Work Text:
“Are you recording this?”
The drag of his eyes is slow, passing over the curve of your hip, the soft swell of your breasts - up over the column of your neck until he meets your eyes.
His lips part.
“Yes.”
His fingers haven’t slowed, two of them knuckle deep within you, pressing and pumping and curling, working you slowly open for him. Your thighs spread just a little wider as you suck in a shallow breath to answer, “Good.”
There’s the slightest tick to his lips, a split second as they turn up before his eyes drag back down, casting them into shadow as he pumps. His slick fingers are loud as they disappear into you, each thrust punctuated with your sharp exhale of breath.
You’re spread out before him, the work table you’re laying on looking sterile as he stands between your bare thighs - wiped clean of his work, of any evidence. The lighting above is turned down dim, casting soft shadows against the curves of your body, contrasting with the sharp sheen of the metal.
He’s focused, you can see it in his expression, the steady curl of fingers. Methodical, carefully preparing you for him.
But really - you just want him to fuck you.
Split you open on his cock, make you come so hard you can’t even think.
So you tell him this, though in a way that’s little but more refined, his jaw clenching as he bites back a groan as his fingers flex within you at your words.
“Should make you wait,” his voice is low, eyes dark as dark as the shadows he hides in. “Should make you beg for it.”
You’re begging now, you want to tell him. Can’t he feel how much you need him? His fingers are just not enough, you need more. You need him.
“Please,” your voice comes out ragged, your eyes fixed on him, the powerful spread of his shoulders, encased in all that armor. He’s big with it on, intimidating in a way that makes you ache, knowing that despite how he’s feared, there’s nothing for you to be scared of.
“Please, what?” His hand leaves you to drift down, damp fingers drifting over the clasps on his suit, where you’re sure he’s rock-hard beneath.
“Please fuck me.” The claps loosen, the codpiece clattering to the ground as he draws himself out, heavy and thick in his hand.
Fingers wrap around the base, squeezing and pumping for show, spreading your arousal on his shaft before his thumb swipes over the damp slit at his tip.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?”
You blink, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips as you nod, “Yes.”
He moves closer, until your hips are flush, letting his cock drop against your stomach, leaving a smear of precum against your skin as he imagines just how far into you he’ll go.
“Are you going to take what I give you?”
Your breath is a whimper, needy and high, your hips rocking against him. He drags his cock down, pressing it against your slick lips, tapping it against your clit as your hips jerk.
“Fuck, yes. Anything.”
His eyes leave your cunt to watch your face as his head dips down, jaw flexing before his lips part, before his spit drips hot and wet down your slit.
You gasp, both of you watching the way his cock drags though it, running over your clit before it’s moving down, pressing against your entrance.
His eyes flick to yours, waiting for your nod before his hips snap forward and he buries himself in you.
The stretch is exquisite, your back arching against the table, your moan loud as fingers scrabble over slick metal for purchase - searching until you reach your own thighs, fingernails biting and sharp as they dig into flesh.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans when he bottoms out, his hips bumping against yours, pressed so deep that it feels like he’s in your guts.
The quick snap of his hips might hurt if you weren’t so wet, so fucking needy - wondering if he’ll watch this later, the same hand wrapped around his cock as he remembers just how good you felt.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is low, desperate, gritted teeth blurring the sharp edge, “Just needed my cock, didn’t you?”
His hands are holding you wide, thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he draws back, sliding half-way out of your heat before rocking back in.
“Yes.” You choke out, and you see it again as he hums, the slightest curve of lips.
And it is - he is - and he’s barely even moved yet. The feeling of him pressed deep, filling you, his handsome face almost impassive behind the angular cowl.
He finds a rhythm, head carefully still as he looks downward, hips slapping against you again and again, until the strip of matte black armor above his groin shines with you, until each of your breaths is short and sharp.
His hands adjust, leaving your thighs as you keep your legs spread wide with your own, almost forgetting about why you’re doing this, forgetting any self-consciousness as his hands roam, up to your waist - one digging in to your hip, the other still traveling upwards.
You jerk against him, the pleasure red-hot in your belly, another soft cry leaving your lips. His eyes drag upwards again, pausing to watch the bounce of your tits with each of his thrusts, his hand stopping to cup one with a wide palm.
Fingers pinch the pointed bud of your nipple, drawing another gasp before he moves again, brushing over the column of your neck. The palm of his hand goes flat before his fingers curl around, not pressing - just holding your head still, his thumb brushing against the edge of your jaw.
His look is intense, and this only adds to your heightening pleasure, his eyes dark and unblinking as he sees just how big his hand looks against you, how your lips part in a gasp with each thrust.
Your skin feels hot, buzzing with desire beneath his cool palm, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel.
“Are-“ you start, before you lose the thought on a soft “oh!”, before you suck in a breath to try again, “Are you going to watch this later?”
He’s looking directly into your eyes now, you can see how they move, taking in each expression, each breath. Analytical. Observing.
“Yes.” His answer is the same as before, short and certain.
And you know he will, playing it back until he’s cataloged every sound, every move you make. That he gets off - just a little bit, or maybe more than that - on it.
Watching, listening, learning.
Rewind, replay. Repeat.
You don’t mind thought, the thought as ripe and sweet as fruit - the Dark Knight, the Defender of Gotham, jerking his cock to you until he’s spilling across his gloves.
You’re brought back as his answer is slowly amended, “Only when I can’t have you.”
His words makes you clench down hard around him, his groan joining yours as he pounds into your heat.
The hand moves, until his thumb brushes over your lower lip, until your tongue darts out to brush against his skin. The noise he makes is low as you nip at it, tasting yourself, sharp and tangy on him.
His head dips as if you kiss you, before remembering, before he stills - making a frustrated sound low in his throat as his back curves to hover over you. The angle of his cock has you crying out, each of his thrusts sends him over your spongey inner wall, against the spot that threatens to break you.
Your cries has become loud, the vast room doing nothing to mask the sound, and perhaps that’s what he wanted. He’s never been much of a talker, his low groans sliding through gritted through teeth, as if he’s holding them back. But he’s never objected to hearing you, all the sweet noises you make.
The rough pace slows as the hand on your hip ghosts downwards, hoisting your thighs over his hips - around his waist, pushing himself deeper.
They linger on your skin, his fingers drifting down over your slick folds, thumb moving until it glides against your clit. A jolt runs through you, everything winding and twisting so tightly you feel like it’s about to snap.
Unable to stop you hips rocking to meet him, you push yourself eagerly against his fingers - your own hands flying to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The table under you rattles with each thrust, from the force of his hips banging into the edge.
Your brow furrows as your eyes drift closed on their own, your face turning until your cheek presses against the cool metal, the sensations almost too much.
The hand comes back, forefinger and thumb touching the hinges of your jaw, tilting your head back.
His voice is low and rough, “Look at me.”
You do with an effort, your brow still pinched, mouth open as you pant out a breath. Focusing on the pair of sea-blue eyes, you cling to him, your fingernails digging into the suit covering his arms.
He has you close, incredibly so, his wide frame filling your vision, the low timbre of his voice making your stomach clench. Bruce’s other hand is still between your thighs, pressing and circling and stealing your breath.
“Are you going to come?” He asks, and it’s those eyes again, unblinking as they gaze down at you, full of hunger.
His voice alone almost does, low and rough as it is, his lips parting as he wets them with his tongue, his breath going sharp as you nod.
“Yes-“ You can feel it, feel him, wanting to shut your eyes as it builds, but you keep them focused on him, “Yes, fuck yes, please-“
His eyes flicker downward for a moment, to where he’s speared deep, unsure of which he wants more - to see your face, lips forming his name - his true nature - when you come. Or whether he wants to see how you’ll gush around him, soaking his cock, the tight flutter of your hole.
His hips snap forward as he makes his decision, eyes rising back up to watch you, with so many pretty details to capture there. You watch his lips part again, the words always starting to sound muted in your cock-drunk haze.
“Come on my cock, sweetheart. Fuck, let me feel you.”
And with another flick of his wrist, you’re there, crying out as you clench down around him, until he can’t hold back the long, low groan that finally bursts forth.
His hands hand your waist, using his grip as leverage as he fucks you through it, each thrust a spark that seems to draw the feeling out for ages, the radiating pulse that travels down your limbs.
All the while you keep your eyes on his, where you know his contacts are still recording, taking every detail in.
Your cunt is louder now, wetter with your release, as he thrusts into it, his breathing going shaky and his hips not quite keeping the same rhythm.
“You feel so good, I’m not-“ he groans, his composure starting to crack.
His eyes roam freely now, down to where’s he’s fucking you, his thrusts short and shallow. With a thought, you legs unhook from his waist, your fingers hooking under your knees to pull your thighs up towards your chest.
“Oh fuck-“ He groans, the words sounding broken, watching the wet shine of his cock, the angle pushing him deeper, his strokes slowing so he can deep the way he disappears into you, how you stretch wide around him, “Baby, I’m going to come. Can you take it all for me?”
“Please,” and you arch into him, thighs shifting wider, “Please, I want you to come in me.”
With a ragged groan his hips snap forward, his back arching, eyes locked on his pulse and jerk of his cock as he spills into you. Bruce pushes himself deep, grinding against you, until he forgets himself, his form changing, curling over yours so he can meet your mouth with his.
It’s sloppy - messy, teeth scraping lip, your hand cupping the curved cowl at the base of his neck to keep him close. He licks into you, as you take the last of his spend, pressed to the hilt until he finally starts to go soft.
He pulls back after a long moment, a low hum in his throat, his eyes softer than before. Carefully he eases out of you, and you already miss the stretch. Your legs dangle from the table now, pressed together - limp with satisfaction, an arm thrown across your face as you catch your breath.
But there’s one last nudge between your thighs, his finger sliding down between puffy lips until the tip sinks inside you, coming out slick and shining - covered in your combined release.
“Show me, sweetheart. Please.” His voice has lost the rough edge, and the sound makes you shiver, goosebumps pricking your skin.
Carefully, your thighs spread again, opening yourself up, and his groan is sinful - his thumb stroking over where you drip with him, his release warm against your skin from as it leaks to pool on the cool metal below.
“Good fucking girl.” If he had stopped recording earlier, he is now - you’ve never seen him so still, so fascinated, “Just look at that mess.”
A finger swipes through his cum and up, pushing himself back into you, a moan of your own joining his. It’s dirty, but fuck - it does something to you, the fire sparking again in your belly.
“What do you think?” You ask carefully, and his eyes reluctantly leave to focus on you, “Did you get everything? Or…. or do you think we should try again?”
You can’t see his brow but from the look in his eyes, you think they might be furrowing, uncertain.
“I’d just hate for you to miss anything. After all the work you did.” Your teeth sink into your lip to hide your smile, and understanding flickers across his face.
He moves closer, pulling you up until you’re pressed against him, his cock trapped against your slick, used cunt.
“I think you may be right.”
He grinds against you, and you can feel him twitch, start to swell again.
“We’d better try again. Always better to be thorough.”