|
|
femmedelalune (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} femmedelalune) wrote,@ 2007-04-10 21:36:00 |
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
DCU, Bart/Owen, 18
Family
Rating: 18
Spoilers: a whole stack of recent stuff, and some stuff that hasn't happened yet. Mainly Flash-centric
Warnings: Incest, slash, smut
Pairing: Bart/Owen
It was perfectly normal. There had been scientific studies done and everything. He had read them. And repeated them. Repeatedly. In pure statistical detail, at times.
The problem was, it felt perfectly normal. It felt right. It felt like the best sex he'd ever fucking had, and he'd had quite a bit, thank you.
And it wasn't strange that he talked about Supergirl, or that Bart talked about Val. Or Rose. Or that other Supergirl. Even Owen knew there'd been a few, but trust Bart to fall for one who was barely in this universe any length of time.
Owen had made contact, after he'd caught sight of Bart on TV. Something about how the new Flash was in LA. Just along the coast from San Fransisco, and the Titans, but Bart clearly wasn't dropping by there. So he'd bugged Nightwing, and, of course, learnt shit like Robin had been gone that whole year too, and everyone knew Wonder Girl had been crazycakes (though Kara said she was cool now, and fine, and of course he took her word for that). The Titans had been a complete mess. And he knew through the Rogues that Bart, clearly the heir apparent, hadn't been doing his duty that year. But he was now. And he was in LA.
Owen had adoptive siblings; three, in fact, all younger. All of whom thought he was dead. Or had thought. Owen wasn't quite sure what the rest of the world was thinking of the Outsiders right now. Anyway, he couldn't go back. But he missed them. And here was this kid, this so-clearly-a-kid-despite-his-growthspurt (and hadn't Owen been surprised to find out what the fuck had been going on with that), and this kid was clearly a socialable sort of kid (he'd started asking around, and it seemed that everyone knew Bart. Seriously, everyone. He'd hung out with Superman, Zatanna, even Adam Strange. And no matter how much he'd bugged them at the time, they seemed to like him), and this kid's friends were clearly sucking at being friends (he knew Robin had been through a lot, knew he was probably considered by some to have played a part in that, even though he hadn't, but sweet zombie Jesus had meeting Robin in Gotham been hard work. Kid was so angsty, so self involved, so incredib-ib-bally fucked up), and now he was in LA, knowing no one, and looking absolutely fucking miserable.
So, against his better judgement, Owen had called him. They'd met. Owen had told him how they were related. Bart had completely and utterly freaked, but only for all of a second, so it hadn't been too bad. And then he'd been honest about it.
"It's, like, I wanna accuse you of stealing my mom," Bart'd said.
"I almost feel betrayed, " Bart'd said, "because of who your dad was."
Bart'd said, "I wanna shout 'It's Not Fair', loads."
Owen'd said, "I think she was a sucky mom. I mean, she ditched both of us?"
And Bart'd gone into this long ramble about the Thirtieth Century and possible civil war and how evil their grandfather was (with a whole bunch of examples of things that weren't going to happen; time travel hurt Owen's head) and Owen had found that he actually knew a few words of Interlac, which had been cool.
So they met a few times. Owen even invited Bart to hang out with him in what was normally Supergirl time, but since that whole Powerboy incident Kara wasn't too keen on men anyway. But she liked Bart. Everyone liked Bart.
And they'd hung out in LA, too, which was cool. And there'd been an earthquake, and Bart had saved a stack of lives, and that was weird. Because it was so totally different from the Outsiders. Not that the Outsiders wouldn't save lives in an earthquake. Just that Owen couldn't really imagine Nightwing talked so fervently about how, one day, that would be all there was left to do. Bart honestly thought he could save this town; actually, completely and utterly, one hundred billion percent, end all of the crime. Absolutely all of it.
In an honest moment, in the afterglow, Bart admitted: "I know I can't, but the way I see it, I have to aim that high. Otherwise what's the point?"
Bart was unlike any hero Owen had encountered so far. Bart was the kind of hero in kids' cartoons. Bart was Dangermouse, Batfink, a Powerpuff girl. Bart believed in Truth, Justice, and the general all-round multi-cultural difference-embracing but-still-democratic, more-so-than-the-US-actually-currently-i
It was killing him slowly, of course. "The problem with having a secret identity," Bart said, "is it means that you have to lie. And I just can't bring myself to do that to my friends. Which means, I guess, that I can't make any friends. Which means there's not really any point in the secret identity in the first place, you see?"
Bart thought too much. Owen knew how to cure that.
It had been, what, their second to third meeting? Early on, anyway. And Bart had just cracked. They'd been sitting there, talking, awkwardly, and then Bart had been in tears.
And then Bart had been all over him.
And, dear god, it had just felt right.
They'd fucked that first time, in Bart's tiny shitty grey apartment, on Bart's tiny shitty grey sofa. Owen hadn't even had time to think about. The video clock had ticked from 00:37 to 00:38 and by then it had been over, and Bart had been pressed to his chest, trembling more than vibrating now.
Owen had always thought it had been something he'd grow out of, being too fast in bed. He'd though he just needed more practice, needed to concetrate harder. And it wasn't that those things hadn't worked. It was just... with Bart, he didn't have to think. Even single ounce of speed inside him reacted to the boiling, sparking mass that was Bart, and he buzzed, and his brain was a golden thrum and he didn't have to concentrate at all. They could fuck themselves to fulfillment to the ticking of a stopwatch.
They played around with it. They'd try taking it slowly. Owen would suck Bart's cock, Bart would suck Owen's. Take it on turns to be on top. Frottage. Not in any particular way, just frottage. Lots of frottage. It was easy. Up the ass in public places. In Kara's bathroom. In the Outsider's base. Making things as simple as possible. Making them unnecessarily complicated. A plethora of toys.
Bart didn't even bother answer his cell when Owen rang any more; he was just there, beside him. Speed calls to speed. He'd given Owen a bit of the speedforce, once, and Owen, buzzing and jittering and the whole world slowed to a snail's pace around him, had asked if this was what it was like for Bart all of the time.
"That's not even a fraction of it," Bart had said sadly, and they'd fucked again until the speed wore off and Owen couldn't stand up any more.
They'd have a long, lazy fuck on the roof of the building as the sun set, on a blanket that looked older than either of them. A thousand years out of time. They figured Bart was probably the elder. Meloni had probably meant for Bart to look after baby Owen. Probably. Owen still felt older, though, even if Bart was the one who could actually legally buy alcohol (not that Owen ever had much trouble getting served). Bart had maybe nine, ten, years of life in him, though. Two in VR, four in the speedforce. He broke so easily. Owen was his big bro, Owen had to look after him. Owen punched Robin for saying Bart still didn't take things seriously enough. Owen snapped at Kara for saying Bart wasn't ready to be the Flash. Owen stood up to that Green Lantern (a Green Lantern, anyway) and said it didn't matter when he'd wondered what his friend Barry Allen would have thought of Bart. Owen took the trip from coast to coast in short, tiring, bursts of speed, so he could spend almost every night with Bart, making it all better.
Owen lies next to Bart on the blanket on the roof of Bart's building. The sun has set, but it's not dark. Owen doubts it's ever dark in LA. He misses Keystone, suddenly. He wants to go home, to see the 'rents again and introduce them to his biological brother. Blood doesn't really run thicker than water, but running does, apparently. Speed does.
Bart is taller than him, and is still growing. He has the largest eyes Owen has ever seen, a deep, flashing gold. His hair keeps trying to get up Owen's nose as Owen tightens his arm arouns Bart's ribs (they're both skinny fucks, and Bart's getting worse because he can't afford quite as much food as he needs any more) and though five seconds ago he was perfectly sated, he feels his cock twitch against Bart's ass. He smiles into Bart's neck, and tilts his hips. Bart pushes back against them. He feels Bart's whole chest heave out and in. Bart rolls onto his back.
"It's fucked up, right?" Bart says.
Owen leans over to kiss him, lots of tongue. Bart grins into the kiss.
"Yeah," Owen says, leaning over his older baby bro.
"If anyone found out, they'd try to stop us."
"They'd think we both needed a stack load of therapy," Owen agrees. He lowers some of his weight onto Bart, slides sideways a little so he can rest his head on the hand attached the elbow propped up by Bart's ear. He tickles Bart's other side, and pinches his nipple. Bart twitches beneath him. Owen's delectably hard now. He shares this thought with Bart.
"Delectably," Bart echoes. "Yeah." They kiss again. This will be the third - no, fourth - time this evening, and the foreplay is a little slower. Well, the foreplay is present, anyway, which is more than the first and second time ever get.
"I wish we could just keep this," Bart says. "That this was just normal for us, and everybody'd deal with it."
"Like, this is how we interact as brothers?" Owen asks.
"Yeah," Bart says, hands sliding down Owen's back to dig sudden fingers into the muscles of his butt. "They'd all think we were boyfriends or something."
Owen pulls a face. "That'd be weird," he says. Bart laughs. Owen kisses him, and it lasts, and lasts, and he slides his hand between them and starts tugging on Bart's cock. Bart uses his leverage on Owen's butt to haul Owen directly on top of him, and it works, just about, becasue Bart is just a little bigger than Owen in all directions. Big brother. Owen gropes about with his free hand until he finds the little tube of lube. He slides down Bart's body, Bart vibrates Owen down his body, until he's resting between Bart's legs and Bart is half sitting, lips still pressed to his brother's.
He's already had Bart once this way this evening, but Bart needs just as much preperation now. He squirms and squeals and begs, and Owen laughs at him. Bart lies comfortably back on the blanket and lifts his long legs over Owen's shoulders. Owen leans forwards, making Bart bend. Bart is insanely flexible. Owen's fast enough to actually see Bart run, and sometimes his ankles are up by his ears. Runs like a spaz, except when he really needs to get the speed up. Owen can't see him when Bart pulls the throttle out
He slides in carefully, the lube water and warm and slick between them, and the spark is there. A few experimental thrusts, and Owen can feel it somewhere behind his breast bone. This is what Bart feels like when he has seven kinds of flu and hasn't slept or eaten in days and has been running full tilt for hours and just took twelve different MENSA level tests and has cried himself to exhaustion. This soulfilling golden buzz like the best drug Owen ever took, making him feel well and truly superhuman. He doesn't envy Bart for having it more in every way. This is almost too much.
It's slow for them, friction-burn-fast for anyone else. It's mind blowingly good. It's sex on e, sex on real speed, sex on speedforce. Utterly addictive.
Owen dreads the day he has to give it up. He will, he knows it. One day, he'll ask Kara out, or Bart will ask Rose out, or someone will find out. And it'll have to stop, because no one else will get that this is just a brother thing. A long lost brother thing. He's not in love with Bart, even if he does love Bart as much as he's ever loved anyone. It's that same overwhelming rush he got when he met his dad, and his dad actually wanted to hang out. It's confirmation that maybe it wasn't about him, that maybe it's not his fault. And it's the same for Bart, he knows it, because Bart talks and Bart tells him everything. He knows Bart better than any of his friends or family ever have. Because they're bros.
"They're fucked up," Owen says sleepily. "Not us."
"We're all fucked up," Bart yawns at him. "And we've got every right to be more so than most. 'Lost in time, and, lost in space'," he quotes mournfully, "'And meaning'."
"You wanna go watch 'The Princess Bride'?" Owen asks, sitting up.
Bart wrinkles his nose. "For what, the billiontieth time? There are other films, you know. And that wasn't what I was quoting."
"Rocky Horror is so done," Owen says. "You seen 'Withnail and I' yet?"
Bart shakes his head.
"You'll like it," Owen says. "Very cult. Very quotable. You'll be swearing like Samuel Motherfucking Jackson afterwards." He pauses. "I don't think they actually ever say 'motherfucking' in that film." He shrugs.
So they go back down the fire escape, and climb back through Bart's window, and Bart does a quick run round, like, a million video rental places before he finds it, and they watch it together, and Bart mocks Owen about Kara, and Owen mocks Bart about the police, and they wrestle for a bit because of something Bart said about the Rogues, and Bart draws a moustache on Owen when he falls asleep, later on. Because they're brothers.
Family
Rating: 18
Spoilers: a whole stack of recent stuff, and some stuff that hasn't happened yet. Mainly Flash-centric
Warnings: Incest, slash, smut
Pairing: Bart/Owen
It was perfectly normal. There had been scientific studies done and everything. He had read them. And repeated them. Repeatedly. In pure statistical detail, at times.
The problem was, it felt perfectly normal. It felt right. It felt like the best sex he'd ever fucking had, and he'd had quite a bit, thank you.
And it wasn't strange that he talked about Supergirl, or that Bart talked about Val. Or Rose. Or that other Supergirl. Even Owen knew there'd been a few, but trust Bart to fall for one who was barely in this universe any length of time.
Owen had made contact, after he'd caught sight of Bart on TV. Something about how the new Flash was in LA. Just along the coast from San Fransisco, and the Titans, but Bart clearly wasn't dropping by there. So he'd bugged Nightwing, and, of course, learnt shit like Robin had been gone that whole year too, and everyone knew Wonder Girl had been crazycakes (though Kara said she was cool now, and fine, and of course he took her word for that). The Titans had been a complete mess. And he knew through the Rogues that Bart, clearly the heir apparent, hadn't been doing his duty that year. But he was now. And he was in LA.
Owen had adoptive siblings; three, in fact, all younger. All of whom thought he was dead. Or had thought. Owen wasn't quite sure what the rest of the world was thinking of the Outsiders right now. Anyway, he couldn't go back. But he missed them. And here was this kid, this so-clearly-a-kid-despite-his-growthspurt (and hadn't Owen been surprised to find out what the fuck had been going on with that), and this kid was clearly a socialable sort of kid (he'd started asking around, and it seemed that everyone knew Bart. Seriously, everyone. He'd hung out with Superman, Zatanna, even Adam Strange. And no matter how much he'd bugged them at the time, they seemed to like him), and this kid's friends were clearly sucking at being friends (he knew Robin had been through a lot, knew he was probably considered by some to have played a part in that, even though he hadn't, but sweet zombie Jesus had meeting Robin in Gotham been hard work. Kid was so angsty, so self involved, so incredib-ib-bally fucked up), and now he was in LA, knowing no one, and looking absolutely fucking miserable.
So, against his better judgement, Owen had called him. They'd met. Owen had told him how they were related. Bart had completely and utterly freaked, but only for all of a second, so it hadn't been too bad. And then he'd been honest about it.
"It's, like, I wanna accuse you of stealing my mom," Bart'd said.
"I almost feel betrayed, " Bart'd said, "because of who your dad was."
Bart'd said, "I wanna shout 'It's Not Fair', loads."
Owen'd said, "I think she was a sucky mom. I mean, she ditched both of us?"
And Bart'd gone into this long ramble about the Thirtieth Century and possible civil war and how evil their grandfather was (with a whole bunch of examples of things that weren't going to happen; time travel hurt Owen's head) and Owen had found that he actually knew a few words of Interlac, which had been cool.
So they met a few times. Owen even invited Bart to hang out with him in what was normally Supergirl time, but since that whole Powerboy incident Kara wasn't too keen on men anyway. But she liked Bart. Everyone liked Bart.
And they'd hung out in LA, too, which was cool. And there'd been an earthquake, and Bart had saved a stack of lives, and that was weird. Because it was so totally different from the Outsiders. Not that the Outsiders wouldn't save lives in an earthquake. Just that Owen couldn't really imagine Nightwing talked so fervently about how, one day, that would be all there was left to do. Bart honestly thought he could save this town; actually, completely and utterly, one hundred billion percent, end all of the crime. Absolutely all of it.
In an honest moment, in the afterglow, Bart admitted: "I know I can't, but the way I see it, I have to aim that high. Otherwise what's the point?"
Bart was unlike any hero Owen had encountered so far. Bart was the kind of hero in kids' cartoons. Bart was Dangermouse, Batfink, a Powerpuff girl. Bart believed in Truth, Justice, and the general all-round multi-cultural difference-embracing but-still-democratic, more-so-than-the-US-actually-currently-i
It was killing him slowly, of course. "The problem with having a secret identity," Bart said, "is it means that you have to lie. And I just can't bring myself to do that to my friends. Which means, I guess, that I can't make any friends. Which means there's not really any point in the secret identity in the first place, you see?"
Bart thought too much. Owen knew how to cure that.
It had been, what, their second to third meeting? Early on, anyway. And Bart had just cracked. They'd been sitting there, talking, awkwardly, and then Bart had been in tears.
And then Bart had been all over him.
And, dear god, it had just felt right.
They'd fucked that first time, in Bart's tiny shitty grey apartment, on Bart's tiny shitty grey sofa. Owen hadn't even had time to think about. The video clock had ticked from 00:37 to 00:38 and by then it had been over, and Bart had been pressed to his chest, trembling more than vibrating now.
Owen had always thought it had been something he'd grow out of, being too fast in bed. He'd though he just needed more practice, needed to concetrate harder. And it wasn't that those things hadn't worked. It was just... with Bart, he didn't have to think. Even single ounce of speed inside him reacted to the boiling, sparking mass that was Bart, and he buzzed, and his brain was a golden thrum and he didn't have to concentrate at all. They could fuck themselves to fulfillment to the ticking of a stopwatch.
They played around with it. They'd try taking it slowly. Owen would suck Bart's cock, Bart would suck Owen's. Take it on turns to be on top. Frottage. Not in any particular way, just frottage. Lots of frottage. It was easy. Up the ass in public places. In Kara's bathroom. In the Outsider's base. Making things as simple as possible. Making them unnecessarily complicated. A plethora of toys.
Bart didn't even bother answer his cell when Owen rang any more; he was just there, beside him. Speed calls to speed. He'd given Owen a bit of the speedforce, once, and Owen, buzzing and jittering and the whole world slowed to a snail's pace around him, had asked if this was what it was like for Bart all of the time.
"That's not even a fraction of it," Bart had said sadly, and they'd fucked again until the speed wore off and Owen couldn't stand up any more.
They'd have a long, lazy fuck on the roof of the building as the sun set, on a blanket that looked older than either of them. A thousand years out of time. They figured Bart was probably the elder. Meloni had probably meant for Bart to look after baby Owen. Probably. Owen still felt older, though, even if Bart was the one who could actually legally buy alcohol (not that Owen ever had much trouble getting served). Bart had maybe nine, ten, years of life in him, though. Two in VR, four in the speedforce. He broke so easily. Owen was his big bro, Owen had to look after him. Owen punched Robin for saying Bart still didn't take things seriously enough. Owen snapped at Kara for saying Bart wasn't ready to be the Flash. Owen stood up to that Green Lantern (a Green Lantern, anyway) and said it didn't matter when he'd wondered what his friend Barry Allen would have thought of Bart. Owen took the trip from coast to coast in short, tiring, bursts of speed, so he could spend almost every night with Bart, making it all better.
Owen lies next to Bart on the blanket on the roof of Bart's building. The sun has set, but it's not dark. Owen doubts it's ever dark in LA. He misses Keystone, suddenly. He wants to go home, to see the 'rents again and introduce them to his biological brother. Blood doesn't really run thicker than water, but running does, apparently. Speed does.
Bart is taller than him, and is still growing. He has the largest eyes Owen has ever seen, a deep, flashing gold. His hair keeps trying to get up Owen's nose as Owen tightens his arm arouns Bart's ribs (they're both skinny fucks, and Bart's getting worse because he can't afford quite as much food as he needs any more) and though five seconds ago he was perfectly sated, he feels his cock twitch against Bart's ass. He smiles into Bart's neck, and tilts his hips. Bart pushes back against them. He feels Bart's whole chest heave out and in. Bart rolls onto his back.
"It's fucked up, right?" Bart says.
Owen leans over to kiss him, lots of tongue. Bart grins into the kiss.
"Yeah," Owen says, leaning over his older baby bro.
"If anyone found out, they'd try to stop us."
"They'd think we both needed a stack load of therapy," Owen agrees. He lowers some of his weight onto Bart, slides sideways a little so he can rest his head on the hand attached the elbow propped up by Bart's ear. He tickles Bart's other side, and pinches his nipple. Bart twitches beneath him. Owen's delectably hard now. He shares this thought with Bart.
"Delectably," Bart echoes. "Yeah." They kiss again. This will be the third - no, fourth - time this evening, and the foreplay is a little slower. Well, the foreplay is present, anyway, which is more than the first and second time ever get.
"I wish we could just keep this," Bart says. "That this was just normal for us, and everybody'd deal with it."
"Like, this is how we interact as brothers?" Owen asks.
"Yeah," Bart says, hands sliding down Owen's back to dig sudden fingers into the muscles of his butt. "They'd all think we were boyfriends or something."
Owen pulls a face. "That'd be weird," he says. Bart laughs. Owen kisses him, and it lasts, and lasts, and he slides his hand between them and starts tugging on Bart's cock. Bart uses his leverage on Owen's butt to haul Owen directly on top of him, and it works, just about, becasue Bart is just a little bigger than Owen in all directions. Big brother. Owen gropes about with his free hand until he finds the little tube of lube. He slides down Bart's body, Bart vibrates Owen down his body, until he's resting between Bart's legs and Bart is half sitting, lips still pressed to his brother's.
He's already had Bart once this way this evening, but Bart needs just as much preperation now. He squirms and squeals and begs, and Owen laughs at him. Bart lies comfortably back on the blanket and lifts his long legs over Owen's shoulders. Owen leans forwards, making Bart bend. Bart is insanely flexible. Owen's fast enough to actually see Bart run, and sometimes his ankles are up by his ears. Runs like a spaz, except when he really needs to get the speed up. Owen can't see him when Bart pulls the throttle out
He slides in carefully, the lube water and warm and slick between them, and the spark is there. A few experimental thrusts, and Owen can feel it somewhere behind his breast bone. This is what Bart feels like when he has seven kinds of flu and hasn't slept or eaten in days and has been running full tilt for hours and just took twelve different MENSA level tests and has cried himself to exhaustion. This soulfilling golden buzz like the best drug Owen ever took, making him feel well and truly superhuman. He doesn't envy Bart for having it more in every way. This is almost too much.
It's slow for them, friction-burn-fast for anyone else. It's mind blowingly good. It's sex on e, sex on real speed, sex on speedforce. Utterly addictive.
Owen dreads the day he has to give it up. He will, he knows it. One day, he'll ask Kara out, or Bart will ask Rose out, or someone will find out. And it'll have to stop, because no one else will get that this is just a brother thing. A long lost brother thing. He's not in love with Bart, even if he does love Bart as much as he's ever loved anyone. It's that same overwhelming rush he got when he met his dad, and his dad actually wanted to hang out. It's confirmation that maybe it wasn't about him, that maybe it's not his fault. And it's the same for Bart, he knows it, because Bart talks and Bart tells him everything. He knows Bart better than any of his friends or family ever have. Because they're bros.
"They're fucked up," Owen says sleepily. "Not us."
"We're all fucked up," Bart yawns at him. "And we've got every right to be more so than most. 'Lost in time, and, lost in space'," he quotes mournfully, "'And meaning'."
"You wanna go watch 'The Princess Bride'?" Owen asks, sitting up.
Bart wrinkles his nose. "For what, the billiontieth time? There are other films, you know. And that wasn't what I was quoting."
"Rocky Horror is so done," Owen says. "You seen 'Withnail and I' yet?"
Bart shakes his head.
"You'll like it," Owen says. "Very cult. Very quotable. You'll be swearing like Samuel Motherfucking Jackson afterwards." He pauses. "I don't think they actually ever say 'motherfucking' in that film." He shrugs.
So they go back down the fire escape, and climb back through Bart's window, and Bart does a quick run round, like, a million video rental places before he finds it, and they watch it together, and Bart mocks Owen about Kara, and Owen mocks Bart about the police, and they wrestle for a bit because of something Bart said about the Rogues, and Bart draws a moustache on Owen when he falls asleep, later on. Because they're brothers.
