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DISCLAIMERS

Batman and the DC Universe are property of DC Comics. I'm not making any profit from this.

Ganymede (a.k.a. Wonderboy) and Skyboy are Original Character creation of their respective players. HyperMUX is not owned or operated by me. I only claim responsibility for Batman's role play.

HyperMUX can be found here: http://hypermux.spodzone.com/
Visit Ganymede's gallery: http://kiwihobbit.deviantart.com

This story is told from Batman's point of view.

Thank you for the beta read, Ollie!

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I hesitate. The sensible part of my brain is demanding refusal of his request. I'm just about to tell him that I think it's a bad idea when something overrides logic and I give him a brusque nod. "All right."

Ganymede smiles. "I promise I won't destroy your reputation. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you ravished me all night long." He winks, obviously playing, before gently taking my hand in his, trailing his fingers along the back of it.

I snort and just head up the stairs, leading him by the hand. The carpet muffles our footfalls. He allows himself to be led easily, even smiling and giving my hand a light squeeze. I don't say anything. I'm probably scowling, too, but he doesn't seem discouraged by either my lack of words or forbidding expression. It's hard to be just myself. Most of my life is spent wearing one mask or the other. One figurative. One literal. I feel strangely vulnerable and exposed to him.

We traverse the length of the hall, passing a guest suite, Dick's room and Tim's room. Neither of them are here, though. We step into the master suite and Ganymede lightly closes the door behind himself and looks around. He makes an appreciative noise. "This is a beautiful room." he finally says, stroking the back of my hand very gently.

"Hmm? Oh. Thanks," I say, looking around almost as if I've never seen the room before. "Honestly, I don't spend much time in here." It's the truth. I don't sleep much. When I do, that's exactly what I do. I climb into bed and go to sleep. Sometimes I'll gaze out the window, admiring the view of the grounds and Gotham city in the distance. I let go of Ganymede's hand and strip off my jacket, disappearing into the huge combination walk-in closet and dressing room. "Make yourself comfortable," I call out. "I'm going to grab a quick shower."

He doesn't reply and I continue through the dressing room to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. It feels good to get out of the layers of denim and leather. I turn the water up as hot as I can tolerate and stand under the spray for a few minutes, letting the heat ease the tension from me and relax muscles that are a bit sore from being on the bike all day. I probably should have stopped for breaks more often.

I didn't lock the bathroom door. Part of me wants him to come in, to cross that line and prove that I can't trust him. There's also the purely carnal aspect of having him here in the shower with me, hot, slick and hard with need. That stirs a flutter of interest from my groin, but I ignore it. I'm in control of my desires, not the other way around.

I turn the water off and step out of the walk-in shower. I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror as I towel dry. I'm middle-aged but I certainly don't look it. I'm in better shape than most men ten years my junior. I'm covered in scars, though. I don't allow myself to be seen in public in anything that doesn't cover me from neck to wrists and ankles. The public thinks I'm a fanatic for extreme sports. In a way, it's true.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I turn on the tap to brush my teeth. There's a knocking at the door and I hear Ganymede ask, "Is there anything you need?"

"Hmm... mo, mm fime!" I mumble around the toothbrush, hoping he can hear me and make sense of what I'm trying to say.

He doesn't say anything or come in. My heart is racing and I have to pause for a moment to collect myself before shaving. I don't want to cut myself. That done, I slip into a set of black satin pajamas. The material feels almost indecent against my skin. It's been a while since I've worn anything but my birthday suit to bed. With Dick and Tim both grown up and out of the house, why bother with pajamas? The last time I can truly recall wearing them was when Dick was still young and he'd sometimes come racing into my room in the middle of the night after a bad dream. I smile a bit at the memory and run a comb through my hair, slicking it back.

I take a deep breath and open the door. Ganymede is over by the bed admiring the antique mirror frame. He's not looking in the mirror, his attention is focused on the frame itself. It's a carved and gilt baroque monstrosity, but I'm partial to it. His jacket is laying over the back of the couch and his boots are resting on the floor. Somehow the white tank-top and faded jeans seem more attractive to me than if I had found him lounging around in the nude.

He turns around then smiles. I'm struck with the sudden feeling of watching the sun come out from behind the clouds after a storm. But he's always cheerful. I'm the one who is the brooding thundercloud. "You look nice," he says.

I merely nod acceptance of the compliment and turn out the overhead light with the switch on the wall next to the bathroom door. Padding across the carpeted floor, I come to a halt in front of the windows. Faint light coming in throws a barred pattern across the room and myself. Even now, gazing off at the distant lights of Gotham, I keep watch over my city. Out of reflex I search the skies for the Batsignal. Am I trying to delay the inevitable, hoping the Batsignal will call me away?

There's a faint rustle of cloth behind me. I barely hear his feet whisper across the carpet. Then his arms slide around my waist and he leans against my back. My muscles tense and I force myself to relax, even going so far as to rest a hand upon his forearm at my waist. His bracelet is surprisingly cool to the touch, but not cold.

"I love her and, sometimes, I hate her," I say softly. There's no other way to describe my feelings about Gotham. She has destroyed so many things that I love, starting with my parents. I still protect her. I still see the good in her heart.

"I understand that, entirely," he murmurs, resting his hands comfortably against the my abdomen. "It's a beautiful city... but it's..." he trails off, looking for a proper comparison. "It's a fallen angel. It can be saved, but..." He falls silent again, words apparently failing him.

A fallen angel. Yes, that would be an apt description of Gotham City. A beautiful angel with broken wings. And who am I but one man trying to make her soar again?

The satin seems to heighten the sensation of him pressed against me. I feel the cool, hardness of the bracelets. There's a marked difference between them and the heat radiating from his slim figure. At first I thought he'd stripped entirely naked, but now I can tell he's still wearing the tank top and underwear.

"I know," I reply in a hushed voice. "Rebuilding was, for the most part, only a veneer. She's a painted lady. But I still love her despite her faults."

"You have a lot of scars." he murmurs, very softly. I might be able to hide them from plain view, but in this close proximity, I'm not surprised that he can feel some of the larger ones. "I... if you ever get hurt, I can heal you, Bruce."

"Every scar holds a memory. You can't heal those."

My tone is unintentionally harsh, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You'd be surprised what Amazon healing can do," he replies in a warm tone before releasing me and coming around to stand beside me. "But I wouldn't try. Your memories give you your edge, and to dull that edge would put you in danger out there."

I nod once. His words hit very close to home. I give him a sidelong look then turn to study him through hooded eyes. Ganymede looks out over the city, apparently unaware that he's being studied or simply uncaring of my scrutiny. Physically, he seems to be a perfect specimen of male beauty. He's a Greek god who has deigned to walk among mortals. He has smooth, unblemished skin. He looks to be anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five, though he seems at once younger and older, a strange combination of wisdom and innocence about him. His eyes, in the faint light, look more gray than blue. His slight figure is easy to see in the thin material of his clothing. He has muscle tone, but his anatomy is indeed as confusing as he said it was, faintly curvy and feminine, but obviously not female. The thin tank top and low cut briefs compliment his slim figure.

"Never wrongly made," I murmur, stroking a finger down his cheek. Without another word, I simply turn and pad over to the bed, my footsteps making barely any sound across the plush carpet. Fabric rustles and slides as I turn down the blankets then get into the expansive bed. It could probably sleep a family of ten comfortably, but somehow it feels like it'll be too small once he climbs in next to me. Again I feel that lurching sensation of mixed fear and desire.

He barely makes a sound crossing the room. I feel the bed dip slightly with his added weight. Then he's nestled up along my side as I lay flat on my back. I curl an arm around him and rest my other arm on my stomach.

"I don't sleep well," I warn the Amazon.

"Neither do I," he says tenderly into my ear. Deft fingers slip the first button of my pajama top free from its hole. I try to concentrate on something else, anything else. I want to trust him. He could probably over power me and rape me with ease, but deep down I know he won't do that. I think about the beach and how cold the water was.

Still, my breath hitches for a moment. "Do you have nightmares, too?"I ask, forcing myself to breath steadily.

"No, I just don't need much sleep, I suppose," he murmurs, lips brushing against my collarbone. He pulls himself a little closer, shifting slightly so that some of his weight now rests on my side. "Is that why you're always up at night?"

"You mean there'd be another reason besides my highly unusual and secretive hobby taken to an extreme?" I ask with forced levity. The skin along my neck and collarbone tingles from the caress of his lips. "I don't recall ever sleeping well after... after my parents... died." The last words are spoken haltingly. I don't like talking about this subject. In public, I have to put on a brave face and pretend like I've gotten over it. In private, I still grieve for their loss and the loss of many others.

Ganymede nods slowly and hugs me. His body radiates warmth and I find it soothing and comforting. "I wish I could have known them. What I've read of them made them seem wonderful."

"What I remember of them... they were wonderful."

I remain silent for some time, my breathing steady and even. My eyes are closed, but I'm not asleep. "Do you ever hate them?" I suddenly ask.

"Who?" he asks, very softly, stroking my chest gently.

"The gods for what they did to you?"

Would I feel differently about him if he was still a woman? He sees his present form as a punishment from the gods. Could anything so beautiful truly be a punishment? If they had made him into a monster, then yes, I'd say that was a punishment. But he is exquisite.

"No," he replies softly. "I..." he shrugs slightly, "I don't like Ares and Circe, but... I forgive them."

I give a quiet grunt. "I guess you're a better man than I am."

Ganymede snuggles in closer, undoing another button on my pajama top. "I don't know," he murmurs. "Hating them is what they want. Nothing angers your enemies more than forgiving them."

"I don't hate all of them," I reply. "The Joker? Unquestionably. Scarecrow? No, I don't hate him. I pity him." I think about some more of my enemies and can't help but sigh. "Catwoman? Well, that's a whole different can of worms."

He rests his head on my shoulder and makes a small, contented sound. I can hear the smile in his voice despite the current topic of conversation. "Ares confuses me. He's actually helped me, recently."

A snort escapes me. "Sounds a bit like Catwoman. What happened?"

"He warned me about the battle with Armageddon." He shrugs faintly, resting his hand on my stomach and stroking it gently through the satin.

"The gods work in mysterious ways," I murmur. My stomach tenses for an instant then relaxes again. Two buttons down and two to go. I feel a sudden desire for the protective armor of the Batsuit. A few butterflies seem to have found their way into my gut, an absolute entomological anomaly.

Ganymede pulls free another button. "Do you trust me?" he asks, very softly, almost so quiet that I don't hear him.

My words come out as a harsh whisper, "I have to." Another wave of tension rolls through me before being expelled with a sharp exhalation. It's as honest an answer as I can give him. I know it's not the answer he wants, but I won't lie to make him feel better.

Ganymede undoes the final button. He pushes the edges of the shirt aside, baring my torso. I breathe in a slow and even rhythm, using a meditative technique. It calms me and heightens my senses. Gooseflesh rises along my skin, pebbling my nipples. He just rests his head on my chest. I can feel his warm breath fanning lightly across my skin. His thigh slides up and over mine as he pulls the blankets up higher and nestles against me.

I haven't been in such intimate contact with anyone in quite a while. It feels good. The realization of just how much I miss the feel of another human being hits me like a punch in the gut, stealing my breath away for a moment.

I hug Ganymede just a little bit closer and reach up with my other hand to caress the young man's cheek. His skin is incredibly soft and warm. I seek that comfortable meditative state again, this time allowing myself to drift into a light doze. Subconsciously, I still hear the ticking of bedside clock and the grandfather clock downstairs chiming the time at regular intervals.

My peaceful rest doesn't last too long, though. I dream. I rarely have pleasant dreams. I try to brave these night terrors, the nameless, faceless things that haunt me. Caught in the grip of this nightmare, my muscles twitch and jerk. I awaken with a spasm, the room echoing with my harsh breathing. Sweat slicks my skin and the satin pajamas stick to me.

I want to jerk away from the gentle embrace of Ganymede's arms. "It's okay," he whispers very softly, kissing my cheek gently. I realize that I have a death grip on his hair and slowly relax then try to finger-comb tangle I've made. I lay still for a few minutes, silently processing the nightmare.

"I should be out there," I say, sitting up and staring out the window. I don't know if it's the nightmare that prompts me to say that or simply my discomfort at sharing my bed with Ganymede. It's a rare indulgence for me to take a night off. When I said I was leaving town for a few days, Alfred gave me a faintly surprised look but didn't say a word. I didn't plan on going too far, though, a fact he could tell by how little I'd packed. Nightwing, Robin and Oracle can handle things for a few days. There's also Huntress. If things were to get really bad, Alfred would know to call the JLA for help until I got back.

"The signal hasn't lit up. But if you... want some company out there..." His fingers roam across my chest then follow the narrow trail of hair leading down over my belly, stopping at the waistband of my pajama bottoms. Several more butterflies take up residence in my stomach, fluttering desperately behind my navel.

I can only sigh, shaking my head. "It'll be sunrise soon. By the time I get suited up and into town, I'd just be turning around and coming right back." I don't need to look at the clock to know what time it is. My internal time sense is nearly infallible.

I make an irritated sound and peel off the pajama top, throwing it vaguely in the direction of my closet. It was sticking to my skin and uncomfortable. The cool air raises goose bumps over my skin again, but I'm somewhat relieved to be free of the clingy material.

Ganymede sits up in bed. "Is there anything I can do to help you get back to sleep?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I fall back against the pillows with a snort. "I told you I don't sleep well," I remind him in a perfect I-told-you-so-tone. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I stare at the ceiling.

In a sudden movement, Ganymede straddles me. His thighs clamp down on my hips like a professional bull rider determined to hang on for that eight second ride. He leans forward to place a gentle kiss upon my lips. His ass rubs over my cock. I viciously squelch any reaction. I freeze, neither responding nor pushing him away. Doubt rears its ugly head, but I beat it back into submission. He's had more than ample opportunity to press his advantage but hasn't done so until now. Still, my pulse races and heat flashes through me.

Hesitantly, I return the kiss. We've kissed before and I've certainly been more enthusiastic about it in the past, but this time it's different. I'm not hiding behind cape and cowl. It's just the two of us here, alone, in the quiet darkness of my bed. I'm also too distracted by the weight and feel of his body to give the kiss my full attention. I can feel his arousal. It's frightening and thrilling all in the same breath. These sensations are at once both familiar yet also strangely new and unique. He doesn't feel like a woman on top of me. He lacks a woman's plush curves. But his lean strength is just as alluring.

Ganymede pulls away after a few moments, the kiss far more tender than erotic. He rests his forehead against my chest. I can still feel him pressed against me. If I allowed myself a physical reaction, I'd be quite comfortably nestled in the crack of his ass. Just the thought of it sends another surge of desire racing along my body.

My hands settle on Ganymede's slender shoulders. I stroke a thumb alongside his neck before giving a light tug to that wealth hair, encouraging the Amazon to resume his previous activity. He complies with my wordless request and kisses me deeply. He suddenly breaks free and strips his tank top off, tossing it in the same direction as my shirt. In the faint light, I watch his eyes drift shut as he moves to kiss me again, tongue seeking mine intently. I groan softly into Ganymede's mouth, tongue dueling with the Amazon's. My breath comes a bit faster now and my hands roam across the youth's shoulders and down his back.

The slender man pulls free after a few moments, his arousal plain in the briefs. I feel an answering stir of interest from between my legs again. "I think perhaps we should take cold showers," he whispers, very softly.

There's a moment when desire nearly overcomes me. My grip tightens, almost a refusal to allow the young man to withdraw. Then reason prevails and my hands fall lax, resting lightly on Ganymede's thighs. "Extra towels are in the linen closet," I reply, my voice sounding husky to my own ears. Despite the raw, sexual tension that seems to charge the air, I am still in control of my body and remain flaccid.

"You could join me," the Amazon whispers after a moment's hesitation. His hands clench on either side of my head. Even in the shadows, his full lips look a little swollen from kissing.

I curl a hand around the back of the young man's neck. "Please, Ganymede, don't ask more than I can give," I whisper. "I... I'm not sure what I'm doing or why... not yet."

Ganymede nods, lowering himself to kiss me once more before gently pulling free and sliding from beneath the covers to head toward the bathroom. He stops and looks back at me and I can see him smiling softly. "I'll be back in just a few moments," he promises.

I nod with a brief smile in return. "I'll be here."

Ganymede disappears into the bathroom and I can hear the water running. If he is indeed taking a cold shower, it's a long one. I stretch then slip out of the bed for a moment to straighten the tangled linens. Sometimes I thrash around quite a bit in my sleep. Other times I lie deathly still. Alfred once told me he prefers the former to the latter since the first time he saw me like that and thought he was walking in on a dead man.

I climb into bed and lie flat on my back, hands resting on my chest. Closing my eyes, I carefully regulate my breathing and sink into meditation again. It isn't easy with arousal thrumming in my veins. For a moment I wonder if I shouldn't have taken Ganymede's suggestion and drowned my ardor under a cold shower as well. Luckily, many years of rigid self discipline come to the rescue and I'm able to dissipate my craving for a sexual release.

Ganymede returns after a time. I suppose he thinks I'm asleep. "You'll catch a cold," my deep voice breaks the silence and lets him know that I am indeed still here, not just in body, but in mind as well. It's also a subtle reminder of the first time I held him in my arms when we were both so precariously balanced upon a gargoyle overlooking the street far below. I doubt he's any more susceptible to illness than Diana. It was a reflexive thought when I saw him standing there in that thin shirt and ripped jeans while the chill wind clawed at us both. He has a look of vulnerability about him that just seems to make people want to protect him. Beneath that seemingly fragile exterior lurks a core of tempered steel, strong and flexible.

I scoot closer toward the center of the bed and roll on my side while flipping back the covers in front of me. He hesitates for a moment then joins me, snuggling his back up against me. I pull the covers over us and wrap an arm around him, spooning up against him after I manage to get his wet hair out of my face. It feels good to hold him close. I'm not used to this sort of intimacy.

"If you're up before me, just head down to the kitchen. Alfred will fix you something," I murmur drowsily. Before I allow a light sleep to claim me, a final thought crosses my mind.

I want to give him more.