Work Text:
fifteen hours ago
“When does his flight land?”
Damian sighs. He glances up from his art book to see his father paused in the doorway from the kitchen, pretending as if he hasn’t spent the last hour pacing back and forth. “Do you expect it has changed since the last time we spoke of it?”
His father’s eyebrow twitches. “When I ask you a question, I expect a response—”
“He departed Stockholm at eleven am local time. He will land at the Archie-Goodwin International Airport at three-forty in the afternoon. It is currently noon. You have asked me for his itinerary every fifteen minutes since nine this morning. Is there anything else?” Damian shakes his head. “Don’t you have a tracker implanted in him?”
Bruce’s brows furrow sadly. “Not after he cut it out.”
“And you didn’t even implant a backup,” Damian says dryly. “Foolish of you.”
His father shifts, his gaze cutting to the side. He turns to leave abruptly.
Damian bolts upright. “Is there a backup?”
His sketch book slides off the couch onto the floor, forgotten, but his father is already gone.
the safehouse
Okay. So Dick might have fudged his itinerary a little bit. Spoofing the spare tracker that Bruce thinks he doesn’t know about was a simple enough hack job. The hard part was actually lying on the phone to him — not because he couldn’t do it — if anyone could fool Batman, it was Dick — but because it made him feel so damn guilty.
It used to chafe, but he accepted it long ago. Bruce needs to know where he is, even if he’s working or on a mission. It’s just how his Dom is. Maybe every single person in his life would think it was weird, but he understands completely. The things they do together — the pleasure they give each other — it requires a certain level of care, outside of the proverbial dungeon. As much as Dick needs to be owned, Bruce needs to own him. The concept is mega-hot, in Dick’s opinion.
But every brat knows this simple truth: if you never disobey, you never have any fun.
Anticipation prickles his scalp as he stares at the blinking green dot on his safehouse’s monitor. He actually left Stockholm twelve hours earlier than planned, giving him twelve hours to set up his little con. He watches as Bruce paces back and forth in the Cave, probably wondering why he’s still in Stockholm. If he turned his cell on now, he’s sure it would be chock full of increasingly concerned text messages. Stuff like:
Alfred made your favorite. Use my card for the uber from the airport.
What happened? Mission delayed? Scandinavian Air didn’t reschedule your flight.
Are you taking the 7:27pm?
Then, when it was clear he wasn’t taking the 7:27 pm from Stockholm, Is M bringing you home? Do you need backup? Why aren’t you responding? I pinged your other comm.
Dick smiles, and he knows that it is a devilish, evil smile. Serves him right. The last time Bruce went undercover, he’d gone dark for five days just to catch a loose end that wasn’t mission-critical. Dick ate so many Tums that week that the smell of calcium carbonate still makes him gag, but they’d done nothing for the sick feeling that something had happened to his boyf — his Dom.
Dick isn’t a petty person… but some people need a taste of their own medicine to understand.
So he’s already in Gotham. He’s holed up in one of Bruce’s older safehouses, one that he hasn’t maintained in a few years. He spent the last twelve hours cleaning it up, dusting the counters, sweeping the floor, and, of course — changing the sheets on the bedroom’s king mattress. After that, he microwaved some instant mac and cheese, powered on his tracking system, paired to his implant hidden in the flesh of Bruce’s right calf, and sat down to watch his new favorite show.
the Cave
Bruce knows there’s something interfering with the tracker frequency. He even knows the exact decryption to use to unblock Dick’s location. The question is… is he in trouble? Did he mask his own location, or did someone else do it? If it’s someone else and Bruce destroys the spoof, then he could be putting Dick in danger. He can’t do that.
After a few minutes of digging through his spare electronics, a solution hits him: Spoof the spoofer.
He’ll clone the tracking signal to a new tracker, then decrypt that one. It’s perfect — he won’t tip the other party off, but he’ll get access to Dick’s real location. Assuming that the tracker is still inside him, obviously. Biometrics point to yes, but if they can hide Dick’s location, they can also fake his biometrics.
An hour later, Damian returns to the Cave, takes one look at the mess of wiring and circuitry that his desk has become, shakes his head, and walks back to the elevator. “Serves you right,” he mutters, which doesn’t make much sense, but Bruce can barely spare the memory to process it.
the safehouse
Dick is beginning to get bored. Why hasn’t Bruce broken the encryption on his tracker yet? Maybe he shouldn’t have texted Damian and told him about his little prank — what if he ratted him out to Bruce? But he just didn’t want the kid to think something was actually wrong — and he especially didn’t want him to search for Dick himself.
Dick settles back in his rolling chair. He grinds his hips down idly, shifting the thick metal plug nestled inside him against his prostate. The pressure pushes a bead of precum out of his aching cock where it pokes out of his unbuttoned jeans.
He takes himself in hand and strokes, thumb dragging over the sensitive head of his cock in a poor imitation of his Dom’s hand. His stomach is streaked with lube from when he first inserted the plug; when he hacked into the feed in the Cave directed at Bruce’s desk. He’s soldering something feverishly, like he was when Dick first tuned in. Watching his huge hands move so deftly makes his cock twitch again.
Technically, he’s not even supposed to touch himself without Bruce in the room — so a month-long undercover mission has left him desperate. The only thing stopping him from actually making himself come is the threat of punishment that looms over him. The last time he disobeyed, he spent a week in a cock cage.
Having to beg Bruce to pee all week was as humiliating as it was arousing. He hates when punishments are actually punishments. He much prefers when they’re fun.
Dick spends a few minutes with his palm cradling his cock, fondling his balls as he watches Bruce’s lovely, intelligent face. He hooks something up to his computer, then starts tapping away on his keyboard.
Bruce loves to blindfold him. It forces Dick to forget he’s being watched, forces him to drop his performance and just feel the pain Bruce inflicts on him. Dick loves it, but in moments like this he wishes he could see Bruce while they played more often — Bruce is just so handsome. That sharp nose, his lean cheeks, his predatory gaze… Dick isn’t only his sub— he’s a rabbit caught in his jaws.
The thought sends a jolt of electricity through his groin. He’s playing with fire by pranking Bruce like this. Touching himself in his safe house. Breaking the rules.
Taunting his Dom.
On the video feed, Bruce suddenly snaps his gaze to the camera. His gaze is hungry, furious, dark. Dick frowns. He hasn’t broken through the spoofing yet, so what riled him up? Dick is pinned to the chair, almost squirming in discomfort. Bruce knows. How he knows, Dick isn’t sure.
But the hunt is on.
now
He remembers the safehouse. Of course he does. He keeps a list of every address he’s ever associated with and maintains it meticulously. What he doesn’t understand is why Dick is there.
It’s a simple matter to suit up and make his way across Gotham. He lands on the top of the safehouse’s neighboring building at ten, seven hours after Dick was due to arrive. It’s an apartment above a cluster of restaurants — nothing special. Typically, the windows are dark and shuttered, so the flat looks like one of the many apartments around the city that are only occupied seasonally. He blinks, zooming in on the apartment with the lenses in his cowl.
Tonight, the shades are gone and the apartment is lit. A facsimile of a normal life viewed through the window: a sparse but homey flat with fresh linens on the bed, luggage tossed onto the couch, dishes in the sink. Something roils in his gut. Dick is not in danger, his sixth sense tells him.
There’s a pump bottle of lube knocked on its side at the edge of the desk.
Bruce hauls himself inside through the living room window. He shutters the window behind him. Thermal imaging shows one other body in the unit — he’s in the shower. Bruce narrows his eyes. He’s hard.
His boy is misbehaving.
He loosens the clench of his jaw. On the desk is a monitor he couldn’t see from the street — the commandeered camera feed from Cave. His hands clench in their gauntlets. He wants to be angry with his sub, but he knows that is exactly what Dick wants. He is counting on Bruce’s anger.
Well… perhaps it’s time to teach him a lesson.
---
Dick leaves the bathroom in a pouf of steam, toweling his curls dry with one hand with another towel wrapped around his hips. After he gets dressed, he’ll check if Bruce’s tracker is still stuck in the Cave. If it is, then this whole set up has been a bust.
As he turns to the hallway, a gloved hand catches him by the neck and slams him into the wall. The drywall cracks underneath his shoulder blades.
Damn. His body doesn’t even register Bruce as a threat anymore. A shame, because even with the cowl pushed back and his greying hair in disarray, the man is threatening. His breathing picks up, choked to a wheeze by the grip around his throat.
“Oh hey,” Dick chirps hoarsely. “Can I have a kiss hello—”
“Give me your safewords,” Bruce growls.
Dick thunks his head against the wall. “Fuck,” he swears. His skin flashes hot. Another hand sinks into the flesh of his hip, loosening the towel until it slides down his damp legs and hits the floor. A fist closes around his swollen balls and squeezes. “Fuck!” he gasps.
“That’s not your safeword,” Bruce replies coolly. “Give me your safewords. Now.”
“Redyellowandgreen,” he whispers. His eyebrows draw together. His balls hurt so bad his stomach starts to cramp with pain. “Please, please—”
He pants with relief when Bruce releases him. The hand on his throat delves behind his teeth, spreading his jaw open and triggering his gag reflex. Fingers hook downward and tug him to the bed. Bruce uses his mouth as leverage to press him back against the sheets.
He feels hazy already, his body attuned to Bruce and nothing but Bruce. Spit dribbles down his chin. “Fuck,” he mouths silently, tongue scraping along the gauntlet. “Baby, fuck.”
Bruce covers his whole body with his own greedily and then plunges his fingers even deeper. Dick spasms. He tries to push him away, but he’s naked and Bruce is still in his armor. He’s gagging again, and he can’t stop it.
“What were you thinking?” Bruce hisses angrily.
He’s really mad. He’s furious. Dick shouldn’t find it so hot. He should be sorry, but he’s just fucking not. He wanted to be in big trouble — and now he is. Big time.
Bruce shakes him violently, gagging him again. It pulls his focus back outside his head. God, he’s so mad. Dick moans helplessly. He suckles on Bruce’s fingers, watching eagerly as his Dom’s pupils expand. He feels like he’s getting sucked into them. The Batsuit digs and scrapes into his naked body. He hopes it leaves a mark.
Bruce yanks his fingers out and slaps him sharply across the cheek. “Blurred out already?” he growls. “Focus. What were you thinking?”
“Payback,” he mumbles, working his jaw. He endures another slap. Fuck, that stings. His whole body prickles. His nipples are hard as nails.
“Payback?” Bruce says incredulously. He pulls away to stare at him, holding Dick down by the hair as he struggles frantically. He needs to be close. He needs to be close to him.
Bruce tweaks his nipple cruelly hard. “Stop whining,” he snaps. Dick didn’t even realize he was. “I was so worried about you,” he grunts. “I was planning an extraction — fueling the fucking batplane — but you’re here, playing a joke on me.”
Dick nods. “Gotcha,” he says hazily, punctuating it with a wink. It earns him another tight slap, again on the same cheek. This one is harder, jarring the bones of his face and blurring his mind even further. His hands come up to block the next blow and are both whacked away. His knuckles feel bruised.
His lip is cut; he tastes blood. “Are you gonna punish me?” he slurs.
The whites of Bruce’s eyes become huge. “Am I not punishing you now?”
Dick makes a face like not really, but the strength of it is somewhat reduced by his swelling lips. Adrenaline and pleasure course through him, sharpening his senses and dulling his mind. Shut my brain off, he pleads inside the confines of his head, where it’s okay for him to be honest.
“Hold on to the headboard,” Bruce instructs him. Dick snaps to obey.
With his arms above his head, he’s vulnerable. Bruce removes most of his armor, then he returns to the bed, sliding underneath Dick’s head to cradle it in his lap.
“You knew about the spare tracker,” Bruce says. His fingernails scrape delicate patterns across Dick’s chest and stomach, just on the painful side of ticklish. Dick jerks his arms hard, but his hands stay anchored on the metal bedframe. The numbness in his fingers grounds him.
“You knew about mine,” he replies.
Bruce blinks. “Yours?”
The thought that he actually pulled one over on Bruce is astonishing. “You didn’t know?”
“You have a tracker on the Batsuit?”
“…sure.”
Bruce shifts and bends to kiss him roughly. Their mouths smear together, their saliva hot and sticky. His stinging face and scalp leap to the forefront of his mind again. “C’mon,” he urges Bruce. “It’s been too long —”
Another slap, gentler this time, but more degrading. “Don’t rush me, slut.”
He tries to respond. A bare hand strips his cock with steady, sure strokes, interrupting his thoughts. His hips leap upward. Fuck, it feels so much better when Bruce does it. His body is made for him now, his pleasure bent and twisted to fit between them. He couldn’t get this from anyone else. He would never want to.
“Say it,” Bruce purrs into his ear. The rasp of stubble against his cheek is so sexy it makes his gut clench.
“Your slut,” he whispers. “Only yours, I promise.”
“Then why did you hide here and touch yourself? Why didn’t you just come home to me?” Teeth snag the lobe of his ear. Bruce keeps stroking him, bringing him closer and closer to the peak. A nose digs into his hair — it’s so hot when Bruce just wants to smell him. It’s primal. It’s possessive.
He can’t quite articulate why he set this up, not with most of his brain leaking out of his ears and the rest focused entirely on the burning need in his cock.
“I wanted you,” he says helplessly, thrashing underneath the weight of his Dom’s body. “I needed you like this. The rest of it could wait. I needed this first.”
Bruce winds his free hand into his hair and yanks his head up until he opens his eyes. “The rest of it? The part where you eat dinner with our family and go to sleep in my bed? You wanted to skip right to this, huh? Skip right to being treated like an ungrateful little whore?”
“Bruce, Bruce, stop — I’m going to —”
Dick wails when Bruce takes his hand away. His cock kicks, but he doesn’t come. His stomach caves inward as he gasps for breath.
“Good boy,” Bruce praises him. “You don’t deserve to come.”
“No,” Dick agrees. “I’ve been bad.”
There’s a crack! as Bruce slaps him straight across the cheek again. He doesn’t bother to hold in his moan. It’s already bruising — visible marks. Something he’s begged Bruce for plenty, but had never gotten until now. God, what if Tim or Damian asks him about it? He’s likely to come on the spot.
“I guess a whore like you wants to be beaten until he screams, is that right?”
It’s been a fucking month since he’s heard those magic words. He’s nodding before Bruce finishes the question.
“What do you say?”
“Please?” He makes his eyes big and watery and pleading. It earns him another slap. His jaw is sore as hell and he’s starting to feel dizzy. “Daddy,” he relents, like he always does. “Daddy, please hurt me.”
Bruce bites the side of his neck hard. A rumbling noise vibrates deep in his chest. “God, I missed you so much.”
Dick’s eyebrows draw together. “You did?”
Bruce tugs on his hair again. “Sweetheart, I think about you all the time. I was so worried.” Then he slides his hands under Dick’s butt and flips him over onto his stomach. He resettles his hands, still holding onto the bedframe obediently. “How many spanks do you think you deserve?”
Bruce hasn’t used his bare hands on Dick in weeks. The thought of it sends a thrill down his spine.
“Forty?” He expects to be shot down. Instead he feels Bruce straddle his thighs, settling his full weight onto him. The mattress creaks. Even if he wanted to get away, he couldn’t. His hair is still damp.
“I’m thinking more like fifty,” Bruce says, dragging bare hands over his ass cheeks and spreading his hole. “Since I don't remember giving you permission for this.”
A tap to the base of his butt plug. Right. “That’s fair,” he pants. Already the pressure is making it hard to breathe.
He grunts as Bruce twists the plug viciously hard. “I’m glad you think so,” he says drily. “Count.”
The first three don’t feel like much. He’s almost disappointed. Then numbers four and five land and the sting starts to make him sweat. He can’t move, can’t hump down into the mattress, can’t do anything but take it.
“Six, thank you Daddy,” he sighs, disappearing into his mind under the weight of sensation. How did he survive a month without this?
He counts mindlessly, half hoping he’ll fuck up so they can start over at one. Somewhere near fifteen the force behind each blow kicks up a notch and then he doesn’t just have to hang on through heat and stinging. Somewhere along the way it really starts to hurt, the ache radiating through his sit bones and twisting tight around his groin. It’s hard to concentrate on his arousal, between the thrumming pain in his jaw and the constant beat of Bruce’s calloused palm against his ass. Sensations cluster and conflict, blinding him, sending purple flashes across his mind’s eye. The plug is a heavy, uncompromising weight against his prostate. With every blow, a painful streak of pleasure lights up his spine.
His mouth is full of cotton from drooling into the sheets and biting into them. Black hair pokes into his eyes; he tries rubbing his face into his elbow to clear his vision and almost forgets to count twenty-one. His ass and upper thighs ache so badly he knows he’ll be frozen afterwards. Bruce will probably need to carry him to the shower and maybe even into the car tomorrow morning. Fuck, but Batman hits hard.
He says thirty at some point, he thinks, but maybe it’s not audible over the sound of his sobbing. His face hurts. He’s sweating; he’s shivering; he’s crying. A thick-knuckled hand scruffs him. It grounds him.
“Did you lose count?” The question cuts through the fog in his mind. Dick shifts helplessly, grinding his cock into the comforter with every kick of his hips. His ass is on fire. He grunts in pain when another spank lands out of nowhere on the sensitive skin of his upper thighs. “Dick. Did you lose count?”
He shakes his head numbly. “No, no,” he cries. “Thirty, thank you Daddy,” he mumbles. “I didn’t—ah!”
“That’s thirty-two,” Bruce says sternly. “Baby, you’re making me sad.”
Dick whines. He is? He would do anything to stop. He wants to be good, but — he doesn’t want to be spanked anymore.
“I don’t think I have your attention, do I?” says Bruce. He sighs. Dick realizes his hands have long released the bedframe. He’s not being very good. Rough palms skate over his hips, then yank him up until his ass is even more exposed and his cock dangles between his thighs. Bruce grabs both of his wrists in one hand. “Maybe this will help you stay focused.”
The next spank lands a little too close to his hole. The impact drives the plug deeper into him. A spurt of precum oozes onto the bedsheets. Dick arches into the hand that holds him down as hits rain down on his ass faster than he can count.
“Please, stop,” he begs, when Bruce gives him a breather. “It hurts—!”
“It hurts?” Bruce’s tone becomes dark. “It’s supposed to. You’re being punished, remember?”
Dick nuzzles into the damp sheets. “I know,” he says in a small voice. Pain rockets through his taint suddenly. Fuck, did Bruce just hit his balls?
He’s proven right when he does it again.
“Beg all you want,” Bruce tells him, in that horrible, sadistic voice he uses when things start to get intense. “You know what to do to make me stop.”
“No!” he shouts. Pain and pleasure blur together until he has no way to tell the difference between them. Everything is on fire, every nerve ending, every cell, every atom of his being.
“Were you good while you were gone?” As he speaks, Bruce pinches the base of his cock until his stomach cramps.
He considers lying. It’s embarrassing how much control Bruce has over him. Then Bruce’s grip tightens until he’s convinced he’s about to piss himself. “Yes, Daddy, I promise,” he sobs. “I touched myself a little but I didn’t come.”
The pressure lessens. He gasps in relief. “Good. Only I can make you feel good.”
Dick nods frantically. “I’m yours.”
Bruce tugs at the plug in his hole again, feeling around its swollen rim, testing how deep he can thrust his fingers beside it. He swivels the base around and begins to pump it in a maddeningly slow rhythm. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers suddenly. Dick’s cock jumps at the intensity of his voice.
Oh. Dick squirms into his touch, enjoying it while pretending to try to escape. His legs are still trapped underneath Bruce’s weight, and he’s finding it hard to breathe. “Please, I don’t want it,” he says, and he hopes he sounds halfway convincing.
He wails as the plug is ripped from him, leaving his hole slick and gaping. Bruce buries his nose into Dick’s sweaty hair as he blankets him, something hard and very promising poking into him. The plug was huge, but it didn’t prepare him for the thickness of Bruce’s cock. As he plunges inside him, Bruce murmurs, “Beg me to stop.”
Dick moans, arching upward into the immovable heat of Bruce’s body, his knees digging into the mattress. “Stop, stop,” he gasps. “It hurts, please, I don’t want you to —”
Bruce thrusts into him so hard his vision goes white. “You asked for this.”
Dick shakes his head, overcome with sensation. “Fuck,” he begs blindly. He’s not even sure what he’s begging for, but he needs it right now.
“Don’t come,” Bruce says into his ear. Then perfect, hot friction engulfs his cock. With every smack of his hips, Bruce ignites the bruises forming on his ass and thighs. The pain is in perfect balance with the unbelievable sensation of Bruce’s calloused hand stroking him from base to tip. Everything is perfectly calibrated to drive him insane, the twist of his wrist at the head, the thumb that digs into his frenulum just right, the pump of his foreskin into Bruce’s palm. “Don’t come,” he warns him again. Pleasure stretches tight like a rubber band until he’s nanometers from snapping.
Bruce pulls out.
“No!” Dick tries to grind down into the mattress, but a hand on his hip holds him firm. “Please, please,” he sobs, the sensation of his cock bobbing in the air overstimulating and awful.
“You said you don’t want it, but you’re a slut for it, aren’t you?” Bruce says darkly. Dick hears the schlick of lube as Bruce jacks himself off. He furrows his brows, confused. He does want this. Bruce told him to say he doesn’t —
“You’re so desperate for it you had to come home early and lead me on some stupid chase, right?” Dick cries out as Bruce’s palm cracks across his right ass cheek. “That’s forty-two,” he says smugly. “Thank me for it.”
“Thank you,” Dick warbles immediately. “Thank you for disciplining me, Daddy.”
Bruce hums, pleased. Dick relaxes just a hair. Okay, he’s doing a better job at being a good boy now, so does that mean he’ll get to come soon?
“Spread yourself for me, Dickie,” Bruce says, his hands coming to knead Dick’s thighs painfully. He widens his knees, but Bruce clicks his tongue. “Not like that.” He pulls Dick’s arms down by the wrists and arranges him how he wants, both hands framing his clenching hole. “Like this.”
Dick trembles. Like this, he's completely exposed. “Wait, Daddy don’t—”
Fuck. There’s a ringing in his ears. He makes sure to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth long enough to sob, “Forty-three, thank you—ah!”
They’ve talked about it before, cock and ball torture and hole spanking, but Dick’s always privately thought he would hate it. He’s a simple guy. He likes pain where pain goes. His genitals are just a hair too delicate to beat like this. If this goes on for much longer, he might not even be able to come at all.
Which… maybe that’s the point.
“You hated that, didn’t you,” purrs Bruce. They must have reached fifty without him even realizing, or maybe Bruce is just taking a break. His hole burns, and still it clenches and unclenches, begging for more, more, more. “You’d do anything to get me to stop.”
Dick blinks through his tears. “Not anything,” he pants. I won’t say my safeword goes unsaid. “But I do hate it,” he says brokenly. “Please, I’m sorry.”
Bruce manhandles him until he’s lying between Bruce’s legs, sore ass pressed into his swollen cock, Dick’s back stuck to Bruce’s furry chest with sweat. “You’re sorry?” Bruce whispers into his ear. It sounds so warm and inviting he almost sobs with relief.
“Yes, yes,” he agrees, shifting until his ass slides over his cock until the tip almost pops inside. “Please, let me make it up to you.”
The crook of Bruce’s elbow wraps around his neck, a comforting embrace that restricts his airflow just a bit. His other fist yanks Dick’s hair until his scalp stings. “Make what up to me?”
“I’m sorry for —” Dick hiccups as Bruce’s cock slides home. “—for tricking you, I’m sorry for trying to get revenge on you, I just —” he swallows a moan, “—I just wanted you to understand how worried I was when you were in Baghdad!”
Bruce pauses right before he hits his prostate again. Dick huffs in frustration. “This is about Baghdad?”
“Of course it is!” Dick tosses his head vigorously. “Please, let me make you come, I’m sorry, I swear!”
Bruce is silent for a long moment, long enough that Dick starts to get worried. He opens his eyes, but before he can ask Bruce what’s wrong, he’s being pushed off Bruce’s cock. “Turn around and ride me like you mean it, and we’ll see if I can find it in myself to forgive you.”
Dick brightens. He resettles himself as quickly as he can, then, as he’s working himself deeper, he asks shyly, “Can I put my arms around you?”
A flash of a smile flickers across Bruce’s mouth. “Fine,” he says, still holding on to the pretension of anger.
Dick does so eagerly. There’s a stiffness in his ass and thighs that will keep getting worse until Bruce massages him with the arnica gel hidden in the nightstand. He only has a sliver of time to get them both off before it’s too late. He bumps his nose into Bruce’s. “Can I… kiss you?”
“Can you kiss me, what?” Bruce groans. His hips buck upwards to meet Dick’s.
Dick sighs, affecting a bratty little eye roll. “Can I kiss you, Daddy?”
Bruce’s gaze falls to his lips, and suddenly, a heady rush surges through him. Bruce is aroused. His cheeks are ruddy and his expression is completely dazed. Dick did that to him. Dick turns him on this much.
Their breaths mingle hotly, their panting, open mouths nearly touching, and then they’re kissing so sloppily Bruce’s tongue makes it behind his teeth. He bites down. Tingles race up and down his spine.
He needs to come.
Dick feels a hand in his hair jerk his head back. Then Bruce locks eyes with him and spits into his mouth. Immediately, Dick swallows. “Thank you,” he whispers. Then he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue for more.
“Beg me to fill you up,” Bruce commands him, hands roaming everywhere, squeezing his chest and abs and bruised ass over and over.
Dick thinks his eyes probably roll back in his head. How did he last a month without hearing that? “Please come in me, fill me up, I need your come so bad, please, please please please —”
Bruce lets out a grunt that the neighbors definitely hear as he empties himself into the clutch of Dick's hole. It takes him a full minute to open his eyes. Then Dick is shoved backward onto the bed.
“Minx,” Bruce says, settling onto his stomach and then shoving two fingers inside him and swallowing his cock to the root. He pulls off with a pop after bobbing his head a few times. “Come whenever you want, sweetheart. You did so good for me.”
“You forgive me?”
“Of course I do, my perfect, perfect boy.”
The words hit him like sparks on dry kindling. He bites his lip hard enough to bleed and watches Bruce’s pupils dilate as he finally, finally gives in and nuts so hard he screams. Lights explode behind his eyelids as he clenches them shut. For several moments, he’s floating on a cloud, soreness distant and fuzzy. Bruce blankets him with his body again, this time in an innocent hug. Dick embraces him fiercely, encircling him with his arms and legs as tight as he possibly can. Fuck, he’s so happy to be back.
Then, with a mumbled thank you daddy, his head drops onto the mattress, and the world goes dark.
He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to the strange feeling of a damp towel wiping him down. “Thanks,” he murmurs to Bruce without opening his eyes. Oh god, he needs that arnica gel right now—
“I’ve got it,” Bruce huffs amusedly. “Turn over, Dick.”
Dick doesn’t even attempt it. “You need to do it,” he says. “Sorry.”
“Alright.” He flips him efficiently. It makes Dick feel somewhat like a burger patty. He snickers at the thought.
The gel is cool to the touch. He hisses. Bruce shushes him gently as he begins to massage it into his skin. It feels amazing. “Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll order us pizza.”
Dick considers him for a moment, half his brain lost in the soothing gel and the motion of Bruce’s hands. Man, how lucky is he? “That sounds perfect.”
---
So? You spoke to him about Baghdad?
Dick locks his phone screen and sets it face down on Bruce’s chest again. He can text Damian back later. Right now, he wants to smush his face into Bruce’s ample boobs and watch James Bond fuck up every single part of his mission.
“She’s young enough to be his daughter,” Bruce says, curling his lip.
Dick shakes with laughter. “Are you sure that’s the hill you want to die on, Dad?”
“Hey,” Bruce replies mildly. “At least you’re field capable. She couldn’t fend him off.”
“Why would she want to?” Dick waggles his brows. “James Bond is sooo hot.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. He’s miffed. Dick kind of wants another slice of pizza, but lying on top of Bruce like this on the safe house’s couch is doing things to his brain. He can barely move, he’s so comfortable. Bruce radiates heat. “He’s a chauvinist,” the man grouches. “And he doesn’t follow orders.”
“I don’t know, I think he has a certain kind of charm. He’s so stoic and remote. Always picking the mission over himself.” He’s kidding, but Bruce sobers.
“I’m sorry about Baghdad,” he says.
“Wow, a real apology?” On the TV, Bond races through a garden of poison plants to save his kid. Damian wouldn’t have gotten himself captured. He’d be running the villain’s operation within a day.
“I’m capable,” Bruce says defensively. “I can’t promise you it won’t happen again, but I can be sorry that I upset you.”
“I know,” Dick says. He knocks his forehead against Bruce’s chin. “I know, B. I don’t need you to change who you are.”
Then Dick stutters out a moan as his hair is suddenly yanked, sending sparks of pleasure into his gut as he squirms in his Dom’s lap. “Don’t ever do something like this again,” Bruce warns him idly, tilting his head so he can look Dick in the eye. “Every time you make me punish you, the punishments will get worse. I don’t have the patience for brats. I can do worse than beating your little cock black and blue.”
“Oh, god. Okay. I got it,” he wheezes helplessly, feeling his bruised cock twitch in interest at the promise of worse punishments. He really is Bruce Wayne’s toy, isn’t he? Fuck, but he likes that so much.
From the twitch of Bruce’s mouth, he likes it too. He lets Dick’s head drop onto his chest, chuckling at his expression. “I forget, sometimes, that I have people who worry about me,” Bruce adds, once Dick has caught his breath. He isn’t watching the movie. He’s staring up at the ceiling, with a faintly lost expression on his face. “After I lost my parents, I went through life assuming nobody ever would.”
“I worry about you a lot,” Dick says drily. “I think I’m obsessed with you, honestly.”
That pulls a pleased smile to his face. “Good.”
“Good?” Dick laughs.
Bruce presses a kiss to the bruise that blooms on his cheek. He murmurs into his temple, “Well, it’s only fair.”