Tim hesitates, as if Bruce is asking the world of him. He's just--a little
confused. He'd sort of thought he'd just suck Bruce off, maybe they'd go in
the bedroom.... Right here in the open living area? With the window wide
open? It sends Tim's pulse racing.
He does it, bends and puts his hands exactly where Bruce asked, laughing
breathlessly because what can he even say? He's hard, cock jutting out in
front of him and red at the engorged tip. He bows his head and as he
spreads his legs, he looks back, watching Bruce.
If they weren't up so high, Bruce might have been a little more concerned about it, but like it is now, there's a certain kind of excitement in the open window. It makes his hard cock strain against his suit, but he ignores it now that Tim's truly put himself on display for Bruce's inspection. And his pleasure. He reaches for Tim's cheeks, kneading them with precises presses of his hands. And when he's satisfied, he pries them apart to lick a stripe between them, eyes flicking up to meet Tim's gaze with the intensity of his own.
"Oh----god---Bruce---" The words stutter out in a heady moan as Bruce's
tongue laps at his hole. For whatever reason, Tim hadn't anticipated he'd
do that. Not just right now but ever. No one has ever---it's so good
though, especially catching Bruce's gaze right before he did it like that.
Tim has to bow his face though, turning it away, fully embarrassed and so
turned on it was hard to focus.
Maybe not, but Bruce had wanted the taste of Tim on his tongue. Had wanted to watch him tremble and hear him moan. And for Tim to remember no one would treat him as well as Bruce does. His hands stays locked in place while he laps at Tim's hole greedily.
"I don't have to," he says when he comes up for air, "But you like it, don't you?"
Tim is practically drooling as he hangs his head and shivers, his shoulders
dipping and his back arching in a beautiful curve. It's good. It's so
goddamn good that Tim's brain isn't functioning practically anymore. No one
has ever done this to him, has ever taken the time, and Tim honestly never
thought it was something he wanted. But with Bruce, it's unbearably good.
When Bruce stops, it's too long, even if it's only to ask if Tim likes it.
He's panting, swallowing down his spit and shaking his head, then nodding,
forgetting what he's even doing.
Beautiful. Bruce thinks when Tim arches and the smooth line of his spine dips to bring him closer. So damned beautiful. He wants to take his fill, but doesn't think he'll ever be full up.
He likes the sound of Tim begging. And it isn't just the quiet plea for more. He likes the way that desperation curls around his name. How needy Tim sounds when he says it. He wants more. He wants Bruce to give it to him. It's enough to make Bruce put the discomfort of his erection straining against its confines away, so he could focus tasting Tim and watching him open up for Bruce.
His tongue slicks against Tim's hole in a long, slow drag, pulling a low rumble of a groan out of him. It makes Bruce tug at his hips to drag Tim deeper into the mire with him and so he could better feel Bruce's tongue wriggling its way inside of him.
Tim could cry. He might be crying, he doesn't even know anymore what's up
or down. Bruce's hands squeezing his ass and prying his cheeks apart,
Bruce's tongue shoving inside his hole, the wet and sloppy sounds of
it--that's all that's right in the world. Bruce is all that's right
in Tim's world, all that's good and perfect and exactly what he needs. His
head is spinning, fingers digging into his own table as he strains up on
his tiptoes to make the pleasure that much more intense, every muscle
shivery and taut, built by Bruce's own hands and molded into this image he
holds before him.
"P--lease--" Tim can't even speak right anymore, the words wet and heavy on
his tongue. He doesn't even know what he's begging for, whether it's more
or less or for Bruce to just fuck him already. "Please,
please--pleasepleaseplease--!"
Bruce is greedy. He wants it all. Everything Tim is willing to give him and probably some of what he isn't. He would take it just because he could. He hears that begging, that strained pleasepleaseplease and it makes him boil, makes him feel like he might just catch fire then and there. He can feel Tim straining against his mouth to feel more and it only pushes that desire for him higher.
When he finally pulls his hands away, they go for his belt, snapping it free so he can roll down the rest of the suit when he stands.
"Please what, Tim?" He growls it into Tim's ear as he gets up and presses his body against him, following that beautiful arch of his back. "Tell me what you want."
"H-hah..." Tim's breathless as he hears Bruce's belt and the slide of
fabric that means Bruce is taking off his pants. Or at least pulling them
down. Tim isn't sure if Bruce is ever willing to be fully naked when Tim
is, the power imbalance too heady probably. And as Bruce lays over his body
and cages him in, Tim moans.
Bruce is just--he's huge. Big everywhere. His hands, his thighs, his cock.
Tim's well toned and he's worked his ass off to be this strong, but there's
no way to ever physically measure up to Bruce.
"Please don't--make me say it." It's bad enough he's begging. To speak the
words out loud might break him.
"Just once, Tim." He didn't need to hear it. But he wanted it. It's another quiet swing at the wall between them to make the foundation brittle so it would crumble a little faster. He slides one of his huge hands over Tim's, lacing their fingers together. Almost tender, like a real lover and not something possessive and controlling.
For Bruce, Tim would say anything he needed. If that's what Bruce needed,
then Tim would do it. Especially in an altered state and so lonely and
still feeling empty after their last encounter, Tim was vulnerable enough
to clench his fingers tight through Bruce's. Laced. Like lovers and yet
nothing like it any other time.
Tim swallows, nods, his body shivery and anxious as he says it:
"Please---fuck me. Hard. You don't have to hold back. I can take it."
It shouldn't feel so good to hear those words from Tim, but it does. He does nothing to stop the little thrill it sends up his spine and back down again. Bruce gives Tim's hand one reassuring squeeze and presses a kiss to his jaw, before he steps back so he can guide the tip of his hard cock into Tim's hole.
No stretch, no preparation. Tim could take it. Just like Bruce knew he could.
The first push in is the worst for the pain and best for the pleasure both
somehow at once, Tim's nerves lighting up at the biting hurt and the
glorious sweep of arousal that courses through him. He gasps, arching under
Bruce's body and opening up for Bruce to go in deep before his body fights
against it and clenches tight. The guy at the bar never would have filled
Tim up this good. Never would have made Tim feel dizzy with need and
desperate to be broken in two.
He reaches below to grip himself, spits in his hand to get it wet enough to
touch himself, his hand unsteady at best, his fingers trembling. It's awful
and perfect and he's up on his tiptoes again to make it even worse. He can
smell Bruce all over him, in him, and it's heady, heavy, thick in the air.
Bruce had taken his time their first time. He had wanted to savor the feeling of sinking into Tim and the way his body clenched around him. He doesn't feel a sense of urgency now, but there's something in him that doesn't want to go slow. That wants to slam into Tim so he'd remember and understand there'd never be anyone else to fill him up like this. None of them would ever slot together as perfectly as they do. Tim would never let anyone else try.
The thought has Bruce putting his hands on Tim's shoulders, bracing against them as he pushed and pushed into Tim until their hips met.
He groans when he is in at last, breath hot against the back of Tim's neck. Bruce kisses him there. Once then a second time.
Tim gasps as Bruce pushes in, using Tim's own shoulders as leverage. Tim
bends fit to break, his spine dipped so dangerously low and his ass pushed
out for Bruce to drill into. Bruce is deeper than Tim has ever allowed
anyone else, and he feels like Bruce has gone past what's even possible at
this point. He's so thick it strains Tim's hole open, and the kiss relaxes
him enough to let Bruce sink in until his balls are resting against Tim's
hole.
The second kiss has Tim whimpering.
"S-o deep," he murmurs. "Gimme---a second. To adjust."
It's an almost perfect fit, the way Tim's hole swallows him up. Fine beads of sweat prick across Bruce's forehead as he sinks in deeper, as Tim strains to take him in.
Wait? Could he wait, when he wants nothing more than to fuck Tim into the table he's braced against? Bruce does wait, though every moment that passes feels like a lifetime. He exhales softly, before he digs his fingers into Tim's hips. When he can't wait anymore, he pulls back that scant inch before he drives his cock back into him again.
"Tim." Tim's name comes out in a quiet growl, filthy and full of infatuation.
That moment to breathe is appreciated. A kindness that Tim doesn't think he
deserves but is unbearably thankful for. Especially when Bruce finally
pulls back, only to push in again. Tim's knees wobble beneath him, used to
staying braced for pressure but not for this. He bows his head again,
shoulder blades knotting up, the muscles Bruce helped to shape moving under
his skin.
He starts to jerk himself off, slow and jerky motions as his toes curl from
the pleasure. It's a dream, really, to be the one that Bruce craves to this
degree. To be the best soldier for the mission. To be the first choice,
even if a scared voice in the back of his head wonders if Dick or Jason
might say otherwise.
Bruce could feel the muscles move where his hands were still planted firmly on Tim's shoulders. They're strong, carefully crafted under Bruce's care and guidance and utterly perfect. Bruce had tempered those muscles to perfection but it's Tim who had to work to maintain it. He was more than proud of their teamwork. Always an excellent team, even from the very start.
And that's where the difference is. Dick and Jason had to be tamed. Tim had something to prove and an eagerness to please. That's what drew Bruce in. That's what had him here, balls deep in the best soldier he's ever brought into the fold.
"You like it when I fill you up," He grunts, an arm slides under Tim's chest to hold him close while he takes an earnest pace, breathing hard against Tim's back. "Don't you?"
"I do," Tim gasps, arching against Bruce and giving in to whatever angle
his former mentor wants him in. If Bruce wants him spread eagle, he'll do
it. Or against the wall. Or riding him in his lap. He's slick with sweat
against Bruce's body, closing his eyes and leaning his head back onto
Bruce's shoulder. It's suffocating, being held like that, by someone like
Bruce.
No one else came close.
"I love it. Love you filling me up---" Bruce hit a sweet spot and Tim
convulses, toes curling and cock weeping pre.
This is perfect. Holding Tim flush against him while he ruts into him over and over again. He keeps his hands on Tim, exploring very inch of him he can reach. His fingers ghost over Tim's belly, prodding at the muscles there. Achingly close to Tim's hard cock.
"You want me to breed you, Tim?" He growls into Tim's ear. "Make you mine forever?"
"God, yeah, I want---" Tim has to gasp, half-choking on his swallow as
Bruce rams into that sweet spot over and over and over. It's painful, makes
his belly feel full and shivery, but it's good, too good to stop, too good
too good, too-- "--breed me, fill---fill me up, please, I'll take it, I'll
be--I'll be so good Bruce, I promise, I'll be your best boy--"
Tim's babbling, drunk on pleasure as he spasms around Bruce's length. He
stops touching himself, wanting desperately to hold himself back, arching
into Bruce's massive body. Tears in his eyes from the intensity of the
moment.
Of course Tim could take it. Bruce had trained him. Molded him. Shaped him. Made him perfect. He didn't doubt Tim could take anything Bruce could give him and would never want anyone else to touch him again. His best boy. He'd be his best boy and that's a promise he'd make sure Tim kept.
Tim's babbling only winds Bruce up tighter, makes his whole body feel like it'll catch fire with just the right spark. Tim could take it and Bruce parrots it back at him with each brutal slam of his hips against Tim's. He couldn't bring himself to care if it hurt or not. Tim could take it. Bruce's grip tightens, squeezing Tim against him as he comes, spilling until he feels so incredibly empty and spent.
Tim is definitely crying then. Bruce is huge, he's holding Tim so tightly
it's hard to breathe and---Tim has wanted this for so long. Long enough
that it's embarrassing, humiliating to admit that he wants his father and
mentor and coach and god in these deviant ways. This is so much more all
encompassing. Bringing Tim to his own brink just feeling Bruce empty in
him.
Tim barely touches himself. He just comes. From Bruce.
And cries, softly, his body convulsing against Bruce's, shivery and over
simulated. That man at the bar could never have brought him here. No one
could. And if anyone ever tried, they certainly wouldn't have been able to
hold him like this through the come down.
The way Bruce holds Tim is almost loving. An arm around his middle to hold him steady, the smoothing his sweat slick hair out of his eyes so he can watch Tim come. Watch the way his body shivers and his eyes change and the way his mouth opens and those streams of tears on his cheeks. He's gorgeous when he comes. The hand in his hair lowers after a moment to brush the tears away. It's gentle, even a little bit kind.
And he holds him until he's out of the thick of it and is coming back down to earth.
He's reluctant to pull out of Tim, to pull away from the warmth of his body. He knows once he does reality will sink in and Tim might remember Bruce's intrusion when he had been asked to stay away. So kisses the back of his neck, a reminder. I'm here. I'm right here. A hand plants smooth across Tim's chest so he could feel his heart hammering against his palm.
"You did well, Tim." Quiet praise and another anchor to keep Tim from slipping away too far.
As the high of his orgasm starts to wane and he comes down from the other
planet it took him to, he realizes he's leaning his tired body fully
against Bruce's. Bruce hasn't pulled away yet, is complimenting his
performance--an intense high of its own to hear the words whispered against
the wet whorls of his ears like that. With Bruce's big hand flat on his
naked chest, where his heart is beating out of control still. Where his
breath hitches with every sob until he's evening out a little, nodding,
some shame coming through but still distant.
"Thank you," he says and feels even dumber. He's tied to Bruce, there's no
question on that, but this is---he's not a child. Why does he feel like one
in Bruce's arms?
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Tim hesitates, as if Bruce is asking the world of him. He's just--a little confused. He'd sort of thought he'd just suck Bruce off, maybe they'd go in the bedroom.... Right here in the open living area? With the window wide open? It sends Tim's pulse racing.
He does it, bends and puts his hands exactly where Bruce asked, laughing breathlessly because what can he even say? He's hard, cock jutting out in front of him and red at the engorged tip. He bows his head and as he spreads his legs, he looks back, watching Bruce.
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"Oh----god---Bruce---" The words stutter out in a heady moan as Bruce's tongue laps at his hole. For whatever reason, Tim hadn't anticipated he'd do that. Not just right now but ever. No one has ever---it's so good though, especially catching Bruce's gaze right before he did it like that.
Tim has to bow his face though, turning it away, fully embarrassed and so turned on it was hard to focus.
"You don't have to---do that."
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"I don't have to," he says when he comes up for air, "But you like it, don't you?"
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Tim is practically drooling as he hangs his head and shivers, his shoulders dipping and his back arching in a beautiful curve. It's good. It's so goddamn good that Tim's brain isn't functioning practically anymore. No one has ever done this to him, has ever taken the time, and Tim honestly never thought it was something he wanted. But with Bruce, it's unbearably good.
When Bruce stops, it's too long, even if it's only to ask if Tim likes it. He's panting, swallowing down his spit and shaking his head, then nodding, forgetting what he's even doing.
"It's---good, yeah---Bruce, please..."
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He likes the sound of Tim begging. And it isn't just the quiet plea for more. He likes the way that desperation curls around his name. How needy Tim sounds when he says it. He wants more. He wants Bruce to give it to him. It's enough to make Bruce put the discomfort of his erection straining against its confines away, so he could focus tasting Tim and watching him open up for Bruce.
His tongue slicks against Tim's hole in a long, slow drag, pulling a low rumble of a groan out of him. It makes Bruce tug at his hips to drag Tim deeper into the mire with him and so he could better feel Bruce's tongue wriggling its way inside of him.
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Tim could cry. He might be crying, he doesn't even know anymore what's up or down. Bruce's hands squeezing his ass and prying his cheeks apart, Bruce's tongue shoving inside his hole, the wet and sloppy sounds of it--that's all that's right in the world. Bruce is all that's right in Tim's world, all that's good and perfect and exactly what he needs. His head is spinning, fingers digging into his own table as he strains up on his tiptoes to make the pleasure that much more intense, every muscle shivery and taut, built by Bruce's own hands and molded into this image he holds before him.
"P--lease--" Tim can't even speak right anymore, the words wet and heavy on his tongue. He doesn't even know what he's begging for, whether it's more or less or for Bruce to just fuck him already. "Please, please--pleasepleaseplease--!"
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When he finally pulls his hands away, they go for his belt, snapping it free so he can roll down the rest of the suit when he stands.
"Please what, Tim?" He growls it into Tim's ear as he gets up and presses his body against him, following that beautiful arch of his back. "Tell me what you want."
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"H-hah..." Tim's breathless as he hears Bruce's belt and the slide of fabric that means Bruce is taking off his pants. Or at least pulling them down. Tim isn't sure if Bruce is ever willing to be fully naked when Tim is, the power imbalance too heady probably. And as Bruce lays over his body and cages him in, Tim moans.
Bruce is just--he's huge. Big everywhere. His hands, his thighs, his cock. Tim's well toned and he's worked his ass off to be this strong, but there's no way to ever physically measure up to Bruce.
"Please don't--make me say it." It's bad enough he's begging. To speak the words out loud might break him.
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"Do it for me."
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For Bruce, Tim would say anything he needed. If that's what Bruce needed, then Tim would do it. Especially in an altered state and so lonely and still feeling empty after their last encounter, Tim was vulnerable enough to clench his fingers tight through Bruce's. Laced. Like lovers and yet nothing like it any other time.
Tim swallows, nods, his body shivery and anxious as he says it: "Please---fuck me. Hard. You don't have to hold back. I can take it."
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It shouldn't feel so good to hear those words from Tim, but it does. He does nothing to stop the little thrill it sends up his spine and back down again. Bruce gives Tim's hand one reassuring squeeze and presses a kiss to his jaw, before he steps back so he can guide the tip of his hard cock into Tim's hole.
No stretch, no preparation. Tim could take it. Just like Bruce knew he could.
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The first push in is the worst for the pain and best for the pleasure both somehow at once, Tim's nerves lighting up at the biting hurt and the glorious sweep of arousal that courses through him. He gasps, arching under Bruce's body and opening up for Bruce to go in deep before his body fights against it and clenches tight. The guy at the bar never would have filled Tim up this good. Never would have made Tim feel dizzy with need and desperate to be broken in two.
He reaches below to grip himself, spits in his hand to get it wet enough to touch himself, his hand unsteady at best, his fingers trembling. It's awful and perfect and he's up on his tiptoes again to make it even worse. He can smell Bruce all over him, in him, and it's heady, heavy, thick in the air.
Perfect. Everything.
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The thought has Bruce putting his hands on Tim's shoulders, bracing against them as he pushed and pushed into Tim until their hips met.
He groans when he is in at last, breath hot against the back of Tim's neck. Bruce kisses him there. Once then a second time.
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Tim gasps as Bruce pushes in, using Tim's own shoulders as leverage. Tim bends fit to break, his spine dipped so dangerously low and his ass pushed out for Bruce to drill into. Bruce is deeper than Tim has ever allowed anyone else, and he feels like Bruce has gone past what's even possible at this point. He's so thick it strains Tim's hole open, and the kiss relaxes him enough to let Bruce sink in until his balls are resting against Tim's hole.
The second kiss has Tim whimpering.
"S-o deep," he murmurs. "Gimme---a second. To adjust."
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Wait? Could he wait, when he wants nothing more than to fuck Tim into the table he's braced against? Bruce does wait, though every moment that passes feels like a lifetime. He exhales softly, before he digs his fingers into Tim's hips. When he can't wait anymore, he pulls back that scant inch before he drives his cock back into him again.
"Tim." Tim's name comes out in a quiet growl, filthy and full of infatuation.
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That moment to breathe is appreciated. A kindness that Tim doesn't think he deserves but is unbearably thankful for. Especially when Bruce finally pulls back, only to push in again. Tim's knees wobble beneath him, used to staying braced for pressure but not for this. He bows his head again, shoulder blades knotting up, the muscles Bruce helped to shape moving under his skin.
He starts to jerk himself off, slow and jerky motions as his toes curl from the pleasure. It's a dream, really, to be the one that Bruce craves to this degree. To be the best soldier for the mission. To be the first choice, even if a scared voice in the back of his head wonders if Dick or Jason might say otherwise.
""S'good---so good, Bruce, so--fucking good."
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And that's where the difference is. Dick and Jason had to be tamed. Tim had something to prove and an eagerness to please. That's what drew Bruce in. That's what had him here, balls deep in the best soldier he's ever brought into the fold.
"You like it when I fill you up," He grunts, an arm slides under Tim's chest to hold him close while he takes an earnest pace, breathing hard against Tim's back. "Don't you?"
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"I do," Tim gasps, arching against Bruce and giving in to whatever angle his former mentor wants him in. If Bruce wants him spread eagle, he'll do it. Or against the wall. Or riding him in his lap. He's slick with sweat against Bruce's body, closing his eyes and leaning his head back onto Bruce's shoulder. It's suffocating, being held like that, by someone like Bruce.
No one else came close.
"I love it. Love you filling me up---" Bruce hit a sweet spot and Tim convulses, toes curling and cock weeping pre.
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"You want me to breed you, Tim?" He growls into Tim's ear. "Make you mine forever?"
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"God, yeah, I want---" Tim has to gasp, half-choking on his swallow as Bruce rams into that sweet spot over and over and over. It's painful, makes his belly feel full and shivery, but it's good, too good to stop, too good too good, too-- "--breed me, fill---fill me up, please, I'll take it, I'll be--I'll be so good Bruce, I promise, I'll be your best boy--"
Tim's babbling, drunk on pleasure as he spasms around Bruce's length. He stops touching himself, wanting desperately to hold himself back, arching into Bruce's massive body. Tears in his eyes from the intensity of the moment.
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Tim's babbling only winds Bruce up tighter, makes his whole body feel like it'll catch fire with just the right spark. Tim could take it and Bruce parrots it back at him with each brutal slam of his hips against Tim's. He couldn't bring himself to care if it hurt or not. Tim could take it. Bruce's grip tightens, squeezing Tim against him as he comes, spilling until he feels so incredibly empty and spent.
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Tim is definitely crying then. Bruce is huge, he's holding Tim so tightly it's hard to breathe and---Tim has wanted this for so long. Long enough that it's embarrassing, humiliating to admit that he wants his father and mentor and coach and god in these deviant ways. This is so much more all encompassing. Bringing Tim to his own brink just feeling Bruce empty in him.
Tim barely touches himself. He just comes. From Bruce.
And cries, softly, his body convulsing against Bruce's, shivery and over simulated. That man at the bar could never have brought him here. No one could. And if anyone ever tried, they certainly wouldn't have been able to hold him like this through the come down.
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And he holds him until he's out of the thick of it and is coming back down to earth.
He's reluctant to pull out of Tim, to pull away from the warmth of his body. He knows once he does reality will sink in and Tim might remember Bruce's intrusion when he had been asked to stay away. So kisses the back of his neck, a reminder. I'm here. I'm right here. A hand plants smooth across Tim's chest so he could feel his heart hammering against his palm.
"You did well, Tim." Quiet praise and another anchor to keep Tim from slipping away too far.
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As the high of his orgasm starts to wane and he comes down from the other planet it took him to, he realizes he's leaning his tired body fully against Bruce's. Bruce hasn't pulled away yet, is complimenting his performance--an intense high of its own to hear the words whispered against the wet whorls of his ears like that. With Bruce's big hand flat on his naked chest, where his heart is beating out of control still. Where his breath hitches with every sob until he's evening out a little, nodding, some shame coming through but still distant.
"Thank you," he says and feels even dumber. He's tied to Bruce, there's no question on that, but this is---he's not a child. Why does he feel like one in Bruce's arms?
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