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"Well. This is embarrassing."
Bruce barely withheld a snort at Nygma's declaration, only managing thanks to the shiver running down his back along with the water trapped beneath his armor- an unpleasant reminder that he was still wearing his evening suit and that he needed to maintain an air of intimidation around a notorious villain like the Riddler.
"You know…" Nygma was continuing, offhandedly, while wringing water out of his rain-darkened hair, the last traces of his copious gelling holding the hair where he squeezed it. "We wouldn't be in this… situation-" Here, he waved his hands at the cave around them, ensconcing them from the pounding of the storm outside- "If you hadn't chased me, needlessly, like some sort of- of- mindless hyena, and believe me, I have plenty of experience with those, watching Harleen's little pets-"
"You know why I followed you, Nygma." Bruce returned, the accusation kept to a growling monotone.
"Do I?!" Nygma huffed, stripping his soaked gloves and dropping them with a wet slap next to his ruined bowler. "I was minding my own damned business, Bat. Just because you have a reckless itch for violence and can't curb the fucking impulse to hit anything you don't like, that doesn't give you free fucking rein to- to- to launch yourself at me, to brutalize me at your whim! Fuck!"
With the last exclamation, Nygma threw the phone in his palm at the cave wall, shattering the darkened screen.
"You know this is a suspicious place to be, Nygma. I was here tracking down evidence, and there you were. I'd have to be an idiot to ignore it." Bruce kept his distance, Nygma's fury making him erratic.
The custom-print jacket dropped next, leaving a little puddle on the cave floor, and Nygma sank to a crouch, head buried in his hands. "You are an idiot, Detective." He groused, the sound almost lost against the pounding of the rain outside. Bruce used the cowl's headset to filter the sound into white noise, not wanting to miss any incriminating grumblings. "If you're pinning any garden-variety dimwit's antics onto me, when you know full well the ins and outs of my very specific modus operandi, then I have to seriously doubt your mental faculties."
"You don't even know what kind of lead I was following." Bruce retorted.
"I know you suddenly lost all steam when the storm hit and forced us in here, rather than hounding me down with that famously relentless determination of yours." Nygma huffed, rising to his feet with his hands to his hips, water dripping from his pants and pooling into his loafers.
"Of course I stopped. If I'd ignored the danger, we'd both be drowning in the harbor by now." The path had grown slippery very fast, after all, with the amount of moss growing in the unceasing Gotham drizzle over the stones, and even the specialized grip of the Batsuit's boots wouldn't have been enough to ensure their safety.
"You're recklessly suicidal, Batman. We all know it. Potentially drowning in the harbor has never stopped you before, any more than the dangers of getting snapped in half by Bane or thrown from a skyscraper by Manbat have." Nygma scoffed, cocking a hip somehow judgmentally. "If you actually thought I was your man, nothing would have stopped you. Certainly not a little rain- Shit!"
The rolling crack of thunder startled the man harshly enough to have him jumping, feet sliding on the wet stone, and tumbling in a graceless heap to the cave floor.
It might have been funny, if Bruce wasn't so ticked off that he was right.
"Fuck, it's getting bad out there…" Nygma shivered, tucking his pale fingers under his arms, the tense posture only accenting the thinness of his frame.
Bruce considered the darkness of the sky, the sheer drop just outside the cave's mouth, the rising waters below. "We may need to stay here a while."
"Excuse me, we?!" Nygma shrieked. "'We' are not in this mess together, Batsy. I, for one, am spending no longer than absolutely necessary risking my neck around a maniacal zealot, especially one who has proven himself several times over to be interested solely in connecting his fists to my damned nose."
Nygma touched the facial feature with tentative fingers, as though worried mere proximity to the Batman may have broken it yet again. Not yet, anyway. The rising irritation grinding Bruce's teeth foretold Nygma's prophecy to be a self-fulfilling one.
"Where would you go, Nygma?" Bruce snapped. "There's no connecting tunnel, and we've already seen the conditions on the path back up."
"I'll think of something." Nygma groused, and Bruce rolled his eyes at the assertion.
Well.
Nygma may not have resigned himself to the necessity, yet, but Bruce knew the sooner they began survival preparations, the better condition they'd leave in. Getting sick here and being unable to complete the investigation he'd actually been pursuing would be the worst outcome.
Well, or dying, but that seemed a bit far-fetched, even given his reluctant companion.
Shelter, warmth, food.
The first, they'd already secured. The cave seemed sturdy enough, by the smoothness of the stones, indicating its age. It didn't lead any further back, eliminating the chance for something else living in the cave to take them by surprise.
It was freezing cold.
This early in March, the chill of winter hadn't yet passed, even with the spring rains getting an early start. With a tap to the corner of his eyes, the cowl's lenses illuminated, flooding the rear of the cave with light. As he'd guessed, they weren't the first to make use of this particular cave as a shelter, evidenced by the small circle of stones and ash-coated charcoal near the far wall. Sliding the lenses lights directly above, it was clear there was some sort of ventilation carved out in the ceiling. Carved, definitely, the hole too regular in shape to be anything but manmade. A proper hiker's hideout, then, potentially even one that would appear on local maps. He wasn't sure whether to count that as a relief or a threat, just yet.
Between the charcoal and the small amount of firewood piled haphazardly nearby, Bruce was able to gather a decent little campfire, crossing off the next item on the list.
"What are you up to?" Nygma asked, quite suddenly. Bruce had nearly forgotten he was there.
Instead of answering, he dug in his utility belt for his book of matches. They were damp, which was worrying, but the driest of them struck easily enough on the rough texture of his gloves, and the coals caught alight.
"Ah, excellent! I suppose spending your time brooding in caves does come in handy sometimes."
Bruce sent a glare at Nygma that made the man flinch, though maybe that was just the sudden light directly into his eyes. Bruce flipped the lenses back off, slipping the matches back into their compartment and rooting around for the protein bars he kept to satisfy the third and final item on his list.
"Gave up on that escape route already, did you?"
Nygma pouted, glaring at the rain behind them like it had personally wronged him. (Depending on what sort of data he'd lost with that cell phone, it may have.) "Sometimes, Dark Knight, the most essential part of any escape is in the lying in wait."
Bruce rolled his eyes, glad the motion was hidden by his mask, and handed over one of the snacks. "Glad you've decided to stick around. Get some food in you, warm up by the fire."
Nygma accepted the protein bar hesitantly, as though worried it may be poisoned, but then seemed to ignore the possibility as preposterous.
The fire crackled cheerily, but the suit allowed little heat through, and kept too much water in. Following Nygma's example, Bruce began to shed layers, grimacing at the pools of water that spilled out when he managed to wrench his gauntlets free. He was certain the breastplate wouldn't be much better.
Nygma all but yelped as the armor's catches released, rainwater splashing free and an immediate chill clinging to his bared torso. "Now what the hell are you doing?!"
Bruce levelled a glare at him, shivering as he was in the soaked button-up he still wore, clinging to his skin in wrinkles and folds. "We won't warm up as long as there's so much water close to our skin. I'd suggest you follow suit."
Nygma blanched, the blood retreating from his already-pale face as he watched Bruce bend to slide his boots off. "You're not gonna-"
His voice, already weak to start with, trailed off into nothing. Bruce ignored him, deciding the nuisance could freeze to death for all he cared, and stripped the armor from his legs, leaving him in only the mask and his briefs.
When he turned back to the fire, Nygma was fully dressed and facing resolutely away.
"If you leave the wet clothes on, you will get sick." Bruce sighed. He was reminded of Alfred doling out similar warnings, usually accompanied by a mug of something warm to drink, and wondered vaguely if Nygma was fond of cocoa.
Slowly, with one last stubborn glance back at Bruce that was aborted almost instantly, only a millisecond of wide eyes and parted lips before he was turned away again, Nygma began to peel off the damp clothing.
The suspenders first, letting the green pants slide low on his narrow hips.
The black button-up, tugged with effort from the clinging slacks, unbuttoned carefully and set aside.
The stupid pants with their ridiculous pattern, stripped only after Nygma had taken a nonsensically long time to simply stand there, hands on the waistband, like it was the hardest decision of his life.
Even Nygma's boxers were thematic, Bruce noted, purple fabric bearing little green question marks. He wondered if they were custom-bought, or if he'd found a supplier in Gotham that sold villains' merchandise. It was likely, he was sure, that Nygma would have sold the merchandising rights to someone , at least, between his inflated ego and his apparent thoroughness in coordinating every piece of his costume.
"See? That wasn't so hard." Bruce teased.
Nygma flushed, pink spreading down his neck and across the tips of his ears, obvious enough he didn't even need to face Bruce for him to notice. "I expect your next suggestion will be to huddle together for warmth, hmm? Since you seem so intent on turning this nightmare scenario into some sort of detestable pulp novel."
"It wouldn't be the worst idea." Bruce pointed out, and Nygma appeared downright distraught.
Jaw dropped, eyes wide, staring at Bruce in disbelief (at least, until his eyes drifted down and he snapped back around), Nygma was the absolute picture of Victorian scandal, looking as though Bruce had so salaciously offered a tantalizing glimpse of ankle.
"But, if you'd rather catch a cold, you can stay over there and shiver."
Nygma scoffed. "You are aware that the common cold is a virus, yes? And not some mysterious ailment sent down by the god of storms or some such hogwash?"
"I am. I'm also aware that certain circumstances- for example, being unusually cold- can lower your immune system's ability to fight said virus, thus making it more likely for you to catch the cold."
Nygma grumbled, hunching in on himself, but began to scoot, slowly and without turning his head once, nearer and nearer the cave's only other occupant. Bruce rolled his eyes again, still safely out of view, and tugged Nygma the rest of the way, pulling his bony shoulders back to meet the solid chest. Hand splayed across Nygma's stomach to keep him in place, Bruce felt the fluttering of the muscle there, the man in his grip twitching and tense at his touch.
"Are you okay?" Bruce murmured.
Nygma flinched. "Just warm me up and let me go."
"You'll just get cold again. It could take your clothes hours to dry." His own would dry off quickly enough, but the armor still wouldn't hold out against the creeping chill. Maybe he should ask Lucius for a thermal layer, just for the winter. "It was 40 degrees out before it started pouring."
Nygma wriggled in his grasp, trying to put a bit of distance between them, but Bruce tugged him resolutely back. "Why don't you make that ridiculous getup of yours useful and give me the cape, hmm? It'll make a fantastic blanket, I'm sure."
"It needs to dry, too." Bruce pointed out. "It'll be faster than the fabric, but it was drenched like everything else." He peered around, curiously, trying to get a peek at Nygma's face. "What's got you so antsy?"
In a flash, Nygma's knees were brought up, so fast Bruce was surprised he didn't hit himself in the nose. "I'm not."
"Jumpy, then. Squirrely, if you prefer."
Nygma glared up at him, went crosseyed for a moment in the vague direction of Bruce's chin, and looked away, that flush returning. From here, Bruce could see it travel down Nygma's chest, enveloping his collarbones and almost reaching his nipples, pert with the cold. "Those aren't particularly flattering, either."
"Then what's the word you'd like me to use?" Bruce's knuckles trailed the soft skin of Nygma's stomach idly, growing restless with the waiting. The familiar irritation of spending any amount of time with the Riddler had him thrumming with more energy than he knew what to do with.
Nygma whimpered, slapping a hand to Bruce's, stopping the repetitive movement. "Can you not?! I'm having enough trouble not getting worked up without you-" He froze, cutting himself off, but Bruce had heard enough.
"Worked up, huh?" Curious, Bruce nudged aside one of Nygma's knees. Sure enough, he'd pulled them up to conceal the tenting in his thematic boxers.
"Quit it!" Nygma snapped, clapping his legs back together with a huff. "You're already aware you're an attractive man. You don't need me to stroke your damned ego."
Bruce hummed at that, and Nygma shivered. "Might help us warm up." He offered.
Like an iron rod had replaced his spine, Nygma straightened, head knocking against Bruce's chin. Hands trembling, he pressed Bruce's fingers flat against his stomach again and leaned back into his chest. "If you- if you think it'll help-"
"No use catching a cold if we can help it."
"No, not if we can help it…"
Bruce slid his hand down, finding Nygma more pliable now, and nudged his knees apart again. They fell open readily, giving him ample access, and Bruce tentatively pressed his fingers beneath the damp fabric, the heat of Nygma's cock a sharp contrast to the cold.
"See? It's working already." Bruce murmured into Nygma's ear, working his fingers gently against the length.
"This can't be happening…" Nygma breathed, even as he melted into Bruce's body, head nestled into his shoulder, legs falling open wide enough to send an answering spark of heat through Bruce's own gut. "This can't be happening. He killed me and I died and now I'm in some sort of crazy fantasy coma."
Bruce couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, pressing the smile threatening at his lips to Nygma's neck. "Would this really be what you were dreaming about if you were in some sort of fantasy coma?"
"Yesss." Nygma hissed, too breathily to not be honest, and Bruce had to blink back his surprise.
"Really?"
Nygma whined, grabbing at his wrist, trying to direct his hand where he wanted it. "Why are you stopping?!"
Bruce resumed his movements, letting his hand run on autopilot, while his brain caught up. This wasn't some sudden whim, or some unexpected attraction, no, this was something Nygma had wanted, for maybe some time, something he dreamed of, to the point where the reality seemed unrealistic.
That meant this meant something to the man. It was important. Potentially even feelings were involved, if Bruce was extra unlucky.
Was Bruce really prepared to do this?
"Bats, please, I'm gonna-" Nygma groaned, fingers grasping at Bruce's wrist, at his knees, at the ears of the cowl, his hands wandering like he didn't quite know what to do with them.
"That's alright. That's what we want, isn't it?"
"No!" Nygma hissed, with a yelping hiccup of a noise when Bruce gave a little twisting motion and swipe of the thumb he liked. "No, not like this. I want- If I can only have this once, I want-"
He was shifting, twisting, getting his wobbling knees beneath himself, and Bruce's fears were confirmed.
Feelings were definitely involved.
"Please?" Nygma begged, and the look on his face was too pitiful for Bruce not to agree, nodding and lying back, letting the man crawl on top of him.
He was everywhere, desperately, hands and lips and teeth exploring wherever they could, littering Bruce's throat and chest with tingling warmth as he went, while Bruce remained resolutely on-task, sliding the cold boxers from Nygma's hips, the dark briefs from his own, tracing circles into the cleft of Nygma's freckled ass.
"How do you want to do this?" Bruce bit out, finding himself halfway to breathless now that Nygma had found the spot he liked, just at the hollow of his throat.
"In me. Please." Nygma moaned, tilting his hips to chase Bruce's fingers.
"I don't exactly have lube in the utility belt." Bruce admitted, suddenly feeling like it was a grave oversight.
Nygma snorted. Bruce felt his grin against his clavicle, wide and toothy as it ever was. "So much for being prepared for anything."
"It doesn't mean we don't have options." Bruce pointed out, his other hand rising to grab Nygma by the jaw. His thumb slipped between pink lips, and understanding widened his green eyes.
Nygma bit his thumb, wicked grin curling his lips again. "You think I'm so easy, Dark Knight?"
"You are for me." Bruce's tone was more matter-of-fact than seductive, but something about his usual demeanor must appeal. "You'll take whatever I dish out. You're desperate for it."
Nygma's lashes fluttered a bit, tongue curling around the thumb Bruce still hadn't retrieved, but apparently he wasn't done being obstinate for obstinacy's sake. He sat back, trying to look haughty despite being both disheveled and flushed. "You'll have to work for it, if you want it so bad. Why don't you make me?"
"Nygma…" Bruce growled. The smile turned coy.
Nygma rolled his hips, the entire length of Bruce's dick nestled in his ass, and he bounced, slow and controlled, letting the tip catch on the puckered skin of his hole on the way down, tempting, taunting. He was dead-set, despite how unfeasible that particular course really was, just out of sheer stubbornness. Either Bruce gave him what he wanted, or they both remained unsatisfied.
Only one thing for it.
"Come here." Bruce demanded, dragging Nygma over by the knees until he sat over his face.
"Oh? Hoping a little demonstration will, ah, loosen my lips, as it were?"
"Close." Bruce smirked, and nudged the cock out of the way, aiming for his real goal.
The very first swipe of tongue across twitching entrance drew a particularly high-pitched yelp, and the subsequent thorough attention had Nygma whining and whimpering and trembling so much Bruce had no confidence in his ability to remain hovering for long, especially as his hands moved from supporting his own weight to tugging Bruce closer by the pointed ears of his cowl. It was a Herculean effort to pry the desperate man off his face, Nygma far from willing to say farewell to the questing tongue, but with firm enough nudging at his hips, he finally grasped Bruce's intention.
Giddy and clumsy with arousal, Nygma struggled to align Bruce's cock with his spit-soaked hole, frustrating them both when the tip slid past again and again.
"Stay still." Bruce ordered, and Nygma obeyed readily, freezing like a horny statue, awaiting Bruce's next command.
His own hands less than steady, Bruce took his time to move Nygma where he needed to be, relishing the easy way he could guide those narrow hips. He'd certainly begun enjoying this encounter far more than he'd ever thought possible, and caught himself thinking of next time.
Fuck, but this man was dangerous.
"Go slow. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Bruce commanded.
Nygma smirked. "Aww, Batsy going all soft now? I see how it is, don't worry." Slow, gentle, taking time to breathe, Nygma dropped. Bruce grit his teeth, fingers digging deep bruises into Nygma's hips, while he tried not to buck into the too-tight body above him. "I know you wanna make sure all the pain is yours, right? You get to dish it out as you see fit. Where I bleed, where I bruise…" Thin fingers trailed along the sides of Bruce's thicker ones, where they dug into Nygma's body. "All under your control. You love control, don't you, Batsy? It's what you get off on, isn't it?"
Bruce swallowed down a strained breath. He was almost entirely inside, now, just waiting for Nygma to drop that final inch, but he had paused after his little speech. "Damn it, Nygma, shut up."
Instead, he just laughed. "I don't think I will. The rebellion is where the fun is, don't you think? As much as I love it when you chase me, you love to force me to obey."
"Move, Nygma!" Bruce snapped, and he did… the wrong way, rising up on his knees, Bruce's dick growing cold without his all-encompassing heat.
"Make. Me." Nygma taunted, and Bruce slammed up into him with all the force he'd been holding back.
It was over quickly after that, Nygma hiccupping, tears in his eyes, while Bruce drove in, as much in anger as in arousal, and he followed shortly behind Nygma's sudden release, overwhelmed by the shuddering, fluttering force of it.
"Wa-" Nygma cleared his throat, trying to seem collected, despite the violent twitching of his thighs, squeezing Bruce's hips at odd intervals. "Warm yet?"
Bruce panted like he may never catch his breath again, massaging his way across Nygma's bruised hips. Reaching some sort of decision only possible by the absolute silence in his head post-orgasm, Bruce surged upright, pinning Nygma's shoulders to the cold cave floor.
"Not yet."
---
Edward stretched, humming contentedly into Bruce's chest. "Rain's stopped."
Bruce hummed in reply, not willing to move except to tug the cape higher up, from where it had slipped off Edward's shoulders. "That's good."
A thin finger traced lazy circles around Bruce's chest, tracing over his well-bitten nipples like an accident. "We could leave, now. Nothing keeping us here."
"Well…" Bruce's brain was still pretty quiet, but he was sure there was some reason that was wrong. "Your clothes are still wet, aren't they? Can't leave naked."
"That's true. Need clothes to leave." Edward agreed, readily.
"And the rocks might still be slippery. We should give them time to dry up."
"Naturally."
Well, that settled that, didn't it? He could stay here, wrapped up in the freckled body above him, for as long as he wanted.
"And it's still pretty cold out, you know. We may need to share some body heat. You know, so we don't get sick." Edward continued. "After all, the fire went out, too."
"Hmm, that is a problem." Bruce nosed his way up Edward's neck, following the trail of tiny pink marks, nipping at the ones he wasn't entirely sure would bruise. "Only one thing for it."
He flipped them over, pinning Edward's willing body beneath him, sucking a fresh mark between all the others. Really, wasn't it Edward's fault for having such a sensitive neck?
"Oh, of course. It's only sensible."
Bruce smiled into his warm skin, and prayed for rain.