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It was during one of those rare unsupervised and out-of-Gotham cases that it happened.
Bruce had never been a fan of letting his Robins out of his sight. No matter how much faith he had in them or their skills or the general competence of their teammates. It wasn’t anything personal, it was just that the only people that Bruce trusted with the safety of his partners were those who called his cave home.
Tim gets returned to him by a sheepish Clark who delicatly sets Tim on his feet, unwinding the arm that was wrapped around his waist. It wasn’t often that Clark made personal deliveries to the cave.
Not unless something had definitely gone wrong.
Clark must’ve sensed the brewing displeasure wafting from Bruce as he took in the sight of his disheveled partner, because he didn’t even let Bruce open his mouth before he rushed to explain himself.
“Zatanna says it should wear off by morning,” he assured hastily, natural midwestern charm falling a bit flat based on the strained look on his face. The pull of his smile was a little too tight because Clark, of all people, knew how Bruce got when his Robins came back to him chipped or missing pieces.
At his words, Bruce’s gaze immediately shifted to Tim, eyes scanning down the length of him and locking into every bit that looked out of place. Tim looked roughed up.
There were a few tears in his suit, the right bit of his cape was burned, two of the pouches from his utility belt were just straight up missing, there was a developing welt on his right cheek, and a sluggishly bleeding friction burn running the span of his left jaw like someone had pressed Tim’s face to a treadmill made of concrete.
That’s not what concerned Bruce though.
Tim’s lips were pressed tightly together.
His jaw was clenched hard enough his masseters were flexing under the skin.
Tim was standing tensely, shoulders straight and rigid while he avoided meeting Bruce’s gaze.
Tim was a tough kid. Most of the time he insisted on walking off his injuries from patrol. Whenever Alfred fussed over him he got an uncomfortable little look and sat like an iron rod had been welded to his spine while the older man looked him over.
Bruce was always a little concerned about Tim, it was hard not to be.
“Tim? Are you alright?” Bruce tried to keep his voice steady, not letting it fall into the ‘accusatory’ pitch that never failed to upset his Robins.
Tim made a muffled whine, brows scrunching together unhappily as the seam of his lips trembled.
The “Yes.” that tightly came out of Tim looked almost painful, and carefully deliberate. Like it was a bandage over a wound that was slowly ripped off. Tim’s nose scrunched at his own voice, his lips twisted down unhappily as his shaking palms clenched into fists.
Clark, finally, began to explain.
‘Lingua venenata’ was, as Clark reassured Bruce for the third time, temporary.
There would be no ill effects, Tim would make a full recovery, it was magic but not the kind that left people benched or recovering for weeks or years. (There was a reason Bruce hated dealing with magic afterall).
It was a tongue curse, according to Zatanna. Though it “barely qualified” as one she stedied Bruce when he pulled her up on the Batcave’s monitors, demanding a thorough explanation. She must’ve picked up on his general…unhappiness about the situation and did her best to assure him of the lack of permanent damage.
“It’s more of a hex, Batman. Its only purpose is to cause inconvenience and embarrassment."
Apparently, while locked at the horns with a magic user in Metropolis; Superboy had been talking smack.
His taunting coupled with the fact that Tim had been audibly calling out shots, directions, and orders in earshot meant said magic user decided they needed to be taught a lesson.
Superboy managed to get clear when Tim yelled for him to.
Tim hadn’t.
Idly, Bruce wondered if that was the reason Clark dropped Tim off at the cave instead of Superboy.
Tim did say that his teammates thought he was “scary.”
When Clark left and Zatanna hung up after assuring him, again, Tim would be back to normal by morning - Bruce hadn’t hesitated to begin his own assessment.
It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t trust either of them, he just trusted his own eyes more.
In the medbay Tim squirmed as Bruce examined him, reluctance visible in every line of his body. Still, his bit of resistance didn’t impede much as Bruce peeled off his sweat-slickened suit and prodded at his bruises and superficial cuts.
“That doesn’t hurt." Tim mumbled mulishly when Bruce pressed a finger to the raw, scraped edge of his jaw.
Bruce carefully removed his fingers.
‘That means it does hurt’ Bruce mentally translated to himself.
A diametric curse, Zatanna had said. Every word that came out of Tim’s mouth was the opposite of what he meant, what he wanted.
If he said it didn't hurt, that meant that it did.
If he didn't want something, it meant that he did.
Bruce had faith in Zatanna’s abilities, and believed in her expertise within this particular field.
He did believe her.
But it was in Bruce’s nature to see for himself. To see the extent of how the curse his Robin was afflicted with worked.
A few hours was the lifespan of this curse. By morning it would be gone. Bruce already had a guarantee his Robin would be alright come morning.
Bruce still thought it was worth it to get a thorough understanding of what he and Tim were dealing with. It was protocol when experiencing novel adversaries in the field. Tim knew that and Bruce knew that’s why he didn’t protest much.
At first it was simple and relatively straightforward.
Yes meant No.
Good meant Bad.
Hot meant Cold.
Left meant Right.
True meant False.
Simple gradable and complimentary antonyms that Bruce could unpack and translate with barely a thought.
Expletives were where Bruce saw the slightest shift.
Bruce ordered Tim to swear at him.
Tim did, but not before staring at Bruce with that searching look he used when he was trying to figure out exactly if that was what Bruce actually wanted.
It took Tim a moment, barely a second to gather his composure enough to hesitantly part open his small mouth open and whisper a soft and sincere “Fuck me.”
Both Bruce and Tim went still. Tim’s eyes went wide and huge like a startled rabbit at his own words.
“Fuck me.” Tim tried again, swiftly without any prompting, cheeks reddening when the expected ‘fuck you’ didn’t echo around the walls of the cave.
Bruce made a soft noise of interest, quickly looking down at his hands and writing a quick observation into the notepad he was holding. It was an excuse for him to take his eyes off Tim and focus on something else for a moment.
Bruce ignored the equally startled and caught off guard part of him that jolted when those words left Tim’s mouth.
Tim allowed Bruce to continue to use him as a guinea pig. Even though Bruce could see Tim was tired and that his bruised body made it harder to stay awake the longer they stayed up running tests.
Bruce learnt more about the curse.
He learnt names were seemingly unaffected since without Clark, or anyone else present, there was no other name to default to.
Also that single word exclamations didn't have a reversal.
Hey! Yay! Ow!
A potential exploitable loophole in the curse Bruce made sure to note.
Bruce put Tim through a set of comprehensive physical tests to see the extent of the curse.
If Bruce told Tim to point to the right, Tim pointed to the left.
If Bruce told him to write down specific words like ‘yes, open, old, and clean’; Tim handed back a paper with the words ‘no, shut, young, and dirty’.
However if Bruce gave no order then Tim could freely do and write as he pleased.
It was a fascinating effect. Able to function by using compulsion.
The curse seemed to invade and override Tim's language center, his writing ability, and his body's neuromuscular systems.
When Bruce told Tim to step closer to him, Tim took a step back.
It had a remarkable, immediate effect. It was clear, efficient, and effective at disrupting lines of communication.
Which meant it was dangerous.
Things like it in the field could immediately affect the chain of command, deviate the orders given, and spoil the plans laid out.
If Tim tried to resist saying anything; the silence only held for a few minutes- at most.
Then his jaw would begin to tremble, drool would begin collecting in the corner of Tim's mouth the more seconds ticked by without him answering. The muscles of his throat and neck would begin to twitch and clench uncontrollably until Tim couldn’t hold it anymore and burst out with whatever words his tongue had been cursed to say.
If minutes passed with Tim managing to hold the urge back, there was a…recoil.
His mouth would end up slackened, little pink tongue peeking out from behind red lips while strings of drool dripped out of the corner, all frothed like a dog that had gone rabid.
Two minutes was the longest Tim could hold out. Bruce timed it.
Bruce silently passed over a tissue for Tim to wipe away the mess of saliva dripping down his face. Tim gratefully accepted it and used both hands to mop up the mess dripping down to his neck.
Bruce stared for a moment longer than necessary, eyes locked on the swollen bottom lip of Tim’s mouth. Indents from his teeth were visible where he’d been biting down on it to hold himself back speaking.
‘Compulsion, inability to remain silent when prompted’ was added to the list of traits Bruce managed to identify about this curse. Bruce’s little notepad was steadily filled up and while part of Bruce wanted to probe more, to gather more data…
He couldn’t ignore Tim’s slow, blinking eyes and sleepy, cloudy gaze.
He thought of the fact that Tim had just returned from a long patrol where he’d gotten cursed and injured. He thought of how Tim had already indulged him enough by letting him satiate his curiosity at his own expense.
…So Bruce sent Tim to bed. Waved him away with words about getting rest and seeing him in the morning.
Bruce stayed in the cave.
He had notes to file afterall. As well as a danger scale grade to assign to the curse so they could add it to the long codex of classified cape hazards kept on the Justice League servers.
Bruce managed to get through half of the notes before familiar and wretched thoughts began creeping up.
Alfred was away in Europe.
He’d already been gone over a week, taking advantage of his time off to visit the ‘motherland’ and pay visits to a number of old friends.
Bruce and Tim were alone in the manor. Before leaving Alfred had made sure to give Bruce a stern talking to regarding his responsibilities while he was gone.
Specifically they’d been about Tim. Words about how Bruce was in charge of Tim's physical wellbeing while Alfred was gone. That Bruce wasn’t just responsible for making sure Tim got back from patrol alright but that it was his job to make sure Tim got something to eat, that he did his homework, that he showered and dressed for bed.
Alfred had never been much of a mother hen. Not for Bruce, not for Dick, not even for Jason. There’d always been a care present but also with an additional five feet of professional distance. Not for Tim though. Alfred…fussed over Tim. Scolded the boy and nitpicked him like an overbearing mother. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was Alfred’s age that had softened him up or if it was something about Tim specifically.
Bruce never let it bother him.
In a way, he understood.
Tim was already up in his room by the time Bruce retired from the cave and made his way upstairs, navigating through the darkened manor through sheer memory of the layout.
He carried a small tub of medicinal ointment for Tim's bruises in his hand. He'd forgotten to hand it to Tim before he sent him upstairs to rest.
Bruce knocked and waited precisely three seconds before he let the door creak open, peeking in, and being greeted by the sight of Tim sitting up and staring at him from bed. His hair was lightly messy like he’d been tossing and turning in bed.
"Get out."
Bruce's sleepiness had a bit of its claws in him, but at the sound of the soft order he startled awake.
Bruce's startled eyes focused on Tim who was suddenly red-faced and squirming unsurely in bed.
"Get. Out." He repeated with more force and hard enunciation before letting out a sharp frustrated breath through his nose. Tim’s face briefly pulled into a look of annoyance, his lips pressing into a thin line before his brow forcibly softened and he took a meditative breath.
Bruce felt something tug in his gut and entered Tim's room.
Tim's sleeping shirt was hanging off his shoulder. There was a bright red mark on his shoulder shaped like a handprint that would likely purple into a bruise within a day or two.
Tim pushed himself further up in bed and was staring at Bruce with some hazy interest. Eyes big and owl-like as he watched Bruce take each slow step toward him, creeping closer until he was standing over Tim.
For a breath it was quiet. The manor was always eerily still and quiet, especially at night.
Bruce didn’t know why he hadn't offered Tim the ointment yet. Why he was, instead, just standing in Tim's room with him.
Staring. His gaze darted down the length of Tim, settling on his shoulders, trailing down his torso, lingering on his hands folded neatly on his thighs, the way the quilt he was under lay gathered in his lap.
There was a strange… mutual tension in the air.
It took a moment for Bruce’s brain to identify why.
Bruce was shirtless with just some loose cotton sleeping pants covering him. His hair was still wet from the caves showers, skin slightly warm and pink from the hot water.
Tim was in a simple, oversized Gotham Knights team shirt and some underwear that Bruce could see peeking from beneath the edge of the hem.
Tim was staring at him patiently and quietly. Like a freshly trained puppy waiting for a familiar praise or command.
Waiting for his explanation for why he was in his room so late.
The room he'd already told Bruce to get out of.
But it wasn't like that was it? Tim didn't mean to tell Bruce to get out, he meant to tell him to come in when he knocked.
They'd been here before, in this situation. Maybe not under the same circumstances but the two of them had done…this before.
Where the manor had been empty save for them and the air had been thick and clouded with such an odd and loaded tension between them.
The first time it had…it had started innocent.Tim had crawled into bed with Bruce because it was the first time he’d ever slept over at the manor and he’d been nervous about sleeping alone even though he’d looked embarrassed to admit it.
It had started innocently enough, Tim tucking his face into Bruce's neck, breathing him in. Bruce had turned his head, nose filling with the scent of Tim’s conditioner and felt the warm weight of him like a kitten was curling up against him to nap.
Nothing had happened initially. But Tim was a restless sleeper, rolling, moving, trying to get comfortable. Bruce’s brain was always toeing the line of alertness and the slightest sound and movement roused him out of sleep. Bruce had placed his hands on Tim’s hips and started stroking his back to settle him down, like he was a littl pet that needed soothing.
Bruce hadn’t meant anything by it. Tim hadn’t crawled into bed with him with an ulterior motive.
Maybe it had been Bruce’s fault.
Bruce had a habit of conditioning his body and his brain, a habit of silently and instinctively forming associations with people and things. Bruce never lazed in bed, never laid down for any reason other than to sleep or to fuck. His years of training had ripped the habit of relaxing in an unguarded position out of him. It was why he always found it easier to nod off while sitting in the chair at the batcomputer.
That night…staying awake with Tim, attempting to get him to relax enough to fall asleep…something in Bruce’s brain had misfired. Some wrong switch had been flipped, the same switch that always flipped when he brought women to the manor and up to his room. The way Bruce’s stroking turned slower, longer, hand lingering. The way Bruce’s grip on Tim’s hips had changed as he pulled Tim to him…under him.
What made it worse was that Tim had… had done something that felt like reciprocation. He’d messily kissed Bruce’s mouth and clung to him, breathing softly and making such pleased whines and hums as Bruce pressed him into the mattress and pressed their parts together like Tim was just another of the dime a dozen gala sluts Brucie brought to the manor. Teenagers couldn’t be trusted to be able to correctly identify if actions were right or wrong when sex was involved.
So Bruce had been alone in navigating the fallout.
The guilt had eaten at Bruce’s insides like there were parasites that laid eggs and hatched young that were chewing inside him. He hadn’t been able to look at himself much less Tim. There’d been regret, once the haze and allure of that night wore off. He’d avoided Tim for a few days out of shame. But…the depth of it hadn’t been the right level of horror, the right level of scandal with himself he should’ve felt.
Because as sorry as Bruce had been that he’d done it…there’d been a larger part of him that replayed that night over and over in his head. The twitch of Tim’s soft body under him, the burn of desire in his gut, the punched out gasps that had pressed between them as Bruce pressed deeper than anyone had ever gone into Tim.
Bruce had tried to reassure himself with the fact that…that Tim came to him. Tim entered his room, got into his bed. It would’ve been so much worse, so much more unconscionable if it had been Bruce who entered Tim’s room.
It wasn't as bad if Tim was the one who did it. Who…started it.
Bruce felt less guilty about it. Felt like he could write it off as a one off occurrence, accident, mistake.
But here...now...
Bruce was in Tim's room.
To give him medicine. To help him feel better, not to fuck him like Bruce’s dog brain kept thinking.
Tim was staring at him as Bruce held out the small glass jar.
"Ointment," he offered and held it out to Tim who went cross-eyed to stare at it, "use it for your bruises."
Tim sucked on his bottom lip. Slowly.
Bruce watched the movement of his mouth with something damnable forming in his gut.
Tim looked back up at him. Eyes big and wet like he was a delicate little thing even though Bruce knew he wasn’t. Tim’s knuckles were bruised and cut from the force of punching something hard enough it would think twice about standing up again. One shoulder was bare with his shirt hanging off it. His skin looked soft. Like all of him.
"Well...I am not in any pain."
Tim let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Bruce watched it like a hawk.
"I don't need your help."
Bruce swallowed thickly. Something...something was in his gut coiling. Something hot and heavy and making him overwheelmingly aware of how little space there was between himself and Tim. Overwhelmingly aware of how he was standing over Tim like a bear finding a nice, injured doe.
Tim's tone ordering him to get out. Tim's insistence that he wasn't in pain and didn't need Bruce's help. Tim’s eyes blinking slow and softly drowsy, so full of trust and lacking accusation. Bruce felt a pressure in his gut. Felt an overwhelming awareness of his cock pressing heavily against his light cotton pants.
"I'll do it." Bruce replied, voice oddly croaked, like someone had just finished strangling him. "I'll apply it."
"No." Tim breathed, voice breathless. His eyes lingered on Bruce. Bruce felt as his gaze stroked his face, down his chest, to his waist and settled on where his pants were sitting low. Tim’s eyes remained locked on them. "I don't want you to."
Bruce felt a shiver race down his spine as he edged closer, body practically eclipsing Tim. Bruce pressed him down with a single hand to his sternum, lowered Tim until he was lying on his back. Tim’s head was cushioned by a pillow.
Tim didn't resist him or his manuevering as Bruce raised a knee to rest on the edge of Tim’s mattress.
Tim's pupils were big, blown huge like he had a concussion. Bruce could only barely see the little ring of blue of his iris. Tim’s eyes were almost entirely black. His breathing was also heavier. The wide eyes, the strained breathing. It was the same look someone got when they were panicked. Or afraid.
Bruce felt something in him peek its head up with deep interest.
Bruce wrapped a hand around Tim's bare thigh, squeezing it experimentally and listening to Tim's soft hiss. Bruce’s palm was so much bigger, he could wrap it around half of Tim’s thigh. God he’d always been so much bigger than Tim. He could manhandle him, drag him to him if he wanted.
"Did that hurt?" Bruce asked, voice still heavy and strained with effort. Bruce’s throat was full of wadded tension that he swallowed.
"No." Tim replied with a slight strain, like he was reluctant, like he didn't mean it.
Something tugged at Bruce's brainstem at the word. At the no. Something that stoked the growing heat in Bruce’s gut. Bruce opened the lid of the thick, ointment-like balm, the one that turned to an oil with the warmth of his skin. Bruce rubbed his hands together, feeling the ointment melt, feeling it turn loose and slippery between his fingers.
Bruce didn’t stop to ask Tim before he wrapped a hand back around Tim’s thigh and massaged the flesh. He dug in expert fingers until Tim let out a soft whimper.
"Do you want me to make you feel better?" Bruce asked, voice heavy with...something. Even though he asked it didn’t feel like a question.
Tim whimpered. A soft, muffled sort of sound trapped behind his lips that were pressed so tightly together.
"N-no." Tim eventually replied, red blooming along his cheeks and down his chest.
Tim's eyes blinked slow and heavy until his eyes slipped closed and Bruce inched closer.
"Are you going to let me help you?" Bruce asked, voice deepening to a register that felt more familiar to Batman than Bruce.
Tim shakily sucked in a breath and-
"N-no. No I don't want your help, please-"
Bruce wasn't paying attention to Tim's bruises or scratches. The little glass jar he’d so carefully brought upstairs with him for Tim was discarded somewhere in the sheets. Bruce didn't know where, he was too focused on Tim.
On Tim and how soft his skin was as Bruce’s palms stroked along his thighs. On how Tim’s body trembled as Bruce’s hands drifted up to the hem of his shirt and tugged on the edge of the simple cotton panties and began tugging them down.
Bruce was being forward, his hands pawing and searchingly touching the soft, wet part of Tim’s little cunt. Bruce could feel as Tim pulsed under his fingers, as Tim's thighs shook around where Bruce had settled between his legs and pushing them open to fit him.
Tim was making little murmurs under his breath, eyes closed, and brows furrowed as Bruce trailed his fingers around his slick little entrance that made such sinful noises when Bruce probed just the slightest bit in-
"Stop" Tim panted. "Stop stop stop-"
Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, steadied his shaking arm and pressed two fingers into Tim's wet slit. Bruce felt the tight heat wrap around him, felt the tug and resistance as Tim’s fleshy insides parted around the oil-slicked fingers.
Tim arched slightly off the bed. His naked bottom lifted slightly off the mattress as his little socked heels dug into the blankets under them to push up. Tim’s brow furrowed, little pink mouth dropping open as he tilted his cheek to nuzzle the pillow under him.
"N-no! No! Bruce-" Bruce felt something like agony course through him at the words. His jaw was clenched so tight, his body was wound up with tension. His arm was shaking so hard with barely restrained desire.
Bruce’s body was overflowing with a restless drive so he shoved Tim's shirt further up his chest. The bit of cloth gathered under Tim’s chin, showing his soft, bare abdomen while Bruce’s other hand (the one not inside Tim), cupped and pinched Tim's exposed little tits.
Bruce squeezed and roughed up the flesh just to give his shaking fingers something to do. He left the skin red and distressed as he pressed in closer and ground his covered cock into Tim's wet seam.
Tim made a breathless whine.
"No, Bruce, no-"
Tim began shaking, trembling under him. Repeating no Bruce no Bruce like he was a misbehaving dog humping the furniture.
Bruce knew Tim was slurring his words, was shakily hiccuping and breaking every other word because he was just so overwhelmed. Because it just felt too good. Because he wanted Bruce.
It wasn't because he was afraid.
It wasn't because he didn't want this.
But still. Tim's words and the mixed signals from his body- they just did things to Bruce's brain. The squirming under him that felt like resistance. The broken whines and stuttered pleads that sounded like sobs, like Tim begging him for mercy.
Bruce had felt guilty about his thoughts that were like this.
He’d cursed himself and convinced himself there was something deeply wrong with him for desiring something like this.
A body squirming and crying under him, desperate to get away.
But they couldn’t because Bruce was too big, too strong, and they couldn't escape. They coudn’t get away.
Bruce knew it was wrong. Knew it was a branch of depraved that was considered one of the more extreme taboos.
He'd never tried it with a partner. Never.
He knew the kind of women he was attracted to. Strong and proud ones.
They'd never lower themselves to begging. They'd never give into the indignance of pretending to be a victim for Bruce.
They'd be insulted at the request, disgusted even.
It was why Bruce kept it to himself. Kept his shameful thoughts to himself. Bruce comforted himself with the fact that he was sickened by the thought of ever attempting something like it outside of a fantasy or thought.
Not in real life.
Not when he'd seen the aftermath on the streets so many times. Bruce should be more disgusted with himself than he was. To know what he knew, seen what he’d seen and still let his cock get hard at the thought of doing it to someone.
Sometimes...he couldn’t help but just think of it…
It was why he hated himself just a little bit more every time the desire reared his head and he touched himself to the thought of backing someone into a corner and using all his bulk to do what he wanted to them. Bruce had never done well withholding his own desires. He was spoiled, so used to the gratification of getting what he wanted since he was a child.
So…Bruce was more than a little interested in Tim than he should be-
He ignored the voice in his head that wouldn’t stop repeating that this was a bad idea.
-More than he usually was.
Because Tim was soft. His body was pliant and bent to Bruce's whims. Because every bit of Tim was so easy to spread and open and take.
Tim was warm…tight around Bruce’s fingers plugged inside him. And he was clinging to Bruce, his hands were shaking where they were wrapped around his shoulders with every agonizingly slow press of Bruce’s fingers into his sinfully tight, dripping cunt.
Tim was something out of Bruce’s wetdream.
His cunt was all sloppy and wet and straining against the size of two of Bruce’s fingers. The sight was obscene, the stretch of a delicate cunt straining to be filled by the smallest of himself Bruce could offer him.
Tim’s body was flinching and jolting as Bruce began curling a finger as he tugged it out of him, only to immediately sink it back in, pressing in deep enough that the soft pad of Bruce’s middle finger could feel the throb and smooth wall of Tim’s cervix.
Tim whined at every punishing push into him. His insides stretched around Bruce hand, rewarding every thrust the with loud, wet slaps of his cunt as Bruce fucked him with his fingers.
Sometimes Tim froze up, body going still like one of those deers in the headlights, when Bruce would suddenly shift above him and move them so he could get a better angle to fuck him better.
Bruce fixed Tim’s body, settling him with both his legs thrown over one of Bruce's shoulders. Tim’s hands were clinging to any bit of flesh he could dig his nails into to hold on, mouth open and just staring at Bruce with big eyes. Bruce was on his knees, holding Tim’s bottom slightly in the air and rocking into Tim’s bodywith long, purposeful strokes, meeting his eyes and holding his hips as he fucked his fingers deep and fast until Tim was twitching around him.
Until he was letting out soft, garbled 'unghh unghh hnngh' sounds like he couldn’t remember how to speak anymore with his cunt frothed and dripping all down to Bruce’s wrist.
Tim being struck silent was a particularly personal affront to Tim because he liked to talk. Between the two of them Tim was the most vocal, the most willing and able to fill the silences that would fall between them whe they were alone. The first time they’d fucked, that night they’d been alone in the manor, in Bruce’s room…he hadn’t hesitated to tell Bruce what he liked, to tell him to keep going, to fuck faster, deeper, harder-
Bruce shivered as Tim whined under him. He was twitching, throbbing around Bruce's fingers playing with his front, little pussy clamping onto the fingers and desperate to keep them in even as he cried, choking out with a strangled voice-
"No more! No more! It hurts-"
Bruce groaned over Tim, cock so achingly hard and throbbing that he could feel it dripping with precum like it was a broken faucet.
Bruce was panting audibly, he could hear himself in his ears as he ground his cock desperatly against Tim's shuddering cunt stuffed full of his fingers.
Bruce thrusts them in, down to the knuckle.
Tim's body jolted, flinching against the movement. Bruce crouched closer, his heart pounding in his chest.
His cock was aching with need to be inside Tim. To be buried in him and feel the hot, fluttering insides wrapped around his fingers.
Bruce pressed his fingers in harshly, spreading them, watching as Tim's pretty, red pussy strained to accommodate the stretch.
"Does that hurt?" Bruce asked, voice heavy with desire. He could feel his body coiled in anticipation at Tim's reply. There were tears beading in his eyes, his cheeks were stained red and he was squirming.
"Does that hurt Tim?" Bruce repeated, tone a little harder, a little more forceful. Like the tone he used in the field.
"Yes!" Tim cried, a little sob bursting out of him as he shook. Bruce felt his hot cunt go tight around his fingers and spasm uncontrollably.
Bruce shivered, want overflowing in him so much he almost couldn’t see straight.
"You want daddy to make you hurt?” Bruce asked, voice sounding alien to his own ears. “Do you?"
Bruce punctuated his question with a pointed thrust into Tim, curling his fingers to stroke his walls. Tim jolted and whined.
"You want him to destroy your little pussy?" Bruce's voice was a near growl. His other hand lowered Tim’s bottom back down to the mattress and drifted down to undo the drawstring of his pants and began tugging them down. Bruce shivered at the warm air as it hit his wet, dripping cock.
Fuck. Bruce had never been this hard before.
He hadn't even fucking touched himself and he was already leaking with precum over the bedsheets like a hormonal teenged boy.
"No!" Tim sobbed, head thrown back and tears streaming down his face "No! No! No!"
Bruce shook as he tugged out his dripping fingers. Tim’s cunt instinctively clenched around nothing. Bruce swallowed at the sight, voice going low and strained and certain.
"Daddy's going to fuck you-"
"No!"
"Yes he is."
Bruce steadied his grip on Tim's hips, carefully inched closer to Tim's entrance and looked up to stare at Tim's tear-filled eyes that were staring at him as near inaudible 'no no no's' were being whispered under his breath.
Bruce almost cooed at the sight before bracing for a second-
Then fucking all the way in with a single hard thrust.
Tim went still under him, eyes the size of dinnerplates.
"Yes. He. Is." Bruce snapped his hips into a sharp thrust with every word as Tim gasped and writhed with every push into him.
"Bruce," Tim let out the word with such a raspy voice like he was being choked, "Bruce, stop, stop, stop-"
Tim's voice was increasing in urgency.
Bruce could see as Tim's face was twisted in pleasure, mouth open, drool leaving a line down the side of his mouth, his legs desperately wrapped around Bruce's hips to keep him in even as he pleaded for Bruce to stop, to slow down, to get out of him-
Bruce felt as something seeped into him. He felt like he detached from his body, only able to watch as he pinned down Tim's hips, raised his his hips, and began fucking Tim.
Tim threw his head back and cried.
"Oh god! Bruce no more no more! Slower! Oh please go slower! I can't take it!"
Bruce buried his face into Tim's shoulder, groaning as he listened to Tim squirm under him, breathy voice pleading with Bruce to stop this, to slow down, that it hurt-
Bruce started fucking harder, faster, deeper.
Tim's hips arched up to meet his hard, relentless thrusts. Tim was panting in his ear, breathless, and whining with a strained voice.
Bruce pumped his cock into Tim's hot cunt, feeling as he split open his walls. As that tight pussy shivered around him, unable to handle his size.
Tim's body was so small under him, so easy to grab and manipulate and hold down.
Tim kept squirming under him, trying to get into a better position, trying to lift his hips so Bruce could sink in deeper. But with the words he was saying and how he was moving…
It felt more like he was trying to escape.
"Stop fighting." Bruce lowly whispered the order to the shell of Tim's ear. A rare tenderness followed and Bruce pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Tim’s head as he kept his steady thrusts. "Stop fighting and let me fuck you."
Tim went still for a moment, body tensing, and Bruce immediately sensed and knew what was coming. Knew it from the moment Tim's body refused to follow a direct order while Bruce tested him in the cave.
Tim couldn’t help but do the opposite of what he'd been ordered to do.
Bruce groaned, eyes briefly rolling back as Tim tried desperately to buck him off. His legs kicked at either side of him, trying to gain enough leverage to throw Bruce off him. Tim grunted with effort as his hands pressed on Bruce's chest, nails digging and as tried to shove him off.
He was fighting Bruce so fiercely. Fighting like he didn't want this.
Tim hoarsely sobbed into his ears and told him to stop, stop, stop.
Bruce laid his weight onto Tim, pinned down his hands and fucked into Tim with twice the fervor he did before.
Bruce felt like something had unclasped in him. Something primal and beastlike running free inside him as he groaned and grunted like he’d never been so desperate to fuck in his life. Swirling heat boiled in his gut, burning through him like a fever as he gulped air like it would be his last breath.
Tim stretched so beautifully for him, his cunt sucking him in with wet gushing noises and letting him bottom out despite Tim's words crying about not wanting this, about hating this, about hating Bruce.
"I ...I h-hate you-" Tim breathed out as he keened when Bruce roughly stroked his clit with a cruel thumb. "I hate you, I hate you- oh god, fuck I hate you so fucking much-"
Bruce lapped up the hot tears streaming down Tim's sweetly pink cheeks.
He hummed his acknowledgment into Tim's brows, chest purring like a lion as he littered gentle kisses onto the skin.
Tim sobbed and shook under him, trembling like a bird in the snow.
Bruce groaned as he sank in deep, felt his balls slap Tim's wet cunt and stayed there. He felt Tim twitch around him, felt his hot pussy walls clamp down and try to keep him inside.
Tim was straining under him, caught between sobbing and trying to squirm away from him. Bruce just wrapped a hand around his waist and used his hard-earned strength to keep Tim pinned to him.
Bruce groaned into Tim's cheek as the bit of wiggling had Tim thrusting up and down on his cock.
"Good boy," Bruce breathed, "such a good boy- you want this so badly don't you?"
"N-no!" Tim's voice was thick with his sobs and tears as Bruce kissed his parted mouth, licking in and tasting the sweet slickness of Tim's saliva.
"You love me fucking you, don't you? You little slut."
Tim weakly twitched under him and nodded his head even as he croaked out, "No I don't, I hate it, I hate it so much-"
Bruce's cock had been steadily dripping cum the entire time. His balls were clenched tight and aching and Bruce could feel as he was right at the edge-
Tim's pussy was so perfect for him, accommodating him so well and letting Bruce batter the walls as he began to pull back and sharply thrust in.
Tim yelped and clung to Bruce as he began panting out low orders to his ears.
"I'm so close, just be quiet Tim, alright?-"
"Don't let anyone in the house know what we're doing, okay? Just a little longer okay, I'm almost done. Daddy's almost done and then he'll cum inside you, alright?"
Tim's cries got louder.
Louder and louder until he was almost screaming Bruce's name. Pleading for him to slow down, that it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, can't someone help him? Please!
Tim suddenly let out a sharp cry and threw his head back. Bruce grunted as he felt Tim tighten like a vice around him, hard enough that he could barely move but Bruce just fucked. Harder.
Tim let out punctuated 'ah ah ah's' with every push of Bruce's cock. Bruce’s grip on his hips was so tight and bringing him down to meet his thrusts so hard Tim was getting flopped around like a rag doll.
Tim was panting. Red-faced. Out of breath. Almost delirious with pleasure as Bruce felt Tim's little clit throb weakly under his fingers.
"Nnhg B-Bruce-" Tim's voice was dry and raspy. His brows were furrowed as he let out occasional gasps. "Nngh n-not inside, please."
Bruce felt his eyes close. His breaths grow heavier, his thighs burn with lactic acid as he sank into that sloppy, wet pussy.
Bruce could hear the 'squelches' in his ears as he felt his balls tighten until it was almost painful.
"Not inside!" Tim sobbed. Fresh tears were streaming down his cheeks and his forehead was creased from the oversimulation of Bruce bullying his little clitty. "No! Not inside! Not inside! Please! Please Bruce!"
Tim was begging Bruce not to cum in him. To not to ruin him further.
Bruce almost cried as he came, scrambling to stuff inside Tim as deep as he could go. He groaned something low and animal as he felt his cum shoot into Tim.
He knew it was pooling right at the entrance of his tender, little womb.
The thought fills Bruce with so much animalistic satisfaction that he humped into Tim's slutty hole while listening to his whines. Bruce bit and kissed the pretty, pink tits in front of him. Sucking and kissing hard enough to leave bruises before shoving his tongue into that exhausted little mouth.
Bruce hummed into it, as the kiss grew sloppy and thick with spit that frothed down their chins.
Tim whimpered occasionally, his body slow and unreactive as Bruce tugged his softened cock out and let it rest against the seam of Tim's well-used pussy.
"You're mine." Bruce whispered to him, affection blooming so thickly in his chest he could barely breathe. "Say you're mine. Say you'll always be mine."
Tim's eyes were heavy with sleep, eyelids barely able to stay open as he was nodding off, as his mouth opened and-
"N-no." He mumbled, mouth weak and voice so weak he could barely raise it above a whisper. "Not yours. W-will never be yours."
Bruce shivered at the words and tightened his grip on Tim's hip. His wet cock, spent and tired, got pressed back into Tim's little hole with a bit of manuevering.
Bruce was going to keep it there for the night. Tucked inside a nice warm hole where it belonged. Plugged in until Tim's pussy never forgot the shape of Bruce's cock.
Until he never forgot that his cunt was Bruce's. His tits, his mouth, his body, his everything was Bruce's.
Maybe Bruce should be horrified.
Maybe the weight of what he's done should be sitting like a stone in his stomach.
His guilt should keep him awake along with the anticipation of morning because by morning, Tim would be back to normal.
He'd be back to normal and would know how much Bruce loved fucking him while acting like he didn't want it. He’d know the things Bruce said to him and how much he liked Tim fighting against him.
Maybe Bruce should be more mortified.
More concerned about how Tim wasn't disturbed by this.
Instead, Bruce settled in. He tightened his grip on Tim's hip and tucked Tim's sweet head under his chin.
He breathed in deeply and slept without a single thing weighing on his mind.