Fic: Infiltration | DCU | Bruce/Bat Boys/Clark (orgy) | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Infiltration
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent/Dick Grayson/Jason Todd/Tim Drake (as Alvin Draper/Hooker!Jay/Matches Malone/Pete the Penman/Robbie Malone)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 618
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: warehouse, gangbang, orgy, floor, mattresses, suck, swallow, anonymous, filthy, spores, camera, rip, porn ring, infiltrate
Summary: By the time they realized the spored had been released, it was too late.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII. This is the culmination of all the identity porn I wrote for the PB. Warning for serious filth.
Infiltration
By the time they all realized the spores had been released into the air, the tell-tale wisps of glittering pollen landing on their skin, it was too late. The latest version of Ivy's specialty was a fast-hitter, and no one was immune, not even a certain heavy who'd chosen to be part of the team to take down the underage porn ring operating out of Gotham.
With all five of them there and no communications set up to connect them to home base, there was no hope for escape. All they could do was roll with the urges that the pollen set free within them, the lust, the need, the thrill of fucking whoever they could get their hands on. Even Alvin, their bait to infiltrate the ring, the skateboard punk that no one could deny was a fuckable little twink just waiting for a camera.
Surprisingly, the elder Malone was the first to go down, his hands curing into claws as he grabbed for Pete, their numbers guy. Pete went with it, helping them to shred their polyester jackets and work their pants open. Next to fall was Robbie, the younger Malone, and he slithered up to Todd, their resident hooker-goddamn, what a fine piece of ass!-so fast that Jay had no chance to get away. His free hand grabbed the kid, and he yanked his hair, Todd following suit as the spores worked their way through his system. Clothes were shed, hoodies torn, jeans ripped, boxers yanked off, and before any of them could come up with a coherent thought, it was all naked skin and asses and fingers and cocks and mouths, the five of them writhing on the mattresses in front of the cameras that their targets had left behind-left running-in their haste to flee.
As moans and growls and whimpers filled the otherwise empty warehouse, the stench of sex overwhelming the other odors of the place, the group dissolved and recombined, Pete with the younger Malone, the kid with Matches, Todd sucking on whatever he could get his mouth on, and on and on with different combinations and new sensations, new partners, new thrilling positions and arrangements. Some of them wandered off the mattresses to writhe together on the filthy floor, some stuck their asses in the air and took whoever wanted to fuck them, some fucked whatever hole they could find. It was bliss, it was heaven, it was an itch to be scratched, and ache in their bones that spurred them on, drove them out of their minds, left them delirious and exhausted and yet, wanting more.
An hour passed, maybe more, maybe all night, and in the end, nobody could even move, they were so fucked out and blissed out of their minds. There was nothing but panting breaths and euphoria and loose limbs, and nobody could tell for sure just who'd fucked who, or who'd swallowed what, or who'd been double and triple-teamed-all of them, maybe, but it really was impossible to say, with all the come and spit sticking to their skin along with the spores.
And when daylight peeked into the warehouse through broken windows, the five of them finally regaining what faculties they could with so many endorphins still crowding out normal thought processes, not one of them spoke of what had happened, each gathering what was left of their clothes and their dignity and limping sorely home, unable to meet each other's gazes. For this was a night to never be mentioned again.
Even if the kid did grab the cameras on their way out.
To save the videos for the case file.
To serve as a warning for the future.
To save their own asses.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent/Dick Grayson/Jason Todd/Tim Drake (as Alvin Draper/Hooker!Jay/Matches Malone/Pete the Penman/Robbie Malone)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 618
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: warehouse, gangbang, orgy, floor, mattresses, suck, swallow, anonymous, filthy, spores, camera, rip, porn ring, infiltrate
Summary: By the time they realized the spored had been released, it was too late.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII. This is the culmination of all the identity porn I wrote for the PB. Warning for serious filth.
Infiltration
By the time they all realized the spores had been released into the air, the tell-tale wisps of glittering pollen landing on their skin, it was too late. The latest version of Ivy's specialty was a fast-hitter, and no one was immune, not even a certain heavy who'd chosen to be part of the team to take down the underage porn ring operating out of Gotham.
With all five of them there and no communications set up to connect them to home base, there was no hope for escape. All they could do was roll with the urges that the pollen set free within them, the lust, the need, the thrill of fucking whoever they could get their hands on. Even Alvin, their bait to infiltrate the ring, the skateboard punk that no one could deny was a fuckable little twink just waiting for a camera.
Surprisingly, the elder Malone was the first to go down, his hands curing into claws as he grabbed for Pete, their numbers guy. Pete went with it, helping them to shred their polyester jackets and work their pants open. Next to fall was Robbie, the younger Malone, and he slithered up to Todd, their resident hooker-goddamn, what a fine piece of ass!-so fast that Jay had no chance to get away. His free hand grabbed the kid, and he yanked his hair, Todd following suit as the spores worked their way through his system. Clothes were shed, hoodies torn, jeans ripped, boxers yanked off, and before any of them could come up with a coherent thought, it was all naked skin and asses and fingers and cocks and mouths, the five of them writhing on the mattresses in front of the cameras that their targets had left behind-left running-in their haste to flee.
As moans and growls and whimpers filled the otherwise empty warehouse, the stench of sex overwhelming the other odors of the place, the group dissolved and recombined, Pete with the younger Malone, the kid with Matches, Todd sucking on whatever he could get his mouth on, and on and on with different combinations and new sensations, new partners, new thrilling positions and arrangements. Some of them wandered off the mattresses to writhe together on the filthy floor, some stuck their asses in the air and took whoever wanted to fuck them, some fucked whatever hole they could find. It was bliss, it was heaven, it was an itch to be scratched, and ache in their bones that spurred them on, drove them out of their minds, left them delirious and exhausted and yet, wanting more.
An hour passed, maybe more, maybe all night, and in the end, nobody could even move, they were so fucked out and blissed out of their minds. There was nothing but panting breaths and euphoria and loose limbs, and nobody could tell for sure just who'd fucked who, or who'd swallowed what, or who'd been double and triple-teamed-all of them, maybe, but it really was impossible to say, with all the come and spit sticking to their skin along with the spores.
And when daylight peeked into the warehouse through broken windows, the five of them finally regaining what faculties they could with so many endorphins still crowding out normal thought processes, not one of them spoke of what had happened, each gathering what was left of their clothes and their dignity and limping sorely home, unable to meet each other's gazes. For this was a night to never be mentioned again.
Even if the kid did grab the cameras on their way out.
To save the videos for the case file.
To serve as a warning for the future.
To save their own asses.
~*~*~*~