Chapter Text
“I want this to be special,” Bruce admitted through Harvey’s kisses.
Harvey couldn’t keep himself off of him. They both still sat on the bed’s edge, touching each other, gliding their hands across their bodies. Again, the texture of Bruce’s neatly waxed skin betrayed how he looked; Harvey savoured the mysterious bumps that didn’t seem to have any colour. Nasty Bruce Wayne with his nasty secrets. What was he into?
“Mm, special?” Harvey rumbled, letting Bruce pepper his neck in kisses. “I told you, Wayne. You’re not gonna be able to walk after tonight. You won’t even be able to form a thought.”
Bruce made a noise into Harvey’s neck, like a nervous chuckle. The vibration pleased Harvey, so he rewarded Bruce with his hand, massaging his package through his silk boxers. It was good seeing Bruce grit his teeth, seething, trying to keep in the moans. More than good; delicious. To break the veil of Bruce’s ever-charming mantra, to see his smirk and smug playboy face be broken into a whimpering, hissing mess… yes, Harvey adored it.
“You’re hard, Bruce. So hard…” Harvey whispered into his ear, tightening his grip, groping him now.
“f*ck,” Bruce let out, his eyes shut.
Harvey snickered. “You don’t often curse. Do I turn you on that much?”
Bruce just whined into him. Harvey devoured the sight. He was practically grinding into his leg now, seeking a release, but Harvey did not plan on giving him it. Not yet. Bruce was to be tortured first.
And so, Harvey gripped his throat, slamming his head into the pillows, gazing into his eyes as they looked helplessly up at him. A strong man that was easily made weak. Harvey smiled, running his fingers from Bruce’s neck, between his pecs, over his naval, then under his boxers.
Bruce’s breath hitched. So easy, Harvey thought. Bruce’s buttons were so easy. He wondered if it was exclusive to him, to Harvey alone. For some reason, he imagined Bruce to be one of the hardest men to get off. He slept with plenty of people, Harvey knew. So why did Bruce melt underneath him? He was a mess. A desperate, submissive mess. Either way, Harvey suppressed a grin as he trailed his fingertips along Bruce’s thick co*ck, along its slight curve, and finally to its tip.
“Mm, some dribbling already, Brucie…” Harvey said, rubbing his fingers in it, using it to lube Bruce up.
He jacked him slowly, watching Bruce’s expression with obsession, his breath getting heavy as Bruce groaned to himself with each jack. Then, a little faster. Wet clicks invaded the air as Harvey rubbed. It only made him want to f*ck Bruce with his mouth, to see him break more. Perhaps it even would be adorable to see him try to control Harvey in some way, dominate him, make him choke on his co*ck. It would suit his Wayne persona, that’s for sure.
But that wasn’t the man in front of Harvey. This was a man who groaned and grunted desperately, bucking into Harvey’s hand like an animal in heat, his cold eyes a window into his pleading to be used.
And Harvey couldn’t resist.
He flipped Bruce over, one hand grappling his dark hair as a leash, the other running over his chiselled, built body, fingering each crevice and muscle.
“Gorgeous… you’re gorgeous, Bruce,” Harvey whispered.
Bruce passed a breathy laugh. “So are you, Harv… in fact, I’d rather you flip me back over so I can watch your face.”
Harvey’s smile died a bit. He didn’t want to think of himself. Only Bruce. He tried to play it off with a laugh.
“Now, now, Bruce,” he said, squeezing Bruce’s firm ass. “Can’t have that. Don’t wanna get too attached, you know?”
Too attached. Harvey was in love with the bastard. Madly. And he hated it. He despised it. But he didn’t want to think of that now. Two-Face wasn’t here; his head was overwhelmingly quiet, and he didn’t want to fill it up with rattling, loud anger.
“I think we’re beyond that,” Bruce muttered, propping himself up on his elbow.
He looked at Harvey, who didn’t look back. Harvey didn’t understand. It felt very one-sided; he could count endlessly the reasons he wanted Bruce, why he was in love with him. Bruce didn’t have to mask, he didn’t have to act, he was confidence personified. He had helped Harvey, he had always been there for him – well, other than ratting him out to the police – and above it all, it was the way Bruce looked at him. With no judgement, no hatred, just softness, or concern. Harvey loved both. And they could talk, just simply talk, about anything. Their love for Gotham. Their desire for its change, even if the paths differed.
So why did Bruce like Harvey? He couldn’t fathom it.
Clearly Harvey’s sourness was showing, because Bruce had cupped his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Harvey couldn’t feel Bruce’s hand trace his scars, obviously, but watching him do it made him wince. Hideous. You’re hideous. Two-Face wasn’t there to agree, but Harvey didn’t need him for that.
“Stop it, Bruce,” Harvey said, a little more roughly than he’d liked.
“I can’t,” Bruce whispered, trailing his lips over his scars. “I know you can’t feel it, Harv. But just know that I’m savouring it.”
“How? How can you?”
Bruce pulled away, glaring at him with that signature Wayne sternness before slipping off the bed. He was still in his boxers, and that bulge was only accented by the backdrop of the candles around the room. There were little alcoves in the wall, filled with books, a candle beside most. It casted a dim, gold glow upon Bruce, making him appear like some kind of God. Which God, Harvey wasn’t sure, but something ethereal, nonetheless. For a moment, his silhouette was familiar. But Harvey was probably being crazy.
Bruce approached a large mirror in the corner, its border black and gothic. “Haven’t got this one hung up yet, but I want it to sit diagonal to the bed.”
“Why’s that?” Harvey asked, though he was coming to a tense realisation.
Bruce lifted the mirror with incredible ease, positioning it so it faced the bed. “I want to watch you f*ck me.”
His voice was low, serious, losing itself in a yearning grumble. Harvey forced himself to take in his reflection. The contrast between he and Bruce was still amusing; there was Bruce, who was built, strong, chiselled, waxed completely, and then there was Harvey, who was strong, yes, but in a less defined way. And hairy, especially next to Bruce, over his chest, his trail, his legs, forearms… though Harvey made sure to keep it neat.
But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was the glaring, distinct, eternal mark over Harvey’s left side of his face and shoulder. Ugly, twisted burns that revealed the man beneath.
“I’m not sure I want to, Bruce, not like this,” Harvey said, looking away.
Bruce embraced him, his lips on his scars again. “Please. Let me help you see what I see.”
Harvey could see it. Bruce was delusional. He must have been. But the way he touched him said otherwise... He ran his hand over his chest, almost clawing like he wanted to mark Harvey, own him, before slipping his hand under Harvey’s boxers. Harvey gasped – just a little – as Bruce fondled his erection. Then, he pulled the boxers down, allowing Harv's co*ck to spring against his stomach. Bruce’s lips flew to them like a magnet, and Harvey had to grit his teeth as to not make any noise.
God, he was good at working him. He watched in the mirror, his eyes firmly on Bruce sucking him off, running his hand through his hair as his legs spread instinctively.
“You know how to use that mouth,” Harvey grumbled. “That whor* mouth of yours.”
Bruce moaned, the tingles from his voice casting a pleasant shiver across Harvey’s crotch. He’d need to reward Bruce for that… and cumming in his mouth wasn’t good enough. Harvey gripped his hair, pulling him up forcefully, kissing him with violence.
“Stand up,” he commanded, breaking away with a wet smack. “You wanna watch me own you in front of the mirror so bad? Then stand up.”
Bruce did so, and Harvey ripped his boxers off him, not really giving a f*ck at how expensive they were. Bruce could buy new ones. What he couldn’t buy was a night like this… Well, Harvey supposed he could, actually, but he was hellbent on f*cking the mere thought of even doing so out of Bruce’s mind. As both men stood, Bruce immediately pushed his chest against Harvey’s, as if being away from him would kill him.
“You’re desperate, aren’t you?” Harvey asked with a smirk, trying to keep his composure as he pulled his boxers down, jacking him off. “You’re such a f*cking whor*, Bruce.”
“Can you blame me?” Bruce breathed, puckering his scars.
“Nah, you’re guilty as charged, Bruce.”
“Stop.”
Harvey chuckled, but his smile quickly faded as his lust bulled him into gripping Bruce’s arms and dragging him in front of him. Bruce was a tall man, yet Harvey was slightly taller, so f*cking him while standing was nothing so difficult. Harvey hummed as Bruce pressed his ass against his co*ck, gazing at him in the mirror, the yearning and pleading loud on Bruce's strong face.
“slu*t,” Harvey spat, fingering Bruce, stretching him.
He made sure to keep his other hand on Bruce’s neck, not choking him, not yet, but squeezing it just slightly, reassuring him that he was the dominant one in this bedroom, not Bruce. But softness, no longer. He couldn’t. Not when Bruce was right here, ready for the taking. He pushed into him, and his tight ass around his co*ck made his eyes roll.
“f*ck,” he moaned, his grip on Bruce’s neck tighter now.
He started pumping, not too hard, not yet. Bruce was glaring at him in the mirror, his eyes low and wet, his mouth slightly ajar, like a little, stupid doll, Harvey thought. He moved his free hand to Bruce’s co*ck, jacking him.
“Harvey,” Bruce let out pathetically.
“You can say my name all you like, Bruce, it’s not gonna do you much good.”
Then he was f*cking him. Hard. Bruce didn’t resist; he let himself be used, standing there before the mirror, his breaths heavy and just bordering on being moans. That pissed Harvey off. He wanted to make him scream. So he choked Bruce, kissing his cheek mockingly, watching Bruce melt against his powerful thrusts in the mirror. His breaths were erratic now – almost moans, but not quite.
“You’re a little tease,” Harvey grunted.
Bruce’s hand flew to his neck. He wasn’t trying to stop Harvey’s choking, no, rather he seemed to want to feel the strength in his hand as he did. He fingered Harvey’s veins, his eyes rolling, and Harvey could feel him somehow get harder. He jacked him off faster, f*cked him faster, the wet slaps piercing the air, each one an invigorating reminder for Harvey that, by night, the righteous and almighty Bruce Wayne loved to be abused by Gotham’s biggest Crime Lord.
Bruce’s head fell backwards on Harvey’s shoulder, his face to the ceiling, his breaths more whispery now. Harvey’s eyes ran over the tendons in Bruce’s neck – so chiselled, so defined.
So disobedient.
He ripped Bruce off him and pushed him onto the bed, smacking his ass as he did. “Nah, nah, you’re gonna watch me properly. Face the mirror. Arch your back. Present yourself for me.”
Bruce did so, his eyelids low, his dark hair sticking to his face. Harvey couldn’t resist the sight of him, so much so that he touched himself for a short while at the mere sight of Bruce, at his damp skin that glistened, his bedroom eyes. All for him.
Harvey kneeled on the bed, positioning himself behind Bruce, running his hands along the outline of his body. But he didn’t want to be soft anymore. He wanted to break this man. So he grappled Bruce’s hair again, forcing Bruce to watch his reflection in the mirror. Or, rather, forcing him to watch himself be owned.
Then Harvey stuffed his co*ck inside him. Bruce yelped, his eyes wrinkling and twinkling with tears. Just what Harvey wanted.
“Good boy, good boy,” Harvey breathed.
Again, he f*cked him. But Harvey had the brace of the bed this time, so he could pump and gyrate his hips with more control, more velocity, his powerful thighs allowing even more room for such. And he f*cked Bruce like he was nothing, like he was some hole to be used. The way his ass bounced against Harvey’s co*ck just spiralled him into more lust, and he was balls-deep now, the wet thwops rapid and merciless.
Finally, Bruce broke. He moaned, his fingers clawing the bed. Not only did he moan, but he begged, he yelled for Harvey, pleading and crying for his cum.
“What’s wrong, Bruce? Too big for you? Too thick? You’ve taken worse, Bruce, I just know you have, you nasty f*cking whor*,” Harvey groaned with a smirk.
His mind ran over those bumps on Bruce’s skin, but he cast them aside and pulled Bruce up to him, coating his neck in kisses while his other hand pumped his twitching, desperate, rock-solid co*ck.
“I’m… I’m close-”
“Aw, is that so?”
“Yes… please, Harvey-”
“Sir.”
“Please, sir.”
“So obedient. I suppose I must reward you then…”
And Harvey did. With his own load. He gave one, large, unforgiving thrust into Bruce and let his tightness overwhelm him. He came inside him, eyes in the back of his head, grunting like some beast as he flicked his hips to make sure he was full, still jacking Bruce off as he did. It wasn’t long until he felt Bruce’s heat dribble over his hand.
“You make such a mess, Bruce…” Harvey whispered, kissing him, making him watch as he licked Bruce’s org*sm off his fingers.
Bruce couldn’t even smile; he was exhausted, Harvey could see. His skin was wet, his blue eyes almost black as the org*sm ran its course. Harvey glanced in the mirror: he was the same. Sweating, his hair a mess, sticking to his face, little beads of bodily fluids like diamonds.
Then, both men fell onto the pillows, each in the other’s embrace.
“Are you… alright?” Harvey asked. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”
Bruce laughed, panting. “No. Not at all. I would have told you.”
“Good.”
Silence for a while, and Bruce was doing that again. That. That weird appraisal of Harvey’s scars. He ran his hand over them, kissing them, nuzzling into Harvey as he did so.
“I love you, Harvey,” Bruce mumbled, staring at him.
Harvey stared back. “That the org*sm talking?”
Bruce didn’t smile. “No. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”
Those words. Harvey understood, but he couldn’t comprehend. He could feel that rare rush he had only been gifted a handful of times in his life; that rush of serotonin, of joy, like everything was good and bright and ok. Of validation. That someone loved him, that he could be loved after all.
“I love you too, Bruce,” he said, just barely.
Defeat. It was defeat. But it was a defeat that was inevitable. He said it again: he said he loved Bruce, and he kissed him, he kissed him hard and long, letting himself fall into the net of love. The two lay like that for a while, gently kissing, carefully touching one another, and it wasn’t long before Bruce fell asleep, and that in itself was something to behold. It was odd seeing him sleep. He was vulnerable, in a different realm almost.
Harvey wanted to sleep with him, to share the vulnerability, but he couldn’t. Instead, as gently as he could, he slipped off the bed, pulling on the joggers from before to investigate the room. Something was still off, after all, and now was the time to look around. That fact that his memory was gone, and that Two-Face hadn't reared his head, disturbed him.
But Harvey couldn’t find much as he poked around shelves, alcoves, on the couch, over the table. It seemed normal. He decided to investigate the bedside cabinets, making sure to not let them rumble as he pulled them. Again, the usual. Condoms, socks, underwear… makeup?
Harvey examined it. It wasn’t normal cosmetic makeup. Heavy duty stuff. He looked at Bruce, watching him in his tranquillity. Was he… covering his scars or bumps or whatever they were? What was he doing that had led him to such? He’d ask eventually. Maybe. Prying into Bruce’s personal life seemed like trying to open a jar with wet hands at times.
For now, Harvey decided to leave the bedroom. Perhaps a brisk walk and some swathes of nostalgia would make him want to rest. He closed the door as silently as he could behind him, but he had only taken a few steps before he came face to face with Dick Grayson, who stood, arms folded, unamused, glaring up at him. And if that wasn’t enough to punch Harvey into shock, he had come back. His voice, as clear as ever.
We should kill that kid. We still have work to do.
