r4ins

[r4ins]

would you pls do Jason Todd x male reader? 😫Thank you!! 😆

Jason Todd x Top Male Reader

bottom jason todd

cw. lots of smut

Jason never hated Y/N more than when the man was inside him. Sure, Y/N was an asshole at the best of times, and Jason couldn’t wait until the moment he tore him down and his whole stupid empire with him, but when Y/N had him bent over and panting, a side of the older man came out that Jason absolutely despised. Unfortunately, his body had a different reaction to this Y/N.

“That’s it sweetheart, tighten up this hole for me like a good little bitch” Y/N crooned sickly sweet behind him.

“Nngh, fuck off” Jason responded, grinding his burning face into the cool wood of Y/N’s desk. He hated that Y/N could get him this worked up from just a few fingers.

“The big, scary Red Hood” Y/Nchuckled “well look at you now, whore.”

Jason blinked overwhelmed tears out of his eyes, yeah, the asshole had a point. He was sure he cut a pretty pathetic figure, bent at the waist over Y/N’s large mahogany desk, hands pinned behind him by his own zip-ties, jerking up onto his toes at every thrust of Y/N’s gloved hand into his slick hole, and whining softly the whole time. He couldn’t see Y/N, but he could imagine the smugness in his eyes as he sat in his huge office chair behind Jason, sipping a glass of whiskey in one hand whilst the other relentlessly abused his ass.

Jason wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he bratted his way right past Y/N’s warning glare and found himself manhandled onto the ground and bound up. Y/N had moved him to the desk only after choking him out against the floor and growling into his ear about being put in his place and getting what was coming to him. Since then, satisfied by Jason’s submission as his lax body was shoved over the desk, he had been lazily grinding his black leather gloved fingers into the boy’s prostate.

“Give it up, boy, it’s your own time you’re wasting” It was the amused patronising tone that got to him the most, made him want to fight tooth and nail and to bear his neck in surrender at the same time “C’mon Jay, let out that needy little slut we both know you are deep down.”

“Shut -uhn- up, you-” Jason grunted out. He was so tense he could feel the zip ties cutting into his wrists, could feel every pant of hot air into the space between his face and the wood, could feel each miniscule movement of Y/N’s hand.

Y/N hummed in amusement, pulling his hand out and wiping it on Jason’s asscheek like the boy was nothing more than a dirty rag. Jason let out a sob at the treatment, only to choke on air as he felt both of Y/N’s hands grab his cheeks and pull them apart. It was something about the exposure, or the hot stab of the objectification that finally made him break down.

“Daddy, daddy, pl-please” he whined. He could barely recognise his own voice.

“Ah, there we are, sweetheart. There’s my good boy” Y/N pulled away for a second, chucked softly at Jason’s heartbroken sob at the sudden loss of sensation.

Jason was limp as Y/N pulled him up by his bound hands and turned him until he was standing on shaking legs, still caught up in his own pants, and facing the older man.

Y/N shushed him softly, reaching out place his hands on the boy’s trembling hips and staring into his cloudy eyes. Without dropping the eye contact, Y/N lifted one foot and stepped down on the pants bunched around his legs until they slid down his legs to the floor. Bolstered by the hands on his hips, Jason stepped out of the pants and followed the urging of those gloved palms until he was settled in his lap, hands still tied behind him, wet eyes wide and desperate.

“Hey there, pretty boy” Y/N lifted a hand and took Jason’s chin between his fingers, moving his face this way and that to admire the pink flush.

Jason, unable to turn his face away, scrunched his eyes closed as he blushed fiercely, for a moment hating how much Y/N’s words turned him to putty. “Daddy, please, daddy”

“Shh now precious, don’t you worry your cute little head at all, hmm?” Y/N shook Jason’s face like a puppy until the boy opened his eyes to look up at him blearily, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you baby.”

Jason hated him, he hated him so much. He hated him even more for the way that his words made the tears collecting in his lashes fall down over his cheeks towards his trembling lips. The humiliation made his stomach roll, but also made his still hard dick throb painfully.

“Do you want Daddy’s cock, baby-slut?” Y/N asked, still in that sickly sweet voice that Jason hated so much.

No, no. “Y-yes daddy, please daddy. Baby wants it, please.”

“Good boy” Jason couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body at the praise, “Get Daddy out, baby.”

Jason stared at him in confusion for a second, flexing his hands against their bonds. When Y/N didn’t move, just kept staring at him expectantly, Jason tentatively lifted himself on shaky thighs high enough so that he could reach down below himself to try to get his hands on Y/N’s fly. The movement twisted his body, shoving his chest up towards Y/N’s face wantonly, and Jason despaired as he felt the flush spread down his neck almost to his nipples, standing in needy peaks directly in front of Y/N smug face.

Y/N leaned forward, ghosting breath over one of Jason’s ample pecs, and waited until the boy had the zipper of his pants halfway down before sealing his mouth over one nipple and biting down.

The noise that tore its way out of Jason was halfway between a shout and a sob, and he felt his fingers lose their grip on Y/N pants. Y/N didn’t let up, sucking a deep bruise around the nipple, and Jason forced his clumsy fingers to find their grip again.

Y/N only released his chest when I felt cool air on his cock, freed from his pants and standing to attention between Jason’s taught, trembling thighs.

Even though he couldn’t see Y/N cock, Jason found his mouth flooding with saliva from just the feel of it and the knowledge that he was soon going to be filled. He experienced a brief second of clarity from just the horror that Y/N had so effectively trained his body to respond to him.

The clarity was chased away, however, when Y/N got a hard, bruising grip on his hips and used it to manhandle Jason’s body down onto his dick. Jason threw his head back and wailed as he felt the intrusion carve its way into his body. Despite the torturous amount of prep, Y/N still and always did feel huge when he was buried inside him like this.

“Fuck yes, that’s good” Y/N groaned, holding Jason’s body down on him for an interminable moment, “you were made for this, baby, body just made to take cock.”

Jason wanted to rip the guy’s head off for saying that, but instead he made a soft, keening noise of need and shifted in Y/N’s lap.

“Fine then, you needy whore, take what you want” Y/N growled, letting go of Jason’s hips and slapping harshly at his ass when he didn’t start moving quick enough.

Shocked by the sudden crack, and the pain that only stoked the fire that was his arousal, Jason quickly lifted himself up using just his legs until barely the tip of Y/N’s cock was still buried inside him. After taking a second to feel the rush of anticipation, he slammed himself back down, crying out at the feeling.

He was so caught up in the feeling of riding Y/N, filling that ache inside himself that only ever seemed to be assuaged by Y/N’s cock and filthy words, that he didn’t notice Y/N reaching over until his hand was clamping over Jason’s cock. He wailed at the stimulation, rutting into the tight grip desperately whilst still bouncing on Y/N’s lap as much as he could.

Y/N didn’t exactly jack him off, more held his hand tight and still whilst Jason adjusted his movement to push into Y/N’s hand when he lifted up off his dick. When he took a second from the bright, hot, overwhelming arousal to look down at the other man mid-bounce, he felt a lance of humiliated heat through his body at the cold, unaffected way that Y/N was watching him shamelessly writhe on his lap.

That one second of feeling so needy and pathetic, combined with the harsh grip on his dick and the relentless assault on his prostate, was all he needed to finally fall over the edge. He screamed, head thrown back, as he painted his stomach and Y/N’s lap with cum. He arched, tense with the aftershocks for a second before falling, completely limp, over Y/N.

He felt more than heard the rumbled growl of satisfaction that Y/N let out as Jason came. Before he had an opportunity to recover, he was being hefted up with Y/N’s dick still inside him and deposited sprawling over Y/N’s desk.

“My turn” Y/N lifted Jason’s legs by the calves until the boy was basically bent in half and started jackhammering into his body, still shaking with the aftershocks of the boy’s orgasm.

Jason wept from the overstimulation; high, breathless noises punched out of him with every thrust. IF he had any agency over his own limbs he was be desperately trying to get away from the aggressive assault on his overworked prostate and sore hole. But as it was, he lay there in Y/N’s grip, completely unable to do anything but cry and whine and shake.

“Da-daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy” he didn’t know when he had started talking, didn’t know why he could only say that one thing. His mind was growing cloudier as his face got wetter, and he could hear his own voice become more and more incomprehensible as Y/N continued to ruthlessly fuck his lax body.

“da- duh- da- .. unhh” the whole world narrowed down to just Y/N’s hands and cock and cruel voice.

“What’s that babydoll? I don’t think you’re making any sense.” He felt fingers, still wrapped in those leather gloves, force their way between his lips and deep into his mouth, and all he could do was gurgle and drool around them.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Y/N asked in a voice like one you would use to talk to a child or a particularly stupid pet, “That whore mouth should always be filled up, huh baby? It’s not like there’s any better use for it.”

Jason felt a trail of saliva drip down the side of his face as his eyes rolled back. At this point his cock had managed to fill back out and throbbed, red and heavy against his already cum-stained abs. Y/N showed no sign of slowing down, the slapping of his hips into Jason’s ass surely turning his cheeks as red as his face.

“Love you like this,” Y/N continued, seemingly unbothered by the way Jason was choking and gurgling around his fingers, “fucked dumb, nothing left in that pretty little head of yours. I should keep you like this all the time, baby. I don’t know what little whores need brains for anyway. Just keep you tied up and stuffed full, filthy with my cum, so you know your fucking place-”

Without warning, Y/N shoved his fingers as deep into Jason’s mouth as he could as he pressed his cock balls deep into his ass and spilled inside him. He stayed there for a second, ignoring the way Jason writhed underneath him, trying to rut his still hard cock up against anything he could reach.

Groaning, Y/N pulled out slowly. He stared at Jason’s wrecked hole, mindless to the way the boy was desperately pleading through the fingers in his mouth. When he saw his own come start to drip out of Jason’s twitching hole he removed his fingers from his mouth to move both hands down to his ass and spread his hole as wide open as he could.

Jason, lost in a haze of pleasure and humiliation and the desperate need to come, could only whine and stare pleadingly at the man above him, feeling stupid and small and pathetic. Y/N looked up for a second, meeting Jason’s teary gaze with cruel eyes before he smirked and purposefully, and slowly enough that Jason could tell what was coming, leaned down and spat directly into Jason’s already ruined hole.

Jason’s second orgasm racked through his body almost painfully. This time he couldn’t even scream, only writhe on the desk in terrible ecstasy.

When he came back to, Y/N was sitting back in his chair, lighting a thick cigar and taking a drag as he looked with satisfaction at the mess he had made of the vigilante. Jason barely needed the pull on his leg to slide boneless to the ground and lean his upper body against Y/N’s leg. He was so exhausted he only blinked sluggishly as Y/N pushed the cigar against his lips and forced him to take a slow drag, all while carding his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, twirling the white streak around his fingers.

He kept his hand in his hair as he turned his attention to some papers on the desk and began to read through them, largely ignoring the filthy and half naked boy at his feet.

As Jason started to drift off, now on Y/N’s lap, he took a moment to wonder if it was really Y/N he hated or just himself for letting Y/N keep doing this to him. The thought was gone almost as soon as it arrived, lost to a haze of exhausted satisfaction.

[r4ins]

hi! could you pls do a jason todd x male reader smut? :)

Jason Todd x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom jason x dom male reader

i’m back 🙏🏽 exam szn finally over

See the thing about Jason Todd is, he has a smart mouth. A pretty mouth, too, Y/N knows, full and red. But more often it’s sarcastic, sneering, turned down to say something sharp.

Like right now, when Jason’s on Y/N’s couch, long arms spread over the back, his legs open. Taking up more room then he needs to, like always. Y/N, pressed to one side, legs curled into his chest, isn’t even sure how he got here.

Jason just showed up one day, said something about his own apartment being too loud, and then…kept showing up, until meals together became a regular thing, until Jason has his own toothbrush in the holder next to the sink, and Y/N now knows what Jason looks like sleep-soft and vulnerable, his lips parted. Jason kept showing up until one date became two, became three, became a relationship that Y/N can barely believe is happening even as he tucks every part of Jason close to his heart.

“You can fuck right outta here with that bullshit,” Jason sneers at the TV, where there’s a telenova playing and a woman with too much makeup is weeping, mascara dripping down her cheeks.

Y/N, who chose French rather than Spanish in high school, can understand most of what she’s saying, but he’s not fluent like Jason is. “You tell her, Jay,” he murmurs, more focused on his book than television drama.

“Shut up, Y/N, I’m trying to watch,” Jason says, waving him away as Y/N raises his eyes from his book, gives Jason a cool glance.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Jason,” he says, evenly, not actually annoyed. He’s surprised by Jason’s double take and the flush that creeps, almost unnoticeable, down the brown skin of his neck.

“I, uh, sorry,” Jason mumbles, rubbing his thumb against the scar on his index finger like he always does when he’s nervous. Y/N was trained to notice these things. He smirks, tucking a couple new thoughts away, and goes back to his book.

——————————

“How’s high school going, Y/N?” Jason asks at his back, deliberately goading. His footsteps were silent. Y/N would’ve jumped if his sensors hadn’t told him five minutes ago that Jason was here, wearing every part of the Red Hood outfit but the mask and helmet.

Y/N puts his textbook down, turns in his chair to face Jason. He looks good-the jeans are a little too tight on him, straining against his thick thighs, and the wind has put a tangle in his hair that makes him look like he just got fucked. Y/N can see him there-Jason on his knees, eyes wide and wet, tongue out, letting Y/N ride his face.

He shakes his head and smiles thinly. “I’m in college, Jason.” Which of course Jason knows, but he just loves being an asshole.

Jason shrugs, sprawling himself in one of the chairs at Y/N’s dinner table, plucking a book off his desk to examine it. “Introductory Nuclear Dynamics,” he reads off, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. Y/N wonders if he knows how distracting that is. “Fun.”

“I needed an easy class,” Y/N protests, stealing the book back and leaving it in the haphazard pile where he keeps all his textbooks.

“You’re cute, Y/N,” Jason says, and when Y/N looks up with a retort on his tongue Jason is just sitting there, smiling, sincere.

Y/N can only stare at the small freckles dotted across his nose and swallow down whatever he was going to say. “I…Thanks.”

“It’s crazy that you’re in college,” Jason continues, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Didn’t think you were smart enough for that. ”

“I could still have you on your knees in seconds,” Y/N says idly, and Jason’s flush reaches his face this time as he makes a poor excuse and flees. Y/N, satisfied, goes back to his homework.

——————————

“Why would I own a thermometer?” Y/N asks, peering out of his mound of blankets at Jason, who’s making him something he calls a chocolate caliente, which he swears will make Y/N feel better. Y/N, sniffly and feverish, begs to differ.

“Why would you…Y/N,” Jason sighs, coming over to put his big hand against Y/N’s forehead again. “It would help you to realize when your temperature’s getting too high and you should maybe rest instead of working yourself half to death, dumbass.”

“Keep sassing me and I’ll put you over my knee,” Y/N says, bleary, rolling over.

There’s a frozen moment before Jason makes a high noise in the back of his throat and says, “Y/N. Don’t tease.” When he rolls back over Jason’s forehead is a mess of nervous wrinkles, his hands twisting in his lap, all anxiety that Y/N wants to smooth out and kiss away.

“What, baby?” he asks, softer than he usually is with Jason. With anyone.

“You…you know I’m into that kinda…stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Y/N asks, though of course he already knows.

Jason waves one broad, callused hand, hunching his shoulders, blushing so red along his cheekbones that Y/N has to lean over and kiss him, sickness be damned. “That, uh…” Jason clears his throat. “That stuff. Where you tell me what to do.”

“And if I told you what to do, would you be a good boy for me, Jason?” Y/N’s never heard the high, strangled sound that Jason makes now; he knows that he wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life, though.

“Yes,” Jason promises, fervent, and Y/N’s sickness-induced headache is already going away.

He settles back into the couch cushions, spreads his arms over the back and admires Jason’s sharp, squinty profile, his bitten-raw bottom lip. “Alright, then. Take your cock out of your pants, Jason.” Jason hurries to obey, and Y/N notes how hard he already is, flushed deep red, leaking at the tip as he swipes a thumb over it. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Y/N warns, sharp, so Jason snatches his hand away.

“I, uh, sorry. Y/N.” Y/N considers having Jason call him something like master, but decides it’s too cheesy. Besides, he likes the sound of his name on Jason’s lips.

“Get on your knees,” Y/N orders, motioning to his feet, threading his hands through Jason’s soft, thick hair once he’s settled there, staring up at Y/N with pupils blown wide. Y/N…didn’t expect to be enjoying this as much as he is, to have Jason waiting on his every word. It’s nice to be obeyed, especially by someone with an attitude like Jason’s.

“Good?” Jason asks, and Y/N nods. As if Jason has ever been anything but good to him since this relationship started.

“Hump my leg til you come,” he says, idly examining his nails. He wonders how Jason would feel stretched around three of his fingers, Y/N rounding the edge of his prostate til it’s fat and sore, til Jason’s cock and his eyes are both leaking.

“What?” Jason sputters, edging back a bit until Y/N’s fingers tighten in his hair. They exchange a look. Jason grins, cocky again, shuffles back to spread his legs over Y/N’s foot. “I mean…Yes. Sir.” Y/N huffs a fond laugh, sniffs once. He can barely feel his cold over the slow arousal edging up through his belly as Jason’s hips jerk, warm against his skin.

“There we go,” Y/N murmurs. “Pretty boy.”

“M’not pretty,” Jason argues, though he won’t look at Y/N as he says it.

“You are. My gorgeous boy. And I’ll do anything I want with you,” Y/N continues, cupping Jason’s cheek, resting a thumb on his bottom lip. Jason’s eyes flutter shut as his mouth opens, takes Y/N inside where he’s wet and warm, Y/N rubbing against his tongue.

“Can I…Y/N. Please?” Jason begs, hand straying towards his cock. Desperate. Y/N’s never seen him get worked up this fast before, cock so hard it looks painful; Y/N leans forward to look, wincing in sympathy, and flicks the head.

Jason’s whole body curls inward as he wails, spilling over Y/N’s fingers, his leg, his own lap. Y/N wants to eat him whole. He leans back, sucks a drop of cum into his mouth, almost chokes himself when Jason is climbing into his lap soon after, biting at his mouth. “Fuck, Y/N, baby,” he groans, grinning when his cock brushes against Y/N’s bare stomach and Y/N’s breath hitches. “Can we do that again?”

Y/N is grinning himself, stupid and wide, as Jason slides back to his knees and starts pulling Y/N’s sweats down. He runs a hand through Jason’s hair again, tips his head back. The smile won’t come off his face as Jason dips his head. “Jay, we can do that as much as you want,” he promises, and lets Jason set to work.

[r4ins]

could u pls make another dick grayson x male reader fic? ^^

Dick Grayson x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom dick x dom male reader

“I thought you Bats didn't approve of gun ownership,” Y/N murmurs when they step over the carpeted threshold. Dick trails him, hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. Y/N definitely hasn’t been looking at how they frame that cute ass.

Dick doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze trailing over the wares with aloof curiosity, waiting as Y/N approaches the nearest rack. Doesn’t bother to turn over the gaudy little price tag; he can afford any model he wants.

“I don’t have an issue with you owning guns,” Dick replies lightly, and Y/N hums. “I do have an issue with you using them on innocent civilians, though.”

“What about smart-talking vigilantes?” Y/N quips back, and looks up in time to see the man flush. Dick’s gaze slides away, nonchalant, and he clears his throat.

“I mean for your work. If you’re just looking for some toys to try out at the range, I’m not going to hold you back.”

“And there’s no ulterior motive to wanting to accompany me into a gun shop,” Y/N returns with a crooked brow.

“No,” Dick says, admirably level.

Y/N hums again, and wanders over to the handguns. He palms the nearest, pulling it off the rack to test the grip, smooth his trigger finger down the barrel. “See anything you like?”

Dick smiles. “I don’t want a gun. They’re your thing. I’ve got all I need with my escrima.”

“Sure, Grayson.”

He palms the slide, listening for the satisfying clack of polymer settling. He lifts the firearm and squints his good eye down the sights, aiming for a rack of semiautomatics across the room. Dick’s gaze follows him, but there’s nothing in his expression to give the game away. Doesn’t mean Y/N misses the minute hitch in his heart rate.

He lowers the gun, ejects the empty clip. “So you don’t have an issue with my work?”

Dick makes a complicated expression. “An issue? Maybe. Would I prefer you were putting your talents to better use? Absolutely. Am I going to try to stop you? I’m not that stupid. And you’re holding a gun.”

Y/N snaps the clip back into the well, holding Dick’s gaze as he does. Which means he sees the heat bleed into those blue orbs. “And they say you’re just the pretty one.”

Dick gives him a grin for that, trailing Y/N as he shifts down the wall, setting that gun aside and trying a higher caliber.

“Charming. I am more than just a pretty face though.” When Y/N opens his mouth, Dick cuts him off with, “Don’t tell me I’ve got a pretty ass too. I’ve heard that one before. Come up with something original.”

Y/N grunts, and weighs the new firearm in his palm. It’s heavier, the frame steel. Dick’s throat bobs when he swallows.

“Have any favourites?”

“Favourites?” Dick repeats blankly.

Y/N waggles the gun in his grip. “Any favourites?”

“Oh.” Dick flushes, then nods at the gun in Y/N’s palm. “That one’s bigger.”

Y/N gives him a wry smirk. “Ever the size queen, Grayson.”

Dick scowls. “I didn’t mean like that. You’re big, I figure a bigger gun is something you’re after. Fragile masculinity and all that.”

Y/N toys with the hammer, ratcheting it back slowly under Dick’s burning gaze. “You really don’t know the first thing about guns, do you?”

“I’ve studied guns,” Dick contradicts, hands slipping from his pockets to cross over his chest, defensive. He leans his weight into one hip, considering Y/N’s current fascination. “Bruce gave us all the rundown.”

“You haven’t studied them yourself though, have you? Haven’t gotten familiar with them, intimate.” Y/N’s grin becomes a tad more malicious when Dick shifts at that, so he smothers it back to acceptable impassivity. “You could do with an education, Grayson.”

“And you’re going to teach me, aren’t you?” Dick suggests, crooking a dark brow. He doesn’t look offput by the idea, though.

“Is there anyone who knows guns better than me?” Y/N counters, returning the handgun to its hook. Dick’s expression is just the barest bit crestfallen at the surrender.

He gathers himself rather quickly though, to quip, “Deathstroke.”

Indignation spills across Y/N’s features before he can curb it, displeasure twisting his lips down at the corners. Dick’s grin grows in response.

“Jealous, Y/N?”

“Watch your tone, Dick.”

“Oh no,” Dick purrs, and circles around behind Y/N to lean one hip against the nearest counter, where Y/N’s eyeing the rows of custom engraved bullets with intrigue. “Don’t tell me your ego is that easily bruised.”

“If you want to talk bruises, that can certainly be arranged.”

Dick’s lips tick up another notch. “Bit cliche, don’t you think? You’ve only spanked me - what - forty-five times, at least count? Losing your touch a bit, babe.”

“Or maybe,” Y/N contradicts in a low murmur, “I just know all your kinks so well by now, little bird.”

Dick flushes at the nickname, but lifts his chin an inch, challenging. “I don’t think you know all my kinks.”

Y/N scoffs, and brushes past him to retrieve another firearm, far above where Dick can reach. Doesn’t miss the younger man’s gaze appreciatively trailing the length of his arm when he stretches upward.

He flips the gun over in his palm, watching the light dance down the sleek black metal, the way it catches in Dick’s blue eyes. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Grayson.”

“Subtle?” Dick prompts, saccharine.

Y/N glances up, meets that gaze with his own eye.

There’s the sharp, bright chirp of a momentary alarm, and then the electricity snaps with a harsh sizzle, the store falling into immediate dimness around them. Y/N’s gaze goes to the door, to mark the reinforced steel bolt that locks into place. Dick’s gaze sweeps the counter and the unmanned racks.

“Lockdown,” Y/N murmurs, on the lazy side of alert. “Someone tripped the alarm.”

“No one else in the store,” Dick informs him, in quick report. “Unless someone’s in the back.”

They pause for a moment, to note the stillness and the distinct lack of panic.

“False alarm,” Dick entreats, and Y/N nods an agreement.

“No getting out until they reset the breaker, I’d say,” Y/N concurs, shifting around Dick to return the firearm to its shelf. Then he has an idea.

He withdraws the gun, index fingertip stroking the steel.

Waits until Dick’s gaze slowly returns back to the metal, like a moth to flame, before he offers, “I suppose I could give you that lesson while we wait.” The suggestive stroke of his finger down the barrel leaves no room for implication.

“Seriously?” Dick says with a hint of incredulity, and eyes the gun.

Y/N lets it loll in his grip, if only so he can enjoy the way Dick’s eyes fitfully track the firearm. “I need a new gun. It would be negligent of me not to test it before purchase.”

Dick’s gaze flicks to the door, and then the empty counter, skimming that sleek barrel before it jumps back up to Y/N. His pulse is rabbiting. “You’re serious.”

When Y/N just holds his gaze, steady and unwavering, Dick’s throat bobs. He bleats a short, tittering laugh, his gaze flashing to the door again as his weight shifts against the case.

“Here? Right now?”

“Can you think of somewhere better?” Y/N returns, and smirks at the scowl Dick throws him.

So the little bird needs convincing. Y/N’s a regular charmer.

He takes a step forward, ignoring the reflexive tense that halts the air in Dick’s lungs, and stops just short of crowding the boy. Ensures he’s only barely touching the front of Dick’s torso, enough to set the man’s senses to blistering.

Dick swallows again, and looks up to meet his eye.

“I think we both know how this is going to go, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, tone deep in a way that pulls a shiver from the acrobat’s arching spine. He lets his wrist lull until the muzzle of the gun in his palm nudges Dick’s thigh, just so he can enjoy the way the boy flinches at the cold touch, distracted. “The question is whether you still need convincing.”

Dick’s gaze flicks down and back up when the muzzle traces the joint of his thigh and hip, trailing higher before returning. Y/N’s lips quirk at the involuntary shudder it produces.

Then those pretty blue eyes flash across the store one more time, to each corner of the room and back over to the counter. Cataloguing surveillance cameras probably, though he arrives at the same deduction as Y/N; whatever tripped the power to the store probably cut the power to the surveillance feeds too.

All the privacy they need to get started.

Dick shifts then, hands lifting to Y/N’s hips to ease him back a step. Just far enough away from the counter that the little bird can slide down to his knees between Y/N’s boots, eyes locked on his the whole while.

It’s an intoxicating sight, having a man like Dick Grayson willingly sit on his heels at Y/N’s feet. Makes his mind race with wicked possibilities, makes him almost wish they had more than a few minutes before the electricity comes back on.

Let it not be said that Y/N can’t make the most of a time-sensitive situation.

He rolls his wrist, letting the cold metal glide up the angle of the man’s jaw. Dick tilts his head into the motion, giving him a soft little moan when those sights scrape down the ridges of his windpipe and then press in against his pulse. The little notches leave twin marks when Y/N pulls them back, but only so he can nudge Dick’s gaze back up to his own again.

“Didn’t need that much convincing after all,” he points out, and chuckles at the flash in Dick’s gaze. His fingers slip into the man’s dark locks, a hush cresting over his lips as he taps the barrel of the gun against that handsome chin. “Don’t pout, little bird. We both know how much you’ve been begging for a good throat-fucking.”

“Didn’t think I’d be getting it from your gun,” Dick admits. Y/N can tell from the tightness of the words just how affected the man is, see how much he leans into the sensation when Y/N drags the gun up to knock gently against his cheekbone. “You’re not one to share, usually.”

“If you’re going to mouth off,” he warns, “I can give you a nice pretty bruise to remember the occasion by.”

It’s a delightful sight, watching the words tumble through the boy’s skull, seeing the way he conjures and discards quips just as quickly. Weighing the merit of each against the possibility of Y/N knocking his teeth around in retribution.

He settles on, “I can find something else to do with my mouth, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Y/N praises gruffly, and reaffirms his grip on the boy’s hair, holding him steady as he aligns the barrel with those begging lips. He makes sure to stop a few inches short of penetrating the man’s mouth though, just to watch the confusion and then the realisation crest over Dick’s features.

The little bird’s been trained well though, because Y/N doesn’t even have to bleat a guiding command before that tongue dips out to lather the underside in a long, tantalising swipe. Y/N hums an approving note, offering more of the barrel as the man’s enthusiasm rises. There’s something about the sight of those soft, pliant lips caressing hard metal that has Y/N’s blood heating, has him fighting the urge to just fuck straight into the boy’s begging mouth.

“Chamber's empty, right?” Dick asks between dragging kisses down the cold metal.

Y/N gives a responding hum. “Hard to say.”

Dick stills for a beat, eyes flashing up. “Y/N-”

He takes advantage of the man’s slack jaw to press the muzzle between his teeth, ignoring the bleat of surprise in favour of enjoying the way Dick immediately opens to allow the gun entrance. It slides across his tongue, sights clacking on his teeth as it dips inside.

Y/N doesn’t push it farther than that, giving his bird a moment to adjust. Those blue eyes are heated, but from the way his cheeks hollow and those pretty lashes flutter invitingly, Y/N assumes the outrage is fleeting.

“That’s the way,” he purrs in approval, enjoying the shiver that traces down Dick’s spine, the way he tilts his throat open a few inches further. Betters the angle of Y/N’s gun when it slips over his plush lips.

The roll of the flesh beneath the unyielding metal is mesmerising, as is the way the boy takes every slow thrust so readily. He looks completely focused, on his knees, at Y/N’s mercy. Every sense and nerve attuned to the inexorable press of that gun further and further into his throat.

“Come on, little bird,” he coaxes, easing the barrel deeper. “Something tells me you’ve got a little more give in you. I’ve seen you take cock deeper than that.”

Dick whines at the tease, jaw opening farther to let him in, to beckon that gun deeper into his throat. He only gags once, when the sights press against the roof of his mouth, and then he’s drawing in a sharp breath, wresting free of Y/N’s grip in his hair to bear down on the weapon.

When he pulls back up, Y/N only lets him withdraw as far as letting the sights clack against the back of his teeth. Those blue eyes slide up to meet his, awaiting instruction, so Y/N gives it to him.

“How about you tell me how much you want it, little bird?” he suggests, and pumps the gun once, slowly, into his mouth just to watch those gorgeous eyes water. “Convince me how much you need a gun down your throat.”

To his credit, Dick doesn’t try to pull back any further. Not that he’d get far, with Y/N’s unrelenting grip holding him at just the right angle. His tongue dips out once, in an attempt to wet his lips perhaps, before he tries to speak around the barrel filling his mouth.

It’s barely coherent, but Y/N can interpret the sentiment of the, “Please, Y/N,” from the earnestness in the little bird’s eyes. He watches the man swallow, that throat flexing as that tongue withdraws briefly, before he tries again, moaning the words out around the muzzle in his mouth.

Y/N holds him there, lets the man beg and plead around the obstruction for a few seconds longer. Just until he can see the first bead of drool spill over the stretched corners of those lips, see the flush that takes over his cheeks when Dick realises, see the way he tries to angle himself to curb it and finds himself trapped beneath Y/N’s grip.

“What a pretty sight you make,” Y/N coos, tilting his head sideways until the string of drool is caught beneath what remains of the light. If it takes longer to drip down the boy’s chin too, that's just a bonus. “Making a mess of yourself.”

The droplet parts from Dick’s wavering chin, splattering on the toe of Y/N’s boot as they both watch. Y/N takes the moment of distraction to thrust the barrel deep, enjoying the sound of the man’s choke, the slick sound of saliva as he gags, before he withdraws it back to a reasonable length again.

“Just begging for it, aren’t you, slut?” he says quietly, smirking when Dick’s gaze flashes up. It’s wide and open, laid bare for him.

Y/N slides back the gun, ignoring Dick’s bitten down whine as he wipes the weapon clean on each of his cheeks. Feels a thrum of heat at the way Dick’s lashes flutter with shame, at how the spit must feel drying on his skin. Then he returns the gun to rest on the man’s lower lip as he shifts his other hand to unbuckle his belt.

“I don't think I’d even need this,” Y/N ponders aloud, rolling the flesh of Dick’s lip beneath the muzzle, “to get you to take cock like a good whore. You’re eager enough already.”

Dick moans, soft and breathless, when Y/N palms his cock, eyes flickering between the progress of his calloused hand and Y/N’s burning gaze.

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse,” Y/N continues, peeling his jeans down far enough that he can bear his cock to the cool air, and pause to sigh, “so that no one blames you for being the eager little slut you are.”

“Please,” Dick whispers, lips catching on the barrel when he speaks. It kicks Y/N’s pulse up another notch.

“How about you show your gratitude by sucking me and my gun off?” Y/N suggests, enjoying the breath that hitches in the man’s throat. “Then I’ll let you keep the excuse to take back to Daddy Bats when he asks why you were on your knees in broad daylight sucking off a mercenary.”

The groan is much more audible this time, the need obvious in the way his hands fist the material of Y/N’s jeans. He doesn’t keep the bird waiting, angling the gun into the corner of Dick’s lips as he feeds his cock into the vigilante’s mouth.

Dick takes him eagerly, familiarity taking over as he sets to work. Y/N lets him adjust for a few moments before he taps the gun against his cheeks, humming approval when they hollow obediently.

It’s wet and hot, those lips sinful in the way they wrap around Y/N’s cock like they were made for nothing else. The small, pleading moans that spill up the boy’s throat are a gorgeous accompaniment, betraying the need in that heated gaze.

“That’s it, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, chuckling at the whine Dick lathers around his cock. Those pretty lashes flutter when he presses the man’s face down on his cock, gun scraping across his cheekbone to dig into his temple.

He lifts a thumb to draw down the hammer, making sure every click of the mechanism reverberates into the boy’s crooked ear. Those keens rise to a fever pitch when he releases it, his motions growing sloppily desperate as he fucks down onto Y/N. Punctuating each moan with the mercenary’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“I could blow your brains out, just like this,” Y/N coaxes, and curls his finger off the trigger guard.

Those pretty blues roll, his motions jerking to a surprisingly sudden halt as he shudders. For a moment, Y/N wonders if he’s taken it too far; then the flush spreads over the little bird’s cheeks, a sheepish edge to the gaze he won’t lift to meet Y/N’s eyes.

The realisation crawls over Y/N’s skin like a palpable heat, thundering down to his groin as he fucks tightly into Dick’s slack, recovering mouth. The thought that the man could come just from the threat of a gun has Y/N spilling down his throat, grunting as he empties.

Dick takes it all with only the mildest of chokes, Y/N guiding palm helping him to keep it all down. He settles once the brunt of it is taken, catching his breath when Y/N pulls free and tucks himself away.

“Come on, little bird,” Y/N says, offering a hand to pull Dick up to his feet. He wipes the back of a hand against his lips, still flushed with colour beneath Y/N’s wandering gaze. “There’s a range in the back where we can try this one out. I think we could even fit you beneath the counter if you aren't inclined to watch.”

[r4ins]

Bruce Wayne x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom bruce x dom male reader

He notices the smell first. He notices the smell immediately, because Bruce catalogues changes in his surroundings with infamous paranoia. It’s not a bad smell. It smells...filling. Like noodles, with a hint of fish.

Bruce takes his coat off, but not his suit jacket, and goes to the kitchen, footsteps carefully quiet. It’s highly unlikely anyone besides Alfred would be cooking in the kitchen, and he’d be alerted in the case of any kind of house breach, but still. It never pays to assume safety.

He edges towards his kitchen, ready to launch a defence, and then stops dead. Because Y/N is in his kitchen, setting the table.

Y/N looks up from his plating. He’s not wearing his mask, but not wearing the suit either.. “Hey,” he says with a not-quite smile. It’s wrong on Y/N’s face.

Bruce is left standing, dumbfounded and wrong-footed, watching Y/N garnish two bowls of noodles with parsley. Alfred nowhere in sight. Never a good sign. “What is this, Y/N?”

“Linguini,” Y/N says. He glances back at the stove. “And clams. White clam sauce. Simple enough, although Alfred was pretty strict on timing when he taught me the recipe.”

“Alfred...taught you the recipe,” Bruce repeats. The dumbfounded feeling grew stronger.

Y/N glances up at him, something soft on his face for a moment before he smooths it out. “You look good. But you don’t have to wear a suit tonight. Go put on something comfortable if you want.”

You don’t have to wear a suit. The words strike him hard, harder, he suspects, than Y/N meant them.

Bruce does retreat, and finds himself staring at his closet. He doesn’t really do casual, doesn’t really do being neither tabloid Bruce Wayne nor Batman, but he pulls out a t-shirt and a soft gray sweater anyway. He double-checks with Alfred that yes, Y/N’s presence is intentional, no, he’s not under any kind of influence, no spores, no alien mind control, no weird chemicals. Just Y/N. In his kitchen. Feeding him.

Alfred also takes a moment to explicitly inform him that he “approves of Master Y/N’s plans, sir” and then hangs up on him. Hangs up on him. Bruce walks back into the kitchen, because there’s nothing else to do. He takes a seat across from Y/N, who smiles at him, a real one this time.

It’s weird. There’s no other word for it. But Bruce was raised to be polite, so he swirls a mouthful of linguini around his fork and tastes it. Y/N watches as he swallows. Bruce clears his throat, says, “It’s delicious, thank you.”

“Compliments to Alfred, as I said,” Y/N deflects, modest as ever, looking a little sheepish. It’s that that makes Bruce start to unwind, his shoulders coming down, his stomach loosening. He’s still wary, he’s always wary. But it’s Y/N. Y/N is loose-limbed, relaxed, in a casual green sweater much the same as Bruce is in grey. It wasn’t intentional, Bruce thinks, wryly, but they do never seem to get away from their chosen colors.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asks. His eyes light up, ready to tease.

Bruce shrugs, elegantly. He’s regained some of his equilibrium. It’s not the first time he’s had dinner alone with Y/N, after all, just the first time in his house, and with no warning. “Your sweater is green. Mine is grey. I assume it wasn’t intentional.”

Y/N glances down at himself as if surprised. “I guess not. I certainly didn’t want us to be in uniform for this conversation.”

Bruce zeroes in on that last part. “And what is this conversation, Y/N?” He lifts another forkful to his mouth, refusing to break eye contact.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a moment, his cheeks growing a little red. “Ah,” he fumbles.

Bruce steps in, ruthless now that he’s found a weak spot. “A simple seduction? Blowing off some steam with someone else who knows the secret? The idea has some appeal, I have to admit.”

Y/N looks offended, opens his mouth. Bruce pushes on. “Or perhaps the rest of the League has decided they’ve had enough of me and are kicking me off the team?”

“No, Bruce—” Y/N says, outraged on Batman’s behalf.

“Or perhaps, Y/N, you’re here to tell me I’ve contracted some alien disease or other. Or maybe it’s that you’ve contracted some alien disease or other.”

Y/N has closed his mouth by now, and weathers it all with restraint, if not with stoicism.

“Are you finished?” he asks, deliberately mild, taking a sip of his wine.

Bruce arches an eyebrow at him. “Am I ever?”

Y/N laughs, completely tension free. “I guess then the Bat wouldn’t exist.” He puts down his glass of wine, stands up, and strides purposefully around the table to Bruce, all his careful presentation forgotten.

“I assume we’ve come to the point,” Bruce says, because he’s a bastard sometimes and Y/N knows that.

Y/N does know that. “You’re cruel when you’re confused or worried. Especially with me,” he says, and that takes the wind out of Bruce’s sails, some. He refuses to get up, though, to grant Y/N that victory. Y/N’s shoulders tighten, and he takes a deep breath. “All this is, is: I love you, and I want to spend the night with you. Just one.”

Bruce is on his feet before he can process it, snarling and putting his back toward the wall. “You don’t,” he says, gritting it out through his teeth. “You don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t bother responding, just walks towards him, slowly and deliberately. Bruce’s back hits the wall. If it were anyone else, he would keep moving, find any of the numerous weapons he keeps concealed on the property, but Y/N could break him in half in an instant, and Y/N keeps his eyes on his and Bruce can’t seem to make himself do anything except flinch into stillness when Y/N’s hand lands on his face.

“Look, it’s—it’s tactical.” Y/N’s thumb strokes his cheekbone with unbearable tenderness. How many hours of training did this take? Bruce knows that a man like Y/N could crush him without a thought, it’s not just softness, it’s discipline, and that, more than anything, makes Bruce’s breath catch. Y/N’s eyes hover at the base of his throat. Not ashamed, but resigned. “You and I know that—that there’s something between us. Something deep, something permanent. And we also know that you won’t let this be permanent, not in a real way, not in a vulnerable way, so…” Y/N stops, takes a deep breath. Raises his chin to look Bruce right in the eyes. “One night, Bruce. That’s all. One night to acknowledge this and then we let it be.”

“That’s—it won’t work.” Bruce’s heart is hammering and Y/N’s thumb is stroking right over his pulse point under his jaw. “It’ll just make it worse.”

“We all know your self-control.” Y/N’s thumb moves in a smooth line down until it stops right under the point where Bruce’s sternum ends―a perfect, vulnerable path to his heart. “And I know mine.” It’s enormous, this trust, the way Bruce’s body trembles beneath Y/N’s touch—light, so light, lighter than Bruce can even truly quantify because of the power that thrums through every one of Y/N’s cells. There is gentle, and then there is careful, and Y/N is both. Every action he takes is so measured—how did he not realize before?

Y/N leans in, pausing right before their lips touch. Bruce makes no move to meet him. Y/N’s mouth curves upward into a smile. “Please?” he murmurs, the warm air from his mouth brushing Bruce’s skin.

Bruce is only a man, and Y/N is more-than, and—

He leans forward just enough to meet Y/N. Y/N, who melts a little, like this chaste press of lips is a heady, passionate rush. Well, Bruce can do one better than that; he tilts his head and licks into Y/N’s mouth, sliding his fingers into his hair to draw him closer, and suddenly there’s a feeling of air rushing past him and they’re in his bedroom. Bruce can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. He lets Y/N swallow his inevitable gasp, scrapes his teeth against Y/N’s pulse point, slides his hands beneath Y/N’s undershirt, tugging it up from his belt. Y/N lifts his arms obligingly.

He really is beautiful, Bruce can’t deny that. Especially right now, all that lush, seamless golden skin on display, literally saturated in sunshine. Bruce, by contrast, is covered in scars, no matter how well-healed, and he’s not body-shy, but he keenly feels the contrast between them, and the awareness that Y/N can map out the differences between the textures of his skin very nearly to the microscopic. He rubs his thumbs across Y/N’s nipples, a little rough, but Y/N—

Y/N is smiling again, a little helplessly this time. Like he’s really happy to be doing this. Like there’s joy in this for him. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, sinking to his knees, fingers hooked on Bruce’s belt loops. Bruce lets him draw his pants and underwear down, divest him of socks and shoes and watches as Y/N does the same for himself before sliding his hands and mouth up Bruce’s thighs.

As arousing and arresting as it is—and it is, the heat coursing through Bruce’s body is of an intensity unlike he’s felt in years—to see the most powerful man in the world on his knees, ready to suck Bruce’s cock, he stops Y/N with a hand in his hair.

“No,” he says, surprising them both. He swallows. “If we’re doing this, if we’re laying all cards on the table, then—I want you inside me.” It’s been a long time since he was shy about sex, shy about asking for what he wanted, but Y/N is just so sincere in everything he does that Bruce feels how the words rattle on their way out of his throat.

Y/N inhales a shaky, sharp breath, stands, and moves to kiss him like this is too much to bear. He walks Bruce backward to the bed, sucking on his tongue, cradles his head as they hit the mattress as though he’s afraid of hurting him.

Y/N takes a while opening him up. He’s gentle about it. He acts like they have time. Bruce wants to snarl, to buck his hips, to force Y/N to get on with it so it can be over and a memory he can look back on with frenzied, punishing, aching regret he can press like a bruise over and over again, but Y/N knows Bruce, Y/N keeps a hand on him, right below his ribs, applying just the barest fraction of that incalculable strength, and keeps moving at his slow, safe pace.

Bruce flings an arm over his eyes. He shudders.

“Show me what you like,” Y/N says. He kisses the inside of Bruce’s thighs, mouths at his balls and the soft place next to his hipbone. “I can’t read your mind, Bruce. Never could. Talk to me. Tell me.”

“More,” is all Bruce says.

Y/N listens, he knows when and how to push, in words, in silences. He does ease a third finger in, carefully, snugly, rubbing the tips of his fingers against Bruce’s walls in slow, maddening circles. Despite himself, Bruce finds his hips trying to bear down just the slightest amount, his muscles twitching in an effort not to squeeze.

It’s only partially because he’s resisting, still. Part of him just wants this to last as long as it can. If he doesn’t chase, if he just takes what Y/N gives—

And oh, how Y/N gives. He’s beginning to pump his wrist at a building pace, sending sparks flying outward down to Bruce’s toes, but his mouth, his mouth is everywhere, reverence evident in Y/N’s eyes fluttering half-closed, then snapping open again as if he’s forcing himself to watch, forcing himself to remember, because he knows he won’t get another chance.

Because he knows Bruce won’t give him one.

Y/N’s fingers stretch just a little wider, pump just a little faster, curl just the right way, and Bruce’s back arches off the bed.

“Christ, you’ve had practice with this, haven’t you?” Bruce asks, laughing a little, breathless. He only sounds a little wrecked, although the effect is ruined by the way his thighs keep shaking. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N grins and twists his fingers again, making Bruce bite back a curse. “Not all of us can be billionaire playboys, but that doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced, either,” he teases. And oh, he is a tease, moving his hand fast with almost just enough pressure, almost at the right spot, and Bruce can’t help it, he chases and lets his muscles squeeze just once to get maximum friction—and then Y/N pulls out. Of course.

Bruce groans and sits up on his elbows, panting. He hadn’t even realized he’s been breathing so hard, or that there’s a sheen of sweat on his chest. He feels a little drunk, actually, and he’s not sure how long he’s been here, how long Y/N has been tirelessly pushing and pulling him to and from the edge. It’s disorienting. He normally is so strict about awareness of time in his body. He’s about to panic a little, to lash out, if only with words, when he’s arrested by Y/N’s soft eyes.

“Stay with me,” Y/N says, and god, where else would Bruce go? The vulnerability of this thought makes him angry, makes him frightened, and Bruce lunges over to Y/N, intent to bruise, and bites along his collarbone, his Adam’s apple, under his ear. Y/N moans and moves with it, holding onto Bruce’s shoulders. “Do what you need to do,” he says. “Do what you want.”

He lets out a cry when Bruce fists his cock, when he hooks an ankle around Y/N’s thigh and pulls him down.

Y/N is big, not especially long but solid and wide, and if he’s as good with his cock as he is with his fingers—Bruce growls when Y/N places one hand on his ribs and the other on top of Bruce’s hand so they can slick up his cock together and start sliding it in.

Y/N goes slow—too slow, for Bruce. Bruce presses his hands to Y/N’s cheekbones, surprising himself by brushing a lock of Y/N’s hair out of his eyes automatically, as if it’s something he does every day. “Y/N,” he says, voice caught between raw and growling, “I’m not going to break.”

Y/N shakes his head, kisses one of Bruce’s palms, then his wrist. Bruce trembles under the weight of it, that emotion, before he can stop himself. “I’m not being careful,” Y/N says, rocking his hips in with tiny motions, brushing a thumb under Bruce’s eye, as if there were tears there. “I’m savouring you.”

It’s a while later when he’s finally fully seated and Bruce almost doesn’t even notice because Y/N has been sucking and licking at his neck, his mouth, his shoulder, and Bruce has been running his hands over every bit of Y/N’s skin he could reach, tugging at his hair and feeling Y/N arch against him and lifting his hips to meet him, feeling like he can just sink into this, like they can just sink into each other and disappear. And then Y/N starts moving.

It’s torture, perfect torture, and Bruce can’t remember being fucked like this, ever, not with the way Y/N brushes perfectly against his walls with every roll of his hips, not with the way he circles and makes his every nerve ending spark. Maybe it has to do with the way it feels less like he’s just fucking Bruce in and out and more like they’ve gone under some kind of tide, or maybe it has to do with the way Y/N has placed them eye to eye, resting their foreheads together, because Bruce doesn’t have to be a detective to know exactly what that means.

Y/N wants to remember this. Y/N wants to watch. It’s awful. It’s exquisite.

“You really love me, don’t you?” Bruce asks, breathless, trailing a finger over Y/N’s cheekbone, letting out a little unh or two, or five, as Y/N moves a little harder, a little faster at Bruce’s question. Like he can’t help it.

“So much more than you’ll let me,” Y/N says, and he looks helpless with it, like he’s the one being fucked, not the other way around, and Bruce hadn’t thought he would feel more liquid desire rush through him at those words, but he hooks his ankles around Y/N’s back anyway, to tell him I’m asking for more now, I’m letting you now without having to say it. Y/N keeps the faster pace, and Bruce starts to feel his stomach grow taut and heat build in his belly, and he can’t stop letting out little pants and moans at every motion of Y/N’s cock against what feels like every part of him.

“I can’t—I don’t think I can live without this now,” Bruce gasps, feeling like the words are torn from him, from that oh-so-vulnerable place under his ribs where Y/N’s hand still rests. If he wanted to—if he wanted to tear them, or anything else out of Bruce, he could. But he wouldn’t. That was Y/N. He locks his arms behind Y/N’s neck, pulling him down to hide his face in Y/N’s shoulder, muffle his own gasping breaths.

And this was Y/N, too, that Bruce knew he knew Bruce meant— I don’t think I can live without you, now

“Look at me,” Y/N murmurs, coaxing Bruce out, gently pulling away just enough to look Bruce in the eye. He’s smiling that not-quite smile again, and rolling his hips in such a slowed, gorgeous, inexorable rhythm that Bruce really thinks for a moment he might die, just like this, just from Y/N’s skin against his, Y/N inside him, Y/N’s eyes not letting him look away. “You won’t have to,” Y/N says, like it’s a certainty, like he really is utterly invulnerable and timeless. “And I’ll live with that, if you’ll have me.”

It’s too much, it’s all too much, Y/N’s naked, unashamed and earnest adoration, and the way he filled Bruce, sheltered him, with his arms and his eyes and this tiding, exquisite rhythm. The human body was so fragile, and the sheets and the mattress under it, and Bruce could feel all of it, in Y/N’s gentleness—and the heat of him, so tight against his walls and spreading to his stomach, his thighs, his chest—

Bruce squirms, fitful, in a way he hasn’t been for years during sex, needing more and less and never-stop-forever and lets out a high, breathy moan that’s nearly a sob. “Y/N. Y/N—”

“Bruce,” Y/N gasps, and they clutch at each other, Bruce clawing at Y/N’s back because it’s suddenly important, so important, that even if they only last a moment that there are marks, and then he remembers he can ask—

“Kiss me. God, please—” His gasp is swallowed up by Y/N’s mouth crushing to his, their tongues mapping each others’ mouths, pants from Bruce’s mouth meeting soft-growing-louder groans from Y/N. He digs his heels into Y/N’s lower back, lifting his hips to meet his pace as best he can, and Y/N shifts the angle slightly, so slightly, but it’s enough. Bruce cries out, completely surrendering, and is gone, gone, gone. His orgasm seems to go on forever, bursting out to his fingers and toes, and settles in liquid and electric to the aftershocks. Y/N fucks him through it and he feels more than hears Y/N groan and stutter his hips, spilling into him, and then they’re still.

Y/N is careful not to rest too much weight on him, but hasn’t moved, letting his cock soften inside Bruce, and Bruce hasn’t made him move. They catch their breath, still mingling.

Bruce still can’t look him in the eye, but he cards a hand through Y/N’s hair and murmurs, “Stay. Please, stay.”

Y/N sighs. “Anything for you.”

[r4ins]

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

cw. bottom steve x dom male reader

He doesn’t mean for Y/N to catch him. He was just relaxing on his bed after a shower, wearing nothing but a towel and absently running a hand up and down his thigh, fighting the urge to indulge in one of his most secret pleasures. The fight was futile of course. So now Steve gets up, allowing his towel to drop to the floor while he reaches into the back of his sock drawer, his fingers meeting silk.

It’s a crimson silk parcel, held together by a black ribbon, which he sets down on the bed and unties with delicacy. The material falls open to reveal the secrets within and his fingers linger over the items, lip caught between his teeth. It takes all of 0.37 seconds to make up his mind and so he perches himself primly on the edge of the bed and lifts the first item from the bundle, unrolling the stockings one at a time, allowing the softness to ghost his fingers. He then raises a leg, daintily points his toe and slides his foot into the first one, rolling it slowly up his leg. He is careful to adjust it until there are no creases present and so that the band of lace sits snugly around his thigh. The process is repeated with the second and catching his reflection in the full length mirror he indulged in, blushes.

Steve loves stockings. He loves how they feel, like molten silk against his skin, soft and delicate to the touch. He loves how they look, the lace band resting just a few inches below the curve of his arse and how the darker colour contrasts with the paleness of his thigh. He wriggles his toes and allows himself a small, secret grin.

The second item is then retrieved, a pair of black panties. The small garment is lace except for the very front where a triangle of silk is outlined by ribbon embellishments. The back is shaped slightly by tight stitching that creates a ruched effect. When Steve slides these on, they rest serenely on hips, the back pulled enough to give an enticing view of the rounded cheeks of his arse. The front is snug and a little constricting but the silk feels good against the heat of his flesh. Another lip bite.

Steve is shameless but this is something private. He enjoys wearing these two pieces of lingerie. They make himself feel.. sexy. He runs a hand up his legs and hums softly when his fingers leave lace and meet bare skin and his cock gives an appreciative twitch, already filling out to half-hardness. He lays back on the bed, propped up by pillows and spreads his legs, pointing his toes and stretches out. The view is rather lovely. His bare stomach with the sparse hair trailing down to where the silk material of his panties pull taut over his growing erection, the paleness of his thighs and then the elegance of the stockings that cling to the contours of his legs. Like this, he doesn’t mind touching himself.

His fingers dance against the covered head of his cock, barely applying any pressure at all as they continue down the outline of his shaft. The softest of sighs leaves his lips.

Then Y/N walks in.

“Steve I thought you had left - ”

The words perish on Y/N’s lips, a silent gasp born in their place. Steve is frozen, his expression unreadable. He makes no move to remove his hand or cover himself up, even as heat begins to crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. Y/N just stares and unconsciously licks his lips.

Steve can see his brain working overtime, can almost hear the gears grinding. He can tell Y/N is trying to make a decision. To stay or flee. The signs are all there, weight shifting from foot to the other, hands clenching and unclenching, accelerated heartbeat…

Decision seemingly made, Y/N steps towards Steve, nerves twisting his belly and prickling at his skin. There’s a gleam in his eyes though that contradict his anxiety and once close enough, he climbs onto the bed and reaches out, tentatively placing a hand on Steve’s knee. For a few, long moments, Y/N simply stares at his own hand, a knot forming between his brows as he fully comprehends the situation he had just walked into. He clears his throat and lifts his eyes to Steve’s.

“This… These…” Why does his tongue suddenly feel like lead? He settles with, “You look good.”

In response, Steve’s breath catches in his throat, his next words coming out in a whisper. “Do you really think so?”

Y/N doesn’t reply, and instead slides his hand up along his thigh. His fingers trace the lace band, much like Steve’s had before, following the slightly raised pattern until it meets skin. An ache begins to settle between Steve’s leg, the close proximity making his cock throb.

“Y/N…” The name comes out breathlessly. Y/N looks at him and Steve can see how his blue eyes have darkened, appearing glazed. Steve is not wrong about a lot of things and he hopes he is reading this right. “You can touch me if you want.”

There’s a fleeting few seconds of panic as Y/N doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s come to his senses. Perhaps he’ll be disgusted and leave. Just as those ugly thoughts surface, and the beginnings of tears sting his eyes, Steve shudders as in that moment, Y/N has both his hands on the inside of his thighs and his coaxing them open. Their eyes meet.

“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to touch you.” Y/N’s gaze is intense as he shuffles to position himself between Steve’s spread legs, stroking his thighs and edging up to tease one of the ribbons on his panties. “These are a bonus of course.” He smirks and finally palms Steve through the material, pressing into his cock and moving in circular motions. Steve grunts and lifts his hips, throwing his head back against the pillows to reveal an enticing throat which Y/N moves up to nip at.

“That’s it baby, I got you.”

Y/N’s words only serve to add to the intensity of it all and there’s shuffling and more wet kisses on his stomach and “Nnnnh!” Something warm and wet slides against his cock through the material and Steve looks down, shocked to see that Y/N’s head is now between his legs and his tongue is dragging up the length of where his cock pushes against the silk. The action is repeated and Steve feels like his body has caught fire, tight and hot. Where Y/N’s tongue goes, it leaves a darker patch of material and now he’s pulling away and tugging at the waistband.

It’s almost too much but Steve lifts his hips to aid the removal. Y/N is relentless. Steve can’t help the startled gasp when he licks him again. He groans, fingers twisting in the sheets and jerking his hips. Then the head of his cock is engulfed in warmth, Y/N’s hands stroking up and down his legs as he sucks his cock. He hums around it, flattens his tongue and shifts to hook Steve's calves, hoisting them up until they rest on his shoulders. Steve's head falls back and he makes the loudest, lewdest sound Y/N’s ever heard. Steve could come just from the sight of his own stocking-clad legs hovering in the air and Y/N’s head bobbing between his thighs, glancing up at him from time to time with a look at that can only be described as sinful.

“Oh fuck, Y/N..”

Y/N keeps a grip on his legs, keeping them spread as he swallows around his cock, holding him at the back of his throat for a few seconds then pulling away, only to repeat the process. Another groan tears from Steve, the balls of his feet pressing hard into Y/N’s back, his thighs quivering. It takes Steve an embarrassingly long time to realize when Y/N has let go of one of his legs. It’s only when the muffled sounds around his cock become more frequent that he realizes, with a flush of pleasure, that Y/N is stroking himself as he sucks. The thought alone brings Steve right to the edge, lips forming silent words as he arches, body becoming rigid as he comes hard in Y/N’s mouth, suddenly finding his voice in time for a string of moans to escape.

He would be apologetic for giving no advanced warning but if the speed of Y/N’s hand is anything to go by, and the eagerness in which he swallows, Steve is sure Y/N doesn’t mind. Y/N releases Steve's cock and treats his roommate to a little show. The sight of Steve covered in a light sheen of sweat, flushed and spread out in those dark stockings is enough to finish Y/N off. He comes into his hand with a little whine, hips jerking erratically as his body sings.

The two are silent for a few minutes after that but the unanswered questions of where they go from here is a screaming presence. They would later question how they both knew but Steve simply asks, ‘Do you…?“ Answered by a breathy, “Fuck yes.”

[r4ins]

Dick Grayson x Male Reader

cw. bottom grayson x dom male reader

grayson is the prettiest boy and i stand by that

It's well past midnight when Dick tumbles through the living room window. He sways a little on his feet and looks around, as if he's not sure what to do next. Y/N looks up from his spot in the corner of the couch, then sets his book on the table as he gets up. Dick was supposed to be back three hours ago, for Christmas Eve dinner and a nice, well-deserved night in, but – but so it goes.

Y/N gets his hands on Dick’s arms, rubbing up and down. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he says, keeping his voice low in the quiet of the room. Dick’s attention snaps to him. “What's going on?”

Dick shakes his head, leaning his weight into Y/N’s hands. “Nothin’,” he says. “Tired. Busy night.”

“Hm, I bet,” Y/N agrees with a hum. “You okay?”

Dick nods. “Yeah, I'm alright,” he says, shaking off the last of that post-patrol haze he gets sometimes. “Just a couple bruises.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to Y/N’s in a light kiss, hands finding his waist, fingers tracing along the band of his sweatpants, ghosting along bare skin. He pulls away, swaying back on his heels, and there's a moment where Y/N just takes it in – Nightwing, in all his glory, standing in the pale night city lights, a soft, relaxed smile on his lips, all for him – before he's using his grip on Dick’s arms to reel him in again, kissing him harder, longer.

“C’mon,” Y/N says, when he wishes the feeling of Kevlar-spandex under his hands was Dick’s smooth, golden skin. “Bedroom.”

Dick goes willingly, Y/N walking him down the hallway with little urging, quick, lingering kisses all the way there, and Y/N closes the door behind them, an atmosphere settling around them almost instantly. The lights Dick strung up around the ceiling are lit, casting the room in a warm golden glow, and Dick’s suit looks out of place, the thought of their night jobs something too heavy, too dark for this space the lights have created.

Y/N rubs his thumb against the lower edge of Dick’s domino, and the sudden desire to see his eyes strikes him, vicious.

“Let me,” he says, eyes following the movements of his thumb, and he catches Dick biting his lip from the corner of his eye. He runs his free hand up Dick’s shoulder and down over his arm, trails his fingertips against the stripe across his chest. “Let me take care of you,” he says, and his voice is already rough and halfway to wrecked, but he knows Dick is there, too, knows Dick loves being cared for, looked after, loves having nothing to do but receive affection.

He nods, tilting his head up into Y/N, and Y/N lets his hand fall from the domino to Dick’s mouth, traces his thumb along his bottom lip, pressing in and pulling down a bit, until Dick whimpers, a quiet, swallowed sound, but it's the one Y/N was looking for, one that drives him crazy every time.

He steps away from Dick, then, which earns him another noise, a low whine of protest, and Y/N hurries up where he's mixing the chemicals to break the domino seal, gathering the cotton pads and the washcloth.

When he returns, he hands Dick the chemical bowl to hold, and he gently, carefully, slowly, runs the pads along the edges of the domino until they begin to peel up just slightly, and then he's taking the chemicals from Dick, picking at the edge of the mask to pull it completely off, the material placed onto the dresser next to the chemical bowl. He takes the washcloth, after that, murmurs at Dick to close his eyes, and he runs the warm, damp cloth over Dick’s face, cleaning away the chemical residue, the grime the city always seems to leave on their skin.

Dick’s face is a slight pink when he's finished, and he steps back, and Dick, eyes still closed, leans forward after him until Y/N catches his chin between his fingers, and then Dick’s eyes flutter open, his eyelashes long and ridiculous and so fucking beautiful, looking up at Y/N like he's something good, like he's something Dick wants.

“Should get you out of the suit, too,” he says, and Dick mumbles an assent, body pliant to Y/N’s urging. Dick disabled the suit’s security when he climbed back through the window, so all Y/N has to do is get it off, trailing his fingers along the lines of Dick’s shoulders to his neck, freeing the zipper to pull it down, sliding the fabric off Dick’s arms as he goes, caramel-golden skin revealed in its wake.

He gets the suit down, tugs it past Dick’s hips and holds onto each of Dick’s legs to pull it all the way off, and he makes the mistake of looking up from where he's kneeling on the floor. Dick’s eyes are closed, again, his head tilted up towards the ceiling, and – and they haven't even done much, yet, besides the kiss in the kitchen, and Dick’s already looking like this. It's ridiculous, Y/N thinks, ridiculous and hot and a constant, heady reminder that Dick wants him, wants his touch and his care and his attention.

Y/N stands, and Dick opens his eyes, and Y/N’s nearly distracted by the way Dick looks under the lights – now that Nightwing’s been put away – the edges of his body turned soft, bright spots of light reflecting in his eyes. He guides Dick backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and he presses his hands on Dick’s shoulders to get him to sit, going willingly, eyes wide and blue and exactly the thing Y/N wanted to see, looking up at him.

Y/N looks back, gaze wandering, and he slides his hands up from Dick’s shoulders to the sides of his face, palms wide and rough-warm on his cheeks, and Dick’s letting him drive this thing – has been since the beginning, like usual – but they're reaching a point, now, the edge of something, rising up between them, under Dick’s skin. His skin is hot to the touch, warm under Y/N’s hands, and he imagines he can feel the heat from his chest even from where he stands between Dick’s open knees, increasingly familiar and so, so inviting.

Dick’s skin is soft, chin a little rough with faint hair, and Y/N runs his thumbs over his cheekbones, tracing the lines of them over and over. He could stare at Dick forever, he thinks, at the lines of his face and the shapes of his features, never tiring. Y/N follows the line of his nose, curving into a flat point and falling into full lips, bitten flush. He lingers there, finds himself leaning forward, but he isn't ready to fall into him yet, and so he pulls his eyes away, brings them up and up until he meets Dick’s gaze, heavy-lidded and focused. He's watching Y/N, pupils huge and dark, ocean eyes black like the sky, and it's so heady, knowing that's for him, so much better than any high could ever possibly be. Dick Grayson, the picture of desire, for him and only him – it's dangerous, addicting, delicious.

It's enough to draw him in, to take him over, and Y/N holds his face still as he leans in, kissing him, finally, pressing their lips together in something chaste, almost sweet, contradictory to the fire Y/N can see in Dick’s eyes, is sure is reflected in his own. It's short, a simple press, before Y/N’s pulling away again, flicking his gaze between Dick’s eyes. He shifts his hands, sliding one back over Dick’s ear to wrap into his curls, around the back of his head, and the other falls to Dick’s chest, curled into a half-fist to hold onto him, and then – and then it's like the collision of two black holes, swirling around and around until they finally, finally sink into each other. Y/N presses their lips together, tightens his hand in Dick’s hair, and then Dick’s pressing back, one arm tight around Y/N’s waist and his other hand a wide heat on the side of Y/N’s neck. He tilts Y/N’s head, kisses him deeper, traces his tongue along the seam of their lips until Y/N gasps, and then he's everywhere, pushing himself into Y/N’s mouth as he pulls Y/N down, down onto him, the two of them falling back onto the bed, Y/N against Dick’s body.

Their chests press together, Dick’s inhales shifting Y/N’s body against him, and they've still got their hands curled into each other. Y/N kisses him harder, feels Dick’s heart where he's resting, and then he's pulling away to mouth along Dick’s jaw, sucking lightly at the bone and then down his neck to his collarbone, biting carefully at the skin there until he's left a red mark that'll last at least a couple days.

Dick’s hand has moved into Y/N’s hair, and he uses it to tug Y/N back up, to bring their lips together again, kissing Y/N’s mouth open all over again.

Dick likes kissing, Y/N knows, loves the weight of another pressing him into the couch, the wall, the bed, loves the push and pull and slide of lips and tongue; he'd happily let Y/N kiss him for hours, would gladly kiss him back until their lips are red and sore, until Y/N’s forgotten everything outside of Dick and the way he feels, his body and his breaths and his lips.

And Y/N – Y/N loves that he has this, has Dick, that he's allowed to press Dick into the couch, the wall, the bed, allowed to kiss him for hours and hours, that Dick’s chosen him, let him in and held onto him despite the masks and the troubles that seem to follow Y/N everywhere.

Dick slows their kissing, gentling his pulls on Y/N’s lips until he comes to a stop, eyes lidded but trained on Y/N, warm, searching.

“What's wrong, Y/N?” he asks, voice soft and hoarse in a way that drives Y/N absolutely crazy. Y/N shakes his head slightly, gaze tracking around Dick’s face.

“Nothing’s wrong, gorgeous,” he says, carding his hand through Dick’s hair. Dick squints at him, disbelieving.

“You're thinking too much, I can tell,” Dick tells him, freeing a hand to rub his thumb at the skin between Y/N’s eyebrows. Y/N shrugs.

“Just about how pretty you are,” he says, dropping a short kiss to Dick’s lips.

“Sure,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. “It's Christmas Eve, Y/N,” he says, hands moving to thread into Y/N’s hair. “Relax. I'm not going anywhere.”

“So you keep saying,” Y/N says, and Dick’s got a hand in his hair again, fiddling with the curls, rubbing at his scalp.

“So I'll keep saying,” he says, an edge to his voice that's sure, certain in a way Y/N doesn't think he could ever be. He sighs, tilts his head as he looks at Y/N. “I'm sorry about our plans,” he says, and Y/N rolls his eyes.

“Don't worry about it,” Y/N says, almost like a scoff, and he pushes up from Dick’s chest for his lips, kissing him again, deep and sure. The nothing is guaranteed goes unsaid, this time, and maybe it's the holiday spirit, or maybe it's just the way Y/N losses himself in Dick every time they're together, but for once he doesn't feel the need to remind him of it, doesn't want to break this mood they've created.

Y/N pulls back, says, “You're here now,” and the smile that gets him is bright, blinding, brilliant, and his heart must be in his eyes, but when Dick looks at him like that he can't find it in himself to care.

That beautiful, beautiful smile turns into something mischievous in a blink. “Better get to making the most of it, then,” he says, rolling his body up into Y/N’s, and god does that never stop doing things to Y/N, takes him from zero to a hundred in less than a heartbeat. Dick’s body is sinful, lithe, corded muscle and powerful, carefully controlled movements – and Dick knows it, knows how to use his body and how to use his body, a masterpiece of self-awareness and control, the peak of physicality in every aspect of the word, and it never fails to make Y/N a little heady.

“God you are magnificent,” Y/N tells him, a little breathless, and maybe he didn't quite mean to let that slip, but it's the truth and he's been meaning to say that more often these days. “Stunning.” There's a light blush coloring Dick’s cheeks, now, and Y/N rubs his thumbs against the lines of his hips. “Absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Dick presses his hands against Y/N’s chest, looks down, away from his face. “Come on, quit it,” he says, more of a mumble, a faint kind of laughter behind the words, and Y/N shakes his head, frees one hand to run through Dick’s hair, to cup his chin and turn those eyes back to Y/N.

“I won't,” Y/N says, “Not till you really believe how much I'm in love with you, babe.”

Dick’s eyes flutter closed, his eyelashes ridiculous and long, casting flickering shadows on his cheeks, and he shifts in Y/N’s lap, which causes them both to hiss. Dick leans forward until he can kiss Y/N, heat and velvet soft, and he's keeping up a vague rhythm with his hips, and Y/N’s thinking he might be done before they even begin.

“Love you, too, Y/N,” he murmurs, pressed into Y/N’s lips, and it's a steady movement, now, rolling hips with the intent to get off, and a part of Y/N wants to do more that just this, wants his hands, his mouth on Dick, wants the tight heat of a good fuck, but this – this fits, somehow, the atmosphere they're still in, something not quite gentle but not rough, either, just desperate enough, and Y/N does rather like the way it makes him think about the early days of their relationship, half the time too eager to get any clothes off at all, on each other like teenagers who'd never gotten off.

When Dick comes, Y/N feels like he's looking at a painting, some new age masterpiece of passion and pleasure and total surrender. There's a pink hue to his golden skin, and his head’s tilted back, the column of his throat endlessly inviting, and some of his curls are sticking to his forehead, and his mouth’s open in a soundless shout, and – and it's enough to send Y/N himself over the edge, always is, Dick lost in the pleasure Y/N’s brought him to.

“God, I love you,” Dick says, still breathing hard, and he looks down at Y/N with that stupid, stupid smile like he hasn't just had his mind blown, and what's Y/N supposed to do but stare up at him, honestly, looking like that.

Y/N shifts his hands from Dick’s hips to trace up his sides, over his shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair, a little damp and sticking a bit to his fingers. He drags Dick down for a kiss, something filthy and messy until it turns into something slower, sweeter, as Dick comes down, bringing Y/N with him.

“Got a bit of a mess to clean up, there, Dickie,” he says, once Dick’s sat back up, and he watches as Dick swings his leg around, pushing himself off the bed. He's halfway to the bathroom when he pulls his boxers off, wadding them up on the floor to be cleaned later. Once he's reached the doorway he turns, a grin and a raised eyebrow in response to Y/N’s open staring.

“You coming or what?” he asks before disappearing, turning the water on as Y/N definitely does not launch himself out of the bed, shedding his sweatpants on the way.

He comes up behind Dick, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Dick,” he says, quiet, and he knows Dick’s smiling without even having to see his face.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

[r4ins]

Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

cw. bottom bruce x dom male reader

“Y/N, I need you here, right now,” was all Bruce said before he looked at his watch and waited. Bruce hadn’t seen him in any non-League capacity for the past few months, and he was horny enough to want to make the most of this brief twenty-minute reprieve between meetings.

Y/N showed up in a blur of wind in his full hero costume in about two minutes, looking worried.

“B?” He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce answered as he shrugged off his suit coat. “Except I haven’t touched you in nine weeks, five hours, and twenty-three minutes.”

The worry immediately melted off Y/N’s face and was replaced with a smirk. “You missed me that much?”

Instead of responding to that he simply gave Y/N a heated look and said, “Take off the suit and sit on the couch.”

The high points on Y/N’s cheeks brightened but he did as he was told, and, in a blur, he was on the couch in nothing but his underwear looking slightly bemused. Bruce loosened his tie and pulled a tube out of his desk before he stalked over to Y/N like the other was a feast and Bruce had been starving all week.

“You couldn’t wait until you got home?” Y/N asked when Bruce got on his knees and pulled down Y/N’s jockstrap.

“I haven’t had a moment’s peace in ages and I’ve been so horny today, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.” Bruce glanced at his watch before he pulled off his own clothing.

“We have seventeen minutes left, I plan to make the most of it.”

Y/N opened his mouth to be the voice of reason (they hadn’t even locked the door for Rao’s sake!) but what actually came out was a strangled moan when Bruce sucked down most of his cock in one swift motion.

“Holy shit, B,” Y/N choked out and Bruce looked up at him under his eyelashes with his reddening lips stretched wide over Y/N’s dick. He looked positively sinful, and that moment was probably the quickest it had ever taken Y/N to get fully hard. He nearly felt dizzy with the force of his arousal. Bruce made a noise in his throat as Y/N hardened, a choking sound, and Y/N put his fist against his mouth to muffle his whimper.

Bruce relaxed his gag reflex and kept going until Y/N was completely down his throat. It was no easy feat, but it was something that Bruce had dreamed about doing for several weeks now. He was already fully hard against his own thigh, loving the weight and taste of his lover.

In the meantime, he squeezed some lube on his fingers and pushed one into his asshole. He was already so ready for it there was hardly any resistance, so he pushed in another to stretch himself as quickly as possible.

Y/N groaned again, face flushed, as he watched Bruce do this, and had to bite his knuckle by the time Bruce had three fingers inside of him and moaned around Y/N’s cock. If they weren’t under a time constraint, and if Y/N’s brain wasn’t being blown out through his dick, Y/N would try to take back some control and play a little. When they had time, Y/N would take the other apart and praise and simultaneously slutshame him until Bruce was begging to come.

As it were, Y/N knocked his head back against the wall and stifled another moan when Bruce began to work up a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down Y/N’s cock inch by inch. Drool dribbled down his chin. It was obscene and gorgeous, and Y/N scarcely wanted it to end. At the very least, Y/N wanted to come like this. Bruce had other ideas though, and Y/N made a noise of disappointment when Bruce pulled away with swollen, wet lips. Bruce leaned in and licked up a bead of precum forming on his tip and Y/N couldn’t help but bite his lip, completely turned on. The moment was ruined when Bruce glanced at his watch and muttered,

“thirteen minutes.”

Bruce squeezed lube on Y/N’s cock, which twitched in response, and stroked Y/N once or twice before standing. With little preamble, Bruce climbed onto Y/N’a lap and angled Y/N’s dick to go into his hole. It was a little overwhelming with how quickly they were going.

“Do you want a condom?” Y/N grunted out when Bruce held him still.

“No,” Bruce answered simply and sank down slowly on Y/N cock. It was slow going because of how big he was, and Y/N’s hands went to hold Bruce’s hips automatically, even if he felt like his participation in this scenario hardly mattered. Even if Y/N was a little annoyed at how Bruce had reduced him to his dick, the billionaire felt wonderful around him. He was hot and tight, and Y/N memorized every little twitch on Bruce’s face while Bruce stilled to adjust to Y/N’s size.

There was a hot flush on the billionaire’s chest running up his neck to his cheeks and a bead of sweat forming at his grey temples. Y/N didn’t have much time to admire all these little facets because Bruce soon became comfortable enough and lifted himself up to slam back down on Y/N’s cock.

Y/N moaned. Bruce felt so good and Y/N knew Bruce knew it because even with his pupils blown wide and the flush on his cheeks, Bruce had on that little self-satisfied smirk. It drove Y/N wild, and he held Bruce’s hips to fuck up into him as Bruce pounded down, and Bruce lost his rhythm, moaning openly for the other to hear. Y/N kissed him solidly and swallowed down those moans as their tongues entwined and Y/N kept fucking.

Bruce took it so wonderfully. Y/N was like a firebrand inside of him, stretching him deep and wide, and Bruce wasn’t quite sure how he had survived without this. Y/N had the thickest real dick he had ever taken; even Bruce’s toys hardly compared. Bruce had spent several nights, when the adrenaline of a patrol hadn’t quite worn off, fucking himself on his biggest toy imagining it was Y/N. He had literally fantasized of this exact moment, on his knees on his bed, moaning into his pillow, imagining it was Y/N that was really pounding him. The real thing couldn’t compare.

Bruce’s rhythm was now thoroughly off as Y/N took complete control and kept Bruce suspended above his knees. Bruce guessed that they had about five minutes left, and he could feel his orgasm approaching, just out of his reach.

Y/N sensed this and changed angles, so he glanced right against Bruce’s prostate and was a little smug at Bruce’s sudden shout. Bruce panted in Y/N’s ear as he grappled for purchase against him when Y/N didn’t let up against his prostate. Electricity sparked from his toes to his eyes and he shook, closer than he thought.

“Fuck,” Bruce rasped and repeated it like a mantra when Y/N sped up, hitting that spot directly, making him spasm with pleasure. It only took a moment and then, Bruce was coming with a yell. His cum spurted on both of their abs and Y/N kept fucking him through it until he was pushed over the edge himself by Bruce squeezing and twitching around him.

Bruce looked wrecked when he pushed back his sweat slicked hair and stood on wobbly legs. Anyone who looked at him would be able to tell he had just had sex, if they couldn’t smell it on him. It was a minor miracle that Bruce had had his office soundproofed a long time ago. He looked completely unconcerned when he glanced at his watch and bent down to pick up his trousers. Y/N couldn’t help but stare; Bruce had a fantastic ass and when cum dribbled down the back of Bruce’s thigh, Y/N had to stop himself from pushing Bruce over his desk to fuck him again.

“You aren’t going to wear underwear?” Y/N asked when he remembered to speak again. It was an odd decision, considering what had just happened.

“I wanna feel your cum drip out of me,” Bruce murmured, as if it were normal thing to say, and Y/N sucked in a breath, completely aroused.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, B,” he complained.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Why, what are you going to do about it?”

Before Y/N could respond to that, Bruce’s intercom beeped, and his secretary said,

“Mr. Wayne, your three o'clock is here.”

Bruce pressed a button and answered, “I’ll be there in a minute, Holly.”

It was amazing how easily he disguised how raw his throat must have been.

To Y/N, Bruce said, “Be at the manor at five thirty.”

And Y/N knew he’d be right on time.