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There was a fine line between fantasizing and planning, Edward found. Especially so when you had the power and means to make your dreams into reality, to bend the people and situations around you to your will and shape the world in your image.
The difference was in the people, as most things were. For a proper planning, he would need to gauge responses and abilities as accurately as possible, and to plan for variability. The human element was the most unpredictable, after all, but Edward did pride himself on his fairly accurate guesses across the board.
(Except, of course, when it came to the Batman, but that was where the fun lay, now, wasn't it?)
As for fantasy, well… some leeway could be indulged. If an actor were to behave in a manner incongruous with their real-world counterpart, it wouldn't necessarily disturb the final result.
All this to say- Edward considered his current machinations, while potentially eventually becoming true plans, to still languish in the realm of simple fantasies, indulgence and all.
This one in particular started with a party, an eye-catching new suit, and a crowd of awed guests. Wayne threw enough of those, it didn't much matter the particulars, but he only showed up for a short time.
Edward would be ten steps ahead, with informants keeping close watch on his every move, and would know precisely when he would arrive. Usually, there would be a very brief window here, maybe thirty minutes maximum, so he would need to get the ball rolling immediately after Wayne arrived.
He would start off with something quippy, a pun regarding the occasion the party was being thrown for, and lead into the first riddle of the evening. The lighting would shift, perhaps illuminating a stage he'd prepared beforehand, depending on the venue.
No- he'd like this one to be happening at Wayne Manor. Spicier that way. A villain attacking the manor was always big news, considering how infrequently anyone was able to even get started. He knew the security inside and out, by now, as he knew the security of all Wayne holdings, always ready to dip into the deepest pockets in Gotham at any time.
Yes, he would do it at the manor, which meant the ballroom, which meant there was already a stage. He'd need only commandeer the native lighting, cover them in green and purple gels, set up the spotlight to shine on him and his fancy new suit. He was thinking glitter, definitely, perhaps copious amounts of gold detailing. He did lean too heavily on black as an accent lately, he thought. Helped him fade into the shadows when needed, but the attention would be the goal for this event.
The cut of the suit was also a consideration. Something slimming, well-tailored. He'd want to show off his best assets, after all, and Wayne's type tended to lean small and slender. Not that Wayne had shown any interest in men, not publicly, anyway, but Edward felt he could easily slot into the same niche occupied by the likes of Vicki Vale or Julie Madison or any number of Bruce's other petite, ginger, arm-candy girls.
Maybe he'd spring for a bit of makeup, even, pinken up the lips, a little glitter on the eyes, a little concealer for the irritating splash of freckles that plagued his features-
No. No, he'd wear a glittering mask, green and gold as the rest of the ensemble, and that'd be the end of it. Getting a mask to stick over makeup was an unnecessary hassle, and it stung like a bitch to get cleaned up when he inevitably needed stitches before the night was through, courtesy of a certain vigilante's armored fists-
He was getting off-track.
A party, an outfit, a stage, and Bruce Wayne, guest of the hour, freshly arrived. That's where he was. He'd call Wayne up, single him out, like it was mere happenstance, as though he just happened to pick him out of the crowd. His main-character complex and protectiveness over his guests would have him follow orders easily, climbing the stage clumsily, approaching Edward's trap with a resolute expression, the kind he wore when giving public addresses on the importance of safety and justice and unlimited police funding or whatever it was he was riled up about that day. Edward would have him sit, the trap designed to trigger at human body weight, binding him to the seat as the saws began to spin threateningly. There were easier ways to intimidate or injure a man, but what was the point without a good show? The massive saws had drama, and that was a key element.
Edward would begin by posing the first riddle again, inviting Wayne to answer. He'd be unable, of course, just a ditz with more money than sense, but Edward would forgive him. It wasn't a real challenge, he would assure him, just a way to make sure the rest of the audience was following along, and then he would give the answer to the room himself, kicking off the night's festivities. The clock would be counting down, now, until the Bat arrived, swooping in after someone put in the call to the do-nothing public-funds leeches wearing the police badges. Edward would lay out some ground rules, threaten some lives, allude to some bombs, all while dropping little hints to anyone listening as to his true goal here. It could be so many things in Wayne manor! The list of priceless artefacts and first editions housed in those ostentatious walls was undeniably lengthy.
Perhaps he'd go for an Egyptian theme? Steal something from that region while he was there? Or Ancient Greece, he knew there were at least a few statues in the manor originally from there.
What was important wasn't the specific goal, of course. It was the look of worry in those startlingly blue eyes, Bruce finally realizing he had no choice but to play along, finally counting the number of lives on his broad shoulders and finding the weight a heavy burden.
Edward would stroke his soft cheek, feel the warmth of his skin through his favorite pair of gloves, and he would say something reassuring that in the moment would put Wayne only further on edge.
The first riddle would be easy. Something meant for children, something everyone had heard before. The one about rivers, or about holes, or about breaths. He had to give Wayne a sporting chance, after all.
He would answer uncertainly, catching Edward's eye, and the fear behind those pretty blue eyes would be nearly intoxicating. Edward would congratulate him (after composing himself, of course, he'd need to compose himself with those enchanting eyes so focussed on him) on a correct answer.
Only two more to go to save your beloved city, Mr. Wayne! he would taunt.
The next riddle would be harder, requiring specialized knowledge to solve, but still one the average citizen would be able to handle. One regarding chess pieces, maybe, or card suits. Wayne would struggle with it, would furrow his thick, handsome brows, perhaps mutter to himself, bringing attention to those full lips, and Edward would repeat the riddle once, with emphasis on the pertinent words, and Wayne would look up at him, helpless, bound to the chair and at his mercy, stumped. Edward would feel guilty, surely, but he wouldn't give a riddle the man couldn't solve. He would give him some encouragement, a few sweet words, and Wayne would finally come upon the answer, blurting it out before he could second-guess himself.
Then, it would be time for the third riddle, and just about the right time for Batman to show his face, as well.
-No, no, not yet. He would have time to deliver the riddle, a properly difficult one, one that would tie the others into the theme, and there would be time for Wayne to look despairingly up at him, the answer beyond him, and it would be when Edward repeated the riddle that Batman would sweep in, hiding like the Phantom of the Opera in the stage's dark rafters.
As he often did, Batman would deliver the answer to the riddle as he dropped, turning it into some snappy comeback. Edward would thrill, but keep his composure- no good looking too eager, after all.
At the Batman's expected arrival, the second stage of his plan could spin into action. Another trap- No, he'd break out.
More saw blades, forming an impenetrable wall- No, nothing was impenetrable for Batman. Besides, that would take more setup on the stage itself than Edward would have access to.
Maybe- No, no, no, no! Batman always ruined everything, found some way to break through or cheat his way around, and he would bruise and cut and break until Edward was-
It was the crowd that was the problem, actually. Yes, without the crowd, Batman would have no one to posture for. If it was only Wayne himself who was threatened, the big, dumb, bleeding heart of his would go out to the underdog, would stop Batman before he could hurt him. Without the crowd...
Yes! He would arrive at the party, as planned, in his fancy new suit, looking ravishing, and Wayne would be nervous about his arrival. He would swoop over, stopping him before he could so much as mingle with the celebrity guests, would grab the champagne from his grasp and invite him away from the room. Edward would graciously accept the offer, as though he were actually being shown the lovely artwork in the sitting room.
There, Wayne would be more openly apprehensive, locking the doors behind them, demanding to know what Edward's goal was. He'd be honest, of course, but answering 'You, Mr. Wayne' wouldn't soothe the man's nerves.
Especially not after he set off the manor's security, initiating lockdown procedures and trapping Wayne in the room with himself.
At this point, the police would be alerted, and the Batman summoned. but Edward would have some time before anyone arrived to start the next phase. Wayne was stupid, and trusting, and it wouldn't take much to calm him down. Edward would try some line like 'I just wanted to make sure we could be alone' or 'I don't want anyone to bother us' or-
Hmm. Superfluous details. The point is, with his overflowing charisma and Wayne's weakness for petite redheads, he'd have him eating out of the palm of his hand quickly enough. He'd flirt his way a little closer, edging into Wayne's space too coyly to be threatening, and Wayne wouldn't stop him from laying hands on him. His intentions would be clear, as he felt up Wayne's prominent musculature, and it wouldn't take much to get Wayne to reciprocate. After all, Edward had seen plenty of those girls that giggled about encounters with him, and they had little to offer beyond their bleached-pearly smiles and unblemished skin (and maybe he should revisit the concealer idea from before, none of those girls had ever been half so heavily freckled, even the ones he believed had natural hair-)
The point was- Edward was charming and intelligent in a way those girls never were, and even a bimbo like Bruce Wayne must appreciate a lively banter, and soon after he first felt the expensive knit of the fabric, he'd be allowed to slip it from Wayne's broad shoulders, revealing the tight cut of his pressed shirt beneath, and then the exposure-roughened skin of an adrenaline junkie underneath. He rarely showed it off, of course, but Edward remembered every report about yet another injury from yet another high-risk hobby, and he could imagine the scars in what he was sure was near-perfect detail, even now.
...Though, would Wayne put the money into concealing them? The best scar reduction creams and plastic surgery (and his own shade of concealer) money could buy?
No, Edward preferred to think of them as stark, prominent marks. Scars were sexy. They showed off the amount of pain a man could go through, again and again, and still put himself in the same danger. Edward was something of an adrenaline junkie himself, after all. (Though it could also be called a bit of masochism, especially if you asked certain friends who liked to psychoanalyze people for funsies-)
Anyway, scars also gave you something to focus on, when you had miles of gorgeously-tanned skin stretching over pounds of hard muscle to laboriously map out. Edward would need all the help he could get, focussing in the presence of that enviable body. He'd want to take his time, to wander and explore and tease, but the countdown to the second act would already be started, and he needed Wayne primed for the occasion before it arrived.
Edward would push him back gently, steering him towards the nearest couch. He imagined a nice chaise sofa, the deep violet one he'd seen in photographs of the manor's interior. It had been wide and roomy and elegant, and Wayne would look absolutely spectacular draped across it.
Edward would shuck the glittery tailcoat before climbing onto the sofa alongside him, infecting the nice white carpeting with the stray sparkles rather than the lovely chaise, and he'd box Wayne in between his knees, eager to get the first act really going. Here, Wayne would put his big, sports-callused hands on Edward's narrow hips, grounding himself as much as steering his petite companion where he wanted him. He imagined Wayne to be the sort of lover that shared control, giving and taking freely so both parties could get what they wanted, and it would be such a delicious contrast to the Batman's refusal to ever give so much as an inch-
But the Batman wouldn't be here. Not yet. He was getting ahead of himself. Wayne was underneath him, that's right, topless and straining in the slacks Edward wouldn't have relieved him of just yet, while Edward mounted him, fully clothed.
Wayne would be impatient, a hedonist to the core, and he'd be trying to get Edward to get a move on, but Edward would deny him. He'd toy with his nipples a bit, drag delicate fingers down his sensitive sides, and sit back on his thighs, leaving the tented slacks untouched.
The more desperate he was when Batman arrived, after all, the better an accomplice he'd be to Edward's real plans.
Edward would put on a little show, at this point, slowly stripping off the many pieces of his costume. The fancy little bowtie would unwind first, so he could expose his delicate collarbones. Wayne would groan, trying to lean upwards to get his mouth on them, attractive as he knew they were, and Edward would stymie him, pushing him back down to the chaise with one insistent hand.
The other, he would lift to his teeth, tugging the glove off of it and tossing it carelessly to the sofa, which it would nearly blend into. Look, the colors would say, look how we belong together.
His hand, ungloved, would move to Bruce's face, feeling the warm softness of his skin. Bruce would turn his head, kissing the palm, and Edward would nearly forget to take the other glove off.
Nearly, but not quite.
The second glove would join the first, and then the hand would join its twin, holding Bruce in place for him to press deep kisses into. Bruce would slide his fingers into Edward's waistband now, getting his thick hands as far as they'd go against the close fit of Edward's belt, feel the lacy little surprise he would be wearing beneath. He'd breathe a gasp of shock into Edward's mouth, which Edward would giggle at, and his hands would flash almost desperately to Edward's buckle, scrambling to get into his pants.
While he worked, Edward would assist, unbuttoning only enough buttons to rip the shirt from his shoulders. The buckle would fall free, then the button, and Bruce's and Edward's hands would bump in their combined haste to slide the slacks free.
Bruce would be frozen, the picture of reverential rapture, hands sliding up the soft stretch of his mint stockings, fingers pressing to the scratch of the lace where it met his freckled thighs (as little of them as he could show, pale and skinny and ridiculous, speckled like he'd been sprayed with mud and clashing horribly against the sexy planes of Bruce's muscles and tan and scars-) then continuing up higher, to tease at the silky fabric of the cute little thong Edward never found an excuse to wear. It was green, it was shiny, and there were little question marks worked into the design of the lace. It had been a limited-run promotional item, from a poorly-received publicity stunt by a local lingerie shop, so he guarded it closely with all the care of a mother with a newborn child.
If that child were a pair of delicate and rare thematically-appropriate sexy underthings, that is.
Bruce's touch would be getting him blissfully hard under the silky fabric by now, the confines of the tiny garment failing to keep the eager member from jumping free, and Bruce would be more than happy to take him in hand, pumping him with a firm grip in his strong hands, calluses scraping past and creating a wonderful friction that would have him singing Bruce's name.
It would be about now, probably, that Batman managed to arrive. He was always quick when Gotham's elite were involved, clearly in somebody's deep pockets. It may even be Wayne's pockets, based on rumors of their friendship and Wayne's public opinions about law enforcement.
He liked to think that theory was true, and that Batman would arrive swiftly, worried for his friend. The rest of the guests would have been evacuated already, Batman hurrying his way through the manor to find the party's host while the guests escaped. The butler would probably point him in the right direction, always freakishly cool-headed in the face of danger when he appeared in the news. Batman would follow his advice and find the sitting room door, still barred, and would smash his way inside, manor security be damned.
Wayne would be shocked, gripping onto Edward tightly in his surprise, but Edward would have been expecting the extra party. He'd slot his hips against Bruce's properly, now, giving him that pressure he'd been denied, and Bruce would moan for him, so pretty, distracted from Batman's arrival by the body in his arms.
Edward would smirk coyly in Batman's direction, stroking his fingers through Bruce's thick hair. He'd tease Batman for watching, invite him to join in. Batman would get angry, of course he would, and demand to know what Edward had done.
Bruce would explain, poorly, breathlessly, that Edward had wanted to get him alone. Batman wouldn't understand, couldn't understand, and would pull Edward bodily off of the riled-up playboy. Bruce would protest now, desperately, clinging onto Edward's thighs like they were the source of salvation and Batman was trying to damn him to hell.
Edward would stroke his fingers against whatever part of Batman he could reach. He imagined the vigilante would snatch his hands behind his back, like he was going to cuff him, so that would have to be the molded muscles at his stomach. He would murmur into Batman's covered ear, directing his attention to the now-impressive tent in Wayne's slacks. He'd beg Batman to take pity on the poor man, 'you can't arrest me now, not if it'll leave him like this!'
Bruce would agree, quickly taking up his cue. Nothing to worry about, he'd assure his armored friend, just getting a little frisky at a party. 'You understand, right?', he'd cajole, but Batman wouldn't. Edward had seen the man flirted with, by beautiful women and insane clowns and himself, and he always responded just the same way.
'Just look at him,' Bruce would urge, hands running up along Edward's bare skin, 'he wants us so bad.' He'd plead with his friend, with his lackey, with his human weapon against the corruption of the city that Edward neatly encapsulated, and Batman would consider it, would listen to his words where he would never listen to Edward's.
'You're sure no one's gotten hurt?' Batman would check, and Bruce would assure him that 'No, really, the Riddler hacked into the security-'
-And Batman would leave. 'Then I'm wasting my time.'
Shit!
There had to be some way, some version of the fantasy where Batman stayed!
Trap him first? No, he'd have no way of luring Wayne and Batman would break out, anyway.
Just regular old invite them on a date? No, Batman would never agree to it. Wayne probably wouldn't, either, not a public one, anyway. If he was bisexual, as Edward was sure he was, he was staying firmly in the closet, for now.
Drug them? That was always a possibility, though it left a poor taste in his mouth, that even in his fantasies he couldn't imagine anyone actually wanting him.
Threats, too, followed the same problem, with the added bonus of Batman getting violent.
Maybe, maybe…
If the two were close, if Wayne oversaw his equipment and training and all already, maybe there was a spark there Edward could use. Instead of positioning himself as the meat in this proverbial sandwich right away (though, ultimately, it was the goal), maybe he could use Wayne's more obvious appeal to seduce the Bat.
Yes, that would be his approach.
He'd arrange for Wayne to be kidnapped, taken to a bunker that Edward would have prepared for the occasion. As Wayne was being delivered to him, a riddle would be delivered to the police. On the surface, it would read like a threat, but it would only take a bit of digging to see the truth: no part of the riddle was really about weapons, but veiled innuendos and euphemisms would abound.
Wayne would be secured, hands cuffed high above his head, and while Batman toured the city, solving riddles and finding clues, Edward would prepare his prize.
Guessing at Wayne's sizes wouldn't be a problem, not for someone who paid as close attention to the man as Edward did, and the gorgeous little lingerie he chose would be a perfect fit. A strapless blouse to start, translucent and lacy, to accentuate his plush pectorals without drawing attention to the broad shoulders. Batman would like a partner smaller than him, Edward was sure, someone he could easily dominate, and Wayne was too close to his physique for that. Better to downplay those features, even if Edward found them infinitely appealing.
The blouse would have a bat motif, definitely. It wouldn't be hard to find, from either a Batman-fetish angle or a gothic one, though the size might be tough. Edward would need to plan far enough ahead to ensure custom sizing…
Anyway. Next, the thong. He imagined little bats on the hips, their wings making Wayne's tight hipbones look wider, with plenty of fabric for the hefty cock he was certain the man sported. The garment would leave his taut ass exposed, looking fantastically edible, and Edward wouldn't be able to help giving it a pinch.
Last, the stockings, though he already knew for certain they'd be horrifically difficult to find in a size suitable for Wayne's watermelon-crushing thighs. Fishnets, maybe, for the extra stretch, with the grim acceptance that they may only go just above the knee. Wayne's toned thighs could use a little display, though. That wouldn't be so bad.
All dressed up and ready, Wayne's restraints would be reinforced, using Edward's favorite rig to keep his arms comfortable above his head and his legs spread, and then Edward's lackeys would be dismissed. They would have seen more than he was comfortable with, already, but it was an unfortunate fact that Edward was simply not strong enough to handle such a big man.
Wayne would be nervous, but Edward's explanation about him serving as a prize rather than as bait would have soothed the worst of his worries. Of course, Edward, clad similarly in that thong and those stockings he'd planned already, would seek to ease the last of his qualms, reaching up to press slow kisses to his pliant mouth and getting the hedonist into the right headspace.
'One last thing, and you'll be ready for him, okay?' Edward would check, and Bruce would nod, words already escaping him. Edward would grin, in that way that unsettled people but that he couldn't quite keep off his face, and descend, kneeling so that he was eye-level with Bruce's wonderfully big dick and his hands were squeezing his powerful thighs.
Bruce would moan for him beautifully, responsive to the attentive sucking along his inner thighs. Edward would bite him once or twice, but would largely refrain. Something told him Batman was a biter, and that he'd be jealous of too many teeth marks beside his own.
The door would finally open, then, the puzzle outside solved, and Bruce would be ready. He'd look debauched and needy, thighs wet and red above his stockings, face flushed and lips swollen, nipples and cock both hard enough to show through the black fabric gently caressing his body. Batman would be stunned, and Edward would use the opportunity to get behind him, locking the door he'd come through and whispering in his ear.
'Congratulations on reaching your prize,' he'd say. 'Bon appétit.'
Batman would attack him, surely, grip him by the throat and level a fist at his face, but Wayne would be his ally in this, by now. He'd moan out for Batman, calling him over. 'Ignore Eddie', he'd insist, and both the nickname and the suggestion would prickle, but Edward would be released, so he'd keep his opinions to himself.
Batman would go over, reaching to untie Wayne's wrists. He would have struggled just enough during Edward's marking that the ropes would have left neat little lines, and Batman would dutifully check them for injury. Bruce would be uninterested in being fussed over, having not been injured whatsoever and having been interrupted during a very erotic moment, and would dive in for a continuation, replacing Edward with Batman happily. Batman would allow it, gauntleted hands moving to Bruce's hips to hold him steady with his legs still tied, and Bruce would start working the costume off.
Piece by piece, Batman would allow himself to be undressed. Edward was no threat, not physically, and too naked to be hiding any weapons or controls on his person. The cowl would stay on, Batman too paranoid to allow it to be removed, and Edward too attached to the idea of solving the mystery to want it gone.
Skin revealed, Batman would be starkly pale against Bruce's more tan skin. The man rarely saw the sun, surely, unlike the daredevil playboy. He'd have an array of scars of his own, definitely, and Edward pictured the ones he'd left. He knew of some others, marks left by the Joker and by Bane and such, but…
If Edward could allow himself an indulgence in this fantasy, he wanted to imagine Batman had only been permanently marked by him.
Batman would kneel down to untie Bruce's ankles, skin stretching over his shoulder blades putting the carved question mark on the left one on display, and Bruce would pet over the cowl, bringing to Batman's attention his proximity to Bruce's waning boner. Batman would hesitate, of course, not being half so flippant about sex as the notorious womanizer, but Edward would sneak in behind, pressing himself to Bruce's back and his hands to his thighs. He'd tease the man, making his dick twitch, right in Batman's face, and would nudge the cute little panties down until the cock could peek out. Batman would swallow, hard, uncertain but unable to take his eyes off of it.
'Go on,' Bruce would urge. 'It won't bite,' he'd joke.
Batman would comply, awkward and unsure, but it would be far from the first blowjob Bruce had gotten, and likely far from the first time it had been the other party's first time.
...That… had gotten a bit away from him…
Anyway, Bruce would guide Batman into place, into a rhythm that would feel good but not be too hard to keep up with, and Batman would be a fast learner, a genius of nearly Edward's caliber, all that dexterity and rote memorization going now to an incredible first try. Bruce would groan into it, hands to the ears of the cowl, barely holding back from fucking Batman's face, and Edward would be right behind, stroking his hands up Bruce's toned stomach and pulling him in for another deep kiss. The angle would be horrible, Bruce so very much taller than Edward, but he'd be desperate enough for Bruce's attention by now he'd put up with it.
Batman would notice, jealously, and put more vigor into his sucking, returning Bruce's attention to him. Edward, in turn, would rue the loss, and pinch at Bruce's peaked nipples. Bruce would moan, and laugh, and chastise them. 'Boys, boys, you're both pretty!', he'd say, and pull Batman to his feet. He'd guide them both easily, confidently, to the bed Edward would have prepared, tugging them both to fall into it with him. Far from his first threesome, he'd take the reins, much to Batman's chagrin.
Edward would follow directions eagerly as a man lost in the desert drinking up the first water he came across in days. Bruce would direct him to take Batman's place between his legs, blowing him with markedly more skill (and while Bruce wouldn't judge him for it, Batman would narrow his eyes, curl his lip, and bite back an insult Bruce wouldn't want to hear). Bruce would pick out one of the bottles of lube Edward would have ready, and would begin pumping fingers into him, simply nudging the thin fabric of the thong aside to reach his goal.
He'd turn to give Batman an order, too, but Batman would hate control being wrested from him, and would cut him off with a kiss. Grabbing another bottle of lube (any one that wasn't green, just to spite Edward), he'd slick his fingers and copy Bruce's movements, working Bruce open in perfect tandem while Bruce set the pace inside Edward.
It wouldn't be long before Bruce was too lost in pleasure to focus, his fingers losing their rhythm, lazily stroking without much direction. It wouldn't bother Edward one bit, though. He'd be well past ready, would grab the bottle of lube Batman had been using to slick Bruce's cock, and would seat himself, the girthy cock stretching him enough to send his brain into white static fuzz. Bruce would rock his hips up into him a couple of times, grinding down onto Batman's fingers and back up in smooth undulations, but would lose patience as well, and flip them so Edward was pressed to the soft green blankets.
Batman would smother them both, then, pressing himself into Bruce, deeply enough to force Bruce deeper into Edward, and there would be a harmony of groans so synchronized, it would set Edward to giggles.
Bruce would look at him fondly, a crooked smile showing his white teeth, and he'd be kissed. Batman would set a grueling pace in punishment, pounding Bruce into Edward hard, but Bruce would be sloppily pressing his lips and teeth and tongue to every bit of Edward's lips and jaw and neck that he could reach. Well ahead of the others, he'd come unexpectedly inside of Edward with a cry, riding it out until he was too overstimulated to go on, then slap at Batman to stop.
'Tag in, tag in! I need a minute!', he'd wheeze.
Batman would let him go, reluctantly. Bruce would lay back, thighs twitching, cock wet, and make himself comfortable on the layered pillows. The one shaped like a question mark would cradle his head perfectly, and he'd sink into it.
'Well, go on!', he'd urge, 'don't stop on my account!'
Batman's cock would be so hard, flushed dark and twitching and bigger than even Bruce's, and Edward would help himself. He'd slide a hand up it, then two, his nimble hands tiny against the heft of it. Batman would grimace, snatching harshly at a wrist, and Edward wouldn't be able to hold back the needy whine at that. He often had to bite back noises like that, facing the brute. He was violent and controlling and his aversion to murder meant he relied heavily on restraints and fuck if it didn't all go right to Edward's dick sometimes.
A lot of the time.
Most of the time.
The point is, already mostly naked and hard, he wouldn't have to keep the noise down this time. Batman would hear how much he loved to be manhandled, and the more angry he grew with Edward, the more horny Edward would grow, in turn. Batman would sneer at that, make some awful comment, but that, too, would arouse him.
Bruce would laugh, suggest they decide on a safeword, and Edward would inform Batman he already had one. Pistachio, if anyone ever asked.
Batman wouldn't have one, wouldn't have even thought to need one, and would be forced to realize uncomfortably just what his whole deal could do to someone, especially someone like Edward, with his particular proclivities.
Edward would take advantage of the fight leaving him, too worried his next aggressive action would be taken sexually, and would climb into his lap. He'd line that enormous cock up to his already-stretched hole, and feel a new burn at the girthier intrusion. He'd whine into Batman's neck, as he'd long wanted to, and Batman wouldn't be able to stop himself from thrusting up into the tight heat he provided. Fucking Bruce would have put him so close to the edge already, his cock painfully hard, and he'd pound up into Edward with all the fury he couldn't funnel into violence. Edward would have to claw into him just to steady himself, nails digging into the pale skin of his back, leaving new scars alongside the old, marking him anew. Batman's hands would grip him tight, tight, tight on his hips, slamming him down into every upward thrust, and Edward would know exactly how dark those bruises would look the next day.
Bruce would come behind, then, tap on Edward's shoulder politely, and ask 'Room for one more?', as though he hadn't been the impetus for all this.
Batman would slow, holding Edward close, seated fully on his enormous cock, and Bruce would slick his fingers up with the green lube again. One thick finger, already too much, would trace along Edward's well-stretched rim, pushing in alongside Batman's cock and tearing the breath from Edward's lungs.
'Okay?', he'd check, but he wouldn't stop. Edward would nod, sending his hair flying, and wouldn't say his word, and Bruce would press a second finger in.
It would burn, all the way up into Edward's throat, and he'd surely have started crying by then.
Batman would be getting impatient now, with the tightness squeezing all around him and the stroking of Bruce's fingers, and he'd funnel that impatience into Edward's skin. He'd prove his theory about biting, first, leaving dark red indentations all down his neck and collarbone, and then he'd bend down, latching his lips around one of Edward's nipples and pinching roughly at the other.
Bruce would have a third finger inside him, now, too much by far, but still less than Edward knew his dick would be. In juxtaposition with Batman's harshness, he'd be leaving gentle kisses to Edward's nape, sucking and nipping and murmuring nonsense into the skin, while he ensured Edward was as loose as he could possibly get.
In the fantasy, both Batman and Bruce would fit inside of him, though it was an incredibly close call.
He'd shout himself hoarse, then keep crying out. Tears would be flowing freely, and he'd be too overwhelmed to think, to move, to remember his name or why he'd changed it, and then those two thick cocks would be pouring their loads inside of him, filling him messily, laying claim to him from the inside out.
"Bat- Bruce…."
"I hope I'm not interrupting something."
The voice in the real world, so similar to the one he'd been imagining, but with a layer of mirth he hadn't allowed the fantasy version, cut through the delusion like a hot knife through butter, or a batarang through skin.
"Fuck! Bats!"
Edward pulled the toy out swiftly, dropping it as though it had burned him, as though if it were no longer touching him, Batman wouldn't know what he'd been doing.
"Remind me to knock next time I track down your hideout," Batman smirked. "Don't make me cuff you like this, Riddler. Pants on, get in the Batmobile. You're going back to Arkham."
Edward flinched, pulling his pants up. He'd been so close, too! ...And not in the usual way he meant it, when dealing with the Bat.
(Maybe a little bit the way he usually meant it.)
"Say, Batman… You wouldn't consider-"
"Finish that sentence, and I break your jaw."
"Fair enough."