You're doing most of it, [ Bruce points out, breathless. Not so much fucking him as laying there exerting effort to hold still, to not rock his hips up into that perfect clench around his cock. And then Barry does that and Bruce groans, shifting his weight beneath him. A restless tense and release as he stares at him, his gaze fixed, glassy with arousal.
He doesn't snap his hands forward, but he does lower them. Deliberately sets them on Barry's knees where they're straddled over him, and he palms up his thighs to the curve of his hips. Not pulling him down, just holding there, pressing fingers into the meat of him around the strong arch of his iliac bones. Beneath him, every expanse of Bruce's body is almost too muscular to be comfortable, but at least stable. Barry looks so good speared on his cock, sweating and needy and enjoying himself, his own hard and swaying in front of him. Christ. He can't help it, and squeezes his sides harder, rumbling a low moan. ]
You look like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
[ Getting stuffed and stretched and filled. Bruce feels a curl of possessive desire— he won't let himself act on it, knowing better, but he can imagine for a moment. Keeping him, just for this. Just for fucking him every time he falls back into bed, in the muddied morning light. ]
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He doesn't snap his hands forward, but he does lower them. Deliberately sets them on Barry's knees where they're straddled over him, and he palms up his thighs to the curve of his hips. Not pulling him down, just holding there, pressing fingers into the meat of him around the strong arch of his iliac bones. Beneath him, every expanse of Bruce's body is almost too muscular to be comfortable, but at least stable. Barry looks so good speared on his cock, sweating and needy and enjoying himself, his own hard and swaying in front of him. Christ. He can't help it, and squeezes his sides harder, rumbling a low moan. ]
You look like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
[ Getting stuffed and stretched and filled. Bruce feels a curl of possessive desire— he won't let himself act on it, knowing better, but he can imagine for a moment. Keeping him, just for this. Just for fucking him every time he falls back into bed, in the muddied morning light. ]