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Sequelmeme for my Jason/Terry ficlet for ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notpoetry
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notpoetry,
A sequel to this Jason/Terry ficlet.
He can hear breathing behind him, the thump of one of the Jokerz getting hit by someone that's not him. He's too busy with his own to do more than be aware of the bright flashes of colour behind him, yellow and the sound of someone breathing hard.
He can hear the moment when the sounds stop being the good kind of violent, and heads over into too much, so he turns around without thinking, grabs its arm and pulls it back, and is still surprised when he can feel something solid, warm.
"Enough," he says. Ghostboy, NotRobin, looks at him, angry and riding the physical high. Terry's never seen him in this much detail, dark hair, green mask and a stupid amount of skin showing. He deserves it, in his eyes and he's not even close to wrong. "That was enough," Terry says, putting some of the old man's snap into it.
Terry pulls him further back away from the groaning Joker. "We're nothing without control." Feels like the old man's words, even if he's never said them, not exactly.
The boy glares at him. "You're not him," he says. It comes out clearer than it's ever been and it's an accusation, not a statement.
Terry drops the arm and steps back, letting the shadows work. Doesn't answer, because he doesn’t need to. He knows who he isn’t and he knows who he *is*.
Ghost-boy looks at him. Young and angry and wounded, like Terry remembers from before he was in juvie, like he remembers from a hundred kids there. Jealous, too, like he sees when he goes back.
Then he rushes forward and Terry feels like he's getting pushed against a wall and no actual pressure,, double-layer of being touched and touching *nothing*, and the kid's kissing him, hard and greedy and practised.
He tastes like tea and how cold feels, and it's familiar, like looking into a mirror, because he knows this kiss from the other side.
Then he's gone, and there's just a pile of groaning gangbangers, one bleeding a little more than the rest.
notpoetry,A sequel to this Jason/Terry ficlet.
He can hear breathing behind him, the thump of one of the Jokerz getting hit by someone that's not him. He's too busy with his own to do more than be aware of the bright flashes of colour behind him, yellow and the sound of someone breathing hard.
He can hear the moment when the sounds stop being the good kind of violent, and heads over into too much, so he turns around without thinking, grabs its arm and pulls it back, and is still surprised when he can feel something solid, warm.
"Enough," he says. Ghostboy, NotRobin, looks at him, angry and riding the physical high. Terry's never seen him in this much detail, dark hair, green mask and a stupid amount of skin showing. He deserves it, in his eyes and he's not even close to wrong. "That was enough," Terry says, putting some of the old man's snap into it.
Terry pulls him further back away from the groaning Joker. "We're nothing without control." Feels like the old man's words, even if he's never said them, not exactly.
The boy glares at him. "You're not him," he says. It comes out clearer than it's ever been and it's an accusation, not a statement.
Terry drops the arm and steps back, letting the shadows work. Doesn't answer, because he doesn’t need to. He knows who he isn’t and he knows who he *is*.
Ghost-boy looks at him. Young and angry and wounded, like Terry remembers from before he was in juvie, like he remembers from a hundred kids there. Jealous, too, like he sees when he goes back.
Then he rushes forward and Terry feels like he's getting pushed against a wall and no actual pressure,, double-layer of being touched and touching *nothing*, and the kid's kissing him, hard and greedy and practised.
He tastes like tea and how cold feels, and it's familiar, like looking into a mirror, because he knows this kiss from the other side.
Then he's gone, and there's just a pile of groaning gangbangers, one bleeding a little more than the rest.
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Yes. JAY.
He tastes like tea and how cold feels, and it's familiar, like looking into a mirror, because he knows this kiss from the other side.
GOD yes.
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*clings*
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When has that ever stopped an OTP?
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