Ruby

“Bane, put that away! You’re scaring Amie!” I’m actually not sure if he’s scaring her at all. She has her hand up in front of her face, but she’s clearly peeking through her fingers.

I’ve shared the size of Bane’s cock with her. I’ve mentioned my new religion: the Church of Bane Cock. I’ve written sonnets about how beautiful it is. Not really, but I’ve made up a couple of limericks. In my head. That I’ve shared with no one but the bathroom mirror.

Amie has also mentioned the averageness of her fiancé’s penis. I wonder if it’s possible that she’s even exaggerated the averageness for the sake of his ego. And if so, I’m so very, very sad for her. Bane’s cock is the kind of thing that inspires shrines. And lockjaw. Although at this point I’m fairly good at the unlocking part.

Bancroft’s irritation is fused with disappointment and lust. “For fuck’s sake.” He turns around and tucks himself away, much to my dismay.

While he’s doing this, Amie frantically searches through the costumes for her clothes, rambling about how she should be going. She practically slams into the wall trying to give Bane a wide berth as she exits the room.

“I’ll just see myself out.” She fumbles for the door handle and pulls it closed behind her.

Bane, red-faced, motions to the bedroom. “Why didn’t you tell me Amie was still going to be here? What the hell is going on?”

“We lost track of time, I guess. We were trying on costumes.” I think it’s pretty clear what we’ve been up to.

Bane runs a hand through his hair, which messes it up. He has curls. Gorgeous, thick curls. The kind I fuck up when I grab his hair.

“We need to talk about this shit.”

“I’ll clean up the mess.”

“Not the mess, Ruby.” His gaze rakes over me.

It’s then I realize I’m still wearing the Wonder Woman costume.

The knock at our bedroom door startles us both. “Okay. I’m leaving. Talk to you later, Ruby. Sorry about surprising you, Bane!”

We stare each other down as we listen to the patter of her heels grow fainter, followed by the beep when the door closes, signaling her departure. “If it’s not the mess then what’s the problem?” I climb onto the bed and sweep the costumes into a pile.

Bane is a very neat and tidy man. He dislikes disorder. I imagine this pile of costumes is stressing him out. “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer it honestly.”

I sit back on my heels. “Ookaaay.” Man, he looks very serious.

“How many hours did you just spend in here getting naked with Amie?”

“What?”

“You said you were trying on costumes. I assume that means you were both without clothes on multiple occasions.”

“What exactly are you asking?”

There’s silence. His and mine. His chest rises and falls. It’s distracting. So is the very obvious lump jacking up the front of his pants. “Should I be concerned?”

I gesture to his crotch. “Your dick doesn’t look very concerned.”

He glances down.

“In fact, your dick looks very excited. So maybe the question is, should I be concerned?”

He frowns, as if he’s uncertain as to what I’m asking.

“Our potential mutual nakedness seems to be something you’re rather fascinated by,” I prompt.

His lips purse. Eyes narrow. Fingers flex. He stalks over to the bed, lifts me easily from the mattress and sets me on my feet. Then he circles me. Predatory. “What is this outfit?”

“I’m Wonder Woman.” This is not an answer to my question.

He comes to a stop in front of me. Then he winds an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His nose brushes along my jaw line and then sweeps down my throat. “The last two times I’ve come home when you and Amie have been hanging out you’ve been mostly naked in provocative situations.”

“Do you think she’s sexy?” It comes out sounding insecure instead of confrontational.

Bane picks up on that. He’s smart. “Do I think Amie’s sexy?”

At my lack of response he pulls me in closer. “Do you know where my attention went when I walked into this bedroom?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“You. In this fucking outfit. On our bed. That’s what I saw. And do you know what I was worried about?”

I give my head another small shake as his hand slides down my back.

“I worried about all the Anarchy Amie stories you’ve told me.”

“I don’t get what that has to do with us playing dress-up.”

“I guess my head went to all the worst possible places. You two are close. You’re always together. Lately you’ve been together and naked. Or semi-naked.”

Well this conversation is going very differently than it did in my head. Sometimes my worst-case-scenario radar messes with reality. Or is as far from reality as I can get. “Amie and I have been friends for ten years. We’ve been seeing each other naked since before either of us had boobs.”

“Do you understand that it drives me insane that she sees you naked at all?”

“It’s just Amie.”

“But it’s not just Amie, is it?”

“What?” Now I’m confused.

“Every night before you get up on stage you’re in a dressing room with all these other people, in various stages of undress. And then you get up there and kiss another man, five nights a week.”

“I’m acting and Michael is gay. And he has a boyfriend. He’s about as interested in getting it on with me as Amie is. Also, if he wasn’t in a relationship, he’d be picturing you while he’s kissing me. He probably still does, actually.”

“I highly doubt I’m his type.”

“You’re exactly his type. His boyfriend looks a little bit like you.” The only resemblance is that they’re both tall, built men, but that’s not really the point. Bancroft is typically a very confident man, but recently I’ve noticed these brief moments of insecurity. They’re fleeting, but they exist. As if he needs reminding that I love only him. That the attention I get from everyone else when I’m on the stage is only related to my ability to depict a character, and that beyond that, his is the only attention I want.

“That’s . . . interesting.”

“He’s not the only man to lust after you, I’m sure.”

“The only person I’m concerned about lusting after me is you.” His hand glides down to cup my ass. He’s grabbing a solid handful of cheek since half of it is hanging out of the bottom of these tiny shorts.

“I thought that was a given.”

He pulls me against him and drops his mouth to my ear. “Do you know what I’d like to do now?”

“Fuck Wonder Woman?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

“You need to try this on so we can make sure it fits.” I thrust the costume at Bancroft. He does not look impressed.

He takes it with a skeptical expression. “I thought I was going to be Bruce Wayne.”

I may have been a little vague about my plan. “You are Bruce Wayne, as Batman.”

His plush lips flatten into a thin line and his eyes narrow. It’s too late to come up with something different. We only have three hours before we have to be at the event and my makeup still needs to be done. Gwendolyn has called Amie four thousand times according to my messages. Murder is a real possibility. Amie will be here in twenty minutes to make my face pretty, and I’m hoping the murder isn’t mine.

“I expected to wear a suit.”

“It is a suit. It’s a superhero suit.”

His response is to glare at me. God he’s hot when he’s annoyed.

I throw him a pout. “I’m going as Catwoman. You have to wear your Batman costume or we won’t match.”

“I thought you were wearing that.” He points to the evening gown hanging from the hook in the bathroom. It’s my decoy dress. I copied it from the movie. I’m starting in an evening gown and then changing partway through the night. It’s all very well-orchestrated. Sort of like a costume change between acts. I tried to convince Amie to do the same thing, but since she’s going as Cinderella the whole rags-to-riches thing wasn’t that appealing.

“I will be. Only to start the night. And you’ll be in a regular suit. And then you’ll change into Batman and I’ll change into Catwoman. It’ll be fun.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What if this costume doesn’t fit? Is this Lycra? Where did you even get this?”

“I worked hard on it. Just put it on.” The only real work I did was looking online and punching in his credit card number. Although I did tailor it based on his suit measurements and I made a few special alterations.

He sighs, lips still pursed, but strips out of his clothes while I watch.

“Enjoying yourself?” He sticks his hand down the front of his boxer briefs and does some rearranging.

I grin. “Immensely.”

He pulls the suit on. I think it’s going to look even better than it did on the model who posed in it. Bancroft has amazing legs. Bancroft has an amazing body, period. He’s a massive brick wall of a man. Until him, I’d never been into jacked-up guys. His build is often camouflaged under his suits, although the bulges and contours of muscle are still present.

Now all that incredible definition is encased in black Lycra. I press my knees together. Maybe he doesn’t even need all the armor stuff that came with it. I also wonder if we have time for a quickie before Amie gets here to do my makeup.

“It’s a little tight.” Bancroft smoothes a hand down his chest.

“It’s supposed to be tight.” I start fiddling around with the armor stuff, just to see if I like the costume better with or without it. Bancroft stands with his arms crossed over his chest. He still doesn’t look very impressed. But then he hasn’t seen himself in the costume yet.

“I’m going to be hot in this.”

“Hell yeah, you are.”

“I mean I’m going to sweat.”

“You’ll be fine. And you only have to wear it for like, an hour at most.” I fix the cape to his shoulders. All that’s missing is the Batman mask and he’s perfect. I pull him over to the bed and stand on the mattress so I can get it over his head. Then I take a step back and check him out. He’s so hot. It’s ridiculous.

I jump down off the bed and grab his hand. “Come look.”

He follows me to the full length mirror by the walk-in closet, although I’m half dragging him. I cover his eyes with my hand and position him in front of the mirror before I move them. “Ta-da!”

He stares at his reflection for a lot of seconds. “I can see the outline of my cock.”

I glance at his crotch. He’s right. It’s not super obvious, though. “We’ll just readjust things.” I drop into a crouch, poking him through the shiny fabric. He’s half hard, which is likely part of the problem. His low groan draws my gaze up.

His lip is curled in the hint of a smirk. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Maybe I don’t mind this costume all that much.”

I snort and make a small adjustment, but I’m just exacerbating the problem. He’s harder now, and more obvious.

“I have a question,” he asks.

“Shoot.”

“How am I going to use the bathroom when I’m wearing this? Won’t I have to take most of it off?”

Now it’s my turn to smirk. I took this into consideration when I made some alterations. I slip my hand over the fabric until I find the hidden flap and slide my hand inside. It takes me a few seconds to work my way around his boxer briefs, but I manage to get his mostly erect cock through the opening.

He snort-groans. “You’re brilliant.”

“Right?”

A wicked grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You know what you should do while you’re down there?”

I return the smile. How many people can say they’ve blown Batman?