New Story: A Necessary Evil (Batman/Nightwing) Part 5
JM
depicted in the story belong to and are copyrighted by DC Comics and/or its
subsidiaries. I am in no way related to the company and have no ownership
over the characters. This is fan fiction.
----- 5 -----
"You??"
Tanner saw the irritation on Batman's face at Nightwing's surprise, and
quickly began explaining. "We had no choice. You are both targets, and we
had to see if our theory - that tolerance increases with exposure - was
correct. Before it was too late and either, or both, of you, were forced to
face this substance in less favorable conditions."
Nightwing pondered on this for a moment. "How many times? I mean, how many
'exposures' have you had?"
The doctor responded again, as Batman turned once more to look out the window.
"Two. Just two. And we've already noticed an - improvement - in his ability
to control his own reactions."
"Nightwing," said Batman softly, "there really is no option. The sooner we
get this over with, the sooner we can get Gotham - and possibly Bludhaven -
under our control. I -- you -- really have no choice."
Now it was the younger hero's moment to be silent. He looked at his boots,
then back at his mentor's massive back, hidden behind the cape. Then he
spoke, quietly.
"What's the guarantee there isn't something else mixed in with that - shit?"
"None," said Dr. Tanner.
Batman turned back toward both men. "The only guarantee, Nightwing, is this.
If we don't get control of it, it will take control of us." He pointed to the
stack of photos, then motioned to the Doctor.
"Tanner, it's now or never. Nightwing, what will it be?"
The younger hero couldn't help notice that a small bead of sweat was snaking
its way down his upper back, sliding slowly along his spine.
"Fuck it. Do it."
Tanner moved into action immediately. He reached for a small phone on the
desk under the medical cabinets. "He's ready. Move it."
Nightwing raised an eyebrow, suddenly very aware of the small size of this
room, and his increasing heart rate. Still. If Batman had done it, there was
no reason why he could not undergo this - treatment.
A side door to the testing room opened, and two young men entered the room,
both dressed in bland white cotton pants and t-shirts. Tanner was now
constantly in motion, reaching into a drawer as he spoke without interruption.
"Please meet two of my best graduate students, Nightwing. David Burk and Ryan
Maddock. I have asked them to help monitor your treatment, and stand by to
assist in any way possible."
As he spoke, he pulled out two towels and a piece of rubber, shaped roughly in
a triangle, from the drawer.
It was all happening very fast, thought Nightwing, even as he extended a hand
to each of the new arrivals. "Grad students huh? Have you, uh, also been his
guinea pigs?"
Neither of the students spoke. "Yes, they have. And they were the first to
prove that our theory may be correct. Five treatments - each," replied the
doctor.
The students seemed like they were moving in a familiar routine. Each moved
to either side of Nightwing, and waited. The younger hero was taller than
both, but they were of similar powerful build - the white t-shirts on both
students showed a clearly defined chest beneath.
Batman watched the scene unfold from across the room. He watched as Dr.
Tanner picked up the vial, attached it to a small spray bottle, and advanced
toward Nightwing, halting in front of the hero.
In this moment, the heat in the room seemed to increase, and all movement
stopped. Nightwing stood with his back to one wall, his dark wavy hair
already streaked with some signs of perspiration. Flanking him were the two
students, arms at their side, clearly at the ready for what was supposed to
happen next. This was not their first time assisting. Batman stood silently
in the far corner of the room, standing upright, eyes watching the procedure
as it unfolded. Finally, there was Dr. Tanner, standing in front of
Nightwing, only a foot or so away, starting directly into the younger man's
eyes.
"Before we proceed, Nightwing, I must ask for your promise. We cannot
initiate this process without completing it. You must promise me you will
return here tomorrow, no matter what you may experience today. If you have
any doubts --"
"Do it," Nightwing shot back. "Enough already."
"Very well. One more word of advice. The first exposure can be of surprising
strength. I suggest you take a deep breath, and then tell me when you are
ready." He held up the small spray bottle directly in front of Nightwing's
nose.
A pause, then a response. "Shoot," said the hero, and closed his eyes.
JM
depicted in the story belong to and are copyrighted by DC Comics and/or its
subsidiaries. I am in no way related to the company and have no ownership over
the characters. This is fan fiction.
----- 6 -----
It only took a second for the fine mist to pass the space between the small
spray bottle and Nightwing's aquiline nose, and in that moment all five men held
their breath. Four of them knew what to expect - the fifth held out a few
seconds longer before he inhaled the drops of the solution deep into his
nostrils.
Like a cold blade the substance ignited something in the hero's body, traveling
at light speed through his nervous system. A second after inhaling, Nightwing
noticed a deep sense of calm, peace, and the slight smell of something he could
not put his finger on, but it reminded him of his youth - before he had met
Batman, before this life of struggle, battle, exhausting pursuit of twisted
criminals. He smiled.
Before the second was out, though, the blade stabbed deep below his stomach.
Nightwing's eyes snapped open.
The sensation was reaching down into his groin and pulling, he was sure of it,
on the root of his balls. And - oh fuck - it was... incredible, it was...
A look of shock crossed his face. His mouth dropped open slightly, a raised
eyebrow over his right eye as he sought out Batman's face. Complete surprise in
the face of...
The students knew the sign, and each grabbed hold of one of Nightwing's upper
arms, their fingers digging into his biceps, pushing him back against the wall.
Only a mere four seconds after first contact, Nightwing felt it. Their
fingers, their touch, like fire, but incredibly - good fire. He whipped his
head to the right, and stared into the eyes of the student named Ryan, pleading
with his eyes for an answer and then - oh, mother of.... Ryan moved one finger
along the silky suit that barely contained Nightwing's upper arm, and the hero's
mouth opened wider.
And he moaned. That one finger seemed to be caressing his entire body, reaching
down and, under, and along, and stroking - everything.
He constricted his abs, trying very hard to curl downward against the mix of
pain and excruciating pleasure that was even now snaking around his balls, up
and through his solid thighs, through his toes - but the students held him fast.
Seven seconds. He lasted exactly seven seconds before the first words came out,
led by a deep groan that transformed into: "B... BATMan???" His eyes seeking
out his former mentor, his face a mix of complete surprise and shame as he
realized, in that moment, that there was nothing he could have done to prepare
himself for this.
Another second, and the moan grew louder. He continued to try to crunch down,
raising one leg, attempting to kick at David on his left, but it only made the
material of his suit grip the back of his thigh, and under this thigh, and -
holy shit - stroke the underside of his manhood like the tongue of the best
whore in Bludhaven.
At the 12th second, he could hold it in no longer. It began low, but belted out
of his mouth at a level that surprised even him. "nnnnnnnNGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAH!"
Thrashing against the two men that were holding him, he was a blur of muscle and
lycra. His feet struggled for a hold on the floor, but his legs failed him. He
heard only the sick sound of the rubber bottom of his boots squeaking on the
floor. The substance had found a new hold on him, stimulating every nerve in
his body, until he could swear he felt the breath of the doctor on the nape of
his... neck... standing a few feet away.
"Make. It..... Oh my Fucking GOoooooooooODDDD!" Spit flew out of his mouth as
another convulsion hit him, forcing him to kick so hard against the floor that
one of the students almost lost his grip. Pulses running up and down his cock,
reaching down and under his balls, his suit stretching along his chest and
teasing his now impossibly erect nipples to the point of painful pleasure.
Two seconds later, Nightwing caught sight of it. His own crotch. His own -
cock. There was no other word for it - it was raw, pure sex. It was. Enormous.
Snaking down his left leg, he could see the outline of the head of it, he could
feel its heat and every pulse. His eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped
open, a small drop of saliva falling from his bottom lip.
For a moment, the sight of this grotesque show of obvious arousal angered and
shamed him, and he snapped upward, turning to David on his left, and barking out
the start of a sentence: "Get. The. Fuck. Off -nnggggHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAH!"
Another convulsion. Another pulse down inside of him. His balls seemed to
throb, and he knew he could not hold it much longer. He panted, and pleaded.
And he could not stop marveling at how fucking wonderful his body felt at this
very moment. If he could only....
"God...fuck... Bat.. Batman... p.. please!"
At exactly 27 seconds after the first drop of mist had entered Nightwing's body,
he exploded. The scream that came out of his mouth was half anger, half animal.
It was a howl, and his knees collapsed under him as his cock expelled throb
after throb of semen down his left leg, encased tightly in the black lycra, the
jets of cum staining his leg further and further down with each contraction.
The students supported him while his body was racked with wave after wave of
orgasm, until they felt him weaken, his arms no longer flexing, in complete
submission. They finally let go, and he fell to the floor, panting like a dog,
on both knees, his body still jerking slightly from the continuing, but weaker,
waves of pleasure flowing from the root of his cock. When Nightwing's hands
reached the floor, he looked like a man in prayer.
###