Batman fic: Trust, 3/3
Title: Trust, 3/3
Rating: NC-17 (but the first bits are pretty PG)
Summary: Mid-film. The night after the Joker disrupts Bruce's fundraiser for Harvey, everyone has questions. Harvey and the Batman both might get more answers than they bargained for.
Notes: Thanks a million to my Dark Knightly beta JenK. I'm going to (hopefully not creepily) dedicate the smut chapter to shadowpryde, who is one of my oldest livejournal friends and whose tales of work in a comic book store finally coaxed me to go on it to one myself.
The taste wasn’t what Harvey expected - had he expected? Oh god maybe he had - rubber, grit, just enough metal to set his teeth on edge. Metal and dirt, like the city. Not quite real. Not like Rachel, who tasted like French fries or mouthwash.
She’s not here - doesn’t know where she wants to be. Not now. Not the time to think of her, when the Batman’s cupped a gentle hand around his jaw, careful movements belied by his frantic mouth. He tastes right and Harvey’s surprised by the fire blooming in him, surprised that he wants this, wants more of this. Harvey presses forward like he can weld them together but it’s not enough, not at all and his hands clutch at Batman’s shoulders to draw him in.
FWAP. Something whizzes by, fast enough to create wind. Harvey gasps, turns to look and there they are, blades as long as his fingers twanging back and fourth in the ceiling. “Jesus!” There’s some blonde hair on his fingers. They had come close, that close, he could have died…
Ting. Ting. Ting. Blades, landing in a heap on the floor. Batman’s hands rove all over the suit, pinching and twisting and pressing just so. Ting. Ting. The pile of blades and traps and spikes keeps growing and Harvey wonders if it will be awkward, afterwards, when Batman has to put himself back together while Harvey pulls on a t-shirt. His eyes follow Batman’s hands to his thighs to above - surely not blades, not there - half-expecting a zipper. Does he want that? Does it matter, this has gone so far anyway and Batman has stilled. Harvey looks at him, the Batman, frozen and unsure and staring at Harvey’s face like it has all the answers. His eyes are brown, Harvey thinks, and some part of him stores that away for later, but most of him reaches out, takes the pale, bare hand standing stark against black armor, presses a hot, breathy kiss to the palm.
Batman’s frozen, staring, those eyes molten now and Harvey pulls back, just an inch, sucks two fingers in his mouth. There are scars, even here, rough against his tongue. He fancies his can feel the little ridges of fingerprints marking his mouth on the inside.
And then he can feel everything, every inch of his body covered and warm and safe, Batman on top of him, pinning him down, kisses hot and fast and desperate. It feels - oh god, it feels and then a rough hand pushes up his shirt and nothing no-one has ever felt the sheer heat of the hand on his belly, brushing the waist of his pants. Batman’s paused again, and god, he vibrates with breath and Harvey can feel it. He lets his hand slip down, down, down until Batman’s breathing harder. “Can you…” But his throat’s dry, he’s got no air. He swallows, starts again. “Can it come open?”
A chuckle - oh my GOD, that Harvey can feel that. “Even Batman has to piss.”
Harvey swallows again, fingers curling against a rubberized shoulder. “So open it.”
A harsh breath and Batman rolls off him, fingers fumbling against his suit. A click, and Harvey’s breath comes sharp because it there’s and it’s real and it’s the goddamn Batman and… and fair’s fair. His fingers shake, clutch too hard at the hem of his t-shirt as he pulls it off. Step one. He can do this, he can, and oh he wants to.
He’s up, jeans unbuttoned when he realizes Batman’s watching him. He’s still, implacable, but somehow that makes it hotter, the little things - mouth just open, fingers curled into the blanket, he’s tensed forward - that scream want louder than moaning. Harvey bends, a little slower than necessary, undoes the sloppy knots on his tennis shoes. He can’t see Batman but he can feel him, feel Batman’s eyes devour him as he slips off his shoe, his sock. He trips, wobbles a little as he shifts his weight to pull the other off. Real graceful, Harvey.
But Batman doesn’t laugh, doesn’t notice, doesn’t move as Harvey straightens, undoes his zipper. This is it. This is real.
“Let me,” Batman growls, and his hands are in the band of Harvey’s underwear, pushing, and the scratch of the glove he still has on shouldn’t feel so good. Oh. OH. He’s sinking, Batman, like he’s going to sink to his knees and for a moment Harvey wants so hard he can’t see. But that isn’t right, not at all - he shouldn’t be on his knees for anyone, anyone.
“No,” Harvey whispers, pushes Batman back to the bed. “Not like that.” He pushes his pants the rest of the way down, steps out of them. It’s not that different, really, the messy mechanics and logistics with a man and not a woman. He’s done this before, perched on the edge of a bed and then stretched, stretched till he’s face down, till he can feel breath against his dick. He just hasn’t breathed against one, watched it twitch toward him like this. He hasn’t opened his mouth wide and lunged forward because if he’s going to do this he’s going to do it. It’s not so bad.
Oh, it’s good, hot mouth on him, Batman’s chin just rough enough to send prickles down every nerve he’s got. Oh. Harvey realizes he’s frozen, not nice of him, and he’s back at it. How hard can it be, just open your mouth and suck as hard as you can, maybe tongue, he remembers tongue…
Hands on his hips, shoving him back a little. “I can’t see you,” Batman mutters, ghosting hot breath sending a shiver all the way to Harvey’s head.
“Oh.” Harvey rolls, poles himself along on his elbows, awkward, until he’s right way around on the bed and he can lose himself in Batman’s drowning-deep eyes. “Oh,” he breathes, and Batman’s kissing him again, mouth pressing hard enough to bruise his lips but the hand cradling his head is so gentle. How long has it been, how long has he been doing this, humping up against an armored leg like a goddamn dog but oh it feels so good especially - ah - especially when his dick brushes against Batman’s, just brushes and it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough. “You could,” he whispers, when Batman’s hand slips down behind him, pressing him closer. Batman freezes, hand on Harvey’s ass and Harvey almost wishes he could pull back far enough to see him, what he’s thinking, what he wants but then maybe he’d have time to think. Better this way, to nip at Batman’s jaw and let his eyes slip down to the bat sign on his chest, slip closed and whisper, “I want you to.”
Batman shudders, runs teeth and tongue against Harvey’s ear, his neck. His hot mouth, lingering to press too hard too long so good against the bite marks Rachel had left just above his nipple. Don’t think about her, Harvey, and it’s so easy not to think, to clutch at Kevlar and one warm arm and groan like he’s been stabbed. So easy to think of Batman, ragged breaths and soft touches and he deserves this.
“Do it.” He’s ready, he’s ready, he’s going to do this.
“I won’t hurt you.” Right. He knows this. They need something slick, but if they stop… It’ll be over, Harvey knows. Fragile and crazy and god he wants this. Right. Neosporin, in the pocket of his fleece because she insisted. In case he tore his cuts open, she said, and what was he thinking punching armor bare-fisted anyway? Batman needs it and he needs it and she’d understand, goddamnit, and she didn’t have an answer and he sits up, fast as he can and there it is in his pocket.
“Here.”
Batman stares at the little tube and growls teeth savaging his lip and Harvey’s flipped, like he’s ten pounds, like he’s nothing and Batman’s face, Batman’ mouth is… Never knew, never knew that it could feel like this, that a tongue - oh god - a tongue in his ass, around it, like fireworks. He’s screaming, almost sobbing, can’t stop his hips from pounding down into the mattress because he’s got to… He’s got to…
And then he’s on his back again, Batman’s mouth on his and he can taste it, not half so filthy as he expected and oh. There’s a finger in him and it kind of hurts and it kind of doesn’t and Batman’s frozen, jaw locked up, muscles in his arm knotted. He’s waiting, won’t hurt him and Harvey relaxes, lets go and watches Batman’s face as the finger starts to move. Watches his jaw slacken as Harvey breathes faster, his eyelashes flutter when Harvey gasps. Another finger and Harvey can’t stand it, pulls him down, kisses sloppily because he needs to. And then he’s closer than before, forehead pressed against Harvey’s, eyes blurring into one and it’s time. “Do it.” Harvey can feel it - Batman shudders, his whole body strains. “Please.”
Batman rears up and presses at the Neosporin, carefully flattening it out from the bottom of the tube until there’s nothing left. He smiles, eyes on Harvey’s as he slathers the sticky gel over his dick and then he’s back, pressing close for another long, sloppy-gorgeous kiss. He pulls back, aiming - this is really going to happen, it’s happening, it’s happening. Harvey feels too full, stretched, it hurts, but oh, the look on his face, Batman’s face and then he relaxes. He can see that the suit won’t bend enough to pull Batman close, not close enough to kiss and then Batman jerks and thrusts one, two, three times and groans visceral, hot and Harvey’s even fuller, slippery as Batman falls down onto him, heavy and panting. He’s hard, still, dizzy with wanting but it feels good, warm, to wrap his arms around the Batman and feel him limp, not at all rigid, not guarded, still strong.
And then he’s stirring, his mouth finds Harvey’s and his hand’s on Harvey’s dick, warm and rough and OH that didn’t take long but it’s lasting, almost too hard, like he’s flying, like he’s dying and the next thing he knows he’s rolled right off the bed.
He opens his eyes and there they are, Batman’s blades. He’s missed again by inches. “I think,” Harvey says, around his smile, “that you’re trying to kill me.”
“I hear that’s the hot new trend,” Batman rasps, voice near as deep as it had been with his nosepiece.
Harvey laughs, belly laughs and levers himself off the floor. Batman’s standing, now, ready to catch him and pull him into another bone-melting kiss. Batman’s fingers press into his sides, clutching him, then let go, smoothing up Harvey’s back slow, so slow, like they’re mapping him out. “It’s five a.m.,” Batman rasps, fingers coming to rest curled around Harvey’s shoulders. “You’re due in court.”
Harvey’s surprised that the sharp, hot thrill of prospective victory comes to him, even now. Batman is smiling - he can see it, he likes it, that Harvey is ready to leave. No. That Harvey’s ready to fight.
But first… Harvey places careful fingers under Batman’s jaw, strokes it, tilts his head just so. One kiss, slow and warm and Batman’s smiling into it. One kiss, and then he’s got to go back to Rachel and court and reality.
It ends, like it has to, and Harvey’s left to scramble for his clothes. He’s about to pull his t-shirt on and Batman’s behind him, suddenly, his hand on Harvey’s wrist. “Let me,” he breathes, and Harvey surrenders the shirt, surrenders himself to Batman’s soft touches as he pulls the shirt over his head, strokes it in to place. As he hands Harvey his underwear and drops down to help him step into it, smoothes the band against his waist, his rough glove catching on the cotton. Harvey can’t stop himself from kissing him again, hot and wanting but he’s got at least two cases to read before his argument, got to shower… He breaks the kiss and Batman backs away, watches him as he pulls on his pants and sits down to deal with his shoes and socks.
It’s time. Batman walks him to the door and Harvey’s arms twine around the hard, black neck of their own volition. “Will I see you again?”
“You will,” Batman breathes but Harvey knows he won’t, not really, not like this with his guard down, mouth deliciously swollen and his limp penis hanging out of the suit.
One last kiss - really, Harvey, this is the last one - and it’s time.
He closes the door slowly, too slowly, as Batman bends down to gather his weapons.
Rating: NC-17 (but the first bits are pretty PG)
Summary: Mid-film. The night after the Joker disrupts Bruce's fundraiser for Harvey, everyone has questions. Harvey and the Batman both might get more answers than they bargained for.
Notes: Thanks a million to my Dark Knightly beta JenK. I'm going to (hopefully not creepily) dedicate the smut chapter to shadowpryde, who is one of my oldest livejournal friends and whose tales of work in a comic book store finally coaxed me to go on it to one myself.
The taste wasn’t what Harvey expected - had he expected? Oh god maybe he had - rubber, grit, just enough metal to set his teeth on edge. Metal and dirt, like the city. Not quite real. Not like Rachel, who tasted like French fries or mouthwash.
She’s not here - doesn’t know where she wants to be. Not now. Not the time to think of her, when the Batman’s cupped a gentle hand around his jaw, careful movements belied by his frantic mouth. He tastes right and Harvey’s surprised by the fire blooming in him, surprised that he wants this, wants more of this. Harvey presses forward like he can weld them together but it’s not enough, not at all and his hands clutch at Batman’s shoulders to draw him in.
FWAP. Something whizzes by, fast enough to create wind. Harvey gasps, turns to look and there they are, blades as long as his fingers twanging back and fourth in the ceiling. “Jesus!” There’s some blonde hair on his fingers. They had come close, that close, he could have died…
Ting. Ting. Ting. Blades, landing in a heap on the floor. Batman’s hands rove all over the suit, pinching and twisting and pressing just so. Ting. Ting. The pile of blades and traps and spikes keeps growing and Harvey wonders if it will be awkward, afterwards, when Batman has to put himself back together while Harvey pulls on a t-shirt. His eyes follow Batman’s hands to his thighs to above - surely not blades, not there - half-expecting a zipper. Does he want that? Does it matter, this has gone so far anyway and Batman has stilled. Harvey looks at him, the Batman, frozen and unsure and staring at Harvey’s face like it has all the answers. His eyes are brown, Harvey thinks, and some part of him stores that away for later, but most of him reaches out, takes the pale, bare hand standing stark against black armor, presses a hot, breathy kiss to the palm.
Batman’s frozen, staring, those eyes molten now and Harvey pulls back, just an inch, sucks two fingers in his mouth. There are scars, even here, rough against his tongue. He fancies his can feel the little ridges of fingerprints marking his mouth on the inside.
And then he can feel everything, every inch of his body covered and warm and safe, Batman on top of him, pinning him down, kisses hot and fast and desperate. It feels - oh god, it feels and then a rough hand pushes up his shirt and nothing no-one has ever felt the sheer heat of the hand on his belly, brushing the waist of his pants. Batman’s paused again, and god, he vibrates with breath and Harvey can feel it. He lets his hand slip down, down, down until Batman’s breathing harder. “Can you…” But his throat’s dry, he’s got no air. He swallows, starts again. “Can it come open?”
A chuckle - oh my GOD, that Harvey can feel that. “Even Batman has to piss.”
Harvey swallows again, fingers curling against a rubberized shoulder. “So open it.”
A harsh breath and Batman rolls off him, fingers fumbling against his suit. A click, and Harvey’s breath comes sharp because it there’s and it’s real and it’s the goddamn Batman and… and fair’s fair. His fingers shake, clutch too hard at the hem of his t-shirt as he pulls it off. Step one. He can do this, he can, and oh he wants to.
He’s up, jeans unbuttoned when he realizes Batman’s watching him. He’s still, implacable, but somehow that makes it hotter, the little things - mouth just open, fingers curled into the blanket, he’s tensed forward - that scream want louder than moaning. Harvey bends, a little slower than necessary, undoes the sloppy knots on his tennis shoes. He can’t see Batman but he can feel him, feel Batman’s eyes devour him as he slips off his shoe, his sock. He trips, wobbles a little as he shifts his weight to pull the other off. Real graceful, Harvey.
But Batman doesn’t laugh, doesn’t notice, doesn’t move as Harvey straightens, undoes his zipper. This is it. This is real.
“Let me,” Batman growls, and his hands are in the band of Harvey’s underwear, pushing, and the scratch of the glove he still has on shouldn’t feel so good. Oh. OH. He’s sinking, Batman, like he’s going to sink to his knees and for a moment Harvey wants so hard he can’t see. But that isn’t right, not at all - he shouldn’t be on his knees for anyone, anyone.
“No,” Harvey whispers, pushes Batman back to the bed. “Not like that.” He pushes his pants the rest of the way down, steps out of them. It’s not that different, really, the messy mechanics and logistics with a man and not a woman. He’s done this before, perched on the edge of a bed and then stretched, stretched till he’s face down, till he can feel breath against his dick. He just hasn’t breathed against one, watched it twitch toward him like this. He hasn’t opened his mouth wide and lunged forward because if he’s going to do this he’s going to do it. It’s not so bad.
Oh, it’s good, hot mouth on him, Batman’s chin just rough enough to send prickles down every nerve he’s got. Oh. Harvey realizes he’s frozen, not nice of him, and he’s back at it. How hard can it be, just open your mouth and suck as hard as you can, maybe tongue, he remembers tongue…
Hands on his hips, shoving him back a little. “I can’t see you,” Batman mutters, ghosting hot breath sending a shiver all the way to Harvey’s head.
“Oh.” Harvey rolls, poles himself along on his elbows, awkward, until he’s right way around on the bed and he can lose himself in Batman’s drowning-deep eyes. “Oh,” he breathes, and Batman’s kissing him again, mouth pressing hard enough to bruise his lips but the hand cradling his head is so gentle. How long has it been, how long has he been doing this, humping up against an armored leg like a goddamn dog but oh it feels so good especially - ah - especially when his dick brushes against Batman’s, just brushes and it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough. “You could,” he whispers, when Batman’s hand slips down behind him, pressing him closer. Batman freezes, hand on Harvey’s ass and Harvey almost wishes he could pull back far enough to see him, what he’s thinking, what he wants but then maybe he’d have time to think. Better this way, to nip at Batman’s jaw and let his eyes slip down to the bat sign on his chest, slip closed and whisper, “I want you to.”
Batman shudders, runs teeth and tongue against Harvey’s ear, his neck. His hot mouth, lingering to press too hard too long so good against the bite marks Rachel had left just above his nipple. Don’t think about her, Harvey, and it’s so easy not to think, to clutch at Kevlar and one warm arm and groan like he’s been stabbed. So easy to think of Batman, ragged breaths and soft touches and he deserves this.
“Do it.” He’s ready, he’s ready, he’s going to do this.
“I won’t hurt you.” Right. He knows this. They need something slick, but if they stop… It’ll be over, Harvey knows. Fragile and crazy and god he wants this. Right. Neosporin, in the pocket of his fleece because she insisted. In case he tore his cuts open, she said, and what was he thinking punching armor bare-fisted anyway? Batman needs it and he needs it and she’d understand, goddamnit, and she didn’t have an answer and he sits up, fast as he can and there it is in his pocket.
“Here.”
Batman stares at the little tube and growls teeth savaging his lip and Harvey’s flipped, like he’s ten pounds, like he’s nothing and Batman’s face, Batman’ mouth is… Never knew, never knew that it could feel like this, that a tongue - oh god - a tongue in his ass, around it, like fireworks. He’s screaming, almost sobbing, can’t stop his hips from pounding down into the mattress because he’s got to… He’s got to…
And then he’s on his back again, Batman’s mouth on his and he can taste it, not half so filthy as he expected and oh. There’s a finger in him and it kind of hurts and it kind of doesn’t and Batman’s frozen, jaw locked up, muscles in his arm knotted. He’s waiting, won’t hurt him and Harvey relaxes, lets go and watches Batman’s face as the finger starts to move. Watches his jaw slacken as Harvey breathes faster, his eyelashes flutter when Harvey gasps. Another finger and Harvey can’t stand it, pulls him down, kisses sloppily because he needs to. And then he’s closer than before, forehead pressed against Harvey’s, eyes blurring into one and it’s time. “Do it.” Harvey can feel it - Batman shudders, his whole body strains. “Please.”
Batman rears up and presses at the Neosporin, carefully flattening it out from the bottom of the tube until there’s nothing left. He smiles, eyes on Harvey’s as he slathers the sticky gel over his dick and then he’s back, pressing close for another long, sloppy-gorgeous kiss. He pulls back, aiming - this is really going to happen, it’s happening, it’s happening. Harvey feels too full, stretched, it hurts, but oh, the look on his face, Batman’s face and then he relaxes. He can see that the suit won’t bend enough to pull Batman close, not close enough to kiss and then Batman jerks and thrusts one, two, three times and groans visceral, hot and Harvey’s even fuller, slippery as Batman falls down onto him, heavy and panting. He’s hard, still, dizzy with wanting but it feels good, warm, to wrap his arms around the Batman and feel him limp, not at all rigid, not guarded, still strong.
And then he’s stirring, his mouth finds Harvey’s and his hand’s on Harvey’s dick, warm and rough and OH that didn’t take long but it’s lasting, almost too hard, like he’s flying, like he’s dying and the next thing he knows he’s rolled right off the bed.
He opens his eyes and there they are, Batman’s blades. He’s missed again by inches. “I think,” Harvey says, around his smile, “that you’re trying to kill me.”
“I hear that’s the hot new trend,” Batman rasps, voice near as deep as it had been with his nosepiece.
Harvey laughs, belly laughs and levers himself off the floor. Batman’s standing, now, ready to catch him and pull him into another bone-melting kiss. Batman’s fingers press into his sides, clutching him, then let go, smoothing up Harvey’s back slow, so slow, like they’re mapping him out. “It’s five a.m.,” Batman rasps, fingers coming to rest curled around Harvey’s shoulders. “You’re due in court.”
Harvey’s surprised that the sharp, hot thrill of prospective victory comes to him, even now. Batman is smiling - he can see it, he likes it, that Harvey is ready to leave. No. That Harvey’s ready to fight.
But first… Harvey places careful fingers under Batman’s jaw, strokes it, tilts his head just so. One kiss, slow and warm and Batman’s smiling into it. One kiss, and then he’s got to go back to Rachel and court and reality.
It ends, like it has to, and Harvey’s left to scramble for his clothes. He’s about to pull his t-shirt on and Batman’s behind him, suddenly, his hand on Harvey’s wrist. “Let me,” he breathes, and Harvey surrenders the shirt, surrenders himself to Batman’s soft touches as he pulls the shirt over his head, strokes it in to place. As he hands Harvey his underwear and drops down to help him step into it, smoothes the band against his waist, his rough glove catching on the cotton. Harvey can’t stop himself from kissing him again, hot and wanting but he’s got at least two cases to read before his argument, got to shower… He breaks the kiss and Batman backs away, watches him as he pulls on his pants and sits down to deal with his shoes and socks.
It’s time. Batman walks him to the door and Harvey’s arms twine around the hard, black neck of their own volition. “Will I see you again?”
“You will,” Batman breathes but Harvey knows he won’t, not really, not like this with his guard down, mouth deliciously swollen and his limp penis hanging out of the suit.
One last kiss - really, Harvey, this is the last one - and it’s time.
He closes the door slowly, too slowly, as Batman bends down to gather his weapons.