A good question. One he doesn't think he has an answer for. Violence is only a part, and he isn't sure if it's a symptom or a motivating factor, anymore. The simplest truth is that he is too in the habit of it all. He's been this way for so long that he doesn't know how to do anything else. Superman has fundamentally shifted him, but those shifts don't go as far as his sex life.
Imagine if they did. Sorry, I'm vanilla now because an alien was nice to me.
Christ.
Bruce chucks the tangle of straps beneath the other man and straightens his spine out, aligning his head, his shoulders. Holding him with a palm flat in the center of his chest for a moment, pressing up, almost like he's trying to lift him, but really just seeing what it makes his shoulderblades do as he jams a thumb under one on his back. People who do this all have their own tricks and quirks. One of Bruce's is perfectly precise physical arrangement. Less risk of injury means prolonged activity, increased recovery time. And more security felt, in the midst of it.
So. He goes about getting a harness on him, folding things over, wrapping them around, snug and correct. As he works his own erection pushes against John's hip, and after he gets the main shape done, he tugs on the cross-section over his ribcage with one hand and gropes over his ass with the other. Ranking nails over his skin, dragging his touch lower to press up behind his balls, too firm to be teasing, but too slow to get anywhere.
He pinches him at the sensitive juncture of groin and thigh. Hard. Cheeky smack to one globe of bum after.
"What keeps you going?"
Pushing him down now, ass still up, face on the mattress.
no subject
A good question. One he doesn't think he has an answer for. Violence is only a part, and he isn't sure if it's a symptom or a motivating factor, anymore. The simplest truth is that he is too in the habit of it all. He's been this way for so long that he doesn't know how to do anything else. Superman has fundamentally shifted him, but those shifts don't go as far as his sex life.
Imagine if they did. Sorry, I'm vanilla now because an alien was nice to me.
Christ.
Bruce chucks the tangle of straps beneath the other man and straightens his spine out, aligning his head, his shoulders. Holding him with a palm flat in the center of his chest for a moment, pressing up, almost like he's trying to lift him, but really just seeing what it makes his shoulderblades do as he jams a thumb under one on his back. People who do this all have their own tricks and quirks. One of Bruce's is perfectly precise physical arrangement. Less risk of injury means prolonged activity, increased recovery time. And more security felt, in the midst of it.
So. He goes about getting a harness on him, folding things over, wrapping them around, snug and correct. As he works his own erection pushes against John's hip, and after he gets the main shape done, he tugs on the cross-section over his ribcage with one hand and gropes over his ass with the other. Ranking nails over his skin, dragging his touch lower to press up behind his balls, too firm to be teasing, but too slow to get anywhere.
He pinches him at the sensitive juncture of groin and thigh. Hard. Cheeky smack to one globe of bum after.
"What keeps you going?"
Pushing him down now, ass still up, face on the mattress.