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The black sky stretches over greater Gotham, storm clouds announce that a thunderstorm is about to fall on the city. It has been more than 4 years since Bruce was in his hometown. The metropolitan church rises like a colonial castle above the rest of the buildings. Even blacker than the sky itself. It is just as Wayne remembers it, eerie and imposing.
The reason for Bruce to return to his hometown was nothing more than the closeness to his family. Although, he was also influenced by a desire to help out at the orphanage his parents funded. Knowing the institution from the inside would prevent forms of corruption. Something he could not do if he were only “the heir to the Wayne fortune”. Bruce is assigned a small cell on the second floor, where the rest of the orderlies should be.
Next to him, the classroom has 15 other young men, no older than 25, just like Bruce. Some of them talk among themselves when they notice the presence of the newcomer. Others simply ignore him, as if his presence doesn't affect them beyond a new face. The bishop opens the door, and all the boys stand up. Wayne watches the faces of his classmates as the teacher begins to call them out in roll call order.
—Edward Nashton. —The bishop looks up, searching for the man named—. Edward. Edward?
—Nashton didn't come. —One of the boys answers.
—It's strange, do you know anything about him? —The boys are silent, they look at each other and after a couple of long seconds, the bishop continues speaking—. Bruce, would you like to introduce yourself?
The youngest of the Wayne line stands up in his place, looking a little embarrassed at his companions.
—My name is Bruce Wayne, and I've been in the seminary for almost five years. I'll be ordained this year. I hope we can get along. — Bruce returns to his seat, looking up at the old chalk board. The other orderlies turn their attention back to class without another word to their new partner.
Wayne goes straight back to his cell at the end of his classes. If there was one thing that cathedral had, it was an enviable library. Bruce needed a couple of books on theology, to complete his education; another reason for asking to return to Gotham. The other men don't speak to Bruce either when they meet him in the hallway of the library.
The room is vast, spanning three stories high and nearly six small rooms long. The smell of old books meets the dampness and dust that have accumulated over the years or perhaps centuries in that place. The place is strangely empty, none of the other aspiring priests are there. Not even a priest or the bishop. The librarian's space is empty, and the cart of books to be put back on the shelves is full.
Bruce walks aimlessly through the aisles, carefully checking the titles on the hard covers of the books. After noticing that the shelves are arranged by author's name. He looks for the letter M. Bruce is so immersed in his search that he doesn't notice the other human being in the library, until his shoulder collides with something hard.
Wayne's eyes scan the long black habit, it is one of the nuns. But the woman turns her back to him, barely noticing that the future priest is looking at her. Bruce is surprised at such a reaction, perhaps she was a shy girl. Still, that was suspicious behaviour.
—Sister? Is something wrong? — Bruce tries to look her in the face, but the nun turns away again and shakes her head. As if trying to keep the man from seeing her—. Aren't you allowed to talk to men? I can leave if that's the problem.
The woman denies again, presses the book on her chest. An incredibly flat chest, Bruce can tell because despite the force with which she squeezes it, no bulge forms. Wayne then observes the nun's hands, her long, slender fingers lacking any feminine characteristics. The black-haired man takes the woman by the shoulder, even if she is slender, the coarse bones felt under her skin.
—You are a man! — The young priest affirms as he forces the nun to turn around. Some brown hair peeks out from under the cap, the little man's big green eyes fill with dread as his face turns a deep red—. What are you doing dressed like that?
—I… I… I… —The young man remains silent, lowers his gaze, observing his feet, still pressing the thick tome against his chest. Bruce watches the young man tremble at his questions, he is a tall boy, but not as tall as Wayne himself. He hides his head between his shoulders, as if he wishes to make himself even smaller.
—Speaks correctly. —Bruce continues to hold the other boy's shoulder, preventing him from escaping.
—I don't want the others to bother me. —The man in the habit responds, his voice soft, barely audible to Bruce standing nearby.
—Who bothers you?
—The other seminarians… —The brown man stops his speech and lifts his face, so he can look directly at Bruce—. It's nothing strange, just… if they see a nun they ignore her, and it's better to be ignored than persecuted.
Bruce sighs and let's go of the other man's shoulder, stepping back to give him room. The little man leans against one of the shelves, half covering his face with the book still in his hands. Wayne notices the title of the volume the man dressed as a nun is carrying: "Biblical and Systematic Theology" by Myer Pearlman. The very book he has been looking for.
—Are you the library manager? —Bruce asks, the brown-haired man denies. Are you going to use that book?
The boy dressed as a nun nods.
—What's your name? —Wayne's the only one who's been talking.
—I'm Edward Nashton. —The boy with the glasses continues to clutch the book to his chest.
—Nashton? You weren't at the seminar today.
—Are you my seminar partner? —Edward leans forward excitedly, his green eyes flashing under his glasses—. You're new, aren't you, right? Right?
—Yes, I arrived yesterday. My name is Bruce Wayne. —The black-haired man feels Edward's hot breath against his neck, the soft scent of his cologne. A mixture of peaches and strawberries. A silver cross falls on his flat chest, as he moves the book that covers him.
—Bruce Wayne, it's a pleasure to meet you. —Nashton takes one of the taller boy's hands and shakes it, unable to disguise his agitation. Bruce tries to force a smile, ignoring Edward's sense of unease—. Are you getting ordained this year too?
—Yes, in a couple of months. —Bruce looks again at the book in Edward's hands. Is that the only one of those in existence?
—Unfortunately, yes, but I can lend it out tomorrow, I just need a couple of references. —Nashton's confidence seems to return to his body, even though he's still dressed like a woman. He has stopped hiding his head between his shoulders, and now Bruce can get a better look at him. Him thin lips in his small mouth, his eyebrows also brown. The rosary around his waist accentuates rounded forms, showing off his wide hips. Almost feminine.
—Do you need the book for just one day? —Wayne insists.
—Yes, it's just to look at some sources I wrote down wrong. At least I think I got them wrong. I can give it to you in the morning. —Edward slips away, walking slowly out of Wayne's reach. He does it so quietly that the young heir notices him until he's about to reach the end of the bookcase—. See you in class, Bruce.
Nashton walks noiselessly, with such delicacy that the dark-haired man is startled. He makes Bruce think he's talking to a ghost. Edward stops at the end of the hallway, peers over his shoulder, and smiles at Wayne. He has no hard features, his cheeks are round, and his jaw is soft. The facial skin is a neat colour, with faint pink undertones. The brown hair peeking out from the cowl looks like a fringe, and it's maybe because of the distance, or maybe because Bruce needs glasses. But he could tell Edward looks... Cute. Or maybe it's because the last time he talked to a woman or anything remotely resembling a woman was two years ago, when his mother visited.
Bruce sighs again, now with resignation. He decides to return to his cell to write his thesis. The book Edward took was important, but that doesn't mean he'll delay his work another day. When Wayne goes out into the main corridor he finds other nuns, a few priests, a small crowd of people. So, it seems impossible to find Edward.
Perhaps Bruce forgets that this is no longer the small church he lived in a few months ago. This is not the small community where everyone knows everyone else. There are about 150 nuns and more than 250 young people preparing for the Eucharist. It's not necessary or convenient to know everyone, so perhaps that's why Nashton can go unnoticed.
There is no sign of Edward at breakfast or in the showers. When Bruce arrives at the classroom where he is to take his class, Nashton is already there. Standing beside the bishop's desk, he turns to look at Bruce with a smile on his lips. His expression is strange, perhaps because of the way his eyes are smiling too.
—Good morning, Bruce. I've finished using the book, I'll give it to you now. —Now Edward is not wearing his habit, he is dressed in black, trousers, shirt, and dark basement. The same uniform the rest of them wear. The same silver cross hangs around his neck and sways on his chest as Edward turns to look at him.
—Have you met before? — The bishop questions.
—We met yesterday in the library. — Bruce replies.
— Ed's a good boy, I'll leave Mr. Wayne in your care. Show him around the facility later. There are some shortages, and he could tell his parents to help us with that. The grey-haired man says.
—I will, sir…
—I will tell my parents if necessary. —Bruce interrupts—. I wouldn't want preferential treatment for that.
—Of course not, Mr. Wayne. Within the house of God, we are all equal. —The bishop laughs. Nashton takes a seat in the front row, gazing at Bruce with those bright green eyes. As if begging him to sit next to him. The younger Wayne does, settles down next to Edward and opens his notebook.
—Here's the book. —Nashton whispers, as he slides the worn volume across the table.
—Thank you. —Wayne replies. Edward looks like a good boy, with those huge glasses, that round, smooth face. Just like the bishop said. He has a calm voice and speaks slowly; he doesn't look dangerous or even violent. Bruce could almost swear he's the kind of guy who screams at the sight of a cockroach. But… something feels strange.
Nashton fiddles with his hands, looking uneasy around Wayne. Is it because Bruce knows his secret? He sends out vibes that make the jet-haired man uncomfortable. The heir decides to let him know that he won't say anything, maybe that way he can calm Edward's anxieties.
—Hey, —Bruce leans towards the brown man, whispering—. You don't have to worry; I won't tell anyone. Your secret's safe with me. We're friends, aren't we?
—Friends? —The other man sounds surprised—. Friends, yes, we are friends.
Bruce spends the rest of the afternoon in his cell with the book Nashton gave him. Unluckily for the young heir, the quote he needed requires a second reference from a different book. If Edward took it, he might know the cited work, and he could at least help him find it inside the library. Wayne takes his computer and book to go out to Nashton's cell. None of the other orderlies can tell where Ed sleeps, only the bishop explains the location to Bruce and sends him to the fifth floor of the cathedral.
The corridors are almost empty, perhaps only a couple of the rooms are occupied. The floors that were designed to house hundreds of young men are now abandoned, with fewer and fewer interested in becoming priests. Bruce spots the name on the door plate, E. Nashton, the dark wood is worn and looks moth-eaten. Wayne knocks twice and waits, no one answers. He knocks again and then pushes open.
Edward is wrapped in a yellowed sheet that must once have been white, his back to the window giving him an almost heavenly appearance. Beneath the old cloth, Bruce can make out his black habit. The brown-haired young man relaxes as he realizes that this is his friend and not one of the bishops or the mother superior. Nashton drops the sheet to the floor, like a virgin shedding her cloak, revealing the wonder of his body dressed as a woman. It's a strangely bright day in Gotham, the golden light highlighting the hue of his hair and glinting off his immaculate skin.
—You gave me a fright. —Edward circles the bed and walks to the desk near the door. Bruce wonders why his friend is wearing the habit when he's alone in his room. He avoids rebuking him head-on and tries to distract himself from the figure before his eyes. Nashton pulls back his chair and settles into his desk, looking down at Wayne.
His brown hair, almost blond from his fringes, his round face, and reddened lips. Blushing because he has bitten them from the nervousness that seemed to afflict him. His long, almost blond eyelashes that stand out against the green of his eyes. Looking at him like that, no one has ever looked at him like that, and it's… strange. If Wayne could compare it to anything, it's the way parishioners watch Jesus on the cross, with idolatry, with fervour, with devotion, with love and even with desire.
—I have a question. —Bruce puts the book down on the table and reaches for the page that's been giving him trouble—. Do you know the book Myer's talking about?
Edward leans over the book, Bruce can see it from above. The silver cross on his flat chest, his small, pointed nose, the feminine way he moves as he wears his habit. It is as if he is a different Edward.
Nashton tucks his veil behind his ear, as if it were hair. He blinks slowly and searches through the books on his desk for the text the author mentions. Bruce, far from listening to the stupid explanation of how Edward got that book, can only think how strangely attractive the young man looks in those clothes. He manages to notice the details he couldn't make out the day he first saw him.
The brown-haired man stands up and walks over to one of the bookcases, still talking. Although Wayne doesn't understand what he's saying, Edward's voice is an almost muffled echo in his head. Now that Bruce sees his back, he can't tell if it's a man or a woman. The feeling is fuzzy in his chest, but it is even fuzzier as he feels the member hardening in his trousers.
The young heir approaches his new friend, grabbing Edward's wrists and preventing him from turning around. The brown-haired man is visibly nervous, tugging on his hands a couple of times, trying to free himself from Bruce's grip. Wayne's hands are strong, he has well-formed muscles that come from proper nutrition in childhood. Nashton moves his face, trying to meet Bruce's eyes, hoping to decipher what he's trying to do.
—Bruce. —Edward calls out to him but is rendered speechless when Bruce's hips press against his backside. The nun-clad boy's face flushes a deep red, reaching up to his ears. Nashton averts his gaze quickly, staring at a specific spot on the bookcase.
Bruce's hips move, pushing against Edward, until the chestnut's body is crushed against the hard surface of the shelf. Even though there are several layers of clothing between them, Nashton can feel the insidious movement between his buttocks, the heat emanating from his new friend's body behind him. Bruce's hands slide down Edward's arms until they reach his shoulders.
The brown-haired boy shudders, the first time anyone has ever touched him like that. He might even say it's the first time he's been that close to another human being. Bruce breathes against Edward's ear, the warmth of his breath making his skin crawl almost instantly. Wayne's hands stop at his shoulders, squeeze his flesh, and continue down to his chest.
A man's flat chest greets him, no soft or voluptuous breasts to touch. Edward clings to one of Bruce's arms as he covers his face with his free hand. He hasn't tried to stop him, hasn't asked him to stop, not that Bruce has been listening to him anyway. Nashton stifles a groan as the jet's hips ram his body too hard.
—Bruce, Bruce. — Edward calls to him, tugging at the other priest's clothes—. Bruce, wait, wait.
The young Wayne is snapped out of his reverie, finally looking at Edward, his friend. Not the disembodiment I create by looking at that nun's costume. Edward's face is stained with a few tears, his lips flushed because he has bitten them, and his face is still flushed. Bruce lets go, pulling away from him as if his touch burns. He takes a couple of strides back until his legs collide with the bed. Finally, Wayne flees, opens the door, and runs down the hallway without even an apology.
Edward just stands there. Not only confused, but overly annoyed, the brown-haired man watches Bruce walk down the stairs. Nashton slams the door shut and clutches his veil. Tearing the bonnet off his head and tossing it onto the now ill-fitting bed. Ed. sighs in disgust and slams his fist on the old desk.
“In God's house, all are equal.” It was clearly a lie. The bishop and the mother superior wanted what money the Wayne family could give, and there he was. Being the puppet, he had been since they left him in that orphanage. In the house of God, no one was the same, Edward had lost his dignity as a man and his personality by becoming what they asked him to be.
Bruce didn't wonder how Edward got a habit, how he could walk around the cathedral in drag. The answer was because it was all planned by “those higher forces”. That they were not equal within the house of God. Nashton pulls his hair, buries his hands on his cheeks and paces the room in despair. The way a wild animal would.
That was his first chance to get close to Wayne, he hoped it wouldn't be his last, because if it had been, he would have blown it all. Edward angrily sheds his habit, tugs at his clothes, and chokes back a sob by biting his hand. Tears of frustration run down his eyes, after a couple of seconds he regains his composure. If Bruce never came near him again, Edward would have to look for him.
Wayne doesn't show up in the classroom the next day, or the next. Edward learns that Bruce has asked for permission to go home, three days later the heir finally shows up. He doesn't sit next to Edward as he did that first time, he walks past him to the back row. An emptiness settles in Nashton's stomach, maybe Bruce never wanted to see him again.
Edward waits in his cell until the sun begins to set, he has asked the bishop not to close Bruce's cell. But he hasn't explained why, he's nervous, of course. If Wayne turns him down all is lost, he only had one job and if he messed it up. Nashton slaps his cheeks with his open palms and stealthily steps out into the hallway. Ducking his head in case anyone sees him.
It's completely dark outside when Ed knocks on Bruce's door. The young Wayne opens it almost instantly, no longer wearing his cassock, but a rather conservative pair of pyjamas. His blue Bruce eyes open with surprise and a little fear, he glances around, hoping no one sees a nun standing at his door at night.
—May I come in? —Edward fiddles with his fingers, maintaining that childlike, shy personality that the jet-haired man seems to like so much. Bruce hesitates just a second and moves to let the other man in.
—Just a moment. —Wayne comments when Nashton has entered his cell. Bruce closes the door from the inside and leans against the wooden surface, covering the entrance with his body, to prevent anyone from finding out what's going on in there. Edward covers his cheekbones with his palms, as if trying to hide a blush.
—Bruce, about the other day...— His voice is barely a whisper, so much so that Wayne doesn't hear the last part of the sentence, nor is he sure that Edward has even said anything to him.
—I'm so sorry about what happened. —Wayne responds hastily. Edward settles his hands behind his back, rocking his body as he looks away from the other would-be priest's bed.
—I said there was no problem. —Edward pauses, as if mustering all his strength not to sound embarrassed, raising his flushed face to look at Wayne—. We're friends, that's what friends do, they help each other.
Bruce blinks, a little incredulous at his new friend's words. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out of his lips, he tries again, but seems to have run out of voice. Edward grabs the rope around his waist, trying to pull it open to get rid of his habit. Wayne raises his hand, still with trembling lips.
—Wait. —Bruce moistens his dry lips, swallows the saliva that seems to be made of stone as it scrapes his throat almost closed—. Don't take it off.
Nashton lowers his head and nods, lets his hands fall, lax beside his body. Bruce approaches, slowly, the way a human would approach a wounded animal. He lifts his hand until his fingers touch the black cloth on Edward's flat chest.
Bruce senses that he is somehow taking advantage of Edward, the submissive way he reacts. The priest's long, slender fingers run up the chest of the man dressed as a nun. With his touch, Bruce can feel Nashton's collarbone and finally his bony shoulder. Wayne's other limb reaches for Ed's neck, grabs his cheek, and wedges his face into his palm.
—Bruce. —The brown-haired man's voice is shaky, shuddering as he shakes his cold palm against his warm skin. Edward squeezes the skirt of his habit between his fingers and lifts it, revealing to Bruce the white stockings on his legs. The socks come to just below his knees and are complemented by feminine shoes. His feet don't look small, it's strange that he could get them… But Bruce doesn't have time to think about that.
Edward's skin has some white scars, maybe he was a very active child. That doesn't make him any less attractive, it still gives him that feeling of unease that Bruce finds exciting. The same way, he hasn't stopped shivering in Wayne's arms. They both move slowly to the edge of the bed.
Nashton can feel the difference from his room, the mattress in Bruce's cell is clearly new. Firm but not hard, not like the old bed he must sleep on. The sheets are a bright white, neat, like everything around him. Edward glances sideways at a new computer, a printer, and even a second door, which clearly leads to a bathroom.
“In God's house, all are equal.” Edward knew that since his arrival in the world, it was the first time he was in a position of advantage. If he was going to get things from Wayne, it would also be for his benefit. Nashton sits on the bed, facing Bruce, rests on his palms and climbs up until his body is fully on top of the mattress, turning halfway around to hide his face between the pillows.
Bruce adjusts himself between the legs of the brown-haired man, taking one of the feet to undo his shoes and throwing it to the floor. Edward sighs, spreads his legs on either side of Bruce's hips and slides his skirt up, slowly, giving Bruce anticipation of what he will find. The black-haired man holds his breath as he notices a bit of the curve of Nashton's ass, revealing that he's not wearing any underwear underneath his habit.
Wayne can feel his cock throbbing between his legs. He hasn't got any kind of release, and he's remained a little excited since his encounter in Edward's cell. Bruce's hands touch his thighs, moving up the inside to the junction of his legs. It seems that even in that place, Ed's body releases more of his pleasant warmth.
Nashton shivers, hiding his face in the soft pillows as Bruce's hands completely lift his habit. The cold air hits his exposed flesh, bristling his skin, some from the change in temperature, some from the discomfort of being pushed down in front of Wayne. Bruce settles himself over his partner's body, sliding his fingers between Nashton's buttocks.
The brown-haired man gives a little jump, bites his lips, and squeezes the sheets in his hands. The black-haired priest's appendages feel a slight dampness on the walls of the nun-clad man. A warm, sticky substance smeared on his fingers.
—I, I investigated how it was that two men did it. —Edward's voice is drowned out by hiding his face in the bed. Nashton himself lifts his hips, propping himself up on his knees. Edward's skin is white, with greenish veins beneath his dermis. Bruce's fingers push over Nashton's hole, sliding smoothly between Ed's walls.
Edward tries to relax his body, takes long, deep breaths. Bruce's appendages part inside his hole, drawing a squeal from Nashton's lips. Wayne can feel the thrill, twitching inside his gut, he slides his fingers out, peering a little at the flushed, stretched hole of the young man dressed like a woman.
The brown-haired young man lifts his face a little, trying to observe what Bruce is doing. Wayne hurriedly opens the straps of his pyjamas, trying to get out of his pants. Edward lifts his leg, caressing Bruce's ankle with his foot, as if inviting him to hurry.
Bruce releases his hard erection, holds his base, and adjusts. Edward's eyes look up at him with a mixture of fear, but also excitement, as the hot glans finally presses against his flushed hole. If Bruce heard for years that sodomy was hell, being able to press himself against the Nashton is like being able to touch the paradise he's been told about. His slim, slender figure jerking as he begins to thrust.
Edward bites his lips as he feels the searing heat between his flesh. Bruce's cock is large, his insides burning as the thickest part is forced into his loins. Wayne's hands settle beside his head, letting some of his weight fall on Edward's body. Bruce's hot breath hits the round cheek of the nun-clad boy.
Bruce takes short breaths, trying to calm himself. He stays, I want in the chestnut's gut, hoping the chestnut can adjust to his form. For even though Edward hasn't told him, he knows the intrusion is uncomfortable. Nashton's fingers grip the sheets so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, as if the blood has left that part of his body.
Edward trembles slightly, from the force his arms are exerting. Bruce doesn't want to hurt him any more than he already has, because he still thinks he's taking advantage of Ed. And deep down because he thinks that encounter might happen again. Bruce pulls back a little, watching curiously as his cock has been devoured by Nashton's hole, as his friend's figure trembles.
—Bruce, you can move. —Edward's voice is clipped, speaking through gritted teeth. Wayne would like to do it, to pull himself completely out of his delicious bowels and push himself unceremoniously back in, not caring about the chestnut's pleas or whimpers. But it's quite outside, and any strange sound would bring the priests monitoring the seminarians.
—Are you sure? —Bruce slides his hands down Edward's belly, up his chest, and stops at his shoulders. He grabs him under the arms to force him up, bringing Nashton to his knees on the bed. Wayne slowly slides down, taking all his patience and sanity, out from under his partner. It is extraordinary for the Edward, the reaches of his own body.
Taking Bruce again, throbbing inside him, warm and moist. His strong arms embracing him from behind, pressing his back against Wayne's chest. Edward has never been so close to another human being, close enough to feel the violent pounding of Bruce's heart. How his breath hits Edward's ear as his chin comes close to the brown-haired man's cheek.
Edward covers his mouth with both hands, the skirt falls back to the bed and the stiff pink fabric, his hardened member. Nashton notices the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision, and fogging his glasses. A few thick tears trickle down his cheeks as Bruce pushes all the way in again. A shriek chokes over his hands, that way his now lover can touch a spot on his belly that makes his sob.
One of the jet man's hands travels down Nashton's chest, as if he has forgotten that eta with a man and seeks his breasts. Long fingers squeeze the little fat on his chest, making Edward feel even more outraged. Bruce's pounding against his ass is slow, but constant and deep. Like his testing the ground to move harder later.
Bruce's hand pulls Edward's arm, forcing him to uncover his mouth. He opens the space between them and grasps the other wrist of the brown-haired man. Pulling on the young priest's slender body, forcing him to curve his back. Bruce's cock slides out, pushing all the way in with one thrust. Using the leaner man's arms to begin a violent pounding.
Edward bites his tongue, purses his lips, hoping his voice won't be heard by the other seminarians sleeping in the continuous rooms. The arrhythmic lashing of Bruce's body against Nashton's now reddening ass. Wayne's cock slams into his stomach, causing mild nausea at the speed with which he is spanked. The glasses slide off Edward's face, falling onto the messy sheets. Tears continue to stream down the broad cheeks down his neck.
It is deplorable, shameful, that his first sexual encounter is being anally abused by a man. But it's even more shameful how close he comes to orgasm with just his ass. His penis drips with pre-seminal fluid and jerks at each of Bruce's precise strokes on his body.
Bruce gasps loudly behind Nashton, his hands squeezing harder than necessary on the cross-dressing boy's flesh. Pulling Edward up until the chestnut's back touches Bruce's chest again. The sordid smack on Ed's belly brings him to a climax in his sobbing that must have been heard all the way down the hall.
The young man jerks hurriedly in Bruce's arms, his muscles contracting for a moment then dropping lax, like bread dough. Bruce, who has also been kept on edge, clings to Edward as he comes in his loins. The dense, hot liquid is splashed violently inside Nashton. It expands between his flesh, burning and viscous. A first time, very uncomfortable.
It is perhaps because he finally gave up the mission he has been given, because of the inhuman physical effort he was subjected to. Maybe because Bruce's bed is soft like no other, he falls, almost unconscious, on the mattress. Wayne follows him, clinging to Edward's chest.
The last thing Edward thinks, he should have the mattress like that in his cell, for their next encounters.