Good Bits 8: Little Mister Frowny Pants
by Te
November 28, 2011

Disclaimer: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized ones for older storylines. Steph is Robin, but, well, so is Tim.

Summary: In which Bruce broods and Clark is kind of a dick -- but for a good cause!

Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content which mostly doesn't dovetail with the content some readers may find to be disturbing.

Author's Note: God, I love vampire fic. That's all, really.

Acknowledgments: Much love to Mildred, ShadowValkyrie, Pixie, Britt, Melissa, and Jack for audiencing and encouragement.

Length: 7,000 words.

*

In the two weeks since Bruce was turned, he's gotten a great deal done. Alfred hadn't cared for shutting down and sheeting off the manor, but he had acquiesced eventually and is now... safely away.

A history of being uncommunicative and absent has, thus far, kept him from needing to *fight* with --

His former family --

The creature had promised an end to pain even as it tore Bruce's throat open. It is not, ultimately, a surprise that it had been mistaken on that count, as well.

Bruce is surviving well enough on animal blood and the contaminated gleanings from local hospitals -- no human disease can touch him now - and --

And every entrance save for the needed few has been blocked off by his own hands. Enhanced speed, strength, and stamina can be exceedingly useful things.

The wings don't hamper him much, anymore.

One can grow accustomed to anything, given time and effort --

And the Batman is, in some ways, even more successful than he used to be.

The Cave is the empty, echoing, *lonely* place it used to be --

It was always *supposed* to be this way --

"So you *do* intend to brood yourself to death?"

Bruce doesn't blink. He doesn't need to, anymore, and he had *heard* Clark coming even before the alarms picked up his presence. Bruce shuts them down and goes back to planning his route for the night. He doesn't look up.

Clark huffs, and Bruce's -- now even more excellent -- peripheral vision offers him the image of Clark crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

Bruce focuses on the map -- as best as he can --

"I can, of course, smell the magic on you. In you."

Bruce doesn't say a word.

"And, of course, your heart isn't beating, and that *is* terrifically disconcerting -- oh. There it goes. I suppose it's carrying that tainted blood you stole?"

Bruce shows his teeth to nothing save the monitors.

Another huff -- and Clark is closer. Like this --

In this -- this *state* --

His heat is almost frightening. Almost -- "Leave," Bruce says, and moves to the next map.

"No."

Bruce doesn't snarl, or -- eventually, even Alfred had left --

And what will Dick --

"We haven't told the rest of your family, yet. Alfred and I, I mean."

It is, he must admit, something of a relief not to have to *repress* blushes, anymore --

"Mainly because you don't *deserve* to see them when you're acting like this."

He's never deserved --

Bruce shakes his head once and keeps working --

On --

Had he already examined this map?

"I can smell... other things. I can..." And Clark touches Bruce's cheek.

Bruce doesn't *flinch*, but he can't hold back the shudder. The world is such a cold *place* now --

This Cave --

The night --

The night that will never *end* --

But Clark's fingers are warm and smooth and firm with strength that... matches Bruce's? Goes beyond it?

It's the sort of question that would be useful to answer sooner rather than later --

"I will not let you do this, my companion," Clark says, but Kal's formality and confidence -- *arrogance* -- is threaded through it.

Clark knows exactly what that sort of thing does --

To the man he used to be.

Bruce shakes his head once, repressing another shudder at the feel of those warm fingers dragging against his cheek -- "Your companion is dead --"

Clark snorts. "Is this what comes of being raised by an actor and a spy? Your sense of drama is *magnificent* *always*, Bruce, but, in case you've forgotten, *it doesn't work on me*. Well. It doesn't work on me, *anymore*."

"You're usually not so eager to make me regret sleeping with you," Bruce says, before he can stop himself --

And Clark laughs again -- and flies until he's hovering above the console in front of the monitors.

"You're blocking --"

"Your view, yes. I -- snap out of it, Bruce."

That -- "I'm *dead*, Clark. A show of good *cheer* won't *fix* that."

"Technically, you're *undead* --"

"I *hate* that term --"

Clark hums. "Yes, it is rather relentlessly over-the-top, isn't it?" A sigh. "Just the same."

"Clark --" Bruce closes his eyes -- no. He opens them again. "What, precisely, do you want?"

"Bruce Wayne can lead a nocturnal life. You won't be annoying Lucius Fox any more than you *usually* do, and you won't be forcing the people who love you into a ridiculously painful situation --"

"'Ridiculously.' Clark --"

"I'm reminded of something Jason said once. Oh, what was it?" And Clark's expression is exaggeratedly thoughtful as he floats slightly higher and then in a circle around Bruce's head --

"*Clark*."

"I've *almost* got it, Bruce, just give me one moment..."

Bruce growls, loving and hating the -- the *unearthly* echo of it --

"Oh, that's going to be *very* useful on the street --"

"Get to the *point*, Clark."

And then Clark just *is* sitting on the console where Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie had all sat in their turn. His speed is still -- slightly -- superior. They --

His *family* --

None of them had made the console creak quite so much. Bruce just looks at the man.

"Jason... well. I believe he touched on an essential truth of the multiverse when he said, in his inimitable fashion: Shit happens."

Bruce grunts.

Clark -- beams. *Sunnily*.

It really ought to burn him to *ash* --

But, of course, it doesn't. It -- "I don't know what you want from me."

"For you to follow your own Oath, Bruce. Never break. Never *surrender*."

"I haven't retired the *Batman* --"

"But you've retired the heart of him," Clark says, and strokes Bruce's lower lip. "I'm afraid that's unacceptable."

Bruce closes his eyes and allows himself to breathe uselessly, to breathe for more than *speech* --

And there are Clark's scents, stronger and more rich, more *pure* than they've ever been before. Ozone and maleness and something like the *definition* of power.

A hint of some baked good lingering on his fingers -- sweet, and with berries.

The arousal --

The arousal that has never, ever been fully banked in Bruce's presence.

Like this, it seems as though Bruce should finally be able to identify *which* minerals he can smell, which salts he can -- nearly -- taste --

Or, rather, it seems as though all questions would be answered if he simply... bit. Clark's blood doesn't have *that* many differences from a human's -- he can smell that now, know it even more *deeply* than he'd known it from his experiments and observations.

Clark --

"You smell --" Bruce growls again and shakes his head.

"Tell me."

"Go away."

"No. *Tell* me."

Bruce closes his eyes -- no. He pushes Clark's hand away from his mouth. "You smell like *food*."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Delicious food?"

"Clark --"

"A serious question. I mean, how appetizing do I smell when compared to the Hepatitis C cocktail you haven't brushed off your teeth *nearly* well enough?"

Bruce blinks. And goes to brush his teeth at speed.

"Oh, thank you very much. Do make sure you get your molars -- yes, that one -- have I mentioned how much I enjoy the scent of that toothpaste?"

Bruce brushes a second time. And a third. He --

What if --

Bruce growls somewhat *foamily* --

He rinses his mouth.

Several times.

When he's done, he allows himself to think, to --

To come to *terms* --

"You really ought to let me hug you now --"

"I never. I never want to be apart from the scent of blood. The taste --" Bruce closes his mouth and shakes his head, gripping the sides of the sink and staring down the drain.

He can, now, see quite far down the thing. Alfred had kept it perfectly clean --

Alfred had tried so hard to make him --

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut --

And shudders when Clark begins to open Bruce's new uniform. To *remove* it, starting with the thin shirt which slits down the back in two places for Bruce's wings.

Bruce can't bring himself to stop him. He can't --

The scent of *his* blood is so -- close.

Close enough.

"Tell me about your self-control, Bruce."

Well. Bruce shows his teeth to the sink. This time, he lets his canines extend. "Excellent, when temptation isn't in the offing."

"And I smell tempting...?"

"You smell --" Necessary. "Yes."

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to defend myself, Bruce?"

Bruce grips the sink --

He hears a groan of metal fatigue --

He eases his grip --

And Clark hums. "Yes, I see. You *are* worried about your control with your beautiful, beautiful family..." And Clark uses his speed to strip Bruce the rest of the way.

It's deeply, deeply strange to be able to parse every motion --

*Frightening* --

But no more frightening than the force of Clark's kiss, than the *test* of it --

Bruce turns away --

"Bruce --"

"I will not bruise --"

"Did you want to?"

Bruce's laugh sounds painful to his own ears, hoarse and rough --

"Oh, Bruce, I've *missed* you," Clark says, and kisses him all over his face, kisses his *throat* --

Bruce growls and yanks Clark's head *back* --

"Very impressive -- *mm* --"

Kissing him like this --

Walking him back and back to the tiled wall, so cool, such a relief to touch --

No, it's terrible when Clark's heat is right there, when Bruce can press close --

Hiss and groan and suck at Clark's mouth -- which seems no harder than his own, no --

Does it make him feel human?

Either of them?

Bruce shudders and pulls back, *steps* back --

And Clark lets him. Clark --

His soft, blue eyes are almost *glittering* with lust --

And it occurs to Bruce, deeply belatedly -- "You -- enjoy my new strength."

Clark looks at him as if he'd lost at least half of his intelligence along with his lifeblood.

Bruce hums and crosses his arms over his chest. "You also enjoy the opportunity to look at me like that."

Clark nods, as slowly and obnoxiously as Jason could wish. Somewhere --

He's alive now, and in Gotham, and Bruce could *find* him, could hunt him by the scent of gun oil and the lingering tang Lazarus Pits leave on *everyone* who uses them --

He could find his love, and bring him *back* --

"Bruce..."

"I'm -- terrified," Bruce says, and allows his wings to flex, to *stretch* themselves --

Clark nods thoughtfully, sympathetically --

"There's nothing --"

"You've fed today."

"And?" But he knows. He *knows* --

"You have as much control now... well. Try it out?"

"Try --" Bruce swallows and shakes his head once, *firmly* --

"Oh... your wings shivered."

Damn --

"Do they like to be touched? They look... mm. Sensitive."

"Clark -- "

Clark flies *behind* him --

But Bruce is fast enough to turn --

And Clark frowns at him... dramatically. Deeply.

*Soulfully* --

Bruce *looks* at him.

Clark bites his lip --

"Hm. I suppose I should be pleased that I can still be *amusing*."

"It's only... well. Your wings."

"What *about* --" Except that the world is shadowed in precisely the right way to suggest that he's *reaching* with his wings -- and Bruce sighs. "It can't possibly be a surprise, at this late date, that you arouse me."

"No, not a *surprise*, per se. More of a gratifying confirmation of that which my world turns upon."

Bruce -- glowers.

Clark beams again. "I love you."

"Clark --"

"And, well. You love me."

"I've never --"

"Said it. No, you've always been a bit too superstitious about that sort of thing," Clark says, and brings Bruce's hand to his throat. "But I've always been able to smell it, my companion."

That... "Even --"

"Even now. You make me very happy, Bruce."

Bruce... breathes.

And breathes --

"I... can smell it."

Clark smiles even more brightly. "You could give that to your family --"

"No."

"*After*... you've taught yourself control again."

"And you believe you can help me with this."

"I *believe*... that it would do you no *end* of good to be able to *tell* when, say, Tim is pleased to be in your presence."

Bruce swallows dryly -- loudly --

And Clark parts his lips. "And Stephanie... well. She does very well at *hiding* her pleasure under anger. *Bright* anger."

"Yes. I --"

"And Dick... Dick never hides, at all."

"He never -- *Clark* --"

"And Jason, of course. Jason has always needed to understand more about you. About the *heart* --"

"He always knew I loved him!"

Clark raises an eyebrow.

Bruce -- clenches his hands into fists. "I thought... I was always honest with him after the first lie. The *only* lie --"

"He was very young."

"He was -- *is* -- *wise* --"

"But still young," Clark says, and steps closer. "And, truly, not *much* older now..."

"He. He has been led --"

"Astray? Yes, I'd say so. Would you like to know what he's doing right now?"

Bruce inhales sharply -- and Clark's scent speaks of arousal, still, but also of something --

Something of offers and *warmth* --

"I want. I want to know how to analyze the information my senses are providing to me at any given time."

"I can help with that --"

"You -- know his heartbeat."

"Oh, yes. In retrospect, I've heard it at various points over the years, but I never let myself focus on it. I made *assumptions*."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut --

And Clark's palm is *hot* on his cheek, smooth and no harder than *Bruce* is -- "He's working a heavy bag, judging by the sounds. His grunts and other noises are... familiar."

"You know precisely where he is."

"I could give you an address. Will you take it?"

*Yes* -- "How. How will you teach me new control?"

Clark leans in and nuzzles Bruce's mouth --

Cups the back of Bruce's head and *tugs* --

Bruce *resists* --

Clark *shudders* -- "Your strength is -- mm. Bite me."

"Clark, don't --"

"*Taste* me, Bruce. And show yourself that you can stop even when you don't wish to," Clark says, and then laughs. "Assuming I taste as good as I smell."

Bruce growls and holds himself *back* --

"Oh, my..."

But his wings are already curled around Clark, his wings are already shadowing him, *gathering* him *close* --

"I must confess, Bruce, that I'm feeling no desire whatsoever to teach you how to control *those*."

Bruce growls again and --

Heat, so much --

*Resistance* and heat --

Clark *gasps* --

No blood. No *blood* --

"*Harder*, Bruce!"

And there is a *twinge* in his jaw for the force of this bite, but no true pain. *Effort*, yes, but --

And the *splash* of blood is --

So *hot* --

So --

The *spice* of it --

The *rush* as it spills from the corners of his mouth -- no. Not that. Not --

Bruce sucks *hard* --

Clark cries out, knees buckling --

But it's the easiest thing in the world to hold him, to pull him closer, *closer* --

To crush Clark's wonderful, *warm* body against his own --

To bite *deeper*, because the rush of this --

They're groaning *together*

Bruce can feel himself gaining something like *life*, something like the memory of the sun, so bright, so golden --

Perfect as Clark's *skin* --

Hot and *burning* him, taking everything of him and *burning* him, and Bruce can feel his heart beating faster by increments as he sucks --

Clark is *limp* in his arms --

And the creature had spoken of the power of the bite, the way it could take *anyone*, *drive* anyone to abject *obedience* --

Clark is shuddering and --

And aroused to the point of pain. It *must* be pain he can smell, taste --

He's leaking through his clothes, and Bruce wants --

Bruce is *burning*, but he wants --

Bruce pulls out and works up saliva. There is no voice for that, no grating, ancient *tease* of the thing --

The creature --

The *man* Bruce had killed. *Ended* upon waking up like this, aching and sensitive and knowing --

Bruce licks the leaking punctures in Clark's throat -- and can't be sure whether it's the power of his saliva or the power inherent to Clark himself that's allowing the --

No. Clark *always* needs solar energy to heal from magical wounds. He --

Bruce has the power to heal, if never to erase his -- mistakes --

And Clark is breathing raggedly, lashes fluttering on his cheeks as he sways in Bruce's arms, as he --

"Clark. Please -- come back."

Clark gasps and whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut and *shudders* --

"Please, I must know --"

"I'm -- well?" Clark laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, opening his eyes and blinking -- "Oh. I feel *weak*."

"Clark --"

"But -- mm. I've lost this much blood before. You took less than a pint."

Bruce frowns --

"Yes, I'm *sure*, Bruce," Clark says, and kisses him soundly -- "Oh, that's really quite filthy --"

Bruce winces and turns away --

"*Bruce* --"

"I don't -- "

"Want to disgust me, yes, I *know*. It is *my* blood, Bruce. And I *have* tasted blood before. My own and others'."

Bruce frowns and stares at him.

"Oh -- *what*?"

"You never offered that... kink."

"Well, I was afraid you'd take me *up* on it --"

"Clark."

"All right, I'm sorry, we can cut you open as much as you'd *like*, please let me kiss you again."

Bruce grunts --

And grunts a laugh.

And Clark smiles broadly again. "Or you could do that. That's *entirely* acceptable."

Bruce licks his lips and tries to catalog how *he* feels. Warmer, yes. More -- something. Alive? Happy?

He stares at his hands, which remain even more pale than they were when he was alive, but --

Warmer. Somewhat --

The rush within him hasn't *ended*, and his heart is still beating faster -- if not humanly fast. Clark's blood will be all through him soon enough, and then... what?

"Bruce?"

"It seems... strange."

"*What* seems strange?"

"That I would suffer no ill-effects from *your* blood."

"Well, you've been drinking from the blood equivalent of the *sewers* -- wait."

"Hnn."

"Were you *hoping* to have some sort of allergic reaction?"

Bruce looks at Clark.

Clark glares at him --

But he's not fast enough to smack the side of Bruce's head. He --

Blinks. "Well. That *is* more than a little --"

"Disconcerting, Clark?"

Clark sighs. "Yes. But also rather... ah..." And he points at his own groin with the hand Bruce isn't gripping.

Bruce hums despite himself --

"That was deeply, *deeply* arousing. Did you know it would be?"

"The creature... spoke of the power of the bite while it was attempting to seduce me."

"It -- was it -- wait. Do you think of *yourself* as an 'it' now?"

Bruce smiles wryly.

"Oh, *Bruce* --"

Bruce lets go of Clark's hand and gestures 'pause' --

"*What* --"

"I still think of myself as male."

"Well -- all right. But -- the fact that you're no longer human does *not* make you a *monster*.

"Did I..." Bruce frowns and shakes his head --

"*Listen* to me -- *ohn* -- oh. Ah. Hm. Do that again?"

He's not even sure what had driven him to touch the scars he'd left on Clark's throat --

He'd marred the *perfection* of the column --

And doing it again --

Makes Clark moan.

And shuffle closer on his knees --

"Do you. Do you want to be bitten again?"

Clark pants. His eyes are glittering again, and he can't seem to close --

"Are you tasting me on the air?"

"Oh, yes. You still smell like yourself. But... milder. It's something of a tease. Do you want to bite me again?"

Bruce grunts --

"I'd let --" And Clark's laugh is musical and bright. "You could do it entirely without my permission right now --"

"*No*!"

"But I would give it just the same. I felt... mm. It was *similar* to how I feel when you're making love to me with kryptonite nearby, but there was no nausea, no *pain*. Just --"

"Weakness."

"*Drugging* weakness. So... desperately arousing. I have, of course, *wanted* to be wholly in your power --"

"*Clark* --"

"Didn't you feel it when --"

"When I realized that the creature intended to turn *me*, I fought as hard as I could to make the wounds it inflicted fatal --"

"I could *kick* you for that --"

"Clark, the creature had murdered *countless* people over the *centuries* --"

"Yes, but you never *surrender* --"

"It spoke of a hunger it couldn't *control* --"

"Oh -- fine. We'll come back to this," Clark says, and cups Bruce's penis --

"*Hnh* --"

"Oh -- you're warmer."

"Not -- not enough -- Clark --"

"My heat is a goad, beloved friend?"

Bruce closes his eyes and *groans*, shivers, shudders --

"I would give it to you *always*. Tell me why you didn't know --"

"The -- it knocked me unconscious, after cursing me for 'making' it do that. It *wanted* to see me lose control --"

"Bruce. Did you --"

"I killed it -- him."

Clark gasps -- and narrows his eyes. "You give him personhood to keep your guilt fresh?"

Bruce frowns. "Something must."

"Dearest companion. Most-*desired* --"

"Yes?"

"You have any number of issues which, given the *depths* of my attraction to you, strongly suggest that I'm not much better."

Bruce grunts another laugh --

And then grunts for the feel of Clark squeezing him rhythmically, *working* him --

"Please --"

"Oh, and here I was thinking you'd choose to skewer me -- now there's an idea."

Bruce breathes -- and *breathes* --

Clark smiles *wetly* -- "You could throw me down to the mats --"

"Is that --"

"You could fuck me into the stone and I'd be... mm. Very grateful --"

"Clark --"

"But I think *you* would prefer to have me on the mats. More... hmm... controlled?"

It's less breathing than *panting* --

Bruce shakes his head --

"I'm still *weak*, Bruce. You could... take advantage."

"*Clark* --"

"It would *prepare* you, my companion. You have to know how your family will react to you --"

"No. No, they don't -- they will *not* want a dead thing --"

"Undead --"

Bruce growls --

But Clark just *looks* at him -- and keeps squeezing. "You've gained the power to drive them to their knees with a *bite*. I can think of at least two of your children --"

"Not -- they're not --"

"You *adopted* them, you *jackass* --"

Bruce laughs somewhat painfully, shakes his head. "It's not that. I can't -- I can't *let* myself think of them that way --"

"Then think of how much they'd want to help you through this. Think of how much they -- all of them -- would *long* to help you --"

"I can't -- I won't be a *parasite* -- *hnh* -- "

And Clark begins to stroke, doing it fast, *hard* --

He's --

He's using his *strength* --

But he doesn't have to. Bruce can feel every air current down here, can trace the mild breeze from an improperly-sealed entrance nearly half a mile away --

But --

He wants Clark's strength for this, Clark's power and --

So much *heat* as he stares into Bruce's eyes --

So much *exasperated* love -- until he blinks with something like realization, scent changing to something almost *watery* -- "I've yet to make love to Tim anywhere with *your* bugs."

Bruce grimaces -- "Don't -- *nnh* --"

And Clark eases his grip once more. "You thought the two of your children I referred to were Dick and *Jason*."

"You must -- you must not break Tim's *confidences* -- "

"I will not tell you his *secrets*, my companion. He believes, *deep* in his heart, that you know perfectly well how he feels about you. I *suggested* that that might not be the case... but I really had no idea..." Clark smiles and shakes his head. "He loves you, Bruce. He loves you and *wants* you."

"Still? No. No, please --"

And the kiss is so firm, so warm and firm --

So wet and *deep* --

Bruce *lunges* when Clark pulls back, pins his arms down against the stone and kisses him again, sucks his lip and feels the flesh dent -- not break -- at the scrape of his canines --

His wings *ache* to enfold --

But it's enough to shadow Clark, to hold Clark in his darkness while he moans and *bucks* --

Bruce lowers himself and thrusts, and --

The heat --

So much --

The *friction*, because they're thrusting against each other *quickly*, too quickly for only Clark's pre-ejaculate and the minuscule amount of plasma Bruce has leaked --

He can smell Clark's *pain* again --

And it's too much, too *incorrectly* arousing to be borne. Bruce moves as quickly as he can to swallow Clark's penis --

"*Ah*! Oh, *Bruce*!"

But he can't seem to make his canines retract enough to cover them with his lips. He -- he's *scraping* Clark with every one of his thrusts --

"Oh -- oh, that's -- please break the *skin* --"

Bruce grunts and thrusts at *nothing* --

"You -- it need only be a *scratch*, beloved friend --"

And Bruce wants to *beg*, but he can't take his mouth away, can't *surrender* the sensations of having his mouth *taken* --

"*Please*!"

And he can feel himself flex, *leak* more, need --

He's not *hungry*, but --

But it feels wonderfully, painfully, *frighteningly* good to increase the pressure slowly --

So slowly --

And Clark screams just *before* the pressure becomes enough to scratch --

Clark twists and *writhes* --

And all Bruce can do is suck as Clark goes limp everywhere save his penis, as *he* surrenders --

No, he can hold Clark's hips, too. He can --

Clark has always *wanted* --

And there is the moment when he grips --

The moment when he pushes *down* --

And *gulps* Clark back into his throat --

And Clark screams again and again as he ejaculates, shudders and beats at the stone hard enough to star it with cracks --

Clark *tries* to arch beneath him --

And Bruce has nearly swallowed all of his ejaculate before he remembers that he wants to know how it will taste to him *now*. He pulls back just enough --

Clark *whimpers* --

And Bruce whimpers, as well, because he *can't* identify the salts or the minerals, *can't* compare them to anything he knows, can't classify the sweetness as *anything* --

Citrus was *incorrect*, and he knows that now, knows everything, knows himself *worked* by the flavors of -- his companion.

After a time, Clark rests a shaking hand on Bruce's shoulder and squeezes *gently*. Bruce stops sucking immediately and pulls off, works up saliva and licks at the shockingly *small* scrapes --

Bruce shivers. "How much blood?"

"I --" Clark moans and shakes his head --

"Please. You must --"

"An entirely negligible -- you didn't nick the vein," Clark says, and squeezes Bruce's shoulder again before sitting up and examining his penis. "Oh... the scars look quite old, don't they. Hm."

"It's -- it bothers you."

"What? Oh -- well, yes, I suppose it does," and Clark laughs softly --

"I'm sorry --"

"Don't you *dare* apologize. I asked for just this. The fact that my... ah... prejudice against magic is rearing its ugly head... well. It's nothing *you* need apologize for."

Bruce frowns and attempts to will his genitals to *quiet* themselves -- but that merely makes it *more* obvious that his wings are shivering, *reaching* --

"Oh... let's talk about all of this *later*," Clark says, and grips Bruce's penis again --

"Clark --"

"Really, it's -- I don't love you *less* now that you're a magical being --"

"It's only -- logical --"

"Yes, it *would* be, but I want *your* fangs in my body, and *your* wings wrapped around me -- yes, like so --"

"I can't *control* --"

"I think -- and this is just a theory, so bear with me," and Clark begins to stroke Bruce fast and *hard* --

Bruce moans and throws his head back --

"Oh, *your* throat is truly --" Clark growls and bites him --

So --

So *hard* --

And Bruce is groaning and bucking --

His wings are *flexing* --

He's thrusting into Clark's *fist* --

"Well, I suppose I'll have to remember *that*," Clark says, pulling back and licking his lips, using his free hand to tilt Bruce's head forward once more -- "I think you're ignoring your wings when you're not in the process of using them to fly."

"I -- hm." One can't ignore the messages of the body and still expect the body to obey the mind --

Clark beams at him. "Yes, of course you can still think despite what I'm doing. Oh, Bruce, you're *infuriating*, but I love you --"

Bruce winces --

"Oh, no, no, please, beloved friend --"

"You must not -- *convince* yourself --"

"Do you think I'll resent you if I develop kinks for assorted magical beings?"

Put that way, it sounds more than a little ridiculous. Clark isn't small enough for that sort of thing; he's too giving and *open* --

Too *warm* --

"Do you know, the shivers seem to start at the very *tip* of your wings and travel to just beyond where they grow out of your back. There the shivers *stop*, and that's just *fascinating* --

"In -- every way?"

Clark smiles *sharply*. "How do you think you'll feel with *my* mouth on *you*?"

"*Hnh* --"

"You always -- *always* -- react powerfully to my heat. Even as a human, you... hmm... couldn't grow accustomed to it?"

"There was never --" Bruce sucks in a breath of arousal, power, *musk* --

He shakes his head because he can't think around it, can't --

"I can *taste* you, still --"

"How *does* your body respond to ejaculate?" 

"It -- it seems -- I feel nothing beyond the arousal, the continued speeding of my heart, the *strength* --"

"I think that's an *excellent* sign. I can't wait until you taste your family --"

"Clark, *don't* --"

"I can't wait to listen to you -- watch you? -- pleasure them. And yourself, of course, but I know you. You'll *devote* yourself to their pleasure. You'll... mm. Wallow in it."

He's wanted --

So *much* --

And Clark has always known, has always understood and *offered*, doing everything short of reaching for Bruce --

Everything short of *carrying* Bruce to the beds he's shared with Dick, with Tim, with *Stephanie* --

They -- they had shared Jason four times, four wonderful --

Bruce groans and focuses enough that he can feel his wings as part of himself, that he can *comprehend* their sensitivity, their desire to be touched by Clark as much as every other part of him --

He flexes and stretches them --

Curls them in and flexes again --

*Flaps* them as he thrusts into Clark's fist faster --

*Faster* --

"Oh, *Bruce* -- no, I'm afraid I can't --" And there *are* more words than that, but they're spoken around Bruce's penis --

Moaned and slurred --

Clark's eyes are closed and he doesn't even seem to be looking through the lids. He is *tasting* Bruce --

The plasma --

Bruce groans and *pushes* --

And Clark uses his speed to pull off and *nip* Bruce's fingers --

Bite and *growl* as he opens his eyes. "Let me have you."

"You -- you want --"

"Everything from you, my companion. Surely you understand that by *now*? I..." Clark frowns. "Or is it that you doubt I could want your new and entirely exciting pre-ejaculate? What *do* you ejaculate? Is it more of this plasma?"

Bruce shudders and tries not to *arch*, to *push* toward Clark's heat --

"And I can feel you straining, *see* you straining -- *tell* me --"

"There is -- more plasma. And more blood. Please --"

"Will you beg me?"

"Please don't --"

"No, I'm afraid that's the entirely wrong sort of request --"

Bruce growls and grips Clark's hair, tugs and feels several strands come loose --

And Clark pants and groans -- "On the other hand, *that* can have only *one* response," he says, and swallows Bruce --

Sucks and works his head --

Bruce is shaking, shuddering, his wings curling and uncurling as he tries to hold on -- "Burning -- burning me --"

"Mm-hmm..."

Bruce growls again and cups Clark's cheek with his other hand --no, he strokes Clark's throat, touches his pulse-point --

Presses on his scars --

And Clark shudders and groans and *coughs* before recovering with a hum and a deeper suck, so strong, so --

Bruce *needs* --

And Clark has always enjoyed the feel of Bruce's hand on the back of his neck --

Clark is *nodding*, slurring and moaning and cutting himself *off* --

"How. How am I not too *cold*?" But Bruce can't do anything but cry *out* when Clark pulls off --

"Oh, Bruce, I --" Clark kisses his mouth, *licks* his mouth and shares the taste of the plasma, the thin and too-cool *hints* of aging blood --

*Tainted* blood -- but also Clark's own, and Bruce isn't sure if it's passing through him too quickly or not. He --

There's so much he doesn't *know*, and for an instant he can only regret killing the creature who had made him this --

There had been such *joy* on his face as he *pulled* Bruce to consciousness, wakeful *hunger* --

He hadn't waited to get his *own* strength back --

And it had felt so good to drain him still more --

It had felt like completion to every part of him, like something necessary and *correct* --

But no more so than taking and giving this kiss, than curling his wings around Clark once more and holding him, *having* --

So much *heat*, and Bruce wants to sweat for it, wants to *give* more of himself than just his shudders and growls --

Clark bites his *lip* -- and pulls back --

"*Please* --"

"I need -- I *must* have you in my mouth again. Will you accept?"

Bruce pants -- "You didn't answer --"

"You're very cool to the touch, yes. But so is nearly everyone I've touched in *any* way since I was a child. You know this," Clark says, and strokes Bruce's lip with his thumb. "You cannot disgust me, Bruce."

Bruce opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a moan, desperate and loud. He aches, and he can't hold himself away from it, can't meditate on anything but the way he's burning, *needing* --

And Clark is studying him and doing his own panting -- "I can no longer be sure how close you are to orgasm at any given time, Bruce."

Bruce frowns. "I... thought that was obvious."

"Your scents are too mild for that now. Or... not that. Too... distant? Perhaps I mean too confusing. Confounding."

"I'm not sure what you mean --"

"The magic in you is something of a *veil* -- tell me, Bruce. Tell me how close you are."

Bruce swallows -- "Very."

"Oh -- it was problematic that I pulled off."

*Yes* -- "To a certain extent."

And Clark smiles as if he'd heard what Bruce hadn't said, as well. "You're just going to have to be more communicative --"

"Please."

"Yes?"

Bruce growls and *yanks* Clark's head back down --

"Oh, *yes* -- *mmph* -- *mmm*...."

And the hum is enough to make him gasp --

The return of Clark's heat --

The tight and *welcoming* grip of his mouth, his --

Oh --

He can -- "Scrape. Scrape your teeth -- *NNH* --"

And Bruce shudders for it, *sways* as the messages from his penis become alarmed and alarming, sharp and so --

But pain of this sort has always been welcome, been, if not necessary, then something to be hungered for --

The *rough* touch of a lover --

The vibration of Clark's *hums*, so *pleased* --

And Bruce is aware that he's mussing Clark's hair, that he's gripping and pulling at him like a callow adolescent --

That he's pulling harder every time Clark moans --

Harder than *that* every time Clark cuts *off* his moans with Bruce's penis --

His -- "Your *throat* --" But Bruce can only grunt after that, only *shake* more, because Clark is swallowing around him with viciously metronomic regularity --

He is -- no.

"You. You tempt me to call you *Superman* -- *oh* --" And the rest of that is a *growled* moan, because Clark is pulling back *slowly* --

Dragging seemingly every *one* of his teeth -- and telling himself that that's not *possible* does nothing against the feeling --

The sense of himself as a match that *could* ignite at any time --

The creature had burned like *flash* paper --

And Bruce had shrunk away from the flame, *slunk* away in a fear he couldn't name atavistic. Here, now, there is fear, there is --

The heat keeps *increasing*, and he can't *sweat* --

Clark is touching him everywhere he can *reach*, and there is no relief, no --

He *wants* no relief, no --

Please, *never* --

And he can do nothing, when Clark opens his eyes and meets Bruce's, but move the two of them, *put* Clark on his back --

"*Bruce* --"

And growl something very like a *bellow* as he straddles Clark's chest and shoves himself back into that mouth, that beautiful --

Clark's eyes are rolling back in his *head* --

"I *need* you!"

Clark is *nodding*, calm and *happy* even as he strokes Bruce's buttocks --

Squeezes and --

*His* palms are slick with sweat. His fingers are strong and so close, so --

"Clark..."

And Clark focuses once more, eyes almost *stern* -- though nothing like Kal's even when he pushes two fingers into Bruce's cleft --

Even when he presses and *rubs* --

So --

"*Please*!"

And there is a moment's pause, something Bruce knows he would not have *noticed* when he was human, even assuming he could guess that such a thing would --

In.

Hot. So --

A part of him had believed that he wouldn't *feel* the heat so powerfully there --

He is a fool and he has always *been* a fool, and there is nothing he can do save thrust and *work* himself between Clark's hot fingers and hotter *mouth* --

Faster --

*Harder* --

And Bruce is shouting through his orgasm, thrusting --

No, he can hold himself still, he can take *control*, because if he can do that even in *this* moment --

If he can hold himself still even though the shudders wrack him and the pleasure -- so much heavier and *older* within him -- *blinds* --

Just --

To hold on, to *feel* the heat and his own need, his own *answered* need --

He'd never thought there could be so *much* --

And his hand is shaking when he strokes Clark's face while Clark sucks and swallows, but he can keep himself from *gripping* --

Even when Clark opens his eyes and stares with obvious *questions* --

Bruce *gasps* a laugh and feels himself ejaculate one last time, feels himself *capable*, at last, of pulling away --

But not far. Not --

He settles himself in a straddle of Clark's hips and rests his palms on Clark's pectorals --

"What *was* that?"

"An orgasm, Clark. I'd think you --"

"Bruce. Let's not forget that I *can* punch you with *all* of my strength now. You wouldn't want me to make a new Cave-exit with your *body*."

Bruce hums. "It would be an interesting interpretation of 'foreplay,' to be sure --"

"*Bruce*."

"I was... holding back --"

"*Why*?"

Bruce smiles and raises an eyebrow. "To see whether I could."

For a moment, it seems as though Clark will take this opportunity to *harangue* him -- but then he blinks, scowl fading. "You're going to give them a chance."

"I -- if I could be near them --"

"*Yes* --"

"*Sometimes*, Clark --"

"*All* the time. Oh -- they *need* you --"

"You don't know --"

And Clark stops him with a look.

That -- Bruce hums. "I suppose it would be an excellent time to accept the fact that, in some ways, you know them better than I ever will --"

"If we could just change those last two words --"

"Clark."

Clark smiles... wickedly. "Tim's throat is quite sensitive, Bruce --"

"I know --" Bruce closes his mouth and shakes his head.

Clark raises an eyebrow. And folds his arms beneath his head.

"That is... an egregiously obnoxious pose."

"Do you like it?"

"No."

"Too bad. Do you know all the *ways* Tim's throat is sensitive?"

"Of course I don't --"

"But you've touched him there."

"To -- to fit the gorget on his uniforms."

"Mm-hm?"

"Massage. Therapeutic --"

"Mm-hm...?"

Bruce feels himself *glowering*, which is the sort of thing he'd be grateful for with nearly anyone else, because it would *discourage* them.

Clark merely looks... sunny.

And begins humming.

"Wasn't there something else you wanted to talk about?"

"Ah... probably? Oh, yes: you're not a monster."

"Clark --"

"The world is chock full of people who are, in their turn, chock full of blood. You could feed on criminals if you'd like. It could certainly work to terrify them into answering your questions --"

"I've -- thought about that."

Clark nods encouragingly.

"And... I am capable of controlling myself," Bruce says. Admits? Accepts? He shakes his head. "I worry about giving myself a false sense of security."

"You know, that's interesting."

"Yes?"

Clark's expression is exaggeratedly thoughtful again --

"Clark --"

"It's just... how on earth would anyone ever have a guarantee that they wouldn't go too far? After all, if you work *alone*, you can't really have anyone to -- oh, *wait*." And then Clark looks at him again.

The glower... is what it is. "I... suppose I could work with a partner until such time as I was sure --" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "How can you *know* they'll accept this?"

"Well... they're upstairs."

Bruce blinks.

"All of them save Barbara. Even Helena and Dinah agreed to come by. I asked them all to communicate in sign language only, since I know how sensitive your hearing has become."

"Clark --"

"Barbara told me she expects you at the Clocktower no later than an hour before dawn. She wanted me to remind you about all of her windowless rooms --"

"*Damn* it --"

"Alfred is still upset with you, of course, but I think a heartfelt apology will take care of that problem."

Bruce -- thinks about growling. But he doesn't do it. He...

He takes a breath he doesn't truly need --

Except that he does, because now he knows with all of himself that the scent of Clark's smug satisfaction is as warm as the rest of him, as *pleasing* --

Though that could, perhaps, be the scent of love.

He takes another breath, and another.

He flexes his wings and lets their shudder pass through all of him.

And, when Clark smiles warmly, Bruce inclines his head.

"Oh -- you're *very* welcome, I'm sure --"

Bruce growls.

Clark beams --

And Bruce flies at speed to the showers before he can convince himself to spend any more time like *this*. His work-hours are limited now, and the night is not getting any younger --

But it still feels very, very good when Clark flies to join him.

end.





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