Scythe: Hello! This is Bruce's POV of the original Batman Beyond story I wrote called Touched by an Angel. I highly encourage you to read Terry's POV first if you haven't, although it is technically unnecessary, but the energy flows better that way, and I think it makes the story that much sadder. Do tell me if you find otherwise.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I am getting no profit, and am only indulging in fantasy.

Warnings: Bruce/Terry slash. Angst. Drama. Language and intense sexual content. Rated M, if you didn't notice.

Haunted by the Devil

Prowling the streets of Gotham, just like he had when he was younger, was a new Batman. He was the Batman that Gotham deserved. He had given up everything to be here, protecting the people that couldn't protect themselves, when he could be off minding his own business, going to college and having a real, normal life. His past was speckled with darkness that festered and grew inside of him, allowing him to see justice for what it was and gave him the power to take charge of it himself. Though times had changed and the people of Gotham viewed the new Batman as more of an angel sent from heaven, Bruce knew otherwise. Terry was the very incarnate of the Devil. His gorgeous, tempting, obedient little Devil.

The thought was almost amusing to Bruce, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that this had been done before. He'd tried so many times to take in kids and train them, and always, they failed him in some way or another. But Terry was different: He was learning quickly, came from a similar background as himself, and though he still made some mistakes, Terry was so similar to Bruce it was almost frightening. Well, they had enough similarities that kept them on their toes; perhaps not in a good way for Bruce. Their exchanges excited something in Bruce that was terrifying and refreshing all at the same time. Their personalities fit together so well it gave Bruce hope of something impossible. The attraction he felt to Terry was something that had come out of left field like a renegade fastball to the face, and it must have given him brain damage because he couldn't shake it, no matter how much he tried. Besides, Terry had had Dana. This fact extinguished his flame of desire enough that he could ignore it.

Well, then he didn't have Dana. They'd broken up, and he tried so badly to squash down the inferno of hope that burned in him when he had found out, giving him the cold shoulder and telling him what he had learned long ago: Batman could never love. It was more for himself than Terry. Bruce was an old man, though far more healthy and fit than any man his age, Terry was a young adult. It was just… wrong, right? So why did his instincts tell him that there was a very real chance that something could happen? Though McGinnis had gotten very good at hiding his emotions, Bruce could feel it: the attraction to Bruce that had slowly been getting more and more obvious the more they talked and spent time together. He started getting comfortable and happy around the kid, and when he realized they had more in common than he would have liked, it was already too late. Thus, their exchanges became shorter and shorter, for fear of him giving in to Terry's tempting body, voice, and wit. And those eyes. Gotham's tempting little demon.

Batman was still just a human after all; of course Batman could love.

And he did.

The computer beeped at him, alerting him of someone encroaching upon the proximity of his mansion. That would be Terrance. The hum of his motorcycle was unforgettable, and soon he was in sight. Well, they didn't call them motorcycles anymore, but they were still the same thing, in Bruce's eyes. The computer zoomed in on Terry. Why was it that if you threw anyone on a motorcycle, their attractiveness automatically rose to new heights? As if Terry needed to be anymore desirable than he was, the little brat.

Don't think Bruce hadn't noticed the way Terry's body had been sculpted and molded with time, as if by some great artist. He was like a living marble statue that should be in some museum… Listen to yourself, Bruce, he thought, rubbing his temple with a growl. You sound like you're in your twenties again. Batman can never love.

His raging hormones needed to be quelled and so he tore his eyes away from the perfection on the security cameras and brought up an old file to study to occupy his mind with when Terry drove into the cave, parked, and pulled off his helmet. He could see everything clearly in the reflection of the monitors. Did he have any idea how attractive he was, so casually tucking that helmet beneath his arm and twirling his keys around his finger? Distractions, Distractions. He clicked next on the computer.

"McGinnis." He acknowledged his presence, voice cold, not betraying the heat that scorched beneath the surface. He felt the movements behind him towards the cases where the suits hung.

"Mr. Wayne." Oh, he hated that. That brat really knew how to press his buttons. Hadn't they gotten beyond the formalities by this point? Yet, a smile pulled at his lips.

And then he heard the shuffling of clothes. Don't drop it on the floor in a heap, McGinnis. You know I hate that. He peered at him through the reflection of the monitor, inch by tantalizing inch of stomach and chest revealed, and then he dropped the shirt to the floor. Ignore it, he's just trying to piss you off…But what a really good excuse to get a much desired eyeful of that body. He slowly turned, a mask of irritation plastered on his face as he stared at the boy. While Terry was off in his own world, Bruce took that moment to drink in the body that was displayed before him. He was so close, yet so far away, and his hands ached to grab that body and find the spots that could make him moan. What a perfect silhouette for Batman. Bruce had always been much more bulky and muscled, packed with power, but Terry was built for speed, still packing an incredible punch, even without the heightened influence of the suit. What he wouldn't give to be buried in that body to the hilt, those muscular thighs wrapped around his hips, that voice calling his name, heat pulsing around his… As if on cue, Terry proceeded to peel his jeans off and Bruce's breath caught in his throat. Get a hold of yourself, man, it's not like you've never seen a man naked before. He was Batman, for God's sake. He'd always been able to control himself, except with this stupid, tempting, frustrating boy. The boy turned, allowing him to see his perfect profile, and his perfectly round ass, and that's when Bruce threw up his defenses. No good could come from this. He looked at that chiseled face, glaring, using his hatred for his inability to control himself to fuel the impatience behind his stare.

"So, anything come in yet or am I just going out on patrol for now?" He finally broke their silence, cutting the tension in the air like a knife, turning to look at him. He did not even trust his voice enough to not reveal the sexual frustration simmering beneath his skin, so one word was all he could manage:

"Patrol." Terry didn't seem to like that answer for some reason, and he could sense the same frustrations beneath the younger boy's exterior as well. Oh, how he wanted to give Terry what they both desired. He wanted nothing more than to grab him and peel the rest of his clothes off and claim him as his own. He'd always had a primal, possessive side that he had never wanted to fulfill with anyone more than Terry McGinnis, and the boy stood in front of him barely clothed, as if giving him the invitation to leave his mark on that pale, inexperienced skin. But he couldn't. There was no way in hell Bruce could let himself give in to Terry. As much as he hated it, as much as he abhorred the thought, he had to give his permission to take care of those needs elsewhere. Terry picked up the black and red suit, his eyes clearly betraying that his thoughts were elsewhere. As if feeling Bruce's intent stare, he turned and their eyes locked. It was like fire danced and burned between them, or electricity crackling off in every direction whenever they were in close proximity, and this was no different. In those eyes, Bruce Wayne could practically tangibly touch the sparking sexual desire and love that coiled beneath his retinas.

"You're distracted today," he said, deciding it to be a good way to bring things up and give him his blessing to go fool around somewhere else. If this boy stayed here any longer with that blatant sex drive, he didn't know if he could handle it. Terry was many things, but never unfaithful, and if Bruce's intuition was right, Terry probably wouldn't dare touch someone else if his heart had hope for another.

And his intuition was always right.

"…What?"

He nearly frowned at the younger boy's response. Fool, turn him away and be done with it. Hardening his reserve, he never flinched.

"I want your mind clear for tonight, McGinnis. No mistakes. Take care of whatever it is."

Don't let me distract you. I would hate myself forever if you were to die because you were thinking about me instead of watching your own back, Terry. Please. How pathetic his own mind sounded. This was what love was: It brought you down to your knees; a pathetic level that debilitated your ability to think rationally and prioritize the well being of the world rather than your own happiness. This was why Batman could never love. But could he, now that he no longer wore the suit? Of course the one he would fall for would be the one in the suit. Life was so cruel, a death-grip of misfortune around his neck like a noose at all times, suffocating his life away and incinerating every chance of normality right in front of him. This was hardly normal, anyways, loving a man that could be the age of his son. Terry… The defiance on the man's face only excited Bruce all the more. God, he was sick.

And then something happened he hadn't thought Terry would do in a million years:

Terry began to move toward him with a predatory look in his eyes. No. No, Terry, don't do this to me. Not right now. The suit dropped to the floor, but Bruce's eyes stayed glued to the ones that slowly, seductively came closer to his own. Would he be able to push Terry away, when this kind of opportunity may never come again?

"Whatever it is?" The sensual and mischievous tone was impossible to miss and immediately his pulse began to speed up. This was really happening. His flight or fight response was wailing in his head and in his body like a siren, his mind telling him to think rationally and his body wanting to finally claim the black-haired man that beckoned him. He didn't even have time to respond, for Terry was on his lap tangling their bodies together. They fit together sickeningly well like the last piece to complete a frustrating puzzle that had been going on for far too long, and the hardness of his muscles felt even better than he could have ever dreamed. That smell that was uniquely Terry filled his senses and intoxicated him blind. One last attempt to control himself.

"What do you think you're doing, brat?" Ok, it didn't come out as strong and emotionless as he had wanted it to. Shit, he couldn't even think straight anymore. This was not part of the plan. And then he felt Terry press his erection into his stomach and he had to remind himself to breathe. Everything he had ever worked to mask was spilling forth and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Especially once he moved in for the kill. He hesitated just before their lips met, and he thought he would go mad and take him right then and there. When their burning lips finally connected, it was something words were inadequate to describe. He had wanted so long to taste the boy that was now throwing himself at him. This wild abandon… it never ceased to surprise him in new ways! His mind was completely fuddled and he was already kissing back, his body completely ignoring his rationality. Could he allow himself this sinful pleasure?

A moan.

…Fuck it.

He was done for. That simple sound short circuited any reason that was left in his brain. Hands here, muscle there, heat everywhere, pulling, pressing, needing. The kiss was broken, but nothing was over. Those strong, yet soft hands were practically tearing at his belt, tugging at his shirt, and then the frenzy seemed to slow. The scars. They always did that to everyone.

However, he was hardly prepared for what happened next.

With the most loving and passionate care, Terry traced each one he could reach with his tongue and lips as they were revealed, pouring his desire and heart into every touch. No kiss was unimportant, and it took his breath away. Never had anyone done anything so intimate, and that's when he lost it. As soon as his own shirt hit the ground, he rose with Terry and skillfully removed the rest of their clothing, a primordial growl searing his throat with possessiveness as their lips crushed together again. He could feel Terry practically melt in his hands at the show of dominance, breaking their heated exchange with a blissful sigh that was more of an invitation than a need for oxygen. Their eyes met. He relished the chance to study the deep array of colors so clearly, committed it to memory, and saw the spark of life before the action actually happened:

Terry pushed him back into the chair, straddled him, and rubbed them together in ways he had only dreamed of. Their pulsing erections pressed together, he couldn't stand it anymore and reached around to feel that firm ass, teasing the entrance hidden with trained fingers.

A deep, sexy moan. Was it his or Terry's?

He pushed two fingers slowly, one tip at a time, into that hot body. He was impatient, but was also extremely careful and with that care he was beginning to get the twitching and writhing, the breath hitching. When a warm hand encircled him, he shuddered against it, reveling in the way he seemed to know exactly how to stimulate all of his senses at once. Gods, he had wanted this for so long. He may have been unable to fight for extended periods of time like he used to, but he still had the sexual stamina of a bull. Terry rocked against him. Another finger. Ah, but what he wouldn't give to feel those soft lips around his aching cock at the moment. He could feel it getting slick, dying to be buried within the man. Could he hope for such an impossibility? Dreams could never come close to this. He couldn't take it anymore.

He lifted the man with ease, turned them, and pushed him over the desk, received a gasp that made him smirk as he spread those legs and pushed the tip of his cock into that tight little hole. His hands found his hips by instinct and pulled, shoving himself inch by inch into his body with careful, but desperate thrusts. Fuck, he was tight. He wasn't sure if he could even fit himself completely in this smaller man. The whimper he received stirred his soul and he closed his eyes momentarily to simply feel their bodies moving together in a sweaty, slick dance. One more thrust and he was deep within the boy, buried completely and for once he allowed himself to feel the emotions that were always swirling beneath the surface of their relationship.

"Fuck."

That sweet, raspy voice hissed its show of pleasure, causing him to crack his eyes open and stare at the long, defined back, eyes following the line of his contour all the way back to where their bodies connected and he felt himself twitch inside of him. "Don't…Don't stop!" Oh the satisfaction that came with that panting. He quickened the pace, reaching forward with one hand to grab onto that thick, black head of hair and pulled, arching him back and driving himself even deeper. He was grabbing him so hard, he could already see bruises forming on the younger boy's sides and lips, and he realized then he'd never felt anything quite so wonderful as this. He'd bitten off way more than he could chew. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he moved on to take the neglected erection into his hand for the first time, and pumped it in time to their quickening rhythm. So close.

He couldn't stop himself from grunting with pleasure, a warning for Terry.

One more ram of his hips into the body in front of him and was spilling his seed into him in powerful, massive spurts. In that moment, he felt Terry tense around him reaching his own climax shortly after, and coating his hand with the most delightful cry.

And then it was over. The weight of the world came crashing through his after-glow and the calm of the room was shattered by reality. Their panting drove knives into his chest with each breath. He knew what he had done, and how foolishly he had given in to his desires, and now things were complicated. Did he really think they could be happy together? He pulled out, receiving a sinfully satisfying sound of protest at the loss, wiping his hand on a work towel and hated himself for risking the glance back and Terry. Those eyes were filled with expectation and a love he knew anyone would be envious of, ripping up what was left of his heart, piece by agonizing piece.

Bruce was picking up his clothes now, unable to meet those eyes again, his hatred for himself seeping into his tone:

"Are you satisfied?" He felt the air give way to tension and shock between them. Fuck you, Bruce. Love what you've done to the only person you've ever allowed yourself to love. But that's how it had to go; Batman can never love. "Now clean up, clear your mind, and get back to work." It's for your own good, Terry. I swear. Please forgive me.

He didn't have to look to know what kind of an expression was on that face. Terry virtually ran to the shower, the sound of water hitting the tiles in the bathroom filling his ears where their labored breathing had just been. He dressed, composed himself, and cleaned the remnants of their love-making; a torture he deserved. He felt like he was moving in a fog, and yet if he could have the chance to do this evening over, he knew he would fuck him again in an instant.

The awkwardness that followed as Terry stalked out of the bathroom was expected. He watched him from the corner of his eye, seated in his plush leather chair where only minutes before they'd been embracing in. He could feel the intense gaze.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong," Terry said, an explosion waiting to go off underneath those words. "You don't just do that with anyone. What the hell is this?" The familiar zip of the bat suit.

He was right. Terry knew him better than Bruce had thought he did. It's for your own good.

"I do what I need to do, Terrance." He was referring more to the fact that he was trying to protect them both. He'd probably get shot for that one.

"Need to?" The hostility was not missed or taken lightly. "You play with other people's emotions because you need to, Mr. Wayne?" Ouch.

Who knew two people so desperately in love could tear each other apart so easily?

"No one ever said being Batman was easy." Man, he was such an ass hole.

"Yeah, if I had a credit for every time I heard that, I'd be richer than you by now." Leave it to Terry to still have a joke in him. "Don't give me those beat-around-the-bush dodgey answers that you give to everyone else." He had a right to be angry. He was looking at the mask in his hands. Bruce knew what was coming. "Bruce…"

It killed him. Every piece of humanity that Terry had helped him regain shattered with the pain and utter betrayal that was reflected in that one word. How could his own name hurt him?

"This isn't…" Don't say it, Terry, please. I can't take it. "It's not just a… passing fancy." And there it was: the closest they could get to saying they loved each other and he had to shoot it down and crush it in it's infancy.

"Whatever you 'feel' for me, McGinnis, is a by-product of the solemnity and solitary confinement that comes with this job. Batman can never love." He was like a broken record. He was broken, if nothing else.

A pause that was deafening.

"Then I can't be what this city needs." The mask was tossed between them. Why did he have to choose between one man and a million? He looked up from the mask and met the hardened reserve of the defiant young man in front of him. What he saw was not the inexperienced boy he'd first met, but Batman. The Batman.

"You are what this city needs, Terry."

Silence.

Those eyes searched his own.

…

Batman picked up the mask, pulled it on and, without looking back, spread his red and black wings and took flight.

FIN.

A/N: So, I hope this sheds light on everything and that you enjoyed Bruce's point of view on this situation. There are always two sides of a story. Please Review. I was thinking about continuing this and possibly giving them a little happiness because omg I love them D: I want them to be happy. Haha. Let me know what you think.