"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?
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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"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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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.
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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."
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"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!!]
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