FIC: Control 1/1 Fandom: DCU Batclan, Rated:R, SLASH
Title: Control 1/1
Fandom: DCU, Batclan
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, swearing, mention of child abuse, minors having sex, and oral sex
Characters: Jason/Bruce
Summary: It's all about control.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, am simply borrowing.
AN: vespertila wanted Bruce/Jason. I said I'd write non-explicit Bruce/Jason. Then I learned it's her birthday tomorrow, got a bunny and while this isn't really explicit, yeah. Not for mothers, younger sisters, nuns, etc. First time ever writing slash, so comments and constructive criticism would be much appreciated.
He has always known he's fucked up.
It was evident as a child, when his 'Mom' would lock him in a closet when she had to go out- and then forget about him for hours. At first it scared the crap out him- he was two years-old and stuck in a dark closet- but after awhile, he grew to like it. He adjusted to the darkness. He learned that what stayed in the closet (darkness) stayed in the closet (darkness). He'd experiment. He tried to claw out of the closet once. Managed, but it was hell on his hands and knees and he got the largest beating of his life (at the time). He'd hit the walls, scream, explore. The three by six feet enclosed space acted as a prison until he was ten. By that time, he had progressed from property damage to personal damage- and pleasure.
How many other nine year-olds know how to fuck themselves?
It was evident when his father would come home, after some scheme and beat the crap out of him, simply because he was there. He learned self-defense that way. Necessity and all- if he didn't defend himself, he'd end up with bruises or sprains or worse- broken bones. Bones that had to heal by themselves, because he wasn't allowed to get medical attention. He once spent a day unconscious at eleven, because his dad threw him through the wall.
Sucked at the time, but it was great practice for being Robin.
He rarely went to school. Learned how to pick pockets instead, pick locks, and get past alarms. His parents didn't give a damn. Teachers, when he actually came to school, would just give him these looks of either pity or scorn. Depended on the teacher, usually. He once had this teacher in seventh grade who tried to get him to come home with her. Said she'd give him a roof over his head, three meals a day, help him "fit in". When he decided to take her up on the offer (it had been raining for three days and the streets were not fun to be out on in shitty weather) and showed up in her bed- she threw him out.
But wasn't that what she wanted? Everyone he knew expected sex or some other kind of favor for shelter or food or whatever.
Again, another sign of how fucked up he was.
When Bruce took him in, and scared the holy fucking shit out of him in the process, he knew that he dealt with things differently. He was coarse, sarcastic, reckless, and considered suicidal by many (although it was more a form of recklessness and having nothing to lose than an actual death wish). Bruce tired- he fucking did- but he couldn't erase a year of living on the streets and a childhood of abuse and mistakes.
To Jason, everything was physical. You had to be strong to survive.
Or you had to be a really good fuck.
He liked to think of himself as both.
But he was well aware there were others- kids- who weren't strong enough, who didn't deserve to be fucked with like that. He was a lost cause- they weren't.
So he made it his mission.
When he heard about his mother, his real mother, he started thinking. Dared to hope that maybe she was different. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could change him. Bruce apparently didn't want him anymore, after all.
What a huge mistake that turned out to be.
Coming back to life sucked. Really, fucking sucked. But he did learn one thing- he was on his own again. Completely on his own again. And he could do whatever the hell he wanted. He hadn't been that free since he was newly orphaned and living on the streets.
He loved it.
And screwing with his "family" was an added bonus. Except- he couldn't forget. He couldn't forget his roots; he couldn't forget what they went through together. He couldn't forget what he felt. Because now, kneeling on the floor of the Cave, rocks digging into his knees, Bruce's cock hard in his mouth- it's as if he never left. He's fifteen again, pissed and hot and sweaty and Bruce is being a bastard, but it doesn't matter, because Jason is the one who is in control. The first time he tried to suck off Bruce to get his way, he got backhanded across the Cave. The second time, he was quicker and he knew that while Bruce was fighting him, he was going to come out victorious.
The third time, Bruce stood stoic.
The fourth time, Bruce finally gave in.
It was the sweetest moment in his life.
He brought the Batman to his knees.
Sex is power.
It's the power he holds over Bruce.
Surprise Bruce in the Cave. Banter. Get tied up. Escape. Kiss him. Shove your tongue down his throat. Use the distraction to get rid of the utility belt. Stick a hand down his tights. Find him, stoke him and- there.
It took him forty-five minutes to get to this point. But now he's there and he's fucking in control. Batman's always been a silent partner.
Jason relishes making him break that vow of silence.
One hand fondles Bruce's balls, squeezing hard enough to hurt. His teeth scrape against his shaft. Bruce's breathing gets heavier.
Jason smiles.
He knows he's the only son- the only Robin- who does this. Bruce wouldn't ask anyone else. Bruce wouldn't ask period, but Jason knows, and so would the others. It's training, after all. Read Batman. What does Batman want? What does Batman need? Except only he is the chosen one. Only he is allowed to make the Batman come, bring the Batman to his fucking knees.
He can just imagine what Timmy would do if dear old Bruce came to him and asked him to suck him off. Probably turn red, run off and never come back. Then again- this is Timmy. Little goody-two-shoes Timmy. Little perfect Timmy. Timmy will do anything Batman fucking wants- including fucking.
The thought makes him stop his sucking, his rubbing, his licking.
"What?" It's the Voice- the voice that brings criminals to their knees, makes them confess their secrets.
All it does to Jason is make him harder. Soon he's going to have to get out of his own pants. Start on himself. Only Bruce is able to arouse him like this. Everyone else he just views as a fuck partner. Everyone else is just business.
Bruce is... Bruce is pleasure.
"I- it's just me. Right? I'm the only one you fuck. You don't touch the others. Right?" Goddamn it, he sounds like a fucking kid. Like a little eleven years-old virgin who's never done it before, wide-eyed and hesitant. Like he was, before he discovered the power.
Batman doesn't say anything.
But the hand he rests on his shoulder says it all.
And for the first time since he died- Jason feels like he belongs again.
Fandom: DCU, Batclan
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, swearing, mention of child abuse, minors having sex, and oral sex
Characters: Jason/Bruce
Summary: It's all about control.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, am simply borrowing.
AN: vespertila wanted Bruce/Jason. I said I'd write non-explicit Bruce/Jason. Then I learned it's her birthday tomorrow, got a bunny and while this isn't really explicit, yeah. Not for mothers, younger sisters, nuns, etc. First time ever writing slash, so comments and constructive criticism would be much appreciated.
He has always known he's fucked up.
It was evident as a child, when his 'Mom' would lock him in a closet when she had to go out- and then forget about him for hours. At first it scared the crap out him- he was two years-old and stuck in a dark closet- but after awhile, he grew to like it. He adjusted to the darkness. He learned that what stayed in the closet (darkness) stayed in the closet (darkness). He'd experiment. He tried to claw out of the closet once. Managed, but it was hell on his hands and knees and he got the largest beating of his life (at the time). He'd hit the walls, scream, explore. The three by six feet enclosed space acted as a prison until he was ten. By that time, he had progressed from property damage to personal damage- and pleasure.
How many other nine year-olds know how to fuck themselves?
It was evident when his father would come home, after some scheme and beat the crap out of him, simply because he was there. He learned self-defense that way. Necessity and all- if he didn't defend himself, he'd end up with bruises or sprains or worse- broken bones. Bones that had to heal by themselves, because he wasn't allowed to get medical attention. He once spent a day unconscious at eleven, because his dad threw him through the wall.
Sucked at the time, but it was great practice for being Robin.
He rarely went to school. Learned how to pick pockets instead, pick locks, and get past alarms. His parents didn't give a damn. Teachers, when he actually came to school, would just give him these looks of either pity or scorn. Depended on the teacher, usually. He once had this teacher in seventh grade who tried to get him to come home with her. Said she'd give him a roof over his head, three meals a day, help him "fit in". When he decided to take her up on the offer (it had been raining for three days and the streets were not fun to be out on in shitty weather) and showed up in her bed- she threw him out.
But wasn't that what she wanted? Everyone he knew expected sex or some other kind of favor for shelter or food or whatever.
Again, another sign of how fucked up he was.
When Bruce took him in, and scared the holy fucking shit out of him in the process, he knew that he dealt with things differently. He was coarse, sarcastic, reckless, and considered suicidal by many (although it was more a form of recklessness and having nothing to lose than an actual death wish). Bruce tired- he fucking did- but he couldn't erase a year of living on the streets and a childhood of abuse and mistakes.
To Jason, everything was physical. You had to be strong to survive.
Or you had to be a really good fuck.
He liked to think of himself as both.
But he was well aware there were others- kids- who weren't strong enough, who didn't deserve to be fucked with like that. He was a lost cause- they weren't.
So he made it his mission.
When he heard about his mother, his real mother, he started thinking. Dared to hope that maybe she was different. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could change him. Bruce apparently didn't want him anymore, after all.
What a huge mistake that turned out to be.
Coming back to life sucked. Really, fucking sucked. But he did learn one thing- he was on his own again. Completely on his own again. And he could do whatever the hell he wanted. He hadn't been that free since he was newly orphaned and living on the streets.
He loved it.
And screwing with his "family" was an added bonus. Except- he couldn't forget. He couldn't forget his roots; he couldn't forget what they went through together. He couldn't forget what he felt. Because now, kneeling on the floor of the Cave, rocks digging into his knees, Bruce's cock hard in his mouth- it's as if he never left. He's fifteen again, pissed and hot and sweaty and Bruce is being a bastard, but it doesn't matter, because Jason is the one who is in control. The first time he tried to suck off Bruce to get his way, he got backhanded across the Cave. The second time, he was quicker and he knew that while Bruce was fighting him, he was going to come out victorious.
The third time, Bruce stood stoic.
The fourth time, Bruce finally gave in.
It was the sweetest moment in his life.
He brought the Batman to his knees.
Sex is power.
It's the power he holds over Bruce.
Surprise Bruce in the Cave. Banter. Get tied up. Escape. Kiss him. Shove your tongue down his throat. Use the distraction to get rid of the utility belt. Stick a hand down his tights. Find him, stoke him and- there.
It took him forty-five minutes to get to this point. But now he's there and he's fucking in control. Batman's always been a silent partner.
Jason relishes making him break that vow of silence.
One hand fondles Bruce's balls, squeezing hard enough to hurt. His teeth scrape against his shaft. Bruce's breathing gets heavier.
Jason smiles.
He knows he's the only son- the only Robin- who does this. Bruce wouldn't ask anyone else. Bruce wouldn't ask period, but Jason knows, and so would the others. It's training, after all. Read Batman. What does Batman want? What does Batman need? Except only he is the chosen one. Only he is allowed to make the Batman come, bring the Batman to his fucking knees.
He can just imagine what Timmy would do if dear old Bruce came to him and asked him to suck him off. Probably turn red, run off and never come back. Then again- this is Timmy. Little goody-two-shoes Timmy. Little perfect Timmy. Timmy will do anything Batman fucking wants- including fucking.
The thought makes him stop his sucking, his rubbing, his licking.
"What?" It's the Voice- the voice that brings criminals to their knees, makes them confess their secrets.
All it does to Jason is make him harder. Soon he's going to have to get out of his own pants. Start on himself. Only Bruce is able to arouse him like this. Everyone else he just views as a fuck partner. Everyone else is just business.
Bruce is... Bruce is pleasure.
"I- it's just me. Right? I'm the only one you fuck. You don't touch the others. Right?" Goddamn it, he sounds like a fucking kid. Like a little eleven years-old virgin who's never done it before, wide-eyed and hesitant. Like he was, before he discovered the power.
Batman doesn't say anything.
But the hand he rests on his shoulder says it all.
And for the first time since he died- Jason feels like he belongs again.