Dark Knight - Now the Old King is Dead, Long Live the King (Bruce Wayne/ Harvey Dent, NC-17)
It took me like six or seven tries to make this happen. At one point I was just going to toss in the towel, and then lo, the voices spoke to me.
Don't ever say I never gave you anything.
The Dark Knight
Bruce Wayne/Harvey Dent,
Rated NC-17
Now the Old King is Dead, Long Live the King
Bruce Wayne is going to fuck Harvey Dent. He couldn't tell you how or why or what led him -- them -- here, but it's happening, and Bruce knows its happening because Harvey's sprawled out beneath him, gloriously sweaty and naked and wanting.
Harvey's left ankle is resting in the dip of Bruce's right shoulder, and Bruce has three fingers buried deep in Harvey's ass. Of course Harvey also has a death grip on Bruce's wrist, so Bruce isn't really fucking Harvey as much as Harvey's fucking himself with some assistance from Bruce's fingers.
It's a beautiful sight to behold, his fingers sliding in and out and in again, and Bruce doesn't find most things beautiful. This is Gotham; it's bleak and dark and tainted, but Harvey Dent is golden. He radiates heat and goodness and belief. Bruce wants to believe in Harvey, and Bruce hates wanting.
"Are you going to fuck me today, or should I make other arrangements?" Harvey pants between thrusts. The way he's working himself open on Bruce's fingers is criminal; someone should call the District Attorney.
"You were enjoying yourself so much, I didn't want to interrupt," Bruce says, pointedly glancing down at his wrist. "But I know the guy who's going to run the DA's office, if you want to file a complaint."
When Bruce smiles, he can feel himself showing too many teeth. It's not a smile, it's a predatory declaration of intent.
Harvey lets go of Bruce, wincing slightly as Bruce withdraws his fingers, and his ankle falls from Bruce's shoulder as Bruce moves away, sifting through the bedding to find the lube and condoms that've been swallowed up by the sheets.
He's not expecting it when Harvey tackles him and they both go flying off the bed.
He's expecting it even less when Harvey straddles him and rises up on his knees. "Do you believe in Harvey Dent, Mr. Wayne?" Harvey asks, ripping a condom packet with his teeth and sliding the condom down Bruce's cock.
Bruce can feel his eyes going wide as Harvey grips Bruce's cock and rubs the head along the inside of his thigh and upward along the crease of his ass. Harvey's making it hard for Bruce to think; Bruce hates that, too.
Bruce startles when Harvey's grip on his dick tightens exponentially. "I asked you a question, Bruce." Harvey tenor is softer now; Bruce almost has to strain to hear him.
And then Harvey shifts his hold on Bruce slightly and begins to let Bruce inside; Bruce couldn't tell you the day of the week right now.
He curls upward to grab Harvey's hips and instead finds himself pinned to the floor. No one should be that much stronger than Batman. Despite this, Bruce doesn't fight it; he does thrust his hips upward to meet Harvey halfway though.
Harvey groans and slides the rest of the way down, forcing Bruce back to the floor. "Say 'yes'," he demands.
Bruce doesn't even remember the question. "Yes," he agrees.
Harvey grins, releasing his hold on Bruce to sit back on his heels. He rises up again and then slams himself back down on Bruce's cock. He does this again and again, but every time Bruce tries to touch him, tries to take control, Harvey bats his arms away.
Like he doesn't need him, like he can do this all on his own.
Harvey doesn't even let Bruce help jerk him off; instead he strokes his cock in a ragged time, coming all over Bruce's chest and partially on the hardwood flooring.
Bruce is so close himself. If he could just control the pace for a minute, if he could just get Harvey to let him do what -
Harvey stops. "I can take care of Gotham, Batman, relax."
Bruce freezes. And then his alarm clock goes off in his ear, and he opens his eyes. He's not fucking Harvey Dent; he's sleeping next to a Russian prima ballerina.
Except that Bruce doesn't have an alarm clock, and he dropped the ballerina off at her hotel after dinner. He goes through the motions anyway: getting out of bed, turning on the shower, stripping out of his pyjama bottoms.
In the shower, Bruce tries to go back to that place he was, that dream where he was warm and he could let someone else take care of things, but it won't come. Instead his mind comes up with another scenario, one where he does give Gotham over Harvey and he gets to go home to Rachel.
Except when Bruce gets out of the shower and dries himself off, he knows he's dreaming, and when he opens the bathroom door, it leads to the study, not his bedroom. And now he's dressed where he was just in his robe, and it's not Rachel waiting for him, it's Harvey.
Harvey Dent, with his legs crossed and resting on top of Bruce desk. Harvey Dent, sitting naked in Bruce's chair, except for a black silk tie with the Batman logo imprinted on the center.
He smiles broadly when Bruce steps through the doorframe; Harvey's clothes are in a heap on the floor. "I told you I'd beat you home," he laughs.
Bruce just stares.
Harvey cocks an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, swinging his legs off the desk and getting to his feet. Bruce doesn't know where to begin. With the naked Harvey part, or the shower part or the tie part. Anywhere is already too far gone.
He's completely mesmerized by Harvey closing the space between them; it's rare for Bruce to be envious of another man's body. And then Harvey has Bruce by the tie, and he drags him close enough to kiss, but instead he just breathes against Bruce's mouth.
"It's the tie, isn't it?" Harvey says conversationally. "I thought it might be a bit much."
"It's a bit obvious, yeah," Bruce says, exhaling softly as Harvey's hands slide up Bruce's chest and begin loosening his tie. Bruce can feel the warmth from Harvey permeating his clothes and his skin.
"I know," Harvey admits, "but I got two. I figured you could tie me up with them."
"I could do that," Bruce agrees as Harvey pulls Bruce's tie off and lets it drop to the floor.
"Or I could tie you up with them," Harvey carries on breezily.
Bruce's breath catches in his throat, and Harvey's eyes narrow. "You want me to tie you up, huh? I always knew you were kinky, Wayne."
"Everybody has to be something," Bruce says, watching as Harvey steps back and removes his own offending tie.
Harvey holds onto the tie with his right hand as he moves behind Bruce. "Stay there," he says, his breath tickling the nape of Bruce's neck. Bruce stiffens. His head knows -- thinks -- he trusts Harvey, but you can't control Bat-instinct.
When Harvey covers Bruce's eyes with the tie, everything goes black.
And then Bruce wakes up for real.
There's no Harvey, no Rachel, no Russian ballerina next to him. There's no alarm clock either, and he's not in shower, he's just in bed.
It's just Bruce Wayne, alone again.
But, maybe, if he believes in Harvey Dent, he doesn't have to be.
-end-
Title from 'Viva La Vida' by Coldplay.
Don't ever say I never gave you anything.
The Dark Knight
Bruce Wayne/Harvey Dent,
Rated NC-17
Now the Old King is Dead, Long Live the King
Bruce Wayne is going to fuck Harvey Dent. He couldn't tell you how or why or what led him -- them -- here, but it's happening, and Bruce knows its happening because Harvey's sprawled out beneath him, gloriously sweaty and naked and wanting.
Harvey's left ankle is resting in the dip of Bruce's right shoulder, and Bruce has three fingers buried deep in Harvey's ass. Of course Harvey also has a death grip on Bruce's wrist, so Bruce isn't really fucking Harvey as much as Harvey's fucking himself with some assistance from Bruce's fingers.
It's a beautiful sight to behold, his fingers sliding in and out and in again, and Bruce doesn't find most things beautiful. This is Gotham; it's bleak and dark and tainted, but Harvey Dent is golden. He radiates heat and goodness and belief. Bruce wants to believe in Harvey, and Bruce hates wanting.
"Are you going to fuck me today, or should I make other arrangements?" Harvey pants between thrusts. The way he's working himself open on Bruce's fingers is criminal; someone should call the District Attorney.
"You were enjoying yourself so much, I didn't want to interrupt," Bruce says, pointedly glancing down at his wrist. "But I know the guy who's going to run the DA's office, if you want to file a complaint."
When Bruce smiles, he can feel himself showing too many teeth. It's not a smile, it's a predatory declaration of intent.
Harvey lets go of Bruce, wincing slightly as Bruce withdraws his fingers, and his ankle falls from Bruce's shoulder as Bruce moves away, sifting through the bedding to find the lube and condoms that've been swallowed up by the sheets.
He's not expecting it when Harvey tackles him and they both go flying off the bed.
He's expecting it even less when Harvey straddles him and rises up on his knees. "Do you believe in Harvey Dent, Mr. Wayne?" Harvey asks, ripping a condom packet with his teeth and sliding the condom down Bruce's cock.
Bruce can feel his eyes going wide as Harvey grips Bruce's cock and rubs the head along the inside of his thigh and upward along the crease of his ass. Harvey's making it hard for Bruce to think; Bruce hates that, too.
Bruce startles when Harvey's grip on his dick tightens exponentially. "I asked you a question, Bruce." Harvey tenor is softer now; Bruce almost has to strain to hear him.
And then Harvey shifts his hold on Bruce slightly and begins to let Bruce inside; Bruce couldn't tell you the day of the week right now.
He curls upward to grab Harvey's hips and instead finds himself pinned to the floor. No one should be that much stronger than Batman. Despite this, Bruce doesn't fight it; he does thrust his hips upward to meet Harvey halfway though.
Harvey groans and slides the rest of the way down, forcing Bruce back to the floor. "Say 'yes'," he demands.
Bruce doesn't even remember the question. "Yes," he agrees.
Harvey grins, releasing his hold on Bruce to sit back on his heels. He rises up again and then slams himself back down on Bruce's cock. He does this again and again, but every time Bruce tries to touch him, tries to take control, Harvey bats his arms away.
Like he doesn't need him, like he can do this all on his own.
Harvey doesn't even let Bruce help jerk him off; instead he strokes his cock in a ragged time, coming all over Bruce's chest and partially on the hardwood flooring.
Bruce is so close himself. If he could just control the pace for a minute, if he could just get Harvey to let him do what -
Harvey stops. "I can take care of Gotham, Batman, relax."
Bruce freezes. And then his alarm clock goes off in his ear, and he opens his eyes. He's not fucking Harvey Dent; he's sleeping next to a Russian prima ballerina.
Except that Bruce doesn't have an alarm clock, and he dropped the ballerina off at her hotel after dinner. He goes through the motions anyway: getting out of bed, turning on the shower, stripping out of his pyjama bottoms.
In the shower, Bruce tries to go back to that place he was, that dream where he was warm and he could let someone else take care of things, but it won't come. Instead his mind comes up with another scenario, one where he does give Gotham over Harvey and he gets to go home to Rachel.
Except when Bruce gets out of the shower and dries himself off, he knows he's dreaming, and when he opens the bathroom door, it leads to the study, not his bedroom. And now he's dressed where he was just in his robe, and it's not Rachel waiting for him, it's Harvey.
Harvey Dent, with his legs crossed and resting on top of Bruce desk. Harvey Dent, sitting naked in Bruce's chair, except for a black silk tie with the Batman logo imprinted on the center.
He smiles broadly when Bruce steps through the doorframe; Harvey's clothes are in a heap on the floor. "I told you I'd beat you home," he laughs.
Bruce just stares.
Harvey cocks an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, swinging his legs off the desk and getting to his feet. Bruce doesn't know where to begin. With the naked Harvey part, or the shower part or the tie part. Anywhere is already too far gone.
He's completely mesmerized by Harvey closing the space between them; it's rare for Bruce to be envious of another man's body. And then Harvey has Bruce by the tie, and he drags him close enough to kiss, but instead he just breathes against Bruce's mouth.
"It's the tie, isn't it?" Harvey says conversationally. "I thought it might be a bit much."
"It's a bit obvious, yeah," Bruce says, exhaling softly as Harvey's hands slide up Bruce's chest and begin loosening his tie. Bruce can feel the warmth from Harvey permeating his clothes and his skin.
"I know," Harvey admits, "but I got two. I figured you could tie me up with them."
"I could do that," Bruce agrees as Harvey pulls Bruce's tie off and lets it drop to the floor.
"Or I could tie you up with them," Harvey carries on breezily.
Bruce's breath catches in his throat, and Harvey's eyes narrow. "You want me to tie you up, huh? I always knew you were kinky, Wayne."
"Everybody has to be something," Bruce says, watching as Harvey steps back and removes his own offending tie.
Harvey holds onto the tie with his right hand as he moves behind Bruce. "Stay there," he says, his breath tickling the nape of Bruce's neck. Bruce stiffens. His head knows -- thinks -- he trusts Harvey, but you can't control Bat-instinct.
When Harvey covers Bruce's eyes with the tie, everything goes black.
And then Bruce wakes up for real.
There's no Harvey, no Rachel, no Russian ballerina next to him. There's no alarm clock either, and he's not in shower, he's just in bed.
It's just Bruce Wayne, alone again.
But, maybe, if he believes in Harvey Dent, he doesn't have to be.
-end-
Title from 'Viva La Vida' by Coldplay.