Fic: Do Corpses Dream?
Mar. 19th, 2011 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frickinchengAhahahahaha. Have more batshit!Jason. (ahahah. Batshit. Did you see what I did there? >>)
Title: Do Corpses Dream?
Summary: Sleep is anything but an escape
Warnings: Freaky as shit violent imagery.
The table was cold against his skin, a searing brand against every inch of exposed flesh, which was everything, and it greedily sucked all the heat from him, leaving him shivering and shuddering. He didn’t know where it was going, because the table certainly wasn’t getting any warmer from him. It just felt colder. There were straps holding him down as well, thick leather restraints that bound him though he squirmed against them.
Bruce’s hand was burning hot, stripped of gauntlets, just bare, calloused skin on Jason’s belly, sending a bolt of heat through him to combat the cold. He trembled with it, with the sheer intimacy of it, just bare skin on bare skin, nothing between them, nothing hidden.
He sighed, a soft, blurred sound as Bruce’s fingers sunk into him, right at his solar plexus, right under his sternum. Blood welled, slipped over, staining Jason’s skin crimson, but when Bruce pulled his fingers back, they were clean. He sighed again, eyes fluttering half closed, and just watched as Bruce slipped two fingers into the split, widening it, more and more. More blood spilled, and the smell of warm viscera hit the cold air of the room. Jason looked down and could see his organs steaming in the cool air.
He was trembling, panting softly, but then one of those big, broad hands was at his cheek searing hot and soothing, calming; he leaned into it, needy for a moment. Soon his breathing was back under control and the hand went back down. Jason reached up, and stroked the backs of his knuckles against the finger shaped burns over his cheek.
Bruce was cleaning him out, pulling out handful after handful of guts, liver and other unrecognizable viscera, letting it spatter carelessly on the floor, until Jason was empty, until he was just muscle and bone, and perfect, bleeding cavity. He shuddered, the coldness hitting even harder now, now that he was empty, now that he was clean. He was good though, good as he watched Bruce’s pristine hands pick up the Robin uniform, folded into a tight, neat square, and gently place it inside his gaping belly. It fit perfectly, the red blending in with the raw flesh, but Jason didn’t like the way it sat, the way it chafed, and he began to squirm.
Bruce paid him no heed, as he carefully laid the domino mask on top of it, and then drew his hands along the seam of Jason’s split body, sealing him closed, flesh knitting back together.
“Stop it.” Jason gasped. It burned now, felt like there was a fire inside him, like he was stuffed to the bursting when he really was so very very empty. “Please, Bruce, please, you’re hurting me.” There were tears streaming down his face now, pathetic, weak, but Bruce didn’t stop, didn’t stop until it was all neatly sealed, and with just a simple wipe of his hand, it was gone, the blood, all of it, and there was certainly no scarring.
“It’s okay.” Bruce murmured, “You’re Robin now.” He leaned over, and pressed his lips to Jason’s brow, chaste and gentle and Jason screamed as they burned his skin.
Title: Do Corpses Dream?
Summary: Sleep is anything but an escape
Warnings: Freaky as shit violent imagery.
The table was cold against his skin, a searing brand against every inch of exposed flesh, which was everything, and it greedily sucked all the heat from him, leaving him shivering and shuddering. He didn’t know where it was going, because the table certainly wasn’t getting any warmer from him. It just felt colder. There were straps holding him down as well, thick leather restraints that bound him though he squirmed against them.
Bruce’s hand was burning hot, stripped of gauntlets, just bare, calloused skin on Jason’s belly, sending a bolt of heat through him to combat the cold. He trembled with it, with the sheer intimacy of it, just bare skin on bare skin, nothing between them, nothing hidden.
He sighed, a soft, blurred sound as Bruce’s fingers sunk into him, right at his solar plexus, right under his sternum. Blood welled, slipped over, staining Jason’s skin crimson, but when Bruce pulled his fingers back, they were clean. He sighed again, eyes fluttering half closed, and just watched as Bruce slipped two fingers into the split, widening it, more and more. More blood spilled, and the smell of warm viscera hit the cold air of the room. Jason looked down and could see his organs steaming in the cool air.
He was trembling, panting softly, but then one of those big, broad hands was at his cheek searing hot and soothing, calming; he leaned into it, needy for a moment. Soon his breathing was back under control and the hand went back down. Jason reached up, and stroked the backs of his knuckles against the finger shaped burns over his cheek.
Bruce was cleaning him out, pulling out handful after handful of guts, liver and other unrecognizable viscera, letting it spatter carelessly on the floor, until Jason was empty, until he was just muscle and bone, and perfect, bleeding cavity. He shuddered, the coldness hitting even harder now, now that he was empty, now that he was clean. He was good though, good as he watched Bruce’s pristine hands pick up the Robin uniform, folded into a tight, neat square, and gently place it inside his gaping belly. It fit perfectly, the red blending in with the raw flesh, but Jason didn’t like the way it sat, the way it chafed, and he began to squirm.
Bruce paid him no heed, as he carefully laid the domino mask on top of it, and then drew his hands along the seam of Jason’s split body, sealing him closed, flesh knitting back together.
“Stop it.” Jason gasped. It burned now, felt like there was a fire inside him, like he was stuffed to the bursting when he really was so very very empty. “Please, Bruce, please, you’re hurting me.” There were tears streaming down his face now, pathetic, weak, but Bruce didn’t stop, didn’t stop until it was all neatly sealed, and with just a simple wipe of his hand, it was gone, the blood, all of it, and there was certainly no scarring.
“It’s okay.” Bruce murmured, “You’re Robin now.” He leaned over, and pressed his lips to Jason’s brow, chaste and gentle and Jason screamed as they burned his skin.
