darkhavens: text icon: 15 m/m pairings in dk purple, with paler txt darkhavens and even paler txt multifandom ho. (Default)
[personal profile] darkhavens
Author: [livejournal.com profile] darkhavens
Title: I Really Love Your Peaches, Wanna Shake Your Tree
Fandom: Pairing: Matches Malone (Bruce Wayne[Batman])/"Peaches"(Wally West[The Flash])
Rating: NC-17/Adult
Words: 1600+
Concrit: Please, and if you spot a typo or a grammar glitch, feel free to tell me in comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: **Cross-dressing, mild restraint, mild spanking, rough sex**
Summary: Even Matches Malone needs occasional companionship.
Beta: [livejournal.com profile] outsideth3box
Notes: Written for the 'crossdressing' prompt on my [livejournal.com profile] dcu_freeforall BatFlash table.
ETA: Just realised this will also fill the "roleplay/au (misc" prompt on my long out-of-date kink_bingo card. :D


"I Really Love Your Peaches, Wanna Shake Your Tree

Wally's spent most of the last three hours sipping on sickly sweet white wine and listening to Bats – Bruce – Matches Malone, with his ever-present tinted glasses, plaid suit and neat mustache – make deals and trade dirty jokes with several local middle management Mafiosi. It would have been tolerable, barely, but he's done it all in a too tight, too short, too damn near transparent summer dress and a pair of too high, too narrow, too red fuck-me-now stilettos.

And he's been answering to the delightful name of Peaches, because: "She's got an ass like the finest Georgia peach, all round and firm and twice as sweet as anything else I've ever sunk my… teeth into."

It's almost one a.m. by the time Matches makes their farewells and lifts Wally to his feet with one hand steady under his elbow and the other drifting down, down, down the length of his spine to settle warmly on the curve of his 'peach-perfect' ass.

The car is parked in an alley around the corner from the bar, and Wally's just drawn level with the hood when Bru- Matches grabs his arm and spins him round into a breath-stealing embrace and a hungry kiss that only ends when Matches pulls back enough for Wally to see the unholy fire burning deep within his gaze.

"You drove me crazy in there, picking and tugging at the hem of your dress; trying to pretend like you were a real decent lady instead of the horny little bitch I know you are."

The large hand on Wally's hip dips down and comes up under that hem, sliding roughly up his silky smooth thigh; his fingers playing with the fragile lace edging his panties.

"Thought you could tease me in public and get away with it, did ya? Thought maybe I was too much of a gentleman to call you on it?"

Matches yanks hard, and the narrow bands of lace that are stretched across Wally's hipbones tear like tissue paper.

"You thought wrong."

Confused, but immensely turned on, Wally lets himself be manhandled so he's bent over the hood of Matches' Mobster-Mobile, face down, ass up in the air, skirt shoved up to his waist. His hands are pressed against the cool sleek metal of the hood on either side of his head and his wrists are squeezed tight enough to make his fingers tingle. He gets the unspoken message clear enough – his hands are staying where they're put, no matter what.

He spares a second to be grateful that Matches – Bruce, really, he supposes – takes a moment to reach down and peel away the oh-so-carefully applied tape that's kept his family jewels tucked up and in, safe from prying eyes and inconvenient exposures. Just the thought of getting aroused with everything trapped inside the tiny natural cavity down there makes his balls want to… crawl back up and hide. Heh.

The press of two slick fingers between the cheeks of his ass gets his attention back on Matches real fast. He whines, and tries to push back into the touch, tries to ride those fingers, but there's a large, heavy hand pressing down between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the hood, and Matches' thighs are pressed up tight behind – between – his own, leaving him no room to move.

He can't not beg.

"Please-"

He hears the slap almost before he feels the sting of it, hot and huge across the top of his left thigh.

"Oh, I'm gonna please you, Peaches. I'm gonna please you, right here, right now, so long as you please me, and that means keeping your mouth shut 'til I say otherwise, get it?"

Wally nods so fast he's worried that his favorite wig – a flirty copper and burnished gold chin-length bob, a recent gift from Bruce – is going to work its way free and force them to call a halt to this new and exciting aspect of the game, but he can't seem to stop. Another smack – flare of heat and shock and sting – proves him wrong.

And then those fingers are pressing in and up, painting everywhere they touch with warmth and wetness – Wally doesn't have a clue what he's using for lube, but he likes it – and Matches leans down over Wally's back and grits out, much too loudly, "Think I don't know how wet you get for me like this? Christ, look at you, squirming and begging for it; all slick and slippery. You're such a slut; my slut, no matter how much Black Benny offered for an hour of your time."

There's no way that should turn him on as much as it actually does – Black Benny is a rancid little weasel of a man with few morals, fewer teeth and non-existent personal hygiene – but Wally can't prevent the gasp, doesn’t even try to fight the full-bodied shiver.

Matches pulls his fingers out as Wally trembles, smears the last of the lube from his hand onto his cock, and then pushes back in in one long, slow stroke, not giving Wally even the slightest moment to adjust.

Wally howls. Howls, and wills his muscles to relax and loosen up and get with the program already because, holy Hannah, this is exactly what he wants, what he needs, and Bruce has never been this rough, this callous and careless, so focussed on his own needs and wants before. He's always taken every care to make sure that Wally is ready, all prepped and stretched, which is admirable, really it is, but…

Every now and again, Wally likes to be able to feel the burn. It never lasts long anyway, not with the way his metabolism and healing factor run so high, but he's never quite managed to convince Bruce of that. Matches, however, apparently has his own ideas. Wally decides that Peaches is a very lucky girl.

Matches starts to fuck him in earnest, hips slamming into Wally's ass hard enough to bruise, or so Wally hopes. His own cock is trapped between his belly and the side of the car, getting harder with every thrust and jolt. Wally's clinging to the hood so hard, not one but two of his false nails ping off into the shadows, but he doesn't care. He's almost certain he could come just from this – just the friction, the edge of pain, the exposure – and then Matches seals the deal, whispering into Wally's ear as his strokes get faster, more frantic.

"You look so pretty like this, getting fucked out in the open, where everyone can see." He laughs when Wally twitches, muscles contracting around the cock in his ass as realization sets in – or returns, he doesn't even know any more.

"You know they're watching you; standing at their windows in the dark, dicks in hand; listening to you moan and whine and wishing they were me, here, now, fucking your tight little pussy. If only they knew, eh? Think they'd be so eager then? I bet they would. You're a hot piece of ass either way, and a noisy one too when you want to be. When I want you to be."

Wally feels Matches shift his stance slightly without slowing down; feels something – holy… is that his thumb? – pushing in alongside Matches' cock, and Wally's suddenly too full, stretched too far, too tight, it's all too perfect. And then he's shaking apart; coming hard and screaming so loud he thinks maybe Superman can hear him over in Metropolis.

##

They've traded Matches Malone's caddy for one of Bruce's less noticeable cars and are pulling up in front of Wayne Manor when Wally finally regains the power of speech.

"Not that I didn't enjoy that, a lot, but I still don't get why you needed me, or Peaches, for what sounded more like a bull session than an actual business meeting. Or did I miss something?" Wally's frown crumples up his brow and sets his mouth into a slanting pout. "I missed something, didn't I? You're always telling me I should pay more attention, and I try, I really do, but that dress was really short and Black Benny was giving me the eye and I knew I should have eaten more before we came out because that wine was-"

Bruce's hand over Wally's mouth halts the babbling flow.

"You didn't miss anything too important, I just wanted to get the lie of the land since Matches has been busy elsewhere for the last few months." Bruce drags his thumb over Wally's painted lips, smearing what remained of his lipstick. "And Peaches was there because even Matches Malone needs occasional companionship. Do you mind?"

Wally nips the tip of Bruce's thumb and rolls his eyes.

"Mind? Did you miss the part where I screamed loud enough to wake half of Gotham when I came? It was-"

"Not that. I-" Bruce shifts awkwardly in his seat, twisting to face Wally head on, his shoulders braced as if ready to accept blame or punishment. "I misrepresented the meeting to you; I lied because I wanted you to be there. I wanted Peaches to be there for Malone. I took advantage of your… predilections and-"

"Predi-? Bruce, I told you I liked to dress up in women's clothing every now and again, not that I enjoyed molesting bunnies or something equally deviant. Admittedly, Peaches isn’t my usual style, but she was fun while she lasted." He grins, eyes crinkled at the corners and alight with glee. "Any chance I'll get to take her out for another spin any time soon? That Matches Malone is quite a stallion."


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