REQUESTS THREAD

[dc-kinkmod.livejournal.com]

Post fic/art requests with pairing and kink prompt in the replies to this thread. Requests may be made anonymously. One request per reply please, but feel free to reply more than once!

Once again, remember the rules of the road:

- Anon does not mean impolite or disrespectful. No flaming, trolling or bashing.

- Post fic and art as a reply to the prompt. Multiple responses encouraged, don't be shy just because someone's already "taken" it!

- Crossovers are welcome as long as at least one DC Universe character is involved.

And please pimp the comm with this, if you would:

<font size="+3"><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/dc_kink/">THE DC COMICS KINK MEME</a></font>

Comments

[beardsley.livejournal.com]

You didn't specify the time; I hope crazy undead Jason is fine?

~~

The dance went as usual, and Jason danced with every trick he had. It's the game, hide and seek, action and reaction, same-sign charged particles repelling in a shower of fireworks, and it's the best game in town. Like this: Batman moving too fast for Jason to take anything approaching aim; Jason arching backwards, balancing on one hand to dodge a batarang that would only maim.

Maybe Bruce likes it, too, like Jason does. Maybe Bruce had missed having someone to play with without worrying about broken bones and washing blood out of the gauntlets. Maybe they couldn't have had this rush of adrenaline and violence the last time, but Jason is sure as hell gonna make up for the lost time.

"Aw, is that a bat in your jock, or are you just happy to see me?"

Bruce neatly dodged his sweep, but it's not like Jason presents much of a challenge. He threw a knife, all distraction, and ran across the rooftop to gain momentum. (No play made Bruce dull, dull, dull.) So it took jumping from one rooftop to another with a fuck-you to de-cel lines, fine, fine, just let it end like this: two point landing, and Bruce is there a heartbeat later, a quick exchange of blows and Jason's backed against a water tower. Bruce shoves his right hand against the metal, hard, but the armoured gauntlet protects his bones from cracking and he doesn't lose the gun. (It's his favourite: a semi-auto Smith & Wesson, fissures along the grip matching the Joker's latest dental report.) And he's here, present continuous in detective pulp, because Jason doesn't want this to stop.

"Special rooftop? Wait, no, I got it: we had our first date here." He sneers, feeling the whited out lenses on his domino narrowing, Bruce close enough for comfort. This isn't how he remembers this particular dance from when he was in awe and kinda terrified and hard for Bruce anyway, but it shouldn't not be like this, either. There's only, what, two inches of height difference between them now, and Jason knows this even as Bruce leans in in a half-assed loom. Jason adds, "and here I didn't even bring flowers."

"Jason," Bruce says, and it's not like it isn't the Voice of Night, but there's also an edge to it. Kind of like vulnerability, but not. Jason can almost taste it. Bruce says, "stop this. You don't have to --."

"But I do. Who else will?" He doesn't want that tinge of anger in his voice. (He doesn't remember not being angry, but his memory is shit and hole-ridden.) Bruce lets him free his arm. He knows this dance. Jason wants Bruce's scars under his fingers, he wants his sensory memory updated. "So c'mon," he says instead and presses his cheek to Bruce's, smiling against the slight grain of stubble, and whispers, "fix me. Dare ya."

Like in the old times, he falls to his knees. Bruce's breath hitches almost unnoticeably and he rests one hand against the water tower just as the other fists in Jason's hair. Jason purrs, leaning into the touch -- he's probably not supposed to develop a kink for the gauntlets, but fuck it, Bruce must've designed them for blow-jobs anyway. Jason's done his homework: he deactivates the belt, finds all the catches on the armour. Easy; his surveillance doesn't lie.

Sucking off Bruce is just like the old times, too, though now he beats his gag-reflex by sheer force of will and --heh -- dances with every trick he has. Bruce doesn't make a sound, and Jason takes his sweet fucking time.

When Bruce comes, breathing even as you please, hand in Jason's hair tightening -- Jason rests his forehead on Bruce's hip, smelling sweat and armour, and unzips his jeans. He maneuvers around the jock and gets himself off with a few hard strokes. When he's done, Bruce takes two steps back. He looks like he wants to cover his face with his hand, but it's not like anything ever shows on his face, and he doesn't.

"Jay--" Bruce starts, and yeah, here's that anger Jason shares his body with now. He shakes his head once and says, low, "No."

He ducks, and backs away until he stands at the edge of the roof, ready to jump. "Try again."

He grins, danger and a come-hither bow, and flies.

OP

[harlot-ohara.livejournal.com]

Thank you! This is really great, certainly makes for a nice mental image. Pretty men doing pretty things? Perfect! =D

As for Jason, undead (not)Robin is every bit as good as normal Robin!

[beardsley.livejournal.com]

oh my god is that abel. a y so srs abel. ಠ_ಠ

[beardsley.livejournal.com]

It really is a perfectly reasonable and understandable sentiment. THOUGH OBVS NOW I CAN'T UNSEE IT.