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“I would like everyone to shut up, please,” Barry announces and Clark grins as Vic and Arthur object. The team is enjoying one of its favorite pastimes - embarrassing Barry.
“If you want to sleep with a woman,” Diana reminds him, standing and stretching out her long, long legs, “maybe you should listen to the woman, mm?”
“Or, you know, the guys who have slept with women,” Vic chimes in.
Diana raises an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think I have not slept with women?” she asks.
Silence reigns. Barry chokes silently on air. Vic’s mouth hangs open. Clark - well, Clark just hadn’t given that much thought, was all.
“Amazons. C’mon. You didn’t see that coming?” Arthur asks.
Clark glances up at the mezzanine where Bruce is frowning at the computer, still in the undersuit while everyone else has changed into civilian clothes. At least he’s discarded the cowl. There’s no way he can’t hear the conversation but he seems completely uninterested. It’s not unlike Bruce to hold himself at arm’s length to the team, but he seems actively unwilling to engage tonight.
Barry casts a doleful glance up at Bruce and shrugs. “All right,” he says glumly, not finding a champion. “I’m heading home.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Diana says kindly and Clark is pretty sure he doesn’t want to listen in on that conversation.
Vic looks at Clark and raises an eyebrow. Clark shrugs. He’s not Bruce’s keeper, although he will stick around for a bit and see if there’s something going on in Bruce’s head. Vic says his goodbyes and follows Barry and Diana at a safe distance.
“Later, Wayne!” Arthur yells from Clark’s shoulder. “Good luck dislodging that stick.” He claps Clark on the back. “I’m out,” he says, and hops off one of the high ledges of the cave. A splash echoes moments later.
Clark makes his way up to the mezzanine and hovers, not sure if he should be saying something or not. But he’s curious. “You okay?” he asks instead.
“Fine,” Bruce says distractedly. “Why?”
“Well, you weren’t - I mean. I would think you’d have something to say about the topic of conversation.”
Bruce frowns at a schematic and uses a stylus to shift a piece inward. “Why?”
“It’s um. It’s sex?” Clark asks. “I mean, every time I get groceries, there’s a magazine telling me about your latest, you know.”
“You mean Bruce Wayne’s latest ‘you know’,” Bruce corrects absently. Clark really doesn’t understand the third person thing at this point.
“What?” he asks. “You don’t like sex? That’s all for show?”
"It's a pleasant diversion," Bruce says, eyes still on the monitor. "But it gets a bit dull after a while."
"That's because you sleep with people you don't like all that much," Clark retorts. "And,” he adds dramatically, “because you don't let yourself feel anything except guilt and pain."
He doesn't miss the double-tap in Bruce's heartbeat. "Is that so?" Bruce drawls. "Are you volunteering to unlock my hidden feelings?"
And because Clark Joseph Kent never met a dare he didn't like, he says, "Yes. Good thing you don't like me much."
Bruce's cheek twitches, which is almost a smile in the Cave. "I don't not ," he says mildly.
"Maybe this won't be so dull, then,” Clark offers, crossing his arms across his chest and settling into his stance.
Bruce casts him a sidelong look. "I suppose I'm meant to adduce that ‘Superman’ means you're super in bed?"
"Sex isn't about superpowers," Clark tells him, winding up to the game. "Sex is about knowing what your partner likes."
"And you know what I like?" Bruce's pulse is slightly less glacial than usual. Not aroused, per se, but the interest he gets when someone challenges him, when someone is actually interesting , usually Diana or Arthur.
"I know you ," Clark says, advancing. “That's the problem, you know. You know something about the people you sleep with, but very few of them know any truths about you." He steps up against Bruce's back, not touching, not yet, just too close.
"And you know I like my space invaded?"
"I know you're bored by timid people. I know you need someone you can trust to watch your back." Clark sets his hand on Bruce's hip and steps in against the heat of his body through the undersuit. "I know you like a challenge."
Clark is on guard for some form of tightly controlled violence - a wrist twist, a judo throw, even just an escape. But Bruce doesn't move. If anything, he relaxes back against Clark - marginally. "You like control," Clark says slowly, processing Bruce’s posture. "One might even say you're a control freak ." Bruce's cheek twitches. "But the people you like, they're the people you can't control. They're the people who do the exact opposite you say, the ones who don't fit in your boxes and your rigid, if somewhat questionable, moral code."
Bruce hums in the back of his throat. Half a warning. Half...something else.
Clark wonders how far he'll go. How far Bruce will let him go on with this teasing seduction. How far he'll let himself go.
He brings his other arm around Bruce's waist, eases back a little to give himself some space. He needs it.
"You like people who do things right on the first try," he says against Bruce's ear. The rubbery-metal scent of the cowl clings to his hair. Clark strokes his thumb just below Bruce's navel. "Who act with confidence and know what they're doing."
"Then why are your hips three feet away?" It's barely a question and Bruce's tone is dry but Clark is sure, sure there's some amusement lurking behind it.
"I was raised to respect consent, before respecting consent was cool," Clark says and takes that as an invitation to let himself ease closer. He's been hard for longer than he'd like to admit and his cock is straining forward, like it wants to be nestled up to Bruce's ass again. He allows himself close enough to let it touch and then Bruce is leaning back into him like some kind of trust fall, and Clark ducks forward to mouth against Bruce's pulse.
A thousand components of flavor flood Clark’s mouth as he licks Bruce’s neck. The skin is rough under his tongue, creased with scars and the heavy rub of the cowl. He’s - going to do this. And Bruce is going to let him.
Good he thinks fiercely. He wants this. He wants Bruce, wants to roll over the man’s casual indolence, crush some urgency out of his deliberate ennui. He pulls Bruce up against him, jogging him just slightly off the floor and that gets him a soft growl, bitten back in Bruce’s throat, and it’s a start.
“For some reason,” Clark notes, scraping his teeth gently over Bruce’s jaw and its late-night shadow, “you like people you don’t entirely trust and then they - “ He drops his hand between Bruce’s legs and cups his cock and balls. “ - And they disappoint you.”
Even the undersuit has extra protection there and Bruce shifts forward, chasing the sensation Clark can’t entirely give him like this. He can still tell Bruce is hard though, and his balls are heavy, his whole groin a few degrees warmer than the rest of him.
Bruce bends his arm back at an awkward angle and gets a hand under Clark’s chin. He twists his own head and their mouths are sealed together, and Bruce is kissing him. It’s unexpected, certainly more unexpected than the situation warrants, and Bruce is an expectedly expert kisser, even in this desperate position.
Clark manhandles Bruce a little, turning them without breaking the kiss, Bruce’s shoulder dipping under Clark’s arm, so they can press together front-to-front. There’s something, some slouch in Bruce’s posture, like disappointment, so Clark lifts him by the thighs, hiking him up against Clark’s body and then tilting him into the nearest wall.
Bruce stares at him, eyes dark and hooded, a smudge of greasepaint he didn’t quite get off making him look more tired than usual.
“I don’t know if that’s something you like or not,” Clark says softly. “I know it can’t happen very often.” At 6’4”, it wouldn’t happen very often even if Bruce wasn’t Batman. He rocks his hips into Bruce’s, pressing his cock between Bruce’s legs. “I know you like people to guess, but I need you to tell me, do you want me to fuck you?” He kisses Bruce’s mouth, slack and swollen. “Because I can.”
It takes Bruce a long time to answer, and Clark would worry except that he is weirdly, unexpectedly calm about this. He knows he’s pushing Bruce. He knows Bruce wants him. He knows if Bruce says no this time, he’s not saying no forever. He doesn’t know why he knows all this but he doesn’t care. He mouths up Bruce’s jawline and presses his lips to Bruce’s damp temple.
Bruce’s breathing is ragged and unsteady and it’s hardly physical exertion that would hit him so hard. It’s lust mostly, and a little exhilaration, something has finally gotten his blood pumping other than pain and that bone deep terror that one day he won’t be enough.
Clark knows that terror, lives with it too, and if he can take it for Bruce, just for a bit, he will.
“Yes,” Bruce bites out. “Yes, Clark, fuck me.”
Clark kisses Bruce, licking the dirty words from his mouth. He drives himself harder between Bruce’s legs, shifting Bruce’s weight to one arm so he can tug the undersuit top up Bruce’s torso.
Bruce lets go of his shoulders - tentatively, like Superman might drop him three feet - and takes over removal of the shirt. It’s tight and he has to twist between the wall and Clark, which just makes Clark’s cock feel heavier.
His head is covered when Clark looks at his body and it’s probably for the best because the patchwork quilt of bruises and scars makes Clark literally see red for half a second. But that’s only part of it because Clark also wants to slide his cock over Bruce’s abdominals and come all over his collarbone. Bruce’s arms and shoulder roll with power as he sweeps the shirt away, and motion destroys his careful hairstyle, already ruffled from the cowl.
Clark slides his free hand down the back of Bruce’s pants, pushing his fingers between the perfect hard muscles of his ass. He thinks of the joke about cracking walnuts, thinks Bruce maybe actually could, and squeezes one cheek in his palm.
“Have you done this before?” Clark whispers. He knows Bruce likes women. He’s sure Bruce has had sex with men. He’s probably not the first one to call Bruce out on his control issues but -
“I.” Bruce is clearly considering lying so Clark gives him A Look. “Once,” he says. “One guy. I let one guy fuck me. More than once but - “ He growls out a moan as Clark squeezes him again. “Don’t tease Clark!”
“Was this anywhere near recent?” Clark asks, rubbing two fingers deep, pressing against an opening that is going to need stretching.
Bruce casts his eyes up to Clark’s face, and he looks tired again. “Twenty years,” he whispers so softly only Clark has any chance of hearing.
Bruce has been Batman for twenty years, more than, now, and Clark understands, the way he didn’t understand when he tried to shut Bruce down, that twenty years is a long time to love and fight and lose and lose and lose. He knows Bruce has lost many people, though he doesn’t know the details, and he knows those other people aren’t coming back, like he did.
“Okay,” he murmurs against Bruce’s mouth. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make it good for you.” Bruce stiffens in his arms and Clark can almost hear him grinding out a denial. Sure, Bruce doesn’t need this, but maybe Clark does.
He moves his hand out of the way, turns Bruce onto the nearest horizontal surface, and hooks his fingers into Bruce’s waistband.
Bruce arches up, lifting his hips and stretching those abdominal muscles back and up to the stalactites.
Clark can’t help but taste.
Bruce bucks when Clark tongues his skin from navel to sternum and back down, ruffling up Bruce’s happy trail and drawing his pants down low. Bruce curls in, drawing his knees up and pushes the pants down his thighs himself. He’s wearing black briefs underneath which do nothing to hide the shape or size of his dick.
Clark licks it, too, the damp cotton dragging on his tongue as he draws his mouth up to the head.
He’s lost the thread a bit, drunk on Bruce’s taste and Bruce’s smell, but he hasn’t entirely forgotten how this started.
“You want things you think you can’t have,” Clark says and touches the House of El crest on his suit. It retracts, leaving him bare to the cool air of the Cave and the heat of Bruce’s gaze.
Bruce jackknifes up, catching the back of Clark’s neck and pulling him down to kiss. Clark goes willingly although he knows this is becoming about what he wants, not what Bruce wants, and takes it on himself to shed Bruce of his underwear and the pants still clinging to his calves.
Clark presses two fingers to Bruce’s mouth. Bruce hesitates the barest instant, and then parts his lips and lets Clark push his way inside. He kisses Bruce’s throat and collarbone as Bruce starts rocking under him, finally sucking and tonguing his fingers, getting them good and wet.
Clark waits until he slackens his mouth to let out a groan, and then Clark drops to his knees.
He mouths his way up one thigh, the skin soft and pale over hard muscle. Bruce lifts his legs, lets Clark position them on his shoulders. Bruce is flexible, of course, but the movement is eager, like maybe he’d missed this.
Clark eases his hand under Bruce’s balls and rubs his thumb around and over the tight muscle, getting it soft and wet. Bruce is opening under him, hips rolling as he thrusts up into the air. His cock is hard and curves upward against his stomach. Clark watches it as he shifts his thumb away and slides one wet finger inside.
“Still bored?” he asks as he strokes at different angles, seeking out Bruce’s prostate through trial and error. “Or is this a pleasant diversion?”
If Bruce was the one with heat vision, Clark would be toast, but the straining muscles in Bruce’s neck are worth it. The head of his cock is wet with precome, and his knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the table.
“Depends,” Bruce growls, his fluttering eyelashes making the total effect less than intimidating. “You going to fuck me or is this going to get dull?”
“You’re still clenched up around my finger,” Clark comments. “I’m going to keep stretching you until you open up enough that I won’t hurt you.”
Bruce rolls his eyes. “Just do it,” he says. “I’m not a shrinking violet.” And to prove his point, he bears down on Clark’s finger and yes. Wow. Yes, Clark would like his dick inside Bruce’s ass right-the-fuck-now, please .
“If you can take one more,” he says, “real good like that, I’ll fuck you.” His drawl is going the way of soothing horses, which may not be the worst metaphor.
Bruce pushes his knees out, opening himself wider, and letting Clark work a second finger inside. His eyes are stormy when he says, “Do you know what I’d like now?”
“I know what you’re getting right now,” Clark counters. There’s medical lubricant and condoms in the infirmary and Clark is there and back, tucking himself back under Bruce’s calves and strong thighs before he has a chance to lower them.
Clark briefly entertains some dirty talk but decides he’ll sound ridiculous and just pushes firmly into Bruce.
“Fuck,” Bruce barks out under his breath. “Fuck. Clark.”
“I am,” Clark reminds him patiently, rocking his hips in and out and in small circles as Bruce adjusts to him. Bruce is breathing shallowly and his muscles are going lax, but he’s still so tight around Clark’s cock.
“Harder,” he says, lifting his hips to meet Clark’s thrusts. “I need - “
Clark fucks from the hips, going full length with every new stroke. He tries to replicate the fingering that had finally made Bruce sees stars but they’re both big men and the angle is too sharp.
So he just lifts Bruce into the correct position and holds him while aiming square, solid thrusts right into the little gland.
He doesn’t want Bruce to come too soon though, so when Bruce’s choked off cries exceed double time, Clark stops himself entirely and fucks Bruce on his cock, skimming past his prostate over and over, giving him another taste every third or fourth bounce.
“Fuck. Clark. Stop. Teasing,” Bruce gasps eventually.
“Bored now?” Clark asks conversationally, as if he’s even able to draw a full breath. “Want me to stop?”
“I - “ Bruce stops and closes his mouth and his eyes and comes , his cock pumping out between them, untouched. The first spurt seems almost like a surprise to him but then his whole body snaps with his orgasm, contracting around Clark’s dick hard enough to make him pop off too.
It’s crazy good, his whole body fizzing with Bruce’s scent, Bruce’s touch, as Bruce pulls him deeper, wrings the last prickling vestiges of frustrated desire out of him.
Bruce rests his chin on Clark’s head and right, normal people don’t stay standing up after sex. Clark lets himself bask for a moment, until Bruce squeezes the back of his neck with his hand, and then goes about lifting Bruce off his cock and setting him back on his feet.
It takes longer than it should to disentangle their bodies, find the edges of their own selves again.
“Ugh,” Bruce says, arching his back and shoulders and collapsing into his chair, buck-naked. “I am getting too old for wall sex.”
“Getting?” Clark asks, because Bruce is a good eight years older and not actually a superhuman and Clark may be getting too old for wall sex.
Bruce catches him behind the knee with one ankle and drags him in close. “I’m not too old to turn you over my knee,” he warns.
Clark’s mouth goes dry. “Is that a threat?” he ventures. “Or a promise?”
“What do you want it to be?” Bruce murmurs and Clark wants it to be a promise but is afraid to say so. Bruce sits up, his ankle sliding down Clark’s calf, and cups his hands around Clark’s hips. He presses a gentle kiss to Clark’s sternum, and turns his eyes up, steady and sincere. “It can be anything, Clark,” he says, voice pitched low. “Anything you want.”
Clark speeds them upstairs and tumbles Bruce into the bed. He stands next to it, unsure what comes next. Bruce looks up at him from the miles of white sheets and says, “What do you want, Clark?”
Bruce may be the detective and probably already knows the answer, but Clark likes giving him what he wants. “You,” he says, tumbling himself into the bed next to Bruce. “I want you.”
Fin