Crossing the Line

Feeling everything that was happening, Bruce, already stirred by Avery's proximity, heard his question. The warm breath brushing against his ear left him momentarily unsettled, but he quickly composed himself, replying simply, "I'm off today."

Even Batman needed a break sometimes.

Avery smiled at the response, but before Bruce could fully understand the meaning behind that smile, he felt two slender fingers unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Then the second button. Then the third...

It all happened in a flash.

The moment Avery's hand brushed against Bruce's chest, Bruce reacted instinctively, grabbing Avery's mischievous hand. With the suddenness and power of a fierce predator, Bruce threw him onto the couch before either of them could even process what was happening.

Avery felt himself spin for a brief moment, then was immediately pinned down by a weight so heavy that he couldn't move.

A kiss landed on his lips, swiftly followed by an aggressive movement. Avery's tongue forcefully parted Bruce's lips, invading with an intensity that left no room for hesitation. It was a heated exchange, their tongues entwining with an urgency, occasionally punctuated by sharp bites, as if Bruce wanted to devour him whole.

At that moment, Avery knew he had crossed a line—one that once breached, there would be no turning back.

Just like the unspoken tension between them before, the things left unsaid were now coming to the surface, along with what was about to happen next.

Unlike the reserved expressions of emotion in the East, Westerners were typically more direct. Though Avery was somewhat aloof by nature, he had always been unapologetically two-faced when it came to Bruce Wayne. This man wasn't just anyone—he was Bruce. The one person Avery genuinely cared about, though he couldn't entirely decipher the nature of his feelings. He didn't have the luxury of comparison, having lived through two lifetimes in solitude. Intellectual musings wouldn't provide clarity on something as elusive as emotion.

None of that mattered now. What mattered was that Alfred was conveniently away, leaving the two of them alone in this enormous mansion. The atmosphere was charged, and it seemed like a waste not to let something happen.

The thought amused him.

But unlike Avery, Bruce's feelings for him hadn't just materialized recently, during his return to Gotham.

Neither could pinpoint exactly when it began. Maybe it started back in their teenage years, when Avery first displayed the maturity of an adult, or maybe it was something more subtle, planted and nurtured over time, leaving an imprint on Bruce.

That seed of attraction never had the chance to sprout, though. Both had left the city soon after, and contact grew sporadic over the years. The seed remained buried, dormant.

Bruce had almost dismissed that fleeting feeling as youthful confusion, moving on with his life, dating one woman after another, though none ever lasted long.

He thought his life would continue that way, until Avery suddenly returned to Gotham, taking over as his butler and becoming part of Bruce's daily life.

The more time they spent together, the more Bruce realized something undeniable: no one else would ever know him the way Avery did. Sometimes, they didn't even need words—a single glance was enough to understand each other.

With that thought, Bruce deepened the kiss, his grip tightening. A fierce determination gripped him as he silently vowed: Whatever your reasons for coming back to Gotham, I won't let you resign.

The kiss stretched on, almost until they were both gasping for air. Finally, it ended, leaving Avery breathless as he lay back on the couch, feeling Bruce's hands tugging at his clothes with unrelenting force. For a brief moment, a competitive urge sparked within Avery.

His body followed his instincts, and with a sudden burst of energy, Avery quickly freed himself from beneath Bruce, taking advantage of the moment. The two stood face to face, locked in a silent contest, neither willing to back down.

Avery's combat skills were impressive—though not quite on Bruce's level, and he lacked the raw strength his counterpart possessed.

"I won't surrender so easily. If you want something, you'll have to fight for it yourself, my dear master," he said, using that familiar title. Then, as if struck by a mischievous thought, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing Bruce's ear as he whispered with a teasing tone, "No, not master—"

He paused deliberately before adding wickedly, "My lord…"

The effect was instantaneous. Bruce's breath caught, completely defenseless against Avery's taunting provocation.

"As you wish," Bruce responded, his voice thick with resolve.

He wasted no time heeding Avery's challenge, fiercely claiming his territory. The seasoned warrior quickly seized the advantage with superior strength and technique, pinning Avery down again.

During their struggle, they tumbled onto the carpet.

At some point, Avery's clothes were shed during the fierce grappling.

Bruce's need for control was overwhelming. Like a predator, he gave his opponent no chance for a counterattack. He restrained Avery's hands—the very hands capable of casting spells—and silenced the lips that could utter incantations to heal his wounds, sealing them with another forceful kiss. Bruce's body pressed down heavily on Avery's, trapping him completely, leaving him unable to move.

And so, their battle continued on the carpet in front of the sofa in the downstairs hall. At first, they were evenly matched, each refusing to yield as their bodies clashed, like ships tossed by violent waves at sea.

But in the end, Avery's stamina gave out. It turned into a one-sided conquest, with Bruce dominating every inch of his territory. The room was filled with the sounds of labored breathing, the slickness of sweat and moisture, and whispered words that blended together endlessly. Avery, who had initiated the provocation, was soon left utterly exhausted, filled with regret.

But it wasn't over yet. Bruce, unsatisfied, scooped him up and continued to assert his dominance across the house—on the sofa, over the coffee table, even against the staircase. Each location saw Avery trembling under Bruce's relentless punishment, his voice echoing through the house in surrender. Only when dawn approached did Bruce finally carry him to the bed, where they both collapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep.