Chapter Text 章节内容
His hands trembled as he wiped the dust from the stone. He couldn’t tell if the heat was coming from the desert or boiling up from inside him.
他的手颤抖着拂去石上的尘土。他分不清是沙漠的热浪还是从内心深处涌起的热流。
Every breath burned his throat. Sweat dripped down his back. But he was so close.
每一次呼吸都灼烧着他的喉咙，汗水顺着后背滴落。但他离目标如此之近。
This was the final proof he needed. After this, the League would have to listen.
这是他所需要的最后证据。之后，联盟就必须听他的。
Bruce was alive. 布鲁斯还活着。
A sob escaped him as he saw the bat symbol carved into the stone.
当他看到蝙蝠标志刻在石头上时，不禁抽泣起来。
That was it. That was all he needed.
这就够了。这就足够了。
A broken laugh slipped from his mouth as he leaned against the wall to stand—
他嘴中漏出一声苦笑，靠在墙上站—
—but his legs gave out.
—but 他的腿突然一软。
A jolt shot through him like dry lightning. Panic seized his chest in a vice.
一股干雷般的震颤从他体内穿过，胸中被恐慌紧紧攥住。
He lunged for his backpack, fingers fumbling for the pills he’d been using to suppress the jinx.
他扑向背包，手指摸索着那些用来压制诅咒的药片。
He shook the bottle. Empty.
他摇了摇瓶子，空的。
Did he really go through all of them?
他真的都一一检查过了吗？
How long had he been out here, alone?
他独自在这里待了多久？
He remembered skipping them when Pru, Zeddmore, and Owens were around. So…
他记得当普鲁、泽德莫尔和奥文斯在的时候，自己曾跳过这些步骤。 所以......
“Motherfuckers!” he shouted, hurling the empty container across the cave.
“妈的！”他喊道，将空容器扔向洞穴。
To disable him like this—leave him abandoned, teetering on the edge of a sexual breakdown—
这样让他失去能力——把他丢在这里，让他徘徊在性崩溃的边缘——
That was a low blow, even for Ra’s Al Ghuls.
这甚至比拉·阿·古尔斯还要卑鄙。
But he wouldn’t give in.
但他不会屈服。
He’d fuck a goddamn rock if he had to.
他要是非得干，也会干个见鬼的岩石。
But he wouldn’t fall into that limbo.
但他不会堕入那种境地。
He tore through the backpack in desperation. Anything long would do. He just needed—
他绝望地撕开了背包。只要够长就行。他只需要—
Fuck. 见鬼。
He slowly pulled out the Red Hood action figure.
他缓缓地拿出红头罩的玩偶。
Jason, of course. Taunting him even now.
当然是杰森。即使现在还在戏弄他。
"Sleep with me close, babybird.”
“和我挨着睡，小麻雀。”
Too gentle, when he was splitting him in half with every thrust.
每一刺都把他劈成两半，却如此温柔。
“Fuck you…” he muttered. “去你的……”他喃喃道。
But it was all he had.
但这已经是他能做的全部了。
Big enough. Thick enough to fuck like he meant it. And fucked-up enough to keep the curse entertained.
足够大，足够粗，足以像他所说的那样进行。而且足够扭曲，足以让诅咒保持兴趣。
He swallowed hard. 他咽了口唾沫。
Shoved his pants down. Yanked off the cowl. Peeled off the gloves.
褪下裤子。扯掉兜帽。脱掉手套。
The sand stuck to his sweat, clinging to his skin like a second, scratchy, breathing layer.
汗水和沙子粘在他的皮肤上，像一层又痒又呼吸的第二层皮肤。
A shiver ran up his spine as something crawled across his heel.
脊背一阵寒意，有什么东西爬过了他的脚后跟。
"This will never be the worst thing that happens. Never worse than what happens to someone else. No escape. When death smiles at you, slamming the door in your face, forcing you to walk back through your own hell." He recited it like a prayer—one carved between clenched teeth.
“这永远不会是最糟糕的事情。永远不会比别人遭遇的更糟糕。没有逃避。当死亡对你微笑，却在你面前关上大门，强迫你重新走过你自己的地狱。”他像念咒语一样重复着——一句在紧咬的牙缝间刻下的祷词。
He raised the figure to his face.
他将那具模型举到眼前。
The plastic felt cold and unyielding in his hands, the molded chest of Red Hood firm beneath his thumbs, shoulders hard like stone.
塑料摸起来冰冷而坚硬，红头罩的胸膛在拇指下坚实有力，肩膀如同岩石般坚硬。
Jason had always been so fucking solid.
杰森总是如此他妈的坚实。
Bastard. 混账。
“I’ll make Jason pay for this later,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the toy. “And I’ll make sure he regrets enjoying it.”
“我以后让杰森为这事付出代价，”他喃喃道，吻了一下玩具。“而且我要让他后悔享受它。”
He held the figure a second longer. That bastard had saved him. Again. With a fucking action figure.
他多看了那模型一眼。那个混蛋又救了他。用一个该死的玩偶。
He dug into the backpack and pulled out a condom, rolling it carefully over the toy’s head, shoulders, chest—stretching it down until it hugged every damn curve. The plastic squeaked, snug and obscene. He squeezed what was left of the lube from the nearly-empty tube, smearing it thickly over the tip, across the chest, dragging it down over the molded abs.
他从背包里掏出一个避孕套，小心翼翼地将它套在玩具的头上、肩膀上、胸部——直到它紧紧包裹住每一个曲线。塑料发出尖锐的声响，紧绷而淫荡。他从几乎空掉的管子里挤出最后一点润滑液，厚厚地涂抹在顶端，涂抹在胸部，然后沿着模具出来的腹肌拉下。
It wasn’t going to go in easily. That was fine.
它不会轻易进去。这没关系。
His body was already burning. His hole ached, open, twitching, hungry.
他的身体已经燃烧起来。他的洞穴疼痛、张开、抽搐，渴望着。
He was never going to look at that stupid fucking helmet again without getting hard. Jason was going to fucking pay.
他以后再看到那个愚蠢的该死头盔，肯定要硬了。杰森要付出代价。
He licked his lips, slow and dirty, then dragged his tongue over the latex-covered figure. Strawberry. Of course that asshole had left a flavored one. He laughed breathlessly and licked again, holding the toy by its legs, treating it like an ice cream cone, letting saliva pool and drip down the plastic with each slow pass of his tongue.
他舔了舔嘴唇，动作缓慢而肮脏，然后用舌头在橡胶覆盖的身躯上拖过。草莓味。当然，那混蛋留下了一个带味道的。他喘着气笑了，再次舔着，用手抓住玩具的腿，像舔冰淇淋一样，让唾液在每次缓慢的舔舐中积聚并滴落在塑料上。
He took a long, wet suck around the head, groaning low, tongue curling over it before reaching between his legs. His fingers came back sticky with spit, and he pressed them against his hole, teasing the rim with lazy circles, smearing it, coaxing it to relax.
A shiver ran down his spine. He grunted, lifted one leg and braced the other against the gritty sand, body hunched as he pressed a finger in. Dry. Raw. His hole clenched tight around the intrusion and his entire body flinched.
He forced his finger deeper, grinding it in. Pain prickled under his skin, his thighs tensed, but he pushed through it. Circling, opening himself up. He fucked himself on that one finger like he meant it, fast and shallow, before forcing a second in beside it. His entrance stretched with a low, strained sound, the friction sharp and punishing. He hissed through his teeth.
He had to get himself ready. If he didn’t, it was going to tear him apart—and not in the good way. Normally, that wouldn’t stop him. But today, he needed to walk out of this cave when he was done.
But right now? Right now, he needed to be filled. He needed something inside him. Now. Deep. The toy was big—stupidly big—but it was all he had. And it was big enough. It would break him.
And the thought made him moan, breathless and ruined.
He slid lower, spine folding in on itself, face nearly pressed to the wall, breath ragged and loud through his nose as his fingers worked between his legs. Fast. Desperate. Two fingers were buried deep inside him, slicked with spit and twitching with every grind of his hips.
His hole was clenching, raw and furious, swallowing his fingers only to spit them back out again, tight like a fist, like it didn’t want to let go—but still refused to open the way he needed. He curled them inward, grinding the pads along the spongy heat inside, then twisted harshly and shoved in a third with a sharp, wet push.
A violent tremor ran up the back of his legs, and he gasped, mouth falling open against his arm, body jerking as the burn ripped through him—flesh stretching around the new intrusion, the sting biting deep. It was raw and filthy and fucking perfect.
The tension was brutal. Constant. A never-ending clamp around his knuckles that squeezed until his bones ached. His rim spasmed around the girth, the muscles straining, slick and swollen, fighting every inch even as his body begged for more.
He spat into his palm—wet, loud, the string of saliva snapping off his lip—and dragged it messily down over his fingers. His hand came back soaked, dripping lube and spit down the backs of his knuckles. He shoved it between his cheeks and slammed his fingers back in with a squelch, pressing harder, deeper, forcing his hole to take the full stretch like it was being fed by force.
Three fingers disappeared to the base. His knuckles bulged the rim. Still not enough.
He gritted his teeth, face twisting, cock twitching uselessly against his belly as he spread his fingers wide inside himself, twisting, digging, fucking himself open like a filthy little whore. His guts clenched around him, muscle spasms making his whole body jolt, and still he needed more. More.
With a thick grunt, he forced in the fourth finger.
The rim gave with a slick, obscene stretch—skin pulling, burning, trembling violently as the sheer width of his hand began to pry him open past anything decent. A high-pitched moan crawled out of his throat, raw and guttural, teeth bared as his back arched hard.
“Ffffuck—” the sound was barely a breath, swallowed by the waves of sensation tearing through him.
His ass was gaping now—red, messy, twitching uncontrollably around the invading hand. His rim stretched taut, skin shiny with spit and slick, the ring of muscle fluttering with each pulse of his racing heartbeat.
He held himself there, fingers driven to the knuckles, and moved.
Slow. Brutal. Pulling out just far enough to feel the rim try to close again before slamming back in. His knuckles pounded against the inside of his ass, the friction of his own skin dragging rough along the sensitive walls as he twisted and shoved. He spread his fingers wide every time he bottomed out, forcing himself open even more.
His hole clenched wetly around him, trying to push him out and suck him in at once, making slick, disgusting sounds every time he buried his hand again.
His cock bounced uselessly against his stomach, untouched and leaking, a trail of precum already smeared down his abdomen.
He moaned. Broken. Hungry. Guttural.
He ground his hips downward, desperate for that spark of pressure deep in his guts. His fingertips scraped across the swollen swell of his prostate, and the jolt that followed nearly knocked the air from his lungs. His whole body reacted—shoulders stiff, spine arching, hole spasming tight enough to make his fingers ache from the pressure.
He hissed. A shaky, wrecked noise through his teeth.
Then he fucked himself harder.
Long, dragging pumps. Fingers curling, twisting, spearing in deep and spreading wide with every shove, until it felt like he was tearing himself apart from the inside. His hole was a mess—twitching, swollen, pulsing in time with the frantic beat of his heart.
His thighs trembled uncontrollably. His breath came in sharp gasps. The stretch felt impossible. Necessary. Holy.
He stayed there, bent in half, dripping sweat and spit and lube, his own hand splitting him wide as he whispered against his forearm, hips rolling like an animal in heat, chasing something he couldn’t name.
He breathed. He shook. He groaned.
His fingers ground against the spot again, and his legs buckled.
A helpless whine left his mouth as his cock throbbed violently against his belly, another fat drop of pre-cum bubbling from the tip.
His body was screaming for more.
And he was going to give it exactly that.
He reached with the figure, slick and obscene in its tight latex sheath, the strawberry scent of the condom clinging to the air like some sick joke.
“You’d fucking love this, wouldn’t you?” he muttered at it, breathless, eyes dark and glassy. “Watching me ruin myself for you. Again.”
Somewhere nearby, Batman’s last signal blinked at him, mocking. Unreachable.
He dragged himself across the rough stone floor, crawling on scraped knees, grit digging into his palms. He reached the hole in the cave wall—dead center in the crude bat symbol carved into the rock—and shoved his aching, swollen cock into it without thinking.
He gasped. Loud. Sharp.
The stone was jagged—uneven edges scraping over the raw, hypersensitive flesh of his shaft. Pebbles dragged along the slit, pinching. Cutting. It hurt. It was perfect.
The hole was tight. Cramped. Cold.
Exactly what he needed.
His cock was dry. Every grind burned, like dragging skin over sandpaper, but the electricity flooding his nerves made the pain feel like a drug. He thrived in it. The rock gripped his cock like a fist—tight, crushing pressure from all sides. His hips twitched forward, chasing that friction again and again, grinding himself deeper into the crude opening.
Then he grabbed the toy, pushing it against the gaping, ruined rim. He was already loose—so fucking open it should’ve slid in like air—but the toy wasn’t gentle. It was shaped to stretch, to destroy. Ridges. Curves. Wide as a fist.
The tip slid in easily. Too easily.
His hole twitched around it, lips parting with a wet sound, gulping it down like it belonged inside him. He grunted. Loud. Sweat dripped off his brow, stinging his eyes. But the base was thicker. So much thicker. He had to brace himself—one hand on the ground, the other gripping the toy as he leaned back, lowering his ass onto it, groaning as he forced his body to take it.
Muscles screamed.
The stretch was obscene. Skin pulled tight, his rim blanching white as it was pried open by the thick curve. His thighs shook violently. His legs threatened to give out as he shoved harder. The toy dragged rough against his inner walls, scraping the raw, pulsing nerves with every inch.
He moaned. Loud. Choked.
His ass clenched around it, trying to push it out. He ignored it. Pushed harder.
Another inch. Then another.
The shape distorted his hole, lips spread taut around the wide base, twitching wetly as he fought for depth. His guts burned. Walls spasmed. But he kept going. His other hand gripped the edge of the rock hole, the sharp stone biting into his knuckles, anchoring him as he pushed the toy deeper and fucked into the stone at the same time.
Then the cave wall clenched.
The rock shifted.
It wasn’t just tight—it moved. Compressing and releasing around his cock like something alive. The pressure was surreal. Like a throat. Like a hand with a mind of its own. The hole squeezed down over his shaft, pulling, milking, then loosening just enough to drag a new layer of sensation over the swollen skin.
Tim whined.
The toy was half in, and his ass was screaming. His rim twitched wildly around it, muscles fluttering, desperate to reject the massive girth—but he wanted the opposite. He wanted to take it all. To ruin himself around it. He shoved it deeper, forcing the brutal ridges inside one by one. They scraped his inner walls, dragging harsh friction over the raw surface, until tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
His cock throbbed in the rock’s grip, leaking pre down the carved stone, each pulse answered by a twitch of the walls around it. The hole flexed again—slow, deliberate, tight—and Tim bucked helplessly.
He groaned, loud and broken.
His hips worked without rhythm—back and forth, fucking into the moving rock, grinding down on the toy at the same time. The pressure was unbearable. His ass was stretched wide, rim sore and quivering, the toy’s girth splitting him in two with every thrust. His thighs were shaking so violently he couldn’t keep his balance.
His mouth fell open with a ragged gasp, but the sound was no longer human. Just a guttural, wet, obscene noise that echoed off the stone walls like a wounded, starving animal. The toy kept sinking deeper into him, brutal inch by brutal inch.
The sculpted ridges of the molded torso scraped his raw rim, each one forcing his wrecked hole to stretch wider — slicker now, drooling around the plastic with every thrust.
His thighs were trembling violently, muscles twitching under the strain, giving up on any control.
He staggered back and collapsed to the ground, dropping hard onto the toy. This time, the base slammed in so deep something gave. His head snapped back and a moan ripped from his throat — loud, disgusting, helpless.
His fingers clamped down around the toy’s legs like handles, and he started fucking himself on it. Sloppy. Desperate. Brutal. Every thrust made the plastic squelch and suck, his raw hole sucking it in like it was starving. His hips jerked erratically, riding it like a man possessed.
Now it was just instinct. Nothing else. No thought. No control. Just raw, tearing need.
Sticky, suctioning sounds filled the air — wet and merciless — the kind of filth you’d hear on a loop in the background of a nasty porno. His ass clenched and spasmed around the toy, gripping it like it was trying to milk the sculpted dick that wasn’t even there. He shoved it deeper, trying to hold onto it every time he lifted off, like his body was begging not to be left empty.
Every thrust dragged a sound out of him. Loud. Choked. Ugly.
His cock twisted uselessly between his thighs, leaking but untouched. He growled and dragged himself back toward the wall, angling his hips to shove his dick into that narrow, ancient hole carved in the stone.
The rock gripped him like a fist, squeezing the base of his cock, milking him with a rhythm that didn’t match his own—like the cave had a mind of its own and didn’t give a fuck if it broke him.
He dropped his head forward, panting against the wall. His hips never stopped. The obscene sound of his ass clapping against plastic filled the air, again and again.
There was no grace in it anymore. No rhythm. Just a brutal, broken boy impaling himself over and over on molded ABS plastic.
Just Tim, ruined and shaking, wrecking himself on a toy in the middle of a sun-scorched cave. Dust clung to his thighs, his knees grinding into the rocky floor, his body jerking violently each time the tip slammed into his prostate.
He was drooling now—spit hanging off his bottom lip, mouth slack, panting like he’d forgotten how to breathe. The cave was so fucking hot. The rock burned against his skin. The toy inside him burned worse.
His stomach clenched, furious and tight. His cock twitched where it was trapped inside the hole in the rock, the slit drooling nonstop. It hadn’t been touched. It didn’t need to be. The friction from the wall was enough—rough, dry, unforgiving—and his body was too far gone to care.
Every time he dropped down, the toy scraped something vicious inside him and it lit him up like a fucking live wire.
Then a sound ripped out of him—something between a sob and a growl. It punched out of his chest, mouth wide and shaking. His whole body convulsed.
"Ffff—fuck, more... gimme—more—!"
His hips slammed down again, harder, desperate to take the entire toy, like he wanted to feel it hammering up into his throat. His cock was still trapped in the hole, pulsing, the rock sucking around it like it was trying to draw the cum out of him.
He whimpered—his hole was loose now, red and gaping, leaking all over the floor. He spread his legs wide, needy, swallowing the toy down with wet, loud sucks, like his body wanted to devour the whole fucking thing.
The plastic squelched, sticky and merciless. Latex dragged along his inner walls, catching on swollen tissue, scraping over skin that felt flayed raw. He gasped—his cock ached against the rock, the surface imperfections making him tremble with every thrust.
His hips moved out of rhythm, forcing the toy deep, then pulling it out, while his cock kept fucking the hole in the wall.
His chest scraped the stone—raw, bloody. He didn’t care. His whole body was shaking now—arms, thighs, calves—all twitching uncontrollably each time the toy slammed into his prostate.
He twisted it mid-thrust and screamed.
He screamed again when the new angle hit deeper—dead center on his prostate, burying even further inside him.
His legs gave out completely. He collapsed against the wall, forehead cracking hard into the stone, hips still bucking wildly, lost in the blinding white-noise of overstimulation.
“J-Jason—fuck, Jason—” he moaned, clawing at the rock with bloodied nails, shredding his fingertips. “You better feel this—better fucking feel me falling apart on your goddamn toy…”
He jerked the figure to the side, using it as leverage to fuck himself harder. The angle was devastating. He screamed.
His cock was still being pumped by the rock—dry, rough, relentless. Pre-cum smeared all over the inside of the hole.
He didn’t stop.
He was so fucking close.
The toy kept pounding into him, again and again, hitting that same brutal angle without mercy—perfectly relentless. Every thrust slammed his prostate like it had been engineered for this exact punishment.
His knees buckled with every blow, his raw, stretched hole sucking desperately around the girth, trying to keep it inside, to milk it like it was alive.
His ass was wrecked. Fucked raw. His rim red and swollen, twitching with every thrust. Every nerve on fire.
His cock throbbed where the hole tightened around it, squeezing harder with each movement. It hurt, every time—but he couldn’t stop. The rock forced him back, over and over, sucking him in.
He sobbed—loud, broken, aching. He needed to come. Needed to bleed. Needed to be split open from the inside. All of it at once—or he wasn’t making it out of this fucking cave alive.
The toy slammed into him again, and again—each thrust angled just right, battering his prostate with bruising precision. His knees shook with the impact, his thighs quivering as his rim tried to suck the toy deeper, hold it in, milk it like it was alive.
"Fuh—fuck—" he choked out, slamming back down harder, the plastic figure burying inside with a squelch so loud it echoed off the walls like a gunshot. His back arched violently, his toes curling into the sand.
The toy smashed into his prostate again—
and again—
and he saw stars behind his eyes.
He whined, high and raw, his whole body trembling.
“Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—gonna—gonna—”
A wet pop—
a stretch too far—
and then:
Snap.
A sudden, slick crack deep inside him. The sharp bite of latex tearing.
The condom broke.
The rupture was brutal. The edge whipped inside his guts like a lash, the rubber recoiling with a sharp sting against his already battered walls. He felt it tear. Felt the sudden raw kiss of plastic against his insides, unprotected and punishing.
He screamed. Loud. Guttural. Animal.
His body snapped forward, his spine arching like a bowstring pulled tight. The pain lit up every nerve inside him—hot, searing, blinding—and in that blinding burn, pleasure detonated like a fucking bomb.
His cock jerked once against the rock—
and then he was coming.
Hard.
It ripped out of him like a convulsion, like he’d been holding it back for days. His whole body trembled, seizing up as cum exploded inside the hole. Coating the inner walls of the rock—thick, hot, and fucking endless.
He moaned—long and broken—when the rock clamped down, sucking at the mess like it didn’t want to let a single drop go. His hips didn’t stop, the toy still pounding his prostate with every clench of his ass, milking every last pulse out of him.
His knees gave out. His body jerked, spasming, and he nearly collapsed forward—but the wall caught him, kept him upright as his orgasm tore through him like wildfire.
The rock around his cock clamped down even harder, chasing every last drop, even as his rim clenched tight around the now-exposed toy. The ridges of Red Hood’s molded chest scraped his swollen inner walls, brutal without the latex to soften the drag.
It burned. But that burn only made it better.
The pain was sharp, biting at his overstimulated nerves, and it fed the pleasure, turned it molten, unbearable. His whole body shook, wracked with aftershocks. Cum kept drooling out of him, thick and obscene, dripping down the cave wall.
His eyes rolled back.
He moaned again, softer now. Cracked and hoarse.
Sweat rolled off his back in thick drops. His thighs were trembling so hard he could barely stay upright. His hole twitched, still stretched wide around the toy, the plastic slick with lube and sweat and god knew what else.
His hand finally fell away from his cock. Spent. Limp. Covered in his own mess.
He slumped forward, cheek pressed to the stone, lips parted as he gasped through the wreckage of his orgasm. Every breath was shallow. Shaking. Every nerve still thrumming with heat.
The toy shifted inside him with his next breath, and he whimpered.
His insides were sore. Raw.
But he didn’t pull it out. Couldn’t.
The pressure deep inside still felt good. Full. Like something sacred had broken loose in him, and now all that remained was the ringing silence, the sweat cooling on his skin, the cum drying between his legs.
He smiled, slow and delirious, his face slack with the echo of pleasure.
"Jason..." he whispered, dazed and blissed-out.
"...I'm gonna fucking kill you when I get out."