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Bound and Gagged

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He always thought Lex looked so much better gagged, flat on his face with his hands tied behind his back and his ass in the air. Not that Lex was particularly ill favored in the looks department on an ordinary day, but Bruce Wayne never felt the urge to own him when they met across a boardroom table or at a charity function. Lex was simply another colleague, someone to be handled and dismissed. It was only the knowledge that he could have him like this, breathing hard through flared nostrils, tears running down his face, eyes closed with the pain and the pleasure that he would inflict, completely subservient to any whim, that piqued his interest. Lex was absolutely beautiful tied up and helpless.

He was entirely too arrogant otherwise.

That unnaturally pale skin—this time Bruce thought he'd see how those ass cheeks looked colored red. He stood up from the edge of the bed, trailed a hand along Lex's flank, allowing a lip to curl up as eyes followed him to the nightstand. Lex was always well supplied with every toy or sexual aide a person could imagine. He selected a butt plug, took his time inserting it as Lex moaned and writhed under his administrations. Then he let Lex wait, moving to his overnight bag to secure his leather gloves. They were WayneTech issued, a variant on the gloves he used as Batman that allowed heightened sensation while still protecting his hands, only styled innocuously.

The first slap across buttocks made Lex inhale sharply through his nose. Bruce didn't bother holding back. Lex was a big boy, and, besides, it wasn't as if Lex didn't deserve every sharp slap for all the people he took advantage of and abused. Twenty strokes in, Lex tried to twist out of the way, but he had no leverage with his hands tied behind him. Bruce grabbed his hips and repositioned him, smacking his ass hard and warning him not to move again or else suffer the consequences. An uncontrollable shivering overtook Lex as his hand impacted the butt plug again and again, a muffled whimpering, a throaty groan. Bright, cherry red, radiating a delicious heat that Bruce could feel through the gloves. It was enough, and Bruce was as hard as he'd ever been. He needed to be inside—now.

But he was never one to let passion rule him. He backed away, enjoyed the sight of Lex completely broken, sobbing uncontrollably into the sheets, unable to move, to contribute to his own relief. It was almost as satisfying as swooping down on a criminal on the streets of Gotham City, scaring the shit out of them. Almost.

Again, across the room, to his pants thrown over a chair and the cell phone in his pocket. He positioned the phone's camera, and took a picture, for his collection, for the nights he didn't have time to indulge himself like this. The small sound of the camera clicking got a rise out of Lex. He made objecting noises, deep in his throat through the gag. Bruce tossed the phone aside and was on top of him, pressed to his back and keeping his legs spread, not allowing Lex to move. A hand found the butt plug, while the other kept Lex still, kept his face and chest pressed to the bed, even though he was struggling now. Lex was so prickly—what he would allow, what he wouldn't allow. It was only a photo, and besides, it wasn't as if he had any choice.

Bruce removed the plug quickly, and buried himself inside tight heat in one smooth stroke. Lex stiffened and stilled as Bruce started to move. Another slap against sensitive cheeks, the feel of warmth against his hands, this time without the leather in between. Then harder, long stokes, deep, pressing Lex to the bed as he rode him, taking pleasure in the way bound hands tried to grasp at his midsection, how the body he was invading shuddered and bucked, how Lex struggled to breathe as Bruce lost some of his famous control and slammed hips into hips, collapsing Lex flat into the bed and pressing him there with his entire body as he pounded, bringing himself to the brink.

Just as he was about to go over the edge, he pulled out and away, flipped Lex bodily so he was on his back, removed the gag and shut him up another way, with a cock in his mouth. Without the use of his hands, Lex was at his mercy, and Bruce rode his face, cock down his throat, balls slapping against his chin, making Lex choke and struggle, but Bruce wouldn't let up—The Batman never let up—not until he had everything he wanted. In bright flashes and an almost imperceptible shudder, Bruce exploded in Lex's mouth, eyes locked on the most beautiful sight: the fear in gray eyes—I can't breathe, finish so I can breathe—the panic that said that his captive no longer knew exactly what to expect, what he would do next. After all of this, it was really the only thing that could send him over that cliff.

Bruce moved off of Lex and across the bed, ignored the traumatized billionaire as he gasped for breath and strolled over to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean himself up. When he reentered the bedroom, he untied Lex's hands, studied him as he dressed, as Lex sat on the edge of the bed with his head between his hands, his cock hard and jutting straight out. It looked painful, but that wasn't Bruce's problem.

"Last time," Lex called out as Bruce closed up his bag and headed towards the door.

"That's what you always say, yet you're the one who calls me. It's a little too late to act like you didn't want this."

Then he was gone, out of the mansion in Smallville and into his Ferrari for the drive to Metropolis. He had planned to stay the night with Lex but why bother. He had gotten everything he needed, and besides, it was still early. Early enough to stop by and see Clark.