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?
Bruce likes that fluttery feeling of Tim's heart beating against his hand. He can feel the hitch in his breathing under his arm and when Tim begins to even out, Bruce finally pulls out and away. He hasn't been careful. Not the way he usually is because he can feel this becoming an addiction. He's already thinking ahead, hours and days and weeks for when he can catch Tim alone and fuck him until he sobs. He's always promised himself to never have a vice like this one.
Because it's too good. It's too damn good.
He catches Tim's hand - the one he'd used to stroke himself - and kisses his fingertips, savoring that faintly salty taste that's so distinctly Tim. Meets his gaze whenever Tim finally turns to look at him.
When Bruce finally slips out, Tim whines. Pathetic. He's so worn out, used.
He would have liked to curl up in bed, have Bruce's arms around him, or
maybe be awake and available enough to go out and patrol with him. But
neither of those things will be happening. Tim knows that.
Bruce got what he came for.
"Right," he says, drowsy and stupid and feeling a little sick if he's
honest about it. It's like an addiction, isn't it? Worse maybe because it's
Bruce and it's allowing the man so much control over him in ways Tim
doesn't just give up to anyone else. He forces himself to get up, his legs
quivering like a fawn's. Embarrassing. He gets himself to the bathroom,
leaning against the door frame, turning to look at Bruce. "Did you come
here just for that?" What they just did. To keep Tim under his thumb.
There's a pang of guilt. A quiet stabbing of it in his chest that Bruce is too late in pushing down before it's had a chance to gain a foothold. He watches his boy wobble himself upright and take those unsteady steps to the bathroom. And all of it makes that guilty sinking feeling dig in a little bit deeper in his gut.
When had this become something so dangerous?
Probably when Tim put his weight against the door frame of his bathroom. When he turned to look at him with eyes that could see clean through him. Bruce hated it. Hated feeling exposed like a raw nerve. He gets up but only to put his cock away and to gather the scattered pieces of his suit. He doesn't bother closing the space between them. He doesn't have to. Tim is tethered to him, whether he likes it or not. All Bruce had to do is tug on the lead and he'd be right back where Bruce wants him to be.
That doesn't do much to settle that guilty feeling.
"I didn't plan this, if that's what you're asking."
"Hah, right, sure." The words come out sluggish and lazy, a little more
Jason than Tim but he can't be blamed for being mad, can he? At the very
least, Bruce owes him understanding. And Tim's--he's still drunk. Still
exhausted. Still hazy and red faced from crying and so, so embarrassed.
It cuts. That dismissive way with words Tim's picked up from Jason. Bruce expects it from Jason. Not Tim. Even in the kind of cruel, casual way he's leaving Tim behind right then. He would have expected Jason to hate him for it. He hates Bruce for everything. Tim had always been a bit more understanding. The mission came first. Always came first. Even at the expense of others. Especially at the expense of himself. Bruce finally does walk over to Tim, putting on his gauntlets in the process. So he could reach for Tim, pull him in close.
"You don't have to do that," Tim says, even though his voice wavers. He
wants Bruce to want to come back, to put aside the entire Mission for him,
to put everything aside. To stay because he wants to, because he wants
Tim. That's not what this is. Bruce is---guilty? It's surprising,
but it's not unheard of. "I'm just tired." And drunk. And so in love with
everything Bruce is but knowing Tim's not on that same level in reverse.
There's so much that's more important than Tim and his needs.
It's a very fine line to walk and Bruce had always been careful about not tipping too far over to either side. Yet here he is feeling guilty because he's tugged a little too hard on Tim's heart strings. He could stop it if he wanted to and Tim would still be that loyal soldier. And it highlights to Bruce how unnecessary this really is. But that's where Bruce's problem lay. He didn't want to stop.
"Sure," Tim says, and closes the bathroom door behind him. He needs to
clean out, shower if he can manage to keep himself standing long enough to
do it properly, and then crawl into bed. He's certainly not expecting Bruce
to be there when he opens his eyes again. Something will come up that's
bigger, more important, and---
That's the thing, isn't it? Tim gets it. He's the same for most other
people. The Mission comes first. Before his own needs, before his own
wants, before love or sex or anything. But even Tim would make a single
exception. For Bruce.
[ooc: if you wanna continue to a different scene or have Bruce be
there when he wakes up, I'm totally down!!]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
no subject
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?
no subject
Because it's too good. It's too damn good.
He catches Tim's hand - the one he'd used to stroke himself - and kisses his fingertips, savoring that faintly salty taste that's so distinctly Tim. Meets his gaze whenever Tim finally turns to look at him.
"I have to finish patrolling."
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When Bruce finally slips out, Tim whines. Pathetic. He's so worn out, used. He would have liked to curl up in bed, have Bruce's arms around him, or maybe be awake and available enough to go out and patrol with him. But neither of those things will be happening. Tim knows that.
Bruce got what he came for.
"Right," he says, drowsy and stupid and feeling a little sick if he's honest about it. It's like an addiction, isn't it? Worse maybe because it's Bruce and it's allowing the man so much control over him in ways Tim doesn't just give up to anyone else. He forces himself to get up, his legs quivering like a fawn's. Embarrassing. He gets himself to the bathroom, leaning against the door frame, turning to look at Bruce. "Did you come here just for that?" What they just did. To keep Tim under his thumb.
no subject
When had this become something so dangerous?
Probably when Tim put his weight against the door frame of his bathroom. When he turned to look at him with eyes that could see clean through him. Bruce hated it. Hated feeling exposed like a raw nerve. He gets up but only to put his cock away and to gather the scattered pieces of his suit. He doesn't bother closing the space between them. He doesn't have to. Tim is tethered to him, whether he likes it or not. All Bruce had to do is tug on the lead and he'd be right back where Bruce wants him to be.
That doesn't do much to settle that guilty feeling.
"I didn't plan this, if that's what you're asking."
no subject
"Hah, right, sure." The words come out sluggish and lazy, a little more Jason than Tim but he can't be blamed for being mad, can he? At the very least, Bruce owes him understanding. And Tim's--he's still drunk. Still exhausted. Still hazy and red faced from crying and so, so embarrassed.
He tries to sober himself. A little. Enough.
"It's fine. You know the way out."
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"I'll come back when I'm done."
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"You don't have to do that," Tim says, even though his voice wavers. He wants Bruce to want to come back, to put aside the entire Mission for him, to put everything aside. To stay because he wants to, because he wants Tim. That's not what this is. Bruce is---guilty? It's surprising, but it's not unheard of. "I'm just tired." And drunk. And so in love with everything Bruce is but knowing Tim's not on that same level in reverse.
There's so much that's more important than Tim and his needs.
"Just---be safe."
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"You should rest. I'll be here when you wake up."
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"Sure," Tim says, and closes the bathroom door behind him. He needs to clean out, shower if he can manage to keep himself standing long enough to do it properly, and then crawl into bed. He's certainly not expecting Bruce to be there when he opens his eyes again. Something will come up that's bigger, more important, and---
That's the thing, isn't it? Tim gets it. He's the same for most other people. The Mission comes first. Before his own needs, before his own wants, before love or sex or anything. But even Tim would make a single exception. For Bruce.
[ooc: if you wanna continue to a different scene or have Bruce be there when he wakes up, I'm totally down!!]
no subject