Fic: The Bruce Wayne Factor
May. 4th, 2009 11:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jiffyChristening the new journal with fic!
Title: The Bruce Wayne Factor
Fandom: RPF/Batman
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Christopher Nolan (I know)
Catergory: Slash
Rating: Adult
Word count: 3229
Notes: Written for a prompt over at the Batman Kink meme here because basically Chris Nolan is totally shaggable.
Disclaimer: None of it's true and you know it.
Chris's eyes drooped closed as he leaned his head back into the comfy old couch in his creative headquarters - his garage. It had been a long day of auditions at the studio and he was still no nearer to finding his Bruce Wayne; wading once again through the resumes with accompanying headshots of the actors they'd already screen tested just confirmed it for him. It was a frustrating process but Chris wasn't too worried yet, his gut instinct telling him 'the one' was just around the corner - he just needed to know which direction.
The resume he was holding dropped lightly to the floor to join the messy pile already accumulated at his feet. A sudden weariness seized him leaving him bone tired and heavy limbed. He knew he should be looking for the resume of the one actor who hadn't made it to the screen test today but the struggle to remember the guy's name was lost to an overwhelming desire to sleep, to just switch off for a little while. Chris gave up and sank back further into the worn, soft cushions, falling quickly into a heavy, fitful sleep.
He was in a large room; a large room full of people surrounding him although somehow he remained separate from them. Everyone else was aware of him but left him alone; as if he was in contemplation and wasn't to be disturbed. It was odd and yet completely natural. Chris looked around him, the champagne glass in his hand fizzing still as if it had just been poured. His fellow guests were exquisitely dressed; the men in finely fitted tuxedos and the ladies in beautiful couture dresses set off by elegant hairstyles and jewellery. Each one was a stranger to him and yet somehow vaguely familiar.
He looked down at his own attire, at his non-descript suit and tie which was smart but definitely not in the same league as the other party guests. The expected feeling of inferiority failed to materialize. He glanced up and his eyes were immediately drawn to the ornately framed portraits and landscapes adorning the walls all around, interspersed with antique candelabra here and there and lavishly brocaded windows and balcony doors on the far side opposite him. None of it had been there a moment ago.
A warm voice sounded in his ear,
'You should drink the champagne before it goes flat.'
Chris jumped and turned, startled gaze falling on the incredibly handsome man standing before him. He too was wearing a tux or rather the tux was wearing him; the soft fabric clinging and gliding over the perfect form beneath it. Chris looked up into the stranger's familiar face, taking in the sharp cheekbones and neatly slicked back hair, the name he was reaching for eluding him. The nameless man's mouth quirked up into a sly smile and Chris felt his own mouth go dry; his blood running hot and thick as he dredged up the memory of the other man's mouth so close to his ear, warm breath softly ghosting over the shell.
Blushing slightly, he extended his hand to introduce himself. 'Chris Nolan,' he said pleasantly, ignoring the nagging thought that his politeness was entirely unnecessary, frivolous even, as this man knew exactly who he was; knew everything about him just by looking at him, including his insane desire to just reach out and touch him and be touched by him.
There was a beat, a long beat, then Chris's hand was being grasped tightly; smooth, warm palm encasing his, thumb stroking slowly over his inside wrist and the sudden rush of blood to his ears almost drowned out the other man as he returned the introduction.
'Bruce Wayne.'
And then it all began to fall into place; the surroundings, the other people, the cultivated atmosphere - he was in Wayne Manor. Chris wondered to himself why he hadn't pieced it all together sooner but the thought died a quick death as he realised Bruce was openly appraising him, eyes bright and smile turning lazy like the thumb still stroking his wrist, in stark contrast to the wild hammering of Chris's pulse beneath. He sucked in a steadying breath and tried to centre himself in the midst of a raw attraction his usual logical thinking couldn't disassemble.
Bruce finally pulled back his hand, waving it nonchalantly to encompass them, or maybe the room.
'First time?' he asked, the casual ease of his voice belying some hidden, deeper meaning.
Chris swallowed some champagne to ease his dry throat and Bruce smiled.
'Yes,' Chris replied in his usual careful, considerate tone, 'it is. You have a beautiful home.'
Bruce ducked his head, shaking it slightly.
'Thank you but Alfred is really the one who captains the ship so to speak. My job is to just fill it to the rafters as often as possible. He grumbles about it but I know it keeps him happy really.'
'Well, I'm sure it's hard work in its own way,' Chris responded, softening the rebuke with a teasing smile.
Bruce eyed him narrowly then threw his head back in a hearty chuckle, exposing the smooth pale column of his throat in the process, forcing Chris to swallow down the urge to press his fingers to it or his lips.
'Mock all you want,' Bruce retorted, 'but they,' he pointed, 'lap it up!'
Chris turned his head to look, and sure enough the vibrant hum of conversation and animated faces of his fellow guests were undeniable.
'Must be the Wayne factor,' Chris murmured as he drew his gaze to the billionaire once more. Ten minutes ago, that notion would have been frankly laughable to him. Now it was almost gospel.
'Oh yes! The Wayne factor!' Bruce scoffed good naturedly, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes, his accompanying full blooded grin prompting a strange stirring in Chris's loins. Bruce leaned in slightly and Chris held his breath, his skin going hot and tight all over.
'Can you believe there's talk of a film being made of my life? Some big shot studio has approached me with a script and details of an apparently talented, promising director who'll be taking the helm.'
Chris's heart lurched and he feigned a cough into his hand to help disguise the rush of breath that left his lungs. Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. He raised his eyes slowly and murmured,
'Er, yes, I think that would be me.'
Bruce arched an eyebrow but the ambiguous look he threw at the director meant Chris couldn't tell if this revelation was actually news to the billionaire or not. He suspected not.
'Oh, so you're the blue eyed boy the studio has been raving so much about, hmm?' Bruce asked, the openly appraising look from earlier making its return. Chris blushed, a warm feeling flooding his stomach.
'And blue eyed is right,' the younger man continued, infusing his voice with more than a hint of the infamous playboy. 'Incredibly right in your case.'
Chris felt his chest go tight and tried to respond with some flippant remark to break the growing tension but his throat closed up, the ongoing scrutiny rendering him momentarily speechless. He shifted uncomfortably, skin flushed by the heat of Bruce's stare, chancing a glance down towards his own crotch, praying that his arousal wasn't too obvious. He caught Bruce's smirk and mentally swore to himself.
'It's not fair though, you know,' Bruce complained, smirk turning into a pout. 'I've always wanted to have blue eyes.'
Chris frowned and glanced up. 'But you do have...' and then his voice trailed off as he looked directly into Bruce's eyes and noticed for the first time that they were hazel not blue, shaking off the strange feeling that this was a momentous discovery.
Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow and Chris shook his head.
'It's nothing. My mistake.'
There was a sudden flurry of movement as a waiter passed them by and Bruce reached out to take the glass of champagne from Chris's hand to place it on the waiter's upheld tray. There was no actual contact, no momentary touch of skin on skin but even just the hint of it was enough to leave Chris slightly breathless. Then Bruce leaned right in, an almost dangerous gleam in his eyes.
'Well, seeing as my life is going to be in your hands, it's only right and proper that I give you a personal tour of the mansion, wouldn't you say?' he asked, his smile outright predatory. Chris dropped his gaze down to Bruce's mouth, mentally tracing the sensuous curve, wondering to himself exactly what it would taste like.
Before he had a chance to answer, Bruce pressed his hand to the small of Chris's back and propelled him along just in time to avoid a rather distinguished looking gentleman on his way over to gladhand them. Chris kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the sidelong glances thrown their way, concentrating instead on the tingling heat radiating from his lower back where the other man's hand still rested.
Eyelids fluttering. Muscles twitching then stilling, aborted movements lost once again to the deepening paralysis of dream state.
They made their way down what felt like a neverending hallway, stopping off here and there to enter one large room after another, Bruce in full charming host mode as he briefly detailed the function of each room or pointed out something in particular - a favourite piece of furniture or a painting. Chris listened attentively, head tilted slightly, forefinger resting at his lips and thumb curled under his chin. The words bled from his memory though as soon as Bruce touched him again with a gentle but firm hand to guide him on to the next room.
Just as Chris was wondering when they'd be checking out the upstairs rooms they stopped in front of a fairly plain, unobtrusive door. Bruce glanced at him slyly as he turned the handle, announcing it as 'my little den, my hiding place from the world.' Hesitating, Chris stepped over the threshold and made his way to the middle of the room, the oblong of bright light from the doorway disappearing rapidly as Bruce shut the door behind him.
He was standing in his garage. It didn't look anything like his garage but he knew for certain that's where they were. He walked over to the antique couch and ran his hand along the top of the smooth, well cared for luxury upholstery. He smiled as he patted his/not his couch, the motion soothing his somewhat jangled nerves.
A moment of calm before a possesive hand covered his and he was whirled around until the tail end of his spine was pinned right up against the high backed furniture and narrow hips were pressed up against him, turning his knees to water. Bruce's lush mouth hovered just above his, whispers of warm breath tickling over sensitive skin.
'I think it's time we found out if what they say is true,' Bruce breathed, looking down through lowered lashes.
Chris struggled to speak, struggled to breathe even as Bruce tightened his hold on the director's wrists.
'If what's true?' he stammered, heart stuttering wildly against his ribcage.
'What they say about the casting couch,' Bruce smirked, slipping his hand to Chris's nape, fingers stroking softly up through his hair before he pulled Chris's mouth to his, into a voracious kiss. Chris groaned as his lips yielded instantly, tongues slipping and sliding together in intense wet heat. Bruce's hand continued tugging in his hair, massaging gently as he deepened the kiss.
Chris clung onto Bruce one handed, his other hand still pinned against the back of the couch, knuckles turning white. Then Bruce kicked Chris's feet apart to press himself even tighter up against the older man, rolling his hips as he did so, the delicious friction sending pulsing waves of pleasure across aching groins. Chris gasped and pulled back, panting for air, painfully hard.
Heavy limbs, too heavy to move. Short, sharp breaths. The tiniest thrust of hips and muted ecstacy and then the briefest sensation of real surroundings before sleep sucked him back down again.
The next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch - his couch now - naked, erection lying up against his midriff, leaking profusely but still feeling constrained somehow. Bruce stood before him fully dressed, eyes burning with raw lust. Chris gripped the edges of the cushions and squirmed, eyes imploring.
'Take off your clothes, please! I need to see you, all of you.'
Bruce stared hard at him and didn't move.
'No.'
'Please!' he begged, voice cracking.
'No. Unless you already know.'
Chris felt panic surge up through him.
'Know what?' he pleaded, searching desperately for the answer, knowing that it was right there in front of him, just out of his grasp.
'Know who I am.'
'You're...' Chris's voice trailed off and realization dawned, his vision going black whilst fluttering sounds filled the air around him. Then Bruce's face came into view, leaning in close. Chris's eyes traced down over his now naked form, lingering on steel hard muscles and vivid scars, following each dip and curve of finely honed strength until his gaze rested on the dark vee of Bruce's crotch and the swollen arousal that jutted out.
A hand in his hair tilted up Chris's head, forcing him to meet Bruce's gaze again.
'Congratulations Mr Nolan,' Bruce smiled, 'you've passed your audition. We're going to work so well together, I can feel it,' he added, climbing up over Chris with unfathomable grace, straddling the director's hips and bearing his entire weight down to pin Chris to the couch. He crushed their mouths together, forceful, undeniable, tongue hot and rampant as he wrapped his hand around two slick, straining erections, the frenzied heat growing and building with each sure, firm stroke.
Chris gasped then tangled his fingers into Bruce's soft, dark locks, the ends at his nape damp and curling with sweat. His hips were thrusting up involuntarily into the billionaire's harsh grip, mouth going slack as he crested wave after wave of indescribable pleasure. Bruce was shuddering and moaning, a low pitched sound that was driving straight to Chris's gut and spiraling down further into the dark recesses that usually remained untouched.
And then the touch and weight was gone and Chris writhed helplessly before strong hands gripped his hips and he was being turned over with unnerving ease. Chris just managed to turn his head as Bruce pushed him down flat against the couch, shivering as the feverish skin of his back and hind started to cool quickly, in direct contrast to his dick, throbbing where it lay trapped between his stomach and the cushions.
'Need to cum in your ass,' Bruce murmured and Chris swore he heard the slightest inflection of a British accent but the thought stuttered and died when he felt the tip of firm, solid flesh nudging at his hole then sliding wetly up and down his crease in a relentless tease. Chris knelt there, panting open mouthed, fingers digging into the couch in a death grip until he could take it no longer.
'Please!' he pleaded over and over again, his inherent articulateness abandoning him altogether.
'That's what I love about the British; polite to a fault,' Bruce commented as he lined himself up before growling, 'even when they're about to be fucked senseless.'
Chris arched up and let out a wordless yell at the relentless push of swollen, engorged flesh inside him; stretching, filling, possessing him until he was totally, gloriously impaled; the pressure bearing down on him filtering straight through to his pulsing cock. Bruce hissed out a single 'yes!' and then began to move, stroking in and out with an ease of precision that left Chris gasping for air; eyes squeezing tightly shut as Bruce kept his promise and fucked him senseless.
Bruce tightened his grip on Chris's hips and pounded harder; Chris feeling his pre-cum leaking even further into the couch, the delicious wet slide dragging him quickly to the edge. Then Bruce hitched further up onto his toes, deepening the angle of his thrusts, hitting his prostrate again and again. Chris cried out, vision swimming and dimming; pin pricks of light dancing around the edges, impending orgasm a heartbeat away.
Out of nowhere, a black cape surrounded him, caressing and enfolding him in its velvet sheen until finally his vision blacked out, body spasming and contracting with the bliss of white hot release; warmth filling him as he emptied himself completely.
Chris woke up with a start, heart hammering and skin itching, looking around him and realising he had dozed off in his garage again. He lifted a heavy hand and scrubbed his face, shaking his head in an effort to clear the grogginess. He felt languid and loose yet strangely uneasy. Then he noticed the sticky, wet patch at his crotch and grimaced. His mind reached for scraps of the dream he had just had but the memory was fractured, each piece flitting away from him before he could grasp it.
He sat there for a little while longer, recovering himself until he could no longer ignore the state he was in. Sighing, he got up slowly off the couch and headed into the little ensuite toilet next to the main door leading into the house from the garage.
As he relieved himself, snatches of the dream came back to him, Wayne Manor flooding back in glorious detail particularly the antique, his/not his couch. Then he remembered exactly what had transpired on the said piece of furniture and he sucked in a sharp breath, face going hot at the realisation.
His hands shook slightly as he cleaned himself up as best as he could at the small basin, and although for the life of him he couldn't remember Bruce Wayne's face he certainly had no trouble recalling the sensation of long, tapered fingers curled around him, curled around them both. He pushed the thought aside, knowing he couldn't let it take hold of him; he was just starting this massive undertaking of reinventing Batman for a new generation and he absolutely couldn't let himself be sidetracked by such wild fantasies, however tempting they were.
He finished cleaning up and went back into the garage, determined to sift through the untested actors' resumes when there was a soft tapping at the main door from the house. Chris frowned and checked his watch; a little late for visitors but not unusually so. He opened the door then froze at the sight of the dark haired man standing before him, smiling; he knew without a doubt it was the same face from his dream and the eyes - the eyes were hazel.
The other man's smile faltered slightly but he stuck out his hand. 'Chris?' he asked. 'I'm so sorry I didn't make it to the screen test today but Emma said it was all right for me to come over and apologise in person. Christian, Christian Bale.'
Chris shook his hand and smiled broadly in greeting, then stepped aside to let Bruce Wayne into his garage.
Fin
Title: The Bruce Wayne Factor
Fandom: RPF/Batman
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Christopher Nolan (I know)
Catergory: Slash
Rating: Adult
Word count: 3229
Notes: Written for a prompt over at the Batman Kink meme here because basically Chris Nolan is totally shaggable.
Disclaimer: None of it's true and you know it.
Chris's eyes drooped closed as he leaned his head back into the comfy old couch in his creative headquarters - his garage. It had been a long day of auditions at the studio and he was still no nearer to finding his Bruce Wayne; wading once again through the resumes with accompanying headshots of the actors they'd already screen tested just confirmed it for him. It was a frustrating process but Chris wasn't too worried yet, his gut instinct telling him 'the one' was just around the corner - he just needed to know which direction.
The resume he was holding dropped lightly to the floor to join the messy pile already accumulated at his feet. A sudden weariness seized him leaving him bone tired and heavy limbed. He knew he should be looking for the resume of the one actor who hadn't made it to the screen test today but the struggle to remember the guy's name was lost to an overwhelming desire to sleep, to just switch off for a little while. Chris gave up and sank back further into the worn, soft cushions, falling quickly into a heavy, fitful sleep.
He was in a large room; a large room full of people surrounding him although somehow he remained separate from them. Everyone else was aware of him but left him alone; as if he was in contemplation and wasn't to be disturbed. It was odd and yet completely natural. Chris looked around him, the champagne glass in his hand fizzing still as if it had just been poured. His fellow guests were exquisitely dressed; the men in finely fitted tuxedos and the ladies in beautiful couture dresses set off by elegant hairstyles and jewellery. Each one was a stranger to him and yet somehow vaguely familiar.
He looked down at his own attire, at his non-descript suit and tie which was smart but definitely not in the same league as the other party guests. The expected feeling of inferiority failed to materialize. He glanced up and his eyes were immediately drawn to the ornately framed portraits and landscapes adorning the walls all around, interspersed with antique candelabra here and there and lavishly brocaded windows and balcony doors on the far side opposite him. None of it had been there a moment ago.
A warm voice sounded in his ear,
'You should drink the champagne before it goes flat.'
Chris jumped and turned, startled gaze falling on the incredibly handsome man standing before him. He too was wearing a tux or rather the tux was wearing him; the soft fabric clinging and gliding over the perfect form beneath it. Chris looked up into the stranger's familiar face, taking in the sharp cheekbones and neatly slicked back hair, the name he was reaching for eluding him. The nameless man's mouth quirked up into a sly smile and Chris felt his own mouth go dry; his blood running hot and thick as he dredged up the memory of the other man's mouth so close to his ear, warm breath softly ghosting over the shell.
Blushing slightly, he extended his hand to introduce himself. 'Chris Nolan,' he said pleasantly, ignoring the nagging thought that his politeness was entirely unnecessary, frivolous even, as this man knew exactly who he was; knew everything about him just by looking at him, including his insane desire to just reach out and touch him and be touched by him.
There was a beat, a long beat, then Chris's hand was being grasped tightly; smooth, warm palm encasing his, thumb stroking slowly over his inside wrist and the sudden rush of blood to his ears almost drowned out the other man as he returned the introduction.
'Bruce Wayne.'
And then it all began to fall into place; the surroundings, the other people, the cultivated atmosphere - he was in Wayne Manor. Chris wondered to himself why he hadn't pieced it all together sooner but the thought died a quick death as he realised Bruce was openly appraising him, eyes bright and smile turning lazy like the thumb still stroking his wrist, in stark contrast to the wild hammering of Chris's pulse beneath. He sucked in a steadying breath and tried to centre himself in the midst of a raw attraction his usual logical thinking couldn't disassemble.
Bruce finally pulled back his hand, waving it nonchalantly to encompass them, or maybe the room.
'First time?' he asked, the casual ease of his voice belying some hidden, deeper meaning.
Chris swallowed some champagne to ease his dry throat and Bruce smiled.
'Yes,' Chris replied in his usual careful, considerate tone, 'it is. You have a beautiful home.'
Bruce ducked his head, shaking it slightly.
'Thank you but Alfred is really the one who captains the ship so to speak. My job is to just fill it to the rafters as often as possible. He grumbles about it but I know it keeps him happy really.'
'Well, I'm sure it's hard work in its own way,' Chris responded, softening the rebuke with a teasing smile.
Bruce eyed him narrowly then threw his head back in a hearty chuckle, exposing the smooth pale column of his throat in the process, forcing Chris to swallow down the urge to press his fingers to it or his lips.
'Mock all you want,' Bruce retorted, 'but they,' he pointed, 'lap it up!'
Chris turned his head to look, and sure enough the vibrant hum of conversation and animated faces of his fellow guests were undeniable.
'Must be the Wayne factor,' Chris murmured as he drew his gaze to the billionaire once more. Ten minutes ago, that notion would have been frankly laughable to him. Now it was almost gospel.
'Oh yes! The Wayne factor!' Bruce scoffed good naturedly, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes, his accompanying full blooded grin prompting a strange stirring in Chris's loins. Bruce leaned in slightly and Chris held his breath, his skin going hot and tight all over.
'Can you believe there's talk of a film being made of my life? Some big shot studio has approached me with a script and details of an apparently talented, promising director who'll be taking the helm.'
Chris's heart lurched and he feigned a cough into his hand to help disguise the rush of breath that left his lungs. Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. He raised his eyes slowly and murmured,
'Er, yes, I think that would be me.'
Bruce arched an eyebrow but the ambiguous look he threw at the director meant Chris couldn't tell if this revelation was actually news to the billionaire or not. He suspected not.
'Oh, so you're the blue eyed boy the studio has been raving so much about, hmm?' Bruce asked, the openly appraising look from earlier making its return. Chris blushed, a warm feeling flooding his stomach.
'And blue eyed is right,' the younger man continued, infusing his voice with more than a hint of the infamous playboy. 'Incredibly right in your case.'
Chris felt his chest go tight and tried to respond with some flippant remark to break the growing tension but his throat closed up, the ongoing scrutiny rendering him momentarily speechless. He shifted uncomfortably, skin flushed by the heat of Bruce's stare, chancing a glance down towards his own crotch, praying that his arousal wasn't too obvious. He caught Bruce's smirk and mentally swore to himself.
'It's not fair though, you know,' Bruce complained, smirk turning into a pout. 'I've always wanted to have blue eyes.'
Chris frowned and glanced up. 'But you do have...' and then his voice trailed off as he looked directly into Bruce's eyes and noticed for the first time that they were hazel not blue, shaking off the strange feeling that this was a momentous discovery.
Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow and Chris shook his head.
'It's nothing. My mistake.'
There was a sudden flurry of movement as a waiter passed them by and Bruce reached out to take the glass of champagne from Chris's hand to place it on the waiter's upheld tray. There was no actual contact, no momentary touch of skin on skin but even just the hint of it was enough to leave Chris slightly breathless. Then Bruce leaned right in, an almost dangerous gleam in his eyes.
'Well, seeing as my life is going to be in your hands, it's only right and proper that I give you a personal tour of the mansion, wouldn't you say?' he asked, his smile outright predatory. Chris dropped his gaze down to Bruce's mouth, mentally tracing the sensuous curve, wondering to himself exactly what it would taste like.
Before he had a chance to answer, Bruce pressed his hand to the small of Chris's back and propelled him along just in time to avoid a rather distinguished looking gentleman on his way over to gladhand them. Chris kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the sidelong glances thrown their way, concentrating instead on the tingling heat radiating from his lower back where the other man's hand still rested.
Eyelids fluttering. Muscles twitching then stilling, aborted movements lost once again to the deepening paralysis of dream state.
They made their way down what felt like a neverending hallway, stopping off here and there to enter one large room after another, Bruce in full charming host mode as he briefly detailed the function of each room or pointed out something in particular - a favourite piece of furniture or a painting. Chris listened attentively, head tilted slightly, forefinger resting at his lips and thumb curled under his chin. The words bled from his memory though as soon as Bruce touched him again with a gentle but firm hand to guide him on to the next room.
Just as Chris was wondering when they'd be checking out the upstairs rooms they stopped in front of a fairly plain, unobtrusive door. Bruce glanced at him slyly as he turned the handle, announcing it as 'my little den, my hiding place from the world.' Hesitating, Chris stepped over the threshold and made his way to the middle of the room, the oblong of bright light from the doorway disappearing rapidly as Bruce shut the door behind him.
He was standing in his garage. It didn't look anything like his garage but he knew for certain that's where they were. He walked over to the antique couch and ran his hand along the top of the smooth, well cared for luxury upholstery. He smiled as he patted his/not his couch, the motion soothing his somewhat jangled nerves.
A moment of calm before a possesive hand covered his and he was whirled around until the tail end of his spine was pinned right up against the high backed furniture and narrow hips were pressed up against him, turning his knees to water. Bruce's lush mouth hovered just above his, whispers of warm breath tickling over sensitive skin.
'I think it's time we found out if what they say is true,' Bruce breathed, looking down through lowered lashes.
Chris struggled to speak, struggled to breathe even as Bruce tightened his hold on the director's wrists.
'If what's true?' he stammered, heart stuttering wildly against his ribcage.
'What they say about the casting couch,' Bruce smirked, slipping his hand to Chris's nape, fingers stroking softly up through his hair before he pulled Chris's mouth to his, into a voracious kiss. Chris groaned as his lips yielded instantly, tongues slipping and sliding together in intense wet heat. Bruce's hand continued tugging in his hair, massaging gently as he deepened the kiss.
Chris clung onto Bruce one handed, his other hand still pinned against the back of the couch, knuckles turning white. Then Bruce kicked Chris's feet apart to press himself even tighter up against the older man, rolling his hips as he did so, the delicious friction sending pulsing waves of pleasure across aching groins. Chris gasped and pulled back, panting for air, painfully hard.
Heavy limbs, too heavy to move. Short, sharp breaths. The tiniest thrust of hips and muted ecstacy and then the briefest sensation of real surroundings before sleep sucked him back down again.
The next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch - his couch now - naked, erection lying up against his midriff, leaking profusely but still feeling constrained somehow. Bruce stood before him fully dressed, eyes burning with raw lust. Chris gripped the edges of the cushions and squirmed, eyes imploring.
'Take off your clothes, please! I need to see you, all of you.'
Bruce stared hard at him and didn't move.
'No.'
'Please!' he begged, voice cracking.
'No. Unless you already know.'
Chris felt panic surge up through him.
'Know what?' he pleaded, searching desperately for the answer, knowing that it was right there in front of him, just out of his grasp.
'Know who I am.'
'You're...' Chris's voice trailed off and realization dawned, his vision going black whilst fluttering sounds filled the air around him. Then Bruce's face came into view, leaning in close. Chris's eyes traced down over his now naked form, lingering on steel hard muscles and vivid scars, following each dip and curve of finely honed strength until his gaze rested on the dark vee of Bruce's crotch and the swollen arousal that jutted out.
A hand in his hair tilted up Chris's head, forcing him to meet Bruce's gaze again.
'Congratulations Mr Nolan,' Bruce smiled, 'you've passed your audition. We're going to work so well together, I can feel it,' he added, climbing up over Chris with unfathomable grace, straddling the director's hips and bearing his entire weight down to pin Chris to the couch. He crushed their mouths together, forceful, undeniable, tongue hot and rampant as he wrapped his hand around two slick, straining erections, the frenzied heat growing and building with each sure, firm stroke.
Chris gasped then tangled his fingers into Bruce's soft, dark locks, the ends at his nape damp and curling with sweat. His hips were thrusting up involuntarily into the billionaire's harsh grip, mouth going slack as he crested wave after wave of indescribable pleasure. Bruce was shuddering and moaning, a low pitched sound that was driving straight to Chris's gut and spiraling down further into the dark recesses that usually remained untouched.
And then the touch and weight was gone and Chris writhed helplessly before strong hands gripped his hips and he was being turned over with unnerving ease. Chris just managed to turn his head as Bruce pushed him down flat against the couch, shivering as the feverish skin of his back and hind started to cool quickly, in direct contrast to his dick, throbbing where it lay trapped between his stomach and the cushions.
'Need to cum in your ass,' Bruce murmured and Chris swore he heard the slightest inflection of a British accent but the thought stuttered and died when he felt the tip of firm, solid flesh nudging at his hole then sliding wetly up and down his crease in a relentless tease. Chris knelt there, panting open mouthed, fingers digging into the couch in a death grip until he could take it no longer.
'Please!' he pleaded over and over again, his inherent articulateness abandoning him altogether.
'That's what I love about the British; polite to a fault,' Bruce commented as he lined himself up before growling, 'even when they're about to be fucked senseless.'
Chris arched up and let out a wordless yell at the relentless push of swollen, engorged flesh inside him; stretching, filling, possessing him until he was totally, gloriously impaled; the pressure bearing down on him filtering straight through to his pulsing cock. Bruce hissed out a single 'yes!' and then began to move, stroking in and out with an ease of precision that left Chris gasping for air; eyes squeezing tightly shut as Bruce kept his promise and fucked him senseless.
Bruce tightened his grip on Chris's hips and pounded harder; Chris feeling his pre-cum leaking even further into the couch, the delicious wet slide dragging him quickly to the edge. Then Bruce hitched further up onto his toes, deepening the angle of his thrusts, hitting his prostrate again and again. Chris cried out, vision swimming and dimming; pin pricks of light dancing around the edges, impending orgasm a heartbeat away.
Out of nowhere, a black cape surrounded him, caressing and enfolding him in its velvet sheen until finally his vision blacked out, body spasming and contracting with the bliss of white hot release; warmth filling him as he emptied himself completely.
Chris woke up with a start, heart hammering and skin itching, looking around him and realising he had dozed off in his garage again. He lifted a heavy hand and scrubbed his face, shaking his head in an effort to clear the grogginess. He felt languid and loose yet strangely uneasy. Then he noticed the sticky, wet patch at his crotch and grimaced. His mind reached for scraps of the dream he had just had but the memory was fractured, each piece flitting away from him before he could grasp it.
He sat there for a little while longer, recovering himself until he could no longer ignore the state he was in. Sighing, he got up slowly off the couch and headed into the little ensuite toilet next to the main door leading into the house from the garage.
As he relieved himself, snatches of the dream came back to him, Wayne Manor flooding back in glorious detail particularly the antique, his/not his couch. Then he remembered exactly what had transpired on the said piece of furniture and he sucked in a sharp breath, face going hot at the realisation.
His hands shook slightly as he cleaned himself up as best as he could at the small basin, and although for the life of him he couldn't remember Bruce Wayne's face he certainly had no trouble recalling the sensation of long, tapered fingers curled around him, curled around them both. He pushed the thought aside, knowing he couldn't let it take hold of him; he was just starting this massive undertaking of reinventing Batman for a new generation and he absolutely couldn't let himself be sidetracked by such wild fantasies, however tempting they were.
He finished cleaning up and went back into the garage, determined to sift through the untested actors' resumes when there was a soft tapping at the main door from the house. Chris frowned and checked his watch; a little late for visitors but not unusually so. He opened the door then froze at the sight of the dark haired man standing before him, smiling; he knew without a doubt it was the same face from his dream and the eyes - the eyes were hazel.
The other man's smile faltered slightly but he stuck out his hand. 'Chris?' he asked. 'I'm so sorry I didn't make it to the screen test today but Emma said it was all right for me to come over and apologise in person. Christian, Christian Bale.'
Chris shook his hand and smiled broadly in greeting, then stepped aside to let Bruce Wayne into his garage.
Fin