Ficlet: (Un)Hinged | DCU | Jason/Tim, Jason/Bruce, Alfred | Hard R | 1/1
Title: (Un)Hinged
Fandom: DCU
Characters/Pairings: Jason/Tim, Jason/Bruce, Alfred
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 772
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Domestic Abuse: Sexual; For kissbingo: Type: Dirty; For 50_darkfics: Feral
Summary: The moment Bruce finds them in the bedroom, his blood runs cold with terror.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Warnings: Violent dub-con with resultant injuries.
Author's Notes: Fifteenth in the (Un)Familiar-verse; Follows (Un)Intended, with 9 more installments to go in the entire series. This is it, the start of the HEAVY ANGST. >:D
(Un)Hinged
The moment Bruce finds them in the bedroom, barely paused in the doorway with his finger still on the light switch, his blood runs cold with terror.
This isn't like the last time, when Tim doused Jason in blood as retaliation for asserting his dominance a little forcefully. No, this is much worse.
He's on them in a heartbeat, gripping and pulling at blood-slicked flesh, trying to find leverage, but they just keep going, rutting like animals, Jason slamming into Tim's small body, halfway shifted, both tearing at each other, snarling, growling, howling with pain and pleasure. The bed is ruined, the walls, what's left of their clothes, everything, and the only thought in Bruce's mind as he struggles to drag his Wolf off of Tim is that they're going to kill each other, someone's going to die tonight.
He can't move fast enough, can't pull them apart, only gets clawed at and thrown back forcefully for his efforts, blood and other bodily fluids smeared across his chest, his hands, his face. Landing in a heap on the other side of the bedroom, the wind knocked out of him, all he can do is push himself up, launch himself at them again, scream in his most commanding voice for them to stop.
No use, it's as if they don't even hear him, all their training gone out the window with whatever's responsible for this... this savage orgy, and he fights to get hold of Jason, to get a solid grasp on him, his fingers slipping, unable to hold on. Panic rises as acrid scents fill his nostrils, sex and violence and death, and he can only keep scrabbling for purchase against his Wolf, his legs getting tangled in the torn bedsheets as his own training proves useless, until-
The crisp sound of two shots from a tranq gun cuts through the cacophony of wails then, and Bruce leaps back instinctively, lets go of his boy only to find Alfred standing in the doorway as the boys go down like sacks of flour, collapsed in the middle of the bed, unconscious.
“Just as we'd hoped, Master Bruce. The new formulation works perfectly.”
Suddenly incapable of anything more than a nod of gratitude, Bruce slides down into the nearest chair, his gaze locked on the bed, where Jason and Tim are slumped together, faces pressed together in a final blood-streaked, split-lipped kiss. This shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't have had to use the emergency tranqs. What the hell did he do wrong, for this to happen!?
But Alfred isn't so paralyzed with shock. “Help me get them downstairs, and I'll tend to their injuries,” he orders swiftly, moving to pull Tim free of Jason's weight. “I have a feeling you may need to call Mistress Zatanna afterward.”
~*~*~*~
An hour later, things seem even more grim.
With his boys laid out on bio-beds, Bruce can only watch as Alfred works on Tim, the family steward working fast, precise, stitching and bandaging. Jason's been tended to already, his puncture wounds cleaned and dressed, and Bruce holds his limp hand tightly, ignoring the drip of the IV bag that's steadily feeding him antibiotics, hydration, nutrients.
He feels such a failure, should've known something was going on with them, should've seen it, but... but this just doesn't make any sense. After what happened in the greenhouse, Jason and Tim have been behaving themselves, have seemed almost... normal. At most, he was worried that they seemed a little too attached to each other, but for them to come to this state, wild, feral, it's completely beyond him.
And it only seems to be getting worse, as Alfred discovers new injuries on Tim, low between his legs. The old man gives a despondent sigh as he cleans Tim up below the waist, shakes his head, and reaches for the sutures supplies again.
“It's best you don't see this, Master Bruce,” he says, glancing up and catching his gaze in warning.
Closing his eyes, Bruce nods, squeezes Jason's hand a little tighter. It's the last thing he expected from his Wolf, especially after the greenhouse, but... a part of him can't help but reexamine the choices he made so long ago, when he brought home a broken boy that deserved a chance.
The terror in his veins is wholly different with those thoughts, and far worse than the fear of the death of his Wolf. Things with Tim will most certainly never be the same. And Jason... he just doesn't know. He loves him, loves them both, but he doesn't know if he can trust either of them anymore, doesn't know if he should. What if he really was wrong, in all of this?
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Characters/Pairings: Jason/Tim, Jason/Bruce, Alfred
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 772
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Domestic Abuse: Sexual; For kissbingo: Type: Dirty; For 50_darkfics: Feral
Summary: The moment Bruce finds them in the bedroom, his blood runs cold with terror.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Warnings: Violent dub-con with resultant injuries.
Author's Notes: Fifteenth in the (Un)Familiar-verse; Follows (Un)Intended, with 9 more installments to go in the entire series. This is it, the start of the HEAVY ANGST. >:D
(Un)Hinged
The moment Bruce finds them in the bedroom, barely paused in the doorway with his finger still on the light switch, his blood runs cold with terror.
This isn't like the last time, when Tim doused Jason in blood as retaliation for asserting his dominance a little forcefully. No, this is much worse.
He's on them in a heartbeat, gripping and pulling at blood-slicked flesh, trying to find leverage, but they just keep going, rutting like animals, Jason slamming into Tim's small body, halfway shifted, both tearing at each other, snarling, growling, howling with pain and pleasure. The bed is ruined, the walls, what's left of their clothes, everything, and the only thought in Bruce's mind as he struggles to drag his Wolf off of Tim is that they're going to kill each other, someone's going to die tonight.
He can't move fast enough, can't pull them apart, only gets clawed at and thrown back forcefully for his efforts, blood and other bodily fluids smeared across his chest, his hands, his face. Landing in a heap on the other side of the bedroom, the wind knocked out of him, all he can do is push himself up, launch himself at them again, scream in his most commanding voice for them to stop.
No use, it's as if they don't even hear him, all their training gone out the window with whatever's responsible for this... this savage orgy, and he fights to get hold of Jason, to get a solid grasp on him, his fingers slipping, unable to hold on. Panic rises as acrid scents fill his nostrils, sex and violence and death, and he can only keep scrabbling for purchase against his Wolf, his legs getting tangled in the torn bedsheets as his own training proves useless, until-
The crisp sound of two shots from a tranq gun cuts through the cacophony of wails then, and Bruce leaps back instinctively, lets go of his boy only to find Alfred standing in the doorway as the boys go down like sacks of flour, collapsed in the middle of the bed, unconscious.
“Just as we'd hoped, Master Bruce. The new formulation works perfectly.”
Suddenly incapable of anything more than a nod of gratitude, Bruce slides down into the nearest chair, his gaze locked on the bed, where Jason and Tim are slumped together, faces pressed together in a final blood-streaked, split-lipped kiss. This shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't have had to use the emergency tranqs. What the hell did he do wrong, for this to happen!?
But Alfred isn't so paralyzed with shock. “Help me get them downstairs, and I'll tend to their injuries,” he orders swiftly, moving to pull Tim free of Jason's weight. “I have a feeling you may need to call Mistress Zatanna afterward.”
~*~*~*~
An hour later, things seem even more grim.
With his boys laid out on bio-beds, Bruce can only watch as Alfred works on Tim, the family steward working fast, precise, stitching and bandaging. Jason's been tended to already, his puncture wounds cleaned and dressed, and Bruce holds his limp hand tightly, ignoring the drip of the IV bag that's steadily feeding him antibiotics, hydration, nutrients.
He feels such a failure, should've known something was going on with them, should've seen it, but... but this just doesn't make any sense. After what happened in the greenhouse, Jason and Tim have been behaving themselves, have seemed almost... normal. At most, he was worried that they seemed a little too attached to each other, but for them to come to this state, wild, feral, it's completely beyond him.
And it only seems to be getting worse, as Alfred discovers new injuries on Tim, low between his legs. The old man gives a despondent sigh as he cleans Tim up below the waist, shakes his head, and reaches for the sutures supplies again.
“It's best you don't see this, Master Bruce,” he says, glancing up and catching his gaze in warning.
Closing his eyes, Bruce nods, squeezes Jason's hand a little tighter. It's the last thing he expected from his Wolf, especially after the greenhouse, but... a part of him can't help but reexamine the choices he made so long ago, when he brought home a broken boy that deserved a chance.
The terror in his veins is wholly different with those thoughts, and far worse than the fear of the death of his Wolf. Things with Tim will most certainly never be the same. And Jason... he just doesn't know. He loves him, loves them both, but he doesn't know if he can trust either of them anymore, doesn't know if he should. What if he really was wrong, in all of this?
~*~*~*~