Work Text:
It’s a dark, cold night. The storm outside rages, lashing rain against the windows. Thunder shakes the house, flashes of lightning lighting up the room. Bruce stoops to stoke the dying fire, adding another log. There are flood warnings across Gotham, and he was out earlier helping with evacuations. As Bruce Wayne, not Batman. He didn’t get home until late, and by that point the roads were already so flooded he almost had to abandon his car and swim for it. He’s glad Damian is safe with Dick in Bludhaven and Tim’s in Central City with Bart. The only kid he’s had to check in on is Jason, who helpfully supplied that he’s actually in Star City with Roy and Lian. So everyone’s safe and dry.
A crack of thunder rattles the porcelain knick knacks on the mantel, collectibles from Dick’s Robin era. Bruce looks up at them, then down at his watch as his silent aerial perimeter alarm goes off, buzzing against his wrist. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the cameras, but there’s a knock on the door. Bruce pauses, putting his phone away. There’s a couple of people this could be, and Bruce sees no reason to be alarmed.
He makes his way to the door, a small side one for this side of the house, and pulls it open.
Hal stands on the other side in his bomber jacket and jeans, dripping wet. He has his hands in his pockets, and he looks absolutely miserable. There’s this haggard look on his face, tortured brown eyes looking at Bruce under furrowed brows. For a moment, they stare at each other.
“Bruce,” Hal says, voice rough.
Bruce steps back, allowing him entry. Hal steps in, his normal height lessened by the way he’s hunching over himself. Bruce shuts the door, and Hal immediately sinks to his knees, head bowed.
“Hal,” Bruce starts.
“I-can’t, I just. Need.” He lets out a breath.
“Come over to the fire,” Bruce says.
Hal keeps his head down. “Is that an order, sir?”
The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts. Hal isn’t too deep, then. Whatever’s bothering him, Bruce knows he won’t talk about it unless Bruce makes him. They’re alike in that way. They don’t like talking about the things that upset them.
“Go over to the fire,” Bruce says again. He walks over to the mantle, and Hal slowly climbs to his feet to follow. Once he reaches Bruce, he gets back down on his knees.
Bruce slips his hands inside Hal’s jacket, sliding it down his arms. Hal lets him, and Bruce takes the jacket and hangs it up carefully. He comes back to Hal, puts a hand on his bowed head. “Why are you here?”
“You know why I’m here,” Hal says, lacking all its usual snark.
Bruce runs his fingers through Hal’s wet hair softly, the heat from the fire warming one side of his head. “No, tell me why you’re really here. You know we won’t start anything until we talk this out.”
Hal sighs, and it sounds strained. “Sometimes I wish we could go back to the days where I pissed you off until you hit me. That was much simpler.”
“So you don’t want it, you think you deserve it,” Bruce says.
“For god's sake, Spooky, of course I deserve it! I lost—”
He takes a breath, quiets. “I lost a Lantern under my command. She was a new recruit, and I was responsible for her. It’s my fault.”
Bruce’s fingers find Hal’s chin, making him look up. Hal’s eyes are haunted, and he lowers his lashes, looking away. Bruce strokes his cheek with his thumb, still supporting his jaw. “I understand. You want to do penance for her death. You think you deserve to be punished for it.”
Hal doesn’t speak, but his silence is answer enough.
Bruce takes a breath. “I know it would be hypocritical of me to say punishing yourself is not the answer. I also know that if you’re not doing this here with me, you’ll find some other way to hurt yourself, more destructive ways. So I’m glad you came to me, Hal. I want you to be safe.”
“I want it to hurt,” Hal says quietly, still not looking at him.
Bruce figured as much. “I know. But I’ll decide how much, and you’re done when I say you’re done. Do you trust me with this?”
Hal finally looks at him, brown eyes pleading. “Yes sir.”
Bruce nods. He knows praises will only make Hal bristle right now, so he tucks the instinct away. He shifts his hand and curls his fingers tightly in Hal’s hair. “Tell me how far you want this to go.”
“Fuck me,” Hal says fiercely.
“Okay,” Bruce says, a plan forming in his head. Letting go of Hal’s hair, he takes a knee in front of him, so he stays just that little bit taller. He leans in to kiss him softly, the only bit of tenderness Hal’s going to get for a while. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to undress, and I’m going to tie your arms to the suspension frame. Then I’m going to use the riding crop—”
“Paddle,” Hal interrupts. “Sir.”
Bruce amends easily. “The paddle. I’ll hit you as many times as I think you need it. After that, we’ll use the vaulting horse, and I’ll fuck you. Does that sound good?”
“Yes sir,” Hal says.
Bruce nods to himself, standing. “Get up.”
Hal pushes up to his feet, slightly taller than Bruce. He keeps himself hunched low, though, trying to make himself smaller. He looks around for a moment. “The kids?”
“All out of town,” Bruce answers. “It’s just us and Alfred.”
“Okay,” Hal says, and waits for Bruce to tell him what to do next.
Bruce grabs his wrist, and tugs him toward the entryway into the rest of the house, holding tight. He doesn’t let go all the way up the stairs and into the playroom, where he flicks on the lights and shoves Hal through the door, locking it behind him. Hal stumbles in but rights himself, turning to look at Bruce. Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Take your clothes off. And fold them neatly. I won’t ask again, Jordan.”
Hal starts stripping out of his clinging, damp clothes. First go his boots and socks, set aside with the socks tucked into the boots. He pulls his white T-shirt over his head, revealing toned muscles and golden brown skin that Bruce appreciates from his spot a few steps back. His eyes follow the trail of dark freckles spattered across his chest, down to the line of his jeans. Hal pops those open and wiggles out of them too, folding them and placing them with his shirt. Last is his underwear, simple gray boxer briefs, added to the pile.
Bruce bites back the urge to praise him, leaving his mouth a firm line, expressionless. Like he doesn’t care that Hal is standing naked in front of him, so much tempting skin for him to get his mouth on. Instead, he goes to the suspension frame and gets out the restraints he’s going to use; padded cuffs that he clips to a set of chains that he loops through the anchors on the crossbeam, the cuffs hanging down and the length of the chains pulled aside into their hooks.
“Come here,” Bruce says coolly.
Hal comes.
Bruce takes one wrist at a time, buckling them into the cuffs, making sure they’re tight, but not too tight. Hal’s breath hitches a little when he puts the first one on, speeding up a little when Bruce buckles on the other one and takes Hal’s ring off. “Forget something?”
Hal is looking ahead, eyes unfocused, expression drawn. Bruce drops the ring into his pocket and slaps Hal lightly on the cheek, just enough to sting. Hal jolts, looks at him. Bruce grabs his face with one hand.
“I want you here with me,” he says sternly. “Don’t go drifting off somewhere else. You wanted a punishment, and you’re getting it. Stay focused.” He releases Hal’s face.
“Yes sir,” Hal says.
Bruce goes to one of the lengths of chain, unhooking it and pulling it until Hal’s arm raises above his head, enough that he has to go up on his tiptoes to keep from pulling it out of its socket. Bruce secures the chain on its hook, doing the same to the other side. The result is Hal, forced up onto his toes with his arms spread open, wrists pulling on the cuffs. His chest is heaving already, back rising and falling unevenly. Bruce wants nothing more than to reach out and touch him, caress down his spine, kiss his neck. Not yet.
Bruce retrieves a plain, flat paddle from the case of impact toys, coming back to Hal and standing behind him. “What’s your safe word?” He asks, tapping the wood against his palm.
“Red,” Hal says. “But I won’t need it.”
That’s why Bruce is in charge. Because if he kept going, waiting for Hal’s red, it would never come, until Hal was a bleeding mess. Probably not even then. Bruce knows him enough to know his limits in a regular scene, and he’ll stick to that.
“I want you to count,” Bruce instructs.
Hal shifts his weight on his toes. “Yes sir.”
Bruce takes a breath, settling further into his dom headspace. Hal needs this. Bruce will take care of him.
He raises his arm and swings. The first swat is light, warming up. Hal makes a noise of displeasure. “Harder.”
Bruce swats him again. “Count.”
“Two,” Hal says. “Harder!”
Bruce reaches around and pinches his nipple. “Who’s in charge, here?”
Hal huffs, frustrated. “You, sir.”
“Don’t forget it,” Bruce says.
He goes back to hitting Hal lightly, across the ass and thighs. Hal counts each one, getting increasingly agitated as Bruce only goes for light taps.
“Fifteen,” Hal grumbles.
Bruce can feel him gearing up to complain again. He pulls his arm back and swings hard, cracking Hal across the ass.
Hal shouts at the sudden sharp impact, body tensing against the pain as much as it can already flexed like this, and relaxes minutely. “Sixteen,” he says on an exhalation.
Bruce smacks him on the other cheek, gets another number and a delicious shudder. The muscles in Hal’s legs flex, no doubt beginning to strain from holding him up. Bruce keeps an eye on them, and hits Hal’s thigh hard.
He keeps up hitting that hard, alternating Hal’s cheeks and thighs. His skin is flushing bright red, and Bruce knows it must be hot to the touch. Still he hits, silently doling out Hal’s punishment.
By the time they hit the thirties, Hal’s whole body is shaking. Bruce swings again, and Hal cries out, an ugly half sob-half gasp. “Say something!” He sobs raggedly, pulling against the chains. “Tell me I deserve it! Tell me I’m a fucking stupid, irresponsible idiot who can’t do anything right!”
Bruce lets him rage, hitting him again and again, silently.
Hal gasps and writhes in his bonds, crying hard. “Tell me you’re disappointed in me, that all I do is fuck things up! I shouldn’t even be a Lantern, all I do is get people killed. I should be in prison, I should be dead.” And his words cut off as he’s sobbing and gasping so hard he doesn’t have the air for it. His body sags, tugging on his arms.
Bruce stops hitting him, close to breaking skin. He tosses the paddle aside and goes quickly for the chains. As soon as he has them both unhooked, Hal falls. Bruce rushes to catch him, hurriedly undoing the cuffs. He scoops Hal up under the knees and carries him to the bed, lying him down on his side. Bruce knows he said vaulting horse, but he’s redirecting with the way Hal is reacting.
Hal shakes and sobs, curling around himself. Bruce gets into bed beside him, pulling the blankets up around them both. He strokes Hal’s face lightly, rubbing his cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay,” Bruce whispers. “It’s okay, Hal, let it out. I’ve got you. You did so good, sweetheart.” He kisses Hal’s sweaty forehead.
“F-fuck,” Hal cries shakily. “It h-hurts.”
“I know,” Bruce says, rubbing up and down Hal’s arm to ease the ache and the shaking. His whole body must hurt from the effort of holding himself up, as of course his ass and thighs.
“I deserve it, I deserve it,” Hal repeats, still sobbing.
Bruce shushes him. “Shh, shh. You did so good, Hal, you’re my good boy. Listen to me, you’re going to drop if you don’t let yourself calm down. You’re okay.”
He gathers Hal up against him, holding him tight, kissing anywhere he can reach. “I love you, Hal, I love you. Good boy.”
Hal steadily stops crying, going still and quiet in Bruce’s arms. Bruce caresses him, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring. Hal’s ring has always been a little…receptive, to Bruce. He can’t use it full throttle like Hal can, but he can get it to do some things, like pull up a log of the most recent mission and give him a playback. He holds Hal as he watches the visual recreation of what went down. He watches the recruit Hal’s tearing himself up over die. He watches how Hal did everything right, and still couldn’t save her.
When he’s finished, he pockets the ring again and cranes his neck to look down at Hal. Hal’s eyes are glassy and far away, tear tracks running over his cheeks. There are goosebumps on his skin, despite being wrapped up in a blanket and Bruce’s arms. Bruce rubs his side to try to warm him up, kissing his forehead, his cheek.
“Hal, baby, it wasn’t your fault.”
Hal doesn’t make any indication that he’s heard.
“You did everything you could,” Bruce says quietly, taking one of Hal’s hands and inspecting his wrist. It’s red and chafed, definitely going to bruise. Bruce kisses the skin, laying his arm back down between them and stroking at Hal’s hair. “There was nothing you could have done. Nothing I could have done. Hal. It was not your fault, baby.”
Hal shudders.
Bruce kisses his forehead again. “You did your penance, and you were so good. Let me make you feel good, now. Give me a color.”
Hal closes his eyes. “Green,” he whispers.
Bruce kisses his cheek, rolls him onto his stomach, and covers him with the blanket for a moment while he gets up and undresses himself, grabbing the lube and a condom. They usually don’t use one, but Bruce is looking for easy cleanup tonight, to not stress the skin of Hal’s ass too much after his punishment.
Climbing back into bed, Bruce pulls the blanket back enough to uncover Hal’s ass. It’s so red, the skin inflamed. Bruce touches it lightly. Hal shivers.
Bruce sets the lube and condom aside, lying along Hal’s back to press his mouth to Hal’s shoulder. He lays slow kisses there, one after the other. “Look at me,” he says softly.
Hal turns his head slowly, eyes hazy, half mast, blinking sluggishly.
Bruce kisses the corner of his mouth. “I love you, beautiful boy.”
Hal makes a small wounded sound. Bruce kisses him again and sits back, straddling his covered thighs and reaching for the lube. He slicks up his fingers and rubs them between Hal’s cheeks, against his hole. Hal lets out a short sigh.
Bruce keeps rubbing, bending to kiss the base of Hal’s spine. Hal relaxes even further, and Bruce slides the first finger in.
“Oh.” It’s the softest sound, barely a breath. Bruce pushes his finger back and forth, watching Hal’s hole swallow it easily. It isn’t long before he’s pulling back and pushing in with two.
“You’re amazing, Hal,” Bruce praises. “Open up so easily, like you’re made for it, huh? Made to be filled.”
Hal shivers again, hips pushing down against the mattress in little motions, grinding. Bruce curls his fingers, finding Hal’s prostate and rubbing against it firmly. Hal makes a short, sharp noise, clenching around him. “Ah!”
“Let me hear it, baby,” Bruce encourages, rubbing circles over the gland.
Hal moans long and low, pushing back into Bruce’s hand and down against the bed, rubbing his cock against the sheets.
Bruce lets up with the steady pressure, pumping his fingers in and out again, spreading them, stretching Hal open. Hal lets out little huffing breaths, hands curled up near his shoulders and gripping at the sheets. Bruce kisses his back again, touches lightly over his flushed thighs, making Hal tense up. Bruce withdraws his touch. Fucking him is going to hurt. But Bruce knows Hal can take it, likes it.
He slicks up his fingers again, enters him with three. Hal’s hips keep hitching, a constant rocking motion, down and back, letting himself feel good. Good. Bruce works on stretching him for a while, then finds his prostate again and taps over it. Hal lets out a stuttered moan, shivering head to toe. Bruce watches him fondly, his own dick hard against his thigh from Hal’s noises and watching him chase the pleasure.
“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” Bruce says, pulling his fingers out and reaching for the condom. “It’s gonna hurt.”
“Mmm,” Hal hums.
Bruce rolls the condom down his dick, pouring lube into his palm and fisting himself with it, getting nice and wet. He groans quietly at the feeling, stroking himself a few more times, chasing the tingles of pleasure.
“Nnn,” Hal vocalizes below him, clearly waiting impatiently.
Bruce shuffles forward, angling his hips against Hal’s. He rubs the head of his dick over Hal’s hole, spreading the wetness, before steadying himself and beginning to push in.
Hal sucks in a breath. Bruce keeps pushing forward slowly, until he’s all the way in, flush against Hal’s ass. Hal shakes, shaking his head back and forth against the mattress.
“Hal?” Bruce checks in.
“Ow,” Hal gasps out. “Ow, ow.”
“Too much?” Bruce asks.
“N-no,” Hal says breathily. That’s all.
“Okay,” Bruce says, and tries a careful thrust.
Hal makes a sound high in his throat when his ass is jostled. Bruce leans over him, puts a hand on his hip. “Gonna go faster, get you off. What’s your color?”
“Green,” Hal murmurs.
Bruce nods to himself and pulls his hips back again. He starts up a quick rhythm, hips hitting against Hal’s cheeks with each thrust. Hal cries out and whimpers, back bowing, trying to get away from the sensation. Bruce keeps him pinned, fucking fast, aiming for Hal’s spot with each thrust.
“Ah! Ah, ah!” Hal cries, half pleasure and half pain. Bruce snaps his hips a bit harder and Hal starts actually crying again, sniffling and breathing hard, shoulders shaking. “Ow, ow, uhh, uh!”
“Doing so good, baby,” Bruce praises. “You’re almost there, c’mon.”
He shifts to reach under Hal’s belly for his dick, playing with the wet slippery head as he continues to fuck him hard. Hal lets out little hitching sobs, all but limp except for the way he keeps tensing and relaxing, from both pain and pleasure. He feels so good like this, tightening up around Bruce’s cock, hole warm and wet and perfect for rutting into. Bruce drops his forehead to Hal’s shoulder, breathing hard himself as he gets close.
Hal gasps and goes rigid as he comes, holding his breath and spilling over Bruce’s fingers. Bruce fucks in a few more times before slamming deep and rolling his hips as he follows Hal over the edge.
Hal still isn’t breathing.
Bruce shakes off his high and hurriedly pulls out, rolling Hal onto his side and slapping his cheeks lightly, blowing in his face. “C’mon Hal, breathe.”
Hal sucks in a gasping breath, coughing and breathing unsteadily, lashes fluttering wildly.
“Hal, Hal, baby,” Bruce says gently. “Focus on me, okay?”
“Hurts?” Hal says, confused.
“Yes, I know it hurts,” Bruce agrees. “Shift a little over this way, lie on your stomach, there you go. I’m gonna make it feel better.”
Hal grabs a pillow, snuggling it. “‘kay.”
At least he’s not crying anymore, seeming a little more content. Bruce gets up quickly, shucking the condom and wiping himself up. He gathers the wet wipes and bruise cream, as well as retrieving an electrolyte drink from the mini fridge. He doesn’t think Hal can handle more than that right now.
Hal is already making low, needy noises, more desperate the longer Bruce takes to come back to bed. He comes back with his supplies, taking a seat beside Hal. Bruce wipes him down gently, Hal tensing up as Bruce cleans over his ass and thighs before applying the cool cream.
“Love you so much,” Bruce says as he swipes the cream over Hal’s bruising cheeks. He covers the area well, then extracts Hal’s hands from around the pillow and gets his wrists too. He kisses Hal’s fingers. “The best boy, you were so good.”
Hal hums low in his throat, a short sound. Bruce lies down beside him, tries to get him to lift his head. Hal does, just enough to sip from the straw of the bottle, then puts his head down again.
Bruce folds the straw back down to seal the drink, setting it aside, and cuddles closer to Hal. He combs his fingers through Hal’s hair, kissing his shoulder. “My Hal. I’ve got you, good job.”
Hal peeks over his arm at him, pupils blown wide. He mumbles something unintelligible.
“What was that, baby?”
“I’m bad,” Hal whispers. “I’m not good.”
Bruce frowns. “That’s not true, sweetheart. You are good. Do you trust me to tell the truth?”
Hal lowers his gaze.
“Hal,” Bruce says. “Would I lie to you when you're like this? Would I ever do that?”
“No,” Hal says quietly.
“Then when I say you’re good, you are. You’re a good sub, and a good partner, and a good Lantern, and a good person. Do you understand?”
“Okay,” Hal whispers, hiding his face.
Bruce lets him, stroking his hair, his back, tracing his scars. “I love you, Hal.”
Bruce keeps touching him tenderly, reminding him that he’s loved, that he deserves love. Hal lies there silently with his face buried in his arms. After a long time, he takes a deep breath and turns his head. “Spooks.”
“Hal,” Bruce says with a fond smile. “Do you feel better?”
Hal shifts his arms to a more comfortable position. “A little.”
Bruce leans in to kiss him, pleased when Hal kisses back. “That was a rough one,” he says when they pull apart. “You went into a different kind of headspace in the end, I think.”
Hal actually chuckles a little, a rough noise. “I almost called you Daddy.”
Bruce bites his lip to contain his own laugh. “Well. I’d be okay with that.” He pecks Hal’s lips. “If that’s something you need.”
“I don’t even want to examine the issues underlying that particular aspect of myself,” Hal says wryly. “Fuck, my ass hurts.”
Bruce rubs a hand down his back. “I know. It’s going to bruise pretty badly.”
“That’s okay,” Hal says. “I needed it.”
“You didn’t deserve it, though,” Bruce counters softly. “I reviewed the memory from your ring. It wasn’t your fault, Hal. You know that.”
Hal is quiet. “Maybe someday I’ll believe that.”
Bruce doesn’t press the issue. “You need to drink something.
Hal shifts over onto his side. “Okay.”
Bruce holds the drink out for him, then has some himself when Hal glares at him. He makes them both finish it, then sets it aside and reaches out to cup Hal’s cheek. “I love you.”
“I know,” Hal says.
“And nothing you could do would ever make me stop loving you.”
Hal’s lip wobbles. “I know.”
“Okay,” Bruce says, brushing their lips together.
“I love you too,” Hal whispers.
Bruce thumbs his chin tenderly, kisses him again. “I know.”