, crying out to hurry and finish it, childish impatience, frustrated whining and twisting and caught again… Too much. He left the mask on, knowing that his partner was seeing just the same. The look in his eyes of violence underneath him. Robin’s vision of the villain that saves. Robin’s need to be wise, to not be naïve, to not be young, to believe and not be punished.
But he was so hard and needful to the point of blindness. The one who was gone now would not stop him. The truths he believed about them all were buried away. This was no longer wrong. This was now plain truth.
Truth in the grip of flesh around his cock. Truth in the feet braced on the top of his cowl. Truth in the green gauntlet between the boy’s teeth, ripping out. Their bodies slipping together like greased plastic. All the way in, then thrust deeper, the shortest of strokes. The rawest kind of using, needing every tiny nerve to scream out the guilt and loss and pain in the hope of his hard-on. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to have in the world. Futile, needy, unconscionable.
Then he thrust hard and bit into an ankle like a hunter. Robin went taut then limp, his free leg floating in the air with his gasps. Batman came deep in him, eyes closed.
In the calm, he could remember.
Jason’s fault. A room like this one. A boy on a dirty mattress, whole place smelling like musty dogs and chemicals. Place piled with balled-up t-shirts and comics and death metal cassette bootlegs. Boy with all black hair and hard blue eyes that looked scared and laughed at him all at once. When he’d seen Robin and the possibility of what he’d just done join together in one single image. The first time this had seemed real. The first time he understood his own true reasoning. The way he’d laughed at the chaos and torture of his dreams. When he was so innocent as to doubt this, to think he was strong enough to resist the pull, the constant imagining of what it would be…
“What is your name, son?” he would say.
“It’s Jason,” he would answer.
“Jason,” he would repeat the name. “Jason…” Not Jason. Robin. Maybe what Robin had always meant to be...
Batman opened his eyes. He took a deep breath, felt his need melt down to a harmless nub, nudging at the back of his mind. “I have to go.”
Jason glanced at him with slitted eyes. He’d heard the stories. He knew about Dick. “Yeah.” Lit half a cigarette found on the table. Fanned the match dead. “The other guy ever coming back? You know, the one with the money and the last name and all.”
Batman looked down at him from the cowl unsympathetically. “I don’t think so.” He caught the hint and dropped several hundred beside the black-scarred ashtray. It would be put away under the floorboards with the rest. Never used.
Jason shrugged with a closed-eyed sneer. “He wasn’t that nice to me. Anyways…” Took a drag, tapped his leg. “Liked you better.”
“Hmm.” Batman preferred to let Jason’s implications rest. It was safer. “Do you know anything about the girls found on 49th Avenue?”
“Nope, not my part of town. I like to stay close to home, you know -- with the people I know.”
Crime alley. Home.
Jason took a last drag. “But you don’t need me anymore.” He ground it out hard, down to the filter and bent. “You got all the time you want now.”
Batman paused for countless seconds and listened to the open window. Then leapt down the fire escape to the rain and the perfect memory of the streets.
What the boy said wasn’t true. He needed Jason, only Jason, because Jason knew his secrets. All of them.
Jason knew Batman. Jason was the last, the only, Robin.
They both knew Bruce. Bruce without Batman would be something monstrous. Endless flow of drugs, stranger street boys, dark dreams, darker places.
”Put this on.”
Mask. Boots. Shorts. Gauntlets.
Never-Robins. Nether-Robins. Mockery. Then death. Non-stop sweetness.
Batman was an outlet for temptation made real. Robin was his receiver.
Bruce finally sat at the throne of it all. Waiting threat. Ruling the madhouse from inside.
The End