I own nothing. Nada, nyet. DC Comics own all.
Soundtrack: Leonard Cohen, I'm your Man.

The Frame
Jay Tryfanstone

Nightwing tensed in the bonds. It was a mistake, but his reaction was instinctive: the rush of relief at the sight of that one dark curl of cloth on the scaffolding. Taught muscle fought the whip, lost, for the first time feeling the hot sting of blood drawn.

"Not for much longer,"thought Nightwing grimly, seting his body to relax into the cutting stroke. "Ride with it, boy."

The strain on his hands was telling. Bound by the wrists to this upright frame, he'd hooked his fingers around the tense chains to support his bodyweight. Kicked apart and cuffed, his legs could do little to support his body: stretched and semi-suspended, he was helpless to resist the sadism of Blockbuster's newest little pet. Help, however, was on its way.

Nightwing sighed into the steady pain as he saw the perimetre guards picked off. Not a chance, not with Daddy Bat come to save his offspring.

Shame the man behind him hadn't noticed yet: the whip still cut into his shoulders, licked into his inner thighs with a trail of fire. Not long.

Just the cold wind of someone passing behind him, and the muffled thump of a body falling: a blessed cessation in the rhythm of slash and pain.

"You took your time,"Nightwing grunted. "Get me out of here so I can go home."

Silence.

Was he mistaken?

"Batman?"

Silence.

Nightwing gave an experimental tug on the firm chain, was stlled by the feeling of a gloved hand covering his bound wrist. Spoken communication may have failed him, but the feel of that woven kevlar on his skin was unmistakable. The hand covered his cuffs, one thumb stroking the leather reflectively, and then moved to cover his mouth, Nightwing feeling the slight heat of the man behind him. Held.

Silence.

He nodded in assent: the hand moved.

He felt the gentle touch of Batman's hands as they moved to assess his wounds, a quick trace against that one bleeding cut that drew a choked reaction. The hands soothed: silence.

And then nothing.

Nightwing closed his eyes, leant his head back, waited for release.

Nothing.

No feeling of nearness, just of...being watched.

He opened his eyes. In front of him, Batman was sitting on one of the cafe chairs, hands folded across the reversed back, eyes steady on the stretched body of his lover.

"What is it?" Nightwing's eyes asked his partner.

Batman's eyes roamed the frame, the stretch of muscle and ligament. He stood, moved to one side, followed by the younger man's puzzled expresion.

And was gone again.

Silence.

Waiting, breath held.

And then, astonishingly, Nightwing felt the rough, hot surface of Batman's tongue licking one of the raised welts on his back. He jerked forward in surprise, his action arrested by the tense bonds and by the feel of one gloved hand firm on his hip.

"What?"

"Shhh." Batman's tongue caressed the welt, leaving a trail of cold, taughtening skin after the hot moisture of his exploration. One hand spanned his hip, lowered, to stroke the tightened muscles of his thigh. Heat.

"This is so not the place for this," thought Nightwing, tugging again at the bonds, and was stilled by the sudden heat of the Batman's body fully against his back, warning teeth pressing lightly into the side of his neck that, Nightwing had discovered, was the big man's particular claim on his body.

"Shhh.." said that warning, light pressure for an instant, and then the heat of Batman's body withdrew and Nightwing felt the slow, thorough caress of that tongue again. Each stroke received Batman's undivided attention, the slow heat begininning to rise through Nightwing's body as, inopportune and uninvited, his blood and skin responded to the prescence of his lover's darker side.

"I don't need this," He thought to himself rather desperately, fighting the quick beat of blood and the hot concentration that told him his body was very, very interested indeed.

It wasn't just the tongue. Batman's hands continued that slow exploration, covered stretched skin and muscle, moving so lightly that at times they just skimmed the raised hair on Nightwing's skin. Everywhere, except the straining cock and tightened balls that were now pleading for attention. Nightwing felt his breath start to shorten, was unable to hide the shiver that swept across his skin, and heard the the soft hiss of acknowledgement behind him. The world had narrowed, focussing on the tormenting hands and inexorable tongue, Batman now surely kneeling behind him as that smooth torment stroked his inner thighs.

And then the cowl pressed against him, his buttocks spread by two irresistable and knowing hands, Batman's tongue rimming his asshole. Unable to help himself, Nightwing gasped in shock, in firey pleasure, and was instantly bereft as Batman's hand rose to cover his mouth.

Cloth ripping.

And the hand moved: unbelievable, fingers forcing his jaw open - Nightwing fought, short and vicious, failed, - stiff cotton stretching his mouth and knotted, an effective gag.

Panicked amusement. "Well, I always wondered what it would be like to be fucked by Batman.."Nightwing managed, until thought was cut short by the sudden heat of Batman's taller body pressing into his own.

And that wasn't all. Against the wet, tense circle of his asshole, Nightwing felt the living heat of a large, blunt object.

"You can do this boy...relax," he told himself desperately, every muscle, including the ones that mattered, held in tight stasis. Batman's hands held his hips firmly in place, that slow penetration inescapable.

"This is going to hurt," thought Nightwing, rather desperately, before that heavy pressure began to stretch fire into his muscles.He gasped against the gag, and the pressure halted but did not withdraw, Nightwing's muscles spasming. He felt the pressure of the cowled head against the back of his neck, Batman breathing steadily and long.

"Oh yes, breathe, boy," Nightwing thought to himself, took a long breath and let it out, took another and held it, bracing himself for that long, smooth, filling stroke.

Heat, pressure, a sense of being utterly filled, a solid and unmoving possession. Batman's hands began to move again, his tongue licking up the back of Nightwing's neck, blowing, the gloves stroking his pectoral muscles and then brushing across his errect nipples. One firm and unexpected tug, and Nightwing bucked against the big man, pressure returning to his own cock as his own movement thrust Batman's cock deeper and back. Nightwing gasped again against the gag, blind with suppressed pain and need, smelling the new sweat and sex scent of their joined bodies. And bucked again as Batman's hard fingers pressed into his nipples, unable to stop himself, forcing a desperate penetration that the big man held still while Nightwing, helpless, pushed against that steady cock. Against his thighs he felt the corded, leashed power of Batman's own legs, the big man's breath hot on his neck. Gasped again, his hips setting it an urgent pattern, his errect cock and churning balls thrusting into the frictionless air.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," thought Nightwing, his body taking over, wanting, needing that smooth slide and forcing the pattern, Batman's breath heavier but his body still held settled and still, Nightwing grasping the chains as his body moved the few inches allowed by this tormenting confinement.

And at last, the Bat's breath was comming heavier, his hands settling hard on Nightwing's hips as his teeth bent into the younger man's neck. Finally, his body moved into the younger man's, a violent, impossibly deep possession, a harsh two, three, four thrusts that had Nightwing screaming into his gag as Batman's teeth sunk deep into his neck and held, the big man's breath forced out through his teeth as he came silently and powerfully.

Nightwing's own body was still desperately aroused, blood beating in his ears. As he felt the softening cock slip from his body, Nightwing managed a muffled whimper through the gag and was rewarded when he felt the bigger man move to kneel at his stretched legs.

He opened his eyes.

For the first time, the Batman was looking at him, meeting his eyes as the big man's hands rose to rest on his thighs and he leaned forward to place one devasting trail of tongue and teeth up the underside of Nightwing's cock, took it into his mouth, stroked the seeping tip.

"Shit," thought Nightwing. "I'm going to -"

And then the pressure was gone.

Cold, bereft, desperate, he opened his eyes.

And looked straight into the horrified face of the belated warehouse security guard.

There is no message left on the cave phone line.

Fin.