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what a wicked game to play

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It starts with him gripping the arms of his chair at an outdoors brunch.

Bruce is only there because he needs to make nice with a potential parter for WayneTech. They're working on a new device that could easily incorporate itself all over the world. And, as Edward had put it before he left that morning, Bruce wanted to "get his grubby little rich-boy hands all over it".

Which... wasn't untrue. Except his hands are not grubby.

Bruce isn't here on business, though — no. He's merely buttering these guys up to make future advances easier. Bruce Wayne knows how to be friendly, and he can tell that his charms and boyish smile are working. He knows how to appeal to rich assholes like these. Plus, if he can side them with WayneTech, then the first bids will all be secured. Bruce won't even have to talk to them again; just chuck his money at their products.

Some of those are Edward's words.

Bruce is listening intently to a story two of the men are currently recalling; an old trip they went on, full of bizarre sightings and fond memories. He's close to envying their close pasts until a sudden buzz makes him tense in his seat.

Oh, fuck.

Nobody at the table notices his faltering or the way he abruptly (but quietly, of course) puts down his drink. Bruce spreads his legs a little, thankful that this table isn't made out of glass and has a tablecloth, and exhales slowly.

"— and so we tell her, no, you can't do that!" One of the man finishes the story, laughter erupting from everybody seated. Bruce agitatedly realises that he's missed the most important part of the story and laughs along.

He shouldn't of listened to Edward this morning. Bruce shuffles in his seat and takes a large gulp of his water.

"So, Bruce — any lucky ladies in your life?"

No. There's a man, but he's going to be very unlucky when Bruce next sees him.

"I'm afraid not," he chuckles, smile on his face. "I'm a busy, busy guy."

"Oh, we all are. But there's always eye-candy, at the very least," one chuckles loudly. Bruce hides his grimace with another phony smile.

The buzzing goes up a notch. Bruce wipes a hand over his face and subtly raises his hips. There's a chance that he's going to cream his incredibly expensive slacks if Edward turns the setting any higher.

It stays like that until the end of the brunch. Bruce is glad that his palms aren't clammy as he shakes hands and fake laughs at poor parting jokes. He's still got a day ahead of him. Bruce can see Alfred waiting in the limo for him through the gate of this establishment, a dim reminder of everything else to do.

"Gentlemen," he nods, seeing them all off and having his back patted far too many times. When Bruce climbs into his own limo, his cheeks are lightly flushed and he's half-hard. He keeps his thighs clenched together for the entire ride home.

Edward would probably kill to seem him right now — that's the only thing that keeps him from locking himself in a bathroom and wrapping a hand around himself.

.

"Master Bruce, are you feeling okay?" Alfred inquires once they're back at the Manor, stood in the large foyer.

And, oh, yeah. Bruce is feeling great. Because halfway through the ride home the vibrations went up another notch, making Bruce muffle a whine into his sleeve. His legs had started to ache with how hard he was pressing them together.

"Just fine, thanks, Albert. I'll be down for dinner," he pulls a tight smile, quickly ascending the stairs to his office. He still has responsibilities, he thinks as he gets out of his suit jacket and dress-shirt, changing into a black sweater. He's got to sign off for fundraisers, get back to donation requests that he's guiltily been letting pile up, and try not to think about the damn vibrator pressing on his prostate.

It's been a pretty normal day, Bruce muses grimly to himself, stifling another embarrassing noise when he sits down in his office chair.

Shit. At least he's not in public anymore.

.

"Fuck," Bruce whines quietly, his forehead resting on his desk and his hands in his own hair. His pen rolls onto the floor, ink askew on the paper that he was halfway through signing. Up until the vibrator buzzed up to its highest setting, turning Bruce to mush with far too much ease. His legs repeatedly twitch, fingers flexing in his hair as he tries to get himself under control.

A few minutes of struggling to relax later, and it's going well — he's managed to stay still, no longer squirming against the toy and his noises quietened from continuous lip biting.

Up until there's a knock on his study door, reminding Bruce that he said he'd be down for dinner.

"Oh, god," he mumbles hoarsely to himself before clearing his throat, sitting up and trying to act like he's not losing himself. "Come in."

"Dinner is ready, Master Bruce," Alfred informs after he's opened the door, his posture normal, much unlike Bruce's.

"Thank you," he mumbles, nodding his head downwards, a signal for Alfred to leave. Which he does, leaving the door ajar.

Bruce stands up when he knows that Alfred is corridors away, immediately falling forward. He catches himself with his forearms loudly hitting his desk and a punched-out moan muffling in his sleeve.

Edward's a sadistic bastard for this. Not that Bruce isn't enjoying every torturous second.

He feels like rolling down the stairs when he gets to them. Bruce knows that the friction of his slacks tight against his cock is going to drive him insane walking down them. He should have an elevator installed. He'll write that down if his brain doesn't go sloppy from pleasure before he can manage to.

"Lobster thermidor," Alfred announces when Bruce has managed to make it to the dining room. He nods, walking as normally as he can to his seat. "Will that be all, Master Bruce?"

"Yes. Thank you, Alfred," he smiles genuinely, watching as Alfred exits the room. When he does, Bruce presses his palm over his cock, biting the inside of his sleeve as he grinds up against himself. Fucking hell, why hasn't Edward turned it down yet?

He snaps his hand away with a small huff, feeling his cock pulse in its confines. Bruce picks up his knife and fork and cuts into his food, half imagining it to be Edward's stupid, smug smile.

.

"You have a visitor," Alfred says as he walks back into the dining room. Bruce has barely touched his food, more picking at it and aimlessly cutting it up for the past ten minutes.

"Who?" Bruce asks gruffly, leg bouncing under the table. He feels sore.

"A Mister Nygma. I was hesitant to let him in, but he insisted he wait in your bedroom for you," Alfred relays with a frown. "I assume he is up there right now."

Bruce is up and out of his seat in seconds, walking swiftly past his butler with a muttered Okay, thanks.

He's gonna fucking kill Edward when he sees him.

Unless his legs give out.

.

"So good to see you, Bru —"

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up," Bruce mutters angrily, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Edward is stood in the middle of the room, filthy shoes on Bruce's expensive carpet and he just wants to get off. He couldn't care less about anything else. Killing Ed can wait for millenias if it means that Bruce gets to cum in the next ten minutes.

"Well, someone's all worked —"

Bruce shuts him up with a harsh kiss, big hands framing Edward's face and his glasses digging into both of their cheeks.

"Please, turn it off," he begs weakly, resting his forehead against Edward's. "Please, Eddie, I can't —"

"Shh, Bruce," Edward whispers, kissing him again. Bruce feels the vibrator go down a couple of notches, hears the click of the remote in Edward's hand, and he cries with relief.

"Knees," Edward mumbles, and Bruce goes down immediately, running his hands up along Edward's back. He buries his face into the other's hipbone and whispers pleads that are probably inaudible to Eddie. "Sit back, Bruce," Edward orders.

Bruce listens with dejected movements and watches Edward move to sit on the edge of the bed.

"C'mere."

Bruce crawls to him, settling between Edward's spread legs, burying his face into Eddie's thigh this time. He whines against the fabric covering them and lets his wrists cross behind his back without instruction to.

What a sight, Edward thinks.

"Tell me about your day, Bruce," he hums, getting two fingers under Bruce's chin, making the man look up at him. He already looks checked-out. Edward clicks the vibrator to the lowest setting and strokes Bruce's jaw. "You wanna tell me about your day?"

Bruce tilts his head to nose at Edward's palm, nodding against it.

"I had a brunch with... these guys," he starts, so vague that it makes Edward chuckle. "The possible business partners. You turned it on when two of them were — oh, god..." Bruce inhales sharply, head falling down as Edward clicks the second lowest setting.

"You're doing good, Bruce. I turned it on when what?" Edward encourages, stroking his hand through soft strands of hair. Bruce exhales slowly before continuing.

"When they were telling a story. Made me miss the damn part before the punchline. Then you turned it up another setting like two — fuck — two minutes later," he mumbles, letting Edward pull his head back with a grip in his hair. "I hated you today," Bruce informs matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure," Edward smiles and leans forward, pressing their cheeks together. "I'm also sure that you're just dripping in your boxers right now, Bruce. So, the quicker you recite your day, the sooner you'll cum," Edward mumbles, directly into Bruce's ear. He shivers.

"Ed —"

"What next?" Edward demands, sitting back up. Bruce lets out a defeated little whimper, looking down.

"In the limo ride back home was when you upped it again," he relays shakily. "I was ready to cum then and there. Had to — cover my mouth." Bruce's hips shuffle as he recalls his day.

"You poor baby, being on edge all day," Edward purrs, tilting his head to mock.

"Edward, please, let me cum," Bruce breathes out unexpectedly, looking up to make eye-contact with the man. The look on his face is so desperate that Edward has to move a hand to his own cock, biting his lip. Bruce's eyes are drawn to the movement and he makes a strained sound.

"Your day, Bruce," he breathes, slowly palming himself over his khakis. His free hand clicks the third highest setting — there's five — and Bruce starts to shake.

"It upped again on the walk to the Manor. I was so close, Eddie," Bruce whines, looking back up at Edward, playing up the whole hurt role just a little bit. It's not like he has to exaggerate much, though — no, Bruce is still desperate as fuck. "It was worse when I sat down in my office. Just wanted to grind down against the vibrator til' I ruined my slacks," he breathes. Seeing how worked up Edward's getting makes this far more bearable.

"Fuck," Edward inhales sharply. "Go on, Brucie," he coaxes.

"I was signing forms and other stuff when you put it to the highest setting," Bruce recalls, and for some reason, Edward looks amused at that sentence. "I just had to sit there for minutes. Moaning into my fucking sleeve. Was humiliating, Eddie," Bruce says all sadly, sort of seeking sympathy points. Edward uses his free hand to cup Bruce's cheek again.

"I haven't used the highest setting today, Bruce," he smiles, voice like a warm blade and Bruce's eyes widen. "Highest I went was four." He clicks on the fourth button for emphasis, and Bruce cries out, his body jerking and head falling back.

"Fuck, Edward," he whines, drool catching on the corner of his lip whilst he pants. "Fuck, I'm not gonna last —"

"Yes you are, Bruce," Edward mutters, stroking his hand through disheveled hair. Bruce leans into the touch like it's the only thing grounding him.

"Okay, I was — just calming down. Then Alfred came in, and when I moved I almost started crying then and there. The walk downstairs was fucking torture," Bruce continues, unprompted. Edward's a little bit proud.

"Yeah? It get you even more worked up, rich boy?" he pouts. Bruce lets out a frustrated whine and eyes the bulge in Edward's khakis.

"Yeah. Sat at the dinner table and I nearly fell apart," Bruce mumbles. "Palmed myself when Alfred left," he admits shamefully. And what a good fucking mental image that is for Edward.

"Well that's just filthy, Bruce," Edward tuts, tilting his head. "Think I should put you in your place for that..."

"Please, no — I'm — I'm sorry —" Bruce begs beautifully as he looks Edward back in the eye. "Please, Eddie," he half sobs. Edward hums in thought before pulling down his zipper, pushing his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock. Bruce looks at it like it's eye-candy.

"You're gonna blow me, Bruce. Then you can cum, yeah?" he tells the man, his tone a tad more gentle than it just was. Bruce shuffles closer on his knees, moaning at the small amount of friction it provides him and kissing Edward's cock. "Go on, baby," Edward mutters absentmindedly. Bruce licks along the underside before instantly taking Edward halfway, practised as ever. "Oh, fuck."

Edward clicks the vibrator down a notch, smoothing his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Bruce's head. He subtly pushes him down further on his cock, gently rubbing his thumb over Bruce's skin.

"God, I've been thinking about this all day. Thought about you squirming around. I got no work done, Brucie," he huffs a light laugh, bucking his hips up when Bruce moans around him. "I'm close, baby," he stifles a whine. Bruce bobs his head faster before pulling off, looking up at Edward.

"On my face. Please, on my face," he begs hoarsely, licking along Edward's cock. Christ, this man is something else. Fuck. Edward takes himself in his hand, jerking himself off with a cried moan, his hips lifting off of the bed for a second or two before he dirties Bruce's face.

"Oh, fuck, fuck!" Edward groans, whining as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. Bruce looks debauched and he wants to take a photo. He's bringing a polaroid camera or something, the next time they do this. It can be his wallet-photo.

He sees that Bruce is squirming, looking down and trying to grind down against his own legs. Edward realises that he's accidentally pressed the vibrator to the highest setting in his bliss, and he laughs, tucking himself back into his khakis.

"On the bed, Bruce. Come on," he coaxes, helping Bruce to his feet. His legs are shaking almost violently, writhing about idiotically when he lies on the bed.

"Eddie," Bruce whines lowly, sitting up to grab at Edward's shirt. "Ed."

"I know," he says with a small smile, crawling onto the bed, kneeling beside Bruce's spread thighs. He gestures at the black slacks and Bruce immediately shucks them off.

"Fuck, you're like a whore," Edward can't resist muttering, wiping some cum from Bruce's cheek, smearing it over his lips. He brings his other hand down to palm the billionaire through his boxers.

Bruce nearly finishes just from that.

"You can cum whenever, baby," Edward grins, pushing Bruce's thin sweater up and finally, fucking finally taking his cock out. Bruce starts crying.

"Oh, my god. Edward —" he whines. "M'gonna cum, oh, fuck," he wails. Edward should think about setting a camera up in here.

"C'mon, Bruce," he coaxes, leaning down to kiss the weeping tip, and that's it for Bruce. His entire body spasms as he cums over himself, probably ruining whatever delicate fabric that his sweater is made of, tears streaming down his face. Edward lets up his strokes when Bruce goes completely boneless against the bed, hurrying to grab the remote and turn the vibrator off.

He thinks that some heavy aftercare is definitely in order.