Play, part 3
By Darklady and Chicago
Disclaimers in "part 0"
Batman jumped almost out of his - or at least J'onn's - skin.
Saved by the bell J'onn thought at his lover as Batman flipped open the link with unnecessary force.
"Jumpship to Tower." Batman snapped. "We are tracking the plelloch, and show thirty seven minutes to contact."
"Excellent. I just wanted you to know that Superman and Flash have gone earthside. We had a call on a landslide in Peru. Plas will be taking over the monitor, but Aquaman and myself will remain in the Tower in case you need backup."
J'onn chuckled softly as he enjoyed his lover's confusion. A part of Batman was irritated that his mission was being relegated to Plasticman - who for all his competence was not generally considered the 'A-list' of the team. An equal part was irritated that the two 'powerhouses" - Diana and Orin - felt they had to watch over the Bat. And a smaller, long ignored part, was torn between being irritated and being grateful for the interruption.
J'onn sent out a tendril to cut the screen.
"Thirty seven minutes to contact." J'onn repeated. " Whatever shall we do?" The words came in stereo, as lips formed over both of Bruce's ears and nibbled their way down his nape. The black hair was short there, but very, very soft. And it tickled back when J'onn sent out tendrils to massage it.
"JLA protocols suggest checking our systems."
"Right." J'onn spun off a dozen tendrils, sending them flashing over the controls. "Finished."
Batman managed to suppress the words, but not the thought, so J'onn answered teasingly. "The ship runs on bio-telepathic controls. All systems are secured." A wave of tiny fingers ran over still-tense shoulders as J'onn shifted his voice from ear to ear. "All except one system."
Batman shuddered - refusing to moan - as new lips sprouted in the palms of each glove.
"Although" J'onn's voice echoed faintly, coming now from the mouth opening around Bruce's left ankle bone. "In thirty seven minutes..." Still another set of lips sprouted at the back of his right knee.
Sublimation was useless. Not even a more serious xenophobe than the Bat could work up true anxiety against an interstellar puppy.
Distraction was not going to work. Not with a telepath.
The Batman summoned up his readings on tantric techniques.
J'onn's mental whirlwind blew the knowledge out of his mind.
Not this time, Bruce. J'onn mental voice was determined. Bruce could growl. He could sulk. He could even hold down his respiration and try to shield his mind. He couldn't control the neuron spark. And those bio-electrical impulses were telling J'onn that at least parts of Bruce were feeling very lucky indeed.
J'onn twisted a narrow tongue around Bruce's left little toe. It was a bit out of alignment. Not noticeable, really. He doubted that any of Bruce's casual lovers had ever noticed the minuscule twist. He had - and he cherished it. A flaw in the polished beauty that otherwise was Bruce Wayne. A weakness in the creation that was the Bat. Something individual. Unique. Rare. You are mine, Bruce
A gasp - a body-long shudder - and the Dark Knight surrendered.
Waves of tiny nubs sprouted over every inside surface of the dark armor, tapping against every muscle until it yielded into relaxation. Agile tendrils twined under the last bits of unwelcome fabric, replacing their dead resistance with a living touch.
That was it.
Bruce reached down - only to meet the unyielding dome of his crotch guard.
"I need." Bruce's rich soprano, rather then the Bat's dark baritone - but no less demanding.
A bit of cape flared up to snatch the hand and bind it to the ship's chair.
"Nothing I won't supply" J'onn whispered. "Eventually."
The nubs morphed to fingers, circling and massaging around the captive limbs. Starting at wrists and ankles, they moved slowly up, leaving blissful fire in their wake.
Bruce sent up a vague yearning for 'Alana' - only to be met with the soft mental retort. I'm perfectly comfortable with the form I'm in... and the form that's in me.
This comment was accompanied by a firm squeeze to one thigh as the opposite inner knee felt a soft suction and a gentle swirl of tongue. Bruce raised his hips futilely, almost unconsciously, and bit his lip against a moan.
This isn't exactly fair, he protested, realizing J'onn's gentle restraints would not budge. Any explanation he could offer was derailed by the track of lips along the lower edge of his right pectoral muscle, a mix of nibbles and licks that ended in the crease of his armpit in a way that would have tickled if it weren't sending yet another wave of pure pleasure through Bruce's brain.
Not fair that I have you completely at my mercy? J'onn cooed into his left ear as massaging fingers finally made their way to hips and shoulders. Bruce thrust his hips again as one thumb slipped just past the curve of his hip socket, but that only served to move J'onn's attentions northward, away from the desired contact. A kiss at the very base of Bruce's spine elicited a cut off gasp as J'onn's voice shifted to his right ear. Not fair that for once, you are not in control?
Yes, all those things, Bruce wanted to protest, but those slim digits were working their way between his ribs, stirring his stomach to butterflies and causing him to gulp for air rather than merely breathe. He strained forward again as every vertebra found itself the exclusive property of another set of lips. Countless soft caresses tingled across his scalp, and a rhythmic pulsing of the suit began around his arms and legs. "J'onn," he begged, again rolling his hips.
He felt a smile in the lips that brushed kisses over his eyelids.
Bruce watched as a tendril of cape flipped the comlink open - audio only. A mouth sprouted from his suit, just above his navel. "Go ahead, Plasticman." The words vibrated against Bruce's abs, forcing him to concentrate on keeping his breathing level - a task made more difficult by the firm massage moving slowly down his back and still lower...
"Just thought you'd want to know the plelloch seems to have shifted toward you. You sure that ship can handle contact? I just saw the replay of what it did to the probe-"
"That's why we took the jumpship, Plas," J'onn explained patiently, the speaking mouth moving lower on Bruce's body.
"Right. Just -"
"I appreciate the thought, Plasticman. We'll be fine. J'onn out." By the word "out," the roving external mouth had settled a scant inch above the cod piece, and the massaging hands at his back trailed a series of feather light strokes even lower. Bruce gritted his teeth against involuntary vocalizations, reduced to holding his breath by the end of the call because he could no longer stay silent otherwise.
"Now where were we?" J'onn asked conversationally, a lower lip tapping against the protective gear over Bruce's groin as he spoke.
The answer was a growled mental order. You were about to take that mouth and swallow my cock.
Laughter sprang from almost every inch of the suit, a vibration of lips against every nerve save those hungriest for J'onn's touch. "Why Bruce Wayne!" The voice roved from mouth to mouth, alternating with kisses and nips and sucks and breaths of air. "Are you talking dirty to me?"
Bruce turned his face away from a pair of offered lips to snarl... "Damn it - J'onn. Stop fucking around and fuck me." Martha Wayne's son had vanished. Beyond even the Bat - it was the pure Matches Malone rasp.
J'onn chucked slightly into his lovers left ear as the lips nearer the right asked in mock-shock. "Why Bruce! Whatever would Alfred say?"
That brought a shiver and a whimper from one small part of Bruce's midbrain. Because baby Brucie did know what Alfred would say - and do. But only from one part, because the larger part of Bruce's brain was too busy surfing the waves of incoming bliss to care.
Another pair of mouths - one for each nipple - and even the last bit of Brucie brain gave way.
Perfect, J'onn thought. Since the Scarecrow incident Batman has spent too much time disciplining his thoughts and too little time listening to his body. It was.... needful.. to balance things out.
Now!!! Bruce thrust up, every clenched muscle joining in the mental demand.
Now. J'onn allowed.
Labial lips formed as the armored crotch guard inverted on itself. The human's body quivered as sensation flooded him, mouths and fingers and... no part of him was untouched, unencompassed.
Uncounted living hairs, soft as velvet, sought out and teased every single separate nerve.
Bruce would have screamed - but his lungs wouldn't quite engage.
J'onn exploded, spun off tendrils sliding down Bruce's body to puddle softly around him in the fitted chair.