Ficlet: Three Little Words | DCU | Jason Todd/OMC | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Three Little Words
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Jason Todd/OMC (Mister Anonymous)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 552
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Prostitution
Summary: There's a perfectly good reason why Jason does this.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Part of the Hooker!Jay verse. Warnings for anonymous sex and references to rape of a minor, in Jay's crude vernacular. Depressing and possibly triggery fic!
Three Little Words
There's a perfectly good reason why he does this. Really. He might not be able to convince anyone else of that fact, when most of his demons light up like billboards proclaiming things like “Daddy Issues” and “Completely Fucked”, but it's the goddamn truth. There's a reason. And the reason is this. This moment, this place, the way the filth of Gotham smells around him in this little hotel room two blocks off the Turnpike, the way he's bent in half by Mister Anonymous, his ankles up over his head, the feeling of being pushed to his limits, the memory.
The memory.
If he can just touch the memory again, feel it, know it. If he can just taste the blood on his tongue again, his own, drawn from biting his lip. If he can just hear those words again. Those words.
Words that have never been the same since.
None of the hundreds of them, not Mister Anonymous, not Mister Skeevy, not Robbie fucking Malone, not even Officer goddamn Grayson, have said them. Not like this. Not when he needs to hear them most.
And goddammit, if only Bruce and Dick knew... they'd fucking say it. They'd say it, and Jay wouldn't feel so fucking trapped inside the memory anymore. The smells, the sounds, the feeling of being ripped in fucking half while some asshole freak whispered the most beautiful words in the world in his ear, a parody of what they should've been, he'd be free of it. It'd all go away. Gone. Poof. As if none of it had ever happened. As if....
As if those words had been true, and Jay hadn't been snatched off the street when he was barely even old enough to know what sex really meant. As if he hadn't actually been left on the queen bed closest to the window of a tiny room at the Super 8, bloody and covered in come hours afterward. As if he hadn't had to clean himself up, learn how to tend a wound with nothing but a shitty bathroom mirror as his guide, then get dressed and walk the ten blocks home at three a.m. As if he hadn't woken with a fever the next day, and raided his mom's stash of antibiotics just in case, 'cuz everyone knew that if you had a fever you took whatever-cilin the doc gave you.
As if he wasn't fucking ruined when he was still just a kid.
As if he hasn't kept it to himself for all these years. For so many goddamn years....
But Jason knows damn well that that isn't gonna happen tonight. Mister Anonymous really is anonymous this time-a fact Jay will be sure to keep from Bruce and Dick-and it's obvious he doesn't feel one iota for Jay either way. Tonight's just a fuck. Just a trip down memory lane. Just an echo of the past, all those sensations, fresh and new. The cry ripped from his own throat as Mister Anonymous drives him into the mattress, the rough polyester of the cheap bedspread beneath him, the stench of old cigarettes, stale beer, sweat and BO.
Just a fuck. That's all. Not the words he wants-needs-to hear. But three that make it all easier to bear, that make it less real, that make it okay.
Just a fuck.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Jason Todd/OMC (Mister Anonymous)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 552
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Prostitution
Summary: There's a perfectly good reason why Jason does this.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Part of the Hooker!Jay verse. Warnings for anonymous sex and references to rape of a minor, in Jay's crude vernacular. Depressing and possibly triggery fic!
Three Little Words
There's a perfectly good reason why he does this. Really. He might not be able to convince anyone else of that fact, when most of his demons light up like billboards proclaiming things like “Daddy Issues” and “Completely Fucked”, but it's the goddamn truth. There's a reason. And the reason is this. This moment, this place, the way the filth of Gotham smells around him in this little hotel room two blocks off the Turnpike, the way he's bent in half by Mister Anonymous, his ankles up over his head, the feeling of being pushed to his limits, the memory.
The memory.
If he can just touch the memory again, feel it, know it. If he can just taste the blood on his tongue again, his own, drawn from biting his lip. If he can just hear those words again. Those words.
Words that have never been the same since.
None of the hundreds of them, not Mister Anonymous, not Mister Skeevy, not Robbie fucking Malone, not even Officer goddamn Grayson, have said them. Not like this. Not when he needs to hear them most.
And goddammit, if only Bruce and Dick knew... they'd fucking say it. They'd say it, and Jay wouldn't feel so fucking trapped inside the memory anymore. The smells, the sounds, the feeling of being ripped in fucking half while some asshole freak whispered the most beautiful words in the world in his ear, a parody of what they should've been, he'd be free of it. It'd all go away. Gone. Poof. As if none of it had ever happened. As if....
As if those words had been true, and Jay hadn't been snatched off the street when he was barely even old enough to know what sex really meant. As if he hadn't actually been left on the queen bed closest to the window of a tiny room at the Super 8, bloody and covered in come hours afterward. As if he hadn't had to clean himself up, learn how to tend a wound with nothing but a shitty bathroom mirror as his guide, then get dressed and walk the ten blocks home at three a.m. As if he hadn't woken with a fever the next day, and raided his mom's stash of antibiotics just in case, 'cuz everyone knew that if you had a fever you took whatever-cilin the doc gave you.
As if he wasn't fucking ruined when he was still just a kid.
As if he hasn't kept it to himself for all these years. For so many goddamn years....
But Jason knows damn well that that isn't gonna happen tonight. Mister Anonymous really is anonymous this time-a fact Jay will be sure to keep from Bruce and Dick-and it's obvious he doesn't feel one iota for Jay either way. Tonight's just a fuck. Just a trip down memory lane. Just an echo of the past, all those sensations, fresh and new. The cry ripped from his own throat as Mister Anonymous drives him into the mattress, the rough polyester of the cheap bedspread beneath him, the stench of old cigarettes, stale beer, sweat and BO.
Just a fuck. That's all. Not the words he wants-needs-to hear. But three that make it all easier to bear, that make it less real, that make it okay.
Just a fuck.
~*~*~*~