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Chapter Text

He has underestimated Ra’s, Bruce thinks as he returns to consciousness slowly.

It was a mistake few got the chance to make twice. Ra’s was an elder demon, a monster that had walked the earth for so long no records remained of what type of demon he was under his stolen skin. Aside from the need to bathe in the energy of a hellmouth to restore his magic possessing a body removed most of the weaknesses that plagued demonkind. He was part of the nobility of Hell, though Bruce still hadn’t determined his specific rank, and the monster hunter had gotten used to thinking of the demon as instrument of Hell’s designs. He’d forgotten that Ra’s had his own plans.

His former patron had a personal grudge against him for fixing their contract and cheating him out of Bruce’s soul as payment. Bruce hadn’t thought the demon would stoop so low in pursuing a personal grudge. He’d been wrong. Ra’s dealt in revenge to reap his dark harvest of souls, corrupting a thirst for justice into a thirst for blood. He’d been naïve to think that Ra’s wouldn’t sabotage Hell’s plans for personal revenge against the hunter who’d outwitted him.

The elder demon wouldn’t kill him of course. Bruce’s soul was still too pure, he’d go straight to heaven and be out of the demon’s reach for good. Demons took pride in corrupting the souls of heroes, the purer and stronger the soul the more worth it had when corrupted and the more highly respected it’s corrupter became. Monster hunters were a prize to corrupt; they had to live in darkness, know the monsters and their ways to fight them. They saw things no man should see and worked without the rest of a peaceful sleep. There were so many ways for a hunter to fall; growing numb to the pain of others, or feeling it too strongly, thinking of yourself as a god, thinking of yourself as useless, endangering others or trying to face everything alone…He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Nietzche was right about that.

“Time to wake up Detective.” The demon’s smooth voice says by his ear.

The elder demon holds Bruce’s head between his hands, his sharp claw-like nails digging painfully into the skin. Bruce’s thoughts magically snap into a clear awareness, there’s no way he’ll be able to feint unconsciousness.

His eyes fly open and he takes in where he is. Thick chains are holding his arms and legs apart, he’s shackled to a stone sacrifice slab and completely naked. All his tools, all his protective charms and amulets have been taken from him, even his potions have worn off. He tenses against the chains, trying to break them on instinct, but they hold fast and runes flare along their length. He reaches for his spells and finds his mind hazed. Anti-magic bindings, but ones that also make him more vulnerable to the magics of others. This is going to hurt.

“Good. You are going to suffer Detective.” Ra’s says, stepping into sight.

He could almost be human if it weren’t for the jet-black rams’ horns that burst from his skin and curled around his ears. It was the classic, inevitable expression of a demon possession. His green eyes sometimes had the slit pupils of a snake and his teeth were sometimes too sharp to be anything but fangs, but aside from that and the tough claw-like quality to his long nails he kept good care of his stolen body. No wings or hooves or tail like demons with less self-control. Ra’s kept the same body of the Arabian Magician foolish enough to summon him into it fastidiously maintained. No other demon had kept a body so long.

Bruce takes in his surroundings. It’s the loathsomely familiar place called the Tomb of the Warlock. Ambient black magic was strong here, it made it the best place for monsters and evil magicians alike to work their magic. He can taste it in the air, even though he’s in a chamber he hasn’t been in before.

Talia isn’t here, thank gods. The demon’s daughter had been born on this plane, though she didn’t possess a human body like her father. She claimed to love him and despite knowing demons were soulless and could not love Bruce isn’t sure she’s wrong. He isn’t sure anymore if it’s a weakness in him or the effects of a charm that he’s no longer sure a demon is always evil. He’d trained hard to resist the charm effects of the succubus’s kiss, but he’d still found he’d fathered a cambion when Talia had given the half-demon to his care to try and protect him. Damian wouldn’t necessarily be evil, some of the greatest magicians for good had been born of a demonic union, Merlin had been one. He had the potential to rise or fall on his own choices. His son is in Metropolis right now with a nephilim friend, dealing with his own crisis and trying to pretend his parents didn’t exist.

Bruce had to make it through this trial on his own strength. He may have underestimated Ra’s to be captured like this, but Ra’s had underestimated him if he thought there was anything he could do to break the hunter.

Ra’s seems to see the conviction reflected in his eyes because he smiles a cold smile. He drags his nails down Bruce’s bare chest, not enough yet to make him bleed.

“You think I don’t know how to break you.” The demon sounds mildly amused. “I know all the secrets of the hearts and minds of men, Bruce Wayne.”

“Yet I still outsmarted you.” Bruce says.

Ra’s strikes him across the face and his nails leave claw marks red across his cheek. The demon’s eyes go serpentine with a cold rage.

“I offered you a deal for what you wanted most in this world and you cheated me of my payment!” The demon hisses.

“What I want isn’t revenge, it’s justice.” Bruce replies, testing the limits of his restraints and captor at the same time. “You’re the one who made the agreement with me.” He smirks. “Or did you think you could just sign a contract without reading it first and get everything you want?”

Ra’s hisses like a serpent and grabs him by the throat.

“You poisonous little viper!” His forked tongue flickers between teeth that could only be called fangs, the irony apparently lost on him. “I would have given you a place at my feet, had you been content to serve me in Hell as is your due.”

The demon’s tongue flickers out, forked at the tip like a snake.

“Now you will pay your debt in suffering.” He whispers and strokes the claw marks on the Hunter’s cheek. “I will break you, little Hunter. You will suffer like you have never suffered before.”

Then he does something Bruce is genuinely not prepared for and closes the distance between their mouths. The kiss is soft but so unexpected it triggers an automatic aggressive response from Bruce. He wants nothing more than for the demon to get away from him. He sinks his teeth into the demon’s lip without thinking. He draws blood and three drops of it fall into his mouth and are swallowed. They burn like napalm on their way down his throat. He just has time to remember how much a mortal drinking a single drop of demon’s blood enhanced the hold the demon’s magic had on them before the charm hits.

Shit, he just has time to think before the charm sweeps away his resistance, Ra’s is an incubus.

It’s nothing he’s prepared for, spreading from the center of his chest in a prickling wave of warmth that makes every part of him so sensitive it would hurt if it didn’t feel so…good. Even the feeling of the air in the chamber on his skin makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He’s instantly hard and instantly cumming just from the feeling of the demon’s body being so close to his own. It doesn’t satisfy, in fact it makes his body somehow even more sensitive and desperate for something more. He’s trained to resist the succubus’s charm, the magic that overwrote your thoughts with a burning hunger to claim the demon’s body with your own. He has no training to cope with this sudden, violent thirst to be fucked and filled. A sharp gasp leaves his lips, his body arching desperately against the demon’s as Ra’s pulls back and covers his bleeding lip with one hand.

“For that I’ll take you last.” The demon hisses and Bruce sobs.

He wants nothing more than for the demon to come closer and fill him up with his cum. He’s never needed anything as much as he needs to feel the demon inside him. It’s a pathetic, dark, desperate need and he whines as Ra’s leaves his sight. His body flexes against the chains. He’s even more desperate to be free of them so he can feel the demon’s touch on his skin again.

“Compliant now aren’t you?” The demon snorts as he steps back into Bruce’s line of sight. The bleeding has already stopped. He’d expended a spark of his magic to heal the wound. If Bruce could think properly he would have called it vain. Instead all he can think of is how good it would feel to have that body inside his.

Bruce groans. He’s trying to steel himself, to snap out of it, but he’s never fought an incubus’s charm, let alone one powered by three drops of demon blood. The demon’s magical blood is burning in his veins, binding him closer to the natural magic of the incubus. Too much of it and he’d literally combust, dissolving into a pure flame of demonic power, and he’s not as horrified by the thought as he should be. He’s hard again already; he probably doesn’t have a refractory period any more. His eyes are fixed on the demon’s face and he wordlessly pleads with the demon.

Ra’s clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Use your words Detective.” He orders.

“Please.” Bruce says immediately. A small part of him knows he should be humiliated but it’s irrelevant. “Please Ra’s. I need it.”

The demon steps around the sacrificial slab, Bruce’s head moves to follow him. He is transfixed by him like a fly in a spider’s web. He should be able to shake this off, it was just another form of mind control, just another demonic charm spell, but he doesn’t want to fight. He can’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, it’s like he’s dissolving in sunlight (how long had it last been since he last relaxed in the sun with no hunt on his mind?) He stops struggling against the chains as the pleasant haze warms him to his bones. His half-hooded eyes stare up at the demon with a look of lustful worship.

Gods, he was just so beautiful.

It reminded him of his time in the demon’s cabal, when every apprentice had been longing for a scrap of the demon’s attention. Back then Ra’s had seemed so incredibly wise, unworldly and powerful. He’d worn their worship like a cloak and falling back into that old pattern of thought feels…right. Comfortable even, like putting on an old familiar sweater again for the first time in years. He remembers the dreams he had in the haze of adolescent lust, they hadn’t all been about Talia. Now he knows that those dreams had been the demon dreamwalking and feeding on his students he should be fearful, instead he applies his years of experience to the old fantasies and makes himself moan. He can’t stop himself from picturing what he wants Ra’s to do to him.

Ra’s smirks. An incubus’s kiss served the same purpose as a vampire’s hypnotic gaze; it made feeding easier. The detective’s desperation rose from his body in waves, a delicious appetizer for the feast that was to come. No matter how this evening went he would gorge himself to fullness on the hunter’s lust, then glut himself on the excess energy and bask in the greed of it. His serpentine eyes read every twisted fantasy of the hunter reflected on his face. Oh, he is going to enjoy this.

Ra’s drags a nail along the hunter’s side and watches him twitch and gasp with longing. He’s stopped trying to escape, now he looks up at the demon with desperate, worshiping eyes.

“Master…” Bruce begs in a breathy whisper. It’s been years since he called Ra’s his master, but he knows what the demon wants to hear from him. Pure, unfiltered contrition. “Master, please!”

The demon smiles coldly and raises a hand to gently caress the hunter’s bleeding cheek. The hunter breathes out a shuddering sigh and desperately rubs against it, shivering with the need to feel more but utterly incapable of doing anything. That was the magic of an incubus, perfectly pliant submission. He runs a thumb over the hunter’s lower lip and Bruce opens his mouth, tongue flickering hungrily over his teeth. His desperation grows, his dirtiest desires nearly crystallizing in the air to the incubus’s demon vision. Delicious. The demon’s forked tongue flickers over his teeth, tasting the lust hazing the air like it was a fine wine.

There were few things Ra’s loved more than the taste of desperation. He trails his fingertips down the hunter’s chest and watches the breath catch in Bruce’s throat. The demon digs in his claws enough to draw blood and the hunter gasps and arches into his touch, a desperate yelp leaving his lips as Ra’s leaves claw marks down his body. The charm has taken hold of him completely, with three drops of demon blood enhancing the effect he’d never get to break free of it until the spell is ended.

Ra’s is tempted to make it permanent. A collar of runes scratched into the skin with his fingernails would seal the hunter’s mind in this state forever. He raises one bloodied hand to his lips and slowly licks the blood off his nails, the hunter’s eyes fixated on the flicker of his forked tongue from between his lips. He can taste himself on Bruce’s blood, the faint spice of demon taint running through the hunter’s veins. Demon blood was incredibly addicting, it wouldn’t take too many feedings to destroy even the strongest of mortal minds.

Ra’s was more experienced in the ways of humanity than any others of his kind, he could keep the human alive for centuries in a dazed stupor of absolute longing, longer if he keeps his adversary in his hellish equivalent of a wine cellar and only feeds from him on special occasions. Talia would fuss and the cambion would cry but they were both so very young and he was so much wiser than them. They would settle down, or they would perish, or possibly both, it is irrelevant to a being that had lived longer than empires.

As his claws rake through the hunter’s skin and delicious red blood wells up around his fingertips he contemplates carving his name into the hunter’s chest. A scarred souvenir to remember him by, so that every time he saw himself in a bathroom mirror, every time some young lover thought to claim him, Bruce would be reminded of this night and the things he had begged for.

No, the hunter had not been that poor an adversary. Ra’s had kept many humans that way and found the savor tended to wear off. There was only so much pleasure to be derived from hurting an obedient, mindless slave. They were too desperate for the attention, for any stimulus, to properly suffer. He was no stripling imp squabbling in the firepits for the souls of petty adulterer and unimaginative murderers, he was nobility and his larder was well stocked. This was not a matter of him hunting for survival. This was about revenge. What good would his revenge be if the hunter does not suffer?

Ra’s drags a sharp nail up the length of the hunter’s already hard cock and Bruce cums with a yelp, spurting a magically enhanced amount of semen onto his stomach. The incubus’s magic would ensure he wouldn’t run dry, nor gain any true release until Ra’s had him. He leans in closer, running his tongue over his lips and watching the hunger grow in his captive’s eyes. The demon draws in a deep breath of the lust-filled air. Bruce shivers with anticipation.

Ra’s gently kneads at his chest like a friendly cat, the sharp points of his nails pricking but not deep enough to draw more blood. He hums to himself, drawing out the moment to draw a desperate needy whine from the charmed hunter. No, he has better plans.

He takes out his tools with a practiced slowness that makes his captive break down and beg. The words sound so sweet coming from the hunter’s mouth. For all his plans, all his carefulness, the detective was and could only ever be human. He couldn’t help the inherent weakness of his nature.

The lust energy emanating from the hunter comes to a point as Ra’s uncorks the potion bottle and the clear, honey-thick liquid within spills out onto his fingers. A deep needy groan leaves the hunter’s mouth and Ra’s, well Ra’s is too hungry not to indulge. He recaptures the hunter’s lips, this time Bruce not only lets him but invites it with a desperate, eager need to please. Ra’s unhinges his jaw and starts to feed. Life energy streams off the hunter’s soul to nourish the demon. The hunter gasps as his life is pulled away, the strength of his soul being siphoned off into the demon’s body. It aches like an illness, making his limbs weak and a feverish heat burn in him but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels like a drug high, terrible for you but so good…

One of the demon’s hands draws a slow circle on the hunter’s chest, while the other slips between his thighs. Bruce moans into the demon’s mouth as it slips inside his unresisting hole, spilling more sexual energy into the incubus’s mouth. It’s good, it’s so good it hurts, but at the same time its not enough. His thighs shake, and a needy whine spills from his lips. The demon doesn’t indulge him, instead Ra’s smirks against his mouth and fingers him open with a painful slowness.

The slick feeling of the demon’s fingers in him, stroking his insides and working him open, leaves him even more sensitive and desperate. The chains clink and the hunter’s fingers claw at the sides of the slab as he tries to rock back against the demon’s fingers.

He knows it’s pathetic, but he needs more. He needs it more than he needs to breathe and when the demon’s finger brushes his prostate his eyes roll back in his head as he cums. The demon strokes the spot and orgasm after orgasm hits in a rippling wave of white-hot pleasure that wipes away the hunter’s thoughts. He surfaces gasping desperately for breath, his insides on fire, and the need burning inside him. He can’t even beg anymore.

The demon’s fingers slip free and he places a brief, unsatisfying chaste kiss on the hunter’s forehead.

“I sent out word once I knew I had you captured.” Ra’s tells him. “You have made so many enemies detective, and they are eager to enjoy you.” He smiles the cold, cruel smile of a prince of hell. “I think you will enjoy them too.”

He reaches out and strokes Bruce’s cheek and in that moment the hunter can’t think of anything he wants more.

Chapter Text

To the lust-addled haze the charm made of his mind it seems like forever before someone else enters the chamber. His ears are straining for the sound of an approach and his body trembles with eagerness. He is hard again, his cock twitching against his stomach. Even though he feels a thrum of anticipation under his skin it’s not enough for him to actually cum again.

The sound of boots on the bare stone has him arching against the chain, flushed and desperately panting for breath before the first curious seeker enters the chamber. The footsteps pause when he arches against the chains, but when he collapses back against the slab with a frustrated sob they resume.

Bruce twists against the chains with growing desperation. The cool air of the chamber feels like torture against his sensitive skin. He needs to be touched.

“So it’s true,” a familiar voice rumbles from the shadows and yes, fuck yes, FUCK yes, it’s him, fuck me now! “He really does have you.”

Bruce arches his back enough to make eye contact, spreading his legs further as he desperately fights the chains. His hips thrust uselessly at open air with a frustrated grunt. He manages to half raise himself up enough to actually see the new guest in the chamber. He’s standing there with his head cocked curiously to the side, simply watching the hunter struggle.

Dragons, even those experienced enough to take human form, didn’t have the same sense of morals as humans. By the standards of his kind Slade was honorable, it was only by humanity’s standards he became a monster. Bruce was never quite sure where he stood with the dragon, sometimes he could be an ally against a greater foe, sometimes he took offense at any little thing, but most of the time his thought process was a mystery. The only thing you could count on was he wanted what all dragons wanted; money, power and blood.

“Please Slade, I’ll give you everything I have, money, power, anything!” Bruce begs.

“You can’t beat the demon’s offer.” The black dragon growls as he observes the hunter with one ice cold eye.

Perhaps it’s a familiar scene to him, Bruce knows they used to sacrifice virgins to the black dragon back in Gotham’s past, though the only sacrifice he took was their virginity. The thought makes him drool. He might not be a virgin but he’d eagerly be Slade’s sacrifice.

“Please, Slade I’ll do anything, just please fuck me!” Bruce pleads and the pupil of the dragon’s eye goes serpentine.

He leaps onto the slab with a snarl. His lips draw back from teeth that have shifted into fangs and a glow of flame highlights each tooth’s sharp edge. Fingernails that have become claws bite into the stone of the slab and for a moment his shadow has wings spreading open behind him and throwing the room into shadow. The whipped-up wind sweeps across the chamber.

“You don’t know what you ask of me Hunter!” the black dragon growls in a rumble that seems too large for his body.

Bruce tries to arch up enough to kiss him. He just misses, kissing the side of the dragon’s mouth, instead of his lips. Slade grabs him by the throat and shoves him back against the slab. With a low growl he slams his lips into the hunter’s. A shiver runs over Bruce’s skin, a shiver of incubus magic demanding he sits still and submit to pleasure, and he is happy to obey.

The black dragon’s kiss is bruising and possessive as he lets his full weight settle on the hunter’s chest. The scale mail of shed dragon scales is cool against Bruce’s skin and he grinds up against it. There’s a huff of amusement from Slade, a warm breath tickling his skin as the dragon’s tongue curls hotly inside his mouth. The dragon shifts to get a better angle and his fingers, no longer claws, trail curiously over the hunter’s skin, mapping the many scars of his battles to protect the city from the supernatural. One nail digs into a particularly deep valley of scar tissue running across the hunter’s shoulder. Bruce shivers.

“You remember this one.” Slade says in something resembling a purr.

Bruce nods with his throat dry. He’d only just managed to roll out of the way, otherwise the black dragon’s talon would have ripped out his lungs and heart in one stroke. He’d still lost use of the arm for months. Magical healing could only take you so far, especially against wounds made by a magical creature. Instant healing bore the highest cost, at best you were looking at months of magical exhaustion, at worse you paid in blood. It was far safer to heal naturally and live with the scars.

“It could have killed you.” Slade growls, but it’s different from his usual growl whether content and gloating or angry and defeated. It’s more like a purr. The sound makes the hairs on Bruce’s arms stand on end, but in a way that’s far from unpleasant…

The black dragon leans in and the points of his fangs touch the skin of Bruce’s neck. The hunter swallows and feels the fangs dig in with the roll of his skin. His jugular vein is pulsing between Slade’s teeth. The dragon could easily tear out his throat, yet he’s not even drawing blood. He growls against the hunter’s skin, the vibrations running through his throat. For a heartbeat Bruce forgets how to breathe.

“Consider this my sign of respect for you.” Slade purrs as his tongue glides along Bruce’s pulse. “The closest dragontongue has to ‘friend’ translates as ‘enemy who is still alive.’”

He moves forwards and Bruce swallows, a little gasp leaving him as Slade’s knee slips between his thighs. He wants to rut against it but Slade still has his throat and if he moved suddenly he’d cut himself open on Slade’s fangs.

“Do you know how dragons choose a mate, Hunter?” The black dragon growls. “We fight. We fight over and over and over and prove our strength to each other until one of us lies defeated on their back.” One finger traces down the scar and makes Bruce shiver. “Then the victor takes what they want, understand?”

Bruce swallows then nods. He feels the dragon smile against him.

“Good.” Slade hums.

The sound and the teeth around his throat paralyze him as the black dragon reaches down and undoes his belt. The small sound of it seems sharp in his senses and the incubus’s charm rolls over Bruce like a fever heat, the arousal almost sickening in its intensity. He wants the dragon inside him already, but he can’t move as Slade slowly undoes his armor.

The Hunter used powdered dragon scales in his own armor to make it fireproof, but a full suit of scales like Slade wore required a closer relationship with a dragon than any Hunter with morals could manage. If Slade had to take human form (and a dragon didn’t live as long as Slade without understanding why you sometimes had to take human form) he preferred the protection of his own scales however he had to get it. He must be confident in his safety to be taking the armor off.

The dragon’s other hand starts at his shoulder, moving down from the scar across his chest. Bruce tries to arch into the touch and Slade’s purr of a growl takes a rougher edge, a familiar edge that meant the black dragon was displeased. Bruce realizes the dragon wants him to stay still.

No, not just still.

Compliant.

Submitting.

He breathes out and lets his body go still.

Even without the incubus’s charm, even without demon’s blood in his veins, even without the chains, he had no chance of fighting off Slade while naked. Even with his gear it would be 50/50 odds. As well as the physical might of a dragon Slade had a sharp enough mind to cast spells and the tomb would amplify them. Besides he had a notorious habit of being liberal with the dragonfire in enclosed spaces. Slade has already ‘won’ whatever battle there could have been here simply by showing up. The dragon will take his prize.

Still he feels the black dragon wasn’t lying when he’d said this was a sign of respect.

Dragons famously lacked mercy, when they saw something roll on its back the instinct was to disembowel it. For him to be this vulnerable and not dead yet meant that a member of a famously arrogant race of magical creature was acknowledging him as if he was a dragon too. If Slade did kill him Bruce is sure Ra’s wouldn’t be able to stop him. Who would win the resulting fight is less certain but it wouldn’t matter to him, he’d be dead.

Yet the dragon’s hands aren’t drawing blood as they run over him. They’re not gentle persay, but not intending to injure which was rare for a dragon. He’s just applying enough pressure to remind the Hunter he’s lost.

It must be the incubus charm because there’s no way Bruce would be giving in this easily without magic. His insatiable erection lies heavy on his stomach as Slade parts his legs. The dragon’s hands grip his thighs, lifting them up and, oh, he’s just loosened his armor enough to free his cock so Bruce’s resting on scale-armored thighs. The black dragon’s scales feel so nice and cool against his burning skin.

Slade doesn’t bother with any further preparation; he simply aligns their bodies and thrusts in. The potion Ra’s had lubricated him with makes the way easy but Bruce still gasps at the unfamiliar slick feeling as the dragon’s cock presses into him. It’s big and thick and hard, and filling him in the way his charmed mind has been begging for.

Slade’s teeth remain fixed around his throat but fuck, he loves being reminded that the black dragon could kill him at will. He loves how rough Slade’s being with his body, how focused the dragon is on only his pleasure. He loves how powerless he is, how defeated he is, how anyone or anything can use him like a toy. It’s good, it’s so good. He is a thing made to be fucked and filled.

The dragon grunts against him, the breath snorted from the dragon’s nostrils is hot against his skin and smells of ash. He’s only brushing against the hunter’s prostate by accident but Bruce’s insides are supernaturally sensitive. He feels every inch of the dragon’s cock move inside him and its being filled with it that satisfies the magic. He wishes there was a way he could take it in deeper but Slade’s the one in control here and he can only lie still like a good little fucktoy as the dragon makes use of him.

Gods, he hopes Slade cums inside him. He wants to be filled with the dragon’s seed, but the choice isn’t up to him. He belonged the Slade who would do what he wanted with him.

“My hunter.” Slade hisses from between his fangs. His eyes are going serpentine again, pupils dilating like a snake striking. “My Enemy.” His last word is said in Dragontongue, the word that was the closest dragons had for friend.

Bruce moans and he feels that rumbling purr against his exposed neck as the fangs dig in enough to bruise. The dragon’s thrusts speed up, rocking the hunter’s body against his lap faster. Bruce chokes on a gasp at the feeling and the gasp become a wordless keening plea. He’s so close, so close to cumming! His cock twitches on his stomach, swollen and hard and weeping precum. He nearly cums as Slade leans forwards, driving himself in deeper and brutally stimulating the hunter’s prostate as he covers the hunter’s body with his own.

“My prize.” The dragon pants. “My treasure.”

The teeth leave Bruce’s neck and the dragon throws back his head as he fills the hunter with his seed. As he cums his transformation spell flickers in a ripple running down his head to his toes. For a second Slade has horns sticking through his hair and a flare of fire leaves teeth that are fully fangs. A row of spines ripples down his back, ending in a tail that briefly twists before the magic erases it from existence. His nails become claws that bite into the stone, his tongue forks and his eye becomes fully reptilian. His cock inside Bruce shifts, for a moment becoming even thicker and longer and so big the hunter can barely take it. He cums, spilling his seed over his stomach as the dragon spills his seed inside him.

It’s hot, hotter than the cum Bruce has spilled on his stomach, almost as hot as the demon’s blood he’d swallowed. The sudden burst of pleasure is stronger than a drug. He completely loses himself in it, but the feeling fades before the dragon pulls out. Bruce can feel the black dragon’s warm seed spilling out of his hole. He moans with longing to be filled again.

Slade chuckles as he does up his belt.

“That’s my lot for now little hunter.” He says. “Losers don’t get to make demands. If you’re still this eager after the magic wears off you can come and fight me in my lair.” He grins a predatory grin. “When you lose I’ll fuck you on my hoard.”

Bruce groans.

The thought of the black dragon filling him with hot cum against the dragon’s amassed fortune seems irresistible. Fighting him hand-to-hand in the place Slade was the strongest, then being pinned down and taken like an animal…He wants it. He wants to be bloodied and bruised and panting for breath when he’s fucked against the hoard.

More than anything he wants to be filled again.

As Slade leaves a desperate strangled sob leaves the hunter’s traitorous lips, but the black dragon doesn’t look back.

He simply walks away and leaves Bruce flexing against the chains and wondering who else might come and help him with his need.

Chapter Text

The next visitor is preceded by a tapping of a cane on stone and a light humming of some catchy tune. Bruce doesn’t need to be the genius detective he is to figure this one out.

It’s a surprise, but not much. He’d underestimated who among his many enemies would be interested in him sexually, but Ra’s had clearly advertised this opportunity as a curiosity rather than a conquest.

Of course the fae would show up. Curiosity was as much a feast for him as sexual desire was for the incubus. He could hardly turn down the invitation, or indeed any invitation. That was one of the things that made him Seelie; he followed the rules, twisted them maybe, bent them until they were at breaking point, but never broke them. He’d still kill you if you got one of his riddles wrong, but that was considered entirely just in the Summer Court. To think that people called them the nice ones, mistaking following rules for goodness.

Bruce hated dealing with the elf. It wasn’t that he was a great magical powerhouse, and he certainly couldn’t fight. There was just a smug condescension about everything he did, that he was lowering himself by merely being perceptible to this plane, like an adult playing along with the games of children. At least he had the common weakness of his kind, none of which Bruce was in a position to take advantage of. The only consolation was that, as always, there would be rules, the rule there always was; answer correctly or perish.

A pair of emerald eyes, the color of the precious stone rather than any living shade, gleam briefly in the dark as they switch subtly from the cat’s eyes that could pierce shadows to eyes that looked human. With the curling red hair peaking under the green bowler hat and the spray of freckles across the bridge of his upturned nose the elf looked distinctly Irish. Willowy and short, unlike Tolkien’s elves, but anyone who called him a Leprechaun was forfeiting their kneecaps. He barely bothered to glamor his long, pointed elfin ears that marked him as a true fae rather than a hybrid.

The cane topped with a question mark of solid gold (the real kind not the fairy kind) taps against the ground as he walks. He was some kind of fae nobility, the internal politics of a fae court were complex enough that Bruce wouldn’t bother investigating further. Fae, all fae, valued most highly entertainment. The immortal spirits grew bored easily. Eddie was a popular noble at the court because he could always provide a new tale of how he almost beat the Gotham monster hunter. That he never did didn’t matter to the court; it was just building up suspense for when he did win. Bruce, after all, was mortal and the Riddler was decidedly not.

The Riddler of the Summer Court, master of puzzles for the enjoyment of the Summer Queen, it was definitely a title but Bruce was unsure if it was a title that was inherited like that of so many of his enemies, or if he was the same entity as the one in the Irish tales. He was colloquially known as Tricky Eddie.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

Despite himself Bruce feels a prickling on shame that he’s disappointed the fae in some way. He wants to impress the fae, he wants to do good, and get rewarded. His cock twitches against his stomach with eager desire for the fae lord.

The cane strikes him in the stomach, though without any real force behind the blow. He whimpers softly as the cane drags along the curves of his stomach and his breath stutters.

“What a pathetic sight you are Hunter.” The Riddler drawls.

Bruce whimpers. A small part of himself still free of the incubus’s charm hates himself for it but the elf’s face merely splits into a cold, cruel smile.

“What’s the square root of 196?” The elf asks.

“Wh…?” Bruce can’t focus on anything but the feeling of a smooth curve of cold metal now resting against his balls. It feels almost ice cold against the burning of the skin.

“The square root of 196.” Riddler demands, the curve of the cane resting around the hunter’s straining cock. The rules said he must give them a chance to answer three times before he can dole out punishment, the Seelie Court was big on the Rule of Threes.

“…14.” Bruce says hoarsely as the incubus’s charm burns in his veins. “Eddie, please.”

“What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the day, and three legs in the evening?” The familiar riddle seems to pour like honey from the fae’s mouth. There was some scholarly debate among hunters as to the fae’s relation to the Sphinx.

“Man.” Bruce blurts out, nearly before the elf is done and gets a warning increase of pressure from the staff. “it’s a man!”

“Well your memory works at least.” The Riddler takes a casual seat at the end of the slab with his legs dangling off the side. “Good.” He sniffs. “I do hate dealing with mortals who can’t quite get into the spirit of things.”

His hand darts out like a snake striking and grips him around the cock. Bruce breathes out sharply at the feeling of the gloved hand wrapping around his length and a dribble of precum spurts out and drips onto the elf’s glove. He arches his hips up as hard as he can then crashes back down on the slab gasping for breath. The fae’s hand hasn’t moved.

“One last question and you get to cum, hunter~!” The fae calls out in a singsong voice.

Bruce groans enthusiastically and tries to buck his hips up into the Riddler’s hand. The elf doesn’t let him, he keeps a ruthless control that prevents him from gaining any satisfaction.

“Final question” The Riddler’s green eyes gleam malevolently. “Will you hand over control of Gotham to me?”

Much like a demon a contract with a fae, even a verbal one, was binding by magical law. Ra’s makes a brief sound of displeasure and Riddler shushes him, leaning in close to the hunter. His eyes gleam like a cat’s, pupils narrow and inhuman.

“I…I…aaargh!” Bruce yelps as the gloved hand moves on his cock. He ruts up against it as hard as he can with the chains still holding him down.

“The clock is ticking Hunter~!” The Riddler sings out as he pumps his hand across the Hunter’s cock, keeping him on the edge of cumming without letting him find release.

The incubus’s charm burns in his skin like actual fire, he’s burning up with all-consuming desperate need and a sharp whine leaves him despite his best efforts. He wants, he needs, he’s burning up, he’s dying without it. There’s tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his body is so terribly sensitive it’s like his nerves have been exposed to the air, but he can’t…he can’t.

“N…!” He bites his tongue to force himself not to answer.

The fae’s hand tightens and Bruce’s hips jerk as he starts to cum. The cane comes down against him, cutting him off before he can reach orgasm. He gasps in frustration, his fingers tightening in his chains as his body slumps against the slab. The elf looks down at him demandingly and he manages to force the air into his lungs.

He can’t, but he needs, but he can’t. The terrible need of the charm eats away against the small part of him that screams he can’t give Gotham over to a fae. He’s not going to be allowed relief, he’s not allowed to spill his seed until Eddie gets the answer he wants. Another denied orgasm rises and breaks in him, Eddie’s slender elfin fingers not quite allowing him satisfaction. He bites his lip and blood bursts in his mouth, his teeth tightly clenched as he tries to fight the charm. Satisfaction is close, so close but he can’t reach it. He needs to answer, he need to give the fae the answer he wants, but he can’t, he just can’t.

“Ngh…No!” He openly sobs with a shudder as he forces the word past his trembling lips.

The hand stops.

“That…is the right answer.” The fae purrs in his ear and with a twist of his fingers Bruce cums so hard he blacks out for a few seconds.

When he comes to he realizes that Eddie is still talking past the charmed haze.

“Still got your wits about then.” The fae’s voice filters through the haze. His cane rests under the Hunter’s chin. “Good. I would hate for you to lose your head over an infernal charm.” There’s a clear mocking edge in his tone, looking down on the demonic magic.

Demons and fae were about as vain as each other, but the fae had invented charms and glamor. They looked down on the demons such as succubi and incubi who made them their focus, sneering at them as poor-quality imitators feigning mastery with a borrowed magic. As near as any hunter could tell it was a case of convergent magic evolution, the two magical races developing the same technique independent of each other.

“You are here at my invitation.” Ra’s growls warningly.

The elf settles with a vaguely apologetic murmur, the likelihood that the incubus could tear him limb from limb at will was less important than the possibility he was being a poor guest. They were both creatures bound by rules, the laws of guest hospitality were like physical laws to them. If one broke them the other would rip them apart instantly, the prisoner forgotten. Part of him loathed that, a larger part craved their attention back on him. Bruce clears his throat without thinking about it.

Eddie gives one of his pectorals a patronizing pat, like he was a dog.

“As I was saying,” He goes back to his speech. “There’s a limited amount of fun I can attract from a brainless animal, sure it would be an impressive feat in and of itself to lower you to such but still, I can have a charmed slave whenever I wish. As impressive as it is.” Riddler taps it with his cane. “I have no interest in your cock. At least.” Here he smiles. “Not when it’s provided at a demon’s leisure.”

He tips his hat with his cane.

“No offense meant to our gracious host of course, who has so kindly offered his hospitality, but I’d prefer you trapped, squirming and helpless because of my own considerable prowess. So I wish to make a deal.”

There’s another noise of disapproval from Ra’s that makes the hunter’s skin prickle with guilt. Bruce nods with his throat dry, his eyes unstoppably drawn to the Fae’s own.

Fae eyes were always breathtakingly beautiful, they never looked natural or human, the beauty they held was always an unearthly thing. They relied on it, a fae’s glamor was a natural magical ability that allowed them to ensnare others with illusions, and the eyes were both the only thing their illusions could not disguise and the way they locked in their charms. Bruce never let himself look at them for long, too wary of being enchanted, and now he relishes the excuse to stare. They sparkle from within with inner fire, as if light’s being reflected around internal facets. This is the first time he’s noticed, there’s flecks of gold sparkling like stars in the green…

“Tch.” The elf clicks his tongue disapprovingly, making the hunter’s eye flicker to his mouth, how his lips move as they shape words. “It does sadden me to see you reduced to this, even if it is the result of your own foolishness.” He leans in close enough for the warmth of his breath to tickle the hunter’s ear.

His gloved hand grips Bruce’s throat, over the marks left by the dragon’s teeth.

“Will you accept my price?” He asks in a whisper that sends a wave of desperate longing crashing through the hunter’s body. “In exchange for a fae lord’s blessing?”

Even through the charm ravaging his brain he knows the deal is a massive risky, he doesn't know what he's trading or what for, but that the deal wouldn't be offered if Eddie was planning on screwing him over. A fae could only offer power over what was in their domain, what was the domain of a Riddler...Puzzles, questions and knowledge.

There's pity in the fae's eyes, but it's the same level of pity a human might show to a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Tragic, perhaps, but not worth the trouble of dealing with the spider to free it. Bruce trusts in the elf's selfishness. His master's would be disappointed if he no longer had new tales to tell them. Maybe it's just the charm dulling his sense of danger but he manages to nod.

Eddie kisses Bruce’s forehead. There's a sudden sensation like ice water's been dumped over his brain and he gasps sharply as his ability to think comes rushing back to him. Immediately new plans for escape leap to the front of his mind but his limbs are still lax and heavy. The fae has freed his higher brain function but he hasn't dispelled the charm. His lower brain functions were still trapped in the demon's grasp. He can think about escaping but that's all, he can't force his body to make the motions to actually do it. The Riddler smiles a cold, cruel smile.

“So I’ll bid you adieu for now sweet prince.” He cuts a neat bow. “Until we meet again.” He takes a step away from the slab. “Oh.” He spreads his fingers, strings of fluid gleaming against the green of his glove. At least it wasn't his firstborn, Bruce thinks, aware of exactly how bad this could have gone for him. “And I’ll be taking this as payment. Ciao!”

The Riddler’s mocking laughter follows him, echoing in the stone corridors as he cheerfully leaves the bound Hunter to his fate.

Chapter Text

Bruce smells his next visitor before he hears them, though this isn’t the insult it seems.

It’s true monsters often had a strange feral reek about them that their victims noticed before they saw through their disguise to find it was too late to run. Few monsters cared enough to clean the caked blood from their fur even after it had started to rot. Some even enjoyed being surrounded with the stench of death like a filthy halo.

That isn’t what he smells however, the faint trace of a scent is something light and soft and comforting, he feels his spirits lifting before he consciously recognizes the scent as summer flowers. Oh, it’s Her. The capital letter feels appropriate, the entity itself changed with the seasons but was always clearly female. In fact her oldest name was The Green Lady, from the days when it was a title of honor rather than what a drunk in the gutter might blurt out on seeing her. She didn’t use that name anymore.

In his research and the centuries of research done by Monster Hunters through the centuries (though Van Hellsing was the one that hung on in popular memory) many had mentioned her but none had managed to define what she was. She was in part elemental, she was visitor to the Summer Court (though never the Winter) but she wasn’t a Fae, dryads worshiped her but she wasn’t a god. Neither was she one of those strange alien entities that existed in realms outside of reality like the capricious all-powerful trickster gods they called Imps. There was no doubting she had sprung from the life-force of this reality like a flower blooming, though when and how would never be known by anything but the plants. Her weaknesses were better documented, fire, ice and more recently chemical weed killers were the way to keep her at bay; her strength was tied to her domain called the Green and destroying plant life deprived her or power and her weapons. Perhaps that is why she had gone from the benevolent Mother of the Harvest to the Green Witch that watered her plants with human blood over the years as her domain shrank.

Bruce wonders how much of her domain could extend here, to the catacombs, but he’s been out for hours. She’s found plants to bring with her. The scent grows stronger, sweet and undeniably floral as the first of the vines appears around the corner. It’s a thin pale green tendril that could be mistaken for a worm or a newly hatched snake, simply because that’s how it moves before it thickens and starts putting out leaves. No matter how many times he saw it plants moving in that manner were disturbing. It wasn’t that they were unnatural, rather it was the opposite, they were overnatural in a way that made you very aware that you were an animal made of meat and one day the roots would wind into your carcass and drink your fluids like water.

They’re already reaching hungry tendrils into the cavern, snaking across the floor with a purpose. Bruce idly wonders as he often has if they can feel the heat of his body or is it his breathing they are honing in on. Certainly none of the vines had anything approaching eyes, though some had pitcher mouths already brimming with the syrupy acid that smelt like lemon scented floor cleaner.

While Bruce doubts Ra’s will let him be turned into a human sacrifice the entity he’d called Ivy was one of more than just plant-based murder.

Her domain was also fertility.

The sweet scent filling the air gets stronger and stronger, it would be almost oppressive if it wasn’t so good. It fills the bound hunter with a kind of hunger that is hard to satisfy and harder still to dispel. Most protective runes worked to defend against supernatural threats, those that bent the laws of reality to their own ends. Bruce had to develop new ones for Ivy because the lust her aura induced wasn’t magical, it was wholly natural. Maybe even divine.

In other circumstances he’d try to avoid breathing in if he couldn’t fix his mask in time. It’s almost a relief to simply let the scent of summer flowers fill him with a feeling of warm lust. The vines are growing larger now, the largest are the size of well-fed pythons as they curl around the slab. One brushes the bare skin of his ankle and he doesn’t flinch at the now familiar touch.

This isn’t the first time Ivy had caught him with his pants down in an entirely non-metaphorical way. Even when you knew about it her ability to inflame desire snuck up on you. It helped she spared hunters the usual fate of those she spent the night with, which was disposed of with all the feeling they’d have towards pulling up a weed. She was an entity of this Earth specifically and she had little love for the outside elements that encroached on her domain. To her mind monster hunting was a kind of pest control, like allowing spiders in your garden to keep down the fruit-flies. A hunter that was ensnared by her faced nothing more than the not unpleasant task of bearing her children.

She offers Ra’s a stiff nod as she enters and the incubus offers a carefully calculated nod in return. The demon had lived long enough that he was well acquainted with the Green Lady over the years. Even Hell’s native denizens had no love for the place and chose to spend as much time as possible away from it; Ra’s was one of the few who respected the hospitality of their host planet and thus was spared the fate Ivy usually dealt to the destructive demons who brought fire and death with them. Him preying on humanity was of no concern to her.

The vine slips up across his ankle. The tender leaves tickle his skin as they unfold.

That was the other thing, the reason why her plants were her weakness as well as her strength. They were an extension of her; what they felt she felt. Bruce was aware that to Ivy there was no difference between the vine brushing his thigh and her fingers doing the same. Damn the conditioning of habit, but his body didn’t feel there was much difference either. He’d have to examine the implications of this later, though the fact that he’s lifted his leg a little to allow the vine to comfortably wrap around it is probably a bad sign. The thickening vines just feel more…comfortable than the enchanted chains, more natural and less manufactured. They’re gentle for something the hunter knows could tear through concrete and steel. He shifts in the chains as the vines snake around both legs and his arms, holding him slightly off the surface of the slab. They thread themselves between the links of the chains and for a moment Bruce optimistically thinks they might break them, but they halt their growth before they can. Another two creep up the sides of the slab and begin to curl around his arms, encircling them like snakes before becoming hard and woody enough he couldn’t pull free even without the chains. Finally the snaking vines poke at his neck, making him shiver from his own helplessness, tickling faintly as they grow up the sides of his neck, curl around the back of his ears then start to bloom. He feels the opening petals tickle, then the puff of pollen hanging golden in the air. He breathes it in, he can’t not do so, and feels the pollen’s effects take hold.

He hasn’t entirely lost his mind like he normally would in this position, the Riddler’s ‘blessing’ earning its keep, so he sees Ivy without lust hazing his senses. Her skin is the soft pale green of a new bud but her hair is the vibrant red of saffron stamens. It frames a face so breathtakingly inhumanly beautiful he almost misses the vine that now loops his neck nudging against his lips. His body opens his lips for it, his mind notes it wouldn’t have mattered either way as a growing fruit presses against his tongue before bursting like a grape against his palette with a rich sweet numbing nectar that flows warmly down his throat. His body relaxes entirely involuntarily as the vines curl in, over his chest, between his thighs, encircling his arching cock and parting his buttocks.

Ivy seems to smile, as much from amusement in his weakness as pleasure at his submission.

He laps weakly at the vine in his mouth for more, suckling at it like a kitten. He’s rewarded with more of that sweet juice flowing down his throat. It warms his throat like the finest alcohol, burning all the way down to his stomach as it drugs him into relaxing. Under the effect of two different kinds of aphrodisiac his body offers no resistance. Instead the light joy of acceptance sweeps over him. He’s very aware of the warmth flowing through his body, filling him to his fingertips with a comforting warmth. His eyes fix on Ivy’s face with pupils dilated as she steps closer.

“My hunter.” She says, with a soft lilting accent that impossible to place.

Despite the situation Bruce smiles. Ivy had a way of speaking to you that made you feel loved and wanted and special, when you were hers you belonged. Too many hunters had become addicted to it, the warmth and comfort of being hers, and even as they withered and died she loved their bones just the same. She was a being of life and death and the life that would come from it.

He relaxes his throat, the nectar comfortably numbing him and relaxing his body as the vine grows further down his gullet. Another vine curls around his neck, a growing bloom softly stroking his cheek with its sprouting petals as flowers encircle his throat like a necklace. The scent of every kind of flower sits thick and heavy on the air and Bruce can feel the remembered warmth of the happy summers of childhood on his skin.

Something small and soft prods the head of his cock and he opens drug-hazed eyes to look down at the tiny pale green vine curled around his cock. It’s cute, he thinks fondly as the small soft vine dips into the spilled cum to fertilize itself. A bead of precum runs down his cock as the vine nudges against his urethra and starts to dip inside. It doesn’t hurt, the tender little tendril is beading with the same numbing, warming nectar as the vine feeding him and he feels fine as it slips deeper inside him. Ivy draws closer and Bruce can see where the other end of the vine has slipped between her legs, not like a tail, but speared deeply into her cunt like a cock. Bruce tries to groan around the vine down his throat and Ivy chuckles.

She strokes her fingers down his cheek. Her nails are the color and texture of rose thorns. The vine between her legs curls up around his ankle then twists its way further around his leg.

Even with how fucked out his ass feels he feels a hum of anticipation the closer the vine crawls up his thigh. The unfurling eager flowers around its length tickle his skin. Where their golden pollen falls his skin grows warm as if it was under direct sunlight.

His toes curl with anticipation and he moans around the vine in his throat. He offers no resistance as she straddles him. Her pale green skin is perfectly smooth and cool, feeling more like fresh green growth than living flesh. She has no heartbeat and no warmth to her skin but Bruce still feels a lust for her bloom deep in his heart.

She strokes his cheek and it burns under her touch. Good gods, his hole flutters with desperate anticipation. The vine draws back then plunges into him like a striking snake. His entire body tenses against the vines, against the chains, against the thrill of it, before he relaxes again and accepts it. The vine moves more like a tentacle than a cock, smooth and flexible as it grows inside him. It thickens from the tip down, growing wider inside him as it grows longer. Fuck, it’s good.

The vine around his cock curls, brushing over the engorged flesh and he groans out loud. The tiny vine dipping into his cock begins to move too, drawing back and plunging into him like its fucking that tiny hole.

Ivy leans in and seals a kiss around each nipple. His skin burns with the poison in it, not enough to kill this time, but enough to heat his skin nearly unbearably.

Tiny tendrils trail down from the vine around his neck and loop around his nipples, drawing tight and curling in constant motion around them. A bud forms pressed close to the skin, then blooms into a flower like a mouth. It fits seamlessly over each nipple and, by the action of its strange soft petals, begins to suck.

Fuck, Bruce loses himself to the familiar lust. The vine within him begins to sprout, the growing buds bulges that press against his insides, pressing hard on his prostate as they grow past it. He can’t help himself, he feels the orgasm build in him and break. He can’t cum through the vine blocking his cock but it bulges, harvesting the cum and carrying it along its length. He shudders, his sensitive body still being stimulated towards another orgasm. The buds on the vine grow larger and larger until it’s near painful and his hole is stretched wider than it would be by a cock. He can feel them, every bump inside his body, each one larger than the last.

Ivy smiles and the buds bloom. The flowers last just long enough to be fertilized by a feeder vine carrying his own cum then the first of the fruits is being pressed inside him. It’s practically skinless, soft and jellylike and oozing the warming numbing nectar that relaxes him entirely. The prefect erotic press of it inside him brings him to orgasm again as the vine carries it inside him but he’s barely past it when the second fruit is already pressing inside him, then the next and the next and the next until he loses track of how many times he’s cum or how many of the fruit have been laid like eggs inside him. He feels full but happy and when Ivy’s vine retreats nectar oozes out with it.

Ivy rests a hand over his stomach and Bruce can feel the fruit inside him react, a tiny jump that makes him moan.

“They will be ready to be born in a week, my hunter. I trust you to be a good host to them.” She kisses his cheek and the vines withdraw entirely back into her body.

Bruce nods his assent and watches her go.

The scent of summer leaves with her.

Chapter Text

It takes a while for his next visitor to arrive.

Bruce licks his mouth with his bleeding tongue as he focuses on not choking on his blood. He’s calmer but he doubts his mouth is going to stay free and swallowing’s going to be one of his primary duties. It would be thoroughly embarrassing to die choking on cock. If he’s going to die here he’d hope it would be on purpose.

Ra’s reaches out and casually strokes his cheek. Bruce nuzzles into his touch and briefly enjoys the warmth of Ra’s palm before the nails prick his skin again. However long it had been between touches it was too long. His skin hungered to be touched.

Ra’s moves his hand away and Bruce wriggles in his chains as his body tries to follow only to be held back. He snorts with frustration.

He is about to beg when he hears his next visitor approach. He strains his ears and strains against the chains trying to guess who it is. The tunnel bounces echoes strangely. He hears footsteps and a voice bounced around so much that he can’t tell who it is or what they’re saying. There there’s a familiar sound, a familiar ringing metallic sound and the footsteps hurry closer.

Bruce breaks into a smile.

Harvey.

He’s so happy to see a friend.

“You’re lucky.” The familiar figure steps from the shadows. He holds the coin up to bound monster hunter. The unblemished side shines silver at him. Bruce relaxes. He knows what that means.

“What did you flip for?” Bruce asks. “Whether or not you’d come?”

“Flipped for that before I got here.” The familiar figure says. “No, this one was whether I’m here to free you,” Ra’s stiffens and there’s a hint of unfolding wings at his back. “Or kill you.”

He pats the gun at his side and with a snap of displaced air his wings extend out behind him. One brushes Bruce’s chest and he whimpers from how soft and warm the brief touch feels.

“This is my prey.” Ra’s snarls and Harvey Dent steps into the light.

He’d once been a monster hunter too, one that dealt in demons and their contracts, a Warlock and a damn good one too. No-one could bind a demon like he could. No-one else knew the ins-and-outs of infernal law like Harvey Dent did.

It was just a shame about the other contract, the one that had been made before Harvey was even born. No-one had known until it was far too late that Harvey’s father had made a contract with a luck demon for power and the price of that contract had been his firstborn son. He’d gained the ability to manipulate fate in his favor. For a time. The infernal powers had been fickle and once he’d lost the coin, the proof of his contract, all the bad luck that he’d been keeping at bay crashed down on him at once and the coin had passed to Harvey. No-one else had known about the contract, after all the boy was still here so maybe the demon was simply waiting to collect.

No-one had known the demon had already collected. As soon as the boy had touched the coin it awoke the infernal seed that had been planted in his soul from birth. Through the years as the boy became a man it had smoldered and grown steadily under his skin.

A body that walked in the mortal world instead of being confined to Hell was the most precious commodity in Hell. The only way it could be managed was possession. Harvey had been born a twin; one human and one demon shared the same body.

It had been an exorcism that brought the other side of Harvey into view, though ironically it had been the exorcism of someone else. A jealous rival demon driven out of it’s host by none other than Harvey himself who had raked his skin with its acidic touch and from the melting flesh the demon lay revealed.

Since then they’d been bound together, melted, melded as one by the acid. The demon could no longer be exorcized from Harvey and Harvey could no longer stop it from taking control, at least, not all the time.

The only thing they had left was the now marred coin of fate, the demon’s acid eating into it and corrupting it’s curse. It now spun to show the balance of power; gleaming silver for the triumph of the human soul, pitted and blackened for the dominance of infernal corruption. Good luck or bad.

Harvey had been one of his closest friends. He’d been there at the exorcism. He’d been too late to stop the acid. He hated himself for it.

The inhuman part of Harvey’s face twists, the pocked and ruined red scaled skin of his lip rising to reveal the devil’s pointed fangs as one snake pupiled sulphur yellow eye rolls forwards in it’s socket to stare up at Ra’s. Unlike Ra’s who prided himself on keeping himself looking human the other half of Harvey manifested like a demonic cancer. On one side of his body his skin was cracked and red like a flayed man and a set of two black horns split the scaled skin. His hands and feet were marked by wicked black claws and one ragged wing hung limply from his shoulder, the membrane almost entirely ragged tatters of skin between nearly bare bony fingers.

The half demon says something in the infernal tongue, the words used in warlock spells and demon contracts. The words themselves thrum with magical power, resonate with the inherent magic of this place, and make Bruce’s body feel warmer just to hear them. He was hardly fluent in infernal, he was no Warlock, and only recognized the words used for spells and bindings. He hears some of them now ‘bind...take...promise...’ the rest he doesn’t know.

Ra’s snarls.

“Fine and tell your harlot of a mother this is the last time.”

The yellow eye turns back to Bruce and a serpentine tongue flicks across the cracked lips.

“You can tell the bitch yourself.” The demon growls and his voice is so like Harvey’s it’s hard to tell them apart, except his tone is harsher, colder, angrier than Harvey’s. “Next time you’re fool enough to gamble with her.”

Harvey’s other eye, his human one, looks at Bruce with silent apology. Bruce tries to silently reassure him back. The half demon’s yellow eye rolls back to focus on him. The acid had eaten away at the human’s flesh and even pocked and marred the demon’s red skin. It was missing scales in several places and the flesh of it’s cheek and eyelid was entirely gone. Not being able to blink didn’t seem to bother the demon any. His pupil dilates like a snake seeing prey.

“Bruce!” Harvey wrests control of his mouth away from the demon. “Bruce, I’m sorry, I...”

Control is taken back with a demonic snarl.

“Don’t be.” Bruce arches in his chains. “Harvey, you don’t have to be sorry. I want this. I want you, I’ve always wanted you, I promise.”

The demon growls and stalks closer. His tattered wing twists and flexes like a crimson hand in the mockery of a flap.

“Yeah well you’re getting me first pretty boy.” He growls and flexes his hand. His claws gleam. “I might not be allowed to claw open your chest and eat your heart but at least I get to make you my bitch.”

Bruce should have some kind of comeback to that but instead he whimpers and wriggles impatiently against the slab. He wants to be touched again, even if it’s by a demon.

“Then do it.” He whispers huskily.

The demon’s face twists into a savage grin.

“Always knew you were a whore Brucie, didn’t know how desperate you were to be begging for demon cock.” He takes his time in walking closer and palms his crotch through his pants.

Bruce can see the bulge between his fingers and he licks his lips.

“You know when we first got told about this gig Harvey started acting so sanctimonious, talking about how we need to go and save you,”

The half demon unzips his pants

“But he can’t hide from me with us sharing a body and let me tell you”

Bruce’s eyes fix on the flash of white underwear visible through the gap in the black slacks and he tenses with anticipation.

“The thought of you tied up and getting raped turned him on.” The half demon practically purrs. “So why don’t you give him a little show sweetheart?”

He lashes out and his claws slash four deep bleeding gashes in Bruce’s side. He moans and arches his back. His toes curl and his cock twitches against his stomach.

“There’s a good whore.” The half demon licks his claws clean as he mounts the slab.

Bruce tries to arch against him but the half demon effortlessly holds him down and denies him the friction his body craves.

“Pretty little Brucie, you really were made to be a demon’s bitch,” The half demon croons as he drags a claw down Bruce’s cheek.

Bruce pants from the feeling of it, demon skin was so warm it makes his cheek tingle with the feeling he was being poisoned.

“I’ve wanted to defile you for so long Bruce. To corrupt you, to burn you out from the inside out. To have you gasping, begging for me.” He whispers in Bruce’s ear.

A forked tongue flickers out and licks his ear. His claws knead at Bruce’s chest like a big cat.

“I’ve always wanted to show Harvey what I could make you into. He deserves to see his pretty little hope for salvation split open on my cock.”

His claws twist around a nipple and Bruce moans and arches his back. He wants it so badly, he doesn’t care that Harvey’s watching too. He feels a sick feverish heat under his skin and it’s a hunger, a genuine hunger for the demon that has ruined his friend’s life. Gods, he could weep, but still he feels the need. That’s what the half demon did, it corrupted everything it touched and now that was him too.

“Well let’s not keep him waiting.” The half demon growls and finally pulls his cock from his underwear.

Bruce can’t help but stare.

Thick veins of red corruption have made their presence known even down there and Harvey’s cock is swollen and red and half covered with twisted scaly ridges and catlike spines. A crest of spines ring the flared head like a crown.

The half demon licks his fangs and strokes his red scarred palm over his cock.

As he does infernal energy flares along his palm and Bruce watches the corruption spread further, devouring the shaft inch by inch until the entire thing is red and covered by spines. It looks more like a torture device than a cock but he still feels a thrill at the sight of it. He parts his legs invitingly and the half demon growls and mounts him. He slaps his cock against Bruce’s puckered hole and Bruce can feel the spikes catch. They’re supernaturally warm and his hole clenches instinctively.

The half demon smirks. He slams his entire length into Bruce in a rough thrust. The hot spikes rake his insides, he opens his mouth to scream, and the half demon’s hands close around his throat. The trapped scream comes out as a thin whine as his windpipe is crushed with supernatural strength. Bruce’s body instinctively arches against the chains, unconsciously clenching his insides against the half demon cock As he fights to breath his body shakes as it tries to buck the half demon off him and his insides spasm around the cock inside him.

“That’s a good whore.” The half demon croons and relaxes his grip just enough for Bruce to suck in a greedy mouthful of air before he tightens his grip again. Bruce’s desperate gasp cuts off wetly. The half demon’s fingers flutter over his throat, playing with his responses like he’s playing an instrument.

Bruce’s body twitches and spasms in his chains as all his trained instinct scream at him that he’s being killed. He is fighting for his life with his heart racing in his chest but he can’t escape the chains or the hand around his neck. As hard as he fights he can’t reach any part of the half demon to fight him off.

The half demon’s cock burns inside him with supernatural heat. His insides try to clench around it and force it out of him but the spikes stab into his tender insides and he can’t keep it up. His insides flutter around it against his will. His body bucks against the half demon but the half demon merely licks his fangs and ruts into him. The spikes rake his inside as they pull back then the flared head is pressing back in and scouring his insides with its heat. As Bruce struggles for breath the demon’s cock mercilessly pounds into him. His vision goes hazy and he feels lightheaded but those hot spines are jabbing into his prostate. He feels like he’s dying but at the same time he’s hard. There’s a heat haze in his insides but also a haze in his head as everything else seems to drift far away.

Then the grip loosens and he breathes in hard, the fresh cool rush of air into his lungs jolting him back into his body. He draws in as deep a breath as he can and feels the burning in his lungs subside but before he can take another breath the demon’s hand is back. He can’t fight him off, his life is in the hands of a half demon who very much wants him dead. He’s completely helpless and god, does that make him hard. His cock is fully erect flushed and weeping against his stomach with every torturous sweep of the half demon’s burning hot cock. He is violated and defiled and all that feels real is the press of hot spines inside him.

He hears a ringing in his ears and dimly realizes it’s the ringing of his chains as the half demon rocks his entire body roughly against the slab. His head feels full of warm cotton wool and he’s blind apart from a hazy red tinted darkness. His head slams back against the slab but the pain of the impact is somewhere far away.

His sense of self is drifting away, even the feeling of his own body is becoming indistinct. He feels the grip loosen and the stroke of a demonic thumb coax him to take a breath. He draws in a deep breath, then another then a third and vision comes back to him in a rush. He feels sensation crash back into his body and leave his skin prickling as his hairs stand on end. He gasps, his throat feeling rough and swollen with bruising and makes a rasping sound that is almost a word.

Then he sees the look of pure infernal joy on the half demon’s face. At least half it, the other half burns with shame. Bruce wants to say something to reassure him but he’s painfully aware of how hot and hard his cock is. It stands boldly upright and weeping, his skin feels like he’s on fire and he’s burning inside and out with sick feverish heat as he’s so close it hurts.

The half demon smiles wide and snaps his hips forwards, driving his cock in as hard and fast as he possibly can, plunging it into the root as he cums with a snarl of triumph that’s mixed with a moan of pleasure. Bruce screams as white hot demon cum floods his insides but the burning pushes him over the edge. He cums untouched, painting his stomach with erratic spurts.

Bruce’s back arches. He’s unable to relax around the still too hot cock spearing him. The infernal cum scorches his insides. He howls with the pain of it and uncontrollably writhes on the slab as his body tries to find a way to escape the burning. The half demon laughs in his face and holds his hips tight enough for his nails to draw blood, keeping the hunter trapped speared on him. Bruce feels a stirring in his insides as the seeds inside him crawl deeper inside to escape the heat. His thighs twitch in pained spasms. He can’t keep a look of panic from passing his face.

“There’s that look I love.” The half demon laughs in his face. He leans in and licks a tear off Bruce’s cheek. He didn’t realize he’d been crying. “You really were born to be a demon’s whore Brucie.”

He shoots a sly look at Ra’s who returns it with bitter hatred.

The scorching cum settles inside Bruce and he whimpers at the pain. He can feel his sensitive insides scorching and fluttering uncontrollably as he tries to escape the burn. The half demon gives his cheek a kiss with lips of tattered peeling skin. The half demon licks his pointed teeth with an equally pointed tongue, then his hands are no longer holding Bruce’s hips trapped but closing around his throat again.

He doesn’t even have time to gasp for one final breath before the half demon starts thrusting again.

Time becomes a haze of being kept on the brink of true suffocation and being jolting back to his body by the burning pain of the half demon’s orgasms. Everything bleeds together and the monster hunter gives up on trying to keep track of how many times the half demon’s cum (or how many the shameful burning pain still brings his own orgasm). It’s enough to just try and stay alive. His existence shrinks to a tiny window of instinctive mindless struggle for life in the claws of a creature that literally held his life in the palm of it’s hand.

When he finally does escape this half conscious hell the breath he draws in is just as desperate and agonized as an inverted scream. He fights away the hazy darkness as feeling slowly returns to him inch by inch. His skin is still burning hot and sticky with sweat. The half demon’s hands have left scorched red handprints on the Hunter’s skin where he had gripped it. His insides are raw and tender but the cum inside has cooled to a mere uncomfortable warmth. He must have been out of it for a while. He greedily gulps in breaths as his body still twitches and shivers against the slab.

His vision comes back to him fully and he watches Harvey, caught in a muttering argument with himself. He watches as the red ridged skin twitches and seems to shrink as his human half reasserts itself. He watches the half demon’s influence shrink back like a noxious mould being burned away. Harvey’s eyes are tightly closed and he mutters under his breath the familiar words of an exorcism, never enough to actually banish his demon half but enough to drive him back just enough for him to take control.

Harvey opens his eyes and looks at him with a guilt and a shame glimmering in his blue human eye.

“Harvey...” Bruce’s voice rasps in his throat, the swelling collar of red and purple marking the half demon’s hands making his voice hoarse and croaky. “It’s okay Harvey, really.”

“What about this is okay?!” Harvey snaps.

“Well I’ve always wanted to fuck you.” Bruce replies honestly and gives his bruised hips a little wiggle. “And look where we are.” The bruising gives his voice enough of a huskiness he doesn’t need to put on his sexy voice. “Unless you object to sloppy seconds.” He snorts.

“Bruce, now is NOT the time for jokes.” Harvey points an accusing finger at him.

Bruce laughs, the voice rasping in his throat like an asthmatic.

“This is the perfect time for making jokes.” He replies. “But I’m not joking, about fucking you I mean. I think you’re a bit late for it to only be sloppy seconds.”

He wriggles his hips again. A droplet of still warm demon cum drips from him and it hisses faintly as it touches the stone.

“Please Harvey.” He begs, his voice as sincere as he can make it. “I need a friend right now.”

“Bruce, I am not raping you! Just because you’re magically drugged to want it doesn’t mean anything about this is okay.” Harvey snaps back. “If I could...” A gleam reflecting from Ra’s eyes makes him pause. “No, the moral thing to do is leave.”

Bruce looks up at Ra’s with something of the expression of a pleading dog. Ra’s snorts but doesn’t move.

Harvey turns away with a bitter twist to the human side of his mouth.

“Wait!” Bruce calls out desperately.

He tries to think of a way to sincerely persuade Harvey that he’s expressing his real feelings without Harvey being able to dismiss it as him being under a spell. Words fail him. He was never very good at talking about his feelings, it felt too much like exposing an open wound to be prodded at. He doesn’t know how to convince Harvey that it isn’t magic talking, he really does want him in more than a friends way and he has for years .

“...Flip for it?” He asks lamely, his voice sounding uncertain even for him. He clears his throat. “It’d be letting fate decide, right?”

The half demon’s hand twitches. Harvey’s other hand grabs it and holds it still. His eye twitches and his scarred side twists in a grimace that Bruce can’t tell if it’s a snarl or a smile. Clearly there’s some kind of argument going on between man and demon. Bruce can’t tell who wins but Harvey sighs and takes the coin in his human hand.

“Fine.” He sighs and looks Bruce dead in the eye.

The sound of the coin flipping rings out like a bell. Two pairs of eyes watch the enchanted coin rise and rise, shining silver in the torchlight, before it falls like a star. Harvey snatches it out of the air and slowly uncurls his fingers. Bruce can’t see what face of the coin is facing up behind Harvey’s fingers.

Harvey tucks the coin back away in his pocket and tension bleeds from his shoulders. He smooths his hair back with his hand and sighs.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” He says, almost under his breath.

He steps up to the slab before he can lose his nerve. Bruce smiles at him.

Harvey awkwardly leans down over the slab. His lips brush Bruce’s. Bruce dearly wishes his hands were free enough to touch Harvey reassuringly and maybe tangle them in his hair to pull him closer. He settles for flicking out his tongue to lick along the edge of Harvey’s lower lip. Harvey flinches at the unexpected feeling, then leans in further and deepens the kiss of his own accord.

There’s something hungry in both his eyes as he slips his tongue into Bruce’s mouth. One hand grips the edge of the slab, the other reaches out and he buries his fingers in Bruce’s hair. Bruce’s practically purrs into the kiss.

H arvey kisses like he’s trying to make up for his earlier hesitation, then with the hunger of someone who has been holding it for far too long. Bruce leans into the kiss with equal eager hunger though he feels the frustration as he tries to reach out again and his chains pull taut. He can’t help his face twisting in frustration and Harvey unconsciously mirroring it as he’s reminded of the chains. He straightens up briefly drums his fingers on the slab as if he had briefly been asking his other half if he might persuade Ra’s to loosen or remove the chains. It was clear the answer was no, Bruce was simply too much of a danger even under enchantment and there was nothing Harvey could do about it.

“Inconvenient.” Harvey mutters.

Bruce notices something Harvey doesn’t due to an unexpected benefit to their difference in perspective and decides to test a hypothesis by leaning in. The chains give him enough slack to lean in properly and nuzzle against Harvey’s revived erection. Harvey snorts a little in surprise, even he didn’t seem to realize how hard he was getting.

“He’s right, you do make a good whore.” Harvey snorts with amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well if you insist...”

He tightly grips Bruce’s hair and presses him purposefully closer. There’s a genuine sparkle in his eye. Despite his earlier complaints his other half was right. He wanted this and he wanted it badly.

“Why don’t you show me those skills the tabloids love to write about?” Harvey asks in a way that makes it seem more like an order.

Fine by him, privately Bruce was very proud of those skills.

He nuzzles against Harvey’s now entirely human cock, measuring it’s length using his cheek. It’s no longer covered in vicious ridges and spines but it hasn’t gotten any smaller, in fact he can feel it growing under his attention. Bruce carefully mouths at it and licks away any lingering jobs of the still unnaturally warm cum. He deliberately swirls his tongue around the head to make cure he’s got it all and Harvey breathes out harshly, holds his hair tighter and pushes his head down. The bruises on Bruce’s neck thrum with pain but Bruce doesn’t hesitate as he hungrily takes in as much as he can. Still he can’t help but choke on helpless animal instinct when the hard length of Harvey’s cock presses against the inside of his bruised throat.

Harvey breathes out sharply at the twitch around his cock and thrusts deeper in. Bruce chokes again but makes no attempt to pull back.

“Fuck Bruce.” Harvey breathes.

‘I hope it’s everything you’ve dreamed of.’ Bruce thinks, unable to say it out loud without relinquishing his prize.

He’d spent a long time thinking about this too; what Harvey’s cock would taste like, what it would feel like on his tongue and what he would do and how Harvey would react. He’d nearly rubbed himself raw with the fantasies. It had been a shame that Harvey had married before he’d worked up the courage to say anything, then with all the trouble that came after he’d never figured out the right way to tell his former best friend he desperately wanted to gargle his balls.

Harvey looks down at him with a shining hunger in his eye. If you ignored half his face he was the same Harvey he’d always wanted to look at him like this.

He hadn’t been wrong, right now more than anything he needed to see a friendly face.

Bruce chokes again twice more but he doesn’t slow down as he swallows Harvey all the way down until his balls are bumping against Bruce’s chin. He smirks with satisfaction then looks up at Harvey with a look that was half pride and half seduction. Harvey practically growls under his breath, the look in his eye an equal mix of arousal and anticipation. Bruce doesn’t have the mental fortitude to try and tease when they’re both so needy. His throat burns with the bruises but he is so damn thirsty. The lingering taste of demon cum isn’t enough to satisfy him, he needs more.

Even though the pain of his bruises still makes him choke and he’s still lightheaded from his strangling Bruce starts to bob his head and suck. Harvey’s cock is thick and velvety and tastes wonderfully musky on his tongue. He savors the taste, he didn’t have as much practise on cocks but he’s determined to impress. Harvey alternates tugging and stroking Bruce’s hair with growing hunger. Bruce can feel his cock twitching against his bruised throat, growing even more under his attentions. He licks around as much of the length as he can with all the hunger he feels in his soul, heedless of the sloppy wet sounds he makes.

Fuck, he’s so hungry for this, he needs it, he needs it so bad! Desperation makes him less precise and Harvey gives him a hand by starting to thrust. His hips meet Bruce’s lips on the upthrust and Bruce chokes again but gratefully takes the help offered to him. He chokes and splutters and drools over himself but he doesn’t care. He just wishes he could cling to Harvey’s hips while he thrusts. Instead his wrists strain uselessly against the chains. His head hangs loosely, he’s barely able to hold it up on his own power so he feels like a head impaled on a spike. Without Harvey’s hands to hold him in place he doubts he’ll able to keep his head up. He’s so grateful.

Bruce’s tongue chases Harvey’s cock as he pulls out, then he gags around it as Harvey thrusts back in.

‘See?’ he wishes he could say to Harvey, ‘See how good I can be for you, how good we could be together, See, see?”

Harvey looks down on him wearily, his hair dishevelled and a dark gleam of lust is his eyes. ‘I see you, his eyes say. ‘I see you.’

“Fuck Bruce,” His mouth says. One hand lightly strokes his cheek, caressing where his length bulges against Bruce’s cheek. “There’s a good boy.“

Bruce nearly purrs in satisfaction, he manages a deepthroated hum that sends vibrations through Harvey’s cock. Harvey makes a deep animal sound of pleasure that needs no translation. His hands once again return to Bruce’s hair and cling tight for dear life. He thrusts himself fully down Bruce’s throat and his balls slap against Bruce’s spit damp chin. Bruce chokes one last time then the pain of his bruises is forgotten because with a sharp gasp Harvey is cumming.

Bruce feels an equally orgasmic feeling of satisfaction that makes his cock twitch against his stomach with desire to cum again. He swallows eagerly around the cock in his mouth. The hot cum spilling down his throat tastes like life and he gulps it down gratefully. He almost feels sad when Harvey shudders from the overstimulation and pulls his cock out of Bruce’s mouth. Bruce settles for licking his lips clean and savoring the lingering taste of Harvey.

“Christ Bruce.” Harvey breathes. He runs his fingers through his hair as he catches his breath.

Bruce enjoys his handiwork smug as a cat who got the cream while Harvey pants, then shudders and covers his face with the palm of his hand.

He doesn’t remove it but breathes out a deep heavy sigh.

“Fuck.” He says with feeling. “Bruce I...I’m so sorry.”

“Harvey...” Bruce starts to say but Harvey isn’t sticking around to be persuaded.

Without another word Harvey turns around, tucks his cock back into his pants and, with an impenetrable air of shame around him, flees the chamber.

Bruce watches him go with a crestfallen look. He wants to call out but his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say.

Even after everything that had happened Harvey was still his friend. He’d been happy to see him genuinely and he’d also been genuinely happy to suck his soul out through his dick It’s only now the afterglow has worn off that he’s starting to genuinely worry this might ruin their already fragile friendship.