The face that he has been yearning for it is very much the point. In fact, it is the only point. It's the point because it means he's easy to distract, and because it means Bruce doesn't need to acknowledge how much he uses sex to meet... needs that are certainly not physical.
Hell, (pun intended), Bruce doesn't even have to consciously realize he does so.
He keeps the kiss deep and slow, but his fingers gradually curl tighter and there's the slightest hint of teeth. Interestingly there's nothing harsh about it, and the warmth doesn't fade at all. There's just more steadily building intensity.
And Bruce pushing... against Zerxus more than into him. Not quite 'telling' him to get onto his back or demanding it, but seeing what Zerxus does with the pressure.
That careful hint of sharpness drags a whimper out of him, and there's a disgruntled edge to it; Bruce had been so smugly certain about getting him into bed, proving him right would be so fucking annoying -
Gods, he really is one of the loneliest men in the world.
The pressure meets resistance in Zerxus pushing back, flexing against Bruce as his eyes open again. He makes no move to end the kiss, but there's a certain kind of glint in his eyes, a playful but stubborn defiance that says 'if you want me on my back, then earn it'.
Don't worry, Bruce won't be too smug about it. Not much more than a smirk that's still on his face when Zerxus opens his eyes, and a slightly cocked eyebrow.
Or maybe it isn't just smug that he's right, but just a touch of something deeper. A kind of 'I see you' message - that very very intentionally stays silent. Zerxus might be the loneliest mortal in the world; they may have to take a tie on loneliest man.
He breaks the kiss himself, presses the heel of his hand against Zerxus' shoulder and shoves - hard, harder than human strength but controlled, and follows through by rolling his entire body over Zerxus.
Zerxus is strong, but at the end of the day he's only human - and a horribly worn out one, at the moment. He keeps up that resistance obviously, but he hardly looks shocked or disappointed when he ends up flat on his back. That hint of mischief has bloomed into a broad, sharp grin that makes him look years younger.
"Am I?" How dare you. He has definitely never been accused of such a thing in his life.
Bruce gets his knees under him and sits up, astride Zerxus' hips. Then pauses. There's nothing about the fact that the man is grinning, looks young, is trying to play with him that should be confusing-
--but it is.
Just a touch.
It's another one of those things that doesn't fit the only way he can make sense of Zerxus choosing to come to Gotham. It isn't... broken and suicidal, bent on self-destruction. He hates that. It would be so much simpler if it were just that. That it isn't and can't be....
He shakes his head after that minute pause and snorts. It's inelegant but more teasing than truly derisive. "You are. Unfortunately for you, so am I. Do you want to test your luck with that, or tell me what it is you want?"
The confusion isn't surprising either, really, considering how baffled Bruce seems to be about so many things Zerxus takes for granted.
"I don't find it all that unfortunate." Slyly and stubbornly playful, but there's something quietly sincere in it. Slowly, deliberately, he relaxes his body, keeping his hands still at his sides.
"And I'm pretty sure paladins are meant to take leaps of faith."
Maybe he'd be less confused if most of his contact with mortals - at least meaningful contact - weren't Barbara and Jason.
Regardless...
"There's something wrong with you, and I have never been less turned on in my life." That? Is a lie. He's good at telling them, when he wants to be good at telling them. Right now? He's just fine with it being a really, really overt lie.
Especially in a pair of silk pajama bottoms.
"Hands on the headboard." Up and behind. That's... not intentionally an order, but it is an order.
He obeys, casually unhurried, gaze fixed on Bruce's. He's not the most flexible person; the stretch of his arms is reflected in the rest of his body, especially at the languid pace.
He'd really, really prefer Zerxus bothered -even hot and bothered- to whatever the hell this lazy, sexy, confident bullshit is.
...because it's confusing.
His eyes darken and very breifly flare red, then their clothes are just gone and he's dragging the nails of both hands down from Zerxus' collarbone to his hips. Just very, barely, breaking skin and drawing blood.
It's a lot, all at once; the reflexive fight-or-flight that has his hands tightening hard enough to make the wood creak, the rush of cool air against his skin, the blazing sting of those scratches.
Judging by the ragged gasp and wide eyes, Bruce has very effectively shaken his composure. That doesn't stop a hoarse, throaty laugh as he says, "Show-off."
He smirks, lifts an eyebrow and is clearly about to reply--
but is cut off by a very large, very black, very fluffy cat jumping up onto the bed, slinking over and onto Zerxus' chest, and then sitting there - back to Bruce, tail lashing- and staring down into his face from very close.
With very... orange, and unnaturally illuminated eyes.
The cat has more teeth and claws than Bruce. It also has fewer morals, fewer inhibitions, and less restraint.
Bruce... growls in irritation at very literally finding the cat between them. The cat seemingly does not care, in the least.
"He's obnoxious, but he doesn't talk." Just being clear while... petting the cat absently, rather than immediately following through with his intent to scruff and remove it.
The cat, on it's part, lowers itself down into a loaf, and reaches out one paw and pats Zerxus' cheek. Claws retracted. Still threatening, somehow, given the aggressive eye contact.
"...at least that I've heard." All things were possible when the Lord of hell was your father , and no evidence was concrete evidence.
He keeps his hands right where they are for a few pointed seconds; hopefully, that will distract from the endeared little smile.
"Nice to meet you, Alfred." Finally, he pulls his hands back, and reaches one over to - well, get either licked or nipped at, depending on where he stands with this cat.
Bruce's hand stays on the cat, in clear mistrust. He's also freshly annoyed to have a very sexy man beside him and his cat cock blocking him.
A cat that turns and gives Bruce a long, unblinking stare before turning back to Zerxus hand and giving it a tiny, very gentle bite before beginning to lick in a similarly dainty way ... and purr.
"I honestly can't tell if this is devilish or just feline." He doesn't seem to mind either way, considering the blatantly amused grin. Apparently watching Alfred troll Bruce is worth the risk to his extremities.
Bruce's eyes glow red, he opens his mouth wide and... hisses at Zerxus.
Which gets a pause and stare from the cat, but no further action. Because Bruce follows that with an eye roll and actively cuddling in against his pet mortal and petting his devilsh cat.
"You should either go back to sleep and dream more, or tell me more about your previous dreams and the consequences."
Bruce's pet mortal smirks downright smugly at him. This will probably come back to bite him later, but he's at peace with it.
"I should go back to sleep." He knows, distantly, that he's still drained; that the responsible thing to do would be closing his eyes, and relaxing as much as he can.
But he's got a purring cat and a cuddly devil and that's so much better than the nightmares, prophetic or not.
"They usually start out - not normally. But there are things, places, people I recognise. Things it makes sense to dream about. Then it all...twists, somehow."
It's more likely to bite him on the ass if he tries it with Asmodeus, and Bruce is not exactly hopeful that is as unlikely as it should be.
Not that Bruce wouldn't bite him for it, in another circumstance. Bruce is a defensively bitey fuck, often with apparently for no cause.
For now, he's naked, warm and has human (and feline) contact and a decided lack of voices in his head. It's downright relaxing, and he is fully prepared to enjoy it for at least a little bit.
"And you never remember the details long after waking? That makes it hard to verify...accuracy or ...method of encryption."
"Rarely. Some things stick, but - too many empty spaces to make a pattern."
Still. Maybe the things that resonated the most did so for a reason, beyond minds having their own strange whims. He closes his eyes, and sinks into the steady warmth around him. It feels - safer, in this moment, to reach deeper again.
"I remember - years ago, I think before the war even started - there was a tree. With petals that faded to nothing right before they reached the ground, and branches that reached into the stars..."
He makes a thoughtful noise and goes from the word 'encryption' to Barbara, even while considering the imagery presented. "Barbara should have been who you found." Yeah, he needs to get his guard back up and be less sentimental, immediately.
He bites Zerxus shoulder sharply. "Keep petting." Him. Not the cat. The cat can make its own demands.
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Hell, (pun intended), Bruce doesn't even have to consciously realize he does so.
He keeps the kiss deep and slow, but his fingers gradually curl tighter and there's the slightest hint of teeth. Interestingly there's nothing harsh about it, and the warmth doesn't fade at all. There's just more steadily building intensity.
And Bruce pushing... against Zerxus more than into him. Not quite 'telling' him to get onto his back or demanding it, but seeing what Zerxus does with the pressure.
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Gods, he really is one of the loneliest men in the world.
The pressure meets resistance in Zerxus pushing back, flexing against Bruce as his eyes open again. He makes no move to end the kiss, but there's a certain kind of glint in his eyes, a playful but stubborn defiance that says 'if you want me on my back, then earn it'.
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Just did.
Don't worry, Bruce won't be too smug about it. Not much more than a smirk that's still on his face when Zerxus opens his eyes, and a slightly cocked eyebrow.
Or maybe it isn't just smug that he's right, but just a touch of something deeper. A kind of 'I see you' message - that very very intentionally stays silent. Zerxus might be the loneliest mortal in the world; they may have to take a tie on loneliest man.
He breaks the kiss himself, presses the heel of his hand against Zerxus' shoulder and shoves - hard, harder than human strength but controlled, and follows through by rolling his entire body over Zerxus.
"You're a brat." He knows it's more than that.
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"Am I?" How dare you. He has definitely never been accused of such a thing in his life.
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--but it is.
Just a touch.
It's another one of those things that doesn't fit the only way he can make sense of Zerxus choosing to come to Gotham. It isn't... broken and suicidal, bent on self-destruction. He hates that. It would be so much simpler if it were just that. That it isn't and can't be....
He shakes his head after that minute pause and snorts. It's inelegant but more teasing than truly derisive. "You are. Unfortunately for you, so am I. Do you want to test your luck with that, or tell me what it is you want?"
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"I don't find it all that unfortunate." Slyly and stubbornly playful, but there's something quietly sincere in it. Slowly, deliberately, he relaxes his body, keeping his hands still at his sides.
"And I'm pretty sure paladins are meant to take leaps of faith."
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Regardless...
"There's something wrong with you, and I have never been less turned on in my life." That? Is a lie. He's good at telling them, when he wants to be good at telling them. Right now? He's just fine with it being a really, really overt lie.
Especially in a pair of silk pajama bottoms.
"Hands on the headboard." Up and behind. That's... not intentionally an order, but it is an order.
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He obeys, casually unhurried, gaze fixed on Bruce's. He's not the most flexible person; the stretch of his arms is reflected in the rest of his body, especially at the languid pace.
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...because it's confusing.
His eyes darken and very breifly flare red, then their clothes are just gone and he's dragging the nails of both hands down from Zerxus' collarbone to his hips. Just very, barely, breaking skin and drawing blood.
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Judging by the ragged gasp and wide eyes, Bruce has very effectively shaken his composure. That doesn't stop a hoarse, throaty laugh as he says, "Show-off."
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but is cut off by a very large, very black, very fluffy cat jumping up onto the bed, slinking over and onto Zerxus' chest, and then sitting there - back to Bruce, tail lashing- and staring down into his face from very close.
With very... orange, and unnaturally illuminated eyes.
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"Hello?" How does he feel more vulnerable with a cat straddling him than a devil -
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Bruce... growls in irritation at very literally finding the cat between them. The cat seemingly does not care, in the least.
"He's obnoxious, but he doesn't talk." Just being clear while... petting the cat absently, rather than immediately following through with his intent to scruff and remove it.
The cat, on it's part, lowers itself down into a loaf, and reaches out one paw and pats Zerxus' cheek. Claws retracted. Still threatening, somehow, given the aggressive eye contact.
"...at least that I've heard." All things were possible when the Lord of hell was your father , and no evidence was concrete evidence.
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"It's better than being flopped on by Tempus. Does he have a name?"
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The Cat shifts its weight forward and headbutts Zerxus in the chin when he hears his name.
"And he has two minutes to remove-"
Actually, nevermind. Bruce moves off Zerxus to lay beside him. He keeps his hand on the cat, though. Also: "You can move your hands."
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"Nice to meet you, Alfred." Finally, he pulls his hands back, and reaches one over to - well, get either licked or nipped at, depending on where he stands with this cat.
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A cat that turns and gives Bruce a long, unblinking stare before turning back to Zerxus hand and giving it a tiny, very gentle bite before beginning to lick in a similarly dainty way ... and purr.
bruce rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake."
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Meaning, really, that he didn't know either.
Still irritated at the taunting, though. And preference for Zerxus. Bruce isn't even sure if he's more jealous of the cat or Zerxus.
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Reaching over to pet a devil's hair with his free hand is probably dumb, but he's gonna do it.
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Which gets a pause and stare from the cat, but no further action. Because Bruce follows that with an eye roll and actively cuddling in against his pet mortal and petting his devilsh cat.
"You should either go back to sleep and dream more, or tell me more about your previous dreams and the consequences."
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"I should go back to sleep." He knows, distantly, that he's still drained; that the responsible thing to do would be closing his eyes, and relaxing as much as he can.
But he's got a purring cat and a cuddly devil and that's so much better than the nightmares, prophetic or not.
"They usually start out - not normally. But there are things, places, people I recognise. Things it makes sense to dream about. Then it all...twists, somehow."
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Not that Bruce wouldn't bite him for it, in another circumstance. Bruce is a defensively bitey fuck, often with apparently for no cause.
For now, he's naked, warm and has human (and feline) contact and a decided lack of voices in his head. It's downright relaxing, and he is fully prepared to enjoy it for at least a little bit.
"And you never remember the details long after waking? That makes it hard to verify...accuracy or ...method of encryption."
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Still. Maybe the things that resonated the most did so for a reason, beyond minds having their own strange whims. He closes his eyes, and sinks into the steady warmth around him. It feels - safer, in this moment, to reach deeper again.
"I remember - years ago, I think before the war even started - there was a tree. With petals that faded to nothing right before they reached the ground, and branches that reached into the stars..."
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He bites Zerxus shoulder sharply. "Keep petting." Him. Not the cat. The cat can make its own demands.
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