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The best thing about fucking Bruce in the loft is that he still tries to hide his sweet little sounds, even after all these years. Carmine has him flat on his back on the pool table, legs hitched over Carmine's shoulders because he grew into quite the flexible young man. Bruce’s cunt is clinging tight to his cock; he'd been too desperate to wait for Carmine to open him up with his fingers or tongue. Always an eager slut, even at his own expense.
He’s slowly getting nice and wet as Carmine rocks into him, but he still won’t let out any noise, which won’t do. The boys guarding the hall like to hear him — they like his desperate whines and reedy breaths as he comes apart in Carmine's hands. It gets them nice and ready for Bruce to come out and service them for a job well done whenever Carmine is finished with him.
“C'mon now, baby, don't hold back,” he cajoles now, picking up the pace as he traces circles on his boy's clit. Bruce glares at him, biting down on his lip to spite him further. It only makes Carmine laugh. “Alright, give me a kiss then, if you really don’t want no one to hear you.”
This, Bruce can oblige, and he sits up to loop his arms around Carmine’s neck so they can kiss. He turns pliant as Carmine claims his mouth, finally giving into a soft moan like he always does. The pressure on his clit starts up again and his sounds get gradually louder.
Bruce is a smart kid, he knows exactly what Carmine is doing, but he allows it to happen regardless. It’s what he needs: someone to push his boundaries and put him back in his place when he starts acting like too much of a brat. When he’s feeling more insolent, when he talks back or outright refuses a reasonable request, his eyes flashing in challenge, well, on those days Carmine takes him over his knee and beats his ass cherry red until he’s begging for release.
But today he wants to play nice. It’s evident from the way he stops holding back his moans as his cunt gets pounded.
“That’s more like it. Beautiful.”
It’s especially evident that he’s in a needy mood today when he cuts right to the chase, gasping out, “Daddy, right there,” without any prompting. To reward him for his good behavior, Carmine keeps up this new angle, grinning to himself when the slutty little gasps and pleas begin picking up steam.
Back when Bruce was still a sweet, blushing virgin, instead of the filthy, blushing minx he is now, he used to ask so shyly for what he needed, barely able to make eye contact or get the words out. Now he just makes his demands like the spoiled kitten he is.
“Harder,” he commands, digging his heels into Carmine’s back. His blue eyes are watery, this time with pleasure, though it’s a delight to make him cry for other reasons too. His eyeliner ends up streaking and he looks so completely wrecked that men can’t help but want to paint his face with cum.
“You’re not gonna ask me nicer than that?”
“Should I?”
“It sure wouldn’t hurt.”
Bruce gives him that tiny smirk that Carmine loves to see wrecked, and says, “Maybe I want it to hurt.”
For a second, Carmine is tempted, fingers digging deeper into the lean muscle of Bruce’s thighs at the thought of letting him loose in 44 Below to give his VIPs with more exotic tastes some extra special treatment, but in the end he shakes his head. “Not today. I need you to be able to walk at the mayor’s fundraiser tomorrow night, looking pretty and prim for the cameras when we talk about Renewal. But at the afterparty, I’ll make sure you get what you want, I promise.”
Bruce only grunts in acknowledgement, rocking back down to meet Carmine’s sharp thrusts. His pout is cute; it always catches Carmine between twin desires to indulge the kid, or shove a cock into that pretty mouth to wipe it off his face.
Carmine settles for teasing Bruce’s clit instead, rubbing him until he’s squirming, and then rubbing him more ruthlessly still. He gets the forewarning of a high-pitched whimper, right before Bruce’s fluttering walls contract around him and he has his boy squirting all over his hand as he comes. Huh. Must’ve been really pent-up today. Bruce has been more and more needy ever since starting his rotations, which Carmine sure has no problem with, though some days he’s afraid of his boy getting fucked too hard to wake up the next morning. It’d be a damn shame for all that schooling to go to waste just because Bruce can’t stop getting his holes stuffed for long enough to get his medical license.
He keeps steadily pumping in and out of Bruce while he catches his breath, but his now unashamed moaning is too much for Carmine to ignore.
“Where do you want it?”
“Inside, daddy, please,” Bruce whines, his cunt clenching down so wonderfully around Carmine’s dick. God, if he were a younger man he’d be spending every second of every day hilted inside Bruce’s pussy. Gotham’s darling prince was made for taking cock, and Carmine was lucky enough to find out before some other opportunistic bastard.
“Anything for you. Hold on tight, now.”
He increases the pace just enough to cause Bruce to shiver underneath him from being overworked, and then he buries himself deep to spill as close to Bruce’s womb as he can. Bruce can’t get pregnant, but it doesn’t stop him from begging his daddy to paint his insides white and breed his cunt. He’s mumbling mindless nonsense under his breath now as Carmine fucks gently through the end of his orgasm.
“I need more,” Bruce begs as Carmine pats his cheek. “It’s not enough.”
“I know, these days you’re never satisfied with just daddy’s cum. Good thing I’ve got plenty of guys who can take care of my pretty whore.” He runs a soothing hand over Bruce’s stomach before letting out a sharp whistle, calling in two of the men from the hallway. They wait patiently until Carmine pulls out, his spunk trickling back out from Bruce’s cunt, marking his baby boy as his.
“Give it to him wherever he wants,” he instructs while he tucks himself back into his pants. “But don’t be too rough, I need him back in one piece.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Falcone.”
He reaches down and brushes the hair from Bruce’s face, smiling when Bruce leans mindlessly into his hand, eyes still fixed on Carmine even as another man shoves two fingers into his cunt.
Loyal as anything, this one. Greatest investment he’s ever made.
The first time they fucked was the day after Bruce's twenty-first birthday.
Their relationship prior to this point was restricted to their correspondence and the rare personal meeting every year or so. The first letter he’d written the boy was shortly after the Waynes were buried, expressing his condolences. He hadn’t expected Bruce to write back, but when he received a return letter, overflowing with anger and grief and clearly painting a picture of a child in need of a guiding hand, the opportunity seemed suddenly obvious.
He hadn’t been able to resist. After all, having the city in his pocket and the Renewal fund on hand was exactly what he’d been aiming for, don’t get him wrong, but there was something delightfully hedonistic about taking poor little Bruce Wayne too. A cherry on top of the sundae.
What Bruce needed were two things in direct conflict with one another. He needed a guardian, someone to take care of him and raise him up right. He also needed someone who didn't talk down to him, someone who would treat him like the adult he was itching to become, since remaining a child for any longer frightened him, made him feel powerless and trapped. Carmine wasn't one to do the former, so he would do the latter. Be the boy's confidante, and once he had him under his thumb, only then would he peel back his layers and show Bruce that he was still a child who needed careful minding from a strong mentor after all.
So Carmine wrote the boy on occasion, letting him vent his frustrations, his concerns, his fears. He encouraged his teenage rebellion and directed him to do something with his unfocused misery.
On a whim, he visited the Wayne gravesite a few years in to pay his respects, and met Bruce again in person for the first time since the funeral. Bruce was stilted, strange, and steeped in misery, but he was also sharp as a tack and desperate for an escape from his life. They talked briefly under the glaring watch of the butler, but before he left, Carmine made sure to touch the boy, to rest a paternal hand on his shoulder, and gently grip his skinny arm when he shuddered with confused longing.
“I’ll be seeing you around. Keep an eye out for my letters, alright?”
Bruce nodded, eyes lingering on Carmine’s gloved hand, his own hands pressed to his sides.
Afterwards, the things Bruce told him became more intimate, more trusting, and Carmine plied him with more praise while voicing a few mild frustrations of his own. Little day to day difficulties, to let the boy feel like they had equal standing in this relationship. He knew more about Bruce Wayne than he was sure anyone else in the city did. Boy wanted to grow up to be a doctor, just like daddy. He was smart enough for it, that was for sure, though his personality would make for a pretty awkward bedside manner. Still, it was useful to have a doctor around, so he added his support to the idea, let Bruce know that surely his fine, upstanding father would be proud if he followed in his footsteps.
On another whim, Carmine invited him over to the Shoreline Lofts when Bruce was seventeen, to give him a graduation present. They had continued to meet at the cemetery once a year, always a few days after his parents’ death anniversary. He watched Bruce grow from a small slip of a boy into a tall, slender teen, his eyes still mournful, and now it was time to send the kid out of the nest, let him learn and fail and grow on his own while Carmine observed from afar, waiting for another chance to offer him some help, with only a few strings attached.
He’d had no idea about what other thoughts were brewing in Bruce’s head until he put the watch around his wrist, helping him fasten it on.
“There you go, now you’ll never risk running late as you go to all your classes,” Carmine said, smiling at Bruce as he mumbled out a thank you. He saw Bruce out with another fatherly grasp of the shoulders, as close to a hug as you could get to a skittish young fawn like him, but this time, when he leaned into Carmine’s grip, there was the fresh bloom of rose on his cheeks. A soft flush that made his pale skin glow under Carmine’s attention like a flower searching out the sun.
Interesting.
And while it was never something Carmine had planned while intertwining Bruce’s path with his own, he couldn’t see any reason not to indulge. If Bruce wanted him as more than a father figure, Carmine had no objections.
But Bruce kept busy those next few years, so there was no chance to meet him for anything more than their annual greeting. The letters continued, of course, so Carmine lay a trail for Bruce there. Little comments about how grown up he was now, how he took after his beautiful mother but had his father’s stature and stance. How they would be so proud of him. Just like Carmine was.
No matter how old he got, Bruce never quite figured out how to make friends, which worked well enough for Carmine. An isolated, lonely Bruce was all the more pliable. He sent for Bruce to join him on his twenty-first birthday, so he could treat him to his first drink, as a congratulations for several successful years of undergrad down.
Bruce met him at Shoreline again, still wearing the watch he’d been gifted, his expression both grave and slightly hopeful. Carmine sat him down on the couch, plying him with something sweet and smooth, so that he could ease into it. But Bruce was a lightweight, and considering he probably hadn't eaten anything before coming over, soon he was flushed and warm, his words flowing more easily as Carmine asked him about school, his plans, any friends or girlfriends.
School was fine, he would be applying to medical schools soon, he had a handful of peers he was familiar with but not a girlfriend among them. With each word, Carmine could feel the tension between them growing, the air turning thick with anticipation as Bruce’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, his hand coming to latch on to the cuff of Carmine’s sleeve.
“How come a beautiful boy like you hasn’t landed a date yet? What, the girls at Gotham U don’t have eyes or something?”
“It isn’t a girlfriend that I need.” His hand slid lower, resting on Carmine’s upper thigh. Carmine hid his smirk behind the guise of taking another sip from his glass. Bruce’s seduction was adorably unsubtle.
“You're plastered, champ.”
“I'm fine,” Bruce slurred out, his head resting against the back of the couch, those shining eyes staring past Carmine's glasses. “I'm better than fine.”
And with surprising grace, given the alcohol's influence, he rose up, swung his leg around, and placed himself neatly into Carmine's lap.
“Oof, careful there you don't knock the air out of me,” Carmine chided lightly as he set his glass aside. Faced with the looming possibility of getting his dick wet tonight, he had to evaluate whether or not it was really the right move at this point.
“Sorry,” Bruce mumbled as he began toying with the hem of Carmine’s shirt. God, he wanted to just throw the kid back onto the couch and fuck him raw, but haste never helped nobody at a time like this.
“Bruce. Do you know what you're asking for?”
“Of course I do. I've been waiting for years. I'm not a kid anymore,” Bruce said sternly, rocking his hips against Carmine's lap.
“No, you ain't,” Carmine agreed, looking Bruce up and down, feeling his cock beginning to stir with interest.
He could take Bruce now, give the boy exactly what he'd been aching for since he was a teen, but he knew how to wait. How to play the long game. The payoff would be so much sweeter when Bruce was sober and came crawling back to him anyway. He'd be that much more cognizant of how Carmine finally indulged him. It would be more than a drunken mistake; it would be the culmination of their strange, ten year relationship. He would finally have Bruce on the hook.
“But,” Carmine said gently, cupping the boy’s face with a hand, “I’d like if you were actually conscious when I take you. Come back and see me tomorrow. If you still want it then, I won’t be saying no.”
And despite the stubborn set to his brows and the frown on his cute lips, Bruce let Carmine order a car to send him home.
Carmine’s first time experiencing Bruce’s determination firsthand was the following morning, when Bruce showed up on his doorstep again, no shame in his eyes when he demanded to be let in for his appointment with Mr. Falcone. The men brought him in, and soon enough, Carmine was met with the breathtaking sight of Bruce Wayne lying on his sheets, completely nude with his pretty pink pussy on display.
“Christ, baby, I haven’t even touched you yet and I already feel like I’m losing my mind,” Carmine said as he sat beside Bruce, trailing a hand down his chest to his navel. Bruce shivered sweetly under his touch, unable to tear his gaze away from Carmine’s face.
“I- I was afraid you wouldn’t like how I look-”
“Impossible. You’re the prettiest damn thing I ever saw. Look at you. Your mother’s eyes, your father’s mouth, and this body…you sure you wanna be spending your weekend with an old man like me? There’s gotta be no shortage of boys your age who want a chance with you.”
“I don’t give a damn about them. You’re the only one I want.” And really, what else was there to say to that?
Carmine began slowly opening Bruce up, but every surprised shudder and tiny gasp led to the same question.
“Bruce. Is this your first time?” he asked, pausing with his thumb tracing softly around Bruce’s pussy.
“Does it matter?”
“It matters for you. Be honest with me. No one ever popped your cherry? Not even that butler of yours?”
Bruce flushed brilliantly pink. “Alfred doesn’t- he doesn’t think of me that way. He would never- I’m just a boy to him.”
Ah, Alfred certainly had stronger willpower than Carmine did. If he had the guardianship of a pretty, malleable, vulnerable orphan like Bruce, well. Carmine would’ve had the boy bent over a desk and screaming for him ages ago. Especially one so obviously desperate for an older man’s guidance, the touch of a firm but caring hand. How Alfred didn’t wake up every day and choke Bruce on his dick for some early morning release was inconceivable.
“That’s because he doesn’t see you. Not the way I do.”
This caused a live-wire shiver to run through Bruce, his skin glowing under Carmine’s hands.
“No one understands me like you do.”
His voice was reverent, full of conviction. So Carmine decided to prove him right. No one else saw what a gem he had in his hands, and he wasn’t going to waste even a drop of that devotion.
Carmine hadn’t known, at first, just how insatiable his boy was. Though determined to learn quickly, Bruce remained virginal and innocent the first dozen times, as Carmine taught him all the ways his body could feel under the right hands. His curiosity was almost scientific, and he wanted to fuck more for Carmine’s pleasure than his own, until Carmine finally struck gold while indulging in him on a Friday evening before he was due to meet with some of his suppliers.
Bruce had left campus to come visit Carmine since he had sent him a text telling him he would be busy for the weekend. That was a new development, communicating with Bruce through a means more recent than the invention of the postal service. Bruce was curt over text in ways he wasn’t in his letters, but it was endearing to hear his quiet voice over the other end of the line, asking if he could come over.
Carmine was in need of some stress relief regardless, so here he was now, fucking Bruce’s ass while working his cunt with a few fingers.
“It’s too much,” Bruce whined as Carmine finger-fucked him, though the little thrusts of his hips told a different story.
“Don’t worry, angel, I know how much you can handle. Let daddy take care of you the way you take care of me.”
The words were offhand, just a bit of dirty talk, but with the sudden widening of Bruce’s eyes, the reflexive clench of both his holes…it was immediately obvious what set him off.
Carmine let his voice turn gentle as he asked, “Do you like that, baby? Knowing you’re making your daddy feel so fucking good with this tight ass and dripping cunt? You like knowing how perfect you are for me?”
“Yes,” Bruce moaned, a surge of slick washing over Carmine’s fingers as he increased the pace.
“Yes, who? What do you call me, son?”
“Yes, daddy,” Bruce cried out as Carmine continued railing his ass. A primal, wicked delight filled him at the understanding that he knew exactly what Bruce had been looking for in him all this time.
He didn’t want just a father figure or a lover. No, he wanted a father figure who would fuck his brains out, and by god, Carmine would give it to him.
Now that he knew how to push Bruce’s buttons, he brought his baby to sobbing orgasm as often as he could, letting him beg for daddy to stuff him full, to dump load after load inside his slutty cunt. Without any shame left hiding in his desire after Carmine had clearly welcomed his particular needs, Bruce had become openly demonstrative of just what a whore he was.
Carmine had moved Bruce into one of the empty Shoreline apartments once the semester was up, for ease of access for both of them. It meant he could walk down a few flights and be buried balls deep inside Bruce within minutes, fucking him into consciousness before the sun had even risen. It also meant that after classes, Bruce came running right back home to dump his things before heading up to the loft or down to the Iceberg Lounge to warm Carmine’s cock to decompress from the day.
Carmine wasn’t willing to risk him listening in on the dirtier parts of his business, because Bruce had a surprisingly stubborn moral streak despite years of Carmine’s influence. He knew about Carmine’s activities, of course, it was impossible not to, but he was aiming to become a physician, a healer, and the thought of violence unsettled him. Anything surrounding guns or losing bodies in the bay, Carmine tried to keep out of Bruce’s ears for now. At least until he had Bruce more inextricably entangled with him, perhaps through legal or financial means. Wayne Enterprises was something Bruce had no interest in running, given his career goals, but Carmine was working on getting a foothold in beyond the Renewal fund.
In any case, Bruce couldn’t accompany Carmine everywhere, but there were plenty of opportunities for him to make himself useful. He had taken to sucking cock like a duck to water, and often began his weekends on his knees beneath Carmine’s desk. Carmine was a bit concerned that a sweet, pampered thing like Bruce would have a hard time handling the strain of the hardwood floors against his shins for so many hours, but the discomfort didn’t faze him in the slightest. Even after Carmine had come down his throat and Bruce had swallowed up every drop, he liked to keep Carmine’s soft dick in his mouth to soothe himself.
The men became quickly accustomed to the sight of Bruce seated on Carmine’s lap, dick buried in his cunt while Bruce read his textbooks over Carmine’s shoulder. It wasn’t exactly the most practical set-up, but it had its upsides.
He also started bringing Bruce into the loft studio to use while he met with his patrons. His chess pieces. It started off on the innocent side, with Carmine chatting up the mayor while he fondled Bruce as the kid worked on his assignments under the dim lights. Then it became Bruce sitting on Carmine's lap, with his hand shoved down the boy's jeans and two fingers hooked inside his pussy. And then he gave up the charade entirely, and began openly nailing one of Bruce's holes while he talked to the police commissioner and the DA and whatever other crooked bastards he had on his payroll now.
It was more than resignation and surprise he saw on their faces as they watched him use Bruce as a cocksleeve in the middle of their meetings. It was both jealousy and lust.
The realization that Carmine had Bruce fucking Wayne bent over a table with his hands over his mouth to muffle his whimpers as he was fucked stupid really drove home Carmine's message. He owned this city. Everyone in Gotham worth corrupting, from her mayor to her police department to her boy billionaire, all belonged to him.
Of course, Carmine wasn’t young, and hadn’t been even back when he and Bruce first met. It was hard to keep up with Bruce’s endless libido, his unquenchable need to be filled with cock.
There was more than one occasion where Carmine had to eat him out before fucking him, and then tie him down with a toy in each tender hole before Bruce would finally be satisfied. Keeping up with a boy decades his junior was taxing on the body, if not on the mind. It certainly didn’t hurt his ego that Bruce was so desperate for him all the time.
Still, he needed to find a solution to the problem. Letting Bruce go before he got fucked to satisfaction made him cranky and short-tempered the next day, and then he moped in his apartment reading about diseases and refusing to eat anything until Carmine punished him. It was all a lot of work. So, he might as well capitalize on the open desire he'd seen on more than one of his visitors.
“Bruce,” Carmine said one evening, after tearing two orgasms out of him, “You ever think about letting anybody else fuck you?”
Bruce blinked sleepy eyes at him, momentarily unseeing as he tried to regain his bearings. When the words finally sank in, he shook his head.
“Just you! There was only ever you,” he said, but he was blushing something awful, and Carmine suspected his boy wasn’t being completely truthful. But no matter, it worked out better that way.
“That’s why you’re perfect for me, sweetheart. You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?”
“Always,” Bruce promised, just as fervently as the day Carmine first stole his virginity.
“And since you’re mine, I’m gonna ask you to do something for me, Bruce. Somethin’ for the both of us, really. You know I can’t always give you what you need. God knows I love your sweet little cunt, but it’s always hungry for more, and you know I’m no spring chicken anymore. So I’m going to let you fuck other men, let them satisfy you in ways I can't.”
“But you’re the only one I want,” Bruce said plaintively, some of that feisty attitude shining through his eyes.
“I know, baby, and it kills me to have to share you. But it’s what you need.”
“I don't need it if it means fucking someone else.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Carmine laughed as he gave a sharp pat to Bruce’s cunt, and his boy jolted under his touch. “You’re a slut through and through, there’s no denying it, Bruce. But think of it this way: you’d be helping me too.”
“How?” Bruce asked, suspicious.
“You wouldn’t believe what some people are willing to do to get a chance with you. Little prince of Gotham, grown up so well. I could get a lot of favors in exchange for a taste of you,” Carmine said while rolling Bruce’s clit with his fingertips.
“And that- that would make me useful to you?”
“You’re already more useful than half the guys I’ve got running around here. But it wouldn’t hurt to have some of these men deeper in my pocket. We give them a chance to be with you in exchange for a favor or two.”
“Is anyone really going to go for that?”
“You’re the most famous person in our city, and rich and handsome to boot. You think any man would be crazy enough to turn down a chance to fuck Bruce Wayne?”
“You do, sometimes,” Bruce grumbled as Carmine reached up to toy with his nipples.
“And that’s exactly why we’re gonna do this. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll still belong to me; ain’t nobody gonna question that. You’re mine, and I’m never giving you up.”
“Good,” Bruce said, his tone vicious as he reached up and dragged Carmine down into a kiss.
The 44 Below offers a variety of specialized entertainment that draws all the rich rats out of Gotham’s woodwork. Namely drugs, drinks, and beautiful women.
But only some clientele get the honor of the club’s crown jewel, the prince of Gotham himself.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Carmine says to the girl who delivers his drink. He’s seated on a couch, a couple of feet away from where Bruce is being held up by two men determined to pound him into unconsciousness.
“Uh, ah- please,” Bruce begs as both his holes are plundered, one cock ramming back into his pussy as the cock in his ass pulls out, and then vice versa, again and again until his eyes are leaking tears. Carmine could watch this forever, his boy lost in the pleasure of being used, just like he needs.
If only Thomas could see him now.
“Christ, you're always so tight,” Don groans, hammering Bruce with animalistic force from behind. He likes to play rough, and Bruce already has bruises blooming all over his chest, hips, and thighs.
“Best cunt I’ve ever had,” his deputy mayor agrees. “No wonder Falcone whores you out if you’re still gagging for it after taking his dick every night.”
“You wanna come home with me, Bruce? Seems like you like my cock well enough.”
“No, I- I can’t,” Bruce chokes out. “I belong to Mr. Falcone.” His teary eyes find Carmine’s even as he’s getting violently rocked between the other two men. Carmine nods at him with approval, smiling when Bruce lets out a loud moan in response.
“Damn shame.”
“As if you’d be able to get him through your front door without your wife noticing.”
Don comes first, hips jerking forward as he empties himself inside Bruce, who shudders through his own climax. Once both men are done with him, they dump him at Carmine’s feet, where he lies, gasping for breath.
“Up and at ‘em, son,” Carmine says, petting Bruce’s hair. “You’ve still got the rest of the mayor’s office waiting on you.”
“Kiss first,” Bruce demands, and Carmine relents, leaning down to give Bruce a long, deep kiss before the next two men line up to take their turn, one gunning for Bruce’s mouth while the other slides into his abused pussy. They slot right in and get to work, immediately eliciting an appreciative moan from Bruce, who settles in for another long night as the city’s cumdump.
Seeing him like this, his beautiful face slack with pleasure, his holes stretched around the bare dicks of men he’s never spoken to, his whole body begging to be marked and used — it feels like there was never any choice but for him to end up here, regardless of Carmine’s role in his life.
Bruce Wayne was born to be debauched and defiled; it was inevitable that he wound up stuffed full of cock. Carmine’s just lucky he trained Bruce to prefer his to anyone else’s. Unfortunately, he went and got a touch too attached on his end as well. He can’t imagine anymore what he would do without free access to Bruce’s cunt or mouth, or his quiet adoration and stilted affection. It feels almost like an addiction, on both sides.
Neither one of them is ever going to be willing to let the other go.
Oz doesn't normally fuck the pretty faces who work at the Iceberg Lounge, but Carmine knows he makes a special exception for Bruce.
“You’d be doing him a favor, really,” Carmine explained the first time as he ran his fingers though Bruce’s hair. He was growing it out, the dark strands coming down past his ears now. Before letting half the city's officials loose on his unsuspecting boy, he figured he could ease him into it with someone he knew. While Bruce had become comfortable with people watching Carmine plow him, he was still nervous about letting anyone but his daddy actually touch him.
“Guess I can’t say no to that,” Oz said, reaching down to pinch Bruce’s clit, smiling when he squirmed, panting for more.
That was Bruce’s first experience getting spitroasted, and he took it like a champ. His cunt was soaked as Carmine fucked him from behind, the filthy squelch of his slick folds sucking in Carmine’s cock almost drowning out his moans as Oz shoved his face down onto his dick.
A week later, Bruce relented to letting Oz fuck him. Carmine sat with him, playing with his chest as a cock other than his own pounded that pretty cunt. Bruce started off shy, hiding his face in the pillow as Oswald first took him, but by the end he was begging to be creampied. It only took one more chaperoned session before Bruce was seeking out Oswald for further training alone.
Of course, given how much of a slut Bruce is, they never really broke the habit, even long after Carmine started whoring him out.
“We’re gonna have to cut this short, princess,” Oz is saying when Carmine enters the room. He’s seated on the couch, the fly of his pants opened enough so Bruce can ride him the way he likes, long and deep, stuffing his ass full with Oz’s fat cock.
“Not yet,” Bruce says, stubbornly grabbing hold of Oswald’s shoulders to keep bouncing on his dick even as Carmine walks over to stare mildly down at him through his sunglasses.
“You heard the man, Bruce. We’ve got some business to attend to, and I can’t have you listening in.”
The glower is turned on Carmine, because Bruce understands by now what that means. The first time Bruce had stumbled upon a body he’d been furious with Carmine for weeks, until he convinced the boy that any enemy of his was just as bad, if not worse than he was. There were no innocents involved in his line of business. Nothing but scum all the way down, and Bruce had aligned himself with one of the worst, but at least he kept his people in order. At least he was here to run a business and turn a profit, not rob and murder willy-nilly. He could convince Bruce of that much. He’d covered his tracks too well for anyone to have evidence to the contrary.
“You knew who I was since the day I showed up bleeding on your doorstep, sweetheart. You gave yourself over to me anyway, so don’t pretend it’s all too much for you now. Nothing’s changed. You’re just old enough to understand it all now.”
Bruce, his chin held in Carmine’s grip, hadn’t looked away. His gaze continued burning into Carmine even as he was thrown on the bed and fucked within an inch of his life, his fingernails raking long lines into Carmine’s back.
In the morning, Bruce cleaned up the scratches himself, and Carmine knew that no matter how shaken Bruce’s faith in him might be, he would never lose it completely. They were too far gone. He took Bruce again after the bandages were put away, tenderly this time, as Bruce whined and cried for his daddy to fuck him the way he liked.
“What did you do,” Bruce asks now, frowning at Carmine. The balls on the kid, honestly. He’d gotten away with too much for too long, but Carmine supposes he has no one to blame but himself for indulging him.
“You know you don't wanna know the answer to that, slick,” Oz says, gripping Bruce's hips hard enough to bruise as he ruts into him.
“There better not be children involved.”
Bruce will be starting as a pediatrician as soon as his residency finally ends, though Carmine gets the feeling he'll be moonlighting as the Falcone family doctor just as often. There's something in the Gotham air recently, that’s making all the wackos come out. All sorts of clowns and weirdos in the streets who don’t seem to want anything except chaos, and already some of his people have gotten caught in the crossfire. If shit like that is going to keep happening, Bruce will be busier than expected.
“No kids, baby, I know your rule.”
Carmine's guys don't deal to kids directly, but if their drophead parents let them get into the stash, that's none of his business. But drawing this line is enough for now to appease Bruce, who nods brusquely at him and finally climbs off Oz, who sighs and begins tucking himself awkwardly back into his pants. Bruce, wearing only a dark t-shirt, stands and stares at a speck of lint on Carmine’s shirt.
“If you won't let me have him, then let me stay,” Bruce says as he brushes the lint away, demanding in that quiet, focused way of his. Carmine doesn’t know these days whether it’s because he wants his daddy’s cock down his throat, or he’s too interested in keeping tabs on the unsavory side of Carmine’s business, but either way he’s a distraction.
“Not tonight. Look, why don’t you head down to the Lounge, show the twins a good time for a little while? I’ll call you back soon as we’re finished here.”
“Do you promise?”
“Cross my heart. You go let the boys down in the club get their dicks wet for a bit, and then I’ll let you sit under my desk as I’m making my calls later.” He tugs Bruce down to press a kiss to his forehead in promise, imbuing a bit of fatherly affection into the conversation. Bruce is always weak to it, no matter how old he gets. Like usual, Bruce relaxes into the touch, the stiff lines of his shoulders softening. Carmine already anticipates taking him apart slowly tonight, dragging everything out until he’s begging to be fucked through the mattress.
“Alright. I’ll be back if you haven’t come down in two hours.”
“When did you start getting so bossy, huh?” Carmine asks, amused despite himself.
“I’ve always been this way,” Bruce replies, his brow furrowing in confusion. And in retrospect, Carmine supposes he has. Despite his shyness, Bruce was always single-mindedly clear about what he wanted.
“And I didn’t fuck the bad habit outta you? That’s my own fault.”
“I doubt it would have worked,” Bruce says as he bends down to pick up his pants. “The only thing those lessons ever taught me was how to get you to fuck me harder.”
“Spoiled brat,” Carmine calls after him as he strides off, pants in hand and pussy still exposed. He’ll probably make it just past the elevator before he cons one of Carmine’s men into dicking him down.
“You couldn’t’ve let me finish first?” Oz grouses as Carmine summons his GCPD informant to come join them.
“What, and have you getting too comfortable using my things in my house? Gotta keep you on your toes, Oz.”
Oswald is a decent lieutenant, but Carmine doesn’t want him getting too big for his britches. He just needs a little reminder now and again that while he’s welcome to play with Carmine’s toys, at the end of the day, Bruce always knows who owns him.
Considering the fact that he’d already been making eyes at half the girls in the club, Gil’s nervous behavior was hard to buy as genuine.
“You really don’t want a turn with him?” Carmine asked.
“I mean, he’s basically Gotham royalty, and you’ve got him-” Gil cut himself off, unable to find words for the way Bruce was nuzzling against Carmine’s thigh, lapping at his cock like the needy little slut he was.
Carmine laughed at his embarrassment, and reached down to run a hand through his boy’s silky strands, before grabbing a fistful of hair and firmly guiding Bruce’s face onto his cock. Bruce was more than happy to oblige, his eyes falling shut as he swallowed Carmine into his throat. God, the intense focus that had gotten into Bruce when he’d decided to learn how to deep-throat a cock still gave him a nice thrill to think about. There was nothing quite like returning home to find Bruce lying with his head lolling at the foot of the bed, gagging for a nice, hard throat-fucking.
“You think I did something to him? Drugged him up, blackmailed him? No. No, you’ve got it all wrong. Bruce and I are just two compatible souls.”
It was hardly Carmine’s fault that the boy was falling over himself to be his personal cum dumpster just because Carmine had had a few kind words and warm touches for him over the years.
“But-”
“He’s here just as willingly as you are,” Carmine said pointedly, and Gil flinched. “So, if you don’t wanna take me up on my offer, that’s fine. But let’s not pretend I’m twisting any arms here.”
He picked up the pace, fucking Bruce’s throat harder, shoving his boy’s face all the way down to the base. Gil and his guys sat there, transfixed, as Bruce let himself get facefucked into a daze, one hand braced against Carmine’s leg while the other slipped down to finger himself.
“Can he handle another blowjob after this?” Gil asked hesitantly, probably concerned for the state of Bruce’s throat.
“Course he can. In fact, I’m feeling generous.” Carmine pulled Bruce off his dick, giving him a minute to catch his breath before pointing at the men watching him from the table. “Alright, Bruce, we’ll finish this later. Right now, you’ve got a few guests to entertain.”
“But you didn’t finish yet,” Bruce pouted. His hand wrapped around Carmine’s cock, clearly with the intention of putting him back in his mouth.
“I know, angel, but I can wait. These boys have been aching to have a taste of you since they walked in. You show them a good time and I’m sure they’ll reward you with as much cum as your slutty cunt wants.”
“Fine.”
He gave the head of Carmine’s cock a little kiss before walking over to sit down with the group of prosecutors whose bulges were all straining their slacks now. They began touching him immediately, all their coy embarrassment gone, fingers pinching his nipples and squeezing his ass as they bombarded him with questions about what he would and wouldn’t do.
Bruce slid his legs up into a man’s lap, his hands already reaching for Gil’s zipper as he answered their questions curtly. He was like a queen holding court, all their eyes fixed on him as pulled out the DA’s cock and began stroking it to full hardness.
Carmine caught Bruce’s eye, and his boy gave him one of his small smiles. Good to go. He got his pants back on despite his erection and left them to it.
It would take a few hours for Bruce to drain the balls of the whole DA’s office dry, so Carmine retired back to the loft to deal with other business.
Bruce was returned to him that evening, carried up by one of the guys. He was a complete mess, so Carmine helped him wash up in the bath, cleaning his skin and hair at the very least, even though there was plenty of seed that hadn’t yet trickled back out of him. Not that it mattered, since it was obvious what Bruce still wanted from him.
He lay in Carmine’s bed, wearing nothing but his worn pink robe, his skin littered with love bites and handprints, his lips and cunt and hole all swollen with use. He was the dictionary definition of a cock slut, and yet here he was, blinking shyly up at Carmine through his dark lashes, like he was lost at sea.
“Come here, baby boy,” Carmine said, patting his lap. Bruce shuffled up the bed until he could rest his head on Carmine’s legs. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“It wasn’t. But none of them are as good as you.”
“You really know how to sweet talk a guy.”
“It’s true, though. It doesn’t matter how many times they made me come, it isn’t going to be enough until I get to have you.”
His eyes were dark, guileless, looking up at Carmine like he was the only thing in his world, and Carmine’s dick began stiffening in response.
“Greedy,” he scolded, brushing Bruce’s hair away from his face. “But I like that side of you. Be a good boy and tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Need you to fuck me, daddy. I want to wash away all their cum with yours. I don’t want my body to forget who owns me,” Bruce murmured, taking Carmine’s hand and placing it right between his legs. His poor pussy had already taken quite the pounding today, but he was still wet and waiting for Carmine. Jesus, Bruce really was a dream come true.
“I can do that for you, sweetheart. Spread your legs for me.”
Sinking back into Bruce’s wet heat was akin to falling into bed after a long day at work. There was nothing quite so satisfying, so soothing as fucking those pretty little sounds out of his boy’s mouth.
“You won’t ever give me away, will you? I know I’m not the most useful yet, but I’ll be in med school soon, and I can help the guys and girls in the Lounge once I’ve learned a little more,” Bruce said, his hands gripping Carmine’s wrists tight.
“Was that what you were worried about? I told you before, you’re mine, Bruce. Your use to me has no bearing on that. I let these guys fuck you as a favor to everyone involved, but they’re never going to get more than that. I own you, you understand that, right?”
“Yes, daddy,” Bruce said obediently, squeezing down around Carmine’s cock. “I’m yours and only yours.”
“Good, glad we cleared that up. Now, why don’t you ride me, baby; show me how much you’re willing to work for it.”
Carmine pulled out and let Bruce scramble into his lap. He began bouncing steadily on his cock, despite being fucked senseless not even an hour ago.
“That’s my good boy, always taking it so well,” he praised, and Bruce flushed with delight. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips chastely to Carmine’s until he deepened the kiss, claiming Bruce again.
Bruce was his from the moment Carmine sent his first letter, though neither of them would come to understand it until a decade later.
How wonderful it was that he came to possess such a priceless gift.
How lucky it was that killing Thomas and Martha Wayne gave him everything he’d ever wanted and more.