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In all his years of life, despite every contingency imaginable, Bruce had still not prepared himself for this.
Gotham’s latest criminal- a name he hasn’t had the energy to remember despite knowing every possible thing there is to know about the simpleton- has been running a (sex?) trafficking ring through a local sports bar. Seems kind of counter-intuitive, right?
Wrong. Because the thing that they’re known for is their scantily clad waiters and waitresses alike. Someone for every clientele imaginable. It racks in $1.2 billion dollars in revenue every year with their growing and bustling chain of restaurants.
The scam runs as follows: a waitress asks a customer to help with something in the back, perhaps carry a box too big for little ole her, and they’re promptly shoved into an open van hiding out in the alley. It’s perfect, really. The men in Gotham could never give up the chance to play hero before they reveal their snarling teeth and devour their prey whole.
They honestly deserve it, but Bruce knows despite how the “not all men” thing sounds- it’s true. All it would take is for someone like Clark to be perfectly naive and perfectly Superman to want to help. Though Clark wouldn’t need saving, someone without his invulnerability definitely would.
Bruce groans when he’s seated at a booth in the far right corner of the establishment. A clear line of sight to the front and emergency exits, a view of the kitchen doors that are constantly swinging due to the staff’s foot traffic. It seems so…. normal. Unsettlingly normal. The guys sitting at the bar roar with every score, goal, touchdown on the screens before them. The few high tops scattered around hold very specific customers- a bachelor party, someone’s 21st birthday, Clark’s posse from the Daily Planet.
…Clark’s posse from the Daily Planet? No… this can’t be right.
Bruce narrows his eyes and locks onto none other than his very own secretly favorite meta human. At first, Clark’s face doesn’t fully register what’s going on. His glasses are askew and it only takes a split second for their staring to break- Bruce in favor of running his eyes along Clark’s figure.
Clark is practically naked. Tiny false collar with a black bowtie and the tiniest apron known to man covering as much as it can of Clark’s manhood resting above a black thong that’s still somehow too small.
Bruce swallows. What the fuck is going on?
It doesn’t take long for Clark to flush beet red, down his chest and up to his ears. His hands fumble with his notepad, shaking hands scribbling orders down without looking at his other coworkers who are clearly enjoying teasing him about his unusually risqué side job.
In a perceptively commanding narrow of the eyes, Bruce silently calls Clark over to his table.
The other patrons in the bar aren’t exactly blind to the presence of Gotham’s very own billionaire Prince- but they’re not exactly looking to get friendly with him either. They mind their own business but keep an ear out for anything juicy they might get to sell to some tabloid dying for a scoop.
Clark stills in his place, giving a curt nod before bidding his friends adieu. He hangs their order on the stainless steel order wheel in the window to the kitchen behind the bar before making his way to Bruce. His steps are slow, reluctant. Like he got caught red-handed doing something he knows he shouldn’t be.
Batman and Superman have worked together for at least half a decade. And somehow, this is the first Bruce is hearing about this second job. The thought that something like this slipped under his nose, in his own city, makes his blood boil.
“Welcome to-“
“What the hell are you doing here?” Bruce cuts off Clarks professionalism with a sneer.
Clark shivers, biting his lip before getting embarrassed all over again. “Me? What are you doing here?!” He whisper-shouts, leaning in lest he get seen yelling at a customer by his manager.
The proximity does nothing to calm Bruce’s racing heart. “I asked first,” but Bruce is ready to give up his stubbornness with one look at Clark’s impeccable attire. He looks like a proper slut and Bruce is drinking it up. “I’m obviously investigating a case. Your turn.”
Clark’s ears burn when he whispers, “My landlord raised the rent and I needed another job. I make a surprisingly large amount of money here. Much quicker than I do at the Planet so… the answer fell into my lap. Not to mention it’s a town away- no one I know was supposed to find me here.”
Bruce nods to the peanut gallery sitting at the high top conversing and laughing obnoxiously loud. “They seem to have found you pretty quickly.” His eyes narrow once more. Just how many people have had the privilege to see Clark so… debauched and not treated it as such?
Clark whines, “We’re investigative reporters for a reason… they didn’t like that I kept bailing on their Friday bar-bonding nights. Granted my excuses were more than see-through but I wasn’t expecting them to just-“ His exasperation endears Bruce.
“Relax…” Bruce guides Clark to breathe and ever-the-boyscout he obeys with ease.
“This is literally so embarrassing. The only thing that could make this worse is if it ended up in the paper and my Ma saw it.” Clark braces against Bruce’s table and leans over it slightly. “Anyways… what case are you working that you end up in a place like this?”
Bruce looks at him with half-lidded eyes, voice low and teasing. “In any other context, someone might think you’re using a line on me.”
Clark flusters all over again. “I- Wha- No!” He clenches the notepad in an iron-grip, cardboard and way too many pages giving into his inhuman strength. Clark tries to right it before looking at Bruce. “Either give me your order or answer my question before I walk away,” he huffs.
With two hands up in jested surrender Bruce smiles, wolf-like and easy. “Easy boyscout. Your manager’s looking.” He nods behind Clark who puts on that professionalism all over again with a nod. “I’m working so maybe just something small so they don’t kick me out?”
Clark thinks it over, “We could do potato skins? Or the sliders. Honestly, the food is kind of good so you’ll wanna take it home once you’re done… investigating. Just be discreet. I’m not blind- I know something is going on here, I just don’t know what. I barely started last month.”
Last month? Just how much money is this guy making? Bruce nods, “Please, I know how to do my job. Either of those will do, you know what I like. Just make sure your friends don’t catch me here.”
“Wouldn’t wanna be front page, huh?” Clark snickers. “Me neither so, I got you. Don’t worry.” Clark’s pen scrapes against the muddled notepad. “The alley door is probably open, that’s your best bet to find something. Or maybe the manager’s office since she’s out on the floor tonight. Just- be careful.”
“I’ll be fine,” Bruce pulls out his phone, tapping a few buttons. “I just started the loop on the security footage. I’ll be back in like 5 minutes.”
“If anything happens just gimme a peep.” Clark taps his ears. “I’ll hear ya.”
…
To say that investigating with a boner is dehumanizing is an understatement. The image of Clark in such little clothing is enough to keep his pants straining against his erection for longer than he’d like to admit or consider. He’s in the manager’s office, opening and closing every drawer and cabinet possible. His USB already downloading files from the computer in here. He comes across some employee evaluations and can’t help but look for Clark’s.
He finds it with ease, Clark Kent fully seared into his tunnel vision. He scans it over. Honestly, he has good reviews and is on track to be promoted. Bruce shakes his head. One month? No way. He looks further down. Clark’s actually been here for only two weeks but his suggestions have made the company enough money to want to compensate him. Bruce knows this trafficking ring is an isolated case- one that would ruin the reputation of all their chain restaurants. Maybe Clark could so some damage control? Report on who’s really behind this in the Daily Planet and get in Perry’s good graces once again.
He puts everything back where he found it. Pulling out his USB once he hears the chime of its completion and slithers back into the hall. He heads closer to the emergency exit leading to the alley. There’s not much here- actually, there’s nothing here. It’s far too clean for a Gotham alley. Something must’ve happened that required such a drastic measure. He crouches to run his fingers along the asphalt, bringing it to his nose. It smells like bleach and metal. Something definitely went wrong. The last movement from the group he’s tracking was two days ago. It seems there’s one his missed.
Without so much as a crunch of gravel his temple collides with a blunt object, he groans and falls over. Knowing he can’t compromise his position- he’ll have to play Brucie Wayne.
“Fuck,” he brings a hand up to his head and looks into the dark.
“My my what do we have here?” A deep sultry feminine voice crawls from the shadows. “Mr. Wayne, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” She steps closer into the dim lamplight filtering in from the street. She’s dressed like one of the waitresses and he waits for her name to come to mind from the pages he rifled through in the office. “Such a shame to see a pretty face be laid waste to like this.” She swings down a metal pipe, Bruce rolling just in time to miss it as it smacks into the concrete beside his head.
He pants, restless and frustrated but showing no sign of it on his face. “What are you doing?” He plays scared, he plays pretty and pliant. Disarming, but there’s a dangerous glint lurking in the depths of his gaze behind long eye lashes and the blood tricking down the side of his face.
“You’re not supposed to be back here you know,” she tuts. “Employees only.” She swings again, narrowly missing him once more. It might be heavier than she’s used to which suggests a weapon of opportunity and less of a practiced technique.
“Stop!” Bruce cries just as whiny and scared as the rest of his body is presenting to her.
She smirks wildly, crazed and excited. “Oh we’re gonna fetch a pretty fucking penny with you.” Every step she takes closer to him, he crawls and drags himself backwards.
Where the hell is Clark?
Almost as if the meta human can hear his thoughts too- Clark bursts from the side doors and rushes towards Bruce.
“Mia? What’s going on out here?” Clark’s voice booms, scary and direct, despite how bare the rest of him is. “Tiffany said you need to tend to table 30.”
Tiffany the manager? Interesting.
But Mia only looks at Clark with disdain, hiding the pipe behind her back. “I know you’re new to this country boy, but you need to learn when to keep your nose out of other people’s business. Now neither of you are leaving here.”
At the clear threat in her words, Clark squares his shoulders. In all the years Bruce has known him, Superman has never looked so intimidating. So ruthless, so angry. Bruce has a mind to restrain him if things go sideways. “If you know what’s best for you you’ll go back inside and I’ll pretend like this didn’t happen.”
Mia only laughs, “Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?” A van starts backing into the alley, back doors already open and waiting to subdue them. Clark looks back at Bruce for some direction. Neither of them are in a place to reveal their secrets. Bruce scratches the pavement in Morse code.
Let them take us. Then we can take them down.
Clark only nods.
Two men from the van jump out and prick them with something- obviously it would burn through Clark’s system much faster than a human so he’ll have to play the part. He can see Bruce injecting himself with something from his shoe as well. Ever the planner, Batman must have some kind of antidote to counteract any drugs daring them to sleep.
…
When a reasonable time has passed and both heroes have tracked the exact movements of the van to get to the compound, they ‘awake’ and look around. They’re on a dock, probably in a shipping container based on the metal walls surrounding them. There are other people here, taken just like them.
Superman can hear the guards outside the metal doors. Talking to each other, playing cards. He scoffs in disgust.
“Bruce,” he whispers to the man beside him.
“Mmm?” He’s patting down every possible pocket for anything they’ve mistakenly left… but it’s empty. He slips his shoe off and takes out his phone. Clearly sending some kind of status report to the league.
“How are we…gonna do this?” Clark gestures to himself. “I hate that they didn’t even give me anything else to cover up with. I feel like- just so- ugh!” He groans frustrated. Clark is unsettled by his bare ass sitting on the metal of the shipping container. Who knows what’s on it? What’s touched it, if it’s ever been cleaned? He shudders. He’s going to take the longest, hottest shower his water heater can handle.
“Gee I don’t know, maybe wait for a miracle.” Bruce’s sarcasm does nothing to soothe Clark’s nerves.
“No! What if… someone,” i.e. another meta human from the league, “sees me dressed like this? That’s fucking embarrassing!”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before coming to ‘rescue’ me.” Bruce only smirks, he’s somewhat pleased at Clark’s dilemma.
“It’s not like I could put my suit on out of nowhere. How could I explain my disappearance?” He whispers even lower into Bruce’s ear.
The gesture makes his skin prickle and Bruce tries to focus on the task at hand. “Oh, like you could have explained your disappearance after getting kidnapped?!” Bruce snaps to try and replace his sexual frustration. Clark’s proximity and warm body do nothing to quell the heat in him. He can only hope it’s dark enough in here, and Clark is worried enough about himself, that he doesn’t see the hard-on still sitting behind the zipper of his slacks.
To try and reel it in, Bruce takes inventory of the other people in this cargo container. All the people who’ve been reported missing and then some. Likely runaways or prostitutes. There’s a clear delineation of a type that they’re looking for. It seems like they just took whoever they could.
…
To say that their rescue was uneventful is an understatement. To both Bruce and Clark’s chagrin, Hal came to save them quickly. Whoever’s behind this put up a weak fight. All the hostages were tended to by GCPD and Mia and her goons were locked up quickly. All the evidence needed to lock them away safely on Bruce’s USB- which was copied promptly and handed to Gordon. The big fish Bruce initially accounted for was seemingly still on the way via boat- swiftly caught by the coast guard. Bruce and Clark hid away in one of the spare cars, Clark wrapped in an emergency blanket.
When they made it back to the bar, they were closing. Escorted by GCPD themselves, the place was surrounded by cop cars. The patrons, manager, and every other employee rounded up for questioning by separate officers. Clark led Bruce to the break room so he could get dressed, an awkward but charged air around them.
“At least everything is taken care of,” Clark slips on a navy blue knit sweater and some grey sweatpants. He looks so comfortable. Bruce licks his lips.
“Yeah,” his voice comes out raspier than it should. “You need a ride home?”
“I could just fly, you know.”
“You could…” Bruce nods but there’s something else lingering in the air that Clark can’t ignore. “But you could also just let me take you home.”
The reporter seems to think it over, mulling the idea around in his head. He bites his lip and gathers the rest of his things. “Well… then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”
…
The ride to Clark’s apartment is almost painfully quiet. Bruce doesn’t like to drive with music, he says it’s because it breaks his focus but Clark knows it’s really because he can’t resist singing along off-key. Something that neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne would be caught dead doing in front of someone else.
When Bruce pulls into the parking garage, he parks. He looks over at Clark, his cheeks deliciously pink. Lips parted, and breathing off kilter. “You alright?” But he can’t stop the teasing lust weaved into his tone.
“Y-Yeah… just… reviewing tonight’s events.” Clark tries to brush it off, squirms in his seat like Bruce isn’t already watching him with the trained eyes of a detective.
“Let me walk you up,” Bruce leaves no room for argument. He gets out of the car and rounds to Clark’s side to open the door for him.
Clark leads the way, every step filled more and more with a juvenile sense of anticipation. Maybe Clark is misreading things… or maybe Bruce really was flirting with him. His sarcasm and prickly exterior a facade for what he really wants… or maybe he’s just being a good friend, trying to ease Clark’s nerves about being seen so bare by so many people- even though Bruce is partially the reason for his nerves.
He’s thought about it. What being with Bruce would feel like. His brows furrow at the easy acceptance with which he faces his crush on his friend. Something he used to keep under lock and key and buried six feet deep in the back of his mind. He can’t deny the amount of times he’s listened to Bruce’s heartbeat when they’re apart, keeping an ear out when the bat is on patrol or alone in his manor with Alfred. It’s embarrassing the amount of times he’s touched himself when he’s heard Bruce moan and whimper in the confines of his own luxury bedroom. The rustling of sheets, the squelching of lube.
Clarks cheeks go pink, cock sagging in his sweatpants from the weight of his semi. He hopes Bruce doesn’t notice the guilty slouch of his shoulders. He’s listening to Bruce’s heartbeat now- though he knows the bat has trained more than enough times to keep it level and unremarkable. If it weren’t for the whisper of him biting his lip and clenching his hands, Clark would think his best friend was unaffected.
Clark puts the key in the door with a shaky hand, refusing to make eye contact with Bruce until it’s open at least a fraction.
“Well… thanks for the ri- uumph!”
Bruce is on him before he can think anything else. Rough hands groping at his sides, waist and ass. A practiced and demanding tongue slipping between his lips. A familiar chapped skin brushing against him.
It takes a second for Clark to react just as enthusiastically, guiding them into the safety of his apartment while he closes and locks the door on muscle memory alone. It doesn’t take long for Bruce to press him against the closed slab of wood with a fervor and strength only Clark could withstand. He whines when Bruce presses closer. A lithe leg in between his despite Bruce being a couple inches shorter. Bruce kisses and touches Clark with the practiced ease of a long-time lover despite them never having gotten this far before. Clark drowns in it, mind going fuzzy with need and the desire to make Bruce feel good. Clark’s hands wind down Bruce’s sides, taking greedy handfuls of ass until Bruce jumps into his arms. His legs wrap around Clark’s waist and he grinds down. Clark’s muscles stand at attention, turning into Bruce’s every ministration like a sunflower to the sun- like Superman to the sun.
Clark whines when Bruce tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. Moans when he kisses along his jaw and neck. “Please,” Clark begs but he doesn’t know what for. Just more more more.
“Please what Baby?” Bruce grins like a man gone mad with desire. Like he always knew Clark would be this easy, this willing, this needy.
“I need-,” Clark groans when Bruce grinds down on his swelling cock once more. Alien biology is no ordinary feat, Clark can feel how his member soaks through the thong and into a huge wet patch on his sweatpants.
“You need?” Bruce continues teasing him, a hand slipping from the nape of Clark’s neck down his chest to flick strong, slender fingers over the meta human’s nipple.
Clark’s knees almost buckle. It feels too good, the mewl he lets out added to the things Bruce files away for later use. Bruce touches him like he’s a scientist collecting data on a new subject- -and every move Clark makes is the right one. They discard their shoes and Clark’s work bag somewhere in the living room, thudding as it hits the laminate flooring. With the last remaining brain cell not overcome with desire- or maybe it is too- he brings them through the small apartment to his bedroom. Dropping down onto the edge of the bed so Bruce is beneath him. “Please Bruce… I need you so bad.” Clark kisses and sucks marks into Bruce’s neck in a daze. Eyes glazed over and mouth salivating.
Bruce bites back a guttural moan, legs wrapping tighter around Clark. “C’mon Superman. You can do better than that.” He taunts.
Clark whines, “Please please please let me suck your cock. I need it. I need you. Please.” He looks like he wants to cry purely from the deep seated feelings he’d been repressing- the sheer force of letting them become fully realized is more than his Kryptonian body can bare.
“Kneel,” Bruce orders and Clark complies without a second thought. He lets Clarks hands fiddle with his belt and tug his pants down.
Yet again, that alien biology is more than Bruce had accounted for. Clark drools and lets saliva dribble in Bruce’s lap. Mouth timid as it kisses up the length before giving way to Clark’s need to make him feel good. Inhibitions tossed aside when he swallows Bruce whole. Having no gag reflex is yet another thing Bruce notes before his hands slide into Clark’s curly dark hair and fucks his mouth.
Clark concentrates his superspeed to the muscle in his mouth, vibrating against Bruce’s dick, only goaded on by Clark’s moans. “Fuck,” and it’s the most delicious sound Bruce has made all night. His restraint is seemingly limited. What he once held back behind gritted teeth and a bite of the lips is now all in the open, tending to Clark’s ears and clouding up his head. Sounds Clark will never forget and never give up now that he’s heard them. “That’s it Baby, just like that,” Bruce moans and Clark preens at the praise.
Clark hollows his cheeks and looks up at Bruce. Bruce’s eyes are clenched shut, his abdomen tight as he tries to maintain his composure. Bruce is ruthless with his pace and Clark’s eyes roll back at the thought that maybe his best friend had been holding back all these years too. Clark moans around him and that’s the last straw.
Bruce cums down his throat in long, thick waves. Clark only swallows greedily, tongue slowing to a slither and he comes off Bruce’s spent cock with a lewd pop of his lips. Saliva spills out the corners of Clark’s mouth and Bruce’s hand in his hair slips down to caress Clark’s cheek and wipe away the spittle with his thumb. “Good boy, Clark. You did so well.”
Clark moans at the praise, his dick straining in his sweats. The wet patch so large it’s like it was dipped in the sink, Bruce can see every twitch of the muscle beneath tented fabric. “Please,” Clark begs.
“Oh? Want some more do you?” Bruce holds Clark’s cheek in his calloused hand and the alien nuzzles against his warmth.
“Mmm,” is all Clark can manage when he looks as fucked out as he is.
“Undress and get on the bed,” Bruce orders as he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. The expensive threads sliding over scarred and muscular shoulders to expose an equally strong and mark littered body. He kicks off the pants around his ankles and watches Clark with predatory eyes as he makes his way onto the bed. Superspeed has its perks and Bruce appreciates the enthusiasm. He situates himself between Clark’s huge and heavy thighs, reveling in the pure weight and strength of them. With a grip that would be bruising on a human, Bruce slides his hands over Clark’s warm flesh. The moans that grace his ears are more than the billionaire thinks he can handle. And he wants more.
“Bruce,” Clark whimpers as his friend descends on him. A rough kiss, teeth and tongue. Bites that litter his neck and chest before fizzling away from his super healing. Bruce laves over Clark’s sensitive nipples, indulging in the way Clark arches his back to be somehow further into his mouth. Bruce bites a little harder around the stiffened peak and Clark whines wantonly, hips bucking in search of desperately needed friction against his soaking cock.
“Soon, Baby. Be patient.” Bruce chides, hands slipping lower. He drags his nails down Clark’s stomach, red streaks becoming welts that disappear in an instant. It drives Clark crazy, his hands fisted in the sheets that threaten to tear under his grip.
“Please, please please, Bruce! I need you please,” Clark cries. His breathing in short, quick puffs that illustrate his frustration and craving to be obedient for Bruce.
Bruce only studies with a sharp eye, blood heating from the headrush of his previous orgasm. He wants to destroy Clark- in the best way possible. “Do you know how absolutely fucking slutty you looked in that uniform?” Bruce wraps a hand around Clark’s aching erection- finally getting a sliver of relief. Bruce moves slowly, teasing with a firm grip. Clark’s breathless sigh and shining eyes stutter at Bruce’s low tone, his filthy words.
“I- I-,” there is no defending himself.
“I wanted to bend you over my table and fuck you in front of everyone in that bar the second I saw you,” Bruce rolls his thumb over the tip leaking with precum and adding it to the wetness of Clark’s self lubricated shaft.
Clark moans loudly at the thought. What he was once embarrassed about suddenly becomes something he wants to wear for Bruce and only Bruce.
“What would your friends have thought, hmm?” Bruce leans down to bite Clark’s shoulder. Leaning up to whisper in his ear, “Maybe they’d see how dirty their precious little boyscout really is.”
Clark shivers, his hips bucking into Bruce’s unforgiving hand. “Please please please,” his lips are drenched in the drool his body continues to produce. Bruce kisses him deep and obscene- sucking on Clark’s tongue and swallowing the spit that the Kryptonian can’t keep at bay.
“God you’re so sexy, so insatiable. You’re so perfectly pathetic underneath me and begging for this. I bet you’d let me do anything I wanted to you, huh?”
Clark’s eyes roll back at the blend of praise and degradation- he didn’t know he could like something so much. Though maybe it’s the effects of Bruce’s sharp tongue and calculated remarks. Knowing that this is something his bat might’ve fantasized about. “Y-Yes! Bruce, please!” Because Bruce is right. Clark would let him have his way and he would follow blindly. Obediently.
Bruce picks up the pace, unrelenting and faster than Clark can think. It feels so good and just when Clark is about to cum- it’s all taken away. “Noooo!” High pitched and whining and so far gone he bucks his hips into the air.
“Aww, c’mon. You think I’d reward you for parading this gorgeous body around for tips? Something that should’ve only been for me? You should have known better Superman.” Bruce only grins sadistically, watching him struggle and pant. A brow that creases with every punishing word and aching for release.
The use of his superhero persona as collateral is not lost on Clark. He knows he should be better than this. That he should not have risked something so lewd just to make his rent- that there were surely better ways to come up with the difference. But a part of Clark, a deeply hidden and longing part, wanted to be objectified like that. To be seen for more than his clumsy reporter persona. To relish in the side of him that doesn’t nearly get enough play because of the constant back to back missions and people he needs to save.
Because he wants to be seen for more than a goody-two-shoes. And sprawled out like this, sweating and aching, in his bed beneath the Bruce Wayne- he finally feels seen.
“Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry please Bruce. I need you. So so so so so bad, please! Please let me cum.” He whimpers, hips bucking wildly under the weight of Bruce seated on his thighs.
It’s like riding a bull, and Bruce needs to handle this beast. Bruce slaps Clark’s face and he moans loudly. All of a sudden it’s like his brain starts working again. His glazed over eyes open wider, pupils so blown out his irises are slim rings around it. His jerking hips still, his cock twitches and he meets Bruce’s demanding gaze with all he’s worth.
“Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” Bruce teases, sliding his ass over Clark’s leaking member.
The friction is too much. Clark moans, mouth agape and head thrown back against the pillows. “Yes,” is his breathless response.
“Here’s how this is gonna go loverboy.” Bruce leans down dangerously close to Clark’s face. He grips Clark’s chin harshly, forcing him to look into his eyes. “You’re gonna use all that spit and all that slick to finger me open and I’m gonna ride you into next week.” Bruce nips at Clark’s neck. “Think you can manage that?”
Clark is slowly slipping back into that blissful place, managing a nod.
“Words, Clark. Or this all stops,” Bruce warns.
“Y-Yes, yes. I- I can do it.” Clark sucks on his fingers, saliva thick before he scoops up the wetness pooling in the dips of his pelvis and coats the digits lasciviously. He reaches around and prods his fingertips at Bruce’s hole. Circling the pucker to wet it before effortlessly sliding inside.
Bruce falters for a split-second. Body resting all its weight onto Clark and back arching into his intruding appendage. “Fuuuuck, that’s it Clark.”
Clark moves slowly, in fear of hurting Bruce. He goes in and out at a tantalizing pace before adding another finger, scissoring the muscle open to accommodate such a large imposition. When Bruce is moaning and backing into his hand, he adds a third finger and explores within him. Looking for the soft and rubbery chestnut within, he finds it and Bruce’s strength gives out and into Clark’s ministrations. Clark gasps, heat rising to his face. He basks in the warmth of Bruces body on his, in the loud sounds he makes against his chest. He whines, hips bucking up till his cock brushes his wrist. He wants Bruce to feel good.
“That’s enough, I need you inside me.” Bruce practically growls, when Clark withdraws his hand he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean. The sight debauched enough to send Bruce sheathing the man below him in one fell swoop.
They moan when their hips meet, Bruce feels so full- too full- in the best way. Clark can see the way his cock protrudes from Bruce’s stomach. He twitches at the sight. Bruce braces his hands on Clark’s abs and moves almost immediately. Too longing and frustrated to take things slow despite the ache in his thighs and lower back. His pace is as punishing as his words from before. Clark rests his hands on Bruce’s hips, gripping tight enough to leave fingertip shaped bruises. Not guiding, just holding on for the ride.
They’re so loud, the squelch and slapping of their meeting bodies echoes as pronounced as their moans. Names and whines falling from their lips in a flow akin to a racing river. Mindless and present all the same. Clark might have worried about being a nuisance to his neighbors but it’s been so long since he’s felt like this- he can’t think past that.
“Fuck you’re doing so good for me. Your cock is fucking huge, fuck it feels so good. You’re so wet,” Bruce can’t differentiate what he means to keep in his head and what he wants to say to Clark. It all spills out of him.
Clark only moans louder, hips starting to shoot up to meet Bruce’s thrusts. “You- oh my god it’s just sucking me in- oh my god oh my god. Bruce!” Clark’s inoffensive grip on Bruce’s hips turns needy and rough. He practically bounces Bruce on his hips as if he were using a toy. For once, Bruce doesn’t mind that he’s just about lost control over the situation.
“Clark! Fuck yeah, use me Baby. C’mon. Harder, you can do it,” Bruce’s words are all Clark needs to give in fully to his wants. He follows Bruce’s every command. One hand gliding Bruce harder against him, the other pressing down on his stomach where his cock bulges out. He moves at an inhuman pace, superspeed concentrating once again but this time through his cock. It rattles within Bruce, a vibration so strong and so harsh against his prostate that his body almost can’t take it. “Holy shit! Clark! Fuck I’m so close, I- I can’t-“
“Give it to me, please please please Bruce. I need it. Cum for me. I need you. Please. Make a mess all over me I don’t care, God I need it. Give it to meee,” Clark’s words are slurred. Rushed out and in between mewls he can’t run away from.
Clark’s words are all Bruce needs for his body to tighten up- muscles locking up before his release shoots all over Clark. A long trail all the way up his stomach and chest- the tiniest bit on the bottom of Clark’s chin. “Fuck!”
The way Bruce’s hole clenches around Clark’s cock when he finishes sends Clark off the deep end. The bulge in Bruce’s stomach prods further forward. He fills Bruce with so much cum it’s spilling down the sides of his cock and out of his hole simultaneously. “Bruce,” Clark whines as he rides out his orgasm. Three more slow strokes as if to make the seed stick. Gently and slowly, Clark slips out of his bat so he can rest his body beside him on the bed.
They pant beside each other, slowly coming back to their senses. Bruce can feel Clark’s release dripping down his thighs and onto the sheets and Clark fares no better. He sees the reporter drag his fingers through the cum on his body, scooping it up to slurp it off his fingers. The sight makes Bruce’s oversensitive cock twitch.
“God, you really are filthy,” Bruce leans over to kiss Clark. Gone is the rough and warring kisses and in its place a slow and languid one. So deep and so sweet, Clark’s head reels at the contrast.
“Mmm,” Clark moans into the kiss. Arms blindly reaching out to hold Bruce closer to him. He rolls over and on top of Bruce.
The long kisses of their comedown can only last so long. Bruce can feel the weight of Clark’s boner against his stomach and he pulls away with a smirk. “No refractory period I take it?”
Clark blushes, embarrassed despite what they just did. “N-No…”
“You must’ve been made to fuck.” Bruce gives him a chaste kiss.
“W-Well… biologically speaking… sort of?” Clark thinks it over but deems it a conversation for another time. “We should probably clean up.”
“Yeah,” Bruce wraps his arms around Clark’s neck to hug him closer. “Or we could cuddle a little longer.”
Who knew Bruce Wayne, Batman, was a cuddler after sex?
“I’d like that,” Clark nuzzles down into him and sighs content. Clark tightens his grip on Bruce, sharing his warmth and already thinking of a future together. He wouldn’t dare voice it in fear of overwhelming Bruce but the sated smile on his grumpy counterpart’s face gives him the feeling it just might be requited.
Bruce mindlessly nuzzles into Clark’s chest, nose rubbing over the rich pectorals in a cat-like motion. “You smell good… did you know that?”
Clark can feel his face get hot at the compliment. “Like my cologne or?”
“You. Just you, I don’t know… I would recognize you anywhere because of it though. That’s how I knew your identity before you knew mine.” Bruce sighs and rests his chin on Clark’s sternum, looking up.
“R-Really?” Clark wishes he had done the same- use scent to match the bat to Bruce Wayne. He felt like it might’ve been an invasion of privacy- which is also why he didn’t just us x-ray vision to look beneath the cowl.
“Mmhmm,” Bruce inhales deeply and looks so wrung out he might just fall asleep.
Clark only smiles down at him, a yearning replaces his apprehension. “Wanna sleep over? We can get breakfast in the morning.” He kisses Bruce’s forehead, a gesture so gentle the man melts in his arms.
“That even a question? Of course I do.” Bruce squeezes once and kisses Clark’s chest.
Maybe they can clean up tomorrow.