By Minim Calibre
For Porn Battle VIII Prompt: Alfred/Lucius, dedication. Originally posted here.
Master Bruce would in all probability be shocked speechless to see them, Alfred’s liver-spotted hands curled around the posts of Lucius’s headboard, his legs drawn up and Lucius between them, both of them naked as the day they were born. But Alfred’s no stranger to keeping secrets from his youthful charge, and Lucius is no stranger to making sure those secrets are secure. Lucius’s face, with its incongruous spray of freckles, is focused and serious, as if Alfred is an engineering mystery he’s puzzling out.
Perhaps he is, though if he is, it’s a mystery that Lucius has a baker’s dozen times over solved. This doesn’t stop Lucius from seeking newer, more elegant solutions. Not at all. Lucius’s fingers arch in and curve around, each artist’s hand given a task of its own. Alfred gasps, hips lifting and falling, lifting and falling as he cedes control. His hands release their grip on the posts, the left one feeling about for the bedside towel to wipe away the mess of sweat and spunk.
“Well then, my friend,” he says with a smile quite unlike any Bruce Wayne has or will ever see, “I do believe it’s your turn.”