[DC] Skin Memory
Mar. 17th, 2009 10:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runespoorTitle: Skin Memory
Fandom: DC (post-Under the Hood)
Pairing: Bruce/Jason implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One night, one way Jason can't get his past off.
The girl's fingers brush against the scar when she slips her hand behind his neck.
He can't feel anything there anymore, but the roll of skin is raised against the rest of his throat. When he bares his throat in front of a mirror and strokes his thumb against it, his head tilted back and to the side, he feels it too. There have been times he's rubbed his fingertips raw and red against the too-smooth, too-new tissue, and when he pressed them together afterwards he felt them burn.
The scar only ever remains pale and cool under the friction. He forgets it's there, often, until he runs his thumb against it – random gesture, not even a nervous tick – or someone else reminds him of it. Like now.
She's felt it too, flinches, and moves to take her hand off. Jason's fingers close around her wrist as she brushes the skin again, and there's a tiny noise out of his throat—
“Hey—”
“No, wait--” she disregards Jason's loose hold on her wrist and pushes the collar of his T-shirt aside, and he forces the urge to squeeze out of his hand “--what's that?”
The bar's bathroom is not quite dark enough to conceal anything. Jason's head falls back against the wall with a clunk. It's not that head that requires attention, right now, even if her shifting her lower body against him when she tries to get a better view is enough to keep him interested.
“Can it wait? I promise, I'll give you the whole gory story after.” Scars are nice. He likes them too, on him and on others and he's never been shy about them, but... Not this one.
The girl shakes her head, caressing the whole length of the scar with a reverent finger. Jason's not sensitive on the scar, but... It's a big scar, she gets all close, her hips are flush against him and her breath is flush against his neck, and he shudders.
“No way, now I wanna know.”
She sounds a little breathless, amused. Interested. The same kind of interested that's got him tracing small circles on the skin of her inner wrist and that makes him part his legs just so, so he can get his foot between hers.
He really doesn't fucking want to have to think about the fucking scar right now, but if it's getting him somewhere...
He has an endless number of stories that might satisfy her. All true. Jason's saved working girls from abusive pimps to have the girl slash away at him. He's been outnumbered to absurd odds, two against two dozens. He's gotten in a duel to the death over someone while the third party laughed on and on.
Any number of stories. He could even get away with most of them.
Nice thing about Gotham, where you can get scars from costumed psychos for girls to get hot over. This one is getting really hot over it, rubs herself against him and grinds her hips, and usually Jason wouldn't think of complaining about having his lap warmed by a hot girl humping him in a club's dingy bathroom – he feels it, the warmth humming through his muscles, with the wall behind his back, solid and pulsing with sensation and the club's music, and that should be enough.
His hands fumble down, his nails scraping against the fabric of her skirt when he settles his hands on her hips, not holding, not controlling, just feeling it, feeling her, the strength with which she thrusts against him. He has his palms cupped around her, heavy enough that it'll feel good, light enough that she won't notice he's slowing her down, making her rocking deeper, throwing her rhythm, because every time she grinds she passes her knuckles over the scar, with the same bone-deep, feel-good, obsessive rhythm.
Even with that, he can't dissociate the heat swelling between them from the outbreaks her fingers ripple over the scar. Maybe it's because his train of thought is getting slightly overheated and he's starting to wonder idly if maybe he's not getting chummy with one of Gotham's reserve nutcases—
“I'm afraid I'm not very good at skiing at all. Possibly I should have listened to my old man when he told me to take the descent easy, but...”
And he can barely recognize his voice behind the words and the accent that aren't his, and his eyes widen in sheer, desperate horror.
He stares blindly at the wall opposite, feels his lips mouthing silent pleas.
God no. Fuck, fuck, fuck no. I – it didn't – fuck I didn't say that, he—
The girl doesn't notice. She muffles a chuckle against the crook of his neck, her breath catching damply against the edge of the scar, running her hands down his suddenly rigid body.
“Must have been some skiing,” she-- doesn't purr, too hoarse for that-- she growls.
And then she slides her tongue against the scar, and Jason doesn't feel anything on the scar, but the edges of the skin immediately around it are sensitive as hell, like all the nerve endings the scar covers got rerouted there. When she licks her tongue spills over the scar's path every once in a while, wet and searing like the leg she hooks around him. She presses herself relentlessly against him as if she wanted to melt them together.
Jason is dizzily aware of her left hand against the unscarred side of his neck, too small but keeping him in place anyway, nails pricking into his skin when his breathing grows heavy and almost painful, like a conscious thing roiling around in his chest and up his throat and out of his mouth, to pin him more effectively than this girl ever could.
He's propped against the dirty wall with her moving in front and around him and he's not sure he'd be able to stand if not for them.
His body feels mellow and warm and not trapped so much as brushing completion with every scratch of nails on one side of his throat and if he forces his breathing just a little off he can almost fool his skin that it's calluses grazing it. Every sweep of wet and searing on the other side wrings the humming energy out of him; weak jolts that make his hands fall back against the wall and fist as if he wasn't allowed to touch, that arch his neck as if it expected the next touch to come from above, that make his thighs tremble and want to spread.
Then there are teeth racking the sticky trail along the scar.
Jason bucks, helplessly.
-----
ETA:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fickle_goddess was inspired to write this brain-breakingly perfect ficlet in the comments. aklsdhlkdcj Jason. Go read it and tell her she's awesome.
Fandom: DC (post-Under the Hood)
Pairing: Bruce/Jason implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One night, one way Jason can't get his past off.
The girl's fingers brush against the scar when she slips her hand behind his neck.
He can't feel anything there anymore, but the roll of skin is raised against the rest of his throat. When he bares his throat in front of a mirror and strokes his thumb against it, his head tilted back and to the side, he feels it too. There have been times he's rubbed his fingertips raw and red against the too-smooth, too-new tissue, and when he pressed them together afterwards he felt them burn.
The scar only ever remains pale and cool under the friction. He forgets it's there, often, until he runs his thumb against it – random gesture, not even a nervous tick – or someone else reminds him of it. Like now.
She's felt it too, flinches, and moves to take her hand off. Jason's fingers close around her wrist as she brushes the skin again, and there's a tiny noise out of his throat—
“Hey—”
“No, wait--” she disregards Jason's loose hold on her wrist and pushes the collar of his T-shirt aside, and he forces the urge to squeeze out of his hand “--what's that?”
The bar's bathroom is not quite dark enough to conceal anything. Jason's head falls back against the wall with a clunk. It's not that head that requires attention, right now, even if her shifting her lower body against him when she tries to get a better view is enough to keep him interested.
“Can it wait? I promise, I'll give you the whole gory story after.” Scars are nice. He likes them too, on him and on others and he's never been shy about them, but... Not this one.
The girl shakes her head, caressing the whole length of the scar with a reverent finger. Jason's not sensitive on the scar, but... It's a big scar, she gets all close, her hips are flush against him and her breath is flush against his neck, and he shudders.
“No way, now I wanna know.”
She sounds a little breathless, amused. Interested. The same kind of interested that's got him tracing small circles on the skin of her inner wrist and that makes him part his legs just so, so he can get his foot between hers.
He really doesn't fucking want to have to think about the fucking scar right now, but if it's getting him somewhere...
He has an endless number of stories that might satisfy her. All true. Jason's saved working girls from abusive pimps to have the girl slash away at him. He's been outnumbered to absurd odds, two against two dozens. He's gotten in a duel to the death over someone while the third party laughed on and on.
Any number of stories. He could even get away with most of them.
Nice thing about Gotham, where you can get scars from costumed psychos for girls to get hot over. This one is getting really hot over it, rubs herself against him and grinds her hips, and usually Jason wouldn't think of complaining about having his lap warmed by a hot girl humping him in a club's dingy bathroom – he feels it, the warmth humming through his muscles, with the wall behind his back, solid and pulsing with sensation and the club's music, and that should be enough.
His hands fumble down, his nails scraping against the fabric of her skirt when he settles his hands on her hips, not holding, not controlling, just feeling it, feeling her, the strength with which she thrusts against him. He has his palms cupped around her, heavy enough that it'll feel good, light enough that she won't notice he's slowing her down, making her rocking deeper, throwing her rhythm, because every time she grinds she passes her knuckles over the scar, with the same bone-deep, feel-good, obsessive rhythm.
Even with that, he can't dissociate the heat swelling between them from the outbreaks her fingers ripple over the scar. Maybe it's because his train of thought is getting slightly overheated and he's starting to wonder idly if maybe he's not getting chummy with one of Gotham's reserve nutcases—
“I'm afraid I'm not very good at skiing at all. Possibly I should have listened to my old man when he told me to take the descent easy, but...”
And he can barely recognize his voice behind the words and the accent that aren't his, and his eyes widen in sheer, desperate horror.
He stares blindly at the wall opposite, feels his lips mouthing silent pleas.
God no. Fuck, fuck, fuck no. I – it didn't – fuck I didn't say that, he—
The girl doesn't notice. She muffles a chuckle against the crook of his neck, her breath catching damply against the edge of the scar, running her hands down his suddenly rigid body.
“Must have been some skiing,” she-- doesn't purr, too hoarse for that-- she growls.
And then she slides her tongue against the scar, and Jason doesn't feel anything on the scar, but the edges of the skin immediately around it are sensitive as hell, like all the nerve endings the scar covers got rerouted there. When she licks her tongue spills over the scar's path every once in a while, wet and searing like the leg she hooks around him. She presses herself relentlessly against him as if she wanted to melt them together.
Jason is dizzily aware of her left hand against the unscarred side of his neck, too small but keeping him in place anyway, nails pricking into his skin when his breathing grows heavy and almost painful, like a conscious thing roiling around in his chest and up his throat and out of his mouth, to pin him more effectively than this girl ever could.
He's propped against the dirty wall with her moving in front and around him and he's not sure he'd be able to stand if not for them.
His body feels mellow and warm and not trapped so much as brushing completion with every scratch of nails on one side of his throat and if he forces his breathing just a little off he can almost fool his skin that it's calluses grazing it. Every sweep of wet and searing on the other side wrings the humming energy out of him; weak jolts that make his hands fall back against the wall and fist as if he wasn't allowed to touch, that arch his neck as if it expected the next touch to come from above, that make his thighs tremble and want to spread.
Then there are teeth racking the sticky trail along the scar.
Jason bucks, helplessly.
-----
ETA:
fickle_goddess was inspired to write this brain-breakingly perfect ficlet in the comments. aklsdhlkdcj Jason. Go read it and tell her she's awesome.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-03-17 08:08 pm (UTC)Plus inspiring. Very, very inspiring.
------------------------------------
no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 09:28 pm (UTC)Thank you. Thank you really a lot.
It's funny that the fic inspired you to write a list, because originally I planned for it to be part of one (five things the scar means). Yes. Yes. This is Jason, obsessed and driven and surfing on an ocean of denial. I am refraining from quoting pretty much the entire thing back at you here. (love
sd Oh Jason. To all of it - Oh Jason.) And that last line is a punch. *whimpers*T_T BOYS YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELVES.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 10:51 pm (UTC)FULL FIC for your enjoyment because you are AWESOME and deserve a thank you
Date: 2009-03-18 10:52 pm (UTC)- A home. It's a mansion, too big and too fancy, but it's a home because Alfred makes them breakfast and scolds Jason for tracking mud into the house.
-A family. He doesn't call Bruce 'Dad', or Alfred 'Mom', but it's the closest thing to a family Jason's had since his Mom died. He's grateful. Even if he won't say how much.
-Robin. It came from Dick as much as Bruce (Jason took it first, but then Dick gave it to him), but Bruce is the one who gave him permission to use it. Without that, it would've been just a costume.
-Gotham. Jason used to be Gotham's, a child of the street and the gutters. Now Gotham's his to protect. He's grown up. He's the one kicking in teeth to keep her safe, instead of leading men into rickety buildings where only he knows where the floor is steady to keep himself safe.
-Steel-toed pixie boots. Jason's always liked to kick and punch and gouge, but he fucking loves the boots and the heavy weight of them. They give him gravitas; they weigh him down so that his feet are on the ground (Gotham's ground) while Bruce is talking of ideals and abstracts.
-Patience. Jason can hunt, now. He can plan, he can stalk. He won't just take the first bird he sees; he knows to hold out and move stealthily, to spin plans that stretch on past months, to give himself time to observe and adapt.
-Life. It's Talia who pushed him into the Lazarus Pit but without her obsession with Bruce, she would've never done it. Jason overlooks the fact that he would not have been dead in the first place had it not been for being Robin and therefore, had it not been for Bruce. Jason doesn't count his death as a gift from Bruce; it was given by the Joker and so to the Joker it will be returned.
-Enough skill to take down the new Robin and the old one too. It's not all from Bruce, and that's why Jason has the edge. Talia hired the best to train him and what she couldn't teach him, Jason found others who could. He's had more teachers than any of the other Robins, even if Dickie's older and Tim's got an assassin looking out for him. He's better than they are. He's proved it.
-Purpose. Bruce wants to defend Gotham. So does Jason. Bruce wants to be loved (he'll never admit it). So does Jason (he'll never admit it). Bruce wants the Joker dead. Jason wants Bruce to be the one to kill him.
-A scar. It slices across his neck, raised from the rest of his skin, too smooth, and dead-nerved. Jason has many other scars on his body, from many other battles. This is the only one inflicted on him by someone he love
sd.Of all the gifts that Bruce has given him, the scar is the only one that Jason can touch. He runs his fingers across its edges, and thinks of the other gifts (scars).
Re: FULL FIC for your enjoyment because you are AWESOME and deserve a thank you
Date: 2009-03-18 11:12 pm (UTC)You can't see me but I am grinning LIKE A FOOL over there and-- yes. Day is made. Probably week. Eeee Jason. Gotham, he gave him Gotham!... *flails*
Oh, I am making entirely too high-pitched noises. *flaaaaaaails*
Re: FULL FIC for your enjoyment because you are AWESOME and deserve a thank you
Date: 2009-03-19 12:33 pm (UTC)And awww! Glad you liked it so much! I'll probably post it to my writing journal at some point and link to your fic as the inspiration, if that's okay?
*grins and does the happy dance of yay-fic-turned-out-well!*
Re: FULL FIC for your enjoyment because you are AWESOME and deserve a thank you
Date: 2009-03-19 08:20 pm (UTC)Re: FULL FIC for your enjoyment because you are AWESOME and deserve a thank you
Date: 2009-03-21 01:49 pm (UTC)