No part of any 'verse. This spun off from a question about underwear (I have strange
plot bunnies) and evolved to an exploration of Jason Todd as a slashable character.
Some folks write this pairing very well. I think I'm still trying to get a handle
Never Againby Darklady
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I do own the story, but since I'm not making a dime off of it, I don't expect anyone much cares.
Slash?: Technically? I'm not sure. Call it un-slash, but Jason/Bruce anyway.
Rated: PG-13 (but one bad word)
Archive: Smitty or Ask
Never again, damn it.
Almost unthinking I bend down, picking up the bright silk boxers that litter the dressing-room floor. Bruce's shirt is here, his trousers there, and just before the closet door?. Silk boxers. Normally he would have folded them, but Bruce and I... I mean Batman and Robin... had been in a rush to answer the signal, so the shards of our civilian lives lay scattered across the tiled floor.
I clutch the smooth garment, feeling the delicate threads snag on my rope-callused palms. Against my will, I raise the softness to my cheek, inhaling the hint of musk beneath the scent of soap.
Never again, I repeat.
That's what I vowed the first time my mother's 'boyfriend' decided that a twelve year old boy might be more fun than an old woman too stoned to do more then grunt when he fucked her.
That's what I yelled the day that Rico first 'turned me out'. I shouted that I'd kill him before I would go for a whore. Shouts almost as loud as my screams later when he had his bully boys show me exactly how rough the trade could be.
That's what I promised the shadow of vengeance that swept down on me the day I made the fatal - or was it perhaps more suicidal - attempt to rob the Batmobile rather then face my pimp empty handed.
That's what Bruce... what Batman... vowed to me the day he first brought me to this cave. The day that Jason vanished and Robin began. The day the Dark Knight swore on more then his life that no one would ever use me that way.
My eyes travel against my will to track the single drop of sweat that travels with aching slowness though the soft black curls that frame his manhood. Sweat from our battle just passed. Sweat not yet cleansed away by the shower soon to come. Sweat that I know must carry the same scent as the silk I tuck so carefully into my shirt for later use.
I watch, carefully casual, as he steps under the pounding jets that will too soon blur that steel-hard chest, that rock-firm butt.
Bruce has given his oath he would never use me like that. I believe him.
But - damn - I wish he would.