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“Fuck yeah! Give it to me!” Hal cried, clinging to Bruce’s shoulder as the Gothamite thrust into him like an animal. This isn’t exactly how Hal thought their sparring session would end, but like hell if he was complaining.
Earlier…
Hal was spending more time in Gotham these days.
It had started innocuously enough with a case of alien weapons trafficking on the Gotham docks forcing Green Lantern and Batman to work together outside of the League for once. Hal had thought for sure one of them would kill the other by the end of it but, oddly, they’d come to crave each other’s company instead. He refused to attribute that to anything more than the two of them being lonely souls in the rare company of someone who understood. When the case ended Hal kept showing up in the cave as if he belonged there. Bruce never told him to stop. He just… pushed Hal’s feet off the computer console with not-quite-long-suffering sighs, let Hal chatter endlessly at him while he worked, and made burnt hot chocolate with mini marshmallows when Hal couldn’t shake the frigid cold of space from his bones. The tug in his heart every time Bruce did meant nothing, OK.
All that said, when Bruce stormed into the Cave radiating fury and guilt after a mission gone wrong Hal thought nothing of offering to spar with him. They did so pretty often Hal would never admit his hand-to-hand combat skills had actually improved because of it, but never when Bruce was visibly a powder keg inches from an open flame. The Gothamite paused in the furious removal of his gear to stare down Hal when the offer left his mouth. The intensity in fathomless arctic eyes sent lightning crackling down his spine. Hal couldn’t look away, he was utterly captivated by this hurricane made human.
“I can’t- hold back. Not right now.” Bruce sounded wrecked, like sorrow and rage were waging war beneath his snow white skin and it was all he could do to keep it from consuming Hal too.
“Then don’t.” Hal didn’t mind being consumed. Not by him.
“Hal-”
“I mean it, Bruce. Beat my ass, I don’t care. Take what you need from me,” Hal insisted. Bruce acted like Sisyphus most of the time with his never-ending war, and Hal wanted to take some of that weight any way he could tonight. If that meant being a punching bag then so be it. He’s done worse for the people he loves cares about. And it wasn’t like Bruce would kill him. Probably.
“You will regret saying that.” Each word echoed with the threads of Bruce’s carefully-held control snapping.
“Don’t care. Come at me, Spooky.” Hal left his ring on the console of the batcomputer, his shoes on the edge of the mats, and his sense of self-preservation somewhere on the other side of the universe when he made his way to the center of the sparring arena and turned to face Bruce. Luckily, he was already wearing a sparring-appropriate outfit of loose sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. When had he become so comfortable here?
Bruce didn’t answer in words. He just pulled off the remaining pieces of his armor with a ferocity that had Hal a little worried he’d tear the kevlar with his bare hands. Of course Hal knew objectively that Bruce was Dangerous with a capital D, but normally when Batman unleashed Hal was somewhere else on the battlefield dealing with his own problems. Seeing it up close was something else entirely. Bruce moved like a panther, all elegant violence and unrestrained power, as he stalked toward Hal. It was intoxicating.
He almost didn’t see the first punch.
Bruce moved so fast Hal barely had time to instinctually dodge a fist that would have shattered his jaw. Holy shit, just how much had Bruce been holding back in their sparring sessions? Hal wasn’t sure if he was insulted or not at the thought that Bruce might’ve been going easy on him. Giving him no reprieve, Bruce rained vicious blow after vicious blow down on him like an angry freight train. Hal dodged what hits he could and tried to roll with the motion of the ones he couldn’t. He ignored the creaking of his bones and the bruises he could feel already forming.
Everything changed in the span of a heartbeat.
Instead of fists or feet or elbows or knees, the next time Bruce slammed into Hal it was with his lips in a brutal approximation of a kiss. The coppery tang of blood coated Hal’s tastebuds when Bruce shoved his tongue in his mouth, but he had no idea which of them it had come from. He didn’t really care. Not when he was busy giving as good as he got, his hands finding their way to sweaty onyx hair and tugging sharply at the same time as he bit down on Bruce’s plush bottom lip. Hal nearly moaned when the Gothamite growled at him in return and tightened his grip on golden hips until the bones groaned beneath his fingers. Holy fuck, that was hot.
“Tell me no,” Bruce finally broke their kiss by millimeters to breathe raggedly into his mouth. It took Hal a second to catch up to what he was talking about, though it really shouldn’t surprise him Bruce had clung to one last shred of control even now.
“Are you kidding? Do your worst, Spooky.” As if he was going to back out now. Hal’s cock was already hard enough to drive nails just from kissing Bruce. “My safeword’s Sinestro,” he added with a brazen grin just to provoke the ravenette. It worked, Bruce snarled and kissed him again with fervour.
One of those big hands moved off Hal’s hip and jerked his sweatpants down so they pooled around his ankles. Ok, yeah, Hal could get on board with that. He slid his own hands under the skintight undersuit Bruce always wore beneath the armor and pushed the top half up that incredible body until he had to break the kiss to pull it off fully. Bruce allowed the separation only long enough for the fabric to pass between them before he attacked Hal’s lips again. Guardians, he was fucking overwhelming and Hal knew he could easily become addicted to this. To keep himself from getting swept away entirely he reached down to peel off the bottom half of Bruce’s undersuit. Unfortunately, he could only get it down as far as mid-thigh without separating their mouths again- something Bruce seemed entirely unwilling to do.
“C’mon, let me get you naked, Bruce,” Hal panted, pulling back from the kiss finally. Wintry eyes blazed with electric blue fire when Hal said his name.
“Say it again,” the terror of Gotham’s underbelly demanded. Hal couldn’t find it in himself to deny him.
“Bruce” he gasped out, half a plea. Glittering obsidian pupils consumed irises carved straight from antarctic glaciers until only thin rings remained.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Bruce growled, staring down at him with predatory hunger written in every harsh line of his aristocratic face. Usually, Hal hated that Bruce was taller than him but right now it was fucking hot.
“Why don’t you show me?” Hal goaded him. He had a feeling walking would be a challenge tomorrow. So worth it. Bruce took a step back and for one single, chilling second Hal thought he’d fucked up somehow. The Gothamite only pulled off the rest of his undersuit, making Hal’s heart stop for an entirely different reason. He wore nothing beneath it. Well, that was going to star in Hal’s fantasies forever now. He was standing there dumbly when Bruce stalked back up to him before the black fabric even hit the floor. The feeling of his shirt being whipped up and over his head startled Hal into action, quickly shedding his boxers and kicking away his pants. Once they were both bare, Bruce swept Hal’s legs out from under him as if their sparring match had never ended. The impact nearly knocked the breath from his lungs, but Hal was given no chance to recover as Bruce followed him down to straddle sun-tanned hips and claim his lips once more. Hal swept his hands over every inch of ivory skin he could find, appreciating the cut of Bruce’s honed muscles and varied textures of the scars that topped them with his fingers, and reveled in being devoured.
Bruce unexpectedly pulled back and sat up on his knees before Hal could even register he’d ended their kiss. He opened his mouth to question him but found it occupied by three of Bruce’s long, crooked fingers instead and sucked on them automatically. Whatever Bruce was up to he was on board with it. Hal gathered up all the spit he could in his mouth to get those fingers sopping wet, figuring they would be inside him in a different way very soon. He was proven correct when Bruce ripped his fingers free from Hal’s mouth and unceremoniously pushed two of them into Hal’s tight hole to the knuckle. It’d been a while since Hal had been fucked and he hissed at the burn of the sudden stretch.
Bruce didn’t stop.
Hal didn’t want him to.
The burn didn’t fade at all when Bruce thrust and scissored those thick, wicked fingers in him or when he added the third and pressed on Hal’s prostate so hard his vision whited out for a second. The throbbing sting did bleed into the pleasure building alongside it though, until Hal could no longer tell the two sensations apart. Bruce didn’t seem to care how he felt either way, twisting crooked fingers in and out savagely. The rough, uncaring treatment was getting Hal hotter than he wanted to admit.
When Bruce yanked his hand out Hal whined at the empty feeling it left behind, but he wasn’t empty for long. Abruptly, he found himself face down on the mats with a skilled tongue up his ass. Oh fuck, of course Bruce was talented at this too. Hal wanted to be mad that there was seemingly nothing the man couldn’t do, but it was hard to object when he was reaping the benefits. He whimpered as that broad tongue stabbed into him again and again, depositing more spit each time until it was dripping from his slackening hole. Hal could have lay there forever, held up only by the iron grip on his hips, getting his ass expertly eaten by the goddamn Batman. Bruce had other plans apparently. He flipped Hal on his back again and crawled up to sit on his chest.
“Suck,” Bruce commanded, holding the tip of his, frankly, monster cock to Hal’s parted lips. Hal couldn’t think of a reason not to obey.
Just like with the fingers he wet it as best he could. Fuck, but Bruce tasted good. He almost wished Bruce would let him keep sucking until he came in Hal’s mouth. Almost. He really wanted Bruce to fuck him. His silent wish was granted when Bruce roughly pulled out of his throat and hauled Hal up so he lay on his back in front of Bruce with his legs wrapped around the ravenette's waist. The tip of his cock rested against Hal’s hole for all of a heartbeat before he pushed in. The burn was so much more intense now- not at all helped by the way Bruce just kept going. And going. And fucking going. Hal panted and wheezed for air when finally he bottomed out. Jesus. Hal was pretty sure he was ruined for all other cocks now.
Bruce didn’t pause before thrusting into him hard and fast. Hal bucked his hips up into the thrusts as best he could, using what little leverage he could get with his legs still wound around Bruce’s waist, and clawed cherry-red lines across his pale-skinned back. An ebony head lowered to bite answering purple and vermillion marks into the delicate skin of Hal’s throat. The sparks of pain from perfect teeth only added to his pleasure.
“Fuck yeah! Give it to me!” Hal cried, clinging to Bruce’s shoulder as the Gothamite thrust into him like an animal. This isn’t exactly how Hal thought their sparring session would end, but like hell if he was complaining. Bruce’s mouth was everywhere at once, continuing his rampage across Hal’s skin. Bitemark-shaped bruises bloomed in the hollow of Hal’s throat, across his chest, and along the tendons in his neck. The cock in his ass was thick enough to put constant, delicious pressure on his prostate with every thrust and the tension in his core coiled tighter. Bruce’s rhythm was getting sloppy now, like he was getting close too. Hal hoped so, he really wanted to feel Bruce cum inside him.
What sent Hal over the edge in the end was not just the agonizingly good combination of the sting from Bruce’s mouth biting into his flesh and the sparks from his cock sliding over Hal’s sweet spot. No, what whited out his vision and made him come harder than he had in years- if ever- was Bruce pinching his nipples and twisting. Hal had never realized he was into pain before today. A part of him wondered if he was just into anything Bruce would give him.
He panted and gasped for breath and didn’t. Stop. Coming. Bruce was still thrusting, the ceaseless scraping of his over-sensitive nerves dragging Hal’s orgasm out so long he thought it might just be the death of him. But what a way to go. Someone put ‘Fucked to death by Batman’ on his tombstone. Just as black crept in the edges of Hal’s vision and he was about to pass out, Bruce stuttered to a stop and moaned as he came. As he lay limp Hal noted distantly that it was the first real noise of pleasure he’d made. Bruce pulled out and collapsed to the side, like a marionette with its strings cut and for the first time since their clothes came off Hal had a chance to really look at the Gothamite.
He was beautiful in the way mountains were- rugged, mighty, and dangerous. His alabaster skin was filled with a patchwork of pink and silver scars, even some on his striking face that Hal had never noticed before. Like the one that stretched from the corner of one sculpted brow across the bridge of his nose to the opposite cheek and would have cost him the eye if it had been an inch to the left, so thin and faded it was nearly invisible. Hal admired cheekbones that could cut glass before his gaze drifted to the plush lips he’d been staring at from beneath Batman’s cowl for years. They looked even better swollen from the attentions of Hal’s own mouth. A five o’clock shadow ghosted handsomely over Bruce’s strong jaw and down his neck while the rest of him was clean shaven- except for the well groomed happy trail and patch of midnight curls at the base of his cock. Powerful thighs Hal had more than once seen him choke a man out with them led to muscular calves and surprisingly delicate feet, though most of his toes were as crooked as his fingers. He’d asked Bruce about it once and the Gothamite had casually replied that his fingers had simply been broken too many times to be straight anymore. Hal felt a swoop of nausea remembering it and promptly moved on. Choosing, instead, to drag his gaze up to Bruce’s long, inky lashes.
He found remarkable icy eyes watching him back.
Hal didn’t ask what he saw. Maybe he was afraid of the answer.
Bruce looked much calmer now, sprawled lax and sated next to Hal on the mats. It was a good look on him. Which honestly wasn’t saying much for a man who managed to make alien goop look good, but this was different. He was… softer. Hal liked seeing him like that. Would like to see him like that more often if he was honest.
“Thank you.” The first words Bruce had spoken since he warned Hal of his impending regret. The regret Hal had yet to feel.
“For what, Fall Out Boy?” Now that Bruce wasn’t a hairsbreadth from imploding Hal could resume his usual comedy of increasingly annoying nicknames for Bruce. It brought Hal great entertainment searching for what would be the key phrase to garner a reaction from him. The most he got nowadays was an eyeroll, but it was fun anyway.
“You know what, Hal,” Bruce said gravely. Hal did.
“Does this mean fight-sex is now on the table on a regular basis?” He replied, because Hal didn’t know how to deal with serious emotions anymore than Bruce did.
“If you want it to be.” Bruce shrugged carelessly, like he’d considered the possibility already and had decided he wouldn’t mind it.
“Wait, really?” Hal had been mostly joking, sure that this was a spontaneous, one time thing. Was Bruce actually serious?
“Really.” Holy shit, he was. Maybe, just maybe, Hal could have what he wanted for once. If he dared to ask for it.
“...what else is on the table?” He hoped he wasn’t misreading the tender look icicle eyes were directing at him.
“What do you want, Hal?” Bruce’s face carefully concealed his own desires, but his tone was warm and soft.
“I want you. All of you.” Risk was kinda his thing so Hal jumped in with both feet and hoped Bruce wouldn’t let him drown.
“Gotham will always be my priority,” Bruce warned him. It wasn’t a ‘no’.
“Duh. I just said I want all of you. I know what that means.” He rolled his eyes. Seriously, did Bruce think Hal didn’t know him at all? “Besides, the Corps will always come first for me, we’re even.” He shrugged. “So whaddaya say, Bats? Wanna go steady with me?” Hal waggled his eyebrows at him, just in case Bruce had forgotten about his sterling personality in the last thirty seconds.
“I think that can be arranged.” Bruce’s small, genuine smile was breathtaking when he reached out and pulled Hal on top of him to kiss him sweetly. The moment was broken, however, when a bead of cum dripped from Hal’s gaping hole and onto Bruce below him. As if mesmerized, Bruce extended a hand out to collect the droplet with his middle finger and push it back up into Hal. He moaned. His hole was sore and hypersensitive from the abuse it had taken, but it felt good in a strange sort of way. Hal certainly didn’t want him to stop so he rocked his hips down to get that curious finger deeper.
“Ready for round two?” Hal was already panting slightly, but he managed a decent roguish tone. Bruce grinned back at him wolfishly.
The finger was swiftly replaced by Bruce’s cock and Hal cried out at the shock of the intrusion, his hands flying out to steady himself on a broad alabaster chest. He was still open and slick enough with cum that Bruce sunk to the hilt in one smooth slide. Hal moaned with satisfaction as it filled him so perfectly. His guts might be permanently molded in the shape of Bruce Wayne’s cock now, but Hal couldn’t find it in himself to care. He squirmed and whined when the man below him didn’t move.
“Take what you need from me,” Bruce said in echo of Hal’s earlier words, ghosting pale hands over his hips.
Hal tried to. He ignored the soreness in his muscles and raised himself up his knees until Bruce almost popped out of him before jerkily sliding back down, his legs shaking as they threatened to collapse from beneath him. What he really needed was for Bruce to do all the work. The Gothamite promptly flipped them when Hal told him as much, so that Hal was laid out on his back with Bruce above him. One of Hal’s legs was hiked over Bruce’s shoulder, the other dangled loosely around a milk-white hip while those big hands wrapped around his waist in a way that made him feel tiny and delicate.
“Faster. I won’t break.” The slow, gentle pace that Bruce had apparently decided on was driving Hal crazy with its not-enough-ness.
“Faster.” Bruce was being annoyingly considerate right now.
“Faster. Harder.” It still wasn’t enough.
“More. Dammit, Bruce, c’mon!” Hal wanted that savage pounding from earlier.
“Shit, Bruce! Fuck me like before! Quit acting like I’m made of glass!” Hal was ready to throttle the ravenette for treating him so delicately.
That finally got Bruce to drive his hips into Hal’s at that breakneck, purely animal pace he was craving. Tears sprang to Hal’s eyes unbidden, it hurt so fucking good. It didn’t take much to tip him over the edge again. Bruce wasn’t far behind, pulled to completion by his own hypersensitivity and the clenching of Hal’s walls around him. Unlike last time, Bruce lowered them to their sides still joined while cradling Hal against his wide chest and pressed a soft kiss to the sweat-soaked strands of Hal’s hair.
Despite the body fluids rapidly drying in uncomfortable ways on his skin and the bruises forming beneath it, Hal thought to himself that he could get used to this.