Bruce tugged his hands trying to test the ropes that held his arms behind the chair. He was sure if he struggled he could loosen them enough to get free, but then what. Jeremiah wasn't stupid, he'd plan for Bruce getting free and trying to escape.
Escape? Could he ever really get free from Jeremiah. It's been forever and he hasn't been able to get the green haired maniac out of his mind. It's like he's filled every pore of his being.
Jeremiah knew this.
Jeremiah, he thinks, feels the same way about him.
The sound of a door behind him was the only signal he had to alert him he was no longer alone in the dimly lit warehouse. The soft footsteps that padded up behind him were recognizable in an instant. Bruce could feel him leaning behind him, the soft breath he let out tickling the back of his neck, "Hello, Bruce."
"Jeremiah," Bruce says, proud of himself for sounding more confident than he feels, "What do you want?"
The soft tsking should be alarming and not send a shudder through the tied up man but it does, "I'm tired, Bruce," Jeremiah mused, ignoring Bruce's question. He walked into Bruce's peripheral vision looking the same as always, a pressed three-piece suit, shined shoes and gloves. The only thing missing from his ensemble was his hat, "I think you are, too."
Bruce glared up at the man, "What are you talking about?"
Jeremiah sighed as if this whole conversation was draining him. As if he wasn't the one to drag Bruce here and have him tied up in an abandoned warehouse. Jeremiah didn't say anything else instead sidestepping and swinging his leg to straddle Bruce.
Bruce thinks he should struggle. Try and shoved Jeremiah off, loosen the knots holding his hands, yell for help, anything. But instead, he freezes, eyes wide, mouth agape as he feels Jeremiah settle into his lap.
There's a tense moment after Jeremiah stops moving and a warm weight is atop him, neither say a word and Bruce is acutely aware they're sharing the same air. That he can see the red roots of Jeremiah's hair, can see bags under his eyes, the slight chap of his lips, stubble along his jaw, the quick moving of his eyes and he realizes Jeremiah is examining him, too. It's all too intimate, too personal.
He wonders what Jeremiah sees in him.
Jeremiah slowly raises a steady hand to the side of the younger man's face. He's not sure if it's the cool leather or sensation but he shudders, feeling goosebumps rise along his body. If Jeremiah notices he doesn't say anything.
Bruce watches as the criminal moves his face closer, could feel his chest bump against his own, can smell him heavy in the air. He can feel his breath ghost along his face before touching his lips below Bruce's ear. He couldn't even call it a kiss, it was a touch, a press. It was warm. He wanted something more.
Bruce wanted something more.
Jeremiah pulled back slightly as if gauging Bruce's reaction. Bruce swallowed thickly but didn't dare open his mouth. He's not sure what would come out if he did.
Jeremiah pulled back, resettling his weight and Bruce almost whined at the loss of warmth. Bruce wasn't supposed to feel this way. Jeremiah wasn't supposed to make him feel this way.
The glove returned to his face, gently sliding across his face to settle on the Cupid's bow of his lip. Neither said anything but as Jeremiah applied a sight pressure Bruce willingly opened his mouth.
If the slight gasp that left the taller man was anything to go by he didn't expect Bruce to do this, to allow it to go this far. Bruce isn't even sure why he's doing it but he feels like its a long time coming.
