Pearls

Feb. 28th, 2009 12:49 am
shankie: (Default)
[personal profile] shankie
Sad news, everyone! Well, I hadn't been posting at s_d anymore (or anywhere, apparently) but I was still lurking about. And it was still a pretty major hub of the comicdom around these parts, so, blah and suck.

I can only hope this makes you feel better (if it's your thing). More of...

The Bruce/Wally Bondage Fics.

Pearls

Batman/Flash
NC-17; bondage & BDSM themes, voyeurism, you know the drill
4.6K+ words
Wally takes a little initiative in 'the arrangement'.. but he's made to earn the right of this particular visit to Wayne Manor. With a whole lot of deprivation.



It had been six months.

Every once in a while, there was the note in the mail, the insanely pornographic suggestion list without a return address. For a little while, when he knew he was being watched, it was as if Batman were right there in the room. As if he were about to reach out and touch him. Still, the moment would come and go and he would remember that he had Connie, and she was great, but it had been six months.

And she was in Brazil for the next month. And she wasn’t into the long-distance thing, at all; he was pretty sure she was finding all the entertainment she wanted in bronzed, muscular Brazilians, anyway. He couldn’t really blame her, but he was, yes, jealous. A little. Sometimes a lot. And the city had been quiet for more than a week. It all added up to restlessness on a grand scale.

It wasn’t only a restless feeling, however; there was another, constant feeling in his gut that was usually nigh non-existant, but in the dark, by himself, in his bed, he couldn’t think about anything else. How soon would Batman ask him to come? Or would it be Bruce Wayne this time? Someone else? What would he do?

These two ever-present influences pushed him into doing something about it. Restlessness and longing won out over a super-human effort of patience, especially for him.

Wally waited until it would be getting dark in Gotham City, then went to his bedroom with the curtains drawn, the lights on, and his phone sitting within reach. He kept his room tidy for some time now, everything where it belonged, even if the rest of the place was a mess. His bedroom had become like a separate place under glass, as if it were actually inside the Batcave with all the other crazy things, but he could leave whenever he wanted to. It was not a prison, not in any sense of the word, but the exact opposite, but he couldn’t think of a term for that. He considered a moment, then put on the little black shorts the Bat seemed to like, at least that one time. Leather ones, all thin and soft and skin-tight, almost immediately warm to the touch.

He climbed onto the bed, took a deep breath, and did something he’d never quite done before; he looked straight at where he knew the camera was and spoke to it.

“I miss you,” Wally admitted, then waited for something to happen. He couldn’t really think of anything else to say, and that was the important bit, after all.

He stayed more or less in one place, trying to be patient. He wouldn’t get anything if he was impatient, that was Bat Sex Law #1 or something. Sometimes, when his mind had more than enough time to wander, he pictured it like a set of rules like one of those big old medieval books, with the fancy calligraphy and the words all old and read with a lot of gravity. Logically, he knew it was impossible to tell if Batman was even watching to even care, but as if he were up to something kinky, just sitting on the bed doing nothing, he had that watched feeling.

It did occur to him that the entire thing was a lot like begging. Alright, so it was begging. He could admit it, he’d begged for sex before. More than once, on his knees, feeling a little desperate. Generally to girls. Never like this: he was usually trying to sweet-talk his way into bed with bribes and promises and all the charm he could muster. Not with this lofty sense of formality about it. Going through the proper hoops to prove how bad he wanted it never felt like this; like the decision was well and truly out of his hands, but it was supposed to be. That was how it worked.

Then it began to occur to him that he should start doing something that might encourage the Bat to want him more, but then just sat back on the bed when his legs began to fall asleep. He was going to just sit here until the phone rang, or he gave up. At the very least, he’d see this and take the hint, whenever that may happen.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Wally decided to give up at three, especially since his ass had fallen asleep, too, and had just begun moving to step off the bed when the phone rang. In the still, long silence came a shrill, loud sound that hit him like slap in the face.

He stared at the phone, a very non-threatening beige plastic, and watched the red light flash again before he picked it up and silenced the noise.

“What do you want?” the authoritative voice on the phone demanded. So he was watching.

“Sex,” Wally blurted out. “With you,” he clarified quickly. “Or whatever you want, because it’s not just sex, and I wouldn’t want to come off like that’s all it is. I don’t mean that it’s like, something binding, I know you don’t owe me anything, I don’t mean that, I mean, doing stuff other than sex that’s still kinda sex. You might have picked up on that, it’s just been a while, so I...”

“Enough.”

Wally snapped his mouth shut.

“Strip.”

Wally almost apologized for wearing anything while he took the little things off, which just reinforced how desperate he must really be.

“The sound of my voice made you hard,” Batman pointed out to him, in a quieter, sultrier voice. “How badly do you miss me?”

“A lot,” Wally told the top right corner of the room. He wanted to start masturbating right then and there, but he had to keep up that damned patience; instead, he just got back on his knees and spread his legs for the camera. “You make me do things I never thought I’d want to do, but I did. You know what I want and how much I can take. I... I, well, I want to be with you again. For a little while. Or whatever.”

There was a long, painful pause.

“I just, want you. Badly, really badly, I just needed you to know that. Even if you don’t want me there, because I know you would let me know if you wanted me there...”

“Wally.”

“Yes?”

He held his breath in a way that had to look downright comical.

“After you hang up the phone, you will turn out the lights and go to bed. You will touch yourself for at least twenty minutes, but you will not come, you will go to sleep. You will do this again when you wake up, and you will do it again when you get home.”

Just imagining the frustration and hotness of that made Wally squirm a little. “Okay.”

“Do this until I send for you. If you come at all, I will know, and I will not send for you.”

“How long?”

But he’d already hung up, and Wally was answered by the dial-tone.

Wally put the phone back onto the receiver, hit the lights, and crawled under the covers, anxious to rub his cock.

Slow and careful, he was still pretty desperate at about fifteen minutes, every second turning to long spaces of time not coming. The wrong move and he’d blow it, literally, but he didn’t stop running his fingers up and down the shaft, feeling how hot and tight he was. Smooth and wet down at the end, silky dry further down, he’d always liked doing this for more than the end result, but all the sensations were more pronounced as that was deprived. He’d done this before, too, high-stakes masturbation, but never alone. It was easier to restrain himself if he imagined Batman still watching him, silently ensuring he did as he was told.

The red blocky lights of the alarm clock told him his time was up, so he forced himself to stop before he went too far. He didn’t dare move for a few minutes, trying to think about very unsexy things to make it safe.

He couldn’t think about anything but getting off.

This frustrating routine ensured it, made the drive to work necessary and filled with desperation that his erection would go away; he couldn’t put his uniform on with one, either, causing all sorts of complications and forced thoughts of very ugly people being very naked.

The second day, as soon as he was done and settling in for the long wait to be suitable for public, Tina called and needed him across town right away. He’d been forced to put a bag of ice on his crotch, in the bedroom so Batman might see it and feel bad for turning him into a sex-crazed maniac with a constant boner. And hear the screaming, because there was a lot of that.

Each time, it was harder not to come. He began worrying he’d have a wet dream, like some horny pre-teen that woke up with sticky sheets. He thought about cheating, more and more, but wanted his reward for all this more than that.

His days off came on the fourth day; he was grateful, too. It took an hour and a half for the morning wood to go away, a time of deep obsession with getting off, followed by eating and wandering around the apartment and being desperately horny. Ready to hump a wall. He even stopped himself from doing it after the afternoon session.

With the mail was an envelope without a return address; Wally could have cried with relief.

He brought it inside, sitting down before he opened it methodically, neatly tearing off the side of the envelope. Just a little scrap of paper with sharp, angular writing. “8pm, The Manor: show yourself inside to the third floor, the open door. Wait on the table.”

Table? Whatever, he was game. This was going to be exciting, it had to be because it always was.

It was about damn time.

He ended up needing more ice to suit up for the trip, and it made him howl like a crazy man in agony, but he was more anxious to go than bothered by it. He told himself it would be worth it. It better be.

He just had to make it a few states over, that was all. So he did.

Wayne Manor was dark by then; it was fall, just before the leaves turned in force, but he could already smell a wood fire’s smoke coming from a chimney. It felt odd, just walking in the front door, but that’s what the note said to do.

Nobody was there, inside the wide front hall, or upstairs. Just mirrors, vases on pedestals and little ornate tables, softly glowing lamps with round glass shades, lengths of intricate rugs down the hallways. The smell of Pine-Sol and antiques.

The open door on the third floor was the first thing he saw up there, the only light in the hall came from just inside, casting a welcoming rectangle over the dark wood floor.

It was some sort of sitting room, or something, with couches and tables along the walls and a fire burning in a stone hearth, making it warmer inside than the rest of the place. He left his clothes on a chair and circled, looking out the windows toward the ocean, a stack of small plain black boxes stacked neatly on one side, then the center of the space and the table in question. Draped with a thick, soft black blanket and even with matching pillows, it stood by itself under a cast of light from a dimmed chandelier.

He got up carefully, arranging himself to what he thought would be an attractive and still comfortable pose. He didn’t know if there was a camera in here or not, but it didn’t hurt to take the possibility into consideration. In the warm light of the softly crackling fire, he wasn’t cold. And he was, of course, hard as a rock, but it wasn’t really bothering him as much as before. An ebbing pressure down below that was fading into the background with the new developments.

More waiting created a tension in his belly that kept him from falling asleep; he knew nobody was likely to just wander in here, but he still felt exposed, just a little too much. He wondered being left waiting was intentional or not; not that he was going to ever ask. Maybe it was the open door, the size of the room, or not having been in this place enough to feel entirely comfortable. His senses all felt on edge, teasing him; he could have sworn, several times, he heard someone come in or a car door shutting outside, but it was always nothing.

Until the sound wasn’t nothing; clearly, it was something. It was a V8 with a dual exhaust, then it was a door closing, then it was someone coming inside.

Footsteps, one by one up the stairs, coming closer. Clicky-sounding shoes, then carpet-muffled, then clicky again once they got to the third floor.

Wally held his breath and tensed, panicked that it wasn’t him, thrilled that it was all at the same time, all mixed up.

One step, another, even, drawing out longer and longer, taking their time. Wally made a small, desperate little noise he tried to swallow with partial success. His heels dug into the table.

The wait was going to kill him, he was certain of it, eyes glued to the simply-carved door-frame, to the dark round rails outside.

And then, after all the waiting, he was there. Him, as Bruce Wayne, at ease in a gray suit, nearly lounging in that doorway. He thrust his hands casually in his pockets and raked his eyes over Wally, in no hurry, no rush. He seemed to like what he saw, quirking something of a smile, lust simmering openly in his eyes.

“You’ve been a very good boy.” The voice, buttery smooth, seemed to run all over Wally’s skin, goosebumps and shivers in it’s wake, a soft moan in Wally’s throat.

Wally got the impression, then, that Bruce was waiting for a response. There wasn’t anything that coherent going through his head. Just the sight of Bruce, the neat little pinstripes, the perfectly done black tie, a loose lock of hair that, on him, was carefree. Just a bit of black hair brushing the side of his forehead, against his ever-so-slightly tanned skin. That was different, the tan, and it made Wally think of Bruce in little white shorts and a polo shirt, playing tennis at a country club.

He almost came right then and there, closing his eyes to fight it off.

“You like watching me suffer, don’t you?” Wally stated, as much as asked, his voice coming out husky and ragged.

“Are you suffering?” Bruce sounded a little amused, a tone that didn’t really want a response, and Wally didn’t really have one.

Wally opened his eyes again at the sound of those footsteps again, just as unhurried as before, carrying Bruce over to the table until he was standing over it. And him.

Bruce’s hand moved over Wally’s erection, without touching it; he saved that for fingertips brushing over his smooth balls, but even that was enough to test his resolve again, force his eyes shut again to push away the burning, aching need to come. Wally’s legs shifted a bit, until Bruce’s touch moved to a slightly less provocative caress of Wally’s abdomen. Slow, appreciative. Bruce made a gentle rumbling noise that matched it.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Are you afraid?”

“No, I’d just... like you to... hurry up.”

Bruce laughed, gently but unrestrained. “My plans don’t involve a hurry.”

“I got that.” Wally wasn’t restrained at all, but he felt like he was chafing at cuffs, anyway. “Do something, anything, please. I’m begging you here, I’m losing it.”

Bruce ran his fingers over Wally’s collarbone, up his neck, along the side of his face, coming to rest in his hair.

“I like you this way,” he said gently, bending over Wally’s face to kiss his forehead.

Wally whimpered and shifted.

“Be still. And patient. If you wish to stay.”

“Please. I will. I promise. Anything, but...”

“Shh. Silence now.”

Wally chewed on the inside of his cheek, just a little, nodding.

Bruce slipped his other hand out of his pocket, a gold ring, a cock ring, dangling on his finger. He moved it into his hands, with intention that had Wally bracing again, holding his breath, every fiber of his body straining not to come, not to give in, as it was slipped over his cock; it already being erect, and his balls feeling swollen, it didn’t go on particularly easily or quickly. Restraining himself was a brief torture, and then it was settled into place. “Good,” Bruce murmured, rewarding him with a little stroke over his chest. “Good boy.”

He took a posture of purpose, then, striding over to the table with those black boxes. It had wheels, apparently, rolling easily over to Wally’s side with hardly a sound. All sorts of possibilities for the contents ran through Wally’s mind; sex toys, torture devices, restraints, fancy chocolates. Bruce picked up a small one on top with grave reverence, opening it with the same, but this one, at least, was none of those things; it was a necklace dripping with emeralds and diamonds and pearls set in gold.

Wally couldn’t help but be perplexed and stare up with it written on his face while Bruce gently, ever so gently, lifted up his head to fasten the surprisingly heavy adornment around his neck, letting him relax as best he could as it was arranged and the next box was opened with the same sense of ritual. A long chain of what might have been silver, but was more likely platinum, shimmering with tiny chips of gems. Wally’s arm was lifted this time, so the chain could be wrapped about his forearm a few times.

Another necklace, with a large sapphire drop center, was put on Wally like a tiara over his forehead and through his hair. A surprisingly long string of pearls was wrapped about his waist, diamonds circled his ankle, rubies adorned his thigh, and more came out of the boxes, rings for all his fingers and some of his toes, bracelets and necklaces about him, all over.

Bruce didn’t say a word, and Wally only moved to the urging of Bruce’s hands, his body feeling otherwise heavy and unable to shift without it. His muscles didn’t want to move, his limbs downright refused to cooperate without Bruce wanting it. Such a strange feeling, like floating down a river in a raft and no paddles. He could feel the warmth of the fire and the sparkling light over his head, but as if it were very far away. The room was the world, the stars outside were more precious gems, just further off.

The jewelry was, at first, cool against his skin, but that didn’t last long. It warmed, became little more than a small weight. Sweat made the drop on his forehead itch a bit, underneath where it became a little stuck to his flesh with it. He tried, he did, to reach up and scratch, but his arm didn’t respond at all. It didn’t seem to want to.

He couldn’t be more bound to this table, not if the heaviest alien tech was locking him there. And yet... there was nothing but will, and his was gone. Even the pressing ache in his groin wasn’t bothering him anymore.

‘I love you,’ Wally’s lips said, without a sound. His eyes couldn’t bear to be open and see if they had been seen. There was only remnants of his mind to process the truth of that, only enough left to partially succeed and reach no solid conclusions.

The touch, the sensation, it took up too much for much else to poke it’s way inside. He didn’t mind a bit. Contentment soaked into him and made the rest of the world irrelevant. Completely, utterly irrelevant. That was just fine. Better than fine; perfect.

He didn’t love Bruce, or Batman, or whoever he wanted to be in this moment. He adored him. He worshipped him, with ever cell, every atom inside his body.

This reverie was broken by bright flashes; it took a moment to register them as photographs. Bruce was grumbling to himself, when Wally looked up, fiddling with a small silver camera. Wally just looked at him taking pictures, not like Vicki’s elaborate tripod set-up; it made him think more of snapshots, memories to save, or a crime scene.

Bruce circled like an anxious lion around his prey, snapping away, hunching a bit, the Bat in him coming out a bit, maybe. Probably. Never could stay away. Of course, Wally liked it that way. There wasn’t a mask or leather here right now, but at some point Bruce had taken off the suit jacket and the tie, unbuttoned a few buttons around the collar of that pressed white shirt, and his hair had become downright wild.

The pictures seemed to take a long time, but he wasn’t sure, it might just have been a minute. Always, always so hard to tell time when his head got like this. It didn’t matter. Bruce was done, set the camera aside with the empty boxes now stacked a bit less neatly on the table, and a firm push sent the table away to gently roll over the floor and bump into one of the fancy sofas.

A hungry look filled Bruce’s face, suiting the predatory stance, the claw-like hands that now lost their restraint; Bruce leapt on the table and tore over Wally’s skin, scratching and clawing, the mouth sinking over Wally’s nipple to bite at it viciously.

Wally cried out and his body jolted, his fingers curled his nails into his palms, his hands fists at his side as he felt pain, such good, sweet pain, feeling he longed for, Bruce--no, the Bat--tearing at him, licking, nipping, as if he wanted to devour the flesh that stayed pliant to him, still aching for it, it being whatever the Bat wanted.

The roving mouth moved over Wally’s groin and he whined in fear of that tenacity, but it wasn’t teeth, but sucking, wet lips and a tongue that sucked in Wally’s cock, and it was delicious. Bliss, sweet bliss, everything he had fought for so long, and that alone kept Wally from coming right then and there. He knew he couldn’t hold on for long, but even short times could be eternity, every lick so long, making his thighs twitch and his toes curl.

He felt his balls pull up and prepare to loose their long-held contents like slow motion, moving through him, rushing through him in slow, tingling, glowy waves, washing over all those tortured fibers; no, those pampered, longing fibers with warm pleasure.

So worth the wait.

Wally returned to his senses as he impacted one of those plush sofas, limply falling into it, grasping for some sort of hold against the carved back with hands that didn’t react to his wishes properly at all, catching up too slowly. It hurt, but he didn’t care, the precious jewelry clinking against the hard parts of the furniture.

“Pretty little whore,” he heard, something, fingers, pushing into him, not demanding entry so much as knowing it was their right. He thought he might be losing it entirely, personifying digits, but if this was crazy...

Wally’s thighs spread on their own, his ears full of moans and begging he only belatedly recognized as himself, coming back to himself slowly.

“Have you thought of anything else, little whore? Anything but me fucking you raw?”

“No, please, yes, please! Oh fuck me, please fuck me please!”

The fingers curled and bit a little, forced Wally’s chest to push violently into the plush.

“Are you trying to tell me what to do?”

Wally wailed and let loose things he hadn’t even known were being repressed. He knew now, all too well, too overwhelmed to really come up with a response to that beyond yelling without clear words. The thought that Bruce wouldn’t fuck him came about a bit late, but no less strongly for it. He pushed his ass out and his knees further apart in his best attempt to beg for it. He was already hard again, the satin upholstery grating against his all-too-sensitive cock head.

“You’re staining my furniture, slut,” Bruce growled, sinking his teeth into Wally’s shoulder, then over his neck like a deranged vampire.

“I didn’t mean to,” Wally made out, all the same coming again, all over that expensive fabric. “Sorry, sorry, sorry...”

Batman’s cock forced it’s way into him angrily, slamming the tender manhood uncomfortably into the plush, painful, but good, so good he tried not to come again and failed, twice. The thrusts were rough and furious, as if punishing some wrong Wally’s mind couldn’t really wrap his head around, other than the simple fact that Batman was fucking him and he loved it.

It hurt, he didn’t care, it felt so good, he craved it, he came again and again and screamed himself hoarse, the feeling of Batman’s hand slapping his thighs as hard as it could spiking hot into his head.

When Batman came, it was nothing to be missed; fingers yanked Wally’s hair, pulled his head against his chest, more fingers clawing his ass, the cock pushed in as far as it would go and ejaculating hot inside him, mixing with the delicious pain of being fucked like that.

He bucked against Wally’s body, clamped on tight, then slowly let him go, whispering something Wally couldn’t make out, even though he tried to, hard.

Hands, now soft and gentle, picked Wally’s limp body up, hot breaths in his ear and arms wrapping around him.

“I should keep you in a cage,” Bruce murmured, making Wally bubble with laugher, as much as he had the energy for.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Wally agreed. “Long as it’s cushy.”

“Of course,” Bruce chuckled. “Only foam spikes.”

“Spikes,” Wally repeated, trying to consider that. “Foam spikes.”

“Mm.”

The jewelry, piece by piece, left his skin as Wally attempted to stay awake. He was far more drained than he expected to be, trembly-weak when he made vain attempts to support himself; attempts ‘tisked’ and admonished.

“You’ve done enough, for now. Just rest.”

“Till I wake up dangling from my ankles,” Wally mumbled.

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t worry, just now.”

“Too busy for me.”

“Yes. I have been, and still am. I found your patience too tempting to ignore, I’m afraid.”

Wally smiled.

“Can I have pancakes in the morning?”

“After you’re done riding my cock, slut,” Bruce laughed.

Wally giggled and squirmed, admonished by a half-hearted slap of his ass.

“Sounds nice.”

“You’ve yet to disappoint in this area.”

Quiet fell, then Bruce was carrying him, even after strength came back to Wally’s legs, but he didn’t complain. It was nice, just to rest against the broad chest.

Silky sheets and the coolness of heavy blankets yet to adapt to a warm body fell over him, with Bruce’s body wrapped around him, a leg between Wally’s knees and fingers lazily brushing over his chest.

“You won’t tell anyone I cuddle,” Bruce intoned with dire meaning.

“Never.”

on 2009-02-28 06:20 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] jackalyn.livejournal.com
Everybody moved over to the InsaneJournal, as far as I can tell.

Nice story by the way.

on 2009-02-28 08:18 pm (UTC)
ext_55333: (Default)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
I did see that... I just wonder if it'll last. Or a new one will pop up on LJ. People are pretty set in their ways. XD

Thanks. :)

on 2009-02-28 07:02 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] museofspeed.livejournal.com
...I love you so much. This was amazing and so very hot and really, more fun than some stupid Scans_Daily stuff.

(I'll miss it, though. I haven't really hung out there often recently, but it did get me started on Blue Beetle.)

on 2009-02-28 08:19 pm (UTC)
ext_55333: (flash butt)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
hehe, thanks you, I do try. :D

It got me started on a few things, yeah. It was definitely good for that, which still... makes it a shame. Drama and all.

on 2009-02-28 11:53 pm (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] superslothic.livejournal.com
Ooh, nice one! I love me some Bruce/Wally. This is just what I needed this week. Love it. :)

on 2009-03-01 07:00 am (UTC)
ext_55333: (batsmirk)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
Thanks! Always happy to brighten/porn up a week. :D

on 2009-03-01 06:16 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] miyosha.livejournal.com
I miss you and your Batman/Flash smut!! DDD:

This story has pleased me xD

on 2009-03-01 07:01 am (UTC)
ext_55333: (sweet home)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
I'm sorry! Blame my knitting if that helps... XD

Or my inability to decide something's good enough to post... that's so not helping, either.

But, I'm glad you are pleased. :D

De-lurking to spazz over this...

on 2009-03-02 04:39 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] pussy-in-person.livejournal.com
So I might be kind of sort of stalking your journal to follow the amazing Wally/Bruce you produce... *bashful grin*
I can not even count the number of times I've read your BatFlash arcs and I was absolutely ecstatic that you updated. I feel like this pairing is so underrated and ignored! Thank you so, so, so much for continuing with this. I would love to write some BatFlash myself, but I never seem to find the time- so your writing is a lifeline.
Also- thanks for letting us all know about the SD situation. I don't frequent the comm often but I am sad to see it go.
As for your knitting... grrr. It has now become my mortal enemy, lol. And please- never, never feel like your writing isn't good enough. I'll eat it up regardless. :D
<3

Re: De-lurking to spazz over this...

on 2009-03-02 06:23 am (UTC)
ext_55333: (wally carries bruce)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
hehe, thank you so much, I'm glad you de-lurked to tell me. :D

There sure isn't as much of it around as I'd like. I'm pretty out of touch fandom-wise at the moment, but, yeah... adding more to the world is a good thing, if you do get some time. :)

I'm surprised at how much coverage the S_D situation is getting all over the place! It's too bad it's gone, even comic writers who used to go there are saying as much... which says something in and of itself.

My knitting has become an addiction... taking up so much of my free time. XD

And... I'll try to keep that in mind for the future. :D

on 2009-03-30 02:57 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] hydems.livejournal.com
I loooovvveeee you. You got me started on BatFlash I hope you know. D:

This was epic, as is all your stuff. <3

on 2009-04-03 06:36 pm (UTC)
ext_55333: (flash butt)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
I'm glad to hear it! Always happy to convert both young and old... XD

Thank you!

on 2009-08-03 11:26 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] si-zilla.livejournal.com
Very, very good. This is the best story in the series. (so far ;) )Very Hot and I like the undertones.

on 2009-08-03 10:30 pm (UTC)
ext_55333: (bat bondage)
Posted by [identity profile] victoria-wayne.livejournal.com
You think so? XD

Thank you! I appreciate it. :)

on 2012-10-12 07:40 pm (UTC)
gigerisgod: deftones skull n' roses (Default)
Posted by [personal profile] gigerisgod
your writing is exquisite and endlessly arousing. consider me a devoted admirer.
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