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Hot Boys Drive Fast Cars

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Just where he'd left it, the Batmobile gleamed in the faltering light of the streetlamp above. It was too flashy to take out often, a beacon giving away his location, but flushing out those car thieves had been worth it. 

Now they were in cuffs, the stolen property returned to the right places, and Bruce was ready for a leisurely drive home.

Would be, if not for the scuff marks around the door. They hadn't been there when he'd left it. He ran his fingers along the seam, collating the evidence and piecing together a hypothesis. Similar tools to the car thieves, though not so practiced. An amateur, perhaps, who hadn't quite managed to spring such a lofty target. 

Bruce unlocked the door cautiously, giving the interior a scan before locking the door behind him. All as it had been left. They hadn't managed to get in. 

The engine revved, burners flaring to life, and that tingle of excitement and adrenaline the sound pulsed into his veins every time flared with them. He peeled out of the alley, bouncing over a curb and onto the streets, a car in the lane beside swerving unnecessarily and laying on the horn. 

Bruce kicked the car into gear, steering along the streets like his own personal racetrack, invitingly empty at this desolate hour. He drifted through turns, raced through red lights, revelling in the power of the engine and the adrenaline of speed. 

It was almost a pity to pull into the Batcave's garage, to kill the purring engine. 

"Nothing sexier than a boy with a fast car." 

Bruce startled, twisting in his seat to face the voice in the backseat, blade pulled. 

The smug face of Edward Nashton greeted him, fingers wiggling in a little wave. "Hey, there, partner." 

"You." 

"Me!" Nashton grinned, leaning an elbow onto the passenger seat and a cheek on his hand. "I'm so glad you remember me! Seeing as you abandoned me in that hellhole, told me I was nothing and threw me away, as though I hadn't devoted myself to you and your cause, no, not even a single little visit once you'd gotten what you wanted! I was heartbroken, you know?!" 

Nashton was getting too worked up. Bruce sought the door handle behind him, feeling for the lock. His protective gloves offered little in the way of delicate operations, and it failed him now. 

"But! But but but but but-" Nashton crawled over him, ignoring the blade of the batarang pressed to his chest. He knew full well Bruce wouldn't hurt him, not fatally, never fatally. He reached for the door, putting his small hand beneath Bruce's, blocking the means of egress, perching with one knee on the center console. He brought his face in close, cheek pressed to Bruce's, so his lips brushed the tender skin. "You have a chance to change all that, now. You can repent! I just need to hear them, those three little words. Do you know what they are?" 

There were many options, many three-word phrases the Riddler may want to hear. With his proven affinity for puzzles and wordplay, the list grew even longer. 

Bruce worried it was the most obvious string that he wanted. 

"I am sorry?" Bruce guessed, pressing as close to the door, as far from the Riddler, as he could get. 

"Good guess!" Nashton complimented. "But not quite the one I wanted." 

He drew nearer, climbing into the driver's seat, knees boxing Bruce in to either side. The batarang was more a hazard, now, than a deterrent, and Bruce abandoned it. It clattered to the car floor, giving him a free hand to press to Edward's chest, desperate to keep a bit of breathing room between them. 

"Have another guess?"

He had one, but he didn't want to say it. He didn't think Edward would accept it stated insincerely, anyway. 

"It's alright. I can think of ways to jog your mind. It's what I do, isn't it? Make you better? Direct all that power and that anger into something sharper?" 

Bruce swallowed. "I don't want to be shaped by someone like you." 

There was a genuine sadness in Edward's eyes. "That's a pity. I so want to be shaped by you." 

His hands slid onto Bruce's face, holding him like a priceless artefact, delicate but firm. He moved slowly, letting his nose brush against Bruce's, like he was giving Bruce a chance to fight back, to say 'no', even though every facet of the situation solidified just how little choice he really had in the matter. 

When Edward's lips brushed against his, he took it as a penance. For what he'd said. For what he'd failed to say. For what he'd done and failed to do. If this was what it took to pacify him-

Edward had reached down to the toggles on the seat's edge, and Bruce was being lowered, slowly, inch by terrifying inch, into a steep recline, Edward hovering over him and refusing to relent on his increasingly-insistent kisses. A tongue licked into his mouth, the harsh press of fingers keeping him from shying away. There was a whimper, from one of them, source lost in the heated contact, and Edward ground down into him, cock to hardened cock.

"Eager for it already, huh?" Edward teased. "Me, too." 

His hips ground roughly into Bruce's, rocking the conspicuous hardness against Bruce's armored stomach, the swell of his ass against the protective cup painfully squeezing his cock. 

"I've been eager for it for so long, you know? Imagined how this day would come. Thought it would be earlier, of course, that you would see reason when it was shown to you, when you followed along with my plans, but, well, I can see now that you need a bit more convincing."

Bruce's hands hovered over Edward's hips, wanting to push him off, terrified he might pull him closer instead, and frozen by the indecision of it. He could only watch, mouth dry with either horror or something he refused to name, as Edward sat back, tugging off his coat and pinching at his raised nipples through the fabric of his wrinkled button-up. 

"We want the same things, after all, don't we? Justice, a better Gotham… a good lay. With someone who understands, of course, with someone who we can be fully ourselves with." 

The shirt fell free, wrenched roughly enough over Edward's head, his glasses were knocked askew and his hair thoroughly ruffled. 

"I want to know every part of you, as intimately as possible. Your hopes, your fears, your big, hard, throbbing… intellect."

Edward giggled. His fingers toyed with Bruce's belt. Bruce's fingers dug into his hips, in encouragement or warning, he didn't know which. 

"Don't you feel it, too? How wonderful we could be together? Two like minds, our bodies as one?"

The weight of the belt helped Edward wrench Bruce's pants free, like the fabric itself was eager for them to touch. The jock and his boxers were tugged down swiftly after, Edward too impatient to play coy, and Bruce let out an embarrassingly-loud groan of relief. 

"Oh, you poor thing," Edward tutted, his small hands working together to pump Bruce's long cock. Just out of synch, uncoordinated, the touch had his fingers curling in his heavy boots. "This looks so painful!"

He left a sympathetic little kiss to the purpling crown of it, the cold puff of laughter from his little button nose tingling across his overheated skin. 

"I know what will make him feel better, don't you worry. Your Riddler has just what the doctor ordered." 

Edward crawled back into Bruce's lap, kicking his pants off as he went. He reached behind himself, sighing out a long whine, then waved the product of his effort for Bruce to see- a wide, green plug, still slick and wet. 

"I think I was a little enthusiastic with this one, but I wanted to be ready, even if you were big. Really big. God, you're going to feel great." 

He swiped a hand across the toy, then up Bruce's cock. With only one hand, the practiced rhythm of a serial masturbator was evident, Edward playing with Bruce's cock with a finesse matched only by Bruce's own right hand. 

"I spent the whole time I was waiting for you preparing myself. I imagined you coming back too early, catching me in the act. I wouldn't have time to hide, to duck and flatten and blend with the floorboard, and you'd see me there, cock out, fingers in my ass, moaning like a whore for you. Fuck." 

Bruce's cock slid home so easily, like Edward had been custom-made just to fit it. They groaned together, Bruce's nails digging into Edward's back, Edward's breath blowing hot into his neck. Sloppy kisses peppered across the thin material stretched across his throat, Edward too full of cock for coordination, and Bruce bucked up into him, reminding him to move, damnit, just move!

Edward sat back, catching his breath. He squeezed around Bruce inside of him, delighting in the prize he'd claimed. He rocked and swayed, bouncing with the impatient bucking of Bruce's hips, holding the situation in the palm of his hands and refusing to relinquish it, ever the puppetmaster. 

He locked his knees around Bruce's sides, digging them in as though guiding a particularly stubborn horse, and lifted himself, so damned slowly. 

The sudden drop after knocked the breath from Bruce's lungs. 

"Good, right?" Edward laughed, then repeated the motion. "God, that's fantastic. Feels like you're in my lungs. Fuck, that's hot." 

He started up a tentative pace after that, perhaps taking pity on Bruce, perhaps simply growing tired of teasing. With each downstroke, Bruce thrust up to meet him, feeling the bounce of his ass with each particularly hard go. If this was how Edward had pitched their partnership, before the murders… well, Bruce may not have been so resolute. 

He could feel his resolve draining, now, like a meter on the dashboard, spinning down to zero, where he wouldn't care to deliver Edward back to custody, or to extract him from the cave, or even to leave this car ever again. All he needed was to come inside the man smothering him, to moan into his luxuriating kisses, to hold him closer, closer, closer, until his nails drew blood from these sinfully sexy hips. 

With a sharp cry, Edward finished first, staining the armor across Bruce's chest, white seed spilling into those hard-to-clean grooves where he may never fully scrape it out. Every time he wore the suit, he'd be forced to remember fucking Edward in it, the come always just under the grit and the blood, a claim to the Bat marked for all to see, anytime a blacklight shone over the armor. 

It shouldn't have been so arousing a thought. 

His teeth dug into Edward's shoulder, pressing red divets into the skin to match those at his hips, filling his ass until his cock stopped twitching, too soft to keep fucking into him. Edward whined, thighs squeezing tightly around him, his own cock giving a pitiful twitch as though in sympathy. 

"I should bring you in," Bruce gasped, catching his breath between pressing his lips to the bloody marks his teeth had left. 

"You probably should," Edward sang, nuzzling into the protective thickness of his mask. 

"You deserve to be in there. Locked up." 

Edward shivered. "Ooh, sounds like you want to punish me. Can't say I'm entirely opposed." 

"You're depraved."

"Hah, give me a minute to recover before you say sexy things like that. I'm only human." 

Bruce kissed and bit across Edward's neck, licking a long stripe through the sweat and the blood and rolled them over into the passenger seat, Edward pinned beneath him. He waited, eyes wide, a small smile on his thin lips. 

"One minute, then." Bruce ground into Edward, watching the tiny cock give a weak twitch. "I'll be counting."