A Week Of Teasing (LanternBat) ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁
Summary: A calculated week of seduction from Bruce Wayne pushes Hal Jordan to the breaking point.
This is my first time posting any of my fanfics online 😭. So, I’m sorry if it’s kind of buns lol !1!1
Also, pleased be aware that this might be out of character [and probably cringe]
I’m open to helpful criticism and recommendations [for my writing or fanfics idea]
Billionaire Bruce Wayne didn’t become a tease overnight.
It’s not part of the Batman agenda- Batman didn’t flirt, he didn’t provoke, and didn’t play. He intimidated, controlled, and disappeared. Teasing required vulnerability- a willingness to be seen wanting, to risk rejection, to invite reaction instead of dictating it.
Bruce had spent decades training himself out of every instinct that might make him appear needy or playful or human in that particular way.
So when the teasing began with Hal, it wasn’t instinct.
It was deliberate.
Rehearsed.
A slow, calculated rebellion against twenty years of ironclad self-denial.
Monday:
The Batcave; Hal came in unannounced, as per usual, ring dimmed to avoid setting off the alarms. Bruce was at the console in his civilian clothes- a black turtleneck and fitted slacks- leaning forward to study one of the screens. The moment Hal stepped closer, Bruce stretched, back arching, ass pushing out just enough that the fabric pulled tight across every curve.
He didn’t look back, just murmured, “You’re late.”
Hal’s jaw tightened, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Bruce straightened up slowly, turning with the faintest smirk, “Doing what?”
Hal stepped into his space, but Bruce didn’t retreat, instead he stood up and brushed past him- chest grazing Hal’s right arm, fingers trailing deliberately across Hal’s hip on the way to the armory.
Hal exhaled through his nostrils. Hard.
Tuesday:
Watchtower briefing. Bruce sat next to Hal at the round table. Halfway through Diana’s report, Bruce shifted, causing his thigh to press against Hal’s under the table. He then repeated the action again, slowly.
When Clark asked Bruce a direct question, Bruce leaned in forward to answer- hand resting casually on Hal’s thighs for “balance”, fingers squeezed.
After the meeting, when Bruce stood to leave, Hal grabbed him by the wrist.
“Careful, kitten [one of Hal’s many nicknames for Bruce],” Hal said under his breath.
Bruce looked over his shoulder, eyes dark, “Or what?”
He then slipped free and continued to walk out- hips swaying just enough to make Hal’s blood boil.
Wednesday:
Gotham rooftop stakeout. Hal hovered above, ring-construct platform silent, while Bruce was on the ledge below, crouched, cape draped over his left shoulder. He then rose, slowly stretching his arms above his head so the undersuit pulled taut across his chest and ass.
Then, he bent at the waist to “adjust” a grapple line, giving Hal an unobstructed view.
Hal landed behind him without a sound. Pressed close. Voice gravel.
“You’re playing with fire.”
Bruce straightened but didn’t turn; he just tilted his head so his ear brushed against Hal’s lips.
“Good,” he whispered. “Burn me.”
Thursday:
Wayne Enterprises Charity Gala. Bruce is in a tailored tux- black on black, shirt open at the collar.
Hal in dress uniform, ring hidden.
Bruce worked the ballroom like a weapon. Interacting with multiple CEO’s of different companies over America.
He then worked his way towards a visiting diplomat. He laughed with him- low and intimate- and let the man’s hand linger on his arm a second too long. He touched the diplomat’s shoulder when he made a joke. Leaned in to speak quietly in his ear.
Hal watched from across the ballroom, drink untouched, hand held tight around the glass.
When Bruce finally drifted back towards his direction, Hal caught him by the elbow in a shadowed alcove.
“You’re pushing it,” Hal growled.
Bruce looked up through his lashes- innocent, wicked. “Am I?”
He then pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Hal’s jaw- right where everyone could almost see- then slipped away again.
Friday:
The Batcave, again. Bruce “accidentally” dropped a tablet. As he went to retrieve the device, Bruce did it slowly, ass presented, his thighs flexing underneath the thin workout pants.
Hal came from one end of the room to the other in a blink.
Hal fisted his hand into Bruce’s head and yanked his head back.
“Enough,” He snarled
Bruce’s breath hitched, “Make me stop”
Forcefully, Hal dropped his hand from Bruce’s head, exhaled through his nose, and walked away, knowing he will make Bruce pay for his actions.
Saturday:
Hal didn’t speak when he walked into the manor bedroom.
Bruce was waiting, kneeling down on the bed, with nothing on but black silk briefs; his hands were behind his back, head bowed in perfect submission as he waited for Hal to destroy him.
Hal shut and locked the door, “Strip for me. Slow. Show me what’s been driving me fucking insane all week,” he ordered.
Bruce obeyed; with slow, trembling fingers, he slid the briefs off and kicked them to the side, leaving him exposed with his hard cock leaking against his stomach.
Hal’s eyes raked over him like ownership, “Look at you; hard just from waiting. Pathetic little thing, aren’t you? All that control, and one word from me has you dripping.”
Hal walks forward and grabs Bruce by the chin, forcing Bruce to look up at him.
“All fucking week,” Hal growled, voice low and lethal, “you bent over for me in the cave, showed off that perfect ass infront me on rooftops, let other men touch what’s mine. Laughed in their ears, let their hands linger- knowing I was watching. You wanted to make me jealous. You wanted me to claim you so hard you forget anyone else ever existed.”
Bruce's lower lip trembled, “Yes. I wanted… wanted you to take it back.”
Hal glides his thumb across that lip. “Now you get exactly what you’ve been begging for.”
He shoved Bruce on to his back; his ring flared- emerald bands snapped around Bruce’s wrists, yanking them above his head, and another set pinned his ankles wide to the bedposts- spread open.
Hal climbed over him, still dressed. He grinds the rough fabric of his pants against Bruce’s bare cock- with slow, punishing rolls of his hips.
Bruce arched, a bare moan tore out immediately, “Hal- please-“
Hal slapped his thigh- sharp, stinging. “Shut up and listen. This cock?” He wrapped a hand around Bruce’s length, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “Mine. This hole?” Fingers trailed down, pressing dry against the rim. “Mine. Every fucking inch of you has been mine since the first time you let me see past the mask. And tonight I’m reminding you until you can’t think straight.”
He leaned in, teeth grazing Bruce’s ear. “You don’t get to tease me and walk away unmarked. You don’t get to let anyone else touch what I own. Say it.”
Bruce’s voice cracked, “I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours, Hal.. only yours- ”
“That’s right. My kitten. My slut. My desperate little Bat who needs to be fucked stupid to remember who he belongs to.”
He leaned down and bit Bruce’s neck, just hard enough to leave a mark. Then went lower, teeth closing around a nipple, tugging until Bruce sobbed.
“Look at you,” Hal growled against his skin. “Already crying and I haven’t even fucked you yet. Pathetic.”
Tears spilled down Bruce’s temples. “I… I need-“
Hal’s hand wrapped around Bruce’s throat- not choking, just holding; possessively, controlling.
“You need what I give you”
He licked three fingers at once and pushed in without warning.
Bruce’s back bowed off the bed. A raw, shattered scream ripped from his throat, “HAL!”
Hal didn’t ease up. He fucked him open with brutal thrusts, curling, scissoring, and hitting that spot on every stroke. Bruce’s screams turned continuous- high, frantic, and sobbing:
“H- Hal… please- don’t stop-!”
Tears streamed freely now. His whole body shook, and his cock was leaking steadily onto his stomach.
“Look how you take it,” Hal snarled, free hand wrapping Bruce’s throat. “Greedy hole swallowing my fingers like it’s starving. You were made for this- for me. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you cry.”
Hal then withdrew his fingers, stripped, lined up and thrust into Bruce’s hole in one brutal stroke.
Bruce screamed; voice breaking, body convulsing around the intrusion, “HAL-..fuck- !”
Hal set a brutal rhythm- deep, owning snaps that rattled the frame. One hand pinned Bruce’s hip down hard enough to bruise. The other stayed on his throat- controlling, claiming.
“Take it,” Hal growled. “Every fucking inch, feel me owning you. This is what happens when you tease what’s mine- you get ruined for anyone else.”
Bruce sobbed- high, wrecked.
“Yours.. yours- harder.. pl.. please- mark me- !”
“Cry louder,” Hal snarled. “Moan like the desperate little slut you’ve been all week.”
And Bruce did, profusely.
“Haa- Hal.. harder- ahh, I’m sorry- please-!”
Every thrust dragged another sob from him, body arching, tears soaking the pillow, his voice fracturing on every plea, “… yours H- hal, I’m yours- don’t stop- ahh- !”
Hal leaned down- chest to chest- and growled against Bruce’s ear, “You teased me, made me jealous, and made me wait. Now you take every inch.”
“Gonna fill you up, kitten. Gonna pump you so full you leak me for days. Everyone at the League will smell me on you- know you’re taken. Know you’re mine. And you better thank me for it.”
Bruce shattered with a wail, cumming untouched, semen spilling between them. His body seizes and his sobs turn hoarse and wrecked. “Thank you, t- thank you… Hal- thank you for claiming me- !”
Hal fucked him through it relentlessly, until he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan; filling Bruce, hips grinding to push it deeper- marking, owning.
He didn’t pull out immediately, he stayed buried and held Bruce’s trembling body, and kissed the tears from his cheeks.
“Good boy,” Hal whispered. “My good, crying boy.”
Bruce wrapped his arms around Hal’s neck, buried his face there, and sobbed softly with relief and love.
Hal held him tighter.
“Mine,” he murmured.
Bruce’s voice cracked against his skin.
“Always.”
