A.N.: It happened. BluePulse. It's wonderful. I love it. Everything about it. Bart is perfect, and Jaime is gorgeous. Everyone knows it; no one can deny it. I wrote this for my sister's birthday, but I never uploaded it. But here it is, shoddy as it is. I don't own Young Justice, but I hope you enjoy!
Bart sped in the door first. He shook his head of some of the water that had gotten itself caught in his hair. He smirked as Jaime clambered in after him, the Hispanic teen completely soaked through.
"Not our best idea, eh, her-man-o?" Bart asked, accenting each syllable of the final word. He was referring to, of course, the boneheaded idea that he had conjured up, demanding that the El Paso native follow him around Central City for a real day of sight-seeing the large city. Bart wasn't much of a weatherman. He hadn't even considered the possibility that it would rain on such an auspicious day. And, of course, the storm had chased the two boys all of the way home. He laughed gently as Jaime practically had to pry his wet sweatshirt away from his shirt. With a huff, the older teen haphazardly threw the drenched clothing across the arm of the Allen family's sofa.
"You could say that again," Jaime replied dryly, frowning as he looked down at his white t-shirt. Or, at least, it used to be white. Now it was just translucent, leaving very little to the imagination of the older teen's toned body. He looked up, only to see an odd look across Bart's face. It was confusion mixed with disbelief mixed with something else that Jaime couldn't quite place. Smiling weakly, the Hispanic teen turned so that he wouldn't be watching as Bart then pulled off his hoodie. It certainly wasn't something that Jaime was ready for, though it wasn't quite a terrible notion. Jaime sent a small plea to the irritating bug that was attached to his spine to Please, don't screw this up.
"We could do something else, if you wanted," the older teen offered lamely, realizing that watching Bart strip seemed like such a great idea at the moment. Of course, he could never act on such a thought, even if he wanted to. Bart was just a kid, hardly even a teenager.
There was a thoughtful sort of sound from Bart's direction, and that was when Jaime made the fatal mistake of turning around. There was Bart, clad in his wet jeans and nothing else, pale skin exposed to the air around. Bart was cold, that much was obvious. Gulping, Jaime turned away for a few moments, having a very serious mental argument with Khaji-Da. The scarab gave a few choice options, and Jaime chose to ignore all of them, save for one.
Kiss the Impulse.
It doesn't matter how it happened, or who kissed whom first. All Jaime could recall later would be that he and Bart fumbled around with each other before the Hispanic teen effortlessly lifted the speedster into the air and practically ran all the way upstairs. It was good, very good, that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Allen was home; the two were enjoying a nice, peaceful, family-friendly day with their beloved twins.
This? Not so family-friendly. Not so peaceful. But very, very nice.
Somehow, Jaime controlled himself long enough to deposit Bart onto the speedster's bed. Bart smirked deviously as he pulled Jaime's face down towards his. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, as if each was daring the other to make the first move. Eventually, Bart captured the older teen's lips with his, closing his eyes when they made contact. Jaime responded eagerly, catching the younger boy's bottom lip with his teeth. Bart's thin fingers glided across Jaime's chest, somehow making mental note of every muscle and contour with his touch. Before he could reach any lower, Jaime caught Bart's hands in his own, lacing their fingers together as he leaned in for another kiss.
"Like I'm gonna let you take control, ese," Jaime teased, taking advantage of the situation by splaying his own fingers on Bart's exposed body. The auburn-haired speedster moaned each time Jaime touched a spot of skin that felt particularly nice; he arched his back, getting close enough to once more place an ironically-chaste kiss to the older teen's lips.
While Jaime touched, Bart took the opportunity to actually study the other's features. A sly smile. Tan skin. Hands that shamelessly roamed his body in all directions. And those eyes. Contrary to the rest of his body, they were innocent, almost searching, perhaps even a bit nervous. Certainly these dark brown orbs couldn't be attached to those hands that boldly explored the stretch of pale skin in front of him.
No, they just couldn't be the same.
Bart gasped as Jaime's fingers grazed a patch of raised skin, an ugly scar that refused to fade. The Hispanic boy furrowed his brow as he ran his gentle hands against the spot again. It hadn't changed. And, as the older teenager soon realized, there was more than just that one scar. Plenty were scattered across the auburn-haired boy's chest, one ran across the length of Bart's forearm. There was a nick on his neck. Some faded scratches on Bart's hands.
Eyes softening, hands ceasing, smile fading, Jaime opened his mouth to speak; he could find no words to say. One look at the small speedster in front of him made it quite obvious that Bart didn't want to talk about it. He just looked up at Jaime, green eyes wide, making Bart look even smaller and younger than usual.
"Keep going," Bart whispered, voice shaking and close to cracking, but full of the same finality that the speedster usually used. He was scared, not uncertain. He wanted this, wanted Jaime, and if he waited any longer, Bart was very well aware that he couldn't continue.
"But..." Jaime started, lightly caressing the small speedster's face, frown deepening as he saw something unusual cross Bart's features. It was sadness - not regret or guilt - just sadness. "What's wrong?"
Bart smiled widely, not even caring this once that it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. Come on, dude, I'm totally feeling the mode right now."
Complying, but not agreeing, Jaime once again touched the first scar. It was pale, hardly noticeable, but the very sight of it seared Jaime's mind. And, without thinking, he uttered a broken-sounding, "I did this, didn't I?" He meant the future him, the cruel, large Blue Beetle that had ruined Bart's entire life. And, although Bart shook his head quickly, Jaime smiled knowingly. "I hurt you."
The simple thought of it alone hurt, hurt Jaime more than he ever thought something could. For the most part, the Hispanic teen considered himself very strong, perhaps even untouchable. But not this. Not when it came to Bart. "This was me."
The speedster recoiled as if he had been hit. "What? No, man! These are my awesome battle scars. They're pretty crash, aren't they?"
"Bart."
"I mean, I understand if you're jealous. It took me a couple years to build up such an expansive collection."
"Bart."
"But hey, I think they add character."
"Bart."
As the auburn-haired teen ceased his fast-paced speech, he realized that there was still a bit of rain that had dripped onto his face. It was probably from Jaime's hair, that dark mess of soft hair that retained water like a sponge. "Looks like you need to spend a little less time talking, her-man-o, and a little more time towel-drying," Bart quipped obnoxiously.
"That's not me," Jaime replied simply.
Bart opened his mouth, then closed it. He reached a hand to touch the edge of his eye and realized that he was the one "raining." "How long have I been doing this?" Bart asked very quietly. Jaime considered himself for a moment before responding.
"Like, forty seconds?"
It was strange, that such simple words could just throw someone completely for a loop. Bart paused, bit his lip, and tried, tried very hard, to keep it together. But with a soft hand from Jaime and a final whimper, as if relenting to defeat, the auburn-haired speedster allowed himself to cry. It was the embarrassing sort of cry that only a mother should see, but there Bart was, curling into Jaime's arms, shaking a little harder every time he heard a gentle, concerned hushing noise from his boyfriend. He couldn't meet the older teen in the eye, and Jaime didn't ask him to. Jaime was patient, gingerly kissing the top of Bart's head, and never prying or prompting.
He didn't, couldn't ask what was wrong. Not yet, at least. Bart needed time right now to break, and Jaime would piece him together bit by bit. He would try and would pray that every time Bart smiled, or laughed a real laugh or even initiated hand-holding, would mean that Bart was gluing himself whole. And every time the auburn-haired teen would chip, Jaime would glue another piece back together with a kiss. It would take a while, perhaps even forever, but Jaime was quite certain that it was worth it.