Archive of Our Own

The fight was over.

The case had still been far from solved, judging by how this particular group of criminal goons was lacking a distinctive leader between them. That gave away their overall insignificance, hiding a bigger fish behind the havoc. However, each one of them was equipped with some bizarre state-of-the-art tech to be amateurily wielded in their low-tier criminal hands. The weapons proved truly troublesome – not to Superman, of course, why would there even be Kryptonite in Gotham? – but to Batman. The two communicated scarcely as of late and Clark connected the dots between each of their respective cases much too late, so when he arrived Batman was already getting overwhelmed by the fight he obviously had taken on alone. 

Normally Clark would hold back more, for Batman had a strong distaste for ever falling behind the kryptonian and it was never really an issue for Clark to withhold, if anything he reveled in getting to fight side by side with someone as competent and interesting, and unexpectedly friendly, and fascinating, and cool… as Batman. 

This time, however, he rushed: moving a little too fast, punching a little too hard, caring about collateral damage a little too little. He had to rush because beyond the creak of metal and rustling of fabric, the vulgar shouts and painful groans his ears were tuned into the now barely familiar erratic breathing slowing down to a miserable pace. 

The moment Superman had finished taking care of the situation, Clark rushed to check on Batman, who he knew was unconscious for over a minute now. Though, as Clark had whipped around, towards him a familiar figure was already stumbling in an almost drunken haze. He jumped to catch his freshly lucid partner, guiding the man to sit on a trunk of some abandoned car that had been only further destroyed by the recent scuffle.

Batman looked decidedly unwell. His cowl bended at the side, streaks of blood further highlighting the injury in screaming red. His eyes were unfocused and his body was dramatically off-balance even when sitting down. Most importantly, though, Batman was incapable of brushing off and hiding the pain – something that came to the man as necessary as breathing. That meant there was a very high possibility of brain damage. Clark nervously stared at the vigilante’s eyes, waiting for the eye contact to be reciprocated.

When Batman looked up, his pupils were worryingly dilated.

Something behind Superman – remnants of a fight that had been crackling for release – finally blew up, lighting up Batman’s cowl and the face underneath it that contorted in immediate yet brief pain flashing along with the lights. Clark sucked in a sharp breath, noticing.

“How can I help, Bats? You at least have a concussion but I’m worried about any internal bleeding. What can I do? Where do I take you?” Clark spoke softly but hastily, as if scared to ramble on.

Batman looked at him again, trying to study his face but vision clearly swimming. His lips were pursed, bitten.

Then he sighed and reached his bruised ungloved hand for the cowl. Clark held his breath in reverent realization of the looming intent. It tugged roughly. 

The dramatic reveal didn’t happen because the cowl was stuck to his head, what with the awkward bend of it and the unfortunate angle Batman was using to push it off. He did not even attempt to struggle, just dropped his arm back on the car surface with a heavy thud.

“Ugh, just take this fucking thing off. You can probably scan my brain or whatever,” he grumbled; irritable, annoyed.

Clark’s heart skipped a beat but he schooled himself into professionalism for the sake of their partnership. He had to hold Batman’s bloody jaw to get the necessary reach underneath the cowl to snap it back into shape. He slid it off with care then, painlessly with nothing in the way. 

He swallowed, choking on a surprised gasp threatening to get out.

With jaw clenched in the name of those last-standing crumbs of professionalism, Clark scanned the man’s head in search of any severe structural injuries. He looked thoroughly from side to side, doing his honest best to ignore the pretty blue eyes in the way. 

“No fractures and no bleeding, thankfully. I can see an internal hematoma, though, and it’s definitely a big concussion,” Clark assessed, and then hastily added at the end trying to prove a point. “You were out for a few minutes!”

Batman groaned. “Barely over a minute.”

“You track your own unconsciousness now?”

Oh, and Clark could see now how Batman’s face looked with a raised brow like that. He could always tell before when his partner was doing it but it was nice to see the confirmation. It was nice to look at, too.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,  Boy Scout, bed rest – doctor’s orders.”

“Just 48 hours. Please. I can take over your patrol for the time.”

“Well, you know where to find me now,” Batman dropped his head back, closing his eyes in brief displeasure at the state of things. “Take me home, Superman. You know the way, don’t you?”

On the coming day Clark worried. About Batman's condition and whether the man would reach out to Superman at all or go out alone slinging off roofs despite any common sense or self-preservation. Clark settled on visiting just to make sure to take off any workload over the recovering hero of Gotham. Maybe check on the pretty man he actually had a better excuse to talk to now.

He wore the Superman suit, definitely not obsessing over the possibility of approaching Batman as Clark Kent. Hard to tell when and if it would be appropriate to offer up his own secret identity to his colleague, harder to tell if Batman cared at all. But it was a professional visit first and foremost, and Clark intended to be ready to follow up on the promise to take over the on-site work. 

It felt weird, though, knocking on Wayne Manor's door as Superman, waiting for someone to greet him. The grand courtyard of Batman’s residence provided enough privacy, to Clark’s relief, so they wouldn’t have to worry about Superman – exclusive guest of Gotham’s own sweetheart, Bruce Wayne? Is Batman watching? kind of headlines the next day.

An old gentleman wearing a tailored suit and perfect posture opened the door. The surprise on him looked eerily calm – all concentrated in one raised eyebrow, as if the man was physically incapable of getting fully startled; despite the strange gentleness he radiated, something about the wrinkle marks at the corners of his eyes.

Clark smiled wide, trying for his best Hi, I’m friendly and definitely not at all intimidated right now, racking his brain for the most appropriate way to introduce himself.

“Superman? To what do I owe the pleasure?” the voice somewhere behind the old man spoke. It had a pleasant timbre, with a subtle teasing lilt to it, punctuation in it making Clark shiver in an unaddressed emotion. 

Batman was wearing civilian clothes – just some sweatpants and a loose tee stretched over the pale biceps. It looked unusual, comfortable on him. Clark felt himself strange, like an intruder stumbling onto a secret. It made the man seem unexpectedly approachable, though the colors of the soft fabrics were mirroring Batman’s vigilante suit – black enough to blend with the shadows in and out of costume. Only if it weren’t for that striking handsome face maybe.

“Hey, Bats! Here to help as promised. In case you’re still craving to jump off some roofs and stuff…” Clark said, trying to sound cheerful but not too cheerful. He could swear that he saw Batman’s lips imperceptibly twitch. It never failed to feel like a tiny win to Clark.

Having come down a grand staircase, Wayne made a lazy inviting motion with his hand.

“You are welcome to my office, Boy Scout. I find it best for conducting our business.”

Clark’s heart fluttered a little at everything all at once. 

The office turned out to be a cave, a batcave Clark excitedly called it (it earned him a very expressive huff, which was going to be great ammunition to remember and feel great about himself in the future). It was cold and stacked full of fancy tech. Tracked with the brand, really. Though there were little things still like a few used mugs near some typing panels, a suit jacket messily strewn over one of the lesser used chairs in the back, a sad little opened pack of protein bars – all keeping the place from being completely sterile, giving it some needed life.

He half-expected to be sent home, or given some second-grade dirty work for distraction but Wayne kicks a chair to roll in Superman’s direction. The casual way of it, how he didn’t even bother to look, made Clark feel weirdly welcome, expected. It was surprising but nice.

“Seems we got the same case on our hands. I was just compiling my intel. Wonder if you got anything I missed.”

“The missing trucks stuff? Yeah, I connected it to those freaky weapons we saw at the harbour,” Clark’s head was already in the game as he leaned forward with focused gaze and hands on knees.

“No missing trucks here in Gotham so I assume they came from Metropolis. I’ve got a possible connection in Chinatown.”

Clark hummed thoughtfully but then frowned at the potential possibility. “Any names floating already? Please tell me it isn’t Lex."

Batman snorted.

“Don’t know about him for sure but there seems to be a hefty finance trail leading back to Gotham. I’d have to go through my sources to get more.”

“Sources?”

“Got a suspicion Reeves would know something, he loves to be up to date on the latest startups. The more illegal the better usually.”

“What, like Scott Reeves? But he’s uncrackable! What on earth do you have on him?”

The slimy smirk of that oligarch suddenly planted in front of Clark’s eyes. He was infamous for how evasive he was with any and all information, Clark also knew how secretly deep in the pockets of GCPD Reeves nested himself, so a Batman-classic kidnap and torture method seemed downright suicidal.

“Nothing worth risking. But I have my ways,” Wayne mischievously smirked at him in a way Batman never did. It stirred something inside Clark, something heated and shameful. Some flimsy rumours about Reeves’ taste for a pretty face suddenly surfaced in his mind.

They didn’t linger on it any longer, and the night was spent putting their two minds together, working out the case. It wasn’t how Clark had envisioned it to go but it was a nice surprise. Turned out they were a good team, even if it was just logistics of a case: something Batman never required help for but Clark was still happy to provide. The casual way their shoulders, then thighs would press together throughout was simply a nice bonus. 

They met again some agonizing days later. Well, Clark saw Bruce Wayne first – host of the party in the name of donating to some forgotten shelter – he was there across the floor, surrounded by honeyed smiles, reflecting them back with graceful ease. He seemed a born social butterfly, endlessly far removed from how Superman learnt to see him. Clark didn’t even bother to look for a good excuse before setting out to go stumbling forward through the crowd, he just wanted to see the man he was still learning to recognise as his closest friend.

“Mr. Wayne!” 

Mr. Wayne, who was just done saying his hello’s to some upper echelon throuple, spun on his heels to meet Clark in exaggerated flamboyant surprise. 

“Well, hello there, Boy Scout. What a joy to see you at my party!”

Clark froze in place, entirely unprepared.

“How– How did you…?”

The man cocked his head at Clark: all Brucie Wayne in the raised eyebrows, undeniably flirting; but a fragment of Batman unexpectedly coming through in the familiar shape of a smirk Superman knew too well. 

Clark could only sigh defeated.

“Of course you knew.”

“Now, now, Mr. Kent, no long faces at my party,” Bruce straightened out the lapels on Clark’s unbuttoned jacket, sending shivers up the reporter's neck. A private smirk was replaced by a wide toothy smile reserved for the masses. “We’ve got guests to attend to.”

That million dollar smile still occupying Wayne’s face didn’t hide from Clark the detached nature of the cold blue eyes underneath. It would've been a waste, of course, to throw a gala and not use it as a cover for some secret mission. Batman and Bruce Wayne had their goals colliding in today’s event and Superman was just offered an opportunity to help. Clark would be darned to miss it.

Good thing he already had Superman with him. After all, plaid did a great job covering any blue underneath. 

The sound of the sliding glass door had startled Clark but he quickly relaxed as it revealed Bruce Wayne sauntering over, his Batman communicator sliding back into the inner pocket of a jacket. If not for a few unruly strands of hair revealing the intense nature of his evening, the man looked as perfect and composed as he did at the beginning of the night. Clark schooled his gaze back into Superman’s professionalism, hopefully willing away any traces of flush off his own face.

“Nice work, Boy Scout. I didn’t even have to change into my business suit.”

The “business suit” from his lips sounded like a dirty secret between the two of them, like a skimpy little dress Bruce Wayne dons privately just for Superman, like a suggestive recollection of the history they did not have - not a battle-ready alter ego instilling terror into the minds of Gotham criminals.

It was confusing to Clark, the way Batman still talked to him when no one was watching. And Clark knew no one was, as he was now paying attention to every beating heart getting further and further in the distance, listening just for Batman’s sake. Though Bruce knew too, of course, as he always checked anyways. So why then? Why the flirting? Batman never flirted with him like Bruce Wayne did. He would banter and tease, sure, but never flirt. Did he know? Clark’s heart dropped in his stomach. Did Clark already overstep? Was Batman simply humouring him?

Unknowing of Clark’s existential crisis Bruce walked over and leaned on the glass railing overlooking the city. 

“You had it with you?” Clark asked with a desperate casualness, fighting to keep the rising panic at bay. 

Having turned around, Bruce ignored the question and smirked instead. “Do you always wear that thing underneath? Seems tough to fit under all that... good boy reporter ensemble.”

Clark laughed nervously unsure how to respond.

”Well, don’t look so tortured. I am trying to flirt with you.”

“You– You are?”

Bruce snorted. “What else would I be doing?”

“Making fun of me?”

Bruce’s head turned away to hide a small smile. “Have to admit, you are pretty amusing to make fun of.”

Clark was moments away from bursting in flustered grumbles, feeling ridiculed and ashamed. A warm hand sliding down his arm startled Clark out of his embarrassment. Bruce pulled on the wrist and lifted his hand to rest over Bruce’s broad chest. There was no need for it technically, since Clark could hear his heartbeat already just fine. But the point of contact, the sudden reminder to pay attention – it all brought Bruce’s fluttering heartbeat at the forefront of Clark’s mind. There was nothing else then. Just his palm burning up the fabric of an ironed, perfumed shirt and loud thump thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

“See? I’m… amused.”

Clark leaned over Bruce, hands clutching the glass railing that the man was pushed up against. The beating of Bruce's heart had stuttered to run just a little faster, the sound of it overwhelming Clark as he dropped his head just about grazing the other man’s shoulder.

“I am,” Clark breathed heavily. “Going to fly.”

Bruce let out a deep, a rare Batman kind of chuckle. He sounded entertained with how much Superman was struggling to keep it together. Though his hands would still snake up Clark’s chest settling behind his neck. They held on deceptively loosely. His one leg – still clad in tight suit pants, stripes bending at the movement – slid up Superman's calf, settling on the strong thigh, pushing them impossibly closer together. His lips brushed Clark’s burning ear in taunt, the deep rumble of his voice so close it was shattering Clark’s world.

“Take us to my place, Clark.”

It was completely unexpected how much Clark would enjoy the sound of his own name on these lips. 

Clark had never been so stiff when flying. Holding a precious passenger in tensed arms, he was afraid to move any extra muscle as he rushed back to Wayne Manor. He almost brought them to the front door while lost in his internal hysteria, until Bruce pointed out the right bedroom window in this knowing mirth of his, as if Clark was as obvious as a child caught covered in chocolate. Clark wished to believe he was composed just enough to get away with the secret of his hazed mind.

“Don’t you have a butler or something?” he remembers, suddenly curious about the extent of Bruce’s concerns about privacy.

“Alfred knows when I am not to be interrupted.”

The implication sends Clark’s head spinning. Did Bruce warn his butler of having company tonight? Does he always bring somebody home after these parties? Or did he know he will be having Clark himself?

“Wouldn’t your source mind?”

Bruce snorted.

“Who, Reeves? Surely even Superman knows what hookups are,” he said teasingly, fingers lifting Clark’s chin with unusual gentleness.

“Is this a hookup too?”

At that Bruce cocked his head, silently studying Clark. The faint remnants of a smirk still stained the man’s handsome face but the mirth was replaced with what seemed like genuine consideration.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Bruce finally spoke in a quiet voice.

Clark’s eyes darted away for a moment but a strange supernatural pull called them back to meet Bruce's blue again.

“I’d, uh, rather it wasn’t. If it’s all the same to you.”

Bruce's blue disappeared behind the flattering closed eyelashes.

“It’s not.”

Though the whisper sent shivers down Clark’s back he wanted to argue that it wasn’t an answer to his question at all. In fact, it was even more confusing and Clark was a man that craved confirmations for his anxiety. But then Bruce was kissing him so softly, so tenderly - it dragged Clark’s heart up to beat anew in his throat. That was an answer enough perhaps.

Bruce’s tongue was inquisitive but confident. It was as if he knew too well what to do but craved to learn again on Clark’s terms. Clark trembled longing to be known, longing to learn as well. Their teeth were clashing, breaths intertwined; Earth was spinning so fast, Clark was losing the sight of the brakes.

“Wait! How do we do this?”

“Come on, Boy Scout, I fasted for a reason. Let me take care of you.”

Clark’s face blushed furiously. So he did expect Clark tonight.

Hold on. Fasted? Does he want…?

Oh.

“Oh. Hold on! You, you might wanna change your mind.”

Bruce stopped.

“Do you not enjoy topping?”

He asked that so simply, as if he did not anticipate to ride Clark for god knows how long, as if he did not go through all the trouble to prepare, as if he did not fast to keep himself clean just for Clark. He asked as if it was okay to say no. 

But Clark could not bring himself to lie. The thought of Bruce bouncing on his cock, body flushed and glistening with sweat, belly bulged…

“No! Yes– Ugh, just look. I’m sorry for the disappointment.”

Bruce looks back at him, then down at his crotch, confusion melting into curiosity. As if he is about to discover an exciting specimen of unknown alien biology. 

His hands undid the last bits holding together the Superman suit but slower then, more meticulous, giving time for his eyes to flit back and forth to check in with Clark’s reaction. When he finally pulled down the rest of Superman’s blue and red getup, Clark stiffened.

“Holy shit.”

The cock that sprang out of the stiff fabric was embarrassingly enormous by human standards. The shape of it not too unusual, though it was nearly drenched in copious amounts of precum. Bruce reached for it, face stricken with… horror? awe? Clark gasped trying to prepare for whatever kind of negative reaction he was going to be met with, while Bruce brought a second hand since one was hardly enough to close over Clark’s shaft.

“You call that a disappointment?”

“...What? No, it’s not going to fit!”

“Well, sure, it beats my biggest Bad Dragon but that doesn’t mean I won’t take it,” Bruce smirked devilishly.

Bad Dragon? What is a Bad Dragon? Or is it baddragon? Clark thought to himself, confused.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, Clark. I know how to take care of myself.”

His words were final and Clark was glad to be sitting because his legs would surely have failed him now - just from hearing his name and feeling Bruce's hands slide up and down his length with this steady confidence of his.

He ducked down to lightly nip and lick all over Clark’s cock, then suddenly rubbed his cheek across the still slick shaft: obsessively, like a cat on a catnipped scratch post. When he pulled away to finally catch Clark’s gaze, half his face was shamelessly covered in thick glossy kryptonian precum. Their eye contact held, though Clark’s breath was stuck in his throat, choking him. Slowly then, Bruce brought up his own hand – now, too, soaked in all of the slick – and started sucking on his own fingers, licking them clean so deliberately, unbreaking the eye contact.

“Good golly!” Clark whined dropping his head back to stare at the tall ceilings.

Bruce chuckled, ever-amused. He waited for Clark to look down on him again before speaking. No, not speaking – purring.

“Gonna be useful.”

“You will be the death of me.”

The disheveled man snickered, still ignoring the slick covering his face and hands, before he moved up to press a knee into the mattress next to Clark’s thigh.

“Come on, Boy Scout, help me get out of this.”

“Ah, r-right, of course.”

They fumbled together with the expensive dress shirt and fancy belt buckle. Clark’s cock occasionally rubbing wetness into the striped fabric of Wayne’s tailored pants didn’t get regarded with an ounce of worry or annoyance to Clark's surprise. 

The moment Bruce was free of his garments he dove back to Clark, hips rolling to slide their cocks against one another.

“You should know I have never, uh…” Clark trailed off pointedly, waiting for Bruce’s brows to shoot up in surprise.

“What, really? You never had sex?”

“Never topped, I mean.”

Bruce smirked all too pleased with this turn of events. His fingers trailed a path from Clark’s knee to the hip with a light, maddaning touch. 

“Oh, baby. I’m about to rock your world, Smallville.”

Electricity had struck every nerve of Clark’s body.

Seemingly oblivious to the devastating effect he had on Clark’s psyche, Bruce sat back on his knees before leaning down again to chastely kiss the tip of Clark’s cock. The questioning look in Clark’s flushed face quickly dissipated when he saw the pale hand come up, fingers swiping the slick off his own lips just to disappear behind himself. Clark could not help but catch the tender sighs off the reddened skin. Bruce let him have a few of those kisses before gently catching the end of Clark’s jaw with his teeth, using the bite to turn Clark’s confused face away, get access to his ear without using any hands. He bit down on the earlobe then, before dangerously purring into the flushed skin.

“I want you to look, Clark.”

And, oh, was Clark looking. Beautiful, breathtaking Bruce Wayne kneeling in front of him – Batman himself. Pale skin, dark body hair poorly hiding the peppering of the endless scars across every defined muscle, rosey flush coloring his face and neck, and chest, and cock in an impossible juxtaposition of fierce and tender, endlessly seductive. Clark was mesmerized, possibly in love and so unbelievably horny it was clouding his thoughts in an overwhelming haze. 

Bruce pulled his hand back to run down Clark’s length again, gathering more lubricant, just to go back to writhing on his own fingers squelching quietly in his entrance. Their eyes found each other’s again, melding together into an electrifying point of connection between them. Clark was decidedly losing it.

He grabbed Bruce's knee to pull it from under him, eliciting a surprised sound out of the man. Clark’s hand slid down the strong leg to stop at the ankle, raising it to throw over his own shoulder. He could see Bruce’s wet hand clutching to stay stretching his own entrance when Clark pulled the other leg out. This position – so much more obscene now – made Bruce freeze in his movements, which sent cold sweat down Clark’s back in anxiety. He was about to pull away and apologize, drowning in the quickened heartbeat of his partner, but Bruce shuddered letting out a breathy moan which had interrupted Clark’s panic. His free hand ran over his face in something that strangely seemed like embarrassment, muffling his next words.

“Jesus, Clark. Hold up my knee then.”

Clark followed instructions obediently both holding up the free leg by the knee and securing the other that was thrown over his shoulder. Bruce arched his back for easier reach towards his own hole fingers moving again, particularly performative now that Clark had the front row seats to the show.

“Wider, Clark.”

And Clark pulled the man’s knees apart further, quietly praying to all that is good in the world so that he does not combust at the sight. The squelching was so loud now, so close. The looser the hole was, the filthier it sounded, the more delicious.

“I need, ah, more of the…”

Clark raised the leg even higher before Bruce could finish the sentence, quietly hoping it did not strain those pulled muscles too much. He dove down eager, ravenous; licking the opened hole, licking the fingers plunged into it. He clung to Bruce’s moans jumping in pitch, reveled in them like it was heaven he was not going to return to.

“You heathen,” Bruce laughed wetly when Clark stopped eating him out, now trailing his nose along the soft little hairs covering Bruce’s crotch, loudly and openly inhaling the scent of their mixed arousal. “Give me more lube, Clark, I will ride you tonight.”

Heavens help me, Clark murmured, eliciting a snort from beneath him.

He ran his hand up and down his painfully hard cock, gathering enough precum to last two more nights. His lubed hand tentatively pushed into Bruce’s entrance, replacing the other man’s fingers. He played with it slowly before he felt a hand come up to his, pushing in alongside. Clark could not help the needy whine that escaped him as his and Bruce’s fingers slotted together plunged in and out of the now soft and pliant hole. The noise that made Bruce briefly clench.

“Are you sure you will be ready?”

Bruce hummed, straining.

“Add a– A finger. I can’t reach any more.”

Clark was hesitant to keep adding but listened to the command anyways. He waited a moment before moving in hopes of giving Bruce enough time to adjust to the addition, though soon all their fingers together would move freely again inside that stretched hole.

“Alright, put me down, Boy Scout. I’m too old for this.”

Clark flushed in shame over selfishly exerting Bruce so much before gently lowering both of his legs down on the mattress. Their entangled fingers were still deep inside Bruce’s stretched hole.

Bruce pulled away his own hand to lay back on the scrambled sheets, looking up at Clark, smiling like he knew himself to be the most valuable of Renaissance paintings.

“Superman incorporating a new glove design now?”

Clark flushed, moving to pull away just to be met with a widening Wayne Smirk.

“I like it. Very… industrious.”

After a moment of taking breath Bruce finally sat up to face Clark. Their lips were clashing again: messy, eager, ravenous – Clark managed to start missing them by now already. Bruce’s drying hand ran up Clark’s chest, stopped to curiously massage and squeeze his relaxed pectoral but quickly got back to business flirtatiously pushing Clark to fall back on the pillows. 

The provocative facade instantly dropped when Bruce had to duck forward to catch Clark’s head that was picometers off from slamming into the bedframe mid-fall.

“Clark!” Bruce’s annoyance was thin, poorly masking concern in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” came the sheepish apologies. “I was… mesmerized.”

Bruce snorted, face easing up as his eyes rolled.

“Don’t ever change.”

Finally, Clark was the one plastered over the soft bed sheets. Bruce straddling his thighs, hands lazily exploring every bit of warm skin of Clark’s torso. Bruce Wayne was always breathtakingly attractive but, here, with Clark, right in this moment? He looked more godlike and ethereal than anything in the world that had any claim to those words. Bruce buckled his hip to roll their cocks together. His gaze was pinned to Clark’s length again.

“Fuck…”

“Are you really sure?”

“Clark, I am delighted, not horrified,” Bruce confidently put down. “I have wanted, pined for you for so long. You think I fast just for any dick? I’ve seen your bulge, stared too much at it honestly. This is better than I imagined. You are somehow fucking better than I imagined. And, frankly, if you had no dick at all or walked on six legs instead of two I would still have you gladly and eagerly. Understood?”

I have pined for you. The confession hung heavy in the air, still replaying in Clark’s mind. A sudden look of annoyance on Bruce’s face gave away the urge to take it back. Clark wouldn’t let him when he buried a hand in dark hair pulling the man down to chase his lips.

“I really really like you,” he said simply, almost childishly. “And I don’t want to ever hurt you. But this… I want this so bad, Bruce, you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Bruce smiled, fond and teasing.

“I think I’ve got some clues.”

He straightened in Clark’s lap, soft fondness on his face corrupted by the subtle sheen of the dried precum from earlier still shamelessly painting his beautiful face. He moved up Clark’s pinned cock, balls sliding up the slick shaft.

“I need you to hold me in the air, Clark. So I can take my time sliding down without slipping.”

Clark was so scared of his own pleasure, of losing control; it was all the more terrifying at the prospect of holding Bruce at the same time, having to hold him tight for security. Not tight enough to hurt. It would be harder than simply not holding him at all. But Clark didn’t wish to annoy Bruce any more with his worries so he followed the instruction, anxiously holding up the man’s torso above himself. Bruce rubbed Clark’s cock along his own entrance, hips rolling in a lovely vulgar way.

“Can you, uh.” Bruce sounded unexpectedly embarrassed (for the second time tonight? how lucky). “Can you put one on my neck?”

“Your what,” Clark let out before fully processing the new request. “What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

Clark gave up arguing and finally moved his hand to hold Bruce up by the neck. His fingers were loose, too nervous to close around the flushed throat.

When Bruce’s hole began stretching over Clark’s thick cockhead he had to stop breathing to stay still. The process of lowering Bruce down without splitting him in half was slow and meticulous. Truly it was excruciating. As his hips finally rested on Clark’s strained thighs, both of them shared a loaded inhale.

Clark looked up with glossy eyes at Bruce, who was staring down, mouth agape, at his own obscenely bulging stomach – giving away just how filled he really was. His opened mouth, forgotten, was drooling slightly overfilled with saliva. Bruce’s hands caressed the dramatic protrusion of his own stomach, as if in awe. Clark’s hands tingled with the need to feel it too, so he reached his shaking hand that was caught and guided by Bruce to land on his stomach. Their hands, together, glided up and down the bulging length from Bruce’s form.

Clark swallowed enchanted.

“Heard Superman is considering that new glove design after all.”

The dirtiest thing Clark ever said and it earns him a clench at the base of his cock – exciting him, encouraging.

“I’ll try to fit it into my schedule then.”

After a brief adjustment period – more like a belly bulge admiration period – Bruce started finally moving slowly, tentatively.

It was so tight, so deep and unbelievably hot. Clark never thought it would feel this good. His head swam with pleasure.

It took very little before Bruce started trying to speed up. The same Bruce Clark had always imagined, the same Bruce that looked at him sternly, looked at him kindly. That same Bruce that was now struggling to bounce on his obnoxiously enormous cock with the eagerness that made Clark’s head spin. Clark watched with half a mind how the strong legs were shaking under the strain of the continuous movement. He could not hold back any longer.

Clark bucked his hips to drive up into bouncing on him Bruce. It made Bruce gasp so much louder, wretched even, drunk on the high of their intimacy.

“Oh, yes, please. You can go harder, Boy Scout.”

He did it again, and again. It was impossible to slow down or even hold back, so he stopped bothering to. His hips ended up slamming upwards with an inhuman strength, making moaning Bruce fly up and down to flop uselessly on his hips only lasting milliseconds until he was up in the air again, still diligently impailed on Clark’s cock.

“Harder, Clark. Go harder!”

The slide was so easy now, which was a crime of indecency. The screams, the moans, the wet tightness around him was bringing Clark to the edge. It was indescribably hard to speak but he pushed himself; he had to be good, had to be good for Bruce.

“Bruce, I’m about to…”

“Come in me.”

“It’s a lot.”

“Fill me, Clark!” frenzied Bruce demanded whining with desperation.

And just like that Clark’s throbbing cock trapped in the possessive tightness of Bruce Wayne was endlessly spilling inside.

“Oh, yeah, baby. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Bruce’s muscled belly was no longer precisely outlining Clark’s cock, evenly bloated instead with the overwhelming amount of hot cum filling his guts. Bruce made no move to climb off after Clark’s cock finished splurting last drops of cum. He was furiously jerking his own cock still deeply impaled on Clark’s. He looked incredible like that.

Bruce noticed Clark’s hands moving towards him and quickly waved him off.

“Stay like that for a moment, baby, I’m almost there.”

“Bruce, no,” Clark interrupted with a gentle voice, hands cupping Bruce’s own to stop them from moving. “I, uh.”

He pointedly looked down. Bruce gasped.

“Already? Is that what kryptonian stamina is like?”

Clark nodded embarrassed.

“I haven’t gone soft yet,” he admitted in utter defeat earning himself a dramatic gasp.

“Clark Kent! You will fuck me to death!” Bruce exclaimed with feigned horror.

“I hope I won’t,” Clark shivered.

“Maybe I hope you will.”

At that Clark flipped both of them over, placing the exhausted but still excruciatingly aroused Bruce Wayne to finally rest on the pillows. Clark scanned the man’s abdomen, furiously flushing at the sight of his cock fitting all the way into Bruce’s guts along with all the cum still inside. Finally finding the bundle of nerves he was looking for, Clark almost fully pulled out and slammed back into the target in sight. Bruce didn’t even bother to touch his own cock as he was startled into screaming in overwhelming pleasure. The encouraging dirty talk from earlier turned into mindless blabberring, mixed with sobs, screams and moans varying between deep and raspy to unusually high-pitched. 

Clark’s hand clutched the bed frame above them, something cracking. He could feel all the cum from earlier sloshing in Bruce’s stomach. He could hear it squelch and gurgle. He could even see it. Clark was losing his ability to think.

He was on the verge of a second orgasm when he tried to pull away. Bruce’s legs crossing behind his back, pushing him closer stopped him again. He screamed something angry, something exhilarated at Clark – entirely too incoherent. Something that sounded a lot like Don’t you dare!

And Clark was cumming again. Shocked, overwhelmed, emotional. The pressure of the inhumanly strong flow of cum was hitting Bruce’s prostate point blank which seemed to be the last drop needed in his hands-free orgasm. His hole began violently clenching which milked the last drops of Clark’s orgasm back into Bruce. He was shaking, his face was flushed, stricken with tears and dried precum, dark hair drenched in sweat sticking to his forehead, his hands desperately clutching onto Clark’s biceps. Clark could not get over how beautiful the man in front of him was – the disheveled look could have never suited anyone better. But as Clark’s eyes fell to Bruce’s now concerningly bloated stomach, the worry filled his mind. He tried to move away but the legs crossed behind him stopped that once again.

“Are you alright?”

“Never, ugh, been better,” Bruce mumbled hiccuping.

Clark thought there was a real possibility that the cum might go up to Bruce’s mouth, spilling from every hole the man has. The idea was as concerning as it was arousing. Clark moved forward, having to strain over the arch of Bruce’s bloated belly without pressing too hard on it. Finally he managed to reach his mouth, with Bruce lazily kissing him back.

“What do you want to do with it then?” Clark asked after peppering his lover’s face with light kisses.

“I’m so full…” Bruce moaned blissfully, ignoring half of Clark’s questions.

Clark buried his face in the man’s delicious musky skin, hiding a smile – it reminded of a similar gesture Bruce made earlier on the balcony, which made Clark’s heart flutter at the memory. And now managed to fuck Batman silly after all. The craziest of his achievements for sure.

“Come on, baby, you need to eat.”

The hole still stretched around Clark’s cock, lazily clenched at the sound of the pet name. Or the statement. Interesting.

“‘m not hungry, Sup’mn.”

“Can we ask Alfred to bring you something?”

“If y'wan’ em t'see,” Bruce shrugged indifferently. Non-subtly letting Clark know that he will not be moving off of Clark’s cock anytime soon. Clark started looking around the room, anxious about his lover’s state but endlessly endeared despite it all.

“Gosh, Bruce. Do you at least have any water here?”

Bruce hummed, becoming more and more out of it by the second, and plopped his hand away in the direction of a desk further in the room. It was then that Clark had finally noticed a pack of big water bottles next to it.

“Alright, baby, just hold on,” a pet name adopted from Bruce’s frivolous vocabulary now deliberately thrown for that strategic clench to keep tight around Clark’s cock. He carefully lifted stuffed Bruce with one arm, straining to stay in the best position to keep his lover from discomfort, and flew over to rip the bottle from the pack. He didn’t dare to check if any cum had spilled over on those fancy floors in Wayne bedroom.

Clark had to hold up the head of falling asleep Bruce to help him get some needed gulps of water. He didn’t even get to properly secure the lid, before Bruce was all over him again, dragging him back into bed to cuddle like a second pillow.

“Don’ leave, C’rk.”

And Clark would not dream of it.

“Clark? Wake up. I need your help, come on, Clark.”

Clark really was trying to but his senses were so overwhelmed by warmth and the most darling smell all around him, enveloping him, granting him bliss. It was hard to accept waking up because it felt fleeting like a dream. As if opening up his eyes will drop him dead into cold sterile water: no smell, no bliss, nothing. But the gentle voice guiding him into consciousness did not sound traitorous, it was hard to trust it but trust it he did.

When Clark opened his eyes it was the most beautiful blue in the world that was looking back at him. The memories of last night came rushing in and it almost felt like a betrayal, like it was so impossible to ever have been a reality. But Bruce was right before him, still as grounding, as mesmerizing as he was then. As debauched, too. Bruce made a face something demanding or something embarrassed and looked down inviting Clark's eyes to join. Clark had to fight every fiber of hiw own body to stay even minutely composed.

Raising up, he carefully manhandled Bruce for the most comfortable position to fly them to the bathroom that was thankfully connected to the bedroom. He tried to be as gentle as possible, although he simply could not hold back from rubbing Bruce’s straining with cum belly. It was so hot, so unbelievable. 

Following a breathy request, Clark placed him into a spacious bathtub careful to keep his lover from slipping on the glossy surface. His cock was already hard, wet and leaking from the sight alone, nevermind the proximity, which would make pulling out of Bruce that much easier for everybody. 

“Are you ready, darling?” Clark asked softly, as his hand was massaging Bruce’s lower back with extreme gentleness. Waiting for a response his hand slipped to the soft puffy hole stretched around him, thumb carefully trying around the edges, inadvertently pulling a moan out of Bruce.

One last time Bruce had arched his back, planting his face cheek first to the bottom of the tub, and wiggled his hips with leftover playfulness. His hands grabbed his own ass, spreading, maybe for convenience, maybe to goad Clark further.

“Go on, Boy Scout.”

As Clark pulled out his cock with a strained groan so much cum gushed down it made a sizable splash against the bathtub. He watched mesmerized at a soft hole gaping so open Clark could not help but wonder when it would ever close. He teared his gaze away only for a moment to notice the puddle of cum in the tub growing and how Bruce’s knees and feet were dipping into all of it. How his face was drowning in it, still stubbornly planted, hands still holding onto his proudly displayed leaking ass.

Clark’s hand dove into the cum to hold up Bruce’s head almost covered with it – holding by the neck like yesterday. Bruce’s lips fell open with a wet flop to let out an appreciative whine.

Satisfied, Clark’s attention went back to the obscene gape drawing him in. He ran his knuckles, carefully, around the puffy edges of it, able to make it twitch ever so slightly. His other hand caught the distinct movement of a swallowing throat in its encasement. Clark massaged the tired muscle with his thumb again, briefly ignoring the slowing down pour of cum, before he plunged two– four fingers inside, helping to scoop it out. He was doing his best to be gentle but his movement dragged out a more urgent moan out of the man in his arms. Clark almost got worried but Bruce immediately trying to impale himself on Clark’s fingers gave away the unintentional stimulation of his prostate.

“Are you sure you can handle it right now, darling?”

“You’re hard, aren’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to be your problem. I will be okay.”

“I made it my problem. Now come on already.”

And Clark had him again: in his arms, on his cock; melting, sobbing. Broad hands roaming over the scarred body in tenderness, despite the harsh, violating slamming of the hips through it all. Clark’s hands explored the relaxed stomach, then strong chest. They were lingering there, being inquisitive, stimulating. When he reached the dripping with cum neck he had an outrageous idea.

It took only a moment for him to position in front of the tall mirror. He floated up to afford himself and Bruce the privilege of seeing Bruce’s beautiful hole being pounded within its full capacity. How stunningly it stretched and pulled, how it chased after the cock threatening to leave its heat. Bruce gasped in disbelief, staring at his own reflection. His hands, like yesterday, were back on his own stomach outlining the movement of Clark’s cock. His mouth had fallen open while his knees, feet and bright red face were thickly covered in cum milked out of Clark, like an overglazed pastry. He looked filthy, he looked like a dream.

Clark held up one of Bruce’s knees, with another being taken care of by Bruce himself – mirroring their position from yesterday. And though Clark was still decidedly anxious to close his fingers any tighter around Bruce’s neck, he was much less gentle with his cock. Dragging Bruce – his beautiful used body – fast and harsh along his full length, he used Bruce like a personal enthusiastic cocksleeve. He was stretching him like a glove, like something, someone that inevitably belonged there with Clark, on his cock. Bruce looked ecstatic: an expression never seen before on the faces of Bruce Wayne or Batman, one of that unspeakable bliss, as his hand left his bulging belly to rapidly stroke his own cock. It might have been the flush of the man’s body or the curling toes on trembling legs or maybe the mad, lost look in his glassy eyes that hit Clark so hard, but he was cumming then. 

His form had shook as he dragged his face to mouth and breathe heavily into his lover’s ear. To remind Bruce to keep looking at his own just emptied belly filling up again, at how inconsequential his own spurt of cum looked next to Clark’s endless reserves possessively painting all of Bruce’s body, at how destroyed he looked. How thoroughly loved. It was hard for Bruce to face this reality, clear in the shudder of his shoulders, but he looked still. 

They stayed like this if only for a moment with Clark still floating in front of the mirror, both looking, taking needed breaths. Then Clark finally brought them back to the bathtub, this time unceremoniously unplugging Bruce’s ass letting it flutter open again to add more to the rising levels of cum in the marble. He leaned over the bathtub hands clutching the edges and found Bruce, face rubbing into the hair at the top of his head in affection. He was doing his best to calm down, focusing on the calming scent of Bruce so close to his senses. 

Bruce wouldn’t let him, though, as his devilish hands found Clark’s hard cock, who was trying so badly to will it down this time. 

“Come around, Clark. It’s hard to reach from here,” Bruce gestured at the narrow side of the tub. 

Clark wanted to stop it there, wanted to be the mindful lover he thought himself. But he was there at Bruce’s whims unable to ever refuse again. So he moved where he was told, leaning over, until Bruce yanked his hips down to sit, edges uncomfortably digging into his thighs, his ass dipping into the empty space of the tub, but cock conveniently at Bruce’s head level. 

Bruce probably couldn’t stretch his jaw far enough to swallow Clark – although, god, how they both wanted him to – but he was very eager still: he kissed and licked, ravenous, one hand exploring Clark’s tensed balls. Though soon it joined the other to clasp together tightly and glide, and glide, and glide, and glide…

Clark was seeing stars, all bizarrely Bruce-shaped in his frazzled mind. Bruce opened his mouth, tongue on display, looking to catch as much cum as possible but there was so much gushing down his face, his chest, he couldn’t hope to get it all. 

Clark was spent. He moved to climb off the bathtub and barely caught himself stumbling on shaky legs. A loud slurping sound brought him back to reality. He looked back down at Bruce smacking his lips, preoccupied with cleaning his fingers like an inquisitive cat that was dropped into a jug full of cream. Clark couldn’t help but laugh, flattered. 

“It can’t be that good, can it?”

“It is actually,” Bruce said sincerely, as if he was surprised himself, as if he wasn’t deliberately trying to make chills run down Clark’s spine. 

Clark furrowed his brow despite the fresh redness on his neck. He scooped a generous amount of cum off of Bruce’s cheek with two fingers and put them in his mouth. It tasted… neutral? Not disgusting like he had worried but just okay. Nothing special, really. He wondered if Bruce was messing with him, losing his mind or if it were some part of kryptonian pheromones affecting Bruce’s perception of taste. 

“Tastes like nothing to me to be honest,” Clark had finally declared. 

Bruce hummed and dipped a hand down into the pool of cum that was almost hiding his legs in it. He scooped a full palm of it and raised it up to his face. They held eye contact then – burning thing – as Bruce lapped it all up in his mouth without swallowing. Clark’s knees were about to buckle when Bruce grabbed the back of his neck pulling him down into a sloppy kiss. Despite some of it running down their chins, Bruce managed to push the mouthful of cum back into Clark, making him swallow piously. Bruce’s tongue was commanding but fond, dancing with Clark’s before giving way to let Clark lap those last traces of cum from Bruce’s pliant mouth. 

The taste of it this time… Golly. Maybe Bruce’s saliva activated the pheromones for him, maybe Clark’s mind was simply swimming with affection for the man but it had tasted divine, overwhelming. They were kissing, with Clark insatiably latched onto the man’s softened mouth until Bruce had pulled away catching shaky breaths. 

“I still need to breathe, baby.”

Clark had flushed in shame over forgetting, already planting light kisses all over Bruce’s accepting face in reverence. 

“Sorry…”

Gentle fingers tangled in Clark’s hair, petting. 

“I’m not sure I can walk, Clark.”

“Shit. It’s okay I got you.” The uncharacteristic swear made Bruce laugh. He was rubbing off on Clark already. 

Clark had carefully lifted Bruce from his cum swamp, to let the man hug onto him while he ensured the careful hold under Bruce’s ass and shoulder blades, entirely uncaring for the sticky trail they left behind. He opted for walking towards the shower instead of flying this time, unwilling to speed up the moment, wanting to feel each step between them. As if it could secure the reality of them together. 

“I love it when you do that,” Clark spoke softly next to his ear. 

“What, rely on you?” Bruce shot back, tensing, half a mind to be defensive on it, almost ready to argue. 

“No, when you laugh.”

And Bruce was never happier to be held than in this moment, because his legs would surely have given out from how hard that confession hit him.

***

Bruce looked down at the tub from his spot in Clark’s arms. His brow shot up in belated surprise, finally assessing the situation.

“Damn. And you deal with all that everytime?”

“Not-uh... When I’m alone, no.”

Bruce pinched Clark’s nipple, painfully teasing, but then just leaned forwards, setting down to lie against the broad freckled chest under his cheek.

“Enough for a whole harem.”

“I’d drop you if you could stand.”

Bruce didn’t bother fighting a grin back.

***

“If you apologize one more time, Clark, you will be the one warming my cock next time. With your mouth.”

Clark tripped, burning up. His mouth fell open with an embarrassing guhh that absolutely did not go unnoticed.

Bruce stopped genuinely surprised.

“What, really? That does it for you?”

“You do it for me,” Clark immediately shot back, though he added quieter then. “But that does it too.”

Bruce laughed unrestrained, a beautiful sound as always.

“That was a threat, by the way,” he reminded with a faux sternness.

“I don’t mind threats.”