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“Hello, my name is Bruce Wayne and today I’ll be reading your thirst tweets!” He shoots the camera a smile that’s worth all the money in his bank account and the screen transitions into info-graphics.
When the screen re-focuses back on Bruce Wayne’s face. He’s still smiling, but it’s a touch milder than it was before. “I’ve been told that if I don’t jostle it too much —” He holds up his assigned mug, the cool blue a pleasant contrast against his navy suit “— then I could start out with the mild ones and gradually work my way down to the, ah, naughtier ones.” He promptly shoves his fist in, mixing the contents thoroughly.
“I’ve never thought of myself as someone who needed easing in, if you catch my drift.” He winks at the camera, “So? Shall we start?”
He pulls out a piece of paper, and reads out, “I officially told my mom today that I want Bruce Wayne to dick me. She respectfully agreed.”
He looks up at the camera again. With a conspiratorial and slightly flirtatious tilt to his lips, Bruce says, “Well, I’m sure both you and your mom are lovely ladies. So long as you don’t expect me to do so at the same time…" he trails off with a smirk, not leaving much to the imagination.
He moves on to the next one, “Gatekeeping Bruce Wayne, baby, cry-laughing emoji, he's made out with the entirety of Gotham. He’s public domain.”
A contemplative look crosses his face, “Huh? Have I?” He pauses. It’s a pregnant pause (ironically, all of his children happen to be adopted), “...I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. Which, I suppose, adds a point to your claim. Well, let’s aim higher! The entirety of New Jersey next!”
He gives a hearty laugh. Winking at the camera for probably the second, and definitely not the last, time during this video.
He continues on per the program, “I'm gonna get a Bruce Wayne tattoo on my left ass cheek so I can say I sit on Bruce Wayne's face all the time."
Bruce raises an eyebrow, looking impressed. Amusement fills his voice, “That’s quite clever, actually. Text me — ah, Mary is it? I would also like to make sure I look good, so if you’re taking tattoo artist recommendations… I have a few in mind.”
“I would let Bruce Wayne use my face to dry off his balls.” That seems to startle a laugh out of him. Loud and chiming. As alluring as all the implications that come with his last name.
“Well, I’m flattered! Really! I think we could try this. For um, science, as my son often likes to say.” he gets out, breaking out into a toothy grin that looks like it's holding back another laugh.
He pulls up the next slip of paper, and his eyes light up with delight commonly found in three year olds on Christmas mornings as they rip through wrapping paper, “Speaking of sons, this one says, Bruce Wayne’s wikipedia reads,” he changes his voice into something that could considered more formal, and reads in a somber tone, "Bruce Wayne is a father of 5. Me: Daddy?” He drops the voice towards the end, letting it go slightly more high-pitched and breathy.
“Well…” he leers at the camera, and lets his face insinuate what he leaves unsaid, very suggestively, complete with an eyebrow waggle.
He stops, eventually. Then picks up another slip of paper and reads, “The first thing a woman looks at in a man is his heart. The fact that Bruce Wayne’s tiddies are in front of his heart is not my fault.”
At the corner of the screen, ‘NOT MY FAULT’ is fully capitalized.
Bruce chuckles deeply and replies, “Ogle as much as you'd like, they are fantastic ‘tiddies’. I certainly won't complain at the attention,” he chuckled, his voice turning breathy. “If that profile picture is one of yours then…"
He pauses, looking beyond the camera. Then smirks, a mischievous glint to his eyes, "I’m sure we can find a more private space for you to, ah, carefully, inspect my heart. And all that lies in front of it, of course.”
A choked noise can be heard, presumably coming from somewhere behind the camera. Bruce winks.
“Hey, @ Bruce, underscore, Wayne,” He continues reading, normally, “This might be a bit forward, but may I please lick your biceps like a mom ‘cleaning up’ a melting ice cream cone for her kid?” complete with air quotes, and everything.
“Well, I wouldn't disagree.” He drawls, head tilting, lips twitching up, and eyes drooping.
If these tweets think they're being forward, they obviously haven't interacted with Bruce himself.
Another piece of paper, “Bruce Wayne if you see this, just know I wanna use your cum as a face mask.” Bruce Wayne, for his part, startles, blinking at the paper.
Okay, maybe the tweets win.
“That’s, uhm, creative," he starts, before snapping back into his usual composed self, "I've never done something like that before, but I'm open to anything." Voice dripping with suggestion, he adopts a more seductive pose. Body and words both filled with innuendos.
With another slip of paper, Bruce Wayne suddenly declares, “Well! This is the last one!”
Then reads, “I would let Bruce Wayne father every single egg in my uterus.” The word ‘SINGLE’ is capitalized, although Bruce does not stress on it for emphasis.
Instead, he seems to launch into a rant about his children, “Oh! Actually I think Tim —my second youngest— would love this, he’s been complaining about Damian not being friendly, or affectionate. Damian’s my youngest, if that wasn’t clear. He’s not overly fond of Tim. It’s a cause for conflict between them, and so I think Tim would quite enjoy having a younger brother, or several, who don’t ‘hate’ him as he likes to claim Damian does. Especially a baby, or again, several, who are more prone to snuggling and affection in general, he’s a bit shy with physical affection so being in a position where he’s responsible for giving it, what with it being healthy for babies and all, I believe is something he’d like, it’d be very freeing to him—” and just like that, the video fades to black, cutting at, seemingly mid-rant. Bruce sure didn’t look like he’d be finishing any time soon.
When the video returns to him (barely a second later) he looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. Not unlike a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “It seems that I’ve… gotten carried away.”
On the screen’s right corner, written in white is, ‘Bruce Wayne talked about his kids for three hours.’ and in a smaller font, right under it, ‘until he got cut off by our producer dropping his coffee mug.’
The man was obviously very enthusiastic about his kids. Very.
“Well!” He recovers, sending the camera a smile, though unlike his previous ones this one is muted with (clearly) lingering embarrassment. “Thank you for your thirst tweets! I enjoyed reading them very much. For everyone featured, please, hit me up. I’m sure we can make at least some of these fantasies a reality.”
With that, another choked noise sounds from behind the camera. Bruce’s face brightens and he gives a sunny smile, already forgetting all about his blunder.
As he stands up, he gives the camera one last wink. The video finally comes to an end.