Work Text:
Clark bowed to his opponent, then stepped back a pace, trying to keep his limbs relaxed and ready to respond. The scarlet light turned Bruce's black gi to the color of dried blood, dyed his own white gi like fresh blood.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" said Bruce, eying him up and down. Clark still wasn't quite used to having Bruce look at his body with open appreciation--though Bruce claimed he'd been doing it covertly for years before Clark had finally noticed.
"I lose my powers often enough it's a good idea," said Clark.
Bruce moved forward quickly, obviously hoping to catch him by surprise, but Clark dodged out of the way and threw him easily, pinning him to the mat.
"Hmph," said Bruce. "Your powers aren't entirely gone yet, that's cheating." He squirmed delightfully out from under Clark, straddling him and grabbing his wrists, pushing them to the mat. "We're not continuing this until you're at normal human strength."
Clark pushed against Bruce's grip and lifted his hands easily. Bruce made a tsking sound, shaking his head, and Clark let him push his hands back to the mat, sighing and rolling his eyes a bit.
The training room was quiet, the red light warm as it soaked into Clark's body, sapping his powers. Usually he hated this sensation--having the world close in around him as his hearing and sight narrowed, having the very air itself become heavier, weighing him down. It usually made him feel helpless and panicked.
Today, though, there was something different about it.
Bruce's hands were firm on his wrists, and Clark could hear his breathing. That was all he could hear, he realized abruptly--no distant cries for help, no disasters, not even the waves breaking on the shore outside the Manor. Just the sound of Bruce's breath and his own together.
He could feel it, his powers seeping away like water trickling from cupped hands. The world tightened and contracted until the only thing he could focus on was the sensation of Bruce's body against his. He felt like he could lie there indefinitely, his eyes closed, savoring the feeling, but Bruce said softly, "How about now?"
Clark pushed against Bruce's hands, straining a little, and managed to lift them from the mat. It felt strange to have to take so much effort, but Bruce shook his head.
"With the amount of leverage I have from this position, if you can lift your hands at all your powers aren't gone yet." His voice was husky, as if he were enjoying himself and not sure he should be. "Wait a little longer."
Clark waited, feeling Bruce's body seem to grow heavier with each moment, the weight pinning him more and securely. The friction of their bodies together felt...different, without super-strength. When he had his powers, it was a delicious, delicate sensation. Now it was...
He heard himself make a small, throttled sound and lift his hips against Bruce. "Oh," Bruce said with a tone of some surprise, and shifted to put more of his weight on Clark's wrists. "Can you move?"
Clark tried to lift his wrists. When he couldn't, he felt his whole body buck against Bruce's for a moment, trying to break the hold. He couldn't. "Can't..." he murmured. "Can't move."
He felt flushed and breathless as he looked up at the red-lit, almost saturnine face above him. Bruce was staring at him, hands tightening on Clark's wrists without him seeming to notice it. "That...that hurts a little," Clark said.
Bruce made a sound like he had reached the end of his endurance and bent down for a kiss that felt bruisingly good. "God," he gasped against Clark's mouth, "I shouldn't want to--shouldn't want to do things to you like this--" But his hands were opening Clark's gi as he spoke, his mouth traveling downward to nip and tease until Clark cried out, arcing against him.
"I want it," Clark managed through the red haze that seemed to be blotting out his thoughts. "I want you--want you inside me."
Bruce groaned and bit the inside of his thigh, hard enough that it would probably--please yes, thought Clark--leave a mark. "I didn't bring any lubricant," he muttered, "I never thought--I never thought you'd want--"
There was something infinitely thrilling and arousing about catching Batman off-guard, somehow. "Then go get some, for Pete's sake," he said, and Bruce laughed and reluctantly tore himself away from Clark, straightening his rumpled gi as he ran--ran--for the door.
Clark lay on the mat, feeling the red light caressing and penetrating him. One hand brushed along his erection and soon he was jerking himself off slowly, luxuriously, enjoying the way the pressures felt different, spreading his legs and letting his body relax.
A choked growling sound from the doorway made his eyes fly open; Bruce was standing there with a small jar in his hand, staring at him. "Don't you dare stop," he said, stalking over and dropping to his knees beside Clark. "God," he muttered. "Are you sure you want me to--?"
Clark's cock twitched hard and his hand tightened on it, his eyes slitting closed against pleasure both current and imagined. "Please," he breathed.
Bruce's fingers were gentle at first, though they still dragged a hiss of surprise from him at the beginning. "Feels...different," Clark muttered, his eyes mostly closed, feeling the sense of discomfort and invasion start to shift toward something else. He sighed as it started to move into pleasure, a long slow exhalation that made Bruce's fingers tremble. "I'm ready for more," he said as the ache inside him started to become more imperative.
It hurt at first, just a little, enough to make him bite his lip and struggle to compose himself. Yet somehow that made the pleasure, when it came, even more shattering. It jolted him through the pain and turned the pain itself into something transcendent, wrenching an abandoned sound from his throat. Bruce went still at the sound, but Clark pulled him closer, unable to bear the idea of the devastating sensations in him stopping, and Bruce growled something incoherent and picked up the pace as though he couldn't help himself.
The crimson light was like velvet on his skin, like silk along his nerve endings, and the world was nothing but Bruce and him and his need. Bruce thrust forward, beads of sweat on his throat like rubies, and cried out once, sharply. Clark tightened his grip on himself and pushed into his own palm as Bruce panted and groaned, until the world seemed to dissolve entirely into red light and heat and pleasure.
: : :
"That...was not exactly the lesson I meant to teach you," Bruce said later, lying next to Clark and panting slightly.
Clark stretched, feeling delightfully bruised in a wonderful variety of places. "I liked it," he murmured. "You'll have to teach me again sometime."