Disclaimer: I obviously don't own YJ, Blue Beetle or Impulse. And even if I did, this wouldn't be canon, because, omfg, what was I thinking? T_T

Eclipse

He can't remember how or when or why it starts, he only knows that he hates it and wishes it would stop. Whatever he did to deserve this, he's sorry, and he'd really like to take it back, and he swears he'd do things differently if it meant this would never happen again. But for now, it is happening, that big, strong hand is at the back of his collared neck, pushing him forward, deeper into the hollowed out ruins that once were the Hall of Justice. With every step – every painfully slow step – his heart sinks lower and lower in his chest and his stomach knots and churns with disgust and fear. Which is kind of funny, if he thinks about it, because he knows what's coming and he shouldn't be afraid anymore. In fact, he should be used to it. That he's still afraid and refuses to accept it is a good thing, or so he hopes. It means he hasn't given up yet, that he still has some fight left in him, some belief that maybe things will change.

Until they do, though, he's forced into a dark room he's become all too familiar with. There isn't much in it, just a chair that reminds him a lot of a throne, and some old and scattered nick-knacks that have been left aside to collect dust. He comes to a habitual halt a foot or so away from the chair, and watches as his captor steps out from behind him finally, then takes a seat. He looks away the moment those black lips curl into a grin.

"Bart Allen," the Blue Beetle murmurs, and his voice grates on Bart's nerves. It's deep and harsh, croaking and clicking insect-like and mechanically. To this day, he doesn't know how this monster knows his name, but it somehow seems as though he always has.

"So nice to see you again," he continues, and even if Bart isn't looking at him, he can feel those golden eyes raking over his body, drinking in every detail.

"Can't say the feeling's mutual, Blue," Bart mutters in return. He used to be afraid to talk back, used to think twice and hold his tongue, but not anymore. His quips and attitude seem to amuse the Beetle. Why, though, he isn't sure. If anybody else spoke back to him in such a way, they would find themselves staring down the barrel of a very large and powerful canon.

Blue Beetle chuckles, hollowly, darkly. "Come here."

Reluctantly, albeit obediently, Bart steps forward, and every footfall is heavy. He grunts and tries to jerk away when a black and blue hand darts out and cups his chin. The grip only tightens, though, and he winces and gives in, letting himself be pulled in closer.

The kiss is bruising, and Bart knows returning it will not make things any gentler. He's learned the hard way that when he attempts to cooperate, it only makes the Blue Beetle all the more aggressive. So he resists and keeps his lips drawn tight, holding his breath until the tyrant pulls away.

A pink tongue moves slowly across those black lips, and Bart can't help but stare, partly amazed that he – and only he – seems to be able to fuel such desire in this man. He wishes he knew why, and at the same time he wishes he didn't.

Thumbing his bottom lip, Blue Beetle tells him, "strip."

And he hates the way he responds, hates that he complies and steps back and starts by removing his shirt. He doesn't look at Blue Beetle as he undresses, tossing aside one piece of clothing and then another until nothing is left to hide him from those hungry eyes. He fists his hands at his sides and glares into the distance, waiting.

A hand reaches out and snags his wrist and pulls him roughly forward, causing him to stumble, to smash his face into that armored chest. He grunts and straightens up, looking up into that dark and sinister face. Blue Beetle is grinning at him, and he feels his heart finally drop all the way to the pit of his stomach.

It starts now.

Blue Beetle is far from gentle as he takes a fistful of Bart's hair and pulls him up and close, forcing him to straddle his lap. He kisses him again, and this time his tongue demands entrance to his mouth, and Bart whines as it happens. That tongue fondles his and those teeth scrape against his bottom lip, and he grips at the Beetle's broad shoulders but doesn't dare push away. If he complies, if he goes along with him, the less he'll hurt in the end and the sooner it will all be done and over with.

A hard tug to his hair, and the kiss is over, and now that dark and cruel mouth is making its way down his throat. He swallows hard against the rough kisses, skin rising in goosebumps at the feel of the Beetle's tongue on his flesh, tracing his Adam's Apple. Blue Beetle's mouth travels lower still, off to the side, then settles at the nape of his neck. He sucks there, marking the flesh, and Bart lets out a reluctant groan.

Blue Beetle releases his hair, and both hands travel down and against his sides, then come to rest against his hips. He holds him tightly, and Bart knows he'll be leaving with a new set of bruises there. He wants to tell him to stop – he'd beg and scream and cry if he had to – but he knows his pleas will fall on deaf ears. The worst is still yet to come.

Those big hands knead his hips roughly, but then one slides lower still. Bart tenses and holds his breath as the Beetle's hand glides over the swell of one ass cheek. He swallows hard, then pants open-mouthed, a sort of panic rising in his chest. He hates this, and his stomach twists all over again at the feel of a finger suddenly playing at his hole. His grip on the Beetle's shoulders tighten, knuckles paling as that finger forces it's way inside.

It's dry and hard and it hurts and his breath hitches and the urge to cry out is right there, but he clamps his mouth shut and swallows it down and grits his teeth inside. He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head, grunting and whimpering when Blue Beetle's finger starts to move in and out of him. He hates to think his body adjusts, but that's exactly what it does, gradually releasing its own hold, allowing the finger to move with more ease.

That doesn't make things better, however, because another finger is added soon enough, and this time he gasps sharply. His eyes burn with the threat of tears, but he blinks it away fast enough and reminds himself to breathe.

Blue Beetle's kissing his shoulder.

Deep breaths.

The fingers probe him, curve, touch places that make his whole body quiver.

Keep breathing.

They twist inside him, pry him open and stretch him out.

Breathebreathebreathe.

Blue Beetle leans back and Bart doesn't need to look at him or open his eyes to know he's smirking. He pulls his fingers out, and Bart shudders at the sound of the alien armor retracting. The host's member presses up against Bart, curved and crushed against the junction between his balls and ass.

He doesn't mean to, but the plea comes out, quiet and low and shameful. "Please. Don't."

Blue Beetle doesn't say anything, just grabs his hips again and lifts him up. Bart holds his breath and braces himself and tries not to think about it as he's forced to take the other man into him. It hurts, more than his fingers ever could, and this time he does cry out. Blue Beetle doesn't waste time and starts forcing himself in and out of the much younger body immediately. The friction burns, and Bart tilts his head back and stares at the dark and ruined ceiling.

He feels like throwing up, and he can't help the tears now. They come unbidden and hot and flow freely down his cheeks and he lets quiet, strangled whimpers out with every few thrusts.

"Do you hate me?" Blue Beetle asks, and it makes Bart want to retch right then and there. He chokes the urge back and whines in response. The Beetle chuckles in response.

"Of course you do," he goes on, and every word grates on Bart's nerves, and he just wishes this would end. Blue Beetle grabs at his hair again and pulls, forces his face down and closer to his own. Bart's eyes shoot open wide, and he stares into those horrible yellow eyes through his tears, and for a moment he thinks he seems emotion flit through their shadows. The gaze hardens too quickly, though, and before he's forced into another rough kiss, Blue Beetle mumbles,

"I want you to."

He whines into the Beetle's mouth, and more tears come because he hates this and he hates him and it hurts so much and, god, when will it be over? He breaks the kiss and bows his head again and breathes heavily, raggedly, and Blue Beetle's movements are becoming hastened. Soon. It'll all be over soon, he tells himself, and forces himself to stop crying. He composes himself, hollows himself out and waits. He can feel it throbbing inside him, swelling up by the second, becoming hotter.

When the Blue Beetle comes, Bart gasps again, feeling the rush of unwanted warmth flood him. He forces himself to stay still, even as Blue Beetle pulls out and leaves him feeling empty and aching. He swallows hard again, panting as he's shoved off of the bigger man's lap and onto the floor. He lays on his side, curls in on himself, and breathes.

Armor covers the host's sex, and the Blue Beetle stands, stepping over Bart. Before he leaves the building, he says lowly, "until next time."

He leaves the boy in a heap on the floor to collect himself, and he flies until he's over Texas. He doesn't know why he does what he does, or why he comes here, out to the badlands of El Paso afterward. But, sometimes, he remembers that boy from another lifetime ago, back when Jaime Reyes was more than just a whisper in the back of his mind. He remembers Bart Allen – the Impulse – and how he came for him, to try and save him from himself and then world in turn.

He remembers destroying that boy. But then he came back, new and different and his for the taking.

It's the Beetle that uses and ruins him time after time.

It's whatever's left of Jaime that prays he'll hate him enough this time around to stop him from trying again.