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Tim sighed as he fisted his cock. Water rained down over his shoulders, dampening his hair and soothing tense muscles. He pressed his forehead into cool tile, letting his body relax. The sound of his hand moving quickly over his cock was mostly drowned out by the roar of the shower and he allowed himself a soft moan.
A full day of gymnastics training with Bruce was not good for his libido. He might be well past puberty at this point, but he was still a young man, and having the object of his desires touch and manhandle him as he tested his flexibility was a recipe for disaster. He’d spent most of his energy fighting to conceal his erection.
Now he was so pent up that he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was shooting off across the tile. He fisted himself quicker. He could feel it building — the relief he was longing for almost within reach — his stomach tightening like an elastic band ready to snap. He thought about Bruce’s hands on him. What his thick fingers had felt like pressing into his thighs, spreading his legs wide as he had adjusted Tim’s stance.
His hips rocked. He moaned again, too worked up to keep himself quiet. Behind him, there was a soft, shocked sound.
Tim spun around. In the doorway of the shower room, Bruce stood, completely naked. His eyes were wide. His cock was half-hard, fattening with blood. When Tim twisted, Bruce’s eyes dropped to his dick and the flushed head peeking through his fingers. The older man’s cock twitched.
Tim grunted and came across his own hand, streaking his fingers and the tile in front of him. His knees went weak and his dick flexed hard, his stomach tightening as it jerked and his balls emptied themselves, right in front of Bruce’s shocked face.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Tim’s eyes were fixed on Bruce’s cock and the heavy weight of his balls behind it. He could feel the heat of Bruce’s eyes on him and he shuddered, the aftershocks of his orgasm still rocking through him.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce croaked. Then he was spinning around and retreating from the shower room as quickly as was humanly possible.
Tim slumped, shutting his eyes and pressing his clean hand over his face. Shame burned in his stomach, but more prominent was the arousal that still gripped him, even though he’d just had one of the best orgasms of his life. He could still feel Bruce’s gaze on him. Still see his half-hard cock, huge even without being fully erect, and he wanted.
He wanted so badly that it ached.
His cock strained, still erect in his grip. Tim heaved a sigh, turned back into the spray, and started to jack off again.
—
They didn’t talk about it. Bruce, in classic Bruce fashion, pretended that nothing had happened. Tim was happy to go along with that, even though what he really wanted to do was confront Bruce, grab him and touch him and fuck him. Drop to his knees and get that thick cock into his mouth.
He knew, rationally, that it wouldn’t happen. If Bruce hadn’t been tempted by Tim cumming right in front of him, he wasn’t likely to try anything now. But Tim ached for it. Every time they were in the same room together, Tim had to lock down hard on his desire. Every time he spoke to Bruce, he had to bite down on the urge to confess everything to his mentor.
For his part, Bruce was avoiding Tim. They hadn’t been patrolling together that often even before the incident — only when Robin was in Bludhaven with Dick — but now Batman seemed to be twisting himself into knots to patrol alone, even when Robin was out of the picture. At the manor, Bruce refused to be alone in a room with Tim and was awkward whenever they were together. Tim grit his teeth and suffered through it. Eventually, Bruce would get over the awkwardness and things would go back to normal.
It happened quicker than Tim was expecting. Whilst on patrol, a gang member managed to get his knife beneath Batman’s already damaged armour. The blade slit a long, ragged wound into Bruce’s pelvis. Batman took the rest of the assailants down, tied them up and alerted the GCPD, then staggered into a nearby alleyway and collapsed. Tim had no idea whether Bruce had needed to discard his pride, or steel himself, before calling Red Robin on the emergency radio, or whether it had been a natural response, done without thought. Either way, he’d pressed his beacon and Tim had come to his aid.
When he reached Batman, the vigilante was lying on the ground, gloved hands pressed against his stomach. Blood was dripping out from beneath his palms, puddling beneath him and staining his dark uniform. Tim’s heart jumped at the sight of it.
He rushed towards Bruce. Once he was close enough, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the way Bruce’s blood immediately seeped into his uniform. His hands found Bruce’s. They were slick beneath his. Bruce groaned and his stomach jumped.
“Oh god, B,” Tim breathed. He pressed down hard with one hand. The other slid along the gash in Batman’s uniform, feeling the ragged edges, the hot, wet skin underneath. “What happened?”
Bruce’s face was so pale it was almost white under his cowl. His teeth were gritted. There was a splash of blood on his jaw.
“A lucky hit,” he grit out.
Tim tutted sympathetically. There was a lot of blood. Too much. If Tim didn’t get this under control, they might actually lose Bruce.
He fumbled in his utility belt and pulled out the pressure bandages he kept there. Carefully, he shifted Bruce’s hands, tucking the bandages into place beneath his uniform. Despite everything, he felt a shameful heat in his stomach at the intimate placement. Tim breathed, the smell of Bruce’s blood strong in his nose. It was hardly appropriate to be thinking about how close to his mentor’s dick he was right now, considering the gaping wound in Batman’s gut.
Once the bandages were in place, Tim retracted his hands. He wriggled one arm under Bruce and, with effort, levered him upright. Bruce grunted. His hands gripped Tim tight, struggling to hold himself up. Together, they staggered to the Batmobile and managed to manhandle Batman inside. Then Tim circled around to slip into the driver’s seat.
It always felt weird to be behind the wheel whilst Bruce was in the car. But it was clear that he was in no condition to drive. He was slumped against the door, except for when his body occasionally went stiff, contracting with pain. Every so often he would groan in a way that was definitely not sexual, but which still did odd things to Tim’s guts.
Tim drove as quickly as he could back to the cave. Alfred met them as he parked the Batmobile, helping Tim manoeuvre Batman out of the car and into the medbay. Together, they got Bruce situated and started stripping the uniform off of him. Tim forced away the inappropriate desire that flamed to life as he carefully removed Bruce’s clothing.
Once he was stable, Tim retreated to the showers to wash off. If he turned the water to freezing, that was nobody’s business but his own.
—
Later, once Bruce had been transferred upstairs to his own bed, Tim offered to clean out the Batmobile. Normally, Alfred would have done it, but there was an odd feeling in Tim’s chest at the thought. Bruce had nearly died in there — had shed his life force onto the leather. It was a sacred space that Tim didn’t want anyone but him disturbing.
So he told Alfred to go back to bed, and took the cleaning supplies over to the Batmobile himself. He hesitated a moment, before opening the passenger door and ducking in, setting his supplies on the driver’s seat and folding himself into the small space of the car.
Tim knelt on the still-warm leather. The new car smell that never seemed to wear off of the Batmobile was a permanent undercurrent, but right now it was mostly drowned out by the pungent stink of sweat and blood. His knees slid a little, the leather slick under his armour.
His pulse throbbed in his throat. The smell — Bruce’s smell — was so strong in the air, heavy and all-consuming. Tim wanted to open his mouth and gulp it down. Wanted to somehow drag Bruce into his chest and keep him there forever.
With shaky hands, he reached down and touched the seat with bare fingers. Bruce’s sweat and blood was tacky against his skin, still surprisingly wet. Tim breathed hard. He shuddered.
He lifted his fingers to his lips and licked the fluid off of them. It didn’t taste the way he’d expected it to. There was an iron tang and a bitter hit of ammonia that made Tim’s nose wrinkle. He shifted again, twisting around a little until he was facing the back of the chair. He leaned forward and pushed his face into the damp leather.
The smell was far better than the taste — the bitterness muted, but still musky and with the earthy smell of the seat itself lending a deeper quality to the scent. Tim’s cock stiffened. His breath caught in his throat. He bent his knees, his legs spreading almost without his permission, until he was practically straddling the back of the seat. With trembling hands, he reached up and gripped the headrest. Using the new leverage, he rocked his hips, grinding his cock forward into the back of the seat.
It felt amazing. Way better than Tim knew simple stimulation should. Especially considering the soft material of his sweatpants was still a thin barrier between Tim and the chair itself. But knowing where he was, what he was rutting against, with the smell of Bruce and the Batmobile — that familiar adrenaline rush of patrol — in his nose, Tim was more turned on than he had been in a long while. The last time he was this excited had been when he’d gotten that glimpse of Bruce’s half-hard cock in the shower room.
Arousal rushed through him at the thought and he groaned, his hips jerking frantically. The friction sent a delicious shiver up his spine and his head fell back, his throat bobbing with dry swallows as he panted.
The image of Bruce’s chubbed up cock was like a brand at the back of his head. Even mostly soft, it had been big. Far bigger than Tim’s little cock, which, like the rest of him, hadn’t seemed to have grown all that much during puberty. He imagined what it would feel like to have that impressive organ pushed up inside him. What it would have been like if Tim had just dropped to his knees right there in the shower room and put his mouth on Bruce. How quickly it would have filled with blood as Tim laved his tongue over velvety flesh. How good it would have felt pushing into his throat until he couldn’t breathe around the girth of it.
Tim’s mouth flooded with saliva. Excited, he fumbled with the waist of his sweatpants, tugging them down over his thighs and letting his little cock spring free. Once he’d broken through that initial resistance, it wouldn’t only happen in the shower, where Bruce was already naked and half-hard. Tim would be able to drop to his knees whenever he felt horny. He’d be able to just lean over the centre console of the Batmobile during patrol and get that thick cock in his mouth. He’d be able to touch Bruce when he was whole and healthy and not bleeding to death beneath Tim’s hands.
He panted, imagining it. Imagining Bruce taking him here, in the car he’d dreamt about driving around in ever since he was a child. Imagined clambering over the seats and sinking down onto Bruce’s lap, taking his mentor inside like he’d longed to do ever since he’d first caught sight of the broad muscles beneath Batman’s cape.
Letting go of the headrest with one hand, Tim reached back to the other seat and grasped the lube he’d tucked into the cleaning supplies just for this. Quickly, he slicked up one hand, then reached behind him and pushed two fingers into his ass without preamble. They were far more slender than Bruce’s cock would be, but the sensation of something inside him scratched at the itch deep within his belly. He groaned. His thighs flexed as he rocked back against his hand, then forward to grind against the leather of the seat.
It wasn’t enough. Tim added a third finger, fucking them in and out of his body at a frenetic pace. His cock jumped and a trickle of precum slid out of the tip of his dick to smear across the seat. Tim strained. Felt something in his stomach pulse.
He paused, breathing heavily, until he felt like he’d backed away from the edge. His heart was still thrumming behind his ribs and he felt shaky with pleasure and adrenaline, but he no longer felt like he was about to shoot off. Letting go of the headrest fully and tugging his fingers free from his ass, he gripped his dick hard, then shuffled around until he was pressed back against the centre console. He shifted, adjusting his position until the bulb of the gearstick was pressing up between his cheeks. Cool leather brushed against his ass and Tim trembled.
It was the closest thing to Bruce’s cock that Tim could think of. And even if it wasn’t the same — it was the Batmobile. Just the thought of it had Tim’s cock straining in his grip. He rocked down, felt the gearstick pressing up against his ass. Had to reach out and grab at the seat in front of him, smearing lube over the leather, smelling the earthy, mechanical scent of the car and the tang of Bruce’s sweat. He pushed harder and the bulb of the gearstick forced his asshole wide around it and Tim jerked his cock once, twice, before cumming spectacularly, every muscle in his body tightening, his back arching as his cock throbbed and his blood sang and semen spurted in thick globs all over the seat in front of him.
He shook as he eased back down from the high of his orgasm. Carefully, he pulled himself off of the gearstick and tugged his sweatpants back into place. He would worry about the mess that made later. For now he needed to clean up the Batmobile.
—
The blood roared in Tim’s ears. His knuckles creaked and ached with how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. Around him, Gotham whipped past faster than Tim could process. In the seat beside him, Batman groaned and shook in a way that was both horribly familiar, and disturbingly new. One of his arms was bent up as he gripped the headrest, his elbow blocking most of his face from Tim’s view, like he was shielding himself. The other hand was fisted around the jut of his own hip, grip so tight that Tim knew it would leave bruises, even with the armour.
Bruce groaned again. His hips rocked helplessly in the air. Tim trembled with arousal.
It was wrong. Batman wasn’t in control of himself right now. Tim knew that he would never want to be seen like this — that even being in the car with him was a violation of Bruce’s most tender, private places. That getting off on this was as bad as his desire when Bruce had been injured. And yet, he was so violently turned on that it hurt. Had been ever since one of Ivy’s vines had slipped beneath Bruce’s glove as he’d wrestled it off of a civilian and pricked him, flooding his veins with Ivy’s new pollen variant — one that they didn’t have an antidote for yet.
Tim had gotten him quickly into the Batmobile, called for backup with the situation that they were having to abandon, and injected Bruce with their current antidote, even knowing it wouldn’t be much use. Batman had been stiff as granite at first, practically immovable, and he’d groaned whenever Tim grabbed at him, like the touch hurt. Tim had struggled to get him to the Batmobile, studiously ignoring his own erection and the soft, tentative touches whenever Bruce lost his grip on that iron will.
Now they were in the car, alone, it was harder for Tim to ignore the throbbing arousal in his gut. Every soft moan was like a gunshot in his ears. Every rock of Bruce’s hips had him imagining what it would be like if the man was pushing into the tight heat of Tim’s body.
He swallowed. His mouth felt dry and sticky. His forehead was damp with sweat. He could hear his own pulse like a drumbeat in his ears.
Well…why shouldn’t he? They were alone in the car — the windows tinted far too dark for anyone to see them. Tim had wanted Bruce to fuck him since the moment he’d realised that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same. And he knew that Bruce wanted to fuck him too.
And this situation — Bruce stiff and groaning in the seat next to him — reminded Tim painfully of his mentor bleeding out in that same seat not long ago. How easily they could have lost him. How quickly Bruce could have slipped away, before Tim ever got a chance to confess his feelings, before he ever had a chance to take what he wanted.
For a moment, Tim stared blankly out of the windshield. Slowly, he eased his grip on the steering wheel. The Batmobile was already on autopilot anyway — Tim was well aware of his own weaknesses, and driving whilst Bruce was like this in the seat next to him was not something he felt safe doing.
It felt like an enormous effort to peel his fingers away from the curve of the wheel, but Tim did it. He blinked, swallowing hard against his suddenly tight throat. Then he glanced across at his mentor.
Bruce was staring straight at him. He’d pulled his cowl back, revealing sweat-mussed hair and pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black, pale skin flushed with hectic spots of red. His arm was still blocking most of his face, but Tim could see him through the triangle of space between his bulging bicep and his forearm.
A shock of lust sparked through Tim. Having Bruce look at him like that — for a moment, his brain short-circuited, pleasure burning through every synapse. His own hips jerked and he reached down and gripped himself hard through his cup.
Bruce’s lashes fluttered. The muscles of his arm flexed as he tugged at the headrest, like it was the only thing stopping him from reaching out to Tim — or maybe touching himself.
But Tim didn’t want Bruce to restrain himself. He pulled himself up onto his knees, steadying himself with one hand on the dashboard. The other reached out and slid over Bruce’s arm. Bruce made a punched-out sound. His fingers pressed so hard into the headrest that the material was threatening to tear. Tim wriggled his own fingers underneath Bruce’s grip, carefully easing them free.
“Bruce,” he murmured, as he twined their hands together, ignoring the way Bruce was threatening to crush the delicate bones. Gently, he guided Bruce’s hand to his hip. Bruce clutched it frantically and Tim had to hide a wince at the strength behind it. “It’s okay.”
“Tim,” Bruce gritted out. “Tim. Don’t. Tim.”
Each growl of his name made Tim’s pulse jump. Keeping Bruce’s hand in place — although he doubted anything could break that grip now — Tim leaned forward. His free hand clutched at Bruce’s shoulder as he levered himself over the console until he could settle in Bruce’s lap. The man’s thighs were so thick with muscle that Tim’s legs were stretched wide around him.
Bruce pressed back into the seat, like he was trying to get away from Tim, but he let go of his own hip to clamp a hand around Tim’s waist.
“It’s okay,” Tim murmured again. He could feel Bruce’s erection pressing up against his ass, even through both their armour. He ground down against it and his arousal ratcheted up another level when Bruce made a choked, desperate sound and jerked his own hips up against him. “You don’t need to stop yourself.” He slid his hand over Bruce’s shoulder, up to the junction of his neck, until he could press his thumb brutally into Bruce’s throat. “I want this.”
Bruce stared at Tim for one agonising second, before he shut his eyes tight. “No, Tim,” he moaned. It sounded like the words were torn out of him. His hands flexed against Tim’s hip and waist. “No, baby, you don’t. I’ll—I’ll be okay. You don’t need to do this.”
Excitement and frustration seethed in Tim’s belly. He could feel the bob of Bruce’s Adam’s apple under his thumb. He pressed a little harder, then used his grip to tug Bruce closer. He put their faces together, rubbing his cheek up against the flushed, sweat-damp skin, his mouth right by Bruce’s ear.
“I want this, Bruce. I’ve always wanted this.” He felt the man shudder beneath him. He squeezed his thighs tight, grinding down into Bruce’s hard-on. “I’ve always wanted this. I’ve wanked to the thought of Batman fucking me since I first discovered what a dick was. I want you.”
Bruce groaned like he was in pain. He thrust up hard, every muscle in his body locking, and Tim’s breath caught as he realised Bruce was cumming into his cup, helplessly shuddering through his orgasm.
It was the hottest thing Tim had ever experienced. His own cock jumped, straining hard in his pants. “Bruce,” he breathed. Then his hands were on Batman’s uniform, tugging the armoured pants apart and sliding the cup free so that Bruce’s huge, hard prick could spring free.
It was wet and sticky with cum. The tip was flushed such an angry red that it looked almost painful. Reverently, Tim trailed a light finger over the weeping head. Bruce’s cock twitched. Bruce grabbed his wrist and stilled him.
“Tim,” he choked. “You can’t—I can’t—“
“You can,” Tim purred. He twisted his wrist in Bruce’s grip, then, when Bruce didn’t stop him, reached down and fisted the man’s cock. “You can, B, just let me—let me—”
He stroked up the length of Bruce’s straining prick and the man let out a wounded noise as more semen leaked from the tip. Tim wasn’t sure if he was cumming or just leaking, but there was pleasure on his mentor’s face that sent a shiver down his spine.
Shaking with arousal, Tim fumbled at his own uniform. In quick, jerky movements, he yanked his leggings down his thighs. His own cock bounced up against his pelvis, too small to reach his belly button, but fat with blood. Bruce moaned again.
The smell of sex was strong in the confined space of the car. Tim shuffled, hunching over Bruce’s lap, slotting his knees against the back of the chair so he could rock his hips forward and nudge Bruce’s dick up against his hole. He pressed his face into the junction of Bruce’s neck, inhaling the scent of his mentor’s sweat and the tang of kevlar.
Bruce shivered. His hands gripped Tim so hard it hurt, but Tim made no complaint. Blindly, he fished the emergency lube they kept out of Batman’s utility belt and slicked his fingers. Then he reached back and began to quickly finger his hole. His knuckles rocked against the head of Bruce’s dick as he did so, getting sticky with the cum that was still leaking from the tip. Bruce made another wounded sound.
“Tim.”
Tim ignored him. He tugged his fingers free, then with his grip on Bruce’s cock, held it steady as he rocked his hips down, rubbing himself over the head of Bruce’s dick until it slipped inside. He moaned as it breached him. The stretch almost hurt in the most delicious way, filling him up so completely that Tim felt it right up in his throat. Inside him, it felt even bigger than it had looked. But Tim could take it.
“God, Bruce,” he choked, as he swivelled his hips. The other man was perfectly still underneath him, so tense that he was trembling, and Tim knew it was because he didn’t want to hurt him, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t. Not in any way that Tim didn’t want.
“Fuck me, Bruce. Please, oh god.”
Bruce groaned underneath him. Deep inside him, Tim felt Bruce’s cock pulse. Then the man’s hips were moving, jerking up frantically, fucking into Tim in strong, desperate thrusts. Tim threw his head back. He gripped Bruce hard, using the leverage to force himself down against each of Bruce’s thrusts. His heart pounded in his chest. His gut burned, a tight, hot ball of lust squeezing tight in his pelvis.
“Tim,” Bruce growled. His head tilted, his cheek brushing against Tim’s hair. Then his mouth was on Tim’s neck, hot and wet. Teeth scraped over Tim’s skin and he gasped at the prick of pain, a sharp edge amongst the pleasure.
The Batmobile took a sharp turn and both Tim and Bruce slid across the seat, but neither of them stopped moving. Tim reached up with one hand and braced it on the roof, trying to keep himself steady as he fucked down onto Bruce.
“I’ve always wanted this too,” Bruce breathed, in between pressing desperate little kisses to Tim’s throat. “Wanted to fuck you. Wanted to stick my dick in you and feel you squeeze around me. God, you’re so tight. So beautiful. Taking me so well.”
Tim flushed. Each word ratcheted his arousal up another level, until he was panting with excitement, his dick straining between them. He clenched down hard. Felt that thick cock parting his insides. Listened to Bruce gasp and choke as his prick jerked and he came, pulling Tim down tight against him as he flooded his asshole with cum.
They breathed for a moment, both still hard, until Bruce grunted and started to fuck up into Tim again. One of his hands peeled away from Tim’s waist and slid up his back until it could caress the back of his neck almost gently.
“I couldn’t–” Bruce choked. “I shouldn’t—shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t stop myself. Ever since I saw you in the shower. Saw that perfect little cock, all hard for me.”
Tim whined. The hand at his neck caught on the collar of his uniform, fumbled until it reached the hidden seam, then tore it apart in one swift movement. Tim jerked as the material was ripped away from him. Gasped as Bruce wrapped one thick arm around his waist and gripped his bicep with the other, half-lifting Tim and yanking his arm up until Bruce could press his face into Tim’s armpit.
He inhaled deeply, moaning like an animal as he pressed his mouth to Tim’s skin. “Fuck, you smell so good.” He shifted his head, biting across Tim’s chest until his teeth closed around the pebbled bud of Tim’s nipple.
Tim cried out. Jerked. Shook as his orgasm gripped him, wracked through him, pleasure so sharp it almost hurt racing through every vein.
Distantly, he was aware of Bruce cumming again too. Of the way his mentor trembled under him. But all he could focus on was his own body and the way it was being ripped entirely from his control.
When he could think again, he found himself slumped against Bruce’s chest. Bruce’s arms were around him, holding him gently, but his hips were still rocking up, his thick cock forcing itself into Tim, even as his abused, sensitive hole protested.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmured.
Tim made a soft sound. He pushed up a little, although he didn’t break the circle of Bruce’s arms around him. They were in the cave, the Batmobile parked in its normal spot. Thankfully the cave — and the manor — was empty. Alfred was visiting family in England, and the others were still dealing with Ivy’s mess, so no one was around to see them in this compromising position.
Tim sighed. Bruce kissed his head. He thrust up hard and Tim shuddered, his cock twitching despite the oversensitivity of having Bruce continue to fuck him once he’d orgasmed.
“B.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said again, and the word broke over a sob.
Tim reached up and gently wiped at the tears on Bruce’s cheeks. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Bruce, it’s okay.”
Bruce clutched him closer, his hips jerking frantically. Tim let himself be held, drifting until he felt another gush of hot semen flooding inside him.
The arms around him eased a little. Carefully, Tim tried to extricate himself, but the moment he started pulling away, Bruce dragged him close again.
“B,” Tim murmured. The other man was still hard inside him. The pollen didn’t seem to be wearing off at all. “We can’t stay here. I won’t—I won’t leave you, but do you think you can get us upstairs?”
It took a little manoeuvring and some careful encouragement, but Tim managed to get Bruce out of the car. His mentor kept his grip on him the entire time, pressing him close to his body, the thick, hard length of him still spearing through Tim. Tim wrapped his legs tight around Bruce’s hips and clung to him as he moved. He rocked as Bruce slowly climbed the stairs and his little cock hardened, weeping against Bruce’s stomach.
By the time they reached Bruce’s bedroom, Tim was thrumming with renewed excitement. Bruce was panting in his ear. He paused at the door, pushed Tim back against it, thrust twice, then emptied his balls into Tim once again. Semen was dripping down Bruce’s legs from the sheer volume that he’d shot into Tim and every movement was accompanied by the squelch of Tim’s sloppy hole.
They would have to go back and clean up the floor before anyone else got back. Tim was sure they’d left a dripping trail as they’d moved.
But they could handle that later. Bruce certainly didn’t seem concerned, pushing into his room and carrying Tim over to the bed. Carefully, he lay Tim down, keeping them connected as he followed, layering himself over Tim’s body. Tim arched up into him, relishing in the feeling of Bruce pushing down on him, huge and heavy.
A hand gripped Tim’s little cock, practically swallowing it entirely. His belly tightened and he moaned.
“I love your cock,” Bruce breathed. “It fits so perfectly in my hand. It’s so hard and wet for me.”
Tim made a strangled sound. The pleasure in his gut stretched to breaking point and snapped and he came again, helplessly, shooting across Bruce’s fist.
Bruce groaned so low in his chest that Tim felt it vibrate right through him. He gasped. After two explosive orgasms, he felt so wrung out he could barely breathe. He clung to Bruce, panting, his ears ringing and his vision so blurry he could hardly see. His mentor continued to fuck into him, unable to stop, rocking Tim’s whole body against the mattress.
There was a part of Tim that wanted to stay awake. That wanted to be aware of every last moment of Bruce driving into him like a machine. That wanted to feel every last drop of cum enter his body. To hold it all inside him until he could absorb it — keep Bruce and this night inside him forever. But his body could only handle so much. Without his permission, the world went dark.
—
When Tim woke, he was alone. It was the first thing his mind registered, although waking alone was the norm. He frowned. Stretched. His body ached, protesting the movement, and suddenly the memories of the night before flooded back into his head.
Tim froze. He had done it — he had finally done it. He’d gotten what he’d longed for for so many years. Bruce had fucked him, hard and feral and so perfectly that Tim knew he’d never feel the same with anyone else again.
And now he was alone.
Something in Tim’s chest ached. I’m sorry, Bruce had said. He’d been under the influence. He’d initially resisted Tim’s advances. He might have told Tim that he wanted him, but Ivy’s pollen was strong stuff and this new strain was unresearched.
Heat prickled behind Tim’s eyes. He blinked hard against the tears, but they fell anyway, streaking hot furrows across his cheeks. If Tim had fucked this all up… If his life with Bruce was over because of one reckless, impulsive night…
He pushed himself upright, scrubbing hard across his face, although it made little difference to the tears now they’d already begun to fall. Weak sunlight streamed across the bed, neatly made on the side Bruce should be sleeping on, covers rumpled around Tim’s naked waist. He blinked again, squinting at the curtains. Had Alfred been in to open them whilst he’d been sleeping? The prospect of that sent a thrill of anxiety down his spine.
But it was Bruce, sitting on the low couch that bordered the huge windows in the master suit. He had his back to Tim, staring out across the gardens, one of the curtains pulled back to make space for him at the window.
“Bruce,” Tim croaked.
Bruce turned. Tim’s breath caught in his throat.
The man looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. His eyes were bruised, his face pale and unhealthy, and his hair was a rumpled mess. But worse than that, was the look on his face. The expression of agony that was carved across the grim line of his mouth, the taut corners of his eyes. When his gaze landed on Tim, that expression tightened, then abruptly fractured into something that was somehow a thousand times worse.
Tim flinched at the devastation on Bruce’s face. His heart throbbed.
Bruce stood and started across the room, but paused before he actually reached the bed.
“Tim,” he choked, in a voice that was as shattered as his face. “Oh god, Tim, I’m so sorry. Please…please don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Shocked, Tim’s tears stopped. He rubbed quickly at his cheeks, trying to destroy the evidence that they’d even been there in the first place.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“No,” Bruce said, quickly and so forcefully that Tim was taken aback. “Sweetheart…”
He hesitated a moment, before perching gingerly on the edge of the bed. He touched his own forehead, then dragged a hand down his face. When he turned back to Tim, he looked half-dead.
“Tim,” he said, gently, “you don’t have to be okay with this. What I did—“ He broke off with a hard swallow. His eyes shut briefly, before focussing back on Tim, bright, cold blue. “There was no excuse for what I did. Even the—the pollen. I should have been stronger. I hurt you, and for that I am so, so sorry, sweetheart.”
Tim’s throat ached. His chest felt bruised and hollow. He shifted, making sure the sheet was trapped securely around him, before leaning forward and tentatively touching Bruce’s arm. The man flinched, his skin jumping beneath Tim’s fingertips.
“Bruce, I—I don’t know how much you remember, but you didn’t hurt me.” Now, in the stark light of day, it felt so much harder to say than it had been last night. “I wanted you. I still do. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologising. You weren’t in your right mind and I didn’t stop you. I encouraged you.”
Bruce was silent for a long, painful moment. Between his knees, he wrung his hands together. “Tim, I don’t blame you for what happened. I couldn’t. I’m your father and I attacked you. Whether I was drugged or not—“
“Bruce,” Tim interrupted, with a bitter chuckle. “You’re not my father.”
Bruce jerked like he’d been slapped.
“You’ve taken good care of me,” Tim pressed on, wanting to get through this misunderstanding as quickly as possible. “You’ve been the best mentor I could ever ask for. But…Jack Drake is my father—will always be my father. I love you, Bruce, but not as a son.”
Again, the silence stretched. Tim wanted to weep again at the thought that he was throwing this away. That Bruce had thought of himself as Tim’s father, and Tim was too horny and selfish to have even that.
“You love me?” Bruce asked, voice so unbearably soft and fragile, liable to break.
Something snapped in Tim’s chest. Uncaring of whether the sheet slipped, he lunged forward. In one desperate movement, he gripped the back of Bruce’s neck and crushed their mouths together.
For a frozen moment, Bruce didn’t move. Then he was gripping Tim back, clutching at his neck and shoulder, holding him close as his tongue pushed against Tim’s lips, seeking access that Tim was all too happy to provide.
It was their first kiss, Tim realised, with a dazed sort of wonder, as Bruce’s tongue licked into his mouth and his huge hands held him close. Despite how desperately they had fucked last night, neither of them had kissed the other. But now, Tim had his mouth on Bruce’s.
It made his whole body feel electric.
Then Bruce pulled away. Tim’s chest panged with sudden fear, but Bruce only moved enough that he could pepper soft kisses across Tim’s face instead. His grip on Tim gentled, his arms wrapping around him in a firm but tender hug.
“We’ll figure this out,” he breathed. It wasn’t I love you, but Tim wasn’t expecting that. Whatever Bruce’s feelings were, they were clearly far more complicated than Tim’s own.
Bruce pressed a tender kiss to Tim’s mouth. “Together. We’ll figure this out together.”