Same time next week (DC)
Title: Same time next week?
Pairing or Characters: Bruce Wayne/Tim Drake
Rating: Mature
Contains: established relationship between an adult and a teenager, sexual situations
Summary: The interruption comes at the worst possible time.
Notes: Is set in the same universe as Business and Pleasure and was my warm-up story for January 18th.
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Sitting on Bruce's lap in the other man's massive office, Tim should feel something--
He should feel a faint worry that Bruce's two o'clock appointment will actually come early for once. He should feel a mild annoyance with the way that Bruce's stubble scratches over the side of his face, leaving marks behind.
Hell, even the more obvious signs of possessiveness that Bruce always displays when he has Tim like this (the grip of his hands around Tim's forearms or the way that he always has to have a hand on Tim's ass) should make Tim see red because he is no one's possession --not his parents' and certainly not Bruce's.
However, there's something about Bruce that wreaks havoc on Tim's hard-won control.
"Do you even know what you do to me, Bruce," Tim says, breathing the words against Bruce's thin-lipped mouth as his fingers attempt to find purchase in the short strands of black hair at the nape of the older man's neck. His hips jerk on instinct, thrusting forward so that there's no hiding the way that his penis is hard and stiff underneath the expensive cotton of his favorite business suit. "You're not supposed to be like this. You're not supposed to be so --*unh*-- so good at this."
Tim knows he's talking nonsense. He knows that he's seconds away from babbling out his most intimate feelings and making a mess of their relationship, but Bruce is so big around him, so *present* that even the smell of his simple cologne sets things in motion to derail the logical parts of Tim's brain. Tim shifts so that he can lift up on his knees, digging them further into the cushioned leather seating on either side of Bruce's thick thighs, and then cups Bruce's face in his hands.
"I hope you don't want me to apologize, Tim," Bruce says in a steady voice as his dark eyes all but *glitter* up at Tim thanks to the light of his desk lamp. "I like having this effect on you." The hand that Bruce has on Tim's ass feels big. It feels *present* as though Bruce doesn't want Tim to forget for a second whose lap is taking up all his attention.
A second later, when Bruce squeezes with purpose, pressing his fingers down the crease of Tim's ass through his slacks until his fingers nudge at the backs of his balls, Tim yelps and flushes. Bruce doesn't even wince for the sharp pain that is Tim's manicured fingernails digging briefly into his face. He smiles instead, pleased and warm and then carefully rocks his hips upward. The nudge of his heavy erection against the inside of Tim's thigh is yet another tease and he only keeps it up, rocking up against Tim as though he wants to fuck him right then and there.
Tim exhales on a sigh, that soft breath seeming to carry all of the lingering desire that Tim isn't sure how to describe, and then inclines his head so that he can kiss the smile right off Bruce's mouth.
And then the intercom on Bruce's desk comes on, the crackle of static making them jump as though there's a live wire hidden somewhere on their persons. Bruce's secretary of the week comes on, her Metropolis accent sounding out of place to the two men who are used to endless parades of Gotham City natives masquerading as trained secretaries before Tim scares them away.
"Mr. Wayne," the young woman says in a brisk tone, "Your two o'clock called. He's on his way across town now.” There’s a brief pause and then she continues speaking. “If you wish to send Mr. Drake out, now would be the best time.” With that, she closes the connection.
Bruce and Tim stare at the little blinking light on the intercom in silence.
Tim is so hard that it damn near *hurts* and Bruce *can't* be in better shape.
However, twenty minutes isn't enough time. Not for hands jobs. Not for blow jobs. Not unless Tim wants to leave Bruce in his office smelling of sex and come and sweat. The thought makes Tim shudder and he can't stop himself from leaning in and dragging his mouth across Bruce's in a wet and sloppy kiss.
"Same time next week, Mr. Wayne?" Tim asks after he tears his mouth away from Bruce's soft lips, barely managing to keep from grinding down against Bruce's lap as his own erection almost seems to demand friction.
Bruce shudders and nods his head. "Yes, please."
Pairing or Characters: Bruce Wayne/Tim Drake
Rating: Mature
Contains: established relationship between an adult and a teenager, sexual situations
Summary: The interruption comes at the worst possible time.
Notes: Is set in the same universe as Business and Pleasure and was my warm-up story for January 18th.
-----
Sitting on Bruce's lap in the other man's massive office, Tim should feel something--
He should feel a faint worry that Bruce's two o'clock appointment will actually come early for once. He should feel a mild annoyance with the way that Bruce's stubble scratches over the side of his face, leaving marks behind.
Hell, even the more obvious signs of possessiveness that Bruce always displays when he has Tim like this (the grip of his hands around Tim's forearms or the way that he always has to have a hand on Tim's ass) should make Tim see red because he is no one's possession --not his parents' and certainly not Bruce's.
However, there's something about Bruce that wreaks havoc on Tim's hard-won control.
"Do you even know what you do to me, Bruce," Tim says, breathing the words against Bruce's thin-lipped mouth as his fingers attempt to find purchase in the short strands of black hair at the nape of the older man's neck. His hips jerk on instinct, thrusting forward so that there's no hiding the way that his penis is hard and stiff underneath the expensive cotton of his favorite business suit. "You're not supposed to be like this. You're not supposed to be so --*unh*-- so good at this."
Tim knows he's talking nonsense. He knows that he's seconds away from babbling out his most intimate feelings and making a mess of their relationship, but Bruce is so big around him, so *present* that even the smell of his simple cologne sets things in motion to derail the logical parts of Tim's brain. Tim shifts so that he can lift up on his knees, digging them further into the cushioned leather seating on either side of Bruce's thick thighs, and then cups Bruce's face in his hands.
"I hope you don't want me to apologize, Tim," Bruce says in a steady voice as his dark eyes all but *glitter* up at Tim thanks to the light of his desk lamp. "I like having this effect on you." The hand that Bruce has on Tim's ass feels big. It feels *present* as though Bruce doesn't want Tim to forget for a second whose lap is taking up all his attention.
A second later, when Bruce squeezes with purpose, pressing his fingers down the crease of Tim's ass through his slacks until his fingers nudge at the backs of his balls, Tim yelps and flushes. Bruce doesn't even wince for the sharp pain that is Tim's manicured fingernails digging briefly into his face. He smiles instead, pleased and warm and then carefully rocks his hips upward. The nudge of his heavy erection against the inside of Tim's thigh is yet another tease and he only keeps it up, rocking up against Tim as though he wants to fuck him right then and there.
Tim exhales on a sigh, that soft breath seeming to carry all of the lingering desire that Tim isn't sure how to describe, and then inclines his head so that he can kiss the smile right off Bruce's mouth.
And then the intercom on Bruce's desk comes on, the crackle of static making them jump as though there's a live wire hidden somewhere on their persons. Bruce's secretary of the week comes on, her Metropolis accent sounding out of place to the two men who are used to endless parades of Gotham City natives masquerading as trained secretaries before Tim scares them away.
"Mr. Wayne," the young woman says in a brisk tone, "Your two o'clock called. He's on his way across town now.” There’s a brief pause and then she continues speaking. “If you wish to send Mr. Drake out, now would be the best time.” With that, she closes the connection.
Bruce and Tim stare at the little blinking light on the intercom in silence.
Tim is so hard that it damn near *hurts* and Bruce *can't* be in better shape.
However, twenty minutes isn't enough time. Not for hands jobs. Not for blow jobs. Not unless Tim wants to leave Bruce in his office smelling of sex and come and sweat. The thought makes Tim shudder and he can't stop himself from leaning in and dragging his mouth across Bruce's in a wet and sloppy kiss.
"Same time next week, Mr. Wayne?" Tim asks after he tears his mouth away from Bruce's soft lips, barely managing to keep from grinding down against Bruce's lap as his own erection almost seems to demand friction.
Bruce shudders and nods his head. "Yes, please."