Space Cake
by Te
November 25, 2011

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: *Really* vague spoilers for older storylines. Takes place relatively early in Bruce's Bat-career.

Summary: Is Clark supposed to believe the man is becoming aroused for *justice*?

Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content which dovetails neatly with the content some readers may find to be disturbing.

Author's Note: Pixie's bunny to the bone. Though I have to say, I do tend to look with favor upon people who ask me to write sex pollen. :D

Acknowledgments: Much love to Mildred, Pixie, Melissa, Britt, and Jack, all of whom provided audiencing, suggestions, and encouragement.

Length: ~15,000 words.


Bruce, Clark knows, rather loathes those missions the League takes on which require them to travel off-planet -- such as the one they just completed. That much would be obvious from the tension in his shoulders as they walk through the Watchtower toward the transporter room, but there are other things to notice, as well.

One: Bruce hasn't made eye-contact with Clark -- or the rest of the team -- since they'd finished battling the Grzz warlords and their rather excessively violent clone armies.

Two: Bruce has been all but monosyllabic for the last eight *hours*.

And, three: Bruce hasn't widened his eyes out of a scowl for the last *six* hours.

Knowing that last is due to cheating, of course --

And he will never, ever give Bruce the satisfaction of knowing that he'd made Clark *think* of using his X-ray vision for such things *as* cheating --

And he knows Bruce already knows that anyway --

And that's *infuriating* --

Clark takes a deep breath and sighs it out, indulging himself by lifting himself into an entirely unnecessary flight at Bruce's side, as opposed to --

"Were your feet bothering you...?"

Clark blinks --

Uses subjective time to *study* Bruce --

The tension is still there. The eyes are still narrow. He isn't *looking* at Clark --

But there is just the barest fraction of a smile on his face. It's not a particularly *nice* smile --

But, over the past three years, Clark has become convinced that he will never *see* a nice smile on Bruce's face without taking up the sort of dedicated -- and stealthy -- surveillance he has neither the time nor the emotional makeup for.

It's entirely different to listen -- from a distance, of course -- for things such as unguarded laughter, which he *has* heard -- when Dick was nearby.

He'd very much like to see Dick again, and work with him --

Of course, he's much too young to have been included on *this* mission --

And subjective time is running out *rapidly* --

What to say?

How to *encourage*?

Hmm --

He settles on: "Terribly, of course. Clark Kent can't afford the Wayne Enterprises prices for acceptable footwear."

Bruce grunts something -- vaguely -- like a *laugh* --

Clark blinks and *blinks* --

No, no, he has to think --

"You might," Bruce says, and turns into the transporter room --

"Ah. Yes?"

"You might consider telling the man to spend less of his money on gifts for... hmm. What *was* her name...?"

Clark lets the sour look *stay* on his face --

Just to see --

Well, *not* just to *see*, but --

Another laugh.

Another laugh!

Clark doesn't -- quite -- fly *around* Bruce --

He stops just in front of him. "You're in a better mood."

Bruce's smile is slow, secretive, and -- terribly mean. "Have you considered *giving* her the gifts...?"

He can't quite work up another sour look --

And Bruce -- hums. "Come with me."

Clark can stop blinking at any *time* -- wait. Bruce's *eyes* are still narrow. And -- is his heart beating faster?

Clark checks against his memories of Bruce's baseline statistics -- hm. It *is* a little fast, but no more so than it would be if Bruce were simply more fatigued than is easily visible --

That sort of thing is *never* *easily* visible with Bruce, at all --

And time is running out again, so -- "Of course," Clark says, and starts to program in the coordinates for the Cave --

Dick, Clark knows, has been instructed to *never* let his training take him too near the thing --

And Bruce is staring at his back. Clark *knows* that. He can *feel* that --

And he can feel every last stain and tear in his suit --

And he really ought to take a shower --

*Bruce's* scent is as heavy and dark as some sort of -- of *coffee*, for all that it's as thickly masculine as anyone so inclined might wish --

Clark is most assuredly so inclined. He -- he *has* been --

From the very first *night*, when all of his arousal was built on *fear* and *intimidation* and *chagrin* --

Bruce had learned his identity so *easily* --

Had moved through Metropolis with an unshakeable confidence Clark has *never* been able to duplicate in *Gotham* --


And he really is just *standing* here --

*Dithering* --

And musing on what he can't have.

He swallows back another sigh and pulls on some of Kal's... social facility before turning back to face Bruce with a rueful smile. "I thought I heard something strange --"


What? What could it -- "Metal fatigue --"

And Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "Should I be concerned?"

*How* to lie -- ah. "Only, perhaps, for the towel rack in Diana's bathroom."

And Bruce looks distinctly *thoughtful*, which isn't at all untoward, but --

His scent... deepens.

In a way Clark finds deeply familiar. *Hopefully*, someday, to be *more* familiar --

Every human has a different scent, of course. Even a set of identical twins wearing the precise same *cologne* will smell different, due to their diets, their health, their emotional states -- and countless other things --

No one --

*No* one has ever smelled as wonderful as Bruce does when he's in the thick of battle eight to ten hours after having applied one of Brucie Wayne's more frivolous -- and staggeringly expensive -- colognes for other sorts of battles entirely --

Save for Bruce himself when he is... aroused. Sweatily so, *please* --

He steps onto the pad with Bruce and tries to decide how he'll feel if Bruce and Diana ever act on their mutual attraction to each other. How...

Well, Diana is a wonderful and generous lover, of course, and it's not that Clark thinks that *she* will have less time for him -- and everything he can give. But...


Bruce has given himself to no one in the time that they've known --

"Do you plan to tell me what's wrong...?" The smile that was on his face is gone as he prepares himself for the feeling of being disassembled and then reassembled at speed --

But it's absolutely still in his voice.

And --

He could tell Bruce -- again -- that he desires him greatly.

He could tell Bruce -- again -- that he would give pleasure, anything Bruce seemed to *wish* --

He could watch Bruce's eyes fill with irritation, scent Bruce's impatience --

"I believe I'm simply -- tired."

Another raised eyebrow. "Should we be -- *hnh* --"

For whatever reason, the transporter is far more gentle with his body and *sense* of his body than it is with humans. Clark is grateful for it, and for the excuse to lift Bruce up --


-- and fly him to the chair at the console.

"Hn. I did, in fact, want you over here. However..."

"Ah... yes?"

"If you're tired, you're more than welcome to table this until after you've given yourself a suitable period of time in the exosphere."

The home world of the Paae -- which had been in the process of being very successfully invaded by the Grzz -- was only about eighty-four million miles away from another yellow dwarf star much like Sol. He is as 'charged' as a well-loved battery.

And Bruce knows it.

And is *smiling* again to *show* that he knows it --

Damn it. "I -- don't think that will be necessary."

"If you're sure...?"

Clark narrows his eyes at Bruce.

Bruce narrows his own behind the cowl, and it absolutely *is* threatening. It's just also... other things.

The depth of his scent is still... dropping.

Suggesting --

Suggest*ive* --

Clark lets his nostrils flare -- two can play at *this* game --

And Bruce's smile glitters in the moments before he turns around and calls up a folder with a numerical code Clark can't begin to guess the significance of. It's full of photographs and videos. That --

Hm. "A new surveillance target?"

"I wouldn't say... new," Bruce says, and calls up the first video --

Which turns out to be a battle Clark had had with Kalibak nearly a year and a half ago. The man -- Clark refuses to consider him a god, or even a demigod -- had brought along an army of the enslaved and brainwashed, and so Clark had had to spend a significant portion of time getting them subdued, and then moving them to safety.

Not all of them had survived, as Kalibak can be indiscriminate with his Beta Club, and there is...

There is only so much pain a mortal body can accept before it surrenders. Clark frowns and pushes the thought aside -- "Darkseid is moving again."

"Isn't he always...? That's not why I'm showing this particular video," Bruce says, and there is a *quality* to his secretive amusement --

A desire, perhaps, to share it?

Clark frowns more deeply and turns back to the monitor, where Kalibak has come to the *correct* conclusion that aiming his weapon at civilians -- and his own army -- is just the thing to get and keep Clark in range.

Within moments, every part of Clark's suit -- save the nearly-indestructible cape -- has been torn to sticky, shredded ribbons. He is...

Well, *some* would call what follows obscene, but, really, vigorous physical activity is arousing for any number of species and sub-species, and Clark certainly hadn't been embarrassed at the *time*.

He was too *busy* for that.

He's *never* --

Bruce hums. Onscreen, Clark's penis is being somewhat...


Well. The important thing is that he's gotten the Beta Club away from Kalibak, and damaged it sufficiently that it's safe to use it *as* a club to break the man's jaw --

And several of his ribs --

And to dislocate his knee --

Bruce hums. Bruce --

Bruce isn't watching what the Clark onscreen is doing with his *hands*, at all, and that --

Clark inhales *quietly* --

And Bruce's arousal is, at this point, impossible to deny. Will he try?

Is Clark supposed to believe the man is becoming aroused for *justice*? "Bruce."


That --

Casual tone. *Amused* tone. A laugh just *barely* hidden beneath the possibility of vocalization --

Clark licks his lips --

And Bruce switches to a video of Clark *grappling* with Maxima. She had smelled like *slightly* unripe kiwi fruit and strange, powerful salt.

Her sweat, when it spattered Clark's mouth that day, had tasted *precisely* like the water in the Marianas trench, and Arthur hardly *ever* invites Clark down there and --


It wasn't just the exercise which had been arousing him.

She hadn't torn off *much* of his suit once Clark had made it clear that there *would* be a fight, but --

That doesn't actually --

And it's not that Clark hadn't *realized* how revealing his suit could be under certain circumstances. It's just --

Just --

The teenaged girl who had taken this video had, Clark knows, sold it to the highest bidder. For days, Clark had waited for it to show up on one of the news stations --

He remembers trying *very* hard to keep Maxima's flailing from dropping *architecture* on the girl --

"Bruce. You..."


Clark -- blushes. But he's not a neophyte anymore, and he's certainly not a child. "If there was something in particular you wanted to see --"

"You have been... generous," he says, and starts a slide show of photographs of Clark.

He is -- visibly -- aroused in every last one of them. He --

Bruce hums again, amused and pleased and --

"If -- you've changed your mind --"

"I have," Bruce says. "Give me just a moment."

Clark *stares* at him --

Tries to -- to --

He's being *seduced*! And -- and it's not, actually, all *that* surprising that Bruce would do it *this* way, and so --

Well, what will he want to *do*?

What does he *like*?

What if he doesn't like any of the things -- well, no, that's something of a ridiculous question. Adulthood -- and his powers -- have been very good to Clark, and *very* good to Clark's development in terms of acquired kink. He --

He can please Bruce, no matter *what* strange and potentially terrifying thing he wants, and then --

Then, they can do it again --

And Bruce catches his breath. He -- he's still staring at the *screen* --

Clark looks --

And that is absolutely a photograph of him carrying a laughing, beaming, *squirming* Dick into the sky. He remembers that night *very* well --

He --

He doesn't *quite* remember what had aroused him in that moment -- oh, that's a terrible lie. That --

He's blushing again. He's --

"I'm... not familiar with that particular --"

"I took it myself," Bruce says, standing and turning to face Clark --

At which point Clark realizes that he's hovering. When did he -- he stops hovering. "Bruce, I --"

"What, do you think, will it take to make you forget my... reticence?"

Those were absolutely words, and presumably they were arranged in a sentence, but Bruce's lips are slick with saliva and Clark doesn't remember him *licking* them, and that's terrible, absolutely --

Clark reaches out --

Bruce shows his teeth. He --

He shows his *teeth* --

And his heart is beating -- quickly. Too quickly for the *level* of arousal he can taste on the air, but --

Perhaps this is normal for Bruce?

Clark hasn't been *close* to him when he's been this aroused --


"You -- the times you choose to call me that --"

"Are you protesting?" And he raises an eyebrow behind the *cowl*. Is he --

"Do you want to leave that *on*?"

Bruce blinks -- and raises both eyebrows. His heart is beating even faster -- "A moment, please," he says, standing straight and somehow *loose* before breathing deeply --

Very --

"Are you *meditating*?"

"Not quite. I feel... there is some question about my control."

Clark -- grunts --

And Bruce smiles and continues to breathe deeply. "I thought that might please you."

"Of *course* -- you don't need your control with *me*," Clark says, and flies closer, touches --

Just Bruce's shoulders --

And then he's grunting again, because Bruce has a hard, powerful, and *gauntleted* grip on Clark's *scrotum*. "*Bruce* --"

"Nearly... nearly there," Bruce says, and *shudders*. The scent of his fatigue is suddenly much more noticeable, but it's still minor compared to his arousal, his *sweat* -- aging and new. He --

Clark uses his speed to dart in and lick the sweat from the space where Bruce's cowl meets his left cheek --

Moans for it --

For the act of *doing* it --

Bruce is *laughing* -- but.

The taste is... different from what Clark had expected, given how many times he had scented it on the air. Of course, taste and scent aren't *perfectly* in tune even in *his* body. Some differences are only to be *expected* --


Clark frowns to himself and focuses on the taste, looking for the familiarly unfamiliar --

And finding, within himself, a memory of the taste of the small, sweetly delicious, and fascinatingly *grainy* Celebration Cakes the Paae oligarchs had insisted on sharing with them all after the Grzz had capitulated utterly. The portable diagnostic bed they have in every Javelin had been quite sure the cakes were *safe* for them to consume, but...

Bruce hums -- and squeezes. *Hard* --

"*Bruce*, I -- I think --"

"The cakes, Kal...?"

"Oh -- dear. Are you --"

"I'm definitely inebriated to a certain extent --"

"Oh, *no* --"

Bruce laughs again and starts to -- to *pump* his fist --

Clark groans and -- hesitates. That's really the only word for it, for the way he isn't *stopping* Bruce --

Who is laughing again. "I've been... I've felt it... building over the course of the day. The bed was quite clear that it would take *time* for the cake to pass through a human digestive system."

"Yes -- yes, I remember -- *oh* --"

"You like this."

"You're touching my *scrotum* --"

"Strictly speaking," Bruce says, "I'm touching my gauntlet. Which is touching your trunks. Which are touching --"

"Yes, yes, you -- please stop," Clark says, and is very, very proud of himself for --


Clark blinks.

Bruce smiles. "Did you have... any other requests?"

Clark *pants* --


"Perhaps? Ah --"

"Perhaps something I could do with this," Bruce says, and he is so *fast* for a human, so --

No, there's no excuse for the fact that Clark had allowed Bruce to shove his *other* gauntleted hand into his trunks and tights --

Allowed Bruce to cup, and squeeze --

His hand is around Clark's *penis*, and the gauntlet is so cool, so *rough* -- "Please --"

Bruce shivers and takes a breath. "Clark."

"Yes. Yes. I'm hardly -- I don't feel at all --"

"Like Kal. Hmm. I wonder."

"You... wonder?"

Bruce squeezes and *strokes* --

"*Oh* -- Bruce, don't --"

"I wonder... what it would take to make you feel more like Kal."

"Is that --" No, it's not the time to *interrogate* the man. It *is* the time for *this*: the careful, gentle removal of Bruce's hands from his body --

It's so hard not to *moan* --

He manages it, and he carries Bruce to the medical area, and he considers -- deeply -- strapping the man *down* --

No. No. He's not --

He's not out of *control* or anything --

Clark flies back out of range. "Please tell me about your symptoms."

Bruce takes a moment to take stock of his surroundings --

He smiles and nods --

The scent of his amusement is so much like breaking peppers right now --

Clark wants to *bite* -- no, no. He won't. He *won't*.

Not even -- oh.

Bruce is. Sniffing his gauntlets. He is --

Breathing so *deeply* --

*Growling* --

Clark doesn't *grab* at himself like a teenager, but --

He very much wants to. He --

"Tell me -- Bruce --"

"Arousal, of course, is the primary symptom."

"Yes. I -- what else?"

Bruce licks his lips. "Thirst. But not for water, or even for something that would... replenish my electrolytes."

"Oh... no?"

Bruce smiles *at* him. "Diana has told me about the... volume of your ejaculate after any given encounter --"

"Bruce -- I -- think."

"Yes, Clark...?"

Clark is blushing, but this -- no. He swallows. He breathes --

He tries to focus on something other than the good-natured and wry *heat* of that smile --

He tries -- "I believe we should... file that under arousal."

Bruce parts his lips and takes a deep breath -- "As you like. I've been repressing the arousal for the past four hours --"

"That. That long?"

Another smile. "I wanted to wait until we were alone, Clark," Bruce says --

Nearly *purrs* --

"Have you ever wanted my mouth...? It would feel... cool. Shockingly so, I imagine --"

"Bruce --"

"Considering the fact that I could perceive -- some -- of your heat through the gauntlets --"

"*Bruce* --"

"Ask your questions... and then answer mine."

Clark -- takes a deep breath of his own --

Stares --

No, he meets Bruce's eyes through the cowl --

"Oh... add a certain degree of forgetfulness to the list of symptoms," Bruce says, and frowns thoughtfully. "Or perhaps I should call it precipitousness," and he jumps down from the gurney -

"Don't --"

"It's all right, Clark. I have every intention of staying... near to where I've been placed."

"Oh -- good --"

"For now," and Bruce smiles again and peels back his cowl with a sigh. "I meant to do this as soon as we arrived here."

"Ah... yes?"

"Yes. Of course, the fantasy involves you *tearing* it off --"

"Oh, my --"

"But I knew that would take some degree of... hmm... convincing. Perhaps for our second time."

Clark hears himself make a small noise --

"The human body has many flaws, Clark," Bruce says, dropping his gauntlets on the gurney and beginning to open his chest armor. "One of them is the distinct inability to sate itself emotionally with mere physicality. After a certain point, the spirit, however willing, can do nothing to animate the flesh -- do you like my scent?"

"Very much. I -- are you overly warm?"

"No more than I ever am when this aroused. No signs of either hypo- or hyperthermia."

"That's -- that's good. I... is there pain?"

Bruce lets his chest armor fall to the moderately springy -- but still easy to clean -- tile he had laid for this area of the Cave. He meets Clark's eyes with another wry smile. He --

"Other than the discomfort of arousal, I mean. Or. Is there --"

"It's no more painful than it's ever been to be aroused in this jock," Bruce says, and drops his cape --

And his undershirt --

His nipples are hard. His body shines with *sweat*--

"Will you lick your lips again, Clark?"

"I --"

"Will you... hmm. Show me your hunger?"

"You can *see* --"

"Not on your face. Not..." Bruce sighs and deactivates the traps on his belt before opening it. *That* he places gently out of the way --

He crouches and bends, and the flex and shift of the muscles of his back is -- imperfect. The terrible and uneven scar above his left kidney speaks of a wound which had taken some of his muscle tissue *away*. The *internal* scarring is frighteningly severe. He -- "Are you. Are you sure you're not in pain?"

Bruce laughs and stands, lifting his arms above his head and flowing into several beautiful stretches. He is. He is an improbably-large *dancer* like this, and he is beautiful. So --

"It. You need not prove --"

Bruce pauses with his arms extended to the right and his back curved just -- so. "If you're quite sure."

"I'm -- very glad you can laugh about this --"

"Are you?"

Clark blushes again. "What would *you* do, were our positions reversed?"

Bruce laughs *aloud* -- and sits back down on the gurney to --

Clark removes his boots and socks --

"Thank you," Bruce says, and the purr under his voice --

The *heat* -- "You're welcome. You. I've wanted --" Clark growls at himself and flies back out of range. "Please answer my question?"

Bruce *stares* at him for a long moment -- and then nods and stands again, pushing down his trunks and tights --

Freeing himself from his jock --

And pushing down his boxer briefs. He is naked. Utterly --

He is scarred, and pale, of course --

More pale than Clark has ever been or is ever likely to *be* --

His hair makes him seem dark. His *personality* --

There's something --

And Bruce is looking at him. Studying him just -- *unabashedly*.

Not that he *should* be abashed --

"Please," Clark says, and spreads his hands. "I am at a loss."

Bruce narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side -- <<There is much -->>

Clark *grunts* --

And Bruce smiles. <<There is much we could find/know together, my companion.>>

Clark swallows. Just --

He had given Bruce the materials to learn Kryptonian eight months ago. It's not that he'd assumed Bruce had forgotten them -- Bruce forgets *nothing* -- but --

This --

Bruce takes a step closer --

"Bruce --"

<<I would know if the construction was... worthy?>>

Clark swallows again. <<Correct,>> he says, speaking slowly, clearly --

Bruce inclines his head. <<And me, Kal-El? Am *I* correct?>>

Even -- even the *sentence* structure --

<<Or should I be... 'this one.'">>

Oh -- <<*No*!>>

Bruce smiles again -- and crosses his wrists behind his back.

He --

<<This one would know if you were... sure.>>

"Slaves -- slaves aren't allowed to *question* like --"

<<And if this one would be punished most severely...?>>

There will be a stain on his briefs.

*And* his tights --

And there is a voice in his mind suggesting -- strongly -- that he at least remove his trunks before --

Before he can *leak* more --

<<This one would know -->>

"*Please*. *English*," Clark says, and he knows that the plea is in his eyes by the way Bruce catches his breath --

"As you like. In answer to your question..."

"Question? Oh -- yes. Please --"

"Were our positions reversed..." And Bruce smiles and drops his arms to his sides again --

Clark *berates* the part of himself which wants to tell Bruce to bring them back behind himself --

Wants to *put* them there --

*Hold* them there --

"Hmm. It's not obvious...?"

"*Bruce* --"

"We'd already be making love, Clark. *I* have no power to remove your hands from my body should I -- somehow -- not want them there --"

"You *never* want them there!"

Bruce smiles, dark and *sharp* --

And that was more of a gasp than a breath. That -- "You -- you lied to me."

Bruce inclines his head.

"Why -- *how*?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- and then sits on the gurney again. This time he pulls one knee up and plants his foot, exposing --

Exposing --

"I vastly enjoy that stare, Clark."

Clark groans -- stops --

*Focuses* --

But Bruce is cupping his own penis and *stroking*.

So *lightly* --

His penis is harder by the *moment*, dark and becoming *darker* --

There's pre-ejaculate beading at the tip --

And focusing like *this* is just another way to trick himself, lure himself into moving *closer* --


"*No*," he says, and flies back, and *glares* --

No, he must remember that Bruce is under the influence. In -- he's not in his right *mind*. It's not --

This isn't his fault. Clark takes a *deep* breath and fixes his expression. "I'm sorry for snapping at you like that, Bruce."

Bruce laughs. "You're forgiven. Amazingly enough."

Would it have been too much to ask for him to be *less* infuriating when inebriated?

Or at least not any *more* infuriating?

He --

He laughs *again* --

Squeezes himself --

Squeezes himself *harder* --

And the breath *he* takes is a shaky one which catches on a low note in his chest. "Please come closer, Clark."

Oh -- "That wouldn't be a very good idea --"

"If you do," Bruce says, and cups and *presents* his scrotum with his other hand --

"Bruce --"

"If you do... I'll tell you how I've managed to lie to you so effectively."

That --

That is a truly wonderful offer. It would be *immoral* to take Bruce up on it -- at least as immoral as making love to him now would be --

Bruce *needs* his secrets, his -- his *mystery* --

"I'll tell you everything, Clark --"

"I don't -- I don't want to know," Clark says, and *then* realizes that he's speaking to Bruce's scrotum -- he looks up.

And Bruce's expression leaves mere *skepticism* in the dust. What's left is something so sour that Clark's *lips* wish to pucker.

Perhaps while pressed to an entirely different... pucker.

Clark sighs internally and continues meeting Bruce's eyes. "I don't want you to tell me while you're *inebriated*."

Bruce -- rumbles. And begins to stroke himself once more. He --

"Bruce, you... I can't give you privacy --"

"I know."

"I have to -- you need to be *watched* --"

"I know," Bruce says, and smiles again. His scent is --

Clark is still *leaking* --

"Does it make *you* thirsty, Clark...?"

"Ah... 'it'?"

Another laugh, and Bruce shows no compunctions about staring at Clark's groin. "I wonder, at times, how much you require food and drink to... replenish yourself. As opposed to needing radiation in a certain range of wavelengths."

"I -- I went a month without eating or drinking once."

"Did you."

"I -- couldn't control my powers by the end. Or my emotions."

And Bruce nods as if he's filing that *away*, as if he's *capable* of thinking about that even though he's *masturbating* in *front* of Clark --

"Please -- I mean --"

"Clark..." And Bruce's eyes are focused on him, deep and full and --

Not any *softer*, even though his pupils are blown --

It's just not -- fair.

At all. "Bruce, please tell me more about your *condition*."

"That wasn't what you were begging --"

"Of *course* it wasn't -- " Clark blows out a breath. "Please, Bruce."

"Tell me what you would do to me -- assuming I wasn't inebriated -- and I'll tell you more about what's wrong with me at the moment."

"Will you?"

Bruce inclines his head.

"I would -- taste you. At this point, I would do it quite quickly, save for certain... ah... landmarks, shall we say?"

"Would you confound my senses...?"

"Would you *like* that?"

Bruce smiles again, but this time it's bright enough to make Clark *shiver* --

He does it as quickly as he *can* --

"I haven't the faintest clue," Bruce says. "Please. More."

"I would. I've longed to fellate you for quite some time -- "

"From the beginning, Clark...?"

Well... "The fantasies, back then, were somewhat more... rough."


"Though I would never --"

"Hurt me...?"

Clark clenches his hands into fists -- opens them. The movement was fast enough to avoid Bruce's gaze entirely --

Clark knows, deep within himself, that Bruce had seen it anyway. *Felt* it anyway --

"I wouldn't say that," Clark says. "But... there would be no... permanent injury."

Bruce's penis twitches *promisingly* --

And Bruce smiles down at it as if it's a much-beloved -- if wayward -- child. And then he looks up again. "Thank you."

"You're -- welcome. That was sufficient?"

"For now," Bruce says, and squeezes himself viciously again. This time, the tendons show in his throat --

The flex of his perfect forearm is eminently *visible* --

"I am incapable of sinking deeply into any of the forty-seven meditative states I've mastered over the years."

"Oh. You -- of course you've tried all of them --"

"Oh, yes. Additionally... I seem to have no inhibitions whatsoever. The feelings are *not* purely sexual in nature, as a part of me wishes -- deeply -- to go out tonight in hardly any armor, at all --"


"So I can move, Clark. So I can... hmm... feel the night on my *skin*. The night is mine. I have the -- deep and profound -- urge to... bareback."

"You... want to make love to an abstract *concept*?"

"Violently... if at all possible."

Clark takes a step closer --

He can't *stop* himself --

Bruce smiles and strokes his scrotum with his callused thumb -- presents it again.

"What. What would you like me to *do* with your scrotum?"

"Teach me my limits, Clark. Teach me... that I don't truly want to hurt as much as I believe I do."

The desire to touch --

The *need* to touch --

Clark groans and leans in slightly, imperceptibly to an average human --

Bruce's hum is a reminder -- as if he needed *another* -- that Bruce himself is anything *but* average --

"I needed more of your scent, Bruce --"

"Will you give me your own?"

"I don't trust *either* of us should I come any closer than this --"

"I have a suggestion," Bruce says, and Clark knows with all of himself that he should be taking that as a warning, that he should be bracing himself, backing *away* --

"I'm listening."

"Gather your pre-ejaculate on your fingertips --"

"Bruce --"

"And paint my upper lip with it."

The concept -- the concept isn't wholly unfamiliar, of course --

"You could do it... hmm. Very, very quickly --"

"Speaking as your *friend* --"

"My closest friend who is not Dick." <<My dearest companion.>>

Clark's hands are fisted at his sides again --

Clark's penis is twitching as violently as Bruce could *wish* -- wait. "What would *Dick* think of this? You must -- you must remember him --" And Clark is cut off with another *pointedly* skeptical look, but -- "You -- *we* -- must set an example --"

"Dick is with his team right now. Additionally... he has been masturbating to images and fantasies of you for at least as long as I have, Clark." And Bruce pauses in his stroke to *consider* something --

It's another warning --

Clark can't *possibly* let himself think --

He wouldn't --

He *can't* think about --

"So you are attracted to him," Bruce says, and smiles sharply. "Will you act on it?"

This blush -- this blush is very deep. He can't --

What can he say?

What could possibly *be* said?

"You could, if you'd like, tell me about it."

"Bruce, I can't -- I wouldn't -- I would *never* --"

"No...?" He raises an *eyebrow* at him --


"I was thinking..." Bruce laughs again. "He told me he was ten when he began having *pointedly* sexual feelings. It's entirely possible -- probable, even -- that he was masturbating to thoughts of you while *I* was masturbating to thoughts of my fellow capoeira students."

Clark's throat is very dry. He. He can't let -- "How. How old were they?"

Bruce smiles and rubs a *teasingly* light circle on the head of his penis. And then --

And then he offers his thumb to Clark. He. Just.

The *shine* of it --

So --

"Bruce --" No, his voice is too rough and low. Clark clears his throat. "Bruce. It's. There are some things which are --"


"To say the *least* --"

"I agree with you. With..." Another laugh. "With, let's say, *most* of myself. I *believe* I can keep myself from making love to an adolescent --"

"Not -- he's not just any adolescent!"



"Suck my thumb."

Clark can do nothing about the wince on his face, the sound which *falls* out of him, the need --

The *neediness* --

"Will you tell me --"

"More about my condition? Of course."

Clark swallows and moves close enough -- barely --

He shouldn't *do* this --

There's no --

But is there harm? Perhaps if he simply --

Bruce growls when Clark closes his mouth around his thumb --

Shudders and growls *again* --

"Your *heat*... is deeply inspiring."

Clark licks and sucks quickly --

Not quickly enough. Not -- he can't *bring* himself --

The taste of Bruce's pre-ejaculate is so --

There's a thickness to it, something indefinably *powerful* --

Of course, some of that is due to the fact that it had begun to dry --

"Is this how you would fellate me...?"

And Clark realizes that he's gripping Bruce's wrist with one hand --

Stroking his *forearm* with the other --

"Would you... hmm. Hold me still and *force* me to take only what you chose to give?"

Clark's penis twitches *again* --

Not even flying through a *monsoon* will make his suit *deniable* --

And Bruce touches Clark's cheek with his free hand. He --

Clark yanks himself back --

Bruce gasps -- and then smiles at his saliva-slick thumb before lowering it to his penis once more. He --

"Bruce, *talk* to me!"

"The feelings appear to have reached --" And Bruce *presses* on the head of his penis --

Shivers and moans --

"*Please*, Bruce --"

"The feelings have reached something of a plateau. I feel no more out-of-control than I felt an hour ago. Before then, there were steady increases in intensity."

Clark sucks in a breath and nods. That's -- that's *good*. "Let me take you back to the Watchtower."

"Not yet."

"Bruce --"

"There's only one thing I'd like you to force me to do -- hmm. That was a somewhat *ridiculous* lie," Bruce says, and turns toward the glass-fronted cabinet just beyond the head of the gurney. He doesn't rummage for even a moment before he pulls out -- a tube of medical-grade lubricant.

"Bruce, you *must* --"

"Tell me about Dick," and he squeezes lubricant onto his fingers, spreads it --

"It -- the compounds could be... injuring --"

"We both know that you'd be able to tell --"

"I'm not *omniscient*, Bruce! There are things I don't know about the human brain. *Many* -- oh."

And Bruce is smiling --

He'd closed his *eyes* --

And his index and middle fingers are pressed deep inside his body. The stretch is --

Clark swallows and allows himself to focus on the taut skin of Bruce's anus, on --

Is there pain? Would there --

How much of this sort of treatment is Bruce *accustomed* to?

Clark *stops* listening when Bruce is masturbating. He -- he *waits* --

It's only proper *courtesy* --

And there is a part of him which is calling the rest a fool. There is a part of him which is pointing out that courtesy has left Clark lost, unprepared, *bumbling* --

There is a part of him which wants to give Bruce *precisely* what he's asking for and to take even more --

So much *more* --

"Will I tear, do you think...?"

Of course he's been staring for too long. *Again* -- "I don't know."

"You can't tell?"

"I'm not -- I'm not."

"That isn't what you're paying attention to at the moment?" And Bruce starts to -- thrust.

Clark winces --

He's clenching his hands into fists again.

He's leaning *in* again --

"Perhaps -- oh... perhaps you should," and he's thrusting faster. So --

"Do you like that."

Bruce catches his breath sharply -- "Very much."

"Do you. Is that how I should take you?"

Bruce growls --


"You're tempting me to *bark*... Clark."

And the world is washed in red --

The *sting* of his heat vision is -- is --

Oh, what is he doing? What is he *saying*? What --

It's only that it's so very *easy* to still Bruce's hand --

"Clark --"

And easier than that to kiss Bruce, to *take* his teasing, laughing mouth with his tongue --

To make Bruce *feel* him. Even Diana's tongue feels less *solid* than his own, but his is just as mobile, just as well-*designed* for this --

This taking.

And when Bruce reaches for him --

Well, Kal has *two* hands. It doesn't matter that Bruce's wrists are as thick and strong as the rest of him. He is Kal-El, and his powers can be conceived of as limitless when compared to an unenhanced human.

Kal holds Bruce's wrists behind his back and takes Bruce's moan for his own. Kal was hoping for shock, but he will take pleasure, the scent of *mild* pain as Kal digs in with his fingers just so --

As he makes Bruce take himself again --

*Harder* this time --

And there are parts of him which are only worried by the *lingering* taste of the cakes in Bruce's mouth --

By the way he is giving *in* --

There is --

He's giving in, as well. He's *surrendering*, and he's not supposed to *do* that --

Clark pulls back -


Clark grunts and frowns, shudders -- "I need you."

Bruce pants. His lips are *swelling*.

Clark had kissed him much too firmly, much too *hard* --

"Take me."

The sound Clark makes is close to a *whine* --

"Would you like me on my hands and knees? Spread-eagled on my back? My stomach? Hanging from --"

"*Bruce*, you mustn't -- please don't make me --"

"It's your choice, of course," Bruce says, and doesn't so much as flex his wrists --

Clark is still *holding* them -- "Please," he says, and he knows he must sound mournful, *desperate* --

"Surrender your control for this --"

"I *can't* --"

"Surrender your control for *me*, Clark. I will not resent you for it --"

"You can't *know* that!"

"Can't I?" And Bruce raises an eyebrow. "I am the same man I've always been. The difference is that there is nothing telling me to lie, to dissemble, to *obscure*. I want to be taken --"

"Over?" And the Kal in him is too quick, too hungry --

But no hungrier than this human, this perfectly beautiful human who knows desire --

For him. Kal licks Bruce's mouth, does it again --

Licks his chin -- no. Kal uses his free hand to force Bruce's head back and to the side --

Waits --

*Waits*, and sometimes subjective time is torture, cruelty, something darker and more *cold* than anything Antarctica can offer. He is a *man*, and there are things which he needs, sound and light and --

Bruce's shudder and *flare* of apprehension --

"Is it because I knew enough not to cause you pain with this?" And he *waits* --

No, there is only *one* way to deal with subjective time in moments like this one: Kal breathes, and fills himself with Bruce's scent, Bruce's *powerful* arousal --

The tides of it so *drugging* --

And he is ready for Bruce's laugh when it comes, ready for Bruce's *breathless* amusement when he says: "As a matter of fact..."

"My powers frighten you." And like this, with himself deep -- so *deep* -- in the *world* of Bruce's arousal, there seems to be no time passing, at all --

"I do have some few moments of sanity, from time to time."

Kal laughs, and the only time is that which they spend making love, that which they spend burying one another in musk and *sweat* --

"Please," Bruce says, and there is little amusement. There is --

Something almost *ragged* -- "Beg. More."

And it's all Kal can do not to gasp for the rising *flare* of pleasure in Bruce's scent, of *happiness* --

<<This one does abase.>>


<<This one... this one seeks *correction*.>>

Kal licks his lips --

And presses the tip of his tongue to Bruce's throat, just above the carotid. Like so, and with a bit of pressure -- not very much, at all -- he can cut off the flow of blood. The question is when Bruce will *realize* --

"Will -- will you block the jugular, as well?"

*Does* he want Bruce's grip on consciousness to slacken?

Waver? There would be a power in it that, Kal knows, would arouse him beyond *measure* -- but. The arousal would last for far too brief a time relative to how long Bruce's weakness and fatigue would last.

He doesn't want Bruce to be weak. He --

He could *make* Bruce into his companion, teach him everything he hasn't already taught himself -- no. Not that. He could take Bruce's *offer* of companionship, take the *truth* of their companionship --

That which they've already *built* --

He could make it more official, demand acknowledgment of it from the monitor-servant --

"Please, Kal..."

He doesn't care about the monitor-servant at this moment, or even about the ghosts of his biological parents. His care, now, is for the taste of Bruce's sweat, and the fragile tautness of his flesh as Kal bends his head just slightly further --

Far enough that *anyone* could see the pounding beat of his pulse --


Tension, a shiver --

"I could do anything to you in this moment..."

"I sincerely hope you will --"

Kal laughs and breathes deep again, licks again --

Kal bites and *growls*, annoyed for a moment that his voice is not as naturally deep as Bruce's own --

But it's hard to remain annoyed when Bruce is panting for this, *just* this --

When he's shuddering and pressing *closer* --

And if he was truly lying all those other times --

Oh, it's hard to *imagine* --

Bruce is only *human* -- but. If he was lying, if this is something Clark could've had if he'd simply asked the right questions --

Made the right *demands* --

Kal growls again and bites *harder* --

"*Hnh* -- please."

Kal pulls back and licks his lips, stares into Bruce's eyes -- yes. His pupils are even more dilated than they were before.


"Bruce. I will take what I want of you."

Bruce's heartbeat speeds --

<<Would you hear me speak properly, greedy one?>>

<<I -->>

<<I think not.>>

And Bruce's smile is wild, savage, *triumphant* -- <<This one would hear everything. Anything.>>

Kal hums and releases Bruce, flying back enough to remove his suit before it gets any more *slick* --

<<This one does beg, Kal-El.>>

<<This is well,>> and Kal moves the somewhat oversized mattress -- with Bruce on it -- from the gurney to the mats. <<Present yourself.>> And, truly, this is a test --

How *deep* did Bruce *go* in those files?

Most of him had only included those particular cultural *quirks* for the sake of Bruce's amusement, a chance for discussion, a chance for discussion which could -- if *Clark* were lucky -- turn sexual --

He would give so *much* --

But Kal isn't truly surprised to see Bruce kneeling perfectly, facing him with his knees shoulder-width apart and his wrists crossed behind his back --

Bruce is always *thorough* --

<<Second position.>>

A moment's hesitation -- explained perfectly by Bruce *flowing* into the arch, spreading his thighs more *while* reaching back for the floor --

<<Have you thought of your boy this way...?>> And there is a pang, a rush of *hot* guilt for referring to Dick that way --

Bruce *shudders* --


Bruce *pants* -- <<Yes, Kal-El. He is... he has such grace.>>

<<And this moves you.>>

Bruce closes his eyes and shudders again -- <<As one god-touched.>>

Kal flies to a position above Bruce where he can still be seen -- <<Third position.>>

This time, there is more speed than grace, but, again, it's not a surprise. Bruce wanted, very badly, to be on his hands and knees. He --

"I will not allow you to take this back, sluttish one."

A laugh -- "This one would not have it any other way... you-who-are-most-high."

Kal breathes --

And Clark breathes within him, *loosens* within him --

A terrible knot of need and hunger and guilt and something very like *rage* -- self-directed.

The Clark within him --

The *self* within him loathes the loss of control, the *fact* that this may as well have been *preordained*.

From the very first moment Bruce invited him to join him today --

Perhaps from the very first moment Clark had looked beneath Bruce's cowl and found such beauty, such surprising *truth* --

Kal breathes --

Considers --

"Fourth position."

"I do. I do beg --"


Forearms and right cheek flat to the mattress --

It can be difficult for many humans to breathe in that position, for all that the difficulties are mainly emotional. Bruce isn't having that problem. Bruce --

Bruce will, perhaps, always be *just* this infuriating --

And Kal flies down and spreads him --


"You may celebrate just this much, greedy -- *mmm*..." So perfect to lick --

To suck at swelling Bruce can't even *perceive* and lick more, *more* --

To nuzzle and *hum* --

And Bruce groans for him, shudders and *flexes* --

Kal pulls back. "You were not expecting this...?"

A sharp intake of breath --

A laugh -- "No, Kal-El, I was not."

<<Will you take it willingly?>>

<<I hunger for your every -- every -->> And the rest of that is a *panting* groan, which is enough of an answer, considering just how *stiff* Kal is making his tongue --

Considering how much of him needs this, *just* this --

Clark growls as Kal stabs in --

Superman strokes everywhere he can reach --

And Clark Kent represses a sob for the sound of Bruce's panted breaths, the sound of him clawing at the *mats*, the sound of *partially*-spoken pleas --

It's so much --

It's so *much*, and it's not anything he expected to have, not anything he expected to even have the right to *hope* for --

Bruce has always been so *far* --

But not like this, when a moment's desperate *privation* can be used to move Bruce into the fifth position, to place him on his *belly* --

Kal licks a path up Bruce's spine --

Superman kisses him everywhere, everywhere, moving him out of the position and back and away, and *back* --

"I -- please -- this one --" And that's a *laughing* groan, that --

Clark breathes deep and wishes he knew more about Bruce's scents at times like this. With any other human male, Clark would assume that orgasm was *imminent*, but -- no. No, there are --

Bruce has demanded a certain *quality* of --

<<Are you close to extremis, greedy one?>>

Bruce pushes up onto his hands --

Bruce lowers himself onto his stomach again and spreads wider, *strains* --

It's *necessary* to rub the tension out of his thighs --

Bruce shudders *hard* --

<<You must now speak.>>

*More* tension -- and Clark can smell confusion. He --

"I have a secret for you that you really ought to already know --"

Bruce laughs again and groans more *deeply* -- "You will." He licks his lips. "You will never be solely one man."

"Yes," Clark says, and *presses* on Bruce's anus with his thumb. <<Answer the question.>>

"This one --" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "This one would be your *pet* --"

"You will be. But first --"

"I lied. I -- there is -- so much pain --"

Clark *freezes* -- "Bruce --"

"I need an *orgasm* --"

"*Talk* --"

"The ache is indescribable. Maddening. And yes, I am -- very close. If every message from my body isn't lying as much as I have lied --" And Bruce grunts when Clark flips him onto his back --

Again when Clark takes him deep, takes, *takes* --

"*Clark* --!"

And now Clark knows that some of Bruce's pleas *sound* like demands, *feel* like demands would feel if Clark *didn't* have the man's penis in his mouth. The lubricant is right here --

The lubricant is on his fingers --

And two fingers go in only just easily *enough*. Bruce is clenching --

*Shouting* --

Sitting up --

Clark uses his free hand to push him back down, to *hold* him --

"Please -- *please*!"

Clark shakes his *head* --

And the tension in Bruce is staggering, *complete* --

Clark sucks hard enough to give *some* pain --

And Bruce *growls* as he ejaculates, holds himself *rigid* -- until Clark crooks his fingers, at which point he begins to thrust viciously hard and with frighteningly precise *rhythm* --

*Batman* --

Clark shudders --

And Kal pulls off precisely three seconds after the scent of Bruce's pain for Kal's suction begins to rise --

Bruce *gasps* --

<<You please me, sluttish one.>>

"This --" Bruce groans and arches at nothing --

His penis twitches, nearly *spasms* --

<<This one does beg!>>

The desperation there is... telling. <<Your arousal remains sharp...?>>

<<More. It is. More. This one -- this one -->>

<<The answer is simple. You must please me more,>> Kal says, and watches Bruce *relax* --

And smile -- fleeting but *present* --

And the pleasure of pressing down on Bruce's sternum while taking him with his fingers --

*Opening* him with his fingers -- well.

It's not that Kal didn't expect it. The part of him which is Kal is frankly incapable of *not* expecting that sort of thing -- could there be anything *but* pleasure in this sort of dominance? This blunt *push* --

Still, there are other parts of him, and *most* of the time those parts think of being in the precise opposite position. The monitor-servant had done an *excellent* job of crafting a phallus to Clark's specifications --

He hadn't known the real one would grow so *dark* --

He knows now, and if Bruce makes him fight --

Makes him *wait* --

But --

Does he only enjoy it this way? That --

Well, it wouldn't be a *tragedy*, per se, but it would certainly be *disappointing* -- <<My desire for you waxes, Bruce Wayne.>>

Bruce grunts and opens his eyes, stares into him --

There is *fear* in them, even though his scent has nothing of the kind -- no, there are hints. Nothing more noticeable than what it would be if their lives were in danger --

And Clark wants, very badly, to tell Bruce how *impressive* he is on a moment-to-moment basis, but mostly he wants to interrogate that *plea*. <<*Speak*.>>

<<Desire... is the enemy of control.>>

<<I have told you that you require no control with me.>>

<<Would you -- this one would... know...>> And Bruce shudders and squeezes his eyes shut --

Clenches and *grunts* --

Tosses his *head* --

<<Beautiful pet. Know *what*.>>

A gasped *laugh* --<<The sensations -- the pleasure is *incomprehensible* -->>

<<*Answer*,>> and Kal begins to thrust faster, more *deeply* --

<<Control. Control would allow -->>

<<You are my pet, and I *am* your control.>> And Kal watches Bruce's penis twitch and seem to get even *more* erect --

Bruce is *trembling* beneath the skin -- <<This one. This one would know if that... will remain/keep. This one isn't -- doesn't -->>

"Shh. Beg."

And *this* twitch is powerful enough to spatter Kal's cheek with the blend of ejaculate and pre-ejaculate at the tip of Bruce's penis --

Enough to make him -- "Or should I tell you stories of myself...?"

"Please. Please, I don't -- there's so much --"


"The pleasure is -- *nnh* -- equally -- equally impossible --"

"Who has *done* this for you, greedy one?"

And Bruce cries out, plants his feet --

"Be *still*," Clark says, because desire *is* the enemy of control, but only Bruce has an *excuse* for this --

Clark has been controlling himself since he was a *toddler*, and he can control himself now --

If --

If Bruce stops making those hungry noises, those dark *grunts* for every one of Clark's thrusts --

If Clark can keep himself from crooking his fingers --

Again --

"*Please* --"

"Answer my *questions*, Bruce!"

"*Clark*. I -- I don't. There's no one. Only -- only masturbation..."

And it takes a moment for that to sink *in*, and so Clark's gasp sounds late and ridiculous to his own ears --

Bruce's laugh becomes a groan, loud and somehow -- somehow *sweet* --

No, that's his human warmth, the *sleek* feel of his rectum --

The pleasure and *power* --

<<It is well that you give this to me, precious pet -->>

"*Nnh* --"

<<You will give me even more...>>

"Please --" <<Yes yes -->>

<<But first...>> And this, this rocking and *vibration*, has always seemed to be somewhat unfair, but the sounds his lovers have made for it --

The sounds *Bruce* is making as he writhes --

And struggles to still himself --

And writhes *more* --

<<Do not make me wait, precious whore.>>

And Bruce cries out --

Shouts his *pleasure* --

And there is much that Clark cannot help but know:

Bruce has desired *just* this from him.

Bruce has *feared* his desire for this.

Bruce has feared *him* -- perhaps *all* of him.

Bruce has feared his own capacity for desire -- *any* desire. Nothing else could explain the *wildness* of this moment, this loss of anything *resembling* control as he bucks and shouts and --

Oh, there is moisture at the corners of his eyes --

And it goes against every *part* of Clark to wait for this, to continue to simply hold his chest down and thrust --

And vibrate --

And *thrust* --

Until Bruce's scent changes in the way which will now *always* be familiar, and Clark can take him in his mouth --

"*Clark* --"

And suck *viciously* hard to make up for the fact that Clark will *not* take him in his throat this time. This --

This *taste* --

Kal hums and sucks even *harder*, holding Bruce *still* in his mouth --

Bruce is beating at the mattress --

There's not enough --

There's not *enough* before Bruce stops spasming and groans in pain. Clark eases the suction and pulls back to kiss, and nuzzle --

To mouth and worship --

Kiss and kiss again, again --

And this time, Bruce's laugh is breathless and rueful.

Clark licks a long stripe up the underside of Bruce's penis and breathes hot on the head. "Tell me, please."

"I feel... better."

The urge to say something along the lines of 'I certainly *hope* so' is, perhaps, beneath him. Instead, "please do elaborate."

"I can... comprehend a future when I don't require your touch to retain my sanity."

Clark examines Bruce's dark, twitching penis. Already, there is more pre-ejaculate beading at the tip -- hm.

Clark pulls out and retrieves a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator Bruce keeps down here and pulls Bruce into a seated position.

"Ah. Thank you," he says, and drinks deeply. So --

His *throat* --

Kal waits, impatient and *bad*-natured --

Waits with Bruce's scent in his nose and his taste on his *tongue* --

And growls, helpless to his own needs --

Bruce sets the bottle down immediately and crosses his wrists behind his back again.

Kal licks his lips. <<Tell me of this... future.>>

<<The pain is child-like -->>


Bruce inclines his head and licks his lips, stares *into* him --

<<More, pet.>>

<<This one would know -->>

<<You will answer my questions *first*,>> Kal says, and *grips* Bruce's penis when it twitches violently.

<<Yes, Kal-El. There is... breath. And a capacity for the control of an... adolescent.>>

Kal raises an eyebrow. "English."

"One more orgasm, or perhaps two, will allow me to stop begging for your touch. This, at least, is the message my body is sending."

Kal nods thoughtfully, but that isn't *quite* the right answer. Or perhaps he'd asked the wrong question. For now -- "Is that what you wish? To stop begging for my touch?"

Bruce's smile is wry and nearly -- soft. "I have begun to *want* to want that."

The loss for that --

The *fear* --

"Then there is no time to waste. Third position."

Bruce's smile hardens *immediately* -- and he moves, graceful and quick. He rolls his shoulders as he braces himself --

Sighs like the predator he *is* --

Kal slicks himself *quietly*. "You spoke of punishment, wayward pet."

"This one did so speak."

"You may have it," Kal says, and pushes in with no further preparation, slowly enough that Bruce can feel --

Feel every --

Inch --

And Bruce is panting for him, making small and *shocked* noises --

Kal is the *first* for this --

But who has made love with Bruce in other ways?

Who has had this *gift*? *When*?

And the thought is enough to make his hands shake as he cups Bruce's hips, as he pushes still *deeper* --

Oh, *yes* --

"*Kal* --"

"This is what you've earned, desired slut. Take it."

"*Hnh* --"

And there is only so much he can hold himself away from this --

This *perfect* -- no. Bruce doesn't *want* him to hold himself back. Bruce --

Bruce had *asked* for Kal, for -- for *dominance* --

"Are you ready to be used?"

Bruce grunts and nods --

And so Clark tightens his grip just so --

"*Oh* -- *please* --"

He will not *shake* more -- not *yet* -- "You will speak your answers *aloud*, Bruce --"

"Clark -- *please* --"

"I need not grind you into the dust --"

"I *know*, I've always -- it's only. Only a desire to be -- I can't find the *words*," Bruce says, and his voice is accusing and *harsh* --

It's enough to make Clark blush, make his heart speed as he *flexes* --

"*Clark* --"


"*Use* me! Take -- please, take *pleasure* --"

And Clark *can* hold back this cry, but he chooses not to. He starts to thrust *hard*, and --

It's better, by far, to get Bruce *accustomed* to what --

He --

Will --

*Get* --

"Clark! *Clark*!"

"Do you *like* --"

"*Please* --"

"You shouldn't *interrupt* me, Bruce," and Clark grips the back of Bruce's neck the way he's wanted to for -- nearly -- *every* other interruption --

Bruce pants --

Clark pushes his head *down* --

And then they're both shouting for Bruce's clenches, so vicious and perfect --

"So *tight*. *More*, Bruce!"

And Bruce nods and groans, long and loud and *low* --

*Bruce* shakes --

And continues to clench, once for *every* one of Clark's thrusts --

He's never --

Of *course*, Clark has imagined this -- countless times -- but this feeling --

This *particular* quality of --

Of --

Bruce's hips are *powerful*, as powerful as the rest of him. Clark has to use *bruising* force in order to hold him still --

And Bruce's sweat for this isn't the *same* as his sweat for other kinds of exertion. It's -- it's *saltier* in the air --

On Clark's tongue as he leans in to lick --

To *bite* the back of Bruce's neck --

Harder as Bruce cries *out* --

And oh, such *pleasure* to make love to someone his own size. Every time, of course, but especially now that he can grip Bruce's hip with one hand and twine the fingers of the other with Bruce's --

When he can hold *and* hold down --

Not that he's at all averse to making love to smaller --

And the image in his mind is, predictably, Dick with a smile on his face, so broad and happy and *sweet* --

("Oh, *Superman*!")

And Bruce had wanted to *know* those thoughts --

To *share* them with him and -- everything else?

Clark groans --

Kal --

No, that's a growl from all of him, every part, because Bruce's breathing is ragged and so is the rhythm of his clenches. Because the scent of Bruce's pain twines itself in a *braid * with the thick and *powerful* scent of his pleasure --

A flare of red --

A strong and perfect --

*Push* --

Flex --

*Thrust* --

And Bruce is clawing at the mattress with his free hand --

Clark is --

He can smell himself sweating as everything in him urges him toward pleasure, so much, so *much*, because Bruce is starting to get raw --

Because he'll be even *more* raw --

Oh --

*Oh* --

And Clark takes himself metaphorically in hand --

Clark *grips* himself and forces a singular focus, a space where subjective time and strength meet to form something --

Something so --

Bruce clenches *viciously* --

His aura seems to *convulse* --

No, that's *him* -- and so Clark stills himself immediately, every part of him save for his twitching penis --

*All* of his lovers have enjoyed --

"*Hnh*! *Clark* --"

"Do you. Do you *feel* --"

"I -- *oh*," and Bruce shudders through Clark's orgasm, pants and --

Moans and --

So *tight*, so --

The sense of heat *rockets* past the reality of human and Kryptonian and lands somewhere near --

Perfection --

And then Clark can breathe again, *think* --

He checks --

Yes, that's the expression Clark will *always* know as the one Bruce makes when lust -- raw and inescapable -- is strong enough to *pain* him. The scent --

The --

Power. "I am not finished with you, Bruce," Clark says, and it's every part of him again. It's -- so much -- "You... you have always... blurred..."

"Clark --"

"Shh," and Clark lays Bruce out on his belly once more, spreads him wide and braces himself on Bruce's strong wrists --

Bruce grunts and *clenches* --

"Yes. Yes, you can... take me," Clark says, and starts thrusting slowly, but not gently, not --

He doesn't think he will *ever* give Bruce that as anything but a punishment -- unless. Could the desire for roughness be blamed entirely on the cakes --

No, that's a foolish question. That's -- the sort of thing --

Clark breathes deep and groans for the scent of his own pleasurable exertion, for the scent of Bruce's arousal, rising once more --

Rising and --

Bruce is moaning and clearly having *trouble* clenching on rhythm --

Bruce is moaning so *loudly* --

His body --

His heat --

Clark will not be slow for long. He --

Clark laughs at himself --

Growls when it makes Bruce clench even *harder* for a moment --

"You want my amusement, precious slut?"

"I want -- I want *everything*," Bruce says, and he sounds *mournful* --

"The cakes --"

"Wearing *off* --"

Clark grunts and *clutches* -- "I will not stop."

"No, please don't --"

"I will -- you will have *all* of me," Clark says, and vibrates his body --

Bruce *screams* --

Clark feels himself *seize* for it, for that sound --

That pressure and tightness --

So *human* --

And Bruce is bucking under him, *slamming* himself against the mattress as Clark thrusts --

Harder --

*Harder* --

Another *scream* --

That *deep* scent --

And Clark gives Bruce *all* of his weight and a fraction of his strength --

Clark holds Bruce *down* for his orgasm, forcing him to a stillness that must seem like the best *torture* --

He can *feel* Bruce's *imprisoned* wildness --

He can hear it in Bruce's *cries* --

He waits --

He *waits* -- and when Bruce slumps, Clark releases his wrists, pulls out quickly, rolls Bruce onto his back out of the wet spot --

Spreads him *wide* --

"Oh -- Clark --"

"*Everything*, Bruce," and Clark pushes Bruce's left knee to his chest --

Pushes in --

And in --

And Bruce moans and arches, pants and shakes his *head* --

"Would you *deny* me?"

"No, please no --"

Clark hums and starts thrusting in short, rocking motions --

Bruce grunts for every one --

"Would you... try to *escape*?"

Bruce laughs and Clark can smell shock, rising arousal, pain, *need* --

Clark laughs, as well, and takes Bruce's penis in hand. "It's well that the thought amuses you, Bruce..."

"Nnh -- Clark --"

"There *is* no escape."

Bruce opens his eyes and stares at him, searches him with a *pure* focus that's nearly *frightening* after everything that's come before --

But it doesn't touch the perfect friction of Bruce's rectum, the faintly plush caress of *swelling* --

Clark *smiles*. "Accept it quickly."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and shudders --

Twitches in Clark's hand and *moans* -

"Yes. Yes, you've wanted --" Clark licks his lips. "Was it very hard, Bruce? To live without a grip on your... neck?"

Another laugh -- but it *quickly* becomes a shuddering groan -- "*Please* --"

Clark *loosens* his grip and uses his greater control in this moment to *slow* --

"*No* --"


"*Nnh* -- it was hard. It was -- I've wanted --" Bruce shakes his head and grits his teeth --

"*More* --"

"So -- so much *emptiness* --"

"Open your *eyes*, Bruce."

Bruce growls and does it, and there's anger there, but still so much need, so much --

Clark licks his lips. "I will *always* fill you, Bruce..."

Bruce *pants* --

Stares --

"Clark --"

"I will -- mm. I will use you for my pleasure *whenever* I see fit -- "

Bruce bucks -- "*Please* --"

"My pleasure... my pleasure will *often* be yours -- oh, how you *clench*," and Clark offers his own growl, tightens his grip and *speeds*.

"*Yes* -- it's so -- I want my *control* --"

"You can't *have* it. Now guide my hand, slut."

*Another* growl -- but Bruce follows the order, guiding Clark into a stroke which is -- unsurprisingly -- vicious and *efficient*.

"You may have this -- for now."

"Th-thank you -- Clark --"

"My companion may have everything he wishes..."

And Bruce shudders and *keeps* shuddering, and that --

Clark laughs somewhat breathlessly. He has his *own* inebriation, and he never wants it to *end*. "Did my tone warn you, Bruce? Can you guess what you're about to get...?"

"I -- I --" Bruce groans and tries to get Clark to squeeze him --

Clark squeezes *gently* --


"You asked for Dick, Bruce."

A *buck* -- "Clark -- don't -- please --"

"Shh. You asked for... for honesty --"

"I -- I was *weak* -- *nnh* -- *NNH* --"

Oh... "You're absolutely right; I *shouldn't* try to punish you with pain," Clark says, loosening his grip once more --

But he can't make himself slow --

But it doesn't *matter*, because Bruce is crying out again --

Tossing his head and *tearing* at the sheets -- 

"*Please*, Clark!"

"Beg for *Dick*."

"He's -- so young --"

"So beautiful. So bright and happy in your presence --"

"*Yours* --"

"And yours, as well," Clark says, knocking Bruce's hand aside and stroking Bruce's penis with just his fingertips --

Bruce shudders and opens his eyes again -- and they're wild and unfocused, *dazed* --

Clark strokes more *lightly* --

Bruce *shouts* -- and there is a plea in his eyes --

*Rank* desperation in his scent --

Clark pants and swallows -- "I would taste every *inch* of you --"

"Clark --"

"*No*, Bruce. You know how to get what you want. What you *need*."

"I fear --"

"I know."

"I *fear* --"

"I know," Clark says, and smiles. "And I do not care, dear friend." <<Beloved companion.>>

Bruce gasps --


Bruce groans and *slumps* again -- but the shudder never leaves him, the *tremor* --

Clark *forces* his senses down, *compresses* them emotionally until he *can* slow his hips --

"*No*! I -- I -- give him to me, give me -- so beautiful --"

And it can *be* only Kal who smiles like this --

Who opens his senses once more, courting that *danger* --

And Bruce is crying out again --

And *Clark* is in love, so in love, because he knows there's no way he can slow down again, no way he can even *imagine* easing his *stroke* --

He must *give* this to Bruce --

Everything. "I listen to *him* masturbate, Bruce..."

Bruce groans and shudders *harder* --

"I listen to his heart rate speed. I listen to his muffled -- muffled *cries* --"

"So -- it's *wrong* --"

"*Yes*. But so very beautiful. Here," Clark says, and covers Bruce's eyes with his free hand --

*Speeds* himself for Bruce's gasp and *buck* --

And mimics the sounds of Dick in extremis with a soft pillow over his face --

Bruce *shouts* -- and tellingly grits his teeth. *Quiets* himself.

And so Clark can only blush while he mimics Dick's hungriest moans --

The shattered *heat* of his gasps as he gets closer --

*Closer* --

Bruce tenses so *hard* --

"Oh -- *ohn* -- *Batman*!"

And Bruce shouts and *yanks* Clark's hand away from his eyes --

Clark *lets* him, because he needs --

He needs *this* moment, with the two of them staring into each other and *knowing* this --

*Feeling* it --

"So --" Bruce groans without looking away, without so much as *blinking* -- "He is so beautiful --"


"So -- fearless --"

"In every *way*."

"I saw -- from the first moment --"


"He -- he *loves* you, Clark --"

"And you," Clark says, and knows his smile is too sharp, too hungry, too -- he tries for *control* --

"No, please *show* me --"

And when he looks into Bruce's eyes --

When he sees *that* hunger, that *loneliness* --

Clark groans and leans in -- and Bruce is right there to kiss him, lick and *bite* him --

Clark *shudders* --

And they moan together, kiss so *wetly* --

And Bruce is rocking into every thrust --

And Clark is groaning more and more, speeding himself and needing everything, every touch --

Every *grind* of Bruce's teeth on his lip, so much pressure, so *strong* --

"You -- I would give you *all* of me --"

<<I would *take*!>>

Clark grunts and grips Bruce's wrists again, takes his mouth and cries out --

Every clench is a *vivid* illustration of how raw --

"I can smell your *pain*, Bruce!"

And Bruce laughs at him, with him, *for* him --

"So -- so intoxicating --"

"Should I be -- worried --"

*Clark* laughs and shakes --

Vibrates --

Bruce *growls* a cry and flexes his wrists until Clark frees them, pulls Clark into another kiss with one hand --

Wraps his other arm around Clark and *pulls* --

"*Bruce* --"

"I need you *closer*!"

And there is an urge to punish --

To *negate* --

But it's as air compared to the need to *crush* Bruce with himself, to *grind* their bodies together until it's impossible for him to thrust or for Bruce to buck. They *rut* together and kiss --

Pant and kiss --

Shout and *kiss* and Clark needs, Clark wants --

"I *love* you!"

Bruce goes *rigid*, and the taste of shock in the air is so wild, so *terribly* sweet --

"*Know* this, please -- you must *feel* -- *nnh* -- *Bruce* --"

But Bruce has thrown his head back --

Somehow they've moved far enough along the mattress that his head can hang over the *edge* --

Bruce's eyes are *blank* with lust --

His scent is so *deep* --

And Clark can't help but cry out for the splash of Bruce's semen on his abdomen and chest --

Can't help but stare and move --

And *move* --

Bruce is staring at *nothing* --

And Clark will never forget that it was his declaration that took Bruce over the edge, that --

Oh, Bruce is *clawing* at him --

Grunting *rhythmically* --

And it feels fast, *sudden* when Bruce tilts his head forehead again and stares *into* him --

"Bruce --"

"Give it to me, Clark."

He can't -- the noise he's making --

"Give me your *pleasure*!"

He's whining, high in his throat --

Bruce cups his face --

Clark closes his eyes for a moment and kisses Bruce's thumbs, licks them and wants so much, so much --

And he thrusts too *hard* when Bruce shoves both thumbs into Clark's mouth --

When he smiles in *triumph* --

And Clark wants to *beg*, but it's better to suck, suck and *kiss* --

"I will not *forget*, Clark --"

Clark nods and sucks harder, grinds *faster* --

"So -- so *much* of you --"

He can't *stop* --

"*Do* it!"

Clark *chokes* on the noise that tries to get out of his throat --

Shudders and -- *grips* himself before he can slam in any harder than this --

Any --

He must not injure --

He must hold on past the *throb* in his penis, Bruce's clench and the rush and pound of blood beneath his skin --

He needs --

He *needs* -- and his body surrenders to it *enough*, letting him grunt and *vibrate* through an orgasm that takes his vision and turns it to something of actinic color and *heat* haze --

He can't --

He shouts and *spills* --

And he's still doing it when Bruce pulls him closer, when Clark can drag his mouth against Bruce's stubbled cheek and thrill --

Clench --

*Flex* --

And ejaculate one more time --

As Bruce hums in *knowing* satisfaction. He --

He is himself again. Clark can *feel* that --

He can --

It's *draining* -- or. It's possible that he means 'sobering.' "I'm sorry," Clark says, and kisses Bruce's cheek *lightly* as he forcibly convinces his body to calm itself --

Bruce hums. "Are you."

Clark sighs and tries to hold on to Kal's confidence --

*His* confidence --

He lifts some of his weight from Bruce. Not all of it. "Will we talk about this, do you think?"

There's a *moment* of something like *panic* in Bruce's scent -- but Bruce represses it quickly under *waves* of amusement as he strokes Clark's chin with a damp thumb. "You don't think we're doing that right now...?"

Clark frowns and softens himself at speed --

Bruce hisses -- stops and lifts his chin against the discomfort --

"I'm sorry for that, as well," Clark says, and lets himself slip out --


And there is another moment, something --

Something like a *pause* of feeling --

"Bruce --"

"Take me back to the Watchtower, please. A full diagnostic scan --"

"Would be prudent, yes," and Clark stands and *lifts* Bruce --

Runs them *quickly* through Bruce's showers --

Bruce hums and looks down at his body with -- amusement.

Clark looks, as well --

He'd *promised* confidence --

It's very hard to feel it in this moment. Very --

"A robe, I think, will be sufficient for now. I have uniforms there, of course."

Clark swallows and nods and drapes a robe around Bruce --

Flies to the cache of Superman uniforms Bruce keeps here for him --

He doesn't feel at all like Superman. He feels more like Clark *Kent* than anyone else --

But he can -- endure.

They teleport back to the Watchtower and Bruce allows him to hover as he programs the diagnostic bed --

As he slips in and allows himself to be cocooned in the threads which can -- and do -- sample every part of whoever is within them --

Bruce couldn't speak to him right now if he *wanted* to, and so Clark goes to join Barry in his watch. Barry speaks excitedly about advances in DNA analysis, and it's enough --

It's almost enough --

It's not enough.

It's --

Clark excuses himself and goes back to the medical bay, and he waits --

And he uses the eternity to seek for the right things to say, the right words to express --

He will never *pressure* Bruce -- unless.

He will never force himself on Bruce -- unless.

He will love, *always* love, and he's wanted Bruce for so *long*, needed him long before --

Bruce stiffens in the bed, and Clark knows that the threads are being dried and blown away from -- and out of -- his body.

After they're gone, Bruce breathes deeply and -- meditatively. The top of the bed irises back to free him, but Bruce only folds his hands on his chest and stares up at the ceiling -- no. Clark knows that scent.

He's staring at something deep within his own mind. He --

It's a very, very lonely feeling, and Clark can't --

The bruises on Bruce's hips are nearly fully-formed *handprints*, and Clark *can't* --

He flies close and kneels next to the bed. "Bruce."

"A moment, please."

Clark swallows and nods, filling another eternity with need and --

Is it possible for Clark to *regret* all of this?

Bruce's taste is still in his *mouth* -- but. Perhaps he would be a better person if he *could* regret it. Perhaps that would mean that he was --


Clark laughs somewhat helplessly, but there isn't much that can be said *for* the laugh --

"I am not angry with you, Clark."

"You should be."

Bruce hums. "I'd given the matter thought, of course."

Clark looks up. "'The matter'?"

"How to go about seducing you."

"Oh -- but --"

"Perhaps..." Bruce grunts a laugh. "Perhaps you can understand why seduction would seem so much more *plausible* than simply... asking."

Clark frowns.

"Or perhaps not. I..." Bruce shakes his head. "I've spent years profiling you, Clark. I *know* your weaknesses."

"And the rest of the League?"

"I haven't seen fit to limit myself in that way. Though I certainly haven't imagined seducing all of them."

Clark nods -- and thinks about it. And fights *back* a sense of mounting horror --

"Hnn. Yes, Clark...?"

"Bruce -- please tell me you're not blaming *yourself*!"

Bruce's smile is no more pleasant than --

"Oh, *Bruce*!"

"Desire... is the enemy of control."

"Damn it --"

"There must be a special *place* in the hell of the human mind for people who allow themselves to believe that such an enemy can be defeated with *fantasy* --"

"Please *listen* --"

"-- just as if fantasy doesn't merely open a *door* for desire to come flooding in, to -- to destroy..." Bruce's smile becomes a grimace and he shakes his head. "What must you think of me in this moment? What *assumptions* must you *make*?"

"That you're *human*, and -- and as desirous as any other. That you're *beautiful* in your pleasure -- oh, Bruce, I've wanted you so *much* --"

"And I used that --"

"Use *me*. I --" Clark shakes his head and stands, pulls Bruce into a seated position --

Smells *pain* --

"Oh -- oh, no --" Clark lets go --

And Bruce's laugh is low and *cracked* -- but there is still true amusement in it. "You did not turn me into an invalid, Clark," he says, and turns so that his legs hang over the side of the bed -- and then he shakes his head and stands, meeting Clark's eyes --

He cups Clark's *face* again -- "There is, of course, a temptation to leave this situation as it currently stands, with *both* of us blaming ourselves and thus in no fit state to... well."

Clark considers --

Clark loses himself to Bruce's rough hand on his face, so hard, so --

He hasn't had *time* to moisturize it since hours before their *mission* -- *oh* -- "Bruce --"

"The bed suggested I consider myself as having a blood alcohol content of point zero two seven, save that it would take somewhat longer for my system to be flushed than it would if I had truly consumed alcohol. The bed also expressed surprise that the intoxication was a problem... as, for the species who gave us this technology, intoxication was proof of a holy state."

Clark opens his mouth -- and closes it again. "Perhaps... perhaps we should work on reprogramming the beds."

Bruce hums. "Perhaps," he says, and strokes Clark's cheek. "Will you let me run from you?"

The *pain* for that --

He can't --

He can't fix his *expression* --

He can't *make* himself fix his expression. Not before Bruce sees it.

Bruce takes a deep breath --

And Clark shudders. <<My companion. I have a need.>>

"For me."

"All of you."

"And in return..." Bruce's hand *spasms* against Clark's cheek --

And Clark can't help but use his speed to hold it there. "All of me. Whatever you will *have* of me --"

"Clark --"


Bruce growls and the moment --

Stretches --

So *much*, and he's still growling, still --

But he's moving --

No, that's a shudder, and Clark can't let go, *won't* let go --

Bruce is *moving* through his growl, and oh --

Closer --

*Closer* --

Clark whimpers and takes the kiss because he must, because Bruce's mouth is swollen, because his stubble is an hour longer --

And the maddening *taffy* of subjective time *snaps* when Bruce sweeps his tongue into Clark's mouth --

When his growl becomes a moaning *hum* --

When he curls his *nails* against Clark's cheek and grips Clark's hip with his free hand --

"*Please*," Clark slurs, but he doesn't mean to break the kiss --

And Bruce's eyes are still *open* --

And Clark closes his own, but he can't keep himself from staring through his eyelids as a *different* focus comes into Bruce's eyes --

As he *yanks* Clark's body against his own and kisses harder, *harder* --

And there is only a *little* arousal in his scent, but there *is* desire --

*Hunger* --

Clark *clutches* Bruce -- no, he can be careful, he can avoid leaving *more* bruises --

Until Bruce bites his lip and he can do nothing of the *kind*. Still, he can grip Bruce's *waist* this time --

There are so many ways he wants to *touch*. There -- "No --"

And Bruce grunts and kisses him again, again --

Bruce strokes from Clark's cheek into his hair and *grips* --

*Yanks* --

Bites Clark's *throat*, and the need for that is blinding, *brutal* --

Clark pushes Bruce back *gently*. "Not -- that."

Bruce evens his breathing perfectly -- "You don't like that."

Clark laughs. "That... ah. That wasn't the problem."

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- and then nods. "You would need... more."

"Ah... rapidly."

Bruce licks his lips and seems to be looking at something in his own mind again -- "Harvey. Harvey told me once, when we were in school together, that he couldn't let the women he made love with kiss him there. That it was... too much," and Bruce looks at *him* again -- with a dark, *pained* challenge in his eyes.

But -- "Every time you've spoken of... Dent, your scent has been distinctive. I'm sorry for --"

Bruce holds up a hand. "We never made love. In any way."

Clark smiles ruefully. "I'm not sure whether I should offer condolences for that or not."

Bruce closes his eyes -- and his smile is savage again.

But only for a moment before he shudders and opens his eyes once more. "I have -- I am not... free, Clark. Perhaps... perhaps what I mean is that I'm not *clean*."

"No one is."

"Clark --"

"Perhaps... a child? Someone with vast and severe mental disabilities?" Clark shakes his head and takes Bruce's hands in his own. Just his hands. "Even Dick is sometimes resentful that neither of us saved his parents, for all that he cares for us very deeply."

Bruce takes a *sharp* breath -- "He -- didn't have to tell you that."

Clark smiles ruefully. "No. And he didn't have to tell you, either."

"I am afraid --" Bruce's laugh is an explosion of breath. "I am afraid of many, many things. One of those things is the *loss* of that resentment."

"There is such a thing as healing --"

"And there is such a thing as *temptation*, *Kal*."

Clark squeezes Bruce's hands and -- opens himself. Opens himself *to* himself. "There is also such a thing as love, and I... I believe I will remember *that*."

And Bruce's eyes are filled with *challenge* again -- but there is need, and fear, and hunger, and something like --

Oh -- "You need never say the words to me --"

"I didn't say them to my parents before they were gone. I --" Bruce frowns and turns away --

Clark turns him *back*. "They knew. And so do I."

"Do you?"

Oh, *Bruce* -- "Well enough." For --

"For now, Clark...?"

Clark smiles again and kisses Bruce's cheek. <<I would find rest with you, my companion.>>

Bruce shudders -- and the scent of fatigue is suddenly much more powerful, much --

In retrospect, it *isn't* a surprise that Bruce can lie to him, and that's something that should, perhaps, bring fear and *mistrust* --

But not when Bruce takes the last step closer --

Not when he rests his forehead on Clark's shoulder and shudders *again* --

Clark holds him, and looks for the right promises, the right *vows* -- no. "Only love, Bruce. Only ever --"

"And -- for Dick."

A part of him *wants* to seize for that, even now. Wants to -- no, 'demur' isn't the right word for it. A part of him wants to *hide* behind as many stammers and half-truths and outright *lies* --

But Bruce is so *tense* in his arms --

And he is better than his own lies. "For Dick, yes."

Bruce *pants* --

Reaches up to *clutch* the shoulder he's not resting on --

"Let me take you home."

Bruce's breathing is so *ragged* -- and then, gradually, it isn't anything of the kind. He pulls back only *just* enough to meet Clark's eyes. "Will you stay? For a time."

What had that cost? What ache is he *hiding*?

How similar is it to Clark's own?

Clark smiles around the *weight* in his throat. "Yes."

Bruce nods and walks away to put his robe back on. Not far.

Not far, at all.


You know how Bruce and Clark totes need hugs? Yeah, that's me and feedback.
.DW. :: .LJ. :: .E-mail.