And Damian said not to touch so that means no touching, no matter how unbearably slow he’s going.
But his thighs are trembling and he’s sweating and it feels like he can’t breathe. Which is probably why he only just realized that he’s gasping. He clenches his fists and moans weakly when he feels that little puff of air against his dick. And begging isn’tenough.
“I thought I told you to control your vibrating.”
He should be used to it by now, the look he gets whenever he can’t comply with Damian’s demands quick enough, but he’s not. Even without looking he knows the exact slant of the frown and furrow of brows that make his cheeks flush with not-quite shame. Like he thinks he’s stupid.
Bart tenses, lips twisting to part, but then there’s breath on him again, and where he wants to growl he squawks.
“I’m trying, okay?!”
It sounds weak, especially at the end where the word cuts off into a harsh exhale. He’s not even capable of a glare at this point, not with his overbearing partner trying to squash him flat. If it weren’t for who Damian was he’d be surprised that he’d managed to retain his grip on his thighs, every centimeter closer to his body only increasing the steadily growing humming between them.
Damian shifts, suddenly, moves one of Bart’s legs impossibly closer to his chest, and the speedster doesn’t have time to cry out from the pain because Damian moves and he’s too busy crying out in pleasure instead. Sparks dance across his vision and he can’t help it. He vibrates, can’t stay still any longer, and he drags his hand forward, almost has it around his leaking cock and-
Damian snatches it and pins it beside him with bruising force, and that look is back and-
“I said no touching, Allen,” he practically snarls, but somehow it’s less effective with the flush that’s creeping across his face.
“Thenfuckingtouchmeeee,” Bart hisses as he tries to attempt some sort of awkward thrust. Only it fails and Damian looks as if he’s going to laugh just to spite him. How can someone be so mean? It really isn’t fair. He doesn’t even know why Damian is bending him this way in the first place.
But Damian licks a slow stripe up the side of his cock regardless and he’s pretty sure he can’t close his eyes any tighter but he tries anyways. And Damian looks way too fucking smug as he leans forward, stretching his neck so that he can mouth Bart’s leaking tip.
Bashing his head back against the sofa cushions is a well justified reaction.
It comes as no surprise when fingers, sudden and shaking, collide clumsily with the side of his face. When he pulls back its to the sight of Bart scrabbling blind, the trill of a displeased whine sounding the moment the tail end of his breaths fail to graze his skin. The brunette isn’t even trying to contain his shaking anymore; the tips of Damian’s fingers have gone numb, and if his grip is a tad too tight then maybe the dense speedster deserves the tiny bruises that are sure to form as a result.
To his amusement it takes all of a millisecond for Bart to realize he’s stop stopped. Gold eyes are on him and he doesn’t miss the skip in humming like a failing heartbeat, the sigh of relief as he lowers his head again to reward possibly a bit too audible. Fingers return, against his cheek, along the rim of his ear, until he’s forced to pull back when they sneak around to the nape of his neck and pull. He chokes, can hear Bart’s moan as he coughs, and he’s not quite fast enough to bark out a retort when Bart’s breath hiccups oddly and there’s something wet sliding down his brow. And then something wet sliding down his cheek. And then something wet on his chin.
And then Bart is licking him. Bart is fucking licking him. He starts to recoil backwards, in anger, because how dare he. But then Bart is yanking his head back again, and their lips collide and Damian isn’t sure how to feel about that. Because the kiss is all sloppy and wet and-
Bart rolls his hips and makes an ‘umph’ sound against his mouth and then finally allows Damian to draw back, leaving a string of saliva between their mouths. The leg Damian isn’t holding falls down to wrap around his hip, to pull their bodies impossibly closer together. And then Bart drags his head down again to lick a stripe across his jawline, fingers digging almost painfully into his scalp.
And he probably should have realized it before but Damian is still wearing clothes. His school’s recommended cream filled coffee colored slacks to be exact. And the matching, navy blue polo. Bart isn’t one to be complicated, he isn’t picky at all but he definitely has to add this to the list of things he prefers. He leans back a bit and reaches forward, digging his fingers into the waistband of Damian’s pants and oh… Oh.
He may or may not have just moaned because he feels nothing but skin. Damian’s responding grin is toothy, perverse and twisted, and it’s accompanied by a leer that makes Bart feel a tad bit dirty. Dirtier. And he does a quick little shake, lowering his eyebrows, shaking again because he really can’t help himself.
“Allen.” It’s an impatient hiss. Which is completely unfair because up until a few moments ago he wasn’t even allowed tospeak, let alone complain.
Bart slides his hands along the waistband of the slacks, fumbling one-handed with the button, tugging the zipper down. All the while Damian is still moving against him, still gripping his leg too tightly, bending it in a way that most normal legs don’t bend. Bart grunts as he leans forward a little more, back arching almost painfully, and tugs the pants down. And, sure enough, Damian isn’t wearing underwear of any kind. His cock is flushed and dripping and Bart wants to, needs to touch it, and his hand is almost there, fingertips brushing the tip briefly before Damian snatches his wrist away, breathing raggedly as he replaces it with his own hand.
Bart watches, fascinated, as Damian thumbs the head, smears the shiny liquid that’s collected there. And then Damian is leaning forward and Bart cries out as the other boy slides his member between his legs, teasing him with it, dragging it over his ass and his balls before grasping both of them tightly and giving a slow, lazy stroke.
It doesn’t take long before Bart is hard again, fidgeting so much that Damian has to stop completely and glare at him. Bart smiles at him, almost sheepishly, at least until Damian squeezes them both. All Bart can do at that point is try to be still, which results in him trembling anyway, and take a deep breath so that he can whisper, “Pleasepleaseplease.” And Damian groans, a low raspy noise that makes his cock throb almost painfully.
“Shh- Shut up and tell me, Allen,” Damian says. He finally lets go of Bart’s thighs, settling for sliding his hand up and down Bart’s side. He can feel the muscles under Bart’s skin jump. Clench and unclench. It takes everything in him to ignore the urge to fuck the speedster into the itchy sofa. He closes his eyes. “Speak up, now.”
Instead, Bart raises a shaky hand, pressing two fingers between his lips and sucks, swirls his tongue around them, letting out a tiny noise that raises the hairs on the back of Damian’s neck. He bucks hard against Bart and they both share a moan. Bart’s eyes are wide, pupils completely blown when he finally pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop. And ohgodohgod he’s pressing them against his opening, wiggling his way in with a sharp intake of breath, whining a high pitched note every time he clenches around them.
“D-Damian!”
Damian’s cock twitches against Bart’s and he chokes out a breath, eyes glued to the speedster’s thrusting fingers as he drags his fist loosely over their touching cocks. Bart is panting, twitching with every little noise he makes.
He has to take a few steps back, to just watch Bart. The way he slides his fingers in and out, slowly, teasing himself. Still twitching occasionally and Damian knows he’s crooking his fingers on every slow thrust in, scissoring his fingers inside to stretch himself open. He lets out another noise, shaky and desperate, and Damian suddenly remembers to breathe again. He jerks forward, bending low and taking the boys thighs in hand, squeezing them hard, dragging him forward until his legs are over his shoulders. The speedster’s fingers slide out of himself as he moves to grab at the sofa, trying to find purchase.
Anticipation isn’t the word for what Bart feels when Damian draws closer with possibly the dirtiest look he’s ever seen. The tails of his shirt tickle the backs of his inner thighs and he lets out another shaky moan, squeezing his eyes closed. Damian tilts his head and mouths his way down Bart’s cock, tongue leaving a wet trail as it darts out for a taste. He hums softly as he runs his tongue over his balls, pressing his lips lightly against them before continuing downwards.
“Ohhn-” It’s the only sound that Bart can make before he stops breathing completely, because Damian is licking him there. Licking him open. He cups the curve of his ass, spreading him wide, sliding deeper. He curls his tongue just as Bart’s body starts to tremble, turning quickly into a full body hum. Damian slides a hand up to dig nails into his leg, taking a moment to turn his head and drag his teeth over the inside of Bart’s thigh, biting down softly.
And Bart squirms, fingers finding their way into Damian’s hair, tugging. He’s gasping for air, making the sexiest little noises, babbling in a constant stream, too fast to distinguish one word from the other. And Damian occasionally makes out the word, “Please,” but that’s about it.
Damian moves to swipe his tongue across his opening again, once, twice, and then he pulls back and Bart whimpers pitifully. He ignores him, shrugging Bart’s legs off his shoulders and sliding his way back up his body. Bart clings to his shoulders, dragging him down to bury his face against his shoulder.
“Hold on, Allen,” he whispers, pulling away to fumble with his discarded pants. Bart nods frantically when he hears the soft pop of a bottle opening and he catches sight of Damian slicking his cock, hand gliding over it with a squelching noise. Damian’s face is flushed, and his mouth opens in a slight pant as he guides himself to Bart’s entrance. He gives Bart a look to which the boy responds with a quick nod. And then he pushes in slowly, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth.
Bart blurs, clenching tight around him with an inhuman noise, fingers scrabbling against the sofa.
“Stop, stop,” Damian gasps and falls forward, bracing a hand against the back of the couch, head hanging as he shakes and tries to compose himself. The brunette whines but slows considerably, his leg jerking where it’s pinned oddly against his chest. Damian inhales deeply before sliding out, slow enough that Bart wiggles his hips in anticipation, hands clenching and unclenching against the sofa.
He draws in a second deep breath before slamming back in and Bart cries his name, tossing his head back. The speedster clenches tighter around him and Damian digs his nails deeper into his leg, his other hand tightening it’s grip on the back of the sofa. Bart rolls his hips forward to meet the next thrust and Damian knows he’s not going to last like this, not if he keeps moving like that.
He’s panting, mouth open wide, hoarse little noises escaping him as he rocks his hips against Bart in a slow steady rhythm. And he has to change his positioning. It’s the only way he can manage to save face.
He realizes too late that one of Bart’s legs is free, that it’ll be his undoing as it prevents him from pulling away to catch his bearings. It’s thrumming, wrapped tight around his waist like a snake, and he chokes on a shout as Bart reels him back in at a speed he isn’t quite ready for. He swears loudly, and he can only hope that no one will notice the finger sized holes in the sofa.
Damian makes a high pitched noise and rakes his fingers painfully down Bart’s side, wrapping them around the speedster’s weeping cock. He gives him a quick squeeze before pumping with uneven strokes in a rhythm that’s nothing near the frantic pace he’s setting now with his hips. And on each thrust in, he hits that little bundle of nerves and then squeezes him. And then Bart’s eyes fly shut and he vibrates. Breathing becomes impossible and he doesn’t notice that he’s making short little gasps every time Damian’s hips slam against him.
He barely even notices when Damian chokes out his name, slams forward particularly hard and then stops, hips falling still as he sags against Bart, breathing heavily. And Bart trembles because he’s not finished yet and Damian is still stroking him. So slowly, lazily. And it’s not fair.
Damian pushes himself back slowly, his eyes half-lidded and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He puffs out a particularly loud breath as he supports himself on one arm. His cheeks are still flushed slightly but it’s more so from exertion than anything else.
“C-come on, Allen,” he whispers, hoarsely, and he slides his hand back up Bart’s cock. Gliding his thumb over the slick tip and back down again to squeeze at the base. And he sounds almost desperate, “Bart, come for me.”
And Bart does, sobbing out Damian’s name and choking on the word, his entire body blurring around the edges. He spills himself over Damian’s still moving hand and all over his nice shirt, and Damian smirks at him before dragging his tongue over his cum soaked hand. Bart watches him, golden eyes wide.
And then Damian moves to get up, only to have Bart grab his hand and stop him. He glares back at the speedster, ignoring the hopeful look on his face and the way he tries to bat his eyelashes invitingly. Bart bites his bottom lip nervously as he tugs on Damian’s arm. And after a few short moments, Damian stops resisting. He drapes most of his body over Bart’s and buries his face against the crook of his shoulder to just inhale deeply. Because there’s something comforting in the way the speedster smells, in the warmth he emanates.
“So you’re staying?” Bart says, disrupting the silence.
Damian growls and responds, “Don’t ruin it, Allen.”
Bart just grins and wraps his arms tightly around him. And Damian definitely doesn’t return the hug.
At all.
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