Bruce would forever thank God that he was just sober enough not to let himself be undressed in the elevator of his own apartment building.
His hands caught her wrists just as the elevator doors pinged open, stopping her from going further.
Despite the fact that his heart was pounding, his blood was singing...he'd forgotten this. How it felt to be excited, to feel alive...to feel, period.
How it felt to want. And he wanted...he wanted unspeakable, terrible things, given their friendship...
Very deliberately, Bruce, gathered one of her hands in his and drew back, leading her out of the elevator. He felt a lot more sober all of a sudden, and it filled him with more than a touch of regret.
He said nothing else as they walked to his door. He stayed silent as he unlocked it, as he ushered her in ahead of him.
The moment the door clicked shut, something in him just...broke.
He was blaming the booze for what he did next, and probably always would.
He was drunk, so he caught her shoulder and dragged her towards him. Catching her small face between his bigger hands, he bent to kiss her like he could consume her. He let himself feel the heat of her mouth on his, the softness of her skin, the fragility of those fine-boned features under his palms.
He was drunk, so he backed her messily against the nearest wall, lifted her off her feet and pinned her there with his body, breaking away so he could taste her skin, kissing and nipping at the curve of her long, elegant neck, sliding a hand over the curve of her throat to rest against the flat of her chest, just above the swell of those small, perfect breasts.
She was too young. She was a friend.
But Bruce was drunk, the Other Guy was gone...and he wanted.
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His hands caught her wrists just as the elevator doors pinged open, stopping her from going further.
Despite the fact that his heart was pounding, his blood was singing...he'd forgotten this. How it felt to be excited, to feel alive...to feel, period.
How it felt to want. And he wanted...he wanted unspeakable, terrible things, given their friendship...
Very deliberately, Bruce, gathered one of her hands in his and drew back, leading her out of the elevator. He felt a lot more sober all of a sudden, and it filled him with more than a touch of regret.
He said nothing else as they walked to his door. He stayed silent as he unlocked it, as he ushered her in ahead of him.
The moment the door clicked shut, something in him just...broke.
He was blaming the booze for what he did next, and probably always would.
He was drunk, so he caught her shoulder and dragged her towards him. Catching her small face between his bigger hands, he bent to kiss her like he could consume her. He let himself feel the heat of her mouth on his, the softness of her skin, the fragility of those fine-boned features under his palms.
He was drunk, so he backed her messily against the nearest wall, lifted her off her feet and pinned her there with his body, breaking away so he could taste her skin, kissing and nipping at the curve of her long, elegant neck, sliding a hand over the curve of her throat to rest against the flat of her chest, just above the swell of those small, perfect breasts.
She was too young. She was a friend.
But Bruce was drunk, the Other Guy was gone...and he wanted.