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That day he was Clark Kent, law abiding citizen of Metropolis and reporter for the daily planet just dropping by to visit a friend…acquaintance- colleague? Whatever, he wasn’t yet sure what he and Bruce were exactly. Point was he was visiting him, like a normal person would. That day he used the front porch. That day he rang the bell and knocked thrice. That day he didn’t float menacingly outside a certain billionaire’s bedroom balcony until said billionaire got exasperated and decided to let him in. The door opened just as he was about to ring again. The tell-tale shuffling of feet and snickers reported the presence of the Bat-kids. It wasn’t Alfred who opened the door and Clark distantly remembered that it was a Friday night hence his day off. Instead he was met by a head of dark hair and ice-cold eyes that were definitely stolen from Bruce Wayne.
‘Damian…’ Clark smiled pleasantly, though he couldn’t say the same for the boy’s expression. Damian appeared dismayed; like he’d expected an expensive toy he could play with but instead got that.
It’s not that he couldn’t play with Clark, he just wasn’t…expensive enough…
‘Oh, joy. I’ll tell father you’re here.’ His smile, when there at all, was hard-pressed. It seemed the grouchiness was genetic, he surmised.
But for Jason propped precariously on the centre-piece playing video games, the place was surprisingly devoid of life. That was until Dick appeared from the hall-way leading a very messy Bruce Wayne. The top buttons of his long-sleeved white shirt were undone, the sleeves rolled up. Disheveled hair and flushed expression, but for the stripe of grease down his jaw Bruce could have easily passed for a cover of Cosmo. Of which Clark found the grease all the more appealing for reasons he couldn’t understand.
‘Father, the reporter is here!’ the boy yelled upon seeing Dick and Jason. Bruce flinched as he came to a halt. He turned to Dick with a raised brow. Robin shrugged and went on ahead with a smile to welcome Clark.
‘Hey, man…’ he raised his clammy palm for a high five which Clark missed.
‘Too slow!’ the boy grinned. Bruce was still silently eyeing his son. Oh he had no idea.
‘Damian, I hope you welcomed our guest amiably.’ I know you can be difficult, but please…
‘Jeez, father-sometimes you sound like you don’t trust me…’
‘I don’t.’
The boy stuck out a tongue in response before going over to ogle whatever contraption Jason had in his hand over the older boy’s shoulder. Jason didn’t even notice him.
‘He was very welcoming, Bruce.’ Clark laughed. Bruce in Bat-dad mode was one of his favorite Bruces.
‘No I wasn’t, you big liar!’ Damian hollered from across the room and Clark could see Bruce’s jaw work but no words came out as he internally cursed the Assassin’s League training.
‘Shall we have dinner?’ Dick, the only temperamentally sane one at the time suggested.
‘You guys start without me, I’ll go freshen up.’
‘Did someone say dinner?’ Jason looked up from his video game for the first time in hours. ‘Why, hello there Clark…’ he gave a shark-toothed grin before springing off the table.
Dinner was…awkward to say the least.
They danced around the topic of possible conversation and finally settled on asparagus. Sad, it was. They couldn’t talk about Bruce’s/Batman’s adventures because they all thought Clark was just a random reporter. Dick however threw a few questions about Metropolis Clark’s way so that he didn’t feel entirely left out.
‘No, I mean it must be cool, you know…having superman and all…’
Bruce cast a weary glance Clark’s way. Clark who had nearly choked on his lobster salad.
‘Uh…he’s pretty efficient.’
‘Efficient!’ Damian snorted. ‘Father says-‘
‘Yeah but would you say he’s cooler than Batman?’ Jason….Jason loved riling Bruce up. So when he was dome chasing baby peas round his plate with a fork he raised a question that he knew would rile Bruce up. He didn’t expect Clark to be that alarmed.
Breathe, Kent.
Bruce half expected him to clear away the table in one sweep, stand up and declare that he was in fact Superman. He didn’t, he grinned.
‘Oh I think he’s a hundred times cooler than Batman!’
Damian laughed and Jason whistled, cautiously eyeing his father. So that was how Clark wanted to play.
‘But if Superman is cooler than Batman, doesn’t that make Batman hotter than Superman.’ They were seriously going to do that.
Clark was taken aback; he’d quite frankly expected Bruce to just snub him with a classic Wayne-snort. He had actually played along. Huh.
‘He’s okay I suppose.’ What Clark meant was he’s beautiful. He’s strong and brave and handsome and caring though he hates to show it. He’s the most courageous creature in the whole dimension and his scars just make him sexier…
‘Don’t you think it’s kinda hard to tell though, considering he’s always hiding behind that dark cowl and gloomy cape?’
Bruce narrowed his gaze. It’s not called hiding, it’s called going incognito!
‘He doesn’t float around people’s heads in primary colors anyway…’ Bruce huffed back in retort, nonchalantly nibbling the tip of his asparagus and eyeing Clark who had just been emotionally punched in the gut.
‘Hey!’
‘And what’s with the red cape, I mean…’ he was now grinning. ‘Seriously. Little red-riding hood much?’
Clark was frowning…seriously. Bruce knew he’d gone a bit too far in challenging the man-of-steel’s ego as per costume choice. He already gave him enough hell during the charity Gotham balls when Clark donned ill-fitting suits…but he knew Clark Kent never minded. Superman, well…let’s just say he wasn’t as amicable.
That was how Bruce ended up reaching a hand across the table to grasp that of his guest who was seated to his right. Clark flinched at the contact and it took super human will-power to keep him from soaring out of his chair altogether.
‘I’m sorry…’ he whispered so that it was only audible to those with super-powered hearing. To the other inhabitants of the table, it appeared as though the two grown men were just…holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Sunny summer skies versus frigid winter ice.
Damian could only conceal his discomfort so much. For Dick, the Wayne crest etched at the back of his silverware was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. Jason snickered, ‘God I wish Cass and Tim were here!’
‘What’s with that face, Damian?’ Bruce sighed, regretting an answer even before he was through with the question.
‘I don’t approve.’ The boy pointedly stated.
‘Damian!’ Dick hissed under his breath. Jason burst out laughing.
‘Huh?’ Bruce went.
‘Of you…and Kent. I. do not. Approve…’
Clark grabbed his hand from Bruce’s hold as though he had just been burnt. ‘Thi-this? Me and- ha-ha...Ha.No, I just…um...The…hah, what? Bruce?!’ He was successfully making a giant ass fool of himself…
‘We’re not an item.’ He finally managed to string together some words in a sentence.
‘And what if we were?!’ Bruce grabbed Clark’s hands with enough force to sprain a normal human being. Clark was successful at not fainting altogether.
‘Clark. It’s not that I don’t like you. You’re actually bearable.’
‘Damian, be nice…no, that’s impossible. Be civil.’ Dick told his brother.
‘-and come now, father…we all know who you truly fancy.’
Interest was piqued.
‘Do you, now?’
‘C’mon old man…It’s no secret that you have a big ol’ crush on-‘ Jason began.
‘SUPERMAN!’ Damian completed from him.
Bruce pretended that Clark’s fork falling to the ground was an accident.
He knew that the kids were referring to the interview for the Gotham Times that Vicki Vale had had with Bruce Wayne at the lake house.
‘So you’re telling me, that if you had to marry one of the justice league heroes- It would be superman?!’ The insipid woman chirped in her high-pitched voice.
Bruce just smirked.
‘Okay, seriously though. Nobody special in your life, there obviously has to be someone you like?’
‘Well, I suppose there is…’
‘Oh, and might you give us hint as to who this mysterious person is. Do we know him or her?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’ she pressed.
Well he’s a super powered Kryptonian. He occasionally works at The Daily Planet, when he’s not, you know-saving the world from peril…
‘Nope, never heard of him…’
0 to a hundred real fast.
‘If you’re talking about that interview-‘Bruce tried to explain because the last thing he wanted to do was scare away his best friend…acquaintance, team mate? What the hell were he and Clark anyway?
‘Nonsense, father! Every time, it’s superman this, superman that…superman…’
‘Well…he has a point there.’ Dick pointed out.
‘You say he annoys you but that’s not true…is it?’ Damian added with a smirk that was a photocopy of Bruce’s. Clark could tell that the boy would break hearts some day. If his father didn’t kill him first if Bruce’s death glares were anything to go by.
‘Oh my God, you guys remember that time he was in the shower and we heard-‘Jason decided to officiate “Let’s completely embarrass dad hour.” But Bruce was having none of that. He remembered with unflinching vividness the scenario the three boys were snickering about.
It had been a particularly hectic mission that Tuesday afternoon, tracking down poison ivy before she could release her canister of toxins. And she actually almost had, right in his face. If it wasn’t for Superman lunging right in the way and taking the blast himself, Bruce wasn’t even sure he’d be seated there that day. The force drove them backwards, right into a wall with Clark pressed up right against his front in the most compromising position imaginable. Okay screw the Gotham Charity masquerade ball last month when Clark showed up actually looking suave and Bruce was supposed to give a speech; this was officially the worst time for the Gothamite to get a boner. Seriously shitty timing. But it was Clark, rubbing up against him with that ridiculously skin-tight suit, apparently trying to save his life. It goes without saying that it was Clark who saved the day. That evening the Bat got home frustrated, hot and bothered beyond understanding. He literally barged into the bat cave showers ignoring the Robins perched at the terminal, eyeing him with unconcealed scrutiny. In the showers he fumbled with his Kevlar suit, if only to get a fragment of relief from his physical torment. Hence the sad tale of how he came to the thought of Superman-not that it was the first time, it was just the first time his sons were an audience to him coming completely undone to the thought of a man he claimed to “not stand.” That weekend at the JL meeting, he submitted a complaint about Superman’s apparel.
‘Okay it’s time for dessert!!!’
Bruce tried to see if he still had the number of his counselor, so that with a bit of assistance, he’d be able to look Clark in the eye again. Clark who had been silent the entire exchange.
‘Seriously though, father-‘
‘Damian, please go to your room…’ his exasperation was at some other level by that point.
‘Humph! I was going anyway.’ The boy grabbed his half-eaten sundae, and determined to die on his own terms, excused himself from the table.
‘So that happened…’ Jason drawled while standing up.
Dick smiled piteously at his father. ‘I’d better be heading out for…stuff, now.’ Patrol, Clark understood but didn’t show. ‘Nice time, champ.’
They were alone and the tension in the atmosphere could spark a microwave.
‘So, uh…you could help with the Bat mobile if you…’ Bruce was offering him an out. Clark shut the door and locked them both in with a smile.
‘Of course.’
‘Wanna grab a cocktail with me first? Repair work ends to get stressful.’
Clark nodded.
Atleast they all agreed asparagus was a suspicious vegetable.
Clark smiled. One of those genuine earthy sun-shine smiles. He smiled because the Bat-mobile was working perfectly again. So Bruce had a reason to smile. But Batman never smiled. So Clark did it for both of them. Even as he stored the repair equipment away safely, Bruce swore he could feel the beam of Clark’s grin warm his tan skin and set it ablaze, either that or the physical strain of running experiments for a fairly extended period of time while keeping watch on an over-grown Kryptonian baby.
‘And this?’
‘Put that down, Clark!’
‘What of thi-‘
‘That’s dangerous.’
‘Oh Bruce! I wonder what THIS does.’
‘Claaaaark!’
But it was finally complete; the tedious process of tinkering and adjustments that had quite frankly taken a shorter time with the aid of a certain someone’s super-strength and heat vision. (But Bruce would sooner chew broken glass than admit that the man of steel was significantly useful when he wasn’t leveling cities with the efficiency of a super-powered high-tech military grade tank)
It was done and Clark could finally go his merry way back to Metropolis. Bruce knew the younger man enjoyed his company, and that to him -to Bruce made him more alien than the fact that he was from another god-damn planet. Just another trait to add to Bruce’s list of Clark’s quirks. Why he kept one in the first place was a story for another day. He knew that since the bat-mobile was finally up and running, there was no reason for the reporter to stay. No valid reason anyway. He couldn’t say he was staying for Dick because Robin was out on patrol with Cass and Tim. So Clark had to leave and avoid further awkwardness he reasoned. This was normally the part where the bumbling reporter begun making feeble excuses just to stay behind an extra few seconds (because Bruce was savage as fuck) He’d glare at the cave floor and pout ever-so slightly but he would leave eventually. Leave Bruce to a semblance of peace he’d managed to structure pending Superman’s presence. It was a blended dose of tranquility he’d formulated just for Clark, because just being near the damn man disoriented him. Clark could probably detect the way his heart instantly sped up when he arrived…perhaps. It no longer fazed Bruce. What was imperative was to get the grinning Kryptonian out of his house, and more importantly-out of his head.
Surely Clark could tell an eviction was in order. It had happened way to many times to count now. Surely he could tell when he was being shut out? But Oooh no, he was smiling. The mother fucker had on a grin that could light the sun. That night was different.
That’s when Bruce got scared. If Clark noticed any change in the dark knight’s temperament he chose to keep silent. On and on he smiled, azure eyes twinkling back in an unspoken challenge.
‘Why are you smiling even more like an idiot?’ He’d been doing it since dinner time now that Bruce thought about it; ever since Damian’s wild accusation at the dining table that evening (that may or may not have been true. But that was a matter of opinion, that was to say whose mattered and whose didn’t, also known As Bruce’s opinion and the others-respectively.)
As though reading the other man’s mind, Clark’s grin widened. Because it was apparently somehow possible and his voice lowered by octaves. Bruce knew that voice.
‘So you have a thing for superman, huh?’
Oh Lord no. Making a mental note to take a million off Damian’s allowance, Bruce clenched and unclenched his fists, thrice, before mustering the courage to make anything akin to a reply. He grunted, which was the normal human equivalent to a “we’re-not-seriously-doing-this” scoff.
This was just the response Clark expected, because he smirked as though that confirmed everything. Bruce was not having any of that. Batman was dark, up-tight and relatively devoid of emotion, there was only one other man who could challenge Superman. Because that was who was in the room; Superman, confident, so sure of himself… only one man stubborn enough to fluster the man-of-steel. So Bruce used whatever ounce of strength hadn’t been drained out by exasperation to manifest his alter ego-Brucie.
The leering gaze and sleazy grin paired with calculating icy blues that drank Clark in took over.
‘Well with all that showing in his super-tight suit-who wouldn’t?’ he reasoned while running his fingers through disheveled salt and paper hair. If Clark was taken aback, he was good at hiding it…reaaaally good. Bruce allowed himself the pleasure of one unguarded stare at the alien. One unguarded moment. Not stolen. Like During missions when Clark burst onto the scene when Batman had made it more than clear that he was to STAY OUT OF GOTHAM and Clark was too busy kicking ass to notice that Bruce was trying to be mad at him. Or interviews when Clark was distracted and scribbling down only god knew what in that terrible hand-writing of his. Or during league meetings when Clark was being all responsible and fucking authoritarian and sexy you just had to remember he wasn’t just another mere mortal. Or even just a few moments back, at dinner when the reporter was fretting over which spoon to use for his sundae .Or when they were fixing stuff together and the tip of Clark’s tongue was out, his face scrounged up in confusion. The latter, Bruce found very endearing, to think that Superman also got confused, especially when he was sporting messy hair and grease stains like then. It made him all the more attainable, all the more-human.
So Bruce stared for all it was worth before the other male huffed and rolled his eyes.
‘I’m not talking about everyone, Bruce…I’m talking about you.’ His smile wavered.
‘Hn?’
‘Do you?’
‘Do I what. Kent?’ Bruce tilted his head to one side with a smirk before leaning against the hood of the now repaired bat-mobile. Clark had started this in the hope that Bruce would end it. Well, no. He was going to let him finish it all on his own.
‘Do you like superman?’ aaaaand there it was.
‘I suppose. He’s a decent bloke, saves Kittens and the like -not exactly harsh on the eyes either.’ He followed that comment with a wink and was unnecessary pleased with the blush that bloomed on his face. Clark Kent, not Superman. Superman didn’t blush. Whatever. He looked good dusted scarlet-those cheek-bones that could cut diamond. (He didn’t just mean it figuratively) He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t pictured Clark with that exact expression except for entirely different reasons…
Jason was wrong on that front anyway. That night, he hadn’t just gotten off thinking about Clark in the shower. Dammit, he was stronger than that!
He also did it in his bed.
He would also be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with the disappointed facial expression on Clark’s face. Perhaps? No…No. Bruce had definitely had one too many cocktails to drink. What the hell was he thinking? So maybe Clark had a stupid crush on him. So maybe he had a stupid crush right back. But whatever he was thinking was wrong and borderline catastrophic. He vividly recalled the league meeting when Diana has practically cornered him and enquired when he would stop “playing with the Kryptonian’s emotions.” He’d feigned ignorance that time, but it hadn’t given him the proverbial bliss he expected. It only made him antsy trying to gauge whether the fuck Clark was high off Poison Ivy’s concoctions. Because Bruce Wayne was unlovable. Apparently that was another super-power Clark had-liking him. No, pretence just wasn’t cutting it anymore.
‘Besides, ‘Bruce added with a sigh and a grit of perfect teeth and deep exhalation he didn’t even know he was holding in till then. ‘I like someone else.’
This time Clark didn’t even bother concealing his disappointment. Bruce smiled and put it down to whatever was in the cocktails, their guards were down.
‘Oh-oh…of course.’ Clark bit his lower lip, turning it rosier than was healthy-for Bruce. ‘Does she know?’
‘Huh, who?’
‘Diana, silly.’
Shit.
As in what the actual shit. He almost laughed. Almost. The one time Bruce had suggested to Diana Prince that the two date was when the tabloids had been on his case about settling down. The Amazonian Princess nearly broke his arm in a half-nelson and threatened to out his feelings for Clark. This was before he even knew he had a crush on Clark. Sometimes Wonder Woman was just too damn perceptive.
‘Uh…no. No it’s not Diana.’
‘…’ who is it? Break Superman’s heart, Bruce. He’s indestructible after-all.
‘You- kinda know him?’ Bruce distracted himself by tinkering with some attachment a top the vehicle.
‘Him?’ Bruce could see Clark mentally calculate all the male JL heroes, minus himself of course. It was (cruel) amusing, to say the least.
‘He’s not a supe…Pretty down to earth actually.’ Bruce snickered at the irony in his statement and expecting Clark to start to piece it together by then.
Now Clark was at a complete loss. All the people that Bruce hang out with who weren’t superheroes were either rich, or famous, or both i.e. deeeefinately not down to earth. Bruce was just pulling his leg, he realized with a sigh of retreat. He rolled his eyes. They were clearly getting nowhere, what he needed was a cold shower.
‘I guess I’ll just get going back to Metropolis then…’
‘Oh, that’s where he lives; maybe you could send my love.’
Clark continued walking. Then he stopped.
Took you long enough, Kansas.
He spun on his heel, a perfect 180 degrees or so.
‘Is it the hobo we saved last week becau-‘
‘Clark.’ His gaze narrowed dangerously.
‘It’s called a joke, Bruce. Bruce… Bruce?’ You’re kidding, right?
With a sigh Gotham’s favorite son answered. ‘Dummy. I like (love, am god-damn obsessed with, same thing with) Clark Kent.’ Aaand it was out.
It was a nerve racking seven seconds as Clark crossed the thresh-hold to narrow the physical disparity between them. Bruce counted.
He was prepared for everything. Even rejection, because he knew he didn’t deserve the last son of Krypton…but then again no one did. So he was prepared for everything. That apparently excluded Clark’s lips pressed against his own. He definitely hadn’t expected that…
So this is what heaven tastes like…
Trapped between the hood of the car and a super-powered Kryptonian, Bruce never felt safer or more alive in all his life.
The dam holding back his emotions just burst and they surged forward. It was like the only way he could truly explain to Clark what he felt for him was by pouring that emotion into him…
And Clark responded oh-so eagerly by allowing his lips to part to allow the dark knight entrance. His warm wet muscle danced inside Clark’s cavern, reaching out and stroking the latter’s tongue into a tandem with slow purposeful strokes. Clark was literally drooling as he drew strong arms along Bruce’s sides. They finally met at the back of Bruce’s neck, pulling him in closer if it were even possible at that point in time. The darkness behind his closed lids at that moment, Bruce decided was the most beautiful, because he saw stars and flares.
He tried to ignore the fact that he needed to breathe and allowed himself the guilty pleasure of nipping at Clark’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He knew it was okay when he felt Clark smile into the exchange before pulling back.
‘Why don’t you like superman?’ he pouted.
‘Jesus, Clark. I like him. I just prefer you…’
‘Yeah, but-‘the younger man was very stubborn. ‘Why?’
‘Well I can’t exactly control him, can I?’ Bruce surmised with a leer to make it pointed what type of control he was referring to.
‘Perhaps you can, and what’s wrong with his uniform?’
‘Are we seriously doing this now?’ Bruce groaned, because the minutes of making out had given him a raging hard-on he didn’t know what to do with anymore.
‘Yes…yes we are.’ Clark leaned back and poked him in the chest. Hard.
‘Fine…if you insist. It’s very…distracting. I have to stay away because it becomes ten times harder not to get flung into a wall when you’re staring at perfection outlined in a very very revealing suit…it becomes ten-times harder to concentrate in JL meetings…it becomes hard Clark, everything.’ At that point Bruce drove up his pelvis against Clark to illustrate just how hard being around the damn alien could be.
‘I-oh…I always thought you tried to avoid me because you knew…’
‘Knew what?’
‘Oh come on, Bruce-you’re the world’s greatest detective. Everyone and their grandmother knows I lo-like you…’
Bruce was sure he was going to wake up on his couch….alone, buried in a French translation of The Great Gatsby or some other classic because it was all too good to be true.
‘Jon and Diana might have…hinted on it.’ His jaw was drawn taut but his eyes were laughing.
‘Right…’ Clark appeared to be deep in thought. Then he all but jumped Bruce onto the hood of the car, reclaiming his mouth then releasing it too fast for Bruce’s mind to register. Running his mouth down he peppered kisses along Bruce’s jaw and his hands, heading for Bruce’s zipper made no qualms about their intentions. They’d wasted too much time already.
‘Cl-clark…I just fixed the Bat mobile, I’m not gonna have you ruin it again.’
‘Then I’ll just help you fix it again’ Clark huffed, releasing Bruce’s neck with an audible sucking noise.
‘No...’ Bruce told him but didn’t halt his own ministrations, hands roaming along Clark’s beautifully arching spine to finally settle at the man’s ass.
‘Then what?’
‘Then you go shower.’
Clark raised a brow.
‘Because I intend on tasting you everywhere and I don’t exactly fancy the flavor of motor oil’
So this was Bruce Wayne’s shower. This was where he scrubbed down and contemplated life’s decisions. Where he let off steam (no pun intended)…where he got off.
Clark identified sandal-wood scented shampoo which he realized he’d always gotten a slight whiff off of Bruce during missions. Being this close, engulfed by everything that was soooo HIM, Clark was just about to lose his shit. He pretended it was Bruce’s fingers and not his own grabbing a hold of his left nipple, twisting it until the bud stood erect; an angry red flush stark against flawless skin. The fact that Bruce was sitting on his bed doing only God-knew-what as he waited, so Clark had to stifle his moans only served as a turn on. Nimble fingers made quick work sliding down along his collar, chest, and abs and finally to his engorged length. The head was purpling with want…with need that only Bruce could satisfy. Clark guiltily smirked at the thought of Bruce outside, waiting for him, while he played with himself in here. Supporting his weight with the left hand, he slowly drew the right behind his beautifully sculpted ass and gently prodded at his entrance with his index finger. He managed to relax as the finger slid in with ease because of the wetness around, however not even the pitter-patter of the drops against the shower floor were enough to stifle the gasp that he let out. Clark paused for a moment to make sure Bruce hadn’t heard a thing. Confident that he was on his own he proceeded to initiate a slow torturous movement, driving his finger in and out until it was more than comfortable. With another gasp he drew the second finger in…to scissor himself.
In his head it was Bruce’s fingers ruining him, reaching for that little bundle of nerves inside but never quite getting there. He got off on the numb burn, the delicious stretch of his passage. It was the feel of the friction of his fingers against his now puckered entrance that nearly made him collapse to his knees and stroke himself to finishing there and then but he held out. He was going to make it fucking awesome, both for him and for Bruce. But now he had no control over the illegible moan and cuss-words spilling from his mouth. His body ran away without his mind and he did nothing to stop it except-
‘Clark?’
‘Br-Bruce…’ he half-panted, half whined the name as he turned. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
‘Long enough to realize I’m not a very patient man. Get out. Now.’
Clark was impressed with himself for remembering where the shower controls were in his heady state.
He was even more impressed that he made his way out of the shower without collapsing on the tiles like a new-born calf attempting her first steps. In all fairness however, he hovered some of his way out, right into Bruce’s waiting arms. The Billionaire had taken off his clothes during the wait (in which time he totally wasn’t spying on Kent in the shower) and now donned a fluffy white bathrobe which was standing in between Clark and his ultimate goal. He knew Bruce Wayne was in good shape; his physic was arguably the best human one he had ever seen. Bruce Wayne could give Mr. Universe a run for his money. But nothing prepared Clark for the perfection beneath the fabric as he undid the ties and let it cascade carelessly to the carpeting below. Bruce was littered with silver scars along his otherwise flawless complexion. Each mark was an accidental tattoo he donned with a certain measure of insecurity. A souvenir from his escapades, to remind him of where he fell, where he bled, where he wasn’t fast enough-because he was human and-oh so fragile. And this just made him more beautiful in Clark’s eyes. Because even if to Bruce it was testimony to his weakness, Clark regarded it as irrefutable evidence of his strength. Bruce was technically the weakest of all of them, and that’s what made him the strongest, that’s what made Clark love him.
‘Are you done staring?’
‘No I- I just…Jesus, Bruce you’re beautiful.’ He ran a thumb along Bruce’s collar where the first long gash begun. In the dim moonlit room, they seemed it seemed to glow.
Bruce quirked a brow in disbelief. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Clark. He just didn’t believe himself, or what he’d done to deserve a god tell him how beautiful he was. It wasn’t a lie, to Clark anyway. Superman never lied.
Clark tried as best he could to contain the ball of warmth welling up in his chest. Gosh darn it, Clark don’t break down on me now….
‘Clark, if anyone here is beautiful…’ Bruce paused to laugh at the tickly sensation of Clark tonguing his clavicle, more particularly running his mouth over the thin scar that ran just above his left nipple. Clark paused there, curiously eyeing the well-muscled flesh of his lover before blowing a cooling breath over the nipple.
‘Fuck it, Small-Ville…don’t tease, it’s you. It’s you, okay!’
He wrenched Clark by the hair at his nape, forcing him up so that they were eye to eye.
‘You’re beautiful.’
Clark merely smirked as though he couldn’t care less what Bruce had to say and full-on attacked the nipple. Suckling, nipping…biting while playing with the other by kneading it with his fore-finger.
So engrossed he was he didn’t notice Bruce take a dozen steps back until they fell in a heap on the Egyptian-cotton sheets that Clark distantly surmised must have cost more than his monthly salary at the planet.
They fell in a beautifully compromising situation, Bruce was all but inside Clark, their beautiful naked bodies flush against each other, and their hard dicks brushing as the Gotham Prince struggled to connect their lips. It was messy and wet…nothing Clark expected and everything he wanted at the same time. Once more Bruce took dominance as Clark let his tongue in. He wanted to be ruined and that was precisely what was going on. Mundane thoughts of watering the neighbors’ plants or finishing his latest piece for Perry all erased with each touch of Bruce’s lips against his own.
Suddenly Bruce burst out laughing and Clark’s gut clenched as he bore witness to the greatest sound in the history of the world.
‘What?’ he pouted.
‘Clark, you’re floating…’
‘Oh-I’ He was. ‘I suppose I am…It kinda..um…happens when I’m inexplicably-‘ he placed a chaste kiss on Bruce’s forehead as he came down from the two inches or so he had hovered above the king-sized bed.‘-Happy.’
‘Cute.’ Bruce told him, his smile mimicking that which a parent would give their child. But his lewd actions were anything but. With one forward jolt of his hips upwards he solicited the dirtiest moan he’d ever heard from Superman. And just like that they were dry-humping themselves senseless. The slight creak of the bed and their heavy breathing was suddenly the only sound in the room. That and the smack of lips taking and claiming what they’d denied for so long. Their bodies wove a distinct pattern that told a story of great loss, trial and suffering. But there was also hope, love, passion and pleasure. The two men had been broken by this world, but their pieces fit together perfectly as the found their rhythm. Clark gritted his teeth as he ground down on Bruce, allowing the wave of pleasure to overtake him…It had been too long-he realized, too long since he’d held someone. Since someone had held him. Never, since someone had actually held him. He was a physically endowed man who easily dwarfed any of his former lovers. But Bruce was a perfect match. Batman could take it-so for the first time, Clark never held back. He never held back when he gripped Bruce’s strong shoulders hard enough to bruise. He never held back when he rocked his pelvis against that of his lover. He never held back shouting Bruce’s name as he came warm sticky ropes of his essence that painted Bruce’s perfectly chiseled abs.
‘Sorry?’ he grinned, breathing hard as he sat back on his heels, his length still hard as ever even after he’d just come.
‘Don’t apologize…’ Bruce murmured. He too was standing on the edge and painfully hard as he swiped a finger across his stomach, catching a bit of Clark’s cum and placing the tip of his finger right on his tongue before sucking the digit completely clean.
Clark’s eyes widened in absolute shock, that was…dirty. But Bruce just smiled a toothy grin and pushed Clark onto his back with one strong shove. He proceeded to lick the finger again, up to the knuckle as he loomed over Clark. It was his turn to be on top he smirked as he sat himself between Clark’s well-toned legs. Legs that could kick a hole through his wall but were lying twisted in his sheets.
Gently he circled the rim of Clark’s entrance with that finger, eventually using his spit and Clark’s come to ease his passage into Clark. His finger pushed and prodded until the man-of-steel was just another squirming mess beneath him. Clark made to shove himself against Bruce’s hand but the dark-knight was faster and held his hip down with his free hand.
‘Stay still for me, baby.’ He hissed as he pressed a second finger up against Clark’s ass-hole. Clark was beside himself in ecstasy, hair strewn carelessly in a dark halo with a steady drool seeping out of the corner of his parted lips. His eyes were clenched shut and the hand that wasn’t trying to touch Bruce was clamped over his mouth to muffle all the lewd sounds that were pouring from his sinful lips.
Bruce steadily pumped the two fingers in and out of Clark who had by then given up altogether on being quiet. Bruce curved the two digits up looking for what he knew would completely undo the man before him.
‘Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh GOD, BRUCE! RIGHT THERE! Gaaad!’
‘Didn’t know you were this religious.’ Bruce withdrew his fingers with a smirk, having achieved his desired effect.
‘You.. .’ Clark tried to sit up, breathless…’You have-‘
Bruce nodded, understanding his question. He reached over towards his bed-side drawer for a bottle of strawberry flavored lube, taking extra pains to bend unnecessarily low as he closed the drawer. He could literally feel Clarks gaze follow him as he walked back on to the bed.
When he reached Clark, he wasted no time in grabbing Bruce’s dick in his large hands. However not even his hand was enough to fully contain the girth of his thick veiny cock. It was so beautiful, and It was all his…
Clark gingerly pressed a kiss on the crown before looking up at Bruce through half- lidded eyes as though seeking permission. Bruce’s possessive hold of his dark locks gave him the answer he was looking for and he enthusiastically got to sucking the older man’s dick for all he was worth. It was Bruce’s turn to come undone and when he let out an audible gasp, he could feel Clark smile against his prick. Clark was good…so good Bruce probably would be worried how he even got that good in the first place if he wasn’t too busy fucking that pretty face. It was almost like the fantasy he’d had at the Gotham Charity ball, except Clark had his glasses on in that one. Clark hollowed his cheeks as he took in more of Bruce down his throat giving the other man free reign to do with him as he pleased. He didn’t really need to breathe, so he could deep throat like a problem…
He finally pulled back to smile at Bruce who was still in disbelief that this was actually happening to a heathen like him, getting the blow-job of a life time from a god… He looked perfect, cheek-bones flushed and a string of saliva still connecting his swollen lips to Bruce’s dick.
‘I love you, Bruce.’ Clark finally broke and said what he’d been trying to illustrate with his actions. Bruce froze. Bruce froze and Clark was scared that this was the part where Bruce said he wasn’t ready for anything complicated and let Clark fly butt-naked all the way back to metropolis, wasn’t it?
You fucked up, farm boy…
‘Screw this…on all fours, Kent.’ Bruce hissed. His gaze turned dangerous as he reached for the discarded bottle of water-based lubricant. Clark was sure he was going to die of happiness. He obeyed without wasting time, turning back over his shoulder to witness Bruce dribble the lube on his fingers. One hand on his hip, Bruce trailed his fingers down the crack separating two perfect ass cheeks, down down…pausing slightly at his entrance and stopping at the perineum before continuing the torturous trail back up. Clark whined, getting impatient as he grabbed one of the fluffy while pillows in front of him. Bruce fought the urge to just dive into him there and then. Instead he delivered a sharp blow to Clark’s right cheek and watched with amazement as the flesh slightly quivered before turning pink. The pink faded easily but Bruce had decided that he rather liked it because he smacked Clark’s ass-cheeks again and again. It was frustrating, knowing he could never really mark up the alien as his yet he was going to be sporting all sorts of hickeys the next morning…So he increased the force of his blows, pleased to see Clark wiggling his ass-cheeks back for more. The perks of having an indestructible lover he mused before driving two fingers into Clark and scissoring.
‘You’re so fucking tight…’
Clark just hummed in response, enjoying the soothing touch of Bruce smoothing over the place he’d spanked previously.
Clark however stopped humming and started moaning when Bruce added a third finger. This time his thrusts were slow and purposeful-to bring Clark to the edge but not quite. He artfully brushed against his prostate, causing Clark enough misery to actually cry out.
‘Patience…’ Bruce whispered, more to himself before pressing in a fourth finger.
‘Bruce please, I’m going to c-cum.’
‘Then do it…’
‘I want to cum with you in me…’
He didn’t need to be asked twice. The loss of Bruce’s fingers left Clark feeling empty and gaping, like he was terribly missing something. He was faithfully rewarded a few seconds later, however, with Bruce’s fat lubed-up cock in line with his puckered hole. The moment Bruce actually drove into him…the moment Bruce actually filled him up-for the first time…That moment would remain with Clark forever. Bruce just continued pushing…easing in slowly, careful not to hurt his lover until he completely bottomed out. Perfect, of course they were perfect. Clark faintly tasted blood when he finally released his lower lip from his teeth.
‘Bruce?’
‘Hn?’
‘Move.’
Bruce pulled out nearly all the way and proceeded to give a series of slow shallow thrusts that weren’t quite enough for Clark.
‘Give it to me, I’m not fragile, Bruce…’
He sure as hell wasn’t. Bruce broke whatever restraint he’d still had. Self-control and shame all out the window hours ago, he buried himself in Clark, over and over again. They spoke using broken sentences, trying so hard to phrase the un-phrasable…only their bodies, punctuated with the slap slap slap of Bruce’s hips against Clark’s ass spoke fluently in the heated flurry that was them. It was them and just them, Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, slick with sweat in the moon-lit bedroom. Bruce learnt one of the meanings of love that night. He heard it in the filthy gasps pouring out of Clark’s lips…He saw it…Oh-sweet-God he saw it in the sinful arch of Clark’s back as he pulled the sheets from the corners of the mattress where they had been securely tucked as though he needed something to tether him to the universe. He smelt it in the musky aroma of sex that permeated his senses, dulling yet sharpening them at the same time. And he fucking felt it in the tightening feeling in his balls and the tingling heat at the base of his abdomen as he painted the insides of his lover with his seed.
‘Fuck, yes! That’s it…Fill me!’
‘Fuck…fuck FFUUUCK!!’
He wasn’t even sure who was swearing anymore. He didn’t care as for a moment his mind turned blank. He rode out one of the best orgasms of his life before slowly pulling out of Clark.
‘Turn…turn around.’ He said. He wanted to see, to see the face of the man he was ruining. Clark shifted to face him with this big goofy grin plastered on his handsome face. Bruce had half a mind to run out and scream to the entire world that he was fucking superman…but he doubted that would be…appreciated. This position was good because they could easily kiss as Bruce rode Clark. And so he dove back in to the tight warmth, leaning in to join his lips with the others. It was sweet and simple, their kiss-not Bruce pounding into Clark’s ass.
‘Look at me…’ Bruce whispered to Clark whose eyes were squinted shut. He rested their foreheads together as he caught his breath. Clark’s eyes were shining in the dark as he managed a lazy smile.
‘Fuck me, you asshole…’
‘How could I refuse?’
Bruce managed to reach between them and guide his dick into Clark, starting a slow rhythm that was driving the other insane.
Clark moaned as he steadily crossed the line of incoherence. He tried to sit up and ended up pushing Bruce down with a smirk so that he was straddling the man from Gotham.
‘Huh…’ Bruce placed a steadying hand on his hip with a cheeky grin to boot. ‘Ride me, farm boy.’
Clark pushed him down and held him there. Somehow it was fuller…sitting on Bruce’s dick left him completely and utterly destroyed. He felt every ridge, every vein as he lifted and lowered himself up and down. Every thrust hit his prostate dead-on until he thought he was going to die from the stimulation. His mouth hang open but no words came out, whatever semblance to sound was ragged and harsh but Bruce could make out his name being murmured like an esoteric ritual prayer. His dick bounced up and down with the momentum of the activity.
‘Bruce I’m cumming…Bruce I’m…’
‘Yeah, that’s right, cum for me baby- You’re so beautiful…’
Bruce eagerly met Clark’s efforts with his own upward thrusts just as Clark lowered himself so the intensity of their pleasure was magnified. Strong legs worked to move Clark closer to his goal and his eyes rolled over to the ceiling as he came again on his stomach and all over Bruce.
And when he fell over the precipice, Bruce was right behind him...
For a moment they just lay there, in each other’s embrace. Clark’s head was resting against Bruce’s chest, the latter’s arms wound round his waist possessively.
‘Wow.’ Bruce said for the fifth time that night.
Clark just had this lazy satiated expression upon his face, he could feel Bruce’s cum dribble out of his asshole and between his thighs no matter how hard he tried to clench it in.
‘I had better clean up.’ he said, but made no effort to move anywhere. He wanted to live and die in Bruce’s arms, if just for a night.
‘Let me.’ Bruce offered as he withdrew from the cuddle to grab wipes from the bed-side table.
‘Oh?’ Clark eyed him with curiosity.
And Bruce kept his promise of licking Clark everywhere.