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Jan. 13th, 2010 07:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cat_13145Title: The Hotel Room
Pairing(s)/Character(s):Bruce/Clark, Bruce/Tony Stark, Bruce/Harvey Dent, Bruce/Two Face, Bruce/Various
Rating: I'm going to say NC17, though in reality, it's probably lower
Warnings: This is not a happy fic!!!! It contains references to child abuse, abusive relationshops between men, dubious con and acoholism. I know it was written at a bad time in my life, but I can not excuse it, so I apologise to Bruce. It's also unbetaed.
Spoilers: Nope, just if you haven't read Batman RIP (Lucky people) and even then, not really.
Disclaimer: if you think you recognise it, then it's probably not mine.
Author's Note: John is the Rocker seen in Batman Fortunate Son. If anyone knows who he was meant to be, please let me know.
The Hotel’s one of a chain.
The rooms are decorated in a generic fashion. This one’s outside of Metropolis, but it could be Timbuktu, he thinks looking around.
“I’ll get the bags.”Clark says softly, and he wants to ask why they’re saying here. It’s not like
Like every other hotel is full on account of a freak snow storm in Star City, and they have to share a room. Dr. Simon Hurt is a friend of his fathers, he’s been to the house lots of times.
He’s quite fun. They play games.
Except recently the games have changed.
So when his father goes to get some water, and Simon slips over into the bed, pulling off the underpants he’s wearing, cos this was supposed to be a day trip, it’s easier to focus on something else, like the fan above his head swirling round and round.
“Bruce?” Clark’s hand is on his shoulder and he shakes, pulling away.
“Sure.” He mutters. He hasn’t thought about that night in years. The night his father found out what his best friend had been up to. The night he began to systematically destroy Simon Hurt, a favour he’d attempted to return, years later.
Suddenly unable to sit still, he wanders around the bed, trying to remember whose bag had the lube in it.
John never used lube, he liked hearing Bruce scream too much. A couple of spit soaked fingers shoved in hard enough to bruise,
Fingernails tearing across chest, thighs, hand cuffs…
He pulls out the bedside cabinet rapidly half expecting to find some there. But no only a Gideon bible. What did he expect? This was America. Not Europe
Handcuffs digging into his wrists. Can’t remember the safe word and not sure if it’d do any good. Yelling at to stop, that he’s hurting him, struggling like a mad creature, a cracking sound.
The next day his wrist is the size of a watermelon. John doesn’t even look at him. Just tells him to go to the hospital.
As it continues that night, but with a cast on his wrist, he knows he needs to get out of this.
It’s another two months before he’s able to.
He shook himself, trying to shake the past and not looking at the headboard. This was ridiculous. It was just a stupid hotel room. A generic factor of a generic chain. Heck there were two outside Gotham. One to the North and one to the south…
Harvey Dent can be a complete and utter animal when he wants to be. Bruce is feeling sore in a delightfully large number of places.
Listening to his and Harvey’s breathing. Then watches as Dent gets to his feet, retrieves his clothes and starts to get dressed.
He braces himself for a conversation, what they’re going to do about their respective partners, how this will affect their friendship, but all Harvey says as he ties his tie is “Thanks B. I owe you one.”
That was just the first of many.
He likes to boast that he has never knowingly cheated on a husband. The same can not be said for a wife.
The really sad thing is that he likes Gilda; she’s smart, funny and a wonderful woman. So why ever time Harvey snaps his fingers, does he come running?
And he wishes he could say it stops with Harvey.
Clark knows about the slightly strange (even if in his head is the only place he’ll admit it) relationship that Batman has with his freaks, and he’s mostly O.K. with it, for the same reason Bruce is with Luther.
But he doesn’t know about Bruce and Two Face.
It was a one time thing, and if he could take it back, undo it, he would do, but it was in the same hotel room they’d always used.
It was rough and violent and left him with bruises that meant for once he was grateful for Robin’s innocence.
He could still hear Harvey pleading with, as Two Face whispered “Join me.”
The next night was the first time Two Face nearly beat Robin to death.
He had sat down on the bed, his breathing hard.
This was ridiculous. He trusted Clark.
And, alright he’d trusted Harvey as well, but Two-Face was a criminal, where as Clark was a hero…
“Oh God, Bruce!” they’re both too drunk for this to be a good idea, but Tony’s tongue is demanding satisfaction, and Bruce can’t honestly bring himself to care.
They’re at the hotel and checked in under assumed names, not that it’ll matter if anyone recognise them, but at least they’re trying to keep this discrete.
Not that that’s something either of them is well know for, he thinks as Tony’s fumbling fingers attack his fly.
He wouldn’t claim he’s been celebrate, since Harvey, but he has to be careful. Gotham is still a traditional town. He guess the Avengers must be too, else why would Tony be here?
Tony is one of the few who lets him top once in a while, but tonight is about relief, and he can’t honestly say he minds who tops, he just wants to forget, not to think about another Brunette, who he’d honestly prefer here.
Tony fucks him, good and hard, so Bruce can’t honestly complain. But when Tony comes, he yells “STEVE!!”
He doesn’t know why it should hurt, seeing as he’s doing the same thing, but he’s got enough sense to remember the name of the person he’s fucking (or at least call something generic like Baby) and Tony’s passed out before he could ask him what he meant.
Three years later, Tony calls him (as per step 8 of the program), he pretends everything’s O.K. and that he doesn’t actually remember the incident.
It’s easier than the truth.
He jumps up off the bed, as the door knob turns, bracing himself.
“Here we are.” Clark slides the bags on to the floor and looks at him with concern. “Everything O.K.?”
For a moment, he nearly tells him everything, but he doesn’t want to load Clarke with his pain.
“It is now.” He says, preparing for the next pain.
Fini
Pairing(s)/Character(s):Bruce/Clark, Bruce/Tony Stark, Bruce/Harvey Dent, Bruce/Two Face, Bruce/Various
Rating: I'm going to say NC17, though in reality, it's probably lower
Warnings: This is not a happy fic!!!! It contains references to child abuse, abusive relationshops between men, dubious con and acoholism. I know it was written at a bad time in my life, but I can not excuse it, so I apologise to Bruce. It's also unbetaed.
Spoilers: Nope, just if you haven't read Batman RIP (Lucky people) and even then, not really.
Disclaimer: if you think you recognise it, then it's probably not mine.
Author's Note: John is the Rocker seen in Batman Fortunate Son. If anyone knows who he was meant to be, please let me know.
The Hotel’s one of a chain.
The rooms are decorated in a generic fashion. This one’s outside of Metropolis, but it could be Timbuktu, he thinks looking around.
“I’ll get the bags.”Clark says softly, and he wants to ask why they’re saying here. It’s not like
Like every other hotel is full on account of a freak snow storm in Star City, and they have to share a room. Dr. Simon Hurt is a friend of his fathers, he’s been to the house lots of times.
He’s quite fun. They play games.
Except recently the games have changed.
So when his father goes to get some water, and Simon slips over into the bed, pulling off the underpants he’s wearing, cos this was supposed to be a day trip, it’s easier to focus on something else, like the fan above his head swirling round and round.
“Bruce?” Clark’s hand is on his shoulder and he shakes, pulling away.
“Sure.” He mutters. He hasn’t thought about that night in years. The night his father found out what his best friend had been up to. The night he began to systematically destroy Simon Hurt, a favour he’d attempted to return, years later.
Suddenly unable to sit still, he wanders around the bed, trying to remember whose bag had the lube in it.
John never used lube, he liked hearing Bruce scream too much. A couple of spit soaked fingers shoved in hard enough to bruise,
Fingernails tearing across chest, thighs, hand cuffs…
He pulls out the bedside cabinet rapidly half expecting to find some there. But no only a Gideon bible. What did he expect? This was America. Not Europe
Handcuffs digging into his wrists. Can’t remember the safe word and not sure if it’d do any good. Yelling at to stop, that he’s hurting him, struggling like a mad creature, a cracking sound.
The next day his wrist is the size of a watermelon. John doesn’t even look at him. Just tells him to go to the hospital.
As it continues that night, but with a cast on his wrist, he knows he needs to get out of this.
It’s another two months before he’s able to.
He shook himself, trying to shake the past and not looking at the headboard. This was ridiculous. It was just a stupid hotel room. A generic factor of a generic chain. Heck there were two outside Gotham. One to the North and one to the south…
Harvey Dent can be a complete and utter animal when he wants to be. Bruce is feeling sore in a delightfully large number of places.
Listening to his and Harvey’s breathing. Then watches as Dent gets to his feet, retrieves his clothes and starts to get dressed.
He braces himself for a conversation, what they’re going to do about their respective partners, how this will affect their friendship, but all Harvey says as he ties his tie is “Thanks B. I owe you one.”
That was just the first of many.
He likes to boast that he has never knowingly cheated on a husband. The same can not be said for a wife.
The really sad thing is that he likes Gilda; she’s smart, funny and a wonderful woman. So why ever time Harvey snaps his fingers, does he come running?
And he wishes he could say it stops with Harvey.
Clark knows about the slightly strange (even if in his head is the only place he’ll admit it) relationship that Batman has with his freaks, and he’s mostly O.K. with it, for the same reason Bruce is with Luther.
But he doesn’t know about Bruce and Two Face.
It was a one time thing, and if he could take it back, undo it, he would do, but it was in the same hotel room they’d always used.
It was rough and violent and left him with bruises that meant for once he was grateful for Robin’s innocence.
He could still hear Harvey pleading with, as Two Face whispered “Join me.”
The next night was the first time Two Face nearly beat Robin to death.
He had sat down on the bed, his breathing hard.
This was ridiculous. He trusted Clark.
And, alright he’d trusted Harvey as well, but Two-Face was a criminal, where as Clark was a hero…
“Oh God, Bruce!” they’re both too drunk for this to be a good idea, but Tony’s tongue is demanding satisfaction, and Bruce can’t honestly bring himself to care.
They’re at the hotel and checked in under assumed names, not that it’ll matter if anyone recognise them, but at least they’re trying to keep this discrete.
Not that that’s something either of them is well know for, he thinks as Tony’s fumbling fingers attack his fly.
He wouldn’t claim he’s been celebrate, since Harvey, but he has to be careful. Gotham is still a traditional town. He guess the Avengers must be too, else why would Tony be here?
Tony is one of the few who lets him top once in a while, but tonight is about relief, and he can’t honestly say he minds who tops, he just wants to forget, not to think about another Brunette, who he’d honestly prefer here.
Tony fucks him, good and hard, so Bruce can’t honestly complain. But when Tony comes, he yells “STEVE!!”
He doesn’t know why it should hurt, seeing as he’s doing the same thing, but he’s got enough sense to remember the name of the person he’s fucking (or at least call something generic like Baby) and Tony’s passed out before he could ask him what he meant.
Three years later, Tony calls him (as per step 8 of the program), he pretends everything’s O.K. and that he doesn’t actually remember the incident.
It’s easier than the truth.
He jumps up off the bed, as the door knob turns, bracing himself.
“Here we are.” Clark slides the bags on to the floor and looks at him with concern. “Everything O.K.?”
For a moment, he nearly tells him everything, but he doesn’t want to load Clarke with his pain.
“It is now.” He says, preparing for the next pain.
Fini
