Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/805660.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dark_Knight_Rises_(2012)
  Relationship:
      John_Blake/Bruce_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Car_Sex, Voyeurism, Canon_Related, Age_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-16 Words: 1782
****** Of men and machines ******
by Ischa
Summary
     Shameless masturbation porn – or how sixteen year old John gets
     himself off in Bruce's car.
     The alley is dark, the car mostly hidden and the windows tinted.
     Pretty much a one in a lifetime opportunity, John thinks again,
     rubbing his hands restlessly over the soft leather of the seat, his
     legs, the dashboard.
Notes
     Beta by Icalynn. <3
     Title inspired by Rasputina's 'The Olde Headboard'.
John is on his way home from school when he sees the car. He knows it's Wayne's
car because he had made himself familiar with everything Wayne related since
that faithful day he first saw him. John might have developed a fascination
right then and there, but by now it's an obsession that toys the line to
creepy.
John also knows how to break into a car like this, even he suspects the Batman
has taken some extra measures to keep people out. He had asked Kyle about
breaking and entering. She hadn’t even bat an eyelash over the fact that the
good boy wants to know something like that. He thinks she delights in all the
small ways he, his obsession, is corrupting himself.
John wonders why Wayne left his car in this part of town. Stupid, but then he
is Batman, so maybe not. Most likely something Batman shaped came up and he had
to leave it here. He will be back for it, for sure. Or that butler of his.
A chance like this won't come again. John knows that.
He walks around the car, stroking a finger over the glossy surface. It's slick,
black, and cold to the touch. He shivers with anticipation and desire, and
wonders if the Bat-suit would feel similar to the surface of the car. John
takes a deep breath and then takes his tools out. A gift from Kyle. It's open
in under a minute. He has always had fast picking skills.
John slides into the passenger seat and breathes the car in. There is a faint
smell of aftershave in the air. He closes his eyes.
The alley is dark, the car mostly hidden and the windows tinted. Pretty much a
one in a lifetime opportunity, John thinks again, rubbing his hands restlessly
over the soft leather of the seat, his legs, the dashboard.
He's wasting time he decides biting his lip. He wants to be naked. He wants to
feel the leather, the hard smooth surface of the dashboard against his skin.
His legs, his ankles, his dick. He strips his jacket, hoodie and t-shirt,
pressing his bare back into the seat. It's only slightly warm until he starts
opening his pants and his whole body flushes with anticipation, need and the
slight wrongness of it all. But it's also a thrill, makes it better, makes John
feel everything so much sharper. He rips off his shoes, socks, and pants too.
Bracing his legs against the dashboard, spreading them until he's slouching
comfortably in the seat, he runs his hands over his legs, his sides, his torso,
neglecting his dick for now. Wondering what Wayne's hands would feel like on
him, spreading his legs open slowly. What Batman's would feel like, pushing,
and pulling him closer.
John closes his eyes and feels, imagining Wayne's lips on his ankles, Wayne's
fingers grabbing his thighs hard, leaving kisses and bites on their insides.
The thought of Wayne's lips around John's dick makes John's breath stutter and
he moans, grabbing the soft seat harder. He needs to touch himself, he just
needs to, so he edges his fingers slowly over the seat to his legs and up to
his cock. He wraps his hand around and strokes it firmly, but slowly. Wishes
for leather-gloves...his eyes snap open with an idea and he turns in the seat,
until he can kneel comfortably on it. He scoots closer to the back, so he can
thrust gently against the now warm leather of the seat. He grabs the back of it
hard and begins to thrust in earnest, working towards orgasm. Imagining how it
would be thrusting against Batman's hard body, or Wayne's expensive clothes.
He comes messily against the seat with a bitten back. “B-”, which could mean
anything falling against the dashboard. It's cold and uncomfortable, but the
shock of it against his skin makes his brain think again. “Fuck,” he says
looking at the mess he's made. He fishes for a tissue and wipes it off as good
as he can. It's not really a great job. A laugh bubbles up inside him and he
lets it out while he puts the tissue away and grabs a pen and a torn piece of
paper.
'Sorry for the mess,' he writes in a hasty scrawl and after a second, he adds
'thanks' at the bottom before he puts it on the dashboard and begins to put his
clothes on. Maybe he should write 'please don't sue' on the back too. After all
he had just jerked off in Wayne's, fucking Batman's, car and left enough
evidence to be easily tracked down. On the other hand: Batman really has bigger
fish to fry.
John looks around a last time and gets out of the car. He locks it up again and
lingers for some fucking reasons, running his fingers over the shiny black hood
until he hears noises coming closer.
He ducks, pressing a fast kiss to the hood and runs.
He feels high and light and doesn't care one fucking bit if this comes back to
bite him in the ass again. It's jerk off material for months to come.
 
~+~
Bruce knows someone broke into his car, he had been expecting it, after all he
had to leave it in the shadier part of town. Well, he had expected someone to
try. This someone had also succeeded. There are fingerprints on the hood of the
car. And something that looks like a lipstick kiss, but made with a chapstick
instead. Bruce shakes his head. What the hell?
“Ah, I see you have your car back, Master Bruce, and in one piece too,” Alfred
says, putting a tray with food and coffee down.
“Yes. In one piece,” Bruce replies a bit distracted. Someone has been inside or
the alarms wouldn't have been triggered, but when the driver got the car he
said the doors were locked. Who breaks into a car and steals nothing?
“Would that be all, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks and Bruce looks at the clock.
It's way past anyone's bedtime.
“Yes, thank you Alfred.”
“Good night Master Bruce.”
“Good night Alfred.”
“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says and takes out a wrinkled piece of paper,
handing it over to Bruce.
“What is it?” Bruce wants to know.
“The driver threw it out. Didn't think it was important, but he says, he found
it in the car.”
Bruce reads the piece of paper. It's standard notebook paper. The cheap kind.
Nothing special about it or the pen it was written with, except maybe the
colour. It's green.
“Thank you Alfred,” Bruce replies.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred says and leaves.
As soon as Alfred leaves Bruce finishes inspecting the car and pulls up the
camera footage. All of his cars are equipped with cameras, but it isn't public
knowledge. Better to catch a thief with.
At first Bruce really isn't sure he's pulled up the right feed, because what
he's watching is basically porn staring an under-age boy. But it's his car: the
leather seats, the speakers in the back. His car. He knows it and suddenly the
note makes a lot more sense. A kid jerked off in his car. Bruce's mind is stuck
between being outraged and wanting to laugh so hard he'd possibly hurt himself.
In the end he watches it again.
He has pretty lips and dark eyes. A bit too thin, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
Pretty much unashamed of his desires. In the position the boy's in Bruce can
see everything: from his thin legs to his eyelashes. His closed eyes as he's
stroking himself, moaning softly. Not that Bruce can hear. No sound at all. His
brain supplies these little details without him needing to do much. He only
watches the boy pleasuring himself, watches him turn around and thrust against
the soft leather of the seat, watches his ass, and fingers clench as he comes:
his head thrown back, the hair at the nape of his neck curling damply from his
sweat.
It's breathtaking and Bruce closes his eyes and just breathes. And then he
plays the video again. The second time around he notices different things: like
the light bruises on the boy's back, the scar on his ankle, the small burn on
the inside of his wrist, the nearly healed cut above his brow. It doesn't take
away from the beauty, it somehow makes it richer. This boy is a real person. A
real person who thought he was alone and unwatched. Bruce feels a bit like he
stole this moment from the unknown teenager. As soon as the thought forms the
guilt sets in and he stops the tape. The boy is biting his lip, his legs
spread, his hands grabbing the seat hard. He's clearly fantasizing about
someone. In Bruce Wayne's car. You don't have to be a detective to figure out
who that boy is probably thinking about while he's pleasuring himself.
Bruce switches off the feed and gets up. He's not going to get anything done
anyway tonight. He should take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow he can think
about what he's going to do.
He strips out of the suit and walks upstairs. He's going to use the master-
bathroom.
Bruce has had sex in that car, but it had been with a woman and he didn't think
about how the seats felt or the dashboard, not like that boy he realises as he
lets the warm water wash over him. It's getting hot and steamy by the second.
He closes his eyes, running his hands over his body, trying to think about the
last time he has had sex, or sex in the car. His mind goes back to the boy, the
obvious pleasure on his face, the pretty lips. The thighs. His own hands on
those thighs, spreading them slowly and carefully, but deliberately and
mercilessly, making the boy moan and bite his lip to keep the sounds in.
Bruce's eyes snap open as he realises what he's doing, but by then it's too
late to stop his own orgasm. He lets his head fall against the shower-wall and
breathes.
What he needs to do is to delete that video. Leave the boy alone, not try to
find out who he is, and get his car scrubbed. Maybe even sell it. In parts. To
China.
Because the video, the car, the boy, are a distraction, a temptation, a
possible obsession and Batman can't have those. Can't give in.
He lets the water wash all the evidence away, grabs a towel, and goes to bed.
He'll deal with it tomorrow.
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