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"I'm okay," Terry said.
"Not yet," Bruce said, and kept scrubbing his arms. "Turn around."
"I'm really okay." Terry didn't turn around.
Bruce grabbed the back of Terry's neck and pushed his head back under the shower. "You're not okay. You're not going to be okay until every speck of this garbage is gone from your skin. You're lying and trying to tell me you're okay because you have an erection and you think I haven't noticed yet."
Terry stood under the water and tried not to die of embarrassment.
"There's nothing I don't know about nineteen-year-old boys," Bruce said. "Stop arguing with me. Turn around. Raise your arms."
Terry turned around. Terry raised his arms. Bruce glared at him and Terry concentrated on not dying.
"Your body is reacting to synthetic pheromones. If they don't come off, your body will keep reacting until you die," Bruce said.
"Um." He had nasty images of his balls exploding. "Okay."
"I have an investment in you. You're not dying because some ten-cent punk thinks he's Poison Ivy," Bruce growled.
"Poison Ivy was the hot redhead, right?" Terry said and immediately wished he hadn't. It wasn't helping his state of denial one bit.
"Mm-hm." Bruce scrubbed the underside of Terry's arms until they tingled and reddened. Terry's skin sparkled where the evil, mood-altering spray had gone right through his suit; he was glad Bruce hadn't taken him at his word, because his desire to do anything other than jerk off until he was unconscious was rapidly ebbing.
And Bruce was shirtless. His shirt was lying with Terry's suit on the floor of the cave by the emergency shower and he was scrubbing Terry down in only his pants. This seemed extremely important. Bruce's skin seemed extremely important... and he was stoned, Terry realized, way stoned.
Bruce's skin... how could you be almost eighty years old and still have those muscles? And how could he take so much damage and still live? "You got stabbed a lot," Terry said, staring at the valleys of scars running over Bruce's chest.
"These days they have energy weapons. In my day, they had guns and knives." Bruce worked his way down to Terry's hand and rubbed viciously at his nails.
There was a dent across Bruce's shoulder like another muscle grouping. The edges were jagged like a jack o'lantern's smile. Terry reached up with his free hand, drawing a finger across the smooth skin and knotted muscle. "Killer Croc," Bruce said.
Terry pulled back. "I'm groping you."
Bruce raised an eyebrow and inspected Terry's hand.
"This stuff, it's making me all touchy-feely--" He was skating his fingertips over his own thigh, he couldn't stop. His skin had to touch skin. He wasn't even thinking about his dick; he had it blocked right out of his head.
"So touch and feel," Bruce said. He took Terry's face in his hands and looked in his ears.
"I... can't..."
"Stick out your tongue." Terry obeyed and Bruce looked in his mouth carefully. "Good," Bruce said. "Kneel down."
Terry knelt and Bruce soaped up his hair--soap, not shampoo, so Terry was going to have some styling issues when this dried. And he had to stop running his hands over his thighs or he was going to do something he'd really regret, so he grabbed onto the sodden fabric of Bruce's pants. "I tried a drug like this once--Love or Hugs or something like that--it just wasn't so..." Huge, Terry thought.
"Same concept. Higher dosage." Bruce pushed him back under the water and Terry shivered madly at the feel of hot liquid over his skin. This was definitely getting worse.
"I feel like I've got mouths in my skin," Terry muttered.
Bruce tilted his head one way, then the other as he checked through Terry's hair again. "You're clean. Obviously the drug has affected you already, but I believe we've stopped the dosage at a manageable level." Bruce tapped his head and Terry stood up again.
Stood up, naked and hard as a rock and miserable.
Then Bruce took him by the shoulder and pulled him close and stroked his dick and the possibility of thought flew out of Terry's head for about thirty seconds, until he came.
Came on Bruce's pants with his forehead pressed to Bruce's shoulder.
And he was still hard, but he felt much better. His skin itched everywhere that he wasn't touching Bruce, but he didn't feel like he was going to explode. "Okay," Terry said, catching his breath.
Bruce rinsed his hand under the shower.
"Okay." He should stand on his own two feet... but he liked his head on Bruce's shoulder. He liked stroking Bruce's furrowed stomach with his palm.
Bruce pulled on his shoulder and he followed Bruce blindly across the cave. The rock was surprisingly pleasant underfoot. Bruce wrapped a blanket around him and sat him in a chair. "I'm still affected," Terry said, rubbing his hands up and down his arms luxuriously.
"I know. I have to deal with the suit." Bruce took a pair of tongs and a bucket and dropped the suit into an enzymatic cleaning solution.
"Did we just have sex?" Terry asked. He felt a million miles away from his own head.
Bruce looked at him. "It's possible that it was a simple gesture of pain relief. Interpret it whatever way makes you feel most comfortable."
Terry rubbed his face, then rubbed it some more because it felt so good. "That was third base or something. I think we're going steady now!"
"Hm." Bruce almost sounded like he was laughing. Terry heard wet cloth fall to the ground and looked up to see Bruce dressed in a bathrobe and nothing else. "I'm going upstairs. I'm too old to stand around wet in caves."
"Okay," Terry said. "I'll just..."
"Do whatever seems best." Bruce turned and climbed the stairs to the house.
Terry sat rubbing his arms and stomach and face for a few minutes before he slapped himself, jumped up, and ran after Bruce, because if he knew Bruce--and he was pretty sure he did--that was an invitation.
Terry woke up in Bruce's big, soft bed in intense pain. His skin felt worse than that time he went swimming all day without sunscreen and his muscles were knotting and cramping so hard he could barely move. "Ow," he whispered, "ow, ow ow..."
Big hands took his chin gently and rubbed his neck until his spine cracked and his head could turn again. Terry opened his eyes and saw Bruce glaring down at him. "Careless," Bruce said.
"Sorry."
"I didn't mean you, I meant me. I should have devised a better antidote." Bruce looked mad as hell.
Terry let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Oh... a long nap, a bath with aloe... I'll be fine. I like your bed." Bruce kneaded the cramps out of Terry's left arm and Terry sighed with relief.
"I called the Justice League to deal with our rogue gardener."
"Seriously?" Bruce hated other heroes playing in his yard.
"You'll be out of commission for at least 24 hours; we can't risk him harming other people. The League has several members with non-human physiologies who are less likely to be affected." Bruce finished with Terry's right arm and moved to his legs.
"You actually called the Justice League," Terry said, incredulous. He opened his eyes and stared up at Bruce.
Bruce stared back. He had Terry's leg bent up between their chests and was leaning his weight on him, face only a few inches from Terry's. "I'm antisocial and bitter, but I'm not an unreasonable man," Bruce said without cracking his frown. Terry laughed, pushed himself up, and pecked Bruce on the lips.
Bruce switched legs without changing expression.
Superman dropped by later for tea. Milk and sugar, exactly what Terry would have guessed from Bruce's stories. Terry curled his aching body into one of Bruce's big, comfortable armchairs and nibbled on a cookie. Ace sat beside him, his chin on the arm by Terry's elbow.
"You look rough," Superman said.
"I'll live. Did you get him?"
Superman nodded. "And burned his crops. No more evil flowers."
"Thank you," Bruce said.
"What did those flowers do to Terry, anyway?"
"The pollen contained a dangerous level of stimulants. Without a remedy, it would have overstressed his heart and caused cardiac arrest."
Wow, there was a lot Bruce didn't say there. Superman gave Terry a concerned look and Terry fed a piece of cookie to Ace.
There was a lot they weren't talking about generally. Superman seemed anxious, while Bruce was clearly annoyed with him.
"How is Dick?" Superman asked.
"Still alive."
"I see Wally every so often. He seems happy as ever."
"As always."
"Diana's happy," Superman said. "Her daughter is making noise about becoming a Green Lantern, though. They're having words about that."
"Hm."
"So, Bruce..."
"Hm?"
"Can you confirm a rumor?" Superman leaned forward.
"About?"
"Diana's daughter--specifically, her paternity?" Superman raised an eyebrow at Bruce. He wasn't--he couldn't be suggesting--Bruce and Wonder Woman?
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Oh, Bruce was totally this kid's dad, and Terry was going to ride Bruce until he begged for mercy.
"Well, okay then," Superman said, and Terry would bet the Batsuit that Superman knew it too. Something about his smile said he knew Bruce as well as Terry did.
Superman abruptly cocked his head to the window. "I've got to go," he said. "Nice seeing you, Bruce. Hope you feel better soon, Terry." He set down his cup and stepped out the open window into the sunset.
Terry stretched. "So... Wonder Woman." He remembered the pictures, specifically a statuesque woman in strapless armor. "Wow."
Bruce gave him the eye.
"Bet her daughter is a knockout."
"In more ways than one," Bruce said.
Terry stood and stretched again; his muscles were twitchy and sore still. "I think I'm due for more napping." In Bruce's bed, of course. He could go back to his college dorm, but what fun would that be?
Bruce slipped into bed behind him some time during the night.
"We still haven't had the big talk," Terry said.
"Talking is overrated."
"But I like talking. It's my armor and my shield. It's a social lubricant and a--" Terry lost his train of thought as Bruce kissed his ear. "Ah. A... companion in empty rooms..."
Bruce popped open the buttons of Terry's pajama shirt and rolled him onto his back. "Something to do with my mouth," Terry said, then gasped when Bruce bit his nipple.
"It's a--oh--schway form of communication, not that there aren't others," Terry said. Bruce tugged his pajama pants off. "Lots of others."
Bruce pushed Terry's thigh up and stroked him on the inside and Terry used his mouth for panting for a minute or two. Mouth for panting, hand for grabbing the bedpost, belly for writhing under Bruce's mouth: he was fully occupied.
The man wasn't weak at all. The cane was just for camouflage and hitting people. Terry tossed his head back on the pillow and mouthed the air.
"Keep talking," Bruce said.
"Oh..." Bruce was doing something with his ass, and Terry was perfectly fine with that. "Schway. Totally schway. Because I love talking. I--oh, God--"
Bruce inside him. Big, everything about him was big, it didn't even matter that he was older than Gotham; his hands were big, his muscles were big, his mouth felt like he was going to eat him alive. "I love... touching you," he managed, and then he was fucking Bruce back as hard and fast as he could, which was damned hard and damned fast because he was a hero. Batman and all that.
"Terry." Bruce held him still for a second and kissed his mouth before coming, silently, into his body. Terry grabbed the headboard with both hands as Bruce kissed his nipple and palmed his dick just hard enough to be amazing; Terry had a brief flash of Batarangs exploding as he came into Bruce's hand, hips jerking hard enough to shift them several inches east.
"Wow," Terry said. Bruce settled beside him.
"Mm-hm."
"I thought you hated me talking so much."
"You were wrong." Bruce turned off the light; when Terry snuggled up to his side, he hugged him gently.
THE END.
All comments are welcome.