Disclaimers: All belongs to DC, not me.

Spoilers: None, really. Time-frame is sometime in the
late middle of Dick's years as Robin.

Summary: Dick's starting to get a little restless. Clark
helps.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: There's just no excuse for this, other
than this picture.

Title from "Untitled" by Akhmatova:

"...  Your red house I pass by with intent,
Your red house above the river's ferment,
But I know that I aggrievedly excite
Your peace, suffused with sunlight."

(Translated by Caroline Baker)

Acknowledgments: Much love to Livia, the Jack, and
reilael for audiencing and much-needed
encouragement.

*

Superman stopped ruffling his hair a couple of years
ago.

Not that he sees Superman all that often -- the League
has had a pretty firm 'no sidekicks' rule since the time
Wally unrolled all of the toilet paper rolls at the Tower,
glued sandpaper to the underside, then re-rolled
them -- but... still. It's the sort of thing you notice.

Or he notices.

These days, when Bruce lets him come along to
Metropolis, or when Superman visits them here, he
doesn't get a hair ruffle.

Sometimes he gets a big, warm hand on his shoulder,
or a light clap on the back -- lighter even than Bruce
does it, though chances are Superman is just being
careful. Always, *always* a smile.

Lots of smiles.

Those are... really nice. *Really* nice, but they also
don't really count. He's seen Superman smile at
supervillains. It always makes Bruce narrow his eyes
behind the cowl, in exactly the same way he does
when he's getting a headache.

The touches count, though.

Kids get their hair ruffled. He's not a kid.

*

The first time he'd met Superman, Batman and Robin
were chasing down some kidnappers who'd run from
Gotham to Metropolis. He'd only *been* Robin for a
few months, and it was the first time Robin had
worked anywhere but Gotham.

It was definitely strange -- even at night Metropolis
didn't look like it had any real shadows. Robin
blended *in* in Metropolis, and Dick had been
woolgathering a little as he followed one of the
suspects back to their hideout, wondering if this was
what Batman felt like.

And then he'd had to laugh, and mug a little, and,
okay, that would've been a mistake in *Gotham*,
where he at least knew the territory and had a
general idea of what he could expect.

In Metropolis...

Well, even now, when he has an entirely different
reaction to Superman just in *general*, he still
has to cringe at the memory of swinging smack
into Superman's chest.

Literally. Ow.

It had taken a really, really long time to explain
that, no, he didn't have parents to go home to, yes,
he *did* have a home, and anyway, hadn't Batman
explained it?

Batman hadn't explained it.

In retrospect, Dick thinks he really, *really* would've
liked to be there for that conversation, even though
getting sent back to his hotel room -- and locked in --
had felt like a relief at the time.

Superman helped them catch the kidnappers, the
little girl gave him a big hug and called him "Wobin,"
and Superman had ruffled his hair.

And Dick had done his best not to think about the
incident for a really long time.

*

Sometimes Superman comes to Gotham *just* to
visit. Batman doesn't seem to understand that at all,
though if *Dick* could fly, he'd always be in
Keystone, or Star City, or New York.

"It's what you do when you have *friends*, Bruce,"
he'd said.

And Bruce had looked at him like... he's never been
able to figure out that look, even though he knows it
by heart: The way Bruce's eyes soften, and the way
he looks like he can't decide whether to be shocked,
amused, or... something else.

It's a nice look.

"I have Alfred," Bruce had said, "and I have you."

So when Superman visits, there's always those first
really awkward moments where he tries and fails to
get Bruce to be anyone but Batman, and he could
*kick* Bruce for it, but mostly he's always at least a
little grateful.

Because Superman always gives up, and smiles at
Dick, and smiles even wider when *Dick* smiles
back, and then...

Well, it used to be hair-ruffling. Now there are the
shoulder-clasps, and back-pats, and...

And last year he'd flown into Gotham on Christmas
Eve, with presents for all three of them.

From himself *and* his parents.

Somehow it was never weird to think of Superman
having parents, and that night they'd sat on the roof
of the Manor while Alfred cooked and Bruce hid -- it
was definitely hiding -- down in the Cave.

And the roof was white with fresh snow, and Dick
had done his best to keep his handsprings and
tumbles in even lines, so as not to mess it up too
badly, but the look on Superman's *face* was just
too funny.

So he slipped, a little, and messed up his spiral, and
Superman had *dived* for him and hauled him up
into the sky.

"I *would* have caught myself, you know."

"Of course you would have. And Bruce *definitely*
wouldn't have dumped Kryptonite in my hot cocoa."

And Superman had smiled at him while he laughed,
and... it had to be okay. Dick hugged him hard, and
he didn't even mean it *that* way -- mostly -- and
anyway Clark had hugged him right back.

He was about the same size as Bruce, but his hugs
were entirely different. Like Superman was maybe
just waiting for the chance to give them, instead of
constantly being surprised that anyone would
*want* one.

He was warm, even with just a shirt on against the
cold, and it had been difficult for Dick to let go right
up until he absolutely definitely had to. He'd
wriggled -- *twisted* -- out of Superman's arms
and managed one almost perfect somersault and
one definitely perfect landing.

And grinned.

"I didn't think I could actually *have* a heart
attack," Superman had said, and Dick had decided
to take it easy on him.

They sat and watched the snow fall.

Dick has spent a lot of time remembering exactly
what Superman had *smelled* like, what he had
felt like. Except that 'remembering' implied more
thought than had actually ever happened.

After dinner, they'd opened the presents.
Superman's mother had knitted them all sweaters.

Alfred assured him he'd grow into his.

He doesn't actually believe that.

*

He travels a lot with the Titans, but it's almost
always work-related. Which is fine -- he *likes*
being a hero without Bruce almost as much as he
likes being one *with* him, but there's not a lot of
time to just *move*.

He's been all over the world -- and further into space
than he'd ever thought possible -- but somehow,
none of it really counts when the snowy mountaintop
or the strange, purple meadow is just another place
to beat up bad guys.

He gets... restless.

Alfred says that it's part of growing up, and he
supposes he can understand that, but... it doesn't
actually make it easier to just stand *still*.

He knows it's bad when Wally tells him to stop
pacing, and... well, it's not as though the team
*does* need him right now.

And Bruce would call if he wanted Dick back in
Gotham for anything, so... why not?

He takes the jet, and is in Metropolis within a few
hours. And he hadn't actually *meant* to fly
here -- there isn't any reason in particular he
couldn't have just flown out to one of Bruce's
practically-never-used cabins somewhere, but.

He doesn't want to be alone.

And it's not like they don't all owe Superman
*dozens* of visits, and it's a good day for it, and
he's actually pretty damned pathetic, now that he
thinks about it.

Still. The Titans' jet is well-recognized enough that
he doesn't get hassled at the airport -- though he
*does* have to reassure a few people that there
isn't an emergency. He really should've done this
as Dick Grayson. Except that Dick Grayson visiting
Clark Kent without Bruce Wayne would probably
look a heck of a lot weirder than Robin visiting
Superman without Batman.

Sometimes his life is confusing.

But still fun. He takes his bike not *too* far into
Metropolis proper, and then just starts swinging.
And, yeah, it's *daytime*, and even in New York
that tends to mean 'slow time,' but... wow.

He sees exactly *one* purse-snatching, and before
he can so much as change course, a shopkeeper
stops the kid by tripping him with a broom.... and
then makes him apologize to the little old lady.

All three of them wave at him as he goes past.

Dick waves back, and tries to hold on to the 'aww'
feeling, as opposed to the 'eek' feeling.

It's never really a surprise anymore that Bruce
dislikes Metropolis so much -- and daylight work
in general -- but... it just doesn't seem like the sort
of thing he should want to have in common with the
man.

Which just feels disloyal.

Which, in turn, feels a little bit insane.

He really needs to just... he isn't sure what he needs,
really. It was easier when he was back in New York,
and he could *tell* himself all he really needed was
a vacation, but here he is, in somebody *else's* city,
actively looking for crime to fight and... itching,
under the skin.

And *not* because he can't find any.

After all, it makes perfect sense that a city with
*Superman* as its protector would be a little light
on *traditional* crime, and it's not like he's just
*coming* to this realization, either.

Bruce's files are about as extensive as anything could
*ever* be.

He just... doesn't really want to see Superman like --

"Robin!"

This. He lands on the nearest rooftop, automatically
bracing himself for the rush of air when Superman
lands, too.

"Is something wrong? Is Batman all right?"

Dick blinks. "No, uh... Batman's fine. I'm just...
visiting."

It should be funny to see Superman look this
shocked, but it makes Dick feel ridiculously guilty.
He *should* just be here to visit.

But when Superman grins at him, he really *can't*
help grinning back.

"I know I should've called, Superman, but --"

Superman claps him on the shoulders. *Both*
shoulders. "Not at all! It's good to see you!" And
pauses.

Dick *knows* that pause, and he has to grin even
wider. "You've been spending too much time with
Batman," he says, and hugs Superman before his
mind can start yelling at him.

It's *just* as good as he remembers. Dick's bigger
and taller than he was at Christmas, but Superman
can -- and does -- still wrap both arms around him.
Superman's big and warm and hard in all -- almost
all -- of the best ways. Mmm, he thinks, and does
his best not to actually say it.

Best of all, Superman doesn't really let go so much
as lean back a little, and smiles at Dick some more.

"You're growing into a fine young man, Dick."

*Go* with that thought, he thinks, and then blushes
much too hard.

Superman lets go.

Dammit.

"Have you eaten?"

Food. *Food*. "Oh, uh... not since breakfast,
actually, but --"

"Great! There's this little place I know that makes
wonderful sandwiches." Superman's still smiling.

Dick could seriously, honestly, sincerely spend a
large proportion of his remaining lifespan being
smiled at like that. And he really should use his
brain, too. "Oh, I... didn't bring street clothes with
me." He winces to himself. Really, because
Superman needs to KNOW he just commandeered
the Titans' plane to stalk him.

But Superman just grins even *wider*. "Don't worry.
They're used to... people like us."

*

And the weird thing -- one of the weird things -- is
that they really *are*. There's a framed snapshot of
the League -- minus Batman -- over the register,
and they'd all signed their superhero names.

The woman behind the counter says, "oh, you must
be that nice Robin boy," and beams up at Superman,
who beams right back and says,

"That's right, Mrs. Miller, Robin stopped by for a
visit, and I thought he should try some of your
delicious sandwiches."

Dick shakes hands, and wonders, briefly, if
Metropolis actually exists on the same physical
plane as every other American city.

But not for long.

It's... really, really nice. Lots of sunlight through
the windows, and the smell of really good, cooking
food. Like a holiday at the Manor.

Granted, Alfred doesn't do much with corned beef,
but still. You have to cook a *lot* of food to make
the smells go through the Manor like they go
through this little restaurant.

Like they'd go through the camp back when... back
when he was a kid. The homesickness hits hard,
hits *deep*, and Dick swallows a lump of rye bread
and pastrami and tries not to be completely obvious.
How often does he get to go out and just *eat* with
*Superman*?

Superman, who is... looking at him worriedly. Damn.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, I... no. No. I'm just..." Dick gives up and drinks
some iced tea. Good, sweet, *cold* iced tea, and
Superman is frowning at him. "Really, everything is
great, Superman."

"You know, I only let *Batman* get away with that
when he's threatening me with bodily harm."

Dick chokes on the ice cube he's rolling around his
mouth, and Superman claps him on the back briskly.

"Now, unless you're carrying some Kryptonite in that
belt..."

Dick throws up his hands in surrender. "I just... this
place. It made me remember... where I come
from."

Superman looks confused for a second, and then he
really just doesn't. "You know, Batman told me -- a
little -- about that."

And, being a reporter, Superman had probably
found out the rest on his own. Dick stares at his
plate.

"D -- Robin."

Dick's heart knocks hard, and harder when
Superman reaches across the table to cover Dick's
hand with his own. "Um."

"The *last* thing I wanted to do was make you sad
today."

Dick looks up, and Superman looks like *he's*
hurting, and even though it would be really
incredibly easy to vault across the table and kiss
him, it would also be a really incredibly bad idea.

He tries to smile, instead, and tries not to show
*everything* in it.

"It's okay. I'd just forgotten how much I missed...
it."

Superman nods slowly. "Maybe... have you thought
about visiting?"

A lot. "Sometimes. There... never seems to be
enough time."

A rueful smile. "I understand *that*. Still, I'm glad
you found the time to come *here*."

And Superman pats his hand, and Mrs. Miller comes
out to ask them if everything is all right, and Dick
smiles at her.

And gets his hair ruffled.

Which would be a lot more embarrassing, except
that Superman catches his eye as she's walking back
to the kitchen.

And winks at him.

*

Which, apparently, is something Dick isn't going to get
over *anytime* soon, because...

Well, he's *used* to being around fliers. *Donna* flies
him around all the time -- and threatens to drop him
whenever he tickles her, and never actually does,
and... this isn't anything like flying with Donna.

Even though it really was on the way *to* the
restaurant, and the only thing different is that Dick's
stomach is full and that Superman winked at him.

He isn't going to sigh. For one thing, it would be
ridiculously pathetic. For another thing... there isn't
really another thing, beyond the fact that he doesn't
want to *move*.

Superman has his arm around Dick's waist, big hand
splayed over Dick's chest, and... no. Dick is *not*
going to turn and wrap himself around Superman like
a kid on his first trip into the sky or something.
There's no excuse for it, no matter *how* much he
wants to.

Even less excuse *because* he wants to, because he's
been half-hard since before they finished *eating*,
and the groin guard in his shorts can only hide so
much. He can turn his head, though. Watch the big,
flat planes of Superman's muscles flex and shift as he
moves them through the sky and --

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think?"

"Absolutely gorgeous," Dick says, honestly.

Superman tightens his hold on Dick, just a little, and
Dick puts a lot of effort into remembering how to
breathe like a person who *isn't* about to come in his
shorts.

And then just gives up and *feels* it, because not
even the wind and the chill this far off the ground can
make Superman's body feel anything but *warm*
next to Dick's own. And Superman's hand is just...

Part of his mind is memorizing this. And it *isn't* that
part of his mind that memorizes everything for the
purposes of crime-fighting, either.

Dick bites the inside of his lip and focuses on holding
on until they get back to the building where
Superman tracked him down in the first place.

Except that when they *do* land...

Well, he doesn't know Metropolis all *that* well, but
he does know they're nowhere close to that.
"Superman...?"

The grin Superman gives him is sheepish. "I
thought... maybe we should talk? This is my
building."

Dick blinks and goes *back* to focusing on breathing.
"Um --"

"We can't stay up here too long, because... well,
you know. Would you like to come in?"

Dick nods, because words are completely failing to...
do anything but completely fail him.

Superman flies them both through an open window,
and Dick looks around to *keep* from looking at
Superman, because he really *does* know what's
coming. It's a nice apartment, and pretty much
exactly how he'd pictured it. Clean and neat and
spacious, with, of course, lots of sunlight.

Lots of muted blues and reds, that somehow manage
not to clash, despite... he's not really going to let
himself obsess over the inside of Superman's --
*Clark's* -- apartment.

He forces himself to look at Superman. "Nice place."
He sounds sickly to his own ears, and Superman is
wincing.

"Dick. I... I couldn't help but notice... um. I *really*
like you, quite a lot, but... I..."

It doesn't matter that he'd known it was coming. It
still feels awful. "Listen, Superman --"

"I mean, you don't even call me *Clark*."

Dick blinks. "... what?"

Superman crosses the room to stand in front of him,
and holds on to both of Dick's shoulders. He smells
like wind and sunshine, and Dick has to bite his lip
to keep from leaning in.

"You... Superman --"

"See? Again. Even here, in my own apartment..."
Superman squeezes his shoulders and looks at him
seriously. "You're very attractive, and good, and
kind, and loving... but I don't think it would be a
good idea for me to be involved with someone who
only thinks of the *uniform* and... Dick. Your
hand..."

Is in a very, very good place. "Let's go back to the
part where you think I'm attractive."

"Of *course* you're -- you shouldn't -- I -- oh,
dear --"

The blood's pounding in his ears, pounding all
*through* him, because Superman is hard under
there, and he doesn't have anything *like* the
armor Dick does and -- "Ow."

"S-sorry, I -- *Dick* --" And Superman takes his
hands off Dick's shoulders and steps *back*, and
that's a *terrible* idea.

But when Dick tries to follow, he runs smack into
Superman's hand. Which still feels really, really
good on his chest, but he *knows* where it
would feel better.

"*Dick*."

Focus. He can focus. Superman has an actual
*problem* with this, and it's one he *can* deal
with. "I *do* think of you as Superman --"

"And that's why --"

"But I think of *all* the --" Don't say 'adults.' Don't
say -- "Older superheroes by their code names or
whatever, so I won't slip up and say the wrong
thing." Like how I started wanting you when you
were still ruffling my *hair*. "It's... it doesn't matter
as much when I'm with the Titans. Or, it does,
but... it's different. *Really*." He covers the hand
Superman has on his chest with his own. "I know
you're Clark. And if you want me to call you that..."
He pushes Superman's -- *Clark's* -- hand down,
pushes *hard* until Clark *lets* him move it, and
he really, really hopes they're done talking, because
dear *God* he feels good.

"Dick..." Clark's voice is throaty and deep and feels
almost as good as his hand.

"Mmm, *Clark*. Please..." He thrusts against Clark's
hand, and he means to be subtle about it, but Clark
curls his fingers, pushes those big fingers *between*
Dick's legs. "*Oh*."

Dick rubs Clark's hand with his own, and he isn't
really *guiding* it anymore, but just feeling those
fingers *moving*...

"Clark, oh *Clark* --"

And Clark is looking at him with a weird, shocky
hunger. Or... it's not weird. It's just that no one ever
really looked at *him* like that before. Dick
swallows and bucks into Clark's hand and wonders
what he'll have to do to make people look at him
like that all the *time*.

It's like being... it's like being *held*, except it isn't,
because being held is even hotter, especially since
he doesn't have to hide how hard he is anymore.
Clark knows, Clark can *feel* it, against his broad,
strong thigh, the thigh that's pushing between
Dick's legs, and Dick scrabbles and pulls at Clark's
suit until he can get two get handfuls of it and
*rides*.

And then Clark kisses him, and it's even better.

Soft, wet, *deep*, and Dick moans into Clark's
mouth and licks Clark's tongue and throws his
arms around Clark's *neck*, and he *knows* Clark
is trying to slow things down -- the kiss *is* slow
and soft -- but trying to stop moving his hips feels
like trying to stop breathing.

"Oh, Dick, you're so beautiful."

Or *keep* breathing, because Clark's hands are
moving on his back and Clark is looking at him so...
he didn't think anything that hot could still be so
*gentle*. Dick gasps and stares and tries not to
blink too much.

He doesn't want to miss one second of that look,
especially because whatever's on *his* face makes
Clark look even *hungrier*, and then those hands
are cupping his ass and pulling him in *tight*, so
tight he can barely move, and he *still* can't stop.

"Clark -- Clark, *please* --"

"Shh. Let me..." And Clark shifts one hand to Dick's
throat, and Dick tilts his head back. "Ohh," Clark
says, and it's almost a *moan*, and he fumbles
with the collar of Dick's cape and it's like a light
bulb clicking on in Dick's head.

Only he's too horny for that, so it's more like
having a sun go supernova behind his eyes, because
*clothes*. Are in the *way*. He pulls back, twisting
away, and Clark tries to hold *on*, and that's...

It just keeps getting *better*. Dick grins at Clark
and strips off the cape, and the tunic, and the shirt,
and kicks off the boots and Clark... swallows. And
Dick had *done* it fast -- he always does -- but
he'd also left the shorts for last. Which he *also*
always does, but... now it kind of seems like a
tease.

Especially since he *can't* just skin them off
quickly right now without causing himself large
amounts of pain.

"Dick, you really... you don't have to... I was just..."
Clark blushes *all* the way to his hairline.

"Wait, you think I want to *stop*? No -- no, *don't*
wait, I just..." He *pulls* the shorts away from his
body, and, okay, definitely time to get them in a
larger size. Next time he'll *listen* when Alfred
makes a suggestion like that, because he hadn't
even *realized* how little he was breathing, and
his dick is screaming with relief.

And, well, *other* things.

Dick bends over and pushes the shorts down,
stepping out of them and standing up and Clark is
*right* there, and his hands...

"Oh..."

He's *rubbing* at the welts the shorts have left on
his skin, and it *is*, actually, soothing, but more
than that it just reminds Dick how much he *wants*
this.

As if he could ever forget. "Clark, touch me... I
mean, could you --" *His* turn to blush, but Clark
doesn't laugh at him.

He doesn't look like he wants to laugh at *all*. He
just nods, slowly and seriously, and wraps one of
those big, hard hands around him, and Dick's knees
buckle, but Clark wraps his free arm around Dick's
waist and holds on. "*Beautiful*," he says again,
and Dick throws his arms around Clark's neck again
and holds on.

He wants to say so *many* things, about the way
Clark looks when he's taking off into the sky, or
when he's smiling, about the way it makes Dick feel
 when his hands are on him, holding him,
*stroking* him, and he can't make words form. All
he can do is whimper and clutch at Clark and *look*
at him.

Stare into Clark's eyes until he can't anymore, until
he has to close his eyes and let his head fall back
and just *pump* his hips.

The way he does when he's fantasizing about *just*
this, only the hand around him *is* Clark's, and
Clark's gaze is like a hot, crushing, wonderful
*weight*, and --

"Oh, *Dick*..."

Dick comes all over Clark's fist and moans and
shakes. And moans again when Clark lets go and
starts to move and -- a million kinds of 'no,' right
there.

"Hey --"

But Dick's climbed much harder -- more *difficult* --
things than Clark, and most of those things don't give
helpful pushes and none of them kiss him. Dick thinks
he could spend a *lot* of time kissing Clark. He
knows he'll spend a lot of time *thinking* about it,
and wishing he could do exactly what he's doing
right now -- wrapping his thighs around Clark's waist
and *flexing*.

And sucking Clark's tongue because... mm. He still
tastes like the lemonade he had with lunch, and his
hair is thick and soft between Dick's fingers, and --

They're moving.

Dick breaks the kiss long enough to check, and --
yes. That's definitely a bedroom and -- "Ohh..."

Clark's mouth on his neck is so *hot*, so wet and
soft except for his tongue, which isn't soft at *all*.

"You taste," Clark says, but he doesn't finish the
thought. Just kisses the *other* side of Dick's throat
and squeezes his ass and Dick wonders how he's
ever going to *stop* having sex.

And then Clark stumbles, a little, and they're on the
bed, and Dick takes the opportunity of Clark no
longer being attached to his throat to kneel up and
*pet* the man. That broad expanse of chest and --
naked. *Clark* can be naked, too, and that's just
another reason to pet him, because Dick has to
*find* where the suit catches or zips or...
*whatever* it does, and Clark's looking vaguely
shocky again.

Dick smiles.

Clark blinks, and grins right back, and reaches up
to cup Dick's face, and that's... really distracting.
Dick rubs his cheek against Clark's palm and just
*tugs* on the suit.

"Do you want me to... take it off?"

Clark probably -- probably -- isn't insane. So Dick
just nods and looks fervent.

And Clark grins even wider and scoots back and
sits up and... pulls the top of the suit off like a shirt.

Dick never would've *considered* that, but it
works. It definitely, definitely...

"Dick, your mouth is so *soft*..."

And he never would've considered *that* a
compliment, but Clark buries one hand in Dick's hair
and pulls him in tighter, and Dick can *feel* Clark
moaning. He drags his mouth over to one broad,
dark nipple and has to close his eyes again. Clark
feels so *good*, and every time he shudders it
just goes right *through* him. Dick holds on to
Clark's biceps and sucks and --

"*Dick*..."

Clark sounds almost *hoarse*, so Dick sucks
harder, and squeezes Clark's arms and bites and
Clark jerks so hard he nearly tosses Dick *off*.

He's not going anywhere. Dick grins and bites
harder and Clark strokes his hair and mumbles
something that sounds vaguely like "worth it,"
which doesn't make any sense, but it *sounds*
wonderful.

And feels... "every time you make a sound, I can
feel it in my mouth."

And the noise Clark makes is high and sharp and
Dick is already half-hard again. He grinds down
against Clark's hips and -- he still has *pants* on.
He bites one more time and then pushes back
against the hand on the back of his head until
Clark lets go.

And has to stop and *stare*, because Clark looks
so... so... Dick leans in and kisses him, and sucks
on Clark's lower lip because it seems like a good
idea, and then just because it feels good, and...
he was doing something. Something... *pants*.

He pulls back --

"What -- oh."

Dick curls his fingers under the waistbands of Clark's
 briefs and tights and tugs, and Clark lifts his hips
and Dick feels himself just *seize*, because it's just
the hottest thing he's ever *seen*. Watching that
big, perfect body just arch right up... Dick moans
and pulls and stops long enough to yank off Clark's
boots and then just pulls everything off and tosses it
*elsewhere*.

And stares some more, because he doesn't think
anyone who got to look at *this* could do anything
else.

Long, long legs and all that *muscle*, and Clark's
dick is hard and wet at the tip and resting against
his stomach and Dick thinks he's feeling religious.

He's definitely happy to be on his knees.

When he looks up -- when he can *make* himself
look up, Clark is blushing again, and digging one
hand into the sheets -- maybe literally -- and
generally looking like he wants to hide.

"You're perfect," he says, and it's nothing but the
truth.

Clark blushes even *redder*, and reaches for him,
and Dick leans up and in for another kiss, but Clark
*rolls* them, and for just one tiny second all of
that wonderful weight is pressing Dick down into
the mattress, and he groans happily.

But Clark pulls away and braces himself on one
elbow, and catches Dick's wrist when he reaches
up for him. And kisses his palm, and his fingers,
and looks down at him seriously.

"*You're* perfect, Dick."

And Clark just keeps *looking* at him, and Dick
has to turn away. Clark kisses his cheek, and
nudges Dick's face with his own until Dick looks
up again.

"You don't have to believe me, but you are."

"I..." He can't breathe. "I've wanted you for so
*long*." And he doesn't think he's ever going to
figure out how to *stop* wanting Clark.

Clark smiles at him, a little ruefully. "Do me a
favor and don't tell me *how* long," he says, and
kisses Dick again, tongue stroking into Dick's
mouth over and over, and Dick wants to put his
hands back in Clark's hair, but he can't seem to
stop squeezing Clark's shoulder with the right,
and Clark is still holding his left wrist, and rubbing
circles into the palm of his hand.

Dick moans into the kiss and rocks *up*, and,
God, *skin*. Hot, smooth skin, except where Clark
is sweating and they stutter against each other
raggedly and make Dick moan *more*, and Clark
squeezes his wrist and pulls away.

"I... I want to --"

"*Yes*," Dick says, and feels himself blush, but
Clark just looks at him for a long, heart-pounding
moment, the tip of his tongue slipping out
between his lips.

And then he releases Dick's wrist and moves
*down*, kisses and *licks* his way down, and
sucks Dick's nipples so hard Dick has to grab the
sheets and shout, and just keeps moving.

That tongue dips into his navel, and it feels like it
*should* tickle, but it doesn't, at all, and Clark
never really stops *watching* him. And Dick knows
that Clark's checking to make sure he's okay, and
he really *wants* to look reassuring, but all he can
do is whimper and writhe.

Clark doesn't stop, though. Doesn't stop, and just --
kisses the *length* of him, down and back up to
the tip of Dick's dick, and *still* doesn't stop.

Licks his *balls*, and sucks on them, and Dick
watches himself shoot pre-come all over his own
stomach and *whimpers*, because he hadn't even
*fantasized* about this, but it feels so *good*. He
spreads his legs helplessly and plants his feet and
arches *up*, and Clark makes a low, pleased
humming sound against him.

"Oh, *please*, Clark --"

And Clark strokes up the backs of Dick's legs and
down the backs of his thighs and under his ass and
*lifts*.

And kisses him again. Kisses him *there*, and Dick
hears himself make a weird, strangled sound, and
then just *keeps* making that sound, over and
over, because he *knows* Clark isn't using a
*fraction* of his strength, but his tongue is hard
and strong and pushing *in*, over and over, and
his own fingers had *never* felt like this and --

"*Clark* -- oh God oh God *oh* --"

And Clark squeezes his ass with both hands and
spreads him *wider*, and Dick comes gasping,
shooting all over his own chest and stomach,
hands fisted in the sheets. Clark hums again and
licks his way up Dick's cleft and over his balls and
*through* the come on Dick's stomach.

Dick spasms and whimpers and forces his hands
out of the sheets and into Clark's hair, pulling
what would probably be much too hard on a
human until Clark finally crawls up and kisses him
and oh, he tastes... Clark tastes like *him*, and
Dick feels himself spasm *again* and wraps his
arms around Clark's neck and his legs around his waist
and *pulls*.

"Dick -- I don't want -- I don't want to crush you --"

"*Crush* me," and Dick leans up and kisses Clark
again, and shoves his tongue into that hot,
wonderful mouth, and Clark lowers himself down.

*Slowly*.

And he wants to remind Clark that he isn't made of
*glass*, but he also doesn't want to *distract* the
man, because *heat* and *weight*, and Dick
moans into Clark's mouth and squeezes him with
his thighs and *Clark* moans and thrusts.

"Sorry --"

"Do that *again*."

And Clark gasps, and Dick can't decide if it's better
to hear it or *see* it, see Clark's mouth fall open
and his eyes widen and *narrow*, and then Clark's
*grinding* down against him, dick sliding through
the come and sweat on Dick's belly, and Dick
whimpers and holds *on*.

He's going to be hard again so *soon*, and Clark
is... he isn't *inside* him, but it almost feels like he
*is*, and the fact that Dick can't breathe has
*nothing* to do with Clark's weight on him.

And *everything* to do with the look on Clark's
face, so hungry and so *hurt*, at the same time,
and Dick strokes Clark's cheek and Clark turns his
face into Dick's palm and *bites* the heel of his
hand.

"Oh *God*, Clark --"

Licks him and bites him again and just keeps
thrusting against him, faster now. "You're the
most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, and
sucks two of Dick's fingers into his mouth and *stares*
down at Dick.

Dick whimpers and Clark sucks *hard*, and the bed
is moving with every thrust, slamming back against
the wall, and Dick isn't sure *how* it could be better.

And then he pushes his fingers in a little deeper, and
Clark's eyes flutter closed, and Dick whimpers again
and Clark *comes* on him, groaning around Dick's
fingers and... *coming* on him.

Clark *came* on him, all *over* him, and Dick thinks
his brain might be dribbling out of his ears, but he
really, *really* doesn't care. "You're so *sexy*,
Clark."

And Clark opens his eyes and *looks* at him. "I
think... I think..." And he shakes his head and
kisses Dick again, rolling them onto their sides and
pulling Dick in *tight* and licking the roof of his
mouth until Dick has to pull back and laugh.

Clark grins at him with a lazy kind of happiness
and squeezes. And kisses him again, slow and wet
and messy. Faster when Dick starts to moan again,
and he can feel Clark getting harder against his
stomach again, and Dick reaches between them
and wraps his fist around Clark's dick. So *hot* in
his hand, and slick with sweat and come, and
Clark says, "Dick," so *softly*, but his voice is too
deep and rough for it to be a whisper.

And Clark searches his face for a moment before
lifting them back up onto their knees, and guides
Dick's hand until he's holding *both* of them. And
then twines their fingers together, and it feels...

Somehow it's the most *intimate* thing, and Dick
stares into Clark's eyes and tries to keep breathing,
tries to *keep* his eyes open, but Clark looks...
Clark looks exactly like Dick *feels*, and he can't --
He thrusts into their fists, and thinks 'I'm fucking
his *dick*' and whimpers and comes *again*, and
he's too *sore* for this, but when he tries to pull
away, Clark *grabs* his arm with his free hand.

"*Oh* --"

"Don't... don't move. Please."

And Clark adjusts his grip until he's just holding on
to himself, and starts to stroke *faster*.

Dick can see his shoulder working, and looks down,
and it's just so *hot*, the slick head of Clark's dick
disappearing on every upstroke and then pushing
*out* through the circle of Clark's fist and --

"Oh Clark. Oh, Clark, I do it all the time. I do it and
I think of *you* --"

"*Dick* --"

And Clark's voice is so choked that Dick *has* to
look up again, and he gets to stare into Clark's eyes
for just a moment before Clark *squeezes* his eyes
shut and comes on him.

*Again*.

Dick thinks he might have a new favorite thing in
the universe. He slides his hand through the mess on
his stomach and brings his fingers back to his mouth
and... Clark doesn't taste *anything* like him.

Which makes sense, but it's going to be terrible for
all the times he sucks comes off his fingers
*pretending* its Clark's.

"*Jesus*, Dick."

It sounds like the dirtiest curse in the *world* when
Clark says it, and Dick moans around his own fingers
right up until Clark tackles him -- gently -- back to
the bed.

And then he focuses on kissing Clark a lot.

*

Dick wakes up... messy. Really incredibly messy,
worse than the time he'd had *two* wet dreams
before getting up and cleaning himself off.

Which makes sense, because, well, more than two
 orgasms happened, and Clark is half-on top of him.

He *knows* he's grinning like an idiot, but he really
just *doesn't* care. He hasn't felt this good... he
didn't know he *could* feel this good. He stretches
as carefully as he can and tries not to move.

And pretty much immediately gives up and pets
Clark's hair.

"Mm. Mmm. Dick."

Dick turns the volume down on his smile by force of
will. "Yeah."

Clark shifts, and presses a soft, dry kiss to his chest
before looking up and grinning back at him. "Hi," he
says.

Dick pushes Clark's hair into something like order,
and isn't really surprised by the fact that his little
curl is the first thing that pops back into place. Clark
cups his cheek and leans in, kissing his way along
Dick's jaw-line.

"How are you," he whispers into Dick's ear.

Dick shivers. "Good. Really... trying hard to
remember why I have to go back to New York."

"*Tonight*? You know you can stay, right? I mean...
I know you can't *stay*, but... um. You barely got
any rest!"

Clark's eyes aren't, actually, the bluest ones he'd
ever seen, but they feel like they *should* be. Dick
blinks and shakes it off. Mostly. "I've flown in *far*
worse shape than this, Clark."

Clark raises an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't actually
make me feel *better*."

"Oh, I... guess not." Clark's thumb on his cheekbone
makes him want to close his eyes and... snuggle. And
then do other things.

Clark sighs. "I can't believe I'm trying to *keep* you
from your responsibilities."

"I don't mind," he says before he can think. "Er... you
*trying*."

Clark sighs and stops rubbing his cheek. "Tell me
something."

"Yeah?"

"Is there any way Bruce can know about this that
*wouldn't* end in bloodshed?"

Dick blinks.

"Let me guess -- you didn't really think about that,
did you?"

Dick winces. "I... no."

Clark winces with him. "And you're... I'm not going to
think about how old you're *not*."

"Hey --"

Clark taps two fingers lightly against his mouth.
"*I'm* not the one who minds, Dick." And then he
grins. "Or didn't you notice?"

Dick grins and licks Clark's fingers, but Clark pulls his
hand away.

"Dick, I don't think..."

Dick really *isn't* going to let him finish that thought.
"I know how to keep a secret, *Superman*."

Clark looks shocked for just a second, but he narrows
his eyes again. "Dick, that's really... I mean, I know
you and Bruce pretty much have the patent on
compartmentalization as a way of life, but... is that
really *healthy*?"

"It's... what I know how to do. Clark --"

"Wait. That wasn't what I wanted to ask. Dick..."
And Clark rests his hand on Dick's chest, and stares
at it for a moment before looking up again. "I know
you can keep secrets. I know it's what you do, and I
don't actually think it's hurting you. But... do you
really want to start keeping secrets from *Bruce*?"

Dick winces again, hard, because... he knows the
answer to that, and it's the wrong one *and* the
right one.

Clark smiles ruefully and strokes his cheek again.
"Yeah. Me, either."

"Clark..." I *want* this, he doesn't say, because he
*isn't* a kid.

"Me, too." And Clark leans in and kisses him softly,
dryly. "But... we have time, right?"

Dick nods, and takes a deep breath, and doesn't
grab Clark and haul him back on top of him when
he moves. Instead, he gets up off the bed and... "I
need a shower."

Clark laughs. "We both do -- *separately*. And then
I'll give you a lift back to... the airport?"

"I have to get my bike first."

"All right."

Dick looks at Clark for a long, quiet moment, and
Clark looks back.

And then Dick heads for Clark's bathroom. They
*do* have time, and he won't be (with Bruce) fifteen
forever, and...

Dick steps into the shower and grins.

He's got a *lot* of new material for those fantasies.

end.