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Tonight was the kind of night that made Bruce remember why he loved Gotham so much. It had been snowing until just a few minutes ago, a light dusting of white now adorning the crowns of the imposing Gothic architecture. The loud sounds of the city were muffled and quiet, the snow making everything just a little softer around the edges. In the morning, all the snow would be gray with pollution and soot, a slush that would give way to a brutal ice.
But for now, it was soft, sweet. Untouched. As Bruce bounded across the rooftops, he could hear the faintest crunch of fresh snow under his boots, feel the cold air prickle inside him with each deep breath. It wasn't exactly joy that he felt, but something close to it - the quiet exhilaration of movement.
The only thing that would make it better would be having Robin by his side. Dick had been patrolling with him earlier, but the thin thermal tights Bruce had designed clearly hadn't been good enough - every time they had paused to play lookout, Dick had shivered hard enough that Bruce could hear his teeth chatter.
Dick would have never admitted that, though. So Bruce had sent him home under the pretense of having school tomorrow, and though Dick had of course protested, it wasn't for long. Dick seemed particularly adverse to the cold - a little ironic, considering his choice in costume.
Bruce let his mind wander in a way he usually didn't, lulled into a softer mood by the relative peacefulness of the night. He pictured Dick running ahead of him, a wide smile on his face as he cartwheeled across the rooftops. In his imagination, Dick wasn't wearing the thermal tights - his long, tan legs were bare, exposed skin dark against the white snow. He seemed almost angelic, perfect form curling and twisting in a way that was both innocent and sensual.
Bruce ran his tongue across his teeth, breath getting a little heavier as he ruminated on Dick's thighs, his hips, his soft, pretty mouth. He didn't indulge in these kinds of thoughts often, and refused to let them get explicit. After all, Dick was just a child - a child entrusted to his care. His ward, his… well, not quite his son. But something very much like it.
But he couldn't stop himself from noticing. From feeling that attraction, from the way his hands ached from the desire to touch. Even if he never would allow himself to act on it, he couldn't stop the thoughts from worming their way into his psyche, disgust and arousal playing equal parts in his mind.
And yet, it ran deeper. Ran deeper than Bruce simply desiring his body - it had to, it had to. Bruce knew that Dick had saved him, in a way. Even though it was still wrong of him to want his ward, his partner, Bruce consoled himself that it was due to their deep emotional connection, not…
A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye shook him out of his thoughts, reality crashing back in with a cold shock of air. He didn't turn towards it, didn't allow himself to react at all, except to slightly change his course to get a better angle on the source.
The movement had come from atop a nearby building - a residential complex, unlikely to be occupied this early in the morning. It certainly wasn't out of the question, though.
Bruce kept moving, careful to keep his body language unchanged, to make it seem as though he hadn't noticed anything. After a few minutes, he began to think that it had been a fluke - an animal, perhaps? - until he saw it again.
It was much more subtle this time; a flickering shadow crossing over the city lights for just a moment before vanishing.
It could have been a coincidence, of course, but something in Bruce's gut was telling him that this was much more. He was being followed - and if that was true, then whoever was following him was good.
They were completely silent, moving with a thoughtful precision that spoke to intensive training. In fact, Bruce wondered if the first time he had noticed something was intentional - they could have been following him for ages, and were now trying to… what? Catch his attention? Play a game?
His first thought was Catwoman, but that didn't feel right. She liked to make herself known, preferred to be the one chased. No - this was someone else. Perhaps someone new.
Bruce turned around, grappling up to where he had caught the movement. His heart beat a little faster when he saw that there were, in fact, footprints in the fresh snow - footprints that led to the edge of the building before vanishing.
His eyes flickered over the ledge, considering. There was no sign of his mystery stalker, but considering the angle of their footprints… Bruce turned his face up, eyes widening when he saw a figure perched on the edge of a gargoyle, silhouette barely visible against the cloudy night sky.
As soon as Bruce made eye contact, they turned away, leaping up to the rooftop in one effortless bound. Bruce didn't let himself hesitate, firing his grapple to where the figure had been just moments ago.
By the time he got up to the roof, the figure was already jumping off the other end, vaulting to the next building over. Bruce tilted into a dead sprint, cold air prickling his lungs as he began the chase in earnest.
They were fast - very fast. To his astonishment, Bruce was struggling to keep up with the figure, who moved with a kind of grace that spoke to both natural talent and years of training. Bruce watched with a critical eye, cataloguing everything he could tell from a distance.
He had gotten close enough to tell that it was a man he was chasing, dressed in a black, skintight unitard that covered his entire body. Notably, there were two weapons strapped to his back - Bruce couldn't quite tell what they were from this distance, but they were very clearly not firearms. That was certainly for the best; if the man had wanted to shoot him, Bruce would already be dead.
As they ran, Bruce flipped through possibilities in his mind - he didn't seem military, didn't quite fit the MO of the League of Assassins, didn't even move in a way that Bruce associated with masters of martial arts. But there was something hauntingly familiar about the way he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the way he casually glanced behind him, checking to see if Bruce was keeping up.
The pair leapt onto the top of a movie theater almost in sync, the marquee lights casting a golden glow over the scene. To Bruce's surprise, he could see that the man's costume actually had a shock of bright blue cutting across his chest and back before trailing down his arms. The man seemed to pause too, looking at Bruce with a cocked head and curious expression.
Bruce didn't allow himself to hesitate. He tossed out a weighted rope, the metal coil wrapping itself around the man in an instant. As he fell, Bruce could see the ghost of a smile on his face.
Bruce slowed his run, stopping a few feet from the man. He wasn't struggling at all, just staring at Bruce as he approached.
This close, Bruce could finally see more details about the man. His first, most shameful thought was that he was devastatingly handsome. His face was partially obscured by a sharp-edged domino mask, but it couldn't hide the cut of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his full lips. His tan face was framed with shaggy black hair, which curled slightly where it fell past his ears. He was younger than Bruce had been picturing - late twenties or early thirties.
"You let yourself get caught on purpose," Bruce growled, his words making a cloud in the freezing air.
The man's lips twisted into a wry smile. He seemed completely unfazed by the entire situation, and certainly wasn't intimidated by Bruce.
"What makes you say that?" His voice was lilting, a clear edge of amusement to his words.
"You should've been able to dodge that."
"Oh? You talk like you know me. Do you?"
Bruce stared silently at the man. Truth be told, there was something hauntingly familiar about him, something that was setting off alarm bells in Bruce's mind. But nothing was quite clicking.
"What's your name?" Bruce finally asked, watching as the corner of the man's mouth twitched up.
"Nightwing." He answered without missing a beat.
Another vigilante, then? He certainly seemed like one, though Bruce supposed he could just as easily be a costumed villain. As much as Bruce hated relying solely on intuition, there was just something about Nightwing that made him think that wasn't the case - something telling him that his goal wasn't aligned with the usual chaos-makers of Gotham.
"Your real name."
Nightwing laughed, tossing his head back. "Only if you tell me yours first."
Bruce felt the brush of something against his ankle, and he realized that Nightwing was running his foot lightly against Bruce's boot, as though playing footsie. The intimate gesture should have irritated him, but instead Bruce just felt the warm shiver of intrigue curl in his gut.
"Tell you what," Nightwing said, voice breathy. "Let's play a game. If you win, I'll tell you my real name."
"No." Bruce said immediately.
"I wasn't asking."
The steel rope around Nightwing suddenly went slack, and before Bruce could even wonder how he had cut it, Nightwing had knocked him over, sweeping his feet out from under him with the same foot he had been teasing Bruce with.
Bruce was back up in an instant, but so was Nightwing. He moved with that same effortless grace Bruce had been admiring earlier, striking at him with lightning-fast movements. Bruce parried each blow, heart pounding as he wondered if he had finally met his match - there was just something about the way they traded hits, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together.
Nightwing flipped away as Bruce kicked out at him, an entirely unnecessary move that only served to look impressive. Bruce should have felt disdainful of the clear showmanship, but instead he found himself watching the curve of Nightwing's back as he moved. There was no point in deluding himself - it wasn't just intrigue that drew him to Nightwing, but a clear, insistent attraction as well. He wanted him. He wanted him badly.
As he catalogued this realization, Bruce found himself striking with more ferocity, more desperation. The white lenses of Nightwing's mask widened as he adjusted to Bruce's assault, the playful moves fading away as he became determined. Strangely, this just made Bruce feel hungrier - seeing that slight smile fall from Nightwing's face, the hard edge of his clenched jaw, made him look more beautiful.
Bruce managed to hook his fingers in the neck of Nightwing's suit, yanking him forward until their faces were only a few inches apart. Nightwing was breathing heavily, the warm puffs of air a shocking contrast to the freezing cold night.
To Bruce's surprise, Nightwing grinned widely. "I win."
Bruce's entire body jolted as a sudden shock of electricity ran through him, strong enough that his muscles seized up, forcing him to stumble away from Nightwing.
He wasted no time, pouncing forward and knocking Bruce to the rooftop. In an instant, Bruce's wrists were pinned above his head, Nightwing sitting on his hips with the air of a self-satisfied cat.
In Nightwing's free hand, he was twirling one of his escrima, the tip humming with electricity. Now that the shock had passed, he could feel where Nightwing had struck him - a tiny weak point in his suit along his right side. Imperceptible to anyone simply looking at his costume, which meant that Nightwing had either gotten lucky, or… he had known exactly where to strike.
Nightwing tucked his escrima back into its holster, reaching down and cupping Bruce's jaw. His glove felt cold against his skin.
"I guess that means I can collect my prize," Nightwing said, voice strangely soft. Even in the quiet of the snowy city, Bruce had to strain to hear him.
"I'm not telling you my name."
"That's fine. I already know it anyway."
And then Nightwing's lips were on his, cold and soft and so hungry. Bruce couldn't help but groan into the touch, the press of his hot tongue inside his mouth. Nightwing kissed like he would die without it, like he needed Bruce more than he needed air.
Bruce's head swam, unable to stop the desperate trawl of calculations in his brain. Who could he be, how could he know. But it was so hard to think, so hard to process anything other than Nightwing's deft hand sliding down his front, unlatching his utility belt without even the slightest bit of hesitation.
Bruce grabbed his wrist, turning his head away with a snap of his jaw. "Wait."
"Bruce, please," Nightwing breathed, pressing a hot kiss to Bruce's cheek. Bruce felt his heart pound at the sound of his name. Something about the way that Nightwing had said it made him think of - no, that didn't make sense-
"Let me feel you." Nightwing continued. His gloved hand felt impossibly cold against Bruce's bare skin, the material rough and unforgiving. "Let me - let me, let me,"
He seemed so different from the cocky young man Bruce had just fought. Gone were the snarky remarks, the showmanship, the playfulness. This seemed more raw, the edge of something desperate and starved coming through.
When Bruce wrapped his hands around Nightwing's hips, he could feel the full-body shudder run through his form, feel the way he leaned into the touch. Bruce dipped his fingers under the edge of the top half of Nightwing's costume before retracting his hands, pulling his gloves off with practiced movements.
This time, when he edged his fingertips under Nightwing's clothes, the man let out a soft groan at the touch. As Bruce pushed the material up, running his hands along his skin in a slow, deliberate drag, Nightwing shivered and moaned, hips twitching against Bruce's own. Bruce's fingertips caught on the myriad scars littering his torso, evidence of a thousand battles, a thousand fights, a thousand close calls.
Nightwing had wormed his hand into Bruce's jockstrap, and Bruce couldn't help the way his hips twitched as Nightwing lightly brushed against his cock. Even the gentle touch had Bruce's breath picking up, the sensations amplified by the intensity of the situation. Nightwing pressed another messy kiss to Bruce's jaw before carelessly pushing his cowl back, rocking back on his heels to look at his face.
His cheeks were flushed with arousal, mouth slightly parted as he took in deep breaths. He reached forward, cupping Bruce's cheek in a strangely tender gesture. Bruce expected him to say something, but he didn't - just wrapped his hand properly around his cock, beginning to stroke him slowly.
The world felt strange and dreamlike as Bruce lifted Nightwing's shirt, eyes flickering over the expanse of scars he had been touching. There were so many, so many from so many different types of injury. Some were fresh, barely healed at all, and some-
Bruce's throat felt tight as he pressed his thumb into a very old, pale scar that curved just above Nightwing's hip - a clean slice that nevertheless had left a lasting impression just from the depth of the injury. An injury that Bruce knew well.
In his mind he could see it - the night Robin had jumped in front of a mugger's blade meant for him, the way the sharp knife had sliced so easily into his tender flesh. The wellspring of crimson blood, the warmth of it against Bruce's hand as he tried to stymie the bleeding. He had thought that Dick was strangely beautiful like that - pale, shaking, tiny, covered in his own blood.
"Bruce." Nightwing called again. His voice sounded strangely far away.
"Dick." Bruce breathed.
Bruce could barely feel the bite of the cold air past the sensation of Dick's habd wrapped around him, the tightness of his grip. Bruce groaned, unable to stop the way he canted his hips up, chasing the feeling.
But no. No, no, no. He couldn't do this, he couldn't-
It was hard to think past the pressing swirl of his own thoughts, paranoid patterns insisting that he figure out exactly how Dick got here, analyze the situation with his detective's mind. And god, Dick's touch, the way he seemed to know exactly how to twist his wrist, rub the underside of Bruce's cock until he couldn't help the strangled groan that slipped from his mouth.
Steeling himself, he grabbed Dick's wrist, forcing him to stop his movements. "We can't. This isn't right."
Dick's laugh sounded like it had caught him off-guard, a short, barking thing that felt impossibly loud compared to the quiet of the snowy night. "Why? Am I too old for you?"
Bruce had to fight to keep his expression still, cold horror slowly curling through his body. Traitorously, he didn't soften. "Dick, I-"
"I love you." Dick's smile was all teeth, strange and unnatural compared to his usual sunny grin, the one that lit Bruce up from the inside. "And I know that he does, too. I could see it on his face when I was following you two - the way that kid was staring at you like you're the center of the universe. He's in love with you, Bruce. And I know you're in love with him. Or - at least, that's what you told me."
Dick leaned forward, grip tightening on Bruce's cock until it was almost painful. When he jerked his hand up, Bruce let go of his wrist, instead digging his fingers into his thighs as Dick began to stroke him fast and hard, the friction of his glove agonizingly perfect. "That night - all those years ago. When you whispered to me that I was your second half, when you kissed me so sweetly - was it because you loved me? Or was it because you just wanted me? Did you only say that because you knew that's what would get me to come running back for more?"
Bruce wanted to say he didn't know what Dick was talking about, that this had never happened, that there was some kind of misunderstanding, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't find the words past the brutal way that Dick was wringing grunts out of him with every agonizing flick of his wrist. Sex had never felt like this before, had never drowned him in pleasure and pain, leaving him barely able to breathe.
"I needed you, Bruce." Dick's voice was hoarse with emotion, anguish pouring out of him in a waterfall. He wasn't even looking directly at Bruce anymore, his gaze distant as he recalled the painful memories. "I needed you, and you - you pushed me away, took Robin from me. Never touched me again, never even acknowledged what we had. And now no matter who touches me, all I can think of is you."
Bruce lunged forward, shoving his palm against Dick's chest until he had knocked him over, reversing their positions so Dick was pinned to the snowy rooftop. Dick made no move to resist, letting out a quiet wheeze as the air was knocked out of him.
He didn't even move when Bruce reached up, peeling his domino mask off his face. He just stared up at him, his piercing blue eyes both hauntingly familiar and completely alien. Either way, they were so beautiful - not for the first time, Bruce found himself thinking that they were the kind of eyes that he could get lost in for hours.
There were a thousand things Bruce wanted to say, but the words all swirled together in his mind, an incomprehensible maelstrom of emotion. So instead he leaned down, pressing an achingly gentle kiss to Dick's lips.
He didn't move at first, soft lips frozen as Bruce kissed him sweetly - and then, all at once, he was scrabbling at Bruce's face, fingers tangling desperately into his short hair as he returned the kiss with a desperate fervor.
Bruce slid his hand down the front of Dick's uniform, sighing in pleasure as his palm met the hot skin of Dick's cock. He managed to pull it out, wrapping his hand around his length and jerking him slowly.
Dick moaned into his mouth, bucking his hips up at the touch. Bruce tried to pull back slightly, but Dick didn't let him - he tightened his grip on Bruce's hair, even wrapping a leg around his hips and pulling him in.
Bruce found it entirely too easy to give in, settling his entire weight down until he was sprawled on top of Dick. His cape settled over them, blanketing them in a protective embrace. His little bird moaned again, the hand not tangled in Bruce's hair scrabbling down his back in a way that would have certainly been painful if not for his armor.
Despite the angle, Bruce managed to wrap his hand around both of their cocks, groaning as he felt the wetness that had gathered at Dick's head. It still wasn't enough lubrication, but Dick didn't seem to care at all - in fact, he was grinding against Bruce with powerful thrusts of his hips, chasing the pleasure like he would never feel it again.
Maybe he wouldn't.
Bruce pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Dick's as he continued to jerk them off, unable to stop himself from quietly groaning at the sensation. Dick peered back at him, his thick, long lashes damp with unshed tears - whether from anguish or pleasure, Bruce couldn't say.
"I've got you, Dickie." Bruce breathed, voice barely above a whisper. Dick's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard - but he still let out a quiet moan.
"I'm right here." Bruce continued, turning his face to nuzzle against Dick's cheek. He could feel the slight prickle of where Dick's stubble was beginning to grow in, and the sensation made his heart soar unexpectedly. His little boy, all grown up.
"Bruce," Dick said helplessly, fingers tightening in his hair. "Bruce, I…"
"You're so beautiful." Bruce admitted quietly. "You've grown into a beautiful young man."
It was hard to imagine himself ever willingly letting go of his sweet bird, to think about relinquishing his grip on the boy who saved his life. Especially when that boy threw his head back like Dick did, face screwed up in pleasure as Bruce played with the tip of his cock, letting out little pants of air that sounded like music to his ears.
He pressed a kiss to Dick's throat, feeling his pulse flutter under his skin. For some reason, that made Bruce's cock twitch, and he couldn't stop himself from biting down - gently, at first, and then with more force.
Dick groaned, tightening his grip on Bruce's hair. "Fuck, B." Bruce could feel a sudden wetness against his palm, and his head swam at the realization of how much Dick liked the pain.
Bruce trailed his lips up, pausing to nip at Dick's earlobe. "I don't think I'd ever be able to resist you," he admitted, voice feeling raw. He thought, suddenly, of that horrible night - the night Dick watched his parents die, the night they both did. How even then, when Bruce had wrapped a blanket around Dick's tiny, shaking shoulders, he had felt the connection. The sense that he had found someone who could understand, who would know what it felt like. He had wanted to save Dick, but often he had thought that it was really the other way around. That Dick was the one who saved him.
"Then don't." Dick gasped, suddenly digging the heel of his foot into the base of Bruce's spine. He plastered himself against Bruce, heaving chest feeling impossibly warm through the armor. "Fuck me already."
He let go of Bruce, raising his hips as he carelessly tugged down his tights. Bruce suddenly remembered the way his own Dick had shivered so much wearing the thermal tights earlier tonight. This Dick didn't even seem to notice the cold, bare skin pressing against snow without a care in the world. Maybe he had already grown numb to it.
Dick grabbed Bruce's cock, pressing it against his dry entrance without a care in the world. "Wait," Bruce grunted, pulling back. "I don't want to hurt you."
"It doesn't matter." Dick turned his chin up slightly. His eyes were half-lidded, his blown-out pupils barely visible. "I can take it."
"No." Bruce growled, shoving Dick's hips down. Instantly, Dick grabbed his shoulders, flipping them around. They wrestled for a moment, Bruce letting out a grunt as Dick caught him in a painful leglock. Even still, he managed to once more get on top of Dick, pressing the brunt of his forearm against Dick's throat.
Dick tapped his arm twice, and Bruce instinctively let off the hold - it was just reflex from sparring with Dick.
He half-expected Dick to take advantage and strike at him again, but he didn't. He just laughed, the sound quiet and bitter. "You used to be so soft on me."
Bruce's throat bobbed. "Dick…"
"Just get the bat-lube out already." He smiled, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Unless you haven't started carrying that around yet?"
Bruce was silent as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, tongue working around the digits as he tried to get them as wet as possible. He didn't know how serious Dick was being - would he really start carrying lube around so they could have sex in public? The thought should have been disgusting, but instead Bruce felt himself prickle with warmth at the idea. He was picturing his own little Dickie speared open on his cock, panting with arousal as Bruce pressed him against the masonry - much like he was doing now.
Dick's smile tilted up even further, the barest hint of teeth flashing as he watched Bruce work. It felt almost like he could sense Bruce's thoughts, knew exactly what he was thinking. If anyone could, it would be him.
Bruce pulled them out of his mouth after a few seconds, resting the tips of his fingers against Dick's hole. Not wasting any time he pressed in, surprised at how easily he slid inside. He wondered if Dick had fingered himself open earlier - he felt his heartbeat quicken as he pictured Dick doing it while following Bruce, ducking away in the shadows to shove his hand into his tights.
He pushed the second finger in, and this time Dick did tense, muscles fluttering around the intrusion. Bruce didn't let up, shoving in deeper despite the resistance.
Dick groaned, the sound punched out of his lungs as Bruce bottomed out, his knuckles brushing against Dick's skin. He was achingly hot inside, and Bruce felt weak at the thought of being inside that tight heat. Dick seemed to share the sentiment, hard cock twitching despite his obvious pain.
Bruce wondered if Dick had always been a masochist, or if it had been a trait acquired by being with him.
Bruce scissored his fingers apart, taking care to listen to Dick's noises. Dick was less vocal than Bruce had been picturing - he was always so chatty even when they sparred, letting out little quips and jokes like he had been born to do it. It was strange to hear him quiet like this, but it just made it that much sweeter when Bruce did manage to make him moan.
Dick reached out, resting his hands on Bruce's forearm. He squeezed it almost fondly before tugging impatiently. "Come on, that's enough."
Bruce wanted to protest, but truth be told, he was barely holding on. His entire body thrummed with need, the knowledge that this was his Dick making him even more eager.
So he let Dick pull his fingers out, watching with intent eyes as Dick's hole twitched at the sudden emptiness. He felt hazy as he spat messily into his own palm, haphazardly smearing the saliva across his cock.
Dick tilted his head, suddenly grabbing Bruce's hips. "C'mere," he insisted, patting Bruce's thigh as he encouraged him to move closer to his head. Bruce's heart hammered as he sat up enough to press his lips against the head of Bruce's cock, cheekily licking the tip before suddenly leaning forward, taking him in one smooth motion.
Bruce grunted at the sudden warmth. Dick was brutally efficient, swirling his tongue around Bruce's shaft, getting it nice and wet. Despite the fact it was a blowjob of pure function, Bruce couldn't help but be amazed at how good it felt. Dick was clearly practiced, moving in just the right way to get Bruce riled up. Furthermore, he seemed to lack a gag reflex entirely - with each bob of his head, the head of Bruce's cock breached his throat, pushing into the warmth over and over again. He had to concentrate on staying still, refusing to let himself lose control.
It was over entirely too soon, Dick pulling off with a smile. A string of saliva connected his lips to the tip of Bruce's cock, the sight making Bruce feel weak with desire.
Dick wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, the gesture strangely juvenile. "That's about as good as it's gonna get, so I would hurry up."
Bruce didn't protest, settling back between Dick's spread legs. He wrapped his hand around Dick's hips, pausing for just a moment to run his thumb along that deep hip scar.
Dick was clearly still feeling impatient, squirming in Bruce's grip until his entrance was pressed against the tip of Bruce's length. He tried to move forward again, but Bruce held him in place - he didn't trust Dick to not hurt himself.
So he set his own pace, using his tight grip to slowly sink inside of Dick. It was unbelievably tight despite Bruce's preparations - he could barely fit inside. Dick's brow was slightly furrowed, but he gave no other indication he was in pain - he just kept taking deep, slow breaths, quiet as he was forced open.
Bruce paused when he was about halfway in, allowing Dick to adjust to the intrusion. He ran a comforting hand along Dick's side, the touch making him shiver in clear delight.
"You're so big," Dick groaned, twisting his head. "I forgot how full you make me feel."
Bruce's jaw twitched. "We can stop if it's too much." He didn't want to - in fact, the idea of pulling out right now was making him feel almost nauseous. But the last thing he wanted to do was seriously hurt Dick.
"Fuck no." Dick laughed, tearing off his glove with his teeth and wrapping his hand around his hard length. He gave it a few strokes, letting out soft breaths of air. "If you try to pull out, I'm pinning you to this roof and riding you until you black out."
Bruce actually let out a growl, tightening his grip on Dick and snapping his hips forward in an abrupt motion. Dick yelped as Bruce bottomed out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Bruce could actually see the way his cock twitched at the thrust.
"Is this what you wanted?" Bruce murmured, starting to thrust forward. His rhythm was slow but unforgiving, fully pushing in with each plunge of his hips.
"Yes," Dick hissed, the word catching on his teeth. He was jerking himself off with quick, rough motions, more concerned with chasing his desperate pleasure then matching Bruce's pace. It was strangely fascinating to watch, Dick getting off on being fucked too fast with too little prep.
Bruce groaned, leaning down and gripping the back of Dick's neck. Dick stiffened, letting out a surprised noise as Bruce used his leverage to pull Dick into his lap, holding him close. His skin was cold even through the suit, and Bruce paused to wrap his cape around the two of them, letting their body heat fill the shared space.
Dick melted into the embrace, letting out a moan that sounded far softer and sweeter than anything Bruce had heard out of him thus far. It reminded Bruce strongly of how his own Dickie sounded when eating something particularly delicious, or when Bruce was massaging him after a rough sparring session.
Dick buried his face into Bruce's neck as he thrusted into him. Bruce wondered if Dick was feeling as dizzy with sensation as he did - he felt thoroughly off-balance, twisted around and tied up with both arousal and emotion. He couldn't remember the last time that sex had felt this profound, this right.
He couldn't imagine ever letting go of Dick.
Dick was meeting his movement with his own bounces, making their skin slap obscenely as they fucked. Bruce slid a hand down Dick's waist, gripping his ass tightly - he couldn't believe how much he had filled out, the softness beneath his palms. Bruce knew that no matter what happened tonight, he would never be able to forget the enticing beauty of Dick's body.
"B, Bruce." Dick panted, hand still working at himself. "I'm close, I'm so close."
Bruce moaned, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of Dick's ear. "Come for me, Dickie."
Dick whimpered, sinking his teeth into Bruce's shoulder as he rode him for a few more seconds before freezing up, entire body tensing as he came. Bruce pulled back slightly to watch his face, staring intently at the way his eyelashes fluttered, the noises he made, the parting of his lips. He didn't want to ever forget what Dick Grayson looked like in the throws of ecstasy.
Bruce throbbed where he was still buried inside Dick, though he was careful to keep himself still. Dick seemed to have other ideas, though - even as he was coming down from his orgasm, he ground down against Bruce's cock, teasing him.
"Dick," Bruce grunted, grabbing his hips to keep him from moving. Dick didn't even miss a beat, instead clenching down and making Bruce groan.
"Come on, B," he urged, wrapping his arms around Bruce. "We've got all night, and I don't know how long I'll… we should make this last."
Bruce swallowed. He should say no, shouldn't have let this happen in the first place - but it was so hard to think while enveloped in that tight warmth, so different from the cold Gotham air. And when Dick leaned back to look at him, he had a soft, crooked smile - the kind his Dickie always had when they were alone on patrol together and he was about to say one of his ridiculous puns.
So instead of doing what he should, Bruce kissed him, falling back into his tight embrace.