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“Please, sir, I’m all my father has!” the Boy cried.
“He should have protected you better,” growled the Wolf. His lascivious teeth shone like daggers in the dark. “He should have held you closer—like I will—and never let you go—as I won’t.”
The Boy’s wails meant nothing to the Wolf as they writhed together on the forest floor. Brambles tore the Boy’s trousers into scraps, which fell away into the Wolf’s wide paws as he clawed at the Boy’s hips. His bottom was plush, covered in a succulent layer of fat that belied just how dearly the Boy was treasured by his father. Why else waste the winter’s meek harvest on a creature like him? So weak, so wan in the moonlight, so easily pulled from the well-trod path. The better for the Wolf to sink his teeth into. The father had sown; the Wolf would reap.
Biting his lip, Dick fought the urge to clench his thighs and turned the page. When he’d blindly plucked the little novella from a random shelf in the master suite’s oversized library, Bruce tugging him by the elbow toward the plush couch by the fireplace all the while, he hadn’t expected it to be so… explicit. Or so interesting. His eyes darted to where Bruce lay sleeping, draped over Dick’s lap and snoring into his belly button. He’d fallen asleep with his long legs scrunched at the far end of the couch, and the breadth of his torso kept Dick’s thighs spread just far enough to feel like a stretch.
The Boy’s virgin cunt gave way to the Wolf’s long, slimy tongue, even as the Boy beat his fists on the Wolf’s head. His snatch dripped succor into the Wolf’s belly as he protested, “No! Please, God save me, no! Father! Please!”
The Wolf wouldn’t be fooled. The Boy’s body spoke more honestly than his words, his little cock twitching against the Wolf’s snout. Especially, he noticed, whilst the Boy begged for his father—“Save me, save your only son, Father!”—so helplessly, prettily, easily. The Wolf growled into his dinner.
Dick shivered as he read, and then again as Bruce’s slow exhales blew puffs of warm air across his belly. Bruce had rucked Dick’s shirt up just before he’d fallen asleep and lain sleepy kisses from one iliac crest to the other, making Dick laugh. He’d left his hands on Dick’s waist, fingers echoing his ribs. They twitched as Dick’s chest rose and fell with his own measured breathing—less measured now, as he turned another page.
“Stop begging for your father, Boy,” the Wolf snarled, his cunt-drenched tongue flicking the Boy’s tiny prick with each word. “Beg me, instead.”
“Please,” the Boy sobbed; “Are you going to eat me?”
The Wolf crawled up the Boy’s body and loomed over him. His furry form blocked him from the Moon’s sight—from anyone’s. It was as if the Boy did not exist outside the Wolf’s own vision; it was as complete as swallowing him whole.
In lieu of answering, the Wolf snapped his jaws a hair’s-breadth from the Boy’s ear and allowed his cock to emerge from its sheath. He used his snout on the Boy’s head to bid him glance down, his tearful eyes as round and pale as the cookies still cooling in the wicker basket abandoned in the mud mere steps away.
When the Boy saw the Wolf’s mammoth cock with its burgeoning knot, he shrieked, “No! Please, anything else! Eat me, slay me, leave me to freeze! Anything but this!”
The Wolf licked the Boy’s face from chin to crown. His tears were a delectable dessert. “Do you already know the pain I am about to give you, little Boy? Has this hole—” He pushed his red tip against the Boy’s helpless entrance— “been broken by another cock?”
“Father!” the Boy wept—
Dick startled and dropped his book as the broad hands on his waist flexed hard. “Bruce?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”
The shut eyes, unmoving head, and uninterrupted soft snores should’ve been an obvious answer, and they would’ve been if Dick were asking anyone else, but Bruce was Bruce. Batman. Ready and able to fight at a moment’s notice, even in the dead of sleep. Dick had witnessed Bruce’s ability to move and speak as if awake while mostly unconscious many times. He’d wondered to himself whether Bruce had trained it into his brain and body, or whether decades of unmanaged PTSD and poor sleep hygiene had done the job. The only lingering evidence after the fact was that Bruce could never remember what he’d said—usually, truths that made his ears flush pink when Dick told him the next day.
In somno veritas, Dick thought.
Answering his thoughts, Bruce’s hands flexed again and then jerkily slid down his torso. They cupped his ass, ten points of heat shining through Dick’s thin pajama pants, and kneaded him harshly. Dick gasped and instinctively bucked away, but Bruce’s greedy fingers dug in to the meat of his ass and yanked him back into place.
Dick watched, rapt, as Bruce’s stone-heavy head rose from his belly. His eyes darted behind his eyelids—fully in REM—and a line of drool dripped from his jaw; Dick knew just how it tasted, and his mouth watered. Clumsy and inelegant, as if puppeteered with fraying threads tied to dusty ball joints, Bruce shifted on the couch, untangling his legs and rising to his knees until he was looming over Dick.
Dick stayed still for once, thinking of that little novella and pinching his bottom lip between his teeth. You could say Bruce was little more than an animal like this, all strength and determination and libido with no sapience to temper it—none of the self-consciousness that sometimes held Bruce back in bed, even after their many years together.
A fully awake and aware Bruce never would have callously, wordlessly clutched Dick’s hips and flipped him flat on his stomach with no warning. Dick let out an embarrassing squeak as his chest hit his pillow, the air in his lungs leaving all at once—and then another squeak as Bruce’s fingers scrabbled at Dick’s waistband, tickling his sides a little by accident, before hooking around the elastic and yanking.
“Bruce!” Dick yelped. Should he try to wake him up? It’s what Bruce would’ve wanted, but, but—
Dick shivered as cold air prickled the delicate skin of his ass, his thighs, his shamelessly wet cunt. Bruce dragged Dick’s pajama pants down to his knees, then slid one huge arm under Dick’s hips and pulled hard, unaware or uncaring of how much the couch fabric burned as he was forced to kneel. Dick whined and hugged his pillow. That zingy friction buzzed through his suddenly exposed body, and he wanted more, needed more—
“Bruce!” Dick jolted as Bruce dove between his cheeks face-first, the tip of his nose kissing Dick’s asshole, his top lip brushing Dick’s taint and its twin caressing his labia. Something slimed in Dick’s gut, something hot and unfamiliar that made him squirm, made his clit twitch. Bruce grabbed his hips to still them, and God, Dick couldn’t wait to see how many layers of bruises Bruce would leave behind—twenty fingers, thirty, maybe forty, his umber skin painted with bursts of purple and blue—claimed and marked to hell and back, unmistakeably owned.
Bruce’s blunt nails scraped Dick’s cheeks as he spread them wide open, wider than Dick was used to, and he grimaced at the delightful burn that ran up his crack. He mouthed at Dick’s cunt, no tongue yet, just using his lips to kiss Dick’s while his noble chin grazed Dick’s throbbing clit. His nose tickled the little hairs around Dick’s hole, firmly planted, and Dick was very glad he’d had a thorough shower when he heard Bruce take in one long inhale and hold it. Savoring it—the scent, Dick realized, just before Bruce rumbled, “Smell so good.”
Was he awake now? If he were, then he wouldn’t still be buried between Dick’s cheeks, his tongue now strumming his dripping labia. “Yeah?” Dick tested. His voice wavered, pitch sliding up and down in tandem with Bruce’s nose nuzzling Dick’s ass and taint as he nodded. “What does it smell like?”
“You,” Bruce gritted out. “Earthy. Wet.” The words fell from his mouth like half-tumbled rocks, all jagged edges that grated Dick’s cunt just right. Dick blushed and bit back a whine as he heard Bruce take another deep inhale, followed by his tongue lapping at the slick that was spreading absolutely everywhere—Dick’s pubic hair, his inner thighs, his fucking knees. Bruce chased the taste and smell like a hound, nuzzling Dick’s most sensitive spots with his gritty stubble. After licking a few droplets from the couch cushions, Bruce returned to the source and stuffed his nose back in his boy’s holes.
“Smell like mine,” Dick barely heard. “My Robin…”
Dick moaned into his pillow. Bruce never called him Robin in bed, not even when Dick surprised him on their anniversary by wearing a fairly impressive replica of his very first costume and trilling Batman, come save me—Bruce had stubbornly avoided calling Dick anything other than baby, sweetheart, my love, even while hammering his cunt with his scaly green panties pulled to the side.
Fully asleep, reduced to a creature that wanted and took, Bruce spanked Dick’s ass so hard that Dick’s skull rattled in his head and groaned, “Robin, my pretty Robin…”
“I’m here,” Dick said. He reached back and grabbed Bruce’s hand, grasped it in his own. “Robin’s here, Batman, please,” he begged, circling his hips. Now he felt like an animal, shaking his pussy in his mate’s face. Bruce’s mouth had softened him up, but his tongue had barely teased the entrance and now Dick felt so empty.
Suddenly, perfect white teeth sank into his ass and made him shout. His ears were still ringing as Bruce kissed the spot he’d nearly taken a chunk out of, shuffled closer, and draped his big, furry body over Dick’s. He shuddered at the feeling of Bruce’s soft belly filling perfectly the concave arch of his back.
“Mine,” Bruce hissed. He ground his fat cock between Dick’s thighs, all slippery with slick and slobber, an easier target for a sleeping man—or an awoken animal—than Dick’s holes. Dick moaned as Bruce’s cockhead scraped against his clit with each thrust, the poor thing left dry and neglected by Bruce’s laving tongue earlier. Bruce’s breathing picked up, hot and wet in Dick’s ear, but then he let out a frustrated growl and smacked Dick’s hip.
“Fuck!” Dick yelped. “You wanna be inside me? Is that it?”
Dick was already reaching between his trembling thighs for Bruce’s cock when Bruce rumbled, “Need to breed you.”
Hearing that punched a low wail from Dick’s chest. His thighs clenched, trapping his own hand and Bruce’s angry cock between them. Bruce kept rutting forward, sliding along Dick’s palm and forearm now, the heat of his cock shocking against Dick’s skin.
“My little boy,” Bruce rasped. He was already panting, his mouth open and tongue loose—maybe looser than it’d ever been, since he wasn’t awake to stop himself from saying, “Too little, too young to—to fit my—cunt too small—”
Too young? Dick wondered what version of him Bruce was seeing—dreaming of?—right now. Green panties, long legs, cute pixie boots and a canary yellow cape that nearly trailed on the ground behind him…
“I can fit it, B,” Dick comforted the beast on his back. He let his voice climb into a higher, sweet timbre, just like Bruce’s kept dipping lower and lower. “I can make it fit in my pussy, it’s okay.”
“Hurt you.” Bruce’s rough hands grabbed at Dick’s shoulders, then scrabbled down his chest, the center of his sternum—looking for the line of closures on Robin’s red tunic? “Don’t wanna,” he gritted out, even as he kept thrusting, pouring precum onto Dick’s arm.
“Shh, don’t worry.” Dick scraped his sore knees across the couch cushions as he tried to spread his thighs wide enough to truly expose himself. He closed his fingers around Bruce’s slick cock and guided it between his dripping lips, where his hole pulsed like a raw, sucking wound. Bruce’s head notched against his entrance, but his instinct-driven thrusts weren’t quite enough to force it in, perfectly-too-big.
“Small,” Bruce whined. “Baby Robin… My little one…”
The words lit up something in Dick’s chest, a smaller flame alongside the blaze already roaring in his gut. “Gimme,” Dick pleaded, about as articulate as Bruce. “I can take it, I promise!” He rolled his hips, pushing Bruce’s cock around his cunt’s stretched-thin borders as if searching for weak spots, any way to let Bruce inside.
“Gotta breed you,” Bruce huffed. His hands clutched Dick’s waist, middle fingers touching his belly button and thumbs on the small of his back, and pushed as he rambled, “Sorry, ‘m sorry, gotta—”
Dick’s vision whited out as Bruce finally punched into his cunt. Bruce snarled in his ear, teeth grazing Dick’s lobe, and let his hips take over. Cock-blind, completely at Bruce’s mercy, Dick’s mind went to the novella he’d been reading—he was there in the story, he was the Boy, his little red hood torn to scraps and his virginity joining it on the blood-wet forest floor.
“Tight,” Bruce crooned. He sounded heartbroken, his voice crackly and crevasse-deep. “Knew you’d—be so tight—keep my cum inside—”
“Yes,” Dick moaned. He pictured his younger self, his youngest self, wriggling on Bruce’s huge dick like a worm on a hook, then sliding off with a big sigh, Batman’s cum dumped so deep inside that Robin couldn’t push it out even if he’d tried—his cervix a bigger hole than his cunt, at that age. Bruce would’ve wanted to be tender, but Dick would’ve insisted on taking everything Bruce had to give all at once—like he was doing now, rocking back to meet Bruce’s thrusts even as his under-prepared cunt spasmed from pain as much as pleasure.
If Dick were little, as little as Bruce was seeing in his waking dream, he would’ve passed out already, insensate and defenseless and drooling tears onto the cushions, and Holy Nostalgia, Batman!, if Bruce had taken him way back then, it could’ve been on this exact same couch. Dick groaned into his pillow at the thought.
One of Bruce’s hands roamed from Dick’s waist to his belly, then right beneath it. He cupped Dick’s womb gently, as if it were already full, even as his other hand dug claw marks into him. “Perfect hole—so good for me,” Bruce breathed, and Dick jerked in his grasp at the praise. “Taking me even though—breaking you—”
“Worth it,” Dick gasped. He slapped one of his hands over Bruce’s on his belly and laced their fingers together, reveling in their size difference in this way, too—how Bruce’s hands were so much bigger that the webbing between Dick’s fingers was stretched to their limits, then forced beyond them, sending sharp zings down his wrist and forearm as he clung to Bruce anyway. “Won’t break, I promise,” Dick managed, even as his breath grew thin. It felt like Bruce was pounding the air out of his body, over and over—Dick’s jaw hung open, his body seeking as much oxygen as possible, but that only meant that he couldn’t muffle his whimpers as Bruce drove into him hard enough to make his cervix scream.
“’S okay—take care of you.” Bruce started rubbing Dick’s womb, moving both of their hands at once. “Breed you and take care of both…”
Dick whined. He could see it as Bruce did, his littlest self rounder than a globe, too big to clasp his vest or lace his boots or swing from a line—then he could see himself back to normal, but with a sweet-smelling lump in his arms, one whose cry would sound just like Dick’s right now—a heaven-high warble: “Please, B!”
“Shh, good boy,” Bruce murmured, laying even more of his weight on his prey below him, his hairy chest and belly catching the pearls of sweat pouring down from Dick’s nape, his shoulders, his pits. Dick kind of wished he weren’t on his stomach so he could see them both properly, the picture they made, truly a beast with two backs—but he loved how Bruce cooed so sweetly while shoving his nose into the pillow, forcing his forehead to the couch too. He’d have friction burns on his face to join the finger-shaped bruises all over his hips and thighs; he moaned imagining facing Bruce later, when Bruce actually woke up, and showing him the evidence of what they’d done together, the utter mess Bruce had made of him.
“Close,” Bruce hissed, and Dick trilled at the thought of giving Bruce what he clearly wanted—maybe had been wanting—a cum-stuffed little boy, a well-bred baby bird. Bruce’s ragged breaths turned into growls, scraping his throat and Dick’s ears raw, as he slammed into Dick again, again, his balls slapping against Dick’s neglected clit with wet thwacks.
Words abandoned them both. Dick could only beg with his body: Please with his hips weakly twitching to meet Bruce’s wild fucks, Gimme with his hand scrabbling over top of Bruce’s and tugging at the fine black hairs on his knuckles, Breed me with his Robin-tight pussy rippling around the cock that had split it open so cruelly. Bruce responded in kind, his growls growing thinner and more strained with each thrust. He was so rough—and he didn’t care about Dick’s pleasure at all, was still warming Dick’s womb with one broad paw instead of reaching down to play with his clit like he usually would—but that didn’t matter, or maybe it just made it better, being pinned down and used until he bruised and bled—or maybe, in Bruce’s dream, Dick was too young to come, his tiny clit too small to even get hard—
Bruce gave him two more brain-rattling thrusts, another, a fourth, and right as Dick felt that flood of hot cum pour inside his battered cunt, he came with a bestial whine.
“Good boy,” Bruce huffed, resting his head on Dick’s sweaty shoulder blade. “Take it… My baby…” His voice, scratchy and shredded, trailed off into a low hum. His hands wandered Dick’s body, rubbing the thin skin over his rabbiting heart one moment and massaging his hips in slow circles the next. Dick managed to turn his head to the side, his ear now pressed to his pillow, so he could gulp in as much sex-hazy air as his burning lungs needed.
“B,” Dick said, his own voice brittle and small—surprisingly needy. Bruce hmmed in acknowledgment. “Love you, B.” His hand found Bruce’s again, brought it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. Dick sighed happily and opened his mouth to say something else, but a second later, the room was filled with the sounds of a great, big hibernating bear snoring the night away.
-
Eventually—long after Bruce’s soft cock had slipped out of his hole and the following deluge of cum had turned spackle-dry on Dick’s thighs—Dick summoned the herculean will to squirm out from underneath the slumbering lump on his back. Bruce collapsed face-down, now taking up the entirety of the probably-too-small-for-sex sofa. Dick tucked him in: pillow under his chest, head turned to the side so he could breathe, limp arms and legs rearranged into something that resembled a real sleeping position, a blanket from a neighboring chair thrown over his shoulders. Bruce stayed stone-silent through Dick’s fussing, and it felt nice, honestly, doing something sweet for Bruce without him resisting or grousing about it. Dick kissed his cheek and staggered off to the bathroom.
By the time Dick felt a little less itchy and a little more human, Bruce had woken up enough to lever himself upright. He was hunched over something, his chin propped on his fist like Rodin’s Le Penseur, his graying hair fluffy and sticking up all over the place. Dick recognized Damian’s spiky bedhead and bit back a laugh.
“Hey, Rip Van Winkle.” Dick walked over and kissed the top of his head with a loud smooch. “Good morning.”
Bruce grunted and snaked a heavy arm around Dick’s waist. He tugged Dick down onto his lap, pulling him close and squeezing him like a teddy bear. Dick relaxed into his warmth and laid his cheek on top of Bruce’s head, that fuzzy hair tickling his nose.
Dick peeked down at what Bruce had been looking at when he’d first entered the room: an unassuming little book, leatherbound and time-weathered, faint gold leaf letters titling it, The Boy Who Cried ‘Father’: A Treatise On Innocence In The Wilderness.
Before he could stop him, Bruce opened the book to a random page and began to read. Dick valiantly threw a hand over Bruce’s eyes, but Bruce’s stupid genius brain read too fast. “’The Wolf’s mammoth cock with its burgeoning knot?’” Bruce quoted, raising an eyebrow above Dick’s hand. Dick lowered it in defeat.
“Listen,” he started, blushing.
“I’m listening.” Bruce’s expression was the kind of neutral that meant he was secretly laughing inside.
“Listen, you dragged me in here and didn’t give me more than two seconds to pick something to read, so I took that one off the shelves, and I didn’t know it was porn until you were already asleep on me, and really—really, you’re the pervert, because these are your books in your library,” Dick ranted.
“Uh-huh,” Bruce answered.
“It’s your book!” Dick plucked it from Bruce’s hands and distracted him with a flurry of kisses all over his lax mouth. Bruce kissed back, but kept his eyes open like a freak, suddenly noticing the red marks on Dick’s chin and cheeks and forehead.
Bruce pulled back and brushed his thumb over Dick’s sore brow; Dick winced, rug burn less sexy in the aftermath than before. “What happened here?” Bruce asked.
“You.” Dick poked Bruce’s bare chest, faux-indignant. “You were asleep, I was awake, and then you were… still asleep, but active.” Dick wiggled his eyebrows.
Bruce blanched. “Tell me I didn’t…”
“Oh, you did.” Dick laughed at how Bruce’s all the blood fled Bruce’s face and rushed to his chest and ears. “You were pretty forceful, too. And chatty.”
Bruce smothered himself with a quickly-grabbed pillow. He sank further into the couch, Dick still giggling on his lap. “Do I want to know what I said,” he grumbled, muffled and mortified.
“Just that you wanted to breed me, and I was so tight, and so good,” Dick recounted. “Normal stuff. Oh, also,” he pretended to remember, “that I was your little baby Robin who was too small and too young to take the Big, Bad Batman without breaking.”
Bruce released a low groan that came from the depths of his damned soul. He was probably cursing himself in his head.
“I knew you had a Robin kink,” Dick gloated, unrepentant—and why should he repent? Bruce was the one who said it. “You tried to keep it from me, but I knew it!”
Bruce grumbled and shoved the pillow even harder against his face, blocking his nose and mouth. Viper-quick, Dick snatched it and tossed it on the floor. Bruce glared at him, somehow looking exhausted again even after his long nap.
“Whatever I said while I was asleep—”
“Don’t say I can’t hold it against you. ‘In sleep, truth,’ right?”
“That’s wine,” Bruce corrected.
“Well, you’re whining,” Dick said, then flicked the tip of Bruce’s nose. “Don’t be so ashamed; I thought it was really hot! Maybe I’ll put on the green panties again.”
Bruce made a strange groan-squeak-choking sound and buried his face in Dick’s throat, as if hiding meant he couldn’t feel Bruce’s reawakened cock twitch against his ass.
“Please—” Bruce’s voice cracked, and he’d probably meant to say Please don’t, but Dick heard the truth even under Bruce’s half-spoken lie. Dick stroked his hair and grinned, wolf-like, hungry all over again.