cohero | (Reply)

From:

[If ever he might know any of Bruce's thoughts, maybe Dick might try to surge forward and attempt to explain that he was one of the few steadfast things, be it in vain or not. He was the singular, if ever, alongside Alfred that moved with Bruce throughout life. Sure, Dick had to find out who he was apart from his mentor, but this is different; it's different in so many ways. Nightwing and Batman are attached, as Dick is to Bruce. Two distinct forms of men, attached in two very different manners, never easy to describe given the complexities that brought them to this point.

Maybe it'd been easier back there with clothes and mere lips, but the vulnerability is greater for Dick now and he's never felt more open, more ill at ease than he does right now. It's not anyone's fault but his own and he knows it. There's no regret in this. He knew the risk he was taking the moment he spoke his previous words. He asked for this, no begged for this. No matter how it turns, this is what he wanted.

Still looking back, Dick watches as Bruce kneels between his legs. There's room for him to bend over, and lay against his back. Even without his eyes closed, Dick can feel the imagined intimacy. Instead, he watches Bruce's generous cock push through his rounded cheeks, and up tight against his entrance. Turning his head back to his pillow, he hisses into it and does as asked. Rocking backward, Dick forces his quivering muscles to open and relax, to take the head of Bruce's dick inside him.

It burns, but it's still smooth and filling in a way he could never have imagined. It's nothing like the toy that had touched his insides previously. It's flesh, and slides along and against the inside of him, pulling against his natural instinct.] Holy fuck, Bruce. More. I want it all. I want all of you, touch me more, please.