The first time Jason had sucked a cock, he’d been 12.
Now, don’t make a face. He’d survived. Only that had mattered then, only that still mattered now, though it somehow tasted like irony to say that.
Two dudes had found the place Jason had come to call home. It’d been a squat apparently closed by a big metallic door. It had taken Jason the best of a day to unbolt it.
Then one day, he’d gotten home, and here they were. Being 12 and all he’d made a stupid mistake and snapped. There were only two of them and Jason was tough, and quick, and most adults didn’t expect a street rat to break an arm.
But one of them had had a gun, and when he’d taken it out and pointed it at Jason, the only sensible thing to do had been to freeze, so Jason had. But he still had had to open his big mouth and they’d decided to put it to good use.
Now that he thought about it, the guy mustn’t have been more than 16. He’d told him to get down on his knees, and had made him lick the gun first.
Jason had hated every second of it but he actually had been lucky. They hadn’t fucked anything else than his mouth, and they’d let him flee afterwards. Some gangs picked themselves a bitch and kept it until it broke.
Jason didn’t intend to be anyone’s bitch.
He’d put a blade between the shoulders of the guy the very next day. One didn’t survive in Gotham’s streets for long if one couldn’t defend oneself – and let people know about it.
The second time, it had been winter. Jason had been 13, pretending to be 15.
He’d managed to find another place for himself, a roof with a breach barely wide enough for his childish frame to slip in. No adult could hurt him there.
But winter had been worse than any adult. Getting bitten by the cold had never seemed so literal. Jason remember wishing he could bite back – to get something in his stomach if nothing else. He’d been cold, and hungry, and while he could usually sneak into empty flats to take quick showers and steal clothes and food, he’d found those empty less and less often with the cold keeping people inside.
He’d almost been arrested twice over the previous week. The second time, he’d managed to get away only because one of the girls had ‘accidentally’ bounced on the cop. In return, he’d kicked the hell out of the next guy who was being too rough with her. She’d thanked him with a smile on her broken lips.
Jason liked the girls, who often gave him some pieces of their own meal if he’d stand guard at the end of the street to warn them when cop was coming. They called him ‘Jay’ or ‘kitten’ and didn’t mind if he wanted to warm his hands.
But the cold was still too cold, the hunger too strong.
And hell, he wasn’t anybody’s bitch if it was his decision.
So he’d offered to some john, and had gotten on his knees for a few bucks. Not enough. Never enough. But, well, priorities.
He didn’t remember very well the third, or fourth, or fifth time. By the tenth, he’d stopped counting. It was that bad a winter.
Then, he’d found the Batmobile – and Batman had found him.
He had offered to Bruce.
Bruce never let him.