Work Text:
When Tim entered the office, Bruce was sitting behind his desk in his large chair that probably cost more than what most people made in a year, with his elbow on the armrest and chin resting in his palm, and he was glaring so fiercely out of the window Tim was surprised the glass didn't shatter. The gray clouds outside the floor to ceiling windows seemed to only highlight Bruce's gloomy mood. Tim pulled out his phone before Bruce could notice it and snapped a picture. He wouldn't even need to bother much with editing, just tweak the saturation a little for more drama and just like that, they had the perfect photo.
At the sound of the shutter going off, Bruce looked towards Tim. His arm remained in place as did his frown, but the look in his eyes softened significantly. Tim didn't even think before taking another picture. Then Bruce let his hand fall and his eyes drifted close with a sigh. The quirk of the corner of his lips could barely be called a smile, but the effect was there. Another photo.
"You know, most people ask before taking pics, otherwise they're nothing more than paparazzi," the man commented, but it was more teasing than an actual complaint.
Tim shrugged.
"It's not like I'm going to use these. Although you should put them on your Instagram, show some proof of life before your publicist has to put out another statement that you're not actually dead like the rumours claim," he said. He slipped his phone into the pouch of his hoodie as he made his way to the desk. He ignored the uncomfortable seat in front of it, knowing that Bruce intentionally bought the worst armchair to make sure nobody stayed long, and went around.
"My Instagram profile serves its purpose," was Bruce's grunt of an answer, but he did nothing to stop Tim from sitting onto his desk.
"Social media stalking your children is not the purpose of your professional account."
"I don't use it to stalk my children," Bruce said, defensive. "I use it to monitor the people who represent my company."
"So you don't just stalk your children, but everyone else as well, got it."
The frown was back on Bruce's face.
"I'm not sure I appreciate your attitude." He tried to come off stern and even somewhat threatening, but seeing that fourteen years old Tim had been the one to pull the man's head out of his ass after he managed to chase Dick out of Gotham and his life, and fought with Jason so badly the teen ran away for a full year, Tim had learned to stop fearing the man's ire. If he could go toe-to-toe with the most powerful man in the city as a nobody teenager, he most definitely could do it as an adult with a career of his own merit.
"If this meeting is going the way I expect it to, then I reserve my right to be an ass," Tim said. "So what can I do for you on this gloomy afternoon?"
"I need you to do a photoshoot that'll get people talking," Bruce answered and Tim only barely held back the roll of his eyes. This is exactly why he reserved his right to bitch.
"What happened?" he asked.
Bruce shook his head.
"That's not important. I need you to do it and that's it," he replied. He said it with the confidence of a man who has barely been denied anything in his life. As far as Bruce was concerned, the only answer to an order he had given was a 'Yes, Mr. Wayne' and no further questions asked. And usually, that was exactly what he received, unless he was talking to a very small and very specific group of people.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Tim was a member of this very small, very specific group of people.
"No, Bruce. If you're ordering me to fuck my schedule up and possibly loose out on a paying client, I'm going to need an actual, good reason for me to do it. And 'just because I said so' is not good enough," he answered.
Over the years, he had done quite a few of these photoshoots for Bruce and the label. Usually, they were released when someone had just gotten into a scandal that had the potential to get out of hand and they needed to draw the attention away. These photoshoots included, but were not limited to, an artistic nude photoshoot of Bruce himself when Jason got into a bar fight and almost killed a man, and an aerial, circus themed photoshoot of Dick when they had to cover up Stephanie's pregnancy.
And as much as Tim hated the reason they needed to make those photos, he was also not shy to admit that they were some of his best works.
Bruce sighed.
"Look, I'd really rather not discuss. Can you just do this for me this once?" he asked.
For a moment, Tim considered it. Bruce looked genuinely troubled, but as far as Tim had heard - and being one of the more popular members of the Wayne Label, his grapevine ran deep - there was no imminent scandal brewing that might warrant such reaction from the man. And also, Tim has done more than one of these shoots before, so it was not a one off occurrence of him just doing Bruce a solid.
"You know I'm booked completely for the next two months. So if you want me to cancel paying clients, you need to give me a reason." If Bruce wanted to curse someone for this, he could curse himself. It had been him, after all, who trained Tim in the art of business.
Bruce knew this, if the sour look on his face was anything to go by. He himself would have given the same answer Tim had, but never did he like it when his proteges used his own tactics against him. He continued glaring at Tim for a long moment, one last try for intimidation. But when the photographer didn't back down, he slumped back against his chair and gestured towards the papers on the desk, half under Tim's thigh.
"Read it."
Tim took the papers in hand and crossed one leg over the other. This put his foot right by Bruce's hand who started absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles around his ankle.
Tim read through the text once. Then again. His brow creased in a frown as he went through it a third time, just to make sure he didn't miss anything. He let the papers rest on his thigh when he lifted his gaze to look at Bruce again.
"Yeah, this is not a good enough reason," he exclaimed before he threw the papers back onto the desk with a soft thud.
Suddenly, Bruce's fingers were like a shackle around the delicate bone of Tim's ankle.
"What do you mean it's not good enough?! It's plenty enough!" he said. His blue eyes looked like an ice field in December: harsh, cold and dangerous.
"I mean exactly what I'm saying. A single negative critique of your movie is not worth cancelling the next Channel campaign for," Tim shrugged and tried to move off the desk, but Bruce put a hand over his thigh and squeezed. A silent warning to keep him in place, even if this conversation was over as far as Tim was concerned. Still, Tim remained in place, although he refused to look away and be cowed.
"He's questioning whether I'm losing my touch! He says that my movies are boring and I should just retire!" Bruce growled, his grip on Tim's leg bordering on painful.
Tim grabbed onto the hand and while he didn't push it off, he squeezed Bruce's fingers as a reminder to mind his strength.
"So? B, you've done 6 Batman movies in the last two decades, someone was bound to get bored of them!" he said, then took a deep breath to reign himself in. "I've also seen what the rest of the critics said, 9 out of 10 liked it."
"This guy is influential!"
"And I don't care. One bad critique is not a good enough reason for me."
There was a beat of silence, but Tim knew what was coming. He could feel it in the way Bruce's hand twitched under his own on his thigh, could see it in the way the angry fire in his eyes morphed into a different type of heat. Because Tim knew that Bruce had a type, had met them in person after Selina acted circles around Bruce on set or when Thalia had the entire Wayne Label in a chokehold as they negotiated transferring Jason's contract.
And that type was people who weren't scared to say no to him.
Bruce was out of his chair just in time for Tim to reach up to cradle his face before their lips met. It was much more gentle than the sudden start would've suggested, but Bruce had always been like this. He wanted to come off gruff and rough, but in reality, if someone made a move with just enough confidence, Bruce was ready to melt under their touch. Tim usually wasn't big on taking the lead in bed; after all, he spent most of his days giving directions to people, but there was something heady about having someone like Bruce Wayne follow his lead.
Even now, if he just tilted his head right, Bruce met him just so Tim could lick into his mouth. Tim kept his hand on Bruce's to keep it on his thigh as he spread his legs farther apart so he could pull the man even closer. When Bruce only adjusted his grip so he could lift thigh around his waist, Tim slid his hand up along the man's arm to his shoulders.
Tim was very aware of the fact that Bruce's laptop was right behind him, so as much as he wanted to lean back and pull Bruce onto himself, he couldn't. Maybe he should just pull back, and stop this before they could get carried away. After all, this was Bruce's office, anyone could come in if they needed the CEO. But then Bruce grabbed his hips and pulled him forward until their crotches were flush against one another and Tim couldn't help but moan.
He fisted his dress shirt and hugged Bruce's waist with his legs tighter so the man wouldn't step back just yet. They weren't hard yet, but when Bruce groaned into his mouth when Tim bit his lower lip, Tim's cock twitched.
His lips tingled when Tim finally got himself to pull back. He mouthed along Bruce's jaw, enjoying the way his five o'clock shadow scratched his skin.
"Unless you want to do one of those moves when you sweep shit off your desk, we should probably move this to your chair," Tim whispered and kissed the shell of Bruce's ear. He stroked a hand down his spine until his palm rested on Bruce's tailbone and he could push him into a slow grind. His breath hitched; even through all the layers, it was getting too exciting. Maybe it was the thrill that anyone could come in. Maybe it was the fact that this was Bruce Wayne, everyone's favourite actor. Maybe Tim was just fucked in the head, but stopping felt like a non-option.
Bruce hummed, and the way it vibrated through his chest made Tim feel lightheaded as all the blood rushed south.
"You need to let me go for that," Bruce answered and rubbed his face along Tim's neck. Tim could already tell he was going to get beard burns all over his skin if they continued like this, but there was something about the way that Bruce's stumble felt against him that turned him on so bad.
Tim drew him into another kiss. Being on the desk limited his range of motion so he couldn't grind against Bruce the way he wanted to, but the man didn't leave him hanging. His thrusts were slow and deliberate, drawing sighs out of Tim with every move of his hips. Bruce's cock was getting harder against him with every passing second, and Tim needed it in him desperately. His ass, his mouth, it didn't matter.
So he forced himself to let go and push Bruce back until the man sat into his chair. Tim jumped off his desk and undid his own fly and belt before he climbed into Bruce's lap. Thank fuck, Bruce's chair was big enough for him to put his knees right next to his thighs. He grabbed Bruce's hands and settled them right on his ass before attacking his lips again. With him on top, Tim could finally set the pace he wanted.
He knew Bruce could take it, so he put a bit more of his weight into it, pressing down against the man's bulge. His hips rolled down, dragging his boxer-clad erection along Bruce's dress pants. The man was still fully dressed, his fly and belt buckle digging into Tim's most sensitive parts, but with his own jeans out of the way, the feeling was so much more heightened and Tim would rather die than stop.
Bruce slid his hands into Tim's jeans and grabbed his buttcheeks with both hands, pushing Tim down against himself. Tim sucked on his tongue as a reward and Bruce massaged his ass in response.
Tim reached down to finally undo Bruce's fly. He grabbed onto it blindly, but got it open with minimal fumbling, until he could push both his slacks and underwear down enough to pull his cock out.
Bruce leaned his head back.
"Tim..." he sighed and Tim took the chance to suck on his Adam's apple. Bruce's cock was heavy and full in his hand. He swirled his thumb over the head to smear the precum along the skin before giving it a few good strokes. He trailed his fingers along the vein on the underside of it until he could press his thumb into the soft spot right under head.
Bruce shivered in his arms, his hands twitching on Tim's buttocks. Tim smiled as he rubbed gentle circles into that spot before letting his hand drop back onto the base. He cradled Bruce's balls for a moment, then grabbed onto the base firmly and stroked up to the head again. His hands were dry, so the feeling was not yet perfect, yet Bruce was groaning like he was not going to last.
"Do you still have the lube?" Tim asked, kissing under Bruce's jaw. He thought about giving him a hickey, just for the sake of it. Show off to the world that he had been with the great Bruce Wayne, but refrained from it. He had loosened his grip on Bruce's cock, but didn't stop his movements. He kept the pace slow to keep Bruce from cumming, but it was just fast enough to still keep him hard.
Bruce turned his head to peck Tim on the lips.
"Middle drawer on the left," he whispered and Tim gave him another peck getting off his lap.
Tim kicked his shoes off and pushed his jeans down. His grey underwear was turning darker as his own precum soaked through the fabric, but before Tim could make a move to take it off, Bruce leaned forward and stopped him. He sealed his lips over the dark spot and sucked. Tim's knees almost buckled under him, but Bruce held him up with an iron grip. His saliva soaked through the photographer's briefs as his tongue ran along his trapped length.
"Fuck, B," Tim moaned and lightly thrusted into Bruce's mouth.
The man pulled away with a satisfied look in his eyes.
"The lube?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
God, he was fucking infuriating. And then he went and wondered why everyone around him was acting like a prick. But Tim couldn't really say anything, so he turned towards the desks and leaned down to pull the drawer out. He had been the one to sneak the lube into Bruce's office, and he was glad to see that it was still half-full when he pulled it out.
Bruce's hands had once again found their places on his ass, but this time they didn't settle with just playing with Tim's cheeks but slid under his briefs so he could finally push them down completely.
Tim didn't bother straightening up, he just leaned his chest onto the desk and looked back onto Bruce over his shoulder.
"Want to do it? Or will I need to do it myself?" he asked, because Bruce wasn't the only one who could be an asshole.
The man scoffed and lightly swatted at Tim's ass, which only made Tim spread his legs wider. Bruce had always been more bark than bite during sex. He wouldn't truly spank him, even if Tim asked. Even now, he took the lube from Tim and put it onto the desk.
"You used to be so sweet," Bruce mused as he undid his cuffs and pushed his sleeves up. That move shouldn't have been as sexy as it was and Tim could feel his cock leaking even more precum as he watched the muscles in Bruce's forearms move as the man opened up the lube and coated his fingers with it.
"Emphasis on the past tense," Tim chuckled and pushed back against the finger that started circling his hole.
Bruce stretched along Tim's right side, pressing his body against Tim's. He held himself up on his free hand so he could press a kiss to the back of Tim's neck.
"No respect," he sighed, but he pushed his finger in ‘till the first knuckle. His tone made it sound like this was supposed to be a punishment, but Tim was already pushing back against the digit.
The rough pad of Bruce's finger rubbed deliciously along his inner walls and Tim already wanted more. He turned to look at Bruce and kissed him again as he continued fucking himself on the man's finger. Bruce met every thrust of his, and soon enough pushed another finger in.
"Fuck, yes," Tim slurred before licking Bruce's lower lip and then diving back in. Bruce's fingers were thick and long, and when he started. scissoring them, Tim saw the stars. One of them pressed right up against his prostate and when Tim angled his hips just right, every new thrust pushed right up against it. He was probably leaking precum all over the floor, but he couldn't care less about it.
"Another one," he asked, and Bruce complied without a question. Tim let his head rest on his arms on the desk. He was too focused on meeting every thrust with his own to keep kissing Bruce the way the man liked it. Especially when Bruce deliberately curled his fingers against the sweet spot and started rubbing it continuously. The whine that left Tim's lips was embarrassingly high and soon he was standing on his tip-toes. He wasn't sure if it was to chase the feeling or to get away from the pleasure that was so intensive it bordered on painful. Tim bit onto the sleeve of his hoodie to keep his noises down.
He was so close to cumming. Just a few more strokes like that, and he would...
Bruce pulled out his fingers without any warning, but before Tim could complain, the man picked him up and turned him around, so Tim was laying on the desk. Like this, Tim was forced to look up at him and he moaned at the sight.
Bruce was fully dressed other than having his cock hanging out. His shirt was wrinkled where Tim had held it earlier, and the sleeves were bunched up around his elbows, but his slacks still held up around his waist. His graying hair was perfectly in place, and his tie was still tied right. But the impassioned focus of his gaze on Tim's body and light flush on his cheeks gave away just how affected he was.
Tim's fingers itched for his camera to capture him like that, but a dark part of him was glad only he could see this.
"I thought there would be no desk sweeping," he tried to joke, because being the subject of Bruce's attention so intensely was not exactly comfortable. Tim had heard that his own attention was exactly like this, but it was rare for him to be on the receiving end like this. It was exhilarating.
Bruce grabbed his thighs and spread them apart, taking in the view like Tim was a feast.
"There's no need to sweep, as long as you mind the laptop. I don't care for the papers," he said as he used the leftover lube on his hand to slick up his cock.
Tim smiled and held his own knees apart.
"Noted," he said. He shivered when Bruce's cockhead rubbed against his taint a few times before the man pushed into him. Tim bit his lip to keep silent as the man slowly, but surely pushed forward, not stopping until he was in to the hilt. Tim felt full, but that didn't stop him from wanting more.
When Bruce started to pull back, Tim wanted to whine, but then the next thrust came and all the will to complain flew right out of his head. The slow pace allowed him to feel every single inch sliding into his body, the girth rubbing into his prostate and massaging his inner walls so greatly.
"B, feels so good," Tim panted and let go of his leg so he could reach up and muffle his own moans. This was ridiculous. Bruce had barely just started, and Tim had already been reduced to a moaning, shivering mess under him.
Bruce's hands slid under his hoodie and pushed it up until the green material was bunched up by Tim's armpits.
"You too," he rasped. His hot breath caressed Tim's skin when he leaned and licked Tim's nipple. He sucked on it for a moment before biting down. The sensation made Tim's whole body clench up, his thighs squeezing Bruce's sides.
Tim could feel Bruce adjust his stance a little bit, but then he bit him again the same he thrusted in and Tim no longer had it in him to mind what Bruce was doing as long as the man kept fucking him like that. Bruce didn't compromise on the strength as he sped up, so Tim had to let his arms drop onto Bruce's shoulders and cling, lest he get pushed off the desk.
"Bruce... B.... B...," Tim chanted. He clung to the man for dear life. Bruce's stubble scratched his neck when he mouthed along his jaw, and Tim threw his head back to give him more room.
The desk creaked under his weight and the strength of Bruce's thrusts, but Tim could only hear Bruce's panting breath and the sound of skin slapping skin. It echoed in the large office and while Tim knew that the office was soundproofed, it seemed impossible that nobody could hear the way Bruce's hips met his. He could no longer muffle his moans, each movement drawing out a new sigh, a new whine or a prayer of the man's name.
Then Bruce adjusted his angle, and the head of his dick now rammed straight into Tim's sweet spot every time he pushed in. Tim felt like fireworks had gone off in his whole body; his toes flexed behind Bruce's back, his hold on his dress shirt was now so tight it was a miracle he didn't tear the fabric. Tears welled up in Tim's eyes.
"Bruce, I'm gong to... Please..." he sobbed and he wasn't exactly sure he was coherent enough to express himself. Bruce kissed him again and gave a particularly rough thrust. The man almost shouted into kiss as Tim's body squeezed down on him, but didn't loose his rhythm as he continued fucking him.
He didn't even have to touch Tim's cock. Tim could feel Bruce's hand on his thigh like a brand while the other one went to his nipple. He tugged on lightly right when he thrusted in and bit Tim's lips, and Tim was gone.
Tim wasn't exactly sure he didn't black out for a moment from the force of his orgasm. His body locked up, tears sliding down his face. And Bruce was still fucking him, until the man curled into him, buried his face in the hood of Tim's hoodie as he came inside. It took a few more thrusts until Bruce had fully rode out his orgasm, but Tim was still shaking when he stopped.
Bruce had collapsed on top of him, but his weight was comforting. Tim had felt like if Bruce wasn't there to tether him to this plane of existence, his soul would've just floated away. His muscles were still locked up, so he held onto the man like a koala, his only movement being the way he gently caressed Bruce's nape.
Bruce pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Are you okay?" he whispered. The entire office had fallen silent for the past few minutes, so him speaking up felt way too loud, no matter how soft his voice had been.
Tim nodded and gently pecked him on the lips.
"Can you stay inside a little longer, though?" he requested.
Bruce gave him an indulgent smile.
"Can you hold on?" he asked, as if Tim would've been able to let go. Tim checked his grip just to reassure the man before Bruce slid his hands under his hips and lifted him off the desk. Tim left out a soft moan as Bruce's cock shifted in him, followed by a whine when the man sat down and settled him into his lap. The oversensitivity sent sparks all over his body, but soon enough as they settled in, it was replaced by the contentment their position brought on.
Bruce didn't talk and Tim didn't force the issue either. It was rare that silence could be as comfortable as it was between them; they had always been alike, so they knew what the other would've said anyway. It always felt safe and comfortable when it was just them. It would've been very easy to fall asleep in Bruce's lap like that.
Except because Bruce could never let himself rest for too long, he scooted the chair closer to the table and booted up his laptop.
When Tim could finally feel the strength returning into his limbs, he maneuvered his legs into the holes under the armrest so he could fully cuddle up against Bruce's chest, who was rubbing gentle circles onto his lower back. Tim just continued watching the Gotham cityscape over the window and let himself be lulled into a dreamlike state by the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard.
Maybe Tim should've been more concerned about lounging on Bruce like a house cat, but after what they've just done, he really didn't have it in him to worry about that. It was calming to just lean into Bruce's wide chest while warming his cock as the man typed away on his laptop.
Eventually, Tim leaned back and grabbed his phone from the desk where it had slipped from his pocket while Bruce pounded him into oblivion. He wound his arms back around Bruce's shoulders which earned him a kiss to his neck before the man turned back to his work. Tim pulled up the critique that sent the man into such a downward spiral.
Generally speaking, this was far from the worst critique Bruce had ever received in his career. Back when Tim was around 11, before he had learned to ignore the negative criticism, he used to read up everything that people had to say about the Batman movies. He had seen the second one right when it came out, and had been one of Bruce's hero's biggest fans from that day forward. But many people thought the whole concept was childish, said that superheroes didn't need to become a new trend and Bruce was wasting his talent on nonsense projects like The Batman. Some even questioned whether he had any real talent to begin with, and if his Oscar for his Hamlet movie was just a fluke. Tim had been so angry at those critics, he almost went to war in some comment sections.
Eventually, he learned better, but he still remembered how scathing some of those comments had been.
This, in comparison, was nothing. If anything, it read more as a disillusioned fan talking about falling out of love with their favourite than a truly degrading critique. And if Tim was being honest, he also found himself agreeing with this Clark Kent on some points.
Batman had become Bruce's comfort role, and while all six Batman movies had different villains and lessons the character needed to learn - and Tim found them all intriguing - , he could also see that Bruce had become somewhat complacent in the role. Batman was no challenge for Bruce. Bruce, who made a name for himself by taking on the most difficult roles and excelling in them all, was giving nothing special to this role. But Bruce was exaggerating when claiming that Kent told him to retire because he became boring. He just said he wished Bruce would go back to showing off his range instead of typecasting himself, when he could get any and all roles he wanted.
"B," Tim called softly. He ran his hand gently down Bruce's nape to get him in the least combative mode possible.
"Yes?"
"Why does this critique bother you so much? You have gotten so much worse over the years," he murmured. He continued to lightly scratch Bruce's lap and pressed his face into his neck.
And maybe it had been this, or the after-sex relaxation, but instead of getting worked up again, Bruce just sighed. He leaned back in his seat and slid his hands under Tim's hoodie to touch the warm skin.
"Because this guy is not half-bad at his job. Even I can admit that sometimes he has some good takes."
Bruce uttering this sentence was so shocking that Tim had to pull away from the hug to look at the man. He was sure that this was the Bruce he had always known, after all, he hasn't gotten off his dick in a while, so it would've been impossible to switch him out with a clone. So this could all mean one thing...
"Oh my god, you like him," Tim muttered like he had just witnessed a miracle. Still, he couldn't stop himself from gently touching Bruce's face just to make sure he was actually real.
Bruce gave him a very annoyed look, which was at least familiar.
"Don't be ridiculous. Just because sometimes I agree with him..."
"So you like him like him?!"
Bruce's hands slid to Tim's hips and squeezed them in warning.
"That's not what I said," he said, but Tim was very good at reading Bruce's expressions. True anger and annoyance showed in icy coldness, like Bruce was wearing a porcelain mask. This annoyance was played up, which meant that he was hiding something. For such a great actor, Bruce was truly shit at hiding things from the people who knew him well.
"You literally never compliment anyone. Especially not a critic. You just reiterated twice that he's good at his job. This is the closest anyone can get to earning your approval," Tim explained. He leaned back so he could fully face Bruce. "Have you ever met him?"
Bruce sighed through his nose. His hands slid to Tim's butt to keep him from falling off his lap.
"A few times at premieres. I have also done interviews with him for the Daily Planet," he admitted. He refused to look Tim in the eyes, which in itself spoke volumes.
"So you have met this guy multiple times, didn't scare him off and even think positively about him. Holy shit," Tim said. This must be what it'd feel like to enter the Twilight Zone. "Did you ask him out?"
Bruce's eyes flashed towards him.
"Obviously not. I'm not interested in pursuing a relationship," he answered. He almost moved to take Tim off him, but Tim held onto his shoulders so he could stay in place.
"Why not? You like him. A lot. And you haven't been in a relationship since you and Selina broke it off a few years ago," Tim started. "Maybe you should go for it. Focus on something other than work."
Bruce's hand flew up to grab Tim's chin so he could force him close.
"Managing you all takes up all my time," he said and pulled Tim into a kiss. His tongue invaded Tim's mouth, and he must have used every trick in his book, because Tim could barely remember his own name by the time Bruce pulled back, but the photographer forced himself to focus.
"How nice that you have an agency full of people to do it for you," Tim answered with a smirk. Bruce kissed him again in hopes of fully distracting him. Tim's cock was soon twitching to life, but he still managed to mutter: "Don't think I won't sick Dick and Alfred on you about this."
Bruce rolled his eyes.
"I regret the day you met them," he said. He grabbed Tim's thighs and lifted him up so he could lay him out on the table again. Tim moaned as Bruce's half-hard cock once again pressed against his prostate.
"No, you don't." Whatever else he wanted to say was drowned out by Bruce's lips and his own punched out sighs.
*************************
Tim had a very hard time limping up the stairs to his apartment after Bruce dropped him off, but the bone deep relaxation made up for whatever pain he would be in for the next few days.
The moment the door shut behind, however, he was on his phone to his personal assistant.
"Hey, Maps, sorry to call so late. Do you remember that last week we declined an interview with some Clark Kent? He was calling because he was taking over for Kat Graham's editorial about the Behind the Scenes workers of the industry."
Tim let his bag drop in his foyer as he went into his study to grab his calendar as Maps answered.
"Great, please call him back and tell him that I changed my mind and am willing to do it, but only as long as he can shadow me at work. And then please book a studio for next Sunday, I'll do a shoot with Bruce."
Tim grinned to himself as he looked out the window. He could still see the imposing building of the Wayne Label in the distance.
"No, you and the crew won't need to attend. I can handle the two of them on my own."
*******************
"Do you, by any chance, know a guy called Conner Kent?"
Sure, Tim had suspected it. When he first saw the name Kent on the critique Bruce had printed out, he thought about his best friend and how funny it would be if they were related. He immediately dismissed the thought, though. The US population was well over 300 million, there must have been more than one Kent family in there. There was a chance that this man wasn't even from Kansas.
But now that Clark Kent was towering over him, Tim had absolutely no way of doubting it. Sure, Kon wasn't as tall or muscled as this mountain of a guy, but otherwise, they could've passed for long lost twins. The black, curly hair framed their faces the same way, and their eyes were the exact shade of blue that Tim imagined the Kansas sky to be on a sunny day.
Even the sheepish smile that came across Clark's face was the same that Kon would give Tim after coming first when they fooled around.
Clark pushed his black rimmed glasses higher on his nose.
"Yes, he's my half and adopted brother. It's somewhat complicated," he said, and it was clear he didn't wish to speak about it further.
That was okay. Tim could just get the details from Kon if he wanted them. So he put on his best work smile and extended a hand.
"Alright then. Thank you for coming on a short notice, by the way. I realise just how inconvenient it must have been for you that I changed my mind so suddenly," he said.
Clark's hand completely engulfed his when he shook it.
"Thank you for agreeing in the end. Your name is sure to draw in the readers," Clark said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and followed Tim into the studio when Tim started leading him there.
"I know we discussed this in the email, but I'm actually working today, so I can't offer you a sit down interview. But I'm happy to answer any questions you have while I'm at it," Tim said and opened the door, motioning for Clark to enter first.
"Don't worry, this is perfect. I get to see how you work and what the process looks..."
The studio was in the Wayne Label's basement, so Tim could light it completely to his own needs, without having to consider the time of day. This time, it was arranged to look like an office. An almost exact replica of Bruce's desk had been brought in with a large armchair, which Bruce himself was currently occupying. Tim had instructed him to wear a waist coat with his suit this time, and to ditch the jacket. His hair was combed back from his face, and while Tim didn't have his team assisting for this shoot, he did have a make-up artist visit Bruce to hide the perpetual dark circles under his eyes. So sitting there behind his desk, absentmindedly rolling a pen between his fingers, Bruce looked good.
He looked really good. Even with the shocked look on his face that soon turned into fury.
"...like. Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne." It took Clark a moment to breathlessly finish his sentence and Tim had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. This was already better than what he expected when he originally came up with this idea.
" Mr. Kent," Bruce nodded, before immediately turning to Tim. "What's going on?" Bruce questioned, already standing from his seat. He only had eyes on Tim, clearly intent on ignoring Clark.
Tim gave him an innocent look.
"I could only fit this photoshoot in if I put it together with another project. I promised Mr. Kent an interview when he took over Ms. Graham's special due to her hand injury, so we'll conduct it while we work," he answered. He looked up at Clark with an apologetic smile about Bruce's rudeness, played it up to a thousand.
Clark forced himself to smile, but the tips of his ears were red.
"Please, just call me Clark," he muttered. His eyes ever so often flickered back towards Bruce, who stood up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked every bit like the powerful industry giant the world imagined him as.
"I asked Maps to tell you when she emailed you the details. Maybe she forgot," Tim shrugged as he grabbed his camera. "Now stay like that, you look very CEO-y."
Bruce gave him a very unimpressed look, but it only made the picture even more complete. Tim took a few shots from different angles just to test the lighting before letting his camera down. He went to fix one of the photo umbrellas.
He looked at Clark for a moment while he reangled the umbrella.
"Do you have any specific questions or do you just want to chat about the process?" This got the reporter to focus, as he pulled out his notebook. Tim wanted to laugh. How old-school.
Not that he let Clark focus solely on him. Because first, Tim had Bruce roll up his sleeves. Maybe it was just that Tim was obsessed with those strong arms, but he couldn't be blamed for it. Clark also stuttered on a word when Bruce did that. So Tim went in full throttle: next, he had Bruce loosen his tie as he leaned forward on his desk. Those pictures alone would be enough to get people to drop their pants, but then Bruce straightened up and wiped a hand over his hair. With his gaze fixed on the far wall and sweat glistening on his forehead, he looked like a wet dream come to life.
Naturally, Tim snapped a picture.
"We should get better air conditioning in here. These lights are very harsh, and this heat is ridiculous," Bruce commented. He wiped his hand over his face. Another click, another photo.
"Well, only one of us has the power to do something about that," Tim mused and looked through the pics. They were not as extravagant as the Circus photoshoot, nor as controversial as Bruce's nude one, but it was definitely going to grab some people's attention.
"I could go and get some water. I saw a water dispenser right outside," Clark offered. This was actually one of the first instances of him speaking directly to Bruce since he came in.
Bruce also finally looked at him. His face was devoid of any emotions, unreadable. But that alone was a sign that Bruce was very carefully curating himself about what he was showing to Clark, specifically.
"I'd appreciate it, if you truly don't mind," he said.
Clark smiled. He reminded Tim of a dog perking up.
"Of course. I'll be right back."
The moment the door of the studio closed after him, Bruce turned on Tim.
"What do you think your doing?"
Tim crossed the distance between them with a few large steps, and instead of answering him, he just grabbed Bruce by his loose tie and yanked him into a kiss. He bit down on Bruce's lower lip so the man would immediately open up and he could push his tongue into his mouth. Bruce also seemed intent to channel his fury into the kiss, because Tim was soon breathlessly hanging onto the man's shoulders over the table.
Then Tim forced himself to pull away.
"This better be the last kiss we share. That man is obviously as into you as you are into him. So do yourself a favour, and for once in your life, don't sabotage your own happiness before you even get to feel it," he said.
Tim held Bruce in place even after he let go of his shoulders to cradle his face in his hands. This time, he wasn't giving a fake smile as he added: "You deserve to have good things. You deserve to be happy."
Bruce didn't reply, but kissed him once more. It was so much more careful. He pulled Tim to the very edge of the desk with a gentle hand on his hips. He kissed Tim like he was trying to memorise his taste, the way his mouth felt against his. He mapped it out all over again, like he did the very first time.
The kiss tasted like an unsaid 'thank you'. It also tasted like 'goodbye'.
They only pulled apart when they heard Clark's footsteps nearing the door. Tim raised the camera up, so it would look like they were just going through the pictures.
Clark gave them a sweet smile as he brought a paper cup to Bruce.
"Here you go."
Tim could see the way their fingers brushed when Bruce took the cup, lingering just a moment longer than normal.
"Thank you," the actor answered and drained the cup before putting it into a drawer so it wouldn't be in the frame.
"Alright, if everyone is ready to continue, I only have a few more pictures I want to try. Bruce, can you lie on your back on the table?" Tim asked and climbed onto the desk, blocking a large part of it.
Bruce frowned.
"The desk is not big enough for that," he complained, but Tim only rolled his eyes.
"You don't have to fully lie down onto it, I just need your upper body on it and your head on the papers," he said.
Bruce frowned, but moved to do as Tim asked. He was obviously very uncomfortable, but reigned his features in, so he could look suave on the camera.
"Make this quick please, my back can't take this for long," he said as Tim rose up on his knees to get a different angle.
This was working all too perfectly. Tim looked at Clark.
"I'm sorry, Clark, if it's not uncomfortable for you, could you please help out and steady Bruce's hip to make it easier on his back? You look strong enough to give him a little boost," Tim said and batted his lashes in the way he had seen Dick do when the model was charming people into giving him free things.
Clark was so hurried to put away his notebook, he dropped it at first.
"Of course," he said. The blush that overtook his face could've been seen from the moon. "Are you okay with it, Mr. Wayne?" he asked as he walked up to the table.
Bruce was still acting unaffected, but Tim could see his mask cracking.
"It's okay, if you're really not against it," he said.
Clark rounded the desk and stepped between Bruce's legs so he could effectively grab both his thighs and lift him off the ground. The effect this had on Bruce came through instantly. His pupils widened, his breathing stuttered and his lips parted around a sound he swallowed back.
Tim took a picture before Bruce could get himself under control. Since he held the camera high, it would've been hard to tell that Bruce wasn't looking at the lense but at someone else behind it.
As far as Tim was concerned, his job was done right then and there. He wasn't going to get better photos than that, but he still snapped a few more both to solidify his story and to force Clark and Bruce to remain in such close proximity for a bit longer.
Then he put all of his acting talents into frowning at his camera.
"Shit, I'm out of space on my memory card. I have another one in my car, so I'll run out to get it." He didn't wait for an answer.
Bruce could question how he could be so careless to not come with an empty memory card. Clark could ask why he didn't carry it in his photography bag that was in the corner of the room. And Tim did actually carry several empty memory cards in his bag, but he was not about to admit that. His car was farther, and with the way Bruce and Clark had been eyefucking each other since Clark grabbed Bruce, Tim just needed to make himself scarce.
He waited until the door was completely closed after him before he broke out in a grin. His job was done, the rest of it was up to Bruce.
He could come back for his things the next day