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you're buried in the pillow

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"Who would've thought that Bruce Wayne was such a bitch?" Edward giggles breathlessly as he fucks his hips forward, loud moans catching on his teeth. He's got Bruce lying on his front below him; his head and shoulders slumped into the pillows, arms limp by his sides, up on his knees. Edward's obsessed with the way that his back muscles tense, the way his ass looks, pushed out like this. Edward wants to trace them or leave marks on them. Hell, he wants to fucking cum on them, really mark them — but he won't. Not today, at least.

It's early morning. Bruce came to Edward's dingy flat only a few mere hours ago, barging into the apartment once the door cracked open. He was all over Edward in seconds, the door slamming shut behind them, and Edward knew that he wasn't getting any work done tonight.

And he hadn't, other than a small work-out with the effort he'd put into fucking into Bruce as hard and fast as he could. It tired them both out. Bruce melted into the dirty sheets with a whine as his spent cock brushed over the scratchy mattress cover, and Edward slumped next to him with a dazed grin-smile.

Then, they fell asleep.

That was maybe four hours ago at most. Bruce was fucking insatiable, waking Edward up with begs and pleads and even moving to straddle him, ride him. Who was Edward to deny such manners?

Which brings them to now — Edward, unable to resist marking up Bruce's back and Bruce weakly snapping his hips back to meet Edward's thrusts.

"Shit, Bruce, I'm so close —" Edward pants, mewling into Bruce's shoulderblades. Bruce moans quietly below him and arches his back, his legs spreading wider, almost drooling onto the pillows. Edward is obsessed with this man, his looks, his everything. "God, oh, you feel so good," he whines.

Bruce's arm shuffles to grip his own weeping cock, groaning in relief at the pressure of his tight hand. He shouts weakly when Edward hits his prostate dead-on, pre beading at the head. The sound of Bruce's hand is audible even though the sound of Edward fucking harshly into him is probably audible to the damn neighbours.

"Fuck, Edward," Bruce cries hoarsely, and that's all Edward needed as his hips jerk, thighs shaking as he cums deep in Bruce's ass. Bruce follows seconds after, shoving his face into the pillow to muffle himself as he spills all over Edward's beyond ruined sheets for a second time.

Edward pulls out with a hiss. "Stay like that for me, Brucie," he mumbles, leaning over to his bedside drawer. Bruce doesn't look as Edward opens it; all he can do is focus on not letting his body go entirely boneless, not fall against the sheets and start snoring. He exhales shakily when he feels Edward's fingers trail up his thigh.

And he whines when he feels Edward pushing his cum back into Bruce's abused hole, jerking his hips away. He's sore.

"Shh," Edward coos, slowly pushing the plug he's grabbed into Bruce, giving his hip a small kiss. Like a reward, or something. The skin there tingles.


"You're gonna keep that in for as long as you can for me, Bruce," Edward tells him, finally letting Bruce bury himself back in the foul sheets. "Can you do that for me, Brucie?" he whispers, coming up behind Bruce, slotting himself against the man.

"I — I've got... work," Bruce argues weekly, his cheeks warm at the thought.

"For as long as you can," Edward repeats himself. "Even just until before you leave here, if you so please." Because this has got to be the biggest fantasy of Edward's. He'll be jerking himself to the thought of Bruce going about with cum plugged up his ass no matter how long Bruce lasts, already getting hot at the thought of it. Shit, maybe he won't get any work done later on at his literal job, either.

"Okay," Bruce replies weakly, melting into the bed. They're both asleep within minutes.



Bruce is gone when Edward wakes up. When he wakes up, far later than he should've, with fifteen minutes to get ready and try to hail a cab in this nightmare city.

With no extra time to search to see if Bruce has left the plug here, or if he's gone out with it in. Edward purposefully puts on the cargo shorts that are a size too big for him, because he's not trying to be caught with a boner at work. He might have to take a long bathroom break.

He hauls ass to his job, saying hellos to colleagues he could care less about given what's on his mind. And he sits daydreaming for most of the day, being chided multiple times. Edward apologies profusely and then goes straight back to staring at his work and thinking about the billionaire he had in his bed earlier.

He hauls ass home, too, tempted to run like a maniac through the streets of Gotham to get back to his apartment quicker. Everything in Edward's hands along with his coat is dropped beside the door, hastily locking it before he walks further into his apartment.

After searching in a few places, ones where the plug would absolutely be, Edward finds it nowhere.

And fuck, his cock is out of his cargo shorts faster than ever. He spits into his hand, making quick work of jerking himself off, wailing out when he cums less than a minute later. All to the thought of sweet Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham walking around doing his daily rich-folk business with Edward's cum plugged up his ass. To the thought of the plug probably pressing deeper every time he pitifully shuffles in his seat at some important meeting, stifling that beautiful whine that he does —

Or even just in his own home. Hard in his slacks but knowing that he can do nothing about it, shifting in his chair on purpose, wishing that it was Edward's cock...

Fuck, he's got a semi despite the fact he came mere minutes ago.

Edward falls onto his bed, still holding his sensitive cock, slowly stroking himself again. He's got to make this last. God, fuck, he hopes that Bruce comes back tonight. All needy and full with Edward's cum. He could fuck it back into Bruce, maybe keep two loads in him —

There's a knock at his door. Edward grips his base with a frustrated kick of his legs, hastily tucking himself back into his shorts and pushing himself up off of the bed.

And when he swings the door open, ready to give whatever asshole it is his worst attitude, he sees —

Bruce Wayne, with a truly pitiful pleading look already on his face.

Oh, fuck. This is going to be fun.