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Post fic/art requests with pairing and kink prompt in the replies to this thread. Requests may be made anonymously. One request per reply please, but feel free to reply more than once!

Once again, remember the rules of the road:

- Anon does not mean impolite or disrespectful. No flaming, trolling or bashing.

- Post fic and art as a reply to the prompt. Multiple responses encouraged, don't be shy just because someone's already "taken" it!

- Crossovers are welcome as long as at least one DC Universe character is involved.

And please pimp the comm with this, if you would:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

runespoor7.livejournal.com

It would take almost nothing for Bruce to obtain that. The image is potent as it burns through his mind. Jason writhing heedlessly, cut-off sounds when Bruce pushed a finger into his cleft, Jason's hand squeezing him to urge him on...

Bruce places a kiss on Jason's collarbone.

“You're right.” His breath brings shivers to Jason's skin.

He tears his hands from the boy's body to put them on the wall on each side of Jason's head, not pinning him any longer. He can't stop looking at Jason's beautiful, beautiful eyes, and the way his lips are parted on uneven breathing. Red and slick like he's been sucking Bruce off.

Jason licks his lips as he unhooks his legs and puts a hand on Bruce's chest, pushing him away. Force the muscles in his legs to let go, clumsy. His thighs catch on Bruce's skin, sticky with new sweat; he has to grab Bruce's arms, wobbling onto him as he gets back onto his feet. Bruce is reminded of how Jason clings to him after sex. Sometimes, if the shower developed in that direction, he has to maneuver Jay upstairs. Jason's body then is soft and pliant; receptive to Bruce's wordless suggestions.

There's nothing lax about Jason right now; a simple glance downward would be enough to make sure of that. For a moment his head rests on Bruce's chest, the entire length of his body in contact with Bruce.

Then he slips out from between Bruce and the wall. Not stopping him is the hardest thing Bruce has had to do all night. When he's made no move to snatch Jason back, he turns to watch him grab the bottle of liquid soap.

Jason looks at him, sweet and sly. “Wash my back?”

Washing is ultimately useless, weighted against the certainty that they will make themselves as sweaty and dirty as they were to start with. That knowledge doesn't keep Bruce from taking the bottle and pouring some of the soap into his hand, cool and thick. Jason grins wider, and he turns away to give his back to Bruce.

They don't talk for the rest of the shower; they don't kiss, either.

Bruce rubs the soap on Jason's back slowly, methodically. Feeling Jason's muscles rolling under the skin, in a manner that has less to do with feeling him up than with comparing it with training sessions, when he corrects Jason's position, pushes him more deeply into an split. Professionally attentive, but not unaware of how the same potential he's inspecting could be employed in other situations. Not unaware that Jason's warmth, the quivers that are his instinctive reaction to Bruce's hands moving him, the strength in his limbs, are pleasing for more than... practical reasons.

He enjoys the sensation of teaching Jason with his hands to guide him, and Jason responds well to that approach. The boy is an eager student on the mats, gamely meeting the challenges Bruce sets him, never sparing himself from exertion. He will, sometimes, groan and curse softly as he performs a task, and if Bruce reminds him to watch his language--

Working with Jason on the mats is rewarding for both of them and for many reasons, not all of which Batman would label practical.

They bump against each other a few times more before leaving the showers. Bruce turned away as soon as he'd finished washing Jason's back, before he had a chance to see if Jason was as excited as he was, and be tempted again.

There are always a couple of bathrobes for Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, left in the Cave's showers. On Jason, whom they cover more than his costume, they're still too big to be anything else than obscene; as much as the skimpier ones Bruce Wayne keeps for his conquests. Jason tried one on, once, to play.

The house is empty and silent, except for Jason's footsteps, muffled by the thick carpets. Bruce has his hand on Jason's nape, playing with Jason's damp locks. A bit too long. Alfred hasn't mentioned that Jay is in need of a haircut, and Bruce had ignored, blissfully, Alfred's pointed silence. If asked he could point out that Jason has made no request, though he would be lying by omission. That Jason's hair falls long enough to obscure the flesh behind his jaw, high on his neck, serves their purposes.