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“Swallow.”
His voice is deceptively even as he looks down at where Hal is on his knees in front of him, mouth stretched wide over nearly all of his cock. He fucks his hips forward until he can feel the spastic squeeze of Hal’s gag reflex around the sensitive head, and uses his grip of Hal’s hair to hold him there, with his nose pressed against his pelvis and tears streaming down his face.
Through it all, Hal looks up at him through wet lashes. He chokes, moans, and swallows around him like he’s been told to do and keeps eye contact until Bruce grunts and pulls at his hair as he comes hot and quick down his throat.
Hal wants so desperately to pull away, to breathe; to unclench his fists from where they are locked behind his back by a simple order. He wants to not move from where he is, with Bruce’s softening cock resting on his tongue and his hand now massaging gentle circles into his hair. He wants .
Bruce doesn’t give him what he wants. He gives him what he needs. Unfailingly.
He slides his cock free from Hal’s mouth with a slick ‘pop’ and crouches down in front of him, wiping his thumb across the corner of Hal’s mouth and picking up a tiny drop of his own come. He presses the come dirty finger against Hal’s swollen bottom lip, rubbing it into his skin and smirking at the weak moan he gets in reply.
“Tell me,” Bruce starts, hand falling to rest against Hal’s throat, fingers curling just slightly. “Have you been a good boy?”
Hal’s entire body shudders, as if being shocked, and he presses forward into Bruce’s palm. He gives a jerky nod and tries, and fails, to pull himself together. Bruce raises an eyebrow in return, grip tightening a fraction before disappearing entirely. Hal whines.
“I asked you a question.”
Hal’s eyes slide shut and he draws in a shaky breath, fingers curling and uncurling behind his back. He releases with another slow nod, eyes slitting open so he can once more look up at Bruce through his lashes. “Yes, sir.”
He’s rewarded with the return of Bruce’s hand on his throat, thumb applying a gentle pressure to his Adam’s apple. He whines a low sound and swallows convulsively, breathing picking up. He wants this. He needs this. He’s been a good boy; he deserves this.
“Count with me, Hal.” Bruce’s voice drops to a low, soothing tone. He ghosts his other hand across Hal’s chest and pinches a nipple. Hal’s moan vibrates through his hand and he can’t help but feel blessed that he trusts him enough to do this. “Count with me.”
He squeezes and Hal’s body jolts again, his cock twitching against his belly. He’s wet as hell, and Bruce licks his lips at the thought of just tasting it. He counts.
They both know Hal’s limits, just as they both know that Bruce will stop at the first sign of Hal safe wording – or in this case, simply moving – out. They both know, and yet the danger is still there.
The first time Hal asked Bruce to do this, face flushed and unable to meet his eye, he sounded distraught. As if he’d already heard the word “no” from Bruce before he’d even asked. He was shocked into silence when he was told yes. Ground rules were set, and practices were had.
It was slow going at first, they were both new to it, new to each other, and they had a lot of learning to do.
Now, Bruce presses a soft kiss to the corner of Hal’s gasping mouth and curls his free hand around his cock, pumping slowly. It doesn’t take long until Hal’s struggling weakly against him, hips fucking up into the tight circle of Bruce’s fist.
Hal’s vision is growing dark, and every breath he tries to take in feels like his last. It’s heaven and he knows he’s seconds away from coming his brains out or unconsciousness. Both, probably both. His stomach clenches and he grits his teeth, there are fresh tears running down his face and he just needs .
It’s beautiful, watching Hal completely fall apart in front of him. Because of him.
He let’s go of both Hal’s throat and his cock, watching as it jerks while he comes all over himself, thick streaks dripping down his thighs and onto the plush carpet beneath him. He moans, his voice already sounding hoarse and totally wrecked, and lurches forward. Bruce catches him in his arms, kisses his forehead.
“You were so good for me, Hal,” he whispers into his hairline, “Come back to me.”
This is Bruce’s favourite part.
Hal is quiet against him, breath fanning across his chest with every exhale. Bruce rubs a hand down his spine in a continuous, repetitive motion, his other hand cards though Hal’s hair, scratches soothingly across his scalp. Hal breathes deep and shifts closer to him, his arms finally falling from their position behind him to rest at his sides. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in sync.
“You with me?”
Hal groans quietly in reply, burrowing his face further into Bruce’s chest. When he finally answers, it’s a whisper, “Thank you.”
Bruce laughs, kissing Hal’s forehead, his hair, anywhere he can reach without moving them both too much. “No, thank you .”
They’ll move to the bed soon, later. Now, they will sit and enjoy each other a little more.