Runner Feet
May. 18th, 2009 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieI realize a few of my pals out there in the real world have recently started reading this journal; if you didn't get the "I write gay, gay, gay superhero fic" thing didn't register yet, it sure will now! I am not ashamed! XD
Yet another one of the....
The Bruce/Wally Bondage Fics
Runner Feet
Batman/Flash
R? There's those BDSM themes and sexy fun, but it doesn't turn into outright sex. Only one of them is naked, so, yeah.
1.4K+ words
In this snippet of a scene, Wally appears to have some kind of issue... it takes some doing to get what that issue is out in the open... and then Bruce laughs.
“Hold still.”
Wally was not one to hold simple modesty, so an odd twitch of his leg muscles, as if they wanted to move and conceal something, had Bruce curious. True, he was exposed, stomach on the bed, his cock and balls visible between his spread thighs, but they were alone and merely being nude was not something to provoke this apparent discomfort.
Bruce considered this as he finished binding the left wrist to the left ankle with the soft, but strong, silk rope, and moved to the right side to repeat the same winding actions.
The hips underneath him shifted back and forth a bit, the toes on the foot in his hand curled and relaxed anxiously.
“Yes?”
Wally shook his head. It would be that sort of evening, then.
The knot was tied off with deft haste and Bruce moved up with the third length, this one pulling Wally’s arms closer together behind his back, wrapping above his elbows. Oddly, Wally seemed to relax with this shift of contact, cementing Bruce’s curiosity in the matter.
Once finished, Bruce sat back and admired his handiwork; simple, but effective for his current purposes. The gentle but insistent strain on Wally’s limbs showed off their musculature, allowing the shape of his side, chest down to his knees, to have more focus than it would at most other times. The roundness of his buttocks was given emphasis with the posture, met by a flex of the back sides of impressive thighs. The softness of the bed allowed his body to bend down into it at the center, so his knees were only slightly raised off the covers and his face was still resting on a pillow. His eyes were closed, and the face relaxed, as if he were dozing or perfectly at rest, unlike what the rest of him conveyed.
Bruce began there, fingers brushing over his soft cheek in a gesture that made Wally smile a bit, a smile that became more sensual as the journey continued down his neck, up over one ear and back down his spine, until his hand was running over his shoulder, the side of his chest, his ribs, his hips, and the bent legs. It was making contact with his calves that elicited the signs of anxiety again; Wally’s shoulder-blades moved as if his arms wanted to do something, his lips tightened, and his feet both shifted.
Experimentally, he moves his hands away, over Wally’s back, around those emphasized curves, some of those precious few curves Wally’s body possessed, and reached down between them to gently stroke the smooth balls with his knuckles. The anxiety was absent in these motions, but his body did shift in response, quickly aborted motions that would shift him closer to Bruce’s legs. The anxiety returned as Bruce outlines the muscles of Wally’s calf again, meandering toward the red cords about his ankles. It isn’t out of injury or strain; there are no fading bruises or overly tight muscles to be found that may have indicated such, no knots in his back or hissing sounds of discomfort.
Bruce never asks about how Wally’s mind works; if it’s always running as fast as his legs can, spinning out endless moments and calculations and trains of thought, but in the times they’ve been together in uniform, he knows it has the capability in a moment of stress or action. As this appeared to be some off-and-on moment of stress, he was aware that Wally had done a fair share of thinking that ended with choosing not to speak of what the problem was. No inherent problem in this arrangement, or it was doubtful he’d even still be here, let alone have been full of jittery anticipation when he arrived, his eyes alight with possibilities. If it was some newly discovered problem with deep-running reconsideration of what he was doing here, he would have said something, and remained perfectly capable of escaping the bonds to punctuate the point.
The wordless probing grew old and fruitless. Bruce drew back, only to shove his hand against Wally’s arm and topple him on his side.
More or less forced to maintain the relative position of before, now without the same support, his left knee was still parted from the right, his thigh flexing to keep the pressure off his wrist. Wally was partially erect, but he arched his neck to look at nothing in the corner of the room instead of look Bruce in the eye and had an uncertain expression.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Wally bit on the insides of both his lips and furrowed his brows upward, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and he knew it all too well, but he didn’t make any move toward an explanation.
A different approach, then.
Maneuvering into his personal space, until his tie was resting against Wally’s chest and the suit pants were teasing the interested cock, Bruce took his time in moving him again, this time precariously on the balls of his feet and his arched-down shoulders, knees spread in the air. Bruce threw a leg over, kneeling over Wally’s stomach, and gripped his chin firmly, forcing him to finally look at him square.
Bruce didn’t repeat the question, but waited for the response.
There was a pause, then Wally took a deep breath and his face melted into something equally embarrassed and apologetic. When he did speak, his voice was quietly sheepish.
“My feet are ugly.”
“What?”
“They are,” Wally insisted. “Runner feet. I’ve had to re-set all my toes, and the soles are all thick and weird, and the heels are all cracked and gross and I hate them.”
Wally’s shoulders flexed like he was trying to shrug.
“That’s all?” Bruce found it difficult to believe Wally found any part of his own body less than a work of art, with how he was so fond of parading it around to whoever chose to take audience. It was impossible to keep a note of disbelief out of the question.
Wally nodded, nervously darting his tongue out over his lower lip.
“Well then. I believe I shall be the judge of that.”
Bruce flipped him back on his stomach, taking an offending foot in both hands, to which Wally made a short little whining sound of protest.
It looked like any man’s foot. Not overly large, but angular. The arch was more dramatic and the offending calluses far less pronounced than one might expect from someone that ran as many steps in a day as the Flash routinely did. The imperfections of skin were nothing a thorough pedicure wouldn’t remedy in large part, albeit likely to be a rather temporary solution. Bruce had never given them much thought or particular attention, beyond considering them in the larger whole of the extraordinary runner Wally was.
“You’re being absurd,” Bruce announced.
He tickled the soles of both exposed feet before Wally had a chance to protest again, making his knees bounce back and forth with the outpouring of laughter.
“No no nonono!” Wally wailed, gasping, “don’t don’t don’t!”
Bruce chuckled a little, continuing despite Wally’s jerking motions attempting to propel himself away from the tormenting fingers.
“Is there anything wrong with your feet?”
Wally just howled a moment, shaking his head, but he managed to squeeze in an emphatic “Yes!”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
Wally pounded his face into the bed, his body wriggling back and forth in what might be mistaken for a genuine attempt at escape, but Bruce better knew as an attempt to stop himself from breaking out of the ropes and flying across the room in the blink of an eye.
“Sto-op!”
“Your feet?” Bruce persisted.
“Fine! God, stop, don’t! They’re dandy I love them sto-o-o-op!”
And Bruce did, at that. He replaced the tickling motion with merely cradling the top arches of the feet in his hands while Wally collapsed and panted, a blush of exertion all over his skin.
“I have no idea where you picked up this idiotic notion you have ugly feet but I suggest you forget about it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. Good boy.” Bruce shifted back alongside him, to stroke the back of Wally’s neck.
Wally looked up at him with little smile that seemed to be trying not to be a smirk. “You’re not going to tickle me until I pass out again, are you?”
It was enough that Bruce cradled the base of Wally’s skull and pushed down just hard enough to reinforce who was in charge at that particular moment, in case he was getting any ideas.
“I will if I feel like it. Be silent.”
Yet another one of the....
The Bruce/Wally Bondage Fics
Runner Feet
Batman/Flash
R? There's those BDSM themes and sexy fun, but it doesn't turn into outright sex. Only one of them is naked, so, yeah.
1.4K+ words
In this snippet of a scene, Wally appears to have some kind of issue... it takes some doing to get what that issue is out in the open... and then Bruce laughs.
“Hold still.”
Wally was not one to hold simple modesty, so an odd twitch of his leg muscles, as if they wanted to move and conceal something, had Bruce curious. True, he was exposed, stomach on the bed, his cock and balls visible between his spread thighs, but they were alone and merely being nude was not something to provoke this apparent discomfort.
Bruce considered this as he finished binding the left wrist to the left ankle with the soft, but strong, silk rope, and moved to the right side to repeat the same winding actions.
The hips underneath him shifted back and forth a bit, the toes on the foot in his hand curled and relaxed anxiously.
“Yes?”
Wally shook his head. It would be that sort of evening, then.
The knot was tied off with deft haste and Bruce moved up with the third length, this one pulling Wally’s arms closer together behind his back, wrapping above his elbows. Oddly, Wally seemed to relax with this shift of contact, cementing Bruce’s curiosity in the matter.
Once finished, Bruce sat back and admired his handiwork; simple, but effective for his current purposes. The gentle but insistent strain on Wally’s limbs showed off their musculature, allowing the shape of his side, chest down to his knees, to have more focus than it would at most other times. The roundness of his buttocks was given emphasis with the posture, met by a flex of the back sides of impressive thighs. The softness of the bed allowed his body to bend down into it at the center, so his knees were only slightly raised off the covers and his face was still resting on a pillow. His eyes were closed, and the face relaxed, as if he were dozing or perfectly at rest, unlike what the rest of him conveyed.
Bruce began there, fingers brushing over his soft cheek in a gesture that made Wally smile a bit, a smile that became more sensual as the journey continued down his neck, up over one ear and back down his spine, until his hand was running over his shoulder, the side of his chest, his ribs, his hips, and the bent legs. It was making contact with his calves that elicited the signs of anxiety again; Wally’s shoulder-blades moved as if his arms wanted to do something, his lips tightened, and his feet both shifted.
Experimentally, he moves his hands away, over Wally’s back, around those emphasized curves, some of those precious few curves Wally’s body possessed, and reached down between them to gently stroke the smooth balls with his knuckles. The anxiety was absent in these motions, but his body did shift in response, quickly aborted motions that would shift him closer to Bruce’s legs. The anxiety returned as Bruce outlines the muscles of Wally’s calf again, meandering toward the red cords about his ankles. It isn’t out of injury or strain; there are no fading bruises or overly tight muscles to be found that may have indicated such, no knots in his back or hissing sounds of discomfort.
Bruce never asks about how Wally’s mind works; if it’s always running as fast as his legs can, spinning out endless moments and calculations and trains of thought, but in the times they’ve been together in uniform, he knows it has the capability in a moment of stress or action. As this appeared to be some off-and-on moment of stress, he was aware that Wally had done a fair share of thinking that ended with choosing not to speak of what the problem was. No inherent problem in this arrangement, or it was doubtful he’d even still be here, let alone have been full of jittery anticipation when he arrived, his eyes alight with possibilities. If it was some newly discovered problem with deep-running reconsideration of what he was doing here, he would have said something, and remained perfectly capable of escaping the bonds to punctuate the point.
The wordless probing grew old and fruitless. Bruce drew back, only to shove his hand against Wally’s arm and topple him on his side.
More or less forced to maintain the relative position of before, now without the same support, his left knee was still parted from the right, his thigh flexing to keep the pressure off his wrist. Wally was partially erect, but he arched his neck to look at nothing in the corner of the room instead of look Bruce in the eye and had an uncertain expression.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Wally bit on the insides of both his lips and furrowed his brows upward, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and he knew it all too well, but he didn’t make any move toward an explanation.
A different approach, then.
Maneuvering into his personal space, until his tie was resting against Wally’s chest and the suit pants were teasing the interested cock, Bruce took his time in moving him again, this time precariously on the balls of his feet and his arched-down shoulders, knees spread in the air. Bruce threw a leg over, kneeling over Wally’s stomach, and gripped his chin firmly, forcing him to finally look at him square.
Bruce didn’t repeat the question, but waited for the response.
There was a pause, then Wally took a deep breath and his face melted into something equally embarrassed and apologetic. When he did speak, his voice was quietly sheepish.
“My feet are ugly.”
“What?”
“They are,” Wally insisted. “Runner feet. I’ve had to re-set all my toes, and the soles are all thick and weird, and the heels are all cracked and gross and I hate them.”
Wally’s shoulders flexed like he was trying to shrug.
“That’s all?” Bruce found it difficult to believe Wally found any part of his own body less than a work of art, with how he was so fond of parading it around to whoever chose to take audience. It was impossible to keep a note of disbelief out of the question.
Wally nodded, nervously darting his tongue out over his lower lip.
“Well then. I believe I shall be the judge of that.”
Bruce flipped him back on his stomach, taking an offending foot in both hands, to which Wally made a short little whining sound of protest.
It looked like any man’s foot. Not overly large, but angular. The arch was more dramatic and the offending calluses far less pronounced than one might expect from someone that ran as many steps in a day as the Flash routinely did. The imperfections of skin were nothing a thorough pedicure wouldn’t remedy in large part, albeit likely to be a rather temporary solution. Bruce had never given them much thought or particular attention, beyond considering them in the larger whole of the extraordinary runner Wally was.
“You’re being absurd,” Bruce announced.
He tickled the soles of both exposed feet before Wally had a chance to protest again, making his knees bounce back and forth with the outpouring of laughter.
“No no nonono!” Wally wailed, gasping, “don’t don’t don’t!”
Bruce chuckled a little, continuing despite Wally’s jerking motions attempting to propel himself away from the tormenting fingers.
“Is there anything wrong with your feet?”
Wally just howled a moment, shaking his head, but he managed to squeeze in an emphatic “Yes!”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
Wally pounded his face into the bed, his body wriggling back and forth in what might be mistaken for a genuine attempt at escape, but Bruce better knew as an attempt to stop himself from breaking out of the ropes and flying across the room in the blink of an eye.
“Sto-op!”
“Your feet?” Bruce persisted.
“Fine! God, stop, don’t! They’re dandy I love them sto-o-o-op!”
And Bruce did, at that. He replaced the tickling motion with merely cradling the top arches of the feet in his hands while Wally collapsed and panted, a blush of exertion all over his skin.
“I have no idea where you picked up this idiotic notion you have ugly feet but I suggest you forget about it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. Good boy.” Bruce shifted back alongside him, to stroke the back of Wally’s neck.
Wally looked up at him with little smile that seemed to be trying not to be a smirk. “You’re not going to tickle me until I pass out again, are you?”
It was enough that Bruce cradled the base of Wally’s skull and pushed down just hard enough to reinforce who was in charge at that particular moment, in case he was getting any ideas.
“I will if I feel like it. Be silent.”
Callouses?
on 2009-05-18 04:45 pm (UTC)Honestly can't imagine a Flash suffering callouses there. I mean, wouldn't his body/speed force protect that part of him just like it protects everything else while he's in action? Plus there is the healing factor.
No,no,no...something else is up with Wally. It can't really be his feet (unless it's all in his head.)
The feet are the foundation. Could be a pschological drama here.
Kyer (FFN)
Re: Callouses?
on 2009-05-19 07:42 am (UTC)I can imagine that Wally being Wally would prevent him from being a mess of wind-burn and calluses, due to both the aura and the healing factor, so I've always imagined him as somewhere between a casual jogger and a marathon runner when it comes to his feet; and yes, I have considered what they would be like kinda a lot. Because I am a huge dork. And running a lot isn't necessary to have problems with calluses; I'm no runner and I have actually bled from cracking that happens when I don't have access to a pumice stone for enough time. So I may be a bit biased, but still, runners always have weird foot troubles that tend to build on each other now and then...
So basically, yeah, you're totally right about it being all in his head. It's not actually that serious and he's just a tad too vain for his own good, which I think counts as psychological drama. XD
Re: Callouses?
on 2009-05-19 01:51 pm (UTC)Wally's got some sort of psychological drama over his feet.
Batman develops a foot fetish.
Wayne Tech develops a new foot creme for runners.
Foot creme gives Flash a body rash.
Bruce gives Wally full body medical creme treatment.
...oh, this is going places NC-17. Will stop now.
205 The Flash! In the Shadow of the Batman cover
on 2009-05-23 12:43 pm (UTC)Anway, I ran across this cover for The Flash #205 and it just tickled me pink. I'm sure you're familiar with it....Batman looking like he's about to pounce on a wary--yet unaware--Flash from above.
Yessir...the heat is on...a needy Bats is going to bag himself some Flash and Wally had better just go with it. lol
I'm sure I'd be disappointed to find out what that cover was really about. X(
Kyer (fanfiction dot net)
Re: 205 The Flash! In the Shadow of the Batman cover
on 2009-05-24 01:24 pm (UTC)I do love that cover.