[ In a different way, sure, but Bruce is very much not good at this as well. He's just also the most stubborn human in Earth's history, which is occasional helpful to moving things along, when it kicks in. In opposition to most of the time, when it's not helpful to anything. ]
Chalk it up to something else we have in common.
[ It's fine, if Barry doesn't know. They can talk for a while and never mention it again, if that's what he ends up wanting. Bruce isn't sure how he feels; he doesn't often let himself feel anything, besides thoughts he forces out of his mind in short order. Even now, he's wary of probing that without more intel.
So. More intel it is.
He herds the younger man to another room, a back one inset against the water of the lake. (not the one from that stupid scene in josstice league) (hahaha look at all this samurai shit, batman trained in the himalayas, that's japan, right, god you hACK anyway) The same minimalism as the house on the surface, but looking marginally more lived-in. It doesn't take a detective to figure out this is the 'decompress' area of the cave. ]
All that didn't scare you off? Time travel, I mean.
But Barry follows Bruce's gentle guidance to the "decompress" area of the cave and, if there's a place to sit, he will make his way for that because... that seems better, yeah? Yeah. ]
I mean... considering I've toyed around with it- but in very small intervals, not really. If anything, it makes me wonder how I could manage that. Seconds becoming years.
[ It's a little hard to wrap his head around that sort of capability even despite how fast he is and it makes him wonder just how much more of himself and what he's capable of when pushing himself he has to discover still.
But his little "confession" still weighs in his mind and he lets his thoughts swing back around to that front and center. He wants to be more sure of himself. Wants to not be so skittish about... things. So he looks over to Bruce then and does so with a quiet sort of seriousness about him. ]
Look, I'm not gonna lie. I never intended to ever... say what I did. Not because I think it's some bad thing but because there's this... professional relationship here? Kind of? And I feel like I shouldn't jeapordise that with... this.
[ Puffing out a sigh, he runs a set of fingers through his hair. ]
But I also feel like you're... very attractive despite your gruffness at times and you're smart and I believe in you and I... would stand by you with or without a team.
[ His loyalty is certainly there. He's already gone back in time for you, Bruce. ]
I'm also going to keep talking so I don't feel the spontaneous urge to thank you for tonight in some sort of pg-13 swerving hard to r sort of way.
[ There are a number of things that it may be worth saying, and Bruce catalogues them as Barry chatters on. That he wasn't sure if anyone would believe him, about time travel, and how it's both a massive relief and a potential horror to have him to talk to about it. That if he doesn't want to jeopardize anything, if it's a pleasant idea in a fantasy realm but an unpleasant one when applied to reality, then that's alright. Bruce sure as fuck knows about that one.
Never intended is a strong phrase. A serious feeling. Bruce doesn't want to make him feel cornered. Especially given - as he says - this 'work' environment, in which Bruce seems to be regarded as some kind of authority. Is Bruce stepping on a power imbalance, by prodding at this? If he is, how much? There always seems to be an element of it lurking, in every liaison he's ever had, considering his family's wβ
record scratch what did Barry just say
In the process of moving to the opposite sofa - yes, there's furniture in here, sleekly designed and overpriced to match everything else, comfortable and dark - the older man pauses, processing pg-13 swerving to hard r. ]
Well, [ is something between a wheeze and a laugh, Bruce trying to reel in a visible reaction out of habit and failing, ] you don't have to thank me, Barry. I don't. I wasn't, ah.
The sudden wheeze of a laugh that falls from the older man's lips is enough to tug a smile on Barry's own and he huffs a quiet laugh to himself as he ducks his head. The tips of his fingers run along the nape of his neck and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip for a moment before he lifts his gaze back up to the other man.
He has to agree. He had a nice time, too. All of it. Every single awkward and honest moment of getting milkshakes and a late night bite together. The fleeting looks, the hidden smiles, the thinly veiled attempts at trying to read the other. It was... nice. Normal. Something that maybe the both of the could use in their lives. Or at least, a little more of.
So Barry comes to straighten up some, eyebrows raised and a rather thoughtful look on his face before he gives a shrug, fingers scratching at his knee. ]
I mean... I could. If you... wanted me to. I swear not everything I do is fast.
[ HE'S TRYING TO HAVE MANNERS HE WASN'T RAISED IN A BARN just in a haunted mansion by a secret agent
Somehow, the absurdity of the overture puts him more at ease. Instead of sitting opposite Barry, he moves to sit down on the same sofa, though still with enough room between them that someone would have to reach out. It rolls through his head, still, Barry's worry about an authority dynamic being infringed upon. On the other handβ the speedster is one of the most conceivably powerful beings on Earth, not Bruce's secretary. ]
Hard-R swerving should be what we both want, [ he says mildly. But there's a thread of warmth in his voice. ] So you'd have to just say so, if you wanted something.
[ Bruce is aware he hasn't said his own half of that, yet, but he'd rather Barry cough it up first, considering the way he keeps hedging around what Bruce, in turn, might want. What he wants is: no guesswork.
Barry is brilliant, and funny, and good company. He is shockingly loyal, and it's maybe a little pathetic how badly Bruce wants to dig his fingers into that alone, having spent so long miserable over everyone in his life (save Alfred) walking away, dying, abandoning, fleeing. He has to be careful not to project too much weirdness at him, in that respect, being such an inherently intense person. Probably Barry's not like, really hoping Batman ends up with a complex over him. ]
[ To be fair, it's not as though he'd get any sort of "special treatment" or "suddenly a raise and vacation time" if he ended up "banging the boss" as it were. It's more that he'd hate to disappoint or piss Bruce off and end up kicked off the team that Clark should have never joked about in some alternate version because Barry had honestly been crushed and anxious at said joke for like five seconds because of it. Granted, that could... still happen even without "banging the boss" but it'd be worse when being tangled up in all those feelings and emotions and things because of Bruce seeming like the type to push someone away from him when he's fed up or done with them.
But Bruce comes to sit with him on the sofa and Barry just watches him there, noting the slight distance between them and how respectful it seems. He can appreciate that. Really. But he also feels like he needs to step his own game up and just lay it all out for the other man here with him.
Because, you know, he's done so well with that thus far.
The thing about it all is just... they're not drunk. They're not intoxicated, on anything, rebounding or looking for a distraction from something or someone. At least not here in this very moment and it makes it all the more conscious of what's being said and done. Anything that happens can't exactly be written off as an accident or neither of them were in the right state of mind at the time. They're both very much here and both have to deal with tomorrow.
But deep down Barry wants that, doesn't want to be a "sorry we shouldn't have done that" in Bruce's life. Doesn't want to be another weight of guilt to add to the many ones he already carries on his shoulders and it's maybe that one thing he needs to boost his confidence and push aside the usual awkward way he has of being.
So Barry is the one to reach out first and he does so in chasing after Bruce's lips with his own. A kiss. It's not quick, there's no blue crackles of electricity and lightning around him. He's swift but slow, like how he often sees the world around him at times. But it's just for a moment, regardless of how "slow" it might be, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest like the hummingbird that even he himself can be sometimes.
Lingering there, he licks over his lips, humming for a moment as fists at the sofa cushion a bit before letting the ghost of a smile touch his lips then. ]
[ Bruce holds still, exuding nothing but his usual calm, even in the face of whatever awkwardness he might step into time to time. His heartbeat is steady, without anxiety. There is too much mileage in him for it to skip or flutter when Barry presses a kiss against his mouth, but the want for it is there. And that's more than can be said for anything he's been through in quite a while.
(Does the future shift?)
Barry really is one of the bravest people he's ever met, Bruce thinks. There's so much he just refuses to run from. And he could run from anything at all; nothing would catch up. ]
You're right.
[ That is saying so. Bruce takes it and files that where it needs to be filed. Letting it settle the snaking way his mind paths out different potentials. Watches him for a moment, the way he licks over his lips, his hands against the sofa. And then he moves one of his own, out to the side of Barry's knee as he leans in. Responds in kind with a kiss that lasts longer, nudges a little deeper. Not insistent, but there is a stable sense that it is a kiss that knows what it's doing; Barry said so, and now so has Bruce. ]
[ (Or is this part of the future that's to come? Maybe one day Barry will be able to find an answer for that and not disappear from time itself in the process)
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls they'd come in here to talk about... all of this. They had, for the record. At least a little bit. But this right here is nice, too. This right here has Barry's world sparking around him in a way it doesn't when he touches the speed force and he doesn't really want it to stop.
For a second, he's hesitant, but he comes to grasp the side of Bruce's neck with a hand as he returns that kiss he's given for the one he'd given the other man. There's little awkward in the way he does so, a confidence and desire deeply rooted within him coming to the forefront of everything that is him and spilling over into this kiss, this moment, this blip in time that he wants to draw out for as long as he can. Everything is always too slow. But this being slow... he wants it like that. Wants to savor it instead of rush through it in a matter of seconds.
He does, however, come to rush a little when he hears the chime of his phone go off and with a sudden crackle of blue, the chiming stops abruptly, Barry having very quickly checked who it was and turned it off without seemingly having even broken away from Bruce. Times when it's definitely handy to be as fast as he is.
Barry doesn't really waste time in shucking off his hoodie, dropping to the ground right as both hands grasp warmly at Bruce's neck then. He shifts, feeling bold - full of energy - and straddles Bruce's lap as he keeps with the kissing, lets himself tumble into it and the other man there on the sofa. Because it's nice. Bruce is nice. Especially like this. Despite that confidence, however, Barry is still Barry. Even when locked in a moment like this. ]
I can taste that vanilla milkshake on you.
[ Words he murmurs against Bruce's lips then with an amused huff of a laugh. ]
[ If he thought Barry was going to be anything but fastβ
More fool him. Bruce could laugh, when he ends up with the younger man on his lap, tasting for a split-second like he's kissing a battery. The sense-memory of something electric, but not quite. Some ephemeral feeling in the back of his teeth that shouldn't be charming, but is in its strangeness.
Barry tumbles, and Bruce holds onto him, hands at his sides, curling around broad and confident to his lower back. One thumb presses at a hipbone, barrier of trousers between. Barry isn't small by any means, but Bruce takes up a ridiculous amount of space, and holding him this way is easy. He leans back against the softa, shifting them like it's nothing.
still not as impressive as a kryptonian but he gets by ]
But let it be known that while Bruce chose to comment on the bitter, Barry chose the sweet and if that doesn't say something about their personalities.
Barry ducks his head with a huff of laughter, fingers warm and still pressing to the sides of Bruce's neck. Face scrunched a bit, he lifts his gaze back up to the other man, grin just barely hanging there on his lips. ]
Ok, so. I may not be Casanova or something. [ What a shocker. ] But, I do like to think I excel in... many other different things.
[ Even as he suggests that, hands slip away from the other man's neck and drop down to the front of those pants that are... way fancier than anything Barry owns. Is that Prada? Gucci? Versace? Either way, he stares down Bruce a little more confidently as he gives a gentle tug to that zipper, making it a little more than obvious what he's implying. ]
[ Barry is doing alright on the Casanova front, as far as Bruce is concerned. Mainly because it doesn't seem to be something that'd appeal to either of them, and what's actually going on does. When the other man ducks his head, Bruce kisses the side of his mouth, nearly nuzzling at him. Close and interested; he rubs his hands at the small of his back, enjoying the weight of him.
And thenβ
That. (Hey, expensive pants don't have special locks on them, it's still just a button and a zip.) Is both arousing in its forwardness and something that gives him pause; Bruce is too old not to be self-aware of his hangups, and he won't make it weird, but something does spark in the back of his head. Sort of fond. Fast. ]
You excel at more than you realize, then. [ Look, Barry, he likes you, alright. Bruce kisses him again, wet and open. He shaved today, but it's always a lost cause; texture skin-on-skin. When he pulls back, he tries again with, ] I usually don't ask people for that.
[ Groundbreaking, he knows, that someone who has spent decades hyperfocused on fighting for and protecting other people would have a hard time accepting pleasure purely focused on himself. Bad at sitting back and enjoying. A psychologist would not be impressed. (But there are no shrinks in Gotham who aren't also serial killers, so.) It's not a No, it's a Will you accept how weird I am going to be about everything, sorry it's not just the bat thing. ]
[ Everytime Bruce kisses or touches him, Barry finds himself distracted in how nice it feels. Nice because it's Bruce, the guy he's found himself with a crush on and nice because this right here - this connection to someone - is something he's lacked in his life for... too long now. The tiny little sparks of electricity it sends across his skin into shivers and jolts of arousal are nice, are additive, are things he feels he could get swept up in if he's not careful... careful in the sense that Barry might be tempted to rush it in order to feel more.
When Bruce praises him for his excellence in more things than he realizes, Barry smiles to himself, a little lost in the moment and praise. He's tempted to playfully remark how Bruce doesn't ask for it because he's just used to being given whatever he wants more or less... but he refrains from saying so when he lets his gaze settle on the man and he sees something there that feels... familiar, in a way.
It's enough to make Barry pause himself for a moment, to think, to consider. For all the playful smiles and chatter that Barry Allen can be when around others, he's also smart and observant and he's been through and felt more things than a lot may realize. It's why he lifts a hand to cradle the side of Bruce's face, thumb brushing over warm skin before he leans in to steal a kiss from those lips. Slow. Sweet. A gentle reassurance given without words as it slowly transforms into something more heated. Lips breaking away to trail along his jaw, his neck. Tasting whatever part of him that he can from there on his lap on the sofa and while he doesn't exactly move from where he is, he does let himself vibrate in a way so quick and so effortlessly, that it might just feel really nice there in Bruce's lap if you think about it for a second. ]
I want to taste more than just coffee and vanilla.
[ He lazily trails the words over Bruce's lips as he vibrates and rocks there so quick but seemingly so slow at the same time, that hand there at the front of his pants tugging them open for the speedster to slip his fingers into. ]
[ On the flight from Central City to Gotham, back when Barry had so enthusiastically thrown in with his insane idea, Bruce had done a number of calculations in his head. Not quite gleeful, as he's not the type to be gleeful, but silently laced with a kind of perverse excitement only known to true physics nerds. How fast might Barry move, what kind of fine control he might have to change directions or do complex tasks while moving at speeds that rendered him undetectable to the human eye.
He has considered the word 'vibration' before, in context with the younger man, feeling echoes of it in the air or through the floor after certain movements, noting the faintest unusual blip on a seismic reader in the cave, and later matching the time back to him zipping after them from the batsignal. And, because he is the kind of person to have thirty pairs of recreational handcuffs and an unknowable number of other related items in a penthouse in the city that Alfred doesn't bother him at, he had thought, also, briefly, I Wonder Whatβ ]
Fuck, [ is sort of funny for how conversational his tone is, in contrast with how obviously involuntary the exclamation. Bruce's hands clench at Barry's sides, a kneejerk thing, and he feels his cock twitch in his pants. Which is awfully intense, not being hard yet. ]
Alright.
[ What's he going to do argue. No. Instead, he pulls at the edge of Barry's shirt, hands sliding up his back. ]
[ If Bruce was really about to argue the prospect of getting himself a blowjob by someone more than willing and eager to give it to him, Barry might have to rethink a couple things about the man. Such as, if he even has an idea of what it means to chillax or go with the flow with things. He gets that Bruce is very much work-oriented and keeps to himself more often than not but, c'mon. The man seriously needs an injection of something else in his life that could be vaguely reminiscent of actual, genuine fun. Barry, luckily, is pretty good at being able to give that, let alone a more light-hearted feel to things. Even if he's a little awkward about it at times.
Those hands sliding up his back pull a smile to the speedster's lips and he hums around a huff of laughter as he lazily brushes those smiling lips of his against the rough stubble along Bruce's chin. ]
And here I was worried you were going to make me fight you on that.
[ He teases the words against that warm skin, fingers caressing that twitching cock a little, vibrating as they do in a way that might feel like heaven to some. He grins, nosing at Bruce's cheek, letting those quick fingers of his work him over just a little more as if to sell the other man on it completely, stealing a wet kiss as he does.
Swift, but not speed force swift, he moves himself from Bruce's lap and settles between his legs, springing loose that cock he'd been teasing with his fingers, which he takes a moment to admire, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looks up with a huff. He's really doing this. With Bruce Wayne. Batman. Boss man himself. Kind of hard to believe but not anything he's about to back down from. Not when he has Bruce's cock out like this.
With only the faintest amount of hesitation, fingers wrap around the other's cock and he leans in to drag his tongue over the head of it at first. Slow. Curious. Eyes lifting up to catch how Bruce might like it... especially when he does a little something with his tongue. A little vibrating something, that is. ]
[ There is still some internal negotiation. Barry might appreciate the speed at which Bruce's mind works; beginning with hesitation, sorting out all the whys and why-nots, the merits of that pause in the first place, the significantly lowered risk of discomfort around someone who actually knows him.
And isn't that a hell of a thing. ]
I'm not that much of a martyr, [ he says flatly. Because, in addition to all the mental gymnastics, there is also: blowjobs are pretty great. Lizard brain says shut the fuck up and go with it.
Blowjobs are pretty great, especially whenβ when? Actually, he hasn't decided just how he feels about that vibrating yet. It's a lot, that's for sure, and the way it sparks along his nerves sends parts good and parts what the fuck up to his brain. There is a life to it that is so unlike plastic toy buzzing, and he's not sure that he could describe it if he was asked. The confusion doesn't bother his dick at all, though, which is stiffening rapidly. He's big, which is sometimes a problem for sex with men, but Barry seems so fucking eager.
Bruce gets a hand on Barry's shoulder, slips it up to the side of his neck, thumb pressing over a pulse point gently. Just to hold him. His breathing has gone a little deeper. There's nothing about it he doesn't like. ]
[ Bruce is a complex man that Barry longs to sink his fingers into and pull out any sort of reaction that might fall into the category of praise from him. He wants to be good enough, both here in this moment and on the team he'd come to him about. To find a place for himself, among others- with others who are a little like him in various ways... it's something he so badly needs in his life and this, right here with Bruce, is something else he desperately needs in his lonesome life he has: he needs that physical and emotional connection with someone who not only gets him but wants him as he is, too.
When he feels that hand drop first to his shoulder, then slide its way up to his neck, he looks up to Bruce, lips wrapped around the head of that thick cock, eyes fixated on him as he does. The way he breathes and the way he sits there isn't lost on Barry and it's a gentle sort of reassurance that this is good,this is right,this is something he wants. Because he wants this as well, even if certain other might caution against this, especially if this ends up being more than a one-off sort of thing. Usually there's rules about not dating any work colleagues, never mind blowing the boss, but. It's different. Or so Barry tells himself. Their whole thing is different. Because, sure, they're a team. But they also have their own lives, their own cities, their own places to be when they're not working together. It's fine. All of this is fine and no one even needs to really know anyways. Even with Barry's penchant for not being the greatest at keeping who he is a secret, there are some things he can keep to himself and he figures Bruce can too. Even from Alfred? Maybe fifty-fifty there. (you're a bad liar when you try it with him after all, bruce)
But with the gentle reassurance given in the form of that hand on his neck, Barry slides his lips down the thick shaft of the other man and takes as much of him as he can into his mouth with an eager little hum. Quick as he is, he's slow with his movements as he swallows him, head bobbing and fingers stroking. Taking whatever he can into his mouth and welcoming it every time he slides back down, relaxing his throat to take just a little more each time. ]
[ (Alfred knows about every single person he's ever slept with, and will know about this. Sorry, Barry. Former spies notice everything, even if they would prefer not to.)
It is different. This isn't work. This isn't like anything else; there's no comparison to draw. If Bruce were pressed to dissect the psychological implications of the amount of stress and trauma bonding they've collectively been through together, he might say it's actually more surprising that they aren't all fucking.
But they aren't. It's this, a nervous, if genuine overture in private, sinking into quicksand after a reality-splitting revelation. Thoughts swirl in Bruce's head and some of them wonder about the shape of this encounter, and if it's like desperation. You're real, I'm real, neither of us is about to be pulled away through time and space. If it's doubling down after sheepish awkward socializing. If it's revelling in the cure for loneliness; they understand each other. They aren't hiding, or lying.
If it's like all of that.
His breath hitches once as Barry takes him in, and it's followed by a rough exhale. Bruce moves his hand higher, splayed out against the side of his cheek, fingers curled towards the back of his skull. Holding him and feeling the way his jaw moves as he sucks his cock, his forearm brushing against the younger man's as he moves.
Bruce is not a talker. Unlikely to be a surprise. But he watches him intently. His mouth feels good, and it's almost a shock to realize that, yes, Barry is good at this. Not that he looks like someone who'd be bad, or something, but he perhaps simply hasn't considered Barry Allen as someone spending a lot of free time working up his skills. But it's impressive, anyway, and Bruce finally moves his other hand - up until now still at his side, as if restrained - to card through his dark hair and drag blunt fingernails over his scalp. ]
[ Slight age gaps aside here, Bruce is one of the first people that Barry's felt a sort of connection with in a very long time. Even before he was struck by lightning, ended up in a coma, and woke to find the world suddenly so slow around him, he'd been a bit of a loner. A drifter. Never really forging the sorts of connections or relationships with others beyond friendly surface levels because of his obsession determination in freeing his father, in feeling helpless with no one listening to or believing him. In feeling that he had to do it all on his own. By himself. Because that's all he had with his father behind bars.
Bruce knows that loneliness. That sort of inability to seemingly forge genuine connections with others in a way where you can leave yourself open and vulnerable to it and them. While they may not entirely be there just yet (and who's to say they ever will be with the man's own hangups and issues), there's still some semblance of that that Barry is able to grasp and hold onto it and he doesn't wish to let it go. With him or any of them.
He doesn't need filthy praise spilling from his lips of how good of a boy he is for being so eager and willing to blow him like this on the sofa in the... back here. All he needs are sounds and touches that make him vibrate in a way that isn't the speed force's doing, and Bruce gives him just that. Especially when those fingers find their way in his hair, dragging over his scalp.
The sound he makes is muffled but eager, a way to show and tell that he likes it. Both his cock currently stroking the inside of his mouth and the way he's touched as if to coax him into giving more. And he does. Happily. Fingers stroking what doesn't find its way in his mouth (yet) while the wet muscle of his tongue lavishes that thick cock he sucks on with wet and almost lewd noises. Cheeks hollowed, he pulls back from Bruce a little and lets his cock slip out of his mouth with a wet little pop as he does. Eyes hazy, fingers pumping him, he smiles up to the man for what must feel like a half a second or so before he takes him back into his mouth and, this time, lets him bump the back of his throat every time he bobs down. Mouth wet, fingers squeezing at the base, tongue caressing the heaviness resting against it. Barry takes every inch he's given and shows him that He Likes It. He likes him. ]
[ It's surreal. Sitting here underground, thinking a few hours ago that, well, the handcuff remarks were all probably across the line. But instead it was just two people severely out of practice talking without pretense, fumbling around through boundaries, wondering.
With a shock that has nothing to do with the electromagnetic echoes of Barry's power, Bruce realizes this is the first sexual contact he's had since before everything went to shit, and that'sβ
Interesting. Both that it's this, and that he didn't notice he'd stopped. For a while there it was just another spoke on the wheel of his downward spiral, another addiction to lose himself in alongside too much alcohol chasing handfuls of medication. And before that, when he enjoyed it at all, when was the last time he was with anyone who actually knew who he was? Selina, probably. Selina, who doesn't actually like the person he is in between, because that person is neither as dangerous and thrilling as Batman or as charming as a socialite. ]
Fuck, [ leaves him, quiet and breathless. It feels good, his enjoyment is viscerally apparent in how hard he is, the way precome beads at the tip of his cock, even as it's so quickly vanished from Barry's enthusiastic attention. Watching the younger man and his brilliant, pornographic smile, he thinks he should probably tell his body he's allowed to find an end to this. More difficult to switch off when he doesn't have someone else's pleasure to pay attention to. But here it feels just on the edge, like he wants to make that switch, turn it, fall.
[ Do you want to handcuff Barry to your bed and make him take that thick hard cock of yours, Bruce? With the amount of stamina he has on him, you could be in for a real good time there.
When Bruce says his name all rough and raspy as he does, Barry looks up to him with a dreamy sort of something in his eyes. Hearing Bruce say his name like that... it does things to him, shoots straight to his own cock in his pants, and makes him want to draw more of that sound, that way he says his name out of him. Because he likes it. He really really does.
His mouth becomes more eager on that cock, sounds wet and lewd as he steadily takes him in over and over again. There's almost something messy about the way he does, stroking what he doesn't have in his mouth while lapping up whatever precome he's given. Sometimes he moans around him. Other times, he looks up to him, mouth full of cock. Completely lost in whatever all of this is and finding that he likes it and wants Bruce to like it too.
He goes so far as to deepthroat him a couple times, letting the head of that cock bump the back of his throat before he finds himself needing to pull back with a gasp, lips shiny and wet that he licks over with a hum. Bruce is big and even someone with the sort of stamina that he has, there's only so much he can take before he just needs a minute. ]
You can come in my mouth. Hard swerve to R, remember?
[ A slightly humorous attempt at dirty talk, he smiles to Bruce, eagerly pumping that cock before it's back in his mouth and he's sucking on him like it's the only thing he or wants or needs. Because he wants it. Wants Bruce to find that release he so desperately needs and fill his mouth with spurts of cum for him to take and swallow down. That's what he wants as he makes his mouth coax that desire out of him in any way that it can. ]
[ Finally, something seems to loosen in him. His posture isn't so controlled, and muscles in his thighs and hips tense or shift minutely. Barry takes him in deep and his cock jerks, illuminating just how into he is even while Bruce is being so quiet. He gets a grip in his hair and pulls, but just for a moment, not exerting any pressure onto his head; he makes himself relax his hand after, cradling his head. Telltale restlessness creeping in as Barry drags that desperate ache all through him.
Hard swerve to R. ]
I remember, [ he says, and with eyes closed it might almost sound like Bruce is laughing. Close as he gets, anyway. His breath hitches, he makes a sound like Ahβ
It's unbelievably hot, watching Barry choke on his dick like he needs it to breathe. He moves his other hand to the side of the younger man's face, pressing against his cheek, feeling his own cock in his mouth, watching him with arousal-blown eyes. Leaking so much now, riding right there at the precipice, everything drawn tight and swollen. ]
Fuck, fuck, look at you. [ Half-growled but still quiet. Even in bed he's too in the habit of burying himself. His hips flinch up once before he stops himself, the accidental slip shooting through him like a lance. He feels himself throb, and he swipes his thumb along Barry's lower lip, holding his face. His cock twitches and he thinks I should say, but the thought doesn't finish, and his orgasm is like a gut-punch. Instead he almost chokes on an inhale, clenches his teeth, groans, comes hot and hard and maybe too much. ]
[ Honestly, if Bruce wanted to fuck his mouth, he'd let him. He'd choke on his cock as many times as he wanted if it meant he could get more of those sounds and the way he says his name on those lips out of him. Bruce is forever restrained in everything that he does, that to see and hear him like this and knowing it's because of him... it's intoxicating in every way imaginable and has Barry crushing even harder on the man. Not that he thinks he's the best sort-of-fuck he's ever had or anything, but. It's Bruce in a way he's never seen before, only wondered about. Alone. With his own hand around his cock.
So when Bruce pushes into his mouth, even if for just a moment, Barry moans around him at how good it feels. How good it is to have Bruce force him to take just a little more than he's already taking. The praise fills Barry with an overwhelming desire to give him whatever he wants and he glances up to him when he feels that hand holding his face. He can only imagine what he looks like down here between his legs for Bruce, mouth stuffed with his cock he keeps taking, but from where he is on his knees between those legs, Bruce looks like that torn masterpiece he's thought about countless times and he doesn't want to be rid of that image just yet.
But then his mouth is filled with cum and he takes what he's fed with a guttural moan. He swallows what he can, greedy and desperate to take it all, but it proves to be a little too much for him (it's not like he's out sucking dick on the daily) and chokes on it to the point of having to pull back, gasping. He desperately takes what he can't on his tongue, splotches of that hot cum both on his cheek and dribbling from his lips, making him a literal mess there on his knees. He pumps that cock even as Bruce comes, milking as much from him as he can and he lets him paint his tongue in white before he comes to lick over his lips and slowly make a show of swallowing what he's been given.
Lips wrapping around that thick head, he sucks on him for just a little, making sure he gets it all, before he lazily pulls himself off and sighs there on his knees, an arm coming to drape over Bruce's leg. Leaning there, he admires the other's cock he lazily squeezes before he looks up to Bruce, wearing his mess on his face. ]
[ His cock pulses in Barry's mouth, long seconds that shatter him, unspool something tense he didn't know was so wound; for a moment, there's nothing but the blank ecstasy of it. Oblivion is not the only (or first) reason Bruce indulges in the kind of sex life he does - usually - but there is something to be said for it. Every string cut for a pinprick of time.
Reality reshapes. Bruce's breathing is ragged, but he doesn't force it to even out any quicker than naturally. Lets himself have it. Lets Barry have the honesty of his reaction. (Fleeting as it may be. His brain doesn't go offline for long.)
Speaking of.
Bruce looks at Barry, with his reddened mouth and dishevelled hair, sitting there between his knees, his cock still obscenely out, taking its sweet time to bother going soft. Yes, he thinks. Agrees silently. It was hot. And still is. Bruce leans down, curls over, his hands still on the younger man. He kisses him hard and deep, fucking his mouth with his tongue, eating the taste of himself out of him, sucking at his tongue and lips and scraping teeth along his jaw. Slow and searing and pointed. Something in the way he clutches at him his proprietary, as if pinning in him place.
His voice is a low rumble when he speaks, barely pulling away, his mouth brushing against his skin. ] Come here.
[ Bruce pulls at him, gracefully encouraging gracelessness. ]
[ Barry had been rubbing at his jaw a bit while lounging there between Bruce's legs and wondering if this was the part where things would get awkward between them. He'd successfully managed to spill the beans about his crush on Bruce to Bruce and, somehow, convinced him to not only make out with him but also blow him right here on the sofa and be a greedy little speedster lapping everything that he could up both literally and figuratively. Because there's going to be an after, as much as he sort of doesn't want there to be. It has to happen, whether they just sort of forget this was ever a thing or keep it between them from here on out. It's a thing he's feeling a little uncertain with suddenly and isn't so sure what it means in terms of their relationship to one another.
But then Bruce is suddenly kissing him - hard - and Barry's breath catches in the back of his throat before he falls into it, into him, lingering worries dissolved into that kiss that practically burns his lips. Unabashed with how he feels, he lets himself moan loudly into that kiss, letting Bruce take whatever he wants from him. Fingers grip at the front of the other man's shirt and Barry rushes to keep up with how hard and deep Bruce kisses him, ending up a fumbled mess of need and want for this man even after having swallowed his cum as messily as he had.
When Bruce asks - demands? - what he does of him, Barry stares to him in a bit of a daze because... is there more? Is Bruce not going to awkwardly shimmy his way out of this or ask if he needs a ride home? It takes Barry all of three seconds before he's letting himself be pulled as Bruce wants and he bumps his head against the other man's as he kisses him again. Eager. Needy. Feeling that second wind of his already kicking in because of his stamina.
Unable to help himself, he kisses along Bruce's neck, breath heavy, hands wandering over the front of his chest. Needing to touch him and taste him again already, getting caught up in all of this all over again. ]
[ Right, sure, Mr My Feelings Are So Intense I Live In A Glass Depression Cube And Struggle With Receiving Head is going to call Barry an uber and leave him to jerk off awkwardly back in Ohio. Time to work on his detective game.
Later.
Bruce leans back and gets Barry on his lap, pressed close against him. Content to make out for a moment, nudging him to capture his mouth again. Hold still, he might say, but it'd be warm and teasing. He glides his hands down over his chest and lower, one palm pressing over the closure of his pants. Bruce's touch is confident, those threads of near-hesitation from earlier chased away by the catalyst of orgasm, but he still stops short of prying a button open. ]
Can I touch you?
[ His other hand is on Barry's thigh, thumb rubbing tense, needful circles into the muscle. I want to.
Asking can be plenty erotic. He doesn't talk much, but doesn't think words ruin the mood when they happen. How pleasing, to be able to hear and say yes. ]
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[ In a different way, sure, but Bruce is very much not good at this as well. He's just also the most stubborn human in Earth's history, which is occasional helpful to moving things along, when it kicks in. In opposition to most of the time, when it's not helpful to anything. ]
Chalk it up to something else we have in common.
[ It's fine, if Barry doesn't know. They can talk for a while and never mention it again, if that's what he ends up wanting. Bruce isn't sure how he feels; he doesn't often let himself feel anything, besides thoughts he forces out of his mind in short order. Even now, he's wary of probing that without more intel.
So. More intel it is.
He herds the younger man to another room, a back one inset against the water of the lake. (not the one from that stupid scene in josstice league) (hahaha look at all this samurai shit, batman trained in the himalayas, that's japan, right, god you hACK anyway) The same minimalism as the house on the surface, but looking marginally more lived-in. It doesn't take a detective to figure out this is the 'decompress' area of the cave. ]
All that didn't scare you off? Time travel, I mean.
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But Barry follows Bruce's gentle guidance to the "decompress" area of the cave and, if there's a place to sit, he will make his way for that because... that seems better, yeah? Yeah. ]
I mean... considering I've toyed around with it- but in very small intervals, not really. If anything, it makes me wonder how I could manage that. Seconds becoming years.
[ It's a little hard to wrap his head around that sort of capability even despite how fast he is and it makes him wonder just how much more of himself and what he's capable of when pushing himself he has to discover still.
But his little "confession" still weighs in his mind and he lets his thoughts swing back around to that front and center. He wants to be more sure of himself. Wants to not be so skittish about... things. So he looks over to Bruce then and does so with a quiet sort of seriousness about him. ]
Look, I'm not gonna lie. I never intended to ever... say what I did. Not because I think it's some bad thing but because there's this... professional relationship here? Kind of? And I feel like I shouldn't jeapordise that with... this.
[ Puffing out a sigh, he runs a set of fingers through his hair. ]
But I also feel like you're... very attractive despite your gruffness at times and you're smart and I believe in you and I... would stand by you with or without a team.
[ His loyalty is certainly there. He's already gone back in time for you, Bruce. ]
I'm also going to keep talking so I don't feel the spontaneous urge to thank you for tonight in some sort of pg-13 swerving hard to r sort of way.
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Never intended is a strong phrase. A serious feeling. Bruce doesn't want to make him feel cornered. Especially given - as he says - this 'work' environment, in which Bruce seems to be regarded as some kind of authority. Is Bruce stepping on a power imbalance, by prodding at this? If he is, how much? There always seems to be an element of it lurking, in every liaison he's ever had, considering his family's wβ
record scratch what did Barry just say
In the process of moving to the opposite sofa - yes, there's furniture in here, sleekly designed and overpriced to match everything else, comfortable and dark - the older man pauses, processing pg-13 swerving to hard r. ]
Well, [ is something between a wheeze and a laugh, Bruce trying to reel in a visible reaction out of habit and failing, ] you don't have to thank me, Barry. I don't. I wasn't, ah.
[ Fffffffuckin heck. ]
I had a nice time too.
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The sudden wheeze of a laugh that falls from the older man's lips is enough to tug a smile on Barry's own and he huffs a quiet laugh to himself as he ducks his head. The tips of his fingers run along the nape of his neck and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip for a moment before he lifts his gaze back up to the other man.
He has to agree. He had a nice time, too. All of it. Every single awkward and honest moment of getting milkshakes and a late night bite together. The fleeting looks, the hidden smiles, the thinly veiled attempts at trying to read the other. It was... nice. Normal. Something that maybe the both of the could use in their lives. Or at least, a little more of.
So Barry comes to straighten up some, eyebrows raised and a rather thoughtful look on his face before he gives a shrug, fingers scratching at his knee. ]
I mean... I could. If you... wanted me to. I swear not everything I do is fast.
[ Look at him showing some confidence here. ]
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Somehow, the absurdity of the overture puts him more at ease. Instead of sitting opposite Barry, he moves to sit down on the same sofa, though still with enough room between them that someone would have to reach out. It rolls through his head, still, Barry's worry about an authority dynamic being infringed upon. On the other handβ the speedster is one of the most conceivably powerful beings on Earth, not Bruce's secretary. ]
Hard-R swerving should be what we both want, [ he says mildly. But there's a thread of warmth in his voice. ] So you'd have to just say so, if you wanted something.
[ Bruce is aware he hasn't said his own half of that, yet, but he'd rather Barry cough it up first, considering the way he keeps hedging around what Bruce, in turn, might want. What he wants is: no guesswork.
Barry is brilliant, and funny, and good company. He is shockingly loyal, and it's maybe a little pathetic how badly Bruce wants to dig his fingers into that alone, having spent so long miserable over everyone in his life (save Alfred) walking away, dying, abandoning, fleeing. He has to be careful not to project too much weirdness at him, in that respect, being such an inherently intense person. Probably Barry's not like, really hoping Batman ends up with a complex over him. ]
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that Clark should have never joked about in some alternate version because Barry had honestly been crushed and anxious at said joke for like five secondsbecause of it. Granted, that could... still happen even without "banging the boss" but it'd be worse when being tangled up in all those feelings and emotions and things because of Bruce seeming like the type to push someone away from him when he's fed up or done with them.But Bruce comes to sit with him on the sofa and Barry just watches him there, noting the slight distance between them and how respectful it seems. He can appreciate that. Really. But he also feels like he needs to step his own game up and just lay it all out for the other man here with him.
Because, you know, he's done so well with that thus far.
The thing about it all is just... they're not drunk. They're not intoxicated, on anything, rebounding or looking for a distraction from something or someone. At least not here in this very moment and it makes it all the more conscious of what's being said and done. Anything that happens can't exactly be written off as an accident or neither of them were in the right state of mind at the time. They're both very much here and both have to deal with tomorrow.
But deep down Barry wants that, doesn't want to be a "sorry we shouldn't have done that" in Bruce's life. Doesn't want to be another weight of guilt to add to the many ones he already carries on his shoulders and it's maybe that one thing he needs to boost his confidence and push aside the usual awkward way he has of being.
So Barry is the one to reach out first and he does so in chasing after Bruce's lips with his own. A kiss. It's not quick, there's no blue crackles of electricity and lightning around him. He's swift but slow, like how he often sees the world around him at times. But it's just for a moment, regardless of how "slow" it might be, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest like the hummingbird that even he himself can be sometimes.
Lingering there, he licks over his lips, humming for a moment as fists at the sofa cushion a bit before letting the ghost of a smile touch his lips then. ]
That would be saying so.
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(Does the future shift?)
Barry really is one of the bravest people he's ever met, Bruce thinks. There's so much he just refuses to run from. And he could run from anything at all; nothing would catch up. ]
You're right.
[ That is saying so. Bruce takes it and files that where it needs to be filed. Letting it settle the snaking way his mind paths out different potentials. Watches him for a moment, the way he licks over his lips, his hands against the sofa. And then he moves one of his own, out to the side of Barry's knee as he leans in. Responds in kind with a kiss that lasts longer, nudges a little deeper. Not insistent, but there is a stable sense that it is a kiss that knows what it's doing; Barry said so, and now so has Bruce. ]
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Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls they'd come in here to talk about... all of this. They had, for the record. At least a little bit. But this right here is nice, too. This right here has Barry's world sparking around him in a way it doesn't when he touches the speed force and he doesn't really want it to stop.
For a second, he's hesitant, but he comes to grasp the side of Bruce's neck with a hand as he returns that kiss he's given for the one he'd given the other man. There's little awkward in the way he does so, a confidence and desire deeply rooted within him coming to the forefront of everything that is him and spilling over into this kiss, this moment, this blip in time that he wants to draw out for as long as he can. Everything is always too slow. But this being slow... he wants it like that. Wants to savor it instead of rush through it in a matter of seconds.
He does, however, come to rush a little when he hears the chime of his phone go off and with a sudden crackle of blue, the chiming stops abruptly, Barry having very quickly checked who it was and turned it off without seemingly having even broken away from Bruce. Times when it's definitely handy to be as fast as he is.
Barry doesn't really waste time in shucking off his hoodie, dropping to the ground right as both hands grasp warmly at Bruce's neck then. He shifts, feeling bold - full of energy - and straddles Bruce's lap as he keeps with the kissing, lets himself tumble into it and the other man there on the sofa. Because it's nice. Bruce is nice. Especially like this. Despite that confidence, however, Barry is still Barry. Even when locked in a moment like this. ]
I can taste that vanilla milkshake on you.
[ Words he murmurs against Bruce's lips then with an amused huff of a laugh. ]
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More fool him. Bruce could laugh, when he ends up with the younger man on his lap, tasting for a split-second like he's kissing a battery. The sense-memory of something electric, but not quite. Some ephemeral feeling in the back of his teeth that shouldn't be charming, but is in its strangeness.
Barry tumbles, and Bruce holds onto him, hands at his sides, curling around broad and confident to his lower back. One thumb presses at a hipbone, barrier of trousers between. Barry isn't small by any means, but Bruce takes up a ridiculous amount of space, and holding him this way is easy. He leans back against the softa, shifting them like it's nothing.
still not as impressive as a kryptonian but he gets by ]
Even past the coffee?
[ Awful romantic of you, Mr Allen. ]
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But let it be known that while Bruce chose to comment on the bitter, Barry chose the sweet and if that doesn't say something about their personalities.
Barry ducks his head with a huff of laughter, fingers warm and still pressing to the sides of Bruce's neck. Face scrunched a bit, he lifts his gaze back up to the other man, grin just barely hanging there on his lips. ]
Ok, so. I may not be Casanova or something. [ What a shocker. ] But, I do like to think I excel in... many other different things.
[ Even as he suggests that, hands slip away from the other man's neck and drop down to the front of those pants that are... way fancier than anything Barry owns. Is that Prada? Gucci? Versace? Either way, he stares down Bruce a little more confidently as he gives a gentle tug to that zipper, making it a little more than obvious what he's implying. ]
If you care to... find out.
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And thenβ
That. (Hey, expensive pants don't have special locks on them, it's still just a button and a zip.) Is both arousing in its forwardness and something that gives him pause; Bruce is too old not to be self-aware of his hangups, and he won't make it weird, but something does spark in the back of his head. Sort of fond. Fast. ]
You excel at more than you realize, then. [ Look, Barry, he likes you, alright. Bruce kisses him again, wet and open. He shaved today, but it's always a lost cause; texture skin-on-skin. When he pulls back, he tries again with, ] I usually don't ask people for that.
[ Groundbreaking, he knows, that someone who has spent decades hyperfocused on fighting for and protecting other people would have a hard time accepting pleasure purely focused on himself. Bad at sitting back and enjoying. A psychologist would not be impressed. (But there are no shrinks in Gotham who aren't also serial killers, so.) It's not a No, it's a Will you accept how weird I am going to be about everything, sorry it's not just the bat thing. ]
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When Bruce praises him for his excellence in more things than he realizes, Barry smiles to himself, a little lost in the moment and praise. He's tempted to playfully remark how Bruce doesn't ask for it because he's just used to being given whatever he wants more or less... but he refrains from saying so when he lets his gaze settle on the man and he sees something there that feels... familiar, in a way.
It's enough to make Barry pause himself for a moment, to think, to consider. For all the playful smiles and chatter that Barry Allen can be when around others, he's also smart and observant and he's been through and felt more things than a lot may realize. It's why he lifts a hand to cradle the side of Bruce's face, thumb brushing over warm skin before he leans in to steal a kiss from those lips. Slow. Sweet. A gentle reassurance given without words as it slowly transforms into something more heated. Lips breaking away to trail along his jaw, his neck. Tasting whatever part of him that he can from there on his lap on the sofa and while he doesn't exactly move from where he is, he does let himself vibrate in a way so quick and so effortlessly, that it might just feel really nice there in Bruce's lap if you think about it for a second. ]
I want to taste more than just coffee and vanilla.
[ He lazily trails the words over Bruce's lips as he vibrates and rocks there so quick but seemingly so slow at the same time, that hand there at the front of his pants tugging them open for the speedster to slip his fingers into. ]
I want to taste you.
I'M ALIVE
He has considered the word 'vibration' before, in context with the younger man, feeling echoes of it in the air or through the floor after certain movements, noting the faintest unusual blip on a seismic reader in the cave, and later matching the time back to him zipping after them from the batsignal. And, because he is the kind of person to have thirty pairs of recreational handcuffs and an unknowable number of other related items in a penthouse in the city that Alfred doesn't bother him at, he had thought, also, briefly, I Wonder Whatβ ]
Fuck, [ is sort of funny for how conversational his tone is, in contrast with how obviously involuntary the exclamation. Bruce's hands clench at Barry's sides, a kneejerk thing, and he feels his cock twitch in his pants. Which is awfully intense, not being hard yet. ]
Alright.
[ What's he going to do argue. No. Instead, he pulls at the edge of Barry's shirt, hands sliding up his back. ]
back for the filth π
Those hands sliding up his back pull a smile to the speedster's lips and he hums around a huff of laughter as he lazily brushes those smiling lips of his against the rough stubble along Bruce's chin. ]
And here I was worried you were going to make me fight you on that.
[ He teases the words against that warm skin, fingers caressing that twitching cock a little, vibrating as they do in a way that might feel like heaven to some. He grins, nosing at Bruce's cheek, letting those quick fingers of his work him over just a little more as if to sell the other man on it completely, stealing a wet kiss as he does.
Swift, but not speed force swift, he moves himself from Bruce's lap and settles between his legs, springing loose that cock he'd been teasing with his fingers, which he takes a moment to admire, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looks up with a huff. He's really doing this. With Bruce Wayne. Batman. Boss man himself. Kind of hard to believe but not anything he's about to back down from. Not when he has Bruce's cock out like this.
With only the faintest amount of hesitation, fingers wrap around the other's cock and he leans in to drag his tongue over the head of it at first. Slow. Curious. Eyes lifting up to catch how Bruce might like it... especially when he does a little something with his tongue. A little vibrating something, that is. ]
my irl schedule is honestly homophobic lately
And isn't that a hell of a thing. ]
I'm not that much of a martyr, [ he says flatly. Because, in addition to all the mental gymnastics, there is also: blowjobs are pretty great. Lizard brain says shut the fuck up and go with it.
Blowjobs are pretty great, especially whenβ when? Actually, he hasn't decided just how he feels about that vibrating yet. It's a lot, that's for sure, and the way it sparks along his nerves sends parts good and parts what the fuck up to his brain. There is a life to it that is so unlike plastic toy buzzing, and he's not sure that he could describe it if he was asked. The confusion doesn't bother his dick at all, though, which is stiffening rapidly. He's big, which is sometimes a problem for sex with men, but Barry seems so fucking eager.
Bruce gets a hand on Barry's shoulder, slips it up to the side of his neck, thumb pressing over a pulse point gently. Just to hold him. His breathing has gone a little deeper. There's nothing about it he doesn't like. ]
sprays it away from u
When he feels that hand drop first to his shoulder, then slide its way up to his neck, he looks up to Bruce, lips wrapped around the head of that thick cock, eyes fixated on him as he does. The way he breathes and the way he sits there isn't lost on Barry and it's a gentle sort of reassurance that this is good, this is right, this is something he wants. Because he wants this as well, even if certain other might caution against this, especially if this ends up being more than a one-off sort of thing. Usually there's rules about not dating any work colleagues, never mind blowing the boss, but. It's different. Or so Barry tells himself. Their whole thing is different. Because, sure, they're a team. But they also have their own lives, their own cities, their own places to be when they're not working together. It's fine. All of this is fine and no one even needs to really know anyways. Even with Barry's penchant for not being the greatest at keeping who he is a secret, there are some things he can keep to himself and he figures Bruce can too. Even from Alfred? Maybe fifty-fifty there. (you're a bad liar when you try it with him after all, bruce)
But with the gentle reassurance given in the form of that hand on his neck, Barry slides his lips down the thick shaft of the other man and takes as much of him as he can into his mouth with an eager little hum. Quick as he is, he's slow with his movements as he swallows him, head bobbing and fingers stroking. Taking whatever he can into his mouth and welcoming it every time he slides back down, relaxing his throat to take just a little more each time. ]
thank
It is different. This isn't work. This isn't like anything else; there's no comparison to draw. If Bruce were pressed to dissect the psychological implications of the amount of stress and trauma bonding they've collectively been through together, he might say it's actually more surprising that they aren't all fucking.
But they aren't. It's this, a nervous, if genuine overture in private, sinking into quicksand after a reality-splitting revelation. Thoughts swirl in Bruce's head and some of them wonder about the shape of this encounter, and if it's like desperation. You're real, I'm real, neither of us is about to be pulled away through time and space. If it's doubling down after sheepish awkward socializing. If it's revelling in the cure for loneliness; they understand each other. They aren't hiding, or lying.
If it's like all of that.
His breath hitches once as Barry takes him in, and it's followed by a rough exhale. Bruce moves his hand higher, splayed out against the side of his cheek, fingers curled towards the back of his skull. Holding him and feeling the way his jaw moves as he sucks his cock, his forearm brushing against the younger man's as he moves.
Bruce is not a talker. Unlikely to be a surprise. But he watches him intently. His mouth feels good, and it's almost a shock to realize that, yes, Barry is good at this. Not that he looks like someone who'd be bad, or something, but he perhaps simply hasn't considered Barry Allen as someone spending a lot of free time working up his skills. But it's impressive, anyway, and Bruce finally moves his other hand - up until now still at his side, as if restrained - to card through his dark hair and drag blunt fingernails over his scalp. ]
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obsessiondetermination in freeing his father, in feeling helpless with no one listening to or believing him. In feeling that he had to do it all on his own. By himself. Because that's all he had with his father behind bars.Bruce knows that loneliness. That sort of inability to seemingly forge genuine connections with others in a way where you can leave yourself open and vulnerable to it and them. While they may not entirely be there just yet (and who's to say they ever will be with the man's own hangups and issues), there's still some semblance of that that Barry is able to grasp and hold onto it and he doesn't wish to let it go. With him or any of them.
He doesn't need filthy praise spilling from his lips of how good of a boy he is for being so eager and willing to blow him like this on the sofa in the... back here. All he needs are sounds and touches that make him vibrate in a way that isn't the speed force's doing, and Bruce gives him just that. Especially when those fingers find their way in his hair, dragging over his scalp.
The sound he makes is muffled but eager, a way to show and tell that he likes it. Both his cock currently stroking the inside of his mouth and the way he's touched as if to coax him into giving more. And he does. Happily. Fingers stroking what doesn't find its way in his mouth (yet) while the wet muscle of his tongue lavishes that thick cock he sucks on with wet and almost lewd noises. Cheeks hollowed, he pulls back from Bruce a little and lets his cock slip out of his mouth with a wet little pop as he does. Eyes hazy, fingers pumping him, he smiles up to the man for what must feel like a half a second or so before he takes him back into his mouth and, this time, lets him bump the back of his throat every time he bobs down. Mouth wet, fingers squeezing at the base, tongue caressing the heaviness resting against it. Barry takes every inch he's given and shows him that He Likes It. He likes him. ]
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With a shock that has nothing to do with the electromagnetic echoes of Barry's power, Bruce realizes this is the first sexual contact he's had since before everything went to shit, and that'sβ
Interesting. Both that it's this, and that he didn't notice he'd stopped. For a while there it was just another spoke on the wheel of his downward spiral, another addiction to lose himself in alongside too much alcohol chasing handfuls of medication. And before that, when he enjoyed it at all, when was the last time he was with anyone who actually knew who he was? Selina, probably. Selina, who doesn't actually like the person he is in between, because that person is neither as dangerous and thrilling as Batman or as charming as a socialite. ]
Fuck, [ leaves him, quiet and breathless. It feels good, his enjoyment is viscerally apparent in how hard he is, the way precome beads at the tip of his cock, even as it's so quickly vanished from Barry's enthusiastic attention. Watching the younger man and his brilliant, pornographic smile, he thinks he should probably tell his body he's allowed to find an end to this. More difficult to switch off when he doesn't have someone else's pleasure to pay attention to. But here it feels just on the edge, like he wants to make that switch, turn it, fall.
Rougherβ ] Barry.
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When Bruce says his name all rough and raspy as he does, Barry looks up to him with a dreamy sort of something in his eyes. Hearing Bruce say his name like that... it does things to him, shoots straight to his own cock in his pants, and makes him want to draw more of that sound, that way he says his name out of him. Because he likes it. He really really does.
His mouth becomes more eager on that cock, sounds wet and lewd as he steadily takes him in over and over again. There's almost something messy about the way he does, stroking what he doesn't have in his mouth while lapping up whatever precome he's given. Sometimes he moans around him. Other times, he looks up to him, mouth full of cock. Completely lost in whatever all of this is and finding that he likes it and wants Bruce to like it too.
He goes so far as to deepthroat him a couple times, letting the head of that cock bump the back of his throat before he finds himself needing to pull back with a gasp, lips shiny and wet that he licks over with a hum. Bruce is big and even someone with the sort of stamina that he has, there's only so much he can take before he just needs a minute. ]
You can come in my mouth. Hard swerve to R, remember?
[ A slightly humorous attempt at dirty talk, he smiles to Bruce, eagerly pumping that cock before it's back in his mouth and he's sucking on him like it's the only thing he or wants or needs. Because he wants it. Wants Bruce to find that release he so desperately needs and fill his mouth with spurts of cum for him to take and swallow down. That's what he wants as he makes his mouth coax that desire out of him in any way that it can. ]
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Hard swerve to R. ]
I remember, [ he says, and with eyes closed it might almost sound like Bruce is laughing. Close as he gets, anyway. His breath hitches, he makes a sound like Ahβ
It's unbelievably hot, watching Barry choke on his dick like he needs it to breathe. He moves his other hand to the side of the younger man's face, pressing against his cheek, feeling his own cock in his mouth, watching him with arousal-blown eyes. Leaking so much now, riding right there at the precipice, everything drawn tight and swollen. ]
Fuck, fuck, look at you. [ Half-growled but still quiet. Even in bed he's too in the habit of burying himself. His hips flinch up once before he stops himself, the accidental slip shooting through him like a lance. He feels himself throb, and he swipes his thumb along Barry's lower lip, holding his face. His cock twitches and he thinks I should say, but the thought doesn't finish, and his orgasm is like a gut-punch. Instead he almost chokes on an inhale, clenches his teeth, groans, comes hot and hard and maybe too much. ]
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So when Bruce pushes into his mouth, even if for just a moment, Barry moans around him at how good it feels. How good it is to have Bruce force him to take just a little more than he's already taking. The praise fills Barry with an overwhelming desire to give him whatever he wants and he glances up to him when he feels that hand holding his face. He can only imagine what he looks like down here between his legs for Bruce, mouth stuffed with his cock he keeps taking, but from where he is on his knees between those legs, Bruce looks like that torn masterpiece he's thought about countless times and he doesn't want to be rid of that image just yet.
But then his mouth is filled with cum and he takes what he's fed with a guttural moan. He swallows what he can, greedy and desperate to take it all, but it proves to be a little too much for him (it's not like he's out sucking dick on the daily) and chokes on it to the point of having to pull back, gasping. He desperately takes what he can't on his tongue, splotches of that hot cum both on his cheek and dribbling from his lips, making him a literal mess there on his knees. He pumps that cock even as Bruce comes, milking as much from him as he can and he lets him paint his tongue in white before he comes to lick over his lips and slowly make a show of swallowing what he's been given.
Lips wrapping around that thick head, he sucks on him for just a little, making sure he gets it all, before he lazily pulls himself off and sighs there on his knees, an arm coming to drape over Bruce's leg. Leaning there, he admires the other's cock he lazily squeezes before he looks up to Bruce, wearing his mess on his face. ]
That was... hot.
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Reality reshapes. Bruce's breathing is ragged, but he doesn't force it to even out any quicker than naturally. Lets himself have it. Lets Barry have the honesty of his reaction. (Fleeting as it may be. His brain doesn't go offline for long.)
Speaking of.
Bruce looks at Barry, with his reddened mouth and dishevelled hair, sitting there between his knees, his cock still obscenely out, taking its sweet time to bother going soft. Yes, he thinks. Agrees silently. It was hot. And still is. Bruce leans down, curls over, his hands still on the younger man. He kisses him hard and deep, fucking his mouth with his tongue, eating the taste of himself out of him, sucking at his tongue and lips and scraping teeth along his jaw. Slow and searing and pointed. Something in the way he clutches at him his proprietary, as if pinning in him place.
His voice is a low rumble when he speaks, barely pulling away, his mouth brushing against his skin. ] Come here.
[ Bruce pulls at him, gracefully encouraging gracelessness. ]
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But then Bruce is suddenly kissing him - hard - and Barry's breath catches in the back of his throat before he falls into it, into him, lingering worries dissolved into that kiss that practically burns his lips. Unabashed with how he feels, he lets himself moan loudly into that kiss, letting Bruce take whatever he wants from him. Fingers grip at the front of the other man's shirt and Barry rushes to keep up with how hard and deep Bruce kisses him, ending up a fumbled mess of need and want for this man even after having swallowed his cum as messily as he had.
When Bruce asks - demands? - what he does of him, Barry stares to him in a bit of a daze because... is there more? Is Bruce not going to awkwardly shimmy his way out of this or ask if he needs a ride home? It takes Barry all of three seconds before he's letting himself be pulled as Bruce wants and he bumps his head against the other man's as he kisses him again. Eager. Needy. Feeling that second wind of his already kicking in because of his stamina.
Unable to help himself, he kisses along Bruce's neck, breath heavy, hands wandering over the front of his chest. Needing to touch him and taste him again already, getting caught up in all of this all over again. ]
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Later.
Bruce leans back and gets Barry on his lap, pressed close against him. Content to make out for a moment, nudging him to capture his mouth again. Hold still, he might say, but it'd be warm and teasing. He glides his hands down over his chest and lower, one palm pressing over the closure of his pants. Bruce's touch is confident, those threads of near-hesitation from earlier chased away by the catalyst of orgasm, but he still stops short of prying a button open. ]
Can I touch you?
[ His other hand is on Barry's thigh, thumb rubbing tense, needful circles into the muscle. I want to.
Asking can be plenty erotic. He doesn't talk much, but doesn't think words ruin the mood when they happen. How pleasing, to be able to hear and say yes. ]
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