[ Bruce holds still, letting Barry have what he needs. Aware that any greedy twitch upwards runs the risk of being too much too fast, or just downright painful. Unacceptable outcomes. He breathes quietly, slowly, eyes open. Refusing to miss the way Barry's face shifts in concentration, or the sight of his cock pushing into his body, or how hard the younger man stays (or doesn't).
Beautiful. Honestly.
The smallest of movement, flexing his hands, breathing deep. There's always a curl of an instinct in his gut that'll make him want to sit up, flip them over, fuck into him. Push his knees back practically to his ears and pound the come right out of him. But he lets it simmer and stays, eyes on him, drinking up those little gasps, his careful movements, the incremental sinking like he's determined to stuff himself until he can't possibly take any more.
Bruce rubs one thumb against Barry's hand. Comforting. It's a contrast to the slightly shit-eating sound of his voice when he asks, ] Doing okay?
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Beautiful. Honestly.
The smallest of movement, flexing his hands, breathing deep. There's always a curl of an instinct in his gut that'll make him want to sit up, flip them over, fuck into him. Push his knees back practically to his ears and pound the come right out of him. But he lets it simmer and stays, eyes on him, drinking up those little gasps, his careful movements, the incremental sinking like he's determined to stuff himself until he can't possibly take any more.
Bruce rubs one thumb against Barry's hand. Comforting. It's a contrast to the slightly shit-eating sound of his voice when he asks, ] Doing okay?