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Hate to Love

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Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, thighs pale in contrast to the black silk sheets. Every scar he'd ever earned stood out, a mix between the angry red of a freshly scarred wound and the nearly faded of the older. He scrubbed his hands over the expanse of them before taking a deep breath and turning to the masked man standing at the foot of his bed. "You remember our deal? The safe word is Signal." His voice was soft, oddly quiet in the silence of the room.

The masked man simply nodded, holding up the cat o' nine tails, silent as their agreement had dictated.

Bruce nodded once and stood, pushing his boxers down to mid-thigh. "Then punish me. Punish me for my unspeakable crimes." He bent over the bed, exposing his bare ass, a light shiver working its way down his spine.

Behind the mask, Jason took in a breath, staring down at Bruce, taking in how incredibly vulnerable he looked. He gripped the leather handle tightly, licking his lips, praying that Bruce had not yet caught on; that Bruce did not yet know that it was him instead of the masked Dom he'd hired for the evening.

He ran the tips of the cat o' nine tails lightly over Bruce's thigh, up over his ass, along the small of his back, noting the softest sound issuing from Bruce's mouth. He gripped the handle tighter and pulled it back, lashing out in his first strike.

Bruce cried out then buried his face against the sheets, muffling any future sounds. Jason gave another sharp slap before really laying into Bruce's flesh, barely holding back his own emotions, his own frustrations and pains. He hated and he loved. The past welled up behind the current, pulling and tugging at every layer of protection he'd built up over the years. His breath caught and then panted out, desperate and hitching. Maybe that was more telling than he meant for it to be. Maybe... maybe he shouldn't have been here.

Far too many strikes later, he finally pulled his mind back to what he was doing, forcibly yanked himself back into the present and stopped, examining Bruce's skin. Blood seeped from a couple of the welts forming along the expanse of his thighs and he didn't stop the little click his tongue, the quiet, "-tt-," he'd picked up from Bruce years ago.

Stepping away from the bed, he reached for his bag, extracting the first aid kit he'd brought with him. He pulled out antiseptic and - without warning - sprayed it over the raw skin, pulling a low grunt from Bruce's lips.

Bruce panted into the pillows, his hands fisted in the bed sheets with the sheer will to keep himself still. His cock was rock hard and the sting of the antiseptic did little to quell the needy ache in his gut. He turned his head, pressing his cheek against the down pillow, clearing his throat to garner his Dom's attention. “More. Violate me.” There was a weakness in his voice that he hated, that he wanted to reject outright for what it was. But he knew the logic of it all; understood inherently just how often the strongest of men were the weakest when it came to their bedroom habits. It was the lack of control, the fact that someone else held the iron fist for the duration and the weight of the world lifted off of their shoulders. Except... except with him it wasn't like that at all. In his world - in this world - there was a weight that would never lift and this was about punishment as much as it was about sexual gratification.

Jason's fingers hesitated in the act of putting the antiseptic spray back into his kit. His fingers flexed around the small bottle, the plastic giving him a small warning that he was about to break it if he applied even the smallest bit more strength. He watched the play of emotions around Bruce's eyes, the way his jaw was set and the way he seemed older here in a mere instant. The bite of Bruce's pain caught him and he turned away to place the bottle back in his kit, taking his time to school himself back into the part he was here to play rather than the one he ached to fall into.

Violate me. The words swam dark in his mind, pushed him closer and closer to wanting and he could almost taste Bruce on his tongue, the way he imagined him to be, he way he'd fantasized a million times. He held back the shiver that tried to demand its way free as he extracted the lube and a condom from his bag, turning the handle of the cat o' nine tails in his hand. Ripping open the condom, he slid it down over the length of the leather handle, carefully tied it off at the start of the falls and drizzled a generous helping of the lube over the end of it.

He couldn't allow himself what he wanted from this. That wasn't the point. Maybe it should have been, could have been... but the fact remained that it wasn't.

Stepping behind Bruce, he slid one hand up over his hip and then down to his ass, squeezing one cheek firmly and then parting him, letting his thighs press against Bruce's own, letting him believe something else was coming. With a shudder, he positioned the cat o' nine tails and pressed the handle in with a sharp thrust. Bruce's cry covered Jason's own gasp, covered the fact that he damn near whined with the mere action of violating Bruce like this.

Bruce's hips bucked and Jason's fingers dug in against his ass, a little snarl leaving him as he began to fuck Bruce with the handle, watching it breach the older man's body, again and again. He wanted to demand Bruce get himself off for him, wanted to be behind him in an entirely different sort of way, and he burned with it. Burned from the inside out, flames of desire licking at him worse than they had any other time in his recollection.

Slipping his hand down, Jason wrenched one of Bruce's free of the covers, pushed it down toward Bruce's own cock in silent demand of what he wanted from him. The arrangement of silence burned at him and he wanted to tell Bruce he'd imagined this so many times - not quite this way, but... - that he was so hard he could barely think beyond the need to do whatever he could to him.

Bruce did as he was urged, the jerk of his arm, the bulge of his muscles making it more than clear what was happening just beyond Jason's sight. He let Bruce's ragged breaths cover his own, allowed the sync to hide how he was feeling this so deep down inside.

There was an instant of Bruce pushing up toward Jason's quickly working hand, toward the handle that so quickly thrust into his body, and then Bruce's strangled cry as his hips jerked roughly.

The scent of cum filled the air, the vague chlorine tinge to the world around them, and nothing could have stopped Jason from getting what he so desperately needed now. Pulling the handle free, he let the cat o' nine tails drop to the floor as he shoved Bruce roughly forward, pressed between his thighs as he unfastened the three buttons on his leather pants, freeing his achingly hard cock to the air of the room.

One hand pressed to the center of Bruce's back, holding him in place as he positioned himself, let his body emulate how he wanted to fuck Bruce as he curled one gloved hand around his own cock, stroking quickly. His body strained and his hips rocked as he looked down at Bruce's back, at the swell of his ass and what it looked like he was doing to him.

Panting, he bit back a whine of Bruce's name, instead turning it toward a horrible snarl as he moved his hand faster, as his hips snapped against his hand time and again. His fingers pressed hard enough to bruise against Bruce's back and the fragile wire inside of him snapped in an instant. Everything tensed and then released as he came harder than he could recall ever having managed.

He gave himself pause for just long enough to catch his breath, for just enough time to settle back into this world; the one where he was supposed to hate and wasn't supposed to love. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes and felt Bruce beneath him, felt the one thing that would forever be his secret.

He pushed away from the bed, stepping back and tucking himself away, fastening his pants and retrieving the cat o' nine tails from the floor. He could hear Bruce moving behind him, aware that their time was up, that the paid for amount of time had ended.

Tucking everything away and disposing of the condom, Jason double-checked the payment - because he wasn't above that - and shouldered the bag, turning his back on the only man he'd ever loved - loved to hate - hated to love - and started for the door.

"When you're ready..."

Bruce's voice stopped him in his tracks, kept his feet frozen to the floor and his back to the very man he wanted nothing more than to turn around and truly see.

"I'll be here."

Jason's heart wrenched in his chest and it took everything in him not to show it outwardly. Swallowing down the biting words, the confessions of love, the bitter sting of loss and hatred, he instead inclined his head and allowed a change in his voice, a tinge of amusement that he didn't feel. "I appreciate the offer, Mister Wayne, but I fear the agency would dislike breaking protocol."

The doorknob felt cold even through his gloves and the hall even colder as he made his way through the manor. Something sank in his heart as Alfred held the door open for him, as he left the very things he ached for behind. It was like losing them all over again and nothing could have ever measured up to the agony in his heart.

He slid into his car, bowed his head, and allowed himself voice to the words that begged to be free. "I love you. I hate you. I hate to need you and I need to love you."

Steeling himself, he brought the car to life, put it into gear, and there wasn't a damn thing in the world that could hide the way he left the grounds, as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels, and maybe - just maybe - they were.