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Things (that one was wishing for)

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He couldn't describe what was the thing between him and Bruce. It was something big and very possible deadly. Just like the older man himself. It also sneaked up on him and now it was far too late to take a step back and reason with himself, bringing up front that it was a bad idea and whoa boy, do not even go there. Ever.

 

Terry was already in too deep, the ground around him already gave way to the thin ice to step on, leaving nothing else choice wise. In other words: he was fucked - figuratively speaking - and had to deal with it. It was said that it was best to let the sleeping dogs lie and all that, but exceptions did happen and it was one of them.

 

He had a fleeting moment of thinking that perhaps talking it out with someone close enough to him would help. That's what Dana kept telling him during their off-on relationship they've had going on. But that idea quickly hit the ground and shattered to pieces when Max - the only person with enough knowledge of some of his secrets, well at least the Batman bits - noticed something was off and clearly disapproved of it. This conversation ended before it even started.

 

Well, wasn't that just fantastic? Terry didn't feel bad being disappointed by it.

 

It was also getting harder to cope with that thing. To keep it inside - right, where thoughts of that kind belonged - and remember that wanting some things... Wanting some things to happen; wanting in its very own entity was unacceptable.

 

He was Batman thus he had things to be responsible for. That much was clear. Clearer at least.

 

He also really wanted Bruce.

 

Not Batman.

Not Mr. Wayne, the CEO of the Wayne Enterprises.

 

Just Bruce. Bruce with his snarkiness, the sometimes maniacal glint in his eyes; worn out skin covering strong arms and palms, body that had seen more than enough combat in its life and caused Terry to sometimes stare a bit too long - he stopped trying to persuade himself that he shouldn't.

Fuck that. It's not like he could avoid looking at him at all. It could be taken the wrong way. Well, Terry thought suddenly amused by the thought. Wronger.

 

There was the age difference for one, a really serious issue no matter from what angle you choose to look at it. It was doomed to be a problem. For other people that is. Terry didn't care, or rather. He liked it. Not that he was generally attracted to men twice – thrice, Christ – his age. It would be ridiculous and worrying, except. Yeah. He wasn't making much sense here, wasn't he?

 

Point was, it had to be Bruce's brain at first. Surely, that's how it started. With him being young, foolish and angry. Lashing out at people, trying to place the blame for his own faults at the world around him.

 

“Wasn't the brightest crayon in the box back there.”

 

“Mumbling to yourself is considered an offence in some circles, McGinnis,” Bruce's dry tone pulled him out of his musings in a snap and Terry felt his brain cells collide brutally upon realization that he might have voiced some of the things aloud. Crap.

 

“Just thinking, sorry,” Terry managed and looked Bruce in the eye, forcing himself to hold his gaze there even as it wanted to stray lower, to the other's bare forearms. It wasn't often that he could enjoy the view of Bruce in this state of undress, and he learned to take what he was given. His fingers twitched in his lap, reminding him of the plans for a new Batsuit he was supposed to be looking through. “They look good by the way,” he added timidly, smoothing the slightly crumpled paper. “Very modern.”

 

“Hmm.” It was subtle, but in a second something in Bruce's behaviour shifted and Terry had a hunch that Bruce didn't really care much for his opinion on the drafts, not in this very moment at least. “Is that so?” Bruce asked, and there was a clear glint of amusement in his eyes, but also a warning and it caused a shiver down Terry's spine that was both dread and excitement. Not in the even proportions too.

 

“Yes,” Terry answered shortly, closing his mouth with a click. Curious.

 

“I told you once already, McGinnis. This thing you are doing - - This game you are playing... It's dangerous. You don't want to thread there.”

 

It was out. Realization hit Terry. It was out and any chance, any hope he had to keep it hidden. To kill it before something like this happens - was gone.

 

Bruce knew. Moreover, Bruce knew and he decided against ignoring the matter. He might have made a harmless comment about it once that Terry ignored then. But then again, Terry should have known better. It was Bruce fucking Wayne and he did not play with his words if there wasn't something in it for him.

 

There was also a huge probability that it won't be possible to distract with tea this time. That's a trick you can only use once, unless last time was a flunk as well. If that's the case - -

 

“Tea?” He exhaled, but didn't move an inch from where he was sitting. His muscles were frozen in place, but his body was hot and aching in the good way. Bruce was still looking his way and even though there was some anger, perhaps even some exasperation in his eyes, there was no resentment no pity and that was good.

 

“Terry -”

 

“Not going to cut it, won't it?” Terry laughed, interrupting him. Fingers twitching on the papers in his lap. “Figured it out didn't you, too bad for me I guess.”

 

“Terry, you - ” Bruce started again, but Terry didn't want to hear it.

 

“I'm not confused. If that's what you want to say and no I do not think it's a phase that will eventually pass.” Not soon enough anyway, he thought grimly. Rejection is going to sting like a bitch. “And Yes I am still perfectly capable of doing my job as a Batman.” Because being cut from that would be the final humiliation.

 

“Terry,” Bruce's tone turned stern, commanding and Terry found himself unable to try and stop him from talking this time. He wished he had one of those muting devices that devoured all sound. “Are you sure?”

 

It took a moment for the question to sink in.

 

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded.

 

Bruce looked at him patiently, with a shade of a smirk on his face. “I asked you -” he repeated, slowly, clearly making fun of him. “- Are you sure?”

 

“You are not freaking out over me wanting you,” Terry fired back at him in lieu of an answer.

 

“No. I like to think I have more control over myself than this.”

 

“Right.” Right, Terry thought again. Was this a proposition, or was it a cruel joke and in any moment now Bruce will burst into a mad laughter, saying something about a kid's play or – Wait. Jesus. “You are asking me if I am sure?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce said and relaxed against the back of the sofa, legs slightly apart, those forearms that Terry's been twitching to touch relaxed against the still strong thighs. “I do consider consent to be quite the appeal in this kind of situations.”

 

“You want me.”

 

“I am not opposed to the idea.” There was this guarded, warning look back in his eyes. “I should.”

 

Terry's insides made a happy dance – cartwheel included - making him feel a bit nauseous in the process, which was not really something he favoured right now. But holy bats.

 

Bruce wanted him. Or at least was attracted to him to some extent and that was. Woah.

 

“I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed now.”

 

“Take your time,” Bruce chuckled, smirk firmly in place now. Terry did a double take, if it was going to be one of those once in a lifetime situations he sure as hell won't be spending it sitting in the armchair having a polite conversation about it.

 

He paid no heed to the documents that have fallen on the ground, closing the distance between the two of them in two steps. Halting in front of Bruce, not sure how to proceed. What he wanted to do was to climb in his lap and cover him like a blanket, but Terry wasn't sure if it was really what Bruce had in mind at the start of this conversation. He was about to ask about it, but Bruce reached for him, flattening his palm just above his right knee and looking up at him expectingly.

 

“Damn,” was all that Terry managed to say, before falling into the other man, trying to cause no permanent damage as it is. Except Bruce clearly had other ideas.

 

“I'm not made of glass,” he breathed into Terry's ear - pulling him tightly against his own body - and he truly was not. Bruce's body was hard, well defined and warm to the point of being hot and Terry either never realized this – he was careful not to touch Bruce too much, too tempting – or it was a new occurrence and maybe he was the cause of it. He'd like that. It felt good, to be so close, to feel every breath as it resounded in Bruce's chest and also - -

 

The unmistakable hardness against his own made his blood boil a bit quicker, because this opened up new possibilities and Terry was quickly realizing that he was greedier than expected. He wanted to straighten and look Bruce in the eye, but the other's hand kept a strong – albeit not threatening – hold on his neck, keeping his face hidden between Bruce's neck and shoulder. He inhaled softly the well known smell of cologne, allowing himself to feel a little light-headed because of it. It was a simple gesture, not even that sexual, but it made him feel wanted, made him feel like it was his place to be.

 

“Mrfp,” he purred unintelligibly, relaxing further into the hold and Bruce was merciful enough not to comment on it. His other hand strayed to Terry's hip, squeezing it gently before simply leaving it there, holding in a way so that Terry knew without having to be told that movement away was not an option. Possessive, crossed his mind, but he didn't voice it. He might have objected to this kind of behaviour from anyone else. He was no child nor a fragile person to be cuddled and told what to do – even as a Batman he was the same pain in the ass and he was fully aware of it, thankyouverymuch – but this was Bruce. Bruce with his strong hands, having a hold of him, securing him in place and frankly Terry would do anything to stay like this forever... or do something more. His body was burning in a way that could only be described as sexual desire, but for a change he wasn't frustrated by it. Moreover, he was actually enjoying all his senses going into overdrive, thrumming under his skin like an electricity.

 

“Didn't take you for a cuddler, McGinnis,” Bruce's said in an intentionally hushed whisper, but it was loud and clear in Terry's ear due to the proximity of those lips next to his ear. He felt himself blushing, but doubted Bruce would see it. It felt silly, but feeling the other's breath on the sensitive skin of his ear felt extremely erotic. So different than hearing Bruce's voice in his ear during combat missions or on the phone. The warmth, the smell and the physical presence made much of a difference.

 

“You mind?”

 

“I'd think you'd be more impatient during a situation like this.”

 

Terry moved his face, so that their cheeks were touching – noting that Bruce was in need of a shave, maybe he could do it for him later – giving into the temptation and rubbing against him with a sigh. “I will take what you will give me.”

 

“And if I were to give you more?” Bruce's tone was genuinely curious, there was no mocking or laughter in it. Just a simple question.

 

“I'd take that as well,” and more. Terry answered without missing a beat.

 

“Now?”

 

“Whenever, as long as I can get it.”

 

Bruce didn't answer, but Terry wasn't worried. He could wait.