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Bruce had asked him once, what it felt like to be out of the driver's seat while Two Face was in charge.
"Well, it's rare that I'm conscious," he'd said, swirling wine in his glass and feeling strangely sheepish. "When I am, it's usually when we, um... it has to be an intense situation. Emotionally."
"Like when you're afraid?" Bruce had asked, head tilted to one side.
"Yeah." The simplest answer was easier than explaining that he most-often became aware of himself while Two Face was piloting when his alter was having sex.
Like now, for instance.
Harvey doesn't feel what the body is feeling, at least not in a traditional way. He becomes aware of the sensations as if they're being relayed to him, described to his skin instead of transmitted through it.
And there are a lot of sensations: the wet heat of a mouth around his cock, the hard wall of their office against his back, the tickle of saliva dripping down his balls. And the cool feeling of silicone and Kevlar beneath his fingers.
He tries to concentrate, but not in a way that might force a switch. He doesn't want Two Face to be angry with him, first of all, but also he doesn't want to suddenly be having sex with whoever is on their knees in front of his alter.
But he would like to know what they're touching. It almost feels like—
"Yeah, you like that, you little whore?" Two Face growls. Harvey realizes he couldn't see the person in front of them because Two Face had had his eyes closed. "Course you fucking do. Little slut, always begging for my cock."
Harvey cannot imagine Batman begging for anything, let alone Two Face's prick down his throat.
And it is undoubtedly down his throat, if the choking, gluck, gluck noises filling the office are anything to go by.
Two Face is holding onto the little ears on Batman's cowl, using them to move the vigilante's head back and forth along his cock. And Batman takes him to the root every time. Harvey can't see Batman's eyes behind the visor in his cowl, but he imagines they must be watering.
"Fucking built to take my cock. Should give up the cape and cowl business, stay here under my fucking desk. Keep my prick warm for me," Two Face continues, his voice hoarse.
Harvey can feel heat building in himself, not in any particular places—he thinks maybe he doesn't have places like this—but the heat is there and it’s making Harvey wish he could touch the body.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Oh fuck, yeah work that throat for me." Two Face's thrusts become more erratic, and then he's pounding into Batman's mouth, cutting off the other man's air supply and threatening to bruise the back of his throat. He thrusts once, twice more, and spills down Batman's throat. Harvey can hear his throat working as he swallows. Hears Batman gasp for breath when Two Face releases him.
He collapses onto his side on the floor, breathing heavily. Harvey waits to fade into the background the way he normally does when Two Face is done. The world will get fuzzier and fuzzier until it fades completely.
Instead, things become sharper. The relay between sensation and his skin becomes shorter and shorter until he's actually feeling the fabric of their trousers between his fingers, actually breathing in the riverfront-soaked air of their office. He leans against the wall more fully, waiting for his mind to adjust to being in charge of the body.
Batman doesn't move, except to swipe his tongue over his lips, like he's savoring the taste. Harvey swallows. He isn't really sure what to do here. He and Batman don't really interact when he and Two Face clash. He doesn't know if they've done this before and Harvey is just now becoming privy to this dimension of their relationship, or if Batman had come to the office for normal, non-blowjob related reasons and had ended up on his knees.
"Um," he says. Batman tenses. He looks up at Harvey from the floor. "Hi. Um... can I get you anything? Glass of water?"
Batman sits up, wipes his mouth with a gloved hand, and, with a flutter of his cape, leaves the room.