[ Just because he's weird about getting blown doesn't mean he isn't perfectly nasty about everything else. Lurking under his stoic demeanour and expensive shirts.

Bruce pinches the curve of his butt. Not too lightly. ]

Oh, [ is playing along cheer, forcibly ditzy socialite, ] anything for you, sir.

[ Now assuming Barry doesn't just puke on him—

He's gotten lube on the fingers of one hand, and now he's rubbing around Barry's entrance, not pushing in. Just seeing how sore or not he is, enjoying whatever feeling remains of him having been so stretched out by his cock a few hours ago. Which is, speaking of, hard and still sticky from Barry's mouth, glancing up against the younger man perched above him. Clothes still on. He should do something about that; take his shoes and socks off, at least. Trousers are one thing, but socks? Christ. ]

I have to admit, if you don't, I'll still like looking at you. I wonder if you'll start dripping down yourself without anyone's hands on you.

[ Barry is gorgeous, and so is his cock. Bruce likes his view. ]